And Monty had to accept that he was giving up all possibility of the same happy chance in his own life. There would be no meeting of eyes across a crowded room, followed by some distinct physical symptoms — he was hazy about this part, but he was quite sure he would feel something, some quickening of pulse or breathing — and an overwhelming certainty that this enchanting creature was the one, the very one to claim his heart for ever. And what if he married and later encountered this happy chance with a woman not his wife? What grief would then be his.
Yet he had to admit that he had not the least doubt of what he was doing. He was not in love with Miss Frost, nor she with him, and they knew nothing of each other, but who can say that they truly know their life’s partner before they leave the church as man and wife? Not any of his brothers, that much was certain.
Above all, he was happy at the prospect of having a wife. How pleasant it would be to sit writing his sermon for the week, knowing that his wife was busy ensuring that his dinner would be on the table promptly, and it would be to his taste. And after dinner, they would sit either side of the fire in the drawing room with their books, for Miss Frost loved to read almost as much as he did, or else he might gently instruct her in the meaning of a theological point, or perhaps they would play cribbage or chess together. How delightful the prospect was! And then later there would be the intimacy of the bedchamber, and delights of another kind.
So it was that, as he sat through the interminable formal dinners in the castle, and the two weddings, and the ball which followed, his thoughts were seldom where they ought to be, and very often with a certain young lady with dark hair and green eyes and the most charming pair of dimples when she smiled. He could not wait to return to Drummoor.
7: Just Impediments
Monty endured the drive home to Drummoor stoically, and even his brothers’ grumbling could not dent his calm demeanour. His book of sermons lay open much of the time, but it had to be admitted that he was not pondering the intricacies of Scriptures quite as much as before. His thoughts were more pleasurably engaged in thinking about Miss Frost, and wondering just how much she might smile when she saw him again. Had she missed him? He hoped she had, for he had certainly missed her.
He had no intention of enquiring too deeply into her history, or prying from her secrets she preferred to keep buried, but there were certain details that must be established before the banns were called, to ensure that the marriage would be valid. So he determined to have a serious talk to her, and encourage her, if she were so minded, to confide in him. And if she were not so minded, he would accept her word that there was no impediment to the marriage.
Descending from the carriage in a lather of impatience to see his betrothed, Crabbe’s first words to him were, “Welcome home, my lord. Miss Frost is at Kirby Grosswick today.”
He was aware that his face had fallen in a ludicrous and childish manner. “Ah. Well, never mind. She will be home tonight, I take it? She is not staying overnight at the parsonage?”
“Oh no, my lord. The parsonage is, as I understand it, requiring some work to make it habitable.”
“To make it habitable? Oh, that sounds bad, Crabbe. Exactly how uninhabitable is it? Leaky roof? Rising damp? Flooded cellars?”
“I do not believe anyone has yet penetrated to the cellars, my lord, but Ben Gartmore is there now with the dogs, so once the rats are disposed of—”
“Rats! Oh dear. That is indeed uninhabitable.”
Monty was thrown into unaccustomed gloom. All his brothers were wreathed in smiles, greeting their wives, for both Lady Humphrey and Lady Reggie were there to meet them, whereas he was all alone, abandoned by Miss Frost for the presumably greater delight of watching Ben Gartmore’s dogs chasing rats.
Not an hour later, he heard a carriage on the drive, and looked down from an upper window to see Harriet entering the house, and just behind her, Miss Frost, looking rather charming in a maroon pelisse and matching bonnet. But she did not come into the winter parlour before the dressing gong, and so he did not see her until he entered the drawing room before dinner. She smiled when she saw him, but otherwise she showed no sign of great delight in his return, continuing her conversation with Aunt Juliana most composedly. Disappointment nudged him. Should she not show some enthusiasm at his return? Somewhere in a corner of his mind had lurked the hope that she would leap up and run across the room towards him. Or at least come to greet him. Was that so much to ask? He knew he should not be irritated by her restraint, for what could be more proper after all? Yet he was.
