Читать книгу The Honourable Earl - Mary Nichols, Mary Nichols - Страница 8

T he girls were putting the finishing touches to their ball gowns, although no decision had been reached about whether the ball was going to take place. Rumours were flying about the village that the new Earl had arrived, but no one had seen him.

‘I saw a grand carriage turn into the gates of the Hall earlier today,’ John said over supper the previous evening. ‘It wasn’t the old Earl’s because everyone knows that was falling to bits. This was much newer and it had four matched bays and two postilions.’

‘Did you see anyone in it?’ Annabelle had demanded.

‘No. Whoever it was was sitting back in the shadows.’

‘That doesn’t mean it was the Earl,’ Lydia said, hoping that it wasn’t. She didn’t want to see him, ever again. ‘It could have been Mr Falconer, his lawyer. They say he is staying at the Hall, for there is so much to be done, especially if the Earl is not coming home.’

‘I doubt there will be a ball now,’ Annabelle said, snipping off her thread and looking at her beautiful pink gown with her head on one side. ‘And I did so want to wear this and dance the latest dances. How am I to find a husband if we never go anywhere? Caroline Brotherton is to have the Season in London.’

‘Caroline Brotherton is the daughter of a marquis, Annabelle,’ their mother said gently. ‘We cannot aspire to such things.’

Annabelle had met Caroline at the school for young ladies they had both attended in Chelmsford and had subsequently been invited to a birthday celebration at her home when both girls, their education supposedly complete, had left school for good. She had talked of little else ever since and Lydia suspected that was where all this talk of husbands had come from.

‘I don’t see why not. Susan is going to London for the Season.’ Annabelle pouted. ‘I could stay with her.’ Susan had written to say she and her husband were going to stay in town for the summer months and she was looking forward to attending a few of the Season’s social occasions.

‘Dearest, even if you stayed with your sister, I could not buy all the gowns and frippery you would need. And besides…’ She paused, wondering how to go on. ‘We are not aristocracy, my love, and though you are very pretty, you would not be considered. We must keep to our station in life, for otherwise lies misery, believe me.’

She spoke so firmly and with such conviction, it made Lydia look up from her work in surprise, wondering what had caused such strength of feeling. She came to the conclusion her mother was thinking of the friendship between Freddie and Ralph Latimer and what it had brought them to.

‘We are not common people,’ Annabelle said. ‘Papa’s family is one of the oldest in the kingdom, Grandpapa used to say so at every opportunity. He had a title—’

‘It was only a minor one as you very well know, child. And in any case, ever since…’ Anne paused. The old man had died six years ago, only a year after his wife. His older son and heir, her dead husband’s brother, had declined to do anything to help them and rarely communicated. She smiled, knowing how disappointed her youngest daughter was. ‘You may go with Lydia to the lecture tomorrow evening at the Assembly Rooms in Malden. I must confess I am feeling too tired to accompany her and you may use my ticket.’

‘A lecture! What would I want with a lecture? I am given far too many of them at home to want to go to Malden to hear one.’

Anne sighed. She had expected Lydia to be difficult, but not Annabelle. ‘Go, for Lydia’s sake. She cannot go unaccompanied and you would not deprive her of an outing, would you?’

‘Oh, very well. But no doubt I shall be bored to death.’ She turned to Lydia. ‘What is it about?’

‘The title is “With Clive in India”. The lecturer has just come home from there after many years with the East India Company. I think it might be vastly interesting.’

She did not go on to explain why she thought it might be interesting, but ever since she had met the young man in Chelmsford, she had been wondering if he might be the speaker; it was surely no coincidence that he had arrived in the area just before the lecture. And she had to confess to a desire to see him again, if only to confirm or deny the original impression she had had of him.

Unwilling to admit why, even to herself, she dressed with especial care the following evening. Her gown was of a fashionable mustard yellow silk; the narrow boned bodice had a wide décolletage infilled with lace, gathered into a knot in the cleft of her bosom. The back was pleated from the neck to the floor and the sleeves had wide embroidered cuffs. Like so many of her gowns, she had made it herself with the help of her mother and it meant she could appear far more richly dressed than they could really afford.

Janet arranged her hair in a thick coil at the back of her neck and decorated it with two curling white feathers which were all the rage. She had a fan of chicken feathers which had been brought out of her mother’s trunk at the same time as the old gowns. She knew she looked well and smiled at herself in her dressing mirror as Janet put the finishing touches to her toilette and then bent to slip her feet into tan leather shoes. She would have liked shoes to match her gown, with embroidered toes and painted heels, but that was not to be and she hoped, in the crush, no one would notice her serviceable footwear.

