SARAH MALLORY was born in the West Country and now lives on the beautiful Yorkshire moors. She has been writing for more than three decades – mainly historical romances set in the Georgian and Regency period. She has won several awards for her writing, most recently the Romantic Novelists’ Association RoNA Rose Award in 2012 (The Dangerous Lord Darrington) and 2013 (Beneath the Major’s Scars).

Regency Surrender: Infamous Reputations

The Chaperon’s Seduction

Temptation of a Governess

Sarah Mallory

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08564-9

Regency Surrender: Infamous Reputations

The Chaperon’s Seduction © 2015 Sarah Mallory Temptation of a Governess © 2015 Sarah Mallory

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

The Chaperon’s Seduction

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Temptation of a Governess

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

About the Publisher

The Chaperon’s Seduction

Sarah Mallory

To my wonderful family, who make life so much fun.

Chapter One

Richard Arrandale had been in Bath for less than two weeks and was already regretting his promise to stay. It was not just that Bath in August was hot and dusty, it was exceedingly dull for one used to a hectic social round. He thought of the numerous invitations lining the mantelshelf of his rooms in London, including one from a dashing matron who had been putting out lures for some time. She wanted him to spend September with her at a house party in Leicestershire, where she promised him the hunting would be excellent and the evening entertainments more to his taste than anything he would find in staid and respectable Bath.

He did not doubt it, but he had given his word to his great-aunt Sophia, the Dowager Marchioness Hune, that he would remain in Bath until she was feeling better, even if that took him into the autumn, and he would not break his promise. Sophia had been the only one to support him in his darkest hour, when the rest of the world had seemed to be against him, and now that she needed him he would not walk away.

And it was not as if she expected him to dance attendance upon her at all times; she was quite content to see him every morning before she went off to the hot baths with her nurse, and for the occasional dinner at Royal Crescent. Apart from that he was free to amuse himself. Which was why he was now whiling away the evening playing hazard in a small and select gaming hell. From the outside, there was nothing to distinguish the narrow house in Union Street from its fellows. The ground floor was a tobacconist’s shop but the curtains on the upper floors were rarely drawn back, the proprietor, one Mr Elias Burton, being determined not to distract his clientele by giving them any clue of the time of day.

Richard finished his wine before casting the dice on to the green baize.

‘Seven,’ called Henry Fullingham, leaning closer to peer short-sightedly at the ivory cubes. ‘Trust Arrandale to cast a main with his first throw.’

‘Well, I am not going to wager against him matching it,’ laughed George Cromby. ‘His luck’s in tonight.’

Richard said nothing, merely picked up his glass, which had been replenished by a hovering waiter the moment he had put it down.

‘I won’t bet against him either,’ grumbled a thin, sour-faced gentleman in a green coat. ‘Luck, d’ye call it? His throwing is too consistent by half.’

At his words a tense silence fell over the table. Richard scooped up the dice and weighed them in his hand, fixing his gaze upon the speaker.

‘What are you trying to say, Tesford?’ he asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

Fullingham gave a nervous laugh. ‘Oh, he doesn’t mean anything, Arrandale. It’s just the drink talking.’

Richard glanced around. They had been playing for some hours with the wine flowing freely. Tesford’s face was flushed and his eyes fever-bright. He was glaring belligerently across the table and for a moment Richard considered pressing the man, forcing a confrontation. After all, the fellow was questioning his honour. And a duel might alleviate his current ennui.

‘Well, I ain’t afraid to place a bet,’ declared Fullingham cheerfully. ‘Come along, Arrandale, throw again, we’re all waiting!’

The murmur of assent went around the table. Wagers were being placed and Richard shrugged. Everyone was drinking heavily and it would be bad form to call out Tesford when it was clear he was in his cups. He cast the dice again.

‘Deuce!’ Fullingham laughed, a measure of relief in his voice. ‘He’s thrown out.’

Richard smiled and signalled to the hovering servant to fill his glass once more. Hazard was a game for those who could calculate the odds and he was good at that, but it was inevitable that sometimes the dice would fall against him. He did not like losing, but he was philosophical about it.

* * *

However, after another hour’s play he was considerably richer than when he had arrived.

He was a gambler, but he knew when to stop and he was just gathering up his winnings when a noisy group of young bucks burst into the room. At their centre was a fashionably dressed gentleman, slightly older than his companions, whom Richard recognised as Sir Charles Urmston.

‘They’ll have come from the Assembly Rooms,’ observed Cromby, looking round. He raised his hand and hailed the party. ‘What news, my lads? I see young Peterson isn’t with you, has he breached the defences of the fair Lady Heston?’

‘Aye,’ replied Sir Charles. ‘He is escorting her home.’

‘We won’t be seeing him again before dawn then.’ Cromby chuckled.

‘And there’s more news,’ declared a red-faced young man coming closer to the table. ‘A new heiress is coming to Bath!’

‘And are you looking to this heiress to restore your fortunes, Naismith?’ drawled Sir Charles. ‘I doubt she would even look at you.’

Young Mr Naismith’s face flushed an even deeper crimson.

‘At least I’d make her an honest husband, Urmston,’ he retorted. ‘Everyone knows you played your late wife false.’

There was general laughter at that, but Richard saw the shadow of annoyance flicker across the older man’s face.

‘So who is this new heiress?’ demanded Fullingham. ‘Is she young, old, a beauty?’

‘Young, definitely, but as for looks no one knows,’ responded Mr Naismith. ‘She is the daughter of the late Sir Evelyn Tatham and she is coming to live with her stepmama, Lady Phyllida Tatham, until her come-out next year.’

‘A virgin, fresh from the schoolroom,’ murmured Sir Charles. ‘A plum, ripe for the plucking.’

Cromby frowned, drumming his fingers on the table. ‘I remember old Tatham,’ he said. ‘He was a nabob, bought his knighthood after he made his fortune in India.’

Mr Naismith waved one hand dismissively. ‘No one cares about that now. The thing is, Miss Tatham is his only child and she inherits everything!’

‘Then she may look like old Tom’s prize sow and she would still attract suitors,’ put in Tesford, draining his glass.

Sir Charles called to the waiter to bring them more wine.

‘It seems a pity to have such a prize in Bath without making some attempt to win it,’ he drawled.

Cromby grinned. ‘Aye, by Gad. If I were not a married man I think I’d be making a push myself.’

‘If the girl is so rich she will be well protected,’ said Fullingham. ‘Her guardians will be looking out for fortune-hunters.’

‘There are ways to persuade a guardian,’ put in Sir Charles, polishing his eyeglass. ‘If the heiress was to lose her virtue, for example...’

‘Of course,’ exclaimed young Naismith. ‘They’d want her married with all speed if that were to happen.’

‘So shall we have a little wager as to which one of us will marry the heiress?’

Cromby banged on the table, looking up with a bleary eye. ‘No, no, Urmston, that is unfair on those of us who are already leg-shackled.’

Sir Charles spread his hands.

‘Very well, if you all want to have a touch, let us say instead, who will be first to seduce her.’

‘Much better,’ agreed Cromby, laughing immoderately. ‘Then we can all have a pop at the heiress.’

Fullingham raised his hand. ‘There must be witnesses, mind—a trustworthy servant or some such to confirm the prize is won.’

‘Naturally.’ Urmston smiled. ‘Waiter, tell Burton to bring the betting book and we will write this down.’ His hooded eyes surveyed the company. ‘But there is one here who has not yet agreed to join us, one whose reputation as a devil with the ladies is well known in London. What say you, Arrandale? I should have thought you eager for this little adventure.’

Richard did not allow his distaste to show.

‘Seducing innocents has never appealed to me. I prefer women of experience.’

‘Ha, other men’s wives.’

‘Not necessarily, just as long as they don’t expect me to marry ’em.’

There was general laughter at his careless response.

‘What, man?’ exclaimed George Cromby. ‘Do you mean you have not left a string of broken hearts behind you in London?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘Best leave him out of it,’ cried Fullingham gaily. ‘He is such a handsome dog the ladies can’t resist him. The rest of us would stand no chance!’

‘Certainly I have not heard of Arrandale being involved in any liaisons since he has been in Bath,’ murmured Sir Charles, swinging his eyeglass back and forth. ‘Mayhap you are a reformed character, Arrandale,’

‘Mayhap I am,’ returned Richard, unperturbed.

‘Or perhaps, in this instance, you are afraid of losing out to the better man.’

Richard’s lip curled. ‘Hardly that.’

‘So why won’t you join us?’ demanded Fullingham. ‘You are single, if the chit took a fancy to you there is no reason why you shouldn’t marry her. Don’t tell me a rich bride wouldn’t be an advantage to you.’

Richard sat back in his chair, saying nothing. As a second son he had been expected to find a rich bride, but his brother’s disastrous marriage had made him shy away from wedlock and he was determined to remain a bachelor as long as possible.

He was fortunate to have inherited Brookthorn Manor from his godfather. It was a neat property in Hampshire that included a home farm and substantial estate. Without its income he would have been obliged to seek some form of employment by now. As it was, Brookthorn gave him independence, but he knew it could not support his lifestyle for much longer. It needed careful management, but when had the Arrandales ever been good at that? Their name was synonymous with scandal and disaster.

Sir Charles was standing over Richard, a faint, sneering smile on his face. He said quietly, ‘A thousand pounds says I can secure the heiress before you, Arrandale.’

Surprised, Richard looked up. ‘A private wager, Urmston? I think not.’

‘Very well.’ Sir Charles looked at the men gathered around the table. ‘There are eleven of us here.’ He gestured to the hovering proprietor to put the betting book, pen and ink down on the table. ‘How much shall we say? A monkey from each of us?’

‘What had you in mind, Urmston?’ demanded Tesford.

‘We will each stake five hundred pounds that we will be the first to seduce Miss Tatham. Burton shall hold the money until one of us is successful.’

‘Capital! But we should set a date on it, Urmston,’ cried Henry Fullingham, his words slurring a little. ‘Can’t have this going on indef—indefinitely.’

‘Very well,’ Urmston looked around the room. ‘Shall we say the next Quarter Day?’

‘Michaelmas,’ nodded George Cromby. ‘Just over a month. That should be sufficient time for one of us to succeed.’

‘Very well. Five thousand pounds to whoever can seduce the heiress by September the twenty-ninth. And of course the added prize, the possibility of marriage for those of us who are single.’

Cromby laughed. ‘And if I should be successful...’

‘The way would be open for one of us bachelors to snap her up,’ Tesford finished for him. ‘And her family would be grateful for it, too. By Jove that is an excellent suggestion. I’m not averse to spoiled goods, if they come with a fortune.’

‘Quite.’ Urmston placed the book upon the table and quickly wrote down the terms.

‘Well, Arrandale, what do you say, does five thousand pounds hold no appeal? Or perhaps you prefer to run away, like your brother.’

A sudden hush fell over the table. Not by the flicker of an eyelid did Richard show how that remark angered him. There was a mocking smile around Urmston’s mouth, challenging him to refuse. Richard looked at the pile of coins before him on the table. A thousand pounds. He had been planning to use some of it for vital maintenance on Brookthorn Manor, but now, dash it, he would show Urmston who was the better man! He pushed his winnings back to the centre of the table.

‘Let’s double it.’

The tense silence was broken by gasps and smothered exclamations. One or two men shook their heads, but no one walked away.

‘Very well, a thousand pounds each.’ Urmston corrected the terms and held the pen out to Richard. ‘That’s a prize of ten thousand pounds, Arrandale.’

Richard took the pen, dipped it in the ink and added his name to the others.

‘Ten thousand,’ he repeated. ‘Winner takes it all.’

* * *

‘There.’

Lady Phyllida Tatham placed the little vase of flowers on the mantelshelf and stepped back to look around the room. She had only signed the lease on the house at the beginning of the month and had been busy decorating it to her liking ever since, finally ending with this bedroom overlooking the street. Despite the open window there was still a faint smell of paint in the air but she hoped it would not be too noticeable. The room had been transformed from a rather austere chamber to a very pretty apartment by using cream paint on the panelling and ceiling and adding fresh hangings in a yellow floral chintz around the bed and the window. The dressing table and its mirror had been draped with cream muslin and new rugs covered the floor. Phyllida dusted her hands and smiled, pleased with the results of her handiwork.

It was just such a room as she would have liked when she had been on the verge of her come-out, and she hoped it would appeal in the same way to her stepdaughter. Ellen was even now on her way from the exclusive seminary in Kent to live in Bath with Phyllida. Doubts on the wisdom of this arrangement had been expressed by relatives on both sides of the family. Phyllida’s sister had merely mentioned her concern in a letter, questioning if Phyllida had considered fully the work involved in being chaperon to a lively girl only seven years her junior. Her late husband’s brother, Walter, was much more forthright and had even posted to Bath to remonstrate with Phyllida.

‘My dear sister, you have no idea what you are taking on,’ he had told her in his pompous way. ‘My niece has always been flighty, but now at seventeen she is far too hot at hand. The tales Bridget and I have heard of her behaviour at the seminary are quite shocking!’

‘She is spirited, certainly—’

‘Spirited!’ he interrupted her, his thin face almost contorting with disapproval. ‘She even ran away!’

‘No, no, you have been misinformed,’ she corrected him soothingly. ‘Ellen and her friends slipped off to see the May fair and they were back before midnight.’

‘But it is well known who instigated the adventure! Surely you do not condone her gallivanting around town in the middle of the night?’

‘Not at all, but thankfully she came to no harm, as Mrs Ackroyd was quick to point out.’

‘She was also quick to inform you that she could no longer allow Ellen to remain in her establishment.’

‘Only because the squire had developed an...an unquenchable passion for Ellen and had taken to calling at the most unreasonable hours.’

‘And Ellen encouraged him!’

‘No, she wrote to assure me she had done no more than allow him to escort her back from church.’

‘From Evensong. At dusk, without even a servant in attendance.’

Phyllida frowned. ‘How on earth can you know all this? Ah, of course,’ she said, her brow clearing. ‘Bridget’s bosom bow, Lady Lingford, has a daughter at Mrs Ackroyd’s Academy, does she not? Bernice.’ She nodded. ‘I recall Ellen telling me about her when she came home to Tatham Park for Christmas. An odious tale-bearer, she called her.’

‘How I came by the information is neither here nor there,’ replied Walter stiffly. ‘The truth is that if Mrs Ackroyd, an experienced schoolmistress, cannot keep the girl safely contained then what chance do you have? I am sorry to speak bluntly, my dear sister, but my brother kept you too protected from the real world. You are far too innocent and naïve to be my niece’s guardian.’

‘I am very sorry you think that, Walter, but Sir Evelyn left Ellen in my sole charge and I am going to have her live with me until next year, when she will make her come-out under my sister’s aegis. You need not worry, I am quite capable of looking after her.’

When she had spoken those words to her brother-in-law Phyllida had felt quite confident but now, with Ellen’s arrival so imminent, she felt a moment’s doubt. Had she been foolish in bringing Ellen to live with her? Since Sir Evelyn’s death a year ago Phyllida had been very lonely, living retired and out of the way with only an aged relative for company. More than that, she had been bored. She had not realised how much she would miss the life she had enjoyed as the wife of Sir Evelyn Tatham. She had entered the marriage with some trepidation and few expectations, but Sir Evelyn had shown her a kindness and consideration she had never known at home. She had enjoyed running his household and there was even some comfort to be found in his bed, although there was never the heart-searing elation she had read about in novels or poetry. That, she knew, needed love and she had come to think that such love, the sort that sent one into ecstasy or deep despair, must be very rare indeed. But it did not matter, she filled her days with her new family and friends. It had been enough, and she had felt its lack during those twelve long months of mourning. She also knew from her stepdaughter’s letters that Ellen was growing increasingly frustrated at her school. She wanted to be out in the world, to try her wings. When Mrs Ackroyd had written, saying that it was with the utmost reluctance she must request Lady Phyllida to remove her stepdaughter from her establishment, hiring a house in Bath for herself and Ellen had seemed the perfect solution.

The sounds of a carriage below the window recalled her wandering attention. She looked out to see her own elegant travelling chaise at the door and her smile widened. She said to the empty room, ‘She’s here!’

Phyllida hurried down the stairs, removing her linen apron as she went. By the time she reached the hall it was bustling with activity as the footmen carried in trunks and portmanteaux under the direction of a stern-faced woman in an iron-grey pelisse and matching bonnet. Her appearance was in stark contrast to the other female in the hall, a lively young lady of seventeen with an excellent figure displayed to advantage by a walking dress of the palest-blue velvet and with a frivolous cap upon her fair head. Phyllida’s heart swelled with pride and affection as she regarded her pretty stepdaughter. Ellen was chatting merrily to Hirst, the elderly butler whom Phyllida had brought with her to Bath, but when she saw Phyllida she broke off and rushed across to throw herself into her stepmother’s open arms.

‘Philly! At last.’ Ellen hugged her ruthlessly. ‘I am so pleased to be with you!’

‘And I am pleased to have you here, my love. Goodness, how you have grown, I would hardly have recognised you,’ declared Phyllida, laughing as she returned the girl’s eager embrace. ‘Was it a horrid journey?’

‘Not at all, your carriage is so comfortable and everyone we met on the journey was very kind. When we stopped for the night at the Stag we thought we should have to eat in the coffee room because a large party had taken over most of the inn, but when they heard of our predicament they were generous enough to vacate one of their parlours for us, and then last night, at the Red Lion, a very kind gentleman gave up his room to us, because ours overlooked the main highway and was terribly noisy.’

‘Thank goodness you were only two nights on the road, then, or heaven knows what might have happened next,’ exclaimed Phyllida. ‘Perhaps I should have come to fetch you, only I wanted to make sure the house was ready.’

‘And you knew I would be perfectly safe with dear Matty to look after me.’

Hearing her name, the woman in the grey pelisse looked up.

‘Aye, but who has looked after my lady while I’ve been away?’ she demanded.

‘The new girl we hired, Jane, has done very well,’ responded Phyllida calmly. ‘I think she will suit me perfectly.’

‘Do you mean Matty will no longer be your maid?’ asked Ellen, wide-eyed.

‘No, love, Miss Matlock would much prefer to look after you. After all, she was your nurse until you went off to school.’

‘What my lady means is that I am aware of all your hoydenish tricks, Miss Ellen,’ put in Matlock, not mincing matters.

