Gwen had lost her mind. She could not trust her judgement or counsel. She was receiving confusing signals from every front. Lady Fairmont had said they were to dine with the neighbours. She had not realized which neighbours. She had politely demurred when informed, thinking her mourning state a proper excuse. She was reassured it was only a small dinner, with no dancing.
Lady Fairmont pulled her aside. “We could make your excuses, but that would allow the Bradleys an entire evening to avail themselves of Andrew,” she said in a hushed voice to avoid being overheard.
“I do not see that is any business of mine,” Gwen said as politely as she could.
“Very well. I understand your sentiments. I cannot say I would feel any differently.” Lady Fairmont replied. “But did you come this far to give up so easily?”
“It is not a matter of giving up. It is more his behaviour towards other women which leaves me to feel I am out of place.”
“I believe there has been some gross misunderstanding. Unless you have had a change of heart?” Lady Fairmont searched Gwen’s face.
Gwen shook her head.
“Then may I suggest you postpone your judgement a bit longer and give him another chance. And if you mean to win him for yourself you had better make it your concern and attend the dinner,” Lady Fairmont said quietly with a wink and an encouraging squeeze of her hand. “Men are literal creatures, Gwen. You must be very plain to them and not expect them to guess at your thoughts.” With that advice she walked away as Mr. Abbott approached.
“Gwen. Please come. I know you are angry with me, but we can have dinner with friends, surely.”
She looked sideways at him with narrowed eyes.
“You are very angry,” he amended. “I confess I might have hinted we were betrothed and it would look odd were you not to attend.”
Gwen’s heart leapt from her chest, but the words she had longed to hear were bitter-sweet.
“Why would you say such a thing?”
“I was attempting to deter some of the ambitious mamas.”
That was not the answer she wanted to hear. She wanted to believe her affection for him was reciprocated, but the signs were not convincing.
“Please. We can discuss this later, but can we pretend for tonight?”
Pretend. He wanted her to pretend. She stood there, assimilating his words with Lady Fairmont’s. She wanted to be furious and throw something. The irony of the situation only made her angry with her own poor judgement. She had come here with the hope of becoming his wife, only to find him setting his cap at other women, or at least not discouraging their advances. It made the offence more grievous to her, knowing he behaved this way, and all the while the town had thought him engaged. Making a May game of her was how it felt. She did not want to go to a dinner and pretend anything. But she decided to heed Lady Fairmont’s advice and reserve judgement for the time being.
“Very well. I will go.”
She sat next to him in the carriage, brooding while they rode to the Bradleys’ welcoming soirée. The entire party was quiet, probably not knowing how Miss Lambert would choose to respond publicly to Andrew’s decree. The fact that she was obliged to go to the home of the family that was the main source of her irritation was enough to send her fire-headed temper into full swing. She debated how to go on as they pulled through the gates. She should act to the manner born and depress any pretensions the biddy Bradley proffered. Gwen was to the manner born, but as they drove up before a mansion as grand as River’s Bend, her heart sank. The truth was, she no longer belonged to that world and did not know if she had the talent to pull off the charade. She had no idea how American society went on. She had never had the talent to pretend she was feeling other than she was—which at this moment was acutely vexed and deeply hurt. She did not know if she could trust him again, even if there was a misunderstanding.
“Well my dear, what shall it be?” Andrew braved her wrath.
Lady Fairmont spoke up. “I admit I cannot like the situation nor the circumstances, but you must admit it best to go along with the scheme while we are here, and not give the cat an opportunity to sink her claws into him.”
“Yes, please do not leave my side,” Andrew begged.
Gwen glared at him. He could have resolved this himself if he was truly repulsed by her, but as angry as she was, the thought of Miss Bradley in his arms was enough to firm her resolve—at least for the night.
“If you will not do it for Andrew, Miss Lambert, please do it for our sake,” Lord Fairmont said in his usual sardonic manner.
“Pretend you are a duchess, my dear,” Lady Fairmont whispered into her ear as they alighted from the carriage. “Above all, do not show your emotion on your face.”
