Change of Heart Read online

  ‘Perhaps not but if I remember rightly you married Thomas a full month before Edmund was reported missing.’

  ‘There you go again!’ complained Julia bitterly. ‘Always so aggravatingly precise about details. Sometimes I think you are more of an old maid than Aunt Mattie! You may be too cold-blooded to understand how one can be carried away by one’s emotions, but I am sure that Edmund will be more sympathetic. I was so lonely and upset about his being torn from me that I didn’t know what I was doing!’

  Anne could not imagine anyone, even her sister, marrying the wrong man in a fit of mental abstraction, but knowing that it was useless to argue with Julia in this mood she remained silent. Julia went on hopefully:

  ‘And perhaps Edmund will not have heard about my marriage. After all, he never received the letter I wrote explaining it to him. That was returned to me unopened after he was presumed dead. Could we not keep the whole thing secret?’

  ‘And how, in that case, would you explain away Kit?’ enquired Anne drily.

  ‘We could say he was your son. No!’ she decided regretfully before Anne had recovered sufficiently to express her opinion of this preposterous suggestion. ‘We’d never get away with that. Too many people know the truth. We couldn’t hope to bribe them all to be silent.

  And it wouldn’t explain how we came to be living here at Ashorne, Oh, why was I so stupid as to marry Thomas!’

  Anne had often wondered the same thing. She remembered their aunt’s despair as Julia had flirted her way through five successive seasons without showing any sign of especially favouring any of her suitors. She had turned down any number of eligible offers till at last, when Aunt Harriet was ready to wash her hands of her, Julia had attracted the attention of Edmund Claverdon, shortly after he had inherited the Ashorne title and fortune.

  The young cavalry officer, allowed home from duty in Canada to deal with the legal formalities of his inheritance, had fallen head over heels in love with Julia and she had seemed equally enchanted with him. Alter a whirlwind courtship they had become engaged.

  Anne had not really been envious then. Deep in the throes of calf-love, she had been content to adore her idol from a distance. She considered it perfectly natural that he should want to marry the sister she admired almost as fervently.

  With the wedding date fixed for early October Edmund was unexpectedly posted to the Peninsula, upsetting all Julia’s plans. That then, alter she had been fortunate enough to attract someone, who in her sixteen-year-old sister’s eves had seemed the embodiment of all the story-book heroes rolled into one, Julia should throw all consideration to the winds and run off with Edmund’s middle-aged cousin, had been difficult for Anne to understand—then or now.

  True, Julia had been furious at Edmund’s refusal to abandon his military career for her sake. When he had begged for an early wedding before he sailed, she had turned a deaf ear to the plea, obstinately clinging to her plans for a huge society celebration. Which only made it the more amazing that she should elope a few weeks later with Thomas, who was nowhere near as eligible or attractive a match.

  Perhaps something of this showed in Anne’s face now because Julia added defensively, ‘I know you have always thought it odd of me, but I was so horribly depressed at the time that I didn’t know what I was doing. It was all very line for Edmund! He was full of heroic fen our and got all the glory of dashing off to light for his country. No one considered how dull it was for me, left behind to wait for him. I was so dreadfully bored, and Thomas could be enormous fun when he wanted. He hadn’t let me see the other side of him then. Somehow persuaded me to run off with him. It all seemed that it had been for the best when Edmund was reported dead, so soon afterwards and I became Lady Ashorne alter all. But now it turns out it was all a take-in! It is too provoking. Who would have dreamed that Thomas, safe at home, would be the one to die and Edmund, out in the thick of battle, would come home to wrench his title away from my darling Kit?’

  ‘Losing his title will scarcely bother Kit,’ observed Anne, thinking it safer to ignore the rest. In a passion Julia often said more than she meant. ‘His sympathies are totally radical at present. His keenest ambition is to become a postillion.’

  ‘That is what comes of letting him spend every spare minute with the stable boys,’ retorted Julia. ‘I wish you would not encourage him to waste his time with them. Whatever he may feel on the subject now, later on he will realise the value of the position he has lost.’

