Anne Ashley (20 page)

Although the long-case clock in the hall heralding the lateness
of the hour did succeed in penetrating her dispiriting thoughts, it quite failed
to turn them in a new direction as she returned to her own room. She glanced
over at her own bed. How could she think of sleep at a time like this, when the
man she loved was in danger? How could she ever bring herself to contemplate a
life without him?

‘Oh, confound it!’ she exclaimed, throwing wide the wardrobe
door.

* * *

As on that never-to-be-forgotten former occasion, the
night was clear and still, the silence broken only by the occasional hooting of
an owl and the rustling of leaves, Luke ruminated. Only this time, of course, he
had not travelled alone. He shot a glance at his dependable companion, the man
who had stood beside him during many a skirmish out in the Peninsula, and the
man who had very nearly begged to be allowed to come along this time.

‘Had you not been so set on the notion of bearing me company,
Ben, you would have been tucked up in a nice warm bed long before now,’ Luke
reminded him.

‘Mistress would have expected me to come along.’

Luke smiled at the prompt response. ‘Well, with any luck, this
will be the last time we face any sort of danger together.’

‘You think so, master?’ There was a strong hint of scepticism
in the servant’s voice. ‘Now I come to think on it,’ he added after a moment,
his voice now full of gentle warmth, ‘I dare say it might be, if young mistress
has her way.’

Luke couldn’t suppress a further smile. Ben Carey’s respect was
not easily won, but Briony had succeeded in gaining his utmost admiration.
‘Clearly you’re very fond of your mistress, Ben.’

‘Aye, sir, that I am. And with good reason! I don’t think many,
man or woman, could have done what she did—take a piece of lead shot out of a
man’s shoulder, then go on to nurse him for hours at a time through a high
fever.’

No, you’re right. But why had she done
so?
Luke couldn’t help wondering. Had she left him to die that night,
here in the open, or not done everything humanly possible to preserve his
existence, she could have claimed every last penny of Lady Ashworth’s legacy. He
felt sure the notary, Pettigrew, would have pleaded her cause so that she was
not left destitute because of circumstances beyond her control.

Of course, things were so very different now. He had seen to
that. Now she would want for nothing, because now she was his sole beneficiary.
His feelings towards her had undergone such a drastic change. No, he hadn’t
always loved her, he silently reminded himself. But he did now, oh, so very
much.

Unbidden, an image of the very first time he had seen her after
so many years appeared in his mind’s eye. When he had walked into Pettigrew’s
office and she had been sitting there, looking so prim and proper, appearing
every inch the demure, educated young lady, he had felt that pull of instant
attraction—yes, of course he had! What red-blooded male would not? She was a
very handsome young woman. Oh, no, she wasn’t, he silently amended, she was a
damnably pretty one, almost a beauty, but not quite. Yet she had become so in
his eyes, the very loveliest of women. And a most desirable one to boot!

He couldn’t suppress a wry smile as he marvelled at his powers
of restraint. These past few months hadn’t been easy, that was for sure! If she
had offered him the least encouragement to consummate their union that first
night he would by now be the most blissfully contented man. But she had not and
he had felt honour-bound to abide by the agreement to have the marriage
annulled. What he had not for one moment taken into consideration when he had
first proposed that marriage of convenience was the possibility that one day he
might fall irrevocably in love with his own wife.

The realisation that fickle Fate was possibly enjoying herself
hugely at his expense had really occurred to him for the first time on the night
of their dinner party, when he had witnessed the easy camaraderie Briony had
appeared to enjoy with that handsome young doctor. He had been both angry and
jealous to discover the rogue holding his wife’s hands. Yet, when he had offered
his own she had recoiled from him. So he had immediately taken himself to London
in the hope of easing his frustrations and finding solace in the arms of his
mistress. Yet, once there, he had not done so. All he had done was to take
immediate steps to terminate his liaison with his light-o’-love.

