Читать книгу Married By Christmas - Anne Herries - Страница 10

‘Damn you, Harry,’ Lord Beverley said and glared at his son. ‘I should have thought that you would want to do your duty by the estate now that your brother is dead…’ Pain showed briefly in the father’s eyes, for the death of his elder son coming on top of their estrangement was hard to bear. ‘You have hardly been in this house since you left the army, sir. I demand that you spend more time here learning about the way the estate is run. It will come hard to you when I am gone and it is all on your shoulders.’

Hal bit back the angry words that rose to his lips. A part of him wanted to tell his father exactly why he had no time to waste languishing at the estate, but he knew that his mission would not find favour in Lord Beverley’s eyes. If he knew that Hal was searching for Matt’s wife he would quite probably forbid him to go on—and it was impossible to tell him about his suspicions that Matt’s death had not been an accident. As yet he had no proof, just a feeling that there had to be some other reason for an excellent horseman like Matt to die in a fall from his horse…that and some small inconsistencies in the stories that had been told him when he first learned of his brother’s death. It had left a shadow hanging over him in all he did, though none would have guessed it, for outwardly he was the smiling carefree young man he had always been.

Lord Beverley’s health was not all it should be and Hal was too dutiful—indeed, too fond—a son to cause his father unnecessary suffering, even if he did not agree with the way that he had treated Hal’s brother and his wife. He shrugged, hiding his true feelings behind a careless manner.

‘As to that, sir, I doubt you intend popping off just yet, which means I have plenty of time to learn. Besides, we have a very capable agent to run things at the estate and several good men who know their job.’ He grinned engagingly. ‘If I were to interfere with anything, you would soon send me packing. And I have arranged to meet some fellows at Newmarket. You wouldn’t have me break my word?’ He had no intention of going to Newmarket, but better that his father believed he was wasting his time and money on the horses than that he should know the truth.

‘You imagine that everything is a joke,’ his enraged father said. ‘I sometimes think that you will laugh as they put you into your grave, sir!’

‘It is something I picked up in the army, Father. We all learned to laugh at life, otherwise we should have cracked up.’

‘You should never have been in the army at all,’ Lord Beverley said. ‘It was bad enough that your brother defied me—and as for marrying that girl!’ He shook his head. ‘He could have done much better than that, Harry. Her father is a rogue and a fool! I want your promise that you will find yourself a decent girl and marry her before six months is out. We need an heir for the estate.’

‘Yes, Father. I am aware of your feelings on that matter. I can only say that I will do my best to oblige you if it is at all possible.’

‘Surely you can pick a suitable girl from all those you must meet in the best drawing rooms in London?’ his father said, clearly displeased with his answer. ‘Your brother defied me and married a girl I could not welcome into the family. I disowned him. Don’t make me do the same to you, Harry.’

‘What you did to Matt was your own affair, sir,’ Hal said, meeting his father’s eyes with a challenge of equal determination. ‘If you can live with your conscience then do so, but I should have thought you had learned a serious lesson.’

Ignoring the spluttering anger coming from his father, he turned and walked from the library, which was often the warmest room in this cold and sometimes bleak house. Hal had his own smaller estate, which had been left to him by his rather notorious grandmother, whom he had adored. It was a modern, comfortable house and was by far his favourite. He had never expected to inherit Beverley House or the estate, for he was the younger son and it should all have gone to his brother, Matthew. Matt would never have been in the army at all, except for the quarrel with his father. Matt had fallen in love with Ellen Rowley, the daughter of a wealthy wool merchant, and, as such, beneath his notice, according to Lord Beverley. He had advised his son to bed her and forget her, or keep her as his mistress and marry a girl from the right kind of family. Matt had ignored his father, marrying the girl he loved and taking her with him when he joined the army.

Ellen had become a camp follower, going wherever Matt went and accepting all the hardships of the campaign as if they were a natural part of a woman’s life. Hal had liked her. Had he been there when Matt had died, he would have taken her under his guardianship and looked after her. He had a useful income of his own, and was not financially reliant on his father. He could have afforded to see that she was able to live decently. However, he had been in England on leave when Matt had been killed in a riding accident. By the time he could get back to Spain, his brother had been buried and his sister-in-law had disappeared.

