Chapter 29

29

Be not alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments or renewal of those offers which were ... so disgusting to you.

—Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

Two days later, Sarah opened the library windows to allow in the fresh summer breeze. She saw a carriage turn from Glen Lane onto Sea View’s drive. The fine coach-and-four had a crest on its door and a liveried coachman at the reins.

She stepped into the entry hall just as Mr. Gwilt opened the door to a handsome, well-dressed gentleman. He said, “Good day, sir. How may we help you?”

“I am here to see Miss Summers.”

Sarah walked forward. “I am Miss Summers. One of them.” And the only one home currently, as Emily and Georgiana had again gone to the school—Emily to read to the pupils and Georgiana to play ball with Cora, a tomboy after her own heart.

“Ah, I should have specified,” the man said. “Miss Claire Summers.”

Sarah stilled, her mouth parting and pulse quickening. “She is not here. And you are...?”

“Lord Bertram!” Persephone Craven called, gliding into the hall from the drawing room. “How wonderful to see you. Although, I confess, not a complete surprise, as Sidney mentioned he’d had a letter from you.”

This was Claire’s betrayer, Sarah realized. Here. Now.

He turned toward Miss Craven, face a mask of cool civility, clearly not as delighted to see her as she was him. “Miss Craven.” He bowed.

“Come and join us in the drawing room. Sidney will be so pleased to see you.”

“Actually, I need to speak with Miss Summers first.”

“About what?” Persephone asked, lips in a pout.

“About her .. . her family’s health, and perhaps a room. Why don’t you go in. I shall join you presently.”

“Very well, but don’t be long. I shall just slip upstairs first and let Caro know you are here.” She hurried up the stairs.

A room ... at Sea View? Sarah’s stomach twisted. Mamma could not bear to hear this man’s name spoken. She would certainly not abide having him sleep under their roof.

“I’m afraid we cannot accommodate you,” Sarah said. “But there are two good hotels in town.”

Mr. Craven sauntered into the hall. “Bertram, old chap. Thought I heard your voice.”

“Sidney.”

“Come into the drawing room. I have news for you.”

“Perhaps for a few minutes, before I”—he shot Sarah a look—“take my leave.”

Sarah was not sure if she should be relieved or disappointed that Emily was absent. Emily would no doubt send the man packing with a flea in his ear but would likely create a scene while doing so. Even without her assistance, Sarah hoped to show the man out before Mamma came to see what was causing all the hubbub.

Too late. Mamma stepped from her room into the hall, dressed in a becoming afternoon frock.

“Good day.” She gifted the newcomer with a gracious smile. “And who have we here?”

The man turned to face her, lips pressed tight, his Adam’s apple rising and falling on a hard swallow. At least he had the decency to look sheepish upon meeting the mother of someone he’d ruined.

“Mamma, this is ... Lord Bertram.”

He bowed. “Mrs. Summers.”

Mamma stared at him, clearly stunned. A muscle in her jaw tensed, and her countenance paled to a sickly green.

“I am sorry to intrude like this,” he said. “But I trust you will forgive me when you learn why I’ve come.”

The front door opened, and Georgiana bounded in, face flushed and smiling as usual, Emily on her heels.

Georgie looked at the unexpected assembly. “I say. This is quite a welcome! Good day, everyone.” She looked from familiar face to familiar face until she came to the newcomer. “And who is this?”

The well-dressed man turned but hesitated, perhaps expecting someone else to introduce him or perhaps fearing her response.

“Lord Bertram,” Emily said, her voice low and clipped. “This is a surprise.” And her tone conveyed that it was not a pleasant one.

“Bertram?” Georgie echoed, brow furrowing. “Not that Lord Bertram?”

He smiled thinly. “I am afraid so.”

Mr. Craven stepped to the front door, holding it open. “Come on, old boy. I believe you’ve outstayed your welcome. Broadbridge’s is where you want to go. I’ll give your coachman directions.”

