Beguiled (10 page)

And perhaps there was
an ulterior motive. Edgar wanted her to look her best to attract a suitable husband
after the debacle with Branson. Perhaps he wished to mitigate the worst of
Strachan’s damage to her reputation. Though she appreciated her brother’s
consideration, his putting Branson’s money to the cause made her uneasy.

Clara set aside the
gown. The bill at the dressmaker’s would be high.

“You shall look a
vision tonight, Miss Clara. Shall I return before dinner to dress your hair? Corporal
Jack
Denby
will demand your hand for several dances,
I wager.”

Clara laughed at this burst of opinion from a maid. In
London, the comments of the servants were far more subdued and perhaps less
interesting. She enjoyed the round of life at
Petherham
;
her work each morning as Mrs. Brockville’s secretary was useful, and she was
fond of her new friends. Colonel and Mrs. Brockville were kind, open, and
charmingly rustic. She was completely at her ease in their company.

The shooting party was considered a great
success. The invitations had been sent and the acceptances were few but
encouraging. In particular, Lady Susanna Weymouth was present, as well as two
influential gentlemen with whom the Colonel had business with in London, but
who were country squires at heart. Included in the party were the lesser lights
of London society. As Branson was not welcome in the better drawing rooms of
London, and he did not go out of his way to curry society’s favour, his
invitation was hotly debated before it was sent, and declined, as they all
expected.

Among the assembled were Mr. and Mrs. Harold
Listowel
. Harold was an avid sportsman with loose business
scruples that the Colonel found invaluable on occasion. Mrs.
Listowel
was a social climber and therefore weak and easily
manipulated.

Clara dismissed the maid with her thanks and stood at the
window pensively. She wished with all her heart that Branson was coming
tonight. The dance in particular filled her with dread.

Windemere
Hall was on the other
side of the rise. Despite Mrs. Brockville’s arch suggestions, Clara had thus
far resisted the temptation to walk in that direction.

The events of this morning had changed all of that. She
glanced fearfully at the gown on the bed. It had been made with her previous
size in mind. How could her mother know that her waist had thickened and her
bosom had taken on a life of its own?

She counted once again, for the eighth time that morning,
the days since her arrival at
Windemere
and her last
monthly bleed.

The calculation remained the same.

“It cannot be! It cannot be!” she whispered frantically.
This simply could not happen. The
Brockvilles
had
been so kind—she would almost certainly be turned out. She looked at the
calendar again, willing the dates to be wrong.

“I am pregnant,” she breathed in terror.

She returned to the window and gazed at
Windemere
Down, golden in the distance. Only a short walk separated her from Branson. He
could not marry her, but she had to see him. She felt certain he would ease her
fears. Clara took comfort in knowing that no matter what Branson was, or what
he had done, he was not the sort of man to abandon a girl that he had got with
child.

She took Mrs. Brockville at her word, left her desk and
slipped out-of-doors wearing her striped alpaca walking dress, her muff and
fastened her purple mantle over her shoulders.

THE GROUNDS at
Petherham
featured a fountain surrounded by an immaculately groomed garden. Though the
blooms were fading, Clara strolled through it for the sake of satisfying her
curiosity, but principally to deflect the notice of the house party. With the
exception of Corporal
Denby
and Mrs. Brockville, she
was not entirely at her ease. Strachan was the personification of a gentleman
and Trudy Delisle seemed kindness itself. But the atmosphere was not right in
the manor and she was likely the cause. Everyone felt they had to walk on
eggshells around her. So much had happened, and thanks to Strachan’s tales, no
one knew what to make of her.

Edgar sent word he would be arriving in a day or so, and she
would soon have an ally.

Corporal
Denby
was a nice young
man, but she could be not a soldier’s wife and he seemed baffled by her rejection.
She was tired of hurting people

Branson Hamilton had not been seen in the
neighbourhood
since his return from London. It was said
that he had found an amiable companion in Lady Susanna Weymouth. Her presence
at
Petherham
seemed to give credence to the
rumour
. Lady Weymouth was both lovely and sophisticated.

It was this news as well as the calendar that had finally
driven her from the warm safety of Mrs. Brockville’s sitting room. Her inks and
sheets of thick cream stationary on which she composed letter after letter were
tucked away in the desk against her return. If it was true about Branson and
Lady Weymouth, Clara needed to hear it from his lips. Though what she would do
if he confirmed it, Clara did not know.

She cast a last anxious look back the manor house and then
dashed from the confines of the cultivated garden into the wilds of the Down. She
hiked up her skirts to walk faster and then broke into a run, frightened that
she would be stopped by Strachan or
Denby
or one of
the other guests. Someone who would question her or offer their company and she
would lose this chance, slim though it was, to see him again.

