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Reunited With Her Viscount Protector
Mary Brendan


She can trust him to keep her safe… But can she trust herself? Widow Dawn Fenton has heard rumours that her old sweetheart Jack Valance is back in town – and he’s no longer penniless, but a wealthy viscount! She’ll avoid him at all costs, especially as he’s honour-bound to wed another. But as Jack steps in to help her protect a vulnerable child in her family, Dawn must face up to the truth: she wants him to stay!







She can trust him to keep her safe...

But can she trust herself?

Widow Dawn Fenton has heard rumors that her old sweetheart Jack Valance is back in town—and he’s no longer penniless, but a wealthy viscount! She’ll avoid him at all costs, especially as he’s honor bound to wed another. But as Jack steps in to help her protect a vulnerable child in her family, Dawn must face up to the truth: she wants him to stay!


MARY BRENDAN was born in North London, but now lives in rural Suffolk. She has always had a fascination with bygone days, and enjoys the research involved in writing historical fiction. When not at her computer she can be found trying to bring order to her large overgrown garden, or browsing local fairs and junk shops for that elusive bargain.


Also by Mary Brendan (#u9593a350-3558-553c-a3c1-7abe38055eaf)

Tarnished, Tempted and Tamed

Compromising the Duke’s Daughter

Rescued by the Forbidden Rake

Tempted by the Roguish Lord

Regency Rogues miniseries

Chivalrous Rake, Scandalous Lady

Dangerous Lord, Seductive Miss

Society Scandals miniseries

A Date with Dishonour

The Rake’s Ruined Lady

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Reunited with Her Viscount Protector

Mary Brendan






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-08933-3

REUNITED WITH HER VISCOUNT PROTECTOR

© 2019 Mary Brendan

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Note to Readers (#u9593a350-3558-553c-a3c1-7abe38055eaf)


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Contents

Cover (#u82c170f2-91e2-5257-8a68-04d2aab060ce)

Back Cover Text (#u2bb167f8-a69e-501e-9f34-f9a6e939a151)

About the Author (#u4ea5e000-1db2-5a3b-849a-bd50dee87b98)

Booklist (#ud8b7c65e-aa39-5890-a300-614cb42bbe9c)

Title Page (#u7057c9b8-14ff-5c28-a82d-2978ff57b578)

Copyright (#ue09611a5-2d68-5662-9a29-248a4023dfde)

Note to Readers

Chapter One (#ue593cb3a-0d1a-5f0d-b891-4dfa586957e4)

Chapter Two (#uf1ce64b0-398e-5875-9cf6-49a90817c640)

Chapter Three (#uc3a9c50b-99d1-5fcf-8338-e6a2a4f81b97)

Chapter Four (#u6b6898ec-de7f-5517-8ad3-484aaba65cd0)

Chapter Five (#u9aa4ae44-15a9-5f70-8df2-fe97b1c89136)

Chapter Six (#u1b5553f5-2b9f-515c-ba31-2bd16f779dcd)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One (#u9593a350-3558-553c-a3c1-7abe38055eaf)


‘You little scamp! Come back here!’

Mrs Fenton picked up her lavender skirts and chased the shrieking child on to the pathway. She soon caught up with him and hoisted him off his feet in a cuddle. ‘You are far too nimble for me. You win again, Master Bernard.’ She placed a kiss on his soft cheek.

‘Oh, stop it, Bernie. You will tire poor Auntie Dawn out and she won’t come again to play with you,’ the Countess of Houndsmere said, issuing a warning to her giggling son.

‘Of course I will come. I love our games, don’t I, Bernie?’ Dawn put the wriggling child back on to the flagstones.

After his game of chase, Master Bernard still had plenty of energy; his godmother, however, was holding the stitch in her side and fanning herself with a hand. The boy immediately dashed off to throw a ball across the emerald lawn for two wolfhound puppies to squabble over. Dawn strolled over to sit with her friend in the shade and have a well-earned rest.

A table and chairs had been set up under the dipping broad boughs of a magnificent plane tree in the grounds of a mansion in Grosvenor Square. Upon the table was the finest rose-patterned porcelain and a tray upon which reposed silverware for making tea. Two maids hovered close by. They attended to refreshments and to tilt parasols this way and that to ensure the ladies were shielded from any rogue sunbeams infiltrating the whispering greenery.

Dawn sat down next to the Countess, who was cooling her pink cheeks with a fan of ivory and lace. Leaning closer to her friend, Dawn benefited from some wafted air.

‘You make me feel very old, Dawn. I wish I could still charge about like that,’ Emma complained, whipping the fan to and fro with increased vigour.

‘You can, my dear...just not while you are carrying a baby. And as I am the elder of us by two months, please never again mention our advancing years or I will feel quite miserable.’ Dawn sat back comfortably, then took her friend’s hand in hers, giving her a cheeky smile. ‘Come, we are neither of us yet in our dotage, Em, at the grand age of twenty-nine.’

‘I feel quite ancient sometimes, you know, when my back aches.’ Emma shifted on the seat as her unborn child made its presence known by giving her a kick.

‘When you are rocking your new babe you will forget you ever had these twinges.’ Dawn sighed. ‘I wish I could take my godson home with me. I love having Bernie’s company. You are so lucky to have such a handsome son and another little one on the way.’ She smoothed a hand over the small bump beneath her friend’s silk gown. ‘Girl or boy...what do you think?’

Emma cocked her head, a smile on her lips. ‘I really don’t mind as long as all fingers and toes are present.’ She felt guilty now for having moaned about feeling uncomfortable. Indeed, she was fortunate to have her family: Dawn had miscarried a child and then been denied the chance of another when her husband had died in an accident a short while later.

The tea was poured and distributed and young Bernard rushed up to enjoy a glass of cordial and some biscuits. He sat on the grass at his mother’s side, the faithful puppies stretched out at his feet.

‘Don’t feed them biscuits, dear,’ his mama gently cautioned. ‘Your papa will not like it if they get fat.’ She added an aside for Dawn’s hearing, ‘He doesn’t seem to mind me getting rounder, though.’

‘I hope you are not going to boast about your handsome husband chasing you around your bedchamber every night.’

‘Indeed, he does not,’ Emma returned with a wink. ‘I never run away...’

They chuckled and Dawn sipped her tea. The two women had known each other since childhood and had always shared their good and bad times with one another. A bit of unladylike chat was nothing new for them either. But wistfulness settled on Dawn whenever she dwelt on her friend’s blissful happiness. She loved Emma too much to feel jealous. Besides, Emma had suffered her share of misfortune before the Earl of Houndsmere fell in love with her and put everything right for Emma’s embattled family.

Dawn’s own marriage had been different: a convenient match. When Thomas Fenton had proposed to her, he had been open and honest in his reasons for doing so. He was a widower and needed a wife to care for his teenage daughter and guide her into womanhood. Dawn had been equally honest when accepting him. Her father had remarried a woman with whom she rarely saw eye to eye. It had been the right time to move out from beneath Mr Sanders’s roof and let the middle-aged newlyweds enjoy a harmonious atmosphere. Her bossy stepmother would have driven her to distraction. Nevertheless Julia was good for her father, keeping an eye on his health and his over-imbibing. So in a most timely fashion fate had intervened and provided a practical solution. A short while after Thomas proposed, Dawn had become Mrs Fenton.

No grand passion, but in her own way she had grown fond of her husband and of her stepdaughter. They would have continued to rub along tolerably well as a little family if he had stayed in London rather than travelling on treacherous roads to spend Christmas with his wife and daughter. The carriage had overturned on the way to their Essex retreat and Thomas had perished.

‘Papa!’ Bernard leapt to his feet and started to race across the grass towards the house as he noticed his father approaching along the path.

The Earl of Houndsmere swept his son into his arms, then carried on towards them. He bent to kiss his wife’s flushed cheek.

‘This is a nice surprise,’ he said to Dawn.

‘As it is to see you, Lance,’ Dawn returned on a smile.

‘Will you stay and dine? I have invited some friends to come later.’

‘Oh, do have dinner with us, Dawn,’ Emma pleaded before turning to her husband. ‘Who have you asked?’

‘My sister and brother-in-law and I believe Jack might put in an appearance, but then with Jack you never quite know...’

‘Jack?’ the Countess echoed on a frown. ‘You don’t mean Jack Valance?’

‘I most certainly do.’

‘But...is he back from his travels?’ Emma exclaimed.

‘His ship docked a few weeks ago. Valance is home to stay, having found his feet and his fortune. I’ll be glad to settle down for a good long chat with him over a bottle of cognac this evening.’ Lance deposited his wriggling son on the turf.

Emma turned a sparkling gaze on Dawn. ‘Oh, you must remember Jack. He is Lance’s best friend. Many years ago we went for a drive with him in Hyde Park and your stepmother came, too.’

‘Yes, I do remember him,’ Dawn said mildly. ‘Thank you for the invitation, but I won’t stay for dinner.’

The Earl abandoned the ladies to go with his son, dragging on his hand to make him play chase. Lance dodged to and fro to escape the puppies and Bernard jumping up at him, leaving his wife to attempt to persuade her friend to dine with them later. Emma clasped Dawn’s fingers, idle on the table.

‘Why won’t you stay?’ Emma frowned. ‘If you’d like to change, I have a gown for you to wear, or, if you’d sooner go home first to choose a dress, of course you’re welcome to take a carriage.’

‘I know...thank you...’ Dawn said, patting her friend’s hand to calm her anxiety. ‘It is not that.’

‘I know you don’t have another dinner appointment,’ Emma said bluntly.

‘No...but...’

‘But you don’t want to see Jack again,’ Emma guessed. ‘I know that you like my sister and brother-in-law, so they’re not putting you off staying to dine. Are you not quite over Jack?’

‘Of course I am over him, my dear!’ Dawn protested on a huff of a laugh.

‘Of course you must be; you’ve since been married to a nice gentleman and five years have passed since you saw Jack Valance,’ Emma said.

‘Closer to six,’ Dawn murmured.

‘Aha! So you’re not quite as over him as you’d have me believe, are you?’

‘Will he bring his fiancée to meet you, do you think?’ Dawn teased.

‘Fiancée?’ Emma echoed in disbelief.

‘I already knew he’d returned. I heard some ladies gossiping about him when I was at the library earlier in the week. Apparently he has returned to marry a Miss Sarah Snow.’

‘Why did you not say sooner?’ Emma gasped.

‘If I’d mentioned him, I knew you’d think what you are thinking.’ Dawn shrugged. ‘My liking him was all long ago. Honestly, Em, I am over him and have other, more important things on my mind. One of which is my stepdaughter. My letter to Eleanor is quite rudely overdue, as is my visit. I must immediately dash off a reply to her and get it in the post, then prepare for a trip.’

‘So you’re abandoning me and going off to Essex for a sojourn?’ Emma teased in return.

