A Regency Christmas Carol (16 page)

‘I’ve come to see you off,’ he said, without expression. ‘I am your host. It is appropriate, I think, to wish you well and see you safely from the premises. People will wonder, otherwise.’

‘And it is appropriate for me to thank you for your hospitality,’ she answered back. But she said nothing further.

‘Well, then. Go.’ He said it gruffly, as though he could turn her decision into his own wish.

‘There is no reason to stay,’ she said firmly.

He sighed, his composure breaking. ‘And yet I do not want you to leave.’ That was at least said with some tenderness, as though he actually meant it.

‘You know I must. There is nothing for me here.’

He reached out and touched her arm. ‘There is always tonight.’

‘You think that because of last night I will allow you to make a habit of coming to me in secret?’

‘There could be no other way. I cannot cry off from Anne without disgracing her.’

There. He had finally said it. He could not hurt Anne, but he thought nothing of what he might do to Barbara Lampett, who had far less protection than the daughter of the most honourable family in the area.

‘You are horrible,’ she said. Despite how wonderful she had felt, his touch now was torture. It made her want to cry. She pulled her arm from his grasp.

‘You said you loved me.’ He said it softly, urgently.

‘And you have never said the same to me. Not even as a lie. I was foolish to tell you. And foolish to feel it as well. For you are unworthy. Cruel and selfish, just as my father tried to tell me.’

‘It is not as you think,’ he said.

‘But you offer no further explanation to tell me how it might
be
, if it is not exactly as it appears. You are using me, and you will marry another.’

‘I did not intend to,’ he admitted. ‘But I could not sit alone in my room, waiting for the end.’

‘The end? That is a tad melodramatic, Mr Stratford. I suppose next you will tell me that you are afraid of the dark.’ She laughed scornfully, hoping that it might hurt him just a little, so that he might feel some part of what she felt whenever she looked at him.

His look in response was strange. A little blank, a little panicked. And clearly saying that she had discovered some part of the truth. ‘That is it, isn’t it? You are afraid to sleep alone in a darkened bedroom. You used me for a night to solve the problem.’ She shuddered. ‘That is all I was to you. A warmer for your bed and a candle on a dark night.’

‘It was more than that,’ he said. But still he would not say what.

‘I ruined myself in the hope that there was some affection on your part. But I could have been anyone at all.’ Without his help, she heaved herself into the body of the carriage and tried to close the door.

‘Barbara. Wait.’ He was just behind her, his shoulders blocking the entrance.

‘I have waited too long already.’

‘Do not leave me.’ He sounded almost plaintive now, as though he were actually afraid of facing another night alone.

‘Tonight you must go to Anne for your comfort. It would make more sense. I am sure you have much to talk about.’ She bit her tongue then, to keep back the spiteful revelation that she had been almost ready to share. ‘But of course you will not, will you? She is a lady, and deserves better than to be treated as a receptacle for your carnality. And I? I was a lady once. But no longer, now that you are through with me. Now I am through with you. Good day, sir.’

She sat facing carefully forwards, ignoring his presence, until with an oath he slammed the door and signalled for the coachman to drive.

H
ow much had the coachman heard? she wondered, huddling beneath the coach robe and pulling her shawl around her shoulders. How much had the grooms guessed? Between the bunch of them they would piece together the bits of her argument with Joseph and their secret would be no secret at all. The tragedy involving Mary had been the talk of the village for a while. Then most had decided that it could not have been helped, and that even if the Lampetts should have known better than to allow company in a sickroom, they’d meant no harm by it.

But now she would be infamous. The people would expect no less of Joseph, for he was a man. He was an outsider, as well, and already reviled. But
she
should have known better, and society would punish her for her lapse in judgement. Women would cut her, and avoid
her mother as well. Her father, if he could be made to understand, would be devastated.

