“Good morning, is Miss Markham about? She asked to have a word with me this morning.”
“She is engaged with Papa at the moment butâ”
Before she could finish, the lady in question marched out of the library, her gaunt face flushed an angry red and her lace cap askew. “Come, Jacinda. 'Tis time you had your rest. It seems
my
wishes will be ignored and you must go with your father to Rowland Park this evening.” She grabbed her young relative's arm and started for the stairs when her gaze fell on the steward, who stood unobtrusively against the wall. “Oh, Weems, forgive me, but I am too distracted with all this talk of Jacinda's betrothal to plan the enclosing of the summer house beside the lake.”
“Marriage for the little one?” Shock reflected on the steward's handsome face as he looked to Jacinda.
“Appalling, is it not?” Millicent said over her shoulder as she pulled her young charge up the stairs.
Jacinda looked back at Weems, who appeared perplexed for a moment as he watched them. Then he turned to the open library door to stare at the two gentlemen huddled over her father's desk. It seemed every adult but her father and the baron deemed this betrothal improper.
Cousin Millie led Jacinda up to her rooms and left her with Nurse. She gave instructions for the child to be dressed and ready in her best gown by six o'clock sharp. After the lady departed, the servant bustled about, turning back the covers on the large four-post bed. “What's got Miss Millie in such a takin', miss?”
Jacinda wasn't sleepy in the least, but she dutifully allowed Nurse to undo the ties to her gown, then she kicked off her slippers and climbed in. With complete childhood innocence, she announced to the woman, who was scarcely ten years older than she, “It seems I'm betrothed, Trudy.”
Nurse's hand froze in the act of covering the young girl she had taken to her heart after the death of the child's mother. “What nonsense, miss! Ye is still a babe.”
“It shall be a long betrothal. Papa has arranged it with Lord Rowland.”
The servant tucked her in, then settled into a nearby chair, shaking her head. “I'll never understand the ways of Quality. Pledging children to wed, upon my word.”
Jacinda nestled down into the pillows and stared up at the angels Cousin Millie had had painted on the ceiling to watch over her. “His lordship's son doesn't want to marry me.”
Trudy's brows drew together as she picked up her darning. “Why, he'd be lucky to have the likes of ye, Miss Jacinda. A future baron he may be, but it's well known throughout the county that there's bad blood there. His lordship is a loose screw for certain. But never ye mind his slight, his son's just a lad and don't know what he wants, child.”
Jacinda chuckled at how incensed Nurse sounded. “Oh, I'm not the least offended he doesn't wish to marry me. He's in love with Miss Mariah Amberly.”
A dawning look settled on Nurse's plain features. “He and the rest of the neighborhood sprigs. Close those eyes, child, and get some rest.”
Jacinda tried to sleep, but her mind was too full of Nurse's words. Bad blood in the Morrows. What could Papa be thinking? Then she remembered Andrew's last utterance. He'd threatened to kill someone. Who did he mean? She knew him so little and wondered if he had such wickedness within. Nurse seemed to think so and, in Jacinda's opinion, who knew better about such things than Trudy, whose own brother was a bloodthirsty villain. Well, actually he was just a highwayman, but still, she would know about such things, would she not?
The girl's thoughts settled on that man who had grown into a dashing figure in her imagination. She opened her eyes and gazed at Nurse, who sat stitching away at something black and shapeless. “Have you heard from Johnny?”
The servant's brown gaze flew to her charge. “Never ye mind about me brother. Go to sleep, child.”
Jacinda scooted higher on the pillows. “I would never tell a single soul about him. Is he in Somerset?”
Nurse glanced at the door as if fearful someone would hear her. “Aye, he's back. I keep urgin' him to find an honest livin' here, but he swears he's no longer workin' the Pike. He's a good man but I worry so for him and his wanderlust. He's a son of his own, so it's high time he settled down at his age.”
“A son?”
“Aye, little Ben.” Nurse's face grew soft at the thought of her nephew. “His mother worked at The King's Arms and lives with the boy near Bristol. Johnny comes to visit regular and is always full of promises.”
A shiver of excitement raced through Jacinda. With all the innocence of youth, she still believed such a life was full of adventure, ignoring the danger. “Can I meet him next time he comes?”
“Not as long as I draw breath. Go to sleep, Miss Jacinda.”
The girl well knew that tone. She would get nothing else from Nurse. She snuggled down into the covers and soon fell asleep, despite her apprehension about what lay ahead.
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Apollo's hooves pounded the hard gravel road rhythmically as Andrew pressed him to lengthen his stride. He wanted to be far away from his father and that sickly child they were trying to foist on him. In heated anger, he passed several riders along the road but who they were he couldn't say, so deep was his grievance against his sire.
Perhaps the worst part was that if this settlement were signed, within six months the baron would be right back where he was at the momentâin need of funds. Only then, Andrew would be obliged to marry that plain child at the time and place of their fathers' choosing.
He reined his horse to a walk and stared out at the green valley he loved. In the distance to the south, he could see the villages of Westbury and Wookey where he'd spent so much time. This was his home and had been for generations of his family before him. He'd always thought that he would live, marry, produce his heir, and die here. Had his father robbed him of his legacy with his excessive gaming?
At the thought of his own marriage, his father's warning echoed in his head. Would Squire Amberly really refuse to allow him to pay his addresses to Mariah? A flash of memory from the spring Horse Fair filled his mind. The old squire had followed behind Lord Chesterfield, one of the wealthiest landowners in this part of the county, and behaved like the man's servant instead of a country gentleman.
