‘A waltz is just beginning, Miss Tallis.’

‘I’m not dancing this evening, Lord Veryan.’

‘Come—a few steps only and then I’ll leave.’

Christabel hesitated. The temptation to find herself in his arms again seemed overwhelming.

‘A few minutes of the waltz should not take up too much of your time.’

As if in a dream she allowed herself to be swept on to the dance floor. He held her tightly, his form fitting hers, two halves making a whole. As they neared the far window Richard pulled the curtain swiftly to one side and danced her on to the balcony.

She gasped. ‘Whatever are you doing?’

His eyes glittered in the moonlight, and when he spoke his voice was rough with desire.

‘One last kiss,’ he whispered.

About the Author

ISABELLE GODDARD was born into an army family and spent her childhood moving around the UK and abroad. Unsurprisingly it gave her itchy feet, and in her twenties she escaped from an unloved secretarial career to work as cabin crew and see the world.

The arrival of marriage, children and cats meant a more settled life in the south of England, where she’s lived ever since. It also gave her the opportunity to go back to ‘school’ and eventually teach at university. Isabelle loves the nineteenth century, and grew up reading Georgette Heyer, so when she plucked up the courage to begin writing herself the novels had to be Regency romances.

A previous novel:

REPROBATE LORD, RUNAWAY LADY

Did you know that this novel is also available as an eBook? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Earl
Plays with Fire
Isabelle Goddard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

London—1816

‘Have you heard the latest?’ The voice came out of nowhere.

Christabel Tallis, aimlessly fanning herself, stopped for a moment and glanced at the mirror which hung on the opposite wall. She knew neither of the women reflected there. Perched uncomfortably on one of the stiffly brocaded benches that lined the Palantine Gallery, she had been wondering, not for the first time that morning, why she’d ever agreed to her mother’s suggestion that they meet Julian here. Lady Harriet had insisted they attend what was billed as the show of the Season, but for Christabel the delights of London society had long ago palled. The salon was overheated and far too crowded, and her delicate skin was already slightly flushed.

‘About the Veryan boy, you mean?’ one of the women continued.

The name hovered in the air, menacing Christabel’s shield of calm detachment. The buzz of inconsequential chatter faded into the distance and every fibre of her body became alert.

‘He’s hardly a boy now, of course.’

‘Indeed no. How long has it been? Lady Veryan must be overjoyed that he is returning home at last.’

Suddenly Christabel longed to be far away from this conversation, away from this room. A shaft of sunlight streamed through the gallery’s long windows, breaking through a lowering sky and burnishing her auburn curls into a fiery cloud. The warming light was gone almost as soon as it appeared, but to her it seemed to beckon escape. Escape to where, though? To a country of grey slate and blue seas, a landscape of moor and rocks? To Cornwall, to home? But that could not be; she knew well that her future lay elsewhere.

‘One can only hope that he actually arrives,’ the woman opined in a hushed voice.

The other shuddered theatrically. ‘I understand the journey from Argentina is very long and most dangerous.’

‘My dear, yes. You must remember The Adventurer—just a few years ago. It sailed from Buenos Aires …’

The women moved away and she heard no more. That was sufficient. Richard’s name reverberated through her mind. After all these years—five, six it would be—he was coming back. Her deep green eyes stared into the distance and saw only memory.

She was seated on a stone bench in the garden of the Veryan town house, the lush fragrance of rose blossoms tumbling in the air. Richard was standing straight and tall in front of her, his mouth compressed and his face white and set. She had just told him that she could not marry him and was offering his ring back. She could not marry him because she was in love with Joshua. And Joshua just happened to be one of Richard’s closest friends. What a wretched business that had been. She and Richard had drifted into an engagement, more to please their parents than from any passionate attachment, and Joshua was the result. The family estates bordered each other and she’d known Richard all her life. It felt natural to be planning to spend the rest of it together. But her visit to London to buy bride clothes had vouchsafed a different perspective: Cornwall and their shared childhood vanished in a sea mist. Instead there was a thrilling round of parties, balls, picnics, assemblies and, at the end of it, Joshua. No, she couldn’t marry Richard. She was too young and too passionate and friendship was not enough.

‘Miss Tallis, please accept my sincerest apologies for arriving so late.’

A well-dressed man in a puce tailcoat and fawn pantaloons stood before her. He took her shapely hand in his, kissing it with elaborate courtesy, and bowed politely to Lady Tallis, who had broken off her conversation with a chance-met companion just long enough to smile benignly at the man she hoped would become her son-in-law.

Sir Julian Edgerton’s pleasant face wore a rueful smile. ‘I fear the Committee took longer than expected. There is always such a deal to do for the Pimlico Widows and Orphans. I hope you’ll forgive me.’

‘Naturally, Sir Julian, how could I not? You lead a truly benevolent life!’ Christabel’s musical voice held the suspicion of a laugh, but her face was lit with the gentlest of smiles.

‘Now that I am here, may I get you some refreshment?’

‘What a good idea! It’s so very hot in this room. Lemonade, perhaps?’

‘It will be my pleasure,’ he said gallantly, ‘and when we are once more comfortable, would you care to make a quick tour of the paintings with me? I am anxious to hear your views. You have such a refined sensibility.’

She sighed inwardly, but nodded assent while her mother beamed encouragement. She knew Lady Harriet was counting on Sir Julian’s proposal. At nearly twenty-five Christabel was already perilously close to being on the shelf and she could no longer delay the decision to marry. Sir Julian might not be the most exciting man of her acquaintance, but he was solid and dependable and would make a restful husband.

More than that, he would be an adoring one. And she could trust him. After the bruising experience of her girlhood, such a man was surely worth any amount of excitement.

If she made this marriage, it might help repair some of the destruction she’d wreaked all those years ago. Her parents had loved Richard as a son and his dismissal had hit them very hard. As for Richard, she was sure he’d remained heart whole. He’d never loved her with the passion she had craved. Instead he’d been angry and humiliated. It was the gossip he had loathed, being on everyone’s tongue, the jilted suitor. Within a sennight he’d escaped England and was on a boat to Argentina. Lord Veryan had told the world it was needful that his son administer the family’s growing estates in South America, but the world had known the real reason for Richard’s sudden departure. So he’d escaped, but she’d paid the price for her indiscretion. Jilting a man three weeks before the wedding was the height of bad ton and scurrilous gossip had swirled around her head for months. It was difficult to recall six years later just how vulnerable she’d felt. Today she was an acknowledged leader of fashion, an ice-cold beauty who’d remained impregnable despite countless suitors. But then she’d been a raw, passionate girl, in the throes of a thrilling infatuation, and unable to dissemble.

‘I’m afraid the lemonade is as warm as the salon.’ Sir Julian had emerged from the crush and was at her elbow, proffering the glass he’d procured with some difficulty.

For a moment she looked blindly up at him. Past distresses were crowding in on her and, for the second time that morning, she looked for escape. She needed distraction, needed to be on the move.

‘I think I would prefer to view the pictures after all, Sir Julian.’

She rose from her seat as she spoke and, smoothing the creases from her amber silk walking dress, took her suitor’s arm. They began slowly to stroll around the gallery. As always her elegant figure drew glances of frank admiration from those she passed and Sir Julian, feeling pride in his possession, held her arm even more tightly. While they walked, he spoke sensibly about the paintings they inspected and she tried hard to conjure interest in his carefully considered opinions. He was a good man, she told herself severely, and she must not hanker for more. That way lay disaster. She had learned that lesson well. It had taken little time to discover that Richard was worth twenty times the man who’d displaced him. The relationship with Joshua had petered out, destroyed by her guilt and his inevitable betrayal.

‘I must say that I find these colours a little too forceful. They jangle the nerves rather than soothe.’

Sir Julian was standing before a group of canvases whose landscapes pulsated with lurid crimsons and golds, an anarchic depiction of the natural world.

‘What do you think, Miss Tallis—am I being old fashioned?’

‘Not old fashioned precisely, Sir Julian, but perhaps a little traditional? One needs to open one’s mind to different possibilities,’ she hazarded, thinking that just one of the pictures on her bedroom wall would be enough to keep her awake at night.

‘As always you are right. I will look with your eyes and endeavour to see these canvases anew.’

Why did he always have to agree with her? Richard would have mocked her pretensions, laughed openly at her and they would have ended sharing the joke together. But Richard’s companionship was long gone. How strange to think that he would soon be in England, but this time returning as the new Earl Veryan. It was three months since Lord Veryan’s life had been brutally cut short by a riding accident. Richard would have left for home the minute he’d received the dreadful news, but a long and treacherous journey meant his father had been buried while he was still on the high seas. At the funeral Lady Veryan had been beyond grief; it was certain to be a very sad homecoming for her son. Her escort continued to talk, but Christabel’s thoughts were elsewhere, straying inevitably towards a lone man adrift on a distant ocean. With a great effort she forced herself to return to Sir Julian and his enthusiastic recital; the small successes of Pimlico’s deserving poor had never seemed less riveting.

A few hundred miles away, the new Earl Veryan gazed blankly over the sea as it threaded itself swiftly past the ship. He was deep in thought and not all of it was pleasant. The last image of his father played through his mind, the stocky figure waving from the dockside, a bright red handkerchief in his hand, growing smaller and smaller as the ship made its way to the open sea. He had been away from England for too long; he had not been there for his father when he needed him. Now at last he was returning home, but to an unknown life. The Great Hall would no longer echo to Lord Veryan’s greeting and the task of administering a large estate was now his. He knew himself well capable, but he was sorry to be leaving Argentina behind. The country had been good to him. A rugged outdoor life had taught him authority and decisiveness. It had honed him physically and created an inner strength he’d not known he possessed. And life there had not been all hard work. The social round was lively and largely free of the stifling conventions of London society, and the tall, handsome Englishman was a popular guest. There had been music and laughter and plenty of beautiful women happy to engage in a light flirtation or more. He’d enjoyed their favours freely and indifferently, determined to consign love to the vault of history and simply enjoy the physical pleasures of the moment. It had become a way of life for him, demanding little emotion and no commitment.

