Lord Ravensden's Marriage

by Anne Herries

  Beatrice nodded. She could not trust herself to speak, but went behind the screen to wash and

  change. Some minutes later, she emerged wearing the gown. She glanced at Olivia nervously.

  'How do I look?'

  'Beautiful.' Olivia laughed and pulled her in front of the dressing-mirror. 'Let me do your hair for

  you, dearest—and you may wear my amber beads.'

  'Do you not want to wear them?' Beatrice asked as Olivia fastened the string of small beads on

  gold wire about her neck. 'They are so delicate and pretty.'

  'I shall wear the cross and chain Mama sent me the year before she died,' Olivia said and bent to

  kiss her sister's cheek. 'You may keep these beads if you wish. They were a gift from a friend. I

  left my more expensive jewels with the Burtons. It may have been foolish, but I did not wish to

  bring them.'

  'You were very right to do so,' Beatrice said, as Olivia began to dress her hair in a softer style

  than she usually wore, allowing curls to fall in charming disarray. 'Perhaps one day you will have

  pretty things again, dearest.'

  'The fan Harry bought me is exquisite,' Olivia said, and showed it to her. 'See...it has gold filigree

  on the mounts.'

  'Very stylish,' Beatrice agreed. She sneaked another glance at herself in the mirror. The gown

  fitted so well it might have been made for her. It had a dipping décolletage which showed the

  merest glimpse of her breasts, small puffed sleeves, a wide sash and a skirt that draped her figure

  so lovingly that it was almost indecent. 'Is this gown a little too revealing, Olivia?'

  Olivia was searching in her trinket box. She frowned and pulled open all the drawers one by one.

  'I cannot find Mama's cross...' She turned to look at Beatrice and laughed, mischief in her eyes.

  'You should see the gowns some of the ladies wear in town; that is positively demure!'

  Beatrice blushed. 'Sometimes I feel such a country mouse. It is years since I went anywhere.'

  'You must have been lonely after Mama died.' Olivia frowned. 'I cannot think where I put the

  necklace she gave me. I was sure it must be here, but I cannot find it.'

  Beatrice saw she was really worried. 'When did you last wear it, dearest? Can you not

  remember?'

  'I am not sure...' Olivia thought for a moment. 'Oh yes, I remember touching it when we were in the

  herb garden... Oh, I do hope I did not drop it there!'

  'Perhaps it is caught on the gown you were wearing,' Beatrice said. 'Leave it for the moment,

  Olivia, and we will both look tomorrow. If we cannot find it we will go to the Abbey and search

  for it together.'

  'Yes. I would hate to lose it,' Olivia said. She fastened a string of seed pearls about her neck. Then

  looked at her sister, reaching out to pat one last twist of hair in place. 'You look stunning,

  Beatrice. I can think of no other word that does you justice.'

  Beatrice looked shy as she nodded. Was that really her in the mirror? That elegant, rather

  attractive lady? Surely not!

  'Shall we go down?'

  'We must use a little of Lord Dawlish's perfume,' Olivia said, dabbing a tiny dot of perfume

  behind her ears. 'It was kind of him to think of us, was it not?'

  'Yes, very kind.' Beatrice felt the butterflies start up again in her stomach as she and Olivia left the

  room together. She really felt most odd—like someone completely different.

  Everyone had gathered in the parlour to await them. Olivia pushed her forward, making her go in

  and hanging back so that for a moment she stood alone.

  'Oh, Beatrice,' Nan said, the first to speak. 'You look lovely, my dear. Doesn't she, Bertram?'

  Mr Roade looked at her and nodded. 'Nice gown, m'dear. You look beautiful this evening—but

  then, I have never thought you anything else.'

  'Exquisite...' Lord Dawlish breathed, clearly amazed by the transformation.

  'Quite lovely,' said Lady Susanna. 'That colour becomes you, my dear. Harry has chosen well.'

