Chapter Twelve
Roland Montgomery turned his mother’s ring over in his hand, watching the firelight play off the little diamond surrounded by pearls in the dainty gold setting.
It would look very attractive on Gwendolyn’s hand, as would the rest of the parure.
He sighed as he slipped the ring back into his pocket and returned to his desk.
For many months now he had known that he wanted to marry Gwendolyn, but he was cautious in approaching her.
Perhaps too cautious. She had suffered much and learned to distrust men and her own judgment.
He continued to entertain her with Mariana as chaperone a few times a week in his house, a custom that had not ceased when his foot had recovered from his fall in late September.
He opened the large ledger on his desk and began checking the calculations but his mind was distracted and each time he added up the long column of numbers, he came up with a different answer.
Gwendolyn’s baby would be born within the next few weeks and then, after a suitable time, she was expected to leave the child with the Ewbanks and return to the south of England.
He would need to make his intentions known to her before then.
The study door was flung open and he looked up from his ledger. A frown creased his usually smooth forehead. “What on earth are you doing here? And is it necessary to make such a dramatic entrance?”
Robert Walker shrugged his broad shoulders making sure the fine wool of his crimson military coat was not wrinkled.
He sprawled into the nearest chair. “I have been subject to all kinds of scurrilous rumors and I had to find out where they began so that my future is not ruined. They must be quelled.”
Roland raised his eyebrows. “I cannot imagine how any rumors, true or embellished, regarding you, would have originated here. I cannot remember when you last visited High Fell Manor.”
Walker ignored the hint of censure in his cousin’s voice. “I need something to drink.” His eyes scanned the library and when he saw no carafe of brandy, he added, “I’ve been traveling for three days.”
Roland reached behind him and yanked at the bell pull.
Almost before he let go, the door opened and the butler sailed in, his face impassive as a good butler’s should be, but he cast a steely glance at Robert, who didn’t notice.
His eyes were closed and his head was thrown back against the cushion of the chair.
“Whitcombe, could you arrange for some tea and refreshments for Mr. Walker.”
Robert sat up at Roland’s words. “I need something far stronger than that. Surely you have brandy even in this godforsaken place.”
“Oh, and Whitcombe, please apologize to Mrs. Marshall for the inconvenience and ask if she can prepare a bed chamber for Mr. Walker and let chef know there is an extra person for dinner.”
The butler left with another deprecating glance at the unwelcome visitor.
Whitcombe had traveled to London with the baron and the rumors about Mr. Walker and Miss Burroughs swirling around the haut ton had not escaped the servant halls.
Whitcombe did not have a favorable opinion of the heir of High Fell Manor.
“Ouch!” Robert pretended to wince. “I thought I would be more welcome. After all, one day I will be the owner of this place. Although, I will not bother with the day-to-day running of it. That’s what the steward and land agent are paid to do.
I would die of boredom in less than a week if I had to actually live here. ”
Roland’s shoulders stiffened and he placed his pen on the pen tray. He leaned slightly forward, his hands clasped on the desk in front of him. “I am, therefore thankful that you will most likely be spared such a death. I am preparing to marry and I hope that within a year or two I will have a son.”
Robert sat up at this announcement, his mouth hanging open. “What?” he exclaimed rather rudely. “Where on earth did you find a woman who’s prepared to live here? I can’t imagine that you find any suitable society in this bleak place.”
“On the contrary,” Roland said smoothly, “I have a large acquaintance of intelligent and interesting people.”
Robert lifted a disbelieving eyebrow but Whitcombe brought in a tray on which two heavy crystal glasses were set next to an elegant decanter of brandy. “Dinner will be delayed by half an hour, my lord. Mrs. Marshall sends her apologies.”
A smile quirked at the corner of Roland’s mouth. “Thank you, Whitcombe.” He stood up and walked over to the side table where a footman had laid out a tea tray next to the brandy decanter. He poured a measure of the liquor for Robert and a cup of tea for himself.
Robert swallowed his brandy without savoring it and sloshed another generous amount into his glass.
