Aunt Lane stepped down, followed by Jane. Both stood looking about them. The courtyard was in the centre of the building, surrounded on four sides by the walls of the house. The main door, a vast oak affair that looked as though it might withstand a battering ram, faced the bridge over which they had entered; here were half a dozen servants standing in line. Their host offered each lady an arm and led them forward and proceeded to name all the servants and their duties. It made Jane think of a bride being introduced to her new domain and realised with dismay that was how Donald meant her to feel.
You must be hungry, he said as they entered the hall, which had a wide carved staircase right in front of them and a corridor leading off on either side. Martha will show you up to your rooms and help your maid unpack. There is hot water and everything you need to refresh yourselves, but if there is anything I have failed to provide, please tell me so and I will remedy the deficiency at once. It is my dearest wish that you should feel at home. He handed them over to his housekeeper, who conducted them up the stairs to the rooms that had been allotted to them. When you are ready, we will have dinner.
He is determined to please, Aunt Lane said, when they were alone in Janes room. It was furnished with heavy oak furniture, including a four-poster bed. The sheets and bed coverings were new and everywhere gleamed with polish. I cannot fault the arrangements.
They dined in country style. Aunt Lane had no criticism of his table or his manners, and afterwards Donald showed them all over the house, which was more ancient than Jane had expected. All its furniture was old and heavy, but it perfectly suited the house and everywhere gleamed with polish. My father bought the property with a wind-fall he had from dealings on the Change, he told them. And the furniture came with it.
I had thought it was the old family home, Aunt Lane said. You are related to Viscount Denderfield, are you not?
He seemed a little disconcerted by the question, but quickly recovered. The relationship is a distant one, he said. As I understand it, a hundred and seventy years ago the family became divided, two brothers fought on different sides in the war between king and parliament and neither branch has acknowledged the other since. My father always hoped for a reconciliation, but it was not to be He broke off, noticing that Jane had set her foot on the stairs to the tower. Miss Hemingford, I beg you not to go up there, it is unsafe. If you would like to see the view, I will conduct you there myself, but shall we leave it until tomorrow? It is growing dusk now and you will not be able to see much.
This was obviously sensible and they returned to the drawing room on the ground floor and settled down to conversation over the tea cups, during which they discussed how he planned to entertain them in the following two weeks. At ten oclock more refreshment was brought in and soon after that they retired to bed. Country hours, her aunt commented as they made their way, candles in hand, to their rooms. I think I shall read in my room; if I go to bed now, I shall be awake at dawn.
That suited Jane, who had asked if she might borrow a mount and ride out before breakfast.
She was awake at six and downstairs clad in her new habit by seven. Donald was waiting for her, dressed for riding. Good morning, my dear. Did you sleep well?
Like a log, she said, not quite truthfully because she had had a lot to think about and the silence after London was as disturbing as the noise of night-time traffic passing along Duke Street, but the country air had won in the end. I am looking forward to my ride.
He led her to a stable block, almost as pristine as the house, where two horses were already saddled for them. Five minutes later they were trotting across the bridge. If it occurred to Jane that she ought to have had a chaperon, she dismissed it. They were in the country and in the country there was no danger, either from ruffians or from the man who rode beside her.
The early morning air was clear and heady as wine and Donald was a perfect escort, pointing places out to her, stopping to comment on the wayside flowers, giving her their Latin names, talking about the farm, not in a condescending way, but as if he knew she would be interested. Which she was. And when they returned to the house he fulfilled his promise to take her to see the view from the north tower, conducting her up the narrow stair to a small room at the top.
She crossed the room to look out of the window over rolling countryside. Why, I do believe I can see the sea, she said, catching sight of sparkling water. How far away is it?
Five or six miles as the crow flies, he said. But it is The Wash, not the open sea.
And there is a ship out there, I can see its sails.
He picked up a telescope from the table and trained it out to sea. It is early, he murmured.
Early?
It is a cargo ship. I have an interest in the freight it carries.
Oh, do let me see.
He handed her the telescope and she trained it on the vessel. It looked small at that distance, its sails bowed out as it used the wind to sail westwards. Where will it put in?
Kings Lynn. I expect it will dock tomorrow.
Shall you go to meet it?
Yes. Would you like to come?
Yes, if Aunt Lane agrees.
The outing was a pleasant carriage ride and Jane enjoyed the sights and sounds of the busy port. There were hundreds of vessels, fishing boats, lighters and cargo boats in the harbour and seafaring men and dock workers scurried about their business. They export all manner of produce, Mr Allworthy explained. Corn and wool principally, but also manufactured goods. And they import things like wine and tea. He paused as one of the dockers came towards the carriage, obviously intent on speaking to him. Would you and your aunt care to wait in the carriage while I do my business? It will not take many minutes and then I shall be free to show you round.
He left them and they watched as he had an animated conversation with the man, before leaving him to go aboard a vessel on whose side Jane noticed the name, Fair Trader. A few minutes later he rejoined them. All very satisfactory, he said, smiling easily. Now, shall we take a stroll?
He helped them from the carriage and offered an arm to each lady and they walked towards the town. The streets were narrow but well paved and there were a good number of shops and hotels. From the London road they turned on to an avenue lined with lime and chestnut trees and continued to the inner bank of the ancient town walls. Here they rested on a seat in the shade before returning to the carriage and the ride back to Coprise Manor. Mr Allworthy was a perfect guide and host and Janes anxieties faded to nothing. London seemed a long, long way away.
Harry was smiling down into her face.
Jane could not maintain her animosity. She found herself smiling back at him.
Oh, do stop acting the fool, Harry. If you are referring to your behavior when I broke off our engagement, then of course I forgive you. It was a long time ago and we have both grown up since then.
