Книга - The Honourable Earl

The Honourable Earl
Mary Nichols








“Do you come often to Chelmsford?” he asked.


“Occasionally, when I need something I cannot buy in the village.”

“Which village?”

He was flirting with her. She ought not to be talking to him at all, but they were unlikely to meet again, so where was the harm? She stopped at the door of the library. “Here we are. Thank you for your escort, sir.”

He bowed, which was not easy considering he was holding an umbrella, and it made her laugh. “You should laugh all the time. It lights up your eyes.”

“Sir, you are too forward.”

He sighed. “It was ever thus with me. Shall we meet again?”

“That, sir, is in the hands of Providence.”

“Then I hope Providence will be kind to me.”




The Honourable Earl

Mary Nichols







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




MARY NICHOLS,


born in Singapore, came to England when she was three, and has spent most of her life in different parts of East Anglia. She has been a radiographer, school secretary, information officer and industrial editor, as well as a writer. She has three grown children and four grand-children.




Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven




Prologue


1753

T he rambling old vicarage was eerily quiet, but then it was five o’clock in the morning and eight-year-old Lydia, watching by the window, saw the first flush of pink on the horizon above the marshes and knew it would soon be dawn. There was a thick mist above the ground and the trees in the coppice on her left appeared to be growing in the air and the rooftops in the village of Colston to her right seemed to be floating without walls to support them. Nearer the house the stables were solid enough and the ground beneath her window, though damp, was becoming more visible as the light strengthened.

Perhaps he would not go. Perhaps friendship had prevailed and nothing untoward would happen. Perhaps Freddie, her beloved brother, and his great friend, Lord Ralph Latimer, had made up their quarrel and there would be no duel. She could not imagine anything terrible enough to make the two young men hate each other. And yet, earlier that evening when she had found Freddie in the bookroom, cleaning their father’s pistols, and had asked him what he was doing, he had been grim and angry.

‘It is time you were in bed and asleep, Lydia,’ he had said. ‘I must do what I must do.’

‘But what must you do?’

‘Nothing. Go to bed. If Father catches you here, he will be angry.’

‘He will be angry if he sees you with those pistols. You know he never allows anyone to touch them.’

‘They will be back in their case before he misses them.’ He had paused to peer into her face. ‘Unless you tell him.’

‘Oh, no, Freddie, I would never do that. But why are you so angry?’

‘I am not angry. At least, I am not angry with you, but I shall be if you do not go upstairs this minute and forget you ever saw me.’

‘But guns are dangerous things, you might be killed.’

‘So if I am, honour will be satisfied.’

It was then she realised that he meant to fight a duel. Mistress Grey, her teacher and mentor, was a great reader of romantic fiction in which duels frequently featured and she often left her books lying about. Lydia had devoured them as she did all manner of reading matter, her curiosity about everything insatiable. Sometimes there were reports of duels in the newspapers which she had been forbidden to read. But forbidding Lydia to do something was tantamount to an invitation and she read them clandestinely after they had been sent to the kitchen to be used to light the fires.

‘But who has doubted your honour?’

‘Ralph,’ he had said morosely.

‘But he is your best friend. You have always done everything together—you are even together at Cambridge. How can you fight him?’

‘I have no choice. He has insulted me. And…’ He stopped, as if remembering his listener was only an eight-year-old. ‘Now go to bed and not a word to anyone or I’ll have your hide.’ And when she smiled at this empty threat, had added, ‘I mean it, Lydia. It is not a jest.’

She had crept to her room and undressed, slipping into bed beside the five-year-old Annabelle, but she could not sleep. She knew that Freddie was impulsive and headstrong, as she was herself, or so Mistress Grey told her often enough, but surely he would not put his life at risk or shoot Ralph? Ralph was the son of the Earl of Blackwater; there would be a terrible outcry if anything happened to him. She would not even begin to think of the possibility that it might be Freddie who came off worse. And duelling had been outlawed, hadn’t it? She must do something. But what? Freddie had forbidden her to tell their father and, in any case, she would do nothing that would get him into trouble. She could tell Susan or Margaret, her older sisters, but they would certainly go to their father with the tale, and she could not worry her mother with it. After all, the two young men might come to their senses if someone were to jolt them into seeing the foolishness of their ways. And, lying sleepless in her bed, it seemed to her that she was the only one who could do it.

She had dressed in the dimity dress she had worn that day, tied her thick brown hair back with a ribbon and seated herself on the deep window ledge of her bedroom to wait for Freddie to make a move, praying that he would not, but fearing the worst.

She heard a sound below her window and looked down to see Robert Dent, another of Freddie’s friends, riding up to the house. He stopped beneath her brother’s window and threw a handful of gravel at it. A moment later Freddie’s head appeared in the aperture. ‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ he hissed. ‘Go round to the stable.’

In less than a minute she heard the door of her brother’s room being opened and shut very softly. She crept to her own door and, as soon as she heard the front door open and close, grabbed a cloak from her closet and hurried downstairs. She had never saddled her pony herself, but she had watched the groom do it often enough and felt sure she could manage it. She had to be quick because she was not exactly sure where the duel was to take place.

In her haste she stumbled over her father’s walking stick which he had propped against the wall in the hall. She stopped to pick it up and replace it, then reached for the door latch.

‘Lydia! Where do you think you are going?’

She froze as her father, with a dressing gown over his nightshirt and his grey hair awry, came down the stairs behind her. Slowly she turned to face him. ‘I…I thought…I thought I heard a fox in the hen run.’

‘I hear nothing. And you are dressed.’ He grabbed her arm and almost dragged her into the room he used for a study, where he kept his books and composed his sermons. ‘Now, you will come in here and tell me what this is all about.’

‘But I can’t,’ she wailed. ‘It is not my secret.’

‘Oh, then it must be Freddie’s. Only Frederick would be irresponsible enough to drag you into one of his scrapes.’

‘He didn’t drag me in—’

‘Where is he?’

She hung her head and did not answer.

‘He has left the house, hasn’t he? I was sure it was the sound of horses that woke me. Where has he gone? It is only just after five o’clock.’

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Papa, I must go to him, I really must. Please do not ask me why.’

Her reply in no way reassured him and he looked about him as if the contents of the book-lined room would give him his answer. She suddenly became aware that Freddie had left the cupboard open where the pistols were usually kept and the empty shelf seemed to stare out at them accusingly. She tried to move across to shut the cupboard door at the same moment her father saw it.

‘My God! What has the silly fool been up to?’ He swung round to Lydia. ‘You know, don’t you? You know where he has gone?’

She was truly frightened by the steely look in his eye and backed away a little. ‘No, Papa, that was why I wanted to follow him. To stop him. Now it is too late. He is gone. Oh, Papa, he is going to fight Ralph Latimer.’

‘Back to bed,’ he commanded. ‘I will deal with this.’

‘But you don’t know where he has gone.’

‘I can guess. Now back to bed. We will talk about it when I return.’

She turned wearily to go back to her room, knowing that when he did come back she would be in for a scolding and probably punishment; her father could be very severe when he chose, but that would be nothing to what would happen to Freddie. Papa was always scolding Freddie over something or other and threatening to take him away from University and send him into the army ‘to make a man of him’, he said. Mama had always argued him out of it, but now… Losing her beloved brother was something she did not dare think about.

She curled up in her bed beside the still-sleeping Annabelle, and waited.



She must have fallen asleep because it was bright day when she woke and five-year-old Annabelle was gone. The house was silent as the grave; she could not hear even the servants going about their business. Nor had Janet, the maid who looked after all the girls, brought her hot water as she usually did. She rose and went to the window. The sun was high and Partridge, who was both groom and driver when they took the carriage out, was leading her father’s cob into the stable. And Freddie’s horse stood nearby, still saddled.

She dressed hurriedly without bothering to wash and dashed down the stairs. At the entrance to the morning room she stopped suddenly. Her mother and two older sisters were sitting in a group, looking up at Freddie. The two girls were weeping loudly and Freddie looked as though he had seen a ghost. His face was almost transparent and his blue eyes, usually so bright with mischief, were dull and lifeless. She turned from her siblings to her mother and drew in her breath in shock. Her mother was staring up at her brother as if she did not recognise her son. Her face was chalky white with two high spots of colour on her cheeks and her hands were kneading a lace handkerchief, tearing it to shreds.

‘What has happened?’ Lydia asked.

‘Lydia. Come here.’ Her mother held out one hand to her and she went to kneel at her mother’s feet and put her head in her lap. ‘Lydia, you must be very brave. We have lost our prop, the centrepiece of our lives, our dearest, most faithful…’ She paused, as if wondering how to put what had happened into words, and then, deciding there was no way to soften the blow, added, ‘Lydia, your poor papa is dead.’

Lydia tilted her head up to her mother. ‘I don’t understand. I don’t. I thought it was Lord Latimer…’ She swung round to her brother. ‘You said…’

‘Papa came,’ he said. ‘Ralph shot him.’

Lydia scrambled angrily to her feet and faced her brother. ‘Then why didn’t you shoot him back? I’ll do it if you won’t. Papa…’ She collapsed in a heap, sobbing out her grief. ‘It’s my fault. I told him and he went after you. I let him go.’

‘You could not have stopped him, any more than you could have stopped me.’

‘And this is what your wickedness has brought us to,’ her mother said bitterly, addressing Freddie. ‘You have been going wild for months, you and that young man from the Hall, and this is the result. I dread to think what his lordship will have to say on the matter—’

‘He has no cause for complaint,’ Freddie said heatedly. ‘It was his son who fired the shot, not me. It is not his family cast into mourning.’

‘Will he be prosecuted?’ Margaret stopped crying and scrubbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

‘Who is there to prosecute him?’ her mother put in bitterly. ‘His father is the Lord of the Manor and a justice. It will be hushed up as an accident and it were better it were, because duelling is illegal and Freddie was not blameless in the matter—’

‘Mama!’ Freddie protested.

‘Oh, what is to become of us?’ her mother wailed. ‘Without your papa…’

‘Mama, I think you should lie down and I will send for Dr Dunsden to give you something to help you sleep,’ Susan said, taking charge of the situation. ‘Later, there will be arrangements to make.’

At that moment, they heard a horse galloping up to the house and then a loud knocking on the door. Lydia, only half aware of what was going on around her, heard the maid go to the door and a few moments later came to announce the Earl of Blackwater.

‘God, he wasted no time,’ Freddie muttered, as the Earl made his way into the room, dressed in a riding coat and buckskin breeches tucked into polished riding boots. He was wearing a short brown wig and, except for his drawn countenance and bleak eyes, anyone would think he was out for a morning hack. He stopped just inside the door and surveyed the tableau.

‘Anne, we must talk.’

‘Yes,’ she answered dully while the girls looked from one to the other taken aback by his familiar mode of addressing her. ‘But can it not wait? My husband is hardly—’

‘I know. I am sorry, but send the girls away. There are things to resolve…’

‘Like this living—’

‘God! Do you take me for an unfeeling monster? I did not mean that and you know it. Duelling is illegal. The boys have broken the law and as a result a man has been killed, and he not one of the protagonists, which might have made it excusable.’

‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ she cried. ‘How can you come here, when your son has deprived me of my husband…?’ And she began to weep, losing all the dignity she had been trying so hard to maintain. Lydia went to her and threw her arms about her. ‘Mama, Mama, don’t cry.’ And she too burst into noisy tears.

‘Susan, take your sisters away,’ his lordship said. ‘Your mother and I and Freddie will decide what is to be done.’

Susan prised Lydia from her mother. ‘Come, Lydia, we must find Annabelle and John. Goodness knows what mischief they will be up to while we have been in here. They are both too young to understand, but we must try and explain.’ She led her away, followed by the still-tearful Margaret.

Lydia never knew what was said by the three who were left behind. The only thing her mind fastened on was that on the day she lost her papa, she also lost her beloved older brother. He did not even wait for the funeral, but was gone that night.

‘It is for the best,’ her mother told her when she asked why. ‘His lordship cannot ignore the fact that the law was broken—’

‘By his son,’ Lydia put in. ‘Not Freddie.’

‘They were both at fault and Ralph has been banished too. His lordship has sent his only son and heir into exile. And now we must both go on with our lives without them.’

‘You sound as if you are sorry for the Earl.’

‘I am. It was not his fault.’ She took Lydia’s hand and tried to draw her closer, but Lydia resisted, too angry to draw comfort from her mother. Or give it either.

‘No, it was his Ralph’s. Freddie didn’t want to fight him, I know he didn’t.’

‘Now, Lydia,’ her mother said patiently. ‘We will have no more talk of fault or blame or anything else of that nature, do you understand?’

She nodded, but she did not understand. She might say nothing in front of her mother, but she would never forgive Ralph Latimer for what he had done. Never. Never. Never.




Chapter One


March 1763

T he Victory Ball, to celebrate the end of the seven years of war which had been waged between half the countries of Europe and which had now come to an end, was going to be the biggest occasion the little port and market town of Malden had seen for years, even though there were many who said it was not a victory but a shameful compromise. Anne had decided she would attend with her daughters, Lydia and Annabelle. Finding suitable gowns for all three was going to be a problem, but Anne found an old trunk in the attic, which contained gowns she had worn years before in their more affluent days, and brought it down to her boudoir.

From it she drew a sack-backed pale pink silk which had yards and yards of good material in it. ‘The colour will suit Annabelle,’ she said, pulling it from its protective covering of thin cotton. ‘And here is another that will remake.’ She delved into the trunk again and pulled out a yellow watered silk with panels of darker figured brocade. She held it up against Lydia’s slim figure. ‘Yes, perfect for your dark colouring. I wore it when I was your age, the first time I met your papa. It has kept very well, though it is very out of fashion. We will remake them both.’

‘What about you, Mama?’ Lydia asked.

‘Oh, my grey and lilac stripe will do very nicely. After all, I am only going to escort you and at my age it would not do to go looking like a peacock, would it?’

Anne was by no means old and she was still very beautiful in Lydia’s eyes. If it had not been for her large family and lack of wealth she might have remarried, except that she always said she had no wish to do so. ‘I am content as I am,’ she said, when anyone suggested such a thing. Lydia wondered how true that might be but knew it would do no good to question her. Instead she smiled and spoke about how they would remake the gowns.

Annabelle could hardly contain her excitement as she and Lydia set to work unpicking the old garments while their mother searched through copies of the Ladies’ Magazine for suitable patterns. ‘Oh, I am so looking forward to it,’ she said, eyes shining. ‘My first ball. I cannot wait.’

Lydia smiled indulgently. ‘No doubt you expect every young man there to fall at your feet.’

‘Oh, do you think they will? Oh, Lydia, would it not be wonderful if we could both find husbands there?’

‘There is plenty of time for that. And we are unlikely to meet anyone of consequence. It is only the Assembly Rooms after all, and everyone knows everyone hereabouts.’

‘There might be someone new to the town—surely, now the war is over, the officers will be coming back home.’

‘You are too impatient, Annabelle,’ Lydia said. ‘Why, you are only fifteen.’

‘Sixteen next month,’ her sister corrected her. ‘And you are eighteen. It is time you thought about marriage, for you should marry before me.’

‘I am in no hurry.’

‘You may not be,’ their mother put in, as they sat side by side over their needlework, their dark heads almost touching. ‘But most young ladies are married by nineteen. To delay longer will make everyone think you too particular or that there is something wrong with you. And I will not have that. You are comely and intelligent and I have brought you up to your proper duties. It is time to be thinking seriously of whom you might marry.’

‘I have not met anyone I think I should like, Mama, and I would rather earn my living than jump too hastily into marriage.’

‘Earn your living! My goodness, I never heard anything so outlandish. Why, your grandfather was a baronet and he would turn in his grave, if he could hear you. We are not of that class, Lydia, even if we are poor…’

‘Are we poor?’ Lydia asked, in surprise.

Her mother sighed. ‘I had hoped it would not come to this, but now I think I must tell you.’

‘Tell me what, Mama? Oh, do not look so stern. Have I done something wrong?’

‘No, dearest. But we have been living off the income from investments ever since your papa was taken from us so suddenly. There was never a great deal, but stocks have gone down and I have had to encroach on the capital. It is dwindling at an alarming rate. There will be no dowry for you, I am afraid. You must make as good a marriage as you can without one. It is not what I had hoped for you…’

Lydia was shocked; she had not known things were as bad as that. Her mother was always so cheerful and practical, though she abhorred what she called extravagance. It was no wonder, if they had so little money. And yet she had never stinted her children of anything they really needed. What a struggle it must have been for her!

‘Oh, Mama, why did you not say? We could have recouped, eaten a little more cheaply, bought fewer ribbons and lace. Done without the chaise.’

‘And have everyone pointing the finger and ruining your chances of finding any sort of marriage where you might be comfortable. Poverty is not something to advertise, Lydia. It gives quite the wrong impression.’

‘You mean I must find a husband soon?’

Anne sighed. ‘I am afraid so. A professional gentleman perhaps, or a younger son, or someone like Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith, who has been married before and is looking for a second wife and would not be particular as to a dowry.’

‘Oh, Mama!’ Lydia was horrified at the thought. ‘He is old. And fat. And he has three daughters already.’

‘But he is rich enough to indulge you in anything you might want. He might be persuaded to give Annabelle a dowry and help with John’s schooling…’

‘Mama, surely things are not as bad as that?’

‘Dearest, I am afraid it is beginning to look very bleak indeed. We are fortunate that his lordship has allowed us to live here…’

Ever since the tragedy, when a new incumbent had been appointed and moved into the rectory, they had lived in the dower house on the Earl’s estate, which had been standing empty since his mother died a year or two before. Lydia’s feelings on accepting help from the Earl of Blackwater were ambivalent. Her pride against taking charity from the father of the man who had killed her beloved papa did battle with the conviction that he should be made to pay and anything they had from him was little enough compensation for their loss. Her mother saw it differently. She was grateful. Grateful!

Lydia’s hate had not diminished over the years but she had learned to control it, to put on a cheerful face and live in the same small village without exploding every time someone mentioned his lordship’s name, or she saw him smiling and chatting to the congregation after church on a Sunday. He was well liked and some even sympathised with him at the loss of his son and the protracted illness of his wife brought on, so it was said, by the tragedy. As if his loss was the greater.

Why, he could send his son funds to keep him in luxury wherever he was, but she had lost her papa and her brother might as well be dead as well for all the news they had of him. They certainly could not afford to send him money. Ten long years he had been gone and she still missed him. She missed her older sisters too.

At the time of the tragedy, Susan had been betrothed to the son of the recently knighted Sir Godfrey Mallard who lived in Lancashire, where the family had interests in cotton spinning. The marriage contract had already been signed by both fathers, otherwise the groom might very well have backed out of it, but on the grounds that Lancashire was a long way from Essex and news of the duel was unlikely to reach there, Sir Godfrey had allowed the wedding to go ahead a year later, though he discouraged his new daughter-in-law from visiting her old home more often than was absolutely necessary for appearances’ sake.

As for Margaret, she had been betrothed to a young captain in the Hussars, but when he had been killed in the war, had eschewed marriage to anyone else and had gone to Hertfordshire to be schoolmistress to the children of the Duke of Grafton. Somehow working for the duke was acceptable employment in her mother’s eyes. It meant Lydia was the eldest still at home and now they had become so poor she must sacrifice herself for the sake of the rest of the family and marry money. But Sir Arthur…!

‘He has not been long in the district,’ her mother said. ‘He is not acquainted with the past.’

‘Someone will soon tell him, you can be sure.’

‘Then you must engage his attention and make him see the advantages of the match before he has time to listen…’

‘Oh, Mama, that is surely deceitful.’

‘No, he will take no heed of gossip when he gets to know you and realises what an excellent wife you will make.’

‘Wife and mother,’ Lydia added bitterly. ‘Don’t forget his daughters.’

‘Oh, my dear child, I am so very sorry it has come to this but I cannot see any other way out. If your father had lived or even if Freddie…’ She could not bring herself to go on. The absence of her elder son seemed to be an even greater cross for her to bear than the death of her husband.

‘Can I not wait? Someone else might come along.’

‘If you are harbouring romantic notions about falling in love, Lydia, I should caution you against allowing them free rein. Life is not like that. And especially our life.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ Lydia sighed heavily. She could not upset her mother by saying what was in her heart: the anger and despair, the black hate which she had pushed into the background but which now returned full force.

‘If you do not care for Sir Arthur, there is Robert Dent,’ her mother said. ‘He is still single and will come into his father’s wealth, even if it has been got by industry.’

‘He is a rake and a gambler,’ Lydia put in. ‘Living with him would be like twisting the knife in a wound which will not heal. He could have stopped that duel long before Papa ever got there. He should have refused to be Freddie’s second.’

‘Freddie would have found someone else to do it. But you are right, Robert Dent’s reputation is a little tarnished and I would not want my daughter to be made unhappy by a profligate husband, however rich.’

‘There is always the Comte de Carlemont,’ Annabelle put in with a giggle. ‘Such a dandy, but very polite. He would not care about the gossip. He would carry you away to the French court now that the war is ended. He might even find positions there for Mama and me.’

‘I have no wish to go to France,’ Lydia said and refused to say another word on the subject. She tried not to think about it, to look forward to the ball as Annabelle was doing and dream of finding a husband who lived up to her very high ideals. He must be handsome and strong but, more than that, he must be kind and attentive and not given to gambling. He would love her devotedly and not even think about taking a mistress because they would be so happy together, he would never see the need. And he might restore Freddie to them…

She sighed. What was the good of dreaming? They had no idea where her brother was. He had written soon after he left, telling them that he had enlisted but then nothing. They did not even know if he were alive or dead.

They were about to set aside their sewing and have dinner when Janet came to say one of the grooms from Colston Hall was in the kitchen, with a message for Mrs Fostyn. Lydia and Annabelle looked as each other as their mother rose to go to speak with the man.

‘What can he want?’ Lydia mused, after Anne had left the room. ‘I cannot understand why Mama continues to bow down to that man.’

‘You mean the Earl? He has done nothing wrong.’

