Dear Deceiver

Mary Nichols

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Copyright

Chapter One

1816

Emma stood leaning over the rail of the Silken Maid as it made its way up the river estuary, but she could not see the shore for the mist which blanketed everything except the deck at her feet and the grey water immediately around the brig, in which floated the detritus of a large city: lumps of wood, cabbage leaves, even a dead dog. It was every bit as dirty as the Hooghly in Calcutta, though the smells were different, less spicy, more rank.

The mist was enough to soak her cloak and make her auburn hair spring into tight little curls, but it was nothing like the fog of Calcutta, nor the torrential rain of the monsoon they had left behind them; it was simply wet and uncomfortable.

So this was England! This, grey, murky, cold place was the country which the British in India referred to so longingly as home. Even her father, who had lived in India over twenty-five years, had spoken of it with a wistful note in his voice. She and her brother, Teddy, had been born in Calcutta, had left it only in the summer to go to the hills away from the oppressive heat; they had never dreamed they would one day be sailing into London docks on a cargo ship with everything they possessed contained in one tin trunk and two canvas bags.

The mist lifted as they left the flat estuary behind and entered the London docks and she could see the dock basin was filled with ships, flying the flags of all nations and dozens of different shipping lines, but predominantly that of the British East India Company, known to everyone employed by it as The Company.

Dockers were swarming everywhere, moving backwards and forwards from the warehouses which lined the quayside, loading and unloading cargo: sacks, barrels, and great oil-skin wrapped bundles were being winched out on hoists, to the accompaniment of shouting and banter and the noise of squealing chains.

As the brig bumped against the side and the lines were thrown out, her brother joined her. He was tall and well built for his sixteen years, but there was still something of the boy about his features and the expression in his blue eyes. They were still bleak; he had not yet come to terms with the death of the father he idolised. But then, neither had she.

She turned to smile at him. ‘It’s a little like Calcutta, don’t you think? All this shipping and the mist over the river and men at work.’ She paused. ‘Not Indian, of course.’

‘Colder,’ he said, pulling up the collar of his coat. ‘Mrs Goodwright said it would be pleasantly warm at this time of the year. April is surely springtime in England.’

‘Ah, well, you cannot take a great deal of notice of Mrs Goodwright. She thinks Calcutta winters are too hot to be borne.’ Mrs Goodwright was the adjutant’s wife and had appointed herself their guardian when the news arrived that their father had been killed in action.

Emma could see Captain Greenaway making his way towards them. He had a full, almost white, beard and craggy features which bore evidence of long periods spent on the open deck in all weathers. But the toughness was mitigated by twinkling blue eyes and a jovial smile.

‘Well, here we are, ma’am, safe and sound,’ he said. ‘A welcome sight, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ she said, watching two men coming up the gangplank onto the ship, not sailors or dockers, but officials of some sort.

‘I am sorry the weather is not welcoming. April showers they call it. The sun will come out directly and you will see what a pleasant country this is, not too hot, not too cold.’

‘Yes, I am sure you are right.’

‘You will be wanting to go ashore. As soon as the revenue men and the health inspector have done their work, you will be free to disembark. I will have your trunk taken to the quay.’ He held out his hand. ‘I shall be busy later, so I will say goodbye now.’

She took the proffered hand. ‘Goodbye, Captain. And thank you for everything.’

‘It was my pleasure. And may I say, ma’am, you have been a doughty sailor.’ He turned to Teddy. ‘And you, too, sir. May I wish you luck with your endeavours.’

‘Thank you.’ Teddy said, shaking him by the hand.

He turned and left them to join the newcomers, greeting them cheerfully and taking them below to his cabin.

It had been a rough voyage, during which a great deal of salt water had found its way into their baggage and Emma had told Teddy she was looking forward to being on dry land again, finding a respectable hotel, repairing the ravages to her wardrobe and washing the salt from her hair. As she watched the crew stowing the sails and clearing the deck ready to open the cargo hatches, however, she felt a strange reluctance to set foot on the land of her ancestors.

What was she letting herself in for? Why had they set out, she and Teddy, on this journey into the unknown? The frisson of fear she had felt during the storm at sea was nothing compared to the dread she felt now. What if they had made a terrible mistake? In this strange country she had no one to turn to for advice, no one who cared. She almost wished they had not come, that they could go back…

The rocking of the ship’s motion against its mooring ropes, the shouts and laughter of the men on the docks faded and she was on horseback, galloping across the Maidan in Calcutta, the beating of hooves loud in her ears.

The vast open space around the fort had been cleared from the jungle by Robert Clive over fifty years before in order to allow the guns a clear view. The guns had been silent for years; now it was used by the British and the higher castes of Calcutta Society as a place for leisure, somewhere to ride in the early morning, to stroll in the cool of the evening, a quiet place with English lawns and gardens, where cattle grazed and goats were tethered.

It was a place where snake-charmers and jugglers amused the passers-by and where festivals were held, and cricket played, where monkeys climbed the banyan trees. But on that never-to-be-forgotten day there were few people about, it being very early and also the end of the rainy season.

She reined in and sat straight-backed in the saddle to look about her, waiting for her brother to draw up alongside her. The sun was rising and a small trickle of perspiration ran down between her shoulder blades. Later it would rain, as it did every day at this time of year. Then the temperature would drop a few degrees and it would pour down in torrents, which was hardly less uncomfortable than the torrid heat which preceded it.

It would run in rivulets down the hard-baked roads, making puddles in the cart tracks. The trees would drip, the gutters overflow, and the usually sluggish River Hooghly would threaten to burst its banks, as it had done on numerous occasions before.

But Emma and Teddy were used to it; their concerns were not over the weather, which was predictable, but over the prolonged absence of their father, Major Edward Mountforest, on active service against the Gurkhas who were attacking Indian lands from the hills of Nepal.

‘It’s no place to fight a campaign,’ Teddy said, repeating the dissenting views he had picked up from some of his classmates at Fort William College. ‘Nothing but rocks and ravines, bare mountains and raging torrents. It’s practically impossible to get supplies and artillery through without the problem of knowing there’s likely to be a marksman behind every boulder.’

Emma laughed, bringing her green eyes to sparkling life behind the veil of her riding hat. ‘It wouldn’t do for the Colonel to hear you say that. It’s tantamount to treason.’

‘He’s with Papa, as well you know, so he cannot hear. And Papa thinks the same because I heard him say so before they left and all he got for his pains was a dressing-down and a hint he was lacking in courage. Papa a coward! Why, he’s the bravest man I know. He would never duck a fight if he thought the cause was just.’

‘I know, Teddy,’ Emma said softly, aware that her brother hero-worshipped their father and missed him every bit as much as she did. ‘Let’s go back; perhaps we shall have news of him today.’

They turned towards the fort where the horses were stabled and handed them over to a syce to unsaddle and groom, then walked side by side past Government House to the residential area to the north where their bungalow was situated. Sita, their house servant, would be preparing their breakfast. Teddy, as always, was hungry, but hunger left him as soon as they came within sight of their verandah, for there was an officer standing on it, watching for their return.

‘It’s Captain Goodwright!’ Teddy exclaimed. ‘They’ve come back.’ He began to run, followed by Emma, impeded by her lightweight riding skirt, which she gathered up in her hand.

By the time she reached the verandah, Teddy was already bombarding the Captain with questions. ‘Where is my father? Did we win a great victory? How long did it take the regiment to get back?’

The Captain turned to greet Emma before attempting to answer. ‘Good morning, Miss Mountforest. I come on behalf of Sir David…’

Emma’s heart sank into her riding boots; the poor man looked so uncomfortable, his usual cheerful expression so gloomy, she knew at once something was wrong. ‘Please come inside where it is cool,’ she said, forcing herself to sound calm as she led the way into the house. ‘You have news?’

‘Yes.’ He paused to swallow. ‘I am afraid I am the bearer of sad tidings.’

‘Papa?’ queried Teddy. ‘Tell me at once. What is it?’

The Captain overlooked the arrogant tone of the boy’s voice because it was laced with anxiety and he was sorry for him, but Emma felt constrained to exclaim, ‘Teddy!’

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘It is I who am sorry, my boy. It is my painful duty to tell you that your father, Major Mountforest, fell in battle.’

‘Fell?’ Emma queried, clenching her hands into fists to stop them shaking. ‘You mean he is…’ she gulped ‘…dead?’

‘Yes. I am sorry. They were ambushed, taken by surprise in a narrow pass to the north of Gorakhpur, and all perished, a hundred good men.’

Emma sank into a chair, unaware that Sita had come in and put the tea tray down on a low table or that the punkah-wallah, who sat outside on the verandah, had ceased his rhythmic pulling on the cord of the punkah—the heavy matting which covered the open window of the bungalow—and the cool breeze the movement created had suddenly stopped.

It was a moment of stillness in which no one spoke, for each was remembering the man who had been a gallant soldier and a beloved father. It did not seem possible that they would never see him again, not even in death, for in the heat of India, interment followed swiftly upon demise; and bringing bodies back for burial was out of the question.

‘Are you sure?’ Teddy asked, unable to believe the news. ‘He might have survived, he could still come home. If he was caught by the rains, the roads might be washed away and the bridges would certainly be down. It might take him months to return.’

‘No, that isn’t possible,’ the officer said. ‘A few grasscutters, who had been sent out to gather fodder, rushed back when they heard the gunfire, but too late. There was no one left alive. They were the only survivors.’ The Captain turned to Emma. ‘Miss Mountforest, if there is anything I can do for you, please ask. My wife will visit you later and discuss what is to be done, but I expect you would like to be alone now.’

‘Yes. Thank you, Captain.’

He left, but she was hardly aware of his going. The only sound was her own ragged breathing and Teddy’s muffled sobs, smothered because he believed it was unmanly to cry. In another room to the rear of the bungalow, Sita was wailing and another servant was reciting a prayer in Hindi, over and over again. Teddy rose suddenly and fled from the room.

Emma started after him but changed her mind; he would not wish her to witness his tears. She sat, looking with unseeing eyes at the tigerskin rug on the floor at her feet. Her father had shot the man-eater years before when it had been terrorising villages in the interior. He and Chinkara, his Indian servant, had brought it home on the back of a bullock cart, laughing together like a couple of schoolboys. She would never hear their laughter again.

Her own grief suddenly overwhelmed her. And as she wept the day’s rain began, a sharp patter which grew in volume to a crescendo, beating against the punkah, thumping on to the verandah, swishing like a fast-flowing river, down the road outside. It was as if the very earth was crying with her.

It was a full hour before she roused herself, scrubbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and took the tea tray back to Sita.

Sita, who had long ago been converted to Christianity, always remembered her Hindu origins in times of stress. ‘He has gone to his next life,’ she said, looking up from kneading chuppatti dough. ‘And it will be a better one, for he was a good man, and surely Chinkara is with him there, looking after him still. You must look to Teddy-Sahib. He is the master now.’

