Читать книгу Reunited With Her Viscount Protector - Mary Brendan, Mary Brendan - Страница 13

The bishop had come from Colchester to conduct the service, allowing the newly widowed vicar to join the mourners on the dull March day that Eleanor Mansfield, aged twenty-one, was interred in the Wivenhoe churchyard with her infant son resting in her everlasting embrace.

The funeral had been speedily arranged on the wishes of her husband, then carried out a few days after Eleanor died. Though the time elapsed was short, by then Dawn was able to contain her grief for Lily’s sake. For the same reason the fury and disgust she felt for the Reverend Peter Mansfield also went undisplayed, yet simmered, unabated, within. He had taken no responsibility for the tragedy, maintaining that he had bowed to his wife’s wishes in not summoning the doctor to fuss over her. When Dr Wilson had returned the following day to record the death, he had quizzed Peter over the marks on his wife’s arms. Those had been explained away as injuries received at times when Eleanor had collapsed. Florid in the face, Peter had made it clear that he deeply resented the implications being made. A distraught Mrs Grove had confirmed that indeed her mistress had keeled over on occasions and she had been the one to find Mrs Mansfield on the floor.

The only person who knew the truth could no longer tell it. So Dawn had no option but to give the vicar the benefit of the doubt. The physician’s face had betrayed his scepticism over what he’d heard. The only meagre comfort Dawn had was from knowing she would never again think of, or refer to, Peter Mansfield as her family. He was nobody to her. Yet she must continue to tolerate him because she couldn’t bear to lose touch with her beloved granddaughter.

She glanced at Lily, playing with her toys on the parlour rug, quite oblivious to the fact her mother was gone for ever. Of course the child had asked for her, but had seemed satisfied to know that her mama was with the angels in heaven. Yet every time Dawn answered her granddaughter’s sweetly innocent question she was sure Lily would be affected by her distress, though she did her utmost not to show it.

Presently the child danced the little doll on her lap, singing to the gift her grandma had brought her. Dawn smiled wistfully. It seemed such a long, long time ago that she had happily browsed the Regent Street shops for presents for Lily. Yet just a week had passed. And almost every minute of every hour of those days had been filled with heartache.

‘A gentleman caller, m’m.’

Mrs Grove had quietly entered the sitting room, stirring Dawn from a sightless contemplation of the greensward beyond the window pane. The woman was still haggard from constant weeping. The cook had had to be revived with smelling salts after learning of her mistress’s passing.

‘A Mr Valance asks to see you, but says he understands if you would like him to go away.’

‘No... I should like to see him, Mrs Grove.’ Had she really felt a little thrill? For days past Dawn had been numbed by grief and sure she’d never know any other emotion.

She stood up, brushing down her creased skirts. She had no deepest mourning clothes with her, but had sewn a black armband on the sleeve of her lavender gown. She imagined she looked a wreck from weeping so used her hanky on her tear-smudged cheeks, then attempted to neaten wisps of chestnut hair, tucking them into their pins. She was still conscious of Jack Valance’s appeal, she wryly realised, or wouldn’t bother readying herself to receive him.

The door opened and he came in, his grey eyes immediately locking with her dark green stare, shadowed by pain.

‘I will not stay long. I understand you might not want visitors. But I had to come to say...’ He hesitated as though unsure how to proceed. ‘I am just so sorry for your loss.’

Dawn smiled. ‘I know you are, sir. Thank you, not only for your condolences, but for all the help you gave to us.’

‘Would that I could have done more,’ Jack said vehemently. He approached and gently took her hands in his.

She allowed him to hold them, liking the feel of his warm palms wrapped around her cold fingers. ‘I was expecting you might come to the funeral.’

‘I was not invited and doubted that Peter Mansfield would wish to have me just turn up.’ He paused. ‘I wanted to come back sooner to see you. I didn’t in case I was being intrusive. I’ve not stopped thinking of you, though, for a single minute.’

Dawn hadn’t stopped thinking of him either, despite the horror of losing her stepdaughter. Dawn had wished Jack had come to the funeral, but understood his reasons for staying away. The vicar had made it clear he wanted a small, discreet affair when his wife was laid to rest. He’d intimated it was from respect for her, but Dawn suspected it was to shield himself from disapproving looks. News might have circulated about the circumstances of Mrs Mansfield’s demise.

In all, the mourners had numbered just a dozen and most of those had comprised Peter’s ecclesiastical colleagues. A few neighbours and Dr Wilson had come to the wake at the vicarage which had lasted less than an hour.

‘What will you do now? Will you return to London?’ Jack enquired.

