Degrees of Hope

by Catherine Winchester

  Degrees of Hope

  by

  Catherine Winchester

  Degrees of Hope

  by Catherine Winchester

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, other than those clearly in the public domain, are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by C.S. Winchester.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Cover art copyright © CS Winchester 2012. All rights reserved

  “A very small degree of hope is sufficient to cause the birth of love.” Stendhal

  Chapter One

  Martha Beaumont was in her study sketching when her butler came in. As soon as Martha looked up, she could tell that something was wrong.

  “Mr Jenners?”

  “It appears that Miss Hope has had an accident, Lady Beaumont,”

  “Where is she?” Martha got to her feet

  “The horse made her way back to the stables alone. Barry has gone to look for Miss Hope.”

  “Thank you.”

  Martha quickly made her way out of the back of the house and headed towards the stable block, but before she was even half way there, someone called to her from her right. She turned to see Barry, the steward, carrying Hope in his arms across the paddock, Hope's dog, MacDuff, at his heel.

  Martha resisted the urge to run across the field and waited patiently by the gate, opening it for them as they approached.

  Martha was quite skilled at resisting her impulses and keeping her composure, acting like a lady, if you will, although if Hope had looked in any way distressed, Martha would have flown across the field to her child, mud and new kid boots be damned!

  “Are you all right?” Martha asked as they stopped before her.

  Barry finally set Hope back on her feet, and Martha was pleased to note that her initial impression seemed correct and that Hope wasn't too badly injured. Her riding habit was a little dirty, her face had a tiny scratch on her cheekbone and the hand she seemed to be cradling was muddy and abraded, but that seemed to be the worst of it.

  “I'm fine, Mama, it's just a small accident.”

  Martha was well acquainted with Hope's horse, Shelly, and in her opinion, no fall from its back could be called small.

  “She was spooked by a fox and I fell, but it's just a sprain, I'm sure.”

  “Where is the horse?” Martha asked Barry.

  “Alf's looking after her; she galloped straight back here. I might not have found Miss Hope if it hadn't been for MacDuff's barking.”

  “Thank you,” Martha nodded to Barry then turned to Hope. “Let's get you inside and cleaned up.”

  Martha led her daughter into the house through the servants’ entrance, and then led her into the housekeeper's sitting room to assess her wounds, since the medical supplies were kept in there. She gently prodded and accessed Hope's wrist as the housekeeper, Mrs Lassiter, looked on. Hope hissed in pain a time or two, causing her collie dog to raise her head in case Hope needed help, but the dog soon settled again. Although it was swollen, Hope still had full mobility in her wrist, so Martha agreed that it was just a sprain.

  She bathed the cuts and abrasions with warm water, then used the bandage that Mrs Lassiter handed her to tightly bind her wrist.

  “Did you hit your head?” Martha asked as she worked.

  “No,” Hope assured her.

  “Do you hurt anywhere else?”

  “No.”

  “There,” Martha said as she fastened the bandage with a pin. She leaned forward and kissed her daughter's forehead. “Now stay off that damn horse until it's healed, all right?”

  “I will, Mama, but it wasn't Shelly's fault.”

  “I don't care whose fault it was, that horse is dangerous. I don't know about Shelly, you should have called it Frankenstein's Monster. Your father should never have bought her for you.”

  “She's not a bad horse, Mama, she's just young and easily spooked.”

  “Here,” Mrs Lassiter handed Hope a small glass of something brown. “That will help with the shock and your pain.”

  “I'm not in shock,” Hope argued but actually she did feel a little shaky and so after both women had shot her a warning glare, she took the drink and downed it in one go.

  The liquid burned and being unused to spirits, it made her cough a little. As she handed the glass back to Mrs Lassiter, the sitting room door burst open and Lord Beaumont stormed in.

  “What happened?” he demanded.

  “I'm fine, Papa. Honestly, everyone is making a big deal over nothing.”

  “It's just a sprain, Lucien,” Martha confirmed, getting up and going to her husband.

  She knew how much he worried about all his family and she looked into his eyes, willing him to believe her. Finally he took a deep breath and seemed to relax. She reached up and kissed him quickly on the lips then stepped aside, knowing that he would want to embrace their daughter, who was also on her feet and waiting for her turn.

  Lucien opened his arms to his eldest daughter and she stepped into his embrace. She was a grown woman now but there was nothing like a cuddle from your father when you needed one.

  At 23, Hope was the oldest child in her family by eight years. Augustus, better known as Gus, was the next oldest at 15. After him came Bartholomew, also known as Bart, who was 13 and Charity was the youngest child, just 10 years old.

  Lucien kissed the top of Hope's head and held her until she pulled away. Hope smiled at him.

  “At least it wasn't the right wrist,” he said, his tone light and teasing. “I can still claim my pound of flesh from you!” He gave her a comically stern look and both Hope and Martha laughed, whilst Mrs Lassiter smiled indulgently. “Just go easy for a while, please?”

  Lucien gently guided Hope and Martha from the room, pausing to thank Mrs Lassiter for the use of her sitting room, then the family headed up to the parlour. MacDuff followed them, as usual.