‘Yes, he is, isn’t he?’ Emma attempted to smile, for the idea of Teddy, the schoolboy, taking over the management of their lives would have been amusing in other circumstances. There was no doubt in her mind who would have to pick up the reins and make the decisions. And for that, she must remain strong and not give way to the grief which was eating away at her heart and mind, making thinking objectively almost impossible.

But when she forced herself to try, her head was filled with a thousand questions, the most important being: how could they manage without Papa? It was not the housekeeping that troubled her, for she had been doing that for years, but whether they would be allowed to remain in the bungalow which belonged to the East India Company and, if not, where would they go? She imagined her papa had left some money, but was it enough to keep Teddy at college? Was there a pension?

There was also the vexing question of Calcutta Society, which might turn a blind eye to her living alone when her father was simply away campaigning; but when the officers’ wives learned he was never coming back, they would be round like flies, giving her gratuitous advice, the gist of which was that she should not live alone with no one for company but her brother and a handful of Indian servants; it was unseemly and she would earn a ‘reputation’.

She was twenty-two, well past the age of needing a chaperon, if she ever had; she dressed as she pleased, went where she pleased within certain practical limits and felt perfectly safe. In her view, her totally loyal servants would be far more help to her in a crisis than any hidebound European woman, concerned only with protocol and etiquette. If they had their way, they would marry her off to one of the newly arrived officers within a month of the poor man’s arrival.

Her fears were confirmed when Mrs Goodwright arrived by ekka which she drove herself, just as soon as the rain ceased. The temperature had dropped a few degrees, but the little garden steamed, so that the trees, shrubs and outbuildings were seen through a haze with no clear outlines. A palm frond near the door dripped on to the wooden steps of the verandah.

‘You must come and stay with us,’ she said briskly, removing her gloves and lifting her veil. Emma wondered why she persisted in dressing as if she were still in Europe, which must have made her unbearably hot. ‘We will have to find you a husband. I’ve no doubt there will be several eligibles coming out from home to replace the men we have lost.’

‘It is very kind of you, ma’am,’ Emma said, wondering if the woman would be quite so cold-blooded if her husband had been among those who had perished, instead of staying behind a desk at headquarters. ‘But I am not ready to think of such things yet…’

‘Oh, surely you are not still grieving for John, child? That was four years ago—it is foolish to go on mourning.’

It wasn’t mourning, it was prudence. She had met John when she was eighteen and he had just arrived from England. He had swept her off her feet and in no time they became engaged. And though she was sure she loved him dearly, she had soon realised he adhered to the widely held view that the British in India were a blessing for which the natives ought to give thanks.

‘We are not here as conquerors,’ he had said. ‘We came to trade, but how can trade be properly carried out if the kings and princes are always warring with each other over who should succeed whom and who pay tribute to whom? It has been necessary to preserve law and order and that means having a military presence. You are a soldier’s daughter, you must surely understand that. Besides, the natives are no more than children, needing education and guidance.’

She had hoped that when he had been in India a little longer, he might come to know and love the country and its inhabitants, as she, her father and brother did. Whether he would have done she was never to know, for he had died of sandfly fever during his first summer. When his parents came out from England to visit his grave, they had not bothered to hide their disapproval of her; she was too free and easy and did not behave like a lady, which had made her laugh, in spite of her grief.

She realised she would never have broken down their antagonism. She and John would probably have regretted marrying if he had lived and taken her back to England. She had mourned him sincerely, but she was determined that if she ever fell in love again, she would be careful that it would be with someone who understood her love of all things Indian.

Such a man had not materialised and now, though still slim, exceedingly healthy and independent, she was almost an old maid.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I meant I would not marry for expediency’s sake.’

‘Then I strongly suggest you go home to England. There is nothing like family when you have a bereavement. I am sure Viscount Mountforest will be delighted to receive you.’

Emma doubted it. There had been bad blood between her father and his older brother and they had never corresponded in all the years Papa had been in India. As far as she was aware, her uncle did not even know of the existence of his niece and nephew.

She had asked her papa once why that was. She remembered it clearly because it was just after her mother died. He had returned from the Poona campaign in 1802 too late to see Mama alive and the effect on him of her untimely death had been distressing to watch. He blamed the climate; he blamed the way they were always being separated by campaigns which he felt were due to British expansionism and nothing to do with defending The Company’s people and property which was what he was paid for. But most of all he blamed himself.

‘I should have taken her home, no matter what,’ he had said, when he came out of his anguish sufficiently to speak of his wife at all. ‘The doctor said the climate would kill her…’

Emma, then eight years old and grief-stricken for her beloved mama, had not tried to placate him, she had simply demanded, ‘Why didn’t you? Take her back to England, I mean.’

He had looked at his little daughter and sighed. ‘It is not so easy, sweetheart, I am an exile, your mother understood that. She knew the whole story.’

‘What does exile mean?’

‘It means I was sent away and cannot go back.’

‘Not ever?’

‘I do not think so. Not unless certain people are prepared publicly to admit the wrong they did me and I do not think they will ever do that.’

‘Why not?’

He had smiled and taken her on to his knee, rubbing his chin across her hair, which had not yet taken on the auburn tones it now had and was a soft light brown. ‘Why all the questions? Do you wish to go to England?’

‘Not without you, but I think I might like to go on a visit, just to see what it is like.’

‘One day, perhaps, you will, when you are grown up and very rich, then it will not matter what the gossips say.’

‘What do they say?’

He had said nothing for a whole minute and she had begun to think he did not intend to answer her; when he did, his voice was so low she could hardly hear him. ‘They say that I have besmirched the name of a noble family, that I am responsible for a man’s death, that I am a coward, that I have no honour.’ He paused and then added softly, ‘But it was honour which bound me as surely as chains.’

She hadn’t understood then, nor even now when she was old enough to comprehend the meaning of the words. Her answer, spoken from the heart of a child, had pleased him. ‘Papa, you are the bravest man I know.’

His eyes had taken on a faraway look as if he were in another place at another time. Then he had hugged her and set her down. ‘Don’t worry, child, it was all for the best. I met and married your mother, here in Calcutta, and not for a single second have I ever regretted that. India has become home and I would have it no other way. I shall die here and no one in England will mourn me.’ He had put on a cheerful voice, but she had detected the note of sadness and knew he would brood over it until the end of his days.

‘Have your servant pack a bag and come with me now,’ Mrs Goodwright said. ‘You can stay with us until you leave.’

‘Thank you, ma’am, but I would rather stay here. There is so much to do, arrangements to make.’

‘Of course. But if you change your mind, you know you are welcome.’

Emma hadn’t contemplated leaving Calcutta, not even then. It had taken another shock to force her to consider it. She had gone to see Mr Chapman, who looked after her father’s legal and financial affairs. Papa had never spoken of money to them and, as they had never been stinted, she imagined they would be comfortable.

She realised how wrong she was before she had been in his office five minutes. Apart from small bequests to the servants, her father’s will left everything to her and Teddy equally. This was no surprise, but what took her aback was the tiny amount involved.

‘Your father was always generous and never saw the need to husband his resources,’ Mr Chapman said. ‘He was indifferent to money and never bothered to collect his debts, though he was always scrupulous in paying his own.’

‘But surely he must have done some trading?’ she queried, knowing that it was common practice for Company employees and soldiers to supplement their pay with private trade. Some of them had become very wealthy by it. ‘Everyone does that in India, don’t they? Silks, spices, precious stones, opium, bought and sold for profit.’

He smiled at her over the top of his spectacles, which were perched on the end of his nose. ‘The days of the nabob are passed, Miss Mountforest. Company employees, whether civilian or soldier, are no longer allowed to trade privately. Oh, I know it is still done, but if your father was ever engaged in it, I know nothing of it.’

‘He was obviously a great deal more scrupulous about such things than his contemporaries,’ she said. ‘An honourable man.’

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘I believe he received an allowance from England,’ she said. ‘Will that continue?’

He looked embarrassed and shuffled the papers on the desk in front of him as if reluctant to speak. ‘The allowance was paid to Major Mountforest by his father and was conditional on his never returning to England,’ he said. ‘It ceased when his brother succeeded to the title.’

‘My uncle stopped it?’ she asked, in disbelief.

‘Yes.’

‘Then what are we left with, my brother and I?’

‘A small pension from The Company. It may be enough to live on if you are frugal. It is certainly not enough to pay school fees.’ He paused, then went on in a kindly voice, ‘I am so sorry, my dear; perhaps you should write to your uncle. I cannot believe he will hold his brother’s sins against you. As soon as he knows your circumstances, I am sure he will send for you to go and live with him.’

‘The sins were not my father’s but his brother’s,’ she retorted. ‘I would not go to him.’

‘Whatever the rights and wrongs of it, you may have to,’ he said, as Emma stood up to leave. ‘It might be as well to swallow your pride and make the best of it, for what can you do here?’

She returned to the bungalow where Teddy, red of eye and puffy of cheeks, had been going round touching everything—the ornaments, the pictures, the tiger’s head—as if by doing so he could convince himself of the enduring nature of things, that if everything around him stayed in exactly the same place, their father might still be alive.

It worried Emma, because he hardly spoke and was certainly in no mood to make plans which would mean altering their way of life. She delayed saying anything, hoping he would come out of his grief and listen to her, though what she was going to tell him, she did not know.

Instead she set about finding work. Everyone was kind to her, though critical of her father who had been so shortsighted as to think he was immortal, and him a soldier too! But it didn’t alter the fact that no one had anything to give her to do for which they were prepared to pay her and Mrs Goodwright wanted to know why she had changed her mind about returning to England when it was so obviously the thing to do. She could not, of course, tell her the true story, nor admit that they simply did not have their passage money.

Her prevarication came to an end very suddenly a month later, when, in the middle of the biggest downpour Calcutta had seen for years, she received notice to quit the bungalow.

She took it to Captain Goodwright, whom she found at the fort, hoping he might be able to help her. ‘I cannot believe anyone could be so callous,’ she said. ‘It is only a month since…’

‘I know, my dear, but the bungalow is the designated quarters of a major and there is one coming soon to replace Major Mountforest. You do understand, don’t you?’

‘But where are we to go?’

‘England,’ he said. ‘I really think you should consider it. The war in Europe is over at last and Napoleon has been sent into exile. There would be no danger.’

Exile: her father’s, Napoleon’s and now her own, for that was what it seemed like to her. She left him quickly before he could see her tears; the first she had shed since the day she learned of her father’s death. And now they had come, she could not stem the flow. People were looking at her with curiosity and she sought shelter among the trunks of a banyan tree on the Maidan, where she allowed herself the luxury of a good sob, watched by a couple of monkeys, who were sitting in its branches.

