“I have the claim to you, Miss Kellaway.”

“I think not, sir!” she responded furiously. “Upon my word, you have a strange concept of possession! What gives you that right?”

“Those who put themselves up for sale, Miss Kellaway—” Seagrave began, only to break off as she interrupted him with no thought for courtesy.

“I am not to be bought, sir, nor have I ever been! You may take your insulting suggestions elsewhere!”

The Virtuous Cyprian

Harlequin Historical

Harlequin Historicals is delighted to introduce author Nicola Cornick

Brand-new to Harlequin Historical, British author Nicola Cornick had her North American publishing debut in March 2001 with her Regency True Colours.

Be sure to look for the sequel to True Colours, The Larkswood Legacy, from Harlequin Reader’s Choice in July 2001

and the sequel to The Virtuous Cyprian, Lady Polly, from Harlequin Historical in August 2001

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The Virtuous Cyprian
Nicola Cornick

THE VIRTUOUS CYPRIAN

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 One

Nicholas John Rosslyn Seagrave, eighth Earl of Seagrave and Dillingham, was contemplating matrimony. It was not the abstract state that preoccupied him as he strolled along Bond Street in the afternoon sunshine, but his own approaching nuptials, confirmed that very morning by a notice in the Gazette. Miss Louise Elliott, his future Countess, was everything that his pride and lineage demanded: well-bred, accomplished and pretty, albeit in an insipidly pale way. He should have been delighted; instead, he was beset by the habitual boredom which had dogged his heels since his return from the Peninsular Wars several years earlier. All the delights of Town, sampled in full measure, had failed to alleviate this ennui. Now it seemed that his impending marriage could not lift his spirits either.

Some seventy miles away on Seagrave’s Suffolk estate, it was also a somnolent summer afternoon, and the Earl’s agent, Mr Josselyn, was dozing surreptitiously at his desk in the Dillingham Manor Court. There had been very little business to keep him awake. A dispute over the enclosure of common land had been resolved with the offender reluctantly agreeing to remove his fence; a violent argument between two of the villagers over the antecedents of a certain horse one had sold the other had led to fines on both sides. The last matter of the afternoon was the transfer of a copyhold tenancy on an estate house to the nephew of the late occupant. Mr Josselyn shuffled his papers, anxious to be away. He cleared his throat.

‘Mr Walter Mutch has petitioned that the copyhold tenancy for the house named Cookes in the village of Dillingham be transferred to him, by right of inheritance on behalf of his mother, sister of the previous lessee, Mr George Kellaway…’

The sonorous words echoed in the high rafters. Walter Mutch, a dark young man whom Josselyn privately considered rather wild, got to his feet with a show of respect. Josselyn examined him cynically. Mutch had never been close to his maternal uncle, but had seen his chance quickly enough to claim the house on Kellaway’s death. Cookes was a fine property, set back from the village green and with several acres of orchard and gardens attached. Kellaway had been a gentleman of means, but his interests as a scholar and explorer had led him to choose to rent a house rather than maintain his own home during his long absences abroad. He had been a friend and contemporary of the previous Earl of Seagrave, and it had been natural for him to take a house on the estate. The copyhold agreement under which Kellaway had held Cookes was unusual, allowing for the tenancy to be inherited and not to revert to the Manor. Not that Lord Seagrave would care about the disposal of a minor property like Cookes, his agent thought a little sadly. The Earl seldom visited his Suffolk estate, evidently preferring the more sophisticated pleasures of the capital.

Josselyn was suddenly distracted by a movement at the back of the room. The courtroom door swung open, the draught of fresh air setting the dust motes dancing and bringing with it the scents of summer. He frowned. Who could be disturbing the court session at this late stage?

‘The petition of Walter Mutch having been given due consideration, this court agrees that the house called Cookes be transferred to his name from this, the fifth day of June in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixteen, and in the fifty-sixth year of the reign of our most gracious sovereign King—’

‘One moment, sir!’

The clerk’s quill spluttered on the parchment at the unexpected interruption and he reached hastily for the sand box to help staunch the flow of ink. Josselyn was dazzled by the sunlight and shaded his eyes impatiently.

‘Who wishes to speak? Step forward!’

The door closed behind the newcomer, cutting off the light. A whisper ran round the sparsely populated courtroom.

‘Your pardon, sir.’ A woman was coming forward to Josselyn’s desk, gliding across the wooden floor like a ghost, garbed in unrelieved black and heavily veiled. She moved with youth and grace. He watched her approach incredulously. At the back of the room an older woman, also dressed in black, slid self-consciously into a seat by the door. The newcomer had reached the clerk’s table now and was putting back her veil. Josselyn, and every male member of the courtroom below the age of eighty, caught his breath at the dazzling fairness that was revealed. Hair the colour of spun silver curled about a face that could only be described as enchantingly pretty. Eyes of a charming, limpid cornflower blue met his confidingly. Her nose was small and straight, her complexion peaches and spilt cream, and that soft pink, smiling mouth…Josselyn felt himself go hot under the collar.

‘Madam?’ All the assurance had gone out of Josselyn’s manner. The whole room appeared to be holding its breath.

‘I ask pardon, sir, for this intrusion.’ Her voice was low, musical and slightly husky. A lady, Josselyn thought, even more perplexed. He adjusted his spectacles and fixed her with what he hoped was a professional regard.

‘In what manner may we serve you, madam?’

Her voice, though quiet, carried to all corners of the room. ‘In this manner, sir. My name is Susanna Kellaway of Portman Square, London, and I claim the house of Cookes by right of inheritance as the elder daughter of the late George Kellaway.’

Mr Josselyn might be a dry-as-dust old lawyer, buried in the country, but even he had heard of Susanna Kellaway. Who had not heard of the scandalous Susanna Kellaway, one of the most famous courtesans in London? The outrageous Susanna, who had been mistress to a whole parade of rich and famous men and whose career had reached new heights recently in a highly publicised and disreputable affair with the Duke of Penscombe? Josselyn found that he was almost gasping for breath. Could this bird of paradise really be the daughter of the scholarly recluse who had lived quietly in Dillingham for over thirty years?

Walter Mutch was on his feet, his chair clattering back. He had always had a hot temper and was several degrees below his late uncle’s station in country society. He saw no need to hold his tongue. ‘It’s a lie!’ he shouted hoarsely. ‘My uncle never had a child! I protest—’ He started forward, only to be restrained by his younger brother.

‘There must be some mistake…’ Josselyn began hopelessly, and looked up to meet the comprehension and wicked mischief in the lady’s eyes, which told him more eloquently than any words that his identification of her had been correct.

‘I assure you that there is no mistake, sir,’ Susanna Kellaway said, with cool confidence. ‘I have here my parents’ marriage lines and the record of my birth. As I said, sir, I am the rightful claimant to Cookes!’ She placed the papers in front of Josselyn, but they could have been written in Chinese for all the sense he could make of them in his current state of agitation.

The whole courtroom burst into uproar. Mutch was shouting, his brother pulling on his arm to try to quieten him. The clerk was banging his gavel and demanding order, but no one was taking any notice. All occupants of the room had turned to their neighbours and were avidly debating whether George Kellaway had ever had a daughter, and which members of the village could remember. And such a daughter! Josselyn looked hopelessly at the lady in question and saw that she was enjoying his discomfiture. She evidently appreciated both the effect she invariably had on men and also the drama she had caused. She leant across his table and he caught a tantalising hint of expensive perfume.

‘My lawyer will be in touch to negotiate the terms of the lease,’ she said with a charming smile. ‘I bid you good day, sir.’ And so saying, she turned on her heel and walked out, leaving Josselyn in the midst of the disarray, contemplating the ruin of his afternoon. He reached instinctively for paper and ink with a hand that shook. Normally he would not trouble Lord Seagrave with estate matters, but in this instance…He shook his head incredulously. He dared not risk leaving his lordship in ignorance of this astounding piece of news. Besides, the situation was too complex for him. He had no notion of how Seagrave would feel at a notorious Cyprian establishing herself on his country estate. Remembering the Cyprian and her melting smile, Josselyn came out in a hot sweat again. No, indeed—Lord Seagrave would have to be told.

‘Whatever can have brought you here, Susanna?’

A less thick-skinned woman than Susanna Kellaway might have noticed the lack of enthusiasm in her sister’s voice, but she had become inured to snubs over the years. Besides, she knew that Lucille’s cool welcome stemmed less from disapproval of her twin than recognition of the fact that Susanna only sought her out when she wanted something. She gave her sister the benefit of her feline smile and waved one white hand in a consciously elegant gesture.

‘Why, I came to commiserate with you on the death of our dear father! I assume that you had heard?’

A frown darkened Lucille Kellaway’s fine blue eyes. She was sitting in the prescribed manner for her pupils at Miss Pym’s School for Young Ladies, Oakham: upright with her hands neatly folded in her lap and her feet neatly aligned and peeping from beneath the hem of her old blue merino gown.

‘I collect that you refer to the death of George Kellaway? Yes, I heard the news from Mrs Markham.’ She sighed. ‘I fear that I always think of the Markhams as our true parents, for all that our father paid for our upkeep and education!’

Susanna made a pretty moue. In the school’s shabby parlour she looked both golden and exotic, too rich for her surroundings. ‘For my part, I have no filial regard for either Gilbert Markham or George Kellaway!’ she declared strongly. ‘The former left us penniless and the latter never did anything for us, either living or dead! First he gave us away as babies, then he refused to have anything to do with us whilst we were growing up. When Mr Markham died and we needed him, where was he?’ She answered her own question bitterly. ‘Travelling in China! And we were left to make shift for ourselves! In my opinion, it’s a most unnatural father who can treat his children such, dismissing them without a thought!’

Lucille Kellaway’s own opinion was that there was no point in feeling resentful about their treatment at the hands of a man neither of them had ever known and could not regard as a father. George Kellaway, widowed when his wife had died in childbirth, had obviously considered himself incapable of raising two daughters on his own. It was also incompatible with his lifestyle as an academic and explorer. He was therefore fortunate that he had a childless cousin, Gilbert Markham, who was only too pleased to take on the responsibility for the children’s upbringing. And they had been happy and well-cared for, Lucille reflected fairly. George Kellaway had provided the money to see his daughters educated at Miss Pym’s school, and they had spent the holidays at the Markhams’ vicarage near Ipswich.

Their father had never shown any desire to set eyes on his offspring again, but then he had been forever travelling in Europe and, when war broke out, further afield. It would perhaps have been useful to have had him to turn to on Mr Markham’s death, for their adoptive father had left his small competence solely to his wife and the young daughter the couple had unexpectedly produced in later life. There had not been sufficient fortune to keep four people, and Markham had clearly expected Kellaway to support his own daughters. Lucille shrugged. What point was there now in regretting the fact that George Kellaway had been abroad on his cousin’s death, and totally unable to help his children even if he had had the inclination? He had not even appeared to have a man of business to whom they could apply. Penniless, they had been obliged to make their own way in the world—and they had chosen very different courses.

‘Did he leave you anything in his will?’ Susanna asked suddenly, the carelessness of her tone belied by the sharp cupidity in her eyes.

