Hope's Betrayal (27 page)

"As a
gentleman, that goes without saying.  But the reason I made my presence
known…"

"Yes?"
Why couldn’t this annoying man leave her to wallow?

"…is
because, you might want to consider an alternative offer. I would have bidden
my time, but it seems Huntley has got there ahead of me, so best I show my
hand."

"I don’t
follow?"

"Miss
Tyler, you are a very attractive woman… and I would like to court you."

Hope's brow shot
up in surprise.

"It would
be an arrangement pleasing to both sides. I am well-off, I keep a comfortable
home and have much to offer the right woman."

"Such
things do not interest me."

"And I
believe we have a link in the Isle of Wight. I believe I have heard of your
father—William Tyler."

Hope regarded
him in shock. "You know my father, but how?"

He smiled
indulgently, as speaking to a child. "My business sometimes takes me to
the Island. Your father is well known among the fishing community."

"You deal
in fresh fish?" For some reason this surprised Hope, he wasn’t like any
fish merchant she knew.

"In a
manner of speaking…"

But before
Oswald could elaborate further, and to Hope's immense relief, Captain Huntley
returned.

"Hallo.
Oswald isn’t it? Fancy meeting you here."

"Indeed, at
your service." Oswald bowed in an obsequious manner. "I saw Miss
Tyler was alone and thought to keep her company."

"Very
thoughtful of you," Huntley said in a tone which implied otherwise,
"but I'm back now, and Miss Tyler and I are about to leave."

"Such a
shame. I couldn’t entreat you to change your minds? Miss Tyler and I were
having such an interesting exchange of ideas."

Hope started to
bristle. "Really? I thought our conversation at an end."

"In that
case, please consider what I've said." Oswald narrowed his eyes like a
reptile. "I shall take my leave."

*****

Even though
fatigue soaked her bones, sleep eluded Hope as she listened to a distant clock
mark the passing night hours.  Every time she closed her eyes, the gossip's
bile spilled over into her mind and she woke again. If she married George, his
career would be over and if he loved her now, she wasn’t so naïve as to think
he wouldn’t hear gossip, and start to resent her. Hope finally fell asleep just
before dawn, confirmed in the opinion that if she truly loved George, she must
leave.

As morning light
flooded through the curtains Hope was woken by a feeling of dread. For a moment
she was confused as to why, then remembered the Captain's proposal and her
heart sank afresh. She couldn’t face him. He would try to talk her around and
she wasn’t sure she had the strength to resist. She would slip away—leave a
note. But something was wrong, something overlooked. Then it came to her, Lady
Ryevale had been so kind, it was wrong to leave without an explanation, she
owed her that at least.

Reluctantly,
Hope pushed aside the bedcovers and rose. Ruby had been in while she slept and
laid out a fresh gown. Mechanically, Hope dressed and said goodbye to the
familiar walls. She remembered the first time she had seen this room, how she
had felt so overwhelmed. Perhaps that was the problem, she thought herself
grander than she was and had forgotten her roots. With a renewed sense of purpose,
Hope decided to write Lady Ryevale a letter, with the intention of being far
away when she read it.

But a surprise
awaited Hope in the office, in the form of Lady Ryevale already seated at the
desk, papers spread around her. Hope blinked in bewilderment.

"What...?"

"Come in,
come in, dear." Lady Ryevale peered over the top of her semi-lunette
glasses. "I didn’t expect you up so early."

"I thought
you'd lie in....after the ball."

"The
accounts were on my mind so I decided to deal with them head-on."

Hope glanced
nervously around, half-expecting George to be hiding in the shadows.

"And
Captain Huntley?"

"Don’t
speak to me about George! He was acting most oddly at breakfast, said he had
business in town, but wouldn’t tell me what and he had the most peculiar look
in his eye.  Took the gig  and went—I don’t suppose he said anything to you
last night?"

"No,
Ladyship." Hope struggled to keep her face composed.

