Complications (11 page)

AMELIA WOKE hoping the previous day had been a nightmare
- it did not seem possible that her father was suddenly gone - but the silenced
clocks and black drapes around the pictures told her otherwise. The dining
room, laid out for breakfast, was empty and she went in search of her mother,
finding her in her father’s study.

Mrs Daventry was in a chair at the desk
frowning at a handful of papers. Without looking up she said, “People will want
payment for bills. Your father would expect me to handle this but I do not know
what to do.”

Amelia pulled another chair up to the desk.
“Then we will do it together.”

Her resolve quickly faded to fear. Neither
of them could make sense of the various receipts and bills - did the money need
to be paid or had it already been paid? How much money did they have and where
was it invested? Mr Daventry had been in charge of all such matters and had
never mentioned the subject to either of them. Surely only men understood such
things? Yet sometimes a woman inherited an estate from her father or husband so
there must be some way of getting it to make sense.

They eventually gave up, defeated, and Mrs
Daventry said she would make an appointment with the family man of business who
would hopefully be able to explain to them what money they had and what to do
about expenses and bills.

Amelia set about writing a notice to go in
the Edinburgh Gazette stating where and when the funeral would be held and
there were a few distant relatives who would also need to be informed.

The breakfast in the dining room remained
uneaten.

* * *

“I believe I expressed myself badly when we
last spoke,” Mr Nathaniel Fenbridge said as they played a game of billiards in
Benjamin’s home. “When I mentioned nearly getting engaged, what I meant was
that as easy as it would have been to do as everyone expected, I would have been
unfair to myself and to the lady in question if I had. Sometimes one’s heart
leads in a different direction.”

Benjamin tried to take this in. The words
seemed a confirmation of his own feelings but he had been wrong so many times
it did not seem possible and, after the picnic, his hopes had been destroyed
entirely.

Fenbridge continued, “May I ask why you
were concerned about your future?”

“My father wishes me to marry.”

Fenbridge stared at him. He seemed taken
aback by this announcement but otherwise Benjamin could not read his emotions. “Who?”

“Someone of good family, the wealthier the
better. Other than that, anyone would do.”

“What do you want?”

This was the moment; the choice between two
paths. Should he tell Fenbridge of his feelings or should he lie and say he was
perfectly amenable to the idea of marriage? He opened his mouth, still with no
idea what to do, and the words came out of their own volition: “I do not ever
wish to marry.”

Fenbridge gave a shaky smile and put a hand
on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “Then I think you should not.”

“My father might disinherit me.”

“I am quite certain that, if it becomes
necessary, my brother would let you live on his estate.”

Benjamin swallowed, his heart beating so
loudly he wondered if Fenbridge could hear it. “Why would he do that?”

“To make me happy.
You
make me
happy.”

Benjamin leaned closer. “As you do. I mean,
you also make me…”

Fenbridge kissed him and every problem
vanished. It was Benjamin’s first kiss and the sensation of Fenbridge’s warm
lips against his was a revelation. He held on to the other man as every
seemingly insurmountable obstacle between them vanished.

* * *

The funeral was like a bad dream to Amelia.
She tried to hold back the tears but it was as if she was only realising now
that her father truly was gone. Out of both her parents, he had always been the
more indulgent one; the one who could understand her point of view and rarely
criticised her. She would miss him so much.

She could not have said whether it was
sunny or raining in the churchyard. A blackness seemed to surround her and no
warmth or brightness penetrated it.

Guests came back to the house after the
funeral and she accepted their condolences numbly, wishing with all her heart
for Lottie, who would have made this bearable.

She saw Mr Brightford talking to people and
could not even find the energy to be angry with him. His presence just added to
her grief.

“Have you eaten yet today?” Benjamin asked
her, Mr Nathaniel Fenbridge at his side. She had not even seen them approach.

Had she eaten? She tried to remember. “I do
not think so.”

“Then you must have something.”

“I will fetch it.” Mr Nathaniel touched her
arm, expression full of sympathy, then he walked away towards the table that
had been laid out with food.

