Читать книгу Regency High Society Vol 1: A Hasty Betrothal / A Scandalous Marriage / The Count's Charade / The Rake and the Rebel - Mary Brendan - Страница 14

Young Rothman waited outside Meggy Watts’s cottage, immensely proud that he had been chosen to accompany Miss Harriet on the visit. Being only third footman in the Beldale hierarchy, he knew that this was a singular gesture on his employer’s part and due entirely to the fact of his being the butler’s son.

The elder Rothman had served the Hurst family since his youth and had worked his way up from under-footman to the full prestigious office of butler. He had married one of the ladies’ maids and produced three sons, the older two of whom had secured positions in other large houses elsewhere. The strapping young Davy had elected to remain at Beldale, thus gaining the benefit of his father’s expert tuition.

He was aware that there was some sort of mystery surrounding Miss Harriet and had heard that she had somehow got herself lost in the copse the other day. Since then he had been appointed to attend her on all of her outings from Beldale, including those from which he derived the greatest pleasure, riding behind her just like a groom! The stable lads had been properly miffed at that, he thought cheerfully, but then her ladyship had wanted someone who could be presentable in both occupations and stable lads just weren’t cut out to be footmen.

He peered through the small window, satisfying himself that his charge had not been spirited away, and seated himself once more on the bench outside the cottage, casually wondering as to the purpose of Miss Harriet’s visit to the villager’s cottage.

Harriet herself was seated on the best chair in the little used parlour, Meggy having dashed around in a flurry after the young lady had requested a few words with her father, flinging open curtains and removing dust-covers from her few precious pieces. The cottager had dismissed Harriet’s request to remain in the kitchen, seldom having had such an opportunity to hold court in her own little palace. She had brought her unexpected visitor tea in a china cup and now sat gazing fondly at the sight of Harriet in deep conversation with her father.

Harriet had brought old Potter a gift. In the form of a small, opening booklet, such as was used for needles and pins, it held within its covers the withered rose petal she had rescued from the ruin of his old home. Protected from further ravages by the transparent veil of fine gauze she had stitched over it, the relic was bordered by intricate stitchery that proclaimed the legend ‘Joshua and Millicent, 10th August 1769'. On the front cover, depicted in delicate watercolours, was as faithful a representation of number 7, Bottom Meadow Cottages, as Harriet had been able to conjure up from her visits to the site and her further consultations with Rose, the old man’s granddaughter.

Josh held the little case reverently in the palms of his calloused and blistered hands and stared down at it with tears in his rheumy old eyes.

‘How did ‘ee find it, lass?’ he whispered, with a catch in his throat. I never thought to see it again. ‘I went up there the once but her …’ he jerked his head towards his daughter ‘ …her wouldn’t let me back.’

Meggy Watts came and stood by her father and lovingly stroked his shaggy head.

‘It were dangerous up there, Dad,’ she said. ‘The roof timbers is falling all along the row and some of them kitchen flagstones have dropped right down into the cellars. You’ve had one very lucky escape—we don’t want no more such accidents, now do we?’

She was studying Harriet’s workmanship with admiration.

‘It’s such a true likeness. But how did you know all this, Miss Cordell?’

‘Reverend Taylor furnished me with the details of your parents’ wedding day from his parish records,’ said Harriet, enormously gratified that her efforts had been awarded such a reception. ‘And your own daughter Rose corrected some errors I had made in the painting.’

Turning to Joshua, she laid her hand on his arm. ‘I know what it’s like to lose treasured possessions, Mr Potter,’ she told him. ‘My family travelled across Spain in the war years and we had to leave our chattels behind on many occasions—and other times they were destroyed almost in front of our eyes. Your sweetest memories—the ones you keep inside your heart—will never die, I am certain, but sometimes a more tangible memento is needed and I hope that this little token might, in some small way, help you to recover from your dreadful loss.’

‘You couldn’t have brought me anything in the world that would have pleased me more, miss,’ said Josh, slipping the little case into the breast pocket of his shabby old jacket and patting it gently. ‘It’ll be like having my own dear Milly with me again and I can take it out and look at it whenever I choose! ‘Twere part of her bridal nosegay, you see.’

His faded blue eyes twinkled at Harriet from under his bushy brows and he patted the hand that was still holding his own.

