The Rake's Redemption (3 page)

“Judith Hampton still lives at home. She and I have become fast friends.” All the playfulness had gone out of her voice. “She didn’t take in her season, you know. Despite her looks. Most of the county has come calling since then, without result. I don’t suppose you’ll have given her a thought.”

Thomas made his reply as bluff as could be, knowing that whatever he said his godmother wouldn’t leave the subject alone. “Thought she’d be married off to some young blood by now. Pretty girl.”

“Jonathon Hampton’s ailing.” Lady Guilmor managed to make the news sound like an accusation. “Took his boy’s death hard. Your friend John spends most of his time in town. You must call.” She nodded to her butler, hovering anxiously to one side. “Your arm, Thomas. If you’re capable of supporting a frail old lady into dinner.”

They were only four, Lord Guilmor and his sister making up the numbers, and the conversation was knowledgeable and uninhibited. Thomas learned much of the government’s concerns, amongst them the difficulty in reinforcing the army in Spain.

“Liverpool does his best, Thomas, but the country’s bored. People think that after winning so many battles you should be marching into Paris. There was a flurry of patriotism when the Americans invaded Canada, but now that they’re beaten at Queenston that’s ebbed away.”

“Considerate then of Horsley to raise troops.” Thomas regarded the squabble that had erupted earlier in the year with the fledgling United States of America as insignificant compared to the war in Spain.

“Don’t underestimate him, Thomas. Your job will be difficult. The man has money and connections. And he intends to lead the battalion himself.” Guilmor stopped, aware that his wife wanted to take over the conversation.

“You don’t know Horsley, do you Thomas? The family made their money in sugar. Old Sir Reginald liquidated most of the plantations to buy land, and he bought well. Then promptly died. Left behind the widow Florinda, and her son, the vainglorious Theodore. Baronet and conduit for the dynasty.”

“A very rich baronet who can afford to equip a battalion, but a complete waste of money if the men are not usefully employed, Thomas. Amara has suggested you stay at Trefoyle?” Guilmor speared a piece of fish to his mouth as his wife nodded confirmation. “Then you are set, my boy. We need those men, Thomas.”

“Sir.” Thomas smiled, relishing the thought of his own battalion at twenty three. An age when his father had been a captain.

“I’ll even keep your godmother here to spare you the benefit of her advice, Thomas. At least for a while. That should be of considerable help to you.” Guilmor’s mild jest didn’t find favour with his wife, who turned to her husband’s sister. “Henrietta, Guilmor will be bringing out the port, if you want to retire.”

Thomas smiled as he stood for Lady Netley. He’d forgotten his unconventional godmother’s fondness for port at private dinners. A habit her sister in law didn’t share, and from her frown he’d hazard didn’t approve of either.

“You’re not to neglect your social obligations, Thomas. After four years in the Peninsula people will have forgotten what you look like. Lord Hampton is a good neighbour of mine. Treat him kindly. Only Judith has kept him going since Jeremy died. Where that girl gets her strength I don’t know. You used to ride with her.” Amara Guilmor shared her brother’s weakness for the non sequitur.

“I rode with both Judith and John, godmother. Lord Hampton kept a fine stable. No bone setters there.” Judith had frightened him to death. Foolhardy didn’t begin to describe her. There had been no fence she wouldn’t try, no hedge too wide for her. Her brother couldn’t begin to compete with his sister’s daring. Anything Thomas could jump on a stallion over a hand higher than her mount, Judith would tackle too.

“Wouldn’t surprise me if the girl didn’t still carry a torch for you, Thomas.” Amara Guilmor had no sense of restraint, and no shame.

“I think it unlikely.” To his left Thomas could see Lord Guilmor’s amused smirk. “I shall however diligently obey your injunction to visit Lord Hampton. Which will no doubt bring me into contact with his daughter.”

“It’s of little import to me, Thomas. I just want to be sure that you observe the proprieties.” Amara Guilmor passed the decanter to her godson with a pronounced flourish as if to emphasise her disinterest.

Thomas found it difficult to believe that propriety would be well served by his call upon Judith Hampton. If she would receive him at all. Like a young fool he had been overjoyed when Jeremy had passed her note to him. Except that the note contained only anger and disappointment. Its bitterness had forced him to understand that a door he’d thought would always be open to him had been closed for ever. “The conventions will be observed, godmother. I give you my word.”

