Amberley Chronicles Boxset II (Amberley Chronicles Box Sets Book 2)

by May Burnett

  And if it were true – should he turn his back on her, as all her neighbours were doing? Guilty or not, now more than ever she would need a friend, a defender.

  “Excuse me, Sir Reginald, Lord Laxeley, I must get back to the Hall,” he said, and left without further ado.

  What an awful, horrible mess.

  He imagined what a little daughter of Miss Bellairs would look like – adorable, no doubt, a moppet with dark curls and big brown eyes, musical and intelligent. Did she really exist? It would seem that nobody had directly asked the putative mother if it was at all true.

  He could not ask either, he realised, without giving deadly insult. If she was innocent, she would never forgive those who had slandered and doubted her.

  Besides, even if there was any truth to the matter, he did not care.

  A girl as beautiful and spirited as Margaret Bellairs would have been admired and coveted by many, wherever she went. During a period of her life when she was poor and desperate, what might she not have done? Did any of her smug, comfortable neighbours in Bankington have the least idea what might have driven her to act as she did – might have done – and did they have any right to judge her, without even asking what was true or not?

  His pace increased. He wanted to see Margaret, assure himself of her safety, and urge her not to let the poisonous rumours affect her.

  He loved her still, Italian lover or not, child or not.

  Others might call it pathetic, but William was almost glad to have the issue settled, once and for all.

  Would she even have heard yet of these scurrilous accusations against her? If not, he had to warn her right away. Her family also needed to be alerted so they could muster their defence.

  Chapter 22

  Once her mother and Mrs. Carney had left for the Vicarage, Margaret checked on her treasure, as she did every day, and then repaired to the deserted Conservatory with her sketch book. Had she had a piano, she would have soothed her anger and dismay with music. But all she had was the old flute, and she did not yet possess sufficient proficiency to use it for this purpose. Failing music, drawing also helped clear her mind.

  Margaret drew yet another sketch of Berry, who was resting on the floor, head on her forepaws, as she waited for her mistress to so something more interesting. She would miss the friendly dog when she left Bankington. Compared to the humans around her she was a loyal and restful companion. Was there any possibility of taking the animal with her when she left?

  Yet again she ran up against her status as a dependent, living in another woman’s household. Emily and Anthony might not like a big mongrel living in their elegant home. Even if they gave permission, Margaret was at an age when she ought not to have to apply for it in in the first place.

  If she wanted to keep the dog with her, she needed a household of her own, where her wishes were paramount.

  But it was absurd to worry about an animal at a time like this. If this rumour spread, as they usually did, not only Berry but Margaret herself might no longer be welcome at Pell House. Emily would know it was all lies, of course, and stand by her – but could she allow her sister to suffer any slurs for her sake? She had already done harm enough to Emily by forcing her to flee in the dead of night from the Austrian territories. That had ended well for Emily, but it might so easily have led to tragedy. And she was expected at Amberley … she had to write to Marianne, to let her know about this accusation. It would not do for her family to hear the news from anyone else.

  Margaret still had trouble taking the whole thing seriously. It was so silly … but also malicious, and dangerous. Gossip could ruin anyone. She did have secrets that could affect her reputation, notably having spied on the Austrian military for her country, and coming close to hanging for it; but these things described in the false letter were too ridiculous for words. As though she would ever be intimate with a man outside of matrimony, and a married man at that! She had far too much self-respect. Besides, from all she had ever heard, it was only the man who truly enjoyed bed sport. She would have to be abysmally stupid to fall into such a trap. Given that, why were people who had known her from infancy so eager to believe the worst of her?

  She finished the sketch and went to the study, to pen letters to Emily and Lady Amberley, explaining the circumstances, and her theory that Betty Harris was behind this ridiculous accusation. She made light of the problem, but the recipients would know how serious the matter might turn, probably better than herself.

  After sanding, sealing and directing her letters she walked over to the kitchens, and handed them to the footman, with enough money to mail them. From the way everyone was covertly watching her like a cow that had grown a second head overnight, the news had reached her servants as well. She looked each of them in the face, and said, “It seems that someone in Bankington is spreading lies about me. If any of you should you no longer want to work here, feel free to give your notice. I shall give you two weeks’ severance pay. I do not want anyone here who goes gossiping about their masters, mind.”

  “Oh no, Miss!” Tom said. “Go back to the workhouse? I like it here. I don’t care what people say.”

  Looking around the small group, Margaret saw condemnation only in the elderly London maid her mother had brought from Pell House. The woman would undoubtedly spread the story to Emily’s staff the moment she was back, but for now she had the good sense to be silent. Margaret gave orders for a light luncheon to be served when the other ladies returned, or at one o’clock, if they were not back by then. She felt little appetite, but she would not change her habits because of anything that fool Betty Harris had done. To go into a decline, or lose an iota of weight, would give the matter too much importance.

