The Outrageous Belle Marchmain. Lucy Ashford
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him a money-grubbing upstart.
‘Did you have to sell to him, Edward?’ Belle had asked at the time.
‘Yes,’ Edward said flatly, ‘and Davenant was desperate to buy. You know what all these new-money families are like, Belle. They want as many acres as possible in hopes of making themselves respectable.’
Belle had grieved the loss of the land at Sawle Down, but had hoped that Edward would concentrate on making a success of what remained of their ancestral estate near Bath. Hoped that marriage and family responsibilities might perhaps be the making of him.
Some hope. The amount Davenant offered for the land had, in fact, turned out to be derisory—though he was now set to make a fortune from his purchase, because the sudden surge in price of Bath stone had made the old quarry there workable once more.
He must have known. Must have deliberately set out to swindle them. And now, with the London dusk closing in around her and Edward staring at her with that half-defiant, half-scared look that she knew of old, Belle rubbed her temples with her fingertips as her brother told her anew—rather resentfully, as if it were her fault—that last summer’s harvest had been a poor one, thanks to the rain that had ruined his wheat. ‘And the taxes, Belle! Last year this blasted government brought in new taxes on barley, on farm horses—anything that grew or moved, basically!’
Then Edward proceeded to remind her that the roof of Hathersleigh Manor had needed replacing entirely. ‘Uncle Philip neglected the place so badly,’ Edward complained. ‘The roof had to be fixed, or the thing would have caved in.’
Their father’s brother, the dour Philip Hathersleigh, had overseen the estate from their father’s death fourteen years ago until Edward reached his majority. Belle didn’t feel particularly close to Uncle Philip—even less to his shrewish wife Mildred—but she’d formed the opinion that Philip was a sound, careful man whose advice Edward had rashly spurned, with the result that Uncle Philip and his wife had retreated back to their estate in the north with little love lost.
‘Look after the paperwork, young man,’ Uncle Philip had said grimly to Edward. ‘And get yourself sound legal advice, if you want to stand any chance of holding your inheritance together.’
Edward had blithely ignored Uncle Philip’s warnings; her brother’s desk, Belle couldn’t help but notice on her March visit, was overflowing with neglected files and unread correspondence. And, of course, with bills.
‘So the new roof and taxes got you into debt,’ she now said steadily. From the back of the shop she could hear the merry voices of her assistants making their departure. Could hear Gabby’s laughter and Matt’s deep voice as he began to lock up. ‘Surely though, Edward,’ went on Belle, trying to keep calm, ‘the income from the estate could have kept your debts at bay?’
‘I did get on top of my debts, Belle. Or at least, I thought I had. You see, back in February—it was just before you came to stay with us, actually—I sold some of the sheep from that land Davenant purchased from me last year.’
‘You did—what?’ breathed Belle. She felt suddenly cold.
Edward shrugged, but his cheeks were pink. ‘I sold some of Davenant’s stock. He’s so rich I thought he wouldn’t even notice.’
Belle said, ‘You stole from him. Oh, Edward. You stole from that man.’
Edward jumped to his feet and walked around the candlelit shop with his hands thrust defiantly in the pockets of his new coat. ‘Stealing? Hardly—his sheep had strayed because he’d not bothered maintaining his fences. And dash it all, Belle, you could say that Davenant was stealing from me, you know? He paid me a pitiful amount for that land I sold him and if that isn’t stealing, I don’t know what is! Belle—Belle, are you all right?’
A spring evening, on Sawle Down. A stranger, whose arrogance had made her cheeks burn. Are you querying his right to this land? he’d asked cuttingly. And he’d only been one of Davenant’s labourers.
Something tightened painfully in her chest, as it did whenever she remembered that hateful day. She dragged herself back to the equally unpalatable present. ‘You were telling me you’d stolen some of Mr Davenant’s sheep.’
‘I wouldn’t exactly call it theft! But then Davenant found out about the sheep, curse it, and I got a lawyer’s letter …’
Edward told her all this very rapidly, almost indignantly, as Belle sat there in her bright-striped jacket with the green ribbons trailing from her hair.
I have fought. I have fought so hard, to make this new life for myself.
‘Davenant himself came to call on me two months ago,’ Edward was continuing. ‘In Somerset, just after you’d been to visit.’
Belle clenched her hands. ‘What’s he like?’
‘Oh, positively detestable, you can imagine, risen from rags to riches in a generation. “Miner Tom”, they called his grandfather—made the family fortunes from tin in Cornwall. As for Davenant—well, he’s a big fellow dressed in black, a positive boor—what more can I say? I tell you, Belle, not a pleasant word passed his lips during our conversation. He told me I was nothing less than a sheep-stealer—as if a few sheep should matter to him!’
Belle was finding she could scarcely breathe. She twisted the slender wedding ring on her finger. ‘Is this why you’ve come to London?’
‘Well, yes. Davenant demanded another meeting—demanded, can you credit it? He said he’d travel to Somerset again to see me if I preferred, but I—actually, I didn’t prefer it, not with the baby due, you know?’
Belle did know. She knew that Edward’s poor wife had already had two miscarriages within the past two years, and she dreaded to think what would happen if Charlotte lost this baby.
‘Anyway,’ went on Edward, ‘we met the other day at my hotel, and Davenant had all the figures with him about his sheep—now, isn’t it the sort of thing a normal fellow would leave to his man of business? But, no, I’d swear the creature had gone through all his stock lists with a toothcomb. Dash it, he must make thousands a week from his various interests!’ He gesticulated angrily. ‘Nevertheless, he told me that my debts regarding those dratted sheep could not be ignored.’
Outside in the Strand a crowd of merrymakers went by on their way to an evening in the clubs of St James’s. Belle waited for the noise to fade and asked, ‘Has Charlotte any idea of this?’
‘No,’ he said defiantly, squaring his shoulders. ‘Poor Charlotte, not a thing, and I don’t want her to. She’s delicate, you know?’
And what if I were delicate? Belle bit back the retort, knowing it was ridiculous to expect Edward ever to see her as anything other than his capable, shrewd-headed older sister. But she had to think. This could be disastrous.
Adam Davenant was after Edward, not her. But her shop, her own small savings—would they be implicated? Would everything she had worked so hard for since her husband’s death be lost?
For a moment sheer panic clawed at her chest. Somehow she fought it down and forced herself to say calmly, ‘Is there any possibility that Mr Davenant will let you pay this sum back gradually, month by month?’
‘Good God, I doubt it. He’s a grasping wretch, Belle!’ As Edward distractedly pushed his dark hair back from his forehead, he unintentionally laid bare the old, white scar that puckered the skin there. ‘He’s told me I’ve got to bring the money to his house in Mayfair within the week or he’ll press charges. Damn it, if I had it, I’d hang it round the necks of a few sheep and get them herded up the steps of his fancy house.’
Belle briefly rested her forehead in her hand.
‘You’ll help me, won’t you?’ Edward pleaded. ‘Charlotte. Our home. The new baby … I can’t go to prison, Belle. I can’t …’
Belle