Marrying Miss Hemingford

by Nadia Nichols

  She was amused rather than angry. ‘Then let us march on together. There is the Grand Ball next Monday, that will make a start.’

  They walked on towards his house, now one of the few still standing in the street. Where would he go when it was demolished? Cliff House could not be rebuilt in time. ‘I will find temporary accommodation,’ he said, as they picked their way over rubble. ‘Someone will take pity on me.’

  Anne knew better than to offer financial help; he was too proud to take it from her, but she could send an anonymous donation to the fund, though not so substantial as to arouse suspicion. The whole idea of the hospital from the start was that it was to be funded by public money. The people of Brighton also had their pride.

  She stayed only long enough to exchange pleasantries with Professor Harrison, who had been true to his word and was working with the patients, then set off for home.

  Mrs Bartrum was entertaining Lady Mancroft and the Major. The Major was looking rather put out and silent, while his mother was trying to quiz Mrs Bartrum about the fire. ‘There has not been so much excitement in town since the Regent cast off Mrs Fitzherbert to marry Caroline,’ she was saying as Anne came into the room ‘And what a disaster that turned out to be.’

  ‘Ah, there you are, Anne,’ her aunt said, apparently relieved to have support. ‘I have been telling her ladyship that we do not know how the fire started. Have you learned any more this morning?’

  ‘No, but Mrs Smith is adamant she had no fire in the grate and two men were seen running away down the cliffs to a boat.’

  ‘Arson?’ queried the Major, emerging from his brown study.

  ‘Doctor Tremayne thinks it may be.’

  ‘But who would do such a thing?’ Mrs Bartrum queried. ‘Having a hospital can surely not harm anyone. It was meant for the benefit of all.’

  ‘Smollett,’ he said. ‘I’ll wager it was revenge. He was very angry…’

  ‘Oh, surely not?’ Anne said. ‘If he wanted revenge, he would surely have taken it against me. I am the one who accused him.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Mrs Bartrum put both hands to her heart. ‘He must have thought you were in the house. Oh, Anne!’

  ‘This is pure conjecture,’ Anne said, refusing to be rattled. ‘You are no doubt maligning the man. And you cannot accuse people without proof.’

  ‘All the same, I think I will make some enquiries,’ the Major went on. ‘In the meantime, Miss Hemingford, please do not go out without an escort.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Anne said. ‘No one is out to harm me. It is the hospital they attacked, if they attacked it, and we cannot even be sure of that, and we mean to rebuild it as soon as we can raise more funds.’

  ‘But will the people give again, do you think?’ Lady Mancroft questioned.

  ‘If it is put to them that to give up would be to waste what had already been donated. We must simply redouble our efforts. The Grand Ball will afford us an opportunity to judge the mood of people.’

  ‘Charles, you must speak to the Regent again,’ her ladyship commanded him. ‘If we could obtain his public support…’

  ‘More than that, his financial backing,’ Anne added.

  ‘To be sure, with his backing, we might encourage the more well-breeched among our friends to be generous.’

  ‘I will do what I can. It depends on his mood…’

  ‘Oh, then I will do it,’ his mother said, with a light laugh. ‘He is known to be susceptible to the more mature woman and I can turn on the charm when I choose.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady,’ Anne said. ‘You are kindness itself.’

  It was only after they had gone that her aunt said, ‘I wonder if she will be as kind when she discovers I have rejected her son?’

  ‘He asked you again? I thought you said he had accepted your first refusal?’

  ‘I thought he had, but he arrived today before her ladyship in order to press me. Anne, I had to be most strict with him.’

  ‘And is he convinced?’

  ‘Oh, yes, he is now.’ She blushed prettily. ‘I told him I had accepted Captain Gosforth.’

  ‘Aunt Georgie! Is this true?’

  ‘Yes. He was here earlier.’

  ‘Then let me felicitate you and wish you happy.’ Anne left her seat to hug her aunt. ‘I am so happy for you. When shall you announce it?’