Later, when her ribs ached and her handkerchief was sodden, she stopped. Feeling sorry for herself would not achieve anything, but letting herself go had done her good. She emerged from her hiding place, straightened her back and walked home, unaware of the horses, carts of produce, fiacres, tongas, ekkas and pedestrians that eddied round her, nor the steady drip of water from trees and rooftops, which soaked her bonnet. Her mind was still in tumult, but one decision had been taken from her; she could no longer put off speaking to Teddy.

Her brother was still apathetic, but at least he was coming out of the trance-like state which had so worried her, and he sat down to listen to what she had to say with grave attention. ‘We have to leave the bungalow,’ she said. ‘And I think it best if we go to England. We have relatives there.’

‘What relatives?’ he demanded. ‘I have never heard of any.’

‘Viscount Mountforest is our uncle. I am sure he would help us.’

‘Why did Papa never mention him?’

‘I believe they quarrelled.’

‘What about?’

‘I do not know. All I know is that Papa was blamed and sent out here to India and told never to return.’

‘And you expect us to go cap in hand to him?’ he demanded, getting up from floor and pacing the room.

‘Then what do you suggest we do?’

‘Work. At least, I will and you must find yourself a rich husband with a title.’

She managed to laugh, though it sounded hollow. ‘I tried to find work, but no one would give me any. And there are no rich men with titles out in India…not unmarried ones, anyway.’

‘Then we’ll go to England, but not to our uncle. We’ll manage without his help. We’ll make our own way and when we’ve done it, we will force him tell the truth. Papa would never do a dishonourable deed. Never.’

His anger was preferable to his misery, she supposed, but she was beginning to wonder what devils she had unleashed in telling him about their father’s exile. He had suddenly turned from a grieving boy to a very angry young man. And who could blame him?

‘No, of course he wouldn’t,’ she said, deciding to say no more about their uncle for the present. Later she would try and talk to him again. ‘But we cannot go until we’ve raised the passage money.’

‘You’ve got jewellery, haven’t you?’

‘A little, yes. Not enough.’

‘And there is the furniture and the…’ He gulped suddenly, but he was too angry for sentiment. ‘The horses. Prime beasts they are.’

‘Teddy, are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ He kicked at the tigerskin rug. ‘This should fetch a few rupees.’

‘But Papa shot that.’

‘So he did, but what is it good for now, when very soon we will not have a floor to lay it on?’

It had taken time to wind up their father’s affairs, to pay off the servants and make sure they had good positions to go to, to sell the horses and every last stick of furniture, though Emma drew the line at parting with the tigerskin. She would take it with her as a memento of her father. Long before their preparations were complete, they were obliged to take Mrs Goodwright up on her offer.

Within a week Emma was thankful that it was only a temporary state of affairs. The good lady, while meaning well, was dictatorial to say the least, and full of advice about what Emma should and should not do in England. She even gave her a little book of etiquette which afforded her guest a great deal of merriment.

‘And we must do something about your clothes,’ she said. ‘I have one or two gowns I no longer need, they are far too warm for this climate. I am sure with a little deft needlework, we can make them fit you.’

‘It is very kind of you, ma’am, but—’

‘No buts. I shall not miss them, I assure you, and you certainly cannot travel to England in a sari. People will think you are half-Indian.’

Emma did not think that was of any consequence, but the matter of a wardrobe had been giving her some problems. The more she spent, the less there was left to live on and telling herself that beggars can’t be choosers, she accepted gratefully and set about her sewing, with the help of a pattern book Mrs Goodwright had had sent out from England.

It was well into the new year before they said goodbye to all their friends, both European and Indian, and paid a last visit to their mother’s grave in the English cemetery. ‘We will come back,’ Teddy said, hiding his distress behind anger. ‘When I have avenged Papa.’

Emma did not remonstrate with him; it would have done no good and she was too choked with tears to speak.

Later in the day, they went aboard the Silken Maid for the voyage to England and a new life with a new name.

Unsure if the scandal attached to their father was still remembered and not wishing to draw attention to themselves, they decided to change their name. So it was Miss Emma and Mr Edward Woodhill who sailed up the Thames to the East India Dock that misty April afternoon.

Emma saw the revenue man and the health inspector leave and knew it was time to go. She could see her old black-painted tin trunk sitting on the quay not far from the gangplank. It looked lonely and isolated, just as she felt. She sighed; it was no good standing there, waiting for a miracle. She turned slowly and made her way along the deck to the gangway but before she could begin the descent, she became aware of a man starting up towards her.

He had evidently not seen her for otherwise he would have stood aside to allow her to come down first, there being no room to pass. It was difficult to see his face because at that angle his top hat obscured it, but he was young and lithe, judging by the way he dashed up the plank. He was dressed in a brown frockcoat and beige pantaloons and was certainly not one of the dockers.

He checked himself when his head reached the level of the deck and he saw her feet, clad in soft black kid. Looking upwards, past a voluminous burnous, he met the gaze of a pair of amused green eyes. In one bound, he reached the deck and stood to doff his top hat, revealing a shock of fair curls. He was also very tall. ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am, I did not see you waiting. Pray, forgive me.’

His voice had a warm quality matched by his brown eyes, eyes that held her in thrall. She stood motionless, unable to turn away. It wasn’t like meeting a stranger; it was as if she were being reunited with an old friend, someone she had known forever. She could have told anyone who asked, that he liked his fellow human beings, that he was always gentle with them, that his favourite food was pork and apple pie; that he enjoyed a glass of wine, but was by no means a drinker; that he was chivalrous to women and honourable to men; that he disliked humbug and hated racial prejudice.

She smiled suddenly at her fantasy, realising she had been describing her father, but that didn’t alter the fact that she was sure she was right. Pulling herself together, she put her palms together in front of her face in the Indian manner, and bowed towards him. ‘Think nothing of it, sir.’

For a moment he was taken aback. She had a graceful carriage which reminded him of pictures he had seen of Indian girls in saris, balancing jugs on their heads. Her complexion was smooth and golden, but her eyes were green and the wisp of hair which had escaped from the hood of her cloak was a warm chestnut brown, almost auburn, and though her voice had a soft lilt, it had no accent. He smiled. ‘May I escort you down?’

‘No, thank you, my brother is with me.’ She looked about for Teddy, but he had disappeared. Trust him to wander off, just when she needed him. ‘I expect he has gone to fetch our hand baggage from the cabin.’

He bowed and left her, making for the companionway and she went down the gangplank, setting her foot upon English soil for the first time, wondering who the young man was. The ship’s owner, perhaps, then she should have taken the opportunity to speak to him of the poor accommodation.

On the other hand he might be a passenger, intent on the outward journey and in that case they were bound in opposite directions. Or he might simply be a friend of the Captain. She turned to look back but he had gone from sight.

Dominic made his way down to the Captain’s day cabin, musing on the encounter and wondering what was beneath that all-enveloping cloak. The girl was not a beauty by accepted standards, nor was she dressed in anything like the latest mode, but there was something about her that made her out of the ordinary. It might have been her grace; that simple movement of her hands had charmed him. But those green eyes! They were speaking eyes, if such a thing existed.

They told of humour, sadness, pride and compassion in equal measure, yet behind them was a mind that was thoughtful and independent. He checked himself suddenly. How could he possibly deduce so much from a few seconds’ exchange? He smiled at his own foolishness and knocked on Captain Greenaway’s door. There were other things to occupy him. His cargo, for one.

‘Lord Besthorpe.’ The Captain left his desk to come forward, hand outstretched. ‘How good it is to see you.’

Dominic took the proffered hand. ‘Not half as good as it is to see you, Captain. Did you have a good voyage?’

‘It was somewhat rough, but we weathered it. I believe the cargo took no harm. I have spices and the finest silks, saltpetre, opium and precious stones. I have kept those here.’ And he took a key from the drawer of his desk and unlocked a stout cupboard. ‘They are mostly uncut diamonds and rubies, but they should make a tidy profit.’ He took a bag from the cupboard and tipped its contents on the desk. ‘There! What do you say to those?’

Dominic picked up the largest of the diamonds and smiled to himself. He had proved his critics wrong. They had said trade was demeaning in a peer of the realm who should be above such things, and what had he ever done to make him think he could make a profit from it? Profit was vulgar.

There might have been a time when he might have agreed with them, a time when he was young and his father was alive, a time when he had no idea his inheritance would be a pile of debts with an estate which had been allowed to run down until there was nothing left but the old house and the land itself.

The year before, at the age of twenty-six, he had succeeded his father and had cast about him for a remedy, short of parting with the house and its contents. A small parcel of land had been sold in order to stave off the immediate threat, but he needed more, much more, if he was to restore his home and make the land fruitful.

It was Bertie Cosgrove, a boyhood friend, who had told him about the profits to be made from trade, especially with India, and cited an acquaintance of his lately come home from several years out there, who was as rich as Croesus. It was, so he said, impossible to fail and now the war was over and all danger from Napoleon a thing of the past, trading vessels were moving freely again.

There were many reasons why Dominic could not go to India himself; he had a young sister who was dependent on him, there was the estate which needed his attention and, most of all, there was Sophie.

He had asked her to marry him the year before, somewhat prematurely because he was in mourning for his parents and had only then become aware of the parlous state of his finances. They had gone on a picnic party to Richmond at which there had been a great deal of horseplay among the men and some surreptitious flirting. Although she had always been on the periphery of his acquaintances, he had suddenly become aware of her beauty and easy charm.

She was very popular and was to have her own come-out ball that Season which his mourning precluded him from attending, a source of great regret to him. She had laughingly told him that she expected several offers of marriage on that occasion, which was probably no less than the truth, for she was a viscount’s daughter whose dowry was said to be considerable.

He told himself that the dowry had not been a factor; he wanted her for herself. Afraid of losing her, he had proposed at the picnic and been accepted. All London knew of it, though they had postponed the announcement until he should be out of mourning and had brought his finances about. It was a matter of pride, he had told her; he would not have it said he married her for her money.

It was that more than anything which had made him look seriously at the idea of trading with India and Bertie, who had once been a seagoing man, had introduced him to Captain Joseph Greenaway. The Captain had served throughout the war, but was on half-pay, a state of affairs he had been anxious to remedy. He had a little prize money saved, and Dominic put in all the money he could scrape together, to lease a brig with its crew and pay for a cargo. It had been a gamble, but a gamble that had turned out well.

That first voyage had made a good profit so he had handed the bulk of it back for a second trip, and now here was the Silken Maid, home again with yet another cargo. If they went on like this they would soon be able to buy the ship. A fleet of ships!

He turned the diamond over in his hand, smiling at his own fantasy. ‘This will make a fine betrothal ring,’ he said, tying the stone in the corner of his handkerchief. ‘I’ll take it to Rundell and Bridges myself; they’ll make it up for me. You know what to do with the rest.’

