Anything but Love (The Putney Brothers Book 1) Page 15

  "Mother and Aunt Eustacia can arrange for the neighbours to come for dinner, and some parlour games," said Harry with false brightness. "You won't be cut off from the world, we promise."

  Her gaze dropped to Charles' cravat, her eyes unfocused.

  "I am to be trapped again," she said, her voice dull and flat.

  "Of course not, child," said Aunt Eustacia loudly. "There can be no objection to you venturing into Newtown with me to do a spot of shopping, or visiting people so long as you remain in the carriage."

  "There can and will be a great deal of objection to both those schemes," snapped Charles. "It is a moment's work to abduct a person as small and slight as Marianne. I will not take the risk until we are sure she is free from Headley."

  "By imprisoning me here instead of at Clun," Marianne replied. "No, don't help me up, Charles. I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself."

  "It's for your own protection, my dear,' said John, and Marianne looked like she was going to vomit. Charles was certain that those exact words had been used on her by Cuthbert and his mother.

  "It won't be for long," he said, trying to reassure her. "Your brother's boat is due any day, and then things will return to normal for you.”

  "We have no idea when Gordon will return,” she said with considerable exasperation, “and the situation will only be worse once I obtain my majority. If Cuthbert wants to force me to marriage, let’s just see him try.”

  The bravery of her words made his heart smile, but her innocence of just what her cousin could to do to force her to wed him was enough to make him lock her in the house for eternity, just so she did not discover the ugly reality of the world.

  "He tried to abduct you at Braddoc’s Well," said John. “There’s no telling what he’ll try next time.”

  "Which is why we must keep you safe here on the grounds of Putney Manor," said Charles as he took her hands into his. "I know how hard it will be you to be stuck on our estates, but we will not restrict your social interactions, I promise!"

  "You mean to keep me cooped up on your property," she said, her voice shaking with barely-contained anger as she pulled her hands away from him. "Like my Aunt did. You won't let me leave."

  "We will walk with you about the grounds every day,” Lady Putney declared, "and I will arrange card parties, and dancing, and dinners with as many of our neighbours that we can fit in the house."

  "And I did not want to tell you just yet, my girl, as it was to be a surprise for your birthday, but I have purchased the most delightful embroidery supplies, and you may have them this very night if you wish," said Aunt Eustacia, concern evident in her voice even as Charles threw both ladies a grateful smile.

  "And you agree with this?" Marianne demanded, turning her anger onto his father. "You think that keeping me under a close eye is the only way to keep me from my cousin's clutches? That there can be no other solution?"

  "I'm afraid that is what we're saying, child," replied Sir Joseph, his tone gentler than Charles had ever heard it. "I've had my people looking for answers since you arrived here, but with the attempted abduction, I fear for your safety if my men cannot watch over you. I will leave for London on the morrow to seek out a legal remedy and find out what I can about your brother’s return."

  There was a long silence. Charles tried desperately to think of something to say, to find a way to reassure her that he would do what he could to make sure she remained happy while they kept her safe.

  “Marianne, I…” he began, but trailed off as she set her hard eyes onto him.

  She looked at each of them in turn, her gaze steady, but her hands were shaking.

  "It seems like I do not have a choice," she said eventually with the dignity of someone resigned to their fate at the guillotine. "I was imprisoned by the Headleys for over a year; I’m sure this will seem luxurious by comparison. Godmama, thank you for the gift of the embroidery, and I very much look forward to using it. Lady Putney, Sir Joseph; the entertainments you have planned sound delightful, but please, I must insist that you take at least some payment for your trouble, and add it to my accounts."

  "As you wish, my dear," lied Sir Joseph. Neither of them, it seemed, had the heart to tell her that she had possibly lost her fortune on top of everything else.

  Charles wondered how much she would hate him when she discovered that he’d know the state of her finances all along.