“Very well, Thomas. Judith is a remarkable girl you know. Highly competent.” Lord Guilmor’s smile had changed to the long suffering, sympathetic kind.

“I shall be diligence itself, I assure you. Though we hardly began to know each other before Lord Hampton took her abroad. And that was four years ago.”

“Cornwall, Thomas. They went to Cornwall. To his sister. I doubt that even then Jonathon Hampton could have run to the tour. Besides time’s immaterial. Isn’t it Guilmor?” Lord Guilmor had been sipping his port quietly, but his riposte didn’t miss a beat.

“And the value of a good woman is decidedly above rubies. The trick is finding one, Thomas. Dashed difficult. Isn’t it Amara?”

His wife rewarded him with a glare before she returned to her point. “Guilmor is right, though the Lord knows how. You should be grateful if she still favours you, Thomas.”

“Thank you, godmother. I doubt the lady will do that. So your advice may be a trifle optimistic.” He could see her irritation in his godmother’s lowered lids and pursed lips, but it would be foolish to encourage her. Just as it would be a foolish indulgence to dwell on old memories of calf love and girlish affection. Weak and foolish to reminisce on a beautiful girl who had told him she loved him.

Judith smoothed the curled leather flat with her fingertips. The intricate gilding round the border of the desk was faded with years, but it still caught the eye and admiration of every visitor. Till they realised just how frayed the edges of the inlay were. It should have been renewed long before, but Judith knew better than to ask. Father reacted poorly to such requests. Or indeed anything that disturbed his routine. Except this morning when Brewson interrupted them as they were working, and he ignored her protests to go off with their steward. Sometimes it seemed that her lot was to give way to the convenience of everyone at Oakenhill.

She turned expectantly when the library door opened, but it was John Hampton and not their father who came in, and despite a half hearted attempt at a smile Judith could feel apprehension corrode her mood even further.

“Morning, sister. Father not with you?” Her brother’s words were polite enough, but his smile was less convincing, and the speed with which he turned to go was testimony to their strained relations.

“Just, John. It is only just morning. Nuncheon will be in an hour when father and I have finished here. He’s with Brewson at present.” She never could stop herself criticising John, though she knew the effort was wasted. He wouldn’t listen and their quarrelling only served to upset father, yet John’s air of careless indulgence always managed to provoke her. Her brother had dropped his wavering smile at the rebuke, and Judith quickly changed tack to try to avert hostilities. “Will you join us for nuncheon?”

“I must disappoint you. Judith. My presence is promised elsewhere.” He hardly bothered to veil the derision and Judith could feel the itch to slap him. But at least this morning he could stand without staggering and she wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to find out what his latest trouble was.

“John, father seems to be worried.” She faltered, unsure how to continue without the words sounding like the accusation they were. “We’ve been going over estate receipts this morning. The yields lag, John.”

“Beyond the usual, eh?” He grinned as if something clever had occurred to him. “Tell father to take Thor for a gallop. That usually clears my head of worries.”

“John!” His crassness in suggesting their father ride the huge stallion removed the last of Judith’s restraint. “There is no money for whatever your scrape is, John. Father won’t say what it is, but I know something brought you home. How much is it going to cost this time?”

“You really do have the soul of a cit, Judith. Small wonder you’ve not found a husband. Who could tolerate a wife who wants to keep the books?” The grin on her brother’s face had a distinctly unpleasant tinge to it.

“John, it can’t go on.” John showed no intention of responding, picked idly at the leather spines of his father’s books instead. “It’s not just being purse pinched now, John. Father is worried sick, and I won’t have it, John. I won’t.”

“Ring a fine peal, don’t you Judith.” His breath still carried stales fumes from last night’s drink when he pushed his face in front of hers. “You forget, sister. I am the heir now, so the matter does not concern you. When I inherit I’ll make sure to find someone who’ll take you, Judith. Then you’ll learn to make your manners agreeable, little sister. So don’t go pluming yourself that Oakenhill is your domain.”

