Brin left the table and stood at the window, staring out at the grounds beyond the terrace that were now completely shrouded in darkness, feeling unsettled. For a moment he wished he was back in India, where he could more or less be himself without having to worry about society’s ridiculous rigmarole.
‘No one can accuse you of having an eye for beauty,’ Kent remarked, coming up behind him. ‘Miss Dorset seems lively and interesting, highly unusual in fact, but there are several prettier girls in attendance.’
‘All of whom have ambitions, you oaf,’ Nyle pointed out, joining them also. ‘Miss Dorset, I suspect, has more sense than to want anything to do with this curmudgeon. Well, old chap, you’ve had your fun this evening. You can’t take her in again, which leaves the field clear for the rest of us.’
Brin laughed. ‘She’s too clever to be taken in by your puerile charm.’
‘Ah-ha!’ Nyle grinned. ‘I do believe that our friend here has met his match and his pride’s been hurt because she doesn’t fawn all over him.’
‘A bit dog in the manger-ish, if you ask me,’ Kent replied.
‘No one did,’ Brin groused.
‘Even so, Miss Dorset made her lack of interest in our oh-so-eligible duke apparent and instead of being grateful, he now regards her as a challenge.’
‘Grow up,’ Brin muttered, wondering if his friend had gone to the heart of intentions that Brin hadn’t consciously settled upon. He certainly hoped to contrive more meetings with her, only this time not at his dining table. He would prefer to see her alone—although if pressed he could not have said why she had made such a favourable impression upon him. He had been furious with his mother for suggesting a shooting party, to which he’d reluctantly agreed, only for her to turn that manly pursuit into a damned cattle market. If he had to endure it for another six days, he might as well get some enjoyment out of it, and the prospect of Miss Dorset’s exclusive company promised exactly that. Beyond that, he preferred not to speculate.
Kent and Nyle shared a smug look.
‘It’s about time we got even,’ Kent complained. ‘I took Lady Melody in. She was engaging company, but it was obvious that she would have preferred to be with you, Brin. Damned insulting that. I shan’t single her out again. She kept glancing your way and scowling at Miss Dorset, as though she couldn’t understand the attraction. She actually asked me if you had been acquainted with her in India.’
‘Lady Melody is as spiteful as she is vacuous and indulged,’ Brin replied absently. ‘I have had the dubious pleasure of meeting her once before. I was not aware that Mother had invited her to join this party. Come to think of it, there are several women here with their daughters and without men to join the shoot.’
‘You didn’t seriously believe that we were here for only one type of sport, did you?’ Kent asked.
Brin shrugged.
‘The duchess is nothing if not tenacious,’ Nyle pointed out. ‘Several of the others are taking wagers on your eventual choice,’ he added, lowering his voice.
Brin glanced at the table, where the men remained in animated conversation as they continued to make healthy inroads into Brin’s port.
‘Gentlemen, if you are replete,’ he said, ‘we should rejoin the ladies.’
‘Absolutely,’ one of them replied, draining his glass in one long swallow and burping loudly.
Brin led the way to the drawing room, sensing an atmosphere. He sought Miss Dorset out with his gaze and noticed her sitting a little apart from the other ladies, in conversation with her friend, Lady Hazel. As though sensing him watching her, she glanced up, tilted her head in brusque acknowledgement, and looked away again.
‘Ah, Brinley, there you are,’ his mother said, making it sound as though he’d been missing for a fortnight instead of half an hour. ‘I have had the card tables placed.’
‘So I see,’ Brin replied languidly.
His mother set about organising everyone and Brin allowed himself to be ushered towards a table where he would partner Lady Hazel. His mother was not known for her subtlety, and had apparently not observed the partiality that lady had shown for Anglesey at dinner. Her cause, he suspected, at least as far as Lady Hazel was concerned, was doomed to failure. Besides, cards were safe enough. The attention of the players could legitimately be reserved for the game, and private conversation was impossible.
