Anne Ashley, page 22
‘The individual stationed in the rocky outcrop adjacent to the cove, for one,’ Luke enlightened him. Even in the dark he was able to see a frisson of fear flickering across Miles’s aristocratic features and gained a modicum of satisfaction. ‘What a shadowy fellow he is. His identity is known to so very few. But unlike you, Petersham, he is loyal to his country. He has been living in France these past three years and knows very many French agents by sight. I do not doubt he’ll confirm that the person you met on the beach is none other than a French spy who frequently makes trips across the Channel.’
The sound of gunfire, shouts and shrill cries then broke the silence of the night, clear proof that Lieutenant Henshaw, with the help of the militia, was actively engaged in his mission.
‘And if that is insufficient to prove your guilt,’ Luke continued, heartened by the noises that filled the night air, ‘I’m sure your cousin Simon Petersham, now in the hands of the authorities, will soon be persuaded to reveal all. The treatment of traitors is not…pleasant.’
‘No, I cannot imagine it is,’ Miles agreed, a moment before a sound somewhere behind him in the shrubbery momentarily caught both men’s attention.
Miles reacted in a flash. He hurled the bag of gold coins at Luke, knocking the pistol from his hold, a moment before the sound of heavily running footsteps reached his ears, and he turned to see none other than the one who had, for many years, been responsible for the concealing and distribution of the smuggled goods heading towards him.
‘Master, master! The militia were waiting for—’
‘Shoot him, you damned fool!’ Miles cut in, and before Luke could even attempt to reach his pistol lying a few feet away, a loud report had rung out. A moment later the Petersham’s head groom was clasping his right wrist in agony, his pistol, like Luke’s, lying on the ground a few feet away from where he stood, and Colonel Maitland, closely followed by Ben Carey, was emerging from the shrubbery. Miles Petersham, however, was now nowhere to be seen.
Luke was not unduly concerned and turned gratefully to the Colonel. ‘I cannot tell you how thankful I am you arrived when you did. A second or two more and I don’t think I would be talking to you now. Damned fine shooting, Maitland!’
The soldier appeared puzzled. ‘But I didn’t shoot the fellow, Kingsley,’ he assured him, ‘and neither did your servant here. The shot, as far as I could discern, came from somewhere in the shrubbery, over yonder.’
Following the direction of the officer’s pointing finger, Luke tried to pierce the gloom, but in vain. ‘Then who the devil…?’
‘Whoever it was more than likely saved your life,’ Colonel Maitland pointed out, while keeping his own pistol firmly levelled at the Petershams’ head groom. ‘More to the point, though…where’s the man you were talking with…Miles Petersham, wasn’t it?’
‘It was,’ Luke confirmed. ‘It’s unlikely he’ll get far.’ His tone betrayed his indifference to Miles’s fate, even before he added, ‘He might attempt to catch the attention of the French spy and his companions before they embark on the return journey across the Channel. If he succeeds, he won’t be showing his face back in England for many a long year…if ever. No doubt when you’ve men available you can instigate a search. No matter what the outcome, my task here is finished. This particular spy network cannot operate in the future, and that was all that ever concerned me.’
Chapter Fifteen
Miles Petersham’s body had been found among the rocks at the foot of the cliff the following day. In the various newspapers his death had been reported as a tragic accident, as had his cousin’s, whose battered remains had been discovered a week later in a London street early one morning; the result, it had been strongly suspected, of an accident involving a heavy cart.
Whether Simon Petersham’s demise had been an accident or not, Briony had no way of knowing for sure. But she knew for a fact that Miles’s death had been no such thing, because she had happened to be there to witness the event, concealed in the shrubbery, until such time as she had felt able to slip away unobserved. She had watched him hurry to the cliff edge and throw himself over. Seemingly he had preferred that way out rather than suffering the ignominy of standing trial as a traitor and, ultimately, the hangman’s rope.
She had revealed what she had witnessed to no one, not even to Luke. But then she had hardly been granted the opportunity to do so, she reminded herself, as she rode into town one bright, late September morning, almost six weeks later.
So much had happened since that dreadful night, she reflected. Luke had left for London the following day and had remained in the capital for almost a month. He had returned to Dorset in time for the trial, during which four of the smugglers—including the Petershams’ head groom, whose right hand still bore the evidence of her unerring accuracy with a pistol—had received the death sentence; the others had been sentenced to transportation. A week later it had been reported in the newspapers that three of those destined for the Antipodes had escaped during the journey to the port. Luke, having organised everything himself, had then travelled to Plymouth in order to see the three, together with close relatives, safely on their way to the New World.
It had been deemed too risky for Mary to be there to see her brother one last time before he began his new life, but this had not made the parting in any way easier for poor Mary to bear, as Briony well knew. She had taken it upon herself to bring the news of Will’s safe parting from England herself. Mary had wept copiously and Briony could only hope, as she entered the shop, that Mary was beginning to come to terms with the separation from her only living relative. One glance was sufficient to assure her that, although not appearing blissfully content, Mary was at least keeping herself occupied and not giving way to deep depression.
