Amy Lake (14 page)

They sat in Mrs. Marwick's parlour over a cup of tea. Fiona was presently in the garden; Maddie and Lord Ashdown were off on another short ride. Dee explained that he had already sent a Runner to Croydon, Thaxton’s supposed home, with no success in finding the man. The doctor found himself somewhat less articulate in the presence of the marquess' sister than he was accustomed, but he shrugged it off. What could Edwina Ashdown be to a country doctor?

"A Runner? Excellent idea," said the lady. She tapped a beautifully manicured fingernail against one of Mrs. Marwick’s best tea cups, and picked up Richard Ford's letter. "Oh, bother."

"Pardon?"

"My spectacles. Where are the accursed things?"

She stood up to look around the room; the glasses tumbled from her lap and the doctor bent down to retrieve them.

"My lady," he said.

She glared at the spectacles, but gave Dee a quick smile. "Thank you," she said, and began scanning the letter.

“Curious that he found no Thaxton family in Croydon,” said Eddie.

Dee nodded. “With a wife and three children he can hardly be living anonymously in a bed-sit.”

“It makes one wonder if there are any such people.”

"Indeed . . . ," said Dr. Fischer, thoughtful.

“And you say that you have now sent for information about that dreadful baronet. Do you suppose he is involved?” She peered at him over the top of her spectacles.

“I don’t know,” admitted Dee. “But he has asked Fiona to marry him—”

“
Has
he now?” Lady Edwina’s eyes widened. “Good heavens. I hope she refused him.”

“Repeatedly. But he has been oddly insistent of late, and stranger still, Mrs. Marwick feels that he rather dislikes her.”

Eddie frowned. “Not an infatuation, then. As if she has something he wants.”

“So it seems . . . coincidental that a letter then arrives suggesting that she may have nowhere else to live.”

“Trying to force her hand.”

“Exactly.”

“Then you are entirely correct. We must find out more about Sir . . . ?” She waved one hand in the air, dismissively.

“Irwin. I’ve asked the Runner to look into it.”

“Unfortunately, Eleanor is no longer in London.”

“Eleanor?”

“Our youngest sister. You’d be amazed at the things she’s able to uncover.”  * * * *

Eleanor was at Elswick Manor by now, and could not be applied to for help. The next day, while Fiona and Madelaine were in the stables looking after Susannah, Edwina and Dee decided to take another look at Wilfred Thaxton’s letter. Dr. Fischer retrieved it from the drawer in Fiona’s writing table, and he and Eddie sat down to examine the sheet of paper and its envelope. To Dee’s amusement, before this could be accomplished the lady again had trouble finding her reading glasses, which she had left somewhere in her own bedroom.

“’Tis is only one room,” said Dee. “How difficult can it be?”

Eddie glared at him, which only made the doctor laugh.

The spectacles gave Lady Edwina an air of piquant dignity and Dee realized that he found her disturbingly attractive.

Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself.

They looked carefully for any mark or evidence of the sender’s address, but found nothing more than what they had both remembered previously.

 “And this Thaxton had no previous correspondence with the family?”

Dr. Fischer shook his head. "Fiona had never heard of him. She believed that Joseph—her husband—had left Tern's Rest to her absolutely."

"Joseph Marwick," said Lady Edwina, half to herself. "I don't know the name."

"I can't imagine you would. The Marwicks were small landholders, and they've been in Barley Mow—well, forever."

“Unless the family was wealthy,” commented Edwina, “and Mrs. Marwick has simply chosen to live a common life, an entail under these circumstances would be most unusual.”

Dee understood her meaning; still he felt the pinch of annoyance. “There is nothing common about Fiona," he told Eddie.

“As it happens, I agree with you.”

The doctor looked up in surprise. Behind her glasses the lady’s eyes were calm, and very blue.

  * * * *

Colin found it more and more difficult to resist temptation. He yearned to take Mrs. Marwick into his arms, kiss her thoroughly and make her his wife, and he could no longer imagine any other woman as the Marchioness of Carinbrooke. The temptation had grown stronger because he felt, deep in his heart, that she was his for the asking. Lord Ashdown was not conceited, nor more arrogant than the usual of his class, but he
was
a marquess of England. Fiona had been a widow for several years, with a child, and nothing Colin had seen suggested that she was particularly well-off. She must be aware of the advantages to her and to Madelaine that such a marriage would give. In fact, when one considered the child—his lordship was feeling rather virtuous by this point—she could hardly say no.

