His arm moved across to shield her, pulling her in yet closer.

Amelie could have moved away again, but she did not. Nor did she protest when Lord Elyot’s hand slid beneath the cape in front of her, settling upon her waist and sending its warmth immediately through the silk. It moved in the lightest of caresses, and she responded, shifting and edging at the infringement, but not knowing whether to stay or flee—wanting to do both, yet feeling herself yield to its heady excitement.

As if he could sense her dilemma, he firmed his hand upon her waist, holding her back, telling her to stay, while his other hand came to rest upon the beautiful curve of her hip, lightly stroking and smoothing where no one could see. And as Amelie continued to call out her goodnights, to smile and make believe that her heart was tranquil, all her awareness was alive to that gentle movement sliding upon the fine fabric of her gown, exploring like a summer breeze over hip, buttock and thigh, as intimate as water…

Juliet Landon’s keen interest in art and history, both of which she used to teach, combined with a fertile imagination, make writing historical novels a favourite occupation. She is particularly interested in researching the early medieval period and the problems encountered by women in a man’s world. Her heart’s home is in her native North Yorkshire, but now she lives happily in a Hampshire village close to her family. Her first books, which were on embroidery and design, were published under her own name of Jan Messent.

A SCANDALOUS MISTRESS features descendants of characters you will have met in ONE NIGHT IN PARADISE.

Recent novels by the same author:

THE WARLORD’S MISTRESS

HIS DUTY, HER DESTINY

THE BOUGHT BRIDE

THE WIDOW’S BARGAIN

ONE NIGHT IN PARADISE

Look for Caterina’s story, the next instalment in Juliet Landon’s

Ladies of Paradise Road

A SCANDALOUS MISTRESS
Juliet Landon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

The steel of the younger man’s foil made an arc against the padded waistcoat of his opponent and sprang back into shape, its point lowered to the ground. Laughing at his own failure, the Marquess of Sheen threw up an arm to acknowledge the scatterred applause. ‘Well done, my boy,’ he called, passing his foil to the appreciative fencing master. ‘Am I ever going to beat you again, I wonder?’

‘Not if I can help it, sir,’ said Lord Nicholas Elyot, removing his mask. ‘It’s taken me long enough to get to this stage.’ He shook his father’s offered hand, admiring the agility of the fifty-two-year-old body as well as the strength in his fingers, the keen brown eyes, the quick reflexes. As usual, he failed to perceive their similarities in the same way that others did, particularly Mr O’Shaunessy, the proprieter, who could see in Lord Elyot an exact replica of his father at the age of thirty, tall and broad-shouldered, slender-hipped and lithe, with legs like a Greek god. The dark, almost black hair that tousled thickly about the son’s handsome face was, on the Marquess, as white as snow and still as dense, and the mouths that broke into sympathetic smiles would have stopped the heart and protests of any woman. As they often had; both of them.

They sat together to watch the next contestants, the Marquess leaning back against the wall, his son leaning forward with arms along thighs. ‘Not below par, are you, Father?’ said Lord Elyot.

There was a huff of denial. ‘Nay, I could claim that as an excuse but it ain’t so, m’boy. Never better. Top form. M’mind on too many things at once, I suppose.’ The Marquess glanced at his son’s strong profile. ‘Well, I have to make up some reason, don’t I?’

Lord Elyot leaned back. ‘Only this once, sir. Where’s the problem, Richmond or London?’

‘Richmond, Nick. You say you’re going back tomorrow?’

‘Yes, a few loose ends to tie up here first, then I’ll be off. It’s been almost five weeks. Time I was attending to things.’

‘Petticoat problems, is it? You still seeing that Selina Whatsit?’

‘Miss Selena Whatsit,’ said Nick, ‘departed my company weeks ago, Father. You’re way out of date.’ He began to unbutton his shirt.

‘By how many?’

‘Oh, I dunno. A few. Thing is, I think it’s time our Seton was taken back home before he strays into dun territory. No, don’t be alarmed, he ain’t there yet, but he soon will be if he stays here in London much longer. There’s plenty to keep him occupied in Richmond. He can do the rounds with me and the bailiff and the steward for a start, and get some good air into his lungs. I can find ways of keeping his hands out of his breeches pockets.’

‘You might want him to help you with a bit of investigating too, in that case. That may keep him busy.’

‘What’s to do, sir? Poachers again?’

‘No, nothing so simple. Some complaints from the Vestry about interference in parish affairs.’

‘By whom?’

‘Ah, well, that’s the problem, you see. They don’t know. Let’s go and get changed and I’ll tell you about it.’

As with other noblemen who took their role in society seriously, the Marquess of Sheen, whose ancestral home was at Richmond, in the county of Surrey, had several professional obligations, one of which was to King George III to whom he was Assistant Master of Horse, and another to the Bench where he sat as Justice of the Peace. The obligation to his estate at Richmond was administered in his absence by his eldest son, Lord Nicholas Elyot, who would have to perform those same duties sooner or later anyway, so had no objection to taking that particular burden off his father’s shoulders. Only a two-hour drive away from London, on a good day, Richmond lay further up the River Thames, and its parish council, the Vestry, was made up of stalwart citizens of good standing, including the church minister, the local schoolmaster, landowners and the squire, who was the Marquess himself. The Vestry’s purpose was to deal with matters like street-lighting and the maintenance of roads, fires, crime and poverty. Criminals, who were almost always poor also, were locked into the local pound until they could be sentenced, while other unfortunates were sent to the workhouse, which, although it provided shelter and food, usually did little else for their creature comforts. It was regarded as a last resort.

‘Somebody,’ said the Marquess, ‘is playing a deep game, bribing the workhouse staff to release two young women in the family way who’ve only just been admitted.’

‘And the Vestry don’t know who it is?’

‘Nope. Mind you, they’ve been pocketing the blunt fast enough and not asking too many questions, but it’s got to be stopped, Nick. Apart from that, one or two debtors and a child have been sneaked out of the pound at night, and nobody knows who’s responsible. No law against paying a debtor’s debts to get ‘em released, as you know, but it has to be done through the proper channels, not by forcing the padlocks or slipping a fistful o’ town bronze to the night doorman. It’s got to stop,’ he repeated.

‘So you want me to find out who’s behind it. Could it be a member of the Vestry, d’ye think? Someone with a grudge?’

‘I doubt it. The Vestry have complained to me, so what I’m after is some juicy background information on whoever it is, enough to…er…persuade them to go and do their good turns somewhere else. I don’t want to raise the hue and cry about it, just a little discreet blackmail will do. A threat of prosecution, if you like. It is an offence, after all.’

‘Is it?’ Nick smiled.

‘Oh, yes. Abduction,’ said the Marquess, airily. ‘And perverting the course of justice, too.’

‘Coming it a bit strong, Father?’

‘We…ell, maybe. But I can’t have the Vestry upset. They run the show while I’m here, you know. Special headquarters on Paradise Road. They like to be seen to be effective.’

‘Which I’m sure they are, sir. I’ll look into it immediately. Shouldn’t take long. I’ll let you know.’ Nick shrugged his substantial shoulders into the immaculate dark grey morning coat and allowed the valet to adjust the lapels, the cuffs, the waistcoat and snowy neckcloth with fastidious care. Looking down at his glossy black Hessians, he indicated a speck of dust on one toe. The valet dropped to his knees to attend to it, then stood to hand Lord Elyot a beaver hat, a pair of soft kid gloves and a polished cane with a silver knob.

‘Shall we see you at St James’s Square for dinner?’ said the Marquess.

‘I’m not sure, sir. Shall I let you know later?’

‘Of course. And don’t forget your sister’s birthday this month.’

‘Heavens! Is it August already?’

‘No, m’boy, it’s been September these last two days.’

‘Really? How old is she?’

‘Lord, lad! How should I know? Ask your mother at dinner.’

They parted with a bow and a look that was not nearly as serious as their mutual ignorance of family birthdays would suggest.

Within the shining reflective precincts of Rundell, Bridge and Rundell on Ludgate Hill, the atmosphere was hushed, even churchlike, where white-aproned black-vested assistants spoke in reverential whispers, bowed, smiled and agreed with their well-heeled patrons who could afford not to notice the price of the wares. It would have been of little use to pass the doorman if money was a problem, for Rundell’s was the most fashionable goldsmith in London where nothing came cheap and where, if it had, none of their customers would want to buy it.

That much Lady Amelie Chester had gathered from the pages of the Ladies’ Magazine, and she had made a point of not returning from her first visit to the capital without seeing for herself what all the fuss was about. She had kept her barouche waiting for the best part of an hour while her coachman had driven the length of Ludgate and back several times so as not to keep the horses standing too long, and still there were choices to be made and the wink of a jewel to catch her eye. The ridiculously brief list she had brought had long since been discarded. She smiled at her two companions who hovered nearby, clearly not as enamoured by the Aladdin’s Cave as she was.

The plainly dressed one holding a Kashmir shawl over one arm smiled back. ‘Miss Chester is getting a bit fidgety, my lady,’ she whispered, glancing at the girlish frills and bows disappearing behind a glass cabinet.

Miss Caterina Chester, the bored seventeen-year-old niece of the avid purchaser, had at last seen something she liked, which could best be observed through a display of silver candlesticks and cruets. Two men had stepped into the shop to stand quietly talking long enough for her to see that they were related, that one was perhaps nearing thirty, the other his junior by a few years. Both, without question, were veritable blades of distinction, the best she had seen all day. And she had been looking, almost without let-up.

Her practised young eye knew exactly what to expect from a pink of the ton; nothing flamboyant, everything perfectly cut, clean, stylish and fitting like a second skin over muscled thighs and slim hips and, although there would be some gathering at the top of the sleeves, there must be no hint of padding or corseting. These two were true nonpareils.

They were a comely pair, too, she told herself, comparing them. The elder one with the more authoritative air would have been in the army, she guessed, while the other, like herself, would be thinking that he could find more interesting things to do than this. Of one fact she was sure, however: neither of them would be in Rundell, Bridge and Rundell’s unless they had wealth.

It was inevitable, she knew, that their attention would veer like a weathervane towards her aunt, Lady Amelie Chester, who had turned so many heads that day it was a wonder they had stayed on shoulders. No matter where she went, or did, or didn’t do, for that matter, men would stare, nudge and whistle rudely through their teeth at Aunt Amelie. Envious women looked for weaknesses in her appearance and gave up in disgust that the dice could be so heavily loaded in one person’s favour.

Watching them carefully, Caterina saw the younger man’s lips form a pucker, putting his hand to the quizzing-glass that hung upon his buff waistcoat and dropping it again at the three quiet words from his companion. Then, like cats stalking a kill, they moved nearer.

Lady Chester had come to a decision and, in a state of near euphoria, was oblivious to all else. Having recently rid herself of an old-fashioned teapoy on a leggy stand, she was delighted to have found a small silver caddy made by the Batemans, topped with an acorn finial and handled with ivory. Before the enraptured assistant had finished praising her choice, she spied a beehive-shaped gilt honey pot with a bee on top. Her gloved fingers caressed its ridges. ‘This,’ she said, ‘is perfect.’

‘Paul Storr, m’lady,’ the assistant smirked. ‘We hope to acquire more of his work in the future. It came in only yesterday.’

‘Then I’m sure it will be happy in Richmond,’ she said. ‘Add it to the others, if you please. I’ll take it.’

The elder of the two men moved forward. ‘Richmond?’ he said. ‘I thought I knew everyone in Richmond. I beg your pardon, ma’am. We have not been introduced, but pray allow me to take the liberty of performing my own introduction, since there is no one else to do it for me. Nicholas Elyot at your service. And my brother, Seton Rayne.’

The assistant intervened. ‘My lords,’ he said, bowing.

‘Amelie Chester.’ Amelie dipped a curtsy of just the correct depth while Caterina moved round the glass case to watch, fascinated and not too proud to learn a thing or two about how Aunt Amelie caused men to vie for her attention. One day, she would do the same. Her aunt neither smiled nor simpered as so many women did to gain a man’s interest, Caterina noticed, watching the graceful incline of her head. A soft-brimmed velvet hat covered the rich brown hair escaping in wayward spirals around her ears to accentuate the smooth peachy skin over high cheekbones. Her eyes were bewitchingly dark and almond-shaped, her brows fine and delicately arched, and there was no feature, thought Caterina, that needed the aid of cosmetics.

