by Mary Nichols
‘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.
Chapter Three
Lydia had spent a long time in the library, trying to find some suitable uplifting book which might make her calmer, more in control of emotions and, having found a volume of sermons which she thought might fit the bill, set out for home.
On the outskirts of the town, she had to pass the gate of Sir Arthur’s newly built mansion. It stood in about two acres of land, shielded from the crossroad by a high wall. She stopped to peer along the drive through the ornamental gates. It was a large building, but box-like, with a central door and tall portico on Corinthian columns. Either side were evenly spaced long-sash windows. Because it was so new, no creeper grew up the walls to peep in at the windows, no moss had invaded its roof. The gardens, in the latest landscape design which had yet to mature, had no flower beds and no large trees, though some saplings had been planted here and there. It was a house without character, unlike the dower house which was even more ancient than the Hall itself.
She shook herself; how could she regret leaving the house she now lived in, so close to Colston Hall and its detested occupant? She should be glad. She might enjoy adding her own touches to this place, making a home from bricks and mortar. Slowly she pushed open the gate and began walking towards it, not even thinking what she might say if Sir Arthur or a servant were to see her and ask what she was doing there.
There was no sign of life, no open windows, no children or dogs. It was silent as the grave. She turned away from the front door with its li
on’s head knocker and went round the side of the building. Here was a long low wing at right angles to the main building and a separate stable block in the same brick as the house. A horse snickered and she heard men talking in low voices and it was enough to bring her to her senses. Hurriedly she turned to go back the way she had come.
‘Miss Fostyn.’ The voice behind her was undoubtedly Sir Arthur’s. She turned to face him, her face on fire with embarrassment. He was dressed in a brown cloth coat, buckskin breeches and riding boots.
‘I…I went to the front of the house. No one came to the door.’ That was true, no need to tell him she had not even knocked.
‘Then I am sorry for that. My sister who keeps house for me is out and no doubt the servants were busy in the kitchen and did not hear you arrive. Where is your mama? Have you left her in the carriage?’
‘No, Sir Arthur, I am alone and I walked.’
His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he did not comment. ‘Then, please come in.’
She could do nothing but retrieve her scattered dignity and follow him into the marble-floored hall with its intricately carved oak staircase, where he summoned a servant to take her cloak and fetch refreshments before turning back to her with a polite smile and escorting her into a drawing room where he invited her to be seated, standing himself with his back to the new Adam fireplace.
‘I was not expecting you, Miss Fostyn, or I would have been better prepared to entertain you.’
She sat on the edge of a chair, surveying the room and searching her mind for an excuse for visiting him alone. The doors and most of the furniture were in the new red mahogany wood which was so fashionable. The ceilings were intricately carved and gilded, the soft furnishings of damask and the ornaments oriental in design. It smelled of recently applied paint and everything—wood inlay tables, ornaments and pictures—shone, but time had not yet dulled any of it, had not added the ambience of it having been lived in and used, of being loved. It was all too perfect. And cold.
‘I am sorry to arrive unannounced,’ she said. ‘I was in Malden, changing my library book.’ She raised the book she carried so that he might see its uplifting title, which might help to alleviate the poor impression she had obviously made on him. ‘I had to pass here and as you said you would call on my mother…’
‘So I did.’
‘I was not sure which day it might be and Mama will not be at home on Wednesday and Friday, so it came to my mind I should leave a message with your butler to that effect. I thought it would save you a wasted journey.’
‘Indeed, that was thoughtful in you. Ah, here comes our tea.’ They watched as a servant put the tea tray on low table between them and withdrew. ‘Would you like to do the honours?’
She forced herself to smile at this little bit of domesticity as she lifted the teapot, hoping that he would not notice how much her hands were shaking, and praying fervently she would not rattle the cup in the saucer when she handed it to him. Would she soon be doing this as a matter of course?
‘I understand the reason for your visit,’ he said, sipping tea. ‘But perhaps it was a little unwise of you to arrive unaccompanied and unannounced? I and my daughters are newcomers to the district and anxious to be accepted among its inhabitants. I would not like our name to be sullied by gossip.’
‘Oh, Sir Arthur, I am very sorry, if you think it would,’ she said, mortified that he had managed to put her down, as if she were a naughty schoolgirl. ‘Our family is well known and respected and we are used to being seen out and about. I would not for the world embarrass you.’
‘No matter. If, as I sincerely hope, our two families are soon to be joined, there will be no harm done.’
‘I believe you have already spoken to my mama on the subject,’ she said, deciding she might as well jump in with both feet.
‘Yes. Two weeks ago, when I was introduced to her at a Missionary Society meeting. I mentioned that I was looking for a lady to share my life and I had been led to believe you were chaste and modest and dutiful, and I asked Mrs Fostyn how she would view an overture from me.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘She said it would be entirely up to you, which I thought a very evasive answer, for who would be so foolish as to allow a young lady to please herself on such an important matter?’
