A Vow for an Heiress

by Helen Dickson

  As it was there was nothing for it but to tell her grandmother everything. Her heart was filled with dread in anticipation of the condemnation she would ultimately receive. There would be no redemption, she knew that.

  * * *

  As Rosa rode away from the house, William let his eyes sweep over the wide parkland, narrowing them against the glare of the sun. Filled with deep concern for the boy, he prayed God that soon Tipu would have this matter with Dhanu resolved and he could return to India. He was inclined to believe what Miss Ingram had told him and he would ensure that every precaution to safeguard his well-being would be taken. The idea that someone was stalking him with every intent of permanently removing Dhanu awakened in him a dangerous, quiet anger.

  He continued to watch Miss Ingram ride away, her hat tied loosely round her neck and bouncing madly against her back, only the ragged pulse that had leapt to life in his throat attesting to his own disquiet as he stared after her with mingled feelings of regret and concern.

  As he turned and went back into the house he refused to be moved by her offer. Until his cousin’s death, he had been a man who had made his own choices and, as much as he would like to appease his manly appetites with the lovely Rosa Ingram, he would not be so easily manipulated. How could he like some lapdog blindly accept what she was offering without yielding his mind and his principles?

  But she was far too beautiful for any man to turn his back on. It would be no easy matter banishing her from his mind. She was physically appealing, with a face and body he found attractive, but she was also appealing in other ways, with an intelligent sharpness of mind. He suspected on knowing her better she would possess a clever wit that he would admire, making her pleasant company and interesting to be with. However distasteful the prospect was, perhaps he should consider her proposal. After all, heiresses were few and far between.

  As an only child, the times he had spent with Charles had been precious to him and his untimely death had upset him profoundly. He had loved his cousin like a brother and deeply regretted that he had been unable to help him when he had fallen into financial difficulties, which had driven him to take his own life. William felt honour-bound to make the estate prosper as it had in the past. It would be a massive undertaking but he would do it—not only for himself but for Charles. Perhaps if he agreed to marry Miss Rosa Ingram he wouldn’t come out of it too badly. It could be the answer to a problem he could see no other way of solving at this present time.

  * * *

  The noble certainty that she had been doing the right thing when she had set out for Ashurst Park had disappeared as Rosa rode back to Fountains Lodge. She felt abased in her own eyes. What she had done had been foolish in the extreme. She had acted impetuously, rashly and unthinkingly and most importantly without common sense in Lord Ashurst’s eyes, earning his derision and her profound dislike. He had been hard, cold and cynical and had done nothing to put her at her ease.

  Thinking of all the things she didn’t like about Lord Ashurst was a barrier against recalling her own shortcomings, so by the time she reached Fountains Lodge she had worked herself up into a temper and a very thorough dislike of the man. She hoped she would not have the misfortune to meet him again in the future, but somehow she felt that she would.

  Chapter Three

  Rosa watched her grandmother’s sharp eyes narrow with disapproval, for perching on a chair in front of her she presented a wild, untidy vision. Her laced leather boots were smeared with mud and her skirts were creased, and Rosa knew her grandmother was not fooled, that she was painfully aware that underneath she was wearing the outrageous breeches she insisted on putting on when she went riding. But above it all there was a passion in Rosa that was so potent it changed the atmosphere of the room.

  ‘Did you enjoy your ride, Rosa?’ Amelia enquired, pressing a perfumed handkerchief to her nose as the smell of horses wafted in her direction.

  ‘Yes, very much,’ Rosa answered, shoving her untidy mop of chestnut hair back from her face, putting off the moment to tell her of her visit to Ashurst Park. ‘I always enjoy riding and the horse the groom selected for me excelled itself.’

  Her grandmother’s gaze became pointed. ‘Are you feeling well, Rosa? You are very flushed.’

  ‘Yes—I am quite well. If my face is red, then it must have something to do with the exhilaration of the ride. But I—I didn’t sleep very well,’ she said, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. ‘I—I am concerned about Clarissa and your insistence that she marry Lord Ashurst.’

