Amberley Chronicles Boxset I: The Impostor Debutante My Last Marchioness the Sister Quest (Amberley Chronicles Boxsets Book 1) (46 page)

Chapter 19

Jonathan could not remember such a strange morning in his life. When Sophia – no,
Charity
- had left, Matt followed after her, leaving him with Paul Selbington and that irritating Marquess, Lady Amberley’s brother. There he was on his bed in this sweat-soaked, crumpled nightshirt, while the two others were looking down at him fully dressed and in Pell’s case, extremely elegant. Even so, he was not going to stand for any more lectures on gentlemanly behaviour.

“Your fever seems to have broken overnight,” Selbington said. “I own I am most relieved. The physician sounded much less certain of your recovery than I could like.”

“I don’t understand,” Jonathan said, “I have not been sick, or caught a fever, in the last fifteen years. A little rainwater should not have had such an effect.”

“Dr Wentworth is coming back to check on you this morning,” Selbington said cheerfully, “you can ask him yourself. I am looking forward to your wedding to Cherry, by the way. She is a wonderful girl – woman, now – you don’t seem to realise what a lucky man you are. She had dozens of men chasing after her even as a young girl.”

“Yes,” Pell said reminiscently, “I was just a stripling, but I used to watch her in church whenever we were at Adlingham in my youth. And she has not changed all that much. It was calf love and has long since passed, but you will understand why I feel so strongly that no man must take advantage of her.”

“Such was not in my thoughts at all, I was ill,” Jonathan protested, though he felt guilty at recalling his nightly fantasies, in this very bed. His thoughts and intentions had not been nearly as pure as he claimed. Remembering those fantasies, he felt queasy. Could she really be his sister? 

“Are you still buying Lobbock Manor?” Selbington enquired with a touch of anxiety.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry I missed our meeting yesterday. Please convey my regrets to your sisters.”

“They know why you didn’t turn up, and send their best wishes for your recovery.”

“What I don’t understand,” he began, and broke off. Whether she was his sister or his fiancée, he could not betray Charity’s masquerade as the red-headed Mrs. Jones to these censorious young men. “Never mind.” He would get the story out of Charity herself. “You called her Cherry?”

“Yes, the three sisters hate their pious names. From childhood they called each other Patch, Cherry and Prune.”

“Cherry,” he said tentatively. “It suits her.” Those lips… they put him in mind of an old song, Cherry-ripe. Would these cherries turn out to be forbidden to him?

Selbington frowned. “You did not even know her name? Then what was she doing here in your room?”

Jonathan had enough, and his headache was coming back. “I think I’ll wait for that physician and a talk with Charity – Cherry – before discussing it further. You two have done quite enough mischief for one day.” He closed his eyes, and after a couple of minutes they went away at last.

The headache was not helping, as his horrified mind was grappling with the new situation.
Sophia - Mrs. Jones - was Charity Randolph
. He should have been suspicious when he found her inside the Lobbock estate – didn’t her house have a back gate not far from the place where she’d been picking strawberries? He was a fool, not to have guessed. She’d had the air of playing a role from the outset: the ladylike speech contrasting with the simple dress, the slight hesitation when she gave the name…

So he was engaged to a habitual liar. Unless she was his twin sister. Which would be worse, having her turn out to be his sister, or being obliged to marry a woman without aristocratic background, and most likely infertile?

He immediately rejected the solution his reason presented. He did
not
want Cherry to be his sister. Not at all. She could not be – surely he’d have guessed somehow? How could he have shared those delicious kisses with her, in that case?

If she was his twin sister there was nothing compromising about her presence at his sickbed, and nobody could force them to marry. Then why did his whole being reject that option so vehemently?

If she was not his sister, he might as well call the banns now. He should feel shattered, horrified at this threat to all he had worked and striven for over all those years. Maybe he was too sick and weak to muster indignation and unhappiness, and these emotions would arrive later.

