by Mary Nichols
‘Paget?’ Jane queried. ‘Did you say Paget?’
‘Yes, that wor their name. Didn’ yew know that?’
‘No, when you spoke of Sir Jasper, you did not mention his family name.’
‘I thought ever’one knew it.’
‘You said there were children. I understood Sir Jasper had no close kin and that was why the lawyers had such a problem finding his heirs.’
‘They were the children of cousins. They grew up and moved away. Stopped comin’.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’ know, do I? Not my business and it were a long time ago.’
‘Have you heard the name Bolsover in connection with the family?’
‘Can’t say I hev. Why?’
‘Oh, no reason.’ She strolled away from them, intending to take the measurements of the first-floor rooms and make a note of how many beds each could accommodate, but she could not keep her mind on what she was doing. She gave up and went out to inspect the outbuildings she had not seen before. Silas was giving Bonny some oats. ‘He’s a sturdy little fellow,’ he said.
‘Yes, and very easy to drive.’
‘We used to hev half-a-dozen hosses here, one time,’ he went on. ‘And carriages and the like. I useta help look after them. Sir Jasper got rid o’ most on ’em, when her ladyship died, but he kept a couple of mares to hitch to an old chaise, but when he took to his bed, they were got rid of, too.’
Jane was beginning to feel sorry for old Sir Jasper, alone and unhappy in his declining years, but did he have a connection with Lord Bolsover? Would it make a difference to her plans? She could not wait to tell Mark, forgetting her decision not to call on him any more than she could help.
* * *
Mark was sitting in the library with his head in his hands. On the desk in front of him were several old books he had taken from the shelves which he had been perusing when a footman had come to tell him Miss Cavenhurst had arrived and asked for him. She was waiting in the drawing room. Thinking it was Jane, he had hurried to go to her, a smile on his face. She would be interested in what he had discovered.
But it wasn’t Jane, it was Isabel. He kept the smile, though it was a little fixed as he bowed to her. ‘Isabel, do sit down. I wasn’t expecting you. How did you arrive? Have you seen my mother? Have refreshments been ordered?’
‘Good morning, Mark.’ She sat on one of the sofas and smoothed the skirt of her green-silk dress with gloved hands. ‘I walked and, no, I have not seen your mother and I do not need refreshments. We have done nothing but drink tea at home all morning. One would think it was the cure for all ills.’
‘I am deeply sorry for what has happened, Isabel. If I can help in any way, you know I will.’
‘Thank you.’ She turned an appealing smile on him. ‘I have been very silly, for which I beg your pardon.’
‘I am sure there is no need for that.’
‘But there is. You see, I told you that I no longer wished to marry you and you were so gallant as to tell me you would not hold me to it.’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘But as I said, I was foolish, blinded by false sentiment, and on reflection I wish to retract—’
‘You mean you no longer wish to break off our engagement?’ His gut was churning with a mixture of disappointment, fury and helplessness. If he could have told her that he would not accept her change of mind and that as far as he was concerned the engagement was off and had been off ever since she had first mentioned it, he would have. But such a course was not acceptable. A lady might, with small loss to her reputation, break off a betrothal, but a gentleman could never do so. It would lay him open to the condemnation and disgust of everyone in the haut monde and he would be shunned. He was as bound to honour his proposal as if he had said his wedding vows.
‘Yes. I am sorry. I should have thought about it more carefully before speaking.’
‘What about Drew?’
‘What about him? He left me to you, didn’t he?’
‘But your feelings for him? Were they not sincere?’
‘Not sincere enough for me to face penury on his account.’
He laughed without humour. ‘You have certainly put me in my place.’
‘I am sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I am very fond of you, Mark. We grew up together, I am sure we will deal well together and you will not hold my lapse against me.’
‘No, of course not.’ What else could he say? He pulled the bell rope beside the fireplace. When a servant arrived, he bade her inform Lady Wyndham that Miss Isabel Cavenhurst was here and would she like to see her.
Two minutes later his mother bustled into the room. ‘Isabel, how nice to see you. I did not know you were here or I would have come sooner. Is your mother not with you?’
‘No, my lady. I am alone. I needed to speak to Mark.’
‘Without a chaperon? Dear, dear.’
‘I did not think of it. Jane never bothers.’
‘We do not count Jane.’ Her ladyship smiled. ‘But never mind, you are still engaged to my son, are you not?’
‘Yes, Lady Wyndham, I am.’
Mark could bear it no longer. He made his excuses and returned to the library, where he flung himself into a chair and, moaning, put his head in his hands. His mother’s words burned in his brain. ‘We do not count Jane.’ How could they be so disparaging? How could they take everything from her and give nothing in return? He loved her, he loved her quiet nature, her unselfishness, the way she cared for everyone, sacrificing her own happiness to do so, for her lovely expressive eyes when she looked at him, her sweet smile, her down-to-earth honesty, her courage. Whoever married her would be marrying a treasure and he wished it could be him.
He heard his mother taking leave of Isabel, then a footman escorting Isabel down the long gallery to the front door and then his mother came looking for him. ‘You left us rather hurriedly, Mark.’
