A Christmas Courtship (5 page)

Jake was unhurt, and Hannah only a little flustered, but Blanche had been flung bodily against the side of the trap, and was so badly winded that she could only lie on the floor, too racked with pain to move.

The coachman struggled to bring his frightened team to a
standstill
, and for a moment or so there was silence, then Hannah turned anxiously, reaching down to touch Blanche. ‘Miss Blanche? Are you hurt?’

‘I-I don’t know….’ Blanche could barely speak.

The carriage window was lowered suddenly, and Sir Edmund leaned out a little irritably. ‘What in God’s name is going on, Richards?’ he demanded.

‘There was a pony and trap in front of me, sir, and it wasn’t carrying a lamp….’

‘Is anyone hurt?’

Before the coachman could reply, Hannah called out anxiously. ‘It’s Miss Blanche, Sir Edmund! Please help!’

He flung the carriage door open and vaulted lightly down, his scarlet uniform a vivid splash of color even in the darkness. He hurried to the trap, leaning in to where Blanche lay.

‘Miss Amberley?’

The pain was receding, and as it did so, Blanche was able to think more clearly. She turned her head slightly to look up at him. ‘Sir Edmund?’

Her hair was in a confusion of curls around her face, and he pushed it away gently, his gloved hand resting concernedly against her cheek. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Just a little winded, I think. I fell against the side of the trap.

‘Can you sit up?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Let me help you.’ Taking one of her hands, he slipped his other arm beneath her, easing her into a sitting position and then
steadying her. ‘Is that all right?’

She nodded, and made to get out of the trap, but he held her back.

‘Take it easy, give yourself a minute or so before you do anything else.’ He looked at Hannah and Jake. ‘Have either of you come to any harm?’

Jake shook his head. ‘We’re all right, sir.’

Sir Edmund held his gaze. ‘In future, I suggest you carry a lamp.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Cutler, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Jake looked at him in some surprise. ‘How did you…?’

‘Your name was mentioned to me in connection with the
occasional
removal of game from my property.’

‘That’s a lie, sir!’ protested Jake immediately.

‘Is it? Well, I suggest you see that it is from now on,’ replied Sir Edmund shortly, returning his attention to Blanche. ‘I think you should continue the journey in my carriage, Miss Amberley.’

‘I’d rather not,’ she said quickly, not wanting to be closeted in so small a space with Lady Hetherington.

‘I’m not giving you the choice, Miss Amberley,’ he said. ‘I insist that you travel in the carriage, because you’ve been badly shaken and it wouldn’t do at all for you to remain in an open vehicle on such a cold night. Believe me, I’m quite prepared to see that you do as you’re told.’

She stared at him. ‘That won’t be necessary, sir.’ ‘Good.’ He held out his hand to assist her from the trap.

Reluctantly she accepted, but as she stepped down, she swayed a little, and he put an arm quickly around her waist. The moment of dizziness passed, and she pulled away from him. ‘I’m all right now, Sir Edmund.’

He inclined his head, and gestured toward the carriage. Without another word, she preceded him toward it, allowing him to help her up onto its luxurious green velvet seat.

Athena sat motionless inside, and said not a word as the extra passenger took her place. The silence was very heavy and embarrassing, and Blanche wished more than anything that Sir
Edmund Brandon had left her to complete her journey in the pony and trap.

Jake was already driving swiftly on toward the village, and as Sir Edmund climbed into the carriage and closed the door, Richards urged the team into action again.

The Red Lion alehouse stood on the edge of Amberley St Mary, and it was bright with lamplight as the trap drove past, followed by the carriage. Raucous laughter and the sound of bawdy singing emanated from the open doorway, but there was no one to see the odd little procession. The lane swept uphill toward the armorial gates of Amberley Court at the top,
dissecting
a wide expanse of green that was lined on either side by a haphazard scattering of thatched, half-timbered cottages. Christmas wreaths adorned the neat doors, candles glowed in windows, and woodsmoke curled up from the chimneys, to be wafted away by the cold draft of air coming inland from the sea.

Orchard Cottage, Blanche’s home, was the dwelling closest to the gates. It was fairly large by village standards, with latticed windows peeping sleepily from beneath a sprawling thatched roof, and it had become the Amberley family’s residence because it was part of the estate and had happened to be empty at the time of the financial blow that had so reduced their
circumstances
. Behind it stretched the ancient cider apple orchard from which it took its name, and in front of it was a neat garden, with an ash path that led away from a gate flanked by two holly trees. The only lighted window was that of Blanche’s father’s bedroom, where candles glowed behind the green-and-
white-chintz
curtains.

