Читать книгу Marrying Captain Jack - Anne Herries, Anne Herries - Страница 10

Jack Harcourt, sometimes known as Captain Manton and various other aliases, lately of His Majesty’s Dragoons, secret agent and aide to Wellington for some years, sat in the library of his London house, staring moodily into the empty wine glass in front of him. Had life no more to offer than this? A full bottle that was there for the drinking, and an inner emptiness that would be eased only by refilling the glass and swallowing its contents again and again, until he could no longer feel the pain.

As Captain Manton, Jack had helped to defeat Napoleon Bonaparte; he had battled against spies and enemies of the state, but this bitterness, the bleakness that had come upon him of late, was harder to fight. He was a peer of the realm, wealthy enough for his needs, an attractive man in the best of health—but he had tasted wormwood too often and, at this moment, he wished that he had died on the bloody battlefields at Waterloo. Instead of that, he had been heaped with praise and honours, received by the Regent privately, and told that he was the backbone of England, a man the prince was proud to shake by the hand—but nothing had eased the deep grief that lived within.

‘Why was I not here when you needed me, David?’ he spoke the words aloud. ‘Why did I not hear as you lay in a ditch, bleeding of a fatal wound, alone and friendless?’

In life a man might count his true friends on the fingers of one hand. Jack had other friends, men he valued, but there was a special reason why David Middleton’s death had affected him so deeply. It was a cruel fate that had led to his friend dying at the roadside, a victim of a highwayman, robbed of the personal possessions he valued most. Jack could not put the picture from his mind, for it haunted him day and night, and he seemed to hear David’s voice calling out for justice. But it had happened some months ago, when Jack was in France fighting for his country, and he had known nothing until his return. At the moment he had no leads, nothing to help him discover the truth. The frustration of being so helpless, together with the knowledge of the pain David’s death had brought to another, had left him feeling deeply at odds with himself. His hand was reaching for the wine decanter when a knock at the door halted him.

‘Come!’ he barked and the door opened to admit his butler.

‘I am sorry to disturb you, my lord, but there is a letter.’

‘At this hour?’ Jack’s brows rose. ‘Who brought it?’

‘I am not sure, my lord. It was given to the maid Rose, as she went into the street to buy some eggs from the dairymaid.’

‘Very well, you may leave it, Henshaw.’ Jack dismissed it with a flick of his hand. ‘I may read it later…’

‘Rose was told it was urgent, sir.’

‘Was she, indeed?’ Jack picked up the note, which was sealed with wax but did not bear the signet of any man. He was frowning as he broke the wax and unfolded the paper, reading what was written there. ‘Good grief!’ he shouted and jumped up, striding over to the window to look out. However, the street was ill lit and he could not see beyond the pool of light outside his house. He turned to look at his butler, who still hesitated by the door. ‘Fetch Rose to me. I would hear more of this messenger.’

As the man went off to do his bidding, Jack read the few brief lines again, frowning over their meaning.

If I came in person, you would not see me—but I know David Middleton was a friend you valued. If you seek his murderer, you need look no further than Sir Frederick Collingwood. Collingwood is a cheat at the card tables and Middleton found him out after losing to him. This much is certain, for it is well known. I can give you no proof, though I am sure of Collingwood’s guilt. There may be more to this, a deeper motive, but for the moment all I know is that the murder lies at Collingwood’s door. The rest is up to you, Harcourt. This warning comes from someone who was once proud to be your friend.

The letter was unsigned, and might be malicious, but somehow Jack sensed that it was genuine. He knew his friend well enough to be sure that if David had discovered he had been cheated, he would not slink away with his tail between his legs. He would publicly denounce the man who had cheated him. It was very possible that he had been murdered to stop him doing just that…and yet the letter hinted at something further—a more sinister reason for his friend’s murder. Yes! Jack had not been able to accept the facts of David’s death, and the letter confirmed that he was right to be suspicious. He got to his feet with a new sense of urgency; his mood of despondency had lifted as swiftly as it had come to him that night.

He would think no more of seeking solace in a bottle of wine. He had been given what he needed. If this message were true, he would seek out the murderer and bring him to justice one way or the other. He wondered who had sent the letter…it was not a close friend, for it had said that he would not see the writer in person.

