A Dangerous Undertaking
Mary Nichols

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THERE were two men in The White Hart inn, sitting in a corner with a bottle of wine between them. They did not appear to be enjoying it. One was tall, judging by the length of the buckskin breeches and leather top-boots which stuck out from under the table as he leaned back in his seat. His full-skirted coat with its large button-back cuffs was well cut and, though not exactly the height of fashion, certainly did not proclaim him as anything but a man of substance. He was surveying his companion under well-shaped brows, which at this moment were drawn down in a frown, spoiling what was otherwise a handsome face. He wore no make-up and had a clean-shaven, well-shaped jawline and thick dark hair which was unpowdered and tied back into the nape of his neck with a black ribbon. The light of the lantern hanging from the ceiling showed up glints of red-gold in it. His right hand, curling round the stem of his glass, was long-fingered and neatly manicured. He wore a large signet-ring but no other jewellery.

His companion was of an age with him—twenty-six or thereabouts—but somewhat broader. His eyes were grey and he wore a lightly powdered brown wig with long side-curls. His mauve satin coat with its high stand collar was flamboyantly decorated with rows of pleated ribbon. He wore more jewellery than his friend—a cravat pin, a fob across his braided waistcoat and a quizzing-glass, as well as several rings. In London he would not have been considered over-dressed, but in this sleepy town he shone like a beacon. He grinned at his morose friend.

‘Cheer up, Roly, old fellow; you’ll turn the wine sour.’

Roland, Lord Pargeter, smiled, and his rather taciturn countenance lightened, so that it was easy to see the charming man he could be if he chose. ‘It’s all very well for you, Charles; you haven’t got an insoluble obstacle in the path of your happiness.’

‘No, thank heaven, but then I don’t believe in witches and curses and nonsense like that.’

‘I wish it were nonsense. It’s been true for the last four generations, so my grandmother tells me, and that can surely not be coincidence.’

‘You know,’ Charles said slowly, ‘what you ought to do is marry.’

Roland looked at his friend in exasperation. ‘Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said? I have just finished telling you why I cannot do so.’

‘You have told me why you cannot wed Mistress Chalfont. What’s to stop you marrying someone else?’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Yes, you do. Think about it, Roly. You cannot marry Susan because you care for her——’

‘I love her too much to——’

‘Don’t interrupt. So why not marry someone you do not care for? A complete stranger, in fact. It won’t be forever, will it? A year. What’s a year?’

Roland looked thoughtful; it was just what his grandmother had said when she had warned him to choose his bride carefully. He had not told her of his intention towards Susan because the time had not seemed propitious, what with his father so recently dead and heaven knew what arrangements to be made about the inheritance. And he had been obliged to return to London to clear up certain financial matters and consolidate his position at court. He could not assume that because he had inherited the title and the estates he had also inherited his father’s position and privileges. Having secured those, at least for the time being, he was on his way back home. ‘No, I cannot. And who would have me in the circumstances?’

‘Oh, anyone,’ Charles said airily, waving his empty glass round the oak-panelled room. ‘You would be a very good catch. You ain’t bad-looking—at least not when you smile—and you’re not short of a penny or two. I reckon you would have no difficulty.’

‘It’s a mad idea.’

‘But growing on you, eh?’ Charles paused to look closely into his friend’s face. ‘If it meant happiness with Susan in the end…’

‘It would have to be someone desperate enough not to care why I married her. I don’t think I could pretend…’

Charles grinned. ‘Not even a little?’

‘No.’ Roland paused, realising it was desperation which had led him to humour his friend, but the idea really was out of the question. ‘How could I live with someone for a year, face her over the dinner-table, talk to her, smile at her, knowing what I had done to her?’

‘You don’t have to, don’t you see? As soon as the wedding is over, you leave for London, say you have been called back to your regiment—after all, there is still trouble with the Jacobites—stay away the whole year. She will be happy enough playing lady of the manor here without you.’

‘I could not do it.’

‘Not even for Susan? If it were me, and it was the only way I could have Kate, I’d do it. I wouldn’t have any scruples at all.’

‘I am not you,’ Roland said, thinking of Susan as he had last seen her in September, waving goodbye to him from the steps of her father’s mansion in Derbyshire and calling out that she would see him in London in April, if not before. April, five months from now and a whole year after he had received that wound at Culloden, a year in which he had gone from being so badly wounded that he was not expected to live, back to full health, and it was all because of the devoted nursing he had received at her hands. Well, perhaps not all at her hands because there had been nurses and servants too, but she had been the one to sit with him hour after hour, reading to him and amusing him as he slowly recovered. It had been almost inevitable that they would fall in love. He had left her to return to his regiment in London, full of confidence that, when the time came to propose, she would accept and they could look forward to a happy future together. In London he had learned that his father had died and he had hurried home, and that had led to the interview with his grandmother, and now here it was December and he was miserable. Charles was trying to cheer him up but with little success. Roland smiled at him, humouring him. ‘Where would I look for such a one?’

Charles shrugged. ‘Anywhere. There’s a little waif just come in on the stage. If you turn round slowly, you will see her sitting in the chimney-corner with all her worldly possessions in a bag at her feet.’

The room, which had been empty except for the two men, had filled in the previous two minutes from a coach which had clattered into the yard and disgorged its passengers, most of whom had come into the inn to stay the night before continuing their journey north in the morning.

Roland turned in leisurely fashion, searching out the girl Charles had mentioned. The hood of her black cape hid most of her face, though he could see the line of her chin and a firm mouth. Beneath the cape, her mourning gown was neat rather than fashionable, but it did not disguise a figure which was slim, bordering on thin.

‘Half starved,’ Charles commented.

‘Do you know who she is?’

‘No, but that’s the beauty of it. A complete stranger to these parts.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘It would be easy enough to find out.’

‘No, Charles, I forbid it.’

The girl looked up suddenly and met Roland’s gaze. She had clear violet eyes and very dark hair which curled over her forehead beneath the black lace which lined the cape’s hood. Her face was pale and she looked apprehensive, though not exactly frightened.

‘She seems a little lost,’ Roland said pensively. ‘Like a kitten that’s strayed from its mother.’

‘Perhaps she has. She is in mourning.’

Margaret Donnington could not hear what they were saying but she sensed they were talking about her and she felt herself blushing. She turned away in confusion. She should not have come into the building at all. It had made her the object of curiosity.

She had never in her life before been into an inn alone; it was not something a well-nurtured young lady should ever have to do and, though she was not really afraid, she was certainly nervous. She had been uncertain whether to come in at all, debating whether to enquire the way to Winterford and see if she could find someone to take her there at once, or to use some of her precious savings on a meal and a room for the night, and continue in the morning. She had written to Great-Uncle Henry advising him of her arrival, and had expected that he would send a conveyance for her, but there was no conveyance, no Uncle Henry, nothing, and if she turned up on his doorstep at this time of night there was no telling what sort of welcome she would be accorded, especially if he had not received her letter.

Until a week ago, she had not even known of his existence and she was not sure he had known of hers. She was beginning to wish she had never left London, but it was too late now; she had burned her boats. She had given up the tiny apartment she and her mother had occupied, and spent all but a guinea or two of her savings on the journey, so there was no going back. Besides, what was there to go back for? Her darling mama had died and she had no relatives in the whole world except Great-Uncle Henry Capitain, her mother’s uncle. Mother had made her promise to go to him. ‘He is family,’ she had said, that last day when not even Margaret could convince herself that her mother would get better. ‘He will not turn you away.’ She had gone on to explain that Henry Capitain lived at Winterford, a small village in the Fens, not far from Ely.

Margaret had been too concerned with making her mother’s last hours comfortable to ask questions about the unknown relative, and only after the funeral had she found herself wondering what was to become of her. There was no money, hardly enough to pay the rent they owed. Mama had been ill for some months and unable to work herself, and though Margaret had had a position with one of London’s leading milliners, which was just enough to keep them both, she had been forced to give it up to nurse her mother. Walking away from the simple grave, Margaret had been overwhelmed by grief, and not until she had returned to the tiny apartment that had been her home did she realise that she no longer had a home. The landlord had been adamant, telling her that he had not pressed for payment because of Mrs Donnington’s illness, but now the time of reckoning had arrived. He wanted the back rent and he wanted Margaret out; he had others waiting to move in who would pay more, and regularly too.

She had sold everything except her clothes and one or two pieces of inexpensive jewellery which had been her mother’s, and paid him, then taken a stage-coach to Cambridge. In Cambridge she had changed to another coach, a very heavy old-fashioned vehicle which had jolted its passengers unmercifully over the rutted tracks which went by the name of roads, making her wish she had never set out. The feeling had been heightened as the coach had taken them through the bleakest countryside she could ever have imagined. True, it was winter, not the best time to see it, and there had been a cold mist which hung over the fields and obscured everything except one or two houses which stood very close to the road. And even these signs of habitation had disappeared as night fell. In common with the other passengers, she had been glad when they’d finally turned into the yard of The White Hart, but she was still short of her destination.

She called the waiter over to her and smiled, determined not to be cowed. ‘Would you please tell me how to get to Winterford?’ she asked.

‘Winterford?’ he repeated. ‘It’s a fair step. Eight miles, I reckon. You weren’t aimin’ to go tonight, were you, mistress?’

‘Eight miles.’ Her smile faded. ‘Then is it possible to hire a vehicle to take me there?’

‘I doubt anyone would want to turn out at this time o’ night,’ he said. ‘Whereabouts do you want to go? There’s nobbut there but a fen, a church and a handful of houses. And Winterford Manor, o’ course…’ He paused, looking her up and down, wondering if anyone going to the Manor would arrive without being met, but then, his lordship was sitting on the other side of the room; he would surely have come forward if the young lady were his guest. ‘You weren’t going to the Manor, were you?’

‘No. Sedge House.’

‘There!’ His manner suddenly changed. ‘That ain’t even in Winterford. Right out on the edge of the fen, it is, miles from anywhere, and there’s many that’s thankful for that, everything considered.’ He looked at her again. She seemed on the verge of tears, not the sort of girl who normally visited that old reprobate, Henry Capitain. Sedge House guests were usually colourfully dressed, painted and be-wigged, and licentious, to say the least. ‘Are you sure you mean Sedge House, miss?’

‘Yes. Is something wrong there?’

‘No,’ he said hurriedly.

‘You haven’t answered my question. How can I get there?’

‘I should send a boy with a message in the morning and Master Capitain will send his carriage for you.’

It seemed a reasonable suggestion and Margaret resigned herself to waiting until the following day, and asked for a room for the night, something she had wanted to avoid doing. But tomorrow, perhaps, the sun might be shining and everything would look better; even her prospects might seem rosier, though she doubted it. She stood up and picked up her valise to follow the man up the stairs.