On the verge of leaving half-mourning behind her, Lady Chester’s pelisse was of three-quarter-length pale violet velvet with a swansdown collar worn over a silver-grey silk day dress. The edges of the velvet sleeves were caught together at intervals with covered buttons, and a capacious reticule of matching beaded velvet hung from one arm. The only ornament on the rather masculine hat was a large silver buckle into which was tucked a piece of swansdown, and the effect of all this on the two men, Caterina thought, was as much a sight to behold as her aunt’s classic elegance. Surreptitiously, she removed the fussy lace tippet from around her shoulders that she had insisted on wearing and passed it to Lise, her aunt’s maid.

The brothers removed their tall hats and bowed in unison. ‘You are staying here in London, my lady?’ said Lord Elyot.

His voice, she thought, was like dark brown chocolate. ‘No, my lord. Only to shop. We must leave soon, now the days are shortening,’ she said.

‘Indeed. You’ll need all the light we have left. Have you been long in Richmond? How could we have missed seeing you there?’

A smile lit up the almond eyes at last with the lift of her brow. ‘As to that, sir, anyone could miss us quite easily, even at church. My niece and I have seen little of society since we arrived. May I introduce her to you? Miss Caterina Chester.’

At last, Caterina’s moment had arrived. She stepped forward from her vantage point to make the prettiest bob she could devise while she had their entire attention and, though she ought to have kept her eyes demurely lowered, her natural urge to discover what effect she was having got the better of her.

‘My lords,’ she whispered, allowing her bright goldenbrown eyes to reach the younger lord’s attentive face for another glimpse of his crisp dark thatch before he replaced his hat. It seemed to fall quite naturally into the correct disorder but his eyes, she noticed, held only a neutral attempt at friendship before focussing once more upon her aunt. Inwardly, she sighed.

Lord Elyot, however, saw that one of his queries had been avoided. ‘Is your stay in Richmond permanent, Miss Chester?’ he said.

‘Oh, yes, my lord. We’ve been there only five weeks and two days and there’s such a lot for us yet to see.’ And do, she thought. Again, her gaze turned hopefully in Lord Rayne’s direction, but noticed only the quizzical nature of his examination of her over-frilled and beribboned day dress and braided spencer, her flower-bedecked bonnet and the lace gloves that she had believed were all the thing. Until now.

‘Oh, you’ll need several seasons to see all that London has to offer,’ Lord Elyot replied, ‘but shopping must come first. My brother and I called in to purchase a gift for our sister’s birthday, but we possess neither the flair nor the time to find exactly the right thing. I wonder, my lady…’ he returned his attention to Amelie ‘…if you and your niece could help us out. Your taste,’ he continued, glancing at the counter covered with pieces she had bought, ‘is obviously of the most sophisticated. Do you have any suggestions as to what would please a sister most?’

‘Without knowing her, sir, that would be difficult. Is she single or married? Young or…how old will she be?’

The two men exchanged blank stares until Lord Rayne offered some statistics he was reasonably sure of. ‘Well, she’s three years older than me, married with two bra…bairns…er, children.’

‘And she’s two…no, three years younger than me,’ said his brother. ‘Does that help?’

Amelie’s smile might have grown into a laugh but for her effort to contain it, and Caterina noted again the devastating effect this gentle bubbling had on the two men, for it was genuine yet controlled. ‘That is some help. Does she have a star sign?’ Amelie prompted, twinkling.

The blankness returned.

‘The beginning of September? Or the middle?’

‘The end,’ said Lord Rayne, warming to the theme.

‘No, somewhere near the middle,’ said Lord Elyot. ‘I think. Look, may we leave this with you, if you’d be so kind? Mr Bowyer here will charge the cost to my account and send it to Richmond. We’re in a bit of a hurry.’

Smiling broadly, Mr Bowyer assented.

Amelie agreed, wondering at the same time why they had stopped to choose a gift if they were in so much of a hurry. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Miss Chester and I will surely find something appropriate in here.’

Lord Elyot bowed. ‘You are too kind,’ he said, formally. ‘I am in your debt, my lady. I hope we shall meet in Richmond.’

There was something about his eyelids, Amelie thought. He was a man of experience, and he knew how to look at a woman to make her feel as if she were the only person in the room to matter to him. He had spoken to Caterina like that too, and the child had noticed and wished the brother had done the same.

Bows and curtsies were exchanged once more and the meeting was curtailed as Caterina instantly began a search for something that would fritter away someone else’s money. The men made for the door, their voices carrying easily across the subdued interior.

‘I didn’t know we were in so much of a hurry, Nick.’

‘Well, we are. We need to return to Richmond tonight. A problem to sort out for Father. Rather urgent.’

‘What kind of a problem?’

Lord Elyot tucked his cane beneath one arm and picked up a silver snuff-box, turning it over to examine the base. ‘Oh, just some loose screw or other springing young nob-thatchers and bairns from the local workhouse,’ the deep voice drawled softly, distinctly bored. ‘Anybody who thinks that a bit o’skirt with a bun in the oven is worth rescuing must be an addle-pate, don’t you agree, young Rayne? But the Vestry want it stopped. It’s only a twenty-four-hour job, but we have to make a start before we get a new plague of vagabonds. You can help, if you like.’ He replaced the snuff-box. ‘Come on. It won’t take all that long, then we can go and look at some new cattle, eh?’

‘Stupid do-gooders! Ought to be locked up themselves. If only they knew the trouble they cause.’

They passed out of the shop into the sudden clamour of Ludgate Hill, where the street-criers and rattle of wheels drowned the rest of their conversation, and Amelie was left doing what her niece had done earlier through salt-cellars and candlesticks. She watched them pause as her own barouche drew to a standstill outside the shop and the footman leapt down to hold the horses’ heads. Her heart hammered with sudden fear.

Loose screw…springing young nob-thatchers and bairns from the local workhouse…bit o’skirt with a bun in the oven…do-gooders…

It was not so much the vulgar cant that raised Amelie’s hackles, for the men were entitled to say what they wished when they were alone; it was the revelation that they had a particular problem to solve for their father, whoever he was, which was apparently upsetting both him and the Vestry. And without a shadow of a doubt they were, without knowing it, speaking of her, Lady Amelie Chester, for she was the ‘dogooder’ in question whose deep commitment to the plight of unfortunate women would never be understood by toffs of their kind who didn’t know the date of their sister’s birthday, or even how old she was. She felt the surge of fury, resentment and disappointment like a pain as she heard their mocking voices again. She watched them linger outside to examine her new coffee-coloured barouche with its cream-and-brown striped upholstery, its Italian lamps, the dapplegrey horses, the eight-caped coachman and liveried footman in brown and pale grey as neat as could be. They would not find any cattle to beat that showy pair, she thought, turning away with a frown. It had all ended on a very sour note, for she had liked their manner until then. She would find it even more difficult to fulfil her promise now she had seen the kind of men she had agreed to oblige. ‘Caterina dear, have you seen anything suitable?’ she said.

Wallowing almost knee-deep in expensive metalware, her niece had suddenly become animated and was eyeing a pair of very pretty silver chinoiserie cake-baskets that Amelie would not have minded owning.

‘Mm…m,’ Amelie said. ‘Pretty, but…’

‘Well, then, what about a large salver? They’re always useful. One cannot have too many salvers, can one?’

The catalyst was the word ‘useful’. If there was anything a woman disliked being given for her birthday, it came into the ‘useful’ category unless, of course, she had asked for it. Like a carriage and a pair of horses. Eagerly, she looked around for the largest, the most tasteless and most expensive ‘useful’ item on display, though it was Caterina who spotted it first, a massive silver and gilt tea urn with three busty sphinxes holding up the bowl on their wings and a tap that swung away like a cobra about to strike. Standing on an ugly triangular base, it was a monstrous reminder of Lord Nelson’s recent victory in Egypt.

‘What if she doesn’t drink tea, though?’ whispered Caterina, without knowing how she and her aunt were working at cross-purposes. ‘It looks very expensive.’

All the better. ‘Oh, she’s sure to, dear.’

‘Is it in good taste?’ Caterina queried, having doubts.

Amelie was careful here. ‘It will depend,’ she said, cautiously, ‘on what their sister’s preferences are, I suppose. If she has a growing family and plenty of visitors, then a large urn will be just the thing.’ And it would go some way, she thought, towards mollifying her resentment at the insensitive, not to say inhuman, attitude of the two brothers who, she hoped, would not follow up their introduction with anything more presumptuous.

But although the purchase of the vastly overpriced and vulgar gift had evened the score for Amelie in one direction, there was yet a more serious one to consider, calling for a return home at a faster pace than their earlier ride into London. There was now no time to lose. ‘Lise, go and tell the footman we’re ready to go home,’ she said.

The stares of admiration directed at the beautiful coffee-coloured barouche and the Dalmatian running behind were only vaguely heeded on the return journey to Richmond, for the event that concluded their shopping spree weighed heavily on Amelie’s mind, making her realise yet again that, however good it was to be an independent woman, she was still vulnerable without the comforting support of her husband.

Sir Josiah Chester had been taken from her with a frightening suddenness two years ago, a most unusual two years that left her with few relatives close enough to assist her through the worst months, the problems of inheritance and estate. The only one of their number whose help had been constant and ungrudging was Sir Josiah’s younger brother Stephen, himself a widower with a young family, of whom Caterina was the eldest.

It had been to thank Stephen for his generous support that she had agreed to take Caterina with her when she moved down to Richmond. Had it not been for that debt which she owed him, for his plea, and for Caterina’s motherless state, she would have made the move alone, which had been her first intention. She had no wish to stay in the Derbyshire town of Buxton for, although she had been happy enough there for her first twenty-two years, the two years after that had pointed out with brutal reality who she could depend on for true friendship.

Caterina’s joy at being taken to live with her, though flattering, was not what Amelie had wanted, and the inevitable conflict of interests had not been satisfactorily resolved in their first few weeks. Caterina had expected to make a new set of friends and to be received almost instantly into high society. Amelie had not the heart to explain either to Caterina or to her grateful father, that the fickleness of high society was something she would rather have shunned than sought, and that the reason she had chosen Richmond was for its proximity to Kew Gardens, to Hampton Court Palace, to the famed Chelsea Physic Garden and to Royal Academy exhibitions. The day’s shopping in London, though necessary, had been more the result of a guilty conscience than for Amelie’s own pleasure, not having tried as hard as she might to make contact with the local leading families, as Caterina had expected her to. The young lady’s very inadequate wardrobe had dictated the pattern of their shopping, and now the maid Lise sat beside a mountain of brown paper parcels that threatened to topple and bury her at each bounce of the carriage. Fortunately, there had not been room for the controversial tea urn, or Lise might have been critically injured.

The reason for Amelie’s accelerated haste to reach home was neither asked nor explained, as the clouding September sky was supposed by Caterina to be the cause. The truth, however, was more to do with Lord Elyot’s stated intention to attend directly to the problem of which the Vestry had complained.

Homeless mothers-to-be were often hustled over the boundary of one parish into the next, even during labour, to avoid the responsibility of more mouths to feed. Naturally, these women could not be let loose to give birth under hedges: untidy activities of that nature did not look well where refined citizens could be shocked by such sights. As a last resort, they had to be rounded up until it was all over, by which time the problem was often solved more permanently.

Sir Josiah Chester had not retained his vast wealth by giving it away to charitable causes, but by saving it; whether it was the powerful combination of childlessness, bereavement and wealth that gave rise to Amelie’s concern for waifs, strays and hopeless debtors, she had never tried to analyse, but the fact was that her acceptance of her new state had been smoothed by the help she had given to others less endowed and more distressed by far. She could be distressed in comfort, while they could not.

With a name as well known in Buxton as Sir Josiah’s, it had been relatively easy for Amelie, as a widow, to pay the debts of poor families threatened by imprisonment and worse and to find employment for petty criminals. She had given shelter and aid, sometimes in her own home, to pregnant homeless women and had found suitable places for them afterwards, had persuaded farmers’ wives to take in starving children and had poured money into improving the local workhouse facilities. The legacy she had received from her own wealthy parents had been exceptionally generous, and all that giving had made a greater difference to her sense of worth and general well-being than it had to her reserve of funds.