‘You’m going to make a fine countess when your time comes, miss,’ he said, nodding his head at her. ‘We should’ve known that when his lordship finally made his choice his lady would be worth the wait—and, begging your pardon, miss, we all think he’s struck gold!’

‘Dad! Really!’ Meggy was shocked. ‘Excuse him, Miss Cordell—he goes too far, sometimes. Honestly, Dad—what will the lady think of us all!’

Shaking her head, Harriet rose to her feet. ‘It’s to be hoped that a good many years pass before that day dawns, sir,’ she said, picking up her reticule. ‘And if I could grow to be only half as good as Lady Caroline I should think myself perfect!’

Meggy showed her to the door and Davy Rothman sprang to attention at their appearance, fingering the neck of his smart, new livery nervously.

‘Well, hello, Davy,’ Meggy greeted him cheerfully. ‘My, aren’t you the swell, these days?’

Davy inclined his head gravely towards her, feeling slightly awkward at having to address Rose’s mother in such a formal way but, at the same time, anxious to impress Miss Harriet with his impeccable manners.

Meggy, too, knew her place and expected no more from him. She bobbed respectfully to Harriet and, on behalf of her father, thanked her once again for her generosity and time.

Walking through the village, with Davy the requisite two steps behind her, Harriet found, to her great discomfort, that she was having to acknowledge bobs and curtsies from all sides as she passed. This entire charade is getting completely out of hand, she thought crossly, but managed to smile as yet another tradesman tipped his hat to her. All of these good people actually thought that she would, one day, be their ‘Lady of the Manor’ and it was all terribly embarrassing and, she had to admit, inexplicably quite painful to her.

She had spent most of the past week in her room, pleading exhaustion, and the countess, sympathetic as to her real reasons, had not pressed for Harriet’s attendance at the dining table and had generously arranged for her to take her meals in her room. Harriet had forced herself to venture out on two previous occasions, in the furtherance of her project, both times escorted by the stalwart Davy, and was deeply conscious of the interest her appearance always aroused. She admitted, but only to herself, that she was now quite afraid that there might be another attempt to harm her in some way and the greatest fear of all was that she had no way of knowing who her enemy could be.

She had not spoken to Sandford at all since the episode in the copse and had seen him only once when, about to come out of her room later that same day, she had caught sight of him leaving his father’s chambers. She had stepped swiftly back into the shadows as he appeared and she was certain he had not observed her, but she had been shocked at his demeanour. He had stood for a moment outside the earl’s door, shoulders sagging, his face white and drawn and then, as if in a trance, he had walked slowly to his own doorway and entered his room. Harriet had been intending to visit Lord William herself but, after some deliberation, she had decided that it would be unwise to do so and had subsequently returned to her own chamber.

Judith Hurst had ridden over to Beldale that same afternoon, but Lady Caroline had managed to curb her daughter-in-law’s curiosity. Westpark House had been Sandford’s first objective when Harriet had failed to return to Beldale and Judith had naturally been frantically worried over her friend’s disappearance and had demanded to be kept informed as to any developments, sending Ridgeway to assist his cousin in the search.

She failed to comprehend how anyone as level-headed as Harriet could have wandered off the bridleway and become confused in the copse, until the countess explained that Harriet had felt unwell, possibly suffering from a touch of the sun. It had been particularly warm that morning, as she was sure Judith would recall.

Judith did indeed recall that it was she who had been responsible for Harriet’s hasty departure and, at once, felt guilty at having persuaded her friend to stay so long at Westpark, surmising that Harriet’s headlong dash had been the cause of her fainting fit.

Lady Butler’s contribution upon receiving her daughter’s account of Harriet’s misadventure was to the effect that ‘persons who disport themselves all over the Continent with troops of soldiers could hardly be expected to behave with anything resembling acceptable decorum when they returned to civilised society’ and Judith found herself heaving a sigh of relief that Sandford was not present when these uncharitable remarks were uttered.

Both Sandford and Ridgeway had been behaving very oddly since Harriet’s mishap, she thought. Neither one of them seemed to have time for anything other than estate business and they were usually to be found with their heads together. When Sandford had, almost grudgingly it seemed, eventually found time to give his little nephew some attention in the paddock, he had appeared distracted and disinclined to linger. Judith found Ridgeway’s behaviour strange, too. She had thought that he was beginning to let down his guard a little in her favour, for they had exchanged some very promising conversations since their dance together. Then all of a sudden, his interest in her seemed to have vanished overnight and he had no time for anything apart from riding around the park and hanging about in the stables or disappearing off to Beldale with Sandford.

