‘Sweet Jane,’ he said, and gazed into her eyes for a moment, before moving his hand to her cheek and caressing it lightly with the tips of his fingers.

Her breath caught, and she almost swayed towards him as the need to feel his arm about her swept over her, but in an instant she had conquered the foolish desire. She did not know this man well enough to care for him—surely she could not be so inconstant. Only a few weeks ago she had believed that she would never feel love or desire again. And now…? Now she was not sure how she felt.

‘You look beautiful, as always.’

‘You flatter,’ Jane said, and laughed. The look in his eyes was having a disturbing effect on her. She felt young and excited again, like a girl at her first ball. ‘But it is most pleasant…and the evening would not have been the same if you had not come.’

Author Note

I hope you enjoy this new book. I always love writing my stories of love and romance. This one was particularly fun to do, with a beautiful Indian princess with evil in her heart, and a brave man who rescues an Indian boy from a burning hut.

My stories are always about adventure as well as love, and they make me smile as I sit at my computer. They are pure escapism and are meant to amuse and please—so please read them for a few happy hours.

Claiming the
Chaperon’s Heart
Anne Herries

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ANNE HERRIES lives in Cambridgeshire, where she is fond of watching wildlife and spoils the birds and squirrels that are frequent visitors to her garden. Anne loves to write about the beauty of nature, and sometimes puts a little into her books, although they are mostly about love and romance. She writes for her own enjoyment, and to give pleasure to her readers. Anne is a winner of the Romantic Novelists’ Association Romance Prize. She invites readers to contact her on her website: lindasole.co.uk.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Author Note

Title Page

About the Author

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

‘If you do this for me I shall be yours and all that I own will be at your disposal,’ the woman said. Her pale olive-toned skin looked smooth and soft in the candlelight, her black velvet eyes as dark as night, but lit from within by a silver flame. She was a beautiful woman, sure of her power, and she sensed that he wanted her so badly that he could almost taste his need. The perfume she wore was heavy and had the exotic tang of musk and ambergris, and the jewels around her neck were worth a king’s ransom. She was the daughter of an Indian prince and the granddaughter of an English earl, proud, haughty and vengeful—and the hatred of the man who had spurned her burned deep within her breast. ‘He used me cruelly and deserted me—I want him dead. Only his death will assuage the wrong he has done me...’

She leaned closer to the man, allowing him to inhale the scent of her body, knowing that she had the power to drive men to near madness in their desire for her. She could have had almost any man she wanted and yet one had eluded her and it was he alone she wanted. He had refused her offer to lie with her, to wed her and live in her palace, had told her that he did not love her—and she felt the bitter pain of his rejection like a snake’s sting. He would learn that he could not walk away from her! In her anger she was lost to all sense of reason. She would make certain that he died a painful death for deserting her.

This poor fool who looked at her like a starving man was not the only one she had promised her favours, but the other was unlikely to do her bidding, though he loved her. This one had his own reasons for giving her the revenge she craved; she had picked him carefully and she knew that he would do whatever she asked for the promise of rich rewards. He was greedy, this one, and as desirous of vengeance as she was herself.

‘He wronged you as he wronged me,’ she hissed at him. ‘Go to England. Follow him and do as I have asked you—and when you return you shall have all you desire and more...’

‘Yes, I shall do your bidding, sweet lady, for I have business that takes me there. When it is complete and I have done as you ask, I shall return to claim my reward.’

A cruel smile touched her lips. He would have more than he desired for she would keep him only for as long as it pleased her...her heart was as cold as ice now, for he had broken it and she hated him.

The fool knelt before her and kissed the hem of her costly robes. ‘I vow that I shall bring your enemy and mine to justice,’ he said. ‘Either he or I shall lie dead when this is over...but he is unsuspecting and I know him for the trusting fool he is. He will never know what is afoot until I take his life.’

She felt a trickle of fear slide down her spine and for a moment she wanted to take back all the hateful words. She loved the man who had refused her and his death could bring her no real satisfaction, and in that moment she knew that revenge could only bring her grief—and yet he had humbled her pride and he must pay. Anger and pride fought against softer emotions and won. She stared at the fool kneeling before her and knew he was not fit to kiss the feet of the man she loved, but her pain and grief was too deep and must be assuaged by blood.

After he had gone she was possessed by a wild restlessness that had her pacing until she realised that even revenge could not assuage the pain in her heart. Indeed, the thought of his death brought even more agony. Sinking to her knees, she wept until the storm of anger and despair had left her and then she knew that she had betrayed her own heart. She did not want the man she loved dead, but here with her, a smile of love on his face.

She must recall the fool who did her bidding so easily and tell him that she no longer wished him to kill for her.

Then, as she saw the sun had risen in the sky, she knew it was too late. His ship was already on its way and because he wanted the rewards she had promised he would do her bidding... His death would be her sin.

Giving a cry of terrible despair, she fell senseless to the ground.

Chapter One

‘Ah, letters,’ Viscount Salisbury said and looked at his elder sister Jane as she entered the room carrying a satisfying bundle. ‘Any for me, Sis?’

‘Yes, I think three,’ Jane replied with a twitch of her lips. ‘One of them smells of Miss Bellingham’s perfume... Now, what would a young lady of sense be doing writing to you, I wonder?’

‘None of your business, madam,’ her brother said and snatched at the envelopes she held tantalisingly out of his reach. Lady Jane March laughed delightedly and withheld the letters for a second longer before releasing them to the younger brother she adored. She was an elegant lady, tall and slender, something about her making her instantly light up any room she entered, though her beauty could not disguise the sadness in those wonderful eyes.

Jane had chosen to make her home with the brother she’d always favoured, after her husband’s untimely demise on the field at Wellington’s side. Harry had been one of the Iron Duke’s aides and so handsome it took her breath away, and his tragic death two years previously had broken her heart. The head of the family, John, Earl Sutherland, her half-brother, and his wife Gussie had offered Jane a home with them but she’d chosen to come here to William, her junior by just one year, because, as she said, Will was the only one who wouldn’t either treat her with kid gloves or bully her.

‘You will no doubt wish me the other side of the world within a month,’ she’d told Will when he greeted her on her arrival at what had been their father’s smaller country estate and was now his, John having inherited the main seat, of course. ‘But Gussie would have driven me mad—and you know what John is...’

‘I do indeed,’ Will said ruefully. ‘He’s such an old stickler. Poor dear Mama used to go in fear of him until she married Porky...’

‘God bless the Duke of Roshithe,’ Jane said with a wry smile. Their mother had become a much loved and spoiled second wife, outliving her first husband by some years. Indeed, she had remarried after Jane’s marriage because, she said, her dearest William did not need her help to find a wife. He had the fortune his maternal grandfather had left him, as well as the small estate from his father, consisting of a town house, a shooting box in Scotland and acres of land somewhere in Yorkshire. He was probably wealthier than his elder brother and never asked John to pay his debts, but that didn’t stop the earl giving him advice on how to manage his fortune on every possible occasion.

‘With your face and fortune, your problem will be in fending off the ladies rather than finding a bride,’ his mama had said before departing to the Continent with her doting second husband in tow for an extended wedding trip. Porky, as his friends and family persisted in calling him, despite his old and respected title, had been led by petticoat strings ever since Mama had taken him in hand and was blissfully happy to serve and adore her. He’d loved her all his life and been dismayed that her father had preferred the earl as a son-in-law; of course, Porky had never been expected to inherit the dukedom, and it was only after a string of unfortunate relatives met their deaths that he reluctantly came into it.

‘I’m damned if I want that mouldering old house of Roshithe’s,’ he’d said on hearing the news. ‘Of what use is the title and country seat to me? I never go near the place, never have and never will.’

‘You will accept it to please me,’ his lady said. ‘I shall take precedence over John’s wife—and that will not suit her consequence...’

To give him his due, Porky hadn’t uttered another word of protest. If it suited his lady to become the Duchess of Roshithe it would suit him—and he understood perfectly the veiled hints and slights she had suffered at the hands of the earl’s wife. Instead of complaining further, he’d given a grand ball, to which he’d invited anyone of consequence and it had afforded him a quiet amusement to see the countess having to curtsey to her mama-in-law, something she’d refused to do once her husband became the earl.

Jane and Will had watched their darling mama’s success in society with barely held mirth, for she did so enjoy it. As a young bride, married for consequence and money, Helen had suffered at her pompous husband’s hands as well as at the hands of his equally pompous eldest son, the child of his first wife—a lady of far greater family but less fortune. Helen had brought her husband a large dowry, but her father had been wise enough to tie most of it up so that it remained with her and her children after her husband died. Not that she needed it now for Porky was richer than any of them, perhaps one of the richest men in England—and he had little to do with his wealth but spend it on his bride and her children, Will and Jane. John, of course, was deemed to have enough of his own, though whether he would have agreed if asked was doubtful. He was far too polite to mention it, of course, though he frowned over the vast sums squandered on his stepmother’s vanity—as he called it.

Immersed in her letters, Jane became aware that Will was hovering. She looked up and smiled, because she knew her dearest one so well.

‘You want something,’ she said. ‘Come on, what is it?’

‘Dearest Jane,’ Will murmured, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘You know me so well... It’s Melia Bellingham. Her aunt has taken sick at the last minute and she won’t be able to come to London next month...unless you will be her chaperon, Jane? Please say you will. She’s been looking forward to this visit for so long...’

‘Amelia Bellingham shouldn’t have written to you, Will. Her aunt must write to me if she wishes me to chaperon her niece.’

‘I’m sure Mrs Bellingham’s letter is in your pile,’ he said. ‘You had such a lot. Why do you always get piles and piles of letters? I never get more than two or three and most of them are just bills...’

‘Perhaps because I write lots of letters,’ Jane said, her mouth quirking at the corners. ‘It is my chief occupation most of the time—unless we go up to London to visit Mama and then it’s just non-stop balls and dinners and all the rest...’

‘Mama loves to entertain, and she has so many friends.’

‘Of course she does,’ Jane said drily. ‘They queue for the lavish dinners Porky puts on. It beats me how Mama can be exposed to all that rich food day in and day out and never put on so much as a pound.’

‘Because she eats like a bird and always did,’ Will said. ‘You’re just like her, Jane, and will never put on weight. You will invite Melia to stay with us, won’t you?’

