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

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

The Rake’s Ruined Lady

Back Cover Text

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Tarnished, Tempted and Tamed

Back Cover Text

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Copyright

The Rake’s Ruined Lady

Mary Brendan

DISHONORABLE INTENTIONS ON HIS MIND!

Beatrice Dewey keeps falling for unsuitable men. She believes the man she loved, Hugh Kendrick, is lost to her forever, and now her new fiancé has canceled their wedding!

But then Hugh reenters her life trailing rumors of illicit love affairs in his wake. Instead of marriage, he offers her a very public, passionate kiss! To succumb to his skillful seduction would be the ultimate road to ruin, but is there enough of the old Hugh left to convince Bea to give him another chance?

“The sexual tension between the hero and heroine is palpable.” —RT Book Reviews on The Wanton Bride

Chapter One

‘Of course I do not understand!’ Beatrice Dewey’s blue gaze was fixed on her fiancé’s face in shocked disbelief. ‘How is any woman supposed to comprehend that the man she believes will shortly be her husband must marry another?’ She pressed pale, quivering fingers to her brow. ‘Repeat to me your news, please, and furthermore tell me why I should accept it.’

Colin Burnett’s deep sigh displayed his regret. He stretched a hand towards Beatrice but she evaded his comfort in a swish of pastel muslin.

‘Tell me, Colin! An explanation—a dozen explanations if I wish to have them—is the least you owe me.’ Beatrice turned back to him, eyes sparking icy fire.

Ten minutes ago Mrs Francis, the Deweys’ housekeeper, had interrupted Beatrice’s letter-writing to announce that Dr Burnett had called on her. Beatrice had joined her fiancé in the front sitting room with a sunny smile, proving her gladness at this unexpected visit. Her happiness had started to wither before he’d uttered a single word: she’d read from Colin’s demeanour that something was dreadfully wrong.

Not for a moment had she believed him jesting when he had quietly informed her that their wedding must be called off. Colin was not one for levity; neither was he a man who liked a drama. Beatrice could tell this predicament was causing him equal embarrassment and sorrow, but was conscious that he seemed nowhere near as wounded as was she at the idea of them parting.

‘You know if there were any other way around this I would take it. I want you as my wife, Beatrice. I love you—’

‘I don’t see how you can love me...not really,’ Beatrice interrupted harshly, ‘if you are prepared to jilt me because you’d sooner have money.’

‘It is not just about the money, my dear.’ Colin sounded pained, and a trifle exasperated by her accusation. ‘My family’s reputation and estates are founded on the baronetcy. The Burnetts were granted the title as long ago as the Norman Conquest and it has passed through our male line ever since.’ He cast his eyes heavenwards, seeking inspiration. ‘If I reject the title and estates everything will be returned to the crown. How am I to explain that to my relations?’

Beatrice gave an impatient shrug. Her fiancé’s logical reference to history and his kin, when her heart was breaking, was simply increasing her indignation.

‘My uncle was not an easy man to fathom,’ Colin continued doggedly, thrusting his fingers through a shock of auburn hair. ‘He was known as an eccentric, but had I for one moment realised what madness he planned I would have privately set lawyers the task of finding a loophole to wriggle out of his stipulations. As it is, I must bow to his whim or lose everything.’

‘So instead of forfeiting your birthright and choosing to remain much as you are: a country doctor of modest means—which is the person I fell in love with—you would dance to a dead man’s tune to have his fortune and his title?’

Now her shock was receding anger was bringing Beatrice close to tears. She wouldn’t beg the man with whom she’d planned to spend her life to honour his proposal, neither would she attempt to shame him into doing so. If he went ahead and married his cousin Stella instead of her then Beatrice knew she would have learned something vitally important and deeply upsetting about Colin’s character. And also about her own: she had previously believed she’d become a reasonable judge of people.

‘If you have chosen to comply with the terms of your uncle’s will, then there is nothing more to be said,’ Beatrice whispered. ‘All I would ask before you leave is that you find the courtesy to explain to my father why he has wasted his money on my wedding day.’ Hot brine squeezed between her lashes and she averted her face.

‘I will of course make any financial reparation necessary,’ Colin vowed stiltedly.

As he took her elbow to turn her towards him Beatrice flinched from his touch as though scalded. ‘I think you should go now, sir.’

‘Please don’t hate me, Beatrice...I couldn’t stand it...’

‘I have a lot more to stand than you, I think.’ Beatrice gazed stormily into eyes that were pleading for compassion. ‘Please do not beg me for anything. Especially that I should not hate you for squandering three years of my life and destroying my future happiness.’ She distanced herself from him, an odd lethargy enveloping her. ‘In truth I do not hate you, Colin...I am coming to realise that I pity you for allowing a person you barely knew to dupe you and dictate to you.’ She smiled sourly. ‘I’ve let you kiss and caress me, yet despite our intimacy I never really knew you. I’d not imagined you capable of acting in such a callous and selfish way.’

Beatrice noticed the faint colour rising in his cheeks at her wounding criticism.

‘It is because I refuse to act selfishly that I must give you up.’ Colin cleared his throat. ‘I have a family duty to uphold...’

‘What about your duty to me?’ Beatrice cried. But she knew it was too late. If he were to change his mind and refuse his birthright to marry her instead things would never be right between them. She could never recapture the person she’d been just twenty minutes ago, when excitedly smoothing her hair and gown before speeding down the stairs to joyfully welcome her fiancé and ask him to stay to dine with them.

He too would be different: outwardly Colin might claim to have forgiven her for making him forfeit his inheritance. Inwardly his bitter disappointment might fester and grow until it destroyed the love he professed to still have for her.

‘I made a mistake in giving you my heart, but in time I will appreciate you handing it back to me. The pain will pass now I have come to understand your character better.’ Beatrice paused, a part of her relishing the hurt she had brought to his eyes with that brutal comment. But she was not by nature spiteful and the feeling soon faded. ‘My father is in his study. Please call on him before leaving and do the honourable thing. He is not a wealthy man, as you know, and has scrimped to buy my trousseau.’

‘My uncle was fifty-five and if he knew he was not long for this world he kept it to himself. Had he been old and infirm I would have had more cause to check on the terms of my inheritance.’ Colin strode to block Beatrice’s path as she made to exit the room.

‘I’ve had explanations enough,’ Beatrice rebuffed coolly. ‘There is no need for you to tarry longer. I hope you find your new wealth and status make up for what you and I have lost.’ She withdrew a small garnet ring from her finger and held it out. ‘Yours, I believe. Now, please let me pass.’

Colin’s lips tightened at Beatrice’s frosty tone but he took the gem and pocketed it, standing aside. ‘I’ve suffered too...I’ll never forget you...’

Beatrice heard his plaintive farewell as she closed the parlour door. With her eyes filled with burning water she approached the stairs. She would wait in her bedchamber till Colin left, then go and see her father.

Beatrice knew her papa would need comforting over this calamity as much as she did. Walter Dewey had liked Dr Burnett as his physician and as his future son-in-law. Colin had promised financial reparation and she hoped her father would not be too proud or too angry to accept the cash.

Her sister, Elise, would be shocked to discover she was not shortly to be a matron of honour. Elise lived in Mayfair and had done her best to persuade her kin to join her as permanent house guests following her marriage to Viscount Blackthorne. Alex had a fabulous mansion on Upper Brook Street. But Walter Dewey had insisted a quiet pastoral life suited him. Beatrice had also been happy to remain in bucolic bliss in Hertfordshire as her physician fiancé was living and working in the vicinity of St Albans.

Now Beatrice wondered if Colin had always wished to improve his prospects from that of country doctor, and if so whether he might immediately move to town with his intended wife to enjoy what remained of the season.

At twenty-five, Beatrice accepted that in the eyes of the world she was past her marriageable prime. Most of the friends she’d made during her debut were now married with children. Colin’s future bride was not known to Beatrice—unsurprisingly, as she’d just learned her rival was some seven years her junior and had just made her come-out. Bea had digested that much about Stella Rawlings before shock had snatched away her senses, leaving her momentarily deaf to the horrible details of Colin’s visit.

* * *

The light tap on the door brought Bea’s head up off the pillow. She had been dozing on her bed’s coverlet while waiting for the sound of the doctor’s departure from her house, and her life. Beatrice knuckled her tired eyes as she went to the door, realising she’d cried herself into a deeper sleep than she’d wished to have.

‘Papa!’ Beatrice frowned in consternation. ‘You should not have come upstairs!’ She sent a searching glance over her father’s stooped shoulder. ‘Did Mr Francis help you with the climb?’

Walter Dewey waved away his daughter’s concern as he made slow progress into her bedchamber assisted by a wooden walking stick. ‘Norman is out hunting rabbits for our dinner.’ He explained the manservant’s absence. ‘My small struggle is nothing to the pain I know you must be suffering my dear.’

Walter eased himself down into the armchair by the window. Raising his tired eyes to his daughter’s wan face he shook his head to indicate he felt lost for words.

‘Dr Burnett has gone?’ Beatrice croaked.

‘He has, and with my opinion of him ringing in his ears.’

Beatrice dropped to her knees by her father’s chair and took a dry, withered hand between her soft palms. ‘Please don’t be upset over it, Papa,’ she whispered, fearful for his health. She could hear his laboured breathing and see a greyish circle outlining his lips. ‘My heart will mend...’

‘You have a resilient ticker, then, my love,’ Walter remarked wryly. How many times now has it been broken in two by some fellow?’

Beatrice knew her father was referring to her past romances that had foundered—usually because the gentleman involved had no money and could not afford to get married. How ironic that this time she must remain a spinster because the reverse were true. Her fiancé had recently received his inheritance and with it a demand to jilt her.

‘Had this confounded Sir Donald not died when he did, leaving his odious terms and conditions, you would shortly have been Mrs Burnett.’

Walter gazed levelly at his daughter’s upturned face. Beatrice had always been a beauty; some said she was fairer than her younger sister, who had bagged herself a nobleman three years ago. Walter thought them equally wonderful, in their own ways, although he wished Beatrice resembled her younger sister in one aspect: Elise had chosen to give her heart just the once, and very wisely.

Two previous rogues—besotted by Beatrice’s golden-haired loveliness, Walter was sure—had encouraged his elder girl to think they would propose, then bitten their tongues at the last minute. In both cases it had transpired that they must fortune-hunt for a bride, being penniless.

Out in the sticks and cut off from the cream of polite society he might be, but Walter was cognizant with marriage mart standards: Beatrice’s chances of finding a spouse diminished with every failed romance and every year that passed.

In Walter’s opinion Beatrice was as lovely at twenty-five as she’d been when half a decade younger. Her creamy complexion was smooth and unblemished and her blonde hair appeared as shiny and abundant as it had been when she was a teenager. Her figure was enviably slender, yet curvaceous enough to catch a man’s eye, and her vivacity made people take to her instantly. Yet still his elder girl remained at home with him because he’d never had the means to provide either of his daughters with a dowry.

Elise had married a millionaire who’d stated bluntly that the privilege of marrying Walter’s daughter was payment enough. Unfortunately a similar good and generous fellow had never crossed Beatrice’s path, catching her eye.

Colin Burnett had come closest to walking her down the aisle, and thus Walter despised him the most.

‘Do you think Burnett truthfully had no idea of the clause in his uncle’s will?’

Beatrice gave a little nod. ‘I believe him sincere on that; as for greatly adoring me and never forgetting me, that I now find harder to swallow.’ Her father’s thin fingers closed comfortingly on hers. ‘Did Colin offer to pay back the cash you spent on wedding preparations?’ Bea asked huskily.

‘He did,’ Walter confirmed, bringing his daughter’s hand to his cool lips.

‘It is only fair you are not left out of pocket because of him. You will take what is due to you, won’t you, Papa?’ Beatrice used the heel of her hand on her cheek to remove a trickle of tears.

‘Indeed I shall!’ Walter forcefully concurred. ‘I admit there was a moment when I felt like telling him to take himself and his money off to rot in hell...but I didn’t.’ He rumbled a chuckle. ‘He might be getting off scot-free from a breach of promise suit but he won’t wriggle out of my expenses so easily. Mark my words, my dear, Burnett will get his comeuppance for treating you so shabbily.’

* * *

‘Letters for me?’ Elise Blackthorne jumped up from her dressing table stool as her maid approached, proffering a silver salver.

Excitedly the viscountess rifled through the post, ignoring elegant cards inviting her to society parties, to find what she was looking for. She frowned; it was from Hertfordshire but bore her father’s spidery script rather than her sister’s neat slanting hand.

‘I shall not need you for an hour or so, Maria.’ Before the maid left her bedchamber Elise asked, ‘Is the viscount eating breakfast?’

‘He has gone to the stables, my lady. Shall I send one of the boys to give him a message?’

Elise shook her head, satisfied she would see Alex before he went about his business for the day. She still felt sated from his lovemaking that morning and knew she should get dressed. If he came back to find her in a lacy negligee they might once more tumble onto the silk sheets, limbs entwined. Elise wanted to get to Pall Mall early today because the dressmaker there had recently given her a fitting and she was impatient to see the beautiful blue satin gown she would wear when matron of honour at Bea’s wedding.

Elise corresponded regularly with her sister and relished reading about all the wedding preparations. A local seamstress was making Bea’s gown, although the bride to be was keeping the style of it a secret. Mrs Garner had a workshop based in St Albans and had served the Dewey family for over a decade. Walter had never had the means to provide his daughters with many new clothes when growing up and their debuts had thus been modest affairs.

‘What have you got there?’

Else twisted about at the sound of her husband’s husky baritone.

Alex came closer and dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. His fingers continued to caress his wife’s satiny skin as he glanced at the parchment in her hand, recognising the writing.

‘Your father has sent you a letter.’

Elise twisted about in the circle of her husband’s arms. ‘I’m just about to read it, Alex, so don’t...’ Her breathy plea was cut off as his mouth slanted over hers and he drew her closer.

‘Oh...Alex...’ Elise giggled, but her protest was half-hearted as she melted against him.

‘It’s your own fault,’ he growled. ‘What’s a man to do when his gorgeous wife parades about half naked?’

‘Whatever he likes, I suppose,’ Elise breathed against his preying mouth.

‘Right answer, sweetheart...’ Alex purred and, swinging her up in his arms, headed for the bed.

Chapter Two

‘There was a time when it was hard to shake you off my shoulder; now I need to make an appointment to see you?’ Alex Blackthorne’s ironic comment drew an apologetic grin from his best friend. However, the fellow’s narrowed gaze remained fixed on the razor sweeping a path through stubble towards a lean cheekbone.

Hugh Kendrick swirled the implement in a china bowl filled with soap-floating water before turning to face the viscount. ‘You know I’d sooner come to watch the fight with you, but I’ve promised Gwen a trip to Epsom races this afternoon.’

Alex sank into a hide chair in his friend’s bedchamber. Obligingly he shifted to one side, allowing Hugh’s startled valet to rescue an elegant jacket that his master had discarded over the back of the upholstery.

‘Besides, if your wife wasn’t out of town you wouldn’t want my company, would you?’ Over the top of the towel mopping his face Hugh hiked a dark eyebrow at Alex.

‘True...’ Alex sighed, flicking a speck from a thigh breeched in fawn cloth.

He was feeling at a loose end since Elise had gone to Hertfordshire to visit her family. It was puzzling that Walter Dewey had written a letter containing a coded message that he would like Elise to visit as soon as she was able.

Alex felt rather guilty now for distracting his wife from immediately reading her note on the morning it had arrived. It had been some hours after the post was delivered that Elise had finally retrieved the paper from amongst their warm, crumpled bed sheets. Mere moments after breaking the seal she’d thrust the letter beneath Alex’s nose, announcing that she’d deciphered her father’s few odd sentences and was certain that a crisis had occurred. Elise could never bear to be parted from her infant son, so Adam had gone to Hertfordshire too, and at Alex’s insistence Maria had accompanied mother and child in one of the luxurious Blackthorne travelling coaches.

‘You look browned off,’ Hugh remarked, shrugging into his shirt. For several minutes he had been contemplating Alex’s frowning expression as he stared into space with his chin resting atop fingers forming a steeple. Hugh guessed his friend was already missing his beloved wife and son.

The two men had been friends for decades, despite the fact that for most of that time their statuses had been poles apart. Hugh had been the underdog, with nothing much to claim to his credit other than his popularity and his family connections. His late father had been an upstanding fellow, a minor peer of the realm who had seen the best in everybody. Unfortunately that blind faith had been particularly strong where his heir was concerned. Others, however, could see what a corrupt, calculating character was Toby Kendrick. On taking his birthright following his father’s demise, Hugh’s brother had become even more of an unbearable wretch.

But Hugh no longer had reason to feel resentful over the bad hand life had dealt him as the second son of a gentleman who believed in primogeniture. Neither had he reason to feel lucky that Viscount Blackthorne had chosen him as a life-long comrade. Hugh might not have a title to polish, but he now had every other advantage that his illustrious friend enjoyed, including a fortune that his acquaintances coveted and that dukes would like their debutante daughters to share in through marriage.

‘It’s odd for my father-in-law to call Elise home.’ Alex finally stirred himself to answer while standing up. The last time his wife had been summoned in such a way Beatrice had sent word because their father had fractured his collarbone in a fall. Naturally Walter had wanted to have both his beloved daughters by his side...just in case the injury had proved fatal.

‘Do you think some harm might have again befallen him?’

‘Walter wrote the letter himself, so I doubt he’s bedridden.’ Alex shrugged. ‘It’s probably all about Beatrice’s wedding day. Elise is matron of honour...’ He grimaced bewilderment at the workings of the female mind.

Hugh glanced up to find his friend’s eyes on him. ‘Yes...perhaps it’s just about the wedding,’ he muttered, resuming buttoning his cuffs.

‘You don’t ask about Beatrice any more.’ Alex began adjusting his cravat in the mantel glass now Hugh had left the space free.

‘Does she ask about me?’ Hugh countered, picking up his jacket and pegging it on a finger over a muscular shoulder. He preceded his friend towards the door.

They were heading towards the top of the stairs before Alex answered. ‘You can’t blame Beatrice for wanting to forget all about you after the way you behaved.’

Hugh’s mouth tilted sardonically. ‘Indeed...so it seems a bit pointless asking about her, doesn’t it?’ He plunged his hands into his pockets. ‘A lot of water has passed under the bridge since then...’

‘And for you...most of it flowed in India...’ Alex remarked dryly.

‘So it did...’ Hugh said in a similar vein. ‘I hope everything goes well on the big day.’

He moved ahead of Alex, descending the stairs at quite a speed.

On reaching the cool marble vestibule of Hugh’s grand town house the friends waited for the butler to announce that the curricle had been brought round. A moment later they clattered down the stone steps, then stopped to exchange a few words before going their separate ways.

‘Come along to Epsom with us if you’re kicking your heels. You might back a few winners and cheer yourself up by raising your bank balance.’ Hugh was speaking ironically; he knew very well that his friend’s accounts were in no need of a boost. It was his spirits that were flagging.

The startling change in his own fortunes still gave Hugh cause to smile inwardly. Just two years ago he’d had reason to watch carefully every penny he spent. Now he could purchase a stable of prized Arabs and watch them race at Epsom—or anywhere else—if that was his whim. Yet Hugh realised that his enthusiasm for a day out with his favourite mistress was waning and he felt oddly deflated.

‘You expect me to play gooseberry to you and the lovely Gwen?’ Alex scowled. ‘I don’t think I will, but thanks for asking.’ He clapped a hand on Hugh’s shoulder. ‘See you in White’s later in the week, I expect.’

‘It’s a bit late to let Gwen down with an excuse.’ Hugh sounded irritated by his conscience.

‘Quite right...keep the lady happy,’ Alex mocked.

Gwen Sharpe was a celebrated Cyprian known to select as lovers affluent gentlemen who could provide her with the finer things in life. Hugh certainly fitted the bill, following a bizarre stroke of luck that had made him one of the wealthiest men in the country.

‘I’ll be back before ten tonight. Do you fancy a visit to the Palm House to cure your boredom?’ Hugh called over a shoulder as he approached the kerb to take the curricle’s reins from his tiger.

