The Danbury Scandals (15 page)

She turned and
went into the house and up to her room. Even there, she could not escape; her
window overlooked the park, where everyone had gathered in such high spirits
for the start and finish of the race and where they now milled about,
discussing the disaster and speculating about the reason for it. The
speculation would go on for days, weeks perhaps, and it had not been helped by
Mark’s outburst. What had made him say it? What justification was there for it?
He had been responsible for laying out the course, not Adam.

Her knees
buckled and she sank on to her bed as Beth Markham’s words came forcefully to
her mind. ‘Luck will not be enough. If you are determined to win, then you will
need more help than that.’ They found an echo in the woodman’s words: ‘‘Elp he
said he needed, and ‘elp ‘e shall ‘ave.’

From across the
room, her reflection came back at her from the long mirror, a white-faced,
wide-eyed young lady in a torn white gown, covered in mud and blood. Her hair
had come down and there was a leafy twig caught in it. It was like looking at a
stranger, a wild, deranged stranger. ‘Meet Miss Maryanne Paynter,’ she said,
with a cracked laugh. ‘Granddaughter of the fourth Duke of Wiltshire, intended
bride of the Honourable Mark Danbury and prize fool. Oh...’ The girl in the
mirror put a hand up that shook uncontrollably, and removed the twig. ‘Correct
that. Not the Honourable Mark, things have changed; he is the Marquis of
Beckford now that his lordship is the new Duke. The lady has made a good
match.’

She flung
herself back on the bed and pulled the pillow over her head, both to deny that
accusing reflection and shut out the sounds from outside, but she could not
shut out her thoughts. They whirled about in her head, giving her no peace, and
at their centre was a tall proud figure of a man with laughing brown eyes and
gentle hands. ‘Oh, Adam, why? Why?’ But she was not talking about the accident.

Chapter Six

Outside the sun
shone and the birds sang but inside the church was cold. Through the open door
Maryanne could see the grave-diggers, standing by the newly opened vault,
waiting to seal it again. Only the essential work of looking after the animals
was being done, and even the haymaking had been halted, so that all the estate
workers and servants could attend the funeral. They stood at the back, in their
Sunday best, heads downcast, fumbling with prayer books, and waited while
friends and relatives of the family filed into their places. The day seemed
timeless, eternal, caught between the living and the dead.

As the rector
began the service, Maryanne, standing beside a tight-lipped Mark, became aware
that a latecomer had tiptoed in through the open door and had slipped into a
pew at the back of the church. It was not until they turned to file out behind
the coffin that she realised, with a gasp of astonishment, that it was Adam; as
far as she knew he had left immediately after Henry’s body had been carried
into the house. She glanced at Mark, but he continued to acknowledge the
curtsies of the village women and the nodding heads of the men, and did not
appear to have noticed him. He had maintained that Adam’s departure and the
disappearance of the two workmen, who had not been estate workers at all and
had probably been paid by the Frenchman to upset the logs, was a sure sign of
the man’s guilt, and he would never dare show his face again. But here he was,
tall and upright as ever, his head held proudly, for all the world as if he had
a right to be among the congregation. If Mark had him arrested and she was
called upon to give evidence, what would she do? Could she maintain her
silence? Ought she to? She looked across the aisle at James, but he had not
seen him either.

He had
dismissed Mark’s accusations as something said in the heat of the moment, and
she could not bring herself to voice her own suspicions, even when he
questioned her about what had happened. She had suggested that Mr Saint-Pierre
himself was the best person to ask. ‘I would do so if I knew where he was,’ he
had said. ‘He is a most elusive gentleman. I tried to find him in London, but
by the time I had tracked him down he had left town.’

There had been
a note in his voice which reminded her of their earlier conversation about
Adam. Something had happened in the past which made him sad, someone he had
known, something he had done or not done, and Adam figured in it somewhere. It
made her feel guilty that she had not told him the truth about her rescue and her
visit to Robert Rudge’s home. ‘I spoke to him when he arrived here only minutes
before the race began,’ James had continued. ‘We arranged to talk later, but,
with all the commotion, he left before we could do so.’

