Читать книгу Regency Rumours: A Scandalous Mistress / Dishonour and Desire - Juliet Landon - Страница 10

The needs of Miss Caterina Chester were of an immediate kind upon which good breeding and example from her elders would have not the slightest effect, and when she might have benefited from her aunt’s advice, that dear lady was talking privately with Lord Elyot.

Lord Rayne’s professed enthusiasm for the music of Mr Haydn appeared to have deserted him and, despite Caterina’s invitation to sit close to her, he neither helped her to interpret the score nor did he take advantage of their closeness, which Caterina thought a great waste. There was not even a hand-touching. Not even a long gaze into her eyes. Nothing except a murmured enquiry about her aunt’s horses.

In Buxton, she and her sister had commanded a faithful following of male and female friends who had taken the art of flirting just a little way beyond the boundaries proscribed by their governess. But Lord Rayne was in a class all his own—a man, the very first attractive man who had shown her some interest, and she was falling more deeply in love with him each day. If she was not allowed to show it, how would he ever know? Was she supposed to wait for ever?

‘Will you tell me something, Lord Rayne?’ she said. ‘Without thinking me too presumptuous?’

‘Probably, my dear Miss Chester,’ he drawled, stifling a yawn.

‘Probably what? You’ll think I’m being presumptuous?’

‘Er…oh, no. Of course not. What is it?’

‘Then may I ask you your age?’

‘That’s easy enough. Twenty-four. Why?’

‘Seven years older than me. That’s quite a lot.’ Caterina sighed, gathered the music sheets together and took them over to the table. ‘So am I the youngest of your lady friends?’ She glanced down to appreciate the smooth curves inside the white muslin, which could hardly have failed to impress him.

‘Oh, by far,’ he said, knowing exactly where this was leading.

‘And am I.? But, no, that’s unfair, isn’t it?’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes. I was about to ask if I’m the prettiest, but you would be bound to say yes out of politeness.’

‘No, I assure you I wouldn’t.’

‘Wouldn’t what?’

‘Say yes out of politeness.’

‘Oh. Then what would you say?’ She turned to stare at him, feeling that her innocent enquiries had suddenly turned into a challenge.

‘I would say, Miss Chester, that you were angling for compliments, and that I never compare my lady friends with each other for their delight. Bad form, you know.’

‘But I was not angling for compliments. I simply wanted to know what kind of lady attracts you. I’m sure you must have known dozens.’

Lord Rayne strolled over to the window, wondering how long his brother would take to win the prickly widow to his side. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Dozens.’ It was some time before he noticed that the questions had stopped. ‘Well…er…not exactly dozens, but a fair few, anyway. Look,’ he said, realising that something was going amiss, ‘shall we go down into the garden? Is that a summer house over there?’

It was a mistake. He knew it as soon as Caterina’s face softened into a flirtatious smile with a well-rehearsed nibble at her bottom lip.

‘Yes,’ she said, suddenly demure again. ‘I’ll show it to you, shall I?’

Summoning all his past experiences of summer houses, Lord Rayne wondered whether she would employ the squeeze-through-the-door technique, the cobweb-in-the-hair, or the it’s-quite-cold-in-here method. As it turned out, she tried the one where the top of her sleeve gets caught on something, but he was saved from the predictable consequences of that by the timely arrival of his brother and Lady Chester, who appeared to be gently arguing. Then, after a summary of the view across Richmond, they were off again, the men to their horses and Lady Chester to a late breakfast.

For Caterina, it was to do some soul-searching about the ingredients lacking in her usually irresistible flirting. ‘What more can I do?’ she asked, almost in tears.

‘Less,’ said Aunt Amelie, ‘not more. Rarely more, my dear.’ Impolitely, she licked the last smear of porridge off the back of her spoon and placed it at an exact half-past position in her empty bowl so as not to spoil the symmetry of the design. ‘Will you take chocolate?’

‘Yes, please. If I did any less, he’d fall asleep.’

‘That’s not what I meant. Pass your cup. What I mean is that you appear to be taking the lead, Caterina. That doesn’t give a man much to do, you see.'Amelie handed back the cup of chocolate, reading the affliction in her niece’s eyes. ‘It’s also a question of age difference, and the best way to deal with that problem, since you cannot catch him up, is to emphasise it. Pretend he’s too old for you, not that you’re too young.’

‘How?’

‘Easy. Start by ignoring him more. Show less interest in him. Look at him less, and pretend not to hear, sometimes, when he addresses you. That kind of thing. Smile and be animated, but not for his benefit. You’re far too concerned by what he thinks of you at the moment and he knows it. It’s not good for him. Don’t show him your heart. Keep some secrets.’

‘You don’t mean that I should cut him, surely?’

‘No…oh, no…nothing as drastic. Just pretend he’s a minor character instead of the main one. Men hate to be ignored, love. It really puts them in a quake, especially when they’re supposed to be escorting you. You saw how all those young officers buzzed round you this morning? Well, take advantage of their interest. There was that dashing Captain Flavell at the ball. He was interesting. And the one they called Bessie?’

‘Captain Tom Bessingham.’

‘Another captain? Well, my dear.’ Amelie sat back, smiling.

‘What happens when Lord Rayne offers to take me driving?’

