Anne Ashley Page 2

  The daughter of hardworking but impoverished farm-labouring stock, Mary Norman had been little more than a child when both her parents had died. The young girl’s plight had soon come to the attention of Lady Ashworth, who had instantly taken both Mary and her young brother into the household. Mary had been placed under Janet’s care, while her brother Will had been set to work in the stables.

  Not many weeks had passed before Lady Ashworth had first begun to appreciate Mary’s innate skill with a needle. She had then nurtured the gift, even going so far as to allow her protégée, young though she had been at the time, to make day dresses for her mistress to wear. When Briony had become a member of the household, and a governess had been engaged, Lady Ashworth had been generous enough to allow Mary to attend certain lessons. Consequently, not only had Mary acquired a well-rounded education, she had had the great good fortune, on attaining her majority, of being set up in business by her generous employer. Furthermore, she and Briony had been close friends for years, close enough for Briony to realise at once that all was not well with her childhood companion. Sensing that more than just the death of her beloved Lady Ashworth lay behind the sombre look, she asked outright what was wrong.

  ‘Why, nothing!’ The denial was not at all convincing, as Briony’s sceptical expression betrayed, and Mary released her breath in a sigh of resignation. ‘Well, it’s that material, you see. I had every intention of returning it. I don’t think it will sell very well.’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ Briony countered, still not wholly convinced she was being told the absolute truth. ‘And you’re never likely to find out if you keep it hidden, here, in your back room. Put it on show in the shop, for heaven’s sake!’ When no response was forthcoming, she added, ‘Are you sure there’s nothing else troubling you?’

  Another sigh quickly followed. ‘It’s my brother Will,’ Mary at last revealed. ‘He’s gone and got himself in with…with some very bad company, that’s all I can say. Why he ever left Lady Ashworth and went to work for Lord Petersham I’ll never know!’

  ‘Of course you know why,’ Briony countered, unable to suppress a smile over her friend’s motherly attitude towards a brother who, although a year or so younger, was now inches taller, besides being as strong as an ox. ‘Lord Petersham offered him more money and a chance to better himself. It’s common knowledge the head groom at Petersham House is due for retirement within a few years. Will’s sure to be offered the position.’

  ‘Yes, if he can keep himself out of trouble in the meantime.’

  Briony sensed that there might be some justification for Mary’s concern and that she wasn’t simply behaving like an overly protective mother hen towards her younger sibling. Unfortunately, before she could even attempt to get to the truth of the matter, they were interrupted by the young shop assistant who informed Mary that a customer required to see her personally.

  Briony rose at once to her feet. ‘I mustn’t keep you from your work any longer. Besides, I must be on my way too, Mary. I don’t want to keep Mr Pettigrew waiting,’ she announced, leading the way back into the shop. ‘I’ll remind him to get in touch with you just to put your mind at rest, although I expect he’s every intention of doing so. You know my measurements well enough by now to make a start on the dresses. So, I’ll call again in a week or two to see how they’re coming along. Perhaps if you’re not too busy we can talk together again then?’

  Even though Mary said she would be delighted, Briony yet again wasn’t altogether convinced of the truthfulness of the response. Clearly Mary was desperately worried about her brother, but just why this should be was destined to remain a mystery, at least for the present.

  Thrusting her friend’s concerns to the back of her mind, she set off once again down the thriving little market town’s main street and was soon entering the premises of Mr G. W. Pettigrew, Notary and Commissioner for Oaths. The neat little man of business rose from behind his huge desk the instant she was shown into his private office by a young clerk and requested her to be seated in his faultlessly correct and professional manner.

  ‘I was so sorry I was unable to speak to you after your godmother’s funeral, Miss Winters, but I’m afraid urgent and unavoidable business obliged me to leave earlier than I would have wished. Lady Ashworth and I had known each other a very long time; I believe she came to look upon me as a trusted friend.’

  ‘Indeed, she did, sir,’ Briony concurred, seating herself, while at the same time vaguely wondering why a second chair had been placed on her side of the desk. ‘I distinctly recall her mentioning once that it was none other than your good self who found the house she occupied for much of her adult life.’

