Ruth was about to demand the gentleman’s name when the person in question strolled boldly into the room, taking her completely by surprise in much the same way as she had done to him the previous day.

‘Why, Colonel Prentiss! This is an unexpected pleasure!’

‘A pleasure, I sincerely hope, Miss Harrington. But not unexpected, I trust? Surely you didn’t imagine I would permit you to embark on your quest unaccompanied? What a very poor opinion you must hold of me if you did!’

Although nothing could have been further from the truth, Ruth could scarce own as much without seeming forward, or causing a deal of embarrassment to herself. Moreover, she wasn’t altogether sure she had understood him correctly. So she merely asked, ‘Did I understand you to say that it is your intention to accompany me to London, sir?’

A love of history, coupled with little desire to return to clerical work after raising two sons, prompted ANNE ASHLEY to attempt writing romantic fiction. When not working on a new story she can more often than not be found—weather permitting!—pottering in her cottage garden. Other interests include reading, and a real passion for live theatre. She also very much enjoys relaxing on warm summer afternoons with her husband, watching the Somerset team playing cricket.

Previous novels by the same author:

A NOBLE MAN*

LORD EXMOUTH’S INTENTIONS*

THE RELUCTANT MARCHIONESS

TAVERN WENCH

BELOVED VIRAGO

LORD HAWKRIDGE’S SECRET

BETRAYED AND BETROTHED

A LADY OF RARE QUALITY

LADY GWENDOLEN INVESTIGATES

THE TRANSFORMATION OF MISS ASHWORTH

MISS IN A MAN’S WORLD

THE VISCOUNT’S SCANDALOUS RETURN

HIS MAKESHIFT WIFE

*part of the Regency mini-series

The Steepwood Scandal

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

An Ideal Companion

Anne Ashley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-472-04391-7

AN IDEAL COMPANION

© 2014 Anne Ashley

Published in Great Britain 2014

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited

Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

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

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

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Version: 2018-07-18

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

‘Oh, my dear girl, you look positively frozen! Do come over and join me by the hearth!’

After reducing the contents of the decanter containing a fine Madeira, Miss Ruth Harrington accepted the invitation. Although not inclined to imbibe so early in the day, after her walk into the market town in unusually inclement weather for the time of year, she felt the need of a little something to revive her, and so decided to join Lady Beatrice in her customary before-luncheon tipple.

As she took the chair on the opposite side of the hearth and began to sample the contents of her glass, Ruth couldn’t help reflecting, yet again, on the unusual relationship she enjoyed with the middle-aged widow seated opposite.

Seeing them together, anyone might be forgiven for imagining they were in some way related, that she was perhaps a favoured niece, or possibly some distant, much younger cousin. No one would suppose for a moment that she had come to Dunsterford Hall, almost a decade before, to take up the position of humble paid companion. Yet, not once in all the years that she had done her utmost to fulfil the duties for which she had been engaged had she felt like a servant, or, indeed, ever been treated as such.

In truth, her employer behaved to a certain extent like a thoughtful godmother, treating the girl she had rescued from a decidedly uncertain future with a kind consideration that some might have supposed bordered on love. In more recent years, though, Ruth had come to believe Lady Beatrice incapable of feeling that most tender emotion, not even to the smallest degree. Yes, she could be considerate when she chose to a favoured few. But she could also be thoughtless and intractable, thinking only of herself and her own comfort.

But little wonder, Ruth continued to reflect, when one considered her unfortunate marriage to Lord Charles Lindley, a cruel and unfeeling tyrant by any standard. No doubt any capacity she might once have had to give and receive love had long since withered.

‘You look very thoughtful, my dear,’ Lady Beatrice remarked, after raising her eyes to discover her young companion staring pensively down into the fire. ‘I was surprised to discover from Whitton, earlier, that you’d taken your customary walk this morning. It’s so uncommonly cold for the start of October. More like midwinter, I should have said.’

Only the fiercest elements had ever dissuaded Ruth from getting away from the Hall for an hour or so. It wasn’t that she disliked the place, even though it couldn’t be denied that the grey-stone house distinctly lacked any architectural merit to speak of and, worse still, always appeared to be shrouded in an atmosphere of impending doom. At least that was the impression most visitors held when turning into the driveway and catching their first glimpse of the building, surrounded as it was by tall trees that blocked out much of the natural light.

Not that Dunsterford Hall received many visitors, of course, Ruth reminded herself, at least not during the years she had dwelt beneath its slate roof. Its situation on the edge of the moor made it somewhat isolated, of course. Moreover, Lady Beatrice didn’t encourage visitors as a rule. Apart from the parson and the doctor, and two or three favoured middle-aged ladies living in the locale, very few people ever called at the house.

And that was precisely why she herself would brave all but the most inclement weather to make an almost daily visit to the small market town situated within a mile or so of the Hall. Apart from her employer, and the servants, of course, she would never see a soul, else!

‘You’re right. It is unseasonably cold,’ Ruth agreed. ‘Dan Smethers predicts snow before evening.’

Above the rim of her glass one of Lady Beatrice’s brows rose in a decidedly haughty arch. ‘And who, pray, is Master Smethers, may I ask?’

Ruth was unequal to suppressing a smile. Without doubt there was a streak of quaint snobbery running through her employer’s character, which had a tendency to surface from time to time. ‘He’s the blacksmith’s son, ma’am.’

Lady Beatrice shuddered. ‘I do wish, my dear girl, you might lose this propensity of yours for fraternising with tradespersons. It simply isn’t the done thing for a young lady of your standing to be seen hobnobbing with those from the lower orders. I shall take leave to inform you that it creates a decidedly odd impression.’

‘Ma’am, with respect, I do not think myself above anyone who works hard for a living. In truth, I feel distinctly inferior,’ Ruth responded candidly. ‘I do little enough for what I receive from you, not to mention enjoying a great many of those privileges reserved for those females much better placed in society,’ she added, raising her glass of Madeira as a prime example of precisely what she had meant.

‘There is absolutely nothing of which you need feel ashamed about your lineage,’ the widow countered. ‘Might I remind you that your paternal grandfather was none other than General Sir Mortimer Harrington, and your mother was a Worthing. No hereditary titles, of course, on either side,’ she added, the snobbery rearing its head once again. ‘Both old and worthy families, none the less. It’s a great pity your maternal grandfather had no head for business. He brought his branch of the Worthing family to the brink of ruin with his ill-judged investments. Still, you’d know all about that, I’m sure.’

Shaking her head, Lady Beatrice released her breath in a long sigh. ‘During my childhood your mother was one of my dearest friends, simply a lovely girl in both looks and nature. Had she ever been privileged to enjoy a London Season she could have had her pick of all the eligible bachelors and might have achieved a truly splendid alliance.’

Ruth acknowledged the truth of what had been said with a nod of her head. Her mother had, indeed, been quite breathtakingly lovely in her youth; the likeness painted by her own father, which took pride of place in her bedchamber, was testament enough to that.

‘I don’t recall ever hearing Mama bemoaning the fact that she was denied a Season in town, ma’am. She told me she fell in love with my father on first setting eyes upon him, as he did with her. It was so tragic he died within a year of their marriage. She never so much as looked at another man.’

‘She showed sense in that, at least!’ Lady Beatrice returned tartly, thereby strengthening Ruth’s belief that her employer had scant regard for the male sex as a whole. ‘Oh, I don’t mean to denigrate your father, my dear,’ she continued, appearing slightly shamefaced. ‘I hardly knew the man, after all. I met him only twice and must own he was the most handsome fellow I ever clapped eyes on. That said, like most members of his sex, he was utterly selfish and thoroughly feckless. Why, the instant he discovered your mother was with child, he upped and left to go off and enjoy the sights and pleasures of Italy.’

Again she gave vent to a deep sigh. ‘I do not deny he was a gifted artist—very gifted, in my humble opinion. Had he lived he might well have been recognised as such, and possibly would have made a real name for himself. And, I suppose, it was a blessing that he did leave your dear mama behind whilst he went abroad to paint, otherwise she might have succumbed to the same contagion that sadly cut short his life. But that doesn’t alter the fact that he left your mother virtually destitute. Why, even his own father disowned him—cut him off without so much as the proverbial penny, when he refused to engage in what the General considered some useful occupation.’

‘True,’ Ruth acknowledged. ‘But Grandpapa did attempt to make amends after learning of his son’s death, even though he had been very much against the marriage in the first place. It wasn’t that he disliked Mama. It was simply that he didn’t think his son was in a position to support a wife.’

‘Well, he wasn’t wrong in that! And, to be fair to the General, it was your mother who refused his help. Why, she even flatly refused to come here and live with me when I was eventually in a position to assist you both.’

‘Too proud, I suppose,’ Ruth suggested, whilst at the same time understanding her mother’s reasons for not accepting charity and being determined to support herself and her daughter. ‘Besides, as the years passed Mama became very content living at the rectory, caring for Mr Stephens. And he was very good to us in return, as indeed was Grandpapa Harrington. Remember, he did leave me something in his will.’

‘A sum that can only be attained upon marriage, or reaching the age of thirty, by which time he possibly considered you would be unlikely ever to find yourself a husband.’ Lady Beatrice showed her contempt by waving one hand in a disparaging gesture, before looking thoughtfully across the distance that separated them. ‘Well, my dear, I have seen to it that you need never marry. I didn’t intend telling you this, at least not for a while, but now the subject has arisen, I think you should know that during my most recent meeting with Pearce, my lawyer, I made fundamental adjustments to my will. Apart from bequests to servants, I named your good self my main beneficiary.’

Ruth was genuinely taken aback to learn this. ‘Ma’am, please do not think me ungrateful,’ she said, finding her voice at last, ‘but you have family. What about your sisters and their children?’

Again Lady Beatrice raised her hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘They are comfortably circumstanced. Both my sisters contracted suitable marriages, so their children’s futures are assured. Which yours is not. Besides, I have come to think of you as an adopted daughter. The money you receive from me is not a salary, but an allowance. I have never really looked upon you as merely a paid companion.’

‘No, I know you haven’t.’ Ruth could not find it within herself to be angry, or even remotely annoyed. How could she, given the lady’s most unexpected generosity? None the less, she couldn’t resist adding, ‘I shall take leave to tell you, ma’am, that you resorted to very devious means to persuade me to take up residence with you in the first place.’

