Читать книгу The Convenient Felstone Marriage - Jenni Fletcher - Страница 12

Chapter Three

‘Are you awake, dear?’

Ianthe opened her eyes, momentarily blinded by the expanse of colour that greeted her. Where was she? In a bedroom she didn’t recognise, daubed and draped in such an overwhelming shade of rose-petal pink that she could hardly distinguish one object from another. With the sun streaming in through open curtains, the whole room seemed to be blushing.

‘Ianthe?’

She rubbed her eyes, disoriented after such a deep sleep. She had the vague impression that the curtains had been closed only a moment before, but who had opened them? Who was that calling her name? The voice seemed to come from close by...

She yelped, catching sight of a small face, half-hidden beneath a huge frilly nightcap, peering down at her.

‘Aunt Sophoria!’

‘Oh, good, you’re awake.’ The face beamed. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you, but I was starting to worry.’

Ianthe put a hand to her chest, trying to calm her now frantically pounding heartbeat. ‘How long have I been asleep?’

‘Almost since you arrived.’

Her aunt bustled across the room and then back again, bearing a cup of tea in one hand and a plate of macaroons in the other, before perching precariously on the side of the bed.

‘Here we are. I bought these as a treat for us last night, but since you were indisposed, we’ll have them for breakfast instead.’

‘Thank you.’ Ianthe accepted the tea gratefully. ‘I’m sorry I ruined our arrival, Aunt, but Percy and I had the most dreadful quarrel.’

‘So I gathered. You were quite overwrought when you got here.’

‘Oh...’ Her cheeks flushed as memories of the day before came flooding back. She’d collapsed into her aunt’s arms on the doorstep, still reeling from the shock of Percy’s deception and Mr Felstone’s so-called proposal. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Nonsense! You’ve given the neighbours something to talk about. They’ll be thrilled.’ Hazel eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘So I sent you off to bed and Percy to stay at the Swan. I had intended for him to use this room while you shared with me, but it seemed like you needed some peace. Besides, I didn’t like the way he was talking to you. Takes after your father’s side of the family, that one.’

Ianthe smiled, trying to imagine her brother in such a vibrantly pink bedroom. Now that she was getting used to the colour, she was starting to like it, as if she were a little girl back in the nursery. It felt like a safe haven, a space of her own again—a home. That was all she wanted in life now, a place to hide from the world. But she still owed her aunt an explanation for her behaviour. If only she knew where to begin...

‘It wasn’t entirely Percy’s fault, Aunt. I behaved very badly.’

‘Oh, I doubt that. Have a macaroon.’

‘You don’t understand.’ She took a deep, faltering breath. ‘He wants me to marry Charles Lester.’

‘Lester?’ Aunt Sophoria paused with a biscuit halfway to her lips. ‘That vain old buffoon? Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘You don’t like him?’

‘Never have, never could. He used to hang around your mother when she was a girl, too. I used to chase him away then. What on earth is Percy thinking?’

‘They’ve become close this past year. That’s why Percy brought me here. They arranged it together.’

‘Ah. I did wonder about your brother’s sudden enthusiasm for visiting me after ten years. So Lester’s in on it, then?’

Ianthe lifted her shoulders and then dropped them again despairingly. ‘Percy says he’s going to propose, but I don’t understand it. I’ve done nothing to encourage him and it’s not as if I have money or connections. It can’t be love, I’m sure of it.’

‘Love?’ Her aunt chewed on a macaroon thoughtfully. ‘No, love isn’t a sentiment I’d associate with Charles Lester.’

‘He scares me, Aunt.’ She gave an involuntary shudder, trying to put all the things she’d scarcely dared think about into words. ‘He watches me so intently all the time, like he’s hungry, but as if it’s not really me he’s looking at either. It’s like it’s me, but not me that he wants. I don’t know how else to explain it.’

Aunt Sophoria screwed up her mouth for a moment before patting her hand reassuringly. ‘Well, if you don’t like him then that’s an end to it and we’ll tell your brother so together. As for Lester, don’t worry, I know how to handle him.’

Ianthe put down her tea, flinging her arms around her aunt’s neck with a sob of relief. ‘Oh, thank you, Aunt. I was so afraid you’d agree with Percy.’

‘As if I ever could!’ Aunt Sophoria gave her a tight squeeze. ‘Honestly, men! I ought to box both their ears.’

Ianthe laughed before sitting back again with a guilty expression. ‘That wasn’t all I was upset about, I’m afraid. You see, there was another man on the train.’