‘Yes... I must. I cannot stand to stay here with him. Neither, I think, does he want me to. At times I feel so angry that I cannot hold my tongue so am a constant reminder of his terrible neglect of Eleanor.’ Dawn frowned, remembering the vicar’s curt good morning to her when they had passed earlier in the hall. For her part she would sooner ignore him and keep her distance. When in his orbit she felt a compulsion to leap towards him and pummel him for what he’d done. ‘Peter still blames me for interfering, even though the doctor severely rebuked him for failing to get his wife the help she so desperately needed.’ She glanced at Lily. ‘Yet... I cannot bear leaving the poor little mite behind when I return home. I wish I could take her with me and care for her.’ Her voice broke and she shielded her distress behind unsteady fingers.

Jack gently drew her into his arms. ‘Come... You have endured a tragedy, but are coping admirably with it and I know you will continue to do so.’ He paused, brushing rogue chestnut curls away from her spiky wet lashes so he might gaze into a pair of bright green eyes. ‘The most sensible thing would be for the vicar to put his daughter into your care in London, at least until he sorts out a good nursemaid to take charge of his daughter.’

‘I have already suggested to him all of that, but because he knows how much that arrangement would please me, he has dismissed it out of hand.’ She knuckled fresh tears from her eyes. ‘The child is his responsibility, he says, and must stay with him. Yet he pays Lily no heed whatsoever. He doesn’t deserve to have the dear little thing.’

‘Am I right in thinking it is not just this calamity that has coloured your opinion of Peter Mansfield?’

‘I’ve never liked him. Now I loathe him,’ Dawn admitted with unsuppressed vehemence. She clamped together her lips; she had confided too much. She hardly knew Jack Valance, yet was telling him very personal things. She had felt that immediate connection to him years ago, almost from the day they’d met. But he obviously hadn’t felt the same way about her to so easily forget her and go abroad without a word. She had allowed him liberties then...and was doing so now, standing quietly within his embrace as though it were her natural place to be. But it wasn’t; if what she’d heard was true he had a fiancée. Though she knew he was simply comforting her, she stepped away from him. Just in time, as it transpired.

‘Ah... Valance. How are you, my good fellow? My servant said you had arrived.’ Peter Mansfield strode into the room and extended his hand. His attitude was completely different to that on the day he had first met Jack. Then he had treated him as an interloper instead of a guest.

‘My condolences on your loss, sir.’ Jack shook hands.

Peter huffed a sigh. ‘Thank you. I wanted a son more than anything.’ A silence followed, but the bereaved husband made no mention of missing anybody else as he plunged his hands on his hips. ‘I have heard talk in the village that you have taken up residence at Croxley Grange, Mr Valance.’

‘It is a temporary stay. My preference is to reside most of the year in London.’

‘We had heard that a viscount had taken over the whole estate.’ Peter clucked his tongue. ‘The gossips concoct such fantastical tales.’

‘On this occasion they are correct.’

Peter’s grin appeared to freeze on his face. ‘You are Lord Sterling?’ he eventually burbled.

‘I am.’ Jack gave a slow nod.

‘Well...what splendid news. While you are in the vicinity you are very welcome to visit the vicarage whenever you wish, my lord.’ Peter gave an obsequious bow.

Dawn darted a glance from beneath her lashes at Jack. He was watching for her reaction to the news he was an aristocrat. She was surprised to hear of his elevation, but then there had been no reason or opportunity for him to discuss his business with her. Years ago, when she’d believed them to be growing closer, he’d told her a little bit about his family. He was the younger son of a baron with a meagre allowance and few prospects, he’d said. She’d known things were different for him now. Emma’s husband had described his friend’s change in circumstances as Valance having found his feet and his fortune. And in rather a magnificent way, it seemed.

‘While you are in Essex, my lord, you must meet some of the local dignitaries,’ Peter declared, strutting to and fro across the rug. ‘I would most happily attend any social function you hold at the Grange and bring the bishop along with me to introduce you...’

‘As you are in mourning, sir, I doubt you would wish to socialise for some while,’ Jack smoothly said. ‘In any case, I have no plans to entertain during my brief stay, so you will miss nothing at Croxley Grange.’

Dawn had listened to the vicar’s blatant social climbing with mounting disgust. Not a single word or look to mark his guilt or sorrow on losing his wife. Yet, before the wreath on his front door had withered he was shamelessly wheedling for an invitation to dine with the new owner of the big house.

‘I deeply regret that I did not have a chance to become better acquainted with your wife.’ Jack knew he had the fellow squirming and he wasn’t about to let him off the hook. What he was determined to do was get Dawn what she wanted, and what the child needed. And what he needed. In London she would be close to him.

‘My stepdaughter would have liked an opportunity to know you better, too, sir,’ Dawn blurted out when it seemed Peter was intending to remain tight-lipped about his dead wife. Moreover he now appeared sullen. Well, let him sulk! She would not allow Eleanor to be forgotten so easily, or to be kept from a conversation to protect his ego!

