The Hemingford Scandal

by Mary Nichols

  He strode into the room and then stopped to look at Jane. She was pale and very fragile, and very young with her hair hanging down her back like a schoolgirl’s. Her green eyes were wide, almost fearful, and his heart went out to her. It was his task to carry her downstairs and set her before that man. It would be like offering her up to a hungry lion. Allworthy was waiting for her in the drawing room, immaculately attired, his cravat tied in a mathematical knot, his hair cut and curled within an inch of its life, making polite conversation with the Earl, perfectly at ease. How he hated him!

  ‘Jane, are you sure you feel strong enough for this?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Yes. I must meet him. He has come a long way.’

  ‘Very well, but if you find it is too much, you must send him away and I will bring you back to your room.’ He scooped her up in his arms and turned towards the door.

  He had carried her like that many times in the last few weeks and it was a burden he relished. The feel of her leaning against his body, her arms about his neck, her head close to his shoulder, was so intimate, so wonderfully gratifying that he hated putting her down. Recently she had been a little more determined to be independent and had insisted on walking, but he still held her arm to steady her.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she began to struggle. ‘Put me down,’ she said sharply. ‘I can manage now.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She had to be sure. She could not meet Mr Allworthy in the arms of another man. She had to stand alone. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then take this.’ He grabbed a cane from a stand by the door and handed it to her. ‘Call me if you need me.’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  She was glad of the walking stick as she made her way slowly to the drawing room, watched by Harry and Anne who had followed them down. It was not so much that she needed it to walk, but it hid the fact that she was shaking violently. She stopped outside the door, took a deep breath and pushed it open.

  He rose from a chair by the fireside as she entered. He was tall and broad and seemed to fill her vision so that she was aware of nothing else. He was very handsome, classically beautiful even; his features, nose, mouth, forehead were perfectly proportioned. His hair curled about his ears with two or three locks carefully arranged over his forehead. There was intelligence in his dark eyes and an arrogant tilt to his head. Her first reaction was that he was supremely self-assured as he came forward to greet her, her second was that she did not recognise him. He was a stranger.

  ‘Miss Hemingford, your obedient,’ he said, bowing over her hand.

  ‘Mr Allworthy?’ She put the question in her voice, to indicate she did not know him. When he did not comment on that, she indicated a chair. ‘Do sit down.’

  He seated himself, throwing up the tails of his coat and arranging his long legs in elegant fashion. She laid aside her cane and perched awkwardly on a sofa, her leg stiffly out in front of her. He saw it and winced a little. ‘How are you, my dear?’

  He was confident enough to risk the endearment, she noted. ‘I am improving a little day by day, thank you, sir.’

  ‘Good. You will make a full recovery, I trust.’

  ‘I am hopeful, though I might always walk with a slight limp.’

  ‘Oh.’ He paused, as if this information needed some thought. ‘But with the proper treatment that can be cured, I am sure. How soon can you be ready to leave?’

  She was taken aback by his bluntness. ‘You mean with you?’

  ‘Of course I mean with me. Who else?’

  ‘But I cannot go now, Mr Allworthy. His lordship has been kind enough to say I may stay as long as is necessary for a full recovery and I have not yet reached that happy stage.’

  ‘But surely you wish to be home among your own people? Your father is particularly anxious to be reunited with you. As I am.’

  ‘My father has been invited to come and visit me and he has chosen not to do so.’

  ‘He is busy at his work. It is at a critical stage. I have arranged with Murray to have it published.’

  She was surprised. She paid lip service to her father’s genius, had agreed with him that it was a defining and scholarly work, but she was not blind to its faults. It was far too weighty and repetitive to earn critical acclaim and Mr Murray must know that. ‘You mean you have paid for it to be published?’

  ‘Sometimes great works need a helping hand and it was my pleasure. If I am to become part of his family…’ He let the sentence hang in the air, waiting for her reaction.

