Читать книгу The Hemingford Scandal - Mary Nichols, Mary Nichols - Страница 7

I t was two weeks since Jane had seen the figure entering the barracks, two weeks in which she expected to come across him round every corner, two weeks with her heart in her mouth. She had not dared to visit Anne in case he was there, though she told herself a dozen times a day she had imagined him. And even if she had not, if he really had returned, did it matter? She had sent him away, told him she never wanted to see him again and had meant it.

And there was poor Mr Allworthy, still doing his best to win her, escorting her to functions, taking her out in his carriage, even walking with her to the library when she wanted to change a book and helping her to choose ribbons for her new bonnet. She did not think she needed a new bonnet, but Aunt Lane had insisted that if she was to be seen out and about with Mr Allworthy, who was always in prime rig, she must dress accordingly.

Often she had no chaperon apart from Hannah, dawdling several paces behind them, and when they were out in the carriage there was only Mr Allworthy’s coachman to give lip service to propriety. No one could fail to see that the gentleman was seriously courting Jane and many of her friends had asked her when they could expect an announcement. She had been evasive, but was she being fair to him?

‘Miss Hemingford, do you ride?’ he asked her one day. They had been out in his carriage as far as Richmond and were coming back along the Kensington Road. She had not been that way since she had seen what she chose to call the apparition; as they approached the barracks, she could feel herself stiffening, holding her breath, half expecting to see it again. There were several officers about, but none that looked at all like Harry, and she let out an audible sigh.

‘Is anything wrong?’ he asked.

‘Not at all.’ She sat upright, inching away from him. ‘What were you saying? I am afraid I was not paying attention. I have been doing some work for Papa and it suddenly came to me that I should have pointed out an error to him.’

‘I believe he works you too hard. If you were to consent to be my wife, you would not have to do it.’

‘Oh, but I love doing it. And Papa could not manage without me.’

‘Is that why you have delayed giving me your answer?’

‘I suppose in part it must be.’

‘Then do not let it be a consideration. I can find him a good secretary.’

She laughed. ‘No one but me can understand his hand.’

‘Oh, I am sure someone could learn to decipher it, and perhaps he ought to try and make it easier to read.’ He paused. ‘You did not answer my question. Do you ride?’

He had a disconcerting way of abandoning the subject under discussion just when she was gathering herself up to answer him. Was it because he sensed her reluctance to delve deeper into her feelings and wanted to spare her or was he simply assuming she agreed with him? She smiled to show him she was not put out by it. ‘I used to when I was a child and we lived in the country, but I have not done so since Mama died and we came to live in London. Perhaps I have forgotten how.’

‘Then I think we should find out, don’t you?’

‘I have no mount or habit.’

‘A hack can be hired and I will purchase a habit for you.’

‘Certainly not!’ she said sharply. ‘I could not possibly accept gifts of clothing, they should only ever come from a husband.’

His smile was a little crooked. ‘I wish that I were he.’

‘I asked you for time to make up my mind, Mr Allworthy.’

‘And while you do so, the whole haut monde waits with bated breath.’

‘The haut monde is not the least interested in my affairs. I doubt more than half a dozen have even heard of me.’

‘There you are wrong. Your fame goes before you.’

‘Fame?’ she faltered. ‘Oh, you mean the tattlemongers have been at work.’

‘With the help of your Aunt Lane and your relative, the Countess. The more your aunt sings your praises, the more people talk.’

‘What do they say? No, you do not need to tell me, for I know already. I broke off one engagement for what many consider to be a trivial reason and any man who offers for me had better bear that in mind. I think I will never live it down and you were best to turn your back on me or some of the calumny will rub off on you.’

‘I am not such a Jack Pudding as to turn tail at the first setback, and if anyone should say a word against you in my company you may be sure they will be sorry for it. But it was not that I meant. I was speaking of your goodness, your modesty and obedience, the way you have helped your papa.’

She tried to laugh. ‘Oh, Mr Allworthy, how gallant you are, but it is all flummery and you know it.’

‘Not at all. But you could put an end to the tattle at once, you know, if you were to consent to be my wife. I could carry you off to Coprise and they would soon find someone else to talk about.’

‘Is that the answer? Would you find it so easy to forget?’

‘I have your assurance it is all in the past, that you have no affection for the man in question and do not regret your decision to sever your ties with him, and that is enough for me.’ He paused. ‘Now, we have discoursed on the matter long enough. Shall we ride out together one morning? Friday, perhaps? Nine o’clock?’

Nine o’clock was early, but at that time there would not be so many people about to witness her clumsiness and so she agreed, knowing that the more invitations she accepted the more she was compounding her problem, if problem it was.

