THE NORTHRIDGE PLACE parlour was quiet, with each of its three inhabitants quietly occupied with their own tasks. Mrs Gale attended to her correspondence, Nash played endless games of patience and Edmund read, tapping his fingertips listlessly on the arm of his chair as he did so. At last, this habit became too irritating for his companions to bear, and when several sighs and pointed glares from his mother went unnoticed, it fell to Nash, who did not look up from his game but kicked Edmund’s chair so sharply and suddenly that it caused him to jerk upright, dropping his book to the ground with a thump.
“What was that for?”
“Thank you, Nash,” Mrs Gale called, pursing her lips in a private sort of smile.
Edmund bent to retrieve his book, raking a hand through his hair and shooting his friend a glare.
“You were tapping,” Nash said, sliding one set of cards beneath another, and surveying his game with concern. “It was annoying.”
“You are annoying,” Edmund muttered, underneath his breath. He still had not managed to extract from Nash anything as useful as a departure date, despite numerous hints. He had extolled the virtues of London until he was blue in the face - albeit not within his mother’s hearing, for Mrs Gale was already two-thirds turned in favour of a removal to London, and Edmund did not wish to have to argue with her in favour of their remaining at home. If Nash’s presence here meant that they would remain in Northridge, undisturbed, Edmund would learn to tolerate his friend without complaint, although that did not mean he would relish being jolted out of his own chair in his own parlour!
Abandoning his attempt to rediscover what page he had left off reading, he set the book down carefully on an end-table and got to his feet, taking a slow, ponderous circuit of the room. He visited Nash first, pointing out two moves his friend had not yet noticed and feeling a glimmer of satisfaction at the irritated grunt Nash let out before making the necessary changes. Next, he stopped at Mrs Gale’s writing desk, peering over her shoulder to the list of letters she was busily working on answering.
“What news, Mama? Anything of interest?”
“Not to you,” she replied, taking the letters from his hands and folding them carefully out of sight. “Unless you wish to hear that yet another of my friend’s daughters is to marry.” She fixed her son with a look that needed no further explanation.
“Who was it this time?” Edmund asked, with a crooked smile. His mother’s pointed assertions as to the lack of eligible young ladies in Edmund’s social circle had long since ceased to have an impact on him, and now he rather enjoyed baiting her on this particular subject, especially when she was the one so determined to raise it. “Miss Lydia Grantham? Miss Georgiana Elliot? Miss Felicity -”
“Humphries,” Mrs Gale interrupted, sourly. “She is now Lady Felicity Bartlett.”
Edmund raised an imaginary glass in their honour.
“My congratulations to the happy couple.”
“I wonder how long it will be before I am permitted the honour of writing to my friends with news of a wedding,” she remarked, laying down her pen to observe her son a little more carefully. “It remains unlikely that anything will change the longer we remain here. If we were in London....”
“If we were in London your parlour would be far more cramped and uncomfortable than this one, Mother dear, and you would never have been afforded the opportunity to host an eminent musician under your roof.” Edmund could sense the sharp tone in his voice and took great pains to soften it, being in no humour for an argument, no matter how much his mother continued to plague him.
He turned towards the window, humming a trill from the previous evening’s performance that continued to rattle around his head.
“What a pity Cluett is not here now! I am just in the mood for more music,” he observed. “T’would be the very thing to lighten the room. What a pity you cannot play for us, Nash, and make yourself useful.”
“I am ornamental,” Nash replied, displaying the most charming and becoming of his smiles. “Is that not so, Mrs Gale?”
“Your head is in no need of swelling by further compliments,” Edmund remarked, glowering at his friend. Nash’s pride in his appearance was normally a source of amusement, but lately, without dilution by the rest of Edmund’s London set, he began to tire of his friend’s arrogance and excess. Ornament was all well and good when there were ladies to be wooed, but what good did that bring to Northridge Place?
There was a flourish of activity in the corridor and Edmund turned from the window just in time for the door to the parlour to open and their housekeeper to introduce an unexpected guest.
“Miss Turner.”
“Hello, Juliet!” Edmund said, brightening immediately. The smile died on his lips when he saw the pale tinge to her usually ruddy complexion. “What is the matter?”
“Bess is not here, is she?” Juliet glanced around the interior of the parlour, seeing at a glance that she was not.
“What’s that?” Nash looked up, his ears pricked with interest. Even Mrs Gale laid down her pen again, leaning forward on her elbows to silently enquire as to the problem.
“Oh, she went out for a walk.” Juliet’s smile flashed only fleetingly onto her face before disappearing again, replaced by a frown. “She has not come home yet, and the weather is growing a little inclement. I am - I am worried.”
“Worried?” Mrs Gale shook her head. “I thought all of the Turner sisters were great walkers.”
Her tone softened without Edmund needing to look at her, for Bess was perhaps the one out of all of her neighbours that she could most stand, and even she did not like to think of the quiet, gentle young lady being out alone for long.
“I assure you, if she were here, we would have told you.”