‘It will take me a while to get used to Will not being here,’ she admitted, leading the way into her private room at the back of the shop. ‘But I’d much rather he make a new life for himself in America than risk staying here because of me. I’ve heard there’s a deal of bad feeling about, especially in and around the villages along the coast. And there’s even talk about Lord Petersham’s son having been involved in the goings-on.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Briony responded. ‘And it is only to be expected. A dozen local men taken out of the community in one night is bound to give rise to a deal of ill feeling. But folk can speculate all they want. No one knows for sure who betrayed the gang. So you’re in no danger. Luke has seen to that.’
This brought a semblance of a smile to Mary’s lips. ‘I can never thank your husband enough for what he’s done for Will and me, and the others. Not only did he ensure their freedom, he arranged for each of them to receive sufficient funds to begin a new life. If they do not succeed, they’ve only themselves to blame.’
‘Luke said something about Will intending to start up a blacksmith’s business with his money. If he possesses anything like his sister’s determination, I’m sure he’ll prosper. And speaking of which,’ Briony continued, ‘have you given any more thought to enlarging your business here, as I suggested, by giving part of the shop over to millinery?’
‘I’ve certainly considered it,’ Mary acknowledged. ‘And if you’re willing to finance me, I shall consider it very seriously. But ought you not to discuss it with Mr Kingsley first?’
‘I shall. But I don’t for a moment suppose he’ll have the least objection,’ Briony assured her, pulling on her gloves, ready to leave. She frowned as she rose from the chair. ‘Truth to tell, I’ve seen so little of him in recent weeks, what with all that unfortunate business concerning the Petershams and the trial. But I’ll make a point of seeking him out the moment I get back home. Besides which, there are one or two things I’ve delayed quite long enough telling him. One of which I know for a fact won’t please him very much at all!’
* * *
When she arrived back at the Manor Briony went straight upstairs to her room, intending to change out of her habit before searching Luke out. An assortment of odd noises from the adjoining chamber quickly captured her attention, however, instantly arousing her curiosity; after a moment’s indecision she headed towards the communicating door, deciding that, if their marriage was ever to become one in more than name only, she had better begin now as she meant to go on.
Luke made no attempt to hide his surprise as he turned to see her enter his private apartments for the very first time. He even checked for a moment before placing the book he was holding with some others in a wooden crate. ‘Is something amiss?’
‘Yes…I mean, no, not really.’ During the ride home she had mentally rehearsed precisely what she was going to say, but all at once she didn’t seem able to formulate the words. Desperate to regain her nerve, she decided it might be best if she began with the easier confession.
‘I mean…I’ve something to tell you…something I meant to tell you weeks ago, but somehow never seemed to get round to doing so.’
For a young woman who was usually so self-assured, this display of unease was unusual indeed! He smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging way. ‘You find me positively agog with curiosity. What is this deep dark secret you’ve been keeping to yourself, Briony?’
‘I—I witnessed Miles Petersham’s death,’ she confessed, before she could change her mind. His response was to stare at her in silence. ‘Don’t you understand, Luke? I was there.’
All at once everything was clear to him and he slowly shook his head at her, quite unable to suppress another smile. ‘I ought to be furiously angry with you,’ he at last acknowledged. ‘But how the devil can I be? So it was you who fired that shot that possibly saved my life…saved it for a second time.’
All at once the soft expression vanished and she was surprised to detect a suggestion of anguish flit over his features before he turned to collect several more books from a table and begin to add them to the contents of the crate.
‘Thank you seems such inadequate recompense for all you’ve done for me, Briony,’ he said softly and without looking at her. ‘But there is no way I could adequately repay you…except perhaps in just one way.’
So fixed had she become on his actions that she was hardly aware of a word he’d said. ‘Wh-what are you doing?’ She appreciated at once that it had been the most foolish thing to have asked him, because it was patently obvious what he was doing. What wasn’t so evident was just why he was doing it.
‘I’m taking some of my aunt’s books with me. I hope you don’t object. They’re all I want.’
‘Of course I don’t object,’ she hurriedly assured him, before a spasm of unease began to gnaw at her insides. ‘You—you have more right to them than anyone… But—but where are you taking them?’
‘With me to London,’ he answered shortly, after collecting a further pile and placing them with their fellows in the crate.
The knotting inside all at once became much more intense. ‘You’re returning to the capital…but why?’
Again one brow was raised, only this time its angle was decidedly mocking. ‘Can you have failed to remember that in less than two weeks we shall have been married a full six months?’
It was the last thing she wanted to hear, but she refused to give way to despondency. Not until she heard it from his own lips that he desired the marriage to end would she lose all hope.
‘Well…? What of it?’
Again Luke studied her for a moment in frowning silence, uncertainty clearly mirrored in his attractive grey eyes. ‘If I remain longer, Briony, the inheritance will be divided evenly. We shall become joint owners of this property, although…I could soon afterwards arrange for the property to be made over to you in full, but…’ Once again he studied her in silence. ‘But why wait, Briony? This way you’ll have it all, and quite legally.’
