Читать книгу Silk And Seduction Bundle 2 - Louise Allen, Christine Merrill - Страница 14

Pansy put the finishing touches to Imogen’s night attire, helped her up into the enormous bed, and withdrew from the room with a sentimental sigh.

Imogen slumped back against the pillows, chewing on her thumbnail.

She did not know what to make of her husband anymore. She had got so used to thinking he was a pompous ass. But there had been moments today when she had felt positively grateful to him. Just for being there!

Any minute now, though, she sighed, he would be walking through the door that connected her room to his, so they could have that ‘long talk’ he had threatened her with. When they would ‘decide what was to be done.’ And she had a nasty suspicion that, since nobody else would be watching, he would revert to his true colours.

She heard a floorboard creak and her eyes flew to the connecting door.

More than half expecting to receive a scolding, she sat up straight, nervously pushing her hair off her forehead with trembling fingers.

Just about everything she’d done since coming to London had resulted in a scold. She glanced round at the opulence of the room he had assigned to her, as his viscountess, and felt a little pang of yearning for the cosy little room up under the eaves of the Brambles. Nobody had ever gone up there to replay the catalogue of errors she had committed during the preceding day.

She lifted her chin, tamping down on the deceitful feeling of nostalgia. The reason Hugh had never scolded her had been because he had not cared, one way or the other, what she did, so long as nothing interrupted his studies. Whereas her aunt’s constant sniping stemmed from her concern as to what other people would make of her. And as for her husband…

Her breath hitched in her throat as the door opened and Monty, clad in a magnificent green silk brocade dressing gown, entered the room.

He was bound to have something to say about her conduct. It was only natural for him to want his wife to maintain certain standards in public.

She searched his handsome face anxiously. There was an intent expression in his eyes as he advanced towards the bed, but he did not look cross.

She smiled at him, relieved that he really did appear willing to discuss the incident in the portico with an open mind.

He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. Raised it to his lips and kissed it. Smiled back at her…

And it was only then she noticed the absence of what she had hoped they were going to discuss.

‘Where is it?’

‘Where is what?’

‘The gift Stephen brought me. You said you would take care of it for me.’

There was a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach. Had he just said whatever he had felt would make her behave, without having any intention of truly listening to her opinions? She remembered the ruthless way he had bullied her into marrying him, and snatched her hand out of his.

‘You have not…you have not disposed of it, have you?’

He shot to his feet, staggered at how much she could hurt him by harbouring such a suspicion!

He turned on his heel and stalked back into his room, flinging open the doors of his wardrobe to find the jacket that he had been wearing earlier. The packet must still be in the inside pocket. Damn that rogue of a brother of hers!

Damn Viscount Mildenhall too. He shut his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the wardrobe door. What a coxcomb he was, to assume his new bride, a girl he had coerced into marriage, would now be so overwhelmed by the honour he had bestowed on her that she would by lying in bed, panting for him to come to her.

He sure as hell would not have taken getting a girl into his bed for granted when he had been merely Lieutenant Vernon Claremont. Oh, he had learned that his looks made him attractive to the fair sex. He had wooed and won his fair share.

But he had not wooed Midge.

Just assumed…he grimaced. ‘Put yourself in her shoes,’ he growled to himself, shaking his head. If he had just endured the day she’d had, would he be feeling amorous?

No wonder she accused him of being arrogant.

Well, if he had been, marriage to her would soon cure him of that! She had quite a knack of puncturing the over-inflated opinion of himself he had acquired as a result of all the toadying that went on in London Society.

He whirled round on hearing the rustle of silk behind him. Midge stood in the doorway, her hands clasped at her waist, her grey eyes frosty.

Dear God, he hoped she had not heard him talking to himself!

‘I apologize,’ she said stiffly. ‘I did not mean to imply that you are not completely trustworthy. You said you would take care of it, and I am sure you would not lie to me.’

The words might have been humble, but she had spoken them as though she was delivering a challenge.

She more than half expected him to lie to her, he realized. She really did think he was a…What was it she had called him? Oh, yes, a vile worm.

His lips pulled tight into a flat line, he turned his back on her and resumed the search of his jacket pockets.