  "If you would all excuse me, I have a headache, and I need to lie down," Marianne said in a tone that indicated she was anything but ill. "I shall go up to bed. Don't worry about me trying to escape in the night, either! I'm sure that Lizzie will keep a watch over me and report back my movements to you all. Good evening."

  She strived for a dignified exit, but the closer to the door she got the faster she moved, until she practically fled from their presence, her single sob audible even as she disappeared from view.

  "Does anyone else feel like a complete wretch?" said John in a glum tone.

  "We all do," sighed Lady Putney. "Dearest, you must call on Patience tomorrow and see if she will come to visit Marianne each day; she can bring her father and sister, or Phillips can sit with them at the Hall."

  "I'll do it first thing," John promised.

  “I am going to go up to her,” said Aunt Eustacia before hefting herself onto her feet. “Poor child seems to think she has to do everything on her own.”

  “I’ll join you,” said Lady Putney, “even if all we do is sit quietly or read with her. Oh, and remember the embroidery, my dear. It might improve her mood a little.”

  "Gordon better return on the next boat into Bristol," muttered Charles as he ran a hand through his hair, "and after I've berated him for leaving his sister alone for so long, I'll beat him to death for his own selfish stupidity."

  "Save your wrath for the Headleys, my dear boy," said his father.

  Charles grimaced as he remembered the look of disappointment and betrayal on Marianne's face just before she'd left the room. A look he had no idea how to fix.

  "I have more than enough for them all, Father," he said, his hands balling up into fists. "Believe me, I've more than enough for them all."

  *

  Stab. Stab. Stab.

  The morning sun streamed into the little sewing room at the back of the house, giving Marianne exceptionally good light to work by as she drove the fine needle through the muslin over and over again, imagining it was Cuthbert’s face, and then Charlie’s, every time the tip pierced the material.

  She was grateful for her solitude, for while the room was small and comfortable, Lady Putney preferred to sit in the parlour while she completed her sewing, and Godmama would accompany her old friend. While the ladies had been very kind and solicitous the evening before, even bringing her some gifts and a cup of warm chocolate, it was difficult to sort out her thoughts and feelings when surrounded by people clucking at her, so the current peace was welcome. She was not, however, under no illusion of being alone. There were two gardeners right outside of the sewing room window who had been hoeing the same patch of soil for over forty minutes, and there was a footman stationed a few feet from the open door behind her.

  Stab. Stab. Stab.

  “They’re only trying to help you,” she muttered to herself as she pictured the needle buried into the side of Charlie’s nostril. “You asked him to protect you, so you have no right to be angry at him. It’s not his fault that someone tried to abduct you, even though you told them several times about the man in the blue greatcoat lurking in the bushes.”

  She wondered if there were bigger needles available, with thicker material to stab. Perhaps she could find a shoemaker to teach her how to drive pins into leather, although that, of course, would involve her leaving the Estate.

  She hated Cuthbert Headley and his harridan of a mother. She had half a mind to write to them, offering to gift them her entire fortune if only they would leave her alone and let her be happy again. She hated her brother for going off on Amherst's stupid ex
pedition and failing to ensure she was properly cared for. She hated the man in the blue greatcoat for interfering with her happiness just as she'd started to reclaim it. She hated the Putneys and her Godmama for giving her a taste of freedom, only to wrench it away from her.

  She paused, the needle hovering an inch above the muslin.

  No, she didn't hate the Putneys or Mrs Melthwaite in the least. In her calmer moments she was even able to see it from their perspective, and understand that in order to keep her safe from a potential abduction they had to keep a close eye on her. It wasn't their fault, or even her own, that the situation had arisen, and there was nothing that anyone could do about it. They were even going out of their way to make the whole situation more tolerable for her, with so many promised treats and gifts that she would have felt utterly spoiled under other circumstances.

