Marrying Miss Hemingford

by Nadia Nichols

  Aunt Bartrum was delighted with the new park phaeton. It had her widow’s lozenge painted on the doors— the Bartrum coat of arms enclosed in a diamond shape—dark blue velvet upholstery and two matched bays to draw it. The Major had even helped her to hire a man to act as groom and coachman. ‘We are all set to go where we please now,’ she told Anne. ‘I shall drive it myself to Captain Gosforth’s this afternoon.’

  Anne, who had returned home and spent the rest of the morning writing to Harry and Jane and to Professor Harrison, was feeling calmer and more in command of her emotions. What she had witnessed had finally brought her to her senses. She was a spinster and would remain one and falling in love at her age was the height of folly. She would never have children of her own and so she must make do with other people’s. Her nephew she adored, but he had parents who could provide all the love and comfort he needed. There were others not so fortunate and she would devote her life to those.

  She went outside to inspect the new carriage. ‘Do you think you can manage it?’

  ‘Of course, I can. You are not afraid to ride with me, are you?’

  ‘Of course not! Besides, I shall hope to take the ribbons myself for part of the journey.’

  Using prize money he had earned while in the navy, Captain Gosforth had bought a solid manor house ten miles inland from Brighton. It had a substantial acreage used for crops and a vast tract of down land on which he grazed sheep, whose wool and meat were in great demand. He called himself a farmer, but Anne was sure he had never done a day’s labour in his life; he had stewards and labourers to do it for him. As far as Aunt Bartrum was concerned, that was a virtue. ‘He is a gentleman of excellent pedigree,’ she told Anne as they bowled along in the late summer sunshine.

  ‘Related to Lord Downland, I collect you said, though I have never heard of him.’

  ‘His lordship may not be one of the top one hundred, but it is an old established family and not one to be ashamed of.’

  ‘And do you prefer him to Major Mancroft?’

  ‘My preferences are not to be considered, Anne. You must make up your own mind.’

  ‘Oh, I have.’

  ‘Already? Pray do not be hasty, let them dangle a little longer.’

  Anne laughed. Having strange and convoluted conversations with her aunt over her two suitors was infinitely preferable to thinking about Dr Tremayne and his elegant wife. It was certainly more amusing. ‘It is not me they are dangling after, but you, Aunt.’

  ‘Do not be ridiculous, Anne.’

  ‘Is it so ridiculous?’

  ‘Of course it is. I will not hear another word on the subject. Now see, you have made me lose my concentration and the horses are all over the place.’ She pulled ineffectually on the reins as the skittish beasts decided to go their own way. ‘My, they are strong, too strong for me.’

  Anne took the ribbons from her and skilfully pulled the horses up. ‘There, they are calmer now, do you want to take over again?’

  ‘No, you take them. We are nearly there.’

  Anne turned in at the gates of Bracken Farm and drew up behind a row of other carriages. Walter, who had been watching for them, hurried forward to open the carriage door and let down the step. ‘Good day to you, ladies, I trust you had an uneventful ride, though there was no need to go to the expense of obtaining a carriage. I would have been delighted to send my coach for you.’

  ‘I fancied my own conveyance,’ Aunt Bartrum said, taking his hand and stepping down. ‘I like to drive myself, you know. I often did when we were at home and my dear Bartrum was alive.’

  ‘In that case, why did you not ask me to assist you in its procurement?’

  ‘Major Mancroft was free and you were no doubt occupied in arranging today’s amusements,’ she said lightly. ‘I did not want to drag you into town needlessly.’

  ‘It would have been a pleasure, ma’am.’

  ‘Then I shall certainly call on you next time I need help, Captain.’ She gave Anne a look which that young lady could only interpret as defiant. ‘Perhaps my niece has a commission for you.’

  ‘Delighted to oblige,’ he said, turning to Anne.

  ‘I shall think of something,’ she promised him, trying not to laugh.

  Walter, as a senior naval officer, had been used to organising people and making sure everything ran smoothly and he put his talents to good use on this occasion. Mounts were provided for Aunt Bartrum and Anne and those of his guests who wished to ride to the venue. Small vehicles were organised for the elderly and those of a more timid nature, and they set off in convoy to the spot he had chosen for their picnic, where a wagon packed with good food, wine and cordial had been dispatched ahead with servants to lay it all out.

