A Christmas Courtship (10 page)

‘I hear, woman, I hear,’ he grumbled, turning up his collar and going to the back door. ‘I left my hat in the stables when I was taken by surprise, so I’ll just get it and then be on my way. I’ll be some time, so don’t fret if I’m not back in an hour or so.’ He slipped out into the night.

It was just before dawn when at last he returned, slipping quietly in through the back door. Mr Amberley had gone to his bed, exhausted by all that had happened, and Hannah had nodded off in the settle, but Blanche was still awake, too agitated and anxious to be able to sleep.

Jake sat wearily at the table, patting his wife’s hand as she awakened and came to him. ‘I’m all right, Hannah, and so’s Master Jonathan. He’s tucked up safe in the cave, where Boney and the whole French army couldn’t find him. I’ll take Miss Blanche there tomorrow night, once she’s seen that there Jennings piece. But now, I’m worn out with all that scuttling about dodging keepers and the like. I’m not the spring chicken I once was, that’s for sure. Begging your pardon, Miss Blanche, but I must get to my bed before I fall asleep where I am.’

‘Of course, Jake. And thank you, you’ll never know how much we appreciate your help.’

He smiled. ‘Good night, Miss Blanche.’

‘Good night, Jake. Go on with him, Hannah, I’ll lock the back door.’

‘Very well, Miss Blanche. Get some sleep if you can, for it’s a fair ride to Eastington House.’

‘Five miles, that’s all.’

As they went into the hall, she opened the back door to look out for a moment. Afew snowflakes fell in the shaft of light from behind her, and as she looked they were joined by more. In a minute or so it was snowing heavily, just as Jake had predicted.

A carpet of white lay over the countryside the next morning, but it wasn’t as deep as might have been expected. The snow clouds had gone as daylight came, and the sun rose in a clear blue sky. There was a brittle feel to the air, and sound seemed to travel a long way, so that the shouts of some laborers down by the Red Lion drifted easily up the hill toward Orchard Cottage. Village children were building a snowman on the green, and their squeals of laughter echoed between the cottages as they neglected the snowman in favor of a more exciting snowball fight.

It was warm in Blanche’s bedroom at the front of the cottage, for a fire had burned throughout the night. The room was modestly furnished, and curtained with the same
green-andwhite
chintz as her father’s. Rugs were scattered on the polished wooden floor, and a small wardrobe contained all that remained of her once vast array of clothes. There was a plain washstand with a cracked porcelain bowl and tall jug, and a dressing table draped with frilled white muslin she’d sewn herself. The ceiling followed the line of the roof, sloping down to a window that looked out beneath a fringe of thatch. It was a far cry indeed from the luxurious apartment she’d enjoyed at Amberley Court.

Snow or not, however, Blanche still intended to ride to Eastington House to try to confront Deborah Jennings. She’d already had breakfast, sharing buttered toast and hot chocolate with her father in his bedroom, and now she was putting the finishing touches to her hair, in readiness to put on her little black beaver riding hat. Her unruly silver-blond curls were always loath to submit to the restraint of pins, but at last she
managed to achieve a semblance of fashionable neatness, and she placed the hat in position. Her riding habit was made of brown velvet, trimmed with black braiding, and since riding habits changed little with fashion, it was one of the few things she had that still appeared modish and up-to-date. She studied her reflection critically in the mirror on the dressing table, and then lowered the hat’s little black net veil over her face. Yes, she looked well enough to tackle the treacherous Miss Jennings.

The children outside squealed with even more excitement suddenly, and she went to the window to look out at the snowy scene. A little dog had joined in the fun of the snowball fight, leaping up to try to catch the snowballs in its mouth, much to the children’s delight.

Blanche watched for a moment, and then gazed around at the general village scene. A small group of wives was gathered by the gate of a nearby cottage, their heads together in that
conspiratorial
manner that always denotes the spread of gossip. As she looked, their heads all turned toward Orchard Cottage, and she realized that Lieutenant Neville’s visits hadn’t gone unnoticed after all.

With a heavy sigh, she looked away from the women, her glance falling on the two holly trees by the garden gate. The berries seemed very bright and red, and she was reminded how very close Christmas was. Christmas. She’d never felt less festive in her life, and it was all the fault of Roderick Neville and Deborah Jennings. They weren’t going to get away with it, they weren’t!

The sound of a carriage drew her attention to the gates of Amberley Court. It was the jingle of harness and the shout of the coachman that she’d heard, for the wheels and horses made no sound on the carpet of snow. Sir Edmund’s gleaming dark green carriage drew slowly out, tooled with immaculate skill by Richards, who was well wrapped up against the cold, with several woolen rugs and a sheepskin over his knees.

