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22 December 1821
Alistair Dunridge leaned back against the soft leather squabs of his carriage as it swung off the main road. The vehicle trundled between crumbling stone gateposts, then bumped along the rutted gravel drive towards the country residence of Charles Johns, the new Baron Farley.
Even the overcast December afternoon couldn’t dim his anticipation of staying at Farley Hall again. Ostensibly, Alistair was here to spend Christmas with Lord Farley’s younger brother, Edward, a close friend from his youth. But that was only part of the reason.
The other, far more pressing, motive involved Edward’s younger sister, Margaret. And he wasn’t just focused on renewing their friendship now she had completed a year of mourning for her father, whom she had nursed for years. Alistair had admired Margaret since his days as a university student. But with no income or prospects he couldn’t support a wife and family, so he had kept her at arm’s length.
That had changed a year ago when his grandmother made him her heir and appointed him as her estate manager. His future was now assured.
Now, Margaret and he were free to follow their feelings. If Margaret still held any for him after he had distanced himself from her following their one passionate kiss many years ago. And if he could prove he had changed from the reckless young man he had become afterwards. One who drank far too much, too often; and who made wild wagers with his friends, like scaling the tower of his Oxford college or carrying out heartless pranks such as sending a Valentine’s card to the plainest spinster of his acquaintance.
During this short Christmas sojourn with the Johns family, Alistair planned to pursue Margaret—her heart and her hand in marriage. He sat up a straighter on the comfortable seat. He would conduct his courting like a military campaign; with the determination he and Edward had shown during their service at Waterloo. This campaign was every bit as important to his future as that battle was to Europe’s.
The carriage wheels crunched over the gravel drive as his vehicle drew closer to the aged, two-story brick residence. Twin gables loomed from either end of the house, lending a sinister air to its faded grandeur. A graveled driveway circled in front of the building.
His vehicle swayed to a halt before the central entrance staircase of the residence. Within moments, a footman had opened the carriage door and let down the steps. Cool air, earthy from recent rain, wafted into the warm interior. Sheep baa-ed in the distance, while the carriage horses huffed and snorted after their exertion.
Alistair stepped out and gazed around at the pastoral idyll. A dormant garden lay around the house. Fields filled the middle distance, truncated by woodland. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The tension in Alistair’s shoulders eased and a small grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Alistair opened his eyes to Edward, dressed for the country, hurrying down the steps. His face sported a wide smile. They shook hands heartily and Alistair clapped his friend on the shoulder. “So good to see you again, Ed.”
“And you.” Edward ran a hand through his cropped brown hair. “I’m glad you’re here. Hopefully not too late.” A crease carved the space between his straight eyebrows.
What did he mean? Had Ed fallen out with his older brother again? The distress on his friend’s face made him think it was maybe more than just a sibling squabble causing concern.
Margaret appeared in the wide doorway above her brother, capturing Alistair’s attention and relegating his friend’s words to a ‘to be considered’ note in his mind. His eyes tracked her smooth progress until she stood beside her brother, smiling politely at Alistair. His heart beat a wild staccato in greeting.
She looked ravishing. Her chestnut hair was tamed into soft rolls framing her forehead before sweeping into a high-set chignon. Her good nature still shone from her eyes, although a glimmer of concern lingered in their deep green depths. The tiredness and worry that had inhabited her face while years of household management and nursing consumed her, were gone at last. Her youthful glow appeared restored.
“Welcome to Farley Hall again, Alistair.” The way Margaret innocently purred his name in her mellow voice caused him to suck in a breath. She held out a hand to him and Alistair slid his fingers beneath hers, raising them to his lips to press a kiss on her soft skin. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it and grinned up at her. “Enchanting, as always, Margaret and looking lovelier than ever.”
Pink flushed Margaret’s cheeks as she lowered her gaze. It pleased him that he had flustered her. It hinted she might care about him. Fascinated though he was by her response, Alistair wrenched his attention back to his friend.
Edward watched them, a look of interest on his face. He took Alistair’s arm in a firm grip. “Come inside, Alistair.”
“I’ll order the tea,” Margaret said and hurried away.
“I trust your behavior towards my sister will be honorable.” Edward murmured for Alistair’s ears only; a grim look on his face.
Alistair held his friend’s gaze. “Utterly.”
Edward gave a sharp nod. “That’s what I hoped and expected you to say.”
Bemused, Alistair raised an eyebrow in enquiry.
Edward made no response except to lead him inside the Tudor-era house and into the family’s informal sitting room, where Margaret waited for them.
Alistair watched her, fascinated by the flush on her cheeks as she waved him to a seat. He commandeered his favorite comfy chair amongst the group arranged around a low table. By the time he had related a few of the amusing highlights of his journey from his grandmother’s estate, two maids arrived carrying a huge teapot, accompanied by the requisite fine china tea set and a plate of teacakes.
Alistair’s stomach growled. Eager to arrive at Farley Hall as soon as possible he had skipped luncheon. His mission was compelling and he had wanted to maximize the time available for its execution as much as possible.
