A Noble Pair of Brothers (The Underwood Mysteries Book 1) (20 page)

Mrs. Underwood, catching the look and seeing a young woman who quite obviously adored her son, immediately rose to her feet and crossed the room before anyone could perform introductions, “My dear!  How pleased I am to meet you at last, and how wicked of Underwood to hide you from me.”

Verity blushed to the roots of her hair, but could see no other option but to accept the salutation bestowed upon her.  Gil, as always, sprang swiftly to the rescue,

“Allow me to present Miss Chapell to you, Mother.  As you know she is quite the best pupil Underwood has ever taught.  And these are the daughters of Sir Henry Wynter, Miss Charlotte, Miss Jane and Miss Eliza.”

Wisely Mrs. Underwood gave no indication that she had made any error, but immediately kissed Charlotte quite as warmly as she had Verity, then took the hands of each of the other sisters in turn.

Underwood stood by the piano as though carved in marble, attempting to greet no one at all.  He was mortified by his mother’s clumsiness, but fortunately his rather churlish reaction was observed only by Ellen Herbert, who quickly distracted the attention of the gathering by offering glasses of sherry and Ratafia, and by drawing Verity and Charlotte to the piano and begging them to play and sing respectively.  When all the company were settled into chairs and engrossed in the entertainment, Underwood took the opportunity to slip out into the hall, closely followed by Ellen,

“You are not thinking of leaving, Mr. Underwood?” she asked quietly, thus arresting his proposed flight.  He turned and forced a smile to his stiff lips, “Not if you particularly wish me to remain,” he said with great formality.

“Of course I do,” she assured him warmly, “And what is more, I require you to put that silly incident out of your mind.  Charlotte is far too overdressed for the occasion and it is scarcely surprising that your mother thought her … well…”

Thunder rolled ominously and a flash of lightning lit the hall to sudden brilliance, making Underwood’s face look white and strained.

“My mother thought her far above my touch – and she is undoubtedly right,” he said, finishing a sentence which had hung painfully in the air between them.

“That was not what I intended to say,” denied Ellen gently, but not particularly convincingly, “Besides, what does it matter what anyone else thinks?  It is how you and Charlotte feel which is the only important thing.”

“And how does Charlotte feel, I wonder?”

“Only she can answer that question, Mr. Underwood.  Shall I ask her to join you in the study?”

He looked at her without answering, or even appearing to have heard her speak.  She experienced the strangest sensation when she looked into his eyes.  In the novels she had read, she had often seen the expression ‘
her heart was wrung’
and until this moment it had seemed over dramatic and inane, but the pity she felt for Underwood when she saw the years of misery and loneliness etched upon his features created an almost physical pain in her breast.  She found herself promising to wreak violent retribution upon Charlotte should she give this man cause for yet more agony.  When at last he broke the silence, it was not the reply she had been expecting, “Not just now, Ellen.  I would rather talk to you for a few moments, if you could bear to neglect your guests for a while…”

For one horrid moment she panicked, imagining he was about to make an embarrassing admission to her, then just as swiftly she dismissed the thought.  He was quite obviously in love with Charlotte and anything her wanted to say to her would reflect that fact.

“Of course,” she said, her voice bearing an added warmth to make up for the unworthy thought she had so briefly entertained.

There was a fire in the doctor’s study, but it had dropped low in the grate.  She was glad of an excuse to turn away from him, and busied herself with the poker, hoping to stir a little life into the embers.  Thunder crashed again, seemingly directly over the house, making her start violently, “Good heavens!  The weather has turned with a vengeance, hasn’t it?”

The first odd drops rattled against the casement and Mr. Underwood turned his head towards the sound, “I suppose we should not complain,” he said calmly, relieved that she had taken the strain out of their being together alone, “The weather over the last weeks has been remarkably warm for May.  I had been led to believe that I faced constant rainfall once I travelled northward.”

“We have an entirely unwarranted reputation for inclement weather, Mr. Underwood.  I hope you are going to speak up on our behalf when you return to Cambridge.”

He turned back towards her, “I may not be returning to Cambridge.  That is one of the things I wished to discuss with you.”

“I see,” she gestured towards a chair, seating herself at the same time, “What will you do if you don’t go back?  Despite your complaints about their behaviour, I rather thought you harboured a strong affection for your ‘boys’,”  she smiled and was pleased to see that he had recovered himself enough to return it.