Hal had been looking for her ever since. He knew that she had a little money, for she had sold various possessions of her husband’s, and he had been told that it was her intention to return to England—but where she had gone since then, he had not been able to discover. He had been to her parents’ home, but her father had disowned her when she ran away with Matt Beverley. He had been equally as opposed to the marriage as Lord Beverley, and told Hal that they would not accept her if she returned home. He knew that she had not approached her father-in-law—and that meant she was trying to support herself by her own efforts. That might not have been so difficult, for Ellen was an attractive, intelligent woman—but Hal had been told that she was carrying a child.

The thought that his brother’s beloved wife was alone, perhaps in trouble, had given Hal many sleepless nights. He knew that he was running the risk of being disinherited if he continued to spend all his time searching for Ellen, but at this moment he didn’t care. He had already made up his mind that he would marry a suitable girl for the sake of the heir that his father so desperately wanted, but felt that it was more important to discover Ellen’s whereabouts first. And there was also the matter of his brother’s death. He had been broken-hearted when he discovered what had happened, and the suspicion that his brother’s death had been no accident had been gnawing at him for a while now. He must do what he could to discover the truth.

He had heard something from a friend of Matt’s, which had led him to hope that Ellen might be living in Bath. If that were the case, he might be able to kill two birds with one stone, because Chloe Marsham had just gone down to Bath with her mother and aunt.

Hal had almost decided that he would speak to Chloe. He wasn’t in love with her, but he liked her. She seemed to be a good-natured girl with a nice smile, and she liked horses. Since it was Hal’s hope to breed race horses once he had settled, either at his own estate or his father’s, having a wife who enjoyed riding and would not complain too much if he smelled of the stables sometimes would clearly be an advantage.

Matt had been head over heels in love with Ellen. Hal asked him once why he had thrown everything away for the sake of the girl he loved. Matt had just smiled in that easy way of his.

‘If you’re ever lucky enough to find the right girl for you, Hal, you will understand. Love isn’t something you choose—it comes along and knocks you for six and there’s nothing you can do about it. Father thought that I should have chosen to put my duty above my feelings for Ellen, but I couldn’t. That damned house he is so proud of is an empty barn as far as I’m concerned. I know it has been in the family for centuries, but if I had my way I would pull it down and build something newer. Without Ellen, I should have nothing to live for. She is my life, Hal, and I am hers.’

And now Matt was dead and Ellen had lost all that she loved—unless it was true that she was carrying Matt’s child. Hal was thoughtful as he went out to his curricle, where his groom was waiting. If the child was a boy, he would be the rightful heir, and he was welcome to the house and the estate for all Hal cared. It would be difficult to make Lord Beverley accept it, but Ellen had the papers to prove that she was Matt’s wife and in law he would be forced to accept her child as his heir—and that would cause one hell of a row.

Hal would face that when it came to it. First of all, he had to find Ellen and make sure that she was well and had sufficient money to live on. Everything else could wait.

Jo Horne kissed her mother’s cheek and then hugged her sister, Lucy. Mama smiled and told her to be a good girl, but Lucy had tears in her eyes and was reluctant to let her go.

‘I shall miss you dreadfully,’ Lucy said and blew her nose on the handkerchief her mama handed her. ‘But I do hope you have a lovely time in Bath, Jo—and write to me often, please, to tell me what is happening in your story?’

‘Yes, of course I shall,’ Jo promised, ‘and when I come home I shall read you all the new chapters I’ve written for my novel.’ She glanced over her shoulder, knowing that her Aunt Wainwright was impatient for her to join her in the carriage. ‘Goodbye, Aunt Bertha. Thank you for having me here—and please take care of Mama and Lucy for me.’

‘Of course I shall, Jo,’ Lady Edgeworthy said, though in truth she knew that Mrs Horne was taking care of her. She pressed a little purse of money into the girl’s hand and closed her fingers over it as Jo protested. ‘Write to all of us as often as you can. Have a wonderful time with Lady Wainwright, and come home to us whenever you wish.’

‘Thank you,’ Jo said and kissed her cheek. ‘You are so generous, but I must go now. Aunt Wainwright has called for me twice.’

She walked to where the heavy travelling coach stood ready, turning for one last look at her family lined up in front of the house. A brave smile in place, she waved and then climbed into the coach. Lady Wainwright gave her a sour look, her harsh features bearing the stamp of irritation.

‘So you are ready at last, Josephine! I thought you would never make up your mind to leave. I hope this isn’t a sample of what I may expect from you in Bath. I think I deserve some consideration from you!’

