Rags-to-Riches Bride

by Mary Nichols

  ‘Papa, I have not accepted Stephen yet.’

  ‘What are you waiting for?’

  ‘He said he would not ask me again until her ladyship’s party, to give me time to think about it.’

  ‘And have you?’

  ‘Yes, but I am not sure…’

  ‘Not sure? He’s rich and generous, and thinks highly of you—what more do you want? You tell him yes and be quick about it before someone else snaps him up.’

  ‘But, Papa, is that reason enough to marry? Should there not be something more? Love, for instance, and a meeting of minds.’

  ‘That will come in time, as you get to know him better.’ He paused. ‘What is the house like? And the family? Can you deal well with them?’

  ‘I have not yet met all the family, only the men who work at the shop, besides Mr Richard, Lady Harecroft, of course, and Miss Alicia Harecroft, who is the one arranging the party. She is very agreeable. I am sure I shall get on with her.’ She stopped speaking, wondering whether to go on; he had obviously been thinking of the future but his thoughts ran along different lines from her own. ‘Papa, we must think what we are to do after this week is over. I only came to help with the party.’

  ‘Play your cards right and you need never leave. I’ve done all I can to help you. That other one, the one you call Mr Richard, asked a great many searching questions about me and you and your mama when he came to see me.’

  ‘He had no business to do so. I was very angry.’

  ‘Why? He was only trying to find out if you would make a suitable bride for his brother. Families are like that; they look after each other. It is why I want you to have a family around you. I was careful what I said and he seemed satisfied, so you can accept Stephen without feeling you are too far beneath him.’

  ‘I certainly don’t feel that,’ she snapped.

  ‘No, of course not, but others might think it.’

  She had no opportunity to argue with him because Matron returned and said the patient ought to rest. Diana stood up. ‘I will come again soon.’

  ‘And bring me a drink,’ he said. ‘A man may die of thirst here.’

  ‘You are served tea and chocolate and cordial,’ Matron said, her hackles rising. ‘How can you be thirsty?’

  ‘A bottle of cognac to have after my dinner would not go amiss.’

  ‘That would not be conducive to your recovery.’ It was Matron who spoke, but she was only voicing what Diana was thinking. It was to Richard’s credit he had never breathed a word of her father’s drinking to anyone else; they would not have been invited to Borstead if he had. He had intimated to her that the stroke and his incapacity might have cured Papa, but this morning had told her that was a vain hope. Papa was longing for cognac. She hoped the matron would not give it to him.

  She bent to kiss him, whispering close to his ear, ‘Be good, Papa, please.’

  He gave a lop-sided grimace. ‘I do not have much choice, stuck here, do I?’

  She thanked the matron and left, only to find Richard squatting beside Toby, who was wagging his tail in raptures and trying to lick his face. Dogs did not worry themselves about morals and ethics, they could display their pleasure without inhibitions.

  ‘How is your father?’ Richard asked, standing up to face her.

  She did not know why she should be so upset and angry. What Richard Harecroft did was none of her business and yet she felt hurt by it, which was very silly of her considering the child had been born long before she met any of the Harecrofts. Why did she feel so injured? A month ago she would have shrugged it off as nothing to do with her and nothing had changed. She shook herself, making herself answer what was, after all, only a polite enquiry. ‘He has settled in well.’

  ‘Good. The country air will do him good.’ Toby was jumping up at him and he fondled the dog’s ear. ‘Shall we take him for a run? I could show you the rest of the village.’ He did not wait for a reply, but began untying Toby’s lead from the gate post. The dog was off like a shot, nose to the ground, sniffing along the hedgerow.

  ‘There are usually rabbits in that bank,’ Richard said. ‘I remember Pal searching them out.’

  He was his usual urbane self and had no idea of the turmoil in her breast. How could he embarrass his family and lecture his brother about what he should do, even try to advise her, when his own life was so blatantly immoral? No wonder his father disparaged him. She forced herself to speak coolly; it was the only way she could maintain her composure. ‘Did he catch many?’

  ‘No, very few. He was not an aggressive dog.’

