Jilted

Title Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
By the Same Author
Copyright

I would like to thank Sir Richard Fitzherbert for his careful stewardship of Tissington Hall and village, both of which inspired me for the setting for this book.

I would also like to thank the kind ladies at the Tourist Information Office in Ashbourne who dealt with my questions so tolerantly; and, as always, my grateful thanks to all at Robert Hale, and especially to Gill Jackson my editor, who does her best to keep me in order.

‘This,’ declared her ladyship, is the most humiliating moment of my life.’ After a surreptitious glance behind her, in order to
establish
that her husband was within easy reach, Lady Hope sank back gracefully, her eyelids fluttering closed.

Sir Wilfred Hope, who had made it his study to please his wife from the very first moment that they had met, did not fail her now. Leaping forward with an athleticism surprising for one of his years, he caught her neatly in his arms before she came anywhere near making painful contact with the stone flags on the floor of their local church.

He glanced up anxiously at his daughter, who was looking nonplussed to say the least. ‘Eustacia! Do not stand there staring like a looby! Put those flowers down and go and fetch your mother some water! Hurry, now!’

Eustacia Hope put her wedding bouquet down on the nearest pew, and looked up at the vicar for guidance.

‘Water? Oh, oh yes, Miss Hope. There is a flask in my vestry,’ uttered the Reverend Timothy Stroud in rather abstracted tones. More than half of his attention was directed towards the
unconscious
Lady Hope.

This was not at all surprising, Eustacia reflected, as she walked through the chancel of St Peter’s Church, turning left just before the altar, and going into the vestry. For as long as she could remember, her beautiful, statuesque mother had always managed to make herself the centre of attention. Eustacia was so used to
this, that she had long since ceased to resent it in the general way of things. Today, however, when she had just been left standing at the altar by the gentleman to whom she should by now have been united in marriage, it did seem a little hard that her feelings should not come first.

She had been engaged to Morrison Morrison for two years. The engagement had never been intended to last for so long, but a bereavement that Mr Morrison’s family had suffered had put the wedding off. Eustacia had always been strongly attracted to her handsome fiancé. She had known him ever since his family had come to live in the area when she was eight years old. They had not got to know each other well at that stage, for he was soon away at Eton, and she had her school in Harrogate to attend. When at the age of sixteen she met him once more at a picnic, his lean figure, dark eyes and floppy, silky brown hair had make her heart beat a little faster, and she had confided to friends that she might like to marry him one day. Morrison, taking in the agreeable sight of Eustacia’s plentiful dark curls, laughing eyes, and generous but neat figure, had given the impression of being similarly impressed. The marriage was desired by their families, both fathers being pleased to avoid all the expense that a season in London would entail.

Eustacia had another reason for eagerly desiring the match. The truth was that above all things she wanted to have her own
establishment
. It was not that she did not care for her mother and father; on the contrary, she loved them both very dearly. She had always been aware, however, that as far as her father was concerned, she came very much second to her mother, whose wants always had to be considered first, and whose able handling of household affairs left her daughter with very little to do. Lady Hope cast a long shadow from which Eustacia had expected to emerge. This now seemed to be unlikely for the foreseeable future.

She was roused from her moment of reverie by the sound of someone else entering the vestry. Turning, she saw the vicar
standing
on the threshold. ‘Have you found it?’ he asked her. His eyes met hers briefly, then darted away in search of the flask. It
occurred to her that he was embarrassed by her situation. She wondered whether that would be her fate: to be a source of
embarrassment
as The Jilted Miss Hope from now on. ‘Ah, there it is,’ he exclaimed at last in relieved tones, spotting the flask where it stood half concealed behind a pile of musty-looking books. With hands that shook a little, he poured some water into the glass that acted as a lid for the flask. Eustacia wondered whether in thirty years of ministry such a thing had ever happened to him before.

When they had set off from Woodfield Park that morning,
nothing
had occurred that might have acted as a warning that Mr Morrison would let her down. Sir Wilfred, looking pleased and proud and still upright and well proportioned at the age of fifty, with a dash of distinguishing white at his temples, had handed his daughter into the barouche. Eustacia, in a gown of cream silk embroidered with golden roses, had looked charming and bridal.