She risked a
glance behind her, but Adam had not come out with the rest of the congregation.
She waited until the interment was over and the mourners were making their way
back to the house, then touched Mark’s arm. ‘I left my gloves in the pew; you
go on.’ Before he could offer to fetch them for her, she hurried back into the
church.

Adam was
standing looking up at the memorial tablets to generations of Danburys set in
the walls, but turned towards her when he heard her step. ‘Miss Paynter.’ He
inclined his head.

‘What are you
doing here?’ She found herself trembling as she stopped beside him. ‘Don’t you
think the family is upset enough without you intruding on their grief?’

‘I have no wish
to intrude.’ His voice was cold enough to send a chill through her heart. ‘I
came to pay my respects and offer my condolences.’

‘You know Mark
has accused you of deliberately...’ She paused. looking for a word other than
murder, though it was the one Mark had used.

‘I know.’

‘Then why come
back?’

He smiled
slowly, but the smile did not reach his brown eyes. ‘I said he was a rogue,
didn’t I? But even I did not think he would stoop so low.’

‘What do you
mean?’

‘The accident,
if accident it was, has made him a marquis and heir to a dukedom. And I make a
very good scapegoat.’ His voice was bitter.

She was shocked
into silence. It could not be true. Neither Mark nor Adam had wanted the Duke
dead; it had been a terrible accident caused by avarice and pride, but it was
not murder. ‘Oh, Adam, is there to be no end to it?’ It was only after she had
spoken that she realised she had used his given name and felt the colour rush
into her cheeks.

‘There has to
be an end,’ he said, controlling the anguish in his voice with an effort. Did
she know how beautiful she was, how difficult this was for him? ‘One way or
another we have to make an end of it. I am leaving to go back to France.’

‘Running away?’
It was out before she could stop it.

‘No.’ He wanted
to take her by the shoulders and shake her, to make her see what she was doing
to him, but if he touched her he knew he could never bring himself to leave
her. ‘I do not run away.’

She laughed.
‘Like a good general, doing what is expedient at the time, is that it? Will
you, like Napoleon, return with the violets?’

‘I do not think
so.’ He paused, watching her face. ‘The Danburys will be rid of me.’

‘Why do you
hate us so?’

‘Us? You
include yourself in that?’ he asked softly. ‘Do you know, I had never thought
of you as one of them?’ He put out a hand and lifted a stray curl from her
cheek with one finger and let it fall again. ‘I do not hate at all. If war has
taught me one thing, it is that hate is a dangerous and destructive emotion and
leads to muddled thinking and ill-considered actions.’

‘Then what have
you got against the family that needs a cool head and careful planning?’

He smiled.
‘Nothing, my dear Miss Paynter. It is over now. I came to say goodbye.’

Goodbye. The
word had such a finality about it that she wanted to cry. She had asked if
there was to be no end and, although she had been referring to the accusations
and enmity between him and Mark, he had answered her in his own way. She could
not look into his face for fear of betraying the misery she felt. ‘When do you
leave?’

‘Tomorrow I
sail from Portsmouth.’

‘Then go now,’
she said sharply. ‘Go before Mark finds you here. If he sees us together...’

‘Mark! Mark!
It’s always Mark with you, isn’t it? Well, so be it. I wish you happiness.’

She had meant
that if Mark arrived there would be more accusations, perhaps another
challenge, perhaps a constable sent for, and all she wanted was to prevent
that; but he was so angry that she could not explain.

‘And you? What
of you?’ Her voice was barely above a whisper. ‘Will you go back to the army if
Napoleon rises again?’

‘I may have
to.’

‘Then let us
pray he doesn’t, for it will make us enemies.’

‘What will you
do?’

