Marrying Miss Hemingford

by Nadia Nichols

  ‘Oh, there are many reasons, Sophie’s poison, my way of earning a living, the fact that she is a Hemingford, sister to the new Earl of Bostock, and is guarded by an aunt determined to make a suitable match for her.’

  ‘All of which can be overcome if she wishes it,’ Andrew said. ‘I pray for your happiness. I was the one who made you miserable. I was blind…’

  ‘Think no more of it. I am content with my life. But what about you?’

  ‘I shall sue for divorce. I may not succeed and, even if I do, I shall probably never marry again, so it will be left to you to keep the line going.’

  ‘I am sorry for that, but you are still young. There are good women in the world, they are not all like Sophie, though there was a time when I thought so.’

  ‘You will be anxious to return to Brighton?’

  ‘Yes. Tomorrow. But I will come back. Often now.’

  They spent a pleasant afternoon and evening, talking over old times and their hopes for the future, until exhaustion overwhelmed Justin and he begged leave to retire. The next day he set off for the long journey home. Brighton was home now and the people there his people and there was Anne… He was suddenly reminded of the Grand Ball. In his anxiety to reach Devon, he had forgotten all about it. But it was to take place the very next night. Could he possibly be back in time?

  Everyone who was anyone was expected to attend the ball. Hearing that the Regent might attend, people had been vying for tickets and cheerfully paying over the odds to obtain them. It promised to be the occasion of the year. Aunt Bartrum and Lady Mancroft were in a flutter of excitement and both the Misses Barry were almost delirious with anticipation.

  Anne sat at her mirror in her shift and petticoat while Amelia brushed her hair and put it up in swirls of thick loops at the back of her head, fastening it with jewelled combs and a small stand of feathers. Her ballgown was spread out on the bed, ready for her to slip over her head. It was made of forest-green taffeta, with a full-length train falling from the back of the high waist. The hem of the train and the skirt was decorated with pleated satin in the same colour, which also filled the low décolletage. The sleeves were short and puffed. Tonight she was putting off the hoyden, the woman who wielded a feather duster, to become the society belle.

  She could not look forward to it with quite the excitement she might have done if Justin had been escorting her. This was for show only, to let everyone know that she was the grand lady, above the vulgar emotions of those lower down the social scale. She smiled a little ruefully as Amelia tugged at a stray curl that would not stay in place. She could rise above disappointment and rebuild her life, just as Cliff House would be rebuilt. It would not be the same, nothing would ever be the same, but it would be functional, useful. The sweet ghost had gone, had done her good deed, had saved Tildy and disappeared for ever. Even Tildy had accepted that.

  ‘She had to go away,’ the child had said when Anne had questioned her. Anne would go too, but not before she had seen the project to fruition and witnessed her aunt’s marriage to Captain Gosforth. She must remain strong until then.

  ‘There!’ Amelia said, laying down her brush and comb. ‘How is that?’

  Anne surveyed herself in the mirror. The coiffure was a masterpiece, but the face beneath it was a little too pale, the eyes a little too bright. She pinched her cheeks to give them some colour and gnawed at her lips. ‘Thank you, my dear. You have worked a miracle.’

  ‘Fustian! You are a natural beauty. You will turn everyone’s head.’

  Except the one she wanted to turn. He had left her. She stood up so that Amelia could slip the gown over her head. It fitted perfectly around her bosom and fell in rustling folds to her feet. There were white lace gloves, a jewelled reticule, white silk stockings and satin shoes that, together with her emerald necklace, completed her ensemble.

  ‘Time to go,’ she said, picking up a silk-fringed shawl and taking a last look at her reflection before making her way downstairs where her aunt and their escorts waited. She had heard them arrive a few minutes previously.

  Her aunt, magnificent in deep rose pink, with a satin turban and feathers, was standing beside Captain Gosforth, who was clad in a simple black evening suit, enlivened by a yellow brocade waistcoat and a complicated lace cravat, whose folds quite obliterated his shirt front. Major Mancroft, who was to be Anne’s escort, was in the blue-and-silver dress uniform of the Regent’s own regiment. He bowed to Anne.