Coming back down the stairs, Miss Craven called to her brother, expression stricken. “Sidney, no! He can’t go there. He ... he has not even greeted Caro yet. She will join us directly.”

Lord Bertram paused long enough to say, “Please convey my regards. Another time, perhaps.”

And the two men escaped out the door.

When they had gone, Mamma looked at her daughters and announced, “Family meeting.” She turned to Mr. Gwilt. “Would you mind terribly dashing over to Westmount and asking Viola to join us if she can?”

“Not at all, madam. Happy to.” He hurried out to do so.

Sarah sent Miss Craven a weak smile. “Please excuse us.”

They gathered in Mamma’s room, awaiting Viola. The others sat, but Emily paced. “Perhaps we ought to run over and warn Claire.”

“It’s no use. He had his coach-and-four awaiting him. We’d have to go on foot or wait for the Huttons’ carriage to be readied. We’d never arrive before him.”

Viola jogged up the lane and into the house a few minutes later. She joined them in Mamma’s room, and once the door had closed behind her and she’d caught her breath, Sarah explained the situation.

Viola’s eyes widened. “Why is he here?”

“He came to Sidmouth last summer with the Cravens,” Emily said. “Perhaps he has only come to see them again.”

“I don’t know...” Sarah mused. “He did not seem especially keen to see them. Or at least, not Miss Craven. And he seemed to think Claire was here at Sea View. He asked for her.”

“Why would he seek her out?” Georgie asked. “This is the snake who convinced her to elope and then abandoned her, right?”

Viola nodded and said, “At the concert, Claire mentioned seeing him in Edinburgh when he visited Aunt Mercer. She said they spoke briefly, and he apologized for what happened between them but did not renew his addresses to her.”

Mamma frowned in concentration. “Then what did he mean when he said, ‘I trust you will forgive me when you learn why I’ve come’?”

“Has he reformed, do you think?” Sarah asked. “Come to rectify the situation? Marry her?”

Emily shuddered. “I hope not.”

Mamma’s frown remained. She stared vaguely into the distance, looking worried and uncertain.

“Mamma? What is it?”

“I am thinking. Of course I despise the man, but if he’s come to make an honest woman of Claire, should we meddle? Claire must have loved him once. Perhaps she still does.”

“She was deceived in his character, Mamma,” Emily insisted. “Caroline warned me about him, remember?”

“Let’s also remember the Cravens have their own reasons for warning us against Lord Bertram,” Sarah said. “Miss Craven wants him for herself. We must not credit everything she and her sister say.”

“As much as it pains me to say it,” Mamma began, “it would be best for us and especially for Claire if they married.”

Emily’s mouth fell open. “You can’t mean it, Mamma! Marriage to such a man would render her miserable for the rest of her life!”

Georgie nodded her agreement. “I don’t want that snake for a brother. What awkward family holidays we’d have!”

“I hardly think our pleasure at holidays is the priority here, Georgiana. Now, you girls leave me in peace for a while.” Mamma said it almost brusquely, but Sarah saw the torment in the taut lines of her face.

“It’s nearly time for luncheon,” Sarah reminded her.

“I am not hungry. You go on without me.”

The door knocker sounded. Already on her way to the morning room, Claire diverted to the front door and answered it, a cheerful greeting on her lips.

The greeting faded. Her throat seemed to close at the sight of the man standing there.

Lord Bertram.

Again.

She glanced behind him and saw his grand coach-and-four blocking the street. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.”

“How did you know where I was?”

“I assumed you returned to your family, so I went to Sea View first. Craven told me you were here.”

“I am not welcome at Sea View—thanks to you.”

The slightest flinch creased his face and quickly faded. “Perhaps I can remedy that.”

“You are two years too late.” She began to close the door, but he prevented her with a firm gloved hand.

“Actually, I hope to take rooms here. For it seems I am not welcome at Sea View either.”

