Captain Ingram's Inheritance (8 page)

 His pace slow but steady, he held himself with a military uprightness no debility could disguise. She started to play Handel’s
See the conquering hero come
, and he laughed.

  “I recognize that,” he said. “Mama used to sing it whenever my father returned to whatever quarters we happened to call home at any moment. Play some more.”

 “The spinet is a little out of tune, I fear. Vickie uses it to practise on. I hope you will soon be able to come to the drawing-room to hear the pianoforte.”

 “Very soon. I feel the effect of your nurse’s favourite remedy already.”

 “The milk-and-stout? Oh, splendid!”

 Whether that peculiar concoction was responsible; or his willingness to oblige her by devouring the meals and snacks she pressed upon him; or the easy access to the gallery for exercise; or the sunshine that succeeded the rain and made possible strolls and idle lounging out on the terrace; whatever the cause, Captain Ingram’s health improved visibly over the next two days. With delight, Constantia watched his wan face begin to fill out and take on colour, his steps grow firmer and swifter.

 He still tired easily, breakfasted in bed and retired thither before dinner, but the moment came when she could no longer postpone presenting him to her parents. Their guests left, and the countess was becoming curious about the invalid who occupied so much of her daughter’s time.

 Felix ought to have performed the introductions, but Felix was always out riding, or fishing, or searching for a mount for his sisters or himself. Doubtless for that reason, the Westwoods had softened towards Fanny, her ladyship even going so far as to commend her neat stitches. Nonetheless, Constantia was apprehensive when her mother informed her that they intended to repair to the long gallery at noon to make the captain’s acquaintance. She hurried to warn him.

 “You must lie on the sofa,” she urged, “with the rug over you.”

 Turning unexpectedly stubborn, he adamantly refused. “Lord no, not I. I’ll face ‘em on my own two feet.”

 Constantia bit her lip. “But--”

 “I’ve stood up to Boney’s
Grande Armée
.” He touched her hand. “You wouldn’t want a soldier to show the white feather in the face of...er...hm....”

 “The enemy?”

 “An adversary, let’s say.” He grinned and she had to smile. “I wager they’ll not shoot me without a declaration of war.”

 The meeting passed off much better than she had dared to hope. Her parents were stiff but civil, the captain courteous and undaunted. The countess remarked upon his having been wounded in the service of his country, and hoped he was being made comfortable; the earl asked a question or two about fighting under the Duke of Wellington.

 As, in obedience to her mother’s signal, Constantia followed them from the room, she tried to guess the reason for their lack of antagonism. Captain Ingram had gentlemanly manners, though of a plain, soldierly kind. He was neither handsome nor possessed of a dangerously insinuating charm that might make their daughter forget herself. By their reckoning, having rejected several highly eligible suitors she was not likely to fall for a shabby invalid. After all, even Felix had come to his senses and was now paying as little attention to the captain’s sister as any uneasy parent could possibly desire.

 Lord and Lady Westwood probably failed to notice that Felix went around with a set face, nor did they care that Fanny was utterly miserable. Constantia did. She could not sit by and let her brother ruin his own life and Fanny’s.

 As soon as she was able, she returned to the gallery. Captain Ingram was seated at the bureau, a pen in his hand, Anita on his knee. The little girl jumped down and ran to Constantia, took her hand and tugged her forward.

 “I’m drawing a picsher for Amos, Aunt Connie. Come and see. Uncle Frank’s going to send it to him, ‘cos he’s writing a letter to Aunt Miriam.”

 Writing to Miriam! Why should that send a stab of an emotion very like jealousy through Constantia’s heart?

 “Trying to write,” the captain amended. “I don’t have a way with words, I fear. I know Fanny’s written to thank the Cohens for all they did for us, but I cannot any longer postpone writing on my own behalf. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to advise me?”

 “If you wish,” she said shyly, pulling up a chair as Anita scrambled back onto his lap and picked up her pencil.

 “You see, it mustn’t be too formal, because Mrs Cohen is not at all a formal person, nor too casual, because we owe them a great deal, and I wouldn’t wish to be disrespectful.”

 Constantia smiled. “A nice distinction, but I expect we can manage.” She suggested several phrases and he wrote them down.

 “Excellent. And now I must tell them about the angel of mercy who is so kindly ministering to my needs here.”