‘Yes, my lord. While I was in Calcutta I was given a glimpse of a diamond the size of a pigeon’s egg which might be for sale at a good price. Obtaining that would set the seal on the venture because I don’t doubt it would make a good profit. The Regent himself would covet it.’

‘Maybe, but buying it would depend on the profit we make on this cargo and what you can make with the outgoing goods.’

‘You have a return cargo?’

‘I am in the middle of negotiating one. It will take another week or two, so take some leave. By the time you come back, it will be ready and waiting. In the meantime, will you come and take a celebratory drink with me?’

‘I thank you, my lord, but my family will be expecting me as soon as news that we have docked reaches them.’

‘Of course.’ He was on the point of leaving, when he turned back. ‘Who was the young lady I met on deck? She was wrapped up in a cloak which was certainly not in the latest mode, but I think she must be a lady by the way she spoke and the way she carried herself. She told me she was travelling with her brother. I did not know we had the facilities to take passengers.’

‘That was Miss Woodhill.’ The Captain smiled. ‘A charming young lady, but I know nothing about her except that she has recently lost her father who was in the employ of the East India Company and she is now the sole guardian of her young brother. It is a great responsibility for one so lacking in years. They were looking for a cheap passage and I thought why not? It’s all grist to the mill.

‘I turned my cabin over to the lady and slept in here on the settle. The boy went in with the first mate; there is a second bunk in his cabin. They both seemed very content with the arrangement, possibly because I asked little more than their board by way of fare. You do not object, do you?’

‘No, though it can hardly have been comfortable. Do they have a family here?’

‘That I do not know, my lord. Do you wish me to make enquiries?’

‘No, not at all, I asked out of curiosity, no more.’

Which was nothing but the truth, he told himself, as he returned to his carriage and ordered his driver to take him to Bond Street. He would have a few rounds of sparring at Gentleman Jackson’s and then go on to Grillons where he had arranged to meet Bertie Cosgrove.

Chapter Two

‘I really think this hotel is too dear for us,’ Emma said, looking round the crowded dining-room at the splendidly dressed patrons. ‘Everyone seems so top of the trees.’

The men were clad in bright coloured coats and even brighter waistcoats. Their starched cravats sat under collar points which reached their cheeks and their legs were encased in tight-fitting pantaloons. The younger ladies were dressed in gowns of flimsy silk or net over satin which revealed more than they covered, having high waists with low necklines, while the more matronly were in heavier brocades and velvets with padded skirts from which their ankles peeped in brightly coloured stockings.

It was not that she was over-awed or even particularly envious; hadn’t she attended Society functions at the British Consulate in Calcutta with her father? And held her own. No, it was simply that, in their straitened circumstances, she felt out of place. Her own gown was one of Mrs Goodwright’s, a deep mauve sarcenet which the good lady had said might do in lieu of mourning, and though it had been made to fit Emma’s slim waist and was trimmed with white lace, the colour did nothing for her complexion.

‘Just look at the gems round that lady’s throat,’ Emma said, nodding towards a neighbouring table. ‘They must be worth a fortune. Why, she even has them in her hair. And her gown must have cost a thousand rupees.’

‘You know they don’t have rupees in England,’ Teddy said, making inroads into the lamb cutlets and vegetables with which his plate was piled. Ladies’ fashions did not interest him, though he had thrown an admiring glance at one of the patrons, who had just entered. His double-breasted blue tailcoat fitted across his broad shoulders as if he had been poured into it. His waistcoat was a shining creation of blue and yellow stripes and his white muslin cravat was starched and tied with such precision that Teddy could only stare in admiration.

The man seemed thoroughly at ease and very pleased with himself, chatting animatedly to his companion, a big man with red-gold curls, wearing buckskin breeches and a cord coat.

‘Of course I know,’ Emma said. ‘But it is difficult to think of guineas and half-crowns; it makes my head spin trying to convert it. And you are not above making mistakes. I heard you asking for the dhobi-wallah when we were shown to our rooms.’

‘I wanted my shirt washed.’

‘Now, of course, we are a laughing stock. I wish we had not come here.’

‘Don’t be a ninny, Em, no one is laughing.’ A loud guffaw from the gentleman in the buckskin breeches gave the lie to that statement, though he was not laughing at them but at something his companion had said. ‘And what other could we do? I asked the Captain to recommend a good hotel and he said we could not go wrong with Grillons.’

‘He did not know how impecunious we are,’ she said. ‘Though I think he might have guessed, considering we were obliged to travel on a cargo ship with no passenger accommodation. It is too late to go anywhere else tonight, but tomorrow we must find more modest lodgings. And then we must both search for work, if you are still set against going to Mountforest Hall.’

‘You know I am,’ Teddy said grimly. ‘I would rather starve. But we’ll not do that, for I intend to go to Leadenhall Street and ask for work at Company headquarters. I can be a Writer just as well here as in Calcutta.’ He stopped suddenly and leaned forward. ‘Don’t turn round, but there is a dandy at the next table who is looking at you as if he knows you.’

‘Don’t be foolish, Teddy, how can anyone know us here?’ She pretended to drop her napkin and, in bending to retrieve it, took a surreptitious look behind her. Her eyes met the laughing eyes of the young man who had boarded the Silken Maid earlier in the day. His hand reached Emma’s napkin before hers. He smiled and handed it to her. ‘Yours, I believe, Miss Woodhill.’

She sat up, knowing her cheeks were burning. ‘Thank you, sir, but how did you know my name?’

‘Why, from Captain Greenaway, of course. We do not usually take on passengers and I asked him who you were.’

‘We? Oh, you are the owner of the Silken Maid?’

‘Let us say I have an interest. I trust your voyage was a comfortable one?’

She laughed, revealing even white teeth and a dimple in her cheek which captivated him. ‘Hardly that. The weather was bad and the sea very rough. The porthole in the cabin did not fit properly and everything became soaked, which is why I had nothing but this old gown to wear this evening.’

‘It is very charming,’ he said, looking her up and down. Why on earth had she and her brother chosen Grillons? It was way above their touch. He was filled with admiration for her courage; finding herself in a tight corner, she had chosen to attack. ‘But I am sorry about the porthole. It will, of course, be repaired before the ship sails again.’

‘Which is not much help to me.’ Why was she being so belligerent? He had been nothing but pleasant and it sounded as if she were determined to quarrel with him. It was not a courteous way to behave towards a stranger. And yet he did not seem like a stranger; once again she felt as if she had always known him.

‘No, but please accept my apologies and allow me to recompense you for the inconvenience.’

‘That is not in the least necessary. The laundry maid…’ She caught sight of Teddy laughing and frowned at him. ‘Everything is being seen to and will be put to rights by tomorrow. But I thank you for the offer.’ She picked up her reticule which lay on the table at her side and stood up. If she stayed any longer she could not trust herself not to ask where she had met him before and that would be embarrassing for everyone. ‘If you will excuse me, I will retire. It has been a tiring day.’

‘Of course.’ He rose and bowed to her. ‘Are you staying in London?’

‘For the moment.’

‘Then I wish you a pleasant stay.’

‘Thank you. Come along, Teddy.’ With that she swept from the room followed by her bemused brother.

‘What was all that about?’ he demanded as they made their way up the stairs to their room.

‘Nothing.’

‘It didn’t look like nothing to me. Why, you were as red as a turkey cock…’

‘I was not.’

‘Yes, you were.’

‘Then it was because the room was so hot, and perhaps I had drunk too much of the wine.’

‘It couldn’t be because you took a shine to him, could it?’

‘No, of course not. I have hardly spoken half a dozen words to the gentleman. Why, I don’t even know his name.’

‘Do you want to know it? I will run back and find out if you like.’

‘You will do no such thing! Go to bed, we have a great deal to do tomorrow.’

Teddy sighed. ‘Pity. I wouldn’t have minded making his acquaintance. He’s a real Corinthian, don’t you think?’

‘No, I don’t. It’s obvious he is a nabob. I think he has shares in the Silken Maid’s cargo.’

‘So what? Are you become so high in the instep, you can look down on honest trading? He seems to have done well from it, judging by his dress.’

‘And if he has, what concern can it possibly be of ours?’ She paused outside the door of her room. ‘Goodnight, Teddy.’

It took her a long time to go to sleep that night. Her head was filled with the newness of everything, the sights, the smells, the sounds of a strange country. And yet it was the country her father had always called home. She must make it her home. But, oh, how difficult it was going to be! She missed Papa dreadfully. If he had been alive and bringing her to England on a visit, it would have been a wonderful adventure, but as it was she felt lost and, in spite of Teddy who was very dear to her, very lonely.

It was all very well for Mrs Goodwright to give her a book on etiquette, but it didn’t go nearly far enough. For instance, in England was it permissible for a lady to speak to a strange man in a public dining-room, if he did one a service? Ought she simply to have thanked him and turned away? But that would have been rude, especially after he had taken the trouble to find out her name and ask about the voyage.

Six months ago, she would not have troubled herself about it; she would have done what came naturally to her, secure in the knowledge of her place in society. She would not have given the rights and wrongs of it a thought, much less spent sleepless hours worrying about it.

Had she really blushed? Oh, how mortifying! Whatever had he thought of her? It was just as well they were moving on tomorrow. She didn’t want another uncomfortable encounter with that gentleman.

Two mornings later Emma and Teddy set out from two tiny rooms on the top floor of a lodging house on the north side of Oxford Street to look for work. A slight breeze had blown away the misty rain and the sun was shining, a day for optimism, they decided. It was an optimism which was soon deflated. Emma had a notion that she could look after young children or even teach, but, according to the agency to whom she applied, no one wanted their children taught by someone whose sole experience was giving Indian children the rudiments of English. She was very conscious of her outmodish brown bombazine gown and tanned complexion; English ladies seemed to be uncommonly pale.

If she had not been so concerned about their dwindling resources, she would have enjoyed exploring the city. It was so different from Calcutta and yet there were similarities. Many of the fine buildings had their counterparts in Calcutta, which had been dubbed ‘the city of palaces’, but the people who thronged the streets and rode in a bewildering array of carriages, were, for the most part, white.

The markets, like markets the world over, were colourful and noisy but the produce they sold was different: hot peas, meat pies, herrings, cabbages and bootlaces instead of chuppattis, samosas, melons, copper ornaments and saris. And though there were English churches in Calcutta, there did not seem to be any mosques and temples in London, shining pink and gold in the sun, no ruins, no fort. St Paul’s was impressive and one day she might go inside, but at that moment she was too anxious to reach her next interview. Having given up the idea of teaching, she had decided to try for a position as a lady’s maid.

The encounter lasted less than five minutes, which was the time it took to realise she would be nothing but a slave to a cantankerous old lady twenty-four hours a day, and for a pittance. Judging by the tiny fire in the grate and the chill in the house which was mirrored in the lady’s demeanour, there would be no warmth there. It was the same in many of the places to which she was sent and on the few occasions when she liked what she saw, she was turned down on the grounds of her inexperience. She returned home in the evening, hoping that Teddy had had better luck.

