Читать книгу An Unlikely Suitor - Nicola Cornick, Nicola Cornick - Страница 9

The walk into Abbot Quincey was one that Lavender knew particularly well and normally she enjoyed it immensely. She loved the sound of the wind in the tall trees, the shadow patterns of the clouds as they raced across the fields and the sting of the fresh air in her face. Her walks always gave her ample time to think about her painting and her reading and any number of other delightful and intellectual pursuits that had always filled her time until now. But this morning—Lavender paused to tie the ribbons of her bonnet more firmly under her chin, for the wind was tugging the brim—she was aware of feeling decidedly out of sorts. In fact, she admitted to herself, it was worse than that. She felt blue-devilled.

Her mother, the Honourable Lavinia Brabant, had always maintained that a lady had no excuse for idleness or boredom. An informed and educated mind would always provide resources for solitude, and if that failed one should just remind oneself of the good fortune that had placed one in such an enviable position in life. Lavender felt very strongly that her mama had been quite right and would not approve of her daughter’s current indisposition.

Lavender sighed. She knew that some of her restlessness sprang from the thoughts she had been having the previous day about her place at Hewly and her future plans. She felt unsettled, unfulfilled. Something was missing…

She went first to the church and laid some fresh flowers from the Hewly gardens on the grave of her father, Admiral Brabant. The graveside, in a quiet corner of the churchyard under a spreading oak, was peaceful and somehow comforting. Lavender sat down on a wooden seat nearby and rested her chin on her hand. Perhaps her father could help her sort her thoughts into some kind of order. He had always been a stickler for method and regulation during his lifetime.

It occurred to her that he had left her a considerable sum of money, and that that would enable her to leave Hewly if she so desired and to set up in a respectable house elsewhere. She could engage a companion—certainly she could afford to engage several—and if she were to find someone as amenable as Caroline, she would count herself lucky. Perhaps Lady Perceval could help her, for that matron was so well connected and well informed that she would know of any suitable persons seeking employment. The idea held some appeal but it also held some drawbacks. Lavender acknowledged that she liked living at Hewly and she liked the Abbey villages, and indeed, no one was trying to drive her away. Lewis and Caroline would no doubt be mortified if they even suspected her thoughts. She sighed again. Her musings did not seem to be getting her very far.

Lavender looked at the neat mound of her father’s grave. She could imagine him addressing her, puffing out his chest in the imposing manner in which he used to lecture to his sailors: ‘Action, not inaction is the solution to any crisis. Cease this foolish wool-gathering, my girl, and get about your business!’

With a faint smile, Lavender got to her feet and picked up the basket.

She could always marry. The thought popped into her head as she was walking back around the church and heard the clock strike the hour. She had always been accustomed to thinking of herself as at her last prayers, but Caroline was nine and twenty, a good five years older than she. Perhaps there was a chance—although not much a chance of finding a husband as good as her brother.

Lavender considered the idea idly as she walked into the town. Her bridegroom would need to be an intelligent man who would appreciate a bluestocking wife and enjoy discussing weighty matters with her. He would encourage her sketching and her writing and would have plenty of interests of his own. He would not be at all the sort of man to want a pretty ninnyhammer, for she was well aware that her looks were no more than ordinary. He would need to be possessed of a reasonable competence, to live in the country and to shun the society pursuits that she had so detested when she had visited London. Lavender started to laugh at her own absurdity, but the thought persisted. As for age, well, she was prepared to accept an older man, for he was likely to have more sense, and as for looks…Here, with startling clarity, the face of Barnabas Hammond appeared before her eyes.

All Lavender’s recent good humour vanished. She shook her head a little sharply to dispel the image but it was too late. She felt cross-grained and irritable and for two pins she would tell Caroline to run her own errands in future. She walked up the main street of Abbot Quincey positively scowling, and arrived in front of the draper’s shop.

