by Janet Woods
‘Let’s hope she doesn’t find out then.’
‘Besides myself, only you two, my parents and the lawyer, Dunstan, know about the lone arrangement at this time. Let’s hope it stays that way. I must be off.’
Archie held out his hand to him. ‘Don’t worry, Ben I’ll make sure your lady love is kept busy and adequately guarded in your absence. Just take care of yourself.’
Words echoed by Kitt, who slapped him on the back.
Then he had to run the gauntlet of his sisters, who parted with him with tears in their eyes and words of wisdom, as though he’d be gone for a year instead of a few days.
Amber Rose stood back a little way, as if she wasn’t sure of her place. ‘We’ve hardly spent a moment alone together. Walk with me to the end of the carriageway,’ he said, taking her hand in his.
His sisters burst into laughter when she said drily, ‘Then you’ll have to walk me back to the house, and we’ll be walking up and down the carriageway all day.’
Such a delicious sense of the ridiculous should be captured in a bottle. He grinned, then kissed her hand and gazed awkwardly at her, holding it, palm against his chest.
The trouble with being part of a family, he thought, was that a man wasn’t given any privacy - couldn’t do his courting without everyone looking on, giving advice and making him look like a fool for feeling like he did.
All he wanted to do was kiss that soft mouth, long and hard enough to heat and crush the honey from her lips. Then he could taste the essence of her against his tongue on his journey.
Acting on a whim he took the ring from his little finger and placed it on her middle one. ‘A keepsake until I can replace it with something better.’
Unexpectedly, she stood on her toes and kissed him, a dry dusting of her mouth against his like the wings of a butterfly. So chaste it was that it brought the urge to ravish her into awareness. And her mouth so teasing he knew that even in her innocence she was aware of him and would react to his attention with a pleasing passion when the time came.
When she whispered in her prim, country mouse voice, ‘You may release my hand now, Benedict. I shall look forward to your safe return,’ he could only smile at her before he mounted the impatient Juniper, who danced prettily and snickered in anticipation of the exercise.
Benedict pulled the beast’s head around and set him to the walk, then, because he was pulling at the reins, into a canter. He turned to wave at Amber, and she blew him a kiss to take with him.
It was a fine morning. The air was perfumed and the verdant landscape displayed a kaleidoscope of shining flowers, as though they’d come down with a shower of rain and speared into the earth.
He’d never seen the beauty of the place so clearly before. Everything was clean, fresh and new to him. He ignored the road and cut across the heath. He’d take the path through the forest, he thought, there was less chance of being accosted.
* * * *
Amber had watched Benedict go, a man dressed in black on a horse of shining darkness, a man still a stranger to her, but one she felt part of. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve him. He’d arrived at the moment when her future had looked bleak and had taken her life and future happiness to make his quest. It was as if fate had preordained them.
‘God, keep him safe,’ she whispered and caressed the ring he’d placed on her finger.
Emma and Caroline had come up, one either side of her. They slid their arms around her waist. She reciprocated by doing the same to them, making them all part of each other.
‘If I seem reserved at times I hope you’ll forgive me,’ she said. ‘I’ve been living with my grandfather since I was a baby. He entertained infrequently, and then it was with older people. I’m used to a life of solitude and have learned to be content with my own company.’
‘Oh, my dear, we’re as garrulous as geese when we’re together, so you must get over your shyness,’ Caroline told her. ‘We’re only family, after all, and you are almost one of us. Our mother has longed for the time when Ben decided to settle down. You’re perfect for him, and I’m sure our mother and father will adore you as much as we do.’
Identical kisses landed on each of her cheeks, then Emma said, ‘You mustn’t worry about anything. We’re going to play a game of cricket with the children, then have a picnic in the pavilion. Will you join us?’
The warmth of the welcome and the effort they were making to take her mind off her troubles brought tears to Amber’s eyes.
‘Yes ... that would be lovely,’ she said.
