An Unlikely Suitor

‘I cannot believe that you have managed to foist two repellent strays upon this household, Lavender,’ Lewis Brabant said testily, as he disentangled one of the kittens from his trouser leg at breakfast the following morning. The little creature, a bundle of ginger fluff, hung on tenaciously. Lewis put his newspaper down and picked it up with a gentleness that belied his words. The kitten started to purr immediately and Lewis pulled a face.

‘See how she likes you,’ Caroline offered with a smile. She was feeding the other kitten on her lap and it was eating ferociously. ‘Poor little scraps—I believe they are half starved!’

Lewis made a noise indicative of disgust. ‘Well, they had best start to earn their keep! The kitchen will be the best place for them, not the drawing-room!’

‘Yes, my dear,’ Caroline said soothingly. She gave him a winning smile. ‘They will surely be warm and well fed if we keep them indoors!’ Her smile broadened. ‘You cannot cozen me—I know you think them delightfu1.’

Lewis gave a non-committal grunt and got up from the breakfast table. He bent to kiss his wife. ‘I shall be in the estate room if you need me. If I find any mice, I shall know what to do!’

Caroline was still smiling as she watched him out of the room. She turned to her sister-in-law. ‘I do believe your new pets are a success, Lavender! Lewis is quite smitten!’

Lavender raised her eyebrows. She knew that her brother’s disapproval was partly feigned but she had been hard pressed to explain her rescue of the kittens in a convincing fashion. To go out for a walk and return with two new pets in a sack was somewhat singular, especially as she was claiming simply to have found them.

‘Is it not strange,’ Caroline was musing now, ‘that the kittens were wrapped in a sack from Hammond’s store? The sort of sacking used to bind up reels of material and the like? I wonder if they have lost them? Perhaps we should ask, for they may wish for them back—’

Lavender jumped, spilling some of her hot chocolate. She had not thought of that.

‘Was it one of Hammond’s sacks? I did not notice,’ she said, as casually as she was able.

‘Which reminds me,’ Caroline continued, ‘that you promised to go to Abbot Quincey for some purchases for me today. Some embroidery thread, and I find I need some ribbons as well. I have made a list. Is that still convenient, Lavender?’

Lavender sighed. It was unfortunate that Caroline should have a commission for her today of all days. She did not wish for a walk this morning and she certainly did not want to go into Abbot Quincey and into Hammonds drapers shop. Having paid the shop too many visits in the past month, she now felt a distinct inclination to stay away from Barnabas Hammond, a need to avoid all those puzzling and disturbing feelings that he had brought to the surface. She had tossed and turned for a good hour before she had fallen asleep the previous night, and most of her thoughts had centred on Barney Hammond.

She realised that Caroline was watching her with bright hazel eyes, and that she had not yet replied.

‘It is perfectly convenient, Caro,’ she said hastily. She pushed away her plate of ham and eggs. Suddenly she did not feel so hungry.

‘I must send a message to Lady Perceval as well,’ Caroline said. ‘Now, where did I leave the writing box? In the library? I have become so tiresomely forgetful of late…’

Lavender smiled. ‘Nanny Pryor says that that happens to ladies who are increasing!’

Caroline looked offended. ‘What arrant nonsense!’

‘Then why are you wearing your thimble for breakfast, Caro?’

Caroline looked down at her finger and tutted. ‘Gracious! I could have sworn that I left that in my sewing bag!’ She caught Lavender’s eye and smiled reluctantly. ‘Very well, you have proved your point! Now, what was it that I was looking for?’

‘The writing paper.’ Lavender got up hastily. ‘I will fetch it for you, Caro! I do not wish you to become lost on your way to the library!’

Chapter Two

The walk into Abbot Quincey was one that Lavender knew particularly well and normally she enjoyed it immensely. She loved the sound of the wind in the tall trees, the shadow patterns of the clouds as they raced across the fields and the sting of the fresh air in her face. Her walks always gave her ample time to think about her painting and her reading and any number of other delightful and intellectual pursuits that had always filled her time until now. But this morning—Lavender paused to tie the ribbons of her bonnet more firmly under her chin, for the wind was tugging the brim—she was aware of feeling decidedly out of sorts. In fact, she admitted to herself, it was worse than that. She felt blue-devilled.