“No? Then allow me to recommend the York Hotel or the London Inn. I am sure you will find them far more to your taste.”

“But you are here.”

“You had your chance with me, and you squandered it.”

“I know I treated you abominably. I have come to redeem those mistakes.”

“Why do I doubt that?”

“I promise you I am in earnest.”

“I relied on your promises once before, to my ruination. I shall not do so again.”

“I regret what happened between us.”

“So you said in Edinburgh. Why come all this way to say it again? It changes nothing.”

“But something has changed.”

At that moment, Mr. Hammond came down the stairs. “Miss Summers ... Excuse me. I did not realize we had a guest.”

“I don’t know that we do.”

The proprietor looked from one to the other. “Is ... everything all right?”

“No. This man wishes a room, but I am not certain we should give him one.”

“Really? Perhaps I can help. William Hammond, at your service. Had you a reservation, Mr....?”

“Lord Bertram. No, but I’d like rooms for myself and my valet. Is that a problem?”

Mr. Hammond sent her an inquiring look, then turned back to their visitor. “Apparently so. Unfortunately it seems we cannot accommodate you. Perhaps try the York Hotel?”

Anger rose up and solidified into resolve. She would not cower in this man’s presence. If he wanted to stay, so be it.

Claire huffed and straightened her spine. “Actually, I believe we can accommodate him after all. In the attic, perhaps. I understand Mr. Jackson snores like an angry badger, but if this person is determined to stay here, then far be it from me to turn away a paying guest.”

She stalked into the morning-room office and threw back the cover of the registration book.

Mr. Hammond followed. She looked up at him, fighting back tears. “Would you mind taking his details? I have pressing tasks awaiting me belowstairs.”

Concern shadowed his face. “Of course.”

Claire went down to her room, closed her door, and pressed her hands to her face, torn between yelling and crying. In the end, she did both.

An hour or so later, she had all but cried herself to sleep when someone tapped on her door.

“Miss Summers?” Mr. Hammond softly inquired from the other side. “I just wanted to see if you ... need anything.”

Claire sat up, wiping a hand over her damp face. “No. I’m all right. Thank you. I shall be up soon.”

“Very well. If you’re sure.”

After that, Claire did her best to avoid both Lord Bertram and William Hammond, not ready to face the one nor explain herself to the other.

She skipped dinner that evening and instead sipped some warm, salty broth in the kitchen to settle her stomach. She carried up coffee and dessert to the morning room but avoided conversation with the Hammonds and Miss Patel. Then she waited until she saw Mr. Bertram leave the dining room before going in to help Mary tidy up.

Claire was folding up the used tablecloth when Lord Bertram came back into the room.

“Good evening, Miss Summers.”

She stiffened. “My lord.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she held up a hand to cut him off, hoping to forestall more awkward conversation—especially with Mr. Hammond and Sonali still in the next room. “W-was the meal to your liking?”

“Perfectly adequate. I wonder ... Might I have a private word? I was just upstairs and saw the parlour there is currently unoccupied.”

Not eager to be alone with the man, Claire hesitated. But better a private conversation than another confrontation like the one in the hall upon his arrival. She wondered how much Mr. Hammond had overheard.

“Very well. Let me finish here and I will join you in a few minutes.”

She carried the cloth to the laundry basket with unsteady hands and looked at her hair in a mirror as she passed. Her hair was fine. Her face? Tense and pale.

Reaching the parlour, she closed the door but kept her distance. “Why did you come here—really?” she asked.

“I told you why.”

“In Edinburgh, you told me it was not within your power to make amends.”

“That was true then.”

“If you have changed your mind about marriage, I understand Miss Craven is eager to be the next woman to break her heart over you. You are wasting your time with me.”

“I am not interested in Persephone Craven. You are the only woman in my thoughts at present.”

“Why?” The word came out almost like a groan. “What is it you want?”

