Page 40 of The Derbyshire Dance (Kendall House #3)

Chapter twenty-eight

Shropshire

N igel had intended to wait until the spring to call on Bel—for once the spring planting was done, he would have a year of roots set down in Lincolnshire, a year of careful living behind him, and a year of expectations met.

But another letter from Jenny at the beginning of December precipitated his plans.

“Yer grace, yer grace!” Archie’s anxious face bounded into view as soon as Nigel dismounted from his horse in the dark cold of the early evening.

The duke was tired after a long day of digging.

The winter rain had sent a stream of runoff through the corner of the main barn, and it had taken a dozen men with shovels—one of them Nigel—to cut the stream a new, less destructive path.

“What is it, Archie?” Nigel said with a groan. “Can it wait till I have my supper?” He knew that Mrs. Grenville would have ordered something warm and filling to take the chill out of his bones.

Archie gulped. “I’m afraid it can’t. Jenny says if I’m going to marry her, I’d better come and do it quick, for she won’t cook and clean for Mr. Townsend if she must hear a lecture at every dinner and a sermon on every wash day.

If you have a place for her in Lincolnshire, she’d take it in a trice.

An’ perhaps, if we’re man and wife, we might have our lodgings in the gatehouse? ” He looked at Nigel hopefully.

“Hold now,” said Nigel, removing his riding gloves, his face growing hard. Suddenly, the soreness in his shoulders and forearms was the least of his concerns. “Explain yourself. Why should Jenny have to cook and clean for Townsend?”

“She overheard Mr. Charlie telling Miss Bel she ought to marry him.”

“What the deuce!” Nigel slapped his riding gloves against his leg. “Are you sure of that?” Had he really gone to all the trouble to bring Bel’s brother here from America for the fellow to give her the worst advice since Job’s wife?

Archie nodded. “’Parently Master Charlie’s leaving again for his wife’s country, and he wants to see Miss Bel settled before he goes. An’ since the vicar’s been callin’ on her—”

“Pack my trunk, Archie. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir. R-right away, sir,” stammered Archie. “To Derbyshire?”

“Aye,” said Nigel. “To Derbyshire.” He paused to consider. “But not directly. We’ll go by way of Shropshire.”

“Yes, yer grace. Right away, yer grace,” said Archie. “An’ if it’s not too much trouble, might I tell Mrs. Grenville to tidy up the gatehouse while we’re gone?”

Nigel instructed the coachman to set him down at Mullhill Manor.

Then he sent Archie on ahead in the carriage to beg lodging for them from his niece at Audeley House.

There had been no time to send word, but he hoped that Louisa would be kind enough to accommodate him.

Otherwise, he would have to make do with the Colemans’ hospitality at the Jester’s Arms—and awaken all sorts of village rumours about why the Duke of Warrenton had returned to Upper Cross.

A quick knock on the door gained him access to the house where he had first eaten dinner with Bel. The entryway brought back memories of the first time he had noticed her attractiveness in the blue silk evening gown.

Mrs. Brownlee intercepted Nigel in the corridor before the butler could bring him to Mr. Brownlee’s retreat in the library. “Your grace, how splendid to see you again. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“A little misunderstanding that I need to clear up with Mr. Brownlee,” said Nigel. “But I’m delighted to see you again as well, Mrs. Brownlee.” He gave the plump woman a kind smile. It was not her fault that her husband was a thoroughgoing cad.

“Ah, your grace!” said Harold Brownlee, clapping his hands together as he met Nigel at the library door. “Down from town again, I see. Have you brought a party of Londoners with you? I still remember your friend Lady Maltrousse—a delightful woman. Welcome here any time.”

“I’ve brought no one but myself.” Nigel advanced toward the sofa and sat without invitation.

As soon as Harold Brownlee’s stooped shoulders settled against the chair opposite, Nigel came straight to the point—or, at least, straight to the point where he intended to begin the conversation.

