Chapter 14 #2
Even though the General had mentioned that Pellham received news of a family loss in Italy, she hadn’t allowed herself to hope it might be significant.
Yet now she was certain Pellham learned of his grandmother’s and sister’s deaths while in Italy.
If she was right and he was thrown into a melancholy, he might not have wanted to defend himself in any fight – his own demise might have been exactly what he desired and Huntingly a means to achieve it…
But it still didn’t explain why they duelled with such violence in the first place.
Lost to her rambling thoughts and the gentle warble of summer, Josephine found herself taking the forest path north of the estate before sweeping across the top of the local village.
It was the type of morning she’d always loved, full of light and hope – a reminder of the gift of her recovery and of her strength too.
On another morning, the dappled trees and birdsong might have sent her to some quiet spot to try and capture the mood and colours, yet today she was too distracted.
She knew Huntingly had a past, but had been willing to trust Thomas’s judgement until his reaction in the orangery.
Now she wasn’t sure of anything. That he was capable of violent emotion she was certain, but murder was an entirely different question.
He might have pursued Pellham to France and Italy, but to believe he’d killed his friend in cold blood?
‘Who are you?’ she whispered as she emerged from the forest trail, and onto a hillside on the outskirts of the village.
She paused to catch her breath, and while doing so noticed a small local graveyard, sleeping peacefully in the morning sun.
It was halfway down the hill and surrounded by a moss-covered stone wall to keep grazing livestock out.
Instinctively, Josephine made her way down through the soft grass towards it.
She let herself in through a wrought-iron gate, and within moments she’d located the Pellham family graves, marked with small, neat headstones:
Albert Pellham 1773–1815
Martha Pellham 1755–1825
Eliza Pellham 1803–1825
There was no mention of Eliza’s mother, and all of the graves appeared to be well tended.
Josephine stared down at the neat plots, each bearing a small fresh posy of buttercups, and felt a brief chill whisper through her.
Pellham was dead, yet someone still cared enough to place fresh flowers on his family graves.
Frowning, she glanced towards the village, wondering if it was too early to make enquiries – which was when she saw a silhouette just beyond the graveyard gate.
She drew a sharp breath, unsure if it was real or a trick of the light, before he stepped forward, looking as though he were the one who’d spied a ghost.
‘Miss Fairfax?’ Lord Huntingly called as Josephine willed her limbs to move.
She swallowed, the drama of their meeting in a graveyard not entirely lost on her, despite everything. She turned to leave as he closed the distance between them, trying to fathom any good excuse why she might be in the village graveyard at such an hour.
‘Miss Fairfax?’ he repeated, walking towards her. ‘Please don’t go on my account! What are you doing here? I thought you’d gone to London.’
She stared as he drew to a halt before her, the early sun bathing his face in a soft, translucent light that made his eyes look autumn green.
And for a moment he stared back, not in the same, intimidating way he had in the orangery, but wistfully – as though he wished to say something else entirely.
‘I came out for a walk,’ she replied, picking her words with care, ‘and found myself here. I thought I might know some of the families as I spent a few years at Ebcott.’
Lord Huntingly glanced down at the nearby graves, his jaw tensing as he did so. ‘And do you…? Know them, I mean?’
There was a pause as Josephine realised he was testing her, wondering if she knew of Pellham and his family.
‘You know nothing of what you speak—’ his accusation echoed through her thoughts ‘—but I would rather know your poor opinion now than on our wedding day.’
She took a breath. ‘No, I don’t believe so… I was admiring the flowers. These posies look quite fresh…’
She watched as he glanced again at the Pellham graves, looking for any sign of recognition, but his face was carefully schooled.
‘Perhaps I did fail in the eyes of the polite world, but at least I did not pursue a gentleman to Italy and slay him in broad daylight!’ She swallowed.
‘The village is a close-knit one,’ he murmured. ‘They take care of their own – much like any family.’
Joephine thought of the way she’d taken matters into her own hands when she’d heard Thomas’s betrothal plan for Matilda.
‘Do you consider yourself part of the village family, sir?’ she asked steadily. ‘Were you … visiting to pay respects today?’
There was a poignant silence, when the only sound was the bleat of a young lamb some distance away.
‘Yes, I knew some of those resting here,’ he replied, his eyes shuttering. ‘Some had care of me as a child.’
‘I’m sorry to hear of your losses, sir, and I’m sure the villagers welcome your visits.’ She did not mean to sound inquisitive but was aware she might not have another opportunity.
He stared, his eyes reflecting the meadow around them for just a moment before the sun slipped behind a cloud. ‘When I was younger, I would visit the village regularly to see old staff and acquaintances,’ he replied curtly. ‘Less so now.’
