Authors: The Larkswood Legacy
Will was propped on one elbow, watching her with those very blue eyes. And suddenly Annabella forgot about his prospective bride, for she saw that it was as it had been at Mundell, only far, far better, for his eyes were full of love and tenderness.
‘Oh!’ She was in his arms again, tumbled back amid the grasses, laughing and crying at the same time.
And when he said, very seriously, ‘Will you marry me, Annabella?’ there was never any possibility that she would answer other than yes.
Later, when they were sitting with their backs to the warm stone, Will’s arm holding her possessively close to him, Annabella was able to say all the things she had wanted about Larkswood and their quarrel and how she had thought he was betrothed to someone else. Will seemed astounded.
‘Betrothed to Miss Shawcross! No such thing, I assure you! Why, I haven’t even seen her since she was about twelve years old! How on earth did you imagine that?’
Annabella wrinkled up her nose. ‘But Amy said…’ She blushed a little, and went on, ‘She had heard you talking to James, and him mentioning that Miss Shawcross was to come to Oxenham, and also James saying that half his female relatives had been in love with you at one time or another…’
She could feel Will’s chest move as he laughed. ‘I
rather think,’ he said gently, ‘that Amy must have confused two separate conversations. James was referring to you. I had just implied that I intended to ask you to marry me.’
Smilingly, he pulled her to her feet and helped her to remove most of the grass seeds that appeared to have attached themselves to her crumpled clothing. Annabella’s hair was tumbled in profuse disarray, but she did not care. Will himself looked scarcely less dishevelled.
‘I shall have to go all the way back to Challen to change my clothes now,’ he said, with a rueful smile. ‘But I will take you back to Larkswood first, my love.’ He brushed the hair back from her face and smiled again. ‘I wish I didn’t have to leave you, but I promised Richard Linley that I would see him tonight, for he travels abroad on the morrow. But we shall spend the day together tomorrow, if you would like…’ Seeing the luminous delight in Annabella’s green eyes, he took her hand and led her back to where the horses were patiently tethered, eating their way through a large proportion of the hedge. Will hitched both pairs of reins over his arm and led the puzzled but docile creatures behind them as he and Annabella walked slowly, hand in hand, down the hill to Larkswood.
Susan was in the courtyard, hands on hips, watching them as they wandered dreamily homewards. Her eyebrows rose as she noted Annabella’s disorder, the brightness of her eyes, the curve of her lips in a tender smile.
‘Susan,’ Annabella began vaguely, ‘Sir William
and I…’ She looked at Will, smiled, and forgot what she was saying.
‘You may wish us happy,’ Will said, a twinkle in his eyes. ‘Mrs St Auby has consented to be my wife.’
Susan’s smile broadened. ‘Congratulations, sir, congratulations, ma’am! And about time too!’ She took Annabella’s unresisting arm. ‘Come, ma’am! I need to do something with your appearance before you break the good news to Miss Frensham! She may appear to be henwitted, but she is neither blind nor stupid!’
After Will had kissed her goodbye, with a reminder about seeing her the next day, and ridden off down the hill towards Challen, Annabella submissively allowed Susan to take her up to her bedroom, help her change into fresh clothes, and tidy her hair. She then went to acquaint Miss Frensham with her good news, accepted her congratulations charmingly, and sat in the garden for the rest of the afternoon, doing nothing but thinking of Will. When the chill of dusk finally drove her inside, she sat in the little drawing-room and spent more time thinking about the future. Tomorrow, after Will had called, she would go to Oxenham to tell her grandmother and Alicia the news…
Finally, when the house was quiet, and there was nothing but the steady tick of the long-case clock at the bottom of the stairs, she got up to go to bed.