“I will eventually need to find a candidate to fill the living on my estate in Lincolnshire, and I wonder, Mr. Brownlee, could you remind me how you came across your own vicar, Horace Townsend?”

Harold Brownlee pursed his lips. “Er, yes. I was a friend of his father’s.”

“His father who died in the course of his naval duties?”

“Yes, that’s right, your grace.”

“Causing his widow to receive an annual naval pension to support herself and her son?”

“Yes, I believe so.” Mr. Brownlee’s brow wrinkled. “But why don’t you ask the vicar about that—he would know better than I.” He grinned. “You’re not trying to steal our vicar away to Lincolnshire, are you?”

“Certainly not,” said Nigel. He looked up at the ceiling as if in thought. “Is it difficult to attract a vicar to a living if the stipend is small? I recall you suggesting to Mr. Townsend that it would be possible for him to supplement his income by marrying well.”

“There are so many curates looking for posts that the number of candidates is endless. But yes, Mr. Townsend has additional prospects. I believe there might be a happy announcement any day now, and Mr. Townsend will be reading his own banns from the pulpit this Sunday.”

“You refer to Miss Morrison, I presume?”

“Just so.”

“It was a lucky chance that her brother was declared dead, so she could inherit all the property.” Nigel managed to avoid sneering as he said this. “But I heard a rumour that the brother has lately returned? ”

Harold Brownlee leaned forward in his chair.

Nigel could tell that the old fellow loved a good gossip.

“Yes, returned and has submitted proof of his identity to the magistrates. The property would have reverted to him—and Mr. Townsend would have stood to be very much the loser. But as it turns out, Mr. Morrison is already quite wealthy by right of his wife’s fortune.

He was no sooner declared alive again than he formally ceded all the land and money from his parents to his sister.

So, she gets the whole of it—as will her husband—just as if her brother had been dead all along. ”

“How fortunate,” said Nigel dryly. “I wonder, Mr. Brownlee, why is it that you take such an active interest in Mr. Townsend’s situation?”

“Why, what do you mean? I take an interest in him, just as I would any of my neighbours. A little more so, I suppose, since he receives his income from my hand.”

“And if Mr. Townsend were able to increase his income, he could afford to bring his mother from Shropshire to Derbyshire.”

Harold Brownlee looked at Nigel in surprise. “Yes, what of it?”

Nigel leaned back in his chair and yawned. “I happened to pass through Shropshire on my way here—beautiful countryside. And I happened to meet Mrs. Mary Townsend.”

“Did you indeed?” Mr. Brownlee’s eyes lost their friendly gleam and narrowed with suspicion.

“Yes, she was quite hospitable. She invited me in for tea and we found we had a host of mutual acquaintances.” Nigel’s voice deepened. “The story she told me about her son’s father was quite different from the one you’ve just told me.”

Harold Brownlee stared at him. Nigel stared back .

“Does Horace Townsend know that he is your son?” demanded Nigel.

Harold began to protest, but Nigel’s voice grew louder and more masterful.

“Don’t lie to me. It’s plain as a Puritan’s prayer book to anyone who really looks at the two of you.

Your bearing and mannerisms are the same.

Mrs. Townsend’s word only confirms it. There never was a death at sea.

There never was a naval pension. There never was a Mr. Townsend. ”

“Now see here,” objected Mr. Brownlee. “Did you come to Derbyshire just to dig up a scandal and meddle in my affairs? What possible interest can you have in the matter?”

“A very personal interest. You may have as many bastards as you like, Brownlee, but once you begin imposing on Bel Morrison, that is when I take issue with it. I am highly opposed to Horace Townsend making a match of it with Bel Morrison, and I am highly opposed to you manipulating affairs to get her money into his hands. Were I to reveal Townsend’s connection with you, Miss Morrison would certainly cut all ties with him. ”

Mr. Brownlee rose from his chair in alarm.

“No. I beg you to reveal nothing of the sort. The vicar is unaware of the connection. He would be horrified to hear that he is of illegitimate birth, that his mother was not—” He sank back into the chair.