Partridge harnessed the cob to the battered chaise and drove them to the Assembly Rooms. ‘I hope he does not mean to take us right up to the door,’ Annabelle whispered to her sister. ‘It would be too mortifying to be seen arriving in this.’

‘Why?’ Lydia asked, amused. ‘Everyone knows us and they know our circumstances. Why pretend to be something we are not?’

‘We do not have to advertise it. And supposing the Earl is there?’

Lydia laughed. ‘Of course he will not be there. Why should he interest himself in a country lecture?’

‘Then why have you dressed yourself in your best gown? I thought—’

‘Good heavens, Annabelle, I would certainly not dress to impress that fiend. How could you think it? I hate him and all he stands for. You know that.’

‘Oh. Then why? Have you got a beau?’

‘Annabelle,’ she said impatiently. ‘You know very well I have not.’

‘What about Sir Arthur?’

‘What about him?’

‘Mama thinks you should set your cap at him.’

‘What a vulgar expression! And I shall do no such thing. Now, may we drop the subject?’

They had arrived at the meeting rooms and Partridge drew up behind the carriages already standing in line, waiting to discharge their occupants. Others of the audience had walked from houses nearby and were jostling their way into the building. Lydia and Annabelle followed them in and found their seats. There was a great deal of noise in the hall as friend greeted friend and exchanged news and gossip, but when the town mayor, who was acting as master of ceremonies, walked on to the stage followed by two or three other dignitaries who took seats arranged behind the lectern, everyone became silent and turned to listen.

Lydia, who had been holding her breath for this moment, let it out in a sigh of disappointment. The speaker, when he was introduced and stood to begin his talk, was not the young gentleman she had been hoping for, but a middle-aged man with a red, bewhiskered face and a huge stomach which threatened to burst the buttons off his black waistcoat. There was nothing she could do but appear interested in what he had to say, but appearances were deceptive because her mind was miles away, in a rainy street in Chelmsford.

Oh, why had she not provided her name when asked for it? Even the name of her village would have been enough if he had meant it when he said he hoped to see her again. But had he meant it? He was doing no more than enjoy a little harmless flirtation with a young woman. Not a lady, for all he called her one, for he would never have presumed to speak so familiarly to anyone highborn. But would anyone highborn have been standing in the rain and not a carriage or servant in sight? She was becoming more than a little desperate if one chance encounter could set her mind in such confusion.

She was being very foolish. Her future was already mapped out for her: a sensible marriage to provide for her mother in her old age, furnish Annabelle with a dowry and send John to public school, now that he was becoming too old for the day school he attended in Burnham, all things her father would have done, but for that devil up at the Hall. And there was no one she knew of who might do that except Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith.

What would it be like married to him? Oh, she could guess. Humdrum, that’s what it would be. A daily grind of looking after his house and his daughters, acting as hostess at boring suppers and card games, looking forward with an inordinate amount of pleasure to attending meetings like this, lectures, readings, with the occasional country dance to liven things up. As for the marriage bed… But as she knew nothing whatever about that piece of furniture and what happened in it, her imagination failed her.

She was startled to hear those about her applauding and realised the lecture had come to the halfway stage and she had not heard a single word. She forced herself back to the present and clapped politely.

‘There are refreshments in the next room,’ Annabelle said, as everyone stood up and made a beeline for the door. ‘I am very thirsty and I saw Sir Arthur go in there a moment ago.’

Lydia’s heart sank. ‘So? The man may come to a lecture, may he not?’

‘Yes, but now’s your chance. You could speak to him.’

‘And what am I to say? Am I to throw myself at his feet and beg him to marry me?’

Annabelle laughed. ‘No, you goose, but you could make yourself agreeable. Oh, look, here he comes.’

Sir Arthur, his waistcoat straining across his front and his ill-fitting wig slightly lopsided, was bowing over her. ‘Miss Fostyn, may I have the pleasure of escorting you into the supper room?’ For a big man his voice was extraordinarily high, almost effete.

Smiling, she lifted her hand, and allowed him to take it and raise her to her feet. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Mrs Fostyn is not here tonight?’

‘No, she is a little fatigued. I brought my sister instead. May I present Annabelle to you?’

‘Miss Annabelle.’ He bowed towards her with exaggerated civility which made the young lady stifle a laugh behind her fan.

Together they walked into the next room where a cold collation and large bowls of punch and cordial were set on a long table at one end of the room and left for everyone to help themselves and take to small tables arranged in the body of the room. Sir Arthur found seats for them and went to fight his way through the throng to obtain food for them.