Mr. Abbott held out his arm to her and flashed his most charming smile. She took his arm reluctantly, knowing she would have difficulty not succumbing to his charms when he was so near. They entered the mansion and Gwen already felt herself disadvantaged at the stark reminder and contrast to her own situation. She was an impostor and she had not been schooled in the arts of deception or pretending. She did not wish to be as haughty or pretentious as those as she sought to fool, but there again, it would be delicious to have the small victory.
“If you so much as smile at her, I will walk out,” she warned Andrew through her smiling teeth.
“Agreed, my lady. I will do my best Lord Fairmont impression.”
Lord Fairmont chuckled appreciatively.
They were shown into a large drawing room that was surprisingly filled with many unknown faces. Gwen instinctively shrank back, and Andrew leaned over and whispered reassurances into her ear as the Bradleys caught sight of the River’s Bend party and came forward to greet them.
“Welcome!” Mr. Bradley said jovially, and shook hands with Andrew.
“Thank you, Mr. Bradley. May I present to you Miss Lambert?”
“I am very pleased to meet you. I did not have the pleasure of making your acquaintance at church.”
Gwen was thankful for Mr. Bradley’s pleasant manner and almost felt sorry for the man. He was clearly not the one who wore the breeches in his family.
“Thank you for having me, sir.”
“Oh, we enjoy showing everyone Southern hospitality, as they say. You are very welcome. I hope you enjoy your stay here.”
Unfortunately, they were required to greet the rest of the family too. Gwen hoped they did not expect to shake hands.
She stood tall and prepared for the assault. Following Lady Fairmont’s lead, she kept her hands to herself, performing a slight curtsy when presented to Mrs. and the Misses Bradley. They were too in awe of a real English lady to do anything but imitate her. Gwen made a note to watch Lydia more closely. Of course, Lady Fairmont was already married and was a grand lady.
She had felt the stares as they had made their way into the drawing room. She’d had the luxury of hiding her hair under a bonnet at church. Even though Josie had contrived to tame her mane, the humidity now caused her locks to have a mind of their own. She should be used to this, but hiding away for six years had allowed her to forget for the most part. She knew she looked well in black, and she had on an elegant silk of Lady Easton’s which was ornamented with silver around the bodice and skirt. She was wearing her mother’s pearls, and had felt confident when she had left her bedroom, but now she wanted to shrink behind the drapery.
“Have I mentioned how beautiful you look?” Andrew said in her ear.
“No. Thank you.” She fingered her pearls doubtfully.
“Your hair is especially...glorious.” He looked at it admiringly.
“Pardon? Then why do they stare at me so?”
“They have never seen anything so beautiful, I imagine.”
She could not help but narrow her eyes at him.
“There is no need to poke fun.”
“You might try to smile and act as though you adore me, if you intend to convince Miss Bradley. She has been watching you like a hawk.”
Gwen struggled not to turn and glare at her.
Meanwhile, Andrew took her hand and kissed it lovingly, with hungry eyes. She struggled not to blush.
“If you keep looking at me that way, people will have no doubt of your intentions.”
“That is the idea.” He smiled, not to be deterred. Insufferable man.
“I do not intend to be feasted upon in the garden!” she reprimanded.
“Where did you have in mind?” he asked innocently.
She was speechless.
“Please, tell me you can appreciate a jest? I was only attempting to flirt.”
“I am not practised at flirtations as you are well aware,” she retaliated.
“Very well, I shall instruct you. You simply smile, say witty things and rap my arm with your fan.”
“Why on earth would I do such a thing?”
“It does look silly, I will admit, but it is the way ladies converse in Society.”
Gwen looked about and saw what he said to be true.
“Very well.” She took her fan and smiled coquettishly.
He fought off an evident urge to laugh but his eyes twinkled. He nodded encouragement.
She boldly snapped her fan together against her hand and rapped his arm with gusto.
“Oh, Mr. Abbott! That was exhilarating. I do think I might enjoy this after all.”
“You are certainly a quick study,” he said, rubbing the welt she was certain was forming on his arm.
