An Unsuitable Match (22 page)

The Dowager Countess Langham was a woman of simple tastes, but one area in which she never pinched a penny was the food at her table. Later that evening as Thaxter joined the two women for dinner, he made several remarks as to the excellence of the roast lamb.

‘Of course, nothing would be as good as the food I usually enjoy when I dine out in London, but one must make concessions for the country,' he remarked, hacking another large piece of meat off the roast and stuffing it in his mouth.

Ignoring the fact that Thaxter was eating directly from the serving platter, Clarice picked up her wine glass and took a sip. She pondered the fact that while he classed himself as a gentleman, Thaxter had not moved too far from his own rural roots.

‘I do hope you have taken the estate steward to task over the state of the grounds, Lady Alice,' Thaxter said.

‘I shall ensure the workmen make a thorough inspection of the stone wall near the lake, Mr Fox,' Lady Alice said. Her gaze locked for the briefest of moments on the large swelling on the side of his face. A two-inch line of crooked stitches ran from the corner of his eye and down over his cheek. The dim candlelight could not hide the black bruising under his eye.

He nodded slowly.

‘Yes, please do; the good Lord knows what might have befallen me if I had not been surer of foot,' he replied. The half-chewed piece of meat was still in his mouth, but he seemed no longer to care about his table manners, at least where Clarice and Lady Alice were concerned.

Clarice studied the piece of roast chicken on her plate and silently rehearsed her line.

‘Such a terrible accident to befall you, Mr Fox; a most unfortunate occurrence,' she said innocently.

He turned and fixed her with a look that could freeze the sun. Then in an instant, his demeanour changed.

‘Thank you so much for your concern, Lady Clarice, it is truly touching to know you care for my welfare,' he replied.

She cut a small piece of meat from the chicken breast, but thought the better of eating it.

A sudden memory of the night David had saved her from choking crashed into her mind and she put down her fork. Under the table, she wiped her sweaty palms on her napkin. She turned to him and smiled.

‘Of course, you are my father's heir, and it would be terribly remiss of me not to be concerned when I heard of your misfortune.'

‘Yes, and Cook did a wonderful job of stitching your wound,' Lady Alice added.

Clarice glanced at the battlefield-standard stitching. She dreaded to think what abuse the poor woman had suffered as Thaxter squirmed and swore under her hand. Odd, though, how Cook had made such an unholy mess of the stitches on his face. She was a woman who normally took great pride in repairing the wounds of those injured on the estate. Even Clarice's father had preferred to have her skilled hands stitch his riding injuries rather than send for the doctor from the local village.

She made a mental note to give the head of the kitchen an extra coin or two at Christmas. If any of the staff suspected there was more to Thaxter Fox's tale, they were keeping silent.

Thaxter stuffed another large piece of meat into his mouth and sat chewing it. All the while he continued to stare hard at Clarice. She met his gaze and blinked slowly, hiding all trace of emotion. If he had thought to shame her with his display of injured pride, he could not be more wrong. Rather than weakening her, the ugly altercation at the lake had further strengthened her resolve.

Lady Alice cleared her throat and Clarice tore her gaze away. She silently berated herself. Her look had lingered too long.

The pretence of a pleasant evening meal must be maintained at all costs. Don't stir the dragon, Clarice; too much is at stake.

She leaned forward and stretched to pick up a tray of roasted carrots that were just out of reach. The necklace under her gown shifted between her breasts. She stopped and sat back in her seat, grateful for the reminder of David and all that she currently risked.

Thaxter rose from his seat and came around to where Clarice sat. As he leaned over the table she held her breath.

He picked up the tray and, taking the serving spoon, placed a large pile of carrots on her plate.

‘Lady Clarice.'

She gave him a polite smile. He served her another two spoonfuls.

‘One needs to keep up one's strength,' he said.

‘Yes; thank you,' she replied.

His silent threat delivered, Thaxter returned to his seat.

Clarice looked down at the ridiculous number of carrots on her plate. If the stakes had not been not so high, the price of failure so absolute, she would have laughed.