Alex snorted a laugh. ‘I’m a married man...are you trying to get me hung?’

Hugh shook his head in mock disgust. ‘You’re under the thumb...that’s what you are.’

‘And I’ll willingly remain there...’ Alex returned, grinning.

The Palm House was a notorious den of iniquity where gambling and whoring went hand in hand. Men of all classes—from criminals to aristocracy—could be found mingling in its smoky environment from midnight till gone daybreak. At early light the club would spew forth its clientele, the majority of whom would stagger off with sore heads and empty purses.

Hugh set the greys to a trot, wishing he could shake off the feeling that he’d sooner return home than go to Epsom with Gwen. His mistress was beautiful and beguiling, if gratingly possessive at times. Any man would want to spend time with her... And yet Hugh, for a reason that escaped him, wanted solitude to reflect on a romance that had long been dead and buried. The woman he’d loved three years ago was now about to become another man’s bride, so what purpose would be served by brooding on what might have been?

With a curse exploding through his gritted teeth Hugh set the horses to a faster pace, exasperated by his maudlin thoughts and the fact that his friend had chosen this morning to remind him that his sister-in-law’s marriage was imminent. Beatrice Dewey was firmly in his past, and Gwen and Sophia, the courtesans he kept in high style, would serve very well for the present. If in need of deeper emotion he could head out to India and spend some time with somebody he’d grown to love...

* * *

‘What do you want?’

‘That’s a nice greeting, I must say.’

‘Are we to pretend I’m pleased to see you?’ Hugh folded the newspaper he’d been reading whilst breakfasting and skimmed it over the crisp damask tablecloth. He lounged into a mahogany chair-back, crossing his arms over the ruffles on his shirt. Sardonically, he surveyed his older brother.

Uninvited, Sir Toby Kendrick pulled out the chair opposite Hugh, seating himself with a flourish of coat-tails. He then stared obstinately at a footman until the fellow darted forward.

‘Coffee—and fill a plate with whatever is over there.’ Toby flicked a finger at the domed silver platters lining the sideboard whilst giving his order. He turned sly eyes on his brother, daring Hugh to object.

The servant withdrew with a jerky bow, a fleeting glance flying at his master from beneath his powdered wig. Hugh gave an imperceptible nod, sanctioning his brother’s boorish demand to be fed.

All of the servants knew—in common with the ton—that Hugh Kendrick and his older brother did not get on.

Sir Toby’s dislike of his younger brother had increased since Hugh’s wealth and standing had eclipsed his own. Toby had relished what he deemed to be his rightful place as loftiest Kendrick. Now he’d been toppled, and in such a teeth-grindingly, shocking stroke of luck for his brother that Toby had been apoplectic when first hearing about it. Knowing that he wasn’t alone in being bitter was no consolation to Toby. His brother was popular, and more people had been pleased than jealous of Hugh’s success.

Their mother and their sister had been overjoyed—no doubt because they’d both benefited from Hugh’s generosity. Toby had received nothing from Hugh other than a bottle of champagne with which to toast his luck. In the event Toby had refrained from smashing the magnum to smithereens on the step and downed the prime vintage at record speed, drowning his sorrows.

‘No broiled kidneys?’ Toby used a silver fork to push the food about on the plate that had just been set before him.

‘I don’t like kidneys,’ Hugh replied. He sat forward in his chair. ‘Neither do I like being disturbed by visitors at his ungodly hour of the day.’ He got to his feet. ‘Are you going to tell me what you want? Or have you just turned up for a free breakfast and the opportunity to try my patience?’

Toby shoved away the plate of untasted splendid food, a curl to his lip. ‘All that cash and you can’t find yourself a decent cook?’ he chortled.

‘As you’ve no appetite, and nothing of moment to say, it’s time you went on your way.’ He addressed the footman. ‘My brother is leaving. Show him out.’ Turning his back on Toby he strolled to the huge windows that overlooked Grosvenor Square, idly surveying the busy street scene.

The servant attempted to conceal his satisfied smirk on springing forward to do his master’s bidding.

‘You’re getting a bit too high and mighty, aren’t you?’ Toby barked, his cheeks florid.

‘Perhaps I spent too long studying you when growing up,’ Hugh drawled over a shoulder.

Toby whacked away the footman’s ushering arm, stomping closer to Hugh. ‘Very well...I have something to discuss,’ he snarled in an undertone.

‘Go ahead; but be brief. I have an appointment with my tailor.’

‘Might we repair to your library and be private?’ Toby suggested sarcastically.

Hugh glanced back at the servants clearing the breakfast things. He sighed. ‘If we must...’ He strode for the door without another word and once in the corridor approached the library at the same exasperated speed.

Toby trudged behind, his footsteps muffled by the luxurious carpet. Inwardly he squirmed at having to come here, cap in hand, and beg his brother for a loan. Not so long ago he had been the one the others in the family came to when in need of cash. It had given Toby immense pleasure to make them dance to his tune for their coins; even his mother had had to humble herself to extract her allowance from him. But now she had no need to because Hugh had provided her with a generous pension—something her dear late husband had omitted to do.

Sir Kenneth Kendrick had relied on his son and heir to provide fairly for his successors, proving that he might have doted on Toby but he had never come to know his eldest son’s true nature.

‘I need two hundred pounds urgently,’ Toby blurted as soon as the door was closed behind him.

‘Is that a request for a loan?’

‘You know damn well it is,’ Toby spat. He swiped a hand about his mouth, aware he’d need to control his temper if he was to get the cash and keep the duns at bay. Hugh might be open-handed where his mother and sister were concerned, but his generosity to Toby was a different matter.

Hugh leaned on the library table that almost spanned from one end of the oak-panelled room to the other. He drummed his long fingers in slow rhythm on the leather-topped furniture. ‘I’ve already handed over a thousand pounds in less than six months.’ Hugh watched his brother’s lips whiten in anger at that reminder.

‘I didn’t realise you were keeping a tally of the paltry sums.’ Toby flung himself down in a chair, affecting ennui.

‘As I recall, one thousand pounds wasn’t a paltry amount when I came to you many years ago and begged for your help in securing Sarah’s future.’

Then Toby’s meanness had run so deep that he’d denied his only sister the cash she desperately needed after she’d been compromised during her debut. With their father gone it had fallen to Hugh, impecunious at that time, to rescue Sarah’s reputation. He’d managed to scrape together a dowry—the majority of the cash borrowed from Alex Blackthorne—thus tempting a decent chap, lacking prospects, to put a ring on his disgraced sister’s finger.

Inwardly Toby railed at himself; he’d laid himself wide open to that barb. ‘The little madam deserved to be taught a lesson for acting like a strumpet.’

‘Our sister did nothing wrong other than to trust one of your friends to act as a gentleman. She was seventeen and not worldly-wise,’ Hugh coldly reminded him.

Toby snorted derision. ‘Well, she was worldly-wise after her folly...so a lesson well learned about promenading after dark with randy men. You—and she—should thank me rather than criticising.’

Hugh moved his head in disgust. ‘I wonder sometimes if we are related. You really are the most obnoxious character.’

‘Are you questioning our dear mama’s virtue?’ Toby guffawed. ‘She’ll not thank you for hearing that repeated. Perhaps I might tell her.’

He eyed his sibling calculatingly, feeling confident that Hugh would relent rather than risk upsetting their widowed mother. The dowager was approaching sixty-five and would be distraught to know her elder son risked a spell in the Fleet because his debts were out of control.

‘I’ve had enough of you...take yourself off...’ Hugh snapped in exasperation, turning for the door.

‘What’s wrong? No money left? Sent too much out to India, have you? Toby’s voice was low and sly and he concealed a smirk at the look of intense hatred he’d brought to his brother’s face.

‘I’ll arrange for a bank draft later in the day,’ Hugh said, just before quitting the room. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I need to be elsewhere...’

Toby strutted after him, looking exceedingly pleased with himself.

‘If you come again demanding me to bail you out of gambling debts you’ll be wasting your time. I won’t care what you say...’

‘Won’t you, now...?’ Toby drawled provocatively. ‘Gambling debts?’ He smoothly changed the subject. ‘It’s nothing so vulgar, my dear fellow. Serena has expensive tastes in jewellery, if you must have the details...’

Toby wasn’t referring to his prospective fiancée’s taste but to that of his mistress. Hugh knew his brother had set up Serena Worthing in a smart apartment, and even with a marriage contract under discussion it seemed Toby had no intention of putting her off to concentrate on his future wife.

‘Well, whatever it is...whoring, drinking, gambling...you’ll pay for it yourself in future.’

‘If ever our positions return to what they were...what they should be...I’ll remember this conversation and all those others where you’ve had the damnable cheek to moralise.’ Toby pointed a stout finger at his brother. ‘Before you got rich and Blackthorne got married the two of you were constant petticoat-chasers. Blackthorne might have eased off now, but you’re worse than ever since you got back from India.’ Toby thrust his face close to Hugh’s jaw. ‘Tell me...what it is about an exotic beauty that fires a man’s blood so...?’

‘You sound jealous of my popularity with the ladies.’ Hugh shoved his brother away and strode on along the corridor. ‘Show yourself out.’

Chapter Three

‘I’m sorry Papa worried you enough to bring you racing to Hertfordshire yesterday. I had no idea he’d summoned you home just because the wedding is off.’ Beatrice bounced her baby nephew on her knee. ‘Of course it is wonderful to have you visit, Elise, and this little chap has grown so big since I last saw him.’

Elise had been pouring tea into bone china, but on hearing the quaver in her sister’s voice she put down the pot and crouched down by the side of Bea’s armchair. ‘You don’t need to be brave with me, my dear. I know how dreadfully hurt you are.’ She pressed Bea’s fingers in comfort.

Beatrice avoided Elise’s astute gaze, blinking rapidly at the window to one side of her. ‘It is all right...really it is...it has been nearly a week now since...’ She tried to name the person who’d caused her heartbreak but found his name stuck to her tongue.

As her nephew gurgled, giving her a gummy smile, Bea fondled his soft pink cheek with a forefinger.

‘Another few days and I will be right as rain—won’t I, Master Adam?’

‘Well, I know I would not be, if it were me who’d been so cruelly jilted,’ Elise announced pithily. She shook her head in disbelief. ‘I’d never have imagined Dr Burnett to be a callous or a fickle fellow.’

‘I’m glad I wasn’t the only one who mistook his character.’ Beatrice sighed. ‘I can’t forgive him for abandoning me in favour of family duty, yet since I’ve had time to calm down I understand why he did so.’

‘Then I think you exceedingly over-obliging!’ Elise exclaimed. ‘Love should override all else in my book.’

‘In a perfect world...perhaps...’ Beatrice returned philosophically. ‘I think matrimony and Beatrice Dewey are destined to remain strangers.’

‘Never say so! There is a husband for you...he just has not shown himself yet.’ Elise attempted to draw her sister from her glums with a provocative comment. ‘As I recall, there was nobody more determined to be a wife and mother than you.’

Beatrice chuckled wryly at that reminder. Indeed, there had been a time when she’d driven her poor sister to distraction, so keen had she been to settle down with a nice fellow and raise a little family of her own. After several false starts she’d met Colin and finally thought her ambition was within her grasp. Now, for some reason, she felt tired of struggling towards that particular dream...

‘You girls are up early.’ Walter Dewey entered the sunny front parlour, supported by his stick. He gave his daughters an affectionate smile, thinking it nice to have them both together again at home, and with the added bonus of his handsome little grandson.

In Walter’s opinion the child was a perfect blend of his parents: he had the viscount’s brown eyes and sturdy build and his mother’s sharp chin and fair hair.

‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked Elise. ‘I heard young Adam having a grizzle just before dawn broke.’

‘He was wet so I changed his nappy,’ Viscountess Blackthorne said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to tend to her baby herself rather than give Adam to his nurse.

Following their parents’ acrimonious divorce, Elise and Bea had been reared by their papa in straitened circumstances, so were accustomed to being useful and practical in mundane matters. Both young women were quite happy to dress themselves and knew how to cook and clean. When younger, the sisters had taken to painting their bedrooms and made a capable job of it, much to their papa’s surprise and delight.

‘Don’t look at me like that, miss,’ Walter mildly reproved, having caught Beatrice frowning at him. ‘I know you believe I’m at fault because your sister has better things to do than commiserate with us that you’ve been put back on the shelf—’

‘I certainly do not!’ Elise cut across her father. ‘There’s nothing more important to me than being here with you, although the reason for it is upsetting.’ She gave her sister’s cheek an affectionate stroke. ‘Bea is certainly not on the shelf, Papa! How can she be when she is so pretty and looks not a day over eighteen...?’

‘Oh...Elise!’ Beatrice choked. ‘A very nice compliment but it really is too much.’

‘Perhaps I exaggerated just a little. You could pass easily for twenty-one and that is certainly not over-egging it.’ Elise cocked her head to assess her sister’s countenance. Beatrice was still one of the loveliest young women of her acquaintance, and in the haut monde Viscountess Blackthorne certainly came into contact with some vaunted beauties.

For the first time in days Beatrice chuckled with genuine amusement. ‘Papa’s right: I might be on the shelf...’ she pulled a little face ‘...but I’m not sure it worries me; at present I’m fed up with gentlemen and romance.’

‘That will pass.’ Walter flapped a hand. ‘Every young lady craves her own home and family.’

‘Are you trying to get rid of me, Papa?’ Beatrice teased her father.

‘You know I am not! You may stay with your old papa for as long as you wish...but to tell the truth I was looking forward to walking you down the aisle before these old legs finally give out on me.’

‘And so you shall, Papa,’ Elise reassured him, getting up from her place by her sister’s chair. Having tested the tea that she’d abandoned in the pot, Elise found it now unpalatably lukewarm.

‘Your Aunt Dolly will be very sad to have this news,’ Walter muttered, sinking into a seat.

‘She loves a wedding,’ Elise reflected, settling by her papa on the sofa.

‘She travelled here to attend your nuptials uninvited, as I recall.’ Walter dredged up a chuckle at the memory of his widowed sister turning up out of the blue on the eve of the wedding, expecting to be housed and fed.

‘And Mrs Vickers accompanied her,’ Elise chipped in, fondly dwelling on her countryside wedding at the local church. It had been a quiet, yet wonderful occasion, with just her family about her. She glanced at her sister, wondering if Bea was musing sadly on the fact that Colin Burnett had acted as Alex’s groomsman that fine afternoon.

‘I rather liked Edith Vickers,’ Beatrice remarked brightly. She had indeed been thinking of Colin’s role in her sister’s happy day and pounced on the first thing that came into her head to chase memories of him from her mind. ‘How is Mrs Vickers? Do you ever see her?’

‘Oh...of course...you would not know for I’ve not had a reason to mention it.’ Elise frowned. ‘Sadly, Mrs Vickers passed away.’ She leaned forward to impart an exciting titbit. ‘There was quite a brouhaha when it came to light that she had not been as hard up as she’d believed herself to be. When Edith’s husband died his creditors pounced and left her in very reduced circumstances. But they left alone the deeds to a strip of land in India because it was deemed to be barren. Mrs Vickers bequeathed it to her nephew, Hugh.’

‘Hugh Kendrick?’ Walter snarled.

He recalled that name. When Beatrice had gone with her sister to London several years ago Mrs Vickers’s nephew had shown undue interest in Beatrice, raising her hopes that he might propose. Walter had been enraged to know the fellow hadn’t the wherewithal to take on a wife so must fortune-hunt for a bride. He’d been angry at himself, too, knowing that if only he had put by a dowry for his daughters his elder child might have been settled before the younger, as was the proper way of things.

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear of her passing.’ Beatrice wiped dribble from her nephew’s mouth with her hanky. ‘I expect Aunt Dolly misses Edith. They were good friends, weren’t they?’

‘So...the land was not worthless?’ Walter guessed, returning to the crux of the matter.

‘It was not,’ Elise confirmed, clapping her hands in glee. ‘Alex was delighted for his friend when he found out about his good fortune. Of course there were many green-eyed people not so pleased at the turn of events, and Sir Toby Kendrick led the pack—’

‘What happened?’ Walter butted in impatiently, his gnarled hand clutching tightly at his stick, turning the knuckles white. Walter loved a good tale of Lady Luck turning up unexpectedly. Many a time over the years he had wished that elusive minx would smile on him when his marriage and his business had crumbled, leaving him desolate with two teenage girls to bring up alone.

‘The strip of land contained some mines, long ago abandoned as dry. Hugh went to India and had them reinvestigated from curiosity and they turned up a seam of fine diamonds. So now Hugh Kendrick is very rich, and I for one am overjoyed for him.’

Beatrice blinked in astonishment at her past love’s extraordinary stroke of luck. ‘Yes...good for him...’ she said quietly.

‘Good for him?’ Walter barked. ‘Another fellow who broke your heart, as I recall.’

‘I do seem to attract rogues.’ Beatrice’s tone was rueful rather than bitter. ‘I’m sure it’s my own fault,’ she added with a twinkling smile. ‘You have warned me not to be so impetuous, haven’t you, Papa?’ Bea knew that in the past, especially in her pursuit of Hugh Kendrick, she’d been not only impetuous but foolhardy.

Walter glanced at his jilted daughter. He’d been right to call Elise home, he realised; just a few days ago Beatrice’s low spirits had worried him. Now, with her sister close by, she was recovering far better than Walter had dared hope. It had always been a great comfort to him that his girls were good friends as well as close kin. He knew of families where siblings resented one another—especially when one child did better than the other. But Beatrice had only been happy for her younger sister when she had caught herself a handsome aristocrat to wed, and Elise with her open, sweet nature never attempted to lord it over her less fortunate sibling.

‘It’s a shame Edith didn’t pop off a few years ago,’ Walter said. ‘Her rogue of a nephew would have received his bequest earlier and been in a position to call on me for your hand.’

‘Papa!’ Beatrice cried, half-amused, half-outraged. ‘Poor Edith! I am sad to hear of her demise no matter what benefits it turned up.’ She gestured airily. ‘Besides, it all turned out for the best; after that little sojourn in London ended, and with it my friendship with Mr Kendrick, I had only been home a few days before I was feeling relieved that he’d thrown me over.’ She tickled Adam, making him giggle, while adding self-mockingly, ‘I quickly met Colin and fell in love all over again.’

‘On the rebound,’ Walter muttered darkly. ‘And look where that got you.’

‘Hugh is still a bachelor,’ Elise piped up, subtly siding with her father.

She had also thought at the time that her sister had transferred her affection to Dr Burnett far too quickly after Hugh’s rejection. Not that Hugh had carelessly withdrawn his suit; at the time he had confided in Alex to feeling mortified at not being in a position to propose to Bea. Elise had thought him brutal in making a clean break with her sister, yet had come to realise it had been the decent thing to do. The couple’s mutual affection had started stirring gossip, and the town tabbies loved nothing better than to amuse themselves shredding an innocent’s reputation.

A girl who too obviously set her cap at a gentleman, then failed to get him to put a ring on her finger, invited opprobrium. Worse still, if it had been discovered that Beatrice had advertised for a husband in a gazette, like a vulgar hussy, the Dewey sisters would have been hounded out of town during the season they’d been house guests of the Chapmans. In the event a scandal had broken, but Elise and Alex had been the butt of it and it had quickly died away when Elise received Alex’s marriage proposal.

‘I understood Hugh Kendrick had set his sights on Fiona Chapman’s inheritance.’ Walter had been reflecting, as had his daughters, on the drama of three years ago.

‘Fiona deterred him from proposing, I believe, knowing as she did that his heart wasn’t in it.’ Elise glanced at Beatrice, who seemed oblivious to the hint and continued playing pat-a-cake with Adam.

‘That young woman must have been kicking herself ever since.’ Walter growled a laugh. ‘I expect she has had the scolding of her life from Maude.’ He mentioned Fiona’s mother with obvious fondness. The Chapmans were good people and had remained loyal to the Deweys through good and bad times over the decades.