She would have to leave. As soon as she was sure that there would be no child she would advertise for a position as a governess, or a lady’s companion. Perhaps, if she threw herself on the mercy of the vicar, he would write a letter of reference for her, assuring the world that she was gently brought up and properly educated. Even Lord Clairemont might help, if it was understood that her goal was to get as far away from Fiddleton as she could, so that she could create no further trouble. Her parents would be heartbroken at her leaving, but once she had managed to explain Mother would likely agree.

The carriage had pulled up to her house now, and a groom helped her down, seeming at a loss that there was no package or bag that she might be helped with. She thanked him, and went up the walk alone, without turning back.

Her mother greeted her in the front room, eyes sharp, discerning, not willing to let her pass without a challenge. ‘I have sent your father to the bakery to get us bread for supper,’ she said. It was an obvious ruse so that they could be alone, for Barbara had seen to the baking only yesterday. ‘Did you enjoy your visit to the great house, then?’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘We stayed the night because of the weather, but I was not feeling quite myself this morning, and thought it best…’ She had dropped her
head as she spoke, unable to meet her mother’s gaze. That was her undoing. She showed her guilt plainly by hiding the expression that she could not let her mother read.

‘One of the maids from Clairemont has been to the market and gone already. But on the way she visited her mother, Mrs Stock. The entire family is in service up at the house. And they do like to gossip.’

‘I gave them no reason to talk.’

‘Do not try to lie to me, Barbara. You cannot trick me with words, like your father and his speeches. The maid says that there was a man in your room last night, sharing your bed. Who was it?’

The plans she had made as she’d ridden towards the village had not included this first, most difficult conversation. If she was to manage any of the scandal it would not do to fight now, against another who would bear the shame of it. She sighed and collapsed onto the bench by the fire, hanging her head in embarrassment. ‘It is as bad as you think. Probably worse. I love him.’

‘You cannot,’ her mother said firmly. ‘In my opinion, if you meant to lie with the man before marriage, love is the worst reason for it.’

She stared up at her mother in surprise and wondered just what she might know of such things, and why she was not more shocked than she was.

Her mother gave her a candid look. ‘You are not some fainting schoolgirl, Barbara. You are a young lady, well on your way to spinsterhood. Sometimes these things
happen. If you were seventeen and in your first season it might ruin your chances. Now there are no opportunities left to spoil.’ She sat down beside Barbara and said, more quietly, ‘Who was he? I hope it was not some London dandy. If so, his words were likely false ones, and there is little hope that he will stay past the New Year. Was it that nice Mr Breton I have seen occasionally in the village? He might be persuaded to do the right thing for the sake of your reputation. Or we could write his father and demand a settlement.’ She sounded almost hopeful at the thought, as though there were a way to make something good come from her daughter’s mistake.

‘Joseph Stratford,’ Barbara said, with a sinking heart.

The older woman slumped beside her, as though her last hope had been dashed. ‘I suppose now you will tell me that, while he claims to have feelings for you, he has no intention of crying off from Anne Clairemont.’

‘He does not love her.’ But that was no defence at all.

‘Neither does he love you, or we would not be having this conversation.’ Her mother stared down at her hands, which were trembling in her lap. ‘Do you understand, even for a moment, the predicament we are in? Your father is failing.’ The last words came in a harsh whisper that made them all the more terrible. ‘When he is gone, there will be nothing to save us from our fate. My own inheritance is running out. I bore no sons. What little we have from your father will go to his brother. Even a bad marriage is quite out of the question for you once
it gets round that you’ve been bedded by the most hated man in Fiddleton.’

‘I thought to leave,’ Barbara said hopefully. ‘If I take a position, I might send what money I earn back home.’

Her mother said nothing to this for a time. When she finally spoke her voice was even quieter, as though she was afraid that the house itself might hear. ‘There is another solution—if you are not too proud to take it.’

‘I do not understand.’ Until a moment ago Barbara had not thought of herself as hopeless. Now she was not sure what her mother saw as a last salvation.

‘Joseph Stratford has no intention of marrying you—not while he can have the lady that belongs in the great house he’s bought,’ her mother said bitterly. ‘He is little better than a child playing with a dolls’ house. It does not matter if he cares for her. He will have Anne Clairemont because she belongs there.’

