Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
Bree reached out and touched his face, the stubble on his unshaven cheek prickling her fingertips. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Well,’ Piers said somewhat breathlessly, as the tired coach horse plodded back northwards. ‘Life’s not like this at Harrow, you know. It’s going to be devilishly dull when I go back.’
‘Good,’ Bree said with feeling. ‘I am certain I am a very bad sister, exposing you to all this.’
‘I’m not going to be able to talk about it, am I?’ he said, suddenly glum.
‘No,’ Bree agreed. ‘You are not. That’s one of the disadvantages of being grownup—lots of exciting secrets you can’t brag about.’ She reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. ‘Never mind, you are going to acquire a very dashing brother-in-law.’
Rosa was already up and arranging her hair when Bree peered sleepily round her door at half past six the next morning. ‘Goodness, you look half-awake,’ she exclaimed, putting down her brush. ‘Poor love, couldn’t you sleep?’
‘No, but not for the reasons you might expect.’ Bree shut the door and came to perch on the end of Rosa’s bed. ‘Piers and I were at Max’s house at half past three this morning.’
‘What!’ Rosa gasped, then shot a hasty look at the closed door. ‘Is it about Drusilla?’ she whispered.
‘Yes, only she isn’t. Rosa, it is all going to be all right.’
Bree’s revelations, and the arrival of the gentlemen at the kitchen door, provoked a flurry of activity in the household, for it proved impossible not to tell the staff at least something.
‘Well, I never did!’ Cook exclaimed, banging sugar snips down with some feeling. ‘A confidence trickster in our house, and I was going to make her a nice kedgeree.’
‘I think we’d all appreciate it anyway,’ Bree said soothingly, although her stomach revolted at the mere thought of anything more than plain bread and butter.
Max and Jack Ryder vanished upstairs, Bree and Piers took themselves off to the breakfast room and Rosa went to roust their houseguest out of her room.
‘She must have been fierce when she was a schoolteacher,’ Piers observed with a grin.
Fanny drifted in, smiled wanly at them and took the remaining seat with its back to the screen which hid the door to the back stairs.
Bree plied her with tea and toast, sang the praises of Cook’s special kedgeree and launched into energetic conversation with Rosa and Piers.
‘More kedgeree, Piers? It is very strengthening. Toast, then? Fanny, do be so kind as to pass the butter.’
And quite unconsciously Fanny did just that. It was not until she had the silver dish in her hand, halfway to Rosa’s, that the name Bree had used penetrated. ‘Oh!’ She dropped the dish with a crash and stared round wildly. ‘What … what did you call me?’
‘She called you Fanny. That is your name, is it not?’ Max put the screen to one side and stepped out, leaving Ryder lounging against the serving buffet, one sharp eye on the door. ‘You are my sister-in-law, I believe.’
Fanny stared at him, her mouth open, clutched a napkin and burst into tears. ‘He said you would never know!’ she wailed. ‘He said it would be so easy …’
‘Brice Latymer told you that, did he?’ Ryder enquired casually while Rosa pressed a handkerchief into Fanny’s hand and told her briskly to pull herself together.
‘Mmm.’ She nodded, sniffing miserably. ‘He told me what to say, told me to pretend about the letters, so could say I didn’t trust you. He said we could split the money.’
‘How did he find you?’ Bree asked. ‘Were you in Portsmouth?’
‘No.’ Fanny gulped. ‘I never left Winchester. I was apprenticed to Mrs Pilgrim the milliner. The girl who cleans the pews came to see me, told me this gentleman was enquiring about the Cornish family. Then Mr Latymer came, enquiring about what the other gentleman had been asking for and the sexton sent him to me.’ She looked apprehensively from one face to another. ‘What are you going to do with me?’
‘Find you a cottage and give you a small annuity,’ Max said. Bree saw him wince slightly as the great green eyes fixed on his face. ‘And I never want to hear from you again.’
‘I’ll take her to your attorney,’ Ryder offered, ‘then put her on the next stage to Winchester.’
‘Thank you.’ Max looked grateful not to have anything more to do with his errant sister-in-law. ‘I’ll just write a note for him.’
Bree tried to apply herself to wedding preparations, lists and arrangements, but the constant coming and going of Mr Ryder and Max was distracting, and when they came to collect Piers for their call to Latymer’s lodgings she was left too nervous to concentrate. ‘Don’t forget he has a swordstick,’ she called down the stairs after them. ‘Don’t trust him an inch.’
They came back, hours after she had expected them, all three with the look of small boys who had been deprived of a treat. ‘What happened?’ Bree demanded, practically dragging them into the drawing room.
‘He’s done a runner off to Scotland,’ Ryder said, running his hand through his hair. ‘It’s where the family comes from. By all accounts he has been having a watch kept on this house. When the lad saw Fanny being taken off by me, he ran back to Latymer, who must have realised the game was up.’
‘He’s gone on the stage,’ Piers said glumly. ‘I thought Max could take his curricle and we could give chase, but he said you’d ring a peal over him if he did that.’
‘I am so glad you didn’t,’ Bree said with feeling. ‘That is just what I need, a bridegroom halfway up the Great North Road in pursuit of a duel!’
‘But I think we can feel free to tell everyone—in strict confidence, which they will not observe, of course—all about the card-sharping incident. He’ll never be able to show his face in London society again,’ Max said, stretching long legs out to the fender. ‘Do you think, Miss Mallory, that we may now proceed to a trouble-free nuptials?’
‘With this family?’ Piers snorted. ‘I doubt it!’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bree blinked as they walked out of the bright sunshine of a crisp October morning into the gloom of the church porch. Then the verger threw open the doors and she and Piers stepped into the light streaming down from the clerestory windows, reflecting off the old white stone, catching the glossy leaves and petals of sheaf after sheaf of flowers arranged at the ends of the carved pews.
Beside her Piers looked impossibly grown-up in his new swallow-tailed coat. She tightened her grip on his arm and searched for Max. He looked so far away down the long aisle, between the massed guests.
‘Off we go,’ Piers whispered and they began to walk, Bree darting quick glances from the shelter of her veil. There was Lady Lucas, her husband beside her, there was James, torn between pride at the match and horror at the choice of location for the wedding. There was Max’s redoubtable grandmother, whom she had come to like over the past few days—as she saw Bree her autocratic face was transformed by a wide smile.
Almost there now. Uncle George, well again, beaming at her—and then there was nothing and no one in the world but Max, white-faced as she had never seen him.
Bree gave her flowers to Rosa, turned and placed her hand in Max’s. The Vicar stepped forward, lifted the prayer book and began.
‘Dearly beloved …’
Bree had expected the service to pass like a dream, yet every moment slowed until it had its own significance and she knew she would never forget a second of it. The moment when Max spoke his vows and she heard his voice break, the moment she said hers and his hand