Rags-to-Riches Bride

by Mary Nichols

  ‘No, I need to conserve my strength for tomorrow. I shall have my supper sent up here.’

  ‘I believe Uncle Henry has arrived.’

  ‘All the more reason to stay here. He will do nothing but grumble in that carrying voice of his and wear me out. Go on down, both of you. And, Diana, do not forget about your father.’

  ‘What did she mean about your father?’ he asked as they went downstairs together.

  ‘She wants me to bring him to her party. I do not think I dare risk it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You, of all people, should know why not.’

  ‘But you cannot keep him confined forever, Diana. You have to show him you trust him or he will never be cured. I will be here to help keep an eye on him.’

  ‘I told her ladyship I would think about it.’

  ‘What else did she say?’

  ‘Oh, nothing very much. She said she did not believe the young should be hamstrung by the old.’

  ‘Very enigmatic—anything else?’

  ‘No.’

  He did not comment, but he was disappointed. Great-Grandmama had promised to tell Diana her secret, but she had obviously balked at it. She really was a wicked old woman, but he loved her dearly.

  Chapter Ten

  When they entered the drawing room, they found the rest of the family had arrived. Henry was regaling the company with his opinion on the state of the roads. ‘Potholes everywhere,’ he said. ‘It was a wonder the horses were not lamed. As for the springs of my carriage, I am sure they will never be the same again. Can you not have something done about them, Uncle William?’

  ‘Me?’ his lordship queried. ‘I do not own the roads.’

  ‘You own Borstead village.’

  ‘Those roads are kept in good repair,’ William insisted.

  Henry turned and saw Diana, the blue gown falling in soft folds about her feet and her red-gold hair piled up in a becoming coronet. ‘God in heaven, you startled me,’ he said. ‘I thought I was seeing a ghost.’

  Stephen hurried forward to take her hand, detaching her from Richard. ‘Uncle Henry, Aunt Anne, allow me to present Miss Diana Bywater,’ he said, leading her forward. ‘Diana, my uncle, Mr Henry Harecroft and Mrs Harecroft and these…’ he pointed to a young man of perhaps eighteen and a girl a little younger, who was dressed in pale pink decorated with rows and rows of ribbon bows ‘…are my cousins, Cecil and Maryanne.’

  Diana murmured, ‘How do you do’, wondering what the man had meant about seeing a ghost. Had she been right all along? Was she being mistaken for someone else?

  The butler came to tell them dinner was served and they lined up to go into the dining room. Diana went in on Stephen’s arm and Maryanne seized Richard’s arm and hung on to it, leaving Cecil to escort Alicia.

  Once they were all seated, the servants served the soup and then withdrew. For a minute or two there was silence, but Diana could feel the tension in the air, a certain wariness, and she began to wonder if she were the cause. Or was it that they were suspicious of all newcomers?

  ‘Do you live in Borstead, Miss Bywater?’ the younger Mrs Harecroft asked.

  ‘No, she is staying here,’ Stephen answered for her.

  ‘I came to help Miss Harecroft with the arrangements for her ladyship’s party,’ Diana told her. ‘Normally I work at Harecroft’s Emporium. I am a clerk.’

  ‘A clerk?’ Henry queried. ‘I thought you must be one of the family.’

  ‘I hope one day she may be,’ Stephen said, reaching across and putting his hand over Diana’s. She hurriedly withdrew it to take a spoonful of soup.

  ‘A wedding,’ Maryanne exclaimed. ‘I love weddings, all that champagne…’

  ‘What do you know of champagne, miss?’ her father snapped.

  ‘I know everyone drinks it at weddings.’ She paused. ‘And birthday parties. I expect Great-Grandmama will have bottles and bottles of it for her party tomorrow.’

  ‘And you will have none of it,’ her mother said. ‘Miss Bywater, you must forgive my daughter. Her school is supposed to teach her to be a lady, but I can see no evidence of it. Do you enjoy your work at the shop?’