As long as she was actively helping the Vestry in Buxton to deal with their problems, no one had stood in her way, though nothing could stop the gossip of society women concerning the status of a young, wealthy and beautiful widow and the attentions of her brother-in-law, of supposed lovers and supposed rivals. The whisperings of scandal. It had been time for her to leave.

But in Richmond, the advantages associated with the name of Sir Josiah Chester had not opened the same doors as they had before, and all the help she had given so freely in Buxton now had to be done rather differently. In the dark. Anonymously. By bribery and deception and, if need be, by the useful burglary skills of a servant in her employ. It went without saying that she had far too many servants, most of them without references.

Last night, she had promised a distraught and heavily pregnant young woman, via the woman’s equally distressed companion, that she would help to release her from the workhouse where she was about to be taken. Amelie fully intended to go there that very night, and the last thing she needed was an extra guard on the gate put there by the interfering Lord Elyot. What on earth could have possessed her to agree to an introduction?

She heard the aristocratic drawl again, smoother than northern tones, more languid, deep and perfectly enunciated. His teeth were good too, and she recalled how something inside her had lurched a little at the way his eyes had held hers, gently but with devastating assurance. They had not raked over her as so many other men’s did, trespassing and too familiar. No, they had almost smiled, telling her that there were things to be shared, given the opportunity.

Well, my fine lord, she thought, grinding her teeth, there will be no opportunity. I shall know how to steer well clear of you and any family who believe charity to be a waste of time. Hateful, arrogant people.

What colour were his eyes?

Pulling herself up sharply, she redirected her thoughts to the three over-endowed sphinxes and their hideous cobra companion, drawing the Kashmir shawl closer about her at the sudden chill.

After a later-than-usual dinner, after the unwrapping of every single purchase and an examination of each item, after umpteen reviews on the perfection of Lord Rayne’s neckcloth, his hair, his noble features, Caterina was at last persuaded to retire to bed with The Mysteries of Udolpho, which she had longed to read but had not been allowed to, for fear her younger sister Sara should want to do the same. Such were the joys of leaving one’s siblings behind.

Immediately, Amelie began a transformation from lady of fashion to dowdy old woman who might, in the dark, pass for a servant or an itinerant fruitpicker looking for work. She had seen the plight of the one to be rescued the day before, waiting, weeping outside the impressive Vestry Hall on Paradise Road, a grandiose Roman-style building that would have intimidated anyone by its sheer size alone. Amelie’s house was only a few doors away, and she and Caterina, passing on their way home from the apothecary’s shop, had been arrested by the pitying group of women who stood to sympathise and scold that the woman in question was being expected to walk all the way up to the workhouse on Hill Common. The woman’s companion, probably an aunt or her mother, had been shouldered aside by the beadle, but Amelie had managed to find out from her what was happening and to assure her, in a moment of extreme compassion, that she could rely on her help the very next night, one way or another.

Previous rescues had been undertaken by those of Amelie’s devoted servants who were themselves of a similar background to the women and, so far, she’d had no need to risk her own discovery, nor would they have allowed her to if she had proposed it. This time, she had kept her plans to herself, knowing that the woman’s companion would need to recognise her.

It was a fair hike up to Hill Common and a carriage would easily be identified so, instead of walking, she rode her donkey Isabelle. It was appropriate, she thought, confidently rejoicing that she was well ahead of that obnoxious man and his abortive schemes. What a pity it was that she would not see his reaction to the latest ‘springing of a young nobthatcher’. What disgusting jargon men used.

The road was uphill, rough, and well beyond the street lights, and the rain that had threatened all afternoon had begun to fall heavily, turning the stony way into a river and soaking the thick shawl over Amelie’s head. At last she came to the great iron gates and the gatekeeper’s box from which the dim glow of a candle could be seen wavering in the draught. Sliding thankfully off Isabelle’s back, she saw the dark figure of a woman approach and could hardly contain her relief that she would not have to wait long on such a night. Soon, they would all three be safe and comfortable, and the new life would be welcomed instead of being someone’s burden.

‘Well met,’ she said, peering hard into the blackness and easing her reticule off her wrist. ‘Have you heard how your…sister…is? Or is she your daughter? Do forgive me, I didn’t see you too well.’

‘Aye, she’s well,’ the woman croaked. ‘No babe yet, though.’

‘And have you spoken to the gateman? He’ll cooperate, will he? Do we have to bribe the doorman, too?’

‘Oh, aye, each one as we pass through. How much did you bring, m’lady? If you’ll pardon me asking.’

‘Let’s get out of this downpour…over here under the tree.’

The steady roar took on a different note as Amelie pulled the donkey behind her, then took the reticule out from beneath the folds of dripping wetness, turning her back on the woman to rest its weight on the saddle. It was in that brief moment of heed-lessness when Amelie should have been holding all her wits on a knife-edge that the woman’s hand darted like a weasel towards the bag of money, pulling it off the saddle and out of Amelie’s hands, swinging it away into an indistinct flurry of blackness.

Bumping into Isabelle’s large head, Amelie threw herself after the woman and made a wild grab at her clothes, feeling the resistance and the ensuing twist as her fingers closed over the rough wet fabric. Unable to see, the two of them grappled and pulled, suffering the frantic grasp of fingers on head, hair, shoulders and throat, their feet slithering and tripping over tree roots. But the woman was stronger and older than her opponent and trained to every trick of the seasoned thief, and Amelie was taken by the hair, spun round and pushed so hard that she fell sprawling upon her front in one great lung-crushing thud that pressed her face into the wet ground with a squeak of expelled breath.

The fight was over; the sound of fumbling, then of running feet on the track becoming fainter, and the unrelenting rain pattering noisily on the leaves above, throbbing like a pain, humiliating and raw. She had promised to help a woman in need and been robbed of the chance. Failure.

‘Isabelle…Isabelle?’ she called.

She heard the jingle of the harness and a man’s voice urging the creature to come on and be quick about it, then a soft thwack on the animal’s wet rump.

‘Who…where are you?’ Amelie called. ‘Who is it?’ She struggled to gain a footing, but her boots were tangled in folds of wet skirts and she was unable to rise before a dark shape bent down to help her.

‘Forgive me, ma’am,’ he said, politely. ‘Allow me to help you up. Hold your hands out…no…this way.’

‘Where? How do I know you’re a friend?’

‘Well, you don’t, ma’am. But you can’t stay down there all night, can you? See, here’s your donkey. Come, let me help you. Are you hurt?’

‘Not much. I don’t know. That woman’s nowhere to be seen, I suppose?’

‘Gone, I’m afraid. Has she robbed you, ma’am? Did she take…?’

‘My reticule. Yes, it’s gone. Tch! Serves me right.’

The stranger eased her up, releasing her arm immediately to look, as well as he was able, at the patch of ground round about. ‘No reticule, ma’am. It looks as if she must have taken it. I’d never have thought there’d be game-pullets like her out on a night like this, I must say. Shall I get hold of the gatekeeper for you?’

‘Er…no, not now,’ said Amelie, quickly. ‘I’d better go back and try again tomorrow. Thank you for your help, Mr…?’

‘Todd, ma’am. No trouble at all. Would you like me to escort you?’

‘Oh, no, thank you, Mr Todd. I’m most grateful to you, but I have not far to go and Isabelle will carry me.’

‘Well, if you’re sure. I’ll hold her while you climb aboard. There now. Good night to you, ma’am. I didn’t catch your name?’

‘Ginny,’ she said, realising at once that her voice was not in accord with her appearance. ‘Ginny Hodge. Good night to you, Mr Todd.’ She fumbled for the reins and kicked Isabelle into action, swaying and tipping over the puddles as her body, already aching with bruises, tried to stay upright. Once or twice she felt compelled to turn and look over her shoulder into the solid blackness and driving rain, though mostly her troubled thoughts were for the woman she had let down who would now believe the worst of her sort of people, as others apparently did. Perhaps she should have been a little less bountiful with her promises, a little more suspicious of people’s need to be helped. She had learned to be more philosophical over the last few years, but the disappointments of the day were felt more keenly than her bruises during the uncomfortable journey home and well into the small hours. It was at such times that she missed Josiah’s fatherly counselling most of all.

Sheen Court, Richmond, Home of the Marquess of Sheen

A guarded tap on the door of the study was answered by a gruff monosyllable and the lowering of a pen on to the leather-covered desk. A single candle guttered in the draught as the door opened and closed.

‘Any luck?’ was the quiet greeting.

The visitor allowed himself a half-smile. ‘Yes, my lord. I believe we may have something.’ He held up a wet embroidered reticule, the drawstrings of which had been pulled wide open. ‘It was not so fortunate for the woman, a certain Ginny Hodge, mind you. She got herself mugged by a thieving old dowd at the workhouse gates and lost the contents of this.’ He laid the bag on the desk before his lordship and watched as the long fingers drew out the remaining objects one by one: a blue glass perfume bottle with a silver stopper, a damp laceedged handkerchief of very superior quality, and a tortoiseshell and silver filigree card-case, which opened to reveal one single card.

This was removed and studied in silence for what seemed to the visitor like an extraordinarily long time before his lordship shook his head with a grunt of disbelief in his throat. ‘Well…well!’ he whispered. ‘Was this…Ginny Hodge…hurt by the mugging?’

‘I think not too seriously, sir. I followed her home to Paradise Road. One of the big newish houses. She went in by the back way, but she didn’t sound like a servant to me, sir.’

Raising himself from his chair, his lordship went over to the side table, poured a glass of whisky and handed it to his informant. ‘Drink that,’ he said, ‘and get into something dry. You’ve done well.’

‘Thank you, my lord. Shall you need the coach in the morning?’

‘No, the crane-neck phaeton. Good night, Todd.’

‘Good night, my lord. Thank you.’ The empty glass was exchanged for a silver coin, and the door was closed as quietly as it had been opened. But it was much later when the candle was at last extinguished and Lord Nicholas Elyot, swinging the reticule like a trophy, ascended the staircase at Sheen Court.

Chapter Two

By breakfast, Lord Elyot’s surprise had mellowed and a plan of action had already begun to form in his mind about how best to proceed, given that his father’s instructions would require some readjustment. To the genteel rattle of newspapers and the clatter of cutlery on plates, he had consulted his brother about the day ahead, though his suggestion had not been received as favourably as he’d hoped.

‘Nick,’ said Lord Rayne, laying down his knife, ‘if I’d known you’d hauled me back to Richmond to be wet-nurse to a green chit, I’d have stayed in London. You know I’d do anything for you, but this is a fudge if ever I saw one.’ He laid down his crisp white napkin with rather more force than was necessary and sat back, still chewing. ‘She’s only just out of the schoolroom, dammit!’

‘It’s not a fudge,’ said Lord Elyot. ‘I mean it. And I’m not asking you to marry the child, only that you keep her happy while I—’

‘While you keep Lady Chester happy. Thank you, but I have a better idea. You take the frilly one and I’ll take the diamond. How’s that?’

Lord Elyot reached for the marmalade-pot and heaped a spoonful of it on to his toast. ‘Two good reasons. One is that you’re not her type. Second is that you don’t have the time. You’ll be a member of His Majesty’s fighting force soon, don’t forget.’

‘Not her type? And you are, I suppose?’

‘Yes.’ The bite into the toast was decisive.

Reluctantly, Lord Rayne was obliged to admit that his elder brother would succeed with Lady Chester if any man could, for it would take a cold woman to be unaffected by his darkly brooding good looks and the singular manner of his total concentration upon what she had to say. Which was not the usual way of things. As to the time he would need, Nick was right about that, too. The lady’s response to him had been polite, but far from enthusiastic, and he would need both time and help to gain a more lasting interest. ‘What’s it worth to you?’ he said.

Lord Elyot’s pained expression was partly for his brother’s mercenary train of thought and partly for the messy nature of toast and marmalade. ‘I’m doing you a favour, sapskull,’ he snapped. ‘The child’s a pert little thing, not a dimwit. Pretty eyes, rough round the edges, but you could have the pleasure of working on that. She’d not resent it. She’ll be a little cracker by the end of the season and then you can leave her to somebody else. A built-in escape route. What more d’ye want, lad?’

