Harry was smiling down into her face.

Jane could not maintain her animosity. She found herself smiling back at him.

“Oh, do stop acting the fool, Harry. If you are referring to your behavior when I broke off our engagement, then of course I forgive you. It was a long time ago and we have both grown up since then.”

“So we can be friends again?”

“We can be friends.”

“Thank you.” He bent and brushed his lips lightly against her cheek.

It was only a featherlight pressure, but it sent a surge of heat flowing right through her to her very toes. Her breath came out in a gasp and her hands rose and then fell uselessly to her sides. She stepped back from him, away from whatever it was that held her in thrall.

MARY NICHOLS

was born in Singapore, and came to England when she was three. She has spent most of her life in different parts of East Anglia. She has been a radiographer, school secretary, information officer and industrial editor, as well as a writer. She has three grown-up children and four grandchildren.

The Hemingford Scandal
Mary Nichols

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter One

1811

J ane Hemingford was writing letters at her escritoire in the small parlour on the first floor of her London home, when her great aunt came bustling into the room in a fever of excitement. ‘Jane, Mr Allworthy is here.’

‘Mr Allworthy? You mean Mr Donald Allworthy?’

‘To be sure. Who else should I mean?’ Harriet Lane was a dumpy woman and the speed at which she had climbed the stairs had made her breathless. Her black lace cap had fallen over one ear and she straightened it as she spoke.

‘But it is barely ten o’clock, too early for morning calls. I am not dressed to receive him.’

‘Then you had better change at once. He has gone into the library to speak to your papa and then I have no doubt you will be sent for.’

‘Speak to Papa? You surely do not mean he has come to offer for me?’

‘That is precisely what I do mean. Now make haste and pretty yourself up. I doubt he will be talking to your papa for long, there is nothing to dispute. He is very eligible.’

Jane was thunderstruck. Aunt Lane, who had been widowed many years before and had ever since lived in seclusion in Bath, had suddenly taken it into her head to pay a visit to her great-niece to ‘take her in hand’. ‘It is time you got over that old nonsense and began to think of finding a husband,’ she had said.

‘That old nonsense’ was a previous engagement to her second cousin, Harry Hemingford, which had ended in the most dreadful scandal that she did not even want to think about, much less discuss. It had been two and a half years before and she had put it behind her, but that did not mean she was ready to plunge into a new engagement, just because her aunt thought she should.

Since her aunt had arrived at the beginning of the Season, they had been out and about, going to routs, balls, picnics and tea parties, it was at one of the latter that she had met Donald Allworthy. She had seen him several times since in company with other young people and found him attractive and attentive, but never so attentive as to suggest to her that he was seriously considering proposing marriage. ‘But, Aunt, I hardly know him. I certainly had no idea he was thinking of offering.’

‘Why should you? He is a perfect gentleman, he would not have spoken to you without your father’s permission.’

Not like Harry, in other words. Donald Allworthy was, Jane conceded, quite a catch, so why had he chosen her? She was not particularly beautiful, she decided, her nose was a mite too large and her brows were too fair. She had brown hair which in certain lights was almost auburn and a pink complexion which became even pinker when she was angry or embarrassed. She was not exactly angry now, but certainly disconcerted. ‘I do not have to receive him, do I?’

‘Oh, Jane, do not be such a goose. You are not a simpering schoolgirl, you are twenty years of age and should have been married by now…’

So I would have, she told herself, if I had married Harry. Aloud, she said, ‘I know, but that does not mean I should jump into the arms of the first man who offers.’

‘He is not the first man to offer, is he?’

‘Oh, Aunt, how could you speak of that, when I so much want to forget it?’

‘I am sorry, dearest, but I must say what is in my mind. You did not choose very sensibly before, did you? Now you are a little older and wiser and, with me here to guide you, you are doing wonderfully well.’

Jane longed to tell her aunt she did not need that kind of guidance, but she was a tender-hearted, obedient girl and could not bear to hurt anyone’s feelings. ‘I am very sensible of your concern for me, Aunt Lane, but I had no idea Mr Allworthy wished to marry me. Are you sure that’s what he has come to see Papa about?’

‘Oh, I am sure. He spoke to me at Lady Pontefract’s ball, asked me if I thought Mr Hemingford would agree to see him and naturally I said I was sure he would. But I gave no such assurance on your seeing him. That is your decision, of course.’ She sounded hurt, as if Jane’s refusal would be a personal slight on the efforts she had made to bring it all about.

Jane sighed. ‘Then I suppose I must speak to him.’

‘Good girl. Now go and change into something bright and cheerful.’

The house in Duke Street was in the middle of a tall narrow terrace. The ground floor was little more than a hall, dominated by a staircase and a small reception room with the library behind it, where her father spent much of the day writing a philosophical tome which he hoped would make his reputation as a man of letters. The kitchens were in the basement, the parlour, drawing room and dining room were on the first floor, and above those the bedrooms. Higher still were the servants’ sleeping quarters. As the household consisted only of Jane and her father, there were few servants: a cook-housekeeper, Hannah, the housemaid, and Bromwell, who acted as butler and footman. They did not keep a carriage and so did not need outdoor servants. When Aunt Lane visited, her coach and horses were kept in a nearby mews and her coachman, Hoskins, boarded out.

Jane had never had a personal maid and relied on Hannah to help her with fastenings and pinning up her hair. ‘At your age you should not be without a maid,’ her aunt had said when she had been in residence a few days. ‘I shall speak to your father about it.’

Jane had begged her not to. ‘I do not need someone to wait on me,’ she had said. ‘My needs are simple and she would not have enough to do and we cannot afford to pay servants for doing nothing. Hannah does me very well.’

But she couldn’t stop her aunt from sending Lucy, her own maid, to her when she considered the occasion important enough to warrant it. And it seemed today was important, because the young woman was already in her room when she went to change. She chose a muslin gown in palest green. Its skirt was gathered into a high waist and it had little puff sleeves over tight undersleeves. The neckline was filled with ruched lace edged with ribbon. ‘I don’t know that there’s time to do much with your hair, Miss Jane,’ Lucy said. ‘I do wish the gentleman had given notice he was calling.’

‘So do I, Lucy. Just brush it out and tie it back with a green ribbon. He cannot expect a full coiffure at this early hour.’ Would that put him off? That thought was followed by another. Did she want to put him off? It was a question she did not know how to answer. He was, as her aunt had pointed out, eligible, and though she was not quite at her last prayers, ought she to be particular? After all, her previous sortie into the matrimonial stakes had been disastrous. Left to herself, she had chosen very badly.

She was slipping on light kid shoes when her aunt knocked and entered. ‘Are you ready, dear?’ She stopped to appraise her. ‘Very nice, a little colourless, but perhaps it is best to be modest, until you know your husband’s tastes.’

‘Husband, Aunt?’ Jane queried. ‘You are a little beforehand, don’t you think? He has not asked me yet and I have not accepted.’

‘No, but he will and I am sure you are not such a ninny as to turn him down flat.’

‘I shall listen to him, that is all I can promise,’ she said, following her aunt down to the beautifully proportioned drawing room which had been furnished in excellent taste by Jane herself when she and her father first moved to London. Her father and Donald Allworthy were standing by the hearth.

Donald was tall and lean. His impeccable coat in dark blue superfine and his biscuit-coloured pantaloons, tucked into brilliantly polished Hessians, denoted a man of some substance, though certainly not a dandy. He wore a diamond pin in his meticulously tied cravat, a fob and a quizzing glass across his figured brocade waistcoat. He smiled as he bowed to her. ‘Miss Hemingford, your servant.’

‘Mr Allworthy.’ She dipped a curtsy, but she could feel her face growing hot and quickly turned to her father. He was a good head shorter than their visitor and was clearly not particular about his dress. It had been different when her mother was alive, but now he put on whatever came first to hand when he rose in the morning. On this occasion, he was wearing dark blue trousers and a brown coat with darker velvet revers. His white cravat was unstarched and tied anyhow; his grey hair, thin and wispy, stood out all over his head as if he had been running his hands through it. ‘Papa, you sent for me?

‘Indeed I did.’ He was beaming at her. She felt a shiver of apprehension as she realised he was pleased with himself. At last he had managed to find someone to take his foolish daughter off his hands. She knew she had been a great trial to him, becoming engaged to Harry and then breaking it off. Not that it was the breaking off that had caused the scandal; that had come before and left her no choice in the matter. Papa had not blamed her; he had simply accepted the fact and left her to make what she could of her life. But he must have been worried. Poor dear, it was unfair of her to make difficulties for him.

‘Mr Allworthy wishes to speak to you,’ he said. ‘I know you will listen carefully to what he has to say.’

‘Of course, Papa.’ She dare not look at the young man, but she could not but be aware of him; his presence seemed to fill the room. There was an air of expectancy, as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for a pause in time before it resumed ticking away in a different rhythm.

‘Then we will leave you.’ He beckoned to Aunt Lane and they left the room.

The clock ticked louder than ever. Or was it her heart pumping in her throat? ‘Mr Allworthy,’ she said, sitting on the sofa and placing her hands in her lap. ‘Won’t you be seated?’

He came and sat beside her, perching himself on the edge of the seat, half-facing her, and doubling his long legs under him, so that she was afraid he might fall to the ground. ‘Miss Hemingford, I trust you are well?’

‘Very well, Mr Allworthy. And you?’

‘I am in the best of health, thank you, but as to my mental state, that is not so sanguine. I have never done this before, you see.’

‘Done what, Mr Allworthy?’

‘Proposed marriage.’ He paused, smiling. ‘I have reached thirty years of age and never found a lady that I felt I wanted to marry, until now, that is…’

‘Are your standards so exacting?’ She was teasing him, which she knew was unkind and she had never knowingly been unkind. ‘I am sorry, sir, I interrupted you.’

‘Yes, you did, but I am not to be put off, you know.’ He seized one of her hands in both his own. ‘I have formed a deep attachment to you, very deep. In short, I admire you greatly and would be honoured and privileged if you would consent to be my wife.’

‘Mr Allworthy!’ She tried to retrieve her hand, but he held it too firmly. Rather than tussle with him, she let it lie.

‘Do not tell me you did not expect it.’

‘I did not, not before today. I do not know what to say.’

‘Say yes and you will make me the happiest man in the world.’

‘But we hardly know each other.’

‘Oh, I think we do. I know you well enough to be sure that my future happiness lies in your hands. I believe I recognised that the first moment I saw you at Mrs Bradford’s a month ago. You are so exactly my vision of a perfect wife, well bred, beautiful, intelligent and honest and yet you are no milksop. As for me, I am in possession of a small estate in north Norfolk. The house is not especially large, not what you might call a mansion, but it is well proportioned, and there is a small park and a farm. I am not, I confess, as rich as Golden Ball, but I am certainly not without funds and I have expectations—’ He broke off as if he had said too much, and then continued. ‘You would never want for comfort. I am persuaded we could be very happy together.’

It was a pretty speech and the fact that he could not command the wealth of Mr Edward Ball mattered not one jot, but she was sure he did not know as much about her as he claimed, for who would want to marry someone who had broken off a previous engagement? ‘Oh, dear, this is difficult. Mr Allworthy, there are things you should know about me. I am not in my first Season. I am twenty years old and I must confess that I have been engaged before…’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘Your papa told me of it, but he assures me it is all over and done with.’

‘Indeed, it is.’

‘Then it is not an impediment, not if you love me.’

‘I cannot say that I do.’

‘But you have no great aversion?’

‘Oh, no, sir, no aversion at all.’

‘Then I shall do everything in my power to make you love me.’

‘Can one make someone do something like that? I mean, is it not something we cannot help, that is beyond our power to command or deny?’