‘Verity is increasing with her first child.’ Verity Clemence, née Chapman, was a very dear friend of Elise’s. ‘I have only just found out!’ She answered Bea’s unspoken question, flashed by a pair of expressive blue eyes. ‘I believe the babe is not due till late autumn.’

‘She must be thrilled, and so must be Mr and Mrs Chapman.’ Beatrice sounded wistful. ‘It will be their first grandchild...’

A bang on the door caused the room’s occupants to abruptly cease their lively conversation and look at one another in surprise. Elise jumped up to peer discreetly out of the square-paned window. ‘We are on the point of having a visit from Mrs Callan and Victoria,’ she groaned.

‘The grapevine has done its work, then,’ Beatrice acknowledged wryly.

‘Would you sooner I sent them away?’ Elise feared that her sister was right: the vicar’s wife and daughter had come to pry about the broken engagement rather than politely socialise.

‘Everybody will know sooner or later, so I must get used to the idea of facing down the stares and whispers.’ Bea stood up, handing Adam to his mother. ‘Let’s get it over with now, while I’m feeling ready to deflect any amount of sly comments.’

Elise’s smile combined admiration and encouragement for Bea. ‘I’ll tell Betty to show them in.’

A few minutes later Elise was back with her family in the front parlour, exchanging a resigned smile with Bea as they heard voices in the hallway heralding their visitors’ imminent appearance.

‘We came as soon as we heard,’ Mrs Callan announced with theatrical sympathy, surging into the room. She halted abruptly, causing her plump daughter trailing in her wake to collide with her. Nudging Victoria, to alert her to the presence of aristocracy, Mrs Callan bobbed low to the viscountess, who was rocking her son in her arms.

‘We are indeed honoured to see you today, Lady Blackthorne. Ah...you have brought your little son to see his grandpapa.’ Ethel Callan fluttered a hand to her throat to indicate her regret in what she was about to say. ‘Of course it is a shame that such calamitous news brings you back to Hertfordshire.’

‘I come to Hertfordshire gladly, for good or bad news.’

‘Oh...of course...’ Mrs Callan approached Beatrice, taking her hands in a thin, dry grip. ‘Shocked! It is not too strong a word!’ She gave Bea’s fingers a vigorous shake. ‘Deeply disappointed also, to discover that nice Dr Burnett would heartlessly abandon you like that.’

‘We have discovered he is not so nice, have we not, Mama?’ Victoria piped up.

‘Dr Burnett had his reasons for doing what he did and I have accepted them, so that is that.’ Beatrice’s voice was cool and held an air of finality as she firmly withdrew her hands from the older woman’s clutch. She was not about to be drawn into complaining about her loss. Whatever she said would be repeated ad infinitum in the village.

‘Do take a seat, madam, and you also, Miss Callan.’ Walter’s fist was quivering on his stick as his annoyance increased. Just as he’d been daring to hope Beatrice seemed more cheerful these two were likely to overset her again with their false pity. He knew for a fact that Victoria had done her utmost to snare the doctor herself. It had gone round the locality that the minx had concocted ailments simply to get the fellow to make a house call. Her father had moaned to Walter that he owed Burnett a tidy sum on account of his spinster daughter’s antics, and no gain made from it.

Ethel Callan settled down, with much smoothing of skirts, in a vacant chair by the fireside, and her daughter perched on the sofa next to Walter.

‘We were just about to have some fresh tea,’ Beatrice announced. ‘I’ll ask Mrs Francis to bring two more cups and a fresh pot...’ Her voice tailed off as another rata-tat on the door was heard. Inwardly she groaned, fearing yet more ladies had come to gleefully commiserate with her. ‘I’ll go this time.’ She sent Elise a subtle wink that conveyed she’d sooner her sister fielded questions for a short while.

Chapter Four

In the hallway Beatrice spied the comforting figure of Mrs Francis ambling towards her from the direction of the kitchen.

‘I’ll attend to the door.’ Bea gave the housekeeper a smile. ‘Would you make some tea for us, please, and bring it along directly? The sooner we have been hospitable the sooner our guests might decide to be on their way.’

Betty Francis twitched a smile, understanding the quip. ‘Don’t you worry. I’ll be quick as I can with the refreshments, but maybe I’ll just dawdle a moment and see how many cups we might need.’ The woman’s grey head pointed grimly at the door. Betty knew very well why people were calling on them, and wouldn’t be surprised to see Squire Thaddon’s wife outside with some of her friends, keen to join the inquisition that was taking place in the front parlour.

‘I suppose that might be wise,’ Bea said wryly.

‘The rumour mill’s been grinding overtime, no doubt about that,’ Betty muttered darkly. ‘Might be you’ll open up and I’ll need to break out another tea service.’

Betty Francis and her husband Norman had been with the Deweys for approaching twenty-five years and felt very protective of the family. Betty had been like a mother to the girls when the hussy Mr Dewey had married ran off to her lover. If she bumped into the doctor Betty would cheerfully wring his neck for breaking Miss Beatrice’s heart. But she’d heard from the butcher’s boy, who’d pedalled over earlier in the week, that Colin Burnett had wasted no time in upping sticks and moving away.

With one hand Beatrice smoothed her sprigged muslin dress, while the other tucked blonde tendrils behind her small ears. Forcing an insouciant expression, she opened the door. Extreme astonishment caused her smile to freeze on her full pink lips.

‘Hello, Beatrice; you look well...’

‘Why...Mr Kendrick...I...that is...we were expecting somebody else,’ Beatrice finished faintly, having finally snapped herself to attention.

‘You remember me...I’m flattered.’

Beatrice attempted to rouse herself from her stupor. Her heart had begun to thud erratically and the pearl buttons on her bodice were quivering with every breath she took. But if her visitor noticed her bosom’s alluring movement he gave no sign; Hugh Kendrick’s eyes were politely fixed on her blanching face.

‘I’m sorry to startle you, and hope I’ve not arrived at a bad time...’

‘No...not at all...’ Bea fibbed. ‘Please...do come in, sir.’ She belatedly remembered her manners and drew to one side, aware that Betty was hovering behind, watching and listening to their strained conversation.

‘Just one more cup, then, please, Mrs Francis.’ Beatrice was thankful to have a reason to turn to the housekeeper and compose herself, simply to avoid a pair or relentless hawk-like eyes.

She had recognised Hugh straight away, yet marvelled at having done so. The person before her little resembled the gentleman she had fallen in love with three years ago. His thick hair was still conker-brown, worn rather long, and his eyes were deepest hazel, fringed with ebony lashes; but there all similarity ended. Once he’d had an appealing fresh-faced demeanour and had worn modestly styled attire. Now his lean, angular face was sun-beaten and bore lines of dissipation. His elegantly tailored suit of clothing, dusty and creased from the journey, proclaimed him a man who could afford to be carelessly indulgent.

So far they’d exchanged few words, all of them polite, yet Bea felt unsettled by his lazy confidence. Once Hugh Kendrick would blush endearingly the moment she entered a room; at present she found his hooded amber gaze intimidating rather than flattering. As Beatrice pivoted about to again invite him into her home she sensed a pang of regret that he was no longer a charming young fellow but an aloof stranger who possessed an alarming virility.

‘I expect you’re busy with wedding preparations.’

His quiet comment caused Beatrice to snap her darkening eyes to him, wondering if he was being deliberately sarcastic. His tone had been as unemotional as were his features, but she quickly realised it was unlikely he’d yet heard her bad news. Her sister had only found out a few days ago on reaching Hertfordshire, and Elise’s husband remained in ignorance of what had gone on.

‘It’s none of my business, I know. My apologies for mentioning it.’ Hugh had sensed her frostiness increase at the mention of her marriage. She had good cause to dislike him, and he’d often cursed the reason for it.

But not any more. He’d been too broke to have her—the only woman he’d really wanted—and following several humiliating and vain attempts at fortune-hunting a bride he’d done with love and marriage. Now he could buy himself all the female company he needed, and renew it when he grew bored with the women in his life.

Hugh’s mouth slanted in self-mockery as he recalled that a joyful wedding reception had been taking place the last time they’d been in one another’s company.

Alex Blackthorne had been married in Hertfordshire at a country church with few people in attendance, but he had bestowed on his bride an extravagant party when they arrived back in Mayfair. No expense had been spared and the lavish affair had seen ambitious society brides emulating it ever since.

During the celebration Hugh remembered Beatrice and her father keeping their distance from him. He had taken against the fellow escorting Beatrice even before Alex told him that Beatrice Dewey had become engaged to Colin Burnett.

‘What do you want, sir?’ Bea asked coolly, although her complexion had grown warm beneath his relentless scrutiny. She felt wound as tightly as a spring, but the thrill of being so close to him, enveloped in his musky sandalwood scent, was not easily conquered. If he’d just stop staring at her, she thought crossly, she might manage to calm down and stop turning over in her mind what had happened between them years ago.

At Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, Hugh had singled her out, paying her such attention that a crowd of envious women had closed in on them to eavesdrop. The giddy elation of that warm midsummer evening and the following days, anticipating her next meeting with Hugh, were not easy to forget. Neither was the memory of her happiness disintegrating when he bluntly told her he couldn’t see her again.

‘We have some neighbours visiting. I do not want to seem inhospitable, sir, but it might be better if you do not join us.’ Mrs Callan’s hoarse laugh had jolted Beatrice to the present. ‘My father has not forgotten or forgiven that once we knew each other...that is, he recalls that our brief friendship turned sour,’ Beatrice hastily amended, blushing. They had most definitely not known each other—in the biblical sense or any other. She had mistaken this man’s nature and sincerity just as she had with Colin.

‘I regret that we parted before I knew you as well as I would have liked.’

‘I cannot echo that sentiment, sir.’ Hugh’s amused tone had deepened the colour staining Beatrice’s porcelain complexion. ‘My only regret is that I ever became acquainted with you at all.’ Stolen kisses and caresses, snatched during their brief moments alone, were at the forefront of her mind, putting a disquieting throb low in her belly. Bea feared he might also be recalling their passionate moonlit trysts, and his next soft comment proved her intuitive.

‘I don’t believe you wish we’d never met when we had such a delightful time.’

‘Then you should curb your conceit, because it is the truth,’ Beatrice snapped, avoiding the sultry glint in his eyes. ‘Once again I must ask you what you want. I cannot believe you have simply come to see me and reminisce—’

‘I won’t keep you long from your friends,’ Hugh interrupted smoothly. ‘Nice as it is to see you, my dear, it’s a far more vital matter that brings me here uninvited.’

Bea was aware of the arrogance in his tone and felt her hackles rise. No doubt now he had increased his prospects he felt she should feel flattered by his attention. Before she could step away from him he’d strolled back towards the door as though he might leave.

‘I have some urgent news for Alex. Would you fetch him, please, so I might speak to him?’ Hugh’s exasperating thoughts made him sound harsh and domineering. Beneath his breath he was cursing himself for finding her country freshness sweetly appealing after Gwen’s cloying presence. Once he’d touched and caressed Beatrice often, and with her full consent. Any sudden move from him now was sure to result in a swift slap, so he’d distanced himself to avoid temptation.

‘Alex?’ A small frown crinkled Bea’s brow. ‘Why, I cannot get him, sir...he is not here. Elise arrived a few days ago with baby Adam but we have not seen Alex. Is he on his way, then?’

‘I imagined he would have arrived by now. He left before me. His butler said he’d travelled into Hertfordshire so I came directly here, assuming he’d be with Elise.’

On the long hard ride towards St Albans he’d been wondering how he’d feel again when he saw Beatrice. In his youth he’d been infatuated plenty of times, impoverished just as frequently, by pert beauties with expensive tastes. But he’d put all of them from his mind. Beatrice Dewey he’d not been able to forget. He’d explained it away by blaming mutual friends for keeping the winsome blonde haunting his thoughts. But Hugh suspected that what presently occupied Beatrice’s mind was her brother-in-law’s safety. She was no doubt imagining that Alex had come a cropper on the road, and Hugh naturally wanted to soothe her fears on that score.

‘If he’d broken an axle, or one of his horses had gone lame, I would have passed him en route,’ Hugh softly reassured her. ‘Alex might have taken a break at a tavern.’

A furrow appeared in Beatrice’s smooth brow, testament to the fact she was not entirely convinced by that argument. ‘I shall let Elise know you are here; she’ll want to speak to you if you’ve come on her husband’s account.’

Swiftly Hugh moved to apprehend her, catching her wrist in a firm grip. ‘It might be best not to tell her anything till I locate Alex. I don’t want to unduly upset Elise if there is an easy explanation for the viscount’s absence.’

‘Yes...I understand...’ Beatrice croaked, her skin heating beneath his clasp. She’d proof now that Hugh Kendrick had kindly sought to allay her fears over her brother-in-law’s tardiness, despite suspecting all might not be well. But it was the sensation of Hugh’s touch—far more assertive than she remembered it to be—rather than anxiety for Alex that was making her captured flesh quiver.

Slowly Hugh withdrew his hand, and this time Bea heard a syllable of the oath he emitted as he jammed his hands in his pockets and walked off.

‘Oh, there you are, Bea...I wondered where you had got to...’

It was too late to prevent Elise knowing the truth: Bea’s prolonged absence had prompted her sister to nip out of the front parlour in search of her. With Adam cradled against a shoulder, obscuring her view, Elise hadn’t at first noticed the gentleman by the door.

‘Hugh!’ Elise hurried towards him. ‘What a lovely surprise to see you! Why have you not joined us in the parlour?’ she burst out. Elise’s sparkling gaze veered between the couple, lingered on Bea, wordlessly enquiring what had brought about this unexpected and exciting turn of events.

‘Mr Kendrick has come here with important news for Alex.’ Beatrice didn’t want to worry Elise, but knew her sister would eventually discover the reason behind Hugh’s visit. ‘We expect he’ll turn up soon, having stopped for a drink.’

‘Alex didn’t say he would come after me but I won’t be surprised if he does.’ Elise smiled contentedly. ‘He’s probably at the Red Lion. He doesn’t like Papa to fiddle and fuss and spend his money on unnecessary comforts just so he might bed down here for a night or two.’

‘Of course...that’s where he is.’ Beatrice sighed in relief. When Viscount Blackthorne had been courting her sister he would often lodge at the inn at St Albans.

Elise was swaying her drowsing son while frowning at Hugh. ‘If you’ve come all this way it must be bad news. Please tell me what it is for I shall only fret if you do not. Has something awful happened in the few days I’ve been away?’

‘I’m afraid that your mother-in-law has scarlatina.’ Hugh comforted Elise with a sympathetic smile as one of her hands flew to cover her shocked gasp. ‘The physician thinks she will recover well but at her age there is an obvious risk...’ His voice tailed off. ‘She has been asking to see Alex.’

‘Of course...he must go immediately to her side. I should return too.’ Elise was very fond of her mother-in-law and knew the woman doted on Alex, her only child.

‘It has been wonderful to see you, but Papa will understand why you must cut short your visit.’ Beatrice strove to remove Elise’s worry over leaving so soon after arriving in Hertfordshire.

The doorknocker was again loudly employed at the same moment that Betty reappeared, shuffling towards them, bearing a tray laden with a silver tea set surrounded by some delicate bone china.

‘If it’s more nosey Parkers here to tattle they can come back another time,’ the housekeeper stated with salty directness. ‘We’re right out of tea anyhow, till Norman gets back from town with the provisions.’

Being closest to the door, Hugh did the honours, opening it to find Alex on the step.

The viscount gave his chum a quizzical look while proceeding inside, but was prevented from asking the most obvious question. His wife hastily handed her precious burden to her sister, then launched herself at him to hug him about the waist in a show of welcome and comfort at the news she must soon break. Gently Elise urged her husband towards a small alcove by the stairs so they might quietly converse.

‘What’s it all about?’ Walter demanded waspishly, emerging from the parlour and pulling the door shut behind him. ‘You’re not going to abandon me with those two, are you?’

Leaning heavily on his stick, he fished out his spectacles and put them on so he might get a closer look at what was occurring. He peered from one to the other of the people crowding his narrow hallway. ‘Ah...capital! I see my son-in-law has dropped by to join us...why are they whispering?’

Walter didn’t wait for a reply to his question about Elise and Alex huddling together a yard or so away. His attention had already moved on to a person he felt sure he recognised. When the fellow’s identity popped into his mind his gaze narrowed angrily on Hugh Kendrick’s tall, distinguished figure.

‘Ha! I do know you! So you’ve heard, have you, and come to speak to my daughter and me? Well, Bea won’t have you now, no matter how much money you’ve got from your diamonds. And neither will I. You had your chance years ago, so be off with you.’

In the ensuing silence Betty shuffled forward with the heavy tea tray, and never before had Bea felt quite so grateful for their housekeeper’s peevishness.

‘Is some kind person going to open the door?’ The woman huffed out. ‘My arms are giving out with the weight of this lot.’ Betty rested a hip against the wall for support.

Courteously, Hugh unburdened the elderly servant, allowing her to enter the parlour. She gave him a wide smile when he carried the tray inside and put it down on the table, causing the two seated ladies to gawp admiringly at him. Hugh nodded politely before retracing his steps, leaving Betty behind the closed door setting the cups and Mrs Callan and Victoria frantically burbling in low voices.

‘You may quit my house, sirrah.’ Walter pointed his stick at Hugh. ‘Beatrice, come into the parlour, do. I’ve exhausted every topic of conversation I can think of that avoids mentioning a fickle scoundrel upsetting my daughter.’ Again his rheumy eyes settled accusingly on Hugh.

Walter beckoned to Elise and Alex, then disappeared inside the parlour, oblivious to his elder daughter’s mortification or Hugh Kendrick’s cynically amused expression.

‘I’m sorry my father was so rude just then.’ Beatrice’s voice was hoarse with chagrin and she found she could not meet his eyes. She feared he’d understood her father’s oblique reference to her having been jilted. Eventually it would all come out and Hugh Kendrick, along with other acquaintances who resided further afield, would discover Beatrice Dewey’s wedding had been cancelled, but she didn’t want his pity, or his questions, today.

‘I’ve poured the tea if you want to go in and drink it before it goes cold,’ Betty announced, still sounding tetchy as she closed the parlour door and stomped off down the corridor.

‘Just take tea with us, Alex, before setting off to see your mother; Papa will like it if you do.’ Elise tenderly removed her drowsing baby from Bea’s embrace. She’d seen the wisdom in her husband’s argument that he could travel faster alone to London. ‘I can explain all about the dowager’s illness to Papa when the ladies leave.’

Elise gave Hugh a look of heartfelt gratitude, then the preoccupied couple joined Walter in the parlour, leaving Beatrice behind and in two minds as to whether to follow them. But running off and letting Hugh Kendrick see himself out would be rude and cowardly. Beatrice hoped she was neither of those things. Today Hugh had acted as a true friend to her brother-in-law; the least he deserved in recompense was a little hospitality before setting again on the road.

‘I’ll go to the kitchen and get you some refreshment. You should have some tea at least...’

Hugh caught at her shoulder as she turned to go. ‘Your father’s churlishness doesn’t bother me, but I’d like you to explain to me what caused it.’

Beatrice tipped up her chin, met his eyes squarely. ‘I have already told you that he has not forgotten or forgiven you for pursuing me when I was younger.’ The sensation of his long fingers again restraining her was making her skin tingle and burn. She glanced significantly at the tanned digits curved on rose-sprigged cotton. ‘If you don’t mind waiting in there I will fetch your tea.’ Beatrice indicated a door further along the hallway.

‘Am I to be held in solitary confinement?’

Hugh sounded less amused now—haughty, even, Bea realised as his fingers fractionally tightened on her before dropping away. But though her defences were rising she knew he had a point. ‘I admit it is unfair treatment, sir, when you have performed a mission of mercy for your friend. I beg you will tolerate my elderly father’s foibles. It is not just you he is set against; he is protective of his daughters and hostile to any person who might have harmed us.’

‘Is Dr Burnett such a person?’ Hugh asked bluntly.

‘I will explain to Papa how generously you have behaved when our visitors have gone.’ Fearing he might repeat his question about Colin’s role in all this, Beatrice quickly took two backward steps before carrying on towards the kitchen.