‘You don’t have to accept him, my dear. Anyway, we’re riding this afternoon, so when he offers to assist you, show him politely that you don’t need him. It’s just as much fun, you know.’

Caterina was smiling again. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘oh, yes. I think I could have some fun with that. Where shall we be going?’

‘I really haven’t been able to find that out yet.’ She stood up, catching sight of a newly ironed newspaper draped over one of the chairs.

Lord Elyot had been annoyingly mysterious, and Amelie’s trust in his motives had now taken such a pounding that the idea of a mystery tour held no appeal for her. Although she was trying her hardest to conceal it, the events of that morning had turned her careful plans upside-down along with her personal code, which was to keep men at a distance and, as far as possible, out of her life completely. To progress from that to being little better than a nobleman’s mistress in a matter of days went against all her intentions, for which she blamed Hurst for his baseness, and herself for allowing her heart to rule her head. Lord Elyot was right about her being unworldly, and now her chat to Caterina about how to deal with men had left her feeling distinctly hypocritical and by no means as sure as she sounded about the outcome. Perhaps she ought to take the plunge by taking Caterina into her confidence, but the young lady was having enough trouble understanding her own situation without trying to make sense of her aunt’s also. And there was a limit to Caterina’s knowledge of the Buxton scandal.

‘You’ve what?’ said Lord Rayne to his brother. A deep crease drew his dark brows closer together like a thundercloud, his mouth forming a narrow line that heralded some caustic remark regarding the cool announcement. ‘You’ve formed an alliance already? I know you work fast, Nick, but this is almost indecent.’

‘Lord, brother, you sound more like Father every day,’ Lord Elyot muttered.

‘No, I don’t. Father would remind you that you don’t form that kind of alliance without first consulting him so that he can tell you why it won’t work. Is that why you’ve given him the slip?’ He grinned, mischievously.

Approaching the heavy wrought-iron gates of Sheen Court, Nick waited until they were on the long driveway before answering. ‘It was not the way it appears. I’ve had to move rather faster than usual, that’s all. Well…no, that’s not quite all. This one is different, Sete.’

Seton’s frown returned as he stole a sideways glance to judge his brother’s seriousness and saw, by the total absence of the usual triumphant grin, that it was indeed quite a different matter, this time. He drew gently upon his reins. ‘Well slow down and tell me, then. Are you saying you’ve offered for her? Why couldn’t you come to the same informal arrangement you usually do?’

‘Take her as my mistress, you mean? That suggestion would not have gone down very well, but the problem is that word has already got out that Lady Chester and I have an understanding. Don’t ask me how it happened, because I’m not at liberty to explain, but it’s there, and rather than have to deny it at every end and turn, which would take some doing, it suits my purpose to go along with it. But it looks as if Father and Mother may hear our names linked before I can inform them of my intentions.’

‘Which they will not like one bit. Send them a letter, Nick.’

‘Yes, I shall send Todd up to St James’s Square this afternoon with some other information. That’s the best I can do. Don’t look like that, lad. They’ve been nagging me for years to find a wife, so I may well get round to it, eventually.’

Seton picked up on the tone. ‘That sounds as if you’re not too sure of her, in spite of the understanding. Is she not willing, after all?’

‘The story’s a bit complicated, Sete. I’ll tell you one day, but I wanted you to know that she’s accepted me partly because it will help to get Miss Chester launched into the auction ring, which she’s having trouble with down here.’

‘Only partly? What’s the other part?’ When his brother’s reply was slow to emerge, Seton made it for him. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘so you’ve got something on her. She’s not willing, but she has to accept you to keep you quiet. Eh? Well, that’s not your usual style. And how long is this…engagement…going to last, may I ask, until you snare another bird, or until she.?’

‘No, there will be no other, Sete. It’s this one, or nothing.’

‘Oh, really. And does she believe that?’

‘It’s the last thing she wants to hear at this point. She would not believe a word of it, I’m afraid.’

The hooves clattered across the stableyard cobbles where grooms came running to hold the bridles and to wait for the men to dismount. With a last look at the swishing tails, the brothers turned towards the house.

‘Sounds to me,’ said Seton, unhelpfully frank, ‘as if you’re nicked in the pipkin, old chap. Taking on a prime Ace of Spades and a niece can spell nothing but a fistful o’ trouble, ‘specially if it’s not much to her liking. Still, you usually know what you’re doing. You can rely on my discretion, you know that.’

‘Yes, I do know, Sete. Thanks. The story so far, in case our sister wants to know, is that Lady Chester’s affairs are being examined to see what’s what. Meanwhile we shall be seen out and about together before any announcement is made. That should give the parents time to see that I’m serious.’

‘But Father’s bound to think she’s Apartments to Let, Nick.’

‘Maybe at first, until he can see for himself that it’s not so. She’s as able to flash the screens as any widow in London, and more than most. You’ve seen for yourself what would drive a man to make a bid for her, haven’t you?’

The long slow breath expelled from between Seton’s lips was followed by a deeply envious growl. ‘I wish that pert little miss had half her aunt’s style. She’s a nice enough little thing, and I don’t mind helping you out while I have nothing much else to do, but there are times when I’d like to put her across my knee.’

‘Then you’re being too kind to her,’ said his brother, tersely, passing his hat, gloves and riding whip to a waiting footman.