She purchased a ready-made habit in deep blue grosgrain. It had a tight-fitting military-style jacket decorated with silver braid and frogging. Her hat, like a man’s top hat, was softened with a length of bright blue gauze tied about its narrow brim with the ends flowing freely behind. The skirt was full and plain. She decided if she did not take to riding again, it could be altered to make a walking dress and the money would not be wasted. Practising economy had become a habit with her since she had been in charge of her father’s household and she could not break it, even though Aunt Lane had generously paid for many of her new clothes and told her to think nothing of it.

Donald arrived at her front door at the appointed time, with a magnificent black stallion and a small bay mare. ‘She’s called Blaze,’ he told her as he escorted her out and helped her to mount. Having made sure she was comfortably seated, he mounted the stallion and they set out at a walk. She was aware of a groom, following them on a cob, but he was so far behind that as a chaperon he might just as well not have been there.

‘Green Park, I think,’ Donald said, watching her carefully to see how she was managing. ‘It will be less crowded than Hyde Park.’

As soon as she was in the saddle, she knew she had not forgotten how to ride. It came back to her as something comfortable and familiar. She had ridden almost daily when she was young, mostly in the company of Anne and Harry, whose home had been less than a mile from hers. They had been three rather wild children, sometimes riding bareback, often bareheaded, frequently barefoot, chasing across the countryside, up hill and down dale, until they had been driven home by hunger. How happy they had been, how easy in each other’s company, unaware of what lay ahead.

The first change had come when Harry went to university. It was not the same for the two girls after that. They were expected to grow into young ladies and were schooled with that end in mind. But they had remained good friends and when Harry came home in the vacations, he escorted them to dances in the assembly rooms and on picnics to local beauty spots, but there were always other people about; it was no longer just the three of them.

And then Mama had died and soon after that Papa, eaten up with grief, had decided to sell the house and live in London permanently. The decision seemed to compound Jane’s own grief. The capital was dirty and noisy and she missed everything that might have given her some solace: the green fields, the pony rides, the people, Anne and Harry most of all. It was from Anne’s letters she learned that Harry had fallen into bad company and had incurred gambling debts of three hundred pounds. ‘Grandfather stood buff for him,’ she had written. ‘And has bought him a lieutenancy in the Prince of Wales’s Own, which he told him was more than he deserved, but I don’t think he meant it. From tales I have heard him tell when I was a little girl, he sowed a few wild oats himself. Harry is off to London any time now and no doubt he will call on you.’

Harry, with his dark curls and laughing eyes, had arrived, splendid and proud in his uniform, and had captivated her, won her heart and her hand, and then behaved disgracefully and she ought not to repine over him. It was not fair on the man who rode beside her now. Donald Allworthy was everything that Harry was not: reliable, thoughtful, truthful, correct to the last degree. Everyone told her he was exactly right for her.

As they entered the park, she turned to smile at him. ‘I am so glad you persuaded me to come. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed riding. It is such an age since I have been on the back of a horse.’

‘You could be on the back of one every day if you became Mrs Allworthy. There are horses in the stables and some good rides around Coprise.’

She smiled mischievously as they trotted past a herd of cows being driven to the gate by milkmaids. ‘Bribery, Mr Allworthy?’

‘No, a promise.’ He paused. ‘I collect you are fond of country pursuits.’

‘Indeed, I am.’

‘Then come to Coprise Manor for a visit. You should all come, Mr Hemingford, Mrs Lane and your maids. There is plenty of room. I have to go home soon, I have been away too long, but the prospect of being parted from you made me reluctant to return.’

‘You are leaving London?’ Why that should surprise her, she did not know. ‘I did not know you were contemplating it.’

‘I must be back for haymaking. I like to involve myself in the work of the farm; matters run more smoothly when I do. But I could make all ready for your reception. Say you will come.’

‘I must consult with Papa and Aunt Lane. It might not be convenient for them.’

‘But if it is, you will come?’

‘I think I might like that.’

His little grin of triumph was not lost on her, but surely he had a right to be pleased? She dug her heel into her horse’s flank and set it cantering across the grass, enjoying the feel of the mare’s strong back beneath her, the sound of her hooves as she put her to gallop, laughing because she had taken her escort by surprise and left him behind.

And then she looked up and saw them, two riders outlined against the skyline, and she knew who they were by the way the young woman brushed a wayward curl from her face, the way the man sat in the saddle with his hands loosely on the reins. Her laughter faded and in that second, in mid-gallop, she thought of wheeling about to avoid them, but that would risk a fall and she would not subject herself to the indignity of being unseated in front of them. She managed to pull up and then stopped. They had surely seen her. Or was this another of her apparitions? What would it take to banish them? Marriage to someone else?

She looked round at Donald as he rode up beside her. ‘That was good,’ she said, making herself laugh again.

‘Foolhardy, my dear, especially when you are so long out of practice. I should never have forgiven myself if you had taken a tumble.’

‘Ah, but I did not.’ She leaned forward to pat her horse’s neck, aware that the other two riders were walking their horses towards them. ‘Little Blaze is a goer.’

