by Louise Allen
Hester gasped, then realised her mistake, for he took instant advantage of her parted lips to deepen the caress. Her hands clenched against his chest and she realised faintly that she might as well be pushing against the wall. Without her conscious volition her fingers opened and her palms pressed against the fine broadcloth of his coat.
He seemed to consume every sense; the taste and the scent of him were novel and dangerously male. Her hearing was blurred by the sound of her own heartbeat, fast and excited. The feel of his mouth gently, but inexorably, roused her to trembling, yielding surrender in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open and she was hazily aware of the texture of his skin, the curl of his hair at the temple.
How long she might have stayed there in Guy’s arms she had no idea. There was a crash from the kitchen region and a wail from Susan and the next thing she knew Hester was standing unsupported against the dining-room door frame. Guy regarded her with eyes that seemed to spark sapphire fire and she hastily dropped her gaze to find herself staring at his mouth. The sensual curve of that was even worse. Anger seemed the only way to retrieve the situation.
‘My lord! That was outrageous!’
‘I thought it delightful,’ Guy remarked, taking a precautionary step backwards as Hester advanced towards him wrathfully.
‘I know exactly what you are about, my lord,’ she snapped, now too angry and flustered to be cautious. ‘You think you can flirt with me until I become too befuddled to resist your proposals and agree to sell the Moon House to you. Or else until I compromise myself in the eyes of local society and have to sell.’
‘Hester, I promise I would never do anything to compromise you. And if I were intending to seduce you into selling to me, I would not do anything so fatal to my chances as kissing you in your own front room. See how angry it has made you.’
‘Oh, you are insufferable,’ Hester stormed. ‘Out!’ She stood, elbows akimbo while Guy opened the front door and, with a slight bow, removed himself.
He stood for a moment on the doorstep, reviewing the last few minutes. So much for his idea of seducing Hester Lattimer out of the Moon House. He had thought that a discreet flirtation might awaken her to the idea that life in London would, after all, be pleasant. He had no idea what it was that had sent an attractive and well-bred young lady hastening into rural seclusion, but he had some confidence that talk of balls and parties, fashionable shopping and promenades, combined with flattering male attention, would persuade her to change her mind.
Guy jammed his hat on his head with some force and strode down the garden path. And what did l do? he demanded inwardly. Kissed her straight out. Idiot. ‘Idiot,’ he repeated out loud, fortunately to an empty street. No wonder she was angry, she was a virtuous young lady. And an enchantingly sensual and responsive one at that.
Guy turned and strode across the Green with no destination in mind, but a pressing need for action. That flash of feeling as his lips touched hers… as if her mouth was made for his. Angrily he kicked a stone out of the road. Dalliance with respectable young ladies was not in his plans.
And this particular respectable, sensual, angry young lady was also, he now realised, a very brave and stubborn one. Those roses had shaken her but she was not going to give into her fear-which was a dangerous choice to make. Money, fear, seduction had all failed: what did that leave? Kidnapping?
CHAPTER EIGHT
H ester retreated into the living room in a state of shock. ‘You let him kiss you,’ she scolded herself. Then, with unquenchable honesty, ‘You kissed him back.’ She had been unnerved by those roses, of course, but that was no excuse for positively wanton behaviour. What would Guy think of her now? She smiled grimly-that was all too easy to answer.
She had been kissed before by amorous young officers when she had been in Portugal. She had always found those hopeful advances both easy to repel and equally easy to forget; this was different. Her relationship with John had been, whatever his indignant family might choose to believe, entirely platonic and gave her no yardstick to compare Guy’s caresses against. Trying to ignore the sensations that were assaulting her body, Hester forced herself to think about the dead flowers instead.
Someone was trying to frighten her and, she had to admit, they had succeeded. Now, with the distance of time and a shattering kiss between that first discovery and now, Hester was ready to believe that there was some human mind at work here. Resolutely she pushed all thoughts of the numerous Gothic novels she had read behind her and tried to concentrate on who might wish her out of the Moon House.
