A Handful of Ashes Page 2

  Francis nodded at him. ‘My thanks. I shall bear that in mind.’

  Marcus envied the closeness of this pair. They balanced one another. The doctor kept the pagan in Siana under control. He’d made himself aware of that aspect of her behaviour on occasion, no doubt, as any man with red blood in his veins would.

  Under Siana’s silk and satin was an earth mother who loved to run barefoot on the wet grass of the hills, and would defend her own with tooth and claw. She was tender-hearted, passionate and loving, courageous when needed. But there was a streak of ruthlessness in her, mostly in the loyalty shown to those she loved. If her back was against the wall, he thought she might kill in defence of them.

  As for Francis, a sensible, impatient and sometimes arrogant man, he was, nevertheless, a good healer. Francis was Siana’s refuge when she was hurt, but he didn’t smother her. It was as if the measure of independence she enjoyed in the marriage was tied to the end of a velvet rope. And that rope was strong, for it had kept them connected across a wide expanse of restless ocean – time keeping them apart, faith and the love they held for the other bringing them back together again.

  Unease trickled up his spine as he looked at Bryn. But would that love prove strong enough if Francis found out she’d deceived him over Bryn?

  He could sense Siana watching him. It was disconcerting when she knew what he was thinking. Uncanny, as if the fates had conspired to bring them together. When he thought of Maryse Matheson, he knew why.

  ‘Francis,’ he said when they’d settled themselves and were waiting for the refreshment to arrive. ‘There’s something of the utmost importance I wish to discuss with you.’

  Siana rose unhurriedly to her feet, trying to hide her jubilant grin. ‘I’ll go and rescue Bryn. The last time he smelled the flowers, a wasp stung the end of his nose.’

  The two men watched her go, beginning to laugh when Bryn caught sight of her and took off at a run. Tossing her bonnet and shoes aside, Siana lifted her skirts and pelted after him, dodging around the flowerbeds with agile grace. When the pair finally collided they fell into a giggling heap together.’

  ‘You’re lucky to have her,’ Marcus observed.

  Francis’s grey eyes were firmly fixed on his wife and his voice was tender. ‘Yes, I know. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?’

  ‘Miss Matheson.’

  ‘My daughter?’ Francis turned towards him with a frown. ‘What of her?’

  ‘Don’t take me for a fool, Francis. You must be aware my regard for her goes beyond friendship. I would like your permission to pay court to her.’

  ‘And if I don’t give it?’

  ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t, for I’m of good character and a suitable match for her. However, bear this in mind: if you reject me, you might condemn your daughter to a life of spinsterhood.’

  ‘It’s true that Maryse has refused all offers so far, but what makes you think she’ll accept you?’

  ‘Miss Matheson is a sensitive soul. Instinctively, she knows and trusts me. I more than admire her, Francis. I fell in love with her the first moment we met. She knows that, for I told her so.’

  Marcus smiled when there was a quick intake of breath from Francis. ‘I needed to plant a seed in her mind, for a romantic notion in a young girl’s heart can only blossom and grow. If nothing else, she can admire me for my constancy. As it is, of late, I fear she might be pressured into a marriage without love. So I’m speaking out now in the hope that my petition can be considered.’

  ‘Aye, her aunt is most persistent, I must admit. Maryse has not allowed her head to be turned, though. I sense there might be a reason behind that, because she has changed so much in my absence. Her aunt thought her behaviour to be erratic and totally out of character while I was away.’ His eyes became almost mercurial bright as he turned his way. ‘How was she in Wales?’

  The hairs prickled along Marcus’s arms. Francis sensed something had occurred, but knew not what. ‘I had nothing to compare Miss Matheson’s behaviour with, but your daughter struck me as being quiet and well behaved.’ He gave a faint smile. ‘She seemed to enjoy learning the domestic chores of the house, helping your wife in the garden and drawing the scenery around her. She told me she enjoyed the peace and quiet of Wales, despite its rusticity. You understand, of course, that I was living in the barn, not the house. I saw very little of them, except at mealtimes. But we have already talked of this.’

