Marrying Miss Hemingford. Mary Nichols

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      Contents

       Cover

       About the Author

       Title Page

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      1815

      The funeral cortège was a long one; the old Earl of Bostock had been respected, if not greatly loved, in the Lincolnshire village from which he took his name. He had lived to a great age, over eighty, so it was said, and had outlived wife and sons, and the only family left to mourn were his grandson Harry, now the new Earl, Harry’s wife, Jane, and his twin sister, Anne. She, most of all, mourned the passing of her grandfather. In his latter years the Earl had become almost a recluse, irascible, opinionated and intolerant where everyone but his beloved granddaughter was concerned. She had been the apple of his eye, the joy of his old age and his constant companion. And now he was gone.

      Anne watched from the window as the coffin, on its carriage drawn by black plumed horses, left Sutton Park, followed by other carriages containing male members of the family, some of whom were so distantly related she had never met them before. Behind them in the procession were many of her grandfather’s friends and close associates. The day was overcast, cooler than of late and threatening rain, though none as yet had fallen. It was a day in keeping with the sombre occasion.

      Anne turned as her aunt came into the room. ‘I thought he would live for ever,’ she said, giving her a wan smile. ‘I cannot believe he has gone.’

      ‘We all have to go sooner or later.’ Although she was forty, Georgiana Bartrum still had the petite figure of a girl; her features were unlined and her hair was still raven black and topped by a lace-edged black cap. ‘Be thankful that he lived so long…’

      ‘I wish I could have gone to the funeral, seen him laid to rest.’

      ‘My dear Anne, you know ladies do not go to funerals.’

      Anne sighed, doing her best not to weep; Grandfather would have considered it a weakness. ‘I don’t feel like a lady, I feel like a little girl, lost and bereft.’

      ‘I know, my dear, but that will pass in time.’ Her voice faltered and Anne went at once to put her arm round her.

      ‘Oh, Aunt Georgie, I am so sorry, I did not mean to make you sad too.’

      Her aunt, her mother’s much younger sister, was herself in mourning for a beloved husband who had died suddenly eighteen months before, but, on hearing of the demise of the Earl, had come down from the Lake District for the funeral, determined to put her grief aside for the sake of her niece. ‘You must not wish the old Earl back,’ she said, dabbing at her eyes with a wisp of handkerchief. ‘He was a great age and could do nothing for himself at the end. He is with his wife and your dear mama and papa now and you must think of yourself.’

      Her aunt had put her finger on the problem. Twenty-seven years old and unmarried, Anne could not contemplate her future with equanimity. Harry and Jane wanted her to make her home with them, but though she loved them dearly, she did not think it would serve. Ape leader, old maid, maiden aunt were words that leapt to her mind. Why had she turned down every offer of marriage made to her when she was still young enough to be thought marriageable? Not quite every offer—there had been one she would have accepted from a perfectly eligible young man with whom she had imagined herself in love. They had been dealing famously with each other and she had been expecting an offer.

      And СКАЧАТЬ