‘I have no hoydenish tricks,’ exclaimed Ellen indignantly.

‘No of course not,’ Phyllida replied, hiding a smile and recognising a little of the old Ellen beneath that new and stylish exterior. ‘Now let us leave Matlock to see to all your bags and we will go into the morning room. I have lemonade and cakes waiting for you.’

Thus distracted, Ellen followed Phyllida across the hall.

‘Oh, it is so good to be with you again, Philly,’ she said as soon as they were alone. ‘Apart from those two weeks at Christmas I have not seen you for a whole year.’

‘You know we agreed it was important that you finish your schooling, and you would have found it very dull at Tatham Park this past twelve months.’

‘I suppose you are right. But I was afraid, with Papa gone, I should have to live with Uncle Walter and his family until my come-out.’

‘Now why should you think that, when you know your father made me your guardian?’

‘Because I know how much you dislike fuss, and with everyone saying you were far too young to be my stepmama—’

‘When I first married your father, perhaps, but I am four-and-twenty now!’ protested Phyllida, laughing.

‘I know that, but you look far younger and I thought they would bully you into submission.’

Phyllida put her hands on Ellen’s shoulders and looked into her face.

‘I know I was very shy and, and compliant when I married your papa,’ she said seriously, ‘But I have changed a great deal since then, my love. I made my come-out fresh from the schoolroom and I knew nothing of society, which is a great disadvantage. I was determined you should not suffer the same way, which is why I thought a few months in Bath would be most beneficial to you.’

‘And so it will be.’ Ellen enveloped Phyllida in another embrace. ‘We shall have such fun together, you and I.’

‘Well, yes, I hope so,’ said Phyllida. ‘The past year, living on my own, has made me heartily sick of my own company. Now,’ she said, leading Ellen to the table. ‘Come and try some of the lemonade Mrs Hirst has made especially for you.’

* * *

The evening passed in non-stop chatter and by the time she went to bed Phyllida realised how much she had missed her stepdaughter’s company. Phyllida had been just eighteen when she had married Sir Evelyn and she had made great efforts to befriend his eleven-year-old daughter. Even though Ellen had been packed off to school soon after the marriage they had remained close, much more like sisters than mother and daughter. Phyllida had always felt that to be an advantage, but as she blew out her candle she was aware that the tiny worm of anxiety was still gnawing away at her comfort.

At seventeen Phyllida had been painfully shy. She had been educated at home with her sister and had experienced nothing beyond the confines of the small village where they lived. Ellen was not shy. The select seminary in Kent where she had spent the past five years might have given her an excellent education but from her artless conversation it was clear that she had enjoyed far more licence than Phyllida had known at her age. It was doubtful she would feel any of the mortification Phyllida had experienced during her one London Season.

Phyllida had stood firm against every argument the family had put forward but now she wondered if she had been selfish to insist upon bringing Ellen to Bath. The recent elopement of the late Marquess of Hune’s daughter with a penniless adventurer showed that danger lurked, even in Bath. What did she, Phyllida, know about playing chaperon to a young girl, and an heiress at that? With a sigh of exasperation she punched her pillow to make it more comfortable.

‘Ellen will have me and Matty to look after her, she cannot possibly come to any harm,’ she told herself as she settled down again. ‘I shall not let doubts and anxieties spoil my pleasure at having Ellen with me. We shall have a wonderful time!’

Chapter Two

‘Good morning, sir. Her ladyship’s compliments, she hopes you will be able to break your fast with her this morning.’

Richard groaned at his valet’s determinedly cheerful greeting. It was not that Fritt had woken him, nor a sore head that caused him to mutter an invective as he sat up in bed, but the memory of last night’s events. Had he really signed his name to that foolish wager? He had obviously been more drunk than he realised because he had allowed his dislike of Sir Charles Urmston to get the better of him. It was too late to cry off now, it was against his code of honour to renege on a bet. Damn the man, even the memory of Urmston’s self-satisfied smile had Richard fuming. The valet gave a little cough.

‘As time is pressing, sir, I have brought your shaving water. I thought we might make a start...’

‘Surely it can’t be that pressing,’ retorted Richard. ‘Where is my coffee?’

‘Beside your bed, sir, but her ladyship is always in the breakfast room by nine and it is nearly eight o’clock now...’

‘For Gad this is an unholy hour,’ grumbled Richard. ‘What time did I get to bed?’

‘I think it must have been about four, sir. Would you like me to inform her ladyship that you are indisposed?’

‘You know that’s impossible. She doesn’t ask much of me, so I must do this for her.’ Richard swallowed his coffee in one gulp. ‘Very well, let us get on with it.’

He jumped out of bed, yawning but determined. He owed this much to Sophia. She had stood by him when the rest of the family had wanted him to disown his brother and he would never forget it.

‘Hypocrites, the lot of ’em,’ she had told him when the scandal broke. ‘The Arrandales have always had skeletons in their cupboards. Why should they object so much to yours? My door is always open to you Richard. Remember that.’

He had been just seventeen at the time and grateful for her support. She had neither judged nor censured his conduct, even when he left Oxford and took London by storm, embarking upon a frantic round of drinking, gambling and women. No, she had not tried to stem his outrageous behaviour; it was in his blood, his father had told him as much. Everyone knew the Arrandales spread scandal and mayhem wherever they went. He plunged his head into the bowl of warm water on the washstand. He would stay in Bath just as long as Sophia needed him.

* * *

An hour later Richard walked into the breakfast room, washed, shaved and dressed in his morning coat of blue superfine. His great-aunt was already sitting at the table.

‘Good morning, Sophia.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘You are looking very well this morning.’

‘Which is more than can be said for you,’ she retorted. ‘I’m surprised that man of yours let you out of your room dressed in that fashion.’

Richard laughed.

‘Are my shirt points not high enough for you?’

The Dowager Marchioness of Hune gave an unladylike snort.

‘They are more than high enough. I can’t abide the fashion for collars so high and stiff men can’t move their heads, they look like blinkered horses! No, ’tis your neckcloth. Too plain. Not a scrap of lace. Your father wore nothing but the finest Mechlin at his neck and wrists.’

Richard sat down at the table.

‘Well, you will have to put up with me as I am,’ he replied, unperturbed by her strictures. ‘It shows my affection for you that I am out of bed at this dashed unfashionable hour.’

‘If you did not stay up so late you would find this a very reasonable hour to be up and about.’

‘If you say so, ma’am.’

She gave him a darkling look. ‘Don’t think I don’t know how you spend your evenings.’

‘Gambling, I admit it.’ He grinned. ‘It could be worse. I am avoiding the muslin company.’

‘I should think so, after that latest scandal in town. From what I hear you were not only involved with the wife of a government minister, but with his mistress, too.’

‘Yes, that was a little complicated, I admit. So, in Bath I will stick to the gaming tables. But you may be easy, ma’am, I never gamble more than I can afford.’

He decided not to mention last night’s little wager. A mistake, that. He had no intention of joining the pack; they would be sniffing around the heiress like dogs around a bitch on heat. He hid a little grimace of distaste. He would rather lose his thousand pounds, write it off to experience. An expensive lesson and one he could ill afford, but he would not sink to that level.

‘And what are your plans for today?’

Lady Hune’s question surprised him. Generally she left him to his own devices until dinner time.

‘Why, I have none.’

‘Good. Duffy has the toothache and I am packing her off to the dentist this morning. I shall forgo my visit to the hot baths but I hoped you would accompany me to the Pump Room.’

‘With pleasure, ma’am. Shall you take the carriage?’

‘Damn your eyes, boy, I am not an invalid yet! If you give me your arm I shall manage, thank you.’

Richard quickly begged pardon, pleased that his great-aunt had recovered much of her old spirit in the two weeks he had been staying with her. When she had sent for him the tone of her letter had caused him concern and he had set out for Bath immediately. He had found the dowager marchioness prostrate on a day-bed, smelling salts clutched in one hand, but his arrival had greatly relieved her distress and she had soon been able to explain to him the cause of it. She had handed him a letter.

‘Read this,’ she commanded him. ‘It is from that ungrateful baggage, my granddaughter.’

‘Cassandra?’

‘The very same. She has turned out to be a viper in my bosom. I took her in when her parents died, gave her the best education, petted and spoiled her and this is how she repays me, by running away with a nobody.’

Richard scanned the letter quickly.

‘The signature is blotched,’ he observed, ‘As if tears were shed in the writing. Oh, damn the girl, I never thought Cassie would treat you in this way.’

‘She thinks she is in love.’

He looked up. ‘This is dated the end of July. Two weeks since!’

‘I thought at first Cassie might think better of it and come back. When she did not and my health deteriorated, Dr Whingate suggested I should have someone to bear me company, which is why I wrote to you.’ She gave a sharp crack of laughter. ‘Whingate expected me to summon poor Cousin Julia, but she is such a lachrymose female I couldn’t face the thought of having her with me.’

‘I can think of nothing worse,’ he agreed, with feeling. ‘Well, Sophia, what do you want me to do?’ he asked her. ‘Shall I go after them? I drove to Bath in my curricle but doubtless you have a travelling chaise I might use.’

The old lady shook her head.

‘No, they fled to the border, you know, and were married there. She is now Mrs Gerald Witney.’

His breath hissed out. ‘If you had sent for me immediately I might have caught up with them.’ He lifted one brow. ‘I could still find them, if you wish it, and bring her back a widow.’

‘And have her hate me for ever more? Not to mention the additional scandal. No, no, if she loves him let her go. Witney is a fool but I do not believe there is any harm in him. To bring her back would only cause more gossip. It was a seven-day wonder here in Bath of course, everyone was talking of it at first, but that has died down now.’ She sighed. ‘Her last letter said they were taking advantage of the peace to go to Paris. Cassie always wanted to travel, so I hope she is happy with her nobody.’

‘I take it you forbade the banns?’

‘Of course I did. As soon as I saw which way the wind was blowing I made enquiries, told her Witney was a penniless wastrel but she would not listen, she had already lost her heart. I did my best to confound them, with Duffy’s help, but she slipped away in the night. Laid a false trail, too, sent us careering in the wrong direction. By the time we discovered the truth they had already reached Gretna and were married.’ She scowled. ‘I have no doubt that was all Cassie’s idea, too. She is by far the more intelligent of the pair and not afraid to cause outrage!’

‘She is a true Arrandale, then.’ Richard gave a wry smile. ‘It’s in the blood, ma’am. There ain’t one of us that hasn’t caused a scandal of some sort. Why, if what they say is true, you yourself ran off with Hune.’

‘But at least he was a marquess, and rich, to boot! No, I told Cassie I would not countenance her marriage to Witney. His birth is acceptable but he has no fortune, no expectations. Not that that bothered Cassie, she fell for his handsome face. Oh, he is pretty enough, I’ll grant you, and amiable, too, but he has not a feather to fly with.’

‘Then how will they manage?’

‘She took all her jewels. She must sell them and live on that until she gains her majority next year. Then she will have a pretty penny to her name, enough to dispel any lingering gossip. They will be rich enough to be accepted everywhere. ’Tis the way of the world.’

The dowager had shed a few uncharacteristic tears then, and Richard had made his promise to stay.

Cassandra’s elopement had not been mentioned since, but it was clear that Sophia had been badly shaken by the incident and Richard was too fond of his great-aunt to abandon her until her health and spirits were fully returned. Thus it was that shortly after noon on a sunny day in late August Richard escorted Lady Hune to the famous Pump Room.

Their progress was slow, for Lady Hune was well known in Bath and they encountered many of her acquaintances, all of whom wished to stop and enquire after her health. They were distantly polite to Richard, making it very clear that he was only tolerated because of his connection to the dowager marchioness. He expected nothing else, given his reputation. After all, he was an Arrandale: they lived hard, played hard and devil take the hindmost.

* * *

The Pump Room was busy and noisy, echoing with chattering voices.

‘I know now why I have not been here since I arrived in Bath,’ muttered Richard as he led his great-aunt through the crowd. ‘The great and the good—and the not so good—gather here to gossip about and pass judgement upon their acquaintances. By George how they stare!’

‘Most likely they are wondering who my handsome escort can be.’ Sophia chuckled.

‘Oh, I know most of ’em,’ he replied bitterly. ‘It is more likely they think no son of the shamed house of Arrandale should be allowed to sully these hallowed portals, especially one whose brother was branded a murderer.’

Sophia tapped his arm with her fan. ‘Enough of that nonsense, Richard. You forget that I, too, am an Arrandale.’

‘But you married your wealthy marquess, ma’am. That lifts you out of the mire surrounding the family’s name. Look at them all. They smile now, but when trouble descends they will not hesitate to tear one apart, like hounds scenting blood, as I know only too well.’

‘Not all of them. The Wakefields, for example, are charming people. I see Lady Wakefield is here today, would you like me to introduce you?’

‘No need, I am acquainted with the son and I agree, they set no store by my wicked reputation. But they are the exception. The rest live for gossip. You told me how they all gloated over Cassie’s elopement, how can you bear to be polite to them now?’

‘Easily,’ she replied. ‘We nod and smile and return each other’s greetings with equal insincerity. Hush now, Lady Catespin is approaching.’

‘My dear Lady Hune!’ A gushing matron bore down upon them, her generous proportions swathed in yellow sarcenet and a feathered bonnet perched on her improbably black curls. Richard was forcibly reminded of a galleon in full sail and was obliged to hide a grin as his great-aunt responded to the lady’s fulsome greeting.

‘And Mr Arrandale, too, what a pleasure to see you here, sir. I heard you were in Bath, but our paths have not crossed since we met in town—when was it—Lady Whitton’s rout, I believe?’

He bowed. ‘I believe you are right, ma’am.’

The matron turned back to Lady Hune, saying with blatant insincerity, ‘It must be such a comfort to you, ma’am, to have Mr Arrandale staying with you in Royal Crescent. The house must feel so empty with poor Lady Cassandra gone.’

Sophia’s claw-like fingers dug into Richard’s arm and he covered her hand with his own, giving it a little squeeze of support.

‘Yes, Lady Cassandra has married her beau,’ he said easily. ‘We received a letter from her only the other day, did we not, Aunt? She is ecstatically happy.’

Lady Catespin blinked, her look of spurious sympathy replaced by one of surprise.

‘Oh. You...you approve of the match?’

‘We do not challenge it,’ put in Lady Hune, every inch a marchioness. ‘I might have preferred a different husband for her, but one cannot always regulate one’s affections. My granddaughter is lawfully married now, there is nothing more to be said.’

‘Ah, of course. I see.’ The wind might have been taken out of Lady Catespin’s sails, but she was not yet becalmed. ‘And you are here to support your great-aunt, Mr Arrandale. Your family is no stranger to tribulation, is it, sir, what with your brother...?’ She gave a gusty sigh and turned her eyes back to Lady Hune. ‘I am sure your great-nephew will know just how best to comfort you, my lady.’

‘He would, if I needed comfort,’ retorted Sophia, losing patience. ‘What I do need is his arm to push through the crush of gossiping busybodies one finds in the Pump Room these days!’

Lady Catespin drew back at that, flushing beetroot.

‘That’s spiked her guns,’ murmured Richard as they walked away from the speechless matron. ‘I thought you said we should merely smile and ignore their barbs?’

‘I forgot myself. Bad enough that she should goad me about Cassie, but to bring up something that happened years ago was more than flesh and blood can bear!’

Richard shrugged. ‘You have no need to rush to my defence. I have grown used to the censure, even from my own family. Everyone except you thought I was wrong to stand by my brother, ma’am.’

‘I really do not know why they were all so quick to condemn Wolfgang. Nothing was ever proved.’

‘But Father was convinced he murdered his wife. Convinced enough to try to break the entail.’

Lady Hune waved one dismissive hand. ‘Whatever Wolfgang has done he is still your brother. The world is too quick to censure, in my opinion, and in Bath they are more self-righteous than anywhere else.’

‘Dash it, Sophia, if that is the case why do you stay?’

‘For my health.’ She added with a wicked glance, ‘And the fact that I enjoy gossip as much as anyone. There is very little else to do when one is my age!’

They had reached the pump and waited silently while a bewigged-and-liveried footman dispensed a beaker of the warm water to Lady Sophia. She sipped it with obvious distaste while Richard stood patiently beside her. Glancing around the crowded room, he nodded to a few acquaintances, including a couple of gentlemen from the gambling hell. He was just wondering how much longer his great-aunt would want to remain when he heard her exclaim.

‘Ah, I was wondering if she would make an appearance today.’

‘Who, ma’am?’ He was at that moment observing a rather handsome brunette who was casting roguish looks in his direction and so did not look round.

‘Phyllida Tatham. And she has brought her stepdaughter with her.’

The heiress. Richard’s interest sharpened immediately. The dashing brunette was forgotten and his eyes moved to the door, where two ladies were hesitating on the threshold. They were both fashionably attired but his eyes were immediately drawn to the dainty blonde dressed in a cream-muslin gown with a blue spencer fastened over it. A straw bonnet rested on her golden curls, held in place by a blue ribbon, tied at a jaunty angle beneath one ear. This enhanced the startling perfection of her heart-shaped face with its straight little nose and huge, cornflower-blue eyes. Her companion was slightly taller and far less striking in a simple walking dress the colour of rose leaves with a matching cap pinned to her neat brown hair. At least, he considered her less striking until she spotted Lady Hune and a sudden, wide smile transformed her countenance. He was reminded of the sun breaking through on a cloudy day.

‘Ah, good. She’s seen me and is coming over.’

Richard stifled an exclamation. ‘That is Lady Phyllida? Why, she is scarcely older than her stepdaughter.’

‘Tatham married her almost out of the schoolroom,’ Sophia told him. ‘Nice gel, never a hint of scandal to her name, although there was no end of talk at first, because Sir Evelyn was almost in his dotage.’

‘Lady Hune.’ The widow came up and sank into a graceful curtsy before the marchioness. ‘I am very glad to find you here, for I would like to present my stepdaughter to you.’

So this was the heiress. Richard surveyed Miss Ellen Tatham with a coolly professional eye. She was certainly a beauty, from her guinea-gold curls to the dainty feet peeping out beneath the hem of her embroidered muslin. Her figure was good, her tone lively without being strident and she bore herself well, greeting Sophia with a pretty deference that he knew would please. Great heaven, even without a fortune every red-blooded male in Bath would be falling over themselves to court her!

