Читать книгу One Snowy Regency Christmas - Sarah Mallory, Christine Merrill - Страница 14

‘WILL that be all, Miss Lampett?’

Barbara checked carefully through the list she’d set for herself to finish the Christmas shopping. A matching skein of wool to complete the warm socks she was knitting for Father, and the new fashion plates that her mother would enjoy, along with enough lace to make her a collar. ‘I can think of nothing more.’

‘Do you want this sent round to the house, Miss Lampett?’ The girl behind the counter looked at her expectantly.

There was plenty of space left in her market basket on top of the groceries: three oranges, one for each of them, and a pound of wheat for her father’s favourite frumenty. The roast she’d got from the butcher sat in the bottom of the basket, wrapped tightly in brown paper so that it would not spoil the rest. The poor bit of meat was leaner than she’d wished for. But then so was the butcher. What with the war, and the general poverty of the area, Christmas itself would be sparse for many people, and she had best be grateful that her family had the money to purchase a feast.

Barbara counted the remaining coins in her purse, calculating the pennies needed to reward the boy at the end of his journey. ‘No, thank you. It is a fine day, and not far. I will carry this myself.’

The shop girl gave her a doubtful look and wrapped the package carefully, placing it on top of the others.

Barbara hefted the basket off the counter, feeling the weight shift. It was heavy now. In a mile it would be like lead on the end of her arm. Her muscles would ache with carrying it. But she smiled in gratitude, to show the girl that it was all right, and pulled it to her side, turning to go.

‘Allow me, Miss Lampett.’ Without warning, Joseph Stratford was there at her side, as suddenly as he had been two days past in front of the mill. He had a grip on the basket handle, and had pulled it from her without waiting for her to give him leave.

‘That will not be necessary,’ she said, trying not to sound breathless from the shock of the sudden contact. It was strange enough to see him in the village, shopping amongst the peasants in the middle of a work day. But it was doubly disconcerting to have him here, close to her again, after the intimacy of yesterday.

‘Perhaps you do not think it necessary,’ he agreed. ‘But I would not be able to stand aside and watch you struggle with it. You had best take my assistance, for both our sakes.’

‘I would prefer not.’

‘But I would not be able to sleep, knowing I had left a lady to carry such a burden.’ He smiled at her in a way that might have been charming had she not known so much of the source. ‘I can hardly sleep as it is.’

The charm faded for a moment, and she saw shadows under his eyes that had not been there two days ago. Maybe her father was weakening him, after all. She reminded herself that he deserved any suffering he felt, and gave him a false smile in return. ‘Heaven forefend that you are uneasy in your rest, sir.’ She reached again for the basket, but he pulled it just out of reach.

‘Come. You and your packages will have a ride home in my carriage.’

‘It is a short distance,’ she argued.

‘The weather is turning. Come with me, and you will stay warm and dry.’

‘My reputation …’

‘Will be unharmed,’ he finished, glancing at the people around him for confirmation. ‘I mean you no mischief. I will take you directly home. It is on my way.’ He looked around with a glare, cowing the shop girl and the other customers. ‘No one will cast aspersions if I attempt to do you good. They can see plain enough that you are resisting, but I am giving no quarter. Come along, Miss Lampett.’

Then he and her basket were ahead of her, out of the door and walking towards the large and entirely unnecessary carriage. She had no choice but to trail after.

As she passed, his groom jumped to attention, rushing to take the basket, get the stair down and hold the door as he helped her up. Across from her, Joseph Stratford leaned back into the seats as though he was ascending to a throne.

Then he smiled at her, satisfied. ‘There. As you can see, you are perfectly safe, and still in clear view of those in the street. I am all the way over here—properly out of reach of you. There will be no such incident as there was the last time we were alone together.’

‘I had no doubt of that, Mr Stratford. I would die first.’

He laughed at her for her primness. ‘You are a most ungrateful chit, Miss Lampett. One kiss did you no permanent harm. And, if you will remember the altercation outside the mill two days past, you must admit I have shown concern for your welfare. If I was as awful as you pretend, I would have let the mob trample you.’

