by Mary Nichols
They had all gone now, scorning Aunt Amelia’s offer of accommodation, and he was here alone, enjoying a quiet cognac and dreaming of what he might do. And then his thoughts turned to Miss Fanny Draper. She had been in the back of his mind all through that long day, pushed to the back out of necessity, but certainly not forgotten. He could not forget her: her courage, her quiet humour and her determination not to let her circumstances get her down, a resoluteness in the face of adversity that amounted to exasperating stubbornness, and her clear-eyed, clear-skinned beauty. It was not just the perfect oval of her face and trim figure which made her stand out, but the woman beneath.
That she was in some kind of scrape he did not for a minute doubt and it worried him. He wanted to find her, enfold her in his arms, kiss her troubles away and promise to look after her for the rest of their lives. If she was in trouble of some sort, then he must do something quickly. If she would let him. That was his dilemma; she was more independent than any woman ought to be and he had to respect that. She would not allow him to ride roughshod over whatever plans she had made for herself. Tomorrow he would take the gig into Bowness and look for her. He prayed she had not taken it into her lovely, foolish head to board another coach and go heaven knows where.
He looked up as his aunt came into the room. She looked tired, but there was a kind of glow about her, as if something had happened to bring her out of the dejection she had been experiencing all day. Her old eyes sparkled. ‘There, everything is all right and tight, shipshape and Bristol fashion, as Henry always put it. Now we can sit quietly and have a comfortable coze.’
He smiled at her. ‘Aunt Amelia, I am so glad Uncle had you in his last days. You must have been a great comfort to him.’
She sat opposite him. ‘I did my best. I loved the silly old man, you see. And he never married. He always used to say his many years at sea had made him unfit for it.’
‘He wasn’t silly, Aunt.’
‘No, of course he wasn’t. He was the kindest, wisest man I ever knew, barring Mr Summers, of course. But I used to call him that, just to see him rise to the bait. And he would call me an interfering harridan. It was only our fun, you understand.’
‘Yes, of course I do. Have you made any plans?’
‘No, but do not worry about me. Henry left me provided for and I have invested the proceeds from my old house and what my husband left me. I have enough. A small cottage somewhere, perhaps…’
‘You can stay here as long as you want to. It is your home.’
‘Thank you, my dear. But are you not going to sell up? After all, you are a long way from your own home here.’
‘I know, but this has always been a second home to me. I need to give it some thought, but there is no hurry, no hurry at all. You stay here. We will both stay. There is something I must do and I do not know how long it will take.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘I shall need a housekeeper, shan’t I?’
She laughed, feeling a weight lifting from her shoulders. ‘Oh, I hoped you would say that. Now I think I am ready for my bed.’ She stood up and moved towards the door. ‘I shall see you tomorrow and we will talk some more. There is a favour I want to ask you.’
‘Anything, Aunt, anything in my power,’ he said, standing and following her from the room.
It was mid-day when Emma, having slept soundly and late, went downstairs the next morning to find Mrs Summers in the morning room, reading the newspaper with her glasses perched on the end of her nose. ‘Good morning, ma’am,’ she said.
‘Oh, Emma, there you are. Did you sleep well?’
Emma sat down opposite her and folded her hands in her lap. ‘Wonderfully well, and the breakfast you sent up was delicious after the food we had on the journey coming up.’
‘Yes, I should like to hear more about that journey. I cannot imagine how you managed that all alone. It must have taken a great deal of courage.’
‘I was not alone, I had my maid with me, but she had to return home to her mother, and there was a kind gentleman…’ She stopped, reminded of the reason for her flight and her determination to remain incognito. ‘Mrs Summers, do you think you could call me Fanny? You see, I am not at all sure that I might not have been followed.’
‘Surely not?’
‘It is possible. My stepfather is not one to give up and neither, I believe, is Lord Bentwater. And there is the question of who I am for the benefit of your relations and friends. Should any of them have contacts in London and casually mention in a letter that Lady Emma Lindsay was staying with you, Sir George would be here post haste. And, as for my poor mama…’
‘I see. Yes, you are right. Fanny Draper is your name. But who and what are you?’