Briony had constantly been in his thoughts throughout his stay
in the capital, his mind’s eye plaguing him with her image both by night and by
day, giving him no peace. Then, when he did return, she saved his life, an act
that was never motivated by any thought of financial gain. Yet, when he
attempted a closer, more physical relationship between them, she seemed to spurn
his advances yet again. Keeping his distance had been somewhat forced upon him.
It hadn’t been what he had wanted. But he was only flesh and blood, after all,
and he dared not trust himself to be around her for too long for fear desire
might overcome restraint and make him forget his promise.

Yet tonight when he had reached for her, she hadn’t recoiled at
his touch, or attempted to break free from his hold. There had been something in
her eyes, too, lurking there behind the evident anxiety over his safety, which
had been so easy to read. If she cared enough to be anxious for his safety,
might she now be willing…?

His heartening reflections were brought to an abrupt cessation
by the familiar sound of a donkey braying, then moments later the murmur of
voices. For a moment only a cloaked figure was visible among the several
substantial bushes in the extensive shrubbery. Then it disappeared and other
dark moving shadows began to follow down the sloping ground towards the cliff
face. When all was silent again, Luke nodded, the signal for Ben Carey to make
his way carefully out of the extensive grounds surrounding Petersham House.
Although impeded somewhat by the injured right knee, Ben was able to move with
surprising agility when the need arose and, more importantly, as stealthily as a
cat. He had disappeared from view almost at once, on his way to liaise with both
Colonel Maitland and Lieutenant Henshaw, who should, if all had gone according
to plan, be stationed in the wood beyond the great house.

Alone, Luke let his thoughts begin to wander again back to the
Manor and to a certain very special someone who, although undoubtedly abed at
this hour, was unlikely to be asleep. He gave himself a mental shake. Now was
not the time to lose one’s concentration, he told himself, forcing himself to
stay alert. His vigilance was quickly rewarded by clear movements in the
shrubbery. The booty was being carried up from the cove and strapped on to the
backs of the donkeys. This was the danger time for the smugglers, of course, the
time when, if caught with the goods, they risked transportation to the
Antipodes, or worse.

The pack animals, now heavily laden, began to make their slow
assent to the road. A long line of them, perhaps two dozen in all, Luke judged,
made their way through the cover of the shrubbery, with half as many men. It
would make a substantial haul for the young Customs’ Riding officer, if all went
well. But he himself was after a different quarry, one that had yet to make the
return journey from the cove.

His vigilance and patience was again rewarded. The tall figure
swathed in the voluminous dark cloak once again appeared between two large
clumps of bushes. The result Luke had striven for so long to achieve was almost
within his grasp. Emerging from behind the marble statue, which had concealed
him so well, he crossed the grassy area towards the shrubbery.

‘Well met, Miles,’ he said, instantly arresting the cloaked
figure’s assent and making him visibly start.

‘Good gad, Kingsley!’ Not attempting to effect an escape, Miles
emerged from the shrubbery, all at once seeming poised and in full control of
himself. He even managed what looked remarkably like a semblance of a smile. ‘It
would be foolish of me to ask what you’re doing on my father’s land. I should
have trusted my instincts where you were concerned. I couldn’t quite understand
what had induced you to remain for so long in this part of the world. Though I
must confess I did come to believe your affection for your wife was
genuine.’

‘You did not err over that, at least,’ Luke assured him. ‘I
love my wife.’

‘And your country, too, it would seem.’ His eyes strayed
momentarily to the gun clasped in Luke’s hand. ‘Unlike you, I am unarmed.’

‘The only thing you are carrying is a deal of traitor’s gold, I
do not doubt,’ Luke responded, catching sight of the huge bulging bag beneath
the cloak, held fast in Miles’s gloved hand. Any sympathy he might have retained
for his captive died in that moment. ‘Does it never plague your conscience to
wonder how many lives have been lost because of your treachery?’