She found herself surreptitiously looking at Harry. It was indeed Harry, but so changed she hardly recognised him. In a brown stuff riding jacket and a tall beaver hat, he seemed older than she had expected. He had become broader, more muscled, his features more lined, almost weatherbeaten. And there was a tiny scar running from his mouth towards his cheek. She wondered where he had been in the last two years, but then told herself sternly she did not want to know.

But she had to acknowledge him for Anne’s sake. ‘Mr Hemingford,’ she said, aware of Donald beside her. ‘How do you do?’ And then, before he could reply, turned to his companion. ‘Anne, isn’t it a lovely morning? I have not enjoyed a ride so much for ages.’ And then she wished she had not spoken because she saw Harry’s mouth twitch in a faint smile and knew he was thinking of days long gone. ‘You are acquainted with Mr Donald Allworthy, I collect.’

‘Yes, indeed.’ Anne put on a bright smile, which only Jane knew was forced. ‘Mr Allworthy, may I present my brother, Harry?’

The two men inclined their heads and bade each other good morning, but Jane could sense their animosity and decided to bring the encounter to an end. ‘Do call on me, Anne,’ she said, turning her mount. ‘But do not make it too long. I am leaving town very soon to stay at Coprise Manor.’ And then, as she drew away, ‘Good-day to you, Mr Hemingford.’

Donald took a cool leave of the brother and sister and followed her. ‘So that was the scapegrace,’ he said. ‘I thought he was out of the country.’

‘So did I.’

‘You had no idea he was back?’

‘None at all. Why should I have? And it is of no consequence.’

‘You are sure?’

‘Yes. The man is a stranger to me now. I hardly recognised him.’ She told herself that was true. Her so-called love had been nothing more than the infatuation of youth and youth had flown. ‘Tell me about Coprise Manor.’

‘You mean to come, then?’

She could feel two pairs of eyes boring into her back and sat ramrod straight. ‘Of course, if Papa agrees.’

‘Who is that fellow?’ Harry demanded of his sister as they watched them ride away.

‘A mushroom,’ she said. ‘A countryman up for the Season in search of a wife.’

‘Jane?’

She nodded. ‘They have been seen about town together every day for the last two weeks and I believe she is about to announce her engagement to him. She would not be going to Coprise otherwise. It is his country home in Norfolk.’

‘Oh.’

‘Harry, you should have come back sooner.’

He grimaced as they walked their horses forward, careful not to catch up with the two in front. ‘I was not in a position to come and go as I pleased and what good would it have done? She has not forgiven me. You could see she hardly knew how to be civil, not even to you, and you are her friend. Besides, we have both moved on; there is nothing at all between us now.’

‘Liar!’

‘Childhood love rarely survives into adulthood, you know.’ He chuckled. ‘And I took rather longer than most to grow up.’

‘But you have grown up, Harry. You are not the stripling that went away two years ago.’

‘No, thank God.’

‘What have you been doing?’ He had turned up on the doorstep two weeks before, soon after Jane’s last visit, bone weary, filthy and recovering from a wound to his thigh that had given him a limp. In that two weeks he had slept and slept, eaten like a hungry wolf, and slowly mended. Today had been his first outing. And they had to run into Jane, of all people.

He smiled, a crooked kind of smile because of the scar. ‘I told you, fighting for King and Country. There is nothing like a few bullets and cannon balls flying around to make a boy into a man.’

‘But you resigned your commission.’

‘So I did. But there are other ways to serve. The army is not so particular about those they take into the ranks. I enlisted as a private soldier and was lucky enough to be taken into the 95th. It was a very salutary experience, I can tell you, but I made a good rifleman.’

‘It must have been terrible. I cannot think why you did it.’

‘I had something to prove, Sis. And it was not so bad. There was hardship, of course, and danger too, but there was also comradeship, a pulling together and sharing whatever you have with each other, rations, clothes, food, jests, even women.’

‘Is it not like that among officers?’

‘Not quite. They are too concerned about their position in the chain of command. A lieutenant’s position as the lowest of the low is only surpassed by that of an ensign, who is truly a nobody. A major looks down on a captain and a colonel can have no friends, being at the top of the regimental pyramid, so to speak. His is a lonely life and I do not envy him.’

‘I collect, when you first had your colours, you said you would come back a colonel.’

‘That was the boy speaking, not the man.’

Looking back, he could not believe what a sousecrown he had been. The adoration of his sister and Jane had swelled his vanity to gigantic proportions. He had been hail-fellow-well-met at his college, had done very little work, learned to gamble and fallen into debt. But wasn’t that the way of all young bloods? His grandfather had put down the dust, but there had been strings attached. The lieutenancy had been thrust under his nose and an ultimatum delivered. He had accepted it with gratitude.