Jack frowned, because it might well be a false trail, but something was telling him it was not. The writer might be someone who felt that he owed Jack something…someone he had helped at some time. It did not matter! He would seek for the truth of his friend’s death first, and discover the identity of this mysterious writer after…

‘Mama! There is a letter for you.’ Lucy Horne ran into the parlour where her mother and great-aunt were sitting at their embroidery. ‘It is from Marianne!’

‘I have been expecting it,’ Mrs Horne said, looking fondly at her youngest daughter. Lucy was eighteen now, a beautiful, sweet-natured girl who asked for very little except to be with her family. She took the letter, breaking the impressive seal that her eldest daughter was, as the Marchioness of Marlbeck, entitled to use. She scanned the few lines Marianne had penned and smiled. ‘It is as I thought, Lucy. Your sister agrees that it is time for your come-out. She suggests that we all go to stay with her and Drew for the christening of their daughter—and then she and Drew will accompany us to London and we shall stay there for a few weeks.’

‘Mama! Is darling little Andrea to be christened?’ Lucy asked, her face lighting up. She had seized on what was for her the most important part of her mama’s news. ‘How lovely! It seems ages since we saw either of my sisters.’

‘You know that Marianne did not wish to travel immediately after the birth,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘But it is no more than six months since we were there and Jo visited with us a matter of five weeks ago.’

‘It seems longer,’ Lucy said and bent to kiss her mama’s cheek. She was happy living with her mama and Aunt Bertha, and she had made many friends, with whom she visited most weeks, but she was never happier than with her sisters. ‘It is so good of Marianne to think of it, Mama.’

Mrs Horne nodded. ‘I asked for her advice, because I had thought of Bath, but Marianne insists it must be London, my love.’

‘Yes…’ Lucy nodded. She had been to Bath once or twice with her mama and her Aunt Bertha, but she had not attended the public dances, only private affairs given by their friends. Although she was used to mixing in company, she was not officially out. Lucy wasn’t sure how she felt about the coming Season, for she knew that it was usually seen as a chance for girls to find a husband. ‘It will be so much better if Marianne is with us.’

Lucy went over to the window, standing with her back to her mama, gazing out at the garden, which was very pretty at this time of year, the herbaceous borders just coming into flower.

‘We must start to collect your wardrobe,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘Though perhaps it would be best to wait until we are at your sister’s. Marianne is so good with that sort of thing and she will know what the young girls are wearing this Season.’

Lucy hardly heard her mother’s words. She liked pretty clothes, but often clung to things that she favoured long after her mama thought they should be discarded. She still had the blue velvet pelisse that Jo had made for her before they left the Vicarage where they had all grown up; it was one of her favourite things and she refused to part with it, even though she had more stylish ones in her armoire.

She was thinking about someone…a gentleman she had met at Marianne’s wedding, which seemed such a long time ago now, but was just over three years. So much had happened since then. Marianne had married her marquis, and Jo was married to Hal Beverley. Yet the memory of Captain Harcourt’s smile and his teasing had remained with her, almost as bright as it was at the first. Of course he was Lord Harcourt really, but he had left the army some months after Napoleon Bonaparte’s defeat at Waterloo and only then adopted the title that had become his on his father’s death.

Lucy pushed her fine, silky hair back from her face. It was the colour of moonlight, more silver-blonde than yellow, and set her apart from most other young ladies she met. Her complexion was soft cream and rose, her eyes were the colour of an azure sky, but could turn darker when she was distressed or angry. Lucy was not often angry, which gave others a false impression of her nature. She seemed a dreamy, gentle girl, mild mannered and perhaps a little insipid at first sight. In truth, she was far from that, for she had a temper when roused and she was a brave girl, but she took after her father. Papa Horne had always been a mild-mannered man, thoughtful, quiet, peace loving—but Lucy had once seen him thrash the sweep who had dared to set a fire under the climbing boy sent to clean the Vicarage chimneys.

He had not known she was there, and when he discovered that she had witnessed the thrashing, he had looked ashamed and begged her to forgive him for subjecting her to such a disgraceful scene.

