A Country Gentleman (17 page)

‘Yes you could,’ Lavinia retorted. ‘Just not those letters. They’re from Riseholm, aren’t they?’

‘If they are, what of it? Anyway, I’m not the only one keeping secrets. What about you concealing from me the true nature of the romance between Timothy Ames and Caroline Tasker?’

‘A man is entitled to be in love with his own fiancée,’ Lavinia answered reasonably.

‘Yes, I dare say he may be; but why did you not tell me? I suppose I have you to thank for the fact that I have been made to look a fool.’

Resisting the urge to say that if anyone had made a fool of her, it had been Isobel herself, Lavinia simply added, ‘The signs were there for all to see. But never mind that. For how long have you been corresponding with Riseholm?’

Isobel stared at her defiantly for a moment or two before turning away. She picked a nearby bloom, a large ornamental
daisy, and began to pull off the petals. ‘Ever since we arrived,’ she answered. She paused in her work and looked up. ‘And now I am in the most awful situation.’

Lavinia was very strongly tempted to tell Isobel that clearly the mess was of her own making so she could not expect any help to get her out of it. That kind of callous approach was not in her nature, however. She sighed, tugged at her friend’s arm so that they could both sit down together, and said, ‘What is it, then?’

Isobel explained all that had happened with Benjamin Twizzle. ‘I thought that once I had paid him, he would go away,’ she sighed. ‘He did seem to be very taken with me, and I hoped that a flirtation would be sufficient for him, but he wants money, and I have no more to give him.’ She glanced at Lavinia then looked down again.

‘Don’t look at me,’ Lavinia said frankly. ‘I don’t have any money; you know I don’t.’

‘No, but …’ She paused. ‘Lavvy, anyone can see that you and Lord Thurlby are meant for each other. Do you think that he might prevail upon Mr Twizzle to go away? Oh, Lavvy, would you ask him?’

Lavinia had blushed at the first part of Isobel’s speech. Now she said, ‘There is no understanding between us, you know.’

‘Not yet, but … Would you? Please?’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Lavinia answered. They both turned their heads at the sound of an approaching carriage. ‘He’s here,’ said Lavinia, the tone of her voice betraying her feelings.

‘Then go and see him,’ said Isobel. ‘But give me my letter first.’

Lavinia hurried across the lawn, a smile on her lips. She did not see Isobel read the first line of her letter, then lift her hand to her mouth, her eyes stricken.

A tiny part of Isobel had wondered whether this letter might be full of words of love and reassurance; words which might encourage her to think that there might be a chance for her with
Riseholm. Instead, he wrote of his forthcoming marriage. It was over, then. Lord Thurlby was her only hope. She put her letter away and walked slowly across the grass.

Chapter Seventeen

L
avinia could feel her heart beating faster as she approached Thurlby Hall, a smile on her face. He had as good as
promised
that he would ask for her hand once his mother was in residence. Now, he had come back, and presumably Lady Thurlby was with him.

She had gone over the scene in Lord Thurlby’s library
countless
times since he had left. The memory of his lips against her hand had been her last waking thought each night, as she had cradled her hand against her cheek before settling down to sleep.

She wondered whether to go and greet them at once, or to go to her room and put on a prettier gown. Before she could make that decision, Lord Thurlby himself emerged onto the terrace, glanced around, saw her, then came towards her with hasty strides. At first smiling, Lavinia’s smile faded as she saw the
thunderous
expression on his face.

‘Victor,’ she exclaimed, ‘what has occurred?’

As he reached her side, he caught hold of her arm, constraining to walk with him, almost at a run. ‘You might well ask,’ he responded.

‘Pray, what is the meaning of this?’ she asked, astonished, and now becoming angry. ‘Let go of me at once.’

‘Be silent,’ he demanded, still holding tightly to her arm, and leading her towards a sheltered area, where small clearings were
surrounded by high hedges. ‘Now,
Mrs Hedges
, you can explain yourself.’

‘Mrs Hedges?’ she echoed.

‘You remember, surely,’ he answered sarcastically. ‘It is the assumed identity under which you travelled to Stamford.’

‘Yes, I know,’ she responded. ‘And so did you. We spoke of this before.’

‘We did indeed,’ the earl agreed. ‘You may also recall that during that same conversation, you assured me that your
correspondence
with Lord Riseholm had ceased.’

‘I have not corresponded with Lord Riseholm,’ she told him. She was so shaken by his ungentlemanly handling of her that she could not grasp what he was talking about.

