Anne Ashley (9 page)

‘You mustn’t mind Luke, Dr Mansfield,’ she found herself saying
in her husband’s defence, waving her free hand in an airy, dismissive gesture in
the hope it might make her appear sublimely unconcerned. ‘He has spent far too
much time in the capital in recent years and sometimes forgets that standards of
behaviour accepted there are not viewed with the same degree of tolerance here
in the country.’

Even as she uttered the words she felt the excuse sounded lame.
But what else could she say—that she had been stupid enough to ally herself with
an out-and-out profligate? But he wasn’t like that, not deep down, instinct
suddenly assured her. He had been the most charming and considerate of
companions during these past couple of weeks. So why this sudden change in
character? It was almost as if he was putting on an act… But for whose benefit?
she couldn’t help wondering.

Bewilderment must have been clearly discernible in her face,
for in the next moment both her hands were being held in the most warmly
consoling clasp and she was being studied through eyes that continued to betray
gentle concern.

‘I know we have been acquainted for no very great length of
time, so I can only hope you do not think me too forward when I say that, had I
not been out of the county at the time, I would have done my utmost to dissuade
you from marrying someone who was, to all intents and purposes, a virtual
stranger. I sincerely trust it was not monetary concerns that persuaded you into
such a hurried alliance?’ He drew her unresistingly closer. ‘That would be a
bitter blow indeed to a gentleman whose sincerest wish has always been to stand
your friend since first setting eyes upon you.’

How on earth was she supposed to react to that? The one thing
she most needed at the moment was a friend and confidant, perhaps even a broad
shoulder upon which to rest her head and gain comfort. To confide in this man,
though, would be to betray Luke’s trust and break her word.

Just when she thought she might weaken and succumb to the
gentle attentions of a gentleman to whom she had been attracted from the first,
she detected the sound of a firm tread on gravel.

‘I trust I do not intrude,’ Luke remarked in that infuriatingly
drawled voice he’d affected for most of the evening. He turned to the doctor,
his expression, if anything, hardening. ‘Your sister requested me to find you,
sir. She is wishful for you to partner her in a game of whist.

‘No, I shall ensure my wife’s safe return to the house,’ he
added, cutting across the doctor’s polite invitation to escort Briony back and
inducing her to intervene before any antipathy between the two men could begin
to develop.

‘Yes, do return, sir,’ she urged him, with a reassuring smile.
‘I shall join you presently.’

The instant he was out of earshot her expression changed and
she rounded on Luke, only to be thwarted in her determination to ease her sense
of ill usage in a blistering tirade by his demand to know what she meant by
permitting Dr Mansfield to hold her in his arms.

Stunned by the accusation, she almost gaped up at him. ‘I was
not in his arms!’ she refuted hotly, rapidly regaining her poise. ‘He was merely
holding my hands for…for comfort, that was all.’

He held out his own. ‘Give them to me.’

A hard lump of raw emotion suddenly lodged itself in her throat
and she instinctively took a step away, all at once feeling confused and
vulnerable. Dr Mansfield didn’t make her feel that way, didn’t make her pulse
rate soar and the palms of her hands suddenly feel hot and sticky. He was kind,
dependable, whereas the man she had married could change in an instant into a
virtual stranger, a conceited Lothario with no thought for anyone save himself.
It would be madness even to think of becoming close to such a one, she told
herself roundly, thrusting her hands behind her back in order to resist
temptation. Such men only took advantage of a woman’s vulnerability. And that
was precisely what Luke had done when he had proposed a union between them, she
all at once realised, though for what reason he had done so continued to elude
her.

‘Oh, very well, if you prefer the meaningless attentions of a
pretentious and ambitious country practitioner,’ he returned, lowering his
hands. He had sounded annoyed and she realised he assuredly was, as his next
words proved. ‘But be very careful, madam wife, that you do not allow your
partiality for that particular gentleman’s company to induce you to commit any
indiscretion. Remember your pledge… It will cost you dear should you ever forget
it during the period I remain at the Manor.’

The threat was clear enough. Far from making her appreciate her
precarious position in the farcical union she’d transacted, the reminder only
served to stoke her anger.

‘How dare you stand there, brass-faced, and attempt to
criticise my conduct!’ Just how she resisted the temptation to box his ears
soundly she was ever afterwards to wonder. ‘I’ve done everything humanly
possible at least to appear the devoted wife, whereas you, sir, have acted in a
manner so typical of many of your sex—selfish, pleasure-seeking and
debauched!’