  ‘Miss Hemingford, you quite take my breath away. Such loveliness! I shall be the envy of every man there.’

  She smiled and took his arm. ‘Shall we go?’

  It became apparent as soon as they entered that the ball was going to be the great success everyone had predicted. The Castle ballroom was packed with excited noisy people, all dressed in the most extravagant gowns and evening suits money could buy. Jewellery glittered at the ladies’ throats, on their arms and in their hair. Chicken-skin fans fluttered, quizzing glasses were raised and lowered as each new entrant was examined and commented upon. Men stood beside their ladies or, leaving them to gossip in little groups, stood apart, watching with amusement.

  But there was no sign of Justin. Anne, looking about her, admitted she had been hoping against hope that he might return, even though she had been told Mrs Tremayne had also left town. But it had been a vain hope. Everyone who was anyone in the town, with the exception of the Regent, was there. It was a magnificent climax to their fund-raising and she was congratulated by many people on the organisation, the music, the flowers, the sumptuous food, but their praise meant nothing when all she really wanted was a kind look, a smile of understanding, a few words of love from a certain gentleman who had not deigned to be present.

  The orchestra was playing for the next dance. The Major turned and bowed. ‘Miss Hemingford, will you do me the honour?’

  She rose, smiling a little stiffly, and took his hand to be led into a country dance. Her aunt was smiling broadly when they returned to her at the end of it. ‘You make a handsome couple,’ she murmured to her niece. ‘Everyone has been saying so.’

  Anne laughed. ‘Do you never give up?’

  ‘Oh, I have. I was simply making an observation.’

  The evening wore on. Anne did not want for partners and was not left to sit out any of the dances. She was glad of that. To sit, like a wilting flower, waiting for someone to take pity on her would have been too mortifying.

  ‘Miss Hemingford, did I tell you how handsome you are looking tonight?’ Charles said during their second dance of the evening.

  ‘Yes, Major, I believe you did.’

  ‘And have I said how much I admire you?’

  She looked up at him, startled. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Oh, indeed, yes. More than that. I have developed a deep affection for you.’

  She wondered what was coming next. Surely he did not mean to propose? But it seemed he did, for he whirled her out of the centre of the ballroom into a quiet alcove, where he stopped and took both her hands. ‘Miss Hemingford, will you do me the greatest kindness of all and marry me?’

  She searched his face, wanting to laugh, to tell him how ridiculous the idea was, but she could not hurt him by mocking him. ‘Major, you have quite taken my breath away,’ she said.

  ‘Will you?’

  ‘But I thought you were quite set on marrying Aunt Bartrum.’

  ‘I thought I was to begin with, but she made me realise, in the gentlest of ways, that it would not do. She convinced me that I had been mistaken in wishing it and that my affection for her was that towards an aunt, no more, and if I looked into my own heart I would acknowledge it and realise that it was you I have wanted all along. She said she would be very happy to be my aunt.’

  Anne was having a hard job keeping a straight face, but he was so in earnest, she made the effort. She wanted to tell him that she was impervious to her aunt’s matchmaking, but that would have been unkind. ‘Major, you do me great honour…’

  ‘You w
ill say yes?’ His face was all eagerness and Anne wondered how a man of nearly thirty could behave in such a boyish fashion. It was his mother, of course. She had never released the leading strings, allowed him to grow up. If he had served in battle and not at home, he might have been hardened. But he would make someone a gentle wife. If his mother let him.

  She smiled. ‘No, Major, I think not.’

  ‘Do not dismiss me out of hand. Give yourself a little time. After all, you cannot wish to remain single all your life. You were born to be a wife and mother—’

  ‘How do you know that?’ she asked sharply. ‘Could it be that my aunt said it?’

  ‘Perhaps she did, but she has the right of it, has she not?’

  ‘How can I tell?’

  ‘Marry me and you will soon see.’

  ‘No, thank you, Major. Now, I think we should go back to the ballroom before tongues start wagging. There has been enough of that already.’

  Reluctantly he led her back to her aunt and then took himself off in a miff.

