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Sensing that her husband’s temper was straining at the leash and knowing she was the only one who could soothe it to manageable proportions, Caroline put a soothing hand on his arm, taking his glass and placing it on a side table. ‘Listen to what Amanda has to say, Henry,’ she voiced mildly, for there was something about her stepdaughter’s manner that alerted her to a state of affairs unknown to either of them. She smiled reassuringly at the young woman opposite, who returned her smile, grateful for her support.
‘Who is he?’ Henry demanded, hoisting himself to his feet and glaring at his daughter.
‘Christopher Claybourne.’
‘Do I know him?’
‘No, you couldn’t possibly.’
‘What sort of man is he—a gold-digger?’ he bellowed, holding on to his anger until he knew what the devil was going on. Amanda’s impulsiveness was not something he cared for.
Amanda sprang to her feet, anger flashing from her eyes, her voice harsh with tension. ‘No—far from it. That is a vile, horrible accusation and you have no right to speak that way of a man you have never met. Christopher has no use for your money, Father, and if you are to be offensive before you’ve listened to what I have to say, then there is no more to be said.’
Amanda looked ready to stride from the room, but Henry put a restraining hand on her arm, giving her a narrow, quizzical look. ‘Did you plan to outwit me by marrying this man? Is that it?’
The two faced each other in timeless attitudes of belligerence until Amanda capitulated and lowered her gaze. ‘Yes,’ she replied truthfully, knowing her father would be sure to detect a lie, ‘but I never meant to hurt you and I’m sorry if I’ve made you unhappy, but had you ever listened to me you would know that when it came to choosing a husband I would do it. When I went to Charleston, you hoped I would find a man to marry—a man you would consider suitable to be your son-in-law. Christopher was eminently suitable. Our marriage was sudden—just before I left Charleston. There was no time to write and let you know.’
She went on to explain her marriage to Christopher as best she could—the crime he had been accused of, and the sentence duly passed, she omitted. Her father looked at her, listening to what she had to say incredulously, reluctant to let go of his anger. ‘Christopher was a fine man, Father—handsome, too. You would have liked him. He also had an active interest in horses—he was a wonder with them—broke them in and trained them himself in a way you would have envied.’
Caroline stood up and went to her husband. His face was still angry. He wanted to curse, to explode with resentment, but, because he knew his wife in her own quiet way wanted him to listen to Amanda, he clamped his mouth shut.
In the space of seconds Caroline considered Amanda’s shuttered face and correctly assumed it was a façade to conceal some sort of deep hurt. ‘You speak of your husband in the past tense, Amanda,’ she remarked softly. ‘What did you mean when you said your father would have liked him? And why did he not come with you to England?’
Amanda turned her gaze on her stepmother, her eyes having taken on a pained, haunted look. ‘Christopher—he—he died.’ Her voice was soft and sad, no more than a whisper, and Caroline felt her heart go out to her.
‘Oh, my dear—I see. I’m so sorry. So your mourning is not only for your Aunt Lucy.’
‘No.’
Henry shook his head slowly as he tried to come to terms with his daughter’s situation and her loss. As suddenly as it had come, the dreadful fury vanished. ‘So—no sooner do you find a husband than he makes a widow of you. I’m sorry, lass.’ He became thoughtful. ‘He was a Claybourne, you say? One of the southern Claybournes? Not that I’m familiar with any of them.’
‘I—I believe so—although the family is large and I am uncertain as to which branch he belonged.’
‘Aye, well, he had the right pedigree and that’s what’s important. And he died, you say.’
She nodded. ‘A week after we left Charleston,’ she said, wording it to imply that Christopher had died on board ship while not actually telling an untruth. She imagined telling him the truth, and immediately cancelled the vision. Generous and loving he might be, but understanding he was not.
‘And has he left you well taken care of—financially?’
