Lord Braybrook’s Penniless Bride (13 page)

Davy grinned, and moved his checker. He looked up, smugly. It jolted Julian to see the likeness to Matt at the same age. And just as delighted to outscore an elder.

‘That’s it,’ said Havergal. ‘Now, I have to throw the dice so that I land on an unoccupied point in your homeboard—and since you have them nicely filled, I can’t move. Your roll again.’

A shaft of irritation went through Julian. He’d taught Matt to play. Somehow he’d not yet got around to it with Davy and here was this…this
outsider
, this Havergal, doing it. Taking his place.

He watched unnoticed as the game continued. Their father had taught him. Would he have taught Davy too had he lived? He tried to be a father to Davy, not just a much older brother. Davy had no memory of their father…The grey head and the small dark
one bent over the board in fierce concentration. An odd thought surfaced—what did Serena think of this? He glanced over and her face ripped him wide open.

She watched both of them, and in her eyes was regret such as he had never imagined. As though she were looking at something irrevocably lost to her. As though all the might-have-beens in the world mocked her. For a split second her fingers whitened on the arms of her Bath chair and she sagged back, her eyes closed…

Havergal’s voice, instructing Davy, faltered slightly and he looked up. At once Serena’s usual cheerful expression fell into place and she smiled at the fellow.

Julian’s heart ached. Serena, infinitely cheerful, infinitely patient with her lot in life…He had known she must find her disability frustrating, but she refused to speak of it, was always so uncomplaining. She made it easy to believe her acceptance complete.

He must have moved slightly, because she looked around.

‘Julian—there you are! Come and meet Mr Havergal, a very old friend of mine. We grew up together.’

An old friend…?

Havergal had risen and was holding out his hand.

‘How do you do, sir?’ said Julian, shaking Havergal’s hand. What, precisely, was meant by an old friend?

‘Very well, my lord. I am pleased to meet you at last. Whenever I call you seem to be from home,’ said Havergal.

The merest glimmer of Serena’s smile, and Julian realised with a stab of shock that she had somehow engineered it that way. Hell’s teeth! He thought back; on Miss Daventry’s last day off, Serena had managed to get rid of the entire household!

‘I don’t think I recognise your name, sir,’ he said mildly. Serena had been her father’s sole heiress; he now owned the small estate and visited it on occasion—surely if they had grown up together the name Havergal should be familiar to him?

‘My father was the Rector,’ said Havergal.

‘You are not in the church, yourself?’ asked Julian.

Havergal shook his head. ‘No. I was a great disappointment to my father there, but my uncle found me a place in his business.’

‘Mr Havergal lived in India, Julian,’ said Davy, his eyes shining. ‘And he has a tiger! A real one!’

Havergal chuckled. ‘You will be giving your brother a very strange notion of me, lad! A real tigerskin
rug
, is what I said. And I did
not
shoot the poor beast myself. It was a gift.’

‘I should like to see it,’ said Davy hopefully.

Havergal smiled. ‘Another time, Davy. It would be a little awkward to carry while I’m riding. My poor horse would have a fit! Some time I shall hire the gig and bring the rug out for you.’

‘Very kind of you,’ remarked Julian. Obviously not a well-inlaid nabob if he had to hire the landlord’s gig. It fitted with the quality of his horse.

‘Can we finish the game, please, sir?’ asked Davy.

‘Of course.’ Havergal sat down again. He glanced up at Julian. ‘You will excuse me, my lord?’

‘Certainly.’

Havergal, noted Julian, was obviously a very skilled player. While he won, it was by a narrow enough margin for Davy to be very, very pleased with himself.

‘I’m improving, aren’t I, sir? Can we play again next time?’ he asked as they packed away the set.

‘If your mother permits,’ said Havergal, with a faint smile at Serena. ‘I should be going now. Perhaps you will walk with me to the stables?’

Davy jumped up. ‘Yes, sir. May I, Mama?’

‘Yes, dear.’ Serena smiled at him. ‘And don’t nag about that tiger!’

‘I’ll come with you as well, if I may, Havergal,’ said Julian, rising.