‘Only for a fortnight!’ Dawn protested. ‘It makes me feel quite ancient to mention my step-granddaughter...and another child soon due. Lily is a little dear...up on her feet now. I love to take her presents. Would you like to come shopping tomorrow in Regent Street and help me choose some things for her?’

‘I would love to...’ Emma frowned regretfully. ‘But walking round the shops will fag me out and I’ll spoil your enjoyment.’ She paused. ‘I wonder whether Lance knows Jack’s getting betrothed? If he does, why did he not say?’ She shot her husband a glance just as he gave a hefty overarm throw, setting the puppies charging quite a distance after a large stick.

Dawn got to her feet. ‘Men tend to put little store on these things, Em. If he does know of it, he probably hasn’t thought to bring it up. I haven’t seen a notice gazetted yet.’ Dawn had been searching for one, too. As soon as she got home after hearing the gossip in the library she’d scoured the lists of announcements, but had seen none that mentioned Jack Valance. And then she’d scolded herself for having put herself to such trouble for a man who’d easily forgotten about her. ‘Now, I should get along and let you prepare for your guests.’

‘I wish you could stay a while longer...’ Emma wheedled.

‘I really must go. Polly will be grumpy if her efforts in the kitchen are spoiled.’ Dawn clucked her tongue. ‘She’s not the best of cooks, poor girl. But she tries hard and can dress hair very nicely.’ She chuckled at the memory of yesterday’s burnt pie. But Polly was a treasure to her, loyal and versatile, and that was of great help when one could only afford to employ a single servant.

‘Well, if you’re not going to get a good dinner that’s even more reason to stay,’ Emma said archly. ‘But... I understand.’ She gave her friend a rueful look. ‘If Jack brings his intended this evening, I’ll be sure to let you know all about her.’

‘And when I get back I will let you know all about my trip to Essex.’ Dawn assisted her friend in rising from her chair. Linking arms, they set off at a slow stroll towards the house. Dawn raised a hand in farewell to the Earl. He had his son in his arms and was on his way across the lawn to the flag-edged pond to show the boy the goldfish. He shifted Bernie in his grip to return her a farewell salute.

‘I’ve not heard of this Miss Sarah Snow or her family. Is she young...out this Season?’ Still Emma seemed absorbed in knowing more about Jack Valance’s plans.

‘I believe she keeps to herself and hasn’t been seen much. But she is pretty from what the ladies were saying. A redhead.’ Dawn hugged Emma closer. ‘She sounds like a wise young lady. Thank goodness we no longer have to attend those ghastly balls at Almack’s. I feel quite sorry for those poor girls being criticised as though they were a herd of prime fillies.’

‘I’ve asked Lance to bring me home some tattle, but he rarely does. He says it all passes over his head when he’s in his club. Not that he goes there much. I expect he might go more often now that Jack is home. They’ve been friends since school, but have hardly seen one another in years.’

Dawn thought back on those years, wondering where the time had flown to. Yet much had happened in her life: she’d been married, widowed and now had a family, none of whom were her blood relatives. The only one of those left to her was her papa.

‘Once my confinement is over we must sally forth and find out what the beau monde is up to,’ Emma announced, interrupting her friend’s pensiveness.

‘The beau monde will be much as it always was, my dear,’ Dawn returned. ‘You will discover nothing much more than who put their last shilling on the turn of a card and lost an estate and which husband was found in flagrante with his chum’s wife.’

‘You are a dreadful cynic, Dawn,’ Emma fondly chided.

‘Am I? I don’t mean to be. Perhaps life has made me grumpy.’

Emma hugged her friend. Indeed, Dawn had had some tough luck and words were of little comfort to somebody who had found contentment with a gentleman, if not love, and had settled for that consolation just to have it whipped away.




Chapter Two (#u9593a350-3558-553c-a3c1-7abe38055eaf)


The following morning Dawn was up early to post a letter to her stepdaughter, belatedly accepting Eleanor’s invitation to visit. Her second child was soon due and Dawn guessed the expectant mother was becoming easily tired and would like some help looking after her boisterous little daughter.

The Reverend Peter Mansfield wasn’t a fellow given to lending a hand to his wife. In fact, Dawn had had to bite her tongue when she was there last time. The couple employed just two servants: a maid and an elderly cook. When the maid had been laid up with raging toothache the vicar had allowed Eleanor—in the early stages of her pregnancy—to sweep out the grate rather than do it himself. At the time Eleanor had said she didn’t mind, although Dawn had noticed a certain spark in her stepdaughter’s eye. Dawn had rolled up her own sleeves to take over the task, while hoping her stepson-in-law might feel shamed into acting. He had, dropping to his knees with a martyred look. Dawn imagined there had been other, unwitnessed, times when Eleanor had been treated less than considerately.

But Dawn did her best to be amenable to Peter for his wife’s sake. She had put off this visit by some weeks because she hadn’t relished having his company. She had—quite validly—blamed the delay on the vagaries of the March winds making travelling hazardous. She gazed up at the clear azure sky. There was no such excuse to be had now the weather had turned unseasonably fine. But before it returned to normal for this time of the year she must make that trip or she might be caught out. Besides, she genuinely loved seeing Eleanor and Lily, so enduring the vicar’s bombast was a price worth paying. And she’d only be out of town for a fortnight.

Dawn lived on the fringes of town in a modest town house on a leafy crescent. She walked on in the direction of Regent Street, intending to browse the shops for something nice to take with her to Essex for her little granddaughter.

* * *

Reaching her destination, she sought out a toy shop, browsing the counters and pondering on whether a spinning top would be too advanced for Lily and a rag doll too mundane. The girl was by no means a baby, but Dawn had little idea of the progress children made as they grew, having never been a mother herself. In the end she purchased just the doll, undecided about the top, and headed to the drapery to buy some pretty clothes. She was on the point of entering the premises when a sleek black curricle drew her attention as it pulled in to the kerb some distance away. Its arrival seemed to have caused a stir—she noticed that people had turned to observe the passengers. Idly, she tilted her head to get a better view of the driver.

Dawn stood quite still and, once she’d conquered her surprise, commenced wondering how she had recognised him. It had been years since she had seen or spoken to Jack Valance and he looked very different. His hair was no longer fair and cropped short, but a silvery tone and worn rather long. His face had lost its city pallor and was now bronzed by a foreign sun, but his height and breadth were familiar. As was the way he agilely leapt to the pavement to assist his companion to alight.

Dawn watched his strong dark hands; once she had felt those long fingers fastened on her, courteously helping her from a vehicle. There had been two occasions on which he’d invited her to take a drive with him. Before they’d parted for the final time he had crowded her behind an oak tree in Hyde Park to kiss her as soon as her chaperon’s back was turned. During that snatched, thrilling episode Jack Valance had broken her heart. He wasn’t in a position to court her, he’d told her. But he’d promised to come back as soon as he improved his prospects enough to take a wife. She’d not seen him again until this moment. Dawn focused on the young woman smiling coquettishly at him...to little response. He seemed more interested in ensuring the tiger had the reins of the fine pale-flanked Arabian in harness.

He hadn’t recognised her,Dawn realised—his gaze had roamed her way and then travelled on. Rather than feeling piqued at being overlooked by a gentleman who once had told her she was beautiful, she was rather glad to be able to discreetly observe the couple from her vantage point in the shop doorway. With an amount of wryness she realised that if that was his future wife, then Sarah Snow wasn’t the refined young lady she’d believed her to be! Neither was she a stunning redhead. But the blonde was pretty, if a touch gaudy in her fancy bonnet and diaphanous muslin gown of pale blue. Dawn imagined that Jack Valance was out shopping with a chère amie. And she wondered how his prospective betrothed might feel about that.

Hastily she entered the shop on realising the couple were heading towards her. She was sure they hadn’t noticed her vulgarly staring at them—even so, she felt annoyed at herself for having done so. She forced herself to put him from her mind and to inspect small ribbon-trimmed bonnets and a lemon-hued dress that the draper assured her were all perfectly sized for a growing toddler.

Having made her purchases, Dawn headed towards the exit, keen to get home and wrap her gifts in colourful paper.

‘Mrs Fenton?’

His voice hadn’t changed even if his appearance had...but she’d been Miss Dawn Sanders when last they had spoken. So he knew she’d been married... Perhaps Emma had spoken about mutual acquaintances yesterday evening when they’d dined together. These thoughts whizzed through Dawn’s mind as she slowly turned about with an admirable show of surprise at seeing him. In fact, she was a trifle alarmed as she’d not been conscious of him entering the shop, let alone approaching her.

‘Why...Mr Valance. How are you, sir? I had heard that you’d returned from overseas.’

‘I know. Your friend Emma said you were aware I was back. I have to say I’m disappointed that we didn’t see one another yesterday evening. You declined to dine with us, I was told.’ Jack’s eyes discreetly studied her. The dark bonnet brim was shielding her complexion, but he knew that beneath it was a face of rare beauty. On first glance Dawn’s features might appear rather severe, yet on finer appraisal were undoubtedly exquisite. Her green eyes were fringed by lengthy black lashes and topped by delicate brows that looked as soft as sable. Her nose was thin, her mouth asymmetrical with a lower lip that was fuller than the curving cupid’s bow on top. She was petite, her smooth peachy cheek barely reached his shoulder, but her figure was generously curvaceous in all the right places. He hadn’t forgotten a single thing about her in all those tormented years they’d been apart.

It might have been a long while since she had lain with her husband, or even been kissed, but Dawn could recognise the signs that a man found her attractive. She had seen the same smouldering intensity at the back of predatory gentlemen’s eyes when they propositioned her. But none of those fellows had managed to neutralise a tense situation, or his lust, as it seemed this man could.

‘You missed a fine dinner,’ Jack said, patting his stomach. ‘I’m still feeling the effect of too many courses.’

‘Emma is a wonderful hostess, but I’m afraid I was too busy to attend. I have a trip to Essex to prepare for to see my family. I’ve had a lot of packing and shopping to do and so on.’ Dawn indicated her parcels. Had she detected something in his tone? Subtle amusement because he believed she’d deliberately avoided him? She had, although she’d never admit to it.

‘Well, no matter, when I saw you walking on Regent Street I hoped I’d have a chance to say hello.’

So he had been aware of her presence all along. Dawn felt her complexion starting to glow as she realised he’d probably observed her spying on him.

‘You go to Essex bearing gifts.’ His slate-grey eyes dropped to the parcels in her arms.

‘Of course...but I have left choosing them to the last minute as usual.’ Her eyes discreetly flitted over his shoulder, seeking a sign of his companion. The young woman was at a counter with a pile of merchandise mounting beside her. He, too, had been buying gifts, she imagined, even if he didn’t get to choose them or decide what they cost. The blonde appeared to be too busy inspecting gloves to come and claim her beau.

