A Sense of Destiny (Perceptions Book 6), page 3
‘You will be taking Pawson, I assume.’
‘Of course. He can be deucedly annoying and constantly forgets his place. But I have grown accustomed to having him around, and at least he discharges his duties efficiently.’
‘Well then, I shall have Polly with me,’ she said, referring to the pretty little maid whom Archie had found for her. ‘I am sure that Beatrice will look after Alice, her little girl.’ She grinned. ‘Me, travelling with my own maid. Only imagine.’
Archie returned her smile. ‘And so you should.’ He wondered if she wanted to take Polly in order to ensure that the proprieties were observed. She had managed well enough without a maid all the time she’d been employed by the countess. But Archie didn’t mind what her reasons were. All he cared about was having her to himself.
He kissed the back of her hand again, softly brushed the curve of her cheek with his fingertips and then, unable to help himself, briefly covered her lips with his own.
‘What was that for?’ she asked, dazed.
He smiled. ‘I have a reputation to live down to,’ he reminded her. ‘I should never recover my self-esteem if I had an attractive lady all to myself and didn’t take just the smallest of liberties.’
‘Oh well then,’ she replied, looking flustered. ‘I am glad to have done my part to keep your appalling reputation intact. Good day to you, Archie. I have enjoyed myself. Thank you for showing me your home.’
‘The pleasure has been entirely mine.’
He insisted upon negotiating the steps and helping her into his carriage himself. He stood where he was as Pawson handed a large parcel of books into the carriage. He waved and she lowered the window to return the gesture. Archie watched until the conveyance disappeared from view and then retired to his library. Her light floral perfume lingered in the air and in his mind as he reached for the brandy decanter and poured himself a large measure, feeling lonely in ways that he had forgotten were possible. He was happy as a general rule with his own company and hadn’t minded living alone in this house before. He was accustomed to it.
Now it seemed pointless, a waste, without someone worthy to share it all with.
Chapter Three
‘How long did she stay?’
Magda Simpson strove for a tone of indifference, which was difficult to achieve given that she was eaten up inside with a combination of jealousy and rage. That Archie, her sophisticated rogue of a paramour, could lower his sights to such a degree genuinely baffled her. He was incapacitated, it was true, but pursuing a mousy nobody like Flora Latimer defied belief and made absolutely no sense. She was a clergyman’s daughter, for goodness sake, guaranteed to be constantly on her knees praying for divine intervention. Magda shook her head, unable to understand the attraction.
The scruffy lad standing in front of her shrugged, shuffling his muddy boots on her rug. She had approached several of Archie’s servants, bribing them to spy on their master and keep her informed of his activities, but this child was the only one who’d been prepared to take her coin. Since when had servants become so loyal, so high in the instep, that they weren’t willing to earn a few extra shillings for next to no effort? That was something else that defied belief. Sometimes it felt as though the entire world was conspiring against her, as attested by the continuing downturn and increasingly desperate nature of her circumstances.
‘Dunno, do I,’ the boy mumbled. ‘About three hours, I’m guessing.’
Magda glanced at Jacob Yardley, elegantly sprawled on a sofa as he yawned behind his hand. ‘Long enough to have his way with the strumpet,’ he said casually.
‘What did they do?’ Magda demanded to know.
‘Had something eat, I think. I sawed them in the conservatory when I had to take the path behind the gardens to empty the barrow.’
Magda flipped a coin to the under-gardener’s assistant when it became apparent that he had nothing more to tell her and sent him on his way. ‘Let me know if he entertains anyone else.’
The lad doffed his cap. ‘Will do, missus.’
Magda flounced around the small room and let out a cry of frustration. ‘The floozy’s getting in the way of my plans for Archie. She has to be stopped. You have to stop her, Jacob. She’s getting ideas above her station.’
‘Takes one to know one, darling.’
‘Don’t be absurd. I belong in Archie’s world. The Latimer girl is a paid companion—or was until her charge died and Luke got shot of her.’