Before Alistair could do more than take a huge bite of his butter-swathed teacake, the sitting room door swung open to reveal a plain and gaunt woman he had not met before. The elaborate gown she wore, complete with a ruff of lace at the neck, was far too elaborate for an ordinary day in the countryside. Who was she? Looking from her to Edward and Margaret for an answer, he rose to his feet as she entered the room.
“Let me introduce you,” Edward said as he too stood up. “Lord Alistair Dunridge, meet our sister-in-law, Lady Farley. Portia, this is my old friend, Lord Alistair, third son of the Marquess of Breckley.”
In response, Lady Farley tittered like a girl just out of the schoolroom.
An unexpected response. Was she impressed by his connections? Alistair bowed his head. “Delighted to meet you, madam.”
Her pale blue eyes tracked over him, gleaming with delight. “And you, Lord Dunridge.”
“Felicitations on your nuptials,” he added.
“Thank you.” She smoothed a hand over her swollen belly. “And as you can see, an heir is already on the way.” A smug look bloomed on her face.
He fought to stop his left eyebrow rising in astonishment at her raising such a personal matter to a new acquaintance. “Congratulations, indeed.”
The lady inclined her head by way of thanks as she sat opposite Margaret. Alistair and Ed resumed their seats. “Our son is due early in the new year.” Lady Farley immediately took charge of the teapot and distributing full cups to all.
Margaret, deprived of her role dispensing the tea, shrank back in her seat, silent and small. Alistair’s jaw tightened, as a wave of protectiveness washed through him on seeing Margaret’s reaction. The tension between the trio surrounding Alistair vibrated like an unheard note from a pipe organ. What on earth is going on? Something was very amiss here. The Johns siblings had always been easy-going company.
What if the Farley ‘heir’ proved to be a daughter? “I trust all will go well with the arrival,” Alistair said belatedly. What else could he say?
“Thank you,” she simpered. “Of course, I would be less concerned if Margaret were to be here for me to rely upon.” Lady Farley kept her eyes trained on the plate in her hand as she made this leading statement.
What does she mean? Alistair searched Margaret’s face for an answer. Her eyes were on Edward sitting beside him, a look of pleading in them.
Before Edward stepped in, he would take the bait. “I beg your pardon, Lady Farley. I don’t understand,” Alistair said.
Frown lines wrinkled Lady Farley forehead as she lifted her gaze to his. “Do you not know that Margaret is betrothed to Squire Jenkins? They marry on Christmas Day. I assumed, as you had been invited for Christmas, you came to attend the wedding.” A smirk chased across her face as though she reveled in information she alone possessed.
Pain exploded through Alistair’s heart. Margaret is marrying Squire Jenkins! Why would she do that? He fought to keep the emotion from his face.
Before even the opening salvoes of his campaign had been fired, a new and unexpectant opponent had appeared! Alistair straightened his spine. Under no circumstances must Margaret or her odious sister-in-law realize his devastation at this news. He turned to Margaret. “I hope you will be very happy,” he enunciated through stiff lips. Injecting any warmth in his words was impossible.
“Thank you,” Margaret murmured, her eyes not rising above his cravat.
Several tension-filled moments of silence followed until Edward cleared his throat. “Yes, well, it was very sudden. The announcement caught me unawares also.”
“It’s an excellent match for Margaret,” Portia said firmly as though her opinion was unassailable.
What the hell! How could anyone think that? Did the woman have bats in her belfry? Beautiful Margaret marrying a middle-aged squire, with a number of almost-adult offspring, was an excellent match! Ludicrous!
“Being a spinster of a certain age, it is difficult for a woman like Margaret to find a suitable husband. She has done well. And this match is perfect for our family—Margaret marries into wealth and influence,” Lady Farley said, with a self-satisfied purr. It was as though she had answered his thoughts.
“With none of the costs of a London Season,” Edward muttered for Alistair’s ears only.
Of a certain age? Margaret was four and twenty. Hardly on the shelf—just a little older than the annual crop of young ladies who entered London’s marriage mart.
Why was she settling for Squire Jenkins? Certainly the man was wealthy, having more than doubled the land he possessed since marrying his first wife. He held the position of magistrate and it was widely known he hoped to enter parliament at the next election.
Family connection with Baron Farley could only benefit that ambition. And many social advantages would come to him from marrying Margaret, the perfect woman to improve his social credentials and launch his children.
But what advantages were there for Margaret? Perhaps Edward could answer that conundrum? He itched to have answers.
Alistair stared at the teacake lying forlorn on his plate while his tea cooled in his cup. His hearty appetite had evaporated, leaving tension coiled in his stomach instead. He needed time to think, to plan his next step, to stop the panic threatening to overwhelm him. He rose and bowed to the womenfolk. “Thank you for tea, Lady Farley, Margaret.” He turned to Edward. “Can you spare me a few moments, Ed?”
