Читать книгу His Makeshift Wife - Anne Ashley - Страница 7

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 have 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?

Either he genuinely did not hear, or he chose not to acknowledge her entry into the parlour, for he continued to stand with his back to the door, seeming to contemplate the flower bed directly in front of the window. Surprisingly, Briony didn’t take offence at this initial lack of acknowledgement to her presence, mainly because it provided her with the golden opportunity to study him closely and, more importantly, unobserved.

Grudgingly, she was obliged silently to own that he was a fine figure of a man by any standard. Tall and straight-limbed, he carried his clothes exceptionally well—clothes in the latest mode that clearly boasted the workmanship of an expert tailor. His appearance alone suggested strongly that, already, he was a man of no small means.

Memory stirred and she recalled her godmother once having revealed that his father, although her younger brother, and therefore not the direct heir to the viscountcy, had married well and had become a wealthy young gentleman in his own right, boasting a fine property in Derbyshire, as well as a town house situated in one of the most fashionable areas in the capital.

This wealth must surely have been bequeathed to Luke, his sole offspring, Briony reasoned. Furthermore, since the tragic death of Viscount Kingsley’s only son and heir a matter of two years before, Luke Kingsley had become the heir to the viscountcy and, as a consequence, must surely have been receiving an allowance from his uncle. So, unless he had been consistently squandering vast sums at the gaming tables and elsewhere during the past couple of years, he shouldn’t be short of money. So, why was he here? Surely he wasn’t seriously contemplating his aunt’s ludicrous proposal?

He turned suddenly, too suddenly for her not to be caught red-handed appraising his manly attributes, and she was obliged to witness a crooked, self-satisfied smile curl his lips as he moved towards her, as though he was quite accustomed to finding favour in feminine eyes.

‘Briony, forgive me, I didn’t hear you come in.’ He grasped her hand briefly, much as he had done at the lawyer’s office the previous morning, and as he did so scrutinised her face.

Although perhaps not conventionally beautiful, Briony knew she was well enough, having features both regular and very pleasing. If there was a serious flaw, it was that her countenance tended to be far too expressive on occasions and, as a consequence, very prone to revealing precisely what was passing through her mind to any discerning soul.

Luke Kingsley might indeed have possessed many of those attributes she most disliked in his sex, but no one could ever have accused him of being slow-witted, or lacking perception, as his next words proved.

‘Oh, come now! Surely we need not stand on ceremony?’ he cajoled, clearly having accurately interpreted her slight feeling of chagrin at his familiar use of her given name. ‘We played here together as children, as I recall, even if it was over a decade ago.’

‘We did no such thing!’ she took great pleasure in refuting. ‘But if you wish to dispense with formality, I do not object. In fact, I believe it will save time if we dispense with needless pleasantries altogether and come straight to the point of your visit.’

Again she witnessed the half-crooked smile curl what she was silently obliged to acknowledge was a rather attractive masculine mouth that was neither too narrow nor too broad. Just perfect, in fact. ‘I’d quite forgotten how forthright you could be on occasions. You were never one to hide your teeth. Very well, let us have plain speaking, but at least let us make ourselves comfortable first.’

Although she complied readily enough by seating herself in one of the chairs, something in her mien once again betrayed the fact that she wasn’t perfectly at ease in his company. Nor was she quite able to conceal the annoyance she was still experiencing over the contents of her godmother’s will from those all-too-perceptive and rather fine grey eyes of his, as he confirmed a moment later.

‘Evidently you are still feeling immensely peeved at what the good Mr Pettigrew revealed to us both yesterday. Very understandable. I wasn’t altogether overjoyed myself,’ he freely admitted, clearly surprising her somewhat. ‘I might have wished my aunt hadn’t attempted to interfere. I think we might possibly have rubbed along very much better without outside interference. But there it is. For reasons best known to herself, she chose to do so. And I’m afraid we must make the best of it.

‘No, please allow me to finish, Briony,’ he went on, when she attempted to interrupt. ‘I can guess what you are desperate to say—that a union between us is out of the question, preposterous. And in normal circumstances I would be inclined to agree with you wholeheartedly. But these circumstances are not usual and I would ask only that you do not dismiss the notion out of hand. Hear what I have to say, then take time to consider carefully.

‘But first,’ he continued, rising to his feet, ‘shall we have some refreshment? If my memory serves me correctly, Aunt Lavinia always kept a tolerable Madeira in her cellar.’

Strangely enough, Briony didn’t take the least exception to his helping himself and even went so far as to accept graciously the glass he poured for her. After all, she reasoned, he had as much right to Lady Ashworth’s possessions as she had, perhaps more so as he was a blood relation. Besides which, with every passing minute, curiosity was getting the better of her and she wished to discover precisely why he had called.

