by Anne Millar
The library door was still closed when she came back down and the temptation to revert to childhood and press her ear against it was overwhelming. Only the thought of Bridges’s eyebrows if he caught her at such a pursuit stopped her, but Judith still stepped softly as she crossed the hall to see if she could catch anything of what was being said. Whatever her father and aunt were discussing they were keeping their voices down, but Judith lingered long enough before opening the door to hear enough to understand what had brought her aunt racing to Oakenhill.
“The rumours are terrifying, Jonathon. Only rumours, but if the amounts I’ve heard are even remotely accurate then John is in serious trouble. And I’m afraid too deep for Oakenhill’s revenues to be halfway sufficient. Selling the timber from Haslet spinney is just a drop. Even Tresham would be hard put to dent such debts.” Matilde Sinclair paused in away which did nothing to reassure her brother.
“Even if Richard were disposed to assist again, and I’m afraid he is not. He made it clear to me last year that there would be no further help for John. Perhaps Chloe?”
“Has her own issues, Matilde. I was grateful to Richard and you, but John cannot rely on family charity. I must speak to him before we decide on any action. The money from the timber may be enough to stop the threat of a duel.” The mask of courage slipped as Lord Hampton contemplated the implication of John Hampton’s debts. “He is my last son, Matilde.”
Chapter 5
Aunt Matilde had rare taste in flowers, Judith conceded. Rare taste, and her husband’s deep purse to indulge it. Heating glasshouses the winter through might be feasible at her London home, but not here. So there would be no fresh roses for Christmas, nor daffodils in January. There was a measure of satisfaction to be had from such righteousness, even if one’s aunt spoiled the effect by looking decidedly sniffy at what she obviously considered to be provincial penny pinching.
“You should consider what I say, Judith. In mother’s day the house was filled with flowers the whole year through.” Matilde Sinclair wasn’t accustomed to opposition, not even from a niece she treated with remarkable indulgence. Except for remembering that Judith was a grown woman. The way she and father had choked off their discussion when she came into the library was quite absurd. She was far more responsible than John. Father too when it came to managing the estate. But not enough to be included in their discussion.
Nor important enough to be missed when she announced that she’d be taking herself riding for the second time that day. Her father only cast her a glance that had her explaining like the silliest girl that she would be taking a groom with her. Whatever she would find out about the depth of John’s trouble wouldn’t be obtained from this conversation. Trust Aunt Matilde to drop in the need to be back in plenty of time for afternoon receiving. She was hardly likely to forget that the beaver baronet was expected to call this afternoon. If the unbearable Sir Theodore was to presume just one inch he’d soon be receiving a stiff lesson in manners.
The ride didn’t improve her temper. Especially when she found herself being stalked. The rider kept very much to the tree line. A cloak as black as his stallion and a natural affinity for cover meant she couldn’t always see him, but Judith knew he was there. Had been since soon after she’d crossed the boundary onto Trefoyle. She’d gestured William to keep close when she’d first seen the figure then felt silly for being so nervous. Trefoyle never had any problems with poachers. Oakenhill might suffer, but the keepers on Amara’s estate were both vigorous enough and numerous enough to ensure the Guilmor lands didn’t. Anyway not many poachers rode about their business over either Trefoyle or Oakenhill.
She hadn’t intended to come this far over when she set out, it hadn’t been her practice to ride much over Trefoyle, not for years. Amara had made it quite clear she was still welcome to even after Thomas had gone but Judith had been reluctant, particularly when she realised the truth of Thomas. So straying here today was a mistake and certainly not a ploy of any sort to meet Thomas Stainford. For she was growing certain that that was who the mystery rider was. Though why would he want to follow her like this?
“Keep close William, we’re going to see who that is.” Whether her groom approved of her decision or not his only option was to follow as she turned Sherbery up the slope. Dark cloak made no difficulty about meeting them, sitting his horse quietly as they came up. They were close before she was quite sure, finally able to make out his face in the shadow of the shako’s brim. Thomas still sat silent watching her and the anger bubbled up in Judith. Why was he doing this? Tormenting her? Or was he expecting a change of mind on his offer? Did he think she should be grateful that he’d remembered her, thought to redeem her by marriage?