Amanda sighed. Trust her father to think of the money aspect. He might bluster his way through his social life, but when it came to business he was deadly earnest. ‘We—we were married for such a short time. Now he is dead I want to put it behind me. I don’t expect or want anything from his family.’
Henry frowned, thinking this highly irregular, but, seeing how despondent she seemed and not wishing to distress her unduly, he decided to let the matter rest for the time being. No doubt Quinn would provide him with the details.
‘Aye, well, I am sorry for your loss.’
Amanda nodded slightly, as if accepting his comfort. Inside she was full of self-disgust at deceiving her father.
‘So, you are a Claybourne now. I suppose it will take some getting used to. You’re also a widow and will be of age soon. You’re your own mistress and I can’t stop you doing what you will.’
Amanda put her arms about his rotund middle and placed her head on his shoulder. ‘I won’t disappoint you, Father, I promise.’
Peering down at her, suddenly anxious, he said, ‘It would be well for you to consider marrying again—and soon. I’m not getting any younger and I want to see you taken care of.’
‘Never fear.’ She laughed. ‘You’ll outlive us all—long enough to bounce your grandchildren on your knee.’
And so began a time of frenetic activity. Little was said of Amanda’s marriage and her dead husband—the subject was for the curious to speculate about and for her to try to forget. Casting off her mourning clothes in favour of grey and any dark colour other than black—following the precedent set by Queen Victoria after the death of her beloved Albert—Amanda relaxed and prepared to enjoy herself, trying steadfastly to keep her thoughts from wandering back to Christopher Claybourne.
She wasn’t always successful, for there were times when she recalled how his unfathomable eyes had locked on to hers as they had spoken their marriage vows, how, when he bent to kiss her lips, her own had parted and he stole her breath, taking it and more from her. She had never met anyone like him. There had been something in his eyes of another world to the one she knew—and she longed passionately to see it again, if only for a brief while.
Kit was the reason why she felt so restless and dissatisfied. All the young men she knew now seemed to her intolerably dull, contemptible, even, beside him.
Every time she found herself dwelling on Christopher Claybourne, in some peculiar way it felt as if he were trying to seduce her from beyond the grave. Angry with herself, at her own weakness, she would try to close her mind to him. It was incredibly stupid to think of her dead husband in this way, stupid and dangerous, too, for it only brought her torment and heartache.
Life was never dull at Eden Park. The house was used for entertaining on a vast scale, and whole sections had been set aside to accommodate staff, including the servants of weekend guests. Caroline had an enormous circle of friends and Amanda soon discovered that her stepmother’s energy was boundless as she concentrated on providing entertainment guaranteed to attract both friends and neighbours.
Weather permitting, there were luncheons served at a long table under the trees on the lawn and picnics on the moors, with hampers filled with every kind of delicacy to tempt the appetite, from pâté and lobster to the finest claret. There was croquet on the smooth grass, the increasingly popular game of lawn tennis, swimming for the men in the lake; then there were village fêtes to attend, and, in the evenings, dinner parties, with a string quartet playing lilting music in the background.
Amanda embraced the countryside and the countryside embraced her. Heads turned wherever she went and she was creditably besieged by young men who flocked to her side. Courted and sought after, she enjoyed herself to such an extent that her life began to resemble an obstacle course, but she allowed none of the pressing young men to come too close. Her father was right. She was her own mistress and could do as she liked. She was in no hurry to wed again.
Chapter Four
Autumn passed into winter and a jolly Christmas came and went. Henry liked things to run smoothly at Eden Park and kept a busy schedule. He always allowed himself enough time to indulge his passion for horses, travelling to horse sales near and far in his desire to buy only the finest horseflesh—hunters and Thoroughbreds alike. His search for a decent trainer wasn’t so simple. There were plenty of clever, knowledgeable men he could take on for the task, but he was determined to hold out for the best.