Her mother, the Honourable Lavinia Brabant, had always maintained that a lady had no excuse for idleness or boredom. An informed and educated mind would always provide resources for solitude, and if that failed one should just remind oneself of the good fortune that had placed one in such an enviable position in life. Lavender felt very strongly that her mama had been quite right and would not approve of her daughter’s current indisposition.

Lavender sighed. She knew that some of her restlessness sprang from the thoughts she had been having the previous day about her place at Hewly and her future plans. She felt unsettled, unfulfilled. Something was missing…

She went first to the church and laid some fresh flowers from the Hewly gardens on the grave of her father, Admiral Brabant. The graveside, in a quiet corner of the churchyard under a spreading oak, was peaceful and somehow comforting. Lavender sat down on a wooden seat nearby and rested her chin on her hand. Perhaps her father could help her sort her thoughts into some kind of order. He had always been a stickler for method and regulation during his lifetime.

It occurred to her that he had left her a considerable sum of money, and that that would enable her to leave Hewly if she so desired and to set up in a respectable house elsewhere. She could engage a companion—certainly she could afford to engage several—and if she were to find someone as amenable as Caroline, she would count herself lucky. Perhaps Lady Perceval could help her, for that matron was so well connected and well informed that she would know of any suitable persons seeking employment. The idea held some appeal but it also held some drawbacks. Lavender acknowledged that she liked living at Hewly and she liked the Abbey villages, and indeed, no one was trying to drive her away. Lewis and Caroline would no doubt be mortified if they even suspected her thoughts. She sighed again. Her musings did not seem to be getting her very far.

Lavender looked at the neat mound of her father’s grave. She could imagine him addressing her, puffing out his chest in the imposing manner in which he used to lecture to his sailors: ‘Action, not inaction is the solution to any crisis. Cease this foolish wool-gathering, my girl, and get about your business!’

With a faint smile, Lavender got to her feet and picked up the basket.

She could always marry. The thought popped into her head as she was walking back around the church and heard the clock strike the hour. She had always been accustomed to thinking of herself as at her last prayers, but Caroline was nine and twenty, a good five years older than she. Perhaps there was a chance—although not much a chance of finding a husband as good as her brother.

Lavender considered the idea idly as she walked into the town. Her bridegroom would need to be an intelligent man who would appreciate a bluestocking wife and enjoy discussing weighty matters with her. He would encourage her sketching and her writing and would have plenty of interests of his own. He would not be at all the sort of man to want a pretty ninnyhammer, for she was well aware that her looks were no more than ordinary. He would need to be possessed of a reasonable competence, to live in the country and to shun the society pursuits that she had so detested when she had visited London. Lavender started to laugh at her own absurdity, but the thought persisted. As for age, well, she was prepared to accept an older man, for he was likely to have more sense, and as for looks…Here, with startling clarity, the face of Barnabas Hammond appeared before her eyes.

All Lavender’s recent good humour vanished. She shook her head a little sharply to dispel the image but it was too late. She felt cross-grained and irritable and for two pins she would tell Caroline to run her own errands in future. She walked up the main street of Abbot Quincey positively scowling, and arrived in front of the draper’s shop.

Hammonds General Store in Abbot Quincey was not as imposing as Arthur Hammond’s emporium in Northampton, but it served a small town very well. Now that the seasons were turning, Mr Hammond had draped winter fustian and twilled cashmere about the door, and huge bolts of the cloth were stacked on shelves inside. Arthur Hammond himself was behind the counter and was encouraging the doctor’s wife to feel the quality of the nankeen that he had spread out over the top. He was a big man, florid and full of bonhomie. As ever, he was smart in a tailed coat and old-fashioned knee breeches, with a waistcoat straining over his ample stomach. He always dressed like a gentleman.

‘All our materials are purchased in London, of course,’ Lavender heard him say, in the oily tone that she so detested, ‘and you will not find a better quality of cloth anywhere, ma’am…’

He broke off when he saw Lavender and hurried to greet her, which set her teeth on edge even more. She noticed that Barney came forward unobtrusively from the shadows to smooth over his father’s defection and flatter Mrs Pettifer into making the purchase. Lavender felt awkward. She had no wish for Hammond to snub the doctor’s wife just because she was from Hewly Manor and Hammond always curried favour with his noble clients. Besides, she was only buying ribbons and thread.