“Good morning, Judith.” Thomas Stainford sat in his saddle not four feet from her, smiling pleasantly as though he was meeting with an agreeable acquaintance.
“Good morning, Major.” Sherbery, traitor that he was, whinnied his own greeting, and that sound had a measure of welcome to it.
“I saw you galloping Sherbery earlier. He is in superb condition. I can quite see how you and he would lead the hunt, Judith.” So he remembered their discussion when he came to Oakenhill to make his offer. Years too late. Judith let the compliment roll off her. The only feeling she had for him now was irritation. It would be easier if he were to offend her, to make some slighting remark she could take exception to. Instead he nodded at the sweat that flecked Sherbery’s shoulders, and smiled at her.
Leaving her to say something, anything to prevent her responding to the warmth in his face. “I’m glad Swiftsure survived the Peninsula, Major. So many officers lost their chargers.” Thomas’ eyes were too direct, full of knowledge of her he had no right to. “It must be terrible for the poor horses.”
“He and I have been lucky, Judith.” Still she could see marks in the black coat of the stallion that matched to the white line on the face of his master. Swiftsure had suffered as well as Thomas. “A few scrapes, but nothing too serious. He’s served me well.”
He was clearly going to volunteer nothing more, no explanation of what had happened to him. Judith ached to ask, yet she daren’t. She knew if she gave way she’d only end by babbling. Asking why he had left without explanation, why he hadn’t come to find her. And there was no sign at all that he cared to be reminded of their past. Nothing beyond the urbanity and politeness of the gentleman. From polished Hessians to gleaming shako, he looked exactly the professional soldier that he was. No least trace of their intimacy in the stranger before her.
The stranger who had offered her marriage only a few days ago. His call at Oakenhill would have been necessary after her father had left his card, its corner no doubt turned down to indicate a personal visit. Thomas could have done no less than to return that visit in view of their family friendship. But he’d gone so much further.
“And Trefoyle, Major. Is it as you remember?” That was a polite enough inquiry.
“My godmother has altered nothing, Judith. It is like coming back to the past.” She might no longer ride there but Judith knew well how glorious Trefoyle park was from her visits to Amara. The woods were managed to provide splendid vistas and the hedges were zealously trimmed to be perfect for jumping. But you couldn’t go back to the past.
“Amara spends too little time here. Lord Guilmor rarely tears himself away from London.” Which from a selfish point of view meant that Judith’s opportunities to visit with a truly sympathetic friend were rather limited.
“Then you’ll be pleased to hear that my godmother has written she intends to come down next week.” He still had the ability to disconcert her, usually she thrilled to hear that Amara was coming to Trefoyle, now all she could think was that Thomas would be there when she visited.
“Your father is well? You said you might not have time to visit him as I recall.” If Amara Guilmor was coming down to Trefoyle she’d be unlikely to allow Thomas to ignore his family. But that would take him away from Trefoyle. Was that what she rea
lly wanted?
“He is well, Judith. Wrote to me to tell me he has disinherited me in favour of Charles. I received the letter this morning. But yes he is well. I thank you for asking.”
A single look at his face was all it took to confirm he was serious. All the questions she wanted answered flashed through her mind as she realised the impossibility of asking him a single one. It was no longer her business, if it ever truly had been. Even if she did ask his face, impenetrable and hard, shouted that he had no intention of discussing the matter.
“I’m sorry Thomas. Perhaps it is a mistake.” That was feeble in the extreme. The Earl of Penwick was not a man to make such a mistake. All the iron in Thomas came from his father. But why would the Earl disinherit Thomas? Thomas had done everything to make his father proud of him. Success in his military career, a superb horseman, she could testify that he was irresistible to women, quite the dashing blade. Whereas Charles was sweet, but more gentle and just a little soft.