“Oh, I think I could get used to living without them – in fact, I would have to, if I was to marry.  Wives are rather frowned upon in college – altogether too distracting.”

“I could imagine a wife like Charlotte being very distracting indeed,” asserted Ellen, somewhat stunned by the sudden mental image she had created.  Dear God!  Charlotte Wynter alone amongst hundreds of unattached men and boys!  Not something to be foisted on the long-suffering Mr. Underwood, to be sure.

“Upon reflection, I suspect it is probably a very wise ruling,” agreed Underwood wryly, “But, as you must see, if poses a considerable problem for me.  Is marriage worth the sacrifice of my career?”

Ellen, who adored her husband, had no doubt, “A happy marriage certainly is.”

“But if I am wrong?  If my marriage is not destined to be happy?”  

“You are asking for certainties, Mr. Underwood,” she protested hotly, “No one can possibly assure you of happiness.  If you are not prepared to take a risk, then no, I do not think you love Charlotte enough to make a lasting marriage.  You would be forever harking back, blaming her for lost opportunities.  If you have any doubts at all, then you should not even consider asking her to be your wife.  I can envision no worse misery for her than to be tied to a man who could not trust her with his heart.”

Underwood looked slightly shocked at her vehemence, but was still unconvinced, “She is very young, Ellen.  Do you think she fully appreciates the damage she could inflict upon that heart?  I’m too old to withstand the anguish engendered by a fickle wife.”

Ellen softened as she looked into his eyes, “Oh my dear Mr. Underwood, yet again you are asking for sureties.  Believe me, I do understand your reluctance, but if you love Charlotte, you must trust her.”

He rose to his feet and began to pace about the room in agitation, “Great Heavens above!  What do I know of love?  But for an all too brief engagement years ago, I have spent my life away from the company of women.  I don’t even have a sister or a female cousin.  My only experience of love was the agony of loss!  All I know of Charlotte is that she forced me to look into eyes which were filled with adoration for me and in doing so turned a heart of stone back into a living, beating organ.  Would you call that love?”

“It sounds remarkably like it,” answered Ellen gently, “Wait here and I will send Charlotte to you.”

With that she was gone.  Underwood walked across to the window and stared out into the rain-lashed darkness.  The storm had moved away now, and the occasional flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder were growing distant.

When he heard the door open he turned and saw Charlotte framed in the doorway.  The pearls on her dress shimmered as she walked towards him, creating an aura of light around her and reflecting the radiance in her eyes as she looked at him.  There was a strange constriction in his throat and he had to swallow deeply before he could speak, “I’m sorry I missed your singing.”

She smiled shyly, “I’m not.  I was so nervous of your mama, I made a terrible mess of it.”

“I doubt that – and you really have no need to worry about my mother.  She is a very sweet person when you know her, and not in the least frightening.”

As they had been speaking, they had been moving, almost unconsciously, towards each other, and now they met almost in the centre of the room.  He took her hand and raised it to his lips; “It would seem that I have several apologies to make.  Do you mind if I get them over with?”

She gave a nervous little laugh, “I can’t imagine what they are, but please do continue, if it will make you happy.”

“No man is ever happy to apologize, my dear, they prefer to think they are always right.”  Her heart gave an excited skip as his slow smile reached his eyes, “To begin with I was uncivil enough to neglect to greet you when you arrived, then I was careless enough to allow my mother to embarrass you.  Both unforgivable sins, but I hope you can bring yourself to overlook my transgressions?”

The colour crept into her cheeks and she lowered her eyes in divine confusion,

“Pray don’t … think any more about it.  I understood completely.  Naturally your mama must think I’m altogether too young and silly to make a fit companion for you.  Verity is so much cleverer than I, you are bound to have more in common with her than with me.”

“Charlotte…”

She raised tragic eyes to his, “No, please let me finish.  There is something I have to say to you.  I know I was childish and sulky and stupidly jealous the other day, but I have had time to consider everything and what happened tonight convinced me of the truth.  I must have embarrassed you horribly by throwing myself at your head.  I should have known you were only being kind and indulgent to a silly girl.  Even your mama can see that Verity is the wife for you…”

Before she had spoken, he had still not been entirely sure what he was about to say to her, but this new maturity in her demeanour, the unexpected modesty, settled any qualms he might still be experiencing.