The moon cut a path across the surface of the small waves so bright that it made him blink. His eyes focused on the expanse of ocean, at the different shades of silver and black stretching to the horizon, then to the lanterns which hung above him, swinging comfortingly to the rhythm of the ship. The crew were engaged elsewhere and he had the deck to himself. He wondered if he dared to smoke a cigar, a disastrous habit he’d contracted in Argentina, but decided that he’d better keep that delight for later. Dinner would be served soon and he did not want to escort Domino to the table smelling of tobacco.

The boat gave a louder creak than usual with the sudden swell of the ocean, but the vessel soon recovered its peaceful passage. A sailor appeared from the deck below and waved a greeting.

‘Fine weather, sir, and the forecast’s good. Should be a quiet landfall, I’m thinking.’

It had not always been so calm; they had suffered tempests aplenty since leaving Buenos Aires and there had been times when he’d wondered if they would ever make it to land again. But it was tranquil now and he had leisure to think. The grey eyes were expressionless, his dark straight brows furrowed. The meeting with his mother would be painful, he knew, but there would be joy too. To be home again; to feel Cornish air on his skin once more and to awake to the sound of Cornish surf breaking on the rocky cove below Madron Abbey. He saw in his mind’s eye the winding path from the house across the green headland and then the sudden dramatic fall of cliffs tumbling into the wild seas. He’d walked that pathway so many times in memory. In just a few weeks he would be walking it in reality.

Immediately the ship berthed in Southampton, he would post up to London and ensure that Domino was safely consigned to the care of her aunt. The sooner he could do this, the sooner he could travel on to Madron.

‘There you are, Richard. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

The speaker was a diminutive brunette who barely came up to his chest. She raised a pair of soft brown eyes to his hard grey ones and smiled sweetly. Richard smiled back in response.

‘Not quite everywhere, it seems. I’m not exactly invisible.’

‘I didn’t expect you to be behind the lifeboats! Were you thinking of leaving the ship without telling me? Or, more like, you were just about to smoke one of those noxious cigars of yours.’

He looked guilty and she crowed with delight, clapping her hands together and doing a little dance around him.

‘You see, I know you so well.’

He doubted that, but it would hardly be surprising if she thought so. They’d been cooped up together in this small vessel for nigh on a month. When he’d first been asked to escort the Spanish ambassador’s daughter to London, he’d been aghast. His mind was beset with worries over his mother and grief for his father and he had no wish to assume the responsibility of a seventeen-year-old girl.

But Señor de Silva had been persuasive. Domino had been invited by the English branch of her family to spend a Season in London and then to make the journey on to Spain and her paternal home in Madrid. Alfredo de Silva was insistent that his daughter should experience something of European society.

‘Argentina is pioneer country, you know, Richard, not the place for a young girl.’

‘She seems to have thrived on life in Buenos Aires,’ Richard protested, trying to escape the fate he saw coming.

But Señor de Silva was adamant. Domino must be launched on society and not in a rough-and-ready place like Buenos Aires. As a considerable heiress, and charmingly pretty, his daughter could look to the highest for a husband.

‘It’s a very long journey for a young girl. There are dangers.’ Richard made a last attempt, but to no avail.

‘Yes, yes, I have considered well,’ Señor de Silva reassured him. ‘The time is right—Napoleon is captive and confined on the island of St Helena where he can do no further harm. Domino will be able to travel in safety to England and then on to Spain. And you will be with my darling to protect her on the long journey.’

And so he’d agreed with reluctance to chaperon the girl aboard ship. He would see her safely on land and delivered to an aunt in Curzon Street, but after that his role would end.

Domino was speaking again. ‘When we get to London, Richard, will there be many parties and balls?’

‘Almost certainly,’ he smiled teasingly. ‘Otherwise why would you leave all your admirers in Buenos Aires and come to London?’

‘My father says I must make good use of my time there. I can have fun, but I must make sure that I meet lots of gentlemen too. Eligible gentlemen.’ She rolled the syllables off her tongue and pulled a face.

‘That will be for your aunt to decide. She is your chaperon and she’ll tell you who is eligible and who is not.’

‘Are you eligible, Richard?’

‘For you, no. I’m far too old and a deal too worn.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-eight.’

‘That’s not old. My father was ten years older than my mother. And I like the way he looked in his wedding pictures. Worldly and experienced.’

She looked up at him trustfully, the melting brown eyes smiling a clear invitation. He was taken aback. This was one outcome he had not foreseen. He’d no wish to be part of any emerging adolescent fantasy. He knew too well the pain which could accompany the insubstantial dreams of youth.

The image of a pale-faced girl with a torrent of red curls and glinting green eyes swam suddenly into his vision. He was startled. It was years since he’d thought of Christabel, really thought of her. It must be that he was nearing England, coming home after so many years. She would be settled amid the London society he hated, probably married with a pair of children to her name.

He didn’t know for sure. His parents, mindful of his feelings, had never kept him informed of her whereabouts or her doings. And he had not wanted to know.

It had been enough to know that she had betrayed him, and with a man he’d considered one of his closest friends. That moment when he’d realised, known for certain that he’d been blind and a fool, came rushing back to him. The whispers which he’d ignored, the sympathetic looks which he’d refused to see, and then the two of them—Christabel and Joshua—a secret smile on their faces, secret murmurs on their lips, emerging from the darkened terrace into the lighted ballroom, walking side by side, bound together as one. The sharpness of that moment still cut at him. He’d looked around the room and realised that every pair of eyes was fixed on him, wondering what he would do, what he would say. He’d left the ball abruptly, incensed and distraught in equal measure. The next day she’d told him. A little late, he’d thought bitterly, just a little late. Three weeks to their wedding and she was sorry, she loved another.

Sorry! Sorry for betraying him with a fly-by-night, a professional second-rater who’d pretended friendship only to get closer to his prey. And she, she’d been willing without a second thought to betray people she had professed to love and to expose him to the most shameful tittle-tattle.

He had drifted into the engagement with Christabel. Their two families had been friends for as long as he could remember and as youngsters they’d been constant companions. It wasn’t difficult to do what their parents had been dreaming of, not difficult to imagine a life lived with each other in the Cornish homeland they shared.

But in the end it had not felt that way. He had begun the affair in nonchalance and ended in love. He had wanted to marry. He had wanted her: her russet curls tickling his chin as they walked together in the gardens, the sensation of her body moulding to his as they dared to learn the waltz together, the softness of her skin to his touch, the softness of her mouth to his lips when he’d first ventured to kiss her. It had been a revelation. Now standing on this weathered deck, the empty ocean spread before him, her beautiful sensual form seemed to envelop him once more and he felt himself grow warm and hard with longing. He cursed silently. To feel passion after all these years was ridiculous. Surely it was only an image of the past that aroused such feelings, only an image, not reality that still had the power to hurt.

‘Are you all right, Richard? You look quite angry.’

Domino’s eyes held a troubled expression and he pulled himself back abruptly to the present.

‘I’m fine,’ he replied easily, ‘I’m not at all angry. But we mustn’t stay on deck any longer—it’s grown far too cold for you.’

‘But I love it here. The moonlight is so beautiful, isn’t it?’

He had to agree. The moon had risen fully now and the world was bathed in silver. Against his will his mind refused to let the memories go, for it had been a night like this when they’d gone swimming in the cove. Forbidden, thrilling, an intimation that Christabel was no longer the child she’d once been. And he had gloried in it. The water contouring itself around her slim form. The long shapely legs glimmering through a gently rippling surface. All he’d wanted to do was wind himself around her and stay clasped, fast and for ever.

‘Dinner is served, Lord Veryan, when you’re ready.’

Neither of them had heard the captain as he approached from the saloon behind. They had been caught up in their own thoughts, standing motionless before the beauty of the ocean.

‘Thank you. We’ll come now,’ Richard replied swiftly and offered his arm to the petite young lady beside him.

‘Lord Veryan? That sounds so grand, Richard.’

‘It should do. Take heed and obey!’ She giggled and made haste to the table that had been prepared for them. The smell from the kitchen was not encouraging. She pulled another face and her eyes glinted mischievously. Her aunt would have to stop her showing her feelings quite so evidently, he thought. It would not do to be too natural in London society. In his experience the Season involved nothing but artificiality and sham. He heaved a sigh without realising he was doing so.

‘Something troubles you, Richard? You’re not looking forward to going home?’

‘Indeed I am. I’m going to the most beautiful place on earth. How could I not be looking forward to it?’

‘More beautiful than Argentina?’

‘To my mind, Domino, but everyone thinks their own home is the best in the world.’

‘Tell me about Cornwall.’

‘Let’s see, what can I tell you? It’s wild and free. Its colours are green and grey—granite cliffs and slate-roofed houses, but rolling green fields. Above all the sea is blue within blue and never still. I can hear the sound of the surf breaking on the beach from my bedroom window and smell the salt on the air.’

‘You make it sound a paradise. And what about your house?’

‘The Abbey is very old and built of grey stone. It has mullioned windows and a massive oak front door studded with iron. Every room is panelled in the same dark oak.’

‘That sounds a bit gloomy—but perhaps abbeys always are?’ Domino puckered her forehead in disappointment.

‘It could be, but in the summer the garden is a cascade of colour—some of the flowers as vivid as those in the tropics because Cornwall is so warm—and in the winter, the rooms are lit by the flicker of open fires and the house is filled with the sweet smell of burning apple wood.’