‘You must forgive me for forgetting all about this,’ he said sarcastically, as his fingers closed round the elusive article. ‘It is just that discussing your brother was the last thing I expected to be doing on my wedding night.’

Imogen’s eyes snagged on the wedge of flesh that became exposed when his dressing gown gaped as he threw her brother’s wedding gift to her. He was not wearing a nightshirt!

Her eyes swept the entire length of him, ending in a fascinated perusal of his bare calves and toes. She gulped. He did not appear to be wearing anything at all under that dressing gown.

She remembered the look on his face as he had approached her bed, the gleam in his eyes when she had smiled. The eager way he had grasped her hand.

And his bitter words as he riffled through his wardrobe at her behest.

‘I do beg your pardon,’ she said, hanging her head. She had been so busy thinking of things to resent about him, she had entirely forgotten what a poor bargain he was getting out of this marriage. That there was only one thing he considered her fit for.

‘I c-could leave opening this until morning.’ He had not attempted to deceive her, she could see that now. It was just that her concerns seemed trivial to him. Because she was a mere female. And he was a typically thoughtless, selfish male.

She returned to her room and laid the packet on her bedside table.

‘Oh, no you don’t,’ he growled, stalking into the room after her. ‘We will get this business out of the way, since it is so very much on your mind. I intend to have your undivided attention when I make love to you for the first time.’

His lips twisted into a sardonic smile as she snatched the packet up and went to sit on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. She would have permitted him to assert his marital rights over her, dutifully, but he would have to be blind not to see that her fingers were itching to untie the knot on that damned parcel, rather than the belt of his dressing gown.

He joined her on the ottoman, wondering if any other bridegroom had ever found himself coming so low down on the list of his bride’s priorities on his wedding night.

She looked up at him warily when he sat down, a question in her eyes.

‘Go on.’ He sighed. ‘Let us see what all the fuss was about.’

With a smile of relief, she tore open the wrapping paper.

Then went white.

He forgot all about his own fit of pique when he followed her appalled gaze and saw, lying in her lap, a replica of a hangman’s noose. Fashioned from what looked like a lot of silk scarves plaited together.

‘Dear God! What is the meaning of this? Is it some kind of threat?’

‘Not a threat, no,’ she said in a thin, reedy voice. ‘He said, it was to remind me. I stupidly thought…’ She raised one trembling hand to her brow to push back a hank of hair that had flopped into her eyes.

‘You see, on the way to church, I had such high hopes…’

His heart leapt at her words. Had she, too, seen that they could forge something good together?

‘…the children of all three families brought together, to celebrate a new start…the Carlows were there, and William Wardale’s daughter, and me, Kit Hebden’s daughter. And then he showed up too, and I hoped finally, we would all be able to move out of the shadow of what our parents did…’

Her fingers hovered over the glistening silken noose coiled in her lap, as though not quite daring to touch it. Lest it develop fangs and strike out at her like a venomous snake.

‘Midge.’ He took her chin in his hand and turned her face towards him. ‘You are making no sense.’ The only thing he knew for certain was that, once again, her mind was far from him.

She shivered, and the vague, troubled look crystallized into something like ice.

Her lips pressed firmly together, she pushed the torn edges of the packaging back into place, to conceal the silken rope. Then she got up, walked to the fireplace, and threw it into the flames.

‘Rick was right all along,’ she said bitterly. ‘Someone did want to ruin my day. Only it was not some rival for your title.’ She flicked angry eyes over him. ‘But my own brother. Half brother,’ she corrected herself, seizing the poker and holding down the package as the heat began to make the paper uncurl. ‘The announcement was only in the Gazette yesterday, so he must have known where I was all along. And never once did he come forward. All those years, we thought he was dead. Mourned him. While he was out there, watching us, hating us, waiting for some chance to strike back at us…’

‘Midge, you cannot possible deduce all that from a few silk scarves fashioned into a hangman’s noose—’

‘Oh, but I can!’ She turned round to look at him. ‘You don’t understand. You don’t know…’

She swayed on her feet. The poker fell into the hearth with a clatter. Monty swept her into his arms, drew her away from the fire and settled her on the edge of the bed.

‘Then tell me,’ he murmured.

She wrapped her own arms about her waist. ‘How much do you already know?’