Richards maneuvered the carriage to a standstill by the cottage gate, while Jake drove the trap on around to the back of the cottage, where a little stable looked out onto a walled yard.

Sir Edmund opened the carriage door and climbed down, turning to hold his hand out to Blanche. The silence had
continued
in the vehicle, but Blanche now felt a belated desire to warm the atmosphere if she possibly could. She turned to Athena. ‘I-I hope you’ll be very happy at Amberley Court, Lady Hetherington.’

‘Do you indeed,’ came the chilly reply, and Athena looked
pointedly away.

Wishing she hadn’t weakened, Blanche accepted Sir Edmund’s hand and alighted, but if she thought that that was to be the end of the unwanted encounter, she was mistaken, for far from taking immediate leave of her, he opened the gate and showed every intention of escorting her to the door.

‘There’s no need, Sir Edmund,’ she said quickly, glancing back into the carriage.

‘On the contrary, Miss Amberley, there’s every need,’ he replied.

There was nothing for it but to do as he wished, and as they proceeded up the ash path she heard the back door of the cottage close, as Hannah went in from the yard. Amoment later,
candlelight
flickered beneath the front door as the housekeeper waited discreetly inside to answer the expected knock.

At the door with its holly wreath and crimson ribbons, Sir Edmund turned to face Blanche. ‘Miss Amberley, it seems very likely that our paths are going to cross from time to time now that I’ve at last taken up residence here, and although our
original
meeting was far from agreeable, and our second one barely less so, I do hope that we can get along from now on. It isn’t my wish to be at daggers drawn, I promise you.’

‘Nor is it mine, sir,’ she replied, suddenly able to smile at him. ‘Thank you for your kind assistance tonight.’

‘Not at all, for it seems to me that the fault was probably on both sides. Richards was proceeding too quickly, and you were proceeding too invisibly.’

‘Yes, I fear we were. Sir Edmund…?’

‘Miss Amberley?’

‘I’m truly sorry about Lady Hetherington’s clothes, but it
was
an accident.’

‘Miss Amberley, I didn’t for a moment imagine that the wine was hurled deliberately. Lady Hetherington has a rather, er, hasty temper, and is inclined to fly off the proverbial handle. She didn’t mean to say some of the things she did.’

Didn’t she? Blanche was of the opinion that spiteful Athena had meant every unkind shrewish word, and that Sir Edmund Brandon was laboring under a grave misapprehension where his
beloved was concerned.

He glanced back at the carriage. ‘Well, perhaps I should take my leave of you now. Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘Good night, Miss Amberley.’

‘Good night, Sir Edmund.’

But as he turned to go, he halted suddenly, putting a hand out to the door to steady himself. She heard his breath catch, and saw the swift glance of pain on his face. His hand moved
convulsively
, seizing roughly upon the Christmas wreath and
wrenching
it from the string tying it to the door knocker. There was a deathly pallor on his skin, and beads of perspiration on his
forehead
as he stood there, his head bowed as he waited for a spasm of deep pain to pass.

She put an anxious hand on his arm. ‘Sir Edmund?’

‘Forgive me, Miss Amberley, I fear I’m not yet in full health.’

‘Can I get you a glass of water? A cognac, perhaps?’

‘There’s no need.’ He drew a long breath and raised his hand. ‘It’s passed now. I’m rather afraid I’ve ruined your Christmas decoration.’ He held out the crumpled wreath.

‘It can be mended, Sir Edmund,’ she replied, taking it.

‘I trust you didn’t labor too long over it.’

‘Not at all, but even if I had, making Christmas decorations is such an agreeable pastime that I would not mind doing it again.’

‘You’re too kind, Miss Amberley.’

She looked at him. ‘Sir Edmund, are you often taken ill like this?’

‘More often than I would wish.’

‘I’m very sorry.’

He smiled. ‘So am I, Miss Amberley, so am I.’ He glanced back toward the waiting carriage, where Lady Hetherington sat with her face still averted from the cottage, having witnessed nothing. ‘Good night again, Miss Amberley,’ he said.