“Are you refusing to marry me?” he asked, with mock gravity.

Her blush grew deeper, “How can I?  You have not asked me.”

His eyes seemed very dark and deep as she looked up into them and she wondered how she could ever have imagined grey eyes were cold and insipid.  His were like smoky embers burning into her flesh; “I’m asking you now.”

Before she could answer he leaned forward and laid his lips gently against hers.  She needed no further encouragement and with a joyous cry she flung her arms about his neck and returned the kiss with unladylike enthusiasm.  Once his initial shock had subsided, he found himself laughing and grasping her waist, pulling her closer against him.  For a few precious moments they kissed and clung, discovering the delight of each other, then the door opened and Ellen glanced into the room.  Guiltily the lovers sprang apart, hovering between confusion at the interruption and relief that it was only their hostess who had seen the embrace.

Her smile was wide and delighted as she announced, “Forgive the intrusion, but we are all waiting dinner on you both.”

Hand in hand they left the study, and still hand in hand they entered the dining room.  One look at their faces left no one present in any doubt that all was settled between them and they were greeted with a chorus of congratulations and felicitations.

Mrs. Underwood was the first to rise and kiss them both, and Verity Chapell was the second.

*

CHAPTER NINETEEN

(“Dura lex sed lex” - The law is hard, but it is the law)

Mr. Underwood was not normally a man much influenced by convention, but he could not help but feel that in view of the extreme youth of his prospective bride, he had committed the ultimate solecism in asking for her hand before having sought the permission of her father.

In an effort to correct that failure, he decided that Sir Henry must be visited before another day passed.  Accordingly he rose early next morning and would have been on his way to Wynter Court ere the case clock in the vicarage hall had struck nine, had not his brother stopped him by gently pointing out that Sir Henry was invariably a late riser, unless he was attending a meet, which, to the best of the vicar’s understanding, he was not on that particular day.  Neither brother was knowledgeable enough in hunting lore to realize that it was out of season.

Underwood had to suppress his impatience until a much more reasonable hour, which did not do anything at all for his tightly strung nerves.  It was not an interview to which he was looking forward, and he had hoped to have it over and done with as soon as possible.

However, all too soon he was venturing out into the wet and misty morning, still grey and chilly from the rainstorm of the evening before.  The main street was unusually empty – as it had been on the day he had arrived in Bracken Tor, but never since – and he unfortunately met no one with whom he could exchange friendly greetings.  Normally this would not have concerned him in any way, but today there was a slight depression hanging over him which he felt a merry smile could have helped to dispel.  He squared his shoulders and set his feet determinedly on the path, comforting himself with the thought that he would soon be seeing Charlotte.  Her smile was surely merry enough for any man.

As he drew nearer the moors his mood grew even more despondent.  The heather looked dull and lifeless, the lowering clouds had an ominous darkness to them which betokened more rain before the day was over.  It was with immense relief that he turned his back on them and took the path which led to Wynter Court.  He hoped

That once in amongst the trees he would be able to shake off his mood, but the silence was oppressive and the drips which fell from the branches seemed to be aimed directly at the back of his neck, then slid icily down his spine.  This was no way to approach his future father-in-law and he knew it.  If he gave even the slightest indication of weakness, Sir Henry would sense it and tear him to shreds like one of his own hunting hounds on a cornered fox.

Evidently the servants had been told to expect him – much to his irritation, as he liked to think of himself as an enigma – and he was shown directly into Sir Henry’s study.  Thus he found himself facing the man across the expanse of his enormous desk – or so it seemed to Underwood, he was suffering from the curious sensation of having shrunk in the night.  It was a desk which was not merely decorative, but at which Sir Henry worked exceedingly hard, running his estate with knowledge and precision, and studying the cases he was called upon to preside over with an impartiality which was legendary.

Sir Henry ignored Underwood’s presence for a few moments, a strategy which the younger man had expected and therefore accepted stoically, and when he finally leant back in his chair and looked at his visitor, it was to size him up between shrewdly narrowed eyes, mentally weighing his good and bad points as though buying a horse from a none-too reliable dealer.  Underwood was annoyed with himself for feeling discomforted beneath this basilisk stare and admitted for the first time that he was seeing the Judge and not the drunkard and the bully.