‘Cleverly cunning, I should say,’ Lady Beatrice countered, appearing very well pleased with herself. ‘I feared you might have inherited your mother’s stubborn spirit and would not have agreed to reside here without being gainfully employed. And it must be said,’ she added, taking a moment to study her well-kept surroundings, ‘the house runs wonderfully smoothly nowadays and has for some few years. I’m well aware the servants all look to you for their orders, for which I’m exceedingly grateful. I’ve always found trifling domestic concerns quite wearisome. Why, I do not even need to concern myself over menus when we entertain! You see to everything so beautifully.’

Hardly taxing as they entertained so infrequently! Ruth mused, hiding a rueful smile behind the rim of her glass, before the seldom-heard sound of the door knocker being rigorously applied succeeded in capturing her attention. She rose at once to her feet. ‘Now, who can that be, I wonder? Do you wish to receive visitors, ma’am?’

‘I have little doubt it is the doctor. I shall receive him in here.’

Ruth betrayed her concern in a frown. ‘You’re not feeling unwell again, I trust?’

The bejewelled hand raising the glass to thin lips checked just for an instant. ‘I do not enjoy robust health, Ruth, and haven’t for some little time. I made that clear to you from the first,’ she at last responded, replacing her glass on the table by her chair. ‘If my heart permits, of course, I shall be here to bear you company for a good many years to come. But, who can say? If you would kindly show the doctor in, my dear.’

Ruth obeyed the command, escorting Dr Maddox into the drawing room personally, before taking herself upstairs to her bedchamber, where she discovered her most staunch supporter and ally busily returning newly laundered garments to the wardrobe.

Agatha Whitton turned as she detected the click of the door, her expression revealing anything but the friendly approval she’d always shown to the orphaned girl who had taken up residence in the house nine long years before. ‘It’s high time, Miss Ruth, you had some new clothes. Why, you’ve never so much as purchased new ribbon to trim a bonnet since I don’t know when!’

As this was no less than the truth, Ruth didn’t attempt to argue the point. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford material for new dresses, either. Yet, she had always felt that, although not strictly speaking a servant, she ought to dress in accordance with her position in the household. After what she had learned earlier, though...

‘Yes, you’re right, Aggie. We’ll go into town this afternoon and visit the haberdashery, if Lady Bea doesn’t object.’

‘Ha! You’ll be lucky, miss! Take a look out of the window!’

Although she had received prior warning, the sight of white flakes fluttering down did take her somewhat by surprise. ‘Great heavens! I’ve never known it come this early, not in all the years I’ve resided here at the Hall.’

‘It’s unusual, true enough, but not unknown,’ Agatha revealed. ‘I remember snow in September when I was a girl.’

Ruth turned away from the window, which offered a commanding view of the moor. She loved to walk out there, admiring the changing seasonal colours across the glorious landscape. There was no denying, though, that it could turn into a bleak, inhospitable place with frightening speed, quite merciless to any unwary traveller.

‘I must confess it’s a beautiful spot, Aggie. But don’t you ever yearn to get away to visit other places in the country?’

‘Ah, bless you, miss!’ The maid’s expression once again betrayed the affection in which she held the younger woman. ‘That shows the difference between the likes of you and me. It’s in your blood, I suppose. But with me it’s different. I never expected to travel anywhere. My family has lived and died here on the edge of the moor for generations past, and most of ’em never journeyed above five miles from the place. If it hadn’t been for Mistress’s London-born abigail being unable to settle, I’d never have been offered the position of personal maid. You know as well as me, Mistress never travels far herself nowadays. It doesn’t worry me none being stuck here all year round. It’s all I’ve ever known, after all. But it’s different for you, miss,’ she went on, her voice hardening. ‘Selfish, I calls it, the way Mistress keeps you tied here, never seeing a soul, hardly. A pretty young woman like yourself ought to have been wedded long afore now.’

‘Had Mama been alive I possibly would have been,’ Ruth felt obliged to acknowledge, knowing her mother would have somehow ensured that her daughter enjoyed some form of social life—attending the odd party and local assembly once in a while. Although obliged to earn a living, her mother had always been well respected in the local community. ‘Lady Bea, of course, holds rather different views on the subject.’

Ruth wasn’t aware she had spoken her last thoughts aloud, until she raised her eyes to discover the uncompromising mask the loyal maid all too often wore when her capacity to understand and sympathise had deserted her entirely.

‘Oh, come now, Aggie, be fair!’ Ruth urged. ‘We might not have been there to witness, firsthand, what occurred, but we both have learned enough to be certain Lady Bea’s marriage was anything but blissful. It’s hardly surprising she was soured by her experiences, and avoids the company of men whenever possible. The wonder of it all is that she allows even kindly Dr Maddox anywhere near her.’

‘She does so because she likes to quack herself,’ Aggie returned, her compassion evidently very much in abeyance still. ‘Between you and me, miss, I think there’s a lot less wrong with Mistress than she’d have us all believe!’

Even though she clearly felt more sympathy towards her employer, Ruth was obliged silently to own that Lady Beatrice did call on the services of the good doctor very frequently. Seldom a week went by without seeing his battered gig turning into the driveway. All the same, she refrained from further comment and turned her attention to what was happening beyond the window, hoping that the unseasonable light flurries might remain so and be of short duration.

* * *

By mid-afternoon those hopes had been well and truly dashed, as had any chance of visiting the market town again that day. In stark contrast to the light dusting she’d observed from her bedchamber window earlier, the covering of snow was now inches thick, with drifts in places very much deeper.

As she continued to stare beyond the circle of trees in the general direction of the driveway, she was surprised to detect signs of movement just beyond the gateway. A moment later two figures on horseback, their faces well muffled against the driving snow, were slowly approaching the house, their intention clear.

Harbouring strong misgivings, Ruth turned to stare across at the hearth, where her mistress once again sat comfortably ensconced in her favourite chair, contentedly sewing before the substantial fire. The unexpected visitors were clearly male, so what reception might they receive from someone who abhorred their sex? Then, of course, there was always the distinct possibility they wouldn’t be received at all!

‘My lady, I very much suspect two unfortunate travellers are about to seek refuge under your roof.’

‘Really?’ Lady Beatrice betrayed mild surprise, but thankfully no sign of annoyance. ‘Do you happen to recognise who they are?’

‘No, ma’am. Their faces are well covered. Both are leading a separate mount, possibly carrying their belongings. Which suggests they might have travelled some distance, does it not?’

Lady Beatrice seemed to debate within herself for a second or two. ‘I suppose it is our Christian duty at least to offer sanctuary until the worst is over,’ she reluctantly acknowledged. ‘I know I may rely on you to deal with the matter. Do go and see what assistance we can render, my dear. As they are travelling on horseback, and not in a private carriage, I suspect they are persons engaged in trade. I dare say our groom could accommodate them both in his room above the stables if they are obliged to put up for the night.’

Ruth didn’t delay in going out into the hall and opened the front door in time to see the far taller traveller dismount from a sturdy bay. As he entered the relative shelter of the stone porch he almost filled the aperture, his voluminous cloak brushing against both sides of the arched entrance. A commanding figure he undeniably was, yet when he removed his hat and lowered his muffler, there was nothing remotely intimidating in the set of his features. Apart from the slightly disfiguring scar that ran from the corner of his right eye, almost reaching the base of his nose, his expression suggested strongly an agreeable disposition.

Above the strong, straight nose, a pair of searching blue eyes surveyed her with equal interest, while a well-shaped mouth was set in a pleasant smile that seemed in no way forced. ‘Forgive the intrusion, ma’am. But could my man and I beg the shelter of an outbuilding for a period for ourselves and our horses?’

His pleasantly deep and cultured voice revealed in an instant that he was an educated man. This and the fact that his clothes were of the finest quality suggested he was definitely not from the lower orders. Or engaged in trade, come to that! Ruth wasn’t at all sure this made her position in any way easier. Had he been a tradesperson she would have agreed to his request without hesitation.

She delayed for a moment only before inviting him to step into the hall, then turned to the young maid who had come scampering through from the kitchen, instructing her to direct the gentleman’s servant round to the stables.

‘Our groom will see to his needs, sir,’ she assured him, while relieving him of hat and cloak, and placing them down on a chair to be taken through to the kitchen to dry.

‘It’s uncommon kind of you to take pity on a stranger.’ He held out his hand. ‘Hugo Prentiss, ma’am.’

Although his large hand completely enveloped her slender fingers, there was nothing clumsy or remotely aggressive in his touch. If anything, his clasp was reassuringly protective. ‘Ruth Harrington, sir. And it is not I who you must thank. If you would care to follow me?’

She then led the way into the drawing room, experiencing a moment’s disquiet before Lady Beatrice’s initial frown of annoyance at the intrusion was replaced by one betraying deep thought the instant her uninvited guest, bowing with surprising grace for a tall gentleman, made his identity known to her.

‘Would you be one of the Hampshire Prentisses, by any chance, sir?’

All at once there was a disarming glint in masculine eyes. ‘Cannot deny it, ma’am. Devilish rogues to a man! My brothers and I scandalised the county with our exploits in our youth.’

No one could ever have credited Lady Beatrice with having a sense of humour, but this sally managed to elicit a surprising chuckle. ‘As to that, I couldn’t say,’ she responded while bestowing a rare smile of approval on her unexpected visitor. ‘But I do recall your sister causing something of a stir during her come out.’ The softer expression then vanished completely. ‘It was the year my husband passed away, so I remember it...particularly well.’

Although Lady Beatrice’s tone had lacked any suggestion of emotion, the gentleman might have been forgiven for supposing she looked upon that year with deep regret. Ruth knew rather better, of course. If her employer had any regrets at all it was that her husband had not obliged her by meeting his maker a good many years earlier! Not wishing the amiable Mr Prentiss to waste his breath in words of condolence that would not be appreciated, Ruth quickly intervened by inviting him to take a seat.

‘Would I be correct in thinking you were a colonel in the army, sir?’ Lady Beatrice remarked, after Ruth had furnished both her and her unexpected guest with a glass of wine.

