Midsummer Eve at Rookery End (9 page)

Folding her in his arms, he said, “Yes, my darling - my name is Adam! So you see, we were always meant for each other and we met in a garden. Now, before I go mad, kiss me again and say you’ll marry me, Eve.”

A loving smile curved her mouth. “Yes, Adam.”

He kissed her then so hard and so ardently that he took her breath away. Afterwards, his mouth lingered, brushing firm, fleeting kisses over her lips. He did not let her go, but held her close. “Let’s get married very soon, love,” he whispered.

She looked up into his eyes, so full of love and longing, and any remaining doubts melted away into the midsummer night. None of this made sense but perhaps magical moments like this couldn’t be explained. As she murmured her agreement, from the corner of her eye, Eve could see her mother and sister hanging out of the carriage window in an effort to see what was happening.

She smiled again, closed her eyes and laid her cheek against Adam’s chest – from now on, her home was here, in his arms.

A Scandal at Midnight

I will not marry Sir Tristan Millforte.”

Verity Brook, sitting on one of the sofas in the magnificent octagonal drawing room at Rookery End, was not surprised to hear her young charge utter this matter-of-fact declaration – the Honourable Amelia Gardiner had repeated it often recently.

“Don’t dwell on your situation this evening, love,” she murmured to Amelia in reply. “Your father may yet change his mind. In the meantime, enjoy the ball. It is very famous, and I understand all the
ton
seek an invitation.”

Amelia, who was seated next to Verity, turned to give her an affectionate look. “Dearest Verity, at least you always consider my feelings! And you are never pompous or stuffy; indeed, I think of you as my friend rather than my governess. Thank you for trying to be optimistic on my behalf, but it is a waste of time – I love George and I intend to marry him, whatever my father says about marrying Sir Tristan.”

“I didn’t imagine you had suffered a change of heart, despite your sudden willingness to attend this evening,” said Verity, a rueful smile on her lips.

At nineteen, Amelia was determined enough to defy her father’s command that she marry the man he had chosen for her, and Verity could hardly blame Amelia for rebelling.

According to Amelia, Sir Tristan was far too old to make a suitable husband. Verity might only have been employed as Amelia’s governess and companion for six months, but she had gleaned enough about the family’s circumstances to find Viscount Radnor’s decision as incomprehensible as his daughter did.

As the heiress to a substantial fortune, there was no need for Amelia to marry for money, and several very eligible young men had courted her during the Season. But while the Viscount was, in his way, a fond and doting parent, he was also a gruff, stiff-backed martinet who expected the distaff side of his family to agree with him.

Having unexpectedly decided Amelia should marry Sir Tristan, the Viscount had counted on her obedience; after all, that was how things had been done in his day. But on being given this edict, Amelia, who had inherited her father’s stubbornness along with her mother’s beauty, had railed against it. She had argued and pleaded with her father, but without success. The Viscount had declared Sir Tristan to be a great gun and said his daughter should be pleased to have such a top of the trees fellow as her husband.

Amelia’s mother had felt unequal to intervening on her daughter’s behalf. At the first sign of conflict between her husband and her spirited offspring, Viscountess Radnor had suffered one of her nervous attacks and retired to her chamber. Later, in the face of Amelia’s distress, she had only murmured ineffectually, ‘But what can be done, my love? You know what your papa is like when he takes a notion into his head,’ before returning to the comforts of weak tea and hartshorn.

Verity’s apprehension had increased with their arrival at Rookery End. When Viscount Radnor had discovered that Sir Tristan was to be at the midsummer ball, he had instructed his daughter to accept the Allinghams’ invitation and become better acquainted with Sir Tristan. Amelia had steadfastly refused, until two days ago when, much to her father’s delight, she had undergone a volte-face and agreed. But Verity had not been deceived by her charge’s sudden docility; it was as suspicious as it was out of character, and she knew that Amelia was capable of almost anything if she felt her hand was being forced.

Verity, while presenting her usual calm and unflustered facade to any observer, seethed inwardly. She was very fond of Amelia and sympathetic to her predicament, but she, too, was powerless to alter it.