‘I suppose, only what is generally known. The tittle-tattle about your mother’s lover killing your father. And him being subsequently hanged for the murder. But until today I had never heard of the existence of…an illegitimate Gypsy boy. Nor do I understand why those three families in particular, gathering together, could have much significance.’

She nodded her head, just once, as though making up her mind about something.

‘My father and Lord Leybourne and Lord Narborough were working together on some kind of state secret. My mother did not know exactly what. Except that one night, my father told her he knew who the spy was, and he was going to meet the other two and tell them how he had worked it out. Lord Narborough found Leybourne later, crouching over my father’s body, with a dagger in his hand. And eventually Leybourne was hanged for murder and treason. They used a silken rope, since he was a peer of the realm.’ She jerked her head towards the direction of the fireplace, without taking her eyes off her hands, which were now clasped together in her lap.

‘The shock made my mother very ill. Grandpapa Herriard took the opportunity to get rid of Stephen, when he moved us all back to Mount Street. But Stephen’s mother came looking for him. It seems my father had promised her he would raise her son like a little lord. She blamed my mother for the broken promise—and put a curse on her.’

Viscount Mildenhall could not help the derisive snort that emanated from his mouth.

Midge looked up at him coldly. ‘It might sound like a joke to you, sir, but the words were so accurate they haunted my mother to the end of her life. The Gypsy woman said that because she had stolen her son, she would never see a single one of hers live to adulthood. My mother had just had a miscarriage. And not long after that, my younger brother, my only real, full brother, took ill and died too.’

‘It was probably just a coincidence—’

‘You have not heard the rest,’ she broke in. ‘After cursing my mother, she went to Wardale’s execution, screamed curses at all three families involved in the loss of her son and her lover, and then hanged herself too. With a silk scarf. That—’ She did glance at the fireplace then, appearing momentarily distracted from her narrative by the sight of the purple and blue flames licking along the charred edges of the symbolic noose. She shuddered again, saying, ‘It is a reminder that my family, along with the Wardales and the Carlows, destroyed his mother. And that her curse will keep on eating us all alive until her form of justice has been satisfied.’

She turned and buried her face against his shoulder.

‘I am sorry I seemed to scoff at the revelation of a Gypsy curse,’ he said, hugging her tight. ‘And I am not sure I believe in such things now. But one thing I do believe, and that is that man holds a grudge against you all. Hal Carlow warned me that he has already tried to cause trouble for his family, and the Wardales. Well, tomorrow,’ he said, looking down into her troubled face, and smoothing the hair from her brow, ‘I am taking you down to Shevington.’ He had never thought of the place as a refuge before, but it could be for her. From the malicious gossip that painted her as something far different from her true nature, for one thing. And, ‘The devil will not be able to get at you there.’

Though the thought that the Gypsy might do her some actual, physical harm alarmed him, there was a tiny part of him that welcomed having the opportunity to demonstrate his ability to protect her. So that she would come to rely on him.

‘I don’t suppose he will ever come near me again.’ Her shoulders slumped. ‘He only came to the wedding today to sow discord. The first time members of all three families have gathered together for a generation, and he ruined any chance there might have been for some kind of…reconciliation between us all.’

He wanted to tell her to forget the Gypsy. To put it all behind her. But he had seen her face when she thought she had regained a brother she had long thought dead. To have found him, only to discover he had only revealed himself in order to declare his enmity, was not something she would get over in a hurry.

‘I won’t let him come near you again,’ he swore. ‘The man is a menace!’

He thought there was a flare of something mutinous in her eyes, before she subsided and said in a subdued tone, ‘I am sorry. I have caused you nothing but trouble today.’

‘Nonsense!’ he rapped. Nothing that had happened today had been her fault, yet here she was, sitting with drooping shoulders, apologizing to him! When he should be the one making her feel better. She had been pushed into a marriage she had not really wanted, to a man she had taken in dislike, only to please her family…and how had her family repaid her loyalty? Her uncle had been angry, her aunt distant, one of her stepbrothers had blatantly made use of the wedding breakfast to suck up to Lord Keddinton, and a half brother had emerged from his hiding place to openly declare his hatred.