‘Perhaps, but perhaps the feeling is already there, hidden inside ourselves and simply needs bringing to the fore and acknowledging. Do you understand me?’

‘Oh, perfectly, Mr Allworthy.’

‘Then what do you say?’

‘Sir, I cannot give you an answer today. Marriage is an important step for anyone to take and I need to think about it.’ She smiled. ‘I was too young before, carried along on someone else’s enthusiasm. I did not know what I was doing. I do not want to make the same mistake again and it has made me cautious.’

‘I understand, indeed I do. I shall not press you for the present.’ He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. His lips were cold and dry on her skin. ‘But allow me to hope. In your kindness, allow me that.’

She looked into his face. It was a handsome face, squarish, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones. His eyes were dark, unusual for someone with fair hair, and his brows were straight and thick. As far as she could tell, his expression was one of deep sincerity. ‘I cannot forbid you to hope,’ she said, rising to her feet to bring the interview to an end.

‘Then that is what I shall do.’ He rose too, many inches taller than she was. ‘I should like to invite you and your papa to Coprise Manor for a short stay. I am sure when you see it, you will love it. And if you want to change anything, you have only to ask.’

‘Mr Allworthy, you go too fast. I am quite breathless.’

He looked down at her; she was blushing prettily. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Hemingford, I am too impatient, I can see that. But perhaps I may have the pleasure of taking you and your aunt out in my carriage this afternoon? The weather is set fair and it will give us an opportunity to learn more about each other.’

‘I am afraid I must plead a previous engagement,’ she said, smiling to mitigate his disappointment. ‘Tomorrow, perhaps?’ She moved to the hearth and tugged at the bell-pull.

‘Indeed, yes, I shall look forward to it. Will two o’clock suit?’

‘I shall expect you at two,’ she confirmed as Bromwell arrived to show him out. He bowed and was gone.

She sank back onto the sofa and let out her breath in a long sigh. It had all been very formal, very correct. There was nothing about his behaviour with which she could quarrel, nothing at all. And yet… She did not want to think about Harry, but this proposal had brought it all back. Harry, boisterous, jolly, teasing Harry, whom she had known almost all her life, had kissed her, a long bruising kiss that left her shaken and exhilarated, and then had said, ‘You’re the one for me, Jane, no use denying it. We were meant for each other, so shall we announce our engagement?’ She had been so sure of herself and of him…

Her melancholy thoughts were interrupted by the return of Aunt Lane, rushing into the room, her small dark eyes alight. ‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘Are we to felicitate you?’

‘Not yet, Aunt. You did not expect me to agree on the first time of asking, did you?’

‘Oh, you naughty puss, so he is to be kept dangling, is he?’

‘He may dangle if he wishes, but I rather think he has more spine than that. Besides, I have told him he may hope.’

‘Oh, that is as good as a yes! Now, we must make plans, organise a party—’

‘Hold your horses, Aunt, I cannot see that letting Mr Allworthy hope is the same as saying yes, truly I cannot and there will be no announcement until I do. And you cannot go organising parties before the announcement, can you?’ She smiled and bent to kiss her aunt’s cheek. ‘I’m sorry to spoil your fun.’

Aunt Lane wagged a black-mittened finger at her. ‘You are a dreadful tease, Jane. It is to be hoped you will not roast him too, for I do not think he will stand for it.’

‘He understands that I must have time to consider his proposal and is prepared to wait for an answer. Are you free tomorrow afternoon? He has asked us to take a carriage ride with him.’

‘Even if I were not free I would make myself so.’ She paused. ‘Oh, Jane, I am so pleased for you. I was beginning to despair.’

‘But why should you despair, Aunt?’

‘I should have come before. I should have helped you to get over that disgraceful business sooner, but I thought no, let her come to it in her own time. I should have known you had no one to take you out and about and make sure you were seen. James always has his head in his books and hardly knows what day it is; I should not have left it to him.’

‘Oh, do not blame Papa, Aunt, I told him I wanted to live quietly. I did not want to be seen out, it was too mortifying, and I have been able to help him with the copying. Everything he writes has to be copied, you know.’

‘Yes, I do know, and I do not blame him, I blame myself. It was the Countess who pointed it out to me. “That gel needs taking out of herself, or she will end up an old maid,” she said. “It is your duty to do something about it.” And she was right.’

The Countess of Carringdale was one of the many aristocratic connections of whom her great-aunt boasted. She never tired of speaking of them. ‘All on the distaff side,’ she told anyone who would listen. ‘My mother was the Countess’s cousin, which makes her your cousin too, Jane, seeing as your mother was my niece, though I cannot work out how many times removed.’

Jane did not care a jot for aristocratic connections and she certainly did not like them interfering in her life. Her great-aunt she could tolerate because she was kind and affectionate and had comforted her when her mother died. Fourteen years old, she had been, bereft and bewildered, and Aunt Lane had wrapped her plump arms about her and let her cry on her shoulder. And when she had broken off her engagement to Harry, Aunt Lane had been on the doorstep as soon as the news broke, and told her cheerfully that she had done the right thing, no one could possibly expect her to stay engaged to that mountebank after what he had done.

Persuaded that Jane was not going into a decline, she had gone home and they had kept in touch by correspondence. Until this year, when the Countess had told her Jane was mouldering away in obscurity, though how her ladyship knew that neither Harriet nor Jane knew.

‘Aunt Lane, you must not blame yourself; besides, two years is not so long to recover…’

‘But you have recovered?’ her aunt asked, looking closely into her face.

‘Oh, yes, Aunt, I am quite myself. My hesitation has nothing to do with the past, that is dead and buried and I do not want to speak of it again. I simply want to be sure, to take time making up my mind. Mr Allworthy is fully in agreement with that.’

She was not sure that the gentleman was as complacent as he pretended, but she could not rush headlong into an engagement that might not be good for either of them. How could she be sure that old scandal would not touch him? How could he be so sure she would make him happy? She was no catch, she had no fortune and hardly any dowry because Papa had never earned a great deal with his writing and there was very little left of the money her mama had brought to their marriage. It came to her, then, that perhaps Papa might be low in the stirrups and needed to see her provided for. If that were the case, had she any right to prevaricate? If she said yes, she would make everyone happy.

‘Then I suggest you go and acquaint your papa with your decision. He has gone back to the library.’ Her aunt sighed heavily. ‘I wonder he does not take his bed in there.’

Her father spent nearly all his waking hours in the library and only came out to eat and sleep and consult books and manuscripts in other libraries. Since her mother had died, his writing was all he cared for. Jane suspected that only while immersed in work could he forget the wife he had lost. As a fourteen-year-old and now as a fully grown woman, she had never been able to fill the gap in his life left by his wife. Oh, he was not unkind to her, far from it; he loved her in his way.

He had given her an education to rival that of many a young gentleman and an independent mind which those same young gentlemen might find an encumbrance rather than a virtue, but it was his great work, a huge treatise comparing the different religions of the world, which came first. She dreaded to think what would happen to him when it was finished. But she did not think it ever would be; the writing of it had become an end in itself. He did not want to finish it and therefore was constantly correcting and rewriting it, adding new information as he discovered it until it was now large enough to fill several volumes.

When she knocked and entered he was sitting at his desk, which was so covered with papers and open books the top of it was quite obliterated. He looked up at her over the steel rim of his spectacles. He looked tired. ‘Well, child? Has he gone?’

‘Yes, Papa.’

‘And?’

‘I am not sure how I feel about him, Papa. I told him I would think about it.’

‘You are not still wearing the willow for that rakeshame cousin, are you?’

‘No, Papa, of course not.’

‘What have you got to think about then? Mr Allworthy comes of good stock and he is a scholar like myself and not a poseur, nor, for all he likes to live in the country, is he a mushroom. There is not a breath of scandal attached to him and he seems not to mind that you have no dowry to speak of.’

‘That is something I cannot understand, Papa. Why offer for me when I have nothing to bring to the marriage? He does not seem the kind of man to fall headlong in love; he is too controlled. So what is behind it?’

‘You are too modest, Jane. And what has falling in love done for you, except make you unhappy? Better make a good match and let the affection come later as you grow towards each other. That is what happened with me and your dear mama.’

‘I know, Papa,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘I will give Mr Allworthy an answer soon.’

‘See that you do, it is not fair to keep him dangling. Now, if you have no pressing engagement for the rest of this morning, I need some new pages copying.’ He held out a handful of sheets covered with his untidy scrawl, much of which had been crossed out and altered between the lines and up and down the margins. He had once had a secretary, but the poor man had been unable to make head or tail of the way Mr Hemingford worked and did not stay long. Only Jane could understand it because she had taken the trouble to do so.

‘Of course, Papa.’ She took the sheets to a table on the other side of the room and sat down to work, just as if she had not, only a few minutes before, received a proposal that could alter her whole life. Aunt Lane was busy making extravagant plans and her father had dismissed it as of little consequence. Both were wide of the mark. She needed to talk to Anne.

Anne was Harry’s twin, but that made no difference; she was Jane’s oldest and dearest friend. Anne had been overjoyed when Harry and Jane announced their engagement and bitterly disappointed when Jane called it off. Several times she had tried to plead on Harry’s behalf. He had been foolish, she said, and it had cost him his reputation and his commission and caused an irreparable rift between him and their grandfather, the Earl of Bostock, whose heir he was, but it was unfair that it should also cost him Jane’s love, especially when he had only been thinking of their future together. Jane’s reaction was to quarrel with her friend so violently they had not spoken to each other for months.

They had been rigidly polite when they met in company and that had been unbearable until one day, finding themselves in the same room and no one else present to carry on a conversation, they had felt obliged to speak to each other. And talking eased the tension. Having few other friends and certainly none that was close, Jane had missed Anne, and it was not long before they had buried the hatchet, but only on Anne’s promise never again to mention Harry and what had happened.

When she told Mr Allworthy that she had an engagement that afternoon, nothing had been arranged, but she must have known, in the back of her mind, that she would go to see Anne. News as stupendous as this needed sharing.

Although she could have borrowed her aunt’s carriage the Earl of Bostock’s London mansion was just off Cavendish Square, near enough for her to reach it on foot. The Earl was extremely old and rarely left Sutton Park, his country home in Lincolnshire, but Anne, who had made her home with him ever since both parents had been killed in a coaching accident when she and Harry were very young, had come up for the Season, as she did every year. The amusements on offer afforded her a little light relief from being at her grandfather’s beck and call, gave her the opportunity to renew her wardrobe and spend some time with Jane. His lordship did not deem it necessary to surround her with retainers and so, apart from the usual household servants, she lived with her maid-companion, a middle-aged sycophant called Amelia Parker.

Jane had no qualms about coming across Harry while visiting her friend because he had left the country almost immediately after the scandal. If Anne knew where he was, she had never told Jane, perhaps because Jane had assured her she did not want to know and would not even speak of him.

She was admitted by a footman and conducted to the drawing room where Anne was dispensing tea to a bevy of matrons who seemed to think that just because she had no mother, it was their duty to call on her and give her the benefit of their advice, notwithstanding she was twenty-four years old and perfectly able to conduct her own affairs. ‘Such a dutiful gel,’ they murmured among themselves. ‘She is devoted to that old man and stayed in the country to look after him when that scapegrace shamed him and ruined her own chances doing it. Now she is too old. We must go and bear her company.’ Anne knew perfectly well what they said and often laughed about it to Jane, but there was a little hollowness in the laughter.