‘Yes, of course, Aunt,’ Jo said. ‘Forgive me if I kept you waiting, but Lucy did not want to let me go. She has lost both her sisters now that Marianne is married, and it has upset her. She will have no one to share her pastimes.’

‘No doubt you will be returning at the end of a few weeks,’ Lady Wainwright said with a sniff of disapproval. ‘It will do her good to learn to be alone for a while. She is no longer a child, and must learn to employ her time usefully rather than playing foolish games.’

Jo was tempted to retaliate, for she did not like to hear Lady Wainwright speak so harshly of Lucy, but remembering what her elder sister had said to her before she married, about not quarrelling with their aunt, she held her tongue. It was to have been Marianne who was taken to Bath by Lady Wainwright, for she was the beauty of the family. Instead, Marianne had come down to Cornwall to be with Great-aunt Bertha, and by being there had saved her from a rogue who had tried to cheat her out of her estate and might have murdered her. Lady Edgeworthy had been so grateful that she had asked Marianne’s whole family to come and live with her. Now Marianne was married to her marquis and Jo was the one to accompany Aunt Wainwright to Bath.

Jo was under no illusions that her aunt was satisfied with the arrangement. She would have much preferred to take Marianne, but Jo’s beautiful sister had made an excellent marriage with no help from anyone. Jo suspected that Aunt Wainwright was a little annoyed about that, because she had told them that, as Marianne had no dowry, she would be lucky to marry a baronet, but might do so if her aunt introduced her into society. It had piqued her to know that Marianne had made an even better marriage than her daughter Annette, and her uncertain temper seemed sharper than ever.

‘Well, has the cat got your tongue?’

Jo looked at her aunt, considering her reply carefully. ‘I was just wondering where Marianne and Lord Marlbeck are now. I believe they were to travel to his estate for a few days before going on board the ship.’

‘Yes, I dare say,’ Lady Wainwright said and sniffed again disapprovingly. ‘In my day we did not bother with long honeymoons. Your uncle took me to Devon for two weeks and then we returned to his estate. I do not think that I should care to be jolted over foreign roads.’

‘It would be exciting to see Italy. I have seen pictures of various treasures of art and architecture, of course, but to visit them…to see Venice…would be wonderful.’

‘I dare say you will have to content yourself with pictures,’ Lady Wainwright said. ‘Marianne may have married a marquis, but it is not likely to happen to you, Josephine. That hair of yours is much too wild to be attractive. You must hide it or pull it back into a knot so that it is at least tidy.’

‘Yes, I know it is awful,’ Jo replied. The one thing she could agree with her aunt about was her hair, which was a flame red and curled into tight ringlets about her head. No matter how she scraped it back or pinned it up, it always escaped and came tumbling down, and she hated it. She wished that she might have had Marianne’s honey gold hair—or Lucy’s, which was a pale shining silver, almost like moonbeams. Lucy was going to be a beauty to rival Marianne one day, but Jo knew that she was the plain member of the family. Her features were regular and she looked well enough wearing her bonnet, but her hair made her look like a gypsy. Papa had always said so, though he said it with affection, which had taken the sting from the truth of his words. ‘I do try my best, Aunt, but it is difficult to control.’

‘Well, I dare say it does not matter,’ Lady Wainwright said. ‘You are not likely to take Bath by storm and must settle for a respectable gentleman of small fortune if you wish to marry.’

‘As I do not wish to marry,’ Jo replied with as much dignity as she could muster, ‘I agree that it hardly matters what I look like. I shall stay at home, do good works and be a comfort to my mother and Great-aunt Bertha.’

Lady Wainwright gave her an awful look. Jo knew that she had aroused her aunt’s ire once again, but it seemed that she did so all the time, even when she tried to be uncontroversial. She turned to glance out of the window. This visit to Bath was going to seem very long!

‘We shall stay here for the night,’ Lady Wainwright announced as she looked round the comfortable inn parlour. ‘It was my intention to go straight to Bath, as you know, but that unfortunate business with the horse going lame has made us late. I am too weary to go further this evening. Tomorrow will do well enough.’

‘Yes, Aunt, of course,’ Jo said for she too was a little tired from the journey. ‘Does the landlord have rooms for us?’

‘Millicent will have to sleep in your room,’ Lady Wainwright told her. ‘But that is a small thing. Besides, in a public place like this it is better if a young girl does not sleep alone.’

