Amy Lake (24 page)

Gods, the wind was cold. And the doctor was currently regretting that he had spared so little attention to what food he might eat along the way. The route was unfamiliar to him, but Sergeant would need to rest at midday, and Dee hoped that some small inn would present itself.

Preferably with a warm fire.

The doctor’s mind was in two different places, each with its own concerns. On the one hand, he was worried about Madelaine and her mother, and what would happen if the gossip about Fiona and the marquess got out of hand. Dee had seen it happen, and although the people of Barley Mow liked Mrs. Marwick, he knew that his own relationship with her, and the amount of time he spent at Tern’s Rest, had been a subject of discussion for years. That wouldn’t help.

He had suggested marriage more than once, of course, but that was a solution for only the most difficult of circumstances. Perhaps these were it, but she had refused him, over and over.

Agnes Groundsell deserved a good set-down, and the doctor was determined that a brief but pointed discussion with the woman would be one of his first priorities when he returned. At any rate, the solution to the entire muddle was clear. Lord Ashdown needed to propose to Mrs. Marwick,—Dr. Fischer was unaware that he already had—Fiona needed to accept him, and at that point whatever Mrs. Groundsell said would entirely cease to matter.

The match would be unusual, although not unheard of. Only last year Lord Braeburn had married a servant—Lady Galloway’s lady’s maid, as Dee recalled—and although it was such a
cause célèbre
that even the people of Barley Mow caught wind of it, no-one had tried to stop that gentleman. Fiona was a well-spoken young widow with a good family name, and the owner of a decent piece of property; the
haut ton
would survive the event.

A marriage between non-equals? Fiona Marwick was Lord Ashdown’s equal in every way that mattered, as far as Dr. Fischer was concerned. And as for Dee himself—

He longed to see Lady Edwina again, and yet he dreaded it. A flirtation at Tern’s Rest was one thing, with both of them on level ground, so to speak, or at least ground that he was familiar with. But to meet her at a lord’s manor, surrounded by her family and house guests—all of them rich and titled, in Dee’s imagination—was quite another. He was half convinced she would pretend not to recognize him.

“Oh, yes,” he could hear her saying. “That’s the doctor, I believe. What on earth is he doing here?”

Or worse, to accept the acquaintance, but make it clear that she was embarrassed by it, and wanted nothing more to do with him.

And yet—

That was not his Edwina. That was not the woman he knew.

Chapter 45: A Visitor to the Music Room

His lordship felt nearly at his ease. Evelyn had acquiesced more quickly than he expected to the news of Lady Susan’s disinterest in becoming part of the Ashdown family. Her response was helped, he suspected, by hints from the other two sisters as to the existence of another prospective and more suitable wife, although he was quite sure that Eddie and Ellie had not described Mrs. Marwick’s current station in any detail.

“I’m quite convinced you are better off without her,” was Evie’s comment. “That young women seemed remarkably indifferent to becoming a marchioness.”

“I dare say you are correct,” said Colin.

Even better, Lady Beckwith’s birthday dinner was that very evening, after which he would be free. Although the festivities were certain to go on into the small hours of the morning, and to involve so much in the way of food, wine, and brandy that her guests would be bedridden most of the next day, Lord Ashdown had no intention of eating or drinking himself into a stupor.

He would attend, wish his sister the best, and remove himself at a reasonable hour. The next morning he and Bunny would be on the road to Tern’s Rest. He had already discussed the plan with Eddie and Eleanor, and they were agreed.

They had also considered the problem of Lady Susan.

“I believe we must help her,” said Colin. “The earl’s idea to sell off one of his own daughters is unacceptable.”

“He is quite dreadful,” agreed Edwina. “But what can be done?”

Lady Eleanor bit her lip, thoughtful. “What about Viscount Palmer?” she said. “I’ve absolutely
despaired
of finding him a wife.”

Ernest Palmer was a close friend of the Ashdowns. He was a shy, self-effacing young gentleman with a slight stammer. He had also recently come into a large inheritance.

“Ah!” said Eddie, brightening. “Now there is an excellent plan. Perhaps Lady Susan’s affections are not so securely fixed on this Mr.—”

“Fetterwick,” supplied the marquess.

“Mr. Fetterwick. Yes, of course.”