‘You would not have.’ He’d moved with such speed to get to her side that she was sure it had been all but involuntary.

He looked surprised. ‘You give me credit for that much compassion, at least. Thank you for it.’

The silence that came after served to remind her just how unequal things had become, and just how unfair she was being to him—even if she did not particularly like the man. ‘I deserve no thanks, Mr Stratford. I owe them to you. At least for that day. I am perfectly aware that if you did not save my life, you at least spared me serious injury.’

‘You’re welcome.’ He seemed almost embarrassed that she had noticed the debt she owed.

‘But now you are giving me a ride, when I told you I did not wish one. After yesterday …’

‘Can you not accept this in the spirit with which it was given?’ he asked with a smile. ‘It is foul outside, but it appeared that you wished to forgo even the help of a delivery boy and struggle home by yourself. There was no reason for it.’

He looked at her sideways for a moment, and then out of the window, as though his next comment was of no consequence.

‘Perhaps I remember what it was like to count pennies as though they were pounds, and do without the smallest luxuries.’

He had guessed her reason for walking? ‘Then I also apologise for the comment I made in our last conversation, accusing you of being unsympathetic to those in need.’

He was frowning now, and hardly seemed to speak to her. ‘You were right in part, at least. I had meant, when that time passed, to remember it better. I pledged to myself that I would be of aid to those who were impoverished, as I had been while growing up. It seems I have forgotten.’

‘Do not think to make my family an object of pity to salve your stinging conscience,’ she snapped. ‘If you wish to offer charity, there are others that need more of it.’ Then she looked out of the window as well. She felt bad to have spoken thus, for it was very ungrateful of her. He seemed able to put her in the worst temper with the slightest comment. But then, he could arouse other emotions as well.

Her cheeks coloured as she thought again of the kiss. When she’d accepted this ride, had there been some small part of her that had hoped he would attempt to do it again? Was that what made her angry now? She was a fool if she thought that his offer had been anything other than common courtesy. She meant nothing to him. Nor did the kiss.

‘It is hardly charity to offer another person a ride on a cold and rainy day,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll wager you’d have accepted if the offer had come from Anne Clairemont or her mother.’

‘That would not have been likely,’ she said.

‘Why not? You were friends with the Clairemont girls as a child, were you not?’

She turned and looked at him sharply. ‘What gave you that idea?’

His gaze flicked away for a moment. ‘You mentioned it as we were driving towards the house yesterday.’

‘I said I’d had a friend there. But you said “girls” just now. I did not mention Mary.’

‘Perhaps Anne did,’ he said, still not looking at her. ‘Mary was her sister, then?’

The idea that Anne might have mentioned her seemed highly unlikely. Something about the calculated way he spoke made her suspect he fished for information and was piecing the truth together with each slip Barbara made. ‘Mary has been dead for quite some time,’ she said, praying that would be the end of the conversation.

‘What happened to her?’

‘There was nothing mysterious about her death. She took ill, faded and died. If you wish to know more you had best ask your fiancée, Miss Clairemont.’

‘I have not offered as of yet.’

‘But you will. The whole village knows that the festivities you have organised are meant to celebrate your engagement to her.’

‘Do they, now?’ His voice had dropped briefly, as though he was talking to himself. ‘I did not know that the world was sure of plans that I myself have not spoken.’

Were they not true? Anne seemed sure enough of them, as was her father. But Stratford’s response gave Barbara reason to fear for them. It would be most embarrassing should they have misunderstood this man’s intent so completely and allowed themselves to be used to further his business. ‘I am sorry. Perhaps I was mistaken.’

‘Perhaps you were.’ He was looking at her rather intently now, as though trying to divine her opinion on the subject.

She reminded herself that she had none. Perhaps she was a little relieved that he was not riding with her or kissing her while planning to marry Anne. She had no wish to hurt that family again by seeming too interested in Mr Stratford. Nor did she want to do anything that might encourage him to become interested in her if he was otherwise engaged.

But his eyes, when seen this close, were the stormy shade of grey that presaged a violent change in the weather. The slight stubble on his chin only emphasised the squareness of his jaw. Now that she had noticed it she found it hard to look away.