‘I lost my temper, Lucy,’ he had told her. ‘I should not have done it. I should have reasoned with the man, restrained him if need be—but what I did was unforgivable.’

‘No, Papa,’ Lucy told him with a smile. ‘I think that what you did was justified. He was a cruel man and needed to be taught a lesson. You were provoked by his cruelty and I think that God would understand your loss of temper.’

Papa had smiled, shaken his head and kissed her. Lucy thought that her papa was the most perfect man ever to have lived and it had caused her terrible grief when he had died and they had had to leave the Vicarage. However, that was in the past now, and she had the future to look forward to—and she would be foolish to let her childish daydreams stop her enjoying her Season in town!

She turned back to her mother with a smile. ‘I think I should like a yellow silk dress, Mama. I have seen some very pretty material that would make a lovely ballgown.’

‘You will need a great many dresses, Lucy,’ Mrs Horne said. ‘And, thanks to your aunt and sisters, you will be able to have the wardrobe you deserve.’

Jack came in from the street, tossing his gloves into a bowl on the hallstand, his hat following it. He did not notice that it slid to the floor, or see the expression of his footman as he picked it up and brushed it with his fingers. He was frowning as he picked up two letters from the silver salver, taking them with him as he went into his library.

One was from Lady Staunton, Jack’s only sister Amelia. He had no other relatives to speak of other than his sister and her family, and he was fond of her, but at the moment Amelia’s problems were not his immediate concern. He had looked for Sir Frederick Collingwood, but the man was not to be found in town, and he had learned this morning that he had possibly gone off to Newmarket. Jack was considering whether to post after him, and settle this thing at once, or give himself a breathing space. He opened the first of his letters, reading the brief lines his sister had penned. It had been sent from her home in Hampshire and told him that she had returned to England alone a month ago, because her son David had been suffering badly from the climate.

Her letter said nothing of her unhappiness, though the tone told him that nothing had changed. The only reason Staunton had allowed her to leave India and return to England without him was that he feared he might lose his heir.

Jack cursed as he tossed the letter down. If he had his way, Amelia would leave Staunton for good, but he knew that there were too many difficulties. The man was a brute, damn him! If there were any justice, Amelia would be able to divorce him and retain her son and her place in society, but the laws were all heavily weighted on Staunton’s side.

There was nothing he could do while Amelia refused to take his advice, though he knew that she was desperately unhappy. He opened the second letter, which had come from Drew Marlbeck, inviting him to attend the christening of his daughter Andrea.

A smile touched Jack’s face, for Drew was one of the few men he valued and he knew how proud he was of his little girl. As one of the richest men in England and the holder of a proud title, Drew could have been forgiven if he had been disappointed that his firstborn was a girl, but not a bit of it. He adored her and left no one in doubt of it—or his love for his beautiful wife.

Jack smiled, because he retained good memories of their wedding, and of the few times he had stayed with them since. He had not visited as often as he would have liked, because until recently he had been caught up with the business of the State and could not spare the time for personal pleasure—and then the horror and grief of David Middleton’s senseless death had taken over, making Jack feel that life was cruel and empty and hardly worth living.

He had thrown off his mood of despair in the search for justice. If Collingwood was truly a cheat and a murderer, Jack would not rest until he was in prison where he belonged. However, there was nothing he could do until Collingwood decided to show his face in town. He smiled as he made up his mind to go down to Marlbeck for the christening. He must think of a suitable gift for Andrea, but he would also take presents for Marianne and Drew, because he had money enough and no one to spend it on—apart from Amelia and one or two others.

Lucy watched as her niece Andrea was christened in the lovely old church where her father had once been the parson. Her sister Marianne was glowing with happiness. Andrea was ten months old, a beautiful little girl with honey-coloured hair and blue eyes. Lucy already adored her and was thrilled to have been asked to be one of her godmothers.

‘Isn’t she good?’ Jo whispered as they left the church after the ceremony. Married to Harry Beverley, Lucy’s second eldest sister was increasing herself and clearly happy to be Andrea’s other godmother. ‘She has hardly cried all through the service.’