‘There!’ said Charles as she disappeared from sight. ‘Did you hear that? She is going to old Henry Capitain’s and no one with an ounce of good breeding would be going there. She is some waif he has picked up and invited to visit him. You could save her from a fate worse than death.’ He gave a cracked laugh when he realised what he had said. ‘Well, a short life but a merry one, eh?’

‘It is not a matter for jest.’

‘I am not jesting.’

‘We don’t know anything about her.’

‘We don’t need to know anything, apart from the fact that she is not already married, because that would certainly be an insurmountable obstacle.’

Roland laughed harshly. ‘And what about Susan?’

‘What about her? She is miles away in Derbyshire and she won’t come here in the middle of winter, considering the state of the roads and the fact that you have not yet issued the invitation.’ He paused, looking at Roland with his head on one side. ‘Have you?’

‘No, but are you suggesting I should keep news of my marriage a secret from the woman I love?’

‘That’s up to you, old fellow. You aren’t exactly betrothed, are you? You have not yet offered for her?’

‘No, but I believe there is an understanding…’

‘What good is an understanding to a young lady who has her heart set on a wedding-ring, not to mention babies? If my estimate of the fair sex is correct, she will not wait forever, so why not do something to hasten the day?’

Roland had polished off the best part of two bottles of claret or he would never have embarked on such a conversation, let alone taken it seriously. But he was in a fix and it seemed like a way out. If he married a complete stranger, someone he found not in the least attractive, as different from Susan as chalk from cheese, perhaps it would work. ‘And where did I meet this new bride of mine?’ he asked. ‘I can hardly tell Grandmama I picked her up in an inn.’

‘You’ve just come back from London, haven’t you? You’ve been away for weeks on business. You were introduced by Lady Gordon at one of her soirées, or something of that sort. You brought her home with you.’

‘Now?’ Roland was astounded. ‘You mean me to take her home now?’

‘No, tell the Dowager you left the young lady at the inn while you went on ahead to break the news to her. By the time you come back I shall have made the acquaintance of the woman in question.’

‘You assume she will agree.’

‘Well, yes, there is that,’ Charles conceded. ‘But it’s worth a try. In any case, it does not have to be this young lady; we can find others. You could advertise.’

Roland laughed, but it was a cracked sound and not in the least mirthful. ‘"Wanted, a wife for a year. Must be of mean appearance and desperate, not to say a little mad." They will flock to answer it.’

‘Have you got a better idea?’ Charles demanded, miffed. ‘Apart from remaining a single man for the rest of your days?’

‘Forget it,’ Roland said, rising unsteadily and picking up his tricorne hat. ‘I wish I had never told you. I’m going home. Are you coming?’

‘No, I’ll stay here for the night and come on in the morning.’

Roland looked at him suspiciously. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Nothing, my dear fellow. Simply ask a few questions, see how the land lies.’

‘I wish you would not.’

‘It can’t do any harm, can it? I will not commit you to anything.’

‘I should hope not,’ Roland said fervently. ‘What shall I tell Kate?’

Charles looked up in surprise. ‘She is not expecting me tonight, is she?’

‘How do I know?’ Roland was beginning to feel irritable. He supposed it was his friend’s unfailing good humour which irked him, his ability to find something to smile at even in the worst situations, but it was unfeeling of him to make a joke of Roland’s predicament. ‘You are the one who writes to my sister, not I. What did you tell her?’

‘That I would see her before the week was out. This is only Thursday. Tell her you saw me in London and that I was just going to Tattersalls to buy a horse. That’s true, because you did. Tell her I will be with her tomorrow. Send your curricle in for me.’

‘Very well, but I want your promise that you will not propose to the little kitten on my behalf.’

‘As if I would.’ Charles laughed. ‘You can do your own proposing.’

‘Never. I bid you goodnight.’ With that, he clapped his hat on his head and left the room to go to the stables, where he confidently expected that an ostler would have changed the horses on his travelling carriage.

Charles sat on while the room he asked for was prepared. A faint smile played around his lips. Roland would never have his heart’s desire if someone didn’t take him in hand.

Margaret opened her eyes to bright sunshine, and hurried to the window. It looked out on to the market, which was dominated by the great cathedral. The street was muddy and unpaved and was busy with carts loaded with produce, carriages, farmers on horseback, and men herding cattle and sheep to the pens from which they would be sold. Men and women hurried past and a coach rolled down the street and under the archway below her window. Perhaps when it had changed its horses it would be going on, and pass somewhere near Winterford. She washed and dressed and went downstairs.

The coffee-room was full, as it had been the previous night, and the waiters were hurrying to and fro serving breakfast. She hurried over to the one she had spoken to the previous night. ‘The coach that just came in. Does it go anywhere near Winterford?’

He turned from serving a gentleman with ham and eggs, and smiled thinly. ‘No, nothing goes out there; there’s nothing to go for. You’ll have to hire privately or walk—-’

‘Excuse me, did you say Winterford?’ the man he was serving interrupted.

Margaret turned to him, a smile on her lips which faded when she realised it was one of the men who had been surveying her so openly the evening before. ‘Yes,’ she said coolly, to let him know she deplored his insolence.

‘I am going there myself. I could take you.’

‘We do not know each other, sir.’

‘I beg your pardon. Let me introduce myself. I am Charles Mellison, of Mellison Hall in Huntingdonshire. You may have heard of the family.’

‘I have not.’

He smiled. ‘Ours is an old family with the very best of antecedents, I assure you. I am going to Winterford Manor, the country home of Lord Pargeter. You and your maid will be quite safe in my company, I promise.’

‘I have no maid,’ she said, and then wished she had not admitted it when she saw a little gleam of triumph in his eye. ‘But that does not mean I will allow myself to be taken up by a perfect stranger.’

‘No, of course not,’ he said. ‘I only thought I could help you out of a difficulty. Lady Pargeter would not like to think a guest of hers had been left to make her own way.’

‘I am not a guest of hers.’

‘No? Then I do beg your pardon.’

‘I am going to Sedge House. Mr Henry Capitain is my great-uncle.’

‘But the Capitains and the Pargeters have known each other for centuries!’ he exclaimed, as if that made everything right. ‘You must allow me to escort you…’

‘Well…’ She hesitated. Was she in a position to look a gift-horse in the mouth?

‘Have you broken your fast?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Do join me. Waiter, set another cover at once.’

He would not accept no for an answer. As they breakfasted, he drew her out, little by little, and by the time the meal was finished he knew almost all there was to know about her, and she had relaxed. It seemed perfectly proper to allow him to escort her to Winterford in the curricle which appeared as if by magic when they went outside.

There had been a sharp frost overnight, and the hedges and trees as they left the town were covered in sparkling rime. In no time, they seemed to have left these and all other signs of civilisation behind them and were on an uneven lane, going straight as a die, towards a flat expanse of nothingness which stretched for miles, with hardly a hillock to be seen. There were no trees either, except a few frosted willows and alders growing along the banks of the ditches. There were a great many of these dykes, where geese and ducks swam on gaps in the ice. Strange windmills with buckets, instead of paddles, were dotted about the landscape, their sails hardly turning in the windless air. But the sky was magnificent, layer upon layer of dark cloud rising from a horizon that was so wide, it seemed to take on the curve of the earth itself. Each cloud was streaked by fire, red and mauve and awesome. Margaret found herself admiring it at the same time as it frightened her. She felt tiny and insignificant.

‘Most of this land was drained in the last century,’ Charles told her. ‘All but a few acres are owned by the Pargeters. Lord Pargeter is a good man, a fine fellow all round.’

‘What of Sedge House?’

‘That is not exactly in Winterford, but two or three miles further on. Have you not been there before?’

‘Never.’

‘It’s a bleak place, right on the edge of the unreclaimed fen, and Henry Capitain has done nothing to improve it. I doubt you will like living there.’

‘I have no choice.’

‘Everyone has a choice,’ he said softly, wondering whether to broach the subject of Roland and his dilemma. ‘You could marry.’

‘One day perhaps,’ she said with a sigh. ‘At the moment I cannot bring myself to think of it.’ She smiled. ‘Are you married, Master Mellison?’

‘I am betrothed to Lord Pargeter’s sister. We hope to marry soon. His lordship is unmarried, though his grandmother has been pressing him to find a wife for some time. He has to secure the lineage, you understand.’

‘Does he not wish to marry?’

‘Oh, yes, but he cannot find anyone prepared to live in this out-of-the-way place. But whoever becomes Lady Pargeter would have to, you see, at least three-quarters of the year. Roland is almost resigned to never marrying.’ He hoped his friend would forgive him the half-truth.

‘I am sorry,’ she murmured politely.

‘I shall introduce you to him.’ He turned to her as if suddenly thinking of it. ‘I’ll wager you would deal well together.’

‘I thought the days of matchmakers were gone,’ she said, smiling and revealing a twinkle in her eye and a dimple at the side of her mouth he had not noticed before; it gave him a twinge of conscience.

‘Sometimes it is necessary. Shall we stop at Winterford Manor, so that you may make his acquaintance?’

‘No, thank you,’ she said firmly. ‘I am flattered that you should think me worthy, but we are strangers and I am in mourning. Making calls will have to wait until I have settled down.’

He sighed and turned the curricle away from the village they had been approaching and down a narrow rutted track which ran alongside a high bank, on the other side of which was a wide ribbon of water which was too straight to be a river. Halfway along it was one of the strange windmills she had noticed before.

‘What are those for?’ she asked, pointing.

‘The land round here is often flooded in winter. The windmills take the water off the fields in the buckets and tip it into the dykes.’

‘How clever.’

They rode on in silence, Charles wondering how he could further Roland’s cause without frightening her away, and Margaret apprehensive of what she would find at the end of her journey,

She realised he was making for a speck on the horizon which, as they drew nearer, was revealed as a house. It was a big square brick building which stood almost abutting the lane. On its other side, an overgrown lawn went down to a boat-house and a tiny jetty where a rowing-boat was moored in the water of the fen. The road went no further.

‘Do you want me to wait?’ he asked as he pulled the horses up at the door.

‘No, thank you. I am grateful for your trouble, but I shall manage now.’ She did not want a witness to her first encounter with her great-uncle and was glad he took her at her word.

‘Very well. But if you change your mind about meeting his lordship, do not hesitate to let me know.’

As soon as she had alighted he turned the vehicle round and was soon bowling away along the flat road, back to Winterford. She sighed and turned to knock on the thick oak door.