‘Of course, if you wish it,’ Jane agreed. ‘It’s your house, my dearest. I’m your guest and I dare say you may invite whomever you wish...’

‘You know I couldn’t invite Miss Bellingham,’ Will said. ‘She must have a chaperon—and you’ve known her all her life, practically grew up together.’

‘Her elder sister was my friend,’ Jane said and a sigh escaped, because her friendship with Beth Bellingham brought back memories of Harry. Beth had been in love with him, as had most of the young girls that season...but he’d only had eyes for Jane, and she missed him so much, so very much. Sometimes in the night the ache was like a sword thrust in her chest. ‘I like Melia, Will—and I’ll be glad to invite her.’ She shuffled through her letters and opened the one from Melia’s aunt, nodding as she rose to pen an immediate answer. That done, she rang the bell and gave her letter to the footman. ‘Have that one sent immediately please, Flowers.’

‘Yes, my lady,’ the footman said, inclining his head correctly. Only the very observant might have seen the look of devotion in the man’s eyes as he bowed and left the room. Will knew that all the servants adored Jane. It wouldn’t make things easy for his wife when he married, because Jane was undoubtedly the mistress here—and he’d been glad of it until he began to realise that he was actually thinking of marriage.

‘So?’ Jane asked as she rose from her elegant chair and closed the writing desk she’d brought with her on her return from France. ‘Am I to wish you happy quite soon?’

‘Well, if Melia is of the same mind when she’s had her season, yes,’ Will said. ‘You do wish me happy, Jane? I know it makes things awkward for you...’

‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘I’ve taken advantage of your good nature for too long. I have a perfectly good house of my own a few miles from John and Gussie and I shall probably take a house in Bath once I decide to settle. I should have done it a year ago, when I put off my blacks.’

‘But how can you live alone?’ her brother asked. ‘I know you don’t want to live with John, but Gussie isn’t too bad—or Mama...’

‘I wouldn’t dream of treading on her toes,’ Jane said, laughing softly. ‘And you know Gussie would drive me mad within a fortnight...’

‘You could stay on here. Melia likes you so much...’

‘And I like her and I want it to stay that way,’ Jane said gently. ‘No, my dearest brother, I shall not make your wife’s life difficult. It’s quite simple; I must find a companion...’

‘Well, I suppose—but who is there that you could put up with? You’re not the most patient of women, Jane.’

‘I am not in the least patient,’ she said. ‘But—do you remember Cousin Sarah? You might not recall her because you were away at school when she came to stay. It was shortly before Papa died...’

‘I seem to remember her at the funeral. She was tall and thin and plain...and her mother was always demanding things, making her life hell.’

‘Yes, well, Aunt Seraphina died last month and Cousin Sarah wrote to me asking if I knew of a position that would suit her. I was thinking of asking her on a visit to see how we got on—and, if we can bear each other, I shall set up house with her in Bath.’

‘But can you imagine what John would say to such a suggestion? Sarah Winters could never be a chaperon for you, Jane. She isn’t old enough and she has no consequence.’

‘And needs none in my house. I was married for a year before Harry died,’ Jane said, her face pale. ‘I am Lady March, a widow of independent means, and that is exactly how I intend to live...’ She arched her fine dark brows as he stared at her. ‘After the freedom of marriage and then living here with you—do you really think I could live with John and his wife?’

Will stared at her for a few minutes and then nodded. ‘Of course you couldn’t, Jane—but they will all be against it, even Mama.’

‘Mama wants me to marry again, Will. If I went to stay with her she would present me to all the eligible men she knows, and keep on doing it until I gave in. I married for love and would never marry for any other reason—indeed, I value my independence.’

‘You don’t think it might be a better arrangement to marry someone you could admire if not love? You would have a large house and a husband to help you...’

‘I couldn’t even think of it yet,’ Jane replied and her throat tightened. ‘I know it’s a year since I came out of blacks, but I still grieve; I still think of him all the time and wish...’

‘Of course you do and I’m a brute to suggest anything that upsets you, love. Please forgive me.’

Will was sincere in his apology and his sister was pleased to tell him there was nothing to forgive. They parted on good terms, Jane to write to Cousin Sarah, and Will to ride his new young horse that he had great pleasure in schooling. It had taken him a while to tame the brute, but it could go like the wind and he’d a mind to race the young stallion, riding him himself, of course. He was whistling as he strolled down to the stables, content with his world, which looked like continuing in the same happy-go-lucky way it always had.

Will was lucky. Everyone said so and he saw no reason why his luck shouldn’t continue. Melia would marry him and be content to live in the country, apart from a few visits to town, which was exactly the way he wished to live...

* * *

‘Oh, look, dear Aunt—’ Melia Bellingham opened her letter from Lady March and her deep blue eyes lit with excitement as she showed the very fine calligraphy to the lady, who had now recovered enough from her illness to sit in a chair but was still far too fragile to contemplate taking a lively young woman to London. ‘You will not mind my leaving you here alone? Please say I may go—for I am sure I am of little use to you. You always say I make your head ache, Aunt Margaret.’

The older woman sighed and sniffed the lace kerchief soaked in lily of the valley perfume. ‘You have so much energy, Amelia. It’s no wonder I find your company tiring, especially when I feel a little fragile. However, I should not wish to disappoint you in this matter, and of course you may go to Lady March. I would have preferred you to be in your sister’s care, but poor dear Beth is increasing and cannot entertain you. You must write a pretty letter to Lady March and thank her.’

‘She says she will send her carriage to bring me to her at home in the country, and then we may travel to London together. I must write my reply at once because otherwise she will not get my letter in time...’

‘Child, you are always in such a hurry,’ her aunt said and waved the heavily scented kerchief at her. ‘Please go away now and send Miss Beech to me. I need quiet companionship.’

Melia skipped away, only too happy to be set free of her duty to her aunt. Aunt Margaret had been good to her and Beth, though Beth had not needed much from their long-suffering aunt for she’d been eighteen when their parents were lost at sea on what was meant to be a pleasure trip to Papa’s estates in Ireland. Such a storm had blown up that the yacht had been buffeted on to the rocks far off its course on the wild Cornish coast and both crew and passengers drowned in the terrible storm.

Grieving and not knowing what to do, the sisters had been taken in by their kindly aunt, for they had little choice but to leave their home. Papa’s estates were naturally entailed and fell to a distant cousin they had never met and who presently resided in India. The girls both had small dowries, put aside by their father, and two thousand pounds each left to them by their maternal grandfather. Had it not been for the kindness of Aunt Margaret Bellingham, they would have been forced to live in a small house in a village somewhere—or so the very formal solicitor had informed them soon after the funeral.

However, six months later, when they had both removed from their home and Beth was already married, a letter had come to say that they might remain at the house for as long as they wished. It seemed that their father’s cousin had no intention of returning from India at present and even when he did so would not wish to deprive the sisters of their home. He had written to an agent who would look after the estate and would let them know when the new owner was thinking of returning to England.

It had been too late for Beth and Amelia. Beth had married and was happily living at her husband’s estate, and Melia was living rather less happily with her aunt. Aunt Margaret was not in the least unkind, nor did she make unreasonable demands of her niece, but she was too old to attend many parties and those she did were very dull. She’d promised Melia a season in London when she was eighteen, but a nasty bout of gastro-enteritis had laid her low and then, just as she was recovering, she’d caught a chill. Her doctor said that London was out of the question, and Melia had almost resigned herself to giving up all idea of going to town until Beth was over the birth of her child and had finished nursing the babe.

‘I shall be on the shelf by then,’ Melia had told her friend Jacqui as they walked together through the grounds of Aunt Margaret’s house. ‘I shall die of boredom before I ever have a chance to fall in love and be married.’

‘What about Viscount Salisbury?’ her friend asked slyly. ‘I thought you and he swore undying love when you stayed at Beth’s house in the country?’

‘Yes, we did,’ Melia said, her eyes dancing with merriment. ‘Shall I tell you a secret?’ She laughed as Jacqui nodded eagerly. ‘Well, he has been in the district visiting friends twice since then and we walked and rode together—and he has written to me and I to him...’

‘You could not!’ her friend cried, shocked. ‘That is so forward of you, Melia. Whatever would your aunt say if she knew?’

‘Well, she does not know for Bess gets the letters from the receiving house and brings them to me without her seeing them.’

‘She would be so angry if she knew you had deceived her.’ Jacqui was in awe and yet a little censorious. ‘Mama would shut me in my room for a month on bread and water if I did such a thing.’

‘Well, you wouldn’t,’ Melia replied and hugged her arm. ‘I dare say I should not had Mama lived. She would have invited young people to the house for me and I might have been engaged by now.’

‘Has the viscount asked you?’

‘No, but he will if I wish it.’ Melia’s eyes sparkled wickedly. ‘I am not yet sure if I wish to marry him, but I do want to find out. If we were to go to London, I should have the chance to meet so many pleasant young men...’

‘Well, you must get your aunt to write to Lady March and ask if she would be kind enough to have you as her guest when she goes up to town. I know for a fact that she has chaperoned other young girls since she was widowed, for one was my cousin. As you know her brother, Viscount Salisbury, I dare say he would prevail upon her to invite you.’

Melia had thought her friend’s suggestion a good one, for the families had been close before Jane and Beth were married, but, to make certain of a favourable answer, she’d written of her aunt’s illness to the viscount. The letter had clearly done its work and now she was to visit London, as she’d hoped—and, if she could achieve it, she would be engaged before the end of her visit, either to Viscount Salisbury or another...

Having finished her letter, Melia rang the bell for Bess. The maidservant had come to her aunt’s house with her and was devoted to her. Bess would not mind walking down to the village to see the letter went as soon as the next post bag was sent off to London. However, when she answered the bell, Bess was carrying a silver salver on which resided a letter addressed to Melia.

‘Thank you,’ she said and smiled at the woman who had nursed her from a babe and now looked after her clothes and tended her hair. ‘I want this letter to go off straight away. I’m going to visit Lady March and she is taking me to London—and you’ll be coming with us, Bess. You will enjoy that, won’t you?’

‘Well, miss, I know you will and I don’t mind anything if you’re happy.’

