Lord Braybrook’s Penniless Bride (14 page)

Havergal had straightened in his chair. ‘Yes, she was at some pains to ensure that I understood that. More coffee, my lord?’

‘Thank you, no.’

‘Ah.’ Mr Havergal poured himself some more and sipped, watching Julian over the rim of the cup. ‘I have to inform you, my lord, that in this instance I am concerned only with Serena’s point of view.’

‘And your own.’

Havergal inclined his head. ‘That too, but not quite as much as Serena’s.’

Julian did not bother to repress a disbelieving snort.

‘You become offensive, my lord,’ Havergal informed him calmly. ‘Let me assure you that Serena was most prompt to
inform me of her circumstances. Nor did I give Davy that tigerskin to curry favour. I gave it to him because I thought he would like it and he reminds me of another small boy.’ A slight pause. ‘The boy who owned it originally was my son.’

His voice did not change, but Havergal’s very stillness warned Julian that he was treading on dangerous ground.

He took a deep breath—damned if he’d back down. He spoke softly, but with lethal intent. ‘I’ll be blunt, Havergal. Like it or not, Serena is in my care. And I’m damned if I’ll let her be cozened by you or anyone else!’

Havergal’s fists clenched. ‘Admirable sentiments, my lord. Believe it or not, I am perfectly well to pass, and have absolutely no need to prey on wealthy widows to support myself!’

Julian raised his brows. ‘Do you expect me to take your word for it?’

Havergal didn’t answer. Instead he rose, went to an untidy desk and began writing. A moment later he sprinkled sand on the letter, stood up and handed it to Julian, along with a card.

‘Authorisation to ask whatever questions you like of Hammerfield, my man of business. You may also wish to ask about me with the East India Company. I don’t work for ’em any more, but they know all about me. I ask only one thing—that you don’t tell Serena what you learn. I’d rather tell her myself.’

Julian stared at the brusque note ordering the unknown Hammerfield to inform Lord Braybrook of whatever he wished to know about Havergal’s circumstances…and Havergal had been in India for over twenty years…was well known to the East India company…

If it wasn’t a bluff, Havergal must be wealthier than he looked.

‘Not all men choose to display their wealth, Braybrook,’ said Havergal, apparently reading his mind. ‘That brings its own inconveniences. Serena knows that I am well able to support myself, but I have not told her the extent of my fortune. She was having quite enough difficulty in seeing herself as a suitable wife for me.’

‘A suitable wife,’ repeated Julian. He shot a glance at the
door to the other room, wondering if Davy was about to reappear. ‘Havergal, a man with a fortune generally wants an heir. It may not—’

‘Serena made that plain,’ said Havergal quietly. ‘I am not marrying for an heir.’

Julian frowned. If not for an heir, or money, then what the devil
was
he marrying for? It was not a question he could ask. As long as Serena was safe and happy—something else occurred to him.

‘The children are in my wardship,’ he said. ‘Literally, my responsibility.’

Havergal smiled. ‘We discussed it. I understand Serena chose not to move into the Dower House and of course she will no longer have a right to it, but perhaps you would lease it to me? Will that serve?’

Julian teeth clenched. ‘
Assuming
I am satisfied that Serena will be happy with you, then the Dower House lease is my wedding gift!’

He drove back to Amberley, returning automatic answers to Davy’s chatter about the set of ivory elephants he had been playing with. ‘Hundreds of them, Julian! Big ones and little ones. All in a big golden box. Only Mr Havergal said it was brass. And he says I may play with them again some day.’

Why did Havergal want to marry Serena? It defied all the logical, rational reasons for marriage.

He looked very hard at the question. From all angles. And discovered that he didn’t much like the man who had asked it. Serena was a kind, attractive, loving woman. The sort of woman who would make any man a wonderful wife…

She is crippled. She will never walk again. She cannot give him an heir, nor does she bring any money to the marriage.

Havergal didn’t care about these things.

Love. That was the only reason left.

To Julian marriage was a matter of wealth and convenience. Yet at least two of his friends had married for love, shrugging at the lost opportunity to increase their wealth and position.