  Diana was glad they had stopped talking about weddings. If only she had had time to see Stephen and talk to him before dinner, she could have saved them both a great deal of embarrassment. ‘Yes, very much,’ she said, catching sight of Stephen looking at her. She turned her attention to the food on her plate and made a pretence of eating it.

  ‘It is a strange occupation for a lady,’ Henry said.

  ‘I do not see why it should be,’ Diana said, determined not to let them intimidate her. ‘It requires no strength, simply a head for figures and a neat hand.’

  ‘Miss Bywater does it very well,’ John told them.

  ‘I thought she was a Harecroft,’ Henry persisted. ‘I noticed the likeness at once. Miss Bywater is exactly like that picture of Grandmother in her youth…’

  ‘Which picture?’ John queried.

  ‘You know, the one on the staircase wall. I forget the name of the artist.’

  ‘Sir Joshua Reynolds,’ Richard murmured.

  ‘Yes, that’s the one. She’d have been about the same age as Miss Bywater. It was as if Grandmother had stepped out of the frame, as young as she used to be. Except for the gown, of course.’ He turned to Diana. ‘Are you related?’

  ‘I do not think so,’ Diana said, wishing they would change the subject. It was almost as if they were trying to catch her out in some misdemeanor, as if she had inveigled her way into their home on the strength of a likeness. She cast a beseeching look at Richard. He smiled encouragingly before addressing his uncle.

  ‘If there were one, I am sure Great-Grandmama would know about it,’ he said.

  ‘Unless two branches of the family had a falling out,’ Cecil added. ‘And neither knew of the other’s existence.’

  ‘There was Uncle James,’ Henry mused. ‘Of course I do not remember him, but I remember Grandfather mentioning him when I was a boy. He was talking to Grandmama. I was not supposed to be listening, but it stuck in my memory.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Stephen asked, intrigued.

  ‘He said he did not know how large the family was because he had no idea how many brats James had bequeathed to the nation.’

  ‘Henry!’ Alicia cried. ‘I am sure he said no such thing.’

  ‘He did, you know. Grandmama was furious with him. You ask her.’

  ‘I certainly will not. James was a hero, killed fighting for king and country in the American Wars. Mother was heartbroken when he died.’

  ‘I think you are embarrassing Miss Bywater,’ Richard said, casting a meaningful look at Stephen. He had given him a lecture earlier that evening, which had resulted in Stephen becoming angry and telling him to mind his own business. Papa wanted him to marry Diana and he did not see why he should not do so. He had even accused Richard of being jealous, which he had denied, though it was true. He was jealous as hell!

  ‘They say everyone has a double,’ Cecil said. ‘Someone as like as two peas in a pod, but with no connection at all.’

  ‘That would demolish my theory and I had been weaving such a romantic tale of lost love,’ Maryanne said, laughing. ‘Secret elopements and being cut off without a penny. Wouldn’t that be something?’

  At a fearsome look from her mother, Maryanne subsided, much to Diana’s relief. She had no answer to the suggestions they made; she could not give them chapter and verse of her family history as they undoubtedly could of theirs and she could see that Richard did not like the subject being aired; after all, he had himself sired a child out of wedlock.

  ‘What are you doing with yourself these days, Richard?’ his aunt asked him, as the soup dishes were cleared away and the next course of lamb cutlets and vegetables from the garden was brought in and left on the table for them to help themselves.

  ‘Richard is writing a book,’ Stephen put in. ‘Though no one has seen it. It is just an exc
use to live a life of idleness with his friends at the dower house.’

  ‘Are they still there?’ his mother asked. ‘I thought you were going to get rid of them.’

  ‘While they have nowhere to go, I cannot turn them out, Mama. Mr Somers has been offered an exhibition, which means he will be moving to London soon. Mr Harris is going to illustrate my book.’

  ‘Poor man,’ Stephen said. ‘It will never see the light of day.’

  ‘There you are wrong, brother. I have found a publisher.’ Mr Waterson of Southwark had expressed an interest, it was true but he had not made a firm commitment. ‘Well written,’ he had said. ‘But to make any impact on the public it needs illustrations.’ It was then he had remembered Diana’s suggestion. He had written to Mr Waterson to tell him he had the perfect illustrator. It meant rewriting some passages to introduce the pictures, but that would not take long and he had promised to deliver the new text and illustrations within a month.