Even then his good intentions had been trammelled underfoot as soon as he arrived in London. Living in the capital had been expensive, with regimentals to buy, a pair of horses to keep, his mess bills and a servant to maintain. It became even more so when he became engaged to Jane and there were parties almost every night, balls and routs to attend, presents to buy for her. He wanted to be the grand suitor, the generous lover, the husband and provider. He could not be that while he was a mere lieutenant, kicking his heels on home ground.

When Clarence Garfitt had told him about Mrs Clarke, he had hesitated, but Clarence, who was a captain and always knew everything that was going on, had assured him that was how many men obtained preferment. Nothing was said against it because to do so would involve the Duke of York and of course no one would dare risk that. What a gull he had been! The whole scandal had come to light and his name became publicly known as one of those officers who had offered a bribe. Jane had been furious and he had compounded his villainy in her eyes by blustering and trying to excuse himself. ‘Everyone does it,’ he had said. ‘I did it for us, so that we could marry. It is not the end of the world.’

But Jane was Jane. Seventeen years old, motherless and with a father who saw and heard nothing that did not relate to his work, she was far from worldly-wise and had been shocked to discover that such people as Mrs Clarke existed—not only existed, but were condoned so long as they never complained. Jane was appalled and outraged to think that her affianced husband had visited the house of such a one. To her everything must be either black or white; she would not admit to shades of grey. He had resigned his commission and taken himself out of her sight.

‘But you did become an officer,’ Anne said, breaking in on his thoughts. ‘You are a captain.’

‘Promoted in the field. My company commander received a mortal wound and there was no one else to take charge. Luckily for me, my conduct was noticed; I was mentioned in the colonel’s report and the captaincy was confirmed. Later they were looking for someone who could speak French and I volunteered. I had to question French prisoners and deserters, and that led to using their information to obtain more.’

He had volunteered to go behind the enemy lines to follow up a piece of information he had been given. It had been risky and exciting, but he had welcomed the danger, learned to survive, met some extraordinary people and emerged alive, but wounded. Making his way back to his own lines just outside Pombala, he had been skirting round a French bivouac when he was seen and challenged. He had been within half a mile of his own comrades and as he carried important intelligence, there was nothing to do but fight his way out of trouble. He had taken a ball in the thigh, but luckily for him they were in dense woodland and he was able to conceal himself in thick under-growth until the bigger battle started. With pandemonium around him, he had managed to crawl to safety and deliver his intelligence. But the wound had put a painful end to his military career.

‘What are you going to do now?’ Anne asked him. ‘You are not fit to return to duty.’

‘No, more’s the pity, I would have liked to see it to the end. I must find something to occupy myself.’

‘Will you go to see Grandpapa?’

‘Will he receive me?’

‘Of course he will! When you tell him what you have done, that you have been wounded in the service of your country and been mentioned in dispatches, he will be as proud as a turkeycock. You have redeemed yourself and he will welcome you back into the family. You will be able to take up your proper position as his heir.’

‘Not yet. I put my old life behind me when I enlisted. I cannot go back to it. I think I will go into business.’

‘Business?’ she repeated, shocked. ‘You don’t mean trade?’

He smiled, knowing she was only reflecting the attitude of their own social class. ‘Why not? I have not quite made up my mind what, or how I can bring it about, but it must be something worthwhile.’

‘Grandfather won’t like that. You are a gentleman born and bred and one day you will be the Earl of Bostock and take over the estate.’

‘That does not mean I cannot be some use in the world before that happens, does it? I have learned to stand on my own feet while I have been away and I found I liked it.’

‘And Jane?’ The pair ahead of them had disappeared through the gates on to Piccadilly, merging in with the traffic on that busy thoroughfare.

‘Ah, Jane,’ he said, thinking back to their encounter not five minutes before. She was no longer the hoyden of their childhood, not even the pretty young débutante to whom he had become engaged. She was another being entirely, a fully fledged woman. The new Jane had looked splendid in that riding habit, her womanly curves in all the right places, and that fetching hat had set off her thick hair to perfection. Sitting straight in the saddle, her gloved hands on her reins, perfectly composed, she had shown nothing of the Jane he had known and loved. She had outgrown him. ‘I fear I am too late on that score, Sis.’

‘Fustian! She still loves you.’

‘I do not believe it. The Jane I knew would not encourage another man when her heart was elsewhere. She would be too honest.’

‘Two years is a long time, Harry. I believe she has been coerced. You must do something.’

‘Anne, even if I were to wish it, which I do not admit to, I could not step in now. What would that do to my reputation and hers too? I have done enough damage to the Hemingford name already. If I were to step into another man’s engagement, all that other business would be dragged up again and I would be branded an unmitigated bounder.’ He reached out and patted her hand. ‘Thank you for trying, my dear, but I, too, have moved on.’

‘Oh, Harry, I am so sorry. I love you both so much.’

‘And you may still love us both. That has not changed. And I thank God for it. Now, do you think we can make a little more haste, I came out without my breakfast and I am gut-foundered.’