She came forward when Jane was announced and held out both her hands. ‘Jane, my dear, how lovely to see you.’ She reached forward to kiss her cheek and added in a whisper, ‘Give me a few minutes to get rid of these antidotes and I shall be free to talk.’ She drew Jane forward. ‘Do you know everyone? Lady Grant, Lady Cowper, Mrs Archibald and her daughter, Fanny?’

‘Indeed, yes.’ Jane bent her knee to each of them and asked them how they did, but though they were polite and asked after her father, they had no real interest in her doings and the conversation ground to a halt. Not long after that, they gathered up parasols, gloves and reticules and departed.

‘Now,’ Anne said, as soon as the door had closed on them. ‘I shall order more tea and we may sit down for a comfortable coze.’ She turned to ring the bell for the maid, then took Jane’s hand and drew her to sit beside her on the sofa. ‘You look a trifle agitated, my dear, has something happened to upset you?’

‘Not upset exactly. I have received an offer of marriage.’

‘Oh.’ There was a little silence after that, as if Anne was cogitating how to answer her. ‘Who is the lucky man?’

‘Mr Donald Allworthy.’

‘Goodness, not that sti—’ She stopped suddenly.

Jane laughed. ‘That stiff-rump, is that what you were going to say?’

‘Well, he is a little pompous.’

‘Only if you count good manners and courtesy as pomposity. And I am sure he is very sincere when he says he has a high regard for me.’

‘Oh, Jane, you are never thinking of accepting him?’

‘I have said I will consider it.’

‘But, my dear, you can’t, you simply cannot.’

‘Why not? I should like very much to be married.’

‘But not to Donald Allworthy.’

‘No one else has offered.’

‘You know that is not true. You would have been married by now, if—’

‘Please, Anne, do not speak of the past. It is dead and buried, along with my dreams. I must be practical. Papa is becoming tired and increasingly frail and I know I must be a great burden to him. Besides, Aunt Lane has taken so much trouble.’

‘You surely would not agree to marry someone you do not love simply not to disappoint your aunt. That is the very worst reason I can think of for marrying anyone.’

‘Of course it is not that, or not only that. I do not want to be an old maid, Anne.’

‘You are four years younger than me, there is still time for you.’

‘Oh, I am sorry, I did not mean—’ Jane broke off in confusion.

Anne laughed. ‘No, I know you did not, but it is true, isn’t it? I am past my last prayers and resigned to it—more than resigned, I am happy. I do not think I would make anyone a good wife, I am too independent and outspoken and I value my freedom.’

‘You think I should be like you?’ They had had this conversation before, but then she had not just had a proposal and that made the argument so much more cogent.

‘Not at all. I have never said that. You were born to be a wife and mother. I am only sorry—’

‘Do not be,’ Jane put in sharply. ‘We are not talking of that, but what I should do about Donald Allworthy.’

‘What do you want to do about him?’

‘I do not know. I have asked him for time to think about it, but I cannot keep him waiting, can I? It would not be fair.’

If Anne was tempted to say Jane had not been fair to her brother, she resisted it. ‘I cannot help you make up your mind, Jane. It is your decision. I wish you happy, whatever you decide.’

‘Then I shall tell him to expect an answer at the end of the Season.’

‘You might have a better offer by then.’

Jane laughed. ‘And pigs might fly.’

‘Jane, it is not the end, you know. It is not a case of Mr Allworthy or nobody.’

‘Anne, if you are nursing the hope that you can bring Harry and me back together, you are wasting your time.’

The maid brought in the tea tray and Anne busied herself with the teapot and cups before speaking again. ‘They have forgiven the Duke of York, you know. He has been restored as Commander-in-Chief of the Army. It was in the newspaper today.’

‘What does that signify? The Prince of Wales was always close to him, closer than to any others of his family, so it is only natural that when he was made Regent, he would reinstate his brother. They are as bad as one another with their infidelities and their mistresses.’

‘Harry wasn’t like that, you know he wasn’t.’

As she sipped the tea Anne had given her, the memories were crowding back, memories she had been pushing away from her for more than two years, memories resurrected by the day’s events. The newly commissioned Lieutenant Harry Hemingford in the magnificent blue-and-gold uniform of the 10th Hussars was proud as a peacock, grateful to his grandfather for buying him the commission, sure that he would make his mark on history.

‘Of course a lieutenant’s pay is little enough,’ he had told her. ‘But I shall soon make my way. In wartime, promotion comes fast. We shall not have so long to wait and then, my darling Jane, you will be my wife.’ And he had whirled her round and round until she was dizzy and begged him to stop.

But she had been so proud of him. He swore he had put his wild youth behind him and had eschewed the excesses of drinking and gambling that had led him into trouble and was the reason his grandfather had packed him off into the army. ‘I have turned over a new leaf, Jane.’ For a time it seemed he had; he worked hard and waited for the call to arms. The 10th Hussars, the Prince of Wales’s Own Regiment, had been in the Peninsula at the time and he was expecting hourly to be sent out to join them.

‘There will be no time to arrange a wedding before I go,’ he had told her. ‘And to tell the truth, I cannot afford it. You don’t mind waiting, do you? When I come back I shall be a colonel.’ He had laughed his boyish laugh and made her smile. ‘Or even a general. Then you shall be able to lord it over all the other officers’ wives.’

She had agreed it would be better to delay. Her father still needed her to help him with his work and she could start collecting her trousseau and thinking of her future home. But Harry’s plans had been thwarted when, in 1809, the regiment was brought back to England after a series of setbacks that resulted in the army being withdrawn from Spain and, instead of seeing action, he was left kicking his heels. It was then that everything went wrong. Jane shuddered with shame even now.

Harry could not afford to marry her on a lieutenant’s pay and his grandfather, who had stood buff for his previous debts, would not increase his allowance. He needed promotion and in London the chances of that were slim. It was one of his fellow officers who told him that preferment could be gained through Mrs Mary Anne Clarke, the Duke of York’s mistress, and suggested he try that avenue to promotion, offering to take him to one of the many social gatherings that Mrs Clarke liked to organise. As a mere lieutenant he would not normally have been accepted in those circles, but the heir to the Earl of Bostock was a different matter. He was told to find four hundred guineas and the lady would put his name on a list she would give to the Duke, who would expedite the promotion. She pretended she could give no guarantee, though she intimated that the Duke never refused her anything.

Harry and Anne had both been left a little money by their maternal grandfather, but Harry had very little of his left, he had told Anne. Living the life of an army officer was an expensive business and his pay and allowance from their grandfather nowhere near covered it. And he liked to give Jane little presents, and outings. Anne had given him the money without a second’s hesitation, something Jane found hard to forgive. ‘If you hadn’t let him have it, he would not have got himself into such a scrape,’ she had told her friend when the scandal came to light. ‘I did not need or expect expensive presents and if he had been honest with me I should have told him so. And I was content to wait to be married. It is ungentlemanly of him to lay the blame for his disgrace at my door.’ But Anne adored her twin and had never been able to refuse him anything it was in her power to give him and she defended not only her actions, but his as well.

His promotion never came. The Duke had tired of his mistress and she had not taken it lying down. She had demanded a large sum of money to pay off debts she maintained had been incurred by having to live up to her position as a royal duke’s mistress; the Duke had refused to pay it and she countered by threatening to make public the details of their love affair. The wrangle had come to the attention of Parliament and it all came out in an enquiry into the behaviour of the Duke in the House of Commons at which Mary Anne Clark was the chief witness.

Every member of that august body had listened with rapt attention to details of the love life of the King’s second son, heard his love letters read aloud and learned the names of those officers who came and went to the lady’s splendid home in Gloucester Place, among whom was a certain Lieutenant Harry Hemingford. At the end, the majority in favour of the Duke was so small he resigned as Commander-in-Chief and Harry felt obliged to follow his example. Jane was heartbroken and, encouraged by her father and Aunt Lane, had told him she could not love a man who got himself involved in such disgraceful goings on and broke off their engagement.

Hard though it had been, she had tried to put it behind her, but now everyone seemed bent on reminding her. She had to tell Mr Allworthy, of course; you couldn’t deceive the man who hoped to marry you, but why did her aunt have to drag it up again? As for Anne, she felt very cross with her. She had promised she would not mention Harry again and it did not help to decide what to do about Mr Allworthy. Perhaps if she consented to marry him, it would put a period to the whole episode and everyone would stop prosing on about it.

‘I know how much you love your brother,’ Jane said. ‘And I admire you for it, but let us say no more. Tomorrow Mr Allworthy is taking me and Aunt Lane for a carriage ride in the park and I shall perhaps learn more about him then.’

Anne sighed. ‘I can see I will never influence you, so I shall give up, but promise me you will not rush into anything.’

Jane attempted a laugh. ‘I have no intention of rushing into anything.’

They finished drinking their tea and Jane took her leave, wondering if she had been right to go and see Anne after all. She should have known that Anne could not be objective about Mr Allworthy, any more than her father and Aunt Lane were. She was on her own.

She had slept badly, then worked all morning for her father until her thumb and finger were stiff from holding a pen and her head ached from trying to decipher his script. She ate a light repast and afterwards went upstairs to her bedroom where Lucy had already been dispatched and was waiting to help her change for her carriage ride. ‘What will you wear, Miss Jane? I have pressed your blue silk and your green taffeta, but it is such a warm day that I think the blue will be cooler.’

‘Yes, the blue, if you please, and the white muslin pelisse.’

Half an hour later she presented herself to her aunt in the drawing room to await the arrival of her suitor. The blue suited her and its simple style showed off her slim figure. Her hair had been brushed until it shone like a ripe chestnut and was caught up into a knot on top of her head with two tortoiseshell combs. A few strands had escaped and formed ringlets about her face, softening the rather severe style.

‘Very pretty,’ her aunt commented. ‘I am sure he will be quite entranced.’

They heard the door knocker at that moment, and a minute later Mr Allworthy was announced. He strode into the room, his hat beneath his arm, and bowed to them both. He was in grey, charcoal for his double-breasted coat, which had a high stand-up collar, dove-grey for his pantaloons. His waistcoat was lilac and his cravat tied in precise folds. His boots shone and his hair had recently had the attentions of a barber. ‘My carriage is outside, ladies,’ he said. ‘The horses are a little restive, so if you are ready…’

He escorted them out to the carriage, helped them into their seats, climbed in facing them and ordered the coachman to drive to Hyde Park.

It was, as Lucy had intimated, a very warm day and the park was crowded as it had been all Season. Whenever anything out of the ordinary took place in the Royal family, the whole haut monde converged on London and this Season was no exception. The King’s doctors had finally decided he would not recover from his madness sufficiently to rule and the previous February the Prince of Wales had at last become Regent. If those involved in the government of the country had expected sweeping changes, they were disappointed; the Regent carried on much as his father had before him, except that his love of pleasure meant there were even more balls and banquets.

Jane sat stiffly beside her aunt, facing Mr Allworthy, seeing and yet not seeing all the hubbub about her. Every sort of carriage, from high-perch phaetons to gigs, from grand town coaches to curricles, was there, getting in each other’s way as they stopped for the occupants to exchange gossip and scandal. Aunt Lane was in her element and commented on everyone they saw. It was astonishing the number of people with whom she could claim a connection.

‘There is the Countess,’ she exclaimed. ‘Mr Allworthy, please stop so that I may present Jane. Her ladyship has a particular interest, you know.’

Donald’s coachman skillfully avoided a collision with an oncoming tilbury and drew up opposite the Countess of Carringdale’s coach. ‘Countess, we are well met,’ Harriet called out. ‘Allow me to present Miss Jane Hemingford. You remember, we spoke of her.’