‘Yes, she is adorable,’ Lucy said, smiling as she and her sister followed the other guests from the church to the waiting carriages, which would take them back to the house. ‘Marianne looks so happy, doesn’t she?’ She nodded to one of the other ladies, feeling a little uncertain.

The Marlbecks’ large house was brimming with ladies and gentlemen, all of whom seemed very fashionable and sophisticated to Lucy. She was a little overcome at meeting so many new people all at once. Drew Marlbeck’s friends seemed to be mostly wealthy men and women of the world, educated, polished and a little awesome to a young girl. They had all been kind to Lucy, especially some of the gentlemen, who paid her pretty compliments, but she could not help feeling slightly unsure in their company. It made her wonder about her Season in London, because she was afraid that she might feel overwhelmed by some of the very fashionable ladies she was sure to meet there.

Once the guests had returned to Marlbeck and the reception was underway, Lucy took the first opportunity to escape. Marianne’s house was beautiful, but Lucy loved being outside, especially on such a pleasant afternoon. It was warm, but not overpoweringly hot as she wandered across the lawn to what was the beginning of a large park. Here, there were wonderful old trees with sweeping branches that offered a perch. Lucy had discovered that she could climb up into an ancient oak tree quite easily and watch what was going on around her without being seen. It was a favourite place, and she gathered her white muslin gown up so as not to catch it on protruding branches, climbing into the canopy of leaves and settling down on a thick branch.

From her vantage spot she could see the back of the house. One or two ladies had come out to stroll on the terrace, their delicate lace parasols raised to protect their fair skins from the sun. Lucy was for ever being scolded for going without a hat, as she had today, for, as Mama had often told her, freckles were not admired.

Lucy had a faint sprinkling of them across her nose. Mama had prepared her own lotions, and even bought some Denmark Lotion from the apothecary, but nothing had worked. It seemed that she was doomed to have them as soon as the summer came.

Lost in her dreams, Lucy was not aware of the dog until it barked fiercely. She looked down, dismayed as she saw the huge black hound at the foot of the tree. It was growling, its front paws against the trunk, as if it were considering climbing up after her.

‘Go away!’ Lucy said. ‘Do not growl like that, you horrid thing! I do not know how you came here, but you do not belong in this place. Go away!’

The dog barked louder than ever. It had heavy jaws and looked as if it were some kind of hunting hound, trained to attack. Lucy felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach, because she knew that she dared not climb down while the dog continued to stand guard at the base of the tree. A similar animal had once bitten her as a child, and, though generally not afraid of dogs, she was frightened of this particular beast.

‘Lucy…where are you?’ Jo had come out on to the terrace at the back of the house and was clearly looking for her. Lucy hesitated to call her, because if the dog was wild it might attack her sister. ‘Lucy, Mama wants you.’

Jo returned to the house, obviously thinking that Lucy was not in the gardens. Lucy moved gingerly, wondering if she could get down, but immediately the dog started barking its head off once more.

‘Oh, do go away, you horrid creature! I want to get down.’

‘Come down if you wish, Brutus will not hurt you,’ a voice said from somewhere behind her. Lucy glanced over her shoulder and saw a gentleman riding a horse in her direction. As she watched, he halted a few yards from her tree. ‘Here, boy! Down, I say. Come here!’

The dog immediately obeyed. It sat at its master’s command, and though it turned its head to watch her as she climbed out of the tree, it neither barked nor sprang at her—though she was sure that it would have done had the man commanded it to do so.

‘I was alarmed,’ she said, settling her skirts about her and realising that he must have had a clear view of her legs as she climbed down. Indeed, she suspected that he might even have caught a glimpse of the lace garters that held up her white silk stockings. ‘He is a fierce-looking creature.’

‘I fear his looks do not pity him,’ the man said, a smile on his lips, for he had been treated to a view not often granted by properly brought-up young ladies, as he was certain she actually was despite being in the tree. ‘But I promise you he has the softest mouth. He is trained to retrieve game when it has been shot, and it is unlike him to behave so ungallantly towards a lady. I dare say he thought you were up to no good up there.’ He glanced up at the broad branch on which she had been perched. ‘You must admit, it is rather an unlikely place to find a young lady of breeding.’

