Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: The Lone SheriffThe Gentleman RogueNever Trust a Rebel

by Lynna Banning

  ‘That is correct, but I was a close friend of her late father and retain a certain, er, responsibility for the lady.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  Drew considered his next words carefully. This would not be easy if he was to avoid insulting his host.

  ‘Miss Salforde’s position is a delicate one. She is alone—’

  Lord Whittlewood raised his hand.

  ‘Settle informed us that Mrs Matthews was indisposed and obliged to remain in Scarborough.’

  ‘She has broken her arm, my lord,’ explained Elyse.

  ‘Then we shall hire a chaperon for you until your aunt can join us,’ the viscount told her kindly, before turning his enquiring gaze back to Drew. ‘Is there anything else?’

  Drew hesitated. With Elyse present he could not be as frank as he would like. ‘I am aware that the settlements are drawn up very much in Miss Salforde’s favour, including the sum to be paid should your son decide not to marry her. Your letter indicated that you would consider the agreement cancelled if the lady was not with you by today. If I had not been with Miss Salforde when her carriage was attacked...’

  Drew let the words hang. Lord Whittlewood was very still and the air around them swirled with tension.

  ‘I hope you are not implying,’ the viscount began in a voice as quiet as steel, ‘that I was in any way involved in the attack upon you?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Drew’s response was equally quiet, equally steely. ‘Although you cannot deny that if you had changed your mind about the match, a delay in our reaching Bath would be in your interests.’

  ‘True, but I would not stoop to highway robbery to achieve my ends.’

  ‘But you would remove to Bath from London.’

  Drew saw from the sudden flash in the viscount’s eyes that he had hit a nerve, but the shutters came down. Lord Whittlewood waved one hand towards his leg.

  ‘My doctor advised me to take the waters. For my gout.’

  ‘And not one of your family could remain in London to meet Miss Salforde?’

  ‘No.’

  Drew kept his eyes fixed upon the viscount, whose next breath escaped in a hiss.

  ‘I confess it occurred to me that Miss Salforde might decide against the match when she reached London and found no one there to receive her, but I was doing no more than taking advantage of an existing situation, not creating one.’

  ‘If I had not changed my mind in three years, my lord, it is unlikely I would do so because of a further delay of three days,’ put in Elyse.

  Lord Whittlewood inclined his head.

  ‘No, of course not. I beg your pardon, Miss Salforde.’

  She pressed on. ‘And you knew nothing of the attack upon us?’

  Drew would not have asked such a direct question but he waited silently to hear the answer. The viscount met Elyse’s gaze steadily.

  ‘I did not, and would not condone such dishonourable conduct.’ He drew himself up in his chair and addressed Drew. ‘Let us be clear—and I have no reluctance for Miss Salforde to hear this—I might regret making this match. From my son’s perspective it is far from ideal, but having put my name to the contract I shall honour it. Miss Salforde may be assured that she will be treated with every courtesy and respect while she remains under my roof. I welcome her now as a daughter.’

  Drew studied the viscount intently, listening to his words, watching every gesture, his senses alert for anything that might give him an excuse to challenge him. He had lived on his wits long enough to know when a man was lying and he wanted more than anything in the world to believe this man a villain, but he could not. The worst he knew of Lord Whittlewood was that he was a gambler and that was a national affliction amongst the English. The fellow had made a half-hearted attempt to make Elyse cry off but Drew believed he was sincere when he said he had not been involved in the assault upon their carriage. He could do no more.

  ‘Then I am satisfied to leave Miss Salforde in your care.’

  ‘Thank you.’ The viscount sat back and steepled his fingers. ‘My health dictates that I remain in Bath, but to comply with the late Mr Salforde’s wishes the wedding must go ahead at the end of October. We shall therefore make the necessary arrangements at St Michael’s. The wedding will be a quiet affair, since Miss Salforde is still in mourning for her parent. We shall inform you of the exact date, sir, so that you may attend—’

  ‘Mr Bastion will not be attending,’ Elyse put in quickly. ‘He is leaving England almost immediately, is that not so, sir?’