‘What do you know of it? You were not there.’

‘I heard what happened. Everyone did. It was his son who shot Papa, not him.’

‘He sent Freddie away. He took our home from us.’

‘He had to. We couldn’t have gone on living in the Rectory when the new rector came, could we? And he lets us live here.’

‘That’s no reason for Mama to hurry over there whenever the Countess throws a fit.’

Their mother returned before they could continue the conversation. ‘His lordship has had a fall,’ she said. ‘They need me at the Hall.’

‘Why, Mama? His lordship has servants in plenty if he needs a nurse. I do not know why you have to go.’

‘I must. Lydia, look after everything while I am away. Do not wait dinner for me. I will be back as soon as I can.’

Janet fetched her cloak for her and she flung it over her shoulders, lifted the hood over her curls and left with the servant from the Hall.



Mrs Fostyn did not return until nearly dawn the next morning. Lydia, who had been sleeping fitfully, heard her step on the stair and hurried out in her nightgown to meet her. She looked pale and tired and her eyes, though dark-rimmed, were bright with tears. ‘Mama, what has happened? Why have you been so long?’

‘He is dead, Lydia,’ she said flatly. ‘The Earl of Blackwater is dead.’

‘Oh.’ She could not bring herself to say she was sorry. ‘How did it happen?’

‘I will tell you all about it later. I am tired. I must rest.’

‘Of course. I’ll wake Janet to help you.’

‘No, I can manage. Go back to bed or you will disturb everyone. Later we will talk.’ She turned from Lydia and went into her own room, shutting the door softly behind her, shutting her daughter out. Hurt and feeling somewhat resentful, Lydia returned to her own room.



It was nearly noon before her mother put in an appearance in the drawing room, but by then she looked more like her normal self. She smiled at the girls who, for want of anything else to do and to keep their fingers busy, were continuing their needlework. ‘Let me see how much you have done,’ she said, taking Lydia’s from her and inspecting the stitches. ‘Very good, very good indeed, though I am not sure we shall be able to go now, what with the Earl—’

‘Oh, Mama, surely you will not cancel going because he has died?’ Annabelle wailed. ‘He is not a relative. We do not have to go into mourning for him.’

‘No, but the organisers may well decide not to hold the ball in view of the fact that his lordship was one of its main sponsors.’

‘Oh, no.’ It seemed to Lydia that every bad thing that had happened to them, every disappointment, could be laid at the door of the Earl.

In the event the ball was not to be cancelled, simply postponed until after funeral, when his lordship’s heir might decide whether it should take place or not. His heir. Lord Ralph Latimer was new Earl of Blackwater, though it seemed no one knew where he was to be found. ‘I was told by his lordship’s valet that there has been no contact between him and the family since…since it happened,’ their mother told them. ‘I thought they corresponded, that his lordship knew where he was, but if he did, he died without saying. I believe the lawyers are looking into it.’

‘How did his lordship die, Mama?’ Lydia asked. ‘You said it was an accident.’

‘Yes, he fell down the stairs from the upper floor to the gallery.’ She gulped hard and went on. ‘The doctor said his back was broken.’

‘But he was conscious. He asked for you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why you? Why not his wife?’

‘She was not well… Oh, this is so difficult. His wife has never been the same since Ralph went away. She has not always been in her right mind. Sometimes she raves, sometimes she is quite violent towards him. I believe he went to her room to visit her. She…you must promise not to say a word of this to anyone…’ They nodded and she went on, ‘She attacked him. It is why he fell. They have had to restrain her.’

‘You mean she pushed him?’

‘I believe so.’

‘Poor lady,’ Lydia said, for the first time feeling some sympathy for her.

‘Yes. But you see why she would have been no use to his lordship.’

‘But you were.’

‘Yes. We have…we have a strong bond. We have both lost those nearest to us by a cruel blow…’

‘Is that how you see it? How can you be so forgiving? And if Lord Latimer—I mean, the new Earl comes home, how will you greet him? With a curtsy and a smile?’

‘I do not know,’ her mother answered. ‘We shall have to wait and see.’

The funeral could not be delayed when no one knew if the new Earl had even been informed of the tragedy. Some said he had died of a fever in the tropics; some said he had served as a common soldier and died in battle. Others said he was alive, but would never dare show his face. Others, who sympathised, said he would see the Fostyns off his land as soon as he came, which was no more than they deserved.



The day before the funeral, a second tragedy struck. The Countess escaped those employed to look after her and threw herself from the roof of the Hall. Grief, everyone said, grief and the fact that her husband had turned to Mrs Fostyn when he lay dying and not to his wife. Lydia was furious on her mother’s behalf and was all for making public what her mother told her about the Countess’s state of mind, but Anne refused to countenance such a thing and said the Earl and Countess should be allowed to lie in peace.

There were two funerals instead of one and still the speculation went on about the new Earl and what was to happen to the Hall if he could not be found. And no one speculated more than the Fostyn family. They lived in the dower house only by courtesy of the dead man. Where would they go if they were turned out? How would they live?

‘We must hold our heads up, pretend nothing is wrong,’ their mother said, though Lydia was not sure how much of the gossip she had heard. ‘We will finish these gowns. If there is no Victory Ball, there will be others.’



Which was how Lydia and Anne came to be in Chelmsford a month after the funeral, searching for pink velvet ribbon for Annabelle’s gown and braid to match the brocade of Lydia’s. Anne wanted to visit an old friend and Lydia suspected she needed someone to confide in, someone to whom she could tell her troubles; talking to her daughters was not the same thing at all.

‘You look for the ribbon, Lydia, and meet me in the lending library.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘I do not know how long I shall be but, if you are surrounded by books, you will not mind waiting.’

They parted in the street. Lydia watched her mother go with an ache in her heart, wishing she would confide in her more than she had. But when she had spoken of her problems, the day before the Earl’s death, Lydia admitted she had not taken her as seriously as she should have done. And now her mother had shut her out, taken control of herself, and was determined to look after her brood no matter what. Lydia sighed. She had to do something to help and the only thing she could do was to consider marriage.

She pulled herself together and went into a tiny haberdashery shop where she found the pink ribbon, but there was no match for the braid. She tried other establishments to no avail and was just leaving the last shop when it started to rain heavily. She stood in the doorway, waiting for it to ease, when she was joined by a young man with an umbrella. The doorway was narrow and the rain was pouring off the overhanging roof on to her shoulders.

‘Allow me,’ he said, holding the umbrella over her. ‘It is big enough for both of us if we stand closer.’

‘Thank you,’ she said primly, but declined to move nearer to him. He was already too close for her peace of mind.

Her first impression of him was his height and the breadth of his shoulders as he stood beside her. The second was the fineness of his clothes. He was wearing a coat of a fine worsted cloth lined with red silk. The collar and cuffs of the sleeve were faced with the same silk embroidered with gold and silver thread. It was an expensive coat, but he wore it casually as if it was of no importance to him that it was being spotted with rain. She tilted her head up so see his face and was taken aback to find him scrutinising her as if he meant to memorise every detail.

For a moment she continued to look up at him, noticing that his features were even, his nose long, almost haughty, and his skin was tanned and crinkled round his mouth as if he were more used to laughter than frowns. He wore a dark wig dressed away from his face with long side curls and the back tied with a narrow grey ribbon. His dark eyes were looking at her with a slightly mocking expression and she realised that she, too, had been staring and cast her eyes down.

She was met with the sight of an embroidered brocade waistcoat with a row of silver buttons from the neck, where a lace cravat frothed, down to his narrow waist. His long legs were clad in knee-length fitted breeches tucked into shining boots, which emphasised his muscular calves. Embarrassed, she turned to stare out at the rain-sodden street where puddles were gathering and filling the gutter.

‘I never thought an article like an umbrella would stand me in such good stead,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘I was in a mind not to bring it out today, but I am glad that I did.’

She was aware of the undercurrent of meaning he put behind the words and felt the colour flare in her face. ‘Indeed, sir, you would have been very wet else.’ She risked a glance up into his face and smiled. ‘As it is, I do believe you are already very damp. Pray, hold it over yourself and not me. I have my cloak.’

‘I do not mind the rain. I am used to it. Where I come from, the monsoon is a hundred times more wet.’

She laughed. ‘Wet is wet, sir, how can one rain be wetter than another?’

‘Oh, I assure you it is. Have you ever been to India? No, I will wager you have not, but if you had, you would know exactly what I mean.’

India, she mused. Then he was a nabob, grown rich on trade and made bold by it. But the strange thing was that she was not repelled as she should have been. She found herself drawn to him, as if there was something from him to her, a fine but strong thread, pulling her to him. ‘I should like to travel some day.’ she said. ‘But you are right. I have never been away from England in my life.’

‘Not even to London?’

‘Once I went, a long time ago, but not since—’ She stopped suddenly and then went on. ‘Not since I was a child.’

He detected the wistfulness in her voice and wondered what had caused it. He looked down at her. She was slight; the top of her head hardly reached his shoulder, but he sensed an inner strength, a steely determination. She was no wilting violet. Her eyes, looking up at him without fear, were hazel, but they had golden lights in them that glowed when she smiled like the tiny lights of the will o’ the wisp that twinkled over the marshes on dark nights. Her hair was thick and a glorious russet brown. The cloak which covered her gown was a plain grey broadcloth tied at the neck with matching ribbon, not the garment of a young lady from a wealthy family, but not poverty-stricken either. ‘Then I hope you have your wish, my lady.’

‘Thank you, but I am not entitled to be called lady.’

‘You are in my book,’ he said softly. ‘For want of a name.’

She ignored his hint to provide her name and turned from him. ‘I do believe the rain is easing and I shall venture forth.’

‘Must you? I was just beginning to enjoy myself.’

‘I have arranged to meet my mother at the library. She will be waiting for me.’

‘Then allow me to escort you. The rain has not quite stopped and you will need my umbrella.’

‘It is but a short step, sir. I would not put you to the trouble…’

‘It is no trouble, it is a pleasure.’ He fell into step beside her, carefully holding the umbrella over her. ‘Do you come often to Chelmsford?’

‘Occasionally when I need something I cannot buy in the village.’

‘Which village?’

‘Oh, it is such a small place, you would not have heard of it, I am sure.’ He was flirting with her, she knew, and she ought not to be talking to him at all, but they were unlikely to meet again, so where was the harm? And keeping him guessing was all part of the fun. She stopped at the door of the library. ‘Here we are. I said it was only a step, did I not? Thank you for your escort, sir.’

He made her a sweeping leg, which was not easy considering he was holding an umbrella, and it made her laugh. ‘You should laugh all the time,’ he said softly. ‘Laughter lights up your eyes, brings them to life.’

‘Sir, you are too forward.’

He sighed. ‘It was ever thus with me. But one must seize opportunities when and where they occur, don’t you think? Take the bull by the horns. Shall we meet again?’

‘That, sir, is in the hands of Providence.’

‘Then I hope Providence will be kind to me.’

She smiled as he left her, striding away down the street, his umbrella bobbing up and down as he lifted it clear of other walkers who were venturing out after the downpour. She supposed it would be the last she ever saw of him. She rarely came to Chelmsford and, even if she did, the chances of bumping into him again were slight.