"Oh well,
I'll find out in due course. But in the meantime, the accounts. Now be a dear
and make notes."

Without knowing
how, Hope found herself sitting at the desk, quill in hand. In the cold light
of day, leaving a letter seemed cowardly. She would speak to Her Ladyship and
explain, but she must pick the moment, perhaps later that morning, once the
accounts were done…

"Did you
get that, Hope?"

Hope jumped,
startled as she realised Her Ladyship had been talking to her. "Sorry, I
was miles away."

"I can see
that. I can manage by myself if you're too tired."

The idea of
escaping had appeal. No, Hope decided, the least she could do was finish the
job she'd started.

"No, no,
I'm fine, please do go on."

Her Ladyship
looked at her with suspicion. "Are you sure George didn’t let anything
slip last night?"

"Quite
sure." Hope stared fixedly at the ledger.

"Hmm, very
strange." Her Ladyship gazed out at the misty grayness which veiled the
lawns and turned shrubs into hunched ghosts.  "Hardly the sort of weather
for a pleasure trip."

"No,
Ladyship."

"Oh well.
Now, where was I?"

"The
miller's invoice, Ladyship."

They worked
steadily, bills filed and the amounts tallied in the ledgers. The effort of
concentration soothed Hope's nerves, distancing her from the moment when she
said goodbye. She was so deeply immersed in the columns of figures that when
the maid entered, it came as a surprise.

 "Beggin'
pardon, Lady Ryevale, but there is a gentleman to see you."

"At this
hour?" Her Ladyship removed her glasses. "The caller's name?"

The maid
narrowed her eyes with effort of remembering.

"A Mr.
Oswald."

Hope shrank
back. After what Oswald had overheard last night, and his proposition, the last
person she wanted to see was him. She prayed Her Ladyship would decide it too
early to receive visitors.

"Strange
time for a call, I wonder what he wants? Show him to the morning room. We shall
take tea."

A short time
later Mr. Oswald joined them in the parlor. He looked a perfect gentleman in a
striped waistcoat, high-collared shirt and stock. Hope's toes curled in her
slippers as he made a show of greeting Lady Ryevale, bending over her hand and
kissing it.

"Utterly
charmed, Ladyship."

"Mr.
Oswald, what an unexpected pleasure."

"I was
passing. I do hope I'm not disturbing you?"

"No,
indeed. Miss Tyler and I were in need of a break. Please, be seated."

Oswald arranged
himself on the settle, flicking out his coat tails, then he turned to Hope and
his face brightened.

"Miss
Tyler. Delightful as ever."

Hope colored,
but from petulance not pleasure. "Mr. Oswald."

"I'm so
pleased you are here, for the truth be known, I wanted to speak with you."

"Really?"
She frowned. If Oswald thought to court her, then he was mistaken. If she
refused George, she was certainly not going to accept his suit.

"I have
business on the Island this afternoon. If I happen to see your father, have you
a message for him?"

"Oh."
Her ire deflated a little.

"Isn't that
considerate of Mr. Oswald?" Lady Ryevale prompted Hope. "Most
kind…isn’t it?"

Oswald's
compassionate expression curried no favor with Hope.

"That is
indeed kind, and yes, please tell my father you find me in good health."
She bit her lip, for she would be seeing her father herself in the near future.

"Well,
Hope," Lady Ryevale said, puzzled by Hope's reticence, "have you
nothing else to add?"

"Have a
think, Miss Tyler, don’t rush yourself. I know how important family is. I just
thought you might wish to let your father know any good news, that sort of
thing."

 Hope prickled,
was he referring to the previous night's proposal? A thought occurred to her.
"What business have you with my father?"

Mr. Oswald
laughed lightheartedly. "You misunderstood me. My business is on the Island, not with your father, but it occurred to me to seek him out on your behalf."

