Читать книгу Miss Winbolt and the Fortune Hunter - Sylvia Andrew - Страница 8

Chapter Three

William’s casual air was deceptive. Before another day was over he had inspected Charlwood again and made up his mind. Underneath its ruinous appearance was a spacious, beautifully proportioned house which could in time be made into just the sort of family home he was looking for. Meanwhile, with a few alterations, the Dower House could house them all quite adequately. He set about buying the estate with the energy and efficiency which had served him well in South America. It was an odd coincidence that, soon after the negotiations were complete, William’s lawyers were approached by another buyer, who was apparently equally eager to possess Charlwood, and was offering more than William had paid for it. But William refused the offer without hesitation. Charlwood was to be his—it was the perfect place for him and his family.

One evening Lady Deardon told him that she had met a certain Mrs Gosworth when visiting an acquaintance. ‘She lives nearby in a small village called Stoke Shearings. Have you come across it?’

‘I spent a night at the inn there not long ago.’ William smiled reminiscently, visited once again by the memory of a woman with silver-grey eyes and tumbling hair, long, bare legs and slender ankles. She had looked like a gipsy, and had behaved like one, too. As he remembered the passion he had aroused in her, his blood stirred again… A wanton, a tease, she might be, but he still hadn’t forgotten her.

‘William…William, why do you keep going off into a trance when I am speaking to you? Don’t you want to hear what I have to tell you?’

He returned to the present. ‘Forgive me, I was thinking…thinking of…of something else.’

‘Well, whatever it is, forget it for the moment. This is more important. After talking to Mrs Gosworth, I think I’ve found a possible wife for you! There!’ Lady Deardon looked so complacent that William felt impelled to say solemnly,

‘I’ve heard of the lady. She’s in her sixties, and a harridan to boot. You’re very kind, but I don’t think she would do for me.’

Lady Deardon gave a laugh. ‘Don’t be such a tease, Will. Of course I don’t mean her! I thought she was a most unpleasant woman. But she talked of someone who sounds perfect. A Miss Winbolt. Not in her first youth, and unhappy at the change in her circumstances. She lives with her brother and his wife in the big house in Stoke Shearings. It belongs to the Winbolt family. You didn’t happen to call on them when you were in the area, did you?’

‘No, that was the day I got lost, and when I got back to the inn that evening it was too late for a social call.’

‘Shearings itself is a beautiful place, apparently. It has some superb gardens. From what Mrs Gosworth says, Miss Winbolt kept house for her brother for years, but last January he married a rather unsuitable woman and brought her home to Shearings.’

‘Unsuitable? What did she mean by unsuitable?’

‘Rosa Winbolt had been married before. Her husband apparently belonged to a raffish lot in London, and died in suspicious circumstances.’

William shook his head at his hostess. ‘My dear ma’am, I hope you haven’t been paying too much attention to Mrs Gosworth. The new Mrs Winbolt may have once lived in London, but she comes from a highly respected local family and is very well liked in the neighbourhood. I’ve heard nothing but good of her.’

‘Really? So the trouble may lie with Emily Winbolt herself? Mrs Gosworth did say she was a rather strong-minded young woman. It could be that the new bride wants to take over the running of the house and Miss Winbolt finds it difficult to step down. According to Mrs Gosworth, she is past her first youth and rather plain, so she can see that her chances of finding a husband are fading. She might well consider marriage as a means of having a household of her own.’

‘And you think I might be her saviour? I’m not sure I like the sound of that.’

Lady Deardon looked disappointed. ‘Really, William, you can’t be as eager as I thought to find a mother for those children. Here is a respectable young woman with every reason to want a husband, a real possibility, and you say you don’t like the sound of her! You haven’t even met the lady! She certainly isn’t the sort of empty-headed débutante you despise.’

‘No, but I would think twice before saddling myself with a plain, strong-minded spinster of uncertain age. It seems to me that would be a recipe for unhappiness.’

‘Well, why don’t you wait till you see her? She might surprise you. The Winbolts are bound to be at the Langley House ball at the end of the month, so you could meet her there.’

‘Very well—but I make no promises!’

‘I don’t ask you to.’ Nettled by his lack of appreciation of her discovery, Lady Deardon added, ‘After all, Miss Winbolt may not approve of you when she sees you! She is said to be pretty cool in her attitude to men.’

‘Worse and worse! Strong-minded, plain, and now cold-hearted, too! Your poor Miss Winbolt sounds to me like someone born to remain a spinster.’