There were five separate tables but too many players. Those not seated were indulging in a noisy game of speculation. Brin was unsurprised to observe that Miss Dorset had not been deemed worthy of a place at the tables. She appeared to be having a much nicer time of it with the speculation players. There was a great deal of laughter emanating from their game as eight were gradually whittled down to three. Brin’s attention to his own cards was spasmodic. He was more interested in Miss Dorset’s progress when she was left with just Kent and one other cove as opponents.
‘I can see that you mean to intimidate me, Lord Hardy, by pretending to have a better hand than you actually do, so I think it only fair to warn you that I do not intimidate easily.’
‘You do me a disservice, Miss Dorset,’ Kent replied. ‘I never try to tempt a lady into indiscretion.’
She threw back her head and laughed. ‘Liar!’ she responded playfully. ‘Blast,’ she added when they played their hands and she lost. ‘I can see that I underestimated you.’
‘A tactical error,’ Kent replied. ‘I am a very dangerous chap, you know.’
‘I do now, but I am not afraid of you.’
‘Foolish child!’
Miss Dorset smiled and wandered away from the table.
‘Well played, Lady Hazel,’ Brin said, returning his attention to his own game when his partner trumped the final trick and they came out narrow winners. It was fortunate that one of them had kept their mind on the game.
Lady Melody lived up to her name by wandering towards the pianoforte. She took a seat at the instrument and ran her fingers lightly over the keys. Several heads turned in her direction, which appeared to be all the encouragement she required. She launched into a classical piece that required precision and skill, both of which she possessed in abundance. Brin was probably supposed to admire the slope of her shoulders as she played with a light touch and instinctive feel for the music, but she singularly failed to impress him. In her desire to show off her level of proficiency, she had selected a piece that was far too heavy for the occasion and dulled proceedings. A tune to which they could all sing along would have better suited.
‘Do you intend to play?’ Brin asked, walking up behind Miss Dorset, who stood alone at the back of the room.
‘Me? Heavens no! I’m tone deaf. Besides, your mother would—’
‘Not approve,’ they finished together, laughing.
‘Go away, your grace. I am already in enough trouble thanks to you.’
Polite applause greeted the end of Lady Melody’s performance.
‘Hazel, your turn,’ Lady Beardsley said in a loud voice.
Lady Melody turned to frown at her. Clearly, she had hoped to frighten off the competition with her level of expertise. She gave way to Lady Hazel who, although perhaps not as proficient, had the good sense to choose the right pieces. The songs she played encouraged the guests to sing along.
‘I have a mind to dance a jig,’ Brin said.
‘You have a mind to cause mischief, more likely. But not to worry, I am sure Lady Melody will be pleased to partner you.’
‘Vixen!’ he growled.
‘Well, if you will insist upon stirring things up, you can hardly cry foul when someone dares to play you at your own game. Oh, Lady Melody, well met.’ Miss Dorset smiled sweetly at the woman as she contrived to stroll in their direction. ‘His grace was attempting to find the courage to invite you to dance a jig with him. Allow me to present him to you as a most desirable partner.’
‘Really?’ The woman was clearly not overburdened with brains and looked taken aback by Miss Dorset’s generosity, and highly suspiciou
s of it too. ‘Oh well then, by all means.’
Brin, boxed into a corner, had no choice but to offer Lady Melody his hand. He scowled over his shoulder at Miss Dorset. ‘I shall get my revenge,’ he threatened in an undertone.
‘You are certainly welcome to try,’ she responded sotto voce.
Inspired by Brin’s lead, several other couples took to the floor. Miss Dorset was not among them. When the dance finished and Brin was free to look for her again, she had disappeared. The devil take it, the minx had obviously retired and really was totally impervious to his interest in her!
Which only served to increase Brin’s determination to know her better.
Chapter Five
Trying to suppress her instinct to fight against unjustified criticism had left Farrah with a pounding headache. She definitely should not have come here. She had sensed that her presence would be resented when she realised how hard Hazel had fought to have her included in the invitation. For Hazel to stand up to her mother implied that she had an urgent need for Farrah’s company—someone to support her efforts with Mr Anglesey and act as go-between—which made it impossible for her not to comply.
