“Tell me the rest, Susan,” he said gently.
Susan wiped her eyes and gave a resolute nod, smoothing her rumpled skirts with shaking hands. “Ma worked here at the Hall too, though my gran didn’t like it. Well, there’s not much else roundabouts is there? It’s here or the big house. Ma would never say who the father was, but Grandma thought it was one of the grooms. So she came here, to see him, to insist he do the honourable thing, but your father was here, sir, and he overheard them arguing. So he… he told Gran her daughter was a whore, and he’d not have her working here no more.”
Harriet made a sound of distress and covered her mouth with her hand. Susan carried on, the revelations relentless, but Henry needed to know all of it, for how else could he make amends?
“Ma died when I was born and Gran couldn’t work ’cause she had me to mind, so she couldn’t pay the rent no more. So, your pa turned us out of our cottage. If it hadn’t been for the kindness of the old earl, Gran said we’d have both starved. Lord St Clair let Gran do mending—she had a fine hand with a needle—and he gave us somewhere to live. When I was old enough, he gave me a job at Holbrook. I’ve always been very well treated, too. Your father was a very kind man, my lord. You’re very like him, too,” she said to Jasper, who smiled warmly at her.
Henry’s throat tightened, his stomach twisting with revulsion. His father had been a cold man, more interested in things long dead than his family, but Henry had never realised how cruel he could be. Perhaps having their parents absent for most of their lives had been a blessing for both him and Harriet. The St Clairs had taken them in too, and the old earl had given Henry a better example of what a father ought to be. He met his sister’s eyes, knowing she was realising the same thing.
“I only meant to frighten you a bit, Mr Stanhope,” Susan said, weeping openly now. “But that Joe Foster, he caught me putting the corn dolls on the hedge and he… he said it weren’t enough. He said you was a rich man, and you ought to pay for all the wrong done my family. I thought he was being kind, that he was on my side. But he wasn’t on anyone’s side. When I got frightened and wanted to stop, he hit me and said he’d tell you I’d done it all if I didn’t behave. He made me write Mr Knight that letter, too. He was just plain wicked, and all he wanted was to steal from you. I couldn’t do it no more, though. I told him I wouldn’t hurt anyone else, and I wouldn’t help him, and he went mad. He threatened me with all sorts if I didn’t do as I was told, but… but I couldn’t let him hurt Miss Knight, and I knew he was planning on robbing the house. I was frightened what he would do if she went poking about up at the Hall, so… so I panicked. I thought if I kept her out of the way until he was caught it would be all right, but then he discovered me coming to see you, Mr Stanhope, and….”
She broke down and Henry felt like an utter brute.
“Miss Cooper,” he said. “Susan.”
Susan looked up, sniffing and drying her eyes. “Yes, sir?”
“Susan, I don’t know what I can do to repay the wrong my family has done yours, but I should like to try. Especially as it seems you are our kin.”
Susan laughed, a rather bitter sound that sat ill against her youth and damaged beauty. “No, sir. I don’t want nothing from you but your forgiveness. Please… I know I’ve done very wrong, but please, don’t send me to the magistrate.”
“Send you to…?” Henry got up, appalled that she should think he would do such a thing, but why should she not. His kin had done nothing but use and abuse the women of her family, why should he be any different? “Susan, if my father or grandfather were alive, I would have something to say to them, but they are dead and so their shame is mine. Certainly, I won’t send you to the magistrate, but I must do something for you. I know you work at Holbrook now, but… but surely, there must be something I can do to help you?”
“Henry,” his sister said. “I think I have an idea.”
Henry could have kissed her. “I’m listening.”
“I’ve been teaching any of the staff who wish to learn, to read,” she said. “And Susan has been doing rather well.”
“My lady, that’s very kind, but you know my spelling is not very good,” Susan said, blushing a little.
His sister waved this comment away with her usual brisk impatience. “Susan, you’ve only been learning a short while. You have an aptitude for the work and, what’s more, I believe you enjoy it.”