‘Not my Miss Winbolt, William. And not poor Miss Winbolt, either. I saved the best till last. She has a considerable fortune of her own!’

‘Really? And she hasn’t found a husband for herself all these years? What an antidote she must be!’

‘William!’

‘There must be something wrong with her, ma’am.’

Lady Deardon laughed and gave up. ‘Very well, I can see you are not to be persuaded. We shall say no more about Miss Winbolt.’

* * *

Lady Deardon did not give up her quest entirely. Not much later she greeted William triumphantly with the news that she had found another possible wife for him.

‘She has only been a few months in the neighbourhood, so I met her for the first time today. I found her quite charming. I promise you, William, if you are as hard to please about this lady as you were with Miss Winbolt, I shall wash my hands of you. Her name is Mrs Fenton and she is exactly what you wanted—a rich young widow. Her husband died just over a year ago. She lived round here when she was a girl and has now moved back again. I’m sure you would like her. I thought I might invite her to dinner one evening.’

‘Please do. She sounds more promising than Miss Winbolt. I should be delighted to meet her.’

Mrs Fenton came to dinner. In her early thirties, beautiful, poised and witty, she was just as attractive as Lady Deardon had said. William was definitely intrigued and when he heard that she, too, was to be at the ball at Langley House, he begged the lady to reserve a dance for him.

Meanwhile Emily was suffering the aftereffect of her confession to Rosa. Garden parties became a frequent diversion at Shearings, and as time went on the house saw a succession of riding parties, evening parties, and weekend parties to which Philip’s former Army friends were invited, along with the more respectable of Rosa’s London circle. Plans were in hand, too, to spend the next year’s Season in London. Rosa, anxious to stop her sister-in-law from taking the disastrous step of living alone, had evidently decided that the best solution would be to find a husband for her as soon as possible. Emily watched all the activity, ordered some new dresses and resigned herself to waiting patiently until her loving family realised that she had made up her mind. Sooner or later she would find a comfortable house surrounded by a small park and spend the rest of her days there with a respectable female for company. Meanwhile she would watch the scene before her with her usual calm, slightly ironic, eye.

Of course, invitations were returned, among them an invitation to the ball at Langley House. Rosa was quite excited at the prospect, and as they drove to Langley on the evening of the ball the conversation in the Winbolts’ carriage was of the distinguished guests they would find there.

‘The Langleys have such a wide circle of acquaintances. Maria Fenton is back in the district and will almost certainly be there now that she is out of official mourning. I shall be interested to meet her again. I knew her when I was a girl, Emily. She was a few years older than I was, but she was so lovely that you couldn’t help but notice her. I wonder if she changed after her marriage.’

‘I shouldn’t be surprised,’ said Philip. ‘Edric Fenton was a strange man. Who else is coming?’

‘The Deardons will be there, and I expect they’ll bring a guest of theirs, Sir William Ashenden. They are almost bound to include him in their party. Apparently he has just bought Charlwood.’

‘I can’t imagine what possessed Ashenden to buy that place. Does he know how much it will cost to put in order? A retired naval officer would need something other than his pay to make it habitable,’ said Philip.

Rosa had other matters on her mind. ‘I wonder how old he is…and if he is married,’ she said thoughtfully.

The ball was well under way by the time the party from Shearings arrived. The ladies left their cloaks in a small room set aside for the purpose, then Philip escorted them to the ballroom, where Lady Langley greeted them warmly, ‘You’ve known most of the people here since you were a child, Rosa, dear. But perhaps you haven’t met Lady Deardon? Her table is in the far corner. I shall take you to meet her.’ She added with an arch smile at Emily, ‘Lady Deardon’s visitor is with her. I’m sure Miss Winbolt would like to meet him. Such a distinguished man…’

So Rosa’s efforts to marry her off had not gone unnoticed in the neighbourhood, thought Emily grimly. The idea was so unwelcome that, though she smiled and made a suitable reply, her manner as they were taken down the room to be introduced was distinctly frosty. Lady Deardon regarded Emily with interest, but then turned to Philip and Rosa to say she was alone for the moment, but hoped they would wait till the rest of her party returned. They agreed with pleasure and sat down. Emily gazed round.