‘Then kindly explain to me why the landlord of the Horseshoe is able to describe Mrs Hedges as a “diligent correspondent”,’ he demanded.

Now, she understood. She blushed, and to his eyes, she looked guilty. It was the time for her to tell him that it was Isobel who was corresponding with Lord Riseholm, but she could not think how to say it. After all, she had only just learned about it herself.

‘Your silence tells its own tale,’ he said, before she could frame a reply. ‘To think that I believed you! You told me … assured me that your relationship with him was over and I believed you. I even … gullible fool that I am, I even fell in love with you. But the woman I fell in love with does not exist.’

‘Victor, please!’ exclaimed Lavinia, anxiously.

‘To think that I held back from making an offer for your hand out of respect!’ He laughed derisively. ‘Respect! That’s rich! You don’t know the meaning of the word.’

‘Indeed, you are mistaken! I—’

‘Were you laughing at me when I professed my devotion to you?’ he asked, hurt as well as anger in his voice. ‘Was it a choice titbit with which to regale his rakeship in your next letter? How you must both have laughed at my folly! Well no more, madam,
no more. Since a rake is what you want, a rake is what you had better have.’

Before she could discern his intention, he had seized her and pulled her into his arms. Then with insolent fingers, he forced up her chin, and pressed his mouth down onto hers in a cruel
travesty
of a kiss.

She had shyly anticipated the first time when he would kiss her properly. Never had she imagined something so savage, so brutal, without a vestige of the love that he professed to feel for her. At last he released her and they stood staring at one another, both a little out of breath, he still with rage in his eyes, she with unshed tears in hers. ‘Get out of my sight,’ he said in a low tone that was not quite steady. ‘Just get out of my sight.’

She stared at him for a long moment, before whirling around and running into the wilderness.

Isobel, who had approached unseen, and heard the last little bit of this exchange, also turned away. There would be no help from this direction, for if the earl had been so angry with the woman whom he was supposed to love, how great would be his anger towards one for whom he did not care two straws? Now she would have to face Bernard Twizzle, not only without any money to offer him, but without any prospect of getting any and with no possibility of rescue from any other quarter. Her lips set in a tight line. Mr Twizzle had had it his own way for too long. It was high time that
he
was of use to
her
.

It was some time before Lavinia returned to the house, and when she did, it was with the resolve that she must find somewhere else to stay. She refused to spend so much as one more night
underneath
the roof of a man who was so unreasonable that he would not listen to an explanation, even when he had asked for one. As he had hurled accusations at her, she had been too confused to speak. Later, distress mingled with indignation that he should believe this of her when he was supposed to be in love with her
had ensured her continued silence. She had greeted his return, full of hope for a happy future. Now, all that was gone; and although she knew that she bore some responsibility for not being open with him, he had shown a deplorable lack of trust that would be hard to forgive. Furthermore, the notion of facing him when he had kissed her so brutally was utterly mortifying.

She would go to Caroline Tasker, she decided. Her cottage was tiny, but at least she was a true friend. From there, she would write to Mr and Mrs Stancross. She would be able to make herself useful to them at Lyme Regis, she was sure. All her dreams were shattered now. It was time to face reality.

She went into the house by a side door hoping to escape notice. She was successful until she got to her own room, and found Lady Thurlby waiting inside, in a chair by the window. ‘Aunt Phyllis!’ she exclaimed.

Lady Thurlby got gracefully to her feet. ‘My dear,’ she said, opening her arms. Lavinia, who had thought that she had regained control over her composure, ran into them and burst into tears.

‘I
knew
that it was a mistake for me to go away,’ said Lady Thurlby when Lavinia had spilled out the whole story. ‘Miss Wheatman, excellent though she is, does not know you as I do and would, perhaps, be more diffident than I about making enquiries when she is not living in her own house. And of course, my pig-headed son has leaped to his own conclusions in a way that only a man of this family can. Would you like to remain here with me whilst I send
him
to live in a cottage in the village?’

Lavinia gave a watery chuckle. ‘This is his home,’ she said. She remembered that she had thought that it would be hers too, and she gave another little sob.

Instinctively understanding the direction of her thoughts, Lady Thurlby said, ‘My dear, it will all come right in the end, I am sure. Victor has a temper, I know, but it is an honest and open one. He
has gone out riding now but when he comes back I am convinced he will see reason.’

‘I hope he falls off into a ditch and has to come home covered in mud,’ said Lavinia savagely.

