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There was a rusty iron trap snapped shut around her skirts, its teeth grinning at her in an evil parody of a smile. Lavender felt a little faint as she realised how close she had come to stepping on it. Another few inches and it would have been her leg between those metal jaws, her bones broken without a doubt. She had seen traps before, man-traps and spring-guns and leg-breakers like this one set to catch poachers, but she had had no idea that she might stumble on such a thing in Steep Wood. She could not imagine who would have set such a trap.
Worse was to come. From her position prone in the grass she could no longer see Barney, but it seemed impossible that he had not heard the trap going off or the alarm call of the birds as they scattered into the tops of the trees at the sudden noise. Panicking, Lavender tried to get to her feet, then sat down again in a hurry when the weight of the trap made her over-balance. She could not prise it open and it was too heavy for her to pick up, though she would definitely have made a run for it, trap and all, if she could have done so. She could now hear footsteps, coming closer, and she knew they had to belong to Barney. She closed her eyes in an agony of mortification.
There was a step in the grass beside her, then Barney’s voice said, ‘Miss Brabant! What in God’s name—’
Lavender opened her eyes. The wind was ruffling his thick dark hair as he stared down at her from what seemed a great height. He had a casual shooting jacket slung over his shoulder, and at close quarters she could see that his buckskins fitted like a second skin and his shirt was still clinging to his muscular torso. Feeling hot and very peculiar, Lavender closed her eyes again.
She was not sure what was the most embarrassing aspect of her current situation. Perhaps it was being found in such an undignified tumble by such an attractive man, or perhaps the fact that he would guess she had been spying on him was even more embarrassing. She kept her eyes closed and hoped he would go away.
He did not. Lavender reluctantly opened her eyes again.
She saw his gaze go to the cut in her leg, and tweaked her skirts down as best she could, but not before he had seen the tell-tale trickle of blood. He frowned and went down on one knee beside her in the grass.
‘You are injured! Have you fallen and hurt yourself—’
The trap was all but covered by Lavender’s skirts. She gestured towards it. ‘As you can see, sir, I have had an accident.’
Barney’s gaze went from her reddening face to the rusty trap. He bit his lip. Lavender would have sworn that he was about to laugh.
‘Oh dear. I see. Presumably it is too heavy for you to hobble home?’
Lavender’s face reddened even more, this time with fury. ‘Your amusement is misplaced, sir! It is not remotely funny that people go around setting traps strong enough to break a man’s leg! If you cannot find anything more constructive to say, perhaps you should leave me to deal with it as best I may!’
‘I’m sorry.’ Barney spoke gently. ‘Take comfort from the fact that it did not in fact break any bones. Although,’ his gaze turned back to her ankle, which Lavender was trying to hide under her skirts, ‘I did think that you had sustained a graze…’
‘It is nothing!’ Lavender snapped. She did not think that she was spoilt but she felt she was entitled to feel a little sorry for herself. The refusal of this man to sympathise with her predicament was infuriating. Barney was still kneeling by her side and she wished that he would just go away.
‘My sister Ellen was caught in a man-trap in these woods once,’ he said conversationally. ‘She was not as fortunate as you, Miss Brabant. She fell into the pit and pierced her arm on a spike. She bears the scar to this day.’
Lavender was silenced. Suddenly the tears of shock and self-pity were not far away. She sniffed and turned her head away so that he would not see.
‘I am sorry,’ she said, a little stiffly, ‘but who would do such a thing—’
‘The Marquis of Sywell, I imagine.’ Barney had picked up the trap and was attempting unsuccessfully to open it. ‘He used to derive much pleasure from maiming and killing—man or beast, it did not matter. This is an old trap of his, I am sure.’ He looked at her. ‘I am sorry, but I cannot move it. You will have to take off your skirt.’
He spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone that at first Lavender did not register the sense of his words. Then she did and forgot her tears in her outrage. She glared at him. ‘How can you be so nonsensical, Mr Hammond! I shall do no such thing!’
Barney grinned. ‘Come now, Miss Brabant, this is no time to be missish! I had thought you had more sense than most ladies of your class, but it seems I was wrong!’ He stood up. ‘Have no concern for my feelings! I have three sisters and shall not be shocked!’
Lavender stared, open-mouthed. It had not occurred to her that he was about to watch.
‘But Mr Hammond, you must go away!’