‘Cattle. I shall need three or four good mounts to take with me.’

‘What happened to your allowance?’

‘You know what happened to it or I’d not be on a repairing-lease in the country, would I?’

‘All right. Four good mounts it is. For your help, Seton.’

‘For my full…unstinting…liberal and generous help. When can we go and look at them?’

‘We’ll look at the women today. This morning. We’ll take my new crane-neck phaeton out. You can drive.’ Lord Elyot leaned back, satisfied.

‘Just one detail, Nick. How d’ye know there isn’t a husband there somewhere?’

‘I made enquiries.’

‘You don’t waste much time, do you? And what about this urgent business for Father? Where does that come in?’

‘That’s in hand, too,’ he said, ‘but I want you to keep that very much to yourself, Seton, if you will. A word about that in the wrong ear can send them up like pheasants.’

The particular pheasant Lord Elyot had in mind was already flying at a steady pace along the edge of Richmond Park in a coffee-and-cream phaeton. The driver of this neat little turn-out had evasion in mind, but her passenger was on the lookout for the merest sign of the two men who, since their meeting yesterday, had satisfied her every criteria for what makes the perfect Corinthian. Believing that she had won the argument about a need for fresh early-morning air, Caterina had resisted all her aunt’s recommendations that she should wear a shawl over her spencer and pale blue walking-dress, and now she wished that the stiff breeze would abate a little. Holding the long ribbons of her blue ruched bonnet with one hand, she clung to the side of the phaeton with the other as they bounced on elliptical springs through a deep puddle.

‘Aunt Amelie,’ she said, half-turning to see if the tiger was still on his seat behind them, ‘do you think…we could…slow down a little? There’s a…phaeton over there…in the…distance…oops! I can’t quite…see. Please?’

Amelie’s hands tightened on the reins. It had been her intention to speed with all haste to Kew Gardens with Caterina in order to avoid the visit that she feared might result from their introduction to Lord Elyot and his brother, who she knew to be returning to Richmond yesterday. Conversely, sending a message to the door to say that they were not at home would not please Caterina one bit, nor would it help to fulfil her assurances to Caterina’s father.

Yet after last night’s bitter disappointment and her poor night’s sleep, the thought of being even civil to the unfeeling pair was more than she could bear, and Caterina’s pleas to go out driving instead of revelling in her new dress-lengths had seemed to Amelie like a chance to please herself while appearing to please her niece. Now it looked as if her strategy had been identified, as the vehicle in question had swung round in a dangerously tight half circle to head in their direction.

It would have been folly for her to go any faster, as she would like to have done, with the small body of the phaeton suspended above the lightweight undercarriage and the greys being so eager, but Amelie saw no reason to slow down either. The road ahead was clear except for the approach of an open landau, and it was the tiger’s warning as he stood up to peer between their heads that decided the pace after all. ‘Watch out, m’lady!’ he called. ‘Them two are ‘avin a bit of a frisk, by the look o’ things. Better pull up till they’ve passed. Aye, I thought as much. It’s the Oglethorpes’ new pair. That’s it, m’lady. Keep ‘em on the rein till I’ve got their heads.’ He leapt down off his rear perch and ran to the bridles, and Amelie had no choice but to wait for the two fretting horses to pass, receiving the coachman’s thanks but only the briefest of acknowledgements from the two female passengers.

Amelie would have been surprised if it had been otherwise; only the men in Richmond had ever offered any warmer salutation in the last five weeks and, as yet, no lady had left her calling-card. Before they could move off again, the towering crane-neck phaeton had caught them up, making their lower version look sedate by comparison. Sensing Caterina’s frisson of excitement, Amelie glanced at her and saw how nervous fingers smoothed the blue muslin over her knees, saw the alertness in her posture like a soldier on parade. So soon she was in love, and all a-flutter. Within her own breast, she felt again that uncomfortable kick against her lungs and put it down either to the affray of last night or having eaten her breakfast muffin too quickly.

‘Lady Chester, Miss Chester,’ said Lord Elyot, tipping his hat. ‘What a happy coincidence. You are out early. Do you go to see and be seen up on the Hill?’

Richmond Hill was a favourite parade-ground for showing off one’s horse or carriage, which Amelie had so far avoided. ‘No, my lord,’ she said, aware of the looks being exchanged between Caterina and Lord Rayne, ‘we’re on our way to see the newest blooms at Kew. I’m teaching my niece to depict them.’ She wished instantly that she had not made it sound so school-marmish, but her large canvas bag lay at their feet, bulging with sketchbooks and paint-boxes, and the men would surely have seen it from their height.

Lord Rayne leaned forward the better to see Caterina. ‘The study of blooms,’ he said, ‘would seem to be a glaring omission from my education, my lady. Would you allow us, just this once, to accompany you to see how it’s done?’

Caterina was about to enthuse, but Amelie used an elbow to nudge her into silence. There was no question of her showing them or anyone else except her niece how to draw blooms, and the mock-interest Lord Rayne was showing annoyed her by its facetiousness. ‘I cannot prevent you going where you will, Lord Rayne,’ she replied, ‘but we are not inclined to demonstrate. I beg you to excuse us.’

Her indignation swelled once more as she recalled for the hundredth time those hurtful words the two men had used only yesterday: ‘Loose screw…do-gooders…addle-pate…ought to be locked up…’ Buxton people had thanked her and called her stout-hearted: here, they called it interference and would put a stop to it, if they could. Not even for Caterina’s sake could she forget or even try to find an allowance for their heartlessness, nor could she shake off the thought of the miserable childbearing woman she had failed last night. At that moment the two events were linked in her mind, and any goodwill she might have pretended for the sake of Caterina’s burgeoning emotions was still-born.

Sitting nearest to Amelie as his brother’s passenger, Lord Elyot was better able to see the coolness as well as the anger behind her dark eyes and, though they were now turned towards the horses’ ears, not to him, he was determined to get more out of this meeting than an excuse when it was obvious that the niece was setting so much store by it.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘We have no wish to intrude, Lady Chester. But will you explain something to me, before you leave us?’

‘Certainly, if I can.’

‘I noticed that Mrs and Miss Oglethorpe could hardly raise an acknowledgement between them just now. Not that it matters, of course, but I wondered if there was a particular reason for their rudeness. Have they not been introduced to you?’

He was right. It did not matter, but he may as well know now as later, and it may as well come from her, to set the facts straight. ‘Yes, they were, at church.’ He would want to know more, she was sure.

‘Yet no smiles and hardly a bow? Was she attempting to cut you, by any chance?’

She sighed, then looked slowly at him and his handsome brother. ‘I think you and Lord Rayne will soon discover,’ she said, ‘that you do yourselves no favours by being seen speaking to Miss Chester and me. In London where we can be more anonymous, perhaps, but not here in Richmond. We are not quite the thing, you know.’

‘Is that so?’ said Lord Elyot. ‘How very intriguing. Well, I suppose we could drive on at a smart pace, but I am inclined to beg for more details. I’m sure my brother is of the same mind. Do tell us. You are highwaymen in disguise? Escaped Muscovy princesses?’

Though his eyes were shaded, Amelie recalled how they had looked at her in the shop, and she could not meet them again. ‘Nothing quite as dramatic,’ she replied. ‘We are northerners, sir. Worse still, my family has connections with industry. To put it bluntly, my lord, trade. There, I’ve said the awful word. Now I shall go and rinse my mouth with water and vinegar and you will put some distance between us as fast as you can. We shall not hold it against you. I bid you both a very good day.’

‘Wait!’ Lord Elyot’s gloved hand could not reach Amelie’s phaeton, but his command was enough to hold her back. ‘Please?’ he added, squeakily.

When she sneaked a look upwards, she saw that he and his brother were grinning broadly. ‘You may smile, Lord Elyot,’ she said, ‘but the good people of Richmond take such things very seriously, you must know. Or had you forgotten? We might display any number of harmless eccentricities like sketching blooms at Kew Gardens, but trade is unforgivable, sir. Somebody has obviously got wind of it. And the north…well, nothing there but mills and clogs and smoke and strange dialects. Miss Chester and I own only one head each, but some have two, or even three! Can you imagine it?’

To keep her straw hat firmly in place in the blustering wind, Amelie had tied a long gauze scarf over it, swathing her neck and making it difficult for him to see her face without craning forward. But her sarcasm had produced an angry flush and a sparkle to her superb eyes that Lord Elyot could only guess at until his brother moved the horses forward a step. Then he was better able to judge the passion behind her droll revelations and to see that she was not quite the amenable obliging creature he had met the day before, nor was she the misguided woman whose reticule he now possessed.

Equally significant was the expression of dismay on the pretty niece’s face at the scuppering of her hopes. So this was the reason why they had kept out of the social scene for five weeks and why the young lass was so keen to make contact with the first half-decent beau to speak to her. His laughter had stopped well before Amelie had finished her explanation.

‘With difficulty,’ he said, in answer to her question. ‘But am I to understand that Richmond approval is what you desire, my lady?’

Her voice lost its flinty edge. ‘Not for myself, my lord. I did not come here to seek high society and there is no one’s approval I need. I have more interesting matters to keep me occupied. I bid you both good day, my lords.’

Giving them no time to recover or to say a proper farewell, she called out to Riley to let the horses go, cracked the whip above their heads with astonishing precision, and set them off so fast that the poor tiger had to take a flying leap at the back of the perch as it passed.

‘Whew! You in an ‘urry, m’lady?’ he gasped.

‘Yes. How do we get out of this place?’

‘Thought you was going to Kew, m’lady.’

‘Well, I’ve changed my mind. Left or right…quick, man!’

‘Left! Steady, for pity’s sake, or we’ll all be in the ditch.’

‘Rubbish! If you can’t stay aboard, get off and walk.’

Riley grinned. ‘Yes, m’lady.’ He would rather have been seen dead.

Amelie’s sudden reversal, however, was heartily disapproved of, and had done more than bring a mild disappointment to the young breast at her side, for now there were tear-filled lashes and a voice husky with broken dreams. Turning round after taking a last lingering look at the classy phaeton’s driver, Caterina rummaged in her reticule for a handkerchief and dabbed, reserving her questions for the privacy of the breakfast parlour at Number 18 Paradise Road. Travelling at Amelie’s speed, it did not take long.

Caterina was a vivacious but not unreasonable young lady, even at times like this when her desires had been thwarted, and such was her admiration for her aunt that the explanation and assurances she was given were accepted without argument. If Aunt Amelie said that the men would not be put off, then she must wait and hope it would not take too long, though privately she could not see why they should have been so positively rejected in the first place if they were expected to try again. Did Aunt Amelie hope they would?

The rest of the day was not wasted, for Caterina’s weekly singing lesson with Signor Cantoni used up an hour after noon, then there was piano practice to be done followed by a thorough search through back copies of the Ladies’Magazine to find some day dresses for the mantua-maker to reproduce. After which she read all the advertisements for cosmetics, hair colourants, rouge for lips and cheeks, mouth fresheners, skin softeners, soaps, pills and whalebone.

Amelie protested. ‘You need no stays, my dear,’ she said. ‘You have a beautiful youthful figure that needs not even the shortest corset. Nor does your hair need extra colour.’ It was no flattery—Caterina was exceedingly pretty and trim, and Amelie was convinced that, with an overhaul of her somewhat childish wardrobe and some practice of womanly ways, she would soon be a beauty. Her naturally curly red-gold hair would respond well to the dishevelled look, so they set about experimenting, there and then, with the Grecian style, with bandeaux, plumes, combs and knots, twists and coils. The next time Lord Rayne saw her, Amelie predicted, he would be astonished by the transformation.

Next morning, the mantua-maker and her young assistant arrived to measure Caterina for new gowns. It had rained heavily again during the night and well into the morning, damping the dressmaker and chilling her helper to such an extent that, although one of her roles was to model some of the gowns they had brought with them, her emaciated and shivering body stuck through the sheer fabrics like a grasshopper’s knees. Amelie resolved to mend that problem before the coming autumn sent the child to an early grave.

While they were merrily draping themselves with new muslins and silks, Henry the footman came to announce that Lord Elyot and Lord Rayne were below, hoping to be allowed to see them.

‘Oh, please, Aunt,’ Caterina said, clutching at her unstable toga. ‘Do say we’re at home. Don’t send them away.’

