Her Enemy At the Altar

by Virginia Heath

  ‘It’s all such a mess, Connie. My father has been spending above our means for years. The costs of running this house and the one in Berkeley Square are staggering.’

  ‘My mother gave me a great deal of instruction on how to run a household. Let me look at the accounts. I am sure that I can find fat to trim. For example, if things are so dire, do you actually need the house in London?’

  ‘I will need somewhere to stay when I go hunting for my next heiress.’ Aaron had intended it to be a flippant statement that would make her smile. It did quite the opposite. Her green eyes darkened and she appeared almost wounded by the comment.

  ‘Of course. I had not considered that.’ Her slim shoulders straightened and he wondered if he had just hurt her feelings. But then she smiled slightly, all business again. ‘Maybe costs could be cut by paring down the size of the household in your town house. You could always take servants from here back with you to town when you needed them. That would reduce your wage bill.’

  It was a solution that Aaron had not even thought of and a sensible one. There was a chance that Connie might be better at all of this than he was. Aaron conceded he would be a fool not to utilise her practicality even if he was loathe to spend time with her.

  ‘Come,’ he said, making an instant decision that he hoped he would not live to regret. ‘Let me show you the mess.’

  * * *

  For the next hour, the pair of them scrutinised the complicated ledgers. Working alongside her was actually very pleasant. Connie seemed to understand all of the columns of numbers much quicker than he did, a blessing indeed because she was also able to explain it to him in a way that he could understand. By tacit agreement, neither mentioned anything that made the situation awkward and Aaron found that having her with him made him less likely to descend into the melancholy that constantly threatened to suffocated him. They were so engrossed in the task that both of them were startled when Deaks knocked on the door.

  ‘Mr Thomas is here, sir. Shall I send him in?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ It was going to be a very brief meeting so there was no point in uprooting Connie when they were making such headway.

  Mr Thomas slid in with his usual disingenuous smile fixed on his face. ‘How is your father, Mr Wincanton? I have been so very worried about him.’

  ‘He is dying, Mr Thomas.’ Aaron felt slightly sick saying that out loud, but he stared levelly at the estate manager. ‘The physician is not optimistic that he will ever recover, which means that I am now going to be taking full control over the estate.’

  Mr Thomas bowed his head like a true toad. ‘Then I am at your service, Mr Wincanton.’

  In the army, Aaron had learnt to discipline his troops effectively. Swift, sharp justice was a better way to administer it than procrastination. ‘Actually, Mr Thomas, you are not. I have decided to terminate your employment.’

  He heard Connie’s sharp intake of breath, but did not look at her. Perhaps he did appear callous, but he was not going to feel bad about it. Thomas was an appalling estate manager and Aaron did not trust him. Instead of appearing shocked or upset by the news, Mr Thomas positively snarled as he pointed accusingly.

  ‘She has made vile accusations, hasn’t she?’

  His wife’s face had paled considerably and her eyes were quite wide. At first he had assumed that she was as outraged by the outburst as Aaron was, then her eyes darted to his and quickly went to the tightly clasped hands in her lap. There was something going on here that Aaron was not aware of. Going with his gut instinct, he decided to challenge her in private. Whatever it was had no bearing on his decision.

  ‘The she you are referring to, Mr Thomas, is my wife, so I will insist that you defer to her with respect.’

  ‘You would trust a Stuart over a man who has been in your employ for over four years, when she has been here less than five minutes? I have given years of loyal service!’

  ‘To be frank, Mr Thomas, I would sooner trust Napoleon himself than I would you. You have neglected your duties for too long. The estate has barely made any profit under your stewardship, you do not keep your word and you are frequently impossible to track down. I have no faith in you, Mr Thomas. So to answer your impertinent question, my wife has not influenced my decision in any way. She really did not need to.’ He bent his head back to the ledger, his mind brimming with questions for his suddenly anxious and guilty-looking wife. ‘We are done, Mr Thomas. Get out now or I will enjoy personally throwing you out.’