‘Yes…’ Lucy’s cheeks were on fire. She was well aware that her behaviour was not what it ought to be. ‘Mama would scold me if she knew. I have been asked not to climb trees in future, though I often did so as a child. I am too old for such larks now.’

‘Indeed?’ He gave her an indulgent look, clearly thinking her still a child. ‘How old are you—sixteen?’

‘I was eighteen two weeks ago,’ Lucy said and hardly dared to look at him. He would think her a hoyden, and in truth she was. ‘Mama is to take me to London in a few weeks for my first Season.’

‘You surprise me. I had thought you younger. You will need to curb your inclinations for tree climbing once you are introduced into London society, young lady, otherwise you will incur the censure of its hostesses, and that would be a shame. It would be a pity if you did not meet with the success you deserve.’ He turned to look at the dog. ‘Brutus, follow!’

He gave his reins a flick and rode off, following the drive round to the stable block, which was away to the right. The dog trotted behind obediently and Lucy drew a breath of relief as she fled back across the lawns to the safety of the house.

She was certain she knew who the gentleman was, though she had not seen him since Marianne’s wedding. Her pulses raced, because she had not expected that Lord Harcourt would come to the christening. He was, of course, one of Drew’s best friends, but she had not met him here before and had not thought him in the habit of visiting.

Oh, why did it have to be he who found her in the tree? Lucy bit her lip in vexation, because she knew that he had thought the incident amusing. And, indeed, she did feel very foolish. She wished that she had not been caught in such an undignified situation. He must think her a foolish little girl—and in truth she had behaved like one! Lucy’s cheeks were warm as she went into the house, running upstairs to her own room. She must make sure that her gown was not dirty or torn before she rejoined the company! But she feared that the damage was already done.

Lucy did not see Lord Harcourt again until she came down for dinner that evening. He had changed into formal dress and looked impressive in his black coat and breeches, his shirt a pristine white rivalled only by the snowiness of his cravat, which had been tied in an intricate design. Since she knew he had arrived alone, she wondered if he had tied it himself, but of course his valet might have come on with his baggage in a coach.

She felt nervous as he looked in her direction, but gave no indication that they had met earlier. He was standing with Drew and Marianne at that moment, clearly at home with them, laughing at something Marianne had said to him. She hesitated, afraid to join the little group, though she longed to know if she was right about his identity.

‘Ah, there you are, my dearest,’ Mrs Horne said, smiling at her. ‘Have you met Lord Harcourt yet? He arrived too late for the service, but Marianne said he has been very generous. He gave her some beautiful pearls to keep for Andrea’s sixteenth birthday and also a piece of silver for herself. Was that not kind of him?’

‘Yes, it was,’ Lucy said, trembling inside. She watched him as he moved away from Drew, going to speak to some of the other guests. Her memory of him was not quite accurate, because she had remembered him as very handsome, but he was not truly so. He was tall and strongly built, and there was no evidence of fat; his hair was dark, cut short and brushed forward in a fashionable peak. His features were classical, a little harsh perhaps, his nose aristocratic. No, not as handsome as either Drew Marlbeck or Hal Beverley, but attractive just the same. She did not know what it was about him that had made her remember him until he suddenly looked at her with his serious grey eyes and her heart jolted. ‘Very kind, Mama.’

‘Come and meet him, dearest,’ her mother said. ‘I would not wish you to be backward in any attention to Lord Harcourt. I know Drew thinks very highly of him.’

‘Yes, Mama. I remembered that he was of service to both Drew and Hal.’ She understood from her sisters that Captain Manton, as he had been known then, was a very brave and clever man. Manton was one of his family names, for as a peer he had many, and if what Drew had told her was true, he had not hesitated to use others that were false in the pursuit of his duty as a secret agent.

Lucy was trembling inside as she followed her mother to join the little group. The ladies were smiling and laughing up at him, especially Miss Angela Tremaine. She was a redhead, extremely beautiful, and a considerable heiress, and she seemed much taken with Lord Harcourt.

Lucy stood silently as her mama made the introductions, her cheeks slightly pink. She knew that people said she was a very pretty girl, because of her silvery blonde hair and azure eyes, but she felt at a disadvantage beside the vibrancy of Miss Tremaine. Surely he would think her an insipid child against such ravishing beauty?

