The Winter Bride (A Chance Sisters Romance) (30 page)

“What is right to be done cannot be done too soon.”

—
JANE AUSTEN,
EMMA

J
ust after noon they turned in at the big gates that marked the beginning of the oak-lined avenue that led to Davenham Hall.

“It feels a bit strange coming here when Abby and Max are still away on their honeymoon,” Damaris said.

They’d made a short stop at a large posting inn on the way, where Freddy had ordered a bath for her and a bath and shave for himself. She felt much better for it, and Freddy, bathed, freshly shaved and with his coat, buckskins and boots cleaned by the inn’s valet, looked his usual elegant self again.

It was almost as if they’d come straight from his parents’ home. Almost.

“Are you sure it will be all right?”

“Of course,” Freddy said. “Abby’s your sister, isn’t she? I mean, as far as the world is concerned. And I’m Max’s oldest friend.”

Their arrival must have been observed, because before the curricle came to a complete stop, a groom came running out to meet them, going straight to the horses’ heads and taking the halter. Freddy jumped down and by the time he’d helped Damaris to alight, the front door had opened and a man in a plain dark suit, a butler, she supposed, waited at the head of the steps to welcome them.

They had just started up the stairs leading up to the door when Abby appeared in the doorway. “Damaris!” she cried. “I saw you arriving from the window. Oh, Damaris, I’m so happy to see you.” She ran down the steps to seize Damaris in an exuberant hug.

Damaris hugged her back, feeling suddenly a little teary. It was so good to see Abby again. She was more to her than a sister.

“And . . . Mr. Monkton-Coombes?” Abby added with faint surprise.

Of course, Damaris thought. Abby would have no idea of the betrothal, fake or otherwise. She’d only known Freddy as Max’s friend.

Abby glanced down the driveway, clearly expecting another carriage at least. She gave Damaris a questioning private glance. “Are the others following? And why are you in a curricle, of all things?”

“I’ll explain later,” Damaris said in a low voice. “But why are you here? I thought you’d still be away on your bride trip. Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s perfect.” Abby hugged Damaris again. “Oh, Damaris, marriage is wonderful! We decided—well,
I
decided—to ask everyone to come here for Christmas, and I want it all to be perfect—our first ever Christmas together—and so we came back early to get everything ready.”

She turned and held out her hand to Freddy. “Mr. Monkton-Coombes, please forgive my rudeness in greeting you so tardily. I was so happy to see my sister again I forgot my manners. What a delightful surprise. Max will be pleased to have some masculine company for a change.”

“Miss—Lady Davenham.” Freddy bowed over her hand. “You look lovely. I can see that marriage suits you.”

She beamed at him. “Thank you, it does indeed. Now, come in, come in, I don’t know why I’m letting you stand around in the wind like this. I’m just so surprised and happy to see you.” Linking arms with Damaris, she led her up the steps. “You must be tired. Have you come far? And why in a curricle? Don’t you have any luggage? Oh, listen to me, running on like a perfect fool, tossing questions at you and giving you no time to respond.” She laughed. “I promise you I will be sensible shortly.”

In the hallway she turned to the butler. “Proule, this is Mr. Monkton-Coombes, Lord Davenham’s oldest friend, and my sister, Miss Chance.” To the others she said, “Proule was sent to us by Featherby, and he’s proving an absolute treasure.”

“Thank you, m’lady.” Proule gave a dignified yet fluid bow. “Welcome to Davenham Hall, Miss Chance, Mr. Monkton-Coombes.” His voice, though not loud, seemed to carry to all corners of the house.

Damaris thanked him, but it was Abby she was finding most impressive. She seemed to have grown in confidence and ease, every inch the lady of this grand house. Despite her start in life as an orphan and a governess, she seemed quite comfortable with her new title and having an army of servants at her fingertips. And yet she was still the warmhearted Abby Damaris knew and loved.

It was quite an achievement, Damaris thought. She glanced around the grand entry hall and tried to imagine herself doing the same at Breckenridge House. She couldn’t see it.

Abby turned to Proule. “Please conduct Mr. Monkton-Coombes to the blue guest bedroom and allow him to wash and refresh himself. I will take my sister upstairs to do the same in the yellow bedchamber. And then inform his lordship we have guests, but don’t say who they are. I’d like to surprise him. We’ll all take tea and cakes in the drawing room in—shall we say fifteen minutes?”