Lucille raised her finely arched brows. ‘His will? I thought he died intestate—in Tibet, was it not? But since he had no property—’

Susanna relaxed again, the same little, catlike smile on her lips. ‘Now that is where you are wrong, dear sis! I have been living in our father’s house this week past! And a sad bore it has been too,’ she added, with a petulant frown.

The entry of the school’s housemaid with a pot of tea prevented Lucille from asking her sister to explain this extraordinary sentence. The maid cast Susanna one wary but fascinated look before pinning her gaze firmly on the floor as Miss Pym had undoubtedly instructed her to do. She put the tray before Lucille and backed out, but as she was leaving the room she could not resist another look at the wondrous creature draped over the parlour sofa. Miss Kellaway was so beautiful, she thought wistfully, with her silver gilt curls and warm blue eyes—and that dress of red silk…and the beautiful diamond necklace around her slim throat, a present, no doubt, from the besotted Duke of Penscombe. Fallen woman or not, Susanna Kellaway was much envied at that moment.

‘Thank you, Molly,’ Lucille said, a hint of amusement in her voice, and the maid was recalled to the present and could only wonder how so luscious a beauty as Miss Kellaway could have a twin sister as plain as Miss Lucille.

The door closed behind her, and Lucille considered her sister thoughtfully, seeing her through Molly’s eyes. Susanna had disposed herself artfully on the sofa to display her figure to advantage. Lucille imagined this to be a reflex action of her sister’s since there were no gentlemen present to impress, although she expected the drawing and music masters to appear on some spurious excuse at any moment. The dress of clinging red silk which Molly had so admired plunged indecently at the front and was almost as low at the back; completely inappropriate for the daytime, Lucille thought, particularly within the portals of a school full of impressionable young girls. That Susanna had even been allowed over the threshold of such an establishment had amazed Lucille, for Miss Pym had never made any secret of the fact that she deplored the fact that one of her former pupils had become ‘a woman of low repute’. Miss Pym clearly felt that Susanna’s fall from grace reflected directly on the moral failure of the school.

‘You were saying, sister?’ she prompted gently.

‘Oh, yes, my sojourn in Suffolk!’ Susanna stifled a delicate yawn. ‘A monstrous tedious place, the country!’ She stopped.

Lucille, used to her sister’s butterfly mind since childhood, did not display any impatience. ‘Did I understand you to be saying that you had been visiting our father’s house? I was not aware that he owned—’

‘But of course you were! We were born at Cookes! I understand that Mr Kellaway always lived there between his travels!’

Lucille frowned in an attempt to unravel this. ‘Of course I knew of Cookes, but I thought it to be leased. Yet you say you have inherited it?’

Susanna smiled patronisingly. ‘I have inherited the lease, of course! Old Barnes told me all about it—you remember Mr Markham’s lawyer? I kept him on to deal with my business—why, whatever is the matter?’

Lucille had clapped her hand to her mouth in horror. ‘Susanna, you do not employ Mr Barnes as your lawyer? Good God, the man’s business was composed solely of country doctors and parsons! Surely you shocked him to the core!’

Her sister threw back her head with a gurgle of laughter. ‘Which shows how little you know of business, Luce! Barnes was only too happy to take on the work I gave him! What was I saying—oh yes, it was Barnes who read of our father’s death and drew to my attention the fact that I had a claim on the copyhold of Cookes. He is nothing if not thorough! And I thought—why not? There might be some financial advantage in it! After all, mine is not a very secure profession!’

Lucille put down the china teapot and passed her sister a cup. ‘I see. So you have the right to claim the house and its effects as George Kellaway’s eldest child?’

‘So Barnes tells me. But there is no inheritance, for he spent all his money on his travels, and the house is full of nothing but books and bizarre artefacts from China!’ Susanna looked disgusted. ‘It’s all of a piece, I suppose! At any rate, you need not envy me my good fortune!’ She gave her sister her flashing smile.

Lucille raised her teacup and drank thoughtfully. ‘But what are the terms of the lease? I collect our father held the house from the Earl of Seagrave?’

‘Lud, who knows?’ Susanna shrugged pettishly. ‘I leave all that to Barnes, of course! Anyway, it is the dullest place on earth and if it were not for the fact that I may have something to gain, I would not stay there another moment, I assure you!’

She looked a little furtive. ‘Actually, Luce, it was that which brought me here. You see, I need to go away for a little and I want you to go to Cookes and pretend to be me.’

Lucille, who had just taken a mouthful of tea, almost choked. She swallowed hard, the tears coming to her eyes. Susanna was watching her with a calculating look which made those limpid blue eyes look suddenly hard. There was a silence, broken only by the distant voices of some of the girls as they played rounders outside. Lucille put her teacup down very carefully.

‘I think you must be either mad or in jest to make such a suggestion, Susanna.’ Her voice was level and quite definite. ‘To what purpose? Such childish tricks were all very well when we were in the schoolroom, but now? I would not even consider it!’

Susanna was now looking as offended as her indolence would allow. ‘Upon my word, you have grown most disagreeable since we last met! This is no childish ploy; I was never more in earnest! Do you think I would travel all the way from Suffolk to Oakham for a mere jest…’ she gave an exaggerated shudder ‘…and stay in the most appalling inns along the way just for the pleasure of it? Well, I declare! You are the one whose wits are going begging!’

There was some truth in this, Lucille reflected. Susanna could be relied upon never to do anything against her own comfort. She knew she should not give the suggestion a moment’s thought, not even discuss it…and yet…

‘Why on earth do you need me to consent to so foolish a masquerade?’ Her curiosity had got the better of her, for Susanna was looking both dogged and determined, expressions normally alien to her.

‘I need you to do it because I have to go away,’ Susanna said with emphasis. ‘Sir Edwin Bolt has invited me to go to Paris with him, and I cannot risk delay. I do not want to let him escape me!’ She pulled a dainty face. ‘The timing is most unfortunate!’

Something which might have been pity stirred in Lucille. ‘Is Sir Edwin so important, then, Susanna? Do you love him?’

Susanna laughed, a bitter sound which matched the scornful sparkle in her eyes. ‘Love! Lud, no! But he might be persuaded to marry me! And you know, Luce, we are neither of us young any more. Twenty-seven! I cannot bear to think of it!’ Her unsentimental blue gaze considered her sister. ‘I suppose you might continue teaching here until you died, but it’s different for me. I need to secure my future!’

Lucille swallowed her sister’s carelessly hurtful reference to her own prospects. ‘I see. But I thought that you had claimed Cookes for that purpose…’

‘Exactly!’ Susanna rewarded her with a flashing smile, as though she had said something particularly clever. ‘I cannot be in two places at once! My best chance lies with Sir Edwin—after all, he might make me a lady!’ She did not appear to see the humour in her own remark. ‘But at the same time I do not wish to relinquish my claim on Cookes in case there is some money in it for me! It really is so unfair! Why did our father have to die so inconveniently?’

Lucille’s lips twitched at this supreme piece of self-centredness. ‘I daresay he did not think of it,’ she said, with a sarcasm that completely passed her sister by. ‘Forgive me if I am being a slowtop, but I do not really understand why you feel you cannot leave Cookes now. Surely there could be no danger in you travelling abroad for a little now that you have secured the lease?’

Susanna pulled a face. ‘But I know they want me out of that house! They wish I had never claimed it!’ She saw her sister’s look of scepticism and hurried on a little defensively, ‘Oh you can look like that, Luce, but you didn’t see those lawyers! They have been pestering me all week, trying to disprove my claim! I know they don’t want me there! Why, they will break the lease if I give them half a chance, and then I may never be able to claim the inheritance I deserve! So I daren’t go away without knowing that there’s someone to look after my interests, and it’s easiest for you just to pretend to be me for a little while! That way it looks as though I’m really interested in living in the house. After all,’ she added, tactlessly, ‘no one even knows you exist, so they would not suspect!’

Lucille felt as though she was struggling in a quicksand. ‘But cannot your lawyer represent your interests? After all, he was the one who told you of your claim to Cookes in the first place. Would he not be the most appropriate person—’

Susanna was shaking her head stubbornly. ‘But my lawyer is in Holborn! I need someone in Suffolk! I need you, Lucille!’

‘But, Susanna,’ Lucille said helplessly, ‘the deception…It is fraud, after all! And if they were to realise—’

Susanna curled her lip. ‘Lud, you always were so pious, Luce! No one would guess! The only person you could possibly meet is old Josselyn, the agent, and even he has probably tired of trying to disprove my claim and will leave you alone! I thought you might like a chance to look at Cookes,’ she added slyly. ‘It is full of dusty old tomes that would no doubt be fascinating to you. For myself, I cannot bear bookish things, but I know that you are the most complete bluestocking.’

There was another silence whilst Lucille struggled against an inner compulsion. ‘It wouldn’t work,’ she said, more forcefully this time. ‘Why, we do not even look alike!’

Superficially, this was true. Lucille felt her twin’s gaze skim her with faintly malicious consideration. She knew what she must look like to Susanna’s sophisticated eyes: a country dowd in an old dress, angular where Susanna was generously curved, her silver fair hair several shades paler and drawn back in a disfiguring bun. They had the same sapphire blue eyes, but whilst Susanna made flirtatious use of hers, Lucille’s were customarily hidden behind her reading glasses. Lucille’s complexion was porcelain pale, without any of the cosmetic aids which Susanna so artfully employed—powder and rouge for the cheeks, carmine for the lips, kohl for the eyes…The effect was spectacular and could only serve to underline the differences between them.

It was three years since Lucille had seen her sister, and she felt that Susanna had not changed in either appearance or attitude. It was typical of Susanna to arrive without warning, demanding that her sister embark on some harebrained escapade just to oblige her. Lucille, forever cast in the role of the sensible twin, had tried to restrain her sister’s wilder schemes in their youth, but to little avail. Susanna was headstrong and obstinate, and had not improved with age. Lucille could still remember the horror she had felt when Susanna had announced defiantly that, their adoptive father’s death having left them destitute, she would try her luck among the demi-monde in London. She had been quite determined and neither her sister’s reasoned arguments nor the shocked disgust of their remaining family had swayed her. That had been nine years ago, and who was to say that she had been wrong? Lucille thought, with faint irony. Susanna had never been troubled by the moral dimension of her choice and materialistically she had done very well for herself.

Susanna got to her feet with the fluid grace that was one of her trademarks, and crossed to her sister’s side, pulling her to her feet. They regarded their reflections in the parlour mirror, one a pale shadow of the rich colour of the other.

‘You could be made to look like me,’ Susanna said, slowly. ‘’Tis only a matter of clothes and cosmetics, and no one at Dillingham has seen me properly—why, I’ve told you, no one but Seagrave’s agents have called in a week! So you see…’ she gave Lucille a calculating sideways look ‘…you need consult nothing but your own inclination! It would not be for long, and I daresay you could do with a holiday from this prison!’

Lucille jumped, shaken, for her sister had hit upon the one truth which Lucille did not wish to acknowledge. Over the past few months, Lucille had been aware of an increasing need to escape the claustrophobic confines and predictable routines of the school. She needed time to read, study, walk and be on her own, but she had had nowhere to go. In some ways the genteel world of the school, the endless classes of little girls, the restricted horizons of all the teachers, was indeed the prison Susanna described.