He broke the gaze. ‘Then again, perhaps you were not mistaken about my engagement. I have not yet made a decision regarding my future, or that of Miss Anne Clairemont.’

She looked down at her feet, embarrassed for having thought anything at all other than cursory gratitude that she was not walking in the rain. ‘Either way, it is rude of you to discuss it with me. And, I might add, it does not concern me whatever you do. You might marry whoever you like and it will not matter to me in the slightest.’

‘It is good to know that. Not that I planned to seek your approval.’ This was more playful than censorious, and delivered with a strangely seductive smile, as if to say it was in his power to make it matter, should he so choose. ‘But why do you say that the Clairemonts would not offer you a ride if you needed one? They seem like nice enough people, from what I know of them.’

Perhaps enough time had passed that they were better. Barbara was not sure of the mood in the Clairemont household. But she would rather cut her tongue out than ask Anne, for fear the answer she might receive would open old hurts afresh. She gave a firm smile. ‘It is an old family quarrel, and nothing of importance. I would not seek to bother them if I did not have to.’

‘But I would like to hear of it, all the same.’

‘You will not hear it from me,’ she said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. ‘You are new to Fiddleton, Mr Stratford, and might not know the ways of small villages. When one lives one’s life with the same people from birth, it sometimes happens that one makes a mistake that cannot be corrected and that will follow one almost to the grave.’

‘Are you speaking of the Clairemonts, then? What mistakes could you have made to render you less than perfect in the eyes of this village? From where I sit, I see a most charming young woman—and well mannered.’ He smiled. ‘Although not always so to me.’

‘You do not always deserve it, sir.’

‘True enough,’ he agreed. ‘But you are kind to others, modest, clearly devoted to your family. And beautiful as well.’

‘Though too old to be still unmarried,’ she finished for him, sure he must be thinking it. ‘The verdict has already been rendered as to my worth in that regard. I have learned to accept it.’

‘Then we are of a kind,’ he said. ‘Although I am the worse of the two of us. I have just got here, and I have made myself universally hated. But I do not let it bother me. I do not care a whit for the opinions of the locals. I am who I am, and they had best get used to it.’ He looked her up and down again. ‘If they think less of you, for some foolish reason or other, I cannot give their views much credence.’

Between the kiss they had shared and the look he gave her now, she suspected he had got quite the wrong idea about it all. He was hoping that there had been a man involved in her downfall. But their trip was almost over, and he had offered no further insult, so it was hardly worth correcting him. As long as they were not alone again he would give her no trouble.

But his disregard for his own reputation bothered her. ‘Perhaps you should care what people think. There are worse things than social ostracism, you know. Mill owners have been accosted in their own homes and on their ways to and from the factories they own.’

‘That is why I carry this,’ he said, patting the bulge in his pocket and reaching in to draw out the handle of a pistol.

‘Are you really going to use it?’

‘Do you doubt my bravery?’

‘I do not doubt your foolhardiness,’ she said. ‘It has but one bullet in it. If there is trouble, there will likely be a gang behind it.’

‘Then I will be forced to appeal to the garrison for aid, and it will not go well with them,’ he said, as though that settled the matter. ‘I do not seek violence, Miss Lampett. But if I feel myself threatened I will resort to it. You need have no doubt of that.’

She imagined the possible consequences with a sinking heart. ‘Since the violence you describe is likely to be turned against my father, I believe we have nothing more to say to each other. It is fortunate that we have arrived at my home.’

Stratford glanced out of the window. ‘So we have.’ He turned and tapped on the door to signal the driver. ‘Another turn around the high street, Benjamin. The lady and I are not finished with our discussion.’

‘And I have just said we are.’ She reached for the door handle, only to fall back into her seat as she felt the carriage turning. ‘This is most high-handed of you, Mr Stratford.’

‘But, knowing me as you do, you must expect nothing less of me, Miss Lampett.’ He smiled again, as though they were doing nothing more serious than dancing around a ballroom. ‘The subject we discuss is a serious one. I think I may have found an agreeable solution to several dilemmas at once. But it requires your cooperation, and the chance for us to speak privately for a little while longer—as we are doing now.’

