Lord Ravensden's Marriage Page 6

  seemed to be heading in the direction of the church he had passed some way back. Her speech had

  been soft, cultured, gentle on the ear. He had followed her directions, because he could not see

  why such a woman should lie to him.

  Some ten minutes or so later, he was beginning to think he should have followed his instincts and

  continued straight ahead. It was difficult to get his bearings in this damned mist. He appeared to be

  following a narrow track, little more than a footpath, and on private land by the looks of it—that

  dark shape in the distance must surely be the Abbey that lay at the heart of the four villages. He

  was just considering whether or not he should turn back when he saw someone coming towards

  him.

  The gentleman, for he was surely that, though carelessly dressed, was wearing a shabby black

  cloak which flapped in the wind. His hair was thinning at the temples—he wore no hat despite the

  inclement weather—and perched on the end of his nose was a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles.

  'Good morning, sir,' Harry called. 'May I have a moment of your time?'

  'Why certainly, sir,' replied Beatrice's father. 'We do not often have strangers in our village. Are

  you by chance lost? The rare visitors we do get often become confused about the four villages—

  which one do you seek?'

  'Abbot Giles. I am seeking the Roade family. I am Lord Ravensden, and Miss Olivia Roade

  Burton is my fiancée. I am trying to find her.'

  'Are you indeed? Well, .now, what a fortunate chance that you should come this way.' Mr Roade

  beamed at him. He recalled Beatrice telling him something about her sister's fiancé but could not

  remember the precise details. No matter, it was plain enough what he ought to have known.

  'You've come to stay, of course. Olivia will be delighted to see you. Not sure where we shall put

  you—but Beatrice will think of something. She is nothing if not resourceful.'

  'Beatrice?' Harry was beginning to think all the inhabitants of this place were stark, raving mad.

  'She is...?'

  'Of course, we haven't met. How remiss of me.' Mr Roade reached up to offer his hand to Lord

  Ravensden, who had to bend down to take it from his position high on his horse's back. 'Bertram

  Roade. Olivia is my youngest daughter...'

  '...and Beatrice presumably the elder?' An appreciative glint entered the blue eyes. 'Touché,

  Beatrice!' Harry was no slow top and he knew at once why he had been sent off in the wrong

  direction.

  He dismounted, beginning to walk at Mr Roade's rather fast pace. It seemed his host was in a

  hurry to reach his home.

  'You won't mind if I hand you over to the ladies once we reach the house?' Mr Roade asked. 'It

  came to me this morning, you see. I often see things more clearly when I'm out for an early

  walk...something about the air. Now I need to get back and work. I forget otherwise. If I don't put

  my ideas on paper as soon as they come, they slip away. It is most unfortunate.'

  'Yes, I do see...' Many things were becoming clear to Harry. 'Would you care to tell me about this

  idea, sir? Between us, we might remember it.'

  'Capital notion! Beatrice thought of it, but she had it wrong, this time. She is a great help to me,

  excellent mind, you know. Let the steam pass through, was what she said—but it has to be the

  water itself. Beatrice wasn't thinking properly. I dare say she was worrying about having guests.

  Women do, don't they? We aren't used to entertaining. My fault, of course. I've let things slide

  since my wife died. Loved her, too much.'

  'Yes, I understand,' Harry said, observing the deep sadness in his companion's mild eyes. 'But you

  were telling me about your idea...'

  'Ah yes,' Mr Roade brightened. 'It will be pleasant to have a guest in the house again. Especially a

  man of sense. You've come to marry Beatrice, haven't you?'

  'Olivia, sir,' Harry replied, eyes gleaming. The imp of mischief was sitting on his shoulder.

  'Unless you would prefer me to marry Miss Roade, of course?'

  'No, no, I remember now, it was Olivia. Mind you, Beatrice would make any man an excellent

  wife— very good at economy. Don't understand it myself. Trouble is, I'm not sure I could spare

  her. Looks after me too well, besides being an excellent companion.'