Dinner was announced, and Mr. Bradley asked Lord and Lady Fairmont to do the honours and lead the guests into dinner. Andrew took Miss Lambert’s arm and led her into the dining room. But when it was time to be seated, Mrs. Bradley directed him to sit next to Miss Bradley. He had been too well-trained in politeness not to sit where he was told, but it was with great foreboding and reluctance that he did so. He could sense Gwen’s hesitation as he let go of her arm.
She looked like a goddess descended to Earth, resplendent in her gown. She outshone everyone in the room and it pained him to release her. He would spend his evening of torment watching her from the other end of the table whilst enduring the blatant advances of the Bradleys. He caught her look of scorn towards Miss Bradley and hoped he would be able to show Gwen she had nothing to be jealous about. He watched with relief as she was seated near Nathaniel. He would protect her, no doubt. Now could he protect himself and set Miss Bradley straight without offending her or Miss Lambert?
Whatever happened, he would not smile.
“Good evening, Mr. Abbott,” Miss Bradley said smoothly.
Her chair was already too close for comfort, and the first course had not been set out.
“Good evening, Miss Bradley,” he said civilly, but did not smile. Being curt and pompous was not his nature, but if it meant losing Gwen...he unconsciously glanced again to where she sat at the end of the table.
“How long does she intend to stay?” Miss Bradley cast her eyes towards Gwen.
“As long as I do.” He hoped that was true.
“And how long will that be?”
“I plan to sail in early spring. We have only ten rooms to finish, and that should be plenty of time.”
“I see.” She pouted. Lord help him through the dinner. “Well, then, I’ve still time to change your mind.”
Ignoring her, he said, “Lord Easton, Elly’s husband, has sent his trusted man to take over as steward, so there will be no need for my presence any longer. There probably is no need for me now, but I would like to see the job finished, even though I am not the owner of River’s Bend,” he said pointedly, hoping that would convince her to cease her shameless attentions.
“That is a terrible shame.”
Miss Bradley scooted closer and batted her eyelashes. The soup tasted like refuse in Andrew’s mouth.
“I am certain I can convince you to stay.”
He felt a foot creeping up his leg and her hand came to rest on his. He tried to pull it away but she held tight. He was afraid to look down the table. “Miss Bradley, this is hardly appropriate,” he tried to mutter quietly. “I would appreciate it if you would allow me to have my hand back. It is most difficult to cut one’s food single-handedly.”
“Oh, silly me. I had not realized I was holding your hand!”
She continued to drop things and bend towards him to retrieve them throughout several courses, brushing up against him at every opportunity. It was going to be the longest night of his life. He never thought he would wish himself back in the army, but he had not been trained for this type of battle. Most females took hints—subtle or not—and maintained a modicum of self-respect.
How long would she be subjected to this? Gwen was thankful she was not having to sit near Miss Bradley and Andrew, at least while they flirted. It would not have surprised her had she been placed directly across from the display. She was listening to the men discuss storms with one ear, while wishing she could toss wine in Miss Bradley’s smug face. She focused her attention on appearing as if she was enjoying herself and trying not to run from the room. Her head was beginning to ache, and she was thinking Scotland might be the place for her after all.
“The servants are convinced that a big storm is coming,” Mr. Bradley remarked.
“And why do they think that?” Lord Fairmont asked.
“I suppose it comes from years of living near the coast. Some say the air feels different, and others say you can tell by the clouds.”
Gwen had noticed changes in both of those things earlier.
“I think they may be right. I felt the air grow more humid as I was sketching, and I noticed the clouds took on a strange pattern as well,” she remarked.
“We are subject to strong gales along the coast, or hurricanes as some call them,” Mr. Bradley informed the dinner party.
“We have never had a hurricane affect us in Sussex that I remember,” Lord Fairmont said, wrinkling his face in an effort to recall.
“Perhaps Sussex is more protected, being on the Channel rather than the Atlantic Ocean, but I have read of some significant storms on other parts of the coast where the shore was rearranged,” Gwen added.
“I am sure that is true. I have heard sailors say much the same,” he agreed.
“Will we be safe in the house?” Lady Fairmont asked from across the table, clearly growing concerned.
“I believe so, but River’s Bend is closer to the main river. We are further up the inlet here,” Mr. Bradley said thoughtfully.
“How long until the storm hits?” Gwen wondered.