‘Miss Lucy Horne?’ Lord Harcourt smiled down at her. ‘I seem to recall that we might have met at Drew’s wedding. I believe you fetched me a piece of wedding cake and then ate it yourself.’

Lucy flushed but gave him an indignant look. ‘You told me I should eat it, for you did not eat cake, sir!’

‘So I did,’ Jack Harcourt said and gave a husky chuckle, which sent little shivers winging through Lucy’s entire body. ‘Do you still eat two portions of cake, Miss Horne? If you do, I cannot see where it goes, for you are a sylph and as pretty as a picture.’

Lucy smiled at the compliment, and yet it was the way an indulgent uncle would speak to his young niece, which gave her a sense of disappointment. It was obvious that he still saw her as a child and not a young lady about to make her début in society. She knew that he must be several years her senior, but she did not see why he should treat her as a child and it touched a raw nerve. Just because she had climbed into a tree, it did not mean she was a little girl!

Fortunately for Lucy, she was spared the necessity of making a reply, because dinner was announced and Lord Harcourt offered his arm to Miss Tremaine. Lucy accompanied her mother into the dining room, stifling the little pang of jealousy she felt as she watched Lord Harcourt being attentive to his dinner partner, holding her chair and smiling as she settled down.

Lucy found herself sitting opposite them, between two elderly gentlemen, both of whom were great friends of Drew’s. They went out of their way to engage Lucy in conversation and after a few minutes she had forgotten her embarrassment earlier and was laughing and answering their teasing questions. Her eyes were alight with laughter and she could have had no idea of how enchanting she looked, nor did she consider that, seated as she was, it gave Lord Harcourt a perfect view of her.

Hearing a sudden burst of laughter from across the table, Jack’s eyes were drawn to Lucy’s face. She had seemed an awkward child earlier, but now she sparkled, responding to the gentlemen on either side of her in a way that was entirely charming. Jack thought that she reminded him a little of his sister as she had been when she was a young girl, innocent, full of the joy of living and lovely. The thought brought a frown to his face, his eyes narrowing, making him look severe. Amelia had lost the joy of living some time ago.

When Lucy glanced across at him what she saw was disapproval and it made her cheeks warm. What had she done that he should look at her that way? She had always remembered him as being charming and kind, for at Marianne’s wedding he had been kind to her, but now he looked as if he disliked her. She raised her head, pride coming to her rescue.

She knew that she had behaved badly earlier; she ought not to have climbed into a tree, and must have revealed much more than was decent as she climbed down from it—but surely she did not deserve to be looked at in that way? She turned to her neighbour, who was asking her what she thought of Lord Byron’s latest poem, determined not to let anyone see that she was hurting inside.

What a fool she had been to keep Lord Harcourt’s image in her mind all this time! He had been her hero, the prince she had dreamed of as a child when she had read all those fairy stories. Now she decided that he was proud and cold, and she decided that she would not think of him again.

Lucy had been lying awake for some time. Realising that she would not sleep, she threw back the covers and got out of bed. She slipped on a heavy silk dressing gown and slid her feet into a pair of soft leather slippers.

Taking her lighted candle, Lucy went downstairs to the little parlour where she had sat with her sister and mother for an hour or so earlier that day. She had left her book there and hoped that reading it would help her fall asleep.

As she entered the room, she felt a cool breeze; looking towards the French windows, she saw that they were open. That was odd, for it was unlike the servants to leave them open when they went to bed. She walked towards them, intending to close them, and then gave a little jump as a man’s figure loomed up out of the darkness.

‘Lord Harcourt!’ she cried as he entered and she saw him clearly. ‘I am glad it was you. I thought we might have an intruder.’

His eyes narrowed, going over her, taking in the fact that she was wearing a dressing gown over her night attire. ‘What are you doing down here, Miss Horne? I thought you retired long ago?’

‘Yes, I did,’ Lucy agreed. ‘But I could not sleep so I came down to fetch my book.’

‘Then we were both restless,’ he said. ‘I could not sleep either. I went out for a walk—and to smoke a cigar…’ His gaze was intent on her face. ‘I think it was fortunate for your sake that it was I you met on this nocturnal expedition…otherwise it might have proved embarrassing for you, to say the least.’