‘You are the best friend I ever had,’ Melia said and pounced on the plump, kind woman, arms about her waist as she kissed her cheek. ‘I do love you, Bess.’

‘Get on with you, Miss Melia,’ Bess said but her face was pink and smiling. ‘I’ll take your letter for you, no need for flattery...’

‘I wonder who could be writing to me,’ Melia said as she looked at the seal and then frowned, for it was a family crest. ‘Good gracious! Can this possibly be from...?’ She broke the wax seal and glanced at the letter.

Scanning the first few lines, Melia discovered that it was from someone calling himself her Cousin Paul. Papa’s cousin, not hers, Melia thought with a little frown. A look of annoyance settled over her pretty face as she continued to read the contents of her surprising letter.

I was concerned to learn that you had been asked to leave your home. It was against my wishes and I do most sincerely apologise for it. My hope is that you will forgive the mistake and return to your home. Clearly you cannot live there alone, though on my return from India in early June I shall be living at my house in London and will pay only brief visits to Willow House.

However, it is my intention that you shall be introduced into Society under the aegis of a friend of my mother’s, Lady Moira Fairhaven. Lady Moira, widowed these eighteen months past, is preparing to take her place in Society again this year, and will live with you at Willow House until you come up to London. She will be with you by the end of May and you may become accustomed to each other before coming to the house I shall take for you in town.

Yours sincerely,

Paul Frant

Well, really! Melia could not see why he should write her such a letter—as if the fact that he had inherited Papa’s estate made him her guardian. He was no such thing and she had no intention of doing as he asked. She would keep to her intention of being Lady March’s guest, though, had she not already arranged things to her liking, she supposed she might have been grateful to her father’s cousin for his offer.

Aunt Margaret must not know that she’d received this letter. If she read the contents she would say that Melia must remain here to meet her chaperon and do as her distant cousin asked. Putting her letter carefully away in the secret drawer of her writing slope, Melia wondered uncomfortably if perhaps her father’s will had given this distant cousin power over her. Yet surely Papa would never do such a thing? Neither she nor Beth had ever met the gentleman. She knew nothing about him, and she did not wish to. It was most disobliging of him to return to England now, just when Melia had everything in hand. She knew that if she wished to marry a suitable gentleman, her aunt would be only too willing to oblige her—but this stranger might have other ideas...

Chapter Two

‘This is being too kind, Adam,’ Paul Frant said. ‘I never expected you to accompany me to London, my dear fellow. Your help on the ship was invaluable, for I must confess that I have never felt quite as ill in my life as I did when that fever struck. However, I am on the mend now and you might have gone to your own estates after we docked at Portsmouth. I know you must have business to attend.’

‘I’ve never before known you to have a day’s illness,’ Adam, once Captain of His Majesty’s Own Guards, serving with the Indian troops, and now, newly, Viscount Hargreaves, said with a faint twist of his mouth. ‘It was not like you, for you fought on the Peninsula in Spain and came through, despite being wounded twice. I was concerned, my dear fellow. You still look a trifle weary.’

‘I feel less than my normal healthy self,’ Paul replied truthfully. ‘It pains me to say it, but for a while there I believed it was the end. I must have been carrying the fever with me, for some of my colleagues had it at the Company offices before I left. Poor Mainwaring died of it, leaving a widow and two young sons in England. His death was a part of the reason I decided to come home. Before he died, he asked me to make sure that his family received his pension and all that was due to him. I think he’d hoped to make his fortune out there, but unfortunately he was not good at business.’

‘Unlike you,’ Adam said with a wry twist of his lips. ‘You must be as rich as Croesus, Frant.’

‘I haven’t done too badly out of the Company,’ Paul said modestly. ‘Enough to give that poor child of Bellingham’s a decent dowry. I inherited the charge of her along with the title, for which I have not the slightest use, but I must accept it, I suppose, if I choose to live here. I’m not sure yet whether I shall do so. I may return to India when I’ve seen to things in England. I’m not certain I could settle to the life of an English gentleman.’

‘Find it a trifle dull after fighting the wild tribesmen of the hills, eh?’ Adam gave him an odd look. ‘Or is it the lure of a beautiful woman that calls you back, my friend?’

‘I had little time for ladies of any description; I left that to you and the rest of the Army,’ Paul mocked him gently. ‘Annamarie was beautiful; I give you that—but she was not to be trifled with. Only if I’d decided to marry her would I have thought of trying to capture her heart. If indeed she has one; I found her charming but with little real warmth.’ Paul had thought there was something hard and cold about the woman so many men admired.

‘She is a proud beauty,’ Adam said. ‘I admired her. It must be hard to be of mixed birth as she is, Paul. Her father was an Indian prince, her mother an English lady. Annamarie says that her father was married to her mother by a Christian priest; his other wives went into purdah after he died but Princess Helena was allowed to leave the palace and bring up her daughter as she pleased in a palace of her own. One might almost say that she’d been cast out by her royal relatives. Because of her marriage, which was not in the Indian way, some of her husband’s people think her a concubine rather than a wife.’

‘Yes, that is unfortunate. Princess Helena sent her daughter to the school for the daughters of English gentlemen,’ Paul said. ‘Annamarie was brought up to believe she was legitimate and, since her maternal grandfather still lives in Shropshire and is an earl, she has been accepted by some of the officer’s ladies...but not all. If it had not been for Colonel Bollingsworth’s wife, she might have found herself ostracised, but most followed her lead and accepted Annamarie into their company.’

‘Out there, some of the ladies allow a little leeway.’ Adam nodded to himself. ‘You know as well as I do why her mother does not send Annamarie to school in England. She would not be accepted into the top echelons of Society here, I think.’

‘Then Society is a fool,’ Paul said angrily. ‘She has every right to be accepted here, but it is the same in India—her father’s people treat her as an outcast. I believe she and her mother might do better to come home to England. I am sure such beauty as Annamarie’s would find many admirers and, if she were taken up by the Regent’s set, might do well enough.’

‘Yes, perhaps...’ Adam eased his long legs as the carriage drew to a halt. ‘Ah, I believe we are here. This is your house, Paul?’

‘It was my father’s but now mine,’ Paul replied with a twist of his lips. He was a good strong man, with fine legs and broad shoulders. Seen in company with Adam, he might not be thought handsome, but there was nothing coarse or ugly in his features. His chin was square and forthright, his eyes clear, his gaze sometimes piercing, but his mouth was softer than the rest of his features, a clue to the warmth of his heart. He had warm brown eyes and light brown hair, but not the pure blond of his companion’s locks. Adam’s profile was almost beautiful, his hair short but softly curled about perfect features, his eyes a blue some called cerulean and his mouth sensuous. His body had all the proportions of a Greek god and his skin the natural tan that came from being accustomed to a life outdoors in a warm climate.

‘Ah yes, your father.’ Adam frowned, uncertain now. ‘As I recall, you did not exactly see eye to eye with Lord Frant?’

‘No, and never could after the way he treated my mother and I...’

Paul’s eyes narrowed in anger. The row with his father after his mother died had split them apart. Paul had left his home vowing never to return while his father lived, and he’d kept his word. He’d made his own way, rising first to the rank of Major with Wellington at Salamanca and then, after a wound to his leg from which he recovered well, gave up the Army that would have bound him to an administrative position and used his share of the prize money to go out to India and invest with the Company. Some shrewd business moves had made him richer than he’d expected, and a fortunate encounter with a rich Maharaja had resulted in him being made an honorary son and given lands and palaces. If he chose to return to India, he could live like a prince and marry almost anyone he chose.

Paul knew that Annamarie had hoped he would ask her to be his wife. Because he’d once saved the life of a prince, Paul had a unique position in the region. It would have suited the daughter of an English lady and an Indian prince to marry a man who had both English rank and Indian favour. Together they might have been second in importance to the present Maharaja in the district. She’d made it quite clear that she hoped for a proposal of marriage before he left for England, but Paul had not been sure what he wanted.

In England he had inherited his father’s title and estates, but he knew that his younger brother—the son of his father’s second wife, although still only in his teens, would have been delighted to step into his shoes. Paul had no need of his family estates in England—and in particular he had not needed the bother of the small estate that had come to him through a distant cousin. The young girls who were made his wards by Bellingham’s will were a part of Paul’s reason for returning. Although he’d been told the older girl had married well, that still left the younger one—at eighteen, she was ready for marriage if a husband could be found for her. To that end, Paul had written to an old friend of his mother who had recently been widowed, asking her if she would be kind enough to chaperon the young girl. She had graciously given her consent, though the exchange of letters had taken months to complete. It was imperative that the girl be chaperoned, for Paul was unmarried and could therefore not fulfil his task of guardian without female assistance.

Some years had passed since Paul had met Lady Moira. He’d been seventeen then and it had been just before his mother died of grief over her husband’s infidelity, and the terrible quarrel that caused him to leave home and become an officer in the Guards. Fortunately, he’d had some small fortune left him by his maternal grandmother and when his own father cut him off without a penny was able to survive on his pay as an officer and his allowance from the inheritance. Later, he’d won prize money and honours and life had become much easier when an uncle left him a small fortune.

Paul knew that his father had bequeathed everything that was not entailed to his half-brother. He minded that not at all, and would have been glad to pass the rest of it over had he been sure he did not wish to live in England, but some small perverse part of him clung to what his father had been forced to leave him. How it must have gone against the grain with Lord Frant to know that the son of the wife he’d married for her dowry would have his title.

Paul would have freely admitted that the woman his father had taken in his mother’s place was beautiful. Goodness knew, his own mother had been far from a beauty, but she had a beautiful nature, gentle and loving—and her heart had been broken by her husband’s cold indifference.

Watching his mother fade, become frailer and sadder, had broken the young Paul’s heart and after her death he’d railed at his father for his cruelty.

‘I never loved her,’ his father had told him bluntly. ‘I needed her money to restore my estates—but it was not the fortune I’d been led to believe. A paltry twenty thousand...’

‘Twenty thousand would have been a fortune to many,’ Paul said. ‘If you’d put it to good use instead of wasting it on gambling and women...’

‘Your mother came from trade and it has not yet been bred out of you,’ his father sneered. ‘Had I known I should get no more when the old man died I’d never have taken the silly bitch.’