“He is a good man,” she said, glad to have
something to distract her mind. “Did you tell him what your father said?”

“Yes.” He smiled.

“You will not be marrying?”

The smile widened and his eyes followed Mr Fenbridge’s
movements with clear affection. “No, I will not marry.”

“Good.”

She sat with them and ate some food,
although it seemed tasteless and indigestible. Other people began to drift
away. Mr Brightford caught her eyes, looking as if he wanted to say something,
before he turned and left.

“We will gladly stay for a while if you and
your mother do not wish to be alone,” Benjamin said.

“I do not think either of us is capable of
sensible conversation today,” she said. “I think we need some time on our own
to grieve.”

The house felt particularly empty after
they left and Amelia gave in to the need to cry unreservedly.

AMELIA AND HER mother spent two hours the next morning in
a confusing meeting with the family man of business. Amelia had suggested that
it wait a few days but Mama had wanted to get it out of the way. Mr Brodie had
made it clear their situation was bad but had rattled through so many things
they did not understand – what were the funds? which bank had collapsed? - that
they came out of the office with no better understanding of their finances than
when they had entered. If Amelia’s head had been clearer she would have
demanded him to explain himself clearly but, as it was, his constant references
to her father just deepened her grief and she could not give the matter the
attention it warranted; indeed, she just wanted to escape.

The law building was in the centre of the
New Town and, upon leaving, they ran into the last person in the world Amelia
wanted to see. He bowed to them and she responded with a brief curtsy.

“My deepest condolences to you both,” Mr
Brightford said, his frown one of sympathy not disapproval for once, but no
more welcome than usual. “I did not want to disturb you at the funeral but I
wanted you to know that I liked and respected Mr Daventry a great deal. Everyone
did.”

She bit her lip to stop herself commenting
on how little he liked her, unable to cope with him today, while her mother
gave a polite response.

As they turned away he added, “Let me know
if there is anything I can do.”

This was too much and she glared at him
over her shoulder: “Do you not think you have done more than enough?”

She saw his start of surprise at this and
then a distinctly guilty expression.

She followed her mother to their carriage
and climbed in.

“What was it you said to Mr Brightford?” Mrs
Daventry asked her as she smoothed down her black mourning dress.

Amelia shook her head and then, out of the
blue, started to sob.

* * *

Benjamin called on Mrs Daventry and Amelia
mid-afternoon to see how they were getting on. Mr Daventry had been a kind,
friendly man - indeed, Benjamin had often wished his own father could have been
more like him.

He found them in the drawing room, both
subdued while Amelia’s eyes were red from crying and his heart went out to them
both. He could not even imagine their pain.

They had not needed his help with the
funeral arrangements but there surely must be something he could do for them
now: “Tell me what you need done. Letters? Perhaps packing away some of Mr
Daventry’s possessions?”

“It is extremely kind of you…” Mrs Daventry
began.

“Do you know anything of financial papers?”
Amelia cut in.

“Amelia, you cannot ask such a thing,” her
mother scolded.

“No, please, let me help,” Benjamin
insisted. “Tell me what you need explained and I will endeavour to do so. If
there is anything that is unclear to me - and there might well be as my father
handles a lot of our affairs - I will fetch Mr Nathaniel Fenbridge to go
through it with you.”

“We could not impose on you or Mr Fenbridge
like that,” Mrs Daventry said.

“I have always had the very highest opinion
of Mr Daventry and Amelia has been a second sister to me. I sincerely wish to
help.”

Mrs Daventry hesitated then nodded, clearly
embarrassed at needing assistance. “Then I thank you. If you can make more
sense than our solicitor did we will be eternally grateful to you.”

Several hours later they had gone through
all the papers, the task of which bills still needed to be paid much easier
once they came across the accounts book Mr Daventry had kept. Both women
understood his explanations quickly, although they seemed surprised to be able
to do so.

He had known that the family was not a
wealthy one but the situation was worse than he had expected. If Amelia did not
marry a rich man they might well have to sell their estate and, although that
would leave them enough money for comfortable lives, it would leave nothing for
any future generations.