Amanda, an accomplished rider, shared her father’s love for the hunt, feeling there was no other thrill to compare with riding a courageous horse across fences and grass at speed, trying to keep up as close as possible to the pack of hounds hunting their fox. The challenge was manifest, the demands on her nerve clear, the test of her skill less easy to define, but the pleasure and thrill of the hunt were compounded of many other elements.
It was after one such day when they held the meet at Eden Park that Amanda went to her bed exhausted but content. A buffet had been provided for the hungry hunters of hot, spicy soup; roast beef; saddle of mutton, venison and pork and all the appropriate trimmings; cheese; jellies; tarts and pies for after. It had been a hectic day, with much hustle and bustle both above and below stairs as the servants worked feverishly to make sure everyone was replete with both food and drink.
The house was dark and totally silent when Amanda left her room. Surprised that she was unable to sleep following the day’s excitement, she padded down to the kitchens as the grandfather clock in the hall struck midnight, thinking a cup of hot milk might solve the problem. Sitting before the fire that Cook had banked down before going to bed, in an astonishingly tidy kitchen with no sign of the earlier chaos, she sipped her milk, feeling the hot liquid relaxing her. She took a quicker route back to her room, going quietly up the back stairs and along a narrow landing that passed through the servants’ quarters—not that many of the servants lived in at Eden Park. Most of them came from nearby Thurlow and went home after their day’s work.
Listening carefully for any small sound that might indicate that someone else was awake, she squinted in the darkness, having to be careful where she trod. She was just coming to the end of the landing when she heard a sudden cry coming from a room on her right. It was softly uttered, as if someone were in pain, but trying to stifle it. Greatly concerned, she moved towards the door, turning the knob and opening it to investigate.
She halted abruptly at the sight that confronted her. At first she could see little, the only light coming from the dying embers in the hearth and a single lamp at the side of the bed. But then she saw two figures so entwined they could easily have been one. Totally immersed in each other they were unaware of her presence. Her eyes saw the voluptuous nakedness of a young woman lying on the softness of the sheets. Her head was flung back, her eyes closed, her face contorted with pleasure as the man moved rhythmically between her legs.
‘My goodness, it’s Sadie Jenkins,’ Amanda gasped softly, unable to believe such wanton behaviour from a seventeen-year-old parlourmaid. The girl turned her head and half-opened her eyes. Amanda realised she must have heard her gasp. Sadie cried out in horror and began shoving at the man’s shoulders to try to push him away.
Her face flaming with embarrassment, Amanda was about to leave, but at that moment, recognising the man as none other than Mr Quinn, anger took hold of her and all she could do was stare. She knew she had no business being here, that what the servants got up to when they were off duty was their own affair, but the nausea welling inside her kept her rooted to the spot.
Only slowly did the naked man become aware that there was someone standing in the open doorway. Turning his head, he saw Amanda, his face registering neither surprise nor shame. As if he had all the time in the world he rolled away from the girl, leaving her shapely young body defenceless and exposed. Not in the least discomposed, he pulled on a long robe that fastened with a belt around the middle, covering his nakedness. Amanda could see the smugness in his eyes; he was full of conviction, not remorse, for his actions.
Wrapping a sheet around her to cover her own nakedness, Sadie slipped off the bed and stood looking at Amanda with a light of defiance gleaming in her large dark eyes.
‘Is this your room, Sadie?’ Amanda demanded, struggling to sound calm and in control.
Sadie shook her head. ‘No, mum. It’s farther down the landing.’
‘Then go to it. I will speak to Mr Quinn alone.’
Casting an indecisive glance at Mr Quinn, who indicated with a slight nod that she should do as Mrs Claybourne bade, Sadie crossed to the door, the sheet trailing behind her.
‘Just a minute, Sadie,’ Amanda said. Sadie turned and looked at her. ‘I thought you went home after work.’