The maid arrived
with tea, saving Hope from further immediate comment. Nonplussed, Hope sat
silent, resolved to say as little as possible.  Lady Ryevale turned to Oswald.

"Have you
family hereabouts?"

In an instant
his demeanor changed. It was like blowing out a candle; all the light left his
eyes.

"Alas,
recently I lost someone very dear." He lapsed into silence, looking
suddenly much older.

"I am so
sorry to hear that. If there is anything we can do, just  say. Recently, I
feared for George's life," she shivered, "and that was bad enough. I
commiserate with your loss."

Oswald closed his
eyes. "Dear Lady, tis too painful to speak of, but I thank you
nonetheless."

An awkward
silence fell and witnessing their visitor's genuine distress, Hope's antagonism
softened. For a moment Oswald seemed on the brink of tears, and then, with an
abrupt movement, he stood.

“If you will
excuse me ladies, tis time I was on my way."

"Of
course." Both women rose in unison. "Please call again, my door is
always open."

"Thank you,
Lady Ryevale. Miss Tyler."

Hope shook the
proffered hand. She felt ashamed of her earlier hostility and yet as the door
closed behind Oswald, she was relieved he'd gone. She sighed. None of this
altered the fact she had to tell Lady Ryevale she was leaving and explain
why—without letting Her Ladyship dissuade her.

The morning
after his proposal, Captain Huntley woke with the lark, brimful of energy. Yes,
he would wait for Hope's deliberations, but he wasn’t going to accept no for an
answer, so he rose in chipper mood, with the intention of seeing a jeweller in
Boureham about an engagement ring.

It was a
pleasant day for a drive following the coastal road, with the sea to his left
and the gently rolling hills on his right. The carriage horse was lively, ears
pricked, responding eagerly to Huntley's whip. Driving wasn’t so bad, sitting
high, overlooking hedgerows into the misty fields beyond. His hopes of riding
again grew dimmer by the day and he knew it, really he ought to sell Nero, it
wasn’t fair to the horse not to be ridden hard—the stable lad did his best but
was scared of the beast. Nero, like him, needed action, and only one of them
was still up to it. But whereas such a thought would once have pained him,
Huntley had changed and accepted the facts for what they were.

Since his
proposal, everything had fallen into place. With Hope as his wife, he had a
future, with Hope by his side, running the estate. It meant keeping laborers in
work and ensuring they had food. It wasn’t what he'd dreamed of as a boy, but
it was enough for him as a man. And to prove that to Hope, here he was starting
to lay the past to rest.

Huntley liked
this time of year and it was good to be outdoors even if the wind was getting
up. Autumn reminded him of childhood games and chasing his brothers through
drifts of fallen leaves. In no time, he'd left Sandehope behind to take the
Boureham road. Five miles inland, Boureham was the nearest town. Whereas
Sandehope served the sea, fisher folk and the like, it was at Boureham people
went to for fancy goods, to visit milliners, drapers, silversmiths and
jewellers.

Huntley reached
the town in good time. He had a specific ring in mind, an opal set with
diamonds—mirroring the colours of the sea, just like Hope's eyes. The jeweler
was all unctuous agreement, having just such an opal in stock. He promised to
have the ring made up within the week. Finding himself well pleased with the
morning's work, Huntley awarded himself lunch at a tavern.

Replete and in a
good mood, as Huntley clambered up into the gig and took up the ribbons, he
realised he wasn’t yet ready to return to the Grange. Leaving the town behind,
trotting along the country lanes, he was struck with the idea of visiting the
Custom’s Office. It was, he decided, time to make his peace with every part of
his past. 

The Custom's
Office was just as he remembered, the leaded windows facing the harbor,
watching the comings-and-goings. Huntley drew to a halt outside and somewhat
stiffly, climbed down. His injured leg ached and with a motion that was
becoming a habit, he rubbed his thigh. He reached up into the gig for his cane,
for to start afresh ,which meant admitting he needed to walk with a stick.