by Sara Craven
‘Elizabeth Bennet to the life.’ The manageress smiled at her, then turned to Aunt Libby. ‘Is there a Mr Darcy waiting to dance with her?’
‘Absolutely not.’ Mrs Jackson spoke with a certain crispness. ‘As such men only exist in the pages of books. But the dress is certainly charming, and I doubt whether anything else will have the same appeal, so we’ll take it.’
A shoe shop in the High Street provided the final touch of an inexpensive pair of silver ballerina pumps, and Chloe accomplished the journey home in a mood of quiet elation, barely noticing that Aunt Libby was equally silent.
They were almost at the Grange when her aunt said abruptly, ‘Next time Ian calls, why don’t you ask him if he can get back for the weekend of the dance? I’m sure if we explain the circumstances, Mrs Maynard will give us an extra invitation.’
Chloe looked at her, startled. ‘But it wouldn’t be any use. The programme is an ongoing thing. He doesn’t have weekends off.’
‘Well there would be no harm in trying.’ Aunt Libby shot her a swift glance. ‘That’s if you want him to go with you, of course.’
‘Well, naturally I do.’ Chloe recognised the defensive note in her voice. ‘In fact, I’ll ring him this evening.’
However, ‘Not a cat’s chance, I’m afraid,’ Ian told her glumly. ‘The team’s one short as it is. Craig’s off with shingles.’
‘It can’t be helped.’ Chloe tried to sound consoling. ‘It was just an idea.’
But as she hung up, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the hall table and knew, with shame, that her eyes were much too bright for real disappointment.
Over breakfast the next day, she said casually, ‘I’d better iron Mrs Maynard’s clothes and return them. I’d almost forgotten.’
‘I hadn’t,’ said her aunt, composedly buttering a slice of toast. ‘I laundered them, and got your uncle to drop them off at the Hall a couple of days ago.’
‘Oh.’ Chloe stared down at her plate, hiding her chagrin. ‘I didn’t mean you to go to all that trouble.’
‘Nothing of the kind,’ said Aunt Libby. ‘It was my pleasure.’
And there, seething, Chloe had to allow the matter to rest.
But now, looking back down the years, she realised that her aunt had only been trying to be wise for her. To steer her gently away from the first real danger of her young life.
She could see it, she thought. Why couldn’t I?
Except, of course, that it was already too late, she admitted, shivering. Because the damage was done, leaving her to face its bitter consequences and, somehow, learn to endure them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BY THE night at the ball, Chloe had been so nervous she almost wished she’d developed shingles herself.
But the dress had looked even better than it had in the shop, and she’d caught back her newly washed tumble of dark curls, securing them away from her face with two pretty silver combs.
‘You look lovely, my dear,’ Uncle Hal greeted her as she came downstairs. ‘Isn’t she a picture, Libby? The belle of the ball in person.’
Her aunt, elegant in a plain black dress topped by a hip-length sequinned jacket, smiled affectionately and nodded, and if she still had concerns, she kept them well hidden.
The ballroom at the Hall was at the rear of the house, and was approached through a large conservatory where Sir Gregory waited to receive his guests, with Andrew Maynard beside him, the formality of evening clothes emphasising the rigidity of his demeanour, and making him look more like a soldier on parade than a man at the start of a pleasant social occasion.
But his tension appeared to be shared. Penny stood next to him, ravishing in a deep fuchsia-pink sheath, but her face under her immaculately piled-up hair was taut, and her smile seemed as if it had been painted on.
While of Darius, there was no sign.
As Chloe paused in front of Penny to say a shy, ‘Good evening,’ the older girl gave a slight nod, then turned calling ‘Laurence.’
A tall, fair young man detached himself from a nearby group and came towards them.
‘Yes, Mrs Maynard?’
‘This is Chloe Benson, our local vet’s daughter,’ Penny drawled. ‘It’s her first Birthday Ball, so make sure she meets a few people of her own age, please.’