Likening him to her own father had clearly touched a very raw
spot indeed. His eyes narrowed and he grasped her wrist with the speed of a
snake striking and held it in a unbreakable clasp.

‘My behaviour is not the issue here, madam. But yours is,’ he
reminded her through clenched teeth, his face a matter of an inch or two only
away from her own. ‘How I conduct myself is my own affair. Never forget
that.’

He released her then, almost thrusting her away, as though he
couldn’t bear to touch her a moment longer. He remained very angry, yet behind
the intractable expression there was a flicker of regret.

‘It has never been my intention to cause you the least
embarrassment or distress, believe that.’ He paused for a moment to rub
impatient fingers through his hair. ‘But just remember, we’ll rub along much
better if you just accept me as I am and maintain your promise.’

* * *

Easily said, she thought later, as she finally clambered
into her bed, relieved that the ordeal was finally over. How she had ever
managed to maintain the appearance of a contented young wife for the remainder
of the evening she would never know! Yet, had it truly been such an irksome
task? Honesty obliged her silently to acknowledge a moment later that it had
not.

When they had returned to the drawing room together and had set
up tables for those wishing to play cards, Briony had detected a subtle change
in Luke’s demeanour. Yes, he had continued to flirt with Melissa Petersham, at
least while she had partnered him in several games of whist. But for the most
part he had seemed content to enjoy the company of his male guests, most
especially that of Miles Petersham and Sir Henry’s son Claud. And perhaps it
wasn’t so difficult to understand why, she reasoned. After all, hadn’t all three
much in common? All were known to take pleasure in similar vices—gaming and
frequenting the fleshpots of the capital!

The instant the explanation passed through her mind she chided
herself for the spiteful comparison. Luke wasn’t a namby-pamby popinjay like
Claud Willoughby, who took refuge with his relations whenever in dun territory.
Nor did she honestly suppose his temperament was so very similar to that of Lord
Petersham’s son. She had already decided there was something distinctly sly and
untrustworthy about that particular gentleman.

Yes, and that was it! she all at once realised. One could never
be quite sure what Miles Petersham was thinking or feeling. Much remained hidden
behind that impassive countenance and those unemotional dark eyes.

But didn’t Luke remain an enigma, too? Look how he’d behaved
tonight, she reminded herself. Why, she’d almost foolishly come to believe he
was one of the most considerate gentlemen of her acquaintance, until she’d
witnessed his behaviour at the dinner party—a flirtatious, weak-minded buffoon
who couldn’t hold his liquor!

Realisation hit her with all the force of a physical blow,
almost making her gasp as she sat bolt upright in bed. Luke might indeed be a
womaniser—the jury was still very much out on that particular issue. One thing
he was not, though, was a fool. And he most certainly hadn’t been drunk, she
decided, recalling with painful clarity that unfortunate interlude between them
in the garden. True, she’d detected the smell of wine on his breath, but his
gaze had been direct, piercingly so, and there hadn’t been so much as a slur in
his speech, nor a suggestion of a stagger in his gait. It had all been an act…
But why?

All at once consumed with curiosity, Briony abandoned any
thought of sleep. Tossing the bedcovers aside, she managed to locate her
slippers and dressing gown without the need of a candle and had similar ease
descending the stairs, aided by a bright moon in the cloudless night sky. Once
in the dining room she closed the door, then did feel the need for an artificial
light in order to scrutinise the decanters and bottles on the sideboard, which
thankfully the servants had delayed clearing away.

Most all the bottles were empty, save three, all of which still
contained varying levels of liquid. One was clearly the white wine served with
the dessert; a small sample of another proved to contain one of the red wines
served earlier during the meal. She poured out a little from the third bottle,
which also held a red liquid, and was surprised to discover it was weak in the
extreme, obviously diluted with water. Her eyes narrowed. If this was what Luke
had been tossing down his throat quite freely throughout most of the meal, it
was little wonder he had seemed stone-cold sober during their contretemps in the
garden. The truth of the matter was, of course, he had been in full possession
of his faculties. Yet he had attempted to give the impression throughout most of
the evening of being quite otherwise. Her eyes narrowed. How very
intriguing!