‘You cannot choose your family, more’s the pity,’ he said, dropping a kiss on to the top of her head. ‘Just wait till you meet mine! Anyway, let us not talk about anyone else tonight. Let me tell you instead—’ and he took both hands in hers, gazing straight into her eyes as he said ‘—you have done me a very great favour today.’

‘By marrying you.’

‘Well, yes. But more than that. You reminded me who I really am.’

The wounded look in her eyes turned to one of confusion.

‘Viscount Mildenhall—’ he pulled a face ‘—is a…is a…’ He floundered, finding it was not so easy to explain the tangled emotions that had led him to mislead members of the Ton into betraying their shallowness. ‘Well, to use your own words, a coxcomb.’

‘I don’t remember,’ she said hesitantly, ‘ever calling you a coxcomb.’

‘You should have! I was…I don’t know.’ He ran his fingers through his short, blond hair, leaving it sticking up in spikes. ‘I have been so used to being a soldier, dealing with life and death on a daily basis, that suddenly being thrust into a world that revolves around utterly trivial issues, I—’ he sprang to his feet and paced away ‘—I was supposed to consider my position and not do anything to bring the title into disrepute. I got such a lecture, before coming to town, about the clubs my brother had belonged to and the style in which he lived that I…’

‘You rebelled,’ she breathed, her eyes growing round. She had wondered what on earth had happened to turn Monty, the epitome of all the manly virtues, into that dandified, rude…angry viscount. And he had been angry, she now perceived. All the time. Not just when she happened to cross his path.

‘Yes—’ he turned and looked down at her ‘—that is exactly what I did.’

She heaved a great sigh, looking up at him enviously. ‘How I wish I could have had the courage to do that. I went the other way. I…squashed myself into the mould they tried to make for me…’

He strode back to the ottoman, grabbed her hands and tugged her to her feet.

‘When Rick told me how miserable his sister was, I wanted to rescue her…’ He paused, a frown on his face. ‘Of course, I did not know she was you, but—’ he squeezed her hands tightly ‘—earlier on, you said this marriage could be a new start. Oh, I know you were thinking about the mess your parents left behind them. But—’ and his eyes took on an intensity that called to something deep inside her ‘—could it not be a fresh start for us?’

‘Us?’ Her eyes were wide and misty, the way he had seen them look after he had kissed her. Her lips were slightly parted, too. His heart thudded heavily against his rib cage.

‘You and me,’ he growled, scarcely resisting the urge to step forward and close the minute gap that still separated them. ‘I will never try to mould you into some unattainable image, Midge. I shall not expect anything from you that you are not equipped to give.’

And then he traced the length of her lower lip with his forefinger.

She had the strangest urge to capture the finger between her lips and nibble at it. Her eyes flew to his. He was looking at her expectantly.

And then he smiled at her.

He was such a handsome man. Even when he was scowling, there was still something about the vitality of him that had made her body leap in response.

But to have the full force of that smile turned upon her…oh, it went straight to the very core of her, like a cup of hot chocolate on a bleak winter’s day. Because his former words had been almost as devastating as they were heartening. Yes, he expected her to be a social disaster, but he would never hold her inability to behave decorously against her. He was prepared to accept her exactly as she was.

Just as, she suddenly perceived, he was hoping she would try to see the best in him. He wanted her to forget the vain, pompous ass who had paraded about town dripping with jewels. To look beneath the gaudy clothing and see the man he wished he still was.

‘I will always think of you as Monty, then,’ she vowed.

Afterwards, she was never quite sure who had moved first. She only knew that they were in each other’s arms, kissing each other as though their lives depended on it.

She no longer felt the need to hold back from him. Or pretend that she objected to the way his hands were exploring her body.

He wanted her.

Just as she was.

And for the first time in her life, she was not a bit sorry she was female. Her body, which she had so often despised, now seemed like a treasure chest, which he was unlocking, revealing unimaginable riches within.

She felt a little shy when he finally laid her on the bed, having divested her of every stitch of clothing. Blushed when he tossed aside his dressing gown and joined her.

But the feel of his hard, naked body next to hers was so delicious, the sensations he roused as he kissed and caressed her softness so powerful, they soon swept modesty aside.