‘Me? Go back to
the others...’

‘And pretend
nothing has happened?’

‘Nothing has
happened.’

‘No,’ he said
bitterly. ‘Nothing changes.’ He took a step towards her, then stopped. ‘
Sacre
Dieu!
This is impossible.’

‘What is
impossible?’

‘Saying
goodbye.’ He took her shoulders in his big hands and held her at arm’s length,
searching her face. ‘Come with me. Now...’

She was so
taken aback she could do nothing but stare up at him with wide violet eyes.
‘You must be out of your senses,’ she said at last. ‘I could not leave without
telling anyone, even if I wanted to, and if you think I am the sort of woman
who would desert the man I am engaged to marry to run off with the first
handsome rake who propositioned me, then you have made a big mistake.’

He threw back
his head and laughed aloud, making the sound echo round the empty church. ‘So I
am a handsome rake, am I? If that is how you think of me, then so be it, I will
give you something to remember.’ He took her face in his hands and lowered his
mouth to hers. She squirmed in his arms, but he would not let her go and his
lips were sweet on hers, making her tremble with longing. She gave up the
struggle and let herself go and then very slowly put her arms round his neck
and clung to him, returning his kisses. Her senses reeled and her knees
buckled, but she leaned into him and felt the warmth and strength of his body
against hers, supporting her. It was a moment she was to remember with bitter
tears and great anguish for a very long time.

‘Goodbye,
little duchess,’ he said softly, then put her from him and strode out of the
church. She sank into a pew and was still sitting there, in a daze, when Mark
came to find her.

‘Maryanne, what
are you doing?’ His voice burst stridently into her bemused brain. ‘I have been
waiting an age. Come along, do.’ He stopped speaking when he realised she had
not been listening. ‘Is anything wrong? You are not ill, are you?’

‘No.’ She
picked up her gloves and reticule and stood up slowly, testing the weakness in
her limbs, and was surprised to find that she could stand without falling over.
‘I felt a little faint. It’s the heat and this gown is so heavy.’

He took her
arm. ‘When everyone has left you can change. We must keep up appearances, but
it’s no use pretending we are all broken-hearted, is it? Henry was a wastrel,
even his own mother acknowledges that, and I for one do not intend to let it
make any difference to me.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Except it is gratifying to be
called "my lord" by all and sundry, though I am not so sure Father
likes being "Your Grace"; it doesn’t seem to fit him somehow.’

‘No,’ she said.
‘He is a man of the people.’

He looked
sideways at her. ‘Perhaps. But when I am the Duke of Wiltshire. I...’

‘Mark! How can
you speak so with your cousin hardly cold in his grave and your father still a
comparatively young man?’

He smiled. ‘No,
my dear, you are right to scold me. Now, as to the wedding...’

‘Whose
wedding?’

He stopped
walking and turned towards her. ‘Why, ours of course. It will have to be
postponed while we are officially in mourning, but we can still make plans for
it. The ceremony and reception will naturally be held here. And afterwards we
will make our home at Beckford Hall.’ He began walking again and she fell into
step beside him like an automaton. ‘Father will live here from now on and so
will Caroline until she marries. Henry was never right for her and I told her
so.’ He did not seem to be aware that she was only half listening. ‘I am going
to Beckford tomorrow. You will come, won’t you?’

‘If you wish.’

‘Of course I
wish it. You may want to make changes to the house; you can plan those while I
go round the estate. Where would you like to go for a wedding trip? Shall we go
to Italy? Now the war is over, there will be no difficulties. We could go to
Venice and Rome, or even Vienna. All the heads of state will be there for the
Congress...’

Too miserable
to stop him, too full of her parting from Adam, too beset by doubts and a
terrible sense of doom, Maryanne could not speak and allowed him to go on,
making one grandiose plan after another, until she could bear it no longer.

‘Stop! Stop!’
she cried out. ‘Can’t you see how impossible it is?’