The Chaperon Bride

by Nicola Cornick

  Mrs Hardcastle wiped an invisible speck of dust from the table with the corner of her apron.

  ‘It’s you that young Tom is sweet on, Miss Annis, not the girls! I heard him tell that you rode like an angel and were the most gracious lady he’d ever met. Then there’s Ellis Benson, over at Linforth. They say he was a holding a torch for you for ever so many years.’ Mrs Hardcastle looked disapproving. ‘You never see what’s under your nose, Miss Annis.’

  Annis looked up in the liveliest astonishment. ‘Ellis Benson? Tom Shepard? Really, Hardy, you make me sound like…like a female Casanova!’

  Mrs Hardcastle pursed her lips. ‘Well, there’s talk, Miss Annis. Mostly about you and that fancy Lord—’

  ‘Lord Ashwick?’ Annis started to open the letter. ‘I do not want to hear any gossip, Hardy.’

  ‘No? All right, then.’

  Annis unfolded the paper. ‘What are they saying?’

  ‘Knew you wanted to know,’ Mrs Hardcastle said with satisfaction. ‘Only that he means to marry you—’

  ‘What?’ It was such a sudden and unexpected confirmation of her thoughts the previous night that Annis dropped the letter on the floor.

  ‘Everyone has noticed ’im courting you.’

  ‘There is nothing to notice!’ Annis stood up in agitation and walked over to the window. ‘Lord Ashwick is not courting me, Hardy. I am a chaperon. I make matches for other people.’

  Mrs Hardcastle sniffed. ‘Can’t see what’s in front of your face if you ask me, Miss Annis. Too busy arranging marriages to see when someone wants you instead of your girls!’

  ‘I assure you that you are completely mistaken!’

  ‘Well, we’ll see,’ Mrs Hardcastle said, massively unconvinced. ‘Another pot of tea, ma’am?’

  ‘Thank you. That would be nice.’ Annis raised her brows. ‘What will you be doing today, Hardy? Waging war on the mice again?’

  ‘No time for that when I have the young ladies’ rooms to clean out,’ Mrs Hardcastle said. ‘Tomorrow, mebbe. There is another mouse nest up in the attic.’

  ‘I am aware of it,’ Annis said. ‘Last night the little creatures were scampering across the ceiling at all hours. It sounded like an army marching through!’

  After Mrs Hardcastle had gone, Annis poured herself a second cup, lay back in her chair in a most hoydenish fashion, and gave a huge sigh. Mrs Hardcastle’s representation of her as Harrogate’s femme fatale seemed quite unreasonable, particularly as Miss Mardyn was visiting the town and was surely more worthy of gossip. With another sigh she turned her attention to the letter.

  ‘Dear Lady Wycherley,’ it read, in careful print, ‘Mr Ingram’s agent has called again, telling us that you intend to sell the farm and that the rents will go up. You know that we could not abide to be Ingram’s tenants, nor could we afford it. We cannot believe that you would sell to him, madam. Please tell us what is happening as we do not know what to believe. Some of the sheep have been taken again and we are in dire straits. Respectfully yrs, Tom Shepard.’

  Annis crumpled the letter up in her hand. A huge, hot fury took her as she thought of Tom and Eliza Shepard out at Starbeck, trying to scrape a living from a farm that barely brought in enough income to support one person, never mind a family, and being bullied by Ingram’s agent into the bargain. Their elder son, John, had left to find work in the nearby town of Leeds in the last year, defeated in his attempts to wrest a living from the poor soil and the few sheep that grazed the upper pastures. Annis had promised to look after Tom, Eliza and their remaining family, just as her father had always done, but now that Ingram was sniffing around the farm and the estate, she felt frighteningly vulnerable. This was the second time that Tom had written asking for advice, and in a way it was timely, for she had an appointment to see Samuel Ingram that very morning. She had decided to tell him once and for all that she was not interested in his offer for Starbeck.

  Annis stood up, tension making her fidgety, and walked across to the window. She would have liked to ask Charles for advice, but as Ingram’s lawyer it was hopeless to expect him to be impartial. Annis knew that he would tell her that the Shepards should sell—and so should she. In some ways to sell Starbeck would be a huge relief, but in others it was quite out of the question. She had inherited the welfare of the villagers along with the house and she was not prepared to shirk that responsibility. Besides, she hated Ingram’s bullying tactics and was determined not to give in. He would be the worst landlord she could ever wish upon her tenants.

