by Mary Nichols
‘Mrs Tremayne?’ She could hardly utter the name without a catch in her voice, but surprised herself when she managed it.
‘Good heavens, why should she be invited?’
‘I just wondered.’
Her aunt gave her a knowing look, but decided not to comment. ‘Major Mancroft is calling in the morning,’ she said. ‘He has promised to advise me about hiring a carriage and horses for the rest of our stay in Brighton. I had hoped you would accompany us.’
‘Pray excuse me, Aunt. I have letters to write.’
‘He will be disappointed not to see you.’
‘I am sure he will recover from it, especially if he has you for company.’
‘But I am not the one looking for a husband.’
‘Neither am I. It is the last thing I want.’
‘Oh, Anne, what am I to do with you?’
Anne reached out and squeezed her aunt’s hand. ‘Nothing, dear Aunt, I am past marrying. Let me be.’
They drew up at the house, paid off the cabby and let themselves into the hall where a single lamp burned on a side table. Lighting two candles from its flame, they made their way up to their rooms. Anne was glad she had told Amelia not to wait up for her; she did not want to be quizzed on how the evening had gone, did not want to talk about it at all. She pulled off the lovely gown and flung it in a corner. She had danced in it, danced a magical waltz with the man of her dreams, had been transported to heaven on the wings of optimism and been hurled back to earth with such violence she was battered and bruised. And now there was nothing but wounded pride.
She finished undressing and flung herself into bed, knowing she would not sleep. What could she do to recover her sanity? What could she do to return to being the Anne Hemingford who had arrived in Brighton, content with her lot as a spinster, unaware of the pitfalls of falling in love with the wrong man? Why could the object of her affection not have been Major Mancroft or Captain Gosforth, or even one of the other gentlemen to whom she had been introduced? Why, oh, why did she have to fall for a married man?
No one must know. She must call up all her reserves of strength and carry on as if nothing had happened. And that meant throwing herself wholeheartedly into raising money for the new hospital and finding an assistant for Dr Tremayne, perhaps more than one. And if she had to meet his wife, why, then she would smile. And smile.
Justin, walking the dark streets, was furious, so furious he could hardly contain himself. What was she doing in Brighton? Had she come to torment him? And where was Andrew? Perhaps he should have stayed to find out, but the sight of her, walking into that ballroom, her head in the air, a smile on her lips, as if she knew she would find a welcome, had filled him with horror and he had bolted. He did not want to introduce her to the assembled company, certainly not to Miss Hemingford. As far as the people of Brighton were concerned, he was a practising physician who treated the ill, the lame and the needy. He did not want to have to explain who he really was, did not want to be the subject of the tattle of the beau monde, who would undoubtedly make up the reason for his estrangement from his family if he did not provide them with one. What price his hospital now?
It was nearly dawn before he decided to turn his steps towards home. He would not let her spoil his plans. She was his sister-in-law, wife of his brother, nothing more. He had found a new life for himself and a new love, even if he could not tell her of it. Not yet. Not until Sophie had gone home and left him in peace again.
The house, in its narrow mean street, loomed in front of him. It had been his home and his workplace, but soon it would be no more, and in its place would be a grand villa, one of a new terrace, occupied by people like Lord and Lady Mancroft, Mrs Bartrum and Sir Gerald Sylvester, even Sophie and Andrew if they fancied a seaside holiday. But that did not mean he would give up. Thanks to Miss Hemingford, he had at last managed to interest a few influential people in the idea of a hospital and that must be his only concern. It was safe, uncomplicated and engrossing and did not leave him time to brood.
If only Sophie had not arrived. He could not understand why she had come or what she would tell his father and brother, or even if she would tell them anything. He could not believe they had sent her or even condoned her coming. Was it simply an unpleasant coincidence?