She was taken completely aback when it was opened by a girl with a white-painted face, full red lips and several patches. She wore a pink satin open gown whose laces strained across her bosom, and a petticoat of red silk, beneath which Margaret could see white stockings and red high-heeled shoes. She stared at Margaret. ‘Well, you’re a little out of the ordinary, I must say.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Different, I mean. You look as if you couldn’t say boo to a goose.’

‘Then my looks belie me,’ Margaret retorted, putting her chin in the air. Who did the hussy think she was? ‘Is Master Capitain at home? I wish to speak to him.’

‘Henry!’ the girl yelled over her shoulder. ‘Come on out here and see what’s turned up.’

There was a shuffling noise behind her and a man pushed past her to stare at Margaret with myopic eyes. He wore white small-clothes which were stained with wine or tea, or something of the sort, and a shirt which was opened almost to the waist, revealing an expanse of flabby white flesh. His legs were clad in dirty white stockings but he wore no shoes. He had discarded his wig and his thin white hair stood up at all angles round his head. He had about six chins which wobbled down into a thick neck. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded. ‘Did I ask you to come?’

‘No, but I wrote to you. Did you not receive my letter? I am Margaret Donnington.’

‘Margaret who?’

She countered with a question of her own. ‘Are you Master Capitain?’

‘Yes, of course I am. Who else would I be? And I don’t remember any letter.’

‘I am your great-niece. I am Felicity’s daughter.’

‘Great Jehosophat! I thought she was dead.’

Margaret gulped hard to take control of herself, though she felt like fleeing back down the road. ‘She is dead. She died two weeks ago.’ She paused, but he seemed unable to take in what she was saying. ‘Before she died, she told me to come to you.’

‘Why, for God’s sake? We ain’t seen each other in…’ He racked his brain to remember. ‘It must be nigh on thirty years. I did hear she had married. What did you say your name was?’

‘Margaret Donnington.’

‘How did you arrive here?’

‘I came by stage to Ely and then a gentleman going to Winterford Manor brought me on.’

‘Pargeter!’ There was no attempt to disguise the contempt in his voice.

‘No, it was one of his guests.’ She paused, waiting, then added. ‘Are you not going to invite me in?’

‘The house is all in a muddle,’ he said. ‘Not fit to be seen. This slut——’ he indicated the girl at his side, who had continued to stare at Margaret with unveiled amusement ‘—Nellie, here, don’t go much on keeping house.’

‘’Tain’t what I came for,’ the girl retorted. ‘I’m not a servant. If you don’t like it you know what you can do.’

Margaret was wondering if she was ever going to be allowed over the threshold, and he was looking at her with bright little eyes, almost buried in the flesh of his cheeks, as if he wished her anywhere but on his doorstep. It was a wish she shared. At last he said, ‘Better come in, though this ain’t the place for a well-brought-up young lady.’

The girl he had referred to as Nellie laughed as she led the way through a dusty hall to an even dustier drawing-room with heavy old-fashioned furniture and faded velvet curtains. ‘That’s a fact and no argument,’ she said, with a chuckle that hinted at something Margaret was not sure she wanted to know.

‘Get us all a drink,’ Henry ordered the girl, then, turning to Margaret, indicated the settle. ‘Sit down. Tell me what happened.’

The telling did not take long, and he was silent at the end of it, his many chins resting on his chest and his eyes glazed. The glass in his hand was empty and so was the girl’s, but Margaret had not touched her wine.

‘My, that’s a turn up for the books,’ Nellie said. ‘What are you going to do now?’

Margaret looked from her to her uncle, who did not deign to answer for several seconds.

‘I don’t know,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t know. Ain’t you got anyone else you can go to?’

‘No, or I would, believe me.’

‘Where’s your father?’

‘He died in India. I was born out there in 1727, but the climate did not suit my mother and, when my father died, she brought me back to England. I was only a baby then; I do not remember him.’

‘Nineteen years old,’ he murmured. ‘Felicity took her time about producing, considering she left here in ’15.’

‘My parents were married two years before I was born, no more.’

‘Hmm,’ he mused. ‘Fancy that little chit managing on her own all that time. What did she do? For a living, I mean.’

‘She was a mantua-maker, and a very good one.’

‘Is that so? Hardly the occupation of a lady of breeding.’

‘Perhaps she had little choice,’ Margaret snapped in defence of her beloved mother, though she had no idea what had happened in the past. If Great-Uncle Henry was a sample of her family, then she did not blame her mother for never mentioning them.

‘And you expect me to welcome you with open arms?’ her uncle asked.

Nellie giggled. ‘Why not? You do everyone else…’

‘Shut up, you witless cow,’ he said to her, then to Margaret, ‘You’d do better turning right round and going back where you came from.’

‘I can’t. I’ve no money.’

‘Neither have I and that’s a fact.’ He sighed. ‘You’d better stay, I suppose. Just until we can think of something else. Nellie, my dear, show her where she can sleep and tell Mistress Clark there’ll be one more for dinner.’

The house, neglected as it was now, had once been very fine, Margaret decided as she followed Nellie up the carved oak staircase and along a wide landing. The people who had built it must have been quite wealthy and had some standing in the community; the building materials would have had to be transported some distance because, apart from willows and a few aspen, there were no trees locally. The proportions of the house were on a grand scale too; lofty ceilings and long windows with leaded panes. Some of the doors along the landing were standing open and revealed large rooms full of worn furniture which had once been good.

One room was obviously in use. It was even more untidy than the rest of the house—the bed was unmade and garments were scattered all over the bed and the floor. Margaret could not help noticing that there was a man’s night shirt and hose as well as women’s clothes. She averted her gaze hurriedly; so Nellie was her great-uncle’s wife! She was younger than Margaret herself and she was certainly not a lady of breeding. But who was she to criticise? Margaret asked herself as she followed her hostess into a bedroom at the far end of the corridor.

‘You won’t be disturbed here,’ Nellie said. ‘I hope you’re not used to being waited on, because there aren’t any servants except Mistress Clark, and she don’t sleep in.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘She don’t approve of Henry’s goings-on, as she calls them, but she stays on account of she knew the old master.’

‘My mother’s father?’

‘Yes; I suppose it would have been Henry’s brother. He was a few years older than Henry. Before that, of course, there was your great-grandfather. Henry don’t talk about them.’

‘Is there no one else in the family?’

‘Not that I know of, but then I ain’t known Henry that long.’ She paused, looking round the room. ‘It’s a bit dusty. It ain’t one of the rooms we use often.’

‘Do you entertain much, Mistress Capitain?’ Margaret asked, going over to the wash-stand and noticing the scum on the top of the water in the jug.

Nellie threw back her head and laughed. ‘Bless you, I ain’t Henry’s wife.’

Margaret was shocked to the core. She was not blind to some of the things that went on in the less salubrious parts of London; she knew men took mistresses and some wives took lovers, but she had never expected to find it happening in her own family, nor in the family home away from the capital. She sat down heavily on the bed, sending up a cloud of dust.

‘Don’t look so stricken,’ Nellie said. ‘Henry and me, well, we’re just good friends. I came down here ’cos I needed to get away for a bit, understand?’

Margaret didn’t and she said so.

‘Never mind,’ the girl said, and laughed again. ‘You’re like a fish out of water, here, ain’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’d find somewhere else to go, if I were you.’ It was said almost kindly. ‘Later on, or mayhap tomorrow, there’s a whole lot more coming.’

‘More like you?’ It was out before Margaret could stop it.

‘Yes, only worse. Men and women—they’re coming to gamble and… Well, you know.’

Margaret shuddered. Her mother could not possibly have known it would be like this when she’d told her to come here. Now where was she to go? For a fleeting moment she thought of Charles Mellison and his friend, Lord Pargeter, looking for a wife who would be prepared to live in this outlandish place. She had heard that fen people were all slightly mad, and she was beginning to believe it. What could she do? She lifted her chin. ‘Perhaps you should be the one to leave,’ she said. ‘After all, you have no ties here… .’

It was a silly thing to say and she realised it as soon as Nellie began to laugh. She was still laughing as she went back downstairs, leaving Margaret alone in the grubby bedroom.

It was a corner room, having windows on two sides which would have made it a pleasant bedchamber if it had been clean. It had a bed, a dressing-table and a cupboard, standing on a carpet so faded as to be colourless. She did not unpack, but went to the window and looked out on a landscape so bleak that she didn’t know how anyone could like it. She saw nothing but acres and acres of flat land, some of it meadow, some of it ploughed, intersected by dykes, whose banks were higher than the surrounding land. From the other window the view was of water, with clumps of frost-blackened sedge and reeds. A rowing-boat rocked on its moorings beside the landing-stage. Overhead, in the great bowl of the sky, a heron flew. But her mother had loved her childhood here and had spoken of the special magic of the fen country—its glorious sunsets and red dawns, its plentiful wildlife, fish and fowl, its close-knit communities and hardy, superstitious people. What she had never told Margaret was why she had left and why she had never been back. As she stood at the window, a little of the atmosphere communicated itself to her and for the first time she began to understand.

But that did not mean she wanted to stay. Her uncle evidently did not want her and she was certainly not impressed with him, but what else was there for her to do? She had no money to return to London. Suddenly she found herself thinking again of Charles Mellison, who had suggested she should marry, and his long-legged, handsome companion, who was looking for a wife. She did not want either of them to be given the opportunity of crowing over her. She smiled and turned from the window; she would just have to make the best of the situation. Straightening her shoulders, she returned downstairs and made her way to the kitchen, intending to ask for mops and buckets to clean her room.

CHAPTER TWO

MISTRESS CLARK was thin and dark, reminding Margaret of a scavenging crow as she darted about the kitchen picking up utensils and bowls. She was muttering to herself, but stopped suddenly when she saw Margaret. ‘Miss Felicity!’ The bowl she had in her hand dropped to the floor and shattered. Margaret bent to pick up the pieces.

‘It’s a judgement, that’s what it is,’ the woman went on, crossing herself. ‘I knew it would all end in tears; I told you so.’

‘I’m not Felicity, Mistress Clark. I’m her daughter, Margaret.’

The cook let out her breath in a long sigh. ‘My, you gave me a fright, mistress. The image of your poor mother, you are.’

‘My mother is dead.’

‘And you thought you would come back home, did you?’

‘It was Mama’s last wish. I’m sure she didn’t know it would be like…’ She paused, lifting her arm to indicate the house. ‘Like this.’