‘Lydia, there is Peregrine Baverstock,’ Annabelle hissed, nodding in the direction of a young man in a pink satin suit and red high-heeled shoes who was standing on the periphery of a group on other side of the room.

‘Baverstock?’ Lydia queried. ‘You mean Lord Baverstock’s son?’

‘Yes. Who else should I mean?’

‘How did you come to meet him?’

‘At Lady Brotherton’s, when I went to Caroline’s birthday celebration. He was one of the guests. Oh, I do believe he has spotted me.’

The young man had indeed seen her, for he made his way through the crowd and bowed before them. ‘Miss Annabelle.’

‘Good evening, Mr Baverstock,’ Annabelle said, laughing at his formality. ‘I did not expect you here.’

‘Had to come. Parents insisted. Glad I did now.’ His face was fiery red.

‘May I present you to my sister?’

‘Miss Fostyn, your obedient. May I take Miss Annabelle to be presented to my parents?’

Annabelle looked at Lydia. ‘May I go?’

‘Of course.’

Annabelle was gone in an instant. Who could blame her for preferring the enlivening company of a young man nearer her own age than Sir Arthur? Lydia asked herself.

She certainly would.

‘Why, if it isn’t my little water nymph.’

Startled, she looked up and found herself gazing into the brown eyes of the man from Chelmsford. He was soberly dressed in a plain black coat and matching breeches with a white waistcoat and stockings. ‘Sir,’ she managed, though her heart was beating so fast she was almost too breathless to speak. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I was about to ask you the same question. Are you interested in India?’

‘Oh, very,’ she said.

‘Would you like me to introduce you to the speaker? I have known him for some time. We both served under Lord Clive.’

‘Oh, I had forgot you came from that continent,’ she lied.

‘There is no reason why you should have remembered a chance remark,’ he said. ‘Nor remembered me.’

‘No.’ She was so tongue-tied her usual easy manner quite deserted her.

‘But you did? You knew me as soon as I spoke.’

‘You remembered me.’

‘How could I forget?’ he said softly. ‘One minute the shop doorway was empty and the next it contained an apparition of such exquisite beauty I was transfixed. Did you come safely home?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ She felt the warmth creep up her cheeks and wished she could control it, knowing he could not fail to see it, so closely was he studying her. It was most disconcerting.

‘And you took no harm from your wetting?’

‘I did not get wet, sir, but you did. I hope you did not catch cold. After India, the climate here must be very trying…’

‘Not a bit of it. It is wonderful. The rain is so gentle, the wind but a zephyr breeze, the trees so green, the flowers so delicate and their perfume heady. I am drunk with it.’

‘La, sir,’ she said, laughing. ‘Are you sure it is not the punch? I believe it is an Indian concoction made up in honour of the subject and can be very potent.’

‘Indeed, yes. In India, where I first sampled it, the spirit it contained was arrack, but I imagine that has been substituted in this case with brandy. May I fetch you some? The lime and spices in it make it a refreshing drink.’

‘No, thank you, I am being looked after.’

‘Of course,’ he said, suddenly serious. ‘You would not be here alone, how silly of me.’

‘There you are, my dear. Such a dreadful crush.’ Sir Arthur was approaching, balancing three plates precariously in two hands. Seeing the young man with Lydia, he stopped, his mouth half open. Someone, who had not realised he had come to a sudden halt, jolted his elbow and the whole lot tipped over his waistcoat and down his breeches. In the ensuing confusion, while servants came to clear up the mess and he was led away to have his clothes cleaned, the young man from Chelmsford disappeared. Lydia, who wanted desperately to laugh at the sight of Sir Arthur with broken pigeon pie and bits of chicken leg, not to mention fruit tartlets, clinging to the satin and brocade of his suit, was almost reduced to tears when she realised the young man had gone.

He had been so handsome and attentive. He made her legs weak and her hands shake and she realised that the thread was still there, stronger than ever, so why had Fate denied her the opportunity to further their acquaintance? Wealthy and not likely from a background where lineage and blood counted for much, he would have fitted the bill as a husband very well. She would not have minded being married to him. And Sir Arthur had spoiled it all, spoiled her evening. It just wasn’t fair.

The bell went for the end of the intermission, Annabelle returned to her and they resumed their seats for the second half of the lecture, most of it of a political nature and very boring indeed. Annabelle, too, was bored, and could hardly wait for the polite applause which signalled the end of the lecture to tell Lydia all about her interview with Perry’s parents, who had been most gracious towards her. ‘He is the one,’ she told Lydia. ‘He is the one I am going to marry. I can feel it. Here.’ And she put her hand on her heart.

