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  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

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