They rode home in silence but, for all his cheerful countenance, his heart was heavy. Had he really expected Jane to recognise the new man and be ready and willing to forgive and forget and take him back? It was the thought of redeeming himself in her eyes that had kept him going, been with him through the long watches of the night when he had been cold and wet; it had been with him on endless marches when he had been almost roasted alive. It had sustained him when he had been living among his country’s enemies and helped him safely back to his comrades when his mission had been accomplished. The vision of her face had helped him to survive that long night hiding in a ditch with a bullet in his leg. When he had been praised for his daring by none other than Old Douro himself and mentioned in his dispatches, it was of Jane’s good opinion he had been thinking. All for nothing!

They dismounted outside Bostock House and left the horses with a groom before going indoors. The house had been bought by the first Earl when Cavendish Square was an isolated residential area in the countryside north of London. He had chosen it for its proximity to the capital and its fresh air. Now it was part of the metropolis, an old house in the middle of new. It had not even been modernized, because the Earl had not visited London since his son, the twins’ father, had died. Most of the year it remained empty and was only opened up when Anne came to town for the Season. If Harry had his way, it would be sold. The ground it stood on must surely be worth a fortune with the way London was spreading northwards and the Regent clamouring to have a new road built from his residence at Carlton House to Regent’s Park.

‘When are you going home to Sutton Park?’ she asked him, as they entered.

He grinned. ‘Do you want to be rid of me?’

‘No, you know I do not. I have seen nothing of you for two years and there is no hurry, is there? I am going back myself in a week or two, we could go together.’

‘You think I might need protection from Grandpapa?’ He laughed as they climbed the stairs to their respective rooms. ‘You are probably right at that. You could always turn him round your thumb.’

‘Gammon!’

He stopped outside her room and put out a hand to stroke her cheek. ‘Dear Sis, always looking after her wayward brother. I do appreciate it, you know.’

‘I know. Will you take me to the theatre tonight? That is, if you are not too fatigued.’

‘I will gladly take you, if my evening coat still fits me, but have you no beau dangling after you?’

‘Oh, Harry, do not be so foolish, I am long past marriageable age.’

‘Humbug! I think I will find you a husband while I am in town. In fact, it is my duty.’

‘It is not! You look to your own affairs, Harry Hemingford.’

He knew she meant Jane, but that was entirely out of the question.

Not for a minute did he think that agreeing to take his sister to the theatre would have such a profound effect on his mind and heart. Jane was there with her new love, sitting in the box opposite theirs, accompanied by an elderly lady in a hideous mauve-and-lilac striped round gown, whom he recognised as her great-aunt. And he knew with a certainty that almost unmanned him that he had been lying when he said he had moved on.

Jane was in amber silk, almost the same colour as the highlights in her hair. It heightened the creaminess of her shoulders and neck, the softness of her complexion and the brilliance of her eyes. Looking through his opera glass, he could see her quite clearly. She appeared to be watching the stage, but he was sure she had also seen him and was looking away on purpose. Was she afraid he might see what was written in those eyes? He had known her since she was a small child, knew her every mood, had seen her eyes full of mischief, teasing, laughing, crying and furious with indignation. He had seen them sad and he had seen them happy. He could not make himself believe she was happy now. And he could do nothing to remedy it. He had forfeited the right.

Jane knew perfectly well she was being watched. She had seen Anne and her brother take their seats before the curtain rose and, though she had turned to talk to Donald while the rest of the audience filled the theatre and, when the performance began, had concentrated on watching the stage, she was aware of Harry’s scrutiny. He had no right to look at her like that, no right to make her feel discomfited. She made herself angry; it was the only way she could go on.

She was still angry when the intermission brought the curtain down and everyone began moving about, waving to friends in other parts of the theatre, visiting other boxes. It made her a little sharp with Donald when he asked her if she would like some refreshment, but she immediately regretted it and smiled sweetly at him. ‘A cordial would be very nice, please. It is warm in here, is it not?’

He left on his errand and Jane turned to talk to her aunt about the play. Aunt Lane, who had her opera glasses to her eyes and was surveying the other boxes, did not appear to be listening. ‘Why, there is your cousin, Anne,’ she said. ‘And who is that with her, surely not a beau? My goodness, I do believe it is that rakeshame brother of hers. I wonder where he has popped up from.’

Jane had no answer, not having had the presence of mind to ask him that morning. ‘I am sure I do not know,’ she said.

‘Did you know he was back in town?’

‘We met him this morning while we were out riding.’

‘You did not say.’

‘I did not think anything of it. We exchanged greetings, no more.’

‘He looks much changed.’

‘I believe he is.’

‘My dear, what will you do?’

‘Do, Aunt? Why, nothing. If I meet him again, I shall be civil for Anne’s sake, but that is all.’

