A Christmas Courtship (3 page)

‘Do I take it from your tone that you’ve met him again since his return?’

‘No, we haven’t seen each other, let alone spoken. I’ve heard him, though, shooting on the estate from dawn to dusk, and I’ve seen his carriage drive by with its blinds lowered. No one’s seen him very much, apart from his unfortunate gamekeepers.’

‘Unfortunate?’

‘Yes, don’t you remember? An organized gang of poachers descended on the estate a month ago and stole a number of deer. I gather Sir Edmund was absolutely furious and has threatened dismissals unless there’s a vast improvement.’

‘You really don’t like him, do you?’

‘No.’

‘Then you won’t be interested in learning who is to become Lady Brandon?’

She looked quickly at him. ‘Do you know?’

‘He called upon my father at the bank yesterday, and during the course of the meeting he informed my father that Athena, Lady Hetherington, is to be his bride.’

She stared at him, completely taken aback to hear the name of such an important society lady. ‘Do-do you mean
the
Lady Hetherington? The one who’s mentioned in every
on-dits
column in every publication?’

‘The widowed beauty who is set to be a lady patroness at Almack’s? Yes, I fear I do.’

Blanche gave a short laugh, for it had never occurred to her that Sir Edmund would take such a famous bride. Lady Hetherington had arrived in London from Madras only three years before, and in that short time her beauty and wit had taken the capital by storm. She’d swiftly risen to become one of the foremost hostesses, besieged by admirers and adored by
everyone
, including, it was said, the Prince of Wales himself.

Antony smiled at the expressions crossing her face. ‘Things are about to look up for Amberley St Mary, my darling, for the entire
beau monde
is bound to be invited for a succession of lavish house parties. But before then, hopefully at Christmas in a few
days’ time, the county will learn of our betrothal, I promise you.’ He pulled her into his arms again, his lips soft and gentle over hers. ‘Speak to your father tonight when you go home, and my ring will be on your finger on Christmas Day.’

‘Is that really possible, Antony?’ she whispered.

‘Anything is possible, my darling,’ he murmured, but then gave a sudden start as he took out his fob watch. ‘Oh, lord, is that the time? I shall have to go, for I have some exceeding important, if somewhat disagreeable, bank business to attend to.’

‘Disagreeable?’

‘A customer has to be reminded of his obligations.’ He put the watch away again, and pulled her into his arms for the last time. ‘You
must
speak to your father tonight, Blanche, and you
must
persuade him. He’ll come around, I just know that he will, and when you send word to me, I can call upon him to ask formally for your hand.’ He kissed her on the lips. ‘This could be the happiest Christmas of our lives, Blanche, and you could wear my ring. I shall be able to kiss you openly under the mistletoe, not steal a kiss when no one is there to see. I love you.’

He released her, and turned to leave, slipping stealthily out of the coachhouse and leaving the doors slightly ajar behind him.

She remained where she was for a moment. Everything should be so wonderful, so why did she feel so oddly letdown, as if Antony had failed her in some way? When she’d come to the coachhouse only a few minutes ago she hadn’t expected him to have said anything to his father, but now, quite suddenly, they were almost halfway to a betrothal. She should be overjoyed, not strangely full of half-doubts.

Raising her hood, she went to the door. More lamps had been lit in the stableyard, and horses were being led to the stalls after having just come in with another stagecoach. A very expensive black traveling carriage had also just driven in from the
courtyard
, its team nursed slowly along by a very expert coachman who’d been contending with a damaged vehicle. One of the wheels was leaning at an alarming angle, and the vehicle was obviously having to make an unscheduled stop at the inn for repairs. The coachman was in livery, and the team were perfectly
matched blood bays, telling of a very wealthy owner.

As Blanche hesitated in the door of the coachhouse, a very stylish but angry lady in pink and white stepped down from the damaged carriage, followed by her French maid. The lady was about twenty-seven years old, and very beautiful indeed, her dark chestnut hair worn fashionably short beneath her white fur hat. There was white fur trimming on her full-length pelisse, and her hands were plunged deep into a fur muff. She was most definitely a lady of high fashion, the epitome of Mayfair, but the whole effect was spoiled by the furious flash of her green eyes and the thin press of her sulky lips.

She paused to twitch her costly skirts, and then glanced disdainfully around the yard. ‘This is quite intolerable,’ she breathed, ‘and I will not endure it for a moment more than necessary! I trust that this isn’t a portent of what is to come this Christmas!’ Then she swept regally away toward the entrance to the courtyard and the inn itself. Her maid followed at a prudent distance, evidently not wishing to catch her mistress’s eye at a time like this.