Susanna was virtually all the family Lucille possessed and Susanna had made it clear long ago that her antecedents were not an asset in her chosen course in life, and she would be obliged to her twin if she did not broadcast their relationship. This suited Lucille, who could see that it would not be to her advantage to claim sistership with one of the most infamous Cyprians in London. The parents of her pupils would be outraged—or believe that she was cast in the same mould. It was a strange twist of fate that had cast two sisters adrift in the world for one to turn into a bluestocking and the other a courtesan.

Lucille sighed. She had no illusions that Susanna wanted to use her, but more than half of her was crying out to her to seize the chance Susanna was offering. The prospect of spending some time in the house where their father had lived and worked held a curious appeal for her. But an impersonation was both foolhardy and immoral, the voice of her conscience told her severely. But it would not be for long, temptation countered defensively, and she would not really be doing anything wrong…

‘How long do you think you would be away for?’ she asked cautiously, and was rewarded by a vivid smile from Susanna, who sensed that her battle was already won.

‘No more than a week or two,’ she said carelessly, resuming her languid pose on the sofa. ‘And you would need to do no more than occupy the house. I do not imagine that anyone will call—doubtless it will all be a dead bore, but then you must be accustomed to such tedium far more than I!’ Her disparaging look encompassed the faded respectability of the school parlour. ‘Lud, how I detest this shabby-genteel place!’ With a chameleon change of mood, she smiled on her sister once more. ‘Oh, say you will do it, Lucille! You would so enjoy a change of scene!’

Lucille bit her lip at her sister’s shamelessness. Unfortunately Susanna was right. Whilst the idea of the impersonation appalled her, the lure of Cookes definitely held a strange charm.

‘All right, Susanna,’ she said wryly. ‘No doubt I shall live to regret it, but I will help you.’

Susanna glanced at the ugly clock on the parlour mantelpiece. Now that she had got what she wanted she did not wish to linger. ‘Lord, I must be going or that old gorgon will be turning me out of doors!’ She turned eagerly to her sister and clasped her hands. ‘Oh, thank you, Luce! I’ll send for you soon!’

She let her sister go and scooped up her fur stole and jewelled reticule. ‘You must not worry that you will have to deal with anyone I know,’ she added carelessly, with one hand on the doorknob. ‘No one of my acquaintance would be seen dead in the country!’

‘And the Earl of Seagrave?’ Lucille asked suddenly. ‘He is the owner of Cookes, is he not? There is no likelihood of him coming down to Suffolk?’

Susanna stared. ‘Seagrave? Upon my word, what an extraordinary idea! He has no interest in the case, I assure you! Why, Seagrave employs an army of agents and lawyers in order to avoid having to involve himself in his estates!’

Lucille turned away so that her sister could not see her face, and made a business of collecting up the cups and saucers. ‘Do you know him, Susanna? What manner of man is he?’

Had Susanna had more interest in the motivation and feelings of others, this enquiry might have struck her as odd coming from her bookish sister. However, she seldom thought beyond her own wishes and needs. She wrinkled up her nose, frowning with the unaccustomed mental effort of trying to sum up someone’s character.

‘He is a charming man,’ she said, at length, ‘handsome, rich, generous…Lud, I don’t know! He does not belong to my set—he is too high in the instep for me! But you need have no fears, Lucille—as I said, Seagrave don’t care a fig about Cookes!’

Lucille stood by the window, watching as her sister ascended elegantly into the waiting carriage. Her thoughts were elsewhere. In her mind’s eye she could see another June morning, a year previously, when the bright, fresh day had lured her early from her bed. Lucille’s bedroom was at the back of the school, overlooking a quiet lane and the courtyard of the local coaching inn, The Bell. Lucille had thrown her casement window wide, relishing the light breeze on her face, the quiet before the routine of the school day began. She had been leaning on the sill when there was a commotion in the inn yard and a spanking new curricle had driven in, its driver calling for fresh horses.

Lucille had stared transfixed as he had jumped lightly down and engaged the landlord in conversation whilst the grooms ran to change his team. He was tall, with the broad-shouldered and muscular physique of a sportsman; a figure which showed to advantage in the tight buckskins visible beneath his driving coat as he swung round to view the progress of the grooms. The early morning sun burnished his thick dark hair to a rich chestnut and illuminated the hard planes of his face. Lucille had caught her breath and suddenly, as though disturbed by her scrutiny, the man had looked up directly at her. It had been an extraordinary moment. Lucille had stood frozen, the breeze flattening the transparent linen of her nightdress against her body and stirring the tendrils of silver blond hair that were for once loose about her face. It was as though they were only feet apart as the man very deliberately held her gaze for what seemed like forever. Then he grinned, his teeth showing very white in his tanned face, and raised a casual hand in greeting before turning away, and Lucille slammed the casement shut, her face aflame with embarrassment. And it was only later, whilst out in the town, that she had heard that their illustrious visitor had been none other than the Earl of Seagrave…

Lucille found that she was staring blankly out into the empty street. A wave of heat washed over her at the memory of the encounter. Never had the even tempo of her life at the school been so disrupted! Accustomed to seeking a rational explanation to everything that happened to her, Lucille was completely at a loss to explain the startling compulsion that had drawn her eyes to Seagrave in the first place and then held her captive staring in such a shameless manner! And then for him to notice her standing there immodestly in her shift! Well, Lucille thought, tearing her mind away, there was no danger of the experience recurring. Susanna had reassured her of that. Which, a small corner of her mind persisted in telling her quite firmly, was a great pity but perhaps for the best.

The atmosphere in the crowded gaming room was tense. There was no doubt that the Earl of Seagrave had had the run of the cards; several less fortunate players had been forced to retire, their pockets to let, grumbling wryly about his diabolical luck. His dark gaze was intent, a slight frown between his brows as he concentrated on the cards. It was a face of character, perhaps a little too harsh to be classically handsome, the dark, gold-flecked eyes deep and unreadable.

Another hand ended in his favour—and from the doorway, with disastrous clarity, came the stage whisper of some luckless sprig of nobility:

‘Lucky at cards, unlucky in love, they say…It’s all over the Town that Miss Elliott is about to throw him over…this business of the Cyprian…too blatant, only a week after their betrothal…on my honour, it’s true…’

Too late, someone shushed him and he fell suddenly silent. Seagrave turned his head, and the crowd fell back to expose the speaker as one Mr Caversham, very young and cruelly out of his depth.

‘Pray continue, Caversham.’ All Seagrave’s acquaintances recognised the note of steel beneath that silky drawl. His dark eyes were coldly dispassionate as they pinned his victim to the spot. ‘Your audience is rapt. Miss Elliott is about to terminate our engagement, you say. Further, I infer that the reason is some…alliance of mine with a certain barque of frailty? Did your informant also vouchsafe the name of this ladybird? I feel sure they must have done, Caversham.’

There was a profound silence as Mr Caversham’s mouth opened and closed without a sound. All colour had fled from his face, leaving him looking pitifully young and vulnerable. The Honourable Peter Seagrave, exchanging a watchful look with Lord Robert Verney across the card table, shook his head slightly in answer to Verney’s quizzically raised eyebrows. They had seen Seagrave in this mood before and understood something of the devils that drove him. Peter put a tentative hand on his brother’s arm and felt the tension in him as taut as a coiled spring.

‘Nick, let be! The fellow’s a foolish puppy who knows no better—’

Seagrave did not appear to hear him. He shook the restraining hand off his arm and got slowly to his feet. There was a collective intake of breath. Caversham was tall, but Seagrave towered over the younger man. Strong fingers reached for the neckcloth at Caversham’s throat, drawing him inexorably closer in the Earl’s merciless grasp.

‘Do please reconsider your silence, Caversham,’ Seagrave said, still in the same, smoothly dangerous tones. ‘You possess a certain piece of information which I am anxious for you to disclose.’ He gave his victim a slight shake.

Caversham was a fool but he was no coward. His mouth dry, his neckcloth intolerably tight, he managed to gasp, ‘It is Susanna Kellaway, my lord! I heard…I heard that she had taken a house on your Suffolk estate…The story is all over Town.’

Seagrave gave him an unpleasant smile. ‘True in all particulars! I congratulate you, Caversham!’ The young man was released so suddenly that he almost fell over. Loosening his collar with fingers that shook, Caversham watched as Seagrave unhurriedly turned back to the card table, collected the pile of guineas, rouleaus and IOUs and sketched a mocking bow to his companions.

‘My apologies, gentlemen. I find some of the company here little to my taste. Peter, do you come with me, or would you prefer to stay?’

There was a bright light of amusement in Peter Seagrave’s brown eyes. ‘Oh, I’m with you, Nick, all the way!’

The whispers gathered pace as they went down the stairs. ‘Can it be true? He did not deny it…So la belle Susanna has thrown the Duke over for a mere Earl?’

Seagrave gave no sign that he heard a word as they left the club. His face might have been carved from stone. The brothers went out into the cold morning air, where a hint of dawn already touched the eastern sky. Once out in the street, Seagrave set off for St James’s at a brisk pace which demonstrated that he was stone-cold sober. His brother almost had to run to keep up. Peter, who had been invalided out of the army after Waterloo the previous year, had still not quite recovered from the bullets he had received in the chest and thigh and after a few minutes of this route march he was forced to protest.

‘For God’s sake, Nick, slow down! Do you want to finish what the French started?’

That won him a glance with a flicker of amusement and although Seagrave did not reply, he slowed his pace to a more moderate rate that enabled his brother to keep up without too much difficulty. Not for the first time, Peter wished that his brother was not so difficult to read, his moods so impenetrable. It had not always been so. Now, for instance, he sensed that Seagrave was blindingly angry, but knew he would say nothing without prompting. Peter sighed and decided to risk it.

‘Nick, what’s all this about? When that idiot Caversham started talking I thought it was all a hum, but you knew all about it already, didn’t you? You wanted him to tell everyone about Miss Kellaway!’

There was a silence, then Seagrave sighed. ‘Your percipience does you credit, little brother.’ There was a mocking edge to his words. He drove his hands deep into his coat pockets. ‘Yes, I knew. Josselyn wrote me some garbled letter earlier this week to tell me that Miss Kellaway—’ he sounded as though there was a bad taste in his mouth ‘—had claimed a house in Dillingham. I wanted to see how much of the story had become common knowledge.’

Peter was frowning. ‘But if you already knew about the Cyprian, why did you not take action?’

He waited, and heard his brother sigh again. ‘I did not think that it mattered,’ Seagrave said, with the weary boredom that was habitual.

‘Did not think—?’ Peter broke off. He was one of the very few who knew the depth of his brother’s disaffection since his return from the wars, his apparent lack of purpose in civilian life. They had shared similar experiences whilst on campaign and Peter could see why Seagrave had been so deeply affected and had found it difficult to settle in a society that seemed to offer only instant, superficial gratification. Peter had the happy temperament to be able to recover from his harrowing experiences, albeit slowly, but Seagrave had always been much deeper, had dwelt more on all that he had experienced. It was as though some part of him had become shut away, unreachable and uninterested.