‘...my great-nephew, Richard Arrandale.’

Sophia was presenting him to Lady Phyllida. He dragged his attention back, summoning up a careless smile as he reached for the lady’s hand. Her eyes widened, dilating as he grasped her fingers. What the devil? Richard concealed his surprise: he had not said or done anything to frighten her. She must know of his reputation, he thought as he kissed her hand and felt it tremble, but she replied calmly enough to him and stepped back to introduce her stepdaughter.

Surely the young widow could not have sole responsibility for this piece of perfection? But it appeared to be so, for even as he addressed Miss Tatham, Lady Phyllida was explaining as much to Sophia.

‘Ellen is going to live with me in Bath until the spring,’ she was saying in her soft, musical voice. ‘Then we go to London, to my sister, Lady Olivia Hapton, who is to bring Ellen out.’

‘And will you return to Bath afterwards, Lady Phyllida?’ asked Sophia.

‘Perhaps, I have not considered. I moved here so that I might have Ellen with me. I thought we could enjoy a little society while she continued her education through the winter.’

‘Philly—that is,’ Ellen corrected herself with a mischievous look, ‘Stepmama has kindly organised lessons for me in singing, dancing and Italian. Of course I learned all those things at school, but one can always improve.’

‘Indeed, it is never too late to improve oneself,’ agreed Sophia. Richard felt rather than saw the look she cast at him. ‘No doubt you will be attending the balls and concerts, too?’

‘Oh, yes, ma’am. That is all part of my education, ready for my come-out in London next year.’

* * *

‘A very pretty-behaved child,’ opined Sophia when Lady Phyllida led her stepdaughter away a short while later. ‘Pretty face, too.’

‘Exceptional,’ agreed Richard. ‘A veritable diamond.’

‘She has everything,’ continued Sophia slowly. ‘She is handsome, of good birth and has a considerable fortune, just like—’

She broke off as an elderly gentleman approached and Richard stood back, lost in thought as they conversed. He guessed what she had been about to say.

Just like Cassandra.

Sophia was clearly on good terms with the widow and inclined to approve of her stepdaughter. Thank heaven she did not know about the wager!

* * *

‘So you have stolen the march on us already with the heiress.’

A soft, drawling voice intruded upon Richard’s reverie and he turned to find Sir Charles Urmston at his shoulder.

‘Quite a piece of perfection, isn’t she?’ Urmston continued, raising his glass to study Miss Tatham, who was now on the far side of the room talking with the Wakefields. ‘I had thought Miss Julia Wakefield the most attractive girl in the room, but her prettiness is quite eclipsed by Miss Tatham’s golden beauty. A fortune is always worth pursuing, but when it comes so deliciously packaged, how can one resist?’

Richard frowned. The idea of Urmston pursuing Ellen Tatham did not please him. Sir Charles was a cousin of Richard’s late sister-in-law and they had met upon occasion, but Richard had not felt any inclination to pursue the acquaintance following his sister-in-law’s premature demise eight years ago. Richard sensed a cruel and predatory nature behind Urmston’s ready smile and urbane manners. He had met his sort before, a charming man about town, befriending eager young bucks and helping them to spend their—or rather their family’s—fortune. He did not condemn Urmston for his way of life, after all a man must live.

It was no secret Urmston had bullied his wife, who had died in childbirth a year ago, along with their unborn baby. The idea of any innocent young girl being cruelly tricked into marriage and treated badly was not something Richard could condone, yet he had signed up to the wager, along with the others. His frown deepened as he considered the men who had put their signatures in the book. There was no doubt that any one of them would cold-bloodedly ruin the girl in order to win the prize money. That thought proved equally distasteful, though he knew seductions such as this were common practice. And it was not only Ellen Tatham who would suffer. A sudden vision of Lady Phyllida’s distress disturbed him and he quickly pushed it away. Good God, when had he become so fastidious? He must be getting old.

Suddenly the idea of making a play for the heiress himself seemed almost sensible. He would be doing the girl a kindness if he married her, not to mention the fact that her fortune would prove very useful. If reports were true it was sufficient for him to maintain Arrandale and still keep his own family in luxury. He had not come to Bath looking for a wife but it was expected that he would settle down one day, and if Wolf should not return it would clearly be his duty to carry on the line. Perhaps he should not let this chance slip by. He glanced across the room to where Lady Phyllida was presenting her stepdaughter to Lady Wakefield. From this distance they might have been sisters.

It would be an easy seduction. The stepmother was no dragon and he had no doubt he would easily gain her approval. After that, it would be a simple matter to win the hand and the heart of the beautiful Miss Tatham. It was of little consequence whether his heart was engaged. He would treat her well and she would be better off with him than any of the other men who would be vying for her attentions. He had no doubt he would win, by fair means or foul. After all he was a rake, wasn’t he? One of the infamous Arrandale family. And rake hell was what they did.

So now he smiled at Urmston. ‘As you say, Sir Charles, how can one resist such a beauty? I give you fair warning, this is one wager I mean to win!’

* * *

Phyllida kept her smile in place as she progressed around the Pump Room, making Ellen known to her many acquaintances, but inside her heart was racing, as were the chaotic thoughts that flew around her head until she felt quite giddy. Richard Arrandale was the last man she had expected to meet in Bath. Since marrying Sir Evelyn their paths had not crossed, but seeing him again had brought it all back, that night at Almack’s, seven years ago, when he had danced with her.

She remembered it all so clearly. He had been the most handsome young man she had ever seen, with his brown hair gleaming in the candlelight, and that laughing twinkle in his blue eyes. He was only a year or so older than Phyllida but already he had been a confident man about town, whereas she had been a tongue-tied young girl, fresh from the schoolroom and dressed in an unbecoming pink gown that her mother had thought the appropriate colour for a débutante. Her first and only Season had been a tortuous round of parties and dances, where she had been too shy and plain to attract the attention of any young man. She had spent long evenings sitting at the side of the room while the other young girls danced and laughed and enchanted their partners. Even those gentlemen who were persuaded to stand up with her quickly made their exit when they found that she was too shy to do more than blush and return monosyllabic answers to their attempts at conversation. She had told herself it did not matter, that she cared for none of them, and that was true, until she had danced with Richard Arrandale.

Phyllida had known his reputation—everyone in London was aware of it—but in her silly schoolgirl mind she had thought that she could tame him, that if only he could see past her rather plain looks he would be captivated by her goodness and would repent his wild ways.

How he must have despised her for her awkwardness, even though he had laughed and made light of it when she had moved the wrong way in the dance and collided with him. He had responded to her mistake by giving her his whole attention, smiling at her, putting her at her ease. He had looked at her, really looked, as if she was the only lady in the room. As if she mattered. At that point she had lost her heart completely. In her foolishness she had dreamed of him making her an offer, going down on one knee and declaring that he was reformed, for her sake.

All nonsense, of course. A handsome gentleman like Richard Arrandale would never be interested in a gauche schoolroom miss with mousy hair and nondescript grey-green eyes. As her newly married sister had said, when Phyllida had returned starry-eyed from Almack’s that night; ‘Men like Arrandale can turn on the charm whenever they wish. He will not even remember you tomorrow.’

And Olivia had been right. The next time Phyllida had seen Richard Arrandale in Bond Street he had not even noticed her. It had been a salutary lesson and when, a few days later Papa had told her she was to wed Sir Evelyn Tatham, she had buried her girlish dreams for ever.

Phyllida knew she had been right to do so. While she had concentrated on being a good wife to Sir Evelyn, Richard Arrandale had blazed a trail through London society like a shooting star, his outrageous behaviour discussed, condemned and dissected in the society pages of the newspapers. His name was linked with all the most dashing matrons, he attended the most riotous house parties and was thought to have lost more than one fortune at the gaming tables.

Everyone said it was only to be expected, for it was well known that his older brother had killed his wife and run away with the family jewels. Nothing had been proven, the matter had been hushed up as was the way with rich, powerful families, but everyone knew it all the same. Bad blood, they said, and Phyllida knew she should be grateful not to have attracted the notice of such a notorious rake as Richard Arrandale. But sometimes as she lay in her bed with her kind, worthy husband snoring beside her, Richard’s image would return and she could not help sighing for what might have been.

* * *

Too late had Phyllida recognised the tall figure standing beside Lady Hune in the Pump Room and recalled that the dowager marchioness was an Arrandale by birth. She was already committed to approaching, but when Richard had taken her hand and kissed it the years had fallen away and she was once again the awkward girl in her first Season, being saluted by a man who was the embodiment of her dreams.

Only, Richard Arrandale was not the heroic figure of her girlhood fantasies. She knew that only too well and looking up into his face she had seen the faint lines of dissipation about his mouth and eyes. There hung about him a world-weariness that made him seem older than his years, for he could not possibly be more than five-or six-and-twenty. Richard Arrandale was a rake and it was only his connection with Sophia, Dowager Marchioness of Hune, that made her acknowledge him and introduce him to her stepdaughter.

Phyllida took Ellen on a full circuit of the room but afterwards she could never recall just whom they had met, nor what was said. All she could remember was Richard Arrandale’s laughing eyes and the touch of his lips against her gloved hand. As she and Ellen left the Pump Room arm in arm she risked a last look back. He was still watching them, or, more correctly, he was watching Ellen.

‘What is wrong, Philly?’ Ellen stopped in the doorway and turned an anxious gaze upon her. ‘You are shivering, but it is not at all cold. Are you unwell?’

‘What? Oh, no, my love, no, not at all.’ She shook off her uneasy thoughts and summoned up a smile. ‘We elderly ladies are prone to sudden chills, you know.’

Ellen gave a little trill of laughter.

‘Very well, my aged Stepmama! I shall take you home, tuck you up in a shawl and feed you gruel.’

‘That will certainly do the trick.’

‘I hope so, because you promised we could go shopping today.’

‘Very well, let us do so immediately. It will be infinitely preferable to eating gruel,’ said Phyllida, laughing.

The sun came out at the moment and her spirits lifted. She was foolish to allow an old memory to make her so fanciful. She squeezed Ellen’s arm, quickened her step and set off for Milsom Street to indulge in a few hours of frivolous expenditure.

Chapter Three

Having decided to pursue the heiress, Richard lost no time in making his plans. The Bath season did not start until October, but he was determined not to wait until then to advance his acquaintance with Miss Ellen Tatham. At breakfast the following morning he made his first move.

‘Do you wish me to come to the Pump Room with you again today, Sophia?’

‘Thank you, no. Duffy had the offending tooth removed yesterday and is quite recovered now. You must have more entertaining things to do than attend an old lady.’

‘It is always a pleasure to escort you, ma’am. And I was heartened to find that not all those attending the Pump Room are valetudinarians. Lady Phyllida, for example.’

‘Yes. She’s a quiet gel, but very sensible, and makes a good partner at whist. I have always liked her.’

This was very encouraging. He said, ‘You knew her before she came to Bath?’

‘We have mutual acquaintances in Derbyshire, near Tatham Park. I met her there often when Sir Evelyn was alive. Glad to see she is out of mourning now and back in the world where she belongs.’

‘What’s her background?’ Lady Hune shot him a swift, suspicious glance and he added quickly, ‘Lady Phyllida looks familiar, and I would judge her age to be similar to my own. I thought perhaps I might know her.’

‘She is possibly twelve months your junior. One of the Earl of Swanleigh’s two girls. The elder married Lord Hapton and Swanleigh wanted a similar success for Phyllida. She was presented in...let me see...’ninety-six and caught the eye of Sir Evelyn, who was then a widower and looking for a new wife to give him an heir. They were married within the year. Of course there was a lot of talk, but those who prophesied disaster were only half right. The hoped-for heir never materialised but the marriage seemed happy enough. When Tatham died last year it was assumed Lady Phyllida would go to live with her sister or with Tatham’s brother and dwindle into mediocrity as some sort of live-in companion, little more than a glorified servant. But give the girl her due, she refused to relinquish her independence. She retired to her house in Derbyshire for her period of mourning.’

‘And now she is in Bath.’

‘Yes. She has taken a house in Charles Street for herself and her stepdaughter.’ Sophia shook her head, adding darkly, ‘How that will work out I don’t know.’

‘Ninety-six.’ Richard’s brow creased in thought. ‘Hmm, seven years ago. I had left Oxford and was in town then.’

‘Aye, you were, and already kicking up a dust!’

‘I must have danced with her. Trouble is, ma’am, I danced with a deuced lot of young ladies in those days.’

‘It’s no wonder if you don’t remember her. Her looks were never out of the ordinary, nothing to attract you. Tatham, however, was desperate for an heir. I think he would have taken anyone.’ She looked up, saying sternly, ‘She is a fine young woman, Richard, and I count her a friend. I would not have you doing anything to upset her.’

He looked pained.

‘I promise you I have no intention of upsetting her.’

* * *

No, he had no intention of upsetting anyone, he thought, as he presented himself at the freshly painted front door in Charles Street later that day. He was shown into the drawing room, where Lady Phyllida received him with cool politeness.

He bowed. ‘I was pleased, yesterday, to renew my acquaintance with you, my lady.’ Her brows went up and he continued smoothly, ‘We met in town did we not, at your come-out. We danced together at Almack’s.’

This was a chance shot but he thought it had hit its mark. An added flush of colour painted her cheeks, but she spread her hands and gave him an apologetic smile.

‘I vow I cannot recall. I know my mother bullied every gentleman present to stand up with me, however reluctantly.’

‘There was no reluctance upon my part, ma’am, I assure you.’

‘But after, what is it...five years, six?...I am flattered that you should remember.’

She doesn’t believe me.

Richard kept his smile in place as he met her gaze. He had thought yesterday her eyes were grey but he saw now that they were flecked with green and her look was surprisingly direct. He had a sudden urge to tell the truth and confess that he didn’t remember her at all. Impossible, of course. He must hold his nerve.

She invited him to sit down.

‘How are you enjoying Bath?’ he asked her as he lowered himself into a chair opposite her own.

‘Very much. After the isolation of Tatham Park, Bath seems very busy.’

‘And will you put your name down in the book when the subscription opens later this month? That is necessary, I believe, if you wish to attend balls in the Upper Rooms?’

‘I shall indeed.’

‘But there is still dancing to be had, even now,’ he persisted. ‘There is a ridotto on Monday night, did you know of it?’

‘Yes, I am taking Ellen.’

‘Then we will be able to dance together again.’

The tell-tale rosiness deepened on her cheek.

‘I am going as Ellen’s chaperon, Mr Arrandale. I shall not dance.’

There was a wistful note in her voice. Faint, but he detected it.

‘Is it in the rules that widows are prohibited from dancing? I have never heard of it.’

Now why the devil had he said that? It was not the widow he wanted to dance with.

* * *

Phyllida’s nerves fluttered. Had she been mistaken? Had he really remembered standing up with her at Almack’s? She stole another look at him. He was being perfectly charming. Perhaps the lines that creased his lean cheeks might be caused by laughter rather than dissipation and wild living, despite the gossip. She did not think they detracted from his charm, either. If anything she thought him more attractive than ever, especially when he smiled at one in just that way...

She started guiltily when the door opened and Ellen came in, chattering even as she untied the ribbons of her bonnet.

‘There you are, Philly! Such fun we have had, I wish you had been there to share—oh, I beg your pardon. Hirst did not tell me you had company, but then, I did not give him time!’ She came forward, greeting their guest with her sunny smile and no hint of shyness. ‘Mr Arrandale, good day to you.’

He had jumped up when Ellen appeared and Phyllida watched him greet her, his charming smile and nicely judged bow perfectly civil. Too perfect, she thought, her earlier suspicions rising again.

‘How do you do, Miss Tatham. Have you been shopping, perhaps?’

‘No, sir, I have been to Sydney Gardens with Miss Desborough and her mama. Do you know the Desboroughs, Mr Arrandale?’

‘I’m afraid not, I have not been in Bath that long myself.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, we were introduced yesterday and Penelope and I found ourselves in such accord that Mrs Desborough invited me to join them in a walk to Sydney Gardens today. Oh, I wish you had come with us, Philly, it was quite delightful. The Ride that runs around the perimeter of the gardens is very well laid, so one can keep one’s shoes and feet dry even if the weather has been very inclement. And there is a labyrinth, too, but there was no time to go in and Mrs Desborough says we should buy a plan before we attempt it.’

‘Then we shall do so, when we visit.’ Phyllida smiled.

‘Perhaps I might escort you.’

Phyllida acknowledged Richard’s offer with a slight inclination of her head but she did not encourage him. Unperturbed he returned his attention to Ellen.

‘I understand you are attending the ridotto on Monday, Miss Tatham. I hope you will stand up with me. If your stepmama allows it, of course.’

‘I should be delighted, sir—and you will consent, will you not, Philly?’

Phyllida was tempted to refuse, but Ellen would be sure to demand the reason and she was not at all sure of the answer.

‘Of course,’ she said at last. ‘There can be no harm in you dancing with a gentleman.’ Would he notice the slight stress she put on the last word? ‘After all, the reason for bringing you to Bath was to accustom you to a larger society.’

‘And I have any number of acquaintances in Bath now,’ declared Ellen happily. ‘Not just Penelope Desborough and Julia Wakefield, who are my especial friends. Mrs Desborough was good enough to present several gentlemen to me today when we were in the gardens.’

‘Did she?’ murmured Phyllida, slightly startled by this revelation.

Ellen threw her a mischievous glance. ‘I have no doubt some of them will be seeking you out soon, Philly, for they, too, mentioned the ridotto. However I made it very clear I could not dance with any of them unless they had your approval.’

‘I am glad to hear it.’

‘And you will approve them, will you not, dearest Stepmama?’

For once Phyllida did not feel any inclination to laugh at Ellen’s sauciness. She was aware of Richard watching her and, disconcerted, she responded rather more tartly that she had intended.

‘Since I have approved Mr Arrandale, I doubt I will have any choice with the rest!’

‘But they are all very respectable, Philly, or Mrs Desborough would not have introduced them to me.’

Ellen was gazing at her, puzzled, and Phyllida pulled herself together.

‘No, of course she would not. I am sure they are all pillars of Bath society.’

A scratching at the door diverted her attention and she looked up as Matlock entered the room.

‘Signor Piangi has arrived, my lady. I have put him in the morning room.’