  Harry said nothing. He did not need to, his eyes said it all.

  Beatrice blushed and looked away from his intent gaze. Be still her foolish heart! She must not let

  the gift of this wonderful gown give her hope. Nothing had changed. Harry was promised to

  Olivia. He must keep his word for the sake of honour, and her sister's happiness.

  'Dinner is ready,' Lily announced from the doorway. Her mouth dropped open as Beatrice turned.

  'Oh, lor! Oh, Miss Beatrice. You be a proper lady now.'

  Beatrice smiled, the tension leaving her. 'Thank you, Lily. We shall come to table now.'

  She watched as her father offered his arm to Lady Susanna. Lord Dawlish escorted Olivia, and

  Harry obligingly offered an arm to both Beatrice and Nan.

  'Thank you,' she said softly as he set a chair for her. 'I have never worn anything as lovely.'

  'The woman makes the gown,' Harry murmured, a wicked glint in his eyes. 'One day I shall prove

  it to you, Beatrice.'

  Whatever could he mean? She could not look at him as he went to take his seat at the opposite side

  of the table. What was he suggesting? Did he hope that she would consent to be his mistress after

  he was married?

  Wicked, wicked thing that she was! She was almost ready to agree to such an arrangement if it

  was the only way she could have him.

  Beatrice spent the whole of the next morning baking. Lady Susanna's tray of hot chocolate and

  fresh, sweet rolls had been taken up to her, and she was not expected down before noon. Harry

  and Olivia had apparently gone out walking, though whether they were planning to visit the Abbey

  grounds she did not know.

  It was as she was about to go upstairs and change her gown after the morning's work was finished

  that Harry came in alone.

  She looked at him in surprise. 'Is Olivia not with you? I thought you were walking together?'

  'I believe she had a prior engagement with Lady Sophia,' Harry replied, looking serious. 'May I

  speak with you, in private if you please, Beatrice?'

  His expression made her nervous.

  'Yes, of course, my lord. I shall come into the parlour. Is something wrong?'

  Harry followed her into the room. 'You remember I said Bellows and his friends were going to

  search the grounds last night?'

  'Yes, of course.' Beatrice felt a shiver down her spine. 'Has something happened?'

  'They have found something in the woods, which may be a grave. Bellows says that the ground has

  definitely been disturbed recently. He was up there some weeks ago and the mound of fresh earth

  was not there then.'

  'Oh, no!' Beatrice felt her legs buckle and sat down on the sofa with a bump. She was shocked

  beyond measure, and the sickness rose in her throat. Although she had agreed to the search, she

  had never truly expected that they would find a grave. She gazed up at Harry, her face white. 'Do

  you think...is it really the Marchioness?'

  'I do not know,' Harry said, looking anxious himself. 'I must admit it is a possibility now, but we

  cannot be sure until the ground has been dug over.'

  'You are planning to...' Beatrice was filled with a sense of dread. 'Would it not be best to send for

  the militia and let them investigate?'

  'I considered that, but if nothing untoward is found it could be awkward. Sywell is after all a man

  of some consequence, despite his disgraceful behaviour. I have decided that several of us will go

  to the site this evening. If we find a bo
dy I shall then call in a magistrate and the law will take

  over. If nothing is found, we may simply go on with the search or abandon it as we choose. But we

  might search for ever in such a place and never find anything.'

  'Yes, I suppose...' Beatrice was uneasy, but she felt that events had moved on beyond her control.

  'You will take care?'

  'Of course.' He smiled at her. 'Nothing very terrible will happen, Beatrice. Bellows and his

  friends know the Abbey grounds intimately. They are undeterred by rumours of pagan rituals

  carried out in the woods centuries ago, and by the threat of being cursed for disturbing the old

  gods, who were there before ever the land belonged to the Abbey.' His eyes were bright with

  mischief. 'That is to say nothing of the spectres of dispossessed monks that are supposed to haunt

  the chapel. I fear our Bellows is somewhat of a rogue, though I believe he has his reasons.'