Lord Buckland-she refused to think of him more familiarly-was the obvious, in fact the sole, candidate. Yet her instincts were telling her to trust him, if only in the matter of the Moon House.
‘Miss Hester-breakfast is ready. I called ten minutes ago.’ It was Susan, looking hot and flustered; so flustered, in fact, that she was unlikely to recognise signs of agitation in her mistress.
‘Did you?’ Hester asked vaguely. Her fingers were against her lips; she removed them hastily. ‘I did not hear you. I did hear a crash.’
‘I dropped the platter,’ Susan admitted. ‘Ham and eggs. And it’s the devil… I mean, it is very hard to get the grease up off those flagstones.’
‘I am sure it is,’ Hester agreed, following the maid out.
Jethro and Miss Prudhome were already seated at the kitchen table, but it was obvious that more was wrong than a simple accident with the food. Miss Prudhome was sitting poker-backed on her hard chair, obviously under the influence of powerful emotion; her sharp nose was pink and her eyes looked suspiciously damp behind their sheltering pince-nez.
Jethro was flushed and embarrassed and Hester’s entrance interrupted him in mid self-justification. ‘…mean to criticise you, Miss Prudhome, I just said there was talk in the village. I never meant you to overhear me.’
‘What is going on?’ Hester demanded. ‘Susan, please pour the coffee, it seems we all need it.’ Certainly I do, she admitted inwardly, pressing her fingers to lips which she was sure must be betrayingly red and swollen.
‘I am a failure,’ Miss Prudhome blurted out. ‘I should never have presumed to think I could be a fitting companion.’
‘Nonsense,’ Hester said, more robustly than she felt. In truth, her heart was sinking; unsatisfactory as she was, Miss Prudhome was all that stood between her and scandal, for no young unmarried woman could set up home without chaperonage. ‘Now, drink your coffee while Jethro repeats whatever it was he said to start this.’
Jethro went redder, shot a sideways look at Hester and muttered defensively, ‘Of course, you’d expect a bit of talk with a new arrival.’
‘Yes?’ Hester enquired with a sinking feeling. ‘Talk you heard at the Bird in Hand, I suppose? Go on.’
‘Just that… that it’s odd a young single lady moving into a village like this and then…’
‘And?’ Hester persisted, a sick emptiness building inside her. ‘And… his lordship moving in right opposite, like-at almost the same time.’
‘What?’ Hester found herself gaping at her young butler and shut her mouth sharply. She had expected some gossip at her arrival, but it had not occurred to her that Guy Westrope’s presence might be linked to hers. She had expected to ride out any initial disapproval of her youth by a display of obvious respectability and to make acquaintances as fast as possible so that her character might be easily established and displayed. Guy’s coincidental arrival had never struck her as a threat to her own good name-now their proximity seemed highly dangerous.
To give herself time to think, she took some rashers of ham and ate with an appearance of calm. ‘Eat up, all of you,’ she said steadily. ‘We know this household is entirely respectable, it just requires us to act with confidence and these fool: h rumours will soon die down. Prudy, you and I will discuss our tactics after breakfast.’
Miss Prudhome gave a worried squeak of agreement, which Hester registered absently. If she threw herself upon the confidence of Mrs Bun
ting-no, even better, Mrs Redland-she could explain her anxieties and enlist that critical lady’s support.
She pushed the plate away. Somehow she could not feel hungry; in fact, her inner equilibrium felt decidedly unsteady. Could she be sickening for something?
‘I will talk about my predicament at Mrs Bunting’s At Home tomorrow,’ she decided out loud. ‘I will be quite frank about my fears and the gossip and I will ask the more formidable matrons for advice.’
‘A good plan.’ Susan nodded vehemently. ‘They will see you have nothing to hide and will feel sorry for you and flattered that you are deferring to their judgement.’
Pleased by this show of support, Hester relaxed, only to be jolted by Jethro. ‘Where did those dead roses come from, Miss Hester?’
There was no point dissembling. ‘I have no idea. I found them on the dining-room table this morning.’ She looked at their startled faces and added, ‘Next to a burned-out candle in a chamber stick.’