Paul had tried to knock him down then, but his father was a strong bull of a man and he’d sent the youth flying. Even so, Paul had tried again and again, until his face was cut and bleeding and he could not rise.

‘Well, you can take yourself off where you came from,’ his father said. ‘Go back to the mills and dens of the North and stay where you belong...’

His taunt was a cheap one, for though his maternal grandfather’s wealth had come from the mills of the North, they had been sold two generations back and the money invested in land. However, the Martins were better mill owners than farmers and much of their former wealth had been badly invested. Paul had received a bequest of ten thousand pounds on his grandfather’s death, and was the owner of several hundred acres of farmland, but had the family still owned the mills they would have been worth more.

Lord Frant had inherited the ten thousand that would have come to his wife on her father’s death, but thought nothing of the sum and promptly lost it in a week of frantic gambling at the tables.

Paul had known nothing of this or his own inheritance for some years, by which time he was well on the way to making his own fortune. Now, on the verge of entering the house that had been his father’s, he felt chilled. Standing in the dark, unwelcoming hall, he thought of turning tail and finding accommodation in a hotel, but pride would not let him.

‘Welcome home, my lord. It’s good to see you back.’

Paul looked hard at the black-clothed footman who had opened the door to them and his brow wrinkled in concentration. ‘Is it Matthews?’ he asked at last and saw the smile on the man’s face.

‘Yes, my lord,’ he said. ‘I worked as a boot boy when you were a lad, sir, then as a man of all work. I was made up to footman six years back.’

‘Were you now?’ Paul nodded, looking him over. He glanced about him. ‘I seem to remember this hall looked different when I last stayed here.’

The smile left Matthews’s face. ‘Yes, sir. I regret to say that his late lordship sold much of the furniture and the paintings last year.’

‘In debt again, I suppose,’ Paul said and sighed. ‘Has he left me anything worth having?’

‘Not much, my lord,’ the footman replied. ‘The bedrooms are mostly the same but the silver, pictures and some porcelain pieces have been sold. Your mother’s rooms were stripped bare years ago...’ Matthews looked awkward. ‘Thought you should know, sir.’

‘Well, what are a few bits and pieces?’ Paul said and laughed ruefully as he turned to his companion. ‘I’m sorry to bring you to such a place, Adam—but I dare say we’ve a bed to offer and, I hope, some food.’

‘Oh, yes, sir. Your instructions have been followed. A new housekeeper and cook were hired and the rooms opened up and cleaned. Mrs Brooks says she’s made one room look proper for you, sir; it used to be her ladyship’s sitting room...that is to say your mother’s room, my lord. I believe a fire has been lit there for you...’

‘Thank goodness someone has some sense,’ Paul said as he led the way through to a room he knew well. Matthews was directing two other footmen to carry his bags upstairs, and a woman had appeared from the room at the far end of the hall. She hurried forward, seeming flustered.

‘We were not sure when to expect you, sir.’

‘I think we should like some wine and a light meal in the green room, Mrs Brooks.’

‘Yes, my lord. I understood it was the room you favoured as a lad—and the other room usable is what was known as the library, sir.’

‘Don’t tell me the books have been sold?’

‘Some of them, sir. However, it is quite comfortable—until your lordship decides what to do about refurbishing the other rooms...’

Paul gave a wry laugh. The Frant library had contained some rare books and the loss of those meant more to him than any silver or paintings, but he could not do anything about that loss. His father had sold everything he could without actually breaking the entail, and he supposed he ought to have expected it. Had he come home with only a few guineas in his pocket he would have been in trouble, but as it was he could afford to smile at the pettiness of the man he’d called Father.

At least his mother’s room was comfortable, though not as he’d remembered it. Nothing of hers remained, but everything decent in the house must have been placed here and the comfortable wing chairs by the fire were more than adequate, as was the mahogany desk and elbow chair, the large settee and the sideboard on which some fine glasses and decanters stood waiting.

‘At least it seems I have some wine to offer you,’ Paul said, casting an eye over the contents. ‘Brandy, Madeira or Burgundy?’

‘A glass of Madeira, please,’ Adam said and stretched out in one of the chairs. ‘Well, you’ll be busy now, my friend, though I do not envy you the task. Buying furnishings is not my idea of amusement.’

‘Nor mine,’ Paul said and laughed. ‘I imagine I can find someone to do it for me.’

‘Know what you need?’

‘No. What?’ Paul asked with his lazy smile.

‘What you need, my friend, is a wife,’ Adam said, a faint challenge in his eyes. ‘Just the thing for making a man’s house look comfortable. I’m thinking of getting one myself now I’ve given up adventuring—and if I were you I should do the same...’

‘It’s odd that you should say it,’ Paul said thoughtfully. ‘I have been wondering if perhaps I ought not to offer her marriage—Bellingham’s girl, you know. I’m damned if I wanted her father’s estate, but perhaps I ought to offer her a home. I could only do that if I married her...’

‘I should think about it for a while if I were you,’ Adam advised. ‘You haven’t seen her yet—and she is a little young for you, is she not?’

‘You are quite right, which is why my words were mere idle speculation. No, I shall not marry unless I find the right woman...’

‘You at least do not need to look for a fortune,’ Adam said and there was the faintest trace of envy in his voice. ‘You have more than enough for any man.’

‘Yes, I have been lucky,’ Paul agreed, ‘but it was honestly earned—and I have not yet decided where to settle...’

‘You won’t return to India?’

‘I do not know.’ Paul sighed. ‘It has been my home for several years—I am not sure there is anything to keep me here. You came home to settle your affairs, Adam—shall you return after you have done so?’

‘I am in two minds,’ Adam said and his eyes stared at a point beyond Paul’s shoulder. ‘It depends on many things. Not least whether I have sufficient funds to live decently here...’

‘Surely your father has not left anything away from you? You were his only son.’

‘No, but the question is—has he actually left me anything but debts?’ Adam asked wryly. ‘I did not earn a fortune out there as you did, Paul—and, for all I know, I may be a pauper...’

Chapter Three

‘This is so very kind of you,’ Melia cried, looking round the pretty bedroom with delight. ‘My aunt is very good to me, but, poor dear, she could hardly be expected to bring me to town. Such a delightful room...’

‘My brother was concerned that you should have the best guest room, Miss Bellingham,’ Jane said, smiling at the girl’s pleasure. ‘It is a lovely room. I have stayed here myself many times in the past.’

‘Oh, you should not have given me your room,’ Melia said. ‘I do not wish to put you out, dear Lady March.’

‘No, you have not,’ Jane said, shaking her head. ‘This was my room as a girl, but now I have a permanent suite of three rooms at the other side of the house. At least, it has been mine since...for a while now. Of course, when my brother marries I shall take a house of my own. I am thinking of making my home in Bath.’

‘You will not desert the viscount?’ Melia cried involuntarily. ‘I know he is so fond of you, relies on you for advice in almost everything.’

‘He will turn to the lady he marries once he becomes a devoted husband and I should not wish to interfere with her way of running the household.’

‘Oh, but perhaps she would rather leave it to you.’ Melia’s face was an open book. Jane held back her smile because it was obvious that the young woman had no interest in the duties of a chatelaine, but thought only of the amusement of being a bride and being spoiled by a devoted husband. ‘If his wife is young and knows little of household management. I hate dealing with servants; they are always so superior if they think you don’t know—don’t you find?’

Jane’s merriment left her and she answered seriously. ‘It is important that one does know what one wants. The first rule is to make your people respect you. It is good if they also like you—but a calm, firm manner when giving instructions is always best. You must have observed it in your aunt’s house.’

‘Oh, no,’ Melia said ingenuously. ‘Aunt is so lazy. Her butler rules the household and arranges everything as she likes it. He has been with her since she was a girl and treats her as if he were a benevolent uncle. She never seems to give orders. Benson just does everything without needing to be told.’

‘How fortunate is Mrs Bellingham to have such a devoted man in her service.’

‘She is always complaining about things, but never to Benson, of course. She might have everything as she likes if she stirred herself, but she can never be bothered and just leaves it all to him—and then she grumbles if the meals are not quite what she wanted.’

‘Well, at least you know how not to conduct your household,’ Jane said, amused by this description of the indolent Mrs Bellingham. ‘Now, my dear, I want you to settle in first and come down when you are ready. I shall order some tea in half an hour in my sitting room downstairs, but you may have a tray brought up if you wish to rest.’

‘I am not in the least tired,’ Melia declared. ‘I shall come down and join you... Do you mean that very pleasant sunny room at the back of the house?’

‘Yes, it was Mama’s until she remarried,’ Jane said. ‘Now, of course, she has a dozen pretty rooms she may choose from, and if she wants anything different she has only to ask Porky.’

‘Is that what you call the duke?’ Melia’s eyes sparkled with mischief as Jane nodded and laughed. ‘Oh, it does suit him—but it is a terrible thing to call such a lovely man. He was so kind to me when I attended the wedding as one of your mama’s bridesmaids—and he gave me a beautiful gold bracelet as a gift.’

‘Roshithe is a lovely man, and so kind to us all,’ Jane said. ‘I assure you, the name was given him years ago and stuck. He does not regard it, because he knows it is used with affection. His enemies are more likely to call him Roshithe in a supercilious manner, and that he does resent—though you should probably address him as sir, unless he gives you permission to use the name.’

‘I would not dare. I shall probably address him as Your Grace...’

‘He cannot abide that sort of toad-eating, as he calls it, Miss Bellingham. Much better just to use the simple sir.’

‘I’ll try to remember,’ Melia promised and gave Jane a small shy smile. ‘Will you not call me Melia?’

‘Yes, of course, if you wish it—and you must reciprocate. I am Jane to my family and friends.’

‘Yes, I know. Viscount Salisbury always speaks of you that way. He is very fond of you, Jane.’

‘We have always been close,’ Jane said. ‘I shall leave you to change if you wish.’

She left the bedchamber, which was indeed the prettiest in the house, its curtains pink and white striped silk, which matched the décor of pinks, cream and a deep crimson. Jane had ordered some pink roses to be placed on the dressing stand to complete the welcome offered to a lady who might, if she chose, become the next mistress here.

