by Mary Nichols
‘You mean he is not even going to give us time to sell?’ her mother queried.
‘Not unless Papa can talk him out of it. He has added Teddy’s debts to Papa’s and is charging ten per cent interest.’
‘But that’s outrageous!’
‘Yes, it is,’ Jane agreed. ‘I think it is a means to an end. He wants Greystone Manor and is determined to have it and when Teddy got into his debt he saw a way of obtaining it.’
‘But why?’
‘I asked him that and he refused to say.’
‘What are we going to do?’ wailed Isabel. ‘What about my wedding? What will Mark say? And Lady Wyndham? She can be very intimidating.’
‘I am sure it will make no difference to Mark,’ Jane said.
‘But where will I live until the wedding? I expected to be married from here.’
‘Your papa will think of a solution,’ her ladyship said with a simple faith in her husband that Jane thought ill founded. ‘He will not see us turned out.’
There was a knock at the door which, in their heightened state of nerves, made them all jump, but it was only Bessie with a message for Jane. ‘Sir Edward said to rejoin them,’ she said. ‘They are in the book room.’
Reluctantly Jane went. Sir Edward was seated at his desk, with papers that looked very much like deeds spread out in front of him. Lord Bolsover was standing at the window with his back to the room. He turned as Jane entered.
‘Jane, my dear,’ her father began and there was a distinct tremble in his voice. ‘His lordship has suggested a way out of our dilemma and it concerns you. I want you to listen very carefully to what he has to say.’ He stood up to leave. ‘You may not agree and I shall not hold it against you if you do not, but I beg of you to think of your poor dear mama and your sisters.’ And with that he scuttled away, closing the door behind him, leaving Jane facing Lord Bolsover.
‘Shall we sit down? he suggested pleasantly and, taking her hand, led her to the sofa, where they sat side by side.
Bewildered, she pulled her hand from his and said nothing. Her father’s words had eaten into her brain and could only have one meaning. She waited.
‘I do not wish to see your family beggared,’ he began.
‘Then you have a strange way of showing it.’
‘I have had my eye on Greystone Manor for a number of years—all my life, in truth. I have always considered it my birthright.’
‘Why? The Cavenhursts have lived here for generations.’
‘I know. Ever since 1649.’
The date echoed in her head. The date on the headstone. ‘Colin Bolsover Paget,’ she murmured.
‘Ah, so you have found it.’
‘Yes, but I do not know the reason for it.’
‘Colin Bolsover Paget was so foolish as to fall in love with the daughter of a Roundhead. The Pagets were Royalist to the core. They refused to allow Colin to marry his Gabrielle, but he defied them and changed sides. He found himself opposing his Paget and Bolsover cousins in battle. Gabrielle tried to come between them and in consequence lost her life. Colin survived the battle, but he was cut off from his family and his Roundhead in-laws blamed him for their daughter’s death and made his life such a misery, he put an end to it. The Roundheads claimed the Paget home.’
‘Greystone Manor.’
‘Yes. The last Paget lived out his life at Witherington House, which I believe you have discovered.’
‘Where do you come into all this?’
‘Colin’s mother was a Bolsover, daughter to my father’s ancestor, the first Lord Bolsover. I heard the tale at my father’s knee as every generation has. Each of us has been sworn to vengeance, but none has managed it until now.’
‘I have never heard this story.’
‘No reason why you should. It is not something of which the Cavenhursts can be proud, is it? The Pagets that were left hoped their property would be returned to them with the restoration of the monarchy, but it was not to be. Colin Paget was not the only one to change sides.’
‘And you think this Banbury tale will make me look more favourably on you?’
‘I hope it will because I have a proposal to make.’
‘Proposal?’ she echoed.
‘Yes. You must have guessed.’
‘Never!’ She was almost shouting and lowered her voice. ‘Never in a thousand years. I cannot think why you ever thought of it.’
He laughed lightly. ‘It came upon me when I met you in London. You attracted me at once. My widowed mother is anxious to see me settled before she departs this life and insists I marry and set up my own establishment. I need a home and a wife and I think I have found both here.’
‘What on earth makes you think I would agree to that?’
‘Sir Edward asked you to hear me out and it is only courteous to do so.’
She did not see why she should be courteous to him, but for her father’s sake she said nothing, allowing him to go on.
‘Your father’s and brother’s debts together amount to nearly nine thousand pounds, considerably more than the value of the estate, so selling it and paying me off would leave him still in debt.’ He paused. ‘Ah, that shocks you, I see. But I am prepared to count only what I paid for the debts, which is naturally a great deal less than their face value, and will allow the lower figure to be set against the value of Greystone Manor. There will, if the agreement is reached quickly, be enough left for your parents to leave here with a little cash in hand and their dignity intact, which is something your father sets great store by. You, of course, will continue to live here as my bride.’
‘No.’
‘No? Did your father not ask you to think about it carefully? Surely you can see the advantages for everyone? I will have a home and a delightful wife, whom I shall treat with courtesy and respect, my mother will be satisfied, your parents will have a little money to live out their lives in modest comfort, your brother can return to the bosom of his family and you, my dear, will be able to continue your work for the orphans. I might even help you with it.’