It was at that moment, when she had just begun to ponder over
why Luke should have ordered the footman to replenish his glass only from that
particular bottle, that she detected a sound in the hall, the lightest footfall
on the stairs. She blew out the candle in case the flickering light should be
detected beneath the door. The last thing she wanted was to be found loitering
in the dining room at this time of night. It would appear strange indeed, and
would undoubtedly give rise to a deal of speculation.

She detected the sound of footsteps again, crossing the hall
this time in the direction of the kitchen. A servant, perhaps? It seemed odd,
for in general the staff kept to the back stairs. She listened for what seemed
an age for a further sound that might indicate whoever it might be was returning
to bed, but she heard nothing at all.

Although it was early June and the night was warm, she
shivered, possibly through apprehension. The long-case clock in the hall chimed
the quarter, making her start, and she decided she’d waited quite long enough.
Relighting the candle, she left the dining room and paused for a moment, unsure
what to do, then curiosity overcoming fear decided the matter.

To her intense surprise she found the kitchen dark and
deserted, the bolts securely thrown across the door. Had she allowed her
imagination to run wild?

It seemed so, for where was the mystery prowler now?

Chapter Seven

W
hen Briony awoke later than usual the
following morning, all thoughts of discovering the identity of the previous
night’s mysterious prowler instantly receded to the back of her mind when she
was told that Luke had left for London and expected to be away for at least two
weeks, or possibly longer. As she consumed her breakfast alone she didn’t know
whether to feel relieved, or slightly aggrieved, by this their first separation
since the wedding had taken place.

To be fair, she had absolutely no right to feel annoyed, she
reminded herself. After all, hadn’t he made it clear from the first that he had
every intention of visiting the capital from time to time? But even so, why had
he made no mention of his intention to do so? Why be so secretive, for heaven’s
sake? Surely he hadn’t feared she might wish to accompany him there?

Sighing, she pushed the half-finished breakfast away from her.
She very much envied Luke in a way. Undeniably, if she got away from the Manor
from time to time it might make the next few months easier for her to get
through, too. But where could she go? She had no close relations she could
visit, at least none that had ever been willing to recognise her.

Having strongly objected to the marriage, her mother’s only
brother had severed all contact even before Briony had been born. She knew she
had cousins, but had never met them. Her paternal relations had remained equally
remote. Her grandfather, Lord Winters, had died before she was born, and his
offspring had soon squandered the wealth he had accumulated in his lifetime. Her
grandfather’s heir had succumbed to typhoid and her other uncle had died in the
service of his Majesty’s Navy.

Placing her elbows on the table, Briony rested her chin on her
hands. No, the only people she knew lived round here. She could always pay a
visit to Bath, she supposed, only to dismiss the notion a moment later as
ludicrous. What would be the point in going there? She wouldn’t know a soul. So
where was the sense in putting herself to the expense of staying in a Bath
hotel?

As if by a natural progression of thought she realised that
Luke would not have visited the capital merely for a change of scenery. No, he
would have had some definite purpose for making the journey. And it wasn’t too
difficult to guess what that single purpose might be—a long-overdue visit to his
mistress! After all, what else could have taken him there?

All at once something distinctly unpleasant began to gnaw at
her insides, an emotion she’d never experienced before, inducing her to abandon
any attempt to eat or drink anything further. Rising from the table, she gave
orders for her chestnut mare to be brought round from the stables and remained
in the house only long enough to don her riding habit. She needed a brisk gallop
to clear her head, to discover a way of not brooding or dwelling on matters over
which she had absolutely no control. Fresh air was the best remedy she knew.

Whether it was because she couldn’t quite thrust Luke’s
unexpected desertion out of her mind entirely, Briony suddenly realised she had
automatically taken the winding lane that led to the coast road, the ride that
Luke was so fond of exploring. Annoyed with herself, she was on the point of
turning her mare eastwards when the groom happened to mention that he hadn’t
explored the area in many a long year.

Briony simply couldn’t find it within herself selfishly to deny
him the pleasure of reacquainting himself with the ancient coastal road. It was
while Sam was regaling her with those smuggling tales of old and Lord
Petersham’s country mansion, set high on a cliff overlooking a bay, came into
view, that Briony noticed none other than the young Customs’ Riding officer
coming towards them.

‘Good morning, Lieutenant Henshaw,’ she greeted him, thereby
inducing him to stop.

The lieutenant was a very serious young man, not given to
smiling much, though he made a half-hearted attempt to do so as he doffed his
hat politely. His sharp dark eyes then slid briefly in the groom’s
direction.

