Scandal at Greystone Manor Page 20

  He knew she was right, not only about the money, but about confronting Bolsover. What he found so difficult to understand was why a man like Hector Bolsover, who enjoyed the life of the capital and spent most of his time at card tables, would want to come and live in a rural spot like Hadlea. It did not make sense.

  ‘Will you go to Jane? I will drive over to Greystone’s to tell them Jane has recovered consciousness. I’ll bring her ladyship back with me. She will, no doubt, want to see her daughter.’

  * * *

  The damage to the curricle had not been great and had soon been mended and both his own horse and Bonny had not suffered any harm. In no time at all he was bowling along the village street towards the Manor. As he passed the church he saw the Rector by the lych gate, who waved to him to stop.

  ‘How is the invalid?’ he asked him, coming to stand with his hand on the side of the curricle.

  ‘Making good progress, I think. She has regained consciousness and is able to speak. I am going over to tell Lady Cavenhurst the good news.’

  ‘That is a great relief to us all. She will soon be back to her old self, then?’

  ‘It is to be hoped so.’

  ‘I heard she was to be married to the gentleman staying at the Fox and Hounds. The people in the village are very excited about it. They say Miss Cavenhurst deserves her happiness.’

  ‘Indeed she does,’ Mark said, through gritted teeth.

  ‘I found Lord Bolsover wandering round the churchyard. He made himself known to me and desired me to have the grave of Colin Paget cleared of weeds and the headstone cleaned. He is an ancestor of his, I believe.’

  ‘So I have heard.’

  ‘Perhaps there will be a double wedding. His lordship seemed amused by the idea, but he did not say he did not like it.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Mark said, anxious to end the conversation. ‘I must be on my way to fetch Lady Cavenhurst.’

  ‘Of course. I must not detain you.’ He stepped back. ‘Please tell Miss Cavenhurst that I am thinking of her and wish her well. Tell her I have recruited some volunteers to help clean up Witherington House when she is ready.’

  ‘I will, but we do not need to wait until Miss Cavenhurst is out and about again, we can make a start on the house. I think it will please her.’

  ‘Yes, that is a good idea.’

  ‘I will speak to you about it when I have more time.’

  So that’s what his mother meant about rumours, Mark mused, as he continued on his way. Even if they had not been perpetrated by Bolsover, which seemed likely, he had certainly not denied them. There was an almighty scandal brewing and he did not know how to prevent it.

  * * *

  Lady Cavenhurst seemed unaware of the rumours when he was shown into the drawing room at the Manor and delivered the news that Jane was awake and her mental state had not suffered because of the injury to her head. ‘She is wishful of coming home,’ he said.

  ‘Much as I would like her home, she must not do that,’ her ladyship said. ‘Lord Bolsover has called every day and is as determined as ever. He has practically accused her of pretending to be ill in order to delay speaking to him. I had to ask Dr Trench to confirm that she was deeply unconscious and incapable of making a decision. I even hinted that she might have lost some of her mental faculties in the hope he would withdraw his suit, but Sir Edward was quite angry with me. He says Jane is our only hope, so we must not tell Lord Bolsover she has come round.’

  ‘Then Jane must stay where she is. Would you like to come back with me and talk to her?’

  ‘Yes, please. I will go and put on my hat.’ She left the room and he wandered round, waiting for her. He had not realised until now how shabby everything looked, especially with the pictures down and the shelves emptied.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Mark.’ He whirled round to face Isabel. ‘I thought I heard a visitor arrive. How is Jane?’

  ‘She woke up about an hour ago. She is very weak, but otherwise none the worse.’

  ‘I am so glad. It is dreadful here without her, everyone going about with Friday faces. I will be glad when she comes home.’

  ‘But then she will have to give Lord Bolsover his answer.’

  ‘Why not? She will have to give in, in the end.’

  He was angry. ‘Isabel, you surely would not condemn your sister to marrying that dreadful man?’

  ‘He isn’t that dreadful, not when you come to know him better, he can be very charming and he is our only hope. She is lucky to find a husband at all at her age and he is very rich.’

  He was so annoyed he was speechless, but luckily Lady Cavenhurst returned, wearing her hat and gloves, and he escorted her to the curricle.

  He was still seething and wondered if her ladyship had heard and if she agreed with her daughter. Isabel was totally self-centred. He could not marry her, he simply could not. But how could he get out of it with any honour?

  Chapter Eleven

  Between them, the two ladies and Mark, with the connivance of Dr Trench, persuaded Jane that she ought to stay where she was for another week at least. Jane herself was convinced of the need for it when she attempted to leave her bed unaided and fell to the floor. Mark was passing in the corridor and heard her sharp cry. He rushed in and helped her up, trying not to notice that she wore only a flimsy nightgown that did nothing to hide her curves, nor the soft swelling of her breasts rising and falling with her breathing. He stood, holding her against him, savouring the feel of her in his arms, her body fitting so neatly into his and his hunger for her became almost unbearable.