‘You would indeed, ma’am,’ he answered, while nodding approval after sampling the burgundy. ‘Unfortunately, I found serving in peace time not at all to my taste, and am now retired.’

‘So what brings you to this part of the world?’ Lady Beatrice enquired, surprising Ruth somewhat by this show of apparent interest.

‘I’m having some major alterations made to a country house I’ve recently acquired in Dorsetshire and considered it the ideal time to catch up with some old friends of mine residing near Lynmouth. I left at first light to commence my return journey, carrying with me a detailed map of how to cross the moor, thereby saving myself several hours’ travelling time by not following the coastal route. Needless to say we began the journey in fine conditions, otherwise we wouldn’t have attempted such a course, I assure you.’

‘I’m afraid the weather can close in remarkably quickly on the moor. But you’re welcome to stay here, Colonel, for as long as you need.’ She then turned to Ruth, who had remained standing in the hope of receiving further instructions. ‘Would you be kind enough to see that a room is made ready for our guest. The blue bedchamber should serve very well. Don’t you agree?’

Honoured, indeed! Ruth mused, successfully suppressing a smile until she had stepped into the hall, where she discovered her confidante and trusted ally emerging from the kitchen area.

‘You look well pleased about something. Happy to have company for a change, I suppose,’ Agatha suggested.

‘Partly, yes,’ Ruth acknowledged. ‘Colonel Prentiss is a very personable gentleman from what I have seen thus far. Not only that, he seems to have succeeded in charming Lady Bea, would you believe? She certainly knows something of his family background and has proposed we make our unexpected visitor comfortable in the blue bedchamber.’

Agatha’s eyes widened. ‘Well, well, well! He must be a rare specimen to have won himself the best guest bedchamber!’

‘Or the mistress is just being immensely practical,’ Ruth countered, striving to bring a little common sense into the conversation. ‘Colonel Prentiss is a tall gentleman—over six feet, I should say. Lady Bea possibly thought the four-poster in the blue chamber would best accommodate him. See to it, would you, Aggie, whilst I attempt to negotiate the yard.’ She frowned slightly. ‘You see, there is something about this Colonel Prentiss that suggests to me he wouldn’t enjoy the comfort of the house if he supposed for a moment his manservant was suffering privation. So, I’d best go and check how things fare in the stable block.’

Ruth had the forethought to don a serviceable pair of outdoor boots and a thick woollen cloak before braving the elements. On opening the door she was pleasantly surprised to discover the weather had noticeably improved since the arrival of their unexpected guests. The men Lady Beatrice employed to tend the garden, take care of the livestock and generally keep the place well maintained had already begun to clear away some of the snow. There was now a negotiable path across to the stables, where she found the Colonel’s manservant hard at work attending to his master’s horses. After introducing herself, she asked if he had everything he required.

‘Benjamin Finn,’ he responded, touching his forelock politely. ‘Thank you for the kindness of asking, miss. I’ll do very nicely out ’ere. The Colonel and I ’ave sought shelter in far worse places than stables, I can tell ’ee.’

‘I’m sure you have,’ Ruth responded, instantly judging that the man standing before her enjoyed a somewhat closer association with his master than that of a mere servant. He was possibly held in the same regard as she held Agatha Whitton—a confidante and friend. ‘But I’m equally certain your master wouldn’t be content to enjoy the comforts of the house, if you hadn’t everything you require.’

Ben Finn’s weatherbeaten countenance all at once betrayed dawning wonder and a strong suggestion of respect. ‘Well, I’ll be dam—! Starting to get ’is measure already, are you, miss? Well, I can’t say as you’re wrong. Salt of the earth is Colonel Prentiss... One of the best. Could trust ’im with your life. There’s many that ’as, I can tell ’ee.’

Ruth began to feel distinctly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. It had never been her intention to discover personal details about the Colonel, most especially not by quizzing his servant. Worse still, she didn’t wish to appear to be showing undue interest in the unexpected guest. He was nothing to her, after all. And was never likely to be, come to that. Besides which, he wasn’t even handsome!

Feeling quite unequal to returning the servant’s gaze, she dropped her eyes to two serviceable cloak bags. ‘Would those contain your master’s personal belongings?’

‘Aye, miss. I’ll take ’em over to the ’ouse when I’ve finished tending to the ’orses.’

‘I’ll save you the trouble, Ben, I can easily carry them back with me,’ she countered, taking a firm grasp of both handles, thereby putting an end to the matter. ‘The kitchen maid will be along presently with a steaming bowl of nourishing broth to warm you up, which ought to keep you going until supper time, when I dare say, should you wish, you’ll be invited to eat with the servants in the house.’

The bags turned out to be much heavier than she might have supposed and she felt quite out of breath, not to mention unbecomingly flushed through the exertion. Consequently, she wasn’t best pleased to see none other than the Colonel himself emerging from the drawing room the instant she had deposited her burdens down on a chair in the hall.

His slight frown betrayed his disapproval even before he said, ‘Miss Harrington, I very much appreciate you offering sanctuary beneath this roof, but I certainly don’t expect you to dance attendance upon me. I’m not too proud to carry my own belongings. I’ve been doing so for years.’

She felt like a schoolgirl being scolded for some slight misdeed. With the possible exception of Agatha Whitton, and very occasionally Lady Beatrice herself, no one had ever attempted to criticise her actions for a good many years, not since her mother died. Perversely, she felt more amused than chastened by the mild rebuke, but even so, she had no intention of tamely accepting the reprimand like some cowed child, most especially not from a virtual stranger.

Although he towered above her, her head barely reaching his shoulder, she faced him squarely, resolute, but singularly lacking the least feeling of hostility towards him.

‘And I’m not too proud to offer assistance where I can, sir,’ she countered, her voice pleasantly level, with perhaps just the faintest trace of resolve. ‘I do not think you perfectly understand my position in this household.’

‘Perhaps not,’ he conceded. ‘But from what I’ve gleaned thus far, I’m fairly certain you’re not employed as a servant.’

Which instantly begged the question of just what he’d discovered about her during her short absence from the drawing room. Lady Beatrice wasn’t given to gossiping as a rule. After all, she was rarely in company often enough to enjoy the pastime, Ruth mused. Yet, something must have encouraged her to talk reasonably freely in front of her unexpected guest. Evidently, the Colonel possessed a manner that inspired confidence and induced even the most reticent of souls to reveal information they might ordinarily keep to themselves.

Ruth regarded him with dawning respect, realising all at once that much, much more lurked behind the air of affability and that polished easy manner of his; that behind the amused glint she’d already observed in those masculine eyes dwelt a character that was possibly both strong-willed and unerringly astute. Yet another salutary lesson, she mused, never to make snap judgements about people. And never to go by appearances alone!

Doing her level best to suppress a wry smile, though not altogether successfully if the Colonel’s faintly suspicious frown was anything to go by, Ruth sensibly turned away, while she attempted to school her features, and her eyes fell on the travelling bags once again.

‘Rest assured, Colonel, I have no intention of taking your belongings any further than this. And I shouldn’t attempt to do so either, if I were you,’ she advised. ‘I doubt very much your bedchamber is ready for you quite yet.’

‘In that case, Miss Harrington, would you be good enough to direct me to the stable block so that I might consult with my manservant?’

She did so with alacrity and Hugo was very soon making his way steadily across the cobbled yard to find his henchman engaging in a sportive exchange with a kitchen wench.

By clearing his throat noisily he made his approach known, which resulted in the, now, furiously blushing maidservant scurrying away and his own servant wearing the most wickedly self-satisfied grin. ‘You’re an incorrigible flirt, Finn! Kindly remember we’re not in Spain now.’

‘Wenches are the same the world over, sir. Thems that are willing, and thems that ain’t.’

‘Well, so long as you keep it to flirting, I’ll not object,’ Hugo told him bluntly, while staring out with some dissatisfaction at the amount of snow still surrounding the unappealing grey-stone house. ‘After all, we don’t know how long we’ll be obliged to kick our heels here. I shouldn’t wish to outstay our welcome by causing trouble among the staff.’

‘I shan’t do that, Colonel, ’ave no fear,’ Ben assured him, staring up at his master thoughtfully. ‘You don’t seem too ’appy to be putting up ’ere, sir. That scatty wench let fall that they don’t get too many callers to the ’ouse as a rule.’

‘I’d already come to that conclusion myself,’ Hugo admitted. ‘Seemingly, Lady Beatrice Lindley has turned into something of a recluse since her husband’s death. Through choice, I strongly suspect.’

‘Do you know ’er then, sir?’

‘I knew of her, yes. The seventh Duke of Chard was her brother-in-law. Married the duke’s young brother. Seem to recall he was something of a rum cove. I never did much socialising when I was in the capital. Not my scene at all, so it’s unlikely our paths ever did cross. But she knows my sister.’

Ben cast an eye over the rear aspect of the house. ‘Grim sort of a place. Not like your new ’ouse in Dorset, Colonel. I’d not take kindly to being stuck out ’ere all year round.’

‘No, and neither should I,’ Hugo wholeheartedly agreed. ‘From what I’ve seen of the place thus far, it distinctly lacks the Manor’s comfortably friendly atmosphere.’

‘Maybe so. But that Miss ’Arrington be a friendly sort,’ Ben ventured.

There was no response.

‘Very pretty...nice smile,’ he suggested, but again received no response. ‘Lovely big blue eyes.’

‘They’re brown,’ Hugo corrected, staring fixedly at the gateway entrance to the property.

‘Ah, so you did notice ’er then!’ Ben announced triumphantly. ‘I were beginning to wonder.’

‘Of course I noticed her. A very personable young woman. Unlike you, though, I’ve no intention of setting up a flirtation with her.

‘Besides which, I doubt very much she’d appreciate such overtures, as it very much appears she’s going to be kept busy,’ he added, gesturing towards the gateway, where a group of decidedly bedraggled and weary travellers were making their way towards the house.

Chapter Two

Ruth took one final look at her overall appearance in the full-length mirror. Vanity had never been one of her besetting sins; at least she sincerely hoped it had not. Notwithstanding, she had always taken pride in her appearance, and, yes, attempted to make the best of what nature had seen fit to bestow upon her.

