A Poor Relation (13 page)

“You had best marry her and make it your business to see that it is not wasted.”

“I am not so selfish as to chain that enchanting child to a cripple.” For the first time, Bernard sounded bitter about his injuries. The gaiety in his voice was forced as he turned the subject. “But what of your plans? Do you mean to have the fair Millicent?”

“Ask rather whether she will have me. At our last meeting she gave me the cold shoulder in favour of Ruddle. He is something of a Croesus, I collect, and a better catch than an impoverished earl.”

“Gammon! It’s my belief she’ll hold out for a title. The Grange is impressive enough and I doubt she bothers her pretty little head about the state of your farms. Besides, rumour has it she will bring twenty thousand. Surely that is enough to set things to rights?”

“Yes, with that to spend I believe I could soon have the place producing a decent income.” He hesitated. “I fear her character leaves something to be desired.”

“You have noticed!”

“Her temper is not always under her control, but as she is young yet, she will learn to govern it. The chief difficulty is that I cannot like to be thought a fortune-hunter.”

“A title for a fortune is fair exchange, and not uncommon either. You will not even have to wed some Cit’s ugly daughter. Her beauty goes without saying and her father is a baronet and a respected magistrate. You had best put it to the touch.”

“I will not ask Sir Henry for his daughter’s hand until I can show him that I mean to use her fortune wisely, not fritter it away. I must first set in train what improvements I can.”

“Rationalization,” muttered Bernard.

Chris pretended not to hear. Of course he wanted to marry Millicent, he tried to persuade himself. If he sometimes suspected that she was not quite kind, she was beautiful, rich and eligible in every way, and he could not blame her for wanting to be a countess. He suspected that yesterday’s pointed flirtation with Adolphus Ruddle had been intended to make him jealous. Besides, it would be unfair to expect her not to encourage the wealthy fop when she had no certainty that he himself would come up to scratch.

He would, as soon as he had proof for her father of his sincere intent to restore his estate. All the same, it was a pity that she was not more like the estimable--and penniless--Miss Caxton.

He turned El Cid’s head towards the orchard nearest the lane to the village. The great gelding was restless this morning, eager to stretch his legs, but Chris kept him on a tight rein. He was afraid to leave Bernard’s side lest his friend be overcome by one of his dizzy spells.

“I had a notion you were growing fond of Rowena,” said Bernard conversationally.

“Fond! I have the greatest respect and admiration for Miss Caxton’s competence. There is another case of a female’s abilities going to waste.” Chris paused, then added grudgingly, “Perhaps I am fond of her as I am of my sister. She amuses me, and her lack of respect for the dignity of an earl is refreshing.”

“Judging by the direction you have taken, you expect to meet her again today. I did not hear you making arrangements.”

“We didn’t make any. She knows how much I need her help and she is too generous not to give it unstintingly. Besides, she likes to ride and she is only free in the mornings.”

“She likes to gallop across the hills, I collect. She is indeed generous to give up to you the only time she has for that pleasure.”

Chris frowned. “You are right, I must not take up all her time. I know, I shall insist that she gallop with me before she goes home.”

“You can safely leave Anne and her groom to pick me up if I fall off Sluggard.” Bernard laughed wryly.

“If they come.”

Chris was beginning to doubt his own certainty. Was it a form of arrogance in him to expect Rowena to come without being asked? He let El Cid lengthen his pace and reached the gate to the lane ahead of Bernard. The faint tones of the church clock in the distant village striking nine floated through the still air.

Rowena appeared round the bend and rode down the hill towards him. His heart lifted, and he realized how much he enjoyed her company. Was Bernard right? He could not afford to allow himself to develop a tendre for Rowena.

He plunged straight into the question of the rival merits of sheep and geese to keep down the weeds in the orchards. Vixen and El Cid soon outpaced Rocinante and the newly christened Sluggard. Their thoughts elsewhere, Chris and Rowena scarcely noticed.

An hour passed before Rowena looked round and discovered that they were alone.

“Oh, dear, I must go back to Anne. She will be wondering what has become of us.”

