Benedict's Bride

by Janet Woods

  ‘They’re well, and will be coming to visit with the children over the weekend.’

  ‘So the summons isn’t because of anything they’ve done. I was worried.’

  ‘Were you, my dear? You needn’t have been. The pair of them are happily married to the most delightful men, who cherish and adore them, and who have the sense not to keep them apart for too long.’

  His father’s study door opened and a head remarkably like his own - except the thatch of hair on top was grey - thrust through the gap. ‘Is that Ben I can hear?’ The bulk of him followed his head, his face now wearing a wide smile. ‘Of course it is. My son, I’m so happy to see you.’ He was pulled into a rough, but brief embrace.

  Benedict grinned from ear to ear, for it was a pleasure to belong to a family where there was so much honesty, respect and love to share around. He liked being at the family estate.

  His father tipped up his mother’s chin and stole a kiss from her lips.

  ‘Not in front of Ben, James,’ she scolded with a slight blush.

  His father chuckled. ‘My dearest Imogene, Ben will not be embarrassed since he knows how much I adore you. You’ll not mind if I take him from you for a short while, will you?’

  The blush still in place, Imogene shook her head and turned away. ‘I’ll be in the garden if you need me. I’m going to pick some roses for the drawing room.’

  The two men watched her walk away then went into the study, where his father offered him a brandy. Benedict tugged on the bell-pull. ‘I’d prefer tea at this time of day.’

  There was approval in his father’s smile. ‘Then I’ll join you before we discuss the business in hand.’

  Benedict knew better than to push his father before he was ready. Affable though the earl was, his word was law and Benedict always respected his position as head of the family when they were together. So he waited while the footman poured their tea and they’d spoken of the state of the country, of their investments and of the estate in general. Benedict tried to rein in his curiosity all the while.

  ‘So, Ben, has your stud begun to pay its way?’

  Benedict knew one of his father’s preambles when he heard it, but the smile he gave was full of satisfaction. ‘Under the guidance of William Ross it’s beginning to show a healthy profit. I’ve learned a lot from him, and I’m thinking of starting a second stud I can run for myself, if I can find the right sort of property further south. I’ve got a couple of young thoroughbred stallions I can put into service soon, and mares with good bloodlines aren’t too hard to find. It’s mostly a question of putting the two together at the right time and letting nature take its course.’

  ‘Ah ... yes. So it is.’ When his father placed his cup on the tray and went to sit behind his desk it was an indication of the gravity of what he had to say. ‘Three days ago I received a letter from Thomas Dunstan, Solicitor, of London.’

  Benedict had never heard of him, but he nodded.

  ‘It was to inform me of the demise of Lord Hartford, an elderly gentleman who resided near Bridport, in Dorset.’

  ‘I was not acquainted with Lord Hartford.’

  ‘Neither was I, Ben.’ His father’s grey eyes came up to his in a rather searching manner as he said slowly. ‘But it seems that you’re betrothed to his granddaughter, Ambra Rosa.’

  ‘Ambra Rosa!’ Benedict stared at his father in complete bewilderment, racking his brain in a vain attempt to recall all the women he’d known - at least, those who'd made an impression on him. He was certain he’d never proposed marriage to any of them. ‘The devil I am! I’d have remembered a name like that one.’

  ‘If nothing else about her,’ his father said drily.

  Benedict gave a faint grin. ‘It sounds like an Italian name. I assure you, Father, I haven’t visited Italy since you sent me on the Grand Tour six years ago.’

  ‘Only her mother was Italian. Gianna Puzo, her name was. Miss Hartford was fathered by Oliver Hartford, an Englishman. The pair fell in love and married outside the faith Gianna was brought up in. It appears you’ve been betrothed to their daughter for the last nineteen years.’

  ‘Since I was eight?’ A guffaw of laughter burst from him. ‘Surely the girl would have married someone else by now. This is a jest.’

  ‘Unfortunately no. The young lady will turn twenty-one shortly.’

  ‘And she says she’s been promised to me since she was dangling from her mamma’s teat. That’s ridiculous!’

