“Mischief! God forbid I should do that,” he responded in an acid drawl, the cords of his neck above his jabot standing out, quivering and tense, his eyes becoming the eyes of the devil as his gaze, steady as a rock, held Louisa’s. “But when you see Miss Sophie Dunstan—please give her my warmest regards.”
So, Louisa thought in alarm, she had been right in her assumptions after all. “You are organising an infidelity with Sophie to avenge her brother, aren’t you?” she blurted out.
His eyes became narrow and cold. “Alistair Dunstan cut the ground from beneath my feet the day he stole the woman I was to marry. As you said, it was a long time ago—but I do not forget the wrong he did me and I intend to make him suffer for it. I’m a patient man, Miss Fraser, and I am also a determined one. I hate and I wait—for the opportunity to strike back. Good day.”
He left Louisa’s question unanswered, but she knew, without any doubt, that he would strike at Alistair through Sophie.
Julia, whose face was drawn and tense as she watched Sir Charles’s figure retreat down the street, came to stand beside Louisa. In shock on seeing the man who had caused Alistair so much untold misery in the past, she failed to notice that Louisa’s face was white, like alabaster, as were her lips, and her eyes dark, for the threatening quality of Sir Charles’s words had left her in the grip of an ice-cold fear.
“Forgive me, Louisa. I don’t mean to pry—and I do so merely out of concern for Alistair. But how well are you associated with that gentleman?” It was an enquiry phrased tactfully, but still a request for an answer.
Trying to compose herself, Louisa took a deep, shuddering breath, deciding to keep Sir Charles’s vile accusations to herself, not wishing to upset Julia.
“Not very well. In fact I hardly know him at all. We have met before briefly on only two occasions—one of them in the park that day when you came upon us.”
“I see. Forgive me, I was so upset at seeing Sir Charles that I do not remember seeing you. But my advice is not to have anything to do with him. Would that be too much to ask?”
“Why, not at all. The gentleman is persistent and I do not like him in the slightest. Forgive me, Julia, but perhaps if I knew what he was guilty of where Alistair is concerned it might help me to understand.”
Julia lowered her eyes, but not before Louisa had seen a cloud pass over them.
“Alistair cannot forget or forgive Sir Charles Meredith’s offences against him. He did him a great wrong in the past, Louisa. There is a tendency to evil in Sir Charles. He is a greedy, nasty, black-hearted man, who survives on his charm and wit and the enormous fortune his father left him. So do not be deceived by his flattering, frivolous temperament. He can be truly dangerous if it suits him—if he has reason to be.”
Louisa looked at her, wondering if Julia should be saying this as a warning to Sophie instead of to her. Suddenly she was impatient to go to Huntswood, to reassure herself that her suspicions and fears where Alistair’s younger sister was concerned were groundless. And as she thought over the accusations Sir Charles had made against Alistair she found it more and more difficult to disregard them as the jealous ravings of a man spurned by the woman whom he would have married, had Alistair not come along.
At least she now knew how Marianne had met her death—that she had drowned—and no doubt she would learn of the circumstances leading up to her death, given time. But one thing she would not believe was that Alistair had killed her.
Chapter Ten
The sun was setting in a ball of flame when Alistair and Louisa finally reached Huntswood after their wedding at Bierlow Church. It had been a quiet affair, the quietest the people of Bierlow had seen in a long time, which had raised eyebrows and questions, for, considering the identities and importance of the couple involved, they had expected a lavish affair in which they could all partake, to say the least.
Because it was Alistair’s second marriage, and owing to the circumstances, there had been a subdued note to the whole proceedings, and apart from James and Julia and her husband, Joshua, there were no other guests.
In a gown of champagne-coloured silk gauze Louisa had stood beside Alistair at the altar, a stranger, and yet not a stranger—so dark, so handsome. At the time she’d been aware of nothing but his close proximity and his firm hands when they’d slipped the ring on her finger, and for the first time since entering the church she’d met his eyes, darkly serious and intent, and had had to quell the ache that rose inside her when she remembered her dreams of how her wedding day would be. There had been nothing romantic as she had always imagined—nothing but a seal on a promise that must be kept.