  'Make sure any prospective suitor is as rich as Midas,' Harry suggested with an air of innocence.

  He was enjoying himself hugely. Indeed, he did not recall a time when he had been so well

  entertained. Had he really thought Northamptonshire would be boring? So far it was proving to be

  vastly diverting.

  'Why do you say that?' Mr Roade looked at him, suddenly intent.

  'Your son-in-law would then have a house large enough to accommodate Miss Roade, and any

  other member of her family she cared to bring with her.'

  Mr Roade seemed struck by this. 'What I need,' he confided, 'is someone who would be willing to

  let me try out my ideas for gravity heating.'

  'Gravity heating?' Harry's brows rose. 'What a very good notion! Yes, I do see the possibility.

  Very useful in old houses—if it could be made to work.'

  Beatrice's father beamed at him. 'Exactly. It will make life so very much more comfortable. There

  have been some problems with overheating, you see—but I shall work them out in time. I suppose

  you do not happen to have an old and very draughty house?'

  Harry chuckled. 'My dear Mr Roade,' he said. 'As it happens, I have far too many of them...'

  Beatrice said goodbye to her friends and set off on the road home again. She had spent a good

  hour sipping Mrs Hartwell's rose cordial, and chatting about the gossip in the villages.

  Mrs Hartwell had told her that her husband was worried about the stories of lights being seen in

  Giles Wood again.

  'Edward fears that some kind of unpleasantness is going on there,' she said. 'I do hope he won't

  take it upon himself to investigate.'

  'No, indeed,' Beatrice said. 'It might be dangerous.'

  'I have tried to tell him,' the anxious wife said with a sigh. 'But he feels it is his duty to his

  parishioners to keep an eye on such things...'

  'Yes, of course,' Beatrice agreed. 'It must be a worry to him.'

  The Reverend Hartwell had come into the parlour at that moment. He had been pleased to see

  Beatrice, who led the exemplary life he thought suitable for a spinster of her advanced age. At

  three and twenty, she would no doubt devote her life to her father, as was right and proper in the

  circumstances, and no more than her duty. He spoke kindly of her sister and promised they would

  all dine together the next Thursday. He had also promised to send his groom over to Steep Abbot

  with a note for Mademoiselle de Champlain, and to provide a bed in his house for her afterwards

  so that she need not walk all the way back to Steep Abbot on a cold, dark night.

  'For I could not rest easy in my mind if the young lady were forced to go near the Abbey grounds

  after dusk, Miss Roade. There is no telling what might happen to any woman foolish enough to

  venture there alone.'

  Beatrice agreed, feeling glad that he had no idea she had done so herself a few days previously.

  She took her leave of her kind friends, and set out to walk back to her home, which was at the

  outskirts of the village.

  The mist had cleared now. Beatrice thought that Lord Ravensden must have found his way to


  Roade House long since, spoken with Olivia, taken his dismissal like any gentleman and gone.

  Presumably he would already be on his journey back to Northampton.

  She entered the house by way of the kitchen, calling for her aunt. Nan was not in her usual place at

  the table. Beatrice and Nan did all the cooking for the household, though the kitchen wench, Ida,

  prepared the vegetables. She was sitting by the fire, warming her feet—which always had

  chilblains in the winter—and peeling potatoes for the mutton stew they were to have that evening.

  Since the mutton was likely to be old and tough, being the cheapest Beatrice could buy, it would

  need a long, slow cooking over the fire to make it tender.

  'Have you seen my aunt, Ida?'

  Ida wrinkled her brow and thought about it, then her face brightened as inspiration came.

  'No, Miss Beatrice—not since her went off in a fluster, be an hour ago nigh on I reckon. There be

  a gentleman caller...'