Lord Ashdown left Edwina and Eleanor to their scheming, in which he put a fair degree of trust. Lady Susan would not be left without assistance. In the meantime, he returned to his own plans. He had taken the opportunity of this past week to send, in urgency, for the Carinbrooke ring, a fine ruby set in diamonds which had been worn by generations of Carinbrooke brides.

It had reached Elswick Manor only the day previous and was followed, this morning, by the arrival of a special licence, for which he had instructed Fairclough to make application to Charles Manners-Sutton, the archbishop. His Grace was—most fortunately for the circumstances—a family friend.

So Lord Ashdown could be married to Fiona as soon as could be.

  * * * *

The marquess, who disliked a gentleman’s valet above nearly any other institution of the
haut ton
, had dressed himself for dinner, and was making quick work of his cravat when a knock came at the outer door of his rooms.

’Twas Beckwith’s butler, Mr. Dean.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, your lordship,” began Dean, but there is an . . . individual here to see you.”

No-one was more sparing with his honorifics than Lord Beckwith’s butler. Lord Ashdown wondered who this person could be, since the ring and licence had already arrived. Some item of business? Fairclough, his man of affairs, would not travel so far at his age, although he might have sent one of the younger associates.

“I’ll be down momentarily,” he told Dean. “Where is he?”

“In the music room, your lordship.”

Colin smiled to himself, as the butler had apparently been disinclined to show an ‘individual’ into the usual receiving salon, but was equally unwilling to put any visitor to the Marquess of Carinbrooke in one of the rooms reserved for trade. The music room represented his compromise.

He descended to the main floor a few minutes later, and opened the French doors into the music room—

“Dr. Fischer!”

 Deandros Fischer was waiting for him. The doctor looked exhausted and somewhat the worse for wear; the marquess saw the unmistakable signs of a cold day spent on a horse.

“Your lordship,” said Dee, who was collapsed into one of the music room sofas and showed no inclination to move. “Forgive me if I don’t get up to bow.”

Colin crossed immediately to the sofa and sat down. His surprise was replaced by worry, as he made a rapid calculation as to the possible reasons that Dr. Fischer had come to Elswick Manor.

“Is everyone . . . everything all right back at Barley Mow?”

“No,” said the doctor.

“Dee!”

How Lady Edwina always managed to hear early news of any visitor was a perennial mystery to Colin. His sister crossed the room with quick steps, almost at a run, and the doctor stood up immediately.

Lord Ashdown watched, bemused, as his sister threw herself into the doctor’s arms.

  * * * *

A half-hour later even Edwina had given up on the attempt to convince Lord Ashdown to delay his departure until the next morning.

“’Tis a full moon,” said Colin, “and fair weather.”

“’Tis
cold
.”

“I will not feel it.”

The doctor, on the other hand,
would
wait until morning; then he and Edwina would ride for Barley Mow as well.

“And I,” said Eleanor, “shall endeavour to keep Lady Beckwith from hysterics.”

“You have the worst of it, I’m afraid,” said Lord Ashdown.

“Of course,” said Ellie, and left to talk to her eldest sister.

  * * * *

The two younger sisters stood on the front step of Elswick Manor, Edwina arm in arm with Dee, and watched as the groom brought Bunny around.

Eddie had made up a large parcel of food for his journey.

“I cannot possibly eat this all,” said Lord Ashdown.

“Have some pity,” said Eddie. “If you don’t, we shall have to.”

The marquess was about to swing up onto Bunny when they all heard a loud, feminine cry.

“Colin!”

Edwina groaned.

“Colin!”

Lady Beckwith emerged from the front door of the manor and ran up to the marquess.

“Oh, my dear,” she said, embracing him warmly. “Be ever so careful! I could not live with myself if you were injured on the way to your bride!”

Ellie now came to the doorway, looking quite satisfied with herself.

Lord Ashdown gave Lady Beckwith a kiss upon the forehead.

“I’m sorry, Evie—” he began, but she cut him off.

“I hear she is quite lovely,” Evelyn said, with a smile. “Go.”

Chapter 46: The Flintlock

That night Fiona woke suddenly out of a deep sleep, her heartbeat loud in her ears from a dream that she could not at first remember. Gradually a few pieces returned, a few seconds here and there of a story that made no sense.

