Curricle & Chaise (36 page)

‘Have you a desire to see the iron railway, Mr Churchman?’ asked Lydia, shyly, avoiding his eyes.

‘No, I have not. I have a desire to go somewhere totally quiet and out of the way where we shall not be disturbed.’

Her heart pounding, Lydia obediently led him off the turnpike and along to a path which led to the downs a little above the vicarage.

‘I wanted to have a private talk with you, Miss Barrington, because I felt that you were entitled to know more of the details of recent events than I have given to your aunt. After all, you know my brother quite well, and Miss Abdale, of course, and I thought I owed you the courtesy of a fuller explanation than I have given to you so far.’

Lydia was acutely aware of a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was all her excited anticipation to result in no more than a lengthier exposition of his younger brother’s misdeeds?

‘During your stay at Abdale you may well have noticed how I tried most particularly to prevent the attachment between my brother and your cousin and you may be forgiven for wondering exactly what my motives were. I imagine you thought the worst of me,’ smiling, ‘for I know that my activities must have seemed rather strange at times and I am certain that you will have come up with the most devilish explanations possible...’

Lydia had the grace to blush a little, remembering her conversations with Julia on that very subject.

‘You blush – aye, I thought as much! However, I will not blame you for your devious imaginings. Indeed, I would have spared them, if I could. My brother had sworn me to secrecy, however. He had only told me of his rather delicate situation when he needed some money to send to Paula and could get it from nobody else. Even my mother knew nothing of it – which is a shame, for she would have been delighted to know of her little grand-daughter in Rolica. However, having made my promise I felt able, in all honour, to do nothing but attempt to prevent any sense of attachment your cousin may have felt. I had thought that I was succeeding when I went out to Ireland, and when I saw him again I was so taken up with my mother’s illness that I didn’t notice that he had taken up with Miss Abdale more than ever.
Had I thought for one moment that things were becoming serious I should have felt obliged to send my brother away. But, of course, I c
ould
also
have hoped that he would have felt more of a sense of honour than he turned out to have had. The only mitigation – if indeed there can be any mitigation at all – is his
apparently
genuine and lasting regard for your cousin which must finally have led to him taking such outrageously desperate steps. I cannot imagine how he expected to get away with it. I am sadly disappointed in him. And what more can I say? I am able only to apologise to you (yet again!) on Edward’s behalf, for all the distress you have experienced on hearing the truth. I would rather have been able to avoid it, as you will imagine. It is a very sad story indeed.’

‘Please do not feel the need to apologise to me, Mr Churchman. I am only sorry for poor Julia. She must be absolutely distraught.’

‘She was not happy about it, as you can imagine. Luckily I was able to reach Abdale before her immediate preparations were too far advanced. At least she was spared the distress of hearing the news at the church.’

They had reached the top of the hill and turned to look down onto the little village of Netley in the valley below. The tall cupola of Netley Court was just visible beyond a protective screen of dark trees. Everything else was neat and bright in the warm morning sunshine.

‘It is very peaceful here,’ said Henry, glancing sidelong at Lydia as she stood next to him. ‘Do you mind if we sit down for a while? I should like to remember this day for as long as I possibly can.’

He took off his topcoat and laid it on the ground for her to sit on. Then he sat down at her side.

‘It is strange, is it not, how these things happen? Here am I, just returned from ruining the happiness of two of our closest relations – and now I search for words, in the hope of securing my own.’

For maybe the first time in his life Henry Churchman looked embarrassed. He stared at the grass, kicking the turf beneath his heel (and doing i
rreparable damage to his
top boot in the process). Lydia watched him for a moment. He looked strangely vulnerable. She had never seen this side of him before. It made him more attractive to her than ever. It was all she could do to prevent herself from kissing him. Realising just in time that this was probably not the most appropriate thing for a young lady to do, by dint of sheer effort she spoke to him instead.

‘You said, that day at Foxwell, that my happiness was important to you. May I say to you in
re
turn, that yours is important to me?’

He turned to her at last. The sun was catching a dark ringlet, making it shine copper under her bonnet. Her eyes were on his face. He smiled at her.

‘And you know that what will make me happy – the one thing above all others that I want and need – the only thing in all the world – is for you, my dear Lydia, to agree to becoming my wife?’

He stroked the errant curl back under her bonnet and allowed his finger to rest on her cheek. He bent down towards her. His kiss was like soft silk against her lips.

It was not to be expected that young ladies should accept with open arms an offer of marriage at the very first time of asking. Lydia should really have dissembled, been coy, teased Mr Churchman a little. She should have looked shocked, surprised, outraged, even, that a young gentleman should have the effrontery to ask for the very thing that she most wanted in the world. Sadly, and to her eternal discredit, such a thought never even entered her head.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I do.’

He kissed her again, passionately this time. Her body tingled exquisitely in response. She felt a wave of excitement run through her. She was aware of nothing other than the joy of being in his arms, feeling as though he would never let her go, the closeness of his body and the sensuousness of his lips on hers. Then, gradually, she became aware again of the heat of the sun on her hand,
the smell of the rough grass,
the song of a skylark nearby and the rumble of carriage wheels from the road below reminding her that she was out of doors and in a public place. So she gently released herself and smoothed down her dress. Henry leaned back on his elbow, watching her, the ghost of a smile on his face.

‘Then that is all I need to know,’ he said.

They sat together on the grass for a while, watching the tiny carts and carriages on the Brighton road. They were happy just to be together in the sunshine. Even Netley Court lost its threat as the rays of the morning sun started to catch its windows and reflect gold and copper onto the shimmering trees beyond. It seemed difficult to imagine just how different the day might have been had Sir John not delayed his return.