‘No, she wouldn’t. She was only a young girl when she left home. I told her; I told her it would end in misery…’

‘Mama wasn’t unhappy, Mistress Clark. She and my father were very happy until he died and then we managed very well, she and I.’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear it. But you aren’t thinking of staying here, are you? This is an evil place and that one…’ She pointed with a wooden spoon at the wall dividing the kitchen from the rest of the house. ‘That one is the devil. Get out. Get out before he drags you under his wicked spell. He’ll——’

She was interrupted by a bellow from the corridor outside, and the door was thrown open to reveal Henry Capitain, more tousled than ever. ‘Are you going to stand there gossiping all day? I want my dinner.’

‘It’s coming,’ the cook said, but there was no servility in her tone. ‘Do you think I’ve got ten pairs of hands?’

‘And you mind your manners, or you’ll be out on your ear.’

Her answer was a laugh of derision.

He ignored it and turned to Margaret. ‘Get back where you belong. Seeing’s you’re here, you can be my hostess. You can’t be any worse at it than Nellie. Come on, now, we’ve company.’

Margaret followed him back to the drawing-room, where she found three men and three women who had arrived while she had been talking to the cook. They were all so grotesquely painted that it was impossible to tell what their features were like, and they wore huge wigs which disguised the colour of their hair. The men’s clothes were as vivid as the women’s, in pinks and purples, greens and mauves. They reminded Margaret of a flock of parrots.

‘Margaret, I want you to meet our guests,’ he said, waving a hand at them. ‘Entertain them while I go and dress.’

He disappeared, leaving Margaret unable to utter a word. They stared at her; one of them even lifted a quizzing-glass and moved it up and down inches from her face. ‘Ain’t seen you before,’ he said. ‘Where’d old Henry find you?’

‘He didn’t,’ she said coldly. ‘I am his great-niece.’

This was followed by another long silence, until Nellie came in and diverted them with cries of welcome. ‘It’s been dull,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing to do…’

‘Nothing to do, Nellie?’ one of the women laughed. ‘Don’t Henry satisfy you any more? Well, now we’re all here, things will liven up, don’t you think? Is the niece part of the entertainment?’

‘My, I could be entertained by that one,’ drawled one of the men, looking lecherously at Margaret. ‘It might be amusing, don’t you think? The quiet ones often turn out to have hidden fire. I had a mistress once, young she was, hardly out of the schoolroom and carefully brought up, but my, was she a demon in bed!’

He laughed heartily as Margaret turned and fled.

She ran up to her room, grabbed her bag and hurried down the back stairs to the kitchen. Mistress Clark was just taking a roast fowl from the oven. Margaret dashed past her and out of the door. They would surely catch her if she tried to go back along the only road. She turned and ran over the grass to the landing-stage. They could not follow her if she took the only boat. She threw her bag in the bottom, climbed in and cast off.

She had never rowed a boat before, but she had seen it done on the Thames and she bent to the oars with a will. At first she went round and round and kept bumping into the bank, but at last she found a kind of rhythm and discovered how to steer. Her direction was clear enough because Ely Cathedral stood out clear against the skyline. She had no idea how far away it was, because distances were deceptive where there were no landmarks except a few windmills, and the light was so strange. She rowed out of the wide water of the fen into the cut. She kept going until her back felt like breaking and her hands were covered in blisters, but still the great tower of the cathedral seemed no nearer. She knew that if she stopped the current would take her back the way she had come. She forced herself to continue, and inch by inch drove the boat forward towards a group of buildings surrounding a church, which she guessed was Winterford. There was a small landing-stage and sloping lawns to a large house. Thankfully, she pulled in and, throwing her bag before her, climbed on to dry land. And then, to her great consternation, she found her legs had become so numb with cold that she could not stand.

The house was two hundred yards away and much bigger than she had at first supposed. Built of grey stone, it seemed to have been put together haphazardly, with a tall main building and two wings, one with a lower roof-level which jutted out along the frontage and the other set at right angles. The central frontage had half a dozen evenly spaced mullioned windows and a massive wooden door, heavily studded. She began crawling over the grass towards it, dragging her bag with her, but, before she could reach it, she found herself looking at a kid-booted foot and a dark blue woollen skirt and heard the voice of a young woman. ‘Goodness, you poor thing, whatever happened to you? Charles, come here and help me.’

‘Mistress Donnington!’ Margaret recognised the voice of Charles Mellison, though she was all but fainting and could not see him clearly. ‘How did you get here?’

‘Never mind how she got here,’ the young lady said, before Margaret could find her tongue. ‘Help me get her indoors.’

He lifted her easily and carried her into the house and into a small sitting-room. Margaret saw nothing but the glowing embers of the fire, felt nothing but the warmth enveloping her, and then she fainted.

When she came to herself, she was lying in a beautifully furnished bedroom, covered with clean sheets and warm blankets, and the young lady was sitting in a chair beside the bed watching her. She smiled when she saw Margaret was awake.

‘I’m Kate Pargeter,’ she said, picking at the lace edging of the tiny apron she wore over a flower-patterned silk day-gown. It was almost a nervous gesture, as if she was unsure of herself, but then she laughed and revealed the mischievous look of a young girl. ‘Charles told me you were coming to visit us, but I never dreamed you would arrive in so spectacular a fashion. My brother is out on the land but he’ll be back soon. Wait till I tell him you could not wait for him to send for you and made your own way here.’

‘I wasn’t…’ Margaret stopped, wondering what Charles Mellison had said about her. Why should Lord Pargeter send for her? ‘I’m sorry, I’m confused,’ she said.

Kate’s tinkling laugh came to her as if through a fog. ‘You are nothing like as mystified as I am. I thought you came from London, from Society, but you can evidently row a boat with the best of fen women.’

‘I didn’t know I could.’ Margaret smiled. ‘I don’t think I am very good at it.’ She turned her hands over, but the blistered palms had been covered with salve and bandaged.

‘No, you poor dear. But how brave you were to try.’ She picked up a glass from the small table by the bed and leaned forward to help Margaret drink from it. ‘Charles said you had to go and visit your uncle before you honoured us with a visit, but he was quite sure you would not want to stay there…’

‘He was right about that.’

‘Is it as bad as they say?’ The question was asked with a conspiratorial giggle.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, there are all sorts of rumours. Visitors, you know, riotous behaviour——’

‘Kate, you should not be bothering our guest with questions like that.’ The speaker stood in the doorway, tall, angular almost, in country breeches and muddied top-boots. He was not smiling.

‘Roly, you’re back. Look who’s here. Aren’t you pleased to see her?’

‘Very,’ he said laconically, without stepping over the threshold. ‘But I believe Mistress Donnington should be allowed to rest. You can question her all you like after I have spoken to her.’

Margaret looked up at him, recognising Master Mellison’s companion of the evening before and guessing he was Lord Pargeter. They must have been talking about her or how did he come to know her name? If they had, what had they been saying? And why did Kate say she was expected? The strange conversation she had had with Charles Mellison came to her mind and made her mouth lift in a little quirk.

‘I am glad to see you are able to smile,’ his lordship said. ‘Now, please sleep. We will talk as soon as you feel stronger.’

She wanted to say that they should talk now, that whatever mysteries there were to be solved should be uncovered at once. She felt like a pawn being pushed around on a great chess-board, not in control of the situation at all, and she did not like it. She turned to Kate, who stood up with the empty glass in her hand. Margaret just had time to register that it must have contained a sleeping-draught before her eyes closed.

The next time she awoke, it was snowing. She could see huge flakes of it sliding down the glass of the window, but the room was warm from a fire which blazed in the grate. Her bag had been unpacked; underclothes, white stockings, a cambric petticoat and a round gown of blue merino wool were laid over a chair near the blaze to warm. She turned her head. A maid was pouring hot water into a bowl which stood on the wash-stand in the corner. It was the sound of that which had disturbed her.

‘Oh, did I wake you, mistress?’ the maid said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What time is it?’

‘Ten, mistress.’

‘Ten?’ Margaret sat up. ‘You mean ten in the morning? Have I slept all night?’

‘Yes, mistress. I’m Penny; I’m to look after you. His lordship said I was not to rouse you, but as soon as you waked to say he would like you to take breakfast with him in the morning-room.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Margaret looked at the window. ‘Has it been snowing long?’

‘All night, mistress. I reckon the roads are about impassable. If it freezes harder, we’ll have to get the skates out to go anywhere, but the ice isn’t thick enough yet.’ She turned towards Margaret and smiled. ‘Still, we’re snug enough here. Shall I help you wash and dress?’

‘What? Oh, no, I can manage.’

‘But your poor hands. Let me help you, mistress. His lordship will be put out if he hears I left you to struggle with them little buttons on your own. And you shouldn’t put those hands in water, not till they’ve healed.’

Margaret acquiesced, and half an hour later Penny conducted her downstairs and showed her into the morning-room where Lord Pargeter sat alone, eating a late breakfast. He uncurled his great length from his seat and held a chair for her. ‘I trust you slept well, Mistress Donnington?’

‘Very well, thank you.’

‘Please help yourself to whatever you want.’ He indicated the many chafing-dishes on the table. ‘Or would you prefer me to do it? Your hands must still be painful.’

‘Hardly at all, my lord.’ She took a little ham, concentrating on her plate because she knew he was looking at her pensively, as if wondering how to make conversation with her. ‘I am afraid I do not make a very good oarsman.’

‘You did very well. Am I to assume you found Sedge House not to your liking?’

‘It was not the house,’ she said, ‘though it was in a parlous state.’ She looked round the room as she spoke. It was elegantly furnished in mahogany and walnut, some of it exquisitely inlaid with satinwood. The seat of the chair she sat on, like all the others, was covered in damask. The fireplace was of marble and the plastered ceiling was decorated with gilded scrolls. It exuded wealth and status; there could not have been a greater contrast with Sedge House. ‘My uncle was not expecting me and he had other guests,’ she went on, in a effort to excuse the behaviour of her unsympathetic relative.

‘Just so.’ He lifted a pot. ‘Chocolate?’

‘Thank you.’

He poured a cup of the thick dark liquid for her. ‘Your great uncle is a Capitain, just as you are,’ he said, as if that explained everything.

‘How do you know so much about me, my lord?’ she asked, though she could guess his information came from Charles Mellison, and that made her feel uncomfortable. She began to wish she had not been so open with the young man.

‘Master Mellison told me of his conversation with you,’ he said. ‘He told me you were going to live with your uncle.’

‘That does not mean I could condone…’ She paused, not wanting to put a name to what she had seen in her uncle’s house. ‘I never knew I had any relations until my mother was dying. Now I wish I had never come.’

‘What would you have done if you had not?’

‘I could have found work and lodgings, looked after myself.’