Nonsense. The prospect of having Cherry – please God, not his sister – in his bed and at his side for the rest of his life was too exhilarating, lies and disguises notwithstanding. So maybe he would not be able to found a dynasty. Had he died of his sudden fever, it would not have happened either. He had had to regroup and change direction in business often enough; he could do it once again, since fate clearly had other plans for him.

With this conclusion, the headache miraculously abated, and he finally got some rest.

The physician arrived an hour later, and pronounced himself well satisfied with Jonathan’s quick recovery, “but you had better stay in bed for the rest of the day, and to be on the safe side, tomorrow as well. You have been very lucky, but it does not do to underestimate such chills. It might well have carried you off.”

“Why should I have been struck down by illness here, when I have not had anything like that in the last ten years or more? I have been wet every now and then, even in cold winter weather, without catching anything worse than a stuffy nose.”

The physician rubbed his chin, looking him over thoughtfully. “Have you been spending long hours at work, neglecting exercise and fresh air?”

“Maybe,” Jonathan admitted, “but I have been doing that for years and years, and never fallen sick.”

“Sometimes a holiday or change of scene, as healthy as these may be in general, causes a weakening of the body’s defences. I have a patient who works very hard all week, and every Sunday, his only free day, he suffers from a persistent and terrible headache.”

“Poor man,” Jonathan said. “You ordered a tincture, and then there was a bitter liquid, that helped more, I think.”

The physician sniffed at the cup. “Willow bark, a traditional remedy I do not put much stock in. I had not prescribed it. Who gave it to you?”

“I don’t remember,” Jonathan said, unwilling to expose Cherry to the physician’s curiosity. “It seems to have been efficacious, though as a layman I cannot tell how much of my recovery is due to the tea, or to your tincture. I am very obliged that you came so promptly. What do I owe you?”

He added a handsome bonus to the physician’s moderate fee, which prompted the medical man to enumerate various recommendations how to avoid such incidents in future. A healthful, moderate diet, regular exercise, and shorter working hours were the main points.

A breakfast of gruel and barley water was presently offered to him, which Jonathan rejected, ordering toast and scrambled eggs instead. The boot boy helped him change into a clean shirt. He was running out of those, and reluctantly entrusted his washing to the inn. What choice did he have? At the rate he was going, it might be weeks until he could leave Bellington.

***

Cherry was not long alone in the old house. Within the hour Prune, Matt, Patch and Paul all converged on her, and not one of them had thought to bring any breakfast. She felt a headache coming on, possibly from hunger.

They were all determined to carry her back to Spalding Hall, and to underline that they would not take no for an answer, had brought along the Spalding barouche.

“Now that you are engaged to Mr. Durwent, you cannot possibly stay here,” Prune said. She was elated at the news, relayed by Matt. “He seems to be very rich, even richer than Max! Just imagine, with you living here in Lobbock Manor, and Patch married to Paul, we’ll all be together again. Just like old times, only better.”

It went against the grain to destroy her sister’s optimism, but Cherry obstinately shook her head. “He never wanted to be engaged to me. It is absurd – I am a widow! Widows are allowed to visit a man now and then! This concern for my reputation is mere hypocrisy.”

“How can you say that?” Paul asked reproachfully. “And if you didn’t want Durwent, why were you there with him, in such a compromising situation?”

“Yes, Cherry, do explain that part,” Patch added ominously. Cherry suppressed a groan. They were already working as a team.

“I had to check on him because it was my fault he was sick in the first place. I had an argument with Mr. Durwent, and sent him away in the heavy rain.”

“If he had an argument with a lady, he is even more at fault,” Paul said. “What was it about?”

“I prefer not to say. It is nobody’s business. Of course I never expected a hale-looking young man like Durwent to succumb to a fever because of a little rain.”

“I do hope he is not sickly,” Prune said, “although from all accounts he seems to have recovered almost as quickly as he fell ill. I heard he was already asking for a proper breakfast this morning.”

“Good.” Cherry’s headache was getting worse. “But Durwent had no idea that I went to the inn and sent the maid away, claiming I was his cousin. When he awoke he was ambushed in a fashion he will never forgive. Even if we do marry, how could a happy relationship result from such a beginning?”

