The next morning was much as any other visit to the manor had been, even though another man was master. A round of sleepy guests gathered in the breakfast room for steaming plates of eggs, thick slices of ham, toast, marmalade and subdued chatter.
It was all familiar except for their host, who sat at the head of the table looking like death and subsisting on nothing more than black coffee. If he had slept at all, it did not show. His skin was grey and there were hollows in his cheeks that the razor had not touched. Barbara wanted to go to his side and cut the food on his plate, feeding him like an invalid before sending him to bed.
But that was not her job. It was Anne’s.
There could be no acknowledgement of what had happened between them—not even to share the fatigue they had felt while lying in each other’s arms waiting out the hour between the clock chiming four and five, wondering if each minute would be the last they’d share. She was as tired as he, though she had made an effort to look lively so that no one might ask her about it. But it was a happy exhaustion. She had come to the table and smiled down into her plate, trying not to show the world how wonderful she felt.
Then Joseph had arrived. And the longer she’d sat with him the worse she’d felt. She found herself listening to the ticking clock once more. Eating mechanically and longing for the moment she could escape.
Morning had come and everything had changed—in that it was much the same as it might have been had nothing happened at all. Joseph was there at breakfast, greeting his guests, helping himself to more coffee and making sure that all needs were met. But he showed her no special favour, enquiring politely if she had slept well without a wink or a nod.
She responded in kind. If she seemed awkward, or somewhat chilly, it would be taken for a sign of the estrangement between her family and him. Nothing more, nothing less.
Then he turned his attention to Anne. He could at least manage a smile for her, though it was little better than a death mask. His concern was more pointed. Her plate was heaped full and taken away just as quickly when she did not seem pleased with it.
Barbara felt her own food curdling in her stomach, and reached very deliberately for the teacup in front of her. As she lifted her gaze to stare fixedly across the table she caught the eyes of Robert Breton. His expression was similar. Just as bland and unflappable. He was just as stubbornly uninterested in the proceedings at the end of the table as she was.
But as he looked at her there was the slightest rise at one corner of his lip, and an equally slight salute as he raised his teacup, as though he were toasting their shared misery.
To kindred spirits, she thought, and responded in kind.
‘Will you be participating in today’s activities, Miss Lampett?’
he asked politely. ‘I understand that the skating on the pond is quite pleasant. There will be games in the parlour, and the lighting of the Yule Log.’
‘I had not given it thought,’ she answered. ‘When I arrived I was hardly prepared for more than an evening. If there is a way to return to the village … with a servant, perhaps.’ Even now she sat at the table wearing her ridiculously unfashionable ballgown, because it was all she had. Today it was just one more thing to single her out from the group as not quite belonging to it.
‘Oh, please do stay,’ Anne insisted. ‘And do not give me any excuses about lack of preparation. Your skates are still here, you know, from when we were young together. Anything else needed you might borrow from me. Or there are Mary’s old things … ‘
There was a sharp intake of breath from Lady Clairemont, who was seated beside Joseph. Anne fell silent again.
‘Yes. Please. Stay. I will accept no excuses.’ Joseph made the offer mechanically, without even looking up, and Barbara took another hurried sip of tea to stop the words on the tip of her tongue.
What do you mean by that? Are you in any way sincere? Or is that sarcasm I hear? Even if it is a bald-faced lie, could it not be delivered with a smile?
‘No,’ she said softly. ‘I thank you for your gracious offer of hospitality, but I must be getting back to Mother and Father. Perhaps, after Christmas, I might return. It has all been quite lovely and I am very glad that you invited me.’
‘Very well, then,’ Joseph said, not even bothering with a token resistance. ‘I will see that the carriage is brought round—or perhaps there is a sledge.’
A spirited discussion erupted as to the delightful nature of sleigh rides, and what fun it might be to make an outing into the village, which was declared ‘quaint’ by the visitors from the South. It was a relief when the attention turned to more cheerful topics than the fate of the dowdy young woman at the foot of the table, leaving Barbara to excuse herself unnoticed.
She fled to her bedroom, counting on the privacy of a locked door. There were no belongings to gather before departure. Hiding above stairs would spare her any more awkward conversations. She could sit in the window seat and watch for the carriage that would take her away from the disaster that this visit had become.
But even there she was not alone. When she entered, she startled the maid who had come to make up the room. The girl was the youngest daughter of the Stock family, who lived a scant quarter-mile from Barbara’s home, and she was staring at the tangle of sheets on the bed, and the bloody smudge in the midst of them. She offered a quick curtsey, and muttered an apology for the interruption. Then she smiled, as though she had been presented with a tidbit juicier than any she might see with Christmas dinner, and hurried from the room.
Barbara almost turned to go after her, with a lame story of her restless night and the sudden monthly imposition that would explain the spots of blood. But there was no way gossip could be avoided. To deny it would be as good as admitting the truth: a couple had been sporting here, and the lady involved was the formerly virginal Miss Barbara Lampett.