Chapter Five

‘Who’s the handsome stranger?’ Betty asked in her forthright way, having assessed Beatrice’s tortured expression. ‘I’ve not seen him here before but I reckon he knows you...and rather well in my opinion.’ She wiped her damp hands on her pinafore then plonked them on her ample hips.

Beatrice had closed the kitchen door and then her eyes while leaning against the panels, her head tilted up in an attempt to control her whirling thoughts. She pushed away from her support and with a sigh took a seat at the floury-topped table. ‘He’s a good friend of the viscount’s,’ she finally answered, picking up a warm biscuit from the dozen or so cooling on a rack. Beatrice loved a freshly baked treacle biscuit and usually would have taken a greedy bite and got a ticking off from Betty for not letting it set properly. But she put it back, unable to quell the queasiness in her stomach spoiling her appetite.

‘So...this fellow is also a friend of yours, is he, Miss Beatrice?’ Betty crossed her arms over her chest, awaiting a reply.

‘Once he was...or I thought as much. But I was wrong about him as well.’ Beatrice frowned at her fingers, clasped in front of her on the table. She’d banished Colin from her mind and refused to mention his name. ‘Would you put the kettle on, Betty? Mr Kendrick has done the viscount a good turn by conveying news from London. He deserves some tea before setting off home.’

The housekeeper gave Beatrice an old-fashioned look. ‘I’ll do that for him, and I’ll even bring him along a few of those.’ She tipped her head at the biscuits. ‘No matter what your father thinks of the fellow, I took to him— ’cos he’s a gentleman not too high and mighty to give a hand to the likes of me.’

‘He hasn’t always been a wealthy man, so I expect he is used to fetching and carrying for himself,’ Beatrice murmured, almost to herself.

‘Sometimes them that comes late to luxury are the worst sort, with their penny-pinching and lording it. They don’t want to go back to scrimping and scraping, and doffing caps, you see. He’s not like that. I’d stake my life on it.’ Betty imparted her wisdom on the subject of upstarts.

Bea planted an elbow on the tabletop and sank her sharp little chin into a palm. She couldn’t agree with Betty’s estimation of Mr Kendrick’s modesty. She’d seen a very imperious glint in his eyes earlier that had impressed upon her, almost as much as had his cool tone of voice, that he was no longer the ordinary man she’d once known...and loved.

‘Off you go, then, and keep him company and I’ll be along directly.’ The housekeeper nodded at the door.

‘I think I’d sooner stay here with you and wait till the tea’s brewed.’

‘I know you would,’ Betty said. ‘That’s why I reckon you should go and sit with him and show him what you’re made of.’ She wagged a finger. ‘You, Miss Beatrice, are not a coward. If I can tell he frightens you I reckon he already knows.’

‘He does not frighten me!’ Beatrice asserted, sitting straight in the chair and blinking at Betty.

‘In that case you’ll remember your manners and have a nice chat about the weather with him while the kettle boils,’ Betty returned bossily. ‘I’ll be by in about ten minutes with a hot pot of tea and a plate of biscuits.’ She turned away. ‘But those two in the front parlour aren’t getting any; Vicar’s wife maybe, but not a charitable bone in her body by my reckoning. And the daughter’s not much better.’

Betty glanced over her shoulder as she heard the chair scrape back. Her puckered features softened in a smile as she watched Beatrice marching towards the door, a determined set to her full mouth.

‘Tea won’t be long...do sit down, sir.’

Beatrice had entered the morning room to find Hugh standing by the unlit fire, contemplating the view through the window. His long fingers were drumming on the oak mantelpiece, making him seem impatient, and Bea wondered if he’d decide to leave without waiting for refreshment. The idea that he might depart before she’d proved to him her indifference to his arrival prompted her to burst out with some conversation.

‘I hope that the dowager will soon recover. I have only met her once or twice but found her to be very nice,’ Beatrice rattled off. She had decided to steer their chat in the direction of mutual concerns. In that way she might avoid his hard stares and lazy mockery. ‘My father will be sad to hear that she’s ailing. He also likes Alex’s mother...’

‘I’ll attempt to find out how she managed to charm him,’ Hugh remarked dryly. He strolled to an armchair and sat down.

Beatrice perched on a seat opposite, inwardly sighing that she’d suffered an early defeat. ‘How are your family keeping, sir?’ she asked brightly, recollecting that he had a younger married sister. ‘Have you nephews or nieces?’

‘One of each,’ Hugh replied, sitting back and planting a dusty boot atop one knee. His fingers curled close to his mouth and he regarded her through dropped lashes. He knew she was anxious to avoid answering personal questions but, vulgar as his curiosity might be, he wanted to hear from her own lips that her wedding was off.

Elise’s urgent summons to the countryside, taken together with Walter Dewey’s recent bitter comments about scoundrels upsetting his daughters, pointed to the fact that Beatrice was not after all getting married. Hugh wanted her to tell him herself, because in that way he could judge her reaction and whether she had instigated the break-up with Dr Burnett.

‘How old are your sister’s children?’ Beatrice doggedly continued, keeping an eye on the clock. Betty had said she would bring the tea in ten minutes; Bea was sure that five must already have passed. Yet the hands seemed to have crawled only fractionally about the face of the timepiece ticking on the wall.

‘Luke is seven and Lucinda five.’

‘Such nice names,’ Beatrice remarked, on realising he wasn’t about to add anything to the drawled information. Abruptly she got to her feet. ‘I should open the door wider for Mrs Francis or she will struggle entering with the tray. Indeed...I should carry it for her...’

Bea had a plausible excuse to escape the strained atmosphere, but Betty’s warning about acting cowardly rang in her ears, holding her on the spot. Today there’d been nothing in Hugh Kendrick’s behaviour to which she might take serious offence. So far he’d been unfailingly civil... And yet she knew Betty had spoken the truth: she was fearful of him, and not simply because he might at any moment launch an unwanted question at her.

The fever on her flesh where his hands had been, the butterflies circling in her stomach, all were indications that she was not immune to this man, and she dearly wanted to be. It might be three years since they’d kissed and caressed one another but the memory of it was strengthening with every minute that passed. There was an unbearable tension between them and she knew he too was dwelling on that shared intimacy.

Never had Colin Burnett kissed her so hard and long that a vivid colour had stained her lips for hours. Never had he, during their long engagement, pulled open her bodice and drawn whimpers of delight from her when his mouth teased her breasts.

In a brief courtship Hugh Kendrick had done those things and more before it had all turned to ashes.

But he was different now, and she must be too. Behind the screen of his long lashes amusement was competing with lust in his hazel eyes. He might still desire her but he no doubt found his younger self—and hers—risible in hindsight. He now possessed riches...and power and influence. She could tell that from his every mannerism and utterance. He was no longer a man used to being denied what he wanted, whereas once everything...even she as his wife...had been out of his reach. Now, of course, he could pick and choose from society debutantes for a bride.

Well, she wouldn’t want him as a husband now! Beatrice inwardly exhorted herself. Her papa was right: even had he raced here on hearing she was free, to beg her to accept his proposal, she’d not have him! He’d had his chance and could go away, back to his fine life, and leave her in peace. She had earlier said to her father and sister that she’d done with men and marriage and she’d meant it. The idea of living out her days as a spinster, doting on her nephew rather than her own offspring, was not a vastly depressing future.

She moistened her lips, feeling calmer and ready to force out a little more conversation. ‘I shall no doubt hear Betty approaching.’ Beatrice returned to her chair and sat down. ‘There is no need to leave you alone again.’

‘Thank you...’

Beatrice shot him a look, noting his ironic tone, but if he wanted to interrogate her, let him. She now felt prepared for any challenge he might throw down.

‘The weather is cool for the time of the year.’ Bea again broke the silence, irked that she was the one making all the effort to be sociable. ‘Have you a little conversation about your journey?’ she suggested with faux sweetness. ‘For instance...did you drive here or come on horseback?’ She again glanced at the snugly fitting dusty jacket encasing his broad shoulders. She imagined his valet would be horrified to see the state of it.

‘Horseback; it seemed the quickest way to travel with urgent news.’

‘And did it rain during the journey?’ Beatrice asked, causing him to smile.

‘Just a few spots...’

‘Oh...well, I’m glad you kept dry at least.’

‘I appreciate your concern.’

Again Beatrice flicked an acid look at him from beneath her lashes, then glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes had passed. She hoped Betty was not deliberately hanging things out because she had taken to Hugh Kendrick and wanted him to stay a while...

‘Do I make you nervous, Beatrice?’

Bea snapped her sapphire eyes to his watching gaze. ‘Of course not! What makes you think that, sir?’

‘I fear you are about to wrench apart that handkerchief.’ He jerked a nod at the scrap of linen, taut between her rigid fingers.

She’d unconsciously been twisting it for minutes. Quickly she tossed aside the thing that had betrayed her.

‘I should leave and let you get back to your guests.’ Hugh stood up.

‘No!’ Beatrice jumped to her feet, instinctively stepping towards him. ‘Please—’ She broke off, unsure of what she had been about to say but realising that she honestly did not want him to go yet. ‘I could not in all conscience allow you to journey home without something to drink. Would you prefer a glass of port? You have come a very long way with unpleasant tidings.’

‘I believe you were already dealing with an unpleasant matter and I’ve made things worse.’ He drove his hands into his pockets, tilting his head to watch her averted expression. ‘Were you, Beatrice, dealing with a family crisis when I turned up?’

‘No...’ She swung a beautifully poised mien towards him. ‘I am no longer marrying Dr Burnett, so there has been something for us, as a family, to discuss, but it’s done now.’ She fluttered a gesture. ‘No crisis at all...far too strong a word for the situation...’

Hugh stared out of the large casement at the garden. ‘The man’s a damnable fool.’

Beatrice moistened her lips, mortified that from her casual explanation he’d easily deduced that she’d been jilted rather than the other way around.

He pivoted on a heel, gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘You seem unlucky enough to attract such types and I’m sure you don’t deserve to, my dear.’

‘You know nothing about me now. Please do not feel obliged to embroider your condolences.’

Beatrice realised it was high time to show him out before the annoying lump in her throat choked her. Why was she feeling close to tears because he’d said something nice about her and offered his sympathy?

Without asking if he would oblige, the housekeeper came in, holding out the tray for Hugh to carry to the table. She also gave him a smile and, Beatrice was sure, a wink. A moment later Betty had withdrawn, leaving a silence that was shattered within seconds by the clock chiming.

Beatrice busied herself pouring tea. ‘Please be seated again, if you wish.’ Suddenly voices in the hallway drew her attention. ‘The vicar’s wife and daughter are leaving...’

‘I’m sorry I kept you from them,’ Hugh murmured, choosing to prop himself against the mantelpiece rather than take a chair.

For the first time since he’d arrived they exchanged a proper smile.

‘Please don’t apologise, sir, for their company was no loss on my part, I assure you.’ Bea put a cup of tea near the five bronzed fingers splayed on the mantelshelf.

‘I’m certain your father and sister did sterling work on your behalf.’

‘They are both protective of me and will see off the tattlers.’ Beatrice sipped tea, placing down her cup with an unsteady hand that rattled together china. ‘Mrs Callan and her daughter wished to let me know how shocked and sorry they are to hear I’m to remain a spinster, so are bound to be disappointed to have lost my company after just a few minutes. But I would not have our neighbours...or anybody for that matter...think that I am hiding away, embarrassed and heartbroken, so must go over to the vicarage later in the week to allow their sympathy full rein.’

Hugh smiled. ‘And are you? Heartbroken, I mean? You’re too fine to allow that dolt Burnett to embarrass you...’

‘Why bother asking how I feel now? You didn’t care before!’ Bea cried, before sinking her small teeth in her lower lip to stem the list of accusations ready to be launched at him. Abruptly she turned and snatched up the plate of treacle biscuits, bitterly regretting that she’d let her suppressed anger at his defection, rather than Colin’s, simmer and boil over. ‘Please, have a biscuit. Betty would like you to...’ She slid the plate next to his untasted tea on the oak mantel.

‘Of course I damn well cared!’ Hugh gritted out, curving his fingers over her forearm to keep her close when she would have swished away. ‘Did you believe me that callous?’

Bea prised away his fingers from her body, flinging him off when he would have kept her hand imprisoned in his. But there was a smile pinned to her lips when she said, ‘I’m sorry, sir...please think nothing more of it. I’m just a little on edge after recent events or would not have spoken so.’

She made a concerted effort to still her madly drumming heart. She would not allow him, or any man, to make her act like a hysterical harpy. She had, just an hour or two ago, felt relatively at peace with the prospect of returning to her life as a spinster and living at home with her father. Now, since Hugh Kendrick’s arrival, old yearnings and emotions that she’d thought she’d successfully conquered were again pricking at her mind, making her feel restless.

‘I must not keep you any longer,’ she blurted. ‘I expect you will want to speak to Alex before he heads off to see his mother...’

A skewed smile was Hugh’s reaction to being summarily dismissed. ‘Perhaps I should not have made my presence known to your guests earlier,’ he said quietly. ‘Will our absence from the parlour have given rise to more speculation and added to your troubles?’

Bea had been occupying her nervous fingers by shifting crockery to and fro on the tray. Now she turned about with a frown. ‘I admit I had not thought of that...’ And I should have. The phrase rotated slowly in her mind. She’d concentrated on the Callans being absorbed by her jilting, but of course they’d also be intrigued to have the details of what had kept Miss Dewey and Mr Kendrick elsewhere in the house during their visit. Mrs Callan was renowned for an ability to craft a salacious rumour from little other than her own imagination...

‘Your family are sure to have explained the situation,’ Hugh reassured her. ‘It would indeed be a travesty if you were to be the subject of conjecture because of me when nothing at all exists between us...does it?’

‘Nothing at all,’ Bea fervently endorsed. ‘And, as you say, my sister and father would have made that quite clear when explaining that I was attending to your needs...your hospitality,’ she quickly amended, managing a fleeting smile despite his amused expression acknowledging her infelicity. ‘Besides, in a short while people will no longer be interested in me but chasing new and more interesting tales.’

Unfortunately Beatrice knew that was not strictly true in this neck of the woods: London might boast fresh scandals every week, but in the sticks it might be six months or more before the old biddies found something as entertaining as Beatrice Dewey’s being jilted to chew over at their afternoon get-togethers. They’d also be intrigued to know that soon after the cancellation of her wedding to Dr Burnett she’d been having a private talk with a handsome stranger.

Bea raised a hand to her throbbing brow, realising she was not quite as indifferent to cruel gossip as she’d believed herself to be. If a rumour started, and travelled to London, that shortly after being jilted she’d tried to charm Hugh Kendrick, she’d be mortified...especially if he got to hear of it...

‘I’m setting off in a moment. Do you fancy a lift back to town? You can tether your mount to the curricle.’ Alex had given a cough to herald his arrival before fully entering the morning room and addressing his friend. Behind him came his wife, using a knuckle between Adam’s soft lips to pacify him.

‘He is hungry, and wet too. I shall take him upstairs.’ Elise gazed into her husband’s face. ‘Promise you will come and say goodbye before leaving.’

Alex cupped his wife’s cheek with a loving hand. It was answer enough for Elise and she went off, content.

‘So...you are still here, Mr Kendrick.’ Walter limped into the room. ‘I believe I mistook the reason for your arrival, sir. I’ve learned you have done my son-in-law a good deed and for that I’m grateful.’

Hugh bowed, accepting the oblique apology for his host’s earlier brusqueness.

‘Drink your tea, then, and stay to dine if you wish. I can see that Beatrice has been keeping you company and holds no argument with you. So I cannot either, I suppose,’ Walter grumpily concluded.

‘Thank you, but I am setting on the road again.’ Hugh graciously declined Walter’s off-hand invitation.

Walter shrugged and ambled off towards his study.

‘I shall also take my leave,’ Beatrice said. ‘I wish you both a safe journey, and please give the dowager my best wishes for a speedy recovery.’

Her brother-in-law received a spontaneous hug, Hugh a formal bob. A moment later she was slipping from the room, only fleetingly hesitating at the door to discover if Hugh was watching her.

He was. And it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Alex either.

‘Don’t even think of a dalliance there, or you’ll have me to answer to this time, not her father.’

Hugh dispassionately met his friend’s steady gaze. ‘I get the distinct impression that Miss Dewey finds it difficult to tolerate my company. There’ll be no repeat of what went on, trust me.’ He hesitated, then strolled to the window. ‘Does she know about my life in India?’

‘I’ve not had reason to tell my wife all of it, so I doubt Bea knows much at all other than that you’re now rich from your Indian mines. Neither, I hope, is she interested in any of it.’

Hugh nodded slowly, lips thinning in a grim smile.

‘Are you thinking of cutting off your ties abroad?’

Hugh’s sharp glance answered Alex before he heard his friend’s reply. ‘My ties in India are permanent and non-negotiable.’

‘That’s what I thought...’ Alex said deceptively mildly. ‘So I repeat...stay away from my sister-in-law or suffer the consequences...’

A moment later it was as though no tense exchange had taken place between them.

Alex said, ‘I want to get going. Norman Francis will bring your horse round from the stable and we can be on the road in ten minutes...’

Chapter Six

‘Why don’t you come with me to London?’

While speaking Elise continued folding a lawn petticoat, then packed it away in readiness for departure later that morning. Her maid was attending to the baby’s things, neatly piling them alongside her mistress’s garments in the travelling trunk.

When Beatrice continued cooing at Adam, Elise renewed her effort to persuade her sister to have a sojourn in town. ‘You’ll enjoy the shops in Oxford Street and I’ll introduce you to some nice people.’ She waved aside Bea’s dubious frown. ‘There are some nice ladies, I swear. In fact I’d say some of the matrons in this neighbourhood are worse tattlers...’

‘I can’t think who you might mean,’ Beatrice replied drolly.

‘In any case it is high time you said hello to the Chapmans. Verity would love to see you. She’ll tell you all about the babe she is expecting...’ Elise bit her lip, realising it was insensitive to enthuse over another woman’s marital bliss to a dear sister who had recently been jilted. ‘Fiona is naturally still at home with Mr and Mrs Chapman, and I’m sure she’d adore having your company.’

‘There’s no need to fuss over me, Elise.’ Beatrice raised her eyes from the baby’s rosy face to give her sister a serene smile. ‘I’m better now, honestly, and will bear up here with Papa.’ She held the baby aloft, rolling him to and fro and making him giggle. ‘The shock of it all has been short lived, I assure you. Isn’t that so, Master Adam?’

‘The shock of what, exactly?’ Elise quipped. ‘Seeing Hugh Kendrick or losing your fiancé?’

‘I no longer think of Colin as a loss but as a hazard I avoided.’ Bea got up from the clothes-strewn bed where she’d played with her nephew and handed him to his nurse. Helpfully, she started to assist her sister with packing. She felt her profile growing warm beneath Elise’s determined stare. ‘Oh, all right, I admit Mr Kendrick’s appearance did shake me up a bit. But I’m over that too.’

‘I wasn’t hinting that you should come with me so you might see Hugh again,’ Elise fibbed. She had seen the way the couple had reacted to one another yesterday and it had stirred in her an idea that they might still harbour feelings for one another. Hugh had not taken his eyes off her sister and Bea had certainly not seemed indifferent to him in the way a woman should if an old flame—now completely forgotten—turned up out of the blue.

Following his upturn in fortune Hugh was highly sought after by top hostesses and fond mamas with debutantes to settle, but Elise knew he wasn’t courting any well-bred young lady. Of course she heard the gossip, like everybody else, and knew he associated with female company of a very different class. Although Elise liked Hugh, he was an unashamed philanderer, and that fact dampened her enthusiasm for Beatrice again falling for him. The last thing Elise wanted was for her beloved sister to again have her dreams shattered by a man.

‘I suppose I ought to tell you that Hugh is known as an incorrigible rake who keeps company with demi-reps. I have to admit, though, that Alex’s reputation was vastly embellished upon by excitable ladies before we were wed.’ Elise smiled wryly; she’d not forgotten how jealous she’d felt, hearing about Alex’s paramours.