She turned to go into the library, still smiling. He had been so handsome and evidently wealthy, though without pretensions to grandeur and certainly not over-proud, exactly the sort of man her mother said she should look for as a husband. But you did not pick up husbands in the street, did you? And she knew nothing about him—he might be married, or disreputable. And even if he were not, he would not think of her as a wife. Sensible men did not pick up wives in the street either. Mistresses, perhaps, someone with whom to have a short-lived dalliance. He must have thought she was that kind of girl. But he had called her ‘my lady’. His idea of a jest, no doubt. She was glad she had not told him her name or where she lived.

Her mother had not yet arrived and Lydia spent the next half-hour browsing among the books, though they came to Chelmsford too infrequently for her to think of taking out a subscription. She smiled. If she did, it would be an excuse to come again. But then she sobered immediately; it would be what her mother called an unnecessary extravagance and, since her revelation about their finances, she must consider every penny carefully before spending it. Even ribbons and braid were luxuries.

‘Ah, there you are, Lydia.’ She heard her mother’s voice behind her. ‘I am sorry I am late. I stayed until the rain stopped. Did you get wet?’

‘No, I sheltered in a doorway.’ She did not know why she said nothing about the young man and his umbrella. Perhaps because she was determined to forget him and that strange pull he had over her. She had spoken to him for only a few minutes and yet he had left an emptiness behind, a promise unfulfilled, a glimpse of sunshine even in the rain, and she felt sad. And isolated.

They walked out to where their only outdoor servant, the ancient Joshua Partridge, who had been groom and driver to her father, waited with the old coach and elderly horse. As they trotted through the now-crowded streets towards home, Lydia looked about her for the sight of a bobbing umbrella. But he had gone, disappeared as if he had never been.



Ralph Latimer, fourth Earl of Blackwater, returned to his carriage which he had left at an inn on the outskirts of town, climbed in and directed his coachman to take him home to Colston Hall. Home! How often, in the heat and red dust of India, had he dreamed of coming home to the cool green of England, of being restored to the bosom of his family and taking his place beside his father, learning to take over the running of the estate, the welfare of the villagers, of hunting and fishing and sailing as he had done as a boy.

Thinking of his boyish pursuits made him think of Freddie Fostyn. They had been almost inseparable, sharing their lessons in the schoolroom at the Hall, getting into mischief as boys always do, vying with each other on the sports field, riding and gambling and talking about women.

It was women that had been their undoing or, to be more precise, one young lady they had met on picnic on the banks of the Cam one day soon after Freddie had joined him at Cambridge. The picnic had been arranged by Mrs Henrietta Gordon, a plump matron who had what was laughingly called an Academy for Young Ladies, supposedly a school for the education of the daughters of the middling classes. Everyone except the most naïve, and that apparently included Freddie, knew the girls were no such thing and their mission in life was of an entirely different kind.

Ralph had found one of the girls very much to his liking and had enjoyed flirting with her, unaware that Freddie had fallen head over heels in love with her. It was only later, when they had returned home for the summer vacation that he had told his friend, laughing the while, that a certain young lady had been more than receptive to his advances and he had invited her to stay in rooms he had taken in a house in Malden, so that they might continue their dalliance during the vacation. In a year or two he would have to settle down, but until then he would allow himself to dip his toe in the waters of sexual experience just as every other young man of his acquaintance did. He had hoped Freddie would not mind forgoing their planned sailing trip around the coast to Worthing.

Freddie had appeared surprised and reminded him in tones that sounded just like his strait-laced mama that he was promised to the Duke of Colchester’s daughter, Juliette. ‘Not yet,’ he had said. ‘The parents are still haggling over the dowry and marriage contract, and while they do, I intend to have my fun.’

‘And who is this fille de joie and where did you meet her?’

Freddie was two years younger than Ralph and, a rung or two lower down the social scale; though that had never meant a thing as far as Ralph and their friendship was concerned, Freddie was decidedly touchy about it, especially when it came to women. Ralph had a way with them, a flattering manner and, besides that, he was wealthy enough to give them expensive trinkets.

‘At Mrs Gordon’s picnic. Her name is Fanny.’

‘Fanny?’ Freddie had repeated, giving every appearance of being shocked. ‘You are speaking of Miss Fanny Glissop?’

He should have been warned by the fierce look in his friend’s eye, the way his jaw began to work, the clenching of the fists, that all was not well. But he was busy casting a rod into the sluggish waters of the River Crouch, which bordered his father’s estate, and did not look at him. Instead he said, ‘If that’s her name, yes, I never enquired the rest of it.’

‘How could you insult her so?’

‘Insult her? I did not insult her, rather I flattered her, for I am very particular as to where I lay my head.’ He had laughed with the exuberance of youth. ‘And my body. And I shall enjoy an hour or two amusing myself discovering more of hers—’

Freddie’s blow was so unexpected and delivered with such force it toppled him into the river. He came up spluttering and began to clamber out, holding out his hand to be helped up the bank. Freddie ignored the hand and glared at him with pure venom in his eyes.

‘What’s the matter with you, man?’ Ralph had demanded. ‘Take my hand and help me out. You will have your little jest, but for the life of me I cannot think what brought it on.’

‘Can’t you? Can’t you? You insult a lady, a young and innocent lady, a pure flower who has known nothing but her parents’ love, and talk of defiling her!’ His voice reached a shriek of outrage. ‘You are an abomination…’

He had climbed out without help and stood facing his friend, dripping water from his fine kerseymere coat and buckskin breeches, ready to grasp him by the shoulders and smile away his fury. ‘Freddie, my old friend, you know she is nothing of the sort. Why, she would not be at Mrs Gordon’s establishment if that were so…’

Even then, Freddie did not understand and pushed him away. ‘You are a monster, a spoiler of women, a pervert,’ he yelled.

Instead of continuing to try to placate him, Ralph had lost his own temper and advanced on his friend with fists raised. ‘You will take that back, Freddie Fostyn, and apologise.’

‘I will not. Never.’

‘Then I will have to fight you and you know I can best you.’

‘Call me out, then.’

Such a thing had never crossed his mind. All he wanted was to teach Freddie a lesson, show him that he could not be insulted with impunity, and fisticuffs was what he had meant. ‘Don’t be a fool.’

It was almost the worst thing he could have said. It put Freddie in his place, poured scorn on him, laughed at him. And Freddie could not take it. With a roar of rage, he took a step towards Ralph and, for want of a glove, slapped his face, first with the palm and then the back of his hand. ‘My representatives with call upon you,’ he said and strode away.

Ralph had watched him go, rubbing his stinging cheek and laughing. He was still chuckling to himself when he picked up the rods and fishing tackle and went home. His laughter stopped abruptly when Robert Dent arrived that evening with another of their friends and told him Mr Frederick Fostyn demanded satisfaction.

He could not believe it and sent them back with a message that he hoped Freddie would think again before taking a step that was not only illegal but might end in the death of one or the other of them. For the sake of their friendship, he hoped Freddie would come to his senses. They returned half an hour later and told him that their principal had said if his lordship refused the challenge he would let it be known that he was a coward.

Ralph had had no choice. It was all Freddie’s fault, all of it. Robert had asked him for his choice of weapons and his confused mind had chosen pistols, though later he realised that if he had said rapiers, the subsequent tragedy could not have happened.

Pistols at dawn! How laughable and how tragic! Neither of them owned pistols and his father’s were locked up where he could not get at them. Knowing that the Reverend Fostyn had a matched pair bequeathed to him by his father, Ralph had suggested they use those. It might give Freddie a tiny advantage, though why he should consider his erstwhile friend and now sworn enemy, he did not know.

The mist had been so heavy that dreadful morning, they could hardly see more than a few yards and he had begun to hope they might both miss their target and that would be an end of the affair. It was like some macabre play as they paced out the ground in a clearing in a copse of trees on the edge of his father’s land. There were few stands of trees in the area and the little wood was the only one for miles, the land being on the edge of the marshes which led to the sea. It was a place that had been used before for such a purpose, far from any habitation, where a body could be heaved into the soggy bog and never be seen again. But whose body? Could he refuse to fire? Could he stand and take whatever was coming to him without trying to defend himself?

They reached the end of the slow walk being counted out by one of his seconds and turned. Ralph raised his gun at the shadowing figure twenty paces away but he could not bring himself to fire. And then he heard a click and an oath and realised that Freddie’s pistol had misfired. ‘Go on,’ his second said quietly. ‘You’ve got him now.’

Instead, he had deliberately fired away. He had been so absorbed in his dilemma, he had not heard the horse cantering over the fallen leaves beneath the trees, nor did he see the shadowy figure fling himself from the saddle and run towards them. He only knew he had hit something when he heard a harsh cry and felt, rather than saw, the body hit the ground, almost at his feet. After that there was pandemonium. In a dumb daze he watched Freddie fly to his father, saw everyone looking at each other in horror, heard someone mount a horse and gallop off to fetch a doctor. He simply stood there, the gun still in his almost lifeless fingers.

Robert took it from him, while Freddie sobbed, yelling at him, accusing him, as if he had meant to do it. He felt sick. And then his father had come. His father, a notable Justice of the Peace, should have had them both taken up and sent to gaol for duelling, let alone killing an innocent man, but instead had sent him into exile. He had never seen him or his mother again.

Ten long years he had been gone, ten years in which he had matured in body and mind, had learned to control his anger and subdue his softness, to deal straight with all men, and take his pleasures where he found them, never letting anyone see his vulnerability. In truth, he thought he had been so clever at concealing it, there was now nothing left to hide; he had become a hard man inside and out. Oh, he could be charming when he chose and there was many a young lady in that over-hot subcontinent who could vouch for that, but it was never more than skin deep.

Now he had to pick up the pieces, decide if he should stay in England, stay at Colston Hall and face those who decried him as a murderer. But why should he not stay? He was the Earl of Blackwater, an honourable man, and he would treat every man fairly; if he should come upon Freddie Fostyn, he would ignore him, ignore the whole Fostyn family for they had brought him nothing but grief. They had probably gone from the village because his father had had to appoint a new rector and the house went with the living.

As the coach rattled towards Colston Hall, his thoughts drifted to the young lady he had met in Chelmsford, a much more pleasant subject than the past which still had the power to torment him. She was a beauty with those classic features, that lustrous hair and those oh-so-expressive hazel eyes. She had been composed and ready to answer him without simpering or fluttering her eyelashes at him as some young ladies had been known to do under his scrutiny. She was a cool one, but under that he sensed a fire waiting to be kindled into life. He would have liked the opportunity to be the one to set the blaze going.

He wished now he had been more insistent on learning her name or the name of that village she mentioned. He could have amused himself with a little dalliance between the bouts of serious exchanges with his lawyer. According to that gentleman, there was much to be done, so many things which had been neglected in and around the Hall: tenants’ homes needing repair, walls broken, ditches and drains overgrown, estate roads full of potholes.

‘How did it come to this?’ he had asked.

‘My lord, his lordship was not himself, worried, you know, about…’

‘About what? Out with it, man.’