  True, he had held her before, once on the village green when Drew had been with him. ‘If I did not know you better, I would think you were a little too fond of your future sister-in-law,’ his friend had said, which was perceptive of him, considering he had not realised it himself at the time. Then when she twisted her ankle on the broken stair, and latterly when she came off her horse in his drive, but she had always been fully dressed. Even when she had been so ill and he lay watching her hour after hour, she had been well covered, Janet had seen to that.

  He turned her in his arms and tipped her chin up so that he could look into her face. ‘It seems I am destined to be always picking you up off the floor,’ he said, attempting humour. And then he kissed her.

  It was only meant to be a gentle kiss, a fond kiss to let her know he was on her side, to try to convey he knew not what, but it deepened into something much more and she stood cradled in his arms and let it happen. There was no cry of protest as his lips found hers, no pushing him away in outraged fury. She melted into him and he knew, he knew then, that he could never marry anyone else, no matter what.

  ‘Jane?’ he murmured, leaving off kissing her, but continuing to hold her, knowing she would crumple if he did not. Besides, he wanted to. ‘Oh, Jane, what are we going to do? I cannot let you go.’

  ‘No, for I should fall down again.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘Neither did I.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘It cannot be,’ she said, as a tear slipped down her cheek. Telling her that when it was all too late was the greatest torment of all.

  ‘It is a fact.’ He kissed the tear away.

  ‘Mark, don’t, please don’t.’

  ‘Why? Are you going to tell me you do not love me?’

  ‘I...’ She stopped in confusion.

  ‘Be honest with me, Jane.’

  ‘I am always honest with you.’

  ‘Well then?’

  ‘Whatever my feelings may be, it still cannot be,’ she murmured. ‘There’s Isabel and...and Lord Bolsover.’ She shivered.

  ‘Damn Bolsover.’ He picked her up, kissed her again and put her back on the bed, pulled the covers over her and sat down on the edge, holding her hand
. ‘We could run away and marry secretly.’

  ‘Mark, you are joking, you must be. Think of the scandal, think of your mother, your friends and the villagers, who look up to you and respect you. Would you forfeit that? And there’s Isabel. Would you break her heart?’

  He was tempted to say ‘Damn Isabel’, but refrained. Instead he said, ‘I do not think it would break her heart, Jane. She broke the engagement off once, she might do so again.’

  ‘Not with Papa’s bankruptcy hovering over us and Lord Bolsover laying down the law. We must do what is right for everyone.’

  ‘Why can’t we do what is right for us?’

  She gave him a wan smile. ‘Mark, I do not feel strong enough to argue with you, please say no more. What happened here this afternoon is our secret, never to be divulged to a soul, though I shall always remember it and think of it in years to come as a time when I knew that I was once loved.’ She attempted a smile.

  It was all too much. He fled the room before she could see his unmanly tears.

  * * *

  Jane knew she had done the right thing, but, oh, how hard it had been to send him away. He must have realised the rightness of it, too, because he did not come to see her every morning as he had been doing, popping in for a few minutes to see how she was and asking if she needed anything. She missed his cheery smile and the feeling he gave her that she was important. Well, she would just have to live without that. Her head ached and she felt weak as a newborn kitten, but unless she wanted to spend the rest of her life in bed she would have to do something about it. It was time to make a move.

  Every day she left her bed and tottered round the room, hanging on to furniture. Round and round she went, stopping when she came to the window to gaze out at the gardeners tending the borders, hoping for a glimpse of Mark. Then on she went again, until she was exhausted. Day by day her legs strengthened until she could walk without support. The bandage was removed from her head, leaving a little bare patch where her hair had been cut away, but the scar had nearly healed and the hair would grow again. Janet had devised a style that used the length of her hair to disguise it.

  The next step was to dress and go downstairs to sit in the parlour, sometimes alone, sometimes with Lady Wyndham, either sewing or reading or talking quietly. She began taking her meals in the dining room, which meant she saw and spoke to Mark, but his mother and the servants were always present and they had done little but exchange pleasantries. Even so, she felt the tension in the atmosphere, the constraints that prevented them even looking at each other properly. It was a kind of exquisite torture.

  Her mother came frequently to see her, bringing her clothes, and so did Isabel and Sophie. Isabel’s moods of cheerfulness alternated with gloominess and Sophie’s bright chatter exhausted her.

  ‘Lord Bolsover has gone to Northamptonshire to tell his mother the good news,’ Isabel informed her on one visit. ‘And he was also going to see his lawyer about the transfer of the deeds and to draw up a marriage contract.’

  ‘But I have not agreed to marry him.’

  ‘He is assuming you will and so is Papa. You cannot turn him down, Jane, you really cannot. Everything depends upon it. He has even promised to pay for my wedding breakfast and we can invite as many as we please.’

  ‘Do you know how long he intends to be gone?’

  Her sister shrugged. ‘How long does it take to do something like that? I did hear Papa tell Mama that he had withheld some documents about manorial rights and without those his lordship cannot proceed. But he will send for them, no doubt, so it is only putting off the inevitable.’

  Jane had decided to go home the next day and was prepared to walk, but Mark would not hear of it and insisted on taking her in his curricle. It was the first time they had been alone together since the day he had picked her up off the floor and kissed her. She sat silently beside him, watching his capable hands on the reins and occasionally glancing up at him, but he kept his gaze firmly on the back of the horse. Instead of going down the main village street when he came to the crossroads, he turned off on to the road to Witherington.