Juliet nodded, but her eyes were clouded as if she was running through a mental inventory of where else, if anywhere, her sister might be. Edmund’s own heart began to race a little at this. He had not often seen his friend so worried and felt certain there was more to her concern than she had volunteered.
“I shall help you look,” he declared, crossing the room in a few long strides and laying a comforting hand on Juliet’s shoulder. “She’ll not have gone far, I’m sure. We may take the curricle, mayn’t we, Mother?” He glanced over his shoulder, not expecting Mrs Gale to offer anything other than an affirmative nod. Her expression was reluctant, and she glanced at Nash, as if willing him to offer to accompany them, thus necessitating not only the taking of a larger vehicle but preventing Edmund from pursuing the task alone with Juliet. Edmund was in no mood to indulge his mother in her ridiculous notions, though, and rather thought that Nash would be more of a hindrance than a help. “It is hardly needful of a great search party,” he said, ensuring his voice remained light and unconcerned. “I shall be back before long, Mother. Nash, keep to your cards, you are evidently in need of practice. Come along, Juliet, and we’ll go straight to the stables.”
He was surprised when Juliet, white-faced and silent, followed him without a word of objection, and his concern for Bess’s well-being began to increase. His friend was not prone to anxiety or hysterical over-reaction. Something has happened to spark this, he thought. And I do not think Juliet is likely to tell me until we are alone.
Chapter Eleven
“There is no sign of her!” Juliet said, glancing one way and then another as the curricle bounced down the road. Edmund tugged lightly on the reins, slowing the horses so that they might have more time to look for clues as to Bess’s whereabouts.
“Where else have you looked?” His voice was deliberately calm, likely an attempt to keep her from panicking. She appreciated his efforts, but would not be so easily deterred. Bess never disappeared like this, especially not after an argument. Juliet listed off a few local beauty spots, places that were popular amongst all the sisters. A cold breeze made her shiver and she bit down hard on her lip. Gentle Bess would never usually choose to be out of doors in weather like this.
“It is my faul
t,” she murmured.
“Explain.” Edmund’s voice was sharp but not unkind. Despite her reluctance to ’fess all to her friend, Juliet soon found herself relaying the conversation she had had with Louisa that had prompted Bess’s flight, speculating on just what she might have overheard and how it had upset her. Edmund’s expression grew pensive but he did not say anything. Juliet squirmed, rendered more uncomfortable by his silence than she might have been by a telling off.
“Well?” she challenged. “Do not you wish to lecture me? It is my fault she was upset. I oughtn’t to have spoken the way I did.”
“Neither should Louisa,” Edmund said, quietly. He shook his head, his eyes flashing with something that might have been anger. “Truthfully, Juliet, I do not understand why you are so opposed to the idea of marriage for your sisters.” His voice dropped. “Or yourself.”
Juliet’s heart sank. Of course, he would hear her words and apply them to their situation.
“This is not about me -” she began.
“But it is.” Edmund pulled again on the reins, bringing the curricle to a sudden, jerky stop.
“What are you doing?” Juliet asked. “We are meant to be looking for Bess. If she is outdoors in this weather then there is no time to delay!”
“Your sister is sensible,” Edmund said, his voice still that same pitch of infuriating calm. He turned in his seat to face Juliet directly. “You may say all you wish to of her being upset, but she is no fool. She would have sought shelter, and there are a hundred houses within my estate or our neighbours’ that would welcome her in, you know that better than I do. You are looking for her because you feel guilty, and rightly so.”
Juliet’s mouth fell open. How dare Edmund speak so unkindly to her! She felt hot tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and blinked them away. It was one thing to blame herself, but to have her oldest friend do so as well, and so matter-of-factly, was difficult to bear.
“No, Juliet, do not counter me. You must let me speak, for once!” A glint of determination flashed in his dark eyes and Juliet knew better than to argue with him. She leaned back in her seat, folding her arms tightly to ward off the cold, and dropped her gaze to her lap.
“You act as if you and you alone know what is best for your sisters. Look at your interference in Madeline’s life. We both -” He clenched his jaw, conceding with a bob of the head his complicity in that particular endeavour. “We both thought we knew what was best for Maddy. In the end, she made up her own mind and it was all for the better. Now, you think you know precisely what Bess needs and wants. Have you ever stopped to consult her?”
“She cannot love Mr Cluett -”
“This is not about Mr Cluett or anybody else! You must acknowledge that Bess is a grown young lady and is free to make her own decisions. We think she prefers to remain at home amongst us because we love to have her, but perhaps - just perhaps - her dreams are bigger than that.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I have learned to my detriment that I have no clue what is most important to you, Juliet, even though I wish you would tell me.”
Juliet tossed her head, ready with a witty rejoinder that seemed to die on her lips when she noticed how very young Edmund looked in that moment as he regarded her. He shifted in his position and was himself once more, albeit serious.
“You act as if marriage to me - to anyone! - would be a fate worse than death for you, and yet you seem only too eager to interfere in the lives of others. Are you so afraid to live your own life?”
Juliet shook her head.
“You do not understand...”