  He nodded. ‘When she became a widow, tragically so soon after her marriage to Lord Ashworth, the family homes, of course, went to Lord Ashworth’s younger brother and heir. Thankfully her late husband left her financially secure, but even so she was never frivolous with money. She could quite easily have afforded to reside all year round in a fashionable house in the capital had she wished to do so. She chose, instead, a charming house close to the Dorsetshire coast. I believe she was always contented at the Manor.’

  ‘Indeed she was, sir,’ Briony once again concurred, experiencing a pang of regret to think that she would no doubt quite soon be forced to leave the house where she, too, had been so very happy.

  But there was little point in trying to pretend that she stood the remotest chance of remaining at the Manor. She was on the point of asking, without preamble, how she was placed financially, when the door behind her unexpectedly opened. Mr Pettigrew rose at once to his feet when a smooth and deeply attractive masculine voice announced, ‘I trust I have kept no one waiting,’ and, naturally curious, Briony slewed round to discover herself the recipient of a faintly ironic grey-eyed gaze.

  ‘Not at all, sir,’ Mr Pettigrew assured, gesturing to the vacant chair beside Briony’s as he did so. ‘Do make yourself comfortable, Mr Kingsley. You remember Miss Winters, I trust?’

  By the new arrival’s wholly impassive countenance Briony wouldn’t have known for sure whether this was true or not. She certainly hadn’t recognised him, however, and it took every ounce of self-control she possessed to stop herself gaping in astonishment as her late godmother’s sole nephew strolled leisurely over to the desk, removing his stylish beaver hat as he did so to reveal a healthy crop of slightly waving brown hair.

  It had been a full ten years since the last time she had set eyes on Luke Kingsley; she was grudgingly obliged to own that the years had been favourably disposed towards him. Even the faint lines about his mouth and eyes didn’t detract from his good looks. If anything, they added more character to a face that had lost none of its attractive masculinity during the past decade.

  Without conscious thought she stretched out her hand for him to take briefly in his own. ‘Of course I remember you, Miss Winters. But I hope you will not consider it ungallant of me to reveal that I do not believe I would have recognised you.’

  ‘Not at all, sir, for in truth I did not at first recognise you,’ she returned, sensible enough to accept that it would do her cause no good whatsoever to appear antagonistic towards the very person who would undoubtedly be in the position to throw her out on her ear, should he choose to take possession of the Manor immediately.

  Grudgingly she was obliged silently to acknowledge, too, that he hadn’t attempted to retain possession of her fingers for longer than was politely acceptable for persons who were, to all intents and purposes, virtual strangers. Nor had he stared at her in any over-familiar fashion, come to that, attempting to ogle her feminine charms. Given his reputation where the fair sex was concerned, she was forced to own that this came as something of a surprise. Maybe, though, it was simply a matter of her not being to his taste, she reasoned, recalling all at once that he had considered her something of a tiresome nuisance years ago, before he had left the Manor to begin his studies at Oxford.

  Perversely, this recollection rather pleased her, for although she sensibly recognised that open hostility would be most unwise, with the best will in the world she could not like him, nor easily forgive him for not attending the funeral of the woman who had done so much for him in his formative years.

  ‘Earlier this year,’ Mr Pettigrew began, studying the papers in his hand, and obliging Briony to favour him with her full attention once again, ‘Lady Ashworth paid me an unexpected visit, a few weeks after her last trip to London, and made some fundamental adjustments to her will. Now,’ he continued, after staring briefly at each of his listeners in turn, and all at once appearing faintly embarrassed, ‘apart from the few bequests to loyal servants and close friends, she declares that the house, together with the rest of her private fortune, be divided evenly between the two of you…’

  Briony could scarce believe her ears. She knew her godmother had cared for her deeply, but never in her wildest imaginings had she supposed she would be left such a generous portion, enough to ensure her continued comfort for the rest of her life. She had wondered how she was going to maintain herself and earn a living, and had seriously considered Janet’s suggestion of setting up home together on the coast. Now it seemed she would have security for life!