  He was buying her, surely her father understood that. ‘Sir, I do not know you.’ She was aware, as she spoke, of a deep chuckle coming from a winged chair by the hearth and realised that the Earl was acting as chaperon and he was finding the conversation deeply entertaining. ‘I explained when I wrote to you that I had lost all memory of the last few months of my life and I cannot recall ever having met you before.’

  He looked startled. ‘But that was only a temporary condition brought about by a bang on your head.’

  ‘So I have been told, but unfortunately, however hard I try, I cannot remember you.’

  ‘But we are engaged.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ She was dismayed. ‘Do you mean that it has been announced formally?’

  ‘No, not exactly,’ he admitted. ‘But it was anticipated by everyone, agreed that we should announce it this autumn, after the harvest was finished and I was free to return to London. You spent two weeks at my home and I presented you with a parting gift when you left. It was not a tawdry gift.’

  ‘Oh, what was it?’ Had she really entertained a proposal from him, even considered accepting him? She did not even like him.

  ‘A necklace in silver and amethyst. You accepted it as a token of my regard and a promise of intent. You expressed yourself delighted with it. I cannot believe you have wiped all that from your mind.’

  She had seen that necklace among her other trinkets and assumed her father had given it to her. ‘I have not wiped it, the accident did that.’

  ‘But you remember other things, other people, your father and your cousins.’

  ‘My cousins were with me when it happened. They saved my life.’

  ‘Then I am grateful to them, but it is time they relinquished you to me and to your father. While you shut yourself away here, you will never recover your memory, there is nothing to stimulate it. I have a very roomy and comfortable coach, we shall be home in no time. And I have engaged an eminent physician to attend you. He is particularly good with…’ he paused before adding ‘…nether limbs.’

  ‘You mean legs.’ She laughed, shocking him. ‘My leg is twisted and no amount of money will change that.’ She lifted her skirt slightly. ‘See.’ He averted his gaze, but not before he had caught a glimpse of her calf, with its slightly crooked look and wasted muscle. She could see he was repulsed by it. And it came to her that he delighted in having everything perfect; that imperfection could not be tolerated. ‘And I have other scars, too. One here.’ She lifted her hair so that he could see the one on her face. ‘I believe it will fade in time, but it will not go away completely. Luckily I can hide it under my hair.’

  He stood up. ‘Miss Hemingford, it is clear to me you have been led into mischief. I put it no more strongly than that, but the young lady I once knew would never be so brazen as to— No, I cannot say it. But it is clear to me the sooner you are removed from here the better.’

  ‘Removed!’ She was furious. ‘I am not a piece of furniture or a parcel.’

  ‘I am sorry, that was badly put. I should have made more allowances for your state of health and spoken more gently. But you must know your father will be broken-hearted if I return without you.’

  ‘I say, Allworthy, that’s an unfair tactic,’ said the voice from the winged chair. ‘Playing on Jane’s love and respect for her father. If he wants to keep his heart intact, he can come here and see her. He would soon see she is not yet ready for the journey or the bustle of life in the capital. We will send he
r home the moment she expresses a desire to go.’

  ‘And what shall I say to the Countess of Carringdale?’

  ‘And who is the Countess of Carringdale?’ she asked innocently. ‘Do I know the lady?’

  ‘I cannot believe you have forgotten her as well.’ He was obviously miffed. ‘Why, she is your kinswoman and sponsor. She has given her approval of our betrothal and that counts for a great deal in Society.’

  ‘Mr Allworthy, you are giving me a headache. I truly cannot take it all in.’

  ‘Then I will withdraw until your head is better.’

  ‘Yes, please do that. In fact, go back to Norfolk.’ She smiled, sugar sweet. ‘That is where you live, is it not?’

  ‘Yes, but I shall stay at the inn tonight and return tomorrow.’

  ‘That will not serve, sir,’ she said stiffly. ‘I am conscious of the honour you do me, but I do not think we should suit.’

  He bowed, more angry than hurt; he had expended time, money and energy on his pursuit of her and he did not like having it thrown in his face when so much depended on it. ‘I will see you when you return home, perhaps you will have come to your senses by then.’