  ‘Oh it does not need announcing, we shall simply tell our friends when we meet. I do not want to puff myself up when you are still single. Everyone will think me a very poor matchmaker when I look to myself before my charge.’

  ‘Gammon! I am as pleased as punch.’

  ‘Anne, I wish—’

  ‘No more, Aunt.’

  ‘You are still determined to help raise more money for Dr Tremayne and the hospital, are you?’ she asked, with a strange switch of direction.

  ‘Yes. I cannot desert him now, even if it means staying in Brighton a little longer than we planned, but I do not suppose you mind that now, when there is so much to keep you here.’

  Aunt Bartrum laughed. ‘Yes, but I must go back to Cumbria before long to settle my affairs. There is the house… I can see no reason to keep it. Unless…’ She paused. ‘Would you like it? It would delight me to sign it over to you, to give you a home of your own.’

  ‘Oh, Aunt, how can you be so generous to me when I cause you nothing but grief?’

  ‘My dearest girl, I cannot change you and it was wicked of me to think I could. But if you are determined to remain single…’ She let the word die on the air.

  Anne loved the house in Cumbria. She and Harry had spent many happy times staying with their aunt there. It would make a wonderful bolthole for when all this fuss about the hospital died down. If Justin did not want her for a wife, and it seemed he did not, she would need somewhere to lick her wounds. ‘Oh, Aunt Georgie, thank you, thank you so much. But do you mind if we leave the decision until after the ball?’

  The ball was becoming the kingpin of everything: the fund-raising for the hospital, judging the mood of the donors, and her hope for a happy outcome with Justin. He had to be made to see that she cared more for him than protocol and etiquette and whether society approved. He evidently did not care for such things himself, so why should she? If only Mrs Tremayne would go home and leave them alone.

  Sophie had no intention of leaving well alone. While pretending to commiserate, she was triumphant. ‘I told you it would not work,’ she told Justin when she met him on The Steine the next day. He had been to visit a patient who was too ill to visit his consulting rooms and was on his way back. She had evidently been shopping because she was followed at a distance by a manservant and her maid, both laden with packages. ‘Now the house has been destroyed, you will perhaps come to your senses.’

  ‘I was never more in possession of my senses.’

  Her false laughter trilled. ‘You cannot possibly hope to raise all that money again. People are not so foolish as to give twice and, without it, how can you hope to go on?’

  ‘Nevertheless, contrary to what you told Miss Hemingford, I intend to stick with it.’

  ‘So she told you, did she? I thought I had rattled her. But why don’t you ask her for the money? She has so much she would not even miss it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Your stubborn pride, is it?’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Naturally, I say so. I know you, you see. You would like to come home with me, but your stubborn pride will not allow you to admit it.’

  ‘Rubbish! I am staying in Brighton.’

  ‘Are you?’ she said, smiling slyly from beneath the brim of her fashionable bonnet. ‘Your hospital is no more and your house is being pulled down. There is nothing left for you here.’

  ‘Go home,’ he said wearily. ‘Go before you are publicly shamed. You paid no heed when I warned you against Captain Smollett and now he will be under examination, might even be drummed out of the regiment.’

  ‘What for?’

  He knew he h
ad startled her and gave her a wry smile. ‘Arson. And the disgrace will encompass those around him, including you.’

  She did not need to ask him if he were referring to the fire at Cliff House. ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Perhaps because you asked him to. What I cannot understand is why. You surely did not think it would change anything, did you?’

  ‘Why?’ She flung back her head, her voice a squeak of hysteria. ‘Because I need you at Sevenelms. It is where you belong.’

  ‘I am not interested in your needs. Let Andrew take care of them.’

  ‘He can’t,’ she shrieked. ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘What?’ He could not have been more shocked if she had plunged a knife into his gut.

  ‘It’s true.’ Her voice dropped to its usual pitch. ‘You are the heir now and I—’

  He seized her shoulders as if he would like to shake her, but, realising what he was doing, dropped his hands to his sides. ‘Is this the truth?’