Further down the room a gentleman, tall, lithe and assured, was leading a strikingly attractive woman on to the floor. He was smiling as he bent his head to hear what his companion was saying. Little wrinkles fanned out from the corners of his eyes… Emily’s heart missed a beat. For a moment she was frozen. It couldn’t be! It couldn’t possibly be! She was imagining things. The likeness was purely accidental. It couldn’t be Will. Will was a carelessly dressed, carelessly mannered wanderer. He wouldn’t be a guest of one of the neighbourhood’s most stiff-necked families, dancing with one of its most beautiful women. Of course he wouldn’t! She sat for a moment telling herself to be sensible, to stay calm. But she found it quite impossible. The shock had been too great, and the ballroom was suddenly unbearably hot—she needed air, somewhere to recover. Slipping her fan into the arrangement of flowers behind her, she exclaimed, ‘How foolish of me! I seem to have left my fan in the pocket of my cloak. Please excuse me while I fetch it.’ And without waiting for any offers of help she got up and made her way as calmly as she could out of the ballroom.

But once outside she fled to the small boudoir which had been set aside for ladies, where she sat down and requested a glass of water. She was trembling. The man in the ballroom couldn’t possibly be Will. It was a delusion. His face had haunted her dreams for weeks, and now she was beginning to imagine it when she was awake! That must be it. It wasn’t Will, it wasn’t…! She grew cold. But what if it was? Her throat felt dry and she took the proffered glass gratefully. After taking several sips of water, she calmed down again and began to reason sensibly. How could someone who was little more than a vagabond find his way into a house belonging to the Langleys who were one of the county’s highest sticklers? It was impossible. Of course it was! She must have imagined the resemblance.

Rosa came into the room. ‘Have you found your fan? I was sure you had it with you…Emily, is there something wrong?’ She took a closer look at her sister-in-law. ‘Are you feeling the thing? You look a little pale.’

‘I…I felt the heat for a moment. It’s better now. No, I haven’t found it yet. Perhaps I dropped it in the ballroom.’

‘We’ll look for it when we go back. If you’re ready, I want you to come with me to meet the gentleman with Lady Deardon. Philip and I have been talking to him while you were in here and I think he could be the very man for you! He is just as distinguished as Lady Langley said—tall, very well dressed, with such a cultivated, intelligent air. I suspect he has a sense of humour, too. I know you will like him. I can tell Philip does. Do come.’

Emily sighed. Another candidate to save me from my doom, she thought. This time it’s an elderly naval officer. How tired I am of meeting ‘just the man’ for me. In the last few months, ever since I told Rosa of my wish to live alone, I have been introduced to a knight, two baronets, an admiral and what seems like every possible rank of the Army from an ensign to a brigadier… And when we’re in London Rosa will no doubt find distinguished men of letters, artists, poets, diplomats, any one of whom might be ‘just the man for me’… I shall die of a surfeit of suitors! The thought amused her. She was even smiling as she accompanied Rosa back to the ballroom.

But at the door she paused and took a cautious look round. There were plenty of tall gentlemen, but no one who looked remotely like Will. Her imagination had been playing tricks on her. Sighing with relief, Emily followed Rosa to Lady Deardon’s table.

Philip was there, in conversation with a tall, grey-haired gentleman. My goodness, thought Emily, Rosa must be getting desperate. This one is even older than the brigadier! But she smiled charmingly as she curtsied to Lady Deardon, who turned to the gentleman next to her and said, ‘My husband, Sir Reginald Deardon, Miss Winbolt.’

Sir Reginald Deardon! The lady’s husband! Emily had difficulty in suppressing a broad grin at her own mistake. Perhaps Rosa was not as desperate as she had feared! They exchanged a few words, then Lady Deardon said, ‘My godson will be here shortly, Mrs Winbolt. He has just gone to invite Mrs Fenton to join us for a moment. I believe you wanted to talk to her. Here they come.’

Emily regarded at the couple slowly advancing towards them with horrified fascination. They made a striking pair. Mrs Fenton had pale gold hair and very light china-blue eyes. Her black dress was the very latest in fashion, her diamonds magnificent, and she walked up the room with conscious grace, seemingly indifferent to the many admiring glances cast in her direction. Emily’s eyes turned to the gentleman at her side, still hoping for a miracle. Perhaps she had been mistaken, perhaps it was just an extraordinary resemblance. But her heart sank as she looked. It was a nightmare. The gentleman… She swallowed. Lady Deardon’s famous guest was tall, lithe and perfectly assured, completely at home in this gathering of the neighbourhood’s highest society. He was dressed in beautifully tailored evening clothes, immaculate linen, and had a diamond pin in the snowy folds of his cravat. But he was unmistakeably the man who had rescued her from the tree. Will… William… Sir William Ashenden.