“Very good, m’lady.”

“Where is Max?” Freddy asked.

“In the library, wading through a mountain of correspondence that came in our absence,” Abby told him. “We only arrived last night, so he’s only just started on it. We, er, slept in.” A faint blush rose to her cheeks. Damaris observed it interestedly.

Abby was blooming, her eyes bright, her skin glowing with health and happiness. Clearly this marriage suited her in more ways than one.

“Why don’t I surprise him myself?” Freddy said. “There’s something I need to talk to him about.”

Damaris gave him a sharp look. What would he need to talk to Max about? Something about her? About their situation?

But Freddy gave her the blandest of smiles, saying, “You go with your sister, my dear. I’m sure you ladies have a lot to catch up on.”

Abby laughed. “Very well, go ahead and surprise Max. Proule, my sister and I will take our tea and cakes upstairs in the sitting room adjoining the yellow bedchamber. The gentlemen, I’m sure, will prefer wine or brandy, or coffee, and perhaps something a little more substantial and masculine than cakes. And we shall all meet at dinner.”

“Lady Davenham,” Freddy said with the kind of charming, playful bow he was famed for, “so new to marriage, yet already the queen of hostesses.”

Abby laughed. Damaris observed him thoughtfully. He was playing the frivolous fop again. Why? But Abby was tugging her toward the stairs, eager to catch up on all the news, and Damaris forgot to wonder. It was so lovely to see Abby again.

 • • • 

F
reddy pushed open the library door. Max was seated at a large oak desk, frowning over a mound of papers, making notes. “Yes, what is it?” he said, not looking up.

“Strange thing for a man to be doing on his honeymoon,” Freddy said.

“Freddy!” Max set down the pen and rose, smiling. “Where the devil did you spring from?” He moved toward Freddy, holding out his hand in greeting, then pulled up short. “Is there a problem? Has something happened to my aunt? Or the girls?”

“No, no, nothing like that. They’re all well, as far as I know,” Freddy assured him. “Mind you, haven’t seen them for a couple of weeks—well, Damaris is with me, but I’m sure Lady Beatrice and Jane and Daisy are well. Featherby keeps a pretty good eye on them.”

“But I specifically asked you to—” Max broke off. “Did you say
Damaris
is with you? You brought her here from London?” He frowned. “With her maid, I assume.”

“We came from Breckenridge, actually.” Freddy decided not to mention the lack of maid. Marriage seemed to have brought out an inconvenient moralistic streak in Max. He supposed being responsible for a pack of unmarried girls would do that to a man. It might even happen to him. But not yet.

“Breckenridge? Your parents’ place?”

Freddy nodded. “Yes. Introduced her to them.”

“You introduced Damaris to your parents? Why? I thought you never went there if you could help it. I thought you were avoiding your mother. Because of the muffins.”

Freddy said airily, “As a matter of fact, Damaris and I are betrothed.”

Max’s jaw dropped. “
Betrothed?
Good God. I don’t believe it.” He stared at Freddy for a moment then laughed. “You’re serious. Oh, this is too good. The eternal rake, captured at last.” He yanked on the bellpull. “We must drink a toast to you both!”

“If you must know, I did the capturing,” Freddy said testily. “Very beautiful girl, Damaris, but stubborn. Took me all my powers of address to convince her to accept me.”

Max laughed again. “Good for her. You say she came here with you? Where is she, then?”

“Upstairs talking with Abby. Sisters, you know. Girlish confidences and all that.”

“You rang, m’lord?” The butler arrived with a tray containing a coffeepot and two cups, a plate of ham sandwiches, a couple of slices of cold pie and half a roast chicken. To Max he said, “M’lady thought you might like some refreshments, m’lord.”

“Excellent,” Max said. “The very thing. Only I think for this occasion we need”—he glanced at Freddy—“brandy?”

Freddy nodded.

“Brandy, if you please, Proule.”

“At once, m’lord.” The butler bowed and departed.

Freddy inspected the tray of food and selected a chicken leg. Munching on it, he wandered over to the desk and glanced down at the correspondence. “Business?”

“Yes. Blasted stuff mounted up while I was away.” Max cut himself a slice of pie. “Don’t know why Bartlett sent it here, though, when Flynn’s in London, right under his nose.”