Hammonds General Store in Abbot Quincey was not as imposing as Arthur Hammond’s emporium in Northampton, but it served a small town very well. Now that the seasons were turning, Mr Hammond had draped winter fustian and twilled cashmere about the door, and huge bolts of the cloth were stacked on shelves inside. Arthur Hammond himself was behind the counter and was encouraging the doctor’s wife to feel the quality of the nankeen that he had spread out over the top. He was a big man, florid and full of bonhomie. As ever, he was smart in a tailed coat and old-fashioned knee breeches, with a waistcoat straining over his ample stomach. He always dressed like a gentleman.

‘All our materials are purchased in London, of course,’ Lavender heard him say, in the oily tone that she so detested, ‘and you will not find a better quality of cloth anywhere, ma’am…’

He broke off when he saw Lavender and hurried to greet her, which set her teeth on edge even more. She noticed that Barney came forward unobtrusively from the shadows to smooth over his father’s defection and flatter Mrs Pettifer into making the purchase. Lavender felt awkward. She had no wish for Hammond to snub the doctor’s wife just because she was from Hewly Manor and Hammond always curried favour with his noble clients. Besides, she was only buying ribbons and thread.

Lavender’s transaction was almost completed when Barney emerged from the stockroom carrying a trestle table obviously intended for the display of some new goods. He gave Lavender a slight nod as he passed, but did not even speak to her. She knew that he was working and did not have time for idle chatter, but nevertheless Lavender felt slightly crushed, and was annoyed with herself for feeling so. She put her purse away, thanked Mr Hammond for his help, and made for the door.

It opened before she got there, to admit two girls whom Lavender recognised as the daughters of a farmer over towards Abbot Giles. Both had dark curly hair, and open, laughing faces. They were giggling together as they came into the shop, and edged over to the table where Barney was now arranging winter bonnets on the hat stands. Lavender paused to watch. Her first thought was how incongruous it was to see a man of Barney’s calibre working on ladies bonnets. Her second thought was how much she disliked the giggling, pouting girls, who were now looking flirtatiously at Barney from under their lashes and asking him questions that were punctuated frequently by coy laughter.

As she stood in the doorway, Arthur Hammond bustled up, clearly unamused by all the banter. He berated Barney for his lack of skill with the display, cowed the girls with one sharp glance, and set to rearranging the bonnets, flitting here and there like a preening bird. It seemed to Lavender that whilst the son and heir had no disposition towards drapery, the father was obviously in his element. She went out into the street, wondering for the first time whether Mr Hammond found it frustrating that his eldest son had not inherited his talent as a merchant. She knew that Hammond was immensely successful, for as well as the emporium in Northampton he had a string of other shops in the county, and it was clearly his life’s work. Barney, on the other hand, looked as though he would be much more at home in some other occupation.

She walked down the main street, past the bakery and the Angel inn. The sun was bright and Lavender had just decided to take her sketchbook out to do some drawing that afternoon, when there was a step behind her and a breathless voice called:

‘Miss Brabant!’

She turned to see Ellen Hammond panting up the road behind her, face flushed with exertion. Hammond’s daughter was about fifteen, and had inherited the dark looks that gave Barney his enigmatic air. Lavender thought that Ellen would probably be a beauty, but the girl showed no signs of being aware of it. She was smiling with unaffected pleasure.

‘Oh, Miss Brabant, please excuse me! Barney—my brother—told me that you had given the kittens a good home and I so wished to thank you!’

Lavender smiled at her. ‘I was happy to be of help, Miss Hammond! They are the most adorable creatures, are they not? You must come over to Hewly sometime and see how they progress!’

Ellen’s face flushed pink. ‘Oh! May I indeed? You are so kind, Miss Brabant!’ Her expression crumpled. ‘Father was going to drown them, you know! Of all the cruel things! But Barney is so kind and said that he would save them but that I was not to tell—’

‘That’s enough, Ellen. I am sure that Miss Brabant has other business to attend to in town!’