He had not. ‘I didn’t get any further than speaking to a supervisor,’ he said, disgustedly, as they sat over a frugal meal. ‘All he said was, “Go to Haileybury and finish your schooling, then we might be able to use you.” He said Haileybury College was like Fort William in Calcutta, intended to produce Indian administrators.’

‘I wish you could,’ Emma said. ‘But I’m afraid it’s out of the question.’

‘I know. I thought of journalism, but when I tried a newspaper office, they laughed at me, said I knew nothing, but I could be the tea-wallah, if I liked. I am not that desperate, Em.’

‘No, of course not.’

‘If I cannot work for The Company, then I would wish to do something with some excitement in it. Do you know there are hundreds of stage coaches in London? They go all over the country every day at a bruising speed, twenty miles an hour some of them. And the coachmen are fine fellows. I wouldn’t mind being a coachman or a guard. The guard has a blunderbuss to frighten off highwaymen. Come to think of it, it might be exciting to be a highwayman. Your jewels or your life, and all that.’

Emma laughed. ‘Oh, Teddy, you are a goose, but what would I do without you?’

‘I can’t stay tied to your apron strings forever, Em,’ he said, suddenly serious. ‘If you are worrying what will happen to me if you are offered a position, please don’t. Whether you will have it or not, I am a man now and must find my own way.’

‘I haven’t been offered anything so it doesn’t signify.’

‘You had no luck either?’

‘No.’

‘You’ll have to find a husband, like I said before.’

‘And just how am I to do that?’

‘Cultivate any eligible you meet, instead of rebuffing him, as you always seem to do. There was that gentleman last night—he was interested, I could tell. All you did was complain about the voyage and tell him to mind his own business…’

‘I did not!’

‘As good as. If you had accepted his offer of compensation, who knows where it might have led…?’

‘Teddy, you sometimes talk the most dreadful nonsense. Of course he wasn’t interested in me. He’s probably married with half a dozen children. Anyway, I have no intention of marrying for money…’

‘Why not? I am persuaded that is how most marriages begin.’

‘How can you say that, when you know how much Mama and Papa loved each other?’

‘They were an exception.’

‘Then I shall be another.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘And I could hardly be married within a week and that is how long our funds are likely to last.’ She paused, serious again. ‘I will try again tomorrow. I’ll go to a domestic agency…’

’emma, you can’t be a housemaid, it is as bad as me being a tea-wallah.’

‘I think this business of having an uncle who is a viscount has gone to your head, brother dear. We cannot afford pride.’ Which was only too true, though she lamented it as much as Teddy did.

The next day she tried a new agency and her luck changed, though she did wonder if it was because she furnished them with a glowing reference from Miss Emma Mountforest who had employed her as a companion while residing in India. ‘Society among the English community in India is very little different from that in England,’ she told the proprietor, tongue in cheek. ‘I shall soon adapt.’ Emma did not like the deception, but she was beginning to realise she would get nowhere telling the truth. She was given an introduction to take to the Marquis of Cavenham, who required a companion for his sister, Miss Lucilla Besthorpe.

She returned home to leave a note for Teddy, telling him where she was, before following the directions she had been given to the Marquis’s house in Bedford Row. It was a tall mansion, identical to those on either side of it, with rows of sash windows and a heavy oak door with a large brass knocker and flambeaux either side. She took a deep breath and knocked, prepared to lie, if necessary, to obtain the post.

The maid who answered the door took the agency’s letter from her and left her waiting in an anteroom for several minutes, which seemed like an hour to Emma, who found that her hands were shaking with nerves. She gave herself a good scolding and managed to calm herself by the time the girl returned.

‘Come this way, please.’

She led the way up a curving staircase, covered with Turkey carpet, to a large sunny room on the first floor, where she left her. Emma, looking about her at the upholstered sofas with their faded gilt scrolling, the spindly chairs and satinwood sofa table, the secretaire in the corner, the gilt framed pictures which could have done with cleaning, the spotted mirror and ormolu clock on the mantel, the striped taffeta curtains and worn carpet, came to the conclusion that the room had once seen better days.

She had thought there was no one there, but a slight movement by the window caught her eye and a young lady emerged, from behind the curtains. She was about seventeen, Emma judged, dressed very simply in a morning dress of spotted muslin, with a deep frill at the hem and lace about the neck. Her hair, which was fair, was worn tied back with a blue velvet ribbon with no attempt at fashionable arrangement. And yet she was lovely, mainly due to a cheerful countenance and sparkling blue eyes.

‘I thought I would take a look at you before you saw me,’ she said, coming forward and seating herself on one of the sofas.

‘Oh, and what conclusion have you come to?’ Emma asked, deducing that this was the Marquis’s sister and would be her charge if she were to be appointed.

‘You are not what you seem.’

Emma gasped. Surely she had not been seen through by a schoolmiss? ‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘At first I thought you rather dull, a little brown sparrow, but then I saw the way you looked about you, as if summing us up, and I realised that there would be no deceiving you.’

‘Does anyone need to deceive me?’ Emma asked, conscious of the irony of that remark.

‘No, but you have already deduced that we are not as plump in the pocket as we would like. Dominic wants to set the place to rights, but it all takes time and he has not been the Marquis for long enough to bring us round…’

‘Should you be telling me this, Miss Besthorpe? It is a private matter, surely?’

‘But if you become one of the household, you must know what you are falling into.’

‘Your brother, the Marquis…?’

‘Oh, Dominic is as open and honest as the day is long. Everyone knows our circumstances, but matters are improving. Dominic has just made a huge profit on some investment or other and so I am to have a Season, after all. You do not know how relieved I am, for otherwise I would have been packed off to Aunt Agatha in Yorkshire, and that is not to be borne. She is old and so strict, I might as well be in purdah. Even Dominic does not wish that on me.’

‘Miss Besthorpe, I really do not think you should be divulging that.’

‘Oh, do call me Lucy, everyone does. If I am to have my come-out this year, I need a maid who will also be a companion and chaperon. I think we should suit very well, don’t you?’

Emma felt as though she were being swept along on a tide, but she liked Lucy, who had a refreshing candour and was not in the least conceited. ‘Yes, but I have yet to meet the Marquis and he may not agree.’

‘Oh, Dominic will like you, I know. And besides, I can bring him round my little finger, if I have a mind to. I have already turned down three applicants—three old dragons breathing fire.’

Emma found herself laughing and it was at that point Dominic entered the room.

He stood watching them from the doorway, realising that when Miss Woodhill laughed, her whole face lit up and she came vibrantly alive. Even in her dowdy brown clothes there was something about her that made her stand out; she had a natural grace, a way of carrying herself, a quiet dignity which, to his way of thinking, reflected good breeding, and yet she seemed totally unaware of it. She had, he supposed, found out who he was and decided to take advantage of his offer of compensation, after all. He was both disappointed that she might have a mercenary streak and delighted to see her again. He took a further step into the room and Lucy, seeing him, ran to take his arm and drag him forward.

‘Dominic, this is…’

He smiled. ‘Miss Woodhill, I know.’ He bowed to Emma. ‘Your servant, ma’am.’

‘You know?’ Lucy looked from him to Emma, who seemed to have been struck dumb. Her face was flushed and her mouth partly open as if she had been frozen in the middle of a laugh. ‘You did not tell me you knew my brother.’

Emma was thunderstruck. Her confused thoughts ranged from how handsome the Marquis was in his blue superfine coat, buff pantaloons and polished hessians, to wondering why fate had decreed they should meet again and so soon, too. Then she remembered what Teddy had said the evening before about the gentleman being interested in her and she felt the colour flood her cheeks. Would he think that she had engineered the meeting? Oh, how dreadful if he did!

‘I didn’t. I don’t.’ She managed to speak at last. ‘I had no idea…’

‘Miss Woodhill and I encountered each other yesterday,’ Dominic said, realising that the young lady was as surprised as he was and had not come to dun him. ‘Twice.’

‘Twice! Then you must tell me all about it.’

‘There is nothing to tell,’ Emma said, pulling herself together. ‘His lordship came on board the ship on which I travelled from India and we met a second time when my brother and I were dining at the hotel. I had no idea he would be there. Nor did I know who he was until now.’ She hoped he was convinced.

‘Oh, but that is good, don’t you see? We are connected already.’ Lucy turned to her brother. ‘Dominic, Miss Woodhill is applying for the post of companion. Do say you will agree.’

‘Miss Woodhill is a little young, Lucy dear,’ he murmured. ‘I am surprised the agency sent her. I asked for a mature lady, preferably one with a little experience of guiding young ladies.’

‘Dragons!’ said Lucy scornfully. ‘They would be as bad as Aunt Agatha. I don’t want to be hemmed in by dos and don’ts and lectures on etiquette and what is becoming to a young lady. And you know after I turned the last one away, they said they would not send any more.’

He smiled. ‘No, they said Miss Besthorpe was obviously spoiled and they would not wish anyone of sensibility on her. Which is not at all the same thing.’ He turned to Emma. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Woodhill, I did not mean to imply…’

She had recovered sufficiently to smile. ‘That I was lacking in sensibility?’

‘Not at all. I was simply pointing out that my sister can be impossibly difficult to please.’

‘That’s not fair!’ Lucy cried. ‘If I had someone I liked I would be as biddable as you please. And I like Miss Woodhill.’

Emma smiled. ‘Thank you, Miss Besthorpe, but it is of little consequence what the agency thinks of my suitability. The decision is his lordship’s.’

’Touché!’ He laughed in delight. Here was no terrified underling, but a girl of spirit and he liked that. Not that Society would consider her as a suitable duenna for his sister. Lucy needed a strong hand. But their present situation was highly irregular, as everyone had been pointing out, ever since their parents had died within a few weeks of each other just over a year before; he was a bachelor and it was highly improper for Lucy to continue to live with him, either in town or at their country estate, though it wasn’t so important at Cavenham House.

Aunt Agatha had offered to take her, but Lucy had begged not to go and, as usual, Lucy had got her own way. She had not been boasting when she said she could wind him about her little finger.

When their fortunes began to take a turn for the better, he had promised her a Season and for that, they must observe the rules of Society, which meant Lucy must have a companion and chaperon, someone who would observe the proprieties and guide her in the correct behaviour, preferably someone of mature years. Miss Woodhill hardly fitted that description.

He paced the room, while the two girls watched him in silence. He ought to turn her away, letting her down as gently as possible, but it was true that Lucy had been very difficult to please and the agency was losing patience. There was the added complication that, because of Princess Charlotte’s wedding, everybody who was anybody would be in London this year, even those who had long ago retired to the country, and good servants would be hard to find.