‘You told me to be kind, dammit.’

‘Use your loaf, Sete. If the chit needs a firm hand, then use one. She’ll not break in half.’

‘You don’t suppose she’ll go crying to Aunt Amelie, then?’

Lord Elyot allowed himself a huff of amusement at last, though it was for the name, not the potential crisis. ‘No!’ he said. ‘She might cry into her pillow, but she’d not admit to losing the upper hand. I expect she’s had her father wrapped round her little finger since her mama died, so now’s the time to break the habit before she kicks the door down.’

Seton’s whip slapped hard against the side of his top-boot before he handed it over. ‘Oh, good lord, Nick, why should I care what bad habits she gets? She’s not a filly of my choosing.’

‘Then have yourself a bit of fun,’ said Lord Elyot, callously. ‘It’s only for the short term, after all. You’ve broken in fillies before.’

‘Not two-legged ones.’ The frown returned. ‘You’re not suggesting I seduce her, are you?’

‘Of course I’m not, halfwit. I’m not suggesting anything as irrevocable as that. But if you want her to grow up, you must school her. You’ve had it too easy, Sete. See what you can make of her.’

‘Hmph!’ Seton grunted.

It soon became evident, that afternoon, that the promised ride was to lead them up the stony road to Hill Common, the road Amelie had last travelled on a donkey in driving rain and darkness. By daylight, it gave them astonishing views across the river, across Richmond town and the royal parkland beyond. But it was the workhouse itself that surprised her most, having never seen it except in her imagination where she expected it to resemble all the others she knew of, stark, uninviting, with high walls and barred windows, silent, forbidding, a desolate last resort.

In reality, the only common factor with those she had seen was its size: in every other respect the Richmond workhouse was revolutionary in its attitude to care and clean accommodation, in variety of useful occupation and teaching, in food and self-sufficiency, in everything but the luxury of family, which many of them had never had, anyway. Amelie and Caterina learnt that it had its own infirmary and maternity ward, which is where Lord Elyot guessed they would stay longest.

While the men visited the leather workshop, the weavers, the gardens and the blacksmith, the two women were escorted by the friendly white-aproned matron into a bright clean dormitory that smelled of babies and soap and woodsmoke from the fire. Between curtains, beds and cots were arranged along each wall and round the central pillars and, although privacy was not a priority, mother and childcare was of a kind that Amelie had thought quite impossible in a place which, by tradition, had such a low regard for human comforts.

They visited every mother and her infant, of whom at least six could have been the one she had attempted to rescue on that rainy night a week ago. And by the time Amelie had held the last soft helpless bundle against her shoulder, nuzzled its downy head and breathed in the sweet milky aroma, the tears she had been fighting were running freely down her face and dripping off her chin, and the mothers to whom she had come to offer pity were, without exception, pitying her.

The last sleepy little mite was prised gently out of her arms and put to her mother’s breast. ‘Her name?’ Amelie asked, still weeping.

‘She ain’t named yet, m’lady. What’s yours?’

‘Amelie.’

‘Then that’s what I’ll call her. Emily. She’ll be called Emily.’

‘Thank you. It’s a lovely gown she wears.’

The mother smiled while the matron explained, ‘The Marchioness and her daughter run sewing groups,’ she said. ‘They make most of the baby gowns, and very nice they are too. Lord Elyot and Lord Rayne brought a bundle of them up only a day or two ago. They’re very caring, that family.’ She opened the door and waited for her guests to pass. ‘Always have been. Very involved they are, bless ‘em. People come here from all over the country, you know, to see how we manage things, and there’s never a month goes by without Lord Elyot coming to see us, never emptyhanded.’

The full significance of the matron’s revelation made less than its full impact upon Amelie then, although she recalled feelings of both confusion and contradiction. But outside the door, Caterina took her aunt into her arms, holding her until she could collect herself while Lord Elyot waited a little way off, aware of the crisis, but keeping the farm manager and bailiff in conversation. There was nothing Amelie could do to conceal the effects of her distress from him, in spite of Caterina’s mopping, the kindly matron’s understanding and her soothing cordial. She could see at a glance where the problem lay.

Lord Rayne had been visiting the stables, coming to meet them as they emerged from the large stone porch on to the cobbled courtyard where their horses were waiting. With unmistakable authority, he took charge of Caterina’s attempts to arrange her long skirts over her legs, brusquely changed her riding crop from her left to her right hand and told her to face forward properly in the saddle, which she thought she was doing. From his own saddle, he saw her attempt to move away and, reaching for her horse’s bridle, clipped a leading-rein to it. Then he sat back, grim-faced.

‘I can manage,’ said Caterina, crossly.

‘You need to concentrate.’

‘On you, or the horse?’ she muttered.

‘On your riding. Walk on.’

Not another word was spoken by either of them on the way home, but a glance that passed between Caterina and her red-nosed aunt assured her that silence was no bad thing.

For that matter, there was no actual conversation between Amelie and Lord Elyot either, and what did pass between them was mostly monosyllabic.