  ‘Of course it is. Why would I lie about such a thing?’

  ‘When? How?’

  ‘His horse threw him…’

  ‘And you left my father to his grief?’

  ‘Only to fetch you home.’

  ‘But you did not tell me the real reason. You taunted me, threatened me, humiliated me, did everything except tell me the truth…’ He paused suddenly. ‘You said you were not happy in your marriage.’

  ‘I wasn’t. I wanted you.’

  He gave a cracked laugh, as the implication of what she had said suddenly hit him. ‘I am the heir and you are desperate to be the Viscountess. I see it all now. Well, it will avail you naught. Good day to you, madam.’ And he strode away, almost running in his anxiety to go to his father.

  They did not have to wait for the ball to judge the mood of the populace. Suddenly Dr Tremayne and his hospital achieved the status of a crusade and donations began to pour in. Even the Regent, his eye to his waning popularity, sent a generous donation by Lady Mancroft. As soon as she heard, Anne hurried to tell Justin, only to discover he had left Brighton. ‘He had to go home,’ Mrs Armistead told her.

  ‘Did he say when he was coming back?’

  ‘No. It was sudden. Doctor Harrison is here. Shall you see him?’

  ‘No, do not disturb him.’ She had never felt so miserable. Mrs Tremayne was right. Justin had abandoned the project at the first hurdle, not only abandoned the project and his patients, but her. Just when she was beginning to hope. She felt let down, humiliated, foolish.

  She did not want to go home; her aunt always knew when there was something wrong and would be bound to quiz her about it. She was fighting tears and needed to be more in control before she faced anyone. Turning away from the town, she walked up the road to Cliff House. She had been happy there, had even imagined living there with Justin, his wife and helper, content to be simply Dr and Mrs Tremayne. Aunt Bartrum and Harry would have accepted it in the end. But it was not to be.

  She stood and looked at the blackened shell of the house, living again that first visit to it, when she and Justin had roamed all over it, their hands entwined, their wet bathing clothes sticking to their skins, revealing every contour of their bodies. She relived every moment, the kisses and the look in his eyes as he searched her face; his heroic actions at the time of the fire, his misery when they thought they had lost Tildy. It had brought them closer, as close as two people could be, and when Tildy was found alive, they had cried together with sheer relief. And since then… She thought she had persuaded him to carry on, but she had failed. He had left her without a word of farewell.

  Slowly she made her way back down the hill to the town, her spine stiffening as she walked. The hospital must not fail. She would redouble her efforts to get the project up and running again. They would find other doctors, nurses, helpers. And when that was done, she would retreat to Lake Windermere and nurse her broken heart, her shattered self-esteem; perhaps, one day, it might heal sufficiently for her to face the world again. But she doubted it.

  Sevenelms had not changed. It was still the same solid mansion, set in several acres of parkland, where he had played as a boy, always in the shadow of his older brother. He had not minded that. He had loved his brother. Until that last final quarrel. And that had been Sophie’s fault. She had used him, consented to be his wife so that he would bring her to Sevenelms and she could worm her way into Andrew’s affections and into his bed. It had all been planned. And now Andrew was dead and she was still scheming.

  The journey had not been an easy one. Unless he were prepared to take the rumbling slow coaches that went from town to town, which would have taken several days, or bespoke a post-chaise, which was horrendously expensive, there was no direct route from Brighton to Exeter, the nearest town to his father’s estate. In the end he had taken one of the frequent stage coaches to London and arrived there at six in the evening. He had only enough time to eat a quick meal before making his way to the Bull and Mouth where he boarded the overnight mail to Exeter. He had slept very little in the jolting coach as it sped through the dark countryside, stopping only long enough to change the horses, in which time the passengers were expected to stretch their legs, relieve themselves and grab whatever food could be eaten on the move. He was stiff and ragged with tiredness when he left it at two the following afternoon. Nevertheless he would not rest, but immediately hired a hack to take him the last half-dozen miles, dreading what he would find.