As the coachman called for assistance, and some grooms hurried toward him, Blanche seized the moment to leave her hiding place, moving in the lady’s wake toward the courtyard, where two new stagecoaches had just arrived, laden with luggage for the festive season. One of the coachmen had a sprig of mistletoe in his hat and some holly tied to the handle of his whip, and the other had put sprays of evergreen all around his seat and tied a length of crimson ribbon to his whip. The smell of hot minced pies was as appetizing as ever, and the musicians Blanche had heard earlier on a corner in Westgate Street had now moved to the pavement right outside the inn. The strains of ‘Hark! the herald-angels sing’ echoed heartily through the
archway
, and were picked up by a chambermaid making her way up the steps to an upper part of the gallery.

There was still no sign of Jake as Blanche slipped discreetly across the busy yard toward the door into the inn, where by now Hannah would be getting more than a little anxious. 

From the darkness of the courtyard, Blanche stepped into a
brilliantly
lit hallway lined with settles and tables. On the tables there were jugs of warm water, bowls, freshly laundered towels, and several tablets of Mr Pears’ transparent brown soap, a rather ostentatious luxury for which the Saracen’s Head was well known. There was a row of hooks on the white-washed walls close to the courtyard door, and on them were hung a variety of cloaks, coats, mantles, scarves, and hats. Further along the walls, there were sporting prints, each one adorned with sprays of holly, and at the far end, next to the staircase and the doors of the dining room and entrance to the kitchens, there was a very handsome longcase clock that was also decorated with seasonal greenery.

The lady in pink had accosted the landlord, and was venting her anger upon him in no uncertain manner. Her French maid stood at a discreet distance, her eyes lowered in such a way that Blanche knew immediately that the lady was given to such displays.

Blanche’s curiosity got the better of her, and in spite of already being late for Hannah, she lingered by the cracked mirror on the wall above one of the wash tables, pretending to be care-fully repinning her hair, which was by now in considerable disarray. It was very reprehensible to eavesdrop, but the lady’s
displeasure
was so contemptuous and noticeable that she simply
couldn’t
resist.

The landlord, a tall, muscular man who was rarely cowed by anyone, did not know quite how to deal with such a furious, but superior lady. ‘I’m so very sorry, my lady,’ he was saying, ‘but at
this time of the year….’

‘It’s simply not good enough! How dare you call this
establishment
a posting house when quite patently it is not!’

‘Normally there are at least three chaises available, my lady, but it just so happens that they are all engaged at the moment.’

The lady’s green eyes would have frozen a lesser man on the spot. ‘Are you telling me that you are totally unable to meet my request?’ she asked icily.

‘A chaise will be free at about eight this morning, my lady, and until then you are more than welcome to partake of the hospitality of the house.’

‘Oh, I’m sure I am, sirrah,’ replied the lady acidly, ‘for that would indeed suit your pocket, would it not? Not only would the wretched chaise be assured of another hire, but you would also be able to charge me an exorbitant price for refreshment!’

‘You wrong me, my lady,’ he protested, spreading his hands reasonably. ‘The Saracen’s Head prides itself upon providing every service, and….’

‘And upon doing so at a handsome profit,’ she finished tartly. ‘Do you take me for a fool? I don’t intend to remain here for a moment longer than absolutely necessary, for I am not
accustomed
to lowering my standards.’

His face colored dully with contained resentment, for if she wasn’t accustomed to lowering her standards, he most certainly wasn’t used to such uncalled-for rudeness. Not trusting himself to reply, he remained silent.

The lady didn’t even notice, for she was too busy searching for her elegant little reticule. She drew out a letter, and tore off the top portion, upon which was written the name and address of the sender. ‘I wish someone to be sent to this address so that a carriage may be dispatched here for me without delay.’

He took the piece of paper, glancing briefly at the name and address. ‘Very well, my lady, I’ll see to it straightaway – at least….’

‘Yes?’ Her foot tapped irritably.

‘If it is the gentleman himself that you wish to contact, I believe that he is at this very moment calling upon the Bishop of Gloucester.’

The lady was taken aback that a mere landlord should be acquainted with the movements of the gentleman concerned. ‘And how, pray, do you know such a detail?’ she demanded ungraciously.

‘My sister happens to be the bishop’s cook, my lady, and when I was with her a short while ago, the gentleman arrived.’

‘A short while ago?’

‘No more than half an hour, my lady.’

