Chapter Thirteen
The man who finally opened the door was short with graying hair, a bushy beard, and a portly belly which strained against the buttons of his stained shirt.
Bear had ridden hard and fast all the way from London. He had half anticipated the disapproving eye of a uniformed butler and was momentarily relieved to find himself the better dressed of the two gentlemen on the doorstep of Medstead Hall.
Then he remembered Lady Sedgewick saying that all the staff had been dismissed. Suddenly, the man’s stained shirt gained an air of menace. He was unkempt for a reason, and the reason was wrapped in evil.
“Yes?” the man demanded, his pompous air at odds with his northern vowels and scruffy appearance.
Bear had already decided to brazen this out. He had no connection with Medstead Hall other than Marianne, and no hope of gaining peaceful entry on any other pretext.
And a peaceful entry was his goal. At the moment.
“I believe Lady Brewood is currently in residence?” He drew himself up to his full height, noting a bold spot on the top of the man’s head. “I wish to speak with her.”
The man looked up at him balefully. “What is your business with Lady Brewood?”
“I bring a message from her aunt.”
It was no word of a lie, for he had the sapphire necklace safely stowed in his pocket.
“It concerns her son,” he added, for extra weight, as perspiration sprang out on his forehead.
Now the man could not refuse to allow him inside without causing a scene. Although with few houses in the vicinity, Bear couldn’t imagine this was a significant concern.
In truth, he had not really imagined that the front door would open to him. He had his pistol and was more than prepared to use it if necessary. But a soldier always tries the simplest method first; hence he had knocked on the door rather than forcing his way in through a window.
The man’s lip curled. “You had better come in then.”
He stood back to allow Bear entry into a large, spacious entrance hall. Bear stepped across the threshold and immediately noticed the drop in temperature. Even the August heat could not permeate these thick stone walls. But the manners of Society could.
“To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” he inquired, imbuing his words with all the privilege and authority of a duke’s son.
“Edgar Chawton.”
“Lord Benedict Fairfield.”
Bear did not usually take pleasure in using his title, but he enjoyed the way it made this repugnant little man blanch.
Edgar Chawton nodded shortly. “Lady Brewood is in the parlor.” He made no apology nor explanation for the dust sheets covering a large dresser, nor for the shut off rooms they passed along the marbled hallway.
“You have a visitor,” he announced as they passed through the doorway. “Remember what we discussed.”
His voice carried a warning, but Bear was hardly listening.
Marianne is here!
Bear’s knees weakened with relief. Never had he imagined that this would be so easy. But he knew better than to display his rush of emotion, however much he wanted to run toward her and take her in his arms. The battle was not yet over.
Marianne had been sitting on a damask sofa facing a tall window. She rose when she saw him and held out her hand politely.
“Lord Benedict, how nice of you to visit.”
Bear felt time slow down as he walked down the long room to greet her.
Inside, he rejoiced at this proof that Marianne was alive and well.
But outwardly, he remained composed, just like Marianne.
What were the rules of engagement here, he wondered.
Should he break out his pistol and stage an elaborate rescue?
But that seemed wrong when the atmosphere in the parlor was calm, when Marianne herself was so calm.
He would follow her lead.
After all, she is the niece of Lady Clementine Sedgewick.
She still wore the shimmering gown he had last seen her in. She was as beautiful as ever, despite the dark smudges of tiredness around her eyes and the deep creases in her long skirts. He bowed over her hand, wishing he could press his lips to her palm.
“You have met my brother-in-law, Mister Chawton?” She raised her eyebrows toward the small man hovering behind them, adhering to protocol, even now.
“I let him in, didn’t I?” Edgar answered, shattering the illusion. “You two discuss whatever you need to discuss. I’ll wait here, where I can see you.” He lowered himself to a hard-backed chair positioned just inside the doorway.
Marianne smiled, as if no breach of etiquette had taken place, and waved Bear toward a wingback armchair.
“He has a gun,” she muttered, whilst both of their backs were turned toward the door.
“So do I,” he whispered back.
She spoke louder. “Have you had a pleasant journey, Lord Benedict?”
He thought of the dusty roads and the heat and his horse who he’d left tethered to a tree beside a stream. His memories of this morning had already acquired a fuzzy, surreal quality.