At the end of the week an impatient Judith paid her second visit to Beldale. She had heard that Harriet was apparently well enough to go walking to the village and was hurt that her young friend had not come to visit her. Leaving her horse with her attendant groom, she deliberately forsook her normal practice and entered the house from the rear. In doing so, she almost collided with Harriet as she was crossing the hall. Both girls started back in surprise but it was Harriet who was the first to lower her eyes. Judith quickly noticed this puzzling reticence and impulsively put out her hand.

‘Harriet, my dear,’ she said, in rising concern. ‘Please tell me what is wrong. I know that something dreadful must have happened to upset you so. Won’t you confide in me? I thought we were friends!’

Harriet was sick at heart. She wanted to tell Judith the whole story from the beginning but, by now, the tale had become so convoluted that she felt that it would sound quite absurd. In fact, she suddenly decided, it really was absurd and she reached forward and grasped Judith’s extended hands in her own.

‘Oh, Judith,’ she cried. ‘I’m so pleased to see you. You can’t think how much I have missed you.

Judith at once put her arms around the younger girl and hugged her. As she did so she spotted Sandford in the act of opening the door of the nearby estate office. To her amazement, he took one look at her and quickly closed the door again.

‘What is going on here? she said, thrusting Harriet away from her and, still holding her shoulders, gave her friend a firm shake. ‘Have you fallen out with Sandford? Is that what this is all about?

The office door re-opened immediately and Sandford stepped out, eyes averted, with a set of papers in his hand.

‘Ah, hello, Judith,’ he said, in a poor attempt at heartiness.

Judith registered both the tremor in his voice and the sight of Harriet’s flushed face at the same time. She took a deep breath.

‘Robert,’ she said resolutely, ‘you look awful. And Harriet looks awful, too. I can only conclude that the reason for such joint awfulness is that you have had a lover’s tiff—and I simply will not have it!’ And she stamped her elegant foot. ‘Mark carefully what I am doing, Robert!’

‘Not now, Judith!’ Sandford walked towards his sister-in-law with a warning frown, but Judith put up her crop and prodded it into his chest.

‘You don’t frighten me, Robert Hurst!’ she said defiantly. ‘I’m the one who tipped a bottle of ink over your head—remember?’

‘I remember, Judith,’ said Sandford drily, pushing aside the crop, but this is not a bottle-of-ink sort of problem.’ Harriet found her lips curving into an involuntary smile. ‘What sort of a problem is a bottle-of-ink problem?’ she asked, with an interested glimmer in her eye.

Sandford, with a swift intake of breath, took a step towards her, but Judith moved quickly to stand in front of the girl.

‘Leave my friend alone, Robert Hurst!’

Sandford lips twitched and he said, ‘But you don’t have a bottle of ink, dearest Judith—stand aside!’

‘Will someone please tell me what ink has to do with all of this?’ Harriet asked, now looking from one to the other in amused exasperation.

Judith gave her friend a quick, appraising glance.

‘Harriet,’ she said sweetly. ‘Would you be so kind as to go into the office and fetch me a bottle of ink? A large one, if you please!’

‘Judith!’ warned Sandford, but his eyes were now alight with laughter. He backed sideways towards the office door as Harriet, not sure of the point but perfectly willing to give her friend whatever assistance she required, moved swiftly in the same direction.

They collided in the doorway and Sandford, automatically thrusting out his hands to prevent Harriet from stumbling, found himself with his arms around her and it seemed to him, in that second, that the earth rocked.

Harriet had put up her own hands to save herself and now found herself pressed against him with her hands on his chest. An extraordinary sensation was sweeping through her body and she was acutely aware of Sandford’s laboured breathing. If I look up I am lost, she thought weakly and forced herself to maintain a steadfast interest in his waistcoat buttons.

‘Well, then?’ came Judith’s voice. ‘Surely this is where you kiss and make up?’

Harriet and Sandford sprang apart instantly. Harriet felt herself blushing to the tips of her toes, but did not fail to register that the viscount had refused to relinquish his hold on her hand and she herself, it seemed, had neither the strength nor desire to pull away.