  ‘And yet you said he worried sheep.’

  ‘I was not the one to say that, the farmer was. I knew the dog was innocent, but he had to pay for another dog’s crime.’

  ‘How sad.’

  ‘Yes. It happens. To humans as well sometimes.’ He stopped speaking and then abruptly changed the subject. ‘That is the village church, but I expect you have already seen that.’

  ‘Yes, I accompanied your grandparents and great-aunt to morning service. The church is a large one for the size of the village, is it not?’

  ‘I believe at the time it was built the population was larger. Since then many have decamped into the capital to find work. The big house on the hill is the doctor’s and down Green Lane you will find Berry Farm, the only one of any size in Borstead, apart from Home Farm. The remainder are small holdings and peasant cottages.’

  ‘They all look very clean and neat. Are they part of the estate?’

  ‘Yes, the whole village is, including the Borstead Arms and the Traveller’s Rest.’

  ‘Quite an inheritance.’

  ‘Yes, and a responsibility too. It is one my grandfather does not shirk.’ He stopped to greet a man walking towards them with a scythe over his shoulder and was answered with a deferential tug of a forelock. ‘That’s not to say there is no discontent. Times are hard for agriculture. It is fortunate that my grandfather has large breeding stables a few miles away that subsidise the farming and help to pay the labourers’ wages. I will show you those another time when we do not have Toby with us.’

  ‘Thank you. You have been most kind.’

  ‘How did you find my great-aunt?’

  ‘I like her. I am sure we shall deal well together. We talked about the party and what I am expected to do. I think you were right when you said she would have everything organised. I am sure I am not truly needed.’

  ‘Oh, you are needed,’ he said. ‘Great-Grandmama needs you and so does Stephen. At any rate he thinks he does.’

  ‘You doubt it?’

  He shrugged. ‘Time will tell. My great-grandmother’s party is on Saturday. I have a feeling that will be a kind of turning point.’

  She felt that too. ‘Yes. My work here will be done and I must decide on my future.’

  ‘Something of the sort.’ He paused to throw a stick for Toby to fetch. ‘But if you have any doubts about marrying Stephen, then I urge you to think carefully.’

  Had he met her and offered to show her round in order to lecture her? ‘What do you think I have been doing? And what business is it of yours?’

  ‘Contrary to everyone’s belief, I am very fond of my brother. I should hate him to make a mistake.’

  ‘Oh, and there was me thinking you were concerned for me.’

  ‘That, too,’ he said, wondering what had put her into such a temper. ‘I should be very unhappy to see you unhappy.’

  ‘Flirting again, Mr Harecroft? I think perhaps you are a past master at it. Did you learn the art in the army? I believe the uniform attracts a certain kind of woman.’

  Surprised by her almost venomous tone, he turned to look at her. She was pale and her grey eyes had changed from smoky to steely. He wondered what he had done to bring that on. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I think you might have told me.’ She hadn’t meant to say anything, but it was so large in her mind she could not help it. ‘Yesterday we spent three hours in a carriage talking about
all manner of things, and yet you did not see fit to tell me you had a…a mistress.’

  ‘Mistress?’ he echoed.

  ‘Yes, and a son. I saw them this morning. No wonder your father says your friends are disreputable and you are a black sheep.’

  He opened his mouth and shut it again. If she thought that of him, what did it matter? Everyone else, except Great-Grandmama, thought the worst of him, so why should she be any different? He was used to it. And he was not the only one to have secrets. She did too and he wasn’t thinking of her father’s drinking. He didn’t know why he felt so angry, so disappointed.

  They had been walking back towards the estate in silence when he suddenly said, ‘Come with me. I should like you to meet my friends.’ He laughed harshly. ‘My disreputable friends.’

  ‘You said they were not.’

  ‘Nor are they. I was quoting my father. But if you doubt it, come and meet them.’

  ‘I do not have the time. Miss Harecroft might be needing me.’

  ‘Nonsense, she does not expect you to work on a Sunday.’

  He took her hand and almost hauled her along. Even in her anger she could feel herself responding to his touch and hated herself for her weakness. ‘Let me go.’