Laurence did not appear overjoyed to have been appointed resident babysitter, and Chloe, smarting at Penny’s casual attitude, shared his reservations in full. It was far from being the introduction to the ball that she’d hoped for. Which proved only how silly it was possible to be, she thought as she followed him reluctantly.
And her misgivings seemed entirely justified as one of the girls in the group they were approaching looked at her dress and said in a stage whisper, ‘I thought this was a dance, not a fancy dress parade,’ setting off a faint ripple of amusement.
‘Meet Chloe Benson,’ Laurence announced. ‘Apparently she’s a local.’
‘Really?’ One of the other girls raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t remember you at St Faiths?’ She was referring to the expensive girls’ day school on the other side of East Ledwick, and Chloe shook her head.
‘I went to Freemont High School.’
‘Oh,’ said the other. ‘Oh, I see. Well, I suppose that would explain it.’
‘Did you think tonight was fancy dress?’ The original speaker was back on the attack, looking her over.
Flushing, Chloe lifted her chin. ‘No,’ she returned. ‘I’m simply wearing a dress I fancied.’ And allowed her own appraising glance to suggest that scarlet taffeta was not the wisest choice for someone at least a stone overweight.
‘And why wouldn’t you?’ A brown-haired girl with mischievous hazel eyes came forward. ‘I’m Fran Harper,’ she said. ‘And, for the record, I think you look fabulous. Classic.’ She paused. ‘There’s some great punch on offer in the dining room. Let’s find you some and get acquainted.’
As they walked away together, she added in an undertone, ‘Don’t let Judy or Mandy get to you. They both fancy Laurence for some unknown reason, and you represent instant threat.’
‘Not really,’ Chloe told her ruefully. ‘We were simply foisted on each other by Mrs Maynard. She probably thought she was being kind.’
‘Good God,’ said Fran. ‘She’s never struck me as the charitable sort. A lady with axes of her own to grind, I’d have said.’
She ladled punch into two small glass cups, and handed one to Chloe.
‘To kindness, however unlikely it may be,’ she announced, and drank.
Chloe sipped with rather more caution, feeling the warmth curl in her throat as she tried to glance round the room without making it too obvious that she was looking for someone.
But it was patently evident that Darius was still not around and she found herself stifling a pang of disappointment.
Ludicrous, she told herself firmly, and high time that she came to her senses and started to enjoy the evening simply for what it was rather than letting herself indulge in dangerous imaginings.
Besides, her view of the room was soon restricted as others came to join them, and she found herself in the middle of a cheerful group of people her own age or slightly older, most of whom had already embarked on their university careers, and appeared genuinely interested in her own plans.
Before too long, they’d all adjourned to the ballroom, and Chloe was immediately out on the floor, dancing firstly with Fran’s brother Bas, in his second year at Cambridge, followed by a whole series of other boys.
She was laughingly protesting that she needed a rest when she felt an odd tingle of awareness shiver down her spine and, looking over the shoulder of a stocky brown-haired boy with freckles, saw Darius on the other side of the floor partnering a tall grey-haired woman in emerald-green.
Her heart leapt so fiercely, she was ashamed. Nor was she proud, either, to be thankful that she too was dancing and not occupying one of the chairs at the side of the room in solitary splendour, dumped there by Laure
nce and co. Just in case he happened to notice.
But she must never forget either that, if circumstances had allowed, she’d have been here tonight with Ian, and happy to be so. That was the most important thing. So how could she possibly be even glancing in any other direction—and especially one so patently impossible?
I need to stop all this, she told herself with a kind of desperation. I need to stop it right now, before I make an utter fool of myself. And she gave Craig with the freckles the kind of smile that made his pleasant face light up in response.
But good intentions notwithstanding, she could probably have given a photo-fit description of every woman Darius had danced with throughout the evening. As for herself, there was no indication that he was even aware of her presence.
It was almost a relief when a halt was called for supper. This, served in the dining room, was on traditional lines, with large joints of ham and beef for carving, platters of salmon mayonnaise, coronation chicken, lobster patties, mushroom and asparagus tartlets, a huge array of salads, cheeses and baskets of crusty bread. Also on offer were bowls of rich chocolate mousse, tall frosted glasses of syllabub, and great dishes piled with strawberries accompanied by clotted cream.