‘Pretty dismal exhibition, I’d say,’ said Judith, with a wide smile. ‘I’ve still a good mind to …’ and her eyes swept around the office as though in search of something.

Sandford, still holding Harriet’s hand tightly, leaned over the desk and kissed his sister-in-law on the cheek.

‘Pax, Judith,’ he said quietly. ‘No need now, I promise. You win.’

‘No, Robert, this time you win,’ said Judith firmly, beaming at Harriet, and Sandford smilingly nodded his agreement.

‘I wish someone would tell me what the joke is,’ came Harriet’s plaintive voice. ‘It’s like being in some foreign country where one doesn’t understand the language.’

‘Well, it used to be a private joke, sweetheart,’ said Sandford, reaching out for her other hand and smiling into her eyes. ‘But we shall tell you!’

Sweetheart! Harriet couldn’t believe her ears. Sandford had called her sweetheart! Now what game was he playing at? She had to force herself to concentrate very carefully on his next words.

‘Well now,’ he began grandly, ducking away from Judith’s hand, ‘there was once a very spoilt little girl who had no playmates—ouch! That hurt!—for she always wanted—and usually got—her own way so no one would play with her. Her father—who was a very wise man …’ At this point Judith nodded her head vigorously and Sandford, his grin widening, continued ‘—arranged for his unpopular little daughter to take her lessons with two charmingly behaved—pax! I said Pax!—fairly well-behaved young gentlemen. Well, the sweet child tried her tricks out with these lads and discovered that they were totally immune to her foot-stamping and tears until, one memorable day, she threatened the older boy with a bottle of ink …’

‘Why?’ asked Harriet, at last beginning to comprehend. What had you—he refused to do?’

‘He had refused to get off his brother’s head!’ broke in Judith, laughing. ‘The two of them were scrapping—as usual—if I may say so—and Mr Penrose—our tutor—had left the room. Our instructions were to fill in some cities in our map-books and I had persuaded …’

‘Huh! Persuaded!’ Sandford chimed in. ‘Philip, who for some queer reason, was becoming increasingly besotted with this creature, had been doing her geography for weeks—she apparently being unable to distinguish north from south—and probably still can’t for all I know—missed! Anyway, he was patiently filling in her book as well as his own and I accidentally flicked ink over hers. Philip jumped me, I sat on his head and, well—the rest is history!’

‘Judith poured ink over your head?’ breathed Harriet in awe, unable to believe that her elegant, well-behaved friend could ever have acted in such a totally undisciplined manner.

‘Absolutely! Down my collar—over my hair, face, eyes—whole bottle—the lot!’ ‘What did your tutor do?’

‘Thrashed us both—Phil and me,’ Sandford answered dismissively, appearing to be deeply interested in counting her fingers.

‘But what about Judith?’ frowned Harriet, vainly attempting to extract her hands from his grasp.

‘That’s the point, you see,’ said Judith gently. ‘Both boys took the blame and said that I had been working the whole time—I was actually given a box of sugar plums—but I couldn’t eat them. I was so ashamed! I never had another such tantrum as long as I lived.’

‘Well, hardly ever,’ put in Sandford. ‘Jolly good sugar plums, too, as I recall.’

‘You gave them to the boys?’ Harriet smiled at Judith, who looked back at her fondly and nodded.

‘And you wouldn’t actually have poured ink on Sandford today, would you?’

Judith and the viscount looked at each other and both burst out laughing.

‘Well, the thing is, darling girl,’ said Sandford, raising Harriet’s unresisting fingers to his lips, ‘neither of us really knows that, for sure!

He was watching her closely, desperately trying to gauge her reaction. She, for her part, found that she was unable to meet his eyes, afraid of what she might see. Surely he was still play-acting? At that thought a tiny ache crept into her heart and she knew that she was close to tears.

At that moment Judith bent to retrieve the papers that had fallen from her brother-in-law’s hands during the scuffle, frowning as she happened to catch sight of her butler’s name on one of the sheets.

‘What are these lists, Robert?’ she inquired, beginning to peruse them more carefully.

Sandford dropped Harriet’s hands and leapt to his feet in consternation, plucking the papers from Judith’s hands and thrusting them into a drawer.

‘Really, Judith,’ he chided, raising an eyebrow. ‘Reading other people’s private correspondence. What would your mother say!’

Judith flushed.