Davy glared at him. ‘I was only going to
ask
,’ he said. ‘It’s all right to
ask
.’

Havergal chuckled. ‘Quite right, lad. No harm in asking. But let’s put your mother’s mind at rest and consider me asked. I promise you shall see that tiger. Come along. You may ride Rajah down the carriage drive, if you like.’

He took his leave of Serena, and Julian’s hackles rose at the way
the fellow bowed over her hand. He didn’t kiss it, but the way he held it, the intimacy of their parting smile, set alarm bells clanging.

Havergal bowed slightly to him. ‘No need to see me out, my lord. Davy will do admirably.’

And as they left the room, Julian felt a sharp twinge of jealousy to see his small brother according a stranger the hero-worship usually reserved for his elder brothers.

‘And what are your plans for the rest of the day, Julian?’ asked Serena cheerfully.

He raised his brows. ‘Manures. I have a new book on the subject to study. Shall I bring it up here in Miss Daventry’s absence?’

‘Not on my account, dear,’ said Serena. ‘I am sure she will be back shortly.’

‘Serena—this Havergal—’

‘Is a very old and dear friend,’ she told him, her face closing up, and much of the remaining glow dimming. ‘You need not concern yourself. I am neither planning anything foolish, nor indiscreet.’

‘Of course not,’ agreed Julian. In the face of such a clear
mind-your-own-business
sort of response, he dropped the subject. ‘I shall remove myself to the manure heap, then.’

‘You do that,’ said Serena. ‘And, Julian—remember, I am forty-two, not seventeen. And a widow to boot. As you are well aware, widows are not subject to the same restrictions as young girls.’

The book on manures failed to engage him. Bad enough having to worry about Jane Roberts and Nan. Like it or not, they were his responsibility. He had to find a better solution for them that Jane could accept.

And now Serena!
Widows are not subject to the same considerations as young girls
…hell’s teeth, he knew that. None better. But…
Serena
? He just couldn’t picture it—Serena taking a lover. And she was crippled! The doctors had spelt out the risks of another pregnancy after her accident. That was why…of course there were other possibilities, ways of giving and receiving pleasure, but…His cheeks scorched. Damn it! This was
Serena
! His stepmother!

Pushing these thoughts aside, he forced his attention back to his book and began taking notes. He had not made much progress before there was a knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ he said.

The door opened to admit Miss Daventry. Another, even more disturbing distraction. Whatever she wanted, he doubted it was to tell him that she had thought the better of her refusal to become his mistress. Meeting Nan Roberts would have settled that.

He laid down his pen, ignoring the immediate distraction in his breeches. ‘Yes, ma’am?’

‘If you have a moment, my lord, I wish to discuss Alicia with you.’

He repressed the urge to swear. ‘Very well. Leave the door open.’

She flushed. ‘If you wish. I do not doubt your word, my lord.’

He shrugged. ‘Better safe than sorry.’ He gestured to a chair. ‘Please be seated and tell me what is troubling you.’

He listened in growing anger. ‘You believe a meeting was planned?’

‘Yes. They could have arranged it yesterday when she walked to the village with Matthew and Emma. A brief meeting in public—neither Matthew nor Emma would have thought anything of it.’

‘Damn your brother!’ said Julian furiously. ‘He must have told her that he would be passing and cozened her into the meeting! Of all the dishonourable—’

‘She agreed!’ Miss Daventry replied. ‘And Harry’s intentions are perfectly honourable!’ she went on. ‘Which is more than I can say—’ She broke off, her face crimson.

Julian snorted. ‘I’d be better pleased if his intentions
weren’t
honourable. Lissy wouldn’t be such a little fool as to fall for that!’

‘Thank you.’ Shards of ice splintered in her voice.

He realised belatedly that he had expressed himself badly. Very badly.

‘The cases are different, Miss Daventry.’ Hell! That sounded even worse, and, judging by her narrowed eyes and flat mouth, Miss Daventry concurred.

‘Quite, my lord. I have no aristocratic family to disgrace, do I?’