‘Perhaps I should begin by revealing the salient points contained in my aunt’s will—those you failed to discover for yourself in your haste to flee Mr Pettigrew’s office,’ he began, after resuming his seat, and noting the colour that had risen in her cheeks at his blunt reminder of an interlude that really didn’t redound to her credit.

‘Firstly, if we are to comply with the terms of the will we must be married not later than two months hence.’

‘But surely you’re not proposing that we should comply?’ she demanded to know, wanting this issue at least quite clear between them, if nothing else.

‘Please, Briony, allow me to finish, then we can discuss matters,’ he returned with a calmness that she was beginning to find faintly irksome. ‘My aunt also specified that the marriage should last no less than a period of six months. After which, if we should find we do not suit, we may go our separate ways, seemingly with her blessing. The house and the majority of her private fortune would then be divided evenly between the two of us. In the meantime Mr Pettigrew, being one of the executors, would arrange for a monthly allowance to be made to us from my aunt’s legacy in order to cover household expenses and other reasonable necessities. However, if one, or the other, should choose to remove from the Manor before the six-month period is over, then the one who had done his, or her, utmost to abide by the terms of the will would receive the whole fortune.’

Briony took a sip from her glass in an attempt to calm her. Against all the odds, was he seriously proposing they should abide by the terms of the will? It certainly sounded like it. And, true enough, for a six-month period she would undoubtedly be able to command most any luxury. But at what cost to herself? No, it really was too base even to contemplate. Why, it would be like selling herself, body and soul, merely for financial gain!

‘Before I put my proposition before you,’ he continued, once again obliging her to listen, ‘I should tell you that my aunt has made other provisions for you, should you choose not to contemplate wedlock.’

He rose to his feet and, as he did so, she thought she could detect a suspicion of that crooked smile returning briefly, as though at some private thought, before he positioned himself once more by the window.

‘In the local town there is, so I understand, a certain haberdashery, the property of my late aunt. This she bequeaths in full to you. A young woman rents the property, so I believe, and is also in the process of repaying a loan. Mr Pettigrew assured me there would be room enough for you to remove there and help run the business, should you choose to avail yourself of this alternative, for if we do not marry, this fine old house, together with all its contents, is to be sold and the money raised, together with my aunt’s private fortune, is to be divided between a number of worthy causes.’ At last he turned to look directly at her once again to add, ‘Which, although extremely altruistic, hardly benefits either of us.’

‘Perhaps not, sir,’ Briony agreed, ‘but I think it is the only honourable course for us both.’

‘Therefore, I’m proposing an alternative solution,’ he continued, just as though she had not spoken, ‘that I believe shall suit us both and will also comply with all the terms set down in the will. We shall marry and live here for the six-month period. But the marriage will be one of convenience only, no more, no less.’

He noted the flicker of doubt and mistrust in her expression, as though she had yet to appreciate fully what he was suggesting, and moved towards her, drawing her to her feet by the simple expedient of grasping her wrists.

‘Let me make things perfectly clear, Briony,’ he murmured, staring down into clear blue eyes that were suddenly aglow with dawning wonder. ‘The world will believe ours to be a conventional marriage, a joyous union between two people who after many years have been reunited. But I shall make no attempt to claim my full rights as a husband. In other words, the marriage shall not be consummated and therefore can be annulled once the six-month period is over, or a little before. After which, I give you my word that I shall not attempt to claim either my share of the property, or my aunt’s personal wealth. All I should wish to take with me when I go is a few personal effects, books mainly, as mementoes of my aunt.’

Briony could hardly believe her great good fortune, or that he was prepared to give up so much. It just didn’t make any sense at all. If he wasn’t interested in either the house, or the fortune, why bother to go through with the farce of a marriage in the first place?

‘I have my reasons,’ was the prompt response, the instant she had voiced her doubts. ‘Mr Pettigrew intends to call here tomorrow. He will only confirm what I have already told you. He knows nothing of my proposal and I wish it to remain that way. I give you my word that, after the marriage is annulled, you will be able to remain here at the Manor in comfort for the rest of your life, should you choose to do so. The one precondition is that you do everything possible to convince the world that the union between us is genuine … in every sense.

‘Now, I shall leave you to consider my proposal, and shall return the day after tomorrow to receive your answer.’ With that he left her, without so much as a backward glance, or even a final word of farewell.

Once back at the most comfortable inn the local town had to offer, Luke sent for his most trusted servant-cum-confidant and awaited his arrival in the private parlour, which he had hired for the duration of his stay. After pouring himself a glass of wine, he took up a stance by the window, idly watching the moderate amount of traffic travelling down the main street at this time of day.

‘Nothing like London, eh?’ he remarked on detecting the click of the door opening. He didn’t need to turn round, for the slight scraping of one foot along the ground told him clearly enough that it was his former batman who had entered the room.