‘Don’t be a beast, Robert,’ she said. ‘That was a list of Westpark staff, as well you know. That is my business, surely?’

The viscount shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

‘It’s just something that Charles and I are working on,’ he said, searching desperately for a brainwave. ‘Er—fact is, we’re trying to cut back a bit!’

‘Cut back!’ Judith was astounded, then her eyes grew anxious. ‘We’re not in any trouble, are we, Robert? I thought Charles had been managing rather well …’

‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ said Sandford, mentally crossing himself. ‘We thought we might try to cut out some duplication, that’s all—too many people doing the same job, it seems to me.’

‘But you can’t be thinking of putting people off?’

‘No, no—just moving some of ‘em around, perhaps. It’s not a problem, honestly, Judith. Please forget about it.’

Only partly convinced, Judith dropped the subject and set about extracting a promise from Sandford to bring Harriet to Westpark for dinner the following evening. Having got the nod from that bemused young lady, the viscount agreed and Judith, kissing each of them in turn, forbade them to quarrel and left the room to seek out her mother-in-law.

Harriet turned at once to follow, but Sandford put out his hand to detain her.

‘And where are you off to in such a hurry?’ he demanded softly, the dangerous gleam once more in his eyes.

Harriet looked at him gravely.

‘You don’t have to keep up the pretence any longer, my lord,’ she said calmly. ‘Judith cannot hear you. But I must commend you on your excellent performance.’

‘What the—what absurd fancy has got into your head now?’ he groaned, clutching his brow.

‘Thanks to your clever subterfuge, my lord,’ said Harriet, ignoring Sandford’s incredulous expression, ‘Judith has returned home in a happier frame of mind than that with which she arrived. Your part was so well enacted that it prevented her from asking any awkward questions about my—mishap—and for that I am deeply grateful, for I find that I cannot lie to her any longer—whatever your opinion of my talents in that direction!’ Her voice trembled at this point and she looked away.

Sandford sat on the edge of the desk, carefully contemplating Harriet’s averted gaze. Tentatively, he reached out and, taking both her hands in his own, he drew her gently towards him, holding his breath as he felt her initial resistance slip away.

‘Look at me, Harriet,’ he pleaded.

In trepidation, Harriet obeyed and, raising her eyes to meet his, was confused to behold, not the confident gleam of amusement she had expected, but a very shamefaced expression.

‘I don’t know where to start,’ he said, his voice low and hesitant. ‘You said you hated me—I don’t blame you—I hate myself. Please don’t punish me any further!’

‘You called me a witch!’ she said tremulously.

‘Oh, but you are a witch!’ Half-smiling, he lifted one hand and traced his fingers down her cheek. ‘You have bewitched me.’

Harriet dashed his hand away in vexation. ‘You didn’t believe me,’ she cried. ‘Twice—no, three times—you didn’t believe me!’

‘I am a contemptible swine,’ he said, his throat tightening at the memory.

‘You accused me of—of—dreadful things!’ Harriet found that she couldn’t bear the look of anguish in his eyes.

‘I know I deserve to be horsewhipped,’ he choked, his confidence on the verge of destruction.

‘Horses shouldn’t be whipped,’ she whispered, her lips trembling.

‘But I should?’ A flicker of hope had crept into his voice. ‘I didn’t say that, my lord.’ ‘Robert,’ he said fiercely.

Startled, she tried to move away from him, but he still held one hand tightly in his grasp and seemed intent upon recapturing the other.

‘Lord Sandford,’ she protested, weakly, ‘please release me. This is most improper!’

‘Call me Robert,’ he cajoled her, the fire back in his eyes. ‘Then maybe I shall let you go.’

‘Maybe! That’s very poor odds!’ Harriet replied spiritedly.

He put his head on one side as though considering this point, then nodded. ‘True. Call me Robert and I promise not to kiss you. How’s that?’

Scandalised, Harriet struggled to free herself. ‘You wouldn’t dare—you told me that you were no ravisher!’

‘There’s a first time for everything,’ he said coolly. ‘Call me Robert.’

Harriet stopped struggling and regarded him balefully. ‘Well, if it means so much to you—Robert,’ she said, through clenched teeth. ‘Now let me go.’ ‘Say it again—nicely!’

‘Oh, Robert! Robert! Robert! Damn you!’ she exclaimed, without thought for the consequences.