Which explained the ride, she supposed. She should be relieved that he had not sought her out of any deeper desire for her company. But, strangely, she was not. ‘Very well, then. Speak.’

‘As you say, in a small village news travels fast. You say that you know of my plans for the Christmas holidays?’

‘You are entertaining guests from London. The only people of the village who will be in attendance are the Clairemonts. If it is not an engagement, then I suspect the gathering has something to do with the opening of the mill.’

‘Why would you think that?’ he asked, surprised.

‘Because you are the host of it. Having met you, Mr Stratford, it seems unlikely that the people coming are old friends.’

‘Ha!’ Rather than being angered by her insult, he seemed amused by it.

She continued. ‘Everything you do has to do with your business in some way or other. This Christmas party is like to be the same.’ Then she allowed her true feeling of distaste to show. ‘It is vulgar in the extreme to use the Lord’s birth as a time for doing business, if that is what you mean to do.’

‘Whether you have reached your conclusion from local gossip or shrewd deduction, you are correct, Miss Lampett. I am entertaining investors from London.’ He gave a slight frown. ‘Because, apparently, I think of nothing but business.’ He paused for a moment, as though he had forgotten what it was he meant to say. ‘I do not have quite so many guests as I had hoped. There were more negative replies in today’s post.’

‘Probably from gentlemen who understand the impropriety of it,’ she said.

He shrugged. ‘Or perhaps they do not wish to associate with one who is in trade, even though he offers them the opportunity to do it far from the prying eyes of the ton. It does not matter, really. As you have pointed out, they are not my friends. But I need only one—perhaps two—to come, agree and invest. Then, for me, this Christmas will be a happy one.’

It appeared that her father was right about the man, if that was how he measured his happiness. ‘There would be far more joy for all should you choose to spend that time in meeting your neighbours, sir. If you could not manage that, then perhaps you could release the Clairemonts from their obligation to attend? For I suspect it will pain them greatly to see their home treated as the London Exchange.’

‘It is no longer their home, Miss Lampett. It is mine to do with as I please.’

‘But I do not see why you wish to tell me of it. It is no business of mine,’ she said, almost leaning out of the window in an effort to put space between them.

‘On the contrary. I mean to make it your business. I understand that there has traditionally been a gathering of villagers at the house for Christmas. You have been in attendance at it, with Miss Anne Clairemont and her sister.’

‘But that was years ago,’ she admitted. ‘Not since …’ Not since Mary died and the Clairemonts shut up the house at Christmas. But the circumstances were no business of Stratford’s.

‘You and your family will honour me with your attendance this year as well,’ he said. ‘I am short of ladies, and there are likely to be several young bucks who would prefer an eligible young partner to dancing with their sisters.’

‘On our limited acquaintance, you expect me to sit in attendance on your guests? That is rude beyond measure, sir.’

‘Nothing of the kind. I invite you to be one of my guests. There would be no obligation to dance if you did not wish to do so. Though should you meet someone and form an attachment to him it would solve the question of your unmarried state quite nicely. Between your father’s trouble, and the problem you have hinted at with local society, it must be difficult for you to be so removed from the company of equals.’

It was. Though she tried to control it, a wistful longing arose in her at the prospect of a chance to put on her nicest gown and dance. ‘I do not need your help in that situation,’ she said primly. ‘I am quite fine on my own.’

‘So you keep telling me. But I need your help, Miss Lampett,’ he said, his hands open before him. ‘My business negotiations, whether they are improper or no, are at a delicate juncture. I dare not risk your father giving another angry speech while the investors are here to see it. Nor do I wish to call the law down on him with Christmas dinner.’

‘Then I think you would want us quiet at home for the holiday, and not dancing at the manor.’

‘On the contrary. I have seen your father’s interactions with you. When he is concerned about your welfare, all thoughts of violence go quite out of his head. If you told him that you wished to come to my party he would not disrupt it for fear of spoiling your enjoyment.’

‘Even so, I would not trust him for any length of time in the company of strangers.’

