Claiming the Ashbrooke Heir Page 9

  He turned to smile at her, then relented. Perhaps it was not a good idea to shock her all at once. ‘We are going to Anstey Manor,’ he said.

  ‘Anstey! But I made that up.’

  ‘No, you did not. You remembered it.’

  ‘From when?’

  ‘It could be from this,’ he said, producing the torn piece of paper from his pocket. ‘I found it being used as a bookmark. I gather you had been reading the book to my stepsisters.’

  She recognised the paper. ‘Is it written there? I do not remember noticing it.’

  ‘Then perhaps you remembered it from some other time.’ He paused. ‘I collect you telling me your mother once took you to look at a big house, though you did not go in.’

  ‘You think that was Anstey Manor?’

  ‘I am sure of it. The name is written on the gates.’

  ‘Why are we going there? What have you discovered?’

  ‘Your mother’s parents.’

  She twisted round to look at him, eyes wide in surprise. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I am sure. I have spoken to them and shown them the picture.’

  ‘Oh. But they disowned Mama for marrying Papa.’ She shook her head. ‘And that is what will happen to you if you marry me. You will be disowned.’

  ‘Never mind about me. They will explain how that came about.’

  ‘You are taking me to meet them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you can’t! I can’t meet them. They will be so ashamed of me.’

  ‘On the contrary. I believe they are very proud of you and anxious to meet you.’

  ‘You told them,’ she whispered. ‘You told them of my disgrace. How could you?’

  ‘They wanted to know. They wanted to know everything about you. I told them how much I loved you and how very much I wanted to marry you. I wanted their blessing.’

  ‘Oh, Charles, you are the dearest man to take so much trouble, but I cannot see …’

  ‘You will,’ he said mysteriously. ‘Wait and see.’

  The horses were changed several times, and at one stop the innkeeper had Timmy’s food heated so that Annette could feed him. She was thankful that, far from making him sick, the movement of the well-sprung carriage was lulling him to sleep.

  It was the middle of the afternoon when they turned in at the gates of Anstey Manor, and Annette leaned forward to look. It was a solidly built brick building, not vast, but certainly not small. It had mullioned windows and twisted chimney pots, and was surrounded by a park where deer grazed. There were gardeners at work on the terraces, and they stopped to look as the carriage swept by them and round to the front door. Charles would expect to use the front door, she thought, but when they realised he had her with him he would be told in no uncertain terms to take her off round the back.

  The big oak door was opened as they came to a stop, and a lady ran down the steps towards them. She reached them as the coachman let down the step and Charles emerged. ‘Major Ashbrooke—has she come?’ It was said eagerly.

  ‘Yes, my lady. She is here.’ He turned and helped Annette from the carriage. ‘My lady, may I present your granddaughter, Annette? Annette, your grandmother—the Countess of Fettlesham.’

  Annette, completely bemused, found herself pulled into a fierce embrace. ‘Oh, my child, how glad we are you have been found. Come inside and have refreshment. We have so much to talk about.’

  Annette was hardly aware that Charles had reached into the carriage and was carrying Timothy behind them as she followed her grandmother into the wide hall. ‘I am sorry,’ she managed at last. ‘I am so confused. I did not know. My mother never told me …’

  ‘Never mind. First things first, then explanations.’ She bustled forward, issuing orders to servants, and then led the way into an elegant drawing room where the Earl waited.

  He was a portly man, with red cheeks, greying side whiskers and white hair. He rose and came forward to take both Annette’s hands and look her up and down. There were tears in his eyes as he murmured, ‘You are the image of your mother, my dear.’

  It was some time before Annette could take it all in and understand what had happened. It was after dinner, when they all returned to the drawing room, that it began to sink in. Timmy had been handed over to a competent maid, who had carried him off to the nether regions of the house in triumph—though not before the Countess had made a great fuss of him.

  The Earl and Countess admitted they had not approved of their daughter’s choice of husband, who had been brought up at a foundling hospital and from there had been sent as a clerk to the East India Company offices in London. He had been working there when he’d met Annette’s mother. It had not been the match they had dreamed of for their only daughter, but she’d been stubborn, and her father’s threats not to receive him had simply meant that she turned her back on her home and went out to India, where Timothy had enlisted in the Company regiment. It was to his credit that he had risen from the ranks to become a captain.

  ‘We had a letter from Louise, telling us you had been born,’ her ladyship told Annette. ‘But no forwarding address. By that time we would have given anything to be reunited with our daughter, but we could not reply. We set a search in hand, but by the time she had been traced your father had died and no one knew what had become of you.’

  ‘We came back to England.’

