by Anne Ashley
His faith in her was fully justified, for although she gave her precious black hunter his head over the rising pasture land, the area she and his lordship had crossed during that memorable race, she checked to a canter well before entering the wooded area which formed part of the border with Melissa Royston’s land.
Jennifer had never ridden this way, nor this far, since her return to Wroxam Park. The excellent neighbourly relations which existed between Mrs Royston and his lordship ensured that Melissa would never object to any one of his lordship’s relations or friends trespassing on her land; this knowledge, coupled with a need to be alone with her thoughts for a while longer, persuaded Jennifer to venture further into the wood.
Whether or not it was a subconscious desire, or the fact that she had merely kept to the wide track cutting through the wood from east to west, Jennifer wasn’t perfectly certain, but eventually she arrived at the old cottage which Melissa’s half-brother years before had frequently used as a shelter whenever he had taken it into his head to enjoy a day’s shooting.
Slipping lightly to the ground, Jennifer released her hold on the reins, confident that Oriel would not wander very far away, and then turned her attention to the small thatched building which she had visited only once before in her life, a visit she wished with all her heart she had never made.
How neglected, how very shabby it looked now! she thought, momentarily focusing her attention on the poor condition of the thatch, before studying the patches of grime on the lime-washed walls and the rotting window frames and door. She doubted very much that the place had been used since Geoffrey’s departure. Which was such a shame, such a waste! After a few necessary repairs, it would make a working man and his family a comfortable home, she decided, reaching for the latch.
The door creaked open on rusty hinges, and Jennifer entered to discover a film of dust everywhere, and cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and clinging to every object in the large single room. The air was stale, heavy with the unpleasant odour of damp and decay. Yet, she had ventured into places during recent years which had been more dilapidated than this one, she reminded herself, staring about with interest.
After a few moments her eyes came to rest upon the small table, tucked away in the corner by the large inglenook, where she and Geoffrey had sat on that grey September afternoon, waiting for the rain to stop. She could not prevent a faint, bitter smile tugging at her lips. A soaking wouldn’t have done her a mite of harm, so why on earth had she allowed Geoffrey to persuade her to seek shelter here until the shower had passed? How well she remembered that it was indeed his suggestion that they sought refuge from the rain here. How well she remembered, too, sitting at that small table, enjoying a glass or two of wine. Her eyes automatically turned towards the object in the opposite corner of the room. Try as she might, though, she could not recall climbing into that box bed. Yet, she had undeniably woken to find herself there, with Geoffrey lying beside her—irrefutable evidence of adultery.
Woken…? Narrow-eyed, Jennifer stared at the bed more intently. Yes, she had been asleep. How strange that she should have suddenly remembered that very interesting fact after all these years. She had woken to find Julian, looking as grim as a thundercloud, framed in the doorway, and to discover Geoffrey beside her in the bed. Had their lovemaking so exhausted her that she had sought refuge in sleep? It seemed the most obvious explanation, and yet, if that were indeed the case, why did she retain no memory whatsoever of the energetic coupling?
She shook her head, at a loss to understand what might have prompted her to behave in such a debased fashion. Well, no matter the reason, that moment of weakness, that one occasion when she had succumbed to baser desires, had cost her dear. Sins, as she had once remarked to Slocombe, cast long shadows, and she doubted very much that she would ever step out from beneath hers; at least, if her husband had his way she most definitely would never be allowed to do so.
Her mind automatically returned to their confrontation earlier. He had quite evidently been suspicious of her motives in wanting to go to London. The truth of the matter was, of course, that he simply didn’t trust her. What other reason could there have been for denying her the chance to help poor Serena?
Suddenly feeling stifled by the stale atmosphere, she went back outside to discover a rapidly darkening sky. Again she could not prevent a wry smile. History, it seemed, had a habit of repeating itself; only this time she had no intention of sheltering here until the approaching storm had passed, and went directly across the small clearing to where Oriel waited happily beneath the shading trees, munching clumps of sweet grass.
