Marrying Miss Hemingford (17 page)

‘I understand,' she said quietly. ‘I am a meddlesome female. You are perfectly able to put your own case.'

‘But Miss Hemingford has the right of it,' George pointed out. ‘You need help if you are not to wear yourself out and then you would be no use to your patients or anyone else. I will be glad to recommend a pupil to assist you, but until he arrives, I will be your assistant.'

‘You?' Justin almost laughed, then, realising his friend was serious, added, ‘Do you mean it? It's not the kind of work you are used to.'

‘All the more reason to do it. How can I inculcate the notion of service in my pupils, if I do not practise what I preach? Besides, I am interested in your plans and would like to be involved.'

‘Splendid!' Anne said, glad the uncomfortable moment with the doctor had passed. ‘I shall not need to go to the consulting rooms again if you are there. To tell the truth, I think I am better employed organising our fundraising activities.' She looked across at Aunt Bartrum,
who seemed visibly relieved at this statement. ‘We are holding a day of horse racing and sport on the Belle Vue Fields next Thursday and a grand charity ball at the Old Castle the following Monday week. We hope by then to have a tidy sum, sufficient for Dr Tremayne to start looking for premises. I do hope you will join in. We could co-opt you on to our committee. What do you think, Lady Mancroft?'

Her ladyship, mollified that Anne had deferred to her as the senior ranking lady present, quickly included the newcomer in the discussion about how the games should be organised and Anne was able to slip away. She needed a quiet moment to compose herself.

She found the room on the first floor, which had been set aside for the ladies to refresh their toilette, and sank into the corner of a
chaise longue.

She had fallen into a coil of her own making. From a simple wish to help the poor and ill people of the town, she had progressed to wanting a hospital and that had led to involving others with more influence than she had, and now there was a committee and half the town talking about it. Even the Prince Regent. None of that would have bothered her if it had not been for her personal feelings for the man at the centre of it all.

She was reminded of the snowballs she used to make with Harry at Sutton Park when they were children. The more they rolled them, the bigger they became. For a few minutes she relaxed and allowed her memory to linger. She could see again the hill in the park and Harry and herself, wrapped up in warm coats, mufflers and fur-lined boots, careering down it, pushing the ball of snow until it
was bigger than they were. It fell apart at the bottom, shattered into a pile of white powder and they had rolled in it, screaming with laughter. In spite of having lost both parents in a dreadful coaching accident, they had been happy children. They had a home with their grandfather and wanted for nothing, except a little discipline perhaps, and someone warm and soft to cuddle. Fond as she had been of the old man, she would never have dared go so far as to embrace him.

Grandpa. Had she mourned him as she should? Enjoy yourself, he had commanded her from the grave, but her attempts at enjoyment had fallen more flat than she could ever have imagined. There was less joy than anguish. She loved a man of whom her aunt did not approve as a possible husband for her, but that was not the worst of it; that could be overcome. The worst of it was that while Dr Tremayne had kissed her and set her limbs on fire with longing, he had spoken no words of love, had regretted it with an apology, while at the same time suggesting it was all her fault. And at the back of her mind was the memory of him kissing his sister-in-law. How could she have been such a ninny?

What would Harry make of it? She had always been close to her twin, able to tell him everything. Perhaps if she went home… But how could she, when she had been the instigator of the fund raising and so much depended on it? The hospital was a necessity if poor children like those she had seen that morning were to be helped. Her thoughts went round and round, while she tried to lose herself deeper into the sofa.

She sat up with a jerk as Mrs Tremayne glided into the
room and went over to the dressing table to look in the mirror. Believing herself alone, she turned her head this way and that, touched her finger to her fair hair and smiled to herself. Suddenly catching sight of Anne in the reflection of the room behind her, she whirled round. ‘Why, Miss Hemingford, I did not see you at first. Why are you hiding?'

‘I am not hiding, Mrs Tremayne, I am resting.'

‘Too much for you, is it? All this attention.'

‘I do not know what you mean.'