  ‘If only we had known.’

  ‘What has Charles told you?’ Annette looked across at him, smiling shyly. ‘Do you know the worst?’

  ‘The worst and the best, my dear.’ The Countess smiled. ‘Major Ashbrooke has put your case very nobly—not that we needed persuasion to welcome you home. It has always been our dearest wish. We are only sorry that your dear mama did not survive to see this day.’

  ‘She would have been overjoyed.’

  ‘And she would have approved of Major Ashbrooke, I think.’ It was said with a knowing smile which made Annette blush.

  And so the evening ended, and they were shown to their rooms, for the Earl would not hear of them attempting the return journey that night. Annette lay in the most comfortable bed she had ever slept in and contemplated the sudden change in her fortunes. She had a family. Her mother had been an earl’s daughter and entitled to be addressed as ‘my lady’, though she had never told anyone that. And Charles loved her and wanted to marry her. Was ever a girl so blessed?

  She crept from the bed and stood looking down at her son, snugly asleep in her mother’s cradle, and reached out to touch his soft cheek. ‘Sleep on, little one, all is well.’

  It was the next day after breakfast that she and Charles set out to stroll around the grounds together. ‘Are you happy?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, Charles, yes. You are so good to me.’

  ‘I hope that now you will no longer hold out against me. I shall not be marrying the nursery maid, but the granddaughter of the Earl of Fettlesham. Why, if anything you are way above my touch. I am heir to nothing more than a baron.’

  ‘I do not care about that. All I want to know is if you are sure.’

  ‘Sure! I was never so sure of anything in my whole life.’

  ‘You loved your wife …’

  ‘Yes, I did. I was a soldier, and subject to orders, so I had to leave her to go to war. I had not been long out in Portugal when I heard she was expecting our child. I promised to leave the army and stay at home, but it was a few months before I could be released. By then she was dead. I never ceased to blame myself for not being with her when she died.’

  ‘But that was not your fault, was it?’

  ‘No. And do you know what made me realise how foolish I was being? It was you, my love. You had far more to regret than I, but you stuck your pretty little chin in the air and made the best of your life. I realised I wanted to be part of that life, whether it was with Mrs Anstey or the granddaughter of an earl. It is all one to me. I love you. Do you love me?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Then I need an answer fro
m you.’

  ‘And what might the question be, sir?’ she teased.

  ‘Will you marry me?’

  ‘I come with a child.’

  ‘I know. I will give him my name. It should have been his anyway. So, what do you say?’

  ‘Yes—oh, yes, please.’

  They were out of sight of the house and walking along a woodland path. He stopped and turned her to face him. ‘Thank heavens for that!’ He took her in his arms and kissed her hungrily. Her response was all he could have hoped for.

  It was some time before they resumed their walk, arms entwined. ‘How soon?’ he asked.

  She laughed, her eyes shining. ‘I would marry you tomorrow if it were possible, but I think I should consult Grandmama. I should like to be married from here, if you do not mind. Shall we say six weeks?’

  ‘So long,’ he groaned. ‘How am I going to hold out?’

  ‘Oh, I am sure you will have plenty to do to fill the time.’

  ‘Yes, I must go to Riseborough Hall and tell my parents I have acceded to their request and am to marry a lady with a pedigree as long as, if not longer than, my own. Then I must make sure Brookside is ready to receive you …’

  She laughed. ‘I used to dream while I was busy refurbishing it that it was my home.’

  ‘Perhaps that is why you made such a good job of it. It is a haven of rest and tranquillity now, and when you come to live there it will be even better.’

  ‘There you are, then. The time will pass in a flash.’

  ‘Not quickly enough for me,’ he said, stopping to kiss her again. ‘But I will be patient.’ His subsequent kisses belied that last statement, but he held himself in check. Just.

  It was the wedding of the year. The Countess was determined on it. Annette was dressed in oyster satin, with a diamond tiara on her curls and more diamonds at her throat. All her ladyship’s friends and acquaintances, and several aunts, uncles and cousins Annette had not even known about a few weeks before attended. So did Lord and Lady Ashbrooke, perfectly amenable to having the granddaughter of the Earl of Fettlesham for a daughter-in-law. They were even pleased to allow Isabelle and Harriet to be the bride’s attendants. Mrs Hurst was there, looking after Timmy, and Becky Musgrove, proud as punch to think she had been instrumental in bringing the happy couple together. And they were happy. No one who was there could doubt it.

  ISBN: 978-1-474-03656-6

  CLAIMING THE ASHBROOKE HEIR

  © 2009 Mary Nichols

  Published in Great Britain 2015

  by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited

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