Fairfield Hall

by Margaret Dickinson

  She wondered how he managed to get such a lot of leave from the Army, but she thought it would be impolite to ask. Normally, Annabel wouldn’t have given a fig for what anyone thought about her, but she liked Cynthia and, despite her initial reluctance to be a debutante, she was enjoying the round of parties and dinners. Besides, she thought, it was taking her mind off Gil.

  And the person doing that was James Lyndon, Earl of Fairfield.

  ‘I have to return to my battalion briefly,’ he told her one evening when they were returning home late after another ball, ‘but I’ll come back as soon as I can.’ In the darkness of the carriage, he felt for her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘May I hope that you might miss me?’

  Annabel laughed. ‘Of course I will,’ she said coquettishly. Her reply had not been serious, but, to her surprise, she found that over the next week while James was away, she did indeed miss him. No one else matched his good looks or his charming manners and his handsome face disturbed her dreams.

  Though she danced and flirted mildly with her numerous partners, she longed for James to return and she was sure that Cynthia appeared to be fending off any other would-be admirers. They were both, it seemed, waiting for James.

  Nine

  ‘Do you know,’ she told him with innocent candour when he returned to London. ‘I have missed you.’

  James smiled and kissed her hand.

  When the Season came to an end with the Goodwood Races in late July and Annabel was due to travel home, the Earl insisted on accompanying her to meet her parents – in particular, her father.

  Lady Cynthia was not due to return to Lincolnshire until the following week, so one of her maids accompanied the couple – as they had come to be regarded – on the long train journey north. They sat side by side in a first-class carriage, while the maid sat discreetly in the far corner, within sight but out of earshot.

  James leaned towards Annabel and took her hand in his. ‘My dear, you must know how very fond I have become of you. Might I hope that you return my feelings?’

  Annabel turned her head and looked into his eyes. He was indeed handsome and when he smiled, as he was doing now, his brown eyes softened. She had been unbelievably hurt by Gilbert’s desertion, and James Lyndon’s attentions and his admiration for her were a salve to her wounded heart. To her surprise, she had to admit that she could scarcely recall Gilbert’s features. How strange, she thought, when she had believed herself in love with him.

  Annabel smiled in return but could not bring herself to answer the man sitting beside her. Although she had enjoyed his attentions in London, she had not thought for one moment that the flirtation would lead to anything more serious. But taking her silence as a ‘yes’, James leaned back in the seat with a small sigh of satisfaction, continuing to hold her hand until, after a tedious journey, they arrived at the station in Grimsby. He took charge of Annabel’s luggage, calling a porter and seeing that everything was safely loaded onto the waiting carriage. And then, to Annabel’s surprise, he climbed into the carriage beside her.

  ‘Didn’t your mother write to tell you?’ he said with a smile as he saw her startled expression. ‘Your parents have kindly invited me to stay for two days.’

  Annabel gasped aloud. A lord – an earl, no less – staying at their house on Bargate? She couldn’t believe it. She was by no means ashamed of her background – indeed, she hardly thought about it; she had never had reason – or the desire – to compare herself with others. She neither looked up to those classes of society regarded as being above her, nor down to those considered by some to be below her. She knew, though, that her parents had ambitions to climb the social ladder and now she was beginning to realize that she was expected to play her part.

  They wanted her to marry well, to bring prestige to the family and be a credit to her parents’ upbringing of their daughter. Suddenly, it all became clear to her. She was to be but a pawn in her father’s ambitions. She knew that he had inveigled her presentation at court and her participation in the Season through his business contacts with Sir William. And now, she suspected, he had asked Lady Cynthia to single out a suitable young nobleman to pay court to his daughter.

  But what, Annabel thought, of love? Had that no place in Ambrose’s machinations? With a heavy, disillusioned heart she knew the answer was ‘no’. And now, another dreadful thought entered her mind.