If she wondered, fleetingly, how far Lord Elyot’s enquiries had led him into the workhouse affair, Amelie concealed it well; she had no heart to disappoint her niece again so soon, even though she felt herself to be wading in rather deep waters.

‘The morning room,’ she said to Henry. ‘Leave your hair just as it is, Caterina. It looks most becoming like that, and they must take us as they find us, mustn’t they?’ Nevertheless, the advice was amended in her own favour as she passed the long cheval mirror brought downstairs for the fitting, and the darkly tumbling curls bound with lilac ribbons were tweaked into place. As a married woman she would have worn something over them, but any inclination towards convention had grown less attractive after Josiah’s death. Yet at the back of her mind was a nugget of satisfaction that there was someone in this town who, in full possession of the facts, had not been so easily put off. Indeed, a timely show of her very comfortable life without Richmond’s friendship might be no bad thing. Even now they would be looking around with some interest at the fine white and gilded entrance hall and the Axminster carpet, while in the morning room were two views of Venice by Canaletto that would impress them more.

The visitors were shown into the room only moments after Amelie had seated herself at the rosewood pianoforte with Caterina standing by her side, a sheet of music in her hand. Despite herself, it was an impression she wished to convey, though she could not have explained why.

‘Lady Chester. Miss Chester.’ The men bowed as the door closed behind them, their reflections disappearing into the shining oak floor.

Caterina smiled, but Amelie chose not to while resisting the temptation to continue her former irony. ‘You are welcome, my lords. May I enquire how you knew our address?’ She stood to meet them, inclining her head gracefully.

‘From the man who delivered the heroic silver tea urn from Rundell’s this morning,’ said Lord Elyot. ‘I made a point of asking him so we could offer you our thanks in person.’

‘Ah…I see.’ Amelie sat on a chair newly upholstered with her own embroidery and saw how Lord Rayne sat near enough to Caterina to admire the glossy red curls he had not seen before. Against the simple gown of white muslin, the sight seemed to hold his attention most satisfactorily.

Lord Elyot went to sit in a corner of the sofa, his arm thrown across the scrolled end, his long legs crossed as if the creasing of his tight buckskins was of no consequence, and it was this relaxed manner and his study of her face that made Amelie suspect that her choice of gift for his sister had been recognised for what it was, for now he must have caught a flavour, at least, of her excellent taste in all things domestic. Other than the tea urn, that is.

There was something more to be seen in his steady regard, however, that kept Amelie’s eyes upon his face longer than at any time since that first meeting. She noted how the dark hair down the side of each cheek reached the level of his earlobes and how the starched points of his white shirt touched each dark column. Now she was able to see the colour of his eyes away from the shadows, grey and darkrimmed like the clouds, and very intent upon her. She gulped as the sly thud against her lungs forced her to take an extra breath, then the silent exchange ended as she looked away, conscious that this was not at all what she had expected to feel. She did not like or approve of these men’s carelessness of others’ misfortunes, but they were noblemen who could open doors for Caterina and, for that reason alone, she would have to stifle her reservations and show them some civility.

‘I hope you approve of our choice, Lord Elyot,’ she said. ‘Miss Chester and I thought that, if your sister enjoys taking tea as much as we do, then an urn would be just the thing. Especially as she has a family.’

‘My sister’s family is still very young,’ he said, ‘but taking tea is one of her delights. I’m sure she’ll be…er…’

‘Dismayed?’

‘Oh, no, indeed. She’ll be gratified that we even remembered. We’re not very good at that kind of thing, you see.’

‘I would never have guessed it, sir. Does she live nearby?’

‘At Mortlake, just across the park. May I congratulate you on such a beautiful room, my lady?’

The long sash windows looked eastwards out over the kitchen garden where the light was bright and new, bouncing off pale yellow walls and white ceiling, pinpointing the delicate gilded moulding, the silver pieces, the rosewood and satin surfaces, the sumptuous sofa striped with white, gold and apple-green, matching the chair seats. Inside the pierced brass fender stood a large white jug holding late blooms and berries, and before the white marble chimney-piece lay a pale rug.

Lord Elyot’s scrutiny paused at the views of Venice then lingered over a beautiful still life with yellow-and-white flowers. ‘I recognise Canaletto,’ he said, ‘but not this one. This is very fine. Are you a collector?’ He stood up to examine it in silence and then, leaning a little closer, read out the signature. ‘A. Carr? That’s a painter I’m not familiar with.’

‘My maiden name,’ said Amelie.

He turned to look at her, and because he was too well-bred to show his astonishment, he came back to sit on the sofa at the end nearest to her. ‘You were on your way to paint blooms,’ he said, quietly.

‘You doubted it?’

‘Not exactly, though I did think it an odd excuse. I hope you’ll forgive me. You are obviously no amateur. And a collector, too. Have you attended any of the exhibitions in London yet?’

‘One or two. I bought a set of Thomas Bewick engravings while we were there, but Caterina doesn’t share my interest, and there have been others things to attend to since our arrival.’

‘From the north,’ he smiled, reminding her of the dire warnings. ‘I am not put off in the slightest, by the way.’

‘If that includes Lord Rayne, sir, my niece will be happy to hear it.’ They glanced at the two, talking animatedly like old friends.

‘And you, my lady?’

‘I hoped I had made that clear, my lord. My concern is for her, not for myself. She left her friends behind, sadly.’

‘You are brutally honest. But the name Carr carries some considerable weight in the north, I know. Are you by any chance a descendant of the Manchester Carrs?’

‘My father was Robert Carr, the Manchester industrialist, one of the cotton-printing Carr dynasty, sir.’

‘Is that so? And the name Chester?’

‘Was my late husband’s, Sir Josiah. A merchant banker. Miss Chester is his brother’s eldest daughter.’

His firm lips had begun to form an ‘oh’ before being readjusted into an expression of admiration and approval, which Amelie misinterpreted as the usual interest at the sound of substantial assets. She was not disappointed—it would be an exceptional man indeed who failed to respond to the scent of wealth.

‘So you lived in Manchester, my lady?’

‘In both Manchester and Buxton, in Derbyshire. Among other places. I didn’t want to stay there.’ She realised that this had an unfortunate ring to it. ‘Buxton has always been my real home, Lord Elyot. It’s a lovely place. People go there to take the healing waters, you know. But it’s a small town, smaller than Richmond even, and there is gossip and snobbery, which I cannot abide, and so many restrictions for people like myself. It was time for a change. I chose Richmond for its nearness to…oh, well, never mind that. I don’t wish to be tedious.’

‘You are far from becoming tedious, Lady Chester, I assure you. But you were saying at our last meeting how your neighbours have not so far taken the trouble to leave their cards. I find that sad, but not particularly surprising, given that they’re far too cautious for their own good round here. But there are exceptions.’

‘Oh? Who?’

‘Myself. And my brother. The Marchioness of Sheen is the leading society hostess here, but she’s in London and I dare say everyone is waiting for her approval before they know whether they’re allowed to like you or not. But that doesn’t apply to us.’

‘I really do not care for her approval, sir. She sounds like a very disagreeable woman, and I’ve had my fill of such people for the moment.’

Lord Elyot smiled at that. ‘May I ask how long you were married, my lady?’

‘Two years, sir. Why do you ask?’

‘You must have been a very young bride.’

‘But not a foolish one. I am well able to take care of myself.’

‘And of your niece too? You say you are concerned for her.’

Amelie’s shawl had slipped, exposing the peachy skin of one arm where a row of dark bruises had begun to show. Unhurriedly, she drew the shawl up over her shoulder while her glance passed lightly over Caterina and came to rest upon the rain-spattered window. ‘I cannot deny that I have an obligation to my niece and her father. You must have noticed how she longs for the company of other people, but we arrived too late for the season and, in any case, next year looks to be the same as this if things don’t improve. I had not forseen that making contacts would be quite so fraught with difficulties. Perhaps I should have done. Perhaps I should have made more of an effort.’

‘You brought no letters of introduction?’

‘No, my lord. There was no one I wanted to ask.’

‘I see. So you have not attended the local assemblies yet?’

She blinked. ‘Assemblies? I haven’t heard about any.’

‘There is one tonight at the Castle Inn. It’s our local hop, you know, but always well-attended and respectable. We have a very good Master of Ceremonies who doesn’t allow anyone in without a ticket. My brother and I have season tickets. If you think Miss Chester would care for it, and if you would permit it, we’d be delighted if you would be our guests.’ The last sentence was directed towards Caterina, whose ears were tuned to the sound of her name.

Its effect on her was predictable; her conversation with Lord Rayne stopped to make way for a pleading that Amelie thought was excessive, even after her previous refusal of company. ‘Aunt…please, oh, please, may we?’

Amelie was not the only one to think so, for she caught the lift of an eyebrow from Lord Rayne to his elder brother before he took Caterina’s part. ‘There would be no lack of partners for Miss Chester,’ he said, ‘or for yourself, and you may be assured that my brother and I make the sturdiest of escorts. We can call for you and deliver you safely home again, and we shall not wear boots, I promise.’

Caterina giggled, but Amelie felt the waters deepening around her as she thought of the poor woman to whom she had promised freedom and failed. She had fully intended to go with one of her manservants to make another bid for her freedom, and now those plans would have to be revised again, or abandoned.

Her face must have reflected some doubt, for when they met Lord Elyot’s for the expected answer, it was he who looked back steadily at her as if they had already formed some kind of embryo understanding. ‘It’s all right,’ he said, very quietly. ‘Miss Chester will be quite safe with us.’

And you? she wanted to say. Will I be as safe with you, who have instructions to investigate me? Will you find me out? Will your friendship turn cold, then, and leave Caterina bereft? Will that be the end of a brief fling with Richmond society?

There were other concerns also, to which she hardly dare allot any thought for fear of making them more real. His voice. His perceptively intimate way of looking at her. His devastatingly good looks. They would dance together. He would hold her hand, and more. She would be lost. He would be well used to this game and she was sadly out of practice, and vulnerable.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sure she will, my lord.’

‘At eight, then? They always have a decent supper.’

‘We shall be ready. Thank you.’

Fortunately, Caterina managed to contain her squealing hug of excitement until the two visitors had been shown out. ‘Only think,’ she laughed. ‘their father is a marquess and they live up at Sheen Court. We passed the gates on one of our drives. Do you remember wondering who could live at such a grand place? Well, they do. Oh, what am I going to wear, Aunt?’

‘A marquess? Then their mother is…?’

‘Yes, the Marchioness of Sheen.’ Caterina whirled away in a solo dance, already imagining a queue of beaux.

‘The leader of society.’

‘I beg your pardon, Aunt?’

‘Oh, dear,’ murmured Amelie.

Beneath the hood of the two-seater curricle, the two men were quietly confident, if not self-satisfied, on their return to Sheen Court. ‘I think that went rather well this time,’ said Lord Rayne. ‘Progress, would you say?’

‘An improvement, certainly. But still as wary as a wildcat.’

‘Well, we’ll see how they perform this evening.’

‘Yes, but try to avoid any mention of Father and Mother, will you?’

‘Sorry, old chap. Already have. She asked me.’

‘Oh, well. Too bad.’

‘I’ll warn Todd we’ll need the town coach for tonight, shall I?’

‘No, it’ll have to be one of the others. I’m sending Todd up north for a few days to make some enquiries for me. Tell me, why would neighbours in a small town gossip about a wealthy young widow so much that she feels bound to move away?’

‘Scandal, I suppose. That’s the usual gossip fodder, isn’t it?’

‘That’s what I thought. Now we shall have to wait and see.’

‘Ah, so that’s why Todd’s going up north. Enquiring into her background? You’re that serious, then?’

‘Certainly I am.’

‘So why can’t you just ask her what it is you need to know?’ The look he received from his brother apparently answered him, and there were no further questions on that subject. ‘You said we’d be calling at the workhouse on the way home. Are you still of that mind?’

‘It’s our duty, Seton, you know that. And I think it’s time you took another look. There’s a package under the seat. Infant wrappers from Mother and Dorna’s sewing-group. We’re to take that in with us.’ Then, because there was something on his mind that would not take a back seat, his remark came out of the blue. ‘I must say though, brother, she’s the most out-and-out stunner I’ve ever seen in my life.’