So we can be friends again?
We can be friends.
Thank you. He bent and brushed his lips lightly against her cheek.
It was only a featherlight pressure, but it sent a surge of heat flowing right through her to her very toes. Her breath came out in a gasp and her hands rose and then fell uselessly to her sides. She stepped back from him, away from whatever it was that held her in thrall.
MARY NICHOLS
was born in Singapore, and came to England when she was three. She has spent most of her life in different parts of East Anglia. She has been a radiographer, school secretary, information officer and industrial editor, as well as a writer. She has three grown-up children and four grandchildren.
The Hemingford Scandal
Mary Nichols
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter One
1811
J ane Hemingford was writing letters at her escritoire in the small parlour on the first floor of her London home, when her great aunt came bustling into the room in a fever of excitement. Jane, Mr Allworthy is here.
Mr Allworthy? You mean Mr Donald Allworthy?
To be sure. Who else should I mean? Harriet Lane was a dumpy woman and the speed at which she had climbed the stairs had made her breathless. Her black lace cap had fallen over one ear and she straightened it as she spoke.
But it is barely ten oclock, too early for morning calls. I am not dressed to receive him.
Then you had better change at once. He has gone into the library to speak to your papa and then I have no doubt you will be sent for.
Speak to Papa? You surely do not mean he has come to offer for me?
That is precisely what I do mean. Now make haste and pretty yourself up. I doubt he will be talking to your papa for long, there is nothing to dispute. He is very eligible.
Jane was thunderstruck. Aunt Lane, who had been widowed many years before and had ever since lived in seclusion in Bath, had suddenly taken it into her head to pay a visit to her great-niece to take her in hand. It is time you got over that old nonsense and began to think of finding a husband, she had said.
That old nonsense was a previous engagement to her second cousin, Harry Hemingford, which had ended in the most dreadful scandal that she did not even want to think about, much less discuss. It had been two and a half years before and she had put it behind her, but that did not mean she was ready to plunge into a new engagement, just because her aunt thought she should.
Since her aunt had arrived at the beginning of the Season, they had been out and about, going to routs, balls, picnics and tea parties, it was at one of the latter that she had met Donald Allworthy. She had seen him several times since in company with other young people and found him attractive and attentive, but never so attentive as to suggest to her that he was seriously considering proposing marriage. But, Aunt, I hardly know him. I certainly had no idea he was thinking of offering.
Why should you? He is a perfect gentleman, he would not have spoken to you without your fathers permission.
Not like Harry, in other words. Donald Allworthy was, Jane conceded, quite a catch, so why had he chosen her? She was not particularly beautiful, she decided, her nose was a mite too large and her brows were too fair. She had brown hair which in certain lights was almost auburn and a pink complexion which became even pinker when she was angry or embarrassed. She was not exactly angry now, but certainly disconcerted. I do not have to receive him, do I?
Oh, Jane, do not be such a goose. You are not a simpering schoolgirl, you are twenty years of age and should have been married by now
So I would have, she told herself, if I had married Harry. Aloud, she said, I know, but that does not mean I should jump into the arms of the first man who offers.
He is not the first man to offer, is he?
Oh, Aunt, how could you speak of that, when I so much want to forget it?
I am sorry, dearest, but I must say what is in my mind. You did not choose very sensibly before, did you? Now you are a little older and wiser and, with me here to guide you, you are doing wonderfully well.
Jane longed to tell her aunt she did not need that kind of guidance, but she was a tender-hearted, obedient girl and could not bear to hurt anyones feelings. I am very sensible of your concern for me, Aunt Lane, but I had no idea Mr Allworthy wished to marry me. Are you sure thats what he has come to see Papa about?
Oh, I am sure. He spoke to me at Lady Pontefracts ball, asked me if I thought Mr Hemingford would agree to see him and naturally I said I was sure he would. But I gave no such assurance on your seeing him. That is your decision, of course. She sounded hurt, as if Janes refusal would be a personal slight on the efforts she had made to bring it all about.
Jane sighed. Then I suppose I must speak to him.
Good girl. Now go and change into something bright and cheerful.
The house in Duke Street was in the middle of a tall narrow terrace. The ground floor was little more than a hall, dominated by a staircase and a small reception room with the library behind it, where her father spent much of the day writing a philosophical tome which he hoped would make his reputation as a man of letters. The kitchens were in the basement, the parlour, drawing room and dining room were on the first floor, and above those the bedrooms. Higher still were the servants sleeping quarters. As the household consisted only of Jane and her father, there were few servants: a cook-housekeeper, Hannah, the housemaid, and Bromwell, who acted as butler and footman. They did not keep a carriage and so did not need outdoor servants. When Aunt Lane visited, her coach and horses were kept in a nearby mews and her coachman, Hoskins, boarded out.
Jane had never had a personal maid and relied on Hannah to help her with fastenings and pinning up her hair. At your age you should not be without a maid, her aunt had said when she had been in residence a few days. I shall speak to your father about it.
Jane had begged her not to. I do not need someone to wait on me, she had said. My needs are simple and she would not have enough to do and we cannot afford to pay servants for doing nothing. Hannah does me very well.
But she couldnt stop her aunt from sending Lucy, her own maid, to her when she considered the occasion important enough to warrant it. And it seemed today was important, because the young woman was already in her room when she went to change. She chose a muslin gown in palest green. Its skirt was gathered into a high waist and it had little puff sleeves over tight undersleeves. The neckline was filled with ruched lace edged with ribbon. I dont know that theres time to do much with your hair, Miss Jane, Lucy said. I do wish the gentleman had given notice he was calling.