Laurel Ames - Tempted

They came not to a ruined Spanish village nor to some godforsaken Portuguese valley, but to an ordinary English country house. “It looks different than I remember it, Bose,” Captain Mountjoy observed.

“We haven’t seen it for ten years, Evan lad. Recollect you were little more than a boy when we left.”

“I was fifteen. I think I would have remembered something of Meremont.”

“As I said. Let’s see if this grandmother of yours is still alive.” The older man urged his hard-muscled horse to a shamble and rode not to the main house, but to a smaller house set off to one side. He dismounted, and his mount gave a sigh of relief, waiting patiently as its rider rapped at the door, then tried to peer in a dusty window.

“It’s shut up,” Evan said sadly. “Gram must be dead. I surmised that when her letters stopped. We may as well go.”

“Go? You mean leave again without even inquiring? Are you forgetting I might want to find out if Joan has been true to me after all these years?”

“Sorry, Bose. I am a selfish lout I was forgetting you have a reason to come back here.”

“You have, too. You are the eldest son. There is something owing to you.”

Evan winced. “No. I don’t mean to go up to the house. You go round to the kitchen and ask after Joan.”

“While you wait here in the rain? We’ll ride down to the stables, at least pull the horses in out of this weather for a bit. If you’ve turned chickenhearted on me you can cower there.”

An unexpected smile stole over Evan’s tired face as he turned his mare and trotted it toward the stable block. They dismounted, and Evan took the bridles as Bose sprinted for the house. The stable boys gaped at Evan, then turned out to attend to a carriage and pair that arrived unfashionably at the back door. The lady who descended from this equipage cast a dark look at him and, rather than entering the house, strode across the courtyard, muddying her hem on the cobbles.

“Who might you be?” she demanded.

“Captain Mountjoy, ma’am.”

“And I am Lady Mountjoy, now,” she claimed, with a challenging tilt to her chin. “I married your widowed father in good faith and with certain expectations. I tell you plainly, sir, you are not wanted here.”

“I know that,” Evan said with a certain glint in his brown eyes. “I only came to inquire if Gram—my grandmother— is still living.”

“She died in January. She left you something, I believe. You may consult with her lawyers in Bristol.”

“No, don’t unsaddle them,” Evan said gently to the wide-eyed stable boy, passing the lad a coin.

Lady Mountjoy did not like being ignored. “There is nothing for you here,” she insisted.

“I know. I’m only waiting for Bose to come back from the house. Is everyone else…well?”

“We go on perfectly fine without you. There is no entail, you know. Nothing need be left to you. Nothing has been left to you.”

Evan’s heart thudded to a stop. “Father—he’s dead then?” His voice was high, like a boy’s. He staggered a little, but the mare propped him up.

Evan took the woman’s silence for assent. Why would this come as such a shock, since his father had never once written? And why would it hurt so much? He scarcely even remembered him.

“She’s here!” Bose crowed, “and as happy to see me as the day I—pardon, ma’am.”

“Who’s here?” Lady Mountjoy demanded.

“An acquaintance of mine—Joan.”

“And she is also, as I recall, a servant of mine. Keep your distance from her,” the woman warned, her blue eyes flashing.

“Bose, this is the new Lady Mountjoy.”

“And the new mistress of Meremont. Now be off with you, both of you.”

Bose opened his mouth to protest, but Evan said, “It’s all right, Bose. I had not meant to stay.” The young captain remounted wearily, and his mare stared round at him, realizing the oats and hay she had been contemplating were not to be hers. He rode out, leaving Bose to follow, but stopped and turned at the road to take a last look at his home as he waited for his batman to catch up with him.

“I think I used to call it Merry Mount when I was little. I cannot remember why. I was never merry here.”

“You can’t just leave. You have certain rights!”

“Apparently not. I knew he had remarried from Gram’s letter. She said the new Lady Mountjoy was very protective of ‘her’ children’s rights. I can scarcely blame her. We’ll put up in the village till you see your Joan again and settle if she is to come with us or no.”

“To where?”

“Most likely America, after my leave is up. Though with the war, they may not let her…Bose! How thoughtless of me. You can leave the army, marry Joan and raise fat children here.”

“Not bloody likely. I’d not have a moment’s peace, not knowing what scrape you had got into. We will put up in the village, though. Can’t push these horses much farther, anyway.”

Bose had seen a rider approaching at a trot and gaped in such a way that Evan stared at him.

“So, you’re home!” boomed the old man in the saddle.

Evan twisted involuntarily and gave a grunt as he strained his cracked ribs. “Father!”

“Did you mean to just ride by without even stopping?”

“No—yes,” Evan gasped, as the constriction in his chest relaxed and relief flooded through him like a strong draught of brandy. “I thought you were dead.” He shook his head to clear it of the giddiness. So his father was not dead, after all. Now why had Lady Mountjoy bothered to lie to him?

“All the more reason for you to stop, eh?”

“No! I—”

“Well, you are stopping now. We have things to settle. Your grandmother has left you her entire fortune. She always did favor you over the others.”

“Only because no one else cared about me.”

“Nonsense. I have always treated you fairly. Too fair to deserve being ignored for ten years.”

“But you never…” Evan faltered, for his father had ridden on toward the stable, and Bose had followed with the horses that carried all his dry clothes. He really had no choice but to stop. Oddly, he did want to stay, to speak to his father again. As he rode back to the stable he vaguely wondered if he had been forgiven after all this time. No, that was too much to hope for.

* * *

Evan rode in and dismounted with a grunt. Molly, his mare, snorted her approval of his coming to his senses and went gratefully with the groom.

“Well, come along,” his father demanded. Evan followed the older man to the back door through what was by now a downpour, then down the hall to the library.

Evan looked about him uncomfortably. “You’ve changed the room about.”

“No, we haven’t,” stated his father, looking up from the decanter and glasses. “It’s always been this way.”

“This isn’t how I remember it.”

“You were no more than a boy when you left. It’s only natural things would look different to you.”

Evan ignored his father’s invitation to sit, but stood turning himself by the fire, until the worst of the rain had dried off his clothes. The uniform did not actually dry, of course. Rather, the water seeped through to his skin, making him feel clammy. But this was such a familiar sensation by now that Evan did not regard it. Accepting a brandy from his father reminded him of his recent shock and subsequent relief. He should have known the old man would be too stubborn to die. This last thought brought a puzzled frown to his face. Why had Lady Mountjoy lied to him? Had the desolation he must have shown pleased her? He didn’t care. He could not say that he loved his father, but it was disquieting to think of him dead.

“As I said, your grandmother has left you pretty well off. Rather cut up poor Terry’s expectations.”