But other people...women...were watching them. Indeed, Dawn understood why. His travels and the acquirement of riches had transformed him from an attractive gentleman to a devilishly handsome one. But it was more than good looks and expensive tailoring setting him apart from his younger self: he had an air of sophistication and distinction. Jack Valance had gone away years ago with his pockets to let and come back with a rather startling self-assurance. Yet Dawn had liked him as he was...modest and familiar. On the few occasions they had met she had marvelled at how at ease she felt with him after so short an acquaintance. He had amused yet excited her and on the day they parted she had felt upset enough to cry in private. But months and months had passed and she’d received not a single letter from him. Her hope that he intended to renew their acquaintance had withered; she recalled feeling foolish for having almost begged him to keep in touch because she liked him very much. And then Thomas had asked her to be his wife and a dilemma had been forced upon her: wait longer for Jack, or marry Thomas. The right decision it had been, too, to accept his proposal. She might have been infatuated with Jack Valance for almost a year, loitering in the hallway with bated breath for the post every day, but to him she’d been just a passing fancy, soon forgotten.

‘I believed your father still resided in Marylebone,’ Jack remarked. ‘Where in Essex do your family live?’

‘My father and stepmother have now moved to Shropshire. I am going to visit my late husband’s family in Essex.’

‘I see. I was sorry to hear about your husband’s accident. Emma told me you’d been widowed.’

‘Yes...some time ago now.’ Dawn dipped her head and stepped away. For some reason she didn’t want his pity, or to speak about her short marriage to Thomas. ‘It is nice to see you, sir, but I must get on. I haven’t yet finished packing for my trip.’

‘Where does your stepfamily live in Essex? I might know of it as I have a house there.’

She turned back. The demand in his question had made her bristle and feel tempted to tell him it was none of his business, but she didn’t, although she was again reminded of how very different this gentleman was to the languid fellow she had known all those years ago. But she was determined not to appear flustered by his company. ‘My stepdaughter and her husband live in Wivenhoe,’ she said, then with a fleeting smile and a small bob she made for the exit, conscious of the weight of his hooded grey gaze on her back.

* * *

‘Do slide up a bit and give the lady some room.’ Mrs Broome’s country brogue broke the quiet as she directed an order at her daughter seated beside her. Both mother and daughter were broad of beam and had left Dawn very little room, squashed as she was into the corner of the mail coach. But she was grateful that at least she had some air and a mist of sleety rain blowing on to her face from the open window.

‘The weather’s been warm for early spring recently. I’m glad it’s back to normal now or we’d be sweating buckets,’ the older woman cheerily announced while fidgeting on the seat.

Dawn murmured an agreement, the only passenger to politely respond. Indeed, the vagaries of the March weather had caught her out. The prematurely mild air of last week had now acquired a feel of frost that stung the cheeks. The roads that had been dry and dusty had been churned to a bog in places by coach wheels.

The tweedy farmer opposite jiggled his brows, then closed his eyes, making clear he desired no conversation directed at him. The two thin young women seated either side of him turned their heads in opposite directions to gaze out of their respective windows into the gloomy afternoon. They looked to be servants, perhaps travelling from London to visit their families back home. Dawn used a hanky on her rain-spattered brow while hoping that the coaching inn would hove into view so they could all escape this cramped, musty environment. More than that, she wished she had the wherewithal to keep a small conveyance of her own so she wouldn’t need to travel in such discomfort when visiting her stepfamily. Even when Thomas had been alive, the most the Fentons had possessed in the way of transport had been an ancient carriage that he had inherited from his father. His trusty contraption as he had called it had been his downfall. He had known it needed repairs. But his insurance business had been floundering beneath heavy shipping claims and purchasing new springs and axles had been last on his list of expenses.

At their country cottage they had kept a pony and trap to get around. Thomas had taught her to drive it so she could be independent when he was in town on business. The cottage and the pony and trap were gone now...luxuries she could no longer afford on her widow’s pension.

The blast of a bugle curtailed Dawn’s reflectiveness and made her offer up a prayer of thanks that they were approaching a watering hole. All the passengers stirred into life as they anticipated stretching their legs and partaking of some refreshment.

‘I’ll have a beef pie if they’ve got such a thing. My stomach’s fair grumbling.’ Mrs Broome gave Dawn a nudge. ‘You’ll be glad to get down and tuck into something, won’t you, my dear?’

‘Indeed, I will.’ Dawn peered through the window as the coach passed beneath the swinging sign of the Cockerel Tavern into a busy courtyard. She’d no appetite for a pie; a snack would suffice. By nightfall she would reach her destination and hoped to have a good dinner waiting for her. Although the Reverend Peter Mansfield tended to parsimony, he usually provided a hearty evening meal as he always joined them at table then. Other than that, his work kept him abroad for most of the day...and that arrangement suited Dawn very well.

* * *

‘What can I get for you then, ma’am?’ The landlord hovered at Dawn’s elbow.

‘A pot of tea and a plate of buttered crumpets, thank you, sir.’ Having given her order, Dawn sat back in her chair and untied her bonnet strings while the fellow moved off to attend to other weary passengers. A log fire was blazing in the grate, spreading a cosy ambience throughout the low-beamed taproom. Dawn removed her hat and ran her fingers through a tumble of untidy chestnut curls in an attempt to neaten them.

Mrs Broome and her daughter joined Dawn, sitting down without a by your leave. Immediately the landlord reappeared with pencil and paper ready.

Having given her order for pies, Mrs Broome turned on her daughter an old-fashioned look. ‘You can stop giving him the eye, miss!’ She smacked the girl’s hand, idle on the table-top. ‘The sooner this one’s wed, the better it’ll be.’ Mrs Broome rolled her eyes.

Dawn gave the blushing girl a glimmer of a smile. She was a pretty brunette of about fifteen and had been sliding sly glances through the window at a strapping stable lad toiling in the courtyard.

‘So...I recall you said you’re visiting relations, Mrs Fenton.’ The older woman crossed her arms over her chest, hoping for a gossip.

‘I am...’ Dawn confirmed. ‘I’ll be glad to get to journey’s end and to my bed tonight. It’s been a long day.’

Mrs Broome jiggled her aching shoulders. ‘Indeed, it has. My bones are fair creaking. But I was determined to go to London to see my father laid to rest. So did his granddaughter, wanting to pay her last respects.’ She frowned at her daughter who was still batting her eyelashes.

‘Oh...I’m sorry to hear about your loss.’

‘As I am to know about yours,’ Mrs Broome said sympathetically. ‘How long are you widowed, my dear? La...and you so young and pretty, too.’

‘Oh...some years.’ Dawn’s lavender gown had given the game away that she was in the latter stage of mourning.

‘Who are you visiting?’ the girl piped up.

‘Betty Broome! Mind your manners,’ the girl’s mother scolded. ‘Inquisitive little thing,’ she half-apologised before taking up where her daughter had left off. ‘Local people, are they, these relations? Or are you travelling on further?’

‘I’m going on to Wivenhoe...’

The Broomes’ questions reminded Dawn of Jack Valance’s interest in her family’s whereabouts. Not that she needed much to prompt her to think of him. For the duration of the journey, with nothing to do for hours on end but gaze into drizzle, she had found it difficult to banish him from her thoughts. She had been going over their brief conversation in the drapery and rueing that she hadn’t looked at her best that afternoon. It was too late now to wish she had dressed with more care when sallying forth to do her shopping. And why should it matter? Jack Valance was getting married. But Dawn knew why it mattered. She had seen desire in his eyes; once he had thought her beautiful and she was woman enough to hope he still did, fiancée or no fiancée. More than that, now they had met again and exchanged a few words, perhaps, just perhaps, he might rue not having kept in touch with her. He hadn’t sought her out in the shop just to be polite. He wasn’t indifferent to her, of that she was sure. She’d seen a spark of some emotion at the backs of his eyes...

‘Do you know that vicar, my dear? The one who is staring at you?’ Mrs Broome nudged Dawn to gain her attention, then jerked a nod at somebody outside.

Dawn gave a soft gasp of surprise. ‘Indeed, I do know him. I am on my way to his house. It’s my stepdaughter’s husband.’ She glanced at her companions. ‘Please excuse me, I should go and speak to him.’ She got up with an inaudible sigh. She had certainly not been expecting to see the Reverend Peter Mansfield until she reached Wivenhoe. And from the expression she’d glimpsed on her stepson-in-law’s face she guessed he’d been equally taken aback to spot her. Donning her cloak, she hurried outside, tweaking forward her hood to protect her face from the sleet.

The fellow who had been talking to the vicar had disappeared and Peter had headed towards the tavern to meet her beneath the shelter of the porch. He was a dark-haired man of medium height and build who, despite being her stepson-in-law, was her senior by five years.

‘Mrs Fenton...’ Peter removed his hat, securing it beneath his arm. ‘This is a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you until this evening, at the vicarage.’

‘I wasn’t expecting to see you yet either.’ She paused, sensing that his attitude was false and that this premature meeting was as unwelcome for him as it was for her. ‘Have you business in the area, sir?’

‘A clerical meeting...nothing too important. Now, I insist that I take you the rest of the way to Wivenhoe in my gig.’

Dawn hesitated in replying. Oddly, she knew she’d sooner make the rest of the journey squashed in the coach with the Broomes than have his company. But how to refuse without giving offence?

‘My luggage is stowed on the coach. It will be a bit of a commotion to swap vehicles and only a few more hours of travel. It would be as well to carry on as I am...’

‘I insist, ma’am. My wife will be glad of your company as soon as may be and happy to let you occupy the child so she might rest.’ He patted her arm to quieten her. ‘I shall speak to the coachman, never fear. Everything will soon be arranged.’

‘Very well...’ Dawn dipped her head in agreement, forcing a smile. She raised a hand to acknowledge her friends in the taproom. Mrs Broome was indicating with sign language that her crumpets had been placed on the table.

‘I ordered something to eat...’

‘Oh...go to it, ma’am,’ the vicar urged solicitously. ‘I will speak to your coach driver and have your bags transferred. I need no refreshment myself, but will wait for you.’




Chapter Three (#u9593a350-3558-553c-a3c1-7abe38055eaf)


‘Oh, Eleanor! Why did you not write and let me know you have been poorly? I would have come far sooner to care for you.’ Dawn felt a pang of guilt, wishing she had responded to her stepdaughter’s letter promptly. But she had preferred to spend time with her friends in Mayfair than take up her invitation to visit her stepfamily in Essex.

Eleanor made a feeble gesture from the bed upon which she was resting. ‘You have your own life to live in town, Mama. It is nothing too bad...just a little breathlessness making me feel giddy. The babe is probably lying in the wrong position, but will surely soon move and give me some relief.’

Dawn wasn’t convinced about that. Her stepdaughter didn’t look as though she were merely suffering discomfort, but a proper illness. Eleanor’s complexion was greyish, yet spots of scarlet were on her cheekbones and a film of perspiration beaded her hairline.