‘No! That is…damn it! That is not what I meant at all!’ he said, aware that he was digging an abyss. ‘Lissy is my sister; I’m supposed to protect her!’

‘But your protective instincts don’t extend to other men’s sisters.’ She looked at him directly. ‘Or wives. It doesn’t matter to you that the consequences for a woman who becomes your mistress might be as disastrous for her as for Alicia if she marries unwisely.’

‘Did you just call me a hypocrite?’

Silence hung quivering. Would she attempt to wriggle off the hook? Back down and apologise?

Her chin went up. ‘Yes. I suppose I did.’

He breathed carefully, and tried to analyse the emotions pouring through him. Fury. Because her words stung. Her contempt burned. Admiration because she had the courage to hold her position. And through it all the lick of desire. The urge to find out if he could still kindle the same response in her. To reassure her that she was wrong. That she didn’t understand…that he would look after her…the word
always
hovered. He shoved it away.

He
never
offered reassurances to women. Just a straightforward offer of intent. Take it or leave it. Definitely not pure, but very simple with no room for misunderstanding. And
always
had nothing to do with it. Ever. Yet with Christy Daventry he was in constant danger of overstepping these boundaries.

He changed the subject. ‘Very well. What do you suggest we do about this situation, Miss Daventry?’

Her hands clenched. ‘That I consider you a hypocrite?’

‘No. Lissy’s foolishness.’

‘Why would you wish for my opinion?’

Why, indeed? Because she was so brutally honest that he valued her judgement? He shied away from that. ‘So far you’ve had little hesitation in stating your opinion,’ he said. ‘Why stop now?’

‘Leave it and remain alert,’ she said. ‘There is no direct proof. If I am wrong and you act, it will increase Alicia’s resentment. If I am right and a meeting was planned, then the fact that it didn’t
work and they were so nearly caught might make her too wary to attempt it again. Especially if she is left uncertain about our suspicions and I keep her busy.’

‘Say nothing?’ he asked. ‘Convenient for your brother.’

She stood up swiftly, jaw set and her eyes blazing. ‘You asked my opinion. I have given it. And if I were concerned with protecting Harry, why tell you in the first place?’

He hung on to his temper. There was something else he had to say to Miss Daventry. ‘Very well, ma’am—one more thing—’

She remained standing. ‘My dismissal?’

His teeth ground audibly. ‘No. My thanks for your kindness to Nan Roberts.’

She stiffened. ‘Unnecessary, my lord. Visiting the sins of fathers on the heads of children is not a failing of mine. And I had a little sister—’ She broke off, her face blank.

His gut clenched. ‘Had?’

‘Sarah died of measles when she was eight. I was sixteen.’

Her voice was expressionless. He could only guess at the agony it hid. He remembered the consuming fear when Davy had caught measles. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. The fear had been bad enough…and Christy had not been spared the grief.

Her glare blazed straight through him. ‘Sorry is an easy word. And in Sarah’s case you have nothing for which to be sorry.
She
was not your responsibility.’ She walked out with her head held high.

Julian stared out the window, his heart aching for the death of a child he had not even known.

T
he next few days saw Amberley in uproar as the Summer Ball approached. Although it seemed to Julian that far fewer problems required his intervention this year, he saw far too much of Miss Daventry. She appeared to have a list permanently in her hand as she directed the staff scurrying about with furniture and linen for the guests who would remain overnight.

Alicia, too, seemed very much taken up with the arrangements. He found her in the library one morning going through menus with the housekeeper.

She looked up as he came in. ‘Oh! I’m sorry, Julian. Are we in your way?’

‘Not at all,’ he said, bemused.

‘Good,’ said Alicia and turned back to Mrs Pritchard. ‘The duckling, then, and green peas. And I think the apricot tart to round the course off.’

‘Very good, Miss Alicia,’ said the housekeeper, tucking her notes away and rising. ‘I’ll tell Cook.’

‘Thank you, Pritch,’ said Alicia. ‘Tell her I’ll come down later to see that all is well.’

‘Very well, Miss Alicia.’ The housekeeper dropped a curtsy and left.

‘You’re doing a good job, Liss,’ said Julian.