An image of Mr Felstone’s sternly handsome features flashed before her eyes, making her hesitate. Perhaps it was better not to tell her aunt about him. In the cold light of day the whole thing sounded ridiculous, as if she’d simply imagined it. Was it possible that she’d somehow misunderstood his proposal? That she’d been so angry that she’d somehow...misheard?

She frowned, thinking over their argument. No, he’d definitely called her a schemer before he’d asked her to marry him. A business proposal, he’d called it, though surely he couldn’t have been serious. No sane man would suggest such a thing to a woman he’d only just met, no gentleman certainly. And yet...he’d seemed sane. He’d even seemed like a gentleman. So why had he said it? At the time she’d assumed that he’d been mocking her, taking advantage of their isolated situation to make fun of her dowdy appearance. Now, after a solid night’s sleep, she felt more confused than ever.

‘You mean Mr Felstone?’ Aunt Sophoria picked up the last macaroon and popped it between her lips.

Ianthe’s mouth dropped open. ‘How do you know that?’

‘Percy told me that part.’

‘So you know I quarrelled with him, too?’

‘Oh, yes, but I wouldn’t worry about it. Mr Felstone’s very civil, nothing if not a gentleman. I’m sure he won’t hold it against you.’

‘Civil?’

‘A bit stern, perhaps, but charming when he wants to be. The older I get, the more invisible I seem to become, especially to men, but Mr Felstone’s always very attentive. He’s considered quite the catch around here despite his background, not that anyone’s managed to land him just yet.’

Ianthe gaped at her aunt, slack-jawed in disbelief. Civil and charming were the last words she would have used to describe him. Did the man have an evil twin, perhaps? If he were even half the gentleman her aunt seemed to think, then surely he wouldn’t have made fun of her so callously, not unless...

She shook her head, resisting the idea. It was impossible. His proposal couldn’t have been genuine...could it?

She racked her brains, searching for another alternative. ‘But is he quite sane, do you think?’

‘Sane? I should think so. He’s a self-made man, owns the biggest shipyard in Whitby, not to mention a whole fleet of merchant vessels. I think he might have something to do with the new ironworks, too, not to mention the railway. I don’t suppose one can be mad and achieve all that.’

‘Oh.’ She didn’t know what else to say, relieved that she hadn’t mentioned his proposal after all. She had the distinct impression that her aunt wouldn’t be quite so sympathetic if she denounced him, too. Though if all of that were true, why on earth had he proposed to her? Surely such an eligible bachelor could have his pick of available women. She felt a stab of resentment. He must have been mocking her after all. As if insulting her weren’t bad enough...

‘You know, his birth caused quite the scandal,’ Aunt Sophoria continued blithely. ‘His father was Lord Theakston.’

‘What’s so scandalous about that?’

‘Nothing at all,’ her aunt chuckled, ‘except that his mother wasn’t Lady Theakston. She never had any children, poor woman. They might have made up for being married to him, the old rogue.’

Ianthe leaned forward, intrigued despite herself. ‘So who was his mother?’

‘One of the housemaids. Not the first he dallied with either, nor the last, but once Lady Theakston found out she was having a baby, she turned her out on to the street.’

‘But that’s awful!’

‘It was, not that Theakston himself did anything to stop it. No one knew where she went after that. Then twelve years later, she and the boy popped up out of the blue in Whitby, he gets himself a job at old Masham’s shipyard, the old man takes a shine to him and before anyone knows it, he owns the whole place. The mother died soon afterward, and there was some kind of reconciliation with his father, but something must have gone wrong. I know they quarrelled before the old man died anyway.’

‘Oh.’ She still didn’t know what to say.

‘Do you know...?’ Aunt Sophoria tilted her head to one side suddenly. ‘You look so much like your mother this morning. I couldn’t see the resemblance last night, but now it’s quite uncanny. I could almost believe you were her again.’

Ianthe smiled, relieved at the change in subject. ‘My father always said we were doubles.’

‘So you are. My poor girl, this past year must have been very hard for you, losing your parents so close together.’

She bit her lip, trying to stop it from trembling. ‘He just seemed to give up without her.’

‘They always had too much romantic sensibility, the pair of them.’

‘Aunt!’

‘They did. He ought to have pulled himself together.’

‘Surely you don’t blame him for dying?’

Aunt Sophoria screwed up her mouth as if torn between two conflicting opinions. ‘No. I suppose not.’

Ianthe stared at her in shocked silence for a moment before bursting into peals of laughter. ‘Father always said you were wicked.’