‘I hear tell that he had an eye for the girl, too.’
‘Now you are being deliberately offensive.’ Magda sniffed, wondering why she bothered to keep Jacob on. Well, she knew why. He was exceptionally pretty, an excellent lover and good company. A decade younger than her, being seen with him gave her self-esteem a much-needed boost. Besides, they had a common goal. They both wanted to put Miss-interfering-Latimer back in her place. ‘Luke would never fall so low.’
Miss Latimer had interfered with her plans for Luke once before, and that memory still rankled. Magda had moved to Swindon after her husband’s death, when she learned to her horror that she had been left almost destitute. She had sent Luke a note, secure in the knowledge that he would welcome her to the district. Archie’s death had not been her fault, and although well aware that he and Luke had been blood brothers, surely nine years had been sufficient time for the pain to diminish. Magda had been as much in love with Archie as she was capable of loving anyone, and the agony had been equally debilitating for her. Yet no one seemed to care about her finer feelings.
When she had met Luke, Archie and their other two close friends during their university days, Magda had flirted outrageously with them all. Only Luke had resisted her charms, and the slight still rankled. When he failed to respond to her reappearance in his life in the manner she had hoped for, Magda set out to exact revenge. She was heartily tired of the men in her life taking advantage of her. She had attempted to marry him off to her then lover’s sister through nefarious means, fully aware that he would tire of the insipid chit soon enough and finally be ready to turn to her. But Flora Latimer had somehow scuppered that plan, Magda’s lover had left her and she had withdrawn from the fray to lick her wounds in solitude.
Then Archie had miraculously returned from the grave, which changed everything. He’d initially posed as his French cousin, but Magda wasn’t deceived. Even so, she bided her time while his father still lived. The old man despised Magda and blamed her for his son’s injuries. How could it be her fault? She wasn’t to know that her husband would return home when they were intimately engaged. He didn’t even have the good manners to wait until Magda had been satisfied before barging into her bedchamber, barely leaving Archie time to escape through the window. How was she to know that the vine he used as a ladder had been cut away from the wall at its base on Simpson’s orders. It gave way under Archie’s weight and he fell two storeys.
Archie, the one true love of her life. Upon his re-emergence Magda understood why she hadn’t settled for any of the inferior men who had been keen to make an impression upon her. She must have known on a vicarious level that Archie was still alive and that she would eventually become his marchioness, achieving the respectability and position in society she had always aspired to. She just needed to exercise a little more patience and wait until his wretched father finally died. Considerate being that Magda was, she would never have asked her beloved Archie to choose between them.
Oh yes, she was perfectly capable of biding her time when there was something she desperately wanted. She had taken up with Yardley in the meantime, recognising in the boy a kindred spirit who knew how to make the best of his appearance and charm his way through life without lifting a finger to earn a living, thinking of nothing other than his own pleasures.
Magda had sent a note of condolence to Archie when his father finally had the courtesy to turn up his toes, but had received no reply. Irked, she’d sent another, making obscure references to the pleasure they had given one another all that time ago. Any mention of the passage of time concerned Magda. She was older than Archie by a few years and the bloom was fast fading from the rose. She still turned heads, but her looks wouldn’t last indefinitely. She needed to be married again before it was too late to attract the type of man she aspired to being united with.
And Archie was that man. The only man who would truly satisfy her ambitions.
‘What is it about the wretched girl, Jacob?’ she demanded. ‘There is nothing special about her, and yet you tell me that Archie walked into a reception at Salisbury Cathedral and out of it again with her on his arm.’
‘There had been a service to install her father as the new dean.’
‘Good heavens!’ Magda flexed both brows. She hadn’t known that, which implied his feelings for the chit ran deeper than she had supposed. ‘Archie seldom goes to a church unless it’s a Sunday, and not often then. What does your uncle, the bishop, have to say about a marquess throwing his weight about?’
‘You would be better advised to ask what the girl’s father made of it.’
‘The man who wants you to marry his daughter?’