‘Thank you for the warning,’ Bea said mildly. ‘I’m not surprised to know it; he seems very different now from the man I once knew. Anyhow, his sordid habits and so on are of no interest to me. I don’t care how he spends his time.’

Elise gave her sister an old-fashioned look. ‘You might have sounded a little more convincing, my dear.’

Beatrice raised her eyes heavenward, miming exasperation, making her sister chuckle.

‘Papa won’t mind at all if you stay in town with me for a week or two. Mr and Mrs Francis attend to all his needs—’

‘No...’ Beatrice interrupted, giving her sister a winning smile. ‘But thank you for the invitation.’ She knew what Elise was up to: finding her a replacement for Colin. Although Bea was swayed by an offer to visit dear friends in the metropolis, the idea that Hugh Kendrick might believe she’d followed him home to put herself in his way was terrifying enough to quash the temptation to accept.

Elise huffed in defeat. ‘I don’t know what you are afraid of. I have told you that Papa and I fielded every question that Mrs Callan batted over about your association with Hugh. I made a point of letting them know he had courted our friend Fiona Chapman to put them off the scent.’

‘And I do thank you for it. But I am not afraid, Elise, of gossip or of Hugh Kendrick.’ Bea knew that was not quite truthful and hastened on. ‘So, I will remain here, quite content, though I pray your mother-in-law will recover.’ Bea looked reflective. ‘She was very kind to us at your wedding reception and made sure Papa and I had servants dancing attendance on us. She introduced us to so many people, and Papa was glad to renew his acquaintance with her that day. He told me he had liked her late husband too.’

‘Susannah is a dear soul...’ Elise frowned, folding linen with renewed vigour. ‘I must quickly get back and visit her. I’m sure the doctor is right, though, and she’s already on the mend.’

Beatrice comforted her sister with a hug. ‘She will be fine, Elise. The dowager will be up and about again in no time...’

* * *

‘I should like to attend.’

‘Are you feeling up to the journey, Papa?’ Beatrice asked in concern.

The post had arrived just ten minutes ago. Alex’s bold black script had been on one of many letters Bea, with heavy heart, had brought to her father’s study. Walter had opened it at once. There had been a note for her too, from Elise, but Beatrice had slipped that into the pocket of her skirt and would read it later.

The other letters, she surmised, were replies from the guests who’d been informed by her father last week that the wedding would not be taking place. She recognised Mr Chapman’s hand, and also that of her Aunt Dolly on two of the five sealed parchments. Bea felt sure all would contain messages of sympathy and encouragement for her, but she didn’t yet want to know about any of it.

Neither did Walter, it seemed. Bea’s father left untouched the pile of post and continued sighing and polishing his glasses with his handkerchief.

‘Are you sure the journey will not excessively tire you?’ Beatrice rephrased her question in an attempt to draw her father’s attention.

‘I will bear a few discomforts to pay my respects to Susannah Blackthorne.’ Walter dabbed a handkerchief at his watering eyes. He put his glasses on, then held up Alex’s letter so he might again scan the sad news that his son-in-law’s mother had passed away. The funeral was to be held in a few days’ time and Alex had offered to send his coach for Walter and Beatrice so they might join the mourners at Blackthorne Hall. He had added that he hoped very much they would attend as his mother had enquired after the two of them only recently.

‘You will come as well, my dear, won’t you? I should not like to travel alone.’ Walter raised hopeful eyes to his daughter.

‘Of course I shall come with you, Papa!’ Beatrice replied. ‘I would not want to miss it.’

Walter nodded, content. ‘I shall write a reply and get Norman to quickly despatch it to Berkshire. I don’t like imposing on the viscount’s generosity but we must accept the use of his transport.’

‘Alex will be cross if you do not! I expect he and Elise are feeling very low and will be glad to see us as soon as maybe.’

‘As a family we lately seem to be in the doldrums more often than not.’ Walter dropped the letter to the desk, drawing forward his quill and a plain parchment. ‘Susannah was a very vivacious woman...and more than ten years my junior.’ He dipped the pen into ink. ‘I’m getting quite ancient now...’

‘Don’t be so maudlin, Papa!’ Beatrice dropped a light kiss on the top of her father’s sparsely covered crown. ‘You are a mere spring chicken.’

She could tell he was feeling quite depressed at the news of the dowager’s death. Bea had noticed that as he aged her father acted increasingly sentimental when hearing about sad or happy events.

As Walter’s quill began scratching on paper she turned for the door, informing him, ‘I’ll start to pack a few things.’

Beatrice took down her carpetbag from the top of the clothes press. She blew dust off it and set it on her bed’s coverlet. It seemed she would be taking a trip to stay with her sister after all, but glumly wished something nicer had prompted it.

* * *

As the viscount’s well-sprung travelling coach bounced over a rut the letter in Bea’s hand fluttered from her fingers to the hide seat. She retrieved it and recommenced reading. It had arrived that morning, before she and her papa had set on the road for Berkshire, and had been sent by Fiona Chapman. Bea had known the identity of the sender as soon as she spied her name written in elegant sloping script. But it had only been moments ago when her papa, seated opposite, ceased chattering and started dozing that she’d drawn her friend’s note from her reticule and unsealed it.

As expected, the message bore very kind and sincere wishes to boost her morale following her jilting. Bea had already received fulsome sympathy from Aunt Dolly and Fiona’s father. Walter had shown to her the letter from Mr Chapman and Bea had had to smile at Anthony’s robust defence of her reputation. In his honest opinion Walter’s daughter was too good for the physician in any case, and the whole matter was a blessing in disguise for Beatrice. Anthony had emphasised that observation with a very large and forceful exclamation mark that had punctured the paper.

‘My sentiments exactly,’ Walter had barked, perking up on reading it. Then he’d promptly helped himself to port from the decanter on the edge of his desk.

But now, as Beatrice’s blue gaze landed on the final paragraph of Fiona’s letter, she gasped at the startling news it contained. Mr Kendrick, Fiona wrote, had put a flea in Colin Burnett’s ear over vulgarly flaunting his new fiancée before anybody in town had been given the news that he’d jilted his former bride-to-be. Bea’s eyes sped on over the paper. The clash had taken place at her sister Verity’s home, Fiona informed her, and Mr Kendrick had threatened, very discreetly—Fiona had underlined those two words—to throw the doctor out if he didn’t go before people started asking awkward questions. Colin had bowed to Mr Kendrick’s dictate and slunk off with his tail between his legs, Fiona penned in conclusion, before signing off with affection and good wishes.

Beatrice felt her heart thudding in consternation and her cheeks glowing despite the breeze from the window. The last thing she’d wanted was any fuss about the affair, because it would be sure to give an impression that she was bitter and jealous over it all. And whereas for a short while those emotions had overtaken her, they had now faded away. Or so she’d thought...

Beatrice slowly reread that ultimate paragraph. She was irked that Colin could treat her so shabbily when less than a month ago he’d said it was her he loved and would marry if only he could. She pondered then on Stella, and whether the girl was pretty, and if Colin had quickly fallen in love with her.

In which case, Beatrice impatiently scolded herself, he is the most dishonest and fickle man alive and you should pray you never again are foolish enough to be taken in by his like.

Having mentally shaken herself, she turned her thoughts to Hugh Kendrick. So he had championed her, had he? She wondered why that was. Their recent meeting had been frosty, if civil. She stared through the coach window and twisted a smile at the passing scenery. Perhaps the aim of his gallant intervention had been to impress Fiona. Beatrice recalled that he had courted her friend a few years ago; perhaps Mr Kendrick was of a mind to do so once more as they were both still single and Fiona was a minor heiress. At her sister’s wedding reception Hugh had partnered Fiona in the ballroom and Bea recalled thinking they had looked happy together...

Bea folded the note without again looking at it, putting it back into her reticule, then rested her head against the squabs. Behind her drooping lids two couples were dancing and laughing. The gentlemen had both once professed to want her as a wife. Beatrice huffed a sigh, wishing for a nap to overcome her so she might have a respite from her irritating fantasies.

Wearily she again watched the verdant landscape flashing past, but the same thoughts were haunting her mind. Colin and Stella would be the first to get married: no long engagement for him this time, as he now had enough money to set up home immediately. If Hugh Kendrick were intending to propose to Fiona, and her friend were to accept him, Bea would make sure she was one of the first to send congratulations...

‘You are sighing louder than the wind outside.’ Walter had one eye open and was watching his daughter’s restless movements from beneath a thick wiry brow.

‘It is rather gusty...’ Bea pulled the blind across the window to protect the coach interior from draughts.

‘Have you read your letter?’

‘Mmm...’ Bea guessed her father was keen to hear what was in it.

‘I have lately shared my missives from London with you,’ Walter wheedled, giving her a twinkling smile.

Beatrice smiled, swayed by his mischievous manner. ‘Oh, very well... Fiona Chapman has written to me more or less echoing her father’s thoughts on Dr Burnett.’

‘Oh...is that it? No other news?’ Walter queried. He’d watched his daughter from between his sparse lashes while she’d been reading and had been sure he’d heard a muted cry of dismay. Not wanting to immediately pry, he’d waited till she seemed more herself before letting her know he was awake.

Walter had felt very protective of Beatrice since the doctor had broken her heart. The more she put a brave face on it, the more he desperately wanted to make it all come right for her. He’d guessed the cause of her distress was reading about some antic of Burnett’s reported in her letter.

‘I’ve just had news that Colin turned up at Verity’s house, but it was made clear he was unwelcome, so he left.’

Walter struggled to sit upright. ‘Did he, by Jove?’ Gleefully he banged his cane on the floor of the coach, grunting a laugh.

Bea nodded, suppressing a smile at her father’s delight on hearing about her erstwhile fiancé’s humiliation. ‘Miss Rawlings was there too.’

Walter thumped the cane again, in anger this time. ‘How dare he treat you like that? Damned impertinence he’s got, squiring another woman so soon. I’ve a mind to bring it to his notice.’

‘I believe Mr Kendrick has beaten you to it, Papa...’

‘So it was that fellow, was it?’ Walter nodded. ‘That’s twice he’s done us a favour in a short space of time. Hugh Kendrick has just gone up considerably in my estimation. I suppose I must find an opportunity to tell him so.’ He grimaced, remembering how rude he’d recently been to Hugh.

Beatrice settled back into the seat, niggling anxieties again assailing her. Just how much of a good deed had Mr Kendrick done her? She feared that embarrassing rumours about the jilting might even now be circulating, and would only be worsened by talk of two gentlemen—both past loves of hers—arguing in public over her.

Chapter Seven

‘Alex seems to be bearing up well.’

‘Oh, he is a stoic soul and keeps busy all the time to take his mind off things.’ Elise met her sister’s eyes in the mirror. ‘But I believe at a time like this he misses having brothers or sisters to talk to.’

Beatrice was seated on her sister’s high four-poster bed, watching the maid put the finishing touches to Elise’s coiffure. At breakfast that morning Alex had seemed very composed, despite it being the day of his beloved mother’s funeral. It was the late dowager’s daughter-in-law who was having difficulty turning off the waterworks.

As Elise stood up from the dressing stool, pulling on her black gloves, Beatrice relinquished her soft perch and embraced her sniffling sister. ‘Alex has you to comfort him, my dear...and I’ll wager he’s told you already that’s enough family for him.’

Elise nodded, wiping her eyes. ‘Susannah wouldn’t want any wailing; she said so before falling into a deep sleep. Of course she knew the end was near, but she slipped away peacefully.’ Elise suddenly crushed Bea in a hug. ‘Thank you for coming.’

‘Did you honestly think I would not?’ Beatrice asked gently.

Elise shook her head. ‘I knew you would not let me down.’

‘You have never let me down, have you?’ Bea stated truthfully, remembering a time when Elise had been unstintingly loyal. Elise, though exasperated with her, had continued risking censure despite Bea’s shockingly selfish and daft actions. To her shame, Bea knew her behaviour had been at its worst during her infatuation with Hugh Kendrick. She’d made quite a fool of herself over him, much to Elise’s dismay. But today Bea was determined to banish thoughts of her own upset from her head. And that was not an easy task as Elise had let on that Hugh Kendrick was due to attend the funeral if he could escape his commitments in London.

‘Come...dry your eyes again,’ Bea prompted gently. ‘If we are to visit the nursery before we go downstairs Adam will not want to see his mama blubbing.’

Having left the darling baby in the care of his nurse, the ladies joined the other mourners. A hum of conversation, interspersed by muted laughter, met the sisters on entering the Blackthornes’ vast drawing room. It was crowded with people and Beatrice was glad that the atmosphere seemed relaxed despite the sombre occasion. They headed towards their papa, who was standing by the wide, open fire. Walter was alternately warming his palms on his hot toddy and on the leaping flames in the grate. It was mid-May, but the weather was cool for the time of the year.

‘I hope the showers hold off,’ Alex said, turning from his father-in-law to greet his wife and sister-in-law.

Elise slipped a hand to her husband’s arm, giving it an encouraging squeeze.

‘Are you warm enough, Papa?’ Bea asked. ‘Would you like a chair brought closer to the fire so you may be seated?’

‘I’m doing very well just where I am, thank you, my dear. My old pins and my stick will keep me upright for a while longer.’

‘You must sit by me in the coach when we follow the hearse to the chapel—’ Elise broke off to exclaim, ‘Ah, good! Hugh has arrived; he’s left it to the last minute, though.’

Beatrice felt her stomach lurch despite the fact she had discreetly been scouring the room for a sight of him from the moment she’d entered it. Casually she glanced at the doorway and felt the tension within increase. He looked very distinguished in his impeccably tailored black clothes, and she noticed that several people had turned to acknowledge his arrival.

‘Has it started to rain?’

Alex had noticed the glistening mist on his friend’s sleeve as Hugh approached.

‘It’s only light drizzle, and the sun’s trying to break through the clouds.’

Hugh’s bow encompassed them all, but Bea felt his eyes lingering on her so gave him a short sharp smile.

‘Come, my dear...’ Alex turned to Elise, having noticed a servant discreetly signalling to him. ‘The carriages are ready and it’s time we were off.’

The couple moved ahead and Beatrice took her father’s arm to assist him. Hugh fell into a slow step beside them, remaining quiet as they filed out into the hallway.

‘You must get in the coach with Elise, Papa.’

‘And you will come too?’ Walter fretted.

‘If there is sufficient room I will; but you must ride with Elise in any case.’

Beatrice was used to walking. Living in the country, she often rambled many miles in one day, especially in the summer. She walked to the vicarage to take tea with Mrs Callan and her daughter when no immediate excuse to refuse their invitation sprang to mind. She’d also hiked the four miles into St Albans when the little trap they owned for such outings had had a broken axle and no soul passed by in a cart and offered her a lift. A march to the chapel at Blackthorne Hall was an easy distance to cover for someone of her age and stamina. But her father would struggle to keep his footing on the uneven, uphill ground.

Bea glanced at the people in the hallway; many looked to be decades her senior. From glistening eyes and use of hankies she guessed that Susannah had been truly liked by her friends, neighbours and servants.

‘I’ve no need of a ride, Alex,’ Bea whispered, nodding at some elderly ladies close by, dabbing at their eyes. ‘There are others more deserving.’ She stepped outside onto the mellow flags of a flight of steps that cascaded between stone pillars down to an expanse of gravel. At least half a dozen assorted crested vehicles were lined up in a semi-circle, ready for use. The glossy-flanked grey and ebony horses appeared impeccably behaved as they tossed regal black-plumed heads.

Beatrice noticed that a column of mourners was snaking towards the chapel. Pulling her silk cloak about her, she started off too, at the tail-end of it.

‘The sun seems reluctant to escape the clouds.’

Beatrice’s spine tingled at the sound of that familiar baritone. Hugh Kendrick was several yards behind but had obviously addressed her as no other person was within earshot. He seemed to be casually strolling in her wake, yet with no obvious effort he had quickly caught her up and fallen into step at her side.

‘It is an unwritten law that funerals and weddings must have more than a fair share of bad weather.’ Bea’s light comment was given while gazing at a mountain of threatening grey nimbus on the horizon. To avoid his steady gaze she then turned her attention to the rolling parkland of Blackthorne Hall that stretched as far as the eye could see. The green of the grass had adopted a dull metallic hue beneath the lowering atmosphere.

‘Were you preparing for showers on your own wedding day?’

Beatrice was surprised that he’d mentioned that. A quick glance at his eyes reassured her that he hadn’t spoken from malice. She guessed he wanted to air the matter because, if ignored, it might wedge itself awkwardly between them. She was hopeful he shared her view that any hostilities between them should be under truce today.

‘I was banking on a fine day in June, but one never knows...and now it is all academic in any case.’

A breeze whipped golden tendrils of hair across her forehead and she drew her cloak closely about herself. She scoured her mind for a different topic of conversation but didn’t feel determined to rid herself of his company.

‘It seems the dowager was liked and respected by a great many people. My father has sung her sincere praises and those of her late husband.’

‘They were nice people. The late Lady Blackthorne was always kind and friendly to me. I was made to feel at home when I spent school holidays with Alex here at the Hall.’

Bea smiled. ‘You have known each other a long time?’

‘More than twenty years.’

‘I expect you were a couple of young scamps.’

‘Indeed we were...’ Hugh chuckled in private reminiscence, then sensed Bea’s questioning eyes on him. ‘Please don’t ask me to elaborate.’

‘Well, sir, now you’ve hinted at your wickedness I feel I must press for more details.’ A teasing blue glance peeked at his lean, tanned profile.

‘Just the usual boyish antics...climbing trees, catching frogs and tadpoles, building camp fires that rage out of control,’ Hugh admitted with a hint of drollery.

‘A fire...out of control?’ Beatrice echoed with scandalised interest.

‘It was a dry summer...’ Hugh’s inflection implied that the drought mitigated the disaster. ‘Luckily for us the old viscount remained reasonably restrained when learning that his son and heir together with his best friend had burned down a newly planted copse of oak saplings while frying eggs for their supper.’

Beatrice choked a horrified laugh. ‘Thank goodness neither of you were injured.’

‘I burned myself trying to put the fire out...’ Hugh flexed long-fingered hands.

Bea had never before noticed, or felt when he’d caressed her, that area of puckered skin on one of his palms. She recalled his touch had always been blissfully tender. Quickly she shoved the disturbing memory far back in her mind before he became puzzled as to what he might have said or done to make her blush.

‘It was quite an inferno,’ Hugh admitted. ‘It frightened the life out of the viscountess; she made Alex and me amuse ourselves indoors for the rest of the holiday. We rolled marbles with bandaged hands till we were sick of the sight of them. Even when the physician told us we were fit to be let out we were kept confined to barracks. But I wasn’t sent home in well-deserved disgrace.’ His boyish expression became grave. ‘I could give you many other instances of Susannah’s kindness and tolerance.’

Beatrice realised that Hugh was as moved by Susannah’s passing as had been the weeping ladies in the Blackthornes’ hallway. But of course he would not show the extent of his feelings: once, when a personable chap rather than a diamond magnate, he might have been less inclined to conceal his sadness behind a suave mask. Quietly she mulled over the theory of whether gentlemen felt it was incumbent on them to foster an air of detachment as they became richer.

‘And what mischief did you get up to in your youth, Miss Dewey?’

Bea glanced up with an impish smile. ‘Young ladies are never naughty,’ she lectured, before tearing her eyes free of his wolfish mockery.

‘I seem to recall a time, Beatrice, when you were very naughty indeed...’

‘Then I advise you to forget it, sir, as it is now of no consequence,’ she snapped. She tilted her chin and strode on, but no matter how energetic her attempt to outpace him he loped casually right at her side.

‘But you don’t deny it happened?’ he provoked her.

‘I have nothing to say on the subject other than you are very ill-mannered to bring it up.’

‘My apologies for upsetting you...’

He’d spoken in a drawling voice that made Bea’s back teeth grind together. ‘You have not done so,’ she replied, in so brittle a tone that it immediately proved her answer a lie.

‘Of course we were talking about childhood. I alluded to a time when you were most certainly a woman, and I admit it was not fair to do so.’