  ‘Why are you going this way?’ she asked, breaking the long silence.

  He turned to her with a gentle smile. ‘So that I may have a little longer alone with you.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And also because I have something to show you.’

  ‘At Witherington?’ That he wanted to have time with her both pleased and worried her at the same time. But if she kept her mind firmly on the Hadlea Children’s Home and remained businesslike she might just manage to keep her composure.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The sale went through, then? I wondered if Lord Bolsover might try to delay it.’

  ‘He was only one of the beneficiaries and the others were all keen to sell. He is not as powerful as he would have us think, Jane.’

  ‘Powerful enough.’

  ‘We will not speak of him. Now, what do you see?’ He had turned into the gates of Witherington House, which had been replaced on their hinges and were standing open to reveal a drive cleared of weeds. The house itself had been divested of its festoons of ivy. ‘Mark, what a transformation! There’s new glass in the broken windows and they have all been painted.’

  ‘There are fresh tiles on the roof, too.’

  ‘However did you manage it?’

  ‘I didn’t do anything except point out what needed to be done. It was the people of Hadlea. They love and respect you, Jane, and when they heard from the Rector what you wanted to do with the place, every able-bodied man and some of the women and children came forward and spent their spare time here. I simply bought the paint, glass and tools.’

  ‘They must be paid.’

  ‘They said they didn’t want payment, but I insisted on giving them something.’ He drove round the side of the house and drew up in the yard where Mrs Godfrey was feeding chickens. These were new, too. ‘I thought the home ought to be as self-sufficient as possible,’ he said, jumping down and helping Jane to alight. ‘Good morning, Mrs Godfrey. Where is Silas?’

  ‘He is in the garden somewhere with some of the folks from Witherington. They decided they wouldn’t be bested by Hadlea and came to help. Shall I fetch him?’

  ‘No, let him be. I just want to show Miss Cavenhurst what we have done.’

  ‘Made a transformation, that’s what,’ she said, then to Jane, ‘Miss Cavenhurst, I heard you’d had another accident. I hope you have recovered.’

  ‘Yes, thank you. It was entirely my own fault. I am quite well now.’

  ‘I’ll make tea, shall I?’

  ‘When we have finished looking round, we will welcome tea, thank you,’ Mark said, leading the way indoors.

  The interior had also been cleaned and painted in cream and light green and, with the ivy gone, the rooms were light and airy. ‘Oh, Mark, to think all this was done while I was idling at Broadacres.’

  ‘You have friends, Jane, a great many friends,’ he said softly. ‘Not just me.’

  She was tempted to say he was more than a friend, but decided it would be unwise. She went from room to room—everywhere was the same. ‘It is ready to furnish,’ she said, as they made their way up the repaired stairs. ‘Do we have enough money?’

  ‘I think so, but we must continue to raise more. There is the fair, of course. And my mother has said she will open the house and grounds and give a musical recital for her friends. I am sure they can be persuaded to give freely.’

  ‘That is very kind of Lady Wyndham, but she is still in mourning, Mark.’

  ‘She says she will wait until the six months is up, but she is sure that is what my father would have wished. He was all in favour of your idea, as you know. In the meantime we can go ahead with the fair.’

  They were standing at the window of the largest bedroom, looki
ng out at a group of people clearing the overgrown garden and piling the rubbish into a heap for a bonfire. She was right; concentrating on the home was making her personal unhappiness almost bearable, but she wondered what all these good people would say if they knew the truth.

  * * *

  They had finished their tour and talked about furnishings and the fair while they sat in the kitchen drinking tea, then set off back to Hadlea.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough, Mark,’ she said. ‘You have made a dream possible.’

  ‘There is another dream I would like to make possible...’

  ‘Don’t, Mark. Please don’t.’

  They were passing the place where they had had their picnic and he pulled up, just as he had before. ‘Let us walk a little.’

  He helped her down and they walked into the field, where a footpath ran round the perimeter. There was wheat growing in it, almost ripe enough to harvest, but even Jane, who was no farmer, could see it would not be abundant and unlikely to be good enough for making bread. But it was not the state of the harvest which occupied her now, but the fact that Mark had hold of her hand and was drawing her into his arms.

  ‘Mark, you mustn’t.’

  ‘Yes, I must.’ He bent to kiss her. He kissed her lips, her eyelids, her neck, the round softness at the top of her breasts, peeping above the scooped neck of the striped-gingham dress she wore. It sent a ripple of sensation right through her body and into her groin. She clung to him, not wanting him to stop. It was he who pulled away, breathing heavily.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jane, my love, my dearest love, I have not made it easy for you, have I?’

  ‘No, you have not, but don’t be sorry, unless you regret it.’

  ‘Regret it! Oh, my love. How could I?’ He went to draw her to him again, but she stepped backwards.

  ‘No, Mark. No more. Take me home before we both do something we regret.’

  ‘Very well.’ He put his hand under her elbow to guide her back to the carriage. ‘There has to be a way out of this mess, there just has to be and I will find it, I promise you.’