Death Comes to the Village (25 page)

“It is?”

“You must have guessed I was unhappy.”

“I had begun to suspect as much. If that is what you want, I will not try to dissuade you.” He studied her woebegone face. “I realize I am no longer the man you envisioned marrying.”

“My parents will try to make me change my mind.” She hesitated. “They have other daughters to marry off, and they will see my refusal to wed you as a rejection of my duty.”

“But you should not sacrifice yourself for them.”

“That’s what Mrs. Armitage said.” Her words came in a rush. “I cannot imagine my life tied to an invalid. It wouldn’t be fair. I deserve
so
much better. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“Perfectly, Miss Chingford.” Even though her words slashed at his already tottering self-respect, he held out his hand. “May we part as friends? I promise never to speak ill of you to any of our acquaintances, and I accept all the blame for the failure of our relationship. In fact, if you wish, I will write to your parents and tell them that.”

She took his hand, her fingers warm against his. “Thank you. Perhaps you will find another woman grateful enough to accept your deformities and ill temper for the opportunity to be your wife. Miss Anna Harrington is pleasant enough to look at, and she seems to have a more willing disposition than her sister.”

Her self-absorption continued to both fascinate and repel him. Had he been that selfish at twenty? He suspected he might have been. “Thank you for the suggestion. Do you know if my aunt is at home?”

“She is the one who sent me up to speak to you.” Miss Chingford stepped away from him. “She seemed to think I needed to tell you my decision in person.”

“That was very brave of you.”

Oblivious to his sarcasm, she smiled for the first time. “I thought so, too. But if I plan on facing my parents, this can only be good practice for such an ordeal—although you are far more frightening than they are.” She curtsied and turned to the door. “I’ll send Mrs. Armitage up to you.”

Robert allowed his head to fall back on his pillows and stared up at the embroidered hangings of his four-poster bed. An ancestor of his—no doubt in an effort to inspire future generations—had embroidered the family crest above his head.

“Fight until breath and blood have fled and fight again.”

He didn’t feel like fighting anymore.

Bookman came through the door balancing a tray on his hip. “Mrs. Armitage says to tell you she will be here in a moment. She is just finishing writing a letter.”

“Thank you. I suppose she is writing to the Chingford family. Miss Chingford has decided we will not suit.”

Bookman put down the tray. “That’s a shame, sir.”

“Not really. She is quite right. We would not suit each other at all.” Robert sighed. “It seems we are both unlucky in love, Bookman.”

“At least Miss Chingford had the guts to tell you to your face, sir.” With a snap, Bookman placed Robert’s napkin on his lap. “Do you want to start with the soup or the lamb?”

“The soup, I think, although my hands are still shaking.”

“I can feed you if you like, sir.”

“No, thank you, Bookman. I’d rather manage for myself.” He took the spoon and concentrated on getting the fragrant broth from the bowl to his mouth. It seemed all he was capable of at the moment as his body trembled and threatened to betray him. What a fool he’d been to venture outside. He should have stayed in bed where he obviously belonged.

“Mr. Hodges was after you earlier today, sir.”

“Who is that?”

“Your head gardener, sir.”

There was that tone again, as if Robert were an invalid who needed pandering to. But he was abnormal, wasn’t he? Miss Chingford had very kindly pointed it out to him while repudiating his proposal of marriage. Of course, she’d also had the pleasure of seeing him rolling on the ground in terror over nothing. If only she knew his physical deformities were only the most obvious of his problems....

“Major?”

He looked up. “Yes?”

“Have you finished with the soup?”

He stared at his empty bowl. “I suppose I have. It was delicious.”

“Would you care for some lamb?”

“The soup was quite sufficient.”

“You should try and keep up your strength, sir.”

“For what? So that I can lie in bed and grow fat?”

Bookman took the tray. “You’ll come about, sir. You always do. Just stick with me and Foley and we’ll see you right. Keep away from women. They always complicate matters.”

Robert slid down under the covers again. “I’m beginning to think you have a point.”

“What point is that, dear?”

“Aunt Rose.” Robert opened his eyes and struggled to sit up again. “Thank you for persuading Miss Chingford to change her mind, and make us both much happier.”

“Oh, it wasn’t me, dear. It was Miss Harrington.”

“Miss Harrington? But Miss Chingford despises her.”

“I’m sure she does, but she at least had the sense to listen to her. I’ve written a letter to the Chingfords. I’m sure you will want to add a note of your own. I will take her back to Town in a few days and help her navigate the wrath of her parents.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“I’m not doing it for her. I’m doing it for you. She would’ve made you a terrible wife.”

“No, you have that wrong. I was informed that
I
would make her a terrible husband, and that she deserved far more than an elderly invalid.”

“She didn’t actually say that to you, did she?”

Robert’s smile was wry. “She came pretty damn close. But I have to respect her honesty. She knows what she wants from life, and she is determined to get it.”

Aunt Rose took his hand. “I’m sorry, love. You deserve so much better. When you are on your feet, we will look around and make a list of all of the eligible young ladies. Then you can have your pick.”

“I don’t think so, Aunt. I’m hardly much of a catch.”

“Don’t be so modest, my lad. You still have your wealth and position.”

“Ah, how kind of you to remind me that if all else fails, I might always be married for my money.”

She patted his cheek and left him alone with his thoughts.

Lucy walked back from the Hathaways’ through the deepening gloom, her thoughts troubled, her steps slow. Wisps of fog from the deep-water ditches alongside the road floated across the path, muffling the sounds of nature and obscuring Lucy’s vision. Despite her objections, Sophia had reiterated her invitation and Mrs. Hathaway had seconded the proposal so firmly that it seemed it might be
made
to happen. If only her father could be persuaded. The Hathaways didn’t know that Anthony was about to disturb his father’s plans for the future, and that he might retaliate by clinging more fiercely to his other children.