‘Oh, is it time for my Italian lesson already?’ cried Ellen. ‘I will come with you directly, Matty. If you will excuse me, Mr Arrandale.’

He bowed.

‘Until Monday, Miss Tatham.’

Phyllida watched Ellen skip out of the room. Matlock hovered by the door, as if unwilling to leave them alone, but Phyllida waved her away.

‘Go with her, Matty. You will remain in the morning room until the signor leaves.’ Richard was watching her and she added, as the door closed upon them, ‘It is important to me that no hint of impropriety should touch my stepdaughter while she is in Bath.’

He inclined his head. She thought for a moment he would resume his seat but instead he picked up his hat and gloves from the table.

‘I have an appointment I must keep.’ He hesitated. ‘If you and Miss Tatham would like to visit Sydney Gardens on Sunday, I should be very happy to escort you there.’

‘Thank you, sir, but, no. We are, um, otherwise engaged.’

It was not true, and she prayed he would not ask what that engagement might be.

‘Of course. Until Monday, then.’

He bowed and was gone.

Phyllida sank back into her chair, her spirits strangely depressed. She would like to believe that Richard Arrandale had merely come to pay his respects to her, that he had truly remembered dancing with her all those years ago, but she doubted it. After all, she had never been rich enough or pretty enough to attract much attention in her one and only Season. Who wanted a soft well-modulated voice when they could enjoy Miss Anston’s trilling laugh, or Miss Rollinson’s lively tones? The more direct of the mothers with daughters to wed had called her thin and unattractive.

Phyllida gave herself a little shake. That was all in the past. She had lost her girlish ranginess, her glass told her that her willowy form and firm, full breasts showed to advantage in the high-waisted, low-cut gowns that were so fashionable. Yet, for all that, she paled to insignificance when compared to her lovely stepdaughter and she would be a fool to think otherwise.

Richard Arrandale had clearly set his sights upon Ellen. She remembered how he had been watching her in the Pump Room. She might ask Lady Hune to warn him off, but although she was very fond of the indomitable marchioness she could not imagine that Sophia would have much influence over her rakish great-nephew.

No. Phyllida knew it would be up to her to keep Ellen safe.

* * *

Richard strode away down Charles Street, well pleased with his first day’s work. The widow was cautious, which was as it should be, but Ellen was friendly enough. Very young, of course, but a taking little thing. He frowned when he recalled how she had spoken of the fellows in Sydney Gardens clamouring for an introduction. He had no doubt that some—if not all—of them were involved in the wager, but he had the advantage and he intended that it should stay that way. However, he knew better than to rush his fences. He would dance with the chit on Monday night. None of the others were likely to steal her heart before then.

* * *

By the time Phyllida went to bed that night she had made a decision. Jane was waiting to braid her hair and help her to undress, but as soon as she had donned her nightgown Phyllida threw on her silk wrap and went to Ellen’s room.

‘May I come in?’

She peeped around the door. Ellen was already in her bed, propped up against a billowing mass of pillows, reading by the light of a branched candlestick that was burning perilously close to the bed-hangings. As the door opened she jumped and attempted to hide the book under the bedcovers, but when she saw it was Phyllida she heaved a sigh of relief.

‘Oh, it is you. I thought it was Matty.’

‘What are you reading? Is it so very bad?’

Ellen nodded, her eyes shining.

‘Ambrosia, or the Monk,’ she announced with relish. ‘It is quite shocking. When I told Matty she promised to burn it if she found it.’

‘I am not at all surprised. How did you get a copy?

‘Oh, it has been circulating at school for months, but I did not have the opportunity to read it so I brought it with me. You need not worry, Philly, it is the later version, where Mr Lewis has removed the most salacious passages. Although I would dearly like to know what they were, because the story is still quite horrid in places!’

‘Then you should not be reading it.’

Phyllida lunged for the book but Ellen was too quick and thrust it under her pillows, saying loftily, ‘You know Papa decreed that ignorance was the worst of all sins. He always said I could read whatever I wished, as long as I discussed with him or you anything I did not understand.’

With a sigh Phyllida curled up on the end of the bed, unequal to the task of physically struggling with Ellen.

‘Unfortunately I have a lowering suspicion that there is much in Mr Lewis’s Gothic tale that I would not understand,’ she admitted. ‘I am wondering if I have done you a grave disservice in bringing you to Bath, Ellen.’

‘No, how could that be?’ Ellen frowned suddenly. ‘Has Uncle Walter been complaining to you again? Aunt Bridget wrote and invited me to go and stay with them, but I know the only reason she did so is because they do not approve of my coming to live with you.’

‘No, it is nothing like that, but—’ Phyllida stopped, considering her words carefully. ‘There are...dangers in society, Ellen.’

‘What sort of dangers?’

‘Gentlemen will sometimes prey upon innocent young women, especially if they are...’

‘If they are rich,’ finished Ellen, nodding sagely. ‘I am well aware of that. Mrs Ackroyd was at pains to make sure we all knew the risks that gentlemen posed.’ Again that mischievous light twinkled in her blue eyes. ‘She prepared us very well, I think. I may even know more than you, Philly.’

‘That is very possible,’ replied Phyllida, sighing. ‘You have had a very good education and I am sure the teachers told you much about the world, but it is very easy to have one’s head turned and succumb to the attentions of a personable gentleman.’ Phyllida saw the speculative look in Ellen’s eye and added quickly, ‘At least I believe it is so, although I have never experienced it myself.’

‘Poor Philly. Did Papa snabble you up before you could fall in love with anyone?’

‘Yes—no! Ellen, that is not the point.’

Ellen laughed.

‘I think it is very much the point, my love. You were very young and innocent when you became my stepmama, were you not? Seventeen, in fact. As I am now.’

‘Quite. And I was very shy and retiring.’

‘Which I am not, so you may rest easy, my love.’

Phyllida shook her head at her. ‘You may think you know the ways of the world, Ellen, but there are gentlemen in Bath who may seem very pleasant and respectable, yet they are not to be trusted.’

‘Do you mean rakes?’ asked Ellen. ‘There were several residing near the school, hoping one of us would be foolish enough to run off with them. Mrs Ackroyd pointed them out to us.’

‘Heavens, I knew nothing of this!’

‘No, well, I could hardly write and tell you about it, you would have wanted to fetch me away immediately. In fact we had to sit on that sneak Bernice Lingford to stop her from gabbing about the whole. It’s a pity she doesn’t have a fortune, because without some incentive no one will ever want to run off with her.’

‘Ellen!’

‘Well, it is true,’ replied Ellen. ‘She is a spiteful, greedy cat, so no man could like her, even if she wasn’t buck-toothed and fusby-faced.’

‘Let us hope she will grow out of it,’ replied Phyllida, trying to be charitable. ‘However, we are straying from the point—’

‘The point is, Stepmother dear, that we were all perfectly safe at school. That was why Papa chose Mrs Ackroyd’s institution for me, because she is accustomed to having the daughters of the very rich in her care.’ Ellen drew up her knees and wrapped her arms about them. ‘She is very progressive, though, and thinks that education is the best preparation for any young lady making her come-out. She taught us what to expect from a husband, too, because she says mothers invariably make a hash of it. ‘

Phyllida blinked, momentarily silenced by her stepdaughter’s matter-of-fact statement.

‘I am very glad of it,’ she said at last. ‘But I would still urge you to be cautious. It is very easy for a young lady to lose her heart to a rake.’

‘But you said you never had done so,’ objected Ellen.

Phyllida was about to correct her but thought better of it.

Ellen continued thoughtfully, ‘It is not too late, though. We might well find you a husband in Bath.’

‘I do not want a husband! That is not why I came here.’

‘But you said yourself you were lonely at Tatham Park.’

‘That is true, Ellen, but only because I was missing your father. And you. I am very much looking forward to our time here together.’

‘But once I have made my come-out, what then? I have no intention of settling upon a husband too soon but I suppose I must marry at some point and then you will be alone again.’

Phyllida felt the conversation was getting away from her. She said crisply, ‘I am glad you do not intend to rush into marriage with the first young man who takes your fancy, so I need not contemplate my future for a long time yet.’ She slid off the bed. ‘Now, I have said what I wanted to say, although it would seem Mrs Ackroyd has already prepared you for the perils of the world, so I shall leave you to sleep.’ She leaned close to kiss Ellen’s cheek and felt the girl’s arms wind about her neck.

‘Goodnight, my darling stepmama. We shall have such fun in Bath together.’

Phyllida gave Ellen a final hug and made her way back to her own room. The discussion had not gone quite as she had imagined and she was beginning to suspect that looking after Ellen would be far more challenging that she had anticipated.

* * *

The next few days were filled with shopping and visitors. None of the gentlemen Ellen had met in the park were brave enough to call at Charles Street uninvited but when Phyllida took her stepdaughter to the morning service at the Abbey on Sunday it seemed that every one of her acquaintances wished to perform an introduction to Mr This or Sir That. Ellen behaved impeccably, but Phyllida found herself scrutinising every gentleman who came up to her, watching for signs that they might be trying to fix their interest with Ellen. There were several married gentlemen amongst their number, such as Mr Cromby whose jovial, avuncular style was not to her taste. Neither did she warm to the fashionably dressed widower, Sir Charles Urmston, although he appeared to be a favourite of Mrs Desborough, who made the introduction.

Phyllida noticed Lady Hune coming out of the Abbey on the arm of her great-nephew. The dowager looked magnificent, as always, in black and silver but Phyllida’s eyes were drawn to Richard’s lean upright figure. She thought how well the simple lines of the dark coat and light-coloured pantaloons suited him. When he removed his hat to bow to an acquaintance, his short brown hair glinted with gold in the sunlight. He looked like the epitome of a gentleman and she stifled a sigh. How deceptive appearances could be. The marchioness was moving through the crowd towards her carriage, but when she saw Phyllida she stopped and beckoned to her. Ellen was deep in conversation with Julia Wakefield and Phyllida did not call her away, preferring not to bring her into Mr Arrandale’s orbit more than necessary.

Lady Hune greeted Phyllida cordially and invited her to take tea with her later, a singular honour that Phyllida had no hesitation in accepting on behalf of herself and her stepdaughter. Too late did she recall that she had told Richard they were not free. She saw the laughter in his eyes and felt the heat rising to her face.

‘Your previous engagement today has been cancelled, perhaps?’ he murmured.

‘You are promised elsewhere?’ said Lady Hune, overhearing. ‘My dear, you must not break your engagement on my account.’

Phyllida shook her head, saying hastily, ‘I had mistaken the day. We should be delighted to join you, ma’am.’

Richard Arrandale was in no wise discomposed by the fulminating glance she threw at him, merely casting a grin in her direction before he turned aside to greet another acquaintance.

‘I am glad you can come.’ Lady Hune nodded. ‘You will be able to tell me how your charming stepdaughter goes on in Bath. Very well, if appearances are anything to go by.’

Phyllida followed the dowager’s eyes to where Ellen was now part of a lively crowd of young people.

‘She has already made new friends of her own age, Lady Hune.’

‘Which is as it should be—’ The dowager broke off as Ellen and Julia Wakefield ran up, their faces alight with excitement that could barely be contained while they made their curtsies. The old lady’s eyes gleamed with amusement.

‘You are clearly big with news,’ she observed solemnly. ‘You had best get it out before you burst.’

Julia giggled and Ellen, after a blushing smile towards Lady Hune, turned her expressive eyes towards Phyllida.

‘Lady Wakefield says there are the most romantic Gothic ruins just a few miles from Bath at Farleigh Castle. We are on fire to see them and Lady Wakefield says she will set up a riding party, if only you will give your permission, Philly. Dearest, do say I may go. Lord and Lady Wakefield will be accompanying us and Julia has a spare pony that I may ride—’

Laughing, Phyllida put up a hand to stop her.

‘Of course you may go, and there is no need to borrow a horse, for Parfett is even now bringing our own horses from Tatham Park. I thought we might like to ride out occasionally before the weather closes in.’

‘Will you come, too, Lady Phyllida?’ asked Julia in a breathless whisper, ‘It will be delightful if you can, I am sure—’ She broke off, blushing scarlet when she realised her company. ‘And Lady Hune, of course,’ she added hurriedly.

‘My riding days are over,’ replied the dowager, choosing to be amused by Julia’s artlessness.

‘If Lady Wakefield is going with you then you do not need me to come,’ said Phyllida, not wishing to put herself forward. Besides, she had made up her mind not to be a clinging chaperon. ‘You may go off and enjoy yourself with my goodwill.’

Lady Hune turned to Julia.

‘Does your mama know the family at Farleigh House?’ When the girl shook her head the dowager continued. ‘Tell her to write to the housekeeper there, mention my name and I have no doubt she will receive you.’

‘Th-thank you, ma’am,’ stuttered Julia, wide-eyed.

‘Well, off you go and tell your mother to arrange the whole,’ Lady Hune dismissed her impatiently.

Ellen looked to Phyllida and, receiving a nod, she curtsied and ran off after her new friend.

Lady Hune tutted. ‘She will keep you busy, Phyllida.’

‘I think she will, ma’am, but I shall enjoy the distraction, after spending so long alone.’

‘I am glad you are come to Bath. You were too young to be incarcerated at Tatham Park.’ The dowager tapped Phyllida’s arm with one be-ringed finger, saying urgently, ‘Find yourself a husband, Phyllida. You are still young and Tatham left you well provided for, so you need not regard the money. This time you can marry to please yourself.’

Phyllida blushed hotly. ‘I assure you, my lady, I was perfectly happy—’

‘Aye, but no need to tell me it wasn’t a love-match.’

‘Perhaps not, but Sir Evelyn was a kind husband, and I have a duty to his daughter.’

‘Of course, and I know you well enough to be sure you will do your best for the gel, but do not sacrifice your own happiness, Phyllida.’ She looked up as her great-nephew came up.

‘There is a chill wind getting up, ma’am. Shall I escort you to your carriage?’

‘Very well, although I am not so frail that I cannot withstand a little breeze.’ She looked back at Phyllida, a decided twinkle in her faded eyes. ‘You see how I am bullied?’

‘I dare anyone to try and bully you, ma’am.’ Phyllida laughed and without thinking she looked at Richard Arrandale, knowing he would share her amusement. The noise and bustle around them ceased to exist as he drew her in with a smile of genuine warmth. The moment felt special, as if they were the only two people in the world. Phyllida’s heart leapt to her throat before settling back again, thudding so hard against her ribs that she found it difficult to breathe.

Lady Hune’s sharp voice broke the spell. ‘You can take me home now, Richard. I shall expect you later, Lady Phyllida!’

Phyllida did not move as they walked away. Suddenly the sun did not seem as bright and she became aware of the cold wind that Richard had mentioned. That was the trouble with the man, she thought, putting her hand up to make sure her spencer was buttoned up. He made her forget to be sensible. She supposed it must be so with all rakes, for how else could they wreak such havoc with ladies’ hearts?

Her thoughts went back to the dowager’s suggestion that she should find a husband. She did not know whether to be amused or indignant. Lady Hune meant well, she knew that, and perhaps she might consider marrying again at some stage, but for now her mind was fully occupied with looking after her stepdaughter and keeping her safe from men like Richard Arrandale.

* * *

Taking tea with the Dowager Marchioness of Hune was a protracted affair and full of ceremony. Richard decided he would make himself scarce until towards the end, when he would offer to escort Miss Tatham and her stepmother back to Charles Street. Sophia would approve of his civility and his absence for most of the afternoon might prevent her from guessing his intentions towards the heiress.

His plan worked perfectly. He walked in just as Sophia was refilling the tea pot. He accepted a cup from his great-aunt and since Lady Phyllida was sitting next to the dowager he took a seat beside Miss Tatham and engaged her in conversation. He had soon put her at her ease and she chatted away to him in the friendliest manner. Well aware that they were in company and every word could be overheard, Richard said nothing untoward and made no attempt to flirt with Ellen, but since she was well educated as well as quick-witted they were soon getting on famously, so much so that when Lady Phyllida rose to take her leave and he suggested he should escort them home, Ellen was quick to support him.

Lady Phyllida smiled and shook her head. ‘I am obliged to you, sir, but I think not. You have only just come in. I am sure Lady Hune would like to have you to herself for a while.’

He laughed. ‘But it is only a step. I shall be back again in a matter of minutes.’

‘As you say, Mr Arrandale. It is only a step, so Ellen and I will manage perfectly well, but I am grateful for your offer.’

Lady Phyllida smiled but her grey-green eyes held a steely look. It surprised him, for he had thought her a meek, biddable creature. However, he said nothing, merely inclined his head in acquiescence as the visitors went on their way.

* * *

‘Well, that was much more enjoyable than I anticipated,’ declared Ellen as they turned into Chapel Row on their way to Charles Street. ‘And not just because Mr Arrandale spent a good twenty minutes talking to me! I thought Lady Hune might treat me as a child but she was very pleasant, was she not?’

‘That is because she likes you,’ returned Phyllida. ‘And she is accustomed to having young people about her. Until recently she had her granddaughter living with her.’

Ellen stopped and turned her wide-eyed gaze upon Phyllida. ‘Of course. Lady Cassandra! It was in the newspapers that Lady C—had eloped from Bath, but I had not connected her with the marchioness.’

‘Yes, that was her granddaughter. The elopement took place just before I came to Bath but I know Lady Hune was distraught, and not only did she have the worry of what had happened to Lady Cassandra, she had to endure Bath’s gossipmongers. I believe it has taken a great deal of fortitude.’

‘How dreadful for her,’ said Ellen, shocked.

‘It was,’ agreed Phyllida as they began to walk on. ‘The gossip has died down now in Bath but it is still mentioned occasionally, even though Lady Cassandra is married and gone out of the country.’

‘I had not thought of it before,’ said Ellen slowly, ‘but as exciting as an elopement is for the couple involved, there must be a great deal of horrid scandal to be endured by the family left behind.’

‘I am glad you realise that, my love.’

Ellen slipped her arm through Phyllida’s and gave it a quick squeeze.

‘Do not sound so serious, Philly, I have no intention of eloping.’ She added, with a mischievous gurgle of laughter in her voice, ‘And woe betide any man who tries to persuade me to it!’