Lavender’s transaction was almost completed when Barney emerged from the stockroom carrying a trestle table obviously intended for the display of some new goods. He gave Lavender a slight nod as he passed, but did not even speak to her. She knew that he was working and did not have time for idle chatter, but nevertheless Lavender felt slightly crushed, and was annoyed with herself for feeling so. She put her purse away, thanked Mr Hammond for his help, and made for the door.

It opened before she got there, to admit two girls whom Lavender recognised as the daughters of a farmer over towards Abbot Giles. Both had dark curly hair, and open, laughing faces. They were giggling together as they came into the shop, and edged over to the table where Barney was now arranging winter bonnets on the hat stands. Lavender paused to watch. Her first thought was how incongruous it was to see a man of Barney’s calibre working on ladies bonnets. Her second thought was how much she disliked the giggling, pouting girls, who were now looking flirtatiously at Barney from under their lashes and asking him questions that were punctuated frequently by coy laughter.

As she stood in the doorway, Arthur Hammond bustled up, clearly unamused by all the banter. He berated Barney for his lack of skill with the display, cowed the girls with one sharp glance, and set to rearranging the bonnets, flitting here and there like a preening bird. It seemed to Lavender that whilst the son and heir had no disposition towards drapery, the father was obviously in his element. She went out into the street, wondering for the first time whether Mr Hammond found it frustrating that his eldest son had not inherited his talent as a merchant. She knew that Hammond was immensely successful, for as well as the emporium in Northampton he had a string of other shops in the county, and it was clearly his life’s work. Barney, on the other hand, looked as though he would be much more at home in some other occupation.

She walked down the main street, past the bakery and the Angel inn. The sun was bright and Lavender had just decided to take her sketchbook out to do some drawing that afternoon, when there was a step behind her and a breathless voice called:

‘Miss Brabant!’

She turned to see Ellen Hammond panting up the road behind her, face flushed with exertion. Hammond’s daughter was about fifteen, and had inherited the dark looks that gave Barney his enigmatic air. Lavender thought that Ellen would probably be a beauty, but the girl showed no signs of being aware of it. She was smiling with unaffected pleasure.

‘Oh, Miss Brabant, please excuse me! Barney—my brother—told me that you had given the kittens a good home and I so wished to thank you!’

Lavender smiled at her. ‘I was happy to be of help, Miss Hammond! They are the most adorable creatures, are they not? You must come over to Hewly sometime and see how they progress!’

Ellen’s face flushed pink. ‘Oh! May I indeed? You are so kind, Miss Brabant!’ Her expression crumpled. ‘Father was going to drown them, you know! Of all the cruel things! But Barney is so kind and said that he would save them but that I was not to tell—’

‘That’s enough, Ellen. I am sure that Miss Brabant has other business to attend to in town!’

Neither of them had noticed Barney Hammond come round the side of the Angel inn. His hands were in his pockets and he looked relaxed enough, but his dark eyes were watchful. Ellen flushed at the implied rebuke and dropped a little curtsey. ‘Excuse me, Miss Brabant,’ she murmured. ‘I did not intend to presume.’

Barney gave Lavender a slight bow and took his sister’s arm. They turned away up the street together. Lavender, watching them go, was astonished to discover that she suddenly felt very angry. She was not sure if it was Barney Hammond’s high-handed action in interrupting the conversation that had annoyed her, or the implication that Ellen should not push herself on her notice. Either way, she was not going to let the injustice pass.

‘Mr Hammond!’

Barney and Ellen had only gone five paces and both stopped at the imperious tone. Anxious not to add to the impression of upper-class hauteur, Lavender added politely: ‘Mr Hammond. I should like to speak to you, if you please!’

She saw Barney hesitate, before he bent and spoke softly to Ellen and the girl scooted off up the road on her own. Barney turned back to Lavender and came forward courteously. His expression showed nothing but polite enquiry, but Lavender wondered what he was thinking behind that inscrutable façade.

‘Miss Brabant?’

Lavender was feeling nervous. She cleared her throat and fixed him with a stern look. ‘Mr Hammond, there was no need to reprimand your sister. She was doing no harm. She is a charming girl.’