She had not thought of it. But her mother was right. It was a chilling idea that Anne would sit, just as she wanted, in the chair at the end of the great dining table, writing her letters in the morning room, lounging in the salon with the careless grace she had affected with so many years’ practice. But she would be little better than an ornament.

‘But Stratford has proven himself to be a greedy and licentious man. He cares nothing for the people here.’

‘He’s not like that,’ Barbara said. But, though she believed him to be different, there was ample evidence that her mother was right.

‘Of course he is,’ her mother said, more firmly. ‘And isn’t that the argument of every foolish young girl whose head is turned by broad shoulders and a kind word?
“To me, he is different.”
’

But to her, he was. It would do no good to repeat what she knew to be true. But she remembered what it had been like, the previous night, as he’d comforted her when she spoke of Mary. He had needed her as much as she had needed him.

‘He’s had you, and there’s little more to it than that, I am sure. He’ll do the same again, if you let him.’

And now what had felt so wonderful felt wrong and shameful. Her mother was right. Even as she’d tried to escape him he’d been trying to lure her back. She wanted to bathe herself, scrub at her skin until there was no memory of it left. ‘It will not happen again.’

‘Oh, yes, it will,’ her mother said, with a sad frown. ‘If you love him, you will go when he sends for you. You will not be able to help yourself. That is the nature of love, after all. In the face of it, my warnings will mean nothing to you.’

She put an arm around her daughter, drawing her close and untying her bonnet so that that Barbara could lay her head on a comforting shoulder.

Her mother smoothed her hair and whispered, ‘We cannot take back the past. I will not stop you if you go to him. But if you do, make sure there is an arrangement. One time and people will call you a fool. Twice and they will call you a whore. If Mr Stratford cares
for you at all, make him give you your due. There will be little use for fancy dresses and frippery. But we will have need of a steady income before too much longer.’ Her mother choked back a tiny sob, and then said in a firm voice, ‘We need to be practical about the future.’

Barbara sank down into a chair, waiting for the room to stop spinning around her. It had all come to that, had it? And so soon. She had wanted to believe there was a respectable future ahead of her, with forged references and a quick trip to a place where no one would know that she’d disgraced herself. But her mother, always the most practical woman, had dismissed that fantasy without another thought. There would be no concealing the truth. She was ruined, and now she must make the best of it.

And she could do that by being honest and admitting that she wished to go back to Joseph. She would be a mistress: a rich man’s whore. But she could still love him, and be with him, even if she could not have him for her own.

Joseph would marry Anne, just as he’d planned to do. He would have his great house, and his pretty wife, and his woman, too. Perhaps that was what he’d planned all along. He had silenced the opposition to his mill as well. For she would now be forced to make Father understand how unwise it was to anger the man who put bread upon their table. If Joseph tired of her, for whatever reason…

Barbara’s future would be secure and her family would be safe as long as she pleased him. But when
she did not? He would send her away. There were few men like him in this small backwater, but plenty would know her as a great man’s cast-off. If she did not arrange for a settlement at the beginning she would have to find another protector.

One that she did not love.

Barbara searched her feelings, trying to remember the conversations they’d shared, the constant rescues, the way she had felt as they had danced, and as he’d held her last night. Perhaps it was not love on his part. But there was nothing to indicate a lack of generosity. If she was to be a fallen woman, she could do much worse than to fall for Joseph Stratford.

As long as she put her heart to one side and thought sensibly there was a way out of this. Her mother was right. But if she meant to survive she must remember that love had no part in it. And as she sat there, ridiculous in an out-of-fashion ballgown, though it was near to noon, she let that part of herself die. There would be no foolish tears over things that could not be changed. She would seize the opportunity that had presented itself, and work it to her best advantage.

Joseph would approve of that, she was sure. Was that not the way he did business as well? If nothing else, she would prove that they were more alike than he knew.