  Had Ambrose caused Gilbert to be dismissed and sent away because he was not a suitable suitor for his daughter? Her grandfather had hinted as much. She shuddered and at once James said, ‘My dear, are you cold?’ Then he laughed and raised his left eyebrow sardonically. ‘Or is it the thought of my visit to your home?’

  Annabel turned her violet eyes to look into his brown ones. ‘I have to admit,’ she said huskily, ‘that the news surprises me. I never thought that a person of your social standing would’ – she smiled as she continued – ‘grace us with their presence.’

  He gave a short bark of laughter and muttered, ‘Needs must.’

  Annabel frowned; she didn’t understand the meaning behind his words, but now the carriage was slowing and turning into the gateway of her home and conversation between them ceased.

  Now that Annabel believed she understood the reasoning behind her father’s manipulations, his obvious fawning over Lord Fairfield sickened her. She was amazed that the young man didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps, she thought with amusement, he’s used to it. Or perhaps . . .

  Annabel was by no means a conceited girl. She was innocently unaware of her beauty – her clear skin, glossy black hair and the unusual colour of her lovely eyes. Her slim, shapely figure was the envy of other women and the cause of admiration in men. But now she was obliged to think that perhaps the earl was attracted to her and had, as he’d confessed, become fond of her. He was tolerating her father’s flattery so that he could pay court to her.

  As she took her leave of the earl and went to her room to change from her travelling clothes, to bathe and dress for dinner, Annabel was thoughtful. If James Lyndon was serious, then no doubt she could soon expect a proposal. And what would her answer be?

  She didn’t know.

  The dinner was lavish; Ambrose was determined to impress his distinguished guest. Course after course came to the table and the earl delighted in every one, exclaiming over and praising every dish. Annabel was amused. His sycophancy was as blatant as her father’s. Though keeping her eyes demurely downcast, she watched him discreetly. He was indeed handsome, courteous and charming, and over the weeks of the Season when he had been so obviously attentive, she had enjoyed his company. And she’d missed him when he’d been absent for several days. But was she falling in love with him? She’d thought herself in love with Gilbert Radcliffe, and yet now, when she tried to think of him, she couldn’t remember his face or hear the sound of his voice. Annabel sighed. Was she really so fickle that she had forgotten him already? For now the only face that filled her waking hours and haunted her dreams was that of James Lyndon. And the thought that James would leave shortly and she might never see him again brought tears to her eyes and a pain to her heart. So, yes, she believed she was falling in love with him.

  After luncheon – as her mother insisted the midday meal should be called – on the second and last day of his visit, James led her into the garden behind the house and to the summer house at the end of the lawn. Annabel’s heart beat a little faster; she guessed what was about to happen. What she didn’t know was that her parents were watching anxiously from an upstairs window.

  ‘Will she accept him, do you think?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘She’d better,’ Ambrose muttered morosely. ‘But she can be very stubborn.’

  ‘Perhaps she needs a little more time.’

  ‘Time? What does she need time for? Doesn’t she realize how much it’s cost me to bring this about?’

  Sarah raised her eyebrows. ‘I rather hope not. Our somewhat wayward daughter has strict codes of what she believes is moral behaviour and I d
on’t think she’d approve of a suitor being—’

  ‘I blame your parents for that. No ambition, that’s your father’s trouble. Just content to run his farm and live the life of a country yokel. Thank God you’re different, Sarah.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have married me otherwise, would you?’ Sarah remarked.

  Ambrose turned to look at her. ‘Nor you me, my dear.’

  Sarah laughed drily. ‘That’s true enough.’

  ‘But together we’ve climbed mountains, haven’t we? And now –’ He turned back to look out of the window. ‘And now there’s just one more summit to reach, if only . . .’

  In the seclusion of the summer house, the young couple sat side by side gazing at the smooth lawn, the well-kept borders filled to overflowing with brightly coloured flowers.