‘So this is the gel.’ The Countess peered closely at Jane through her quizzing glass. Jane was annoyed enough to look her straight in the eye and saw a very old woman in a dark purple coat and a turban of the same colour, which had three tall plumes dyed to match waving from the top of it. Her deportment was regal, her pale blue eyes taking in every aspect of Jane’s dress and demeanour.

‘Very pretty,’ she said at last. ‘Too thin, though what can you expect from young gels nowadays, always rushing hither and thither, enjoying themselves?’

Jane thought that remark uncalled for and opened her mouth to protest, but her aunt quickly intervened. ‘My lady, may I also present Mr Donald Allworthy.’

The Countess moved her examination to Donald. ‘Mr Allworthy and I are already acquainted. Good day to you, young man.’

‘Countess, your obedient.’ He smiled and bowed stiffly from the waist.

‘Harriet, I shall expect an accounting,’ she said to Aunt Lane, and waved a peremptory hand to tell her coachman to proceed. ‘I shall wish to be informed if an announcement is imminent.’

Jane was seething and her aunt knew it. ‘Do not take her remarks to heart, Jane, dear,’ she said as they drove on. ‘She is only thinking of what is best for you.’

‘I shall decide what is best for me, Aunt,’ Jane said. ‘And I hope you will tell her so, when you see her.’

‘But should you be so adamant, Miss Hemingford?’ Donald said and, though his tone was mild, Jane detected an undercurrent of concern, which surprised her and added to her vexation. ‘Her ladyship is surely worth cultivating? She is wealthy and your kinswoman and I have always believed that family comes first.’

‘There, Jane!’ Mrs Lane said, triumphantly. ‘Have I not always said the same thing, times without number?’

‘Yes, Aunt, so you have, but the relationship is so distant, I would not presume—’

‘Fustian! If her ladyship chooses to take you up, then you should be grateful. She has no children of her own, you know, and approbation from her will ensure a place in Society for you and your husband. You will have an entrée to all the best drawing rooms.’

Jane had no intention of toadying to the Countess, even if her aunt, and Mr Allworthy too, thought she should. He was looking pensive, as if he would like to add his arguments to her aunt’s, but she forestalled him. ‘Mr Allworthy, do you think we could drive somewhere else? I find the park too crowded for comfort.’

‘As you wish, of course,’ he said. ‘We will leave by the next gate and drive back up Kensington Road to Park Lane.’

Jane was silent as they drove along; she was so put out by the top-lofty behaviour of the Countess and Mr Allworthy’s condoning of it that she could hardly speak. He seemed to sense her displeasure and leaned forward to murmur, ‘Miss Hemingford, I beg your pardon, I was only thinking of our…your interests. Lady Carringdale can make or break…’ He paused, as if realising he might make matters worse if he went on. ‘Please do not let it make any difference to us.’

She looked up at him. ‘Us, Mr Allworthy?’

‘My hope. You did say I might hope, did you not?’

She smiled a little woodenly. ‘How well do you know the Countess?’

‘Only slightly. My goodness, you did not think I connived…? Oh, my dear Miss Hemingford, I can fight my own battles.’

‘Is it a battle?’

‘A battle, to win you? Yes, but it is one I take pleasure in fighting, hoping for a happy outcome.’

She did not know what to say to that and sat back in her seat and put up her parasol, to shield her from the sun. It was as they were passing Knightsbridge barracks that she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure, disappearing through the gates. The set of the shoulders, the dark curly hair, the jaunty way his arms swung as he walked, stopped her breath. With an effort, she managed to stop herself from crying out, glad that her parasol hid her face. As the carriage passed the gates, she leaned forward to look again, but whoever it was had gone.

It could not have been Harry. The man had a kind of lopsided gait that was not at all like Harry’s quick stride, and he had looked older. Besides, Harry had resigned his commission and gone into exile; he was no longer a soldier. Her imagination was playing tricks on her. She had been reminded of him so many times in the last few days, she was seeing him everywhere.

‘What is it?’ her aunt asked her.

‘Nothing, Aunt. I had something in my eye, but it has gone now.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Oh, yes, Aunt, I am quite sure.’

The rest of the ride back to Duke Street, the smiles and gracious thanks to their escort, the promise to go to a musical rout somewhere or other the following evening, passed in a blur. Jane’s head was full of memories, memories she could not erase, not even when she slept. She had said it was all in the past, dead and gone, and something had to be done to make sure it stayed that way.

Chapter Two

I t was two weeks since Jane had seen the figure entering the barracks, two weeks in which she expected to come across him round every corner, two weeks with her heart in her mouth. She had not dared to visit Anne in case he was there, though she told herself a dozen times a day she had imagined him. And even if she had not, if he really had returned, did it matter? She had sent him away, told him she never wanted to see him again and had meant it.

And there was poor Mr Allworthy, still doing his best to win her, escorting her to functions, taking her out in his carriage, even walking with her to the library when she wanted to change a book and helping her to choose ribbons for her new bonnet. She did not think she needed a new bonnet, but Aunt Lane had insisted that if she was to be seen out and about with Mr Allworthy, who was always in prime rig, she must dress accordingly.

Often she had no chaperon apart from Hannah, dawdling several paces behind them, and when they were out in the carriage there was only Mr Allworthy’s coachman to give lip service to propriety. No one could fail to see that the gentleman was seriously courting Jane and many of her friends had asked her when they could expect an announcement. She had been evasive, but was she being fair to him?

‘Miss Hemingford, do you ride?’ he asked her one day. They had been out in his carriage as far as Richmond and were coming back along the Kensington Road. She had not been that way since she had seen what she chose to call the apparition; as they approached the barracks, she could feel herself stiffening, holding her breath, half expecting to see it again. There were several officers about, but none that looked at all like Harry, and she let out an audible sigh.

‘Is anything wrong?’ he asked.

‘Not at all.’ She sat upright, inching away from him. ‘What were you saying? I am afraid I was not paying attention. I have been doing some work for Papa and it suddenly came to me that I should have pointed out an error to him.’

‘I believe he works you too hard. If you were to consent to be my wife, you would not have to do it.’

‘Oh, but I love doing it. And Papa could not manage without me.’

‘Is that why you have delayed giving me your answer?’

‘I suppose in part it must be.’

‘Then do not let it be a consideration. I can find him a good secretary.’

She laughed. ‘No one but me can understand his hand.’

‘Oh, I am sure someone could learn to decipher it, and perhaps he ought to try and make it easier to read.’ He paused. ‘You did not answer my question. Do you ride?’

He had a disconcerting way of abandoning the subject under discussion just when she was gathering herself up to answer him. Was it because he sensed her reluctance to delve deeper into her feelings and wanted to spare her or was he simply assuming she agreed with him? She smiled to show him she was not put out by it. ‘I used to when I was a child and we lived in the country, but I have not done so since Mama died and we came to live in London. Perhaps I have forgotten how.’

‘Then I think we should find out, don’t you?’

‘I have no mount or habit.’

‘A hack can be hired and I will purchase a habit for you.’

‘Certainly not!’ she said sharply. ‘I could not possibly accept gifts of clothing, they should only ever come from a husband.’

His smile was a little crooked. ‘I wish that I were he.’

‘I asked you for time to make up my mind, Mr Allworthy.’

‘And while you do so, the whole haut monde waits with bated breath.’

‘The haut monde is not the least interested in my affairs. I doubt more than half a dozen have even heard of me.’

‘There you are wrong. Your fame goes before you.’

‘Fame?’ she faltered. ‘Oh, you mean the tattlemongers have been at work.’

‘With the help of your Aunt Lane and your relative, the Countess. The more your aunt sings your praises, the more people talk.’

‘What do they say? No, you do not need to tell me, for I know already. I broke off one engagement for what many consider to be a trivial reason and any man who offers for me had better bear that in mind. I think I will never live it down and you were best to turn your back on me or some of the calumny will rub off on you.’

‘I am not such a Jack Pudding as to turn tail at the first setback, and if anyone should say a word against you in my company you may be sure they will be sorry for it. But it was not that I meant. I was speaking of your goodness, your modesty and obedience, the way you have helped your papa.’

She tried to laugh. ‘Oh, Mr Allworthy, how gallant you are, but it is all flummery and you know it.’

‘Not at all. But you could put an end to the tattle at once, you know, if you were to consent to be my wife. I could carry you off to Coprise and they would soon find someone else to talk about.’

‘Is that the answer? Would you find it so easy to forget?’

‘I have your assurance it is all in the past, that you have no affection for the man in question and do not regret your decision to sever your ties with him, and that is enough for me.’ He paused. ‘Now, we have discoursed on the matter long enough. Shall we ride out together one morning? Friday, perhaps? Nine o’clock?’

Nine o’clock was early, but at that time there would not be so many people about to witness her clumsiness and so she agreed, knowing that the more invitations she accepted the more she was compounding her problem, if problem it was.

She purchased a ready-made habit in deep blue grosgrain. It had a tight-fitting military-style jacket decorated with silver braid and frogging. Her hat, like a man’s top hat, was softened with a length of bright blue gauze tied about its narrow brim with the ends flowing freely behind. The skirt was full and plain. She decided if she did not take to riding again, it could be altered to make a walking dress and the money would not be wasted. Practising economy had become a habit with her since she had been in charge of her father’s household and she could not break it, even though Aunt Lane had generously paid for many of her new clothes and told her to think nothing of it.

Donald arrived at her front door at the appointed time, with a magnificent black stallion and a small bay mare. ‘She’s called Blaze,’ he told her as he escorted her out and helped her to mount. Having made sure she was comfortably seated, he mounted the stallion and they set out at a walk. She was aware of a groom, following them on a cob, but he was so far behind that as a chaperon he might just as well not have been there.

‘Green Park, I think,’ Donald said, watching her carefully to see how she was managing. ‘It will be less crowded than Hyde Park.’

As soon as she was in the saddle, she knew she had not forgotten how to ride. It came back to her as something comfortable and familiar. She had ridden almost daily when she was young, mostly in the company of Anne and Harry, whose home had been less than a mile from hers. They had been three rather wild children, sometimes riding bareback, often bareheaded, frequently barefoot, chasing across the countryside, up hill and down dale, until they had been driven home by hunger. How happy they had been, how easy in each other’s company, unaware of what lay ahead.

The first change had come when Harry went to university. It was not the same for the two girls after that. They were expected to grow into young ladies and were schooled with that end in mind. But they had remained good friends and when Harry came home in the vacations, he escorted them to dances in the assembly rooms and on picnics to local beauty spots, but there were always other people about; it was no longer just the three of them.

And then Mama had died and soon after that Papa, eaten up with grief, had decided to sell the house and live in London permanently. The decision seemed to compound Jane’s own grief. The capital was dirty and noisy and she missed everything that might have given her some solace: the green fields, the pony rides, the people, Anne and Harry most of all. It was from Anne’s letters she learned that Harry had fallen into bad company and had incurred gambling debts of three hundred pounds. ‘Grandfather stood buff for him,’ she had written. ‘And has bought him a lieutenancy in the Prince of Wales’s Own, which he told him was more than he deserved, but I don’t think he meant it. From tales I have heard him tell when I was a little girl, he sowed a few wild oats himself. Harry is off to London any time now and no doubt he will call on you.’

Harry, with his dark curls and laughing eyes, had arrived, splendid and proud in his uniform, and had captivated her, won her heart and her hand, and then behaved disgracefully and she ought not to repine over him. It was not fair on the man who rode beside her now. Donald Allworthy was everything that Harry was not: reliable, thoughtful, truthful, correct to the last degree. Everyone told her he was exactly right for her.

As they entered the park, she turned to smile at him. ‘I am so glad you persuaded me to come. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed riding. It is such an age since I have been on the back of a horse.’