Nothing could hold his attention for long. He had the entrée into any ton function that he chose to honour with his presence. He had women fawning on him and a fortune to spend at the card tables. He could not even be accused of being a bad landlord and neglecting his estates, for he made scrupulously careful arrangements to ensure that all his tenants’ needs were met. He just chose never to attend to such matters himself. No wonder then that a letter from Josselyn had met with such indifference.

Seagrave sighed again. ‘I see now that I was naive in thinking that it did not affect me.’ His tone was coolly reflective. ‘It needed only for some busybody to hear the tale—as they have done—for it to be all over Town. And now Miss Elliott is to give me my congé! I wish I cared more!’

Peter frowned. He knew that Seagrave had never pretended to have any more regard for Louise Elliott than the mutual respect one would expect to have for one’s future wife, and he also knew that this had nothing to do with the exquisite actress which his brother currently had in keeping in a discreet villa in Chelsea. But even if his feelings were not engaged, the match with Louise was worth preserving if possible.

‘Go and see the Elliotts tomorrow,’ he urged. ‘I am sure all can be put to rights. Louise is a sensible girl and will understand the truth of the matter.’

Seagrave’s mouth twisted with wry amusement. ‘Just so, Peter. I am persuaded you are correct. My future wife is indeed the sort of cold-blooded young woman who could easily ignore the fact that I had a Cyprian in keeping. What she is less likely to forgive, however, is the public humiliation that will reflect on her now that this story is known. And in order to avoid future misunderstandings, I reluctantly feel it is my duty to travel to Dillingham and ascertain exactly what the situation is.’ His voice hardened. ‘I am sure that, with the right inducement, Miss Kellaway can be impelled to see sense.’

Peter had never met Susanna Kellaway but suddenly, hearing the underlying anger in his brother’s voice, he found himself feeling very sorry for her indeed. A thought occurred to him.

‘I say, Nick, do you know Miss Kellaway at all?’

‘Not in the sense you mean,’ Seagrave said dryly. ‘I’ve met her, of course.’ His tone was unpleasant. ‘A cheap little piece with a commercial mind—and the commodity she sells is herself.’ He hesitated. ‘Do you remember Miranda Lethbridge?’

‘Cousin Sally Lethbridge’s girl?’ Peter frowned. ‘Yes, of course—she was about fifteen when I went away in ’12. Why do you ask?’

‘Miranda made her come out a couple of years ago.’ Seagrave sounded amused. ‘You may remember her as a child in pinafores, Peter, but she had improved dramatically and there were plenty who fell at her feet.’ The amusement fled from his tone. ‘Amongst them was Justin Tatton, whom you may remember served with me in Spain. He was bowled over by Miranda and she was equally smitten. We all thought they’d make a match of it.’ Seagrave’s voice was suddenly savage. ‘Miss Kellaway had other ideas, however. This was before Penscombe swam into view, and though Justin has no title, he was rich…Anyway, she made a dead set at him, and in a weak moment he succumbed.’ Seagrave shrugged, a little uncomfortably. ‘God knows, I am in no position to judge another man, but the unutterable folly…Justin said later that it had been a moment of madness, that after a single night he felt nothing but disgust and repulsion. But the damage was done. He begged Susanna Kellaway to tell no one, but she was furious that she could not hold him, and she made very sure that Miranda heard—and in the worst terms possible. Naturally the poor girl was devastated. She refused to even speak to Justin, and last year she made that hasty marriage to Wareham…’ Seagrave shook his head.

‘I am not a sentimentalist,’ he added with a touch of humour, ‘but I deplore the way Miss Kellaway takes whatever she wants with no concern for the destruction she causes! Even in my worst excesses I was never so careless of the feelings of others, and God knows, I have done some damnably stupid things in my time!’

Peter was silent. When Seagrave had first returned home from the Peninsula he had been possessed by a spirit of wildness which Peter suspected was the result of escaping the war with his life intact. He knew that as one of Wellington’s most promising officers, his brother had been sent on some secret and highly dangerous missions and had brushed with death on more than one occasion. He had fought with the Portuguese militia, the ordenanca, as well as covering himself with glory in a more orthodox manner on the battlefield of Talavera. Seagrave’s reaction to civilian life had been a very public and unrestrained year of hell-raising that blazed a trail through the ton until it had burned itself out and he had changed into the deeply world-weary individual he was now.

Seagrave looked up to where the crescent moon was perched above the rooftops, fading from the summer sky as dawn approached. He sighed. ‘No, with Miss Kellaway it is one excess after another! There will always be some poor fool who is besotted and will fall victim to an experienced woman preying on impressionable young men for their fortunes!’

Peter grimaced. ‘I wonder what she wants with you, Nick,’ he mused. ‘You could scarcely be described as an inexperienced youth!’

His brother gave him a cynical glance. ‘Come on, Peter, you’re not an innocent either! She wants money—in one form or another! It’s what she always wants! And I’m damned if she’ll get any out of me!’

The reception which Seagrave met with the following morning at Lord Elliott’s house in Grosvenor Street was not auspicious. The butler had at first tried to turn him away with the news that Miss Elliott was not at home, but Seagrave greeted this information with well-bred disbelief. The butler, flustered, could not stand his ground and could only protest as the Earl swept past him into the drawing-room, where he found both Lady Elliott and her daughter. Seagrave’s intended, a plumply pretty blonde with pale, slightly protruberant blue eyes, looked up from her embroidery frame at his entrance and uttered a small shriek.

‘You!’ she gasped, in tones of outrage. ‘Seagrave! How could you! Oh, I wish I were dead!’ She burst into noisy tears.

Lady Elliott was made of sterner stuff. She swelled with indignation. ‘I am astounded that you see fit to show your face here, my lord! To come from the arms of that creature to my own, sweet, innocent Louise! It defies belief! The notice terminating the engagement has already been sent to the Gazette!’

Louise sobbed all the louder. Seagrave, who had as yet uttered not one word, found that there was no necessity for him to do so. His sense of humour, long buried, began to reassert itself. Giving the outraged matron and her snivelling daughter the full benefit of a wicked smile, he executed an immaculate bow, turned on his heel and left the room.

It was late when the stage pulled into the yard of the Lamb and Flag in Felixstowe and decanted its occupants onto the cobbles. Lucille Kellaway, stiff and sore from the discomforts of her journey, picked up her shabby portmanteau and looked about her. There was no sign of her sister Susanna, despite the agreement that the two had to meet there.

Lucille had found the journey from Oakham fascinating. She had travelled so little that each new view was a delight to her and each new acquaintance was a pleasure to meet. She now knew all about Miss Grafton, a governess about to take up a new position with a family in Ipswich, and Mr Burrows, a lawyer visiting a client in Orford. She had looked out of the coach window and admired the well-kept farmland that stretched as far and as flat as the eye could see, and had glimpsed the sea as they drew into the town.

She struggled towards the inn door, her heavy case weighing her down. The smell of roast meat wafted enticingly from the kitchen and light spilled from the taproom onto the cobbles, accompanied by the sound of male voices and laughter. Lucille shrank. Although not of a timid disposition, she was too shy to march into the public bar and demand attention. The landlady found her cowering in the passageway.

‘I am looking for Miss Kellaway,’ Lucille said, a little shyly, and immediately saw an expression of mingled prurience, curiosity and disgust flit across the good lady’s features.

‘Miss Kellaway and the gentleman are in the private parlour,’ the landlady said, tight-lipped, nodding in the direction of a closed door at the end of the passage. She marched off to the kitchen, leaving Lucille alone.

Lucille knocked a little hesitantly on the door of the parlour. She could hear the intimate murmur of voices, but no one answered her. She pushed the door open and recoiled, almost turning on her heel to run away. Susanna was reclining on the parlour sofa in much the same pose as she had held at the school, but with shocking differences. Her emerald green silk dress was cut very low and it had fallen off one shoulder completely, exposing one of Susanna’s plump breasts. A portly, florid man with thinning sandy hair was leaning over her, fondling her with impatient hands whilst his mouth trailed wet kisses over her shoulder. He looked up, met Lucille’s horrified gaze and straightened up, an unpleasantly challenging look in his eyes.

‘Egad, what’s this! My good woman—’

Susanna pushed him away much as one might repel a fractious child. She hoisted her dress back up without the least embarrassment.

‘This is my sister, Eddie.’ She turned to Lucille, a frown marring her brow. ‘You’re monstrously late, Lucille! I had quite given up hope of you! We sail with the tide tomorrow morning, so there isn’t much time.’ She did not ask whether Lucille had had a good journey, or if she was hungry, nor did she invite her to sit down.

‘Now, my carriage will take you to Dillingham in the morning. I have left Felicity there—my housekeeper, Felicity Appleton,’ she added irritably, seeing Lucille’s look of incomprehension. ‘She will help you choose your clothes appropriately. I have left a large wardrobe at Dillingham, but Eddie will buy me more in Paris, won’t you, darling?’ She touched his hand and fluttered her lashes at him.

The gentleman, whom Lucille assumed to be Sir Edwin Bolt, had been scrutinising her through his quizzing glass these few minutes past with what Lucille considered a most ill-bred regard. Now he guffawed.

‘Take more than a parcel of clothes, Susie m’dear! Why, the girl’s as strait-laced as a nun, and as cold, I’ll wager!’

Lucille flushed and Susanna gave a flounce. ‘Well, she need not meet anyone in Dillingham! I am not asking her to be me!’ She saw his sulky, mulish expression and her tone softened. ‘But I do see what you mean, my love!’ She giggled girlishly. ‘I fear that my prim little twin will never thrill to a man’s touch! The delights of love are not for her!’

Lucille was beginning to feel rather sick. An insight into Susanna’s relationship with her lover was something that repelled rather than interested her. Sir Edwin, mollified, had started to paw Susanna’s shoulder again as though he could not keep away from her. His hot, blue gaze roved lustfully over her opulent curves. The dress slipped a little.

‘Send the girl away so we may pick up where we left off,’ he muttered, pressing avid, open-mouthed kisses on Susanna’s white skin. Lucille looked away, her face flaming.

‘If that is all—’ she said, with constraint.

Susanna had tilted her head back to facilitate the progress of Sir Edwin’s lips down her neck. He was already pulling at her dress again. She waved her sister away. ‘Very well, Luce—’ she sounded like someone dismissing her servant ‘—you may go now. Unless you wish to join us, that is!’

Sir Edwin looked up, a lascivious look suddenly in his eye. ‘Now there’s an idea! Introduce the priggish virgin to fleshly delights, eh? What do you say, Miss Kellaway? Why, we could show you a thing or two…’

Their mocking laughter followed Lucille from the room. She closed the door with exaggerated care and leant against the wall of the passage for a moment to recover herself. Her whole body was one burning blush, her mind revolted, a sick taste in her mouth. That Susanna should have sold herself for that, and not even appear to care…The stone wall was cool beneath her fingers and Lucille was glad of its chill and the darkness that surrounded her. As she straightened up, however, she realised to her horror that she was not alone. At the end of the passageway, hidden from view, two men were talking.

‘…travel on to Dillingham tomorrow. Do you go to the Yoxleys’ for a while?’

It was a mellow voice, the cadences smooth and pleasing to the ear. Lucille paused, her attention arrested despite herself. The other man’s voice was less distinguishable.