‘Miss Brabant,’ Barney gave her a quizzical smile, ‘if I am to help you, I must stay.’
Lavender tried to struggle to her feet and stumbled as the weight of the trap bore her down again. Immediately, Barney’s arm was about her waist. She could feel the warmth of his hand through the cotton of her dress.
‘Let me assist you—’
‘No!’ Lavender almost yelped with fright at his touch. ‘Go away! I can manage perfectly well!’
She realised that she did indeed sound like one of the hen-witted society girls that she so despised. Barney was laughing at her, a twinkle deep in those dark eyes.
‘If I let you go you will fall over. Now, pray be sensible, Miss Brabant. You will either need to remove the skirt or at the very least, rip off the offending piece—’
‘Thank you,’ Lavender said, knowing that she sounded sulky. ‘I had worked that out for myself! If you will stand a little off, Mr Hammond, I shall do what is necessary!’
Barney gave her another grin and let her go very gently. Once Lavender had found her balance she discovered that she could manage perfectly well, and was even able to hop into the shelter of a nearby oak, dragging the trap behind her. Having checked suspiciously that Barney was being as good as his word and had turned his back, she slipped her skirt off, her fingers clumsy in their haste. Once she was free of it, it was a relatively simple matter to tear off the strip that was caught, and rearrange the rest about her as decently as possible. When she had finished, she decided that she looked almost respectable, if a little odd. The left-hand side of the skirt was a little lop-sided at the hem, showing a couple of inches of petticoat and an entirely improper glimpse of ankle, but it could have been so much worse. Her leg was sore and stiff from the cut, but she was tolerably certain that she could manage to limp home.
Barney was whistling again, the lilting tune that she had heard earlier. As she came out of the shade of the trees he turned to look at her, and Lavender’s heart did a little skip at his long, slow scrutiny.
‘Can you manage to walk home, Miss Brabant, or shall I carry you?’ he asked. ‘I saw that you had a nasty cut to your leg.’
‘I can manage, I thank you,’ Lavender said, feeling quite weak at the thought of Barney picking her up in his arms.
‘Then I shall carry your bag rather than your person,’ Barney said, stooping to pick up the bag with Lavender’s sketches and crayons. ‘I should not like to outrage your sensibilities any further.’
‘There is no need to accompany me at all,’ Lavender argued, her temper decidedly scratchy by now. ‘And whilst we are settling our differences, Mr Hammond, I must ask you not to make patronising assumptions about me! I am no feather-brained girl to fall into a swoon just because I have a small accident! If it comes to that, you are very different inside your father’s shop from out of it, but you do not hear me making ill-bred observations!’
There was a taut silence, but for a wood pigeon cooing in the branches above their heads. Then Barney gave a slight nod. His gaze was very steady.
‘Very well, Miss Brabant. I accept your reproof—if you will accept my escort back home.’
Lavender shrugged with an ill grace. She went ahead of him to the path, trying not to limp too obviously as she struggled with brambles and the grasping stems of dog rose that seemed determined to rip the rest of her skirt from her. She was beginning to wish that she had never let curiosity get the better of her when she had heard the fencing match.
Pride could only get her so far. Eventually they came to a place where a fallen tree had blocked the path, and she was obliged to accept Barney’s hand to help her over it. After that he walked by her side, kicking a stray branch from her path and holding back the straggling stems of rose and bindweed whenever they threatened to catch on her clothes. Lavender tried to repress the treacherous feeling of warmth that this engendered, but it was impossible not to feel more in charity with him for such gallantry. Then, when they had been walking in silence for about five minutes, he said, ‘I infer from your remark about my being a different person outside the shop that you saw the fencing match, Miss Brabant?’
Lavender stole a quick look at his face and blushed.
‘I am sorry…It is not that I was watching, but the noise of the contest attracted my notice and I stopped to see what was happening—’
‘I see.’ She thought Barney sounded as though he saw rather too much. ‘No doubt you were surprised?’
‘Well, I…’ Lavender struggled to think of a way of expressing her feelings without sounding rude. ‘I suppose I was. It was not something that I expected you…’ She broke off. ‘That is, you seemed very proficient—’ She stopped again. Now she had given away that she had been watching long enough to make a judgement.