To an outsider, one tear-stained face and a lack of communication between four people might have appeared disastrous, but to Lord Nicholas Elyot it was far from that. For one thing, his brother seemed to have accepted his advice about what young Miss Chester really needed and, for another, he himself had discovered what her aunt needed, if that little scene was anything to go by. Through the pane of glass in the ward door, he had seen how reluctantly she’d handed back the warm bundle to its mother as if it broke her heart to do so, and he had wanted to take her in his arms there and then to give her the comfort she craved so desperately. But the episode had, for him, answered the question about her zeal for the plight of fallen women, a discovery that did not unsettle him as it once might have done. With previous mistresses, the problem of raising bastards had been enough to cool his initial ardour. This woman disturbed him in quite a different way.

Back in the stable courtyard at Paradise Road, he lifted her down from the saddle, knowing that she would attempt to escape him as quickly as Miss Chester had dismissed herself from his brother’s uncongenial presence. ‘No,’ he said, gently hooking a hand beneath the velvet-covered arm. ‘We need to speak, in private, if you please.’

Lord Rayne was remounting, preparing to leave.

‘Seton,’ Lord Elyot called to him, ‘go on up to the Roebuck and I’ll join you in a few moments.’ The sound of a door being slammed in the house made him smile and throw a wink in his brother’s direction.

On the ground floor, the saloon and the dining room were connected by a pair of large doors, leaving Lord Elyot in no doubt that both rooms would compliment each other in similar tones of soft blue, white and gold, warmed by the honeyed oak floor and a huge vase of red and gold foliage. This woman certainly had style and a liking for Mr Wedgwood.

In the saloon, she stood rather like a deer at bay, prepared to defend herself without knowing where the first attack would come from. ‘Don’t ask me,’ she said, in a voice torn with emotion. She put out a hand as if to ward him off. ‘I can’t explain. You would not understand. It would be best if you were to leave me, my lord. I’m not company for anyone.’ She turned away from him to hide her face.

Slowly, he peeled off his leather gloves and laid them upon a small side table, watching the graceful curve of her back and the irritable stacatto pulls at the finger-ends of her gloves which, in the next moment, went flying across the room like angry bats, followed by her veiled hat, narrowly missing a blue Wedgwood urn.

‘I will leave you, my lady but, before I go, allow me to tell you that my only reason for taking you up there was to put your mind at rest about the welfare of the mothers and infants, not to upset you. I wanted you to see how seriously the Vestry treat the problem. I can see where your pain is.’

‘You cannot possibly know,’ she retorted, angrily, still with her back to him.

‘I do know,’ he said, harshly. ‘I’d have to be blind not to know.’

‘It’s none of your business,’ she whispered.

‘It is, Amelie. It’s very much my business, and so are you.’ He waited, but she did not contradict him, nor did she remark on his familiar use of her name. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘so far you have avoided asking me about the two invitations. Well, one is to my sister’s birthday dinner party at Mortlake.’

‘When?’ She turned at that, suddenly apprehensive.

‘Tomorrow evening.’

‘I cannot go…no, I cannot! Your parents will be there.’

‘They won’t. They’re attending a court function in London. Only my sister’s family and friends will be there, and Miss Chester will be among people of her own age. My sister would particularly like to meet you after Miss Chester told her about you.’

For the first time since leaving the workhouse, Amelie’s eyes met his, holding them steadily, and Nick knew she was saying what she could not bring herself to speak, that she would be on show as his newest conquest, paraded, compared, discussed and judged, that this was a role she had no idea how to fulfil, nor did she have the aptitude for it.

‘We shall be among friends. They will congratulate us, that’s all.’

‘Your sister is not like the Marchioness, then?’ She had mused, on the way home, about the sewing group run by the mother and daughter who made clothes for those unfortunates so heartily disapproved of by at least one of them. There was nothing so strange, she had told herself, as folk.

‘Not at all. You will like each other, I know it. They all will.’

‘And the other invitation?’

‘Equally pleasant. A soirée at Ham House. Professional musicians. I think you’ll enjoy it. Interesting people, artists, poets, writers too.’

‘When?’

‘The day after tomorrow,’

‘And Caterina?’

‘Of course, that’s why I shall accept, so that she can meet the best people. She’ll be a sensation.’

Again, there was a long silent exchange of messages behind the eyes that said it was more likely to be she who would be the sensation, that she was the one he wanted to flaunt like a trophy. He sensed the struggle in her, the excitement of being desired by a man, the conflict of needs, her reluctance to adapt to her new role and her fear of passing control of her life to a complete stranger. To him.

‘I don’t understand you,’ she said at last. ‘Why are you doing this? There must be easier ways of getting a woman to partner you.’

‘A woman like you, my lady? I think not. Perhaps I’ve had it all my own way till now. Perhaps I need to work harder at it. Perhaps my other relationships were so brief because there was no incentive to make them last. I’ve certainly never offered to take a seventeen-year-old in tow before.’

‘Then I should be flattered, my lord, as well as grateful.’

‘I don’t know about that. But I do know one thing—that no man who sees you with me will be surprised by my haste and, although they may wonder how I managed it, I shall be the envy of them all. If that comes near to answering my question about why I’m keeping a hold on you, then so be it. Call it pride, if you will. A search for the best and pride in having found a way to hold it.’

She had stood with head bowed and cheeks flushed as his somehow left-handed tributes were delivered quietly across the elegant saloon, their sincerity all the more believable for their unexpectedness.