The pair drew near. It was certainly Will. No one else could have the same lurking amusement in such dark blue eyes, the same fan of laughter lines at the corners… Her knees grew weak at an unbidden memory of that broad chest under her cheek, the feel of those long legs wrapped round hers, the sensations aroused by his kisses. She suppressed a faint gasp and clutched the back of the chair for support as a mixture of fear and this unfamiliar but powerful feeling almost undid her. Keeping her eyes lowered and her feelings tightly under control, she stiffly acknowledged the introductions that followed. Eventually she made herself look up. His eyes were amused, but she could perceive no sign of recognition in them. She took courage. Why should he recognise her? Who would connect the well-dressed, highly respectable Miss Emily Winbolt with the untidy, bare-legged hoyden, the hussy who had responded to his kisses with such a lack of restraint? She had a reputation for coolness. On this occasion she would make very sure she lived up to it. She had to!

Mrs Fenton’s china-blue eyes had swept over Emily with indifference, but she talked animatedly to Rosa for a moment or two, eyed Philip with lazy interest, then, after receiving an invitation to visit Shearings and thanking them all for their kindness, she excused herself.

‘I hope Sir William will see me safely back to my table,’ she said, waving her fan at him with a smile.

‘At a price, Mrs Fenton,’ he said. ‘On condition that you will dance this waltz with me first.’

‘You drive a hard bargain, sir,’ she said with a delicious pout. ‘But I am in your hands.’

He laughed and offered her his arm to lead her on to the floor.

Emily would have been hard put to it to describe her feelings. Overwhelming relief, certainly. Sir William Ashenden had clearly not recognised her. But mixed with relief there was another less easily defined feeling… What was it? She watched the two dance up the room and decided that she disliked Mrs Fenton. The woman was too confident of her power, too obviously charming. And far too beautiful. Sir William was looking down at her with such admiration in his eyes… With a gasp she pulled herself together again. She should be thanking her stars that ‘her Will’ had not recognised her, not be envious of his attentions to Mrs Fenton!

After the waltz was over William returned Mrs Fenton to her companions and rejoined his godmother. He had enjoyed Maria Fenton’s company, and looked forward to more of it in the future. He was by no means sure, however, that she was what he was looking for in a wife. He had met many such women in his travels, graceful, accomplished, with a gift for amusing conversation. But he was looking for more genuine warmth in the woman he would marry, someone who could not only charm his neighbours at balls and soirées, but would create an affectionate home for his orphans as well. He might be doing the lady an injustice, but he suspected kindness to children would not be a priority with Maria Fenton.

He turned his attention to his godmother’s other choice. Miss Winbolt. At first sight she lacked any kind of warmth. Indeed, her manner was distinctly chilly. But she was hardly the woman Mrs Gosworth had described. She couldn’t be more than four or five and twenty and, far from being jealous of her sister-in-law, their affection for each other was clear. A bit of an enigma then, Miss Winbolt. Perhaps he should make an effort to know her better, if only to please his godmother.

The Winbolts had moved on and were engaged in conversation with a group of friends nearby. Emily Winbolt was standing slightly to one side, talking to Rosa and one of the gentlemen. William examined her from a distance. It was true—compared with her sister-in-law she seemed almost plain. Her hair was drawn back into a neat knot at the back of her head, and though her dress was obviously a London creation, its severity did little to enhance her looks. But her profile had a purity of line that was attractive. And from what he could see, she had quite a good figure… At that point something someone had said amused her and she laughed. William was astonished at the difference it made in her. It was a delightfully deep laugh, full of warmth and genuine enjoyment, and he was visited by a strange feeling that he had met this woman before. She turned as he approached and the laughter died abruptly. He could even have sworn he saw a fleeting expression of alarm in her eyes before she lowered them. But when she looked up again Miss Winbolt was once more the woman who had been described to him. Her eyes contained nothing but chilly indifference. Undeterred, he went up to her and bowed.

‘Miss Winbolt, I know so few ladies here tonight. Dare I request a dance with you?’

The orchestra was warming up for the next set of dances. Miss Winbolt stared at him. He thought for a moment she would refuse, but her sister-in-law said,

‘Be kind to Sir William, Emily. He is to be one of our neighbours soon. Isn’t that so, Sir William?’

‘N…neighbours?’ Miss Winbolt was pale.

‘Charlwood, Miss Winbolt.’ He offered his arm. ‘Shall we? Or shall we look for some refreshment and have a talk about Charlwood?’