Jo sighed inwardly, but knew that she could not refuse to have her aunt’s personal maid in her room. It would be inconvenient, because she knew that Millicent snored, but, listening to a burst of laughter from across the room, she thought it might be as well. There was a party of young gentlemen enjoying their supper, and by the sound of it they were drinking a little too much wine.

One of them was staring at her very hard, and she drew her eyes away, annoyed that he should look at her in such a way. It was rude and made her uncomfortable, for she had not put up her hair; now that she had removed her fashionable bonnet, the hair fell about her face and tumbled down her back in a riot of untidy curls. She had seen Lady Wainwright glance at it twice, and put her hand up defensively, wishing that she had scraped it back in her usual style.

As the evening progressed, the noise from the young gentlemen increased and Jo was glad when her aunt said that they ought to go upstairs. She was not in the least tired, but she could amuse herself with her scribbling for an hour or so before she slept.

One of the young gentlemen had left the dining parlour, but came back in as she and her aunt were leaving. His eyes seemed to mock her and he stood deliberately in her path so that to pass she would have to squeeze by him.

‘Would you mind allowing me to pass, sir?’

‘I might,’ he said, the suggestion of a leer on his lips. ‘Then again, I might not…’

‘Please, I must follow my aunt.’

Lady Wainwright became aware of her predicament and looked back. ‘Kindly allow my niece to pass, sir—or I shall call the landlord and ask for his assistance!’

The gentleman scowled at her but stood aside, though Jo could feel his eyes following her as she began to walk up the stairs to the room her aunt had reserved for her. At that moment she was very glad that her aunt’s maid was to sleep in her room—there was something about the man’s eyes that had sent shivers down her spine. She was certain that he was not a very nice person at all. She heard a shout of laughter as he rejoined his friends, and blushed, knowing that she must be under discussion.

Lifting her head, she hurried up the stairs. She had not liked the gentleman one little bit and hoped that she would never have to see him again, but he would make a perfect villain in the book she was planning. He was a role model for her wicked earl if ever there were one!

‘Well, what did you think of her?’ Ralph Carstairs asked of the gentleman sitting to his right as he sipped his wine. ‘Not a true beauty, perhaps—but something out of the ordinary, I think. There was pride in her eyes and a hidden fire beneath that cool exterior.’

‘Yes, attractive enough, I grant you,’ Hal Beverley said. ‘But she is not for you, Carstairs. That dragon will keep all but those of pure heart and mind from her door. I assure you that you will not be allowed to get near—and rightly so, my dear fellow.’

Carstairs gave a shout of coarse laughter. ‘You are right about the aunt. I know Wainwright slightly and I believe she leads him a dog’s life. No wonder he kept a high flyer in town for years!’

‘Well, we’ve all done that,’ Hal agreed, though he had not done so for some months, since he left Spain and returned home to search for his sister-in-law. ‘But you have a taste for the forbidden, Carstairs, and I can tell you now that she is not for you—or any of your ilk. It will be marriage or nothing for that young lady, as it should be.’

‘Don’t turn the prude on me,’ Carstairs said with a frown. ‘Madeline was a hot-tempered beauty. We all envied you her favours.’

‘And sampled them as soon as my back was turned,’ Hal said, for he knew that the Spanish beauty had taken lovers as and when she desired. ‘I did not grudge her to you, my friend. She was too much of a firebrand for me—a man would have to give his soul to satisfy her needs.’

‘But the little redhead has something of her look, did you not think so?’

‘I saw nothing of it,’ Hal said, ‘but then I did not stare at her all evening as you did, Carstairs.’ He grinned lazily. ‘I dare say you have given her nightmares. And now you must excuse me, my friend. I think I shall go for a walk before I retire.’

Hal left the others to continue their roistering and went outside into the cool of the night air. It was a cursed nuisance coming across Carstairs and the others. He did not want to become involved with them, and hoped they were, as they had told him, en route to a mill and would not turn up in Bath.

Carstairs had begged him to join them on their expedition, but Hal had pleaded business. Indeed, he had business of his own in Bath, but it was of a personal nature. Carstairs would know Matt’s wife, as would one or two of the others, and for the moment he wanted to keep his mission a secret. He would help Ellen if he found her, but the news that she was expecting Matt’s child would need to be broken gently to Lord Beverley, for a sudden shock of that nature might kill him.

Jo looked out of the window before she was ready to sleep. Her aunt’s maid had not yet come up, but it could not be long now. It was a clear night, the moonlight falling on the inn yard and turning it golden, hiding all the scars of daytime so that it looked mysterious and vaguely beautiful.

