Page 54 of War of the Wedding Wagers
“Lady Pernilla married her true love, William!” she went on. “I just don’t know where, and I hope you’ll come with me to ask the parson if there’s a record in the parish register.”
Sir Frederick sent her a fond look. “My dear Miss Fairchild, do you really suppose that her legal marriage would beregistered in the local parish register when Lady Pendleton has told everyone her great-great aunt died when she fell to her death from the tower, because her father refused to sanction her love for a stable boy.”
“Yes, that’s what everyone was obviously told, but it’s not the truth!”
Miss Fairchild took a seat opposite him, reaching into her reticule to withdraw a small book, which she opened.
“This is Lady Pernilla’s diary,” she said. “I found it in a false bottom of the kist that was in Lady Pernilla’s tower room.”
“The same place we found false letters written by Lady Pendleton to keep up the fun of the treasure hunt?” Sir Frederick tried to sound kind.
“Nearby. But this isn’t false. It’s not written by anyone pretending to play games.” Miss Fairchild tapped the book before pushing it towards him. “Have a look at the entries which begin at the beginning of the year. Read a few of them until you’re convinced they’re not fabricated, and then read the last one.”
Of course he had to humor her, even if he didn’t for one moment believe this was really Lady Pernilla’s diary from a hundred years earlier.
But what might have been a more cursory look through the small, leather-bound book packed with dense writing, difficult in places to decipher but generally quite readable, became a more drawn-out exercise.
And this was because Miss Fairchild, in her continued excitement, had drawn closer to him, her fragrant light brown hair almost touching his cheek, and causing such distraction it was hard to concentrate on the words he was supposed to read.
Fortunately, Miss Fairchild kept him to the task at hand with her frequent interjections.
“See, she states quite clearly here that though William is the son of a solicitor and had been acceptable at the start, William’s father’s bankruptcy and ensuing scandal meant William was no longer allowed to court Pernilla.” She shook her head. “How could Lady Pendleton be so dismissive of poor William? Clearly, he was given a very damning accounting of in the annals of history which he did not deserve.”
“How do you explain the letter which stated he was a stable lad?”
“Oh, now you are confusing Lady Pendleton’s letters and something written by William, wrongly interpreted.” Miss Fairchild was clearly frustrated. “See what Pernilla writes here?” She tapped a page halfway through the book. “William had found work as a tutor, but his love of horses and his rare gift of soothing them had some of those in the area requesting his services. So, you can see how that would be blightingly referred to by Sir Pendleton if he wanted to force his daughter to marry a local landowner she didn’t care for.”
“Another of Lady Pendleton’s falsehoods, I’m sure,” Sir Frederick said in as bored a tone as he felt he could get away with, for he certainly enjoyed Miss Fairchild’s darkling looks. How nice it was to get something other than a bland reaction which he’d expected when she’d decided it was safer to have nothing to do with him.
“No! See here!” Miss Fairchild turned a few more pages to nearly the end of the book, located a certain passage, then began to read:
“I fear Papa will pressure me to the point where I have no further means of resistance. William says that if I can hold them off—Papa and Sir Simon—for another five days, he’ll have organized a special license, and we can elope.”
She turned her wide-eyed gaze upon Sir Frederick. “Did you read that? William got a special license and he and Lady Pernillaeloped. I thought maybe the parson at St John’s might be able to verify it because, as you can see, the diary ends several pages later when she’s made plans to run away with William the following day.” She shook her head. “Perhaps Pernilla forgot the diary. Or perhaps she had planned to take it with her but was unable to.”
Sir Frederick didn’t dismiss the idea that the diary was not real this time. There was something both real and compelling about the entries.
But now he shook his head as he said, “All this flies in the face of everything Lady Pendleton clearly believes about her ancestor. She says Lady Pernilla died here, at Pendleton Castle. If that’s the case, her grave would be here.”
“All right, let’s find it.” Miss Fairchild rose and took a few steps towards the door, turning to him in invitation.
“Do you mean right now?”
She nodded. “Of course,” she said, as if there was nothing else that could be of any greater importance.
And despite the objections of Sir Frederick’s painful leg, he found that he was more than happy to accompany Miss Fairchild on a visit to the family crypt.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Amelia had goneahead while she waited for Sir Frederick to ask for the key to the Pendleton family crypt. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawn, and a cool breeze stirred her skirts. She certainly didn’t want to be seen in company with him more than she already had been, though her heart quickened at the thought of another private moment in his presence. As a majority of guests had gone on either a picnic or a ramble, leaving mostly the elderly to lounge about in the drawing room, Amelia felt beneath scrutiny.
Waiting by the large wooden door with its heavy iron studs, weathered by centuries of rain and wind, she observed Sir Frederick’s approach. His limp, which hadn’t been in evidence when he’d shepherded them around the castle, caught her attention. Despite it, he moved with a quiet dignity that she found herself admiring against her better judgment.
“A mishap during croquet, or were you practicing the waltz?” she asked with a smile, trying to mask her concern with light teasing.
“An old injury aggravated when I tried to follow my sister in Mr. Greene’s phaeton,” Sir Frederick said, raising an eyebrow as he closed the distance between them, holding up a large iron key. The way his eyes met hers held a warmth that made her chest tighten.
“Oh, dear, I wondered where you were when she was whisked away amid a group of admiring and envious lads and ladies.” Amelia waited as he inserted the key, watching his capable hands work the ancient lock. “I don’t think he’s as serious as you might have feared earlier, though,” she added softly. “I have seen him send other young ladies indications of his interest.”