  James took her hand and turned to face her. ‘I have spoken to your father and he has given me permission to propose to you. Annabel – dear Annabel – would you do me the great honour of becoming my wife?’

  She looked into his eyes, trying to read his true feelings for her. She ran her tongue nervously around her lips. ‘Shouldn’t – shouldn’t I meet your family first? I mean—’

  ‘There’s only my mother, my sister and her son and when I tell them how much I – I love you, they will understand. I want us to be married soon – very soon.’

  ‘Why? What’s the hurry?’

  ‘I have to return to my regiment. I’m a soldier, Annabel, and I have been absent for a very long time – with special permission, of course.’

  She frowned. ‘You mean that, normally, you’re away from home a lot?’

  ‘Yes. Until May of last year I was in Singapore, but I’m based in Woolwich for now. But I may be sent abroad again at any time.’

  ‘Oh!’ This was startling news. ‘I – I thought you would run your estate. I overheard what Lady Fortesque said to you – about – about losing your father and then your elder brother. She hinted that you might leave the Army. In fact, with all the time you’ve spent in London during the Season, I thought that perhaps you had already done so.’

  ‘I’m no farmer. I leave that in the hands of my estate bailiff. The Army is my life, Annabel, you must understand that.’

  ‘But what if there’s a war? Would you have to go?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Annabel stared at him. She couldn’t understand anyone wanting to leave their farmlands in the hands of someone else whilst they went off to fight in some far-off country. ‘But – but don’t you at least want us to be married from your home?’ Although the custom was for marriages to take place from the bride’s home, Annabel realized that amongst the aristocracy, grander weddings than her home could offer were expected.

  But James was shaking his head. ‘No, that won’t be possible. My mother is still in mourning.’

  Annabel’s eyes widened. If there had been a recent bereavement in the family, she was surprised that James had taken part in the Season. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Your father?’

  ‘No, he died nearly three years ago. My elder brother, Albert, inherited the title, but he died very suddenly last December. It was a great shock to us all.’

  ‘And so,’ Annabel murmured, ‘you’ve become the sixth earl, but you never expected to be.’

  James nodded.

  ‘And you don’t want to give up being a soldier?’

  ‘No,’ he said simply and decidedly, ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Not even,’ she said quietly, ‘to become a husband and father?’

  As if sensing that perhaps her answer to his proposal depended on his reply now, James hesitated. ‘Is that what you’d want me to do?’

  Annabel gazed at him as she said slowly, ‘I’d never ask a man to give up doing what he loved just to please me. And I suppose’ – she was thinking aloud now – ‘if you never expected to inherit the title and to have to run the estate, it’s only natural that you would want to build your own career.’ She saw the hope spring into his eyes, felt the gentle squeeze of his hand on hers. She took a deep breath. ‘But if you’re likely to be away for long periods, then there is just one thing I would ask.’

  ‘Name it.’

  ‘I would want to help run the estate when you’re away; not to take over from your bailiff, but to work alongside him.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ he began, but she hurried on. ‘James, I cannot be idle. And besides, I love farming. I have learned a lot from my grandfather and—’

  ‘But that is just one small farm, it is not an estate.’

  Annabel laughed. ‘The principles will be the same – just on a grander scale.’

  Now she could see the doubt in his eyes. ‘You think your bailiff won’t like me interfering, as he might see it?’

  James laughed. ‘Jackson will do as he’s told.’

  ‘Your mother, then? Or your sister? Do they run things now in your absence?’

  James shook his head. ‘No, they don’t involve themselves. They just run the house. At least, my sister does. Since the deaths of both my father and my brother, Mama seems to have given up and leaves everything to my sister, Dorothea.’

  ‘Then what’s the problem?’

  ‘Well, I hope you’ll be a mother very soon. You’d want to devote your time to our son, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Or daughter,’ Annabel murmured, but got no response. She sighed. ‘Of course I would. I wasn’t proposing that I should plough the fields myself, but that I should be involved with the overseeing, the planning and so on.’