When he made them one flesh, she felt complete for the first time in her life. More fully herself than she had ever dreamed she could be.

But he did not stop there. He drove her on, into new realms of sensuality that almost began to frighten her. Finally being encouraged to behave exactly as she wanted was one thing. But now she was beginning to feel as though she was almost out of control.

‘Monty!’ She gasped, her eyes flying wide open. ‘I can’t…it’s too much…’

‘Let go,’ he murmured breathily into her ear. ‘Let it happen.’

Then he raised himself up so that he could look into her face.

‘Trust me…it will be good…’

The lower half of his body ground harder against her, just where the exciting feelings were at their most intense.

That intensity swelled to a crescendo. The most incredible pleasure she had ever known blasted through her, from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair.

‘It’s happening!’ she cried, in shock, clinging to his shoulders as she flew apart.

‘Oh, yes,’ he groaned. ‘Yes, it is…’

Time stood still as everything shook and pulsed and throbbed.

And then they floated gently back down to earth, like the sparks after a rocket has exploded.

Together.

As the carriage swept through the park gates and Midge got her first glimpse of Shevington Court, her stomach tied itself into a knot. Not for the first time that day, she was glad Monty had elected to ride beside the carriage. For she would have felt obliged to find something positive to say about the imposing set of stone buildings sitting on top of a rise, dominating the entire landscape. The closer they drew, and the larger she realized the place was, the greater grew her sense of inadequacy. She had never even attended a house party in a home so grand. Now she was expected to live here!

By the time the carriage drew to a halt beneath the port cochère Monty had already dismounted, and it was he who came to hand her out. He did not, as a footman would have done, merely extend his arm for support, but took hold of her waist and bodily lifted her to the ground.

His hands seemed to burn through the material of her coat as she recalled, with a flush, how they had felt on her bare skin the night before. But as he set about deftly straightening her skewed bonnet she began to feel annoyed. How could he remain so calm, so unmoved by their proximity, when she was in a breathless state of arousal! It was galling to think that if he decided to kiss her, she would simply collapse backwards into the carriage, dragging him in after her, and never mind what the servants might think as she slammed the door in their faces. But of course, he did no such thing. Once he had assured himself that she was tidy, he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her up the flight of shallow stone steps to the front door.

She had to cling to his arm for support, so weak were her knees by this time. The man was a menace to female kind!

‘It’s not what you would call a comfortable home,’ he startled her by saying. ‘Draughty barracks of a place, positioned as it is on top of a hill. My grandfather built it for show, more than convenience, I think. Good training for me, though,’ he finished enigmatically, turning to eye the ranks of windows.

‘Training?’ she asked.

‘Oh.’ He seemed to snap back to her from far away. ‘For school. Army barracks. Bivouacking in the Pyrenees…’ His voice trailed away as the immense double doors swung open as if by magic and a stately butler materialized from the shadowy interior. ‘Good day, Francis.’ He nodded, then murmured into her ear, ‘Indeed, you may find that the wearing of extra petticoats may prove beneficial. I shall have to inspect the efficacy of your underwear thoroughly, every day, I should think, to make sure you don’t catch cold…’

The thought of him inspecting her underwear made her go hot all over. And so she entered the imposing main hall of Shevington scarlet-cheeked, thoroughly flustered and rather aggravated with him for not only having put her in such a state, but also for remaining completely unmoved as he did so.

A veritable army of staff, in smart black-and-gold livery, were all lined up in the hall to greet them.

She was momentarily grateful that Monty had lifted her out of the carriage and made sure she would pass muster. She would not have liked to run the gauntlet of all those curious eyes with a trailing hem or her bonnet askew.

But that brief spasm of gratitude soon passed. For rather than making any attempt to lighten the atmosphere, he stalked along at her side, his hands clasped behind his back, his face unsmiling as the housekeeper went through the roll call of names.

He looked, in fact, exactly like a stern major, inspecting the troops. She would not have been a bit surprised if he had straightened a footman’s powdered wig or snapped at the lowly boot boy to shine up his rather tarnished buttons.

But at last, parade was over and the troops dismissed. And the housekeeper, Mrs Wadsworth, gestured towards the grand sweep of the staircase.