“I doubt it. More likely she and Bernard are discussing some obscure subject and are unaware of our absence. Before we rejoin them, let us ride up that hill.” He pointed with his whip. “There is a good view of most of the estate. I’ll race you.”

“Your Cid is twice Vixen’s size!”

“Craven, Miss Caxton?”

“No!” She urged the mare forward, sailing across the stream that divided the orchard from the grassy slope.

A pair of magpies flew up with a screech of warning.

Hooves thundered behind her, overtook and pounded ahead. It would never occur to the ex-soldier to hold back and allow a lady to win, and Rowena was glad of it. Following at Vixen’s best speed, she saw him draw to a halt at the spinney on top of the hill. He was laughing.

“You took me by surprise. I had intended to show you the bridge, but before I knew it you were over the brook and away.”

“Even with a start, I was beaten hollow. He’s splendid.” She reached over to stroke his horse’s nose. “You bought him in Spain?”

“I inherited him from a friend who was killed at Ciudad Rodrigo.”

“I’m sorry.”

His smile was twisted. “We all lost many friends. Can you wonder that I fought as hard to save Bernard as I did against Napoleon? Come, it is time we returned to the others.”

They cantered down the slope without admiring the view. Rowena was sure his words had slipped out without his volition. He had never spoken of the war before, not in her hearing, for he was not one of those men who enjoyed recounting tales of heroic battles. She was honoured that he had revealed his feelings to her, however briefly.

The memory of his pain stayed with her as she and Anne rode slowly homeward.

They had nearly reached the house when Anne said abruptly, “Bernard was talking about his injuries, about his limp and how weak his arm still is and his dizzy fits.”

“I have never noticed him having a fit.”

“Fit is the wrong word. He feels suddenly faint, then it passes. I have seen it once or twice. He stops speaking and sits with his head down for a few moments, then he is all right again. But I do not want to discuss his symptoms. It’s just that I had a strange feeling that he was trying to tell me something quite different from what he was saying.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“There was something behind his words, that he could not say outright, but that he hoped I would understand. And I didn’t.” Anne’s eyes were bewildered, hurt.

“Perhaps you imagined it?”

As Anne shook her head they rode into the stable yard. The groom swung down from his horse and came to help them dismount, putting an end to confidences. The cousins went into the house.

Rowena automatically checked the post on the table in the front hall in passing, though her only regular correspondent was Pinkie, from whom she had heard not a week since. There was a letter there addressed to her in a masculine hand that seemed familiar though she could not identify it. She turned it over. It was sealed with a vast quantity of red sealing wax.

She needed the paperknife in her chamber to open it, and she wanted privacy to read it. She followed Anne up the stairs.

“Just tell me this.” Anne turned as they reached the landing. “Should I ask him what he meant?”

Rowena tore her thoughts from the letter. “The captain? No, don’t do that. If it is important he will surely explain himself in the end.”

Minton came down the hall towards them.

“Miss Millicent’s been asking for you this half hour, miss,” the abigail said sourly. “I suppose I’d best help you change so’s you don’t keep her waiting any longer.”

“Thank you, Minton, but I shall send for you when I need you.” Rowena went into her chamber, found her paperknife, and carefully slit the seal of the letter.

Anne had followed her. “Who is it from?” she enquired with her usual lack of ceremony.

“I don’t know.” She unfolded the two sheets of paper and stared at the uppermost. “Good gracious, it’s a bank draft. In my name!”

“How much? Who from?”

“Ninety-eight pounds, three shillings and sixpence ha’penny. The letter is signed by Mr. Harwin, my lawyer. Wait a bit.” She scanned the precise, legal handwriting. “I told you Papa left his papers in such a muddle? It seems Mr. Harwin’s clerk is still going through them and this is the result of something he found.”

“Blessings on Mr. Harwin’s clerk! A hundred pounds—you could live for a year on it and be free of Millie while you seek a position. You can afford to pick and choose.”

Rowena was thoughtful. “But suppose the next thing he finds is an unpaid debt? Mr. Harwin even hints at the possibility, though he is not so imprudent as to say it outright. No, I shall buy new gowns, for both of us, and put a little aside for insurance.”

“Oh, no, Rowena, you must not waste your money. I am sure Mama will buy us new gowns if we only make a push for it.”

