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Authors: Joan Smith

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“Tell me what the occasion might be, and I shall be happy to join you.”

A glass was put into my hand by Nora, filled up by Edward, and smiled on by Emily in such a way I felt sure that she was ready to be a bride, whatever Edward felt about being a groom. As no one gave me the toast, I looked to Gamble, to see him examining me in a questioning way.

Edward cleared his throat, threw back his shoulders, and addressed me in majestic accents. “I have been asked to assume the position of Magistrate for the County, Chloe,” he said. My confusion fell away in a flash. It was a
judicial
face he wore. Coming so unexpectedly it had not been recognized, but it was well done. “A great surprise and honour, for which I am very grateful to Jack.” He nodded with grave dignity to our guest.

“You must be joking!” I exclaimed, without thinking. “Surely Tom Carrick will be the new Magistrate.”

The Judge cast a sad, disapproving countenance on this unthinking remark. “Many will say so,” he allowed. “I confess I had thought myself it would be Tom. I did not look for this honour, but when Jack explained it to me I could not refuse to do my duty, even though I am lacking 25 years and experience.”

“What manner of explaining did Jack do to convince you you are ready to turn Judge?” I demanded, flinging the question into the air midway between the donor and recipient of the honour.

“Tom is a relative newcomer amongst us—not so well known and established as the Barwicks, Chloe. The
Barwicks have been here forever—longer than the Gambles, if it comes to that. I am familiar with the local customs, and as Jack says, justice must not only be done, but it must be seen to be done. That calls for a local resident of long standing. Everyone knows the name of Barwick can be trusted.”

“You are only twenty-four years old, Edward. You are young for this position.”

He nodded with a tolerant face. “True. Perfectly true, but who else would you give the post to? Not Captain Wingdale, obviously, nor any of those who have thrown in their lot with him. It must be a man of letters. I am better trained than a mere teacher or clerk. One of the few who have been to university actually.”

“Oh, Edward, you are too young. And a bachelor ...”

Some expectant pause in the listeners told me I erred here. Emily stepped forward, still smiling softly, to grab Edward by the hand. “We are going to be married right away, Chloe,” she said. Her voice was transformed to an echo with bliss. “Very soon, before Papa dies,” she added shamelessly, “for if that happens first, you must know, we would have to wait for
ages.”

“Surely you don’t
disapprove
of the appointment?” Gamble asked, his eyes wide in disbelief.

“I am too shocked to either approve or disapprove,” I answered truthfully. Of course, it did not take me long to approve, once an inkling of the benefits washed over me. The salary was of importance certainly, but equally pleasing was to garner a little of my family’s faded glory back again. My father had been Magistrate, and his father before him. Edward would hire a bailiff to help run Ambledown, and could stop playing at sheep farmer, a role that did not suit him perfectly. He was young to become so earnest and serious, but it was a role he could grow into, not one that would stifle his development. As I looked at him again, to see him in his new guise, the traces of youthful happiness were beginning to peep out at the corners of his stern lips, in little smiles at Emily.

I was so happy for him I ran to give him a kiss on the cheek, and with Emily so close to hand, she too received one. “Very best happiness to you both,” I said.

“We’ll be sisters, Chloe,” Emily sighed joyously. “Isn’t it lovely? You must stay here with us a while after we marry, or Hennie will think to move in, and we don’t want
her.’’

“A while” had a very temporary sound to it, but it was not the time to discuss that. We drank, first to Edward’s new appointment, then to the marriage. I believe the sequence ought to have been changed in deference to the bride, but she did not mind. Edward proposed a special toast to her alone. By this time, Nora was wearing a fatuous, bemused grin. She was not accustomed to much wine drinking. Neither was I, if it came to that. “A toast to Black Jack Gamble!” she declared, with a nervous giggle at her daring.

“Where the devil did you hear that old name?” he asked.

Edward quickly seconded the toast, and we drank once more. Just before Nora’s eyes began spinning in her head she excused herself to see to something in the kitchen, but in fact went upstairs to her room to lie down before she should fall down. I felt I ought to go after her and do likewise, for I was giddy myself.

Gamble leaned towards me, speaking softly. “It would be proper to leave these two old lovebirds alone a moment, don’t you think?” he asked. His voice sounded far away, and hollow. It took me a moment to figure out what he meant, but I answered without revealing how badly my head was spinning.

“Certainly. They will never notice it if we step into Edward’s study for a minute.”

“I suggest we go out for a breath of air instead,” he said, and took me by the elbow to go towards the front door. His strange smile accompanied by those telling words informed me he thought I was foxed.

“If
you
feel the need,” I answered loftily, just before I tripped. The carpet does turn up at the edge, so I don’t mean to imply I was staggering, or anything of the sort. Merely my head was spinning a little.

 

Chapter Twenty-five

 

“That is an autumnal nip in the air,” he said, as we stepped out into the darkness. “Do you want to go back for a shawl?”

“No, the coolness feels good.”

“I thought you were looking a little flushed. I expect you have been wondering why I have not been here sooner.”

“On the contrary, I was surprised to see you come at all,” I prevaricated. I was not disguised enough to admit to any hope.

“I had several matters to attend to. When my appointment as Deputy Lieutenant came through in such good time, it made it easier.”

“That was very sudden, was it not?”