“You will have years and years to make him forget it,” Prune said blithely. “And you of all people should know how to get around a man. He asked for you as Sophia, so he was already taken with you. There have been good marriages made of much less than that.”

“You will both just have to make the best of it,” Patch agreed.

“I cannot and will not hold him to this forced engagement. Besides, he will want children. I have not had any in ten years of marriage.”

The gloomy silence which followed this statement was broken by Paul. “Maybe the Lord was saving you for Durwent and his children. And it does not matter if you don’t hold him to the engagement, if he is worth anything, his own word and honour will be enough to make him go through with it.”

“That look on his face, when Pell told him my name, was of shock and dismay. He may not want a wife who does not know her real parentage.”

“Why would he even be aware of that?”

“You know how people gossip in a small town.”

Paul shook his head. “True, but he is a stranger, has only been here for a few days. I cannot imagine who would have told him that the three of you are not real sisters. At our dinner party the subject never came up, as I remember.”

“We
are
real sisters,” Patch insisted.

“Yes, indeed,” Prune said. “I could not wish for better ones.”

“Get used t-to the idea of remarriage,” Matt recommended. He took up her smaller valise and carried it out towards the barouche without waiting for her agreement.

“He is a pleasant and handsome man, if too prone to chills,” Prune said. “Don’t look so miserable, Cherry, all will work out. I know it will. If another chill carries him away, at least you’ll be a rich widow, rather than a poor one.”

“Please,” Cherry put her hands over her ears. “Enough! I am having a headache coming on, I only slept a few hours on an armchair and still feel stiff, I haven’t had any breakfast, or even tea. I cannot take any more at present.”

“Poor Cherry,” Prune said, in the same tone she used with little Annie, “you’ll feel better presently when we get to the Hall. Sir Charles is in Norwich today, so you will have peace and quiet at least until dinnertime.”

Since the whole crowd of them showed no inclination to let her escape, Cherry allowed herself to be carried off, with her bag, against her better judgement. She put the veil over her face, partly to shut out the glare of the sun, but also in case Buckley or one of his men was lurking in the neighbourhood. Though her family all discounted the danger, Cherry knew better.

She had to talk with Jonathan to see how to cut him free – indeed, hadn’t he said he needed to talk to her and her sisters, just before she’d left? He had shown a strange interest in the three of them from their very first meeting. At the time she had thought it meant that he was working for Buckley. But if Jonathan was a rich businessman from London, then there had to be some other reason. Was that what he wanted to talk to all of them about?

Whatever it was, it would have to wait until he recovered fully. When next they spoke, she wanted him fit and in full possession of his wits.

Maybe by then, she herself would have come to her senses.

Chapter 20

The two days in bed passed with excruciating slowness. Jonathan had ample opportunity to ponder the strange circumstances in which he found himself.

It had been a mistake not to drive up to Spalding Hall on the very first day, tell the whole family about his quest, and engage their co-operation.

He should have felt upset and despondent at this threat to his lifelong plans, but still could not rouse himself to any indignation. Was his heart not in the plan, then? Most likely this strange lassitude was a lingering effect of the fever.

In his mind, he went back over his various meetings with Mrs. Jones, knowing what he now did about her identity. She was a good liar, and that red wig suited her very well, though the dark hair was attractive too. He wondered how she would look in red or green. With her colouring light shades might be equally flattering. Anything but black.

On the second day, already dressed, he ordered a light lunch, glad to feel his appetite return. Before the food arrived, he had another visitor.

“Sir – I heard you were ill. How bad is it?”

“Hendrickson! I’m glad to see you back here. Your other job is all done?”

“Indeed, Sir, I’m fully at your disposal again, for as long as needed. What happened to you? You look a little pale, but otherwise well enough.”

“I took a sudden and dangerous chill, but by tomorrow I should be completely recovered.”