She saw a man standing alone in the yard. He seemed to be staring at the moon, or perhaps he was just taking the air before retiring, which she would have liked to do had it been possible. She thought that he was one of the young men who had been making so much noise earlier, though not the one who had stared at her. He had been quieter than the others, thoughtful, though their eyes had met once before she looked quickly away.

She turned as the door of her bedchamber opened and Millicent entered.

‘Not in bed yet, miss?’ the maid asked. ‘I am sorry to disturb you, but it was the only room available.’

‘Not at all,’ Jo said with a smile, because she liked the woman. ‘I am glad to have you here. Some of the gentlemen downstairs are a little the worse for drink.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Millicent said. ‘Well, I shall be here—and we’ll make sure to lock the door, miss.’

‘Yes.’ Jo smiled at her and ran to get into bed because she had turned cold. Thankfully, it was a large feather mattress and they would not be too cramped.

Jo was up early in the morning. She had not slept well, for Millicent had snored most of the night, and she was glad to get up and go downstairs. It was not yet time for breakfast, but she wanted to walk outside for a little to clear a slight headache.

She saw some of the servants beginning their work as she went out into the yard and began to walk towards what looked like a pleasant garden at the rear. It was still chilly for the sun had not yet come out, and Jo hugged her shawl about her shoulders. As she entered the garden, she saw that the man who had blocked her path the previous evening was sitting on a bench, and looked as if he had just doused his head in water. He was stripped to the waist, his tanned skin exposed to the elements.

‘Oh…’ She hesitated as he looked up and saw her. ‘Forgive me…’

Jo turned away immediately, for it was embarrassing to come upon a gentleman in such circumstances.

‘You don’t get away that easily, my lovely,’ the man said and stood up. Before Jo could move away, he came up to her, taking hold of her arm, grinning at her in a manner she could only think of as suggestive.

‘Please let me go,’ Jo said. ‘I did not realise that anyone was here.’

‘Spying on me, were you?’ Carstairs said, a mocking grin on his face. ‘Don’t run away, little witch. I saw you looking at me last night. Your guardian isn’t here now. We could have a little fun together…’

‘No!’ Jo was suddenly aware that no one else was about and a sliver of fear went through her. ‘I have no wish to know you, sir. I must go in or my aunt will look for me…’

‘You shall pay a forfeit before I let you go,’ Carstairs said and grabbed hold of her. ‘I’ll take a kiss at least for my trouble.’

‘Let her go, Carstairs!’

Jo heard the voice behind her. She had not realised that anyone was there, but his command had an instant effect for the man let go of her and she pulled away. Turning, she found herself looking at the gentleman she had seen contemplating the moonlight the previous night. Seeing him close to for the first time, Jo realised that he was very good looking with his dark hair and eyes, and a firm chin that spoke volumes of his determination.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she said. ‘I must go in before I am missed.’

‘You would have done better not to come out at all,’ Hal told her sharply. ‘An inn yard is not the right place for a young lady alone—especially at this early hour when few are about.’

‘I dare say you are right,’ Jo said and walked quickly away. She did not dare to look back, though she knew that a heated exchange was going on behind her.

‘Damn you for interfering,’ Carstairs said. ‘I only meant to kiss the girl!’

‘I know what you intended, and a kiss was the least of it,’ Hal said. ‘We are in England now and there is no war—no excuse for that kind of behaviour. I know what occurred at Badajoz and we don’t want that kind of thing happening here.’

‘You can’t blame me for what happened there,’ Carstairs said, but he could not meet Hal’s stern gaze. ‘The men were out of control, driven by bloodlust and the needs of a long campaign.’

‘I blame no one for anything that happened out there,’ Hal said. ‘We were all driven a little mad by it—but that was war. The girl you were molesting is innocent and deserves to be treated with good manners and respect.’

‘Well, no harm was done,’ Carstairs said, giving him an uneasy look, for he knew that he wasn’t up to Hal’s weight and would go down under a hammer blow from him. He would need a pistol in his hand to stand a chance against him. And the time might yet come when he would need it. ‘She has run back to her dragon of an aunt and I dare say that is the last I shall see of her.’

‘Take my hand,’ Hal said. ‘We should not be bad friends over this, Carstairs.’

‘Come to the mill with us,’ Carstairs invited again as he took Hal’s hand in a show of friendship that was not felt. ‘I can promise you a good time.’