  Her eyes challenged him to contradict her. Drew inclined his head, as if in agreement. After all, what did it matter? ‘Mr Bastion’ would cease to exist very shortly. He rose from his chair. He had done his duty; Elyse clearly no longer required his services.

  ‘Thank you, my lord,’ he said. ‘You have addressed my concerns and I will now take my leave of you.’

  They went out into the hall, where William Reverson was coming down the stairs.

  ‘Ah, Miss Salforde, there you are.’ He ran down the last few steps. ‘Mama sent me in search of you. Her dresser is even now looking out some gowns you might wear, at least until she can have new ones made up for you.’ He crossed to Elyse, smiling down at her in a way that set Drew’s hackles rising. ‘I am to take you to her and she will find something suitable for you to wear at dinner.’ He picked up Elyse’s hand and placed it on his sleeve. ‘I shall carry you away now, if your business is finished?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I believe it is.’

  The viscount and his son were looking at Drew, who fixed his eyes on Elyse.

  ‘If Miss Salforde has no further need of me, I shall take my leave.’ No response. He bowed. ‘It only remains for me to wish you joy in your forthcoming marriage, ma’am.’

  She curtsied to him, her shuttered face and cold demeanour telling Drew he was not forgiven, nor ever would be. And that was for the best, since she was to marry another man.

  Elyse stood in silence, flanked by William and Lord Whittlewood as Drew turned on his heel and walked away from her.

  He is going. The words rattled around in her head He is going and I shall never see him again.

  She watched him cross the tiled floor, willed him to look back but he kept on, his step swift and steady. A flunkey ran to open the door and he disappeared into the street, leaving her feeling more desolate and bereft than ever before.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Well, now, here’s a to-do.’

  Lord Whittlewood’s utterance brought forth little response. The family were at breakfast, where it was the habit for the viscount to peruse the London papers while his son, wife and any guests applied themselves to their food. Elyse had been at Queen Square for over a week now and was well aware of the ritual. Lady Whittlewood might put a question to her husband but it was not necessary for anyone else to react unless the news was of particular interest.

  As she expected, the viscountess paused in the act of drinking her coffee to say, ‘What has caught your attention, my lord?’

  ‘A gentleman has been pardoned for his part in the ’forty-five.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Lady Whittlewood signalled to a servant to refill her cup. ‘I would not have thought that anything remarkable.’

  ‘Not in itself, perhaps, my dear.’ The viscount folded the newspaper and passed to her. ‘Except that the fellow has been masquerading under the name of Bastion.’

  ‘Good gracious!’ William exclaimed.

  Elyse dropped her knife onto her plate. Lady Whittlewood took the paper and began to read. Elyse wanted to snatch it from her hands but she was obliged to curb her impatience.

  ‘How does that reflect upon Miss Salforde, Papa?’

  Dear William, to be concerned for her!

  ‘Not at all,’ replied the vi
scount, giving Elyse a reassuring smile. ‘It seems the fellow was granted a full pardon several years ago, but the family made no formal announcement and the gentleman was unaware of the change in his circumstances. Now, however, it appears he has returned to his home. He is heir to Hartcombe, in the county of Gloucestershire, and will succeed to the baronetcy when his father, Sir Edward Castlemain, dies.’

  Lady Whittlewood’s kindly smile flickered over Elyse.

  ‘That does explain why he was living abroad when he met your papa, my dear. However, I am pleased the young man is now back with his family. That is how it should be.’

  Yes, thought Elyse, it is as it should be, but her mind was aflame with conjecture. How had this pardon come about, had Sir Edward known of it? It seemed impossible that he should not, but why had he not said anything? And why had Drew not told her?

  He could not have known, she thought. Certainly not before he had left her in Lord Whittlewood’s care. Sir Edward must have kept it from him. Her hand went to the thin ribbon around her neck from which the pearl-and-diamond ring was suspended and nestled, concealed, between her breasts. That Sir Edward should give her such a valuable gift argued that he thought highly of her, yet he had not told her of his son’s pardon. It made no sense.