‘Ah, then it does sound wonderful after all. And do you have many friends there?’

‘A few.’ His tone was indifferent.

‘No one in particular?’

‘No one,’ he reiterated, this time with certainty. And the image of flying red hair and shining emerald eyes was once more banished from his conscious mind.

Christabel returned early that night from a supper party and sat quietly in front of her mirror while her maid carefully untangled the knot of auburn curls. The evening had been insipid and she’d been glad of the excuse of a headache to leave for home. Although her face had maintained a calm detachment throughout the day, her mind was troubled. Ever since hearing his name that morning, she’d not been able to put Richard out of her thoughts. There’d always been a part of her, buried deep, that held his memory, but the passage of the intervening years had soothed the raw pain of his departure and the collapse of the world she’d trusted. She’d done all she could to forget him. Now a random conversation between two unknown women had brought his memory throbbing back to life.

She scolded herself. He would be so changed that she would hardly know him, nor he her. In all probability he would sail into Southampton with a new Lady Veryan on his arm. They were bound to meet again at some time in the future, given the proximity of their homes, but not for many months. He would be certain to post down to Cornwall as soon as he could, to be with his mother. And she, where would she be? No doubt by the end of the Season preparing to be Lady Edgerton, and packing her valise for a protracted stay at Sir Julian’s Berkshire estate. She sighed involuntarily and Rosa stopped brushing her hair for a moment, thinking that she had hurt her mistress. Christabel was smiling at her reassuringly when the bedroom door opened.

‘I’m so glad I’ve found you still up. I wanted a brief word with you, my dear.’

She nodded dismissal to her maid and looked warily at her mother. She knew well the likely nature of the brief word.

‘I was so pleased today at the gallery to see you on such good terms with Sir Julian. You do like him, darling, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course, Mama, what is there not to like?’

‘I mean,’ her mother said doggedly, ‘that it’s not simply a case of not holding him in aversion—you do positively like him?’

‘I think so.’

Lady Harriet tried to restrain her irritation with this lovely but obdurate daughter. ‘You don’t sound very certain.’

‘That’s because I’m not. Sir Julian is kind and charming and obviously a very good person, but perhaps he’s just a little too good for me.’

‘Stuff,’ her mother exclaimed unexpectedly. ‘How can you talk so, Christabel! You deserve the very best.’

Her daughter remained silent, gazing gravely at her reflection in the mirror.

‘Are you still thinking of that business with the Veryans?’

Even her mother, she noted, did not dare to speak Richard’s name. Lady Harriet came close and put her arms around her daughter.

‘Bel, my darling, that’s over and has been for years. It’s nonsense to let it determine the rest of your life. It was a bad affair at the time, but you must put it out of your mind and make a fresh start.’

Whether it was her mother’s hug or simply because she’d had a jarring day, she couldn’t say, but Christabel found herself dissolving into tears.

Lady Harriet soothed her lovingly and then spoke to her as if to a weary child. ‘The time has come, Christabel, to make a sensible decision which will affect the rest of your life. You have received many offers of marriage and have refused them all. In a few months you will be twenty-five and in our society that is not a good age to be single still. If you really dislike the idea of marriage to Sir Julian, you know we will not try to persuade you otherwise. Your father and I have profited from painful experience. But if you feel you could live comfortably with him, then I would urge you not to wait too long. He is obviously deeply in love with you and you have only to “throw the handkerchief”—a vulgar saying, I know, but a perfectly true one none the less—and he will pick it up with alacrity.’

‘I know, Mama.’ Her daughter’s woebegone expression raised a smile on Lady Harriet’s face.

‘Do not look so miserable about it. You will have a splendid life. You will never want for anything and will have a man by your side whose only wish is to make you happy.’

How to tell her mother how she felt? How to explain it even to herself? Her head told her that a tranquil life with Sir Julian was the best possible compromise she could make, but her heart murmured traitorously that tranquillity would not satisfy. What did she want, then? Gaiety, exhilaration, adventure even? But she knew her mother was right. She was a mature woman and she must behave like one. That meant making a sensible decision about her future.

Thinking that her homily had gone home, Lady Harriet continued. ‘Promise me, my love, that when the moment comes you will listen to whatever Sir Julian has to say and consider his words favourably.’

‘I promise, Mama.’

She made the undertaking in good faith. She must try not to disappoint Sir Julian, nor let her family down again.

Her pledge was put to the test the following Saturday morning. She was quietly engaged with Rosa, selecting dresses from her wardrobe that needed attention and listing the new gloves and slippers she must purchase now that the Season was well advanced, when the second footman appeared at her bedroom door.

‘Milady would like to see you in the drawing room, Miss Christabel.’

She wondered what was toward and made haste downstairs. Her heart sunk when she saw Sir Julian perched rather unsafely on one of the decorative but spindly chairs her mother had recently hired for the drawing room.

‘Miss Tallis, how good to see you. And how well you look in that ensemble.’

She looked blankly at the old dress she was wearing and wondered if her potential spouse needed glasses.

‘But then,’ he continued, ‘you always contrive to look amazingly elegant.’

Her mother beamed appreciatively. ‘Sir Julian has been speaking of the new floral exhibition in Hyde Park. It sounds truly magnificent and has been especially designed as part of the celebrations arranged for the French Royal Family.’

‘In fact,’ Sir Julian interjected eagerly, ‘they are actually to celebrate the Prince Regent’s own assumption of power, but since his father is so very ill, it would be bad form for him to broadcast it, I dare say.’

Christabel looked from one to the other in some puzzlement, wondering where she fitted into this conversation. Her mother was at hand to help.

‘Sir Julian has very kindly called to discover if you would care to see the display. I know you have no engagements this morning, my dear.’

Sir Julian added his voice to the petition, ‘I hope I do not importune, Miss Tallis, but I would welcome your company. And I am sure you will be charmed, knowing your highly developed sense of beauty. The southern tip of the park is a sheer blaze of colour.’

Christabel had no alternative but to agree, only stopping to change her gown and unpack the new bonnet which had just been delivered by Celeste, her favourite milliner. It was a charming confection, a light-green cottager style tied beneath the chin with an enormous chiffon bow. It set off to perfection a gown of pale primrose silk. If she was to be wooed, and she had no doubt that this was Sir Julian’s plan, she would at least look the part.

Hyde Park was unusually busy for a Saturday morning and for some time they had little leisure to converse, their attention distracted by the need to avoid a constant parade of slowly moving barouches and their elderly occupants, baby carriages with their nursemaids and schoolboys bowling their hoops. It seemed the whole world and his wife had come out to play this early April morning. And it wasn’t hard to see why. The sun streamed down from an almost cloudless blue sky and spring was in the air.

Richard was also in the park that morning, carefully shepherding Domino through its north gate towards Rotten Row, which was already busy with riders. It would be a good opportunity, he thought, for the young girl to experience one of the more popular pursuits of London life. Annoyingly he had been forced to kick his heels in the capital for some days while legal papers were being prepared for his signature. But he could at least enjoy this heavensent morning.

He glanced sideways at his companion, an amused expression on his face. She was in high gig now that he’d unexpectedly remained in town and her aunt had agreed to his chaperonage. Lady Blythe’s horror at the notion of a male escort the younger side of thirty had evaporated the moment Richard presented himself in Curzon Street. His manners were excellent and he showed an avuncular affection for Domino that not even her worst nightmare could translate into any threat to her charge. She was only too pleased to accept his protection for her young niece whose company she was already finding exhausting.

They had hired hacks from the stables around the corner from Aunt Loretta’s house, but had almost instantly regretted it. Neither had any hesitation in characterising their respective mounts as out-and-out slugs. Domino had already begun to feel irked by the restraints her aunt had found it necessary to place on her; after weeks of confinement on board ship, she was restless for the kind of unfettered gallop she had been accustomed to in Argentina. Her horse was unlikely to provide that. Yet the morning shone with perfection and the greensward stretched invitingly in front of her. She could not resist the attempt, and before Richard could stop her she had dug her spurs hard into the horse’s flanks. Startled out of his wits, Firefly was for once in his life true to his name. He shot off across the park at breakneck speed to the shocked outrage of those sedately taking their morning promenade. Forced to ride sidesaddle, Domino crouched low over the horse’s neck in order to keep her seat, with her hair streaming inelegantly behind. After a frozen instant of shock Richard urged his mount into an unwilling gallop and rushed after her, fearful for her safety and intent on stopping her from creating the kind of scandal of which she had no notion.

Firefly hit the dust of Rotten Row, choking nearby strollers and scattering them to the winds as they leapt for safety, just as Sir Julian had worked himself up to the point of a declaration.

‘I shall be leaving for Rosings in the morning, Miss Tallis, and had hoped to depart with one very important question answered. It is a question dear to my heart and only you can settle it. I do not, of course, require an immediate answer, but I would be truly grateful if you would agree to think over what I have to say. You see, Miss Tallis, Christabel—’

He was forced to break off mid sentence and take drastic action as Firefly thundered towards him and his lovely companion. In a trice he had swept Christabel up and literally jumped her out of harm’s way. A second later another horse galloping headlong in pursuit caught up with the runaway and grabbed hold of Firefly’s bridle.

‘Never, ever do that again!’

Richard’s voice expressed his cold fury. Badly jolted by the headlong flight of her horse and realising that she had committed a serious social sin, Domino slipped from the saddle, her face white and frightened. She had never seen Richard so angry and she wasn’t certain whether she should shout or cry. He gave her no chance to decide. Turning to the couple who had narrowly escaped Firefly’s thundering hooves, he bowed in apology. Sir Julian inclined his head at the irate stranger before him. He had no idea of his identity for he had been travelling on the Continent when Richard Veryan had first come to the capital.