  But there were restrictions even here at the Manor. A member of the family or one of their trusted staff must be with her at all times, and could no longer find solitude even in her bedchamber. Lizzie, upon learning from Lady Putney the new restrictions on Marianne, had insisted on sleeping on a truckle bed beneath the window, just to make sure nobody tried to enter in the night.

  Stab. Stab. Stab.

  She’d deliberately been late down to breakfast so that she was not forced to talk with the three brothers, although Charles had left her a note explaining they would be out for most of the morning. They had decided to visit every tenant farmer and labourer on the estates, asking them to keep an eye out for suspicious characters. The logic was sound, but Marianne was uncomfortable with so many strangers being told about her situation. Considering that all and sundry had already been told the dramatic tale of her rescue by Charles, her new captivity just made her feel like a sordid piece of gossip.

  She did not know how to explain to her hosts how ashamed she felt of herself for allowing the Headleys to treat her the way they did. Even if her logic told her there was nothing she could have done, that sense of helplessness and shame refused to go away.

  Stab. Stab. Stab.

  "I hope that's not my heart you are imagining, child," said Sir Joseph as he entered the room. Marianne got to her feet, forcing herself to smile.

  "It's easier to imagine I am stabbing Cuthbert," she replied. "It's his fault I am in this mess, after all."

  "True, but I am yet to find proof of any such thing," he told her. "I am surprised to find you in here alone, my dear."

  She stared pointedly at the footman, visible just beyond the open door. "Our definitions of 'alone' appear to be quite different, Sir Joseph."

  He had the good grace to chuckle at that.

  "Poor Marianne! Just as you've reclaimed your independence, here we are, taking it away from you again. Do you hate us with a passion?"

  It was so close to what she'd been thinking only moments before that she had to look away from him, her cheeks burning.

  "Not at all! I am forever in the debt of the Putney family for rescuing me."

  "There is no debt at all, Marianne, and I am sure that Charles would be most upset to learn you were grateful to him."

  A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. "Yes, he's made that clear a few times, but being grateful or feeling in debt doesn't mean that I am obligated to any of you. One should feel blessed by the presence of kind, generous people in one's life, don't you think?"

  "So long as there is no obligation," he told her with a paternal smile. "I came to ask a favour of you, although it will be to your benefit, I promise.”

  "What could you need from me?” she asked, a little confused at the request.

  “A letter to your lawyers, stating that you have sent me to act on your behalf, and to your banker as well.”

  “So I can access my accounts without Cuthbert?” she said, her heart lifting with hope. “Oh, I can do so at once! Just give me a few minutes to scratch out a note for you.”

  "And so you can see just what arrangements your cousin and aunt made on your behalf,” Sir Joseph added as she rushed over to the small writing desk. “I do not promise any results though, my dear. You may have to wait for Gordon’s return to regain your financial control.”

  "I understand perfectly," she promised as she dipped the quill pen into the ink. "What I'd give to see Gordon again so soon! Naturally I’ve missed him, but it would be so lovely to be independent again, and able to travel and attend things with whomever I liked, whenever I liked!"

  “My family are boring you to tears, are they?” he asked, and even though she knew he was joking, the question caught her off guard.

  “You are some of the finest, most pleasant people I have had the honour to spend time with,” she said as she continued to write the brief message. “And were I a true member of this family, or truly courting, then this would have been one of the most enjoyable periods of my life.”

  “I understand you perfectly,” said Sir Joseph as she blotted excess ink off her page. “The real problem is that you have no wish to marry any one of my sons. I can see how that might make you wish to be anywhere else but here.”

  Marianne spun around to look at her host, her eyes wide with horror.

  "What? No! I never meant to imply such a thing at all, Sir Joseph! All three of your sons are capital young men who any girl would be lucky to marry, I swear it!"

  There was a gentle, teasing smile on his face that made him look a lot like Charlie, and it occurred to her that he must have been a very attractive man in his youth.

  "But not you, eh?" he said, dropping his head to one side as he studied her. “Don’t worry, my dear child; Charles told us the night you arrived that marriage to him was out of the question.”