Lydia resisted the temptation to laugh. ‘Oh, Annabelle, it is too soon.’

‘No, it is not. If we are to find husbands, then we must do it quickly, you know that.’ She paused. ‘The only difficulty I can see is my lack of a dowry. Lord Baverstock would expect one, wouldn’t he?’

‘Yes, I think he would.’

‘Then the sooner you marry Sir Arthur the better. Mama said—’

‘I know what Mama said,’ Lydia interrupted her, as they made their way to the exit, standing in the crush while everyone waited for their carriages to be brought up to the door. In the euphoria of meeting the young man again she did not want to be reminded of her duty.

‘Ah, Miss Fostyn.’

Lydia turned to find Sir Arthur at her elbow and wondered if he could possibly have heard Annabelle’s remarks. He was wearing a long overcoat which he had buttoned from neck almost to hem to hide his stained suit. It looked as though he had borrowed it from his coachman.

‘Sir Arthur. I am sorry for your mishap.’

‘Oh, ’twas nothing. I am only sorry you were deprived of your supper. May I escort you home?’

‘No, thank you, sir. We have our own coach.’

‘Then may I call and pay my respects to your mama in the near future?’

‘I am sure she will be pleased to receive you, sir.’

The crowd had thinned while they had been talking and Lydia was suddenly aware of her umbrella man watching her, watching them both with a look on his face which was both quizzical and disapproving. He stepped forward and bowed. ‘Goodnight, my lady.’

She found herself dipping a small curtsy and smiling. ‘Goodnight, my lord.’

‘Who was that?’ Annabelle demanded, when they were settled in the chaise and were trotting towards Colston.

‘I have no idea.’

‘But you called him “my lord”.’

‘He called me “my lady”, so why not?’

‘Who does he think you are, then?’

‘I don’t know that either. We are perfect strangers.’

‘It didn’t look like that to me. Is that why you are wearing your best gown? You expected him to be here. Oh, what will Mama say?’

‘She will say nothing, because you are not to tell her.’

‘Oh, a secret. Have you an assignation with him? Oh, Lydia, he is so handsome, but supposing he is a mountebank?’

‘I am sure he is nothing of the kind. And I do not have an assignation with him. Whatever gave you that idea? We spoke half a dozen words while you were busy fluttering your eyelashes at Peregrine Baverstock…’

‘At least I was doing it to some purpose. You seem to have gained nothing. But there, I suppose we should hold to the maxim that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘Sir Arthur. He is going to call, is he not? He would not do that if he were not serious.’

‘Annabelle, if you mention Sir Arthur just once more, I shall slap your face, really I will. Let it be, will you?’

‘Oh, if you are going to fly into a temper, then I shall say no more. But if you want me to keep your secret from Mama, then you will have to find a way of persuading me.’

‘Oh, Annabelle,’ Lydia said, laughing, ‘you are such a mischievous child…’

‘Not so much of the child, if you please. I am old enough to fall in love.’

‘Are you, indeed?’

‘Yes, indeed. And do not tell me you do not know what it feels like, for I am persuaded that you do. I saw the look you had for the handsome stranger. Who is he, Lydia?’

‘I told you, I do not know the gentleman.’

‘So what are you going to do about it?’

‘The stranger? Why, nothing. Why should I?’

‘No, I meant about persuading me to hold my tongue.’

‘You can have my silk fan, the one Grandmama gave me.’

‘Can I? Oh, can I?’ her sister said eagerly, then laughed. ‘You must love him very much to part with that.’

‘Don’t be silly. I have been thinking of giving it to you ever since we made that pink gown up. It matches it exactly and would certainly not go with my yellow brocade.’

‘Oh, you are a darling!’ And Annabelle flung her arms about her sister in the rocking vehicle, making it sway more than ever. ‘The best sister anyone could have.’

They continued in silence for a few minutes, but Annabelle was still bubbling over and could not keep quiet. ‘Do you think the Earl will allow the ball to go ahead?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know, nor do I care very much.’

‘Oh, Lydia, do not be such a misery. If we go to the ball I shall see Perry there and, who knows, your fine gentleman might attend.’

And what good would that do? Lydia asked herself. Annabelle had said a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush. She knew nothing whatever about the handsome young man, not even his name, but she knew all she wanted to know about Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith. Tears pricked at her eyes and she was thankful that the darkness in the coach hid them from her sister’s eyes.