  ‘Of course. But you didn’t tell me before of your declaration to my daughter.’

  ‘It wasn’t a declaration as such, more the establishment of my future intention. Such understandings are kept private between the couple concerned, for I doubt if Miss Matheson has informed you of it either.’

  ‘No, she has not. And neither has Siana.’

  ‘It could be that she simply dismissed it. But if Miss Matheson has confided in your wife, it would be reasonable to expect her to honour the secret between them, especially where a female confidence was concerned. Women are not as strong as men. They need the support of each other where matters of the heart are concerned.’

  An astute glance came his way again. ‘You profess to understand a devil of a lot about women. Known many, have you?’

  Marcus tried not to grin. ‘I was brought up by my uncle and aunt in the company of six female cousins.’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ Francis said, looking a trifle shamefaced. When the doctor nodded to himself, Marcus knew he had him almost convinced.

  ‘I promise to treat Miss Matheson with the greatest of respect, and not declare myself until I consider the match agreeable to her. I have no wish to be made to look the fool if she accepts in haste then changes her mind. Believe me when I say that my greatest desire is to secure your daughter’s happiness.’

  ‘In that case, you have my permission to court her,’ Francis said gruffly. The two men shook hands on it just as the refreshment arrived.

  Bryn, his nose casting at the air like a hungry dog when he saw the servants arrive with the tea trays, suddenly remembered his manners. Taking his mother’s hand he led her back to the terrace.

  Before he snuffed the bedside candle that night, Francis propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at Siana in suspicion. ‘Did you know Marcus was going to ask for Maryse’s hand?’

  ‘Sooner or later. He has always loved her.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I thought it was obvious from the way he looks at her, and the way he always asks after her. Why do you think he visits us so often?’

  ‘I thought it was you he admired.’

  His disgruntled voice made her chuckle. ‘Would you mind very much if he did?’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Certainly not. I like Marcus a lot.’ She grinned and idly ran her fingers through his hair. ‘Of course, that’s not to say I wouldn’t mind if another woman admired you. I would most likely poke her eyes out and squish them under my feet.’

  He chuckled at that and, snuffing out the candle, drew her into his arms.

  2

  Josh Skinner was wearing his black evening suit over an embroidered waistcoat of pearl grey. He never knew what to do with his top hat, especially on a windy day, but it added a bit of dash so he decided to carry it along with his cane and gloves, rather than wear it. He didn’t think he could fit his head into it now, anyway. His manservant had tonged his fair hair into side curls for the evening.

  ‘You’re enough to make a cat laugh,’ his sister, Siana, would probably say to him when she saw his new hairstyle and discovered he’d hired a personal servant. Bentley doubled as a butler as well, though he was a bit slow, at times. Still, he couldn’t expect too much of such an elderly codger as Bentley.

  A right dandy Josh had become of late. It hadn’t taken him long to appreciate the feel of good cloth against his skin, or note the extra dash a tailor could add to the cut of a garment. And although Siana didn’t know it, he’d been taking dancing lessons from a married
couple who ran an academy in their parlour. He was receiving invitations to more and more parties with fancy folk, and needed to learn all the social skills he could. Tonight, he was determined to sweep Miss Pansy Matheson off her feet in a waltz, and without making a fool of himself.

  Clodhopper boots and dead men’s coats and trousers brought from market stalls were a thing of the past. He was Joshua Skinner Esquire which, according to Bentley, meant he was a man of substance.

  Picking up the stiff, embossed invitation he cracked a wide grin as he read: Mrs Francis Matheson requests the pleasure of the company of Joshua Skinner Esquire on the occasion of her husband’s forty-second birthday. Siana and Francis were also celebrating the purchase of Rivervale House, the first home the pair had set up together as a family.

  The occasion was also an opportunity to celebrate Francis’s return from the dead, for his brother-in-law had been reported drowned almost three years ago, when the ship he’d been travelling on to Van Diemen’s Land was wrecked in a storm. His subsequent trials had been a test of endurance for Francis, and for Siana’s abiding love for her husband.

