by Stella Riley
‘Unless my memory fails me, we did not promise Louisa a son-in-law.’
‘No, we didn’t. But after the debacle with that other young man, it would be a miracle if she wasn’t hoping for it.’ Adeline frowned slightly. ‘Arabella didn’t mention him. Perhaps I didn’t give her the opportunity … or perhaps it’s too soon.’
‘Or perhaps,’ said Rockliffe, tugging lightly at a ribbon here and there, ‘she prefers not to talk about it at all. If so, I sympathise. On occasion, I also find myself in favour of not talking … such as now, for example.’
* * *
Having been directed by a helpful footman, Elizabeth entered the blue salon to find it occupied only by a tall and very handsome dark-haired gentleman, exquisitely clad in pearl grey brocade. For an instant, she thought that this couldn’t possibly be the duke … and immediately realised that it could not be anyone else. Hovering uncertainly two steps into the room, she managed a deep curtsy but failed to make her tongue work.
Amusement lurking in his eyes, Rockliffe strolled over to take her hand and bow over it. He said, ‘Welcome to Wynstanton House, Arabella. I rejoice to find you safe and well. No doubt writing materials were hard to come by?’
Elizabeth’s heart sank and she swallowed.
‘I – I’m sorry, your Grace. I should perhaps have written … but because of the damage to the bridge, the people at the inn thought the Mail coach might not arrive, so it seemed I would get here before any note did.’
‘I see. And did you also apply this logic to your family?’
‘No. I left a letter to be sent when the coach did come.’
‘Good.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘There is no need to look so worried. Since I find delivering homilies fatiguing, I do not make a habit of it. Please … sit. Adeline’s tardiness is entirely my fault but she will be with us shortly.’
Elizabeth perched on the edge of a chair. With the exception of that devastating smile, everything else about him was formidable enough to make her dread the evening ahead. What she and Arabella had done was quite bad enough without the additional complications posed by the Earl of Sherbourne.
The duke poured two glasses of wine and handed her one of them.
‘I hope,’ he said, ‘that your mother and aunt are in good health?’
‘Yes, your Grace. They are both very well – as are m-my brothers and cousins.’ In the hope of avoiding questions similar to the ones asked by the duchess, she said, ‘The duchess – oh. She says I am to call her Cousin Adeline but …’
‘Then by all means, do so,’ said Rockliffe smoothly. ‘You were saying?’
‘We talked about m-my cousin and though I conveyed Lizzie’s gratitude for your kind invitation and her regrets at being unable to accept it, I ought perhaps to have explained that her situation has changed.’
‘In what respect?’
‘She has taken up a position in the Earl of Chalfont’s household.’
‘Chalfont?’ The dark eyes grew thoughtful. ‘Interesting. I take it that the current earl has inherited the title quite recently?’
‘I believe so. He advertised for a lady to oversee his house and children … and he lives near Newark, so Lizzie travelled with me until we parted company there last Friday.’
‘And the Reverend Marsden considered this arrangement more suitable than a sojourn in my house?’ murmured Rockliffe. ‘No – you need not answer that.’
‘Answer what?’ asked Adeline, arriving just in time to hear this. And to Elizabeth, ‘Has he been intimidating you?’
‘He,’ drawled the duke, turning away to pour wine for her, ‘has been doing no such thing. And I am standing right here, you know.’
‘No one could possibly overlook that fact.’ She accepted the glass he offered her and added, ‘But you can be intimidating … and when you are, people tremble.’
‘Really? I must remember to look out for that. It certainly doesn’t happen at home.’
Adeline laughed and turned to Elizabeth, taking in her silver-grey taffeta.
‘That is a very pretty gown … but, if you’ll forgive me saying so, not your best colour. If you feel sufficiently restored tomorrow, I believe I will take you to Phanie’s.’
It was towards the end of dinner when fruit and sweetmeats had appeared on the table and the servants withdrew for the last time, that Rockliffe finally approached the subject that had been ruining Elizabeth’s appetite throughout. Idly fingering a fruit-knife, he said, ‘And so, Arabella … tell us about your journey.’