He smiled grimly as he let himself in, passed the waiting room, dark and empty now, and went upstairs to his bedroom. He had nothing to be ashamed of, not inside himself where his conscience resided, even if polite society thought differently. And he had much for which he could feel a degree of satisfaction. He would do as Gosforth suggested and go out and about, try to raise money for a hospital and keep faith with his patients and nothing Sophie could do would hurt him. He stripped off his uniform, returned it to the sea chest he kept against the wall and tumbled into bed.
Two hours later, he woke to a new day, knowing that his waiting room would be full, and if he wanted to keep Miss Hemingford’s good opinion of him he had a great deal of explaining to do.
His sister-in-law arrived halfway through the morning, pushing her way past Mrs Armistead who tried to bar her way and sailing into the room where he was treating a man with a wound to his leg that was threatening to become gangrenous. He had seen enough of those in the navy to recognise the early symptoms; unless treated urgently the patient might lose his limb. He was not prepared for the perfumed tornado who invaded his sanctum.
‘So this is where you have been hiding yourself,’ she said, looking round with her full red lips curled in distaste. ‘No wonder we could not find you.’
‘I cannot think why you would wish to find me,’ he said coldly.
‘She would come in,’ Mrs Armistead said from the doorway. ‘I tried to stop her.’
‘I know that, Mrs Armistead,’ he said wearily, going to wash his hands. ‘I’ll deal with it. Will you refresh the dressing on Mr Gorton’s leg for me in the way I showed you, and tell anyone else who is waiting that I will be a little delayed.’ He turned to Sophie. ‘You had better come through to the drawing room. I assume you have something to say to me.’
‘Who is that woman?’ Sophie demanded as soon as they had entered the dingy room.
‘She is my housekeeper and assistant.’
‘Really? I had thought you would have more taste, but I suppose being on a man o’ war has made you less discerning.’
He refused to rise to the bait. ‘What do you want, Sophie? I am very busy.’
‘Are you not going to invite me to sit down?’
‘If you must.’
She sat in one of the armchairs, her rose silk pelisse making it look shabbier than ever. ‘What a place!’ she said, looking round. ‘Surely you could have done better than this? It is a positive slum.’
‘It suits me.’
‘Are you still repining?’
‘Over what? Your rejection of me?’
‘Oh, but I did not reject you, Justin dear, you jilted me, don’t you remember?’
He had agreed to be the one to break off the engagement in order to save his father pain. Andrew was the heir and Andrew’s reputation must not be stained by gossip about stealing his brother’s intended bride from him. It did not matter if the second son was talked about as long as the inheritance remained unsullied. He had been so angry and hurt at the time, he had not cared who would be publicly blamed. All he wanted to do was escape from a situation he found intolerable. And now she had turned up again, curling her lip at the way he lived.
‘You know that’s not true,’ he said quietly. ‘Like a dutiful son, I did as I was asked. I left my home, cut myself off from my family so that Andrew could comfort you in your distress and marry you when the gossip died down. I assume that is what happened.’
‘Yes. But it was a mistake. I made a dreadful mistake. I should have stayed with you.’
Why did he find that difficult to believe? ‘Are you not happy?’
‘No, I am miserable.’
‘Why? You have everything you could wish f
or. You have the heir, the estate is in good heart, you will never want for blunt…’
She smiled slowly. ‘I know, I do not need to be told that, but I do not have you, do I? Oh, Justin, I was wrong. I realise that now. All I want, all I ever wanted was you…’
A year ago, even a month ago, he might have been heartened to hear her say that, although he would never have admitted it. She was his brother’s wife and that, as far as he was concerned, was the end of it. He looked into her empty blue eyes and found himself comparing them with a pair of amber ones and wondered how he could have been such a fool. ‘You made your choice and we must both live with the consequences. Now, if you will excuse me, I am very busy.’
‘Busy scraping a living as a country doctor, and not very successfully if the state of this place is a measure of it. Justin, are you not ashamed of how you live? Your papa would be mortified if he could see it.’
‘How is my father? He is not ailing, is he?’
‘No, he is well, but wishes you would come home. When I tell him how I have found you, he will insist upon it.’