‘The Countess’s health, my lord. She never got over it, you know.’

He did not need to ask what ‘it’ was. It was one more thing to lay at the door of Freddie Fostyn. He hoped he would never meet him again.



He discovered he had been wrong about the Fostyn family leaving the village the very next afternoon, when his lawyer called to go over the tenancies of the estate and he discovered they were living in the dower house, not a quarter of a mile away.

‘How did this come about?’ he demanded, angrily.

‘His lordship, your father, allowed it, my lord. I think he felt sorry for them when they had to leave the rectory.’

‘Sorry for them!’ he repeated bitterly. ‘And how much rent do they pay?’

‘Why, none, my lord. The dower house has never brought in rent. After your grandmother died, it stood empty and—’

‘Well, things are about to change,’ he said. ‘Write to Mrs Fostyn and tell her to remove herself from the house. Give her a week—’

‘My lord, she can hardly make other arrangements in a week and his lordship said Mrs Fostyn might stay there as long as she wished to.’

‘My father is dead, Falconer,’ he said. ‘And I am master here now. But I will not be unfair. Give them a month.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

He might not have been so harsh, he realised later, if he had not spent the journey from Chelmsford going over the past, and in doing so resurrected all his bitterness and resentment. Let Mr Frederick Fostyn look to his mother; after all, he was the one who had got off scot free. His years in exile, far from mellowing him, had only served to harden him.




Chapter Two


T he girls were putting the finishing touches to their ball gowns, although no decision had been reached about whether the ball was going to take place. Rumours were flying about the village that the new Earl had arrived, but no one had seen him.

‘I saw a grand carriage turn into the gates of the Hall earlier today,’ John said over supper the previous evening. ‘It wasn’t the old Earl’s because everyone knows that was falling to bits. This was much newer and it had four matched bays and two postilions.’

‘Did you see anyone in it?’ Annabelle had demanded.

‘No. Whoever it was was sitting back in the shadows.’

‘That doesn’t mean it was the Earl,’ Lydia said, hoping that it wasn’t. She didn’t want to see him, ever again. ‘It could have been Mr Falconer, his lawyer. They say he is staying at the Hall, for there is so much to be done, especially if the Earl is not coming home.’

‘I doubt there will be a ball now,’ Annabelle said, snipping off her thread and looking at her beautiful pink gown with her head on one side. ‘And I did so want to wear this and dance the latest dances. How am I to find a husband if we never go anywhere? Caroline Brotherton is to have the Season in London.’

‘Caroline Brotherton is the daughter of a marquis, Annabelle,’ their mother said gently. ‘We cannot aspire to such things.’

Annabelle had met Caroline at the school for young ladies they had both attended in Chelmsford and had subsequently been invited to a birthday celebration at her home when both girls, their education supposedly complete, had left school for good. She had talked of little else ever since and Lydia suspected that was where all this talk of husbands had come from.

‘I don’t see why not. Susan is going to London for the Season.’ Annabelle pouted. ‘I could stay with her.’ Susan had written to say she and her husband were going to stay in town for the summer months and she was looking forward to attending a few of the Season’s social occasions.

‘Dearest, even if you stayed with your sister, I could not buy all the gowns and frippery you would need. And besides…’ She paused, wondering how to go on. ‘We are not aristocracy, my love, and though you are very pretty, you would not be considered. We must keep to our station in life, for otherwise lies misery, believe me.’

She spoke so firmly and with such conviction, it made Lydia look up from her work in surprise, wondering what had caused such strength of feeling. She came to the conclusion her mother was thinking of the friendship between Freddie and Ralph Latimer and what it had brought them to.

‘We are not common people,’ Annabelle said. ‘Papa’s family is one of the oldest in the kingdom, Grandpapa used to say so at every opportunity. He had a title—’

‘It was only a minor one as you very well know, child. And in any case, ever since…’ Anne paused. The old man had died six years ago, only a year after his wife. His older son and heir, her dead husband’s brother, had declined to do anything to help them and rarely communicated. She smiled, knowing how disappointed her youngest daughter was. ‘You may go with Lydia to the lecture tomorrow evening at the Assembly Rooms in Malden. I must confess I am feeling too tired to accompany her and you may use my ticket.’

‘A lecture! What would I want with a lecture? I am given far too many of them at home to want to go to Malden to hear one.’

Anne sighed. She had expected Lydia to be difficult, but not Annabelle. ‘Go, for Lydia’s sake. She cannot go unaccompanied and you would not deprive her of an outing, would you?’

‘Oh, very well. But no doubt I shall be bored to death.’ She turned to Lydia. ‘What is it about?’

‘The title is “With Clive in India”. The lecturer has just come home from there after many years with the East India Company. I think it might be vastly interesting.’

She did not go on to explain why she thought it might be interesting, but ever since she had met the young man in Chelmsford, she had been wondering if he might be the speaker; it was surely no coincidence that he had arrived in the area just before the lecture. And she had to confess to a desire to see him again, if only to confirm or deny the original impression she had had of him.



Unwilling to admit why, even to herself, she dressed with especial care the following evening. Her gown was of a fashionable mustard yellow silk; the narrow boned bodice had a wide décolletage infilled with lace, gathered into a knot in the cleft of her bosom. The back was pleated from the neck to the floor and the sleeves had wide embroidered cuffs. Like so many of her gowns, she had made it herself with the help of her mother and it meant she could appear far more richly dressed than they could really afford.

Janet arranged her hair in a thick coil at the back of her neck and decorated it with two curling white feathers which were all the rage. She had a fan of chicken feathers which had been brought out of her mother’s trunk at the same time as the old gowns. She knew she looked well and smiled at herself in her dressing mirror as Janet put the finishing touches to her toilette and then bent to slip her feet into tan leather shoes. She would have liked shoes to match her gown, with embroidered toes and painted heels, but that was not to be and she hoped, in the crush, no one would notice her serviceable footwear.

Partridge harnessed the cob to the battered chaise and drove them to the Assembly Rooms. ‘I hope he does not mean to take us right up to the door,’ Annabelle whispered to her sister. ‘It would be too mortifying to be seen arriving in this.’

‘Why?’ Lydia asked, amused. ‘Everyone knows us and they know our circumstances. Why pretend to be something we are not?’

‘We do not have to advertise it. And supposing the Earl is there?’

Lydia laughed. ‘Of course he will not be there. Why should he interest himself in a country lecture?’

‘Then why have you dressed yourself in your best gown? I thought—’

‘Good heavens, Annabelle, I would certainly not dress to impress that fiend. How could you think it? I hate him and all he stands for. You know that.’

‘Oh. Then why? Have you got a beau?’

‘Annabelle,’ she said impatiently. ‘You know very well I have not.’

‘What about Sir Arthur?’

‘What about him?’

‘Mama thinks you should set your cap at him.’

‘What a vulgar expression! And I shall do no such thing. Now, may we drop the subject?’

They had arrived at the meeting rooms and Partridge drew up behind the carriages already standing in line, waiting to discharge their occupants. Others of the audience had walked from houses nearby and were jostling their way into the building. Lydia and Annabelle followed them in and found their seats. There was a great deal of noise in the hall as friend greeted friend and exchanged news and gossip, but when the town mayor, who was acting as master of ceremonies, walked on to the stage followed by two or three other dignitaries who took seats arranged behind the lectern, everyone became silent and turned to listen.

Lydia, who had been holding her breath for this moment, let it out in a sigh of disappointment. The speaker, when he was introduced and stood to begin his talk, was not the young gentleman she had been hoping for, but a middle-aged man with a red, bewhiskered face and a huge stomach which threatened to burst the buttons off his black waistcoat. There was nothing she could do but appear interested in what he had to say, but appearances were deceptive because her mind was miles away, in a rainy street in Chelmsford.

Oh, why had she not provided her name when asked for it? Even the name of her village would have been enough if he had meant it when he said he hoped to see her again. But had he meant it? He was doing no more than enjoy a little harmless flirtation with a young woman. Not a lady, for all he called her one, for he would never have presumed to speak so familiarly to anyone highborn. But would anyone highborn have been standing in the rain and not a carriage or servant in sight? She was becoming more than a little desperate if one chance encounter could set her mind in such confusion.

She was being very foolish. Her future was already mapped out for her: a sensible marriage to provide for her mother in her old age, furnish Annabelle with a dowry and send John to public school, now that he was becoming too old for the day school he attended in Burnham, all things her father would have done, but for that devil up at the Hall. And there was no one she knew of who might do that except Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith.

What would it be like married to him? Oh, she could guess. Humdrum, that’s what it would be. A daily grind of looking after his house and his daughters, acting as hostess at boring suppers and card games, looking forward with an inordinate amount of pleasure to attending meetings like this, lectures, readings, with the occasional country dance to liven things up. As for the marriage bed… But as she knew nothing whatever about that piece of furniture and what happened in it, her imagination failed her.

She was startled to hear those about her applauding and realised the lecture had come to the halfway stage and she had not heard a single word. She forced herself back to the present and clapped politely.

‘There are refreshments in the next room,’ Annabelle said, as everyone stood up and made a beeline for the door. ‘I am very thirsty and I saw Sir Arthur go in there a moment ago.’

Lydia’s heart sank. ‘So? The man may come to a lecture, may he not?’

‘Yes, but now’s your chance. You could speak to him.’

‘And what am I to say? Am I to throw myself at his feet and beg him to marry me?’

Annabelle laughed. ‘No, you goose, but you could make yourself agreeable. Oh, look, here he comes.’

Sir Arthur, his waistcoat straining across his front and his ill-fitting wig slightly lopsided, was bowing over her. ‘Miss Fostyn, may I have the pleasure of escorting you into the supper room?’ For a big man his voice was extraordinarily high, almost effete.

Smiling, she lifted her hand, and allowed him to take it and raise her to her feet. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Mrs Fostyn is not here tonight?’

‘No, she is a little fatigued. I brought my sister instead. May I present Annabelle to you?’

‘Miss Annabelle.’ He bowed towards her with exaggerated civility which made the young lady stifle a laugh behind her fan.

Together they walked into the next room where a cold collation and large bowls of punch and cordial were set on a long table at one end of the room and left for everyone to help themselves and take to small tables arranged in the body of the room. Sir Arthur found seats for them and went to fight his way through the throng to obtain food for them.

‘Lydia, there is Peregrine Baverstock,’ Annabelle hissed, nodding in the direction of a young man in a pink satin suit and red high-heeled shoes who was standing on the periphery of a group on other side of the room.

‘Baverstock?’ Lydia queried. ‘You mean Lord Baverstock’s son?’

‘Yes. Who else should I mean?’

‘How did you come to meet him?’

‘At Lady Brotherton’s, when I went to Caroline’s birthday celebration. He was one of the guests. Oh, I do believe he has spotted me.’

The young man had indeed seen her, for he made his way through the crowd and bowed before them. ‘Miss Annabelle.’

‘Good evening, Mr Baverstock,’ Annabelle said, laughing at his formality. ‘I did not expect you here.’

‘Had to come. Parents insisted. Glad I did now.’ His face was fiery red.

‘May I present you to my sister?’