  Beatrice nodded. Good, that meant their unwelcome visitor had found his way here—she had felt

  a little guilty after she had sent him off in the wrong direction—but she had wanted to prepare

  Olivia. She was sure Lord Ravensden would have spoken to her sister and departed by now.

  'Where is Mrs Willow at the moment?'

  'I think her went upstairs, miss. Her and Lily both.'

  'And my sister?'

  'In her room, miss. Her's locked herself in an' won't come out never no more!'

  'That is rather dramatic of her,' Beatrice said, hiding her smile. It appeared that more had been

  going on here than she had expected. 'I shall go and find my aunt and see what is happening.'

  Ida's version of events was not to be trusted, since the girl was sometimes more than a little

  confused in her thinking. It was doubtful that anyone else in the villages would have employed her,

  but she worked for little more than her keep and was useful for the rough work in the kitchen.

  Besides, Beatrice had felt sorry for her when she came asking for work and looking as thin as a

  piece of thread that might snap in two. She did not look that way now, for Beatrice fed her

  servants on the same fare she offered to her family.

  She would try the parlour first, Beatrice decided, since she could see no reason why both Nan and

  Lily should be required to tidy the bedrooms.

  'I'm back...' The words died on Beatrice's lips as she opened the door and walked into the parlour.

  A fire had been lit, but only recently, and had barely caught hold. A man was kneeling before it,

  using the bellows in an effort to persuade the flames to rise. 'Good grief...'

  The man turned to look at her, his blue eyes narrowing as he saw who was standing there. 'Miss

  Roade, I presume,' he said. 'Tell me, is it the custom in Abbot Giles to freeze your visitors to

  death? This damned fire does nothing but smoke and will not catch.'

  'It will do so in a moment,' Beatrice said, 'but like the one in my bedchamber it does tend to smoke

  when the wind is in the wrong direction. Papa will invent something to stop it one day, but until

  then we can do nothing but endure.' She frowned, wondering why she was telling him this. 'Indeed

  you need not endure it, sir. I am surprised you have not already begun your journey back to

  London. You must know that you have no business in this house?'

  'I am aware of no such thing,' Harry replied, his usual good humour unusually dented. He was cold

  and tired, and no one had offered him refreshments. His fiancée was in her bedroom, refusing to

  see him, and he was starving. 'I was invited to stay by Mr Roade—and I may tell you that I have

  every intention of doing so. At least until Olivia consents to see me. I have not come all this way

  to be sent off like a puppy with my tail between my legs.'

  'Had you not destroyed my sister, you need not have come, sir. And as for leaving, Lord

  Ravensden, you would be well advised to do so at once. For I am told my sister will not see you.

  If you return to Northampton, you could find a decent inn where the chimney does not smoke.'

  'You have already tried to be rid of me,' Harry said, glaring at her. 'Did you hope that I would lose

  myself completely and be found in some isolated wasteland frozen to the ground—or just that I

  would grow tired of wandering and take myself off?'

  'I am sure I do not know what you mean,' Beatrice said untruthfully. 'Had you kept on the way I

  directed you and turned to the right by the chapel, the footpath would have led you back the way

  you had first gone, and you would eventually have come to the village.'

  'Eventually, no doubt. Always providing that I did not freeze to death in the meantime.' He

  sneezed, as if to prove that there was a distinct possibility that he might have done so. 'At least,

  someone might have the decency to offer me a glass of wine.'

  'Has no one done so?' Beatrice felt her cheeks grow warm. She was normally the most hospitable

  of women, and willing to share whatever she had with her guests. 'I shall attend to it myself, sir.

  We do not have a choice to offer you—but my father's sherry is tolerable.'

  'Thank you,' Harry replied, eyes narrowing. She looked younger than he had thought when they met

  in the lane, and her cheeks had a becoming colour. Despite her drab gown, she had a natural

  elegance and was attractive in her own way> 'Oh, dash it, Miss Roade, need we be at outs with

  one another? This is an awkward situation, and some way must be found to set things right.'