  Mr Thomas stood quaking with unsuppressed anger before he spun on his heel and stalked to the door. For several seconds he hovered in the doorway, then he turned and practically spat at Connie.

  ‘Your father will hear of your treachery, Lady Constance; you mark my words.’

  She visibly balked at the threat and continued to stare wide-eyed at the door long after the estate manager had gone.

  ‘Would you care to tell me what all that was about?’ Aaron was experiencing an enormous sense of foreboding. Connie was worrying her plump bottom lip with her teeth and wringing her hands in her lap. Whatever she had to say was not likely to be good.

  ‘When I saw Mr Thomas the other day, I recognised him.’ The pink blotches had already begun to bloom on her cheeks and neck and she could not meet his eyes. ‘I confronted him last week and he assured me that my assumptions were false, but you see, I have seen Mr Thomas many times before. I am certain the man works for my father.’

  Aaron digested this for several moments, experiencing the foul taste of betrayal and the anger that it inevitably left in its wake. I am certain the man works for my father. In a sudden rush he considered all of the ramifications of that damning, simple sentence. It all made perfect sense to him now. The late sowing of the harvest, the declining profits, the dissatisfaction of the tenants, not to mention Mr Thomas’s elusiveness—it was all part of another grand scheme by the Stuarts to destroy the Wincantons. Except this time, it had possibly done irreparable damage. Connie’s father was not just destroying the Wincantons, he was also dragging the innocent farmers who depended on the estate into the battle and potentially ruining all of their lives, too. And his father had fallen for the ruse because he was too consumed with the silly feud to pay proper attention to his own holdings. The Earl of Redbridge must have been congratulating himself for years at the success of his duplicity.

  And Connie knew all of this.

  ‘Why did you not tell me all that a week ago?’ He sounded hurt and he wished that he didn’t. Suddenly he did not want her to know that her betrayal cut much deeper than Thomas’s or her father’s. He had expected that of them. Aaron had come to expect so much more from Connie. Her betrayal was uniquely personal to him. Her whole face turned red as she stared mournfully down. Dispassionately, he noted the slight tremor in her bottom lip and hardened himself against any sympathy. He should have expected this.

  ‘In my defence, recent events have rather got in the way.’

  Aaron shot to his feet and stalked across the study, raking a furious hand through his hair to try to cool his simmering temper. As if there was any excuse that would justify her dishonesty. When given the opportunity to rise above the historic, and petty, quarrel between their two families, she had chosen to keep her father’s perfidy a secret. And he had been as stupid as his father because he had trusted her. Mt Thomas had put it quite aptly, he now realised, Aaron had known her less than five minutes yet he had still believed that she had been capable of rising above three hundred years of bad blood—to see him as he really was. What an idiot he had been.

  He embraced his anger then, allowing the heat of it to wash over him and consume him. It was far better to be furious at her than disappointed in his own naivety. ‘Pray, enlighten me, madam. How can you defend the indefensible?’

  ‘I was waiting for an opportune moment.’ Her voice had risen several octaves in res
ponse to his sarcastic tone and he could see she had the audacity to begin to bristle with indignation.

  ‘An opportune moment? And when would that be? When I am declared bankrupt? Or perhaps when I have been thrown into debtors’ prison?’

  Connie launched to her feet and looked outraged at the suggestion. ‘I had a dinner party to arrange. For twenty people! And then your father had a stroke. What was I supposed to do? Sidle up to you whilst he is lying on his deathbed and you were sick with worry and say, by the way, your estate manager is not what he seems? He assured me that his association with my father was merely a coincidence...’

  ‘Which, of course, you believed, because you are such a trusting soul, Constance! You are always so willing to think the best of everyone.’

  ‘I didn’t believe him, but—’

  ‘Oh! Now we get to the heart of the matter. You didn’t believe him, but you did not feel the need to tell me—a vile Wincanton!’

  ‘It was not like—’

  ‘Yes, it was!’

  Her delicate nostrils flared and her chin lifted. ‘If you would stop interrupting me, then perhaps I could—’

  ‘What? Spout a pack of lies to justify your treachery?’

  ‘Argh!’