‘Thank you.’ Barney was smiling at her. ‘No doubt it must seem odd to you, but I have been fencing since I was a boy. James Oliver, my opponent a few moments back, was also my first adversary. I met him and a few of his aristocratic playmates when I was about eleven, and walking in the forest.’ He shot her a look. ‘They taunted me, the poor village boy, and I was so angry that I challenged James to a fight. Imagine my dismay when he suggested we should fight with swords, like gentlemen rather than peasants, as he put it!’
Lavender could not help smiling at his droll tone. ‘What happened?’
The laughter lines around Barney’s eyes deepened. ‘Well, no doubt I was a little unorthodox in my style, but I discovered that I had a natural bent for fencing! I beat James easily and then he and his friends did not crow so loud! And since then he has sworn he will beat me one day, but he has yet to do so!’
‘He seems a better friend to you now than he must have been then,’ Lavender ventured, for one of the things that had struck her about the two men was their easy camaraderie.
Barney laughed. ‘Oh, he learned respect! No, James is a good fellow at heart and I have counted him a friend for many years now.’ He hesitated. ‘All the same, Miss Brabant, I should be grateful if you told no one that you witnessed our match.’
Lavender stopped, taken aback. ‘Of course, if you wish it! But is this some strange kind of reverse snobbery that prompts you not to acknowledge your aristocratic friends, Mr Hammond?’
She could have bitten her tongue out as soon as she had spoken, for she knew she did not know him well enough to ask such a personal and challenging question. Whilst Lavender had little time for the commonplaces and evasions of polite society, she did at least feel that she always spoke with courtesy. This time, however, she had been lured by the unusual nature of their conversation into asking a rather direct question. She saw Barney raise his eyebrows at her plain speaking, but he did not seem in any way taken aback and he answered her without prevarication.
‘Not at all. The truth is that I prefer not to tell anyone. Were my father to know I fear he would take shameless advantage.’
Lavender turned aside and started walking again. She felt a little embarrassed. She knew exactly what he meant. Arthur Hammond was such a social climber that he would be beside himself with excitement to discover that Barney had such upper-class friends. No doubt he would use the fact to push himself on their notice and ruin the comfortable companionship that existed.
‘Have you kept it a secret for all these years, then?’ she asked, unable to prevent her curiosity surfacing again.
‘Oh, it is but one of many secrets!’ Barney said easily. Lavender saw a hint of amusement in his eyes as he watched her. ‘In general terms, Miss Brabant, I find it easier not to tell people things!’
Lavender struggled to equate this with what she thought she knew of him. It was true that most of it had been based on assumption and conjecture, about the shop, about his father, about his life…Just as he had apparently seen her as a spoilt society miss, she had imagined him to be the son of a solid merchant family, destined inevitably to take over the business one day. Now, suddenly, all her ideas were in a spin.
They had reached the stile at the edge of the wood and paused whilst still under the shadows of the trees. The sun was slanting through the leaves in blinding shafts. Lavender put up a hand to shade her eyes.
‘Thank you for carrying my portfolio. I am sure I can manage from here back to Hewly—’
‘At the least, let me help you over the stile,’ Barney murmured. Before Lavender could either accept or decline, he had swept her up in his arms and deposited her on the other side, ruffled and indignant. She grabbed hold of him to steady herself. The material of his shirt was soft beneath her fingers and once again, Lavender could feel the warmth and the hardness of the muscle beneath. She positively jumped away from him.
‘Really, sir—’
‘Miss Brabant? Surely you did not wish to risk further injury to your ankle?’
Barney handed her the portfolio. ‘Will you show me your drawings one day? I should be most interested…’
Lavender looked at him suspiciously but he seemed quite in earnest. ‘If you would truly care to see them—’
Barney flashed her a smile. ‘Thank you. I will leave you here, Miss Brabant, if you are sure that you can manage alone. And take care when you are walking in the forest. You can never be sure what you might find.’
Lavender felt the colour come into her cheeks again. His gaze was very steady and in a second, mortification overcame her. He had made no direct reference to her spying on the fencing match that afternoon, but suddenly her guilty conscience was too much and she was sure that he knew—knew that it was not the first time she had watched him. Some two months previously she had been wandering through the woods where the river ran, and had seen Barney in the pool beneath the trees. He had been swimming strongly and the water had streamed over his bare brown shoulders and down his back, and Lavender had wanted to strip down to her shift and join him in the water there and then…A huge wash of guilty colour swept into her face, and she turned and ran from him, regardless of her torn skirt, the pain in her leg, and the amazed expression she knew must be on his face as he watched her run away.