  Marianne briefly wondered if it was possible to faint from the heat of burning cheeks. She folded over the piece of paper and held out the note.

  "I... it's just... well I’m not of age for a start, so…. And even if I was, well, I want to marry someone who loves me, and that I love back in equal measure, not for safety, or security, or anything but love."

  The side of Sir Joseph’s mouth kicked up into a smile as he took the proffered sheets from her.

  "And there was I, thinking that you and Charles would marry for the very thing you want most,” he said, smiling as though he knew some deep secrets even as he sent her world spinning in the wrong direction.

  “I… I did not mean to cause offence.”

  “You could only have done that by deciding marriage to Cuthbert Headley was preferable to living under my roof,” he said, tucking the notes into his pocket. "Now, I must set off if I wish to reach London before nightfall. Take care, Marianne, and know that whatever you decide, you can call Putney Manor home for as long as I live."

  He leant over and planted a fatherly kiss on the top of her head, before leaving the room, chuckling to himself.

  Marianne sat back down, her embroidery forgotten and her head whirling about in confusion.

  Was Sir Joseph implying that Charles had feelings for her that were beyond that of a brother? Or that she had feelings for him that were more than friendship?

  "Impossible," she muttered to the room.

  It was ridiculous to think that she had more feelings for Charlie than she did for anyone else. John, or even Harry, for example. Besides, her traitorous heart was wrong when it whispered to her that she could imagine sharing the moment at Braddoc's Well with either of the younger Putney brothers, or that she'd want them to kiss her the way she wished Charlie had done.

  Charlie, who seemed reluctant to be too close to her.

  Charlie, whose only conversation was now local myths and family legends, as though by avoiding discussions about her situation could render it invisible.

  Charlie, whose eyes softened when they met hers, and whose smile had made her heart soar ever since she was a child.

  Charlie, who she used as a standard against which to compare every man who had courted her, and had never come close to being matched.

  She stood up again, pacing up
and down the room, unreasonably angry at everyone and everything for reasons she couldn't articulate, even to herself.

  The Putney's butler cleared his throat from the doorway. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, Miss Hillis, but my Lady has requested you join her and her guests in the parlour."

  "I'll go directly, thank you," she replied, immediately putting a hand to her cropped locks to check they were still in order, and then smoothing down any creases from her pretty blue day dress. She forced herself to set thoughts of Charles aside to consider at a later time and did the same to the conversation with Sir Joseph, lest her irritation show in her face. Despite everything, she did not want either Lady Putney or her Godmama to think that she was anything but grateful for the kindness and generosity that they had shown to her.

  "Stop acting like a spoiled brat, Marianne, and appreciate what they're doing for you," she muttered to herself as she walked down the corridor. "They deserve to see your smile."

  By the time she stepped into the parlour the smile fixed onto her lips felt almost genuine.

  "You wished to see me, Lady Putney?" she said as she walked into the room.

  Lady Putney, looking very fine in a printed cotton grown and white cotton cap, threw her a smile filled with such genuine warmth that Marianne immediately felt ashamed at every unjustified, unkind thought she'd ever had about the woman.

  "Darling Marianne, look who has come to visit you, and with an excellent plan for your entertainment!"

  Patience Swancoat, still wearing her simple straw bonnet and grey pelisse, got to her feet.

  "Hello, Miss Hillis," she said, as though a little unsure of her welcome.

  “Miss Swancoat, how nice to see you," said Marianne, a little more stiffly than she intended. “How is your father, and your sister?”

  “Ursula is spending the day with the vicar’s wife, thank you,” said Patience, the tremble in her lips suggesting she derived great amusement from this fact. “Father is well. I left him conversing with our steward about the tenant farms, and I doubt he even knows I left.”

  “I’m glad,” said Marianne, knowing it was the wrong response but unable to think of one better.