‘Could I be your companion? You see, there was a gentleman on the coach who asked me who I was and I told him I was coming north to be a lady’s companion and if he should be about…’
‘He came here, to Waterhead?’
‘He said Lake Windermere, Mrs Summers.’
‘Near enough,’ the old lady murmured, looking thoughtful.
‘Of course I shall have to look about in earnest for such a post, for I cannot impose on your generosity any longer than I need to.’
‘But that is perfect,’ Amelia cried. ‘You can be my companion. After all, now poor dear Henry is gone, I shall need one, shan’t I?’
‘Oh, thank you. That would be wonderful.’ Emma’s eyes lit up and Amelia realised that this young lady had the most luminous eyes she had ever seen, and when she smiled, she was likely to devastate any young man’s heart. ‘I will try to learn my duties conscientiously. It should surely not be difficult. My mother has a friend in London who has a paid companion, though I must confess I never noticed her particularly.’
Amelia burst out laughing.
‘Have I said something amusing?’
‘Oh, Fanny, Fanny, that’s just what paid companions are supposed to be: invisible. At least until something wants fetching.’
Emma joined in the laughter and that was how Alex found them.
He had gone out very early in the hired gig and spent at least three hours in Bowness looking for Miss Draper, going to inns, hotels, an employment agency for female servants, the local vicar, the doctor, all to no avail. No one had seen her. Thoroughly dejected, he had returned to Waterhead, keeping a sharp look out for a glimpse of that awful bonnet and the shabby cloak, all along the way, but Fanny Draper had disappeared. Determined not to give in, he decided he must go back to Highhead Hall because his aunt would wonder what had become of him and then continue his search in Ambleside after nuncheon.
And she was here! He stood and stared, wondering for a moment if his eyes deceived him. The dejected, prickly girl in the unbecoming bonnet was gone and in her place was a lively young lady, with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, dressed in a blue gown, which, though plain, was superbly cut. It was the kind of garment to go with that lacy petticoat he had glimpsed and could not get out of his head. And her hair, another thing he had only glimpsed, was the colour of a ripe chestnut, glossy and brown, and it was drawn up on to the crown of her head, tied by a ribbon bow and then left to cascade in ringlets about her ears. A tendril curled over her forehead. He had known she was beautiful, but the vision before him was breathtaking.
When they heard the door open, they stopped laughing and turned towards him and then Miss Fanny Draper’s mouth fell open, making him smile. ‘You!’ she said, which was all she had breath for.
‘So this is where you are!’ he said heartily—too heartily, because he had been taken by surprise and could not seem to moderate his voice. ‘There I was, searching the whole of Bowness for you, and you are hiding in the one place I would never have thought to look.’
‘Searching for me, my lord?’ she queried, while Amelia looked from one to the other, saw the expression in his eyes and the wariness in her new companion and drew her own conclusions. ‘Why were you doing that?’
‘Because, you foolish woman, you would have got yourself into more
scrapes if left on your own.’
‘I am not in a scrape. And I was certainly not hiding.’
‘Am I to suppose you are known to each other?’ Mrs Summers asked mildly.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘No,’ he said.
‘Oh, dear, which am I to believe?’
Alex turned to his aunt. ‘Present me to the young lady, if you please, ma’am.’
Amelia glanced swiftly at Emma, who nodded imperceptibly. ‘Miss Draper, I have the honour to present my nephew, Viscount Malvers,’ she said formally. ‘Alex, this is Miss Fanny Draper. She is to be my companion.’
‘Your companion!’ He almost choked on the words. What a fool he was, weaving fantasies about her, when she had been telling him the truth all along.
‘Yes, you surely do not object? Now Henry is gone…’
He pulled himself together. ‘Of course I do not object, Aunt, but when did you send for her? She has come all the way from London.’
‘At the same time as I sent for you, dear boy. I knew, or thought I knew, I would soon be on my own and I had a friend, fallen on hard times, who needed to get her daughter off her hands.’
‘Isn’t that a trifle drastic? She is marriageable, after all.’