‘You could be on the back of one every day if you became Mrs Allworthy. There are horses in the stables and some good rides around Coprise.’

She smiled mischievously as they trotted past a herd of cows being driven to the gate by milkmaids. ‘Bribery, Mr Allworthy?’

‘No, a promise.’ He paused. ‘I collect you are fond of country pursuits.’

‘Indeed, I am.’

‘Then come to Coprise Manor for a visit. You should all come, Mr Hemingford, Mrs Lane and your maids. There is plenty of room. I have to go home soon, I have been away too long, but the prospect of being parted from you made me reluctant to return.’

‘You are leaving London?’ Why that should surprise her, she did not know. ‘I did not know you were contemplating it.’

‘I must be back for haymaking. I like to involve myself in the work of the farm; matters run more smoothly when I do. But I could make all ready for your reception. Say you will come.’

‘I must consult with Papa and Aunt Lane. It might not be convenient for them.’

‘But if it is, you will come?’

‘I think I might like that.’

His little grin of triumph was not lost on her, but surely he had a right to be pleased? She dug her heel into her horse’s flank and set it cantering across the grass, enjoying the feel of the mare’s strong back beneath her, the sound of her hooves as she put her to gallop, laughing because she had taken her escort by surprise and left him behind.

And then she looked up and saw them, two riders outlined against the skyline, and she knew who they were by the way the young woman brushed a wayward curl from her face, the way the man sat in the saddle with his hands loosely on the reins. Her laughter faded and in that second, in mid-gallop, she thought of wheeling about to avoid them, but that would risk a fall and she would not subject herself to the indignity of being unseated in front of them. She managed to pull up and then stopped. They had surely seen her. Or was this another of her apparitions? What would it take to banish them? Marriage to someone else?

She looked round at Donald as he rode up beside her. ‘That was good,’ she said, making herself laugh again.

‘Foolhardy, my dear, especially when you are so long out of practice. I should never have forgiven myself if you had taken a tumble.’

‘Ah, but I did not.’ She leaned forward to pat her horse’s neck, aware that the other two riders were walking their horses towards them. ‘Little Blaze is a goer.’

She found herself surreptitiously looking at Harry. It was indeed Harry, but so changed she hardly recognised him. In a brown stuff riding jacket and a tall beaver hat, he seemed older than she had expected. He had become broader, more muscled, his features more lined, almost weatherbeaten. And there was a tiny scar running from his mouth towards his cheek. She wondered where he had been in the last two years, but then told herself sternly she did not want to know.

But she had to acknowledge him for Anne’s sake. ‘Mr Hemingford,’ she said, aware of Donald beside her. ‘How do you do?’ And then, before he could reply, turned to his companion. ‘Anne, isn’t it a lovely morning? I have not enjoyed a ride so much for ages.’ And then she wished she had not spoken because she saw Harry’s mouth twitch in a faint smile and knew he was thinking of days long gone. ‘You are acquainted with Mr Donald Allworthy, I collect.’

‘Yes, indeed.’ Anne put on a bright smile, which only Jane knew was forced. ‘Mr Allworthy, may I present my brother, Harry?’

The two men inclined their heads and bade each other good morning, but Jane could sense their animosity and decided to bring the encounter to an end. ‘Do call on me, Anne,’ she said, turning her mount. ‘But do not make it too long. I am leaving town very soon to stay at Coprise Manor.’ And then, as she drew away, ‘Good-day to you, Mr Hemingford.’

Donald took a cool leave of the brother and sister and followed her. ‘So that was the scapegrace,’ he said. ‘I thought he was out of the country.’

‘So did I.’

‘You had no idea he was back?’

‘None at all. Why should I have? And it is of no consequence.’

‘You are sure?’

‘Yes. The man is a stranger to me now. I hardly recognised him.’ She told herself that was true. Her so-called love had been nothing more than the infatuation of youth and youth had flown. ‘Tell me about Coprise Manor.’

‘You mean to come, then?’

She could feel two pairs of eyes boring into her back and sat ramrod straight. ‘Of course, if Papa agrees.’

‘Who is that fellow?’ Harry demanded of his sister as they watched them ride away.

‘A mushroom,’ she said. ‘A countryman up for the Season in search of a wife.’

‘Jane?’

She nodded. ‘They have been seen about town together every day for the last two weeks and I believe she is about to announce her engagement to him. She would not be going to Coprise otherwise. It is his country home in Norfolk.’

‘Oh.’

‘Harry, you should have come back sooner.’

He grimaced as they walked their horses forward, careful not to catch up with the two in front. ‘I was not in a position to come and go as I pleased and what good would it have done? She has not forgiven me. You could see she hardly knew how to be civil, not even to you, and you are her friend. Besides, we have both moved on; there is nothing at all between us now.’

‘Liar!’

‘Childhood love rarely survives into adulthood, you know.’ He chuckled. ‘And I took rather longer than most to grow up.’

‘But you have grown up, Harry. You are not the stripling that went away two years ago.’

‘No, thank God.’

‘What have you been doing?’ He had turned up on the doorstep two weeks before, soon after Jane’s last visit, bone weary, filthy and recovering from a wound to his thigh that had given him a limp. In that two weeks he had slept and slept, eaten like a hungry wolf, and slowly mended. Today had been his first outing. And they had to run into Jane, of all people.

He smiled, a crooked kind of smile because of the scar. ‘I told you, fighting for King and Country. There is nothing like a few bullets and cannon balls flying around to make a boy into a man.’

‘But you resigned your commission.’

‘So I did. But there are other ways to serve. The army is not so particular about those they take into the ranks. I enlisted as a private soldier and was lucky enough to be taken into the 95th. It was a very salutary experience, I can tell you, but I made a good rifleman.’

‘It must have been terrible. I cannot think why you did it.’

‘I had something to prove, Sis. And it was not so bad. There was hardship, of course, and danger too, but there was also comradeship, a pulling together and sharing whatever you have with each other, rations, clothes, food, jests, even women.’

‘Is it not like that among officers?’

‘Not quite. They are too concerned about their position in the chain of command. A lieutenant’s position as the lowest of the low is only surpassed by that of an ensign, who is truly a nobody. A major looks down on a captain and a colonel can have no friends, being at the top of the regimental pyramid, so to speak. His is a lonely life and I do not envy him.’

‘I collect, when you first had your colours, you said you would come back a colonel.’

‘That was the boy speaking, not the man.’

Looking back, he could not believe what a sousecrown he had been. The adoration of his sister and Jane had swelled his vanity to gigantic proportions. He had been hail-fellow-well-met at his college, had done very little work, learned to gamble and fallen into debt. But wasn’t that the way of all young bloods? His grandfather had put down the dust, but there had been strings attached. The lieutenancy had been thrust under his nose and an ultimatum delivered. He had accepted it with gratitude.

Even then his good intentions had been trammelled underfoot as soon as he arrived in London. Living in the capital had been expensive, with regimentals to buy, a pair of horses to keep, his mess bills and a servant to maintain. It became even more so when he became engaged to Jane and there were parties almost every night, balls and routs to attend, presents to buy for her. He wanted to be the grand suitor, the generous lover, the husband and provider. He could not be that while he was a mere lieutenant, kicking his heels on home ground.

When Clarence Garfitt had told him about Mrs Clarke, he had hesitated, but Clarence, who was a captain and always knew everything that was going on, had assured him that was how many men obtained preferment. Nothing was said against it because to do so would involve the Duke of York and of course no one would dare risk that. What a gull he had been! The whole scandal had come to light and his name became publicly known as one of those officers who had offered a bribe. Jane had been furious and he had compounded his villainy in her eyes by blustering and trying to excuse himself. ‘Everyone does it,’ he had said. ‘I did it for us, so that we could marry. It is not the end of the world.’

But Jane was Jane. Seventeen years old, motherless and with a father who saw and heard nothing that did not relate to his work, she was far from worldly-wise and had been shocked to discover that such people as Mrs Clarke existed—not only existed, but were condoned so long as they never complained. Jane was appalled and outraged to think that her affianced husband had visited the house of such a one. To her everything must be either black or white; she would not admit to shades of grey. He had resigned his commission and taken himself out of her sight.

‘But you did become an officer,’ Anne said, breaking in on his thoughts. ‘You are a captain.’

‘Promoted in the field. My company commander received a mortal wound and there was no one else to take charge. Luckily for me, my conduct was noticed; I was mentioned in the colonel’s report and the captaincy was confirmed. Later they were looking for someone who could speak French and I volunteered. I had to question French prisoners and deserters, and that led to using their information to obtain more.’

He had volunteered to go behind the enemy lines to follow up a piece of information he had been given. It had been risky and exciting, but he had welcomed the danger, learned to survive, met some extraordinary people and emerged alive, but wounded. Making his way back to his own lines just outside Pombala, he had been skirting round a French bivouac when he was seen and challenged. He had been within half a mile of his own comrades and as he carried important intelligence, there was nothing to do but fight his way out of trouble. He had taken a ball in the thigh, but luckily for him they were in dense woodland and he was able to conceal himself in thick under-growth until the bigger battle started. With pandemonium around him, he had managed to crawl to safety and deliver his intelligence. But the wound had put a painful end to his military career.

‘What are you going to do now?’ Anne asked him. ‘You are not fit to return to duty.’

‘No, more’s the pity, I would have liked to see it to the end. I must find something to occupy myself.’

‘Will you go to see Grandpapa?’

‘Will he receive me?’

‘Of course he will! When you tell him what you have done, that you have been wounded in the service of your country and been mentioned in dispatches, he will be as proud as a turkeycock. You have redeemed yourself and he will welcome you back into the family. You will be able to take up your proper position as his heir.’

‘Not yet. I put my old life behind me when I enlisted. I cannot go back to it. I think I will go into business.’

‘Business?’ she repeated, shocked. ‘You don’t mean trade?’

He smiled, knowing she was only reflecting the attitude of their own social class. ‘Why not? I have not quite made up my mind what, or how I can bring it about, but it must be something worthwhile.’

‘Grandfather won’t like that. You are a gentleman born and bred and one day you will be the Earl of Bostock and take over the estate.’

‘That does not mean I cannot be some use in the world before that happens, does it? I have learned to stand on my own feet while I have been away and I found I liked it.’

‘And Jane?’ The pair ahead of them had disappeared through the gates on to Piccadilly, merging in with the traffic on that busy thoroughfare.

‘Ah, Jane,’ he said, thinking back to their encounter not five minutes before. She was no longer the hoyden of their childhood, not even the pretty young débutante to whom he had become engaged. She was another being entirely, a fully fledged woman. The new Jane had looked splendid in that riding habit, her womanly curves in all the right places, and that fetching hat had set off her thick hair to perfection. Sitting straight in the saddle, her gloved hands on her reins, perfectly composed, she had shown nothing of the Jane he had known and loved. She had outgrown him. ‘I fear I am too late on that score, Sis.’

‘Fustian! She still loves you.’

‘I do not believe it. The Jane I knew would not encourage another man when her heart was elsewhere. She would be too honest.’

‘Two years is a long time, Harry. I believe she has been coerced. You must do something.’

‘Anne, even if I were to wish it, which I do not admit to, I could not step in now. What would that do to my reputation and hers too? I have done enough damage to the Hemingford name already. If I were to step into another man’s engagement, all that other business would be dragged up again and I would be branded an unmitigated bounder.’ He reached out and patted her hand. ‘Thank you for trying, my dear, but I, too, have moved on.’

‘Oh, Harry, I am so sorry. I love you both so much.’

‘And you may still love us both. That has not changed. And I thank God for it. Now, do you think we can make a little more haste, I came out without my breakfast and I am gut-foundered.’