A man stood in her yard, looking back at the cottage. Fiona watched him from the kitchen window. At first she thought of her husband, and a familiar sense of responsibility settled over her heart; ’twas Mrs. Marwick’s duty to keep her feet on the ground, when Joseph’s head was so often in the clouds. Their marriage first, and then her daughter, had taught Fiona the virtue of independence. Her struggles were hers alone to face, and as she stood in the kitchen of Tern’s Rest she felt an old exhaustion.

Then she realized the man not Joseph. It was Lord Ashdown, and yet not him, in the way of dreams. She saw him wave and smile, and turn toward the cliff.

Mrs. Marwick felt that she should go to him, but then she heard a cry. Maddie was running up the path from Trow’s cove, in tears. Fiona began searching the kitchen for her shawl. She could not go outside without her shawl—

She turned back to see the marquess standing at the very edge of the cliff. He jumped.

  * * * *

Lord Ashdown was making the best time he could, under the circumstances. He wished that the weather had been a bit colder that night, since the back roads he had taken—shortcuts, as it were—were soaked and muddy with the season’s rains. More than once he’d been forced to flatten himself against Bunny’s neck to escape some low, moss-laden branch, and once, perhaps half-asleep, he had had fallen off entirely.

Bunny had pranced and shaken his mane on that occasion, neighing loudly as if to say ‘hurry up’. But the long and short of it was that after several hours of his journey, still well before dawn, the Marquess of Carinbrooke was both tired and filthy.

And worried.

Dr. Fischer had explained the situation as quickly as he could, back at Elswick Manor. Sir Irwin Ampthill, as annoying and repellent an individual as ever bore the title of baronet, had been pressuring Mrs. Marwick to marry him because he wanted her
land
. And now, the bounder was threatening to ruin her reputation, and perhaps damage Madelaine’s prospects as well, and Fiona was actually considering giving in to him.

That was simply not going to happen.

Colin had been tormented through every hour of that night by visions of Mrs. Marwick and Sir Irwin. Dee told him that Ampthill had vowed to Fiona that he would not touch her, but the marquess put no faith in the man’s promises. He saw them together and he could not bear it. And he knew what he would do, if needs be. His own life was nothing against Fiona Marwick’s happiness.

  * * * *

“Mum. Mum, wake up.”

Mrs. Marwick stirred, her heart still pounding. He was gone. He had jumped from the cliff. Then she realized it was Madelaine’s voice at her side.

“Good heavens, what time is it?” Her daughter was rarely awake before she was.

“It’s early, mum, but I heard someone outside.”

“Well, I suppose Hobbs—” But Fiona was awake, now. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. Maddie stood barefoot, holding the small oil lamp that usually sat on her bedside table. The faint glow of the fire illuminated the room as the last remnants of the dream fled.

They heard a faint cry from the direction of the stables.

“Madelaine, stay here.” Fiona got out of bed and pulled on her wrapper. Maddie followed her into the kitchen.

“Maddie—”

Mrs. Marwick took a quick glance out the window. Dawn was just breaking over the far shore of the North Sea and for a moment she saw nothing. Then, a movement, as Hobbs came around from the back of the stables.

He was bleeding.

  * * * *

Sir Irwin Ampthill, Baronet of Ferndale, was blind, staggering drunk. He had begun the evening before with the best brandy he could find at Marsden Hall, and continued throughout the night, with the quality of drink becoming markedly worse as the new day approached. One of the servants had tried to see him to bed, and been dismissed for his trouble.

At some point the baronet must have unearthed his pistol, a double-barreled flintlock he had won in a card game years before, because he now had it in hand.

Ampthill stared at the flintlock with a vague memory of loading the thing. Between scouring up a bit of black powder and cotton patch, and managing the tamping rod, the procedure had seemed to take hours, and he did not remember why he’d been so intent on it, but most of another bottle had disappeared along the way, and here he was.

He did know that one of the two shots had been fired. That old man—

Sir Irwin stumbled and fell against the side of the stable, and tried to recall what he had done. It couldn’t have been his fault. He was a baronet, and it couldn’t be his fault. The whole thing had started with the blasted surveyor, he’d told them not to set foot on the woman’s land until he was ready. And now she knew, didn’t she?