When Alistair had placed his hand over hers she had felt herself possessed, and at the same time had known a rush of happiness that he was the possessor. To this man she had committed her life and that of her child, and from that moment she’d known how it must be between them. Also, in that moment, she’d recognised the emotion that had struck her when she had walked into his arms the first time he had kissed her at Dunstan House. She no longer had any doubts that she was deeply and irresistibly in love, and this revelation sealed the bond between them, but she dared not let him know it yet. She must nurse and cherish her secret, and hope that in time he would come to feel the same about her.
Alistair had insisted on leaving Bierlow immediately after the ceremony, fully intending to be at Huntswood, some twenty-five miles away, before nightfall, but it was obvious to him how much Louisa loved Bierlow, how much she would miss it, and he’d tried to make her leaving as painless as possible. When he’d asked if she was ready to go, emotion had caught in her throat and her lips had twitched in a tremulous smile, her lovely eyes misting with tears, making him suddenly realise how devastating this situation must be for her, having to leave the place she loved, the people she loved, in order to face life in a place completely alien to her, with a man who didn’t want her…
And yet that wasn’t entirely true. He did want her. Every time he looked at her sweet face he wanted her, and, he thought with a twinge of regret, if she had not deceived him and behaved so shamefully, resurrecting so many bitter memories of his life with Marianne and her ultimate betrayal, then he would have been willing to give their marriage a chance. Perhaps when the child was born, when they had both had time to adjust to the situation and each other, there might be a better understanding between them.
After wishing them well, Julia and Joshua had returned to London, but how Louisa wished that Julia could have accompanied them to Huntswood. How much easier it would be for her to settle in to her new home if she were there.
Ever since Louisa’s first evening at Dunstan House, when she had collapsed and Alistair had carried her to her room, there had been a softening in his attitude towards her, his manner becoming friendly and solicitous, and she’d been thankful he continued to be so on their journey to Huntswood. He’d pointed out famous landmarks and places of interest on the way, and made sure the coach stopped for brief periods at the wayside coaching-inns so that she might refresh herself. Some of the time, with the swaying of the coach and the warmth, she’d slept, finding it impossible to ward off her tiredness.
Alistair had allowed his gaze to linger on her features, unable to put his feelings into words, at these times. He’d observed how young she was, how pale and exquisite her face was, resting against the upholstery, making him realise that, despite his vow not to touch her, it would be virtually impossible to keep his hands off her now she was his wife.
The journey had seemed long and tedious to Louisa, so when Alistair pointed Huntswood out to her across a wide, fast-flowing river she was heartened, pleased that it was so near at last, and yet her nervousness and apprehension at entering her new home and meeting Sophie and Alistair’s son increased.
She gazed out of the window of the coach, enthralled. The size of the house, with its Dutch gabling and ramparts, half hidden among the trees, was impressive, and yet it looked comparatively modest in its superior setting. Hunts
wood stood on high ground, close to the Sussex Weald, a high area of broken country suspended between the hills of the North and South Downs. It was a place of charming villages on green hillsides once cloaked by the vast, prehistoric Forest of Anderida. With a great bowl of heather to the west and vistas of grassy vales where sheep, deer and cattle roved, the setting was superb.
Louisa sighed, entranced, not having known what to expect and pleasantly surprised. It was sheer perfection.
“You like it?” Alistair asked softly, watching her closely and pleased by her reaction.
“Who would not?” she breathed, without taking her eyes off it, warm in her admiration. “I never expected anything like this. It’s beautiful.”
“I have always thought so. Standing as it does on rising ground, with trees, as you see, stretching for a wide extent all around, it allows for wonderful views of the surrounding country, which at all times of the year is startlingly beautiful.”
“How long has your family lived here?”
