Mistress Of Madderlea. Mary NicholsЧитать онлайн книгу.
father, but Madderlea had become her home too, a safe haven, a beautiful and happy place, the villagers content because the people at the big house cared about them. Until…
She didn’t want to think of that day, but it would always be there in the back of her mind, a day in her life she would never forget, a day which had transformed her from a bright happy young lady looking forward to her first Season, into a quiet, withdrawn woman, who was never free of pain, both physical and mental. Almost two years on, her body had miraculously healed, but the mental images were still with her and would be to the day she died. Even now, sitting at the breakfast table in her Uncle William’s comfortable but unpretentious house, they returned to haunt her.
They had been on their way to London for the Season and she was to have a come-out. She had been full of happy anticipation, making plans, talking about the gowns and fripperies she was going to buy, confident of finding a husband among the many beaux who would attend all the social occasions. Aunt Margaret had assured her she would be the catch of the Season and she had no reason to doubt her.
She did not consider herself beautiful, being rather too tall and slim for the current fashion, and her hair was red-gold at a time when dark locks were favoured, but she carried herself well and her complexion was good. Her greeny-grey eyes were her best feature, or so her aunt had told her. She had been promised a considerable dowry too, provided her choice met the approval of her aunt and uncle, but that was only fair and she had no qualms about it.
The weather had been fine when they set out in the family coach from Madderlea in Norfolk, but by the time they reached Newmarket Heath, black clouds had gathered and it became almost as dark as night. Long before it began to rain, lightning flashed across the heath and thunder rumbled ominously. There was nowhere to stop and take shelter. Her aunt had wanted to turn back but, as Uncle Henry pointed out, the clouds were moving northwards and turning back would mean travelling with them instead of against them; if they kept going they would soon be under clear skies again.
It was the most terrible storm Sophie had ever witnessed and the terrified horses, intent on turning away from the flashes that continually rent the air in front of them, galloped off the road across the rough heath-land, bumping the carriage up and down so that the occupants were hard put to hold onto their seats. They had heard a scream as the coachman was thrown off and though the groom who sat beside him on the box tried to retrieve the reins, he could not. Helplessly, they hung on until a wheel hit a rock and the whole vehicle turned over to the sound of rending wood, screaming horses and cries of terror, hers as well as her aunt’s. And then there was black silence.
How long Sophie had been unconscious she did not know. She had come to her senses when she heard rough voices. ‘They’re dead, every last one of them.’
‘Well, we can’t leave them here. Best find out who they are, send for help.’
It was then she had cried out, unsure whether she had made enough sound to alert them, but then a man’s head peered at her over the edge of the mangled vehicle, where she had been trapped with the dead weight of her aunt on top of her.
‘There’s one alive in here. Help me get her out. There, there, miss, you’re safe now.’
Safe yes, but badly injured. The rest of that day and the weeks that had followed were a blur of pain and misery, but there had come a day when she had woken to find herself in a pretty bed chamber and the sun shining in through the window. Aunt Madeleine, her mother’s sister, had been smiling down at her, her pale face full of gentle concern.
‘How did I come to be here?’
‘We fetched you, just as soon as we heard the dreadful news that you were lying at death’s door in the infirmary at Newmarket.’ Her aunt had lived in England since her marriage and her English was perfect but there still remained a trace of a French accent which reminded Sophie of her mother.
She had a hazy memory of being carried, of being put in a vehicle of some kind, of groaning at the pain and of wishing only to be left alone to die in peace. But then there had been soft sheets and someone stroking her brow and muted voices, of returning consciousness which was too painful to bear and of drifting back into sleep. ‘When?’
‘Two months ago.’
Two months! ‘Uncle Henry? Aunt Margaret?’
‘I’m sorry, Sophie, you were the only one found alive and we thought we might lose you too. Now you are going to get well again. Charlotte will come and sit with you.’
Only later, when they thought she was strong enough, did they tell her that she had inherited Madderlea Hall. ‘It is not entailed,’ Uncle William had told her. ‘Your grandfather had a daughter and when it looked as though he would have no more children, he took steps to break the entail. The irony of it was that his daughter died and then, late in life, he had two sons, your Uncle Henry and your father. Now both are dead and you are a considerable heiress.’
She was mistress of Madderlea! But under the law, being unmarried and female, she could not have control of her inheritance, even if she had been well and strong. Until she married, it had to be administered by a trustee. In his will, her Uncle Henry had appointed William Hundon who, besides being her Aunt Madeleine’s husband, was also a lawyer. Uncle William had employed an agent-cum-steward to live at Madderlea Hall and look after its affairs while she remained with her uncle and aunt and her cousin Charlotte at Upper Corbury, growing stronger day by day.
It was an unsatisfactory position. Madderlea needed more than an agent; it needed someone who cared about it. She ought to live there herself, but when she suggested it, her uncle and aunt threw up their hands in horror. ‘You know that’s not possible, Sophie,’ her uncle said. ‘Even if the law were to allow it, I, as a trustee, certainly should not. You would be the target of every rake and fortune hunter in the country.’
‘But it is such a worry to you, Uncle and I would not, for the world, burden you with it if I could help it. You have done so much for me already.’
‘There is only one sure remedy,’ her aunt put in. ‘You must find a husband.’
A husband. A husband, to have and to hold, for better or worse, to obey, to share her burdens, someone to take over the running of her affairs and manage Madderlea, to produce heirs. But where was she going to find a husband prepared to take on Madderlea, who was not a rake and a fortune hunter in a quiet backwater like Upper Corbury? She could count the eligible bachelors in the county on the fingers of one hand. There were widowers of course…She shuddered.
‘You will have to marry sooner or later, Sophie dear,’ her aunt went on. ‘Now you are fully recovered, I think you should have a Season and William agrees with me.’
‘A Season? In London?’
Her aunt smiled. ‘Yes, London, where else?’
Charlotte, eyes shining, echoed, ‘A Season! Oh, Sophie, how wonderful. I wish…’ She stopped. There was no question that she could be brought out in that way; her parents did not move in those exalted circles and it was unkind of her to express the wish.
‘But, Aunt, surely that will be too much for you?’ Sophie said, knowing her aunt could only walk a few steps and that very slowly with the aid of sticks. ‘I am persuaded it can be very exhausting.’
‘Your aunt will not be going,’ her uncle said. ‘And neither will I. I would not dream of leaving her. Besides, I have an important case on at the County Court and it is set to last all summer.’
‘How, then?’ asked Sophie, mystified.
‘We shall find a lady to take you under her wing and bring you out with her own daughter. It is sometimes done, I believe, in return for a contribution to the expenses.’
‘In other words, I am to pay for my hostess’s daughter as well as myself?’
‘Yes, but you see—’
‘And suppose I do not care for the lady or her daughter?’
‘Sophie, please do not be difficult,’ begged