Lord Ravenscar's Inconvenient Betrothal

by Lara Temple

  Lily smiled, thankful for his diplomacy.

  ‘I would be happy...’

  ‘I will bring her,’ Alan said.

  ‘There is no need.’

  ‘I am certain my sister and Lady Ravenscar would be delighted to attend a concert as well. We will meet you and your daughter there, Marston.’

  Marston bowed, squeezed her hand and, with a wry smile at Alan, left the library.

  The moment the door closed Lily felt the tug of tension pull back her shoulders. She tried to gather her defences around her anger at Alan’s disappearance and her painful imaginings of his whereabouts.

  ‘You were rude to him and you had no right. He had every reason to be angry at me and yet he was extraordinarily civil and kind.’

  He walked towards the fireplace, his movements abrupt.

  ‘A veritable paragon. He was still poaching. It isn’t done.’

  ‘Poaching? I am not a property and certainly not yours.’

  ‘You are my betrothed. I would have thought the events of those two days sufficiently clear in your mind.’

  ‘Well, you do know what they say, out of sight out of mind. I had begun to hope your prolonged absence meant you had disappeared in earnest.’

  ‘Is that what this is about? Are you annoyed I wasn’t dancing attendance on you? I’ve been extremely busy, but that doesn’t change the facts by a hair’s breadth. We are engaged.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  As he closed the distance between them, she realised she had forgotten how tall he was and how menacing his darkness could be. Every cell in her body was begging her to retreat, but she stood, her head tilted back to meet the storm-coloured glare.

  ‘This isn’t an island off Brazil, Lily. One word can destroy your reputation irrevocably and then any fantasy you have of a happy family is just that. You do realise Marston would drop you like a hot coal if he knew a tenth of what happened at Hollywell. You should appreciate that—he is a businessman and he has his assets to consider. He is well aware his birth is merely respectable, which is why he has chosen to ally himself with someone like you, but should you prove to be a liability he will be only too thankful to me for unburdening him.’

  Lily had never slapped anyone, but she could understand the urge. Her hands tingled with the need to shatter the cold beauty of his face.

  ‘Are you threatening me, Lord Ravenscar?’

  ‘I am trying to make you see sense. What the devil do you think he is offering you? Your vaunted freedom? You would have no more freedom than your mother.’

  ‘At least he would be faithful. At least he would give me a family!’

  She had no idea what he might have said if Lady Ravenscar and Catherine hadn’t entered at that point. But there was enough of an admission in the way he turned his back to her.

  ‘There is a musical concert at the Assembly Hall in Bristol tomorrow afternoon,’ he told his grandmother without preamble. ‘I suggest we all go.’

  ‘Perhaps it is best I stay with Nicola...’ Catherine began but petered to a stop at a look from her brother.

  ‘A concert is an excellent idea, Alan,’ Lady Ravenscar said. ‘Will you be staying for dinner?’

  Alan bowed and headed for the door.

  ‘Try to keep me away.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Pathetic. You are without question utterly and thoroughly pathetic, Lily Wallace.

  Moping like a lovesick heroine from the worst kind of novel. Why, even Radcliffe’s Emily was less of a milksop over her Valancourt and at least Scythorp was entertaining. You are merely pathetic. Simply because you have never been in love before is no reason to go all to pieces. People fall in and out of love all the time. Why should you be any different?

  Lily raised her chin at the image in the mirror as Sue fussed over the finishing touches in her hair, pulling and tucking strands into a Grecian knot that cascaded in waves to her nape in accordance with the fashion plate she and Nicky had chosen for the occasion. Finally Sue stood back, her chubby face flushed with concentration and worry. Lily stood and smiled encouragingly, wishing she hadn’t sent Greene away. She missed her gruff efficiency and unspoken love.

  She slipped the ribbon of her fan over her wrist and inspected her dress once more. She wasn’t overly fond of jewellery despite or perhaps because of the source of her father’s wealth and his many costly and elaborate gifts to her since her mother’s death. She had never worn any on the island and she saw no reason to change simply because people expected it of the daughter of the King of Mines, Frederick Wallace.