Besides, Mrs. Marwick was fond of him, he was sure of it.

She would say yes. All he had to do was ask.

At this juncture Lord Ashdown might have done well to consult Lady Edwina, who would have informed him that women have pride as well as men, and common folk as well as the wealthy. But falling in love does not make one wise.

  * * * *

And yet . . . It’s possible that none of this would have mattered, and that Fiona would have run gratefully into the marquess’ arms, if Lord Ashdown’s timing had been more fortunate. But on the next day, when he had decided that he would approach Mrs. Marwick and ask for her hand—in his mind, Colin was already planning to send for a special license from London, and wondering if he dared inform the rest of the family only after the fact—two noteworthy events occurred.

Mrs. Marwick received another visitor. And a second letter arrived.

Chapter 25: The Second Letter

The marquess woke up in a wonderful mood that morning, convinced that this day would see him the happiest of gentlemen. He would manage to find Mrs. Marwick alone in the stables—this could surely be accomplished—and they would sit again on a bale of hay, and this time he would kiss her, deeply and long. The thought of that kiss spurred him to take particular pains with his dress, and although he had been wearing cast-offs from a young man now in His Majesty’s service, this time he donned a more lordly outfit, which Eddie had somehow obtained from Newcastle during the past week.

After seeing the fine wool coat, complete with waistcoat and doe-skin, ankle-length breeches, Colin was suspicious that his sister had informed Evelyn of his presence so close to Elswick Manor, but Edwina said no, that despite what the marquess might think, tailors
did
exist outside of London.

’Twas no matter. Nothing could spoil his humor on this most excellent of mornings.

  * * * *

Madelaine woke up in a less happy frame of mind. Something was amiss between her mother and Colin—here, Maddie’s understanding surpassed that of Lord Ashdown—and this did not suit her in the least.

Fiancée, the adults had said. Bah, thought Madelaine. Colin wasn’t in love with someone else, he was in love with her mother. She’d done everything she could to bring the two together, from absenting herself from the house whenever she thought there was some chance they might be alone, to involving Lord Ashdown in her lessons, sitting with him ever so nicely in the parlour, working on her Shakespeare, and certainly her mum could see how useful he was. The marquess knew all
sorts
of things.

The marquess. Madelaine wasn’t sure exactly what that meant. He wasn’t a duke or a prince, but ’twas important somehow. She’d seen Sir Irwin’s face when Lady Eddie arrived, and told them all who her brother was, and the baronet looked as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

Too bad for him. Her mother was going to marry Colin, and Sir Irwin could just go back where he belonged.

  * * * *

Mrs. Marwick was normally a social person, and loved company, and a knock on her kitchen door was happy cause to put a pot of water on the fire for tea. But the last few weeks had left her more wary of unexpected visitors. Not that Lord Ashdown and Lady Edwina weren’t welcome, of course. But Fiona’s life seemed to be getting more . . . complicated by the day.

She looked at the letter she had just received and felt her stomach twist into a knot.

Wilfred Thaxton. The hand looked a bit different, somehow, but she had no doubt of the sender’s identity, as on this occasion he had chosen to include his return direction.

What if I just threw it into the fire? she thought. And pretended that it never arrived?

But she could not do that, and she knew it. This letter might very well be the announcement of her cousin’s imminent arrival in Barley Mow. He could already be on his way. Involuntarily, Fiona glanced at the door, as if she expected Thaxton’s knock that very moment.

But neither was she willing to open it now, by herself. When Dee came by at midday, as he usually did, she would give the thing to him. The doctor could read it, and tell her the bad news. In the meantime she would busy herself with a large pot of vegetable soup, and determinedly think nothing about cousins.

  * * * *

Madelaine was once again in the parlour with Lord Ashdown when the doctor arrived. They were performing a scene from
Much Ado About Nothing
.

“A lord to a lord,” declaimed the marquess, “a man to a man; stuffed with all honourable virtues.”

“It is so, indeed,” replied Maddie, playing Beatrice, “he is no less than a stuffed man: but for the stuffing,—well, we are all mortal.”