After securely closing the door, Benjamin Carey limped slowly towards the man whom he had served loyally throughout their years in the army. ‘Born and bred in the country, sir, so I don’t mind the peace and quiet. Can always find plenty to fill my time.’

Study him though he might, Ben could read nothing in that sharp, hawk-like profile to reveal whether his employer was pleased or quite otherwise. But, it had ever been so! he reminded himself. A genius at disguising his feelings was Major Kingsley. Which was perhaps just as well considering his master’s present activities, Ben mused.

‘May I ask how it goes with you, sir?’

‘I’m not altogether sure, Ben.’ Abandoning his position by the window, Luke settled himself at the table and gestured for his servant to do likewise before pouring a second glass of wine and refilling his own. ‘Fillies in London I can have a-plenty … But there’s a distinctly chilly wind circling Miss Briony Winters. Do you know, Ben, I’ve gained the distinct impression the gel don’t quite like me for some reason. And she certainly has no desire to marry me. She does a fellow’s ego a power of no good, I can tell you!’

At this display of mock-hurt, Ben threw back his head and roared with laughter. He was among the very few who knew when Luke Kingsley was putting on an act for the benefit of others and when he was in earnest. ‘Well, sir, fine-looking man that you are, you can’t be expected to charm all the fillies.’

‘I don’t want to charm them all,’ Luke returned sharply. ‘But I’m obliged to charm that pert and headstrong miss!’ He shook his head, betraying his genuine annoyance by a severe frown. ‘Curse Aunt Lavinia! What on earth possessed her to make such a will?’ His sense of humour then began to reassert itself and he couldn’t suppress a smile. ‘But, of course, I know well enough why. It would seem I’ve played my part rather too well in recent months, Ben. Even dear Lady Ashworth was beginning to suppose her nephew was turning into a rakehelly wastrel and needed bringing back into the fold, as it were. And she evidently considered Miss Briony Winters equal to the task. The chit must have qualities I have yet to unearth!’

A look of sympathy flickered over the older man’s face. ‘She ain’t ill favoured, is she, sir?’

‘Oh, no. Quite the opposite, in fact!’ Luke had little difficulty in conjuring up a face boasting, surprisingly enough, both character and loveliness in equal measure. ‘And in the normal course of events Miss Winters would have been most acceptable as a future bride. She’s pleasing in both face and form. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with her birth. Her mother came from old and respected wealthy-yeoman stock. Sadly, the family disowned the woman, I seem to recall, soon after she’d married an impoverished baron’s younger son, a ne’er-do-well whose excesses killed him at a young age. When Briony’s mother passed away a few years later, my aunt took the child into her household. She quickly grew to love her goddaughter and I believe the affection was reciprocated. They were certainly very happy together. But whether Miss Winters can be trusted is a different matter entirely.’

He took a moment to consider other difficulties ahead. ‘I expect, too, she’s headstrong. I remember, now, she was somewhat wayward as a child. Unfortunately I’m not in the position to attempt to bridle her ways, at least not until after the knot is tied. And then I suspect I’ll need to tread very warily until I’ve got the chit’s full measure.’

‘But will she wed, do you suppose, sir?’

‘I’m far from certain, Ben,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve dangled the proverbial carrot before the donkey … or should I say jenny. All I can hope is that the treat offered is tempting enough. If not, I’m damned if I know what course of action to take that will not arouse suspicion!’

Later that same afternoon Briony ventured into the Manor’s finest bedchamber. Even though her own room was next door, she had not once attempted to gain entry, not once since the morning she had come in by way of the communicating door, only to discover her beloved godmother cold and lifeless in the bed.

Clearly Janet had been in the room. The bed had been freshly made with clean lacy pillows and frilly-edged bedcovers, all neatly in place. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen anywhere, testament to the housekeeper’s high standards and devotion to her late mistress. In fact, it looked exactly how it had always looked—the neat and elegantly furnished bedchamber of a middle-aged lady of means.

Absently Briony sat herself at the dressing table and pulled open the drawer containing some of her late godmother’s jewellery. Taking out the wooden box, she flicked open its lid to discover several sparkling trinkets, each of which she clearly recalled her godmother wearing on some occasion or other. How much they were worth, she had no notion. The pearls were fine and possibly very expensive. But it wasn’t their worth. Money wasn’t important. It was the sentimental value that really mattered.

For a moment temptation almost overcame her. Hand poised over the open box, she knew it would be a simple matter to extract a few pieces and hide them in her room—keepsakes, reminders of someone whom she had loved so dearly. After all, no one would know, she reasoned. As far as she was aware Mr Pettigrew had never come to the house to take an inventory of the valuables. Surely he wouldn’t know if a few items of jewellery were missing? And neither would Luke Kingsley, come to that. Only Janet would know for sure and she would never betray her.

