The Yuletide Bride: 1781 (Wedlocked!)

by Mary Lyons

  The older woman smiled and shook her head.

  ‘When it’s turned into a field!’ Lucy shouted before collapsing into a fit of giggles.

  Standing frozen in the open doorway, Amber felt as if she were viewing the curtain rise on the last act of a Greek tragedy. Numbly waiting for nemesis to strike, she watched as Max turned his head to look into the large mirror over the mantelpiece. She saw his body becoming taut and rigid, his eyes narrowing to dark points of hard steel as he stared first at himself, and then at the reflection of the small girl on the other side of the room.

  Paralysed by panic, and helplessly unable to prevent her whole world from crashing down about her head, Amber’s heart thumped wildly in her chest as Max continued to stare blindly into the mirror, his expression grim and forbidding. And then, as if coming to a decision, he turned to cross the room. Murmuring a polite farewell to Violet Grant, he glanced down intently at Lucy for a moment, before striding swiftly towards where she stood in the doorway. Grasping Amber’s arm in an iron grip, he barely halted his swift progress as he dragged her after him into the hall, then slammed the door shut behind them.

  ‘My God!’ he exploded, the sound of his angry voice reverberating loudly in the large, vaulted space of the hall. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Tell you what?’ she muttered, helplessly aware that she’d never been any good at telling lies as she felt the hot colour flooding over her pale cheeks. ‘I...I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you damn well do!’ he retorted harshly, his fingers tightening cruelly on her arm. ‘That little girl is obviously my daughter—for Heaven’s sake!’

  ‘No! No, you’re quite...er...quite wrong....’ she whispered, desperately tried to evade his fierce gaze.

  ‘I’m not prepared to listen to any stupid lies, Amber,’ he ground out threateningly, before swearing violently under his breath as he glanced down at the slim gold watch on his wrist. ‘Unfortunately, I’m already late for another appointment. But if you thought you’d seen the last of me eight years ago—you were very much mistaken!’ he growled, the icy-cold menace in his voice sending shivers of fright and terror running down her spine. ‘Because, I’ll be back just as soon as I can. And that’s not a threat—it’s a promise!’

  * * *

  And she had absolutely no doubt that he would be back, Amber told herself, shivering with cold and nervous exhaustion. Max had very clearly stated his firm intention of seeking her out once again. And there was nothing she could do, but wait with ever-mounting despair for his return.

  It had seemed, during the past two weeks, as though she was existing in the midst of a living nightmare, never knowing from one moment to the next when or how he would turn up to cast an evil shadow over her life. And while she was normally very busy at this time of year, she’d hardly been able to concentrate on even the simplest task. In fact, with Max’s sudden reappearance in her life, she was finding it almost impossible to focus on the present when her mind was so completely filled with memories of the past.

  ‘Mummy...? Where are you?’

  ‘Over here,’ Amber called out as her small daughter appeared on the other side of the old walled garden.

  ‘Do hurry up!’ Lucy begged, running down the gravel path towards her. ‘If we don’t go soon, I’ll miss my riding lesson.’

  Amber grimaced as she glanced down at her watch. ‘Sorry, darling, I completely forgot the time.’

  ‘I hope you’re going to change out of those old clothes,’ Lucy told her, critically viewing her mother’s slim figure, clothed in a scruffy pair of jeans beneath a windproof jacket, which had clearly seen better days. ‘And you’ve got some leaves stuck in your hair.’

  ‘Hey—relax! It’s Saturday, remember? No one has to get all dressed up at the weekend,’ Amber laughed, bending down to allow the little girl to remove the greenery from her thick, golden brown hair.

  ‘I thought you were going to do some Christmas shopping.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you’re right. I’d completely forgotten. OK, you win,’ she grinned through her hair at her daughter. ‘I’ll try and find something smarter to wear.’

  A self-appointed arbiter of her mother’s wardrobe, Lucy had very strong views on what was, and what wasn’t, suitable attire for various social functions. However, not having any spare money to spend on clothes, Amber had quite cheerfully stopped worrying about the dictates of fashion a long time ago.