  James wrinkled his brow thoughtfully. ‘There’s only Home Farm which we are responsible for. The other three farms are tenanted.’ His voice dropped as he added, ‘Usually.’ He was quiet and then he shrugged his shoulders. ‘If that’s what you really want . . .’ His tone was grudging, as if he was unwilling to agree to her request, and yet felt obliged to do so.

  ‘It is,’ Annabel said firmly. ‘And I wouldn’t want to offend your sister by trying to take over the management of the house. I suppose we will have our own rooms? A wing of the house, maybe?’

  He looked at her strangely for a moment before glancing away and merely nodding. After a moment’s pause, he prompted, ‘So, what is your answer? Will you marry me, Annabel?’

  She hesitated a moment. There had been no ardent declaration of love, of adoration, but perhaps, being a soldier, he found sweet words difficult. And he had shown his affection for her in so many little acts of kindness and attention during her stay in London. He had become part of her life – a very important part.

  ‘Yes, James, I will marry you,’ she heard herself saying, almost without stopping to think.

  He smiled and leaned forward to kiss her gently on the lips.

  A little later, James entered Ambrose’s study and closed the door behind him.

  ‘Well?’ Ambrose asked impatiently.

  ‘She has accepted my proposal.’

  Ambrose beamed and rubbed his hands. ‘And the wedding?’

  ‘At first, she didn’t understand the reason for such haste, but when I explained that I have to rejoin my regiment as soon as possible because I have already taken a lot of leave—’

  ‘She agreed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, good.’ Ambrose picked up a small piece of paper from his desk and held it for a moment, saying, ‘There is just one more thing. I presume you have family pictures hanging in Fairfield Hall?’

  James was puzzled. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘It has always been the custom to have a portrait done to celebrate a twenty-first birthday.’

  ‘So – there’s already one of you?’

  James nodded. ‘In the dining room.’ Now he was beginning to understand.

  ‘I intend to commission an artist from London to paint Annabel’s likeness,’ Ambrose went on. ‘He is able to come at once so that it can be done in time for the wedding. I’d like to think that a portrait of the new Lady Fairfield will hang in a prominent place in the hall.’ Ambrose raised his eyeb
rows in question.

  James hesitated for a moment, but, glancing at the piece of paper still in Ambrose’s grasp, he murmured, ‘Of course.’

  Now Ambrose smiled and held it out towards James. ‘My cheque for ten thousand pounds.’

  James took it and gazed down at it. ‘You can’t imagine what this means to me, Mr Constantine. The death duties for both my father and brother have crippled the estate. But this’ – he tapped the cheque with his forefinger – ‘will save Fairfield. It’s a great deal of money and I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘My dear fellow, it’s a small price to pay for my daughter becoming Lady Fairfield.’

  Ten

  The only disappointment for Ambrose was that there was no time to plan a lavish wedding. Because of James’s commitments to his regiment, the marriage took place just over three weeks later on the last Wednesday in August in the nearest church with only Annabel’s parents, grandparents, Sir William and Lady Cynthia and a few other guests who attended at Ambrose’s invitation, present. Not even James’s mother or sister and nephew attended, which Annabel found strange and rather worrying. James dismissed their absence with a wave of his hand, reminding her that his family was still in mourning.

  Ambrose had insisted that a wedding breakfast be held in the large dining room at their home, where he made a speech briefly welcoming his new son-in-law into the family but dwelling more on how proud he was that his daughter was to be Lady Fairfield and that her son would one day be the seventh earl. Sarah nodded her approval and smiled around the table. Only Annabel’s grandfather shook his head in despair. As the newly-weds were about to depart, Edward took Annabel’s hands in his and, as he kissed her forehead, he whispered, ‘We’re only a few miles from where you’re going to be living – only the other side of Thorpe St Michael. Any problems, my lovely, come to us. Promise me, now.’