‘Very wise.’ The old lady paused, still looking through her glass. ‘But I admit to being curious. I wonder what he has been up to for the last two years? Not with the beau monde judging by his evening coat—it is at least three years out of date. Oh, my goodness, he has seen us and pointed us out to Anne. They are getting up. Do you suppose they are coming here?’

Anne and her brother arrived at the door of the box at the same moment as Donald returned with Jane’s drink. They greeted each other coolly and Aunt Lane, whose curiosity was overwhelming if she thought there might be a titbit of gossip worth passing on to her cronies, invited Anne and Harry into the box with something akin to cordiality.

Anne kissed Jane’s cheek and sat down beside her, depriving Donald of the seat he had had. He gave Jane her glass of cordial and sat himself on the other side of Aunt Lane. Harry, smiling, pulled a chair round to face the ladies. Aunt Lane leaned forward and tapped him on the knee with her fan. ‘Tell me, young man, where have you been hiding yourself these last two years?’

‘He has not been hiding,’ Anne said before he could reply himself. ‘He has been serving his country in the Peninsula, and though he will not tell you so himself, for he is far too modest, he distinguished himself with great courage.’

‘Is that so?’ Mrs Lane queried, smiling.

‘My sister was ever my champion,’ he said, but though he was smiling at the old lady, his eyes were on Jane. She was looking a little taken aback. Did she find it so difficult to believe that the man she had known and professed to love could behave with merit? Or was she simply discomfited that he had had the effrontery to invade her box?

Given his way, he would not have come, but Anne had insisted. ‘Jane is my friend,’ she had said. ‘If you were not here, I should go and have some discourse with her and I do not propose to change my habits because you are. It would be as good as cutting her and that would give the scandalmongers fresh ammunition and I will not give them the satisfaction. Besides, you have done no wrong and I will not have you ostracised. Better to let people think we are all friends together.’

He had smilingly given in, knowing she was right; politeness decreed they should acknowledge each other or have everyone talking about that two-year-old scandal all over again. Besides, although he could not and should not attempt to wrest Jane away from Allworthy, which would damn him all over again in the eyes of the world, he could not resist the temptation to speak to her again, if only for a few minutes. He might discover if Anne had been right when she said Jane had been coerced.

‘I thought you resigned your commission,’ Jane put in tentatively. She had noticed how tired he looked, and that, when he came in and took his seat, he limped. In spite of his smile, there was pain in his eyes and she wondered why she had not noticed it that morning. Her anger gave way to compassion.

‘So I did, but that did not mean I had finished with the army or they with me. I enlisted.’

‘Enlisted!’ Aunt Lane was shocked. ‘You mean you became a common soldier?’

‘Yes, ma’am. I was not prepared to wallow in my disgrace or hang about waiting for someone to take pity on me. And as I did not have the blunt to buy a commission in another regiment, I decided to serve my country in the only other way open to me.’

‘How brave of you,’ murmured Jane. This was not the blustering rakeshame she had sent away, this was a man who had taken his courage in his hands and tried to redeem himself.

He laughed, not sure she wasn’t roasting him. ‘Not brave at all, but once I had done it, there was no undoing it and in the end I did not regret it.’

‘He was soon promoted,’ Anne put in, realising that Aunt Lane did not see the common soldier as a being to be admired, rather the reverse. ‘He is Captain Harry Hemingford now.’

‘Congratulations,’ Jane said. ‘I am very pleased for you.’

‘But a private soldier!’ Aunt Lane protested. ‘How could you bring yourself to associate with the riffraff in the ranks?’

‘Ma’am, they are not riffraff, they are the men standing between you and Bonaparte, keeping this country safe from his tyranny, and a finer bunch of comrades I never met. I am proud to have served with them.’

‘I do not think Aunt Lane meant to denigrate them,’ Jane said quietly. ‘She was only thinking of your sensibilities.’

He turned towards her, looking directly into her eyes. ‘I could not afford to have sensibilities, Jane.’

‘Oh.’ She squirmed inwardly with embarrassment, but she had, in the last two years, become adept at hiding it. ‘I admire you for it.’ She spoke quietly, but he was immensely comforted.

The orchestra had begun to play for the second act, calling everyone back to their seats. Donald, who had remained silent all through the encounter, rose as Anne got up to take her leave. Reluctantly Harry stood, bowed over Mrs Lane’s hand, then Jane’s and, murmuring, ‘Good evening, Allworthy,’ disappeared after his sister.

‘What a strange fellow,’ Donald said, resuming his seat beside Jane.

‘I do not find him strange.’

‘No gentleman ought to enlist as a private soldier. It is degrading. Their vulgar behaviour and speech are bound to rub off.’

‘I saw no evidence of that.’

‘No doubt he was being particular tonight.’

