Rags-to-Riches Bride Read online

  ‘And could not settle.’

  ‘No, and he could not find work for his particular skills. With his disability, it was doubly difficult and I am afraid he lost heart, especially when Mama died.’

  ‘It is understandable, but perhaps matters will improve from now on.’

  ‘If I accept Stephen, you mean.’

  ‘Not necessarily. You would be unwise to allow that to influence your decision.’

  ‘My father’s welfare is very important to me.’

  ‘Naturally it is, but I am sure he would not expect you to make such a sacrifice if it was not something you wanted yourself.’

  ‘Why would it be a sacrifice? And what makes you think I do not want it?’

  ‘You told me you had doubts.’

  ‘Surely that is natural? It is a big step to take.’

  ‘My point exactly, Miss Bywater.’

  ‘You do not think I should marry Stephen, do you?’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘No, but I feel it. You think I am after a home for myself and my father and the life of idleness that marrying into the Harecroft family will give me.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said promptly, though it was exactly what he had been thinking. ‘But I wonder if you know what you would be taking on.’

  ‘What would I be taking on?’

  He shrugged. ‘The Harecrofts are not an easy family to live with,’ he answered warily. ‘My father is only interested in the business and Stephen is going a long way to match him, except—’ He stopped suddenly, realising he was straying into dangerous waters.

  ‘Except what?’

  He laughed. ‘Don’t take any notice of me, Miss Bywater. It is only sour grapes on my part.’

  And because he said it himself, she was suddenly sure it was nothing of the kind. What was he warning her against? One thing she determined on—she would make no decisions until she knew. The trouble was that everyone was making assumptions, from Lady Harecroft and Mr John Harecroft, to Stephen and even Richard himself. She could not help thinking of him as Richard now and must guard her tongue in case it slipped out.

  ‘Are you perhaps a little jealous of your brother, Mr Harecroft?’

  ‘Jealous? In what way jealous?’

  ‘Because your father seems to favour him.’

  ‘I do not mind that, Miss Bywater, it has been the same all my life. I have come to accept that, if I do not conform, then I must pay the price for my stubbornness.’

  ‘Is it entirely because you did not want to work in the business?’

  He knew she was probing, but strangely he did not mind. ‘Oh, it started long before that. Even as a boy I was different. I was always playing in the dirt. I associated with the village boys, ran wild in the countryside and came home scratched, bruised and dirty. I was the despair of our governess.’

  ‘Surely all small boys do that?’

  ‘Not Stephen, he was far too particular. Even as a small child, he used to like to go to work with our father and right from the start was interested in the business. I loathed it. I wanted to be out in the fields and the woods with my dog. That was before my great-grandfather died and we, as a family, still lived at Borstead Hall. My grandfather, who was running Harecroft’s business at the time, lived at the London house. Father used to live with him during the week and come home to Borstead Hall at weekends.’

  ‘That’s why Toby has taken to you so well,’ she said. ‘He knows a kindred spirit.’ The dog, stretched on the opposite seat, cocked an ear at the sound of his name, but, perceiving all was well, put his head down and shut his eyes again. ‘What was he called? Was it a he?’

  ‘Yes. I called him Pal. He was my pal.’

  She sensed there was more to be told. ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘Unfortunately he had to be put down for worrying sheep.’

  ‘That must have been a sad day for you.’

  ‘Yes.’ He stopped suddenly. Even after so many years, thinking of that dog made him bitterly angry all over again. He had been seven years old when a local farmer had come to his father to complain the dog had been worrying sheep and demanded he be put down. Richard had hotly denied the dog had been anywhere near the sheep, but his father would not listen and, without asking for any sort of proof for the accusation, had ordered Pal to be shot. Richard had stormed and yelled and physically tried to prevent the gamekeeper from firing his shotgun and had to be restrained. As soon as he was freed, he had run and wrapped his arms about his bloodied pet until he was prised away and sent to his room where he wept for hours. His mother dare not defy his father and go to him, so it was his great-grandmother who comforted him. When he eventually faced his father again, he told him venomously that he would never forgive him for it.

  ‘It is a fact of life that when dogs worry sheep, they are shot,’ his father had told him coldly. ‘The sooner you learn that the better. You are too soft for you own good. Perhaps at school you will learn to harden your heart.’ And so to boarding school he was sent, leaving his brother to continue enjoying his father’s favours. It was at school, a place he hated fervently for its cruelty, that he learned to hide his feelings under a veneer of urbanity. He had been doing it so long now, it had become a habit, part of the man he had become.

  He had been silent so long Diana turned to glance at him. He seemed to be looking at her, but she soon realised he was not with her in spirit at all—his eyes had a faraway look and there was something disturbing in their blue depths. She wondered whether to speak or to remain silent when they drew up for their first change of horses and he left the coach to supervise the operation.

  ‘Tell me about Borstead Hall,’ she said when he returned and they were on their way again. ‘Is it very big?’

