Lord Braybrook’s Penniless Bride (23 page)

W
hen he returned to the library Christy was alone, sitting in a wing chair by the window.

‘Where is Nan?’ he asked.

‘Don’t you mean
the girl
, my lord?’

Never had he heard such bitterness in her soft voice.

‘I sent for Beth to take Nan down to Serena, with a promise that I would follow.’

So it hadn’t been an excuse.

‘How
can
you?’ she burst out.

‘Christy—’

‘How could you abandon any child, let alone your
sister
, to people like that?’

‘The Carters are reputed to be honest, hardworking—’

‘They didn’t greet her, or speak to her. They didn’t even use her name!’ blazed Christy. ‘Carter as good as said in front of her that Jane
deserved
her death! How do you imagine they will treat her? Even the ribbon in her hair was a crime!’

Anger flared. ‘They will have me to answer to if she’s not cared for!’ he said. ‘Once they understand their allowance is contingent—’

‘Money!’ she spat. ‘Do you really think it can buy what Nan needs? Even if they don’t mistreat her, how happy can she be if
no one loves her? She’s lost her
mother
! Don’t you understand? You could settle a fortune on her, force people to be polite, fight a duel over it—and it would all be empty. Worthless!’

She stood up, her shoulders somehow slumped. She looked exhausted, defeated. ‘You will excuse me, my lord.’

‘Where are you going?’ he asked sharply. The despair in her voice lodged deep inside him.

‘To visit Serena,’ she reminded him, walking towards the door.

Perhaps it was better to let her go and discuss the whole thing again when she was less upset. ‘You recall we are to dine at Postleton Manor? We need to leave by half past four.’

‘Of course, my lord.’ She reached the door and looked back. ‘If you believe me fit for such exalted company.’

‘Hell’s teeth, Christy!’ he growled. ‘That’s ridiculous!’

‘It is the truth,’ she told him, opening the door.

‘You’re my wife!’ he said.

She shivered. ‘Yes. And perhaps it would have been much easier had that wasp landed on my glass, not Jane’s.’

The door closed behind her with a terrible finality.

He’d read the blasted report and written instructions about the cottages. He’d been through his accounts and written a letter to Modbury about investing in shipping. He had responded to the Vicar’s message setting Jane’s funeral for the day after tomorrow. Bereft of excuses for avoiding the issue any longer, he shoved the standish away with unwonted force.

Did Christy really think he would have been relieved if she had been the one to die? Logic told him that she was hurt and had lashed out. But he had been the one to hurt her. And he was forced to admit a certain logic in her reasoning—her birth was, in truth, no better than Nan’s.

But damn it all! He had defied her father, the Duke of Alcaston, condemned him for his behaviour to her…her father who had disowned her without ever speaking her name. Just as the Carters had not spoken Nan’s name?

Was there nothing more binding them than duty and honour?
And the passion they shared in bed? Was it just sex? She had said that the other day, and it had hurt, hurt unbearably. He had felt as though the world had emptied, become barren and void. What had Christy said to the Carters? It niggled at him—something about St Paul.

He pushed his chair back and strode over to the window, staring out over the parterres and park. From here he could see the Dower House, nestled in its trees. On the grass he could see small figures, faintly hear shrieks and yells as they batted the shuttlecock back and forth. Emma was there, with Matt and Davy. Not Nan. No doubt she was with Serena and Christy beneath that oak. He could see two people sitting there. The shade made it impossible to see properly, but he thought there was a smaller figure too.

Christy had said something about St Paul…He pushed the thought aside.

What the hell did he do now? Christy was right. He couldn’t let Nan go to the Carters. His conscience wouldn’t allow it. Would he have realised it if not for Christy? Without her he would have arranged everything at a distance. He might not have even seen the Carters in person. He had done that to reassure Christy.

And they were not bad people. Just unyielding. He did not think they would be intentionally cruel to Nan, but…he remembered his own confusion when his mother had left. No one had spoken of her. Her portrait had been removed and his father had ordered him to forget her. He hadn’t. He’d just pretended to because it was easier. And then his father had remarried. He’d wanted to hate Serena, but that had proved impossible. Later, when the news came of his mother’s death, it had been Serena who had comforted his forbidden, unspoken grief.