She did not answer. Everything he said was driving a nail into her heart and almost stopping it. The whole idea was repugnant to her and the worst of it was her father expected her to agree. How could he? How could he ask this of her? Did he think she was so anxious to be married she would accept this...this...? A suitable epithet failed her.
‘I have shocked you into silence,’ he added, ‘but I will give you a week to make up your mind. In that time I hope you will consider carefully the consequences of refusing. Your family will be paupers and I shall still possess the Manor. And just in case you were thinking of moving everyone to Witherington, I could stop that sale, too.’
She rose and ran out of the room, determined he would not see her tears. She paused in the hallway. In any other circumstances she would have sought comfort and solace from her father and mother, but she could not do that; this time they were the source of her distress. There was no one to turn to, not even Mark, who would undoubtedly try to comfort her, but he was betrothed to her sister and she had vowed not to call on him more than she could help for Isabel’s sake.
She ran out of the front door and round the side of the house with no destination in mind. How she ended up in the stables, she did not know, but she found herself sobbing on the neck of Bonny. He was warm and he had never let her down, never made demands on her; his bright eyes seemed to tell her he understood. Still crying, she found harness and saddle and put them on him, even though he was a draught pony and unused to a saddle. She used an old milking stool to mount and galloped out of the yard, ignoring Daniel’s shout.
She did not know where she was going. Did not care. She was not even aware of other vehicles on the road, nor that a carriage had to pull to one side to allow her to pass. She galloped on, past the Fox and Hound
s, over the crossroads, ignoring the turning to Witherington and was at the gates of Broadacres and turning up the drive before she suddenly came to her senses. She should not be here! ‘Whoa there,’ she called out and pulled sharply on the reins, bringing Bonny to a skittering stop. He reared at being so ill used and threw her.
At that moment, Mark turned into the drive in his curricle and only by skilful driving managed to stop before running her over. Horses, pony and curricle were in a tangled heap. He extricated himself and ran to her. Jane was unconscious and deathly pale and dressed in an afternoon gown, not a habit. She wore no hat, which might have offered a little protection for her head. Something dreadful must have happened to bring her out like that.
‘Oh, my God!’ He fell to his knees beside her. ‘Jane! Jane, wake up. Wake up, please.’ He resisted the impulse to shake her awake and felt all over her face and head. His hand came away covered in blood. ‘Please God, don’t let her die,’ he prayed aloud. ‘Let her live. I need her...’ She did not stir. Ought he to pick her up and carry her into the house? Or should he leave her lying in the road until a litter could be brought to carry her? He looked about him. There was no one about to send for one. He stood up, stooped to pick her up and walked the rest of the way up the drive to the house.
He was met by Thompson, who had heard the sound of the crash and the neighing of the horses and was on his way to investigate. Mark told him swiftly what had happened and sent him to take care of the curricle and the horses, then he carried Jane into the house and sent for his mother.
‘Mark, whatever has happened?’ she said, looking at his burden.
‘She was riding up the drive and came off. I almost ran her over. Send for Dr Trench, will you, please.’
‘Yes, of course I will. And Lady Cavenhurst, too.’ She turned to a footman to give him instructions. Then to Mark, ‘If she was riding, why is she dressed like that?’
‘I don’t know, Mama, but something dreadful must have happened at the Manor. Perhaps she was coming to us for help.’
‘Grace will tell us when she arrives. Take her up to the blue room. I’ll send Janet up to you.’ Janet was his old nurse, who was long past retirement age, but she had nowhere else to go and continued to live at Broadacres, making herself useful in so many ways, especially when anyone in the household was ill.
In the bedchamber, always referred to as the blue room on account of its curtains and bedcover being the colour of a summer sky, he put Jane gently on the bed. She was still deeply unconscious and he was afraid for her life. If she died, he didn’t know what he would do. It was his fault; he should not have turned into the drive so fast. He fell to his knees beside the bed and stroked her paper-white face. ‘Jane, you must live,’ he murmured. ‘I love you. Without you, I am nothing. Please, my darling, wake up.’ He reached over and gently kissed her cheek. She did not stir and gave no hint that she had heard. His heart was beating too fast and then almost stopping, before thumping on again. He took a deep breath to calm himself and took her hand.
He had been a fool, letting convention dictate what he did. Why had he not seen Jane’s worth before he proposed to Isabel? Why had he accepted everyone else’s idea that she was plain Jane and not to be considered? She was far from plain, she was beautiful. She had a depth of beauty that Isabel had never had; it came from inside her and shone out in everything she did. ‘Jane doesn’t count.’ The words seared into his brain. She counted for him, more than anything else, more than life, more than riches, certainly more than the opinion of the haut monde. The trouble was that Jane herself would never accept him, even if he persuaded her to admit she loved him, too. She would never betray her sister, just as Drew would never betray him. Where was Drew?
His mother bustled into the room accompanied by Dr Trench and Janet. ‘Has she come to?’
‘No.’ He rose from his knees and reluctantly left the room.