Jack crouched down to stroke a finger on Lily’s soft cheek and be rewarded with a shy smile. ‘Mrs Mansfield’s daughter is her image; a lasting tribute to her mother. You must be very proud of your little girl, sir.’

Peter made a non-committal noise, fiddling with his neckcloth and his perambulation of the room became speedier.

‘Yes, indeed, she is like her mama.’ Dawn again broke the silence and she gave Jack a grateful smile. Although no word of a plan of action had passed between them she sensed he’d decided to be her ally against Lily’s father.

‘Have you arranged tea for Lord Sterling?’ Peter barked. He resented being put in his place. He barely glanced at Lily even though a pointed reference had been made to her. In turn the little girl seemed oblivious to the fact her father was close by.

‘I want no tea, thank you,’ Jack said, straightening up.

‘Please take some port, then, my lord.’ Peter didn’t want to lose his illustrious guest before he’d inveigled himself into the fellow’s good books. He was also inquisitive about what was to become of the largest estate for miles around. He strode to the sideboard and poured two glasses of ruby wine without offering Dawn a drink. ‘Do take a seat, my lord; you must tell me all about your plans for Croxley Grange.’ He gave Dawn a sharp nod so she would sit down, allowing the gentlemen to do likewise.

Dawn returned to her chair, not for the vicar’s sake, but for her own. She also wanted to keep Jack Valance’s company. For as long as possible. After days of being battered by anguish, his presence today had actually lifted her spirits, made her feel more alive than could even Lily’s sweet company. Constantly fretting over her granddaughter’s bleak future living with a parent who seemed careless of her existence was guaranteed to depress Dawn.

‘We heard the house was run-down and had been returned to the Crown on the death of the previous owner. Viscount Welham had no heir. He was an odd fellow—kept very much to himself and sadly contributed little to the community.’ Peter took a swig from his glass. ‘It was most disappointing that the man was no proper benefactor to good causes as one in his position should be.’

‘The Grange will be restored to a sound condition—other than that I have no plans for any major changes.’ Jack politely sipped at the port that had been forced into his hand, then placed the glass on a table.

‘Oh...a great pity, sir; the presence of gentlemen of your standing is sorely needed in the area.’

‘I will give to local charities, whether or not in residence in Essex,’ Jack said with a hint of a sardonic smile.

Dawn glanced at him, biting her lip on her own faint amusement. So Mr Valance, or Lord Sterling, as she supposed she ought to think of him, was aware that the vicar was brazen with his begging bowl for church funds.

‘If I may ask, sir, what plans have you for your daughter’s care following your wife’s sad passing?’ Jack sat back in his chair and turned a relentless gaze on the vicar. ‘Your work obviously keeps you occupied late into the evening at times. When I came upon you on the evening of the tragedy you were still on duty.’ Jack knew very well that on the night he had fetched the vicar back to his dying wife’s bedside, the man had been miles away in a bawdy house. Mansfield had made a blustered explanation of his presence upstairs. It was his calling to preach against sin, and as though to prove it, he’d produced a bible from his pocket.

‘Indeed, I am busy,’ Peter said pompously, barely blushing at what his guest had alluded to. ‘A wedding here and a funeral there and all manner of sick and needy folk taking up my time. Of course I will always be available to you, my lord.’ Peter had been pleased to receive a prompt payment from Sterling for the servant’s funeral.

‘Will you hire a nurse locally to care for your daughter or engage a woman from an agency in London?’ Jack wasn’t to be put off pursuing his goal.

Peter gave a heavy sigh, wondering what ailed the man to be constantly bothering with domestic issues that were none of his concern. ‘I suppose something of the sort will eventually be done. But I have a servant here during the day and the child is docile enough to need little attention.’ He turned to Dawn. ‘Surely it is time for her nap.’ He flapped a hand to let Dawn know he wanted Lily removed from the room.

‘She has only recently woken up,’ Dawn said truthfully and with a hint of stubbornness. ‘And Mrs Grove is to retire from your service, as you know, sir, so will not be here at any time to care for Lily.’ The cook had just that morning told Dawn she’d informed the vicar of her intention to quit. ‘Lily must never be left alone, she is far too young—’

‘I believe I know my duty to her,’ Peter interrupted. ‘A new woman will soon be engaged in Mrs Grove’s stead.’

Dawn wasn’t about to be put off by his stony stare or clipped words. ‘Lily needs to be properly nurtured. She is a lively child at times and very bright. She should be occupied and educated with toys and books and cared for by somebody who cherishes her. She is my granddaughter and I have offered to take her with me to London so you may attend to your duties here. And I will do that at no cost to you at all, sir.’ Having rattled that off, Dawn paused for a breath.