  ‘Requests the pleasure,’ he repeated softly. ‘Be damned if that blue-blooded doctor my sister married hasn’t made a lady of her without even trying.’

  It was odd how well he and Siana had adapted to their changed circumstances over the previous eight years. They wore their adopted status like a second skin. More so Siana, who’d needed the trappings to survive in the society she’d married into. When they were alone together she relaxed a little, but it wasn’t often her peasant blood put in an appearance now – unless her temper got the better of her.

  ‘I have to be careful for Daisy’s sake,’ she’d told him. ‘I promised our mother I’d care for her, and I want her to grow up to be socially acceptable. I didn’t enjoy being poor, and I try not to let my background show in case I embarrass Francis.’

  Daisy couldn’t recall a life other than the one Siana had provided for them all by marrying well. Their younger sister had never known hunger, cold or cruelty since then, and at the age of nine was a confident, pretty child – if a little self-centred.

  ‘Don’t wait up for me,’ he said to the elderly gentleman’s gentleman who had faithfully served his last master for forty years. Taking pity on the dignified old fellow, who’d been tossed onto the labour market after his master’s death, Josh had hired him for himself. But being waited on hand and foot by someone old enough to be his grandfather made him feel a little guilty. ‘You have a little nip of my good brandy and take yourself off to bed early, Mr Bentley.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Mr Bentley didn’t even flicker an eyelid as he held out Josh’s cloak. ‘You’d better take this, sir, it might get cold later.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Taking the cloak from the servant’s arm, Josh strode out to the horse and phaeton. As he climbed into the rig and picked up the reins, he reckoned life couldn’t get better than living near the top of the hill.

  Below him spread the harbour of Poole, reflecting the lights of the town. There was money to be made if you knew how to go about it, and wealth brought with it respect. Not the respect good breeding brought, the sort Francis Matheson commanded. But all the same, it was good to be called sir by shop assistants, or Mr Skinner by bank managers.

  Joshua Skinner Esquire. He grinned with the pleasure of it, wishing his ma and pa had lived to see it. He wasn’t the richest businessman in town by any means, but then, it wasn’t so long ago he was digging up cockles, with a bit of smuggling going on on the side. Now, he and his partner owned a fair portion of the property in town, and were thinking of expanding those interests. Although he was only twenty, Josh knew he’d never forget his former poverty.

  He glanced at the house he’d just bought from Siana, and smiled. A canny one, his sister. She’d made him pay a fair price for it, too.

  One of these days he’d marry, and he’d make sure his family never wanted for anything. There was a girl he liked and got on well with, but . . .? He shook his head as he reached the end of the carriageway. No, Pansy Matheson was too far above him, and it was no good hankering after a girl he couldn’t have.

  Nineteen years old, Pansy Matheson was torn between the choice of pale blue watered taffeta, or a pink silk gown with puffed sleeves and a bodice decorated in artificial roses.

  Standing in front of the mirror in her stiffened petticoats, corselette and drawers, she held first one against her, then the other. ‘Help me decide, Maryse?’

  Maryse, the elder of the sisters by a year, folded her hands into a skirt of dark blue silk and slanted her head to one side. ‘You haven’t worn the taffeta yet. It will look pretty with your hair curled and those silk flowers in your hair.’

  ‘It also makes a nice sound when I walk, like shuffling my feet through autumn leaves.’ Pansy caught a reflection of her sister’s grey eyes in the mirror. There was something sad about them. ‘I suppose the uncles are all coming.’

  ‘The whole Matheson family is coming. You and I are the only females not spoken for. We’re going to be worn out from dancing with everyone.’

  ‘I’m sure the other women will help out. Is the admiral bringing his intended?’

  Maryse smiled. ‘He is, but if she’s as old as he is, she won’t do much dancing.’

  ‘Well, cousin Roger might bring his fiancée. I bet Aunt Prudence is cock-a-hoop over him winning the hand of the wealthiest heiress in the district. I met her once. Her name is Lalage Lewisham. She’s terribly languid in manner, speaks as though she’s out of breath and smells of violets, like a funeral cortege. Imagine how ridiculous it will sound when she marries the viscount and we have to call her Lady Lalage. I’m sure I shall burst into song. When I pointed this out to Aunt Prudence, she made a long face and snorted, “Stop being facetious, Pansy Matheson.”’