With years of youthful hope behind her, Caterina could still not have predicted the impact she was to make upon her standoffish Richmond neighbours that evening or the bliss she would feel at being sought for every one of the twenty or so dances. Attired with studied simplicity in a bead-embroidered white gown of her aunt’s and quickly altered to fit, the young lady shed her blue velvet cape and waited with her hand tucked into Lord Rayne’s arm, slightly behind Aunt Amelie and Lord Elyot. And from that moment on, when all heads turned in their direction, the steady stream of young men to her side increased, for one had only to watch her beauty and vivacity to see that here was a new star in the ascendant.

Naturally, she could not have been expected to pay more than a passing attention to her aunt’s enjoyment except to note, whenever she happened to look, that she was dancing, or had disappeared, or was just returning from the supper room. But the press of people, mostly men, around her aunt would have made more than the briefest contact difficult. Altogether, it was a most satisfactory beginning, especially in view of Lord Rayne’s care of her. He was the most perfect escort.

They had been taken up in Lord Elyot’s coach, although the new assembly rooms at the Castle Inn on Hill Street were only walking distance away from Paradise Road. But the roads were still muddy, and to be helped up into a coach with a man’s hand beneath one’s elbow was vastly more romantic than a moonlit walk swinging a shoe-bag and holding one’s skirts up over the puddles.

The jest about not wearing boots might, Caterina thought, have been a hint for them to dress up rather than down, for both men wore pale knee-breeches and white stockings with their long dark-blue tailcoats and, if she had not already been half in love with his brother, she would have fallen for Lord Elyot, even if he did not smile as readily at her aunt as he did at her. Indeed, his expression was quite severe at times.

‘Is your brother displeased with my aunt’s appearance, my lord?’ she whispered as they waited to be greeted by Mr Newbrook, the Master of Ceremonies. ‘He rarely smiles.’

Patting Caterina’s fingers in the crook of his arm, Lord Rayne reassured her. ‘You will find, Miss Chester, as you gain experience, that men’s smiles are not always an indication of approval, just as a straight face does not always mean the opposite. I can assure you that my brother’s regard for Lady Chester could hardly be higher.’

Caterina thought his lesson rather patronising but, from then on, her observation of men’s expressions became rather more acute. Amelie, on the other hand, with or without Lord Elyot’s smiles, was dealing with the kind of approval she had missed since the death of Sir Josiah, having recognised in her escort’s appraising glances a darkly disturbing yet controlled desire to make their short coach-drive last for hours, alone. His lingering support down the two steps confirmed it and, to her own astonishment, her body responded, if only fleetingly. It was just as quickly cautioned. This man, she reminded herself, would never be one she could allow herself to warm to.

Mr Newbrook was gratified to welcome such illustrious members of Richmond society. A rare visit, he said it was, and how honoured. They had arrived just in time for the opening minuet, and would Lady Chester and Lord Elyot be pleased to take the lead for the first figure? Splendid.

It had been over two years since Amelie had danced, but no one would have guessed it as she swept gracefully into her first curtsy, then into the slow and languid movements of the minuet. Feeling all eyes upon her and her equally elegant partner, she was confident that the white gauze-covered silk with its simple classic lines had been the right choice. Instead of a lace cap or turban, she had defied convention by binding her glossy curls into coils threaded with ropes of pearls and, apart from one very large diamond surrounded by small pearls on a chain around her neck, these were her only adornments. The pendant, however, was enhanced by the glorious expanse of peachy skin inside the low-cut neckline, her beautiful breasts crossed with satin ribbons over fine pleats, the long sleeves clinging to the point of each shoulder, tied with ribbons at intervals. Lord Elyot, she was pleased to see, did not take his eyes off her once during their duet until the others came to join them.

This, my lord, is what you will never get to know, however much you may discover about my inconvenient dogooding, damn you.

The minuet ended and, to the accompaniment of glances, open looks and more outright stares, Amelie was led off the floor to a corner where, before she could be surrounded by potential partners, Lord Elyot made his own claim upon her quite clear. ‘You will go into supper with me, my lady,’ he said, watching carefully for her reaction, ‘and you will save the next and the last dance for me too.’

‘My lord, that sounds remarkably like a command. And you know what will be said if I dance more than twice with you.’

‘It is a command,’ he said. ‘And people may say whatever they wish. They are talking already, I dare say.’

She looked. Yes, heads were bent behind fans, plumes nodding. It was as she had half-expected, and although most of her new acqaintances were men introduced to her by Lord Elyot, only a few were their wives and daughters who may or may not have been told that they must be introduced to her, like it or not.

Lady Sergeant and her daughter obviously had, otherwise their greetings would have come sooner and been delivered with more sincerity. ‘Well Nicholas,’ said Lady Sergeant, squinting through a waterfall of heavy blond lace and greying curls, ‘you’ve picked up another handsome gel, and no mistake, though you could hardly miss her on your own doorstep, could you? Eh?’ She tapped Lord Elyot’s arm while looking Amelie up and down several times. ‘Heard your husband was in the metal trade…what was it…lead?’

Amelie’s policy had always been to make no response to outright rudeness, which was quickly fielded by Lord Elyot. ‘Lady Chester’s late husband was in gold,’ he said, ‘not lead. He was a banker, Lady Sergeant. Now, if you and your daughter will excuse us, this is my dance and I don’t intend to miss it.’ Taking Amelie firmly by the hand, he drew her away, transferring his palm to the small of her back on purpose, Amelie thought, to give the obnoxious woman something else to talk about.

‘Lead mines,’ she said to him in a low voice.

Across the set, he faced her, mouthing the words, ‘Lead mines?’

They met in the middle. ‘In Derbyshire.’

‘Good grief!’ he murmured, retiring.

‘I knew it,’ she said as they met again.

He took her hands. ‘What?’

‘I should have worn my other two heads.’ She turned with him and retired, smiling to herself.

His response, when it came, made her blush. ‘That, my lady, would be to gild the lily.’

The glow was still in place when they next met to go down the set, hand in hand. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It would shock you as much as the rest of them.’

‘I am learning enough about you to be neither shocked nor surprised.’ Ducking under the arch of hands, they parted to return to the top of the set, and his meaning was not made clear to her, as the dance steps forbade anything more than the odd word in passing. Then it became more than a holding of hands and a linking of arms, but a series of more recent dance moves where she was entwined and turned by him, where arms were placed across waists with hands clasped above, where there was a closer contact than ever with him looking down at her as if they were alone, and this but a prelude to something even more intimate.

She felt the firm pressure of his hands upon her shoulders and knew that her own hands were resting on hard muscle that could have lifted her clean off the floor with little effort, and that dance was what epitomised the manly qualities of self-confidence, support and…yes, captivation. What use was there in denying it?

Taking her hand again, he led her away. ‘I shall re-introduce Mrs Oglethorpe and her mousey daughter to you,’ he said. ‘She may not leave her card until you do, so now I shall remove both your excuses.’

‘I’d much rather you did not,’ Amelie said, releasing herself. ‘I prefer to choose my own friends.’

‘You must know you cannot do that in this business, my lady.’

‘In what business, sir?’

‘In society. For your niece’s sake, you need all the contacts you can get, as long as they’re respectable. It won’t cost anything to know who they are.’

But there he was mistaken, for it cost Amelie not a little in hurtful remarks that she felt could not possibly be unintentional, some to her face, others overheard. ‘Ah, from the north,’ said the hard-faced Mrs Oglethorpe, not knowing Derbyshire from the Outer Hebrides. ‘Is that not where they fix the heads of stags all round the halls? And do they still use the furs on their beds?’

‘You seem to know more about that than I do, Mrs Ogelthorpe,’ said Amelie, tiring of such nonsense. ‘Did your coachman manage to get your horses under control, by the way? I always send my men to Tattersalls, you know. Costs are higher, but I prefer that to local dealers. Don’t you?’

Then there was the barely concealed remark concerning Lord Elyot, which, for different reasons, Amelie would rather not have heard. ‘Well, my dear, with a reputation like his, you know where she’ll be heading, don’t you? Heartbreak, almost certainly. Two mistresses that I know of and plenty more that I don’t. His brother is just as bad, I believe.’

Amelie concluded her dance with a charming red-coated army officer who returned her to Lord Elyot, who knew him. ‘Where is Caterina?’ she said. ‘Perhaps we should be thinking of leaving soon.’

‘What is it?’ he said.

‘Oh…nothing. But it’s time we—’

‘You’ve heard something. I can see by your face.’

‘No…really…I…’ she looked round for Caterina, but now there was a general movement towards the supper room and there she was, with Lord Rayne and a group of young people heading for the refreshments, chattering and laughing, oblivious to her aunt’s concern.

‘She’s perfectly safe,’ said Lord Elyot. ‘You surely cannot take her away from that because of some idle gossip, can you? Isn’t this what you wanted for her? Is it not worth a little discomfort? Here, come with me.’ Threading her hand through his arm, he led her through large glass doors that opened on to a long verandah on the northern side of the inn that looked out over a large torchlit garden. Steps led down to wide terraces, the lowest one to the Thames where boats were tied, rocking on dark-mirrored water. Couples sauntered round huge stone flower-filled pedestals or sat on benches drinking and eating, and on one of these he bade her sit and wait while he went to find food.

In admiration, she watched his tall lithe figure stride away, stopping to speak to two officers who had partnered her. As if they had been waiting for permission, they kept her company with their gallantry until he returned with a servant then, bowing politely, left her alone with him.

‘If you hope to get through the evening at the same pace, my lady, you’re going to have to eat something. The tea may be lukewarm, but—’

‘It’s very good. Thank you.’

‘You’re not still thinking of leaving, surely? You will disappoint a great many admirers if you do.’

Notes of high-pitched laughter floated through the darkness, followed by the deeper men’s tones. ‘Is she…?’

‘Miss Chester is in safe hands. Why? What is it you’ve heard?’

‘Oh, the usual kind of thing. I suppose there must be some truth in it, my lord.’

‘About Seton, or me?’

‘Both.’

‘Well, then, it’s probably true unless you’ve heard that we eat live eels, or some such thing. That’s not true. But one would hardly expect two men of our age to have lived a celibate existence, surely?’ He waited for a response, then asked, ‘Does it matter to you?’

She might have returned some flippant and meaningless answer, but again his eyes demanded that she stop to think before she spoke. It did matter to her, so much so that she felt something rage inside her at the thought of him being intimate with other women, speaking tenderly to them, looking at them the way he’d looked at her all evening. Watching him dance while trying not to be observed, she had scolded herself for her prying unnatural curiosity. Now, he was asking her if she cared, and if it mattered that she cared.

‘Does it?’ he insisted, gently.

‘No…no, of course not,’ she said, looking away. ‘Why should it?’

‘Look at me and say that.’

Nettled, she kept her face averted, unable to lie so blatantly. ‘I made a mistake about Lady Sheen…the Marchioness…I’m afraid I may have…well, put my foot in it. Please accept my apologies, my lord.’

‘None are necessary. She’ll never hear of it. She’s still in town or I suppose she’d have been here tonight. But perhaps it’s as well that she’s not or we’d not be dancing Irish jigs and Scottish reels, I can tell you. She’s a stickler for propriety.’

‘Are you saying she would not approve of me, my lord?’

‘I have never been influenced by my parents’ approval or disapproval of my friends, Lady Chester. Nor has Seton.’

‘Thank you. That is a great comfort to me.’

Tipping his head sideways, he studied her expression in the dim light. ‘I could make myself much plainer, if you wish it.’

‘No, sir. I think you will find that our friendship will die a natural death quite soon without any help from the family.’

‘You suggested something similar once before. Are there more skeletons in the cupboard, then?’

Her smile was rueful. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Shall we go in? I can hear the musicians tuning up. Do you have a partner for “The Shrewsbury Lasses”?’

‘No. I shall be watching you instead.’

Climbing the damp stone steps towards a blaze of chandeliers whilst holding up a long gown caused more than one lady to slip and others to cling like crabs to their partners. Amelie did neither. Laying her arm along Lord Elyot’s, she experienced the rock-solid hardness and the firm grasp of his fingers under hers, receiving smiles for the first time as she entered the ballroom, some of them from women.