* * *
Jane’s eyes fluttered open, shut again, then opened fully. Where was she? She was in a bed, but it was not her own bed. She turned her head to see Mark sitting in a chair beside her. He looked tired and drawn, but his smile was wide. ‘You are awake at last.’
‘Where am I?’
‘At Broadacres. You came off your horse in the drive, do you remember?’
‘No. What was I doing?’
‘I think you were coming to see me.’
‘Was I?’ She struggled to sit up, but was surprised at how weak she felt and her head felt funny. She put a hand up and touched a thick bandage. ‘What about?’
‘I was hoping you would tell me.’
‘Sir Jasper,’ she murmured. ‘I found out he was a Paget and related to the man in the graveyard.’
‘I know. I don’t think it was that. You would not have left home in such a hurry without even changing into a habit just to tell me that.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does Mama know I’m here?’
‘Yes, she has been every day.’
‘Every day?’ she echoed. ‘How long have I been here?’
‘A week.’
‘A week!’
He smiled. ‘Yes, seven days and in a delirium most of it.’
She was alarmed. ‘What did I say?’
‘Nothing that made any sense. The only words I managed to decipher were Papa, Roundhead, Royalist, wedding and something that sounded like Bolsover. We had the devil of a job to stop you thrashing about and re-opening your wound.’
‘Oh. Who’s we?’
‘Me, my mother, Janet and your own mother when she came. She was distressed as we all were, but Dr Trench said he expected you to make a full recovery, given time.’
‘Time!’ she cried, as memory flooded back. ‘I do not have time. I have to go home.’
‘No, you do not.’ He pressed her gently back on to the pillow. ‘You are not moving from here until I am satisfied you are well enough. You are safer here.’
‘Safer?’
‘Lord Bolsover cannot touch you while you are here, can he?’ It was said with a smile.
‘You know?’
‘Your mother told us. The whole idea is preposterous.’ He had found references in his own library to the Civil War and to the second Baron Paget who had lived at Greystone Manor. He had been a staunch Royalist in an area of East Anglia that was largely on the side of Parliament. When the Royalists had finally been defeated he had lost his Manor to an early Cavenhurst. A second search of the church records had revealed the story of the suicide. Colin Paget’s mother was a Bolsover, a family based in Northamptonshire. That might explain Bolsover’s determination to regain the Manor, but not the reason he had offered for Jane. It was not love, he was certain of it.
‘I have no choice.’
‘The longer you are here, out of the man’s reach, the longer we have to think of a solution.’
‘There is no solution, Mark. Please do not raise false hopes in me. My duty is plain.’
‘Duty! Why must you always be the dutiful daughter?’ he said almost angrily. ‘Why can you not think of what you want sometimes?’
She sighed. ‘Mark, I love my family too much to see them brought low if I can prevent it.’
‘What about me?’
‘What about you? You are my dear friend, my confidant, partner in my charitable endeavours—I cannot imagine losing all that. I hope very much that will continue.’
‘Of course it will, whatever happens, but I—’
‘Please, no more, Mark. Will you send someone to help me dress? I wish to go home.’
She had to be strong and resolute because it would be all too easy to lie back on the pillows and play the invalid, letting Mark sit beside her and hold her hand when he should not be doing anything of the sort, and hoping Lord Bolsover would give up and go away.
It was a forlorn hope and dwelling on Mark’s kindness and concern for her only made her want to cry.
‘Very well.’ He put the back of the hand he had been holding to his lips and left the room.
She rubbed at her hand contemplatively. He had seemed genuinely distressed by her plight and the way he had searched her face and held her hand made her wonder... Had she dreamed he said he loved her? The voice had been far away, like a distant echo, penetrating her unconscious mind. No, she must not think of it, must not strain to make it real. It was not to be. Isabel would marry him in a few weeks’ time and he would become her brother-in-law. She shut her eyes, but a tear escaped from under the lid and slid down her cheek.
* * *
‘Jane is determined on dressing and going home,’ Mark told his mother when he found her in the parlour doing the household accounts. They were easily wealthy enough not to worry about the cost of food and candles and things like that which could easily have been left to Mrs Blandish, but she insisted on doing them herself. ‘My mother always did hers and her mother before her,’ she had told him long ago when he had remonstrated with her. ‘And your father approves.’ His father was no longer there to approve or disapprove, but he let her carry on.
‘Surely not? She is not strong enough yet and Grace asked us to keep her here in any case, to buy them a little time.’
‘I know. I tried to tell her that, but she will not listen.’
‘Poor Mark,’ she said.
‘It is not poor Mark, it is poor Jane. See if you can persuade her, Mama. I have a mind to speak to Bolsover.’
‘No, Mark, you must not. He will make a game of you. You will end up fighting him and who will gain by that? Besides, there is enough gossip going the rounds already and you will only add to it. Squabbling over a woman when you are engaged to another just will not do.’
‘I must do something. If only I had known the true state of affairs at the Manor earlier, I might have been able to do something, lent Sir Edward some money to discharge them.’
‘You could not, Mark. By the time your poor dear father passed away and you came into your inheritance it was already too late.’