‘…a sen’ night, perhaps…join you at the Court…A Seagrave…back at Dillingham, Nick…’

From being overheated, Lucille suddenly found herself icily chill. Surely she could not have misheard? Had the man not mentioned the names of Seagrave and Dillingham? She dropped her portmanteau from nerveless fingers.

The voices cut off abruptly at the crash. Lucille bent clumsily to pick her case up again, only to find that when she stood up her way was blocked by the tall figure of a man. The light was behind him and she could not see his face, but in the claustrophobically small passage, his physical presence was overwhelming.

‘Can I be of assistance, ma’am? Are you unwell?’ His voice was very pleasing to the ear, smooth and mellifluous, Lucille thought again, confused. His hand had taken her elbow in a steadying grip which nevertheless felt as though it burned through the fabric of her dress. She had not heard him speak on that infamous occasion when they had seen each other in Oakham, but she knew instinctively who he was.

‘No…’ Lucille’s voice came out as a thread of a whisper. She looked up into the dark face, into fierce, gold-flecked eyes, and felt quite dizzy. ‘I thank you, sir, I am quite well…Excuse me.’

She had pushed past his astonished figure and was already halfway up the stairs before she realised that she had no notion of where she was going. She paused in dread, hoping that the gentleman would not follow her; a moment later, to her inexpressible relief, she heard a door close softly below. She sat down heavily on her portmanteau and almost cried. Had she been able to return to Oakham at that very moment she would not have hesitated. But Miss Pym had closed the school for the summer, and had gone to visit her good friend Fanny Burney for a few weeks. Lucille realised that she had nowhere to go except Cookes. She leant her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

‘Whatever is it, miss? You look proper moped and no mistake!’ The landlady’s judgmental tone had softened as she considered the shabby, huddled figure. This one was no Cyprian like that painted hussy downstairs! ‘Come along, miss,’ she added encouragingly. ‘I’ll show you to your room. Everything will look better in the morning!’

Chapter Two

‘Miss Kellaway.’ The voice was soft and smooth as warm honey. It spoke in Lucille’s ear.

Lucille had been at Cookes for ten days and thought that she had stumbled into paradise. The house, converted from a charming jumble of medieval cottages, was crammed full of books, treatises and journals enough to keep her occupied for weeks. Her previous reading had been restricted to the books available from Miss Pym’s limited collection and from the Oakham subscription library. At Cookes she could read until the print blurred and her head ached. And then there was the garden—a wilderness where one could wander for hours amidst the rioting roses, or sit in the cool shade of the orchard. It had all been like a blissful dream, a thousand miles away from the petty cares of the school regime and uninterrupted by callers from the outside world.

Lucille’s conscience, originally troubled by the impersonation of Susanna, had grown quiescent as nobody disturbed her peace. The memory of that dreadful night in the inn at Felixstowe had faded away. She now thought it quite possible that she had misheard the snatches of conversation that had led her to believe that the Earl of Seagrave would be in Dillingham, and mistakenly believed him to be the gentleman who had offered her his help. Certainly she had seen neither hide nor hair of him since her arrival.

The other legacy of that evening had been the slow realisation of what an impersonation of Susanna might mean—the memory of the landlady’s prurient scorn and Sir Edwin’s lustful advances still made her shiver. That someone might think she was Susanna, and as such was fair game for such treatment, made her feel ill. In her innocence she had not even considered it before—ignorance, not innocence, she now chided herself bitterly. But while nobody called and she had no wish to go out, it was a matter that could be put to one side, if not ignored.

The warm, southern aspect of Cookes’s drawing-room, with its delightful views across the lawn to the fishpond, had lulled Lucille into a sleepy state of relaxation that afternoon. Her copy of Walter Scott’s Waverley had slid from her hand as her head rested against the panelling and her eyes closed irresistibly in the sunshine. She had removed her reading glasses, which rested on the window-seat beside her, and had drifted into a light doze.

The voice spoke again, this time with an inflection of impatience.

‘Miss Kellaway?’

Lucille opened her eyes slowly, and thought that she was probably still dreaming. Eyes of the darkest bitter chocolate flecked with gold were about three inches away from her own. His face was all planes and angles, she thought, bemused, except for his mouth which, though firm, was sensuously curved and quite delicious…Her gaze lingered, transfixed, and then one of the pins holding her unaccustomed Grecian knot dug into her head painfully, and she realised she was awake.

With growing horror, Lucille removed her gaze hastily from the man’s mouth and met the distinctly speculative look in those dark eyes. They were not friendly but piercingly appraising. He had been leaning on the seat beside her and now straightened up, moving away from her, and Lucille found to her relief that she could breathe again. She struggled upright, aware that the charming gown of rose pink crêpe—one of Susanna’s more restrained dresses—had slipped off her shoulder as she dozed, and was revealing the upper curves of her breasts in a manner to which she was completely unaccustomed. The gentleman, on the other hand, was clearly the sort of man who was used to seeing women in déshabillé. Certainly he was not in the least embarrassed by her obvious discomposure and his gaze lingered with blatant consideration in a way she found completely disconcerting.

‘Miss Kellaway?’ he said for a third time, with the same deceptive gentleness. ‘We have met before, but may I perhaps remind you? I am Nicholas, Earl of Seagrave and as such—’ his voice became heavily ironic ‘—your landlord.’

Lucille already knew. She had recognised him almost at once. He was just as she remembered, only more so. He had a tall, athletic figure, immaculately clad in buff pantaloons and a coat of blue superfine, and the sort of brooding dark good looks that immediately made her feel completely out of her depth. It was the same voice that she remembered, mellow and distinctive. Fortunately he did not appear to have recognised her, but then, he thought she was her sister…Lucille jumped visibly. Oh Lord, Seagrave thought she was Susanna! The scorching heat which had suffused her body when she had first seen him faded abruptly to leave her feeling cold and shaken. She had to tell him at once! For a moment she wavered, within an inch of revealing her true identity. But he looked so authoritative, so forbidding, that her courage failed her. Surely, if she could just get rid of him quickly, he would not call again…

She sat up straighter with what she hoped was a fair imitation of her sister’s elegance and tried to pull herself together. No doubt he already thought her a lackwit, first staring, then silent!

‘Lord Seagrave! Excuse me, I was not attending! How kind of you to call, sir. May I offer you some refreshment, perhaps? A glass of wine?’ Her attempt at Susanna’s husky drawl came out a little strangely. She sounded as though she had a sore throat.

Seagrave’s gaze, coolly assessing, remained focused on her with disconcerting intentness. ‘No, thank you. This is not a social call, Miss Kellaway.’ He strode over to the fireplace and turned back to face her, awesomely in control.

‘When I first heard that you had moved into Dillingham I thought my informant must be in jest,’ he said conversationally. ‘You are hardly renowned for your interest in country living, are you, Miss Kellaway? I cannot see what conceivable attraction a house like this could hold for you. Why, it is not as though you even own it! Your position is tenuous, to say the least! You know, of course, that I can terminate the lease at any time?’

Lucille did not know. Susanna’s brief instructions to her sister had not included any information on the lease on Cookes. Marshalling her scattered thoughts in the face of this sudden and unwelcome attack, Lucille tried desperately to work out how Susanna would deal with this situation. She plumped for a certainty.

‘Lud, is that so?’ She managed to sound quite careless. ‘You’ll understand, my lord, that I leave such matters to my man of business. But surely you are not about to evict me?’ She attempted a melting look at him through her eyelashes. Seagrave seemed totally unmoved. Evidently, Lucille thought, the business of flirtation was more difficult than she had imagined.

‘I prefer,’ Seagrave said, with scrupulous politeness, ‘that you see the error of your ways of your own accord, Miss Kellaway. I feel sure that when you have considered the matter, you will see that the country is not really the place for you. This house can hardly be to your taste, and the village…well, you will find it an uncomfortable place to live.’ There was no hint of a threat in his tone, but Lucille felt a shiver go through her. She knew he was trying to intimidate her. There was something powerfully compelling about that tall figure dominating her shabby drawing-room.

She arched her eyebrows in delicate enquiry. ‘Whatever can you mean, my lord?’ Her tone was provocatively innocent. ‘This house is delightful and Dillingham appears to be a charming village!’

Seagrave’s dark eyes narrowed momentarily. He had betrayed no temper or even irritation during their exchange, yet Lucille had the unnerving feeling that that was only because he was holding himself on a tight rein. Now he thrust his hands into his jacket pockets as if to restrain himself further, but his voice remained level.

‘It is indeed a delightful place, Miss Kellaway, but I doubt that you will find it so. Like many villages it can be insular and intolerant. You will find that the arrival of such a gaudy bird of paradise as yourself amongst the sparrows is not welcomed warmly.’ He frowned. ‘It puzzles me why you wish to bury yourself in the country in the first place. Are you escaping your creditors, perhaps? Or…’ his tone took on a sarcastic edge ‘…perhaps you have some quarry in your sights and feel that absence will make the heart grow fonder?’

Susanna would almost certainly have used the opportunity to make a push to engage his interest. Lucille, however, momentarily forgot the part she was supposed to be playing and forgot to be afraid of him. How dare he treat her with such contemptuous disdain! ‘I’m sure you do not expect me to answer that, sir,’ she snapped, and almost immediately realised she had betrayed herself as his gaze sharpened on her with acute interest. He was too quick. She would have to be much more careful. Her gaze suddenly fell on the copy of Waverley, lying carelessly on the window-seat. Susanna would never even have had a book in the house, let alone appeared to read one. Would Seagrave know that? Would it be better to attempt to hide it, or just to ignore it? She suddenly realised that the Earl had asked her something else, and was waiting politely for her response. Her colour rose at his steady regard with its edge of scorn. She gave him Susanna’s dazzling smile.

‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

‘I said that you did not strike me as a lady who would enjoy social ostracism, Miss Kellaway,’ Seagrave was saying, with weary patience. ‘No one will call on you, everyone will cut you dead…Do you really want that? Do not tell me that you do not regard it, for I shall not believe you!’

There was so much repressed violence in his tone that Lucille was suddenly frightened. He was taut with tension. Surely there was more to this than a simple desire to remove her from Cookes? But she was supposed to be Susanna, who would probably be less sensitive to the atmosphere and would no doubt have tried to flirt her way out of trouble. She tried a light, petulant shrug.

‘Lud, my lord, you’re monstrous serious! What does one small house matter to you? Or perhaps—’ she gave him a saucy look over her shoulder ‘—you have a more personal reason for wishing me off your property?’

It was a shot in the dark but its effect was electric. Seagrave spun round and caught her wrist in a grip that hurt. Lucille looked up at him. His face was expressionless but there was a look in his eyes which chilled her.

‘I do, madam, and you know why! Oh, I have no opinion of how you choose to earn a living—I make no judgments. But I do not like you.’ He spoke through his teeth. ‘You had already brought enough trouble on my family before this latest escapade single-handedly sabotaged my betrothal! You are like a bird of ill omen rather than a bird of paradise!’

Lucille felt her lips twitch at this colourful metaphor. She did not understand his allusion to Susanna’s previous entanglement with his family, but could see that he might be justifiably angry that her actions had resulted in a broken engagement. She tried to free her wrist and found herself held fast.