The smile this time was not pleasant. ‘I’m afraid I cannot
afford such honourable sentiments. But I cannot help wondering just what proof
you have of my guilt.’ He looked about for effect. ‘Where are your witnesses,
pray? I was merely disturbed by a noise and came out to investigate.’ He held up
the bulging leather bag almost tauntingly. ‘And who is there to say that I
didn’t very nearly have a run in with smugglers and happened to find this?’

‘The individual stationed in the rocky outcrop adjacent to the
cove, for one,’ Luke enlightened him. Even in the dark he was able to see a
frisson of fear flickering across Miles’s aristocratic features and gained a
modicum of satisfaction. ‘What a shadowy fellow he is. His identity is known to
so very few. But unlike you, Petersham, he is loyal to his country. He has been
living in France these past three years and knows very many French agents by
sight. I do not doubt he’ll confirm that the person you met on the beach is none
other than a French spy who frequently makes trips across the Channel.’

The sound of gunfire, shouts and shrill cries then broke the
silence of the night, clear proof that Lieutenant Henshaw, with the help of the
militia, was actively engaged in his mission.

‘And if that is insufficient to prove your guilt,’ Luke
continued, heartened by the noises that filled the night air, ‘I’m sure your
cousin Simon Petersham, now in the hands of the authorities, will soon be
persuaded to reveal all. The treatment of traitors is not…pleasant.’

‘No, I cannot imagine it is,’ Miles agreed, a moment before a
sound somewhere behind him in the shrubbery momentarily caught both men’s
attention.

Miles reacted in a flash. He hurled the bag of gold coins at
Luke, knocking the pistol from his hold, a moment before the sound of heavily
running footsteps reached his ears, and he turned to see none other than the one
who had, for many years, been responsible for the concealing and distribution of
the smuggled goods heading towards him.

‘Master, master! The militia were waiting for—’

‘Shoot him, you damned fool!’ Miles cut in, and before Luke
could even attempt to reach his pistol lying a few feet away, a loud report had
rung out. A moment later the Petersham’s head groom was clasping his right wrist
in agony, his pistol, like Luke’s, lying on the ground a few feet away from
where he stood, and Colonel Maitland, closely followed by Ben Carey, was
emerging from the shrubbery. Miles Petersham, however, was now nowhere to be
seen.

Luke was not unduly concerned and turned gratefully to the
Colonel. ‘I cannot tell you how thankful I am you arrived when you did. A second
or two more and I don’t think I would be talking to you now. Damned fine
shooting, Maitland!’

The soldier appeared puzzled. ‘But I didn’t shoot the fellow,
Kingsley,’ he assured him, ‘and neither did your servant here. The shot, as far
as I could discern, came from somewhere in the shrubbery, over yonder.’

Following the direction of the officer’s pointing finger, Luke
tried to pierce the gloom, but in vain. ‘Then who the devil…?’

‘Whoever it was more than likely saved your life,’ Colonel
Maitland pointed out, while keeping his own pistol firmly levelled at the
Petershams’ head groom. ‘More to the point, though…where’s the man you were
talking with…Miles Petersham, wasn’t it?’

‘It was,’ Luke confirmed. ‘It’s unlikely he’ll get far.’ His
tone betrayed his indifference to Miles’s fate, even before he added, ‘He might
attempt to catch the attention of the French spy and his companions before they
embark on the return journey across the Channel. If he succeeds, he won’t be
showing his face back in England for many a long year…if ever. No doubt when
you’ve men available you can instigate a search. No matter what the outcome, my
task here is finished. This particular spy network cannot operate in the future,
and that was all that ever concerned me.’

Chapter Fifteen

M
iles Petersham’s body had been found among
the rocks at the foot of the cliff the following day. In the various newspapers
his death had been reported as a tragic accident, as had his cousin’s, whose
battered remains had been discovered a week later in a London street early one
morning; the result, it had been strongly suspected, of an accident involving a
heavy cart.