“Oh, I do, very much,” Susan said, her expression lighting up for the first time. “The best time of the week it is.”
Harriet smiled at her. “And if you were properly taught, do you think you should like to take over the lessons?”
Susan gaped at her. “Like… Like a schoolteacher?”
“Exactly like a schoolteacher,” Harriet said, nodding. “Of course, a schoolteacher would earn a proper wage, and they’d need a place to live, Henry.”
Henry shot his sister a look of deep gratitude. Trust Harry to know how to fix this. Not that it changed the past, but perhaps they could do right by Susan, and any of her children that came after her.
“I can certainly provide a property on the estate, a cottage with a bit of land, so you can have a garden.”
Pippin nodded at him approvingly. “That sounds just what’s needed, Mr Stanhope, Lady St Clair. That should settle the past and give Susan a bright future, but I think she needs a bit of a rest first, and perhaps it is time she learned some other lessons, the things her grandma was too afraid to teach her. If you would like that, child?”
“You?” Susan asked Pippin, wide eyed. “You would teach me?”
“If you’d like to. You could come and stay with me. For a month, say. Let the dust settled here and the bruises heal.”
Susan looked in astonishment from Pippin to Henry and then to Lord and Lady St Clair, all of whom smiled at her and nodded.
“My word,” she said. “My word, I…. How did this happen?”
Dharani shrugged. “The Maiden takes care of her own.”
Pippin chuckled and nodded her agreement. “The goddess will provide. She always does, doesn’t she, my lord?” she said to Lord Montagu.
Montagu sighed and reached for his wife’s hand, giving her the ghost of a smile. “I shall never contradict you on that point, Pippin, believe me. I know better.”
Henry laughed, shaking his head. Montagu just shrugged.
“I told you to listen to them, didn’t I?”
“So you did,” Henry agreed. “So you did.”
Chapter 18
Dearest Georgina,
It has been so long since we last saw you. I hope all your family are well and prospering in Scotland, though I do wish you would come and visit us more often.
I expect you have heard by now that Florence is to marry Henry Stanhope. It is a wonderful match and the two of them are so very happy together. I am so pleased for her. How lucky she is to marry a man she loves so well. If only we should all be so fortunate.
I wish I were with you now, Georgie. The wilds of Scotland are exactly where I would love to escape to, but we cannot always escape the future can we? No matter how far we run. Oh dear, all this wedding planning has made me sentimental and now I’m rambling and filling this letter with nonsense. Do write and tell me how you are, and your three brothers, of course. Are they still growing? I wonder the castle can accommodate such big men, and your father too. Are they still driving you to distraction?
―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Grace Weston (daughter of Jemima and Solo Weston, Baron and Baroness Rothborn) to Lady Georgina Anderson (daughter of Ruth and Gordon Anderson, Countess and Earl of Morven.)
26th August 1839, Holbrook House, Sussex.
Henry looked over his shoulder as they walked away from Holbrook House towards the lake.
“He isn’t following us,” Florence said, laughing at him.
Henry frowned. “I feel like I’m walking into a trap. Your father has been quite jovial all day, and now suggesting we might like to go for a walk as it
’s such a fine evening?” he added suspiciously.
“Mama spoke to him,” Florence said, taking Henry’s arm and leaning into him. “We are to be married in two days, after all, and he doesn’t wish to trap you. He likes you. Besides, there’s no need, I trapped you quite efficiently all by myself.”
Henry looked down into her glorious green eyes. His heart did an odd somersault, as it always did when he looked at Florence, and as he suspected it always would.
“So you did,” he replied, smiling at her smug expression. “Though I did help.”
“Oh, you were a marvellous help,” Florence added, and then blushed as she remembered just what he’d been helping her with when her father had interrupted them. She glanced up at him and smiled shyly. “I can’t wait to be married, Henry.”
“Nor I,” he replied, meaning it with every fibre of his being.