  ‘I will send him and his father an invitation to our party on the twenty-eighth,’ declared the viscountess.

  ‘Party?’ Elyse looked up, jerked out of her reverie. ‘But my lady, I am in mourning.’

  ‘I am aware,’ nodded Lady Whittlewood. ‘But it was your papa’s express wish that the marriage go ahead on the date agreed. He wrote to tell you so from his deathbed, did he not?’

  ‘Well, yes, but—’

  ‘Then we are carrying out his last wishes, and that is very important. For the wedding itself you will wear all white with no colour whatsoever—perfectly proper for a bride in mourning, but for the evening party I think you might wear your new grey sacque with black trim. The family will wear black ribbons and shoe buckles, of course, as a sign of respect.’ When she saw Elyse’s troubled frown she threw up her hands. ‘Heavens, my dear, it is only a small gathering, no more than a hundred guests—’

  ‘A hundred!’

  ‘When the younger son of a viscount marries there is naturally great interest in the matter,’ the Lord Whittlewood explained.

  ‘Indeed,’ agreed my lady. ‘Why, how else is everyone to meet you?’

  ‘I take it Henry will be coming?’ enquired William.

  ‘Yes, he and his wife will join us here next week.’ Lady Whittlewood turned to Elyse to explain. ‘Henry is my eldest son, and Whittlewood’s heir. He and his wife live in Kent but wrote to say they would post here immediately when I told them the news. And William’s sister, Daphne, will be here, too, with Berwick, her husband. They are all eager to meet you.’

  ‘But a party...’ Elyse trailed off uncertainly.

  ‘You must be guided by me on this, Miss Salforde.’ The viscount gave her a kindly smile. ‘It will give William the opportunity to show off his future bride. Is that not so, my boy?’

  ‘Just so, my lord.’

  Elyse regarded William thoughtfully. The words were perfectly civil, but she thought the tone lacked enthusiasm. She wondered if it was her imagination, but William’s smile did not seem quite as warm this morning. She could not fault his behaviour towards her since she had arrived in Bath. He escorted her everywhere and his attentions were perfectly correct but there was not the same, happy feeling of romance about their meetings that she remembered. That was hardly surprising, she thought, for they were both older. That first, hectic flush of infatuation could not be expected to last. However, she could not help wondering if William was disappointed in her.

  She thought of the previous evening when he had come upon her alone in the morning room and had taken the opportunity to steal a kiss. She had gone willingly into his arms, turning her face up to his, but when their lips met the experience had not moved her at all. Oh, it had not repulsed her, like Mr Scorton’s clumsy embrace, but there had been no explosion of the senses, no excitement. William had not seemed dissatisfied. He had hugged her to him, saying with a soft laugh, ‘You little innocent. There is such a lot I have to teach you.’

  But Elyse feared that in this case she was far from innocent. She had tasted Drew’s scorching kisses. He had roused such passion in her that she had not been able to control herself, and she very much feared that she would never experience such heady excitement with William.

  Elyse dragged her mind back to the breakfast table, where her hostess was rising from her chair.

  ‘Then it is settled,’ declared Lady Whittlewood. ‘I shall add Mr Bastion—Mr Castlemain I should say—to my list.’

  ‘Perhaps he will not come.’

  Only when the words came out did Elyse realise she had spoken aloud.

  ‘Not come? My dear, how can he not?’ The viscount’s thin brows rose. ‘The highest families in the land will be represented here that night and our recognising him will put the seal of approval upon his return to society. What could be better for him?’

  What indeed, thought Elyse miserably. So she was to suffer his presence yet again. Was she never to be free of him?