He’d been older. How could a little girl of five be forbidden to speak of her mother? Forbidden to remember her with love.

What had Christy said about St Paul? Irritated, he went over to the corner where the family bible was kept. He lifted it down, bracing himself against its weight and took it over to his desk. Lord, he was as bad as Ricky Blakehurst when a stray quote bothered him this much.

St Paul…He riffled through the New Testament. Something about love, or rather charity…he found it in Paul’s letter to the Christians at Corinth…exhorting them to love…
if I have not charity…I am nothing…though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor…give my body to be burned, and have not charity…

Charity. Love.

Hell and the devil! Not even the Vicar would interpret the passage in that way.

Christy had, though.

He went to stare out of the window again at the little group by the Dower House. There appeared to be some disagreement over the shuttlecock game. Davy was jumping up and down, a sure sign that he was cross about something.

From the chimney piece, a delicate chime rang out twice. He frowned. Two o’clock. Christy should be back soon if they were to leave on time. Perhaps he should walk down and bring them back.

How happy can she be if no one loves her?

The words flayed him.

Halfway across the park he realised that the adult under the tree with Serena was Havergal. Nan was there, sitting close beside Serena. She looked to be sewing and Serena was bending over her to guide and help, but Christy was nowhere to be seen.

She must have stepped into the house…He was within a hundred yards of the group when he noticed there was no chair set out for her. Davy had seen him and came tearing up, yelling and whooping.

‘Have you come to play? Play on my side!’

Julian swung him up. ‘Steady there. What are you up to?’

‘Shuttlecock. Couldn’t you
see
? Nan isn’t playing. She’s sitting with Mama and Uncle Nigel, because Mama says she’s too sad.’

‘Yes. I saw that. And where is your Aunt Christy?’

‘She doesn’t like being “aunt”,’ Davy informed him. ‘She said to call her Christy.’

‘And where is she?’

Davy wriggled and Julian set him down. ‘I don’t know. In the house? Are you going to play? Emma and I have been playing against Matt.’

‘Perhaps.’ In the house? Not very likely. If she were, Serena would be with her. Had she gone back to the main house already? But why leave Nan here?

‘There’s lemonade,’ said Davy. ‘Come and have some.’

Serena looked up, frowning as they approached. Havergal smiled, brandishing the lemonade jug. ‘Your tipple, Braybrook?’

‘Thank you, sir.’ He smiled at Nan. She looked back gravely, saying nothing.

Serena said gently, ‘You are doing very well, Nan. Keep the stitches nice and even, just like that.’ She smiled at Julian. ‘She is a far better pupil than Alicia and Emma were. Are you looking for Christy? She went for a walk. I am sure she will be back soon.’ She reached for her parasol. ‘In the meantime, you may take me for a walk.’

Havergal handed him a glass of lemonade, which Julian drained.

‘Very well, Serena.’ No doubt she was about to tell him why he could not permit Christy to raise Nan. She smiled, picked up her parasol and opened it.

Julian was used to pushing Serena’s chair, but it was always disconcerting to converse with a pink, tasselled parasol.

They were barely out of earshot when she said calmly, ‘I discussed the matter with Nigel, after Christy left, and if you really feel unable to take in your sister, she may come to us.’

Julian stared at the parasol’s tassells fluttering in the light breeze. He supposed one day Serena might lose her power to shock him, but he couldn’t imagine when. Hauling in a breath, he said, ‘You
knew
?’

Hidden by the parasol, her expression could only be guessed at, but her snort was eloquent. ‘My arithmetic is quite good, Julian. At the time Nan must have been conceived, you hadn’t been anywhere near Amberley for months. In fact, I have letters from you in Paris for that period! Of course I knew. From the very first, as soon as I heard the talk. I asked your father and he
admitted it. But he insisted that the story of your responsibility stood, because he didn’t want me embarrassed.’ She frowned. ‘I didn’t like it, but it wasn’t hurting anyone, so I agreed.’

Good God!

All he said was, ‘And you are prepared to raise her?’