He had given Gabriel his solemn vow to behave as the perfect gentleman and take no liberties before the wedding. This was no mean feat as he was discovering Florence was an impatient little devil. He’d spent the entirety of the past week like a cat on hot bricks, wanting to be alone with her whilst praying he could keep his vow. There was a wicked, dark desire in him to tell Gabriel to go to the devil and take what he wanted, but he knew why that was. Lily had jilted him just days before their wedding. Henry had been oblivious, full of excitement for the future, and suddenly his world had been turned on its head. There was an illogical part of him that was terrified history would repeat itself. The jittery, anxious place in his heart that was petrified something would go wrong made him want to claim Florence now, so there could be no backing out. He dreaded every night as much as he welcomed it, certain that he would wake to discover something had happened to stop the marriage, that she’d changed her mind, come to her senses. It was all nonsense. He knew it was all nonsense. At least, he knew it in the light of day when she was beside him. In the early hours of the morning, alone in his bed, then his imagination ran riot and his nerves jangled as he counted the hours to their wedding day.
“Let’s walk down by the lake,” she suggested.
Henry darted her a glance, finding his lips twitch as she smirked at him. No doubt the suspicion in his eyes amused her, the wicked girl. There was a summerhouse down by the lake, as she well knew.
“I’ll behave, I promise,” she said solemnly.
“Hmmm,” Henry replied, uncertain she knew the meaning of the word.
“Well, you knew I was spoiled and wilful, Henry. I really don’t see why you look at me so, it’s not as though it should come as a shock to you.”
He took her hand and drew her to a stop. She turned towards him, tilting her face up in enquiry.
“You’re not spoiled in the least, Florence,” he said, tracing the elegant line of her jaw with a finger. Every part of him ached for her, to love her as he wanted to, but it was only two more days, and he could be patient. He really could. His skittish heart had lasted this long, it could manage that. “You may have led a privileged life, but it’s not spoiled you. You’re kind and giving and everything that is good, and I love you.”
Florence sighed, staring up at him, and then gave a huff of frustration and stamped her foot. “Two whole days, Henry! How shall I stand it?”
Henry snorted. “Did you really just stamp your foot?”
Florence pouted at him, staring up at him from under her lashes.
“Still think I’m not spoiled?” she whispered, her eyes glittering with mirth. “You will be forced to take me in hand, I’m afraid.”
“Apparently so,” he murmured, leaning down and nuzzling the sweet spot beneath her ear that he knew made her shiver. “I can’t wait.”
Florence sighed as his lips traced a path down her neck.
“But we must,” she said, the regret in her voice audible.
“Two days,” he murmured.
Florence gave a tragic sigh but nodded. “Two days,” she agreed.
Henry smiled, gave her a chaste kiss, and promised himself a very large brandy when he got home. If he must be a blasted saint, there ought to be some reward on earth, because heaven seemed a jolly long way off.
29th August 1839, Saxenhurst Hall, Sussex.
Florence looked about the assembled company and felt quite thoroughly, blissfully happy. It had been the perfect day. Her family and some of their closest friends had gathered for the wedding, and the weather had been quite glorious. They had laid the wedding breakfast out beneath the shade of a large rose arbour and the heady scent was quite as intoxicating as the endless bottles of champagne with which Henry had supplied everyone. The company were relaxed and jovial and even her father looked pleased. They had been married in the church next to the Hall, though Florence was very relieved that Henry had overseen the sealing up of the tunnel that led to the house. Secret tunnels were all well and good in mystery stories; in real life they were a lot less welcome.
They realised now that the tunnel had been in his great-great-grandfather’s room, but Henry’s mother had preferred the view over the front of the house and had claimed it for herself when she’d married his father. Henry said it was likely the last time his mother had got her way about anything, but it explained why it was in the lady of the house’s bedroom. It also explained why Henry had never found it, apart from the fact the secret opening was so well hidden in the panelling it was invisible unless you knew it was there. He’d not been so thorough in searching his mother’s room as he’d not considered the fact his great-great-grandmother might be involved.