‘Miss Fostyn, your obedient. May I take Miss Annabelle to be presented to my parents?’

Annabelle looked at Lydia. ‘May I go?’

‘Of course.’

Annabelle was gone in an instant. Who could blame her for preferring the enlivening company of a young man nearer her own age than Sir Arthur? Lydia asked herself.

She certainly would.

‘Why, if it isn’t my little water nymph.’

Startled, she looked up and found herself gazing into the brown eyes of the man from Chelmsford. He was soberly dressed in a plain black coat and matching breeches with a white waistcoat and stockings. ‘Sir,’ she managed, though her heart was beating so fast she was almost too breathless to speak. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I was about to ask you the same question. Are you interested in India?’

‘Oh, very,’ she said.

‘Would you like me to introduce you to the speaker? I have known him for some time. We both served under Lord Clive.’

‘Oh, I had forgot you came from that continent,’ she lied.

‘There is no reason why you should have remembered a chance remark,’ he said. ‘Nor remembered me.’

‘No.’ She was so tongue-tied her usual easy manner quite deserted her.

‘But you did? You knew me as soon as I spoke.’

‘You remembered me.’

‘How could I forget?’ he said softly. ‘One minute the shop doorway was empty and the next it contained an apparition of such exquisite beauty I was transfixed. Did you come safely home?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ She felt the warmth creep up her cheeks and wished she could control it, knowing he could not fail to see it, so closely was he studying her. It was most disconcerting.

‘And you took no harm from your wetting?’

‘I did not get wet, sir, but you did. I hope you did not catch cold. After India, the climate here must be very trying…’

‘Not a bit of it. It is wonderful. The rain is so gentle, the wind but a zephyr breeze, the trees so green, the flowers so delicate and their perfume heady. I am drunk with it.’

‘La, sir,’ she said, laughing. ‘Are you sure it is not the punch? I believe it is an Indian concoction made up in honour of the subject and can be very potent.’

‘Indeed, yes. In India, where I first sampled it, the spirit it contained was arrack, but I imagine that has been substituted in this case with brandy. May I fetch you some? The lime and spices in it make it a refreshing drink.’

‘No, thank you, I am being looked after.’

‘Of course,’ he said, suddenly serious. ‘You would not be here alone, how silly of me.’

‘There you are, my dear. Such a dreadful crush.’ Sir Arthur was approaching, balancing three plates precariously in two hands. Seeing the young man with Lydia, he stopped, his mouth half open. Someone, who had not realised he had come to a sudden halt, jolted his elbow and the whole lot tipped over his waistcoat and down his breeches. In the ensuing confusion, while servants came to clear up the mess and he was led away to have his clothes cleaned, the young man from Chelmsford disappeared. Lydia, who wanted desperately to laugh at the sight of Sir Arthur with broken pigeon pie and bits of chicken leg, not to mention fruit tartlets, clinging to the satin and brocade of his suit, was almost reduced to tears when she realised the young man had gone.

He had been so handsome and attentive. He made her legs weak and her hands shake and she realised that the thread was still there, stronger than ever, so why had Fate denied her the opportunity to further their acquaintance? Wealthy and not likely from a background where lineage and blood counted for much, he would have fitted the bill as a husband very well. She would not have minded being married to him. And Sir Arthur had spoiled it all, spoiled her evening. It just wasn’t fair.

The bell went for the end of the intermission, Annabelle returned to her and they resumed their seats for the second half of the lecture, most of it of a political nature and very boring indeed. Annabelle, too, was bored, and could hardly wait for the polite applause which signalled the end of the lecture to tell Lydia all about her interview with Perry’s parents, who had been most gracious towards her. ‘He is the one,’ she told Lydia. ‘He is the one I am going to marry. I can feel it. Here.’ And she put her hand on her heart.

Lydia resisted the temptation to laugh. ‘Oh, Annabelle, it is too soon.’

‘No, it is not. If we are to find husbands, then we must do it quickly, you know that.’ She paused. ‘The only difficulty I can see is my lack of a dowry. Lord Baverstock would expect one, wouldn’t he?’

‘Yes, I think he would.’

‘Then the sooner you marry Sir Arthur the better. Mama said—’

‘I know what Mama said,’ Lydia interrupted her, as they made their way to the exit, standing in the crush while everyone waited for their carriages to be brought up to the door. In the euphoria of meeting the young man again she did not want to be reminded of her duty.

‘Ah, Miss Fostyn.’

Lydia turned to find Sir Arthur at her elbow and wondered if he could possibly have heard Annabelle’s remarks. He was wearing a long overcoat which he had buttoned from neck almost to hem to hide his stained suit. It looked as though he had borrowed it from his coachman.

‘Sir Arthur. I am sorry for your mishap.’

‘Oh, ’twas nothing. I am only sorry you were deprived of your supper. May I escort you home?’

‘No, thank you, sir. We have our own coach.’

‘Then may I call and pay my respects to your mama in the near future?’

‘I am sure she will be pleased to receive you, sir.’

The crowd had thinned while they had been talking and Lydia was suddenly aware of her umbrella man watching her, watching them both with a look on his face which was both quizzical and disapproving. He stepped forward and bowed. ‘Goodnight, my lady.’

She found herself dipping a small curtsy and smiling. ‘Goodnight, my lord.’

‘Who was that?’ Annabelle demanded, when they were settled in the chaise and were trotting towards Colston.

‘I have no idea.’

‘But you called him “my lord”.’

‘He called me “my lady”, so why not?’

‘Who does he think you are, then?’

‘I don’t know that either. We are perfect strangers.’

‘It didn’t look like that to me. Is that why you are wearing your best gown? You expected him to be here. Oh, what will Mama say?’

‘She will say nothing, because you are not to tell her.’

‘Oh, a secret. Have you an assignation with him? Oh, Lydia, he is so handsome, but supposing he is a mountebank?’

‘I am sure he is nothing of the kind. And I do not have an assignation with him. Whatever gave you that idea? We spoke half a dozen words while you were busy fluttering your eyelashes at Peregrine Baverstock…’

‘At least I was doing it to some purpose. You seem to have gained nothing. But there, I suppose we should hold to the maxim that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘Sir Arthur. He is going to call, is he not? He would not do that if he were not serious.’

‘Annabelle, if you mention Sir Arthur just once more, I shall slap your face, really I will. Let it be, will you?’

‘Oh, if you are going to fly into a temper, then I shall say no more. But if you want me to keep your secret from Mama, then you will have to find a way of persuading me.’

‘Oh, Annabelle,’ Lydia said, laughing, ‘you are such a mischievous child…’

‘Not so much of the child, if you please. I am old enough to fall in love.’

‘Are you, indeed?’

‘Yes, indeed. And do not tell me you do not know what it feels like, for I am persuaded that you do. I saw the look you had for the handsome stranger. Who is he, Lydia?’

‘I told you, I do not know the gentleman.’

‘So what are you going to do about it?’

‘The stranger? Why, nothing. Why should I?’

‘No, I meant about persuading me to hold my tongue.’

‘You can have my silk fan, the one Grandmama gave me.’

‘Can I? Oh, can I?’ her sister said eagerly, then laughed. ‘You must love him very much to part with that.’

‘Don’t be silly. I have been thinking of giving it to you ever since we made that pink gown up. It matches it exactly and would certainly not go with my yellow brocade.’

‘Oh, you are a darling!’ And Annabelle flung her arms about her sister in the rocking vehicle, making it sway more than ever. ‘The best sister anyone could have.’

They continued in silence for a few minutes, but Annabelle was still bubbling over and could not keep quiet. ‘Do you think the Earl will allow the ball to go ahead?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know, nor do I care very much.’

‘Oh, Lydia, do not be such a misery. If we go to the ball I shall see Perry there and, who knows, your fine gentleman might attend.’

And what good would that do? Lydia asked herself. Annabelle had said a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush. She knew nothing whatever about the handsome young man, not even his name, but she knew all she wanted to know about Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith. Tears pricked at her eyes and she was thankful that the darkness in the coach hid them from her sister’s eyes.

Their mother had not waited up for them so, as soon as they arrived home, Lydia pleaded tiredness and went to her own room, thankful that now her older sisters no longer lived at home she had a room to herself. She could not bear another minute of Annabelle’s excited chatter, her bubbling optimism which hinged on Lydia marrying Sir Arthur in order to smooth the way for her own marriage. He was a respectable gentleman who had done nothing wrong; in truth, had done everything right, at least in her mother’s eyes, but she did not want to marry him.

Oh, she knew perfectly well that most young ladies bowed to the superior knowledge and experience of their parents in the matter of matrimony and usually married the men chosen for them. Sometimes, it worked very well; if it did not, both discreetly took lovers. She did not think she could bring herself to do that. But if someone like her man from Chelmsford came along… Oh, no she could not commit that sin, not even with him; she believed in the sanctity of marriage and if she married Sir Arthur she would be faithful to him. If… Had she any choice?

She tossed and turned and fell asleep at last.



Next morning Lydia rose bleary-eyed and not in the least prepared for the bombshell her mother delivered at the breakfast table.

‘The Earl is back,’ Mrs Fostyn said, picking up a sheet of paper which lay beside her plate. ‘I have had a letter from him, or, more precisely, from Mr George Falconer, his lawyer.’

‘What about?’

‘Our tenure of this house. It appears he wishes us gone.’

‘Gone?’ Lydia repeated.

‘Yes, read it for yourself.’ She handed the letter to Lydia, who read it through quickly.

‘One month to leave,’ she said, her face white with fury. ‘He has given us a month’s notice. The fiend! The indescribable charlatan! I have always hated him and I was right to do so. He cannot bear to have us on his land because it reminds him of his guilt. I knew this would happen as soon as he came back. You thought so too, didn’t you? That’s why you spoke to me about marrying.’

‘I thought it might. You see, if…’ She paused, then went on. ‘If the old Earl did not correspond with his son, then he would not know our circumstances—’

‘It would have made no difference if he had. He is entirely selfish. He could have exonerated Freddie, accepted the blame. But no, he must drag us all down with him. Only he is not down, but on top, and he means to grind us into the dirt.’

‘Lydia, pray do not be so melodramatic,’ Anne said gently. ‘The house is his to do with as he likes and he says he needs it, though why I do not know. If the Countess had lived and he had a wife and family, then of course he would expect his mother to live here, but as it is…’

‘Do you think he has a wife, then?’ Annabelle put in.

‘He is twenty-nine years old, so it is more than possible.’

‘Then I feel sorry for her,’ Lydia said sharply. ‘I wonder if she knows what happened? I wonder if he knows what people are saying about him?’

‘What are they saying?’

‘Oh, you know,’ Lydia said vaguely. ‘About him murdering Papa.’

‘I am sure they are saying nothing of the sort,’ her mother protested. ‘And I wish you would not speak of him in that fashion.’

‘Why not? It is the truth, isn’t it? Papa was unarmed and he was only trying to stop him firing—’

‘Lydia, you would not spread calumny about him, surely?’ her mother said, horrified at the violence of her daughter’s feelings. ‘That is deceitful and unjust.’

‘Which is exactly what he is. He allowed Freddie to take the blame for something that was entirely his fault. Freddie was always under his sway, even when they were boys.’