‘Do you think getting married is all we women think of?’ Emma demanded, realising he was clever enough to trip Mrs Summers up. ‘Being the chattel of a man, having to do his bidding, bear his children and be an ornament to his home with no opinion of her own, watching him gamble away all their money and not able to do a thing to prevent it. Some of us choose not to put ourselves through that, you know.’
‘I take it back,’ he said. ‘You are not marriageable.’
‘Children! Children!’ Mrs Summers exclaimed. ‘Two minutes together and you are quarrelling…’
‘I am sorry, Aunt,’ he said contritely, sitting down and stretching out his long legs. ‘But I wonder if you know what a virago you have taken on. I have spent three days in her company and a more contrary character I never met.’
‘And a more insufferably top-lofty one—’ Emma stopped suddenly and subsided back into her seat. ‘I am sorry, madam. That is not the way a good companion should behave. I will say no more on the subject. You see, I have a great deal to learn about my new role. Pray, correct me if I err again.’ She was deadly serious, but Mrs Summers was chuckling happily.
A bell rang in the hall outside the room and Mrs Summers stood up. ‘Lunch is served, so let us go to the dining room. I am sure you are hungry after your busy morning in Bowness, Alex.’
‘Yes, and all for nothing,’ he said, taking his seat at the head of the table with a lady on each side of him. ‘Miss Draper, I cannot recall you naming my aunt as your intended employer.’
‘Can’t you, my lord?’ she answered sweetly.
‘No. I would have remembered.’
‘I did not know Mrs Summers was your aunt, my lord, or perhaps I might have made a point of doing so. Do you stay long in Waterhead?’
He grinned, enjoying the verbal battle, convinced he would win in the end. ‘Anxious to see the back of me, Miss Draper?’
‘Not at all. I collect you own Highhead Hall and may stay as long as you please.’ She stopped. ‘As for me…’
‘My dear Miss Draper, you are my aunt’s companion and I have told her she may stay as long as she pleases, so, unless you have other ideas, you, too, are welcome.’
‘Oh, thank you, my lord.’ It was said with genuine relief and gratitude. The tension eased so that they were able to enjoy the meal with comfortable conversation.
‘We shall have to take Miss Draper out and show her some of the scenery,’ Mrs Summers said to Alex.
‘If you can spare her from her duties,’ he answered laconically, amused eyes turned on Emma. She had the feeling that he was not altogether convinced of her role and that made her all the more determined.
‘Of course I can. But first we must get her kitted out. She brought very little with her in the way of luggage.’
‘So I collect. A striped dress fit only for a scullery maid and a gown that is far too grand for anyone but a lady of some means. What a contrast!’
‘The grey dress was suitable for travelling when I had no idea whom I might meet and this…’ Emma indicated the gown she was wearing ‘…was in case I needed to dine with Quality when I arrived. I did not want to let Mrs Summers down.’
‘Of course. I am, as you have discovered, ignorant of the ways of ladies and their apparel.’ He helped himself to another pork chop and more potatoes. ‘What had you in mind to buy?’
This was a question that floored Emma. What could she buy with five guineas? ‘Oh, I am sure I do not need—’
‘Fustian!’ Mrs Summers put in. ‘I love shopping. We will go to Ambleside; if they do not have anything to suit we will go to Kendal.’
‘There, ma’am, I can be of service,’ he said. ‘I have to take back the gig I hired. There is just enough room in it for three at a squeeze.’
‘Yes, but how will we return?’
‘I shall buy my own conveyance, seeing the coach house and stables are empty. A roomy carriage and two horses, I think.’
‘Yes, of course, I should have told you—Henry sold his coach and the horses when he could no longer get out and about and was confined to the house. I would not let him keep them on especially for me, though he would have done. It would have been a prodigious expense when I should use it only occasionally. Horses have to be fed and that means hay and oats and a groom and a stable boy.’
‘These, too, we must have,’ he said. ‘I shall ask about for a soldier lately back from the war and perhaps an orphan boy. I suppose there are many in the area, even so far from the capital.’