‘Thank you, but I was on my way,’ Hal said. ‘Perhaps we shall meet in town?’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Carstairs said, an angry glint in his eyes as he watched Hal walk away. Arrogant devil! Beverley and his clique had always thought themselves above everyone else—but that hadn’t saved Matt Beverley from breaking his neck in a fall from his horse. A fall that might just have had a little assistance…‘And perhaps you may meet with a similar fate to your brother’s one day, my fine fellow.’

Jo glanced round the Pump Room, sighing as she saw that almost everyone was of her aunt’s age. This was the fourth time they had been here in a week, and she was finding it tedious, but at least they were to attend the Assembly that evening, where she hoped at last to meet some young people.

‘I think I shall bathe,’ Lady Wainwright announced suddenly, surprising Jo out of her reverie. ‘There is no need for you to stay, Josephine. You may visit the library or do some shopping if you wish. I shall take my nuncheon here and we shall meet for tea at home.’

‘Thank you, Aunt,’ Jo said feeling grateful that she was not required to accompany her aunt into the baths. ‘I hope you enjoy your bathing.’

‘It is not a matter of enjoyment,’ Lady Wainwright told her. ‘I am doing this for my health.’

‘Yes, Aunt,’ Jo said. ‘Is there anything I may fetch you from the shops?’

‘Yes, I should like half a pound of peppermint creams from the teashop near the library. Make sure they give you fresh stock and not something that has been tucked away under the counter for weeks.’

‘Yes, Aunt. I shall ask for fresh.’

Jo made her escape before her aunt could change her mind. It was only rarely that she was allowed to go off on her own, though she had managed to join a ladies’ debating circle and had attended their weekly meeting. Her aunt had allowed it because one of her friends had suggested that Jo might like to join, and had entertained Lady Wainwright while Jo was visiting a house just a few doors away. It was a treat to have the freedom to do as she wished for most of the day.

She lingered to look in a few of the fashionable shop windows, admiring the expensive items on display, but was not tempted to buy anything. Her aunt had seen that she had an adequate wardrobe for their visit, and Jo thought that the two bonnets she and Marianne had made were equally as stylish as anything that could be bought in the milliner’s. One shop had a display of gold and silver articles, and a little silver box caught her eye, because it had a singing bird that popped up when it was opened and sang a tune. She had seen one like it at the house of Lady Eccles, who was here for her health like Aunt Wainwright. She had admired it when she was shown how it worked, and thought that, if she could have afforded it, she would have loved to buy one for Lucy. She had spent only a few shillings from the purse Lady Edgeworthy had pressed on her before she left. If she had sufficient when it was time to return to Sawlebridge, she might ask the price of the fascinating trinket.

As she turned away from the window, she almost collided with a gentleman. He grabbed her arm to steady her, and she found herself gazing up into his face as she thanked him, the words dying on her lips as she saw that he was looking at her very boldly, his dark eyes warm with laughter, his mouth curving wickedly at the corners. For a moment she had the oddest notion that he wanted to kiss her, and her eyes widened in surprise, because it was the man she had seen gazing at the moon—the same one that had saved her from a rough handling by that other one in the inn yard.

‘Forgive me. I was not thinking…’ Jo’s cheeks flushed, for she was a little embarrassed because of what had happened at the inn, but he did not seem to recall it—he was behaving as if they had never met before. ‘I am sorry.’

‘Take care, sweeting,’ he said. ‘I might have knocked you down and I should have been grievously sorry for that—indeed, I should never have forgiven myself.’

‘It would have been my own fault, sir,’ Jo said. She stepped back and he let go of her arm. She decided that she would follow his lead. Perhaps he had already forgotten her. ‘I was thinking of my sister, Lucy, and how much she would like that singing bird in the window and I did not realise that you were there.’

‘Ah, yes, a pretty trinket,’ the man said glancing into the shop window. ‘Is your sister partial to trinkets of that kind?’

‘She has never had such a thing,’ Jo replied. ‘But she is a dreamer, a romantic, and I think she would love it, but I am afraid it may be too expensive.’

‘Yes, I dare say. Perhaps she has a birthday soon? Shall I buy it for her to make up for startling you?’

‘Oh, no!’ Jo was mortified. What kind of a girl did he think she was? ‘I could never accept…What an extraordinary thing to ask! How could I possibly accept such a gift from a stranger?’

‘How can we be strangers?’ he said a wicked twinkle in his eye. ‘I already know that you have a delightful sister called Lucy, and I am sure we could soon know each other better, if you would permit me to buy you some…hot chocolate, perhaps?’ His eyes were filled with devilment, a challenge that she found confusing.