  She began to gnaw at her bottom lip in an attempt to stop it trembling. A great bubble of combined elation and poignancy rose within her, only to burst a moment later, when Mr Pettigrew added after the briefest of pauses,

  ‘…on condition that a wedding take place between the two main beneficiaries as soon as might reasonably be arranged after the reading of the will.’

  Chapter Two

  About to take off her bonnet, Briony gaped across the bedchamber, unable quite to believe her ears. She was still far from mistress of herself, but even so she would h
ave hoped that the female who had been such a pillar of strength during the past two weeks or so would have entirely understood her reaction to what had transpired in Mr Pettigrew’s office earlier that day.

  ‘What on earth do you mean by saying it’s a godsend, Janet…? It’s nothing of the sort!’ Tossing the bonnet aside in disgust, Briony began to pace the room, a clear indication of her continuing highly agitated state. ‘I just cannot understand what possessed Godmama to consider such a ludicrous thing—marriage to that rakehell of a nephew of hers…? Why, it’s ludicrous! Contemptible! I can only suppose she wasn’t quite right in the attic when she had what was destined to be that final consultation with Mr Pettigrew.’

  Concerned though she was, Janet couldn’t resist smiling at the no-nonsense choice of language, which had been so much a part of the younger woman’s character since girlhood. ‘There was nothing wrong with the mistress’s understanding, Miss Briony, as well you know,’ she admonished gently. ‘She possibly thought she was acting for the best. After all, miss, you can’t stay here by yourself. It wouldn’t be proper, not as young as you are. Besides which, I expect she was trying to be fair to both you and Master Luke.’

  This was hardly destined to placate Briony, and it didn’t. ‘What, by uniting us both in a loveless marriage? I don’t consider that fair. I call it downright cruel, not to say preposterous!’ Wandering over to the window, she shook her head, still unable to believe her godmother had supposed such a union was conceivable. ‘Good gracious, Janet, apart from anything else, I don’t even like the fellow—have never cared much for him, for that matter. So what hope is there for a successful marriage between us? It’s doomed from the start.’

  Janet, who had been occupying herself tidying the bedchamber, paused in the act of collecting the discarded black-taffeta bonnet, and gazed across the room at the slender figure staring broodingly out of the window.

  ‘Has he changed much, Miss Briony?’ she asked, curiosity having got the better of her. ‘I haven’t set eyes on Master Luke in…oh, must be ten years or more, but I remember him as a nice-natured, handsome lad, fearless, always ripe for any lark.’

  ‘Nice-natured and handsome?’ Briony repeated, once again unable to believe her ears. ‘He was never anything of the sort!’ she corrected vehemently. ‘He’d never permit me to accompany him whenever he went shooting or fishing. Nor would he ever let me anywhere near those precious horses of his.’

  Janet gurgled unexpectedly. ‘And when you dared to take one of his hacks out that time, without permission, he tossed you in the lily pond upon your return to the house for daring to disobey him.’

  This ill-timed reminder of an incident almost forgotten was hardly destined to improve Briony’s poor opinion of someone who had always figured in her mind as a tormentor and bully on those rare occasions when she had happened to think about him.

  ‘Good gracious! The wretch did as well! I’d almost forgotten all about that. Ha!’ she exclaimed triumphantly. ‘More reason, then, don’t you agree, not to attach myself to such an unconscionable bully? Like as not the rakehell would attain the greatest pleasure in taking a stick to me at the least provocation as soon as the knot was tied!’

  ‘Now, that he would never do!’ Janet parried, instantly coming to the gentleman’s defence. ‘I might not have seen him in a mort of years, but what I always says is, those that are good-natured as children are good-natured when they’re older. Oh, and he were such a handsome lad, as I recall,’ she went on, having fallen into a reminiscing mood. ‘Why, he had only to look at me with those gorgeous grey eyes of his, and give me that special smile, and he could wheedle anything out of me, so he could.’