He crossed the room and made his bow to the ladies. “Aunt Juliana. Miss Frost… you are well?”
The smile on her face slipped a bit. Perhaps she detected his annoyance, for she said coolly, “Thank you, yes. Did you have a tolerable journey, my lord?”
So formal. “As tolerable as any journey in December.”
Aunt Juliana being drawn away at that moment, he sat down beside her. “You have been to Kirby Grosswick, I understand?”
“Yes. It was Lady Carrbridge’s idea, since the Archbishop had approved your appointment to the living. I hope you do not mind?”
“Well, if Connie gets a bee in her bonnet, there is no stopping her.” Again he was conscious of disappointment. It was his living, his parsonage, and surely he should have been the first to see it? “It is in poor condition, I hear.”
“Very bad, yes. There are… rats, mice, all sorts of infestations. Ben was there yesterday with the dogs, and again today. He is staying at the inn so that he may continue the work each day. Mrs Compton took some of the servants in today to begin clearing the spoilt furnishings.”
“I hope she will save what she can. I cannot afford to replace every last chair, you know.”
“Oh, but I think Lady Carrbridge means to give us some furniture,” she said. “There is a great deal in the attics, she said. And Lord Carrbridge is to pay for the work that needs doing — painting, wood panels, that sort of thing.”
“I do not want my brother’s charity,” he said stiffly. “We will live within our income, and if we cannot afford new furniture, we must make do with the old.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice low. “I did not know you felt that way.”
“Well, you would have done if you had waited to ask me.” Then, thinking that perhaps he was being harsh, he added, “But I daresay Connie was the one who rushed in, and swept you up in her enthusiasm. In future, it would be better to talk to me about it first. I shall drive over tomorrow and see for myself what is going on.”
“May I come with you?”
“Of course, if you wish it,” he said, absurdly pleased at this sign of wifely interest in his company. “We can take your maid as chaperon.”
“Monty, I travelled for three days alone on the stage coach,” she said, with a sudden smile. “I hardly need a chaperon to drive to Kirby Grosswick.”
“You were not then betrothed to me,” he said coldly. “We will take a chaperon.”
She subsided at once, and he hardly got a word out of her throughout dinner. Fortunately, the talk was so animated that no one noticed that the betrothed couple were silent. Harriet was regaling one end of the table with her plans for a home for fallen women, and grumbling loudly that Carrbridge refused to help fund it.
At the other end of the table, and after the ladies had withdrawn, Carrbridge was telling the company of all that had been discovered of Mr Sharp, the marquess’s former agent. He had, it seemed, taken hold of numerous properties of their father, won at the card tables or through one of his eccentric wagers, and kept all the rentals for himself. It was a prodigious sum, hardly to be believed. Every once in a while, Carrbridge would stop and say, “And how much was that worth, Merton?” and Merton would mention some outrageous sum. And all that had gone into Sharp’s pockets, or been stashed away in various banks around Yorkshire and the northern counties, and was gradually being recovered. Sharp was now on the run, and the Bow Street Runners informed.
&
nbsp; “He held an entire town as his own,” Carrbridge said indignantly. “A mill town called Drifford, and had a second wife there and a family, living openly as gentry, if you please. But Gus found it all out, and the Duke of Dunmorton went in there with the army and constables and rooted out the last of Sharp’s family and took control of the place. And do you know, the population came out onto the streets to cheer the duke. He was very moved, and there was a great feast afterwards with bunting and music and revelry and so forth.”
“And a great deal of ale,” Humphrey said, grinning. “The common labourer likes nothing so much as an excuse to get drunk, especially when someone else is providing the barrels. The duke was very generous, and now the good people of Drifford think he is the finest fellow in Christendom.”