“To marry you properly, in a church, surrounded by your family, as I should have done two years ago.”

Foolish hope sparked to life within her before memories flooded in to drown it. She slowly shook her head. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“I will not deceive you by pretending I have simply changed my mind. I am not so fickle a man. You know the reason I did not go through with it before. Your dowry was not what I had been led to believe.”

“That has not changed. In fact, I am not certain I have any dowry after being disowned.”

“You—we—have something better.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You remember your Aunt Mercer summoned me to meet with her in Edinburgh?”

“Of course.”

“She told me she needed to appoint a new heir, since your father had died, and was considering candidates. She went on to ask me a series of questions. I thought it must be a ruse, that she simply wanted to have a look at the man who had eloped with the great-niece now living with her. Or perhaps she wanted to force our paths to cross in hopes of rekindling our short-lived romance.”

Had she? Claire wondered. The notion startled her.

“During our interview, she made it clear she knew about my financial difficulties. I anticipated she might offer some incentive to force my hand. Yet she dismissed me that day without doing so and without making any promises, so I assumed she’d decided against me. And considering that you were not exactly pleased to see me, I left Edinburgh not expecting to hear from either of you again.”

Claire had never expected to see him again either.

“Then I received a letter through her lawyers. Apparently your aunt has named me conditional beneficiary of the majority of her assets: stocks, shares, and over ten thousand pounds.”

Claire gasped at the injustice. Not only had this man escaped any consequences for his betrayal, but now he would benefit financially. Why would Aunt Mercer do that? She’d thought the woman had softened toward her near the end, but apparently she had remained determined to teach Claire a lesson.

Mistaking her gasp as a sign she was impressed, he nodded and went on. “A sizable sum, all told. Enough to pay off my debts and then some.”

“Congratulations,” Claire said dryly, not bothering to disguise the asperity in her tone. “Why tell me?”

“I inherit only under one condition.”

She stared up at him, stomach sinking. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes. That I marry you, publicly, legally, properly. If not, I get nothing, and it all goes to some charity or other.”

“So that’s why you’re here.”

“Yes. As I said, our financial situation was the only reason I changed my mind before. But now with this boon, I can follow through on what I’d hoped to do all along.”

When she merely stared at him, stupefied, he pulled a folded letter from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Here. Read it for yourself.”

Claire’s mind was spinning too quickly to focus enough to read the whole thing. But a few lines leapt out at her.

These are my terms: Marry Claire Summers. Make a respectable woman of her. Restore her good name and that of her family.

Claire stood there, wanting to throw the letter in his face. To flounce away. To refuse with bold, certain finality.

Instead, she remained still and silent, the words before her fading from sight. She saw not the letter, not the man, but rather a woman’s face.

Mamma’s.

A part of her was tempted. Not because she still loved this man or even liked him, but because marriage to him would go a long way to removing the cloud of shame she’d hung over herself and her family. It would “make a respectable woman of her,” as Aunt Mercer had written.

Here at last was a way to make amends to her family, and perhaps finally be forgiven and accepted by her mother.

His quiet voice interrupted her thoughts. “I can see this comes as a shock to you, so I shall give you some time to think it over. I will stay on a few days so we may become reacquainted before you decide.”

He turned to go, but she said, “Wait.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “If you have not gathered, Mr. Hammond is my business partner. He does not know about ... why I went to Scotland, and I would prefer to keep that humiliation private.”

“Of course.”

“Not ‘of course,’” she hissed. “For I gather the Cravens know or at least suspect.”

“Sorry. Craven never could keep his mouth shut. Don’t worry, I can.”

After that, Claire made her escape. She put on her cloak, called in at the morning room door that she was going for a walk, and left before Mr. Hammond or Sonali could respond or ask any questions. She hurried from the house, eager to put distance between them.

Again she sought the solace of the seaside, walking along the shore, breathing deeply of the fresh air, and trying to grasp onto a calm she did not feel.