‘Captured, or bought?’ she whispered, testing him. ‘It doesn’t seem to me that you have had too exhausting a time of it in this search and capture. I seem to think it all fell into your lap rather easily, my lord.’

His stroll towards her was deceptively languid, but his hands caught her in a grip that bit through her sleeves. ‘I was not referring to the pursuit, my lady, as you well know, but to the holding of the prize. And I intend to keep you by my side for the foreseeable future. Make no mistake about it.’

‘Until all the skeletons in my cupboard are let loose upon the world. That’s what you mean, of course.’

His eyes searched lazily over her features. ‘You are telling me something, I believe. More skeletons? Hurst? Was he your lover?’

In a sudden blaze of anger barely hidden beneath the surface, she squirmed in his hold. ‘I might have known you’d not believe me,’ she said angrily. ‘Let me spell it out for you. I have never had a lover. There, now take it or leave it.’

‘Very well. So since we’re spelling things out, hear this. With or without skeletons, I want you in my bed and at my board, and the sooner we put that to the test the better it will be for both of us. And if you had it in mind to delay the pleasure, think again. I agreed to take it slowly, but I am not inclined to wait for the first frosts of winter.’

The words and the cynical use of the term ‘pleasure’ seemed to find no warm response in her eyes, for his expression was anything but lover-like. ‘You’re squeezing my arms,’ she whispered.

‘Forgive me.’ Taking one of the hands that moved up to comfort the crushed velvet, he raised it to his lips, palm upwards, to place there the lightest of kisses and to close her fingers over it. ‘I do not mean to shock you, Amelie. Are you shocked?’

‘Today,’ she said, ‘you have dispelled a trouble from my mind that has been with me since I arrived here. That is a great relief to me, my lord. If only my other concerns could be dealt with so efficiently. What is the hearing of a few down-to-earth manly intentions compared to that? No, I am not shocked, but nor am I prepared to gallop up to your bed so that you can notch up the score on your side of the board. I never wanted to be in your debt, I did not choose the stakes, and I won’t pay out what is still mine just because you are not inclined to wait. I’m sorry, my lord, but you may as well know how it is.’

‘Brava, my beauty,’ he said, smiling. ‘I would have thought you in very queer stirrups if you’d not fought back on that one. Well done.’

‘Tomorrow,’ she said, moving away from his laughing eyes, ‘it will be evening dress, I take it?’ Unthinking, she placed a cool hand to her cheeks.

‘Yes, but not too grand. We shall bring the coach round at five. My sister dines quite late these days.’

Amelie nodded, all replies used up.

Taking his gloves from the table, he came back to her and lifted her chin with one finger, touching her lips with his in a soft salute. ‘Go up and take a rest, my lady,’ he said. ‘You’ve had a rough day.’

She did not, of course, take a rest and, even if she had, she would not have been able to prevent so many conflicting thoughts from tangling into the most complex of knots. Apart from that, those heartrending moments of melting bliss when she had held the infant in her arms had left such a deep and aching void inside her that she felt drained and quite unable to pull herself back into shape. Lord Elyot had said he understood, but no one could share that all-consuming blinding passion to bear a child except those women like her whose need had never been satisfied. Was it not ironic, she asked herself, that the circumstance in which that need might now be filled was the very problem she had striven so hard to rectify? She would never find herself in the workhouse, but nor had he put her mind to rest about his share in the responsibility, should there be one, of accepting a fatherless child.

Throughout the mantua-maker’s visit, the enormity of what she had agreed continued to disturb her, and it was Caterina who conducted the dress fitting with confidence, despite the woman’s grumbling apologies for the continued absence of her young assistant and the inevitable lateness of the new gowns. When questioned about Millie’s illness, the mantua-maker had to admit that she had not had time to make enquires about her.

Later that afternoon, the appearance of the recovered but pale Millie disturbed Amelie’s conscience less than it might have done, her newest act of charity far outweighing the furtive transfer from the girl’s former employer to a bedroom of her own, warm clothes, good food and sensible hours of work. The grateful lass was speechless at the offer of six guineas a year, and the unfamiliar smiles she received from Mrs Braithwaite quite overcame her. In lieu of words, she kissed Amelie’s hands.

Millie was familiar with the new gowns that had just arrived, and it was soon clear that her knowledge of how they should be worn as well as how they had been constructed would make her an ideal dresser for Caterina. After a bath, a change of clothing and some food, Millie was suggesting adjustments like a true professional, trying out combinations of ribbons, draping lace and fur while the names of hairstyles tripped off her tongue and wove through her nimble fingers.

Upstairs in her workroom, Amelie propped an array of calling cards across her writing table and gazed at them. Most were from the best-known families in Richmond who could, with a little less natural caution, have left cards weeks ago.

One or two with the corners turned down had been left in person by gentlemen she had danced with at the Castle Inn ball, and some were from strangers who apparently wanted to know her. It was most gratifying, she thought, pushing the Oglethorpes’ card behind the rest.