‘I see. Very well, send someone there immediately, and in the meantime I will endeavor to make myself comfortable in your drawing room.’

‘Drawing room, my lady?’ The landlord was almost inclined to be amused. ‘We do not boast such a thing, I fear, but there is a small private parlor.’

‘Then that will have to do, will it not?’ she answered coldly. ‘There is no fire lit, my lady, and there cannot be until the sweep has come tomorrow morning.’

‘Tomorrow morning? Do you expect me to sit around in a cold room?’ she demanded, outraged.

‘No, of course not, my lady, for there are fires lit in the dining room, and I’m sure you will be most comfortable there.’

‘In the dining room?’ The green eyes were haughty. ‘I am not gulled by you, sirrah!’

‘Gulled?’

‘Yes, sir, gulled. There is nothing wrong with the chimney in the private parlor, it is simply that you are too parsimonious to provide another fire.’

‘You wrong me, my lady,’ he said again, and in such a way that Blanche knew he was telling the truth about the chimney.

‘I do not believe you, sir, and I am in no mood to be subjected to the dictates of your miserliness. You will conduct me to the private parlor without further delay, you will see that the fire is lit for my comfort, and then you will dispatch someone to the bishop’s residence. Do I make myself perfectly clear?’

‘Yes, my lady, perfectly clear,’ he replied with a resigned sigh, ‘but I must repeat that the parlor chimney is in need of a sweep, and that if the fire is lit, the room will very shortly fill with smoke.’

‘We will see, will we not?’

‘We will indeed. Very well, if you will please come this way….’ He gestured toward the staircase, and then led the way up to the floor above.

Blanche turned from the mirror to watch as the lady and her maid followed him. What a terrible shrew the lady was, but how gloriously beautiful, and with such an accurate eye for fashion. Oh, how good it would be to have such a wardrobe again herself, to be able to choose from a number of exquisite pelisses or spencers, and to decide upon the perfect accessories. Blanche lowered her glance for a moment, thinking that if she married Antony, her wardrobe would indeed be vastly improved from its present lamentable state.

Pushing the final pin into place, she looked at herself in the mirror, and then made her way toward the door of the dining room. It opened at her approach, and two waiters in long starched aprons hastened out with trays of empty plates, which they carried through to the kitchens. Blanche paused in the
doorway
, glancing around the crowded room beyond.

The Saracen’s Head was justly famous for its hospitality, no matter what the lady in pink thought, and there wasn’t an empty chair at any of the white-clothed tables in the smoke-filled room. Beefsteak pie and roast woodcock were the order of the day, served with mountains of potatoes, carrots, and cabbage, and this course was followed by the hot mince pies that could be smelled in every corner of the establishment. The room was long and low, with small windows looking out onto the lamplit scene in Westgate Street. Two huge fireplaces at either end made it suffocatingly hot, as did the immense number of lighted candles, and the mantelpieces were draped with lavish garlands of Christmas holly, ivy, myrtle, and mistletoe. There was an immense bunch of mistletoe suspended from the center of the ceiling, and it was causing much merriment to everyone who passed beneath it.

There was a crowd of male travelers gathered around the
fireplace
nearest the door, because a pretty young maid was
serving
mulled ale there, but the other fireplace was almost deserted. Settles had been placed on either side of it, the one
occupied by two farmers whose glowing faces suggested a little overindulgence in the mulled ale, the other occupied by a plump, gray-haired countrywoman. The countrywoman was Hannah Cutler.

The Amberley family’s housekeeper was of deceptively rustic appearance, in a dark green woolen dress, black felt hat, and sensible ankle boots, her folded cloak and full shopping basket on the settle beside her, but the truth was that she was the
illegitimate
daughter of a Herefordshire landowner, and had been brought up on one of his estates, so that she’d always known the ways of a wealthy household. She’d become more than just a housekeeper to Blanche when her mother had died so tragically young of the influenza, when Blanche had only been seven years old. Now she was glancing uneasily toward the clock on the mantelpiece, obviously wondering what had happened to so delay her mistress.

With more than a slight pang of conscience, Blanche made her way across the crowded room toward the far fireplace, and Hannah at last perceived her approach, giving her a rather reproachful look as she sat down.

‘Wherever have you been, Miss Blanche? I expected you at least half an hour ago.’

‘I couldn’t decide upon which handkerchiefs to buy, so I didn’t purchase any at all,’ replied Blanche, feeling guilty about telling such a fib, but Hannah didn’t know about the pendant, and she certainly didn’t know about Antony.