‘I do not think that is quite the case, dearest, and I beg you to curb your excessive feelings. It can only do you harm. Your papa preached forgiveness, remember.’

‘If he had lived, do you think even he could have forgiven Ralph Latimer for what he did?’

‘I like to think he would.’

‘But he did not live, did he? And we are in this coil because of what that…that devil did.’ She left her chair suddenly. ‘I am going to see him. I am going to tell him exactly what I think of him.’

Anne reached out and seized Lydia by the wrist as she passed her. ‘No, child, you will do no such thing. He is within his rights. If you provoke him, he might not even allow us a month.’

Lydia made no attempt to pull herself away, but stood passively, looking down at her mother. ‘You mean you are going to buckle under and leave without one word of protest?’

‘No.’ Anne smiled wanly. ‘We have nowhere to go. I will speak to him myself, he may not know our circumstances….’

‘Mama, you are never going to beg?’

‘No, but we need a little more time, Lydia. And I shall make a reasonable request for that.’

‘Time?’

‘Time to bring our family fortunes on to a more even keel.’

‘How? Oh, I see. When I have captured Sir Arthur. I am to be punished for what that man did ten years ago, just as Freddie was punished and you have been punished. It goes on and on. If I could think of a way to make him pay, then I would. I would see him rot in hell.’

‘Lydia!’ her mother cried. This battling daughter of hers was so consumed by her hate, it was threatening to destroy her. ‘You must not say such things. It is wicked.’ She paused. ‘Sit down again, Lydia, and calm yourself. You know, you frighten me when you talk like that. Hate is a dreadful emotion, and you should remember that vengeance is for God, not man. We are none of us guiltless.’

Lydia sank back into her chair. ‘Oh, Mama, there is no one more innocent than you. How have you borne it all these years? How have you found the fortitude?’

‘Through my faith, child. The faith your father preached. Now, I want you to promise me one thing—that you will not attempt to see or speak to his lordship.’

Lydia smiled wanly. ‘That is an easy promise to make, for he is the last man in the world I should want to have any discourse with.’

‘Good. Now, tell me, dearest, would it be so very bad to marry Sir Arthur? He is not an ogre, he is a pleasant, respectable man who is very fond of you. I am not thinking only of our circumstances, but your happiness. He will look after you…’

Lydia gave a cracked laugh. ‘And curb my fiery temper, you think?’

Her mother smiled and patted her hand. ‘He might. And living at his home in Southminster, with other things to occupy you, might bring you peace of mind, the strength to accept what we cannot change.’ She paused and added gently. ‘At least, say you will consider it.’

Lydia sighed. She really had no choice. ‘Very well. I met him last night and he asked if he might call. You may intimate to him when he comes that I shall look favourably on his suit.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘But do not make me sound too eager, will you?’ Her mother released her hand and she rose to leave. ‘I am going to Malden—I need a book from the lending library. Is there anything you need?’

‘No, I do not think so, thank you.’

Partridge was busy in the garden and, rather than take him from his work, she decided to walk the three miles into the little town which stood at the confluence of the Chelmer and Blackwater rivers. It was a spring fine day and Malden Water, though grey, was calm and several fishing boats could be seen either coming up from the sea or heading out towards it. Inland there were lambs in the fields, and the mare Farmer Carter kept in his meadow was proudly showing off a new foal which frisked about on its spindly legs, obviously pleased with life. It was the sort of day to raise the spirits and Lydia would have enjoyed the walk if her thoughts had not been occupied with her dilemma.

It was all very well for Mama to say hate was a dreadful emotion, she knew it was, but she could not help herself. How could she be calm about the prospect of marrying a man old enough to be her father when there were men like her umbrella man in the vicinity? If she had never met the handsome stranger, would she have been content to marry as her mother directed? He had set her heart beating and fired her into longing for something she could only guess at: a passion, perhaps, that transcended everything.

She did not need to know his name, or his circumstances, or anything about him in order to know that he could ignite in her an overpowering desire. It was wicked of her, wicked and almost depraved. She had not been brought up to feel like that, had not, until a week before, realised that such feelings existed, certainly not in young ladies with any pretensions of decency. She must squash such thoughts and feelings, cut them out of her life altogether, forget the young man and his dangerously compelling eyes.



Ralph had spent most of the previous evening in the library at Colston Hall with a glass of brandy at his elbow, pouring over accounts and maps and reports from his general factotum about the condition of the estate, and what he read had appalled him. Today he had decided to see for himself and that could only be done on foot.

Donning leather breeches and topboots, he had thrown on a brown worsted coat and visited all the farms on his domain, talking to the tenants and finding out what was needed. New thatch on the roofs, new glass in windows, new clunch on the pigsty walls, he was told when they got over their surprise at seeing him thus clad and being convinced he meant business. The ditches needed clearing, too, or come the winter there would be an inundation from the marshes.

He was thankful he had come back home a wealthy man, or such a catalogue would have sent him bankrupt. He was doubly thankful when he realised that the fabric of the ancient church needed repair and that half the pews had woodworm and only he had the means to remedy it. After that, it was a quart of best ale in the village inn and back home via the old Roman road, now only a track, which ran alongside the marshes and the copse of trees where game was reared. Game birds were rare in this part of the world, which had few trees, except those planted in the gardens of the wealthy, who were following the latest trend for landscaping. His great-grandfather had planted this wood and his father had taken on a man who called himself a gamekeeper and who was skilled in breeding and rearing the birds simply for the sport. The woodland was his particular domain.

It was also the domain of a very different breed, he realised, as he picked his way through a tangle of undergrowth which had spread out over the path. A man could hide there for weeks without being found. The path itself was well-worn and some of the bushes alongside it had been broken recently, as if something wide and heavy had travelled along it. Curious, he moved forward cautiously.

He came to a small clearing in the middle of which was a tumble-down hovel which had once been inhabited by a woodsman. He smiled, remembering how he and Freddie used to play round it as boys, pretending it was a fort and one was attacker and one defender. Its windows were broken and the ivy which clambered round it was invading the inside. Deserted it looked, almost ready to fall in on itself and return to nature.

But that was how it was meant to look, he realised, as he noticed the thatch on the roof had been repaired and so had the stout door, which was securely locked. Someone was either living here on his land or using it for some secret purpose. He looked up at the chimney. There was no smoke. Did that mean there was no one there now? He went to the door and knocked. There was no reply. He walked all round it. The path at the rear led down to the marshes where there was an old boat house, as he very well knew; and here there were signs of a cart and hoofmarks in the mud.

He returned to the house and peered into the windows, cupping his hands about his face. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he noticed a pile of sacks and a barrel on the floor and a table with a pair of scales. There was a bottle beside them and the remains of an oilskin wrapping. Smugglers! This was a hideout for smugglers.

He was inclined to be amused, since nearly everyone tolerated free-traders, as they preferred to be called; half the tobacco, tea, wine and spirits consumed in the country was contraband. His father may even have condoned it in exchange for the odd barrel. But only two days ago, he had learned from Robert Dent that there was going to be a concerted effort by the revenue men to stamp out smuggling and extra patrols were to be sent out. ‘There wasn’t so much of it during the war,’ Robert had said. ‘But now it has grown again and we do not want to return to the days of the vicious gangs who plied the trade openly and thought nothing of murdering anyone who got in their way.’

He would keep watch and find out who these men were. Depending who they turned out to be, he would hand them over to the justices or warn them off.

Leaving everything exactly as he found it, he returned home to find Mrs Fostyn waiting for him. The servants, accustomed to admitting her, had had no reason to change their habits and she had been conducted to the drawing room to await his return.

‘Madam, your obedient,’ he said, sweeping her a low bow. ‘You find me somewhat dishevelled. I was not expecting company.’

‘It is no matter, my lord. I had to come.’

‘Oh.’ He had always liked Freddie’s mother and could not bring himself to be rude to her. What had happened had certainly not been her fault and she must have suffered greatly at the loss of her husband. ‘Pray, go on.’

‘It is the matter of the letter I received from your lawyer. I assume it was written at your dictation.’

‘It was.’

‘I know you have every right to ask us to leave and I do not dispute that, but a month is so little time to find somewhere else to live. Could you not find it in your heart to extend that? Your father, the late Earl, said we could stay as long as we wished.’

‘My father is no more.’

‘Yes. I should have offered my condolences. Forgive me.’

She was almost grovelling and it pained him to see it. ‘You see,’ she went on when his only reply was a slight inclination of the head, ‘I have two daughters as well as a young son of twelve still at home and I must find some way of supporting them.’

‘You support them? Why not Freddie? Surely it is up to him?’

‘Freddie?’ She looked astonished. ‘Freddie left home at the same time as you did and we have not seen or heard from him since. Did you not know?’

It was his turn to be surprised. ‘No, I did not. I assumed—’

‘Your father thought it would be for the best. He came to see me. He told me that, as a magistrate, he was duty bound to arrest anyone breaking the law, but he couldn’t bring himself to have you arrested and was determined to send you away. He said the Countess was bowed down with grief and it would not do for her to see my son about the village after you had gone. He was determined Freddie must be sent away too. Besides, Freddie himself was so distraught, blaming himself for what happened, that he was eager to be gone.’

‘I am sorry,’ he said softly. So his father had threatened them with the law. ‘I knew none of this.’

‘But the late Earl was a kind and generous man and he knew I had no means of support except my husband’s investments, which were by no means large enough to allow us to find a new home and keep us in comfort. He offered me the dower house and, for the sake of my children, I agreed. Except that we did not know whether Freddie was alive or dead, we have been happy there and…’

‘Have you not seen your son in all that time?’

‘No, my lord. Oh, I knew from the beginning we could not stay forever. Sooner or later you would come home and everything would change. But I hoped it would not be until after my daughters were safely wed. Susan married Sir Godfrey Mallard’s son some time ago and Margaret has decided to devote her life to other people’s children—she is governess to the Duke of Grafton’s children. But Lydia and Annabelle are still at home…’

‘Lydia,’ he said, smiling faintly. ‘She’s the one with the russet hair and the mischievous smile, isn’t she?’

Anne smiled back, realising that he was not such an ogre and was civil enough to listen to her. But then, if he was his father’s son, he would be. ‘Yes, she is eighteen now and, though perhaps I should not say it, or even think it, she is the most comely of my children and…’ this with a little deprecating laugh ‘…the most stubborn and independent.’

‘Yes, I remember,’ he said. ‘She used to follow me and Freddie about and try to do everything we did. We tried to shake her off and she would disappear for a little while, but then, when we least expected it, she would be back, dogging our footsteps.’

‘She is past all that, my lord, and ripe for marriage. I think, in a very little time, I shall be able to announce her engagement to Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith.’

‘Sir Arthur!’ he exclaimed, his sympathy going out to the child he had once known in spite of who she was. The brief glimpse he had had of the gentleman the previous evening had struck a chord in his memory. He had met him somewhere before but, for the life of him, he could not recall where. He certainly could not place the name, nor that high-pitched voice. Thomas-Smith, not an aristocratic name, not a memorable name, but the face, that was different. He never forgot a face. ‘I believe I met Sir Arthur last evening, a portly gentleman of middle years.’