Chapter Four

The dancing had already started when Richard arrived at the Upper Rooms on Monday night. Miss Tatham was going down the dance with Henry Fullingham and he had leisure to admire her golden beauty, which was in no way dimmed by the simplicity of her embroidered muslin. As he stood waiting for the music to end he wondered if he had been wise to leave his arrival so late. The other gentlemen present would not waste any time in securing a dance with such a diamond. But his doubt was only momentary, and when Ellen’s partner escorted her back to Lady Phyllida, Richard made his way through the crowd towards them.

Ellen greeted him with a smile of unaffected delight and an assurance that she had saved a dance for him. The widow, he noted, had looked composed, even serene, until she saw him approaching and then a slight frown creased her brow. He must try to reassure her.

‘I hope you do not object, my lady?

‘Not at all, Mr Arrandale.’

The frown was put to flight by a smile and he thought how well it became her, warming her eyes and turning them a soft green. Or perhaps that was merely the reflection from her gown of sage-coloured silk. It was fashioned in the Greek style, falling in soft folds from the high waistline. Her hair was piled up and held in place by bands of matching green ribbon with a single glossy ringlet allowed to fall to her shoulder. It attracted his gaze to the flawless skin exposed by the low neckline of her gown.

A single teardrop diamond was suspended on a gold chain around her neck, drawing his attention to the shadowed valley between the softly rounded breasts. His thoughts strayed. In his imagination he was slowly untying the ribbons of the gown and pushing it aside while he laid a trail of kisses down the slender column of her neck and into that same valley...

‘Mr Arrandale?’

He started as Phyllida interrupted his reverie.

‘The sets are forming for the next dance.’

‘What? Oh, yes.’

His eyes searched her face. Could she have read his thoughts? The hint of a smile in her own and the direct way she met his gaze made him hopeful she had not.

‘Ellen is waiting, Mr Arrandale.’

The gentle reproof in her voice finally recalled his wandering attention. He took Ellen’s hand and led her to the dance floor, but for all the perfection of his dancing partner, Richard could not quite shake off the image of Lady Phyllida’s softly twinkling eyes. She was not conventionally pretty, but there was something very striking about Lady Phyllida Tatham that made it impossible to forget her.

* * *

Phyllida retreated to the benches against the wall to watch the dancing. There was no denying that Ellen and Richard Arrandale made a handsome couple. She noted that Mr Fullingham was still hovering nearby, clearly hoping to secure another dance with Ellen, but there were several other young gentlemen who had not yet stood up with her, and Phyllida would not allow any man more than two dances with her stepdaughter.

* * *

By the time the music was suspended for the interval, Phyllida knew that Ellen was a success. Not that she had ever doubted it, for her stepdaughter had beauty, poise and elegance, not to mention the fortune she would inherit when she reached one-and-twenty. She had danced every dance and there were still gentlemen waiting for the opportunity to stand up with her. Ellen’s present partner was Sir Charles Urmston, who accompanied them to the tea room, where supper was set out on sideboards. Phyllida was pleased to note that Ellen did not appear to favour the gentleman over any of her other admirers. She chatted away quite happily, but showed no sign of discontent when he left them.

‘Are you enjoying yourself, my love?’

‘Oh, immensely,’ declared Ellen, her eyes shining. ‘Everyone is so kind and the Upper Rooms are so grand, compared to the George, which is where we attended the assemblies with Mrs Ackroyd. And the company is superior, too. So many gentlemen, when we were used to dance mainly with the local farmers and their sons. But Mrs Ackroyd maintained that it was very good practice and she was right, for I was not at all nervous when I stepped on to the dance floor here tonight.’

‘Did you expect to be?’

Ellen’s brow wrinkled. ‘I am not sure—yes, I suppose I did, for I had never attended a real grown-up ball before, but it is the most tremendous fun. Oh, Philly! How can you bear to sit and watch? I know you love to dance!’

Phyllida had indeed felt a little pang of envy as she had watched her stepdaughter skipping around the floor, but now she said lightly, ‘I am your chaperon, Ellen. How can I look after you if I am enjoying myself on the dance floor?’

‘Oh, I do not need looking after,’ came the cheerful reply. ‘I am very well able to look after myself. So if we come again, Philly, promise me you will dance. I hate to see you sitting on the benches like an old lady.’

‘As to that, my love, we shall see. I do not want the mortification of having no one ask me to stand up with them.’

‘Oh, that won’t happen,’ replied Ellen. ‘I shall refuse to stand up with any gentleman unless he has danced with you first!’

When the music started up again Ellen’s hand was claimed by Mr Cromby. Phyllida watched the pair closely, not sure how Ellen would deal with the elderly roué. He was clearly paying her the most fulsome compliments whenever the movement of the dance allowed it, but her mind was greatly relieved when Ellen passed close by and threw her a look brimming with mischief.

* * *

It was not far from the Assembly Rooms to Charles Street, but Phyllida had arranged for her carriage to collect them. It was an extravagance, but she deemed it worthwhile, since they need not accept any of the numerous offers to escort them home. As they settled themselves into the carriage she asked Ellen how she had enjoyed her first ridotto.

‘Oh, I liked it very much,’ came the enthusiastic reply. ‘I do not think I missed a single dance.’

‘I can vouch for the fact!’ declared Phyllida. She asked, trying not to show concern, ‘And was there a favourite amongst your partners?’

Ellen was quiet for a moment as she considered the question.

‘Everyone was most kind. Sir Charles Urmston was very charming, was he not? You will recall he was the gentleman who escorted us to tea. And Adrian Wakefield, Julia’s brother.’ Ellen laughed. ‘The poor boy was so afraid of missing his steps he barely spoke two words to me.’

‘It was most likely his first grown-up entertainment, too.’

‘Yes, I think so. But, of all the gentlemen who were present tonight, I think I liked Mr Arrandale the best, do you not agree?’

Phyllida’s heart sank. She replied with forced lightness, ‘Why I hardly know, how can one tell from so short an acquaintance?’

‘Unfair, Philly! After all, you asked me if I had a favourite.’

‘So I did.’ Hastily she begged pardon.

‘Which of them do you think would make the best husband?’

‘Why none of them. You are far too young to be thinking of such things.’

Ellen laughed. ‘You are quite right, but I thought it a question that would never be far from a mother’s mind. Even a stepmother.’

This was so true that Phyllida did not know how to respond and she was relieved that the carriage had arrived at their door, where she was spared the necessity of answering. She followed Ellen into the house and sent her upstairs with Matlock, who was waiting to hear all about her young mistress’s success in the ballroom.

* * *

The following day saw several calling cards left at Charles Street as well as a couple of bouquets. There was nothing, however, from Richard Arrandale. Phyllida wondered if the omission was deliberate, intended to pique Ellen’s interest, but perhaps she was becoming far too cynical. Putting aside such thoughts, Phyllida suggested they should walk to Sydney Gardens, and since Lord and Lady Wakefield lived in Laura Place, which was on their way, they might call and ask if Julia would like to go with them. Ellen agreed eagerly and as soon as they had breakfasted the pair set off.

By happy chance Lady Wakefield and her children were just preparing to walk to the gardens themselves and they were only too pleased to make up a party. The ridotto had cemented the young people’s friendship and even Mr Adrian Wakefield had overcome his shyness enough to offer Ellen his arm as they set off along the Ride, the main route around the gardens. The three young people were soon chattering away together, leaving Phyllida to walk behind with Lady Wakefield. The two ladies were soon on friendly terms, but they had not gone far when Ellen’s voice alerted Phyllida to danger.

‘Oh, look. It is Mr Arrandale!’

Phyllida saw Richard’s familiar figure approaching from one of the narrower side paths. His eyes were fixed upon Ellen and it was easy to envisage what would happen next. He would have no difficulty in separating Ellen from the others and once he had her on his arm she would feel the full force of his attraction. Quickly Phyllida stepped on to the path, blocking his way and holding out her hand to him.

‘Mr Arrandale, good day to you, sir. Have you come to take pity upon us? You will see that the younger members of our party have left Lady Wakefield and me without an escort. We feel shamefully neglected.’

He stopped, looking faintly surprised but to his credit he covered it well.

‘That is easily resolved,’ he said with his ready smile. ‘I shall escort you.’

Julia looked a little disappointed and Ellen intrigued, but Phyllida kept her smile in place as she laid her fingers on the gentleman’s sleeve. She avoided the questioning look Lady Wakefield threw at her. She had never put herself forward in such a way before. She felt dreadfully fast.

‘We are going to the labyrinth,’ Ellen informed him. ‘Have you been there, sir?’

‘Why, yes, I have,’ Richard replied. ‘However I believe it is very crowded today. It must be an apprentices’ holiday or some such thing.’

‘Indeed?’ uttered Lady Wakefield, dismay in her voice. ‘It will be dreadfully noisy, then.’

‘They can be a little boisterous, too,’ he added. ‘Especially if they have visited the ale house.’

‘Then let us leave the labyrinth for another day,’ suggested Julia, looking nervous.

‘Yes, I think that might be best, especially since it is so hot,’ agreed Phyllida, thinking of how easy it would be for Richard to be alone with Ellen in a maze. She raised her hand and pointed. ‘That path winds through the trees. It looks very picturesque and has the advantage of being quiet and shady. But you have just come that way, Mr Arrandale. We must not ask you to retrace your steps.’

He was not so easily dismissed and replied with a bland smile, ‘Not at all, ma’am. I am only too delighted to escort you.’

The party set off again, the younger ones leading the way, Lady Wakefield and Phyllida on either side of Mr Arrandale. Phyllida was still trying to recover from her own forwardness. She had never before accosted a gentleman so brazenly and for a while she was unable to make conversation. Thankfully Lady Wakefield was not similarly disabled. It was clear from their conversation that Mr Arrandale was on friendly terms with Adrian Wakefield and had thus earned the approval of that young man’s fond mama and they were soon discussing the pleasures of Bath. Phyllida was happy to let them continue, until she heard Lady Wakefield mention the forthcoming ride to Farleigh Castle.

‘My great-aunt is related to the owners of Farleigh House, you know,’ he said.

‘Yes, Lady Hune has kindly given us an introduction. The housekeeper is to provide refreshments for us at the house,’ replied Lady Wakefield. ‘I am very glad the family is not at home, for I should feel awkward imposing upon them, but now we can be easy. We are all looking forward to it. Julia has been reading about the castle in a book of local antiquities.’

‘It sounds a delightful party, ma’am. I believe Farleigh Castle is well worth a visit. Indeed I should like to see it myself.’

‘Then why do you not join us, Mr Arrandale?’ Lady Wakefield gave a little laugh. ‘We are planning to go a week on Monday. We should be pleased to have you with us in any case, but since you are related to Lady Hune that would make your presence even more welcome.’

Phyllida held her breath, hoping he would refuse. Hoping he might even be planning to leave Bath before then.

‘How kind of you, Lady Wakefield. I can think of nothing I should like more.’

‘Excellent. Do you hear that, Julia?’ Lady Wakefield raised her voice and the three young people stopped obligingly. ‘Mr Arrandale is joining us on our trip to Farleigh.’

‘That is wonderful news,’ cried Ellen.

Her obvious delight in this addition to the party dismayed Phyllida. It prompted her to say gaily, ‘I must admit the idea of the Gothic ruin intrigues me. Would you object if I made one of your party, too, ma’am?’

‘Not at all, my dear, I am very pleased that you have decided to join us.’

They had now reached a section of the gravel path that had become seriously overgrown and was only wide enough for them to pass one at a time. Phyllida stood back to allow Lady Wakefield to precede her, but as she picked her way along the narrow path her spine tingled with the knowledge that Richard Arrandale was at her back. She heard his voice close behind.

‘So you did not originally intend to join the party to Farleigh Castle,’ he said. ‘What made you change your mind?’

‘It sounds too delightful to be missed.’

‘I wondered if you were having second thoughts about allowing Miss Tatham to go without you.’

‘Oh, heavens, no. Ellen is very sensible. I would have no worries about her riding out with the Wakefields.’

At least, I would not if you were not one of the party.

Phyllida walked on quickly. Would there come a time when she would have to tell Richard that he must stay away from her stepdaughter? A quiet voice said she should hint him away now, before Ellen lost her heart, but she was very much afraid that hints would not work with Richard Arrandale, not if he had set his heart upon winning the heiress. She must be direct, then. Her mind shied away from such an action, it was not in her nature to confront anyone. She comforted herself by remembering Ellen’s assurances that she had no intention of rushing into marriage, but hard upon the memory came the thought that falling in love was not something one could command. Phyllida mentally braced herself. She would do whatever was necessary to protect Ellen.

The winding path widened and Richard resumed his place between the ladies. They came up with the younger members of their party at the park gates, where Julia and her brother were arguing about who was the best rider. They called upon their mother to adjudicate and the three of them walked ahead into Great Pulteney Street, deep in conversation.

Richard smiled. ‘That leaves me to escort you, ladies. If you will permit?’

Ellen immediately took his proffered arm and Phyllida was obliged to fall in on the other side. She listened with growing unease as Ellen chattered away as if she had known Richard Arrandale for years. The man was so charming and attentive it would be no wonder if he turned Ellen’s head. As soon as there was a break in the conversation Phyllida addressed him.

‘How long are you planning to stay in Bath, Mr Arrandale?’

‘That depends rather upon my great-aunt. She has not been well, you know.’

‘I do know it, but when we took tea on Sunday she assured me she is much recovered now. And with the season here about to begin I feel sure there will be distractions enough to amuse her. However I have no doubt you would find them a little tame, sir.’

‘Why do you say that, Philly?’ cried Ellen. ‘It sounds almost as if you wish Mr Arrandale to leave Bath.’

‘Not at all,’ she replied coolly. ‘I am merely saying that the coming season will provide Lady Hune with more diversions, and she has many friends here, too, so you must not think that she will be without company, Mr Arrandale.’

‘I do not see that anyone would want to leave Bath,’ remarked Ellen. ‘Why, there are concerts and balls, and the shops—the finest outside London, I dare say!’

Richard laughed. ‘When you put it like that, Miss Tatham, I am tempted to remain here all winter.’

No! The idea was intolerable.

Phyllida said quickly, ‘But you have estates of your own, do you not, sir? They must require a great deal of your time.’

‘I have Brookthorn Manor, in Hampshire, but there is nothing there that cannot wait.’ Amusement rippled through his voice. ‘Why, Lady Phyllida, is Miss Tatham correct, are you trying to get rid of me?’

She managed a lighthearted laugh. ‘Not at all, sir.’

‘No, of course she isn’t,’ declared Ellen. ‘Why should she wish to do that?’

‘Why indeed?’ he murmured.

Phyllida risked glancing up and read such amusement in his eyes that she quickly looked away again, her face flaming. Angrily she told herself not to be so foolish. If he knew she was aware of his intentions then so much the better.

* * *

Richard’s lips twitched. Really, Lady Phyllida looked quite delightful when she was blushing and the urge to tease her was almost irresistible. He also felt unusually protective. She was far too young and inexperienced in the ways of the world: how could she hope to protect her stepdaughter from the wolves that were hunting her, himself included? True, she had managed to keep him from having Ellen to himself on this occasion, but she would not always be able to keep him at bay.

The problem was, neither would she be able to keep the other fellows away. And knowing the prize at stake, some of them might prove much more unscrupulous than he. Today Richard had been fortunate. A few coins had elicited the information from her footman that Lady Phyllida was going to Sydney Gardens, and when he had seen Fullingham on his way to Charles Street he had been able to save him the trouble of calling by informing him that Lady Phyllida was not at home.

Remembering Ellen’s wish to see the labyrinth, he had made his way directly to this popular spot only to find Tesford and Cromby were there before him. From their brief conversation he realised that they had also bribed Lady Phyllida’s footman. Devil take it, the fellow would be able to retire from service at the end of the season if this continued! Luckily Richard had intercepted the ladies and persuaded them to take another route away from the labyrinth. Things had gone his way, but he would have to remain vigilant if he was to win the wager and the heiress for himself.

* * *

They had reached Laura Place, where the Wakefields stopped to take their leave. Richard turned to Phyllida.

‘Perhaps, ma’am, you will allow me to escort you and Miss Tatham to Charles Street?’

‘That is very kind of you, Mr Arrandale, but we are not going directly home. I promised Ellen that we would do a little shopping in Milsom Street. To buy ribbons.’

Richard was not surprised at the lady’s response. She suspected his motives and it would be as well if he did not press his suit any further today. He was about to bow and take his leave when he noticed Sir Charles Urmston strolling towards them. He was coming from the direction of Pulteney Bridge but Richard did not doubt that he would turn back to escort the ladies to Milsom Street, given the chance. Richard had no intention of allowing him the opportunity, if he could help it.

He smiled. ‘Then allow me to escort you there. I am very good at choosing ribbons.’

‘Thank you.’ Phyllida shook her head. ‘However, we could not impose upon you any longer today.’

‘Oh, I am sure it could not be an imposition,’ put in Lady Wakefield, who overheard this exchange and had clearly fallen under Richard Arrandale’s spell. ‘I am old-fashioned enough to think it a good thing to have a gentleman’s escort when one walks about town, even in Bath.’

‘Oh, yes, pray do come with us, Mr Arrandale,’ said Ellen, just as Phyllida was about to make a firm denial. ‘I have seen a bonnet that I should like to buy. The milliner told me it is in the latest London fashion but I am not so sure, and I would value your opinion.’

‘Then I shall be happy to give it,’ he responded promptly.

‘There you are then,’ declared Lady Wakefield, smiling. ‘We shall bid you good day, Lady Phyllida.’

Phyllida pressed her lips together, trying to hide her dismay as Lady Wakefield went off with Julia and Adrian. Richard held out his arms.

‘Well, ladies, shall we go on?’

His laughing glance made Phyllida grind her teeth but she had no choice, she must accept gracefully. The alternative would be to face questions from Ellen, questions which she had no intention of answering with Richard Arrandale standing by. Such was her distraction that when they passed Sir Charles Urmston in Argyle Street, her response to his pleasant greeting was no more than a distant nod.

Phyllida said little as they made their way to Milsom Street, allowing Ellen to chatter on. When they reached the milliners Richard accompanied them inside to inspect the bonnet that had caught Ellen’s eye. It was a ruched bronze-satin creation decorated with an overabundance of flowers and tassels. Phyllida declared she thought it far from tasteful, but it was the doubtful look on Richard’s face that made Ellen change her mind and decide the bonnet was not for her after all. Phyllida was relieved, but perturbed by the thought that she should be grateful to Richard Arrandale.