‘Sir! I think you must have mistaken me for…’ Jo was torn between outrage and astonishment. ‘I am a perfectly respectable person! What happened that morning at the inn was not of my making, I do assure you.’

Hal looked thoughtful. He had not immediately recognised her, for she had acquired a little town bronze over the past few days, and his mind had been occupied elsewhere. He had merely been flirting gently with a pretty girl. Seeing the outrage in her face, he was suddenly overcome by a wicked desire to tease her, to see how far she would go.

‘Oh, yes, I am very sure of it,’ he said and she saw that he was laughing inside. ‘Perfectly respectable, if a little reckless. But Carstairs is a brute and a fool. If I spoke harshly to you then, I am sorry. My anger was for him, not you. You are a lady of quality and deserve respect. You are also irresistible when your eyes take fire. I feel that I have always known you, though not your name—for you have not given it to me. Mine is Hal Beverley, should you wish to know it.’

Jo gave him a straight look. ‘Are you inebriated, sir?’

His laughter shocked her, because it was so honest and appealing. ‘It is a question that is often asked. My father says that I am an irreverent rascal, but I assure you that my offer was made in good faith. You have a sister who would love a pretty trinket and I have money in my pocket—but forgive me if I have offended your sense of propriety.’

‘No, you have not,’ Jo said and surprised herself. ‘Do you know, that is exactly what Papa might have done had he been able to afford it. He often gave his sixpences to the village children.’

‘Perhaps another day we shall talk again,’ he said and tipped his hat to her. ‘Excuse me now, I must go, for I am already late for an appointment. Take care and watch where you tread. I should be most distressed if harm were to come to you.’

‘Yes, I shall…’Jo watched as he walked away. His hair was very dark brown and he had such bold eyes—just like the wicked earl in the story she was writing. She smiled—she had written of just such a meeting in her story only that morning.

Jo shook her head. She must not let her imagination run wild—that was for her stories, not for everyday life. She walked on, tired of window-shopping. She must hurry, for she was not perfectly sure what time the library closed. Jo paused to cross the road, waiting for a dray wagon drawn by four magnificent chestnut horses to pass by. A woman had just come out of the library; as Jo watched, she gave a little sigh and collapsed on to the pavement.

Jo hurried across the road now that it was clear and knelt down beside her, feeling for a pulse, which was still beating strongly. Even as she wondered what she ought to do, the woman moaned again and opened her eyes.

‘Oh, I must have fainted,’ she said. ‘Forgive me, but could you help me to get up?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Jo said offering her hand. The woman took it and pulled on her as she struggled to stand up. As she did so, her shawl fell from her shoulders and Jo saw that she was quite obviously carrying a child. She retrieved the shawl and placed it about the woman’s shoulders. ‘Are you still feeling a little unwell?’

‘Just a little,’ the woman replied in a faint voice. ‘If I could sit down for a few minutes…’

‘Let us go into the teashop.’ Jo said and offered her arm. ‘Lean on me and we shall drink a dish of tea together—and perhaps a cake, if you feel able?’

‘Yes, that would be nice,’ the woman said. ‘I was in a hurry to come out this morning and did not eat anything. I believe that may be the reason for my faintness.’

‘Yes, I dare say,’ Jo said. ‘You really ought to eat properly in your condition, ma’am.’ She had noticed the wedding ring on the woman’s left hand. ‘Would you like me to fetch someone for you—your husband, perhaps?’

For a moment her eyes were dark with pain. ‘My husband is dead and there is no one else. I am forced to fend for myself, and that is why I was in such a hurry this morning. I am working as a seamstress from home, and I had promised to deliver some embroidery I had finished to one of the shops here. I ought to have gone straight home afterwards, but I wanted to look for a book in the library. Let me introduce myself—my name is Ellen Beverley.’

‘I am very sorry to hear about your husband,’ Jo said. She had found a table for them by the window and they sat down. ‘It must be awful for you, especially in your condition.’

Ellen placed a hand on her swollen belly and smiled. ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘Matt’s child is a joy to me. Had it not been for the baby, I think I might have given way to despair when he died, but I had to live for my child’s sake—because my husband would have expected it of me. He was a brave, kind man, and I shall love his child as I loved him.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Jo said. She had wondered for a brief moment if she might be related to the man she had met briefly outside the jeweller’s that morning. His name was also Beverley, but it was clearly not so—Ellen had said she was alone. Her name was simply a coincidence. ‘But is there no one who could help you?’

