From Ruin to Riches. Louise AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
muck,’ Julia said. ‘I was reading all about it and you need a huge, steaming pile of manure, far more than you would think.’ She caught the eye of the footman who was bringing in the roast and he looked so scandalised for a second that she stopped with a gasp. ‘I am so sorry, of all the things to be discussing at the dinner table!’
But Will was laughing. It was the first time she had heard more than a chuckle from him—an infectious, deep, wholehearted laugh—and she found herself laughing, too, until he began to cough and had to sip water until he recovered.
* * *
The next day was overcast with a cool wind so they had gone to the stables in the morning and walked slowly from box to box, admiring the mares and then smiling over the yearlings and the foals in the paddocks. Will had let her take his arm as though he felt at ease enough not to hide the fact that anything more than a stroll was tiring.
Julia explored the house in the afternoon. She found an upstairs sitting room with bookshelves and a deep window seat and curled up with a pile of journals and some novels, but after a while she realised that she was simply staring out of the window.
This place was still a fairy tale, a sanctuary from the dark that she had left behind, a place out of time with its prince, struck down by a wicked enchanter, but still strong enough to defend its walls and keep her safe.
The whimsy made her smile until the chill of reality ran down her spine. It could not last and she should not delude herself. Soon she would have to leave here and find employment and never, ever, be herself again. She had a week, and two days of that were gone already.
* * *
At dinner Will was quiet, almost brooding. Tired, perhaps, she thought and did not attempt to make conversation. When the footman cleared the plates and set the decanter at his elbow she rose, but he gestured her back to her seat.
‘Will you keep me company a little longer, Miss Prior?’ Before the servants he was always meticulous in observing the proprieties, she noticed. ‘Thank you.’ He nodded to the footman. ‘I will ring if we need anything further.’
When they were alone Will said, without preamble, ‘I have a proposal, Julia.’
‘Another one?’ Her heart sank for all her light words. He had changed his mind about the week’s respite, found her some position as a housemaid...
‘That was a proposition. This is literally a proposal.’ He poured two glasses of port and pushed one across the table to her.
Bemused, she ignored the wine and studied his face instead. From the intensity in his expression she realised his calm was not quite as complete as she had thought. His voice, however, was quite steady as he said, ‘Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
Julia found she was on her feet, although she could not remember getting up. ‘Your wife? Lord Dereham, I can only assume you are mocking me, or that your fever has become much worse.’
She walked away from the table on legs that shook and struggled for composure. It was safer for her self-control not to be looking at him. One could not be rude to an invalid as sick as he was, but how could he not realise how hurtful his teasing was?
‘Miss Prior, I cannot talk to you if you stalk around the room,’ Will drawled. The weak desire to cry turned into an itch in her palm and a disgraceful urge to slap his face. ‘Please will you come back here so I can explain? I am not delirious and I have no intention of offering you insult.’
‘Very well.’ It was ungracious and she could not bring herself to return to the table, but she turned and looked at him, swallowing hurt pride along with the unshed tears. ‘Please explain, if you can. I find my sense of humour has suffered somewhat recently.’
But he was not smiling. The haggard face was as serious as if he truly was making a proposal of marriage, but his words were strangely far from the point. ‘You know what I have told you about Henry. For the good of this estate and its people I need to prevent my cousin from inheriting until he is older, has matured and learned to control his spendthrift ways.’
‘You believe he can?’ Julia asked, diverted by scepticism for a moment.
‘I think so. Henry is neither wicked nor weak, simply spoiled and indulged. Even if he does not improve, the longer I can keep him from inheriting, the better. I need time, Julia.’
‘And you do not have that.’ Intrigued, despite herself, she sat again.
‘Do you know the law about inheritance when someone disappears?’ She shook her head. ‘If the missing person does not reappear within seven years of their disappearance, the heir may apply to the courts for them to be presumed dead and for the inheritance to proceed.’
She began to understand. ‘And you intend to disappear?’
‘I intend to travel. I have always wanted to go to North Africa, Egypt, the Middle East. I hope I can make it that far, because once there, away from British authorities, I can vanish without trace when...when the time comes.’
Julia doubted he would make it across the Channel, never mind southern Europe, but if this daydream was keeping him going, who was she to disillusion him? She understood the power of dreams, the need for them. ‘But what has that got to do with me?’
‘I must leave King’s Acre in good hands. I could employ an estate manager, but they would not have the commitment, the involvement, that a wife would have. I could not guarantee continuity and, if they left, who would appoint their replacement? And by marrying before I go I would remove the suspicion that my disappearance is a stratagem.’
Julia stared at the thin, intelligent face. His eyes burned with intensity, not with fever or madness. For a moment she thought she saw what Will Hadfield had looked like before this cruel illness had taken him in its claws and something inside her stirred in response. ‘It matters this much to you?’
‘It is all I have. Our family has held this land since the fourteenth century when it was given to Sir Ralph Hadfield as a reward for services to the crown—hence the name. I am not going to be the one who lets King’s Acre fall apart.’
‘And there is no woman you want to marry?’
The baron closed his eyes, not to shut out the world, but to hide his feelings, she was certain. ‘I was betrothed. I released her, of course, and she was relieved, I think, to be freed from the burden of being tied to a dying man.’
Will opened his eyes and there was no emotion to be seen on his face. Then he smiled, an ironic twist of the lips. ‘Besides, she has no views on elm trees or cattle breeding.’
‘So you only thought up this insane scheme when I stumbled into your life?’ It might be insane, but, Heaven help her, she was beginning to contemplate it, look for the problems and the advantages. Stop it! Julia told herself. It is an outrageous idea. I would be heaping deception upon deception.
‘That first night, after you had retired, I sat thinking that I needed a way to stretch time. Then I realised I might have had the answer sitting in front of me at my own fireside.’
The past days had been a test to see if she really knew as much as she said, to see if she had an attraction to this place. And I have. Then common sense surfaced. Fate would not rescue her so simply from the consequences of her own folly. ‘Your relatives will never accept it.’
Besides, with the wedding her name would be known to all and sundry... But Prior is quite common and Julia is not my first name. Lord Dereham seems to live fairly retired, this would not be a major society wedding to be mentioned in the newssheets. If I can ask him not to place an announcement, there is no reason to think it would ever be noticed in Wiltshire.
‘My relatives will have no choice but to accept it. I am of age, no one can suggest I am not in my right mind. They will be present at the wedding—along with my man of law and any number of respectable witnesses. You will not be dependent upon them in any way. Only the land is entailed, so the income will be yours to spend as you wish until my death