‘But there was no one-’
‘You saw a light before we got home!’
‘What roses?’
They spoke over each other in a rush of realization, then fell silent. Jethro gnawed his lower lip. ‘I locked up, all right and tight before we went out, Miss Hester, I’d take my Bible oath on it.’
‘I know,’ she assured him. ‘And you checked again when we got home, I saw you.’
‘We’ll have to change the locks,’ he announced. ‘And I’ll go all round outside and try to force the window catches, see if there are any that are loose.’
‘What did his lordship have to say about the roses?’ Prudy asked abruptly.
‘He said he did not like their symbolism.’
Jethro’s brow furrowed and Susan explained. ‘Dead flowers. And roses, at that-like dead love, perhaps. Nasty.’ She shivered.
‘Well, we will do no good brooding on it,’ Hester said briskly. ‘Jethro, when you have brought in the coals for Susan and checked the windows, please take the gig into Tring and find a locksmith. Susan, you have plenty to do in the house. Prudy, could you spare me a moment, please?’
‘Should we lock ourselves in?’ Miss Prudhome enquired nervously.
‘Certainly not.’ Hester was brisk. ‘Whoever it is, is trying to scare us away and I will not give them the satisfaction.’
She poured herself another cup of coffee, pretending she did not hear Jethro’s muttered observation, ‘Only one person we know of wants us out of here, and that’s a fact.’
When the coffee was finished Hester felt she could put a difficult interview off no longer and bore Miss Prudhome away into the drawing room.
‘What do the roses really mean?’ the little governess asked, her voice quavering.
‘I do not know, only that it appears that someone has access to the house without our knowledge.’
To her surprise Miss Prudhome did not throw a fit of the vapours that Hester had expected to be developing. Her thin lips narrowed and she sat up straighter. ‘And do I understand that his lordship is under suspicion, Hester dear?’
‘He is the only person we know of who wishes me to leave,’ Hester admitted.
‘I know my duty,’ Miss Prudhome announced, ‘it is to protect you.’ Her voice shook again. ‘I know I have not been strong enough. I have shrunk from standing at your side.’
‘It is all so new to you, Maria,’ Hester said, suddenly desperately sorry for the lonely little figure.
Miss Prudhome started. ‘No one ever calls me by my Christian name; my pupils always called me Prudy…’
‘But I am not a pupil,’ Hester said gently. ‘Was it so very difficult and lonely, being a governess?’
‘Yes, but one expects it, you see,’ Maria confided. ‘One is neither one thing nor the other. It was difficult at first, when one was young, to know one’s place, but one soon learns…’
No doubt one does, Hester thought grimly. A few snubs from one’s employers, a few turned shoulders from the upper staff. Yes, one would soon learn one ‘s place.
‘Well, in this house you are my companion and an equal, for I need you very much and I have every confidence that you will help and support me,’ she said bracingly. ‘Now, tomorrow I would like you to wear your best afternoon gown and borrow my Paisley shawl and you must do your utmost to join in the conversation as an equal, which you are.’ She watched the emotions chase across the plain face opposite her and leaned forward to pat Maria’s hand. ‘I am relying on you, Maria. Besides wishing to have your companionship, my reputation depends upon your chaperonage.’
The household had passed a jumpy day and night looking forward to the locksmith’s promised arrival. Hester was conscious of not looking her best as she dressed for Mrs Bunting’s At Home on Wednesday. She chose an afternoon gown of impeccable respectability, added a modest lace fichu and sallied forth with pelisse and umbrella and Maria at her side.
The Rectory was a bustle of feminine chatter by the time she arrived and Hester was grateful that she already knew the Redland ladies and Mrs Piper, as well as their hostess. She greeted her acquaintances, was introduced to the widowed Mrs Griggs and her plain niece Miss Willings and with Maria took an early opportunity to catch Mrs Redland alone.