‘Please forgive my companion,’ Richard offered stiffly. ‘She is a visitor to London and unaware of the rules governing riding in Hyde Park. I trust that you have received no harm.’

‘I’m glad to say that we haven’t,’ stuttered Sir Julian, now very shaken by the incident, ‘but your charge—for I take it that she is your charge—needs to be given a summary lesson.’

‘She shall have it,’ he said crisply, glaring at Sir Julian with annoyance. Domino had put him in the wrong and he did not like it.

He turned to apologise to the woman he had only glimpsed from the corner of his eye and for the first time in the encounter was struck dumb. For what seemed endless time, he stood motionless and without expression, absorbing the picture before him, hardly believing what he saw.

He had not visualised the moment when he would meet Christabel again. He’d made quite sure that his imagination never strayed into such dangerous territory. But if he’d been tempted to speculate, it would not have felt like this. He would have felt nothing—the meaningless liaisons of years would have done their work—and any carefully suppressed images that still remained in the recesses of his memory would have, should have, shrivelled in the cold light of reality. He ought to feel nothing. But that, it seemed, was not so. He stood and looked and his heart received a most painful jolt.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered. The glinting green eyes and the sensual tumble of red locks against translucent skin were arousing all his senses. He looked searchingly at her ungloved hand. Astonishingly she was not married, at least not yet. That popinjay with her was no doubt the intended.

Christabel had known him immediately. He was still the same tall, athletic man that he had always been, but he seemed stronger now, more muscular, his face lean and tanned. There was an authority about him that had not been there before. His grey eyes as they fixed her in an unwavering stare beneath black, straight brows were lacking in all emotion. There was no warmth, no answering response to her tentative smile.

His voice was as indifferent as his expression. ‘Miss Tallis? Your servant, ma’am.’

How hateful of him to speak to her thus, stiff and formal as though they had met for the first time only yesterday. Sir Julian looked questioningly between the two of them and Christabel forced herself to perform the social niceties.

‘Sir Julian, may I introduce Earl Veryan. Lord Veryan, Sir Julian Edgerton.’

The two men eyed each other askance, instinctively hostile. Domino, abandoned at a distance, walked her horse towards them and Richard was compelled to make her known to her erstwhile victims. She smiled sunnily at them.

‘I’m so sorry, please forgive me for frightening you.’ Her accent was marked as though she hoped that this might produce a swifter forgiveness.

‘I don’t know the rules,’ she continued, ‘and Richard never told me, did you, Richard?’ And she smiled up at him, her eyes glowing with affectionate entreaty.

But Richard was still looking at Christabel and saw those extraordinary green eyes half-close. Was that perhaps unhappiness at Domino’s youthful adoration, an attempt to erase a discomfiting image? It seemed unlikely given her ruthless rejection of him. Yet undoubtedly she’d flinched at Domino’s display of fondness. The girl meant nothing to him, but Christabel was not to know that. He hoped that she was suffering at least a little of the agonising jealousy that he’d once known.

He was shocked by the vindictive thought, shocked that his emotions were surging out of control. That he should be so susceptible, so easily disturbed, after six long years was dismaying. He schooled his face to remain expressionless as he bowed his formal farewell, but his mind was deep in tangled thought. He walked swiftly away and Domino had almost to skip to keep up with his long stride.

The unexpected meeting had unnerved him. He’d felt his body invaded by unwanted desire and his mind battered by conflicting impulses. He was bewildered by his reactions for they made no sense. But of one thing he was certain. He could not allow himself to be drawn to Christabel again; he had to overcome a weakness that had come out of nowhere. As he walked a vague sense grew upon him that if he could prove to himself, prove to the world, that her beauty was only skin deep, she would cease to bother him. The veriest shadow of an idea began to form in his mind.

Chapter Two

Christabel allowed herself to be escorted home, Sir Julian steering her expertly along the pavement while remonstrating at length on the licence given the very young these days. She hardly heard him for her mind was in turmoil. The unexpected meeting with Richard would have been difficult enough but his cold aloofness had at first amazed her and then upset her deeply. Years had passed since she’d broken their engagement and she’d imagined that whatever anger he’d felt towards her would have cooled long ago. But it was clear that it was not so. Those steely grey eyes had expressed—what, indifference, aversion, even enmity? Richard, of all people, the boy who had meant most to her for most of her life.

Sir Julian continued his monologue as they made their way through the busy crowds that thronged Mayfair that morning.

‘I am only glad, Miss Tallis, that you sustained no lasting injury. How I could have reconciled myself to that I do not know. It was I who invited you to view the floral display—if it had not been for me, you would never have been in danger.’

She roused herself to reassure him. ‘Please don’t blame yourself, Sir Julian. The incident was in no way your fault. You could not have foreseen such a thing happening.’

‘That is true, but I still feel a heavy responsibility. And tomorrow I must go away. I cannot delay my visit to Rosings any longer. I have already put it off once and my bailiff remains most anxious to consult me.’

‘Of course, you must not delay. Why ever should you? As you see, I am perfectly unharmed. My nerves may be a little jangled, but they will soon recover.’

‘Miss Tallis, you are a pearl among women. Others would have had hysterics. You are so cool and admirable under adversity.’

Sir Julian’s fussing was becoming an irritant. She might well have succumbed to hysterics, but not from the possibility of being crushed by a runaway horse. She could hardly admit that the shock she’d sustained was in encountering Richard’s hostility, and she was desperate for her well-meaning companion to drop the topic. Thank goodness he was to journey to his estates tomorrow and she would be free of his company for the next few days. But how dreadful that she should feel this way about the man she was considering taking as a husband.

‘I shall be back very shortly—’ he had almost read her mind ‘—and then, Miss Tallis, I hope to renew our conversation which was so violently terminated.’

They had reached the house in Mount Street that Lady Tallis rented every year and Sir Julian bounded up the white stone steps and knocked sharply on the front door with his cane. Christabel wasn’t sure if this was to impress since there was a perfectly good door knocker. However, he was beaming down on her with a gentle kindliness and she tried to look suitably grateful for his care. As soon as she could, she would send him on his way and seek refuge in her bedroom. She needed time to think, time to digest all that had happened that morning.

The bright blue door of Number Six finally swung open after an unusual delay and the two of them made to enter, but were pulled up sharply on the threshold by a scene of rampant confusion. The hall was overflowing with trunks, cases, holdalls of all kinds and a decidedly sulky-looking parrot in a white ironwork cage that Christabel recognised instantly.

‘Sophia? Sophia is here?’

‘Yes, Sophia is here.’

A strident voice emanated from behind the furthest stack of parcels. The young lady who emerged, smiling triumphantly at her sister, was not ill favoured, but against Christabel’s pure beauty she appeared unexceptional.

‘What on earth are you doing in Mount Street? Why have you left Cornwall?’ Christabel exclaimed.

Before her sister could answer, a cheery male voice called out from the adjoining library, ‘Hey, Sophy, you could hang the bird here.’

‘Benedict? He’s here too?’

Christabel was dumbstruck at this sudden eruption into her life of the two siblings she had supposed to be fixed at Lamorna Place for the next few months. Lady Harriet floated into the hall, waving her hands ineffectually over the assorted baggage as though by doing so it would miraculously order itself and march away.

‘Christabel, my darling, I’m so glad you’re back. The servants are being amazingly slow at sorting this mountain and I need your help.’

‘I’m not surprised they’re slow—why on earth is there so much?’

Sophia drew herself up with an indignant puff and was just about to launch into an impassioned response when she spied Sir Julian hovering just behind her sister. Christabel had not introduced him immediately and he took the chance to excuse himself, saying in a rather nervous voice that he could see the family was extremely busy at this time and he would take his leave.

‘May I call on my return, Miss Tallis?’

‘Yes, of course, you may.’ It was her mother who replied so readily.

Sir Julian bowed himself elegantly out of the door and down the steps, but not before he heard Sophia’s accusing voice. ‘Why didn’t you introduce us to your fiancé, Christabel?’

The door shut behind him.

‘He is not my fiancé.’

‘That’s very strange. We understood that you were engaged. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it, Benedict?’

Benedict smiled in a superior fashion. ‘It may be why you’re here, but I’m here to have fun,’ he returned.

‘Mama, may I speak privately with you for a moment?’ Christabel asked in a tight voice as she ushered her mother into the library.

Lady Harriet looked flustered. ‘Shouldn’t we get the hall cleared first, my dear? The house is at sixes and sevens and the staff really do not like it.’

‘In a minute, Mama. This is more important.’

Once in the library, she wasted no time. ‘Why are Sophia and Benedict here?’ she asked, fixing her mother with a minatory look.

‘They are family. It is quite natural that they should come to stay with us,’ her mother responded defensively.

‘But why now, Mama? You know that it was decided they would both remain in Cornwall for the next few months.’

‘That was certainly the initial plan, but things have changed a little.’

‘What things precisely?’

‘Sophia is eighteen and should have the opportunity to partake of at least some of the Season.’ Her mother appeared unwilling to answer her directly.

‘She was eighteen when we left Lamorna, so I ask you again—what has changed?’

‘Sir Julian has changed.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I mean that he is ready to make you an offer, Christabel. You cannot deny it and if, as I hope, you will see fit to accept him, Sophia must be introduced to the ton at the earliest possible moment so that she, too, has the chance of contracting an eligible alliance.’

‘But it was agreed that she would come out officially next year.’

‘That was before we knew about Sir Julian.’

‘What do we know about Sir Julian? Sophia said that he was my fiancé. Why should she say that?’

‘He is—almost,’ her mother ventured.

‘He has not asked me to marry him.’

‘But he will. And I cannot think why he did not do so this morning. It was clearly what he intended.’

Christabel ignored this and pursued her own enquiry relentlessly.

