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‘I am afraid it is.’
‘And you still think I should marry him?’
‘If it was left to me, I would say no, let him do his worst, but it is not up to me.’ She laid a hand on Jane’s arm. ‘Your papa can see no other way out of our predicament. And there are Isabel and Sophie to consider. Sophie will never find a suitable husband if we are poor. And there’s Teddy. I want him home, Jane, I want my son home.’
‘I know.’ She sighed, then added, falsely bright, ‘I intend to enjoy my last days of freedom.’
‘Good.’
‘Did you know the villagers have been working at Witherington House?’
‘Yes, everyone is talking about it. It is good that Lord Bolsover has said you may continue with it, Jane.’
‘It will certainly be a condition of my acceptance.’ Even as she spoke she wondered if she would be in a position to insist on conditions.
* * *
There was still much to be done. In the following days, she formed a committee in the village to organise the fair and wrote more letters asking for prizes and donations, and perused dozens of catalogues, looking for serviceable furniture for her orphans. Mr Halliday junior had written to her, asking when she intended to admit her first orphans. Her reply was that she knew a brother and sister in Hadlea whose father had been lost in the war and whose mother was finding it difficult having to go to work and look after her children. There were others in the neighbourhood she would approach. They would be the first to be offered homes. As for the rest, she would simply visit nearby towns and keep her eyes and ears open.
Her days were full and for a little while she was able to set aside the prospect of marrying Lord Bolsover, but it was different at night. Tired as she was from her daytime activities, she was never tired enough to sleep soundly.
She had nightmares, which involved Lord Bolsover chasing her, sometimes over flat grassland which suddenly became boggy, sucking at her feet and slowing her down, sometimes through woods at night with strange shapes looming out of the darkness, at other times along high cliffs with the sea crashing on the rocks below them. That was worst—with the menace behind her and the menace in front, she didn’t know which way to turn. She always woke just as Lord Bolsover reached out to grab her. At other times she dreamed she was wearing Isabel’s wedding gown and her sister was trying to tear it off her, shouting, ‘It’s mine! It’s mine!’ That made her feel worst of all and she woke with tears streaming down her face and her bedclothes in a tangle.
She had not seen Mark for some time. She had no idea if he had resigned himself to marrying Isabel, but she assumed he had. Isabel herself talked about it all the time: her gown, her trousseau, what had been ordered for the wedding breakfast, how she would reorganise Broadacres once Lady Wyndham had moved into the dower house. It was as if she dared not stop talking.
‘Issie, are you sure you want to marry Mark?’ Jane asked her one day when they were alone in the morning room. ‘Not so long ago, you declared you could not bear the prospect. You said you did not love him.’
‘No more I do, but plenty of marriages have survived without love, especially if there are compensations: a handsome husband, wealth and standing. You should think about that yourself.’ She paused. ‘Don’t you dare tell Mark I said that.’
‘I won’t.’
* * *
The London Season was well and truly over and all the big families had repaired to their estates in the country, where the harvest was being gathered in. All agreed it was a poor one and the price of bread would go up again. The harvest on Broadacres’s farms was better than most, but nothing like as good as it ought to have been. Mark had waved the rents of his tenant farmers for the winter term. It was a gesture they appreciated and rewarded him with genuine loyalty, promising to help the fair in any way they could.
But Mark was not in London to sell his grain, but to try to find a way out of his more pressing dilemma. His first call was on Cecil Halliday, who was working on a court case involving the theft of a silk shawl, but left it to greet Mark. ‘I wasn’t expecting you today, my lord,’ he said as they shook hands. ‘There is nothing wrong at Broadacres, I trust.’
‘No, nothing. My visit concerns Greystone Manor and Lord Bolsover.’
‘My father is dealing with that, my lord. I know little of it.’
‘Perhaps you could ask your father to join us.’
He disappeared and returned in few minutes with Theodore, who bowed in the old-fashioned way. ‘My lord, my son tells me you are interested in Greystone Manor. Are you considering buying it?’