  ‘Oh, heaven spare me!’ Briony groaned in disgust. ‘You’re as besotted as those trollops in London must be to throw themselves at him. And I really fail to see the attraction,’ she went on, perversely determined all at once to knock the gentleman in question off the pedestal on which certain persons seemed bent on placing him. ‘You’re as bad as Godmama. She always viewed the wretch through a rosy haze. Well, I do not! He’s well enough,’ she conceded, ‘but not what I’d call handsome.’

  Warming to the theme, she moved away from the window and settled herself comfortably on the edge of the bed. ‘Now, Dr Mansfield is what I do call a handsome gentleman. Kingsley’s well enough, as I’ve said before, but not in the good doctor’s league by any means.’

  ‘Ah! So that’s the way of it, is it!’ Janet declared triumphantly. ‘Could tell by the way he’s taken to looking at you that he’s halfway smitten already. Well, you could do a lot worse, I suppose,’ she went on, all at once appearing very well pleased. ‘And if you’re set on the good doctor, then I perfectly understand you not wanting to have anything to do with Master Luke.’

  It took her, gaping in astonishment, a moment or two to comprehend fully in which direction the housekeeper’s thoughts were heading. ‘You must be all about in your head, Janet!’ Briony at last exclaimed. ‘I’ve no designs on Dr Mansfield whatsoever. I’ve no desire to marry any man. You should know that. Why do you suppose I always flatly refused to accompany Godmama on any one of her many trips away when I knew her intention was to stay over for any length of time in the capital? I knew what she was about. She’d have had me parading the Marriage Mart in front of all the eligible bachelors before I knew what was happening. Eventually even she realised she’d never persuade me to marry.’

  ‘Ah, but, Miss Briony,’ Janet murmured, ‘not all men turn out like that father of yours.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ she conceded, ‘but young as I was I never forgot what he did to my mother.’ Briony fixed her gaze on the wall opposite, her eyes all at once losing every vestige of softness. ‘The Honourable Charles Winters… Ha! There was nothing honourable in him. He married my mother for her money, pure and simple. Then, the instant he had his hands on her dowry, he deserted her for the fleshpots of the capital. I don’t even recall what he looked like now, his visits were so few. I only remember the change in my mother, after his excesses had killed him, and she was forced to sell the family home in order to pay his debts. For five years we lived in cramped, rented accommodation, with poor Mama taking in sewing in order to buy a few luxuries. I never knew what life might have been like had Mama married a half-decent fellow. It was only after Lady Ashworth brought me here to live with her that I started to appreciate just how comfortable my mother’s life had been before her marriage.’

  Reluctantly accepting it would be futile to discuss the topic of marriage further, Janet sighed and went across to the bed to place an arm around those slightly drooping young shoulders, which showed more clearly than words just how dejected her young mistress was feeling at the present time.

  ‘Chin up, Miss Briony! I’m sure the mistress left you something. She was far too fond of you to have left you penniless, even if you did flatly refuse to marry Master Luke. And I’m sure she left me a little something as well. Who knows, it might just be enough to start us up in our little boarding house by the sea.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Janet.’ Capturing one work-roughened hand, Briony held it between both her own, her personal woes momentarily forgotten. ‘I was so angry, I didn’t stop to think about anything or anyone else. I took one look at Kingsley’s asinine expression, as though he found the whole interlude highly diverting, and stormed out in high dudgeon.’

  Releasing the hand, Briony went across to the window once more, all at once feeling slightly ashamed of herself. ‘I shall pay another call on Mr Pettigrew, if only to apologise for my behaviour. And I’ll ask him then about your bequest. I meant to ask about Mary Norman, as it happens. Even that slipped my mind. All the more reason to swallow my pride and return. But I’ll leave it for a day or two, until I’ve calmed down and am more myself.’

  * * *

  Unfortunately, even this slight respite was to be denied her, as Briony discovered the following morning, when the young maid Alice came in search of her to reveal that Mr Kingsley had called and awaited her in the front parlour. For a moment or two Briony toyed with the idea of denying him an interview, but then swiftly thought better of it. Sooner or later she was going to be forced to consult with him, if only to discuss what was to be done with Lady Ashworth’s personal effects. Surely he would not be so mean spirited as to object to her keeping a few personal items once belonging to the woman who had become a second mother to her?