Fiona rolled her eyes but Dee only laughed. “I’ve never known her to have such interest in literature,” he remarked. “Before his lordship arrived, you could scarcely get her inside the house to eat.”

“What am I to do with her when he’s gone?”

The doctor said nothing to that. “What news?” he asked, noticing her bleak demeanor.

Fiona bit her lip. “I’ve had another letter,” she admitted, taking the envelope out of her apron pocket and handing it to Dee without another word.

“Gods,” said Dee, and then—“You haven’t opened it.”

“I can’t bear to. Would you, please?”

 He slit open the envelope with his penknife and unfolded the letter within, reading it quickly to himself. Fiona closed her eyes, unable to even watch the doctor’s face.

“Fiona,” said Dee, finally.

She looked at him, and knew.

“Don’t worry,” said Dee.

“Don’t worry!” She felt faint, for nearly the first time in her life. “When?” she asked Dee.

“Soon,” he admitted. “But—”

“When?”

“Within the sennight.”

“He can’t,” she whispered, near tears. “It’s nowhere near St. George’s day.”

The doctor was examining the envelope. “I know,” he replied absently. “It’s rather odd—who would travel to the northern counties at this time of year?”

She sank into a chair and buried her head in her hands.
No. Don’t cry
, she told herself, acutely aware of her daughter and Lord Ashdown in the next room. She would not distress Madelaine, nor allow the marquess to guess her current state of mind.

There would be no respite, no last Christmas spent at Tern’s Rest. Fiona thought of the frumenty and the Yule cake, the puddings she had made in this very kitchen for so many years. Madelaine waking up Christmas morning, the fire blazing and mulled tea perfuming the entire house—

Mrs. Marwick stood up, took a deep breath, and returned to her soup.

  * * * *

Sometime later Dr. Fischer requested Lady Edwina’s company on a short stroll to the cliffside north of the cottage where, as he said, there were a great many interesting formations of rock to be seen.

Mrs. Marwick was surprised when Colin’s sister agreed immediately to this scheme. Lady Edwin went to fetch her heaviest shawl and returned not only with the shawl but wearing a pair of spectacles.

How strange. Fiona watched the two as they walked off, Eddie’s hand tucked into the crook of Dee’s arm, and wondered at the sudden interest, seeing as Lord Ashdown’s sister had never previously shown the slightest inclination to explore her surroundings at Tern’s Rest. Mrs. Marwick shrugged, and decided that it would be an excellent plan to escape to the cliffside herself for a few minutes. Dr. Fischer and Edwina had gone north; she would walk in the opposite direction, and perhaps the ever-present roar of the ocean would help to clear her mind.

  * * * *

Once out of sight of the cottage, Edwina read the letter. She frowned at Dee.

“His handwriting has certainly improved,” she said. “One might think it was not even the same person.”

“I noticed that.”

“And he’s to be here within the week, or so he claims. Have you heard ought from the Runner?”

“Not as yet.”

“Enough of this. We must talk to Colin.”

Dee frowned, thoughtful. “I would prefer to wait,” he said, finally. “I believe that Mrs. Marwick is . . . fond of the marquess. And perhaps he is fond of her as well.” He sent a questioning look at Lady Edwina.

“Very possibly.”

“If the matter can be dealt with quietly, perhaps ’twould be best.”

Without obliging Fiona to play the role of a problem to be solved.

“As you wish. But consider—if Mr. Thaxton
does
show up,” said Edwina, “my brother will discover everything, whether Mrs. Marwick likes it or not.”

“
If
he shows up.”

“True. I must say, the circumstances are most odd.”

The doctor nodded. On that point they were in agreement.

  * * * *

Lord Ashdown heard Mrs. Marwick leave the kitchen, and assumed at first that she was heading out to the stables. The time had come then, at last. His heart began to race, and he turned with a smile to Madelaine.

“I’m going to talk to your mother for a few minutes,” said Lord Ashdown, and rose to leave.

Maddie nodded. “Are you going to ask her to marry you?”

Colin turned to the girl in astonishment. “Am I that obvious?”

“You are, aren’t you?” Madelaine’s face lit up with a brilliant smile. “You
are
.”