Читать книгу Bound by Duty - Diane Gaston, Diane Gaston - Страница 11
ОглавлениеIce crunched under Marc’s bare feet as he crossed the yard to the stable. His feet ached from the cold as he tended to Apollo. Why could he not have been stranded in June instead of February?
It was not only the icy cold that disturbed him. His conversation with Miss Summerfield did, as well.
It cut too close. All this talk of marriage. Love.
His parents had fallen in love and where had it led them? To shouting, accusations, recriminations, declarations that they wished they’d never set eyes on each other. They’d ruined their lives, he’d heard over and over.
Then there was Lucien and Charles. Where had love led his brother and his friend?
No falling in love for him. He’d control such runaway emotions.
‘That is the sensible way, eh, Apollo?’
His horse snorted in reply and Marc leaned his face against Apollo’s warm neck. He found another blanket to help keep Apollo warm and tried not to think of the icy hammers pounding on his feet.
‘We’ll be on our way in the morning,’ Marc murmured. ‘Stay steady, old fellow.’
He searched the stable for scraps of wood to burn and found a few pieces to add to the fire. They would burn quickly, though. He and Miss Summerfield were headed for a very cold night, he knew from experience. He’d spent many a cold night in the French countryside, hiding from men whose suspicions about him had been aroused.
Gritting his teeth, he crossed the icy mud again and entered the cabin. She was crouched by the fire, pouring water from the kettle into the teapot.
‘I found some wood.’ Not enough wood, though. He dropped it by the fireplace, coming close to her.
She looked up at him. ‘I thought you might like more tea. It will be even weaker than before, but it might warm you.’
‘Tea will be most welcome.’
Her eyes showed some distress. He wanted to touch her, ease her worry. Instead he moved away to hang his greatcoat on the line.
His feet hurt even worse as the blood rushed to them. He hurried back to his chair by the fire and wrapped his feet in the blanket.
‘What is wrong?’ she asked, gazing at his feet.
‘Cold.’ He rubbed his feet. ‘I believe my wet boots will be preferable at this point.’
She rose and walked over to the clothes line. ‘Your socks are fairly dry.’ She brought them to him and knelt at his feet. ‘I’ll put them on for you.’
Her hands felt too soothing and his body came to life, precisely what he did not wish to feel.
‘Perhaps this is not the thing for a lady to do,’ he managed to protest.
She placed one sock on his foot. ‘It is so little, after what you have done for me.’
At least now he felt warmer. He endured the pleasure of her slipping the second sock on the other foot, gazing down at her as she worked it over his heel. Her hair was in a plait down her back, but tendrils escaped to frame her lovely face.
She was a woman a man could lose his head over. For once he wished he could be like his father had been—blinded by passion and unaware of the disaster ahead of him.
But his eyes were open.
She wrapped his feet in a blanket again and moved away to pour their weak, but hot, tea.
Take care in London, he wanted to tell her. There were men who knew how to play upon a young woman’s heart. Love came in many disguises, some even more hurtful than the pain his parents inflicted on each other.
Perhaps he could watch out for her. Perhaps he could warn her away from the worst dangers of love.
No. He needed to stay away from her. She tempted him too much.
She handed him his jug. ‘Such as it is.’
He nodded thanks.
She sat in her chair and they sipped the hot liquid that only retained the barest hint of tea. The fire dwindled to embers, but Marc held off on placing the last of their wood on it. He glanced around the room and wondered if he ought to try to break up the furniture.
It seemed an extreme measure and greatly unfair to the owner of the cottage.
Miss Summerfield yawned and curled up in her chair.
He reached over and touched her arm. ‘You should lie on the cot and get some sleep. I’ll move it closer to the fire.’
‘Where will you sleep?’ she murmured.
He shrugged. ‘The chair will do.’ He’d slept in worse places.
The wind found its way through the walls of the cabin. Miss Summerfield shivered. ‘It is cold.’
And it would get colder. ‘You’ll be warmer on the cot.’
She did as he asked and she was soon tucked in under her blanket as close to the fireplace as he could place the bed.
He watched her as she slept and shivered as the temperature dropped even further and the fire consumed the wood. He scavenged the cabin and found a few more lumps of coal, but the room was very, very cold.
She woke, shivering, but not complaining.