‘Indeed, yes,’ his aunt agreed. ‘I collect that was what you and Mr Dewhurst were talking about.’
‘Yes. I mean to find other ways of finding employment for soldiers, if I can.’
‘It sounds as if you mean to stay here,’ Emma said. ‘What about your own estate? You cannot be in two places at once.’
‘I know that,’ he said. ‘I wish I could. I must write to my mother at once and to my steward who is, I think, competent to act in my absence for a few weeks.’
‘Then you will go home?’ Emma queried, wondering why a thought like that should make her feel so desolate.
‘Of course.’ He turned to Mrs Summers. ‘Do we go to Kendal today?’
‘Better tomorrow. There is hardly time to get there and back and certainly not enough to spend shopping. And you must choose your equipage carefully.’
‘Yes, for I mean it to convey me back to Norfolk when the time comes. I have done with travelling by public coach.’ He paused to smile at Emma. ‘Delightful though Miss Draper’s company was.’
Emma, being reminded of that journey, suddenly realised there was something—or someone—missing. ‘Where is Mr Bland, my lord? Is he not here with you?’
‘No, I sent him back to London on an errand.’
This revelation startled her so much that she almost dropped the spoon she was using to eat her pudding and it was a minute before she could collect herself again. If Joe Bland heard anything about her disappearance and put two and two together and informed his master, her whole masquerade would have been for nothing. ‘Oh, and is he coming back here?’
‘He might,’ he said, noting her reaction and smiling at it. She evidently did not want Joe in London. ‘On the other hand, he might go to Buregreen and help the steward and my mother with the estate.’
‘That would be the most sensible thing to do, don’t you think?’ Amelia put in, looking from one to the other and enjoying herself for the first time for years. This was better than going to a play.
‘Yes. I also asked him to make sure Miss Turner arrived home safely. I think it was an errand he was very happy to do.’
‘Playing matchmaker, are you, Alex?’ the old lady enquired, smiling broadly.
‘I would not dream of it. He is
his own man.’
‘As you are.’ It was said knowingly.
He wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but neither did he intend to ask her, knowing he might be embarrassed by the answer. ‘So, what had you in mind to do this afternoon?’
‘We could go to Ambleside, if you are free to take us.’
‘Certainly I will. I want to speak to Dewhurst.’
Half an hour later, in weak sunshine, they were bowling along the lane to Ambleside, which was only a few minutes’ ride away; they could easily have walked it. Mrs Summers agreed that was so, but if they had shopping to carry, wasn’t it better to have the gig? ‘And I like to be seen with my handsome nephew,’ she added. ‘He will undoubtedly set the town by the ears when I tell them he is to stay a little while.’
Emma risked a glance at the tall man beside her, wielding the reins so dextrously. He was dressed in a dark blue coat and light blue pantaloons tucked into polished Hessians. His waistcoat was of marcella in blue-and-cream stripes, his cravat was black in consideration of his mourning. He was wearing a high-crowned black beaver with a curly brim. He would have turned eyes in the high spots of London, never mind the hills of Westmoreland.
Although he pretended to be concentrating on driving the gig and its single pony, he was aware of her glance and wondered what was going on in that beautiful head of hers. Her lovely hair was topped by a chip bonnet, which he knew had been hastily concocted from an old one of his aunt’s, stripped of its outdated decoration and on to which she had fastened a full-blown rose and some wide ribbon. With the blue dress, it looked quite enchanting, far too elegant for a lady’s companion.
Mrs Summers was well known and well liked in the area and they had hardly left the gig in the yard of the Unicorn and stepped out into the town than they met Dr Hurley and his two daughters, Prudence and Charity, who were immediately presented to Alex. Prudence, the elder, was nearly as tall as Emma. She had dark hair almost concealed by a poke bonnet and clear green eyes. With her narrow face and long nose, she was handsome rather than beautiful. Her sister, sixteen or seventeen, Emma guessed, was considerably shorter. Her hair was lighter than her sister’s and her eyes a clear innocent blue. Once she lost her puppy fat, she would be lovely.