Whether Simon Petersham’s demise had been an accident or not,
Briony had no way of knowing for sure. But she knew for a fact that Miles’s
death had been no such thing, because she had happened to be there to witness
the event, concealed in the shrubbery, until such time as she had felt able to
slip away unobserved. She had watched him hurry to the cliff edge and throw
himself over. Seemingly he had preferred that way out rather than suffering the
ignominy of standing trial as a traitor and, ultimately, the hangman’s rope.

She had revealed what she had witnessed to no one, not even to
Luke. But then she had hardly been granted the opportunity to do so, she
reminded herself, as she rode into town one bright, late September morning,
almost six weeks later.

So much had happened since that dreadful night, she reflected.
Luke had left for London the following day and had remained in the capital for
almost a month. He had returned to Dorset in time for the trial, during which
four of the smugglers—including the Petershams’ head groom, whose right hand
still bore the evidence of her unerring accuracy with a pistol—had received the
death sentence; the others had been sentenced to transportation. A week later it
had been reported in the newspapers that three of those destined for the
Antipodes had escaped during the journey to the port. Luke, having organised
everything himself, had then travelled to Plymouth in order to see the three,
together with close relatives, safely on their way to the New World.

It had been deemed too risky for Mary to be there to see her
brother one last time before he began his new life, but this had not made the
parting in any way easier for poor Mary to bear, as Briony well knew. She had
taken it upon herself to bring the news of Will’s safe parting from England
herself. Mary had wept copiously and Briony could only hope, as she entered the
shop, that Mary was beginning to come to terms with the separation from her only
living relative. One glance was sufficient to assure her that, although not
appearing blissfully content, Mary was at least keeping herself occupied and not
giving way to deep depression.

‘It will take me a while to get used to Will not being here,’
she admitted, leading the way into her private room at the back of the shop.
‘But I’d much rather he make a new life for himself in America than risk staying
here because of me. I’ve heard there’s a deal of bad feeling about, especially
in and around the villages along the coast. And there’s even talk about Lord
Petersham’s son having been involved in the goings-on.’

‘Yes, I know,’ Briony responded. ‘And it is only to be
expected. A dozen local men taken out of the community in one night is bound to
give rise to a deal of ill feeling. But folk can speculate all they want. No one
knows for sure who betrayed the gang. So you’re in no danger. Luke has seen to
that.’

This brought a semblance of a smile to Mary’s lips. ‘I can
never thank your husband enough for what he’s done for Will and me, and the
others. Not only did he ensure their freedom, he arranged for each of them to
receive sufficient funds to begin a new life. If they do not succeed, they’ve
only themselves to blame.’

‘Luke said something about Will intending to start up a
blacksmith’s business with his money. If he possesses anything like his sister’s
determination, I’m sure he’ll prosper. And speaking of which,’ Briony continued,
‘have you given any more thought to enlarging your business here, as I
suggested, by giving part of the shop over to millinery?’

‘I’ve certainly considered it,’ Mary acknowledged. ‘And if
you’re willing to finance me, I shall consider it very seriously. But ought you
not to discuss it with Mr Kingsley first?’

‘I shall. But I don’t for a moment suppose he’ll have the least
objection,’ Briony assured her, pulling on her gloves, ready to leave. She
frowned as she rose from the chair. ‘Truth to tell, I’ve seen so little of him
in recent weeks, what with all that unfortunate business concerning the
Petershams and the trial. But I’ll make a point of seeking him out the moment I
get back home. Besides which, there are one or two things I’ve delayed quite
long enough telling him. One of which I know for a fact won’t please him very
much at all!’

* * *

When she arrived back at the Manor Briony went straight
upstairs to her room, intending to change out of her habit before searching Luke
out. An assortment of odd noises from the adjoining chamber quickly captured her
attention, however, instantly arousing her curiosity; after a moment’s
indecision she headed towards the communicating door, deciding that, if their
marriage was ever to become one in more than name only, she had better begin now
as she meant to go on.