It would mean a big change in Jane’s life, she thought as she made her way down to the sitting room she favoured. She would miss playing hostess for her brother and it would be an upheaval making the move to Bath, but she intended to make way for her brother’s wife, despite Melia’s hints that she would be welcome to stay on to run the house for her. No, that would eventually lead to resentment and perhaps unkind words between them; Melia might need help at first but once she found her own confidence she would not wish for another woman in her home.

Jane had already begun to make inquiries about a house in Bath. She was unsure whether she wished to rent a place while she looked about her or buy something immediately. If she bought she would need to furnish it, and she intended to look for suitable items while she was in town this time. Even if her brother Will was not successful in securing his bride immediately, it would happen, and Jane had no wish to live in the country house left to her by her husband.

‘It’s a bit dull and quite lonely,’ Harry had told her the day he took her to see his small country house. ‘I know we can make it nice, Jane—and with servants and children it will soon become a home. I dare say we’ll make friends soon enough. There’s plenty of time before we have to retire to a country life, because I want to rise in the Army. We can live in London when we’re home on leave—and in time you will find a way to make this place into a home.’

Jane had assured him gaily that she would enjoy it, but that future had seemed so far away as not to be of much interest. Before they settled down to living off the land, they had so much fun to have—travelling overseas, putting up at the most frightful billets had all seemed amusing to the young couple in love. Her friends were Harry’s friends, the ladies she met officers’ wives, all living their nomad existence with a smile on their faces and secret fear in their hearts. Yet, even so, Jane had not thought it could all end so abruptly. She’d thought of her life as being married to Harry for years and years, but in fact she’d had only a year of happiness.

She would not think of that! Jane told herself severely that she must begin to look to the future. She had already written to her cousin. Sarah’s reply had not arrived before they left for London, but Will’s servants would send on any letters and, if Sarah wished, Jane would invite her to join them in town.

She would make a few inquiries about whom to consult on the matter of furnishing a house, but perhaps it might be better to hire a furnished house for a start, though Jane had some of her personal things at her brother’s country house. She had intended to set up her own home long ago but living in Will’s home had proved so pleasant for them both that she’d let her own plans drift.

‘It is lovely to have you here again, ma’am,’ Mrs Yates, Will’s London housekeeper, came up to her as she reached the hall. ‘There are quite a few letters waiting for you in the parlour, Lady March. I dare say your ladyship’s friends knew of your intention and most of them look like invitations.’

‘Yes, I dare say,’ Jane replied with a faint twist of her lips. ‘Mama knew we were coming, of course, and I imagine she has informed most of her friends—and that includes everyone who gives decent parties...’

Jane laughed softly as she saw an answering gleam in the housekeeper’s eyes, because Mama was well known in this house. She picked up the large pile of letters and cards awaiting her and flicked through them. Three were in her mother’s hand, each of them speaking of some party she really must attend or an exhibition she must see. Her mother intended to visit her the day after she arrived and she was to come to dinner that evening and bring the delightful young woman she’d invited as her guest.

Laying aside her mother’s letters, Jane opened some of the others. Most, as her housekeeper had guessed, were invitations to dances, masques, picnics, dinner and a grand ball. If she tried to attend them all, and this was the tip of the iceberg because as soon as it was known she was in town the invitations would pour in, she would need to attend three affairs in an evening so as not to offend the eager hostesses.

Picking up a neat cream-coloured envelope addressed to Lady March in a hand she did not recognise, Jane slit the seal and took out the piece of paper inside. She frowned as she read the few lines written on the single sheet.

Madam, Lady March,

Forgive me for writing when you do not know me, but I have been informed that my ward, Miss Amelia Bellingham, is to stay with you in town. I would ask that you let me know when it is convenient to call on you both.

Yours sincerely,

Paul Frant.

Brief and to the point, not particularly friendly, Jane thought as she scanned the lines again. She had not been aware that there was any other guardian than Mrs Bellingham. As Melia’s father’s widowed sister-in-law, she would surely be the proper person to have charge of the girl, Jane thought, but obviously Lord Frant—whoever he might be—thought differently.

It was slightly concerning, because the tone of the letter was distinctly cool. In fact, she would say that he’d been annoyed when he wrote the letter—only yesterday. She wondered if Melia knew of the gentleman and decided to ask when she came down for tea. Meanwhile, she continued to open her letters, discovering two more invitations for balls and one to the theatre from a close friend of her mother’s.

Major Harte was some years older than Jane, but he had taken a fancy to her the last time she was in London and she’d received more than one proposal from him. As she knew he was a widower with two daughters under fifteen and needed a wife to keep them in order, Jane understood his persistence, but always gave him the same answer. She was not yet ready to remarry...

She had just finished sorting her letters into piles, those needing replies in one pile and the others in another, when the door opened to admit the housekeeper carrying a tray. Melia followed her in and tea was poured.

‘I thought we would dine at home this evening,’ Jane told her. ‘It is the only night we shall be at home, because we are invited out almost every night for our entire stay, and will go from one to the other like bees gathering pollen from flowers.’

Melia laughed and looked delighted. ‘Could we visit the duchess this afternoon? I do so like your mama, Jane.’

‘She informed me that she would be out but would visit us tomorrow afternoon and expected us to dine at night. What we might do is visit my dressmaker and milliner, Melia. I think you might like some new clothes. Your own are pretty, but not quite as stylish as the fashions in town.’

‘My aunt gave me fifty pounds, but I’m not sure how many clothes that will buy...’ she said doubtfully and Jane smiled.

‘Your aunt told me to have your dressmaking bills sent to her, my love. She would not expect you to spend your pin money on clothes. No, we shall have your measurements taken, and see if there is anything already made up that might fit you with some alteration.’

‘Do you think there will be?’ Melia looked anxious. ‘At home it takes ages to have dresses made up.’

‘Oh, I am sure Madame François will be able to accommodate us sooner than that,’ Jane assured her. ‘She has many girls working under her and takes no more than a day or so to complete a simple gown—and often there is a half-finished dress from a cancellation that we may have finished to your specification if you care for it.’

‘Oh, good,’ Melia said, excitement rising. ‘How soon may we go?’

‘We shall have our tea and some of these delightful sandwiches and biscuits Mrs Yates has brought us, and then we may fetch our bonnets. I shall have the carriage sent for in one hour...’ She got up to ring the bell, then remembered the annoying letter.

‘Do you know of a Paul Frant?’ she asked. ‘Is that the person who inherited your father’s estate?’

‘Lord Frant, yes...’ Melia looked wary, her hand suspended as she was about to eat a tiny cucumber sandwich. ‘He is in India I think...’

‘According to the letter I received this morning, he must be in England as he has learned that you were coming to stay with me here—he has asked to meet us both at our earliest convenience. Did you know he was returning?’

‘I didn’t know when,’ Melia said a little guiltily. ‘He sent a letter but it was vague. I did not see why it should interfere with my plans...’

‘No,’ Jane replied, but she wasn’t sure. Melia was underage and if her guardian had chosen to withhold permission for this visit he might have done so: Melia had clearly chosen to ignore his letter. ‘What did he ask you to do?’

‘Oh, he spoke of my returning to my father’s estate and said that he would provide a chaperon for me,’ Melia said with a shrug of her pretty shoulders. ‘However, his meaning was vague, and I had already arranged this visit. If he wishes me to live at Willow House with a chaperon he must arrange it with my aunt—that is the proper way, do you not agree? After all, I know nothing of Lord Frant—or this lady he wishes to foist on me.’

‘It would certainly be best for him to speak to both you and your aunt, to ascertain what your wishes are,’ Jane agreed, but she felt slightly anxious on her young friend’s behalf, for she surely did not wish to antagonise the man who might do something for her if he chose. Not that a dowry would signify if she took Will, because he could well afford to provide for his wife.

‘Oh, well, I shall write this evening,’ Jane said, dismissing the matter. ‘Finish your meal, Melia, and then we’ll change and visit my dressmaker. I wrote her that we might so she will be expecting us...’

* * *

‘Oh, what a pretty little thing it is that you bring me to dress...’ Madame Françoise cooed over Melia’s trim figure. ‘She ees perfection, no?’

‘Yes, I believe Melia will take very well,’ Jane said. ‘Particularly, I think, if she is seen first in Society wearing one of your creations, Madame. Do you have anything at all that she could wear almost immediately?’

‘Yes, I believe perhaps...there is the blue silk, Michelle—and the yellow net... Fetch them quickly!’ Madame Françoise clapped her hands and the seamstress hurried to obey.

In all, four half-finished gowns were produced. They were orders that had been cancelled or changed after the work had begun and Madame was delighted to do the small amount of work needed to finish them to Miss Bellingham’s liking. Melia was charmed with what she saw and easily pleased, agreeing to the four gowns and agonising over a wealth of materials, styles and trimmings until Jane declared it was enough for one day and assured Madame Françoise that she would receive more visits until an adequate wardrobe had been supplied.

Riding home in the carriage with Jane later that afternoon, Melia was excited and talked endlessly of the gowns they had ordered until at last she grew a little quiet, and then looked at her hostess anxiously.

‘You do not think I have been too extravagant?’ she asked in a small voice. ‘I have very little money of my own and my aunt has already been generous...’

‘Mrs Bellingham is not a poor woman,’ Jane said. ‘She assured me that she wanted you turned out in fine style, Melia. I should not worry if I were you. I shall pay for everything, and your aunt will reimburse me in good time.’

‘You are both very good to me,’ Melia said with the shy smile which Will’s sister thought was probably what had drawn him to her. She had taken to the young girl and thought that if he did marry Melia he would most likely be very happy, for she had a sunny nature—even if she did bend the truth a little now and then.

It was as they approached Will’s town house that they saw a man leaving it. He paused for a moment in the sunshine, looking about him in a manner that Jane could only describe as impatient, and then strode off in the opposite direction. She did not have long to wonder who it might have been for they encountered Will coming down the stairs as they entered and he exclaimed at once.

‘Ah, there you both are! Lord Frant called in the hope of seeing you, Melia. At first he was quite put out at finding you both out—and seemed surprised that you should be staying here in my house. I had to explain that Jane lives with me and that you were her very good friend...’

‘I do not see why he should be put out.’ Jane frowned at him. ‘I had his letter and intended writing to make an appointment for one morning this week. If he must call without one, he must not expect us to be sitting in waiting for him.’