He liked their wives, too, and when he thought of the way Thea Blakehurst smiled at Richard, or the way Verity’s eyes lit up when Max entered a room…it wasn’t for him. He wanted an impeccably bred wife of suitable fortune, and a mistress for bedsport. And Christy Daventry, who declined to fit either compartment.

He forced his mind back to Serena’s likely marriage. Havergal was taking her for no more than the use of the Dower House. He was also offering to find positions for Matt and Davy if needful. Julian didn’t deny that having such careers laid out for his brothers would be a blessing. His first reaction had been refusal, but Havergal’s expression had stopped him…

I thought that I would never return to this country…there was a native girl. Padma. She was to be burned on her husband’s funeral pyre as is the native custom. I rescued her and, well, she couldn’t return to her own family, they would have killed her. So I offered to take her, and she stayed with me. We had a child, a son. I would have remained with them, but they died of cholera some years ago…I told Serena when I brought the rug out this morning…

He glanced down at Davy, sitting beside him on the curricle seat, happily examining a little bronze tiger…Havergal’s son had owned the bronze and the tigerskin rug. And had the boy or his mother lived, Havergal would never have returned. Even knowing that Serena was free, he would have remained in India, loyal to the native girl he had saved and their son…and Serena had loved him all these years, despite her marriage and unswerving loyalty to her husband and stepson. He faced a staggering realisation—and it went against all custom and received wisdom: if Havergal had not been wealthy enough to wed Serena regardless, he would still have ended up supporting the marriage, giving them the use of the Dower House and allowing Serena at least part of her jointure.

It was insanity. He could only be thankful that a merciful deity had probably spared him such foolishness. The Summer Ball was ten days away. If he sent urgent letters enquiring about Havergal tomorrow, he should have a response by the day of the ball. If Havergal’s claims were borne out, then he supposed he would be making an unexpected announcement.

Amberley was ablaze as dusk fell on the night of the Summer Ball. With the weather set fair everyone who was anyone for miles around had come and laughter and chatter spilled with golden light from open doors and windows. The musicians hired from Hereford were installed in a corner of the forecourt to accompany the dancing and the Great Hall brimmed with merriment.

Julian looked around the Hall. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. He glanced over to where Serena was seated by the refectory table, Havergal in close attendance. She caught his eye and raised a brow questioningly. He nodded. The waltz in the forecourt was nearly finished. After that it would be supper. He intended to make his announcement just as soon as the company was seated.

It would raise some eyebrows. News of Havergal’s wealth had leaked out. Several matrons with daughters to establish had taken pains to make themselves known to Havergal that evening, parading their virtuous treasures under his nose. He’d muttered to Julian that he’d be relieved when the announcement was made and girls young enough to be his daughters stopped making sheep’s eyes at him.

Lady Postleton had not swelled the hopeful throng, but probably only because she had Anne aimed at Julian’s head. He had obliged by leading Anne out for one dance, and that was enough. He couldn’t imagine why Serena thought the girl would suit him. Certainly she was well bred, well brought up, well dowered, dutiful and attractive…
everything you wanted in a wife, in fact
.

Except that, as Matt had said, she wasn’t very kind. He tried to imagine her…
what
? Storming in to defend Nan Roberts from being bullied? Ridiculous. He had heard her not five minutes ago laughing openly at another young lady’s unbecoming gown, encouraging others to laugh.

His gaze went to Miss Daventry. Gowned in soft grey cambric, she sat near Serena. Did she waltz? An irrelevant question. Even if she accepted, dancing—let alone waltzing!—
with the governess would cause an uproar. And she would not accept. The only invitation she had accepted had been from her brother. Harry had lead her out for a country dance. She had declined all other invitations.

The Hall was filling up, most people were seated, only a few still looking for somewhere to sit down. He rang a small bell. ‘If I might have your attention, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. The stragglers whisked themselves into whatever spots were left. ‘First, thank you all for coming tonight. Lady Braybrook and I are delighted to welcome you to Amberley. And now, I have an announcement. Of a betrothal.’

There was a startled gasp and hum of speculation, swiftly suppressed.

‘Yes, a betrothal,’ he went on. ‘For the past several years, Lady Braybrook has insisted that she wishes to retire to the Dower House and leave the running of Amberley to someone else.’