He stopped pacing and turned towards Emma. ‘Please sit down, Miss Woodhill, and allow me continue the interview.’ He indicated one of the sofas and, as soon as she had taken her seat, sat opposite her, leaving Lucy to prowl about the room.

‘Now,’ he said, ignoring his sister. ‘Tell me all about yourself. Captain Greenaway told me you have lately become bereaved and I offer my condolences…’

‘Thank you, my lord. My father was employed as a Civil Servant.’ She had decided not to reveal that her father had been a soldier; it was too easy to verify the names of serving officers. ‘He died about seven months ago.’

‘I am sorry. Tell me why you decided to come to England.’

She hesitated only momentarily. ‘It is not easy for a lady to live alone in India, and I had my brother to think of. We thought it would be easier to find employment here. I had no idea it would be so difficult. There is so much prejudice…’

One well-defined brow lifted. ‘Prejudice or caution, Miss Woodhill?’

‘Both. Although my parents were English, I was born in India and lived all my life there until now; prospective employers seem to think it means I have lived like a savage. I can assure you, my lord, that British Society in Calcutta is every bit as civilised as that in London.’ It was no more than the truth, but she knew she was on shaky ground. It was not that she thought he was prejudiced but if he were to check on her story, he would discover that no one in Calcutta had heard of Miss Woodhill.

She stood up suddenly, unable to continue. ‘I am sorry to have taken your time, my lord.’

‘Sit down, Miss Woodhill. I have not finished.’

His voice was so authoritarian, she almost fell back into her seat.

‘Dominic, don’t bully,’ Lucy said. ‘You frighten Miss Woodhill.’

He smiled at Emma. ‘Do I frighten you?’

‘Not at all, my lord.’ Which was true. It was shame, not fright, which had made her want to run away.

‘Then let us continue. You are, how old?’

She stifled the retort that it was ungentlemanly to enquire a lady’s age; he had every right to ask and, as far as he was concerned, she was no lady. ‘Twenty-two.’

‘Twenty-two is very young for a chaperon, Miss Woodhill. Why, you are not above an age for needing one yourself.’

‘Oh, come, my lord, you flatter me. I am old enough to be independent and to have had some experience.’

‘And what form has that taken?’

This business of deception was more difficult than she had imagined, especially when her interrogator looked at her with such warm friendliness. She had to force herself to meet his gaze. ‘I was lady’s maid and companion to Miss Emma Mountforest.’

‘But that’s…’ Lucy began but Dominic held up his hand to silence her.

‘If you persist in interrupting, Lucy, I shall send you away.’ He turned back to Emma. ‘You have the same Christian name as Miss Mountforest.’

‘Yes, I was named for her.’ She and Teddy had decided not to change their given names because they might be uneasy with new ones and forget to answer to them. She opened her reticule and produced the reference she had written herself. ‘This is from Miss Mountforest.’

He took it but did not read it immediately, preferring to trust his own judgement about people, but the name of Miss Woodhill’s previous employer had astonished him. ‘Why did you leave her employ?’

Emma faltered. She had not realised how one untruth led to another and was beginning to wonder where it would end. It would be almost a relief if she were turned away, but then what else could she do? ‘Miss Mountforest had lately lost her own father and was going to live with friends. I don’t know where, but she said she would no longer be able to employ a personal maid.’

‘I see. And so you came to England to seek your fortune.’ He smiled suddenly and his whole face was lit with warmth. ‘You know, it is usually the other way about. People travel from this country to India to make their fortunes.’ He paused, watching her face. Why did he have the impression she was hiding something? It made him curious. ‘But perhaps not ladies.’

‘No, but I am hardly a lady. I am used to making my own decisions and looking after myself.’ She brushed a brown, ringless hand over her skirt and noticed it was shaking. His questions were becoming too probing, too personal, and more and more difficult to answer. She would do better to steer him towards more practical matters. She clasped her hands together in her lap and forced herself to look at him. ‘I should, of course, like to know exactly what my duties would be and the hours I should be expected to work. And the remuneration, of course.’

‘Naturally. Your duties would simply be to be a companion to Lucy, to help her dress, advise her on such things as etiquette, act as her chaperon. It follows that the hours you work will vary from day to day, but rest assured they would not be onerous. Do you think you could manage that? My sister is very self-willed, you know.’

Emma smiled. ‘Miss Besthorpe seems to me to be a delightful young lady and no more self-willed than any other of her age and I envisage no difficulty. I am sure she knows very well how to go on. Age is no criteria for wisdom.’

Lucy clapped her hands with delight. ‘There! I knew Miss Woodhill would be a match for you, brother. I don’t know why you are quizzing her so hard, when I already know all I need to know.’

‘Oh, do not be hard on him,’ Emma told her. ‘He has only your welfare at heart and he would be a poor guardian if he did not make every endeavour for your safety and comfort.’

‘Thank you, Miss Woodhill,’ Dominic said solemnly, bowing towards her. But his seriousness was counterbalanced by the twinkle of humour in his brown eyes, to which she responded with a smile which almost overwhelmed him. He found himself wanting to help her. How else could he do it but give her employment?

His doubts about her suitability gave way to a conviction that she would be an asset to any household, not as a servant, but as wife and mother. The thought startled him, for was he not engaged to be married? He forced himself back to the matter in hand and tried to look stern. ‘I presume you are unmarried with no emotional entanglements? I ask because you will be required to live in and devote yourself to my sister.’

‘I understand that, my lord. The man I was to marry died of fever four years ago. There has been no one since then, but, as you know, I do have a brother.’

‘I see. He is not yet suited?’

‘Oh, Dominic, do find something for Miss Woodhill’s brother,’ Lucy put in. ‘I do so want her to come to us.’

‘Lucy,’ he said patiently. ‘You know how careful we have to be over—’

‘Oh, my lord, I did not mean…’ Emma said. ‘I was not…’ She stopped and began again. ‘Teddy has been educated to good degree; he is not looking for domestic work. He has gone to India House and will doubtless be given employment there.’

‘Of course. Your father’s name will be known to them.’

‘Yes,’ she said, wishing the ground would swallow her. This was becoming harder and harder, but once started on the deception, there was no way she could stop it without confessing all. And she could not do it. Teddy was relying on her.

‘As for wages,’ he went on. ‘What do you say to fifty pounds a year and all found?’

Emma had no way of knowing that this was more than generous and did a quick conversion to rupees, which was a futile exercise because standards were so different in India. On the other hand, she would be living in and, as pin money, it would do very well. The only trouble was that if Teddy did not find a post where he could live in, she would have to pay for his lodgings. ‘I would prefer to be paid monthly, my lord,’ she said.

‘Very well, monthly it shall be.’ He smiled and held out his hand. ‘Let us shake hands on the deal and you may start as soon as you wish, then you will have time to become accustomed to your duties before the Season begins in earnest.’

Emma found her hand clasped in a cool, dry grip and found herself thinking what an uncommonly attractive man he was, not only physically, but in temperament. His smile made her feel as though she was of some consequence; he treated her like an equal even when he had no cause to think of her as anything but a servant. She hated herself for deceiving him and didn’t know how she was going to survive seeing him every day and living a lie.

Perhaps he would be busy, out and about doing masculine, bachelor things, and she would not need to see much of him. Why did that thought sadden her? ‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said, retrieving her hand. ‘I will start the day after tomorrow, if I may.’

‘Oh, I am so pleased,’ Lucy exclaimed, as Dominic went over to the secretaire and opened a drawer. ‘I shall look forward to seeing you then.’

‘You will need this.’ Dominic came forward, offering a small bag which Emma realised contained coins.

‘My lord?’ she queried doubtfully. ‘I have earned nothing yet.’

‘It is customary, Miss Woodhill, to give a small advance for clothes and suchlike.’ He gave Lucy a warning look to stop her contradicting him. ‘You know better than I what you need.’

Emma wondered if he were criticising her dress, but she was in no position to be disdainful of an advance. She accepted gratefully and took her leave, hardly noticing the young man who was at that moment approaching the house. She had done it! She had a job and somewhere to live, and she only hoped that his lordship never found out the truth. Somehow she knew he would be more hurt than angry and she never wanted to hurt him. She would have to work hard, learn her job and be a true friend to Miss Besthorpe.

Her reverie was brought to a startling end by a commotion in the street. A chimney boy, black as Satan and carrying a bundle of brushes on his shoulder, had turned suddenly towards one of the houses and his pole had come into contact with the rump of a horse which had been hitched to a tree outside the Marquis’s gate. The startled animal bolted, to the accompaniment of screams and shouts from passers-by, which only served to increase its terror. Its owner, who had been taking the steps, two at a time, up to Lord Besthorpe’s door, turned to run after it. Emma sprang back out of his way as he brushed past her, just as someone darted out from nowhere and grabbed the runaway’s reins.

In that moment she realised, with a shock, that it was her brother and he was being dragged along the road, while everyone in the vicinity stood and stared. But he clung on manfully and brought the horse to a shuddering halt. He was standing with his head up against the horse’s, murmuring soothingly to it, when its owner came up to him. Emma hurried to join them.

‘I’m obliged to you, young shaver,’ the man was saying and Emma realised it was the man who had been with Lord Besthorpe at Grillons the evening they arrived in London. There was no mistaking his red-gold locks. ‘That was a spunky thing to do. Nelson could have caused no end of a furore with the traffic. He might done untold damage, not to mention injuring himself.’

‘He is still very agitated,’ Teddy said, patting the stallion’s neck. ‘It is hardly to be wondered at—such an out-and-out thoroughbred is bound to be spirited.’ The horse whinnied with pleasure at the fondling and soft voice of the young man. ‘See, he knows, doesn’t he? I wonder you subject him to the city traffic, sir.’

‘Impudent young bratling!’

‘Teddy, do mind your manners,’ Emma put in. She turned to the horse’s owner. ‘I am sorry for my brother’s rudeness, sir. I am afraid he was always more outspoken than was good for him. He meant no criticism.’

’emma, I do not need you to speak for me, much less tell what is in my mind,’ Teddy said. ‘A man who subjects a horse like that to the noise and bustle of city streets don’t deserve to own such a one.’

Emma was horrified, but the man started to laugh and he kept on laughing, until Teddy’s own mouth twitched and Emma found herself smiling.

‘You obviously know your horses, young man. Where did you learn about them?’

‘In India. We take care of our horses there.’

‘So we do in England.’ He smiled. ‘I do not customarily ride race horses in town and you were quite right to chide me, but, you see, I have only half an hour ago purchased him at Tattersall’s and could not resist the opportunity to ride him home.’

‘I beg pardon, sir,’ Teddy said. ‘I should not have been so quick to criticise without knowing the whole, but…’

‘No, you should not.’ He took the reins from Teddy’s hand and patted the horse. ‘But I am obliged to you for stopping him.’ He felt in his pocket for a coin with which to reward the boy.