‘Why, that sounds like an excellent idea, Mrs Fenton,’ Jack declared heartily, ignoring the furious floridity that was rising above Mansfield’s collar. ‘If the vicar is agreeable to that sensible solution I know our mutual friends will be delighted to have Lily as a playmate for Viscount Booth.’

‘Viscount Booth?’ Peter echoed stiffly.

‘The Earl of Houndsmere’s firstborn. Lance Harley is a good friend of mine. He mentioned to me only the other day at dinner that in his opinion children need friends from an early age if they are to thrive. Your daughter, I would say, is about the same age as their son and would make an ideal companion.’

‘I believe that friends are important, too,’ Dawn spoke up with a private smile for Jack to thank him. ‘And so does the Countess of Houndsmere believe in children socialising. Emma would gladly welcome Lily into her home as readily as she does me. Young Bernard is a delightful little boy and would adore having Lily to play with.’

The Reverend Peter Mansfield was aware that Dawn had lofty friends, but he’d paid the connection scant heed before, as he’d never seen a way to benefit from it. Now he suspected he might. He also suspected something else. ‘You are previously acquainted?’ He swung a glance between the couple.

‘Indeed, we have known one another for many years,’ Jack confirmed. ‘Mrs Fenton and I have close mutual friends in the Earl and Countess of Houndsmere. It is a very odd coincidence that we met by chance in Essex. Would that a happy rather than sad event had occasioned it.’

Dawn was discreetly watching for Peter’s reaction and a burgeoning optimism started to make her heart race. Though she displayed not a jot of her feelings she was sure the vicar was considering the likely benefits to be had from his daughter getting to know an earl’s heir.

Jack had been observing Mansfield, too, and knew it would be as well to act immediately. He got up and walked to the window, looking out with a heavy sigh. ‘It is hard to believe that the recent fine spring weather has so quickly disappeared. I shall need to return to London without delay. I cannot be snowbound when I have important meetings in London to attend. Those clouds blowing in look threatening. A heavy fall followed by a thaw will flood the roads for weeks.’ He turned back and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘If you wish to travel home with me today, Mrs Fenton, I have a good coach and a fast team of horses. We can outrun the worst of it with ease.’

‘I would like that, sir, thank you.’ Was this really happening? Dawn thought wildly. Was she really going home—so soon, please, God—with her beloved granddaughter at her side?

‘Will it take you long to pack, ma’am?’

Dawn forced herself to sound calm when replying, ‘Not at all, sir.’ And that was the truth. With all the commotion that had met her arrival Dawn had only removed a few necessary items from her trunk. All that was required was those to be replaced and the lid to be dropped down again.

‘And your daughter, sir? Is she sensibly to come with us while you attend to planning her future and engaging the necessary staff?’ Jack’s tone of voice made it clear he would think the vicar a fool if he refused.

‘Yes...you may take the dear child to London then, I suppose.’ Peter gave a gracious nod. ‘In her absence I will endeavour to sort out a suitable nurse until a governess can take over the task.’

‘I expect it will take many months to find the right candidate,’ Jack said. ‘In the meantime you will be content knowing your daughter is perfectly well cared for and is making fine new friends in London.’

‘I’ll pack Lily’s things with mine,’ Dawn blurted, standing up, wanting to make ready for the journey straight away. She felt an urge to dash to Jack and hug him for what he’d done for her, but knew she must not act in any way that might pique the vicar’s resentful nature. She managed to manoeuvre into position to send Jack a look that she hoped he would understand. She wanted him to wait and take them with him now. Once he was gone, even if only briefly before returning to collect them, Peter might brood and retract what he’d just agreed to.

Jack walked away from the window where he’d been studying storm clouds and picked up his drink. ‘If I might impose on you, Mrs Fenton, would you hurry, please? I shall wait for you to ready yourself. It would be expedient to set on the road without delay.’ He paused. ‘In the meantime I will speak to the vicar and hear of his plans for the upkeep of the church. I have noticed, sir, that the perimeter wall of the graveyard appears unstable.’ Jack took a sip of his port. ‘Is the roof in good repair?’

As though to add her weight to the decision to flee this house Lily sprang up and started whizzing about the room, whirling her dolly in a hand.

‘Oh, do take her away with you,’ Peter snapped impatiently.

‘I will be ready to set off when you are, Mrs Fenton. I have nothing of note to collect from the Grange other than my valet. And he will follow when he is ready. We should be back in London by nightfall.’

‘Thank you.’ Dawn waited for his eyes to skim past the vicar and tangle with hers, as she knew they would. But though he displayed no more than polite friendliness in his smile Dawn knew what was in his mind. Her triumph and pleasure were equally hidden. The Reverend Peter Mansfield must never understand how overjoyed she was to have her beloved granddaughter going home with her.