Dawn wished she had some experience of childbirth to draw on. She hadn’t been present at Lily’s birth. After being advised of the happy news she had travelled to Essex a week later to see the new arrival. On that occasion Eleanor had looked quite perky, telling her that a midwife had attended her and all had gone as well as was to be expected. ‘Have you been like this for a while? Might it be the baby coming early, do you think, my dear?’ Dawn picked up a hanky from the nightstand and dipped it in the water jug, then cooled her stepdaughter’s brow with it.

‘I felt more myself last week. I doubt it is the baby.’ Eleanor frowned. ‘It is over a month too soon and the pain seems different.’

From the moment Dawn had entered the house and been advised by the vicar that his wife and child were napping and shouldn’t be disturbed, Dawn had sensed something wasn’t quite right. Peter had carried on to say, in a way that seemed to brook no refusal, that Dawn should also rest after her journey. He had ushered her up the stairs and carried her bags for her to deposit in the guest room. But she sensed he was being dictatorial rather than solicitous. Once she’d spotted him from her window, striding along the cinder path in the direction of the church, she had hurried to find her stepdaughter.

A first glimpse of Eleanor’s ashen face and dishevelled appearance had made Dawn’s heartbeat accelerate in alarm. Her stepdaughter might not be a beauty, but she was pretty enough and had always taken pains with her appearance. But it wasn’t just her lack of grooming—the young woman had a look of sadness and defeat about her, too.

‘Has Peter sent for the physician to attend you?’

‘He says there is no need for the doctor to be summoned and that it is a natural ailment to be expected close to a woman’s confinement. I don’t recall feeling so feverish last time, though, Mama.’

Dawn picked up her granddaughter as she tried to climb on to the bed to lay beside her mother. She jigged Lily in her arms to quieten her as she grew fretful. ‘I have some presents for you, young lady. But first you must promise to be good. Will you be?’

Lily solemnly nodded her head, becoming still. She was bright as a button and had remembered that her grandma brought her nice things from London when she visited.

‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t up to greet you,’ Eleanor wiped a tear from the corner of an eye. ‘What a feeble sort of woman I am turning into.’

‘Don’t say that! Of course you are not.’ Dawn guessed that her stepdaughter was repeating criticism. It sounded like the sort of snappish remark Peter Mansfield might make.

He had been impatient with her earlier. At the Cockerel he had not waited outside while she finished her meal as he’d said he would. He had come to find her and made it clear he was ready to set on the road immediately now her luggage had been transferred to his gig. His bullying had been polite, but Dawn had felt under pressure nevertheless to say an immediate farewell to the Broomes and go with him.

Thereafter he had driven at reckless speed, bouncing over ruts on the road to Wivenhoe, with little conversation passing between them. That had suited Dawn. She found little to say to him at the best of times. Yet on that journey of almost an hour he hadn’t once mentioned his wife other than to give a throwaway answer to Dawn’s question of how her stepdaughter was. Eleanor at times felt a little under the weather, he’d said.

‘I should get up now,’ Eleanor said, struggling to rise on her elbows.

Dawn gently pressed her back down. ‘You must rest. And, whatever Peter says, I think the physician should attend you,’ she added firmly. ‘Sometimes women have more of an intuition about these things than men do.’ She gave Eleanor a smile of encouragement. Her stepdaughter was loyal to her husband, but he needed to be overruled on this. ‘A professional opinion is needed. If Peter is right and I am wrong, then I shall feel so much better for having worried over nothing.’ Dawn approached the door of the bedchamber with her granddaughter still in her arms. ‘I saw Peter go out some time ago, but he might have returned. If he has, I shall speak to him about fetching the doctor. Would you like some tea...or something to eat, Eleanor?’

‘I’m thirsty...some lemonade would be nice.’ Eleanor put out her hand for her daughter. ‘You can leave Lily with me. She will be good now she knows you have some treats for her.’ She gave her little daughter a fond smile.

Dawn went quickly downstairs, hoping Peter had returned because she was determined to make the daft man see sense and immediately go in his gig to fetch the doctor. Or she would go herself into the village and find the fellow.

‘Do you know if the vicar is due to return soon, Mrs Grove?’ Dawn had looked into the downstairs rooms, and knocked on the door of Peter’s study, but found no sign of him. She had headed to the kitchen in the hope of discovering his likely whereabouts from the cook. They had met before when Dawn had made previous visits, and Dawn had always thought her a pleasant woman.

‘He’ll probably be up at the church, Mrs Fenton, or he could have gone into Wivenhoe.’ Mrs Grove carried on rolling out pastry. ‘I expect you’d like some tea, wouldn’t you, m’m, after your journey?’ She wiped floury hands on her pinafore. ‘I would’ve brought a tray up to your room, but master said as to leave you to rest after your journey.’

‘I would like tea, thank you,’ Dawn replied. ‘And I’ll take Mrs Mansfield a glass of lemonade.’

Enid Grove avoided Dawn’s eyes at the mention of her mistress.

‘For how long has my stepdaughter been feeling ill?’

‘For too long,’ Enid replied pithily. ‘The poor lass needs a doctor looking at her.’ She slipped a glance at Dawn from beneath her lashes. ‘I’m that glad you’ve come, Mrs Fenton.’

‘And so am I,’ Dawn replied in a heartfelt way. ‘Why has the doctor not examined her?’

‘Why indeed! I told the master my feelings on it and was told in return to mind my own business.’ Enid shook her head. ‘’Course polite fellows don’t use those words, but I knew his meaning. I’ve done what I can for the poor lass, to ease her discomfort, but now that the day girl doesn’t come I’m run off my feet trying to cook and clean and nursemaid the little ’un.’ She sighed. ‘I’m turned two score years and ten and that Miss Lily needs a young pair of legs to keep up with her.’ Enid blew a defeated sigh. ‘Truth of it is, m’m, I’ve had enough and shall soon give notice. I don’t want to leave the mistress, but I’m feeling so fagged out that I might end up ill in bed myself and what help can I be to Mrs Mansfield then?’

Dawn had listened in amazement. None of the letters she’d received from her stepdaughter had hinted at a crisis. ‘I had no idea that things had got so bad.’ Dawn frowned. ‘What on earth has happened since my last visit?’

‘Not my place to say, m’m...’ Mrs Grove turned away and busied herself with rattling the crockery and boiling the kettle.

‘As things are serious I think you must speak up or how will I know what to do to help?’ Dawn said bluntly.

‘What is it you wish to know, Mrs Fenton?’

Dawn’s stepson-in-law had come into the kitchen, unseen and unheard. She noticed at once that Mrs Grove looked nervous. The older woman turned away and busied herself with the tea things.

‘There is so much that I wish to know, sir, that our conversation will be lengthy and better conducted upstairs,’ Dawn answered firmly. His lips had grown thin. She hadn’t pleased him with her outburst in front of his servant. But Dawn didn’t care for coddling his ego. Eleanor and Lily were the only ones that mattered. ‘I shall just take your wife her drink, then join you in your study, if that is convenient.’

‘It is not,’ he said on a sigh and gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I am sorry to sound too busy to properly welcome you, but I’m due to meet a parishioner at the church. We can converse later on when we dine.’ He would have left the kitchen, but Dawn stepped after him.

‘Just a moment, sir. One important thing must be said now. Please fetch the doctor with you when you come back. Your wife is very ill.’ She knew vicars led full lives administering to their flocks and had imagined that he must be too preoccupied to fully appreciate how sick Eleanor actually was. Dawn had hoped her concern might rub off on him, making him feel guilty and neglectful.

‘My wife is young and strong and has had a baby before. She is used to the rigours of childbirth...unlike you, madam.’

His voice had been soft, almost gentle, but Dawn knew the remark had been intended to wound and remind her of her miscarriage. ‘I might not be a mother, but I know well enough what a person in pain looks like. Eleanor should be examined by a doctor in case the babe is coming sooner than expected—’

‘My wife needs no fussing over. She doesn’t like that sort of thing.’ His voice was slightly raised now. ‘She was up yesterday and playing with her daughter. It is to be expected that there will be occasions when she feels tired as her time nears. She was like this before Lily was born.’

Mrs Grove gave a cough...or perhaps it was a snort, Dawn thought, on glimpsing the woman’s angry profile. ‘Nevertheless I insist that the doctor comes here today, to put all our minds at rest.’ Dawn’s voice was controlled but full of grit.

‘As I have said, we shall talk later, Mrs Fenton.’ Peter turned to the cook. ‘Let me have my wife’s drink. I shall take it to her. If she’s left undisturbed for the rest of the afternoon, then I’m sure she will feel better and be able to get up at dinner time.’ With a nod for Dawn he left the kitchen with the glass of lemonade Mrs Grove had thrust at him.

For a moment Dawn could only stare at the closed door, at a loss to know what on earth was wrong with the man for him to hold such a callous attitude. And why had he banned her from seeing her stepdaughter until dinner time? She knew that was what he had done. A weight settled in her stomach as she realised she had a battle on her hands. She wouldn’t give up on getting Eleanor the help she needed and hoped to glean some information from the cook as to what had recently happened. ‘Mrs Grove...’ she said, but was halted by the woman putting a finger against her own lips. A few seconds later Dawn heard footsteps receding along the corridor.

Dawn felt a chill creep over her. So Peter had been loitering to eavesdrop and from the way Mrs Grove had reacted she guessed he had done so before. Perhaps when a conversation had been taking place with her mistress. Did the vicar spy on his wife?

Dawn had never liked him, but never before had she felt uneasy in his company, or in his house. Now she did. Having observed Mrs Grove’s caginess, Dawn knew his servant felt the same misgiving as she did about the Reverend Peter Mansfield.

‘Don’t ask me questions about the master’s business. I’ll not gossip even if I have an answer to give.’ Enid shook her greying head.

‘Well, tell me this at least. You have had children, Mrs Grove. Is this a normal malaise for a woman in her condition? My stepdaughter looks so very ill.’

‘Some women do have a hard time of it. But he’s right about one thing: she’s young and once she was healthy, too. To my mind, there’s unhappiness in this house,’ Enid whispered. ‘And that can be as harmful as plague. But now that you’re here, m’m, things will be better. I know the mistress will be taken care of and little Miss Lily, too. Mrs Mansfield must be that glad you’ve turned up at last to help her.’

Dawn winced at that hint at her tardiness. ‘I wish Eleanor had put more in her letters. I would have come directly had I known she was ill.’

‘He reads her letters...them that comes and them that goes.’ Mrs Grove gave Dawn a significant glance.

Dawn started to question the woman, but Enid shook her head.

‘I’m sorry, m’m, but I’m done with it all.’ She looked sorrowful, but ploughed on. ‘I’ll leave your dinners on the stove before I go home, but I’ll hand in me notice now you’ve arrived to take care of things.’ She agitatedly resumed rolling pastry. ‘I expect he’ll find another cook quick enough. Plenty of women in the village want part-time work.’