‘Christmas is almost upon us, Miss Blanche, so what will you give to Master Jonathan if you haven’t purchased the
handkerchiefs
?’

‘I-I thought I’d sew him some cravats, from that piece of good muslin I purchased in the summer,’ said Blanche quickly.

‘Cravats? Well, yes, that muslin would be excellent,’ said Hannah approvingly.

Blanche lowered her eyes, hating the deceit, but it was better that no one knew any harm had ever come to the pendant, although how she was going to manage on the remnants of her six-monthly allowance, she really didn’t know.

Hannah’s lips were pursed a little thoughtfully, as if there was
something a little delicate that she wished to broach. ‘Miss Blanche….’

‘What is it, Hannah?’

‘You must forgive me if I speak out of turn, but I really feel that something must be said, to you. I’ve heard a whisper or two back in Amberley St Mary, and then today, right here in Gloucester, I overheard it again.’

Blanche met her eyes unwillingly, for it was only too plain that the whispers concerned her liaison with Antony. ‘Please go on, Hannah.’

‘I can see by your face that you know what I’m going to mention. It’s true then, that you and Mr Antony Mortimer are….’

‘Seeing each other? Yes, Hannah, it’s true.’

‘Oh, Miss Blanche, how could you be so unwise? Have you no thoughts for your reputation, or your family?’

Blanche raised her chin a little defiantly. ‘Before you say anything more, Hannah, perhaps you should know that Antony and I love each other, and his intentions are entirely honorable. He has approached his father on the matter of marriage, and Mr Mortimer has given us his consent. Antony wishes us to be betrothed on Christmas Day, and married next spring.’

Hannah stared at her. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she whispered.

‘It’s true, and when we go home today I intend to speak to my father.’

‘Mr Amberley will never agree.’

‘I think he may, once he realizes how much Antony means to me.’

‘What will you do if he refuses?’ asked Hannah bluntly.

Before Blanche could reply, all activity in the dining room was brought to a sudden halt by the flinging open of the door and the furious entry of the lady in pink. She was followed by her agitated maid and by the long-suffering landlord, who was doing his utmost to reason with this most unreasonable and unwelcome of guests.

‘My lady,’ he was saying, his words falling into a suddenly quiet room, ‘I did try to explain to you that the chimney needed sweeping!’

The lady halted, whirling about so abruptly that he and the maid almost cannoned into her. ‘You tried to explain? Sirrah, you didn’t warn me that I would die of suffocation from the poisonous fumes which instantly filled the entire room!’

‘It was hardly as bad as that, my lady,’ he replied, aware that the whole room was listening.

‘You think not?’ Her feline eyes swept coldly over him. ‘No, I suppose you wouldn’t, for you aren’t used to gracious living, are you? How
dare
you subject me to this intolerable treatment! You will be sorry, do you hear? I intend to make you suffer for this.’

Maintaining his composure with admirable fortitude, the land-lord was a model of tact. ‘My lady, perhaps if you would be seated by the fire, and if a maid brought you a glass of my very best wine…?’ He indicated the settles where Blanche and Hannah and the two farmers were seated.

‘And what, pray, is your notion of good wine? Something that has only just turned to vinegar?’

‘I have an excellent Burgundy, my lady.’

‘Wishy-washy stuff,’ she replied crushingly, but her glance moved toward the settle, which looked very inviting in the
flickering
warmth of the fire.

The landlord needed no second hint, but immediately hurried to the fireplace and the two slightly tipsy farmers. ‘That’s enough for you today, my lads,’ he said briskly, jerking a thumb toward the dining room door. ‘Be off with you now, or I’ll have you thrown out.’

In drink they may have been, but not to the point of
foolishness
. They exchanged a glance and then got up, grumbling beneath their breath as they made their unsteady way out of the room.

The landlord looked at the lady. ‘If you will please be seated, I will see that a maid brings you the wine without delay.’

Inhaling irritably, the lady made her way to the settle,
glancing
disdainfully toward Blanche and Hannah opposite before taking her place, her hands still plunged deep into her white fur muff. Her maid took up a position nearby, and the much-pressed land-lord hastened away. The dining room remained quiet as everyone looked at the pink-and-white cause of such a stir. They
were all wondering who she was, including Hannah.

‘What a disagreeable shecat,’ she murmured, leaning close to Blanche. ‘Do you know who she is?’

‘No, nor do I wish to,’ replied Blanche, trusting that their exceedingly low tones didn’t carry to the other settle.