Barney’s civil expression did not waver. He met her look with an equally straight one of his own.

‘Miss Brabant, I am sure that you mean well, but I do beg you not to encourage Ellen. Your kind attentions would be sufficient to turn her head, and that would only lead her to wish for more than she could have.’

There was a long moment whilst their eyes met and held and Lavender had the strangest feeling that he was not simply referring to Ellen’s situation. Her eyes narrowed in a frown, but before she could speak, Barney had sketched a bow and walked away.

Lavender’s heart was thudding. She watched his tall figure catch Ellen up, saw them exchange a few words, then Barney took her hand and together they strolled up the road, swinging their linked hands as they walked. Lavender felt the foolish tears prickle her eyes. She need scarcely have worried that Ellen would have been hurt by Barney’s reproach. The sign of family unity contradicted that firmly. She was the one left feeling heart-sore. There was no doubt that she had been warned off, and for a misplaced act of kindness too. Yet she could not help but believe that there was more to it than that.

Lavender burned with embarrassment to think that Barney might have been addressing his words directly to her. Suppose he imagined that she was developing some sort of tendre for him and was trying to advise her that her feelings were inappropriate. It was true that she had imagined that there was some warmth in his manner towards her and had liked it. And last night, when they had met in the wood…A wave of mortification swept over her as she remembered how distracted she had been by the warmth of his touch and the hardness of his body against hers. She was glowering fiercely by the time she reached the end of the street. She had liked and admired Barney Hammond, she told herself angrily, but that was entirely at an end. She doubted that she would ever speak to him again.

Lavender had always found sketching to be soothing for a troubled mind. During her father’s last illness she had derived great comfort from her drawing, and had even tentatively started work on a pictorial catalogue of the flora of the Steepwood Abbey woodlands. She was meticulously accurate in her sketches and thought that the work had some merit, although she did not dare hope that it would be good enough for publication. Now, however, her work offered just the solace that Lavender needed, and after luncheon she set off with her sketchbook and crayons, and went into the forest.

It was a beautiful day. The sunlight ran in dappled rivulets beneath the trees and the canopy was alive with the sound of birds, the loud laughing call of the green woodpecker and the chatter of the jay. The leaves were starting to fall and were crunchy beneath her feet and between their crisp covering the mushrooms pushed up. She spread her rug on a bank and sketched a few of the most colourful ones: the amethyst deceiver, with its vivid violet blue cap, and the verdigris toadstool that nestled in the grassy clearings. Gradually the fresh air and the peace had their desired effect and Lavender started to feel better. She drew a clump of wood vetch whose tendrils were clamped around a nearby tree stump. She knelt down to fix the detail of the purple-veined flowers and the fat, black seed pods, and it was only when she got up again that she saw that her skirt was streaked with earth and green with grass stains. The sun was lower now and she knew she had been out for several hours. She studied the sketch; it was good, the proportions were correct and the detail accurate, and she was happy to add it to her portfolio. Perhaps she would even show Caroline what she had done, for her sister-in-law was a keen amateur botanist.

Lavender packed up her bag, dusted her skirt down, and fixed her bonnet more securely on her head, retying the ribbons. Her hair was coming down and escaping from under the bonnet’s brim—long, straight strands of very fine fair hair that got caught on the breeze. Her cousin Julia had told her often that she was plain and Lavender knew that it was true that she seldom took care of her appearance, but just lately she had thought that her deep blue eyes were a little bit pretty and her figure quite good…Finding by some strange coincidence that her thoughts were drifting from her own appearance to that of Barnabas Hammond, Lavender hastily started to plan the next drawing for her catalogue.

She was walking along, weighing the rival merits of Caper Spurge and Mountain Melick Grass—neither of them colourful, but both an important part of the botanical record—when she heard the strangest sound and paused to listen. It was not a woodland noise at all—not a sound with which she was very familiar and certainly not one she expected to hear in Steepwood. It was the unmistakable sound of steel on steel.

Edging forward, Lavender crept down a path that was closely bordered by scrub and the pressing trees. It was not a path she had taken before, but she knew she was walking in the direction of Steepwood Lawn and was not afraid she would become lost. She was more afraid of being seen, but curiosity held her in a strong grip and she picked her way silently and with care. Within a hundred yards the forest fell back, revealing a sweep of green turf that was ideal for a duel and it was here that the contest was taking place. Lavender crept as close as she dared, staying in the cover of the trees. She took refuge behind one broad trunk and peeped round.