Luke made no attempt to hide his surprise as he turned to see
her enter his private apartments for the very first time. He even checked for a
moment before placing the book he was holding with some others in a wooden
crate. ‘Is something amiss?’

‘Yes…I mean, no, not really.’ During the ride home she had
mentally rehearsed precisely what she was going to say, but all at once she
didn’t seem able to formulate the words. Desperate to regain her nerve, she
decided it might be best if she began with the easier confession.

‘I mean…I’ve something to tell you…something I meant to tell
you weeks ago, but somehow never seemed to get round to doing so.’

For a young woman who was usually so self-assured, this display
of unease was unusual indeed! He smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging way.
‘You find me positively agog with curiosity. What is this deep dark secret
you’ve been keeping to yourself, Briony?’

‘I—I witnessed Miles Petersham’s death,’ she confessed, before
she could change her mind. His response was to stare at her in silence. ‘Don’t
you understand, Luke? I was there.’

All at once everything was clear to him and he slowly shook his
head at her, quite unable to suppress another smile. ‘I ought to be furiously
angry with you,’ he at last acknowledged. ‘But how the devil can I be? So it was
you who fired that shot that possibly saved my life…saved it for a second
time.’

All at once the soft expression vanished and she was surprised
to detect a suggestion of anguish flit over his features before he turned to
collect several more books from a table and begin to add them to the contents of
the crate.

‘Thank you seems such inadequate recompense for all you’ve done
for me, Briony,’ he said softly and without looking at her. ‘But there is no way
I could adequately repay you…except perhaps in just one way.’

So fixed had she become on his actions that she was hardly
aware of a word he’d said. ‘Wh-what are you doing?’ She appreciated at once that
it had been the most foolish thing to have asked him, because it was patently
obvious what he was doing. What wasn’t so evident was just why he was doing
it.

‘I’m taking some of my aunt’s books with me. I hope you don’t
object. They’re all I want.’

‘Of course I don’t object,’ she hurriedly assured him, before a
spasm of unease began to gnaw at her insides. ‘You—you have more right to them
than anyone… But—but where are you taking them?’

‘With me to London,’ he answered shortly, after collecting a
further pile and placing them with their fellows in the crate.

The knotting inside all at once became much more intense.
‘You’re returning to the capital…but why?’

Again one brow was raised, only this time its angle was
decidedly mocking. ‘Can you have failed to remember that in less than two weeks
we shall have been married a full six months?’

It was the last thing she wanted to hear, but she refused to
give way to despondency. Not until she heard it from his own lips that he
desired the marriage to end would she lose all hope.

‘Well…? What of it?’

Again Luke studied her for a moment in frowning silence,
uncertainty clearly mirrored in his attractive grey eyes. ‘If I remain longer,
Briony, the inheritance will be divided evenly. We shall become joint owners of
this property, although…I could soon afterwards arrange for the property to be
made over to you in full, but…’ Once again he studied her in silence. ‘But why
wait, Briony? This way you’ll have it all, and quite legally.’

‘But I don’t want it all,’ she assured him softly, knowing in
her heart of hearts that this was her final chance to attempt to reveal her
complete change of heart. ‘There’s only one thing I want…and that’s you,
Luke.’

When he didn’t attempt to move and continued to stare at her as
though he still didn’t perfectly understand just what she was attempting to
convey—or, worse, didn’t wish to understand—she truly did begin to feel she’d
left it all too wretchedly late, that he had made up his mind to regain his
bachelor state no matter what.

‘I know the reason for our marriage was highly unconventional,
but I thought…’ She faltered as she watched that endearing, crooked half-smile
flicker round his mouth, then took immediate courage from it. ‘Well, what I’m
trying to say is that I thought for the most part we rubbed along quite well
together…that we had, surprisingly enough, much in common. So I do not perfectly
understand why you’re—you’re so eager to leave if…if you’ve been happy here. At
least your being here has made me so very happy.’