  “MacDuff alerted Barry to her position,” Martha told her husband. It had been his idea that they should get the dog, so that Hope would have some protection as she rode about the countryside.

  Lucien smiled, pleased that the dog had helped.

  “I didn't take you away from work, did I?” Hope asked her father.

  “No, I was already on my way home,” Lucien assured her. “Our guests are arriving this afternoon, remember?”

  “The couple looking to build their own estate?” Hope asked.

  “That's them,” Lucien nodded. “Honoria and Malcolm Arundell.”

  “Someone should tell them that you inherit an estate, you don't build one.”

  “Hope! Don't be so judgemental,” Martha said sharply.

  Hope blushed. Whilst she had been raised to be a lady, her mother was from very humble beginnings, and had once been a servant in the very same house that she was now mistress of. Martha had taught all of her children that it was one's character that mattered most, not their title or wealth, but all the children forgot that lesson sometimes.

  “Sorry, Mama.”

  “Make them feel welcome when they arrive,” Martha said. “And please, try not to appear too wilful.”

  Whilst Martha loved Hope's free spirit, indeed she had encouraged her to think for herself and stand up for what she believed in, she tried hard to make the girl realise that there was a time and a place for such dis
plays and in public, where one's reputation could be called into question, was neither.

  “I will, Mama.”

  “What are they like?” Martha asked her husband.

  “He imports tea from the Far East and seems to have an excellent business sense. On the whole though, he seems rather cool and detached. His wife is about fifteen years younger than he and very handsome indeed, although she appears quite meek. She hardly said a word on the occasion I met her.”

  “Do they have any children?”

  “No, not yet. I don't think they've been married long.”

  “Do you think they will be good neighbours?” Martha asked.

  “That's why I invited them to stay,” Lucien admitted. He wasn't about to sell part of his estate to someone he didn't like very much, and so far he hadn't spent enough time with Malcolm Arundell to know if he liked the man or not.

  As well as large areas of woodland, the Marchwood estate consisted of eleven farms of differing sizes which were let to local farmers. The Hall's own farmland had long since been turned into grazing land for the Merino sheep, which provided most of the wool for one of the family businesses.

  Lucien had no desire to break up the estate, but selling one farm wasn't going to do much damage and besides, Mr Williams had died leaving no heirs (or none who wanted the farm) and Lucien's steward was taking care of the property at the moment.

  He disliked finding new tenants, since those who were not raised to farming had little idea of what they were doing, and often did more harm than good in the beginning. Those who were raised to farming, perhaps younger sons who wouldn't inherit, usually had their own ways of doing things and it tended to cause friction with the other farmers and the steward, who managed the estate.

  Lucien intended to offer the Arundells Mr William's farm land to build their home on.

  As well as the estate, which provided a steady income, the family also had two businesses.

  Gus Aldercott had been Martha's guardian when she was young. He had given Martha his surname as well as leaving his glove business, Aldercott & Daughter, to her and Hope upon his death. Beaumont & Aldercott was started by Martha and Lucien and it made outerwear, such as cloaks, coats and shawls.

  The combined income from all three meant that whilst some of the aristocracy were floundering, the Beaumonts were now one of the wealthiest families in the north of England.

  Malcolm and Honoria Arundell arrived in the afternoon, and Martha showed them and their servants to their rooms. Whilst the servants unpacked, Martha and Lucien gave them a tour of the house.

  Both Malcolm and Honoria were polite but reserved, as Lucien had described. After the tour, Lucien and Malcolm went to view the farm, whilst Honoria had tea with Martha and Hope. Honoria opened up a little once her husband was gone and the conversation flowed quite freely between the women.

  “Is your husband here?” Honoria asked Hope once the introductions were out of the way.

  “Oh, I'm not married,” Hope answered with a grin. At nearly 24, she knew that she would soon be considered too old for marriage but she was determined that someone who loved her wouldn't mind her age.

  “I'm sorry, I just assumed, given your age that- I mean-” She was becoming flustered and Hope decided to put her out of her misery.

  “It's fine,” Hope assured her. “I know that I'm unusual in choosing to marry later, but I won't marry for anything less than true love.”

  “But what if you never fall in love?” Honoria asked, rather bluntly.

  “Then, I shall remain single and breed horses or something,” Hope said breezily.

  Honoria looked to Martha, wondering how she felt about her daughter’s declaration, but she was smiling indulgently at Hope.

  “And your father doesn't mind?”

  “Not at all. All he wants is for me to be happy. Although I realise that I am luckier than most, as I was left a sizeable fortune in trust when I was young, so I shan't become a burden to anyone.”

  “That must surely make you an appealing prospect for some men,” Honoria noted.

  “Indeed, but it doesn't necessarily make them an appealing prospect for me,” Hope said with a smile. “Although in truth, my assets are kept in trust so that my husband won't be able to access them.”

  “Although she has no inheritance,” Martha interrupted, “our youngest daughter will also be afforded the same luxury. I want all my children to be free to marry whomever they want.”

  “That is very unusual,” Honoria said.