‘How did you find me?’
‘His physician told me about a paper you wrote, something to do with antisepsis in surgery, so he said, but it meant nothing to me. He traced you through the publisher.’
‘He had no right to do that.’
‘If you wanted to keep your whereabouts a secret, you should have used a nom de plume. Even then I did not realise how you were living. I thought you would at least be working among people of your own rank.’
‘I go where I am of most use.’
‘But you still go to balls and mix with the ton.’ She paused. ‘Who is she?’
‘Who is who?’
‘The beauty in the lilac gown you were dancing with. I watched you from the doorway for a long time before you saw me. Very engrossed with each other, you were.’
He stared at her, wondering why he had ever imagined himself in love with her. She was beautiful, there was no denying it, but the beauty was only skin deep. She would not kneel on the ground to comfort an injured child, would not worry about the Mrs Smiths of the world, as Miss Hemingford did, would not even deign to speak to them. Miss Hemingford’s beauty was in her whole being, in her compassion and understanding; it came from within. ‘A friend.’
‘A friend, eh? One of the numerous demi-reps who inhabit this town, no doubt.’
He kept his temper with a visible effort, clenching his fists at his sides. ‘Miss Hemingford is a lady.’
‘So that’s her name. Well, well. And does she know how you live?’
‘Of course she does. Everyone in Brighton does.’
‘I’ll wager she does not know you jilted me.’
‘I am hardly likely to noise that abroad, am I? Especially when it isn’t true.’
‘The world thinks it is.’
‘Not my world, not the one I live in now.’
‘But they could find out.’
‘You would tell them?’
‘I do not need to. You know what gossips are like. They know my name, they saw you run when I arrived, their curiosity will be whetted, they will not rest until they have dug out the whole sorry episode…’
Justin’s heart sank. She would cause trouble, he knew it. His brother ought to have curbed her, made her see that it was better to let sleeping dogs lie, not wake them up to bark all over town. ‘Where is Andrew?’ he asked.
‘Where would he be but at home in Sevenelms?’
‘He let you travel alone?’ he queried in surprise.
‘He could not stop me. He wants you home.’
‘To salve his conscience, no doubt.’ He had left home to ease their path, but that evidently had not been enough, though what else he could have done he did not know.
‘I did not think you would be so bitter.’
‘Bitter!’ He found himself shouting and lowered his voice. ‘Have I not grounds for bitterness? I lost not only the woman I hoped to marry and the love I had for my brother, but my home and my good name. That hurt most of all, and going back will not cure that, it will make matters worse. Now please leave me. Return to Sevenelms and tell them you could not persuade me.’
‘You will change your mind.’ She smiled, a feline smile that made him think of a purring cat, pretending not to see the mouse, but ready to pounce as soon as it dropped its guard. Well, she would learn that he was no mouse and she could no longer wind him round her thumb as she had used to do.
He had been a fool; she had used him to get close to his brother and now she was trying to use him again. But for what purpose? What did she hope to gain? She would never risk the scandal that leaving her husband would bring about. Rank, consequence, status, whatever it was called, were of prime importance to her. It was why she had left him for his brother in the first place. So, what was she after? She already had everything.
‘Go home,’ he said wearily. ‘There is nothing for you here.’
‘I will go if you come too. Then everyone will realise you have been forgiven and we are a united family again. We could—’ she stopped when she saw his ferocious look, then added quickly ‘—be friends.’
‘No.’
‘Then I shall just have to stay here until you change your mind.’
‘I am unlikely to do that.’ He opened the door to indicate the interview was at an end. ‘I am afraid I am too busy to escort you to your hotel.’
‘Oh, do not trouble yourself over it, Grimes is waiting with the carriage at the end of the street.’