Will looked a little surprised at her tone, for she did not often speak so sharply. ‘I wasn’t aware that you knew him, Jane?’

‘I do not,’ she replied and laughed. ‘His letter rubbed me up the wrong way. You had gone to your club, Will—and we decided to visit the dressmaker to have some new gowns made up for Melia. Had he said he would call this afternoon I would have put it off until tomorrow—though how Melia can be expected to appear in public without some decent clothes I do not know...’

‘I dare say you’ve already taken care of all that,’ Will said and grinned at her. ‘Besides, Melia looks very pretty in what she’s wearing.’

Since Melia was wearing a simple yellow gown of muslin over a thin petticoat with a charming bonnet of straw trimmed with matching ribbons, there was truth in his words, but only the silk shawl that Jane had lent her had given the ensemble a touch of town bronze. Since he saw his beloved through rose-tinted spectacles, he could not be expected to realise that—though, had his sister ever appeared in town in such a simple robe, he might have raised his eyebrows at her.

‘Well, I shall write to Lord Frant and explain,’ Jane said. ‘Will, please ring for some tea for us all while I see to my letter—Melia will keep you company. Unless she has something more urgent pressing?’

Melia dimpled prettily and shook her head. She and Will walked into the front parlour, talking together animatedly. Jane thought the very ease of their manner together boded well for the future, but she was not certain that her young guest’s mind was as firmly fixed on marriage as was her brother’s.

She went into the smaller parlour that was her own when in town and sat down to pen a polite letter, explaining that she had taken Melia out to order some of the wardrobe she would need for the season. She apologised for wasting his time; had she known of his intention to call she would have waited in but, since they had arrived only that morning, Melia had been anxious to see a little of the town.

Feeling pleased with a letter that matched his in coolness, but was far politer, she sealed it with her own wax, mauve in colour, and pressed Harry’s ring into it. Lord Frant should see that he was dealing with the widow of Lord March and not some little nobody he could order about as he pleased! She had informed him that she would be at home any morning that week from ten-thirty until twelve and he would be welcome to call in those hours, but at other times he might find them all out.

* * *

Paul frowned over the letter that had been brought to his house just as he was changing for the evening. He and Adam had been invited to dine at a gentleman’s house and to play cards in the evening. Since the gentleman was an officer they’d known when serving with Wellington, both were delighted to accept.

Paul was not sure what to make of the letter. The paper smelled delightfully of a perfume that pleased the senses, but which he could not have named for it was subtler than the heavy perfumes he’d been used to in India. The writing was beautifully formed, but the message seemed glacial to him. What could he have done to deserve such excessive politeness? He’d seen middle-aged ladies giving the cold shoulder to some junior officers before this, but he himself had never been on the receiving end.

Lady March was probably some old trout with an acid tongue, he thought and grimaced. It was regrettable that he must call on her during the hours she’d set, for he normally steered well clear of those very haughty dames. However, since his ward had chosen to ignore his invitation to take up residence in her own home and await her chaperon and his ideas for her future, he had no choice. Had he been married, he would have had no hesitation in commanding Miss Bellingham to do as he bid her, but, as a single man of no more than one and thirty, he must be circumspect in his dealings with the young lady—and therefore he must try to get on to terms with the old biddy who had brought her to London. He had never met the Viscount Salisbury or any member of his family, but he’d been told by Mrs Bellingham that they were respectable people and rich. He’d thought Lady March a younger woman, but the tone of this letter made him think he’d been mistaken.

Well, he would forget it for this evening. Paul had already set things in motion regarding the furnishing of his house. Lady Moira had returned to town after discovering that her charge was not in residence at Paul’s country house and, discovering that he was camping out in two rooms, promised to arrange for him to meet a very good man who would furnish his house in the latest style.

He’d thanked her, for although he had his own ideas on what he wanted, he really had no idea where to start. Lady Moira knew all the best shops and the silk merchants—because, she said, when she called, all the drapes in the house needed refurbishment too.

Adam had told him he needed a wife, and a certain unease at the back of Paul’s mind warned him that Lady Moira was thinking of herself as filling the position, which meant he would be reluctant to ask for her help furnishing his house. She was actually five years older, but because she dressed in the first style, was intelligent and up to date in her thinking, she seemed younger. Many men seemed to prefer a slightly older woman, and there was something very sensual about Lady Moira. Although Paul did not care for the perfume she wore; it was too heavy and reminded him of some that the ladies of easy virtue who pleasured the Army officers had a habit of wearing. Indeed, Lady Moira reminded him of a beautiful courtesan he’d been offered by the Indian Prince he’d saved from death.

‘I owe you my life, sahib,’ the young Prince told him. ‘Selima is of royal blood and she is yours for the taking. She is trained to please men and she will show you tricks you never dreamed of, my dear lord and saviour.’

Paul had held his laughter inside for he knew the young man believed he was bestowing a great honour by giving him the services of the beautiful concubine, but he’d refused as politely as he could. A certain gleam in the woman’s eyes had spoken of a sly nature and she’d held no appeal for him. However, to refuse point-blank would have been considered an insult, so Paul was forced to fabricate an excuse. He’d been preparing himself for marriage with his English bride, he’d said, and must forswear the pleasures of the flesh until his wedding so that he could do his bride justice.

This had found favour with the young Prince, who clapped his hands and said very seriously that he thought the sahib was wise not to waste his strength on a courtesan when he could have a sweet young bride. Selima would be waiting for him when he returned to India, his heir already born or on its way.

Everyone had felt certain that Paul would return. Why would he wish to live in a cold, wet climate when he could have a life of ease in the heat and splendour of palaces made cool by tinkling fountains and little pools, with lilies and beautiful courtesans to play in them and await the attentions of their master? A wife was necessary for sons, who could inherit his wealth, but after one had sons there was so much more to enjoy.

Paul did not truly know what he wished for. Since his return, almost two weeks since, he’d taken a trip into the country to look at various estates, hoping to find Miss Bellingham where he’d expected her to be. Failing that, he’d visited her aunt and finally returned to London in a less than contented mood. He was still not quite back to his full strength and felt the extra journey had been wasted. Finding that his ward was out when he’d called that afternoon had seemed the outside of enough, and now this letter... For two pins he would sell his estates here and return to India. There seemed little reason for him to stay and he had almost made up his mind to book a passage next month, leaving the winding up of his various estates to his agents and lawyers.

* * *

Jane had just come downstairs the next morning and was about to write some letters in her parlour when she heard the door knocker sound in a manner that was no less than imperious. She hesitated as the footman looked at her, inclined her head and said, ‘I’ll be in my parlour if it is for me, John.’

Going into her parlour, Jane sat at her desk and dipped her pen in the ink. She had just begun her first reply to an invitation when a tap at her door heralded the arrival of the impatient guest. She waited as the door opened and the man she was expecting was announced. Getting slowly to her feet, Jane looked at the man that entered, her heart suddenly beating faster. He was at least a head taller than she, and she was a tall woman. Harry had been slightly shorter but that had never mattered because they were so much in love, but this man could look down on her. Her first thought was that he had a harsh face, but was otherwise unremarkable, and then she looked at his eyes—fierce, and wild, she thought with a little shock, untamed.

‘I have come to speak with Lady March and my ward, Miss Amelia Bellingham. Would you have the goodness to ask them to come down, ma’am?’

‘I am Lady March, and I will certainly ask Melia to come down shortly, but perhaps it might be wise if we spoke first alone?’

‘You—but you’re far too young...’ he said, looking astonished.

‘What have you been told?’ Jane felt a laugh escape her, try as she might to control it. ‘Forgive me, sir, but I believe you are Lord Frant—and I am certainly Lady March. My brother, the Viscount Salisbury, will verify that if you wish.’

‘Of course not...forgive me,’ he said and his eyes glinted, though she was not sure whether it was anger or something else she saw in them. ‘I presumed from...but no matter. I hope I do not inconvenience you but you did say any morning at this hour?’

‘So I did,’ Jane replied. ‘Melia is trying on some gowns that were delivered this morning, but I will send for her in a moment. When we have established why it is so very urgent that you see both of us.’

‘I merely wished to make her acquaintance,’ he said, looking as if the wind had been taken out of his sails. ‘Without my consent or knowledge, her father made both Amelia and Elizabeth my wards. The elder girl is married but I thought...’ He paused, as though he was not sure what he wanted to say. ‘It was never my wish that they should be turned from their home and I wanted to make sure that they—Miss Amelia in particular—had all she needed for her comfort and happiness...’

‘Ah, then we are in agreement,’ Jane said and smiled at him. He stared at her as though he did not quite know what had hit him. ‘Melia is my friend and—although it is not certain, she may one day be my sister. I believe my brother is fond of her and, if they find they suit, he intends to make her an offer of marriage....’

‘Indeed...’ Lord Frant went on staring at her. She thought he looked shocked and felt quite sorry for him. Jane suspected that he had come spoiling for a fight, and something—she had no idea what—had pricked the bubble of anger, leaving him drained like an empty balloon. ‘I am glad to hear she has prospects. It was—and still is—my intention to settle five thousand pounds on her. I intend to do the same for her sister. Ten thousand pounds is more or less the sum I shall receive once I sell the Bellingham estate, and I have no wish to profit from any of it.’

‘It is your intention to sell then?’ Jane appraised him with her clear eyes. ‘I had thought perhaps you had come home to live?’

‘Yes, perhaps I have,’ he said, seeming to come back to himself all at once. He smiled and she saw that his mouth was soft and sensual, not at all hard or harsh as she’d first thought. ‘I have not decided; it will depend on various things...’

‘Well, I see we have reached a happy agreement,’ Jane said, realising she had quite misjudged him. ‘I shall send Melia down to you so that you may talk in private.’

‘Oh, no,’ he said quickly. ‘Pray send your servant to fetch her, ma’am. There is nothing I wish to say that you may not hear...’

Chapter Four

‘We have an engagement for the theatre tomorrow evening,’ Paul told Adam when they met at the boxing club that afternoon. ‘Please keep the evening free, dear fellow. I want you to escort my ward, while I entertain her chaperon.’

‘Do you mean Lady Moira?’ Adam asked, reluctant, for he had not liked the lady Paul had chosen for the task when she called at the house.