“Glad to hear it, Sir.” Hendrickson settled his broad rump on the armchair in which Charity had slept the night before last. “I also heard from the landlord that you’re buying Lobbock Manor, and have become engaged to Mrs. Randolph. I wish you very happy. This must mean that you have uncovered the identity of your twin? How did you manage that so quickly?”

“The devil of it is, I didn’t,” Jonathan confessed.

“Ah.” The older man regarded him out of lowered brows and snorted. “How did you get into such a tangle?”

“It just seemed to happen, I could not stop it. But it becomes more important than ever to find what drove Mrs. Randolph to hide in that abandoned old house. Why do you suppose she would do so?”

“I knew right away there was something strange going on,” Hendrickson said, “but merely watching the house was not likely to get to the bottom of it. Miss Trellisham, Mrs. Spalding, and once Mr. Matthew Spalding came regularly, and since the house belongs to the older Selbington siblings, at least one of them must also have been aware of the situation. So many respectable people would not easily be involved in anything illegal; the most likely explanation is that Mrs. Randolph was hiding from creditors.”

“That would not normally require such desperate measures, unless it were a question of imprisonment. Even so, the better rooms in the Fleet are preferable to that mouldy old house.”

“Some people’s pride cannot accept the prospect of prison, Sir.”

“No, and I don’t blame them. My own pride would not like it very much, although far better people have suffered imprisonment for debt in their time. Debts are the very devil, Hendrickson, and yet it is almost impossible to succeed in business without incurring some every now and then. Still, if that’s all, it should be easy enough to resolve Mrs. Randolph’s problems.”

The food was delivered, and he thanked the maid.

“Tell me, Hendrickson, does the name ‘Buckley’ mean anything to you?”

“Do you mean John Buckley, Sir? Of Aldgate?”

“I don’t know. Who is that?”

“A nasty customer, Sir, though the authorities have not been able to prove anything against him, ‘tis said because he is bribing and blackmailing some of them. He passes for a respectable businessman most of the time, but he’s rumoured to have ordered a man’s throat cut only last year. He’s the type who would not soil his own hands.”

“Aldgate is a long way from here. There is no Buckley anywhere in this town or neighbourhood?” Jonathan took a cautious sip from his ale.

“None that have come to my notice, Sir. Does this man have anything to do with Mrs. Randolph?”

“She thought at first I might work for someone of that name.” Jonathan tried the boiled chicken, which the landlady considered a ‘strengthening’ food, just right for a recovering invalid. It tasted like any other chicken, merely unseasoned.

“That might be John Buckley after all, Sir. He is notorious for having men of all classes and professions under his control. It might also explain why she was hiding. I would not like to have the man after me, and for a gently-bred lady it must be an even more frightening prospect. But surely now that you have made her acquaintance, the lady herself will tell you what drove her to stay in that place? Is she still there at this moment?”

“I don’t know. There has been no occasion for any confidences or frank discussion as yet. That may be the root of the problem.” Jonathan drank some barley water, his throat was getting dry. “I shall talk to all three sisters and tell them about the possible relationship. Between us we may come up with a solution of this conundrum – we
must
. If they should have some clue in their possession that requires following up, I will call on your services, so hold yourself ready, Hendrickson.”

“Very well, Sir.”

He sent Hendrickson away, and felt sufficiently restored to order a bath in the middle of the afternoon.

Still a little out of breath from pulling his body out of narrow hip-bath, he was putting on his dressing gown when Selbington entered the room after a short knock.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Much better,” Jonathan admitted. “My thanks for looking after me, and calling the physician. But what on earth made you turn up so early in the morning with Lord Pell, of all people, and Matthew Spalding?”

“I had left you to the mercies of a maid who looked tired herself, and rather indifferent to your fate. Naturally I felt anxious to see how you had fared overnight. That I ran into Anthony - Lord Pell - and Matt was mere coincidence.”

“A Marquess should still have been in bed at such an ungodly hour,” Jonathan grumbled.

“It was near eight o’clock; I don’t know about Anthony, but I usually get up at six.”

“You know Lord Pell well?”

“We are of similar age, and he came here occasionally in his boyhood. We always got on well, though he is too grand these days for our old friendship to continue as it used to.”