Chloe wished that she wasn’t feeling so tense, and could have done the spread rather more justice.
And on the heels of supper, came the birthday toast, proposed with due formality by Sir Gregory, flanked by both his sons, with Penny Maynard standing, slender as a willow wand but with all the rigidity of a steel rod at her husband’s side, her faint smile looking as if it had been painted on.
‘In asking you to pay this tribute to my great-grandmother Lavinia,’ he announced, his deep voice booming over the crowded room, ‘I would also like to include all the other wives since who have done such honour to the Maynard name as chatelaines here. Not forgetting my daughter-in-law Penelope,’ he added, turning towards her. ‘Who, I have no doubt, will bring her own charm and distinction to this role.’
He raised his champagne glass. ‘My lord, ladies and gentlemen, I give you—the Maynard ladies.’
‘The Maynard ladies,’ was echoed smilingly round the room. Chloe, about to sip, found for some reason that her eyes were drawn to Penny Maynard who had blushed to the colour of a peony as Sir Gregory spoke. But as Chloe watched, the hectic flush faded, leaving her pale as a ghost apart from the artificial pink curve of her mouth and the vivid, over-bright eyes.
My God, Chloe thought in horror. She’s going to faint.
There was little she could do from the back of the room, but she took an instinctive step forward just the same in time to see Penny turn and walk slowly and steadily away, leaving the three men standing together, like an awkwardly posed study in black-and-white.
The moment of crisis, if that was what it had been, seemed to have passed, but it left Chloe feeling curiously uneasy, just the same.
She was almost glad when the dancing resumed again, even though the knowledge that her aunt and uncle had no intention of staying on into the small hours made her feel far more like Cinderella than Elizabeth Bennet. She would just enjoy whatever time she had left, she told herself.
She was recovering her breath and drinking some lime and soda when she saw Laurence, of all people, making his way towards her with an ingratiating smile.
‘Come on, princess,’ he said softly as he reached her. ‘I think it’s time we got it together, don’t you?’
‘Afraid not, old boy.’ The speaker, a tall red-haired young man appeared from nowhere. ‘She’s promised to me.
‘And I have a definite feeling,’ he went on, steering Chloe expertly towards the French windows which had been opened onto the terrace. ‘That we should sit this one out.’
Chloe tried to pull away in swift alarm. ‘I really don’t think so.’
‘Trust me, sweetheart.’ Clasping her firmly, he whirled her down to the far end of the terrace in some kind of old-fashioned waltz that had nothing to do with the music being played. ‘They don’t call me Honest Jack Prendergast for nothing.’
‘I wasn’t aware they called you anything at all,’ Chloe snapped, still trying to free herself.
‘Well why don’t you check with a mutual friend?’ he said soothingly, and swung her round as a dark figure emerged from the shadows. ‘Here she is, mate, delivered as per request, feathers a little ruffled, but I’m sure you can deal with that.’ He gave a broad grin. ‘Bless you my children.’ And he strode back up the terrace leaving Chloe looking up at Darius.
‘Sorry about the cloak and dagger stuff,’ he said lightly. ‘But every time I tried to get over to you, I was intercepted for one reason or another. An elliptical approach seemed better, so I enlisted Jack’s assistance and took a different route.’
‘I can’t imagine why,’ said Chloe, unsure whether she was breathless from the waltz or the shocked clamour of her own heartbeat.
‘And you say you’re going to be a writer?’ he queried softly. ‘You’ll have to use your imagination better than that, Miss Benson.’ His hands went round her waist, drawing her slowly and inexorably towards him so that they melded into the shadows.
And even though a small warning voice in her head was telling her to release herself from his grasp and run back to where there were lights and people and safety, in reality her lips were already parting, longing for his kiss.