  Tonight she wore only simple teardrop pearl clips on her ears and a mother-of-pearl comb that had been her mother’s. Her gloves were of a pale cream satin, with a long row of tiny pearl buttons, and she carried a fan of painted Chinese silk with the image of two black-and-gold birds engaged in either warfare or rather tempestuous lovemaking. When she had bought it in Jamaica, its scandalous nature had pleased her—now both the colouring and the tension between the birds reminded her too much of Alan, just not enough to have her choose another. Finally she picked up her shawl of painted silk.

  ‘Thank you, Sue. I’m ready.’

  * * *

  She was the last to enter the Rose Room and the Rothwells turned towards her and her heart, usually a steady organ, rose and fell. Alan was clearly still angry. Not that she had expected much else after the armed neutrality of the previous evening and his absence again all day. He would honour his obligation, but no more. Before anyone could break the awkward silence, Nicky bounded over.

  ‘Oh, how beautiful! I love orange, or is that called peach? Is that real gold? Oh, they are birds!’ She touched her fingers to the delicate embroidery along the edges of the short sleeve.

  ‘Nicola,’ her mother admonished, but Lily forced a smile.

  ‘It is gold thread embossed on machine-made net over satin with appliqué birds,’ Lily answered, touching the fanned tail of one of the birds. Perhaps the dress was a little dashing for an afternoon concert, but she needed all the armour she could muster. However unsettled her feelings for Alan made her, it was not like her to concede the battle without a single shot. At the very least she would go to the tumbril with her head held high and dressed to the nines and using every ounce of her ingenuity to shape her fate.

  ‘I want a gown like that when I am grown,’ Nicky said dreamily, tracing one of the embroidered gold birds. ‘Mama, you would look lovely in those colours, much nicer than purple.’

  ‘Lilac,’ Lily and Catherine said in unison and laughed.

  ‘You are probably right, though,’ Catherine said with a shade of wistfulness in her quiet voice. ‘I would like to say I am past the age of such fashionable gowns, but since I never wore anything half so lovely at any age, the words are sticking in my throat.’

  ‘So they should.’ Alan finally spoke, his voice terse. ‘You’re almost ten years out of mourning, Cat. I’ve sent you enough bolts of cloth to start your own warehouse.’

  ‘It’s simply that I have enough gowns already, Alan.’

  ‘Enough awful gowns.’ Catherine flushed a little and turned to inspect herself in the mirror. Nicky flushed even more. ‘Oh, Mama, I’m so sorry, that was horrid of me.’

  Catherine caught the girl to her and kissed her rumpled hair.

  ‘It is true, though, chick. Perhaps we should visit the seamstress before you return to school next week so you can help me choose something that isn’t completely horrid. In truth, I am tired of purple. All shades of purple. It is such an unsmiling colour. Still, I am a widow.’

  ‘Yes, but you’re not dead,’ Nicky replied, and after a stunned moment Catherine burst into laughter, hugging her daughter again.

  ‘Oh, my dear, you are so wise. That must be from your father. Now upstairs with you.’

  Nicky hugged her and then turned to hug Lily, surp
rising her.

  ‘I am so glad you are to be my aunt, then I will have new cousins to play with.’

  The moment of stunned silence was broken by Lady Ravenscar.

  ‘Nicola Sayers! Listening at doors is a very bad habit!’

  Nicky turned at her great-grandmother’s rebuke.

  ‘I wasn’t, really I wasn’t. I heard you and Mama talking as I came in, I promise. Besides, I shan’t tell if it is a secret yet. I can keep secrets. But I can be happy, can’t I? I hope you have a little girl so I can give her my dolls and toys. I don’t have much for boys, but I could buy them balls and toy soldiers.’

  Catherine was watching her brother and she made a gesture with her hand as if to stop Nicky, and it shook him from the silence that followed Nicky’s words.

  ‘You are getting ahead of yourself, Nicky. Marriage is no guarantee of children.’