  ‘You have no reason to be. It is my duty to stop her becoming involved with any man who cannot support her in a respectable lifestyle. Clarissa is no longer under age, I realise that, but it changes nothing. She must abide by your father’s wishes.’

  ‘Father would not want her to be unhappy. He would not force her into a marriage she did not want.’

  ‘Who is to say she will be unhappy? The Earl is an honourable man and Ashurst Park is a beautiful, noble house.’ She sat back in her chair with a determined expression on her aged face. ‘I am resolved that the decision I have made is the right one and will benefit Clarissa.’

  With a worried, haunted look, as though carrying a burden too heavy to bear on her young shoulders, raising her head she looked at her grandmother, meeting her questioning eyes. She would have to tell her everything. It could not be avoided.

  Rosa thought her grandmother was going to have a fit as she hesitantly told her what she had done. Her eyes never moved from her granddaughter’s face. She seemed unable to speak, to form any words, from between her rigidly clamped lips. When Rosa had finished speaking Amelia remained for a while in contemplation of her clasped hands. Her ashen face was set in lines of concern. Rosa respected her silence, stifling her painful anxiety.

  Unable to contain herself any longer Amelia raised her eyelids and looked at her. Rosa shivered at the anger and disappointment in her eyes.

  ‘I am shocked, Rosa—deeply so. You had a plan, you say, one that would suit everyone concerned. It was a very stupid, thoughtless action to take. You had no right to take it upon yourself to do that. Lord Ashurst will never agree to such an outrageous idea.’

  ‘I know that now. He made it quite plain what he thought of it. Grandmother, I am so sorry.’

  ‘Being sorry is not enough. What you have done is outrageous. Among other things, to call on a gentleman uninvited and unaccompanied was disgraceful. Why on earth didn’t you take your maid?’

  ‘Dilys is still unwell. Besides, she does not ride. I told her to stay in bed until she’s feeling better.’

  ‘Then you should have taken a groom. The expensive education your father provided for you should have taught you about behaviour and comportment. You may not have been born into Lord Ashurst’s league, but you are still quality born with good breeding. And to offer yourself in marriage to a man who to all intents and purposes is about to become affianced to Clarissa is not to be borne.’

  ‘But he isn’t—at least he won’t be when he has told you that he has had a change of heart and will withdraw his suit.’

  ‘But why would he do that? Did Clarissa displease him in some way?’

  ‘No, not at all. He—he will not marry Clarissa knowing she is in love with someone else—and he has no wish to marry me, either.’

  Amelia became quiet. She looked deflated. ‘I cannot blame him. He must think you’re too forward by far. At least he is honest. But until I have seen him and spoken to him myself, nothing is changed. You should not have gone to see him, Rosa, you should not.’

  Having expected to be severely chastised, Rosa squared her shoulders. ‘I am truly sorry, Grandmother. I should not have gone to Ashurst Park without talking to you first.’

  ‘You should not have gone there at all. What were you thinking? To go there in the first place without prior invitation was an act of rudeness. Now what is to be done? What m
ust Lord Ashurst think?’

  ‘He—he is going to call on you shortly. But—when I explained about Clarissa—he understands.’

  Amelia looked at her hard, knowing just how single-minded she could be, how stubborn. God help her if ever she experienced the sheer driving force of passionate love—and the man it was focused on. Amelia knew how determined she could be, that when she had something on her mind she would have her own way at any cost, and if that kind of love touched her, she would not deny herself having it. Amelia also knew about the young man she had formed a deep friendship with on Antigua, that he had drowned and Rosa had been grief-stricken by his death. But that had been an adolescent love, the kind most young people experienced at one time or another, but not enduring.

  ‘I did not get the impression that Lord Ashurst was the kind of man to comply to the whim of a young woman he has never met.’

  ‘I know that now—and understand his reasons—but I had to try. All this is a quandary for you, I know, but it needn’t be.’