‘Did he? How wonderful. I’m the black sheep of the family, you know.’ Her aunt smiled mischievously before heaving herself back to her feet. ‘But now I think it’s time to get up. I unpacked your bag, I hope you don’t mind, though there wasn’t much there. It’s all very respectable, but...’ Her face fell and then lit up again suddenly. ‘Would you like to borrow something of mine? I have a pink taffeta that would suit you perfectly. I could do your hair, too, if you like. I do so hate these new flat styles.’

Ianthe bit her tongue. The idea of wearing something belonging to her aunt was more than a little alarming. On the other hand, Percy would doubtless waste no time in bringing Sir Charles to call and, if her drab, old-fashioned attire didn’t deter him, Aunt Sophoria’s wardrobe just might...

‘That sounds like a wonderful idea.’ She wrenched the bedcovers back with a smile. ‘Perhaps I could do with some colour.’

* * *

It didn’t take long for Ianthe to regret her decision. Descending the stairs in her aunt’s idea of a day gown was far more problematic that she’d imagined. There were so many layers and decorative flounces she had to keep a tight hold on the banister to stop herself from falling and breaking her neck.

She stopped on the landing halfway, studying her reflection in a heavy gilt-framed mirror, wondering whether to burst into laughter or tears. Her aunt’s old, steel-rimmed crinoline made her look as if she were wearing several dresses at once, while her puffed sleeves were embellished with enough lace to make a whole other skirt. Her hair, meanwhile, was piled so high on her head that she looked as if she had a bird’s nest sitting on top—the whole frizzy arrangement held in place with an oversized day-cap, fastened beneath her chin with an elaborate bow. She looked like some kind of confection, a pink cake topped with white frothy icing.

For a meeting with Sir Charles, she looked perfect.

‘Ah, there you are!’ Aunt Sophoria met her in the hallway as she finally reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘You have a visitor.’

‘Already?’ Ianthe’s heart sank. Apparently Sir Charles wasn’t wasting any time.

‘He’s been waiting ten minutes. And of course Betsy isn’t here this morning. I’ll have to make the tea myself. Will he want cake, do you think?’

‘No! I mean, I’m sure he won’t be staying long.’

‘We still have to be courteous, dear.’ Her aunt squeezed her hand reassuringly. ‘Didn’t I tell you it would be all right? Now, run along in. You can’t keep a man like that waiting.’

‘But you said...’

Ianthe felt a twinge of resentment as her aunt vanished through a side door. So much for promising to help her—she’d left her to face Sir Charles alone! On the other hand, at least this would get the interview over with. The events of the day before, upsetting though they’d been, had at least clarified her feelings. She wouldn’t marry him, not for money, not for protection, not even for Percy. She had to make that clear once and for all.

She gave the door a firm push, sweeping into the parlour with a determined flourish.

‘Good morning, S—’

She stopped short as she caught sight of the man standing with his back towards her. He was taller and more imposing than Sir Charles, his broad shoulders encased in a smart, three-quarter-length navy coat trimmed with royal-blue velvet, the crisp white collar of his shirt contrasting vividly with his thick, black hair.

‘Mr Felstone?’ she gasped, annoyed by the catch in her own voice.

‘I’m afraid so.’ He turned around, his expression flitting between surprise and amusement before he seemed to master himself. ‘Thank you for seeing me, Miss Holt. Under the circumstances, I would have understood if you’d refused.’

Ianthe stiffened, fighting the urge to turn tail and run. As if everything that had happened yesterday wasn’t bad enough, now he had to see her like this? In her aunt’s cluttered parlour he looked even more handsome than she remembered, while she looked like some kind of doily! Well, there was no point in trying to hide her outlandish appearance now. He’d already seen the worst. She had to brazen it out, no matter how embarrassing.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here, Mr Felstone.’

‘Ah.’ He seemed to guess the truth. ‘You were expecting Sir Charles perhaps?’

‘Yes.’ She regarded him warily. ‘How did you find me? I don’t think I told you where I was staying.’

‘You didn’t, but I have a friend whose wife is fortunate enough to know everything that happens in Pickering.’ He raised an eyebrow inquiringly. ‘But I can leave if you prefer?’

For a moment, she was tempted to agree. After yesterday, he was the last man—almost the last man, she corrected herself—that she wanted to see. On the other hand, her aunt clearly held a very different opinion. She wouldn’t appreciate her throwing him out, no matter how much she wanted to.

‘It’s not my house.’ She shrugged. ‘You may do as you please.’