  He dismounted at the solid front door and lifted the knocker, but the door was flung open before he could use it. ‘Master Justin! I saw a horseman coming up the drive and knew it was you.’ The old butler, who had known both boys since they were in leading strings, was beaming with pleasure.

  ‘Hallo, Jarvis.’ Justin stepped inside the hall. ‘Where is my father?’

  ‘In the conservatory. His lordship will be overjoyed. And Master Andrew too.’

  ‘Andrew?’ He was puzzled. ‘Andrew is…’

  ‘Why, getting better every day, Master Justin, and now you are home he will soon be himself again.’

  She had lied. Why? Just to get him home? He was sure that was not all.

  He followed the butler to the large glass adjunct to the house that housed hothouse plants from all over the world, brought back by the Viscount when he was a naval officer. ‘I’ll announce myself,’ he said, pushing open the door.

  The room was over warm and smelled of damp earth. His father was standing by a large fern, a pair of clippers in his hand. Andrew was in a bath chair, his legs covered by a rug. His face was pale and he was a great deal thinner than the robust man he had been. They both looked round as he entered. ‘Justin!’ they said in unison.

  He smiled as his father flung down the clippers and hurried to embrace him. ‘Oh, my boy, how glad I am to have you home.’

  He returned his father’s embrace and then went to shake Andrew by the hand. ‘What happened to you?’ He tried to keep his voice light. ‘Take a tumble, did you?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘It was all the fault of that wanton he married,’ their father put in. ‘How we were taken in by her!’

  Justin pulled up a chair and sat down beside his brother. ‘What happened?’

  ‘We had a quarrel. We were always fighting. She was being her usual vicious self, taunting me with my failure to get her with child, though what sort of mother she would have made, I do not know. I slammed out of the house. My mare was already saddled because we had intended to ride out that morning. I simply jumped on her back and rode off without checking the girth. It had been cut almost through. By the time I had reached the wall, the one that separates the park from the moor—you know where I mean, we often jumped it when we were young— I put the horse to the wall, the saddle slipped and I was thrown…’

  ‘He broke his leg, but that was not the worst,’ their father added. ‘He was unconscious for days with an injury to his head. The doctor despaired of him, told us he would never recover.’


  ‘Sophie said he was dead.’

  ‘You have seen her?’ Andrew queried in surprise.

  ‘Yes, she came to Brighton. She had been there over two weeks before she told me. She said you were dead and I was the heir and she wanted me back…’

  ‘Good God! Did she think I would let her over the threshold after what she has done?’ the old man said. ‘We cannot prove she cut the girth, but she was seen near Andrew’s horse only minutes before he set out.’

  ‘I imagine she thought if I were with her, you would allow it,’ Justin said. He had had plenty of time to think about it while he had been travelling. Sophie had meant to seduce him, make him fall in love with her all over again and then she would accompany him home to a grieving household, pretending all she had wanted was to bring the family together again.

  ‘She is devious,’ Andrew said. ‘I learned that over the years. How I wish you had never brought her to Sevenelms.’

  ‘You do not wish it any more than I do. But I am happy to see you are making a recovery, Andrew. No one regretted our quarrel more than I did.’

  ‘I know. We were both duped.’

  ‘Where is she now?’ the Viscount asked.

  ‘In Brighton, wreaking her usual havoc.’ He went on to tell them all about his work and the hospital project, which he had every intention of returning to. ‘It is what I do best,’ he said. ‘And now I know I am not needed here…’

  ‘Of course you are needed.’

  ‘But not as the heir. Andrew is alive and recovering. I shall still be the second son and that pleases me more than I can say. But we shall see each other often, I promise. Will you do me the honour of attending the opening of the new hospital? There is someone I should like you to meet.’

  ‘Oh?’ The Viscount lifted one dark brow in a query. ‘There is a lady?’

  ‘A very lovely lady. One who is compassionate, caring, hardworking and I love her very much…’

  ‘Lucky man,’ Andrew said.

  ‘I have not yet declared myself and she may not have me.’

  ‘Why not?’