They went on to the haberdashers, where Ellen browsed the rainbow of coloured ribbons that the assistant spread out for her inspection. There was barely room for two people to stand together at the counter and Phyllida hesitated before stepping back to let Richard move in and advise Ellen on her choice. Let that be his reward for dissuading her from buying the unsuitable bonnet.

Phyllida stood out of the way by a side door until Ellen had made her purchase, then she accompanied them out of the shop.

‘Well...’ She smiled. ‘Which ribbon did you decide upon?’

‘This one.’ Ellen opened the package to show Phyllida. ‘I could not decide between this and the primrose but in the end I chose the cornflower blue. Is it not a lovely colour?’ She added in an innocent voice, ‘Mr Arrandale said this matches my eyes.’

Ellen’s laughing glance was somewhat reassuring. Phyllida knew her stepdaughter was not taken in by such compliments. Not yet.

‘And he is right,’ she agreed, keeping her tone cool. ‘Shall we go on?’

They had not gone many yards down Milsom Street when Ellen gave a loud sigh.

‘Is it not always the same? Now that I have left the shop I am sure I should have bought the primrose ribbon as well as the blue.’

‘Well, it is too late to return now,’ said Phyllida. ‘I think it is going to rain. ‘Let us get on now, we can always come back tomorrow.’

Richard stopped.

‘I have an errand of my own to run,’ he said. ‘If you would like to continue with your shopping, I shall catch you up.’

He strode away before they had time to argue. Ellen giggled.

‘I do believe he is going back to buy the primrose ribbon for me.’

‘Oh, I hope not,’ said Phyllida. ‘I really do not wish to be beholden to Mr Arrandale.’

‘For a few pennies’ worth of ribbon?’ declared Ellen. ‘What harm can there be in that?’

‘He is not related to us, Ellen.’

‘But he is related to Lady Hune, who is a great friend of yours,’ argued Ellen.

They walked on, gazing into shop windows, marvelling at the variety of goods available in Bath and before too long Richard caught up with them.

‘Here we are.’ He handed Ellen a small packet. ‘Your primrose ribbons, Miss Tatham. And for you, ma’am,’ He handed a second even smaller package to Phyllida.

Peeping inside she saw a neatly rolled length of dark-green ribbon.

‘I thought of the gown you were wearing the first time I saw you,’ he murmured. ‘The colour became you so well.’ She raised her brows and he quickly corrected himself. ‘The first time I saw you in Bath, I mean.’

‘Oh?’ Ellen was immediately attentive. ‘I did not know you were already acquainted.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Richard nodded. ‘I knew your stepmama at her come-out. We danced together at Almack’s.’

His blue eyes bored into Phyllida, challenging her to contradict him, but in truth she could not speak, for his look heated her blood and sent her imagination skittering towards secret trysts and stolen kisses. Outrageous thoughts that had no place in a chaperon’s mind.

‘Oh, that is famous!’ cried Ellen, ‘Phyllida, why did you not tell me? If that is so I am sure there can be no objection at all to accepting Mr Arrandale’s gifts. I am very grateful for my ribbons, thank you, sir. Philly? Are you not going to thank Mr Arrandale?’

‘Well, Lady Phyllida?’

His eyes continued to hold her gaze, saying so much more than words. In their blue depths gleamed a mixture of amusement and understanding, an invitation for her to share the joke, to accept his friendship. Perhaps even more than that. All of it lies, of course. She had to believe that, or she was lost.

* * *

Richard waited for her answer. It would not have surprised him if she had handed the ribbon back but in the end she thanked him, albeit grudgingly, and they continued on their way. He escorted the ladies to Charles Street, left them at the door and turned to make his way back to Queen Square, well satisfied with his progress.

As soon as they were indoors, Phyllida dashed off to her bedchamber, saying there were letters she must write. She knew Ellen would want know about her acquaintance with Richard Arrandale and she needed to prepare her answers. She kept to her room and was thus able to avoid saying anything at all until after dinner.

When they were alone in the drawing room, Ellen placed a footstool before Phyllida’s chair and sat down upon it.

‘Now,’ she said, taking Phyllida’s hands, ‘why did you not tell me you and Mr Arrandale were old friends?’

‘We are not,’ Phyllida replied. ‘We are acquaintances, merely.’

‘But he says you danced together. Did you know him before you met Papa?’

‘I met them at the same time. It was my come-out. One dances with a lot of gentlemen in one’s first Season, as you will discover when we go to town next year.’

Ellen was not to be distracted. ‘And was Mr Arrandale as handsome as he is now?’

Phyllida had been managing rather well to stay calm and matter of fact, but this question caught her off guard. Her cheeks burned. She had not blushed for years, but these days she could not stop!

‘I—I suppose he must have been. I really cannot remember.’

But she could. She recalled every painful, tongue-tied moment she had spent with him. He had been charmingly polite, while she had been unable to do more than utter one or two stilted sentences.

‘I knew it!’ Ellen clapped her hands. ‘You fell in love with him!’

‘I did not!’

‘Then why are you blushing?’

Phyllida managed to laugh. ‘I was remembering what a gauche, awkward creature I was in those days.’ That much at least was true. ‘Now, Ellen, it is most improper for you to quiz me on this. As I told you, a girl in her first Season meets a lot of gentlemen but once she is married she forgets them all. I was very happy with your father, and I hope he was happy with me.’

‘But it was not a love match, was it?’ Ellen persisted. ‘I was only twelve years old at the time but I remember people saying so.’

‘Not everyone marries for love, Ellen, and not every family is as happy as we were at Tatham Park.’

Phyllida thought back to her own childhood. She was a younger daughter and not particularly pretty. She had also been painfully shy and constantly afraid of incurring her parents’ displeasure. It had been a relief when Sir Evelyn had offered for her and by the time her parents died two years later she was happily settled with Sir Evelyn. At his coaxing she had left off the pale pinks and blues her mother had chosen for her and given up the nightly ritual of tying up her hair in rags to produce a mass of unbecoming ringlets. Now she wore her hair swept up smoothly with only a few soft curls falling on to her neck. Sir Evelyn had given her a great deal, including confidence.

She said now, ‘Be assured that I was much more comfortable with your father than I had ever been at home.’

‘That is because they bullied you,’ replied Ellen. ‘Did they force you to marry Papa?’

‘Not at all, but I was expected to marry well.’

‘Well, that is quite, quite Gothic,’ declared Ellen. ‘I shall not allow anyone to force me into marriage.’

She looked so absurdly young that Phyllida smiled. She squeezed her hands.

‘I hope when the time comes you will fall in love, Ellen, but I also hope you will not be in too much of a hurry to do so.’

‘Oh, no. I am enjoying myself far too much to think of such things yet.’

Phyllida was relieved to hear this, but she did not say so and turned Ellen’s thoughts by asking her what she intended to wear to the Italian concert the following evening.

* * *

To Phyllida’s secret pride, Ellen was proving to be universally popular. The house in Charles Street was besieged by visitors and there were entertainments every day. It was becoming clear that several gentlemen were vying for Ellen’s attention, including Richard Arrandale, and Phyllida was relieved, if a little surprised, that the other young ladies of Bath were not more jealous of her success. However, she was perturbed to see how much attention the gentlemen lavished upon Ellen and could only be glad that her stepdaughter appeared to take it all in her stride.

Phyllida insisted that Ellen should be chaperoned at all times. When the party comprised young people under the aegis of careful mamas like Mrs Desborough or Lady Wakefield Phyllida was happy to allow Ellen to go unattended, but at the public breakfasts and dances Phyllida was always there to ensure no gentleman stepped out of line. As an heiress, Phyllida had always known Ellen would attract attention, but there were a number of married men amongst her admirers, and that was a puzzle.

Her puzzlement turned to concern when they attended the recital at the Assembly Rooms the evening following their walk in Sydney Gardens and Phyllida returned from a break for refreshments to find her stepdaughter in an antechamber with Mr Cromby. The gentleman was holding Ellen’s hand and paying her the most fulsome compliments. Phyllida lost no time in carrying Ellen away, but when she remonstrated with Ellen later she merely laughed.

‘We were only a step away from the main room, Philly. You really did not need to worry. We had gentlemen far older than Mr Cromby flirting with us at Mrs Ackroyd’s Academy.’

‘That is not the point,’ objected Phyllida, despairing. ‘Bath is a hotbed of gossip and you will do your reputation no good at all if people think you fast.’

In no wise chastened, Ellen threw her arms about Phyllida and hugged her.

‘Very well, I will try to behave, for your sake, darling Stepmama. But I do enjoy being the centre of so much attention!’

* * *

There was no doubt that Ellen was indeed in demand. The parties and entertainments, together with Ellen’s dancing, singing and Italian lessons, gave Phyllida little time for leisure. Ellen thrived upon the activity and Phyllida made sure she was always accompanied whenever she stepped out of the door. However, she soon discovered that even the presence of Ellen’s maid did not keep Richard Arrandale away. She was in the morning room waiting for Ellen to return from her dancing lesson when she saw him pass the window with Ellen on his arm. He left Ellen at the door but Phyllida watched in growing alarm as he raised Ellen’s fingers to his lips before striding away.

Phyllida was dismayed at her reaction to this gesture but she was honest enough to admit that the emotion uppermost in her was envy. She stifled it immediately, composing herself as Ellen burst into the morning room with her sunny smile quite undimmed.

‘Did I see Mr Arrandale at the door with you?’ Phyllida kept her voice light, determined not to show undue anxiety.

‘Yes. We met in Wood Street and he insisted upon escorting me home. Was that not kind of him?’

‘Yes, very.’

She said no more at the time, but as the conversation moved on Phyllida knew she must speak to Matlock about the matter.

* * *

However, when she did so Matty’s response was typically blunt.

‘What would you have me do, my lady? Miss Ellen greeted him like a friend and I could hardly forbid him to walk with us. And even if it had been in my power I would not have done so, for nothing is more certain to make a spirited girl want something than to tell her she can’t have it.’

Phyllida nodded. ‘I am well aware of that, Matlock. And Miss Ellen is definitely spirited.’

‘But nothing untoward happened,’ added the maid. ‘I can assure you of that, ma’am. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised in Mr Arrandale, after all I had heard about the man.’

‘Oh, Matty, pray do not tell me you are falling under his spell, too.’

The older woman gave a grim little smile.

‘No, no, I’m too long in the tooth to be taken in by a handsome face, my lady, but credit where ’tis due, the gentleman never said anything out o’ place while he was escorting Miss Ellen. And he made no attempt to lower his voice to avoid my hearing it, either.’

‘Well, perhaps there is some good in the man, after all,’ murmured Phyllida, but she added, her suspicions not completely allayed, ‘Or perhaps he is playing a deep game.’

Chapter Five

Phyllida had still not made up her mind about Richard Arrandale by the time they rode to Farleigh the following Monday. Her groom Parfett brought the horses around from the livery stables, warning that they were very lively since they had not been ridden for some time. Phyllida was soon in control of Sultan, her own rangy chestnut gelding, but she watched anxiously as Ellen’s spirited grey mare pranced and sidestepped playfully.

‘No need to worry about Miss Ellen,’ said Parfett, observing Phyllida’s frown. ‘You know there wasn’t a horse in her father’s stable she couldn’t master. She’s at home to a peg.’

As if to prove him correct, the mare quickly grew quiet under Ellen’s confident handling and they set off to meet up with the rest of the party at Laura Place, where they found the Wakefields already mounted and waiting for them.

‘Our little riding party has grown to nine, Lady Phyllida,’ Lady Wakefield greeted her with a cheerful smile. She waved her hand towards the pretty brunette talking with Julia and Adrian. ‘Mrs Desborough has allowed Penelope to join us, and Mr Henry Fullingham came up to me just yesterday and begged to be allowed to join us. Here he comes now, with Mr Arrandale.’

Phyllida looked back to see the two gentlemen approaching. Surely it was not merely her fancy that of the two men, Richard had the advantage? It was not only his superior height, nor the way his blue riding coat moulded to his form. He looked relaxed and at home in the saddle, completely in control of the powerful black hunter he was riding. She thought it could not be a livery-stable horse, and this was soon confirmed when Mr Arrandale rode up to Lady Wakefield as the party prepared to set off.

‘I do not know the country,’ he said. ‘Will we be able to give the horses their heads? I was going to hire a hack, but in the end I sent for my hunter. He has been eating his head off at Brookthorn Manor and could do with the exercise.’

‘There are a couple of places one can gallop, although Wakefield and I will not do so,’ replied the lady. ‘And I should warn you that Miss Desborough and Julia are rather nervous riders, so I pray you will not encourage them to join you.’

Phyllida knew Ellen was anything but nervous and would undoubtedly wish to gallop across the country with the gentlemen. She made up her mind that if Lord and Lady Wakefield would not accompany them, then it would be up to her to do so. She patted Sultan’s glossy neck, reflecting that neither she nor her mount would consider it a penance to career across the countryside.

They rode out of Bath at a sedate pace. Mr Fullingham and Mr Arrandale both looked as if they would like to ride with Ellen but she remained happily between Phyllida and Penelope Desborough. Phyllida considered the picture they must make. Penelope’s plum-coloured habit was sober enough, but Ellen’s sky-blue velvet with its matching hat was quite eye-catching, and there was no doubt that the colour accentuated her flawless complexion and shining curls. Phyllida thought her own dove-grey habit must look very dull by comparison and was obliged to stifle a pang of regret. She felt a little envious, then scolded herself for such nonsense. As a girl she would never have been confident enough to choose bright colours, even if Mama had allowed it. She glanced again at her kerseymere skirts. She was out of mourning now, there was no reason why she shouldn’t order a new riding habit. Something a little more...showy.

What on earth am I thinking? I am Ellen’s chaperon. I do not wish to draw attention to myself.

But at that moment her gaze fell upon Richard Arrandale and she knew that she was not being quite honest. Phyllida glanced again at her stepdaughter. Ellen was looking particularly lovely today, her eyes sparkling, her countenance so animated that Phyllida thought no man would be able to resist the attraction. She would have to keep her under close scrutiny. She passed the gentlemen in the party under quick review. Lord Wakefield and his son posed no threat, she decided, but Messrs Fullingham and Arrandale were a different matter. They were both fashionable men with considerable address and Phyllida had no intention of allowing either of them to spend time alone with Ellen.

* * *

This was not a problem until they reached the first stretch of open ground where Lord Wakefield indicated it would be safe to gallop.

‘Our route lies along the road here,’ explained Lady Wakefield, ‘so those of us who do not wish to race may walk on at a respectable pace. The rest of you may gallop over to that copse yonder and back again.’

‘But there will be no racing,’ Lord Wakefield reminded them.

‘Actually I think I will remain on the road,’ said his son, drawing closer to Penelope Desborough.

Lord Wakefield turned his attention to the other two gentlemen. ‘We have a long way to go,’ he barked. ‘I do not want to be turning back because one of you young dogs has broken his neck.’

He frowned so direfully at Mr Fullingham that the young man flushed.

‘No, no, sir. Wouldn’t dream of it.’ His glance flickered towards Ellen who was trotting up. ‘Especially when we will have ladies with us.’

‘Oh, do not hold back for me, I want no special treatment,’ replied Ellen, laughing.

‘Your stepmama may not agree with you,’ said Lord Wakefield.

Ellen looked around, her brows rising when she saw Phyllida approaching. ‘Oh, are you coming with us Philly?’

The surprise in her tone irked Phyllida and roused a tiny spurt of rebellion.

‘Coming with you?’ She kicked her horse on. ‘Catch me if you can!’

Sultan was fresh and leapt forward without a second bidding. Phyllida heard the cry of delight from Ellen and a startled call from Lady Wakefield for her to take care but she ignored them both. She felt suddenly, gloriously free as the gelding flew across the turf. She glanced behind. Three riders were following, Ellen’s grey mare galloping beside Mr Fullingham’s bay but in front of them and closing fast upon her was Richard Arrandale on the black hunter. Phyllida turned back, crouching lower over Sultan’s neck, urging the horse on. She could hear the hunter thundering up behind her. The copse was approaching all too quickly, but she did not want to rein in Sultan. Her only relief during her year of mourning and self-imposed exile at Tatham Park had been her early morning gallops. She had missed them when she had come to Bath and now she wanted the feeling of excitement to go on for ever.

‘Don’t pull up,’ Richard shouted. ‘We’ll go on to the barn yonder!’

It was madness. She was setting a poor example to Ellen, but with the wind in her face and the exhilaration of the ride firing her blood, Phyllida could not resist prolonging the race. She touched her whip to Sultan’s flank and they shot past the copse and on towards the barn in the distance. Above the thud of Sultan’s hoofs she was aware of the hunter closing up. The black nose was at her shoulder. She pushed Sultan on, urging him to make one last effort and they thundered past the barn neck and neck.

The horses slowed and Phyllida straightened in the saddle, unable to hold back a laugh of sheer delight.

‘Impressive, Lady Phyllida.’ Richard had brought his hunter alongside and was grinning at her. ‘And unexpected.’

She met his eyes, still exhilarated by the race. The glowing, soaring elation intensified when she saw the admiration in his glance. She could not stop smiling at him. They were very close, his muscled thigh encased in tight buckskin was so near that she might reach out to touch it. Phyllida was startled to realise how much she wanted to do so. How much she wanted him.

The urge to smile disappeared. In a panic she dragged her gaze away and stared determinedly between Sultan’s ears.

She said remorsefully, ‘It was very bad of me. Lord Wakefield expressly forbade us to race. And then to extend it here, out of sight of the road.’ The pleasure of the moment had subsided and she bit her lip, suddenly mortified at her lack of decorum.

‘Console yourself with the fact that the others did not follow us,’ said Richard. ‘They are obediently waiting at the copse even now. Shall we go back?’

‘I suppose we must.’

His look was searching as they turned about and Phyllida realised she had sounded quite regretful. Heavens, she hoped he did not misunderstand her and think she wanted to keep him by her side. She rushed into an explanation.

‘It is a long time since Sultan has raced against another horse. When Sir Evelyn died the family thought it would be best to sell all the horses except Sultan and Ellen’s mare.’