Dawn had listened in astonishment. ‘What has caused Eleanor’s unhappiness?’

‘He’s the trouble she’s got,’ Mrs Grove muttered. ‘And the trouble the vicar’s got is to be found out there. Maybe the recently departed are playing on his mind.’ The woman pointed towards the graveyard that lay to the east of the church. ‘This warning I will give you and you’d best heed it: don’t be venturing out after dark that way, Mrs Fenton, ’cos you don’t know what you might meet.’ With finality the woman turned her back and busied herself with cups and saucers. ‘I’ll bring a tray to your chamber when the tea’s brewed. I must get on and get this pie in the oven. He likes his dinner on the dot. Six of the clock sharp.’

Dawn felt rather angry with the woman for talking such tosh. She knew that country folk could be superstitious and believed in gremlins and ghosts. But she didn’t! And she wouldn’t be taking heed of any warning. She believed the trouble in this house was most definitely of this world rather than the other.

Dawn could cook and clean...but why should she when the vicar was perfectly able to pay for a couple of servants? She knew she couldn’t do everything herself any more than Mrs Grove could. ‘Will you at least stay on until another cook is found and I will help with other tasks?’

‘Very well... I’ll do it for the mistress. I’ll stay until she’s back up on her feet and the new babe in the nursery. She’s been good to me, has Mrs Mansfield,’ Enid Grove said. ‘God bless her.’

* * *

‘You must tell your stepmama that you are simply feeling tired, my dear, and do not need the doctor to come. Mrs Fenton is fretting about your health.’ The vicar gave his wife a smile. ‘Now that you have rested in bed all afternoon you feel much better, don’t you?’

‘I do. My headache has gone,’ Eleanor said and rearranged the cutlery in front of her.

‘But, you don’t look better...’ Dawn fell silent, having noticed her stepdaughter’s startled look. Eleanor didn’t want her husband to be gainsaid.

‘I am quite well, I assure you.’ Eleanor picked up her soup spoon.

‘We will say grace,’ her husband reminded her before making a steeple of his fingers and closing his eyes. His wife rested her spoon on the bowl and copied him. Dawn simply bowed her head, glaring at pea soup.

Eleanor was still flushed and unsteady on her feet, needing to be escorted to the table by her husband. Earlier Dawn had gone to her stepdaughter’s room despite Peter’s veiled demand that she stay away. She had tried the door, but it had been locked and when she’d softly called through the panels Lily had whimpered to be allowed to see her grandma. Eleanor had then admitted she didn’t have a key to open it up.

The knowledge that Peter had locked his wife in her room increased Dawn’s feeling that something sinister was going on. But she wasn’t frightened, as Mrs Grove appeared to be. She was angry and determined to protect Eleanor and Lily. She wasn’t afraid of what was ‘out there’ as the cook termed it. But she knew there was a real danger from men who believed they knew what was best for their womenfolk when clearly they didn’t.

The prayer at an end the vicar poured them all a glass of ruby wine as though he were the most solicitous and amiable of fellows.

Dawn noticed that Eleanor glanced her way several times with a look that seemed to silently beg her not to again raise the subject of her health. So Dawn decided she would not. She’d deal with the matter herself, with or without his assistance.

The moment the meal was over Peter excused himself saying he had to go back to the church for a meeting with the verger.

‘Do you feel well enough to come into Wivenhoe with me tomorrow, Eleanor?’ If the doctor could not be brought here, then Dawn would take her stepdaughter to his house.

‘I can’t face travelling. And Lily can be quite mischievous.’

‘I expect she is bored being cooped up. She went to bed quite early.’

‘Peter likes her to be kept to a routine. Mrs Grove settles her while we dine.’

About to tell her stepdaughter that the cook was on the point of quitting, Dawn thought better of it. She imagined Mrs Grove had already told her mistress she was unhappy...and so was Eleanor unhappy. Dawn sensed Eleanor would never admit to it, though. Peter Mansfield had warned his wife not to mention whatever secrets they had. Eleanor should be anticipating the arrival of her second child with joyousness as Dawn’s friend Emma was. But there was no joy in this house.

‘Shall we play cards?’ Dawn suggested brightly.

Eleanor shook her head. ‘I’m sorry to be such poor company, but I think I shall go and say goodnight to my daughter, then return to my room.’

‘You’re not poor company. Just being with you and Lily is a delight for me.’ Dawn wished there was more truth in that statement. She had come to Essex in high spirits, but now felt utterly deflated. But she must stay cheery for Eleanor’s sake. ‘I’d like to say goodnight to Lily, if I may.’

‘Of course... I’ll call Mrs Grove in to clear things away.’ Carefully Eleanor rose from the table, but before she reached the sideboard to ring the bell she tottered. Quickly she recovered her balance and clattered the brass implement.

‘You’re still feeling giddy?’ Dawn had risen immediately and gone to her aid.

‘I’ll be fine by morning.’

‘I very much hope you will. Your dress is very stylish,’ Dawn said, wanting to boost her stepdaughter in some way. She fondled a blue-dimity sleeve. And your hair looks very pretty. She was encouraged to think that as Eleanor had presented herself looking neat at dinner, she was feeling better. She had declined Dawn’s offer to lend a hand with buttons and curling tongs.

‘I’ll be off home when I’m done here, m’m.’ Mrs Grove had come into the room to start collecting the used crockery.

Dawn gave the woman a questioning glance.

‘I’ll see you in the morning, usual time, Mrs Mansfield,’ the cook added before departing with a loaded tray.

‘Will you retire early, Mama, or stay up after saying goodnight to Lily?’

‘I think I’ll play solitaire in the sitting room, just for a little while.’ Dawn had found the cards in a bureau drawer in that room earlier and had whiled away an hour while waiting for dinner to be served. She glanced at the window. ‘The sun has made an appearance at last.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Just before it is due to set.’ Heavy cloud had covered the heavens for most of the day, but had parted to allow a narrow strip of blue to be visible. But still it was bitterly cold. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, if it is fine, we could walk in the garden. Once I’ve unpacked my things I can give Lily her presents.’

‘She’ll like that. You are good to her and to me, Mama.’

They had been slowly walking the corridor towards the stairs, but Dawn suddenly halted and put an arm around her swaying stepdaughter. ‘Hold on to me!’

Eleanor was no lightweight now she was big with child, but Dawn managed to guide her to a chair in the sitting room. She would have preferred to get her to her bedchamber, but knew she would struggle to support her up the stairs. ‘I’ll fetch Peter,’ Dawn said determinedly. ‘Enough is enough. You are sick, my dear, and urgently need a doctor’s care. If he still refuses, I will fetch the fellow myself!’

Eleanor put out a feeble hand as though to detain her, but Dawn ignored her, dashing out into the corridor and then out of the house.

Picking up her skirts, she flew along the cinder path towards the church. It was about a quarter of a mile distant and she arrived breathless, but burst in through the heavy oaken doors, calling her stepson-in-law’s name. The place seemed deserted. Nothing stirred in the cold, eerie space and the only sound was her voice echoing back at her.

Dawn’s heart was in her mouth as she hurried outside. Usually she would be happy to avoid the dratted man; now when she needed him, he’d disappeared. She had a feeling of dread rolling in her stomach. Intuitively she knew that Eleanor was in immediate need of a doctor’s care.

‘Mrs Fenton?’

Dawn whipped around at the sound of that familiar baritone...a voice she had heard recently after a long, long silence from him. She stared almost without breathing as a tall male figure approached along the path. The pale sun behind his head was burnishing his fair hair with a silvery halo, making it impossible for her to read his expression. But she imagined her shock at seeing him was plain on her face.




Chapter Four (#u9593a350-3558-553c-a3c1-7abe38055eaf)


‘Mr Valance?’ Dawn uttered in astonishment.

‘I thought it was you, Mrs Fenton. I was just about to ride off.’ He gestured to a horse tethered close to the lychgate.

‘What on earth are you doing here?’ Dawn blurted out the first thing that came into her head and in her agitated state it sounded rather rude.

‘I have an estate over yonder.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the coast. ‘Croxley Grange.’ He gave her a half-smile. ‘It is quite a coincidence that we appear to be neighbours. I would have mentioned it in London, but you seemed in a rush to get away that day.’

Indeed, she did regret having left him before discovering that news. But she’d no time to dwell on it now. The spontaneous surge of excitement at seeing him so unexpectedly hadn’t lessened her anxiety over Eleanor.

‘I came to find the vicar, but he doesn’t appear to be around.’ Jack thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘Unfortunately, I’m in need of the fellow’s services. An elderly servant has passed away. I wanted to speak to Mansfield about a funeral.’

‘Oh... I’m sorry...’ Although still in turmoil Dawn issued an automatic condolence. Her fear for Eleanor and her unborn child had put a throb in her temples to beat in time with the erratic thump beneath her ribs. ‘I am also searching for the vicar. He is married to my stepdaughter and she is very unwell. The doctor must be brought to her without further delay. She is with child and close to her time.’

‘Do you want me to fetch the doctor?’ Jack offered with a concerned frown. ‘Wilson is not far away; he recorded the death at the Grange just a short time ago.’

‘I would be most grateful, sir, if you would find him and bring him urgently to the vicarage.’

Jack extended a hand to her. ‘Would you like a ride home?’

‘No...thank you... I can easily walk. Please be quick, sir, I beg of you. I am very worried about Eleanor.’

Jack dipped his head, then strode to his horse, swinging up lithely into the saddle. He wheeled the stallion about and, with a raise of his hand in farewell, spurred the magnificent beast into a furious gallop. Dawn stared after the blur of horse and rider, entranced by a maelstrom of emotions. Gladness and overwhelming relief at having his help, astonishment at seeing him again were all jumbled together, but overriding it all was still her fears for her stepdaughter. With her skirts in her fists she raced back the way she had come.

* * *

‘I think you were right, Mama... I think the babe might be coming,’ was the panted greeting Dawn received when she burst into the sitting room. Her stepdaughter was bent double over her aching abdomen. ‘But something is not right.’ Eleanor raised her frightened eyes, peering at Dawn through lank strands of fair hair that had loosened to drape her forehead.

‘Hush...the doctor is on his way,’ Dawn soothed, kneeling by the side of Eleanor’s chair. She took her trembling hands, chafing them. ‘I could not find your husband, but I was fortunate enough to bump into a gentleman I know from town. Mr Valance told me he lives close by. He has ridden straight away to fetch Dr Wilson.’

‘You should have waited and asked Peter to go, Mama.’ Eleanor sounded anxious.

‘I should have done no such thing,’ Dawn said quietly. ‘The doctor’s visit is long overdue.’

‘I don’t know the name Valance,’ Eleanor gasped.