  ‘What are you going to wear?’ Lucy demanded as she finished removing the straw from her mother’s hair.

  ‘Oh, I’ll think of something.’

  ‘All my friends say that you’re very pretty. When I’m grown up, I’m going to buy you lots and lots of lovely clothes,’ Lucy told her solemnly.

  ‘Thank you, darling!’ Amber grinned down at her daughter. Although she was only twenty-six and still—if Philip Jackson was to be believed—an attractive woman, she knew that she’d never been half as pretty as Lucy. With her cloud of black curly hair and large, clear blue eyes, the little girl was the spitting image of her father. Which was yet another problem to be faced. Because it wasn’t just the threat of Max’s return that was causing her so much anxiety and distress—there was the added worry of how and when to break the news to her friends. And that was something she was going to have to do sooner rather than later. Because, while Rose had been far too excited by Max’s sudden reappearance to notice the startling resemblance between father and daughter, Amber knew that she couldn’t rely on her other friends being so blind. And, most important of all—what about Lucy herself? How on earth could she even begin to try and explain to such a young girl the torturous events of the past...?

  ‘Oh, do stop day-dreaming, Mummy. Please hurry up!’ Lucy pleaded, almost dancing with impatience.

  ‘Just give me five minutes to change, and I’ll be right with you,’ Amber promised, sighing heavily as she picked up the basket full of vegetables before slowly following her daughter back down the garden path.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘DON’T panic—there are still ten shopping days to go before Christmas!’

  Momentarily unnerved by the words being hoarsely whispered in her ear, Amber gave a startled yelp, nearly dropping her heavy load of parcels as she spun around to find herself staring up into the twinkling brown eyes of Philip Jackson.

  ‘For Heaven’s sake!’ she gasped as the young doctor swiftly removed the packages from her arms. ‘It’s bad enough having to fight one’s way through the crowds without you scaring me half to death!’

  ‘I didn’t mean to give you a fright,’ he grinned. ‘But why does everyone seem to be gripped by a “shop till you drop” frenzy at this time of year?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s crazy, isn’t it?’ she agreed as they walked slowly up the street. ‘So, just what are you doing here, in the middle of town on a Friday morning?’ she teased. ‘Surely a busy doctor ought to be in his surgery looking after the sick and infirm.’

  ‘I’ve taken the morning off for some last-minute shopping,’ he confessed with a rueful grin, before insisting on leading her into the Market Tavern for a mug of their famous ‘Winter Warmer’—hot chocolate with a dash of brandy. ‘It will do you good, and you’ll still be quite sober enough to drive home,’ he assured her when she expressed her doubts about the wisdom of drinking in the middle of the day. ‘On the other hand—how about joining me for lunch in one of the local restaurants?’

  Amber shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Philip. I can’t make it today. Mother’s in bed with a heavy cold, and I must get back to keep an eye on her.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Although I have to say that you don’t look too well, either,’ the doctor added, glancing with concern at her pale, finely drawn features and the dark shadows beneath her eyes.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she shrugged, perfectly well aware—from a despairing glance in her mirror this morning—that she was looking like death warmed up. Just as she knew that part of her p
resent exhausted state of mind wasn’t just the worry about Max’s return. She was also becoming deeply disturbed about her mother.

  Amber had finally been forced to explain to her mother the necessity of selling their home, and Violet Grant’s reaction had been every bit as bad as she had feared. Amber still shuddered to recall the wild, hysterical accusations and virtual collapse of the older woman. It was well over a week since her mother had taken to her bed, claiming that she had a bad cold and refusing to leave her room—an action that was now causing her daughter grave concern.

  Unfortunately, it was all too reminiscent of Violet’s behaviour eight years ago, following the scandal and collapse of her husband’s business. And so, while she was trying hard not to overreact to the situation, Amber knew that if her mother continued to avoid facing up to life by hiding in her bedroom, she was going to have to seek some serious medical advice.

  ‘Would you like me to call and have a look at your mother?’ Philip asked.