She could not read his expression. One minute it was solicitous, another almost malevolent. His dark eyes never moved from her face; it was as if he was studying every line of it, committing it to memory. What did he see there? she wondered. Was he trying to read signs of debauchery which would tell him she was like her great-uncle? Was he wondering if he dared keep someone like that under his roof? He broke the silence at last. ‘What kind of work have you done?’

‘I am a milliner, my lord.’

‘I doubt there is much call for hat-makers in Winterford, Mistress Donnington. We are a very rural community. The village used to be on the edge of the winter inundation; it was the only place where the fen could be safely crossed, which is how it got its name, but a hundred years ago, while Cromwell and the king battled it out for supremacy, the Adventurers fought against nature and won. Now Winterford is simply a slight rise in the surrounding land, all of it very fertile, but a long way from the beau monde of London.’

‘I was not thinking of setting up as a milliner here, my lord.’

‘What, then?’

‘I do not know. I am adaptable, my lord.’

He smiled and his sombre expression changed; his mouth softened and his eyes twinkled. ‘Just so long as it does not entail keeping house for your uncle, eh?’

‘He already has a housekeeper.’

Her smile dimpled her cheeks very attractively, he decided, though she still looked tense, half afraid. ‘Where would you live?’

‘I would have to find lodgings.’

‘Live alone? I hardly think that would serve.’ He paused, then asked slowly, ‘Have you thought of marriage?’

She smiled. ‘Doesn’t every young lady dream of it?’

‘Is there no one?’

‘No, my lord. I have been too busy…’ She stopped suddenly, remembering her conversation with Charles Mellison.

Encouraged, he went on, ‘I believe Master Mellison told you a little of my situation.’

‘My lord, he would not be so indiscreet.’

He chuckled suddenly. ‘You obviously know how to be discreet yourself, but you need not worry, I am not asking you to betray him; I know my friend very well and I can guess he told you I was looking for a wife.’

‘He did mention it in passing, my lord.’

‘Only in passing? I am persuaded he went out of his way to speak to you about it.’

‘I cannot think why he should do that,’ she murmured.

‘Did he not say we would do very well together, you and I?’

‘My lord!’ she protested.

‘Oh, please do not be alarmed.’ He stopped speaking to offer her warm bread in a cloth-lined basket. She shook her head, and he went on, ‘But he is right about my wanting to marry.’

‘I am sure you could have no trouble finding a suitable wife, my lord,’ she said demurely.

‘As to that, I am not so certain,’ he said. ‘You see, I am very particular and very difficult to live with. In truth, I am impossible.’

‘Surely not,’ she said, because she thought it was expected of her.

Her answer produced a short bark of a laugh. ‘Indeed I am. I am short-tempered, ill-mannered and I am wont to go off by myself for hours at a stretch. And as for making polite conversation…’ He shrugged. ‘Most of the time I find it tedious.’

‘You do not paint a very agreeable picture of yourself, my lord.’

‘I want you to know the truth.’

‘Why?’

‘Because…’ he went on, leaning slightly towards her and making her heart beat in her throat and flooding her face with colour. Surely he was not…? No, she was being absurd. ‘I believe you are in something of a fix yourself…’

‘Not so desperate that I have to resort to trying to live with a man who, on his own admission, is impossible to live with,’ she said with some spirit. ‘I pray you, do not assume that because I am in a little difficulty I have to throw myself at the first man who crosses my path. I listened to Master Mellison because politeness demanded it, but that does not mean I understood or wished to comply with whatever it was he was suggesting. I may be a Capitain, as you put it, but we are not all like my great-uncle, I assure you. My mother was a lady right to the end, in spite of being forcibly separated from all she held dear and having to earn a living.’ She pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘I am grateful for your hospitality, Lord Pargeter, but I should like to leave now.’

‘Leave?’ he queried, raising one dark brow. ‘I am afraid you can’t do that.’

‘I insist.’

He smiled. She was very angry indeed. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled; she was not a lost kitten but a spitting one, and he found the transformation somewhat disturbing. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘As soon as the roads are cleared of snow, of course you may leave. I would not dream of detaining you against your will. Please sit down and eat some breakfast; I can’t have you fainting again.’

She subsided into her chair, though she did nothing to obey his command to eat. She was sure that food would choke her.

‘That’s better. Now, let us begin again. You are very welcome to stay as long as you like, but there are certain things you should know.’ He looked closely at her, wondering how to go on. ‘Firstly, my friend Mellison.’

‘What about him?’

‘He is betrothed to my sister Kate.’

‘I know; he told me.’

‘He is also impetuous. Once he has an idea in his head, there’s no shifting it.’

‘About you needing a wife, you mean?’

‘Yes. He is quite convinced you are the very one.’

‘I am flattered,’ she murmured, but she didn’t sound very convincing. ‘But haven’t you got a mind of your own?’

His smile disappeared and his frown took over. ‘My mind is my own, Mistress Donnington, make no mistake about that. Unfortunately Charles was so sure of himself that he told my grandmother to expect you…’ He paused. ‘He said I had met you in London, at Lady Gordon’s…’

Margaret attempted to laugh, but it came out more like a strangled cry. ‘I have never met Lady Gordon.’

‘Please do not interrupt. Grandmama was overjoyed to know I am going to settle down at last.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘I am twenty-six years old and she was beginning to think it would never happen.’

‘It hasn’t,’ Margaret said sharply.

He ignored her interruption. ‘Lady Pargeter is very old and not always in good health. The doctors say she must not, on any account, be upset.’

‘I am sorry for that and, of course, I would not wish to upset her, but——’

‘Her ladyship has been led to believe I have brought you here to meet her. She wants to see you.’

‘Master Mellison had no right…’

‘Exactly what I told him, Mistress Donnington, but I am afraid he is unashamed. He is quite convinced he is in the right of it and you will agree to marry me.’

‘You have not asked me, have you?’

‘I am asking you now.’

‘In order to please your friend or your grandmother?’

‘I please myself.’ Again there was that angry set to his mouth which spoiled his looks.

Margaret found herself laughing hysterically. The events of the last two days had been so strange, the people she’d met even stranger. It was like being in a madhouse.

‘I am glad it amuses you,’ he said coldly, though he could not help noticing the dimple deepening near her mouth; he found it strangely alluring.

‘I am sorry,’ she said, taking a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbing at her streaming eyes. ‘But I never dreamed my first proposal would be so…so romantical.’

He stood up suddenly, crashing his chair back. ‘And I never expected the lady in receipt of my offer would laugh in my face.’ He strode to the window to look out on the white landscape and calm himself. Charles was right about one thing. There was no question of Susan’s coming down in this weather and neither could he go to her. The thought of never seeing her again filled him with impatience which could not be relieved unless he followed his friend’s advice and found someone else to marry. And Margaret’s laughter had served to harden his heart; and the fact that she was a Capitain went some way to salving his conscience. He turned back to her, once more in command of himself. ‘Please forgive me. I deserved your derision, but let’s not beat about the bush any longer. I need a wife and you need somewhere to live, so shall we begin again?’

The look on his face stopped her laughter. He was regarding her with an expression almost of loathing, and yet there was pain behind the dark eyes, as if the hate was more for himself than her. ‘I do believe you are serious!’

‘Certainly I am. After all, arranged marriages are nothing out of the ordinary and, if you have no one to make such arrangements for you, is there any reason why you should not make them for yourself? I am wealthy and I am not an ogre. I will make no great demands on you. You will have your own suite of rooms, a wardrobe befitting my wife, jewellery, carriage and horses, an allowance. To all intents and purposes, I will be the loving husband…’

‘And what do I have to do in return?’

‘Be a dutiful wife in the eyes of the world, at least while my grandmother is alive. After that——’ he shrugged—you may annul the marriage if you wish, so long as it has lasted at least a year. You will be amply recompensed in that event.’ He did not know how difficult an annulment would be, but, as he did not anticipate having to put it to the test, it was an easy thing to suggest.

She understood that the marriage was not to be consummated. It seemed extraordinary that he should not want an heir. And what significance was there in stipulating a year? ‘My lord, this conversation is becoming nonsensical,’ she said.

‘It will make more sense if you think about it,’ he said. ‘Do not dismiss my proposal out of hand and, as it looks as though you might be snowed up here for a little while, perhaps you would do me the courtesy of allowing yourself time to consider it.’

Agreeing to that could do no harm, she decided. ‘Very well, my lord. I will think about it.’

He smiled and returned to the table. ‘Thank you, but I must ask you to maintain the masquerade for my grandmother’s sake when you meet her.’

She was his guest, and an impoverished one at that; she agreed reluctantly. She didn’t see how deceiving Lady Pargeter would be any help at all if the marriage never took place. He was so willing to lie that she supposed he would soon invent a story of a lovers’ tiff and the engagement being all over.

She met her ladyship at dinner, which was taken at three in the afternoon, but, even as early as that, it was almost dark and the long dining-room was bathed in the glow of several chandeliers.

Physically Lady Pargeter was a tiny, very frail woman who had to be helped to her chair, but mentally, Margaret was sure, she was strong as iron and just as unbending. She wore a white powdered wig with a cap trailing ribbons sitting on top of it. Her undress gown of patterned silk flowed in pleats from an embroidered yoke, which did little to disguise the fact that she was little more than skin over bone. Her face did not look painted, although it was chalk-white and the cheeks sunken. But her brown eyes were alive, darting about the room, taking everything in, missing nothing. She lifted the lorgnette which dangled from a ribbon on her wrist and peered through it at Margaret.

‘So,’ she said, when everyone was seated and the silent footmen began to serve the meal, ‘are you my grandson’s choice or is he yours?’

Margaret did not know what to say, but before she could think of a suitable reply Roland came to her rescue. ‘It was mutual, Grandmama.’

He had changed into a lilac satin coat over a long embroidered waistcoat. His white breeches were tied with a bow below the knee. Pristine white ruffles adorned his throat and wrists and white stockings graced his elegant calves. He wore a powdered wig with side-curls and ringlets tied at the back with a black ribbon. He looked very stylish, but Margaret found herself thinking that she liked him best in plain country clothes which seemed to suit his muscular physique better. She blushed suddenly when she realised he was looking at her. Could he possibly have read her thoughts?

‘Do you know what you are letting yourself in for?’ Lady Pargeter demanded of Margaret, ignoring her grandson.

‘I think so, my lady.’

‘Good, because I wouldn’t want you to be under any illusions. Being married to a Pargeter heir is a dangerous undertaking, especially for a Capitain.’ She looked venomously at Margaret. ‘Did your mother never tell you that?’

‘No, she never mentioned Winterford at all, not until…until the day she died.’

‘Hardly to be wondered at.’