‘I do as a rule, Mrs Claybourne, but today being so busy and with so much to do, I promised Cook I’d stay on and help. Besides, Ma doesn’t like me having to pass through the woods and by the lake, you see. She says there are too many scallywags roamin’ about for a decent girl to be walking home alone after dark. Why, she says anything might happen.’
‘I see. You may go.’
‘How long have you been here?’ Mr Quinn asked calmly when Sadie had closed the door behind her. ‘And by what right do you spy on me in my private rooms?’
Undaunted, Amanda lifted her head with a small but stubborn toss. ‘I have been here long enough to see the shameful thing you have done. Sadie is young enough to be your daughter. What were you thinking?’
Mr Quinn threw up his hands. ‘Amazing! A proper little prude! And you a married woman,’ he mocked. ‘Sadie is seventeen going on thirty. Did she look ashamed to you?’
Recalling the way Sadie had thrown back her shoulders and lifted her head, her action had told Amanda quite clearly that she was neither ashamed nor regretful.
Mr Quinn smiled, a smug, self-satisfied smile that infuriated Amanda. ‘She wanted it as much as I did. It was not the first time and it will not be the last. But if you must prowl around after dark, to save any embarrassment on your part, I would advise you to confine yourself to your own part of the house—unless, of course, you were looking for something that might be of more interest to your habits.’
Amanda seethed. How dare the man take the offensive by accusing her of creeping about the house and spying on the servants? ‘You forget yourself, Mr Quinn. My father will have harsh words to say to you about this.’
‘Really?’ He lowered his head, becoming thoughtful. Henry O’Connell was the only man Quinn had any regard for, and he had never told anyone the role that his employer had played in his life, or the gratitude Quinn felt for him. However, over the years since he had begun working for Henry, he had acquired a good, strong foothold both in the business and with Henry. Yes, it was a good, strong foothold and it was not a position he was prepared to relinquish because this girl could not keep her mouth shut.
‘Now listen to me,’ he said, moving closer until he towered over her. ‘Your father must never hear of this. You must never tell him what you have seen.’
‘But I have a duty to tell him what goes on beneath his roof, especially something as sordid as this. He does not condone this kind of behaviour among the servants and you, more than anyone, should know that. You hold a position of trust in this house, and you have just breached it.’
‘Have I? We shall see. Who do you think will benefit from the confession? Certainly not Sadie or her poor, misbegotten family that depends on what she earns here. If she is thrown out, there’ll be no work for her in any other house. Would you want that on your conscience—to see her family go to the workhouse? Think what it will mean. The story will become common gossip. Oh, no, Amanda, for her sake—and your own—you must say nothing.’
Amanda looked at him steadily. His words sounded like a threat. ‘What do you mean—for my sake?’
He gave a small, corrosive laugh. ‘I mean, I wonder how your father will react when he learns of your own guilty little secret—you know … about what you got up to in Charleston.’ Watching her face with idle malice, he saw it change, grow pale, then freeze.
‘You would not tell him about that?’
‘Not if you keep your mouth shut about Sadie and me. You have much to be grateful to me for on that matter; when Henry questioned me, I told him Mr Claybourne was an English gentleman, well connected, and with sufficient means to keep his daughter in the manner in which she had been raised. Since he has done nothing about that, I can only assume he has decided to let the matter of your marriage rest. So, you see, you owe me. For your silence we both stand to gain something, and you will have nothing to fear from me.’
Amanda saw a viciousness in Mr Quinn’s expression she had never seen before. She had known this man nearly all her life. She couldn’t credit what he was saying and the coldness in his eyes. She knew she was trapped. Caution alone trimmed her anger. If this was to be the price of her silence, then so be it.
Mr Quinn read her thoughts correctly. ‘I see we understand each other.’
‘Oh, yes. I understand perfectly, Mr Quinn,’ she replied tersely.
‘Good. Then if you don’t mind, my time has been disturbed quite enough for one night. But one thing before you go. I need no instructions from you on how to conduct myself in public or in private. Remember that.’