Lissy flushed. ‘It’s not me. Mama handed it all to Miss Daventry and Miss Daventry asked me to help with the menus. I’m just doing as I’m told.’

She hadn’t realised that she was being kept out of mischief, thought Julian. Miss Daventry had been right. A warning to Lissy would have resulted in sulking and fuming. Probably trying to come up with ways to sneak out and meet Daventry. Instead she was happily doing something useful.

‘It’s fun, really,’ said Lissy, gathering up several pieces of paper. ‘I thought it would be frightfully boring working out who should sit where at dinner, and what we should eat, but it’s not.’

‘You’ll make some lucky man a very fine wife and hostess one day,’ said Julian, pulling at a glossy curl as he passed behind her chair. Lissy giggled.

‘More likely Miss Daventry would,’ she said. ‘I had the easy job with Pritch. Christy’s out breaking the news to Hickson that he will have to provide flowers for the floral arrangements! I did warn her that he’d probably take a garden fork to her, but she said she could manage one crotchety old gardener!’

‘Christy?’

Alicia shrugged. ‘It’s her name. Short for Christiana. I asked if I might use it, and she said yes.’ She frowned. ‘It’s friendlier, and she’s such a nice person.’

‘I see. Well, if you finished your menus, I am going for a ride. Should you care to come?’

Her face fell. ‘Oh, I’d love to, but I mustn’t. I promised Christy that I would help with the sewing while she gives Davy his French lesson. Thank you, though.’

Nice?
He thought about that after Lissy left the room. It seemed such a bland, boring word to describe Christy—
Miss Daventry
, he corrected himself. Stubborn, blindingly honest, kind. She took people as she found them, whatever society’s opinion. Witness her response to Nan Roberts. Damn it, he supposed she was nice.

He doubted very much that she would return the compliment. Not that he was bothered by that of course, he assured himself.
As a hired dependant she could count herself lucky to still have her position. He ignored an irritating little voice demanding to know how the hell he could have dismissed her for speaking the truth as she saw it. She was a companion, for God’s sake! She wasn’t paid to
have
a mind, let alone speak it. And it didn’t bother him at all if she didn’t think
he
was nice.

Nice.
It
was
a boring word, and very likely closer acquaintance would prove it suited Miss Daventry admirably. Right now he was going for a ride. And he was not going to spare her another thought.

Hallam greeted him in the hall when he returned. ‘You will find her ladyship in the drawing room, my lord. Mrs Pritchard is recovering from her turn, but she is of the opinion that The Creature will give Master Davy nightmares.’

‘What creature, Hallam? What the devil are you talking about?’ asked Julian, stripping off his riding gloves and dropping them with his whip on the refectory table.

‘The Creature Mr Havergal brought,’ explained Hallam. ‘He met Mrs Pritchard on the stairs with it and she Had A Turn. Most unfortunate for the tea tray her ladyship had ordered.’

‘I see,’ said Julian, not seeing at all. ‘I’ll go up to the drawing room then, shall I, and see this, er, Creature for myself.’ He started for the stairs.

‘A very good idea, my lord,’ said Hallam, gathering up the gloves and whip.

Julian found a scene of considerable confusion in the drawing room. Sprawled before the fireplace, snarling ferociously, was…a tiger, upon which Davy sat in glory, Matt and Emma scowling at him. Miss Daventry, seated beside Serena on a sofa, looked as though she were trying hard not to laugh. That cursed dimple flickered in and out of sight, causing his heart to beat painfully fast.

Seeing him, Davy leapt up, flushed, eyes sparkling. ‘Look, Julian! Just look! And it’s
mine
. Not Matt’s or Emma’s.’ This last with a triumphant glare at his siblings.

‘As if
I
want the horrid thing,’ said Emma with an unconvincing sniff.

Matt didn’t bother to deny anything. His lustful gaze at his small brother’s treasure said it all. Julian was conscious of a twinge of envy himself. Of all the things guaranteed to thrill a small boy, a tigerskin rug, complete with snarl and positively lambent glass eyes, had to take the prize. He noted with some satisfaction that Tybalt had retreated to the back of the sofa behind Serena and was fluffed up to twice his normal size. Some very peculiar noises emanated from the affronted cat.