‘Never mind...it doesn’t matter,’ Dawn soothed. ‘Are you able to get upstairs, do you think? Or would you rather wait here for the doctor to examine you?’

‘I must get to my bed and lie down. Peter won’t like the doctor looking at me here. It is not seemly... He will be cross.’

‘So am I cross.’ Dawn struggled to control the volume of her voice. ‘Your husband’s negligence is unforgivable.’ She got to her feet and with an effort gently assisted a groaning Eleanor to stand up. ‘If you feel it will be too much for you to manage the stairs, then you must stay here.’ She muttered to herself, ‘And etiquette be damned.’

Eleanor made no more than a few steps towards the door before whimpering.

Dawn gently helped Eleanor reseat herself. It was a great pity that Mrs Grove had just left. The woman might be getting on in years, but she would have been another helpful pair of hands. ‘Would you like a drink? Some lemonade?’

‘No...don’t leave me...’ Eleanor gasped, tightening her clasp on Dawn’s fingers.

‘I won’t... I swear...’ To prove it Dawn gave her stepdaughter her other hand to hold as well. ‘It will all be fine...you’ll see, my dear,’ she croaked out in reassurance, but turned her head to shield the anguish in her eyes.

* * *

After what seemed like a wait of an hour but was probably less than half that time, there was the sound of rapid footsteps in the hallway. Dawn sighed in utter relief. Gently easing her hands from her stepdaughter’s cold grip, she hurried to open the door, hoping it was the doctor and not the vicar returning.

‘Please, come in here, sir.’ A tubby gentleman was heading down the hall, bag in hand. She’d guessed he was Dr Wilson a moment before the fellow barked that name, doffed his hat, then carried on into the sitting room. Jack Valance had entered the house, too, but was tactfully loitering a distance away.

‘Might I be of any assistance?’ He took a few steps closer to Dawn.

She knew that they might need him. The middle-aged doctor would have no better success than would she in getting her stepdaughter safely up the stairs to her bedchamber. Yet it would be more practical and less embarrassing for Eleanor if the doctor attended to her there.

‘You have already been a great boon to us, sir, but if you would just wait a moment, there might be something else.’

‘Anything. Just name it.’

Dawn gave him a grateful smile, then quickly went back to the sitting room. Having closed the door, she turned about. She needed no spoken verdict, she could read the bad news in the doctor’s grim features.

‘She has lost the child.’ He had ushered Dawn closer to the wall to keep their conversation from his patient’s hearing.

‘But...surely it is just coming early?’ Dawn’s argument emerged in a desperate murmur.

‘I fear the baby is dead, ma’am, and has been for a while. An infection has set in and made Mrs Mansfield very ill.’

Dawn felt frozen in shock, yet far back in her mind she realised she had known that a tragedy was about to happen. And so had her stepdaughter. Swiftly Dawn blinked away the tears that had started to her eyes. Eleanor’s gaze was on her, watching for a sign of reassurance, and she would give it, false though it was. This was no time for bald truths that might make the poor girl hysterical. She forced her lips into a fiercely encouraging smile for Eleanor.

‘It would be better if she were upstairs on her bed so I can examine the lass properly and then do whatever is necessary.’

‘I agree, sir.’ Dawn gulped.

‘Is her husband not yet home? Where is the man?’ he hissed. ‘How has it come to this? His wife must have shown signs of distress for many days. Are you a relative, madam?’ The doctor rattled off his whispered questions.

‘Mrs Mansfield is my stepdaughter. I arrived from London just today on a visit. As for the vicar, I’ve looked in vain for him at the church, hoping to bring him back,’ Dawn informed him.

‘If her husband’s help isn’t to be had, Mr Valance must assist us, if he will. Is that gentleman still waiting outside?’

Her brief nod prompted the doctor to go into the hall to speak to Jack. Dawn approached Eleanor and said lightly, ‘Mr Valance will help you upstairs, my dear. It is not a task either I or the doctor can do for you, I’m afraid.’

Eleanor was past caring about etiquette; she was in too much pain to be bothered at the prospect of being manhandled by a stranger.

Jack swiftly entered the room and took Eleanor’s arm, gently and efficiently easing her to her feet. He half-carried her to the foot of the stairs, then, with a murmured warning of what he had to do, lifted her up with great care and delicacy before ascending with her cradled in his arms. Dawn followed close behind, giving directions to the bedchamber.

‘Would you fetch some hot water, m’m? As much as you can manage?’ Dr Wilson was taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

Dawn nodded. ‘Of course... I’ll do it now.’

Once Jack had laid Eleanor on the bed, he withdrew. Dawn undressed Eleanor to her underclothes, then pulled the sheet up. Dr Wilson accompanied Dawn to the door to instruct quietly, ‘When you go below please ask Mr Valance if he would be of assistance once more and fetch home the confounded vicar. He should be here with his wife.’ He shook his head. ‘I would have Mansfield’s explanation for his inaction when it is quite obvious that this woman is gravely ill.’

‘I’ve no idea why the vicar delayed fetching you.’ Dawn could guess, though. The moment she’d started to disrobe Eleanor and seen the fading bruises on her stepdaughter’s arms, she knew. Soon Dr Wilson would also see them.

The doctor issued a grunt that mingled his sadness and anger. ‘The moment he turns up send him directly to me. I shall be here some while, I think,’ he added bleakly.

Dawn managed to give her stepdaughter a reassuring smile before she exited the room and stumbled, blinded by tears, down the stairs. She knew she mustn’t crumble; she had a job to do and she would do it. She found Jack Valance pacing up and down the hallway and he wheeled about, immediately striding towards her on hearing her footsteps.

‘How is she? Can I do more to help? Tell me if there is any small task that might be done.’

‘She is gravely ill,’ Dawn murmured through lips that quivered. ‘Thank you for your offer to help. The doctor asked if you would search for the vicar and make him come home. But there is something else you could do first, if you don’t mind.’ Dawn concentrated on practicalities to prevent herself howling. ‘Would you fetch some buckets of water in from outside?’ Having received his immediate nod she carried on quickly towards the kitchen, knowing he would follow. When there, she busied herself checking the heat of the range. She threw a log into the fire to stoke it up. But her shoulders had started to shake, betraying her silent sobs.

Jack drew her into his arms. ‘I’ll assist you with anything at all...but you mustn’t give up hope, not yet.’

He also knew, then. Dawn nodded fiercely, knuckling wetness from her eyes. She broke free of his embrace though it had felt wonderfully warm and tender.

They both worked silently, he bringing the buckets and she decanting the water into pots to heat up. When he had brought her a dozen filled pails she murmured her thanks and told him that she had enough for now and he must go quickly to find the vicar.

As she’d continued to toil at the stove he had put his hands on her shoulders, moving them in a caress of encouragement before leaving. How she had longed to lean into him for his strength and comfort. But she hadn’t turned around, even when she heard the back door click shut. She had remained dry-eyed and concentrated on her task. With a steaming jug in either hand she had made the trip upstairs half-a-dozen times, knocking, then leaving the water outside the closed door. Finally crushed by it all, Dawn had sunk to the floor and stuffed her fists to her lips to silence her own scream. She’d known Eleanor was fighting for her life now it was too late to save her child. Then when it had become quiet she’d sprung up, berating herself for her weakness. She’d stumbled again down the stairs to renew her efforts with kettle and pan.

* * *

The commotion at the back door as Mansfield finally burst in wasn’t enough to stop her furious industry. She carried on, not trusting herself to look at him. But she said stiltedly, ‘The doctor is upstairs with Eleanor. He said you should go to her immediately.’

‘How dare you go against my wishes?’ Peter snapped. His face was livid with indignation and he jerked on Dawn’s arm to turn her about.

‘Go to your wife, sir, without further delay.’ Jack had entered the kitchen behind the vicar and in a single stride had soon positioned himself between Dawn and her enraged stepson-in-law.

‘My thanks for bringing me here, sir, but I don’t believe I invited you into my house,’ Peter spat. ‘The name Jack Valance means nothing to me. Now what in damnation is going on? What havoc has been wreaked in my absence, Mrs Fenton?’

Jack uttered in a voice that dripped ice, ‘Not that it matters much, but I am your new neighbour. What does matter is that you should go to your wife, sir, before it is too late.’

‘It is too late...if you wish to see her, or your son alive.’ Dr Wilson had entered the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. He looked exhausted and immensely sorrowful. ‘I did all I could for her...but I was summoned here far too late.’

Peter Mansfield gawped at the doctor, oblivious to Dawn sinking slowly to her haunches, covering her face with her hands, her whole body shaking with silent sobs.

‘What? What are you saying?’ Peter roared. ‘Never tell me that I had a son at last and you’ve let him die, sirrah.’

‘No... I have not done that. The child has been dead for some time. And your wife has perished because of carrying his corpse within her for too long. You have let your wife die, sir. Had I been summoned at the first sign of her fever Mrs Mansfield might have been saved.’ The doctor was a-quiver with suppressed fury.

Dawn was aware of a heated conversation going on between the vicar and the doctor, but she understood none of it. Part of her wanted to spring up and dash up the stairs and see for herself that the awful news was true, but she felt enervated by grief, unable to move a muscle.

She felt a pair of gentle hands lifting her up, taking her away from the arguing men and into the living room. Jack eased her into a chair. A moment later she had risen, determined to tend to Eleanor in some small way. Jack urged her to sit, then squatted down close to her.

‘I know you want to go to her. But first you must take a few sips of this to steady yourself.’ He held out a brandy flask, got from his coat. When she simply stared at it, he held it to her lips. Like a child she drank, wincing as the liquor burned her throat. She allowed him to make her swallow another mouthful before she shook her head, declining to have any more. She wiped the back of an unsteady hand over her burning lips.

Jack straightened up, allowing her to rise from the chair before enclosing her in an embrace.

‘I thank God that her little daughter is asleep and knows nothing of what’s gone on,’ Dawn finally said hoarsely, burrowing against his shoulder.

‘Amen to that,’ Jack murmured. ‘Would you like me to stay? I’ll remain just outside on the lane. It would be as well to leave the house. The vicar is distraught and better not to provoke him with my unwanted presence.’

Dawn blinked up at him with bloodshot eyes.

‘I’ll always be close by, Mrs Fenton, if you need me. Remember that.’ Jack brought her fingers to his lips. ‘Remember that,’ he repeated in a velvety voice before letting her go.




Chapter Five (#u9593a350-3558-553c-a3c1-7abe38055eaf)


The bishop had come from Colchester to conduct the service, allowing the newly widowed vicar to join the mourners on the dull March day that Eleanor Mansfield, aged twenty-one, was interred in the Wivenhoe churchyard with her infant son resting in her everlasting embrace.