  ‘I doubt if he will repine even then. He is a most resilient child. Anyway, there is no immediate cause for gloom. At the moment Kit is heir to the title. Unless Edmund has a son of his own Kit will still inherit.’

  ‘‘That’s true,’ Julia’s face brightened, ‘and when we are married I shall take good care there are no children. I’m not such an innocent as I was six years ago. I don’t intend to go through that lowering process again. It utterly ruined a whole season for me—quite as bad as being in mourning! I am sure Edmund will not expect it of me. I am sure my little Kit will be proud to inherit Ashorne when Edmund passes away.’

  ‘At the moment,’ Anne reminded her tartly, impatient of Julia’s selfish scheming, ‘we should be planning for Edmund’s arrival, not his departure. How awkward it is all going to be! Do you wish me to explain matters to the servants and arrange for Melthorpe Hall to be set to rights, or would you rather do it all yourself?’

  ‘No, don’t do anything yet,’ exclaimed Julia quickly. ‘Let us leave everything of that sort until Edmund gets in touch with us, himself; wait until we know what he intends to do first.’

  ‘But we must make some plans. He’ll think it is so odd if we do nothing,’ protested Anne.

  ‘Why should he? Who is to know we have heard of his return?’ demanded Julia.

  ‘Fanny, for a start.’

  ‘She won’t say anything if I ask her not to. I know too much about her goings-on with that hussar for her to dare.’ Julia rummaged through the rest of the mail. ‘There is nothing here from Edmund. Not that I expected it. He never enjoyed writing letters—even when he first went to the war I got only one measly sheet a week from him. We’ll pretend we have heard nothing when he arrives. Let him make the first move. There is more chance of his remembering the affection he and I used to have for each other if he finds us settled here when he arrives. Out of sight, out of mind, they say.’

  Anne was silent. That had certainly proved the case with Julia, but she doubted whether Edmund had been equally fickle. From what she remembered of him six years ago his nature was more steadfast. He would not have forgotten as easily as Julia—unless, she thought, suddenly doubtful, she had idealised his character in her daydreams.

  In the intensity of an adolescent passion, had she endowed her idol with virtues he had never really possessed? That would have been easy enough to do when Edmund was dead and unable to return to shatter the image she had built up of him; gradually adapting her memories to fit the dream personality she had wanted to dwell upon. Would she be disappointed in him now he had come back?

  It was an uncomfortable idea. In an odd way Anne felt cheated by this unexpected return.

  After Julia’s marriage, the Edmund of her secret fantasies had seemed to belong to her alone.

  Now, Anne realised with a stab of regret that his homecoming must take him away from her.

  His memory had been exclusively her concern for so long that it was hard to accept that once he was back with them his interest would be in Julia again as before—though whether his affection, if it had lasted, would survive the shock of the news of her marriage was another question. Julia’s betrayal might cost her dear.

  ‘When Edmund does turn up you’ll have to see him for me first,’ Julia continued, clearly untroubled by any such doubts. ‘You can explain how it came about that I married Thomas.

  Tell him I was so distraught—so young that—so … Oh I don’t know what, but I’m sure you can think of something. You’ve always been far cleverer than me.�
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  ‘I will do nothing of the kind!’ snapped Anne. To her annoyance she felt her eyes fill with angry tears. ‘I’ll have no hand in deceiving him. Tell your own lies if you must!’

  After one astounded gasp Julia was overcome with remorse.

  ‘To think that I had forgotten! You were madly in love with Edmund yourself before he left, weren’t you? I remember now how we used to laugh at the way you mooned alter him. Like a lovesick calf he said. How could I have been so forgetful? I’m sure you cried more when they said he was dead than I did myself. I had supposed you recovered from that foolishness years ago, but of course it must be you who has been putting the flowers on that ridiculous stone Thomas insisted on setting up in Edmund’s memory in the churchyard. Downright hypocritical, when Thomas never liked him and rarely lost a chance to serve him an ill turn. I told him it was pointless when we had no body to bury under it, but Thomas was always obstinate. Now it turns out Edmund was alive all the time it makes the whole thing ludicrous, doesn’t it? But surely, my love, it isn’t on Edmund’s account you have been wearing the willow all these years, is it?’