Monty had heard the tale before, and knew that Gus told it rather differently, giving credit to Merton for finding out much of what was going on in Drifford. Merton, for his part, ate his dinner steadily, and contributed nothing to the conversation, talking composedly to Lady Hardy, who sat beside him. Monty rather approved of Merton, a quiet, self-effacing man with abstemious habits and upright behaviour. Some of his brothers found him dull, he knew, but for himself he could only approve such a man.
Once the dinner had concluded, Monty felt it best to address some niggling matters with Miss Frost which had begun to prey on his mind rather. He had no wish to pry, but as a clergyman it was incumbent upon him to adhere to sound principles in all aspects of his life. When he rejoined the ladies, therefore, he went straight to her side.
“May we talk more privately, Miss Frost? There are one or two matters we must discuss.”
She nodded, but she looked pale, and he wondered just what she was so worried about. A newly betrothed woman ought to be happy, ought to want to spend time alone with her future husband. Even without a little affection in the case, surely there must be some uplifting emotion? Gratitude, perhaps. Was she having second thoughts?
He took her through to the winter parlour, still warm since there had been a fire burning there all day. Even now the embers in the hearth glowed, casting an eerie orange light over the room and their faces. He lit a couple of lamps and invited her to sit at the worktable, still littered with pieces of fabric, and a half-made bonnet.
How to begin? Best to be open, he supposed.
“Miss Frost, now that we have spent some time apart, and you have had an opportunity to consider your position, it may be that you have thought better of this marriage.”
She jumped to her feet, her cheeks two angry spots of colour. “Oh, I see how it is! Your brothers have been talking to you about me and—”
Politely, he rose, too. “No, I assure you,” he said, startled by her vehemence.
“—now you wish to back away from your promise, is that it?”
“Not at all, I—”
“You think because you are so grand and so rich, you may do just as you please! Just because I am nobody, it is perfectly acceptable to toss me aside like a used pair of boots. Does your word mean so little to you?”
“Miss Frost, you mistake me. I have neither the wish nor the intent to break our engagement. I look forward to our marriage with pleasure, you must believe me. But our engagement was… rather precipitate, and it may be that you are less certain than before.”
“And have I ever given you cause to think so? Have I said or done anything to suggest such a thing?”
“I beg your pardon, Miss Frost. Pray forgive me.” Although he was not sure what he was asking forgiveness for, but she was upset, and one never liked to see a lady in distress. “But I must ask you a question which…” He stopped, wondering whether it might be better to abandon any idea of discussing such awkward subjects. But he had to know, and truly, why should she not be happy to answer? “I must enquire just a little into matters which you have not so far seen fit to share with me.”
“Nor shall I,” she said, almost hissing the words. “My life until now is quite irrelevant.”
“But that is all I wish to know,” he said, in his calmest tones. “Far be it from me to force confidences which you are unwilling to give, but when we stand before Parson Hay, we must both be sure that there is no unknown obstacle to the marriage, for if it transpires later that there is such an obstacle, then the marriage would be illegal, you see, and we should both be in deep trouble.”
Now the anger in her drained away, and she looked as white as chalk.
He went on, “So if you have a husband already—”
“Oh!” She laughed then, rather louder than the words justified.
“—or are somehow related to me by blood or marriage, then you must tell me at once.”
“No, no! There is no husband lurking in my history, nor am I related to you in any way. Of course I would not agree to marry you in either case.”
“And you are not known by any other name but Melissa Frost?”
“Oh no! That is indeed my name.”
“And you know of nothing else that might be… difficult, should it be discovered later?”
“No, nothing,” she said quickly. “Is that all? Are you satisfied?”
“Perfectly,” he said, although he recalled Gus’s words, ‘But it does seem to me that if a lady will not tell even her future husband all about herself, then it is most likely because she has something to hide.’ What could a young lady like Miss Frost, outwardly so respectable, have to hide? Was she, as Carrbridge had once suggested, an opera dancer? Or worse? “Be assured, Miss Frost,” he said carefully, “that I have no interest in what you may have been or have done in the past. My only concern is regarding legal barriers to the marriage, for marriage washes away all stains.”