“Of course, if I’d thought for a moment she was as resourceful and determined as Florence, it would have been the first place I’d looked,” he’d quipped, which Florence thought was quite the nicest thing he could have said to her.
They were going to spend their wedding night at Saxenhurst and decide later where they would like to go for their honeymoon. Henry had told her about so many fascinating places it would be difficult for her to choose, but there was no rush. Just being here, with him, was adventure enough for the moment though she’d prefer it if no one tried to kill or abduct either of them. Florence stared up at the handsome building that was to become her home. She was looking forward to changing just about everything at Saxenhurst.
“Making plans?” Henry teased her, sliding an arm about her waist.
Florence turned to study his face. “I am. Do you mind?”
“Not in the least. I’ve no fond memories of this building, I’m afraid. I should welcome a fresh start, with you.”
She kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry it wasn’t a happy place, but it will be, Henry. I promise. And it’s such a lovely building.”
“Is it?” Henry asked, frowning. “I suppose it is. On the outside, anyway. I haven’t really looked at it objectively before. It’s just always been here.”
Florence huffed at him. “Then look harder. Saxenhurst has beautiful bones. The outside is perfection and the inside… the inside is like a lovely girl feeling uncomfortable because she’s wearing a stupendously ugly dress. It will be unrecognisable by the time I’m done with it. I promise. I’ll make it a home for us.”
He laughed at her description. “I believe you.”
She smiled and reached up to touch his cheek. “I’m so glad you married me, Henry, and you don’t mind, do you?”
“Mind what?”
“That I rather pestered you into it.”
He shook his head, his hazel eyes warm and full of adoration. “If that is what pestering looks like, I can only hope you keep doing it. I’m very happy, Florence. Happier than I ever dreamed possible, and that’s all because of you.”
Florence sighed and looked about at her friends and family. “It’s been a lovely day, hasn’t it? Utterly perfect, only….”
“Only?” Henry repeated, arching an eyebrow at her.
Florence leaned in and whispered in his ear. “When are they going home?”
“Ah.” He grinned at her and winked before turning towards t
he Earl of St Clair.
“Er… Jasper,” he said, before clearing his throat. “That thing we discussed….”
“Oh, absolutely!” Jasper sprang to his feet and clapped his hands together. “Ladies and gentlemen if I might have your attention, please. After this wonderful day, I think it only right that we raise one last toast to the bride and groom before we go on our way, and I do hope that you will all return to Holbrook with us where we have a celebration of our own devising so that we may leave the newlyweds in peace. Oh, and we have fireworks!”
There was a cheer and much laughter as everyone raised their glasses once again.
“Henry and Florence!” everyone said, and glasses chinked and there was yet another round of congratulations, but finally, the earl ushered everyone out to their carriages.
Florence bade her parents goodbye, managing not to sob at the bear hug her father gave her, nor blush too fiercely at her mother’s whispered last-minute advice.
Finally only the earl remained as he handed his wife up into their carriage.
“Thank you, Jasper. You’re a good friend,” Henry said, shaking the earl’s hand.
Jasper laughed and shook his head. “What are friends for, if not for clearing off unwanted guests on your wedding night? Congratulations, you lucky fellow. I’m looking forward to having you as a neighbour again. Don’t let him go off gallivanting for too long, please, Florence. And you are always welcome at Holbrook.”
“Thank you, my lord,” she said, which Jasper scowled at.
“No, no, call me Jasper. We’re practically family, you know. He’s like a brother to me, so you must be a sister.”
They laughed and waved the carriage off, and finally, blessedly, they were alone.
“Goodness,” Florence said, feeling dazed and suddenly rather shy.
“Come along,” Henry said, and towed her towards the house.
Florence hurried to keep up, inexplicably nervous. She wondered if she ought to have been in such a hurry to get rid of everyone.
Dare it all for Love (Daring Daughters Book 5) Page 20