‘
My mother will be so pleased
at the news,’ he said.
‘She had grown so fond of you in a very short space of time – she found you quite delightful and could see that I did as well.
My
great-
aunt
, too, will be overjoy
ed
.
She has given her seal of approval already.’

‘And so will mine. She is certainly most perceptive. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had anticipated this day for longer than I would have dared to hope myself.’

‘And to think that I might have spared us all the pain if I had not been so pig-headed all those months ago. To think – if I had listened to my own inclinations, and not to malicious words, I could have had you this six months and more and saved myself the frustration of not knowing how you were – wondering whether you were thinking of me – trying to appear as if everything was fine, when it was not...’

‘You are certainly blameworthy, sir,’ teased Lydia. ‘But who is to say that I would have accepted you? You were quite unpleasant to me on occasions. I might not have wanted to spend my life with such a grumpy gentleman as you.’

‘I know it. I apologise. But what man could see the woman he loved accepting the attentions of another man and not react badly to it? You and Abdale were always together. I’ll never forget our meeting in Abdale Park when you were out riding together – I could hardly control myself – I wanted to throw him from that over-bred stallion of his and take you up behind me and ride off with you. And then there was the Branton ball. And our dinner at Grantham when he told such stories about you, and you wouldn’t even dance. And the final straw – seeing you wearing that necklace of his. I didn’t want to believe it but the evidence, to me, was clear. And what could I do? I could say nothing to you directly. I didn’t think I had the right and I was so jealous that my judgement was totally to pieces... So I went to Ireland to see if I could forget you. The business transaction was just a convenient excuse, really. I expected to hear of your marriage at any time. And all that time you were here, if only I had come looking for you. Jealousy, my darling, is a dreadful sensation. It is to be avoided at all costs. Why, it had almost kept us apart.’

Lydia took his hand and squeezed it.

‘Well, we have survived it – and who knows but that our love may be stronger for it? Certainly, were it not for the Abdales we might never have met at all – I have to be grateful to them for that. And I have had the chance to get to know my uncle and aunt much better, too – such admirable people, Henry – you cannot imagine. My aunt is so cheerful, even when she has not two pennies in her purse. She has almost made my life here tolerable. I don’t think I could have suffered
our separation
, else.’

‘Should you like to live near to her, once we are married?’

She shot him an inquisitive glance. What was he thinking of now?

‘I would indeed. But surely that’s not possible?’

‘But why not? From your reaction on your visit I expect that you would like to live mainly at Foxwell, would you not? My great-aunt, you may rest assured, would be absolutely delighted to have us there and she is so determined not to get in our way that she is already getting an apartment set up for herself at the farthest end of the building! – and I should like to leave Grantham for my mother’s use – she is so very fond of it there. Well then,’ as Lydia nodded, ‘as I happen to have the living of Foxwell in my gift, which Dr Bridger has already provisionally accepted – subject to your approval and that of his wife – there should be no problem at all in maintaining your relationship there. After all, the vicarage is scarcely a mile from Foxwell Castle, down a wonderfully pretty walk, and I should hope to see your aunt and her babies with us as often as you would like. I think they will like it there. The vicarage is not grand but it is three times what they have at present and is set in an enviable situation quite close to the sea.’

Lydia was quite overwhelmed. This was absolutely more than she could ever have hoped for. In what she could only think of (cringingly) afterwards as a most un
-
Lydia
like manner, she unexpectedly and totally embarrassingly burst into a flood of tears.

Henry appeared to find this hugely amusing. He watched her, laughing, for a moment, earning a playful shove in response, but after a while he fished about in his pocket and resignedly provided her with his handkerchief. Luckily the tears abated and Lydia allowed him to dry her eyes.

‘So that is the cause of your mysterious closetings with my uncle,’ she said, sniffing loudly. ‘Well, you have fooled my aunt and me most admirably. We had no idea at all. We racked our brains for ever. I am sure that she must have pestered my poor uncle to death to no avail. We never got anywhere close. But why all the secrecy? Surely you cannot think that my aunt would disapprove?’

‘And how would that have seemed when I then asked you to marry me? It would have put you in an intolerable position which would have been totally unfair. I wanted to know that you had accepted me for what I am – not from any sense of obligation that you might have felt for what I offered your family.’

Lydia had to acknowledge the sense in what he said and was grateful for his consideration.

‘My aunt will be delighted,’ she said. ‘They are a very worthy couple and deserve much better than their hand to mouth existence at Netley. It is so very thoughtful. I can’t think of anything I would rather have had happen. It will make such a difference to their lives and they thoroughly deserve it. But whatever made you think of it, Henry? After all, my uncle was not known to you until recently. There must be many more obvious candidates for such a situation.’

‘Yet I knew of him by reputation already. You had mentioned him to me a couple of times on our rides, if you remember. As soon as I knew that the living was vacant I thought of him immediately. I made a point of meeting up with the Bishop at our London club – he is an old acquaintance of my father’s – to get his views on the appointment. Mr Taylor just happened to be there as well. The Bishop was able to provide me with some excellent reports of your uncle and as soon as Mr Taylor heard that he was the vicar in Netley he told me of his daughter’s sad accident, and of her opportune meeting with you. He, too, was full of praise for your uncle and aunt’s kindness. That was good enough for me - everything made sense. I resolved immediately on calling on your uncle myself and on continuing down to Brighton to see you. As soon as I met him I had no qualms about offering him the post. And even if you had turned me down I felt you deserved better than to be squashed up here at Netley – and who knows but that, living so close to me again, I might at some time have been able to persuade you to change your mind?’