The carriage blinds were raised, so that as the vehicle passed Orchard Cottage, Blanche was afforded a clear view of the two occupants. Sir Edmund sat furthest away, dressed as always in his obligatory uniform, but Athena sat in full view by the
nearest
window. She was very beautiful in a lemon wool pelisse and gray silk jockey bonnet from which trailed a lemon gauze scarf that exactly matched the pelisse.

Blanche remained where she was, and immediately wished she hadn’t, for Athena’s glance suddenly moved directly toward her. The two women looked into each other’s eyes, Athena cold and disdainful, Blanche acutely embarrassed at having been caught so obviously staring. Then the carriage drove on down the snowy street past the playing children, vanishing toward the fork in the lane beyond the village.

Hannah tapped at the bedroom door and came in to tell her that her horse was saddled and waiting. ‘I wish you’d reconsider and allow Jake to accompany you, Miss Blanche,’ she said unhappily.

‘Jake’s very tired after all he did during the night, Hannah, and besides, I’d prefer to go alone.’

‘All the same….’

‘Eastington House is only five miles away along the main Gloucester to Bristol highway, Hannah, and I don’t need to be chaperoned for a ride.’

‘Perhaps if you had been in the past, you wouldn’t have met an entirely unsuitable young man,’ replied the countrywoman a little tartly.

Blanche turned away a little crossly. ‘Antony isn’t unsuitable, and I wish you wouldn’t say he was. You and my father are going to have to eat your words, I promise you, for Antony and I will be very happy together.’

Hannah remained eloquently silent, thus conveying exactly what her opinion was, and would remain, where Master Antony Mortimer was concerned.

Blanche teased on her black gloves, her thoughts also upon Antony. Jonathan was innocent, but would that make the
slightest
difference to a man as politically ambitious as Antony’s father? She didn’t want to think about it, for she had problems enough already; but she’d have to think about it in the end, there was no escaping the fact.

Hannah handed her her riding crop. ‘Take care in the snow, Miss Blanche.’

‘I’ll be all right.’

‘Good luck with that troublemaking little minx, my dear. I hope with all my heart that you can persuade her to tell the truth.’

‘I hope so too, Hannah. Oh, how I hope so.’

A short while afterward she rode out of the yard and down the village street. As she passed the group of wives, they fell into a telling silence, watching her closely, and as they thought she was out of earshot, she heard some whispered words. ‘Soldiers … searching … something’s up….’ The scandal was
underway
already, although Amberley St Mary didn’t as yet know exactly what it was all about. If Roderick Neville carried out his threat and searched all the local houses, however, they’d know soon enough what Jonathan Amberley was supposed to have done. Holding her head high, Blanche rode on down the street.

Her horse made scarcely a sound in the snow as she rode along the lane toward the highway. All around the countryside was magically white, transformed from the dismal, leafless, wintery scene of the day before. Across the fields to the north, the tower of Gloucester cathedral shone in the sunlight, its stonework a mellow gold above the city rooftops. To the west behind her, the heights of the Forest of Dean rose sharply against the skyline, while ahead to the east lay the escarpment of the Cotswold Hills, a crisp, flawless white beneath the equally
flawless
blue of the heavens. The air was cold and clean, and her horse’s breath billowed in silvery clouds as she reached the highway.

Sufficient traffic passed this way for the snow to have been packed down into a firm surface that was surprisingly safe. Seeing a stagecoach drive by at a spanking pace, and several riders urging their mounts at a good canter, she kicked her heels and did the same, riding briskly south toward the hamlet of Eastington, which lay just off the main road in the lee of the Cotswold Hills.

The Jennings residence was a fortified medieval manorhouse, set back from the lane that was the hamlet’s only thoroughfare. Surrounded by a moat, it boasted a formidable array of
battlements
, and was entered by way of a gatehouse with a portcullis
that had long fallen into disuse. It was an imposing building, a miniature castle, but much in need of repair and improvement. Blanche’s father had said that Mr Jennings’s financial affairs were far from excellent, and that much was patently obvious as Blanche reined in at the end of the drive.

Now that she was within sight of her destination, she was suddenly acutely nervous. What if Deborah Jennings refused to receive her? What if this was a fruitless exercise anyway, because Deborah was not even at home? As this latter possibility occurred to her, a carriage drove out beneath the gatehouse. It wasn’t a costly vehicle like Sir Edmund’s, and although its team of two were of reasonable quality, they weren’t matched, for one was a gray and the other dark chestnut. The coachman wore no livery, but was huddled on his seat in a voluminous boxcoat, and there was none of Richards’s finesse in his driving. He was a fairly young man, with a thin surly face, and he didn’t give the impression of having much experience with the ribbons.

Blanche gazed at the vehicle in dismay, for surely its
appearance
meant that the Jenningses were just departing. She
maneuvered
her horse back into the lane, reining in so close to the hedge that she dislodged some snow, which fell in white powder over her shoulders. As she brushed it away, the carriage drew closer, slowing to negotiate the junction between the drive and the lane. Suddenly the carriage window was lowered, and a rather agitated gentleman leaned out.