“Yes, but Flynn’s not really the paperwork type, is he?”

“I suppose not.”

“Is that a letter to Bartlett?” Freddy pointed with the stripped chicken bone, then tossed it in the fire.

“Yes. I was just finishing it off. I want to catch the afternoon post.”

“Can you pop in a message from me?” Freddy picked up a sandwich, ate it in two gulps and took another one. He was surprisingly hungry.

“About your betrothal? Why not? Bartlett will be thrilled.”

“Not about my betrothal. It’s about business. Sort of.”

Max gave him a quizzical look.

“Tell him to let me know the minute he gets any word of the
Liverpool Lass
.”

“That’s one of our ships. Why do you want to know?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just tell him to tell me at once. As a matter of utmost urgency.”

“Utmost urgency?” Max frowned. “The
Liverpool Lass
trades mostly in China silk and spices. Is that what you’re after? Because we might have something in the ware—”

“I don’t care about the cargo,” Freddy said in a cold voice. “It’s the captain I care about.”

“The captain? Why? What do you want with him?”

“I’m going to kill him.”

There was a short silence, then somebody coughed. They looked up to see the butler in the doorway holding a brandy decanter and two glasses. He looked a little shaken.

“Ah, the very thing,” Max said, giving Freddy a meaning look. “Thank you, Proule, that will be all.” Max took the decanter and poured a generous slosh into each glass. He waited until the man had left, then handed Freddy a glass.

They both drank, draining their glasses in one hit.

“You’d better explain,” Max said, refilling the glasses. “Why do you want to kill the captain of the
Liverpool Lass
?”

“Long story. Private matter,” Freddy told him. He had no intention of sharing Damaris’s story with anyone, not even his oldest friend. She hadn’t even told her sisters. “Just tell Bartlett to let me know the moment the
Liverpool Lass
docks
.
Sooner if he hears she’s on her way.”

Max gave him a thoughtful look, then went to the pile of correspondence. He sifted through it then pulled out a paper, which he checked, then he nodded. “I thought so. According to this, the
Liverpool Lass
docked in London”—he checked the date on the letter—“three days ago.”

“Three days ago?” Freddy swore and set down his glass with a snap. “I have to leave. At once. Make my apologies to Abby. Tell Damaris I was called away on urgent business—and for God’s sake don’t tell her what I told you. She has no idea and I don’t want her upset. Look after her for me. I’ll be back in a week or two. Can I borrow one of your horses?” Without waiting for an answer he headed for the door.

Max was after him in a flash. He grabbed him by the arm. “Just hold on a moment. You can’t just rush off like that, talking about killing a man with no explanation. What the devil’s going on?”

Freddy wrenched his arm out of Max’s grasp. “No time to explain, even if I were free to. I have to leave now! Just tell Damaris I had to leave on urgent business.”

“Tell her yourself,” Max said. “I’m coming with you.” He yanked on the bellpull.

“This is nothing to do with you!” Freddy was practically dancing with impatience. He needed to leave
now
! Ships only stayed in dock a few days, depending on their cargo and the sailing conditions. The
Liverpool Lass
could sail at any moment and that bastard would get away, free and clear, out of reach for another six months or more, damn him.

“If you’re planning to kill one of my captains, it is!” The door opened. “Mr. Monkton-Coombes and I have to go to London on urgent business,” he told the butler. “Tell my valet to pack a bag and order my curricle and team from the stables. We leave in half an hour.”

“We leave at once,” Freddy interrupted. “That swine could sail at any moment. And not the curricle—horses. We’ll ride across country. It’s quicker.”

“Very well, we leave in fifteen minutes. Ten, then,” he said, seeing Freddy about to argue. “And Proule,” he called as the butler hurried away, “where are the ladies?”

“Upstairs in the yellow sitting room, m’lord.”

“We don’t have time—” Freddy began.

“If you think I’m leaving without telling my wife the reason—
a
reason, at least”—Max amended—“for our unseemly departure, and without bidding her a proper good-bye, you’re very much mistaken. And you damned well owe Damaris an explanation too. Or were you hoping to avoid that? Never took you for a coward, Freddy.”

Freddy gritted his teeth. It wasn’t so much that he was a coward, but that Damaris was too damned perceptive. Not to mention argumentative. And stubborn. She’d try to wheedle the truth out of him and damned if he was going to give her the opportunity.