 “That you will have to work out for yourself!” she said, blushing. “Captain, I want to talk to you about your sister and my brother.”

 He sobered at once. “Yes, it’s time something was done about that situation. Anita, love, that’s a beautiful picture. Why don’t you take it to show to Aunt Fanny?”

 “And Aunt Vickie.” She slipped down again and ran off, her paper clutched to her chest.

 “She already feels quite at home in this great mansion,” said the captain. “If she can’t find Fanny she’ll just ask the nearest maid or footman. I believe she thinks the footmen are some odd kind of soldier, because of their livery.”

 “All the servants adore her. Even our starchy butler has been seen to smile at her, which he never has for me.” She hesitated, reluctant to voice so uncharitable a thought about her brother: “You don’t think Felix and Fanny came to cuffs about her, do you? That he asked Fanny to marry him but refused to take on Anita? He seems so fond of the child!”

 As if he guessed how the suspicion hurt her, he reached out and took her hand. A loud cough reminded them that Joan was not far off. The abigail spent a great deal of her time sewing in the long gallery these days. The captain dropped Constantia’s hand like a stinging nettle plucked by mistake.

 Or perhaps it was his hand that resembled a nettle. Certainly his touch left the oddest tingling sensation in her fingers.

 She concentrated on what he was saying.

 “It’s always possible, of course, that Roworth don’t choose to bring up Anita. If that’s it, you mustn’t think too hardly of him.” He went on awkwardly, “I daresay I ought not to speak of such things to a delicately bred young lady, but Anita is a love-child.”

 Shocked, but conscious of his serious scrutiny, Constantia swallowed a gasp and took a deep breath instead. “You mean, her mother and father were not married?” she asked, her voice a trifle unsteady.

 “Such things happen in war-time.” He smiled wryly. “Indeed, as you visit your father’s tenants, you must be aware that they happen in the most peaceful settings. Anita’s mother was a refugee from the French, a Spanish lady, a Catholic, and her father was an English soldier. They loved each other, but circumstances at that time, in that place, made marriage impossible.”

 “And then they both died.” Tears rose to Constantia’s eyes. She blinked them away. “The poor child! Or, no, she is not to be pitied, for she has you.”

 His eyes were warm. “I knew you would understand. I trust you not to spread the story. I’d not have told you but that I didn’t want you to judge your brother too harshly if he rejected Anita. However, I doubt that’s the case. Have I mentioned that the Cohens wished to adopt her? When Fanny and I declined their offer, Roworth cried out ‘Bravo,’ and it’s my belief that was after he’d realized he loves Fanny.” Now he was uncertain. “He does, doesn’t he? It’s not my imagination?”

 “He has told me he loves her and wants to marry her.”

 “That’s more than Fanny’s told me, though I don’t doubt for a moment that she loves him.”

 “The trouble is, perhaps he has changed his mind, as he did over Lady Sophia.”

 The captain considered this. “In my opinion, he courted Lady Sophia for her suitability, not because he liked her.”

 “In other words, because my parents would approve her. Then I am very much afraid that he may have let them convince him that your sister is not suitable.” She gazed at him in dismay.

 Something enigmatical in his regard made her fear that she had offended him. His next words increased her chagrin.

 “If that’s so, it’s not for me to induce Lord Roworth to accept her as an eligible bride. The best I can do for Fanny is to take her away from here at once.”

 “No! At least let me talk to Felix. Surely I can persuade him not to sacrifice Fanny’s happiness and his own to Mama and Papa’s antiquated notions! He is out riding, but I shall give orders that I am to be notified the moment he returns.”

  As she turned away to ring for a footman, she received a distinct impression that he was both admiring of her resolve and, for some reason, amused. She did not always understand him, yet she had to admit to herself that, besides her concern for Felix, she did not want Captain Ingram to leave Westwood. He filled a void in her lonely life. Somehow, against all the odds, he had become a friend.

* * * *

 When word came that Felix had ridden into the stable yard, Constantia hurried there to accost him before he could disappear again. She attacked at once, the wait for his return having increased her indignation at his perfidy.

  “Fanny is very unhappy. How can you treat her so? I had not thought you so weak-willed as to crawl like a worm at Mama’s and Papa’s bidding.”