Her gown had, of course, been chosen by her mother. Lady Hope, 5’8” in her stockinged feet, and built on generous lines, had never tried to make her daughter into a copy of herself. Eustacia, at just 5’ and petite, with a neat shapely figure and her father’s lustrous dark-brown hair and hazel eyes, would have looked absurd trying to wear the kind of styles that her mama carried off so well. Lady Hope had gone to the church earlier, looking
ravishing
in a delectable pink gown that complemented her blonde beauty to admiration. No doubt on arrival at St Peter’s she had made a stunning entrance as always, filling the church with clouds of perfume and overwhelming all those present with the force of her personality.

Before her marriage, Lady Hope had been an actress. Unlike many of her profession, however, she had employed a strict
chaperon
and had never permitted any admirers to take the slightest liberty. Her acting career had ended where it had begun, in Bath. After a brief, meteoric rise in her career, at the zenith of which seats at the Theatre Royal were almost impossible to procure, (and some of which had even been occupied by royalty), she had
abandoned
the stage in order to marry Sir Wilfred Hope after a brief courtship.

Sir Wilfred was not the most handsome of her suitors, although he did cut a very fine figure in riding dress. Nor was he the
richest
or the most dashing of the supplicants for her favours. Her striking beauty had attracted the attention of a number of rich and titled gentlemen, one of whom had been the notorious libertine, Lord Ilam. Sir Wilfred did, however, have two distinct advantages over his rivals. The first was that his estates were situated in Yorkshire, well away from Bath and London, so that it was unlikely that Claire Delahay, as she was then, would find her past coming back to haunt her. He was, furthermore, one of the few who offered marriage, and Miss Delahay wanted to be respectable above all else.

Needless to say, there were cynics who predicted that the former actress would soon take steps to relieve the tedium of her country existence by taking lovers, or even by deserting her husband for long periods in search of the thrills that only a big city could provide. They were to be disappointed. Once settled on their country estate, Sir Wilfred and his lady seemed content to remain there. They made occasional visits to York and Harrogate for
shopping
and for the assemblies and concerts. Sir Wilfred travelled to London on business from time to time, but always
unaccompanied
, and Lady Hope concerned herself with the needs of their tenants and the running of the house. With all this evidence to hand, onlookers were forced to conclude that along with the
obvious
reasons that the lady had had for accepting the modestly circumstanced baronet, she might well have a very genuine regard for him.

Since Sir Wilfred’s affection for his wife was legendary, it was quite useless to try to imagine a situation in which Lady Hope, unlike her daughter, would ever have been left standing stupidly at the altar, wondering what had happened to her prospective
bridegroom
.

Eustacia was, and always had been, their only child, and she never doubted that she was loved by both her parents. Sometimes, nevertheless, she felt that she was a bit of a disappointment. This was partly because the estate was entailed upon a distant cousin,
so that Sir Wilfred always had at the back of his mind the notion that should anything happen to him he would need to find some way of caring for his womenfolk. It was a question that preyed upon her ladyship’s mind as well. When she was at a very low ebb, she would sometimes talk sentimentally about Charlie. Charlie was the name that she would have given her son, had she been
fortunate
enough to have had one. He would have been tall, as fair as she was herself, with her sapphire-blue eyes, and he would have towered over her and teased and protected her. At such times, Lady Hope would look at her daughter and sigh, and Eustacia would think to herself, if only I could have been tall and blonde! At least that would have been
something
.

Their arrival at the church, perhaps not surprisingly, had caused something of a stir. The entrance of a bride ought, in all ordinary circumstances to cause a degree of excitement. But the mood of those present seemed to be more one of consternation mixed with prurience.

As Eustacia had entered on her father’s arm, she could see Mr Morrison’s groomsman, Mr Bartrum, but of the groom himself there was no sign.

‘Did you not come together?’ Sir Wilfred had asked Bartrum in a low-voiced conversation, conducted in front of the altar and a very puzzled-looking clergyman.

‘We were about to set off, when he suddenly muttered about having left something behind; something for the bride, he said. So I came on ahead and he said that he would join us.’