‘Have you told Sophia that I am engaged?’

‘I may have mentioned in letters to your father that it was possible you were on the point of accepting a proposal.’

‘And Papa has repeated this to Sophia?’

‘He may have mentioned it.’

‘May have? He obviously let it slip and, knowing Sophia, she will have plagued him to death until he agreed that she could come to London. Isn’t that so?’

Her mother hung her head guiltily.

‘I thought so. And I am to be coerced into agreeing to this marriage so that my sister can have her way.’

‘No one is talking of coercion, Bel. You know that you must be married, if not to Sir Julian, then to someone else. We’ve had this conversation a hundred times before. And it’s only fair to Sophia that she be allowed her place in the sun.’

‘And is Benedict also to be allowed his place in the sun?’

‘Don’t be foolish. Benedict is still a stripling and only just down from Oxford. Your father thought it wise to let him gain some town bronze before he settles to learning the management of the estate.’

‘What you mean is that he also plagued Papa until he was allowed to come.’

‘He will be here only a month, my dear, and someone had to escort Sophia. I cannot understand why you are so cross.’

Christabel took a deep breath and said with deliberation, ‘I am cross because I feel my hand is being forced. I understood that we would be here on our own for this Season and expected to have time and peace to consider my future. Now I have virtually the whole of my family breathing down my neck and pushing me into a marriage I don’t want.’

‘You don’t want it!’

Her mother looked scandalised and Christabel felt stunned. She hadn’t meant to acknowledge such troublesome feelings so starkly, even to herself, let alone express them aloud. She tried to recover her composure as best she could.

‘I understand my position, Mama, and I will do what is expected of me. But don’t demand that I am glad.’

And with that she turned on her heel and threaded her way swiftly through the still-cluttered hall and up the stairs to her room without another word. Brother and sister, still standing amidst the clutter of baggage, looked after her in surprise.

Once in her room, Christabel flung herself down on the satin counterpane and closed her eyes. The morning had been full of shocks and she was not coping well with them. She needed to pull herself together. Sophia was an unfriendly presence that she could have done without, but nothing more. As for Benedict, he would be filling Mount Street with noise and disturbance. Maybe that would be beneficial; it would help to distract her from the reality of her life. Which was what, exactly? Marriage to a man she did not love and hatred from the man she had once loved. The near-fatal accident, her siblings’ unwelcome arrival, her mother’s pretence, could all be forgotten. It was Richard’s undisguised hostility that stayed with her.

Early the next morning she woke to a household already on the move. She’d slept badly and wanted nothing more than to stay curled in bed. But very shortly Sophia bounced into her room, more than happy to explain the bustle.

‘Mama has said that I am to go shopping and you are to accompany me,’ she announced peremptorily.

Christabel blinked sleepily and reached for her cup of chocolate. ‘Don’t you already have enough clothes?’

‘No, I don’t. I shall need a completely new wardrobe to make a splash in London. You have a rail of exquisite dresses, so don’t be selfish, Bel!’ Her sister was at her most indignant.

She flounced out of the room only to be replaced by a second morning visitor.

‘Bel, my darling, I know you’re not happy about accompanying Sophia, but I would count it a great favour.’

‘I will go, of course, Mama, but I won’t be able to stop her buying the most dreadful clothes. She will listen to your advice far more readily than to mine.’

‘My dear, Sophia listens to no one, as you well know. And you have such elegant taste—I’m hoping some of it will rub off on her.’

Christabel did not share that hope, but felt it only right she attempt to help. Her mother was looking unusually tired and harassed by the sudden eruption of two youthful and demanding offspring into her hitherto peaceful household.

Within the hour they were in the carriage and on their way to Lady Harriet’s favourite modiste. The morning that followed was one Christabel never wished to repeat. Again and again she sought to dissuade the younger girl from unwise purchases: heliotrope was not on the whole an immensely flattering colour; a bonnet sporting six ostrich plumes and a cluster of brightly coloured gemstones might be thought a trifle vulgar; a dress of gauze worn over a transparent petticoat was unlikely to ingratiate her with the most illustrious members of the ton. But she was helpless against the onslaught of Sophia in full cry and could only watch in despair as the carriage gradually filled with an array of packages containing the most unsuitable attire.

The clothes had been costly and eaten up most of the very generous allowance bestowed by Lord Tallis and still they had not purchased gloves, slippers, reticules—all the myriad accessories necessary for a young lady about to embark on a social whirl. Christabel’s tentative suggestion that they go to the Pantheon Bazaar where she’d heard there were bargains to be had was received with surprising enthusiasm and they drove immediately to Grafton House. Very soon they found themselves immersed in stalls displaying an abundance of coloured muslins, ornate trimmings, silk stockings, fine cambric handkerchiefs, all at astonishing prices. The bazaar was not generally visited by ladies of high fashion, but within minutes of entering the emporium Sophia was exclaiming loudly over the bargains to be had. The only drawback to the shop was its popularity for by noon it was completely full and shopping had become a tedious business of jostling elbows. Both young ladies were heartily relieved when the last piece of lace and the last pair of kid slippers had been chosen. Their relief was short-lived, however, for the increasing crowds made it necessary to wait a considerable time to pay at the final counter.

Sophia had at last reached the head of the queue when Christabel heard a voice that was faintly familiar. She turned her head and caught a glimpse of a stylishly gowned woman holding in her hand a collection of colourful loo masks.

‘They will be just the thing, Aunt Loretta, if we go to Vauxhall—and you did promise!’ The woman’s younger companion was almost jumping with enthusiasm.

‘I think you’re stretching the word promise, Domino. I said we might go.’

But Domino had lost interest in the masks and was staring instead at Christabel. She darted forwards eagerly and offered her hand.

‘Miss Tallis, isn’t it? How are you feeling? I’m so sorry about the accident yesterday—I was worried about you.’

‘Thank you for your concern, but I’m perfectly well.’

‘Richard said that you would be fine and he’s always right. He said that you were the coolest of women and unlikely to suffer any disordered feelings. You see, I’ve remembered his words exactly.’

‘What accident, Domino?’ her aunt interjected.

‘Only a small one, Aunt, a little frightening at the time, but over in a moment.’

She looked from one to the other, a pleased expression on her face. ‘I must introduce you immediately. Aunt Loretta, this is Miss Christabel Tallis—I have it right?—such a difficult name for my tongue! Miss Tallis, this is my aunt, Lady Blythe.’

‘How do you do,’ Christabel responded in her musical voice, ‘I’m very happy to meet you.’

Lady Blythe smiled anxiously as she shook hands. ‘Domino said nothing to me of an accident.’

‘Please don’t be concerned—I have taken no harm from yesterday’s adventure, as you see.’ And she smiled reassuringly at aunt and niece. She had no wish to get this vivacious young girl into any further trouble.

‘Is not this shop the most wonderful you’ve ever seen, Miss Tallis?’ Domino’s eyes were lit with pleasure.

She glanced around her rapturously and Christabel glimpsed a uniformed footman standing a few paces away already loaded with packages. Lady Blythe saw the direction of her glance and said wryly, ‘As you see, Miss Tallis, we have had a busy morning.’

‘You know you’ve enjoyed it as much as I,’ Domino protested. ‘And I did need to add to my wardrobe, didn’t I? I’ve been invited to so many parties.’

Her aunt smiled indulgently as her niece, still prattling happily, turned to Christabel.

‘I’ve been in London only a very short while, Miss Tallis, but already I must have been to a dozen entertainments. It’s been splendid. And Richard has been a wonderful escort. He’s been wonderful, hasn’t he, Aunt Loretta?’ and she turned impulsively to the older lady, her cheeks glowing.

‘Lord Veryan has certainly been a good friend to us,’ her aunt agreed.

The girl’s soft brown eyes were smiling and she looked the picture of happiness. She obviously revered Richard and just as obviously knew nothing about Christabel. He had not told her of their shared history. It was as though he wished to wipe the slate clean and obliterate that part of his life. The Christabel he’d known in his youth had ceased to exist for him. Instead a callous and unfeeling woman, a woman whose emotions were never disordered, had taken her place.

She was saved from making any further conversation by Sophia, who had finally finished paying for her goods. Before Christabel knew what was happening, her sister had seized her hand and was dragging her towards the entrance of the shop without a glance at the couple standing nearby.

‘Come, Bel, or we’ll be late for luncheon.’ Christabel had time only to execute a hasty bow before she was bundled outside.

‘Really, Sophia, there is little point in buying smart dresses and clever fripperies if you lack manners to match,’ she remonstrated, as they emerged into the fresh air and once more climbed into the waiting carriage.

‘I had to get out of that shop. It was so hot that I thought I’d melt. And I must go home this minute and try on all my new outfits.’

Her sister demurred. ‘Before we return to Mount Street I’d like to call in at Hatchards to collect the book I ordered. Mansfield Park is being spoken of everywhere and I’m most anxious to read it.’

‘You can pick the book up tomorrow,’ her sister complained. ‘At this hour of the day Piccadilly will be blocked with traffic and it will take an age to get home.’

Christabel remained unmoved. ‘I particularly wish to begin Miss Austen’s novel today and we’ll only be in the shop a few minutes. You owe me a little time after this morning, don’t you think?’

Sophia looked sulky, but did not dispute further. The traffic was lighter than expected and very soon they were standing outside Hatchards’s impressive bow windows. The smell of leather greeted them as Christabel trod briskly across polished wood to a large counter where a stack of volumes of different shapes and sizes was awaiting collection.

