A Deception at Thornecrest

by Ashley Weaver

  “I’m going to take the evening train to London and stay at the flat tonight,” Milo said. “Will you be all right?”

  “Yes, certainly. The sooner things are sorted out the better.” I sighed. “This is all so vexing.”

  “Better than the alternative, I suppose?”

  “The alternative?”

  He smiled. “That I had secretly married someone else in Brighton.”

  I gave a little laugh. It seemed silly now that I had even so much as considered the possibility. “Imogen was very convincing,” I said, only half teasing.

  “You didn’t really believe her?”

  My first instinct was to make a joke of the matter. That was always the most comfortable thing to do whenever we got too close to discussing our feelings. Perhaps it was a ridiculous way to go about a marriage. It had certainly given us more than our share of troubles in the past. Nevertheless, it was a difficult habit to break. This time, however, I thought I should tell him the truth.

  “Perhaps some small part of me did wonder—only very briefly—if there might have been some sort of … dalliance with the young lady,” I admitted at last. “After all, she’s young and very pretty, and I’m … quite pregnant.”

  He didn’t look affronted, as I thought he might. I supposed he knew better than I did what his reputation had been, even after we married.

  He had begun to earn my trust over the past two years, but that didn’t entirely wipe away what had come before. We had never really discussed the rumors, the speculation of the gossip columns when he was photographed with other women. There had always been excuses, and I had tried to brush aside my doubts.

  Perhaps it was just that I hadn’t wanted to know. I didn’t want to know now. He had been working to prove himself to me, and I didn’t want to go back to that time when my love for him had been marred with questions. I had believed in him in the face of Imogen’s story, and I knew that the tiniest of doubts that had surfaced had been nothing more than a shadow from a past we had overcome together.

  He came to me, his hands taking mine.

  “Amory.”

  I looked up at him, met his gaze. It was usually difficult to tell what he was thinking, but there was something very transparent in his eyes at this moment.

  “There is no one else,” he said. “And you’ve never been more beautiful than you are now.”

  He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it.

  The words were touching, but I was acutely aware of the extent of his flattery. “That’s sweet of you, Milo, but I’m not exactly ravishing in my current state.”

  “I beg to differ.” His arms slid around me. “I quite like these extra curves. Perhaps we ought to keep you pregnant.”

  “I thought I said for you to stop being vulgar, Milo,” I chided him with mock severity.

  He leaned to kiss my neck. “Being vulgar is quite my favorite pastime.”

  I laughed and moved my hands over his shoulders as his mouth found mine. The kiss deepened, and he pulled me closer, at least as close as he could with my large, round stomach between us.

  There was a clearing of a throat in the doorway.

  We looked up to see Grimes standing there, his face impassive. It seemed we were always being caught in moments like these, though it was usually poor Winnelda who was set to stammering and blushing. Grimes betrayed no such embarrassment. He merely stood stiffly with his eyes averted, waiting for us to behave ourselves.

  “Yes, what is it?” Milo asked. He hadn’t released me, and I stepped out of his embrace to make Grimes more comfortable.

  “Excuse me, sir. Miss Imogen has arrived,” Grimes said, an almost imperceptible change in his tone letting us know that he declined to refer to her as “Mrs. Ames.”

  Grimes had always felt like an ally to me in Milo’s more disreputable days, and I knew that even though Milo had proven himself to me, it would take a bit of time for him to win over Grimes.

  “Thank you, Grimes. You may send her in.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  He turned and left the room. I turned to smooth my hair and check my lipstick in the mirror. “Grimes must think you’re quite wanton for kissing me in my condition.”

  “I’m sure prim and proper Grimes is well aware how it was you got in this condition.”

  I might have laughed at this bit of indecorum, but there were footsteps outside the door, and then Imogen came slowly into the room. Her eyes moved quickly from me to Milo, and the smallest frown flickered across her face. Then her gaze came back to me, almost imploring.

  I went over to her. “Do come in, Imogen,” I said gently. “This is my husband, Milo. As I’m sure you’ve realized, this isn’t the man that you met in Brighton.”

  “No,” she said faintly, her eyes still searching his face, an understandable confusion on her features. “He looks so much like him, but … but he isn’t.”

  “Why don’t you sit down, dear,” I suggested. I went to her and took her arm, leading her to a chair. She looked as though she was perilously close to tears, but she didn’t give in to them at once. I saw her look again at Milo, as though hoping that her gaze had deceived her.

  “I’m sure this must all be very confusing,” I said. “But there’s an explanation for it. We’ve only just learned about it, and I thought it would be best if you came here rather than talking about it over the telephone.”

  Milo, who had thus far said nothing, moved to the sideboard and poured a bit of brandy into a glass. He brought it over to Imogen and handed it to her. She was on the edge of refusal, but then she thought better of it and took the glass from his hand, taking a sip of the contents.

  “Thank you,” she said, the color coming back to her cheeks.

  “Now,” Milo said, seating himself on the sofa that was across from her. “It’s come to our attention that you’ve been involved with a man named Ames.”

  She nodded.

  “I’m afraid it was my brother.”