  As the weather had cleared and the sun was peeping through the clouds Margaret walked in the orchards with Berry, thinking hard. What if her sister and Lady Amberley could not restore her reputation, never mind that she was wholly innocent? What should she do with the rest of her life? She had wanted a titled husband, but ever since she had first rejected one, that no longer seemed so important. She had wanted security, but that also was no longer in danger. Right now, what she most wanted was a friend who would believe, support and advise her – and independence from her mother and sister. It was high time she struck out on her own, separate path.

  “Margaret? I knew I would find you here!”

  She turned, startled, at the familiar but unexpected voice. Christopher Dorringley stood before her, his dark locks dishevelled, his eyes wild.

  “Hello, Christopher.” Berry growled, and she petted the dog’s smooth head. “No, Berry, he is not dangerous. Calm down.”

  “Tell me it is not true,” Christopher begged. “I did not sleep a wink all night.”

  Margaret raised her chin. “That what is not true? I do not know what you can mean.” She could not help remembering that Christopher had already once believed a lie about her. But for that circumstance, they might be married now. At least this time he came to ask her, but she was in no mood to appease his doubts.

  “Mother told me that a letter to you had been found, in your music, at Milldale Manor.” He looked anguished. “Is it possible that while I was suffering agonies from our separation, you lived in sin with some Italian and had his child?”

  Margaret shrugged. “Whether possible or not, true or not, I do not see that it concerns you in the least.” Even as she said it, she realised that was not altogether true; but for Betty’s crush on Christopher, the forged letter would never have been written.

  “It is my fault, if you were driven to it in poverty and desperation – I should have come to you when your father died, and insisted on an immediate marriage then.”

  “The past cannot be altered, Christopher. Regrets are futile at this point.”

  “Not at all,” he cried. “This, this is the moment when I can redeem both myself and you. Marry me, Margaret. Marry me now, and I shall never ask you about the past, what may have happened in Italy. It shall be forgiven
, forgotten.”

  Margaret stared at him. Had she really wasted her first love, years of devotion, on this coxcomb? “There is nothing to forgive, as I owe nothing to you. In your place, I would not offer for anyone without knowing for sure if the accusations were true. Do you really think if I had a child I would simply forget and abandon it, to be your wife?”

  “I do not know – I do not know you any more, Margaret. You are no longer the sweet young girl I adored, but the sophisticated lady you have become is even more fascinating. Please say you will be mine.”

  “Your mother would hate it if I accepted. She cut me dead just this morning.”

  “She will come around. In the end, she wants my happiness. Eventually she must understand that it depends entirely on you.”

  Margaret had to smile at his hopeful tone. “Fortunately for her, I am not going to throw that dilemma in her lap. Please understand once and for all, Christopher, that I am not going to marry you – not now, not ever.”

  She was tempted to add that she strongly suspected the malicious letter was written by someone known to him, from jealousy; but that would have been too close to defending herself, and she would not give him the satisfaction. Christopher had known her from early childhood, courted her for years and years, and yet knew her so little that he put the slightest credence in Betty’s lies! Suddenly she felt tired and dispirited.

  “Go home, Christopher, and forget me again. This is pointless.”

  “But you have to marry me – if you do not marry right away, you will be shunned, ruined! You cannot want that!”

  “Will I? We shall see. Even if you are right, my decision is final.”

  Instead of taking his leave, he stood immobile, staring at her with incredulity. “I suppose you want to go back to your Italian lover, and have been secretly laughing at all of us, who only tried to win you over with sincerity.”

  “Believe what you will,” Margaret said crossly, “you have practice enough crediting lies about me, it is no matter to me if you do so again.” He still did not budge, unnerving her with the intensity of his stare. “Before you came, I was enjoying the solitude of my orchard. It is improper for you to be here with me alone – with a dangerous fallen woman, if your mother is to be believed.”

  “It seems I never truly knew you.” He looked devastated, but she closed her heart – this distress was of his own making, after all. Miss Harris would be eager to console him the moment she was given the chance.

  Berry began to growl again, sensing the tension. This time Margaret did not bother to soothe her.

  “Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better, Christopher. Now I really think you had better leave, and do not come back. I have had quite enough melodrama for the day.”

  Before he could react, they heard steps approaching from the direction of the Hall, and Mr. Trey’s solid form came in to view, just like that other time at the Buckley’s garden party. Christopher turned on his heels and left without a word of farewell. Good. Margaret was heartily tired of the whole Dorringley family and their constant demands.

  If she were starving in the gutter she might, just might, contemplate marriage to Christopher as preferable. A good thing that it was not likely to come to that.

  As Mr. Trey approached, she could see in his face that he had also heard the rumours. Her chest constricted; she had trouble breathing. Would he also condemn her?

  Margaret straightened her spine and looked directly into his grey eyes. “Mr. Trey. I see you heard the news.”

  Chapter 23

  “Are you all right, Miss Bellairs?” Trey sounded warmly concerned, not at all shocked. How typical that his first thought should be how she felt. He would not burden her with his own overwrought emotions, or insulting offers of forgiveness. “Did I drive Dorringley away?”

  Margaret forced herself to look calm and collected. “I am glad if you did. I was trying to get him to leave for the last five minutes.” Trey frowned, and looked after the departed doctor, as though checking if he were still hanging about. Taking this as a signal, Berry loped off in the same direction.