His mouth was warm and almost frighteningly gentle as it took hers but his lightest touch was enough to send every sense, each nerve ending in her untutored body into quivering, aching response. Chloe pressed herself against him, her arms twining round his neck as she gave herself up to the sweet delirium of the moment.
She felt his clasp tighten around her to the point of ruthlessness, as his kiss deepened, and his tongue invaded her mouth in frankly sensual demand and clung to him with all the passion of her newly awakened flesh.
When Darius raised his head, his breathing was ragged. ‘God, sweetheart.’ His voice was unsteady. ‘Have you any idea what you’re doing to me?’
‘Yes.’ The word was scarcely more than a breath. How could she not know, she thought, when every waking and sleeping moment since their last meeting had burned with the memory of him? Of their last encounter …
No—not here. Not like this …
His words, heavy with a desire that was now overwhelming her with the need for surcease. The necessity to know—everything.
Her fingertips wonderingly explored the planes and contours of his face, stroking the high cheekbones and the hard line of his jaw. She took his hand and kissed it, then pressed it to the delicate mound of her breast and its taut, excited nipple, hearing him groan softly as he began to caress her, his fingers pushing aside the concealing fabric of her dress.
But in that same moment, they heard the sudden sound of voices and laughter from the other end of the terrace, and knew they had company.
‘We can’t stay here,’ Darius said, his tone oddly harsh. ‘I have to be alone with you. Will you go with me?’
She nodded, the movement little more than a nervous jerk of the head as she realised exactly what her consent entailed. What she was deliberately inviting.
He took her hand, steering her quickly round the corner of the terrace and down some stone steps onto the wide gravelled path that traversed the house until they came to a side door.
Inside was a flagged passage and, at its end, a flight of wooden stairs leading up to a swing door and beyond it a dimly lit, thickly carpeted corridor that she had never seen on any of her previous visits, although instinct told her what their ultimate destination would be.
Halfway along, Darius paused and opened another door, ushering her inside. It was his bedroom, as she’d known it would be, even if the lamp left alight on the night table had not revealed as much.
But a first glance told her that it was far from the kind of room she’d have expected. For one thing, it wasn’t very large and the furnishings, including the three-quarter-size bed under its plain green
quilt, were fairly sparse, consisting of a single wardrobe in some dark wood, a matching chest of drawers with a mirror, and a small armchair.
There were no pictures on the plain walls or ornaments on any of the surfaces, and if it hadn’t been for the hairbrushes and small group of toiletries on the dressing chest, the discarded jeans and shirt tossed over the chair, the small pile of books on the night table and the neat pile of luggage in one corner, she’d have believed it was simply a spare room, furnished as an afterthought and only used when the house was full.
A temporary place, she thought, suddenly bewildered, for someone who was just passing through, but surely not for a son of the house?
Then Darius, his dinner jacket and black tie discarded, took her in his arms and all thought surrendered helplessly to sensation as he lifted her and carried her to the bed, kicking off his shoes and dark silk socks before joining her.
For a while, they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing slowly and languorously, then Darius began to touch her, his hands moving without haste, exploring the slender lines of her body through the thin layers of material that still hid her, before unfastening the small row of buttons at the back of the bodice and slipping it off her shoulders so that his fingers and his lips could enjoy her bared breasts, stroking and suckling them with sensuous tenderness.
Chloe, eyes closed, let her head fall back on the pillow, a faint moan escaping her throat as she experienced the heavenly torment of this new delight, her nipples hardening to sensitised peaks under the subtle play of his tongue.
‘Oh, God, my sweet.’ His voice was husky, and she discovered the erotic charge of tasting her scent on his mouth as it returned to hers, while his sure hand released the remaining buttons, so that he could slide down her dress and remove it with infinite care, leaving her with her tiny white lace briefs as her only covering.
She gave a little murmur compounded of pleasure and shyness, her unpractised hands trying desperately to deal with the studs on his dress shirt so that she could feel his naked skin against her own. And Darius helped her, almost negligently stripping the crisp linen away from his body and dropping it to the floor beside the bed, then drawing her against him so that his smooth tanned chest grazed her rounded softness.