  ‘Well?’ her aunt demanded.

  ‘I am out of countenance with you, Aunt Georgie. How could you have put me to the blush like that and mortified the poor man so? You said you had given up matchmaking.’

  ‘But, Anne, he is your last chance.’

  ‘Then so be it,’ she said, looking up as a stir by the door indicated a latecomer had arrived. She wondered idly if it was the Regent, but then the crowds suddenly parted and she saw him.

  Their eyes met and held. The people and music faded to nothing. There was no one in the room but the two of them, reaching out to each other across yards of shining floor, drinking in the sight of each other like thirsty animals at a desert pool. Neither moved for several seconds. And then he began to walk towards her, his steps slow and measured, his limp hardly showing. He was dressed in his naval dress uniform, just as he had been at the first ball. She waited, though she longed to run to meet him and throw herself into his arms.

  He seemed to take an age to reach her and never in all that time did his gaze shift from hers. And then he was standing over her, bowing, and she suddenly became aware that the musicians were playing a waltz. He reached out one hand. ‘Miss Hemingford, may I?’

  Without speaking, she took his hand and stepped towards him and then they were dancing, just as they had that first time, their feet moving in rhythm, their bodies swaying in unison, their eyes still searching each other’s faces. And all she could think was, He has come back. He has not deserted me. She felt so languid, so boneless; it was as if she were floating on the sea.

  The dance had nearly ended when he broke the spell. ‘You are quiet, Anne.’

  ‘What is there to say?’

  ‘What indeed?’

  ‘Time for talking later. I am enjoying the dance.’

  ‘But we must talk.’

  ‘Oh, indeed we must. Not now.’

  The music came to an end. He bowed. She curtsied. He offered her his arm and they strolled back to Aunt Bartrum. ‘Aunt, look who is here,’ she said.

  Her aunt looked from one to the other. ‘And about time too. Where have you been, young man? We had quite given up on you.’

  ‘I had to return home. My brother had an accident…’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry for that. But he is recovered?’

  ‘Yes, praise be.’

  ‘Had you heard that Captain Smollett has admitted to his part in the fire and has been cashiered?’

  ‘Yes, Professor Harrison informed me when I arrived home. He said he had gone abroad and taken Mrs Tremayne with him.’

  Anne, to whom this was welcome news, was glad that it was her aunt doing the quizzing—she did not think she could find the voice to do it. All she wanted was to go somewhere quiet where she could be alone with Justin. She had made up her mind, that if he kissed her she would succumb and let him do what he willed with her. She would taste the forbidden fruit, even if they parted immediately afterwards. She would be an old maid who had known the love of a man. And that would be her triumph, not her shame.

  A crowded ballroom was not the place to indulge such fantasies, especially as something was happening at the door. A low murmur turned into applause and the crowds gave way again and this time it really was for the Regent.

  He was enormously fat and waddled rather than walked the length of the room. The jacket of his uniform was stretched tight across his chest, which was heavy with decorations. But he had a charming smile. Every man bowed, every woman dropped into a deep curtsy as he made his slow progress. He was met by Lady Mancroft, who sank to the floor. ‘Your Highness, you honour us.’

  He reached forward to raise her up. ‘My pleasure, dear lady. I wish to meet the doctor who began it all.’

  Her ladyship was about to say he was not present when she spotted him standing with his hand on Anne’s as she clung to his sleeve. ‘Doctor Tremayne.’

  Almost reluctantly he moved forward to be presented. ‘I am merely the figurehead,’ he said when the formalities were done with. ‘Miss Hemingford…’

  ‘Ah, Miss Hemingford.’ He turned to Anne, who came forward and dropped a curtsy. ‘We have met before, I think. Your brother, the Earl, was in my regiment. Distinguished himself. Give him my best and tell him I hope to see him at court before long.’ And with that he waddled out again to more applause.