Never before had she felt so impotent, and so aware of her altered position in society! She had tried to broach the subject with the Viscount, only to be told to confine herself to her role or look for a new post.

Verity sighed as she recollected this uncomfortable interview. Compelled to become a governess at the age of twenty-five, she had little say in her own future, let alone that of her companion. Amelia’s reply cut across her thoughts.

“I didn’t like deceiving you as well as Papa, but it was for a good reason.”

Verity raised her brows. “That sounds very mysterious. Pray, don’t do anything foolish, Amelia. With your mother confined to bed with toothache and your father away, you are my responsibility this evening. It was only because you are to meet Sir Tristan again tonight that Viscount Radnor allowed me to act as your chaperone.”

“I know, but I am determined to see George all the same.”

“Is he here then?” asked Verity, in surprise.

“Oh, yes – he arrived earlier. I expect he will ask me to dance shortly.”

“But what about Sir Tristan?”

Amelia shrugged. “He has not yet sought me out. Surely you don’t mind me dancing with George until he does?”

“No, of course not.” Verity placed a comforting hand on Amelia’s arm. “I feel your situation keenly and wish I could do more to help. George Devaynes is a perfectly amiable young man with reasonable prospects. I can’t understand why your father is insisting on this gothic notion of you marrying Sir Tristan when your heart lies elsewhere.”

“Because he is a wealthy baronet, whereas poor George is only the second son of an impoverished earl!” replied Miss Gardiner, her topaz eyes flashing indignantly. “But what does that signify? I shall inherit plenty of money when I am twenty-one and even though George is not at all comfortable with the notion of living off my wealth, I have told him it doesn’t matter a jot. I’ll follow the drum and we will manage somehow on his pay until I come into my inheritance. Papa has been perfectly odious, Verity. He would not listen to me when I tried to tell him how much I loved George, or even agree to meet him!”

“I know he is not your choice but is Sir Tristan so very bad? What was your impression when you met him?”

“He was polite and elegantly dressed, I suppose, and pleasant enough looking, but nothing to compare to George. Besides, Sir Tristan is so old!”

“In that case, I can see why you would find marriage to him unappealing,” observed Verity.

“Exactly!” agreed Amelia. “Whereas George is young and dashing, and oh, he is the only man for me. Look, he’s here!”

Verity looked up to see George Devaynes approaching. He was a handsome, engaging man, with a fine figure, a crop of curly brown hair and a pair of twinkling dark eyes set in smiling countenance. His manner was open and unaffected and Verity could see why Amelia found him attractive, especially when, as now, he was dressed in his scarlet regimentals.

“Ladies, I bid you good evening,” he said, giving a perfectly executed bow. “What a wonderful event this is! I’m delighted to be here and even more delighted to see you, Miss Gardiner. You look exquisite.”

The look George bestowed on Amelia was an adoring one, and it brought home once more to Verity the wretchedness of their situation. Despite Amelia’s youth, from the moment she had met George Devaynes, she had never once wavered in her affection for him. George had been as constant and it was a terrible pity that they could not marry when they were so much in love.

If only the Viscount could see the glow in his daughter’s eyes when she was with George, Verity felt sure he would change his mind. He might be blinkered and old-fashioned, but he was not such an unnatural parent to force a lifetime of unhappiness on his only daughter.

“Mr Devaynes, have you come to ask me to dance?” said Amelia. “It is the new waltz next and you know how much I love it.” She pretended to study her dance card and gave him a mischievous glance. “Ah, how fortunate – I see I am not engaged for the waltz.”

George grinned. “Yes, indeed, Miss Gardiner – if you will do me the honour?”

Amelia put her hand in his by way of reply. Then she looked at Verity. “You don’t mind me leaving you here, do you?”

“Not at all, love,” said Verity, thinking if she could do nothing else for Amelia, she could give her time alone with George. “I’ll come into the ballroom in a moment and watch you from discreet distance, just to observe the proprieties.”

“And afterwards, Mr Devaynes will take me into the refreshment room – I-I will need a glass of lemonade,” stammered Amelia. “He will take the greatest care of me, won’t you, George?”