They had been careful, or so she’d thought. Between kisses Joseph had assured her that the walls were thick, and that no one would see him come or go. She had consoled herself that if she was lucky enough to avoid pregnancy—and she dared not think about any other possibility—the secret would go to her grave.
She had not counted on the maids. While a bit of gossip about Mr Stratford’s London guests would be harmless, and gossip about Anne would be avoided for the sake of her family, there was no magical protection that extended to Miss Lampett. She was a lady and should know better.
She gave one last look around the room to remember that, however briefly, she had been supremely happy here. She had belonged to someone, if only for a few hours. Now she must return to her home and put the happy memory away, as she had so many others. She would not return after Christmas, for she doubted she could bear another visit.
And so she wandered, avoiding the breakfast room, where so many people were still gathered, and the salons and reception rooms, where plans for the day were being made. Instead she went to say goodbye to the portrait gallery, and to the ballroom, stopping to touch the curtain that covered the little alcove and wondering, if she pulled it back suddenly, if she would find the ghost of her younger self hiding there. Or had all those old times been supplanted by memories of Joseph?
With a little smile, she drew aside the curtain—only to hear a gasp, and the rustle of clothing falling back into place as the couple inside sprang apart.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I had no idea … ‘ She turned quickly, shielding her eyes.
Anne stumbled forwards into the hall. Mr Breton acted almost as quickly to thrust her back into the recess and step in front of her, as though it were possible to shield her from view. He cursed very softly, and ran his fingers through his hair in an effort to compose himself. Then he bowed. ‘I am sorry you were a witness to my disgraceful behaviour, Miss Lampett.’ He bowed again to Anne. ‘And that you had to experience it, Miss Clairemont. My actions were totally inappropriate, and no apology can be offered for them other than an excess of alcohol.’
He looked back at Barbara, knowing that she had seen him, sober as a judge, at the breakfast table, less than an hour ago.
He gave a helpless shrug. ‘My fate is in your hands, miss, as is the honour of a lady. Though I would not wish what has occurred here to be known, I cannot demand that you keep my secret. Know that I will be leaving Mr Stratford’s home early in the New Year and returning to London. There will be no further risk of another incident.’ Then he walked hurriedly away from them, down the hall.
The moment he was gone Anne rushed forwards, seizing her hands. The polite pretence of soft, smiling apathy had disappeared. ‘Please, Barbara. Please. I beg you. Say nothing to Joseph of this. I know that I have no reason to ask your help. My family has treated you horribly for a thing which was no fault of yours. But, please, say nothing.’
For a moment the frozen woman before her melted into the image of her lost sister, into something much more human than she had been: a woman with desires who was at least capable of making mistakes, if not yet able to admit to them.
There was so much that Barbara was not speaking of already. Why should there not be one more thing? ‘I saw nothing, Anne. Nothing at all that I wish to remark upon to anyone. But just for a moment can you not be honest with me? Was this all his doing? Or is there feeling on both sides?’
And Anne, normally so reserved and in control, burst into tears in her arms.
Barbara glanced around, relieved to see that there was no one there to witness the outburst. Then she took a firmer grip on Anne’s hands and dragged her back into the alcove, to sit on the bench, pinning back the curtain to allow some light into their sanctuary. ‘Come, now. If you cannot get hold of yourself, then at least come where fewer people might see you. Now, tell me. Do you love him or not?’
Anne gave a hesitant nod. ‘He is leaving. Even before you discovered us he was threatening. Now he will go for sure.’
Barbara stifled surprise. She had meant to ask about Joseph—the only man whose future mattered. She corrected herself. ‘You will lose Mr Breton, if you do not cry off your engagement.’
‘How can I?’ Anne looked up at her from watery blue eyes. ‘I am the only daughter left. Everyone is depending on me to do exactly what is needed. Joseph wishes a lady for the manor. My father wishes to get his foot back in the door. He would rather stay here as a doting father-in-law than learn to be comfortable in new surroundings.’ For a moment there was uncharacteristic bitterness in the sweet voice. ‘No one is particularly interested in what I want. I had thought, since I had no real objections to the character of the man, that it would be enough to be comfortable and back in my own home. But, Barbara. Oh, Barbara.’ She smiled. ‘That was before I met Robert. I did not know that I could feel like this. And now it will end.’
Then she was crying again, and Barbara could find nothing to do other than offer her shoulder and pat the girl ineffectually on the back. Would it do her any good to be assured that her future husband did not care about her either?
That could not possibly be a comfort. Though she did not seem to expect it of him, Barbara doubted that the girl in her arms wished to know the extent of his uninterest, or that an old friend was a co-conspirator in her betrayal. Love was not her reason for marrying. And there was nothing Barbara could say that would make the Clairemonts’ desire to regain the manor any different than it was.
‘There, there,’ she said, and could not manage to sound the least bit enthusiastic about it. Success for Anne meant failure for her.
There was no way, in good conscience, that she could talk the girl into crying off. ‘Would it help,’ she asked cautiously, ‘if I spoke to Mr Stratford for you? Perhaps if he understood how unhappy you are … ‘
‘No.’ Anne gripped her arm. ‘You mustn’t. He would be furious. So would my father.’