Their mother had not waited up for them so, as soon as they arrived home, Lydia pleaded tiredness and went to her own room, thankful that now her older sisters no longer lived at home she had a room to herself. She could not bear another minute of Annabelle’s excited chatter, her bubbling optimism which hinged on Lydia marrying Sir Arthur in order to smooth the way for her own marriage. He was a respectable gentleman who had done nothing wrong; in truth, had done everything right, at least in her mother’s eyes, but she did not want to marry him.

Oh, she knew perfectly well that most young ladies bowed to the superior knowledge and experience of their parents in the matter of matrimony and usually married the men chosen for them. Sometimes, it worked very well; if it did not, both discreetly took lovers. She did not think she could bring herself to do that. But if someone like her man from Chelmsford came along… Oh, no she could not commit that sin, not even with him; she believed in the sanctity of marriage and if she married Sir Arthur she would be faithful to him. If… Had she any choice?

She tossed and turned and fell asleep at last.

Next morning Lydia rose bleary-eyed and not in the least prepared for the bombshell her mother delivered at the breakfast table.

‘The Earl is back,’ Mrs Fostyn said, picking up a sheet of paper which lay beside her plate. ‘I have had a letter from him, or, more precisely, from Mr George Falconer, his lawyer.’

‘What about?’

‘Our tenure of this house. It appears he wishes us gone.’

‘Gone?’ Lydia repeated.

‘Yes, read it for yourself.’ She handed the letter to Lydia, who read it through quickly.

‘One month to leave,’ she said, her face white with fury. ‘He has given us a month’s notice. The fiend! The indescribable charlatan! I have always hated him and I was right to do so. He cannot bear to have us on his land because it reminds him of his guilt. I knew this would happen as soon as he came back. You thought so too, didn’t you? That’s why you spoke to me about marrying.’

‘I thought it might. You see, if…’ She paused, then went on. ‘If the old Earl did not correspond with his son, then he would not know our circumstances—’

‘It would have made no difference if he had. He is entirely selfish. He could have exonerated Freddie, accepted the blame. But no, he must drag us all down with him. Only he is not down, but on top, and he means to grind us into the dirt.’

‘Lydia, pray do not be so melodramatic,’ Anne said gently. ‘The house is his to do with as he likes and he says he needs it, though why I do not know. If the Countess had lived and he had a wife and family, then of course he would expect his mother to live here, but as it is…’

‘Do you think he has a wife, then?’ Annabelle put in.

‘He is twenty-nine years old, so it is more than possible.’

‘Then I feel sorry for her,’ Lydia said sharply. ‘I wonder if she knows what happened? I wonder if he knows what people are saying about him?’

‘What are they saying?’

‘Oh, you know,’ Lydia said vaguely. ‘About him murdering Papa.’

‘I am sure they are saying nothing of the sort,’ her mother protested. ‘And I wish you would not speak of him in that fashion.’

‘Why not? It is the truth, isn’t it? Papa was unarmed and he was only trying to stop him firing—’

‘Lydia, you would not spread calumny about him, surely?’ her mother said, horrified at the violence of her daughter’s feelings. ‘That is deceitful and unjust.’

‘Which is exactly what he is. He allowed Freddie to take the blame for something that was entirely his fault. Freddie was always under his sway, even when they were boys.’

‘I do not think that is quite the case, dearest, and I beg you to curb your excessive feelings. It can only do you harm. Your papa preached forgiveness, remember.’

‘If he had lived, do you think even he could have forgiven Ralph Latimer for what he did?’

‘I like to think he would.’

‘But he did not live, did he? And we are in this coil because of what that…that devil did.’ She left her chair suddenly. ‘I am going to see him. I am going to tell him exactly what I think of him.’

Anne reached out and seized Lydia by the wrist as she passed her. ‘No, child, you will do no such thing. He is within his rights. If you provoke him, he might not even allow us a month.’

Lydia made no attempt to pull herself away, but stood passively, looking down at her mother. ‘You mean you are going to buckle under and leave without one word of protest?’

‘No.’ Anne smiled wanly. ‘We have nowhere to go. I will speak to him myself, he may not know our circumstances….’

‘Mama, you are never going to beg?’

‘No, but we need a little more time, Lydia. And I shall make a reasonable request for that.’

‘Time?’

‘Time to bring our family fortunes on to a more even keel.’

‘How? Oh, I see. When I have captured Sir Arthur. I am to be punished for what that man did ten years ago, just as Freddie was punished and you have been punished. It goes on and on. If I could think of a way to make him pay, then I would. I would see him rot in hell.’