  The next moment he had gone and a slow handclap came from the chair by the hearth and the Earl poked his head round to look at her. ‘Well done, my dear.’

  Suddenly another memory slotted into place and it had nothing to do with Donald Allworthy. She had recalled why she had broken her engagement to Harry, the conversation which had so eluded her in her half-memory. Every word. The hurtful accusations, the anger and the gossip. It was a painful recollection. No wonder Harry had been reluctant to tell her about it. And now she had as good as broken off another. What would the tattlers make of that?

  She could hear them in her head. ‘Sent him about his business once, when all the poor lad did was try to better himself. Oh, it was not the best way of going about it, to be sure, but it did no one any harm. And then she ensnared that handsome Mr Allworthy and made a fool of him. Led him along, took his gifts, visited his home and was treated like a duchess, then dropped him like a hot brick when the prodigal returned a hero. Heir to an earldom is better than a squire with no title.’

  Any hope she might have had of finding happiness with Harry died within her. She could not subject him to that.

  Chapter Nine

  If Anne and Harry were delighted with her decision, they wisely hid it. Jane was still too emotional, too confused, to think clearly. Instead they set out to amuse her. Each day she grew a little stronger, each day she walked a little farther, each day a little of her memory returned. That was the part of her recovery hardest to deal with. Her memories were almost as confusing as struggling with the loss of them had been.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Harry said. They were strolling through the park surrounding the estate. She had one hand tucked into his arm, the other held a cane and in that way she was managing very well. ‘Let it come when it will, do not force it. Anne and I will be your memory.’

  ‘Dear Anne. She has been a good friend to me. And I have not always appreciated that. She is loyal, too.’ She paused, as they sat down on a fallen tree trunk side by side. ‘You know, I have remembered why I broke off our engagement.’

  ‘Oh.’ He waited for her to continue, wondering if it was the end of their idyll. Since Allworthy’s visit, they had become so close he had begun to hope, but if she still thought she had been right to end their engagement, they would be back to estrangement and bickering and he did not know how he was going to cope with that.

  ‘I was young, influenced by others. I did not understand about Mrs Clarke. Papa and Aunt Lane said she was not at all respectable and if you had visited her, then it could only mean you were as bad as she was. And there were all those horrid details in the newspaper. I didn’t understand half of it, but it was plain she entertained lovers, took money and presents from them. The Duke of York was not the only one and if the Duke could be stripped of his command, then it must be very dreadful. I was very hurt that you, who professed to love me, had resorted to visiting a…’ She paused, unwilling to voice the word a carefully raised young lady should not know. ‘I am sorry.’

  He reached out a hand and laid it over hers. ‘I am sorry too,’ he said. ‘I should have realised how much you had been manipulated.’ He wanted to say, let us start again, but decided it was too soon, she was still too vulnerable ‘Please do not think about it any more.’

  ‘Now we have forgiven each other, we can be friends, you and Anne and I.’

  Friends! That was not what he wanted, at least not all he wanted, but he did not correct her. ‘You are not unhappy about Allworthy?’

  ‘No. Do you know, he recoiled when he saw my leg, recoiled as if it would harm him? When I said we should not suit, he seemed relieved.’

  ‘Then he is an arrogant fool.’

  ‘You are kind, Harry, because you have been through it yourself, but I doubt your limp will be an impediment to marriage.’

  He laughed. ‘I should hope not!’

  ‘But it will be to me. Mr Allworthy showed me that. I have no dowry to speak of and I had only a healthy body and good sense to recommend me.’

  ‘Good sense!’ He laughed, teasing her. ‘You are the most capricious woman I know.’

  ‘I am being serious, Harry. An empty head, a broken body, a scarred face is no advertisement for a husband.’

  ‘You are being silly. I know of at least one—’

  She stood up suddenly. ‘Let us talk of it no more. It will not help me strengthen my muscles sitting here. I want to learn to dance and ride again. How long will it be before I can do that, do you think?’

  He smiled wryly and joined her to resume their walk. ‘It is up to you. If you will it, then it will happen.’