Another murmur. Speculative eyes rested on Miss Postleton, whose face was utterly frozen.

‘Having now despaired of me ever making myself agreeable enough for a woman to accept, Lady Braybrook has found another solution. I am delighted to announced the betrothal of Serena, Lady Braybrook, to Mr Nigel Havergal. I would ask you all to raise your glasses and wish them well.’

The shock had died down to speculative murmurs by the end of supper. Christy, looking for Harry, supposed the surprise was inevitable—most people seemed incapable of understanding that Mr Havergal’s reasons for marriage might have more to do with the heart than monetary advantage.

‘Well, Miss Daventry—your employment here will soon be at an end, will it not?’

Startled, she turned. Anne Postleton stood there, her gaze patronising.

‘I beg your pardon, Miss Postleton? My employment?’

Miss Postleton smiled. ‘My dear Miss Daventry, a newly married woman has little need of a
hireling
for company. And
since David should be off to school soon and Alicia and Emma to Bath this winter—well, there is nothing left for you. My mama commented on it just now. Such a shame for you.’

‘I pray you won’t lose any sleep over it, Miss Postleton,’ said Christy drily. There was no point in assuring the girl that Davy’s departure for school was not imminent.

Miss Postleton smirked, turned on her heel and strolled off.

Supressing the urge to throw her reticule at Miss Postleton’s retreating curls, Christy looked about for Harry. Lady Braybrook had given her permission to retire for the night and she wanted to say goodnight. She frowned. Where on earth was he? Carefully she scanned the crowd. He wasn’t in the Hall. Neither, when she went out on to the steps, could she see him in the forecourt…and nor, she realised on a surge of concern, had she seen Alicia Trentham anywhere.

‘Looking for someone, Miss Daventry?’ Matthew stood at her shoulder.

‘Yes. My brother, and…my brother,’ she finished.

‘Oh. I saw him leave through the back of the Hall. Said he wanted a breath of air. Through the garden room, I think. Quieter out there.’

No doubt.

Christy stared at the door to the garden room. As a venue for an assignation it had a great deal to recommend it. Privacy. Well away from the party. No one was likely to want anything from it. And she hoped to God that she was a nasty-minded, spiteful old spinster and completely and utterly wrong.

Drawing a deep breath, she opened the door and walked in.

For a moment neither Harry nor Alicia realised she was there. They were completely involved in their kiss. They broke apart as she closed the door.

‘I beg your pardon,’ she said coldly. ‘I think you had better return to the party, Alicia, before anyone else realises you are missing.’

‘Damn you!’ cursed Harry. ‘You were spying on us!
Spying!
’

‘And you were both breaching Lord Braybrook’s trust!’ she
replied. ‘Damn yourself, Harry. You claim to love Alicia, yet by arranging clandestine meetings you expose her to the risk of censure and ruin! If you cared for her in the least, you would see that!’

She turned on Alicia. ‘As for you! Have you no common sense?’

Scarlet-faced, Alicia began, ‘It is none of your—’

‘Business?’ suggested Christy, anger routing any tendency to mince words. ‘Tell me—do you think being caught would force your brother’s hand?’

Alicia’s expression became mulish, and Christy swept on. ‘Bear in mind that Harry cannot support you. What would you live on?
Where
would you live? His lodgings in the village?’

When neither of them returned any reply, she continued. ‘Don’t you realise Braybrook would be more likely to call Harry out for this, than permit you to marry him? And you tell me it’s none of my business?’

Alicia paled. ‘What are you going to do?’ she whispered. ‘Are you going to tell Julian?’

Christy considered. Now was not the right moment. ‘Your mother’s betrothal has just been announced. You should be with her. Go.’

White faced, Alicia obeyed.

‘Full of orders, aren’t you?’ burst out Harry, as the door closed. ‘Blast you, Christy! Just because you’re such a damn cold fish—’

‘Better than being a dead one,’ she told him.

‘Got orders for me, too?’ he sneered.

‘No. But this isn’t the first time you’ve tried to meet Alicia, is it? The other day, when I met you at the stile.’

He shuffled. ‘What of it? There was no harm in it!’

She held his gaze. ‘No harm? It would have ruined Alicia had someone else caught the pair of you just now! Did you care about that at all?’