There was only one way he could think of to keep her warm now, but it was a proposition that no young lady should accept. It was also a thought that consumed him much too often.
She rolled over and gazed at him. ‘You should take a turn on th-the cot. You must be colder than I am.’
‘I’m not going to trade places with you, Miss Summerfield.’
She got up and carried her blanket over to her chair. ‘I’ll sit here, then.’
He raised his voice. ‘Get in the cot.’
She looked at him in defiance. ‘No. It is your turn.’
‘Do not be a damned fool, Miss Summerfield. Get in the cot.’ There was no sense in them both sitting up all night, shivering.
She glared at him. ‘The only way I’ll get in that cot is if you are in it, too.’
The cold was addling her brain, he thought. But this was the answer, the consuming thought. He should not take advantage of it, but, if he did they’d both be warm.
‘Very well.’ He inclined his head towards the cot. ‘Get in the bed and I will join you.’
An anxious look crossed her face and she hesitated, but she carried her blanket over to the cot and lay down, facing the fire. He covered her with another blanket and crawled underneath it.
‘Our bodies will warm each other,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘Do not fear. This is for warmth and nothing else.’
He hoped he could keep that promise.
* * *
Exhaustion helped where desire refused to waver. Even though she was warm and soft against him, the comfort of her had made him fall asleep almost immediately. He did not even wake to feed the fire the last lumps of coal. He knew nothing until the sound of muffled voices reached his ear.
The latch of the door rattled.
The worst had happened. They were discovered.
‘Miss Summerfield!’ He shook her, but had only time enough to bound from the cot when the door burst open.
‘Halloo there!’ a man cried.
Miss Summerfield sat up.
‘I say,’ said the man, a gentleman by appearance. ‘What goes here?’
He entered the cabin followed by two men in workmen’s dress.
‘Is that you, Miss Summerfield?’ the gentleman asked.
Marc took charge. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
Miss Summerfield covered herself with the blanket.
‘I am Lord Attison,’ the gentleman said indignantly. ‘And, more to the purpose, who are you?’
Miss Summerfield answered before Marc could speak, ‘He is Mr Glenville, sir. Allow us to explain.’
Marc put a stilling hand on her arm. ‘First he must explain why he barges in without so much as a knock.’ Put him on the defensive.
Lord Attison shot daggers at Marc. ‘I was sent to find Miss Summerfield.’ He turned to her. ‘You have caused Lord Tinmore much worry, young lady, do you realise that?’
Marc stepped between Miss Summerfield and Lord Attison. ‘Do you have some authority here?’
Miss Summerfield answered, ‘He is one of Lord Tinmore’s guests.’
‘Well,’ Marc spoke sharply, ‘you may tell Lord Tinmore that it is a fine thing to let this young lady nearly freeze to death. You should have come earlier.’
Lord Attison stuck out his chest. ‘And you should have returned her home, sir.’ His gaze shifted to Miss Summerfield. ‘Or would that have ruined your little tryst?’
‘You have it wrong—’ Miss Summerfield protested.
Marc seized Lord Attison’s arm and marched him to the door. ‘We will discuss this outside and allow this lady to dress.’
Once all the men were outside, Marc used his size to be as intimidating as possible to the smaller Lord Attison. ‘You will make no assumptions here, do you comprehend? This lady has been through enough without your salacious comments.’
‘Lord Tinmore—’ the man started to say.
Marc interrupted him. ‘I will explain to Lord Tinmore and to no one else. And, you, sir, will say nothing of this until you are instructed by your host. Is that understood?’
Possibly, just possibly Lord Tinmore would have sufficient power and influence to allow this incident to blow over without any damage to Miss Summerfield.
Or himself.
The cold of the morning finally hit him and it took all Marc’s strength to keep from dissolving into a quivering mess in front of this man. He wore only his shirt and breeches.
And his socks, now damp from the frost on the ground.
Attison looked him up and down. ‘Being undressed in front of an innocent young lady—’ The man smirked. ‘Or is she an innocent?’
Marc seized him again. ‘Silence that tongue!’
Attison’s eyes flashed with alarm, but he quickly recovered and pursed his lips. ‘I will leave you to Lord Tinmore, as you wish.’
Marc released him and turned to the other two men. ‘Do you know who owns this cabin?’
One man nodded. ‘Lord Tinmore. It is a groundskeeper’s cabin.’