‘Good night, Sir Edmund.’

She remained by the door as he retraced his steps to the gate and the waiting carriage. As he climbed in and closed the door, Richards urged the team forward again, and the carriage bowled across the road toward the armorial gates, which swung open as
it approached. The lodgekeeper snatched off his hat as the carriage passed through and then vanished among the
evergreen
trees and shrubs that formed a screen to hide the park from the road. The drive curved away toward the big house, following a circuitous route that was intended to show off as much of the estate as possible.

Blanche listened until the sound of the carriage dwindled away into the night, and then she turned to lift the latch on the door, stepping inside to find Hannah waiting anxiously with the lighted candlestick.

‘You shouldn’t have dallied on the doorstep like that, Miss Blanche, not after what happened on the way home,’ the housekeeper said, putting the candlestick down on a little table on which stood a bowl of holly and ivy, and then coming to relieve Blanche of the crumpled wreath. ‘Whatever happened to this?’

Blanche explained. ‘I fear Sir Edmund isn’t at all well yet,’ she finished.

‘So it seems. Well, he’ll be even less well after a Christmas spent with that shecat, but that’s his problem.’

Blanche removed her cloak, shivering because the
whitewashed
hallway with its garlands of festive greenery wasn’t the warmest of places.

Hannah took the cloak. ‘I’ll warm some water for a bath, Miss Blanche, and I’ll put some nettle flower balm in it.’

‘There’s no need, Hannah,’ replied Blanche, putting her
reticule
and gloves down on the table next to the candlestick.

‘Come the morning you’ll be feeling quite bruised, my dear, so you must take a bath, and then an infusion of camomile before you go to bed.’

‘If you insist.’

‘I do.’ Hannah glanced toward the staircase which led steeply up to the floor above. ‘Shall you go up to your father now, Miss Blanche?’ she asked quietly.

Blanche hesitated, and then nodded, for the sooner she broached the subject of her love for Antony, the better for all concerned. ‘Yes, I’ll go now.’

‘I’d be lying if I wished you well, my dear, for I think this is a
mismatch of the highest order. Antony Mortimer isn’t the man for you.’

‘We love each other.’

‘Or does he love his inheritance more? He’s gained his father’s permission, but if he hadn’t, I wonder if he would still be marrying you? Would he defy him?’

Blanche fell silent, for the point had struck a little too close to its target.

Hannah looked sadly at her. ‘You’re wasting yourself on him, my dear, for he simply isn’t worth it, and if on his account you quarrel with your father, or with Master Jonathan….’

‘I don’t wish to discuss it any further, Hannah,’ interrupted Blanche, rather more sharply than she’d intended.

Hannah drew back. ‘As you please, Miss Blanche,’ she said, turning and walking away to the kitchen.

Blanche looked unhappily after her. She didn’t want to
quarrel
with anyone, she only wanted everything to be good again, as it had been two years before, and as it could be again now.

Picking up her reticule and gloves, and the lighted
candlestick
, she gathered her beige skirts to go up to her father, to tell him about Antony. She put her things away in the drawer in her own room, and then went to her father’s door.

Lionel Amberley’s bedroom was the largest one in the cottage, and, like Blanche’s own, was at the front, overlooking the village and the gates of Amberley Court. It was simply furnished, with dark wooden furniture and a plain four-poster bed that was hung with the same green-and-white chintz as the curtains at the window. Firelight flickered warmly over everything, adding to the soft glow from the candelabrum on the small table next to the bed, where Lionel had fallen asleep over a volume of Milton.

He was sixty years old, with a patrician face and aquiline nose, and wispy gray hair peeping from beneath a tasseled black silk skull cap. He wore a purple paisley dressing gown over his white nightshirt, and a crocheted shawl was around his narrow shoulders. There was a silver locket around his neck, containing a lock of his late wife’s hair, and in sleep his hand rested upon it. He’d married late in life, and had adored his young bride, Blanche’s mother. Her death had broken his heart, and there had never been anyone else to replace her, even though as a wealthy, personable widower, he’d been much pursued until the events of two years before.

Blanche went to the fireplace, poking the fire a little and then placing a fresh log on the glowing embers. Fledgling flames licked around the log, sending smoke and sparks flying up the chimney to the dark, snow-laden sky above. The flames took hold, and the fire began to crackle loudly in the quiet.