‘Surely that was your decision?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

And it had been her decision, but she could acknowledge now the pressure that had been brought to bear, while she was still coming to terms with her loss. It was not just from Sir Evelyn’s family, but her own, too. She had been brought up to believe that a man must be head of the family and his word was law, that she should always bow to his will, but marriage had changed her. She had enjoyed being mistress of her own house and had grown more confident under Sir Evelyn’s benevolent protection. He had encouraged her to think for herself.

Her parents had died by the time Phyllida became a widow, but her family had descended upon her, discussing with Sir Evelyn’s relatives what would be best for her and it had taken all her newfound strength to stand out against them. Thank goodness she had not allowed them to persuade her to give up Sultan, or to sell Tatham Park.

* * *

Richard was silent, watching the play of emotion on Lady Phyllida’s countenance. The excited glow died from her eyes and her cheeks lost their hectic flush. He thought there was a shadow of sadness about her. She was thinking back to her dead husband, perhaps. Did she miss him? Had she loved him?

Richard shifted in the saddle, uncomfortable with the thought. A sudden and unfamiliar feeling swept through him. He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe. To make her happy.

* * *

The others were waiting for them at the copse, keeping their horses in the shade of the trees. As Phyllida and Richard approached Ellen called out, ‘Philly, are you all right? When I saw you racing on I wanted to follow but Mr Fullingham thought we should wait here, since this is where we agreed to stop.’

‘We were afraid Sultan had bolted with you,’ added Mr Fullingham.

‘No such thing,’ said Richard. ‘We were enjoying the race and decided to go on.’ He glanced at Phyllida. ‘It was my fault, and I beg your pardon.’

‘I knew you were in no danger, Philly,’ said Ellen comfortably. ‘You were always a clipping rider, I had forgotten just how good you are!’

Phyllida chuckled and shook her head. ‘It was most irresponsible of me, but I cannot deny that I enjoyed it.’

Ellen looked back towards the road. ‘I think we should be getting back to the others. I am not sure how much they will have seen...’

‘Not the race to the barn,’ said Richard. ‘That would have been screened by the copse.’

Ellen giggled. ‘Then we shall not tell them how reprehensibly you both behaved.’

‘Thank you,’ said Phyllida meekly.

‘And it has done you good, Philly,’ Ellen continued. ‘I have never seen you looking better.’

Richard grinned. He had to agree, Lady Phyllida was looking radiant. She had surprised him and he thought that perhaps she was not such a mouse after all. He fell in with the others, but as he did so he caught Henry Fullingham’s eye and the fellow winked at him. Richard’s jaw tightened and he cursed inwardly. By allowing himself to gallop off with the widow he had left the field free for Fullingham to advance his cause with Ellen Tatham. And if that smug expression was anything to go by, he had taken full advantage of it.

* * *

Richard hoped for an opportunity to draw Ellen away as they continued towards Farleigh but she fell in beside her stepmother. Phyllida’s unexpected escapade had clearly impressed her and the two ladies rode together, laughing and chattering. Watching them, and listening to them reminisce about past rides and excursions, Richard was again struck by Phyllida’s youthfulness. She could only have been about Ellen’s age when Sir Evelyn had married her. She and Ellen were obviously good friends and he wondered if that had been a comfort to the young bride in the early days of her marriage.

* * *

The question was still in his head when he finally managed to ride beside Ellen, and instead of taking the opportunity to engage her in a gentle flirtation he remarked that she appeared to be on very good terms with her stepmother.

‘Yes. Philly has always been much more like an older sister than a mama to me.’

She turned her head and regarded him for a moment with unwonted seriousness. ‘I would do nothing to hurt her, Mr Arrandale.’

‘I am sure you would not.’ He added, surprising himself, ‘I hope that will always be the case, because it might well prevent you from getting into any serious scrapes.’

She thought about this for a moment.

‘Sometimes I think I am much more worldly-wise than Philly. In fact, I have decided to promote her happiness.’

His lips twitched. ‘And how do you propose to do that, Miss Tatham?’

The solemn look fled and she shook her head, eyes gleaming with mischief.

‘I shall not tell you. It is always best to play one’s cards close to one’s chest, is it not?’

He frowned. ‘Now where did you learn that expression?’

‘From my teacher, Mrs Ackroyd. She explained to us about games of chance. Cards, and dice and the like.’

‘Ah, I did not think you would have heard Lady Phyllida say such a thing.’

‘Goodness, no. Sometimes I think Philly needs me to look after her, not the other way round.’

Before he could respond, a call from Lord Wakefield informed them that they had reached Farleigh and the party reorganised itself to ride up the drive to the house. They were met at the door by the housekeeper, who confirmed that the family were not at home but that refreshments were waiting for them, if they would care to step inside for a little while before they inspected what was left of the castle and the chapel.

Phyllida moved closer to Ellen. She had observed her talking to Richard during the ride, seen the looks, brimful with laughter, that Ellen had thrown at him and she had been conscious of a strong feeling of desolation. It had formed itself into a hard, unhappy knot deep inside. Phyllida wanted to snatch Ellen away but that would do no good at all. She was Ellen’s chaperon, not her gaoler, and would never prevent her merely talking to a gentleman. So she entered the house beside Lady Wakefield and left the younger ones to chatter together while they enjoyed the cold collation that had been set out for their delectation.

* * *

Afterwards, when they went off to look at the ruins of the castle, she made no attempt to keep Ellen at her side, but watched her scamper off with the other girls. Adrian, Mr Fullingham and Richard Arrandale accompanied the group to help them over the uneven ground while Phyllida followed a short distance behind with Lord Wakefield and his lady.

‘Oh, dear,’ murmured Lady Wakefield when the breeze brought snatches of the young people’s conversation floating back to them, ‘Adrian is recounting the castle’s gruesome history. Should we tell him to stop? I would not wish him to give the girls nightmares.’

‘Do not silence him on Ellen’s account,’ replied Phyllida, thinking of the copy of The Monk currently secreted in her stepdaughter’s bedchamber, ‘She will enjoy the horrid stories immensely.’

‘As will Julia and Penelope,’ added Lord Wakefield, with a complacent chuckle. ‘Do not worry, ladies, the children will not come to any harm here.’

Phyllida wondered if that were true, but she soon saw that the young ladies were much more interested in clambering over the ruins and listening to Adrian Wakefield’s blood-curdling tales than in dalliance with any of the gentlemen.

* * *

There was little to see of the castle except the gatehouse and what remained of the thick walls. The rest was merely piles of rubble, much of it overgrown, but this did not prevent the younger members of the party from scrambling around like excited children.

‘Which is what they are,’ remarked Lady Wakefield, watching them with smiling indulgence. ‘The girls are barely out of the schoolroom and Adrian is only a couple of years their senior. I wish I had their energy! The ride and then the refreshments have left me feeling quite languid, so Wakefield and I are going to find a convenient stone block to sit upon, Lady Phyllida, if you would like to stay with us?’

Phyllida declined gracefully. She was not at all fatigued by the ride and glad to have some time to herself. She wandered off, enjoying the solitude. She loved Ellen dearly, but having responsibility for such a pretty girl, and an heiress at that, was proving more arduous than she had thought. Having spent the past year living on her own at Tatham Park she had thought having Ellen to live with her would provide her with the companionship she had lacked since Sir Evelyn’s death, and it did, but Phyllida knew now that it was not enough. Ellen was not a kindred spirit, they could not converse upon equal terms, because Phyllida could never forget that Ellen was her responsibility.

She did not regret taking Ellen to live with her and she would devote herself now to looking after her. But later, when Ellen was married and she could look to her own happiness, what then? Perhaps she should marry again. Sir Evelyn had proved himself a kind and considerate husband but Phyllida knew that only the deepest love would make her give up her independence now, and ladies who had reached the advanced age of four-and-twenty did not readily fall in love, did they? The question hovered and impatiently she closed her mind to it. The future must look after itself. She was comfortably situated and had sufficient funds to do whatever she wished.

Such as wandering around ruined castles all alone?

Yes, she told herself firmly, and set off to prove it was possible.

* * *

The area adjoining the gatehouse was now a farmyard so Phyllida made her way in the opposite direction, where trees and bushes obscured what was left of the thick curtain wall. Stones from the ancient building were scattered around, making the ground uneven and she gathered up her voluminous skirts to avoid snagging them on the rampant vegetation.

‘Exploring, Lady Phyllida?’

Richard Arrandale was coming towards her. She quickly dropped her skirts, but not before she was sure he had glimpsed her stockings and half-boots.

And what of it? No doubt he has seen scores of ladies’ ankles in his career.

She told him, ‘I wanted, if I could, to discover something of the size of the castle.’

‘It is quite extensive. Here, take my hand and let me help you over these stones. We may find the path a little easier further on.’

‘Perhaps I should be getting back. Ellen—’

‘Miss Tatham is safely under the eye of the Wakefields,’ he replied. ‘And Fullingham has taken himself off to smoke a cigar.’ He said solemnly, ‘You are at liberty to enjoy yourself, Lady Phyllida.’

Tentatively she put out her hand. As his fingers closed around her glove she felt his thumb moving over the soft leather. The slow sensual strokes made her want to purr and she had to struggle to ignore it. He led her on through the ruins, pointing out portions of carved stone amongst the rubble and the outline of walls that were now no more than ridges in the ground.

‘You are very well informed, Mr Arrandale.’ She cast a suspicious look up at him. ‘When Lady Wakefield told you of this excursion you gave the impression you had not been here before.’

‘Did I?’

She stopped. His expression was innocent enough but there was laughter in his eyes. She said severely, ‘You know very well you did.’

He laughed.

‘Very well, I admit it. My great-aunt brought me here several times when I was younger. I explored the ruins then.’

‘Oh? Did all your family visit here?’

‘Good God, no. My father would have thought this place beneath him. He and my mother were too busy enjoying themselves in town to bother with their children.’

She tried to ignore the bitterness in his response.

‘Did your brother come here too?’

‘No. By the time I visited here Wolf was at Oxford, causing mayhem.’

‘Ah.’ She smiled. ‘The Scandalous Arrandales.’

‘Quite. However, unlike me, he wasn’t sent down. He saved his disgrace for something far more serious.’

He looked so grim that she could not prevent herself from squeezing his hand.

‘I am very sorry.’

‘You need not be.’

He spoke roughly and she knew he wanted to pull away from her. It was an almost imperceptible movement but she was aware of it and immediately she released him. He took a couple of paces towards one of the low stretches of wall rising up through the grass and rested one booted foot upon the stones.

He said with feigned carelessness, ‘It gives one a certain...standing, don’t you know, to have a murderer for a brother. I attracted all the choicest spirits at Oxford, most of ’em older, all of them ripe for mischief. I did not last a year before they kicked me out.’

‘Why, what did you do?’ The question was voiced before she could prevent it.

‘Gambling, drinking. Women. Then I moved on to London, where I found even more of the same pleasures to be enjoyed.’ His mouth twisted. ‘After all, I had to maintain the family reputation. Although I stopped short of murder.’

Her heart went out to him.

‘I do not believe the Arrandales are as black as they are painted. As for your brother—it was a long time ago but I know the whispers, the rumours, continue.’ She tried to smile. ‘They are probably much worse than what actually happened.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Would you like to tell me?’

She spoke the words softly and wondered if he had heard them for he ignored her, idly swiping at a thistle with his riding crop. Phyllida waited and eventually her patient silence was rewarded.

‘I am no better informed than you about how my sister-in-law died. I was spending that winter with my great-aunt at Shrewton and my parents decided it would be best if I remained in ignorance of what had happened. Of course that state of affairs could not last, Sophia’s acquaintances soon informed her of the situation and she took me back to Arrandale but by then it was too late. Florence, my sister-in-law, had been dead three months and my brother was gone.’

He turned and began to stroll on. She fell in beside him.

‘How did she die?’

‘Fell down the stairs. Florence was pregnant at the time and the fall brought on the birth. The child survived but Florence died that night. Everyone thought Wolf had killed her. Oh, the death was recorded as an accident, my father saw to that. After all he’d had plenty of practice covering up his own transgressions.’ His lip curled. ‘I come from a family of wrongdoers, Lady Phyllida. My family history is littered with murder, abduction and thievery, the stories of Farleigh Castle pale in comparison. Wolf was merely following the family tradition.’

She shook her head, but did not contradict him, merely asked what had happened to his brother.

‘My father sent Wolf abroad immediately after the tragedy. Then Florence’s parents demanded the return of a diamond necklace. It was a family treasure, apparently, to be passed to the heir, in this case Florence’s twin, but she had borrowed it for her wedding and had kept it to wear on grand occasions. Only it wasn’t there. It would seem that Wolf took it to pay his way abroad.’

‘And do you believe that?’

His scornful glance scorched her.

‘Does it matter what I believe? My father refused to talk of it. I was sent back to Shrewton Lodge with a tutor to finish my schooling, then I was packed off to Oxford and by the following spring my parents were dead. Officially it was scarlet fever, there had been a particularly bad outbreak at Arrandale, but I think it was more likely the shame of it all that overcame them, at least for my mother.’

‘Or the heartbreak,’ she murmured sadly, thinking of how the tragedy must have ripped apart the family. ‘What happened to the baby?’

‘It was a girl. When my parents died she was sent to live with a distant cousin, the Earl of Davenport.’ A wry smile broke through for a moment. ‘Another Arrandale, but James is as sober as the rest of us are dissolute and he was thought the best guardian for the girl. He has a daughter of the same age, so it was deemed the best thing to do with the child.’

‘And Wolfgang? Where is your brother now?’

He spread his hands. ‘We never heard from him again. I made enquiries, hired men to search for him, sent letters.’ A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘It may be that he did not want to be found. Or he may well have been drowned on the crossing to France, there were some exceptionally vicious storms that winter.’

‘How sad, that he never had a chance to explain himself.’

Richard stopped.

‘I desperately want him to be innocent,’ he burst out. ‘Wolf is seven years my senior and I always looked up to him. Oh, I know he was hot tempered and rash, but he was never unkind, not intentionally. And I really cannot believe—’

He broke off. Phyllida saw the muscle working in his cheek. He was wrestling with profound grief and she wanted only to comfort him.

‘You really should believe he is innocent, Mr Arrandale, until it is proven otherwise.’

He did not answer. He did not appear to have heard her but remained staring at nothing, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Unhappiness wrapped about him like a cloak and there was nothing she could do to relieve it. A small cloud momentarily blocked out the sun and Phyllida shivered. The faint movement recalled his wandering attention. He was once again his usual, urbane self.

‘You have not yet seen the chapel, Lady Phyllida. Perhaps we should go back there now, if you have seen enough?’

He extended his arm.

‘Yes, please.’ She slipped her hand on to his sleeve. ‘These broken walls have lost their charm for me.’

* * *

As they made their way back across the ruins she noted that Lord and Lady Wakefield were still sitting on their stone seat. Ellen, Penelope and the two younger Wakefields were exploring what was left of the gatehouse. She eased her conscience with the thought that she was keeping Richard Arrandale away from Ellen. Wasn’t she?

* * *

The little chapel was built within the curtain wall of the castle and had been restored sufficiently for visitors to go inside. Richard stood back for Phyllida to pass before him into the narrow building. Odd that he had told her about Wolf. He had never said as much to anyone before. After all, what was the point? Everyone believed Wolf was guilty, he was just another in the long line of scandalous Arrandales. So why had he spoken so freely to Phyllida? Was it because she had seemed genuinely interested, prepared to think something other than the worst of an Arrandale?

Richard followed her into the centre of the chapel. Her soft boots made no sound on the stone flags, her skirts floated out as she moved, a silent figure in pale grey. She looked so ethereal that he could not help himself. He reached out and touched her shoulder. She turned and he found himself subjected to her enquiring gaze.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘I needed to reassure myself that you were real.’

‘Of course I am real.’ Her mouth curved into a smile. ‘Did you think me a ghost?’

‘No, an angel.’

An angel sent to redeem him.

She was surprised into a laugh. The warm, delicious sound echoed around them, breaking the sepulchral calm of the stone building. Quickly she put a hand over her mouth but her eyes still gleamed with merriment, green as emeralds. His blood quickened. She no longer looked ethereal, she was a living, breathing woman and he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her.

He was aware of the change immediately and he knew she had read his thoughts. Her eyes were no longer alight with laughter but something else, an instinctive response to him. He felt the connection, the sizzle of excitement that held them immobile. They were less than an arm’s length apart, beneath her mannish jacket and white shirt her breast rose and fell as she took a deep, ragged breath. When she lowered her hand he reached for it, felt the quiver of excitement as their fingers touched, not in the least dulled by the soft kid of their gloves. They were caught in a bubble that tightened around them, moving them slowly but inexorably together.

The air shimmered with anticipation. He saw the tip of her tongue flicker nervously over her lips, as if she knew that they would kiss, that it was inevitable and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Looking into her eyes, he saw a shy smile there and he knew with startling clarity that she did not wish to prevent it. He was holding her hand, drawing her closer. They were breast to breast, he had only to lower his head now for the sweetness of a first kiss from those full, inviting lips.

* * *

Laughter, the chatter of familiar voices intruded upon the silence, breaking the spell. Phyllida jumped back, shaken. She felt very much as she did when she dreamed of falling and awoke with a start. What was she doing, standing so close to this man, wanting him to kiss her? She forced herself to turn away, to face the door where the Wakefields now appeared, the others crowding in behind them. Thankfully they all stopped in the doorway, blinking as their eyes grew accustomed to the dim light and that gave her the opportunity to recover herself and school her face into a semblance of calm.

‘Why, Lady Phyllida, you are here before us. We thought you were still wandering through the ruins.’

She forced herself to acknowledge Lady Wakefield’s cheerful greeting, to smile and make a suitable reply. The moment was gone, the small chapel was now full of people and noise. Phyllida linked her arm with Ellen’s and accompanied her around the small church, admiring the ancient tomb and the arched window with its elegant tracery. She did not look back at Richard. She could hear his voice, cool and steady with just a hint of amusement, but in her mind’s eye she recalled his face when they had stood alone in the chapel. The blaze of passion that had set her heart racing and then something quite different when they were interrupted. The look of shock, of horror, at what had almost occurred.

* * *

They did not tarry in the chapel and soon the party made its way back to the stables to collect the horses. Henry Fullingham was waiting for them, sitting on a mounting block and chatting with Parfett and Lady Wakefield’s groom. Phyllida blinked. She had not even noticed he was not with the others. To be honest she had noticed very little since that moment alone with Richard in the chapel. She heard Lady Wakefield murmur to her husband as they followed Phyllida into the stable yard.