‘Are we on Lord Tinmore’s property?’ How close were they to the house?
‘We are, sir,’ the other man answered. He gestured to the south.
Against the milky-white sky rose a huge Elizabethan house with dozens of windows and three turrets adorning its roof.
They had been that close.
‘The roads and bridges were flooded yesterday,’ he said.
One of the men nodded. ‘The water receded overnight.’
Miss Summerfield opened the door, glancing warily at their three early morning visitors. ‘Mr Glenville, may I see you for a moment?’
Attison made a move to speak, but Marc silenced him with a steely glare.
He entered the cabin and closed the door.
‘I have no laces,’ she said to him, presenting her back.
‘I cut them.’ He looked around the room and found her packet of ribbons and lace. He pulled a long ribbon from the still-damp package and started lacing it through the eyelets on her corset and her dress.
‘What do we do now?’ she asked, her voice cracking.
He worked the laces. ‘We tell what happened.’
‘You will speak to Lord Tinmore?’
He tied the ribbon in a bow. ‘I will speak to him. It turns out we are close to Tinmore Hall.’ He turned her to face him. ‘It is important that we make no apology, Miss Summerfield. We did what we needed to do to get through the storm. We did nothing wrong.’
Her jaw set. ‘No apologies.’
At least she had fortitude.
He grabbed his waistcoat and coat and quickly put them on. He shoved his feet into his boots. ‘We must leave now.’
She nodded.
They opened the door and walked out into the cold morning air.
* * *
Within an hour Marc and Miss Summerfield stood in front of a wizened old man in spectacles who nonetheless had a commanding bearing.
From his large wing-back chair, he glared at Miss Summerfield. ‘You have caused your sister great worry, young lady.’
‘It was quite unintended, sir.’ At least she kept her voice strong.
Lord Tinmore, old and wrinkled, wielded his cane like a sceptre, obviously accustomed to authority.
Marc spoke up. ‘We may dispense with this matter quickly if you will listen to what we have to say.’ Men of strength usually respected strength.
Lord Tinmore glared at him over his spectacles. ‘I want your name, sir.’
Marc bowed. ‘Glenville.’
Tinmore tapped his temple. ‘Glenville?’
‘My father is Viscount Northdon. He was a schoolmate of your son’s.’ Maybe that connection would help them.
Pain edged the man’s eyes, but the look vanished quickly. ‘Northdon,’ he scoffed. ‘I know of him.’
Of course. Everyone, except perhaps Miss Summerfield, knew of his father.
Tinmore scowled at him.
Marc continued. ‘Sir. Who I am, who my father is, has no bearing on this matter. I found Miss Summerfield near freezing in the storm. We took shelter in the cabin and it was impossible to leave until morning.’
‘That is the truth!’ Miss Summerfield added, with a bit too much emotion.
Tinmore’s attention swung to her. ‘The truth! The truth is you went gallivanting around the countryside without a chaperone, in bad weather, and wound up spending the night with a man!’
‘We had no choice,’ Miss Summerfield protested, still shivering and wrapping her arms around herself to try to stay warm.
Tinmore wagged a finger at her. ‘You are a reckless scapegrace, girl! A discredit to your sister! And to me!’
‘Enough!’ Marc shouted. ‘Miss Summerfield is still cold. And hungry. She needs dry clothing and food, not an undeserved scolding.’
‘Do not dictate to me, young man!’ Tinmore countered.
Marc glared at him. ‘Give her leave to change into warm, dry clothes.’
Lord Tinmore glared back, but Marc refused to waver.
Marc lowered his voice to a firm, dangerous tone. ‘Let her go.’
‘Oh, very well.’ Tinmore waved a hand at Miss Summerfield. ‘Leave now, girl. But I am not finished with you.’
Miss Summerfield curtsied and started for the door. Before she reached it, she turned back. ‘My lord, Mr Glenville is also cold and hungry—’
Tinmore snapped at her, ‘I told you to leave. Do as I say.’
She did not move. ‘That is little thanks for what he has done, sir. You could find him dry clothing.’
‘Leave!’ Tinmore shouted.
She remained where she was.
Marc spoke to her in a soothing tone. ‘Do not fret over me, Miss Summerfield. Go now. Change into warm clothes. Eat something.’
She nodded and went out the door.
He turned back to Tinmore. ‘That was poorly done of you, sir. She has been through an ordeal.’