“Not really. I set the wheels in motion as soon as you dropped me the hint Uncle had turned his duties over to Wingdale. My dash to London helped, I think. I tried to make the authorities aware there was some urgency in the matter, and it seems to have worked. I had the noose around Wingdale’s throat pretty tightly already. He had spread himself so thin I was able to start squeezing him for monies owed. You are looking at the new owner of Wingdale Hause, by the by. We must change the name. What are your feelings about the Carnforth Arms? I do at least
have
a set of arms, so we can retire Queen Anne’s.”

“I trust you will change more than the name.”

“The cook, certainly. We shall curtail their dancing too, but not eliminate it entirely. You will tell me how to add a touch of quality.”

“I trust you are not thinking of redecorating it in the Indian fashion, with elephants’ feet and hideous blankets thrown over everything.”

“Oh no, I could not like to part with those cherished items. We will want them at home.”

My heart beat a little taster. “A pity Lady Trevithick is not here to give you some suggestions. A museum room, perhaps. Or have you reverted to your original notion of turning Ambledown into the local museum?”

“Wingdale let that cat out of the bag, did he? That must have been quite a visit. I did once think it a charming idea, but that is not why I set Edward to restoring it.”

“I have been wondering whether you didn’t do it to get him overextended, as you did Wingdale, in order to snatch it from him.”

“Yes, I know you have. Your sharp comments upon my arrival told me so. Now, I trust, you have figured out the
real
reason.”

His arm went around my waist as he spoke, making rational figuring of any sort difficult to accomplish. “You don’t think I intend to hear for the rest of my life how you were
forced
to have me, do you? Whether you do or not, Edward’s house is in order. What he owes will be my wedding gift to him, and his new position should bring enough blunt to carry him through till he gets his farm business in order.”

“There is no reason in the world to marry you then,” I said offhandedly.

I was suddenly and very violently crushed to a pulp in his arms. The fleeting glimpse I had of his face in the moonlight was dangerously menacing. If I had not been tipsy, I daresay I might have been a little frightened. “Shrew!” he said angrily, just before he kissed me. It was a ruthless, barbarous, bad-mannered attack that left me gasping, my knees turned to jelly.

“And
after
we are married,” he said mildly, “we shall decide what is to be done about the havoc Wingdale has wrought in the village. Perhaps the original sheep farmers can be reinstated on terms they can afford.”

“That demmed arrow-straight road ...” I said, in a faraway voice, hardly caring two straws for it, at that particular moment.

“The weeds and grass will cover it in no time,” he promised. “We’re going to make a great couple, Chloe. With your brains and my blunt, we’ll keep all the Wingdales and other upstarts in line. If anybody tries to destroy our village, we’ll have Edward toss ’em in the roundhouse.”

“Is that what will happen to Wingdale?”

“No, it’s not a crime to be penniless, and he’s covered his traces of former crimes well enough that he’ll probably get away, to destroy some other peaceful community. He’ll walk away with
some
money, unfortunately. But I am feeling lenient tonight. I don’t really mind.”

We sat on the chairs beneath the beech trees, feeling rather than seeing the night around us. Our fingers were entwined, the mood benign. As my head cleared, I remembered to twit him about Millie Henderson, and he was lucid enough to exculpate himself rather adroitly.

“She wanted to marry a fellow named Billie Hall, and I wanted to go away to university. We got our heads—and that is all—together and devised the plan, got ourselves caught out in an apparently compromising position. Wilbur ditched her; about six months later she married Billie, and I was packed off to the East India Company school for Nabobs at Haileybury to study the four gospels of the Greek Testament, and translate Latin into English. Not a particularly useful course, but then it is good for a lord-to-be to have a smattering of the classics. So,” he said, with a more lively sound to his voice, “how soon can we get married?”

“I think we ought to wait a few months. You have been in love with Emily and Lady Irene and the lord knows who else since returning. Better give yourself a little time to be sure this is not a passing fancy, don’t you think? And I wish you will stop
torturing
my fingers,” I said, as the pressure on them increased painfully.

“It isn’t
passing,
Chloe. It was a while creeping up on me. Coming home to find a pretty little Incomparable destitute and nubile under my roof put ideas into my head. I am but human after all. Human enough to see she was only a ninnyhammer of a girl trying to make Edward jealous. I won’t let on that was why I made up to her originally, but I will tell you this: I knew the night I offered I would never marry her. So did she. We did not speak of it, but when she said Edward would be so jealous he would turn green when he heard it, I didn’t think I would ever be her husband. I didn’t give a damn either. I wanted just any respectable wife at the time. So I decided
you
would do as well as any,” he added, and laughed tauntingly.

“Despite being practically engaged to Tom?” I reminded him.

“A lady don’t stay ‘practically engaged’ for two years if she has any notion of marrying the fellow. We’ll get married the end of September,” he decided.

Emily and Edward came out looking for us. The Judge had decided it was time for Emily to go home, and for me to come inside. “Maybe sooner, if Judge Barwick proves too stern a guardian,” Jack added.

 

 

 

To Robin
and Terry Smith

 

 

 

 

 

 

Copyright © 1983 by Joan Smith

Originally published by Fawcett Crest (022920121X)

Electronically published in 2012 by Belgrave House

 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

 

     http://www.RegencyReads.com

     Electronic sales: [email protected]

 

This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.

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