An overwhelming desire to see Mariah rose in him. He would not be denied his true love by his father or hers. He would elope, take her to Gretna and marry over the anvil. But as that image seeped into his brain, his lip curled in distaste. Perhaps it was his age that made him see life as black and white and such a shoddy, scandalous marriage was not for him and his Mariah. Besides, he hadn't enough money to hire a carriage and horses, much less to pay for inns and marriage.
A wave of despair washed over Andrew and he sagged in the saddle, a gesture his horse interpreted as a signal to stop. The lad sat in the middle of the road, his dark thoughts gripping him. His father was right. Mariah wouldn't be allowed to marry him, and the very thought made him ill. A title would not be enough to sway the squire. There were easily five men in the neighborhood with fortunes and titles. Squire Amberly would never allow Andrew near her with his pockets to let.
Pain radiated through his chest as that truth struck him hard. He ground his teeth in frustration. But his youth helped him to rally and he soon determined there had to be a way. He must have funds before he could present himself as Miss Amberly's suitor. Not just funds, but a fortune of his own since his father was like a giant hole in the ground that sucked up every cent that came within his reach.
Andrew's eyes narrowed as he put his mind to the problem. How did an English gentleman make money except from his land? The very thought of trade made a chill race over him. Nothing would put a period to his hopes with Mariah more than to have her father discover that the future Lord Rowland had soiled his hands in such a manner.
His gaze drifted west toward Bristol Channel, some fifteen miles away. He remembered his last trip to the coast before his mother had died, when he'd sat and watched white sails of ships going about their business. He'd longed to experience great adventure back then, but everything had changed. His eyes widened as an idea took root. There was only one way to avoid this betrothal
and
earn the funds he needed. He would have to leave.
Where did everyone go to get rich?
India!
His hands tightened on the reins. That was it, he would go to India and make his fortune. For the first time that day, a smile tipped his mouth.
But first he must secure Mariah's pledge to wait for him. She must know that he would do all this for her. Full of romantic notions and convinced that he had come up with the perfect solution to his dilemma, he set off for Amberly Court, determined to have a private conversation with his beloved.
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Despite the day's excitement, Jacinda slept soundly. Trudy shook her awake just after five. She was quickly dressed in her blue velvet gown with a white lace collar that Aunt Devere had brought back from London last fall. Jacinda's hair was brushed and tied with a matching blue ribbon. She wore the gold locket with two entwined ruby hearts that had once belonged to her mother. It always made her feel as if her mother were watching over her. One glance in the mirror and she knew that the fussy gown did little to improve her looks and that the locket was overlarge for her frail frame. As usual, a gaunt, pale ghost of a child looked back from her glass.
At six o'clock sharp Trudy led Jacinda down to the great hall, where Cousin Millie was in a heated argument with Mr. Blanchett. The gentleman was elegantly dressed in evening attire, and his brown hair, shot with red highlights, was neatly groomed and gleaming in the candlelight. A riding accident that very week had forced him to use a gold-topped cane, but he'd declared it made him look more the fashionable swell, which always seemed important to the foundry-owner-turned-country-gentleman. To Jacinda's eyes he was quite a handsome man, even at fifty.
Aunt Devere, all blond curls and rouged cheeks, was off to one side, listening but not voicing her opinion one way or the other. The widow rarely disagreed with her late sister-in-law's husband. She would only face his wrath when it came to pleading for him to increase her son's allowances or begging him to be lenient when Giles had engaged in some folly that displeased Mr. Blanchett. Otherwise, she had little to say to him.
“Enough!” Blanchett roared at last. “I'll not have you ruining the evening with your sour face and attitude, Millie. You shan't go.” He turned to Mrs. Devere, who turned her back to the gentleman's and gave a shake of her head. He shrugged, then looked at Nurse. “What is your name?”
The young servant quaked, but she curtsied. “Trudeau, sir. Aggie Trudeau.”
“You're old Ben's daughter?” When the girl acknowledged her father had been the gentleman's head groom before his death, Mr. Blanchett nodded his approval. “Your father was a good man. Well, Trudeau, you will be Jacinda's companion this evening. Go find a wrap.”
Without a word, Nurse hurried up the stairs even as Millicent Markham began a new round of haranguing the gentleman. “This is beyond foolish, sir. The child has only just recovered from an inflamation of the lungs and you intend to take her out into the night chill.”
He searched his daughter's gaunt face and saw nothing worrisome. “That was two months ago, and she will never regain her strength locked forever in her rooms. She looks fit to me; therefore, she shall go.” His tone brooked no further argument, even from Millicent.
They stood in strained silence until Nurse returned, then Mr. Blanchett softened his attitude, turning on his charm. “Take heart, Millie. We won't be late. I shall have Jacinda home before eleven, I promise. Then you may cosset her to your heart's content.”
The lady's lips pressed together in a grim line and she made no comment other than to remind her niece to heed her manners. In frosty silence, the spinster marched up the stairs in a huff.
Millie's display of pique did little to deter Mr. Blanchett. He ushered his daughter outside with Nurse on their heels. Her father directed that a small leather-bound chest be put in the carriage. The trio climbed into the large family coach and traveled the five miles to Rowland Park, which lay beyond the small village of Wookey. All the while her father kept telling her that one day she would be thankful for what he was doing.
The only thing of note about the evening was Andrew Morrow's absence. His father made excuses about a prior engagement, but even Jacinda's father seemed skeptical. For Jacinda it was simply an excessively long, boring night with bad food and no real company while the gentlemen retired to the library to transact their business.
At nine o'clock, Jacob Blanchett insisted he must take his daughter home for it was well past her bedtime.
Lord Rowland grinned, his red-shot gaze settling on the girl. “Ah, yes, we wouldn't want anything to happen to our future baroness, now would we?”