Neither of them had noticed Barney Hammond come round the side of the Angel inn. His hands were in his pockets and he looked relaxed enough, but his dark eyes were watchful. Ellen flushed at the implied rebuke and dropped a little curtsey. ‘Excuse me, Miss Brabant,’ she murmured. ‘I did not intend to presume.’

Barney gave Lavender a slight bow and took his sister’s arm. They turned away up the street together. Lavender, watching them go, was astonished to discover that she suddenly felt very angry. She was not sure if it was Barney Hammond’s high-handed action in interrupting the conversation that had annoyed her, or the implication that Ellen should not push herself on her notice. Either way, she was not going to let the injustice pass.

‘Mr Hammond!’

Barney and Ellen had only gone five paces and both stopped at the imperious tone. Anxious not to add to the impression of upper-class hauteur, Lavender added politely: ‘Mr Hammond. I should like to speak to you, if you please!’

She saw Barney hesitate, before he bent and spoke softly to Ellen and the girl scooted off up the road on her own. Barney turned back to Lavender and came forward courteously. His expression showed nothing but polite enquiry, but Lavender wondered what he was thinking behind that inscrutable façade.

‘Miss Brabant?’

Lavender was feeling nervous. She cleared her throat and fixed him with a stern look. ‘Mr Hammond, there was no need to reprimand your sister. She was doing no harm. She is a charming girl.’

Barney’s civil expression did not waver. He met her look with an equally straight one of his own.

‘Miss Brabant, I am sure that you mean well, but I do beg you not to encourage Ellen. Your kind attentions would be sufficient to turn her head, and that would only lead her to wish for more than she could have.’

There was a long moment whilst their eyes met and held and Lavender had the strangest feeling that he was not simply referring to Ellen’s situation. Her eyes narrowed in a frown, but before she could speak, Barney had sketched a bow and walked away.

Lavender’s heart was thudding. She watched his tall figure catch Ellen up, saw them exchange a few words, then Barney took her hand and together they strolled up the road, swinging their linked hands as they walked. Lavender felt the foolish tears prickle her eyes. She need scarcely have worried that Ellen would have been hurt by Barney’s reproach. The sign of family unity contradicted that firmly. She was the one left feeling heart-sore. There was no doubt that she had been warned off, and for a misplaced act of kindness too. Yet she could not help but believe that there was more to it than that.

Lavender burned with embarrassment to think that Barney might have been addressing his words directly to her. Suppose he imagined that she was developing some sort of tendre for him and was trying to advise her that her feelings were inappropriate. It was true that she had imagined that there was some warmth in his manner towards her and had liked it. And last night, when they had met in the wood…A wave of mortification swept over her as she remembered how distracted she had been by the warmth of his touch and the hardness of his body against hers. She was glowering fiercely by the time she reached the end of the street. She had liked and admired Barney Hammond, she told herself angrily, but that was entirely at an end. She doubted that she would ever speak to him again.

Lavender had always found sketching to be soothing for a troubled mind. During her father’s last illness she had derived great comfort from her drawing, and had even tentatively started work on a pictorial catalogue of the flora of the Steepwood Abbey woodlands. She was meticulously accurate in her sketches and thought that the work had some merit, although she did not dare hope that it would be good enough for publication. Now, however, her work offered just the solace that Lavender needed, and after luncheon she set off with her sketchbook and crayons, and went into the forest.

It was a beautiful day. The sunlight ran in dappled rivulets beneath the trees and the canopy was alive with the sound of birds, the loud laughing call of the green woodpecker and the chatter of the jay. The leaves were starting to fall and were crunchy beneath her feet and between their crisp covering the mushrooms pushed up. She spread her rug on a bank and sketched a few of the most colourful ones: the amethyst deceiver, with its vivid violet blue cap, and the verdigris toadstool that nestled in the grassy clearings. Gradually the fresh air and the peace had their desired effect and Lavender started to feel better. She drew a clump of wood vetch whose tendrils were clamped around a nearby tree stump. She knelt down to fix the detail of the purple-veined flowers and the fat, black seed pods, and it was only when she got up again that she saw that her skirt was streaked with earth and green with grass stains. The sun was lower now and she knew she had been out for several hours. She studied the sketch; it was good, the proportions were correct and the detail accurate, and she was happy to add it to her portfolio. Perhaps she would even show Caroline what she had done, for her sister-in-law was a keen amateur botanist.