“It could be a day or two. These storms move slowly and there will be a lot of wind and rain.”
“That does not sound unbearable.” She could always finish the painting inside if necessary.
“The main worry is the flooding. The servants are working as we speak to shore up some of the fields that are prone to holding water. Thankfully, the harvest is past, but a flood will put us back for planting. We have already moved the horses and livestock to higher ground. I will advise Mr. Abbott to do the same, though I imagine Abe has it well in hand. After that, we wait for the storm to pass.”
“Hopefully it will change direction and do little more than rain.” Lord Fairmont spoke what they all wished.
Gwen heard very little of the rest of the conversation. She tried to ignore the insulting scene from the other end of the table, but she was only human. She needed to finish her painting and leave. As the talk of the storm grew, Mr. Abbott became involved in the conversation and decided it best to leave early and make certain Abe was taking precautions. Never had Gwen been so thankful for an impending storm.
She kept to herself in the carriage on the ride back to the plantation. No one pressed her to talk—there was no need. All of them had been witnesses to the despicable scene at the dinner table. Gwen could not particularly say that Mr. Abbott had reciprocated Miss Bradley’s blatant advances, but again, he had not discouraged them.
She said a civil goodnight and hurried up to her chamber. She would rise early on the morrow to work on the picture. Perhaps she would capture a gloriously unique sky from the storm—a storm fit to match her mood.
She felt a nudge and opened one eye.
“Miss Lambert, ‘tis early morning. You asked me to wake ye if I did not see ye. I think it’s a bad idea though, miss.”
“Thank you, Cook,” Gwen said sleepily. “No need to worry. I plan to return before the storm hits.” She threw back her counterpane and went over to push the curtains aside. It was still dark. She dressed, and then hurried with her things outside. She intended to paint at the summer-house on the other side of the creek. She could paint in her room, but she had always preferred to paint outdoors. It was more inspiring to be amongst Nature.
If there was to be a storm, she should be safe there. Rain and wind was all they had predicted. It was further up the property from the river anyway. She loaded her easel and canvas into the back of a cart and found one of the workers to drive her. It was not very far, but the easel was more than half her weight.
As she rode the short distance, she looked skyward and saw the clouds were thick, circular and moving in one direction. As the dawn began to break, she grew excited to capture the storm’s effect on these unusual clouds. The air was sticky and there was a wind beginning to blow. It was an eerie feeling, but she hastened those thoughts aside with her excitement to paint. The summer-house was a quaint cottage with a covered porch. That would be perfect from whence to view and attempt to capture Nature’s magnificence.
The worker helped her unload the easel and canvas and place them on the porch. Cook had sent a large hamper of food, fearing Gwen would get caught out by the weather and be obliged to wait. Gwen had thought it ridiculous, but had not argued. She was not even a mile from the manor house and there were servants’ cottages everywhere around. She could walk that far in the rain if necessary. She donned an apron and prepared to work. She prepared her canvas and made the outline for the house. She studied the sky and began mixing pigments to capture the unique cloud and colour formations the storm was causing.
The clouds grew angry and fierce as they swirled, and looked as if they were coming towards the Earth to engulf them. She had always enjoyed thunderstorms with brilliant lightning and strong smells—things she could not capture on canvas. Rain she was more than accustomed to, living in the wettest town in England. A deluge threatened in heavy dark clouds and sprinkles of rain began to fall. It was like nothing she had ever seen before, and she had seen a lot of rain clouds in Somerset.
She painted furiously and began to wonder when the cart would return for her as the winds began to howl and the rain poured in sheets. She carried her picture to safety inside and watched out of the window, hoping she had not been forgotten in all of the storm preparation. She should not have insisted on painting this morning, or at least not so far away. She could think of little else after that insulting episode at dinner last night. Now that her temper was subdued she began to worry.
The rain continued to fall, and Gwen pondered walking back. She could return for the painting later. It would be ruined if she were to attempt to carry it. She had only accomplished the sky thus far. She decided to have a bite to eat, and then she would set out on foot if they had not come for her by the time she had finished painting.