“More than two hundred years—since Tudor times, in fact. The first notable member of my family to come here—when Huntswood was no more than a fortified manor house—was Sir Thomas Dunstan, whose company was much sought by Henry VIII. History has it that the King visited frequently to hunt in the vast deer park, which was enclosed at that time. But—” he smiled, his eyes twinkling with humour “—I believe he also had an eye for Katherine Dunstan—one of Thomas’s pretty daughters—whose portrait you will see hanging in the Great Hall.”
Louisa listened, all interest, having learned all about the six wives of Henry VIII—but the fact that he had had so many had done little to appease his appetite for the pursuit of further sexual conquests outside the bonds of matrimony.
“What happened to her?”
“When Thomas saw the way the wind blew, he had her dispatched post-haste to stay with a relative in the north of England until Henry’s ardour had cooled.”
“And did it? Was it far enough away? For if history is to be believed—and if his ruthless pursuit of Anne Boleyn is anything to go by—when Henry set his sights on a woman it was more than her life was worth to dare to refuse him.”
“Fortunately the pretty Katherine escaped his royal clutches, and not long afterwards she married a young lord from over the border in Scotland.”
Louisa smiled, relaxed and warmed by the story—a small insight into his family’s history which somehow made its members seem less like strangers to her. “Then I’m relieved to hear it.” She paused a moment before she asked him a question, one which had been uppermost in her mind since leaving Bierlow. “Alistair, what will you tell Sophie and Mark? Will you tell them about the child?”
He looked across at her sharply. Her eyes were focused steadily on his face. “No—not yet. I would prefer to wait. Sophie is young and impressionable so the matter will take delicate handling. I have no intention of exposing my indiscretions to her, or to Mark, for that matter, although he is too young to understand at present. It is also my intention to shield your reputation as well.”
“Thank you,” Louisa murmured, grateful for that. Her humiliation and shame would exist, but at least no one would know about it but themselves.
“As yet the child isn’t noticeable, so we will leave it a while until we find an opportune time to tell Sophie. However, we cannot pretend we were married some weeks ago—and nor would I wish to, for I find any form of deception abhorrent.”
Louisa blanched, for this was just one more painful reminder that he would never forgive her own deception where he was concerned.
“Our wedding this morning cannot be concealed,” he continued, seemingly unaware of the discomfort his words had caused Louisa, “especially not from Sophie—and it will no doubt cause some raised eyebrows among the servants when the child arrives early. I have not been to Huntswood for some weeks—matters of state and business having kept me in London, you understand—but I sent word on ahead so we are expected. Naturally the staff will be curious to meet you and want to know all about you.”
Louisa was daunted by this and wondered what would be required of her as mistress of Huntswood. No doubt she would be expected to take charge of the running of the house—something she was no stranger to—but Huntswood would be on a much grander scale from what she was used to at Bierlow Hall.
As if reading her thoughts, Alistair smiled. “Don’t worry. You’ll soon get used to the running of the house. Huntswood has a large staff of servants, but Sophie and our extremely competent housekeeper, Mrs Mullings, will familiarise you with everything. We entertain quite often—local dignitaries and suchlike—especially when Julia and her husband are down from London. But you can rest assured that I have no plans to entertain anyone for the present, and nothing too strenuous will be required of you—at least not until after the child is born.”
They passed through Wyndham, a large, pretty market town with a square in the centre and a triangular green sloping down to the river. It also had several fine, half-timbered houses clustered around an ancient Norman church, with a huge yew tree in the graveyard. On the outskirts they passed several exceptionally large houses and one in particular, which stood well away from the rest, built behind high stone walls, an impressive, stately mansion, caught Louisa’s eye.
“You must have some wealthy neighbours if they are able to afford such fine houses, Alistair. Who lives there?” she asked casually. “In that beautiful house behind the high walls?”
Alistair didn’t look, he didn’t have to, knowing perfectly well to which one she referred. His expression became grim, his eyes glinting like steel flints as his gaze became fixed on her face.