“Most pleasant.” Small talk had never been his forte. His heart started beating loudly inside his ribs. “This is a delightful corner of England,” he managed.
“Isn’t it?” Marianne folded her hands in her lap, the very image of serenity. “I am so pleased to be back.” She sighed with contentment.
Confusion sliced through him like a knife. “Pleased?” he echoed.
Marianne nodded, her expression serious. “I was delirious with grief when I departed for London. And perhaps my short stay with Aunt Clementine helped remedy that. But this is my true home.”
Edgar sniffed from his chair by the door.
Bear looked around the rather bland parlor which backed on to a featureless lawn. There was no fault to be found in Medstead Hall, bar the unsavory character who had opened the door, but this was not the wild and free environment where he imagined Marianne would flourish.
She is playing a part, he reminded himself.
But was she?
“You have no plans to return to London? There is no one there that you might miss?” He couldn’t help the edge of steel that appeared in his voice as a familiar wave of anxiety rippled through him.
She is the niece of Lady Clementine Sedgewick. She has been playing a part since we first met.
“I intend to send for Toby this very day.” Marianne projected her voice, so it reached the back of the room. “We shall be very happy here; I am certain of it.”
“You intend to stay? You and Toby?” Bear felt as if a rug were being pulled from under him.
“Of course. This is where we belong.”
Heat flooded through Bear. He leaned forward and spoke quietly. “What about adventure, Marianne?”
For the slightest moment, Marianne’s blue eyes shone with emotion, but it was gone before Bear could glean any reassurance from it.
She gave a tinkling laugh. “You have me mistaken, Lord Benedict. I am a quiet woman looking only to lead a quiet life.” She pursed her lips. “Here with my son.”
She looked away from him, toward the garden, and Bear felt the sharp sting of her words.
You have me mistaken, she’d said.
How true that had turned out to be.
Does Marianne even want my help?
She cleared her throat. “Did I hear correctly that you brought a message from my aunt?”
He thought of the necklace laying heavily in the pocket of his tailcoat but did not want to hand over such an expensive item within sight of Edgar Chawton.
“She sends her assurances that Toby is well and inquires after your health,” he said tightly.
Marianne inclined her head, her expression remaining unchanged even at the sound of her son’s name. “You must tell her that I am happy to be back in my rightful home.”
What is going on here?
Silence fell between them. Bear thought of the pistol beneath his jacket, but to draw it now, in a peaceful parlor, felt wrong.
Everything about this situation was wrong. They were conversing as if this was a social call, all beneath the imperious gaze of a common man in unclean clothing.
But there were no servants. No one had rung for tea. The lady before him looked exhausted, and her ballgown had no place in a daytime parlor.
Bear rubbed at his pounding forehead. Marianne must be here against her will. But if so, why had she given him no signal?
Flooded with confusion, he tried his best to inject a note of sincerity into proceedings.
“Will you not come back with me, Lady Brewood? I know Lady Sedgewick would be delighted to see you with her own eyes.”
This was Marianne’s opportunity to give him a covert look and let him know this was what she truly desired. But instead, she laughed lightly. “My aunt is a busy woman, Lord Benedict. But she knows she can always visit me here at Medstead Hall, should she wish to.”
Edgar Chawton rose to his feet and his chair knocked against the wall. “If there’s nothing else?” he demanded, his meaning clear.
Bear was being dismissed. And he could think of nothing to say or do to prevent it.
Marianne extended her hand. “Thank you so much for calling, Lord Benedict.”
This was the woman he had kissed. The woman he was meant to marry. But she would not permit him to save her!
Does she even want to be saved?
Thoroughly bewildered, Bear bowed his farewell.
“Of course, if you are looking for adventure, I would recommend the south meadow as a delightful place for a gallop,” Marianne said, as if the thought had just occurred to her. “It backs onto our garden, you know, but stretches for miles and miles. It’s just wonderful.”
She smiled sweetly, leaving Bear with little choice but to nod and leave.
He half planned to turn his pistol on Edgar Chawton when the latter showed him out, but Bear found himself alone in the marbled hallway. The front door stood open; his exit was clear.