Jacob lifted one shoulder. ‘Apparently so, but she is as disinclined to receive me as Felsham is you.’
‘You’re losing your touch.’
‘No, darling,’ Jacob replied, unconcerned by the implied insult. ‘My touch has never been more finely tuned, as you yourself have good reason to know. I simply haven’t caught Miss Latimer at home yet. Once I do, she will be easy to bring to heel.’
Magda rather liked his arrogance, his total belief that he could charm any female who crossed his path, but on this occasion she felt his confidence might be misplaced. With Archie attracted to her and the hussy keeping him dangling, Jacob would seem like a consolation prize. Not that Archie would consider marrying such a creature, Magda knew. He was more likely reverting to type and enjoying the chase. Even so, it was a worrying aspect of his character that she hadn’t known existed, mainly because she’d allowed him to catch her very easily. But then, she had been a bored and neglected married woman when they first met, out for a little extra-marital activity, with no interest in playing coy.
‘Why does the bishop want you to marry the girl?’ she asked, idly fiddling with her sash.
‘I have absolutely no idea, other than that he’s determined to see me settled. My behaviour is in danger of compromising his position within the church, or so he tells me with tedious regularity. His enemies are always looking for ways to undermine him.’ Jacob sat upright, frowning at his hands. ‘I like the old fool, and he is affectionately inclined towards me. Despite his calling, I think he secretly enjoys hearing about my exploits. He will certainly make it worth my while financially when I bring the chit to her senses and marry her.’
‘Well, hurry up and do it, for all our sakes. Then I shall be able to console Archie.’
‘Anything to oblige you, my dear,’ he replied, reaching up to grab her around the waist and tumbling her onto his lap.
*
Luke Beranger kept himself busy, but the hole left in his heart by the death of his grandmother and then Flora’s departure was still fresh and raw, distracting him. He worked his way diligently through the correspondence and reports that awaited his attention, but his mind kept wandering, and he welcomed the distraction when his sister Mary knocked at his library door. His dog Romulus looked up and wagged his tail half-heartedly when Mary entered the room. Luke knew she wasn’t the female he was hoping to see. Rom seemed as confused by Flora’s absence as Luke himself was, even though he was partly responsible for driving her away.
‘Mary.’ Luke put his pen aside and smiled at her. ‘How are you?’
‘Am I disturbing you?’
‘Not at all.’ Luke left the chair behind his desk and joined his sister in front of the fire. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Does something have to be wrong for me to come and see you?’
‘Of course not.’
Mary was married to Paul, Luke’s secretary and right-hand man and one of the gang of four who had been inseparable during their university days. The couple lived permanently at Beranger Court and Mary was expecting their first child. She looked to be blossoming and blissfully happy. Part of Luke envied her willingness to go after what she wanted, which had always been Paul, without overthinking the situation. It was easier for Mary, he supposed, since she didn’t have to shoulder all Luke’s responsibilities as an earl and think of the family’s standing in the community before making important decisions.
Had things been any different, he would have proposed to Flora. Now, when it was too late to rectify past errors of judgement, he had discovered that his father had not practised what he preached and had not been the paragon of virtue whose memory Luke had revered and striven to live up to. He had in fact been a womaniser who caused rifts in the marriages of his closest friends with his philandering ways. He and his mother had lived largely separate lives and had been indifferent towards each other’s activities.
Luke would rather remain single than marry a woman he neither loved nor respected, but he had forfeited the chance of happiness by driving Flora away. The idea of finding anyone else with whom he felt such a strong connection seemed remote.
‘Come and sit down and tell me how you are,’ Luke said, taking his sister’s arm and smiling at her. ‘Are you enjoying being mistress of the household?’
‘I would gladly give up that position if Grandmamma could still be here,’ Mary said, brushing aside a tear and putting into words what Luke felt. ‘Don’t take any notice of me. My condition has turned me into a watering pot. Grandmamma would be appalled at such displays of emotion.’