  She thrust the letter into her reticule and went to don her pelisse, bonnet and half-boots. There had been a thunderstorm the previous night and it had left the air fresh and pleasantly crisp, making it a nice morning for a walk. Ingram’s chambers were only just around the corner. As she turned into Park Row she saw a smartly dressed couple just disappearing around the corner in front of her. The lady was Miss Mardyn, resplendent in a chic gown of striped brown satin and nodding ostrich plumes. Annis could only see the back of the gentleman’s head, but he was tall and dark. Adam Ashwick, perhaps. The thought made her feel even more bad-tempered.

  In her anxiety, she was early and found herself obliged to wait in a small antechamber, where a supercilious clerk shuffled paper and watched her out of the corner of his eye. Annis tried not to fidget. After fifteen minutes she was certain that Ingram was deliberately keeping her waiting and as time ticked by she became more and more angry. Eventually the door of Ingram’s inner sanctum opened and Annis’s heart sank as her cousin Charles came to escort her in. Behind him she could see Ingram himself—and Woodhouse, whom she had last seen only the previous night, talking to Adam Ashwick. The clerk gave her a look like a startled rabbit and ducked his head, as though trying to melt into the furniture. Annis had no intention of breaking her word to Adam, but the sight of the clerk made her feel even more uncomfortable to be there.

  Ingram came forward to bow over Annis’s hand, his manner odiously smooth and yet somehow managing to convey that his time was precious and he could only spare her three minutes of it.

  ‘Lady Wycherley. What may I do for you, ma’am?’

  ‘Thank you for seeing me, Mr Ingram,’ Annis said coldly. She took the chair that he indicated, and then wished that she had not when he remained standing. ‘I am sure this will not take long. It concerns the proposed sale of Starbeck, the estate and the farm.’

  ‘Ah!’ Ingram gazed vaguely out of the window and across the street, as though the view was far more interesting than Annis. ‘Yes. I hope that you have seen the sense in selling, Lady Wycherley.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘Although I fear that Mr and Mrs Shepard seem disinclined to become my tenants!’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Shepard are tired of being harried by your agent!’ Annis said. ‘They have empowered me to tell you so, Mr Ingram. They would appreciate it if you called your man off and did not press the matter any further. And whilst we are on the subject, so should I. I do not wish to sell the Starbeck estate—’

  ‘Estate!’ Ingram gave a short laugh. ‘You set yourself high, ma’am, to call it thus! A ruined house and few acres of land!’

  Annis kept a grip on her temper. ‘A few acres that you evidently value highly, Mr Ingram! Your agent has been most pressing!’

  Ingram shrugged. ‘Benson will continue to press until you all see sense, Lady Wycherley.’

  ‘By taking our sheep and making matters even more difficult?’ Annis was incensed. She cast a glance at Charles, but he did not meet her eye. He was looking flushed and unhappy.

  ‘Surely you do not think that there was any connection between the sheep disappearing and Benson’s visit?’ Ingram seemed amused. He hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his shiny black waistcoat. ‘Tut, tut, what an imagination you do have, ma’am!’

  ‘Annis,’ Charles said suddenly, ‘please try to see reason—’

  Annis swung round on him. ‘All I can see, Charles, is that you appear to have misplaced your family loyalty!’

  ‘You
r cousin is in a difficult position, Lady Wycherley,’ Ingram said. ‘He can appreciate the value of my plans. Now, he is the head of the family, so do you not think you should be guided by him? He has your best interests at heart, you know. And those of your tenants.’

  Annis, who had been waving the Shepards’ letter about in the air, stuffed it in her bag and stalked towards the door.

  ‘Our ideas of what is in the best interests of Starbeck are clearly divergent,’ she said coldly. ‘I will bid you good day. Both of you,’ she added sharply, as Charles moved to escort her out.

  ‘A moment, Lady Wycherley—’ Ingram said quickly. Annis turned.

  ‘I am persuaded that you may come around to my point of view, ma’am,’ Ingram said. ‘There are usually ways to help people see that it is in their own interests…’

  Annis knew that the colour had left her face. She felt a little sick and the bright room suddenly seemed darker. She felt frighteningly vulnerable.