‘Everybody rallying round you to help open a hospital. It is a vast undertaking and one requiring a great deal of money and—what shall we say?—aplomb. I think you have bitten off more than you can swallow, my dear.'

‘Oh, that! It is a little tiring, but it is a good cause and I assure you I am perfectly able to swallow whatever I chew.'

‘It will never come to fruition, certainly not with Justin at the centre of it.' She took a step towards Anne to stand over her, meaning, Anne was sure, to intimidate her.

‘Why do you say that?'

‘Because he is only playing at being a doctor. He has these fancies, you know, but they do not last. First he must go to sea and not even as a fighting man, but a surgeon, and then he must travel, and then he suddenly decided he would like to live in a slum and experience poverty at first hand. It is all a gull, he is not poor, or anything like it, and the whim will pass just as all the others have.'

‘You mean he is not a proper doctor?' The question was forced from her.

Sophie's laughter peeled out. ‘It depends what you mean by proper. His behaviour is most improper, but if you mean has he qualified, then I believe he has. But that is nothing to the point; studying medicine was another of his fancies. The developers will pull his house down and he will realise how foolish he has been and return home where he belongs.'

Anne was relieved to hear that the doctor had not been duping people about his qualifications. As for improper behaviour; her cheeks burned at the memory. How much did this woman know? Had the doctor confided in her? She pulled herself together to answer coolly, ‘There is nothing reprehensible in wanting to help those who are not in a position to help themselves. I am sure Dr Tremayne is sincere in that.'

Unable to intimidate her, Sophie sank on to the sofa beside her and tried a different tactic. ‘Of course he is sincere,' she confided. ‘That is half the trouble. He really believes what he is doing at the time. It is only when the project, whatever it is, palls and he is off again that the dear people he has involved in it realise his capricious nature. Believe me, it will happen again and you will be left high and dry.'

‘I am sure you are wrong.'

‘My dear, I have known him for a long time.' She gave a light laugh. ‘If you have been taken in by him, I do most sincerely caution you. It would not do, you know. I do not know how deep your pockets are, but wealth alone is not enough. He would never marry beneath him.'

Anne was so furious she jumped to her feet. ‘Just how far beneath him do you suppose me to be?'

‘I am sure I do not know, but if you can grub around at those filthy consulting rooms of his, you cannot be far up the social scale.'

Anne began to laugh and sat down again, hugging her arms round her in her mirth, until the tears came to her eyes. There was something frenetic about it.

‘Why are you laughing? I was not jesting.'

She was about to enlighten her tormentor, but then decided to not to do so. It would be a diversion to play along with her and see how she reacted when she finally learned the truth. ‘Oh, no reason,' she said, wiping her eyes. ‘The idea of a man choosing to live in poverty when he does not need to, I suppose. That's doing it too brown.'

‘As I said, he has these notions. He may fancy acting the philanthropist, but you note he is not using his own blunt.'

‘But he has done so and spent it all.'

‘Gammon!'

Anne did not know what to believe. There had always been a mystery surrounding the doctor, even her aunt had said so, which might have been why she was against him. But she did not want to believe that he had deliberately misled people, that he was a fraudster. Surely she would have known, would have detected it in his manner? She found herself thinking about his manner. When he was not kissing her, melting her limbs until they were liquid with desire, he had a gentle and caring manner and there was no doubt the poor people he treated held him in the highest regard. Surely they could not all be wrong?

‘I shall bring him to his senses,' Sophie said, sensing her uncertainty. ‘He will come home with me to Sevenelms where he belongs, so I suggest you retrench before you are hurt. Do not encourage him in his folly.'

Anne did not answer; her tears of laughter had dried on her cheeks and made her skin feel taut. She no longer felt like laughing. There was so much to think about. Was Dr Tremayne really wealthy? Did he come from a notable family? Aunt Bartrum had certainly said she thought he was higher in the social scale than he pretended, but why would anyone do that? And where was Sevenelms? Was it a village? An estate? Or simply the name of a house? If she had been duped, then so had all the good people of Brighton who had subscribed to the hospital project. And she had been instrumental in bringing that about! How mortifying that would be, not only for her but Aunt Bartrum and Harry too, if it all turned out to be a hum.