By continuing along the wood’s main track, she quickly reached the lane that a little further along divided: the left-hand fork leading to Melissa Royston’s home; the other leading to Wroxam Park. By taking this route she would lessen her journey by some twenty minutes or so which, she hoped, would be sufficient to spare her a soaking.
She was on the point of turning Oriel onto the lane when she heard a vehicle approaching, and a few moments later a familiar carriage came bowling round the corner. She decided to wait for it to pass, but wasn’t in the least surprised when it drew to a halt just after passing by, and the owner of the elegant equipage poked her head out of the window.
‘Why, Jennifer! What a pleasant surprise! I was only speaking to Colonel Halstead and his charming wife this morning, and was hearing all about a certain race between you and Wroxam.’
‘How are you, Melissa?’ Jennifer asked, more out of politeness than any undue interest in her neighbour’s welfare, as she drew Oriel to a halt alongside. ‘I did not realise you had returned from your visit to your aunt. I trust you left her much improved in health?’
A faint look of surprise flickered for a moment in dark eyes. ‘Oh, yes… Well, she was as robust as one could expect a woman of her advanced years to be.’ The dark eyes then focused on Oriel’s proud head. ‘So, this is the beast I’ve been hearing so much about. A fine animal indeed!’
As Melissa’s knowledge of horseflesh was minimal, this could hardly be considered a glowing compliment. Oriel, at any event, seemed not to think so, or he had taken an instant dislike to the stranger, for he shied away, seemingly eager to bring the encounter to an end.
Jennifer certainly felt inclined to do just that also, and so decided to oblige her beloved mount. ‘The boy here is not fond of storms, and as there appears to be one brewing, I must get him back to the safety of his stable as quickly as possible.’
‘Oh, surely not!’ Melissa countered, looking surprisingly disappointed. ‘I’m certain we’ll only catch the edge of it, if that. Come to the house and partake of a glass of wine. We’ve never been granted the opportunity to enjoy a comfortable coze alone since your return, and I’m simply longing to catch up on all your news. My groom will take care of your horse.’
To have refused would have seemed churlish, Jennifer reluctantly decided. Added to which, relations between her and Julian had reached an all-time low. It would be foolish to make the decidedly fraught situation even worse by snubbing his favourite neighbour.
So, accepting the invitation with as much grace as she could muster, she rode beside the carriage to Melissa’s home, and after leaving Oriel in the care of an eager young stable-lad, who betrayed every evidence of delight at being left to take charge of such a fine specimen of horseflesh, Jennifer crossed the threshold of a house she had not entered for nine years.
Whether or not she was more observant now that she used to be she was not perfectly certain. However, the first thing that struck her most forcibly was the tasteful elegance of her surroundings. She might not hold Melissa in particularly high regard, but she wasn’t so prejudiced that she could not acknowledge that Julian’s closest neighbour had impeccable taste. Although the house could not compare with the grandeur of Wroxam Park, it was none the less a well-maintained residence that had been charmingly decorated and handsomely furnished, with no expense spared. Which was not so surprising when one c
ame to consider that Melissa’s late husband, Josiah Royston, had been a wealthy nabob, making a fortune out in India before returning, well into middle age, to the land of his birth to enjoy his wealth.
After being shown into the comfortable parlour, Jennifer seated herself on one of the elegant Sheraton chairs, and frowned slightly as she recalled a remark Mary had passed not so very long ago.
Yes, it was most odd, now that she came to consider the matter, that Melissa, an undeniably attractive and well-heeled woman, had chosen not to marry again. Wealthy young widows were, of course, prime targets for heartless fortune-hunters which, understandably, might make Melissa wary of any gentleman singling her out for particular attention. Nevertheless, it was strange that, having ample funds to do so, she had never attempted to acquire a town house, or one even in Bath, which lay within easy reach, less than a day’s journey away. A change of scenery, even if one chose not to socialise to any great extent, was always very heartening, and yet Melissa seemed content to remain at Wilburn Hall throughout the year, paying and receiving visits from neighbours, and holding the occasional dinner-party.