Not quite believing that he would watch her dance, she glanced every now and again to see if he meant what he had said. And since he did, every one of her looks was intercepted. But now she made a point of observing Caterina and Lord Rayne more closely, for although there would always be talk about the morals of handsome men, her thoughts on the matter were less than charitable where these two were concerned. Still, she had found a certain comfort in learning that their mother, at least, had high standards.

Several times she met him in the dances that followed as they crossed the set, turning to smile. She danced twice with Lord Rayne and found him as good as his brother, and as attentive. Speaking to Caterina several times, the latter could hardly finish a sentence for laughter and breathlessness, and even Lord Rayne admitted that Caterina was like quicksilver, meaning it as a compliment. Lord Elyot danced two dances with the young lady, thus making the score infuriatingly even for those who were counting until the last dance, which tipped the balance and caused tongues to click more furiously than ever.

That, however, was not the only effect it had, for there was a repeated movement where partners stood face to face, holding hands and taking turns to draw each other forward, stately, provocatively and, if one were in the mood, significantly. One, two, three, he stepped forward and she stepped back as if to tease him; one, two, three, he drew her towards him with unyielding hands and eyes that said, ‘You will come to me, woman.’ His message was clear, and she was too tired to misunderstand it, and they were both particularly silent as they left the floor for the last time, hand on hand.

Their departure was more delayed than their arrival by the good nights and the finding of cloaks, hats and shoes. Bundling her velvet evening cape over one arm, Amelie was able at last to smile and bid adieu to many of her neighbours with Caterina by her side making last-minute introductions. Then they had to wait for the coach to move up the queue outside, while she warmed her back on Lord Elyot’s solid chest and watched the glitter of diadems and flushed faces.

His arm moved across to shield her from the doddery footwork of an elderly gentleman, pulling her in yet closer. She could have moved away again as he passed, but she did not, nor did she protest when Lord Elyot’s hand slid beneath the cape in front of her, settling upon her waist and sending its warmth immediately through the silk. Then it moved in the lightest of caresses, and she responded, shifting and edging at the infringement, but not knowing whether to stay or flee, wanting to do both yet feeling herself yield to its heady excitement and by the events of the evening.

As if he could sense her dilemma, he firmed his hand upon her waist, holding her back, telling her to stay while his other hand came to rest upon the beautiful curve of her hip, lightly stroking and smoothing where no one could see. And as Amelie continued to call out her good nights, to smile and make believe that her heart was tranquil, all her awareness was alive to that gentle movement sliding upon the fine fabric of her gown, exploring like a summer breeze over hip, buttock and thigh, as intimate as water.

Vaguely, she tried to excuse her own deplorable behaviour with references to her exhaustion, her elation, and the years of solitary mourning, the newness of the company, her success and the lateness of the hour. But she could find no truly acceptable reason for allowing such a thing to happen, knowing what she did of the man.

He had stopped of his own accord when the crowd began to move, had placed the cape around her shoulders and, in doing so, had obliged her to look at him with neither reproach nor approval in her dark confused eyes, but to accept the mastery in his. It was, without question, the most outrageous and unacceptable behaviour towards a lady, which could never be condoned, but the aching fires deep within her body were a new experience that held any sense of insult or shame well out of her reach.

In the coach, the two men sat beside their partners and, as Caterina bubbled over with chatter to Lord Rayne’s happy prompting, Amelie sat in silence close to Lord Elyot, linking hands beneath the folds of her cape, feeling the gentle brushing of his thumb over her skin and thinking of nothing except that she was in imminent danger of losing her wits along with her closely guarded principles.

Chapter Three

The crash back to earth came as soon as the door had closed upon the departing escorts and their cries of farewell. Caterina was halfway up the staircase as the sound of a door into the hall made Amelie turn in surprise. She had forgotten about Fenn, her gardener, until that moment.

‘Ah, Fenn,’ she said, pulling her thoughts back into reality. ‘You waited up for me? What time is it?’

‘’Bout two o’clock, m’lady. No matter.’

‘And what news? Did they come back with you? Where are they?’

‘No, m’lady.’ Fenn stifled a yawn and rubbed his nose. ‘I went up to the workhouse as you bade me. I offered them the purse, but they sent it back.’

‘With what message?’ Hardly able to believe it, she leaned against the wrought-iron banister, suddenly overcome by tiredness and impending disappointment after such an evening. It would be too much for her to bear, she was sure of it.

‘You all right, m’lady?’

‘Yes, just tell me what happened. Why have they not come?’

‘I don’t really know. It was like she didn’t want to. They telled me she was well enough and that the babe was well too, and that she’d chosen to stay where she was, thank you very much. And that’s all.’

‘And you didn’t get to see her or the child?’

‘Lord, no, m’lady. I didn’t get no sight of them.’

‘So you don’t know whether this is the truth, or whether she’s being prevented from leaving?’

‘Well, no.’ He looked at the door, then back at her. ‘But she’s had her bairn and they said she’s all right, so perhaps it’s for the best. I dunno.’ He fished into one baggy pocket and brought out a leather purse weighted with coins. ‘They wouldn’t take it,’ he said, passing it to her and watching how her hand sunk a little.

‘They actually…sent it back? Well, that’s a first.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘Thank you, Fenn. You did your best. Did they tell you…?’

‘Tell me what, m’lady?’

A hand crept to her breast. ‘Did they say…whether it was…?’

Fenn understood. ‘Oh, aye. It were a little lass. Night, m’lady.’

‘Good night, Fenn. And thank you. You did your best.’

The mother would rather stay where she was, in that dreadful place, with a new babe? Yes, and I’d like to know who gave the orders to turn all benefactors away at whatever cost to the unfortunate inmates. Was it you, my fine lord? Could it have been you, by any chance? You, with your lack of compassion and your wandering, knowing hands? Damn you…damn you…

If anything more had been necessary to persuade Amelie that this so-called friendship must cool, this was it. Not only had she made a complete fool of herself in allowing a most indecent intimacy, but now he would believe her to be no better than a low woman ready for anyone’s favours. All her earlier protestations about caring nothing for her own social contacts would be worthless, for she had shown herself to be desperate and ready to drop the handkerchief at the first man to show an interest. Well, she had warned him that their friendship would not last. Now, he had better believe her.

Wriggling deeper into her warm bath, she scrubbed vigorously at the parts where his hands had smoothed. ‘Like a horse…a mare…’ she growled.

‘Beg your pardon, m’lady?’ said Lise.

‘My hair. Is the shampoo ready?’

She could never have grown to like him, anyway, a man with so little pity in his heart that he could actually forbid a woman’s release from a squalid workhouse to the safety of a caring employer. He must know that there was no likelihood of exploitation or abuse in such circumstances. And he was a womaniser, too. Never was there smoke without fire, nor had he bothered to deny it.

One more thing was certain. Caterina must be better protected from men like Lord Rayne. Perhaps she ought never to have allowed the introduction in the first place. Yes, it had been a mistake. Both friendships must be slowed, before it was too late.

Accordingly, Caterina’s breezy request to go driving in the park and to leave cards at the homes of her new friends met with a puzzling refusal that put an end to any chance of meeting Lord Rayne, which was what she had intended. Instead, she was taken through the aspects of housekeeping and accounting using Mr John Greig’s The Young Ladies’ New Guide to Arithmetic, which did little to banish her yawns or her frustration.

Later that morning, the mantua-maker arrived for a fitting of Caterina’s new gowns, though her young assistant had gone down with something and had not arrived for work. Amelie suspected that the child was close to starvation.

After a light luncheon, they went into the garden to practise the sketching they had missed at Kew, and there Henry came to say that Lord Elyot and Lord Rayne were in the hall asking if they were at home.

Caterina was already on her feet, drawing-pad and pencils discarded.

‘No, Henry,’ said Amelie. ‘Tell their lordships we’re not at home today. Caterina, come back if you please and finish your study.’

‘Very good, m’lady,’ said Henry.

‘Aunt Amelie!’ Caterina squealed. ‘How can you say that? You must know how I want to see him. Please…please, let me go. He’ll want to—’

‘Not this time, my dear. Take my advice on this. It doesn’t do to show too much interest at this stage, you see. Make him wait a while. In any case…’ She bit her lip, regretting the necessary deviousness.

‘In any case what? Don’t you like him?’

‘Of course, I cannot say that he’s not a charming companion, but such men are not innocents, you know. They tend to…well…change partners rather too frequently for most women’s comfort. Such men break hearts, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, I’m not afraid of that,’ said Caterina, knuckling away a tell-tale tear. ‘I haven’t given him my heart, so he can’t break it, can he?’

‘You’d be surprised what men can do, my dear.’

Although her aunt’s enigmatic remark did very little to inspire a recognisable drawing of an artichoke head, it provided food for thought in other ways, one of them being the exact nature of Lord Rayne’s interest. Being less experienced than her aunt in such matters, Caterina was by no means sure that he would care as much as she did about her being unavailable. All this waiting was a huge risk, at seventeen years old.

Her fears were allayed next day when Lord Seton Rayne arrived after breakfast in his brother’s perch-phaeton to ask if Miss Chester would be allowed to take a turn with him round the park and up the hill. Amelie was speaking to her housekeeper, Mrs Braithwaite, in the hall when Lord Rayne was shown in, so it was well-nigh impossible for her to refuse the invitation with anything like a convincing excuse. Realising that this would do nothing to cool matters between the two of them, she could only beg Lord Rayne to be careful with her niece, to return her in exactly two hours and not to allow her to drive, no matter how much she might wish it. If Caterina had not yet given him her heart, she had certainly loaned it to him.

Expecting that Lord Elyot might follow his brother’s example and hoping he would not, Amelie went up to her workroom where she had already begun a painting of her artichoke in an interesting state of decay. The tap on the door and the arrival of the footman caused her heart to leap uncomfortably, but it was only to deliver a letter, the handwriting of which she didn’t recognise, nor did it have the assured flourish of an aristocrat’s hand.

Laying her fine sable pencil aside, she broke the wafer and opened the sheet of paper, puzzled by the unfamiliar scrawl. Then, before reading it, she searched for the signature at the bottom and found the words that drained the blood from her face. I remain your most obedient and loyal servant, Ruben Hurst.

A sickness churned inside her, and she held her mouth to prevent a cry escaping. This was a man she hoped had vanished from her life forever and, although she had never seen his handwriting before, she had seen enough of him to wish him perpetually at the ends of the earth. Which is where she believed he had gone.

Her hand shook as she read:

Dearest and Most Honourable Lady,

My recent return to Buxton has made me aware of your removal from that town, which saddens me, for I had hoped to speak with you about our future sooner than this. However, while staying at St Anne’s Hotel, I discovered that enquiries were being made about you other than my own, these from a manservant in the employ of the Marquess of Sheen, a magistrate of Richmond in Surrey, where I understand you to be residing. Without revealing my own interest, I tried to ascertain the nature of this man’s enquiries and the reason thereof, but all he would say was that it was a personal matter. Nevertheless, from the escutcheon on his carriage door, I discovered that it belongs to the Marquess’s eldest son, Lord Nicholas Elyot. Which begins to sound, my Dearest Lady, as if your past is about to follow you whether you will it or no, as the man has taken the liberty of interviewing your erstwhile neighbours. I believe he is soon to be on the road to Manchester, whereas I am to leave Buxton at my leisure by post-chaise tomorrow. I shall send this news to you by mail, for you to receive it soonest.

Assuring you of my Highest Esteem and Devotion at all times, I remain your most obedient…

Lowering the unwelcome letter to the table, Amelie propped her forehead with one hand and stared at the words which, more than any she could think of, were the most disagreeable to her. Furious that her privacy should be so invaded, she felt in turn the raging forces of fear, resentment and indignation, followed by a desire to pack her belongings and move on again before the troubles of the past could reach her.

Ruben Hurst was the ghost of her past who had wedged himself between her and her beloved husband. He was a man who lost control of his affairs to such a degree that he could ruin the lives of others. He had ruined her life quite deliberately, and eventually she’d had to move away. And so had he. Now he had found out where she was and, of all the times when she needed the protection of a husband most, Josiah was not there to do it.