‘You’re very kind.’

She glanced at him suspiciously, but he looked utterly calm and contained, a whole different man to the one who’d insulted her just yesterday, in complete control of his words and temper. If only she could say the same about herself.

She pressed her lips together, trying to decide what to do next. The polite thing would be to ask him to sit down, but she was in no mood to be polite. Under the circumstances, it seemed ludicrous to resort to conventionalities. Besides, the room itself made it difficult to concentrate. After her monochromatic bedroom, the parlour was a tumultuous riot of colour, crammed with enough furniture for a room twice the size. A cursory glance revealed at least twelve different places to sit. Even the wallpaper was cluttered, decorated with sprigs of cherry blossom interlaced with tendrils of crimson fruit. Combined with a flower-patterned carpet it gave the distinct impression that her aunt was trying to establish a garden indoors. The effect would have been overpowering even without Mr Felstone standing in the middle.

What was he doing there? She felt a fresh burst of exasperation. After she’d bade him goodbye so definitively on the train—or thought she had—she hadn’t expected to see him again at all. If he’d come to mock her again then she’d have no compunction about picking up the nearest ornament and flinging it at his head.

She glanced around the room, searching for suitable weapons, her gaze settling finally on a large box on the table.

‘What’s that?’

‘A peace offering. You said you didn’t have a gown for the ball.’

‘So you brought me one?’ She frowned, surprise vying with irritation. Peace offering or not, the gesture was hardly appropriate. She didn’t want anything from him—nothing except his departure.

‘Forgive the impertinence, but I mentioned your situation to my friend’s wife, who was happy to offer a loan. You’re around the same size so I believe it should fit. If you wish to borrow it, that is.’

Ianthe made her way warily across the parlour, lifting the lid and trying not to gasp as she caught a glimpse of the satin fabric inside. The dress was beautiful, a silvery light grey, simply cut with a round neckline and not so much as a flounce or ruffle in sight. She ran her fingers over the sumptuous material, resisting the urge to press it against her cheek. Such a gown would be a joy to wear. It also looked suspiciously new.

‘I recall your brother mentioning that you like grey.’

‘It’s lovely.’ She tore her fingers away reluctantly. ‘Your friend’s wife is very generous, but I can’t possibly accept.’

He ignored her objection. ‘I also managed to procure an invitation for your aunt. I noticed her name wasn’t on the guest list.’

‘For Aunt Sophoria?’ She spun around eagerly. That was an even better present than the dress, though she’d no intention of forgiving him so easily, no matter how churlish she sounded. ‘That was very thoughtful. My aunt will enjoy herself, I’m sure, though she hardly needs me to chaperon her.’

‘What don’t I need, dear?’ Aunt Sophoria bustled into the room at that moment, barely visible behind a giant tea tray.

‘Allow me.’ Mr Felstone stooped to relieve her at once. ‘I was just telling your niece that I’ve arranged invitations for you both to the ball this evening. If you care to attend, that is.’

‘The ball?’ Aunt Sophoria’s face lit up instantly. ‘Well, we’d be delighted, wouldn’t we, Ianthe? Do take a seat, Mr Felstone.’

‘Thank you, Miss Gibbs.’

He looked around as if searching for an available seat, and Ianthe felt a smug sense of triumph, pleased for once to see him at a disadvantage. Despite the preponderance of furniture, nearly every chair was hidden beneath some form of lace-based frippery.

‘Allow me.’ She smiled condescendingly, uncovering a small sofa beneath a pile of cushions.

‘My thanks.’ He caught her eye with a flash of amusement in his own. ‘Won’t you join me?’

The smile dropped from her face at once. Getting dressed, the thought of sitting down had somehow never occurred to her. She’d worn hoops in the past, of course, but never such a vast crinoline. Now she wondered how her aunt managed. Awkwardly, she reversed towards the opposite sofa, bending her knees slowly as she tried to make her progress look as natural as possible.

‘Sugar lumps!’ Her aunt’s sudden cry made her freeze halfway down.

‘What’s the matter, Aunt?’

‘I forgot the sugar lumps.’ Aunt Sophoria was already back on her feet. ‘Do pour Mr Felstone some tea, dear. I won’t be long.’

Ianthe stared at the teapot in horror. If she offered him tea then she’d have to stand up again! She cast an anxious glance towards him, but he seemed oblivious to her distress, apparently engrossed in the porcelain figure of a small dog at his feet.

She cleared her throat. ‘Would you care for some tea, Mr Felstone?’