‘Oh, I will. I can see you are quite besotted with Sadie, but you’re a little long in the tooth, don’t you think, to turn lovesick over a seventeen-year-old girl with a well-rounded bosom.’
‘I assure you I am not in my dotage yet. Sadie will attest to that.’
‘I’m sure she can, but I have no intention of asking her. Goodnight.’
With an artificially subservient sweep of his arm as she left, Mr Quinn bade her goodnight.
Making her way through the house to her room, Amanda now realised that she had never given much thought to Mr Quinn as being anything other than her father’s most trusted employee who always kept himself aloof and apart from the lowlier servants, but beneath his austere mien he was nothing but a brute.
By the time she reached her room she had come to accept that the bringing of the incident to her father’s attention would do her no good. What mattered was that her marriage to Kit must not be brought into the open. She realised that she must never divulge what she had seen and must subdue her own feeling of outrage, wiping the sordid incident from her mind; but she would never forget and never, ever, forgive Mr Quinn for daring to think he could threaten her with exposure to cover his own sordid misdeed.
On a cold day in February, tired of being cooped up in the house, buttoning herself into a warm coat and heading for the stables, Amanda went in search of her father. There had been a rainstorm earlier, but now the land glinted and shone beneath the sun’s glow. Yesterday two horses he had bought at the Don-caster horse sales had arrived, and along with the animals a man to look after them. A man, her father had proclaimed excitedly, who knew more about training horses than anybody he knew.
Standing beneath the foggy green shadow of massive ancient oaks, she paused, her eyes drawn to her father. Wearing a chequered cape and hat, he was leaning on his walking stick, looking over the fence into the paddock. Amanda shifted her gaze to see what held his attention.
Two splendid horses caught her eye, one a rich chestnut and the other a glistening black stallion with a man astride its back. It was a fine, spirited beast, tossing its noble head and twitching its tail. Fighting the bit, the animal bucked and pranced sideways and then reared up. Amanda was spellbound as she watched the rider, with spontaneous talent, master that huge, half-wild horse with superb skill. Riding with the easy grace of a man in perfect harmony with his own body, he was obviously a genius. Eventually he brought the animal under control so that it became almost docile. Sliding off, he dug into his pocket and produced a tasty titbit. The horse looked at him suspiciously before curling his top lip and eating it.
When the man strode over to her father, Amanda was about to turn away, not wishing to interrupt, when something about the man, something familiar, caught her attention, causing her eyes to open wide in overwhelming disbelief.
Immobilised in the cataclysmic silence that seemed to descend on her world, her right hand pressed to her throat, she was rendered incapable of thought, speech or action. As her mind raced in wild circles, her thoughts tumbling over themselves, she thought she must be seeing things, that she must be suffering from some kind of delusion. But that rich dark brown hair, rough and tousled, his harshly angular face, the hardness that was an integral part of him, the arrogant way he held his head—surely there could be no other man like that anywhere. Suddenly and quite inexplicably, Amanda’s heart gave a joyful leap, but as quickly as a cry sprang to her lips, so it was silenced. Shock waves tingled up and down her spine and she wondered at this cruel trick of fate.
Christopher Claybourne—Kit, her husband—was alive and well. But how could this be? The shock that he was made her forgetful of the soft meanderings of her mind whenever she thought of him. Now his very name scalded her being with hot indignation, and she wanted to scream in utter rage. Of all the people her father could have hired to train his horses, why did it have to be him? She looked this way and that for a means of escape, but her father had seen her and was beckoning.
Reluctantly, her tension mounting, she walked towards them. Christopher climbed over the fence and stood beside her father, watching her approach, so sleek, so confident, so devilishly attractive in his riding jacket and breeches and tan leather boots. In fact, with his wicked smile and hair tumbling darkly about his face, all he needed was a ring in his ear to make him a handsome buccaneer. The man she had seen in prison in his shabby garb was gone for ever—metamorphosed into this taut and fine-drawn man of steel and iron.