Lavender packed up her bag, dusted her skirt down, and fixed her bonnet more securely on her head, retying the ribbons. Her hair was coming down and escaping from under the bonnet’s brim—long, straight strands of very fine fair hair that got caught on the breeze. Her cousin Julia had told her often that she was plain and Lavender knew that it was true that she seldom took care of her appearance, but just lately she had thought that her deep blue eyes were a little bit pretty and her figure quite good…Finding by some strange coincidence that her thoughts were drifting from her own appearance to that of Barnabas Hammond, Lavender hastily started to plan the next drawing for her catalogue.

She was walking along, weighing the rival merits of Caper Spurge and Mountain Melick Grass—neither of them colourful, but both an important part of the botanical record—when she heard the strangest sound and paused to listen. It was not a woodland noise at all—not a sound with which she was very familiar and certainly not one she expected to hear in Steepwood. It was the unmistakable sound of steel on steel.

Edging forward, Lavender crept down a path that was closely bordered by scrub and the pressing trees. It was not a path she had taken before, but she knew she was walking in the direction of Steepwood Lawn and was not afraid she would become lost. She was more afraid of being seen, but curiosity held her in a strong grip and she picked her way silently and with care. Within a hundred yards the forest fell back, revealing a sweep of green turf that was ideal for a duel and it was here that the contest was taking place. Lavender crept as close as she dared, staying in the cover of the trees. She took refuge behind one broad trunk and peeped round.

She had seen very few fencing matches, for it was not an activity of which most gently bred females had much experience. Years before, Lewis and Andrew had staged mock fights in the courtyard at Hewly, but Andrew was always too indolent to take them seriously and Lewis had won very quickly. Lavender could tell that this was no such match. She knew that the two men fighting here were doing so for pleasure rather than in earnest, for she could see the buttons on their foils, but she could also tell that they were taking it very seriously. Both were skilled swordsmen and fought with strength and determination, giving no quarter.

Lavender leant a little closer. One of the men was a complete stranger to her, a fair-haired giant who moved more slowly than his opponent but had the benefit of strength and reach. The other was only a few inches shorter, dark, lithe, muscular…Lavender gave a little squeak and clapped her hand over her mouth. There was no mistake—it had to be Barnabas Hammond.

It was fortunate that the noise of the contest drowned out Lavender’s involuntary gasp, for the last thing that she wanted was to be discovered. She stood, both hands pressed against the tree trunk, and stared. A ridiculous image of Barney as she had seen him that very morning floated before her eyes, a vision of him arranging hats on a trestle table. It was absurd. That man and this could surely not be the same—yet when the movement of the fight brought him round so that she could see his face again, Lavender knew there could be no mistake. Forgetting concealment, she simply stood and watched.

He moved with a speed and strength that held Lavender spellbound. There was something utterly compelling about his confidence and skill. Her avid gaze took in the way his sweat-damp shirt clung to the lines of his shoulders and back, and moved on with mesmerised attention to his close-fitting buckskins and bare feet. His shirt was open at the throat, revealing the strong, brown column of his neck, and the sun glinted on the tawny strands in his hair and turned his skin to a deep bronze. When he finally succeeded in disarming his opponent with a move that sent the other man’s foil flying through the air, he threw back his head and laughed.

‘A fine match! You get better, James, I swear you do!’