He glanced up, the shadow of a smile passing his lips. ‘I think perhaps we ought to wait for your aunt.’

She dropped the rest of the way into her seat with an unladylike thud. What was he still doing there? He’d made his peace offering, as he called it. If he was waiting for her to forgive and forget, he could wait all day. Silently, she stared down at her hands, her fingerless, crocheted gloves folded neatly in her lap. Why couldn’t he just put her out of her misery and leave?

‘Miss Holt.’ His deep voice broke the silence at last. ‘Yesterday I behaved in an appalling manner. I’m afraid that my temper has a tendency to get the better of me. My apology was churlish and my proposal somewhat less than chivalrous. I beg you to forgive me.’

She looked up again quickly, glancing towards the parlour door in alarm. She didn’t want her aunt to overhear that!

‘Very well. We’ll say no more about it.’

‘Just one more thing and I’ll be silent. Before you left, you accused me of mocking you. I assure you that I wasn’t.’

‘No?’ She couldn’t keep the scepticism out of her voice.

‘No. You may not think me a gentleman, but I do have some sense of decency. Why would I joke about such a thing?’

‘Because, as my brother so delicately observed, I’m not the kind of woman men generally propose to.’

‘None the less, I was quite sincere.’

Ianthe curled her hands into fists. He sounded genuine, but he couldn’t be. More likely he was simply regretting his behaviour and attempting to cover his tracks, pretending that his proposal had been real in order to protect his reputation. It would serve him right if she said yes!

‘Mr Felstone...’ she pulled herself up haughtily ‘...if you’re afraid of me spreading gossip about you then I can relieve your worries at once. I assure you, I have no intention of telling anyone else about your proposal.’

‘I’m not worried at all. I’m quite accustomed to being talked about.’

‘Then if you think you’ve compromised me...’

‘I don’t.’

‘Then I don’t understand you, sir! Why would a man of fortune, apparently in full possession of his faculties, make such an offer? Unless it’s your custom to propose to complete strangers?’

‘It’s not my custom, as you say, to propose at all. Up until a few months ago, I’d never given the matter any thought.’

‘Then why...?’

‘I’ll be blunt, Miss Holt, since you seem to favour that approach. I’m a busy man. I like business and I like my work, but I don’t enjoy the social obligations that come with it. Lately, I’ve felt I might be better placed if I had a wife to assist me.’

‘So naturally you asked me?’

‘Naturally, I asked a woman of my acquaintance who I was led to believe would favour my suit. She didn’t. When we met on the train, I was returning from that interview. I won’t deny that injured pride played a part in my proposal to you, but I was perfectly serious. I still am. When I learned of your predicament in regard to Sir Charles, I saw an arrangement that might suit us both.’

‘My predicament, as you call it, is none of your business!’ she snapped. How dare he talk about her private affairs so familiarly, never mind the arrogant presumption that she needed his help! She didn’t need him or any other man to save her! She could save herself from the Baronet...just as soon as she figured out how.

‘I do not need rescuing, sir.’

‘I never said that you did.’ He sounded infuriatingly calm. ‘I’m simply offering you a solution.’

‘But you don’t know me!’ She sprang back to her feet, crinoline forgotten. Where was Aunt Sophoria? Surely it wasn’t so hard to find sugar lumps!

‘How well do any couple know each other before they marry?’

‘Better than this!’

He shrugged. ‘I’m sure over time we would develop a regard for each other. You strike me as a sensible, respectable woman, and I want a respectable wife. My life has been more than eventful enough.’

‘Oh.’ She flinched inwardly. Sensible and respectable were good. They were what she wanted, how she strove to appear, yet somehow the words still felt like an insult. Besides, he didn’t know her at all if he thought she was sensible. Sensible women didn’t elope with their employer’s sons!

‘You cannot hear yourself, sir. You say that you want a sensible wife and yet your proposal is quite the opposite. Forgive me for thinking there must be some other reason behind it.’

His lips curved in an appreciative smile. ‘It seems that I’ve underestimated you, Miss Holt. The truth is that I’m an ambitious man. Yesterday I was forced to confront certain facts about my position, or lack of it, in society. And since I cannot progress in that direction, I’ve decided to progress in another. I want my shipyard to be the biggest and best on the east coast. To achieve that, I need to buy out one of my neighbours, a certain Mr Harper. He’s an old man and willing to sell, but he’s somewhat...traditional. He doesn’t approve of me or my background, and he definitely won’t sell to a bachelor. Hence my need for a bride.’