‘I couldn’t bear to hear you speak of Jane in that off-hand way, Mother. She does count.’
‘Oh.’ She was thoughtful as she sat down beside him. ‘So it’s Jane. Oh, dear.’
‘Mother, you know I was relieved when Isabel said she wanted to break off the engagement, I told you so.’
‘Yes, but you did not mention Jane and I thought you were just putting a brave face on it.’
‘No, I meant it, but I could hardly jump from one engagement to another, could I? Jane would never have agreed in any case. I needed time. And now it seems I am not to be given time.’
‘Does Jane know?’
‘Of course she does not.’
‘Best she never does. You cannot get away from the fact that you are betrothed to her sister. Perhaps it would be better if you did not see Jane so frequently.’
‘That will look odd, considering we are both trustees of the Hadlea Children’s Home and have already been working on it for some time. It will look as if we have had a falling-out over it.’
‘So, you will go on torturing yourself when you should be making plans for your wedding. Isabel tells me she wants it before her parents leave for Scotland and I have said it would be best. I don’t know the date the move is planned, but these things take time and I do not suppose it will be before the six months of mourning is over.’
‘Isabel is a selfish little madam. She is only doing this because she doesn’t want to go to Scotland with her parents. She has no love for me, only what I can give her—she as good as said so.’
‘Oh, dear, I wish you had confided in me earlier, Mark.’
‘Why? What could you have done?’
‘I could have accepted the situation instead of agreeing with Grace that Isabel would change her mind and assuming she would. Isabel might then have realised there was no going back.’
‘Too late, Mama, and I
doubt it would have made any difference.’
‘Perhaps not.’ She rose to leave him. ‘What are you doing with those?’ she asked, noticing the dusty books on the desk.
‘Some research into the Paget family. Halliday has told me Sir Jasper Paget was the previous owner of Witherington House and I thought I had come across the name somewhere.’
‘No doubt you have. There are graves in the churchyard and a tablet on the wall inside the church. You must have seen it dozens of times. It is over the pew next to ours.’
‘What do you know about them?’
‘Nothing at all. The graves are very old. Does it matter?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Then put them away and walk with me in the garden. It is a lovely day and I have a mind to pick some roses.’
Chapter Ten
Jane stopped at the crossroads in the village, intending to turn towards Broadacres when she saw Isabel walking from that direction. She pulled up and waited for her.
Isabel climbed in beside her. ‘I’m glad you came along, Jane,’ she said. ‘My new shoes are pinching like the devil.’
Jane flicked the reins and the pony trotted on towards home. Telling Mark about Sir Jasper would have to wait. ‘Are they the ones you bought in London?’
‘Yes. They are fine when I am riding in a carriage, but not when I am walking.’
‘Where have you been?’
‘To Broadacres.’
‘Without Mama?’
‘Yes. I needed to speak to Mark.’
‘Oh. And did you?’
‘Yes. We have come to an understanding.’
Even though she was half-prepared for it, Isabel’s words put an end to any hope Jane might have had. More fool her for even entertaining it, she told herself fiercely. ‘By that, I suppose you mean the engagement is on again.’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘And what did Mark say?’
‘He was delighted, of course, and forgave me for my doubts.’
‘And now you have no doubts?’
‘None. We are to be married before Mama and Papa leave for Scotland, so do you think you can set aside your fascination with your orphanage project for a while and finish my wedding dress?’
‘Of course. There is little to be done to it in any case.’
* * *
They had barely entered the house when Sir Edward hurried towards them. ‘Jane where have you been? I have been looking everywhere for you.’
‘I have been to Witherington, Papa. Has something happened?’
‘There are people coming to view the house this afternoon and your mama refuses to meet them. You will have to take her place.’ He turned to his younger daughter. ‘Isabel, go and keep your mother company. She is in her boudoir. Sophie is out riding.’
Isabel left them and he turned to Jane again. ‘They will be here in less than half an hour.’
‘Then I must go and change out of these clothes and have Bessie do my hair. Witherington House is so dusty it is impossible not to get it on one’s clothes. I will be as quick as I can.’
* * *
Half an hour later she returned to the drawing room, seeing it with a stranger’s eyes and realising it would not give a good impression. The furnishings were shabby and there were dark patches on the wallpaper where her mother had had paintings removed. Papa had said she could not take them, but she had not had them put back. They were on the floor, leaning against the wall. The shelves in the cabinet where there had once been a display of china figurines were empty and forlorn looking. And flowers in the vase in the hearth were drooping. She picked it up and put it outside the window on to the terrace, just as they heard the front door knocker.
Mr and Mrs Somerton were undoubtedly nouveau riche. He was portly and dressed in a dark-green coat, yellow waistcoat, whose buttons strained across his stomach, and cream trousers, strapped under his shoes. She was even fatter, in puce taffeta and loaded with jewels. She and Jane curtsied to each other while Sir Edward explained he had asked his daughter to receive them because of his wife’s poor health. ‘It is why we are leaving here,’ he said. ‘We have already started to gather together our belongings, as you can see.’
