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Young Pemberton’s visit and departure had not passed unobserved; several interested pairs of eyes watched, safely obscured by the soaring windows of Foxworth’s classic facade.
Sir Chauncey Morrison, Bart, snorted with a tone made particularly his own by long practice. His nose was admirably made for affronted snorting, being long and thin and usually in everyone else’s business. Over sixty years of living had forced fragility onto his body, but the indomitable will which had taken an impoverished, neglected and encumbered estate and made it the equal of any in the land still shone in the gleaming eyes.
“You might as well think young Charlie lived here, the way he comes and goes without so much as a by-your-leave,” the old man muttered, frowning down his daughter-in-law’s hesitant offer of fetching his Bath chair.
Sir Chauncey possessed a magnificent pair of eyebrows for frowning, shaggy and thick and enhanced by their frosting of white. Doubtless he would have said his frowns and snorts were equally distributed among his family, but in truth most landed on his patient daughter-in-law Lady Maria, as she was the one most often to be so ill-advised as to offer help or solicitude, never having quite learned even after eighteen years that the delicacy of his failing body had only served to strengthen his will. Inured and educated by longer exposure, his own children gave him the respect he was due and mostly stayed out of his way.
“Hardly surprising, as he has run tame on the place almost since he was in short coats. He regards Foxworth as a second home.” Percy twitched the heavy velvet library curtains back into their accustomed places.
Seen together, the two men could have been nothing but father and son so similar was their build and colouring, although Percy was obviously naught but a copy by a poor artist when compared to the original. What in the elder was strength and resolve came across in the younger as petty obstinacy, and Percy’s knowledge of his defects did not make bearing with them any easier.
“Just like that rapscallion uncle of his, and look at his end. If we only could. I often wonder what happened to Bradford Pemberton. No one has ever heard, have they?”
Soft, pretty and with the backbone of a marshmallow, Lady Maria trembled under the sweep of her father-in-law’s frosty blue eyes. Sir Chauncey had always said she had not been his first choice for Percy’s wife, but her noble though obscure family, sizable dowry and biddable disposition had done much to overcome his initial aversion to her milkfed ways.
“No, sir,” she replied. “He is never mentioned at Bittermere.”
“Faugh! Young hellion, he should not be, not after his antics. Probably lying dead in some God-forsaken jungle now, his bones picked clean by vultures. Young Charlie has a look of Bradford.” The old eyes softened as if making some interior comparison between the images of a young man seen and a young man remembered.
A portentous rumble issued from Percy’s throat, one Sir Chauncey recognized as a sort of physical drum roll for attention before he said anything he thought merited notice. “Father, I thought we had agreed never to mention that person’s name in this house again. After all, a rule is a rule, and considering what happened...”
Exasperated for no real reason, his sire pinioned him with a glare. “I made that rule, and see no reason why I should not break it when I wish. Young Charlie does remind me of Bradford. He hangs around your Lisbet like his uncle did around Verity.” For a moment the piercing gaze wavered; the old man came close to looking his age. “Always meant Bradford to have Verity; they were mad about each other, had been all their lives. Would have been a good match — solidified the estates. Of course, after his disgraceful escapade it could never be countenanced, not when he had to flee the country.”
“Do not distress yourself, dear sir...” Lady Maria began and was, as usual, ignored.
“Never thought I would have any trouble settling Verity, though. Good girl, good dowry, but she would have none of it. Who could have thought she would wear the willow for him all this time? Who would have thought?” The old face was still puzzled as the door closed behind him.
Unaware of her position in the conversation below, Verity Morrison also watched young Charlie’s departure, her eyes following the proud figure on horseback until it dipped into the Home Wood and disappeared. Strange, until today she had never noticed much of a resemblance between the two Pemberton men, but all of a sudden, Charlie was grown up and the light of mischief which glowed in his eyes had brought forth a wealth of prickly memories she had tried for years to forget. Now the sight of Charlie on a horse brought back deeply buried memories of forbidden moonlight rides almost too painful to be borne.
Bradford had always ridden first and she had always followed, perched astride the horse in what she had privately thought a most insecure position compared to a sidesaddle. They had explored the countryside for miles. Had she ever been caught being out of the house at such an hour and engaged in such hoydenish activity, it doubtless would have meant ruination, but Fortune had smiled and given her protection. How odd they should have been on so many escapades and returned unscathed only to have Fortune, without warning, withdraw her gift completely, leaving Verity alone and unwed and Bradford.…
I must stop this, Verity thought, but the images in her mind overpowered her will. It is only because of Lisbet talking about us when we were young and then seeing young Charlie...I doubt if either of those two children has ever even heard of Bradford. They were quite thorough in erasing his name.
She took a deep breath. And so was I. I am not usually like this.
But the images kept coming — images of a tall handsome young man on the threshold of life, a young man who from childhood had appeared to be her future and then was suddenly, irrevocably gone. For years she had pictured him returning in wealth and triumph for her, snatching her boldly from the very house where he had left her. As time had slipped inexorably on, however, the pictures gradually changed to show Bradford, now a little older and a little sturdier, standing happily with a shadowy woman surrounded by vibrant flowers in an exotic land Verity would never see.
A small, hard pain settled around Verity’s heart. Now nothing would ever happen to her.
And somewhere far above her, the gods laughed.
I Hope that you enjoyed this preview. Read more at:
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