Already bored with the errand, Sophia began an immediate prowl around the lines of high-sided bookshelves in the hope of seeking out possible acquaintances. Soon she had disappeared from view so completely that when Christabel went to look for her, she was nowhere to be seen, even in the furthest recesses of the shop. A carriage full of new dresses had been too much of a temptation, Christabel thought, and Sophia must have ordered the groom to drive her home and left her sister to make her own way back. It was a nuisance, but not a disaster. Mount Street was a ten-minute walk away and she had no fear of undertaking the journey on her own.

She began to make her way to the shop entrance, zigzagging around the rows of tall shelves, and was just turning the corner of one particularly high stack of books when she looked up to find Richard Veryan barring her way. For a moment she froze. He was the last person she expected to see. He wore a drab riding cape over a tightly fitting coat of blue superfine and what looked to be a recent purchase, a cut Venetian waistcoat and the palest of fawn pantaloons. His air of elegance was subtly enhanced by the powerful muscularity of a body long hardened by physical activity.

He smiled sardonically as he swept her a bow. ‘Good morning, Miss Tallis. I trust I find you well. I hope that you haven’t suffered unduly from yesterday’s unfortunate incident.’

For a moment she was mesmerised, unable to speak, unable to take her eyes from the figure who stood in her path. It was as though she were seeing him for the very first time. Yesterday his sudden appearance, when she’d imagined him still on the high seas, had sent her mind into disarray. She had been conscious only of those crystal-hard eyes raking her down. Now the full force of his masculine attraction hit her hard. She struggled to find words.

‘I’m well, Lord Veryan, thank you, and have suffered no lasting effects,’ she managed at last.

‘I’m very happy to hear that. I would not have anyone injured because of my lack of foresight. But I could not have anticipated Miss de Silva’s actions—it was sheer recklessness, I fear, on the part of my young companion.’

‘This is her first visit to London and she can surely be excused,’ Christabel returned gently. ‘She would not know the regulations governing riding in Hyde Park.’

‘She does now, however, and will in future follow them strictly. Then we should go on well enough. Rules are a necessary part of civilised society, don’t you think? Myself, I’ve always placed a good deal of trust in observing them, but I imagine you must know that.’

Christabel said nothing. He was clearly intent on upsetting her.

‘You’re silent—perhaps you’re unwilling to criticise the young lady in question? Rest assured that I’ve already done so. She’s received a trimming she’ll not forget. But she has youth on her side and youth has one great advantage, I find—it can learn from its mistakes.’

‘I’m sure Miss de Silva will. No doubt you are a proficient teacher, sir,’ she replied sharply.

‘I trust so. I certainly should be. I was lucky enough in my own youth to have an equally proficient teacher who taught me to learn from my biggest mistake.’

His face was grim and she had an overpowering desire to flee, but he was barring her way and escape was impossible. She steadied her nerves and refused to be intimidated.

‘I hardly know the young lady, of course, but she seemed well able to manage her own affairs.’

‘She gives that impression to the uninitiated, but to those who know her well,’ he said meaningfully, ‘the case is otherwise. Her spontaneity is certainly entrancing, but is like to run away with her. She needs someone to exercise a firm control.’

‘I hope she sees the situation as you do.’

‘And if she does not?’

‘Then she will reject that control and simply be herself,’ she threw at him.

‘Naturally I should have expected you to say that, Miss Tallis. But for the moment I’d forgotten that you are an arch advocate of self-expression, no matter what the cost.’

His smile was belied by the frost in his cold, grey eyes and she felt her stomach twist into knots. It seemed he’d accosted her quite deliberately in order to bait her, but she could not let him ride roughshod.

‘You misunderstand me, sir. I was not encouraging Miss de Silva to break rules, simply proposing that everyone must have the freedom to make some mistakes.’

‘Ah, yes, you would know a deal about such freedom. Dare I suggest that restraint is a more admirable quality?’

‘Restraint and youth do not sit easily together,’ she retorted.

‘Yet for most they can be negotiated. Dishonour is a powerful deterrent, would you not say?’

She was weary of the cat-and-mouse game he seemed to relish and made to walk forwards. ‘If you will excuse me, I am meeting my sister here and would not wish to keep her waiting.’

He made no move to allow her to pass, but instead looked around him mockingly. ‘I don’t see her. She is certainly nowhere in the shop. Are you sure you were supposed to meet her here?’

‘Yes, indeed. She will no doubt be outside.’

‘And if she is not, you will have no companion to accompany you home. May I offer my escort?’

‘I thank you, but no,’ she said hastily, ‘I have my carriage.’

‘I fear you’re out of luck. There was no sign of a carriage on the road when I entered the shop. It must have left without you—but then perhaps Sir Julian Edgerton is close by to take you home?’

She shook her head.

‘No? I made sure that he would be. From our meeting yesterday, he seemed a most attentive gentleman.

Our untimely descent on you perhaps interrupted an important conversation. I do apologise if this was so—I wouldn’t want to frighten him away. Where is he now?’

She was angered by his insinuations and also bewildered. How had he known that Sir Julian was about to propose?

‘He is visiting his country estate,’ she said in a ruffled tone. ‘If you wish to see him, I suggest that you call at his town house in a few days’ time. It is in Brook Street, I believe.’

‘There you are, Bel. I’ve been looking for you every where.’

Sophia bounced suddenly into view, almost running around the adjacent bookcase and only just preventing herself from cannoning into Richard. He turned round with annoyance; the interview had just been getting interesting. He’d followed Christabel into the shop on impulse, feeling an overpowering need to confront her with the words he’d kept suppressed for so long. Even more compelling had been the need to protect himself from her, to keep her at a safe distance, by wielding ugly recriminations. ‘Good gracious, are you who I think you are?’ Sophia had been just twelve when Richard quit England and had only a vague memory of her sister’s former fiancé.

‘Whatever are you doing here?’ Sophie continued a trifle too bluntly.

Christabel intervened. ‘Lord Veryan is newly arrived in town. We met yesterday in Hyde Park when there was a slight accident. He has been kind enough to enquire how I am, but I think it’s time for us to go.’

Richard glanced at Sophia with disfavour. She had never been an appealing child with her insistence on frills and furbelows and the constant preening in every mirror she could find. To his jaundiced eye she looked very little improved. Christabel as a child had been so different—a skinny, reckless tomboy of a girl with a tangle of red hair and freckles to match. She had always been ready for adventure and just as always ready to drag him into whatever trouble she had been brewing.

Looking at her now, a slender vision in eau-de-nil silk, a matching ribbon threaded through those wonderfully fiery curls, he smiled inwardly, forgetting for the moment his purpose in accosting her. No greater contrast between past and present could there be. He remembered the day he’d returned from Oxford to find his one-time playmate transformed, a butterfly fluttering the hearts of all the local beaux. He had gazed at her in wonder, drinking in her beauty, spellbound.

His reverie came to an abrupt end as he became aware of Sophia still scowling at him from a few feet away. With a brief bow, he moved aside for the sisters to make their exit.

‘Where were you? I’ve been an age looking for you,’ Sophia scolded as she marched forcefully towards the glass-paned doors. ‘The carriage was causing an obstruction and Stebbings has had to move it. We’ll have to walk the whole of Picadilly now.’

Christabel made no reply, but moved swiftly along the flagged thoroughfare in deep thought. Richard had appeared in Hatchards at the very time that she’d chosen to call at the shop. It was as though he’d been shadowing her, waiting for an opportunity to confront her. And it had been a confrontation. She recalled the ice in his eyes and the anger in his voice, as he sought to remind her of her crime.

And he’d been at pains to emphasise his new-found intimacy with Domino de Silva, while a few hours earlier the young girl had made it clear that she admired Richard greatly and that in her eyes he could do no wrong. Christabel didn’t blame her for that idolisation. Richard was the perfect hero for an adolescent dream—a honed body, a handsome face alight with intelligence and an air of innate strength, which more than matched his elegance. And, if she were honest, he was a hero for more than adolescent girls. When he’d appeared so suddenly before her, polished and powerful and blocking her escape, she’d felt a charge of pure sexual magnetism. But it was momentary and quickly evaporated as it became plain that he intended only to distress her. She must not dwell on his beautiful form and face, nor on his seeming desire to exact some kind of retribution. Her life would soon resume its normal peaceful rhythm. Sir Julian was returning and, she told herself severely, she would look forward to that. By dint of repetition she was sure she would come to believe it.

Chapter Three

‘You’ve not forgotten that Lady Russell is to collect you at eleven o’ clock?’ her mother prompted the next morning, whisking through the hall on her way to consult with the housekeeper.

‘Lady Russell?’ Christabel grappled with the name for a moment.

‘Sir Julian has arranged it, has he not? The tickets for Montagu House?’

‘Ah, yes, I remember now,’ she said heavily, ‘He was keen that we view the Marbles that Lord Elgin has brought back from Greece.’

‘A stuffy museum and Lady Russell all in the same morning,’ interjected Sophia as she emerged from the breakfast room in one of the eye-opening ensembles she had purchased yesterday. ‘Rather you than me!’

Her mother rounded on her sharply. ‘You’re becoming far too pert for your own good, Sophia. You must learn to keep a check on your tongue or you will fare badly in society.’

This was an important consideration for an aspiring belle and Sophia looked suitably contrite. ‘I’m sorry, Mama, but, from what I hear from friends who are already out, Lady Russell is a gorgon.’

‘That’s as may be, but you had much better keep your opinions to yourself. And, Christabel, you must hurry. You will need to dress in something a little more demure.’ Christabel glanced down at the low neckline and French trimmings of the apricot sarcenet and sighed. Her mother was right. Lady Russell was a stickler for correctness and only a simple day dress of sprigged muslin with a high neck and a matching spencer would satisfy that matriarch.

It was weeks ago that she’d agreed to the visit. At the time she’d been feeling more guilty than usual at her lack of enthusiasm for Sir Julian’s company and he’d been so touchingly anxious that she become better acquainted with what small family he possessed that she’d felt forced to consent. Since then she’d acquired a genuine interest in the marble wonders that had travelled all the way from Athens and, were it not for Lady Russell, she would be looking forward to the morning’s expedition with pleasure.