“Will you fight it?” As the elder twin, if only by minutes Thomas was the rightful heir and it was doubtful if the Earl had the power at law to disinherit him if he would not accept the decision.
“No.”
Judith knew that even if she stayed silent till doomsday he wasn’t going to amplify that answer, and the ire rose in her at the conceit of him. This was earthshattering, important beyond almost everything and he was going to pretend he didn’t care.
“Then I will not keep you from your pleasures, Major.” He made no attempt to detain her, acknowledging her words with a courteous nod but saying nothing further. Judith was conscious of his gaze following her as she turned Sherbery, and she had to restrain herself from kicking the horse into a canter to get away from him. She allowed herself a trot but no more than that, she would not have him thinking that she fled.
Thomas watched Judith and her attendant groom disappear back down the track and cursed himself for a fool. Why did he have to antagonise her without reason? Judith had only been polite and he’d drawn her into his feud with his father. So much for his ability to maintain detachment. The fact that his father’s letter had arrived that morning was no excuse. He’d known there would be retribution to follow his disgrace. You couldn’t fight a duel with your own brother and expect everything to continue as before.
He patted the letter thrust into the inside pocket of his uniform coat. ‘Disgrace that shamed the family name... better that Charles inherit the title to safeguard the honour of the Stainfords.’ His father had never shown affection so there was no disappointment to be felt. Charles would make a respectable enough Earl; little chance of him squandering the family fortune, so no need to feel concern on that score. No, it was the foolishness of his father’s action that rankled. There had been no alternative to fighting the duel. At least none that retained any honour. And the Earl’s memory was short and selective. No mention of his directive to follow Charles to Portugal. Thomas smiled wryly to himself, family responsibility seemed curiously restricted.
The action would make little practical difficulty for him anyway. He didn’t doubt either the Earl’s determination nor the ability of his lawyers to break the entails that guarded the Penwick estate. However the settlement Thomas had from his grandfather would provide funds enough to support what was, by the standards of his friends, a modest enough life. There was little but cards or women for an officer in the Peninsula to waste money on. For him staking cash on the turn of a pasteboard token had always seemed a poor second to gambling your life on the flight of a musket ball.
Beyond the war was a long way away so there was no point in worrying about it. It looked as though his life then wouldn’t be including Judith though. She’d been categorical in rejecting his offer and there had been nothing in her this morning to suggest she would ever reconsider her stance. Though something in her suggested a melancholy that had never been there before, or maybe he was just cursed with an over active imagination. She was hard edged certainly, a brittleness about her that didn’t belong with the girl he’d known.
Which only proved there was no point in looking back. Whatever had changed her Judith was not sitting waiting for him to come back to her. No matter that the shock of seeing her this morning riding where they used to ride together far outweighed the impact of his father’s letter. It had taken him back to that golden past, the warmth of the sun, her body responding to his love making, Judith’s laughter. No woman since had brought him the sweetness of Judith. Her affection had seemed limitless, yet in the end it had only been an illusion.
~
Hampton Hall thoroughly enjoyed the arrival of the Horsley landau. It didn’t need both grooms to help the coachman lead the horses away, nor two footmen to usher the guests inside. A careful eye would have caught the other servants spying from whatever discreet vantage points they could find. Unbiased opinion could only have pronounced the equipage impressive, the coach magnificently gilded and the outriders glossed to perfection. Both postillions and all four escorting horsemen were brightly attired in the uniforms of the Loyal Volunteers, which obviously numbered amongst its duties the provision of a ceremonial escort for Sir Theodore and his mother.
Judith had to suppress a giggle as she stood spellbound at the drawing room windows while the procession swept by, and stifle another when their butler announced the guests. Bridges’ tone was entirely proper, but somehow still conceded that he was aware of the brassy glamour of their visitors.
“Sir Theodore Horsley, and Lady Horsley.”