Andrew was aching from head to toe. He and all the men had worked the entire night in the fields to prepare for the likelihood of flooding. He was not sure how any of their efforts would make a difference if enough water fell from the sky and the river rose over its banks. He had nevertheless decided to heed Abe’s warnings and ordered all of the servants to higher ground at the manor house. He was responsible for many lives and he would take every precaution. The army had taught him: things can be replaced, people cannot.
He decided to take a quick rest before the storm hit. He woke to the sound of rain beating a harsh drumming on the window. He recalled the circumstances and shot up from the bed to look out. There was little visibility, but the trees were being blown about and the rain appeared to be coming down sideways.
He splashed water on his face and straightened his clothing before rushing out to check on the status of things. The house was crowded, for he had ordered everyone to wait out the storm here. Fortunately the wing under construction was advanced enough at this point that the rooms were habitable. Still, it was crowded with over two hundred people inside. He went in search of Buffy and Nathaniel to see if there were any last-minute necessities. They had also worked the entire night and had to be as exhausted as he. Even though he was responsible for River’s Bend, they shared the burden equally as they would have on the battlefield. He had never known he would be so grateful for his army training—or find it useful—in retirement.
He passed through the great hall which had been turned into a makeshift nursery for all of the children. The older children had a lively game of rounders going on, and he chuckled as Amelia was organising the lot of them. They were using a candlestick as a bat, and he had to duck to miss a ball flying at his head. She was so much like Elly, he hoped Nathaniel was prepared for when she entered Society!
He passed through into the library where he was certain to find the men, but it was abandoned at present, save for a map of the properties spread out on the table. He took a glance at it himself, which was pointless, since he had learned every inch of the land over the past few months. He heard the wind howling and the rain pouring, and was grateful he had heeded Abe’s advice. The servants’ cottages were too close to the river should it rise and flood.
He said a quick prayer that the storm would pass quickly. Abe had told him that several years past, one storm had stalled and remained for a week. The fields certainly would not stand a chance, and how far would the river rise if that happened? The manor house was on a hill of sorts, but it was not impervious to a high, rushing tide.
He needed to find the men. He wanted to account for every person. He walked on through the house and ended up at the kitchen. Cook was busy preparing food for the unexpected mouths she would be feeding.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Abbott.”
“Hello, Cook. Can you tell me where everyone has gone? I cannot find any of the men.”
A look of guilt passed over Cook’s face. She was clearly hiding something from him.
“What is it? It would be better to tell me now,” he said in his army Major’s voice.
“I am not sure of that now.”
He kept staring at her. He knew, from years of experience, people would eventually talk.
“They’s gone after Miss Lambert,” she muttered quietly.
“And where has Miss Lambert gone that they have felt the need to go after her?” he asked with every ounce of composure he could muster when his insides were churning.
“She left before dawn to paint at the summer-house. She was muttering about glorious clouds and capturing them.”
Forget composure.
“She promised to return before the rain started, or I would never have let her go,” she said defensively.
“How long ago did they set out?”
“‘Bout an hour ago when the rain got fierce. Abe was wanting to check on the river, and Lord Fairmont suggested accounting for everybody. Jim asked where she be and if someone’d fetched ‘er. I got so busy cooking in here that I forgot to send someone after her like I promised. I am very sorry, sir.” Cook’s eyes welled up with tears and shame. “Six of ‘em went after ‘er.”
“Let us pray that they get her returned before the bridge washes out.”
“Oh, lawks! Lord have mercy! I’d not thought of the bridge!”
“I am off to help. Keep everyone inside. Do whatever you have to do to keep them there.”
“Yessir. I’ll do me best.”
Andrew felt the agony of anticipation as he rushed outside into the storm. It was like when he knew his first pony would have to be put down, when he knew his mother was going to die, or when he thought Nathaniel gone. But this was different. He had only unrequited love for Gwendolyn. And he could not bear the thought of never knowing, sharing, holding...one taste had not been enough. He ran faster, struggling against the fierce winds, praying he was not too late, that he would run into the men, all of them rain and weather-beaten but unharmed.