‘Any bride?’

‘Not any, but one he’ll approve of, yes.’

‘How flattering. What if he hears that you proposed to someone else yesterday?’

‘He might hear rumours, but if I announce our engagement before they reach him, he’ll dismiss them as just that—rumours.’

‘And you don’t think he’ll be suspicious if I simply appear out of the blue?’ She shook her head incredulously. ‘Why not ask someone else you already know?’

‘Because I need an engagement to be convincing. I go away on business often enough to make a long-distance courtship plausible. He won’t know that we’ve only just met.’

Ianthe drew her brows together thoughtfully. Put like that, it sounded almost convincing. It would put an end to Percy and Sir Charles’s plotting, not to mention give her a new start, a new home, somewhere to call her own again. And she was a new woman after all. Perhaps she could be the sensible bride he wanted. It might be tempting, if it weren’t so preposterous.

‘Unless you have some personal objection to me?’ His face darkened abruptly. ‘Perhaps you’ve heard of my background? My parentage?’

She blinked, taken aback by the flash of steel in his grey eyes. ‘Your parentage is irrelevant, sir. If I thought that birth were any indication of breeding then I’d have married Sir Charles already.’

‘Then perhaps you dislike me personally?’

‘I think you’re moody and ill-mannered. Other than that, I’ve no objection to your character.’

‘I might have used the same words to describe you this morning. With the addition of stubborn, that is.’

‘I am not st—!’ She stopped mid-word, gritting her teeth at the irony.

‘Quite.’

‘What about love then?’ She inched her chin up. ‘Or do you think that doesn’t matter in marriage?’

‘I believe that’s your poetry speaking again.’

She felt a stab of bitterness. Did any man think of love? Not Percy or Sir Charles or this man either, apparently.

‘I assure you, it’s quite possible to marry for love. My parents did.’

‘That was fortunate for them, though for my own part, I’ve never had the benefit of any such example. My father wasn’t known for his finer feelings and my mother only came to regret them. I’ve seen the effects of your so-called love, Miss Holt. I’m not capable of forming such an attachment myself. If that’s what you’re waiting for, then I’m afraid I can’t help you. What I’m proposing is a practical arrangement, not a romantic one.’

‘Practical?’ She gave a sceptical laugh. ‘Yesterday you condemned me as a schemer and yet today you tell me I ought to be practical? Make up your mind, Mr Felstone.’

‘There’s a great deal of difference between marrying a man you despise and simply being practical.’

‘You’ve given me every reason to dislike you.’

‘True, but at least we know where we stand.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Things can only get better.’

Ianthe bit her lip. That was definitely true. Unconventional as his arrangement sounded, it did make a kind of sense. But how could she possibly agree to marry a man she’d known for less than a day? He didn’t scare her like Sir Charles, but she knew even less about him. At least with the Baronet she already expected the worst. This man was an unknown quantity, more attractive and yet potentially even more dangerous.

Besides, the thought of marrying without love went against all of her old cherished ideals and dreams. Even if she didn’t expect it for herself any more, she hadn’t changed so completely. She still believed in the possibility of love, even if not for herself...

‘Mr Felstone...’ She started to speak and then stopped, disturbed by a knock on the front door, by the sound of her aunt’s voice followed by Percy’s, then another man’s... She caught her breath in panic.

‘Sir Charles, I presume?’ Mr Felstone looked utterly unperturbed, pulling himself casually to his feet. ‘In that case, I’ll take my leave. I’ll be staying at the Swan until Thursday. If you wish to discuss any part of my offer, I’m more than happy to do so. If not, I promise never to mention it again.’

‘Wait!’ She swung around, as panicked now by the thought of him leaving as she’d been by his presence half an hour before. She’d been prepared to face Sir Charles then, but now she needed time to recompose herself. As if such a thing were possible with Mr Felstone’s proposal still ringing in her ears! Her head was still spinning from the fact that he actually meant it. How could he throw her into such confusion and then abandon her now?

Besides, it occurred to her that his presence there might actually be useful. Even if she had no intention of accepting him, Sir Charles wasn’t to know that. If he found them together, alone and unchaperoned, the situation might look just compromising enough to deter him. And if not... Mr Felstone would make an intimidating rival, even to a baronet. If anyone could scare him off, surely it would be him.

If she could persuade him to stay. Which meant changing everything about her behaviour so far.

‘I mean, please wait!’ She stepped in front of him, effectively blocking the way. ‘I’ll think about your offer, but don’t go!’