‘Harriet, my love, you are truly magnificent!’ Sandford stood up, swept her towards him and wrapped his arms around her, ignoring her squeal of dismay.

‘Stop struggling—otherwise I shall forget myself—that’s better. Now, listen to me, Harriet—please.’

For a moment he stood very quietly, simply holding her against him and, as her eyes crept up to his face, she could see that he had become very serious once more. She didn’t move, somehow content to remain within the circle of his arms, listening to the rapid beating of his heart. At last he spoke.

‘I know that nothing I can say will undo the hurt that I’ve caused you …’ He hesitated, choosing his words with meticulous care. ‘And it is probably of very little interest to you to know that, far from play-acting, I truly believe that I love you.’ She quivered and his arms tightened. ‘Yes, I do. I had begun to hope that you might learn to hold me in similar regard—I admit that I was mad with jealousy and so desperately afraid, my darling, I think I was about to lose my reason. I was ready to commit murder—I know that now. You brought me to my senses when you struck me and I knew instantly that I had been wrong—that the whole thing was clearly a well-executed plot …’

He stopped as Harriet pulled away from him.

‘Why were you so ready to think the worst of me?’ she cried. ‘You refused even to listen to me!’

Sandford grimaced, finding the memory of that episode of his behaviour particularly repugnant.

‘I had found certain items in a clearing near the gate,’ he said, clearing his throat.

‘What items?’ Harriet demanded. ‘And how did they concern me?’

Sandford flushed and shamefacedly fingered his cravat, as though it were suddenly too tight.

‘Your hat and a glove—I recognised them both, of course …’

‘And?’ said Harriet stiffly, aware that something worse was to follow.

‘A gentleman’s pocket flask—it had contained brandy,’ choked the viscount, unwilling to meet her shocked gaze. ‘And a crumpled cravat.’

‘Also a gentleman’s, I take it?’ Harriet’s eyes glittered.

Sandford nodded in dumb resignation.

‘All the signs of a sordid tête-à-tête, in fact?’ Harriet inquired in a deceptively sweet voice. ‘No wonder you didn’t want to listen to me!’

‘You had the smell of brandy on your breath!’ exclaimed Sandford hotly, in his own defence.

‘So that’s what that funny taste was,’ mused Harriet. ‘They must have given it to me after I passed out.’

Chagrined, Sandford reached out for her once more, but she neatly sidestepped him and opened the office door. Swiftly he strode towards it, attempting to block her exit, but she was out into the hallway in a trice.

‘No doubt your parents—who have proved themselves my true friends—have by now provided you with the correct version of that morning’s events,’ she said in a low voice, not wishing to attract March’s attention. ‘And your only excuse for your appalling behaviour is to tell me that you think you love me—well, we obviously have a very different understanding of the meaning of the word “love'', my lord. The man to whom I give my heart will never doubt my word, never assume my guilt—even if confronted with the blackest of evidence—but, most of all, he will be prepared to lay down his life to protect my name and my person and—’ here her voice broke ‘—I shall do likewise for him. You, my lord, are not and will never be that man!’

She turned to leave, but Sandford caught her arm. His face was rigid, his eyes unfathomable.

‘I wish you well in your search for this paragon,’ he grated, ‘although such a pattern of perfection is unlikely to choose you as his mate …’ He stopped, aghast. My God, what am I saying, he thought, horrified at his own words. He let go of Harriet’s arm and bowed stiffly. ‘My apologies, ma’am,’ he said and re-entered the office, closing the door behind him.

For a moment Harriet stood frozen with shock. His damning words, which continued to echo in her ears, had shaken her to the core, for she was obliged to acknowledge that he was right. In spite of her high-flown speech, she was painfully aware that it had been mostly her own impetuous and foolhardy behaviour that had brought her to this stand. From the time she had left her home in Lincolnshire, right up to this very moment, she had insisted upon going her own headstrong way, ignoring advice from all sides, interfering in other people’s lives—people she hardly knew, she realised, her face suddenly scarlet at some of the memories—and presumptuously assuming that she knew what was best for everyone. No gentleman on earth could be expected to regard such conduct with anything but the deepest abhorrence. What might be considered charming in a wayward child was not acceptable in a full-grown female. Would she never learn? she pondered in despair. Time and time again she had disregarded the warnings and now, it seemed, she had reaped the whirlwind and those rash and arrogant words she had so haughtily vaunted would surely return to torment her.