The funeral had been speedily arranged on the wishes of her husband, then carried out a few days after Eleanor died. Though the time elapsed was short, by then Dawn was able to contain her grief for Lily’s sake. For the same reason the fury and disgust she felt for the Reverend Peter Mansfield also went undisplayed, yet simmered, unabated, within. He had taken no responsibility for the tragedy, maintaining that he had bowed to his wife’s wishes in not summoning the doctor to fuss over her. When Dr Wilson had returned the following day to record the death, he had quizzed Peter over the marks on his wife’s arms. Those had been explained away as injuries received at times when Eleanor had collapsed. Florid in the face, Peter had made it clear that he deeply resented the implications being made. A distraught Mrs Grove had confirmed that indeed her mistress had keeled over on occasions and she had been the one to find Mrs Mansfield on the floor.

The only person who knew the truth could no longer tell it. So Dawn had no option but to give the vicar the benefit of the doubt. The physician’s face had betrayed his scepticism over what he’d heard. The only meagre comfort Dawn had was from knowing she would never again think of, or refer to, Peter Mansfield as her family. He was nobody to her. Yet she must continue to tolerate him because she couldn’t bear to lose touch with her beloved granddaughter.

She glanced at Lily, playing with her toys on the parlour rug, quite oblivious to the fact her mother was gone for ever. Of course the child had asked for her, but had seemed satisfied to know that her mama was with the angels in heaven. Yet every time Dawn answered her granddaughter’s sweetly innocent question she was sure Lily would be affected by her distress, though she did her utmost not to show it.

Presently the child danced the little doll on her lap, singing to the gift her grandma had brought her. Dawn smiled wistfully. It seemed such a long, long time ago that she had happily browsed the Regent Street shops for presents for Lily. Yet just a week had passed. And almost every minute of every hour of those days had been filled with heartache.

‘A gentleman caller, m’m.’

Mrs Grove had quietly entered the sitting room, stirring Dawn from a sightless contemplation of the greensward beyond the window pane. The woman was still haggard from constant weeping. The cook had had to be revived with smelling salts after learning of her mistress’s passing.

‘A Mr Valance asks to see you, but says he understands if you would like him to go away.’

‘No... I should like to see him, Mrs Grove.’ Had she really felt a little thrill? For days past Dawn had been numbed by grief and sure she’d never know any other emotion.

She stood up, brushing down her creased skirts. She had no deepest mourning clothes with her, but had sewn a black armband on the sleeve of her lavender gown. She imagined she looked a wreck from weeping so used her hanky on her tear-smudged cheeks, then attempted to neaten wisps of chestnut hair, tucking them into their pins. She was still conscious of Jack Valance’s appeal, she wryly realised, or wouldn’t bother readying herself to receive him.

The door opened and he came in, his grey eyes immediately locking with her dark green stare, shadowed by pain.

‘I will not stay long. I understand you might not want visitors. But I had to come to say...’ He hesitated as though unsure how to proceed. ‘I am just so sorry for your loss.’

Dawn smiled. ‘I know you are, sir. Thank you, not only for your condolences, but for all the help you gave to us.’

‘Would that I could have done more,’ Jack said vehemently. He approached and gently took her hands in his.

She allowed him to hold them, liking the feel of his warm palms wrapped around her cold fingers. ‘I was expecting you might come to the funeral.’

‘I was not invited and doubted that Peter Mansfield would wish to have me just turn up.’ He paused. ‘I wanted to come back sooner to see you. I didn’t in case I was being intrusive. I’ve not stopped thinking of you, though, for a single minute.’

Dawn hadn’t stopped thinking of him either, despite the horror of losing her stepdaughter. Dawn had wished Jack had come to the funeral, but understood his reasons for staying away. The vicar had made it clear he wanted a small, discreet affair when his wife was laid to rest. He’d intimated it was from respect for her, but Dawn suspected it was to shield himself from disapproving looks. News might have circulated about the circumstances of Mrs Mansfield’s demise.

In all, the mourners had numbered just a dozen and most of those had comprised Peter’s ecclesiastical colleagues. A few neighbours and Dr Wilson had come to the wake at the vicarage which had lasted less than an hour.

‘What will you do now? Will you return to London?’ Jack enquired.

‘Yes... I must. I cannot stand to stay here with him. Neither, I think, does he want me to. At times I feel so angry that I cannot hold my tongue so am a constant reminder of his terrible neglect of Eleanor.’ Dawn frowned, remembering the vicar’s curt good morning to her when they had passed earlier in the hall. For her part she would sooner ignore him and keep her distance. When in his orbit she felt a compulsion to leap towards him and pummel him for what he’d done. ‘Peter still blames me for interfering, even though the doctor severely rebuked him for failing to get his wife the help she so desperately needed.’ She glanced at Lily. ‘Yet... I cannot bear leaving the poor little mite behind when I return home. I wish I could take her with me and care for her.’ Her voice broke and she shielded her distress behind unsteady fingers.

Jack gently drew her into his arms. ‘Come... You have endured a tragedy, but are coping admirably with it and I know you will continue to do so.’ He paused, brushing rogue chestnut curls away from her spiky wet lashes so he might gaze into a pair of bright green eyes. ‘The most sensible thing would be for the vicar to put his daughter into your care in London, at least until he sorts out a good nursemaid to take charge of his daughter.’

‘I have already suggested to him all of that, but because he knows how much that arrangement would please me, he has dismissed it out of hand.’ She knuckled fresh tears from her eyes. ‘The child is his responsibility, he says, and must stay with him. Yet he pays Lily no heed whatsoever. He doesn’t deserve to have the dear little thing.’

‘Am I right in thinking it is not just this calamity that has coloured your opinion of Peter Mansfield?’

‘I’ve never liked him. Now I loathe him,’ Dawn admitted with unsuppressed vehemence. She clamped together her lips; she had confided too much. She hardly knew Jack Valance, yet was telling him very personal things. She had felt that immediate connection to him years ago, almost from the day they’d met. But he obviously hadn’t felt the same way about her to so easily forget her and go abroad without a word. She had allowed him liberties then...and was doing so now, standing quietly within his embrace as though it were her natural place to be. But it wasn’t; if what she’d heard was true he had a fiancée. Though she knew he was simply comforting her, she stepped away from him. Just in time, as it transpired.

‘Ah... Valance. How are you, my good fellow? My servant said you had arrived.’ Peter Mansfield strode into the room and extended his hand. His attitude was completely different to that on the day he had first met Jack. Then he had treated him as an interloper instead of a guest.

‘My condolences on your loss, sir.’ Jack shook hands.

Peter huffed a sigh. ‘Thank you. I wanted a son more than anything.’ A silence followed, but the bereaved husband made no mention of missing anybody else as he plunged his hands on his hips. ‘I have heard talk in the village that you have taken up residence at Croxley Grange, Mr Valance.’

‘It is a temporary stay. My preference is to reside most of the year in London.’

‘We had heard that a viscount had taken over the whole estate.’ Peter clucked his tongue. ‘The gossips concoct such fantastical tales.’

‘On this occasion they are correct.’

Peter’s grin appeared to freeze on his face. ‘You are Lord Sterling?’ he eventually burbled.

‘I am.’ Jack gave a slow nod.

‘Well...what splendid news. While you are in the vicinity you are very welcome to visit the vicarage whenever you wish, my lord.’ Peter gave an obsequious bow.

Dawn darted a glance from beneath her lashes at Jack. He was watching for her reaction to the news he was an aristocrat. She was surprised to hear of his elevation, but then there had been no reason or opportunity for him to discuss his business with her. Years ago, when she’d believed them to be growing closer, he’d told her a little bit about his family. He was the younger son of a baron with a meagre allowance and few prospects, he’d said. She’d known things were different for him now. Emma’s husband had described his friend’s change in circumstances as Valance having found his feet and his fortune. And in rather a magnificent way, it seemed.

‘While you are in Essex, my lord, you must meet some of the local dignitaries,’ Peter declared, strutting to and fro across the rug. ‘I would most happily attend any social function you hold at the Grange and bring the bishop along with me to introduce you...’

‘As you are in mourning, sir, I doubt you would wish to socialise for some while,’ Jack smoothly said. ‘In any case, I have no plans to entertain during my brief stay, so you will miss nothing at Croxley Grange.’

Dawn had listened to the vicar’s blatant social climbing with mounting disgust. Not a single word or look to mark his guilt or sorrow on losing his wife. Yet, before the wreath on his front door had withered he was shamelessly wheedling for an invitation to dine with the new owner of the big house.

‘I deeply regret that I did not have a chance to become better acquainted with your wife.’ Jack knew he had the fellow squirming and he wasn’t about to let him off the hook. What he was determined to do was get Dawn what she wanted, and what the child needed. And what he needed. In London she would be close to him.

‘My stepdaughter would have liked an opportunity to know you better, too, sir,’ Dawn blurted out when it seemed Peter was intending to remain tight-lipped about his dead wife. Moreover he now appeared sullen. Well, let him sulk! She would not allow Eleanor to be forgotten so easily, or to be kept from a conversation to protect his ego!

Jack crouched down to stroke a finger on Lily’s soft cheek and be rewarded with a shy smile. ‘Mrs Mansfield’s daughter is her image; a lasting tribute to her mother. You must be very proud of your little girl, sir.’

Peter made a non-committal noise, fiddling with his neckcloth and his perambulation of the room became speedier.

‘Yes, indeed, she is like her mama.’ Dawn again broke the silence and she gave Jack a grateful smile. Although no word of a plan of action had passed between them she sensed he’d decided to be her ally against Lily’s father.

‘Have you arranged tea for Lord Sterling?’ Peter barked. He resented being put in his place. He barely glanced at Lily even though a pointed reference had been made to her. In turn the little girl seemed oblivious to the fact her father was close by.

‘I want no tea, thank you,’ Jack said, straightening up.

‘Please take some port, then, my lord.’ Peter didn’t want to lose his illustrious guest before he’d inveigled himself into the fellow’s good books. He was also inquisitive about what was to become of the largest estate for miles around. He strode to the sideboard and poured two glasses of ruby wine without offering Dawn a drink. ‘Do take a seat, my lord; you must tell me all about your plans for Croxley Grange.’ He gave Dawn a sharp nod so she would sit down, allowing the gentlemen to do likewise.

Dawn returned to her chair, not for the vicar’s sake, but for her own. She also wanted to keep Jack Valance’s company. For as long as possible. After days of being battered by anguish, his presence today had actually lifted her spirits, made her feel more alive than could even Lily’s sweet company. Constantly fretting over her granddaughter’s bleak future living with a parent who seemed careless of her existence was guaranteed to depress Dawn.

‘We heard the house was run-down and had been returned to the Crown on the death of the previous owner. Viscount Welham had no heir. He was an odd fellow—kept very much to himself and sadly contributed little to the community.’ Peter took a swig from his glass. ‘It was most disappointing that the man was no proper benefactor to good causes as one in his position should be.’

