by Anne Ashley
‘Did you hear that now, mistress…? ’Tis a traitor I’m being called. And me the most loyal man who ever drew breath!’
After resorting to her mother tongue in order to utter something most indelicate in response, Mary swept out of the stable, leaving Patrick to follow her stalking progress across the yard with his eyes, and Jennifer to detect a certain look in them which she had never noticed there before. The truth hit her with stunning clarity. He was in love with Mary! Why in heaven’s name had she never realised that until now? Was she so obtuse, so blind that she never saw what was going on right under her very nose?
‘Well, mistress, I can guess why you’re here.’ Patrick transferred his gaze from Mary’s retreating form to Jennifer’s slightly troubled expression, his blue eyes still smiling, but now lacking that special glow. ‘Have you come here to tear a strip off me for not protecting that precious son o’ yours from his father’s wrath?’
He was nothing if not direct, Jennifer mused. That was perhaps why she had always liked and trusted him, even though his reputation where the fair sex was concerned was not precisely stainless. Their association, however, had been somewhat different.
‘It was not your place to interfere, Patrick,’ she pointed out.
‘That’s true enough. Though I might have done so had I thought his lordship were enjoying the exercise.’ There was a faint rasping sound as he rubbed long fingers back and forth across his chin. ‘’Tis true I’ve been thinking that a man who can care so much for the boy, and have such a way with beasts, cannot be all bad.’
Undoubtedly his lordship had risen in this bold Irishman’s estimation during the few short weeks they had been at Wroxam Park. No mean feat as Patrick’s respect was not easily won!
‘I didn’t come here to discuss this morning’s unfortunate occurrence,’ she told him, swiftly channel-ling her thoughts to the matter in hand, ‘but to ask you whether you would care to return to Ireland to collect Charles’s pony?’
It occurred to Jennifer then that she didn’t treat Patrick like a servant either. She had no difficulty in issuing orders where Wroxam’s staff were concerned, but her relationship with both Patrick and Mary had always been different. In Ireland their close association had seemed perfectly in order. She had done her share of the work, and had found it quite natural to look upon them both as colleagues and friends. Here, of course, everything was different. Whether she liked it or not her position had changed. She was once again a lady of consequence, albeit a reluctant marchioness, and she wouldn’t care to be seen showing more consideration to certain members of the household. That, she told herself silently, could quite easily lead to a certain amount of resentment and ill feeling amongst the members of staff.
‘To be sure, it’ll be a pleasure to be away from this heathen country if only for a short time,’ Patrick answered, once again bringing Jennifer back to the present. ‘Be it just the pony you’ll be wanting me to bring, mistress? Or is it himself you be wanting too…? He’ll ’ave missed you, I’m thinking.’
A look not unlike that which had fleetingly glinted in Patrick’s eyes minutes before flickered now in her own. ‘And I have missed him… Yes, Pat, bring my baby too.’
The sound of hooves on cobblestones captured her attention, and Jennifer turned to see a footman leading a chestnut mare, with a lady’s saddle upon its back, into the stable-yard. Evidently they had a visitor. A rare event indeed! Only Colonel Halstead and his wife had paid a visit to the house since her return, which was perfectly understandable in the circumstances. The majority of their neighbours were still in town enjoying the delights of the Season. None the less, she couldn’t help wondering whether Wroxam himself had not dissuaded any would-be callers.
‘Come to the house when you’re ready to leave, Pat, and I’ll provide you with funds.’
She left him then to make the necessary preparations, and went directly back into the house to be told by Slocombe that Mrs Royston had called, and that his lordship wished her to join them in the parlour.
Jennifer’s initial impulse was to ignore the request and seek sanctuary in her bedchamber, but she curbed it. She had no desire to see the woman who had witnessed her shame all those years ago, but knew she couldn’t avoid a meeting indefinitely. Melissa Royston and Julian had been friends since childhood, and his nearest neighbour had always been a regular visitor to the house. At the back of her mind memory stirred, and Jennifer vaguely recalled Julian mentioning that Melissa had travelled to Italy several weeks ago to visit her brother Geoffrey. It was safe to assume that, now she was back under her own roof again, she would resume her regular visits to this house.