His friend leapt to his feet. “Excuse me, ladies, business to discuss.” He led Alistair from the room and up a wide staircase to the next floor. “You’re billeted in your usual room, Alistair. Let’s talk there. Nice and private.”
As soon as the door closed behind Edward, Alistair turned to his friend. “What the devil is going on here? Why is Margaret marrying the Squire? He’s old enough to be her father!”
Edward frowned. “Indeed, he is. She’s been pushed into this by our beloved sister-in-law.”
What? “She didn’t agree to marry him?”
Edward grimaced. “Apparently, she did.” His flat tone showed his disapproval of her decision.
Confusion filled Alistair. “It. Makes. No. Sense!” His voice rose with each word.
Edward flapped his hand, signaling for Alistair to lower his voice. “Ssh, ssh. Portia tips the maids to spy on everyone. Sit down. I’ll tell you everything I know.”
Alistair slumped onto the bed behind him.
Edward paced across the bedchamber to its fireplace. “Quite simply, our sister-in-law has made remaining here almost impossible for Margaret. Charles married Portia just before Father died. He needed her father’s money...he’s a successful merchant...and she wanted his title. They’re made for each other.” Bitterness colored his words.
He turned and faced Alistair. “However, soon after Portia arrived, Father passed away, making Charles the Baron and his wife, mistress of the house. She demanded the keys from Margaret immediately and has run things her way ever since...as well as demanding Margaret be at her beck and call every minute of every day.” He threw up his hands in horror. “She’s a complete harridan. Not a kind word to say to m’sister and every comment seems to include a barb.”
Anger ignited in the pit of Alistair’s stomach. “Could Margaret not leave? Go to another relative?”
Edward shook his head. “For the year she was in mourning she was stuck here with the scheming woman. Now Portia is expecting an infant and talks of nothing but what Margaret will do for the baby after it’s born. She wanted Margaret to act as the baby’s nursemaid, thereby saving Charles another, albeit minimal, wage.”
Alistair tugged the fingers of one hand through his hair. “But Margaret was promised a London Season by your father. She should have waited until then to choose a husband.”
Edward shook his head. “M’brother won’t pay for it. The estate is still hopelessly short of funds even though he married for money to stop it going under. Father had been making bad decisions for years—even before he became ill.”
“Still, isn’t there anyone other than the Squire that she could have chosen?” Like me? Why didn’t she wait for me?
“You heard Lady Farley, the baby is due in the new year. Time was running out when the Squire turned up a week after our mourning period ended. Portia had been particularly wearing that morning. I think Margaret just caved in, accepting the first and probably only offer she was likely to receive without a London social season to find a suitable match.”
“Not the only offer,” Alistair muttered.
Edward halted his distracted pacing to face Alistair with a frown on his face. “What’s that you say?”
Alistair cleared his throat. “Not the only offer she would have received.”
Edward’s brow wrinkled as he stood rigidly, scrutinizing Alistair. “Explain yourself.”
“I came here hoping to renew our friendship and charm her into loving me again.”
The furrows on Edward’s forehead deepened. “So you’re here to propose this time?”
Alistair sighed, remembering that time years ago when Edward had warned him off Margaret because he lacked prospects. “This is Margaret we’re talking about. My intentions were always honorable, but now my wallet is no longer empty and I can act on them.”
“Thank God for that.” All the stiff puffiness left Edward’s body and he grinned. “I hoped you would come through and help her out of this mess she’s been forced into.”
“What can I do now? She’s accepted the man and the wedding is set for three days hence.”
“Don’t give up. I have high hopes that you can convince her of the foolishness of marrying Jenkins.”
“And how will I do that? First, I need to convince her of my suitability as a husband. I have a reputation for bad behavior.” Partially deserved and greatly exaggerated by those outside my close circle of friends...And I let her down badly in the past.
“Hmm. You’re also charming and persuasive. And now the heir to your grandmother’s estate. I’m sure you can persuade Margaret not to marry the Squire.” His friend finished his statement with a wink.
Alistair stiffened, ready to punch Edward’s nose at his possible suggestion. “You’re not proposing I seduce her, are you?”
His friend clenched his hands into fists and frowned at him. “You had better not!”
“Well, what then? She’s engaged!”
“Think of all those times you came here for Christmas and how well you both got on. I suspect Margaret has been attracted to you for years. Work on rekindling those feelings.”
Succeeding is another matter. “All right, I’ll continue with my plan of attack.” However, it now needed adjusting. He desperately wanted a drink, but that would destroy this last chance to win Margaret.
Edward clapped him on the back and sent him a hard stare. “I expect nothing less than your success.” He opened the door and strode into the corridor. “See you at dinner time. You can continue your campaign then.” The door clicked closed behind him.
If I fail she’ll be lost to me forever. Alistair slumped back onto the bed pane. There must be some way to convince Margaret to withdraw from her engagement before Christmas Day? He needed to bring in more reinforcements to support his cause. And he knew exactly who to enlist.