 “A worm!” With a repressive glance at an eavesdropping stable boy, Felix drew her through a brick archway into the English garden. “Their disapproval has nothing to do with it.”

 “They have nothing to disapprove of any more, since you have been treating Fanny like a stranger for three days. This morning, Mama went so far as to commend her neat stitches. Have you changed your mind, Felix, as you did with Lady Sophia?”

 He groaned. “I am deeper in love than ever. When I see her I want to...well, that’s not the sort of thing a fellow can discuss with his sister.”

 Her face hot, Constantia turned aside to inhale the fragrance of a pink and yellow honeysuckle. Bravely she persevered. “Is that why you are avoiding her? You are afraid of...of losing control?”

 “Good Lord, no! I hope I have more command over myself than that.”

 “Then why?”

 “Because she doesn’t need me any more, Con. I’m telling you this in confidence, mind. It turns out that she and Frank are closely related to the Duke of Oxshott and they have come into a fortune.”

 “A fortune? And a noble family?” Her mind whirled, but she refused to let herself be distracted. “Then what has she to be miserable about except your determination to avoid her?”

 “Perhaps I have been too aloof,” he conceded warily. “After all, we are good friends.”

 “Felix, you dear, blind idiot, she loves you. Did you tell her you love her?”

 He thought for a moment. “No,” he admitted. “I told her I’d adopt Anita and that I don’t care a fig for my parents’ opinion. And we were interrupted.”

 “There you are, then. It is all a stupid misunderstanding, I vow. You wait here in the honeysuckle bower and I shall send her to you.”

 By the time she found Fanny in the nursery, Constantia’s confidence was fading. She had assured Felix that Fanny loved him, but both she and the captain might be wrong. How dreadful if her interference only led to more pain for Felix and a shocking embarrassment for Fanny!

 Vickie and Anita were walking about the room with books balanced on their heads, under Miss Bannister’s strict but benevolent eye. Vickie’s usually boisterous carriage was much in need of improvement, and Anita loved to copy whatever she did. Constantia’s arrival made both girls lose their concentration and books at once. They fell into a fit of giggles.

 Fanny smiled, but with such an effort that Constantia knew she had to risk trying.

 “Fanny, may I have a word with you?”

 “Of course.” She followed Constantia out into the passage. “Connie, is Frank...?”

 “Captain Ingram is better every day. I’m sure he is too much recovered to have a sudden relapse. Fanny, I feel like a horrid busybody but I must speak. My brother...You and Felix...Oh, dear, I am making a dreadful muddle of this.”

 Fanny flushed, then turned pale. “Felix?”

 “You and he have unfinished business, do you not? He is waiting for you in the English garden. Will you go to him?” she begged, praying that she was doing the right thing.

 “The English garden? Waiting for me?”

 She seemed so dazed that Constantia gave her a little push. “Go on.”

 Fanny started towards the stairs at a sedate pace, then suddenly picked up her skirts and began to run. Reassured, Constantia followed.

 Now she could concentrate on what Felix had told her about the Ingrams. And she had talked of Felix giving in to persuasion that Fanny was unworthy to be his bride! No wonder the captain had been amused.

 Her pace, too, quickened. By the time she reached the long gallery she was positively marching along, her mood as militant as her step.

 Constantia was furious.

Chapter 6

 Frank was half sitting, half leaning against the stone balustrade of the terrace when Lady Constantia came storming out of the house. He’d never have guessed she was capable of such wrath. She had forgotten her bonnet. Lightning flashed in her blue eyes and her face was a thundercloud.

 Grinning, he glanced up at the sky and held out his hand, palm up, as if checking for rain.

 “Don’t laugh at me, you wretch! How could you let me spout away about eligibility like the veriest ninnyhammer when all the time you and Fanny are...”

 He raised a finger to his lips. “Please! It’s a secret. I couldn’t tell you because I’d agreed with Fanny not to tell anyone. Roworth let the cat out of the bag, I take it?”

 “Yes.” She came to stand nearby, beside a great stone urn, angrily nipping sprigs off the trailing lobelia. “If she trusted Felix, you could have trusted me.”

 “I do trust you. You know that. But it wasn’t quite that way.” He explained how Felix had interviewed Taggle first, before allowing him to see Fanny, lest he bore a threat rather than a promise.