“But then, your grace certainly understands the ways of the world. She was not a loose woman by nature. I was in love with her, but she hadn’t a penny, and my father objected to the match.

He needed an infusion of cash, you see, for the Brownlee estate; and that meant I was not free to settle for anyone less than an heiress. ”

“An unlucky situation, to be sure,” said Nigel, standing up as well. He was more than familiar with attempts to rescue financial imprudence through forced marriages .

“By the time my father threatened to disown me, Mary was already in the family way. And so my father made me a bargain—if I would promise to marry a bride of his choosing, he would put Mary and her child up in a cottage far away from here and send her a monthly stipend. I agreed to it. And when my father died, I continued to send the stipend to Shropshire. I have never seen Mary since our separation, although we have written letters to each other over the years. I knew my son had taken orders, and when the living came available, I approached him as a friend of his father’s and offered him the position.

I wanted to know him, you see, to further his way in the world and thus redeem my youthful mistake. ”

“A touching tale,” said Nigel dryly. He might have trusted it wholesale twenty years ago; he might have believed it in the main ten years ago.

But he had seen enough of Lady Maltrousse’s set in the last two years to know the kind of man Harold Brownlee truly was.

It was far more likely that he had lured Mary Townsend into lifting her skirts with promises of love and marriage and then deserted her at the first opportunity.

He wondered if it was the father who had forced Brownlee to do the right thing with the cottage and the stipend.

“It would bear more semblance to the truth if you did not continue to take advantage of other women’s charms, like the widow Mrs. White. ”

Mr. Brownlee’s shifty look confirmed Nigel’s suspicion on that account.

“Are you hoping for a renewal of your intimate acquaintance with Mrs. Townsend under your son’s very nose? It would be most convenient if you could convince your son to bring your former paramour here to Upper Cross. ”

Mr. Brownlee’s wrinkled cheeks flamed red, and his hands fell into fists. “You devil!”

“It takes one to know one,” said Nigel coolly, convinced that he had Harold Brownlee’s measure.

“What do you want from me?”

Nigel leaned forward and spoke with clear intensity.

“Stop promoting a marriage between Horace Townsend and Belinda Morrison. I overheard you at that dinner party last December—it was you who put the idea in his head, you who furthered the acquaintance. You know how to steer that man like a ship—so steer him in a different direction.”

“I fear you are too late, your grace,” said Harold Brownlee.

“He told me yesterday that he was planning to declare himself. And if I know anything about Bel Morrison, I know that she’ll hold fast to her word once it’s given.

She would never jilt a man just because he discovered he was illegitimate.

Your interference will change nothing in that quarter.

She will marry Townsend regardless. Yes, you will damage my reputation and sully his.

But do you really want to expose her to the scorn of the world simply to satisfy your own jealousy?

” Brownlee smirked, convinced that he held the trump card to win this match.

Nigel gritted his teeth. Had he really come too late to stop a betrothal?

The halt in Shropshire had delayed him by a day, but his conversation with the buxom and overly friendly Mrs. Townsend had been necessary to solidify his suspicions regarding Harold Brownlee.

And yet, Harold was right about Bel’s character.

If she had already plighted troth with Horace Townsend, she would see it as her duty to continue.

Without answering Mr. Brownlee’s question, Nigel turned to leave the library .

“Where are you going?” demanded Harold Brownlee. “What do you mean to do?”

“I mean to give Miss Morrison all the facts,” said Nigel, “and let her decide fairly.” He walked to the door. “Oh, and Brownlee,” he added. “Pay a little more attention to your wife. She’s a good woman. She doesn’t deserve your infidelity or even your indifference.”

“Giving sermons now, are you?” said Mr. Brownlee with a sneer. “It seems that you missed your true calling, your grace.”

“As a parson?” Nigel laughed. “No, no, I have every intention of becoming a sheep farmer. Good day to you.”