Unlike her mother who had been breathtakingly lovely in her youth, Ruth had never considered herself in any way out of the ordinary. Oh, she was well enough, but certainly no ravishing beauty, she decided, taking a moment to glance at the portrait that had always taken pride of place in the bedchamber, before returning her critical gaze to her own reflection.

The large brown eyes, which had been acclaimed by more than one discerning soul as very fine, and the mass of glossy chestnut locks had most definitely been inherited from her father’s family. Only the fairness of her skin and a gently curving mouth, which was neither too wide nor too small, could have been said to have come from her mother. Thankfully, she was neither overly tall nor too short and, although slender, her figure was accounted very good indeed. Yet, her reflection on this occasion brought scant satisfaction.

Although Agatha—bless her!—had arrived unexpectedly and had gone to the trouble of arranging her chestnut hair in a more elaborate style, nothing could detract from the fact that her best gown was sadly outmoded now and, worse still, made her look faintly dowdy. She resembled nothing so much as a well-mannered governess who might be asked to join the family for a special occasion, but who knew well enough how to appear insignificant and fade into the background.

But did it really matter how she looked? Who was she attempting to impress, anyway? Certainly not the middle-aged doctor who had arrived at the door with a decidedly bedraggled spinster sister in tow; nor was it the sharp-featured little lawyer or the attractive widow who had been among the group who had pooled their resources in order to hire an innkeeper and his conveyance to take them on the first leg of their journey. And as for the young sprig who had been stupid enough to attempt tooling a light sporting carriage in a snowstorm...? That beggared belief! Ruth decided. The only other male guest, of course, was the Colonel.

She had to own that she had attained a deal of pleasure in that tall gentleman’s company. Perhaps it was because he possessed many of those qualities she admired. For instance, he had gone out of his way to be as obliging as possible, suggesting that one of his fellow stranded travellers share the blue bedchamber with him, thereby revealing he was anything but a selfish person. He had also proved himself a leader—a gentleman born to command. Moreover, there was an imperturbable quality about him that seemed to permeate others. Amazingly, he had even managed to reconcile Lady Beatrice to housing all the hapless wayfarers with a good grace.

Yes, she did rather like that tall gentleman, she reiterated silently. Given the opportunity, she would have very much enjoyed becoming better acquainted with him. That pleasure, she very much suspected now, would be denied her. It had ceased snowing completely late in the afternoon. If a substantial thaw set in overnight— and there was no reason to suppose it would not now the wind had changed course and was coming from the more usual south-westerly direction—the Colonel would undoubtedly wish to be on his way at daybreak and she would be unlikely ever to see him again. Not only that, there had been nothing in his demeanour to suggest he was interested in her in the least. He had been polite and friendly, offering what assistance he could in an attempt to minimise the extra work the household staff would be obliged to undertake. But by no word, look or gesture had he conveyed his interest in her personally was anything other than lukewarm, a casual meeting of strangers, destined to be brief and so easily forgotten. And maybe it was destined to be that way, she told herself.

The sound of a tinkling bell from the adjoining room obliged her not to dwell on the unsatisfactory conclusion of her reverie, and she went into Lady Beatrice’s bedchamber to discover that lady seated before her dressing-table mirror, rummaging through her jewellery box, whilst Agatha stood behind, adding the finishing touches to her mistress’s coiffure.

Although having received no professional training, Agatha Whitton had proved herself to be a most competent lady’s maid, with an innate gift for arranging hair. She had even succeeded in teasing Lady Beatrice’s somewhat lacklustre, greying locks into an attractive style.

‘You wanted me, my lady?’ Ruth enquired, thereby drawing the widow’s attention to her presence.

‘Yes, my dear. Do come over and help me choose something to wear this evening. I cannot decide between my pearls and the amethyst set.’ She then turned to the maid. ‘You may go, Whitton, and attend me later. No doubt I shall be retiring at a more advanced hour than usual. But, in the circumstances, it cannot be helped. I can hardly seek my bed, and leave my guests to their own devices, without attempting to entertain them for at least part of the evening, forced upon me though they all were.’

Ruth acknowledged Agatha’s knowing look with one of her own, before the maid whisked herself from the room. She knew precisely what her confidante-cum-friend had been attempting to convey—that she, too, suspected that, although sounding slightly disgruntled at the unforeseen invasion of her home, Lady Beatrice Lindley was secretly enjoying the prospect of presiding over a dinner table with more company than had been under her roof at any one time for many a long year.

‘I think either would go well with the lavender-coloured gown you’ve chosen to wear, ma’am,’ Ruth responded, after staring, with a touch of envy, at the dazzling array of sparkling gems contained in the wooden casket. She herself had had no such difficulty in choosing her own adornment. The simple gold locket, once belonging to her mother, was the only necklace she possessed.

World-weary grey eyes regarded her through the dressing-table mirror, staring in particular at the gold chain encircling a slender throat. ‘Perhaps you would care to choose something from my box yourself, child?’

Although moved by the offer, Ruth didn’t hesitate to decline. ‘It’s kind of you, my lady, but this old gown would do no justice to any fine gem. My mama’s simple trinket is more in keeping. Besides...’ she shrugged ‘...I’ve no desire to make an impression on anyone.’

The response appeared momentarily to please the widow, before one thin brow was raised in a distinctly questioning arch. ‘Do I infer correctly from that that there are no handsome young blades among our unlooked-for company?’

Ruth slanted a mocking glance. ‘Well, you met the Colonel yourself, ma’am. One would scarce describe him as an Adonis, though at the same time it would do him a grave injustice to call him unappealing. I believe you are acquainted with another of the wayfarers—Lady Fitznorton’s great-nephew, Mr Tristram Boothroyd. Apparently he’s been sent down from Oxford for committing some misdemeanour or other. In disgrace, he’s doing penance by suffering several weeks enforced rustication with his great-aunt.’

Lady Beatrice appeared to consider for a moment. ‘Yes, I do seem to recall meeting him once, some years ago. He was little more than a boy at the time.’

‘He isn’t so very old now, ma’am, not yet two-and-twenty, I shouldn’t have thought. He seems pleasant enough and handsome in a boyish sort of way. But one might question his intelligence. Somewhat irresponsible to take out a curricle and pair at the height of a snowstorm, wouldn’t you agree? If he had no regard for himself, he might at least have considered his horses.’

‘Sadly, not all are blessed with your sound judgement and thoughtfulness, my dear Ruth, especially not many of the male sex,’ Lady Beatrice responded in her usual disparaging way. ‘I understood from Whitton there are two other gentlemen beneath my roof?’

‘Yes, ma’am. A doctor by name of Dent, Samuel Dent, who is travelling with his sister. She, so I understand, keeps house for him in London. I placed him with the lawyer, who was travelling with them, in the green bedchamber. The other member of their party is a Mrs Julia Adams. She’s a handsome, pleasant woman...around the same age as the Colonel, I should have supposed, or perhaps a little older. She also resides in London, I believe.’

Lady Beatrice’s brows again rose in two fine arches this time. ‘My, my! So many travelling in our part of the world at this time of year. How unusual!’

‘Not so strange, ma’am.’ Ruth countered. ‘One hardly expects snow so early. Besides which, they all seemed to have legitimate reasons for visiting the area. Colonel Prentiss, as you know, had been staying with friends, and Mr Boothroyd with his great-aunt. With the exception of Mrs Adams, who happened to be staying with her sister, the others were all putting up at the same hostelry in Lynmouth. Although I believe I’m right in thinking that it was Mrs Adams who arranged for the landlord at the inn to take them all as far as our local town in his somewhat antiquated carriage. There they hoped to travel by stages to Bristol and then on to London on the Mail.’

‘That’s all very reasonable, but what brought them all to the West Country in the first place?’

‘Business brought Mr Blunt, the lawyer, here,’ Ruth enlightened her. ‘And as for the other three—apparently they were visiting dying relatives. In the circumstances I considered it thoughtless to question them too closely, as I gained the distinct impression that both Mrs Adams and the Dents have both suffered recent bereavements.’

‘How very singular! It would seem I’m about to preside not over dinner but a wake!’

Although Lady Beatrice could never have been accused of indulging in frivolity, or of possessing a sense of humour, come to that, on occasions she did seem to derive a degree of morbid delight in other people’s misfortunes.

‘We must hope it will not turn out to be so solemn an occasion as that, ma’am,’ Ruth responded, returning the jewellery box to its rightful place at the bottom of the wardrobe. ‘We must trust to the Colonel and young Mr Boothroyd to lighten the evening with some lively conversation.’

Once again Ruth found herself the recipient of a long and considering look before Lady Beatrice said, ‘Young Tristram might, indeed, bring a degree of levity to my table, but I very much doubt we can trust Colonel Prentiss to do likewise, given his turn of mind.’

Ruth was slightly taken aback by this declaration. ‘What makes you say so, ma’am? I found the Colonel’s manner not only polished and gracious, but also friendly and sincere. A most amiable gentleman, I would have described him.’

‘I agree, my dear. On the surface he seems so.’ She returned Ruth’s puzzled gaze with a steely look. ‘But how many times must I caution you against judging by appearances alone, especially where members of the male sex are concerned? A great many vicious defects can lurk beneath the outward trappings of masculine charm.’ All at once her mouth was twisted by a decidedly sinister curl. ‘I discovered the truth of that for myself.’

Lady Beatrice then seemed to return from some dark, haunted place in the depths of her memory and even managed a semblance of a smile. ‘Oh, I’m not suggesting for a moment that Colonel Prentiss is some unfeeling monster beneath that outward show of affability. I do not know him well enough to judge. That said, I suspect he keeps a deal of himself well hidden. He doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, that’s for sure. To look at him no one would suppose for a moment that he suffered a tragic bereavement during his early manhood, from which, I strongly suspect, he has never fully recovered.’

In the pit of her stomach Ruth experienced an unpleasant tightening of muscles and was somewhat surprised by it given that she was barely acquainted with the gentleman. ‘Do—do you mean he lost his wife, that he’s now a widower?’

‘Oh, no. He’s never married, unless he’s done so recently, and quite secretly, for I have never read of any such occurrence in the newspapers. And he certainly doesn’t give the impression of being a married gentleman. But he was once, I believe, engaged to be married many years ago, before he embarked upon his career in the army.’