He conducted her to the street door, more to make sure she left than out of courtesy. She turned on the step and, reaching up, put her arms about him and kissed him on the lips. For a single moment in time, his memory conjured up the emotion he had felt when she had first kissed him. He had gone to London for the Season, not particularly to look for a wife, but simply to enjoy himself and see what the capital had to offer. She had recently had her come-out and was much in demand, being beautiful and bright with an engaging manner, and he had soon become enamoured and determined to make her his wife. When the opportunity arose to escort her to a prestigious ball to celebrate some naval victory, he seized it joyously. After supper they had strolled in the grounds of the mansion where it was being held and he had proposed. It was then she had flung her arms about his neck and kissed him, making him the happiest man in the kingdom.
For that split second of time, he was young again and she was the embodiment of his dreams. He felt himself respond to the pressure of her lips, felt the warmth flood through him and was ashamed of his reaction. He pushed her angrily away, aware of her smile of triumph. ‘I knew you had not forgotten,’ she said softly.
‘Go!’ he said. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘I am sure you do not mean that, Justin dear,’ she said. Then she laughed and turned to go, calling over her shoulder, ‘You will come round, I have no doubt of it.’
When she had gone, he breathed a huge sigh of relief and went back to his office, where he collapsed into the chair by his desk, pale and shaking. How could he have allowed her to pierce his guard? And the worst of it was knowing she had contrived it very skilfully. It was bad enough having to quit his premises, having to beg for funds to keep him going, without the added worry of wondering what Sophie was plotting and why. If the old gossip reached Brighton, he might as well say goodbye to his hospital. And Miss Anne Hemingford’s good opinion. He composed himself and rang the bell for his next patient.
Anne had decided to take a dip in the sea while her aunt was out, but the intrepid early bathers had gone and only the fashionable matrons were splashing about at the edge of the surf. If she had hoped to encounter the doctor again, she was disappointed. She did not stay long in the water, but on coming out saw Mrs Smith and Tildy beside one of the other machines and went over to speak to them.
‘Hallo, lady,’ Tildy called to her.
‘Hallo.’ Anne smiled and squatted down beside the child and took her bony hands. ‘I see you h
ave lost your turban.’
‘Yes. I am better now.’
‘Thanks to you and Dr Tremayne,’ Mrs Smith added.
‘Have you seen him lately?’
‘Two days ago. He came to check on Tildy and look at a cut on my husband’s hand. He’s always cutting himself; his hands get cold, you see, when he’s using a knife. This time the cut became infected on account of handling that putrefying monster…’
‘Oh, dear, poor man. Did you ever discover what it was?’
‘No, but I’m sorry the lady fainted. I hope she recovered.’
‘Yes, she is perfectly well. Did you raise a lot of money?’
‘Seven pounds. The doctor did not want to take it, but I insisted.’
‘You heard about his house being pulled down?’
‘Yes. Dreadful it is. I don’t know what we will do without him.’
‘Perhaps it won’t come to that. Some of us are planning to raise funds to help him. If we raise enough, we hope to provide a proper hospital and other doctors to help him.’
‘That is wonderful news, miss.’
Anne bade them both goodbye and left them, more determined than ever to put aside her personal feelings for the good of the community. Having been the one to suggest the hospital, she could not now stand by while others did the work. She must steel herself to meet the doctor to discuss the practicalities. Nothing could be done without consulting him. Deciding there was no time like the present, she crossed the road, making for the doctor’s house.
She was just in time to see Mrs Tremayne emerge, followed by the doctor and, as her footsteps slowed and stopped, she witnessed that kiss. She was too far away to hear what was said, but she did not need to hear the words. That kiss was not one given and received by an estranged couple, far from it. Turning on her heel, she stumbled away.
Aunt Bartrum was delighted with the new park phaeton. It had her widow’s lozenge painted on the doors— the Bartrum coat of arms enclosed in a diamond shape—dark blue velvet upholstery and two matched bays to draw it. The Major had even helped her to hire a man to act as groom and coachman. ‘We are all set to go where we please now,’ she told Anne. ‘I shall drive it myself to Captain Gosforth’s this afternoon.’