‘Get a move on, fellow, I have to be in Cheltenham by two!’

‘Yes, Mr Jennings.’ Cursing beneath his breath, the coachman urged the two horses on again, and the carriage swept into the lane without pausing.

As it passed, Blanche managed to glance inside, and saw that Mr Jennings wasn’t alone, for a woman was seated beside him. By her age and clothing, the woman could only be Mrs Jennings, not Deborah, and as the carriage drove away, Blanche looked toward the manorhouse again. If Mr and Mrs Jennings had just departed on their own, did it mean that their daughter was still at home? There was only one way to find out. Kicking her heels again, Blanche rode from the lane onto the drive.

She’d almost reached the gatehouse when a dainty figure in a
fur-trimmed rose velvet cloak emerged. It was a young woman with honey colored hair, worn fashionably short, like Athena’s. She had a very pretty doll-like face with large brown eyes and rosebud lips, and she was accompanied by two small white dogs that capered excitedly around her, wanting her to play. But she was apparently too preoccupied to play, and walked with her eyes downcast, her cloak gathered around her like a shield against more than just the cold.

She didn’t see Blanche riding toward her, and heard nothing because of the snow, but she glanced up sharply when addressed tentatively by name.

‘Miss Jennings?’ Blanche reined in about ten feet away.

The brown eyes looked at her in puzzlement. ‘Do I know you?’

‘No, but you know my brother. My name is Amberley, Miss Blanche Amberley.’

Deborah’s lips parted, and her already pale face grew more pale still. ‘I have nothing to say to you, Miss Amberley,’ she said quickly, turning to go back.

‘Just a minute or so of your time, I beg of you. Is that so much to ask?’

Deborah hesitated, and then faced her reluctantly. ‘We really don’t have anything to say to each other, Miss Amberley.’

‘On the contrary, we have a great deal to talk about,’ replied Blanche, dismounting. ‘Why are you doing this to Jonathan, Miss Jennings?’ she asked quietly, holding the other’s gaze.

‘I’m doing nothing. If anything is happening to Lieutenant Amberley, it is of his own doing.’

‘You know that that isn’t true. Jonathan’s only faults have been that he won a promotion that a certain Mr Neville coveted for himself, and that he didn’t have a title and wealth to bestow upon you, Miss Jennings.’

The brown eyes slid away. ‘Think what you wish, Miss Amberley, there’s nothing I can do to prevent you.’

‘You led my brother to believe that you loved him, and you accepted his proposal, but now you suddenly deny him and claim to be betrothed to Mr Neville instead. Not content with merely abandoning him to his heartbreak, you also endeavor to
destroy him by implicating him in theft. You sent him a note luring him to the silver room, and then the note conveniently vanished, and with it all chance of Jonathan’s being able to prove his innocence. Why have you done it, if not to further yourself by marrying into the nobility? I can’t imagine that it was for love of Mr Neville, who hasn’t got a lovable bone in his entire odious being.’

‘You wrong me greatly, Miss Amberley,’ replied Deborah quietly, meeting her gaze again.

‘Do I? Then prove me to be in error.’ Blanche didn’t quite know what to make of her. She’d expected to find a flighty, vain, scheming creature who was totally without principle, but Deborah Jennings didn’t fit that description at all.

‘I do not intend to explain myself to you, Miss Amberley, and I think it would be better for all concerned if you left now. I’ve had no choice in all this, and nothing you say or do, no amount of appealing to my conscience, is going to make any difference. My story will not be changed, and that is the end of it.’

Blanche looked at her in puzzlement. ‘No choice? What do you mean?’

‘Please go, Miss Amberley.’

‘Are you totally without heart?’

Deborah said nothing.

‘Can you look me in the eye and tell me that you actually love Mr Neville?’ demanded Blanche, a note of desperation creeping into her voice as she realized beyond all doubt that this
stubborn
, perplexing young woman would never change her mind.

The brown eyes met hers. ‘Yes, Miss Amberley, I love Mr Neville. Why else would I have agreed to marry him? Certainly not for his title, as you so spitefully say.’

Blanche studied her for a long moment. ‘Then I pity you, Miss Jennings, for you’ll know no happiness with him.’ Turning, she remounted, looking contemptuously down at the dainty figure in rose velvet. ‘You’ve broken my brother’s heart, Miss Jennings, and for that alone I could despise you, but you’ve also set out to ruin him completely, and for that I will never forgive or forget. The Amberleys intend to fight, of that you may be sure, and we mean to point an accusing finger at both you and your
despicable
lover. We’re going to engage the services of the finest
advocate
in the realm, and if there is a chink in your armor, you may count upon it that he will find it.’