Lavender watched as the fair man retrieved his foil from the bushes and threw himself down on the grass. He was laughing too. ‘I rue the day I ever crossed swords with you, Barney! I would challenge you to another round for my revenge, but I am promised to a party at Jaffrey House and dare not be late!’ He sat up, grinning, and started to pull on his boots. ‘You do not know how fortunate you are to be spared such things, old fellow! If it were not for the beautiful blue eyes of a certain Miss Sheldon, I doubt I could stomach it!’ He sighed. ‘But she is the most angelic creature…’

‘Spare me.’ Lavender saw Barney grin. ‘Last time I saw you, it was a certain Lady Georgiana Cutler who had taken your fancy!’

‘I know!’ The fair-haired man got to his feet. He shook his head. ‘I am fickle! But Lady Georgiana could not hold a candle to Miss Sheldon—’

‘Take your languishings off elsewhere,’ Barney advised, picking up his foil. ‘I shall take me to the shop and work at my books whilst you are carousing!’

‘Life is damnably unfair!’ The other man grinned, clapping him on the back. ‘You to your studies and me to my fortune-hunting! Ah well. I’ll see you in Northampton, no doubt.’

They shook hands and Lavender watched him walk off in the direction of Jaffrey House, both foils tucked under his arm. She stayed quite still, watching, as Barney pulled his boots on and started to walk slowly across the greensward towards the trees. His head was bent and the dark hair had fallen across his forehead. He smoothed it back with an absentminded gesture. Lavender could hear him whistling under his breath, a lilting tune that hung on the air.

She froze where she stood as he passed close by. Of all the odd things she had seen in Steepwood, this had to be amongst the strangest. That Barney Hammond should be such a superlative swordsman was extraordinary, since she could not imagine that fencing was amongst the pursuits that he had learned as a boy. Then there was his friendship with a gentleman who was clearly staying at Jaffrey House, the home of the Earl of Yardley. Lavender had heard that a party was staying at the house and if the Brabants had not been in mourning, they would have been invited to join them. She frowned. It was very odd. But perhaps she was simply being snobbish—again—in expecting Barney to conform to her expectations. He really was a most mysterious man…

At that moment, craning to get a last glimpse of him before he entered the trees, Lavender took a step forward. There was a deafening snap by her left ankle, something tugged hard at her skirts, and she tumbled over in the grass. The tree canopy spun above her head and her bonnet went bouncing away across the clearing, leaving her sprawled in a heap with her petticoats around her knees and a sharp pain in her left leg. She sat up a little unsteadily and bent to inspect the damage.

There was a rusty iron trap snapped shut around her skirts, its teeth grinning at her in an evil parody of a smile. Lavender felt a little faint as she realised how close she had come to stepping on it. Another few inches and it would have been her leg between those metal jaws, her bones broken without a doubt. She had seen traps before, man-traps and spring-guns and leg-breakers like this one set to catch poachers, but she had had no idea that she might stumble on such a thing in Steep Wood. She could not imagine who would have set such a trap.

Worse was to come. From her position prone in the grass she could no longer see Barney, but it seemed impossible that he had not heard the trap going off or the alarm call of the birds as they scattered into the tops of the trees at the sudden noise. Panicking, Lavender tried to get to her feet, then sat down again in a hurry when the weight of the trap made her over-balance. She could not prise it open and it was too heavy for her to pick up, though she would definitely have made a run for it, trap and all, if she could have done so. She could now hear footsteps, coming closer, and she knew they had to belong to Barney. She closed her eyes in an agony of mortification.

There was a step in the grass beside her, then Barney’s voice said, ‘Miss Brabant! What in God’s name—’

Lavender opened her eyes. The wind was ruffling his thick dark hair as he stared down at her from what seemed a great height. He had a casual shooting jacket slung over his shoulder, and at close quarters she could see that his buckskins fitted like a second skin and his shirt was still clinging to his muscular torso. Feeling hot and very peculiar, Lavender closed her eyes again.

