by Anne Ashley
'What a treasure that valet of yours is, Daniel! Just like my own dear Pinner.' She turned to the birdlike female, busily occupied in folding clothes into a sizeable trunk, and gave the faintest nod of dismissal.
'I trust you are looking forward to the forthcoming sojourn in Brighton, dear?' she continued the instant they were alone. 'And quite content to bear your feeble old mama company for several more weeks? I must confess I have thoroughly enjoyed our time together here in London.'
His lordship's eyes, so very like his mother's in both colour and shape, held a distinctly sardonic gleam. 'You are neither feeble-minded nor old, my dear. And neither am I a moonling. So you can stop trying to hoodwink me, and voice the question which is quivering on the tip of that occasionally ungovernable tongue of yours! Which is, of course, am I looking forward to furthering my acquaintance with Miss Perceval. The answer to which is...yes.'
His mother's gurgle of appreciative laughter was infectious, and his lordship found it impossible not to smile. 'Possibly just as well that I am anticipating a pleasant time by the sea, since Montague Merrell, together with half my acquaintance, is firmly convinced that the Reverend's delightful daughter would make me an ideal wife.'
'And so she would!' her ladyship agreed, not reluctant to add her voice to those which in recent weeks had urged the personable Baron to consider seriously taking the matrimonial plunge once again. 'She is without doubt the sweetest-natured gel you could ever wish to meet.'
'I wouldn't argue with that,' he agreed amicably.
'She is compliant and dutiful. She would never interfere with your pleasures, or cause you the least concern.'
'I should wish to know her a little better before voicing an opinion on certain aspects of her character.' He took a moment to study the nails on his left hand. 'I strongly suspect that Miss Robina Perceval possesses rather more spirit than most people realise.'
Her ladyship was inclined to take this as a criticism, but was not one hundred per cent sure that it was. Her son was one of those irritating people who always managed to conceal what they were thinking and feeling remarkably well. A disturbing possibility, and one which had never occurred to her before, did suddenly pass through her mind, however. 'I hope, my dear,' she said gently, 'that you were not hoping to find a second Clarissa. You never would, you know.'
His lordship regarded her in silence for a moment, his expression inscrutable, then he swiftly rose to his feet and went across to stand before the window, his body straight, but not noticeably tense.
'I realise that,' he said at length, his voice level and, like his expression, giving absolutely nothing away. 'Clarissa was undoubtedly a rare creature. I have yet to meet her equal in beauty... And I doubt I ever shall.'
Her ladyship, masterfully suppressing the threat of tears, looked across the room at him, at a loss to know quite how to respond. Not once since the tragedy occurred had he attempted to talk about the accident, at least not to her, and on the few occasions Clarissa's name had been mentioned she had watched him withdraw within himself, shrouding himself in his own private gloom.
'Do not look so stricken, my dear,' he advised gently, turning in time to catch that unmistakable expression, that look he had seen flit over scores of faces during these past months. 'I didn't come to London with the intention of searching for a mirror image of my dead wife. I came for the sole purpose of finding someone who would happily take care of my daughters, be kind to them and yes, I suppose, take the place of their dead mama.'
If this admission was supposed to relieve the Dowager's mind, it fell far short of the mark. 'I had hoped, Daniel, that you might have taken account of your own feelings in the matter, and not just your daughters' needs. Do you feel nothing for Miss Perceval at all?'
He was silent for so long that she thought he would refuse to satisfy her curiosity, but then he said, 'I think Robina Perceval is one of the most charming, good-natured and innately honest people I have ever met. I would feel a great deal easier in my mind, however, if I thought she really did wish to spend the summer with us in Brighton?'
'Daniel, whatever do you mean?'
She looked so utterly bewildered that it was as much as he could do not to laugh outright. 'Mama, I have always had the utmost respect for your acute understanding, but I must confess there have been occasions when you have allowed preconceived notions to cloud your judgement.'