Chapter Three
‘Lavender, you have had a Friday face for at least the past week!’ Caroline observed to her sister-in-law, ten days later. ‘I declare, you are making me miserable, and I was in the greatest good spirits until this morning! Whatever can be the matter with you?’
Lavender refused to look up from her book. She did not want to face Caroline’s shrewd questioning at the moment. They were sitting in the drawing-room, Caroline embroidering and Lavender half-heartedly reading Sense and Sensibility. She was dismally aware that she was not enjoying herself—and had not done so ever since her disastrous encounter with Barney Hammond in the wood.
The scratch on her leg had healed quickly, but her feelings were still sore. She was uncomfortably aware that she had made a complete cake of herself. It had been undignified enough to have been caught in the man-trap but she had made matters infinitely worse for herself by running away in so melodramatic a fashion.
‘It is nothing of consequence,’ she muttered, knowing she sounded ungracious. ‘I am sorry if my poor spirits are lowering to yours. I shall go into the library.’
She made to get up, but Caroline put out a hand to stay her.
‘Do not sulk! I was only teasing.’ She patted the sofa beside her and Lavender sat down reluctantly. ‘In fact I have the best of news! You know that Lewis is to go to Northampton on business for a few days?’
Lavender nodded.
‘Well, by great good chance I have just had a letter from Lady Anne Covingham this morning. The family are at Riding Park for a se’nnight from Friday, and urge us to join them. It will be the very thing! We may stay at the Park and visit in Northampton, and be as merry as grigs!’
Lavender fidgeted uneasily. ‘I am not sure,’ she said doubtfully. ‘I do not feel inclined for company at the moment, Caro—’
Caroline opened her eyes wide. ‘Upon my word, you are very retiring at present! I know you did not enjoy your London Season, but you are perfectly at ease in good company and the Covinghams are not so high in the instep to put one in dislike! Why, they have always treated me with friendship even when I worked for them!’ Her face changed. ‘But I shall not force you to go if you do not wish it. If you will not be comfortable, dearest Lavender, you must stay here—’
Lavender shook her head. The thought of staying at Hewly on her own seemed even worse than that of going away. Impatient with herself, she smiled at her sister-in-law.
‘I’m sorry, Caro. Take no notice of me, I am in a fit of the megrims at the moment! A change of scene is just what I need.’
‘Capital!’ Caroline smiled. ‘I shall write to Anne directly. You will see, Lavender—it shall be just the thing!’
Their first evening at Riding Park was a comfortable one. The house party was small and consisted only of themselves, Lady Anne Covingham and her husband Lord Freddie, and the youngest Covingham daughter, Frances. Frances was eighteen and a lively brunette, and Lavender eyed her with caution. She had met girls like Frances Covingham during her London Season, and was miserably aware that she had nothing in common with them.
Lady Anne was exactly as Caroline had promised. Small, dark and vivacious, she possessed a warmth of manner that immediately made Lavender feel at home. Lord Freddie was equally charming and they all seemed utterly delighted to see Caroline again, and to get to know her new family. Miss Covingham in particular was thrilled to see her old governess and fell on Caroline’s neck with tears of joy.
They dined en famille the first night, with no ostentatious display of plate or silver, though Lady Anne was at pains to explain that this was not out of a lack of respect for their visitors, but simply because they considered Caroline so much a part of the family. She explained that there was to be a dinner and ball in a few days, but in the meantime they preferred the house party to be informal. As though to underline this fact, the gentlemen did not linger over their port, but rejoined the ladies quickly for tea in the drawing-room, where Miss Covingham played a number of Schubert pieces. She performed prettily and with competence and Lavender, who had never been musical, felt her fragile spirits sink again. She was glad that no one asked her to play, for after Frances’s skill she knew she would have sounded like an elephant clattering over the keys.
When Frances had finished, she came over to the window-seat and sat down next to Lavender with a smile. Lavender smiled back, a little hesitantly.
‘You play very well, Miss Covingham! You must have a natural talent for music!’
Frances laughed, her big brown eyes sparkling. ‘Truth to tell,’ she confided, ‘the credit for my playing should go to Miss Whiston—Mrs Brabant, that is. I was a terrible pupil and though I shall never be truly talented, Mrs Brabant persisted until I was at least no embarrassment!’ She smiled across at Caroline, who was deep in conversation with Lady Anne. ‘Oh, it was a sad day for me when Miss Whiston left us, for she was the greatest good friend to us all!’