Now she must pay the price.
Using the dancing as a distraction, she slipped from the drawing room and up the stairs. No one would miss her. She found her way to her room after taking just one wrong turn and was grateful for the solitude it offered her. Someone, Susan presumably, had banked up the fire and turned the bed down. There was also steam rising from the water in the ewer. The girl was thoughtful and highly efficient. Farrah made a mental note to thank her for her efforts and to tip her generously at the end of the week.
If she lasted that long.
Farrah slipped out of her gown, having struggled to release the ties at the back of it, and washed her hands and face. She pulled her nightgown over her head and seated herself at the dressing table, where she took the pins from her hair, brushed it vigorously and braided it loosely. She then slid between the sheets and extinguished her candle, listening to the strange sounds of an unfamiliar house. She wondered if anyone else had been allocated rooms in this wing, or if she had it to herself. The idea of being alone in it appealed to her sense of the absurd.
‘I am looked upon as a guest who is not quite up to the mark. How delightful,’ she told the bed’s canopy. ‘I have always wanted to create a scandal.’
Tired though she was, sleep eluded Farrah. Images of her two meetings with the highly attractive duke kept replaying themselves inside her head, which annoyed her. She didn’t want to think about him at all, even though he had most discourteously awoken an unfamiliar and primitive kernel of sensation deep within her core, which simply wouldn’t do. Farrah was a pragmatist, well aware that the duke had only sought her company to gainsay his mother’s plans for him, and because she wasn’t any sort of threat. She would make an appalling duchess.
‘Stop it!’ she cried impatiently, irritated by the fleeting yet fanciful image of becoming the man’s wife. Farrah had decided a year previously never to marry, which was one of the reasons why she had decided against presentation, which would have given a contrary impression. She was wealthy enough in her own right, thanks to the fortune her grandfather had left in trust for her, and was therefore able to please herself.
And what would please her inordinately would be an establishment of her own somewhere in the country. Somewhere like this idyllic spot, only not nearly so grand, where she could be herself and not care what the world thought about the eccentric female who surrounded herself with animals and preferred their company to that of her neighbours.
Now the duke had come along and made her doubt herself. But only fleetingly. Fortunately, she knew that if he even suspected that the sight of him made her heart beat a little faster, he would turn his back on her and run a mile. The thought brought her to her senses.
Better to be his friend, she decided. A person whom he could turn to without having to worry about the consequences. The true nature of her feelings, if she allowed them free rein, would remain a closely guarded secret. One that she wouldn’t even share with Hazel since she didn’t completely understand them herself. It would be much safer that way.
Exhaustion finally overcame her, and Farrah was woken from a deep sleep by the sound of Susan quietly moving around the room.
‘Oh, what time is it?’ Farrah asked, sitting up, blinking and rubbing sleep from her eyes.
‘Sorry, miss, didn’t mean to wake you. I just didn’t want your fire to die. The rooms in this part of the house can get right chilly, what with them being so seldom used. Anyway, it’s a cold day but thankfully the rain has stopped.’
‘Of course it has,’ Farrah replied. ‘The elements wouldn’t dare to defy a duke who has decided to have a shooting party.’
Susan giggled. ‘Well, there is that. Do you intend to get up, miss? It’s still early, only just after eight, and none of the other ladies are about yet.’
‘Yes, Susan, I’m not one for lying about in bed. Be so good as to bring water and some breakfast, if it’s no trouble.’
‘None whatsoever. You just stay there in the warm and give yourself time to wake up. I’ll be back before you know it.’
Susan opened the curtains to reveal a very blue sky interspersed with scudding clouds driven by a brisk wind. It would be a cold, dry autumnal day; the type of weather that Farrah enjoyed. She did as she’d been told and remained in the warmth of her bed, watching the trees immediately outside her window bowing in the wind and shedding more of their remaining leaves in a colourful rainbow of russets, yellows and reds.