They both offered him grateful smiles and
thanked him for his help but Benjamin remained concerned for them.

* * *

Mr Alexander Fenbridge’s sisters arrived
with their respective husbands at exactly the correct time for the dinner party
and were shown into the drawing room where Mr Fenbridge introduced them to
Lottie. The elder sister – Mrs Henrietta Stanton - had light brown hair while
the younger woman – Mrs Catherine Wentford - was blonde, but other than this
their looks were similar: regal and aloof in a way that magnified Lottie’s
nervousness. After all her mother’s comments on the subject Lottie felt as if
her entire future marriage depended on tonight being perfect.

She had invited a few extra people to
increase the numbers and, as a friend of the family, had been forced to include
Mr Wrackley. She disliked him for causing Amelia pain and had no desire to
spend any time in his company, so she excused herself as soon as she had
greeted him. The guests made small talk while awaiting the final people and
Lottie silently went over the order of precedence for the procession to the
dining room, desperately hoping she had got it correct and no one would be
offended. When everyone was assembled and the butler had announced the meal Mr
Fenbridge led his elder sister into the dining room with the rest of the
gentlemen taking the ladies’ arms and following, in strict rank order. Lottie,
as an unmarried woman, was last, led in by the loquacious parish priest, who
distracted her briefly from her nerves.

Everyone took their assigned seats, the
giant epergne in the middle of the table providing most of the light while,
unfortunately, blocking Mr Fenbridge and his elder sister from her sight. Mrs
Wentford, his younger sister, was to Lottie’s right, after Mr Smithton, the
priest. Aware that half the purpose of the meal was for her to become
acquainted with the rest of Mr Fenbridge’s family, Lottie tried to get in some
conversation with Mrs Wentford but was largely thwarted by Mr Smithton’s
inability to stop speaking.

Four courses into the meal – about halfway
through – she managed to knock over her glass of red wine. She stared at it in
horror as one of the footmen hastened forward to clear up the mess.

“Really, Charlotte, you can be so clumsy,”
her mother scolded in a loud voice, so that everyone at the table must be aware
of Lottie’s failure.

From that moment onwards she could do
nothing right. The blush never left her cheeks; she was tongue-tied and, when
she could speak, she stammered over her words.

By the end of the night, when the guests
had departed, she was so mortified so could not look Mr Fenbridge in the eye.
How heartily he must regret having picked such a fool to marry.

“DID YOU TELL Miss Daventry what I said about her to
Wrackley?”

It was two days after Mr Daventry’s funeral
and Mr Brightford was feeling sorry for the family and wretched over spoiling Miss
Daventry’s chance at a good marriage. He tried to tell himself that Wrackley
would have been miserable to discover after marriage that Miss Daventry had
only ever wanted his money and not him, but he was no longer sure about any of
this. He could not forget the look of distress and anger on her face when he
encountered her yesterday.

“Yes, I did,” Fenbridge admitted, putting
down a cup of coffee. “I will not apologise for it. I like Miss Daventry and I
think you have treated her extremely ill.”

Brightford could not be annoyed with him
when he knew Fenbridge had acted out of his usual kindness. “Perhaps you are
right. I felt I had a duty to tell Wrackley the truth but now I am not so sure,
particularly in light of what she is currently suffering.”

“More than you know.”

Brightford made a look of enquiry. “How
so?”

“I reveal this only in the strictest
confidence but Benj- Harrington helped the family understand their finances and
I gather the situation is dire.”

“That was why she needed Wrackley’s money.”

Fenbridge frowned. “I believe she loved
him. I am not certain she was even aware of his wealth. I certainly never
mentioned it and, while you were in my presence, which you usually were around Miss
Daventry, I do not believe you or my brother ever mentioned it.”

Brightford frowned over this idea. If it
was true then his interference had been unconscionable. Mr Daventry had asked
him of Mr Wrackley’s character but, no, the subject of wealth had never been
mentioned and he had never spoken of it to Miss Daventry. “In the past I had
overheard her speaking of getting herself a rich, powerful husband.”

“Given her family’s situation it doubtless
seemed like something she must consider but, when it came to it, I believe her
heart led her to Wrackley.”

