Mary Nichols - Regency High Society Vol 5 - The Disgraced Marchioness / The Reluctant Escort / The Outrageous Debutante / A Damnable Rogue

Now there was the slightest hesitation, but the answer was forthright enough.

‘You must mean John. I certainly baptised the child John in this church. He will be about two years old now, I surmise.’

‘Yes.’

‘And the image of his mother! I am sure she is very proud of him. He must be a great solace to her in her time of grief.’

Henry glanced again at Eleanor who shook her head. It was difficult to see where the conversation was leading.

‘I presume that you know the Baxendale family well.’

‘Indeed I do. You must know that the living here is in their gift. I have every reason to be grateful to Sir Edward for his Christian charity.’ The lips that smiled at them were now drawn tight against his teeth. ‘He has assured me of his continued benevolence, to the parish and to myself. I have always found him to be a man of his word.’

‘If you will forgive me, sir, I hesitate to push the point but—this is a difficult question to ask—have you ever found reason not to trust Sir Edward? To question his honesty?’

‘A strange question, if I may say so, my lord.’ The Reverend continued to smile, but there was no humour in his pale eyes. ‘Let me answer it like this. Octavia is as dear to me as any member of my own family. And I know nothing of Sir Edward that would make me question his integrity. Does that suffice, my lord?’

‘Yes.’ Henry stood and inclined his head. ‘I must thank you for your time and patience, sir.’

They left the room, leaving the little pile of coins on the edge of the desk, glinting brightly and enticingly in the sun.

‘I do not like him. I don’t know why, but I would not trust him, clergyman or no.’ Eleanor spoke her doubts as soon as they were out of sight and sound of the vicarage. ‘He smiled like a snake.’

‘I have never seen a snake smile, but I take your point. A wily character, I make no doubt. But equally without doubt, he confirms all we knew and feared.’ Henry’s expression was bleak as he replayed the conversation in his mind. ‘Thomas married Octavia. And a son, John, was born.’

Eleanor could make no reply. After all, it was the truth.

The sun still shone. The sparrows still chirruped in the churchyard. And Eleanor’s life, as she had feared, lay in pieces at her feet.

During their brief interview the heavy rain-clouds had begun to gather on the horizon and the evening drew close. Seeing the threat of poor travelling weather, Henry made a decision.

‘We stay here tonight. I have no mind to be drenched before we arrive home. Let us see if the Red Lion can provide us with some suitable accommodation.’

The landlord at the Red Lion, by the name Jem Abbott, welcomed the return of the lord and lady to his inn with a greedy eye to their generosity. Yes, he could provide them with accommodation. Perhaps not what they would be used to, but comfortable enough. There was a private parlour they could make use of and an adjoining bedroom. Would that be sufficient for their needs? They would not be disturbed. He surveyed them with mild interest. There did not appear to be the stuff of scandal here, but you never knew with the Quality. A law unto themselves, they were! No matter how confident and assured his lordship might be in the settling of his affairs, no matter how elegant and composed the lady. Whether the lady was his lordship’s wife was open to debate. But it was none of their concern, as Jem Abbott informed his critical wife, if his lordship had brought his mistress to their establishment. As long as their guests were prepared to pay with hard coin, who were they to judge!

So the landlord set himself to please. His wife could serve an adequate meal for them in the parlour—in an hour, if that would suit. They did not keep late hours in the country. If they would care to sit in the downstairs parlour until all was in readiness? And perhaps some refreshment for the lady, who looked a little tired after her long day? Lord Henry accepted. It was now far too late to return to London, having waited on the affairs of Sam Potter. And the burden of the Reverend Broughton’s information pressed heavily on Eleanor.

They were soon ensconced in the promised private parlour, dusted more adequately than the public room, probably by the lady of the house. A fire warmed the room which was low beamed and whitewashed, provided with an array of old country-made furniture, which had seen better days but was not uncomfortable. Mrs Abbott was able to produce a raised game pie and a roasted chicken with various side dishes, more than sufficient for their needs, as promised, and a platter of fruits stored from the previous season.

‘I hope it will be acceptable.’ Mrs Abbot added logs to the fire, then, stopping to wipe her grimy hands on her apron, ‘Not expecting your honour and the lady,’ she apologised. And won Eleanor’s heart by producing a dish of tea, albeit somewhat bitter, as well as the jug of ale. She smiled and thanked their hostess with real warmth. They would do very well.

Eleanor shed her coat and bonnet, determined to do justice to the simple meal provided for them and to banish the depressing outcome of their conversation with the priest until later. But there was no hope of her achieving either. In the event she picked at her food and Henry did not have the heart to remonstrate with her. Even so, by the time she had tried the pie and sampled the chicken, the food and the warmth from the fire had returned colour to her cheeks and her eyes were less bleak.

Henry disappeared through the door that led downstairs to the public rooms, returning with a dusty decanter of port. Without comment he poured two glasses and sat, beginning to pare one of the wizened pippins from the dish. He quartered it neatly and pushed the pieces to Eleanor. She thanked him with a smile and ate.

‘Tell me about your life in America,’ she asked suddenly, deliberately breaking the silence, pushing her chair back from the table. ‘What is it like? What are you doing with your life there? Is it what you could have wished for?’

And so he told her. Watching her eat the sweet apple. Not so much to tell her about the momentous changes in his life since leaving England, but to distract her mind from the developments of the day.

‘I live in New York. I rent rooms there, but it is in my mind to build a house for myself in the future. It is a thriving place and growing by the day. There is money there and it hums with energy. It is difficult to imagine unless you have experienced it for yourself.’ He frowned down at the rings of apple peel as he let his mind return to his new life. ‘One day New York will be as elegant as London. There are new people arriving every day. Different languages. Different customs. It has an excitement that stirs the blood.’

‘Are you making your fortune—as you planned?’

‘I am trying hard.’ His face was lit by a sudden sardonic smile as a thought struck home. ‘Your mother would sniff in disgust. I have become engaged in trade! She would certainly not approve! But there is money to be made, businesses to invest in, and I intend to make my mark. I would be a fool not to. Birth is less important than energy and initiative. I like it. It is novel to be addressed as Mr Faringdon.’

‘So you will be a big name there?’ She smiled a little at the subtle tension that gripped him, the shimmering ambition that she had not seen since he had left her two years ago.

‘With good fortune.’ His eyes now held hers, alive with subdued excitement. ‘I am in partnership with Nathaniel Bridges—Faringdon and Bridges, no less. He is another young man of ambition and useful contacts—and a little capital, which he is willing to sink into the business, like myself. Now that the war with England is over our trade will expand. The treaty was made just before I landed, and it made expansion possible. This year we have a tariff to protect our own manufactures from foreign imports. We aim at self-sufficiency, which can be nothing but good for those prepared to invest in the future.’