Jeremy Hampton’s death in Spain had robbed Lord Hampton of his intended heir. It had robbed Judith of much more than just her adored elder brother. John had shown scant restraint since the certainty of inheritance emboldened him. For two years now she’d struggled with his wildness while her father withdrew more and more into himself. Unless she chivvied and pleaded constantly father responded to hateful reality only when a crisis loomed.

“I fear for father, John.” Judith hated the desperation she could hear in her voice. “Have you no thought for him? Is it just money for you?”

“It’s not your money, Judith. It’s family money. And since I shall be head of the family, it will be my money. So it’s not as if I’m spending father’s money.” John smiled with satisfaction at his exposition and turned toward the door. To come face to face with his father.

“What have you not been spending my money on, John?” Three inches shorter than his son, Lord Hampton still managed to diminish the younger man. At least briefly.

“Hello, father. Nothing, nothing at all, Judith is being a little choleric. I’m on my way to barracks.” He looked as if were about to execute a pas de dance, his weight shifting from one foot to the other, before his father moved to one side to let him leave the room.

“He’s impossible, father. You need to tell me what’s he done.” The flame of Judith’s anger was hot enough to melt the deference she normally showed her father.

“John is unwise, Judith. But he is still my son.” The inadequate answer did nothing to ease her temper. Unless John was stopped he’d ruin Oakenhill, and father knew that, but still he did nothing. The words were on the tip of her tongue that she’d had enough of being the only one trying to save the estate. But when father slumped into his chair all her anger shrivelled away; she couldn’t face harassing him in the vain hope he might chastise John.

“What did Brewson want, father?”

“A problem with the hedges on the river meadow, Judith.” It was far too short an answer, and the embers of her rage let her hold her father’s gaze until he conceded a proper explanation. “The beasts have broken them down and strayed across the cottagers’ plots.”

“I said the hedges should have been laid afresh last winter, if the cattle were to be run there.” The villagers would want compensation, and there would be weeks of squabbling. “Brewson didn’t listen to me.”

“He has been a sound steward for nigh forty years, Judith. My father thought well of him.”

“He is too old to manage the estate, father. Unless I check what he does.” She loved riding the estate, she knew what was needed, and she enjoyed talking with the tenants. But anyone would grow frustrated when there was no capital to make the improvements that were so clearly needed. Did that make her the hoyden her brother accused her of being?

“That is my concern, Judith. Brewson has been a loyal servant.” Father sounded petulant and she knew there would no further work on the rents today. Especially when he levered his leg onto the footstool and opened his snuff box.

“Father, we need to finish the arrears.” It was a forlorn hope. Father would use the cinnamon scented tobacco to calm nerves shredded by his clash with John, and then he’d doze.

“Tomorrow, Judith. In the morning. But I do have some news for you. I had a note just now.” The very tentativeness of his smile would have hoisted storm cones. “We shall have visitors on Thursday.”

“Not in itself an unusual event, father. Are these visitors of special note?” Judith knew her own smile was of the variety that said she suspected a plot.

“Sir Roger Duthford, my old friend.” His smile had washed away to a transparent plea for calm.

“Sir Roger is coming twenty miles to pay a call? And you said he was a confounded Whig. Now he’s an old friend, is he?” To Judith’s knowledge Sir Roger and her father had been at best nodding acquaintances, and happy to be so, but Sir Roger’s son, Frederick was another matter. Frederick Duthford was a polite, well presented young man who had been quite incapable of concealing his admiration for her when they met in London. “Will Mr. Frederick Duthford accompany his sire?”

“I think so, Judith. Are you pleased? And gentlemen are entitled to disagree about politics, my dear.” Often enough Lord Hampton could win over his disapproving daughter by playing the benign buffoon.

But not today when Judith was so thoroughly irritated by her morning. “Press ganging suitors is becoming a hobby with you, father.”

“Judith! That is outrageous. The Duthfords are simply paying a call.”

“Why is this call so important, father?” That her words were so carefully enunciated should have been sufficient warning to Lord Hampton of the state of Judith’s temper.

“Not important, Judith. Friendly. Frederick was much taken by you. Made a point of saying so. And the lad is eligible. Sir Roger has prospered.” He tailed away, and even in her wrath Judith could imagine how painful it must be for father to contrast Sir Roger’s good fortune with his own. Frederick Duthford might be eligible, but the same could not be said for Judith Hampton. And father didn’t even know the whole truth. The thought was enough to trigger all the latent frustration in her.