Barbara doubted that would be totally true. Though Lord Clairemont would be angry at having his plans thwarted, she’d seen no evidence that Joseph would be similarly affected at the loss of his impending marriage.
But then, she had seen no evidence to the contrary. In all that little time they’d spent together he’d said nothing about Anne, either positive or negative. She was sure that he’d said not a word about terminating the engagement.
‘Very well, then. I will not expose you.’
Anne gave her a watery smile. ‘I am sorry again for how my family has treated you. How I have treated you as well. You are good and kind. I will do anything I can to help you in the future if you will keep my secret.’
With secrets of her own, Barbara could feel nothing but sympathy for the sister of her dearest friend. ‘I will do nothing to hurt you, I promise. And if I can find a way to help you, I will do so.’
‘I can ask for nothing more than that,’ Anne said, carefully drying her eyes with a handkerchief.
‘Miss Lampett?’ Mrs Davy the housekeeper called from the end of the hall. ‘The carriage is ready to take you to the village. Dick says you had best leave soon, or the roads will turn to mud.’
Without another word Barbara dropped the curtain into place, pretending that she had been alone. ‘Of course. I am ready.’ She walked quickly to the front of the house, wondering if she was obligated to say a farewell to her host. She decided against it. He knew very well how she felt, and the reasons for her leave-taking. ‘You will give my regards and my regrets to Mr Stratford, of course,’ she said politely to the housekeeper.
‘That will not be necessary, miss. He is waiting to see you off.’
‘Oh,’ she said weakly, forcing her steps not to falter on the way to the door.
He was waiting there, just as the housekeeper had said, looking more like a professional mourner than a party host, a few flakes of snow lying unmelted in his dark hair.
She nodded at him, trying not to show the fear she felt that he would try to stop her. If he revealed even one moment of true feeling she was likely to turn back on her plan and go meekly to the room he had given her.
‘I’ve come to see you off,’ he said, without expression. ‘I am your host. It is appropriate, I think, to wish you well and see you safely from the premises. People will wonder, otherwise.’
‘And it is appropriate for me to thank you for your hospitality,’ she answered back. But she said nothing further.
‘Well, then. Go.’ He said it gruffly, as though he could turn her decision into his own wish.
‘There is no reason to stay,’ she said firmly.
He sighed, his composure breaking. ‘And yet I do not want you to leave.’ That was at least said with some tenderness, as though he actually meant it.
‘You know I must. There is nothing for me here.’
He reached out and touched her arm. ‘There is always tonight.’
‘You think that because of last night I will allow you to make a habit of coming to me in secret?’
‘There could be no other way. I cannot cry off from Anne without disgracing her.’
There. He had finally said it. He could not hurt Anne, but he thought nothing of what he might do to Barbara Lampett, who had far less protection than the daughter of the most honourable family in the area.
‘You are horrible,’ she said. Despite how wonderful she had felt, his touch now was torture. It made her want to cry. She pulled her arm from his grasp.
‘You said you loved me.’ He said it softly, urgently.
‘And you have never said the same to me. Not even as a lie. I was foolish to tell you. And foolish to feel it as well. For you are unworthy. Cruel and selfish, just as my father tried to tell me.’
‘It is not as you think,’ he said.
‘But you offer no further explanation to tell me how it might be, if it is not exactly as it appears. You are using me, and you will marry another.’
‘I did not intend to,’ he admitted. ‘But I could not sit alone in my room, waiting for the end.’
‘The end? That is a tad melodramatic, Mr Stratford. I suppose next you will tell me that you are afraid of the dark.’ She laughed scornfully, hoping that it might hurt him just a little, so that he might feel some part of what she felt whenever she looked at him.
His look in response was strange. A little blank, a little panicked. And clearly saying that she had discovered some part of the truth. ‘That is it, isn’t it? You are afraid to sleep alone in a darkened bedroom. You used me for a night to solve the problem.’ She shuddered. ‘That is all I was to you. A warmer for your bed and a candle on a dark night.’
‘It was more than that,’ he said. But still he would not say what.
‘I ruined myself in the hope that there was some affection on your part. But I could have been anyone at all.’ Without his help, she heaved herself into the body of the carriage and tried to close the door.
‘Barbara. Wait.’ He was just behind her, his shoulders blocking the entrance.
‘I have waited too long already.’
‘Do not leave me.’ He sounded almost plaintive now, as though he were actually afraid of facing another night alone.
‘Tonight you must go to Anne for your comfort. It would make more sense. I am sure you have much to talk about.’ She bit her tongue then, to keep back the spiteful revelation that she had been almost ready to share. ‘But of course you will not, will you? She is a lady, and deserves better than to be treated as a receptacle for your carnality. And I? I was a lady once. But no longer, now that you are through with me. Now I am through with you. Good day, sir.’
She sat facing carefully forwards, ignoring his presence, until with an oath he slammed the door and signalled for the coachman to drive.