The curtain was rising, revealing the next scene in the play, and Jane turned towards the stage, glad to bring an end to the conversation. But she could not concentrate. Seeing Harry twice in the same day had unsettled her. And he was so changed, she could hardly believe he was the man she had sent away. She had been the one to send him away, not only from herself, but from his country, his family and his friends. He could have lived down the scandal over Mrs Clarke, everyone else concerned had soon done so; it was not necessary to exile himself for that. He had gone because she could not forgive him and railed at him that he had betrayed her trust, going behind her back and visiting that demi-rep. How top-lofty she had been!

And now he was back and she was likely to see more of him. She could not avoid him unless she cut Anne out of her life and she could not do that. She and Anne were as close as sisters and shared all their secrets; without Anne she would have only an increasingly preoccupied father and an eccentric great-aunt for company. And Mr Allworthy, of course, but she could not imagine herself giggling over the latest on dit with him.

The performance ended amid wild applause and they found themselves leaving the theatre alongside Anne and Harry. Jane realised, as they shuffled out in the crowd, that Harry looked pale and drawn and his limp was more pronounced. ‘You have been wounded,’ she whispered.

‘Not worth mentioning, nothing but a scratch.’ He grinned to prove it. ‘A sympathy wound, you might call it. You’d be surprised how many expressions of compassion, how many offers of nursing, how many bowls of beef tea and posies of sweet-smelling herbs it has attracted. I put it all on, you know.’

She did not believe that. Not even the old Harry would have stooped so low and the pain she had seen in his eyes was real. ‘But you will make a full recovery?’

‘Oh, do not doubt it.’

They were outside in the street where rows of carriages and cabs waited. The two parties bade each other good night and parted: Jane, Donald and Aunt Lane made their way to the Allworthy carriage while Anne and Harry called up a hackney.

‘Well, that was a surprise, I must say,’ Aunt Lane said, as they were driven towards Duke Street. ‘I doubt the Earl will take him back now.’

‘Why not?’ Jane demanded. ‘I would expect him to be proud of his grandson. Anne said he was recommended for bravery in the field.’

‘I think your aunt meant enlisting as a common soldier,’ Donald put in. ‘It is not the sort of thing a member of the ton ought to do. His family must see it as a shabby thing to do, almost as if he had denounced his heritage. But then he had already been disgraced, so perhaps it is not to be wondered at.’

‘I hope he does not expect to introduce any of his rough friends to us,’ Aunt Lane added. ‘For if he does, I shall give them the cut direct and I hope you would do so too, Jane.’

‘I cannot conceive of an occasion when I am likely to meet his friends,’ Jane said sharply. ‘We do not move in the same circles.’

‘Quite,’ Donald said. ‘But you are his sister’s friend.’

‘Yes, Jane,’ Aunt Lane said. ‘I think, while he is staying with Anne, you would be wise not to call.’

Jane was about to retort angrily that unless her father specifically forbade it, she would see whom she liked, but thought better of it. She had already decided not to put herself in a position where she was likely to meet Harry, not because she frowned on what he had done since they last met, but because she did not want to be reminded of her heartache of two years before. It was over and done with and she wanted it to stay that way.

‘I go home to Coprise tomorrow,’ Donald said, changing the subject in his usual fashion.

‘So soon?’ Jane queried.

‘Yes, I must. But I go in the expectation of a visit from you very soon.’

‘In the circumstances, I think the sooner the better,’ Aunt Lane said.

Jane knew very well what she meant; it did not take a genius to realise Aunt Lane intended to keep her apart from Harry. As if anything on earth would make her go back to him! She smiled. ‘If Papa agrees, we could go a week from now.’

Her father had refused the invitation for himself, saying his work was at a critical stage and he could not leave it, but Jane could go if her aunt agreed to chaperon her, which, of course, the good lady was more than prepared to do. Jane could get his copying up to date before she left and he would save the rest for her when she returned two weeks later. He could not sanction a stay longer than that or he would be lost under the weight of paper on his desk. The suggestion that he should employ a secretary had been brushed aside as an unnecessary expense.

‘But, James,’ Aunt Lane had said, ‘what will you do when Jane marries?’

‘Oh, the work will be finished by then. I am near the end.’

Jane had smiled at that. The great work had been near the end for years. But he always found some alterations he wanted to make, some new information that must be included and, before Jane could take a breath, he had torn up pages and pages of her neat script and was busy scribbling again.

He had already retired when they reached home, and so it was arranged that Donald should call next morning before he left town, to learn exactly when he could expect his guests.

‘I am quite looking forward to it,’ Aunt Lane told him, as she left the carriage. ‘We shall come post-chaise.’

This was a shocking expense and Jane said so, but was overridden. ‘I am an old lady,’ her aunt said. ‘I need to be comfortable and I shall bear the cost.’

‘Dear lady, allow me the privilege of paying,’ Donald said. ‘I would gladly expend more than the price of a post-chaise to have Miss Hemingford in my home.’

He turned up while they were breakfasting the following morning and, once all the arrangements had been made, begged to speak privately to Jane. They retired to a corner of the room where he picked up one of her hands. ‘My dear, I shall be on hot coals until we meet again in one week’s time. Pray, do not forget me.’