‘Lydia!’ her mother cried. This battling daughter of hers was so consumed by her hate, it was threatening to destroy her. ‘You must not say such things. It is wicked.’ She paused. ‘Sit down again, Lydia, and calm yourself. You know, you frighten me when you talk like that. Hate is a dreadful emotion, and you should remember that vengeance is for God, not man. We are none of us guiltless.’

Lydia sank back into her chair. ‘Oh, Mama, there is no one more innocent than you. How have you borne it all these years? How have you found the fortitude?’

‘Through my faith, child. The faith your father preached. Now, I want you to promise me one thing—that you will not attempt to see or speak to his lordship.’

Lydia smiled wanly. ‘That is an easy promise to make, for he is the last man in the world I should want to have any discourse with.’

‘Good. Now, tell me, dearest, would it be so very bad to marry Sir Arthur? He is not an ogre, he is a pleasant, respectable man who is very fond of you. I am not thinking only of our circumstances, but your happiness. He will look after you…’

Lydia gave a cracked laugh. ‘And curb my fiery temper, you think?’

Her mother smiled and patted her hand. ‘He might. And living at his home in Southminster, with other things to occupy you, might bring you peace of mind, the strength to accept what we cannot change.’ She paused and added gently. ‘At least, say you will consider it.’

Lydia sighed. She really had no choice. ‘Very well. I met him last night and he asked if he might call. You may intimate to him when he comes that I shall look favourably on his suit.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘But do not make me sound too eager, will you?’ Her mother released her hand and she rose to leave. ‘I am going to Malden—I need a book from the lending library. Is there anything you need?’

‘No, I do not think so, thank you.’

Partridge was busy in the garden and, rather than take him from his work, she decided to walk the three miles into the little town which stood at the confluence of the Chelmer and Blackwater rivers. It was a spring fine day and Malden Water, though grey, was calm and several fishing boats could be seen either coming up from the sea or heading out towards it. Inland there were lambs in the fields, and the mare Farmer Carter kept in his meadow was proudly showing off a new foal which frisked about on its spindly legs, obviously pleased with life. It was the sort of day to raise the spirits and Lydia would have enjoyed the walk if her thoughts had not been occupied with her dilemma.

It was all very well for Mama to say hate was a dreadful emotion, she knew it was, but she could not help herself. How could she be calm about the prospect of marrying a man old enough to be her father when there were men like her umbrella man in the vicinity? If she had never met the handsome stranger, would she have been content to marry as her mother directed? He had set her heart beating and fired her into longing for something she could only guess at: a passion, perhaps, that transcended everything.

She did not need to know his name, or his circumstances, or anything about him in order to know that he could ignite in her an overpowering desire. It was wicked of her, wicked and almost depraved. She had not been brought up to feel like that, had not, until a week before, realised that such feelings existed, certainly not in young ladies with any pretensions of decency. She must squash such thoughts and feelings, cut them out of her life altogether, forget the young man and his dangerously compelling eyes.

Ralph had spent most of the previous evening in the library at Colston Hall with a glass of brandy at his elbow, pouring over accounts and maps and reports from his general factotum about the condition of the estate, and what he read had appalled him. Today he had decided to see for himself and that could only be done on foot.

Donning leather breeches and topboots, he had thrown on a brown worsted coat and visited all the farms on his domain, talking to the tenants and finding out what was needed. New thatch on the roofs, new glass in windows, new clunch on the pigsty walls, he was told when they got over their surprise at seeing him thus clad and being convinced he meant business. The ditches needed clearing, too, or come the winter there would be an inundation from the marshes.

He was thankful he had come back home a wealthy man, or such a catalogue would have sent him bankrupt. He was doubly thankful when he realised that the fabric of the ancient church needed repair and that half the pews had woodworm and only he had the means to remedy it. After that, it was a quart of best ale in the village inn and back home via the old Roman road, now only a track, which ran alongside the marshes and the copse of trees where game was reared. Game birds were rare in this part of the world, which had few trees, except those planted in the gardens of the wealthy, who were following the latest trend for landscaping. His great-grandfather had planted this wood and his father had taken on a man who called himself a gamekeeper and who was skilled in breeding and rearing the birds simply for the sport. The woodland was his particular domain.

It was also the domain of a very different breed, he realised, as he picked his way through a tangle of undergrowth which had spread out over the path. A man could hide there for weeks without being found. The path itself was well-worn and some of the bushes alongside it had been broken recently, as if something wide and heavy had travelled along it. Curious, he moved forward cautiously.