The field grasses, already glazed with frost, crunched
beneath her feet. She pulled her mantle tighter about her shoulders and hurried
her step. The frosty morning air cut across her cheeks but the climb uphill
warmed her. Her breath puffed out in thin white wisps. Clara reached the top
and then the lake was before her, like a silver mirror in the rising mist.

Clara paused, her breath caught as the beauty of the morning
light fell across the view. She wondered if he was out riding Gladiator this
morning. Would Mrs. Weymouth be with him?

Then he was there, far off in the distance, riding Gladiator
slowly through the mist. He saw her and she could tell from his posture that he
was reluctant to meet with her. Clara tried not to feel dismay but she could not
help it. To lose his friendship was the worst of all.

“What are you doing here?” Branson asked as he came near.
His arm was held at an odd angle and he looked pale.

“I was going for a walk.” She could not hide her emotion at
seeing him again. “I’ve taken a position as Mrs. Brockville’s secretary. She
has been an understanding friend. You received the invitation to the dance at
Petherham
, did you not? I-I wish you would accept. Strachan
has informed half of London about our indiscretion. I haven’t the courage to
address the gossip openly. Perhaps I never will. I might just take the coward’s
way out and avoid the party altogether until they leave.”

Branson said nothing but stared stonily into the distance.

She twisted her gloved hands. “I have heard about your
friendship with Lady Susanna Weymouth. She will be in attendance at the dance. It
is pity you will not come, Branson, if only for the lady’s sake. I do not think
of me, though I am glad to see you again. I am glad that you appear to be happy
and in good health—”

Branson cut in. “We have nothing more to say to each other. I
thought I made my feelings clear at our last meeting. Allow me to make them
known now. You are not to come to
Windemere
Hall ever
again. I do not wish to see you. I do not wish to speak to you. My business with
you is concluded. I shall arrange to have the marriage with your name expunged
from the parish records. I advise you to seek a suitable husband as soon as
possible. Mrs. Weymouth tells me Corporal Jack
Denby
has expressed interest.”

His coldness terrified her into insensibility. Clara was so stunned
by this harsh response that she hardly knew what to say. For a dreadful moment
she felt she would stammer if she opened her mouth.

“I thought—I believed—that you were fond of me, sir.”

“You were mistaken.” Branson lifted his chin and
straightened his shoulders but he would not dismount. “I made Lady Weymouth’s
acquaintance in London some months back. She has written me and we have made
arrangements to resume our old affair. She is an amiable and obliging companion;
I am happy, as you have rightly observed. Now, if you will excuse me. Good day,
Miss Hamilton.”

“No!” She cried out, in spite of herself. “What has
happened? Something has changed, do not deny it! Has something happened with
Grace?”

His handsome face became a mask and she knew that she had
hit her mark.

“Clara, you must go,” he said stiffly. “You must trust me
when I say that this not the place for you. I am not the man for you.”

He dismounted from Gladiator at last and her heart lifted.
She fought tears as he came closer and stood in front of her. They were
standing opposite each other at arm’s length and though he did not touch her,
she could feel his longing to do so. She looked with wild despair into his
eyes.

“You winced when you dismounted. Why are you in pain? Grace
has harmed you.”

“She was upset.” His jaw was tight, the muscle twitching. He
looked away, avoiding her eyes. “She has become low in her mind since my
return. She believes I will put her away. I cannot be seen with you, Clara. It
is not safe. Try to understand, I do not want this but it is my burden and it is
easier to bear if I know you are somewhere safe.”

Clara nodded, understanding the hideous predicament he was
in. She was unable to bring herself to tell him about the child. “I will not
add to your burden, sir. I am not sorry I came. I am not sorry I saw you. Perhaps
one day Grace will improve and there will be a future for you both.”

He smiled. “You are a dreamer, cousin. There is no ‘one day’
for me. I shall be leaving England soon. I’m going to travel the Continent with
Lady Weymouth. She has asked me to accompany her and now that I’ve seen you, I
believe I shall. The timing is fortuitous. With me gone you will not be tempted
to run over here. Grace may improve in my absence, though I do not hold out
much hope for that.”

“When do you leave?”

“At the end of this month.
I shall clear
up the confusion regarding your presumed marriage to me so that you will be
free to consider other offers.”

“I do not want to consider other offers.”

“Do not be stubborn. Edgar will restore the Hamilton name to
its former glory and the Hamilton fortune. I have every confidence in your
brother. He will manage the company for our mutual benefit. Once you are
restored as a lady with a good income, you will have your pick of suitors. One of
them is certain to meet your stringent criteria for a husband.”

His mouth twisted in an attempt at a smile.

“
You
are my
criteria for a husband, Branson,” she said. “I will not have another. Why do
you insist on speaking to me this way when you know my heart and my
mind as well as I know
yours? Have you forgotten what we
were to each other? I have not. Why are you determined to push me away?”