She was not sure what was the most embarrassing aspect of her current situation. Perhaps it was being found in such an undignified tumble by such an attractive man, or perhaps the fact that he would guess she had been spying on him was even more embarrassing. She kept her eyes closed and hoped he would go away.

He did not. Lavender reluctantly opened her eyes again.

She saw his gaze go to the cut in her leg, and tweaked her skirts down as best she could, but not before he had seen the tell-tale trickle of blood. He frowned and went down on one knee beside her in the grass.

‘You are injured! Have you fallen and hurt yourself—’

The trap was all but covered by Lavender’s skirts. She gestured towards it. ‘As you can see, sir, I have had an accident.’

Barney’s gaze went from her reddening face to the rusty trap. He bit his lip. Lavender would have sworn that he was about to laugh.

‘Oh dear. I see. Presumably it is too heavy for you to hobble home?’

Lavender’s face reddened even more, this time with fury. ‘Your amusement is misplaced, sir! It is not remotely funny that people go around setting traps strong enough to break a man’s leg! If you cannot find anything more constructive to say, perhaps you should leave me to deal with it as best I may!’

‘I’m sorry.’ Barney spoke gently. ‘Take comfort from the fact that it did not in fact break any bones. Although,’ his gaze turned back to her ankle, which Lavender was trying to hide under her skirts, ‘I did think that you had sustained a graze…’

‘It is nothing!’ Lavender snapped. She did not think that she was spoilt but she felt she was entitled to feel a little sorry for herself. The refusal of this man to sympathise with her predicament was infuriating. Barney was still kneeling by her side and she wished that he would just go away.

‘My sister Ellen was caught in a man-trap in these woods once,’ he said conversationally. ‘She was not as fortunate as you, Miss Brabant. She fell into the pit and pierced her arm on a spike. She bears the scar to this day.’

Lavender was silenced. Suddenly the tears of shock and self-pity were not far away. She sniffed and turned her head away so that he would not see.

‘I am sorry,’ she said, a little stiffly, ‘but who would do such a thing—’

‘The Marquis of Sywell, I imagine.’ Barney had picked up the trap and was attempting unsuccessfully to open it. ‘He used to derive much pleasure from maiming and killing—man or beast, it did not matter. This is an old trap of his, I am sure.’ He looked at her. ‘I am sorry, but I cannot move it. You will have to take off your skirt.’

He spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone that at first Lavender did not register the sense of his words. Then she did and forgot her tears in her outrage. She glared at him. ‘How can you be so nonsensical, Mr Hammond! I shall do no such thing!’

Barney grinned. ‘Come now, Miss Brabant, this is no time to be missish! I had thought you had more sense than most ladies of your class, but it seems I was wrong!’ He stood up. ‘Have no concern for my feelings! I have three sisters and shall not be shocked!’

Lavender stared, open-mouthed. It had not occurred to her that he was about to watch.

‘But Mr Hammond, you must go away!’

‘Miss Brabant,’ Barney gave her a quizzical smile, ‘if I am to help you, I must stay.’

Lavender tried to struggle to her feet and stumbled as the weight of the trap bore her down again. Immediately, Barney’s arm was about her waist. She could feel the warmth of his hand through the cotton of her dress.

‘Let me assist you—’

‘No!’ Lavender almost yelped with fright at his touch. ‘Go away! I can manage perfectly well!’

She realised that she did indeed sound like one of the hen-witted society girls that she so despised. Barney was laughing at her, a twinkle deep in those dark eyes.

‘If I let you go you will fall over. Now, pray be sensible, Miss Brabant. You will either need to remove the skirt or at the very least, rip off the offending piece—’

‘Thank you,’ Lavender said, knowing that she sounded sulky. ‘I had worked that out for myself! If you will stand a little off, Mr Hammond, I shall do what is necessary!’