As good as her word, Susan returned very quickly bearing a tray from which enticing aromas emanated. Farrah had been too nervous the previous evening to do anything other than toy with her food. But breakfasting in solitude, she was able to do justice to the fare on offer and cleared her plate. Once she had done so, Susan helped her to wash and dress in a warm, bronze-checked Merino wool walking gown. Her half-boots had been covered in mud during her walk the previous day but were now spotlessly clean and Farrah sank her feet into them.
‘Thank you, Susan. I shan’t need you again until it’s time to change for dinner. Don’t let me keep you from your other duties. I am sure you must be pressed below stairs.’
‘We do all have to pitch in, there’s no denying it. I’m having to do for another lady as well, but she isn’t half as understanding as you are.’ And did not, Farrah suspected, get anywhere near as good service as a consequence. Farrah had never been rude to a servant in her entire life and failed to understand why anyone felt the need to be, unless of course they abused their positions or gave repeatedly poor service. Farrah had yet to encounter any who did either of those things. Most were keen to oblige and responded well to appreciation. ‘Not that I should criticise, it’s not my place, but still, it’s impossible not to draw comparisons. Anyway, she hasn’t rung for me yet and I doubt whether I shall hear from her for quite a while.’
Susan was right about one thing, Farrah concluded as she watched the door close behind her, in that none of the other ladies would show themselves yet. Farrah wondered what to do with herself. She could take a walk but didn’t want to risk running into the duke and making it appear as though she had deliberately contrived to cross his path. She had noticed a well-stocked library downstairs. A book here in her room might be the answer, but then again, the duke might be in that room giving orders to his steward, or whatever it was that dukes did to keep their estates running smoothly. She had noticed an ornate desk in the bay window that looked to be in regular use. She assumed it must be his.
It felt as though the walls of the room were closing in on her as Farrah sat drumming her fingers, feeling a mixture of restlessness and anticipation—as though something significant would happen that day. Bother it, she wasn’t going to hide herself away as if she had something to feel ashamed about! If the duke didn’t want to see her, he could avoid her easily enough without offending her. Besides,
he almost certainly had more pressing matters to attend to than amusing himself with her company.
Thus resolved, Farrah donned a bonnet and pelisse, pulled on her gloves and left her room. She encountered the butler in the vestibule, who greeted her deferentially and opened the side door for her when she expressed her intention of walking as far as the estuary.
‘The tide is low at present, miss,’ he told her, confirming her assumption in that regard, ‘so your progress will not be impeded. But don’t linger too long or you will be cut off.’
Farrah assured him that she wouldn’t tarry, thanked him for his advice and stepped out into a bracing wind that bit at her face. Glad to be temporarily free of the restrictions placed upon her by the rigid protocol inside the house, she felt alive and invigorated. She followed the same path as the previous day, only this time she walked briskly around the lake and carried on in the direction of the river. The path was soft underfoot and she regretted the damage that she had already inflicted upon her footwear, eradicating the boot boy’s efforts with the first few steps she took.
But that was all she regretted.
‘Whoever marries the duke and takes up residence in this delightful location will be fortunate,’ she informed a disinterested heron that stood some way off on one leg in the shallow water at the lake’s edge. ‘I hope she has the good sense to realise it.’
She stopped walking when something stirred behind the line of trees to one side of the path. An animal perhaps?
‘Who’s there?’
No one answered but her heart stuttered and she was convinced that she saw the brief outline of a man. He was gone again in a flash, lost in the dense thickness of the trees behind him before she could be sure. There was a lot of shadow and her eyes could be playing tricks on her. It could well have been one of the duke’s keepers, she supposed, or someone connected to the shoot. But if so, why did he not reveal himself and put her mind at rest? Farrah felt very discomposed by the incident, convinced that something wasn’t right; that the man she had seen could be trespassing on the duke’s land. A bold poacher going about his illegal business in daylight, if indeed there had been a man at all. It could have been a deer, or a wild boar. A dozen other explanations sprang to mind.
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