Bea said nothing, despite his throaty answer having twisted a knot in her stomach. She again contemplated the countryside, presenting him with her haughtily tilted profile.

‘So, did you enjoy your schooldays? How did you spend them, Beatrice?’ His tone had become less challenging, as though he regretted having embarrassed her by hinting at her wanton behaviour with him.

‘When we lived in London Elise and I were schooled at home by Miss Dawkins,’ Bea responded coolly. A moment later she realised it was childish to remain huffy. He’d spoken the truth, after all, even if it was unpalatable. ‘I was almost fifteen when we moved to Hertfordshire, so there was little time left to polish me up. Papa did engage a governess for Elise, and the poor woman did her best to prepare me for my looming debut.’ An amusing recollection made her lips quirk. ‘She despaired of my singing and piano-playing and told Papa he had wasted his money buying an instrument that neither of his daughters would ever master.’

‘What did Walter say to that?’ Hugh asked, laughter in his voice.

‘I cannot recall, but I expect he was disappointed to have squandered the cash; we were quite hard up by then—’ Beatrice broke off, regretting mentioning her father’s financial struggle. Hugh, in common with many others, would know that her parents had divorced amidst a scandal that had impoverished Walter Dewey. It had been a terrible time for them all and she didn’t intend to now pick at the painful memory.

‘I expect you missed your mother’s guidance during your come-out.’

Hugh abhorred hypocrisy so avoided judging others’ morality. He was no paragon and had had illicit liaisons with other men’s wives, although neither of his current mistresses was married. He therefore found it hard to understand why Arabella Dewey had left her husband and children. In polite society the customary way of things was to seek discreet diversion when bored with one’s spouse. But it seemed Arabella hadn’t been able to abide Walter’s company. Hugh found that rather sad, as he sensed the fellow was basically a good sort and the couple had produced two beautiful girls.

Arabella had passed on years ago, when still in her prime, but not before she’d scandalised the ton by abandoning her husband and teenage daughters to run off and live with her lover.

‘Aunt Dolly did her level best to take me under her wing and turn me into a sweet debutante,’ Bea finally answered, having reminisced on that dear lady’s efforts to obtain invitations to top social functions so she might attract a suitor.

‘Thank goodness she failed,’ Hugh muttered. He put up his hands in mock defence as Bea glowered at him. ‘It’s a compliment, I swear. In my experience debutantes tend to be vapid creatures.’

‘I’m surprised you know any well enough to be able to judge.’ Unfortunately Bea’s sarcasm had not been spoken quietly enough.

‘What do you mean by that, Beatrice?’

What did she mean by that? Beatrice thought frantically. She’d rather not let him know that Elise had told her he was a notorious rake.

Ignoring his question, and his scorching stare, she chattered on. ‘My father paid handsomely to get us vouchers for Almack’s that year, but it wasn’t a successful season for me.’ She stopped short of elaborating on her failure: some hostesses had spitefully shunned them because the gossip over her parents’ divorce was still doing the rounds.

‘What did you mean by your comment?’ Hugh demanded, undeterred. His firm fingers circled her wrist, turning her towards him. ‘Why would I not know such young ladies?’

Beatrice shook him off, then set on her way again. ‘I know you liked Fiona Chapman, but she is rather too old to be called a deb.’ She was thankful that excuse had popped into her head. Moments later she regretted having drawn her friend into it; in mentioning Fiona’s age she’d sounded bitchy and jealous. Besides, Fiona was only a year her senior...

‘I still like Miss Chapman very much,’ Hugh said levelly.

‘And so do I like her very much. Actually, I had a letter from her just days ago,’ Beatrice blurted in emphasis.

She sensed the same quickening of her heart as she had on first absorbing the disturbing fact that Hugh and Colin had argued about her in public.

‘Did the letter have good news for you?’ Hugh asked. He’d immediately guessed what information Fiona might have passed on.

‘I think you probably know the answer to that.’ Beatrice twisted towards him, eyes blazing accusingly. She was tempted to give him a piece of her mind about risking her reputation in such a way, but the lych gate was now in view and beyond it, standing by some ancient leaning headstones, was her father, supported by his stick. He raised a bony hand, signalling to her to come to him, just as Elise also gave her a wave. With a curt dip for Hugh she sped ahead to join her family, filing into the chapel.

Chapter Eight

‘I suppose I must speak to the fellow,’ Walter grumpily announced.

Beatrice removed her father’s port from his fingers, setting it on the table before he spilled it down his front.

They were sitting side by side on a small fireside sofa and had been observing the company attending the wake. Alex and Elise were the perfect hosts, moving through the room talking to the mourners. From elderly estate servants, now retired, to the Duke of Rodley, who’d arrived on horseback from the next town with two bottles of best cognac strapped to his saddle, all were being graciously thanked for their kind messages and tributes.

‘Would you like me to fetch you some pastries from the buffet, Papa?’ Beatrice had noticed her father again reaching for his depleted glass of port. He was drinking too much, as was his wont. Over the years Walter’s daughters had had to ask their manservant to take their father to bed when he’d been unable to rouse himself due to over-imbibing.

‘Another fruit tart might be sufficient, my dear. I have room for just one.’ As his daughter rose from the sofa, he added, ‘And will you bring the fellow over to me so I might talk to him before he leaves?’

‘Do you know that he’s soon leaving?’ Bea asked, glancing at Hugh’s dark figure surrounded by some jolly people.

‘The viscount told me his friend Kendrick intends returning to town today. I imagine he will not set on the road after dark...not in this weather.’

Walter turned to the dismal grey afternoon beyond the enormous casements. The fire to one side of them had been hissing and spluttering as the driving rain dampened the apple-scented logs. After the funeral service they had been lucky to return to the Hall before the worst of the rain set in.

‘Will you fetch him over?’ Walter nagged. ‘I’d sooner not struggle up out of this chair to go to him and eat humble pie with strangers present.’ Walter sighed. ‘Yet it must be done. My conscience will not allow it to be otherwise.’

Hugh’s group were loudly toasting Susannah’s life. Alex’s mother had left strict instructions that she wanted no maudlin speeches at her wake but a thanksgiving for the blessing of a wonderful life shared with an adored husband and beloved son.

Moving gracefully through the throng towards the dining room, Bea angled her head in an attempt to drag Hugh’s attention from his lively companions. He now seemed oblivious to her presence, and yet before, when walking to the chapel with him, it had been impossible to escape his taunting amber gaze. She’d no intention of approaching him to loiter meekly at his shoulder, waiting for an opportunity to interrupt.

On passing over the threshold into the dining room she glanced over her shoulder, and her heartbeat quickened as his eyes clashed on hers. She felt a burst of elation that had nothing to do with being a step closer to carrying out her father’s task. She’d experienced similar excitement years ago, when she’d easily lured his attention every time she quit or entered a room.

Turning her head, Bea carried on towards the buffet table—but not before she’d noticed him concealing his private smile with a sliding forefinger.

He’d made no move to leave the group and Bea fumed. If her wordless plea for an audience wasn’t plain enough for him to act on he could forgo having her father’s apology and her farewell before he left for London!

‘Are you still hungry, Beatrice?’ Hugh’s eyes skimmed over her slender figure swathed in black silk. ‘You certainly look as though a little more sustenance might benefit you.’

‘You...you think I am too thin?’ Beatrice stammered. His comment had irked, and his swift approach had startled her. Her gaze dropped to the intricate folds of his cravat, pinned with a sizeable diamond. Sourly she wondered whether he’d dug it up himself.

‘You seem less...buxom than I remember.’

Bea’s soft lips parted in a mixture of astonishment and indignation. She’d never realised he’d thought her fat.

‘Well, I’m happy with my appetite!’ she breathed. ‘I never eat too much, and I think it impertinent of you to make such a comment.’

‘Am I to pretend I know nothing of your body when I can recall it quite clearly within my embrace and pressed to mine?’

‘Please say no more!’ Bea hissed. ‘I find that remark even more unmannerly,’ she spluttered, blushing scarlet.

‘I apologise, then; I merely intended a passing observation that your figure appeared more curvaceous when you were younger.’

He was quelling his humour with a frown, and she guessed he was deliberately riling her because of their prickly parting at the chapel earlier. ‘Please do not explain and add insult to injury. Your opinion of my looks is of no consequence to me in any case.’

Beatrice turned to the pastries and began loading a plate with them while her cheeks continued to burn.

‘If you are about to accuse me of being a glutton, this food is for my papa.’ In her agitation, it had slipped her mind that Walter desired just one fruit tart. Swishing about with a laden plate she moved on.

‘Did you want to speak to me on a matter?’

Beatrice halted, moistening her lips. She’d also forgotten she’d drawn him to her side with a come-hither glance.

‘I...I did want to have a word with you. My father would like you to join him for a chat before you go.’

‘Of course I’ll speak to him.’ Hugh glanced back towards the drawing room, locating the sofa on which Walter was ensconced. ‘It would be my pleasure.’

‘Thank you,’ Bea replied stiltedly.

‘Shall I accompany you now?’ Hugh suggested mildly.

‘If you wish to, sir.’

Hugh’s heavy sigh brought Bea’s eyes darting to his bronzed face.

‘I beg you will not put yourself out for us, though,’ she said acidly. ‘My father would not want that.

‘It is you putting me out, my dear. Have you forgotten my name that you continue calling me sir?’

‘Indeed I have not, Mr Kendrick,’ Bea returned sweetly on passing him.

‘Will you let me know what Mr Dewey wants to talk about so I might prepare my defence?’ Hugh asked wryly, falling into step with Bea as they wound a path around knots of people.

‘You are not about to be ticked off, I assure you.’ Bea was unable to repress a smile at his ironic tone. ‘I believe Papa wishes to apologise to you.’

‘And how have I redeemed myself in his eyes?’ Hugh politely led the way past a long sofa encircled by chattering ladies. A few yards on, at a quieter spot, he turned back to Bea. His hand was idly planted against the wall, completing her casual entrapment by his powerful body.

‘Papa was most grateful to you for coming to Hertfordshire to convey the news about the dowager’s ill health. I expect he wants to impress that on you.’

‘I recall he said something similar to me at the time,’ Hugh murmured, his eyes lingering on Bea’s mouth as her pearly teeth attacked her lower lip. ‘I doubt he’d make an issue of repeating it. So what else is on his mind?’

‘If we carry on to him I’m sure he will tell you,’ Bea returned.

Barely were the words out when a sudden clap of thunder made her gasp and stumble. She would have dropped her pastries but for Hugh’s steadying hand on her shoulder. Beatrice felt her heart thudding unevenly and the silk of her sleeve seemed to grow unbearably hot beneath his palm. She gave an embarrassed laugh.

‘Heavens! That frightened the life out of me.’ She glanced about to see that she hadn’t been the only lady startled by the storm. Fans were whizzing and a few smelling salts bottles were being wafted amidst nervous giggling. A small crowd had gathered at the windows to watch lightning zigzagging across the heavens.

Bea’s gaze was captured by eyes that had lost their golden tint and now burned like coal embers. His fingers began moving in a slow caress, increasing pressure, as though he would feel her skin beneath the barrier of fabric. Her eyelids became weighty, slowly falling beneath the narcotic effect of his secret seduction.

‘Please don’t... I...’ She finally listened to the inner voice protesting wildly at her behaviour. She sensed he might dip his head and kiss her while she acted like a mindless idiot enthralled by his touch. And at such a time and place as a wake! Despite her chagrin she felt unable to physically move away from him and raised her eyes to beseech him for leniency.

As Hugh withdrew his fingers in a slow stroking movement Bea expelled a breath, darting glances hither and thither, relieved that people were still too preoccupied with the storm to have noticed their indecent intimacy.

Hugh took the plate from Bea’s shaking hand. ‘I’m glad I wasn’t responsible this time for giving you the jitters...or was I?’ he challenged.

In a moment he was resuming their conversation as though nothing had happened, although Bea felt strangely light-headed.

‘As you seem reluctant to help me prepare for a chastisement, let me stab a guess at the bee in your father’s bonnet.’ He paused before asking abruptly, ‘Did you tell him what was in Fiona’s letter?’

‘Of course...’ Bea replied after a second spent wondering how he could change so quickly from charmer to interrogator.

‘Ah...so I imagine I’m about to be told to mind my own business where Colin Burnett is concerned.’ Hugh’s moulded mouth slanted sardonically.

‘Actually, you are wrong,’ Bea answered, flustered, because just as she’d been recovering her equilibrium he had again upset it. He had a knack of being too forthright for comfort. It was something else he’d acquired along with his money, she was sure, but she wouldn’t be intimidated by it any more than she’d allow his practised philandering to steal her composure. ‘It is I who would ask...insist...you do that. My father, on the other hand, seemed pleased to hear about your uninvited interference in my affairs.’

Bea stared pointedly at his imprisoning arm until lazily he removed it from where it had been propped against the wall. She took immediate advantage of her liberation and carried on towards her father, forcing herself to a leisurely pace so it would not seem she was cravenly taking flight.

* * *

‘Papa seems in good spirits.’ Elise sipped tea following this observation.

‘I think he has sunk rather too far into good spirits.’ Bea put down her bone china cup.

The sisters were side by side on a window seat and had been watching fat clouds travelling over the insipid sky through the square-paned glass. They had turned their attention to their father, still huddled on the sofa by the fire, now with a group of male companions. By his side on the velvet upholstery was the Duke of Rodley. His grace had been topping up Walter’s glass with his fine cognac for at least fifteen minutes while gregariously holding court. Opposite, in a wing chair, sat Hugh Kendrick, also with a replenished brandy balloon and an air of indolent interest in the duke’s conversation. Just moments ago Alex had also joined the gentlemen. He was leaning on the back of the sofa while, at the duke’s insistence, partaking of his late mother’s favourite tipple.

A cosy atmosphere had descended on the drawing room. Most of the guests who lived locally had departed, keen to get home since the storm had blown south. Others, with long journeys in front of them, had taken up the Blackthornes’ offer of accommodation at the Hall while the roads remained bad.

Hugh Kendrick had not bowed to Alex’s insistence that he stay because it would be madness to risk life and limb in such abominable weather. He planned to get going before dusk, much to his host’s disgust.

‘I think I shall go and see Adam before dinnertime.’ Elise found it difficult to spend long periods apart from her little boy.

‘Dinner?’ Bea choked a laugh. ‘I have eaten very well already, Elise.’

‘Oh, the gentlemen will expect their dinner; and their port and cigars,’ Elise declared ruefully, thinking of her husband’s predilection for a smoke and a drink when they had male company. ‘Will you come with me and say goodnight to Adam?’

‘I shall peek at him in the nursery later,’ Bea promised. ‘For now I shall keep the ladies company.’ With a nod she indicated the elderly women she’d seen drying their eyes in the hall earlier. Bea had been introduced to them and recalled that the silver-haired individual with a remarkably hooked nose was called Lady Groves. On her black satin bosom was pinned a huge mourning brooch. The name of the other lady had momentarily escaped Beatrice’s mind.

‘Lady Groves came in her brother’s stead as he is poorly,’ Elise informed her helpfully. ‘My mother-in-law was Lord Mornington’s chère amie for a very long time. He is heartbroken to lose Susannah and it has made him quite ill.’

‘Poor man...’ Bea murmured.

‘Lady Groves and Susannah were friends; they were about the same age, I believe, and were widowed at about the same time. Mary Woodley, Lady Groves’s companion, lost her husband in the Peninsular wars.’

After Elise had gone off to the nursery Bea settled in a wingchair adjacent to the ladies with a cheerful, ‘The clouds are fast moving away, thank goodness.’

‘I shall be glad to set off home tomorrow if the water on the roads has drained away.’

Mary Woodley was a lesser mortal than her noble benefactress in the eyes of polite society. But Lady Groves saw her companion as her equal and treated her as such, despite her friend’s impoverishment. She also treated Mary to those things she could not afford to purchase for herself, due to her subsisting on her late husband’s meagre army pension.

‘I’d rather stay here a while longer, Mary, so flooding doesn’t bother me.’ Lady Groves’s greedy black gaze roved her sumptuous surroundings. ‘It is the first time I have visited Blackthorne Hall but my brother told me it was a wonderful sight.’

‘But what about the Whitleys’ musicale, Gloria?’ Mary mildly complained. ‘I do not want to miss that in case that flibbertigibbet turns up with her aunt, causing us all to gawp at her. Very strange behaviour...very strange indeed.’

‘I heard that Miss Rawlings wasn’t even officially invited to the Clemences’ that evening.’ Lady Groves tutted at such vulgar conduct as gatecrashing. ‘Country bumpkins!’

‘Miss Rawlings?’ Beatrice echoed faintly, too shocked at hearing her rival’s name to take umbrage at Lady Groves’s all-encompassing insult to people like herself who hailed from the shires.

‘I doubt you would know her my dear.’ Lady Groves patted at Bea’s fingers, tightly curled on her lap. ‘She is a gel about eighteen and new to town—from the Yorkshire area, we believe, don’t we, Mary? She is out this year and is being chaperoned by her aunt. Nobody knows much about them, you see...but the bold chit seems determined to change that.’

But I think I might know about her... The words rotated in Bea’s head but she managed to keep them from tripping off her tongue. It seemed these two ladies were ignorant of her being jilted, and therefore didn’t know that the ‘bold chit’ they spoke about had stolen her fiancé.

‘Dolly Pearson told me that the aunt says her charge is secretly engaged.’ Mary was pop-eyed while giving this news.

Lady Groves snorted her wordless opinion on that. ‘If Miss Rawlings does have a fiancé I’ll wager the fellow is unaware of her flirting.’ She inclined forward to whisper, ‘I saw her fluttering her eyelashes at...’ She left the sentence unfinished but her eyes darted sideways to where the gentlemen were grouped. ‘If she thinks she has a chance of snaring him she’ll be sorely disappointed.’

‘No respectable young lady has a hope of catching Hugh Kendrick’s eye,’ Mary scoffed behind the fingers fluttering in front of her lips. ‘He has no interest in debutantes, no matter how irresistible they find him.’

‘No wonder he’s oblivious to decent gels with those two doxies fighting over him. Then there’s the shocking other business to keep him occupied...’ Lady Groves rumbled.

‘Other business...?’ Bea echoed the phrase back at the woman.

Lady Groves looked extremely discomfited by her slip, but nevertheless patted again at Bea’s fingers before attempting to change the subject.

‘Is Mr Kendrick a villain?’ Bea insisted on knowing, and received a shocked look from Mary Woodley at such impertinence as cross-examining Lady Groves.

‘You are a sweet innocent and need not know the details of a gentleman’s behaviour when he is freed from the restraints of a civilised society...’ Lady Groves said, fingering her throat in embarrassment.

‘I assure you I am not about to swoon on hearing that Mr Kendrick has female friends.’ Bea realised she sounded vulgarly inquisitive, and very unladylike, but she couldn’t help herself. She craved to know more.

‘Miss Rawlings and her aunt did leave the Clemences’ early with a gentleman but I’ve no idea who he was,’ Mary burst out, returning to gossip she deemed more seemly. ‘I was coming out of the retiring room and saw the trio suddenly disappearing down the stairs.’

‘I didn’t see the fellow, but possibly he was her father, come to take her home before she disgraced herself,’ Lady Groves sniffed.

‘He seemed far too young for that, Gloria!’ Mrs Woodley disagreed. ‘Perhaps Dolly might know who he was. She seems to find out everything first, though I doubt she spotted the fellow either, for his arrival and departure seemed as one.’

‘Dolly Pearson is my aunt.’

Beatrice could think of nothing more to say at that point. She knew she should feel grateful that the argument between Hugh and Colin had been very discreet, and few people yet knew the details of it. But preying on her mind was the scandal concerning Hugh to which Lady Groves had referred but had refused to explain.

‘I do recall, now you mention it, that you are related to Dolly.’ Lady Groves beamed, having fully recovered from her shock at Miss Dewey’s audacity a moment ago. ‘My brother, Lord Mornington, told me that your sister was Dolly’s niece. I’ve always found Mrs Pearson a charming woman,’ she added graciously. Glancing at Mary for a comment, Gloria found the woman peering beneath her pale lashes at the group of gentlemen. ‘What’s the matter with you, Mary?’ she asked.