Controlling both face and voice to the best of her ability, she said, ‘As I told Cousin Adeline earlier, the rain began as we left Newark and continued, getting heavier all the time. We had just got past Huntingdon, when the accident happened.’
‘Accident?’ asked Adeline quickly. ‘Were you hurt?’
‘Fortunately not.’ Elizabeth proceeded to describe the position and condition of the carriage – along with the difficulty of getting to the nearest inn and out of the rain. In an attempt to delay the inevitable she also included a good deal of superfluous detail which Rockliffe eventually interrupted.
‘May we assume you were rescued from this sorry plight?’
‘Yes. A chaise and four came along and – and took us to the nearest inn. During the evening, we heard that the nearby bridge had been damaged and been closed to traffic.’
‘I was wondering where the bridge came into it,’ murmured the duke. And in response to his wife’s enquiring look, ‘It was mentioned earlier. But I interrupt. Do go on, Arabella.’
‘Well, the rain finally stopped overnight but the road was a quagmire so we were stuck there for another day. During it, I learned that repairs to my own carriage were going to take considerable time, which meant I would need to hire another. Lord Sherbourne said I would have to go to St Neots to do that --’
‘Sherbourne?’ interposed Rockliffe flatly.
‘Yes. Did I not say?’
‘No. You did not.’
‘Oh. Well, it was he who rescued Annie and me from the roadside.’ Somehow, Elizabeth managed to summon a smile. ‘Since he would be travelling through St Neots himself, he offered to take me there and help find a replacement vehicle.’ Seeing the duke and duchess exchange seemingly expressionless glances, she added quickly, ‘He was very helpful. I don’t know how Annie and I would have managed otherwise.’
‘And did his lordship succeed in hiring a carriage in St Neots?’ enquired Rockliffe.
‘He tried. Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible. But he – he refused to abandon me so we continued as far as Stevenage yesterday and finally arrived in London this afternoon.’
‘Let me see if I have this correctly,’ said Rockliffe. ‘Your carriage suffered an accident on Sunday and, today being Wednesday, you have been in the Earl of Sherbourne’s company for four days. Is that right?’
Elizabeth nodded uneasily. She sensed that, quite aside from the fact of her having travelled unchaperoned with a gentleman, Sherbourne’s name had not been well-received. She said rapidly, ‘My maid was with me – and nothing at all improper occurred. His lordship was a perfect gentleman the entire time. I realise it wasn’t ideal --’
‘Not ideal?’ echoed Adeline. ‘That is one way of putting it.’
‘Quite,’ agreed the duke and, with a glance at his wife, ‘Which brings me to the other thing Symonds mentioned. Arabella … the earl delivered you to this house in his own carriage. He did not, however, leave his card or even see you to the door. Did it not occur to him that I might conceivably wish to have a few words with him?’
‘It did and he wanted to,’ admitted Elizabeth, beginning to regret her obstinacy. ‘I told him not to. I said that I could explain everything to you myself.’
‘And he accepted that?’
‘I … didn’t give him a lot of choice.’
Rockliffe sighed. ‘Arabella … please think very carefully. With the exception of innkeepers and the like, were you seen in his lordship’s company by any
other travellers?’
Her heart sank a little further. ‘Yes. Two ladies at the inn in Stevenage. But they were travelling away from London --’
‘Who were they?’
‘Lady Davenport and Lady Sutherland.’
This produced another – and this time, catastrophic – silence.
‘Ah. That renders one question unnecessary.’ His Grace’s voice remained as smooth as ever but the set of his mouth told a different story. He said, ‘Adeline … I take it I need not explain why the presence of Philippa Sutherland was singularly unfortunate?’
‘No. It’s clear enough,’ she replied acidly. Then, to Elizabeth, ‘Did you give them your name – or tell them you were coming here?’
‘Yes. It – it was before Lord Sherbourne came into the room and I didn’t know – didn’t realise that I shouldn’t.’ She gripped her hands hard in her lap. ‘His lordship asked me the same questions and was as – as put out by my answers as you are.’