* * * *
Patrick was still at Hartford House. He’d been furious when he’d discovered that the girl had fled. He’d wrecked her room. Smashing the mirror on her dressing table against the wall, he’d then ripped the lacy bed hangings to shreds and had torn asunder every item she’d left behind.
Stephen Gould picked up the remains of a lace chemise, and in a way which made Patrick feel sick, inhaled the scent of her body like a bloodhound. Slipping it inside his waistcoat he said softly, ‘I want this cousin of yours at any cost, Patrick. She’s a beauty, and she has spirit.’
Patrick’s conscience needled him. Stephen was unstoppable once he’d set his mind to something. Yet he sensed an opportunity in his companion’s words.
‘You’ll have to wed her first, and without dowry. And you’ll have to cancel my debts. You know how I’m situated.’
Stephen’s eyes narrowed, then he began to laugh. ‘When I said any cost I didn't mean my freedom. Your cousin’s virginity is not worth such a sacrifice on my part and you will not shed your debt to me that easily. The game will be in hunting her down and running her to earth. I wonder where Costain has take her. What about the Italian aunts? Would he have taken her there?’
‘To Italy? As I recall there’s only one of the black widows still breathing. They disowned Amber when she was born. Family honor and all that.’ Which reminded Patrick his own honor had been tarnished by Amber’s flight. ‘I’ll kill Benedict Costain for absconding with her when I get hold of him, challenge him to a duel,’ he muttered with more bravado than conviction.
‘Do that and you’ll die,’ Stephen drawled. ‘Stop being such a bore, would you. There’s nothing to do here now your business is finished. Come on, let’s drag Jonas off that poxy tavern wench and go back to London to consult with your lawyer. If there’s a marriage agreement between your cousin and the viscount he’d be aware of it.’
‘Then why didn’t he inform me of it?’
‘Because there isn’t any agreement. Costain tricked you. He’s the type of man who puts some women on a pedestal while he cavorts with the more willing types. I hear he’s quite popular with the society trollops, so I doubt if he feels the need to marry just yet.’
‘But what was he doing at Hartford House in the first place? And where has he taken my cousin?’
‘I imagine he was acquainted with the old man and he was here to offer his condolences. As for hiding your cousin ... providing she went with him, Costain has a family and a wide circle of friends. She could be staying with any one of them.’
‘Providing she went with him? It’s obvious that she did.’
‘Is it? She might have borrowed some money from him and fled to Italy, there to throw herself on the mercy of her mother’s family. Or she might be hiding out with some local yokels.’
‘If she was hiding locally, that thin-faced crow who’s married to the churchman would know it. She’s got eyes and ears everywhere and tells me that Amber has taken a London orphan into her care.’
‘I’ll send the sewer rat packing when we catch up with them. Thomas Dunstan can draw up an agreement of wardship between the girl and myself. Once I’m armed with that we’ll go and find her.’
‘And talking of money.’ Taking aim, Patrick fired his pistol at the strong box. The ball dented the surface, then ricocheted back past Stephen and buried itself in the woodwork.’
‘You fool, Patrick, that just missed me. Come on, l
et’s get out of here,’ Stephen shouted, heading for the door.
Patrick swore, because, although he’d sold off everything of value he could fit into the carriage, including the monogrammed silver, he didn’t like to leave the cash behind. He hesitated, then reluctantly followed Stephen out through the door. He brightened. When he reached London he intended to make good his losses at the gaming table. Lady luck favored the brave and he couldn’t remain unlucky for ever.
As the door slammed behind them the dusk stirred and eddied though the striped light of the empty spaces, then gradually drifted into the more quiet air currents. All that was left was the deep tock of the clock. Its tongue fell silent two days later when the eight day span of its mechanism wound down and there was nobody there to rewind it.