Having removed her bonnet and pelisse, the object of Jennifer’s thoughts came into the room, her full lips curled into that smile which never seemed to soften the penetrating directness of those dark eyes.
‘Oh, did not my servant furnish you with refreshments? How exceedingly remiss of him. I shall speak to him later.’
‘No, please do not take him to task over such a trivial matter,’ Jennifer countered. The butler was old, and would be unlikely to attain a new position if he was dismissed. ‘I am requiring nothing, thank you.’
‘Oh, but surely you’ll join me in partaking of a glass of wine?’ Seemingly refusing to take no for an answer, Melissa went over to the table on which several decanters stood. ‘Are you still entertaining guests at the Park? I understood from what Colonel Halstead was saying that Mr Dent has been with you, and has shown an interest in purchasing the Colonel’s house.’
As Jennifer had no intention of addressing Melissa’s back, perfectly straight though it undeniably was, she waited until she had been furnished with a glass, and her neighbour had seated herself in the chair opposite.
‘From odd things he said during his stay, I gained the distinct impression that he’s no longer content to remain in the capital all year round, as he once was.’ Jennifer paused to sample the contents of the glass, and found it not at all to her taste, but managed to suppress a grimace. ‘Theo left us this morning, without confirming for certain that he intends to buy the Grange.’
‘And your friend—I’m afraid I cannot recall her name—is she still with you?’
‘No, Miss Carstairs unfortunately was forced to cut her visit short. She received news that her father is unwell.’
Jennifer suffered a further sip of wine before placing her glass on a conveniently positioned table nearby, conscious as she did so that Melissa was avidly watching her like a cat vigilantly guarding a mouse hole, just waiting for the hapless inhabitant to appear.
‘In that case I insist that you accept the invitation I issued before I went to visit my aunt to dine here with me one evening very soon. You have never done so since your return. It was extremely remiss of me not to have insisted long before now. My only excuse is that I gained the distinct impression that Julian seemed disinclined to socialise to any great extent when he first brought you back to Wroxam Park. No doubt he was giving you the opportunity to settle yourself. Such a considerate man!’
Considerate? Jennifer reached for her wine once more. Dear Lord! She braved a further sip, unable to decide which was worse—Melissa’s inability to pick a wine, or her misguided assessment of a certain someone’s character. ‘Perhaps now that our guests have left us, he will begin to socialise a little more. Most of our neighbours, I believe, have returned to their country homes now that the Season is over.’
Over the rim of her glass, she had little difficulty in returning that dark-eyed scrutiny. ‘I’m rather surprised, Melissa, that you spend so much time here,’ she remarked, giving voice to her earlier thoughts. ‘Do you never wish to visit the capital, or spend the summer in Brighton?’
Shapely shoulders rose in a shrug. ‘I’m content enough here, Jennifer, although there are times, even after all these years, when I do miss dear Geoffrey’s company.’
Jennifer couldn’t help smiling to herself. She had wondered how long it would be before Geoffrey’s name was mentioned. It was possible, of course, that Melissa genuinely missed her young brother and, granted the opportunity, was always eager to talk about him with someone who once looked upon him with affection. Somehow, though, Jennifer didn’t think that this was the reason. It was much more likely that she held Lady Wroxam wholly responsible for what had occurred, and had no intention of allowing her to forget it.
Nerves still raw after the pounding they had received earlier that morning, Jennifer was in no mood to be reminded further of past sins. She had never tried to make excuses for what she had done, nor had she ever been afraid to shoulder her share of the blame. None the less, she hadn’t been wholly responsible for what had happened that day, and she had no intention of being branded the sole villain of the piece.