‘You must have missed her a lot,’ Lavender ventured.
Frances gave her a dazzling smile. ‘Oh, prodigiously! My two sisters were already married, you see, and I was very lonely! But we always fought over who should have Miss Whiston, for we were all most attached to her! When she married, my sister Louisa wanted Miss Whiston to go with her as her companion, you know, but Harriet and I could not bear to spare her! And Miss Whiston said that it would be better for Louisa and Cheverton to have some time on their own.’ She frowned. ‘Louisa is volatile, you know, and she and Cheverton were forever arguing! But they rub along tolerably well together now and have two delightful babies, so I suppose they must have settled their differences!’
Lavender blinked slightly at this insight into the Cheverton marriage. ‘And your other sister, Miss Covingham—Harriet, is it? You said that she is married as well?’
Her sisters’ marriages were evidently a perennially interesting topic with Frances, who wriggled slightly on the window-seat as she settled down for a really good gossip.
‘Oh yes, Miss Brabant, Harriet is married to Lord John Farley—Stapleton’s heir, you know. But I fear they do not suit.’ Her round face took on a doleful expression. She leaned closer to Lavender and dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Mama and Papa were not at all happy about the match, you know, but Harri is headstrong and threatened to elope! Well, she nearly set the house by the ears! Mama was in a fit of the vapours and Papa was storming around and threatening to horsewhip the fellow, until Miss Whiston made everyone calm. She spoke to Harriet, you know, but she could not persuade her! I was listening at the door, and heard Miss Whiston—Mrs Brabant—tell Harri that Farley was a womaniser who would make her unhappy, but Harri was hot for him and would not listen!’ Frances shrugged her plump white shoulders philosophically. ‘So in the end Papa gave his consent and they were married and now,’ she dropped her voice confidentially, ‘he keeps a mistress quite openly and Harri is as miserable as sin!’
She sat back and opened her eyes very wide. ‘Now what do you think of that, Miss Brabant!’
‘I am sorry for your sister,’ Lavender said truthfully. ‘It must be a dreadful thing to love a man who does not care as much for you.’
‘Oh, Harri fancied herself in love with him,’ Frances said, assuming a world-weary air that seemed far in advance of her years, ‘but it was all a nonsense! Why, now she has a tendre for another gentleman, and is thinking of running off with him—’ She broke off, seeing that both Caroline and her mother were eavesdropping, and bit her lip. ‘Anyway, I should not gossip so! But Harri has caused me no end of trouble,’ she added gloomily, ‘because I was to have my come-out this year, but with all the fuss over Harri’s wedding, Mama thought it best to wait until I was older and more sensible! She says that the three of us are headstrong and flighty but I would never be so foolish!’
Lavender laughed. She was finding it impossible to dislike Frances Covingham. On the one hand she epitomised everything that Lavender had always thought she had an aversion to in young ladies. She was dark and modish, and had no interest in scholarship and a fascination with fashion and gossip that Lavender found quite tedious. On the other hand, she was clearly a sweet-natured girl and Caroline had obviously worked hard to instil in her a set of values that went beyond the money and consequence granted by her position. Lavender realised that Frances’s uncomplicated warmth and friendliness were a far cry from the haughty snobbery that she had encountered during her London Season.
Frances smoothed her skirts. ‘Forgive me, Miss Brabant. I am such a sad rattle! Tell me about yourself, and about Hewly Manor. It sounds a delightful place…’
‘Oh, I am a poor subject of conversation,’ Lavender said hastily, ‘but I am always happy to talk of Hewly! It is a beautiful house and I love to wander in the grounds and the countryside—’
‘By yourself?’ Frances looked struck halfway between incredulity and respect. ‘Only fancy!’
‘Oh yes, for there is no danger in the woods and lanes—’
Lavender broke off, remembering that sometimes one met with the unexpected in Steep Wood.
‘Fancy!’ Miss Covingham repeated vaguely. ‘Indeed, it sounds delightfully pastoral!’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘You will be sorry to leave Hewly when you marry then, Miss Brabant!’
Lavender frowned slightly at what seemed to be a non sequitur. ‘Oh! But there is no likelihood of that, Miss Covingham! I am well past my last prayers and do not intend to marry!’