For some reason that she failed to comprehend Ruth digested what she had been told with a distinct lack of pleasure. It ought not to have mattered a whit to her if Colonel Prentiss, a virtual stranger, had once given his heart to another; it ought not, but oddly it did.

‘He must have been very young at the time,’ she commented, feeling some response was expected of her.

‘He was,’ Lady Beatrice concurred. ‘And his affianced bride, a Miss Alicia Thorndyke was a truly lovely girl. Tall and willowy, I seem to remember,’ she went on, after pausing to study Ruth’s much shorter stature through the dressing-table mirror, ‘highly suited to a gentleman of the Colonel’s size. They were childhood sweethearts by all accounts and quite constant in their affection for each other. I have always been blessed with a surprisingly acute memory, and recall Miss Thorndyke’s one and only Season clearly. She attracted several eligible suitors, but remained true to Hugo Prentiss.’

‘What happened to her, ma’am?’ Ruth felt sufficiently interested to ask.

All at once the widow frowned. ‘Do you know, I’m not altogether sure I ever learned precisely how she died. It goes without saying that Hugo Prentiss, of course, has never found anyone to replace her. Rather sad, I suppose, but I dare say after all these years he’s now resigned to his bachelor state.’

The sound of the gong announcing dinner put an end to any further possible revelations, for which Ruth was not entirely sorry. Conscious that her reactions had been studied closely, she could only hope she had not appeared overtly interested in the Colonel’s past life. After all, she ought not to have been so. The trouble was she knew the opposite was nearer the truth.

* * *

By the time all the stranded wayfarers had gathered in the hall, just prior to filing into the large dining room, Ruth, thankfully, had her oddly disturbing feelings well under control again. In a determined effort not to betray a preference for any one person’s company, she made no attempt to engage the Colonel in conversation. In fact, she went out of her way to appear more interested in the other unexpected guests, ensuring they had everything they needed to make their stay as comfortable as possible. Even when she seated herself at the dining table, she made a point of conversing mainly with the gentlemen seated on either side of her, while at the same time attempting to draw the two female guests into the conversation whenever possible.

The same could not have been said for their hostess, who betrayed a marked partiality for the Colonel’s company. It could not be denied, either, that she showed an interest in Lady Fitznorton’s great-nephew, whom she actively encouraged to regale them with examples of his less-than-commendable exploits up at Oxford. She did condescend as the meal wore on to direct the odd remark in the middle-aged practitioner’s direction. Sadly, his sister received no such minor attention and, save for staring at them both fixedly from time to time, Lady Beatrice virtually ignored completely the hard-working lawyer, who had been obliged to travel on business, and the pleasant woman who had come to the West Country in the hope of seeing her father before he died.

Lady Beatrice’s snobbery was clearly rearing its ugly head yet again. Although she had raised no objection whatsoever to all those seeking shelter under her roof being offered a seat at her table, she could not have made it more plain that she considered most of the company quite unworthy of the philanthropy she had shown towards them.

Yes, anyone might have been forgiven for supposing that Lady Beatrice was already heartily regretting her charitable actions towards so many strangers. Yet, as she cast a long, considering look at the head of the table, Ruth was amazed to detect a glint of what looked suspiciously like suppressed excitement in those world-weary eyes, which suggested nothing could have been further from the truth; that their hostess was, in fact, enjoying herself hugely for some very private reason of her own.

All the same, it came as something of a surprise, even to Ruth, when Lady Beatrice suddenly turned to the tall gentleman seated on her left to ask in a raised voice that instantly captured everyone’s attention, ‘No doubt you have seen much death during your illustrious career, Colonel...a great number of murders committed.’

The large, yet shapely, hand reaching for the glass of wine checked for an instant. ‘When engaged in battle, ma’am, a soldier doesn’t consider he’s committing murder when destroying the enemies of his country,’ he responded solemnly, after fortifying himself from the glass.

‘Naturally not. Even so, I’m sure numerous instances of murder have been committed among the ranks.’ Lady Beatrice, it seemed, was determined to develop the theme. ‘After all, where better to conceal a murder than on a battlefield already strewn with corpses?’

She then again favoured Dr Dent with her undivided attention. ‘And gentlemen engaged in your profession are equally well placed to rid themselves of those they do not wish to exist, without causing undue suspicion, don’t you agree?’

The doctor visibly bridled at this accusation. ‘I shall take leave to inform you, ma’am, that those engaged in my profession do their utmost to preserve life, not terminate it!’

Lady Beatrice’s mouth twisted unpleasantly. ‘That may also be so,’ she acknowledged. ‘But I am equally certain that some have hastened the deaths of patients, whether by accident...or design. Like the Colonel, here, practitioners are equally well placed to commit the undetectable murder.

‘And the most unlikely people do commit murder, you know,’ she continued, after pausing to stare almost accusingly at each of her listeners in turn. ‘Why, anyone sitting here this evening might be quite capable of committing such an act... And might well have done so.’

‘By heaven!’ Tristram Boothroyd exclaimed in a jocular fashion. ‘Best lock the bedchamber door tonight. What say you, Colonel?’

Unperturbed, and even smiling faintly, Hugo reached for his wine again. ‘No need to take such precautions, lad. I’m a light sleeper.’

Ruth, for one, didn’t doubt it for a moment. For all his appearance of relaxed affability, not much, she suspected, ever escaped his notice. In fact, Colonel Prentiss was not an easy man to judge at all. As Lady Beatrice had intimated earlier, he gave little of himself away. For instance, it was impossible to assess just what was passing through his mind at the present time: whether he had taken Lady Beatrice’s remarks seriously or not. As for herself she didn’t know what to think. For all that her ladyship didn’t entertain frequently, she lacked none of the social graces. None the less, murder hardly seemed an appropriate topic for dinnertime conversation!

‘You quite unnerve me, ma’am,’ Ruth said, in an attempt to lighten the mood. ‘If what you say is true, it must be nigh impossible to judge who is capable of committing such a crime. I, for one, could not point an accusing finger at any person here present. So, unless one happens to see or hear someone plotting, or committing the act itself, how on earth could one recognise a person capable of committing murder?’

With the contours of her mouth set in a thin smile, Lady Beatrice appeared supremely satisfied. ‘There you have it, my dear! Disregarding the obvious exceptions— those who are observed actively engaged in acts of violence—it is extremely difficult to judge who might be capable of committing such a heinous crime... It is not always so straightforward, either, to assimilate what one has witnessed.’

‘Oh, come now, ma’am!’ Mr Blunt, the stooping-shouldered little lawyer, countered staunchly, thereby proving at a stroke that his appearance of timidity might not have been an altogether accurate assessment of his character. ‘Surely one must know whether one has witnessed murder or not?’

‘Do I infer correctly from what you’ve said,’ Hugo put in calmly, ‘that you believe you did witness such an event yourself, ma’am?’

‘Not the act itself, Colonel, no,’ Lady Beatrice responded, after once again staring at each and every person present. ‘I witnessed the prelude and the aftermath.’

‘I trust you reported what you did see to the appropriate authorities?’ the lawyer enquired, thereby breaking the silence which followed the startling disclosure.

Raising her chin, Lady Beatrice regarded him down the length of her aristocratic nose, much as she might have done a menial. ‘But what did I witness, after all, my good man? Two persons, standing close to a cliff edge, who happened to be exchanging high words. I was not raised to indulge in vulgar curiosity, so did not linger to discover what the altercation between the two might possibly have been about. Besides which, I had concerns of my own to occupy me at the time.

‘But when I had walked some distance,’ she continued, after a moment’s reflection, ‘and chanced to turn, I noticed just one of those I had glimpsed earlier walking back in the direction of the coastal town. At the time it never occurred to me to wonder what had become of the other. It was only a month or so later, after reading a report in the newspaper of a body being discovered amongst some rocks on a certain stretch of coastline, that I began to wonder, and realised, too, that I had been acquainted with the dead man.’

Tristram Boothroyd’s suggestion that it might have been an accident was instantly challenged by Hugo. ‘Were that the case, lad, I would have expected the incident to have been reported by the dead person’s companion. You heard Lady Beatrice say this other person was seen walking back in the direction of the town. Had it been an accident, surely there would have been some urgency in getting help?’

‘That is precisely the conclusion I eventually drew, Colonel,’ Lady Beatrice revealed. ‘As I mentioned before, at the time, I did not recognise the victim. It was a blustery day and he had the collar of his cloak turned right up, besides wearing a hat and having his back towards me. The other person’s face I did see quite clearly. Although this other was a complete stranger...justice might still be served... The passage of time is kinder to some and they change very little. What is more, I never forget a face, you see...not ever,’ and so saying she rose to her feet, inviting the ladies to join her in the drawing room.

Ruth, for one, was more than happy to oblige. Although capturing the gentlemen’s interest, the conversation over dinner hadn’t been quite the norm, and she was pleased to be granted the opportunity to discuss less controversial topics with the ladies in the drawing room.

Lady Beatrice, as was her wont, positioned herself by the hearth and, once tea had been dispensed, appeared quite content with her own company and private thoughts, leaving it to Ruth to entertain the ladies as best she could. She began by remarking on the lucky chance that so many were putting up at that particular inn at Lynmouth and were able to share the cost of the innkeeper’s services. ‘Not so lucky with the weather, though, sadly.’

‘No, indeed,’ the attractive widow agreed. ‘Although Dr Dent, his sister and I were all born in the area, we never met until recently. My father was the vicar of a small parish near the town. My sister and I lived quite a solitary existence—my sister still does, come to that. It wasn’t until I was obliged to seek employment and attained a post as a governess that I began to experience life.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘I suppose I must have seemed very naïve in those days... In fact, I know I was—a little country mouse. Most unworldly!’

‘Oh, I do not think anyone would call you that, Mrs Adams,’ the doctor’s sister countered. ‘If I may say so, you seem a very capable woman, quite able to take care of yourself.’

The widow smiled wryly. ‘I suppose marriage and widowhood have added greatly to my experiences,’ she responded in a quiet, reflective way, ‘not to mention raising a child on my own and owning and running a profitable little enterprise.’

Ruth was impressed. Very few women went into business. There just weren’t the opportunities. Marriage was the only option for most of her sex, or engaging in one of the so-called genteel professions, such as a governess or paid companion.