Her father stirred, his brown eyes opening, and his head turned immediately toward her. ‘Ah, you’re safely home again,’ he murmured, holding out his hand to her.

She went to him, her fingers curling in his as she sat on the
edge of the bed. ‘Safely home in the end,’ she said, smiling.

‘In the end?’

She explained about the incident in the lane, when the trap had almost been run down by Sir Edmund’s carriage. ‘Both sides were at fault,’ she finished, ‘for the carriage was traveling by far too quickly, and we should have carried a lamp.’

‘I must see to it that Jake has the wherewithal to purchase one the next time he’s in Gloucester, for I’m sure we can find the necessary sum.’ He studied her. ‘So, you’ve made Sir Edmund’s acquaintance again.’

‘And I’ve spoken to his bride-to-be.’

‘So the whispers were correct, he is to be married?’

‘It would appear so.’

Her father smiled wryly. ‘From which tone I take it that you do not care for the lady?’

‘She’s odious in the extreme.’ Blanche described what had happened at the Saracen’s Head. ‘I do believe she meant to make poor Hannah pay,’ she ended, ‘but Sir Edmund was reasonable enough to intervene.’

Mr Amberley’s eyebrow was raised in surprise. ‘Sir Edmund was reasonable? Why, I do believe that you almost paid him a compliment.’

She smiled ruefully. ‘Perhaps. Indeed, if I’m honest, he seemed almost agreeable, but the whole effect is spoiled by his atrocious taste in women. Lady Hetherington is without a doubt the most obnoxious of creatures, and certainly doesn’t deserve to be mistress of a lovely old house like Amberley Court.’

‘Would any woman be worthy enough in your eyes, my dear?’ he asked quietly, squeezing her fingers.

‘Probably not.’ She drew a long breath, wondering how best to broach the delicate subject of her love for Antony. ‘Father, I….’

‘Before you say anything more, my dear, I have some excellent news to impart. The letter carrier called while you were out, and when he saw that I was alone, he was good enough to bring the letter up to me. He knew it was from Jonathan, you see, and
realized
how much it would mean to me to hear from him. Was that not kind of him?’

‘Very. What does the letter say? Will Jonathan be home with us for Christmas?’

‘Oh, he will indeed,’ replied her father, feeling under his mound of pillows for the letter. ‘Actually, we should have received it some days ago, but somehow it was sent to Amberley in Sussex, instead of here. I really don’t know what the post is coming to, there was a time when one could rely upon the correct delivery of one’s mail, but that is most definitely no longer the case. Mr Pitt was a sad loss, for I fear the country has gone to rack and ruin since his demise. Ah, here it is.’ He pulled the letter out, smoothed it, and then handed it to her.

She unfolded it, and began to read aloud.

Blanche looked up, her eyes shining. ‘Oh, Father, how proud we can be of him!’

‘We can indeed,’ nodded her father, with tears on his lashes.

Her smile faded a little. ‘I wish he wasn’t going to the war, though, I’m so afraid that….’ She finished, for her thoughts had turned suddenly to Sir Edmund, so unwell still after three months. He could be considered lucky, for there were many far less fortunate than he.

‘Don’t look on the gloomy side, my dear. Read on.’ She drew a long breath, and continued.

Blanche looked up from the letter again. ‘Do you know him?’

‘He’s an acquaintance, but no more than that, but he and I have one thing in common – we’re both plagued by financial difficulties. He appears to have weathered it somewhat more successfully than I, however, for at least he and his family are still fortunate enough to reside in their ancestral home. They are a good family, not overendowed with wealth but acceptable enough.’

‘Have you ever met Miss Jennings?’

‘No, I fear not, but from your brother’s eulogizing, she would appear to be a veritable goddess. Read on, and you’ll see what I mean.’

Blanche folded the letter. ‘It seems I’m to have a Deborah for a sister-in-law.’

‘And a Roderick for a husband, if your brother has his way entirely.’

She lowered her eyes and said nothing. She had to mention Antony, but somehow she just couldn’t find the right words.

Her father looked at her. ‘Is there something on your mind, my dear?’

‘Yes, Father, there is, and I don’t know quite what you’ll say when you hear.’

‘Is it so very serious?’

‘Jonathan isn’t the only one to be thinking of marriage, for I am too.’

‘Indeed?’ His quick brown eyes searched her face. ‘I take it that you don’t think I’ll approve of your choice?’