‘Grandmama, you are making something of nothing,’ Roland put in before Margaret could ask what she meant. ‘We will hear no more of it. Tell me, what have you been doing today?’

‘What is there to do in this God-forsaken place? Hannah read to me a little while and I worked on my needlepoint, but my eyes are not good enough for that now. I don’t know why I continue with it. Obstinacy, I suppose. I do not like being beaten. Oh, and I sat for a time looking out of my window.’ She gave a cackle of a laugh. ‘A wonderful view I have from my window—nothing to behold but the horizon and the sky.’

‘The sky is very beautiful,’ Margaret said. ‘I never realised it until yesterday.’

‘I did see something today, though,’ the old lady went on, ignoring Margaret’s comment. ‘I saw a woman in a rowing-boat, coming upriver from that…that place. She stopped at our jetty.’

Kate giggled and Charles said, ‘I didn’t see anyone, did you, Roland?’

‘At our jetty?’ he queried. ‘No, I did not.’

‘It’s funny she should turn up again,’ the old lady said, peering at Margaret. ‘You have a look of her…’

‘No, she hasn’t,’ said Roland quickly. ‘Mistress Donnington is nothing like her. And it was years ago, Grandmama…’

‘Is it? Oh, time means nothing to me now. Sometimes it drags, and weeks seem like years, and sometimes it is the other way round.’ She sighed. ‘What it is to be old. Everybody standing about waiting for you to die.’

‘Rubbish!’ said Roland.

‘Oh, Grandmama!’ said Kate. ‘You must not talk like that.’

‘Why not? I am long past the age when I should be in my coffin. My daughter-in-law has been dead these many years and now my son is gone. Why have I been left behind?’

‘Because we love you and do not want to part with you,’ Kate said.

‘There’s more to it than that,’ she said. ‘It has something to do with this young man here.’ And she poked Roland’s arm with her lorgnette. ‘I have been preserved, pickled in wine and brandy, simply in order to see the Pargeters with a new heir. I shall go to my grave in peace when that happens.’

Roland looked at Margaret as if defying her to deny the possibility. She concentrated on her plate, picking without appetite at fish in oyster sauce. What was going on? They were all talking in riddles.

‘So, when is the wedding to be?’ her ladyship continued. ‘I think it should be soon.’

‘But I am in mourning, my lady,’ Margaret put in, reluctant to talk of a marriage she never intended should take place, but she remembered just in time Roland’s warning to humour the old lady. Arguing with her might bring on a seizure. ‘My mother died less than two weeks ago.’

‘Where?’

‘In London.’

‘Your father? Was he one of the Donningtons of Devon?’

‘I don’t think so, my lady. He died when I was very small. In India.’

‘Oh, a merchant!’ There was contempt in her ladyship’s voice, and Margaret was tempted to defend the father she had never known, but changed her mind.

‘I believe so.’

‘Was he successful?’

Margaret forced herself to smile. ‘If he had been, I would not be here now.’

It was not an answer which pleased her ladyship. She drew her lips down into a thin line and tapped Margaret impatiently on the back of her hand with her fan. ‘My grandson honours you, and you would do well to remember it.’

‘Indeed, I do, my lady.’

‘Good. Have you any other kin, besides that reprobate Henry Capitain?’

‘I know of no one, my lady.’

‘Then who is there to complain if you marry while you are in mourning?’ She turned to her grandson. ‘I want it done and I want it done quickly. I have no time to waste, even if you think you have. And you haven’t, you know. Twenty-six and still single. You are not even a widower, which might excuse you.’

‘Oh, I say,’ Charles broke in.

‘I call spade a spade,’ she said. ‘And we all know it sometimes takes two marriages to produce an heir.’

Margaret was perplexed. ‘What does she mean?’ she whispered to Roland, who sat next to her.

‘My father’s first wife died in a fall from a horse soon after they married, and they had no children,’ he answered in an undertone. ‘My sister and I are the result of his second marriage. Grandmama is a little confused; she sometimes relives these little dramas. Pay no heed.’

The meal ended silently. It was as if the old lady’s talk of death had put a constraint on them all, and Margaret was glad when it was over and her ladyship rose to leave the table. Hannah, the old lady’s companion, who had shared the meal but not the conversation, was immediately at her side to help her to her room, leaving Kate and Margaret to go to the withdrawing-room together.

‘Oh, I am so glad you came,’ Kate told Margaret. ‘It gets dreadfully dull here sometimes.’

‘What do you do for amusement?’ Margaret asked her.

‘Sometimes we go to Cambridge or to the races at Newmarket. And there is always the fen.’

‘The fen?’

‘Boating and fishing and wildfowling. I don’t shoot, of course, but Roland is a crack shot, and Charles nearly as good. It isn’t surprising when you consider they both served with distinction in the army. They were in the same regiment—did you know that?’

‘No,’ Margaret said, choosing her words carefully. ‘His lordship and I had very little time to get to know each other. I had to nurse Mama.’

‘Of course, I understand. But you must think of the future now.’

Margaret didn’t want to think about it. ‘Tell me about yourself,’ she said.

‘Roland is eight years older than I am, you know. I believe my mother had several miscarriages between the two of us. I don’t remember her, but Roland says Papa was so delighted to have a daughter after so long, he spoiled me dreadfully.’ Her voice became sad as she added, ‘He died five months ago. Roland was missing at the time—it was just after the battle at Culloden—and we did not know what had happened to him. It was only when Charles got leave in the summer and came to tell us Roland had been wounded, and was being cared for by the Chalfonts in Derbyshire, that we knew he was alive. As soon as he was well enough to travel he returned to his regiment, and then of course he learned of Papa’s death and came straight home to take up his inheritance.’ She laughed lightly. ‘You know, sometimes he treats me like a daughter instead of a sister. He can be very pompous when he chooses.’

‘Yes, I can imagine that,’ Margaret said with a wry smile.

‘But you are not at all haughty and you will not treat me like a child, will you, even when you marry Roland? After all, you cannot be much older than I am.’

‘I am nineteen.’ She knew that she would soon be past marriageable age, especially as she had no dowry, but that didn’t mean she was desperate. ‘But I have not agreed to marry him.’

‘Oh, but you will, won’t you? You will be so good for him, I know you will. I knew it as soon as I saw you. Charles was right; all Roly needed was a little push in the right direction.’

Margaret felt herself being drawn further and further into the web and yet she seemed unable to do anything to free herself, and the longer the charade went on, the more difficult it became to speak out, to say she had no intention of marrying Lord Pargeter. She was about to pluck up her courage to do so, when Roland and Charles joined them.

They had some desultory conversation, and then Roland suggested showing Margaret over the house.

‘Capital notion!’ Charles said, grinning. ‘Kate and I will amuse ourselves with a little piquet. Hannah will be down again directly to chaperon us.’

Margaret followed Roland from the room, determined to tell him she would not fall in with his outrageous scheme. Although it was little past four o’clock it was already quite dark, and he picked up a lamp from the table in the hall and held it aloft. It revealed a vaulted gallery that towered the whole height of the building, panelled and hung with portraits.

‘My ancestors,’ he said, indicating the pictures. ‘The baronetcy was granted by Elizabeth when we lived in Ely and owned land on the higher ground above Winterford. As the fens were drained, so we acquired more. We have been in residence in the Manor since the Commonwealth.’ He led the way up the wide staircase. ‘The house is built in the shape of a crooked E. The staircase forms the central bar and most of the rooms we use are in the west wing, which is more protected from the prevailing wind than the east side.’ They reached the gallery, where they stood side by side, looking over the banister to the vestibule below. It was lit by two lamps near the door, and a huge fire whose warmth did not reach them.

‘Your great-uncle was here,’ he said.

‘Uncle Henry? When?’

‘Last evening. He came looking for you.’

‘How did he know where I was?’

‘One must suppose he guessed.’

‘I did tell him that Master Mellison had been kind enough to escort me to Sedge House,’ she said slowly. ‘What did he say?’

‘Oh, he was full of bluster and talk of abduction and a great deal more.’

‘He thought you had abducted me?’ she queried in surprise. ‘Why, that’s nonsense.’

‘So I told him. He said if I had not abducted you I would have no objection to your returning with him.’

‘What did you say to that?’

‘I said, of course, I had none, but that you were sleeping off the effects of your ordeal, an ordeal brought about by his immoral behaviour, but, if you wished, I would take you to him when you had recovered.’ He paused, turning to face her. ‘Do you wish to go back?’

She thought about it for a moment. Was that what she ought to do? It might get her out of the extraordinary situation she found herself in here at the Manor, but the memory of her uncle’s lecherous guests decided her. ‘No, certainly not. I cannot think why he should think I would. He did not exactly make me welcome.’

‘He said something about the child of his beloved niece and blood being thicker than water. I am afraid that he angered me so much that I became a little indiscreet.’

‘Oh, what did you say?’

‘I cannot repeat the words I used, Mistress Donnington.’ The fury he had felt when he’d seen Capitain shaking the snow off his hat and stamping his booted feet on the hall rug of Winterford Manor had evaporated, leaving him icily calm. Pargeters and Capitains had not spoken to each other for years and, for the most part, ignored one another’s existence; Roland could hardly believe that charlatan could have had the effrontery to call at Winterford Manor and demand to see him. Demand! He had been about to throw him out, when he had realised there was a way to crush him completely. He had told the insolent fellow of his intentions towards Margaret. It had silenced him just long enough for him to comprehend the implications. There had been a great deal more ranting about being Margaret’s legal guardian and his permission being needed for such a step, but that was all it was, nothing but bravado. They had come to an arrangement which guaranteed silence and involved a certain sum of money changing hands. The man would gamble it away in less than a month, but by then the marriage would have taken place. If Roland had had any doubts about the rights and wrongs of what he was doing, they had been dispersed by that visit.

CHAPTER THREE

‘THANK you,’ Margaret said quietly. ‘It was kind of you.’

‘No, it was not!’ Roland sounded almost angry. ‘I am not kind, I am just the reverse. My motives were purely selfish.’

‘Oh,’ she said, understanding. ‘You told him…’

‘That we were to be married, yes.’ His tone had moderated; it would not do to take his anger out on her.

‘Why?’

‘He insisted he was your legal guardian and could force you to return to him. I could not let you go back to him, could I?’ That was true; he could no more have handed her back to that debauched old man than he could have drowned a kitten, and she was homeless and penniless, but did that mean he had the right to coerce her into marrying him?

‘Thank you, but did you need to go to such lengths?’ She looked at him with her wide violet eyes and made him feel a hundred times worse. ‘Now it is not only your grandmother who is being deceived, but my uncle too.’