  James chuckled at his son’s answer. ‘It would be ridiculous, except her mother died giving birth to her. Then there is this.’ He slid a paper across his desk, a copy by the look of it, since it lacked an official seal. ‘The agreement is dated August 1781 and was made between your maternal grandfather and her paternal grandfather. It seems that the Reverend Andrew Brierly borrowed a great deal of money from Lord Hartford - money with which he bought the house and gardens that you now inherit and enjoy. That was the girl’s dowry, paid in advance to insure she would be cared for should she be left without a responsible guardian. A marriage bargain was struck.’

  ‘Then it must be rescinded, and at once.’

  ‘She will have expectations, Ben. Apparently she’s living in Hartford House alone. Thomas Dustan said in his letter that he was given to understand she was ill at the time he was there - not dangerously so, but indisposed with an infectious fever and rash that she caught from a sick child she tended in the nearby village. He’s since learned that she survived.’

  ‘How fortunate for me,’ he remarked with a sense of irony.

  ‘Dunstan carried out the wishes of the new Lord Hartford to dismiss all the staff, and left instructions for the place to be boarded up until the man can find the time to visit it himself. Dunstan said he turned a blind eye to the existence of the girl otherwise she would have been cast out on the street with nowhere to go. He also turned a blind eye to an amount of money found in her grandfather’s strongbox; just a few guineas so she’d have means to sustain herself for a short while. He says it won’t last long.’

  The viscount raised an eyebrow. ‘And now the old cove expects me to rescue this Hartford granddaughter, a young woman who doesn’t have the sense to stay away from diseased children…and he expects me marry her?’

  ‘Reverend Brierly was as sly as a fox. I often wonder how he managed to produce such a sweet-natured daughter.’ The smile that touched his lips was followed by a sigh. ‘He was a man who would never forget a slight, or forgive it. He would have arranged this match to punish me for taking Imogene from him, but he was shrewd and thought so highly of you, his grandson, that I imagine it was more than just revenge on me. He would have wanted you settled. You know, there must be a similar document amongst the reverend’s papers. This copy could be a forgery despite being signed and witnessed. All the same, my enquiries have shown Thomas Dunstan to be entirely trustworthy and honest.’

  ‘My grandfather’s papers are stored in the stud manager’s office. But you’re my father, so you were my guardian at the time of this agreement. How could he have overridden that?’

  ‘If I’d known about it and challenged it he couldn’t have. But your grandfather knew it was unlikely that this document would come to light until Lord Hartford had gone.’

  ‘What if I’d married before?’

  ‘It’s a matter of family honor - especially for your mother. There’s no escaping the fact that the estate you inherited was intended to be the young lady’s dowry. Had you wed another you would be bound to return it to her, or at least, its worth in monetary value. We owe her a debt, Ben. There’s also another possibility. Patrick Hartford might call in this debt if he finds out about it before she’s wed. The agreement made between the grandfathers was not foolproof.’

  A frown creased Benedict’s forehead as a noose seemed to tighten around his neck. ‘It sounds as though you want me to marry this girl, Father.’

  After a moment or two of deliberation, the Earl nodded. ‘I do think it’s about time you
settled down and produced a family. You’ve been on the loose for quite a while and there’s been time enough to sow your wild oats. Having a wife can be a comfort to a man in more ways than one.’

  Benedict managed a wry smile. ‘Especially if the heart is involved, I imagine. You must know you’ve set me an ideal of what a marriage should be. I’ve always promised myself I’d wait until I’m in love before I wed - as you love and respect my mother. You've always been so happy together.’

  ‘I know, Ben. I've been fortunate in my marriage. Your mother is, and always will be the centre of my life. Don’t think your happiness is not dear to my heart though, for I won’t push you into marriage if you’re against it. However, I’m of the mind that being a husband and begetting heirs with a suitable woman is infinitely better than a man turning into an ageing roué with a tribe of unknown bastards laying claim to his name and fortune. And we both have the succession of estate and title to consider. The least you could do is make her acquaintance.’