  Her arms flew up in the air and she curled her hands into fists. ‘You are the most insufferable man I have ever met!’ Her long legs tore up the distance to the door and she stomped out of it, slamming it loudly behind her as she left. Aaron marched to it and promptly opened it.

  ‘This is my house!’ he shouted to her retreating back petulantly. ‘And this is my door! And if anybody is going to slam it, it is going to be me!’

  The hinges screeched in protest as it swung closed again, with an impressive thud, and Aaron was left staring at it in utter disgust. The woman was impossible. He had bent over backwards to make her stay here more bearable and she still resorted to histrionics when he had the nerve to challenge her shoddy behaviour. Aaron stalked to his desk and slumped in the chair. Now he was so riled he would not be able to make any sense of any of these numbers and that was all her fault, too.

  His head snapped up at the knock on the door and he primed himself to continue the battle, recognising that his anger was nowhere near spent and he still had plenty to say to the woman. But it was not Connie at the door, it was Deaks.

  ‘The solicitor is here, Mr Wincanton, shall I send him in or do you need a few minutes more?’

  Chapter Twenty

  Connie was still pacing her sitting room, half an hour later, when remorse descended like an April shower, dousing her temper like a cold bucket of water. He had every right to be angry at her. Losing her temper had been a mistake. She should have allowed him to vent for a few minutes before she had tried to explain herself. She could understand why he had misinterpreted her silence as something more sinister than it was. Initially, in the wake of the viscount’s stroke, it had not crossed her mind. As the days passed by and Aaron had done everything in his power to avoid her, there had been little opportunity and she had been more concerned with the way he had suddenly withdrawn into himself than she had been about her suspicions regarding the estate manager. She should have found a way to tell him about Mr Thomas by now. It had been quite wrong of her to keep it a secret, even though a small part of her had hoped that, in doing so, her father might be more benevolent towards her and that he might consent for her to have some contact with her mother and brother again.

  Stewing up here all alone while he was doing the same thing in his study was not a particularly sensible way of dealing with things, she now realised. It was merely avoiding the inevitable conversation in which she would have to explain her reasoning and hope that he understood. Without thinking, Connie moved towards the mirror and adjusted her hair. If she was about to eat a slice of humble pie, there was no need to do it looking in disarray. She was certainly not checking her appearance for Aaron. The wretch.

  A maid burst in without knocking, causing Connie to jump. ‘Lady Constance! His lordship is waking up.’

  Instantly, Connie picked up her skirts and hurried after the maid. Once in the viscount’s bedchamber, she could see for herself that he was moving much more than he had in recent days. His left hand was clearly twitching against the bedcovers and his breathing was more erratic, yet stronger than it had been. Automatically she went to him and took the hand to comfort him. It must be frightening to wake up and not to be able to move as you expected and further distress might worsen his condition.

  ‘Good afternoon, your lordship,’ she whispered softly close to his ear. ‘You have had a bit of a turn. Try not to panic. Everything will be all right in a little while.’

  Her words seemed to placate him a little. His breathing slowed and the fingers of his left hand closed around hers.

  ‘Shall I fetch the doctor?’ the maid hissed in a facsimile of a stage whisper that could only serve to create panic. Connie nodded impatiently while still stroking the back of the viscount’s cold hand. She did not want him to know that he was so gravely ill that it would necessitate the immediate summoning of the physician.

  ‘Tell Aaron his father is awake. I know that his lordship would much prefer to see his son.’

  Almost as soon as she was left alone with him, the viscount cracked open his left eye and she watched him struggle to focus on her face. His left eyebrow and that side of his mouth were drawn down in an expression of pure terror. The other side of his face hung immobile.

  ‘You have had a small stroke,’ she said softly by way of an acceptable explanation, as if minimising what had happened to him might make him feel less anxious, ‘You are lying in your own bed because you need to have a few days’ rest.’

