From Ruin to Riches

by Louise Allen

  ‘That is somewhat obvious, I agree. Have you shown any interest in this girl?’

  ‘No!’ Henry looked positively flustered.

  ‘Is there someone else? You must tell your mother if you have formed an attachment elsewhere.’

  Henry got to his feet and went to look out of the window without answering. The tips of his ears had gone red.

  ‘So there is someone? Someone unsuitable,’ Julia guessed. She got up and went to sit on the window seat, close, but not crowding him.

  ‘God, yes.’

  ‘Has it been going on for long?’ He turned his head away so she added, ‘I swear I will not mention a word to a soul. You know I keep my promises, Henry.’ It would not do, of course, this attachment to an ineligible woman, but there was no need to add to his misery by telling him that, he obviously already knew it perfectly well.

  ‘A year.’

  Serious, then. ‘Is it a courtesan, Henry?’ Perhaps he had sought to deal with his shyness with girls and had become attached to the professional he had gone to. A vehement shake of the head. ‘An older woman?’ He shot her an incredulous look. ‘Someone not of your station?’ He bit his lip. Ah, that was it. ‘Someone of the merchant class? A servant?’

  He had gone white now. ‘A servant. I cannot tell you, Julia. You will be shocked.’

  ‘No I will not, truly I will not, Henry. I have not led a very sheltered life, you know. Tell me about her, do.’

  Henry sat down abruptly next to her, his hands fisted on his thighs as if to stop them shaking. He seemed unable to speak and a suspicion began to creep over her. ‘Henry, is it a young man?’

  ‘How did you—?’ He broke off, his face stark with the realisation that he had given himself away. Julia managed to keep the shock out of her voice. Henry was confessing to something that could, at the worst, see him go to the scaffold.

  ‘I just guessed. Henry, is this serious? Who is he?’

  ‘A valet. I met him at the Walsinghams’ house party and then… Well, you don’t need the details. But it is serious, Julia. I love him and he loves me and I don’t know what to do. Mama keeps on about me marrying.’ He seemed to run out of words.

  Yes, it was serious, she could see that. Lethally serious, if not for him, a gentleman, but certainly perilous for his lover. And Henry looked desperate enough to do something foolish. This was no time to be shocked and uncomprehending—she had to help him.

  ‘How often do you go up to London?’ she asked, thinking aloud. ‘Quite a lot, don’t you?’ He nodded, bemused. ‘Where do you stay?’

  ‘Hotels, sometimes with friends. But what—?’

  ‘It would be more economical, and an investment, if you bought a small apartment,’ she suggested. ‘You would need a manservant, of course, to maintain it while you were not there and to look after you while you were in town. Many young men do just that and no one thinks anything of it. A young man trained as a valet would be ideal, don’t you think?’

  ‘Julia, that is brilliant!’ Henry took her hands and beamed at her. Then his face fell. ‘But Mama keeps on trying to pair me off with girls.’

  ‘Learn to flirt,’ Julia said with sudden inspiration. ‘Cultivate a reputation for being dangerous and the mamas will flee at the sight of you. Become a rake and a ladies’ man. Your mother will be furious with you, but it should disarm all suspicion.’

  ‘Will you show me how?’

  ‘Certainly not! You’ll have to be observant and work it out for yourself. Oh, Henry, don’t—’ There were tears in his eyes despite his smiles. ‘Just do be careful, my dear. It will be more than just a scandal if you are discovered.’

  ‘Thank you. Oh, thank you, Julia.’ The next thing she knew she was in Henry’s arms and he was hugging her with desperate affection, his cheek pressed against hers.

  The door banged closed. Henry started and clutched her tighter. ‘A touching scene,’ Will remarked. ‘Henry, get your hands off my wife and come here.’

  ‘Will—’

  But Henry was already in his feet. He tried to thrust her protectively behind him even as she resisted him. ‘Don’t you dare look at Julia like that, as if she could do something wrong—as though she would dream of it! You can name your seconds, Cousin!’