‘I am sorry to have unwittingly caused you trouble, sir—’

‘Unwittingly!’ For a moment his fingers tightened even more cruelly before he dropped her wrist as though he could not bear to touch her. His tone was savage. ‘There was nothing unwitting about your decision to claim this house, madam! Well, hear this! I shall do everything in my power to drive you out of Dillingham! You will be scorned and reviled at every turn! You will wish you had never come here!’

The slamming of the front door behind him echoed through Lucille’s head, causing it to ache again. She rested it in her hands in despair. Oh, why had she not told him the truth when she had had the opportunity? To try to deceive such a man was a piece of complete folly! He was both too acute to be fooled for long, and too forceful to be manipulated with feminine wiles. Feminine wiles! Lucille grimaced. What did she know of such coquetry? Her attempt to impersonate Susanna had been hopeless and she detested the blend of sexual appraisal and contempt with which Seagrave, and no doubt many other men, contemplated her sister. Lucille groaned aloud.

Seagrave…The blood was still singing through her veins from his touch, which was a singularly unhelpful reaction to him, she told herself sternly. It seemed that his slightest glance addled her wits, which was the last thing she needed when she had to have those wits about her! There was no accounting for it. No scientific theory could explain the peculiar mixture of breathlessness and excitement which possessed her in his presence. She had read about romance, of course, but had considered it to be ephemeral and often painful, not something she wished to experience. Then there was physical love, of course—she shuddered, remembering Sir Edwin’s licentious gaze and questing hands.

Lucille sighed. She thought of the uncharacteristic excitement with which she had hurried to ask Miss Pym for leave from the school, and her pleased surprise when that good lady had cautiously agreed. Her anticipation at visiting Cookes had reached fever pitch by the time Susanna’s summons had arrived. On the day after the meeting at Felixstowe Lucille had rolled into Dillingham village in Susanna’s carriage. A bevy of small children had run alongside the coach, chattering and laughing, but their elders had stood silently on the roadside, watching as she passed by. In her ignorance, Lucille had not considered that significant until this day.

But now…she was wearing borrowed plumes and impersonating a notorious woman who, if Seagrave was to be believed, was not at all welcome in the rural tranquillity of Dillingham. She did not doubt that Seagrave had meant every word he had said when he had threatened to drive her out of the village. Lucille sighed again. Why had she given into the cowardly impulse to play along with the masquerade when it would have been so much more sensible to tell him the truth? Now she really was starting to weave a tangled web through her deception!

There was a tap at the door and Mrs Appleton stuck her head around it. Felicity Appleton had accompanied Susanna to Dillingham when she first claimed Cookes, in the hope, Mrs Appleton had said with a wry smile, that the presence of a reputable older woman might reassure the good villagers of Susanna’s own respectability. It had been an unsuccessful attempt. The small resident staff at Cookes had walked out in a spirit of righteous indignation as soon as their new employer had arrived, and from then onwards Mrs Appleton had had to run the house single-handedly.

‘I do apologise, Miss Kellaway,’ Mrs Appleton said now, her plump, motherly face creased with anxiety. ‘I tried to tell his lordship that you were not receiving, but he would not be gainsaid!’

Lucille laughed at the thought of Mrs Appleton trying to deter the Earl from his visit. Nicholas Seagrave had hardly struck her as the sort of man to brook any opposition.

‘Pray do not concern yourself, Mrs Appleton! His lordship is very forceful, is he not!’

‘A man used to command,’ Mrs Appleton agreed with a twinkle in her eye. ‘I saw him a few times when I was on campaign in the Peninsula with my husband’s regiment. He was one of Wellington’s brightest officers, you know, and an inspirational leader of men!’

Lucille already knew that Mrs Appleton was the widow of an army sergeant killed at Vittoria, though how this pillar of rectitude had fallen in with Susanna was another matter. Lucille had not pried into their connection, and was only grateful that she had both Mrs Appleton’s calm good sense and knowledge of fashion to call upon. The housekeeper had advised her on matters of dress and hairstyle with a patience which Susanna would never have shown, and the result had been surprising. Although Lucille would never achieve the high fashion of her sister, the simple elegance of her new appearance gave her an absurd pleasure that astonished her. She had never been concerned with her dress before, but then, she had not met the Earl of Seagrave before…She shook her head to drive the thought away.

‘Well, would that Seagrave had left his military manners behind in Spain!’ she said crossly, still smarting from the Earl’s arrogant attitude. ‘The man is overbearing to a fault!’

Mrs Appleton laughed. ‘But prodigious attractive!’ she said shrewdly, and did not miss Lucille’s telltale blush. Her smile faded a little. ‘I must own myself vastly surprised to see him,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Your sister may have told you, Miss Kellaway, that Seagrave never spends time on his estates! I can only assume that the furore caused by Miss Susanna’s arrival here has brought him from London! She will be most disappointed to have missed him!’

‘A sorry business then, since I had no wish to meet him at all!’ Lucille said, with a sigh. It was a half-truth, for whilst Seagrave held a mysteriously strong attraction for her, she certainly had no wish for him to think her Susanna. ‘I realise now that I have been very naive about the whole situation!’ She continued wryly, ‘I truly believed that I would not need to meet anyone during my time here, and that Susanna would only be away a week or two.’

Her worried blue eyes met Mrs Appleton’s kind brown ones. ‘You must have wondered, ma’am, how I could ever have lent myself to such a deception! I agreed on impulse, you see, wanting a change from a routine that was becoming irksome, and now I am well served for my folly! I do not mind admitting that I almost confessed the whole to Lord Seagrave, and would have done so had he not appeared so terrifying!’

Mrs Appleton sat down, wiping her floury hands carefully on her apron. ‘Miss Susanna explained to me her concerns about the lease, and that she had persuaded you to come here to represent her interests whilst she was away.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘She told me that you were a…’ she hesitated, then smiled in a kindly fashion ‘…forgive me, a bluestocking, was her description of you! She said that you were looking for a rural idyll in which to walk and read! I must confess, Miss Kellaway, that I thought it a foolish scheme from the outset! How Miss Susanna ever thought that you could impersonate a courtesan, I cannot imagine! You may have had no notion of having to meet people here in Dillingham, but she has no excuse! She must always have known that there was a chance someone would seek her—you—out!’

Lucille raised a hand in rueful protest. ‘Please do not exonerate me of blame entirely, Mrs Appleton! My conscience is happier if I admit to some responsibility! I may not be worldly, but I am not stupid. I should have guessed what might happen! Indeed,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘deep down I probably knew the risk I was taking, but I wanted to escape the school so much that I was prepared to do it!’

There was a silence whilst both of them contemplated the situation. After a moment, Mrs Appleton spoke a little tentatively. ‘I suppose the Earl wants us out of Dillingham? I thought as much, for he has already begun a war of attrition! They will not serve me in the shops, Miss Kellaway, and some most unpleasant things are being said! I would counsel you not to go out into the village. Feeling is running very high!’

Lucille stared at her in growing disbelief. Until that morning it had not occurred to her that the inhabitants of Dillingham would react so badly to her presence among them, but this was all far worse than she could have imagined. She knew that the local gentry would not have condescended to acknowledge Susanna, but that had not worried her as she had had no interest in mixing in rural society. This malicious campaign, though, was another matter again. To be starved out of the village seemed a horrid fate. Mrs Appleton, somewhat shamefacedly, was retrieving something from her apron pocket.

‘I had thought not to trouble you with this, Miss Kellaway,’ she said a little awkwardly, ‘but perhaps you should know…It arrived just like this, with no envelope. Of course, I immediately realised what it was and I will put it in the kitchen fire directly.’

Lucille realised with a sudden shock that it was a letter she was holding out, a letter printed with bold capitals which she could read quite easily, ‘…nothing but a shameless whore and we do not want your sort here…’ She flushed scarlet and looked up at the housekeeper in horrified understanding.

‘An anonymous letter! Oh, Mrs Appleton, how dreadful! But when did it arrive? Who could possibly…?’ Her voice trailed away as she realised that any one of Dillingham’s outraged inhabitants could have composed the missive. Mrs Appleton had not exaggerated when she had spoken of feelings running high.

The housekeeper’s mouth was a grim line as she stuck the offending letter back in her pocket. ‘I am so sorry that you have been exposed to this, Miss Kellaway! The only advice I can offer is that you return to Oakham at once, before matters become even more unpleasant. Can that be arranged?’

Lucille rested her chin thoughtfully on her hand. ‘I cannot return to Oakham for another ten days,’ she said dolefully, ‘for Miss Pym has closed the school and gone to visit Fanny Burney, the authoress, whilst I am away! Only Mr Kingston, the music master, has been left to keep an eye on matters in her absence. It would not be appropriate for me to stay there alone with him—’ She broke off, unable to repress a giggle. ‘Gracious, that is tame stuff compared to what our anonymous author thinks of me!’

Mrs Appleton smiled. ‘Even so, my dear, do you not have any friends you could go to visit for a little? I do not wish to alarm you, but if you stay here you will not be able to show your face beyond the gates! I imagine Miss Susanna may return in a week or so, but there is no guarantee…’ She let the sentence hang but Lucille understood what she meant. Susanna’s timekeeping had never been of the most reliable, particularly if it suited her to be doing something else. She would not hesitate to stay with Sir Edwin for as long as it took to get what she wanted out of him.

For a moment, Lucille considered visiting Mrs Markham. Gilbert Markham’s widow and daughter were always pleased to see her, but they were living with Mrs Markham’s sister and Lucille knew she could not just arrive without warning. And there was no one else. She sighed.

‘I am sorry, ma’am! It seems I must stay here another ten days or so. Perhaps it will not be so bad…’ She knew she sounded unconvincing. The idea of having to impersonate Susanna for that time seemed suddenly intolerable. From being blissfully happy in her country retreat that morning, she suddenly felt unbearably trapped. After a moment Mrs Appleton sighed as well.

‘Very well, Miss Kellaway! Perhaps matters will settle down once the village is over the initial shock of Miss Susanna’s arrival.’ She sounded as unpersuaded as Lucille herself. She sighed again. ‘It is easier in London, where such matters are commonplace. The society in which your sister lives operates in much the same way as the beau monde. But here the community is insular and judgmental, and I do not doubt Miss Susanna would detest it!’

‘Seagrave said he made no judgments on the way in which Susanna chooses to make a living,’ Lucille said slowly, ‘yet he would not simply allow her to reside here quietly without interference!’

Mrs Appleton gave a wry smile. ‘My dear Miss Kellaway, you will find that most gentlemen have no difficulty in preserving a dual attitude towards ladies such as your sister! They…enjoy their company but they would never marry them, nor even consider them fit company for their sisters! By the same token, I suspect Seagrave believes a Cyprian should stay in London and not cause a stir in his sleepy dovecote!’