‘How do you support yourself, if you do not mind my asking, Mrs Adams?’ she enquired, after glancing in the direction of the hearth to discover Lady Beatrice, eyes closed, looking very comfortable in her chair. Ruth might have supposed her to have fallen asleep had not the lady of the house been smiling faintly, seemingly at some private thought.

‘Oh, nothing in any way spectacular. After my husband died I eventually returned to London to live in the house that had been my late husband’s home since boyhood. I was obliged to live quite frugally for a time, as my late husband had invested most of his money—wisely, as things turned out. After a few years I was able to buy a much larger property and turned it into a boarding house. I have two permanent lodgers with me now and others who stay on a regular basis during the Season. I’m hoping to persuade my sister to come and reside with me. I’ve plenty of room and I could do with the extra help. And, of course, she’ll not be able to remain at the vicarage now that Papa has been taken from us.’

‘My dear,’ Lady Beatrice unexpectedly interjected into the proceedings, thereby corroborating Ruth’s suspicions that she had possibly been attending to everything that had been said, ‘would you be good enough to arrange for a couple of tables to be set up before the gentlemen rejoin us. I’m sure they would enjoy a game or two of cards before finally retiring.’

* * *

Surprisingly enough Lady Beatrice’s prediction turned out to be accurate. Despite the fact that all the guests, with the possible exception of young Tristram Boothroyd, had been up and about since first light, they all seemed more than happy to make up pairs for whist—even both female travellers were content to join in proceedings.

It surprised Ruth not at all when Lady Beatrice commandeered Colonel Prentiss as her partner. After all, she had more in common with him than with any of the others. What did give her pause for thought was the invitation directly afterwards issued to the good doctor and his sister to sit at the hostess’s table and make up the four, thereby obliging Ruth to take a seat at the other.

She wasn’t offended by the deliberate exclusion. She didn’t even object to having Mr Boothroyd as her partner. Although he was not a particularly skilful player, he provided her and their opponents with some lively conversation. Even the strait-laced little lawyer uttered a wheezy chuckle a time or two. What had initially escaped her entirely, however, was the reason behind her deliberate exclusion. It wasn’t until Colonel Prentiss suddenly suggested a change of partners and turned directly to Ruth, issuing the invitation to join him, that the truth suddenly dawned on her. Seemingly Lady Beatrice had no intention of allowing her companion to become better acquainted with at least one of the guests.

Lady Beatrice wasted no time rising to her feet. ‘I’m afraid, Colonel, I must deny you that pleasure. Miss Harrington’s presence is required elsewhere.’ She then turned to the others, encompassing them all in a brief glance and the faintest of smiles. ‘I shall bid you all goodnight...and better fortune for the morrow.’

She moved slowly across to the door, bidding Ruth accompany her as she did so. ‘It is my custom to break my fast in bed,’ she added, her back firmly turned towards the assembled company, ‘so I doubt we shall meet again. Do feel free to ask my servants should you require anything further in the morning’, and with that she left the room, without so much as a backward glance, and leaving Ruth to close the door behind them.

Candles a-plenty had been placed on the table in the hall, enough for everyone to see themselves safely to the upper floor. Lady Beatrice lit her own before speaking again. ‘I feel unusually fatigued this evening, but suspect with all the disturbances of the day I shall find it difficult to sleep. Be kind enough to indulge me by making that beneficial nightcap I reserve for just such occasions as this. You do it so much better than anyone else. And send Whitton to me.’

There was sufficient light in the hall to guide Ruth safely through to the kitchen, where she discovered Agatha sitting alone by the range. ‘Lady Bea’s ready for you now, Aggie. Have all the other servants retired...? I cannot say I’m surprised,’ she went on, after receiving a nod in response. ‘Cook must be absolutely exhausted. And she’ll need to be up bright and early tomorrow.’

‘That she will,’ Agatha agreed, rising wearily to her feet. ‘The snow will mostly be gone by then. At least the roads will be passable, so I expect they’ll all be wanting to be on their way.’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Ruth agreed hollowly, contemplating with a distinct lack of enthusiasm taking leave of at least one of the unexpected company. ‘I’ve enjoyed today. It has made such a pleasant change. You’d best go up, Aggie,’ she added, while going about the kitchen collecting the various ingredients she required to make the requested nightcap. ‘Don’t worry about extinguishing the candles, I’ll see to that.’

Soon after the maid had departed the door leading to the passageway swung open again, catching Ruth completely unawares. ‘Why, Colonel, you did give me a fright!’

The warmth of his natural smile as he strolled into the room had an even more alarming effect on her pulse-rate than his unexpected appearance had done. ‘I’m sorry if I startled you. I sometimes forget that certain ladies can find my size a trifle alarming.’

‘I don’t,’ she assured him promptly, then could only be grateful for the dim light in the kitchen, which she hoped concealed the sudden heat in her cheeks from that all-too-perceptive blue-eyed gaze. What on earth had possessed her to say such a thing? Why, her response had been tantamount to flirting, for heaven’s sake!

Thankful that the necessity of plunging a poker into red-hot embers enabled her to turn her back on him for a few moments, she attempted to regain at least a modicum of her natural poise. ‘Have you everything you need, sir, or is there something I can get for you?’

‘I thought to have a last word with my servant about our departure tomorrow, but I rather fancy I’ve left it too late. He’ll have sought his bed long since.’

Receiving no response, Hugo watched her going about the task of making a hot toddy, her tread so light, as she moved about the kitchen, that she hardly made a sound on the stone floor. ‘I also came to tell you that everyone has decided to retire and that I’ve extinguished the candles in the drawing room.’

Her expression revealed her gratitude, even before she voiced it. ‘Why, that was considerate of you, sir. Thank you.’

‘Not at all!’ Hugo countered, dismissing the thanks with a wave of his hand. ‘Very least I could do, Miss Harrington, most especially after...after unwittingly upsetting you earlier in the day.’

‘Upsetting me...?’ Ruth’s puzzlement could not have been clearer. ‘But you haven’t upset me, sir. Whatever made you suppose you had?’

His gaze betrayed a suggestion of amusement. ‘Because I could only suppose it was the mild scold I administered for carrying my bags that induced you to virtually ignore me for most of the evening.’

The bluntness of the response left Ruth almost reeling for a moment. That he’d been fully cognisant of her deliberate avoidance came as no very real surprise. After all, hadn’t she already decided there was absolutely nothing wrong with the tall man’s understanding? But now he was proving himself to be so confoundedly astute, too astute to be fobbed off with a deliberate lie! Yet, how on earth could she admit to having avoided him without offering some explanation for her actions. And the truth of the matter was she didn’t know the reason for it herself!

Deciding the best form of defence was attack, she said, ‘I shall take leave to inform you, sir, that it would take a deal more than a mild verbal chastisement from a virtual stranger to overset me. I’m not such a poor creature.’

Behind the amused glint lurked a growing respect. ‘I’m pleased to hear it. Here, let me take that,’ he added, reaching for the tray, after she had completed her task. He sniffed appreciatively. ‘Smells delicious. I’m almost tempted to have one myself.’

‘Have that one. I can easily make another,’ she obligingly offered, but Hugo shook his head.

‘No, it’s time you were abed.’ He slanted a look that was gently teasing and yet at the same time touchingly earnest. ‘I should feel aggrieved if I’m obliged to set out on the morrow without being granted the opportunity to say a final farewell.’

Had he but realised it, Ruth herself was continuing to experience scant pleasure at the prospect and yet sensibly accepted there was precious little she could do to delay his departure. Moreover, although he lived in an adjoining county, he might just as well have resided on the other side of the world, so slim were their chances of ever meeting again, at least by accident.

Sensible though she might have been to have accepted this already, as she accompanied him up the staircase, she racked her brain for something, anything that might delay him seeking his bed immediately. Sadly, any hope of doing so was thwarted by surprisingly discovering Julia Adams lurking in the passageway at the top of the stairs.

She appeared momentarily startled by their appearance, then seemed to collect herself. ‘Oh, I was hoping you hadn’t retired, Miss Harrington. I was just attempting to locate your room. There must be a split in my valise. I’m afraid everything has become so very damp. Could you possibly oblige me by lending me a nightgown?’

‘Of course,’ Ruth responded before masterfully suppressing a resigned sigh as she turned to the Colonel. ‘Just put the tray down on that table outside Lady Beatrice’s room, sir, and I shall bid you goodnight.’

After taking a minute or so to locate the required garment, Ruth emerged from her bedchamber in the hope of seeing the Colonel still lingering there, only to discover Mrs Adams awaiting her.

After handing over the freshly laundered nightgown, Ruth didn’t delay in whisking herself into Lady Beatrice’s room to find the lady sitting up in bed, supported by a mound of pillows, and not, as expected, appearing in the least fatigued.

‘Was that Colonel Prentiss I heard you conversing with a few moments ago?’

‘Yes, and Mrs Adams. She wished to borrow a nightgown,’ Ruth enlightened her before placing the small tray containing the nightcap within easy reach on the bedside table. ‘If there’s nothing else I can get for you, ma’am, I shall retire myself.’

She was subjected to a piercing stare. ‘Yes, you do look tired. A pity, I was hoping to have a private talk with you. There was something I wished to explain,’ Lady Beatrice revealed, then shrugged. ‘No matter, it can wait until morning. Just lock my door before you leave. I don’t feel safe with so many...strangers in the house. And you would do well to do likewise.’

Although she happily did as bidden, Ruth flatly refused to be influenced by such foolish flights of fancy. Who was likely to visit her at the dead of night, for heaven’s sake? Certainly neither Dr Dent or Mr Blunt, she mused, changing into her nightwear. They were far too strait-laced for such capers; not to mention too sensible to risk their respective livelihoods if rumours of such scandalous goings-on were ever spread abroad. As for Tristram Boothroyd...? Well, he possibly viewed her in the light of some dull maiden aunt, she decided, somewhat dispirited at the thought. And as for the Colonel...?

For a few deliciously frivolous moments she allowed herself to ponder on just such an occurrence, and what her possible reaction might be, before common sense prevailed and she took herself roundly to task for even contemplating such a scandalous situation. The Colonel was a gentleman, kind and considerate, but certainly not interested in conducting a dalliance with her. He’d be the very last person to pay her a midnight visit!

