His Makeshift Wife

‘Now, miss, it’s not a ha’p’orth of good you trying to change my mind,’ she went on, when Briony was about to protest. ‘I decided what I was going to do the day we found the poor mistress cold in her bed. Lady Ashworth would have expected me to continue caring for you. I’m sure the mistress has left you something in her will. Just as I’m certain she wouldn’t have forgotten me. Said she’d look after me in my old age. And mistress always kept her word. I’m not saying it’ll be much, but enough, I shouldn’t wonder, for us to set up house together.’

All at once she appeared almost cheerful. ‘Why, we could go and live on the coast together and mayhap open a small boarding house for genteel ladies! Sea bathing has become quite popular in recent years, so I’m told.’

Briony smiled fondly. ‘It would seem you have our futures all mapped out for us. And who knows, opening a genteel little boarding house might be just the thing for us! But until I’ve had that all-important interview with Mr Pettigrew, I’ll not know for sure just how we’re situated.’

Briony had duly received a letter from the notary to say that he would attend her at the house at her convenience. She had sent a reply directly back to suggest the meeting take place at his office, as it would enable her to carry out other errands in the local town.

As she stepped down from her late godmother’s somewhat antiquated carriage a few days later and entered the premises of the well-patronised haberdashery in the main street, she was very thankful she had made the effort to travel to the thriving little community. Apart from the servants, she had had no contact with anyone since the day of the funeral. Being a healthy young woman, she had always enjoyed outdoor pursuits, and was already heartily sick of her own company and of remaining within the confines of the garden back at the house.

‘Why, Miss Briony! What a pleasure it is to see you out and about again!’ the young proprietress proclaimed the instant Briony stepped inside the shop. Her smile of welcome faded almost at once as the sight of strict mourning attire recalled to mind recent sad events. ‘I was so sorry not to attend the funeral, but my assistant was taken poorly that day, miss, and I couldn’t find anyone else to mind the shop for me for an hour or so at such short notice. I can’t afford to close it and turn custom away. I need to work to pay back the loan. Lady Ashworth was real good to me, Miss Briony, setting me up in my own little business.’ All at once she appeared more troubled than sad. ‘I suppose I still keep paying Mr Pettigrew at the end of each quarter, as usual?’

Briony shrugged. ‘I assume so, Mary, though I suppose it will ultimately depend on the wishes of Lady Ashworth’s beneficiaries. Although,’ she added, noting that the troubled expression on the hard-working dressmaker’s face still remained, ‘I’m sure Lady Ashworth would have ensured that you can never be turned out of these premises whilst you continue to repay the rent and the loan.’

Clearly comforted by the assurance, Mary invited Briony to step into the back room where they could talk without being disturbed, leaving her young assistant to mind the shop.

‘You’re clearly very busy today, Mary, so I’ll come to the point of my visit,’ and so saying Briony placed a package down on the table. ‘Lady Ashworth purchased this length of material during her last visit to the capital. As you can see, it’s the finest silk, so I should prefer your skilful hands to make it up into an evening gown, rather than my own. I know my own limitations!’

‘Oh, it’s beautiful, miss!’ Mary declared, after unwrapping the package and running expert fingers over the pearl-grey material. ‘And just the thing for when you’re in half-mourning!’

‘Yes, it will serve very well,’ Briony agreed, a moment before she caught sight of a bolt of dark-blue silk, of equally fine quality, appearing almost discarded on a chair in the corner of the room. ‘Oh, and that is quite eye-catching, too! Where on earth did you come by it? Such an unusual shade!’ she added, after going over to take a closer look.

‘Well, I … I … don’t—er—quite remember just where it came from.’

‘Oh, it’s beautiful!’ Briony enthused, having paid little heed to the vague response. ‘Yes, I rather fancy I shall be extravagant and have another gown made up in this colour. Heaven alone knows how many dresses I shall be able to afford in the future! But Lady Ashworth was always most generous with the allowance she made me. I have funds enough at present to afford two, so—’ She broke off as she noted at last the look of concern on the face of, perhaps, her godmother’s most successful protégée.

The daughter of hardworking but impoverished farm-labouring stock, Mary Norman had been little more than a child when both her parents had died. The young girl’s plight had soon come to the attention of Lady Ashworth, who had instantly taken both Mary and her young brother into the household. Mary had been placed under Janet’s care, while her brother Will had been set to work in the stables.

Not many weeks had passed before Lady Ashworth had first begun to appreciate Mary’s innate skill with a needle. She had then nurtured the gift, even going so far as to allow her protégée, young though she had been at the time, to make day dresses for her mistress to wear. When Briony had become a member of the household, and a governess had been engaged, Lady Ashworth had been generous enough to allow Mary to attend certain lessons. Consequently, not only had Mary acquired a well-rounded education, she had had the great good fortune, on attaining her majority, of being set up in business by her generous employer. Furthermore, she and Briony had been close friends for years, close enough for Briony to realise at once that all was not well with her childhood companion. Sensing that more than just the death of her beloved Lady Ashworth lay behind the sombre look, she asked outright what was wrong.