Lucille frowned, remembering something else Seagrave had said. ‘Does my sister know the Earl?’ she asked, carefully. ‘He made some reference to her causing trouble for his family before this…’

Mrs Appleton looked disapproving, though whether of Susanna’s exploits or Lucille’s enquiry was hard to judge. She fidgeted with the edge of her apron before looking up to meet Lucille’s gaze. ‘I collect he must be referring to Miranda Lethbridge,’ she said with constraint. ‘I believe she is some connection of the Seagraves. Last winter your sister…’ she hesitated, seeing Lucille’s innocent blue eyes fixed on her ‘…well, no point in prevaricating! Miss Susanna took it into her head to seduce Miranda Lethbridge’s betrothed, who was also a war comrade of the Earl of Seagrave.

‘She did it solely because he was rich, and she was bored! It was a shocking thing, and believe me, Miss Kellaway, I thought myself unshockable! After one night Mr Tatton—Justin Tatton was his name—realised that he had made a mistake and tried to disengage, and Miss Susanna was furious. She spread the rumour that they had been having a lengthy and passionate affair, and she made sure that Miss Lethbridge heard all about it. The poor girl was completely distraught and broke off the engagement immediately.’

Mrs Appleton shook her head. ‘I do not condone the behaviour of men such as Mr Tatton, but he had made a mistake and did not deserve to be punished so cruelly. But I fear Miss Susanna detests rejection.’

‘I hear very little of Susanna’s exploits, tucked away as I am in Oakham,’ Lucille said a little hesitantly, ‘but I do remember hearing of a young man, the son of a duke, who was ruined—’

‘You mean Adrian Crosby, I collect,’ Mrs Appleton said expressionlessly. ‘He was just one of many! He was infatuated with Miss Susanna and bought her costly gifts by the barrow load. Worse, she took him to dens—’ she saw Lucille’s puzzled frown ‘—gaming dens, Miss Kellaway, where he played deep and lost a fortune to the House who, of course, gave Miss Susanna her share of the pickings! The affair only ended when the boy’s father realised the extent of his debt and sent him off to the country to rusticate!’

Mrs Appleton looked unhappy. ‘I am in no position to criticise your sister, Miss Kellaway, for she pays my wages! But in my book, men such as Seagrave are fair game for a woman like Miss Susanna, for they know the rules of engagement! But Adrian Crosby was barely more than a boy…And Miranda Lethbridge did not deserve—’

She broke off. ‘Forgive me, Miss Kellaway. I am not normally one to gossip, but I thought it only fair that you should know what kind of woman you are impersonating—and why the Earl of Seagrave dislikes your sister so much!’

Lucille’s heart felt like lead. Although naive in the ways of the world, she had common sense enough to have realised a long time before that she knew nothing of her sister’s way of life, nor did she want to know. She had already learned too much in the inn at Felixstowe. Any lover was good enough, it seemed, as long as he was rich enough to pay Susanna’s price. No wonder Seagrave held her in such contempt! Lucille had no time for the double standards of men who kept mistresses and then denounced the very women they would have in keeping, but she had some sympathy with Seagrave’s point of view over Miranda Lethbridge. The prospect of being obliged to meet him again, knowing what she did now, made her feel vaguely sick.

Mrs Appleton was watching her sympathetically. ‘I thought it best to tell you, Miss Kellaway,’ she said apologetically. ‘Should you meet Seagrave again—’

‘I cannot bear to meet him again!’ Lucille said, in anguish. ‘Mrs Appleton, forgive my curiosity, but however did you come to work for Susanna? I cannot imagine—’ She broke off, aware that her comments could offend. But the housekeeper was smiling, albeit a little sadly.

‘You are right in thinking that it was not what I might have chosen, Miss Kellaway, given different circumstances! After I was widowed I had very little money, you see, and no means of keeping myself, so I applied for a post as cook/housekeeper with Miss Susanna. I knew what sort of an establishment it was, of course, but without references I could not hope for a position elsewhere…’

She paused. ‘As I said earlier, I am fairly unshockable after ten years on campaign, and am in no way missish! And indeed I have very little to do with Miss Susanna’s business, for she has a maid to attend to her.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘That is not to say that I haven’t had my moments! A gentleman was once overly amorous to me, but I was able to dissuade him from his attentions with a saucepan! And believe me, Miss Kellaway, I could have done a great deal worse than work for Miss Susanna!’

Lucille was left shaking her head in disbelief. She knew that she was both missish and easily shocked, and yet she was the one who had so foolishly agreed to impersonate Susanna. She had not known the half of it—and now she was trapped by her own folly. Thinking of this led her thoughts inevitably back to the Earl of Seagrave.

‘Apparently Susanna’s arrival at Dillingham has caused Seagrave’s betrothed to cry off,’ she told Mrs Appleton solemnly, ‘so he has another reason to dislike her now!’ Despite her feelings, she could not suppress a smile. ‘He seemed remarkably annoyed by the fact!’

‘I doubt his emotions are involved, only his pride,’ Mrs Appleton said calmly. ‘Seagrave is notorious for having no feelings at all! No more than a month ago he got engaged to Louise Elliott, a hen-witted girl of absolutely no distinction other than in her lineage. If she has thrown him over he may one day come to thank your sister! They say girls become very like their mothers and Lady Elliott is an arrogant, overbearing woman! But enough of this gossiping!’ She got to her feet. ‘I must make shift to find us some dinner!’ She cast a look at Lucille’s unhappy face. ‘Never fear, Miss Kellaway,’ she said bracingly, ‘I have found sustenance under far more adverse conditions than this! As for Seagrave, well, we will just have to keep you out of his way in future!’

Chapter Three

Lucille felt that the whole atmosphere of Cookes had changed after that one meeting with the Earl of Seagrave and her illuminating chat with Mrs Appleton. Instead of enjoying the tranquil silence, she began to feel oppressed and lonely. It was the greatest irony that when she had been in ignorance of the villagers’ attitude towards her she had not felt the need to leave the house and grounds—now she knew of their hostility, she longed to go out but did not dare. No longer could she lose herself in the pages of a book, or concentrate on her father’s esoteric research into eastern civilisations.

Fully awakened, her conscience nagged her and gave her no peace, calling her a stupid little fool for her thoughtless agreement to so damaging a plan as Susanna had suggested. Better by far to have stayed within the safe confines of Miss Pym’s school than to perpetrate such a deception.

Then there was the unfortunate effect that the Earl himself appeared to have on her. It seemed that the confusion he had thrown her into that day in Oakham was nothing compared to encountering him at close quarters. Lucille had led a sheltered existence, but none of the fathers or brothers of her pupils had ever made her pulse race in the disconcerting way Seagrave had affected her. His face had a disquieting tendency of imposing itself between her and the written page; the cadences of that mellow voice haunted her thoughts.

None of her reading could help her to understand this peculiar chemistry between them. She even caught herself daydreaming, an indulgence which both puzzled and horrified her. But none of her dreams of him could be in any way encouraging. He thought she was Susanna, after all, and even if he had met her under her own identity she did not flatter herself that he would have any time for a frumpish bluestocking. As for what he would think of her if he discovered her impersonation…She refused to allow herself to even consider that.

Fortunately for Lucille’s equilibrium, Seagrave did not appear again at Cookes, although his agent, Mr Josselyn, called with some long and convoluted legal papers for Lucille to sign. She perused these with intense concentration and made a list of points on which she required clarification. She then stopped dead, realising that it was not her place to query the lease, but Susanna’s. That inevitably made her recall the masquerade and she found herself out of sorts again. Normally she would have walked off her low spirits, but now she felt she could not even venture outside the gate of Cookes.

On the second day of enforced inactivity, Lucille threw her book aside in despair. It was Sunday evening and the church bells had been calling across the green. The shadows were falling now and all was still in the dusk. It was such a beautiful evening that Lucille was suddenly determined to go out. She put on her bonnet and coat, and slipped out of the front door.

The green was deserted and it was indeed pleasant to be outside now that the heat of the day had gone and the air was full of birdsong. Lucille left the shelter of Cookes’s gates and crossed to the duck pond, holding her breath lest anyone see her. But all was quiet. It felt astonishingly liberating to be in the open air. For a while she just stood and enjoyed the neat prettiness of the cottages about the green, their gardens bursting with verdant summer flowers, their white-painted walls reflecting the last rays of the sun. Then she walked slowly across to the ancient stone church, and paused with her hand on the iron gate, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to go inside.

The church, like the village, was deserted now that the evening service was over and the congregation dispersed. Lucille let herself into the green darkness of the interior, and sat in a worn wooden back pew, breathing in the mixture of flower scent and ancient dust. It was so evocative of her childhood with the Markhams that her breath caught in her throat. The familiarity was soothing in an existence that had become so unexpectedly difficult. She said a few heartfelt prayers before letting herself out of the door into the churchyard, which had become full of deep shadows.

The first intimation Lucille had that she was not alone came with the pattering of paws along the path, and then a magnificent chocolate-coloured retriever was before her, sniffing inquisitively at her skirts and pressing its damp nose into the palm of her hand. Lucille laughed at this shameless bid for attention, bent down, and fondled the creature’s silky ears.

‘What a beauty you are, aren’t you! I wonder what your name is…?’

The dog snuffled softly, rubbing its head against her hand, before turning, suddenly alert, its ears pricking up.

‘Her name is Sal, Miss Kellaway, short for Salamanca.’

The Earl of Seagrave had stepped out from the shadows of an ancient yew tree and was viewing Lucille with thoughtful interest. ‘She is not usually so friendly to strangers.’

Lucille watched Sal return submissively to her master’s heel, and smiled at the look of adoration in those limpid dark eyes. No doubt that was the type of gaze she should be perfecting in the interests of her impersonation. However, there was something about the clear evening, scented with herbs and yew, which made her rebel against the idea of acting a part. She looked up from the dog to see that Seagrave was still watching her.

‘Were you at Salamanca, my lord?’

‘I was.’ He straightened, coming towards her down the path, the dog now close at his heels. ‘It was my last battle, Miss Kellaway. I had been in the Peninsula for four years, first serving under General Sir John Moore and then under Wellington—Sir Arthur Wellesley, as he was to begin with. It was July when we came up against the French just south of Salamanca; July, just as it is now. I remember it well.’

Seagrave took a deep breath of cool, scented air. ‘It was hot, with the kind of oppressive, airless heat you can get in Spain in the summer. The land around was arid, dry as dust. The dust was everywhere…in our mouths, in our noses, in our clothes…We sat on the flat top of our hill and watched the French lines to the south of us, on the higher ground.’

His voice had taken on a still, reflective quality. ‘You may have read that the battle was a great triumph for Wellington. So it was. The French were cut to pieces with at least fourteen thousand casualties. It was carnage. I was wounded advancing across the valley between the two hills. We were in the range of the cannon and I fell with shrapnel in the chest and shoulder. So I was invalided out, and shortly after that I inherited the title and thought to stay at home.’

He stirred slightly and gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘My apologies, Miss Kellaway! It is unforgivable to speak of such matters to a lady. You must forgive me.’

Lucille shook her head slightly. She had become caught up in the tale, could almost feel the heat of the Spanish sun and taste the dust. War was an experience so far removed from the lives of most people that it was almost impossible to begin to imagine it. Many did not want to try, finding the contrast with their own easy existence too uncomfortable to contemplate.