‘There need be no deception. You said you would think about my proposal…’

‘I have considered it very carefully, my lord, and I am very conscious of the honour you do me, but the answer must be no.’

‘Why? Are you nursing dreams of falling in love, Mistress Donnington? I assure you it is a fantasy that only marriages based on love are successful.’ He paused, hardening his heart. ‘Do you want me to hand you over to your great-uncle? I believe he has plans for you…’

‘What kind of plans?’

‘Need I go into detail? You saw his paramour and his guests…’ He shrugged, leaving her to imagine the worst. ‘The choice is yours.’

‘I can go back where I came from.’

‘Do you have enough money to pay the coach fare, find lodgings and keep yourself until you find work suitable for a gentlewoman?’

‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I wonder, would you be kind enough to lend me——?’

‘No, it will not serve.’

‘You are despicable!’

He laughed. She was angry again, but anger became her, made her eyes sparkle and colour flood her cheeks. He had to grit his teeth to go on. ‘No, simply practical. Don’t you see, it would be the answer to both our dilemmas? I promise you I will do everything to make your life here as agreeable as possible.’ He meant that, every word of it. ‘Is such a prospect so dreadful?’

She did not answer immediately because a little imp inside her was telling her that she could grow to like the idea. He was handsome and courteous, if you ignored his bouts of ill-humour, and they soon passed. And maybe it was simply that he could not understand her reluctance. Why was she so reluctant? Could it be that he was right and she had been fantasising about falling in love? She ought to know better than that; she had not been so carefully nurtured that she did not know anything about the real world. You could not live and work in London and remain ignorant of it. She should be glad she did not have to return to that world, where she might end up like Nellie, desperate enough to consent to anything.

Seeing her hesitation, he gave a twisted smile. ‘I promised to free you at the end of a year and, God willing we both survive, I shall keep that promise. And I will make sure you have a dowry, enough to seek out the man you believe you are destined to fall in love with. I will not stand in your way.’

‘Why a year?’ she asked, curious in spite of herself.

‘It will soon pass,’ he said, evading her question. ‘And I will not trouble you with my presence. I have to go back to London almost immediately and shall not return except very occasionally, when I come home to see that all is well and pay my respects to Grandmama.’

‘Why?’ she asked again.

‘I have my reasons.’ His tone was clipped.

She turned to look into his face, dimly lit by the lamp he held, trying to search out answers he did not seem to be able to voice. What sort of man was he, that he could so cold-bloodedly talk of ending a marriage before it had even begun? Unfeeling in the extreme, she decided, a man with no warmth. And yet there were times when there was a light in his eyes which revealed humour and vitality, and there was about him a suppressed energy which excited her. She could so easily fall under his spell.

He returned her gaze, hating himself. She was helpless, forced to ponder on the imponderable because of her circumstances. And she was beautiful, something which had not been evident when he had first seen her in the White Hart; she had a clear skin which had never been spoilt by paint, huge, expressive eyes which seemed to bore into his very soul, a mouth made for kissing, and a determined chin. Life with her would not be dull. If she had been anyone but a Capitain, he would have retracted, given her money to go wherever she wished and put her from his mind. It was all Charles’s fault. No, he chided himself, he should not blame Charles. He had done nothing but put the idea into his head. Charles had not been the one to lead Lady Pargeter to believe he would marry Margaret; he had done it himself. Lies! Could she see that in his eyes?

‘Very well,’ she said quietly. ‘I accept your terms.’

‘Good.’ He smiled briefly as he took her arm to guide her along the gallery.

She was not sure if it was the touch of his hand or a feeling of foreboding which made her shudder. She did not know why she should be apprehensive—perhaps it was because marriage was something she had not even been considering forty-eight hours before, perhaps it was the cavernous entrance hall with its upper gallery and dark corners where no lamp could reach, or perhaps it was just the weather, which imprisoned everyone, whether they willed it or not.

‘You are shivering,’ he said. ‘Are you cold?’

‘A little.’

He put the lamp on a chair and took off his coat to drape it round her shoulders. His touch was gentle and his breath was warm on her cheek as he bent to draw the coat close under her chin. She looked up and their eyes met and held, his dark and brooding, hers bright with tears which she did not know why she was shedding. It was as if both were searching for knowledge, for reassurance, for hope. He lowered his head, drawing closer, his mouth only inches from hers. She waited, trembling like a frightened bird beneath his hands.

‘No,’ he murmured, and drew away.

‘No?’ She could hardly speak for the tumult in her breast.

‘You are cold. I think we should postpone the rest of our tour for another time.’

‘Yes,’ she said, bewildered by his strange behaviour. He had proposed, in the coldest fashion possible, a marriage of convenience and then had warmed sufficiently to behave like a prospective husband and kiss her, and then decided against it. Ice; he was made of ice. And fire.

He picked up the lamp again and escorted her to her chamber door. ‘Goodnight, Mistress Donnington.’ He took her hand and bowed over it but he did not lift it to his lips. It was almost as if he was afraid to do so.

She went to bed, her insides churned up by the knowledge that she had wanted him to kiss her, which was foolish in the extreme. She had agreed to his terms and they took no account of feelings, either his or hers. It was not a love-match. Then why was she crying?

He returned downstairs to join Charles and Kate in a childish game of cards which caused them great hilarity but failed to lighten his mood. Kate soon lost patience with him and declared her intention of going to bed. ‘One would think Mistress Donnington had rejected you,’ she said.

‘On the contrary, Mistress Donnington—Margaret—has done me the honour of accepting.’

‘Then smile, for heaven’s sake,’ she said. ‘It should make you happy.’

‘Yes, cheer up, man,’ Charles said. ‘Think of the future.’

Yes, he decided, forcing a smile for their benefit, it was only thinking of Susan and their future that kept him sane.

Kate retired and the men went into the library, where a decanter of good French brandy and glasses had been put out on a small table by the window.

‘There is something you forgot when you thought of this diabolical plan,’ Roland said, pouring drinks. "Marry a complete stranger", you said, but you forgot that when two people are together for any length of time they cannot remain strangers. Even after one day, I have come to know Margaret a little. She is brave and independent and she has a sense of humour that is refreshing. I am sure she can read my guilt in my eyes.’

‘Then stay away from her until the wedding. You are leaving immediately after it, aren’t you?’

‘I had planned to.’

‘What do you mean, planned to? Have you changed your mind?’

‘The weather may prevent it.’ How could he explain to his friend what he did not understand himself, his remorse, so strong that he had been almost tempted to tell Margaret the truth? The only reason he had not done so was because he would lose any respect she might have had for him, and he was surprised to discover how much that mattered to him. He told himself he wanted to see her comfortable and happy in her new home before he left it.

‘It was only an idea, to help you out.’ Charles’s voice broke in on his brooding. ‘You didn’t have to do it.’

‘No, and do you know what decided me? It wasn’t my own predicament; it wasn’t thinking of Susan; it was the sight of that depraved villain, Capitain, standing in my vestibule demanding to have her back. I was furious.’

‘Whatever the reason, it’s done now. If you have any twinges of conscience, just remind yourself of the benefits.’

‘To me, but not to Margaret.’

‘She will have a year of being Lady Pargeter, a year of plenty that most young ladies would give their teeth for, and what she doesn’t know cannot hurt her, can it?’ He paused to take a mouthful of brandy, smiling over his glass at his friend. ‘Besides, she may survive the year. After all, you do not love her and she does not love you, so it won’t count, will it? Nothing will happen. It will all come right in the end and no harm done to anyone. But you really must look happier at the prospect, my friend, or questions will be asked.’

‘I must go to Derbyshire and explain to Susan.’

‘No.’ Charles spoke sharply. ‘It will look decidedly odd.’

‘It will look even odder if I don’t, particularly to her parents. I am sure they were expecting me to offer for her before I left.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘I don’t know. The time didn’t seem propitious.’

Charles laughed. ‘You mean you were not sure of your feelings?’

‘Of course I am sure.’

‘Then wait,’ Charles said implacably. ‘The roads are impassable and, you never know, by the spring…’ He stopped and surveyed his friend. ‘Harden your heart, Roland, harden your heart. Think of your true love, think of the Capitains. Don’t all Capitains deserve your hatred?’

‘Yes, by God. If it weren’t for a Capitain, I wouldn’t be in this fix. Here’s a pox to all Capitains.’ He tipped the contents of his glass down his throat and poured himself another and then another, followed by several more until the bottle was empty.

He did not remember staggering up to bed, but he woke in his own room next morning with a blacksmith’s shop in his head. He groaned and sat up. Johnson had laid out a double-breasted velvet coat and buff breeches and there was hot water in the washing bowl. He ignored the clothes, washed, and went to the wardrobe where he found warm wool breeches and thick stockings. He scrambled into them, put on a huge black overcoat which came almost to his ankles, and went downstairs. He passed the open door of the morning-room, where the table bore witness to the fact that everyone else had already breakfasted, and went out into the snow. Perhaps the biting cold would knock some sense into him.

The village, with a few large trees surrounding its green, stood on ground a little higher than the surrounding fen, which meant the inhabitants were rarely troubled by flooding except in very severe weather. There had been fresh falls of snow during the night, which might cause problems when a thaw set in. He dug into the snow with his cane to assess its depth and the amount of water they might expect, then looked back at the house, which was two hundred yards from the cut and about ten feet above its present level. Was ten feet enough if the cut became swollen with melting snow from the hills away to the west? And what about the village itself? The men ought to begin building a barrier now, not waiting until disaster struck.

Putting aside his headache and his impending nuptials, he tramped off over the snow towards the group of clay-lump cottages which stood close to the church.

Unlike Roland, Margaret could not put the forthcoming wedding from her mind. Kate would not cease chattering about it, laughing and making plans, oblivious to the fact that Margaret was not joining in.

‘When is it to be?’ Kate asked as they sat together in one of the smaller sitting-rooms, which was easier to keep warm than the huge drawing-room and had some comfortable upholstered chairs. She had some embroidery in her lap, but she had done no work on it since Margaret had joined her.

‘The twenty-first, four days before Christmas. Her ladyship wants no delay and his lor—Roland agrees with her.’

‘But that’s less than a week away! How can you possibly be ready by then?’

‘It is not difficult. I have no family except Great-Uncle Henry, and there will be no invitations issued, although Roland has said he will invite the villagers to attend the service. They will help to fill the church.’

‘Don’t you mind? A wedding should be a grand affair, a cause for celebration. It is almost as if you are ashamed to have it known.’

‘No, not at all. You forget, I am in mourning.’

‘Oh, yes, I am sorry, Margaret, how thoughtless of me. Does that mean there will be no wedding-trip either?’