But where were they? He should have found them by now. He could barely make out his nose on his face, but he was certain he had gone the proper direction. A bolt of lightning flashed, and an old beech tree cracked and began its descent. He stopped to catch his breath and check his surroundings, thankful for the small favour of missing the tree by seconds. He heard rushing water between the thunder and gusts of wind. Another flash of lightning showed him to be amongst the servants’ cottages. The bridge had to be to his left. He walked along the creek, now overflowing its banks, looking for the crossing. There could not be much time left for the small bridge, if it was still standing.
At last he came upon the men standing at the bridge, which was being stripped of its pieces as they watched.
“Where is she?” Andrew shouted.
“She’s still over there.” Nathaniel pointed towards the cottage. “We were afraid to chance the bridge. She is safer inside,” he yelled over the wind and water.
“We cannot leave her alone!” Andrew exclaimed. “The water could overtake the cottage if it continues at this rate!”
“That bridge is not safe to cross. I could not ask it of her, or the men,” Nathaniel reasoned loudly. “We must get to safety ourselves. She will be all right, Andrew!”
“You go! I will not leave her!”
Andrew ran towards the bridge and began to cross before anyone could stop him, holding on to the remaining pieces of the frame.
“Andrew! No!” Nathaniel called after him.
Andrew yelled without looking back, “You would do the same!”
He lost his footing and fell into the water. When his head reappeared, he gasped for breath, but he was holding on to the rail with rushing water beneath his chin.
Both Buffy and Nathaniel had begun to strip off their jackets and boots to go after him, when Andrew managed to begin moving along the rail by swinging one arm forward at a time.
Gwen had been watching from the porch and ran towards him screaming, “No!”
He moved with more purpose at the sight of her, though it was a struggle to grasp the rail with the force of the river pushing against him. He still had a few feet left and he was growing tired.
“You can make it!” he heard a voice shout.
“Just a little further, Andrew!” he heard Nathaniel yell.
“Don’t you dare leave me, you insufferable, impossible oaf!”
That was music to his ears. He smiled through the pain and pressed forward another arm’s length. She was bent over, holding out her hand to him. As much as he longed to grasp it, he knew it would only serve to pull her in. He needed to find a way to thrust himself upwards without harming her. He felt the force of the water pulling the bridge from behind him. He did not have long until the rest of the structure was swept away.
Gwen seemed to understand the predicament, and she ran over to the porch. She came back struggling with the weight of her easel and placed it on the ground within reach and sat on the opposite end while holding on to a tree. It was doubtful it would work, but he had little choice but to try.
He swept one arm out and made contact. The hold was a difficult one that he would not be able to maintain for long. He could already feel it sliding in the muddy bank.
“Come on, I cannot hold this for long,” she shouted. He took a deep breath and let go of the bridge. She had turned over on to her stomach and had her legs wrapped around the tree. He could see her pain as she exerted all of her strength to pull him out. He moved slowly forward and tried to find his footing on the bank. He managed a small toe-hold and pushed his body with every ounce of strength he had.
He felt the wind knocked out of him as his chest hit the easel. He was already beginning to slide backwards and quickly recovered so as to not lose the ground he had gained.
“Do not let go! I am almost there,” he shouted.
“Hurry, please! I cannot feel my legs! I am not certain if I am still holding onto the tree.”
By the grace of God he was able to thrust his legs up onto the remaining ground.
He heard shouts from across the river and he gave a slight wave from his prone position.
“Get inside!”
He wobbled as he found his feet, then grabbed Gwen’s hand and began running towards the cottage.
On the porch he began stripping off his wet clothes and boots. It would have been much easier without those, he thought in retrospect.
Gwen had turned her back. He laughed to himself. She was stuck with him forever, so he hoped she had enjoyed her preview.
“I shall go and fetch blankets, then you must get out of your wet clothes, too.”
“I think not.”
“You mean I risked my life, only to let you die of lung fever? I think not. A soldier learns quickly to lose his modesty or his life.”
He stormed into the cottage and returned wrapped in a toga-like concoction.
He dramatically slid towards her backwards holding out a blanket to her.
She grabbed it forcefully out of his hands.
“Now hurry.”
“Yes, sir!” She mimicked a soldier obeying orders, and he could just see her mock saluting him behind his back.