  ‘Oh, the air is so clear up here,’ Anne said to the Captain, as they rode side by side. They were high up on the Downs and she could see the sea sparkling in the distance, though Brighton itself was hidden by folds in the hills. Down there, the man she loved was probably working, looking after his poor patients. But what of the woman she had seen leaving his house? Superbly gowned in a long feather-decorated pelisse and a matching hat, she had looked out of place in that setting. Anne could not see her living there, supporting the doctor in his work. But perhaps she was about to take him away from it. Would that make fund-raising pointless? But thinking of Tildy and all those poor people in the waiting room told her it could not be pointless, even if they had to find other doctors.

  Her aunt was riding slowly, deep in conversation with Major Mancroft, no doubt talking at cross-purposes, as she seemed to be doing more and more lately. The Captain, left out in the cold, was endeavouring to interest Anne in the countryside through which they passed, waving his hand to encompass the landscape. ‘All in good heart,’ he was saying. ‘I can offer Mrs Bartrum a comfortable life, if she were to consent to be my wife.’

  Anne pulled herself back to pay attention. ‘Have you asked her?’

  ‘No, not yet. I plan to do so very soon. Do you think I may hope for a happy outcome?’

  ‘I truly cannot say, Captain. I know she holds you in high esteem, but as a husband…’ She paused. ‘I think she will be taken by surprise…’

  ‘Surely not? I have never attempted to hide my intentions.’

  Anne smiled. ‘There are none so blind as those who will not see.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean by that, Miss Hemingford?’

  ‘She is a widow who loved her husband; perhaps she has convinced herself that marrying again will betray his memory and so she is denying her true feelings.’

  ‘I suppose you may be right. I often think about my poor Lucy, but life must go on and grieving will not bring them back. I am lonely, Miss Hemingford, and I think Mrs Bartrum must be too. We are two mature people who could deal very well with each other.’

  ‘That may be the case, Captain, but please tread softly. I would not, for the world, have her alarmed.’

  ‘Indeed I will.’ He paused. ‘You know, you are a very kind-hearted young lady, and comely with it, I wonder some young blade has not snapped you up long ago.’

  Anne forced a laugh. ‘Perhaps I am too particular. And marriage is a big step to take. I think I would need to know someone very well before agreeing to spend the rest of my life with him. It is all a gamble…’

  ‘And have you never been tempted to take a gamble?’

  ‘Perhaps when I was young I might have done so, but it came to nothing and I am inclined to the view that it was not meant to be,’ she said, realising as she spoke that if Dr Tremayne had been free and if they had continued to enjoy the rapport they had established before the arrival of his wife, then she would have gambled her all. ‘I have my books and my charitable work and many good friends.’

  ‘Speaking of charitable work, have you thought any more about Tremayne’s hospital?’

  ‘Indeed I have.’ She paused and then took a deep calming breath before continuing. ‘But I wonder if he will want to go on with the project now his wife has a
rrived.’

  ‘His wife, Miss Hemingford?’

  ‘The lady who arrived at the ball late last evening was his wife, was she not? The Master of Ceremonies called her Mrs Tremayne.’

  ‘Oh, no, Miss Hemingford, you are mistaken. The lady is indeed Mrs Tremayne, but she is his sister-in-law, his brother’s wife. As far as I know, Dr Tremayne is unmarried.’

  She knew her mouth had dropped open and quickly shut it again. He was not married; he was single, free, unencumbered. She felt like singing it aloud, but as the tableau she had witnessed earlier that day impinged itself on her mind’s eye, she realised it had not been a sisterly kiss, a peck on the cheek, but lips on lips, bodies pressed together, and it had gone on for a long time. How could an honourable man behave like that towards his brother’s wife? He would not. Only a cur would do so. It gave her a disgust of him. ‘Then why did he not stay and speak to her at the ball?’

  ‘I have no idea, Miss Hemingford.’