‘Oh, no, that is all changed,’ Paul informed him in a blithe tone that made him arch his brows. ‘Lady March will be accompanying us. Melia is happy with her and there seems no point in taking her away from where she is settled. Besides, it was all arranged on the spur of the moment. I did ask Viscount Salisbury—Lady March’s brother—to accompany us, but he was engaged to play cards that evening.’

‘So you thought I would oblige?’ Adam gave him a clear look. ‘I suppose Miss Bellingham looks like a horse?’

Paul gave a shout of laughter. ‘I think her quite pretty. Of course she cannot hold a candle to Lady March... She is lovely, Adam. Truly lovely...’

‘Good grief, if I did not know better I would think you smitten,’ Adam said and his eyebrows rose higher as he saw the expression on Paul’s face. ‘Are you? Is she more beautiful than Annamarie?’

‘Completely different and utterly wonderful...’ Paul shook his head as he saw the astonishment in his friend’s eyes. ‘Yes, you may stare. Such a letter she wrote me! I thought she must be some old trout and went there prepared to put her down—but one look from those eyes and I was floored. I just stood there and couldn’t speak for some minutes. I have never experienced anything like it, my dear fellow. She took my breath away when she smiled.’

‘You have got it bad,’ Adam said drily, still hardly believing that he was hearing those words from Paul’s mouth. ‘In India you could have had any woman you wanted...including the daughter of an earl, but you barely spared any of them a look.’

‘Wait until you see her,’ Paul said. He grinned at his friend. ‘If you value your life, please do not fall in love with her. She’s mine...’

‘Prepared to fight to the death for her, are you?’ Adam teased, thinking he was merely jesting, and then caught his breath as he saw the answer in Paul’s face. ‘What is so special about Lady March?’

Paul stared at him for a full minute in silence and then shook his head. ‘I’m damned if I know, Adam. She is beautiful, but it isn’t that...the laughter in her eyes, perhaps, and yet it isn’t just that. To be honest, I have no idea why I feel this way; it just came out of the blue. I was angry, prepared to come the injured party and demand my rights, but then...it was just so sudden. One minute I wanted to strangle her, and the next it took me all my resolve not to take her in my arms and kiss her until she surrendered.’

‘I should not advise that you do any such thing,’ Adam warned. ‘I met her brother this morning at my club and he told me that Jane is still grieving for her husband. He has only been dead just over two years.’

‘Jane...her name is Jane? Sweet Jane, my love,’ Paul said and sighed. ‘Yes, I was told she was recently a widow but I didn’t realise...I thought her older. She is the woman for me. If she will not have me then I shall never marry.’

‘Nonsense,’ Adam chided. ‘You do not know her yet. Supposing she turns out to have a vicious temper and a sharp tongue?’

Paul looked rueful. ‘She may have, for all I know. She certainly wrote me a cool letter but perhaps I deserved it, for mine to her was curt and I was angry when I left the viscount’s house.’

‘Be careful, my friend. You do not know this lady yet. Take your time, for if you plunge straight in one of two things will happen...’ Paul looked enquiring and he smiled. ‘Either she is on the catch for a husband and she will take you for your money—or she truly loved her husband and will break your heart by turning you down instantly.’

‘I do not think there is a lack of money there,’ Paul said. ‘Nor do I think she is on the catch for a husband—but she would very likely turn me down flat. No, you are right, Adam. I must play a long game—but I could not help sharing my feelings with you. You are the only other person I care for in the world. Had I had you for a brother I should have counted myself fortunate.’

‘Speaking of brothers, have you heard from that lad—your stepbrother?’

‘Mark? No, I have not and I do not expect to. He must be at Harrow or Eton by now—and I heard that his mother had remarried to a rich man. I believe she thought my father wealthy and must have been disappointed when she discovered that he was far from it, and a gambler to boot. He would have spent all she had, I dare say, leaving her only with her widow’s settlement.’

‘You are not thinking of settling money on her, I hope?’

‘Certainly not,’ Paul said and his expression hardened. ‘She and her brat may go to the devil for all I care. She was already carrying her son when they married. I believe the affair had gone on for a while before my mother died of a broken heart.’

‘Well, I am glad of your decision,’ Adam said frankly. ‘You have one weakness—a soft heart for those in trouble. Do not let your family take advantage of you—and make certain this widow is what you think her before you offer marriage.’

‘I would go down on bended knee and beg her to marry me today if I thought she would say yes,’ Paul told him and smiled wryly. ‘Do not worry, my friend. I shall exercise all the caution you advise in other matters—but where Jane is concerned...’

Adam shook his head and gave up, grinning from ear to ear. ‘I never thought to hear those words from your lips, but if you feel that way, Paul, I can only wish you joy.’

‘Save your good wishes until she takes me,’ Paul said. ‘You will come to the theatre?’

‘Wild horses would not keep me away now,’ Adam replied with a twist of his mouth. ‘I am curious about Miss Bellingham—and even more interested in meeting Lady March...’

* * *

‘I wish you had not agreed to go to the theatre with that fellow,’ Will said to his sister that afternoon at tea. ‘I would not have minded if I could accompany you—but we hardly know him, and I do not trust him near Melia...’

‘I believe him to be a gentleman.’ Jane smiled and placed a gentle hand on his arm. ‘Do not concern yourself, dearest. Lord Frant has no interest in Melia other than as his ward. I think he found the whole business troublesome and was glad to leave her in my care once he understood that we were respectable. He is to settle five thousand on her, which is a decent sum. Not that you care one iota for a dowry, but others might.’

‘It does not matter what others think,’ Will said loftily. ‘Melia is already sure of her future...should she wish it.’

Jane looked at him intently. ‘Melia is very young, my love. I think her sweet and gentle and I am sure she would make you happy—but you must not be too certain of her yet. Bringing her to London may not prove to have the result you hoped for.’

‘You think she might fall in love with someone else?’

Will looked so hurt that Jane felt terrible. Yet she had to make him aware of what she sensed. They had only been in company twice so far, but on both occasions Melia had been introduced to attractive, wealthy men, and she’d shown her pleasure in the attention paid her.

‘I do not know, my love. I only felt that you should be a little wary. Melia has not given you her promise—has she?’

‘No, but she knows how I feel. I spoke frankly the last time I visited near her home. She said that she needed to know me better and that’s when the visit to London was first discussed...’

‘Yes, I see.’ Jane was thoughtful. If Melia had been a schemer she might have suspected her brother had been used, but she did not think it. Perhaps not always truthful, and sometimes careless of others’ feelings, Melia might hurt Will but not intentionally. She liked him, considered him her friend and thought that she might like to marry him, but that did not mean she’d given her heart and, until she did, she might well bestow it on another. Jane hoped she would not, but Melia had to have her season; she had to have her chance, because otherwise she might do something regrettable after marriage. She was a girl who liked excitement and adventure, and Will preferred a quiet life in the country. Melia would have to be very certain that she loved him to settle for that life.

‘Well, time will tell,’ she said now and smiled lovingly at her brother. ‘Things happen and people change...but I should not worry about us attending the theatre with Lord Frant. I do not believe you have anything to fear from him.’

In that much Jane was right, but if she wanted to safeguard her brother’s interests she should have refused the invitation until Will could go with them, but perhaps even that would not have made much difference.

* * *

Melia was not sure how she felt about going to the theatre with Lord Frant. He had been kind to her, and she was grateful for the five thousand pounds he was settling on her through the family lawyer. Yet she thought him stern and was a little in awe of him, though her dear Jane seemed to like him and that must mean he was all right. However, the moment he introduced his friend, Captain, Viscount Hargreaves, Melia began to enjoy the evening.

His smile made her heart race and she thought him the most handsome man she had ever seen. Indeed, he resembled the pictures of Greek gods she’d once seen in an art book in her father’s library, but was so much more impressive in the flesh. Not that she could see any flesh other than his hands and face—but after seeing that picture she could imagine what he might look like stripped to the waist.

How immodest she was! Her imagination did not go further than his waist, though his long legs looked powerful and strong in pale pantaloons and she thought would show to even more advantage in riding breeches.

She lamented that she had no horse in London, not realising that she had done so aloud until he at once insisted that he would hire her a good ladies’ horse and take her riding in the park.

‘Would you really?’ Melia asked and fluttered her lashes at him. ‘I have a darling mare at home. She has the softest mouth and has spirit, but is a gentle soul as a rule and would never dream of tipping me off.’

‘I shall bring you a creature to rival your darling,’ Adam ventured, vowing privately that he would buy such a horse if none suitable were to be hired. ‘I promise you will not be disappointed. I am said to be a judge. Even Frant takes my advice on horses, though he is a marvellous judge and rider himself. We have been talking of setting up our racing stables together.’

‘So Lord Frant intends to remain in England?’

‘Yes, I think he does,’ Adam said with a small smile and for a moment his eyes seemed to dwell on Lady March and his friend. ‘Though we may keep our horses in Ireland and train them there...’

‘Papa told me that the best horses came from Ireland...’

‘Well, perhaps,’ Adam agreed, ‘but I like Spanish myself. Spanish bred and trained in Ireland—a winning combination...’

‘How clever you are,’ Melia said, gazing up at him. Her fingers fluttered on his arm and she felt almost faint when he smiled down at her. ‘Do you intend to stay in England, Captain?’

‘I dare say I shall divide my time between London and Ireland,’ he told her. ‘We shall race the horses here, you see—but I must visit them often. However, I prefer to live in London. It is the heart of things...but I do not mind travelling. I have had adventures enough for any man, and must find a good house where a sensible woman could be happy. I think my wife must love London, as I do, but be prepared to visit Ireland and other parts with me from time to time.’

‘Oh, yes, she would surely wish to do that,’ Melia said, quite carried away by such an enticing picture. ‘To live in London for most of one’s life must be heaven...though it is pleasant to walk in the country when the weather is good.’

‘Yes, exactly,’ Adam said and smiled again. ‘I think we are to see a good play this evening. It is a comedy, I believe, and then we shall be entertained by a dancer. I am led to understand that she is wonderful to behold but I shall reserve judgement. I have seen a great deal of dancing in India.’