Tinmore’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. ‘I’m out of patience with her. She caused her sister much worry and now more scandal. I will not have scandal in my house.’
Did this man not have any heart? ‘She might have lost her life if I had not found her.’
He pursed his lips. ‘Would have served her right.’
By God, would he have preferred her to die? ‘She needs your help, sir. You have the power to stop any talk. If you stand by her, who would question it?’
‘Much you know, Glenville.’ Tinmore took off his spectacles and wiped them with a handkerchief. ‘Attison is a scandalmonger of the first rate. There is no stopping him.’
‘You invited him. And sent him on the search. You are more responsible for any scandal that results than Miss Summerfield. She should not have to pay.’
‘Yes, I invited him!’ Tinmore cried. ‘So he could see firsthand that I am not in my dotage and that my wife is not a fortune hunter who duped me into marriage.’
Was he surprised that was what people would think?
‘This chit has made everything worse. I suppose you know what people say about their mother?’ He grimaced. ‘If she thinks I’m still giving her a Season and providing her a dowry, she has another think coming.’
He would cut her off? ‘You are being unfair.’
‘It is my money to spend as I wish.’ He fixed his gaze on Marc again. ‘You are the one who wronged her, not me.’
Marc had not wronged her. He’d rescued her and kept her safe. But Tinmore was right about one thing. None of that would matter in the eyes of polite society, not if Tinmore refused to stand by her.
‘If you will not protect her, I will.’ Marc stepped closer to the man and glared down at him. ‘I will marry her. That will silence the gossip. And she will need nothing from you.’
Tinmore’s mouth quirked into a fleeting smile, but his scowl returned and he waved a hand. ‘Marry her, then. Get her out of my sight.’
* * *
Marc stood in the hallway, outside the closed door of the private sitting room where Lord Tinmore presumably still sat in his throne-like chair.
He should be on his way to London, not offering marriage, but he’d had no choice, had he? It had been his duty.
The honourable thing to do.
Of all the reasons to marry, this must be the most foolish. Not out of passion. Not a love match. Not a well-considered decision.
So much for his pragmatic choice of marrying Doria. So much for paying the debt he owed to Charles. No comfortable life for him. Lost was the serenity marriage to Doria would offer. Lost was the respectability of her family. He, the son of the scandalous Lord and Lady Northdon, would marry the daughter of scandalous Sir Hollis and Lady Summerfield.
Tongues would wag.
He would not save her from gossip, after all. Perhaps he’d not done her so large a favour.
He must find her. Speak to her. Tell her what he’d done.
She needed to make the choice. The discredit of marrying him or the ruin of crying off.
But, if Tinmore made good his threat, she would also be impoverished.
A footman approached him. ‘I am to show you to your room, sir.’
‘Never mind my room,’ he responded. ‘I need to speak to Miss Tess Summerfield.’
The man’s eyes widened in alarm. ‘I cannot take you to Miss Summerfield.’
‘Deliver a message to her for me, then.’
The footman shook his head. ‘I do not think Lord Tinmore would approve.’
Marc gestured for him to lead the way. ‘Lord Tinmore will not mind. The lady and I are going to be married.’
* * *
Tess sat in Genna’s bedchamber again, like she had done only the day before, her two sisters with her.
It seemed an age ago.
Genna and Lorene had been waiting for her outside Lord Tinmore’s drawing room. They’d hugged and cried and Lorene scolded her for giving them such a fright. While they walked to her bedchamber she filled them in on what had happened to her.
In her room a bath awaited. Tess bathed and washed her hair quickly, before dressing in warm, dry clothes. Hot porridge, bread, cheese and tea were set before her and the mere scent of it made her stomach ache with hunger.
Her mind, though, was on Mr Glenville. Would he convince Lord Tinmore that nothing happened between them? Would Tinmore let him go? The whole experience had become like a dream. Would it fade from her memory?
She did not want to forget him.
The maids came to remove the bath and straighten the room. Tess and her sisters retired to Genna’s room and her sisters’ relief at finding her safe had worn off.
‘Tess, how could you have been so foolish?’ Lorene paced, as she had paced the previous morning. ‘It is one thing to seek shelter. Quite another to share a bed with a man.’
‘It was cold,’ Tess explained. She remembered Mr Glenville climbing on to the cot, covering them both with his blanket. She remembered the warmth of his body next to hers, both comforting and thrilling.