Chapter Eight
Consolata Puzo received the sacrament, then took her last breath as the consecrated oil sealed the cross on her forehead. There was a smile on her face as she went to meet her maker, for the guilt she’d lived with for the past twenty-one years had been absolved by her penance. The resulting absolution had wiped her conscience free of stain, like a sheet emerging from the washtub.
The priest left the sister praying by her bedside and joined Alfredo Dominico by the window while the doctor pronounced absence of life. The churchman and the lawyer left together, stopping to briefly discuss the woman’s will. The priest was satisfied that the orphanage would benefit from Consolata’s death by the gift of the Puzo villa outside of town, which the orphans could run as a farm under supervision.
He didn’t need to enquire as to where the rest of the estate would go. He’d received the contessa’s confession. Despite his disappointment that the church hadn’t inherited more, he conceded that it was a just legacy, even though his bishop might not agree with him when he was informed.
‘She was a generous woman, the village will miss her,’ the mayor said to the lawyer two days later as Consolata joined her husband in the Puzo family tomb. The event had been witnessed by most of the villagers. They had followed the flower-covered coffin, carried on the shoulders of several men. The cortége had been preceded by the village band down a winding hill of shops, the hills behind them littered by small farms and white villas.
The cemetery overlooked the sea, which was overlooked by the village of Cessina, which in turn was overlooked by the church. The village was not far from Turin.
‘A pity there were no children to inherit. Strange that neither she nor her sister Orsola managed to breed before their respective husbands died. It was rumoured they were still virgins when they were widowed.’
The mayor laughed. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’
The lawyer told him. ‘Consolata named her niece as the main beneficiary. She is Lucia’s daughter, after all, and the only surviving member of her family.’
‘Lucia’s daughter? The Inglese bastardo! But Consolata would never allow her to be mentioned in her presence.’
Alfredo smiled. ‘Guilt is a powerful force, my friend. Ironic isn’t it? The girl’s name is Ambra Rosa Hartford, and she’s no bastard. Her father died before she was born and her mother lived long enough to give the girl life before she followed him to the grave. The child was destined for the church before her English grandfather arrived to claim her. The late Lord Hartford has kept Consolata informed of her welfare all these years, and brought pressure to bear on Consulata regarding her duty towards her niece. Now he is dead. By his own account, his successor is not a worthy man.’
‘The Bishop thought Consulata’s money would go to the church. She was very devout.’
‘Most people did. She had two wills made out, both unsigned. One was in favor of the church, the other addressed her niece’s needs. She signed the one in favor of the girl when she learned of the late Lord Hartford’s demise. She said she regretted turning her sister away from her door and was grateful to the English lord for keeping her informed of the girl’s progress.’
‘A pity she was not acknowledged by her earlier.’
‘Ambra Rosa is twenty-one years of age, so old enough to handle the fortune she’s inherited. The contessa said she didn’t want her niece to be at the beck and call of her English cousin - though an independent adviser is to be appointed. I thought her grandfather’s lawyer could be retained for the purpose. He’s old enough to be her father, by all accounts.
‘You’ll go to England then?’
‘I depart tomorrow. England is a miserable place when it rains, so I’m hoping for some fine weather.’
* * * *
Benedict was surprised that Patrick Hartford hadn’t caught up with him. Perhaps he’d thought better of pursuing Amber. She was, after all, of an age to make her own decisions.
The rain had started shortly after he’d set out from the Laconbridge Estate. His horse had thrown a shoe and the pair of them now trudged through the mud and puddles. With still another mile to go before he reached Brierly House the weather had cooled considerably. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Juniper snickered anxiously. He didn’t like thunderstorms. ‘It’s all right, lad,’ Benedict said, soothing him. ‘We should be home before it catches up with us.’ But the foliage suddenly started to rattle and Juniper shied as small balls of ice began to pepper down on them. Leading the horse under the shelter of the pines Benedict swore soundly.
The storm of hailstones was short-lived, but the sky was darkening ominously. It looked as though it was going to settle in for the night. Taking a chance, Benedict headed out into the slate-colored, gusting day. He kept his horse on a tight rein, for the slightest sound sent him crabbing sideways and his muscles were bunched with tension.