‘Your rooms are on the west corridor,’ she announced, leading the way.

‘You will never get lost,’ Monty murmured in her ear as they followed her, side by side. Then he held out his hands, spreading his fingers in an elongated rectangle. ‘South front, east wing, west wing.’

‘His lordship,’ said Mrs Wadsworth, flinging open a set of double doors about halfway along the corridor, ‘thought you would wish to have this set of apartments.’

‘Did he, by God,’ Monty murmured to Midge, out of the corner of his mouth, ‘you are honoured. Last time I was here, I only merited one of the guest rooms.’

‘Her Ladyship’s sitting room.’ The housekeeper waved her arm round the room they had entered. It was a perfect square, and very green, was Midge’s first impression. Pale green walls, dark green curtains and various shades of green upholstery on all the furniture. Then her eyes took in the ornately plastered ceiling, with generously proportioned picture rails below. And the almost paper-thin, floral porcelain ware that decorated every available surface. And the very expensive-looking carpet in the middle of the highly polished floor. And the low table positioned before the fireplace, with an immense vase, from the same source as the rest of the china, squatting on top.

It might have looked less hideous if somebody had thought to fill it with fresh flowers, but she supposed there were not many large enough, at this time of year, to do it justice.

‘Viscount Mildenhall’s chamber is through that door, and yours through this one,’ Mrs Wadsworth explained, pointing to two doors on opposite sides of the green room.

‘His Lordship will be along shortly to meet you and welcome you to your new home,’ Mrs Wadsworth said to Midge. ‘I shall have the tea things brought up.’

Midge’s anxiety level soared to new heights. She had no wish to drag the poor old earl out of his sick bed. She turned to ask Monty if he thought it might be better if they were to go to him, only to see him stalking through the door that led to his own room. She could hear him muttering to his valet, flinging open doors and slamming drawers. He was clearly not in the best of moods, for some reason. And she did not know him well enough to know how to deal with him yet.

Not quite daring to tread on the luxurious carpeting, Midge kept to the bare boards round the edge as she made her way to the door that led to her own room.

She peeped in to see a footman depositing a trunk at the foot of the bed.

‘Not there you great lummox,’ Pansy was saying scathingly. ‘Over there, by the cupboards!’

Midge’s lips twitched at the sight of the brawny footman meekly doing the diminutive Pansy’s bidding, and she backed away to the relative peace of the fussily feminine sitting room.

The door to Monty’s room was now closed. Well, that answered the question of whether to go and talk to him or not!

Feeling rather at a loose end, Midge sidled along to a window and gasped with pleasure. She could see a river winding artistically down to a lake that filled the bottom of a thickly wooded valley. And, if she pressed her nose to the windowpane, the corner of a building that looked very much like stables. She hoped there would be a decent mount for her. Her spirits lifted as she regarded the short turf sweeping round the lake and a track leading into the woodland. Oh, how she would enjoy being able to go for a really good gallop again!

Somewhere, at the bottom of one of her trunks, she’d had Pansy pack the disreputable old riding habit she had brought with her from Staffordshire. She had ensured it survived every single one of her aunt’s culls of her wardrobe, and now she could hardly wait to don it again!

She was just wondering if it was safe to enter her room yet, to get washed and changed in readiness for the earl’s visit, when she heard a hesitant scratching noise at the main door.

When she opened it, she saw two identical small boys, dressed in nankeen breeches and rather shabby jackets.

‘You must be Monty’s brothers!’ She beamed down at them. ‘You look so much like him!’ And they did, in spite of what he had said about them possibly having different parentage. Both of them had his thick, fair hair, startlingly green eyes and dimples in the centre of very determined chins.

One of them dug the other in the ribs with his elbow. ‘She means Vern.’

The other nodded. ‘Spec so.’ Then added, ‘We aren’t supposed to be here.’

‘But we wanted to take a look at you.’

‘And show you Skip,’ said the first, looking down at the front of his jacket which was filled out by a mass of something squirming. The corner of a dog’s ear promptly flipped out over the edge of the boy’s lapels.

‘Oh, is it a terrier?’ she asked, warmed by the first sign of anything approaching informal behaviour since setting foot in the house.

The twin with the bulging jacket nodded. ‘Best ratter in the county,’ he declared.