  He stopped and turned to face her, his anger matching hers. ‘What are you afraid of? Do you think they will corrupt you?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Then come and meet them. They do not have horns and a tail, they will not eat you. And you might learn something to help you make up your mind.’

  In spite of Mr John’s advice to avoid the dower house, in spite of her disappointment in him, she was curious. ‘Very well.’

  Without speaking again, he led the way back to the dower house, opened the gate and ushered her along the path to the door. The first person they met in the hall was the little boy who ran to Richard and was hoisted onto his shoulder. ‘This is Dick,’ Richard told Diana.

  ‘He is like you.’

  ‘So they tell me.’ It was said laconically, knowing he was reinforcing her belief. ‘But all I see is the Carson hair and eyes, inherited from Great-Grandmother’s side of the family. We were all the same in childhood, even Grandfather, who is white-haired now, and Papa, whose hair is flecked with grey.’

  They made their way into the drawing room where the young woman Diana had seen earlier was busy sewing. ‘Miss Bywater, allow me to introduce Miss Lucy Standish. You may have heard of her; as Lucinda Standish, she is an actress of some repute. This little rogue is her son and quite a handful.’ He lifted the child from his shoulder and set him on his feet, while Diana acknowledged the introduction to Lucy with a smile she hoped was warm and did not betray her inner turmoil.

  Perhaps he was truly in love with the woman, but why hadn’t he married her? She did not think he would be put off by his father’s disapproval. He was strong enough to stand up to him. Could it be because she was an actress and marriage to such a one would not sit well with those he wanted to sponsor his political career? Was he cruelly ambitious? If that were the case, she felt sorry for the young woman.

  She turned as Richard introduced the two other occupants of the room. They were both young, both dark-haired, but there the similarity ended. ‘This is Mr Joseph Harris.’ He indicated a solidly build man in a wrinkled suit of clothes and paint in his fingernails. ‘And this is Mr Frederick Somers.’ Mr Somers was thin as a rake, though his clothes were neat and clean, they were also well worn. ‘They are artists and very good they are too. Gentlemen, Miss Diana Bywater, a guest at Borstead Hall.’

  They greeted her politely and she bade them good afternoon, noting that Richard had not explained who she was or her role at the big house. ‘I am down from London to help with her ladyship’s party,’ she said, remedying the omission. ‘Normally I work at the Harecroft Emporium.’

  ‘A clerk, no less,’ Richard added. ‘It seems my father is a convert to female emancipation.’

  ‘How interesting,’ Lucy said. ‘Do you enjoy your work?’

  ‘Very much.’ Diana looked about her. The room was well proportioned, though furnished with a mixture of old and new with little thought to colour and style, and it was very untidy. Books, magazines, Dick’s toys, empty cups and half-finished drawings were scattered about, some portraying Lucy. ‘You certainly have a talented group of friends, Mr Harecroft,’ she said. ‘Where did you meet them?’

  ‘Joe was commissioned by the army to illustrate the life of the regiment and the conflicts in which it had taken part. All finished now, of course. Freddie was a fellow officer.’

  ‘And Miss Standish is your model.’ She was addressing the young men, not Richard. She could not meet his eye.

  Freddie laughed. ‘Yes. We do not have to pay her.’

  Lucy rescued Dick from a pot of paint left carelessly in the hearth and, despite his protests, picked him up and carried him off to have his hands washed before he spread paint everywhere. ‘You shan’t go on the picnic if you do not behave,’ Lucy scolded, but her tone was not severe. The men laughed and Diana found herself smiling. It was not the child’s fault that his parents were not married.

  ‘We are going on a picnic this afternoon,’ Freddie told Diana. ‘Do join us. Lucy has packed a hamper big enough for an army.’

  ‘Yes, do come,’ Joe added his weight. ‘We plan to go to Borstead Heath and watch the horses on the gallops. Dick loves the horses.’

  ‘I must go back to the house,’ she said, noting that Richard had not added his voice to theirs. ‘Lady Harecroft will be wondering what has become of me.’

  ‘Surely not,’ Freddie put in. ‘It is Sunday, you may do as you please.’