“Judith please, you must call me Lady Florinda. We are close neighbours after all.” Judith, still obedient to the demands of propriety, rose politely in greeting and smothered her reaction as Lady Horsley swept into the room. Unlike Matilde Sinclair whose opinion was embarrassingly obvious to anyone with eyes. The woman was diminutive and dressed in the worst of fashion. Every possible embellishment of lace and ruffle had been added to the walking dress she’d chosen for her afternoon’s visiting. She pressed Judith’s hands in an over familiar gesture that reminded its victim of a slaughter man assessing stock, before planting herself in the hostess’s position next to the tea table.
“Lord Hampton, Judith, my dear.” Theodore Horsley was in the full uniform of a militia colonel, and in full effusion till he became aware of Matilde Sinclair’s scrutiny. His awkward pause cried out for his hostess to intervene, and Judith performed the necessary introductions, though her aunt’s eyes told her that she at least had noticed how slow she’d been in coming to the rescue.
Theodore Horsley had changed in the few years since the family had come to the county. The freshness he’d had as a young man seemed to have faded since his father died. Though Judith could never fault his consideration. She noticed Sir Theodore at nearly every social occasion she attended. On the infrequent occasions she attended assemblies the man could be relied upon to be there, eager to dance with her. He had become fast friends with John, but even when John was away in London Sir Theodore still seemed to have an uncanny ability to predict her movements.
“A magnificent team, Sir Theodore.” Lord Hampton was gazing wistfully through the full length windows as coach and horses were led away. “You did well with those.”
“Thank you, Hampton.” Theodore Horsley smiled expansively. “Appearances you know. Wouldn’t do for the colonel of the Volunteers to be less than dashing. Eh Judith?”
“No one could deny the impression you make, Sir Theodore.” She could see her aunt smile at the barbed words, so Judith went on. “Your soldiers are very smart, Sir Theodore. Such bright uniforms.”
“Theodore has spent heavily on the Volunteers, Judith. His patriotism sets a fine example.” Florinda Horsley was so caught up in lauding her son that she failed entirely to mark the half smile Judith couldn’t prevent. “You would think his sacrifice deserved gratitude.”
The hook was so obvious Judith knew she could not get round it. “I’m sure the army is grateful, Lady Horsley. And knowing the militia protects us hel
ps many ladies, myself included, sleep more soundly.” Judith caught her father’s eye for approval.
“I regret to say that there is no such gratitude toward me, Judith. In point of fact, the reverse.” Sir Theodore paused for emphasis, with an expression on his face that Judith though more suited to the Houses of Parliament than a neighbour’s drawing room.
“Surely Horseguards can only be thankful for your endeavours, Sir Theodore?” Normally Sir Theodore was excessively staid. Today, he had had his tail truly twisted, and Judith found herself struggling to suppress mirth at his outrage.
“And yet, Judith, they sent me a training officer. A convalescent. To show the Volunteers how to soldier.” Lady Horsley’s sniff was loud enough to be audible even over her son’s own commendable effort.
“Jealousy. That’s what it is. Of my Theo.” She looked as if a restorative draft would shortly be necessary and Judith wondered fleetingly whether sherry should be offered.
“A ninny who found the engagements in the Peninsula too taxing for him. Who does not know his place.” Sir Theodore’s strident denunciation paused when he caught sight of the hardness in Judith’s face. “Judith, my dear, whatever is the matter?”
“The Viscount Alsbury came here as a friend of John’s, Sir Theodore. Before he left for his duty in the Peninsula.” Her words were the more effective for her factual tone, and Judith could see discomfort rack Sir Theodore’s face. She could see both her aunt and Lady Horsley watching her curiously too. “Where he was wounded.”
“Of course we will humour him. For John’s sake.” Sir Theodore might have intended his smile to convey the depth of his forbearance, but it only made him look desperate as if he knew he’d lost command of the room, but was uncertain how to regain it. “Even if the major is a dull dog, whose conversation turns on training drills and muskets.”