  Almost as if unwilling to pursue the subject, he left her to round up the stragglers, calling to them to keep together or they would miss the turn. Anne rode on and joined her aunt and the Major. ‘You seem agitated,’ her aunt said, looking closely at her. ‘What has the gallant Captain been saying to you?’

  ‘Nothing, Aunt.’

  ‘Nothing? I cannot believe that you have spent the last half-hour riding at his side and he has not broached the subject of marriage. Surely he hinted?’

  ‘Hinted?’ queried the Major, a broad smile lighting his face. ‘Do you mean to say Gosforth is contemplating offering for Miss Hemingford?’

  ‘Why should he not?’ Mrs Bartrum demanded, apparently unaware of the reason for his surprise. ‘She will make an excellent wife. Beautiful, intelligent, sensible, not to mention wealthy. The Captain could do no better.’ She paused. ‘Anne, why are you looking at me like that? I am perfectly sincere.’

  ‘Oh, Aunt Bartrum, you are putting me to the blush. Pray desist.’

  Mrs Bartrum turned from Anne to the Major. ‘What do you think of that, sir? She is also modest.’

  ‘I am sure you are in the right of it,’ he answered.

  ‘Are you not inclined to make a push to offer for her yourself?’

  ‘Aunt Bartrum, I shall never speak to you again, if you continue this conversation,’ Anne put in sharply. ‘Now you are embarrassing Major Mancroft.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘I am flattered to think that Mrs Bartrum considers me good enough for her delightful niece…’

  Anne could not stand any more. She excused herself and rode off alone. She had no idea how her aunt was going to extricate herself from the bumblebath into which she had toppled herself, but she supposed the gentlemen would make their offers, Aunt Georgie would be startled, horrified perhaps, and would either consider one of them or turn them both down. Whichever it was, it had no bearing on Anne herself, whose head was filled with another man altogether. She could not get him out of her mind; he had been there from the moment she had first seen him, through the misery of thinking he was married, until now, when she had been told he was single. If only she could get the memory of that kiss out of her mind.

  She was too stirred up to ride demurely and she could tell her mount was itching for exercise. She set off at a gallop, flying over the soft turf, climbing ever higher, until the wind caught her, billowed her habit out behind her, swept away her hat and lifted her hair from its combs. Only when she pulled up on the brow of the hill and looked back, did she realise she was alone. The others had turned off the path and were lost to sight. Sighing, she turned back to find them.

  For all but Anne, the picnic was a great success; everyone ate too much, some even fell asleep in the sunshine afterwards, others strolled on the grass quietly exchanging news and gossip. The defeated Napoleon Bonaparte had been banished to the island of St Helena from where, it was confidently hoped, he would be unable to escape as he had done at Elba, and Princess Charlotte, the Regent’s only legitimate offspring, had, so they said, fallen in love with Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg.

  ‘He is a nobody,’ Lady Mancroft said. ‘Only the third son of a duke. How can he be considered as a suitable husband for the heir to the throne?’

  ‘Does it matter, if they love each other?’ Anne asked. ‘I think too much is made of rank.’

  ‘How can you say so?’ demanded her ladyship. ‘Bloodlines are what holds society together. Without them we should have the chimneysweep marrying the heiress and their offspring would inherit the traits of the sweep. The stock would be diminished as a result. And how could such a one as a chimneysweep look after a great estate?’

  ‘You mean we are all like cattle, to be chosen for our breeding.’

  ‘Well, breeding will out, there is no doubt of that. Those born to a position of power know how to use it…’

  ‘And abuse it too. The chimneysweep might look after his people better than a spoiled aristocrat who thinks of nothing but fine clothes, plentiful food and gambling. Having been poor himself, he would understand the needs of the poor.’

  ‘Anne!’ Mrs Bartrum protested. ‘How can you say so?’

  ‘It’s all the fault of that doctor fellow,’ Lord Mancroft put in. ‘Arriving at the ball unannounced like that. Miss Hemingford should never have stood up with him. He has quite turned her head.’

  Anne felt the colour flare in her face. ‘Dr Tremayne is a good man…’

  ‘But not a gentleman.’

  ‘Oh, but he is,’ Walter said quietly. ‘Or I would not have asked him to be my guest.’