Lady Thurlby laughed. ‘If it brings him to his senses, then I hope indeed that he may,’ she said. ‘I do think that there can be no harm in your going to Caroline Tasker. I have only one concern, and that is your friend, Miss Macclesfield. I doubt very much if Victor will want to give her house-room when he hears that she is Lord Riseholm’s real correspondent.’

‘He must not be told,’ said Lavinia quickly. ‘He has made some stupid assumptions and I do not see why anyone should put him right.’

‘I thought that you would say that, and although I am not in complete agreement with you, I can understand your feelings,’ replied her ladyship. ‘But you must understand mine. Even if he does not know,
I
will do so. I do not scruple to say that I should find it hard to be civil to her under such circumstances.’

‘I suppose I had better go and speak to her,’ said Lavinia with a sigh. ‘I just have no idea what I am going to say.’

‘I think your determination to speak to her at all is quite admirable,’ said Lady Thurlby. ‘In your place, I should be wanting to wring her neck. Shall I wait here?’

‘Please.’

As she left her room and walked down the passage to Isobel’s, it occurred to Lavinia that whilst her feelings towards her friend amounted to little more than irritation, her anger was reserved for the man who had asked her to explain herself, and had then refused to listen. She hoped that he would not just be covered with mud from head to toe, but that his horse would bolt and he would have to walk all the way home. ‘In leaky boots,’ she added savagely to herself, as she scratched on Isobel’s door.

There was no reply, so after calling her friend’s name softly, Lavinia opened the door and walked in. Isobel was never a very
tidy person, but her belongings seemed to be in more of a mess than usual. Gowns had been taken from the cupboard and thrown across the bed. One bonnet was also on the bed and another was on the floor. Drawers had been left open, and things were spilling out of them. One or two papers were lying on the floor. The impression was of someone having made a hasty
departure
. It was impossible to discern whether anything was missing.

Lavinia looked around her, quite unable to decide what to do next. Eventually, she went back to her own room, thinking to fetch the countess. ‘She is not there,’ she began. Then because she had walked into the room thinking about Isobel and not, as on the previous occasion, about her own troubles, she suddenly noticed the note on the mantelpiece. With an exclamation, she hurried across the room and opened it.

‘What does it say?’ her ladyship asked. She had got up from her place and was standing next to Lavinia, although very politely refraining from looking over her shoulder at her
correspondence
.

‘She has gone with Benjamin Twizzle,’ said Lavinia looking up incredulously.

‘With Twizzle!’ exclaimed Lady Thurlby. ‘Good heavens, why?’

‘She has heard from Lord Riseholm. Apparently he has got engaged to Miss Egan. Isobel had other hopes, but they are not to be.’

‘What might those have been?’ asked her ladyship, wrinkling her brow.

‘I’m not at all sure,’ Lavinia answered, reluctant to reveal how her friend would have destroyed Mr Ames’s engagement without a qualm.

‘But how has she come to know Twizzle well enough to take such a step?’

‘We met him on the stage as we were travelling to Stamford, and I’m told he was at Folkingham when we went there on an outing. At the time, I thought that he was there by chance, but today she told me that he has been taking money from her as payment to say nothing about her involvement with Lord Riseholm. She had decided to tell Lord … Lord Thurlby’ – she hesitated on the name – ‘about her difficulties, but then—’ She stopped abruptly.

‘I can guess,’ said the countess. ‘She heard Victor upbraiding you about Riseholm and concluded that no help was to be had from that direction. Poor girl! She had nowhere to turn.’

Lavinia had to smile at that. ‘Isobel is not usually the kind of girl whom one would describe as “poor”,’ she said. ‘Although I suspect that her chaperon in London was not very kind, so no doubt she could not bear to go back there either. What’s more, Mrs Wilbraham has threatened to send her to her grandmother in Harrogate if she returns to London unattached.’

‘And who is her grandmother?’

‘She is called Mrs Scales,’ Lavinia answered.

Lady Thurlby blenched. ‘The Wimbledon Witch,’ she breathed. ‘Married three times and all of her husbands dead; from what cause one dare not guess! No wonder Miss Macclesfield is desperate not to go there.’

‘Izzy has been very foolish, but I cannot bear to think of her being at the mercy of such as Benjamin Twizzle. I shall have to go after her, I suppose.’

‘Our horses are at your disposal, of course,’ said the countess. ‘I wonder whether Mr Ames and Miss Tasker would go with you?’

‘You forget that Miss Wheatman and Miss Tasker have gone to visit Miss Tasker’s father today,’ Lavinia reminded her.

‘Oh dear,’ said the countess. ‘Then, of course, I will go with you myself.’