‘Where the devil did that come from?’ he asked Serena, who, to his surprise, blushed.

Davy answered. ‘Mr Havergal brought it. Remember? He told me all about it last time, and I asked if I might see it? And now it’s mine! He said it had belonged to another boy, but he didn’t need it any more so he thought that I should have it.’

‘I see,’ said Julian, casting a very thoughtful look at Serena.

She returned his gaze, her blush deepening. ‘It was very kind of Mr Havergal, Julian.’

‘I’m going to have it in the nursery,’ announced Davy. ‘Mama, may I go into Hereford to thank Mr Havergal? Twigg would take me if I asked.’

Julian stared. ‘I should hope you had thanked Mr Havergal when he gave it to you!’ His mind was working furiously. Could Havergal, who was patently
not
well off, be misinformed as to the terms of Serena’s jointure?

‘I wasn’t
here
,’ said Davy. He cast Miss Daventry a very dirty look. ‘I was in the schoolroom doing French verbs.’ His aggrieved tone expressed to a nicety what a waste of time he thought
that
.

‘Mea culpa,’
said Miss Daventry. ‘Unfortunately, Davy, no matter what you think of my ability to see out of the back of my head, crystal gazing does not come within the purlieu of a respectable governess!’

Julian choked back a laugh.

‘So he left it with Mama,’ said Davy. ‘He couldn’t stay
because he’d hired the landlord’s gig to bring the rug out, and had to take it back. Really, Julian, don’t you think that I
ought
to go and thank him?’

‘Oh, I think so,’ said Julian. Taking Davy to Hereford to thank Havergal would provide the perfect excuse to call upon the gentleman and apprise him of certain facts. Which, if he were not much mistaken, would see an immediate cooling of his attentions to Serena.

‘In fact, Davy,’ he continued, ‘if Miss Daventry has drilled enough French verbs into your head for one morning, we shall go at once.’

Miss Daventry raised her brows. ‘Can you doubt it, my lord?’

Serena laughed. ‘Miss Daventry, may I trouble you to help Davy take the rug up to the nursery first? And Matt, Emma, you may take yourselves off. I require a word in private with Julian.’

His stomach clenched. A private word. About Havergal?

As soon as they were alone she went straight to the point. ‘Before you visit Nigel breathing fire and brimstone, you should know that he has asked me to marry him and that I have accepted.’

Marriage?

He tried to assemble his thoughts. ‘Serena, you know I only wish you to be happy. Are you—?’

‘Perfectly sure,’ she said. ‘We were in love when we were young, but he had no money and my father would have disinherited me for making such a match. I chose not to be a burden on him and he went out to India. Eventually I married your father. Not a love match, but he was kind and very honest about his reasons for remarrying. Convenience and spares in case something happened to you.’

He frowned. ‘Serena—’ he began, but she flung up a hand.

‘No, Julian. You need to understand. We still love each other and there is nothing to keep us apart. He came home because he heard I was widowed—’

‘How convenient.’ He could hardly keep the cynicism from his voice.

Her eyes narrowed. ‘We intend to be married very soon. He
assures me that my lack of fortune will not be a problem, that he can support me comfortably.’

‘And the children?’ he asked. ‘They are in my wardship. Where will you live? Here? That will make supporting you very easy! Can’t you see? The fellow’s using you!’

Sparks spat from the grey eyes levelled at him. ‘If I could reach, Julian, I would box your ears for that! Listen to yourself! Don’t think me ignorant of all the reasons it is unlikely anyone should wish to marry me. He knows that I bring nothing to the marriage—’

He snorted. ‘So of course he’d assume I’d let you starve! He’d have me over a barrel, and he knows it even if you don’t!’