  ‘Have you indeed?’ his father put in. ‘I hope he is reputable.’

  ‘Yes, small but respectable.’

  ‘Then I shall look forward to seeing your work in print.’

  ‘And the actress?’ his mother queried. ‘Is she still at the dower house?’

  ‘Miss Standish is my housekeeper. And, yes, she is still there.’

  ‘Housekeeper! I cannot imagine any bride worth her salt condoning her being there.’

  ‘Neither can I, Mama,’ he said with a rueful sigh. ‘Neither can I.’

  ‘Then do something about it.’

  Diana was glad they were no longer quizzing her, but Mrs Harecroft’s words made her wonder if the lady knew the real situation at the dower house, if she even knew about the little boy. Her grandchild. Or did she know, did they all know, and were all choosing not to acknowledge the inconvenience of his existence? Poor little Dick, poor long-suffering Lucy! She risked a glance at Richard and was disconcerted to find he was looking at her with that steady gaze of his. She looked away quickly and helped herself from the tureens on the table, though she was not in the least hungry. She was glad when the meal came to an end and the ladies withdrew to leave the men to port and cigars.

  While Lady Harecroft supervised the dispensing of the tea in the drawing room, Diana found a quiet corner where she hoped to remain undisturbed until she could politely leave the company. When the gentlemen joined them, a discussion was begun as to how they might amuse themselves for the rest of the evening and Diana took the opportunity to escape. ‘Please excuse me,’ she said. ‘I would like to see how my father has settled down after his day out. I fear we overtired him.’

  ‘Then I will come with you,’ Stephen said.

  Diana went upstairs to change her shoes and put on a light shawl and a bonnet. When she came down again, she found both Stephen and Richard waiting for her.

  ‘I am going to the old chapel to see Freddie,’ Richard said. ‘I left him there finishing off a painting. You do not mind if I come as far as the village path with you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Diana said politely.

  All three set off across the park. No one spoke. The tension in the air was almost tangible. Richard had adopted an air of cheerfulness that did not deceive her for a minute and Stephen’s jaw was rigid as if he was suppressing a great emotion that threatened to burst inside him. She began to tremble at the thought of what she must do. How would he react? With anger, misery or relief?

  When they came to the parting of the ways, Richard doffed his hat. ‘Goodnight, Miss Bywater.’

  ‘Goodnight, Mr Harecroft.’

  ‘I will see you later, at the dower house, Stephen. You know what you have to do, don’t you?’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ was the angry answer.

  ‘What did he mean?’ Diana asked, when Richard had left them.

  ‘Oh, nothing. He has a bee in his bonnet as usual. He thinks that because he is the elder he has a right to dictate to me what I do.’

  ‘Perhaps he cares about you.’

  ‘Then why can he not be happy for me? Anyone would think he was jealous.’

  ‘Jealous?’

  ‘Yes, because I have you. He would take you from me if he could.’

  ‘Oh, that is silly. He does not want me. Whatever gave you that idea?’

  ‘Oh, do not let’s talk about him. It is a whole week since I saw you and it feels like an age.’

  ‘It does to me, too, but it has given me time to ponder.’ She paused to take a deep breath. ‘Stephen, I am afraid I cannot marry you.’

  He swung round towards her. ‘Why not? Has Richard been talking—?’

  ‘No, certainly not.’ It was said swiftly.

  ‘Then it must be because the family were so abominably rude at dinner. Take no notice of them. I know you have a superficial likeness to Great-Grandmama, but that is only the colour of your hair, and as for long-lost relations…’ He laughed. ‘That only happens in cheap novelettes.’

  ‘It has nothing to do with that either. I cannot marry you because I do not love you and I think, if you are honest, you will admit you do not love me.’

  ‘Love comes after marriage, when two people have learned to live together in harmony, so I have been told.’

  ‘I do not subscribe to that,’ she said, thinking how dull he made it sound. ‘If I did, I might enter into a marriage simply to have a home for myself and my father and have the worry of making a living for us both lifted from me.’