“Do you also know his sister, Lady Amberley?”

“Not to speak to. Her mother kept her well away from local children. Anthony had far more freedom. It must be seven or eight years since she was at Adlingham. She was a pretty girl, but I prefer blondes.” He said the last sentence with a broad grin. It would have taken a duller man than Jonathan not to put two and two together.

“Can it be you have already found that happiness you were planning to pursue?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You are glowing like a small sun, lighting up the whole room.”

“And I have good reason, but as it is not yet public, I beg you not to bruit it about for the present. Miss Trellisham has agreed to be my bride, so we will be brothers-in-law before too long.”

“My felicitations.” Even if he did not wed Cherry, Jonathan realised, they would be family connections one way or the other. “I wish you a very happy union. You had better call me Jonathan, under the circumstances.”

“Thank you – you know my own name, Paul. Do you think you will be well enough to reschedule our business meeting tomorrow at eleven? We could wait another day, if you need more rest.” Selbington – no,
Paul
- was regarding him with worry. “I would not want to cause a relapse.”

“No, that is all right. It is against my principles to leave a sale hanging in the air like that, and I do want those paintings, - unless you have changed your mind yourselves?”

“Not a chance,” Paul assured him. “They are already yours, as far as my sisters and I are concerned. I never want to see that dead hare and skull again, and as for the Judith, I can only wonder at the bad taste of Holofernes. She has the body of a forty-year-old who stuffs herself with sweetmeats five times a day. To let such a woman cut off his head seems extremely foolish.”

“It is hardly genteel to make such personal remarks about a lady,” Jonathan admonished. “I’m quite satisfied with Judith as she is.”

“Better you than me, then. By the way, how will you get to Norwich? We are taking my parents’ barouche for the four of us; you could borrow the gig, if you like.”

“Thank you, but I will make my own arrangements.” He’d have Hendrickson hire a coach from Bellington’s only livery stable. “By the way, why was Cherry hiding in your old house by the wall of the estate? It is hardly the right environment for a lady.”

“Yes, so we all told her.” Selbington sounded almost guilty. “She was afraid of somebody her late husband was entangled with. She still is afraid, no matter how often her sisters, Matt and I tell her that here in Bellington she has nothing to fear.”

“A man named Buckley? She mentioned him to me at one point.”

“Yes, that is the name. She suspected every stranger of being in that man’s employ, even you at first, or so Patience tells me.”

“Apparently there is a man called John Buckley from Aldgate, who is indeed a dangerous criminal, or so I was told. Cherry does not strike me as a lady who flinches from shadows. Why would this man be after her?”

Selbington shrugged. “I have no idea. You’ll have to ask her yourself. After all, she’s your fiancée now, and it is your privilege and responsibility to protect Cherry from threats like this fellow.”

Jonathan felt banging his head against the wall. “About that engagement, it would be better to keep the news close to the family, until I have had a talk with Cherry and her sisters. There are some things I need to explain –“

“You are already married or engaged?”

“Well, no, -”

“Then there is no escape; stop looking for loopholes, and make the best of it. I am really concerned at your lack of enthusiasm. Any red-blooded man who has the chance to wed Cherry should be shouting for joy, unless he was in love with another, of course.” He stopped with an arrested expression on his face. “Oh no! Your affections are already engaged elsewhere?”

“No,” Jonathan said testily. “But there are other impediments that you have not thought of. Never mind about that now.”

“It’s no use wanting to keep the matter private, all of Bellington already knows about it. We have persuaded Cherry to move to Spalding Hall, so you will see her there as soon as you are sufficiently recovered.”

“The whole town knows?” He should have expected it, Jonathan told himself. Had he forgotten how small towns absorbed and magnified every little drop of interesting gossip?

“And I make no doubt that Pell will also tell his sister, Lady Amberley,” Paul said, “who I believe is an acquaintance of yours?”

“Not yet, but her brother-in-law James is an old friend.” It only needed that.

“Well, it just goes to show, it’s a small world after all.”