‘Oh, yes, how exciting that must have been,’ Melia said and her fingers curled about his arm. ‘You must tell me all about it.’

‘Not this evening for we must be quiet now the lights are going down,’ he whispered, ‘but perhaps I can take you driving in the park in the morning...’

She indicated that she would love that above all things and then was silent for the play had begun and Melia, like everyone else, was soon laughing at the scandalous romp Mr Sheridan had written for their amusement. Melia knew that it had first been acted upon the stage in 1777 and was much admired, but she had not expected to be so amused by the intrigues unravelling upon the stage.

When, after the performance, she and Lady March were taken for a light supper consisting mainly of ices, sweet trifles and jellies for the ladies, and bread, cold meat and cheese for the gentlemen, accompanied by wine or a cool, crisp sweet cider.

Later, after they had been escorted home in Lord Frant’s very comfortable carriage, the gentlemen had said their goodbyes and they were about to depart to their own rooms, Melia asked Jane what she had thought to the play.

‘Very amusing,’ Jane said. ‘I had seen it years ago when my mama took me, but I believe I appreciated it more this time.’

‘Some of it went over my head, I must admit,’ Melia said, ‘but Viscount Hargreaves explained it all to me.’

‘How very kind of him,’ Jane said and hid her amusement, for only a very innocent mind would need to have the play explained and she did not think Melia that innocent and she certainly was not stupid, and so it seemed she had enjoyed having it all explained to her. Perhaps for the purpose of inviting the viscount’s whole attention? ‘I am glad that you enjoyed your evening, my dear.’

‘Oh, yes, very much,’ Melia replied, a small satisfied smile on her lips.

They parted, each to their own rooms—Melia to dream of a handsome face and a young god coming down from the heavens to bear her off with him to celestial heights, and Jane to wonder if she’d served her brother a bad turn by accepting what she’d imagined a harmless invitation to the theatre.

For her it had been a pleasure. Paul Frant was an attentive host, making sure that the ladies were served with cooling drinks between the acts of the play, and taking them to a very pleasant supper in a private booth afterwards. Enjoying herself more than she had for some time, Jane had not become aware of the way Melia was flirting with Viscount Hargreaves until halfway through supper. She’d wondered then how long it had been going on—the little intimate smiles, the light touches on his arm and that ingenuous way of looking up as if in awe of his superior intelligence.

It was what every young lady on the catch for a husband learned to do, though some did it much better than others. Where some inexperienced young ladies might have seemed coy, Melia played the sweet innocent to perfection. Her aunt must have told her that gentlemen did not care for clever women or some such nonsense. Jane felt such behaviour to be deceitful, especially when the girl in question was perfectly capable of understanding and coping with most situations alone; to pretend misunderstanding or to act as if one were a weak and vulnerable female in need of a gentleman’s strong arm was not something Jane would have resorted to. She believed in calling a spade a spade and taking one’s life in one’s own hands whenever possible, but perhaps some gentlemen did prefer the childish woman that Melia portrayed so well at times.

Knowing how firmly Melia spoke out for her own opinions in the matter of dress or other domestic matters, Jane thought her husband would soon be relieved of any such misapprehension once she was mistress of his home. Melia liked her own way and she’d heard her argue with Will over a horse he’d considered too strong for her to drive when he’d given her lessons in a light phaeton that his sister knew he’d had made especially for her. Will knew her as the wilful and sometimes headstrong girl she was and loved her, but in trying to trap the viscount with a sweet modesty that was not her own Melia was, in Jane’s opinion, behaving badly.

She sighed as she unpinned her hair and her maid brushed it for her, the slightly waving length of it tumbling way past her shoulders. Jane had told Tilda not to sit up but she might as well have saved her breath, for her faithful servant had replied huffily, ‘The day I can’t sit up for you, my lady, you may give me my pension and send me off.’

‘I couldn’t possible manage without you,’ Jane told her affectionately. ‘You will have to go on for many years yet. I’m sorry, Tilda, but you must train a girl to care for me as you do before you think of retiring.’

Tilda had given her a dark look and muttered something that Jane could not hear and diplomatically ignored. The girl had come to her via her mother, a shy young thing of fifteen when she first worked for the family; employed in the nursery, she’d worked her way up to become Jane’s maid, had gone with her to Spain and France when Harry was fighting under Wellington, and been a tower of strength when his death had almost killed Jane. Indeed, she did not know whether she could have borne it without Tilda and some other friends who had supported her in her grief.

After Tilda had wished her pleasant dreams and left her, Jane felt too restless for sleep. She looked at the portrait of her husband that she had kept by her bed since it was first given her as one of many presents from an adoring lover, for Harry had remained the ardent lover to the end. Sighing, she replaced the jewelled trinket in its place and walked to the window to look out at the night sky. Jane’s heart had been broken when she lost the man she loved, and she would not wish such pain on her darling brother. If Melia’s heart had been captured and her head turned by the dashing soldier, she would feel responsible—though, of course, they could have met at any time during the round of parties and dances that were about to begin.

Jane sat on the edge of the bed then lay back against a pile of soft pillows, another sigh escaping her. Was it only Will’s disappointment that hung over her like a heavy cloud—or was there more?

She could not be certain. The evening had been pleasant, much of that deriving from the gentle smile and amusing conversation offered by Lord Frant. There was something about him that had made her very aware of him from their first meeting, but she could not put her feelings into words. He was direct, strong-willed and would make a bad enemy, of that she was sure—but to her he showed only courtesy, though she was certain he’d intended to quarrel with her that first morning.

What had made him change his mind? Jane puzzled over it, but could find no reason for the thunderstruck look on his face as he’d stared at her. A vainer woman might have hit upon the truth, but Jane had never thought herself either beautiful or desirable. She dressed in good clothes that suited her and were considered elegant by others, but, since she only glanced in the mirror when she dressed or changed her clothes, she was not aware that she was a striking woman with good strong features and fine eyes.

It would be vain indeed to imagine that a man like Paul Frant had fallen instantly in love with her and the thought never entered Jane’s mind. He was a man of the world, obviously wealthy and experienced in business matters. She could only think that he’d been surprised—he had mentioned that he’d thought she would be older, so that must be it.

Her own feelings had shocked her, because she’d liked him despite her determination not to. His letter had been abrupt and she’d been ready to think him a villain for turning Melia and her sister from their home, but indeed that had been the lawyers, who had since been put in their place and were now doing all they could to make amends. Paul Frant was a long way from being the most handsome man she’d met; indeed, his friend Adam Hargreaves put him in the shade and was a viscount to boot rather than a mere lord. As a girl, Jane had been expected to look higher and her husband’s title had not been considered one of importance. She’d married for love, with her mother’s approval and her half-brother’s grudging permission, and, until fate had taken everything away, she’d been very happy.

Jane did not feel it would be possible to love like that again. Surely any other attachment she might form would pale into insignificance against the love she’d known—and, that being the case, she’d more or less made up her mind not to marry again. It was better to be a widow and independent rather than find oneself trapped into a less than perfect marriage.

Yet Jane could not deny that it was comfortable having a man to care for one’s comfort, even if one was capable of arranging things for oneself. Will had never interfered in her arrangements, but she’d known he was there if she’d needed a male opinion on any matter of business. Living with her brother had suited her well, but she had her doubts about living in Bath with a female companion.

As yet there had been no reply to her letter to Cousin Sarah, which had surprised Jane a little. She’d thought the girl would be only too happy to accept the offer of becoming her companion. She’d made it clear that, though she would be accepted as family, she would be given an allowance that would make her independent and able to buy the small luxuries of life that made the difference between drudgery and content.

Perhaps the letter had been lost between Sarah’s home and hers. She would wait another week or so and then write again.

Chapter Five

Having made what amends he could to the Bellingham sisters, Paul was giving some thought to disposing of their father’s estate. He had paid a fleeting visit when he first came to England, expecting Melia to be living there under the guidance of Lady Moira. He had not stayed more than an hour to take some refreshment before pushing on, but he had naturally found his way to the library, and what he discovered there was pleasing. Bellingham had obviously been something of a collector and there were some books Paul would like to keep on the shelves. He’d decided he would have all the books transferred to his library in London for the time being, and gradually sort out those he ultimately wished to keep; the others could be sent elsewhere once he’d had the leisure to go through them and would in the meantime fill the large spaces in what had once been his great-grandfather’s excellent collection.

Paul sighed as he looked up from the letters he was writing to his man of business. It had occurred to him that there might be some pieces of furniture at the Bellingham estate that he would like for his London home. As yet, he had purchased very little and in truth was not much inclined to it, though he knew he must furnish his town house in style before he could entertain properly—yet the prospect of searching various cabinet makers was daunting for a man who had never bothered with such things. He could leave it to an agent, of course, or— The thought that he might consult Lady March on the matter brought a smile to his lips. As his wife, she would have the freedom to purchase anything she chose, but he could not convince himself that he was making any impression on her inner calm. Perhaps if he were to beg for her help in choosing the furniture for his house it would bring them closer together—of course, she would quite likely refuse but nothing ventured, nothing gained...

He’d noted with some amusement the flirtation between Adam and the young girl who was by her father’s will his ward, but as he believed the viscount to be trustworthy he had no qualms. Adam would not step beyond the line, and had already confided that he was on the lookout for a wife. Paul would have no objection, should his permission be sought, though he was not sure she was the wife he would have chosen for his friend. Paul did not intend to be critical, but her artless sighs, smiles and pouts seemed artificial to him and he wondered that Adam should be taken in by them—or perhaps he was making too much of the thing and the pair were merely enjoying a flirtation.

Had Paul thought much about his friend’s state of mind, he would have imagined that Adam had been more than a little in love with the beautiful Annamarie, though he had never said as much. The proud girl had shown her own preference for Paul, and Paul had seen her snub several of Adam’s fellow officers. That would probably have been enough to prevent Adam from speaking, even if his heart were engaged, for his pride would not have taken kindly to such a snub.

Oh, well, there was no point in dwelling on something of which he had no real knowledge. Paul played with his pen for a few moments longer and then a smile touched his lips as he began to write. As yet he had not received a single invitation to an affair at which he could be sure of meeting the lady he wished to meet, but perhaps if he invited her to help him choose the new furnishings for his house, that would provide a reason for them to meet more often...

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