  ‘No...er...not just at the moment—but I’ll be in touch with you if she gets any worse,’ Amber assured him before quickly changing the subject. ‘What are you doing for Christmas? Are you still planning to join your family in Cumberland?’

  He nodded. ‘I only wish that you and Lucy were coming, too. My parents were really disappointed that you couldn’t make it.’

  ‘I’m sorry—but this is always such a busy time of the year for me,’ she murmured evasively.

  She was very fond of Philip and she also liked his mother and father whom she’d met when they’d visited their son earlier in the year. However, until finally making up her mind about whether to accept his many proposals of marriage, Amber hadn’t wanted to become too involved with his family.

  In any case, the idea of marrying anyone was just about the last thing on her mind at the moment. Besides, it would be totally unfair to involve the young doctor in a nasty local scandal, which was likely to erupt just as soon as Max Warner carried out his threat to return.

  It was now three weeks since she’d seen Max, and she still didn’t feel able to relax. It was like waiting for a bomb to go off, she told herself grimly, realising that there was no way out of the trap in which she now found herself. Because, even if Max only intended to visit the small town every now and then, it would be impossible to hide the truth. With her glossy black curls and large blue eyes, it was going to be glaringly obvious to all and sundry that Lucy was an absolute carbon copy of her father.

  Amber knew that she couldn’t put it off any longer. She must tell Rose and her other close friends before news of the whole story became public property. But finding the courage to do so seemed completely beyond her at the moment. Even trying to explain what had happened in the past to Philip, for instance—who, like everyone else in the town, believed Lucy to be Clive Stanhope’s daughter—was enough to make her break out in a cold sweat.

  ‘...so I’ll pick you up at about seven o’clock. OK?’

  ‘Hmm...?’ Amber stared blankly up at her companion before realising that she’d been so immersed in her own dark, sombre thoughts that she hadn’t heard a word he’d been saying.

  Philip gazed at her with a wounded expression in his kind brown eyes. ‘I thought we’d arranged, some weeks ago, to go to the buffet supper party in the old Assembly Rooms? I hear the organisers are hoping for a large turnout to raise funds and support the town’s protest about the destruction of the old Tide Mill.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry—I’d forgotten all about it,’ she confessed with a tired, guilty smile. ‘Mainly because I’ve been so busy trying to catch up with all the last-minute orders for Christmas cakes. And, with Lucy away until tomorrow, I’ve been working flat out in the kitchen,’ she added, explaining that Rose Thomas had invited her daughter to join a family trip to London. ‘They’re staying the night with David Thomas’s sister, and Lucy was absolutely ecstatic about the thought of seeing a pantomime and visiting a large department store to meet Santa Claus!’

  ‘She’ll have a wonderful time,’ he agreed with a warm smile. ‘But it’s a pity Rose will miss the party. No one seems to know who owns the development company, Suffolk Construction. But their plans to pull down the old mill and build a large new marina in the old mill pond certainly seem to have upset just about everyone in the town. Feelings are running pretty high at the moment,’ he added with a frown. ‘I hope things will soon calm down.’

  ‘So do I,’ she agreed, aware that most people in the town were extremely angry and grimly determined to keep the modern developers at bay.

  Standing derelict and unused for the past forty years, the ancient Tide Mill was a rare survivor of a bygone age. Unfortunately, both the rapidly expanding tourist trade in the small East Anglian town and the increasingly loud demands for a modern marina by the local sailing fraternity had led to the threatened destruction of this important landmark in the town.

  The local outcry against the loss of the mill was mainly due to its ancient, almost unique system of operation. Since it had depended on the river water being trapped in the mill pond at high tide, which was then released to turn the huge wheels when the tide had fallen, the old mill’s working hours had been dictated solely by the flow of tidal water entering the river from the North Sea.

  As far as Amber knew, there was only one other such mill, farther up the river at Woodbridge, which had been saved from decay some twenty years ago. ‘If the inhabitants of that town could raise the money to restore their mill, so can we!’ Rose Thomas had declared stoutly, before quickly calling on the help of her friends and organising strong local resistance to the plans for its demolition.