‘Do you think Mr Kendrick overheard us talking about him?’ Mary whispered, aghast. ‘He seems to be staring at us rather too frequently, Gloria.’

Lady Groves frowned thoughtfully, then looked at Beatrice. ‘You were talking to him earlier, weren’t you, my dear?’

‘Yes...I was...’ Bea avoided looking his way, although she felt the side of her face burning and wondered if he’d guessed that she’d just heard an intriguing hint about his sordid way of life.

‘He is your brother-in-law’s good friend, is he not?’ Mary Woodley picked up on her ladyship’s unspoken thought that Miss Dewey might have caught Hugh Kendrick’s interest.

‘I believe they’ve known each other since their schooldays,’ Bea answered with a neutral smile.

‘Do you have a beau, my dear?’ Lady Groves had already taken a surreptitious look at the young woman’s pretty white fingers and noted they lacked any rings. ‘A sweet gel like you must have admirers buzzing around like bees about a honeypot.’

Mary discreetly nudged her companion in the ribs, having just brought to mind a stunning titbit. Dolly Pearson had told her recently that a swine of a country doctor had jilted her niece. No names had been mentioned, and Mary had taken little interest in the tale as she’d doubted she’d know such provincial folk. But it seemed she did! Obviously the niece in question could not be the viscount’s wife, and that only left...

‘I am not being courted,’ Bea answered as cheerfully as she could. ‘Well, I did promise Elise I would visit the nursery and see baby Adam before he goes to bed.’ She rose gracefully. ‘Apparently we are all to be given dinner soon.’

‘Such charming hosts,’ Lady Groves murmured. ‘I hope Mr Kendrick changes his mind and stays. I should like to have a chat with him.’

‘I’m afraid I’m hoping he will disappoint you,’ Beatrice murmured beneath her breath, walking away. She had seen the sudden intelligence on Mary Woodley’s face and knew that Dolly hadn’t after all kept the news of her jilting to herself. Philosophically, Bea realised people would soon know—and besides, what occupied her now was imagining how debauched Hugh might have become in the years since she’d last known him.

The two ladies exchanged a look as soon as they judged Miss Dewey was at a safe distance.

Lady Groves shook her head. ‘I doubt it, Mary. She might be his friend’s sister-in-law, and a beauty too, I must add, but rather mature to seriously catch the eye of such an eligible gentleman. She is the senior of the two gels and it must be galling for her to have nothing when her sister has done so well. Miss Dewey could pass for twenty with that perfect complexion...but she must learn to control that forward nature.’

Mary nodded vigorously. ‘She is twenty-five; Dolly told me her niece’s age and said she’d be lucky to come so close again to her wedding day. I expect the doctor has found someone younger and more demure and that’s why he jilted her!’

‘Jilted?’ Lady Groves sounded horrified. ‘Poor child! That is a setback. Gentlemen like to think they’ve won a prize with a wife, not a cast-off—’

‘Hugh Kendrick has just watched Miss Dewey leaving the room, Gloria,’ Mrs Woodley interrupted excitedly. ‘I think he likes her...’

Chapter Nine

A ghostly shroud appeared to be hovering over the sodden ground as Bea stepped out of a side door onto shingle. Following yesterday’s downpour a thick early-morning mist had formed and cool droplets tickled her complexion as she crunched over gravel towards the stable block. While surveying the pearly landscape she drew in a deep breath, savouring its earthy effervescence. It was barely seven o’clock and, apart from the servants, nobody else was yet up at Blackthorne Hall.

Bea was kitted out in sturdy boots and one of her sister’s riding habits, with a hat sitting jauntily on her fair tresses. As she jumped a puddle, one hand on the brim to prevent her hat flying off, she felt inexplicably joyful, considering the ordeals of the last few weeks. Others might pity her, and think there was little in her life to celebrate, yet Beatrice was determined that failed love affairs would never crush her while she had Elise and her papa close by. And her little family was expanding all the time: yesterday, after dinner, when the gentlemen had taken port and cigars, and Lady Groves and Mary Woodley had settled down in the drawing room to play cards, Elise had quietly confided to Bea that she suspected Adam might soon have a little brother or sister.

While pondering on the lovely idea of a little niece to cherish alongside Adam, Bea realised being a spinster aunt held a certain warm appeal. Vigorously she brushed a splash of mud from the fine cloth of her sister’s bottle-green skirt. The viscountess had a collection of the most exquisite silks and satins stitched by feted modistes and would press on Bea any garment she might praise—not simply to borrow, but to keep. Bea understood the sweetness behind Elise’s generosity but rarely accepted such lavish gifts, quipping that there was little need for pearl-encrusted ball gowns in her neck of the woods.

Having traversed a courtyard, Bea glimpsed the stables situated beyond a walled physic garden. As she approached the neat shrubs and plants some of her child-like delight at being up early on this fresh new morning dwindled. The sight of the herbs had reminded her of Colin. His work as a doctor had necessitated him knowing about natural remedies for ailments and Bea had taken an interest in the healing powers of plants too.

Her fingers brushed against rosemary spikes, filling her nostrils with a pungent perfume. Suddenly she crouched down, unable to pass by without touching the velvety leaves of lady’s mantle, cradling their watery jewels. The image of tiny diamonds jolted her upright, thinking of another gentleman who had the power to disturb her peace of mind.

She marched briskly on, trying to shake off the unwanted memory of Hugh’s degeneracy. Mulling the secret scandal over in private, she’d guessed, from Lady Groves’s hint, that it had occurred abroad, and that Hugh’s investment in India held the clue to the outrage he’d committed. When she’d joined Elise in the nursery yesterday she’d asked her sister—quite casually—if she could shed any light on the matter alluded to by Lady Groves. The viscountess had given a little shrug, reminding Bea that Hugh was a notorious rake and saying that she doubted he’d remain celibate just because he was on foreign soil.

Bea had already arrived at the same conclusion: the idea of Mr Kendrick having foreign affairs, as well as a few closer to home, had probably sent the elderly ladies into a tizz...but it certainly didn’t surprise her.

Of course Bea knew the only way to find out for sure what it was all about was to ask him...and she’d no intention of doing that! Why would she bother when she didn’t care a jot what he got up to...?

‘You’re up early, Beatrice.’

‘So...so are you, sir.’ Bea had swivelled about and automatically stuttered a reply, despite her amazement at seeing the very person who’d been intruding on her thoughts.

Hugh was emerging from the first stall she’d passed, leading a large chestnut horse. ‘Are you riding alone?’

‘I am... Elise told me last night she would not stir herself before ten o’clock. She and Alex often like to lie in...’ Bea cleared her throat, wishing she’d kept her answer brief.

‘I’m sure they do...’ Hugh muttered, glancing at the house.

‘I thought you would by now be in London,’ Bea blurted, unable to curb her curiosity at his reappearance.

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you,’ Hugh drawled. ‘But it was foolish of me to suppose I’d get even as far as Enfield last night. Half the road had been washed away by the flooding so I turned back after a couple of miles.’

Bea found the idea of him, unbeknown to her, sleeping beneath the same roof rather disquieting. And if he had returned to the house he hadn’t joined them at dinner yesterday. ‘You stayed at the Hall last night after all?’

‘I was tempted to,’ he said huskily. ‘Too tempted...’ he muttered at the leather he was tightening on the chestnut’s flanks. ‘I put up at the Red Lion instead.’

His tawny eyes ran over her smart figure and returned quizzically to her lovely face. He was too polite to voice the obvious: that she was dressed in her sister’s expensive finery. Bea’s gloved fingers adjusted the tailored jacket; she wasn’t too proud to hide the fact that she wore borrowed clothes. Besides, he already knew her father’s income wouldn’t stretch to such luxuries.

‘Elise kindly loaned me one of her habits,’ she said carelessly.

‘And very becoming it is too.’ Hugh fondled the chestnut’s ears soothingly as the stallion continued nudging him to gain attention. ‘Will you accompany Elise to London when she returns there?’

‘No, we are going back to Hertfordshire this afternoon.’

‘The roads will still be hazardous to travel on.’

‘My brother-in-law has given us a good sturdy coach and the driver is skilled. The journey to Berkshire was very comfy despite the potholes.’

Bea was aware that they were politely skirting about the obvious. Much as she wanted to forget him holding her close yesterday, the incident constantly played over in her mind. And she believed he was also brooding on it. A solid heat seemed to be building between them, despite the yard or two of cool atmosphere separating their bodies.

‘Molly, is it, for you, ma’am?’

A young stable lad had poked his head above the door, startling Bea with his question about her choice of ride.

‘Yes...thank you...’ Bea managed a smile for the youth. ‘She suits me very well,’ Bea explained as the ensuing quiet stretched. ‘I always take her out when I visit. I hope she remembers me...’

‘You’re not easy to forget,’ Hugh muttered. ‘You were right in thinking your father wished to thank me yesterday for reminding Burnett of his manners.’

‘Are you hinting I should follow his suit?’ Bea crisply enquired. ‘Because if you are I must disappoint.’ She avoided a pair of preying eyes, glad of the distraction of clopping hooves ringing on cobbles as the ostler led a small dappled horse towards her.

Once the lad had assisted her in mounting the mare Bea felt energised and calmer. She smoothed Molly’s nose, murmuring affectionately as she heard her snicker softly. The opportunity to ride was a great treat for Beatrice; Walter Dewey hadn’t owned any quality horseflesh for many years. In her early teens Bea had shared the use of a pony with Elise and they had both delighted in galloping about under their father’s strict supervision. Then the sisters’ world had crumbled when their mother had abandoned them and their father had bankrupted himself trying to win her back.

Bea had retained a modest skill, despite the intermittence of being in the saddle, and she wanted to savour her morning constitutional. She dipped her head at Hugh in farewell, trotting on towards the beckoning open space off to the south.

‘Do you mind if I join you?’ Hugh had swung easily onto the stallion’s back, bringing his prancing under control within a matter of seconds.

‘Not at all...’ Beatrice called over a shoulder. ‘Don’t feel obliged to try to keep up, though...’

With that bold challenge she prodded her mount into action and Molly sprang forward immediately, covering ground.

As soon as Bea had leapt the small brook that edged the meadow she gave Molly her head. The mare might be small and pretty but she was a wiry little animal, and Bea’s exhilaration soared as stinging air battered her soft cheeks. She laughed softly, racing on, but it was just seconds later that she registered the thud of hooves closing on her. She knew when he reined in to allow her to retain the lead as the drumming rhythm subtly changed tempo. Bea allowed Molly to slow down too, reluctant to appear determined to outpace him in some silly contest. She’d known from the start that docile little Molly was no match for the sleek thoroughbred on her tail.

Having reached the valley where the brook fed a fast-flowing stream, Beatrice slackened the reins so the mare could take a drink and crop grass.

Hugh came to a halt some yards away, then dismounted. He strolled over, wordlessly extending his arms, inviting her to get down.

Bea hesitated, then went to him because she could see he imagined her wary of his touch. And she wasn’t afraid of him. Neither had she any need to be. In an instant he’d lifted her easily, swung her about with giddying speed, then put her down on the turf and walked off.

Feeling flustered by his efficient handling, she wandered towards the water’s edge, glad to stretch her legs, while he tethered the stallion to a branch.

‘He’s a fine beast.’ Beatrice was keen to make conversation. The tense silences between them seemed more awkward than an exchange of barbed remarks. ‘He must be new; I don’t recall seeing Alex ride him.’

‘He’s mine.’

‘You brought your own horse with you?’ Bea turned about.

‘I rode him here; I left London quite late and I didn’t want to miss Susannah’s funeral.’ He came slowly closer. ‘Travelling across country is quicker than using a carriage on the roads.’

He assessed Bea’s thoughtful expression.

‘You’re wondering why I didn’t make it home yesterday, in that case.’

Bea nodded, aware of his eyes roving her flushed complexion, making her wonder if mud had flown up from Molly’s hooves to dirty her face as well as her hands.

‘I found I didn’t want to go home, Beatrice. I wanted to stay here for a while longer...’

Beatrice turned away, then bent down to dip her fingers into the cold water, sluicing off the soil stains. If he thought she’d ask him if he’d returned to see her, he was mistaken. She’d no intention of giving him an opportunity to scoff on that score.

‘Elise is worried Alex will pine for his mama as he has no brothers or sisters.’ She sent that over a shoulder before standing and drying her hands on her skirt.

‘Siblings can be more of a burden than a support.’ Hugh joined her on the bank of the stream.

Bea glanced at his harsh, chiselled features. She was sorry that he felt that way, considering how close she was to her beloved Elise. Hugh had a sister and a brother, and she wondered to which he’d referred when making that damning comment about his kin.

Curiosity loosened her tongue. ‘Are you not a close family?’

‘I visit my mother regularly, but my sister only rarely now she’s settled in the shires with her husband. We have no quarrel with one another.’ A chuckle grazed his throat. ‘Which is remarkable, considering how Sarah has tested my patience and my pocket in the past.’

‘And Sir Toby?’ Bea asked after a short silence.

‘The less I see of him the better I like it,’ Hugh replied. He jammed his fists into his pockets, turning his head to gaze out over the fields. ‘He is an unpleasant character and I would advise anybody to steer clear of him. My aunt Edith couldn’t abide him, so she said.’

Beatrice sensed the soft clod beneath her feet giving way and scrambled backwards. Hugh grabbed at her whirling hand, jerking her away from the water and to safety higher up the bank.

He didn’t immediately relinquish her and Bea made no effort to wriggle her fingers free of his warm grip. She blushed beneath the golden gaze she sensed scorching the top of her head, finally liberating herself with murmured thanks for his assistance. She was determined not to give the impression of being susceptible to his polished charm. And he was very attractive...more so than when she’d fallen in love with him...she grudgingly acknowledged while darting him a glance.

He had the height and dark good-looks that appealed to women and made lesser-blessed fellows resentful. He also now had the wherewithal to purchase expensive tailoring to enhance his broad shoulders... Beatrice abruptly curtailed her wild appreciation. It was now nothing to her how handsome his face, or how snug his clothes! But she could understand why women everywhere—even in exotic locations—might succumb to him...

‘I have been remiss in not offering you my condolences,’ Beatrice uttered briskly, in order to curb her annoying preoccupation with his attractiveness. ‘I had no idea that your aunt Edith had passed away till recently.’ She started to walk along the bank. ‘Elise told me the sad news when she came to Hertfordshire. I liked Mrs Vickers, although I spoke to her only a few times when in London.’

It had been during that particular sojourn in town three years ago that she had met Hugh Kendrick and almost disgraced herself with him.

With hindsight Beatrice was aghast at what she’d done. Why she had ever thought it a good idea to adopt the soubriquet Lady Lonesome when advertising for a husband in a gazette, or to arrange clandestine trysts with strangers to select her mate, she would never fathom. She’d matured in character since, with Colin’s staid influence, she was sure. But the memory of what she’d risked—and forced her younger sister to risk as her reluctant accomplice—horrified her.

Bea was very fortunate that her antics had not completely sullied her future and her family’s name, already tarnished by her parents’ divorce. Few people had ever been aware of her stupid scheme; the man at her side had known because he’d responded to her advert. As a lure she’d pretended to possess a dowry and Hugh Kendrick had been eager to lay claim to it, if not to her...

‘Ah...I do recall you first met my aunt and me at Vauxhall Gardens. You were attending a concert with your sister and the Chapman family.’

Hugh sounded as though he’d dredged up the details from the pit of his memory while strolling at her side. In fact he’d not forgotten a solitary thing about that first encounter. Neither had he forgotten that he’d replied to Lady Lonesome’s advertisement because of Toby’s refusal to loan him money to pay his rent and keep a roof over his head.

But there had also been the matter of Sophia Sweetman’s expensive tastes depleting his bank balance. Sophia had been under his protection then—until he’d found he couldn’t afford to keep her any longer. Now she was again his paramour, and he was able to give her all she wanted this time round, but Hugh wasn’t sure he wanted Sophia—or Gwen Sharpe for that matter—no matter what delightful tricks they dreamt up to keep his interest and defeat one another. Annoyingly, he knew that the coltish blonde at his side would have no such difficulty arousing him...

Hugh cursed beneath his breath at the direction his thoughts...and his loins...were taking. ‘My aunt liked you,’ he said in a voice roughened by frustration. ‘When you and your sister left town that year and returned to Hertfordshire she lacked your company.’

‘I expect Edith missed having the details of our hasty escape explained to her.’

Beatrice had sensed his irritation. If he were already bored with her company she’d not impose on him longer. She retraced her steps towards Molly, hoping he might offer to assist her in remounting rather than watch her scramble in an ungainly fashion onto the mare’s back.

‘I missed you too.’

‘Did you?’ Beatrice jerked around. ‘You had an odd way of showing it, Mr Kendrick, as I recall.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I believe you were paying attention to Fiona Chapman before I had unpacked my case in Hertfordshire.’

‘Were you jealous?’

Beatrice whipped a biting glance to his rugged profile but found a denial refused to trip off her tongue.

Slowly he turned his head, his hawk-like eyes trapping her, bringing her to an involuntarily halt.

‘It is a shame you have become arrogant and conceited,’ she whispered. ‘I think I liked you better as a penniless fortune-hunter.’ She marched on, but had covered very little ground when a hand clasped her wrist, jerking her back.

‘And I liked you better when you were a country miss keen to please me.’

‘That silly girl no longer exists.’ Bea twisted her wrist in an attempt to free herself.

‘I think she could be resurrected, given time...’ he growled.

‘And I think you might now be rich, thanks to your aunt’s bequest, but the Indian sun has addled your wits.’ Beatrice forced a fist between them to prise herself away from him.

Hugh grunted a laugh, dipping his head as though he would kiss her. But he skimmed his mouth past her mutinous face, letting her go. ‘Quite possibly something’s addled my wits,’ he muttered, and walked on.

Inwardly he mocked himself for feeling like a randy youth. He’d been burning with desire for her yesterday and only the thought of an audience with her father had checked his lust. If a roomful of mourners at a wake hadn’t put him off pursuing her he knew he should quickly distance himself, in case he lost control while they were alone. He should have gone home yesterday, he realised, and straight to Gwen and a long night of release.

There was nothing to be achieved by wanting her; he was tormenting himself for no reason. Alex would kill him if he seduced his sister-in-law, and Hugh was sure he wasn’t ready for a wife. Inwardly, he mocked himself that if he did propose Beatrice Dewey would throw the offer back at him. But she’d accepted Burnett, and Hugh knew there’d been a suitor before the doctor...

‘Did Mr Vaughan propose to you?’

Beatrice quit gazing at the mud underfoot. ‘Mr Vaughan? How do you know of him?’ she gasped in surprise.

‘Because you told me,’ Hugh replied dryly. ‘Don’t you remember that conversation, Beatrice?’

Bea bit her lip. No doubt when in Hugh’s arms, in a blissful haze, she had confided her secrets to him. Mr Vaughan had been the first gentleman for whom she’d formed a tendresse. The lawyer had pursued her when she was eighteen, then repaid her shy devotion by dropping her like a stone to wed the fiancée he’d omitted to mention.

‘No...he did not propose. Rather like you, he enjoyed flirting while chasing a dowry to make taking on a wife worthwhile.’

Hugh strode back towards her, caught her face in a fierce grip when she avoided looking at him. ‘I told you at the time I was wrong to mislead you when I had nothing to give. If things had been different we would by now have been man and wife. Things for me are different now.’

Beatrice would have pulled back but Hugh caught the tops of her arms, keeping her against him. Oddly, he was calmly certain that whatever he thought he knew about himself, whatever secrets he’d be obliged to expose, he was on the brink of asking her to marry him.

‘Things for me are different now, too,’ Bea retorted, glaring into hard hazel eyes. ‘Once home that year I fell in love properly, with a decent man, and soon realised that I’d felt mere infatuation for you.’