‘I’ve seen you before,’ Teddy said, reluctant to let the beautiful animal go and ignoring the proffered half-crown. ‘You were at Grillons the other night with…’ He stopped suddenly confused, when he saw the man he had referred to as a Corinthian striding towards them.

‘I heard the commotion,’ he said. ‘Bertie, what’s amiss?’

‘I was on my way to see you, wanted to show off my latest purchase, tied him to a tree. Trouble was he was spooked by a chimney boy and this young shaver, not only stopped him, but afforded me a lecture on how I should look after him.’

Dominic smiled. ‘And you disliked that, I do not doubt.’ He walked slowly round the animal, now standing patiently at the side of the road. ‘He’s a beauty, isn’t he?’

‘Top of the trees. I bought him for stud, but I think I might give him a race or two. You should have seen him gallop down the road. Scattered everyone, except the lad.’

Dominic turned towards Teddy. ‘Mr Woodhill, I am happy to make your acquaintance.’

‘Oh, I am sorry,’ Emma put in, suddenly remembering her manners. ‘Lord Besthorpe, allow me to present my brother, Edward. Teddy, this is the Marquis of Cavenham.’

‘Marquis?’ Teddy’s expression was almost comical. ‘I say, Em, that’s a turn-up, ain’t it?’

‘What is?’ demanded the owner of the horse.

‘Why, that we should have bumped into his lordship three times in less than a se’ennight,’ Teddy said. ‘First on board the ship from India, then at Grillons. And I said to Em…’A look from Emma silenced him, for she was sure he was going to say something indiscreet.

‘Teddy, his lordship has been kind enough to give me a position in his household.’

‘Has he? Oh, that’s capital!’

‘Are you looking for work, young man?’ The query came from the man Dominic had addressed at Bertie.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Are you as good with horses as you say you are?’

‘Course I am. Ask my sister.’

‘Then I’ll give you a trial in my stables.’

‘A stable lad!’ said Teddy in tones of contempt. ‘I ain’t so sure…’

‘Teddy, don’t be so ungrateful!’ Emma remonstrated.

‘Mr Cosgrove doesn’t have your ordinary kind of stable,’ Dominic put in. ‘He’s one of the country’s foremost racehorse owners and breeders.’

‘There’s more like this one?’ Teddy queried, patting Nelson’s shining black neck.

‘Yes, several,’ Bertie said. ‘You’d have to come down to Newmarket and live in with the other lads. If you come up to the mark, you’d be able to exercise the horses of a morning.’

‘That’s no problem at all,’ Emma put in before Teddy should be foolish enough to turn down the offer. ‘He really is exceptionally good with horses. Why, I’ve known him break the most skittish pony and had him trotting around as docile as you please in no time at all.’

‘Let us go back indoors to discuss it over a glass of something,’ Dominic suggested. ‘We can hardly do business on the road.’

So they all went back inside and the details were arranged to everyone’s satisfaction over claret wine for the men and ratafia for the ladies, as Lucy soon joined them. By the time they left, Emma and Teddy felt as if they had known the Marquis and his friend, Mr Cosgrove, all their lives.

‘There’s a turn-up and no mistake,’ Teddy said, as they made their way home, having been persuaded to take nuncheon at Bedford Row. ‘It’s fate, that’s what it is.’

‘What is?’

‘Why, meeting Lord Besthorpe again. I knew he was top of the trees when I first set eyes on him at Grillons. And to think you saw him before that and never said a word.’

‘Why should I? We simply passed each other when I was disembarking and he was coming on board.’

‘But he took the trouble to discover your name, didn’t he? It must have been more than that.’

‘Well, it wasn’t,’ she said, thoroughly annoyed with him. ‘Now, if you please, we will not say another word about the gentleman.’

‘I think he’s a real out-and-outer,’ he continued, ignoring her plea to drop the subject. ‘Now you are likely to see him every day, he cannot help but notice you.’

‘Teddy, if you do not hold your tongue this very minute, I shall never speak to you again.’

He laughed and skipped out of the way of her upraised hand. Not that she would have struck him; it was a meaningless threat. ‘Had you forgot I am going to Newmarket tomorrow?’ he said. ‘You will not be able to speak to me for a long time.’

It was perfectly true and the reminder saddened her. Because their father had frequently been away from home, they had fallen on each other’s company more than most siblings, which perhaps accounted for Emma’s ability in what might be considered masculine pursuits like shooting, fishing and riding hard. Only when Teddy was at school had they been parted. But he was right to say that he was no longer a child and must make his own way. She must learn not to mind.

‘I am going to spend the rest of the afternoon shopping,’ she said. ‘Do you need anything?’

‘No, thank you. Nor do I wish to be dragged round town looking at fripperies. I am going to Bullock’s Museum to see Napoleon’s coach. I believe there are other memorabilia from the Waterloo battlefield. Very gory, some of it. I shall see you this evening.’ And with that he sauntered off, leaving her to make her own way to Pantheon’s Bazaar.

A visit to that establishment had been suggested to her by Lucy when she had ventured to ask where she could buy ready-to wear clothes at a reasonable price. The name made her think of India, but the emporium, when she found it, was nothing like an Indian market, for it was a large store.

She spent some time wandering through its departments bewildered by the array of garments and accessories for sale and carefully enquiring the price of everything. The Marquis’s advance had been generous but she was determined not to spend it all at once. One good day gown and something for evenings should suffice, together with a pelisse, a good pair of half-boots, and a bonnet and gloves. These, together with the clothes she had brought from India would, she decided, make up an adequate wardrobe. After all, she would not be going on the town herself. When it came to choosing style and colour, she found herself wondering what Lord Besthorpe would prefer, which was very silly and did not help her make up her mind.

In the end she chose a round gown for day in a green and cream striped jaconet with a cream lace pelerine collar and puffed sleeves. The evening gown was more difficult; there was a bewildering display of materials: silk, satin, net, gauze, some of it almost transparent and in every colour imaginable, trimmed with beads, pearls, ribbons and feathers. The temptation to buy one of these gorgeous creations would have been almost impossible to resist if they had not been above her means.

She was not a giddy schoolgirl going to her first ball, she told herself, she was a mature woman who was expected to watch over the morals and well-being of her young charge. She must blend into the background. On the other hand, she must not be a dowd for that would reflect badly on the Marquis. She must be a credit to him.

She had been excessively cross with Teddy for his teasing, but that did not alter the fact that his lordship’s good opinion was very important to her. He had believed every fib she told him, and that made her feel distinctly unworthy. It behoved her to prove to his and her own satisfaction that she deserved the chance he was giving her.

The shop assistant was looking at her with a degree of impatience and there were others jostling behind her, clamouring for attention. She seized upon an open gown of amber crepe over a pale lemon satin slip. It had short puff sleeves and was decorated under the bosom with a cluster of silk primroses and floating velvet ribbons.

After that, buying accessories was a simple matter and having given instructions for her purchases to be delivered to Bedford Row, she made her way back to her lodgings for a last meal with Teddy. Tomorrow was the beginning of a new life. Whether it would be difficult or easy, happy or sad, she had no way of knowing, but whatever it was, she was determined to meet its challenge with good humour and fortitude.

Chapter Three

Emma had expected to find her accommodation a little spartan, probably at the top of the house where the other servants lived, but that was not so. Lucy insisted on having her close to hand and Emma was given a room on the second floor, just along the corridor from Lucy’s suite of bedroom and sitting-room. It was large and well-furnished though, like the rest of the house, a little shabby. She didn’t mind that; it made it all the more cosy.

She also discovered she was not to eat in the kitchen but with the family, as well as to go out and about everywhere with her charge, even when his lordship himself was to be in attendance, which he was during the first few days. It did nothing for her peace of mind to have him in such close proximity but she supposed it was only natural that he would wish to satisfy himself that his beloved sister was in good hands and that he need have no qualms about his new employee.

He was always elegantly, though not extravagantly dressed, always courteous and good-natured, but he never gave the impression of weakness. Physically he was a powerful man with a temperament to match; he knew what he wanted and was determined to have it, while remaining fair to everyone from his sister down to the potboy in the kitchen. Emma did not need to be told that his servants respected and loved him; it showed itself in their cheerful willingness to do the work allotted to them.

He could also be implacable and she made up her mind she would do her utmost not to put him to the test. So she studied her book of etiquette and borrowed others from the library, learned how to dress her charge for every given occasion, to mend her clothes and arrange her hair, so that he would have no cause for complaint.

If he ever found out the reference she had given him was a forgery…no, not a forgery exactly but written to deceive, she would be bundled out of the house in minutes, and without a character. She had not been long at Bedford Row before she discovered exactly what that unpleasant phrase meant, when she learned that one of the kitchen maids had recently been turned off for impertinence to a guest.

‘I’m sure I don’t blame her,’ Lucy told Emma. They were eating en famille and Lucy had been beguiling her with tales of recent happenings. ‘Lady Clarence is insufferably top-lofty and to complain the soup was cold when she had let it sit in front of her a full ten minutes while she bored everyone with the tale of how her bran-faced daughter had engaged the attention of the Prince Regent, which I, for one, do not credit, was too much. I had as lief sent her off without her dinner as punish poor Rose.’

‘Rudeness is something I will not tolerate,’ Dominic put in mildly. ‘Not even when it appears justified. If I had not acted at once, it would have been the talk of the ton that I am unable to control my servants. And from that it would be a short step to saying the whole household is dissolute. What do you suppose that would do for your come-out and your chances of marriage?’

Lucy conceded that he might be right, but the unfairness rankled. ‘I should hope you will wait until the fuss has died down and re-engage her,’ she said, to which Dominic laughed and said she must leave justice to him, an enigmatic answer which convinced Emma more than ever that he must not find out that she had lied to him. The very thought of it made her go hot with shame.

A dozen times a day she had to tell herself that her deception was a necessary evil which would end as soon as the unfairness of her father’s exile was proved, though how that was to be done, she had no idea. Teddy had said that being given employment in Newmarket, close to the Mountforest family home, had been the hand of fate. He would soon uncover the truth and clear their father’s name. Once that was done their uncle would have to acknowledge them and provide them with whatever legacy had been due to their father.

When that happened, she would be able to tell Lord Besthorpe the truth. It was important to her that he should understand and forgive. Very important. She needed his good opinion of her. Already he occupied a tight little corner in her heart, though she would never have admitted it to anyone but her own secret self. At the moment she was content just to be in his house, seeing him, talking to him, looking after his sister.

Lucy herself was a delight. Although anxious to please, she was far from a milksop, having very decided views on a great many subjects and often so determined to have her own way, she came head to head with her brother. It was never acrimonious and very soon one or the other would give way or a compromise would be reached which satisfied them both.

Emma stayed on the sidelines during these exchanges, watching with amusement and marvelling at the way each thought they were manipulating the other, saying nothing unless appealed to and then choosing her words with care.