  It was at this point that Amber had found herself in an embarrassing position. Because, the old mill, with its surrounding land and large mill pond, had once been owned by the Stanhope family, who’d leased the property to a succession of millers ever since the sixteenth century. Unfortunately, it was her late husband, Clive, needing money to settle some gambling debts, who had sold the mill to a local builder some time ago.

  ‘Nobody blames you,’ Rose had repeatedly assured her, pointing out that it was hardly Amber’s fault if the land had changed hands several times over the past few years. ‘After all, there’s a world of difference between building a few houses on the site—and Suffolk Construction’s plans for a glitzy, modern marina!’

  If only there was some way to satisfy the yachtsmen without having to destroy such an ancient building, Amber told herself, gathering up her parcels as her companion paid for their drinks. The obvious answer, of course, was to talk the matter over with Suffolk Construction. But, as Philip had pointed out, nobody knew anything about either the development company or its owners.

  ‘Is anything troubling you, Amber?’ he asked, noting her shivering with cold as they left the warmth and comfort of the Market Tavern. ‘You don’t look at all well.’

  ‘I’m perfectly all right. Really, I am,’ she told him firmly as he continued to gaze at her with a worried frown. ‘I’m just feeling a bit tired, that’s all. But I’m quite well enough to attend tonight’s party.’

  ‘Well, for goodness’ sake, try to make sure you eat properly and get some decent night’s sleep. Otherwise, I’m going to insist on taking you down to the surgery for a complete overhaul.’

  ‘OK, OK, anything you say, Doctor,’ she grinned, raising a hand in mock surrender.

  ‘By the way, I was very sorry to hear that you’ve decided to sell the Hall,’ he said as they slowly made their way along the High Street, which was thronged with Christmas shoppers. ‘David Thomas told me that you’re letting him have a look at the old house deeds.’

  ‘Yes...’ she muttered, feeling guilty at having been so busy that she’d completely forgotten to tell Philip about the forthcoming sale. ‘I’ve lent the huge pile of old documents to David because he’s so interested in local history.’

  ‘I wish you didn’t have to sell your home,’ he told her with a frown. ‘You know how I feel about you, Amber. And,
although this isn’t either the time or the place, you must let me know if there’s anything I can do.’

  ‘Yes...yes, of course I will,’ she murmured, grateful to be saved from having to say any more as they were momentarily parted by the many passers-by crowding the pavement.

  The news that the Hall was now up for sale had obviously become a topic of conversation in Elmbridge. In fact, Amber had been surprised by the amount of people who’d stopped her in the street today, all expressing their regret and sympathy at the loss of her home. Despite all her problems, it was really comforting to know that so many inhabitants of this small provincial town seemed to be genuinely concerned for both her and her family’s welfare.

  Rose, Sally and her other friends had rallied around, promising to try and find a small cottage to house the family. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be anything at all suitable on the market at the moment. But as ‘Gloomy Glover’, the house agent, had so bluntly pointed out, there was no need for her to worry about that, since it was likely to take her some time before she found a buyer for her present home.

  ‘I had hoped that Mr Warner might be interested,’ he’d told her before giving a mournful shake of his head. ‘But why would a single man—however wealthy he might be—want to saddle himself with such a huge old house? No,’ he’d added with a heavy sigh, ‘I’m afraid that it will take me a long time to find a buyer for your property, Mrs Stanhope. A very long time indeed.’

  Amber hadn’t known exactly what she felt on learning that Max wasn’t a married man. However, the news of his brief visit to Elmbridge—and that he apparently had neither a wife or children—had become a major talking point amongst her friends. Rose, for instance, had been clearly thrilled to meet him again, as well as being highly amused by Sally Fraser’s groans of envy at having missed the opportunity to do so.

  ‘If only I hadn’t been out when he called to see John! Was he really every bit as handsome as he used to be?’ Sally had demanded, almost grinding her teeth with frustration as Rose pretended to give the matter some thought.