His answer annoyed her; for two pins she would walk out, but doing that would ruin her sister’s chances and her brother’s education, not to mention failing her beloved mama, who still fostered the hope that Freddie might be restored to them. All this depended on her finding favour with Sir Arthur. She had to play her part.
She managed a smile. ‘Why? Did you think I might refuse you?’
He smiled briefly. ‘No man likes to have his best intentions thrown back into his teeth. I would need to feel more sure of your answer before I ventured the question.’
She suppressed the laugh which bubbled up at this pomposity. ‘Do you not find the prize worthy of the chase, sir?’
‘Chase, ma’am? Do I appear to you as a man who would chase a lady?’
‘No, Sir Arthur, I was attempting humour. I beg your pardon.’
He smiled thinly. ‘Are you saying you would welcome an offer?’
‘Let us say I would not be averse to becoming better acquainted,’ she said, putting down her teacup and rising to leave. ‘It is not a decision to be taken lightly.’
‘No, to be sure,’ he said. ‘We must both give it careful consideration.’
When she politely refused the offer of his carriage to convey her home, he insisted on accompanying her to the door himself. ‘I am sorry the children are not at home to meet you,’ he said. ‘They are visiting their grandmother for a few weeks until I have everything as it should be and have engaged a new governess for them. The one they have now has declined to move with us. Such a pity, she was excellent.’
‘I look forward to meeting them another time,’ she said, smiling and holding out her hand.
He took it and raised the back of it to his lips. ‘I shall call on Mrs Fostyn very soon.’
She left him, her skin crawling with distaste, and yet she did not know why. He had done nothing untoward, in fact had been the perfect gentleman, except for his air of disapproval, which she supposed was justified. It was she who had behaved disgracefully and she dreaded to think what her mother would say. And she would have to be told, because he was sure to mention her visit when he called.
She walked down the drive and out of the gates, fighting back tears. Why had fate been so unkind to her? Why, if she must marry for money, could it not be someone young and handsome? And now, to add to her misery, it had started to rain again. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and plodded on, moving to the side of the road when she heard a carriage coming up behind her. She was unprepared for it to stop.
‘My lady, you should procure yourself an umbrella or at least refrain from going out when the sky threatens rain.’
She whipped round at the sound of his voice and a smile lit her face, making it come brilliantly alive. But then she remembered her predicament and the smile faded. ‘Oh, you again.’
‘Yes, me again.’ There was something very wrong, he realised. She was not the cheerful girl who had laughed at the rain in Chelmsford, nor the elegantly clad young lady he had spoken to at the assembly rooms at Malden the night before. Her grey cloak was bedraggled and her shoes mud-spattered, and even that lovely hair seemed not so vibrant. And it wasn’t only caused by the rain. ‘Get in, my lady, or we shall both be soaked, while I hold the door open.’
She climbed in and sat beside him, acutely aware of his nearness and the strength of him and that he was again surveying her from head to foot. ‘Thank you,’ she said, inching away to sit as far away from him as she could, which was difficult in the confines of the coach.
He called out to his postilion to find somewhere to turn the vehicle round and her breath caught in her throat. He was going to abduct her! How could she have been so foo
lish as to come out alone and then climb willingly into his carriage?
‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked in alarm as the coachman jumped down and went to the head of the horses to wheel them round in a convenient gateway.
‘Home,’ he said. ‘You will become very wet if you continue with your walk.’
‘H…home? Sir, I have no wish to go home with you, wherever that might be. I cannot think why you think I would.’
He threw back his head and laughed aloud. ‘My dear young lady, I did not mean my home. I am not a seducer of women, whatever you may think. I meant your home.’
‘But you are turning us round.’
‘So I am. That is Sir Arthur’s house behind us, is it not?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But why should you take me there?’
‘It is where you live, is it not?’
‘No, it is not. Whatever gave you that idea?’ She paused, horrified to think that he had seen her leave there. ‘Oh, I see, you took me for one of his servants with whom you might have a little dalliance.’
‘No, I did not.’ He sounded suddenly angry. ‘Anyone less like a servant would be hard to imagine. I assumed you were Sir Arthur’s daughter, especially after seeing you together last night.’
‘His daughter?’ she repeated. Was Sir Arthur really old enough to have a daughter of her age?
‘I have it!’ he cried, not noticing the query in her voice and assuming she was confirming his supposition. ‘You are married and no longer live at home. Forgive me. Tell me your direction and I will have you home in a twinkling.’
‘I am not married and I am not Sir Arthur’s daughter. I was simply paying a visit.’