The spots of bright colour were back, and her eyes narrowed. “Oh, now you are suggesting that I am terribly disreputable, and you are rescuing me from a life of sin or crime or… or something of the sort. How generous you are, Lord Montague!”
“No, I did not mean—” he began helplessly, but she had already spun around and stalked to the door in a swirl of silk and shimmering net.
“I am going to bed. Pray convey my apologies to Lady Carrbridge. Tell her that I have the headache. Good night, my lord.”
So saying, she swept out of the room, leaving Monty in a muddle of regret and bewilderment. How had his simple and reasonable questions brought out such a violent response? For the first time he began to wonder if he were doing a very foolish thing by marrying Miss Frost.
~~~~~
Melissa stamped up and down her room for some time before she was calm enough to consider the interview with Monty dispassionately. She knew perfectly well that he had every right to make such enquiries of her, in fact he had been so forbearing with her that she was tempted to weep on his shoulder with gratitude. He had not asked the really difficult questions, and had, in a roundabout way, told her that he never would. He would not insist on knowing who her family was… although that was a question she could not answer, even if she wished to. But her guardian… if he had asked about him…
No, he would not. He knew she would not answer. But the rest of it… the legal barriers to the marriage… she ought to tell him, she knew she ought. What would he do if he knew that she were only twenty, and must have her guardian’s permission to marry? He would insist on writing to ask for that permission, of course — good, honest Monty! Naturally he would. And Lord Bentley would arrive, with his evil dandy of a brother, and Mr Pontefract claiming her as his betrothed and then— No, it was unthinkable.
The only way out of it was to get herself safely married to Monty, and then the prior betrothal would carry no weight. But if the marriage were illegal because she was underage… would Monty stand aside and let her be taken away by another man? Surely he would fight for her, and then Lord Bentley would have to give his permission… Yet she could not quite believe it.
So her thoughts ran, round and round, and she could make but little sense of it. The only certainty in her mind was that she must marry,
and at once! It was the only way to be safe from Mr Pontefract and his special licence. A prior marriage must override every other consideration, must it not? If only she knew the law better! Yet there was no one she could trust to ask.
How she wished that she could talk to Monty about it sensibly, telling him everything, but she dared not. Besides, already he was wishing he had not committed himself so rashly. He denied it of course — so gentlemanly! — but she could see behind the polite words and she must not give him the least excuse to abandon her. Oh Lord, she had been so rude to him! Fear had risen up inside her, and broken free in snappish words and anger. Whatever must he think of her? Poor Monty! He had looked so bewildered, so lost, and she had so much wanted to smooth his forehead and kiss away the hurt look that he tried so manfully to hide. What a wicked girl she was, using him so shamefully to protect herself.
If only she had had more time to think before she left Bentley Hall. If she could have but planned her escape, she could have found some way to hide, to cover her tracks… but her only thought had been to get away, to run to the one person who might help her. The Earl of Deveron — it would be amusing, if only she were not so terrified of discovery. She must not weaken, she must not!
Even now Lord Bentley might be nearby, following her trail to Drummoor. Every day brought the possibility of disaster a little closer. She kept her portmanteau packed with her old clothes, and her few remaining coins.
8: A Day At Kirby Grosswick
Harriet laughed at the idea of a chaperon for Miss Frost.
“Good gracious, Monty, are we living in the dark ages? I shall be travelling with you as far as Sagborough, and you will have the carriage of Reggie and Lady Reggie with you as far as the Great Mellingham road. It is no distance from there. Besides, you are betrothed.”
Monty made no further protest. If neither of the ladies objected, it was not for him to insist. He was a little nervous about being in a closed carriage with Miss Frost, even for a few miles, after her manner towards him the previous evening, but he supposed they could maintain the civilities for such a short time. But when Harriet left them at Sagborough, bound on a visit to Bridget Kelly, she took all conversation with her and they sat in silence the rest of the way to Kirby Grosswick.
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