It was another bright moonlit night and there was no sound except the wind in the trees outside. Annabella crossed to the hall window, still too happy and full of ideas to rest, and pulled the heavy curtain aside. She peered out. The night was suddenly dark, the full
moon hidden momentarily behind scurrying clouds. Annabella shivered. Although she was beginning to love this wide landscape with its sweeping hills, there were times when there was something elemental about it, something that she could not understand. She was not a superstitious girl, but when the sun went down over the flat fields of the valley, or the moon topped the ridge of the hills behind the house, she would find herself held by a spell as old as time. But soon she would not be alone at night any more. She shivered again, but this time with remembered pleasure, not cold. She drew her shawl closer around her shoulders and picked up her candle to light her way upstairs. She had reached the first step, had her hand on the newel post, when the quiet of the night was smashed by the sound of horses being ridden hell-for-leather into the courtyard, followed by a confusion of voices and a hammering on the front door. Annabella jumped violently.
‘Open in the King’s name!’
A door opened upstairs and Miss Frensham’s voice quavered: ‘Mrs St Auby! Mrs St Auby! Whatever is happening?’
Swallowing the retort that she had not the least idea in the world, Annabella moved across to the door and started to pull back the heavy bolts. By the time she was ready to swing it open, Frank, the footman, had appeared, pulling his coat on, obviously having dressed very hastily. Miss Frensham was hovering on the half-landing in a dressing-gown of formidable respectability and an even more terrifying bedcap. Behind her the pale faces of Susan and the other maids could be seen peering out of the shadows.
Frank opened the door and almost immediately the hallway was full of jostling men, one of whom was barking orders. Miss Frensham drew back with a terrified squeak.
‘You two, search the house from the attics down. Benson, go around the back. And, Jenkins—’
Annabella raised herself to her full height. ‘I am mistress here and you, sir, will not search my house without first giving good reason why!’
The effect of her words was remarkable. Everyone froze. Then the gentleman turned slowly to face her.
He looked young at first glance, until Annabella weighed up the lines of age and experience on his face and put him at closer to thirty than the one or two-and-twenty she had first thought. Like his men, he was dressed in a uniform she did not recognise, for it was a sober black, very different from the scarlet regimentals of Jeffries and his like. And he was fair, with a youthful complexion which was turning a little rosy at the arctic tone of Annabella’s voice.
‘I beg your pardon, ma’am.’ He executed a stiff bow. ‘Captain Harvard, of His Majesty’s Royal Navy, at your service. I was not aware that Sir William Weston was married.’
Annabella blinked, beginning to wonder if she had been drawn unwittingly into a farce. ‘He is not, as far as I am aware. At least not yet. But what is that to the purpose?’
The gentleman looked at her properly for the first time, taking in her old dress and the hair loose about her shoulders. A shade of familiarity came into his manner whilst behind him his men fidgeted, uncertain whether to follow their orders or wait for other direc
tions. A gust of air blew in and Frank tried to shut the door, only to be restrained by one of the burly posse.
‘We are looking for Sir William to arrest him,’ the Captain stated, with ill-concealed impatience, ‘and you would do best not to obstruct us in our duty, ma’am! I must ask you to stand aside!’
Annabella lost her temper. ‘You there, unhand my servant! And you, Captain, are looking in the wrong place! I am Annabella St Auby, sister-in-law to the Marquis of Mullineaux, and this is
my
house, not Sir William’s! Now, explain your business, if you please! Arrest Sir William! I never heard such arrant nonsense! Miss Frensham—’ the companion quailed before the martial light in Annabella’s eyes ‘—please accompany us to the drawing-room!’
Captain Harvard looked slightly abashed as he followed her meekly into the room she had so recently vacated, with Miss Frensham bringing up the rear, somewhat embarrassed in her night attire. Annabella closed the door behind them and fixed him with a quelling gaze.
‘Well, sir?’
‘It would seem that there has been some mistake,’ Harvard began, reluctantly admitting to his error. ‘I understood that this was Sir William Weston’s house, which was why we were sure he would be making for here!’
Annabella raised an eyebrow. She remained standing and deliberately did not ask him to be seated, and it was only Miss Frensham who perched uneasily on the edge of one of the armchairs.
‘I fear you are making little sense, sir,’ Annabella
observed coldly. ‘It lacks but five minutes to midnight. Is it likely that Sir William would be abroad at this hour, particularly out here in the middle of nowhere?’