Please, God, Amanda thought with a feeling of terror of what his appearance could mean for her, don’t let him have told Father who he is. What did he want? What was he doing here—with her father?
Wide awake to the implications of his reappearance into her life, she stopped in front of them. Her heart set up a wild beating as she looked up into her husband’s face. Something in his bold look challenged her spirit and increased her ire.
Taking her arm, her father drew her closer. ‘Amanda, it pleases me greatly to introduce to you Kit Benedict. He’s the man I told you about who’s to train my horses. Many of them are novices and need bringing on, so he’s going to have his work cut out.’
Yes, Amanda thought, he had told her how he had met someone at the sales who was more than willing to work for him, but she had only listened with half an ear. Now she looked at Kit directly, into his dark eyes set beneath sweeping brows. His look was in no way threatening, yet there was a sense of force distilled and harnessed in his stance. His lips curved as he bowed his head, his eyes never leaving hers.
To Kit at that moment, this woman, his wife, was the most ravishing beauty he had ever seen, and despite her delicate features and soft olive green eyes and the rosy softness of her full lips, there was a boldness and confidence about her look he well remembered from his prison cell. Her long hair hanging down her back was as straight as a horse’s tail and quite astonishing—a hundred different shades and dazzling lights, ever changing in the sun’s glow. He could not decide if it was wine red, claret or the deepest colour of burgundy.
‘I am honoured to meet you, Miss O’Connell.’
There was no denying the reality of that familiar deep voice. Her face expressionless, Amanda merely inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment.
‘Nay, not O’Connell, Kit. My daughter’s Mrs Claybourne—sadly a widow, but ‘tis not a permanent state, is it, daughter? Though you seem to be in no hurry to be acquiring another husband.’
Amanda looked at her father and her eyes flared. ‘It will be as permanent as I want it to be, Father. It is not that I oppose the institution, but I am in no hurry to relinquish my single state just yet.’
‘Aye, well—’ Henry chuckled in good humour, his nose red from the cold as he winked at Kit ‘—it becomes apparent to me that you’ve an error in your way of thinking. What say you, Kit?’
Kit seemed to digest his words with a certain amount of knowing amusement. The quirk in his lips deepened as he peered at Amanda enquiringly. ‘Perhaps your daughter’s experience of marriage was not to her liking and she is reluctant to repeat it.’
Amanda responded with a feigned smile. ‘My marriage did not last long enough for me to form an opinion of it one way or another, Mr—Benedict.’
Consulting the huge turnip-size watch he carried in his waistcoat, Henry frowned. ‘I must be getting back to the house. I’ve my lawyer coming from Manchester to talk over some affairs. He should be here any time so I’ll be off.’ He glanced at the two of them. ‘Stay and let Kit show you my latest acquisitions, Amanda,’ he said, beginning to walk off, ‘and you can give me your verdict over dinner.’
Watching her father’s retreating figure, Amanda was alone with her husband for the first time in seven months, alarmingly, nerve-rackingly alone. ‘Please tell me I’m not dreaming. I truly thought I would never see you again,’ she said, determined to speak to him with a calm maturity and not to let her anger and confused emotions get the better of her. It was important that she made it absolutely clear to him that she wanted no part of him, that she was not his responsibility. ‘I thought you were dead.’
‘As you see, my dear wife, I am very much alive.’ He cocked a handsome brow as he gave her a lengthy inspection, his teeth gleaming behind a lopsided grin. ‘Even the best-laid plans go astray. My reprieve came when Judd Freeman sailed into Charleston Harbour.’ His expression became serious. ‘I want to thank you for taking care of Sky. You did an excellent job and she speaks of you with affection.’
Mention of the little girl Amanda had missed after their parting caused her heart to stir. ‘I’m surprised she remembers me after all these months. How is she? Better now she has her father, I know.’