‘Why, nothing!’ The denial was not at all convincing, as Briony’s sceptical expression betrayed, and Mary released her breath in a sigh of resignation. ‘Well, it’s that material, you see. I had every intention of returning it. I don’t think it will sell very well.’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Briony countered, still not wholly convinced she was being told the absolute truth. ‘And you’re never likely to find out if you keep it hidden, here, in your back room. Put it on show in the shop, for heaven’s sake!’ When no response was forthcoming, she added, ‘Are you sure there’s nothing else troubling you?’

Another sigh quickly followed. ‘It’s my brother Will,’ Mary at last revealed. ‘He’s gone and got himself in with … with some very bad company, that’s all I can say. Why he ever left Lady Ashworth and went to work for Lord Petersham I’ll never know!’

‘Of course you know why,’ Briony countered, unable to suppress a smile over her friend’s motherly attitude towards a brother who, although a year or so younger, was now inches taller, besides being as strong as an ox. ‘Lord Petersham offered him more money and a chance to better himself. It’s common knowledge the head groom at Petersham House is due for retirement within a few years. Will’s sure to be offered the position.’

‘Yes, if he can keep himself out of trouble in the meantime.’

Briony sensed that there might be some justification for Mary’s concern and that she wasn’t simply behaving like an overly protective mother hen towards her younger sibling. Unfortunately, before she could even attempt to get to the truth of the matter, they were interrupted by the young shop assistant who informed Mary that a customer required to see her personally.

Briony rose at once to her feet. ‘I mustn’t keep you from your work any longer. Besides, I must be on my way too, Mary. I don’t want to keep Mr Pettigrew waiting,’ she announced, leading the way back into the shop. ‘I’ll remind him to get in touch with you just to put your mind at rest, although I expect he’s every intention of doing so. You know my measurements well enough by now to make a start on the dresses. So, I’ll call again in a week or two to see how they’re coming along. Perhaps if you’re not too busy we can talk together again then?’

Even though Mary said she would be delighted, Briony yet again wasn’t altogether convinced of the truthfulness of the response. Clearly Mary was desperately worried about her brother, but just why this should be was destined to remain a mystery, at least for the present.

Thrusting her friend’s concerns to the back of her mind, she set off once again down the thriving little market town’s main street and was soon entering the premises of Mr G. W. Pettigrew, Notary and Commissioner for Oaths. The neat little man of business rose from behind his huge desk the instant she was shown into his private office by a young clerk and requested her to be seated in his faultlessly correct and professional manner.

‘I was so sorry I was unable to speak to you after your godmother’s funeral, Miss Winters, but I’m afraid urgent and unavoidable business obliged me to leave earlier than I would have wished. Lady Ashworth and I had known each other a very long time; I believe she came to look upon me as a trusted friend.’

‘Indeed, she did, sir,’ Briony concurred, seating herself, while at the same time vaguely wondering why a second chair had been placed on her side of the desk. ‘I distinctly recall her mentioning once that it was none other than your good self who found the house she occupied for much of her adult life.’

He nodded. ‘When she became a widow, tragically so soon after her marriage to Lord Ashworth, the family homes, of course, went to Lord Ashworth’s younger brother and heir. Thankfully her late husband left her financially secure, but even so she was never frivolous with money. She could quite easily have afforded to reside all year round in a fashionable house in the capital had she wished to do so. She chose, instead, a charming house close to the Dorsetshire coast. I believe she was always contented at the Manor.’

‘Indeed she was, sir,’ Briony once again concurred, experiencing a pang of regret to think that she would no doubt quite soon be forced to leave the house where she, too, had been so very happy.

But there was little point in trying to pretend that she stood the remotest chance of remaining at the Manor. She was on the point of asking, without preamble, how she was placed financially, when the door behind her unexpectedly opened. Mr Pettigrew rose at once to his feet when a smooth and deeply attractive masculine voice announced, ‘I trust I have kept no one waiting,’ and, naturally curious, Briony slewed round to discover herself the recipient of a faintly ironic grey-eyed gaze.

‘Not at all, sir,’ Mr Pettigrew assured, gesturing to the vacant chair beside Briony’s as he did so. ‘Do make yourself comfortable, Mr Kingsley. You remember Miss Winters, I trust?’

By the new arrival’s wholly impassive countenance Briony wouldn’t have known for sure whether this was true or not. She certainly hadn’t recognised him, however, and it took every ounce of self-control she possessed to stop herself gaping in astonishment as her late godmother’s sole nephew strolled leisurely over to the desk, removing his stylish beaver hat as he did so to reveal a healthy crop of slightly waving brown hair.

It had been a full ten years since the last time she had set eyes on Luke Kingsley; she was grudgingly obliged to own that the years had been favourably disposed towards him. Even the faint lines about his mouth and eyes didn’t detract from his good looks. If anything, they added more character to a face that had lost none of its attractive masculinity during the past decade.

Without conscious thought she stretched out her hand for him to take briefly in his own. ‘Of course I remember you, Miss Winters. But I hope you will not consider it ungallant of me to reveal that I do not believe I would have recognised you.’