  Beatrice smiled. She knew he was trying to make her laugh, to make her forget the true horror of

  what was going on.

  'Bellows has helped to support us for the past three years,' Beatrice said. 'But now that I know...I

  cannot allow it to continue.'

  'Indeed, I think it ought to be brought to an end before he is discovered and hung for a thief,' Harry

  said. 'But do not worry about it, Beatrice. I give you my word, before I leave Abbot Giles these

  things will all have been resolved.'

  Beatrice lowered her gaze, her heart beating wildly. She could not bring herself to ask him what

  he meant, and so returned to the subject of the grave in the woods.

  'Have you told Olivia that something has been found?'

  'No—and nor must you, for her own sake.' Harry grinned ruefully. 'You know your sister. If she

  suspected what was planned, she would give me no peace until I allowed her to come with us. She

  is not above using all her feminine arts to gain her own way—as perhaps you may have

  observed?'

  'Yes.' Beatrice laughed ruefully. 'I must confess, I was surprised at first, but she means no harm by

  her flirting.'

  'Indeed not,' Harry agreed at once. 'Olivia is a lovely, charming girl. Why do you suppose half the

  men in London proposed to her?'

  Beatrice smiled but did not answer. It was clear to her that Harry was very fond of Olivia.

  'She must not be allowed to accompany you this night. It might make things more difficult...'

  'I was thinking of her safety,' Harry said. 'Besides, it has turned bitterly cold. She will be far

  better in her bed—and should we discover the worst it will not be pleasant.'

  'No, of course not.' Beatrice, gave a little shudder and looked at him. 'I suppose you will not allow

  me to come either?'

  'I cannot forbid you,' Harry said. 'But I would prefer you to stay here, Beatrice. I shall tell you

  everything. Have no fear that I will hide anything from you—no matter what we find.'

  'Then I shall do as you ask of me,' she said, and smiled at him. 'You must be hungry after your

  walk, my lord. I shall go up and change my gown, then a light nuncheon will be served in the front

  parlour.'

  Chapter Nine

  Beatrice found herself watching Harry all that evening. She could not get the idea out of her head

  that his life might be in danger. It was foolish of her to worry, she knew, and yet the strange

  feeling that had so disturbed her the night she crossed the Abbey lands alone at dusk had come

  back to haunt her. What was it about that place? The tales of fearful apparitions and ghostly

  happenings had always seemed improbable to Beatrice, and yet now she wondered if Steepwood

  Abbey and all who lived there were indeed cursed.

  She was fearful, uneasy about what Harry and Bellows were about to do that night. Would the old

  gods be angered by yet another intrusion into their sacred places?

  Oh, how foolish she was to be haunted by legends and myths. She was very sure that Harry was

  not, despite what he had said about the forces of good and evil being held to the earth in certain

  locations.

  When everyone retired to their rooms at half-past ten, she gave him a speaking look that he met

  with a lift of his brows. She shook her head. There was nothing for her to say or do. He knew her

  feelings, and he had asked her to stay home, and she must obey him in this. She had given her word

  that she would not speak of what was to happen to anyone, and no matter how anxious she was,

  must keep it.

  It was, however, impossible to sleep. She lay staring into the darkness long after Harry had

  slipped out of the house. If only she could have gone with him! She longed to rise and follow him,

  but good sense told her that her presence would merely be a hindrance to the men as they went

  about their gruesome business. Harry was not alone. There were four strong men with him. What

  could befall him? Nothing, of course.

  Yet she could not sleep. Something seemed to hang over her, a premonition of danger for Harry.

  She could not rid herself of the thought that some harm might come to him at the Abbey.

  It was no good! She could not lie here next to her sister while her thoughts were with the men in

  the woods. She would get up and go downstairs.