The instant the last thought had passed through her mind Briony closed the box with a snap and put it back in the drawer, thereby placing temptation out of sight. No, she couldn’t involve Janet in such a deception, motivated though it was by love and not financial gain. No, it wasn’t right. Nor was it fair to help herself to valuables that Luke Kingsley had as much right to have. But if she were to accede to his proposal …?

For perhaps the hundredth time since his visit that morning, the idea of doing precisely that filtered through her mind, only to be dismissed a moment later as unthinkable. Yet, she couldn’t deny, as she had wandered about the house that afternoon, visiting each and every room, the temptation to become the mistress of such a fine house, where she had been so happy, had been strong. She would have every right to the jewellery then, all of it, she reminded herself. Moreover, for the first time in her life she would be able to come and go as she pleased. Married women enjoyed far more freedoms, and so would she, even though the marriage would be one of convenience only.

Well, there was no denying it might prove to be highly convenient for her. If Luke Kingsley was a man of his word the marriage would be annulled after the specified period, then she could continue living at the Manor, its mistress and its sole owner.

But could Luke Kingsley be trusted to keep his word? That was the burning question. After all, she had never known the man, and the boy hardly at all. Moreover, although her childhood memories didn’t precisely redound to his credit, she was obliged to acknowledge that for a youth of eighteen, which he had been when first she had arrived at the house, a twelve-year-old girl was hardly an ideal companion. Troubled though she was, she couldn’t resist smiling as this thought crossed her mind. Why, he must have found her a confounded nuisance, forever trailing after him whenever he spent his holidays at the Manor!

Then, of course, he had gone up to Oxford, she reminded herself, and she had seen hardly anything of him at all. Afterwards the army had beckoned, and he had been away from these shores for several years fighting in Portugal and Spain—firstly, under the command of Sir John Moore, and then Wellesley. Not once since his return, after hearing of his cousin’s death and becoming heir to the viscountcy, had he paid a visit to the Manor, until today. If the gossips were to be believed, he enjoyed all the pleasures the capital had to offer a well-heeled bachelor and, apart from the occasional visit to the ancestral pile in Kent, he was happy to live all year round in the metropolis.

She shook her head. No, none of it made any sense at all. Why this sudden desire to reside here now? Moreover, surely if he had had any genuine attachment to the place he wouldn’t be so willing to forfeit his half-share? Furthermore, it was absurd to suppose he’d taken one look at her and fallen head over heels in love. No, ridiculous! But, unless he was a complete simpleton, and she didn’t suppose for a moment he was, there had to be some very good reason for his wanting to comply with his aunt’s will. So what was it about Dorsetshire that had instigated the desire to rusticate in the county for a period of time? Whatever it was, it must be vastly important if he was willing to forfeit his bachelorhood.

Unable to come up with any logical explanation, Briony wandered across to the escritoire in the corner of the room and sat herself down. Throughout her life Lady Ashworth had been an avid letter writer. Briony had seen her sitting before the fine piece of French furniture on countless occasions, writing missives to her relatives and numerous friends.

Sooner rather than later she and Luke Kingsley were going to have to get together in order to sort through Lady Lavinia’s personal effects, she told herself, after opening one of the drawers to discover piles of letters, neatly tied together with lengths of ribbon. Picking out one of the bundles at random, she noted the direction was written in a childish scrawl. They were from her nephew, written when Luke had been away at school. She quickly discovered another bundle penned by him when up at Oxford and another pile sent during his years in the army.

Curiosity got the better of her and she began to read them in strict chronological order. The light was fading fast by the time she was reading the very last letter he had sent to his aunt from London dated a month before her death.

… I hope during your impromptu visit to the capital late last year I succeeded in setting your mind at rest, that you no longer believe everything the gossipmongers circulate about me. You could do no better than trust your instincts, Aunt Lavinia, and be sure I shall never bring dishonour to the proud name I bear …

An odd thing to have written to his aunt, Briony decided. Evidently Lady Ashworth had been concerned about the numerous rumours circulating with regard to her nephew—his excessive gambling, not to mention his womanising. That was possibly why she had made that unscheduled stop in the capital after visiting her friend. One thing was certain, though—the letters had revealed how very fond of his aunt he really was. There was no mistaking that.

So why had he never made the effort to pay her a visit in recent years? Lady Ashworth, as far as Briony was aware, had seen him on three occasions only since he had sold his commission and had left the army, and that was because she had gone to the trouble of paying short visits to the capital herself. Furthermore, why was it that a gentleman who wrote in such fond terms to his aunt could not even put himself out to attend her funeral?

Increasingly Luke Kingsley was becoming something of an enigma. Quite unfathomable!