What the devil has just happened?
Bear stepped out into the August heat, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.
Marianne was either a marvelous actress, or she really was happy to be back at Medstead Hall.
But which was it? Reality had changed shape during those strange minutes in the parlor, he felt as disorientated as if he had just emerged from the noise and clamor of battle.
The green lanes shimmered around him as he stumbled back to his horse, who was happily grazing by a burbling brook which ran through a large meadow.
A meadow.
He rested one hand on his horse’s warm neck and replayed Marianne’s parting words.
“Of course, if you are looking for adventure, I would recommend the south meadow as a wonderful place for a gallop. It backs onto our garden, you know, but stretches for miles and miles.”
After a conversation of clipped civility, it struck an incongruous note, but Benedict had been too bewildered to give it much thought at the time.
He swiveled around, shading his eyes from the sun, and soon spotted the chimneys of Medstead Hall peeping above a high laurel hedge.
Benedict’s heart began to beat heavily in his chest as he pondered this. Was Marianne trying to give him a message?
He looked at his horse as if for advice, and his horse obligingly nosed his stomach in return.
If you’re looking for adventure… a wonderful place for a gallop.
Does the lady wish to be rescued after all?
Benedict gave into a wave of exhaustion and sank to his knees.
The grass by the brook was long and lush.
He ran his fingers through it, feeling a sense of order and urgency return to his thoughts.
He needed water. No wonder the world made little sense; he had ridden through the heat of the day, then tended to his horse’s needs and ignored his own—thinking only of Marianne.
He stretched out on his stomach, feeling his muscles unclench, and splashed cold water over his dusty face.
Then he cupped his hand and drank deeply, enjoying the fresh taste of spring water.
He splashed his face and hair once more, for good measure, then rolled his shoulders and rotated his head and neck.
That was better.
Benedict rose to his feet and went to stand by his horse, his eyes fixed on the distant chimneys of Medstead Hall.
The more he thought of it, the more it seemed certain that Marianne’s words were meaningful.
She had taken care to say nothing that would alert or alarm Edgar Chawton, until uttering those opaque words about a meadow and adventure.
Adventure—the cue he had provided himself.
Warmth spread through him. Yes, for certain, Marianne had been giving him a message.
Acting purely on instinct, Benedict took up his horse’s reins and led him closer to the hedge separating the meadow from the grounds of Medstead Hall.
What now?
Afternoon shadows were beginning to lengthen and Bear’s rumbling stomach reminded him of the hours that had passed since his last meal.
The temperature had dropped, which was a relief.
But Bear found the coolness disconcerting after so much intense sunlight.
Despite everything, he stayed where he was, alert and ready for whatever Marianne might have in store.
His horse picked up in the urgency of the situation and stood unflinchingly beside him, liquid eyes occasionally swinging to Bear.
Insects buzzed around them, but Bear dared not move from the spot.
He would wait all night if he had to. Maybe he would still be standing here when the Bow Street Runners arrived.
So be it. Bear had watched many a play where a man made a fool of himself for love.
In the past, he had wondered at the abandonment of pride and dignity.
Now he understood that pride and dignity counted for little.
Love was the only thing that truly mattered.
At last, when his horse had begun to crop at the grass and Bear’s legs had begun to buckle with weariness, a commotion at the far side of the hedge caught his attention. There was a rustling, a tearing, a sharp intake of breath, and then, inexplicably, Marianne appeared before him.
Bear opened and closed his mouth, speechless with surprise.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Eyes shining with emotion, she took his large hands in her small ones. “I don’t know what I would have done if you had not been waiting.”
“I would have waited forever.”
It was true. He gripped her hands as if he would never let her go.
“We must flee from this place.” She looked over her shoulder, as if pot-bellied Edgar Chawton may emerge through the hedge at any moment. “Quickly.”
Bear didn’t waste time asking questions. He leapt athletically onto his horse and held out a hand towards her.
“Come up behind me.”
Her eyes flickered with doubt, but when he swung her upwards, she found her position and wrapped her arms around his waist.
He allowed himself the briefest moment of pleasure in her close proximity. “Are you ready?”
“I’m ready.” She held him tighter.
Bear turned his horse around and urged him into a gallop.