“Then I have harmed her in a way I do not
have any idea how to fix.” He would have to try. His conscience demanded it.

* * *

Lottie was arranging roses from the garden
into a vase the morning after her disastrous dinner party. Mr Alexander
Fenbridge had made no criticisms of her so far today but she dreaded the
thought that he might not wish to marry her any more. He had chosen her to be
an accomplished hostess and manage his home capably and she had failed her
first self-appointed task. She was deep in these thoughts when the footman came
in.

“Mrs Wentford to see you, Miss Harrington.”

He had barely finished speaking when Mr Fenbridge’s
younger sister swept into the dining room, flawlessly lovely despite the heat
of the day, in lavender satin. Lottie, feeling a dowdy mess in comparison,
curtsied and sent the butler for lemonade while they sat down.

 “I wanted to apologise to you and Mrs
Stanton for making such a mess of the dinner party last night.”

Mrs Wentford raised an elegant eyebrow.
“Did you make a mess?”

“I spilt my wine.”

Mrs Wentford laughed. “My sister and I are
hardly so fussy that we would condemn you for so tiny a thing, but it is
flattering to my brother and us that you were so concerned that the evening be
perfect.”

“I truly did and then I ended up clumsy and
tongue-tied.”

“You are too critical of yourself. My
brother thinks highly of you which is all that is really important.”

“Does he?” Without intending to she found
herself blurting out her greatest fear. “I keep fearing he will change his
mind.”

“He is not the capricious type. He loves
you.”

“Oh, no. It was not a romantic proposal. Mr
Fenbridge believed I would make him a practical wife.”

“Oh, dear.” Mrs Wentworth gave a dimpled
smile. “I think Alex must have been too nervous to confess his feelings to you
but, as someone who knows him well, I can assure you he cares deeply for you.
He will certainly think nothing of the occasional spilt drink.”

Lottie laughed, relieved and pleased by
these words and by Mrs Wentford’s support. After a couple of hours talking she
considered Mrs Wentford a friend, the lady displaying the same friendliness and
kind nature as her brothers, along with a lively interest in all that went on
in the parish. By the time she left Lottie had learnt a great deal about her
new home and felt more relaxed than she had since arriving.

As she went for a walk in the garden, she
considered what Mrs Wentford had said about Mr Fenbridge. Lottie had not
thought she would ever have love in her life again - had not believed she could
trust it - but it gave her a burst of happiness to think that Mr Fenbridge had
deeper feelings for her than she had known.

* * *

A week went by and then two. Amelia thought
little of what was happening in the outside world. She knew, with a kind of
dazed disbelief, that the season was drawing to a close, that people were still
attending card parties, balls and dinner parties, but it seemed impossible to
her that there could still be pleasure in the world when her own life and that
of her mother were so bleak.

Her grief still befuddled her senses so the
interview she and mama had had with their man of business yesterday had been
particularly difficult. They must sell their estate in order to have enough
money to live, he had told them. Mama had refused. Amelia had no idea what was
for the best, although it hurt to think of giving up the family home Papa had
worked all his life to keep.

The butler announced Mr Benjamin Harrington
and she automatically got to her feet and curtsied to him as he bowed. She put
down the cushion cover she had been staring at - it should have been a gift for
her father but she had embroidered too slowly, easily distracted by trivial
pleasures, and he had never seen it. She knew he had loved her but had she ever
done anything to make him proud of her?

Mr Harrington held out a letter which she
accepted. “It is from Lottie,” he said. “I wrote to tell her immediately of
your father’s death.”

She gave a watery smile, the piece of paper
immediately priceless to her. “Thank you.”

“How are you today? Was it yesterday you
were going back to the solicitor?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” They sat down and she
told him as much as she could remember of what had been said. “Do you think
there is anything we can do to save the estate?”

“I believe your father managed to raise
enough money for your family to live on through careful investments. It would
make sense to continue doing the same.”

“I know nothing of such things. Could you
advise me?”

“I fear I know as little as you but I will
ask Fenbridge and Brightford.”