* * *

Yet, later, something did succeed in rousing her briefly from slumber. The fire in the grate had long since ceased to send flickering darts of light about the bedchamber and the room was in total darkness, save for the suggestion of candlelight beneath the communicating door. There was not so much as a sound except that of her own breathing and there was no shadowy movement from any corner. Even so, Ruth couldn’t shake off the eerie feeling that she wasn’t alone, until sleep finally reclaimed her.

Chapter Three

The hand gently shaking her shoulder eventually succeeded in rousing Ruth from slumber; she opened her eyes to discover Agatha surprisingly standing by the bed. Only on those rare occasions when she had been unwell had she received the attentions of Lady Beatrice’s personal maid, so quite naturally Ruth’s first instinct was to suppose something must surely be wrong.

‘The mistress’s door to the passageway be locked,’ Agatha reminded her. ‘And as I was obliged to come this way I thought you might like to know some of the visitors be already enjoying breakfast.’ All at once a glint of mischief was clearly discernible in the maid’s dark eyes. ‘And—er—Colonel Prentiss be among them.’

‘And why, pray, should you suppose I might be interested to discover that?’ Ruth responded, striving for that air of sheer indifference she was definitely not experiencing.

‘Because, when I was about to go up to tend the mistress last night, he came out of the drawing room and asked particular-like if you were still about,’ Agatha revealed, much to Ruth’s surprise, though she was determined not to read too much into the startling disclosure. After all, hadn’t he made a point of saying his original intention had been to have a last word with his servant?

Aware that she was being regarded closely, she again strived for that air of detachment. ‘Colonel Prentiss is a well-mannered gentleman, Aggie. He sought me out to express his thanks, in person, for all the extra work he and his fellow travellers had obliged the servants to do. And so, too, did Mrs Adams, as it happens,’ she added in the hope of vanquishing any foolish notions the maid might be harbouring with regard to her and the Colonel. Because after today, she silently reminded herself, echoing her thoughts of the night before, she would be unlikely ever to see him again.

‘You’d best take that hot chocolate in to your mistress before it gets cold,’ she advised in a valiant attempt to gain a respite from those all-too-perceptive dark eyes.

Mercifully, it worked. Ruth was then able to swing her feet to the floor in order to get herself ready for the day ahead. She had just reached the washstand when the sound of breaking china, accompanied by a half-stifled scream, reached her ears. Naturally curious, she slewed round to discover Agatha already standing in the communicating doorway, her face ashen.

‘Oh, do come quick! It’s the mistress...I can’t wake her...I think she’s...’

Ruth didn’t wait for the explanation Agatha seemed unable to give. Sweeping up her dressing gown, she brushed past the maid to discover Lady Beatrice lying in bed, eyes closed, head lolling on one side. For all the world she appeared sound asleep, yet Ruth sensed something was very wrong. The curtains at the windows had already been thrown back and she could see quite clearly, even before she had reached the bedside, that the occupant looked deathly pale.

A shiver of revulsion trickled through her as she forced herself to reach for one of the hands lying limply on the bedcover. The flesh felt cold, lifeless, as she raised the wrist, then let it fall.

‘Yes, I think she is...dead,’ she managed to utter, before a kind of creeping numbness threatened to overcome her, and it was a moment or two before she was able to combat the shock sufficiently to concentrate her thoughts again. ‘If Dr Dent is not among those at present in the breakfast parlour, then go to his room, and inform him his presence is required here urgently.’

Ruth watched Agatha unlock the bedchamber door and disappear into the passageway before returning to her own room in order to change out of her nightwear. Surprisingly, her nimble fingers, though shaking slightly, worked speedily, but even so, she wasn’t granted the time to sweep her long tresses into the simple chignon she normally sported, before she surprisingly detected the sound of voices in the adjoining room.

Disregarding her irregular appearance, she returned to Dunsterford Hall’s most impressive bedchamber to discover not only Dr Dent, but also Colonel Prentiss, standing by the bedside. The sight of that tall figure had a surprisingly beneficial effect, instantly soothing Ruth’s troubled spirits. Yet, when he turned to look at her, there wasn’t so much as a trace of that warmth she’d so often glimpsed in his eyes. He appeared unusually grave, his gaze for once frighteningly piercing, as though he were attempting to discover her innermost thought.

It took a stupendous effort, but somehow she succeeded in breaking the hold of that intense gaze and transferred her attention to the much-less-impressive figure who had already begun his examination. She waited a moment or two, then somehow managed to demand the answer to the question she very much feared she already knew only too well.

‘Yes, of course she’s dead,’ the doctor responded almost testily, as though he felt his time had been wasted by being asked such an obvious thing. ‘Been dead for several hours, I should say.’ He turned at last to look at her. ‘I recall she left the drawing room quite abruptly last night. Did she make mention of feeling unwell before finally retiring?’

‘Quite the contrary,’ Ruth assured him. ‘I brought her the hot toddy she’d requested. She was sat up in bed, looking remarkably bright and cheerful in the circumstances.’ Ruth frowned, as she recalled something else. ‘In fact, she gave me the distinct impression there was something she wished to discuss with me. But I was feeling weary myself, so sought my own bed quickly. The only thing I can tell you, Dr Dent, is that Lady Beatrice did suffer indifferent health and had done so for some few years. Her own doctor visited frequently. In fact, almost weekly. She admitted to me herself, quite recently as it happens, that her heart was not strong.’

He nodded, as though he had expected something of the sort. ‘It has been my experience that it is much the same with many of these highly strung middle-aged ladies, prone to nervous conditions and weaknesses. Died in her sleep, as most of us would choose to do, given the choice,’ he continued, matter of factly, as he wandered back over to the door. ‘There’s nothing more I can do here, Miss Harrington, so I’ll continue preparing for my departure. We all wish to be away as soon as may be. Apparently your groomsman is taking the cart into the local town this morning to pick up supplies, and my sister and I, together with our fellow travellers, have begged a ride. I trust you don’t object?’

It was only then that Ruth appreciated fully for the very first time the significance of the sad and totally unforeseen event. It was only natural the good doctor would seek her approval. He must have supposed that she would automatically take command of the household until such time as Lady Beatrice’s heir took overall control. He wasn’t to know, of course, that she was Lady Beatrice’s chief beneficiary and that Dunsterford Hall, together with the majority of Lady Beatrice’s private wealth, would come to her.

For a moment or two she toyed with the idea of offering him the use of the comfortable, if somewhat antiquated, carriage that seldom left the shelter of the coach house, then thought better of it. For the time being she felt it might be wise to keep her good fortune to herself, at least from the vast majority.

‘Of course I don’t object,’ she assured him. ‘Sadly, the groom will have several extra errands to run in town this morning. I shall pen some necessary letters without delay so that I do not keep you kicking your heels here for longer than necessary.’

To her intense surprise she won a look of approval from the normally taciturn Dr Dent before he left the room. Unfortunately, she glimpsed no such expression on the Colonel’s face as he continued to bend over the cold, lifeless figure between the sheets, seeming to examine far more thoroughly than the doctor had done.

As she approached the bed she saw him slip a hand into the pocket of his jacket, before he moved over to the cupboard by the bedside and picked up the vessel that had contained the hot toddy. He raised it to his nose and appeared, if anything, grimmer than before.

‘Is something amiss, sir?’

When he turned to look directly at her again it was with the same fierce intensity, which made her feel hopelessly unprotected, as though she could conceal absolutely nothing from those eyes of his.

‘Was Lady Beatrice in the habit of taking strong opiates?’

Hugo could see at a glance that his question had taken her somewhat by surprise. All the same, she answered promptly enough. ‘Her own doctor prescribes a draught, I believe. She keeps it in the top drawer, there by the bedside. But I cannot imagine she would have needed it last night, not after the hot toddy I made her. It was very strong. Although she sometimes had trouble sleeping,’ she added after a moment’s thought, ‘so she might have added a few drops.’

Hugo continued to study her as intently as before. ‘And her sudden demise doesn’t come as a shock to you at all, Miss Harrington?’

‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, sir,’ she confessed, appearing distinctly troubled herself now. ‘Lady Beatrice admitted to me only quite recently that her constitution had never been strong. She frequently requested her own doctor to visit her here. As I mentioned before, she suffered a weakness of the heart and felt she might go at any time. Nevertheless I...’

‘You’re still shocked by the turn of events,’ he finished for her and she nodded. ‘In that case, Miss Harrington, it might be wise to permit Lady Beatrice’s own practitioner to examine her. After all, he would have been more familiar with the state of her health than anyone else.’

‘Yes, yes of course,’ she agreed after a moment, and then went directly over to the corner of the room to seat herself before the escritoire. ‘I shall send a letter with the groom. I need also to make arrangements for the funeral and get in touch with Lady Beatrice’s man of business.’

Hugo, who had been heading back across to the door, checked at this. ‘Yes, of course, you must,’ he agreed. ‘It might also be wise, as the lady was a person of some standing in the locale, to apprise the local Justice of the Peace of the unforeseen turn of events.’

The hand moving smoothly back and forth across the page stilled and a pair of soft brown eyes, clear and questioning, not to mention surprisingly trusting, surveyed him again. ‘If you consider that necessary, Colonel, then of course I shall.’

It was at that moment Hugo found to his surprise that he was not proof against that innocent, trusting look. ‘If it will help, Miss Harrington, I can visit the worthy myself and apprise him of what has taken place here. He will perhaps require the names and directions of those strangers residing under this roof last night. I see no reason why they cannot leave, however.’

‘Indeed, not, sir. After all, not one of you was ever really acquainted with Lady Beatrice, and none of you benefits by her death.’ A sigh, clear and carrying, floated across to the door. ‘Only I can be accused of being guilty of that, as will be revealed when Lady Beatrice’s lawyer is consulted.’

She was silent for a moment, then seemed to shake herself out of a brown study, and even managed a semblance of a smile as she looked in his direction again. ‘Thank you, Colonel. I have more than enough to concern me at the present time, without having to call on the Justice of the Peace. Sir Cedric Walsh lives in a large, stone-built house a mile or so out of town. I should be very grateful if you could visit him on my behalf and explain.’