  A frown flickered across her face. “But … but he told me his name was … that is … Is your Christian name Milo?”

  He nodded. “The gentleman—and I use the word in the loosest sense—who you met is called Darien.”

  “But I don’t understand. Why did he tell me…?”

  Milo glanced at me, and I understood at once. He wanted me to tell her. Perhaps he thought it would be easier coming from a woman.

  “Darien is Milo’s half brother,” I explained. “Milo was actually unaware of his existence until this morning. It seems that Darien only recently learned about his connection to our family. I … well, we believe that he thought to use the name as a … an alias of sorts.”

  All the color drained from her face again. “So he was only toying with me,” she said. “I thought that I had married the man of my dreams, and now…”

  “He … led us to believe you were not legally wed,” I said gently.

  A blush rose up to overtake the paleness of her face as she realized it was now common knowledge that whatever sort of “honeymoon” they had enjoyed had not been within the bounds of matrimony. “He said … I thought … we were going to marry in London.”

  She burst into tears then, and there was nothing that the brandy could do to help it. I took the glass from her and set it on the table, patting her back and muttering whatever soothing things I could think of.

  I glanced over her head at Milo, who looked more impatient than sympathetic. He had never been much moved by tears.

  “Have you a handkerchief, Milo?” I asked pointedly.

  He pulled one from his pocket and rose to hand it to me. “I’ll just leave you ladies to discuss things,” he said.

  I shot him a look, which he ignored, and he walked from the room.

  I handed the handkerchief to Imogen, who wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Then she crumpled it in her hands, her gaze trained on the little ball of fabric. “I know what you must think of me…”

  “No,” I said, reaching out to pat h
er arm. “He deceived you. The fault lies in him, not in you.”

  “I ought to have known it was too good to be true,” she said sadly. “I just feel so … so stupid.”

  I felt another surge of anger at Darien.

  “I’m terribly sorry, dear.”

  She sniffed. “Well, better I found out now than later, I suppose.”

  I hesitated. Though I didn’t like to intrude on her privacy, the question needed to be asked. “There is one more thing…”

  She looked up at me. “Yes?”

  “It’s rather a delicate question, but it’s important. You don’t suppose you … might be in a similar condition to mine?” I asked gently.

  She looked at me, her eyes wide, and then looked away as color suffused her face once again. She shook her head. “No.”

  “You’re fairly certain?” I pressed. I didn’t mean to embarrass the girl, but if there was going to be difficulty, perhaps I could find some way to help her through it.

  She managed to meet my gaze. “I’m sure.”

  I nodded, breathing out a sigh of relief. That was one less thing we needed to worry about.

  “Can I get you anything?” I asked, wishing I could find some way to help.

  “No. Thank you. I’ve already caused you a good deal of trouble.”

  “Not at all. Please know that you’re always welcome here.”

  “Thank you.” She rose. “I should be going now. I … need some time to think about things.”

  “Yes, of course. What will you do now?”

  “Go back to London, I suppose,” she said. “Though perhaps not for a day or two. I’ve already paid Mrs. Cotton for the week, and I could use the time to … sort out how to proceed.”

  “Are you all alone in London?” I asked, hoping she would have someone to support her when she returned home after this difficult errand.

  “No,” she said. “I live with my sister.”

  “You didn’t ask her to accompany you?” I asked.

  She flushed and shook her head. “She doesn’t know I’m here. I didn’t want her to know about this.”

  I could understand that, for the entire thing must be very embarrassing to her. Darien had certainly made a mess of things.

  “You will let me know if there’s anything I can do?” I asked, sensing that she was eager to take her leave.

  “Yes. Thank you, Amory.”

  Imogen left the house, and I was left with a vaguely dissatisfied feeling. There was, I supposed, not much I could do, but I still wished there was some way I could help.

  I went looking for Milo and found him in his study, a comfortable, masculine room with dark wood paneling and heavy furniture, gathering some paperwork to take with him to visit Mr. Ludlow.

  “I don’t know what we’re going to do about all of this,” I said, perching myself on one of the leather chairs near his desk.

  “I don’t know that we have to do anything about it,” he said without looking up, sliding a sheaf of documents into an attaché case.

  I was not surprised by his lack of interest in the matter. Problems of the heart were not of any importance to him, and I supposed he would like to wash his hands of the whole mess. It wasn’t going to be that easy, however. Darien was his brother, and, like it or not, one couldn’t so easily sweep family aside.

  “If he’s going to associate himself with our family, use the Ames name, then I think that we might…”

  “It’s not really any of our concern. Darien and Imogen are both adults.”

  “But…”

  “I’m sorry the girl was hurt, but, after all, it’s not the first time a woman has been seduced by a man under false pretenses. It happens all the time. Frankly, she should have been more careful.”

  “That isn’t fair.”

  “No,” he said, looking up from his paperwork. “It’s not, but it’s the way things are.”

  I sighed.

  “You can’t fix everyone’s problems, darling.”

  Perhaps not, but that didn’t mean I was going to stop trying.