Midge bit back a grin. The boy was probably only allowed to use his dog under the strict supervision of a gamekeeper, within the bounds of his own park. But the fact remained he was immensely proud of his pet and wanted to show it off to his new big sister.

She pulled the door open wider to let the boys and their dog in. The twins scanned the corridor behind them rapidly, then exchanged a look with each other, before darting into the formal sitting room.

The minute the door closed behind them, the boy with the dog undid his jacket, and a very excited tan-and-white terrier dropped onto the rug. Tail up, nose down, it embarked on a rapid exploration of the room. Its little paws scrabbled frantically on the smooth surface of the floorboards when it left the safety of the carpet, but it had been running so fast it was unable to slow its skid by much, and landed against the wainscot under the window with an audible thud.

Midge stifled a giggle as, with a doggy attempt at nonchalance, Skip put his nose straight down and began to sniff determinedly along the wainscoting, as though this was exactly where he had decided to be.

‘Looks like he’s got the scent of a rat,’ said his owner knowingly.

‘I am sure there are no rats up here,’ said Midge. There were so many staff, and the household appeared so strictly ordered, she was quite sure no rat would find a home behind the woodwork.

‘Do you—’ the second twin took a deep breath ‘—do you like animals?’

‘Yes, I do.’

He brightened up immediately, reached into his own jacket, and extracted the sinuous body of a ferret. ‘This is Tim. I use him for rabbitting.’

Skip’s head shot up. He looked straight at Tim, pulled back his lips and snarled in the manner of one greeting an old adversary. The ferret shot out of the boy’s grasp, the dog bounded back onto the carpet, and for a few seconds, the floor about Midge’s feet was a blur of fur and teeth and tails.

The ferret emerged from the mêlée first, streaking across the rug and straight up the curtains where it found a precarious perch on the curtain rod.

The terrier started jumping up and down on the spot, yapping furiously for a few seconds, then, balked of its prey, sank its teeth into a fold of velvet and worried at the curtain as though killing a rat. The action made the curtain pole, on which the ferret was balancing, rattle in its moorings. Tim promptly abandoned it and ran along the picture rail, scattering items of pottery as he went.

Uttering a cry of alarm, Midge flew across the room in time to catch a bud vase, a cup and a plate in rapid succession while Skip, who seemed to have temporarily forgotten that it was the ferret he had been after, redoubled his ferocious attack on the curtains.

When the ferret reached the chimney breast, instead of swarming round its edges, it ran straight down the silk wallpaper, landing on the tea table, where it used the vase as a springboard to launch himself into his master’s waiting arms. The vase wobbled, rocked, then pivoted towards the edge of the table. Midge dived to catch it, at the exact same moment that Skip’s hind legs found purchase on the carpet and he finally managed to make some headway. Just as Midge’s hands closed round the vase, the curtain pole parted company from its moorings, bringing yards of green velvet slithering down on her.

From within the smothering folds of the curtains, Midge heard the crash of breaking crockery, a yelp and the clang of the brass curtain pole landing on the floor.

It was hard to breathe. Even harder to find a way out of the heavy curtaining wrapped round her body. Eventually, she found a chink, through which she saw that the sound of breaking crockery had come from the doorway, where a maid had dropped the promised tea tray. The vase, she noted with a feeling of triumph, was lying cushioned by a fold of velvet, the plate, cup and bud vase beside it. She pushed the curtain off her face and sat up.

‘Not a single thing broken!’ she crowed, flushed with success.

There was no sign of the dog or the ferret, but the twins were standing before the hearth, clutching each other’s hands as they stared, aghast, at the slender, fair-haired gentleman who had paused just beyond the wreckage of the tea things.

Monty was there, too, sauntering across from his own quarters, and bowing politely to the fair-haired gentleman.

He cleared his throat, then waved one arm in the direction of the cascade of curtaining, from the depths of which Midge was still struggling to emerge.

‘Allow me,’ he said, ‘to present my wife.’

The fair-haired gentleman’s eyes swept the length of Midge’s legs, which had emerged from the curtaining minus her skirts. Then, his nostrils flaring in a fastidious expression of distaste, he turned on his heel and stalked away.