‘Do you know what the guests are saying?’ Genna offered. ‘They are saying you met by design. That you planned the tryst. Why else would you venture out on an obviously rainy day?’
Lord Attison must have been very busy telling tales.
‘That is ridiculous!’ Tess cried. ‘I told you how it happened. I never even met Mr Glenville before!’
‘You might have met him some other time.’ Genna settled herself on the window seat. ‘You are known to take walks alone.’
Tess glared at her. ‘Are you doubting my word, Genna? I went to the village to shop.’
Not to the nearby village, though. To Yardney. To see Mr Welton, had he been there.
‘No.’ Genna spoke as if this were some interesting problem happening to someone else. ‘But you did not bring any lace or ribbon, did you?’
The lace and ribbon. She’d forgotten her parcel. ‘I left the parcel at the cabin. We could send someone for it.’
‘It would not matter. What really happened does not matter.’ Lorene still paced. ‘Appearances. That is what matters.’ She shook her head. ‘I do not know what Lord Tinmore will do. This is such a trial for him and it has already put a strain on the house party.’
‘A trial for him? A strain on the house party?’ Tess rose off the bed. ‘Goodness, Lorene. I did not choose to have this happen. I simply walked to the village and became caught in a horrible storm. Perhaps I should have tried to cross the bridge or continued down the roads even though water was rushing over both. Then I would have drowned. Or perhaps Mr Glenville should have left me on the road to freeze to death. Either way would have been so much less trouble for Lord Tinmore!’
Lorene grabbed Tess and hugged her. ‘Do not say that. Never say that. That is what we all thought happened to you.’
Tess hugged her back. ‘I had hoped you’d think I stayed in the village.’
There was a knock at the door and a maid stuck her head in. ‘Pardon, my lady, but his lordship wishes to speak with Miss Summerfield immediately. In the library.’
Lorene released her. ‘You must go.’ She turned to the maid. ‘Tell Lord Tinmore she will be there directly.’
The maid rushed off.
‘I will accompany you,’ Lorene said.
Genna rose from the window seat. ‘I will come, too.’
‘No.’ Tess held them back with her arm. ‘It is best you stay out of it.’ Lord Tinmore would only become upset with them because of her.
Genna sat again and looked sulky. ‘Well, you had better come back right away and tell us all about it.’
‘I will walk with you, at least,’ Lorene said.
As they walked the distance to Lord Tinmore’s private sitting room, Tess tried to quiet her nerves. Would Mr Glenville still be there? Goodness, she hoped Lord Tinmore allowed him to dress in dry clothing and get something to eat.
Had he been able to convince Lord Tinmore to let the incident pass? She hoped so. She prayed so.
‘Tinmore is a reasonable man,’ Lorene said when they entered the long hallway leading to his private rooms.
Lord Tinmore had seemed fairly unreasonable to Tess. Unlike Glenville, who had come to her defence.
At the stairs, a footman approached and handed Tess a piece of paper. ‘A message for you, miss.’ He glanced warily at Lorene, the new lady of the house, and hurried away.
Tess unfolded the paper and read the note. ‘It is from Mr Glenville. He wishes to speak with me right away.’ She folded the paper again and put it in a pocket. ‘I should see him first.’
She turned around, but Lorene seized her arm. ‘You cannot see Mr Glenville!’
‘Why not?’ She tried to pull away. ‘He is waiting in the morning room. I can see him there.’
‘No!’ Lorene cried. ‘You must attend Lord Tinmore first!’ She pulled her along to Lord Tinmore’s sitting room. Another footman stood at the door and opened it when they approached.
‘Go to him.’ Lorene gave her a little push.
Tess entered the room.
Lord Tinmore was alone, seated in the same chair where he had been before. His demeanour had not softened.
Tess curtsied. ‘You asked to see me, my lord.’
His lips pursed. ‘I trust you are comfortable now.’
‘I am, sir. Thank you.’ She remembered what Glenville had said. Make no apologies. They had done nothing wrong. ‘I hope you allowed the same courtesy to my rescuer.’
‘You need not concern yourself with Mr Glenville,’ Tinmore snapped.
She straightened her spine.
He frowned. ‘You have created a great deal of trouble for yourself, for my wife and for your younger sister.’