  She gave a little skip, surprised that she did not fall over. ‘Then I shall set myself a target. I shall run a few yards by the end of the week and ride next week.’

  ‘End of the week? Why not now?’ He seized her hand. ‘Come on, run.’

  Her first attempt was ungainly. Her leg felt so weak she was afraid it would snap in two if she put too much pressure on it. ‘It won’t break,’ he assured her. ‘It is probably stronger than the other one now.’

  Thirty yards later, she collapsed into his arms, triumphant. ‘I did it!’ She looked up into his face, her cheeks glowing, her eyes bright. ‘I ran.’

  ‘Yes, my love, you did.’ He held her, studying her up-tilted face, line by line, feature by feature, even the thin scar, fading more each day. There was nothing imperfect about her. He wanted to kiss her but, remembering her reaction when he had kissed her in the storm, dare not spoil the moment and contented himself with raising a hand to brush away a stray curl, looking into her eyes, trying to convey without words his love, his desire, his determination to protect her.

  ‘Harry,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ Then she reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘I owe you so much and can never repay you.’

  He rubbed the spot, bemused, then gave a wry grin. ‘You will repay me best by getting well again.’

  ‘Yes, I must have been a great trial to you and you have been so patient. But you do not have to stay, Harry, I can do it on my own now. You must be worrying about the delay to your gun project. The war will be over before it comes to fruition.’

  It was almost like being dismissed and it maddened and frustrated him. He sighed, tucking her arm beneath his elbow for the short walk back to the house. ‘So, my usefulness is done.’

  She heard the hurt in his voice. ‘I did not mean that, Harry, and you know it. I was thinking of you. I have been holding you back. And truly now that I am better, we ought not to be out without a chaperon.’

  He laughed loudly, scaring a crow pecking on the ground nearby. ‘That would be shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted, don’t you think?’

  ‘I suppose so, but I do not want your name tarnished by impropriety. You have lived down the old scandal, it would be
foolish to set the tongues wagging again.’ She paused. ‘Harry, you must get on with your life.’

  ‘Without you?’

  ‘No. I shall always be your friend.’ She attempted a laugh but it had a hollow sound. ‘I shall be outspoken, critical even, praise you and harangue you, but I shall try not to judge you. Isn’t that what friends do?’ She paused, smiling. ‘I remember something else you said. A disinterested commerce between equals, that’s what you called friendship.’

  ‘That was Oliver Goldsmith, not me. Supposing I preferred the other option, the abject intercourse between tyrant and slave?’

  ‘But you don’t, do you? You are no one’s slave, least of all mine. And I am not yours, and neither of us is a tyrant, so it will not work. Harry, we have to put the past behind us.’

  ‘I am all in favour of that.’

  ‘Then look forward.’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘Oh, do not be so downpin! You have spent weeks buoying me up, trying to keep me cheerful and optimistic, and you succeeded. Now is not the time to submit to the blue devils yourself. Make your gun. Be clever and famous and before long you will be the toast of London, next Season’s most eligible bachelor.’

  ‘And you?’ He was beginning to wish he had never taken on that assignment, never invented that gun story and put himself in a position where he could hurt her again. While she needed him he had been happy, more than that, he had been delighted, to stay, but if she insisted on managing without him, he must do something else. His grandfather, who was tolerant of him but no more, refused to countenance anything except that he should find himself a wife and hang about waiting to inherit. He did not wish the old man dead; in spite of everything he was still very fond of him and he hoped he had many more years of life in him, but the last two years had taught him idle hands found the devil’s work and he preferred to be busy. But not with guns.

  They had come on to the mown grass in front of the house. It was a large rambling old building, beautiful in the late autumn sunshine with its ivy clad walls, shining windows and strange turrets, which she supposed had been built as lookout posts when England was at war with itself. Jane had always loved visiting it and this occasion had been more enjoyable than most, even though she had been in pain some of the time and struggling against weakness and infirmity the rest. She had learned to forgive and love again, to treasure life because she had so nearly lost it. And though she did not think she would ever marry, she would learn to accept that and, like Harry, find something useful to do.