He came to a small clearing in the middle of which was a tumble-down hovel which had once been inhabited by a woodsman. He smiled, remembering how he and Freddie used to play round it as boys, pretending it was a fort and one was attacker and one defender. Its windows were broken and the ivy which clambered round it was invading the inside. Deserted it looked, almost ready to fall in on itself and return to nature.

But that was how it was meant to look, he realised, as he noticed the thatch on the roof had been repaired and so had the stout door, which was securely locked. Someone was either living here on his land or using it for some secret purpose. He looked up at the chimney. There was no smoke. Did that mean there was no one there now? He went to the door and knocked. There was no reply. He walked all round it. The path at the rear led down to the marshes where there was an old boat house, as he very well knew; and here there were signs of a cart and hoofmarks in the mud.

He returned to the house and peered into the windows, cupping his hands about his face. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he noticed a pile of sacks and a barrel on the floor and a table with a pair of scales. There was a bottle beside them and the remains of an oilskin wrapping. Smugglers! This was a hideout for smugglers.

He was inclined to be amused, since nearly everyone tolerated free-traders, as they preferred to be called; half the tobacco, tea, wine and spirits consumed in the country was contraband. His father may even have condoned it in exchange for the odd barrel. But only two days ago, he had learned from Robert Dent that there was going to be a concerted effort by the revenue men to stamp out smuggling and extra patrols were to be sent out. ‘There wasn’t so much of it during the war,’ Robert had said. ‘But now it has grown again and we do not want to return to the days of the vicious gangs who plied the trade openly and thought nothing of murdering anyone who got in their way.’

He would keep watch and find out who these men were. Depending who they turned out to be, he would hand them over to the justices or warn them off.

Leaving everything exactly as he found it, he returned home to find Mrs Fostyn waiting for him. The servants, accustomed to admitting her, had had no reason to change their habits and she had been conducted to the drawing room to await his return.

‘Madam, your obedient,’ he said, sweeping her a low bow. ‘You find me somewhat dishevelled. I was not expecting company.’

‘It is no matter, my lord. I had to come.’

‘Oh.’ He had always liked Freddie’s mother and could not bring himself to be rude to her. What had happened had certainly not been her fault and she must have suffered greatly at the loss of her husband. ‘Pray, go on.’

‘It is the matter of the letter I received from your lawyer. I assume it was written at your dictation.’

‘It was.’

‘I know you have every right to ask us to leave and I do not dispute that, but a month is so little time to find somewhere else to live. Could you not find it in your heart to extend that? Your father, the late Earl, said we could stay as long as we wished.’

‘My father is no more.’

‘Yes. I should have offered my condolences. Forgive me.’

She was almost grovelling and it pained him to see it. ‘You see,’ she went on when his only reply was a slight inclination of the head, ‘I have two daughters as well as a young son of twelve still at home and I must find some way of supporting them.’

‘You support them? Why not Freddie? Surely it is up to him?’

‘Freddie?’ She looked astonished. ‘Freddie left home at the same time as you did and we have not seen or heard from him since. Did you not know?’

It was his turn to be surprised. ‘No, I did not. I assumed—’

‘Your father thought it would be for the best. He came to see me. He told me that, as a magistrate, he was duty bound to arrest anyone breaking the law, but he couldn’t bring himself to have you arrested and was determined to send you away. He said the Countess was bowed down with grief and it would not do for her to see my son about the village after you had gone. He was determined Freddie must be sent away too. Besides, Freddie himself was so distraught, blaming himself for what happened, that he was eager to be gone.’

‘I am sorry,’ he said softly. So his father had threatened them with the law. ‘I knew none of this.’

‘But the late Earl was a kind and generous man and he knew I had no means of support except my husband’s investments, which were by no means large enough to allow us to find a new home and keep us in comfort. He offered me the dower house and, for the sake of my children, I agreed. Except that we did not know whether Freddie was alive or dead, we have been happy there and…’

‘Have you not seen your son in all that time?’

‘No, my lord. Oh, I knew from the beginning we could not stay forever. Sooner or later you would come home and everything would change. But I hoped it would not be until after my daughters were safely wed. Susan married Sir Godfrey Mallard’s son some time ago and Margaret has decided to devote her life to other people’s children—she is governess to the Duke of Grafton’s children. But Lydia and Annabelle are still at home…’

‘Lydia,’ he said, smiling faintly. ‘She’s the one with the russet hair and the mischievous smile, isn’t she?’