‘Oh, he can be so pompous when he chooses,’ Lucy said one day when the two young ladies were sitting over some crewel work in Lucy’s sitting-room. ‘I did so want to go to Madame Tussaud’s today. And I want to show you the town.’

‘But his lordship is otherwise engaged, Lucy, and we have no escort.’

‘Pooh to that. We can escort each other. What harm can we come to? There will be plenty of people about. And if Dominic would only allow us to take the carriage, we would have Nobbs to protect us.’

‘That is not the same thing and you know it.’

Lucy put her sewing down in exasperation. ‘What did your previous employer do when she wanted to go out? I’ll lay a guinea to a groat she took you for company and didn’t wait for her brother to accompany her.’

Emma laughed, though she had a twinge of conscience every time her past was mentioned. ‘No, her brother was a schoolboy. And it was different in India.’

‘How? Were there no villains?’

‘There were as many there as in England, I do not doubt, but that is nothing to the point. His lordship has taken the carriage, as well you know, and he has made his wishes very clear. I am afraid, this time, you must own yourself defeated, unless you want him to call me to account for allowing you to disobey him. He would very likely dismiss me.’

‘Oh, no, dear Emma, I could not bear that,’ Lucy said. ‘But I am tired of sewing and it is such a lovely day.’

This was perfectly true. Emma was beginning to revise her first impressions of England as a cold, dismal place. The sky was a pale blue laced with fleecy white clouds; the atmosphere, while not warm, was balmy and the trees, no longer soot-laden, were bursting forth in a delicate pale green. Lucy was right; it was a day for being out of doors.

‘Then let us walk in the park instead,’ she said. ‘I can see no harm in that.’

Fifteen minutes later they were entering Hyde Park by the Stanhope Gate. Lucy was becomingly clad in a lilac sarcenet walking dress with a matching pelisse in a darker tone of the same colour. Her chip bonnet was trimmed with violets and tied beneath one ear with velvet ribbon. She was charmingly attractive and openly enjoyed the looks of admiration she received while not being in the least conceited.

Beneath her green pelisse Emma wore the green and cream striped round gown she had purchased at the Pantheon and which she had been saving for just such an occasion. Her cottager hat, bought because it would be easy to change its decoration and even its shape to make it look different every time she wore it, was on this occasion trimmed with coloured ribbons in shades of green, cream and buff. It was neat and tidy rather than elegant and she tried very hard not to be envious of her companion; if it were not for Lucy she might be in very much worse straits. That her antecedents were as high as Lucy’s must not be allowed to count.

Arm in arm, they proceeded down the path, with Lucy smiling and greeting every other person they met, including the redoubtable Lady Clarence who was bowling by in a barouche, clad in a purple satin outfit and a matching turban covered in sweeping green feathers. Seeing the two girls, she called out to her driver to stop the carriage. When it had come to a halt, her ladyship lifted her quizzing glass to peer at them both, as if wanting to make quite sure her eyes were not deceiving her.

Lucy curtsied. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Clarence,’ she said. ‘May I present Miss Emma Woodhill who has lately come to stay with us. Emma, this is Lady Clarence.’

Emma was subjected to a minute scrutiny, during which she felt as transparent as glass, but she would not be intimidated. ‘Good afternoon, my lady,’ she said, affording her ladyship a token bending of the knee. ‘It is a beautiful day for an outing, is it not?’

The lady was affronted enough at having to suffer an introduction to someone who was so obviously not Quality, but to be addressed directly by that person was the outside of enough. Addressing her remarks to Lucy, she admitted that yes, it was a fine day, but she found the wind rather chilly, especially now she had stopped. Without further conversation she ordered her coachman to proceed.

‘Phew, I thought she was about to quiz us about where we were going,’ Lucy said, totally unaware of her faux pas. ‘I would not put it beyond her to think we had an assignation, though what it has to do with her, I do not know. And why did she stare at you so particularly, I should like to know. You do not have two heads.’

‘Perhaps I am a curiosity,’ Emma said, very conscious of her tanned complexion, though it was beginning to fade. ‘Like the exhibits at Bullock’s.’

‘Fustian! Let us forget all about her. Look, they are playing cricket over there. Shall we go and watch?’

The match, they discovered on drawing nearer, was one between a team from the Prince of Wales’s Own Regiment, two of whom were batting, and another made up of naval officers. Lucy laughed and clapped with everyone else, calling out, ‘Oh, bravo!’ when a particularly good stroke was made.

Emma began to feel a little uneasy. ‘Lucy, dear, do not speak so loudly,’ she whispered. ‘People are staring at us.’

Before Lucy could reply, there was a shout of ‘Look out!’ and the spectators suddenly parted in front of them. Emma caught a glimpse of a young man running backwards to catch a well-struck ball and the next moment he had collided with Lucy and sent her sprawling on the grass.

The ball, indeed the game, was forgotten as he scrambled to his feet and put out his hand to help the young lady to rise. ‘My apologies, ma’am. I did not mean…Are you hurt?’

‘No, no,’ she said, setting her bonnet straight and brushing down her skirt. ‘Think nothing of it.’

‘Oh, but I do. I cannot tell you how sorry I am. Captain Fergus O’Connor, ma’am, your servant.’ He executed a perfect leg, though he was not wearing a coat and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to reveal muscular arms.

‘I think you had better retrieve the ball and return to the game,’ Lucy said, giving him one of her enchanting smiles. ‘They are all waiting for you.’

‘Then they may wait until I discover who you are.’

‘Lucy…’ Emma warned.

‘Lucy,’ he said, grinning at Emma for inadvertently telling him what he wanted to know. ‘That’s a peach of a name to match a peach of a girl.’

‘Sir, you are impertinent,’ Emma retorted.

‘So I may be,’ he said, laughing. ‘But I don’t see the little lady objecting.’

Emma took Lucy’s arm. ‘Come, my dear, we really must be going. Your brother, the Marquis, will be looking for us.’ And with that she eased her charge away.

‘I shall find you again, never fear,’ the Captain called after them, as he rejoined his fellows.

‘Why did you say that?’ Lucy demanded, looking over her shoulder to watch him return to his place on the field. ‘Dominic will not be looking for us.’

‘He will if we are not home soon,’ Emma said. ‘And I have a feeling he might be very displeased if he knew. Don’t you know a lady should never speak to a strange man without an introduction?’

‘It was not my fault the Captain bowled me over…’

’emma laughed. ‘In more ways than one.’

‘Don’t be silly. I am not such a goose as to be taken in by empty flattery.’

‘I am glad to hear it.’

‘He was handsome though, wasn’t he?’

‘Do you think so? I can think of handsomer.’

‘Who? Do tell.’

‘No, I will not,’ she said, thinking of Lord Besthorpe. Now, there was a handsome man and the lady who married him might think herself very fortunate indeed. The more she saw of him, the more she admired him. And the more she admired him the more she regretted deceiving him. She would so much have preferred to be open and truthful. She was honestly beginning to doubt they would ever be able to discover anything about their father’s exile. It had happened so long ago. Oh, if only…

She brought herself up short and her voice, when she spoke, was brisk. ‘I do think we should hurry, Lisa will be bringing in the tea tray before we get home.’

Having decided to say nothing to his lordship about the walk in the park, the girls were both disconcerted when, two days later, Lady Clarence paid a call and brought up the subject herself. It would not have been so bad if Dominic had not decided to stay and take tea with them, but as it was they were obliged to listen in growing mortification as she lectured him on the evils of allowing unmarried young ladies out alone.

‘Not a soul with them,’ she said, with the feathers on her hat nodding in time with her many chins. ‘Not even a footman. My dear Cavenham, I cannot think that you would have consented to it. Why, half the ton was there and witnessed it, and not a scrap of shame between them, bowing and smiling to all and sundry. Why, your sister even exchanged a nod with that rakeshame, Brummell. Everyone knows he is in disgrace with the Regent.’

Emma was desperately worried and longed to offer a defence, but she was wise enough to know that answering back would make matters worse. She looked at Lucy, but that young lady was studying the toes of her kid slippers.

‘Lady Clarence, I thank you for bringing your concerns to my attention,’ Dominic said solemnly. ‘But I think you worry unduly. My sister and her companion had only got down from the carriage for a short walk; our coachman was not very far away, I do assure you.’

‘I saw no coach.’

‘Perhaps not, but it was there and Nobbs was watching over them.’

Emma was horrified to think that he felt obliged to lie to cover their indiscretion, something she was sure he would not do unless there was no other way. It did not bode well for her once Lady Clarence had taken her leave and his lordship would be free to give rein to his undoubted displeasure. She was sure her dismissal was only moments away.

‘Then I say no more,’ her ladyship said, rising and picking up her gloves and reticule ready to depart. ‘But your sister needs a proper duenna to watch over her, if she ain’t to make a cake of herself and you too, and I ain’t afraid to say it to your face, Cavenham. Your dear mama was my friend and she would wish me to point out where you are going wrong.’

Emma saw Dominic’s brown eyes harden and his jaw tighten and she knew the good lady had gone too far, though he was far too polite to tell her so. She exchanged glances with Lucy, who had realised, as she had, that the brunt of his annoyance would land on their heads. He rose as the footman came in answer to his summons to show the lady to the front door.

‘Thank you, my lady,’ he said, polite as always. ‘But Lucy has a very able companion in Miss Woodhill, and I have every faith in her.’

Her ladyship favoured Emma with a look which clearly revealed what she thought of that arrangement. It made Emma throw up her head and meet her gaze with clear green eyes. She could not be subservient to such a one, not even to please Lord Besthorpe.

As soon as Lady Clarence had taken her leave, his lordship sat down again and looked from his sister to Emma. ‘I do dislike gabble grinders telling me how I should go on,’ he said, in a voice that had lost the silky charm of a moment, before. ‘But can you tell me why I should not instantly dismiss you?’

Lucy jumped to her feet, stricken. ‘Dominic, you can’t do that. It wasn’t Emma’s fault and we were not doing any harm…’

‘You were harming my good name and your reputation,’ he said repressively. ‘Please go to your room. I wish to speak to Miss Woodhill alone.’

Lucy hesitated. ‘Please don’t turn her off, Dominic. I will be good, I promise.’

‘Do as I say, Lucilla.’

Lucy knew that when he used her full name he was very cross indeed, and decided there was nothing for it but to obey. Arguing would only make him more obdurate. ‘Very well.’ She put a hand on Emma’s shoulder as she passed her on the way to the door. ‘Don’t let him bully you, Emma. You did nothing wrong.’ With that she left the room, closing the door with a sharp snap that was almost a bang.

Emma turned from watching her go, to see a smile twitching at the corners of his lordship’s mouth. It was gone in an instant. ‘Do you think Lady Clarence was right?’ he asked her.

‘That Lucy was making a cake of herself, my lord? I am afraid I am not familiar with the term.’

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