‘Is that so?’ Hugh asked softly. ‘I wonder if I’m able to infatuate you again now your decent man has disappeared...’

This time his mouth closed with hers relentlessly, tracking every evasion until she ceded with a little gasp and allowed their lips to merge. She felt his long fingers forking into her hair, dislodging her hat and a few pins. But though she struggled Bea knew she was defeated. Since the moment he had turned up at her father’s house with news of Alex’s mother she had unconsciously craved this. Within a second of his caress skimming her silhouette she had melted closer.

Hugh sensed her need and immediately deepened the kiss, manoeuvring her jaw to part her mouth. His tongue teased the silk of her inner lip, sliding and circling with slow eroticism, while a determined hand stroked from her back to her buttocks, jolting her into awareness of the effect she was having on him. His hands cupped her face, forcing her back from him so he could gaze at her features. A flush had spread across a soft cheek where his stubble had grazed her and her mouth, moist and temptingly slack, was scarlet and plump from his passionate assault.

But she was not the sweet ingénue she’d been before. He could read behind the desire in her large eyes that her response was reluctant...measured...and he wondered just how much the doctor had taken before he’d gone away.

‘You’re easily infatuated, sweetheart,’ Hugh murmured. ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d bedded down at the Hall last night, after all, and got to know you again.’

His brutal comment was like a dousing with cold water for Beatrice. He couldn’t have made it plainer that he thought her a wanton, desperate for his attention, just as she had been years ago when she’d promised him anything he wanted, then cried when he’d coolly told her he must stop seeing her.

A small hand, liberated from entrapment between their bodies, flew up to crack against his unshaven cheek, jerking his head sideways. ‘I’m not infatuated and never will be again...not with you, at least. I’m disgusted by your lust and insolence.’ She backed away, pressing quivering fingers to her pulsing lips. ‘Colin might not be able to marry me under the terms of his inheritance but I’d sooner be his mistress than your wife.’

Hugh stalked her on their way back, until she realised she’d got the stream directly behind her and could go no further.

‘I don’t recall proposing to you...ever...not then, not now,’ he gritted through his teeth, infuriated with himself as well as her.

He would have risked even worse humiliation at her hands if he’d let those four damnable words circling his mind trip off his tongue.

‘But if it’s a lover you want...’ Hugh continued in a deliberately lewd tone as he trailed just one tormenting digit down a hot silky cheek. ‘I’ll provide a better service than the doctor...in every way. Just name it and it’s yours, whatever you desire.’ He grunted a callous laugh as she flinched at his crude proposition. ‘So...the decent man’s gone off to Miss Rawlings to keep his estates safe, has he?’

‘Don’t you dare mock him!’ Beatrice cried. ‘He didn’t want to leave me! He had to for his future heirs’ sake!’

‘Quite the martyr, then, isn’t he?’ Hugh mocked. ‘Yet Sir Colin, as he demands to be known, gives the impression of a man content with his lot in life...whereas I have just realised I am not, because I want what he doesn’t.’

Beatrice gulped down an indignant protestation. She had not seen Colin since he’d jilted her, but for her pride’s sake she’d clung to a belief that he was missing her as she missed him. She might tell her family...she might tell herself...that she was glad they’d parted, but in private moments she knew it wasn’t wholly so. There had been tender interludes during their relationship, if no great passion. For this man to brutally throw her fiancé’s faithlessness in her face—even if it were the truth—was galling.

‘If Colin seems content it is because he is stoic and sensible enough to know he must accept what he cannot change!’ Beatrice hissed. ‘Whereas you are a disgusting degenerate.’

‘Am I? Who told you so?’ Hugh enquired with specious softness.

Beatrice pressed together her lips, as though to prevent herself repeating what she’d learned about him from Lady Groves: he was a man who preferred spending time with harlots rather than decent women, despite his popularity with debutantes. If the ladies’ comments about the flirtatious Miss Rawlings were to be believed Colin’s future wife seemed, with awful irony, particularly taken with Hugh Kendrick. And if that were not enough then there was the other business which, if she’d guessed correctly, had taken place overseas.

‘Come...if you want to slander me, Beatrice, let me have some details and your source.’

‘But I’ve not slandered you, have I?’ she breathed, removing tendrils of fair hair that a stirring breeze had lashed across her vivid blue vision. ‘That damning description is accurate and could be added to.’

He shrugged, cruelly amused. ‘With a little more information, sweet, I’ll be able to judge.’

The temptation to provoke him into admitting he had dallied with exotic women was too great, and he had invited it. ‘It wouldn’t matter where in the world you were, you’d sooner scandalise decent people than curb your lust.’

‘Ah...I see... It worries you that I might have let my eye rove when in India. You told me you weren’t jealous, Beatrice...’ he goaded, glad that she didn’t seem in possession of any firm facts.

‘I’m not jealous...’ Bea raged.

But he was ready for her fist this time and caught the small curled digits inches from his face. ‘What do you want me to tell you, sweet? All of it?’

‘Get out of my way,’ she choked in frustration and fury.

Her eyes continued sparking blue fire despite the burn of tears making her blink. She’d never win this verbal battle and knew she was close to breaking down so must withdraw from it. She was not jealous or upset in any way because of Hugh Kendrick, of that she was certain! Her distress came from the unpalatable news that Colin might already have eased his conscience where she was concerned. It was hard to bear, especially as he must replace her with a woman who seemed likely to stray—perhaps before they’d even wed.

As a sob raised her bosom, then grazed her throat, Hugh released her and strode away. Gathering the reins of the two horses, he brought them closer to where Beatrice still stood, holding herself rigidly, on the bank of the stream. When she refused to approach he jerked her closer and, without a word, hoisted her atop Molly with such strength that she had to cling to the mare’s neck to prevent herself toppling straight off the other side.

‘My offer of carte blanche stands,’ he said with quiet gravity, gazing up at her steadily, a hand on Molly’s bridle preventing her escape. ‘Perhaps, in the circumstances, you should consider it.’

‘And perhaps you should go to hell!’ Beatrice hissed, slapping wildly at his fingers until he removed them. She set off across the meadow at a gallop, the wind drying her wet face as fast as the brine was falling.

When the Hall was in sight she realised that he had not followed her all the way back. She clattered onto the cobbles of the stable yard and, turning her head, saw him stationed on the brow of the hill, watching her. Involuntarily Bea shivered at his dark, brooding presence outlined against a pale sky. A moment later he’d turned the stallion’s head and was heading fast in the direction of London.

Chapter Ten

‘You will do as your uncle wished!’

‘I don’t see why I must.’ Stella Rawlings had been pouting at her reflection while fixing a garnet to a small earlobe. Now she swivelled on the dressing stool to give her aunt a sulky look. ‘I’m becoming popular and I’d sooner have my pick of the bachelors than have a husband chosen for me.’ She stood up and approached the mantelpiece to sort through invitations, selecting one. ‘See...the Rutherfords want us to join them in their box at the opera.’

Idly, she waved the parchment. The Rutherfords were close to the heart of the ton and every chaperon wanted her ward to have their patronage.

Apart from Maggie Monk.

The woman stomped closer, snatching the card from Stella’s fingers and tossing it back whence it came. ‘The only reason you’re in demand, my girl, is because you’ve drawn attention from every randy fellow in Mayfair. Bertram Rutherford is rumoured to have at least five bastards.’

Stella flounced to sit on the stool, head tilted to one side while she playfully flicked the eardrop. She’d sooner have had rubies, but at least Colin had bought her a gift to mark the announcement of their betrothal. She twisted the garnet ring on her finger. She’d sooner have had a ruby engagement ring too...but mostly she craved a magnificent diamond...from Hugh Kendrick...

Her grey eyes lifted to her reflection, assessing her features. She knew she wasn’t a conventional beauty: her small snub nose was littered with freckles and her full mouth had a natural droop that made her look dissatisfied even when she wasn’t. She twirled a ringlet about a finger, wishing her hair were golden-blonde rather than flame-red, but gentlemen liked her generous bosom and curvy hips; they also appreciated her brazenness, even if their wives didn’t.

So, in all, Stella Rawlings was satisfied with her looks and the way things were going since she’d arrived in town. She just wished her aunt would accept that Sir Colin should be kept dangling in reserve...just in case she failed to hook a gentleman with a good deal more to offer than a minor title and a modest country estate.

‘Did you hear what I said, miss?’ Maggie exploded when Stella continued simpering at her reflection. ‘You are making a fool of yourself, flirting with every gentleman who ogles you. Lord Whitley is over sixty and yet I thought at one point you were about to sit on his knee, so close did you get to his chair.’

‘The old goat would have liked that,’ Stella snorted, planting her hands on the dresser and pushing herself to her feet once more.

‘Maybe...but his wife would not. You do not irk somebody as important as Lady Whitley at her own soirée.’

‘Why ever not?’ Stella piped up. ‘Her husband will ensure she asks me again.’

‘How do you know that?’ Maggie snapped.

‘Because he assured me of it.’

‘I imagine Lord Whitley’s assured plenty of girls of plenty of things, and none of it came to pass.’

‘Oh...hush, Auntie.’ Stella changed tack, embracing Maggie to sweeten her temper. ‘I’m just enjoying myself and I wish you’d be happy for me.’

Maggie gave a mollified sniff. ‘I’ll be happy when your fiancé adds a gold band to that garnet ring. Your uncle Donald wanted you to be quickly wed to Sir Colin so your future would be secure and you’d be a titled lady. We must set the date without delay.’

‘I don’t want to just yet,’ Stella insisted sulkily. ‘There are better titles going begging than his.’ She noticed her aunt’s expression darkening so added, ‘But if I do want Sir Colin I’ll keep him...don’t worry your head about that.’

Stella felt confident she had her fiancé wound about her little finger, and all it had taken was a sly glimpse of her shapely calves. She’d schemed to give him a taste of what she could offer but hadn’t wanted Sir Colin to think her a little trollop, so had pretended to be unaware of him entering the parlour at the very moment she’d been adjusting a garter.

His fulsome apology for intruding had not been able to disguise the burst of lust in his eyes. The following day Sir Colin had presented her with the gift of garnet eardrops. Stella’s lips knotted in ruefulness. She should have raised her skirts higher that afternoon...she might then have got the rubies she wanted.

Maggie shook her head in a mix of despair and appreciation, watching Stella sorting through her jewellery box. The eardrops were removed and a different set, bought by a previous admirer, tried on. She’d received that gift of oval amethysts from a besotted old coal merchant in York.

Maggie knew Stella was still a virgin, so Sir Colin had no quibble there. But the girl was adept at getting cash spent on her while preserving the goods. She could understand why Stella wanted more than Colin Burnett could give. But only he could give what Maggie Monk was determined Stella would get...so the girl was marrying him and no other.

* * *

‘You must come and stay with us in London and let Hugh see that you don’t care a fig for him and he’ll never force you to be his mistress.’

Before joining her husband in town Elise had decided to have a final attempt at persuading Bea to fight her corner. She had packed up and left Blackthorne Hall and was en route to Mayfair via her childhood home, where she had stayed the night with her family.

‘I’m sure Mr Kendrick knows he can’t intimidate me.’ Bea smiled, despite feeling a fraud. The dratted man’s name, even an annoying phantom feeling of his body still pressing against hers, was enough to dry her mouth. But she continued with the task of folding clean linen brought in from the washing line as though undisturbed by the nature of their conversation.

‘Well, even if you don’t mind Hugh Kendrick bothering you, you must be worried that the gossips in town are having a field-day at your expense.’

Elise hated being so brutal but hoped that resorting to bald facts might galvanise Beatrice into preserving her pride and dignity. Elise was sure that beneath that brave face her sister was understandably deeply wounded by her run of bad luck. She didn’t want Beatrice to become a recluse because of two gentlemen who’d proved they weren’t worthy of her.

It saddened Elise that Hugh’s upturn in fortune seemed to have turned him into a heartless Lothario. She felt a fool for having cherished a hope that Hugh might honourably pursue her sister. But now another problem had gone into the mixing pot: their father had received a lengthy missive from his sister.

Aunt Dolly had reported that tongues were wagging following publication of the doctor’s engagement notice. Inquisitive people had been asking why Sir Colin Burnett favoured a bold hussy, half his age, over her niece. Dolly had made it clear she’d given short shrift to anybody suggesting Beatrice must be distraught by his defection. Dolly had further written that she strongly advised Walter to send Bea to town to scotch such damaging rumours once and for all or his elder girl would be forever pitied and avoided.

‘Aunt Dolly is right, you know.’ Elise pushed the letter across the table so her sister could not help but look at it. Their father had insisted they both read it and discuss if action needed to be taken. ‘Are you going to quash these rumours that you’re hiding away, desolate? Come to Mayfair with me and hold your head high at the best places. That will show them all!’

‘You have not even discussed with your husband about inviting me to stay with you,’ Bea pointed out mildly.

‘Alex always loves to see you, and besides he is quite furious with that rakish—’ Elise bit her tongue. In her enthusiasm to get Bea to London she had almost let slip that her husband’s rage was directed at his best friend rather than Sir Colin Burnett.

Bea frowned. Her sister was now keen to escape her gaze and she could guess why that might be. ‘Oh, please say you haven’t told the viscount that Hugh propositioned me.’ After a tiny silence Bea angrily threw onto the table a half-folded pillowcase.

‘Really, Elise!’ She pushed to her feet. ‘You promised you would not—’

‘I swear I did not betray you!’ Elise interrupted anxiously. ‘Alex could tell I was dreadfully upset after you went home following the funeral and he kept on and on at me for a reason. He thought I might have lost the babe, and that made me even more tearful, so I admitted I was fretting about you. I swear I did not mention Hugh’s name, or the nature of your problem...but Alex guessed in the end, and I confirmed it for I could not lie to him.’

Beatrice pivoted about, white fingers flying to cover her gasp. ‘That’s why Alex went off to London without waiting for you to accompany him!’ she breathed. ‘He’s gone to challenge Hugh over it.’ She could tell from her sister’s forlorn expression that she’d hit on the truth.

‘I honestly did not ask him to, Bea; in fact I tried to make Alex see the sense in calming down before setting off.’

Bea thrust two hands into her silky hair, cupping her scalp. ‘He will think that I acted like a whining child, running to my brother-in-law to complain about him.’

‘Do you care what he thinks?’ Elise asked pithily.

‘Of course not!’ Bea fumed beneath her sister’s arch expression. ‘Well...naturally I do not want him to think me incapable of putting pen to paper to tell him my opinion of him. Neither do I want him believing me cowed. I intended to give the impression that his offer of carte blanche was not worthy of any further attention.’

‘Well, if you don’t want Alex to stand up for you it only remains for you to tell Hugh yourself that his pursuit is most unwelcome and in vain.’ Elise crossed her arms over her middle and sighed. ‘It’ll be sad if Alex and Hugh have fallen out. Hugh can’t be an incorrigible rogue or Alex wouldn’t have been friends with him for so long.’

Bea felt guilty that her brother-in-law might have suffered an unpleasant argument because of her, but she was also exasperated because she’d not asked Alex to champion her.

‘Hugh is probably embarrassed to have overstepped the mark with you, yet won’t admit it. I’ll wager he’s already lined up a more suitable candidate.’

‘If that is supposed to make me feel better, Elise...’ Bea was torn between laughter and annoyance.

‘It is supposed to make you feel like damning the lot of them!’ Elise fell silent as their father entered the room.

‘For a lady, you cuss like a navvy.’ Walter was not averse to chastising his daughters, no matter their ages or the fact that the younger outranked him.

‘Sorry, Papa,’ Viscountess Blackthorne said meekly.

Walter pointed to his sister’s letter, a gleeful smile spreading across his face. ‘So, this woman Sir Colin must marry is a cheap flirt! Hah! Just what he deserves! I’ve a mind to go to town and tell him so!’

‘Why do you not, Papa?’ Elise suggested. She had not thought her father would undertake the journey, but he seemed fired up enough to do it.

‘I might...yes, I might...and while I’m at it I’ll ask the skinflint where my compensation has got to.’

‘Colin has not returned the money you spent on our wedding arrangements?’ Beatrice sat down on the chair opposite her father, looking shocked and concerned.

‘Not all of it,’ Walter confirmed. ‘I would remind the fellow of his promise face to face, as he has ignored my letter.’

* * *

‘So she told you, then...?’ Having voiced this sour response to being hit in the mouth, Hugh touched his bleeding lip. As he picked himself up off his hallway floor he sent his assailant a baleful look

‘She? Are you talking about my wife?’ It was an icy demand.

‘I wasn’t...no...I was talking about Beatrice.’

Alex Blackthorne stalked closer, flexing his sore fingers. He halted on seeing Hugh’s stance altering: his friend was balancing aggressively, preparing to defend himself. Alex might have got in one lucky punch and sent his opponent reeling, but he was certain he wouldn’t manage another. The two men were evenly matched in combat skills and had sparred, fenced and shot at targets together since the age of about twelve.

‘I haven’t seen Beatrice since she went home after the funeral. Elise told me what you’d done. You said you’d leave my sister-in-law alone.’

‘I can’t...’

‘You damn well will!’ Alex thundered. ‘If her father finds out you’ve propositioned her he’ll crawl to town, if necessary, just to shoot you.’

Hugh used the back of his thumb to smear away the blood trickling towards his chin. ‘Don’t tell him, then,’ he said bluntly.

‘That’s it, is it? Don’t tell him?’ Alex mimicked in disgust. He strode to and fro over the marble slabs in Hugh’s palatial hallway. ‘What in damnation’s up with you? You’ve got two willing women set up in London; you’ve got attachments in India you’re not willing to forgo. Still you’re not satisfied!’ Alex roared. ‘How dare you treat Beatrice as though she’s some cheap strumpet—?’

‘I’ve not,’ Hugh coolly interrupted. ‘She can have everything she wants—including all the discretion money can buy.’

‘She can have everything from you but a wedding ring?’

Hugh displayed even white teeth in a soundless laugh. ‘She doesn’t want one.’

That took the wind out of Alex’s sails. He stopped prowling and shot Hugh a dark look. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘She told me she’d sooner be Burnett’s mistress than my wife.’

Alex continued glaring at Hugh but inwardly his attitude altered. If what Hugh had just said were true it put a whole different light on things. Ruining a virgin spinster was one thing; bidding against somebody else for a self-confessed paramour was another matter entirely. He’d done so himself on many occasions before he’d met Elise.

Alex thrust his fingers through his hair in exasperation, unsure now how to proceed. It was none of his business if Beatrice and the doctor had been lovers, or indeed if she’d succumbed to Hugh all those years ago when they’d been besotted with one another. His sister-in-law had made no complaint of having been ravished at any time.

Alex realised he probably owed his friend an apology, and beneath his breath he groaned at the mess of it all.

‘Actually, if we’re going to come to blows over grievances...’ Hugh approached in a single athletic stride and knocked Alex onto his back with an efficient jab. ‘It was my job to tell Beatrice about Rani. How much does she know about my time in India?’

Alex levered himself up onto an elbow. ‘I haven’t even told my wife about that damned web of deceit!’ he bawled out in his defence.

‘If it wasn’t you or Elise who mentioned a foreign liaison—’

‘It’s bound to have got out,’ Alex interrupted harshly. Your brother knows, after all, and so does Lord Mornington.’ Alex dragged himself upright. ‘You got yourself into the confounded mess so you’ll have to suffer the consequences of being so blasted noble...’

‘Drink?’ Hugh invited acidly. A thumb pointing over his shoulder indicated his study, situated along the corridor. He knew they were both feeling foolish for having swung first and asked questions second.

Hugh knew he was wrong for wanting Beatrice in his bed, but if necessary he’d fight his best friend to have her—because just a single memory of her silky lips slipping beneath his, and her moaning response to his ardour, was enough to send tormenting heat to his loins.

‘Promise me you’ll stay away from my sister-in-law and I’ll take a drink with you.’ Alex feared his terms and his olive branch would be rejected.

‘I can’t do that.’ Hugh turned away from his best friend, calling over his shoulder to a footman, who’d remained stoically seated in a shadowy alcove during the fracas, ‘The viscount’s leaving; show him out.’

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