  Amelia looked at her granddaughter with a keen eye. ‘Oh? You have the answer, do you, Rosa? I know you are sympathetic to your sister’s plight, but how can I let her wed that young man in London? It’s quite out of the question.’

  ‘But they love each other. Forgive me, Grandmother, but I must speak out,’ Rosa said softly, unable to remain silent any longer on the subject. ‘I know you have Clarissa’s best interests at heart—but she should not be forced into a marriage she does not want. She is feeling quite wretched about it all, knowing how much Father wanted her to make a splendid marriage—and you, too. If you insist on this she will not disobey you, but I know the last thing you want is to see her unhappy. Let her have her way and marry Andrew.’

  ‘I can’t, Rosa. What would your father say?’

  Rosa studied her grandmother’s stern face for a moment and then affection came and softened her features. Rosa found herself bursting with affection for her. Slipping to her knees beside her grandmother’s chair, she took her crooked fingers in her own. ‘I think Father would not object to Andrew. His father is an influential man on Barbados—a sugar cane planter, too. Sadly, Father died before Andrew came to Antigua, but I know he would have liked him. Clarissa loves the Caribbean, Grandmother. She considers it her home. Let her go back.’

  ‘And what of you? It must have been a wrench for you when the plantation was sold and you were forced to leave Antigua. It was your home also.’

  ‘Taking my leave of our home and the island was not easy—and after Simon drowned...’ She faltered, biting her lip as the memories drifted into her mind. She remembered everything of that last summer on the island with Simon—the laughter, the foolishness, the lazy summer days, the intensity of a time which had meant everything to her. ‘Everywhere I looked held reminders, precious memories of the years too quickly gone by. But I am not like Clarissa. I will adapt to whatever life has to offer.’ She would like to have pressed her own case, that she be allowed to go to London to help Aunt Clara with her charities and to forget all about marrying anyone, but her aunt had already said no to her on that matter and her grandmother looked so crestfallen that she hadn’t the heart to add to her worries. Amelia remained silent, thoughtful. To Rosa, watching her with concern, she seemed so very frail and appeared to shrink into herself. Sighing deeply, Amelia shook her head slowly.

  ‘What a business this is.’ Her eyes looked bleak, her voice hollow with emotion. ‘What is to be done? If only your dear father were still here to guide you. It was my dearest wish that he would not go before me, but...’ Her voice faltered and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling. ‘I have buried all my children. No mother should have to do that.’

  Rosa gazed at her, at her misshapen hands. Her face bore lines of grief. Deep inside the awesome, formidable lady was a profound loneliness, the loss of her three children who had died in infancy, her husband and only child who had lived to manhood its wellspring.

  ‘What can I do to help?’ she whispered.

  ‘Nothing, my dear, nothing at all. If you don’t mind, Rosa, I’ll return to my room. Ring for Margaret, will you? She will take me up.’

  ‘Are you feeling unwell?’ Rosa asked anxiously, getting to her feet. ‘Should I send for Dr Parish?’

  ‘No, there is no need for that. I’m just tired—nothing that a little sleep won’t cure.’

  Rosa wasn’t convinced. According to Clarissa, their grandmother was spending more and more of her time in bed and hardly ate anything. Rosa hated to see her fading like this. Margaret had been her grandmother’s personal maid for twenty years. She watched the maid accompany her grandmother out of the room. Her movements were weary, her small body stiff. Rosa felt a constriction in her throat which she swallowed down and went in search of Clarissa.

  * * *

  Rosa and Clarissa were at breakfast the following morning when Margaret burst in on them, her distress so acute that Rosa felt her heart leap to her throat. She stood in the doorway, so out of breath she could hardly speak.

  Rosa sprang to her feet. ‘What is it, Margaret? Is Grandmother...?’ Her blood seemed to chill in her veins.

  ‘Oh—it’s terrible, Miss Ingram. She—she’s had some kind of attack. She is asking for you.’