‘Yes, I’m sure you must miss him, Melissa.’ She took a further sip of wine, quickly deciding that it didn’t improve with sampling. ‘How long has he been living abroad?’ In truth, her interest in Geoffrey now was tepid at best, but she flatly refused to allow Melissa to suppose that she was in the least reluctant to talk about him. ‘I believe you mentioned that his health is not good. Is that why he chose to live in Italy?’
‘In part, yes. Art, as you may remember, was his ruling passion, and he always wanted to paint in that country.’ Again she shrugged her shapely shoulders before adding, ‘And after what happened, it seemed an appropriate time to leave and fulfil his dream.’
Jennifer hadn’t missed the glint of malice which just for one unguarded moment flickered in those dark eyes before they lowered. Oh, no, Mrs Royston was certainly no friend of hers, and it was doubtful that she would ever wish to be. Was it merely that she considered the Marchioness a heartless seductress who had brought shame on her brother, and had forced him to move away? Or did something else lie at the root of her malice?
Swiftly abandoning her puzzling conjecture, Jennifer placed her glass on the table, and rose to her feet. ‘Well, Melissa, it is time I was on my way.’
‘Not so soon, surely!’ The look of disappointment might have convinced most people, but Jennifer was not fooled. ‘You haven’t even finished your wine.’
As luck would have it, the aged butler chose that moment to enter the room, bearing a letter for his mistress on a silver tray, and while Melissa’s attention was momentarily diverted, Jennifer grasped the opportunity to tip the remaining contents of her glass into a conveniently positioned vase of flowers nearby.
‘I really must be on my way now,’ she announced, determined to be gone, ‘otherwise I shall be late for luncheon.’
Melissa focused her attention on the empty glass for a moment, and then glanced towards the clock on the mantel-shelf. ‘Dear me, yes. You’re right. I didn’t realise the hour was quite so advanced.’
To Jennifer’s surprise Melissa chose to accompany her out to the stable-yard, and shooed away the stable-lad, who had taken good care of Oriel, with an impatient wave of her hand. ‘I think perhaps you were wise not to prolong your visit,’ she remarked, glancing skywards. ‘I was wrong in my prediction, I fear. The storm does now appear to be heading in this direction. You will save time by cutting across the long meadow. With any luck you’ll make it back before the rain starts.’
Jennifer decided to take this advice and, not lingering over farewells, was soon heading across the meadow which formed part of the boundary with Julian’s land.
No landowner in the area had ever objected to the local villagers crossing their property in order to reach the market town some four miles away.
Melissa’s father had been no exception and had even gone so far as to permit a footbridge to be erected over the wide stream which meandered its way across his land, and which in winter months, or after any periods of prolonged rain, could quickly swell to double its size.
It was just as Jennifer was nearing this wooden structure that she experienced the first searing pain. It was as if all the muscles in her abdomen had suddenly decided to twist themselves into knots. She had never experienced anything like it before. The pain was excruciating and grew steadily worse. If that was not bad enough, she suddenly felt very hot, and her head began to swim.
It had not been her intention to try to coax Oriel to use the narrow bridge. During the summer it was no hardship to cross the stream. By the time she had reached the bridge, however, she was in so much pain that it was as much as she could do to remain in the saddle, let alone find a suitable spot to cross the stream, and Oriel, wary of the unfamiliar structure, reacted instinctively by shying the instant his front hooves met the first wooden slat.
The sudden sideways movement was all it took to unseat Jennifer. Hitting her forehead on the bridge’s wooden handrail as she fell, she went tumbling down the slight bank, quite oblivious to the fact that she had come to rest half lying in the stream, or that her unconscious body was partially hidden by the bridge.
Julian glanced out of his library window, pleased to see that the heavy rain had finally passed, and that a late afternoon sun was breaking through the last lingering clouds. He then turned his attention to the mantel-clock which clearly showed that it wanted only an hour to dinner. He wasn’t feeling particularly hungry. Nor was he looking forward to sitting down to the meal alone, come to that. Which, if Jennifer’s mood had not improved since morning, would undoubtedly be his fate.