  ‘And cause a scandal? I don’t think so. And as for my wife’s capacity for wrongdoing, well, Cousin, you have a far longer and more recent acquaintanceship with her than I have.’

  Henry went very still. ‘You are just like your father,’ he accused. ‘I can remember him all too well and you—’

  ‘That is enough, both of you.’ Julia stood and put herself between Will with his clenched fists and his hard, angry eyes and Henry’s rigid form. ‘I have just given Henry some advice with a difficult problem that was worrying him and he was relieved and grateful. If you believe I would be unfaithful to you, and with a young man I regard as a brother, then, my lord, I am sorry for you.’

  ‘What problem?’

  Beside her she heard Henry’s sharp intake of breath. ‘That is a confidential matter. I do not break confidences, my lord. Not yours, not anyone’s.’

  The dangerous silence stretched until she thought she would faint from holding her breath, then Will said, ‘Very well. Keep your hands off my wife in future, Cousin. I do not care how grateful you might be feeling.’ He turned on his heel.

  ‘I think it might be best if you come here only in company for a week or so,’ Julia said as the door closed with exaggerated care behind her husband. ‘Will does not like secrets.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  The evening gown was the most fashionable garment she had ever possessed. Julia regarded the sweep of silken skirts, the elaborate ruffles around the skirt and the tips of her sea-green slippers peeping out below the hem with some satisfaction.

  She had shaken off Will’s attempts to take her into every shop in Aylesbury—and probably Oxford and Thame, too, if he had his way—by the simple expedient of sending to the best local dressmaker and requesting that she attend her at King’s Acre with patterns and samples. When the fabric was chosen she had charged Madame Millicent with taking a sample to her usual shoemaker and with bringing a selection of ribbons and artificial flowers with her to the first fitting.

  With the addition of her gauze scarf and silver-spangled fan she was elegantly outfitted from head to toe without the stress of a visit to the crowded shops and was able to contemplate the thought of the first dinner party of their married life with composure.

  It had taken some time to arrive at that state. Will had been punctiliously polite since the scene with Henry, although an attempt to discuss it was met by his assurance that he had no intention of prying into her affairs, but that it might be sensible not to be alone with an impressionable young man. This advice was delivered in such a patronising manner that she went from apologetic to thoroughly irritated and made no attempt to raise it again. There were moments when she wondered if that had been his intention. She also wondered uneasily if his insistence on her buying clothes in such a lavish manner was a way of asserting his ownership.

  Now she did her best to push such thoughts away and rehearsed the guest list in her head. She knew almost everyone. There was Aunt Delia and Henry, of course. That might be awkward, although Delia would have been affronted not to be invited to the first dinner after Will’s return. Then there was the vicar and his wife; Major Frazer, Will’s groomsman and old army comrade and Mrs Frazer; the Marquess of Tranton and Lady Tranton, with whom the archbishop had, so providentially, been staying three years ago, and Caroline Fletcher and her parents, Viscount and Lady Adamson, along with her betrothed, Andrew Fallon, Earl of Dunstable.

  Will had combined the highest ranking of their neighbours and those with a special connection to the wedding and she could not fault his reasoning, even if it brought her face to face with not only Henry, but also Miss Fletcher, in Will’s presence. But Caroline would be accompanied by Lord Fallon so really, Julia scolded herself, there was absolu
tely no reason to feel any awkwardness. That betrothal was long over.

  Her seating plan had required some thought, and Gatcombe’s assistance, but she was pleased with the result. Thanks to a strict adherence to the rules of precedence, Miss Fletcher was almost the length of the table away from Will and separated from Julia by the marquess.

  Julia swept downstairs, reminding herself that she really was the Baroness Dereham and not an interloper. Three years of grass widowhood running the estate was no preparation for an evening of entertaining a marquess, an earl and a viscount, but they were all pleasant, civilised people, she assured herself.

  Will looked up as she entered the dining room, her seating plan in his hand. ‘This looks perfectly all right,’ he remarked, scanning it as she made last-minute alterations to the flower arrangements in the epergne in the centre of the table.