They rode home in silence but, for all his cheerful countenance, his heart was heavy. Had he really expected Jane to recognise the new man and be ready and willing to forgive and forget and take him back? It was the thought of redeeming himself in her eyes that had kept him going, been with him through the long watches of the night when he had been cold and wet; it had been with him on endless marches when he had been almost roasted alive. It had sustained him when he had been living among his country’s enemies and helped him safely back to his comrades when his mission had been accomplished. The vision of her face had helped him to survive that long night hiding in a ditch with a bullet in his leg. When he had been praised for his daring by none other than Old Douro himself and mentioned in his dispatches, it was of Jane’s good opinion he had been thinking. All for nothing!

They dismounted outside Bostock House and left the horses with a groom before going indoors. The house had been bought by the first Earl when Cavendish Square was an isolated residential area in the countryside north of London. He had chosen it for its proximity to the capital and its fresh air. Now it was part of the metropolis, an old house in the middle of new. It had not even been modernized, because the Earl had not visited London since his son, the twins’ father, had died. Most of the year it remained empty and was only opened up when Anne came to town for the Season. If Harry had his way, it would be sold. The ground it stood on must surely be worth a fortune with the way London was spreading northwards and the Regent clamouring to have a new road built from his residence at Carlton House to Regent’s Park.

‘When are you going home to Sutton Park?’ she asked him, as they entered.

He grinned. ‘Do you want to be rid of me?’

‘No, you know I do not. I have seen nothing of you for two years and there is no hurry, is there? I am going back myself in a week or two, we could go together.’

‘You think I might need protection from Grandpapa?’ He laughed as they climbed the stairs to their respective rooms. ‘You are probably right at that. You could always turn him round your thumb.’

‘Gammon!’

He stopped outside her room and put out a hand to stroke her cheek. ‘Dear Sis, always looking after her wayward brother. I do appreciate it, you know.’

‘I know. Will you take me to the theatre tonight? That is, if you are not too fatigued.’

‘I will gladly take you, if my evening coat still fits me, but have you no beau dangling after you?’

‘Oh, Harry, do not be so foolish, I am long past marriageable age.’

‘Humbug! I think I will find you a husband while I am in town. In fact, it is my duty.’

‘It is not! You look to your own affairs, Harry Hemingford.’

He knew she meant Jane, but that was entirely out of the question.

Not for a minute did he think that agreeing to take his sister to the theatre would have such a profound effect on his mind and heart. Jane was there with her new love, sitting in the box opposite theirs, accompanied by an elderly lady in a hideous mauve-and-lilac striped round gown, whom he recognised as her great-aunt. And he knew with a certainty that almost unmanned him that he had been lying when he said he had moved on.

Jane was in amber silk, almost the same colour as the highlights in her hair. It heightened the creaminess of her shoulders and neck, the softness of her complexion and the brilliance of her eyes. Looking through his opera glass, he could see her quite clearly. She appeared to be watching the stage, but he was sure she had also seen him and was looking away on purpose. Was she afraid he might see what was written in those eyes? He had known her since she was a small child, knew her every mood, had seen her eyes full of mischief, teasing, laughing, crying and furious with indignation. He had seen them sad and he had seen them happy. He could not make himself believe she was happy now. And he could do nothing to remedy it. He had forfeited the right.

Jane knew perfectly well she was being watched. She had seen Anne and her brother take their seats before the curtain rose and, though she had turned to talk to Donald while the rest of the audience filled the theatre and, when the performance began, had concentrated on watching the stage, she was aware of Harry’s scrutiny. He had no right to look at her like that, no right to make her feel discomfited. She made herself angry; it was the only way she could go on.

She was still angry when the intermission brought the curtain down and everyone began moving about, waving to friends in other parts of the theatre, visiting other boxes. It made her a little sharp with Donald when he asked her if she would like some refreshment, but she immediately regretted it and smiled sweetly at him. ‘A cordial would be very nice, please. It is warm in here, is it not?’

He left on his errand and Jane turned to talk to her aunt about the play. Aunt Lane, who had her opera glasses to her eyes and was surveying the other boxes, did not appear to be listening. ‘Why, there is your cousin, Anne,’ she said. ‘And who is that with her, surely not a beau? My goodness, I do believe it is that rakeshame brother of hers. I wonder where he has popped up from.’

Jane had no answer, not having had the presence of mind to ask him that morning. ‘I am sure I do not know,’ she said.

‘Did you know he was back in town?’

‘We met him this morning while we were out riding.’

‘You did not say.’

‘I did not think anything of it. We exchanged greetings, no more.’

‘He looks much changed.’

‘I believe he is.’

‘My dear, what will you do?’

‘Do, Aunt? Why, nothing. If I meet him again, I shall be civil for Anne’s sake, but that is all.’

‘Very wise.’ The old lady paused, still looking through her glass. ‘But I admit to being curious. I wonder what he has been up to for the last two years? Not with the beau monde judging by his evening coat—it is at least three years out of date. Oh, my goodness, he has seen us and pointed us out to Anne. They are getting up. Do you suppose they are coming here?’

Anne and her brother arrived at the door of the box at the same moment as Donald returned with Jane’s drink. They greeted each other coolly and Aunt Lane, whose curiosity was overwhelming if she thought there might be a titbit of gossip worth passing on to her cronies, invited Anne and Harry into the box with something akin to cordiality.

Anne kissed Jane’s cheek and sat down beside her, depriving Donald of the seat he had had. He gave Jane her glass of cordial and sat himself on the other side of Aunt Lane. Harry, smiling, pulled a chair round to face the ladies. Aunt Lane leaned forward and tapped him on the knee with her fan. ‘Tell me, young man, where have you been hiding yourself these last two years?’

‘He has not been hiding,’ Anne said before he could reply himself. ‘He has been serving his country in the Peninsula, and though he will not tell you so himself, for he is far too modest, he distinguished himself with great courage.’

‘Is that so?’ Mrs Lane queried, smiling.

‘My sister was ever my champion,’ he said, but though he was smiling at the old lady, his eyes were on Jane. She was looking a little taken aback. Did she find it so difficult to believe that the man she had known and professed to love could behave with merit? Or was she simply discomfited that he had had the effrontery to invade her box?

Given his way, he would not have come, but Anne had insisted. ‘Jane is my friend,’ she had said. ‘If you were not here, I should go and have some discourse with her and I do not propose to change my habits because you are. It would be as good as cutting her and that would give the scandalmongers fresh ammunition and I will not give them the satisfaction. Besides, you have done no wrong and I will not have you ostracised. Better to let people think we are all friends together.’

He had smilingly given in, knowing she was right; politeness decreed they should acknowledge each other or have everyone talking about that two-year-old scandal all over again. Besides, although he could not and should not attempt to wrest Jane away from Allworthy, which would damn him all over again in the eyes of the world, he could not resist the temptation to speak to her again, if only for a few minutes. He might discover if Anne had been right when she said Jane had been coerced.

‘I thought you resigned your commission,’ Jane put in tentatively. She had noticed how tired he looked, and that, when he came in and took his seat, he limped. In spite of his smile, there was pain in his eyes and she wondered why she had not noticed it that morning. Her anger gave way to compassion.

‘So I did, but that did not mean I had finished with the army or they with me. I enlisted.’

‘Enlisted!’ Aunt Lane was shocked. ‘You mean you became a common soldier?’

‘Yes, ma’am. I was not prepared to wallow in my disgrace or hang about waiting for someone to take pity on me. And as I did not have the blunt to buy a commission in another regiment, I decided to serve my country in the only other way open to me.’

‘How brave of you,’ murmured Jane. This was not the blustering rakeshame she had sent away, this was a man who had taken his courage in his hands and tried to redeem himself.

He laughed, not sure she wasn’t roasting him. ‘Not brave at all, but once I had done it, there was no undoing it and in the end I did not regret it.’

‘He was soon promoted,’ Anne put in, realising that Aunt Lane did not see the common soldier as a being to be admired, rather the reverse. ‘He is Captain Harry Hemingford now.’

‘Congratulations,’ Jane said. ‘I am very pleased for you.’

‘But a private soldier!’ Aunt Lane protested. ‘How could you bring yourself to associate with the riffraff in the ranks?’

‘Ma’am, they are not riffraff, they are the men standing between you and Bonaparte, keeping this country safe from his tyranny, and a finer bunch of comrades I never met. I am proud to have served with them.’

‘I do not think Aunt Lane meant to denigrate them,’ Jane said quietly. ‘She was only thinking of your sensibilities.’

He turned towards her, looking directly into her eyes. ‘I could not afford to have sensibilities, Jane.’

‘Oh.’ She squirmed inwardly with embarrassment, but she had, in the last two years, become adept at hiding it. ‘I admire you for it.’ She spoke quietly, but he was immensely comforted.

The orchestra had begun to play for the second act, calling everyone back to their seats. Donald, who had remained silent all through the encounter, rose as Anne got up to take her leave. Reluctantly Harry stood, bowed over Mrs Lane’s hand, then Jane’s and, murmuring, ‘Good evening, Allworthy,’ disappeared after his sister.

‘What a strange fellow,’ Donald said, resuming his seat beside Jane.

‘I do not find him strange.’

‘No gentleman ought to enlist as a private soldier. It is degrading. Their vulgar behaviour and speech are bound to rub off.’

‘I saw no evidence of that.’

‘No doubt he was being particular tonight.’

The curtain was rising, revealing the next scene in the play, and Jane turned towards the stage, glad to bring an end to the conversation. But she could not concentrate. Seeing Harry twice in the same day had unsettled her. And he was so changed, she could hardly believe he was the man she had sent away. She had been the one to send him away, not only from herself, but from his country, his family and his friends. He could have lived down the scandal over Mrs Clarke, everyone else concerned had soon done so; it was not necessary to exile himself for that. He had gone because she could not forgive him and railed at him that he had betrayed her trust, going behind her back and visiting that demi-rep. How top-lofty she had been!

And now he was back and she was likely to see more of him. She could not avoid him unless she cut Anne out of her life and she could not do that. She and Anne were as close as sisters and shared all their secrets; without Anne she would have only an increasingly preoccupied father and an eccentric great-aunt for company. And Mr Allworthy, of course, but she could not imagine herself giggling over the latest on dit with him.

The performance ended amid wild applause and they found themselves leaving the theatre alongside Anne and Harry. Jane realised, as they shuffled out in the crowd, that Harry looked pale and drawn and his limp was more pronounced. ‘You have been wounded,’ she whispered.

‘Not worth mentioning, nothing but a scratch.’ He grinned to prove it. ‘A sympathy wound, you might call it. You’d be surprised how many expressions of compassion, how many offers of nursing, how many bowls of beef tea and posies of sweet-smelling herbs it has attracted. I put it all on, you know.’

She did not believe that. Not even the old Harry would have stooped so low and the pain she had seen in his eyes was real. ‘But you will make a full recovery?’

‘Oh, do not doubt it.’

They were outside in the street where rows of carriages and cabs waited. The two parties bade each other good night and parted: Jane, Donald and Aunt Lane made their way to the Allworthy carriage while Anne and Harry called up a hackney.

‘Well, that was a surprise, I must say,’ Aunt Lane said, as they were driven towards Duke Street. ‘I doubt the Earl will take him back now.’

‘Why not?’ Jane demanded. ‘I would expect him to be proud of his grandson. Anne said he was recommended for bravery in the field.’

‘I think your aunt meant enlisting as a common soldier,’ Donald put in. ‘It is not the sort of thing a member of the ton ought to do. His family must see it as a shabby thing to do, almost as if he had denounced his heritage. But then he had already been disgraced, so perhaps it is not to be wondered at.’