It wouldn’t take much for the horse to attempt to buck him off. As they reached the gates Juniper whinnied loudly as the familiar smell of his stable reached his nostrils. Benedict dismounted in case there was ice on the cobbled yard. There was a loud crack of thunder. His normally well-behaved horse squealed, then jerked his head and nearly pulled the rein from his hands as he bucked powerfully several times, his ears flattened to his head.
‘Whoa ... no you don’t.’ Benedict handed the rein into the expert hands of one of the two grooms who came hurrying out. ‘He’s cast a shoe, and the storm has panicked him. He’s ready to bolt.’
‘Yes, My lord. A rub down and a good feed will settle him down, won’t it Juniper?’ They took a grip on his bridle either side and led him into his quarters, where he was greeted by his restless stable mates.
Benedict made a run for the house, jumping when a jagged arrow of lightning speared to the ground in the direction of where he’d been sheltering. Sparks and smoke shot skywards. There was a crack as a tree fell.
A footman opened the door and took his hat from him. The house was gloomy from the storm, the marble cold and uninviting. ‘Light some lamps, Ben. Tell George I’ve gone to my room. I need a brandy and a warm bath, in that order. I’m soaked through.’
‘Yes, sir.’
George joined him within a few minutes. He put a taper to the fire then helped peel the wet clothes from Benedict’s body before handing him his robe. Sinking into his chair, Benedict sipped at the brandy, feeling it relax him right down to his toes as maids began to bustle in and out from the corridor with kettles of hot water for the adjoining bathing room.
Soon he was immersed up to his shoulders, and he murmured with the sheer bliss of it. George smiled as he placed a second brandy on a table within reach of Benedict’s hand, then removed himself to the bedroom to lay out fresh linens and clothes.
‘Has there been any visitors in my absence, George?’ Benedict called out.
George said, coming in with bath sheets to warm around the fire. ‘Reverend Avery left his card.’
‘He wasn’t after my soul again, was he?’
‘No, sir. He said the Bishop had told him you’d applied for a marriage licence. He wanted to congratulate you, and to tell you he’ll be standing by to perform the ceremony at a moment’s notice.’
‘Damn it, that was quick. I only applied for a license his morning before I visited the earl.’ He thought of Amber and smiled ... but why wait and allow her charms to go to waste?
‘May I ask who the fortunate lady is, My Lord?’
Benedict gave a faint smile. ‘When the young lady becomes my wife you’ll realise that it’s me who has the good fortune. In the meantime I’d be grateful if the rest of the staff were kept in ignorance.’
George was a neat, handsome man of middle years and fussy habits. The former tailor who had once been second valet to a Marquess, drew himself up. ‘It would be beneath my dignity to gossip about you to anyone, My Lord.’
‘Which is why I’m going to tell you her name. The lady is Miss Amber Rose Hartford of Dorset. Because she’s in grave danger, if anyone comes looking for her you’ve never heard of her.’ He just hoped the rest of the staff remained in ignorance.
‘Indeed, I have not.’ George gave him a critical look, then tutt-tutted. Opening the mahogany gentleman’s dressing cabinet he laid out his master’s shaving dish, then took out his razor and began to hone the blade on the leather strop.
Benedict was beginning to wish he’d brought Amber Rose back to his home, and at this moment they were lying naked together, his hands on the pale mounds of her backside as they rose from the water, better to position her over his rapidly rising ...
His shaft subsided woefully when George took a grip on his nose and began to lather his chin in a vigorous manner. Just as well really, since he couldn’t put the randy creature to any good use at the moment. He was sure though, that Amber Rose would be a very good fit.
Nasally, he said, ‘Do you have a lady friend, George?’
‘Indeed I do, sir. I visit a widow in the village on Monday and Friday nights for a small consideration. She meets my needs adequately.’