Barney gave her another grin and let her go very gently. Once Lavender had found her balance she discovered that she could manage perfectly well, and was even able to hop into the shelter of a nearby oak, dragging the trap behind her. Having checked suspiciously that Barney was being as good as his word and had turned his back, she slipped her skirt off, her fingers clumsy in their haste. Once she was free of it, it was a relatively simple matter to tear off the strip that was caught, and rearrange the rest about her as decently as possible. When she had finished, she decided that she looked almost respectable, if a little odd. The left-hand side of the skirt was a little lop-sided at the hem, showing a couple of inches of petticoat and an entirely improper glimpse of ankle, but it could have been so much worse. Her leg was sore and stiff from the cut, but she was tolerably certain that she could manage to limp home.

Barney was whistling again, the lilting tune that she had heard earlier. As she came out of the shade of the trees he turned to look at her, and Lavender’s heart did a little skip at his long, slow scrutiny.

‘Can you manage to walk home, Miss Brabant, or shall I carry you?’ he asked. ‘I saw that you had a nasty cut to your leg.’

‘I can manage, I thank you,’ Lavender said, feeling quite weak at the thought of Barney picking her up in his arms.

‘Then I shall carry your bag rather than your person,’ Barney said, stooping to pick up the bag with Lavender’s sketches and crayons. ‘I should not like to outrage your sensibilities any further.’

‘There is no need to accompany me at all,’ Lavender argued, her temper decidedly scratchy by now. ‘And whilst we are settling our differences, Mr Hammond, I must ask you not to make patronising assumptions about me! I am no feather-brained girl to fall into a swoon just because I have a small accident! If it comes to that, you are very different inside your father’s shop from out of it, but you do not hear me making ill-bred observations!’

There was a taut silence, but for a wood pigeon cooing in the branches above their heads. Then Barney gave a slight nod. His gaze was very steady.

‘Very well, Miss Brabant. I accept your reproof—if you will accept my escort back home.’

Lavender shrugged with an ill grace. She went ahead of him to the path, trying not to limp too obviously as she struggled with brambles and the grasping stems of dog rose that seemed determined to rip the rest of her skirt from her. She was beginning to wish that she had never let curiosity get the better of her when she had heard the fencing match.

Pride could only get her so far. Eventually they came to a place where a fallen tree had blocked the path, and she was obliged to accept Barney’s hand to help her over it. After that he walked by her side, kicking a stray branch from her path and holding back the straggling stems of rose and bindweed whenever they threatened to catch on her clothes. Lavender tried to repress the treacherous feeling of warmth that this engendered, but it was impossible not to feel more in charity with him for such gallantry. Then, when they had been walking in silence for about five minutes, he said, ‘I infer from your remark about my being a different person outside the shop that you saw the fencing match, Miss Brabant?’

Lavender stole a quick look at his face and blushed.

‘I am sorry…It is not that I was watching, but the noise of the contest attracted my notice and I stopped to see what was happening—’

‘I see.’ She thought Barney sounded as though he saw rather too much. ‘No doubt you were surprised?’

‘Well, I…’ Lavender struggled to think of a way of expressing her feelings without sounding rude. ‘I suppose I was. It was not something that I expected you…’ She broke off. ‘That is, you seemed very proficient—’ She stopped again. Now she had given away that she had been watching long enough to make a judgement.

‘Thank you.’ Barney was smiling at her. ‘No doubt it must seem odd to you, but I have been fencing since I was a boy. James Oliver, my opponent a few moments back, was also my first adversary. I met him and a few of his aristocratic playmates when I was about eleven, and walking in the forest.’ He shot her a look. ‘They taunted me, the poor village boy, and I was so angry that I challenged James to a fight. Imagine my dismay when he suggested we should fight with swords, like gentlemen rather than peasants, as he put it!’

Lavender could not help smiling at his droll tone. ‘What happened?’

The laughter lines around Barney’s eyes deepened. ‘Well, no doubt I was a little unorthodox in my style, but I discovered that I had a natural bent for fencing! I beat James easily and then he and his friends did not crow so loud! And since then he has sworn he will beat me one day, but he has yet to do so!’