Hot tears welled up into her eyes as she made her way to the foot of the staircase and the sudden blurring of her vision caused her to stumble on the first step. She was aware of a firm hand on her elbow and an anxious March at her side.

‘Miss Harriet?’ His voice was gentle. ‘Are you unwell? Shall I call Rose? Come and sit down for a moment until you recover.’

He led her to a nearby chair and stood uncertainly by, not wishing to exceed his duties but angry that something or someone had upset his little favourite. Ever since that first evening when she had tiptoed nervously down the stairs in her borrowed finery he had felt that she was something special. Always a smile and a kind word for the servants, quick with her thanks for their services and he, for one, had never heard a single complaint pass her lips. He had watched her change from that laughing-eyed, bright-haired angel into a silent shadow of her former self, all in the space of three weeks. One hardly ever heard her spontaneous and infectious laugh these days, he thought morosely, and if that’s what being engaged does for a girl he was damned if he was going to offer for Maudie Hiller. He watched closely, wearing his usual impassive expression, as Harriet composed herself, dabbing at her eyes with the ridiculous piece of lace the ladies called a handkerchief, longing to offer her his own pristine equivalent but knowing that it would be quite overstepping the mark to do so.

‘Thank you, March,’ said Harriet tremulously, rising to her feet. ‘I fear I must be coming down with a cold. I will go up to my room now—if you would be so good as to send Rose to me?’

‘At once, Miss Harriet,’ said the loyal footman. ‘And perhaps a glass of wine—a well-known restorative, so I’m

told?’

‘Thank you, I would be glad of that.’ Harriet nodded, avoiding his eyes.

He watched her walk unsteadily up the stairs and had the most disrespectful urge to ‘pop’ his lordship ‘one on the beak'. Blinking, he moved smartly to the green baize door that led to the lower stairs and delivered his instructions to Rose.

Sandford, meanwhile, had been staring blindly at the sheets of paper in front of him on the desk, unable to believe that he had uttered those unforgivable words.

Any minute now I shall wake up, he thought, praying that he must be in the throes of some dreadful nightmare but, raising his eyes to the window and perceiving the peaceful summer scene beyond, he knew beyond doubt that the whole episode had been only too real.

With a shaking hand he reached for the decanter on the side table and cursed when he saw that it was empty. Damned servants! What did they think they were employed for? He tugged angrily at the bell-rope and waited impatiently for March to appear. Pointing curtly towards the tray, he raised his brows imperiously.

March bowed his head in acquiescence. The fact that the room had been occupied for some considerable time, preventing the carrying out of certain domestic tasks, was no excuse for such laxity, as well he knew and offered no plea in his own defence. He picked up the salver and walked swiftly to the door.

‘Your lordship’s pardon,’ he said, exiting at the double. ‘I shall attend to it at once.’

Sandford eyed the closed door sourly. The whole damned house seemed to be going mad, he thought, quite certain he had sensed hostility in young March’s demeanour. It’s her fault, he concluded savagely, sweeping the papers to one side. She has everybody under her spell, from the lowest boot-boy right up to …

‘Me, confound it!’ he shouted, leaping from his chair. ‘But I won’t have it! I shall leave! I shall go back to London—Paris—anywhere! Put it down, man, and, for God’s sake, get out!’

This last was to March, who had returned with the full decanters. The footman stared at the viscount in open-mouthed astonishment, unable to believe his eyes and ears. Never before had he been spoken to in this manner, not in this house! He carefully set the silver tray down into its appointed place and bowing, with ill-disguised contempt, he left the room once more.

Sandford was astounded. The man was nothing short of insolent, he decided. He’d have him out of here before he could say …! Suddenly, he checked, took a deep breath and gripped the edge of the desk to steady himself, grimacing with shame at this inconceivable lapse. Collapsing limply into his chair, he buried his head in his hands and shuddered in despair.

‘Oh, God, Harriet! Forgive me!’ he whispered brokenly. ‘What am I going to do? The whole world is falling apart and I’m powerless to prevent it!’

He remained, for some time, slumped at the desk until the sound of the hall clock chiming the hour infiltrated his brain. Straightening up, his eyes fell on the papers he had been attempting to examine earlier. With very little enthusiasm he pulled them towards him and began to peruse the top sheet.