What made this news even more unacceptable was that Lord Elyot, the man from whom she was hiding her other self, the ‘do-gooding’ as he would see it, had somehow known of it from the start, otherwise why would he want to investigate her so thoroughly? Was he muck-raking? And she had even had him in her home, let him escort her to a ball, had danced with him and…oh…the shame of it! What a deceiver the man was.

Once again the footman knocked and put a toe inside the room. ‘Lord Elyot, m’lady, asks if you’d be pleased—’

‘No, Henry! I will not be pleased to see him. I’m not at home.’

‘Er, yes, m’lady. Though he may find that hard to believe.’

‘He’s not supposed to believe it, Henry.’

‘Very good, m’lady.’ The door closed.

Within moments, he was back. ‘Lord Elyot says to tell you, m’lady, that he’ll call tomorrow afternoon and hopes you’ll receive him.’

‘Order the phaeton for tomorrow afternoon, Henry.’

Henry grinned, beginning to enjoy himself. ‘Very good, m’lady. Anything else?’

‘Yes. Get Lise to come and make some tea.’

Having bought tickets for a local charity concert for that evening, Amelie decided that there were more pressing matters to be attended to. The idea that Lord Elyot and his brother might also be there was only a passing thought in her mind that had nothing to do with her decision, she told herself.

That afternoon, she sent her housekeeper and maid to the house of the mantua-maker’s young assistant to ask if a contribution of food would be acceptable to the family. Furthermore, would Millie, when she was sufficiently recovered, care to come and work for Lady Chester as a seamstress and to live in at Paradise Road? The grateful reply came within the hour, a small victory that soothed much that was disturbed in Amelie’s mind. It had occurred to her more than once that it might not have been the most diplomatic method of solving Millie’s problem, but she feared that the mantua-maker would do her utmost to delay the matter of the girl’s welfare, and delay was unacceptable in cases of dire need.

A very disturbed night’s sleep found Amelie unready for Caterina’s company the next morning, and she was not able to find any good reason why Lord Rayne should not whisk her away to visit his sister at Mortlake, which seemed a safe enough way to spend an hour or two.

But no sooner had she settled down to her painting when Henry came up to say that a gentleman had called and hoped to be allowed to see her. Amelie stared at the footman. If it had been Lord Elyot, she knew he would have said so. Could it be someone she had met at the dance?

‘Did he give his name, Henry?’

‘Yes, m’lady. Mr Ruben Hurst. You all right, m’lady? I can send him away? Tell ‘im you’re not at home? He said you’d want to see him.’

If Henry had been one of her Buxton servants, he would have known how far from the truth that was. But he was not, and now Hurst was here, in her house, and there was no one to protect her as there used to be. To have him thrown out, shrieking his protests, would attract exactly the kind of attention she wished to avoid, yet to be civil to the dreadful man after all the damage he had done was more than most women could cope with. While she had the chance, she must know what else he had discovered about Lord Elyot’s man, which of her old neighbours he had spoken to, what she might expect from their loyalty, or lack of it. If she wanted to control her future, it was best to be prepared in every way possible.

‘Show him up, Henry, but wait outside the door. Don’t go away. Do you understand?’

‘Perfectly, m’lady.’

She heard Hurst take the stairs two at a time and was reminded of the fitness that had once stood him in good stead. He had changed little since their last meeting over two years ago when he had suddenly ceased to be the devoted friend he claimed to be. His bow was as correct as ever, his figure as tall and well proportioned, his clothes as unremarkable but clean, a brown morning coat and buff pantaloons setting off the curling sandy hair like a crisp autumn leaf just blown in. Yes, he was very much the same except that the blue eyes were a shade more wary and watchful, marred by pouches beneath, which one would hardly have expected from a man of only twenty-eight years.

‘My dear Lady Chester,’ he said, having the grace not to smile.

Amelie remained seated at her work table. ‘It would have been more fitting if you had given me some warning of your visit,’ she said. ‘That is the usual way of things.’

‘Ah, a warning. Now that’s something you might have gleaned from my letter, then you could have had…’ his eyes swivelled melodramatically ‘…an escort. Would that have been too inhibiting? You did receive my letter, I suppose?’ His faint Lancashire burr sounded strange here in Richmond.

Rinsing her paintbrush in the water-pot, Amelie took her time to wipe it into a sharp point before laying it down, then she rose from her chair and picked up her shawl to drape it around her shoulders. Her morning dress was a brief palegreen muslin over which she wore a deeper green sleeveless pelisse, and she did not want his stares at her bosom any more than she wanted his stupid insinuations.

‘I did receive it, sir, and I think you are as much of a fool as ever you were to make contact with me, whether by letter or in person.’ And if I did not want desperately to find out more of another matter, you are the last person to whom I would ever give house room. ‘What have you come here for, exactly, and why on earth did you return to England?’

He was about to lay his hat and gloves beside her paintbox, but was stopped. ‘Not on my work table, if you please.’

He tried again on the demi-lune by the wall. ‘Why did I come out of hiding? Well, you know, I thought I’d take a gamble on seeing you again. The stakes are high, but I cannot stay out of society for the rest of my life, can I? And two years without a sight of your lovely face is too long for any man.’

‘You might have suffered a far worse fate, Mr Hurst. Indeed, you should have done. Don’t expect any help from me, sir.’ Even as she spoke, she heard the emptiness of her refusal, for she knew full well that he had come as much for money as to see something of her, and that to keep him quiet she would, eventually, give him some. What alternative was there?

‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘One law for the toffs and another for the rest of us, eh?’

Amelie was committed to redressing that imbalance, but she would not discuss that with such a man. ‘And what have you come for, sir, apart from delivering the mealy-mouthed flattery?’

For an instant, Hurst’s eyes narrowed at her rebuke. ‘You were always cruel, Amelie,’ he said, quietly.

‘I loved my husband,’ she replied.

‘And he’s left you even more comfortable than you were before,’ he said, looking around him at the beautiful feminine green-and-whiteness. ‘Well, then, perhaps you might consider sharing it with me for a few days since I’m looking for somewhere to lay my head.’

‘Here? Don’t be ridiculous, man. You must know you can’t stay here. What would…?’

‘What would the neighbours say? They wouldn’t see me.’

She felt the fear crawl inside her, standing the hairs up along her arms, and she summoned all her grit to hold on to her apparent coolness.

‘Oh, I understand why you had to move on,’ he continued, picking up a pencil sketch of a toadstool and studying it. ‘You’ve not lost your knack, I see. You must have known you’d not escape while I’m still alive, but the gossip…well, that’s equally tricky to shake off, isn’t it? And there’s Miss Caterina too. She’ll not get far in society once your affairs get an airing, will she? And you’re not going to blow the whistle on me or you’d have to be a witness at my trial, and then the whole nasty business will be there for everybody to pick over. Newspaper reports, cold shoulders. Very embarrassing. No, my lady, surely you didn’t think moving down here would solve everything, did you?’

‘You’ve thought it all out, haven’t you? And put that down.’

‘I’ve had two years to think it out, my dear Amelie, and only the memory of your beauty to keep me sane. Oh, yes, I’ve thought it out all right, so now you can start with a generous subscription to my funds. Then you can send for Mrs Braithwaite. See, I still remember your housekeeper’s name. I’ll take one of the best rooms. Next to yours?’

‘Get out! Get out of here and crawl back into the gutter.’

‘Tch! Still like ice, dear Amelie. Did that old husband of yours never—?’

‘Get out!’ She reached for the hand bell on her work table, but Hurst’s hand was quick to grasp her wrist, holding her arm in midair as if he was about to assault her.

She had known him during the two years of her marriage, and indeed there had been a time when she had thought him likeable, charming and clever. He and Amelie’s husband had gambled together regularly, but whereas Sir Josiah knew exactly when to stop, Hurst never did, nor when to stop drinking, or borrowing money, or making promises he couldn’t keep. Perhaps if Amelie had never shown him any of the kindliness she extended to all Josiah’s friends, this man might never have deluded himself about her. But self-discipline was not a strong point with Hurst as it was with her husband, and there had come a time when all his weaknesses came together. Now he was a man to be feared, for the pity she had once borne him had been purged forever, and he had become a menace.

‘Let go of my arm, Mr Hurst,’ she said calmly, though she quaked inside with every shade of insult and anger. ‘You have forgotten yourself, I believe. I can lend you some money and then I shall expect you to go and find somewhere to stay. You can not stay here. It’s not as safe as you think. I have some rather influential friends, you see.’ It was a long shot, but it might work.

Releasing her, he watched as she moved away well beyond his reach while his eyes widened at her boast. It was unlike her. ‘You surely don’t mean the Marquess and his son? Him, too? What’s his name…Elyot? So you know the man who’s been scouring Buxton for gossip about you, then?’

‘He was not scouring Buxton for gossip, Mr Hurst,’ she said, fabricating the beginning of an outrageous piece of fiction in the hope that he might swallow it. ‘He was simply clearing up some questions to do with Sir Josiah’s property. The man you spoke to was Lord Elyot’s lawyer. Naturally he wouldn’t disclose his client’s business to a complete stranger, would he? The neighbours he visited are those whose names I gave him, personal friends, and loyal. There was no need for your dramatic conclusion, Mr Hurst. It’s all quite innocent. He should be back from Manchester any day now, I dare say.’

Hurst sat down rather suddenly, gripping the arms of the chair until his knuckles were white. ‘What? You know this Lord Elyot and his father? The magistrate? Is it true?’

‘Of course I know them,’ she said, derisively, warming to the theme. ‘What do you suppose I’ve been doing for the past five weeks, living like a recluse? Miss Chester is at this moment out driving with Lord Elyot’s brother, visiting his sister.’

The arrogance drained from his face as he sifted through this surprising development, hoping to find a flaw in it. He tried scepticism. ‘Hah! You’re not telling me he sent a man up to Buxton to prepare the ground for some kind of…understanding…between you, are you? After only five weeks?’

‘He’s settling a few legal matters for me, visiting my solicitor. He has the means. It’s quite the usual way to proceed, I’m told.’

‘That’s not what I asked you,’ he said, nastily. ‘Do you have an understanding with this man?’

‘Yes, of sorts.’ The plunge into such a fathomless untruth was like a douche of icy water, so absurd was the idea. She had never told such a whopper before, but nor had she needed the protection of a man’s name more than she did now, her excuse being that Lord Elyot would never know how she had used him, of all unlikely people. ‘You really do ask the most indelicate questions, Mr Hurst. It is not common knowledge, yet.’

Hurst leaned back in the chair, eyeing her with some disbelief. If a man could win her in five weeks, he must have something no one else had. Even Chester with all his wealth had taken longer than that, but then she had been only twenty and as green as grass. ‘Not common knowledge, eh? That sounds to me remarkably like saying that Lord Elyot doesn’t know of it either.’

‘Then you’ll be able to ask him yourself, won’t you? I’m expecting him to call any time now.’ That, she thought, should see the back of him.

To her joy, her clever ruse began to work. Hurst rose slowly from the chair and strolled over to pick up his hat and gloves, apparently taking seriously the possibility that he might at any moment bump into the influential son of the local magistrate. This time, he suspected that the odds were definitely stacked against him. ‘Money,’ he said. ‘There’s a small matter of a contribution, if you would be so kind. Then I shall leave you to your lover. Are we talking of wives, or mistresses?’

Amelie paled with the effort of controlling her fury. ‘We are not talking at all, sir. The sooner you go, the better. Here, take this and get out of my house. It’s all I have available.’ She took the weighty bag of coins that had been returned from the workhouse and threw it in his direction, but because she was thoroughly unnerved by his insult and by her own indiscretion, and because he was not expecting that particular mode of conveyance, the bag landed on the floor with a heavy thud some way from his left heel.

At that precise moment, Henry threw open the door, but was unable to announce the visitor’s name before he strode in, pulled up sharply, and stood there with that unshakeable poise which was one of his most attractive qualities.

Amelie could have screamed at him that he was not expected until the afternoon, and that he was not to speak to Mr Hurst under any circumstances. Her plan was destined to come unstuck, however, teaching her never to lie like that again. ‘Lord Elyot,’ she said, breathlessly, ‘your timing is perfect, as ever. My guest is just about to leave.’

‘I hope you will introduce us,’ he said coolly, taking in the complete picture including the money-bag on the floor, Hurst’s eagerness to be gone, and the angry red blotches upon Amelie’s neck and cheeks.

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