  Pansy’s imitation of the Countess of Kylchester made Maryse giggle, something her sister didn’t often do now. ‘Cousin Alder is pestering me to become engaged to him now Roger has settled his suit. He says he’s waited long enough, and demands that I give him an answer tonight.’

  ‘Alder has made his intentions towards you quite clear right from the beginning. He deserves to have an answer, Pansy.’

  Pulling the skirt over her head, Pansy’s muffled response came from within its depths. ‘I like him enormously, of course, Alder is such good fun. But Maryse, I don’t love him and my instincts keep warning me he’s not right for me. Besides which, the thought of a lifetime of Aunt Prudence nagging me over every little thing is quite intolerable.’

  ‘Then you must tell Alder so.’

  Emerging from the gown with her hair all over the place, Pansy pulled a face. ‘I have. He is quite persistent. He just laughs, then informs me that he has ways to make me learn to love him.’

  Maryse gave a small shiver.

  ‘He says I should have grown used to his mother, by now. Aunt Prudence is on his side, of course. Well, she would be with him being the absolute favourite of her sons. She’s spoiled him terribly, so he’s used to having his own way. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in marrying him in my stead, would you?’

  ‘You know very well I’ve vowed never to wed. Besides, I’ve been in Aunt Prudence’s bad books for several years, so having me for a daughter-in-law would simply not please her as much as having you.’

  ‘Then perhaps I’ll make a vow not to wed until after you are settled, since it’s traditional for the eldest daughter to wed first. If I wed Alder it will set the seal on your spinsterhood. Dearest Maryse, I want so much for you to come to realize that your notions about remaining unwed are foolish, since it’s possible you may fall in love.’

  ‘You have no reason to imagine such an event,’ Maryse said.

  ‘Then we shall grow old together, a couple of spinsters with tabby cats rubbing against our ankles, all vinegar and spit. We can sit by the window with our embroidery, playing games of “do you remember when”, and gossip spitefully about the passers-by.
’

  ‘That’s a perfectly horrible suggestion. I’m sure I’ll be able to find better things to do.’

  ‘But what if you do fall in love?’

  Maryse closed her eyes for a moment, and Pansy could have sworn she saw a glint of tears when she opened them. ‘That will never happen.’ Rising, she moved towards her sister, abruptly changing the subject. ‘Turn around while I do up the buttons on your bodice. Do you want your hair curled? If so, I’ll go and heat the curling irons. Rosie is busy.’

  Maryse’s shining brown hair was parted in the middle and drawn back into a satin bow at the nape of her neck. It was an elegant style, but too severe for Pansy’s taste. It seemed as if Maryse didn’t want to appear attractive, which was almost impossible, since her sister had a finely drawn delicacy to her face that would always be striking, whatever the hairstyle.

  Although she and Maryse were alike, Pansy knew she was the more robust and animated of the two. She attracted labels such as jolly, lively and hoydenish, while Maryse was regarded as sensitive, artistic, and of late, oddly eccentric.

  It was unfair of Aunt Prudence to say things like that about her sister, but it had come about because Maryse had continually thwarted the countess in the quest to marry her off. Maryse had now refused to endure the ordeal of another season in London, so they would never hear the last of how ungrateful and stubborn she had become.

  Pansy brought her hand up to cover her sister’s. ‘What has happened to make you determined not to wed?’

  ‘Nothing has happened.’

  Maryse closed her eyes in anguish, wishing she didn’t have to lie to her sister as she remembered the horrifying events on the night of the harvest supper a few years previously. Everything that had coloured her life since, had happened then – the two men, their hands groping her flesh, the smell of scrumpy cider on their breath, the tearing of her innocence as they brutally violated her, one after the other, leaving her bloodied and loathing herself. They had stolen all that was dear to her, then tossed her aside as if she was worth nothing.