‘He seems a better friend to you now than he must have been then,’ Lavender ventured, for one of the things that had struck her about the two men was their easy camaraderie.

Barney laughed. ‘Oh, he learned respect! No, James is a good fellow at heart and I have counted him a friend for many years now.’ He hesitated. ‘All the same, Miss Brabant, I should be grateful if you told no one that you witnessed our match.’

Lavender stopped, taken aback. ‘Of course, if you wish it! But is this some strange kind of reverse snobbery that prompts you not to acknowledge your aristocratic friends, Mr Hammond?’

She could have bitten her tongue out as soon as she had spoken, for she knew she did not know him well enough to ask such a personal and challenging question. Whilst Lavender had little time for the commonplaces and evasions of polite society, she did at least feel that she always spoke with courtesy. This time, however, she had been lured by the unusual nature of their conversation into asking a rather direct question. She saw Barney raise his eyebrows at her plain speaking, but he did not seem in any way taken aback and he answered her without prevarication.

‘Not at all. The truth is that I prefer not to tell anyone. Were my father to know I fear he would take shameless advantage.’

Lavender turned aside and started walking again. She felt a little embarrassed. She knew exactly what he meant. Arthur Hammond was such a social climber that he would be beside himself with excitement to discover that Barney had such upper-class friends. No doubt he would use the fact to push himself on their notice and ruin the comfortable companionship that existed.

‘Have you kept it a secret for all these years, then?’ she asked, unable to prevent her curiosity surfacing again.

‘Oh, it is but one of many secrets!’ Barney said easily. Lavender saw a hint of amusement in his eyes as he watched her. ‘In general terms, Miss Brabant, I find it easier not to tell people things!’

Lavender struggled to equate this with what she thought she knew of him. It was true that most of it had been based on assumption and conjecture, about the shop, about his father, about his life…Just as he had apparently seen her as a spoilt society miss, she had imagined him to be the son of a solid merchant family, destined inevitably to take over the business one day. Now, suddenly, all her ideas were in a spin.

They had reached the stile at the edge of the wood and paused whilst still under the shadows of the trees. The sun was slanting through the leaves in blinding shafts. Lavender put up a hand to shade her eyes.

‘Thank you for carrying my portfolio. I am sure I can manage from here back to Hewly—’

‘At the least, let me help you over the stile,’ Barney murmured. Before Lavender could either accept or decline, he had swept her up in his arms and deposited her on the other side, ruffled and indignant. She grabbed hold of him to steady herself. The material of his shirt was soft beneath her fingers and once again, Lavender could feel the warmth and the hardness of the muscle beneath. She positively jumped away from him.

‘Really, sir—’

‘Miss Brabant? Surely you did not wish to risk further injury to your ankle?’

Barney handed her the portfolio. ‘Will you show me your drawings one day? I should be most interested…’

Lavender looked at him suspiciously but he seemed quite in earnest. ‘If you would truly care to see them—’

Barney flashed her a smile. ‘Thank you. I will leave you here, Miss Brabant, if you are sure that you can manage alone. And take care when you are walking in the forest. You can never be sure what you might find.’

Lavender felt the colour come into her cheeks again. His gaze was very steady and in a second, mortification overcame her. He had made no direct reference to her spying on the fencing match that afternoon, but suddenly her guilty conscience was too much and she was sure that he knew—knew that it was not the first time she had watched him. Some two months previously she had been wandering through the woods where the river ran, and had seen Barney in the pool beneath the trees. He had been swimming strongly and the water had streamed over his bare brown shoulders and down his back, and Lavender had wanted to strip down to her shift and join him in the water there and then…A huge wash of guilty colour swept into her face, and she turned and ran from him, regardless of her torn skirt, the pain in her leg, and the amazed expression she knew must be on his face as he watched her run away.