  ‘I do hope so.’ Julia went to the head of the table and tried to see whether the flowers would obscure Will’s view of Miss Fletcher. She rather thought they would. It was not irrational jealousy, she told herself, merely what any wife would do when confronted with an acknowledged beauty in her own dining room.

  ‘What are you looking so smug about?’

  Julia wrinkled her nose at him. Smug was an unpleasant word. She was merely being tactical. Since that strange day with its tears, laughter and explosion of passion she had been unable to clarify her feelings about her husband. His furious reaction to seeing her in Henry’s arms had not helped either. Possessiveness, or genuine jealousy?

  He was evasive on the subject of Caroline Fletcher, she had noticed. But whether that was because he still wanted her or whether it was simply that he felt he had let Caroline down by breaking the engagement she could not fathom.

  But she had told him she trusted him and that was the important thing, to be true to that. Trust was obviously a sensitive point with Will and she could hardly fret about any lingering feelings he might have for Miss Fletcher and forget the secret she was keeping from him herself, or Henry’s worrying revelation.

  Comparing her mild unease about Caroline Fletcher to the secrets she was keeping was like comparing the nearby Downs with the Alps, she thought with a sudden, familiar, lurch in mood. A rapid mental calculation and she realised it was, indeed, familiar. Unless she was very much mistaken her courses would start tomorrow, which meant she was not carrying Will’s child.

  The mixed feelings took her by surprise. Regret she had expected. But relief that she had another month’s respite before facing that fear took her by surprise. She wished she could confide all that in Will, but she feared she could not articulate it without breaking down.

  Gatcombe was hovering and probably thought she was finding fault with the table. Julia told herself to stop fussing and followed Will to the salon so she could pass the time with an unexceptional piece of embroidery until her guests began to arrive.

  Will seemed on edge, but that was doubtless her wretched imagination playing tricks on her, Julia decided, and managed to stab herself in the thumb with her needle. He shook out the pages of The Times and began to read, creating an effective barrier between them. And that is just your foolish fancy, she told herself, sucking at the tiny wound. Just as you are imagining that things are different in the bedroom.

  Ever since that afternoon when they had tumbled laughing on to her bed and made frantic, urgent love, it had seemed to her that Will had changed. His lovemaking was polite, restrained, considerate. He always left her satisfied…and yet it was as though he was holding something back from her. Had she revealed too much that afternoon? Was he shocked, on reflection, by her abandoned behaviour? Was he retreating back to a safe emotional distance? Or did he still harbour suspicions about Henry?

  The French knot she was working had become tangled. Julia tried to unpick it, but the light was bad, or perhaps her vision was blurred. Or perhaps I am just weepy because of the time of the month, she told herself.

  ‘I hear carriages.’ Will folded the paper and got to his feet to stand by the hearth, facing the door. Julia rose, too, and went to his side. How very handsome he looked in the severe evening clothes. Her sea-green skirts brushed against his legs as she turned to take up her position and she saw him close his eyes for a moment.

  ‘I feel as though a portrait painter will come through the door at any moment and set up his easel. Baron Dereham and His Lady about to be immortalised in oils,’ she said.

  That provoked a snort of laughter from Will and they were both smiling and relaxed as Gatcombe announced, ‘The Earl of Dunstable, Viscount and Lady Adamson, Miss Fletcher.’

  Julia fought to keep every iota of that smile on her face as she realised that four pairs of eyes were trained, not on them as a couple, but on Will. The earl, Lord Fallon, had that focused look she had learned to recognise in men who were on their mettle, even spoiling for a fight. The earl was on tenterhooks to see how Will reacted to Miss Fletcher, and how she behaved in her turn. Lord and Lady Adamson, she saw in an instant, were on edge, no doubt catching the tension emanating from Lord Fallon in the presence of the man who should have been their son-in-law by now.

  And Miss Fletcher? Julia had met her several times before Will’s return and knew her a little, but not well enough to sense whether her instinctive dislike was simple prejudice because Caroline had not fought to stay with Will when he had thought himself to be dying, or whether she would have found her uncongenial under any circumstances.