  Nicky turned to him, oblivious to the tensions and to the unusual pallor on his face, almost dancing in excitement at her own plans for their future.

  ‘Oh, but of course you will have children, so you can teach them to ride like you taught me when we came to stay with your friend Lord Hunter. But you must have lots because it isn’t quite as nice to be just one. I could read to them like you did to me, Lily, though they would probably like you to do it because I can’t do all those funny voices, but we could all sit by the fire and you could read my fairy-tale books except that I suppose they wouldn’t sit still if they were very little, especially the boys, they would be climbing on things like my friend Anna’s brothers. Do you think they will have black hair or red hair? Not that your hair is really red...well, reddish brown, I suppose, but it would be lovely to have a little girl with hair that colour and I could teach her how to braid it.’

  ‘If those braids are any example, then no, thank you,’ Alan finally interrupted. ‘Now, it is time for us to leave, so upstairs with you.’

  ‘But Partridge hasn’t come to say the carriage is out front yet.’

  ‘Upstairs, Nicky,’ Catherine said, and Nicky sighed and hurried off, utterly unaware of the tension she left behind.

  * * *

  Lily pulled her cloak more tightly about her, not because it was cold, for the weather had taken on an unseasonable warmth that was in stark contrast to Lily’s mood, but because she could feel the skin of her arms rise in goose pimples under the cold hostility of Alan’s gaze as he sat across from her in Lady Ravenscar’s ancient carriage. She knew the images Nicky’s artless chatter had evoked were as powerful in his mind as in hers, but with very different emotions. Every line of his long lean body was a study in tension and rejection and even Lady Ravenscar seemed cowed. It wasn’t until the first buildings of Bristol appeared in the carriage window that the old lady spoke, the words harsh and punctuated with taps from her cane.

  ‘If the two of you intend to continue to behave at the concert as deplorably as you did last night at dinner, I shall order George Coachman to turn about right now.’

  Alan didn’t look at his grandmother, but Lily saw the anger bubble and hiss, darkening his eyes.

  ‘His name is John, Grandmother.’

  ‘What? Whose?’

  ‘The coachman. John Storridge. He is the second son of the previous head groom. The eldest is in the Navy.’

  ‘I don’t see what that has to say to anything.’

  ‘Clearly not. This habit of calling all coachmen by the name of George is convenient, especially when one’s faculties are failing.’

  ‘My faculties are as sharp as ever, Alan Rothwell. As is my social acumen despite my preference not to immerse myself in the activities of the local families these past years. You may know the names of the grooms—not that that surprises me given your predilection for horrid pugilism and racing—but I know that if the two of you make your first appearance in public looking like two thunderclouds, we have no hope of passing off any alliance between you as anything other than the outcome of scandal and duress.’

  Alan leaned forward and plucked Lily’s hand from her lap, turning it palm up and raising it to within inches of his mouth, his thumb strumming the buttons at her wrist.

  ‘Hear that, Lily? Grandmama thinks we can’t convince these provincial plods we are enthralled with one other. Care to prove her wrong about our skills as thespians?’

  His breath seeped into the buttonholes, tiny licking caresses that spread up and down, sinking under her skin, into her blood, shocking her with the speed with which her body transformed. It was as close to witchcraft as anything could be. All her resistance amounted to nothing the moment he put on an act of passion. There was not even a pretence that this was anything more than a lie, but her body didn’t care and her mind was fast losing ground.

  ‘I don’t doubt your acting skills, Lord Ravenscar,’ she replied. ‘I only hope no one looks too closely. Most thespians have the benefit of being at a distance from their audience so their lack of sincerity is less apparent.’

  Seeing the anger heat behind the mockery gave her some satisfaction, but not much.

  ‘Perhaps I need a little encouragement to bring out the best in my performance. Think you could encourage me, Lily?’

  ‘Alan Piers—’ Lady Ravenscar cut herself off with a thump of her cane, recognising the futility of her protest, but Alan released Lily’s hand and sat back.