Pulling out the lid of the writing-desk, she took paper and quill and began to write: Dearest and Most Esteemed Brother, I fear that, since receiving your last letter, so much has happened that I hardly know where to begin with my reply. Nevertheless…

Nevertheless, once started, she was able to form a tolerably coherent summary of the events that had suddenly overtaken her tidy life, leaving out little except Lord Elyot’s indecent proposal, his intimacies, and her own confused reaction to it all. Stephen Chester, Caterina’s widowed father, had been a true, though not impartial, tower of strength, and any hint that Amelie had agreed to a physical relationship with Lord Elyot in return for his support and discretion was not allowed to colour her account. Not even between the lines.

For Caterina’s sake, I have accepted the brothers’ offers of escort…Caterina and he get on so well together…to their sister’s dinner party…a concert at Ham House where she will meet…so many calling-cards already…quite spoilt for choice. and so on.

Amelie had never been good at deception; on the few occasions she had tried it, she had come woefully unstuck. Consequently, she found it easier to tell her brother-in-law of Hurst’s passing visit while painting Lord Elyot as the knight in shining white armour whose support she had accepted just as she had accepted his in Buxton. She hoped that this would not offend his feelings, for she knew how he had hoped for an affection of a deeper kind after his brother’s death. For him, it would have been the ideal solution. But not for Amelie, who had two genuine objections to the connection, one of which was that she did not love him. Nor did she believe she ever would.

The village of Mortlake lay on the other side of the royal park on a loop of the River Thames to the northeast of Richmond, making a triangle with Kew. Amelie had driven through it once or twice and thought that, had she known of its existence earlier, its prettiness and clean lines might have suited her well.

‘We’ll come by boat one day,’ said Lord Elyot as the coach turned through the gates of Elwick Lodge. ‘It’ll take longer, but the approach is spectacular from the river steps.’

But Caterina’s description of the house as ‘white and enormous’ had not done justice to the groups of limes and elms, the green sloping lawns, rose-covered walls and the sparkling boat-studded river beyond. And it was enormous, three-tiered and grand with wide steps leading up to a porti-coed entrance even now swarming with liveried men and a bouncing rash of black labrador puppies followed by two small children dragging their nurse behind them.

It was as if the house had suddenly had its cork drawn, spilling its contents around the coach and fizzing with welcomes. If Amelie had had any reservations about her acceptance, they were dispelled at once by the extended Elwick family who absorbed her like a sponge into their continuous embrace as if she had always been one of them. Caterina was greeted like a long-lost cousin, narrowly rescued from four eager hands by nurse and paternal grandmother. With hardly a coherent introduction to penetrate the general hub-bub, the frothy company then reversed its flow through the double doors into a cavernous hall, marble-floored, columned, and spiralling upwards in a coil of delicate ironwork from which coloured paper streamers fluttered in the breeze.

‘Mama’s birfday,’ the fair-haired little angel lisped, pointing upwards. ‘Look…steamers…look, Unca Nick!’

Having conserved a kind of distance until now, Amelie was obliged to revise her assumptions about Lord Elyot’s judgemental relatives, for this scene certainly did not fit her previous images of them. Whether Adorna Elwick was used to receiving her brothers’ current partners or whether Amelie was an exception, there was no way of knowing, but her smiles seemed as genuine as the children’s. ‘You must call me Dorna as everyone else does,’ she said. ‘Our names go back for generations. We can’t escape them.’

‘Dorna, may I wish you a happy birthday?’ said Amelie.

‘Certainly you may. Thank you.’ She eyed the large box that one of the footmen had carried in. ‘If that’s from you two,’ she said to her brothers, ‘it will be the first ever to have arrived on the right day.’ There was laughter and warmth in her cultured voice, and a sisterly tenderness in her blue-grey eyes that made her sparkling smile even more remarkable. Unlike her siblings, she was fair-haired and fair-skinned, still girlishly slender and so modish that she could wear with self-confidence an unlined white-spotted muslin of such fineness that no detail of her dainty breasts inside the minuscule bodice was left to the imagination. Tied beneath with a wide pale-blue satin ribbon, the long ends were left to trail over her train, which the black puppies were convinced was one of the latest games and which concerned the wearer not at all.

For her part, Amelie saw an appealing insouciance in her hostess’s manner that would be able to take an ugly tea urn in its stride, even to flaunt it before her friends as good for a laugh. All the same, Amelie wished now that she had not taken her anger out on Dorna, of all people, for she was sure she was going to like her.

There was nothing not to like about the Elwick family or their spacious lived-in house by the river, or easy-going Sir Chad and his gentle parents, or Dorna’s aged godparents and her various brothers and sisters-in-law.

However, Colonel Tate, an old family friend and neighbour, fell into rather a different category. He had an annoying habit of saying whatever came into his head, often causing laughter, but sometimes irritation. Nudging his old-fashioned powdered wig into position, he lifted his quizzing-glass to examine the single row of pearls around Amelie’s neck and, convinced of their value, dropped it with a squeak of surprise. ‘Well, m’boy,’ he said, swivelling round to fix Lord Rayne with his bloodshot eyes, ‘you’ve found yourself a flush mort here and no mistake. What’s she worth, eh? This one’ll put you back in funds, if you can keep her, eh, m’lad? What?’

‘You’ve got it wrong, Colonel,’ said Lord Rayne, wincing visibly. ‘Unfortunately, Lady Chester is engaged to my brother, not to me.’