‘Put out? I’ll wager it was a bit more than that,’ said Adeline. ‘Tracy, if this gets out – and it will – Arabella’s reputation will be in shreds before anyone even sees her.’
‘Quite.’ The dark Wynstanton eyes rested broodingly on Elizabeth. ‘The usual way a gentleman repairs damage to a lady’s good name is by marriage. But in the unlikely event that Ralph Sherbourne were to offer and even if you were willing, there is not the slightest chance that I could counsel your father to consent to it.’
She stared back in surprise. ‘Why not? Oh – please don’t misunderstand. I’ve no desire to wed Lord Sherbourne. But he seemed to think you might insist upon it.’
‘Did he indeed? A further example of why his lordship and I need to have a little talk,’ returned Rockliffe. ‘As to why … let us merely say that I do not care for the gentleman’s reputation. A fact of which I am quite sure he is already aware.’
* * *
A short distance away in Curzon Street, the Earl of Sherbourne eyed his youngest brother with acute disfavour. He said softly, ‘I am at a loss, Bertram. The garbled communication I received from you at Whitcombe Park informed me that Cedric was in … how did you put it? Yes. A spot of bother. Nothing, you said, that I would not be able to mend with a mere snap of my fingers. Am I remembering this accurately?’
Bertram shifted uneasily. ‘Yes.’
‘Furthermore, instead of writing to me immediately from Gardington, you wasted three days travelling to London to do so.’
‘Well, I couldn’t remember where you’d gone so I had to come here to ask old Hetherly. And it took a bit longer because I racked up at the Pheasant on the way and there was a pair of bruisers due to fight the next day so --’
‘Stop.’ Ralph had always known Bertram was an imbecile – yet at times the degree of it still had the power to astound him. ‘Knowing the situation … knowing that my presence was urgently needed … it did not occur to you that a certain amount of haste was required?’
‘I thought a few days wouldn’t make any difference. Not really. And I thought there was a good chance Ceddie would talk his way out of it before you got there.’
‘You thought, Bertram? That must have been a novel experience. And since we are none of us any longer in the nursery, I would appreciate it if – in my hearing, at least – you could call Cedric Cedric.’ Ralph drew a long, restraining breath. ‘Why is it that as soon as I turn my back, one or other of you wastes no time in creating an unholy mess?’
‘It’s not that bad. And you can fix it easy enough. Go down to Gardington – come the earl over this Belcher fellow – and the thing’s as good as done. Ain’t it?’
‘No. It is not. This Belcher fellow, as you put it, is in fact Mr Belcher of Finchley Farm. He is a respectable man, a pillar of the local community and his acres flank mine.’ He paused, trapping his brother in a look of icy fury. ‘And you think that Cedric’s seduction of the man’s daughter is a spot of bother that may be easily fixed?’
‘Well, maybe it’s a bit worse than I thought,’ Bertram conceded, ‘but you’ll be able to buy Belcher off, won’t you? Reading between the lines, I reckon that’s all he wants.’
Ralph had scant faith in his brother’s ability to see what was in front of his nose, let alone read between the lines. ‘If this was about money, Mr Belcher would not have taken the somewhat drastic step of confining Cedric to Gardington. How has he managed that, by the way? My own experience of Cedric’s ability to slip through one’s grasp is that it would be easier said than done.’
‘They’ve got him locked up in the old gamekeeper’s cottage with the girl’s brothers making sure he don’t get away,’ came the blithe reply. ‘Didn’t I mention that?’
* * *
Belcher’s daughter, for God’s sake, thought Ralph grimly a little later, when he’d shut himself in the library away from Bertram’s particular brand of inanity. Doesn’t Cedric possess even half a brain?
Not that it mattered. He couldn’t go racing off to Dorset or anywhere else until he’d faced Rockliffe. Arabella Brandon might think that unnecessary but Ralph knew better – and if he left town now, the duke would add cowardice to whatever else he was currently thinking.