  There was an infinitesimal pause, then Will stepped forwards to greet their guests and Julia lost the ability to detect anything but conventional social greetings and the exclamations of pleasure at Will’s safe return.

  Will was not looking at Caroline. Caroline was carefully not looking at Will and Lord Fallon was watching both of them like a hawk. Julia stepped between the two men. ‘I am so pleased you could come, Lord Fallon. Will you be staying long at Heathfield Hall?’ She turned a little as she spoke and he had, out of simple politeness, to follow her.

  ‘For several weeks, Lady Dereham. We are making wedding preparations, as you know, and that takes a great deal of planning.’

  He began to prose on about the guest list. Julia fixed a smile on her lips. At least she had succeeded in creating space for Caroline’s parents to talk to Will and, as she suspected, there was long acquaintance and considerable liking between them.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Pendleton. Mrs Hadfield, Mr Hadfield.’

  Delia, unconsciously doing the tactful thing, swooped on Miss Fletcher and began to interrogate her about her trousseau. Henry, who had met Lord Fallon on the hunting field, came up with a question about a horse and, with a sigh of relief at the thought of another awkward confrontation averted, Julia was able to slip away and greet the vicar and his wife.

  The big salon filled up quickly and Julia relaxed. Will had hardly so much as glanced in Caroline’s direction and both he and Lord Fallon appeared to have decided there was no need to bristle at each other. Will had even spoken civilly to Henry and the younger man had relaxed from an all-too-obvious tension into his usual cheerful self.

  *

  By the time she walked through to the dining room with the Marquess of Tranton, Julia realised that she was actually enjoying herself.

  ‘I hear that you are expecting a positive herd of horses shortly,’ the marquess remarked as the soup was served.

  ‘Indeed, yes. Lord Dereham purchased some very fine animals while he was in Spain and North Africa. We have had to extend the stables to accommodate them all. I will let you know when they arrive, if you are interested, my lord.’

  ‘That would be a pleasure, thank you.’ He passed her the pepper, then remarked, ‘My steward tells me that you have been managing the estate here in Dereham’s absence with remarkable success.’

  ‘It is kind of him to say so.’ The Tranton farms were famous—praise from that quarter was praise indeed.

  Julia had been having qualms about entertaining a marquess and what topics of conversation migh
t interest him. She had not been expecting him to show so much approving interest in her agricultural endeavours and the meal seemed to fly past in a highly satisfactory sequence of courses and a lively buzz of conversation.

  *

  Julia’s other big fear had been that she would forget to rise and take the ladies out at the appropriate moment, but even that went smoothly without Delia having to shoot dagger-glances down the table to remind her. Will caught her eye and nodded and she felt the warmth of his approval.

  The ladies settled in the salon to gossip and await the tea tray. Julia relaxed, then tensed in surprise as Caroline Fletcher settled beside her.

  ‘I was amazed that Lord Tranton should have chosen to talk so much about farming.’ She gave an artistic shudder. ‘Why, he hardly spoke of anything else and I am sure he has all the Court gossip at his fingertips. You must have hoped to forget such tiresome things as cows and corn at dinner, Lady Dereham.’

  ‘Not at all, Miss Fletcher. I was flattered by his interest. He is very knowledgeable.’

  ‘I have never understood why you had to be involved with it at all. Could you not have hired a man instead of labouring over something so…unfeminine?’

  ‘If I was both ignorant, and idle,’ Julia riposted with a smile, ‘I would have done. As it happened I knew what I was doing and I find it of great interest. Beside which, I considered it my duty to look after King’s Acre until Lord Dereham returned.’

  ‘You expected this miracle cure, then?’ Caroline enquired, making no effort to hide her scepticism.

  ‘I never gave up hope.’

  To anyone knowing the history it would seem an implied criticism and Caroline certainly took it as one. Her eyes widened and her lips tightened as the colour slashed across her cheekbones. ‘You must be congratulated upon having no imagination, Lady Dereham,’ she riposted. ‘To marry under the circumstances must have required the most ruthless control of whatever sensibility you possess.’ Her smile indicated that she thought Julia had none.