‘Mr Allworthy, how can I possibly forget you in a week?’

‘You know what I mean. There will be distractions, temptations, pressures…’

She knew perfectly well that he was referring to Harry, though she did not think he posed a threat. Her erstwhile fiancé had been polite the evening before, but cool, talking about the army as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. If she were subjected to pressure, it was more likely to come from her aunt bidding her make haste and accept Donald. She smiled. ‘Rest assured I shall ignore them all,’ she said.

He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘Then I bid you au revoir, dearest.’ He released her hand and turned to her father and aunt, who had been listening to the exchange with satisfied amusement. ‘Mr Hemingford, Mrs Lane, your obedient.’ And then he was gone, leaving Jane feeling as though a whirlwind had taken her up and whisked her about hither and thither and set her down in a different and unfamiliar place.

‘Well,’ her aunt said, as they finished their breakfast, ‘we have a week to kill.’

‘It will pass soon enough,’ Mr Hemingford said. ‘I have a mountain of copying for Jane.’

‘James Hemingford, you should be ashamed!’ Aunt Lane protested. ‘Working that poor girl as you do. She is young, she needs amusements; besides, we have shopping to do—she must be at her best for Coprise.’

‘Oh, Aunt, there is nothing I need. I am sure Mr Allworthy will take me as I am.’

‘Oh, so he might,’ her aunt said airily. ‘But he has a house full of servants and it is always wise to impress the servants, particularly if you expect to become their mistress one day. They must respect you, not look on you as someone’s poor relation the master has been so foolish as to take pity on.’

Was that how her aunt really saw her? A poor relation whom it behoved her to pity? Was that why she had encouraged Mr Allworthy, because no one else would have her? Was she still shackled by the old scandal? But Mr Allworthy had said he admired her, that he paid no attention to gossip and he was a good man, if something of a sobersides. Perhaps that was what she needed.

‘I won’t have you saying Jane is a poor relation,’ her father snapped.

Her aunt laughed. ‘I did not say she was my poor relation, I only meant we did not want Mr Allworthy’s servants to have grounds for criticism. You are a man, you cannot advise the dear girl on her dress, now can you?’

Jane smiled. ‘Papa, I understood Aunt Lane very well, there is no need to refine upon it. I need very little, you know, just fripperies.’

‘Which I can pay for,’ he retorted. ‘Go shopping, buy whatever you need, but never say Jane is to be pitied.’

And so they went shopping and returned in the early afternoon with Aunt Lane’s carriage seat loaded with parcels and more to be delivered in the coming days, which her aunt had insisted on buying, leaving only a few small things to be set to her father’s account.

She was sitting on her bed surrounded by them, wondering how she was going to cram all those new clothes into her trunk and if she really needed them, when Hannah came to tell her Anne had arrived.

Jane tidied her hair and straightened her skirt before going down to the drawing room. Anne was sitting on the sofa, glancing at the latest Ladies’ Magazine when she entered. She was alone. If Jane had nurtured a hope that her friend would be accompanied by Harry, she refused even to acknowledge it, and smiled a welcome. ‘Anne, I am so glad you have come. There is so much to tell you.’ She rang the bell and, when Hannah came, asked her to bring refreshments. ‘I have had an exhausting day.’

‘Preparing for your visit to Coprise, I collect,’ Anne said drily.

‘Yes.’ Jane chose to ignore her friend’s tone. ‘Aunt Lane has insisted on buying me a whole new wardrobe. I think she must have been thinking she was buying a wedding trousseau.’

‘Perhaps she was.’

‘No, indeed. I have made no promise. But come upstairs and I will show you.’

They went up to Jane’s room where the purchases were laid out for her inspection. ‘I had such a job arguing with Aunt about colours and styles,’ she said. ‘But luckily the costumier agreed with me and so I have nothing too outrageous.’

‘Jane, are you sure you are not being persuaded into something you do not truly wish for? Once you have been to Coprise Manor, it will be assumed that you will have him. It will be difficult to turn back.’

‘I might not want to turn back.’

‘But supposing you do? You know nothing about this man or his background.’

‘That is what I am going to Coprise to discover. And if I find we do not suit, I shall simply say so.’

‘Oh, Jane, surely you are not such a ninny as to think it will be as easy as that? You will never be able to extricate yourself without a dreadful scandal. I am afraid for you.’

‘You have no need to be. Aunt Lane will take care of me.’

Anne felt like weeping. As far as she could see, her friend had been manipulated in the most disgraceful way and she could cheerfully have throttled both Mr Hemingford and Mrs Lane. ‘I wish you happy, I really do, but forgive me if I do not stay to take tea. I think it would choke me.’

She got up and left Jane surrounded by her new finery, bewildered and tearful. She had only once before quarrelled with Anne and that had been over Harry. And so was this. Anne was like a dog with a bone, but was she right?