“I had not realised it was market day, father. Is our position now so precarious that you must sell your daughter?”

She knew at once that she’d gone too far. Father’s face turned chalky white, and he didn’t reply, defusing her anger instead with eyes that could have belonged to an abused spaniel. But when his answer came it could have been designed to cut through to her guilt.

“It is a father’s duty to dispose for his daughter, Judith. I was disappointed that your season was not to your satisfaction. My sister went to considerable trouble and expense on our behalf. And would have done so again had you wished. Since it will not be Jeremy who will be master here when I am gone, you must give thought to your future.” He paused, but waved down her attempt to speak.

“I am not unmindful of family honour, Judith. My father and my son both died on the battlefield burnishing that honour. I would not permit myself to tarnish it by what you suggest. If Frederick Duthford is so little to your taste, we’ll send him and his father packing.” That he rose to open the door for her in dismissal told Judith how far she had transgressed. “Though with the respect due to a man who has done us no harm.”

As she moved to the door Judith saw a woman staring back at her from the mirror over the mantelpiece. Thin faced, drawn by anxiety, one and twenty going on forty. Was this what father and John saw every time they looked at her? Little wonder they all scratched at each other. “I will receive your guests as you would expect, father. Please forgive my quick words.” In an excess of etiquette that she knew to be quite absurd, Judith curtseyed to her father as she left the library.

~

She didn’t bother to stir though when John’s return rattled the house. Not until she heard her father’s voice amid the commotion did she abandon the rent rolls she’d fetched upstairs to tally in order to investigate the row. John was in full flood, absorbed in a vehement denunciation until the sight of her brought him to a halt. That unmistakable sign of guilt sent a chill of trepidation through her, and Judith barked her question out much too harshly. “What have you done, John?”

“For once, Judith, your brother is not the cause of the upset.” Father’s denial only confirmed her suspicions, and in her anxiety Judith snapped at him too.

“What is it then?” Her regret for the disrespect was instant, but it vanished at the solemnity of her father’s answer.

“Judith, Thomas Stainford has been sent here.”

Her instinctive response was to deny it. To open her mouth and protest that it couldn’t be true. Thomas. Sent here. Was he here now? In the house? She felt an insane urge to twist her head round to see where he was.

“John has just come back from the militia camp, Judith. Thomas arrived there today.” Father was using that special measured tone he kept for when John was past unreasonable, and even in the midst of her alarm Judith felt aggrieved that he thought to treat her with the same condescension.

“Why should that matter to me, father?” She formed each syllable of the question with painstaking care, using every vestige of control she possessed to ensure there was nothing to betray how much it did matter. Except the words were a little too defiant, and father didn’t seem to want to answer her. She was on the verge of repeating the question until she realised he and John were looking at her as though they expected her to collapse like some mewling miss.

“Has he left the army?” She’d no sooner spoken than she realised how foolish the question was. If Thomas had left the army why would he come to the militia camp? She needed to restrain herself before she asked any more nonsense. There would be a reason for this, other than Thomas coming back for her. And if he had come back it didn’t mean she wanted him. Even if the news had already sent a treacherous surge of joy through her body.

“He has orders to train the Volunteers, Judith.” John’s answer extinguished the elation, leaving her dry mouthed and flushed with embarrassment. She needed to know if her confusion had been noticed, but it was painful to lift her eyes. It would be too shaming if either father or John knew the direction of her thoughts. Instead her need to claw back some control prompted a small defiance. “You will be pleased to have your friend returned, John. Is he much altered?”

“Become quite the drill sergeant, Judith. And arrogant. Refuses to listen to the officers who raised the regiment. You were well served that he left.” The words carried their own conviction and Judith felt a hint of sympathy for her brother. Thomas Stainford had never been mindful of others. But she still needed to correct John.

“You are in error, brother. Thomas Stainford was always a source of indifference to me.” She could see John’s obvious disbelief, but it was the concern in her father’s eyes that triggered the deeper anger. Damn Thomas for coming back to train the militia. And father too for thinking she was made of spun sugar to need protecting.

“Why is he here?” It was a stupid question since she’d already been told the answer, but she needed to know about Thomas, and for once her brother answered intelligently.