‘I hope he does not expect to introduce any of his rough friends to us,’ Aunt Lane added. ‘For if he does, I shall give them the cut direct and I hope you would do so too, Jane.’

‘I cannot conceive of an occasion when I am likely to meet his friends,’ Jane said sharply. ‘We do not move in the same circles.’

‘Quite,’ Donald said. ‘But you are his sister’s friend.’

‘Yes, Jane,’ Aunt Lane said. ‘I think, while he is staying with Anne, you would be wise not to call.’

Jane was about to retort angrily that unless her father specifically forbade it, she would see whom she liked, but thought better of it. She had already decided not to put herself in a position where she was likely to meet Harry, not because she frowned on what he had done since they last met, but because she did not want to be reminded of her heartache of two years before. It was over and done with and she wanted it to stay that way.

‘I go home to Coprise tomorrow,’ Donald said, changing the subject in his usual fashion.

‘So soon?’ Jane queried.

‘Yes, I must. But I go in the expectation of a visit from you very soon.’

‘In the circumstances, I think the sooner the better,’ Aunt Lane said.

Jane knew very well what she meant; it did not take a genius to realise Aunt Lane intended to keep her apart from Harry. As if anything on earth would make her go back to him! She smiled. ‘If Papa agrees, we could go a week from now.’

Her father had refused the invitation for himself, saying his work was at a critical stage and he could not leave it, but Jane could go if her aunt agreed to chaperon her, which, of course, the good lady was more than prepared to do. Jane could get his copying up to date before she left and he would save the rest for her when she returned two weeks later. He could not sanction a stay longer than that or he would be lost under the weight of paper on his desk. The suggestion that he should employ a secretary had been brushed aside as an unnecessary expense.

‘But, James,’ Aunt Lane had said, ‘what will you do when Jane marries?’

‘Oh, the work will be finished by then. I am near the end.’

Jane had smiled at that. The great work had been near the end for years. But he always found some alterations he wanted to make, some new information that must be included and, before Jane could take a breath, he had torn up pages and pages of her neat script and was busy scribbling again.

He had already retired when they reached home, and so it was arranged that Donald should call next morning before he left town, to learn exactly when he could expect his guests.

‘I am quite looking forward to it,’ Aunt Lane told him, as she left the carriage. ‘We shall come post-chaise.’

This was a shocking expense and Jane said so, but was overridden. ‘I am an old lady,’ her aunt said. ‘I need to be comfortable and I shall bear the cost.’

‘Dear lady, allow me the privilege of paying,’ Donald said. ‘I would gladly expend more than the price of a post-chaise to have Miss Hemingford in my home.’

He turned up while they were breakfasting the following morning and, once all the arrangements had been made, begged to speak privately to Jane. They retired to a corner of the room where he picked up one of her hands. ‘My dear, I shall be on hot coals until we meet again in one week’s time. Pray, do not forget me.’

‘Mr Allworthy, how can I possibly forget you in a week?’

‘You know what I mean. There will be distractions, temptations, pressures…’

She knew perfectly well that he was referring to Harry, though she did not think he posed a threat. Her erstwhile fiancé had been polite the evening before, but cool, talking about the army as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. If she were subjected to pressure, it was more likely to come from her aunt bidding her make haste and accept Donald. She smiled. ‘Rest assured I shall ignore them all,’ she said.

He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘Then I bid you au revoir, dearest.’ He released her hand and turned to her father and aunt, who had been listening to the exchange with satisfied amusement. ‘Mr Hemingford, Mrs Lane, your obedient.’ And then he was gone, leaving Jane feeling as though a whirlwind had taken her up and whisked her about hither and thither and set her down in a different and unfamiliar place.

‘Well,’ her aunt said, as they finished their breakfast, ‘we have a week to kill.’

‘It will pass soon enough,’ Mr Hemingford said. ‘I have a mountain of copying for Jane.’

‘James Hemingford, you should be ashamed!’ Aunt Lane protested. ‘Working that poor girl as you do. She is young, she needs amusements; besides, we have shopping to do—she must be at her best for Coprise.’

‘Oh, Aunt, there is nothing I need. I am sure Mr Allworthy will take me as I am.’

‘Oh, so he might,’ her aunt said airily. ‘But he has a house full of servants and it is always wise to impress the servants, particularly if you expect to become their mistress one day. They must respect you, not look on you as someone’s poor relation the master has been so foolish as to take pity on.’

Was that how her aunt really saw her? A poor relation whom it behoved her to pity? Was that why she had encouraged Mr Allworthy, because no one else would have her? Was she still shackled by the old scandal? But Mr Allworthy had said he admired her, that he paid no attention to gossip and he was a good man, if something of a sobersides. Perhaps that was what she needed.

‘I won’t have you saying Jane is a poor relation,’ her father snapped.

Her aunt laughed. ‘I did not say she was my poor relation, I only meant we did not want Mr Allworthy’s servants to have grounds for criticism. You are a man, you cannot advise the dear girl on her dress, now can you?’

Jane smiled. ‘Papa, I understood Aunt Lane very well, there is no need to refine upon it. I need very little, you know, just fripperies.’

‘Which I can pay for,’ he retorted. ‘Go shopping, buy whatever you need, but never say Jane is to be pitied.’

And so they went shopping and returned in the early afternoon with Aunt Lane’s carriage seat loaded with parcels and more to be delivered in the coming days, which her aunt had insisted on buying, leaving only a few small things to be set to her father’s account.

She was sitting on her bed surrounded by them, wondering how she was going to cram all those new clothes into her trunk and if she really needed them, when Hannah came to tell her Anne had arrived.

Jane tidied her hair and straightened her skirt before going down to the drawing room. Anne was sitting on the sofa, glancing at the latest Ladies’ Magazine when she entered. She was alone. If Jane had nurtured a hope that her friend would be accompanied by Harry, she refused even to acknowledge it, and smiled a welcome. ‘Anne, I am so glad you have come. There is so much to tell you.’ She rang the bell and, when Hannah came, asked her to bring refreshments. ‘I have had an exhausting day.’

‘Preparing for your visit to Coprise, I collect,’ Anne said drily.

‘Yes.’ Jane chose to ignore her friend’s tone. ‘Aunt Lane has insisted on buying me a whole new wardrobe. I think she must have been thinking she was buying a wedding trousseau.’

‘Perhaps she was.’

‘No, indeed. I have made no promise. But come upstairs and I will show you.’

They went up to Jane’s room where the purchases were laid out for her inspection. ‘I had such a job arguing with Aunt about colours and styles,’ she said. ‘But luckily the costumier agreed with me and so I have nothing too outrageous.’

‘Jane, are you sure you are not being persuaded into something you do not truly wish for? Once you have been to Coprise Manor, it will be assumed that you will have him. It will be difficult to turn back.’

‘I might not want to turn back.’

‘But supposing you do? You know nothing about this man or his background.’

‘That is what I am going to Coprise to discover. And if I find we do not suit, I shall simply say so.’

‘Oh, Jane, surely you are not such a ninny as to think it will be as easy as that? You will never be able to extricate yourself without a dreadful scandal. I am afraid for you.’

‘You have no need to be. Aunt Lane will take care of me.’

Anne felt like weeping. As far as she could see, her friend had been manipulated in the most disgraceful way and she could cheerfully have throttled both Mr Hemingford and Mrs Lane. ‘I wish you happy, I really do, but forgive me if I do not stay to take tea. I think it would choke me.’

She got up and left Jane surrounded by her new finery, bewildered and tearful. She had only once before quarrelled with Anne and that had been over Harry. And so was this. Anne was like a dog with a bone, but was she right?

Chapter Three

J ane spent the next few days tormented by indecision. Anne’s words had sunk deep and though she continually told herself that her friend had an axe to grind, she did not think that was the whole of it. But it was too late to say she would not go—her aunt talked about it endlessly, even so far as calling on the Countess, obeying that lady’s instruction to keep her informed.

‘Her ladyship tells me Mr Allworthy is related to Viscount Denderfield,’ she told Jane on her return. ‘He has a modest estate and an income of twenty thousand a year. The match has her blessing.’

Jane could not see how a modest estate could bring in that income, but she supposed he had inherited some of it. ‘Aunt, how could you discuss my affairs so openly with someone I have only seen once in my life and that for no more than five minutes?’

‘But, Jane dear, I have always done so; she is family, after all. And you must acknowledge Mr Allworthy is a great catch, better than I could have hoped for you.’

‘Why? Am I monster? Do I have two heads? Do I eat with my fingers and never wash? Am I mad?’ She was fiery with passion.

‘My dear Jane, there is no need to fly into the boughs. You know I did not mean that you were not good enough for him. After all, you come from aristocratic stock on your dear mama’s side and you have inherited her looks, nothing wrong there. It is only that you have left it so late and everyone of your age, including most of the eligibles, except widowers and old fogies, are suited. It is only because Mr Allworthy has spent most of his time buried in the country that he was overlooked.’

Jane laughed, but it was a hollow laugh. Mr Allworthy had been overlooked and forgotten in the country while she was being tainted by scandal and ostracised by the haut monde because she had dared to break off her engagement to one of their number. And now it looked very much as if it was all going to be raked up again. Harry was back and not only back, but had returned a hero. She was glad she was leaving town, very glad indeed.

But she was to see Harry once more before she left. Since she now had a fashionable habit and knew the stable from which Blaze had been hired, it was not difficult to go riding. The same groom whom Donald had employed was designated to ride behind her, to protect her from the villains with which London abounded and to act as an unofficial chaperon. Jane did not see the necessity for either role, but she consented to his presence to please her aunt. But it was not a sedate walk or trot she had in mind, but a full-blooded gallop, and once in the park she ordered her escort to wait for her by the gate and trotted off on her own.

Although it was early in the morning, it promised to be a warm day. The sun was a brilliant orange ball in a sky of cornflower blue, with not a cloud to be seen. Her problems were pushed to the back of her mind as she rode away from the usual bridleway where everyone was more concerned with how they looked, whom they might meet, the gossip they might hear and pass on, than with the business of exercising their mounts.

Gradually she became aware that she was not alone; there were other hoofbeats gaining on her and she was reminded that London was not a safe place for a lady on her own, not even Hyde Park in broad daylight. She spurred the little mare on, but the harder she rode, the nearer her pursuer came and she knew that Blaze was tiring. She was obliged to pull up or wind her horse completely. The other rider pulled up beside her.

‘My God, Jane, you gave me a fright. I thought you were being carried away.’

She turned to confront Harry. He was wearing the same riding coat he had worn when she had encountered him in Green Park. It seemed too tight for him. She leaned forward to pat Blaze, who was blowing hard. ‘Carried away, Captain Hemingford? It was you who taught me to ride, if you recall.’

‘I also recall teaching you not to mistreat a horse,’ he said with a twisted smile. She was breathless and her heightened colour was making her look even more desirable. It was all he could do to sound normal. ‘That poor mare is blowing. Dismount and let her rest.’ He jumped down from his own mount, a huge stallion that was hardly breathing above its normal rate, and held out his hand to help her down.

‘I would not have had to gallop her so hard if you had not chased me,’ she said, annoyed by his curt command. Her temper was not lessened by knowing he was right, though she took the offered hand and slid lightly down beside him.

‘Chased you? Why should I do that? I am not so short of female company that I have to chase after it, particularly yours. I have more pride than that. I thought your mount had bolted with you.’

‘I did not know it was you.’ He had not released her hand and the feel of his strong fingers about hers was having a strange effect on her. She had not felt such a fluttering of her heart since— She stopped herself asking when; it was too painful to remember. ‘I thought it was some rogue and I was in danger.’

