Ross left Robin in the stables and made his way into the house through the service door. He stopped in the passage and took off his greatcoat, shaking off the rapidly melting snowflakes before entering the kitchen.
The warmth hit him immediately, as did the savoury smell of cooking. Charity was stirring a large pan set upon the coals, but she looked round when he came in. He felt an overwhelming relief to see her there and could not prevent his lips curving upwards. Her answering smile lit up the room. The heat from the fire had brought a becoming flush to her cheeks, very like the delicate colour that had painted them this morning after she had clutched his arm, when he had wanted to drag her into his arms and kiss away all the hurt and anguish he was causing her. He thrust aside the thought, since it could lead nowhere. He had promised himself he would behave like a gentleman while she was in his house, but it was proving surprisingly difficult. Thank heaven she would not be here for very much longer.
‘I hope you do not mind, but Jed killed one of the hens for me,' she told him. ‘He said the bird was a poor layer and would not be missed. I searched the larder and found a little cream and some lemons, so I have made a chicken fricassee. And there is a potato pudding to serve with it.'
‘You have been busy,' he remarked.
‘I had to find something to do.' She bit her lip in the nervous little habit he was beginning to recognise. ‘I hope you do not mind, but I also kindled a fire in the little parlour. I thought, perhaps, we might sit there after dinner.'
Charity waited for his response, half expecting him to refuse, to insist that she should return to her room upstairs. However, after a brief hesitation he shrugged.
‘Why not? That is a good idea, especially since we have something to celebrate.' She raised her questioning eyes to his and he nodded. ‘Your father has responded. I should explain that he has a much-coveted bust of Caesar in his hall-I know of it because I have spoken to people in Beringham who have seen it and heard him boasting of how much it cost him. You will recall, in the letter you wrote, I instructed him to move the bust to an upstairs window if he was ready to talk terms. Well, he has done so.' He paused. ‘You do not look very happy about it, madam. It means you are a step nearer to being free.'
‘Of course, I am quite delighted,' she said in a hollow voice.
‘Good. Now I will go and change-a fricassee of chicken deserves that I should wash off the dirt from the road, I think!'
Charity watched him go. She had almost been enjoying herself, playing at housekeeping, but his news had changed all that and now she was chilled with apprehension. She had no idea what Ross would demand for her release, but she did not want to be beholden to her father. As she prepared the sauce for their dinner she tried to think why Phineas would have agreed to talk to Ross. Not to buy her freedom, she was sure of that.
* * *
Dinner was excellent and Charity accepted Ross's compliments with a nod and a little smile. She cleared the kitchen while Ross banked up the range for the night and went off to see to the fire in the parlour. When she joined him there a little later she found he had pulled two armchairs up to the hearth and set wine and glasses on a small side table.
‘Madeira,' he explained, seeing her eyes resting on the decanter. ‘I thought you might like it.'
‘I would like to try it, thank you.' She sat down in one of the chairs and waited for him to serve her. The wine was warm and smooth with a rich, nutty flavour. She sipped it appreciatively. The atmosphere was relaxed, and a quick glance at her companion suggested that he, too, was at ease, his long legs stretched out towards the fire and crossed at the ankle. He was gazing into the flames and appeared lost in thought. She drew a breath.
‘So my father has agreed to meet you.'
‘Yes.'
‘May I ask where and when?'
‘It is better that you do not know the details.'
‘Why not? I have already told you that I could pay you-'
‘It is not just the money.'
There was bitterness in his voice and a note that warned her not to continue, but her curiosity was too great to give up now. She ran her tongue across her dry lips and pressed on.
‘Mr Durden-the first night you brought me here, you said you wanted Phineas to return your property. What is it that he has taken from you?'
‘My wife, for one thing.'
‘Your wife?' Charity jerked upright, her eyes wide with surprise.
He laughed harshly. ‘Do not look so shocked, madam. Perhaps I should have said my intended wife. Hannah-the present Mrs Weston-was my mother's companion.'
‘Yes, I had heard that.'
‘I met her when I was home on leave and we...became very close. Or at least I thought so.'
He fell silent, his brow dark and furrowed. Charity remembered that Jed had mentioned the companion and in the most unflattering terms. She said gently, ‘Will you tell me?'
She thought at first he had not heard her, but then he exhaled softly, like a sigh.
‘Six years ago my father died. I was in the West Indies at the time and it was several months before I could come home. My mother's health had never been good, but she wrote to tell me that she was coping well and had taken on a companion-Hannah-to help her. When I returned to Wheelston I discovered that my father had made some unwise investments just before he died and had left very little, apart from land. My mother was distraught. She did not want anyone to know of the change in her fortunes. I used my prize money to pay off the debts and left her with sufficient funds to tide her through until the next harvest, when the rents would come in. Mama and Hannah both insisted I should return to sea, because the ongoing war meant there was every chance of more prize money. They convinced me they could run Wheelston. After all, we had tenants for the two adjoining farms and a good body of servants, so there was no physical work to be done. Hannah was the perfect companion, or appeared to be. My mother adored her and I-' His fingers tightened around his glass until the knuckles gleamed white. ‘I thought we were doing the right thing. I was confident that I could make more money at sea than if I stayed at Wheelston.'
‘And did you?' she asked, when he fell silent. ‘Did you win more prize money?'
‘Aye.' His hand resting on the arm of the chair clenched into a fist and his frown deepened into a scowl. ‘I sent it all home, along with every penny I could spare.'
‘What happened?'
‘I heard little from Wheelston, but that did not worry me, correspondence between home and ships is generally very good, but there can be problems. There was the occasional letter from my mother, accompanied by a note from Hannah telling me that all was well. Then nothing.'
His chair scraped back as he got up abruptly and fetched the bottle from the side table. Charity allowed him to refill her glass and waited in silence for him to take his seat again and resume his story.
‘My mother died in the spring of '05, but it was a full month before I heard. I received a letter from an old family friend in Allingford who sent his condolences and expressed regret-and some disapproval-that I had not seen fit to come home when she became so very ill. I requested immediate leave and sailed for England.'
He stopped, his gaze fixed on the fire. The flames danced in his dark eyes like tiny red devils.
‘I came back to find Wheelston a mere shell, the estate neglected and the tenant farmers gone.'
‘Gone?'
‘Yes. Their rents had been increased and when they could not pay they had been driven off the land.'
‘Wait,' she said, frowning. ‘You did not order the rents to be raised?'
‘No, of course not. Is that what you were told?' His lip curled. ‘I have never spoken of it to anyone in Allingford, so I assume they had that information from Hannah. I can only conclude that she was behind it all, squeezing every penny out of the estate and running it into the ground. I learned that my mother's funeral was a poor affair with her friends paying for her to be interred beside my father, but her name had not been added to the headstone. Only then did I realise the restraint in that friend's letter! Only a selfish, uncaring brute would leave his mother to struggle on in such circumstances. I came back to find bills outstanding with tradesmen in Allingford, and the stonemason would not engrave the headstone without being paid first. Of Hannah and my prize money there was no sign.'