Tapping into that deep well of fortitude which her dear protector James O’Connell had managed to instil in her during their years together, she walked resolutely into the room to find the half-sister of the man who had had such a devastating effect on her young life sitting serenely on the sofa, sipping a glass of Madeira. At first glance Melissa Royston seemed little changed. She was as slender as she had been nine years before, and her lovely black hair had lost none of its shine. As Jennifer drew a little closer, however, she clearly detected the faint harsh lines about the mouth before the full lips curled into a mechanical smile, quite devoid of warmth.
‘Jennifer, my dear! I could hardly believe it when Colonel Halstead informed me this very morning of your return. Where on earth have you been hiding yourself all these years, silly child?’
‘Hardly a child any longer, Mrs Royston,’ Jennifer responded, swiftly deciding there had been precious little affection in the kiss Melissa had placed upon her cheek; merely a token gesture, nothing more.
‘No, perhaps not,’ Melissa agreed, re-seating herself, but not before her dark eyes had subjected the younger woman to a swift assessing glance. ‘But need we be so formal, my dear? After all, we used to be such good friends.’
Had they? Jennifer wondered. If so, she chose her friends with rather more care these days. Nevertheless, she had no intention of being inhospitable, even though she strongly suspected that Melissa was not so overjoyed by her unexpected return as she was trying to appear.
‘Can I tempt you to a glass of Madeira, Jennifer?’ Julian asked, and at her nod of assent went over to the decanters. ‘I believe I did mention that Melissa has been visiting Geoffrey in Italy.’
As he handed her the wine he searched her face in vain for any sign of distress at mention of her ex-lover’s name. It seemed almost as though she had forgotten his very existence, or had successfully blotted all thoughts of him from her mind.
‘Sadly I found him most unwell,’ Melissa informed them, after watching her childhood friend seat himself beside his wife on the other sofa. ‘He was always a sickly child, never strong, as you may remember, Julian. He went to live abroad shortly after—several years ago,’ she corrected, and Jennifer could not help wondering if the sudden check had been quite deliberate.
‘I’m sorry to hear that he is unwell,’ she responded, aware that her husband’s eyes remained firmly fixed on her profile.
‘I’m afraid it is consumption. We thought that the warmer climate would benefit his health, and for a short period it seemed to do just that. Time and time again I’ve written to him, trying to persuade him to return here. But, of course, he won’t, not after what happened between you and him, and the disgrace of it all… He still paints, however. You may remember, Jennifer, that art was his ruling passion.’
She did remember very well. It was strange, though, that she retained no memory whatsoever of their one and only illicit coupling. ‘I do, indeed,’ she responded, refusing to betray the fact that she found the conversation more than just a little disturbing. ‘And possessed a certain aptitude, as I recall.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Melissa agreed, her gaze alternating between Julian’s impassive countenance and his wife’s faintly concerned expression. ‘He has managed to live quite comfortably on the money he has earned from his paintings. But let us not discuss Geoffrey.’
Once again her lips curled into a smile which nowhere near touched the dark eyes. ‘I understand you have a son, Jennifer. May I be permitted to make his acquaintance?’
‘Of course you may, Melissa,’ Julian responded swiftly, as he clearly detected the faint tightening of slender white fingers about the stem of a glass. ‘But not today. I’m afraid he’s in disgrace.’
‘Oh, dear! Suddenly discovering yourself to be a father has not proved all joy then, Julian,’ Melissa teased, with a tinkling laugh which sounded distinctly forced, at least to Jennifer’s ears.
‘On the contrary, fatherhood is very much to my liking.’ His lordship then changed the subject, and was successful in keeping the conversation well clear of any topics which might cause the lady beside him further disquiet, until Melissa announced that it was time to take her leave.