‘But I don’t want it all,’ she assured him softly, knowing in her heart of hearts that this was her final chance to attempt to reveal her complete change of heart. ‘There’s only one thing I want…and that’s you, Luke.’
When he didn’t attempt to move and continued to stare at her as though he still didn’t perfectly understand just what she was attempting to convey—or, worse, didn’t wish to understand—she truly did begin to feel she’d left it all too wretchedly late, that he had made up his mind to regain his bachelor state no matter what.
‘I know the reason for our marriage was highly unconventional, but I thought…’ She faltered as she watched that endearing, crooked half-smile flicker round his mouth, then took immediate courage from it. ‘Well, what I’m trying to say is that I thought for the most part we rubbed along quite well together…that we had, surprisingly enough, much in common. So I do not perfectly understand why you’re—you’re so eager to leave if…if you’ve been happy here. At least your being here has made me so very happy.’
After what seemed an eternity he at last moved slowly towards her, his eyes all at once lit by a satisfied glow. When he finally stood before her he raised his hands to cup her face and began to trace the outline of soft, full lips with his thumb.
‘No, I didn’t fall madly in love with you at first sight, Briony,’ he freely admitted. ‘But it wasn’t so very long after our marriage had taken place, before those first tender emotions made themselves felt and rapidly deepened.’
All at once he sighed, and when he spoke again the husky timbre had disappeared from his voice to be replaced by a note of resolve. ‘It hasn’t been easy for me living here. Bittersweet, one might say. And I’m not prepared to continue in that vein any longer. I’m a man, with a man’s needs. If I remain here, let us be clear about one thing—our marriage will cease to be one in name only. I shall exert all my rights as a husband and our marriage could never then be annulled. In other words, you will be tied to me for life.’
For all the world it sounded like a threat, yet to Briony’s ears it was like a sweet promise of blissful contentment to come. Reaching up one hand, she placed it against his cheek.
‘Stay,’ she said simply.
He uttered a shout of triumph. Then all at once she was in his arms. ‘Put me down at once!’ she ordered, half-laughing. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Luke, remember your arm!’
‘My arm healed weeks ago. And even if it were not the case, it wouldn’t prevent me from doing something I should have done months ago,’ he told her firmly, then sensibly put a stop to any further protestations on her part by covering her mouth with his own as he carried her inexorably towards the room’s most prominent feature.
* * *
Down in the kitchen quite some time later, Janet was putting the finishing touches to the apple pies she had made before sliding them into the oven. ‘I fancy the mistress is rather late returning from her ride, young Daisy,’ she remarked, after noting the time.
‘Oh, no, she’s back,’ the kitchen maid assured her. ‘I saw my brother Tom leading mistress’s horse into the stable an hour since, or more.’
‘Really? How strange she hasn’t rung!’ Janet muttered, more to herself, then shrugged. ‘I expect Alice went to attend her.’
‘Don’t think so. Alice’s been busy in the drawing room most all the morning. She’d taken all the curtains down for washing, remember?’
Janet glanced at the clock again. ‘It isn’t like the mistress not to come down to the kitchen by this time. I wonder what can be keeping her? I’d best go check nothing’s amiss.’
As she crossed the hall, Janet caught the sound of Alice’s cheerful humming coming from the drawing room and realised that young Daisy had told her no less than the truth. Rather than interrupt the parlour-maid at work, she decided to go up and check on the mistress herself, and was rather surprised to find the bedchamber empty. More surprising still was the discovery that no habit hung in the wardrobe, nor was it lying discarded across the bed. Curious, but not unduly alarmed, she was on the point of searching for her mistress elsewhere when she detected the murmur of voices from the adjoining room—one definitely masculine; the other clearly feminine.
Her eyes widened in dawning wonder. ‘Never!’ she exclaimed before she could stop herself, then clapped a hand across a mouth that was now beaming with untold delight.
Her conscience smote her, but not sufficiently enough to stop her from tiptoeing across to the door and pressing an ear firmly against the wooden barrier. Soft murmurings interspersed with moans of pleasure was music to her ears.
Beaming with satisfaction, Janet tiptoed from the room just in time to intercept the valet as he headed for the master bedchamber, armed with a pile of newly starched cravats.
‘Well met, Mr Smethers!’ Grasping his arm, she succeeded in not only stopping him in his tracks, but turning him in the opposite direction. ‘The master and mistress are—er—engaged at present and don’t wish to be disturbed under any circumstances. So I think we’d best go back down to the kitchen and wait for one or the other to ring. Besides which, I’ve just put an apple pie in the oven and would value your opinion on the new recipe. And I’m sure I can find a drop of something to help wash it down…to celebrate, like.’
‘Celebrate…?’ The valet was clearly surprised. ‘Have we something to celebrate?’
‘Oh, yes, Mr Smethers,’ Janet replied, grinning broadly. ‘I rather fancy we truly do have something to celebrate now!’
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt of My Fair Concubine by Jeannie Lin!
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