‘Yes. He is devoted to Lydia and will curb her exuberance, you may be sure. And he has the means to support her. Annabelle, who is very pretty and biddable, will soon find a suitor, especially as Sir Arthur has indicated he will provide her with a small dowry…’

‘I understand.’ He understood very well. Lydia was to be sacrificed. When he had last seen her, she had been no more than a child, a nuisance to two young men bent on enjoying themselves. But even then there had been something about her that was different. Independent, her mother had described her. Would such a one marry a man old enough to be her father? Well, it was not his business.

‘Then you will give us a little more time?’ she asked, watching his face.

He looked at the woman sitting so still on his drawing room sofa and, though he could not even begin to forgive her son for forcing him into that duel, and he was equally certain she did not forgive him for what he had done, he could afford to be magnanimous, especially as Freddie was not at home. Somehow, the knowledge that his erstwhile friend had suffered the same fate as he had in some measure mitigated his raw hatred, though he would not go so far as to say it had disappeared totally. You could not harbour the resentment he had for over ten years and lose it in the space of a short interview with a plausible woman. But she was a mother, and knowing what his own mother had suffered set him thinking. ‘Very well. You may stay until Lydia is married. And I hope she may be happy.’

‘Do you mean that?’

‘I am not in the habit of saying things I do not mean, madam.’ He had done what he could, given the circumstances, and he would take care to avoid the path that led to the dower house until they had gone.

She rose and curtsied. ‘Then I thank you and I shall convey your good wishes to Lydia and Annabelle.’ He bowed in response and a moment later she had glided noiselessly from the room and he was alone once more.

He must be going soft, he told himself as he strode upstairs to change into something more suitable for a visit to Chelmsford. He had been told there was a builder there who could do the repairs to his tenants’ houses at a reasonable price, and the sooner they were put in hand the better. Even if he decided not to stay in the village, he could not lease or sell the estate as it was.

Was he going to stay? he asked himself as his well-sprung coach took him through the lanes of Colston where the leaves were just appearing on the trees and the air was balmy with the promise of spring. It was not the family coach, which like everything else had been neglected, but the one he had bought in London when he landed from India. Could he pick up his life where he had left it ten years before, and carry on as if nothing had happened? But how could he?

For a start, he could no longer expect to marry a duke’s daughter. He had been sufficiently in touch with the London gossip, even on the other side of the world, to know of the advantageous marriage Juliette had made only a year after his exile began. But he ought to marry or what was the point of coming home? Who would have him, given that the scandal seemed not to have died? He was immensely rich, he could take his pick. He smiled. That unknown beauty he had met in Chelmsford, perhaps. She had been with Sir Arthur last night—his daughter, no doubt. No, he contradicted himself at once. If he were to marry her, it might make Lydia Fostyn his mother-in-law and the idea of that was laughable



His business done, he was almost home when he became aware that it was raining again, spattering on the roof, and reminding him of the girl he had met in Chelmsford. Why did his mind keep returning to her? Why, even in the middle of talking bricks and mortar and broken walls, had she kept invading his thoughts, stirring his body into a tingle of desire? He had even been fool enough to take a stroll round the streets of Chelmsford, hoping he might meet her again.

At the junction where the road separated, one arm going to Malden and the other to Southminster and Colston, the coach passed the entrance to Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith’s new mansion, which set him wondering about the man all over again. Two minutes later they slowed to pass a woman in a grey cloak, who stood aside to let it overtake her. Glancing casually from the window, he realised she was his nymph! He banged on the roof to tell the coachman to stop.




Chapter Three


L ydia had spent a long time in the library, trying to find some suitable uplifting book which might make her calmer, more in control of emotions and, having found a volume of sermons which she thought might fit the bill, set out for home.

On the outskirts of the town, she had to pass the gate of Sir Arthur’s newly built mansion. It stood in about two acres of land, shielded from the crossroad by a high wall. She stopped to peer along the drive through the ornamental gates. It was a large building, but box-like, with a central door and tall portico on Corinthian columns. Either side were evenly spaced long-sash windows. Because it was so new, no creeper grew up the walls to peep in at the windows, no moss had invaded its roof. The gardens, in the latest landscape design which had yet to mature, had no flower beds and no large trees, though some saplings had been planted here and there. It was a house without character, unlike the dower house which was even more ancient than the Hall itself.

She shook herself; how could she regret leaving the house she now lived in, so close to Colston Hall and its detested occupant? She should be glad. She might enjoy adding her own touches to this place, making a home from bricks and mortar. Slowly she pushed open the gate and began walking towards it, not even thinking what she might say if Sir Arthur or a servant were to see her and ask what she was doing there.

There was no sign of life, no open windows, no children or dogs. It was silent as the grave. She turned away from the front door with its lion’s head knocker and went round the side of the building. Here was a long low wing at right angles to the main building and a separate stable block in the same brick as the house. A horse snickered and she heard men talking in low voices and it was enough to bring her to her senses. Hurriedly she turned to go back the way she had come.

‘Miss Fostyn.’ The voice behind her was undoubtedly Sir Arthur’s. She turned to face him, her face on fire with embarrassment. He was dressed in a brown cloth coat, buckskin breeches and riding boots.

‘I…I went to the front of the house. No one came to the door.’ That was true, no need to tell him she had not even knocked.

‘Then I am sorry for that. My sister who keeps house for me is out and no doubt the servants were busy in the kitchen and did not hear you arrive. Where is your mama? Have you left her in the carriage?’

‘No, Sir Arthur, I am alone and I walked.’

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he did not comment. ‘Then, please come in.’

She could do nothing but retrieve her scattered dignity and follow him into the marble-floored hall with its intricately carved oak staircase, where he summoned a servant to take her cloak and fetch refreshments before turning back to her with a polite smile and escorting her into a drawing room where he invited her to be seated, standing himself with his back to the new Adam fireplace.

‘I was not expecting you, Miss Fostyn, or I would have been better prepared to entertain you.’

She sat on the edge of a chair, surveying the room and searching her mind for an excuse for visiting him alone. The doors and most of the furniture were in the new red mahogany wood which was so fashionable. The ceilings were intricately carved and gilded, the soft furnishings of damask and the ornaments oriental in design. It smelled of recently applied paint and everything—wood inlay tables, ornaments and pictures—shone, but time had not yet dulled any of it, had not added the ambience of it having been lived in and used, of being loved. It was all too perfect. And cold.

‘I am sorry to arrive unannounced,’ she said. ‘I was in Malden, changing my library book.’ She raised the book she carried so that he might see its uplifting title, which might help to alleviate the poor impression she had obviously made on him. ‘I had to pass here and as you said you would call on my mother…’

‘So I did.’

‘I was not sure which day it might be and Mama will not be at home on Wednesday and Friday, so it came to my mind I should leave a message with your butler to that effect. I thought it would save you a wasted journey.’

‘Indeed, that was thoughtful in you. Ah, here comes our tea.’ They watched as a servant put the tea tray on low table between them and withdrew. ‘Would you like to do the honours?’

She forced herself to smile at this little bit of domesticity as she lifted the teapot, hoping that he would not notice how much her hands were shaking, and praying fervently she would not rattle the cup in the saucer when she handed it to him. Would she soon be doing this as a matter of course?

‘I understand the reason for your visit,’ he said, sipping tea. ‘But perhaps it was a little unwise of you to arrive unaccompanied and unannounced? I and my daughters are newcomers to the district and anxious to be accepted among its inhabitants. I would not like our name to be sullied by gossip.’

‘Oh, Sir Arthur, I am very sorry, if you think it would,’ she said, mortified that he had managed to put her down, as if she were a naughty schoolgirl. ‘Our family is well known and respected and we are used to being seen out and about. I would not for the world embarrass you.’

‘No matter. If, as I sincerely hope, our two families are soon to be joined, there will be no harm done.’

‘I believe you have already spoken to my mama on the subject,’ she said, deciding she might as well jump in with both feet.

‘Yes. Two weeks ago, when I was introduced to her at a Missionary Society meeting. I mentioned that I was looking for a lady to share my life and I had been led to believe you were chaste and modest and dutiful, and I asked Mrs Fostyn how she would view an overture from me.’

‘And what did she say?’

‘She said it would be entirely up to you, which I thought a very evasive answer, for who would be so foolish as to allow a young lady to please herself on such an important matter?’

His answer annoyed her; for two pins she would walk out, but doing that would ruin her sister’s chances and her brother’s education, not to mention failing her beloved mama, who still fostered the hope that Freddie might be restored to them. All this depended on her finding favour with Sir Arthur. She had to play her part.

She managed a smile. ‘Why? Did you think I might refuse you?’

He smiled briefly. ‘No man likes to have his best intentions thrown back into his teeth. I would need to feel more sure of your answer before I ventured the question.’

She suppressed the laugh which bubbled up at this pomposity. ‘Do you not find the prize worthy of the chase, sir?’

‘Chase, ma’am? Do I appear to you as a man who would chase a lady?’

‘No, Sir Arthur, I was attempting humour. I beg your pardon.’

He smiled thinly. ‘Are you saying you would welcome an offer?’

‘Let us say I would not be averse to becoming better acquainted,’ she said, putting down her teacup and rising to leave. ‘It is not a decision to be taken lightly.’

‘No, to be sure,’ he said. ‘We must both give it careful consideration.’

When she politely refused the offer of his carriage to convey her home, he insisted on accompanying her to the door himself. ‘I am sorry the children are not at home to meet you,’ he said. ‘They are visiting their grandmother for a few weeks until I have everything as it should be and have engaged a new governess for them. The one they have now has declined to move with us. Such a pity, she was excellent.’

‘I look forward to meeting them another time,’ she said, smiling and holding out her hand.

He took it and raised the back of it to his lips. ‘I shall call on Mrs Fostyn very soon.’

She left him, her skin crawling with distaste, and yet she did not know why. He had done nothing untoward, in fact had been the perfect gentleman, except for his air of disapproval, which she supposed was justified. It was she who had behaved disgracefully and she dreaded to think what her mother would say. And she would have to be told, because he was sure to mention her visit when he called.

She walked down the drive and out of the gates, fighting back tears. Why had fate been so unkind to her? Why, if she must marry for money, could it not be someone young and handsome? And now, to add to her misery, it had started to rain again. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and plodded on, moving to the side of the road when she heard a carriage coming up behind her. She was unprepared for it to stop.

‘My lady, you should procure yourself an umbrella or at least refrain from going out when the sky threatens rain.’

She whipped round at the sound of his voice and a smile lit her face, making it come brilliantly alive. But then she remembered her predicament and the smile faded. ‘Oh, you again.’

‘Yes, me again.’ There was something very wrong, he realised. She was not the cheerful girl who had laughed at the rain in Chelmsford, nor the elegantly clad young lady he had spoken to at the assembly rooms at Malden the night before. Her grey cloak was bedraggled and her shoes mud-spattered, and even that lovely hair seemed not so vibrant. And it wasn’t only caused by the rain. ‘Get in, my lady, or we shall both be soaked, while I hold the door open.’





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