“I
will
not ask, and have Millicent think of a hundred reasons why we should not, or why we must continue in grey and white. I want something pretty for a last fling before I go to be a companion.”

“To think I always considered you such a practical person! I wonder if Mama will let us take the barouche into Broadway tomorrow.”

“Not Broadway.”

“Evesham?”

“No. For Lady Amelia’s ball we are going to have ball gowns from the best modiste in Cheltenham.”

“That will take all day. I shall ask Papa for the carriage and Millicent will have nothing to say in the matter.”

“You are the practical one, Anne dear.”

When Sir Henry understood the purpose of their proposed expedition, he not unnaturally forbade Rowena to spend any of her money on his daughter. In fact, he pressed her to save it and accept a sum from him sufficient to purchase several dresses. Her refusal was adamant. All too clearly she foresaw Millicent’s accusations of cozening her uncle into indulging her. She could no more take the offer from him than from her aunt.

Sir Henry, therefore, contented himself with taking a roll of flimsies from his safe and peeling off fifty pounds for Anne.

“Not to be spent on books, mind,” he warned as he handed her the money.

“I shall not let her go near any bookshops,” promised Rowena.

Anne was inclined to postpone the outing for a day when she realized that they could not send a message to Farleigh Grange warning of their absence.

“That’s the trouble with clandestine meetings,” she observed.

Rowena was overcome with guilt at these blunt words. She had been trying to persuade herself that since no appointment had been made after the first morning there was no impropriety attached to their encounters with the gentlemen. She salved her conscience now with the thought that the tacit understanding would be disrupted when they did not turn up on the morrow.

“No, we must go to Cheltenham tomorrow, to be sure there is time enough to have the gowns made up,” she insisted a trifle crossly.

All the same, she was not sorry when she woke to see a light drizzle falling. Lord Farleigh and Captain Cartwright would not expect them.

They spent a damp but delightful day in the bustling spa town of Cheltenham. New crescents and parades were under construction everywhere, and new shops were opening to serve the growing population. Anne knew her way about since she had spent a couple of years at a school in the vicinity. Followed by the grumbling footman, the girls went first to a French modiste to order their ball gowns. Then they hurried from draper to haberdasher to mantua-maker, and the carriage quickly filled with packages. By the time they were done there was scarce room for them among the yards of fabric, with patterns for day-dresses to be made up by a seamstress in Broadway, lengths of lace trimming, fans and gloves and reticules and slippers.

Fifty pounds might be nothing to a London milliner, but in Cheltenham it went a long way. They returned to Grove Park at dusk, tired but satisfied.

Millicent was complacent, despite having been outwitted. Lord Farleigh, Captain Cartwright and Mr. Ruddle had all braved the rain to visit.

“Captain Cartwright is the soul of courtesy,” declared Lady Grove. “He stayed beside me for quite twenty minutes, though I could see he longed to be with dear Millicent.”

“Once the curate came to entertain Mama, the captain hurried to me at once.” Millicent cast a sly glance at her sister. “It is a pity he is so dull, and a cripple too, yet one can never have too many beaux. Anne is too young, but I am sorry you have none, Rowena. You really ought to encourage the curate.”

Anne looked anxious. Rowena whispered to her, “Even I would almost prefer Millicent’s company to the curate’s. No doubt Bernard hoped to persuade Chris to leave since you were not there.”

“Do you think so?” Anne asked eagerly. “No, you must be mistaken. He only pays attention to me because he is kind, and the soul of courtesy, as Mama put it. I am too plain to interest him, especially with Millicent around.”

“Fustian! I am perfectly certain that he enjoys talking to you, and only wait until he sees you in your new ball gown.”

Lady Amelia’s ball was just six days off. As Rowena had promised, their gowns were being created by the best modiste in Cheltenham, and they had to go back for a final fitting.

Two days of heavy rain intervened. There were no morning rides and no visitors. Anne closeted herself in the library, to be seen only at mealtimes, and Millicent was so petulant and unreasonable that even her mother chided her. Rowena’s equable temper was sorely tried. At last, when her cousin snapped at her for the second time for turning a page of music too slowly, she snapped back.