Sir Julian’s sister was punctual to the minute, an erect figure in a heavy but serviceable barouche, awaiting Christabel outside the Mount Street house with scarcely concealed impatience. The severe grey kerseymere gown and dreary poke bonnet that she wore did nothing to lighten the atmosphere. Her greeting was perfunctory. She was not at all sure that this young woman was a suitable wife for her brother. She was altogether too beautiful, and beautiful women usually meant trouble. And there was that unfortunate business years ago when her name had been bandied around the town as a tease and a jilt by every wicked rattlejaw. Her modest behaviour since had done much to redeem this unsatisfactory reputation, but still one never knew when old habits would surface.

You only had to look at that hair—wild to a fault. But Julian was evidently head over heels in love with her and you could hardly blame him. Men could be very stupid, never seeing beyond what was in front of their eyes.

‘Are you looking forward to viewing the Marbles, Miss Tallis?’ she eventually asked her companion as the barouche rolled smoothly forwards. Her smile was one of gracious condescension.

‘Indeed, ma’am, I am. I have been reading a good deal about them and my interest has been greatly stirred.’

Lady Russell unbent slightly. At least the girl had some intelligence, which was all to the good. It was necessary that Julian marry a woman who was serious enough to understand and tolerate his charity work. As far as Lady Russell was concerned, her brother’s projects for the labouring classes remained wholly inexplicable.

‘I have learned,’ she remarked magisterially, ‘that a special gallery has been built for these statues at a vast cost so we must hope that they warrant such expenditure.’ The faltering conversation was effectively closed down.

Once the carriage left Mayfair and was bowling towards Bloomsbury, the roads became a great deal clearer and they reached the entrance of the British Museum only a few minutes later than expected. It did not stop her ladyship tutting loudly at her groom, who had made the journey to Montagu House in record time and was even now negotiating a difficult manoeuvre to bring the carriage exactly to the bottom of the flight of steps which led up to the impressive panelled entrance.

A steep staircase, a spacious entrance hall and they were upon the Marbles almost before they realised. Two long whitewashed galleries had been constructed for the purpose with exhibits laid out on either side. The monumental size of many of the statues was staggering and both ladies paused on the threshold to adjust their perspective. Then they began a slow inspection of the initial gallery, first down one side and then the other, with Lady Russell insisting on reading aloud every handwritten label the curators had provided.

During this prolonged examination, the room had been gradually filling up and by the time Christabel was ready to tackle the second gallery a considerable crowd had gathered. She looked across at Lady Russell, who appeared weary and a trifle disenchanted, and was not surprised to hear her excuse herself, saying that she would await Christabel in the spacious hall beyond. The carriage, she reminded her severely, would leave promptly at one o’clock.

Christabel nodded assent, happy to be rid of the older woman’s irksome presence. With a new sense of purpose she crossed into the adjoining room; almost immediately her attention was caught by the statue of a woman, a large sculpture of Iris which had once decorated the west pediment of the Parthenon.

She stood enthralled, marvelling at the precision with which the intricate folds of the goddess’s dress had been carved—the marble seemed to sing out life. The harmony of the carving and the sheer exuberance of the goddess was a joy. Lost in thought as she was, the voice at her elbow startled her.

‘It’s so sad, isn’t it, that she has lost her legs and her arms?’

She turned to her questioner. It was Domino, looking freshly minted in primrose-figured muslin and carrying a matching frilled parasol.

‘She may not be complete,’ Christabel agreed, ‘but it doesn’t seem to matter. She possesses such enormous vitality, don’t you think?’

Domino gave a small laugh. ‘What must she have been like as a whole woman, Miss Tallis!’

‘Very powerful, I imagine, particularly as she enjoyed such a prominent position on the top of the Parthenon.’

‘Poor thing, she must find it very cold in London.’

‘No doubt.’ Christabel gave an answering smile. ‘But if she’d been left to bask in her native sun, we wouldn’t have been able to see her today in all her glory.’

‘I don’t think I would have minded too much,’ the younger girl divulged. ‘There are so many statues to see and some of them are just fragments. I don’t find them particularly inspiring.’

‘You didn’t wish to come to the exhibition?’

‘Not really, but Aunt Loretta said I should as all of London is talking about it. She said that if I’d seen the statues I would be able to join in conversations and not sound too silly.’

‘Aunt Loretta has a point.’

‘I know, but to be honest I would much rather have gone to Astley’s,’ she confided naïvely. ‘I’ve heard they keep troops of horses there who can re-enact scenes of war and that there are daring equestriennes who perform the most amazing acrobatics on horseback!’

‘I believe so,’ Christabel answered her seriously, though she was amused by the young girl’s enthusiasm for the less-than-refined pleasure. ‘The equestrian ballet of Astley’s is famous.’

‘A ballet on horseback?’ Domino’s eyes grew round with amazement. ‘I must see that.’

‘What must you see?’

A man’s voice broke through the female weavings of their conversation. It was Richard. He bowed unsmilingly at Christabel. He was looking exceedingly handsome in a claret-coloured waistcoat and light grey pantaloons, which fitted to perfection. The folds of his snow-white cravat were precisely arranged and held in place by a single small diamond stud.

‘Miss Tallis says there’s an equestrian ballet performed at Astley’s. Can we go, Richard?’ In her eagerness Domino tugged hard at her companion’s immaculate coat sleeve.

‘You must ask your aunt to take you. In the meantime, where is your taste for higher culture?’ and he waved his hand carelessly towards the statues on either side of them.

‘Aunt Loretta will never agree to go to Astley’s. It will be much too vulgar for her. Now she is even saying that she doubts we will go to the fireworks at Vauxhall.’

‘Then you must be content with more refined pastimes, child.’

Christabel was disconcerted by his tone. He sounded almost like a parent. The surprise she felt must have shown on her face because almost immediately he sounded a softer, even caressing note.

‘By all means put Astley’s on your list, Domino, and we will make every endeavour to get there.’

She clapped her hands in pleasure watched by Richard, an indulgent expression on his face, but his words were for Christabel.

‘Books yesterday, statues today, Miss Tallis. You appear to be an avid follower of cultural pursuits.’

‘I partake in them only as much as any other rational woman, Lord Veryan.’

‘But then how many women are as rational as you?’

She made no answer, but his eyes remained fixed on her. ‘Very few, I make sure,’ he continued sleekly.

‘I bow to your vast experience, my lord.’

‘Hardly vast, but enough—sufficient to suggest that logic and reasoning are not always becoming to a woman.’

She felt herself being forced into another confrontation and when she spoke, her tone was cold but measured. ‘I cannot imagine why you should find fault with rationality. My sex is usually criticised for precisely the opposite.’

‘In general it’s an excellent quality for a female to possess, I agree, but taken to extremes rationality can destroy a woman’s natural affections.’

‘I think that unlikely,’ she retorted.

‘Do you? Then consider the case of a woman who decides “rationally” to prefer one man to another on the grounds that he is likely to be a bigger matrimonial prize. When logic leads, a woman’s heart is prone to wither.’

Fire began to simmer within the green depths of her eyes and her whole body tensed for combat.

‘By that reasoning, sir, only women who are witless can know affection.’

‘That’s a trifle crude, but the sentiment is not entirely without merit. I think it likely that many men, including Sir Julian Edgerton, would agree with me. By the way, does he accompany you this morning?’

‘He is still out of town.’

‘Dear me, he appears to spend an inordinate amount of time away from London.’

Christabel took a deep breath and replied as levelly as she could, ‘Rosings is a large estate and takes a good deal of his time.’

‘Of course, he would have to have a large estate.’ His expression was sardonic, a trace of a sneer on his unyielding mouth.

Domino looked from one to the other, aware of the tension which crackled between them, but bewildered as to its cause.

‘As you appear interested in the trivialities of my life, sir, you may wish to know that I am accompanied this morning by Sir Julian’s sister.’ Christabel’s perfectly sculpted cheeks were flushed an angry pink. ‘She is waiting close by so I must beg you to excuse me.’

And with a hasty bow to them both, she walked briskly towards the entrance hall, her mind seething and her form one of unexpressed anger. The frills on her muslin gown tossed as though caught in a tempest and the wayward auburn curls began to tumble out of the restraining satin bandeau she wore. It seemed she was to be followed at every opportunity and forced to submit to any taunt or goad he wished to aim. It was insufferable. She was truly reaping the whirlwind she had sowed all those years ago.

Still standing beside the figure of Iris, Domino wore a puzzled look and her tone was one of concern.

‘Do you not like Miss Tallis, Richard?’

‘I neither like nor dislike her.’

‘I think you made her angry.’

‘I would be sorry to give offence, but if she was angry, it was quite unnecessary.’

She frowned at this. ‘She was offended and I don’t think it was unnecessary. I think she had good reason. You seemed to want to upset her. But why?’

Richard contemplated pretending ignorance, but then said, ‘It’s an old story and not for your ears.’

‘Then you knew her before you came to Argentina—from when you were last in England?’

‘I’ve known her all my life.’

‘How is that possible?’

‘Her family’s estate runs alongside mine in Cornwall. We played together as children—like brother and sister,’ he ended drily.

‘Then you should be friends.’

‘Oh, we were, very good friends.’

‘So what happened? Why are you so unhappy with each other now?’

‘A betrothal.’

‘A betrothal? Whose?’

‘My betrothal to Miss Tallis. We were to be married.’

‘You were betrothed to Christabel Tallis!’ Domino gaped with surprise. ‘What happened?’

‘We decided that after all we did not suit each other.’