“Absolutely,” he murmured.

Verity agreed, albeit reluctantly. “Very well, but don’t be too long. Your parents wouldn’t approve of you and George being together without a chaperone, even in these surroundings.”

Amelia hugged her impulsively. “Thank you, Verity! Thank you for everything.”

“Miss Brook, you have my thanks too. Amelia has valued your support in recent weeks,” said George. He gave a wry smile, adding, “Don’t think too badly of us.”

“What? Because you want to be together this evening?” said Verity, with a little laugh. “Nonsense! Go and enjoy yourselves, but remember that you are obliged to meet Sir Tristan later, Amelia.”

“I hadn’t forgotten,” she replied. Then, with a final glance in Verity’s direction, she allowed George to lead her towards the ballroom.

Watching them leave, Verity saw the couple exchange looks, but dismissed the notion that there was anything furtive in their manner. If they did appear evasive, it was understandable. When she entered the ballroom shortly afterwards, she saw them making their way onto the dance floor with the other couples. Amelia looked beautiful in her ivory sarsnet gown trimmed with rosebuds and broad lace and, alongside George in his dashing military raiment, they made an arresting couple as they whirled around the room in each other’s arms.

Verity wished Sir Tristan was here to witness their attachment, but it was doubtful he would care if he did. Her lip curled disdainfully at the thought of him. As far as she was concerned, Sir Tristan was a heartless man obsessed with wealth and sporting pursuits, and very little else. He had not yet bothered to come into the ballroom and seek out his future bride.

The dance ended and Verity saw Amelia and George go into the refreshment room. She took a seat near to the other companions, but not among them; Verity felt awkward at events such as this. Before her father’s death, she had attended balls and country dances near her home in the north of England – as a guest. She had received many compliments and three marriage proposals, until her father’s death had altered everything.

Since then, Verity had been forced to eke out a living as a governess, but a certain refinement in her bearing set her apart from her fellows and consequently they treated her with suspicion. They were never rude, precisely, just wary of her youth and beauty and the knowledge that in her previous life Verity would have been their employer rather than their equal.

But neither did Verity feel at home any more among the
ton
. While she might have the education and manners of a lady of quality, a governess could never be considered a member of the beau monde.

Verity did not bemoan her fate – she was practical enough to know that she had no other option – but occasions such as the Rookery End ball only reinforced the twilight nature of her existence. She no longer felt comfortable in either world.

Sitting quietly, she had been enjoying the glittering scene before her for some minutes when a servant brought a sealed note on a platter.

“I’m not expecting a letter,” said Verity, looking up in astonishment.

“It is addressed to you personally, I believe, miss,” urged the footman.

Verity checked and saw that he was right. She thanked him, and, with a horrible premonition, took the note with a hand that trembled slightly – she recognised the handwriting as Amelia’s.

She broke open the wafer and read the brief contents:

Dearest Verity,

Forgive me, my situation is impossible and I have decided to elope with George. This might lead to a permanent estrangement from my family but I accept that as a possible consequence. I will write to you when I return. Don’t be vexed with me, or with George – I cajoled the poor lamb shamefully until he agreed to a clandestine marriage.

Amelia

The room begin to revolve around Verity and the letter blurred in and out of focus.

Nausea rose in her throat and the ringing in her ears grew louder and louder. Stunned, she drew in a deep breath and struggled against the shock threatening to overwhelm her.

Staring at the note, she tried to gather her wits. She had feared something like this. Part of her admired Amelia’s audacity and spirit – she had flown in the face of her father’s wishes to be with the man she loved – but this was quickly replaced by more sobering reflections.

A scandal would ensue when news of this leaked out. Amelia claimed now not to care about what happened afterwards, but that could change when the impropriety of a clandestine wedding had sunk in.

Verity crushed the note into a ball, her thoughts running ahead wildly. She had to stop Amelia, or at least ask her to re-consider. Verity saw now that Amelia’s flight this evening had been pre-arranged. The poor girl had been bullied until she felt she had no other option but to marry George out of hand.