‘Did you make headway with your needlework, Grandmamma?' she said, looking up at Lady Alice. Earlier in her bedroom, the two women had agreed upon a shortlist of safe topics for discussion during the perilous evening ahead.

Lady Alice nodded, and then proceeded to give a long and aptly boring dissertation on the need for a lady of Clarice's rank to be better skilled with a needle.

Clarice, in turn, asked for guidance with her own piece of work. She accepted that the shop she had purchased her thread from was entirely unsuitable, as Lady Alice gave a detailed description of the quality of thread she herself used in her sewing.

Thaxter sat silently eating and drinking, only giving the occasional snort as Lady Alice continued. Slowly the meal dragged on, all three players in the domestic theatre sticking to their scripts.

Finally, Lady Alice summoned a footman and the platters of food were cleared from the table. The diners adjourned to a nearby sitting room and, while Thaxter indulged in several glasses of port, Clarice and her grandmother continued with the dinner wine.

As she had been instructed, Clarice went to her room and brought down an old piece of her embroidery for her grandmother's inspection. The dowager slowly and methodically examined the stitching. Seated beside her, Clarice gave silent thanks she had not thrown out the long-neglected piece of needlework.

‘Here you needed to have crossed back over the other stitch,' Lady Alice pointed out.

‘Yes, Grandmamma,' she replied.

In the nearby olive-green armchair Thaxter yawned. Several minutes later he yawned again.

Lady Alice put down the needlework and, reaching over to a low table, picked up her Sunday Bible. Opening the book, she took hold of Clarice's hand and began to recite a long passage from the Old Testament.

Clarice had always found the stories of the old Bible rather interesting, but now the slow, painful way her grandmother spoke soon had her blinking hard to stay awake.

‘Amen,' Lady Alice said as she finished the passage and put down the book.

She let go of Clarice's hand and rose from the chair. Crossing the floor to where Thaxter now dozed in the armchair she stood, hands on hips, and examined him.

‘Well-cut clothing, excellent boots. Not a bad-looking chap, but your grandfather always said looks were not the measure of a man. Something about never judging a book by its cover,' she noted, shaking her head. She picked up a small bell from the mantelpiece and rang it. Thaxter Fox stirred not an inch.

‘Good.'

The door opened and three footmen came into the room. Being careful not to wake him, they gently pulled Thaxter out of the chair and carried him away. As the door closed behind them, Clarice stood and came to her grandmother's side.

‘Are you certain the sleeping draught will keep him unconscious till morning?' she asked.

Lady Alice chuckled. ‘Considering what was in the draught and how much I put in that bottle of port, he will be lucky if he wakes before next Wednesday. Have no fear, my girl; by the time Mr Fox comes to his senses, you and I shall be long gone from the Hall.'

‘Now what?' Clarice replied.

Her grandmother took hold of her hand. ‘Now we pack for parts unknown.'

Clarice scowled, and Lady Alice smiled.

‘Well, Bedfordshire actually, but it won't be an easy journey and we shall have to travel as far as we can each day. I know your travel sickness will be a burden, but you will have to screw your courage to the sticking place and make do.

‘Your father will no doubt discover soon enough that we are no longer in Norfolk, and will journey up from London. I sent an urgent message yesterday to the Duchess of Strathmore and it should have made the London-bound mail. Once Mr Radley receives it, he will no doubt make for here. Unfortunately he will discover that we have already left for Sharnbrook and be forced to make the journey there. Where, of course, we shall be awaiting him.'

Instinctively touching the bodice of her gown, Clarice felt the hard shape of the orb under her clothes.

‘I hope it won't take too much for him to put aside his foolish insistence that we gain Papa's approval before we wed,' she replied.

Lady Alice gave Clarice's hand a squeeze. ‘Honour is never foolish, my dear, but sometimes we have to be shown that there is more than one way to be honourable. Now, off you go and make sure your things are ready for us to leave at first light.'