‘Then he should soon be here,’ Sir Wilfred had replied, looking indignant. ‘By heaven, I shall have stern words to say to him about this. A bridegroom late! I never heard of such discourtesy!’

It was at this moment, whilst they were all still gathered about the altar with the congregation talking uncomfortably amongst themselves in low tones, that a small boy, plainly but respectably dressed, had hurried into the porch, slithered to a halt on the tiles, then walked up the aisle with a clattering sound, all the more noticeable on account of the silence which had swiftly fallen once more upon the congregation.

As he had reached the group of persons gathered at the top of the nave, he had cleared his throat then said in a piping voice that could be heard all over the church, ‘Please, which one’s the bride?’

It was such a ludicrous question that Eustacia had felt a spasm of hysterical mirth bubbling up into her throat. She was glad that her father had said, ‘Don’t be a fool, boy. This lady is the bride. Why do you ask?’ She was afraid that if she had opened her mouth to say anything, completely inappropriate laughter would have burst from her lips and shocked everybody.

‘Got this for her,’ the lad had answered, handing Eustacia a folded piece of paper. The message inside was brief and if not
tactfully
phrased, at least had the merit of being clear and
unequivocal
.

‘Give that to me,’ Sir Wilfred had said, snatching the note from Eustacia’s hand. She was still having some difficulty in taking it in. No sooner had Sir Wilfred glanced through the note than Lady Hope, with all the grace that she had ever had, had glided over to them, taken the note and read it in her turn. It was at this point that her ladyship, with her fine instinct for drama and her almost inborn ability to seize the moment, had keeled over, whilst excited chattering had broken out amongst the congregation, who had gathered to witness a wedding and were actually seeing something much more exciting unfold.

Eustacia had stood holding her wedding bouquet, feeling slightly sick and wondering what to do next, whilst the small boy, alone unmoved among the whole throng, had piped up with ‘Can I have sixpence now? The man what handed me the note said someone’d give me sixpence.’

It was almost a relief to Eustacia that her father had sent her to find water at this point. She badly needed someone to tell her what to do.

The vicar went back into the church with the water and for a
moment, Eustacia stood looking at the door through which he had gone. Then she remembered that there was another door in the vestry, the one that led out into the churchyard.

Glancing around, she saw an old cloak of the vicar’s hanging on a peg. Quickly, she took off her wedding bonnet and, leaving it on the table next to the musty books, she picked up the cloak and wrapped it around her. Fortunately, although it was May, the day was not particularly warm. With her wedding finery concealed from all but the keenest observer, she would, she hoped, be able to walk the short distance home unobserved.

Carefully taking a quiet path rather than the road which
everyone
used, she walked slowly along beside the brook, thinking about Mr Morrison’s courtship. Like her, he was his parents’ only child and as such was destined to inherit all of his father’s
property
. Although Sir Wilfred’s estate was entailed, there was
provision
for a handsome jointure for Lady Hope and a similarly
generous
dowry for Eustacia, so the match had been considered suitable by all concerned. Yet after the engagement had been announced, politely attentive though Morrison had been, Eustacia had often had the impression that when he was in her company, he would much rather have been elsewhere, doing something else.

Looking back with the benefit of hindsight, there had been moments when she now wondered whether he had been on the point of confiding in her. There had been an occasion when they had gone to Derby and had seen the militia marching through. They had been a fine sight, the sun glinting on the brightly polished metal on buckles and buttons, and on the gold facings of the officers’ uniforms.

‘God, I wish—’ Mr Morrison had begun, before breaking off abruptly.

‘You wish what?’ Eustacia had prompted him curiously.

He had collected himself and had responded in his usual light, cheerful tone, ‘I wish we could get something to drink, that’s all. I’m devilish thirsty.’

By a strange irony, had they been closer, had there been more between them than a rather lukewarm affection, at least on his
part, he might have brought himself to confide in her concerning his military ambitions. He was young – only three years older than herself. No doubt he had become fearful at the idea of tying himself down for life when he still wanted to do many other things. Obviously she came a very distant second to his own
ambitions
. She could only wish that he had been more honest with her, and thus saved her that humiliating scene in the church. He was surely old enough to have been able to envisage how dreadful that would be. For the first time since it had happened, she started to feel angry.