‘Oh…’ Lucy blushed, becoming aware that she was behaving in a decidedly improper manner by talking to a gentleman she hardly knew when she was dressed in her night-clothes. ‘I must go back to my room, sir. I hope you will find it easier to sleep after your walk.’ She turned and walked from the room clutching her book, her heart racing.

‘Goodnight, Lucy…’ His voice seemed to float after her, making her feel a little odd as she fled up the stairs to her own room. Once again she had the feeling that Lord Harcourt thought of her as a foolish young woman.

Jack Harcourt frowned as he sought his own room, taking a candle from the hall, where several were still burning, though the night porter had fallen asleep in his chair. He was thoughtful as he walked upstairs to his room. He had been startled to find Miss Horne wearing only her night attire. It was often his habit to walk for a while at night, especially when he had something on his mind. He had perhaps been a little sharp with her, for his thoughts were elsewhere, but it was unwise of her to wander about in that state at this hour—particularly when there were male guests. Some of those guests might not have been above trying to snatch a clandestine kiss—or more!

She might not be aware of it, but Lucy was a delightful young girl, very pretty, and the glimpse of her legs he had received as she climbed down from the tree was enticing, for she had lovely slender limbs. He thought her an enchanting child, perhaps a little shy still and completely innocent—as his sister had once been! Thoughts of Amelia brought a frown to his face, for Amelia’s innocence had been abused and that was the cause of her desperate unhappiness. He dismissed thoughts of his sister for the moment. It was useless to dwell on the past, and he had other concerns.

Jack had many friends and acquaintances, all of whom he was happy to meet at social occasions, but there was no one quite like David Middleton. They had grown up together, sharing their boyhood dreams and adventures, more like brothers than friends.

David’s death had been like a blow to the stomach, driving the breath from his body and leaving Jack feeling devastated.

Since receiving that mysterious letter, he had made some inquiries and what he had discovered had led him to believe that David might have fallen in with an evil crowd of sharks and heavy gamblers. If they had tried to cheat him of his fortune, David would not have taken it without a fight, and he now believed that perhaps the gamblers had killed him and dumped his body on the Heath. Collingwood was certainly one of the men David had been gambling with in the weeks immediately before his death, though there was no proof yet that he had had anything to do with his murder. The official view was still that David had been set upon by a highwayman on the Heath and robbed.

Jack frowned, for it made him angry to think that his friend might have been murdered over a card game—and yet was that the real reason? Jack was uncertain. He was determined to get to the bottom of the mystery somehow for he could not rest until he knew the truth. Even here, amongst his friends, he was uneasy, for something was nagging at him, something that made him think that there was more to this affair than he yet guessed, though he could not say why. If Jack was right, it had something to do with an entirely different matter, which meant the tale about a quarrel over gambling was merely a blind.

Oh, damn it! There was nothing he could do for the moment. He had come here to enjoy himself with his friends, and this other business could wait until he returned to London.

A smile flickered about his mouth as he thought of young Lucy Horne once more. In another life, before he had become disillusioned and hardened, he might have found her irresistible, but that time was long past. He knew that he owed it to his family to marry one day, but when he did he would choose an older woman, perhaps a widow who had no great expectations. He needed an heir, but he had become accustomed to being single and did not imagine a life of domestic bliss would suit him. He had a mistress, whom he visited when he felt the need, which was not often, for he had been too busy to indulge himself in the pleasures of life. As for marriage, he had not given it a thought until recently. Even now, it was something that he saw as being a long way off. His experience of personal relationships had not been encouraging and he rather thought that he was better off single, even if at times he was conscious of a great gap in his life. And marriage to a gentle, sweet girl was out of the question! He was mad even to think about it. Charming as she undoubtedly was, Miss Horne was not for him.

Dismissing Lucy from his mind, he walked along the upper landing to his own bedchamber. He would stay three days, as he had promised Marianne and Drew, but then he would return to London and the pursuit of the man who he believed responsible for David’s death.