  There was a concerted sigh as he disappeared and then the Master of Ceremonies called for silence, Lord and Lady Mancroft stepped up on to the platform where the musicians made way for them and his lordship made a speech in which he said the evening and other donations had raised two thousand pounds, an unhoped-for amount, and work could begin on rebuilding the hospital straight away. After the applause had died, he praised those who had made it possible, particularly his wife who had done sterling work, and encouraged the others to keep at it. Anne did not mind in the least who received the accolades. She was happy that Justin was back with her and tomorrow, they would talk, everything would be explained and after that… She tried not to think of what might happen after that in case she should be disappointed.

  ‘I plan to swim in the morning,’ he whispered, when the ball came to an end and it was time for everyone to go home.

  ‘Do you know, I had the same idea.’

  ‘Two minds with but one thought.’ He lifted the back of her hand to his lips. ‘Until then.’

  He was sitting on a rock in the cove, waiting for her. She had hardly slept a wink and as soon as daylight filtered through the curtains of her room, she left her bed, dressed in her simplest grey dress and crept from the house. There was a slight on shore breeze, but not enough to deter her. Mrs Smith had resumed her job as dipper and helped her into the plain brown garb before guiding the horse into the water.

  ‘I shall swim to the cove and go up to the house,’ Anne told her as she went down the steps into the cold water. ‘So do not worry if I am not back soon.’

  And here she was, dressed in nothing but a brown shift and a pair of drawers. They clung to her body, revealing every curve. She did not care. She ran up the beach towards him. He rose to meet her, as wet as she was, dressed in nothing but tight breeches. The next minute she was in his arms and being kissed with a thoroughness that took her breath away. He kissed her mouth, her eyes, her hair, her throat, exploring each new place, making her ache with desire. Her whole body opened out like a flower unfolding in the sun. She felt hot, sticky and wild with urgent longing.

  He drew back suddenly. ‘We have to talk.’

  ‘Later. Later.’ She reached up to pull his mouth down on to hers again.

  He responded hungrily. He held her close, the curves of her body fitting into his, his manhood hard against the pit of her stomach. ‘No,’ he said, suddenly. ‘First I have a story to tell you. It is a long story and may take a little time.’ He sank to the ground, pulled her down beside him and put his arm about her. She laid her head into his shoulder and waited. ‘Once, there was a very foolish young man who imagined himself
in love with a harpy…’

  She lifted her head. ‘Did you know she was a harpy?’

  ‘No. Be quiet, or I will never be done.’ He had to get it all off his chest. How he had met and lusted after Sophie and asked her to marry him, taken her to his home and introduced her to his brother. ‘I blamed Andrew for seducing her. I could see no wrong in her then,’ he said, not sparing himself or her. ‘There was a terrible quarrel and I left. It wasn’t until she came to Brighton that I realised what a blind fool I had been. By then everyone had branded me a jilter.’

  She put her finger on his lips. ‘Enough, no more. It is of no consequence.’

  ‘But it is. I want you to know everything. I want you to be sure…’

  ‘Of course I am sure. Do you think I make a habit of offering myself to young men as I am offering myself to you now?’

  ‘Before I have even asked?’

  She laughed and kissed him. ‘The answer is yes.’

  ‘You don’t know what I was going to ask.’

  ‘Whatever it was, the answer is still yes. Do I love you? Yes. Do I want to lie with you? Yes. Will I marry you? Yes.’ She stopped. ‘And even if you were not going to ask the last one, the answer to the other two is still yes.’

  ‘Of course I was going to ask it. Do you take me for a rake? I love you, Anne Hemingford. I love you with all my heart and soul, always and for ever. But it is a big step for you to take, for I mean to carry on with my work…’

  ‘I would not love you half so much if you had wanted anything different. It is what I want too. To live with you in that house up there…’ She nodded towards it. Already there were workmen busy rebuilding it. ‘To be your wife and helpmate.’

  ‘There will be opposition.’

  ‘Pooh to that. I can deal with opposition.’

  ‘And scandal?’

  ‘That too.’

  ‘Oh, my love, you are wonderful, unique and I adore you.’ He took her in his arms again, but his kiss was less frenzied now. He had calmed himself and was once more in control. ‘We must marry very soon because I do not think I can keep my hands off you much longer.’