“I shall put you out of your misery, Underwood, and tell you that Charlotte has warned me of your intentions.”

“So I imagine, but there was really no need for her to have done so.  I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself,” Underwood’s tone was quiet and measured as though, even at this early stage in the conversation, he was trying not to let the older man betray him into a display of irritation.

“Speak then,” countered Sir Henry, with a cruel grin, “Convince me that I should hand my daughter into your care – for I do assure you, she will be entirely in your care, once you have her, for I have no intention of paying anything other than a token dowry.”

“I had never supposed otherwise.  Charlotte will want for nothing, I promise you that.”

“Good.  I’m more than ready to admit that I have little time for my daughters.  So many of them are merely a drain on my resources, whereas sons could have helped me run the estate and brought honour to the family name.  I could have had a brace of military men and even one for the Church, had things fallen out better for me, but a gaggle of useless girls was all I could get from that mealy-mouthed saint that I married – though I suppose I should be grateful that I finally got my boy.  However, if I do have a favourite, it is Charlotte – Gad!  What a boy she would have made!  There is not a cowardly bone in her body.  I’ve seen her take a fence a grown man would baulk at, and she only fifteen or sixteen at the time.  Yes, Charlotte is undoubtedly a favourite.”

“I’m sure she is signally aware of the honour,” commented Underwood dryly.  He tried hard, but could not keep the note of sarcasm from his tone.  He took a deep breath and added, rather coldly, “Do you wish me to acquaint you more fully with my financial situation?”

“There’s no need.  I can’t say I very interested.  You are no fortune hunter; I can see that – and much good it would do you if you were.  And you are a sensible man.  You must know whether you are able to keep a wife in comfort.  As long as you feed and clothe her decently, ad don’t come whining to me for handouts, what you do or don’t have is your own affair – but I’m warning you now, Charlotte is expensive to keep and don’t take kindly to being curbed.”

“I presume you are similarly uninterested in our place of abode?”  Underwood was beginning to understand the reason for the depression which had haunted him all morning.  If this was the way Sir Henry disposed of his favourite daughter, God help the others.  His indifference was genuine and complete.

Sir Henry leaned forward so that his elbows rested on the table and his chin was supported by his interlocked fingers, “You are beginning to bore me, Underwood.  Frankly I have no interest in your arrangements whatsoever.  Doubtless Charlotte will visit from time to time, bringing, if you are man enough, a procession of grandchildren for me to dandle upon my ageing knee, and that is all I require of her.  Obviously you think me an unspeakably callous parent,” Underwood’s scornful expression told him as much.  “But should the day ever dawn,” he continued, “that you have six daughters for whom you have to find suitable husbands, weeding out the rogues and villains along the way, you will perhaps understand the relief one feels when one of those daughters takes it upon herself to find her own husband – albeit not the man you would have chosen for her yourself.”

It was as much as Underwood could do not to demand to know in what way he fell short of Sir Henry’s exacting standards, but he was wise enough to know that the older man would have no compunction in telling him, and in doing so would probably convince him of his own unworthiness.  Instead he summoned a false and humourless smile, “Well, for once we find ourselves of one accord, Sir Henry, for if I am not your choice of a husband for Charlotte, you are most certainly not my choice of father-in-law.”

Sir Henry laughed, “Whatever else I may think of you, Underwood, I have to admit you are always painfully honest. There are not many men who would have spoken thus to the man who holds their future in his hands.  Aren’t you even a little afraid that I shall throw you out of my house and forbid Charlotte ever to see you again?”

Sir Henry looked and sounded jovial, but Underwood sensed he was being tested and answered with perfect gravity, “Not in the least.  Shakespeare was a man who wrote many truths, none more so than when he told the tale of Romeo and Juliet.  Your opposition would merely make me even more attractive to Charlotte.  I should simply ask the lady to elope with me – in fact, the idea has several advantages which heartily recommend it, foremost amongst them being the complete absence of relatives at the wedding.”

The older man roared with laughter, “I’ve a mind to put you to the test, Underwood.  I don’t believe for a moment you have the courage to arrange an elopement, much less carry it through.”

“Don’t tempt me!”