  It was with the intention of waiting in the kitchen that Beatrice rose, but her feet turned towards the

  room that had always been her own and was now being used by Harry. Perhaps he had already

  returned and she would find him there.

  She hesitated outside the door, knocked softly and then went in, taking her chamberstick with her.

  The bed was empty. Harry had not yet returned. She took her candle to the mantle and lit two

  more, then sat down on a seat in the window. A few minutes passed and she was on her feet again,

  walking restlessly about the room, which seemed to carry the scent of him everywhere.

  She touched his brushes, then picked up his dressing-robe, holding it to her face as she breathed

  in, inhaling the perfumes of sandalwood and leather. Oh, how she loved this man!

  She had never expected to feel this way. It was beyond anything she had ever known.

  Beatrice took Harry's dressing-robe with her to the bed and sat on the edge, holding it to her

  breasts reverently. In that moment she knew that she was ready to sacrifice all for love.

  If Harry asked her to be his mistress, she would consent. She could not bear that he would leave

  and never see her again. No matter what his terms she must accept them, with the provision only

  that her sister would never know and be hurt by the knowledge.

  Smiling to herself, Beatrice laid her head on the pillow. She would rest here and wait until Harry

  returned...

  Harry followed Bellows into the kitchen, where the two men divested themselves of their muddy

  boots with the use of a very ingenious device, invented by Mr Roade, which only scraped the soft

  leather of Harry's boots a very little.

  'I'll have these cleaned up by morning, my lord,' Bellows said. 'No one will ever know we were

  up at the woods tonight.'

  'The grave of a horse...' Harry shook his head ruefully. 'I must confess to feeling relieved when I

  realised what had been buried there.'

  'It would have been shocking had we found the young woman, sir,' Bellows said. 'Do you wish the

  search to go on?'

  'I think we must continue it for a while,' Harry said. 'If we abandoned it now, I could not rest easy

  in my mind. It may be that
we shall find nothing, but at least if we have tried, we have done all we

  can.'

  'We'll concentrate on the graveyard next,' Bellows said, nodding thoughtfully. 'In daylight it should

  not be difficult to spot if the stones have been moved. It would be easy enough to add another body

  and no one the wiser.'

  'You must take no risks,' Harry said. 'I would not have your death on my conscience. Nor yet any

  of your friends.'

  'Don't you worry about me, sir. There's only the Crow and the Marquis up there, and Lord Sywell

  is never sober these days.'

  'Well, just be on your guard,' Harry warned. 'Sywell would be within his rights to shoot if he saw

  you...he must be aware that poaching has been going on in a large way on his estate.'

  'There's folk needing food in the village,' Bellows said, and frowned. 'I do not excuse what we

  have done, for I know it to be unlawful, but—if the Marquis did his duty by the estate, there would

  be work for many as are near to starving. Besides, begging your pardon, my lord—the game is

  only going to waste.'

  'I shall not judge you,' Harry said. 'You have been a good and faithful servant to Mr Roade and his

  daughter, and for that I respect and applaud you—but it must stop.'

  'I dare say there will not be the need for it in future, my lord.' Bellows smiled. 'May I be the first

  to offer my congratulations?'

  'As to that, I have not yet asked the lady in question.' Harry laughed. 'I see I have no secrets from

  you, my friend. Go to your bed now, and thank your friends for all they do. They shall be well

  rewarded, I promise.'

  'Yes, sir. We all know that. Good night then.'

  Harry nodded as the man went out, then helped himself to a glass of brandy, sipping it as he

  walked up the stairs. He was thoughtful, relieved that the night's work had not proved as gruesome

  as he had thought it might. Perhaps Olivia had it wrong; perhaps, as he had first believed, the

  young Lady Sywell had merely run away from her terrible husband. He hoped it would prove so,

  for the alternative was unthinkable.

  The search would go on until the whole of the estate had been thoroughly covered, but he had no

  inclination to take a further part in it unless he was forced. If another grave was discovered he