Her mouth dry, Apple could barely get the words out. “And my — my mother?”
“Also a lady of rank, whose reputation could not be saved by marriage since the gentleman in the case — your father — was already married with a hopeful family.”
“Then how did she… I mean, what happened to her?”
Mr Vergette’s tone was matter of fact, no vestige of the tragedy of Apple’s origins touching his story. “Naturally the matter was hushed up. I understand she waited out her time in secret and was afterwards hustled into matrimony with some eligible gentleman, perhaps less worthy than she might have hoped for under more propitious circumstances.”
“And I was given up for adoption?”
For the first time, a measure of sympathy came into Mr Vergette’s eyes as he returned to his chair and sat down again. “Your grandfather, Miss Greenaway, was a man of integrity. Not wishing you to suffer for his son’s misdemeanour, he set up the trust and arranged for John Greenaway, with whom I believe he had business interests, to take you into his household.”
Apple’s head was whirling, but her heart was cold. She must not lose her senses. “Papa thought I might be a boy, didn’t he? He wanted an heir for the winery.”
“It may have been so. I am not privy to Mr Greenaway’s reasons. Certainly he did not balk at taking you for his daughter when the time came.”
Curiously, Apple found she was less affected by the deception, the necessity for which she could appreciate, than the immediate consequences in her present situation. To know about the trust became imperative.
“Is it money, Mr Vergette?” She saw his brows draw together and threw up a hand. “You must not think me mercenary, sir. I would have been content to labour in the business, but Papa would not have it so. And when he died … well, you know what happened for I wrote as much to you.”
Mr Vergette inclined his head. “I acquit you of wishing to do more than escape the bonds of matrimony, Miss Greenaway.”
A shaft of misery went through Apple and she was obliged to clasp her fingers tightly together, for it had come to her in a flash that the notion of matrimony in another guise had become, all unknowingly, a secret hope. An impossible, foolish notion, which must be slain at birth.
Gathering her courage, she looked again at the lawyer. “You are my trustee?”
“I am, Miss Greenaway.”
“Then tell me, if you please, if my — my grandfather’s generosity will give me enough independence for a scheme I have in mind.”
His brows lifted. “You seem to be a lady of decided resource, Miss Greenaway. What is your scheme?”
Apple drew a breath. “I will tell you, but I must first have your promise that you won’t reveal it to — to Lord Dymond.”
“You begin to interest me extraordinarily, Miss Greenaway.”
A tiny laugh escaped Apple. “Well, I know he won’t like it, and he is bound to try to stop me, if — if he does not altogether…”
Her voice failed. Had Alex guessed? But he could not know the true circumstances. And when he did —! Her mind balked, refusing the possibility that Alex would repudiate her. He never would. It was not in his nature.
She discovered Mr Vergette was holding out a handkerchief. Apple took it, the tears spilling over as she glanced at him, her voice husky. “Thank you. I did not think you would be so kind.”
Mr Vergette’s manner became even more avuncular, and his tone softened as he leaned a little towards her. “I am not a monster, Miss Greenaway. And if I am not very much mistaken, you are the more to be pitied for my Lord Dymond having crossed your path.”
“Oh, no, never! And it was I who crossed his, you know.” She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “I could not regret having met Alex, however much I might miss…” She faded out, having recourse to the handkerchief again. This would not do. She must control herself, or she would infallibly give herself away. There was a whole day to be got through before she could carry out the plan revolving in her head.
It had materialised almost immediately upon hearing of her background, curling into life at the back of her mind. Which was why the grief was coursing through her. With determination, she turned again to Mr Vergette. “I fear I must ask for your help, sir. May I rely upon your discretion?”
Chapter Twenty
The morning found Alex in a mood of dismayed anticipation. The brief encounter with Vergette had thrown up so much speculation in his head he’d been unable to keep his attention on the hunt, and almost came to grief across one of the jumps. His father had noticed, accusing him of being distrait at the post-hunt gathering in the Talbot Inn at Berwick St John, close to where the hunt had ended when the fox went to ground.
“Sitting in a brown study, my boy, with all around you breaking into song. It’s not like you, Alex. What’s to do?”
He’d evaded the question. “Got something on my mind, sir, that’s all.”
His father’s penetrating glance had rested on him for several minutes. But he thankfully refrained from question. And since Alex made an effort to join in thereafter, nothing more was said.
They arrived back at Dymond Garth only in time to change for dinner, and Alex had no chance to exchange a word with Apple. He was a little surprised that she did not seek a snatched interview. Indeed, she appeared rather to avoid him, challenging his father to a game of chess which kept them both occupied until the tea tray was brought in.