Luke smiled softly. ‘That she would,’ he said.
‘Anyway, I ran the household when she was still alive, so nothing much has changed, other than that we no longer have the pleasure of Flora’s company.’ Mary sighed. ‘I miss her.’ So do I. More than you could possibly imagine. ‘I keep thinking of things I want to ask her. Then I remember that she isn’t here and I can’t. Ask her, that is.’ Mary’s sad expression lightened. ‘But still, next week is the festival and she will be here with us for that. She has promised me that she will come.’
‘You should be thinking about your own family now, Mary,’ Luke said softly, glancing at her expanding waistline. ‘Nothing stays the same forever.’
‘Yes well, that is what I came to talk to you about. Some of the guests will be arriving as early as tomorrow, so you will have to stir yourself, step out of this room occasionally and be sociable.’
Luke flexed a brow. ‘As soon as that?’
‘It’s only Henry and Louise,’ Mary replied, referring to one of their brothers and his wife, who lived locally. ‘And Mrs Pearson, of course. Louise worries about her grandmother, who is now quite frail but still determined to have her share of society.’ Mary paused. ‘Her goddaughter is visiting from Somerset. A Miss Violet Baxter. I met her when I called upon Louise yesterday. She’s quite charming.’
‘Mary!’ Luke impatiently chided.
‘Don’t look so worried.’ Mary seemed amused. ‘She is engaged to be married, but her future husband has business that kept him in Switzerland. He is returning to England shortly, and hopes to be able to join us at some point. Anyway, be assured that I shall not try to matchmake should any eligible parties cross my path, if that’s what concerns you. You are more than capable of making up your own mind. Anyway, I thought we should ask Charlie and Miranda to come early, now that Miranda’s confinement is out of the way. And Emma and Alvin should come too. Then we will have a family reunion—apart from Sam who is in Boston—before the rest of our guests arrive. It is time we opened up the Court again now that we are out of mourning. Grandmamma would thoroughly approve.’
‘Undoubtedly, and you can be sure that I shall play my part in your entertainments.’
‘Good. That’s settled then.’ Mary paused. ‘Shall we invite Lord Felsham to come early too? Then the four of your will be reunited.’
That was true, since Luke’s other sister Emma was married to Alvin Watson, the final member of the old gang.
‘Best not. Archie needs time to organise his travel plans, although he wouldn’t thank me for telling anyone that. His incapacity leaves little room for spontaneity. He will be here next week and we shall enjoy his company then.’
‘Very well.’ Mary stood and smoothed down her skirts. ‘I will carry on making the arrangements.’
Luke stared at the door that closed behind her. His enthusiasm for his paperwork, at best lukewarm, had now vanished entirely. He whistled to Romulus and left the room, intent upon a long, fast ride on Onyx, his black stallion. But even that activity brought only scant reprieve from his unsettled mood. He took the route towards the reservoir without conscious thought, regretting it almost instantly. He and Flora had regularly ridden together in that direction and every step of the path held memories of her irreverent company.
There was nothing preventing him, he reasoned as he pushed Onyx into a flat out gallop, from apologising to Flora for mistrusting her instincts and proposing marriage. Except he had every reason to suppose that she wouldn’t accept him. She had got the idea into her head that she had the gift of second sight, which was probably her way of rebelling against her strict Christian upbringing. It was a harmless belief and it really shouldn’t matter to him. Despite her having saved him from an unsuitable marriage without explaining how she knew he was being duped, he had made it apparent that he didn’t believe in her gift and his scepticism had driven a wedge between them.
‘Face it,’ he told Romulus as he dismounted at the reservoir and flopped down on the grass. ‘I shall either have to find another female I can bear to spend the rest of my life with, forget all about love and concentrate upon procreation, or else live out my days as a bachelor and leave it to my brothers to sire the next generation.’ He stroked Romulus’s big head. ‘I think the latter option holds more appeal but is likely the coward’s way out. Face it boy, she is lost to us both.’