She looked him directly in the face. ‘The rain caused a great deal of trouble for me. I was in danger and a gentleman rescued me. Surely you can make something sensible of that without a great deal of trouble.’
‘Such as what?’ He stiffened in his chair.
‘Such as nothing.’ Her heart pounded. Perhaps he could be convinced. ‘Declare Mr Glenville a hero and allow him to go on his way.’
‘A hero?’ His expression turned shrewd. ‘You seem immoderately concerned about Mr Glenville.’
Her hopes were shaken. ‘Do not try to make something of that, sir. He saved my life and I am not so much a simpleton as to miss the fact that you are trying to punish him for it.’
‘Punish him?’ Lord Tinmore’s rheumy eyes flashed. ‘He was caught in bed with you. That cannot be ignored.’
‘It can be ignored if you wish it,’ she shot back. ‘The world will believe what you, sir, wish it to believe.’
He stared at her before continuing. ‘You have bedded a man and been caught at it. At least your paramour understands you must pay the consequences.’
Her heart pounded. ‘What do you mean?’
‘He will marry you.’
‘No!’ she cried. ‘He will not.’
He half-rose from his chair. ‘He will and that is that.’
Fear exploded inside her, but she could not allow it to show. Instead she moved closer to him and leaned down into his face. ‘You know, sir,’ she said in a low voice. ‘You know that Mr Glenville and I did nothing wrong, nothing to truly compromise me. You know he rescued me. Saved my life. You know all you have to do is tell your friends the truth. Tell everyone the truth.’
‘No.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘Glenville said he’d marry you and that will resolve matters nicely, with the minimum of scandal tainting my marriage.’
‘Your marriage? Why should what happened to me taint your marriage?’ she countered.
‘It adds scandal to my wife’s name,’ he said. ‘Your mother and father’s carnal excesses are bad enough. I’ll not tolerate more...’ He shook his head. ‘Stranded in a storm! Hmmph!’
She glared at him. ‘You know it is true, sir.’
He waved her words away. ‘You will marry Glenville and that is the final word.’
Her insides felt shredded, but she made herself lift her chin. ‘What has Mr Glenville to say to this?’
Tinmore’s mouth moved against his gums, an old man’s gesture. ‘Mr Glenville knows his duty. He made the offer.’
‘No.’ Her entire body began to shake. ‘He does not wish to marry me. I cannot marry a man who does not wish to marry me.’
‘He may not wish it.’ Lord Tinmore smirked. ‘But he’ll do it. As will you.’
‘You cannot force this marriage on him. Or on me!’ she cried.
‘Glenville made the offer. It is up to you to accept or not.’ He leaned forward. ‘But understand this. For you there will be no dowry, no Season.’
His words were a blow.
She swallowed the pain. And loss.
She lifted her chin. ‘If you choose to break your bargain with my sister, it is no concern of mine.’
He worked his mouth as if unable to form words.
He finally spoke. ‘If you do not marry Mr Glenville, I will also withdraw all funds and support from your sister Genna and your by-blow of a brother. Your sister will not have a dowry and your brother will not see a penny of mine.’
She felt the blood drain from her face. ‘You would not be so cruel.’
He stared her directly in the eye. ‘You will marry Mr Glenville after all, will you not?’
She fixed her gaze on Lord Tinmore and would not allow her voice to show her utter defeat. ‘For my sisters’ and brother’s sakes, I have no choice. I will marry Mr Glenville.’
‘Excellent!’ Lord Tinmore clapped. ‘Tomorrow I will send you with him to London in my carriage.’
‘Tomorrow!’
‘I want you out of sight of my guests. Once they know you are to be married, the talk will disappear. By the time I bring my wife and your younger sister to London, all will be forgotten.’
He was sending her away. She’d already lost so much. Her mother. Her father. Her home. Now she was to lose her sisters, as well.
And to be married to a man who would undoubtedly resent her and detest having been trapped into marriage with her.
* * *
As soon as Tess left Tinmore, she hurried to the morning room, but Mr Glenville was not there. If only she could speak with him. There must be some way out of this.
She waited there an hour, pacing back and forth. Finally a footman opened the door and told her Lord Tinmore wished her to return to her room. She was not to come to dinner with her sisters and the house-party guests. She was expected to remain in her room.
And she was forbidden to seek out Mr Glenville.