‘Then I shall send him a selection of books from the library. Old favourites of mine that are sure to occupy his mind for the duration of the week.’

‘Old favourites of yours?’ she said in surprise. ‘You gave me to understand that you had no time for books.’

‘Not now, perhaps. But I’d read most of the volumes in the Clairemont library long before my arrival here. In the coming year, when the mill is employed, I hope to have some evenings to myself and might read them again.’

‘You said you were a weaver’s son,’ she said, thinking of her father’s recalcitrant students and wondering if she had misunderstood him.

‘I did not say I was clever at the trade. I was a horrible weaver, and no amount of teaching could make me better. I was more interested in books than the loom. When Father did allow me to go to school I taught myself, in whatever way I could manage.’ He smiled bitterly. ‘I fear I was a grave disappointment to him.’

‘But why did you remain involved in the trade? Surely there might have been another occupation more suited to your tastes?’

‘The life I wanted was forever closed to me, for I was not born a gentleman, Miss Lampett. It appeared that, no matter my lack of skill, I was destined to weave. So I redesigned the loom to make it easier for my clumsy fingers to manage. The machines to be used at the factory are of my own invention.’

Somehow she had imagined him purchasing the frames he used with little knowledge of their workings. But there was real passion in him as he talked of cold and unfeeling machines, and an energy that drew her in like a lodestone. It was only with effort that she noticed the fact that there was no mention of anyone other than himself.

‘Is that why the talk of frame-breaking bothers you so? It must be difficult to see your work destroyed.’

He shrugged. ‘Not really. Before coming here, my business was mostly in the supplying of other mills. When their looms were damaged by vandals, I made additional money in the repair and replacing of their machinery. While the production of cloth is a risky business, there can be no surer trade right now than the making of a thing that is useful, and very much in demand, but needs to be purchased multiple times when it is ruined. That business was the source of my wealth. Though your father and his friends might seek to see the end of me, like men have been my making.’

‘You view the misfortune of others as the source of your success?’ she said, amazed at how far removed he was from the people around him.

‘So it has been. But enough of me and my business. Tell me what your response to my offer is likely to be.’

‘It would be most improper for a single lady to accept an invitation from a gentleman if there is no understanding between them,’ she said, wondering what he could be thinking to ask her in this way.

‘Of course.’ He pounded his fist against his leg once, in irritation. Then he gathered himself a little straighter. ‘Please accept my apologies. It was forward of me. I will extend a formal invitation, in writing, for your whole family to join in whatever activities take place. There will be nothing to upset your father, I assure you. There will be dinners, dancing, games. I expect that it will be a very jolly time. If your parents do not wish to come, you must come alone—in the company of Miss Anne Clairemont and her family.’ He gave her a firm look. ‘There will be no trouble on that front. The doors of my house are open to you.’

There was a faint emphasis on the word ‘my’ to remind her that things had changed. She wondered if he would put the situation to the Clairemonts in the same blunt tone. It almost made her pity them.

But, no matter what he did, it would not be as it had once been. The merriment would not touch the community that it bordered. ‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘It hardly seems appropriate to celebrate when so many people are unhappy.’ They had reached the gate of the cottage again, and she looked longingly in the direction of her home.

‘How very pious of you.’ He had noticed their destination as well, and tapped to signal the driver. ‘It is a lovely day. Let us make another pass of the high street, shall we?’

‘Do you mean to hold me prisoner in this carriage until I agree to your scheme?’

He held his hands up in a symbolic gesture of release. ‘The thought had occurred to me. But I will let you go home to consider this and see if you do not think it a temporary respite from our troubles. Either way, the mill will open in January. Change is coming and there will be no avoiding it. Once it is open, and at least some of the locals are employed in it, we will find them less likely to raise a hand against me. Until then we must find together a way to stall your father from upsetting my plans—or I will take steps that are pleasant to neither of us.’

The carriage drew smoothly to a stop, and when the door opened he went before her, offering his hand to help her to the ground. Then he signalled for a footman to carry her basket to the house and returned to his seat, closing the shiny black door behind him.