  ‘Are you threatening me, Mr Ingram?’

  ‘Good gracious me, no, ma’am!’ Ingram gave a puffy laugh. ‘But you know how difficult it is to eke a living from Starbeck and its surrounding farms. You have mentioned yourself that the sheep go missing. If there were to be a fire, for instance, and the livestock killed or the buildings damaged, that would make life even more difficult for you and your tenants. Or there is your own line of work…’ His voice changed subtly, became even more silky. ‘A word dropped here or there about your suitability as a chaperon…One has to be so very careful of a reputation, and there are those who say that you have been consorting with Lord Ashwick…’

  Annis’s eyes flashed. ‘There are those who say that you consort with the devil, Mr Ingram! One must not believe every foolish rumour that one hears. Good day to you. Pray do not trouble to show me out, Charles.’

  When she reached the bottom, white-painted step outside, Annis hesitated for a moment, a hand on the railings, drawing a lungful of fresh air to try and calm herself. There was a step behind her and Charles’s voice:

  ‘Annis—’

  ‘Charles,’ Annis said with dangerous calm, ‘do not speak to me, I beg.’

  ‘Annis…’ Charles ran a hand through his fair hair ‘…in a little while I may be able to help you.’

  Annis waved his excuses away. ‘All you have to do,’ she said dully, ‘is to show a little family feeling, Charles. I used to rely upon you.’ The sunlight was making her eyes sting. She hoped that she was not going to cry. ‘I do not want to talk about it. I do not even want to think about it! Go away!’

  She left him standing on the steps and set off down the street. She was not certain whether it was busy or not. The figures of the passers-by blurred before her eyes and she scrubbed her face sharply. If Ingram should start to drop hints that she was unreliable or that there was something scandalous in her behaviour…Her financial survival was tenuous enough as it was, and no one would employ her if they suspected that her reputation was damaged. She was to all intents and purposes alone in the world and gossip was so harmful, even when it was untrue.

  Then there was Starbeck. Her father had bought the estate as a place to retire; although he had died before he had returned to England, Annis had been happy to take on the house and its obligations. That had been before the sheep stealing had become rife and the villages began to seethe with hatred towards Ingram, a hatred which she felt so strongly herself now. She detested bullies.

  Annis tried to think about her options, but her mind was a scramble of images. Sibella’s household could not afford to support her as a pensioner and the last person she would accept help from was Charles. He had paid for her little town house in Church Row, so if they became estranged she would have to leave…Perhaps she would have to leave Harrogate altogether and go and live at Starbeck herself and become a farmer…except that she knew nothing about farming and she had little money and Starbeck was barely inhabitable…

  She swiped at some nearby railings in helpless and hopeless anger. ‘Hell and damnation!’

  ‘Lady Wycherley?’

  Annis swung round. Adam Ashwick was standing a bare few yards away, having evidently witnessed her unladylike attack on the railings. He was looking at her with amusement and speculation in his grey eyes. Annis inclined her head with haughty composure, trying to hide that fact that her thoughts were all mixed up. Along with images of herself locked in Adam’s arms the previous night were thoughts that at least she was not wearing her turban this morning, followed by the unwelcome idea that Adam had probably come straight from his mistress. She blushed.

  ‘Good morning, Lord Ashwick.’

  ‘It is a very pleasant morning in fact, Lady Wycherley,’ Adam said politely. ‘However, you do not appear to be finding it so. I trust that you have not damaged your umbrella?’

  Annis looked down at the umbrella a little self-consciously. ‘I do not believe so. I am afraid that I was venting my dissatisfaction.’

  Adam raised his brows. ‘I see.’ He smiled at her. ‘I hope that the problem is not insurmountable. May I be of service to you in any way?’

  Annis hesitated. It was tempting to pour out her difficulties about Starbeck as she needed an ally and she already knew that Adam was in dispute with Ingram. Yet there was still Charles to consider, for even if he had apparently forgotten family loyalty, she had not…

  ‘I thank you, but no, my lord. And I must apologise for my ill manners. A trifling business transaction is going a little awry. I am persuaded that all will be well soon.’

  ‘I see,’ Adam said again, slowly. His thoughtful gaze moved from her to the door of Ingram’s offices and back again.