‘I love him with all my heart, Father, and he loves me.’

‘Tell me his name, my dear.’

She hesitated, her eyes still downcast, but then she looked at him. ‘Antony Mortimer,’ she said.

He looked blankly at her. ‘Mortimer? I don’t think I know …’
Then he realized. ‘
Clement
Mortimer’s son?’

‘Yes.’

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. ‘Oh, Blanche, Blanche….’

‘We love each other, Father, truly we do, and Mr Mortimer has given his consent. We could be betrothed on Christmas Day if you’d only give your consent as well….’

His eyes flew open, and he looked sharply at her. ‘Did you say that Clement Mortimer has
agreed
?’

‘Yes.’

‘Impossible. He’s too ambitious to regard an Amberley match as in any way desirable. You may once have been sought-after as a bride, my dear, but that isn’t the case now. Why has he consented?’ He looked shrewdly at her. ‘Come now, I want the whole story, for I know Clement Mortimer too well not to see that there’s an ulterior motive.’

Reluctantly she nodded. ‘You know that Mr Mortimer wishes to become a member of parliament, don’t you? Well, for that he requires the patronage of the Duke of Norfolk, and in return for your assistance in that connection, Mr Mortimer is more than prepared to allow Antony to marry me.’

Mr Amberley sat up furiously. ‘How very gracious of him, to be sure! I’d as soon recommend a rat to the duke!’

‘Please don’t be angry, Father.’

‘Angry? I’m downright furious! And as to a Christmas betrothal…!’

‘I love Antony, Father, and he loves me. We want to spend the rest of our lives together.’

‘I’ll never consent to such a calculated arrangement!’

She met his angry eyes. ‘All it is is an agreement, Father, no worse than yours was with my mother’s family. You’d barely met when your parents arranged the match, and it was a contract based on financial benefit to both families. Is that more honorable and desirable than the match I wish for now? At least Antony and I know and love each other.’

He was silent for a long moment, and she waited in an agony of suspense. Would he accept that she had a valid point? Or would he dig his well-bred Amberley heels in and refuse to ever
countenance an alliance with the upstart Mortimers?

At last he drew a long, quivering breath, and nodded. ‘You’re right to remind me of the circumstances of my own marriage, and perhaps I would indeed be guilty of unfairness if I rejected your wishes out of hand, but I will never regard the Mortimers as worthy of an alliance with this family. Too many bad things are said of your young man’s father, and there are whispers about Antony himself, but I cannot justly say that I know for certain that he has followed in his sire’s footsteps. I know you wouldn’t ask this of me unless you did indeed hold this young man in exceeding high regard.’

‘I love him with all my heart.’

‘Then I will receive him, but….’

‘Oh, Father!’ Glad tears sprang to her eyes, and she tried to blink them back.

He put a hand to her cheek. ‘I only said I’d receive him, and I was going to go on to say that under no circumstances will I agree to a Christmas betrothal, for that is by far too soon. I will receive him, form my judgment, and then, if I am disposed to accept him as a prospective son-in-law, I am prepared to begin discussing dates and so on.’

She took a long moment to consider her next words. ‘Father, you do understand that Mr Mortimer will withdraw his consent unless you….’

‘Agree to put in a good word or two with the Duke of Norfolk? Yes, I understand, but I disapprove heartily, and I can’t believe that you’re entirely happy. What if all the good words in the world don’t achieve Clement’s ends? What then? Will your betrothal be abruptly ended?’ He put his hand over hers. ‘The duke isn’t a fool, you know, and he won’t be persuaded to put forward a candidate he doesn’t think worthy, no matter how many old friends approach him on the subject. However, it seems to me, strangely enough, that Clement Mortimer probably has the necessary qualities to become a Whig member of
parliament
.’ This last was said somewhat acidly, for as a lifelong admirer of the late Mr Pitt, Lionel Amberley was a staunch Tory.

‘Your political allegiance is showing, Father,’ she said quietly.

He smiled. ‘Tory I may be, my dear, but I’m also very fair, and
if I am impressed by your young man, then I will bear in mind the condition that his father has placed upon the match. I can see that it is no more reprehensible to connive at a marriage because of financial requirements than it is because of political
ambitions
. Neither reason is all that admirable, but to marry for love is very admirable indeed, and that will be my prime
consideration
.’