“There is no future for us,” he said between clenched teeth.
“I am legally married to a mad woman. Grace is not sound in mind, but she is
sound in body and remarkably strong. She is forceful in her demands.”

“She refuses to allow us to remain friends, but she will permit
you to take a mistress! I do not understand. I only wish to see you once in
awhile as cousins, as friends if you like, to talk to you, to know your mind on
certain subjects....
 
I am afraid that
without you, I will be too lonely. I am lonely now. Surrounded by people, I am
alone, Branson.” Clara looked at her hands. “I did not intend to confess that
to you, ever. I should go. I’ve said enough and there is nothing to be done. Do
not let her hurt you anymore. Promise me. Madness is not an excuse. I have been
in an asylum. Violence begets violence and inevitably leads to destruction. You
must not tolerate violent outbursts from her. In my experience, the temper of
the madwoman only leads to increased danger to everyone around her.”

She moved to turn away and start back down the hill to
Petherham
. His voice came behind her, stopping her.

“Quince is dead.”

Clara turned, staring at him with wide eyes, her pulse
fighting at the base of her throat.
“How?”

“He was crushed by the marble statue in the upstairs hall.
It happened when I was away rescuing you from
Gateshead
.”

“I know the statue.” Clara’s brow furrowed. “I hid behind it.
It is too far too heavy to fall on anyone. How did it happen?”

Branson’s eyes were brilliant navy, like inky blue marbles,
glassy and unreadable. “Grace pushed it and it fell, crushing Mr. Quince. It
was a deliberate act. She has committed murder because Quince said something to
upset her. Now do you see? For the love of God, now do you understand why you
must
never
return to
Windemere
?”

He turned and swung astride Gladiator. Taking up the reins,
Branson looked down at her. “I want you to stay away. It’s not safe. I will
drive you off myself if I see you again.”

Clara nodded. She wasn’t frightened of what Grace might do
to her, but she was frightened of what she would do to Branson if she did not
keep her distance.

“Good-bye, Branson.”

“Good-bye, Clara.”

He kicked his heels and Gladiator raced away at a hard
gallop.

§

Later that afternoon

CLARA SAID her good-byes to the Colonel
and Mrs. Brockville. The little maid packed up her trunk carefully and saw it
loaded onto the carriage. Clara did not trouble to address the party of guests,
only to say she was needed by her mother and that her brother Edgar, who was by
far more popular, would supply the deficit. She was depressed and fearful of
what lay ahead in London but she could not stay at
Petherham
after seeing Branson. She could not stay knowing Lady Weymouth would be
visiting Branson at the earliest opportunity.

Captain Strachan was greatly distressed to
see her leave.

“Is it on my account?” he asked earnestly.

“Of course not,” she said lightly.

“What did the corporal want just now?”

He nodded in
Denby’s
direction. The young soldier had been delighting her with his stories. Strachan
noticed her skin glowed alabaster and there was the palest rose tinge in her
cheeks. Her eye was bright and her bosom was fuller of late, mounding like
downy pillows over her lace.

“What do you mean?” Clara swallowed her
irritation. She must not make an enemy of Colonel Brockville’s friend. She
loved the
Brockvilles
too well to let her pride get
in the way.

“He whispered something in your ear. What
was it he said?”

“Corporal
Denby
wished me a good journey. That is all.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That is because you are used to lying to get
what you want. You assume all gentlemen are cut from the same cloth.”

“It was his manner. He was overly familiar
with you.”

“There is only one man who has been overly
familiar with me and that is you, sir. In spite of your slander, Corporal
Denby
has been respectful from the hour I met him.”

“I want you to stay away from him. He’ll use
you, Clara. I’ve seen his kind before.”

She almost laughed. “I am sure you have,
sir. But I thank you for your concern.”

“I know what is going on here—I am not a
fool!” he hissed. “It is Branson you prefer, an illegitimate, classless thief.
He manipulated your brother and now you. You do not understand that I am trying
to help you! You have stubbornly refused my protection.”

“You do not want to protect me,” she said
evenly. “I might have believed that once, William, but no more.” Clara lifted
her chin and smiled brightly. “Good day, sir. Perhaps Mrs. Brockville will be
so good as to employ me again at
Petherham
and I
shall have an opportunity to renew my acquaintance with you and Miss Delisle at
that time.”

“I shall insist upon it.”

He made bold to lean in and hastily whisper.
“I can return to London at a moment’s notice, Clara. You only have to send word
to my club and I will be there.”

Clara flushed hotly and stepped away before
Trudy Delisle could witness the exchange and think evil of her.

Colonel Brockville helped her into the
carriage and soon she was alone, far from the lighted manor house, society, and
good cheer. She could not be happier. She had no desire to speak to anyone. The
father of her unborn baby had been described as villainous, cruel and beyond
redemption by the civilized world. What could one do with the devil but run
away from him?