  ‘Of course not. That was just a childish infatuation—over long ago!’ protested Anne, appalled at the casual reference to the secret she had cherished so long, imagining it unsuspected by anyone. It had become a pleasant ritual to put out the flowers, but she had not realised Julia had noticed.

  It was certainly untrue to say that she had allowed Edmund’s memory to prevent her from forming an attachment to any other man. She was not that foolish. No other man she had met had measured up to her remembrance of Edmund but she had always thought of him as an ideal not a possible lover—a standard against which to measure her suitors. Not that many of those had remained interested in her after they met Julia, she reflected ruefully.

  To be fair, Julia had had no intention of stealing her sister’s admirers. It was just that after they saw the two of them together, no one could help noticing that, attractive though she was, Anne’s hair was a little less delicately golden than Julia’s, her figure less dainty, her complexion browned by careless exposure to wind and sun. Few considered Anne’s greater intelligence and keen sense of humour an advantage. Only youth was on Anne’s side, and her age was scarcely a handicap to Julia yet.

  ‘I am relieved to hear you aren’t still nursing that absurd passion, because it was always me Edmund was crazy about,’ Julia went on, blithely rubbing salt in the wounds. ‘He considered you a silly child. Don’t get any false hopes about his return! I wouldn’t want to see you hurt, but I won’t brook any interference. I am determined to have him. Just you wait and see, he’ll be eating out of my hand by midsummer.’

  ‘You are welcome to him,’ snapped Anne. ‘I think you are forgetting that I have been engaged to James for over a year now!’

  ‘Engaged, but not married yet. Oh I know you put the wedding off on my account,’ she added, anticipating Anne’s protest. ‘Don’t think I’m not grateful. I don’t know what I should have done without you, but if you have been as wildly in love with James as I was with Thomas you’d have let nothing prevent your marrying him immediately.’

  ‘Then perhaps if our affection is more temperate it may last longer!’ retorted Anne crossly.

  The amazing news Fanny had sent must have upset her more than she imagined, she reflected wryly, to make her snap at Julia’s foolishness like this. Or was it her knowledge that Julia was right for once, in assuming that by accepting James she was accepting second-best, which was disconcerting her?

  She had never pretended any violent feeling for James, and he in turn had appeared well content with the genuine affection they felt for each other, not asking for anything stronger.

  James had been part of her life for years now, seeming to change little through the whole time she had known him.

  Sixteen years older than Anne, she had viewed him as a sort of extra uncle during her childhood. Then in the bitter months after her father died he had been a great comfort.

  Indolent and pleasure loving though he was, James had rallied round the daughters of his old friend. Julia, securely settled then with husband and child, had not needed his support so badly but Anne accepted it gratefully. She did not realise at first how close it drew them.

  She had been surprised, even shocked when he proposed, and had refused him. Later she let him persuade her to alter her decision. Even so, although she had warned him then that she felt only affection not love for him, she had supposed his feelings to be warmer towards her, and it had rankled a little when he agreed so readily to her plan on postponing their wedding alter Julia was widowed. It would have been more flattering if he had protested, even given a grudging consent instead of urging her to wait as long as she deemed necessary, to stay with her sister until Julia was totally recovered from her loss.

  ‘You do well to scold me. Such a transient flame mine proved to be!’ Julia declared soulfully. ‘Perhaps after all, my heart was true to its first love.’

  Which was not Edmund, Anne told herself tartly. Julia’s first love was, and always had been, Julia. Fond though Anne was of her attractive sister, she had always recognised the basic selfishness of Julia’s nature.

  ‘Don’t build your hopes too high,’ she warned her, ‘six years is a long time.’

  ‘I can make Edmund forget them,’ Julia told her confidently.

  Beside Anne the dog shifted and growled in her throat as footsteps sounded in the hall.