Pinching the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb, Ralph felt the familiar frustration wash over him. He was mortally sick of cleaning up after his brothers – both of whom were equally stupid. He would happily wash his hands of the pair of them had it not been that every idiocy they committed rebounded on him.
His own reputation wasn’t spotless, of course – though, since shortly before inheriting the earldom, he had been making efforts to repair it. And the truth was that he had never been as black as he was painted. Yes, he had lovers; but he restricted himself to ladies who knew the game and were free to play it; and he’d never forced a woman in his life. Indeed, from the moment he’d first laid eyes on Philippa Wilkes to the day whatever hopes he’d still been clinging to came crashing down around him, he’d remained celibate as a monk.
But his sexual activities were not the real problem. The sin that still, seven years on, hung around his neck was the thrice-damned duel which had resulted in the death of Edgar Wilkes. Ralph realised that it had been a mistake to leave the country. If he had stayed, he might have shouted out the truth of what had happened until at least some gentlemen began to believe him. But he hadn’t. He had left the task of clearing his name to his second, Richard Lazenby. And though Richard had done his best, Ralph’s absence had damned him.
It didn’t matter that he had spent the last nine months at Gardington, learning to become a responsible landowner or that his last liaison had been nearly a year ago. As for what had happened last night … unexpectedly coming face to face with Philippa after so long had left him off-balance. And Fate had plainly been enjoying a joke at his expense when, of all the women in the world, it had sent her to catch Arabella Brandon in his company … unchaperoned at a public inn. No one was going to believe that he had merely been conveying the girl, unsullied as the day she was born, to Wynstanton House. And finally, to cap it all, he was going to have to go to Dorset and use whatever means it took to placate Jeremy Belcher and prevent a new scandal resounding throughout the county.
Really, he thought, it was enough to make one wonder if God and Nemesis shared the same lamentable sense of humour.
~ * * ~ * * ~
CHAPTER TEN
Arabella’s days began to fall into a pattern. She spent the half hour before breakfast giving Violet instruction on the duties of a ladies’ maid while the girl dressed her hair – almost, Arabella was surprised to find, as well as Annie did. She conferred with Mistress Phelps on what was to be served for dinner and attempted, so far without noticeable success, to persuade the cook that vegetables did not need to be boiled into a pulp or meat roasted until it was a shrivelled travesty of its former self. She enlisted Rose’s help to transform the materials she had brought down from the attic into bed covers and she devised a new and different afternoon les
son for the children.
The note Elizabeth had written from the Oak at Offord Cluny finally arrived and, after telling of the carriage accident but insisting that neither she nor Annie had been hurt, its disjointed and very un-Lizzie-like nature sent Arabella into fits of semi-shocked laughter.
He’s an earl, Belle. Very good-looking and sophisticated – but I’m convinced he’s a rakehell. Not that he’s actually done anything. But there’s something about the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes and he says things I don’t know how to answer. I’ll have to dine with him again tonight and the mere thought is giving me butterflies. I hope your earl isn’t like this one.
No, thought Arabella, smiling a little as she folded the letter and put it away. Aside from the good-looking part, my earl isn’t at all like that. Actually, he’s not like anybody. He’s shy and kind … and rather lovely.
Arabella hoped that, like her morning routine, dining with his lordship would also become a habit – but she suspected that forcing the issue might ruin the progress she had made thus far. Consequently, when she entered the dining-parlour at the usual time and found him already there, she felt a burst of unexpected pleasure.
Julian said, ‘I’m told that, after he’d shot an arrow in Harold’s eye, Norman built a big castle by the sea and a bloody tower in London.’
‘Ellie said?’ laughed Arabella. ‘Well, she’s right in most respects.’
‘Getting it right is less important than enthusiasm. And you gave her that.’
She coloured a little. ‘Thank you. That was the idea.’
Violet came in with soup and bread. When she had left them to eat, Arabella asked Julian about the farm … what animals were kept, what crops planted and how many tenant families depended on the estate. Having reeled off the relevant numbers, he said, ‘Ridley, the steward, is an old man and, as you are aware, there is no money for improvements.’