‘But if you were both agreed, why are you still so unhappy with her?’

Richard sighed. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘It doesn’t seem that complicated to me,’ she said with decision. He saw that he would have to tell her the full story or at least enough to satisfy her.

‘I was away at Oxford for three years,’ he began, ‘either at the university studying or staying with friends in the holidays, so I didn’t see her for a long time. When I finally returned home to Cornwall, I found her very changed. She’d always been a tomboy, a thin, gawky girl with her dresses usually torn and her hair in a tangle. But now she was this amazingly beautiful young woman. I could hardly believe my eyes the first night I saw her again. She was the toast of the county, worshipped by Cornish manhood from Penzance to St Austell—and that’s a long way, Domino.’

He paused for a moment, remembering that evening when he’d walked into the drawing room at Lamorna and found her waiting, a slender vision of cream lace and gold roses. When she’d glided forwards and laughingly put her arms around him in welcome, she’d taken his breath away.

‘I suppose I was irritated,’ he continued. ‘Whenever I visited Lamorna Place I tripped over some lovesick swain clutching a posy of flowers or reading her the latest bad poem he’d written in her praise. It was comical, but also annoying. She’d always been my particular friend and now I was supposed to share her company with all the fops and dandies from miles around. So I decided to woo her myself, win the prize and delight my parents—it was what they’d been hoping for since we were children.’

‘And Miss Tallis?’

‘I think she was flattered by my sudden interest. I was a welcome diversion from the cloying attentions of her local admirers, but only a diversion—until her come-out at the next London Season. But she never did come out that year. Her mother couldn’t leave the younger children to travel to London, so she deputed the task of presenting Christabel to a relative. Then the relative became ill quite suddenly and the plans were cancelled. Christy had to resign herself to staying in Cornwall and it was then that she agreed to marry me.’

‘So when did you find out that you had both made a mistake?’

‘When she made love with another man.’ Richard had not been able to stop his bitter denunciation. Domino looked shocked. ‘His name was Joshua,’ he said acridly, discarding any hope now of keeping the full story from his young admirer. ‘My mother had accompanied Christabel and myself to London to buy bride clothes. Instead Christabel purchased a very different item—the attention, for I cannot call it love, of a man I’d thought a friend. She confessed that she’d fallen in love with him. Perhaps she had: he was clever and handsome and the sole heir of a very wealthy uncle. She said that she could no longer marry me. I left for Argentina shortly afterwards. The rest you know.’

Domino considered his story for some time. Christabel Tallis had not seemed the kind of woman who would treat a man so shockingly, but there was no doubt Richard had suffered hurt.

She turned impulsively to him, but her question was tentative. ‘It happened such a time ago, Richard, can you not forgive her?’

‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ he said in a breezy voice. ‘It’s over.’

But it wasn’t, he thought, as he escorted his young companion to Gunter’s for her favourite elderflower ice. It was far from over. Christabel had come back into his life and the world he’d built for himself had begun to shatter. He remembered how in those early months in Buenos Aires, he’d walked around a stunned man. He’d lost so much, not just the girl he loved, but his entire life. Early one blisteringly hot morning, he’d walked on the beach when the world was still asleep and he was alone. Looking out over the limitless ocean, he’d willed himself back to his beloved homeland. But friends and family had gradually faded from view and he’d been helpless to recall them. He’d borne the rupture calmly, stoically, never allowing a hint of trouble to show, and he’d grown to love Argentina. He’d put down new roots, made new friends, taken new lovers. So why was he allowing such furious resentment to seep into his life and destroy the pleasure of his homecoming? After his scourging from the Tallis affair, he’d become adept at sidestepping deep feeling and for the first time in years strong emotions were crowding in on him. Ever since he’d seen Christabel. His constant need to provoke her, to disturb her, was a signal that he’d never truly overcome her betrayal. He’d simply shut it away. Seeing her afresh had reawakened feelings that he’d thought dead.

His anger was directed as much at himself for still being in thrall to her. If he were to know any peace, he must exorcise that demon and do so as quickly as possible. The lawyers, he’d learned, would be ready within a fortnight and last night he’d written to his mother to expect him shortly. But how to free himself of this unwanted legacy from the past? In the heat of their first unexpected meeting, he’d entertained some wild thoughts. But were they that wild? If he could prove Christabel unchanged, prove that she was the same inconstant woman, surely that would get her from under his skin.

Instinctively he knew that she was not wholly indifferent to him. Her face might remain immobile, but her eyes gave her away. He had the power to rouse this cold and remote woman to strong feeling—anger and love were bedfellows, after all. There was a lingering tie between them, he was sure, and he’d taken every chance to play on whatever jealousy Christabel might feel towards the young girl who walked beside him. He had done so in the hazy belief that he might force her into showing her true colours. But there had to be more. He would have to entice her into his arms, tease her, goad her, until she was ready to say she loved him, ready to be disloyal. Ready to betray Sir Julian Edgerton as she’d betrayed him. The man who had taken her arm so proudly would be forced to recognise her for the jilt she was. And if he could learn the same lesson himself, her power to perturb would be over. He would be free of her—for ever.

The Tallis family ate an early supper, for Christabel and Lady Harriet were engaged to attend Almack’s. Christabel felt no joy at the prospect. This morning her pleasure in viewing the Marbles had been spoiled by Richard’s antagonism and an evening spent at the exclusive club was no compensation. It would be a tedious few hours although largely effortless. Several glasses of lemonade, a number of country dances, a nod or two at acquaintances and then they would be free to return home. She’d never understood what made the place exceptional, but her mother always held it to be good ton to attend regularly and made a point of escorting her elder daughter every week. Sir Julian, too, was a frequent visitor and Christabel derived some comfort at least in knowing that tonight he was safely lodged at Rosings many miles away and she would be free of any threat of a marriage proposal.

She had dressed with some care for the evening. After the unsettling events of the last few days she felt the need to look her best. The emerald silk gown opening to an underdress of the palest green gauze was a stunning creation, her hair flaming in contrast and the green of her eyes reflected in its deepest tones. A low bodice revealed the pale perfection of shapely breasts and shoulders as smooth as alabaster. Without immodesty, she knew from experience that she would attract the attention of most of the men there. Not Richard’s, though. He would certainly not be at Almack’s. Even in his youth it had been a place he’d always refused to attend, though she had often begged him to be her escort.

She looked across the table at her sister who was drinking soup with exaggerated care, intent on preserving her gown. With a start she realised that Sophia was dressed rather too elaborately for dinner at home and wondered why. The conundrum was soon solved.

‘Sophia will be coming with us,’ her mother announced with studied carelessness.

‘To Almack’s?’ Christabel asked blankly.

‘Yes, of course, to Almack’s.’

‘But what about vouchers?’

‘I have managed to obtain some. Lady Jersey was kind enough to bestow them on me at short notice. She understood the position and wanted very much to make Sophia’s acquaintance.’

‘Nobody gets tickets for Almack’s that quickly, Mama, so you must have known for some time that Sophia was coming to London.’

Her mother made no reply and the ruthless interrogation continued. ‘I thought you said that you and Papa had decided only recently that she should visit—in fact, you must have been plotting it together for weeks!’ The net seemed to be closing in on her ever more tightly.

Her mother’s telltale blush revealed her unhappiness at the deception while Sophia’s face was one of untroubled victory.

‘Hardly plotting, Bel. Sophia’s coming to stay was certainly not part of any grand plan. But when Sir Julian began to grow ever more particular in his attentions to you, it seemed sensible to introduce Sophia to ton society a little earlier than we planned. I heard only last week that your brother and sister were on their way, but said nothing. I knew you had a lot on your mind and thought it would be a delightful surprise.’

‘Delightful,’ Christabel offered drily. ‘But do you feel that the dress is quite right for the occasion?’

‘And what, pray, is wrong with my dress?’ Sophia asked combatively.

Lady Tallis, who had unsuccessfully tried to direct her younger daughter to one of the more modest creations hanging in her wardrobe, interjected gently, ‘Christabel has such refined taste, my dear, and she is familiar with what is most suitable for Almack’s. Why don’t you reconsider the magenta? The rose chiffon would become you so well.’

‘The rose is boring and I have no intention of being boring.’

‘You won’t be that,’ Benedict put in unhelpfully, ‘the whole world will see you coming at fifty paces.’

‘You have no notion of female dress, so hold your tongue,’ she spat.

‘I have no notion of going to Almack’s either so I won’t be the one who has to hand out the sunshades,’ her unrepentant brother grinned.

‘What is this, Benedict, of course you are to come with us,’ his mother chided. ‘You will need to put on evening dress. I assume that you brought it with you.’

‘But not to do the pretty at Almack’s,’ he grumbled.

After a good deal more in this vein he agreed reluctantly to squire his mother and sisters. Almack’s he stigmatised as being the waste of a good evening and issued a cryptic warning that he would be leaving pretty promptly as he had far more interesting prospects in view.

Almack’s was always crowded even at nine o’clock in the evening. The doors shut promptly at eleven and anyone arriving after that time, no matter how important, was barred. The patronesses controlled every aspect of the club with iron fists and Lady Jersey’s vouchers had been hard won. In the entrance hall Sophia stopped to preen herself in the Venetian mirror, which hung at the bottom of the red-carpeted stairs, but not for long. Her mother was soon ushering both girls upwards into the main salon, ablaze with a thousand candles hanging from crystal chandeliers and tucked into the wall sconces. People looked curiously at the small party, finding it difficult to believe that this new young woman was Christabel’s sister. There could be no greater contrast, one tall, willowy, an ice maiden with flaming hair, the other shorter, rounded and an undistinguished brunette. No wonder the gown had to be magenta. It was Sophia’s way of seizing some of the attention that always fell so unfairly to her sister.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.