'But—but...' The Dowager was momentarily lost for words. 'I'm sure you are wrong, Daniel. The dear child simply jumped at the opportunity to bear me company when I first asked her.'
'I do not doubt for a moment that she did, ma'am,' he concurred. 'It took me a short time only to discover that, although Miss Perceval possesses an innately charming reserve, she is by no means averse to socialising and has attained a great deal of pleasure during her time in London. Therefore it is quite natural that she would wish to continue the period of frivolous enjoyment if the opportunity arose. What appears to have escaped you completely, however, is the slight constraint in her which has been quite apparent to me since her return from Hampshire.'
The Dowager had not observed this. Which was extremely remiss of her, she decided, for she didn't doubt for a moment that her son, discerning demon that he was, had spoken no less than the truth. 'I wonder what could have occurred to make her have second thoughts about accompanying us?'
The look he cast her was more than faintly sardonic. 'Come, come, ma'am, isn't it obvious? Something or someone has made her realise what your real motive was for asking her in the first place.'
'How thoughtless some people are! And just when things were progressing so nicely too!' She looked as annoyed as it was possible for someone with her naturally amicable disposition to appear. 'Why must people interfere, Daniel?'
'Strangely enough, Mama, I have been asking myself that selfsame question during these past weeks,' he murmured, casting her a smile which managed to convey both loving affection and exasperation in equal measures. 'The damage has been done, however. She now knows what fate both you and her own mother have in store for her.'
'Daniel, that simply is not true!' She managed to hold his openly sardonic gaze for all of ten seconds before she made a great play of rearranging her shawl. 'I admit I may possibly have mentioned in passing that, now your official period of mourning had come to an end, you might be considering a second marriage.'
He raised his eyes heavenwards. 'You do surprise me!'
'And Lady Elizabeth may possibly have remarked on the fact that her eldest daughter, clearly betraying all the signs of truly motherly instincts, was unfailingly patient with her younger sisters,' she continued, just as though he had not spoken. 'But I assure you, Daniel, that I never suggested for a moment that I thought she would make an ideal wife for you. I would never dream of doing such a thing! You are far too much like your dear father. You are always willing to listen to someone else's viewpoint, but will make your own decision in the end.'
'I'm pleased you appreciate that at last, Mama, because it makes what I have to say to you now a great deal easier.' Although he was still faintly smiling, there was no mistaking the note of hard determination edging his deep, attractive voice. 'I was quite willing for you to cajole me into accompanying you to Brighton, even though I knew from the first your real motive for doing so... No, kindly allow me to finish,' he continued, holding up a restraining hand when she was about to interrupt. 'I wish to further my acquaintance with Miss Perceval, as I've already mentioned. She intrigues me. I believe there is much more to that young lady than either you or I realise. One thing I'm firmly convinced of, however, is that she had no thought of becoming the future Lady Exmouth until some well-meaning individual pointed out to her that that might well be the fate which awaits her. She may yet come to welcome that eventuality with open arms, but I am resolved that it shall be her decision, and not yours or her mother's... Now, do I make myself clear, my dear?'
'Perfectly, Daniel. You wish me to sit back, and allow nature to take
its course.'
'Precisely!'
The Dowager once again turned her attention to the tempting delicacies in the pretty box at her elbow. 'Very well, Daniel. You may woo Miss Robina Perceval in your own way, and without any interference from me.'
Narrow-eyed, Daniel watched a gooey confection disappear between smugly smiling pink lips. For some obscure reason he was not totally convinced that she would be able to keep that promise.
Chapter Two
Leaning back against the comfort of the velvet squabs, Lady Exmouth stared through the carriage window at the passing countryside, recalling quite clearly a time in the not too distant past when the road to Brighton had been little more than an uncertain track, frequently impassable. All that had changed, of course, once the Regent had discovered that the air at the small, insignificant resort tended to benefit his health. Now Brighton was a centre of fashion, and could be reached by many different routes, one of which was considered by many to be the finest posting road in England.