‘You are in no danger from me.’ He laughed and let go of her hand. ‘But where is your escort? Surely he has more sense than to let you ride so far ahead of him…’

‘There is a groom…’

‘A groom! I meant the gentleman I met last week. What was his name?’

‘Mr Allworthy.’

He laughed. ‘How apt! And I am Mr Unworthy.’

‘You are being silly.’

‘So where is Mr Allworthy?’

‘Gone to Norfolk.’ She lifted her head defiantly. ‘Aunt Lane and I go to join him tomorrow.’

He had known she was planning the visit because Anne had told him so. She had returned from visiting Jane in a fine old miff. ‘I do not know what she can be thinking of,’ she had said. ‘She is not so green that she doesn’t know that if she goes to Coprise there is no turning back, but she has convinced herself that she has only to say no and Mr Allworthy will meekly accept it. He doesn’t seem the meek kind to me.’

‘So?’

‘Harry, she has got herself into a bumblebath or, more correctly, her aunt has tumbled her into it, and she cannot see she is being manoeuvred into an impossible situation.’

‘Anne, please calm yourself. Jane is capable of making up her own mind and perhaps it is what she wants. It is not our affair…’

‘How can you say so? You love her and she still loves you, I know it.’

Looking at Jane now, her cheeks red with exertion and her eyes blazing angrily, she had never looked lovelier, but she showed no sign of softening towards him. And what good would it do if she did? ‘Then I wish you a good journey and a pleasant stay.’ He held his cupped hands to help her mount. ‘Allow me to return you safely to your groom, who must be on hot coals wondering if he is to be punished for negligence.’

She opened her mouth to tell him she did not need his escort, nor was she going to punish her groom for obeying her orders, but he was looking at her in that old teasing way she remembered from her childhood and she felt the hard knot in her chest dissolve away. It was most disconcerting. It would have been a grand gesture to have galloped away from him, but Blaze was not rested enough for that and so she began to walk her sedately back towards the gate. He followed, riding slightly behind her.

They had almost reached the Row when they were met by Anne riding towards them. ‘Jane, are you all right? Did you take a fall? Are you hurt?’

‘No, of course not.’ Then, seeing her friend’s worried countenance, Jane smiled. ‘I simply felt like a gallop. If that mad brother of yours had not come dashing after me, making me think I was being pursued, I would not have gone so fast.’

‘He is not mad. And it was me who told him to go after you. He would not have done so on his own.’

‘Then he has more sense than you,’ Jane said, unaccountably disappointed that he had had to be urged to rescue her. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, my groom is waiting for me and I must go home. There is much to do before I leave tomorrow.’

‘You mean to go, then?’

‘Of course I am going.’

‘Then I hope you know what you are doing, that’s all. Come on, Harry, let us leave the stubborn clunch to go her own way.’ And she wheeled her horse round and trotted away.

Harry turned to Jane and smiled. He had a boyish smile that spread from his mouth to his eyes and crinkled the skin at either side. It seemed to encompass everyone about him. No one could be completely immune to it, certainly not Jane Hemingford, who had once loved him. ‘Do not be hard on her, Jane, she loves us both and she cannot see that what she is asking is out of the question. I will try to reason with her and perhaps, when you return, she will be more her old self and accept that you must tread your own path. As I must mine.’

Jane did not answer, but watched him ride away through a mist of tears. She did not know why she was crying. Was it for a lost love, for a friendship broken or simply that she had been more frightened by that headlong gallop than she was ready to admit?

She set off for Norfolk the next day, determined to put Harry and Anne and all such distractions behind her and enjoy the visit; slowly, as the miles passed, she felt calmer. She sat beside her aunt with Lucy facing them, Aunt Lane’s hatbox and jewellery case on the seat beside the maid and the boot filled with trunks and portmanteaux. Jane wondered why they needed so much baggage for a two-week stay, but her aunt insisted they must be prepared for every eventuality.

‘Mr Allworthy will no doubt wish to take you out and about and introduce you to his neighbours,’ she had said. ‘He might hold a ball or a formal dinner party or arrange a picnic and then there is riding and walking and carriage rides. We must always be appropriately dressed.’ It sounded as if her aunt expected them to be paraded for everyone’s inspection, and her heart sank.

Mr Allworthy had arranged the post horses when he passed that way the week before and everything worked smoothly. They rattled through Woodford and then took Epping Forest at a gallop for fear of highwaymen, before slowing down to enter Sawbridgeworth, where they stopped for a meal. After that, they passed through Bishop’s Stortford and Great Chesterford and in the early evening arrived in Cambridge, where Mr Allworthy had arranged for them to stay overnight at the Blue Boar.

Once north of Ely and its majestic cathedral, which Jane insisted on stopping to visit, they found themselves travelling through a countryside so flat, there was nothing to see for miles but fields and dykes, interspersed with isolated farms. Above them and all round them was a huge sky, dark blue fading to a pale grey haze on the horizon, through which the morning sun tried to penetrate. After their next change of horses at Downham, they left the fens behind and were soon in a countryside that pleased Jane more. The sun came out and bathed the country in warmth.

Here were gentle hills, small woods and farms whose fields were surrounded by hedgerows and everywhere workers were bringing in the hay, loading it on to haywains. The hedgerows were festooned with wisps of it, which had been caught up as the carts passed along the narrow roads. Twenty minutes later they came to a tiny village, and just beyond that the gates of Coprise Manor. The journey was over and Jane sat forward to catch her first glimpse of the house.

Built of red brick and surrounded by a narrow moat, it was squat and square, with a round tower in each corner. Its mullioned windows gleamed in the sun. There were formal gardens on two sides, a wood on a third and a great lake on the fourth that fed the moat. The coach rattled over the bridge and into a courtyard where Donald stood to greet them, wearing a brown riding coat and leather breeches tucked into riding boots. He was hatless.

He hurried to open the coach door and let down the step before Hoskins could do so, and extended his hand to Mrs Lane. ‘Welcome, ladies, welcome.’

Aunt Lane stepped down, followed by Jane. Both stood looking about them. The courtyard was in the centre of the building, surrounded on four sides by the walls of the house. The main door, a vast oak affair that looked as though it might withstand a battering ram, faced the bridge over which they had entered; here were half a dozen servants standing in line. Their host offered each lady an arm and led them forward and proceeded to name all the servants and their duties. It made Jane think of a bride being introduced to her new domain and realised with dismay that was how Donald meant her to feel.

‘You must be hungry,’ he said as they entered the hall, which had a wide carved staircase right in front of them and a corridor leading off on either side. ‘Martha will show you up to your rooms and help your maid unpack. There is hot water and everything you need to refresh yourselves, but if there is anything I have failed to provide, please tell me so and I will remedy the deficiency at once. It is my dearest wish that you should feel at home.’ He handed them over to his housekeeper, who conducted them up the stairs to the rooms that had been allotted to them. ‘When you are ready, we will have dinner.’

‘He is determined to please,’ Aunt Lane said, when they were alone in Jane’s room. It was furnished with heavy oak furniture, including a four-poster bed. The sheets and bed coverings were new and everywhere gleamed with polish. ‘I cannot fault the arrangements.’

They dined in country style. Aunt Lane had no criticism of his table or his manners, and afterwards Donald showed them all over the house, which was more ancient than Jane had expected. All its furniture was old and heavy, but it perfectly suited the house and everywhere gleamed with polish. ‘My father bought the property with a wind-fall he had from dealings on the ’Change,’ he told them. ‘And the furniture came with it.’

‘I had thought it was the old family home,’ Aunt Lane said. ‘You are related to Viscount Denderfield, are you not?’

He seemed a little disconcerted by the question, but quickly recovered. ‘The relationship is a distant one,’ he said. ‘As I understand it, a hundred and seventy years ago the family became divided, two brothers fought on different sides in the war between king and parliament and neither branch has acknowledged the other since. My father always hoped for a reconciliation, but it was not to be—’ He broke off, noticing that Jane had set her foot on the stairs to the tower. ‘Miss Hemingford, I beg you not to go up there, it is unsafe. If you would like to see the view, I will conduct you there myself, but shall we leave it until tomorrow? It is growing dusk now and you will not be able to see much.’

This was obviously sensible and they returned to the drawing room on the ground floor and settled down to conversation over the tea cups, during which they discussed how he planned to entertain them in the following two weeks. At ten o’clock more refreshment was brought in and soon after that they retired to bed. ‘Country hours,’ her aunt commented as they made their way, candles in hand, to their rooms. ‘I think I shall read in my room; if I go to bed now, I shall be awake at dawn.’

That suited Jane, who had asked if she might borrow a mount and ride out before breakfast.

She was awake at six and downstairs clad in her new habit by seven. Donald was waiting for her, dressed for riding. ‘Good morning, my dear. Did you sleep well?’

‘Like a log,’ she said, not quite truthfully because she had had a lot to think about and the silence after London was as disturbing as the noise of night-time traffic passing along Duke Street, but the country air had won in the end. ‘I am looking forward to my ride.’

He led her to a stable block, almost as pristine as the house, where two horses were already saddled for them. Five minutes later they were trotting across the bridge. If it occurred to Jane that she ought to have had a chaperon, she dismissed it. They were in the country and in the country there was no danger, either from ruffians or from the man who rode beside her.

The early morning air was clear and heady as wine and Donald was a perfect escort, pointing places out to her, stopping to comment on the wayside flowers, giving her their Latin names, talking about the farm, not in a condescending way, but as if he knew she would be interested. Which she was. And when they returned to the house he fulfilled his promise to take her to see the view from the north tower, conducting her up the narrow stair to a small room at the top.

She crossed the room to look out of the window over rolling countryside. ‘Why, I do believe I can see the sea,’ she said, catching sight of sparkling water. ‘How far away is it?’

‘Five or six miles as the crow flies,’ he said. ‘But it is The Wash, not the open sea.’

‘And there is a ship out there, I can see its sails.’

He picked up a telescope from the table and trained it out to sea. ‘It is early,’ he murmured.

‘Early?’

‘It is a cargo ship. I have an interest in the freight it carries.’

‘Oh, do let me see.’

He handed her the telescope and she trained it on the vessel. It looked small at that distance, its sails bowed out as it used the wind to sail westwards. ‘Where will it put in?’

‘King’s Lynn. I expect it will dock tomorrow.’

‘Shall you go to meet it?’

‘Yes. Would you like to come?’

‘Yes, if Aunt Lane agrees.’

The outing was a pleasant carriage ride and Jane enjoyed the sights and sounds of the busy port. There were hundreds of vessels, fishing boats, lighters and cargo boats in the harbour and seafaring men and dock workers scurried about their business. ‘They export all manner of produce,’ Mr Allworthy explained. ‘Corn and wool principally, but also manufactured goods. And they import things like wine and tea.’ He paused as one of the dockers came towards the carriage, obviously intent on speaking to him. ‘Would you and your aunt care to wait in the carriage while I do my business? It will not take many minutes and then I shall be free to show you round.’

He left them and they watched as he had an animated conversation with the man, before leaving him to go aboard a vessel on whose side Jane noticed the name, Fair Trader. A few minutes later he rejoined them. ‘All very satisfactory,’ he said, smiling easily. ‘Now, shall we take a stroll?’

He helped them from the carriage and offered an arm to each lady and they walked towards the town. The streets were narrow but well paved and there were a good number of shops and hotels. From the London road they turned on to an avenue lined with lime and chestnut trees and continued to the inner bank of the ancient town walls. Here they rested on a seat in the shade before returning to the carriage and the ride back to Coprise Manor. Mr Allworthy was a perfect guide and host and Jane’s anxieties faded to nothing. London seemed a long, long way away.

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