  ‘That must be Weston. I asked him to call this morning,’ Julia exclaimed, clearly relieved at the interruption. ‘Not a word to him about all this, mind! Let everyone think Edmund’s arrival, when it occurs, as great a shock to us as to them.’

  Anne was not happy at the deception, but on the other hand she did not wish to help Weston. She preferred to have no more dealing with him than was absolutely essential. She had never liked the steward. It was probably her antagonism transmitting itself to the dog that made the normally placid animal uneasy and aggressive whenever he approached.

  She had to hold Bess’s leash firmly as Weston came in, beaming the overfamiliar smile she resented and hurrying to grasp Julia’s hand a shade too enthusiastically. Not that Julia appeared to think so. She fluttered her long lashes and greeted him with a delighted, ‘Phillip!

  Just the person I most wanted to see!’

  ‘I am flattered, my dear Lady Ashorne. How may I serve you?’

  As he bent to kiss Julia’s outstretched hand, Anne saw his glance slide across to note her own reaction to the extravagant gesture.

  ‘I must have some more money, Phillip! My sister has just reminded me that I shall be out of mourning shortly, and I will need a new wardrobe then. Everything I used to wear must be horribly out of fashion by now. I don’t want people to think me a dowdy!’

  She cast a mischievous warning glance at Anne. So that was it! Julia meant to milk the estate of all she could before it was taken from her. Anne almost intervened in protest, then weakly decided against it, unwilling to argue with her sister in front of the steward.

  Weston laughed as incredulously as he had been intended to.

  ‘A dowdy! You, Lady Ashorne! I could not imagine it. But you are right to demand the best.

  The perfect jewel deserves the most precious setting! I am sure we can manage something.

  We cannot have you outshone by any of those other London belles—not that any of them could hold a candle to you whatever you wore!’

  As ever, his manner grated on Anne. It was always that shade more familiar than she deemed necessary. There was rarely anything in his conversation she could positively object to, but always behind the words lay that hint of impudence.

  Perhaps the fault was as much Julia’s as his. She certainly made more of the handsome young steward than Anne felt proper, and presumably he hoped to profit by her partiality and played up to it. It was fortunate that Julia was too hard-headed to be seriously affected by his attentions.

  Cynicall
y Anne reflected that the problem might solve itself when he discovered that Julia’s prospects were so radically altered by Edmund’s reappearance, but she would not provoke Julia’s wrath by telling him of it now.

  ‘Don’t you agree with me, Miss Wetherly?’ Weston continued blithely. ‘We must have your sister looking her best when she returns to grace the social scene once more.’

  Bess growled again as Anne replied curtly, and she made the animal’s restiveness her excuse to leave them to their business. Julia evidently had no need of her, and Anne wanted solitude to sort out her troubled thoughts. What would be the outcome of Edmund’s unlooked-for return? Was his love for Julia strong enough to last the years of separation and the shock of’ her marriage?

  For her part Anne longed to see him once more, yet dreaded it too. After six years of building up an idealised memory in secret she did not want to run the risk of finding that her idol had feet of clay. Nor would it be easy to watch him being enmeshed in Julia’s toils once more. Julia’s casual reference to their laughing together over her childish devotion had hurt her bitterly. She would never let them guess how long the foolishness had persisted.

  Of one thing she was quite adamant. She would not be the one to tell Edmund of Julia’s marriage—the one to make Julia’s excuses for her. She could not bear to see the hurt that disclosure must surely cause him. Nor would she willingly live here with them, to see Julia worm her way back into his affections. She had to remain a while—it would be impossible to leave them alone here, unchaperoned—but she was determined to make arrangements immediately for an alternative home for her sister and herself.

  Melthorpe Hall was the obvious choice. Despite Julia’s scorn it was a beautiful mansion, dating from Queen Anne’s reign. Not as large as this, but surely that only made it more suitable for a widow with one child than this huge manor? Anne loved Ashorne, but that did not make her blind to its disadvantages. It needed the fun and bustle of a large family to animate its echoing rooms.

  Whatever Julia might say Anne intended to go across at once to Melthorpe Hall and discover the state of affairs there.