  * * *

  Drew swung the axe and brought it back with a satisfying crack against the trunk of the tree. He had been working in the woods since daybreak, thinning out the trees and clearing paths. It was not strictly necessary, now they had taken on extra staff, but he wanted to prove to himself that his arm had healed. Even in such a short time Hartcombe was looking much better. He had transferred all his funds to the family bankers and he and his father had talked to their attorney to begin the process of buying back some of the lands that had been sold. Drew’s small fortune would not buy it all, but the three tenant farms and the Home Wood were a beginning and with good management and hard work he hoped the estate would begin to show a profit in a year or so. And he intended to work hard, although hopefully not at the gruelling pace he had set himself today, as he tried to shut out all thoughts of Elyse Salforde.

  It had been two weeks since he had left her in Queen Square but her image was as fresh as ever in his mind. He had returned to Bath several times since then, on business and to replenish his wardrobe, but on each occasion he had taken care to avoid the fashionable places where he might see her, but it was impossible to avoid hearing the local gossip. It appeared that all Bath was alive with the tale of the beautiful stranger who had stolen the heart of Lord Whittlewood’s son. Accounts varied wildly. In the hatters he heard two gentlemen speculating upon the fortune of this new heiress from the North Country, while on the street a group of women at a market stall gossiped about the poor orphan who had been snatched from poverty by the Honourable Mr Reverson. Even when he left his horse at the White Hart the ostlers were talking of it, convinced she had arrived in Bath in a gilded coach pulled by six high-stepping greys.

  Whatever the tale one fact held true, the young lady was a beauty to outshine all others in the city. And so far she had not been seen dressed in anything but mourning clothes, only wait until she appeared in the latest colourful fashions.

  A final, swinging cut from his axe and Drew stepped back as the tree began to topple.

  ‘Well done, Harry,’ he muttered, watching the trunk fall gracefully to the ground with no more than a crackle of snapping branches. ‘You’ve achieved a great match for your daughter.’

  ‘’Scuse me, sir.’ He turned to find the new stable boy running towards him. ‘This’s just arrived for you.’

  He took the proffered note. The elegant handwriting was unfamiliar. What was so urgent that the lad must needs be sent chasing after him? Then he saw the Whittlewood crest stamped into the seal. Quickly he ripped it open to find a gilt-edged card inside.

  ‘“Lady Whittlewood requests the pleasure...”’


  His lip curled. So they had discovered his identity! Not so very difficult, when his pardon and history had been broadcast far and wide. He would have eschewed all public announcements if it had been possible, but his father had argued that it was necessary for everyone to know who he was and that no stain now besmirched the ancient name of Castlemain. And it had worked, since he was now invited to enter the viscount’s hallowed portals as a guest.

  It made no real difference to him. Elyse had not cared that he had been branded a traitor. It was he who had held back, persuaded her he was only toying with her affections. He did not regret it. She was better off marrying her Adonis. If only a half the tales he had heard were true then the couple were devoted to each other. He hoped she would never discover how her father had engineered such a brilliant alliance.

  ‘Sir? Am I to run back with an answer? Sir?’

  He glanced at the card again.

  ‘No, Sam. There is no urgency to reply.’

  He picked up his frock-coat and slipped the card into the pocket before picking up his axe again. Perhaps he would go and see for himself that Elyse was happy.

  And then perhaps he would be able to forget her.

  * * *

  It was raining. Little rivulets ran down the windows, obscuring the view of Queen Square. Elyse knew it would be easy to blame the inclement weather for her low spirits but she was no self-deceiver and she was aware that it would not be the truth. She had tried, truly she had. She’d thrown herself into life at Queen Square, allowed herself to be pampered and spoiled by Lady Whittlewood and dressed as befitted a lady living in the viscount’s household, albeit one who must abstain from wearing colours whilst in mourning. Everyone was so kind to her, and they did not yet know that she now brought a small fortune with her. She had decided not to tell them about her inheritance until the wedding day, deeming it a fitting wedding present for William.

  * * *

  Aunt Matthews had written, distraught because she had contracted a fever and Dr Carstairs had forbidden her to travel for several more weeks. Elyse had suggested that because of this they should delay the wedding. Lord Whittlewood had patiently explained to her that the contract drawn up between himself and her father was quite clear; the wedding must take place before the end of the month.