‘I ran away to marry the man I loved,’ Ellen told her with a wistful look. ‘My parents disapproved and so did his—but we loved each other and there was never any question of giving each other up. We had almost a year of complete happiness, but now…’ She sighed and shook her head.

Jo thought she looked very young and vulnerable, though exceptionally pretty with softly waving fair hair and green eyes.

‘Perhaps we could be friends, at least while I am in Bath,’ she offered impulsively. ‘I know it will only be for a short time, but we may write to each other when I go home—and if you are ever in trouble I would try to help you.’

‘Oh, how kind you are,’ Ellen said. ‘I do not believe you have told me your name.’

‘How silly of me,’ Jo said and laughed. ‘I was too concerned for you to think of it. I am Jo Horne and staying here in Bath with my aunt, Lady Wainwright. I used to live in Huntingdonshire, but when I leave here I shall be living with Great-aunt Bertha in Cornwall.

‘My whole family has gone to live with her, because Papa died and we had to leave the Vicarage. We were offered a home at the Lodge, but Mama did not like it there and poor Lucy was ill, and so we shall all live with my great-aunt from now on, but I was promised to Lady Wainwright for this visit.’ Jo pulled a face. ‘And now you know all there is to know about me, and very dull it is, too, compared with your life—’ She broke off as the waitress approached and ordered tea and cakes for them both. She held up her hand as Ellen reached for her purse. ‘No, you shall not pay a penny, Ellen—I may call you that, I hope?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Ellen said, her smile lighting up her face. ‘I am so very pleased that we have met, Jo. I was feeling very alone—I do not go out much, except to deliver my work or look in shop windows. I have no friends, for my old companions were left behind, though of course we had many friends in Spain.’

‘Was your husband a soldier?’

‘Yes,’ Ellen replied her eyes soft with memories. ‘Captain Matthew Beverley. He always took a little house for us wherever we were, and all his friends would come and dine with us. It was such fun, for they were all so brave and gallant…and it broke our hearts when some of them died. Not many of them had wives with them, but one or two did, and another had his sister and mother. They used to follow him from place to place, as I did Matt, staying wherever there was a house that was safe and away from the fighting.’

‘It must have been exciting,’ Jo said. ‘Though I should think it was hard having no proper home for all that time.’

‘I would have been content to lie with him beneath the stars,’ Ellen said. ‘Indeed, once or twice I did when there was no suitable accommodation to be had. I do not know what would have happened if Matt had lived, for I should have had to stay behind somewhere because of the child. Though perhaps he might have sold out like some of his friends did…’ A tear trickled from the corner of her eye and she dashed it away with her hand.

‘Are you able to make a living with your sewing?’ Jo asked, for she did not like to see her new friend cry, but could think of no way to comfort her.

‘I am quite good at embroidery and bead work,’ Ellen told her. ‘It is the kind of work that takes a lot of patience and time, and the French lady I work for has been generous so far. Besides, I have some money I raised by selling things that belonged to my husband. I shall manage for the moment, though I am a little anxious about when the child comes.’

‘Yes, you must be,’ Jo sympathised. She wished that Mama was still living in the Vicarage, for she knew that her mother would have befriended Ellen, even if only until the child was born and she was able to work again. ‘But you must find a woman who will come in and care for you, Ellen.’

‘I shall have to make inquiries,’ Ellen agreed. ‘It is so good to talk to someone, because it helps to make up your mind. I hope we shall meet again, Jo?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Jo said. ‘If you agree, I shall walk home with you once we have had our tea, and then I shall know where to visit you.’

‘Will you really?’ Ellen’s cheeks turned a little pink. ‘I know that some ladies look at me and wonder if I was ever truly married, but I promise you that it was so.’

‘I did not doubt you for a moment,’ Jo said, and then, boldly, ‘Even if you had not, I should still have been your friend, Ellen.’

‘Then you would be a true friend,’ Ellen said. ‘These cakes are delicious. You must come to tea with me another day, to let me say thank you for your kindness today.’

‘I need no thanks,’ Jo told her. ‘But I shall be very pleased to come to tea with you, Ellen.’

She smiled as they left the teashop together, for she had made a friend, someone she could truly like and relate to, which was not true of many of her aunt’s acquaintances. At least she now had someone she could visit whenever she had the time.