Anne smiled back, realising that he was not such an ogre and was civil enough to listen to her. But then, if he was his father’s son, he would be. ‘Yes, she is eighteen now and, though perhaps I should not say it, or even think it, she is the most comely of my children and…’ this with a little deprecating laugh ‘…the most stubborn and independent.’

‘Yes, I remember,’ he said. ‘She used to follow me and Freddie about and try to do everything we did. We tried to shake her off and she would disappear for a little while, but then, when we least expected it, she would be back, dogging our footsteps.’

‘She is past all that, my lord, and ripe for marriage. I think, in a very little time, I shall be able to announce her engagement to Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith.’

‘Sir Arthur!’ he exclaimed, his sympathy going out to the child he had once known in spite of who she was. The brief glimpse he had had of the gentleman the previous evening had struck a chord in his memory. He had met him somewhere before but, for the life of him, he could not recall where. He certainly could not place the name, nor that high-pitched voice. Thomas-Smith, not an aristocratic name, not a memorable name, but the face, that was different. He never forgot a face. ‘I believe I met Sir Arthur last evening, a portly gentleman of middle years.’

‘Yes. He is devoted to Lydia and will curb her exuberance, you may be sure. And he has the means to support her. Annabelle, who is very pretty and biddable, will soon find a suitor, especially as Sir Arthur has indicated he will provide her with a small dowry…’

‘I understand.’ He understood very well. Lydia was to be sacrificed. When he had last seen her, she had been no more than a child, a nuisance to two young men bent on enjoying themselves. But even then there had been something about her that was different. Independent, her mother had described her. Would such a one marry a man old enough to be her father? Well, it was not his business.

‘Then you will give us a little more time?’ she asked, watching his face.

He looked at the woman sitting so still on his drawing room sofa and, though he could not even begin to forgive her son for forcing him into that duel, and he was equally certain she did not forgive him for what he had done, he could afford to be magnanimous, especially as Freddie was not at home. Somehow, the knowledge that his erstwhile friend had suffered the same fate as he had in some measure mitigated his raw hatred, though he would not go so far as to say it had disappeared totally. You could not harbour the resentment he had for over ten years and lose it in the space of a short interview with a plausible woman. But she was a mother, and knowing what his own mother had suffered set him thinking. ‘Very well. You may stay until Lydia is married. And I hope she may be happy.’

‘Do you mean that?’

‘I am not in the habit of saying things I do not mean, madam.’ He had done what he could, given the circumstances, and he would take care to avoid the path that led to the dower house until they had gone.

She rose and curtsied. ‘Then I thank you and I shall convey your good wishes to Lydia and Annabelle.’ He bowed in response and a moment later she had glided noiselessly from the room and he was alone once more.

He must be going soft, he told himself as he strode upstairs to change into something more suitable for a visit to Chelmsford. He had been told there was a builder there who could do the repairs to his tenants’ houses at a reasonable price, and the sooner they were put in hand the better. Even if he decided not to stay in the village, he could not lease or sell the estate as it was.

Was he going to stay? he asked himself as his well-sprung coach took him through the lanes of Colston where the leaves were just appearing on the trees and the air was balmy with the promise of spring. It was not the family coach, which like everything else had been neglected, but the one he had bought in London when he landed from India. Could he pick up his life where he had left it ten years before, and carry on as if nothing had happened? But how could he?

For a start, he could no longer expect to marry a duke’s daughter. He had been sufficiently in touch with the London gossip, even on the other side of the world, to know of the advantageous marriage Juliette had made only a year after his exile began. But he ought to marry or what was the point of coming home? Who would have him, given that the scandal seemed not to have died? He was immensely rich, he could take his pick. He smiled. That unknown beauty he had met in Chelmsford, perhaps. She had been with Sir Arthur last night—his daughter, no doubt. No, he contradicted himself at once. If he were to marry her, it might make Lydia Fostyn his mother-in-law and the idea of that was laughable

His business done, he was almost home when he became aware that it was raining again, spattering on the roof, and reminding him of the girl he had met in Chelmsford. Why did his mind keep returning to her? Why, even in the middle of talking bricks and mortar and broken walls, had she kept invading his thoughts, stirring his body into a tingle of desire? He had even been fool enough to take a stroll round the streets of Chelmsford, hoping he might meet her again.

At the junction where the road separated, one arm going to Malden and the other to Southminster and Colston, the coach passed the entrance to Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith’s new mansion, which set him wondering about the man all over again. Two minutes later they slowed to pass a woman in a grey cloak, who stood aside to let it overtake her. Glancing casually from the window, he realised she was his nymph! He banged on the roof to tell the coachman to stop.