  ‘Your guest?’ they queried, astonished.

  ‘Indeed yes.’

  ‘Really?’ Lady Mancroft queried, while Anne held her breath. They had already forgotten her in their curiosity, but now their gossiping tongues were aimed at the doctor. She did not want them to start them wagging against him, but at the same time she was as anxious to know as much about him as possible. She told herself that if he were to be given money to run a hospital, his character, background and qualifications were relevant. ‘Then why is he practising medicine?’ her ladyship continued. ‘And why here, among the vermin of the old quarter?’

  ‘I asked him that myself,’ Anne said, disliking her ladyship’s reference to the poor as vermin. ‘He said it was because the need was there. It still is and I, for one, shall contribute to the fund to build a hospital. It behoves those of us who have the means to help those who do not.’

  She did not notice Walter’s look of relief as the company began to debate the pros and cons of having a new hospital and he was saved having to answer any more questions about his knowledge of the doctor.

  But Anne was not spared questions, nor the peal rung over her by her aunt on the return journey.

  ‘Anne, I am sure I do not wish to curb your generous spirit and I shall support whatever fund-raising efforts are made for a hospital, but did you need to air your radical views quite so vehemently? If you are not careful, it will give Lord and Lady Mancroft a disgust of you and the Major, for all his years, is still guided by his parents. He will not offer for you, if you do not act with a little more delicacy.’

  ‘Aunt, I do not want him to offer for me. Indeed, I am sure he has no intention of doing so. I am second-best.’

  ‘I never heard such a tarradiddle. Whatever gave you that idea?’

  ‘He told me so himself.’

  ‘Oh.’ She was silent for some time, then added with a sigh, ‘Then we shall have to fall back on Captain Gosforth.’

  ‘No. Aunt, please do not refine upon it. I do not want either gentleman.’

  ‘There is no one else,’ her aunt said, ignoring Anne’s plea, ‘except Sir Gerald, and I do not think he would serve…’

  ‘No, he certainly would not.’

  It was the tremor in her voice that alerted her aunt to the fact that something was wrong. She turned to look closely into Anne’s face. ‘My dear, whatever is the matter?’

  ‘Oh, Aunt Georgie, please do not quiz me
.’

  ‘But how am I to help you, if you will not tell me what is wrong?’

  ‘There is nothing wrong.’

  ‘And that is a whisker if ever I heard one. I am sorry I scolded you. I am only thinking of your good.’

  ‘I know, Aunt, I know.’ She paused. ‘But you agree with Lady Mancroft, don’t you? Like should marry like…’

  ‘Anne, surely you have not been so foolish as to contemplate an unsuitable alliance?’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Doctor Tremayne! Oh, Anne!’

  ‘How is he unsuitable? Captain Gosforth assured us he is a gentleman.’

  ‘So he may be, but one who has chosen a different path. Anne, you are the granddaughter of an earl, sister to one, and though I said you should not aim too high, I did not mean you should set your sights so low as to consider a mere physician. It is not to be thought of.’

  ‘Why are you so against him?’ Anne cried. ‘What did he tell you about himself when you consulted him? Was it something very dreadful?’

  ‘He said nothing, but then why should he?’

  ‘Mrs Tremayne is not his wife, you know. She is his sister-in-law.’

  ‘So I understand, but what is that to the point? He is not eligible, you must realise that.’ She paused, but when Anne made no comment, added, ‘Has he said anything?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Most certainly not. I am not such a bufflehead.’

  ‘Then nothing need be said. I would suggest leaving Brighton, but that would cause comment.’ She patted Anne’s hand. ‘Having been the instigator of the idea to raise funds for a hospital, it would look strange if you backed out now, so the best thing I can do is to support it wholeheartedly myself, then we can enter into it together and no one will think anything of it. Do you agree?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt. My feelings do not come into that at all. I want to help those in need, just as Dr Tremayne does. We have that in common, if nothing else.’

  ‘Good,’ her aunt said complacently. ‘We must carry on and I beg you to think seriously about marrying Captain Gosforth, if the Major’s affections are engaged elsewhere.’