  “Don’t look so threatening, Mr. Trey. His intentions were quite honourable.” Her voice was ironic.

  “It is none of my business, but if you sent him away, I assume you are not now engaged to the good doctor?”

  “No. Once was more than enough.” She pushed at a small heap of fallen leaves with the tip of her boot. “And while I thank you for your concern, there is not the slightest need to check on me – I have lived through much worse in my time, than a bunch of hypocritical busybodies condemning me. I shall come about, depend upon it.”

  “Of course you will. But even someone as strong and valiant as you, Miss Bellairs, needs friends to support her in trying times. I would be honoured if you regarded me in that light. Just tell me in what way I may serve you.”

  How could such calm, measured words dissolve the invisible bands round her ribcage, and set her heart pounding faster? She scrutinized his features for the slightest sign of blame or doubt. There was none. “I notice you do not ask if the rumours are true, Mr. Trey.”

  “Because it is irrelevant to me. I am inclined to believe these sudden allegations a tissue of malicious lies, because you are not the kind of woman who would hide and dissimulate her actions, or abandon a child – but then who knows for sure what others could or would do, in difficult circumstances? It does not matter. My regard for you would not waver an inch, if you told me it was all true.”

  “Thank you.” Was the regard he mentioned only that? Suddenly she wanted to find out, quite badly, how he truly felt about her. It might not be very ladylike to simply ask, but she had always preferred the straightforward approach. “From the very first, I have felt that you are a man to be depended on, a man deserving of my trust. Is that regard you mention rooted in stronger feelings, or is it in the nature of friendship only?”

  He looked at her with faint surprise, eyebrows raised. Why had she never before realized that grey was her favourite colour?

  “I had not supposed it could matter to you; but since you ask, I love you, Miss Bellairs. I tumbled in love from the moment I saw you through that window, and all subsequent meetings have only deepened my affliction. However, between an architect you consulted daily, and the relative of my current employer, any such confession would be out of place. Had you not asked point-blank, I would not have exposed my feelings, but they are what they are.”

  Margaret felt almost giddy. Suddenly anything seemed possible. The stupid letter, the rumours, her gossip-loving neighbours, even her nagging mother sank into complete irrelevance. Several other men had professed love to her in the past – but this was different. This time it mattered.

  “And when you heard these accusations levelled at me, Mr. Trey? Did they not diminish your warm feelings? Love cannot exist without trust.”

  “It was a shock,” he admitted. “My first reaction was indignation and incredulity. I wanted to defend you against the world. I still do. Yet I have no right or intention to demand any explanations from you. Whatever you choose to tell me or not tell me, it is all right. My only wish is to help and sustain you, in what I cannot but see is an awkward fix.”

  How different his calm, undemanding assurance from Christopher’s frantic questions and doubts. She was standing on a precipice, a new world opening out before her.

  “Will you do something for me, right now?” Her voice sounded high, strange to her ears.

  “Anything.”

  There was the answer to her doubts and fears. Her heart beat as fast as a bird’s. “Take me in your arms and kiss me, Mr. Trey.”

  His eyes opened wide. “Are you sure? In that case, you might as well call me William.”

  She nodded, suddenly shy. The next moment she was enveloped in his strength, his warmth. It felt like coming home, as though nothing in the world could hurt her here. She listened to the fast, strong beat of his heart. A big organ, for a big man, that could easily encompas
s her as well.

  Slowly, carefully, his lips took firm possession of hers. She had been kissed before, several times – but never like this. This was it; she knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this was the only man whose kisses she would want henceforth, that she would bear his children, share his life. How had she not realised it from the very first? But a few weeks of missed happiness were immaterial when at last she knew what she wanted, what she needed in her life.

  Margaret could tell that Mr. Trey was an experienced kisser, and that he was taking great care, as though she were a fragile china figurine. No need for that – she would not easily break, could meet him on more equal ground. She put her arms around his broad chest, letting him feel her own supple strength, and opened her mouth in invitation. He immediately responded with heightened ardour. After some minutes, they broke apart and stared at each other in stunned elation.

  “I love you too,” she said. “Will you marry me, William?”

  He chuckled. “Trust you, Margaret, to do everything differently from conventional girls. That was supposed to be my line.” He looked at her closely, as though unable to believe what was happening. Little wonder; Margaret herself still felt faintly incredulous. “Are you quite certain you cannot do better, sweetheart? I would not want you to change your mind later.”

  “You mean it is too sudden? That is supposed to be the lady’s line. I certainly would not want you to feel coerced –“,

  He silenced her with another deep kiss. “Not another word, wench. Let us do this properly.” He got down on both knees, the dry leaves crinkling under the weight. “Miss Bellairs – Margaret – I love you. I shall love you forever. Will you be my wife?”

  “Yes,” she replied without hesitation, pulling him back up impatiently. “You are a brave man, William, to be willing to take me on. But do not expect me to be a domestic creature. I want to help you in your work, go with you when you have to travel, maintain my own interests, learn a new instrument, keep up my friendships.”