He was more than willing to acquiesce to her request to accompany her out to the stables, though he could have wished that she had refrained from possessively wrapping her arm round his before they had left the room.
As they entered the hall they encountered Mary, emerging from the back parlour. With the possible exception of his wife, to whom she was quite touchingly devoted, Mary never displayed the least deference to anyone. So it came as no surprise to Julian when she subjected the woman clinging to his right arm like a limpet to one of those bold, assessing dark-eyed stares. What she appeared to see evidently did not please her overmuch, for she frowned dourly and muttered something in Gaelic before quickly mounting the stairs.
‘Who was that insolent creature, Julian?’ Melissa demanded to know the instant they had stepped outside. ‘Not a servant of yours, surely?’
‘She isn’t strictly speaking a servant, Melissa. For want of something better to call her, I suppose you might say she is my wife’s companion.’
‘You must be mellowing with age, Julian. I wonder you tolerate such a brazen-faced creature in your household,’ Melissa commented.
He found himself very much resenting her tone. ‘I tolerate her because she took great care of my wife during our long separation. She is utterly devoted to Jennifer, touchingly so. And loyalty, Melissa, is something that one cannot buy. It is earned, and Jennifer appears to have little trouble in winning the respect and devotion of those around her…? I wonder that I never realised that before now.’
She appeared slightly taken aback, but swiftly regained her composure. ‘How very like you to say something so noble, my dear friend! When I know what you must be thinking and feeling at this present time.’
‘I doubt that you do, Melissa,’ he returned bluntly.
‘Oh, but I do, my dear,’ she countered. ‘We have known each other far too long for me not to realise precisely why you allowed Jennifer to return to Wroxam Park. And it is just like you to be so noble and not part mother and son.’ Her expression appeared all touching concern. ‘But can you be sure, Julian, that the child is yours? After all—’
‘There is not the smallest doubt in my mind, Melissa,’ he cut in, the harsh tone more marked this time. ‘Even if Charles were not my image, I would still believe he was mine, if Jennifer told me it was so.’
Having amazed himself by this completely spontaneous declaration of trust, he guided his equally astonished companion into the stable-yard to discover Patrick on the point of departure.
‘Good Lord, man!’ Julian didn’t attempt to hide his surprise. ‘You’re not setting off today, surely?’
‘No time like the present, sir,’ he responded, after having cast his smiling blue eyes over his lordship’s very attractive companion. ‘The mistress wants the boy’s pony brought here, and that’s reason enough for me to be on my way.’
Julian couldn’t help smiling at this: yet a further example of the unfailing devotion shown by his wife’s servants. ‘How long do you expect to be away?’
Patrick shrugged, clearly unwilling to commit himself, before he mounted one of the fine carriage horses his mistress had brought from Ireland. ‘Difficult to say, sir. If it were just the pony I were collecting, I’d say I’d be back in ten days, two weeks at the most. But the mistress, now, she be pining after that baby of hers, and I dare swear the imp has been doing its share of fretting in return during these past weeks.’ There was a flash of white teeth. ‘And the baby can be a mite troublesome on occasions, as yer might say, sir. All depends on its mood. So it might take me a while longer to complete the trip.’
Against all the odds Julian found himself smiling as he watched Patrick doff his hat and ride out of the stable-yard. ‘Impertinent rogue,’ he muttered good-humouredly, much to Melissa’s further astonishment.
‘Julian, how can you take it so lightly? Jennifer’s baby…? Whatever can it mean?’
‘Unless I much mistake the matter, the so-called baby will turn out to have four legs, and not two, as you imagine.’