  ‘May I escort you back to Church Row, ma’am?’

  ‘Thank you, but I have some shopping to do first.’

  ‘Then perhaps I might walk with you to Park Street? I too have a few errands to run.’

  It was difficult to refuse. Annis rested her hand lightly on Adam’s proffered arm as they strolled along the pavement.

  ‘I hope that your difficulty with Miss Crossley last night was successfully resolved,’ Adam said. ‘Is the betrothal to Sir Everard still current?’

  Annis smiled a little. ‘It is, I thank you.’

  ‘Then that cannot be the source of your displeasure.’ Adam frowned. ‘Let me guess. That means it must be Starbeck, I suppose.’

  ‘You are partially correct, my lord.’ Annis laughed. ‘There are two causes for vexation and one of those is indeed Starbeck. My cousin—’ She stopped, feeling guilty. ‘It seems that everyone feels I should sell, but I do not wish to do so.’

  She felt Adam stiffen. ‘Am I to understand that Mr Ingram has made you an offer for the estate?’

  Annis cast him a swift sideways look. He was frowning abstractedly. ‘Yes, he has,’ she said. ‘You may be easy however, my lord. I have refused it.’

  Adam shot her a look from under lowered brows. ‘That cannot have made you popular. I infer that you are under a deal of pressure from Lafoy as well as Ingram?’

  Annis nodded unhappily.

  ‘And can you afford to run the estate yourself?’

  Annis shook her head. ‘No. I can stave off ruin for a little, but I have only a small annuity. That and what I earn—’ She stopped, aware that she was vouchsafing a great deal of personal information to him. He seemed all too easy to confide in.

  It appeared, however, that Adam was prepared to be equally frank in return.

  ‘I cannot abide the thought of Ingram owning the land, but you know my parlous financial state. I cannot afford to buy Starbeck from you myself or I would surely do it.’

  Annis gave a little, dispirited shrug. ‘I am sure that I shall think of a solution, sir.’

  ‘You mentioned two problems,’ Adam said. ‘If Starbeck is the first, what is the second?’

  Annis glanced at him under her lashes. ‘The second is more personal, my lord. I do not think…That is, it would not be right for me to tell you.’

  Adam
looked amused. ‘Good God, why not? Is Ingram blackmailing you, Lady Wycherley?’

  Annis looked at him. ‘No. At least, not exactly. He exerts pressure where he knows it will have the greatest effect.’ She remembered the scene in the ballroom and Adam’s hesitation to do Ingram’s bidding. ‘Is he blackmailing you, my lord?’

  Adam looked startled. He stopped walking and spun round towards her. ‘Why would you think that?’

  Annis smiled. ‘I believe that is the first time you have not given me a straight answer to a straight question, my lord. It leads me to suspect that I am correct.’

  Adam sighed. ‘Like you, ma’am, I am under pressure. You are aware that my brother-in-law was in debt to Ingram. He is using the threat of releasing the detail of that debt as a lever.’

  ‘To gain what? Surely not Eynhallow?’

  Adam looked grim. ‘No, he has yet to go that far. Influence is what he wants from me, Lady Wycherley. Social recognition…acceptance…He may whistle for it!’

  ‘Oh!’ Light dawned on Annis. ‘Last night at the ball, when Charles invited you to join Ingram’s party, was that a part of his plan to gain acceptance?’

  ‘I imagine so. I think he believed that I would give him countenance, but I was not prepared to accede to his wishes. The man is nothing but a contemptible bully.’

  Annis stifled an unexpected giggle. ‘Oh, dear, he must have been so vexed with you! I know that I should not laugh, but it is pleasant sometimes to see Mr Ingram gainsaid. And Lady Emily Trumpton and Lady Cardew were muttering last night about what a jumped-up nobody he was and how they would never accept him. It is fortunate that you did not agree to sponsor him, my lord, or they would have thought you had taken leave of your senses!’

  Adam laughed. ‘I would rather not offend Lady Cardew if I can help it for she is a fearsome old battleaxe. But you have not told me what Mr Ingram’s hold is over you, Lady Wycherley. What could you possibly have done to give him the means to blackmail you?’

  Annis’s laughter faded. ‘It is nothing as desperate as that, I assure you, my lord, just some nasty threats—’