Julian left his curricle and pair in the tender care of Jack Fichett, the head ostler at the New Inn and, hand in hand with Davy, strolled around to the cathedral. Mr Havergal, he understood, had lodgings nearby. Jack had been very informative. Mr Havergal had his own horse stabled at the New Inn, and indeed he had returned the landlord’s cob and gig not an hour since. ‘Pays his shot reg’lar, an’ tips fairly. Horse ain’t nuthin’ special. Comfortable enough ride, I dessay, but not quality like your lordship’s.’ He stroked the silken nose of one of Julian’s horses affectionately. ‘Pair o’ beauties, these lads.’

It all spoke of a man in modest circumstances. A man looking to better his situation. Bedamned if Havergal was going to attempt that to Serena’s hurt. Better to choke this off now, before things went any further.

They found the house easily with Jack’s directions. A solid timber-framed building, its cantilevered upper floors bulged over the street. A respectable-looking woman opened the door, took one look at Julian, and dropped a curtsy. Upon being informed that Lord Braybrook had called to see Mr Havergal, she became even more flustered, and conducted them up two pairs of stairs to the top floor and knocked on a door.

Havergal opened it and smiled. ‘Ah. Good afternoon, Braybrook,’ he said politely. Then he caught sight of Davy. ‘Well, this is pleasant. How do you do, Davy? I understand Miss Daventry
was doing her worst when I called.’ He turned to the landlady. ‘Mrs Philpott, if it would not be too much trouble, could you bring up coffee for his lordship and myself, and milk for Master Trentham. And some cake?’

‘Why, of course, sir,’ said Mrs Philpott. ‘It’s no bother at all.’

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he said courteously. ‘Do come in, my lord. Come along, Davy.’

‘Sir, thank you very much for the tigerskin!’ burst out Davy as the door closed. ‘It’s splendid! I’m to have it in my room, and Matthew is as sick as a cushion about it!’

Havergal chuckled. ‘Perhaps you might lend it to him on occasion? Please sit down, my lord.’ He gestured Julian towards a chair.

Davy looked unconvinced. ‘Well, I
might
,’ he said.

They conversed for several minutes, with Davy asking as many questions as he could about India. ‘I should like to go there,’ he said.

‘Later, lad,’ said Havergal. ‘The climate is not good for boys your age.’

The coffee arrived, along with the cake and milk for Davy. Julian sipped his coffee and watched his small brother with Havergal. Davy plainly liked the fellow, now telling him between mouthfuls what he had been doing and asking when Mr Havergal was going to visit again—fury soared through him.

‘Oh, I’ll ride that way again in a few days,’ said Havergal easily. ‘I am invited to your mother’s party, too, but no doubt you will be abed.’ He caught Julian’s suddenly focused gaze and added, ‘Davy, why don’t you bring your cake and milk through into the other room. I’ve something there for you to play with.’

Julian watched in rising annoyance as his little brother’s eyes sparkled.

‘Another present, sir?’ Davy asked.

Havergal laughed. ‘No, Davy. These are mine—but you are welcome to play with them while your brother and I talk of boring grown-up things.’ He stood up and held out his hand. Davy took it immediately and followed him into the other room.

A moment later Havergal was back, closing the door behind him.

‘Here to warn me off, my lord?’

Julian set his coffee cup down with great precision. ‘Do I need to?’

The corners of Havergal’s eyes crinkled. ‘That would depend on your point of view.’

‘My point of view,’ said Julian, ‘is that I consider Serena to be in my care.’

‘One does wonder what Serena said to that?’ mused Havergal.

‘That is neither here nor there, sir,’ said Julian coldly. ‘I am here to put an end to your pursuit of Serena.’

‘How very gallant,’ said Havergal. ‘Would it allay your fears to know that my intentions towards Serena are perfectly honourable?’

‘No. She told me of your offer. Cultivating Davy was very clever, wasn’t it?’ Havergal’s eyes blazed, but he said nothing and Julian continued. ‘You might like to consider that Serena’s jointure is conditional upon her not remarrying and that her children are in my ward.’ His gaze swept the room, taking in the modest furnishings and simple style. Bronzes and ivories were scattered about and there was a very fine rug on the floor. Interesting, but no doubt in India they could be picked up for a song. Havergal himself was neatly turned out, but his clothes were clearly well worn.