The parasol snapped shut and Serena glared up at him over her shoulder. ‘The person I was cross with was your father! Not Nan. Of course I’m prepared to raise her! Although I’d probably let the lie about her being your child stand. Then I’ll appear a saint, not a fool. Naturally, if you and Christy are to keep her, we shall let the truth come out and I can be a martyr while you and Christy appear saintly.’

The idea that one day Serena might cease to shock him died a swift and painless death as he started to laugh helplessly.

‘The trick, dearest, is not to give people the least reason for thinking
you
are at all perturbed by the situation,’ she told him, putting up the parasol again. It twirled, tassells aflutter. ‘Once you have decided, let me know. For now I suggest, since you and Christy are to be out for dinner, that you leave Nan with me. The poor child will be better for some company. Christy’s maid may bring some things down for her.’

‘Very well,’ said Julian. ‘I will think about it.’

The parasol twitched. ‘Well, make sure you do think. Don’t just take your prejudices out for exercise. That isn’t going to help your marriage either. Now you may take me back to Nigel and Nan. And then you had best return to the house. I’m sure Christy will not be far behind. She had her watch in her pocket.’

But she did not return. By three-thirty Julian was concerned. Half an hour later he was panicking. They ought to be leaving soon. Where the hell was she?

He stared at Twigg. ‘You’re sure she isn’t in the park?’

‘Aye, me lord. Looked everywhere, we have. I’ve sent lads down along the river, but—’

Julian didn’t hear the rest. The river. She didn’t swim very well. If she’d fallen in…No. This might be her way of avoiding
the dinner party. She’d been upset, suggesting he must believe her unfit to be in such company. She was angry with him. His fear eased a little.

‘Bring Conqueror around,’ he told Twigg. ‘I’ll look for her myself.

Four hours later, he hadn’t found any trace of Christy. His voice was hoarse and fear crawled coldly in his veins as he stared around a clearing he had already been through twice—she might be home already. He needed to check. Wheeling Conqueror, he pushed him into a trot, heading for Amberley.

Reaching the edge of the woods, he rode out into the park and stared across the tree-studded expanse at the house. Dark against the deepening sky, it stood ablaze with lights.

If she hadn’t returned, he’d go out again. But where? The forest was huge, stretching for miles. If she had left the path in there…His stomach churned. They might never find her.

He pushed the gelding to a canter. He was a hundred yards from the house when a yell went up. Hope unsheathed itself again, slicing at him, as he saw one of the undergrooms running towards him from the stables.

‘My lord! She’s here. Just gone up to the house!’

He had Conqueror in a flat gallop within six strides. He pulled up beside the lad and flung himself from the saddle.

‘Is she hurt?’

The groom took the bridle and said cheerfully, ‘Don’t think so, my lord. Just went for a walk in the woods, she said. She’s got a—’

He didn’t hear any more. He was running for the house.

She’d been in the woods. And, having frightened him half to death, she’d reappeared too late to attend the dinner party.

He strode into the house by the side door and met Hallam.
‘Where is she?’

Hallam eyed him with some misgiving. ‘In the Hall, my lord. But I think—’

What Hallam thought he didn’t wait to find out. His whole
mind was occupied by the blistering reprimand he was going to give his wife the moment he saw her.

Curse it! He’d been worried sick, and she’d been hiding in the woods because she didn’t want to go to a dinner party. Did she think he wanted to go, damn it? Not likely. All he wanted was a chance to—he slammed the lid down on his preferred alternative. Reprimanding his bride while wreathed in lascivious visions of seducing her would be damn near impossible.

He stalked into the Great Hall and found his bride crouched over something on the hearth.

‘Where the devil have you been?’ he roared.

Belatedly he noticed the presence of his housekeeper and an assortment of maids and footmen.

‘Out.’ Couched in deadly soft tones, the command encompassed all of them. His boots echoed on the stone flags as he approached his kneeling bride. It was tempting to think her submissive posture betokened an attitude of becoming repentance, but, knowing Christy, he could imagine nothing less likely.

Sure enough, she glared up at him as he approached. At least, he assumed she was glaring at him. With candlelight glinting off her spectacles and her thick hair collapsing half over her face, he really couldn’t be sure. And somewhere in his confused and befuddled mind, part of him was relieved to see she wasn’t cowed. There was not the least hint of fear in her attitude.