‘No,’ Captain Harvard said slowly, his gaze resting on her, ‘it is not likely, but it is…possible.’ Clearly he had not totally relinquished the idea that Annabella was Sir William’s mistress, housed discreetly away from civilisation, and with her lover visiting her at this odd hour of the night. Remembering the encounter in the stone circle, Annabella thought how easily this could be true and felt the first cold touch of a censorious world on her happiness.
‘However,’ Harvard continued after a moment, ‘the Master of Arms from Sir William’s own ship recognised him just now on the road and we imagined he would be seeking shelter here.’
Annabella raised her brows with sceptical exasperation. ‘I still do not understand you, sir. What of this cock-and-bull story about an arrest? Upon whose authority do you act thus?’
‘On the authority of the Lords of the Admiralty,’ Harvard said with a quiet satisfaction. ‘Sir William Weston is accused of treason, and I am here at the behest of Admiral Cranshaw to arrest him on that precise charge.’
There was a deep silence. Annabella reached blindly behind her to grip the hard edge of the escritoire, leaning back against it for support. Her lips formed the word to repeat it, but no sound came, and it was Miss Frensham who spoke for both of them.
‘Treason…’ Miss Frensham whispered, white to the lips. ‘Sir William! Surely not!’
Once again, despite her misery and confusion, Annabella observed a barely definable hint of satisfaction in Captain Harvard’s face. It was banished as he felt her scrutiny.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said with wooden countenance. ‘Sir William is called to answer certain charges that he abandoned the sea battle at Lake Champlain in ’14 when he had not been given the order to cease his fire. And,’ Harvard could not resist adding, with an unattractive pleasure in the words that was far from professional, ‘the fact that he sought to resist arrest suggests to me that he feels his guilt most keenly. It was not the action of an officer and a gentleman!’
It occurred to Annabella, through the anguish of hearing the cruel gossip repeated as a formal charge, that Captain Harvard did not like Sir William Weston. Her protestations that it was only gossip and Sir William was surely innocent, died a death as Harvard’s cold grey eyes rested on her face, weighing her reaction to his deliberately callous words.
‘You look shocked, ma’am,’ Harvard observed gently. ‘Pray sit down. May I offer you some restorative?’
‘Of course I am shocked,’ Annabella snapped, disliking him all the more for his presumption in offering her comfort when he had been the cause of her distress. ‘Sir William is a particular friend of the family—’
‘Most distressing, ma’am,’ Harvard concurred smoothly, ‘especially as Sir William was wounded—’
Miss Frensham let out a small shriek, which fortunately masked Annabella’s quieter, but no less heartfelt, gasp of alarm. This midnight burlesque was
becoming more bizarre, more shocking, by the moment.
‘Wounded?’ she repeated faintly, and saw a faint look of gratification cross the Captain’s face as he noted her pallor.
‘Yes, ma’am, shot as he tried to escape.’
Annabella took a deep breath, determined not to show her panic. Miss Frensham had given a slight moan at the word ‘shot’ and was clutching the lapels of her dressing-gown together, as though she expected Captain Harvard’s men to burst into the room at any moment and shoot the lot of them.
‘So,’ Annabella said as coolly as she was able, meeting the Captain’s eyes very straight, ‘let me understand you correctly, Captain. You are seeking to arrest Sir William Weston. You thought that you identified him on the road hard by here, you presumably called out to him to stop and identify himself, he declined to do so, and you shot him.’
The stark words seemed to resound in the quiet drawing-room.
‘I can only repeat, ma’am,’ Captain Harvard said with stilted courtesy, ‘that Sir William is a wanted man whose own actions condemn his criminal behaviour.’
Annabella felt sickened. The Will Weston she knew bore no resemblance to the Captain’s harsh description. And yet, how could Will, who prized integrity so highly, seek to evade capture and bring such disgrace on himself? As for the charge of treason, Annabella had never believed it true and did not do so now. And she had no intention of revealing her feelings to this hard-faced stranger who had invaded her
house with such a lack of consideration. With a supreme effort, she looked him in the eye.