‘To Elyot? Eh?’ The quizzing-glass was picked up again to find the elder brother. ‘What does Elyot want with that kind of money? He’s not in queer streets too, is he? Looking for a golden dolly, m’boy? When I was your age—’

‘Thank you, Colonel,’ said Lord Elyot, taking Amelie’s hand and threading it through his arm, ‘for your advice on our financial affairs, but I can assure you it isn’t in the least necessary. Lady Chester’s financial affairs are of no one’s concern but her own. Shall we go through? Lord, Dorna,’ he whispered to his embarrassed sister, ‘why the devil did you invite that garrulous old turnip? You know what he’s like.’

‘I had no choice,’ she replied. ‘He invited himself. Please.’ she leaned towards Amelie ‘.take no notice of him, will you? He means no offence.’

Amelie smiled. She had met the Colonel’s type before. ‘I am not in the least offended,’ she said. ‘One could be called worse names than a golden dolly.’ She felt the quick squeeze of the arm over her wrist, but what had concerned her more than the old man’s indiscretion was Lord Rayne’s use of the word ‘unfortunately'. Could it mean that he did not approve?’

She looked to see if Caterina had heard, but her attention was being held by a tall good-looking dandy with shirt-points up to his ears and a curly mop of light brown hair worn in fashionable disarray.

‘That’s Tam,’ said Lord Elyot. ‘Short for Tamworth. Sir Chad’s younger brother. He and his sister live with their parents next door. That’s Hannah over there.’ Looking across the room, he indicated a petite lady of about Amelie’s own age, quietly attractive but not conventionally pretty. ‘She’s the sedate one,’ he said. ‘Not a bit like her brother.’

‘I’d like to meet her.’

But there were other more pressing introductions, first to Lord and Lady Appleton, another of Sir Chad’s sisters and her supercilious husband for whom the whole event was a tedium to be endured with a minimum of effort. Kitty, his chattery wife, was happy to hear that her brother-in-law had begun to think more seriously about his relationships, but her intrusive queries were too much for Amelie, who was glad to leave all explanations to the man himself. Listening to him, she realised that there was no incident or remark that he could not deal with politely while giving away very little real information. She need not have been concerned about anything, not then or during dinner.

The giving of gifts, to which Amelie had not been looking forward, passed off with the same noisy good humour as the greetings. The controversial tea urn was exclaimed over and, after various impertinent suggestions as to its role in laundry or cellar, a place was found for it in a mirrored alcove where its ugliness, to Dorna’s delight, was doubled. ‘Pride of place,’ she exclaimed, ‘to show that my brothers do remember!’

Lord Elyot’s shapely brows lifted a notch as he caught Amelie’s sheepish expression across the table, and she was reminded that he had understood. But her eyes had wandered towards the lady who sat on his left, to Hannah, his sister-in-law, who was looking at him with such poorly concealed adoration that Amelie could see how her heart was aching with the pain of love.

Like Amelie, Hannah was no longer a young girl. She was fair haired and possessed of a serene expression that bluff Colonel Tate mistook for an un-natural lack of animation, and the remarks he made from the opposite side of the table brought flames to her pale cheeks. Amelie’s heart went out to her, but she held back the invitation that was on the tip of her tongue until she’d had a chance to talk with her. If she was as in love with Lord Elyot as Amelie believed, an invitation to stay at Richmond might make matters more complicated than they were already.

To Amelie’s relief, Caterina had accepted the new situation with remarkably little surprise, as if she had foreseen the event and was pleased to have her own future placed on a surer footing. Her only disappointment was that, as yet, there was no ring to show for it, and no celebrations planned.

More gifts were unwrapped between courses and passed round the table to be admired, amongst them Amelie’s painting of purple irises, which even she believed to be one of her most successful.

‘Good gracious me,’ said Kitty’s patronising husband, ‘you can paint! I believe this is quite beyond the usual for an amateur, my dear.’

‘I didn’t know you were an authority on watercolours, Appleton,’ said Lord Elyot drily from across the table. ‘You’re viewing it upside-down, by the way.’

Hurriedly, Lord Appleton turned the painting round, frowning at it as if it should have known better. ‘Er…well, no old man. I suppose fishing’s more my line.’

‘That’s what I thought. I should stick to it, if I were you. That piece was exhibited at the Royal Academy last year.’

‘Eh? Oh…really! Good lord!’ said Lord Appleton, sinking a little into his cravat. He passed the painting on, taking another longer look at Amelie.

Every other remark was complimentary, but the one whose look held all the approval Amelie needed had again shielded her from the merest hint of disdain, even that provoked by ignorance. As at the ball, she felt the warmth of his protection and, while talking to her table-partners, watched how his dark handsome head bent towards Hannah, giving her all his attention while caressing the neck of a dessert-spoon with long fingers and nodding at some serious point she was making. No wonder, Amelie thought, that Hannah was in love with him and how changed he was from the hard-bitten cynic she had first met in the London goldsmith’s shop. How could the two counterparts ever be reconciled?

By coincidence, the answer to that vexed question came after the sumptuous dinner when she seized the chance to speak to Lord Rayne, who had left Caterina to the dedicated attentions of Tam, Hannah’s brother. As if their meeting had been booked in advance, he offered her his arm and together they strolled out on to the rustic verandah that overlooked the river and the meadows beyond. They were not alone, but no one approached them as they perched on a low windowsill with the evening sun in their eyes.