Julian then wasted no further time in helping his visitor to mount her own horse. Melissa Royston was one of the few women in whose company he did not become swiftly bored. She had never to his knowledge ever divulged a word about her brother’s sordid association with Jennifer. Whether this had stemmed from a desire not to sully Geoffrey’s reputation or out of admiration and respect for himself, Julian wasn’t perfectly certain, but would always feel immense gratitude towards her for maintaining a strict silence over the years. None the less, he might have wished that she had displayed more tact during her first meeting with Jennifer. His wife’s infidelity might not be easily forgotten, especially not by him, but there was absolutely no need to allude to the distasteful event at the first available opportunity, as it seemed to him Melissa had done. Consequently he was not sorry on this occasion to see his visitor ride out of the stable-yard.
On re-entering the house, he encountered his butler positioning a vase of flowers on the large oak table in the hall. ‘Ah, Slocombe! Convey my apologies to her ladyship and inform her that I shall not be taking luncheon with her today.’ He then turned, about to enter his library, when he bethought himself of something else. ‘Also, be good enough to seek out Penrose. No doubt he will still be busily engaged in my bedchamber. If so, ask him to give you the small leather case I keep locked away in the cupboard, and bring it to me in the library.’
Evidently Slocombe had little difficulty in running the dapper little valet to earth, for no sooner had his lordship poured himself a glass of wine, and had made himself comfortable at his desk, than the butler entered carrying that all-important leather-bound case.
It was several minutes after Slocombe had placed the requested article on the desk and had left the room that Julian reached out one hand to undo the leather buckle and extract its contents. It had been almost nine long years since he had set eyes on those six letters, one for every week Jennifer had remained by herself here at Wroxam Park, whilst he had tried to find solace in the arms of an energetic and highly resourceful young mistress, whose name escaped him completely now.
The first letter, which he had scanned briefly and then had flung into the fireplace in his library at Berkeley Square, only to rescue it quickly from the flames should it prove useful in attaining a divorce, was crumpled and slightly charred; the rest had their seals intact, never read, almost forgotten until now.
Placing them in strict chronological order, Julian read each one in turn, and then again, digesting every word written in the faintly childish hand which had developed over the years into an elegant, sloping scrawl. In each one Jennifer had professed her undying love for him, had assured him over and over that she had never looked upon Geoffrey Wilburn as anything other than a friend, and again and again had begged his forgiveness. Only in the penultimate missive, when she had evidently begun to accept that their marriage was at an end, had she come anywhere near offering an explanation for her adulterous behaviour.
…I realise that you may never find it in your heart to forgive me, Julian. In truth I cannot forgive myself, nor understand why I behaved as I did. It continues to remain so unreal to me, li
ke some horrible, bad dream. I recall clearly riding out with Geoffrey that day. I remember too our seeking shelter in the cottage by the wood when it came on to rain, but that was the only reason I entered the cottage with him. Please believe me when I tell you that everything that happened afterwards continues to remain just a blur. Even when I looked up to discover you standing in the doorway, you seemed so unreal, so very far away, and yet I know you were there to witness my shame…
Julian reread the paragraph a third and then a fourth time. Could it possibly be true? Could Jennifer honestly have retained no memory at all of what happened between her and Geoffrey after they had entered that cottage on that eventful September afternoon? It seemed highly unlikely, and yet…
‘I have never lied to you, Wroxam, and I do not intend to start doing so now,’ she had said, when she had stood in this very room a matter of an hour earlier. He had had no difficulty in believing her then. And yet this…
Tossing the letter aside, he went over to stare sightlessly out of the window, striving desperately to recall every detail of a scene he would far rather forget. Had she, in truth, appeared a little dazed when he had caught her in bed with Geoffrey? Had there been a certain faraway look in her eyes? He was inclined to think that there had been. She had certainly seemed lost, almost in a world of her own, when she had returned to Wroxam Park. His eyes narrowed as a sinister possibility occurred to him for the first time. If she had, indeed, told him nothing but the truth in that letter she had written all those years ago, then what had induced that complete memory loss?
Chapter Seven
‘When do you think Patrick will return, Papa?’ Having swiftly taken off his own shoes and stockings, Charles helped his father remove the highly polished boots on which Penrose, the valet, always managed to achieve a looking-glass shine.