Clarice nodded and turned to leave. Then she stopped and turned back to her grandmother. ‘Thank you. And if this does all end with a moonlight flit to Gretna Green and I am no longer received in polite society, I shall send a prayer of thanks to you every day.'

The dowager softly chuckled.

‘My dear, if it comes to that, your Mr Radley may need to find a spare room or two for me.'

‘I have the key,' Lady Alice said, as Clarice checked the door of Thaxter's room one more time that night. After having seen him safely locked away in his bedroom, Clarice had twice made the journey to the end of the hall and tried the handle.

‘Come away, girl; you and I have matters to discuss.'

She followed her grandmother to the upstairs drawing room, which overlooked the grounds at the front of the house. A strong wind had sprung up in the past hour and the topmost branches of the giant oaks on either side of the road to the house were being whipped about.

‘The summer is fading fast,' Clarice said, standing and looking out of the windows.

‘Yes; I hope you instructed your maid to pack your warm things. Something tells me you won't be needing any of your ball gowns where we are headed,' Lady Alice replied.

A flash of lightning lit the room, followed quickly by a loud boom of thunder. A late summer storm would soon be upon them.

And then it began to rain.

A huge torrent of water fell, tossed down to earth on a vicious swirling wind. The dark, clouds that had rolled in from the North Sea in the late afternoon now hung over the valley and released their deluge.

‘At least we don't have to flee into that tonight,' Clarice muttered. She shivered at the thought of being caught out on the dark road on such a foul night. As the wind whipped around, rain lashed against the window, shaking the panes in their frames.

‘Come and have some hot chocolate, Clarice. Cook made some of your favourite oat biscuits this afternoon,' Lady Alice said from the small couch close to the warm fire.

Clarice closed her eyes and let her head droop forward. As her forehead kissed the chilly glass, she wondered how long it would be before next she stood in this room. Once her father discovered she had fled into the arms of David Radley, would he ever allow her to return to Langham Hall?

She sighed. All those thoughts were for the future. With her travel trunks packed and ready for a pre-dawn departure, she had cast aside all her fears and was resolute in her determination to dictate her own future. She bit on her lip as the thrill of the unknown beckoned.

Taking one edge of the curtain in her hand, she drew it closed. Then she took the opposite curtain in hand. With only a foot or two of window left uncovered, she stopped and stared out one last time.

A small light appeared at the other end of the driveway.

At first it was only a flicker, so small that she was uncertain it was really there. She pressed her face to the glass and squinted hard to focus. Was it only a reflection from the moon as it peeked out from behind the clouds?

Looking up, she saw the moon was completely hidden by thick rain clouds.

She looked back at the road, hoping to catch a glimpse of the light once more.

Then she saw it. The light was moving.

‘Grandmamma, someone is on the road!' she cried.

Who on God's good earth would be out travelling the roads in this sort of weather? Who would need to endanger themselves to visit the Hall at such an hour?

Lady Alice hurried to Clarice's side and peered out into the darkness. Clarice saw her lips move and caught the whisper of ‘Heaven save us'. Only the bearer of momentous, life-changing news would be compelled to risk such a journey.

Hot tears sprang to Clarice's eyes as a chill of premonition seized her.

Not Papa; please let it not be news of him.

Her grandmother straightened her back. She turned to Clarice.

‘We are Langham women, Clarice, and we shall deal with whatever news the rider bears with dignity and grace. Come, let us not wait here to discover our fate. We should go downstairs and meet our future.'

She went to take Clarice's hand but Clarice dropped her arm and squeezed her eyes shut. The prospect of losing her father only a few years after her mother was unbearable. For all her father's faults, he was her family and she loved him.

Lady Alice put a comforting arm around her and pulled her close. ‘It may simply be a traveller caught on the road in the storm who is seeking refuge here.'

Clarice wiped the tears from her eyes and nodded. Langham Hall was miles from the nearest road to anywhere.

By the time she had dried her tears, the rider had arrived at the Hall. The thought of railing against Lady Alice's instructions was tempered by the knowledge that they would both be judged by how well they conducted themselves in the face of any grievous news. The messenger would no doubt make a full report to his masters.