She had seen very few fencing matches, for it was not an activity of which most gently bred females had much experience. Years before, Lewis and Andrew had staged mock fights in the courtyard at Hewly, but Andrew was always too indolent to take them seriously and Lewis had won very quickly. Lavender could tell that this was no such match. She knew that the two men fighting here were doing so for pleasure rather than in earnest, for she could see the buttons on their foils, but she could also tell that they were taking it very seriously. Both were skilled swordsmen and fought with strength and determination, giving no quarter.

Lavender leant a little closer. One of the men was a complete stranger to her, a fair-haired giant who moved more slowly than his opponent but had the benefit of strength and reach. The other was only a few inches shorter, dark, lithe, muscular…Lavender gave a little squeak and clapped her hand over her mouth. There was no mistake—it had to be Barnabas Hammond.

It was fortunate that the noise of the contest drowned out Lavender’s involuntary gasp, for the last thing that she wanted was to be discovered. She stood, both hands pressed against the tree trunk, and stared. A ridiculous image of Barney as she had seen him that very morning floated before her eyes, a vision of him arranging hats on a trestle table. It was absurd. That man and this could surely not be the same—yet when the movement of the fight brought him round so that she could see his face again, Lavender knew there could be no mistake. Forgetting concealment, she simply stood and watched.

He moved with a speed and strength that held Lavender spellbound. There was something utterly compelling about his confidence and skill. Her avid gaze took in the way his sweat-damp shirt clung to the lines of his shoulders and back, and moved on with mesmerised attention to his close-fitting buckskins and bare feet. His shirt was open at the throat, revealing the strong, brown column of his neck, and the sun glinted on the tawny strands in his hair and turned his skin to a deep bronze. When he finally succeeded in disarming his opponent with a move that sent the other man’s foil flying through the air, he threw back his head and laughed.

‘A fine match! You get better, James, I swear you do!’

Lavender watched as the fair man retrieved his foil from the bushes and threw himself down on the grass. He was laughing too. ‘I rue the day I ever crossed swords with you, Barney! I would challenge you to another round for my revenge, but I am promised to a party at Jaffrey House and dare not be late!’ He sat up, grinning, and started to pull on his boots. ‘You do not know how fortunate you are to be spared such things, old fellow! If it were not for the beautiful blue eyes of a certain Miss Sheldon, I doubt I could stomach it!’ He sighed. ‘But she is the most angelic creature…’

‘Spare me.’ Lavender saw Barney grin. ‘Last time I saw you, it was a certain Lady Georgiana Cutler who had taken your fancy!’

‘I know!’ The fair-haired man got to his feet. He shook his head. ‘I am fickle! But Lady Georgiana could not hold a candle to Miss Sheldon—’

‘Take your languishings off elsewhere,’ Barney advised, picking up his foil. ‘I shall take me to the shop and work at my books whilst you are carousing!’

‘Life is damnably unfair!’ The other man grinned, clapping him on the back. ‘You to your studies and me to my fortune-hunting! Ah well. I’ll see you in Northampton, no doubt.’

They shook hands and Lavender watched him walk off in the direction of Jaffrey House, both foils tucked under his arm. She stayed quite still, watching, as Barney pulled his boots on and started to walk slowly across the greensward towards the trees. His head was bent and the dark hair had fallen across his forehead. He smoothed it back with an absentminded gesture. Lavender could hear him whistling under his breath, a lilting tune that hung on the air.

She froze where she stood as he passed close by. Of all the odd things she had seen in Steepwood, this had to be amongst the strangest. That Barney Hammond should be such a superlative swordsman was extraordinary, since she could not imagine that fencing was amongst the pursuits that he had learned as a boy. Then there was his friendship with a gentleman who was clearly staying at Jaffrey House, the home of the Earl of Yardley. Lavender had heard that a party was staying at the house and if the Brabants had not been in mourning, they would have been invited to join them. She frowned. It was very odd. But perhaps she was simply being snobbish—again—in expecting Barney to conform to her expectations. He really was a most mysterious man…