  “What about you, how did you meet your husband?” Martha asked.

  “My father thought that he would be a very suitable match for me,” Honoria answered, although her expression became slightly forlorn.

  “And what did you think?” Hope asked, causing Martha to give her a warning glare.

  “Tell us about your father?” Martha suggested.

  “He is Lord Ashdown, the Baron of Norfolk.”

  Martha knew of him; unfortunately he was rumoured to be a degenerate gambler.

  “It's unusual for a member of the gentry to recommend a marriage to someone in trade, isn't it?” Hope asked.

  “Not that unusual.” Martha could have kicked Hope for her insensitivity. Yes, on the whole marriages to the lower classes weren't ideal, however since some of the gentry were feeling the financial pinch these days, as the middle classes became more and more affluent, marriages to its wealthier members were becoming far more commonplace. Poor Honoria had probably been auctioned off to the highest bidder. Martha tried to move the conversation on to another topic.

  “Do you know much of Marchwood?” she asked.

  “No, I'm afraid I don't yet.” Honoria blushed and kept her eyes downcast.

  “It's rather odd to build a house somewhere that you don't know isn't it?” Hope asked.

  Martha finally had enough of Hope's continued insensitivity and questioning of their guest.

  “Hope!” Her sharp tone caused Honoria to jump, something that Martha noted but Hope was oblivious to. “I believe your earlier accident has worn you out, my dear; why don't you go and have a rest before dinner.”

  “Mama, I'm fine.”

  Martha raised her eyebrows. She would repeat herself if necessary, but her expression said that there would be consequences if Hope disobeyed.

  “Yes, Mama.” Hope did feel a little out of sorts today. She knew that she could be brash at times but it felt as if today she couldn't help herself. Duly chastened, she got up and bid her mother and Honoria goodbye.

  “Take MacDuff with you,” Martha added, knowing that the dog would comfort her whilst Martha was unable to. “I'm so sorry,” Martha said once Hope had left. “She does not mean to be rude, but she fell from her horse earlier today and was given some brandy for medicinal purposes. I believe it has gone to her head.”

  “That's quite all right,” Honoria looked relieved.

  “So,” Martha picked up the teapot and topped up their cups. “Whilst you are here, why don't I take you into Marchwood and show you around. If this is to become your home, a little knowledge of the closest town will be very useful.”

  “Thank you, Lady Beaumont.”

  “Please, call me Martha. If we are to be neighbours, it would be good if we could also be friends.”

  “Thank you, Martha.”

  They chatted amiably for another half an hour, until Martha suggested that they retire to their rooms to rest a little before dinner.

  Martha entered her bedroom to see Hope asleep on her parent's bed and MacDuff sleeping by the fire. She smiled as she approached, gently brushing a strand of Hope's dark hair behind her ear and placing a soft kiss on her cheek.

  Martha then looked out of the window but neither Lucien or Malcolm were visible, so she picked up a book and sat by the unlit fire to read for a few hours. MacDuff came and sat beside her, and Martha absently reached down and scratched behind his ears whilst she read.

  Hope awoke after another hour and wiped her eyes, look
ing every inch like the little girl that Martha remembered so fondly.

  “Did you sleep well?” Martha asked with a smile.

  “I'm sorry, Mama. I was waiting for you to apologise, I didn't mean to be rude to Honoria. I must have fallen asleep-”

  Martha held her hand up to stop her. “I know, sweetheart. You have had a long day and I know you didn't mean to make our guest uncomfortable.”

  Hope could be insensitive and thoughtless at times, but at heart she really was a kind and loving young woman.

  “I didn't.”

  “Then let's put this behind us and move on.”

  Hope came to join her mother by the fireplace.

  “What do you make of her?” Hope asked.

  Martha frowned and considered her words for a few moments before answering.

  “I think that she could use a friend, and if they do decide to move here, you would be a good choice for her.”

  “But she is so... stiff and formal. She would never want to be friends with someone as uncouth as I was today.”

  “I don't think she will judge you too harshly, my dear. Just try to be a friend to her; I have a feeling she will need it.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Honestly? It's just intuition. I know that many marriages are founded on things other than love, but I have the feeling that Honoria is struggling in her marriage.”

  “She does give off an air of quiet despair,” Hope agreed.

  Martha smiled, pleasantly surprised by her insight.

  “What did you make of the husband?” Hope asked since she hadn't met him yet.

  “I honestly don't know,” Martha answered. “He seems pleasant enough on the surface, but there is a coldness about his manner which I didn't like. Honoria also didn't speak much when we were with him and she always looked to him before replying, as though seeking his approval.”

  “Well, seventeen is awfully young to be married,” Hope said. “And he's in his thirties; she must still feel like a child around him.”

  “Maybe,” Martha wasn't so sure it was that innocuous. Hope had been relatively sheltered in her young life but Martha had grown up in abject poverty with an abusive father. Going into service at 'the big house' when she was ten, had been a merciful escape from her life, despite the long hours and hard work. Honoria's expression when around her husband reminded Martha of the looks her mother used to give their father, after he'd had a few pints and she was worried about his temper.