He finished half of that before he said, “I am going to sell up my position in the militia and settle down to married life. But,” he swirled the brandy in his glass and emptied it, “there have been difficulties because I have been libeled and besides that, the girl has vanished. I have sought out her parents but they will not receive me. I don’t know what to do.
Percy mentioned that he knew someone here in Cumberland who had been saying that I am to blame for the girl’s disgrace.
” He looked genuinely puzzled, but Roland froze at these words, his teacup halfway to his mouth.
*
Gwendolyn walked slowly along the woodland path that led from Low Fell Farm to High Fell Manor, Mariana, faithful as always, trailed along with her as a kind of chaperone although wasn’t really needed.
Nothing untoward was likely to happen between her and Lord Montgomery.
Even after Roland had recovered from the tumble off his horse, Gwendolyn had continued to visit the manor once or twice a week.
But she was oddly reticent each time she went and silent on their return.
Lord Montgomery usually welcomed the two girls with great civility but Gwendolyn was never quite sure if he resented their intrusion into his sanctuary.
He regaled them with tea and cakes, but while Mariana had found a nook where she could relax comfortably to read one of the many books in Roland’s library, he sat at a distance from Gwendolyn.
Sometimes he read a newspaper aloud while Gwendolyn stitched a baby garment, or engaged in discussions about Henry Bell’s innovative steamboat that ferried passengers along the River Clyde and whether steam engines would change the face of the English countryside.
There was nothing of a romantic nature in their conversations and she had begun to believe that he would never learn to love her.
After all, his pride and moral sensibility would not permit him to consider a fallen woman as his wife.
But at other times Gwendolyn played the piano and sang, occasionally urging Mariana to join her in a duet. At those times, Roland would cast aside his book or newspaper and watch Gwendolyn with an intensity that was almost disturbing.
Just as the girls reached the edge of the woods, Gwendolyn stopped and gasped, clutching her stomach as pain seized her, making her abdomen hard and her back ache.
These cramps had been occurring more often recently although by the midwife’s calculations the baby was only due in another month or so.
She recommended regular walking, even in the winter weather, and so even though it was becoming more and more difficult to move easily and gracefully, Gwendolyn took this walk whenever the winter weather allowed it.
The way from the farm to the main house was now so familiar to her that it never seemed too difficult or too far.
And in spite of her qualms, her heart danced when she anticipated spending time with Roland Montgomery.
Gwendolyn bit her lip and tried to take a deep breath but she could only pant lightly. “Oh, oh, oh,” she groaned lightly.
Mariana rubbed Gwendolyn’s back through the thick wool of her blue cape. “Are you all right?”
Gwendolyn nodded as the pain subsided, although her face was even paler. “I’m well. I’ll be better when I can sit down.”
Mariana kept her arm tucked through Gwendolyn’s as they continued their walk.
“Perhaps we should restrict our walks to the area around the farm,” Mariana suggested diplomatically.
“This is quite a long walk to take almost every day and you’ve always said that Lord Montgomery is not the kind of man you admire. ”
Gwendolyn gave a pretend groan. “I should learn to guard my thoughts. On the contrary, I have learned to admire Lord Montgomery’s intelligence, tenderness and kindness and regret the foolish way I previously treated him.
” She took a deep breath. “It is now too late to convince him that I am not the frivolous, thoughtless woman I was when he first met me and that I would welcome his attention, his affection. I know that there is no future for us. But I want to spend as much time as I can with him before all of this is over. If there is any possibility of a man, a husband in my future, he would have to live up to the example of Roland Montgomery.”
Mariana considered her cousin’s words. “Perhaps Roland Montgomery might not be as indifferent as you think he is.”
“Even if that is true,” Gwendolyn countered, determined not to allow fanciful dreams to give her false hope, “the disgrace of my situation will not be forgotten and if I should ever commit even a minor discretion, he would regret marrying me. And that resentment would be unbearable.”
It was time to change the topic. “Do you have any idea what we will do or where we will go, afterwards?” Mariana asked tentatively. “I don’t suppose your father will allow us back.”
Gwendolyn scoffed. “I wouldn’t go back if he begged me with open arms.” She turned to Mariana, chagrin softening her words. “Oh, Mary, I should never have dragged you into this horrid situation with me.”