‘Your husband not accompanying you today, ma’am, I see. I’m
rather surprised. I frequently come upon him riding this way, as do my men.’

Was it pure imagination on her part, or had there been some
sinister underlying meaning in what on the surface had been a simple observation
on his part? ‘You’ll not see him today…not for several days, as it happens,’ she
informed him, now very much on her guard. ‘He has business in London.’

Although he made no comment, she knew he had digested the
information. Then, as he turned his head to scan the bay far below, she noticed
those sharp eyes of his narrow almost speculatively.

‘Are you on the lookout for smugglers even at this time of day,
Lieutenant? No one would be foolish enough to attempt to land goods during
daylight hours, surely?’

‘You’d be surprised how bold some of the free traders can be,
ma’am. But, no, it isn’t usual. They prefer the cover of darkness. The Customs’
cruisers and Revenue cutters do a deal to deter the illicit trade, but it still
goes on all along the coast. Of course our job would be made much easier if
certain people in the community didn’t actively encourage the trade by providing
a profitable market for smuggled goods.’

As he had spoken his eyes had strayed briefly in the direction
of the large mansion overlooking the bay. Consequently, Briony couldn’t help
wondering whether he had been alluding to the Petersham family in particular.
She had no way of knowing whether Lord Petersham had paid duty on all his stocks
of brandy and rum down the years, or had been happy to accept smuggled goods.
All the same, she wasn’t so naïve as to suppose there weren’t plenty round and
about who would be only too happy to pay less for a variety of wares.

Unbidden, a vision of the delightful dark blue dress, now
hanging in her wardrobe, flashed before her mind’s eye yet again and she
hurriedly looked out to sea, lest her expression betray the guilty secret to
those ever-watchful dark eyes, before remarking, ‘Well, I’m certain of one
thing—my late godmother wasn’t one of their number, sir.’

‘Perhaps not, ma’am. But I know for a fact the Manor once had
strong links to the trade, very strong indeed. And it would be foolish to
suppose it might never be so again.’ He touched his hat. ‘Good day to you,
ma’am.’

Troubled, Briony watched him ride away. Now, what had been the
implication that time? That Luke might be connected in some way with free
trading, just because he happened to enjoy riding along the coast road? What did
he imagine Luke was attempting to do—monitor the movements of the Customs’
officials and the Customs’ cruisers? Why, that was just ridiculous, she told
herself.

All the same, a seed of doubt was being sown as memory stirred
and she recalled the late-night prowler. Might it have been Luke and not, as she
had first supposed, a servant? And, if so, what could possibly have induced him
to go a-wandering again?

* * *

By the time she had returned to the Manor and had
questioned all the servants in an attempt to discover if one of them had just
happened to wander down to the kitchen for any reason the night before, and had
received a firm denial from each and every one of them in response, that newly
seeded doubt began to grow at an alarming rate.

The late-night wanderer could only have been Luke, surely? And
it had not been the first time he’d been on the prowl at a distinctly odd hour,
she reminded herself, her eyes automatically straying in the direction of the
cellar door.

‘And what makes you suppose any one of us would want to get out
of bed in the dead of night and go wandering about the place, that’s what I’d
like to know?’ Janet remarked a little testily, as she continued to beat the
mixture in her bowl with undue vigour, thereby sending her mobcap askew. ‘We
were all tired out after the extra work the party had caused us. Why, the young
footman James was dead on his feet, poor lad! I told him to leave putting the
dining room to rights until morning.’

Yes, and I’m rather glad you did,
Briony mused, deciding there and then that she must question the footman
further, when she could manage to catch him alone. She then favoured the
housekeeper with her full attention once again and couldn’t fail to detect that
troubled look Janet wore all too often nowadays.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked gently, the instant the young maid
hired to help about the kitchen had disappeared into the scullery. ‘And don’t
try to pretend there’s nothing amiss. We’ve known each other too long. You’re as
cross-grained as can be over something this morning.’

‘And so would you be, miss,’ Janet returned, continuing to
attack the mixture in the bowl as though to vent her spleen. ‘I go to the
trouble of getting up bright and early so that I have everything prepared for
the master’s breakfast, only to be told he’s taken himself off to London. It’s
only common courtesy to let me know if he’s going to be away so that I can
prepare menus for the week in advance. Now, I’ll need to redo them all!’

She had sounded genuinely aggrieved, and to a certain extent
Briony could appreciate why, while at the same time silently acknowledging to
whom she owed her allegiance.