‘I am sorry,’ she began, unsure what she was really apologising for, but aware that the undercurrent of bitterness which had touched his voice briefly was present in that still, shadowed face. ‘It must have been very difficult to adapt to civilian life after such experiences.’

Seagrave gave another harsh laugh. ‘Indeed it was, Miss Kellaway! After the immediacies of life and death, the delights of the ton, whilst entertaining, seem damnably shallow! But it is hardly fashionable to speak so! No doubt you think me most singular!’

‘No, sir.’ Lucille caught herself just as she was about to express her own preferences for reading and studying over routs and parties. The shock of realising that she had almost betrayed herself caused her to fall silent, her mind suddenly blank. It was impossible to be forever remembering that she was supposed to be Susanna.

‘I am glad to see you have overcome your aversion to dogs,’ Seagrave observed suddenly, watching as Sal lay down with her head at Lucille’s feet. ‘I thought you once said that you hated them.’

Lucille froze. Did Susanna hate dogs? She had no idea. Seagrave was looking quite bland, but she suddenly had an unnerving feeling that he was deliberately testing her. She shrugged lightly.

‘I do not recall…’

‘When you were driving in the Park one day last summer…or was it two summers ago?’ Seagrave mused. ‘Harriette Wilson’s dog bit your arm and I am sure I remember you saying you thought they were hateful creatures and should all be destroyed. You were quite vehement on the subject!’

Lucille mentally added another item to the list of things about Susanna which she found unattractive. The list was getting rather long and she was learning far more about her sister than she had known from the first seventeen years of their lives together. As for Harriette Wilson, Lucille knew her to be a legendary Cyprian in the same mould as Susanna, but her choice in pets was beyond her. ‘Oh, well…’ she managed to sound quite vague ‘…that dreadful little, yapping creature—’

‘Miss Wilson has a wolfhound, as I recall,’ Seagrave commented, with mild irony. ‘Scarcely a small creature, and one which left a scar on your arm.’

Lucille glanced down instinctively, although she was wearing a jacket whose sleeves covered her arms from shoulder to wrist. Which arm would Susanna have injured? How could she tell? This was getting ridiculous. She cast about hastily for a change of topic.

‘And what do you call your horse, sir?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Seagrave sounded mystified at the sudden change of direction.

‘Your horse—that magnificent creature I have heard that you ride about your estate. Surely it must have some equally magnificent name?’

Seagrave laughed. ‘I named him after Alexander the Great’s steed, Miss Kellaway! A conceit, I suppose, though he is worthy of it!’

‘Bucephalus,’ Lucille said absently, then recollected herself again as Seagrave shifted slightly, giving her a look that was quizzical to say the least.

‘You have an interest in classical history, Miss Kellaway? I would never have suspected it! You must have inherited some of your father’s scholarly nature, after all!’

What did he mean, ‘after all’? Lucille bit her lip. She was bristling with indignation at the slur on her intelligence but since she knew Seagrave was actually criticising Susanna rather than herself, she realised she should not regard it. She reminded herself that Susanna would shudder to be thought a bluestocking. ‘Lud, we were always being fed such tedious facts at school,’ she said, as carelessly as she could. ‘How tiresome to discover that some of it remains with me! I would rather die than become an intellectual!’

‘No danger of that!’ Seagrave said laconically. ‘I imagine your talents must lie in other directions!’

The comprehensively assessing look he gave her made Lucille tingle suddenly with an awareness which was completely outside her experience. She shivered in the cool air. Strangely she felt no insult, as she had done with Sir Edwin. The shadows were deepening with every moment, creating a dangerously intimate atmosphere about them. The thin, sickle moon rising above the branches of the yew and the scent of honeysuckle on the breeze did nothing to dispel this illusion.

Seagrave took another step towards her. He was now so close that he could have reached out and touched her but as yet he made no move to do so. Lucille’s pulse was racing, the blood singing quick and light through her veins. Her mouth was dry and she moistened her lips nervously, watching in fascination as Seagrave’s gaze followed the movement of her tongue, the look in his eyes suddenly so sexually explicit that she caught her breath. Then Sal ran forward, barking at shadows and Lucille turned hastily towards the lych-gate.

‘I’ll bid you good evening, sir.’ She hardly recognised her own voice, so shaken it sounded.

Seagrave caught up to her at the gate. ‘I saw you coming out of the church, Miss Kellaway,’ he said abruptly. ‘Can this be some remarkable conversion to moral rectitude?’

The mocking undertone in his voice banished the magical spell his presence had cast on Lucille. She had read about physical attraction, she reminded herself sharply, and knew that it had nothing to do with loving, liking or respecting another person. No doubt she should just be grateful that Seagrave was indeed no Sir Edwin Bolt, with his insultingly lewd comments and disgusting mauling of Susanna’s naked flesh. Only she, Lucille, in her inexperience, had for a moment confused that intense physical awareness with feelings of a deeper and more meaningful kind.

‘Did you imagine that I was there to steal the candlesticks?’ she snapped, angry with herself for her susceptibility and with him for his sarcasm. She gathered up her skirts in one hand to enable her to walk away from him more quickly. ‘Do you exercise the right to decree whether your tenants attend church or not, my lord? Take care that you do not assume too many of the Almighty’s own privileges!’

Seagrave’s eyes narrowed at this before he unexpectedly burst out laughing. ‘A well-judged reproof, Miss Kellaway! What a contradictory creature you are! Come, I shall escort you back to Cookes!’

Lucille preferred not to torment herself with his company. ‘Thank you, but there is not the least need! Good night, sir!’

Seagrave, who was used to having his companionship actively sought by women rather than abruptly refused, found this rather amusing. He wished he had kissed her when he had had the chance. He watched with a rueful smile as her small, upright figure crossed the green and disappeared in at the gates of Cookes. Susanna Kellaway…He frowned abruptly, recalling what he knew of her. His wits must be a-begging to find her remotely attractive.

He knew she was supposed to exercise a powerful sexual sway over her conquests, but the attraction he had felt had been far more complex than mere lust. God alone knew what had prompted him to tell her about Salamanca. If he had not forcibly stopped himself, he imagined he would have blurted out all about his alienation from normal life, the driven madness which had possessed him when he had returned from the wars…Damnation! This sojourn in the country must be making him soft in the head! He called Sal sharply to heel and set off across the moonlit fields back to Dillingham Court.

The good weather broke the following day, and Lucille spent the morning curled up in the drawing-room with an ancient map of Dillingham that she had found in her father’s study. Each lane and dwelling was carefully labelled; Cookes was there, though at that time it was still a row of individual timbered cottages, drawn with skill and precision by the cartographer’s pen. On the other side of Dragon Hill, the only high land in the area, lay a beautifully stylised house named on the map as Dillingham Court and surrounded by its pleasure gardens. Lucille’s curiosity was whetted, but she knew it was unlikely that she would ever see the Court in real life.

There had still been no word from Susanna, and two weeks had already passed. Lucille no longer really believed that her sister would return in the time she had promised, and she itched to be away from Cookes. Wearing Susanna’s character, even without an audience, suddenly grated on her. If only Seagrave had not come to Dillingham! Lucille shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her conscience pricking her again.

Immediately after luncheon the rain ceased, driven away by a brisk wind that hurried the ragged clouds across the sky. Lucille was tired of being cooped up all day. She put on a pair of stout boots to protect her from the puddles and called for the carriage to be brought round.

‘I wish to go to the seaside, John,’ she told the startled coachman.

It was six miles to the sea at the nearest point, which was Shingle Street, and the journey was a slow one over rutted tracks. Clearly John thought that she was mad to attempt such an expedition, but Lucille did not care. Once out of the village environs, the lush green fields soon gave way to thick forest and heathland, flat, dark and empty to the horizons. On such a grey day it was both forbidding and desolate, but Lucille found it a fascinating place. When they finally reached the sea, she descended from the carriage to be met by the full force of the wind and was almost blown over. The fresh salty tang of the air was exhilarating.

Feeling much better, Lucille told John that she would walk along the shore for a little way and asked him to meet her at the gates of the only house she had seen in the vicinity. Scratching his head, the coachman watched her walk off along the shingle beach, a slight, lonely figure in her outmoded coat and boots. How could two sisters be so different? he wondered. Miss Susanna Kellaway never walked anywhere if she could ride; more fundamentally, she had never said please or thank you in all the time he had worked for her.

The walking was hard along the shingle, and the power of the waves was awesome at close quarters. The sea was gunmetal grey, a heaving, bad-tempered maelstrom as it hurled itself on the shore. Seabirds screamed and wheeled overhead. Here and there, sea wrack was scattered across the beach; flotsam and jetsam from ships, bent and misshapen after their time in the water. Lucille stooped to consider a few pieces and picked up a piece of wood that had been worn smooth by the force of the waves.

She had reached a point where there was a set of ancient, worn steps cut into the shingle and she turned away from the sea to follow them up the small cliff. On the headland the turf was smooth and springy, the path skirting an ancient fence which marked the boundary of the house Lucille had seen earlier. She paused, wondering who could have chosen to live in so desolate a spot. The house itself was hidden from her view by a well-established shrubbery and cluster of gnarled trees, but it looked a substantial dwelling. And as she considered it, leaning on the fence, a voice from near at hand said:

‘Goddess! Excellently bright!’

Lucille jumped and spun around. The voice was of a rich, deep-velvet quality and would have carried from pit to gallery at a Drury Lane theatre. Emerging from the shrubbery was an extraordinary figure, a large woman of indeterminate age, wrapped in what seemed like endless scarves of blue chiffon and purple gauze in complete defiance of the climate. Over her arm was a basket full of roses and at her heels stalked a large fluffy white cat. The most worldly-wise, disillusioned pair of dark eyes that Lucille had ever seen were appraising her thoughtfully.

‘That, Miss Kellaway,’ the lady said impressively, ‘was in tribute to your beauty and was—’

‘Ben Jonson,’ Lucille said, spontaneously. ‘Yes, I know!’

The pessimistic dark eyes focussed on her more intently. ‘Would you care to take tea with me, Miss Kellaway? I have so few visitors here for I am not recognised in the county!’

For a moment, Lucille wondered what on earth she meant. It seemed impossible that such a character would remain unrecognised wherever she went.

‘I am Bessie Bellingham,’ the lady continued, grandly. ‘The Dowager Lady Bellingham! Bessie Bowles, as was!’

She paused, clearly expecting the recognition she deserved, and Lucille did not disappoint her.

‘Of course! I have read of you, ma’am—your performance as Viola in Twelfth Night was accounted one of the best ever seen at Drury Lane, and the papers were forever arguing over whether comedy or melodrama was your forté!’

‘Well, well, before your time, my child!’ But Lady Bellingham was smiling, well pleased, and the cat was rubbing around Lucille’s ankles and purring. ‘My own favourite was Priscilla Tomboy in The Romp, but it was a long time ago, before I met dear Bellingham and ended up in this mausoleum!’

She took Lucille’s arm and steered her through the shrubbery towards the house. ‘You have no idea how delighted I was when I saw you on the beach,’ she continued. ‘Of course, I had heard that you were staying in Dillingham—my maid, Conchita, knows everything! And I thought that, as we two are the black sheep of the neighbourhood, we could take tea and talk of the London this provincial crowd will never know!’

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