  Benedict winced. He prided himself on having had more sense than to get a child on any woman so far. ‘Tell me what you know about her?’

  ‘Ambra Rosa has been raised in the country as a companion to her grandfather, who was almost a hermit. She ran his household, but is not accustomed to an extensive social life. Her birth name has been anglicised to Amber Rose, and is the name she’s accustomed to using.’

  ‘Even prettier,’ he murmured. ‘I promise to look the girl over. She sounds like a worthy type who cares for old men, stray cats and sick children, though. Not my type at all.’

  His father chuckled. ‘Who is this talking? Is it the Viscount Costain who gave a large donation to the parish benevolent fund last Christmas for exactly that purpose?’

  Benedick grinned. ‘It was Christmas and there were orphaned children to consider, though I'm sure I didn't donate anything to stray cats. Besides, the money wasn’t really mine, I won it at the card tables - a large portion of it from you and the rest from the squire as I recall. The pair of you would never have forgiven me if I’d kept it.’

  His father grinned at that. ‘If you decide not to go through with the marriage Brierly House must be handed over to Miss Hartford, or a suitable cash settlement negotiated ... probably with her cousin.’

  ‘Then what will happen to the girl?’

  ‘She’s not really our problem, Ben.’

  Benedict was loath to hand over Brierly House. Not because he was attached to it to any great degree, in fact, he was considering an offer on it. He found the classical lines of the place with its Grecian columns, marble floors and staircases, too pretentious for his more homely taste. But he’d lived there for the last eight years, while his adjacent horse stud was established.

  He mulled over the problem. To compensate the girl would take a sizeable chunk of his fortune. If he gave her Brierly she wouldn’t be able to afford to maintain it. But then, it wasn’t his to give. Although the deeds were in his name, and no law in the land would come down on her side should she decided to claim it, the agreement said it was built with her dowry.

  If he wed her there would no longer be a problem, he thought.

  What if she didn’t want him? He almost laughed at the thought that the creature would scorn him. He had no doubt he could bring the girl around. Even so, the thought of taking a virginal country mouse in marriage appalled him. ‘Does my mother know about this?’

  ‘Imogene and I have no secrets between us, but it will go no further.’

  ‘What is her advice?’

  ‘Naturally, she’s concerned for the girl’s welfare. Miss Hartford is alone in the house without support.’

  ‘What about her relative, surely he will not put her out?’

  ‘I’m given to understand that the new Lord Hartford is a nere-do-well. Apparently his grandfather supported him to some extent, hoping he’d mend his ways. It seems that he hasn’t, for he’s heavily in debt by all accounts. He’s already cashed in the investments and taken possession of the available money. Thus, the estate will soon be bankrupt, except for the house. He’ll have no means of maintaining it now, and shows no inclination to run the estate. Dunstan believes that Patrick Hartford will sell the place as soon as he runs out of cash.’

  Benedict’s eyes narrowed. Only a stupid man would gamble away his assets. ‘I might take a look at it, see if it will serve as a sight for my new stud. It will give me an excuse to visit.’

  ‘Dunstan believes the marriage agreement loan was made so his nephew couldn’t get his hands on a large portion of the estate - the amount loaned to your grandfather to build Brierly with. I have no doubt that the former Lord Hartford would have approached us on her behalf when the girl turned twenty-one.

  James stood and patted his only son on the shoulder. ‘You’re aware of her situation, but bear in mind she might not be. Let me know your decision after you’ve made her acquaintance and thought it through. Now, I must go and help your mother to pick the roses. I don’t want her to get thorns in her fingers.’

  As he watched his father walk away Benedict couldn’t help but laugh at the predicament he was in. ‘Ambra Rosa,’ he whispered, savoring the name on his tongue. It sounded like a bottle of wine fermented from sun-kissed grapes ripened in an Italian vineyard. She would be sweet to the taste, warm and slightly musky. He grinned at the thought. Then again, she might be crisp and sharp.

  One thing was certain; the girl was alone. He should seduce her before he considered marriage, give her no choice. But then, he had his property to consider, and should wed her first to secure it. Afterwards he could seduce her in a moral sense, within the marriage bed. His smile broadened at the thought that he was considering marriage, at all.