  Instructing Margaret to go to the village to fetch Dr Parish, Rosa and Clarissa went immediately to their grandmother’s room. She was propped against the pillows in the big, canopied bed she had shared for forty-five years with her husband. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks sunken, her lank, lacklustre hair spread over the pillows. Her thin, deeply veined hands plucked at the bedcovers in a distracted fashion.

  Rosa was shocked. She had not expected to find her so reduced, so ill in such a short space of time. She was filled with self-recrimination, feeling her foolishness in going to Ashurst Park had brought her grandmother to this, tears stinging her eyes. She would never do anything intentionally to hurt her.

  Amelia opened her eyes and looked at her granddaughters, trying to draw breath.

  ‘What is it, Grandmother?’ Rosa said, gently taking her hand, terrified that something might happen to her grandmother. ‘Margaret has gone for Dr Parish—he won’t be long.’

  ‘I—I’ve had some kind of turn...’ Her voice was a thread, but her blue-tinged lips turned up in a small smile. ‘I—I’ll be all right soon...’

  The doctor came, old Dr Parish who had attended Amelia on a regular basis. He took her wrist and put his ear to her chest, and told Rosa when they had left the room that he didn’t like the sound of it, but they were to take care of her and give her a few drops of laudanum to settle her and to help her sleep. He would call the following morning.

  She became worse in the night, worrying about what would become of her granddaughters should she be taken. She died a few moments later, her hand in that of younger granddaughter.

  Rosa and Clarissa were bereft. Their grandmother had been very dear to both of them. What did the future hold for them now?

  * * *

  Dealing with their grandmother’s affairs kept both sisters occupied during the ensuing days. Funeral arrangements had to be made and her lawyer paid them a visit to deal with her financial matters. Her death had affected everyone. Rosa missed her terribly, but it wasn’t like when Simon had died, when she had wanted to drown in her sorrow.

  Two days before the funeral, on a lovely sunny day, escaping the confines of the house, the sisters took the carriage into Ashurst to purchase some black ribbon to trim their bonnets from the haberdasher’s in the High Street.

  They had just stepped out of the shop into the street and were returning to their carriage when a prickling sensation at the nape of Rosa’s neck told her she was being watched. Curious, she turned her head to find herself looking into the black, impertinent eyes of the Indian gentleman she had seen at the inn, the same man she believed had pushed the boy into the path of the horses. She c
ould see the unconcealed hostility in his eyes. Although never of a nervous disposition, she felt the chilling hand of fear clutch at her. Her heart began to race, urging her to turn and walk on, but she held her ground.

  Another Indian gentleman came to stand a little behind him. He was not quite as tall, but like his companion his face was long and thin, his nose hooked. Shifting her gaze back to the taller of the two, when she looked into his eyes she saw nothing. No emotion, nothing. If, as it was said, the eyes were the windows to the soul, then this man’s windows were firmly closed and shuttered. Both men had an air of menace and cold ruthlessness about them that inspired fear. Rosa stiffened, finding the encounter curiously distasteful. With their faces as inscrutable as a rock, they looked like the harbingers of woe.

  Unaware of what was happening, Clarissa carried on walking. Averting her eyes, Rosa was about to walk on, but paused once more. A feeling of unreality crept over her and she shuddered.

  Overcoming her initial surprise, she automatically found herself speaking to them. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

  The taller man took a step towards her, the pupils of his eyes narrowed like a cat’s in the light. When he spoke, his voice was heavily accented with his native tongue. From between his parted lips a gold tooth gleamed as it caught the sun. ‘I know who you are—and that you are acquainted with William Barrington. I know what you did that day. We want nothing from you. Our presence here does not concern you. Do not interfere in what we do.’

  Thinking it a strange thing for him to say, Rosa forced herself to back away, her heart beating faster than normal. She shared another glance of hostility with the Indian man before he turned and walked away, closely followed by his companion. Gradually her pulse steadied, but she wore an air of acute unease.