‘I suppose it could—if it could be made ready in time…’
‘Reggie and I are going up north at the end of October, but you could all stay with us till then if it wasn’t quite ready for you. There, that’s settled. Here comes Reggie. We shall go in to dinner.’
Later that evening Lady Deardon returned to the question of a suitable wife for her godson. ‘I’ve been thinking over dinner how to set about finding you a wife, William. It is essential you find one before long. I don’t imagine a débutante would suit you?’
‘Not at all! The ones I’ve met since coming back to England seem to me to be remarkably silly. They don’t appear to under stand what I’m talking about half the time.’
‘As I thought—you need someone older.’
‘Preferably intelligent. And, if possible, with a sense of humour.’
‘Aren’t you being a little too particular for a man in such des per ate straits? I suppose you’ll tell me next that you’re looking for a woman with a fortune, too!’
‘The very thing!’ exclaimed her godson with a grin. ‘A rich widow would be best of all! Putting Charlwood in order will cost a mint of money, and now there’s the additional expense of the Dower House. I shall certainly need a rich wife!’
‘My dear boy, you may not find it so easy. Rich young women who are looking for a husband do not grow on trees.’
William was visited by a sudden vision of the young woman he had found in a tree. Warm, responsive, breathtakingly passionate… Rich or poor, in her teens or in her thirties, he was most unlikely to find anyone among the ladies of polite society nearly as exciting as his wild girl of the tree…
‘William!’
With an effort he put the girl firmly out of his mind and said cheerfully, ‘I shan’t give up hope yet. There must be someone some where.’
‘You talk as if any woman would do! Have you no feelings in the matter? No heart?’
‘Any heart I had was battered out of me years ago, ma’am. No, I want someone whose company I find tolerable and who will care for the children. Affairs of the heart have nothing to do with marriage. A con genial partner is what I want, and if she is rich, so much the better.’
‘You are trying to shock me again. You always were a tease.’
‘I meant every word. Meanwhile, I shall have another look at Charlwood.’
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 for got ten 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 un pleas ant 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 un suitable woman and brought her home to Shearings.’
‘Unsuitable? What did she mean by un suitable?’
‘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 house hold 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 un hap pi ness.’
‘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 he
r 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 de lighted 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 ha bitable,’ 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 un noticed 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 com pan ion 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 un bearably hot—she needed air, some where 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 re quested 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 grate fully. 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 be longing 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, dip lo mats, 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 des per ate. 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 sup pressing a broad grin at her own mistake. Perhaps Rosa was not as des per ate 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 in different 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 night mare. 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 sup pressed 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!
Miss Winbolt and the Fortune Hunter Page 4