‘We’ve had little chance to talk, my lord,’ said Amelie, adjusting the Chantilly lace shawl over her shoulder. ‘Could we be friends now, or did my earlier resistance quite put you off? It was meant to, of course, at the time.’ She could see why Caterina had lost her heart to this young man, and why she would fall some way short of his more cosmopolitan tastes.

His smile, though, was boyish as he looked out across the river at the gliding of late wherries and their passengers. ‘Our family has a reputation for not being easily put off,’ he said, turning to her. ‘I’ve been waiting for the right moment to talk with you.’

‘About your brother’s offer? You disapprove of it, I fear.’

‘Why should I disapprove, my lady? It’s extremely sudden, I have to admit, but I approve of Nick’s choice. No, I envy him and congratulate you.’

‘But…but you used the word “unfortunately” to Colonel Tate. I thought that—’

‘Heavens above, no, my lady. It’s only unfortunate that you’re not engaged to me instead of Nick. But I’m not in a position to offer for anyone yet, you see. Otherwise.’ He sighed, and looked away again.

For Caterina’s sake, Amelie thought it best to let the subject rest. ‘Well, then, I’m glad we have your blessing. It would have made me very unhappy otherwise. I would like us to be friends, my lord, and your sister too, though I’m afraid I cannot say the same.’ she looked over to the group where a loud voice shouted down the rest ‘.for everyone.’ Seeing the amusement on her companion’s face, she relented. ‘Oh dear, I hope he’s not a particular friend of yours, is he?’

But his smile told her otherwise. ‘Old Colonel Dandyprat? No, he still thinks he’s in the army. We’ve known him since we were children so we can take his silly prattle with a pinch o’ snuff. We used to mimic him a lot. Still do, sometimes. You should hear him on do-gooders…philanthropists, you know. His favourite aversion.’ His comely features adopted Colonel Tate’s florid puffiness and petulantly wobbling mouth as if he had practised for years. ‘"Them young bits o’skirt ought to be locked up!'” he yelped, for her ears only. ‘"Vagabonds! Nob-thatchers! And anybody who thinks ‘em worth helping must be addle-brained! A load o’ loose screws, that’s what they are! The workhouse is too good for tarts like that."’ His features relaxed as laughter overtook him again, and he did not notice how Amelie’s expression of astonishment changed to sheer relief as the uncompromising sentiments were spoken once more, this time in their original context. ‘We’d never take him up to the workhouse,’ he said, still chuckling. ‘He and my mother have fearsome arguments about it, but nobody ever gets the better of her. “If only you knew what trouble you people cause!"’ he mimicked again. ‘She tells him to go to the devil.’

‘She’s very fierce, your mother?’

‘Oh, she’s a character,’ he told her.

Amelie hoped he might have gone on to elaborate, but his place was taken by his sister. ‘Seton,’ said Dorna, ‘be a darling and rescue Hannah from Mr and Mrs Horner. The poor girl looks desperate.’ She took his hands and pulled him up. ‘Besides, it’s my turn to talk to Amelie.’

But by now, Amelie’s curiosity had been aroused by several anomalies, one of which concerned the fearsome Marchioness, another was to do with the names handed down from the ancestors.

‘Our names?’ said Dorna, in answer to her query. ‘Elyot and Rayne are both family names dating back to Tudor times. The first Lord Elyot had a son named Sir Nicholas Rayne who was assistant Master of Horse to Queen Elizabeth. He married the first Adorna whose father, Sir Matthew Pickering, was Master of Revels when the palace at Richmond was still used by the royals. Apparently, there were as many fireworks over that match as there were over the Queen’s affaire with the Earl of Leicester. A huge scandal, there was. Since then, the position of Assistant Master of Horse and Keeper of the Royal Stud has been passed down through Sir Nicholas’s family, which is how my father comes to hold the office. That’s why he can’t be with us.’

‘But he’s now the Marquess of Sheen.’

‘Yes, he was created earl by King George III, then he became a marquess and, as you know, one usually has to be the earl or marquess of somewhere, so he took the name of Sheen, since that’s where we’ve always lived.’

‘The old name for Richmond.’

‘That’s right. So Nick took the handed-down title of Lord Elyot, and Seton became Lord Rayne. It must be so confusing to strangers, with all these names from the past.’

‘But then, you are a lady by birth as well as by marriage.’

‘Which is why I’m Lady Adorna Elwick, rather than just Lady Elwick. As if it matters,’ she laughed, nudging Amelie, who knew that it did. ‘The first Adorna had a brother named Seton who wrote stageplays for the Earl of Leicester’s company, and their brother Adrian acted with William Shakespeare.’

‘Really? So Adorna’s scandalous affair with the first Sir Nicholas…is that something the present Marchioness prefers to keep secret?’

‘Mother?’ Dorna’s laugh rang out as she threw back her fair head, curving her long throat. ‘Heavens, not a bit of it. Mama is no stranger to scandal. I sometimes think she thrives on it. Ah…Nick! There you are. Have you come to interrupt our cosy chat?’

‘Yes. Have you told Lady Chester that her house is on the same Paradise Road where our ancestors once lived?’