‘It is always the way as we grow older, unless we have a specific reason to fall out of touch…’ She paused deliberately. ‘I myself have several friends I’ve not written to in some years because our paths have led us in different directions.’
‘It is common,’ he replied, a small frown appearing between his eyes.
‘And time changes some paths more than others.’ He inhaled deeply before continuing.
‘Miss Fairfax, I feel I should say something about the evening at the Davenports’.
I am not usually a man of poetry or exhibition, and I was feeling especially …
ruffled. Please accept my apology for speaking so harshly. It was undeserved.’
Josephine stared, taken aback. An apology was the last thing she expected, especially after such a protracted absence.
‘Thank you, my lord,’ she managed. ‘I believe we may have both spoken out of turn, and I assure you no apology is required.’ She paused, wondering what the protocol was for asking one’s betrothed whether their betrothal was at an end.
‘You see, you confuse me, Miss Fairfax,’ he replied, his eyes flooding with colour again, ‘because you are unlike so many debutantes. You come to me proposing a straightforward business match, and then you confound me by making me care what you think. And I haven’t cared what anyone has thought for a very long time. ’
Josephine frowned, unsure what to think. ‘Surely, sir, caring what someone thinks is a good thing? Otherwise we would have a world without conscience or kindness.’
‘I am no stranger to that world, Miss Fairfax,’ he replied swiftly, ‘and I have learned to despise dependency. In my experience, dependency leads only to disappointment – far better to navigate life’s path without it, if you can.’
Josephine schooled her face, though her chest was suddenly tight and thumping. Was he referring to her? To their betrothal?
‘Is that what you truly believe?’ she asked. ‘That we are all better off alone? Why, then, do you come here? Surely your presence here bears witness to the strength of past relationships, if nothing else?’
He stiffened, his lips pressing into a firmer line.
‘Please do not read into my presence here, Miss Fairfax,’ he replied quietly.
‘I live nearby and often walk this route. Yes, I pay my respects on occasion, but that is not the same as any kind of familiarity or dependency; something you would do well to note for when we are wed.’
Josephine stared in disbelief as he uttered words she’d assumed to be retracted. ‘You still wish us to be wed?’ she repeated in an incredulous tone.
‘Why, yes, isn’t that what we agreed?’ He frowned heavily. ‘Or have the rumours changed your mind? I must say, our first meeting gave me to believe you were made of steelier stuff than the rest – but perhaps I was wrong?’
‘I … change my mind?’ she challenged, her tone rising in a way she’d heard in her sisters’ voices, but rarely her own.
‘I am not the one who abandoned a social soiree, and then disappeared for nigh on a month without a word! Indeed, I have been awaiting confirmation from Thomas that I am the very last debutante you would ever wish to marry!’ Her voice quivered with an anger she barely recognised.
She stole a shallow breath, wondering how he brought out a side of her she never even knew she possessed.
‘If I had my way, I wouldn’t marry at all!
’ he replied in a low and furious voice.
‘Why would I inflict my person, my story, on anyone, given a choice? But I am the last of my line and my father would not have wanted the Huntingly name to die under such a cloud – I am duty-bound to look to the future of my estate!’
‘You, sir, are beyond belief! Not only intent on ridiculing my questions, you assume that my proposition, while lacking in sentimentality, was entirely without any investment at all! To tell me I have changed my mind because you have not had the decency or manners to confirm any arrangements is ridiculous! And then to make it abundantly clear that you would vastly prefer no marriage to any marriage at all is beyond what I can fathom! Indeed, I am beginning to wonder whatever possessed me to believe that this match would ever work!’
‘Why are you here, then?’
His brusque question hung on the air while his eyes flared amber-gold in the sunlight. Josephine hesitated, so close to challenging him with the full truth, and yet halted by the shadow in his voice.
‘We all have our ghosts, Miss Fairfax … by marrying me, your soul would be stained by my sin for all eternity.’
‘It is all quite settled … Matilda will marry Huntingly at the beginning of the season.’
She swallowed, knowing she was trapped. ‘I am visiting my older sister at Ebcott,’ she said quietly. ‘But it would do well for you to know that my younger sister would be no more … comfortable a match. She has ambitions to train as a nurse and is well known to be the most headstrong among us.’
There was another silence as his eyes shuttered entirely.
‘I am quite aware of the differences between you, and I do not regard the Fairfaxes to be as interchangeable as hats,’ he snapped. ‘And now, if you are quite finished, Miss Fairfax, I have business elsewhere. Allow me to escort you back to Ebcott.’
‘Thank you, sir, but I also have business elsewhere,’ Josephine declined frostily. ‘I bid you good day.’