  ‘But I should be intruding—’

  ‘Nonsense! You will be company for Lucy—she is always complaining that she is outnumbered. Isn’t that so, Lucy?’ Lucy had returned at that moment, leading Dick by the hand. The child had been washed and had his curls brushed.

  ‘Isn’t what so?’

  ‘You often complain you are outnumbered by men and would be glad of Miss Bywater’s company on our little jaunt this afternoon.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Was there just a tiny hesitation before her reply, Diana wondered, or did she imagine it? Before she could make any more excuses, Freddie turned to Richard. ‘You ask her, Richard, she will listen to you.’

  He hesitated. He was not at all sure it was a good idea. He did not want Diana accusing Lucy of immoral behaviour. Poor Lucy had enough to contend with as it was. Until today he had not realised Diana could be quite so condemnatory. Her own background was not an open book and there were skeletons in her cupboard too. He was beginning to wish he had not been so impulsive in bringing her to the house. It was, after all, his sanctuary, a place to be himself. Wasn’t that what she had said? How could she be so understanding one minute and so critical the next? On the other hand, if she spent some time with Lucy, might she be made to understand?

  ‘Please come,’ he said. ‘Both Great-Aunt Alicia and the dowager take a nap in the afternoons. You will hardly be missed.’

  ‘But I cannot go without asking their permission.’

  ‘Then I will come with you to do so while the others finish the preparations.’ He turned to his friends. ‘We will meet you at the beginning of the path through the wood.’

  Diana felt bewildered, as if she was being tossed on the tide, ebbing and flowing and coming ever nearer to dangerous rocks on which she would surely be dashed to pieces. And yet she could not make herself change direction, could not help herself. Richard strode beside her, making no attempt to engage her in conversation. She was glad of that; she doubted if she would have been able to string together a single coherent sentence.

  They found Alicia reading to the dowager and both ladies exclaimed with delight that she had been invited to join the picnic and told her to go and enjoy herself. ‘But do go and change, my dear,’ her ladyship said. ‘You must be too hot in that dress. Wear something light and make s
ure you take a hat.’

  While she went to obey, Richard went downstairs to wait for her. He was halfway down the stairs when he happened to look up at one of the pictures that lined the walls. They had been hanging there all his life, almost part of the fabric of the building, and he took them for granted, never giving them a passing glance. Now he stopped in his tracks and gazed at the portrait of his great-grandmother painted in her youth. The clothes were old-fashioned, but she was not wearing a wig as most people sitting for a portrait in those days would have done. Her hair was her own, even though it was puffed out with stuffing and decorated with feathers and a small bird. The afternoon sun, coming through the window on the half-landing, lit it up like a ball of red-gold fire. Her blue eyes looked out from the canvas as if they were watching everyone coming and going on the stairs and a faint smile of amusement lifted the corners of her mouth. She had been a real beauty in her day, but what struck him now, like a hammer blow, was how much Diana resembled her. The hair was exactly the same shade and her features were similar too: oval face, high cheekbones, well-defined brows, though Great-Grandmama’s eyes were china blue and Diana’s a smoky grey.

  Was that why the old lady had so taken to her? She brought back a lost youth and allowed her to indulge in the sort of prank for which she had had a reputation as a young woman. Could some earlier Carson have had a mistress and a child, a child to be farmed out and forgotten by the rest of the family? Was history repeating itself? Was Diana being used? Had his great-grandmother deliberately allowed him to think there was something wrong with her, something unacceptable, when she asked him to make enquiries? Or had he been too ready to jump to that conclusion? From thinking of Diana as the villain, he began to wonder if she might be the victim. The idea that he might have misjudged her bothered him. He would have to have it out with the old lady.

  When Diana joined him in the hall fifteen minutes later, she was wearing a printed cotton dress in yellow-and-white stripes, one of the gowns she had purchased with the advance of her salary, and a plain straw bonnet tied on with a yellow ribbon. In her hand she carried a parasol. He stood back and appraised her from head to toe as if it were the first time he had seen her. It only reinforced his doubts.