The plan was for Mr. Hathaway to invite the Harringtons to dinner and to take her papa aside and broach the idea of Lucy accompanying Sophia to London next spring. Lucy knew that her father would take more note of the idea if a gentleman he respected proposed it.

A horse neighed behind her on the path and Lucy looked over her shoulder, suddenly aware that she was very much alone. Did Ben Cobbins own a horse?

“Good evening, Miss Harrington.”

The smell of warm saddle leather and horse surrounded her, and she looked up at the rider who touched his hat.

“Mr. Jenkins.”

His smile was warm. “I hear that you visited my grandmother this week. I’m sorry I missed you.”

“It was of no matter, sir. We only talked of the most domestic things. You would probably have been bored to tears.”

“Probably. But I always enjoy your company.” He indicated the path ahead. “You shouldn’t be standing around in the cold. May I walk my horse alongside you?”

“If you wish.” She could feel the heat coming off his horse in waves and was grateful for the shelter it provided from the stiff breeze. “I am heading home.”

He glanced behind. “Ah, you were visiting the Hathaways. Are they well?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“And your family, Miss Harrington? Your sister?”

Lucy concealed a smile. The honorable Nicholas Jenkins, whose grandfather was a viscount, was definitely rather fond of Anna. “She is in great beauty. My father is considering sending her to London next year to stay with his brother, the earl, and make her curtsy to the queen.”

“To London?”

She marked his frown and kept smiling. “Yes. It is about time, don’t you think?”

“I suppose it is. Will you be accompanying her?”

“I’m not quite certain. Our plans are not yet fixed.”

“I’m considering going up to London myself next year. My grandfather says all young men need a little town polish.”

His parents had perished of the smallpox and his grandparents had brought him up at Farleigh Manor. He was an amiable young man and a friend of Anthony’s, whom Lucy liked very much. “Then you might certainly encounter Anna. It will be nice for her to see a familiar face.”

“Indeed.”

They continued in silence until Lucy spied the approaching crossroads that designated the parting of their ways. “It was nice to see you, Mr. Jenkins. Please give your grandmother my best wishes.”

“I’ll do that, Miss Harrington, and please tell Miss Anna I was asking after her.” He tipped his hat again and then paused. “I just remembered something my grandmother said to tell you if I saw you. She said that she’d lost two figurines and two small candlesticks from her morning room. Does that make any sense to you?”

“Unfortunately, it does. It seems several of the houses in Kurland St. Mary have been suffering from theft.”

“That’s a bad business.” He frowned and his horse shifted its feet. “Do you have any idea who it might be?”

“Not quite yet, but I’m determined to discover the culprit.”

“She also said that the only people who have been in that room recently are her servants, you, the curate, and Mrs. Hathaway.” He turned his horse’s head. “Well. I mustn’t keep you chatting in the cold, Miss Harrington. I’d best be on my way.”

Lucy smiled up at him. “Thank you for your company.”

He nodded, wheeled his horse around, and trotted down the lane. Lucy kept walking until she could see the tower of the church clearly in her sight. The welcoming lights of the rectory cheered her and made her increase her pace. Anna met her at the front door.

“How was your walk?”

Lucy divested herself of her bonnet and gloves. “It was most productive. I spent some time with Sophia and her mother. I met the Honorable Mr. Jenkins on the way home. He asked after you.”

Anna smiled the complacent smile of the acknowledged local beauty. “He always does.”

“He is a very nice man.”

“I know.”

“He told me that his grandmother had some pieces stolen, as well.”

Anna held on to Lucy’s coat. “Was it that awful monkey? I bet he steals things.”

Lucy followed Anna into the back parlor. It was almost time for dinner, and she didn’t want to get in Mrs. Fielding’s way in the kitchen. “I don’t think it was Claude. In fact, if you discount her servants, it could only be one of a very small number of people. . . .” Her gaze fell on her sewing box, which was open, the contents spilling onto the floor. “Were you looking for something?”

“It wasn’t me.” Anna frowned at the mess. “I wonder who did that? It was probably the twins.”

“I have to go and see Major Kurland.”

“At this hour?”

“I have to go. If Father asks, will you tell him I’ve gone to bed with a headache?”

 

Lucy ran past the church, squeezed herself through the gap between the cornerstone and the wall, and hurried across the expansive lawn to the side door of Kurland Hall. She didn’t bother to knock, just lifted the latch and made her way through the narrow winding passageways into the cavernous kitchen. Foley sat at the table with a tankard at his elbow and the newspaper in front of his nose. He went to rise but Lucy held up her hand.

“Is Major Kurland still awake?”

“I don’t know, Miss Harrington.” He glanced at the kitchen clock. “Do you wish me to inquire?”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Foley, I’ll go and see for myself.”

“But—” Foley was half-rising to his feet.

Lucy had already left the kitchen and started up the main stairs. She paused at the major’s door, but there was no sound from within. She gently raised the latch and peered inside. The major was in bed, but he was sitting up and staring pensively at the fire. His gaze fastened on hers and he frowned.

“Will this day never end? What do you want?”

“That’s hardly a polite way to greet a guest, Major.”

“Guests wait downstairs and are announced by my butler. Then I decide whether I wish to see them or not.”

“I told Foley I’d see myself up the stairs.” She studied his averted profile, noticed the harsh lines of strain around his mouth and eyes. “Don’t you want to talk to me?”