Her ladyship had happily left all the travel arrangements, and choice of route, in the hands of her very capable son. Since the age of one-and-twenty, when he had come into the title, Daniel had displayed a natural aptitude for organisation, and a keen sense of responsibility far beyond his years. Little wonder, the Dowager reflected, that only a very small number of people had voiced certain doubts when, just two years after his father's demise, he had calmly announced his intention of marrying his childhood sweetheart.
What a beautiful creature dear Clarissa had been! her ladyship mused, her mind's eye having little difficulty in conjuring up a clear image of limpid blue eyes set to perfection in that lovely heart-shaped face, the whole framed in a riot of the prettiest guinea-gold curls.
The only child of an impoverished country squire, Clarissa would undoubtedly have become the toast of any Season had her father ever been in a position to finance such a venture. From the age of sixteen she had had most every eligible young bachelor in the county dangling after her at one time or another. Yet she had remained touchingly devoted to the only son of her nearest neighbours. They had seemed such an ideal couple, perfectly suited in every way. When little Hannah had been born, within a year of their marriage, their happiness had seemed complete.
It had been shortly after the birth of her first grandchild, the Dowager clearly recalled, that she had first broached the subject of her making her home in Bath. It was most touching, of course, that neither her son nor daughter-in-law would hear of such a thing, so she had remained at Courtney Place until after the birth of their second child three years later. Then no amount of entreaties had persuaded her to remain in the beautiful ancestral home, where in many ways she had continued to feel as though she was still its mistress.
She had never experienced any regrets in the choice she had made. Bath suited her very well. She had made many friends there, and was looking forward to the day when she could return to her comfortable house in Camden Place.
Much depended, of course, on how matters progressed during these next few weeks in Brighton, for she had no intention of allowing her son to return to the ancestral pile alone, once the summer was over, to continue brooding over the loss of his lovely Clarissa. If this meant that she must delay her return to the West Country to bear him company, then so be it! She could not help hoping, though, that matters would resolve themselves in a far more satisfactory manner, and that her son would soon be sharing his lovely home with quite a different lady.
Drawing her eyes away from the pleasing landscape, her ladyship darted a glance at the only other occupant of the well-sprung travelling carriage to discover her companion sitting quietly staring out of the other window, seemingly lost in a world of her own.
Daniel, the astute demon, had not been wrong when he had suggested that something had occurred to disturb the normally very calm waters of Miss Robina Perceval's mind. Something most definitely had! If, as Daniel himself suspected, the vicar's daughter was not at all sure that she wished to cement an alliance with the noble Courtney family, then it would, indeed, be most unfair to bring pressure to bear upon the dear girl during the forthcoming weeks to do just that.
It was so difficult to know how best to proceed in a situation such as this, her ladyship decided, absently running a finger back and forth across a faint crease in her skirts. She had no real desire to interfere in such a delicate and personal matter, while at the same time she had no intention of allowing her only child to dwindle into middle age a lonely and grieving man, when at hand was the very being who could bring great contentment back into his life, even if she failed to make him perfectly happy.
It wasn't as if she was foolish enough to suppose for a moment that Miss Robina Perceval could ever take the place of the beautiful Clarissa in Daniel's eyes. That would be hoping for far too much! There was no denying, though, that he had perceived something in the vicar's daughter that appealed to him, for she was the only female he had displayed the least interest in throughout his entire sojourn in the capital.
She cast a further glance across the carriage to the opposite corner. Only this time she discovered that she was being observed in turn by a pair of blue eyes which, although of a similar hue, betrayed a deal more intelligence than the late Baroness Exmouth's had ever done.
'I was beginning to think you'd fallen asleep,' her ladyship remarked for want of something better to say. 'So quiet had you become.'
'Oh, no, my lady. Merely lost in admiration for this part of the country. I've never travelled this far south before, so everything is new and interesting.'