  * * * *

  Grandfather Hartford’s strongbox was empty of his papers, but it contained a number of coins. At least she had some money for essentials if she needed it, Amber thought with satisfaction.

  She went in search of Jake, who a fortnight after his arrival was settled into the former butler’s quarters. It was dark with the windows boarded up, but Jake didn't mind and there were plenty of candles in the storeroom.

  Amber had grown used to the place being empty of servants. They just used their own rooms or the kitchen, with the occasional foray into the library for a book to read. Amber liked to sit in her grandfather’s study sometimes because there was a portrait of him there, and his kind face brought her comfort.

  All the clocks had stopped except the one in the hall with its stately tock, which she kept wound. She practiced on the piano every morning, then schooled Jake at the kitchen table, setting him the same lessons as her tutor had set for her.

  She soon learned that he understood numbers better than she did. ‘You’ll have to study them by yourself,’ she said. ‘But you can read to me for an hour every day, and you can write an essay once a week. I’ll teach you to play the piano if you like.’

  In return he helped her with any domestic work that needed doing and kept the kitchen garden free of weeds. Sometimes he went out for the day and came back with a few pennies in his pocket and a pleased smile on his face, saying. ‘I walked into Dorchester and minded a gentleman’s horse outside the Antelope Hotel.’

  Jake would leave her if he found permanent employment for he needed to earn a living. Sad when the child had a good mind, plus a longing for scholarship. But he also had a wide streak of practicality.

  She found him in the kitchen preparing breakfast, two boiled eggs apiece and the last two slices of smoked ham. She intended to use the bone to add flavor to some pea soup. Now she was getting used to it she quite enjoyed cooking, using a book of recipes she’d found in the drawer and reducing the amount of ingredients.

  The kettle was steaming on the hearth.

  ‘Have we no bread left, Jake?’

  ‘No, Miss. I was going to try and make some. We have milk. I went to see the farmer. He’s busy with harvesting, but said that if I milked the cow every morning and turned her out to past
ure he’d allow me to fill the jug.’

  ‘The farmer got the best of that bargain.’

  ‘I know, but after he’d gone his wife promised that she’d make us an apple pie. We’ve only got enough tea to last a few more days.’

  ‘We’ll have to go without after that. It’s too expensive.’

  Tansy came in to weave about her ankles and Amber reached down to stroke her, saying, ‘You feel plump, you must have provided your own breakfast.’ She poured some milk into a dish and the cat began to lap, her eyes squeezed shut and her ears flattened against her head with the sheer enjoyment of it.

  ‘Samuel’s going to teach you how to catch some trout with your bare hands, Jake. I’ll try and make bread later. It can’t be too hard.’

  When Jake left with Samuel she washed the dishes, wondering if she could alter some of her grandfather’s clothes to fit the lad, for his sleeves were too short and his trousers tight across his rump. Her grandfather had only been a small man. But then she remembered the clothes he provided for the staff.

  In the laundry cupboard she found several pairs of trousers, shirts, a cloth waistcoat or two and a jacket. Her grandfather’s wardrobe yielded a pair of short boots. His room was dusty, as were most of the rooms now. But there weren’t enough hours in the day to keep the house clean.

  She laid the clothes over the chair in Jake’s room. If the trousers were too long she could easily turn up the hems.

  Making the bread dough from flour and milk she placed two sticky lumps into pans and slid them into the oven they’d lifted onto the grid over the burning coals. The loaves didn’t take long to cook, though the bottoms were burned. Her bread was stodgy, not light like the cook’s used to be. Still, it would fill them up. Placing the loaves on the table to cool she wondered what to do next.

  Her hair needed washing and so did she. Usually the servants brought a bathtub up to her room and filled it with kettles of hot water. But that couldn’t happen now. It was too much work and she only had one kettle on the boil. A wooden laundry tub would have to suffice as a bath. She fetched her hairbrush from her bedroom, and a clean gown of blue cotton decorated with cornflowers.