‘I wonder, ma’am, if I might presume to ask your advice about a sensitive matter?’ She saw immediately it was the correct approach. The matron’s eyes sharpened, but she inclined her head graciously, obviously gratified to be the recipient of such confidence. Hester launched into her carefully prepared speech.
‘… so different from London-I was confident that in such a close and respectable society my age and single status would be compensated for by the kindly attention of my new acquaintance, and of course, by the presence of my dear Miss Prudhome.’ This produced an understanding nod, so Hester forged on. ‘But, ma’am, imagine my discomfort when I discover that my nearest neighbour is a bachelor and one with no established character in the district. And worse, one whose arrival so nearly coincided with my own.’
Mrs Redland’s expression became positively avid. Hester hurried to reassure-and disappoint-her. ‘Not that his lordship has behaved in any way that causes me in the slightest to doubt his gentlemanly instincts.’ She crossed her fingers behind her back; she was as much to blame for that kiss as he and she had no intention of blackening Guy Westrope’s name. But I hear from my staff there has been talk in the village-you can see why I am concerned.’
‘Indeed I can.’ Mrs Redland took Hester’s arm and steered her towards the window seat. ‘No one would think anything of your youth once they had made your acquaintance, my dear, and that of Miss Prudhome here.’ The companion produced a gratified twitter. ‘As you say, the country is a very different matter to the town. But I understand your scruples about the near proximity of a single gentleman to your establishment. Do not concern yourself-with your permission I will confide n the ladies of influence in our little circle. They will watch out for your welfare and at the same time provide you with any additional chaperonage or protection you may require.’
That was all Hester had hoped for and more. With expressions of gratitude, which Mrs Redland accepted with a gracious smile, Hester was setting about greeting old acquaintances and drawing Maria into conversation with new ones when Miss Nugent was shown in.
Hester regarded Sir Lewis’s sister thoughtfully as her hostess brought her across the room to be introduced to the newcomers. Dark hair and large greenish hazel eyes like her brother, average height, a delightful figure and an expression of suffering bravely borne. Hester’s immediate reaction was that this last was somewhat overdone, then she chided herself for a lack of charity. Everyone dealt with grief differently; just because she did not suffer from an excess of sensibility herself, it did not mean that no one else might.
‘How do you do, Miss Lattimer?’ The delicately gloved hand rested in hers for a moment, making Hester feel over-large and clumsy.
‘Miss Nugent. I am so glad to meet you and to have the opportunit
y of expressing my condolences. I was not acquainted with your father, but I know his loss is much felt hereabouts, and must be a great sadness for his family.’
‘Thank you.’ It was said with a brave sigh and a downward flutter of eyelashes, then Miss Nugent seemed to gather herself. ‘And are you comfortable in the Moon House? For myself I wonder that you should care to live there; I know Lewis would never have sold it to a single lady-he says he wishes you would sell it back-but of course poor Papa was too unwell to consider that sort of thing.’
‘What sort of thing?’ Hester asked.
Miss Nugent waved her hands vaguely. ‘Oh, the local stories, the lights and so on. Ghost stories are all very well, but one hardly wants to live in a haunted house, does one?’
‘Well, no, one does not,’ Hester said as briskly as she could manage. ‘Not that I believe in ghosts and I do not for a moment believe the Moon House to be haunted.’
‘You are so brave!’ Miss Nugent exclaimed in a tone that suggested that she was too polite to say ‘foolhardy’. ‘All I know is that dearest Papa could never find anyone willing to remain in it-not after the first cycle of the moon.’
‘What can you mean-?’ Hester began, only to be interrupted by Annabelle Redland.
‘Sarah darling! Are you telling Miss Lattimer all the dreadful stories about her house? Is she not intrepid?’
‘You were saying something about the phases of the moon?’ Hester persisted.
‘Apparently the manifestations, if that is the right word, are linked to the moon, or so the family story goes. I will have to check the records,’ Sarah said. ‘But perhaps you are not sensitive to those sorts of things and so will not notice?’
Hester would not have admitted noticing anything now, even if a headless horseman had ridden through the kitchen.