‘Not at all, sir, for in truth I did not at first recognise you,’ she returned, sensible enough to accept that it would do her cause no good whatsoever to appear antagonistic towards the very person who would undoubtedly be in the position to throw her out on her ear, should he choose to take possession of the Manor immediately.

Grudgingly she was obliged silently to acknowledge, too, that he hadn’t attempted to retain possession of her fingers for longer than was politely acceptable for persons who were, to all intents and purposes, virtual strangers. Nor had he stared at her in any over-familiar fashion, come to that, attempting to ogle her feminine charms. Given his reputation where the fair sex was concerned, she was forced to own that this came as something of a surprise. Maybe, though, it was simply a matter of her not being to his taste, she reasoned, recalling all at once that he had considered her something of a tiresome nuisance years ago, before he had left the Manor to begin his studies at Oxford.

Perversely, this recollection rather pleased her, for although she sensibly recognised that open hostility would be most unwise, with the best will in the world she could not like him, nor easily forgive him for not attending the funeral of the woman who had done so much for him in his formative years.

‘Earlier this year,’ Mr Pettigrew began, studying the papers in his hand, and obliging Briony to favour him with her full attention once again, ‘Lady Ashworth paid me an unexpected visit, a few weeks after her last trip to London, and made some fundamental adjustments to her will. Now,’ he continued, after staring briefly at each of his listeners in turn, and all at once appearing faintly embarrassed, ‘apart from the few bequests to loyal servants and close friends, she declares that the house, together with the rest of her private fortune, be divided evenly between the two of you …’

Briony could scarce believe her ears. She knew her godmother had cared for her deeply, but never in her wildest imaginings had she supposed she would be left such a generous portion, enough to ensure her continued comfort for the rest of her life. She had wondered how she was going to maintain herself and earn a living, and had seriously considered Janet’s suggestion of setting up home together on the coast. Now it seemed she would have security for life!

She began to gnaw at her bottom lip in an attempt to stop it trembling. A great bubble of combined elation and poignancy rose within her, only to burst a moment later, when Mr Pettigrew added after the briefest of pauses,

‘… on condition that a wedding take place between the two main beneficiaries as soon as might reasonably be arranged after the reading of the will.’

Chapter Two

About to take off her bonnet, Briony gaped across the bedchamber, unable quite to believe her ears. She was still far from mistress of herself, but even so she would have hoped that the female who had been such a pillar of strength during the past two weeks or so would have entirely understood her reaction to what had transpired in Mr Pettigrew’s office earlier that day.

‘What on earth do you mean by saying it’s a godsend, Janet …? It’s nothing of the sort!’ Tossing the bonnet aside in disgust, Briony began to pace the room, a clear indication of her continuing highly agitated state. ‘I just cannot understand what possessed Godmama to consider such a ludicrous thing—marriage to that rakehell of a nephew of hers …? Why, it’s ludicrous! Contemptible! I can only suppose she wasn’t quite right in the attic when she had what was destined to be that final consultation with Mr Pettigrew.’

Concerned though she was, Janet couldn’t resist smiling at the no-nonsense choice of language, which had been so much a part of the younger woman’s character since girlhood. ‘There was nothing wrong with the mistress’s understanding, Miss Briony, as well you know,’ she admonished gently. ‘She possibly thought she was acting for the best. After all, miss, you can’t stay here by yourself. It wouldn’t be proper, not as young as you are. Besides which, I expect she was trying to be fair to both you and Master Luke.’

This was hardly destined to placate Briony, and it didn’t. ‘What, by uniting us both in a loveless marriage? I don’t consider that fair. I call it downright cruel, not to say preposterous!’ Wandering over to the window, she shook her head, still unable to believe her godmother had supposed such a union was conceivable. ‘Good gracious, Janet, apart from anything else, I don’t even like the fellow—have never cared much for him, for that matter. So what hope is there for a successful marriage between us? It’s doomed from the start.’

Janet, who had been occupying herself tidying the bedchamber, paused in the act of collecting the discarded black-taffeta bonnet, and gazed across the room at the slender figure staring broodingly out of the window.

‘Has he changed much, Miss Briony?’ she asked, curiosity having got the better of her. ‘I haven’t set eyes on Master Luke in … oh, must be ten years or more, but I remember him as a nice-natured, handsome lad, fearless, always ripe for any lark.’

‘Nice-natured and handsome?’ Briony repeated, once again unable to believe her ears. ‘He was never anything of the sort!’ she corrected vehemently. ‘He’d never permit me to accompany him whenever he went shooting or fishing. Nor would he ever let me anywhere near those precious horses of his.’

Janet gurgled unexpectedly. ‘And when you dared to take one of his hacks out that time, without permission, he tossed you in the lily pond upon your return to the house for daring to disobey him.’

This ill-timed reminder of an incident almost forgotten was hardly destined to improve Briony’s poor opinion of someone who had always figured in her mind as a tormentor and bully on those rare occasions when she had happened to think about him.