Lucy was up early. She had slept for a while after returning to bed, but the sunshine pouring in at her open window called to her and she knew that she could go for a walk before anyone else was stirring.

She walked as far as the lake, which lay glistening in the early morning sunshine, entirely tempting and mysterious. There was a little island in the middle of the lake, and a temple that looked like something out of a fairytale. Lucy looked at it longingly, for she would have liked to visit it to explore, though of course it was only small and she doubted there were any secrets. However, in her mind the summerhouse was a palace where a sleeping prince lay waiting to be awakened after the wicked witch had cast a spell on him.

Had there been a rowing boat nearby, Lucy might have been tempted to try and row herself out there. But the boats were kept in the boathouse for safety’s sake and she did not wish to disturb anyone this early in the morning, because the servants would be busy with their work. She sighed and turned, intending to return to the house, only to discover that Lord Harcourt was standing a little way behind her. He was staring at the lake, apparently lost in thought.

She breathed deeply and then took a few steps towards him. ‘Good morning, sir. I think it will be very warm today. Just right for a trip to the island, do you not think?’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Jack replied, focusing on her. ‘The water looks tempting—especially if it becomes hot later. At home I should probably go for a swim on a day such as this promises to be.’

‘It would be delightful,’ Lucy said. ‘I have sometimes bathed in the cove at home, though I do not swim—but I like to splash in the shallows.’ She gave him a shy smile. ‘The island looks as if it might be enchanted, do you not think so? Perhaps there is a sleeping prince—or princess—waiting to be woken from slumber?’

‘Ridiculous child,’ Jack said in an indulgent tone. ‘I can see that you have read too many fairy stories, Miss Horne. I fear that you will discover life is very different. Are you sure you are eighteen? Your mama should think twice before taking you into London society—I think you are too innocent to mix with the rogues you may find there.’

‘I know that life can be sad as well as happy,’ Lucy replied, lifting her head proudly, because his tone stung her. ‘I have helped out with various events to alleviate the condition of the poor—not only of this country, but others abroad. Papa taught us to think of people less fortunate than ourselves, and I am not ignorant of the evils of poverty.’

‘I was not thinking of the plight of the poor,’ Jack said. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her exactly what he did mean, but he held back. He ought not to be the one to disillusion her. Her mama would no doubt warn her of the kind of men who led young innocents astray. ‘But it is to your credit that you do, Miss Horne.’ He smiled at her, his mood relenting. ‘Come, let us walk back to the house. I believe your sister Mrs Beverley has written some stories for children, has she not?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Lucy said, giving him an enchanting smile. ‘She wrote them for me, you know, because I had always loved fairy stories—but Hal had them published for her as a wedding gift. She has written a few more, I believe, but she does not have much time these days, for they are always so busy entertaining their friends.’

‘Yes, I dare say.’ Jack nodded. ‘I understand there is to be a ball tomorrow evening? Shall you be there?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Lucy said, her lovely eyes glowing. ‘Marianne arranged it because she said it would be good for me to attend my first real dance at her home. I have danced at the homes of my friends, of course, but this is my first ball.’

‘Then you must be looking forward to it?’ Jack was caught despite himself. She was a lovely girl, very young and naïve, of course, but with a pleasing manner. ‘Tell me, what colour is your gown—or is that a secret?’

Lucy blushed as she saw the teasing look in his eyes. He seemed very much more approachable this morning, and she was reminded of the man who had attended her sister’s wedding. He had seemed to be more carefree then and it made her wonder what had changed him, for something had—and it had taken the devil-may-care look from his eyes.

‘It is white with silver spangles,’ she said. ‘And Mama has loaned me her pearls, though I have a pretty pearl-and-diamond bangle of my own that Drew gave me for my birthday.’

‘Yes, charming,’ Jack said, making a note to send her a posy of white flowers—or perhaps pink ones tied with white ribbons. ‘Well, Miss Horne, I think we should join the others for breakfast, don’t you?’

Lucy nodded, feeling shy again. She usually waited until her mama came down to take breakfast, but did not wish to tell him that. After all, how difficult could it be to join the other early risers and talk in an easy and companionable way? She lifted her head, determined that she would give no indication that she was nervous, even if her mama and sisters had not yet come down.