Although the poor girl might be experiencing grave doubts about this forthcoming sojourn in Brighton, it was quite evident that she was not prepared to brood about it to the extent that she became taciturn, the Dowager thought, mentally adding a further tick to that long column of Miss Robina Perceval's excellent qualities.
'I can recall a time, my dear child, not so very long ago, when many abandoned their attempts to reach the small fishing village, which Brighton used to be not so very long ago. Much is said these days to the Regent's discredit, but if he had not purchased his "little farmhouse'' on the coast, I very much fear that this and many other roads in this part of the country would have remained those frequently impassable tracks, full of potholes and littered with abandoned carriages.'
Evidently the vicar's eldest daughter was much struck by this viewpoint, for her pretty face wore a very thoughtful expression, as it so often did when she was turning something over in her mind.
'Yes, one tends to forget that not so very long ago travelling about the country was something of a dangerous undertaking, and that journeys that used to take very many hours are now completed in a fraction of the time.'
'And in far greater comfort, too!' her ladyship assured her. 'Carriages are so well sprung nowadays, and there are always plenty of hostelries en route where one can refresh oneself.'
As if on cue the carriage turned off the post road a moment later and came to a halt in the forecourt of a very superior posting-house. The door was thrown wide, the steps were let down, and his lordship stood, hand held out, ready and appearing very willing, to assist them to alight.
'Why is it, Mama,' he remarked, guiding them into the inn, 'that two ladies can travel the same distance, in the very same conveyance, and yet one can look none the worse for her ordeal whilst the other resembles nothing so much as a ruffled hen which has spent much of the day ineffectually flapping about a farmyard?'
'Odious boy! No need to enquire which of us in your opinion needs to set her appearance to rights, I suppose.' The Dowager tried to appear affronted but failed miserably. 'Where may this overheated hen refresh herself?'
His lordship beckoned to a serving-maid, and Robina, having somehow managed to keep her countenance, accompanied her ladyship into one of the upstairs chambers to effect the necessary repairs to her own appearance.
It was by no means the first time she had heard Daniel utter some provocati
ve remark. Her ladyship never failed to take her son's teasing in good part, and Robina couldn't help but feel a little envious of the special bond which existed between mother and son. She would never have dreamt of saying such things to either of her parents, especially not to her mother, who, unlike the Dowager, did not possess much of a sense of humour.
That was perhaps why she liked her ladyship so much. Lady Exmouth was such an easy-going soul, fun-loving yet in no way light-minded, though she tried, Robina had frequently suspected, to give the impression that she was a trifle featherbrained.
They had got on famously from the first, and Robina did not doubt that she would have derived much pleasure from the Dowager's delightful company during the forthcoming weeks, had it not been for the fact that that dear lady would be bitterly disappointed if, by the end of their stay in Brighton, her son's engagement to the Vicar of Abbot Quincey's daughter had not been announced.
She ought to feel flattered, she supposed, that the Dowager's son had taken such an interest in her, and maybe she would have been if she thought for a moment that she had succeeded in capturing his heart. But she flatly refused to delude herself. There was little hope of her, or anyone else for that matter, ever taking the place of his late wife.
After removing her bonnet, she took a moment to study her reflection in the glass as she tidied an errant curl. She was well enough, she supposed. At least she had been assured that she was pretty enough to turn heads, but that did not make her a beauty. Yet, there had been beauties enough gracing the Season that year, she reminded herself, her friend Sophia Cleeve to name but one. So wasn't it rather odd that Lord Exmouth had displayed precious little interest in any one of them if he was indeed the connoisseur of beauty he was reputed to be?
'Something appears to be troubling you, child?'
Jolted out of her puzzling reflections, Robina discovered that she was the focal point of a deceptively dreamy brown-eyed gaze. 'Er—no, not really, my lady. I was just thinking of certain persons I had seen during the recent Season in London, and was wondering how many would be following our example by removing to Brighton.'