Margaret gave a light laugh and was surprised that it sounded so natural. ‘We’ll go nowhere while this weather holds, but later, perhaps, we may go to London. Roland tells me he has business there.’

‘Business!’ Kate gave a grimace of disgust. ‘You know, he really is the dullest man.’

‘Not at all,’ Margaret said, and meant it. Whatever she thought of Roland, she did not find him dull. If only he were not so tense, as if he was deliberately holding himself aloof, he would be an entertaining and charming man. She began to wonder if the fault was with her, but if he found her not to his liking, why had he asked her to marry him? ‘We can combine business with pleasure, surely?’

‘Yes. There will be routs and balls, and no doubt Roland will present you at court. Have you decided what you are going to wear?’

‘To court?’

‘No.’ Kate laughed. ‘At your wedding.’

‘Roland has insisted on buying me a gown. Is there anyone in Ely who could make me one? Nothing extravagant, of course.’

‘There is a dressmaker, but I have rarely been to her.’ Kate sounded doubtful. ‘I usually buy all I need when we are in London.’

‘There is no time for that. I am a good needlewoman, so if it isn’t to my liking I can alter it.’

No wheeled vehicle could use the roads so they went into Ely by sled, drawn by a sturdy little pony, with one of the grooms at its head wearing huge flat snow-shoes and Roland and Charles riding alongside. Wrapped up in fur cloaks and muffs and with several sheepskins around their knees, the two girls enjoyed the ride. The sun sparkled on the snow and icicles hung from the hedges, and for a time Margaret forgot to be sad. It was good to be outside, to breathe the icy air; it made her tingle with new life. She looked up at Roland, riding so easily alongside, his hands loosely on the reins; there was no doubt he was a very handsome man and she had made quite a catch. If only they had met in different circumstances; if only… He glanced towards her, almost as if he had read her thoughts, and their eyes met briefly, reminding her of the kiss that never was, before he turned back to negotiate an ice-covered pot-hole.

‘We should be able to skate tomorrow,’ Kate was saying. ‘Not on the river, of course—that’s too dangerous—but on the fen. There is a shallow stretch of water which is flooded every winter and is perfectly safe. Would you like that?’

Margaret pulled herself together. ‘I would certainly like to try, though whether I can stay upright remains to be seen.’

Kate laughed. ‘If the ice holds we’ll go tomorrow, and then we shall see.’

The Isle of Ely was a surprisingly small place, considering the size of the cathedral, and its roads were no more than muddy lanes, made slippery by frozen snow. Set on a small hill which had been an island in the days before the fens were drained, it had the usual quota of basket-makers, candle-makers, butchers, dairies, fish-sellers, blacksmiths, carriage-makers, coopers and the like, besides more than its fair share of inns and taverns. There was, as Kate had said, a dressmaker and, because it was a place of learning, a bookshop, tucked in the ancient walls close to the cathedral.

Once Margaret and Kate had been delivered at the door of the dressmaker’s tiny establishment, the two men went off on business of their own, promising to return in an hour. The dressmaker, a tiny little woman in a plain grey wool dress which did not fill Kate with confidence, dashed around laying out patterns and materials, talking the whole time to cover the fact that she was flustered to receive such illustrious customers. ‘If only I had known you were coming,’ she said. ‘I could have ordered more samples. Would you like me to send for some?’

‘No, I am afraid there is no time,’ Margaret said, deciding not to tell the woman that the gown was intended for her wedding; she was not sure if the dressmaker was capable of anything elaborate. If her mother, who was a first-class seamstress, had been alive, she would have had a wedding-dress the envy of the world. She sighed. If her mother had been alive, she would not have been in Ely choosing a wedding-gown in the first place. ‘I need something simple.’ She picked up a swatch of pale lilac taffeta. ‘This, I think.’

‘Margaret, it’s too plain!’ Kate exclaimed.

‘It can be trimmed with satin ribbon bows and lace in the neck and sleeves. I am in mourning, after all, and I don’t want anything too bright.’

Roland returned at that point to fetch them and Kate turned to appeal to him. ‘Look at this,’ she said, holding the swatch out to him. ‘Margaret wants to wear this.’

‘She may have whatever she chooses,’ he said, barely glancing at the material. ‘I am sure whatever she wears will look very well.’

There was no more argument and, having been promised that the gown would be ready in time, they joined Charles for nuncheon at the White Hart.

Kate chatted happily to the men and no one seemed to notice that Margaret was very quiet. She was thinking of the last time she had been there. Was it only two days before? So much had happened since then and her life had been turned round in a way she could never have foreseen. Was it for the good? Or had she put her head in a snare of her own making? If she had been able to see into the future, would she have ever left London? It was a question she could not answer.

Kate was laughing and talking about her own wedding, fixed for early spring. ‘I can hardly wait,’ she said, looking at Charles. ‘Can you?’

He reached across and put his hand on hers. ‘No, and I see no reason why we should. Shall we bring it forward? Shall we have a double wedding?’

‘Could we?’ Kate’s eyes were bright. ‘What do you think, Roland? After all, I am in mourning for Papa.’

‘Your father approved the match,’ Charles said. ‘He would not have objected.’ He turned to Roland with a boyish grin. ‘What do you say?’

‘I don’t see why not.’ Roland lifted an enquiring eyebrow in Margaret’s direction. ‘Would you like that?’

‘I think I should like it very much,’ she said, then to Kate, ‘But are you sure? Were you not thinking of a grand occasion with a great many friends and a big banquet?’

‘If you can go without that, then so can we. My gown is ready and has been hanging in my closet for weeks. It is red taffeta, embroidered with pearls and scarlet ribbons.’ She jumped up excitedly. ‘Oh, let’s go back and break the news to Grandmama.’

Five minutes later, they were once again tucked up under the sheepskins on the sled and on their way back. Kate’s obvious happiness and the fact that she was known and liked locally would ensure that the dual wedding was a joyful occasion and might divert attention from Margaret herself who, try as she might, could not bring herself to rejoice. She was being thoroughly nonsensical, she told herself; she should not be sad. Many a young girl had gone to her wedding without being in love and it had turned out well in the end. Love was not a prerequisite for a successful marriage, never had been, never would be; what was important was to respect and admire the man you were to marry and know that you would be treated with courtesy and kindness. And it was not difficult to admire him, though she certainly did not understand him. He was riding alongside now, deep in thought, as if he were struggling with some weighty mathematical problem.

When they arrived back at the Manor, they were told that a package had arrived for Mistress Donnington, which had been put in her room.

‘A package?’ Margaret queried. ‘But no one knows I’m here.’

‘Someone evidently does,’ Kate said, hurrying upstairs, leaving Margaret to follow more sedately. She was puzzled. No one knew where she was except the people at the Manor and Great-Uncle Henry, and she could not imagine him taking the trouble to wrap anything and send it to her. She entered her chamber to find that Kate had flung off her heavy cloak and draped it across a chair and was standing by the bed gazing down at a rather large box, tied with ribbon.

‘Oh, do hurry and open it,’ she said. ‘Is there a message?’

Margaret suppressed her own curiosity in order to take off her coat and boots and put them tidily away as she always did; servants or no, it was a habit she would find hard to break. Then she carefully untied the ribbon, lifted the lid of the box and pulled aside its cotton lining. ‘Oh!’ Carefully she drew out a magnificent open-skirted gown in a heavy ivory satin. The bodice was square-necked with three-quarter sleeves which ended in a froth of pleated lace. The hem and neckline and the stiffened stomacher were heavily beaded in a rose pattern. ‘Oh, it is exquisite!’

‘A wedding-gown,’ Kate whispered in awe, while Margaret delved into the box and drew out a piece of paper, half expecting a note from Roland saying he had decided against the gown she had chosen in Ely. It would explain his cursory glance at the material. But why had he not said anything at the time? And where could he have come by such a lavish creation? She found herself wondering if it had been meant for someone else, but she pushed the thought from her; she did not want to think about that.

‘What does it say?’ Kate asked eagerly.

‘It is from Great-Uncle Henry,’ Margaret said, stifling her disappointment that it had not come from her groom. ‘He says my mother was to have worn it at her wedding, but there was no wedding, not in Winterford at any rate. I didn’t know that; she never told me. Oh, poor Mama! He says it has been in a trunk in a box-room at Sedge House all these years. He sends it with his felicitations.’

‘Oh, how romantical! Try it on, do! Does it have a petticoat?’

Margaret looked in the box. There was a white silk petticoat and a bonnet of matching slipper-satin, trimmed with ribbon. She slipped out of her clothes and put them all on. They fitted perfectly, as she had known they would. She and her mother had been very alike, both in looks and figure. She stood before the long pier-glass, swaying this way and that, admiring the richness of the fabric and noticing the brightness of her eyes and the colour the cold air had put into her cheeks. Suddenly she felt happy. How could anyone clothed in such a wedding-dress not be happy?

‘Oh, let’s go and find Roland and tell him,’ Kate said.

‘No!’ Margaret said suddenly. ‘I want it to be a surprise.’

‘Oh, what a lovely idea! I won’t say a word, I promise.’

Margaret took the finery off and hung it carefully in the mahogany wardrobe and dressed again in her simple blue merino; then they went downstairs to find that Roland had put the idea of a double wedding to Lady Pargeter and obtained her agreement. What he would not countenance was that Henry Capitain should be invited to the ceremony.

‘But he is my only relative,’ Margaret said, feeling that the least she could do was to allow her great-uncle to see her in the gown. ‘Surely it cannot do any harm?’

‘I am surprised you can suggest it,’ he said. ‘You know what he is like.’

‘I know he is a little ill-groomed, but I am sure he would dress suitably for such an occasion.’

‘And bring his doxy with him, I don’t doubt.’

‘You could ask him not to.’

‘No,’ Roland said, so firmly that Margaret knew further argument was useless. She said no more, but made up her mind to write a little thank-you note and have it sent to Sedge House.

She saw little of Roland in the next few days because he was busy directing the digging of a new drain and the building of a flood barrier, but he did return to accompany Charles and the girls skating.

The huge field was two or three miles away and the girls went in the sled, while the two men rode. The narrow roads were crowded as everyone from miles around converged on the area which had been set aside for the skating. Men with brooms had been out sweeping it free of debris and already there were people on the ice, young and old, competent and novice. There were friends of Roland’s there, who came over to speak to him, asking him if he intended to enter for the championship.

‘I’m a little rusty,’ he said, laughing. ‘But why not?’ Then, turning to take Margaret’s hand, he asked, ‘May I present you to Mistress Donnington, who is staying at the Manor with us and is shortly to become my wife?’

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