  'You owe my sister an apology!'

  'Indeed, I do, Miss Roade. If she would but come out of her bedroom, I would make it—and then

  perhaps we could begin to sort this mess out.'

  'You should have gone at once to Lord Burton, confessed that it was all your fault, and asked him

  to reinstate Olivia.'

  'I was out of town. As soon as I returned, I went to see him. The fool is as stubborn as a mule. He

  declares that he will only forgive her if she marries me.'

  'Oh...' Beatrice was at a stand. His answers were reasonable, and seemed to indicate he knew

  himself at fault—but clearly this was put on for her benefit. She remembered the tale that had been

  told to Olivia. The man was a rogue! 'You wretched man! How could you have been so careless

  as to say in public that my poor sister was fit only for a breeding mare?'

  'No!' Harry was outraged. 'Dash it all! I shall not be accused of such a coarse remark. I may have

  mentioned it was not a love match to a friend...but the rest is simply a lie, added on by a malicious

  tongue.'

  'And you expect me to believe that?' She glared at him, daring him to make another excuse.

  'My dear Miss Roade,' fumed Harry. 'I neither know nor care what you may believe at this precise

  moment. I have been frozen half to death, left alone in an icy parlour with a smoking fire and no

  refreshment—and I am hungry. I meant to beg Olivia to reconsider, but now I am wondering if that

  would be wise. Obviously, her family are all quite mad—or I have partaken of bad wine and

  fallen into a nightmare from which I shall awake with a monstrous headache.'

  Beatrice stared at him. Had he tried to ingratiate himself with her, she would have thought him a

  charlatan. Now she was torn between righteous anger and amusement, finding herself hard put not

  to smile.

  'Indeed, you have been cruelly treated, sir,' she said in a softer tone. 'I do assure you that you have

  not been dri
nking bad wine, at least to my knowledge, for my father can afford so little wine that

  he buys only the best. Besides, as you have not been offered any, I cannot see that the opportunity

  was there. As to whether we are all a little mad in this household... well, you must decide that for

  yourself. I shall go at once to fetch sherry wine, bread and cheese. I fear I can provide nothing

  more until we dine, unless you would prefer almond comfits and a raspberry wine my aunt makes

  herself?' She saw his expression of disgust and was betrayed into a laugh. 'Do be seated, Lord

  Ravensden. I shall not let you go hungry for much longer.'

  She left him staring after her and went back to the kitchen. There was bread freshly baked by Nan

  that morning, a good local cheese, pickles—and a decent sherry. No matter what else they lacked,

  Beatrice never let her father go without his sherry. They also had a few cases of good table wine

  in the cellar, bought in better times, and brought out on the rare occasions when they had dinner

  guests, but she was not about to open a bottle for Lord Ravensden. No, indeed! He could have

  sherry and ale, some bread and cheese—then he could take himself off back to London, where he

  belonged.

  'Ah, there you are,' Nan said, coming down the stairs as Beatrice emerged from the kitchen with

  her tray. 'Oh dear, I should have seen to that. I quite forgot. I was upstairs, trying-to persuade your

  sister to come down.'

  'Pray take this to the parlour,' Beatrice said. 'The fire may have caught by now and Lord

  Ravensden will be able to eat in peace. I shall go up to Olivia and see if she will come out for

  me.'

  'She says she shall stay there until he leaves.'

  'And he says he will not leave until he has seen her.'

  Nan shook her head at such obstinacy and took the tray from Beatrice, who ran up the stairs and

  knocked at her sister's door.

  'Olivia dearest, pray let me in.'

  'Has he gone?'

  'He is in the parlour having some bread and cheese. He wants to apologise to you.'

  'I do not want to hear him. Ask him to go away.'

  'He will not leave until you see him. He is the most tiresome creature ever. 1 do not wonder that

  you refused to marry him. Indeed, I should think you foolish if you did...'