Suddenly Sir Henry seemed to lose interest in the subject and flung out an inviting hand, “Sit yourself down, Underwood.  We’ll seal the agreement with a glass of brandy and you can tell me what sort of a cricket player you are.”

Mr. Underwood was startled by the unexpected veer in the conversation and he sank obediently into the seat he had been gestured towards and asked faintly,

“Cricket?  I can still knock up a half-century, but what has that to do with anything?”

“There is a match next week and we are a couple of men short.  Will you play?”

“Certainly, I’d be delighted, but who are we to play against?”

“It is the annual match between Bracken Tor and Calden.  Dr. Herbert captains Calden and I, naturally, captain Bracken Tor.  Competition is fierce and at the moment we are running neck and neck.  We need to win this match to make the score even.  Do you think you are up to the challenge?”

“I sincerely hope so,” Underwood answered automatically, his thoughts elsewhere.

“I hope so too.  If you let the side down, I’ll have to seriously reconsider your marriage to my daughter.  What about your brother?”

Underwood looked startled, “What about my brother?”

“Does he play cricket?”

“Yes … yes – or at least he did.  Do you want me to ask him?”

“No, I’ll tell him myself.  He’ll refuse if he thinks he can.”

“Very well.  Do you think I might be allowed to see Charlotte now?”

“See her whenever you like.”  Underwood took this to be a dismissal and took himself off, leaving Sir Henry to partake of the celebratory brandy alone.

The maid Sally was in the hall when he came out of the study and he wondered vaguely if she had been listening at the door.  She certainly had an extremely pert smile on her face.  It crossed his mind to chastise her, but decided on reflection to ignore her.  He would never wager on himself if it came to a battle of wills with a woman.  “Perhaps you would be good enough to tell Miss Charlotte that Mr. Underwood wishes to see her?”

“She’s out in the paddock on Merryman, sir.  Shall I send Abney to fetch her?”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.  I shall go out to her.”  His shoulders stiffened as he heard her giggle as he walked away.

Merryman was always a mettlesome beast, but today, as Underwood approached the paddock, he seemed even more spirited than usual.  Charlotte was evidently having some trouble holding him, her face quite pink with exertion and beads of sweat shining on her nose and brow.  Underwood’s blood ran cold at the thought of what damage so huge a horse could do, should he manage to unseat his rider.  Very sensibly he did not call out to Charlotte, or distract her in any way, until she brought the wheeling animal under some sort of control.

“Phew!  He’s feeling his oats this morning,” she called brightly, when she caught sight of her beau by the fence, sliding deftly from the saddle.  The glimpse he caught of her long slim legs made Underwood unworthily think the horse was not the only one!  The wedding need not be long delayed.

She led the skittish Merryman behind her as she walked towards him and Underwood could not help but notice how small she looked beside the great beast.

“Do you think it quite safe to ride that animal?” he asked diffidently.

She laughed up at him, her eyes sparkling with glee; “Does he worry you, Mr. Underwood?” she asked softly, “There’s really no need to be afraid of him.  He’s an absolute lamb.”

Underwood warily eyed the now softly blowing Merryman; “A wolf in lamb’s clothing, perhaps.”

“Just like Papa.  And speaking of Papa, have you seen him?”

“Indeed I have.”  He took her hand and kissed it, “Our betrothal is now formally acknowledged by all, and my mother bade me bring you back to the vicarage for a celebration luncheon.”

Some of the sparkle died from her eyes, “Oh, Underwood, She terrifies me so!”

“My mother?”  He was genuinely shocked; “My mother couldn’t terrify anyone - and she would be most distressed to hear you say so.”

“But if she does not like me?” cried the anguished Charlotte, “Maria’s mama-in-law makes life a perfect misery for her, constantly causing dissent between her and Edwin.  I could not bear it if your mama were to cause quarrels between you and I, simply because she hates me.”

“Calm yourself, my dear child.  There is no possibility at all that my Mama won’t adore you as I do.”

Charlotte raised tear-drenched green eyes to his, “And do you?” she whispered.

              “Do I what?”

“Adore me?”

“I suppose I do,” he answered softly, lowering his head to kiss the pretty lips which were raised so invitingly to his.

Merryman, sensing that his mistress was too preoccupied to pay him any attention, nudged Underwood rather roughly aside with his large head.  They laughed and Underwood said ruefully, “I think we had better save that until we are completely alone.”