“Not Mr Brightford,” she said quickly. “He
has a low opinion of me and I think it best to have as little to do with him
from now on as possible.”

He stiffened at this. “What has happened?”

“It is not important. He is now
brother-in-law to you and Lottie and I know he is your friend. Let me simply
say that we have had a disagreement.”

“Let us not,” he exclaimed, frowning. “For
him to upset you when you are grieving…”

“He did not,” she reassured him and wished
she had never brought up the man. “I thought myself in love with Mr Wrackley
when he was here and he… he seemed to care for me. Mr Brightford said some
things to him that, I believe, caused him to change his opinion of me and
leave.”

“What did he say?”

She bit her lip. “That I was interested in
nothing but Mr Wrackley’s money. It is not true…”

“Of course it is not,” he said angrily. “How
dare he behave so?”

“I suppose he believed it to be true. In
the past I have thought how nice it would be to be rich.”

“So do a lot of people. I have no doubt
Lottie dreamed of riches on occasion and I have certainly wished for more money
to spend on our estate.”

“But Lottie was the romantic one…”

“And now she has made a thoroughly sensible
match. I sincerely hope she will grow to love Mr Alexander Fenbridge but she is
certainly not infatuated at present and I would fight any man who criticised
her for it. She did what she thought was best for her and that is what you will
do and I hope you will have the luxury of finding your heart and good sense
lead you to a man of good character and reasonable wealth.”

“Mr Wrackley had both, although I did not
know it nor, at the time, care about his finances.” It seemed so long ago, a
bright, happy time long gone, replaced by long difficult days and constant
sadness.

“Brightford should be horse-whipped.”

Amelia grabbed his arm, alarmed by his
anger. “Benjamin, promise me you will not challenge him to a duel.”

“I should…”

“No. I want you to do nothing about this. You
must give me your word. If I was responsible for either you or Mr Brightford
dying I do not know how I would live with it. At the time he thought he was
acting for the best and perhaps his words made no difference at all: if Mr
Wrackley had truly loved me could he have been so easily put off? Promise me
you will not challenge him.”

He gave a curt nod. “Very well.”

When he took his leave Amelia sat down and,
once she had managed to convince herself no one was going to die in a duel, she
calmed and opened Lottie’s letter.

* * *

“I should challenge you to a duel but Miss
Daventry made me promise not to.”

Mr Brightford, sitting in his study getting
very little done, regarded the glaring figure of Harrington with a jaundiced
eye. It had been a long morning and he was not in the mood to cope with
hot-headed youths. “Then I suppose I must be grateful to Miss Daventry.”

“She can hardly say the same, can she? I
got her to tell me what you said to Mr Wrackley.” His anger dimmed into a
confused disappointment that was somehow more galling: “How could you do such a
thing?”

“I misjudged her and, I promise you, I have
already been taken to task over it by Nathan. If I could take back my words I
would. I have been trying to think of a way to make amends but thus far can
think of nothing.”

“There is a way but since Amelia
specifically said she did not wish for your advice, you will have to keep
thinking.” He began to walk out but turned when Brightford called after him.

“I do heartily regret my words.”

Benjamin nodded. “Did it never occur to you
that, like you, there is far more to Miss Daventry than can easily be
ascertained at a ball or other diversion. She is intelligent and kind but those
are sides of her that are not seen unless one takes the time to get to know
her.”

He left Brightford to ponder these words.

* * *

Lottie’s affectionate letter had left
Amelia feeling more lonely than ever but she now thought of the upcoming visit
and wedding with more interest than she had felt in anything since her father’s
death.

Of course, the hateful Mr Brightford would
be attending the wedding too but she could not avoid him forever and why should
she? She was not the one in the wrong. And yet what had given him the idea she
might be interested in Mr Wrackley for his money? It was not true but she had
thought of men in mercenary terms in the past. She had told herself she was
being practical but had she instead been callous or greedy? Yet Benjamin had
understood and not condemned her.

She did not know what to think, except that
Mr Brightford had now beaten Mr Saverney as the most unpleasant man she had
ever met.