  ‘Then do it. I promise you—’

  ‘No, Stephen. We would both regret it and make each other miserable.’

  ‘Is that your last word?’

  ‘I am afraid it is. As soon as the party is over I am taking my father back to London to find lodgings and a new job.’

  He gave a cracked laugh. ‘Where will you find one as good as the one you have at Harecroft’s? Not everyone is as benign as my father, you know.’

  ‘I do know and I appreciate it, but I trust he will not hold it against me and refuse me a good reference.’

  ‘You will have what you deserve. I know he will be displeased and so will Great-Grandmama.’

  ‘I am sorry, I am very fond of you and I am grateful to your family for all they have done, but that is my decision. Please accept it with my good wishes for your future happiness.’

  ‘Very well. You will not mind if I do not come any farther, will you?’ And with that he turned about and strode away. Diana continued alone, relief washing over her. It had been difficult, but she was glad it was done. He would get over his disappointment and now she must map out her future and that was going to be even more difficult and heart-rending because it meant saying goodbye to Richard. Why did she continue to love him in spite of what he was and what he had done? Why could she not convince herself he was a rogue?

  She went up the steps of the nursing home and was admitted by one of the attendants. ‘Miss Bywater, thank goodness.’ She looked past Diana as if searching for someone. ‘Where is he? Have you not brought him back?’

  ‘You mean my father? He came back hours ago. I saw him in myself.’

  ‘I know, but he must have gone out again.’

  ‘Did he say where he was going?’

  ‘No, not a word. Come and speak to Matron.’

  Diana followed her along a corridor to the matron’s sitting room, her spirits, already at a low ebb, falling even further. It was soon apparent that her father was missing and had been missing for two or three hours. ‘I knew it was not a good idea to take him out this afternoon,’ Matron said severely. ‘You have upset his routine and routine is so important when a patient is convalescing. And I am sure he had been drinking, I smelled it on his breath.’

  ‘He had one glass of champagne to celebrate a win at the races,’ Diana said. ‘That, surely, could have done him no harm.’

  ‘I do not approve of gambling either. Now you have unsettled him and he has wandered off. We have searched the house and grounds and he is certainly not here. I was about to send up to
the Hall to let Lady Harecroft know what has happened. I am not going to be blamed for this.’

  It was obvious to Diana that she expected to be held responsible by those at the big house to whom she was answerable for Mr Bywater’s well-being. ‘I am sure no one will blame you, Matron,’ she said. ‘Do not worry, I think I might know where to find him. I will fetch him back, there is no need to send up to the Hall.’

  ‘Very well. I cannot think why he wanted to leave. He is given every consideration…’

  ‘You have looked after him admirably,’ Diana said soothingly. ‘I am sure he will tell you so himself when he returns. Now, if you excuse me, I will go and find him.’

  Diana had a good idea where he father was and set off for the Borstead Arms. It was the larger of the two inns in the village and the better of the two in terms of cleanliness. She braced herself to enter and ask for her father, desperately hoping he had not disgraced himself, because in a small place like Borstead the news would soon spread. She could imagine the disgust of everyone at the Hall when it reached there. But what did it matter? she told herself. She was leaving first thing on Sunday and while she was here she might as well enquire about transport to London.

  Her father was not in the parlour, though several locals sat enjoying a glass of beer, including, she noticed, Dawkins, one of Borstead Hall’s footmen, and Soames. They stared at her with curiosity and Soames touched his hat to her, but neither spoke. She approached the innkeeper and requested the times of the coaches and whether she could hire a conveyance to take her to Ascot. She was told there was a regular carrier who also took passengers.

  ‘Beggin’ your pardon, miss.’ Soames had heard her request and come to stand beside her. ‘Did you say you was wanting to catch the London coach?’

  She turned to face him. ‘Yes, Mr Soames. I only came down for the party.’

  ‘But I should be taking you. Her ladyship would be vexed to think you were making your own way.’

  ‘I wanted to save you the trouble.’

  ‘It ain’t no trouble. It’s what I’m paid for.’