She was roused from her reverie by Sophie's soft laugh. ‘Give up, my dear. A nobody of a do-gooder has no hope of capturing him.' She stopped speaking as the Barry girls came into the room, laughing at a joke one of the lieutenants had made.

Anne rose and left the room with all the dignity she could muster.

Back in the crowded drawing room she found her aunt in conversation with Captain Gosforth. Mrs Bartrum was laughing like a schoolgirl, her cheeks a little pink. She turned when she saw Anne. ‘There you are, my dear, we have been wondering what had become of you. There is to be music and the Captain is endeavouring to persuade me
to sing, but I fear I am not up to standard for a public performance…'

‘Of course you are, Aunt, you have a beautiful singing voice.'

‘There, what did I tell you?' Walter put in. ‘I will be happy to accompany you.' He smiled and bent his head lower and Anne caught his whisper. ‘Not only tonight, but always…'

So he had declared himself at last. Her aunt, whose pink cheeks became even rosier, tapped his arm with her fan. ‘Captain, you go too far.'

‘I beg you to forgive me. Impatience, don't you know.'

Her aunt was prevailed upon to entertain the company and then others were persuaded to sing or play and all the time Anne looked about her for Dr Tremayne, determined to face him out with Mrs Tremayne's accusations. But he was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where is Dr Tremayne?' she asked the Major, as the recital came to an end amid generous applause.

‘He was called away. Urgent, he said.'

‘Oh.' Their confrontation would have to wait. But she was determined it would not wait too long.

 

The party broke up at midnight with everyone promising to attend the races. Anne, still unsure of whether to believe Mrs Tremayne, was tempted to confide in her aunt as they were carried home in the carriage, but decided against it. Until she was sure, she would say nothing.

‘Do you know, that foolish man has misunderstood,' her aunt said.

‘Foolish man?' she queried, still thinking of the doctor. ‘What has he misunderstood?'

‘That I am only in Brighton for your sake. He appears to think that, being a widow, I am in want of a husband…'

‘Oh, you mean the Major.'

‘No, I do not,' she said sharply. ‘I mean Captain Gosforth. He has been talking the most arrant nonsense and will not believe that I have been trying to promote you. It is all very vexing…'

‘Is it, Aunt? I should have thought you would be pleased…'

‘How can I be pleased when I have failed you so badly?'

‘But you have not failed me. I told you from the start I was not thinking of marriage; if you turn him away on my account, I shall be the one who is vexed.'

‘We had to fall back on the Captain after you told me the Major was already spoken for,' she went on, ignoring Anne's protests. ‘Though who it can be I do not know. I have not noticed him paying particular attention to anyone else. I believe you may be mistaken in that and he simply said that to encourage you…'

Anne was glad of the darkness of the coach to conceal her smile. Not for the world would she hurt her aunt by making fun of her. ‘If that is so, then I am afraid he will be disappointed. He is an amiable man, but not for me.'

‘Oh, Anne, you are not still wearing the willow for Dr Tremayne, are you?'

‘No, of course not,' Anne said quickly, too quickly to convince her aunt. ‘And I wish you would not prose on about him.'

‘Anne, I have been hearing rumours…'

Anne's breath caught in her throat and her voice was husky. ‘What rumours?'

‘That he was once engaged…'

‘So?'

‘I believe he was the one to break it off.'

‘Who told you this?'

‘The Major. He had it from Captain Smollett and one must suppose that the Captain learned it from Mrs Tremayne, so it must be true.' She paused while Anne digested this information. ‘I was right about his rank. He is the second son of Viscount Rockbourne.'

For the second time that night, Anne's laughter was almost hysterical. ‘First he is looked down upon as inferior; then, when we discover he is a man of substance after all, he is still not acceptable in society because he has done something so dishonourable as to renege on a betrothal,' she spluttered. ‘Do you not find that amusing?'