‘It isn’t for you to question your master’s actions, Janet,’
she admonished. ‘And whilst we’re on the subject, might I remind you that I’m no
longer a child, but a woman, and, moreover, mistress here. I shall not tolerate
being rebuked in such a fashion, not even by you, when others might so easily
overhear. If you have any grievances, you may always speak with me in
private.’

The reprimand, though gently delivered, didn’t lack the note of
authority and it seemed all at once to undermine the housekeeper’s resolve. One
moment she was beating the cake mix as though her very life depended upon it,
the next she was slumped in the chair, sobbing into her apron as though she
carried the cares of the world on her shoulders.

Instantly forgetting her own concerns, Briony seated herself at
the table and reached for one hardworking hand, while at the same time casting a
speculative glance in the direction of the scullery. The door was firmly closed;
the sounds of pots clanging together in the sink suggested strongly that the
young maid was busy about her work and hadn’t one ear pressed against the wooden
barrier between the two rooms.

‘What’s wrong, Janet? You said the work isn’t too much for you,
but you haven’t seemed yourself for quite some little while now.’

No response was forthcoming, though the sobs were thankfully
diminishing. ‘Is it that you haven’t liked the changes at the Manor in recent
weeks…working for a new master and mistress?’

At last Janet raised her head from the folds of her apron,
revealing the hint of a smile behind the sadness. ‘Oh, no, madam, you be a fine
young mistress, kind and considerate. Anyone would be happy to work for you. And
Master Luke, too, come to that.’ All at once that steely hint of resolve was
back in her eyes with a vengeance. ‘But a true wife you are not, nor ever have
been, neither. And it’s no earthly use you trying to say otherwise. I know it’s
a maid you still be!’

Briony hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly hadn’t
been that damning exposé. Her first instinct was to abide by her promise to Luke
and hotly refute it, but Janet’s steely knowing look convinced her she’d be
wasting her breath even to make the attempt.

With a flick of her wrist Janet all at once was holding her
young mistress’s slender hand. ‘What is it, Miss Briony? You can tell me. Is it
Master Luke? Doesn’t he visit your bedchamber at night?’

‘No, he does not,’ she at last admitted, albeit reluctantly.
‘And it’s by mutual agreement, so you mustn’t think badly of your master. And
you mustn’t ask me anything more, please. I promised Luke.’ Raising her eyes,
she saw at once the worry had not diminished one iota from the loyal servant’s
expression. ‘Don’t concern yourself about me. It’s what I want. And you must
also promise me, here and now, that you will never breathe a word to anyone
else. Believe me, Janet, I’m perfectly happy with the way things are.’

A moment’s silence, then, ‘Are you, miss…?’ The scepticism was
clear for anyone to hear. ‘I wonder if you truly know what you really do want
yourself.’

‘Of course I do!’ That was the end of the conversation as far
as Briony was concerned, and she got to her feet. ‘And to prove it, I want you
to accompany me down to the cellar. So bustle about and find us a couple of
candles!’

‘What on earth do you want to go down there for, mistress?’
Janet enquired, instantly doing as bidden, her thoughts, seemingly, having
quickly turned in a new direction.

‘It will serve a dual purpose,’ Briony answered, leading the
way down the stone steps into the dank gloom. ‘Firstly, I wish to have a good
look round, just to assure myself we have adequate supplies of everything,’ she
added artfully. ‘And, secondly, it will serve to keep you from the prying eyes
of the other servants for a while. I don’t want any one of them to discover
you’ve been anything other than your usual cantankerous self.’

Briony detected the unladylike snort, but refrained from
comment as her attention was instantly drawn to what looked like the remains of
a broken bottle and the telltale reddish stain on the floor, surprisingly close
to one of the wine racks where only white dessert wines were stored. ‘Oh, dear,
a casualty of last night’s festivities, no doubt,’ she remarked, instantly
accepting that such occurrences happened from time to time and that one could
hardly blame the servants when they were obliged to carry so many extra supplies
up from the cellar to cater for such occasions.

‘Ah, yes! I recall, now, young James making mention of that
this morning. Said he’d found a broken bottle down here, while he was collecting
stocks to refill the decanters. Swears it wasn’t him that broke it, though,’
Janet revealed, staring down at the stain on the floor. ‘I’ll get young Daisy
down here to clean it up properly.’ She looked about at the general state of the
floor. ‘It could do with a good sweep out, in any case.’