“Then explain it to me.” Edmund leaned back in his seat, securing the reins and surveying her with open challenge in his face. “I am content to sit here all afternoon until you do.”
For a fleeting moment, Juliet fought the urge to clamber down and continue on foot, but her friend’s face was so hurt and anguished beneath his veneer of calm that she could not help but speak, and give the answers he had been longing for for so long.
“I am afraid.” Her voice was small and tight, not at all like herself, yet somehow Edmund seemed to hear her. He frowned.
“Of me?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Of being married to you. We are very different people - no, listen. We are very different, you and I. You are Mr Edmund Gale and you spend half your time in London moving in circles that would never willingly admit me, even if I came there on your arm.”
“Not true.”
“Very well, then they are circles that I should not choose to be a part of.” She pulled a weary face. “I am odd and awkward and would prefer to be holed up with a book than on display at an assembly. And then there is my writing -”
This was too much, clearly, for Edmund snorted with laughter.
“You think I care that you write? I care only that you do not trust me to read what you write! I am your proudest admirer before I have even read a word, although I should like to know what stories you craft.” His smile grew mischievous. “And whether I feature in them.”
“You make a charming villain,” Juliet told him, drily. “A rogue who exists only to plague our heroine.”
“I am sure she could reform him if she only tried.” His voice softened into a tone Juliet was not sure she had ever heard before, on his lips or anyone else’s and certainly not directed towards her. “Will you try?”
Juliet pretended not to understand, ignoring the real question his eyes asked.
“You do not want a wife like me,” she said, with a decisive shake of the head. “You need someone elegant and charming who would manage your home and charm all your friends. As it is, Nash only tolerates me because I make him laugh and because he is on some ridiculous quest to win Louisa’s heart.”
“Nash is no great friend of mine!” Edmund declared, rashly. “I shall discard them all if you dislike them. Juliet -”
Somehow he had secured hold of her hand, and whilst she knew she ought to remove it, his grasp was so warm and comfortable that she could not bear to let go just yet.
“You know me better than anyone. You are my oldest and dearest friend. No lady in all England compares to you.” He pulled a face. “Now, I have not been as far as the Continent, but I am persuaded - ouch!”
Her heel had ground down on his toes and curtailed his teasing, if not the full weight of his words.
“There is none for me but you. I know you refused me before, but surely I have proved to you, by my faithfulness, that I was serious then. I am serious now. All teasing aside. Will you at least consider spending our futures together? Will you marry me?”
“We are in a curricle!” Juliet said, dumbly. “And it’s raining.”
“I don’t care,” Edmund declared, turning his face up towards the sky, smiling into the rain which had grown heavier during their stop. “I will drown in it if you will but give me an honest answer, once and for all.”
“Once and for all?” Juliet’s breath caught. With one word she could put an end to this indecision. She could keep Edmund’s heart, or she could discard it utterly. She could guarantee him the future she knew he deserved, and allow Mrs Gale her victory.
But here, she found she could not. Her own heart would not let her. It might be selfish, but she did not care. She opened her mouth to give the only answer she was able to give, but before she could say a word, another carriage came rattling down the road towards them. It spied them too late to alter its course, and Edmund let go of Juliet’s hand to snatch up the reins and urge his horses off the highway towards a ditch. The sound of the oncoming carriage spooked them and they reared back, tugging the carriage with such force that it tipped, sending Juliet flying into the side with a thump, and she heard the loud crack of a carriage wheel shearing from its hold.
“I AM ONLY SORRY WE cannot steal you for a little longer!”
Rosemary was teasing her, but as the Cluett carriage lurched to a stop at the end of the Aston House driveway, Bess could not help but smile to find herself so wanted
.
“Are you sure you will not come in and take tea with us? I am sure Mama and Father will be only too delighted to see you again.”
“More tea?” Mr Cleutt pulled a face. “I already feel as if I am drowning, I have drunk so many cups.”
Bess’s smile fell until she saw the glint of good-humour in his eyes. They had spent a pleasant hour in the Riverton tea room, and she was surprised to contrast how different this version of Mr Christopher Cluett was to the person she had met the previous evening at Edmund’s house. He smiled easily and laughed often, and seemed genuinely interested in learning all he could about her life, her friends and her family. It had been a revelation to Bess, who was much more used to going unnoticed, particularly by gentlemen she did not already know well. She blushed and turned back to Rosemary.
“Well, perhaps not tea, then. But I am sure they would be eager to see you.”
Rosemary looked at her brother, a silent question in her eyes.
“I suppose we might stop in for a quarter-hour,” he ventured, before glancing out of the window. “Oh, but I see you have visitors already!”
“We do?” Bess scrambled to the window, frowning at the sight of an unfamiliar carriage parked outside her home. “I wonder who that could be!”
“We shall not intrude,” Rosemary said, giving Bess an impromptu hug. “Christopher will just see you indoors.”
This was an instruction, but before Bess could reassure her guests that she was in no need of such an escort, Mr Cluett had already climbed out of the carriage and held his hand up to help her down.
A Spring Serenade Page 8