‘The Grange will be restored to a sound condition—other than that I have no plans for any major changes.’ Jack politely sipped at the port that had been forced into his hand, then placed the glass on a table.

‘Oh...a great pity, sir; the presence of gentlemen of your standing is sorely needed in the area.’

‘I will give to local charities, whether or not in residence in Essex,’ Jack said with a hint of a sardonic smile.

Dawn glanced at him, biting her lip on her own faint amusement. So Mr Valance, or Lord Sterling, as she supposed she ought to think of him, was aware that the vicar was brazen with his begging bowl for church funds.

‘If I may ask, sir, what plans have you for your daughter’s care following your wife’s sad passing?’ Jack sat back in his chair and turned a relentless gaze on the vicar. ‘Your work obviously keeps you occupied late into the evening at times. When I came upon you on the evening of the tragedy you were still on duty.’ Jack knew very well that on the night he had fetched the vicar back to his dying wife’s bedside, the man had been miles away in a bawdy house. Mansfield had made a blustered explanation of his presence upstairs. It was his calling to preach against sin, and as though to prove it, he’d produced a bible from his pocket.

‘Indeed, I am busy,’ Peter said pompously, barely blushing at what his guest had alluded to. ‘A wedding here and a funeral there and all manner of sick and needy folk taking up my time. Of course I will always be available to you, my lord.’ Peter had been pleased to receive a prompt payment from Sterling for the servant’s funeral.

‘Will you hire a nurse locally to care for your daughter or engage a woman from an agency in London?’ Jack wasn’t to be put off pursuing his goal.

Peter gave a heavy sigh, wondering what ailed the man to be constantly bothering with domestic issues that were none of his concern. ‘I suppose something of the sort will eventually be done. But I have a servant here during the day and the child is docile enough to need little attention.’ He turned to Dawn. ‘Surely it is time for her nap.’ He flapped a hand to let Dawn know he wanted Lily removed from the room.

‘She has only recently woken up,’ Dawn said truthfully and with a hint of stubbornness. ‘And Mrs Grove is to retire from your service, as you know, sir, so will not be here at any time to care for Lily.’ The cook had just that morning told Dawn she’d informed the vicar of her intention to quit. ‘Lily must never be left alone, she is far too young—’

‘I believe I know my duty to her,’ Peter interrupted. ‘A new woman will soon be engaged in Mrs Grove’s stead.’

Dawn wasn’t about to be put off by his stony stare or clipped words. ‘Lily needs to be properly nurtured. She is a lively child at times and very bright. She should be occupied and educated with toys and books and cared for by somebody who cherishes her. She is my granddaughter and I have offered to take her with me to London so you may attend to your duties here. And I will do that at no cost to you at all, sir.’ Having rattled that off, Dawn paused for a breath.

‘Why, that sounds like an excellent idea, Mrs Fenton,’ Jack declared heartily, ignoring the furious floridity that was rising above Mansfield’s collar. ‘If the vicar is agreeable to that sensible solution I know our mutual friends will be delighted to have Lily as a playmate for Viscount Booth.’

‘Viscount Booth?’ Peter echoed stiffly.

‘The Earl of Houndsmere’s firstborn. Lance Harley is a good friend of mine. He mentioned to me only the other day at dinner that in his opinion children need friends from an early age if they are to thrive. Your daughter, I would say, is about the same age as their son and would make an ideal companion.’

‘I believe that friends are important, too,’ Dawn spoke up with a private smile for Jack to thank him. ‘And so does the Countess of Houndsmere believe in children socialising. Emma would gladly welcome Lily into her home as readily as she does me. Young Bernard is a delightful little boy and would adore having Lily to play with.’

The Reverend Peter Mansfield was aware that Dawn had lofty friends, but he’d paid the connection scant heed before, as he’d never seen a way to benefit from it. Now he suspected he might. He also suspected something else. ‘You are previously acquainted?’ He swung a glance between the couple.

‘Indeed, we have known one another for many years,’ Jack confirmed. ‘Mrs Fenton and I have close mutual friends in the Earl and Countess of Houndsmere. It is a very odd coincidence that we met by chance in Essex. Would that a happy rather than sad event had occasioned it.’

Dawn was discreetly watching for Peter’s reaction and a burgeoning optimism started to make her heart race. Though she displayed not a jot of her feelings she was sure the vicar was considering the likely benefits to be had from his daughter getting to know an earl’s heir.

Jack had been observing Mansfield, too, and knew it would be as well to act immediately. He got up and walked to the window, looking out with a heavy sigh. ‘It is hard to believe that the recent fine spring weather has so quickly disappeared. I shall need to return to London without delay. I cannot be snowbound when I have important meetings in London to attend. Those clouds blowing in look threatening. A heavy fall followed by a thaw will flood the roads for weeks.’ He turned back and crossed his arms over his chest. ‘If you wish to travel home with me today, Mrs Fenton, I have a good coach and a fast team of horses. We can outrun the worst of it with ease.’

‘I would like that, sir, thank you.’ Was this really happening? Dawn thought wildly. Was she really going home—so soon, please, God—with her beloved granddaughter at her side?

‘Will it take you long to pack, ma’am?’

Dawn forced herself to sound calm when replying, ‘Not at all, sir.’ And that was the truth. With all the commotion that had met her arrival Dawn had only removed a few necessary items from her trunk. All that was required was those to be replaced and the lid to be dropped down again.

‘And your daughter, sir? Is she sensibly to come with us while you attend to planning her future and engaging the necessary staff?’ Jack’s tone of voice made it clear he would think the vicar a fool if he refused.

‘Yes...you may take the dear child to London then, I suppose.’ Peter gave a gracious nod. ‘In her absence I will endeavour to sort out a suitable nurse until a governess can take over the task.’

‘I expect it will take many months to find the right candidate,’ Jack said. ‘In the meantime you will be content knowing your daughter is perfectly well cared for and is making fine new friends in London.’

‘I’ll pack Lily’s things with mine,’ Dawn blurted, standing up, wanting to make ready for the journey straight away. She felt an urge to dash to Jack and hug him for what he’d done for her, but knew she must not act in any way that might pique the vicar’s resentful nature. She managed to manoeuvre into position to send Jack a look that she hoped he would understand. She wanted him to wait and take them with him now. Once he was gone, even if only briefly before returning to collect them, Peter might brood and retract what he’d just agreed to.

Jack walked away from the window where he’d been studying storm clouds and picked up his drink. ‘If I might impose on you, Mrs Fenton, would you hurry, please? I shall wait for you to ready yourself. It would be expedient to set on the road without delay.’ He paused. ‘In the meantime I will speak to the vicar and hear of his plans for the upkeep of the church. I have noticed, sir, that the perimeter wall of the graveyard appears unstable.’ Jack took a sip of his port. ‘Is the roof in good repair?’

As though to add her weight to the decision to flee this house Lily sprang up and started whizzing about the room, whirling her dolly in a hand.

‘Oh, do take her away with you,’ Peter snapped impatiently.

‘I will be ready to set off when you are, Mrs Fenton. I have nothing of note to collect from the Grange other than my valet. And he will follow when he is ready. We should be back in London by nightfall.’

‘Thank you.’ Dawn waited for his eyes to skim past the vicar and tangle with hers, as she knew they would. But though he displayed no more than polite friendliness in his smile Dawn knew what was in his mind. Her triumph and pleasure were equally hidden. The Reverend Peter Mansfield must never understand how overjoyed she was to have her beloved granddaughter going home with her.




Chapter Six (#u9593a350-3558-553c-a3c1-7abe38055eaf)


‘I will always be in your debt, my lord. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for the wonderful help you gave to me and to Lily.’

No flirting, Jack told himself sternly as a rogue thought of how he’d like this desirable woman to please him infiltrated his mind. He gazed into a pair of glowing green eyes, then leaned forward on the coach seat to take the slender fingers she held out to him. She squeezed his hands strongly in gratitude and he caressed the soft skin beneath his thumbs. It was innocent, he told himself, letting her go and gazing out into the gathering gloom. There was nothing seductive in a kind touch.

‘There is one thing you can do for me that will be ample reward,’ he said with a half-smile. ‘No more “my lord”, please. I remember you called me Jack years ago, at my insistence, it’s true. And I believe you permitted me to use your name, when we were alone.’

‘I would like that, sir...’ Dawn gestured a bashful apology as he raised a wry eyebrow. ‘It is a habit that I will soon break now I feel we are becoming friends.’

‘I hope we are already friends, Dawn,’ he said quietly, but held back on hinting he intended they’d eventually be more than that. Since their reunion in London he’d spent just a few hours in her company, yet she’d already crept back beneath his skin. It wasn’t so long ago he’d sworn he’d never again let Dawn Sanders mean too much to him. Yet within a week of being home in England his sensible intention of avoiding her had been overtaken by a restless need to be wherever she was. He had arranged to dine with their mutual friends, guessing that the Houndsmeres would invite her along, too. He’d also guessed she might stay away to avoid him and she had. But it had done nothing to lessen his need to see her. He’d rather be spurned than know she was indifferent to his presence. Spotting her on Regent Street had been a stroke of luck. Once he’d spoken to her, he’d known she was no more immune to him than he was to her.

After that meeting all logic had been overtaken by memories of how much he’d once wanted her. He had a mistress who was sensual and amiable enough to satisfy his need for female company, yet he’d taken Pauline home from Regent Street that day and hadn’t visited her since. She had twice called on him, though, uninvited and much to his annoyance, to try to rekindle their relationship.

Jack hadn’t had a pressing reason to travel to Essex. Once he’d discovered that Dawn was heading in that direction he’d decided to visit his estate in the hope of seeing her again. Now he thanked the Lord he had set out on the road, even if for mile upon mile he’d mocked himself for acting like a moonstruck fool obsessed with his first maid. But that was forgotten now, overtaken by genuine relief that he’d been in the right place at the right time to be of service. He felt immensely glad to be removing Dawn and her granddaughter from Mansfield’s clutches and the depressing atmosphere at the vicarage.

Despite all of that, he regretted that the timing couldn’t have been more inappropriate to hint at how they had once felt about one another. He still wanted her and hoped she still had similar feelings for him. But holding her, soothing her with kisses and caresses, as a lover would, had to wait. For now kind words and condolences must suffice. Jack knew for decency’s sake he must be very patient. Dawn needed to deal with the consuming heartache that was preventing her turning her thoughts to anything other than her granddaughter’s welfare.

Jack looked at the little girl stretched out beside her youthful grandma with her head on Dawn’s lap. ‘She quickly dropped off to sleep after her upset.’

‘I’m sorry Lily made such a dreadful racket. She can be mischievous at times, but is usually easily distracted from it.’ Dawn placed a loving hand on the child’s fair hair. ‘The poor little mite must be so confused. I have told her that her mama is in heaven and she seemed to accept it. But in her own way, she knows something is wrong and is now missing her mama dreadfully.’





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