Once again Hugo studied her for a long moment before finally leaving the room and returning downstairs to the breakfast parlour. One glance at the congealed mounds on the plate was sufficient to convince him that his breakfast was now cold, but he wasn’t unduly troubled. His appetite had deserted him completely, so he merely reached for the coffeepot as he resumed his seat.

‘Devilish thing to have happened,’ Tristram Boothroyd announced, thereby breaking the subdued silence. ‘Didn’t know the lady very well, of course... Well, hardly at all, really. But it just don’t seem right sitting here, eating her fare, while she’s—’

‘Oh, please don’t, Mr Boothroyd!’ Miss Dent implored. ‘It’s such a dreadful thing to have happened. And Lady Beatrice so kind to open her home to us all, too!’

Hugo refrained from remarking that, in his opinion, it was quite a different person altogether who was deserving of their gratitude. Instead, he drew their attention to the fact that, given the circumstances, they ought not to depart the house without at least leaving their directions in the event that contact with any one of them again became necessary.

‘But why should it, sir?’ The lawyer seemed all at once a little put out. ‘Dr Dent has given us every reason to suppose Lady Lindley died of natural causes.’

‘That might, indeed, be the case,’ Hugo conceded. ‘None the less, given the—er—suddenness of the lady’s demise, I think it might be wise to obtain a second opinion and suggested to Miss Harrington that she make contact with Lady Beatrice’s own practitioner without delay.’

‘Oh, that poor girl!’ Appearing genuinely distressed, Julia Adams rose from her chair. ‘I feel so wretchedly guilty having to leave her to deal with all this by herself. I shall go to her now and see if there’s anything I can do before we depart. And,’ she added on reaching the door, ‘I, for one, have no objection to leaving a note with my direction, if it’s of any help.’

* * *

Detecting the light knock on the bedchamber door, Ruth paused to bid enter, before sealing the missive she had been writing with a wafer. She then turned to see Mrs Adams slip almost tentatively into the room.

By her own admission the widow was no stranger to death. She had witnessed her father being placed in the ground only a few short days before and had buried a husband tragically not many weeks after their marriage had taken place. So it came as something of a surprise to see the look of almost stunned disbelief flickering over the attractive widow’s features, as though she was having the utmost difficulty in coming to terms with the sight that met her gaze.

A short time before Agatha had returned to the room and had respectfully drawn the sheet over Lady Beatrice’s face. Which was perhaps just as well in the circumstances, Ruth decided, studying her visitor intently, for a female closer to swooning she had yet to see!

‘Was there something you required of me, Mrs Adams, before your departure?’

The gently voiced enquiry, thankfully, seemed to break the trancelike state the widow had appeared to be under. She finally drew her eyes away from the direction of the bed only to place a hand momentarily across her forehead.

‘Oh, what must you think of me, Miss Harrington? I’m not usually so easily overset.’ She not only looked, but also sounded, now, deeply ashamed of herself. ‘It must have been the shock that perturbed me so much. The last time I saw Lady Beatrice she was so very much alive and well. I would never have supposed such a thing could happen. And without any prior warning, too!’

‘It was unexpected, certainly,’ Ruth agreed, feeling slightly uncomfortable herself now. Whilst her mind had been fully occupied writing those various urgent letters, she’d hardly been conscious of Lady Beatrice’s body lying just a few short feet away. She could appreciate Mrs Adams’s reaction now. It did give one a distinctly uncomfortable feeling sharing a room with a corpse.

‘Dr Dent informed us all that—that it was her heart,’ the visitor revealed hesitantly.

Having been imbued by Colonel Prentiss’s obvious scepticism, Ruth wasn’t altogether sure herself now. ‘Or some kind of seizure, we can only suppose. No doubt we shall learn more when her own practitioner conducts a second and more thorough examination.’

Having sealed the last of her letters, she rose to her feet. Time was pressing and she didn’t wish to be the cause of delaying anyone’s departure, though it had to be said this particular visitor seemed in no great hurry to leave. ‘If there’s nothing particular I can help you with, Mrs Adams, I must go down to the stables to ensure our groom has these before he sets forth.’

‘Oh, Julia, please.’ She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. ‘This has disturbed me more than I can say. And it is somewhat foolish of me as I never met Lady Lindley before yesterday! And unforgivable, too,’ she added, ‘because I came, specifically, to see if there’s anything I can do to help. I feel so guilty leaving you with all this to deal with. You only have to say the word and I shall be more than happy to remain for a few days.’

Ruth felt moved by the offer, because she didn’t doubt it had been sincerely meant. ‘That is most kind of you, but I’m sure you must be longing to return to your daughter. Lady Beatrice was no blood kin of mine, though naturally I’m saddened by her unexpected demise. The servants here at the Hall are all very loyal and shall provide all the assistance I need, I feel sure.’

‘Well, at least allow me to take those letters down to your groom. My bags are packed and I believe everyone is keen to leave as early as possible, so I’ll take this opportunity to bid you farewell, Miss Harrington. I intend leaving my direction with Colonel Prentiss. London might seem a long way away. But should you feel the need to make contact with me in the future, I should be only too happy to assist in any way I can.’

* * *

Thankfully, this sentiment had eventually been echoed by everyone, and an hour later, armed with the necessary information he required, Hugo was making the final preparations for his own departure.

After securing his overnight bags to the packhorse himself, he was on the point of mounting his sturdy bay, when he caught sight of a slender figure emerging from the kitchen doorway.

Dressed respectfully now in sombre black and with her hair appropriately confined at the nape of her neck, she glided across the cobbled yard towards him. As she drew close he could see there was little colour in what otherwise would have been a flawless complexion. Thankfully, apart from the unusual pallor, there were no other telltale signs of grief. The large brown eyes were bright and free from any suggestion of redness, and the perfect contours of a lovely feminine mouth were even curled in a semblance of a smile.

‘I’m glad I’ve managed to catch you, Colonel, before you leave,’ she said, while handing him a folded sheet of paper. ‘I’ve written down Sir Cedric Walsh’s precise direction for you, though his house isn’t at all difficult to locate. Simply stay on the main coastal road and you’ll see it, standing by itself on a slight rise. Julia Adams informed me that you asked for everyone’s direction,’ she added, when he made no attempt to speak.

He continued not to do so for a further moment or two while he studied the openness of a sweet face; a face that for all the world betrayed only two things to his searching gaze—trust and honesty.

Not for the first time during his short stay did he experience something deep within him stir, only this time it seemed stronger, reminding him of a feeling he had not experienced in many a long year.

‘Believe me when I tell you I’m more than willing to remain if you imagine I might be of service to you, Miss Harrington, should the local Justice of the Peace consider a further investigation into the death of Lady Beatrice is required.’

For a moment he thought he detected a glint of what might have been hopeful expectation in those lovely eyes, only for it to disappear a moment later as a distinctly wry smile this time touched her lips.

‘That is kind of you, sir,’ she uttered softly in a kind of resigned sigh. ‘But you must be longing to return to the comfort of your own home...and family. Should Sir Cedric choose to bestir himself and look into the matter of Lady Beatrice’s death, though I’m not altogether certain he will given his reputation for indolence, then I’m sure Dr Maddox and Lady Beatrice’s lawyer will offer me all the assistance I require.’ She held out her hand. ‘Goodbye, sir. It has been a sincere pleasure making your acquaintance, and...and safe journey.’

Releasing the slender fingers the moment he felt the first sign of withdrawal, Hugo then watched her until she had disappeared into the house. Not once did she attempt to look back over her shoulder, but as he reached the front gate and chanced to glance back over his, he saw that slender form staring out at him from the drawing-room window.

Unwillingly urging his mount onwards, he headed down the lane that led to the market town. Throughout his adult life he had been a man given to decisive action, someone continually admired for his clarity of thought and discernment, yet he felt anything but resolute now. Torn between a strong sense of righteousness and a surprising feeling of protectiveness towards a female he scarcely knew his thoughts were in turmoil.

Plagued by such drastically contrasting feelings, he rode on in stony silence until he had reached a pair of impressive wrought-iron gates, flanked by two hideous gargoyles mounted on tall, brick pillars. Beyond stood an impressive stone-built mansion, undoubtedly the property of Sir Cedric Walsh. Hugo was only too aware of what he ought to do, what was demanded of any man of honour. Yet he made no attempt to gain access to the sweeping driveway. Instead, he took out several folded sheets of paper from his pocket and stared at them with an expression of intense loathing.

‘Is something amiss, Colonel?’ his manservant asked tentatively, wondering if he had done something to put his master into such an obviously unsociable mood. Raising a hand, he thoughtfully scratched the grizzled hair beneath the edge of his misshapen hat. ‘Not done something wrong, ’ave I, sir?’

‘No...but I’m about to do just that,’ Hugo announced, before resolutely thrusting the several sheets of paper back into his pocket, and urging his mount to move off down the road once more. ‘Come on, Ben. Let’s away from here. How I wish I’d never come to this place... And the sooner I forget I ever did the better for my peace of mind!’

* * *

Ruth gazed out of the drawing-room window, experiencing a distinct feeling of pleasure at the clear signs of spring to be seen everywhere. Although not particularly hard, the winter had seemed interminably long, starting as it had on that never-to-be-forgotten day at the beginning of October. On numerous occasions in recent months she had recalled that particular day. Not only had it brought into her life, for a brief period, one of the most personable gentlemen she’d ever encountered, but it had also been, of course, the prelude to a drastic change in her lifestyle and personal circumstances.

As a mark of respect for her late benefactress, Ruth had continued to observe strict mourning for very many weeks, only recently donning more cheerful hues, though still avoiding anything that might be considered unbecomingly bright.

Although she had avoided socialising on a vast scale, she had been determined not to live like a virtual hermit, as the previous owner of Dunsterford Hall had done. She had made several new friends and acquaintances in recent months and, as a consequence, the house saw many more visitors crossing its portals. One frequent visitor was the late Lady Beatrice Lindley’s man of business. He had worked tirelessly on Ruth’s behalf, most especially during those early weeks, when Lady Beatrice’s two sisters had attempted to contest the will. They had been unsuccessful and now Dunsterford Hall was legally hers to do with as she chose.

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