  ‘Apologies, Grandmama, I was carried away by my passions. Ah, here we are.’

  Catherine glanced out of the window at the mean-looking brick buildings outside.

  ‘Where are we? This isn’t the Assembly Hall.’

  ‘Nowhere near it. I asked John to stop here for a moment. There is something I must do before we continue. Wait here. I won’t be gone above five minutes.’

  He didn’t wait for them to respond. When the carriage door snapped shut behind him, Lady Ravenscar rapped her cane against the roof of the carriage and the coachman swung off his perch and opened the door.

  ‘Yes, my lady?’

  ‘What is this place, Geo...John Coachman?’

  ‘This is Mead Road, my lady.’

  ‘Edifying! What is this house Lord Ravenscar has entered?’

  ‘I couldn’t rightly say, my lady.’

  ‘Couldn’t or won’t, John Storridge?’

  Lily took pity on the coachman and gathered her cloak over her arm.

  ‘Could you help me down, please, John?’

  ‘Miss?’

  She didn’t wait for any objections, just leapt down lightly on to the pavement, narrowly avoiding a muddy puddle between the cracked paving stones, and hurried into the house where the warped door still stood ajar.

  ‘Miss!’

  She hadn’t known what to expect. Perhaps a brothel like her father’s, or a gaming hell or opium den like she had heard of near the Kingston docks or those frequented by the miners in Belo Horizonte. Something that would further tip the scales against this persistent pull he had on her. But all those ideas were dismissed in the first steps into the narrow, ill-smelling hallway.

  A group of six or so children of all ages were seated on the stairs, laughing at a young man holding two ragged puppets, but they stopped the moment she appeared and scurried up into the dark, dragging staring toddlers in their wake.

  To her right a door stood open to a room and several startled pairs of eyes took in her finery. Three of the men were seated in bath chairs, two of them had no nether limbs and the third’s head lolled sideways against a cushioned headrest. Two women sat stitching by a fire and beside them several more children were seated playing spillikins on the bare floor, dressed in warm but rough clothes, their hands now frozen in mid-gesture as they stared at her.

  ‘Miss, please!’ the coachman hissed behind her, obviously shocked, but she continued down the dark hallway with its damp and mottled walls, pausing before the next door as she heard Alan’s voice.


  ‘This should be enough for rent and provisions through the rest of the week, Tippet. If I don’t find something by then, it will have to be the Saltford property after all. Jem is overseeing the workers while they assess what will need to be done if we must go ahead. We will still be some ten rooms short, but it can’t be helped. We can always accommodate the rest up in Birmingham or London until we find a better solution near Bristol.’

  ‘I know you don’t like sending the men and families away from what they know, Captain, but if it can’t be helped, it can’t. They know anything Hope House has to offer is a damn sight better than the street or the workhouse, which is where they’d go otherwise. The fire was no one’s fault but those new gas pipes and we’re lucky no one was badly hurt.’

  ‘Very lucky. Have everyone ready by...’

  ‘Are you a fairy, miss?’

  Lily raised her finger to hush the little girl who appeared behind her, but it was too late. Alan came to the doorway and the girl hurried off.

  ‘Are you constitutionally incapable of doing as you are told?’

  ‘I sometimes do as I am asked,’ she replied. ‘These are war veterans, are they not?’

  ‘Wait for me in the carriage. I am almost done.’

  ‘Is this what you want Hollywell for? Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Would it have made a difference?’

  ‘Of course it would.’

  ‘It is irrelevant in any case. We no longer need Hollywell.’

  She glanced past his shoulder at the man behind him. With his grey hair and zigzag of a nose, he looked like an aged boxer.

  ‘Is that true, sir?’ she asked the man, and his eyes widened in alarm.

  ‘If the Captain says it’s true, it’s gospel, miss.’ He ventured a glance at Alan, but Alan was watching her, his gaze the blank look he managed so well when he wished.

  ‘Infallible, is he?’ Her question won her a sudden grin from Tippet, showing a neat hole where several teeth should be.