  ‘It is a fair size,’ he said, mentally picturing the mansion. ‘It was built on the foundations of an old priory and some of the stone was used in its early construction, though so much has been added to it since then, it is hard to find them. There are four large reception rooms, one of them big enough for a ballroom, a library and study, a smaller sitting room, as well as the usual offices, kitchens, dairy, butler’s pantry, cellars. I don’t know how many bedrooms there are, upwards of a dozen, I should think, not counting the servant’s quarters in the attic. Oh, and two bathrooms.’

  ‘Bathrooms!’

  ‘Yes, my grandfather had them installed after he inherited the title from my great-grandfather. Besides the house, which is surrounded by its own gardens and park, there are outbuildings, a coach house and domestic stables and a ruined chapel where the nuns once worshipped. The stables where my grandfather breeds race horses are a little way from the main house and they are of more recent construction.’

  ‘And the countryside?’

  ‘Farmland and heath, most of it. Borstead is the nearest village. It is ten miles from Ascot. It has the usual amenities: a church, a few shops, a blacksmith, a saddler and two inns. And the Borstead stud, of course. When you have settled in and met the family, I shall be pleased to show you round.’

  ‘Thank you. If I am not kept too busy, I should like that.’

  ‘Too busy! I doubt that very much. Great-Aunt Alicia is very capable.’

  ‘Then why am I being asked to help?’ she asked. ‘Lady Harecroft said I was needed.’

  ‘Oh, then you must be and I am mistaken.’ His reply was so swift she began to wonder.

  ‘Who else will be at the party?’

  ‘My grandparents and my parents, of course, Uncle Henry and his son and daughter, the local doctor, family lawyer, various family friends. I am only guessing, of course, the old lady is keeping the arrangements close to her chest. I imagine you will soon know more about them than I will.’

  ‘I am very nervous.’

  ‘Why? There is nothing to be nervous about. You could quell every one of us with a look, if you chose.’

  ‘Now you are being silly.’

  He looked sharply at her, unused to being declared silly, but decide
d not to comment and they rode in silence until they stopped again to change the horses. Having been arranged in advance, the new ones were ready for them and they were soon on their way again. London had been left a long way behind and they were in rolling countryside, where cereal crops were ripening in the fields and cows inhabited the meadows. The hedgerows were scattered with elder flowers, brambles, not yet in fruit, and wild roses, interspersed with honeysuckle. Their conversation became desultory. She leaned back against the padded back of the seat and shut her eyes. So much had happened in the last two or three weeks, what with the coronation and the ball and visits to her father on top of living in strange surroundings, that she was worn out with it all. And there was more to come…

  The next thing she knew she was being shaken gently awake. ‘Miss Bywater, time for some refreshment.’

  She sat up with a start and tried to straighten her hat. The swaying movement of the coach had stopped. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘A little over halfway. Shall we leave the coach and go into the inn for some refreshment? They are expecting us.’

  With his hand under her elbow, he escorted her into the inn where they were served tea and bread and butter and cake. ‘To tide us over until supper time,’ he said.

  ‘There is enough here for a regiment.’

  ‘Not quite. What we do not eat, I am sure Toby will.’

  ‘You seem to have thought of everything,’ she said, seating herself next to the teapot. ‘Are you always so well organised?’

  ‘Put it down to my time in the army,’ he said. ‘Supply lines are often very long and without careful organisation the troops would go hungry. Your father would understand that. A ship must be provisioned.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ She poured tea for them both. ‘I often helped check the supplies coming on board. It was one of the ways my father educated me. I checked their use so that we knew how long they lasted and when we must think of provisioning again.’

  ‘That is why you understand Harecroft’s so well.’

  ‘Oh, I have much yet to learn.’

  ‘But you are determined to learn it for my brother’s sake, is that not so?’

  ‘And for my own. I take a pride in my work.’

  ‘Well said, Miss Bywater.’

  ‘Did you never try to work alongside your father at Harecroft’s?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I tried. When I left school, I spent two years learning the ropes, but I hated every minute.’

  ‘Why? Did you think being in trade was too demeaning for a gentleman?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said sharply. ‘Each to his own bent. The Harecrofts have always been divided on the issue. Those who favour the business are called ‘Trading Harecrofts’ and they enjoy the cut and thrust of buying and selling. The others occupy themselves in other ways, as I wanted to do.’

  ‘What did your father say when you said you wanted to leave?’

  ‘In a way I think he was relieved. My approach to business was unconventional.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I sometimes allowed discounts on goods without consulting him and that did not please him.’

  ‘I should think not. It is not the way to run a successful business.’

  ‘No, it is all about profit.’ He sounded disapproving.

  ‘Without it, you would not have had the advantages you have had: a good home, good food, an education.’

  ‘Oh dear, you sound just like my father.’

  She smiled. ‘I am sorry, I have no right to lecture you. But why did you decide to give discounts?’

  ‘I only did it if I thought it was deserved. The last time was when a friend came in to buy mourning for his wife, who had just lost her mother. He wanted her to be suitably attired and I knew he could not afford it, so I let him have a length of the best black silk at cost. It did not go down well with my father.’ It was said lightly, but she knew him well enough by now to realise the quarrel over it had been a bitter one.

  ‘I do not think you would make a good businessman, Mr Harecroft.’

  ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘Fortunately my brother was leaving school at that time and was able to step into my shoes. I could not expect my father to support me in idleness and so I joined the army.’

  ‘But you did not stay in the army. Did you not like the life?’

  ‘I liked it well enough. I liked the comradeship, the changing scene, the feeling I was doing something useful, but I never meant it to be my life’s work, and when I received a legacy from my maternal grandmother, I bought my way out.’

  ‘So, what is your life’s work?’

  ‘Now, there’s a question,’ he said. ‘I am not sure I know the answer, except that I should like to help the underdog, those too poor to help themselves, like those two urchins who lived near you in Southwark.’

  ‘But there are hundreds and thousands like them. You cannot help them all.’

  ‘I can try to influence those who can.’

  ‘Politics?’

  ‘Why not? Have you anything against politicians?’

  ‘Nothing at all, if they are working for the common good. Do you mean to stand for Parliament?’

  ‘If I can find a seat.’

  ‘Your father can surely have nothing against that?’

  ‘I have not told him. After all, nothing might come of it and I fear we would be on opposing sides.’ He paused, embarrassed by the turn the conversation was taking. ‘Do you not think we could dispense with the formal address and call each other by our given names?’

  ‘I am an employee, Mr Bywater, you may call me what you will, but it would not be fitting for me to address you by your Christian name.’

  He had set out intending to find out more about her, to try to trip her up, make her reveal her true self; instead, she had turned the tables on him and he had told her things he had never told anyone else. He must guard against falling for her charm. ‘The trouble is that I cannot think of you in those terms,’ he said. ‘And if you accept my brother…’

  ‘You do not want me to, do you?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Whether I do or not will not affect my position while I am at Borstead Hall. I am only going for a week, after all.’

  ‘And then you intend to return to London and look for new lodgings.’

  ‘I must.’

  He did not answer that. They finished their meal and returned to the coach and were soon on their way again. They continued to talk about her travels and his time in the army and gradually she felt the tension easing from her shoulders. The journey had enabled her to understand him better and why there was a clash of wills with his father, but what he had told her certainly did not justify him being called a black sheep. In her experience Mr John Harecroft was not an unjust man, so there must be something else.

  At Ascot they made a final stop for the Harecrofts’ own horses, left there on the outward journey that morning, to be harnessed to the carriage for the last leg.

  It was early evening when they turned into the gates of Borstead Hall. Diana sat forward as the house came into view at the end of the carriage drive. It stood on a slight hill, surrounded by immaculate gardens and an extensive park. Its stone façade seemed to reflect the warmth of the sun and its rows of windows gleamed like dozens of mirrors. One side was covered in purple wisteria in full bloom. They drew up at a huge oak door, which was certainly older than the rest of the house. Almost before the carriage stopped, Richard was out and handing her down. ‘Here we are at last.’

  She was standing on the gravel feeling rather lost, when the door was thrown open by a plump, younger version of Lady Harecroft. ‘Here is Great Aunt Alicia to greet us,’ he said.

  Miss Harecroft was in her late forties, not much older than her nephew, John Harecroft. She had a pale complexion, clear blue eyes and light brown hair just beginning to go grey, though it hinted at the red-gold of the rest of the Harecrofts. Smiling, she came down the steps to greet them. ‘Aunt, this is Miss Bywater,’ Richard said and to D
iana, ‘My Great-Aunt Alicia.’

  ‘Not so much of the great,’ she said, teasing him. ‘You are very welcome, Miss Bywater. I have heard so much about you, I feel I know you already. May I call you Diana?’

  ‘Please do.’

  ‘Come along in. Richard will arrange for someone to fetch in the baggage.’ She stooped to make a fuss of Toby, who had jumped down from the carriage and was wagging his tail ecstatically. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Toby,’ Diana said. ‘I hope you do not mind me bringing him. He is my father’s dog.’

  ‘Not at all. Richard will see that he is looked after. I’ll show you to your room. You are just in time for supper. That is, if you are not too tired after your journey.’

  ‘Miss Bywater thinks because she is an employee she will be eating with the servants,’ Richard put in.

  ‘Good gracious, no, you are a guest, Diana. You will dine with the family. Richard, I hope you will stay.’

  ‘Wild horses would not keep me away.’ He was smiling at Diana as he spoke and she realised he had reverted to his teasing mockery and she would be wise to forget his confidences in the carriage coming down. That had been another, more vulnerable side to the man, which he would not like mentioned again.

  He ushered Toby back into the carriage, climbed in himself and it was taken round the side of the house and out of sight.

  ‘Now,’ Alicia said, leading the way. ‘Let us go straight up to your room. There will be time enough for a tour of the house tomorrow.’

  Diana found herself in a wide hall, furnished with small tables on which stood vases of flowers, a long case clock and half a dozen velvet-padded chairs. To the right were several doors and to the left a curving staircase whose walls were lined with paintings. They crossed the hall and went up the stairs, their footsteps silent on the thick red carpet, and along the corridor. Alicia opened the door of a bedroom and ushered Diana in. ‘I hope you will be comfortable here. I will have hot water sent up to you. If there is anything else you need, just ring the bell.’