‘We expected it to be furnished,’ Mr Somerton said, looking round in distaste.
The rest of the house, apart from her ladyship’s boudoir, were viewed with the same reaction and the couple departed, making it very clear they would not be buying.
* * *
It was the same with the next two people Mr Halliday sent to them. Having steeled themselves to losing their home, they now found that no one wanted to buy it. Lady Cavenhurst, Isabel and Sophie were secretly pleased, though Jane was more realistic and Sir Edward was in despair because he knew he could not hold Lord Bolsover off much longer.
* * *
Then the dreadful man himself arrived. He bowled up in an extravagant chaise drawn by four superb horses, and banged on the front door with his cane.
Jane was upstairs on the first-floor gallery, having just come from the sewing room where she had been putting the finishing touches to Isabel’s wedding gown, when she saw Saunders, on his dignity as usual, admit him and request his name.
‘Go and tell your master Lord Bolsover is here to view the property.’
Jane was taken aback. Why did the man want to view the property? Surely Mr Halliday had not sent him? She walked downstairs in as stately and calm a manner as she could manage, though inside she was quaking. He saw her and stood watching her descend. Not until she reached the bottom did she speak. ‘Lord Bolsover, good afternoon.’
He bowed. ‘Miss Cavenhurst, I hope I see you well?’
‘Very well, thank you. Why are you here?’
‘I will tell your father that when he deigns to put in an appearance.’
‘I expect someone has gone to fetch him. He may be on the estate somewhere. Will you come into the withdrawing room to wait for him?’
‘Very well, but I hope he won’t be long.’
She led the way and offered him a chair. ‘If you had warned us you were coming, we would have been expecting you.’
He laughed suddenly. ‘I doubt it. You would all have gone into hiding.’
‘We have nothing to hide, Lord Bolsover.’
‘No? The fact that Greystone Manor was up for sale? That was an underhand thing to do.’
‘What did you expect my father to do? He has debts to pay as you very well know.’
‘I doubt the sale will cover them. How much is he asking? Ten thousand, I believe. It is overpriced by at least three thousand.’
‘How do you know the figure?’
He smiled. ‘I have my sources. I know Sir Edward’s debts to the last penny, I know your brother’s debts and I know how much Sir Edward hopes to obtain from the sale. Unless my arithmetic is faulty, the figures do not add up.’
She pretended indifference, but could not quell the feeling of despair that overwhelmed her. Was he right?
Her father arrived and saved her from having to answer. ‘Papa,’ she said, ‘this is Lord Bolsover. My lord, Sir Edward Cavenhurst.’
Her father ignored Bolsover’s outstretched hand and stood facing him. ‘What do you want?’ he demanded. ‘Why are you here? My wife is unwell and your presence will upset her. Please leave.’
‘I will when I’m done. I wish to see over the premises.’
‘Why?’ Jane demanded. ‘You are surely not thinking of buying?’
‘I do not need to, do I?’ He was addressing Sir Edward. ‘Your debt to me easily covers the price you have put on the estate, which I am told is far above its true market value. You haven’t been able to sell, have you?’
‘There is plenty of time.’
‘No, Sir Edward
, there is no time at all. I am calling in the debt immediately.’
Jane gasped and her father turned deathly pale. ‘Why? Why are you doing this to us? We have done nothing to harm you.’
‘Ah, but there you are wrong.’ He smiled suddenly, a smile that sent a chill into Jane’s veins. ‘I need a home and I think Greystone Manor will serve me very well, but I need to look round to see if it covers the eight thousand pounds owed to me.’
‘I do not owe anything like that much,’ Sir Edward said.
‘You do if you add your son’s debts to yours and there is the interest being added every day at ten per cent. So, will you show me round, or shall I wander about on my own?’
‘Jane will accompany you. I must go to my wife.’ He scuttled away, leaving Jane facing Lord Bolsover.
‘Shall we go?’ she said, leading the way.
She took him from room to room, downstairs and upstairs, avoiding her mother’s boudoir where the murmur of voices could be heard through the closed door. Then they returned downstairs and she led him through the kitchen to the stable yard and the outbuildings, which he inspected. ‘That’s the house and immediate outbuildings,’ she said when that was done. ‘There is a park of three hundred acres, some woodland, three farms with farmhouses and the usual buildings, and some farm cottages. If you want to see those, I suggest you hire a hack and ride round on your own, but I trust you have seen enough.’
‘I was right,’ he said, laughing at her sharp tone. ‘You are the only one of the family with any fire. I like that.’
‘I wish I knew why you were so intent on ruining us.’
‘Soon, if all goes well, I shall tell you. Now I wish to speak to Sir Edward again.’
She preceded him back to the drawing room where she left him while she went in search of her father. He was with her mother and Isabel.
‘Has he gone?’ her mother asked.
‘No, Mama, he wants to see Papa.’
Sir Edward heaved himself out of his chair and left them.
‘What does that man want?’ Isabel asked.
‘He says he is calling in Papa’s debts forthwith and wanted to be sure the estate covered them.’