‘Oh, no!’ she exclaimed and put her hand on his arm. He was surprised to feel it trembling and felt a sudden, powerful urge to protect her. But from what? What was Miss Winbolt so afraid of?

He was still puzzled as they took to the floor. The urge to comfort persisted, though their conversation when they talked at all was conventional to the point of inanity. She danced well but stiffly, keeping her distance and giving him only the very tips of her fingers to hold when it was needed. By the end of the set he was ready to concede that his first thought had been right, after all—Miss Winbolt was a born spinster.

When the music came to an end William took his partner to the edge of the floor, ready, and indeed relieved, to deliver her back to her family. Then something happened that caused him to change his mind yet again, this time irreversibly.

The behaviour of some of the younger guests had become rather boisterous. And one of them, eager to reach the refreshment tables before his friend, charged into Miss Winbolt. Taken by surprise, she lost her balance and would have fallen, but William caught her. She clung to him for a moment and again he was assailed with a sense of familiarity. Everything about her was familiar, but more than that, it was exciting—the way she held him, the sensation of her body against his, even the scent of her hair. He pulled her closer. The desire to kiss her was almost irresistible…

‘Sir William!’ Her voice was muffled against his chest. ‘You must let me go! Immediately! Please.’ She looked up at him. The look of desperation on her face, in her silver-grey eyes, brought him to his senses.

He stood back and shook his head, feeling more confused and embarrassed than he had for years. What had he been thinking of? ‘Miss Winbolt, I’m sorry. I…I hardly know what to say. I don’t know what happened. That fellow…’

‘Yes, yes. He was to blame.’ She turned away quickly and started towards the doors.

‘Miss Winbolt—’

‘Please. It was an accident. I was shaken. That was why I held on to you so tightly. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.’

‘No, no! You re mistaken—’

Without looking, she interrupted him. ‘You must excuse me. I think I’ve torn the hem of my dress. I must put it right.’ She fled through the doors and he saw her make for the ladies’ boudoir.

It was some time before she reappeared, but William was still deep in thought. She started nervously when she saw him, but took his proffered arm and they began to make their way back into the ballroom. But after a few yards William stopped and turned. ‘I must make sure you have forgiven me,’ he said.

‘For what, Sir William?’ she said stiffly, without turning her head. ‘It was not your fault Edgar Langley knocked me over. You saved me from falling.’

He would have tried again, but she interrupted him as she had before. ‘Pray say no more,’ she said impatiently. ‘It really isn’t necessary. I would rather forget the incident. And now I should like to rejoin my brother. He must be wondering where I am.’

She walked away without another word. William was left a prey to an impossible mixture of thoughts and conjectures.

He was so silent on the way back to Thirle that Lady Deardon asked him if he was not feeling well. When he assured her he was perfectly fit she went on,

‘What did you think of our two ladies? You couldn’t have a greater contrast between the two. Mrs Fenton is almost as lovely in her way as Rosa Winbolt, though older, of course. That dress must have cost a pretty penny, and her diamonds…! She certainly put herself out to charm you, William. Do you like her?’

‘Very well. She is good company.’

‘I don’t fancy the friends she had with her,’ said Sir Reginald unexpectedly. ‘Not quite county.’

‘I didn’t see them, but you are always too much of a stickler, Reggie. I dare say they were friends of her husband. But, William, what about Emily Winbolt? I confess I don’t know what to think of her. That dress probably cost every bit as much as Maria Fenton’s, but it didn’t do half as much for her. She was altogether very plainly dressed.’

‘Ladylike,’ said Sir Reginald. ‘She looked a lady. More than the other one.’

Lady Deardon ignored this comment. ‘She’s not as old as Mrs Gosworth led me to believe, and the story about her sister-in-law is obviously nonsense. Their affection for each other is plain. But she is definitely cool in her manner.’ Lady Deardon looked sharply at her godson. ‘William! Have you heard a word I’ve said? What do you think of Miss Winbolt?’

‘I’m not at all sure,’ said William slowly. ‘But I intend to find out. Did I hear Mrs Winbolt issue you with an invitation to visit Shearings?’

‘Yes, I asked her about its famous gardens and said how much I wanted to see them. We have arranged to go next week.’ Sir Reginald stirred restlessly. ‘You needn’t come, Reggie. William will escort me, won’t you, dear?’

‘I certainly will,’ said her godson. ‘I would very much like to have a closer look at…the gardens.’