After what seemed an eternity he at last moved slowly towards
her, his eyes all at once lit by a satisfied glow. When he finally stood before
her he raised his hands to cup her face and began to trace the outline of soft,
full lips with his thumb.

‘No, I didn’t fall madly in love with you at first sight,
Briony,’ he freely admitted. ‘But it wasn’t so very long after our marriage had
taken place, before those first tender emotions made themselves felt and rapidly
deepened.’

All at once he sighed, and when he spoke again the husky timbre
had disappeared from his voice to be replaced by a note of resolve. ‘It hasn’t
been easy for me living here. Bittersweet, one might say. And I’m not prepared
to continue in that vein any longer. I’m a man, with a man’s needs. If I remain
here, let us be clear about one thing—our marriage will cease to be one in name
only. I shall exert all my rights as a husband and our marriage could never then
be annulled. In other words, you will be tied to me for life.’

For all the world it sounded like a threat, yet to Briony’s
ears it was like a sweet promise of blissful contentment to come. Reaching up
one hand, she placed it against his cheek.

‘Stay,’ she said simply.

He uttered a shout of triumph. Then all at once she was in his
arms. ‘Put me down at once!’ she ordered, half-laughing. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,
Luke, remember your arm!’

‘My arm healed weeks ago. And even if it were not the case, it
wouldn’t prevent me from doing something I should have done months ago,’ he told
her firmly, then sensibly put a stop to any further protestations on her part by
covering her mouth with his own as he carried her inexorably towards the room’s
most prominent feature.

* * *

Down in the kitchen quite some time later, Janet was
putting the finishing touches to the apple pies she had made before sliding them
into the oven. ‘I fancy the mistress is rather late returning from her ride,
young Daisy,’ she remarked, after noting the time.

‘Oh, no, she’s back,’ the kitchen maid assured her. ‘I saw my
brother Tom leading mistress’s horse into the stable an hour since, or
more.’

‘Really? How strange she hasn’t rung!’ Janet muttered, more to
herself, then shrugged. ‘I expect Alice went to attend her.’

‘Don’t think so. Alice’s been busy in the drawing room most all
the morning. She’d taken all the curtains down for washing, remember?’

Janet glanced at the clock again. ‘It isn’t like the mistress
not to come down to the kitchen by this time. I wonder what can be keeping her?
I’d best go check nothing’s amiss.’

As she crossed the hall, Janet caught the sound of Alice’s
cheerful humming coming from the drawing room and realised that young Daisy had
told her no less than the truth. Rather than interrupt the parlour-maid at work,
she decided to go up and check on the mistress herself, and was rather surprised
to find the bedchamber empty. More surprising still was the discovery that no
habit hung in the wardrobe, nor was it lying discarded across the bed. Curious,
but not unduly alarmed, she was on the point of searching for her mistress
elsewhere when she detected the murmur of voices from the adjoining room—one
definitely masculine; the other clearly feminine.

Her eyes widened in dawning wonder. ‘Never!’ she exclaimed
before she could stop herself, then clapped a hand across a mouth that was now
beaming with untold delight.

Her conscience smote her, but not sufficiently enough to stop
her from tiptoeing across to the door and pressing an ear firmly against the
wooden barrier. Soft murmurings interspersed with moans of pleasure was music to
her ears.

Beaming with satisfaction, Janet tiptoed from the room just in
time to intercept the valet as he headed for the master bedchamber, armed with a
pile of newly starched cravats.

‘Well met, Mr Smethers!’ Grasping his arm, she succeeded in not
only stopping him in his tracks, but turning him in the opposite direction. ‘The
master and mistress are—er—engaged at present and don’t wish to be disturbed
under any circumstances. So I think we’d best go back down to the kitchen and
wait for one or the other to ring. Besides which, I’ve just put an apple pie in
the oven and would value your opinion on the new recipe. And I’m sure I can find
a drop of something to help wash it down…to celebrate, like.’