  The viscount’s mouth moved as he tried to speak, but no discernible noise came out. ‘Try not to talk yet. Your throat is probably very dry. Let me get you a drink.’ Connie had been trying to spoon water past his parched lips for days with limited success. Carefully, she lifted his head a little and pressed the spout of the invalid cup to the good side of his mouth. Even though she poured only the tiniest trickle, most of the liquid bubbled out of his mouth and dribbled down his cheek. Taking a towel, Connie dabbed the water away, trying not to notice how grey his skin was, how blue his lips had become and how much weight he had already lost in such a small amount of time. The deterioration had been frighteningly rapid. The man in the bed was only a shell of the man whom she had argued with a week ago.

  Regardless, Connie smiled cheerfully. ‘You did give us a quite a scare—but at least you are on the mend now.’ He was still watching her warily, his dark eyes watery and filled with fear, but the brightness in them had dimmed. He might well be conscious now, but she could see the life was slowly ebbing out of his body. ‘Aaron will be pleased you are awake. He has been doing a splendid job of overseeing things while you have been resting. I am sure that you will be up and about and keen to take back the reins in a few days.’

  She heard a rustle behind her and saw that Aaron had entered the room. ‘Here he is now,’ she said breezily, backing away, ‘No doubt he will be able to tell you himself how smoothly things are running.’ Connie could not help giving her husband’s arm a reassuring squeeze as she walked past him and when she got to the hallway she quietly closed the bedchamber door behind herself to give them some privacy.

  * * *

  The doctor had been and gone and Connie was quietly reading when she next saw Aaron several hours later. Saw was really the wrong word to describe it though, sensed was a better one. She had sensed his presence before she had lifted her head and saw him leaning against her doorway. His arms were folded and his dark head was tilted against the doorframe and she got the distinct impression he was assessing her.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Asleep again. The doctor gave him a draught because he was becoming a little agitated. He is not
hopeful that there will be any physical improvement, especially as my father is struggling to swallow anything. I think it is only a matter of time now.’ There was a bleakness in his russet eyes that confirmed that there was no hope.

  ‘I am sorry to hear that.’ Although she had no affiliation or affection for the viscount, she did not wish to see Aaron suffer, but knew that there really was no way of her preventing him from doing so nevertheless.

  ‘It was kind of you to let him believe that he would recover. I think he found some comfort in your words.’ He sounded so sad that Connie wanted to go to him and simply hold him. As if he sensed her thoughts, he jerked away from the doorframe and wandered towards the window. ‘I suppose we need to talk about what happened earlier.’

  Connie stared at his back and waited for him to start. After a moment she realised he wanted her to speak first. Perhaps he was prepared to listen to her now that his anger had dissipated?

  ‘I did have every intention of telling you about my suspicions, Aaron. I had made up my mind to tell you on our ride—but that never happened. Then I was so consumed with the preparations for that awful dinner party that it slipped my mind. Then your father fell ill.’ All of those things were plausible excuses, but he deserved the truth. ‘And I suppose, deep down, I wanted to believe that if I held my tongue my father might look upon me a little more favourably. Mr Thomas suggested that he might relent and let me see my mother and brother again. He said that my father had specifically asked about my health and that my mother was grieving the loss of me. Mr Thomas swore that he was not trying to sabotage the estate and I desperately wanted to believe him. I know that is selfish, but...’

  Her voice trailed off and when he turned she looked completely desolate. It shamed him. With all of his own troubles, he had forgotten how difficult this all must be for her. Only a few weeks ago she had been wrenched from the bosom of her family and left to flounder in a house of strangers, estranged from everyone and everything that she knew. Despite it all, she had endured it all stoically. The flashes of temper and outrage were always quickly replaced with contrition. She had risen to each new challenge better than he would have under the same circumstances, and he was barely coping with it all, and had shown herself to have an indomitable, yet forgiving, spirit. Hadn’t she spent hours at his father’s bedside despite their unpleasant relationship? She had certainly been the rock when Aaron had almost fallen apart. Even now she was thinking more of his comfort than he probably deserved. Not only nursing his father, but helping Aaron with the accounts and feeding him. Caring for him. Was it so unforgivable that she had tried to keep her own, vindictive, father happy as well as his?