“An acquaintance of yours. Sir Charles Meredith,” he said, with a coldness that chilled Louisa to the marrow.
“Oh,” she breathed, the sound scarcely discernible above the rumbling of the wheels, feeling as if all the wind had been knocked out of her.
“I have made my feelings plain where that gentleman is concerned, Louisa,” Alistair said sternly. “Needless to say we have nothing to do with that family. Mercifully he spends the majority of his time in London so we are spared his presence at Wyndham. His mother still lives there—at Furstam Manor—with his younger brother and two of his three sisters, the other having married and gone to live in America. His father died several years ago, having made his fortune in the East India Trading Company and owning considerable properties in London, and he left Sir Charles an extremely wealthy man.
“However, because he has expensive tastes and is inclined to gamble recklessly, some of the property has been sold off to meet his debts. But he continues to go on spending as if there is no end to his money. It’s a pity he isn’t more like his brother, who is more conscientious and takes care of the business.”
“I see,” Louisa murmured quietly, having no wish to discuss the offending gentleman when she recalled her last unpleasant encounter with him—his dreadful accusations against Alistair and his unsavoury, threatening remarks directed at Sophie, which she hoped and prayed were empty and would come to nothing.
She had been unable to think of little else these past two weeks, and the hatred that existed between the two men horrified her. She knew she should tell Alistair about her encounter with Sir Charles, but because of his reticence to speak to her of the past—of his marriage to Marianne, which she understood was too painful for him to discuss—she considered it best to let sleeping dogs lie, not wishing to stir up trouble when there might be none. Besides, she reprimanded herself sternly, she was a sensible, rational human being who should know better than to let her imagination run away with her and speculate about things she did not understand.
But the mystery about Marianne and the circumstances surrounding her death remained, and her curiosity would not diminish until she knew all the facts.
“Why are we heading away from the river and Huntswood?” she asked suddenly as they began to leave Wyndham behind.
“Unfortunately there is no brid
ge at this point so we have to travel further to cross the river and double back on the other side. It’s a nuisance, not only for visitors to Huntswood, but also for farmers and tradespeople wanting to cross either way. Plans for the construction of a new bridge are currently being drawn up.”
On the other side of the river it was sheer perfection. The trees, having shed their shiny green leaves of summer over the ground in a carpet of yellow, bronze and burnt copper, daubed the countryside in autumn. Oaks and beeches and long avenues of chestnuts, as old as the Tudors, stretched up to the house, which was even more impressive up close, the surrounding gardens and ancient trees giving it an air of quiet dignity as the sun set in a blaze of glory over its rooftops.
Louisa was overwhelmed by the magnificence and antiquity of Huntswood. Stepping inside the great timbered hall, where the staff had gathered to welcome them home, she had a strange feeling of passing into another world and that her life would never be the same again. She could feel the past closing in on her, wrapping itself around her, but it was in no way unpleasant or threatening—in fact, it was quite the opposite, for it gave her a warm, welcoming glow deep inside. The house was distinctly mediaeval, with a great fireplace, and with weaponry hanging from the walls, along with ancient ancestral portraits, which stared down with sombre expressions at this newcomer in their midst.
All her worries about meeting Sophie and Mark were dissolved the moment Alistair introduced her to them. Sophie was slender and extremely pretty, with a rose complexion and soft blue eyes shaded by long lashes. Her every movement was smooth and graceful, and there was an artlessness in her manner, which suggested promise of her developing into an extremely lovely young woman. She welcomed Louisa with unaffected pleasure and sincerity, and clearly did not remember seeing her in St James’s Park when her attention had been captured by Sir Charles Meredith—and Louisa had no wish to cause Alistair embarrassment by drawing attention to the incident. Behind Sophie, Louisa caught a glimpse of a bright-eyed, happy face beneath a shock of dark curls—her six-year-old stepson.
An Innocent Proposal Page 20