  * * *

  MILO LEFT TO catch the train to London, and I was left to my own devices. Naturally, my mind was still on the situation with Imogen and Darien, and I found my thoughts wandering to his newest dalliance. Someone ought to warn Marena about Darien, but I had the feeling it would do very little good.

  “Winnelda,” I said as I prepared for bed. “Have you heard any of the village gossip about Marena Hodges and Bertie Phipps?”

  If she thought the question strange, she didn’t show it. Winnelda was always happy to share the interesting tidbits she had learned.

  She nodded. “I’ve heard a few things, here and there. I know May who does the cleaning at the vicarage. She sometimes overhears a little when she’s there.”

  I’m sure she does, I thought. It occurred to me that this might be a very useful source of information.

  Before I could press Winnelda further, however, she continued. “May said she wasn’t surprised Miss Marena broke things off with Bertie. She said Miss Marena’s always been the sort to prefer a sophisticated gentleman.”

  And she had found one—or at least a good imitation of one—in Darien, I thought grimly.

  “May’s a bit of a snob, though,” Winnelda went on. “She agrees that Miss Marena ought to have a toff. I think Bertie Phipps is a very nice young man, whatever she says. But, anyway, Miss Marena broke things off with Bertie a fortnight ago. May says they were arguing a good bit leading up to it.”

  “Oh?” I asked. May had certainly heard more than “a little.”

  “Yes, they didn’t quarrel in the vicarage, but she would see them through the windows, walking along the lanes. She said she could tell they were rowing, though she never heard the cause.”

  “I see.” So, if they had parted ways two weeks ago, at least Darien was not to blame for that. He had caused enough trouble already.

  “There was some funny business about it, though,” Winnelda went on. She said this in a reflective tone that gave me pause.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not entirely sure, and neither is May. But things were going so well with Bertie. Everyone thought they were going to be married. May heard them discussing moving to London one day. And then suddenly they were quarreling, and Bertie was gone. May says Mr. and Mrs. Busby seem to avoid talking about him as well.”

  “Perhaps it’s just that Marena has broken things off with him, and the Busbys don’t want to make her uncomfortable by mentioning it.”

  “That’s what I thought. May said it seems to be more than that. She said it’s as though he had done something wrong.”

  I thought about my encounter with the Busbys. I had had a similar impression, as though they were uncomfortable at the mention of Bertie Phipps. But what did I know of it? Perhaps he had said something hurtful to Marena over the breaking off of their relationship. Perhaps he had even behaved in an untoward manner and that was why they had quarreled.

  “Did May say what she thought it might be?”

  “She didn’t know, but she somehow had the impression Bertie had stolen something.”

  This surprised me. Bertie had always seemed to me to be a very upstanding, hardworking young man. I found it difficult to believe he would resort to theft.

  “Money, you mean?”

  “May wasn’t sure, exactly. She just heard the vicar and Mrs. Busby discussing something missing from the vicar’s study. They didn’t even mention Bertie’s name. It was just the impression May had, that they were talking about him.”

  It was all very curious.

  “I don’t suppose you need worry about it, though, madam,” Winnelda said. “You’ve got enough to think about with the baby coming.”

  Perhaps she and Milo were right, though I was loath to admit it. None of this was really any of my business, after all. And I did have more important matters to consider.

  I was just going to do my best to put it all out of my mind. />
  7

  DARIEN MADE HIMSELF scarce in the remaining days leading up to the festival, and I didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed that we had heard nothing from him. I supposed he was busy wooing Marena Hodges, and I only hoped the village was large enough to keep him from encountering Imogen.

  It was also possible he had decided to leave town. Half of me hoped that he had, but the other half still had aspirations that the brothers might develop some sort of relationship. I knew that Milo had always viewed himself as being alone in the world since his father’s death—indeed, since long before then—and the idea that he might be able to gain a familial relationship was heartening.

  Of course, now, with the baby due to arrive shortly, was not the most ideal of times for upheaval in any of our lives. But was there ever an ideal time for such things? Perhaps we would be able to sort it all out before the newest Ames made his or her arrival into the world.

  Milo’s trip to London had done little to enlighten us about Darien’s history. Mr. Ludlow confirmed his ignorance of Darien’s existence. It seemed that Milo’s father had indeed washed his hands of Darien and his mother, never looking back after he left them.

  I suspected that Milo was also considering making some sort of settlement for his brother, though I was sure Mr. Ludlow had assured him he was under no obligation to do so. As I had known it would, the bond of blood was proving difficult for Milo to ignore. Or perhaps Milo just thought that giving Darien enough money would get rid of him.

  Whatever the case, nothing much had been resolved by the time the festival arrived. I was doing my best, however, to keep from dwelling on any of it.

  As for Bertie, aside from a sheepish glance in my direction when he returned to work with Milo’s horses, he made no reference to his altercation with Darien. I decided to let the matter rest. I was certain the young people could work out their own matters of the heart without my interference.

  The day of the festival was lovely, the spring weather for once deciding to cooperate. The sun shone brightly, unimpeded save for the few fluffy white clouds that the light breeze blew across the sky, and the morning temperature held the promise of a mild day.