‘If you were to ask me, Mr Fullingham is not at all interested in the romantic ruins.’

‘I quite agree, my dear,’ chuckled Lord Wakefield. ‘He lounged off in a sulk when it was clear the girls preferred Adrian’s ghoulish tales to his flirting. And look now, if he was hoping to help any young lady on to her horse he is foiled again, for the grooms are there before him!’

Lady Wakefield turned to Phyllida, saying as they watched the younger ones mounting up, ‘Well, ma’am, are you glad you came?’

‘I have enjoyed it very much, ma’am. I am grateful to you for arranging it.’

‘Thanks, too, should go to Lady Hune for her introduction,’ put in Lord Wakefield. ‘Without it I doubt our reception would have been quite so hospitable. The refreshments were truly exceptional. Pray, Mr Arrandale, tell Lady Hune we are obliged to her, when you get back to Royal Crescent.’

Phyllida had been lost in her own thoughts and had not realised Richard was so close. He had filled her thoughts and now the unexpected sight of him at her shoulder caught her unawares. The erratic beat of her heart disturbed her breathing. She was obliged to concentrate very hard to prevent herself from simpering and blushing like a schoolgirl when he asked if he might help her into the saddle.

She accepted in as dignified a manner as she could manage, trying not to think how strong he must be to throw her up so effortlessly. She forced herself to appear calm and unruffled while he checked the girth and adjusted her stirrup but her nerves were still on edge. She could not prevent her thoughts from racing ahead. What if he helped her down when they reached Charles Street? She would slide into his arms. They would envelop her, of course, and hold her close while he smiled down at her. His eyes would be gleaming with tender amusement and that would draw from her an answering smile before he bent his head and...and...

‘We must behave ourselves on the return journey, Lady Phyllida.’

Richard’s quiet words made her jump guiltily. He was standing beside Sultan, one hand resting on the gelding’s neck and only inches from her knee. She looked down at him, dazed, and saw just such laughter in his eyes as she had imagined. It stirred something deep inside her, something that disturbed and excited her in equal measure.

From across the yard Ellen called out with mock severity, ‘Indeed you must, Stepmama. Such a bad example you would be setting us!’

Phyllida was at a loss to answer her. She knew Ellen was referring to the madcap race across the turf, but she was aware that in the chapel she had come perilously close to being discovered locked in an embrace with Richard Arrandale. The look of smiling understanding in that gentleman’s eyes compounded her confusion. There was such warmth, such friendship in his glance that she could not resist smiling back at him, but as they set off on the long ride back she regained command of her senses and forced herself to face the depressing reality of the situation. Richard Arrandale had no interest in her, he was merely trying to put her at her ease in order to advance his pursuit of Ellen.

Chapter Six

The afternoon was well advanced by the time they rode into Bath and the party broke up in Laura Place.

‘What a delightful day,’ exclaimed Ellen. ‘Thank you so much for inviting me, Lady Wakefield.’

‘It was a pleasure to have you with us, my dear.’ Lady Wakefield’s smile encompassed everyone. ‘I think we all enjoyed it.’

‘Well, Lady Phyllida?’ Richard brought his horse alongside Sultan. ‘Did you enjoy yourself?’

She had had time to regain her composure and now answered cautiously, ‘The castle was well worth seeing.’

‘But originally you did not intend joining the party. Why did you change your mind?’

‘Does there have to be a reason?’ she parried lightly.

‘Well, I am very glad you did come,’ he said. ‘I have enjoyed renewing our acquaintance, my lady.’

Her brows went up.

‘Trying to turn me up sweet, Mr Arrandale?’

He grinned. ‘Could I do so?’

‘Never.’ She was in control of herself now, and felt confident enough to add, ‘I am no longer a shy ingénue, sir, to be impressed by your blandishments.’

She inclined her head, dismissing him, and walked Sultan across to where Ellen was taking her leave of Julia and her family. A brief word with Lady Wakefield and she drew her stepdaughter away, saying it was time they went home.

‘Oh,’ said Ellen. ‘Perhaps Mr Arrandale and Mr Fullingham would like to—’

‘No, I think not. We have imposed upon them quite long enough today. Good day, gentlemen.’ Phyllida’s voice was firm, she would brook no argument.

Richard touched his hat as they rode past him and once he had taken his leave of the Wakefields he was left with only Henry Fullingham for company. They turned their horses and made their way together towards Pulteney Bridge. Fullingham chuckled.

‘Well, I am indebted to you today, Arrandale. In trying to ingratiate yourself with the mother you left the field clear for me to cut you out with the heiress.’

‘Perhaps that was my intention,’ drawled Richard. ‘I knew she would soon grow weary of your inane chatter.’

‘Not a bit of it. Miss Tatham was as friendly as can be.’

‘Not when we were at the castle,’ Richard pointed out.

Fullingham scowled at him.

‘Not then, perhaps, but on the ride there and back she was clearly delighted with my company. Urmston’s right, she is a ripe plum, ready for plucking.’

‘Do not be too sure. There is a sharp intelligence behind Miss Tatham’s pretty face. She’ll not easily fall for your charms, Fullingham.’

‘Pho, Arrandale, that is sour grapes.’ He laughed. ‘Admit it, man, you have caught cold on this one. The widow has your measure. She’ll be spending her time keeping you away from her precious daughter and won’t spare a thought for the rest of us!’

They had reached the junction and Fullingham went on his way, still laughing. Richard rode slowly to the stables behind Royal Crescent. He couldn’t help thinking that the fellow was right, Phyllida might well be blind to the danger posed by the other men. She might even welcome their attentions towards Ellen, even those of Sir Charles Urmston. There was no doubt the fellow could be very charming, but underneath he was a villain. Richard’s mouth tightened. He meant to win this wager. When it came to women he had never yet lost out to a rival, and he had no intention of starting now.

And what of Phyllida?

Richard’s hand tightened on the reins. That incident in the chapel should never have happened. He had felt curiously lightheaded, probably from the wine they had been served at the house. It could certainly not have been anything else; he was not one to lose his head over any woman, especially one who was only tolerably pretty.

Although she did have particularly fine eyes.

And her smile. When she smiled she illuminated a whole room—

No! His only interest in Lady Phyllida was as Ellen Tatham’s guardian and as a friend of his great-aunt. If she were to confide her worries to the dowager that would make life difficult. Not impossible, but he should not like to fall out with Sophia. A bitter, humourless smile twisted his mouth. Phyllida had told him she did not believe the Arrandales were really so scandalous. This little adventure would show her how wrong she was.

* * *

For the next few days he concentrated upon fixing his interest with Miss Tatham. He paid morning calls in Charles Street, and when Ellen hinted they were going shopping he tarried in Milsom Street until they arrived, or he sought them out at the Pump Room and curtailed his own visit to walk them home. Lady Phyllida was cool, even a little reserved, but not overtly hostile and when Ellen informed him innocently that she and Lady Phyllida would be taking a stroll in Sydney Gardens with Julia Wakefield the following morning he made sure he was there, just in case he needed to head off any of his rivals.

‘Mr Arrandale, what a surprise to find you here,’ declared Ellen when she saw him approaching, not long after they had entered the gardens.

‘Yes, isn’t it,’ muttered Phyllida.

‘We are going to the labyrinth,’ explained Julia Wakefield.

‘Then I will walk with you, if I may.’

‘But we are going in the opposite direction to you, Mr Arrandale,’ Lady Phyllida pointed out. ‘Are you sure you have time?’

He ignored the challenge in her eyes and replied with a smile as false as her own, ‘All the time in the world, ma’am.’

He turned to walk with Ellen but Phyllida stepped between them.

‘Then that is very civil of you, Mr Arrandale.’

She proceeded to converse with him as they strolled along the wide path. Occasionally they were obliged to move aside to allow a carriage to pass, but every time they recommenced their walk she was there, at his side, and engaging him in conversation.

He wondered briefly if she was trying to fix his interest, following their time together at Farleigh Castle but he soon dismissed the thought. Then she had been open and relaxed with him. Now her cool friendliness did not ring true. She was on her guard and he thought it much more likely that she was suspicious of his motives. Clearly she did not intend to allow him a chance to converse with either of the young ladies and he knew better than to attempt it. When they arrived at the labyrinth he thought it politic not to offer to accompany them inside, and prepared to take his leave.

‘Oh, but you must stay and keep Phyllida company,’ Ellen protested. ‘She does not like the maze and means to wait for us outside.’

‘No, Ellen, that will not be necessary. I am sure Mr Arrandale has better things to do with his time.’

Lady Phyllida’s answer was delivered firmly. Clearly it was designed to dismiss him. He knew he should retire with good grace but his particular devil prompted him to stay.

‘I should be delighted to wait for you, Miss Tatham.’ He patted his pocket. ‘And I have a plan of the labyrinth, so if you get lost you only need to call out and I shall come to your aid.’

Phyllida’s eyes sparkled with indignation, but Ellen was duly admiring.

‘How gallant, and enterprising,’ she remarked. ‘Come along, Julia. Phyllida, pray you, wait on that bench for us—we will not be too long.’

* * *

The girls ran off, leaving Phyllida with Richard Arrandale. It was the first time they had been alone together since the chapel at Farleigh, when she had come close to making a complete fool of herself. It had not been mentioned, of course, and since then she had been careful to keep a distance between them. Until today, when she had put herself in his way and kept him talking. She had not been comfortable about it, but she was determined that he should not be allowed to give his arm to Ellen or Julia Wakefield.

She had to admit that he had taken it in good part and had behaved like the perfect gentleman, conversing with her as if there was nothing he would rather do. He had a knack of setting her at her ease, of making her feel important. Cherished. That was what made it so difficult to dislike him.

Yet it did not mean she should encourage him. She moved towards a bench.

‘I must not take up any more of your time, Mr Arrandale, so I will bid you good day.’

‘I assure you, Lady Phyllida, I am at your disposal.’

She sat down, saying with finality, ‘Really, Mr Arrandale, it is not at all necessary for you to wait with me.’

‘But I have a plan of the labyrinth.’

It gave her no little satisfaction to respond, tapping her reticule. ‘So, too, have I.’

‘Ah.’

It was then she made the mistake of peeping up at him. She saw his rueful look and burst out laughing.

‘Admit it, sir, you have been brought to the point non plus. There is no reason to stay now.’

‘Would you have me be so unchivalrous as to agree with you?’ he said, sitting down on the bench beside her. ‘It has never been my practice to abandon a lady when she is on her own.’

‘But I shall not be on my own once the girls return.’

‘Then I shall keep you company until then.’

His cool response flustered her.

‘But I do not wish for your company.’

He shifted to the far end of the bench and twisted in his seat to look at her, resting one hand negligently along the backrest. Phyllida remained rigidly upright, staring straight ahead. He really was the most infuriating man. Well, she hoped he appreciated her profile.

‘We could converse,’ he said at last.

‘We have already done so, on the way here.’

‘But there must be something we have not yet talked about.’

‘No.’

She could feel the warmth of his gaze upon her. It sent little shards of excitement to pierce the armour of cool civility with which she had surrounded herself. If only he would go away! She recalled reading somewhere that the best form of defence was attack and she turned to face him.

‘Yes, there is something. Why do you remain in Bath, Mr Arrandale?’

‘I enjoy spending time with my great-aunt.’

‘Is that truly the reason?’ She subjected him to a searching look.

‘Yes, truly. She was laid very low when Cassandra eloped, and I know how cruel the gossipmongers can be. None better.’ He raised his brows. ‘You look sceptical, Lady Phyllida. Do you not believe me?’

She pursed her lips.

‘I can believe you came to Lady Hune’s assistance when she wrote to you, but she is much better now and the image of you playing companion to an elderly lady does not quite fit with your reputation.’

‘Perhaps you should not put too much store by all you hear of me, ma’am. I am extremely fond of Lady Hune. When I was younger she was the only one of my family who had any faith in me and while she needs me I shall remain in Bath.’

‘But it is hardly London, is it? Do you not find it dull here? After all, Lady Hune demands very little of your time.’

‘True, but there are gambling hells, if one knows where to look, and—’

‘And heiresses to chase.’

‘That is not what I was going to say.’

‘No, I thought I would save you the trouble.’

‘There is sufficient society in Bath to entertain me for a few weeks, Lady Phyllida. I am not so very exacting.’

Oh, heavens, he was smiling at her, just as he had done in the chapel at Farleigh. She could feel the tug of attraction building again. It must not, could not happen. With relief she heard Ellen and Julia’s girlish laughter near at hand. It gave her the strength to look away and she observed the girls running towards her.

‘We lost all track of the time, Lady Phyllida,’ said Julia guiltily. ‘I do hope we were not gone too long.’

Phyllida rose to her feet and replied with determined cheerfulness, ‘Not at all. I am glad I did not have to resort to my map to find you and bring you out. However, we had best be getting back now.’ She turned to Richard. ‘We can trespass on your time no longer, sir. I am going to escort Miss Julia home now.’

‘Too soon, Lady Phyllida. My way lies with you. It would look very odd if I were to follow you all the way to Laura Place, would it not?’

‘It would indeed.’ Ellen giggled.

She showed no desire to release Julia’s arm in favour of Richard Arrandale’s, which relieved Phyllida’s mind of its greatest worry, but the gentleman was in no way discomposed and merely fell into step beside Phyllida, which threw up quite a different anxiety.

She felt such conflicting emotions about this man. She knew he was a rake and even though she suspected—nay, she was sure—he was pursuing Ellen, she could not dislike him. Just having him at her side set her pulse jumping. She thought it would be easier if she cut the acquaintance altogether, but that might well precipitate the thing she was most anxious to avoid. Phyllida knew Ellen liked Richard Arrandale, but at present it was no more than that. If Phyllida was to forbid Ellen to have anything more to do with him she was very much afraid it would invest Richard with an air of danger and illicit excitement that a spirited young girl would find irresistible.

Her companion showed no desire to talk, so Phyllida was able to consider her dilemma in peace, until she realised they had traversed almost the length of Great Pulteney Street in silence. Even worse, Ellen and Julia were nowhere in sight.

‘They hurried on ahead and are by now at Lady Wakefield’s house,’ Richard told her, as if aware of her alarm.

He kept up with her easily as she quickened her step and they reached the Wakefields’ door just as the two girls emerged and Julia very prettily requested that Ellen might join them for dinner.

‘I have asked Mama,’ she added, ‘and she says she will send Ellen home in the carriage, if you will allow it, Lady Phyllida.’

Ellen clasped her hands and subjected Phyllida to a beseeching look.

‘Please tell me I may stay, darling Stepmama. And I am sure Mr Arrandale will accompany you, so you need have no worry about walking back to Charles Street unattended.’

‘I should be delighted to escort Lady Phyllida,’ he responded promptly.

Ellen beamed at him.

‘Then it is all settled to everyone’s satisfaction!’ Ellen reached up and gave Phyllida a hasty kiss on the cheek, then ran indoors with Julia.

Speechless, Phyllida watched them go. This was not at all to her satisfaction. Richard held out his arm to her and silently she placed her fingers on his sleeve. They began to walk.

‘Are you going to tell me that you are quite capable of walking back to Charles Street unattended?’

‘I should not say anything so uncivil,’ she replied loftily.

‘That’s put me in my place.’

She caught herself up on a laugh.

‘You are quite shameless, you know.’

‘I fear you are right. And I am going to prove it by asking you why you married Tatham.’

* * *

It was an impertinent question and Richard wondered if he had gone too far. She had every right to protest. She might even snatch her arm away and refuse to walk further with him. Instead she answered him quietly.

‘Because he offered for me. I didn’t take, you see, amongst the ton, but I had very little to recommend me. If you really do remember then you will know how gauche and awkward I was then.’

‘So Sir Evelyn proposed.’

‘Yes. He was rich, but he was also kind, much kinder to me than my parents were. To them I was nothing more than a commodity, to be used to the family’s best advantage.’

Richard’s jaw clenched tight. Knowing his world he was well aware of what might have happened to her, sold to the highest bidder.

‘And was it a good marriage?’

‘I think so. I believe I made Sir Evelyn happy, even though I failed to give him the heir he wanted.’

‘I am not interested in Tatham,’ he said roughly. ‘What about you, were you happy?’

She smiled. ‘Why, yes, why should I not be?’

‘Did you love him?’

The little hand resting on his sleeve trembled.

‘I did not dislike him, and that is very important.’

Her cool, reasonable response angered him. Smothering a curse he stopped and pulled her round to face him.

‘How old are you, Lady Phyllida?’

She blinked. ‘I am four-and-twenty, not that it is any concern of yours!’

‘No, but it concerns me that you should be dwindling into widowhood before you have even lived.’

‘Mr Arrandale, I assure you I am not at all unhappy with my lot.’

He shook his head at her.

‘I saw your face when we raced the horses the other day. How often have you felt like that? When was the last time you really enjoyed yourself, dancing ’til dawn, walking in the moonlight, being kissed senseless—?’

Her eyes widened at that and she drew away from him.

‘You should not be talking to me in this way.’ She looked around. ‘We—we are at Charles Street. Thank you for your escort. Forgive me if I do not ask you to come in.’

With that she left him, almost running the last few yards to her door, where she was soon lost to sight.

Damn, damn, damn! What was he thinking of? Richard turned on his heel and strode away. He was supposed to be making a friend of her, preparing the ground so that she would support him when he made Ellen an offer. Instead he was saying all the wrong things.

What in hell’s name had got into him?

* * *

September advanced and the invitations continued to flood into Charles Street, including an urgent message one morning from Mrs Desborough, inviting them to take advantage of the continuing good weather to drive out of town and enjoy a picnic that very day. The Wakefields were going, which made Ellen keen to go and even Phyllida found the idea too tempting to resist.

‘I always think these things are so much better impromptu,’ declared Lady Wakefield as they made themselves comfortable on the rugs and cushions spread out upon the grass. ‘I am so pleased Mrs Desborough suggested it, and such a pleasant spot, too.’

Phyllida could not deny the spot was indeed delightful, a sloping meadow near the little village of Claverton, but she was not quite so happy with some of the company. Mrs Desborough had laughingly explained that Mr Fullingham had come upon her as they were about to set off.

She continued. ‘I had not the heart to say him nay, not when young Mr Wakefield had already asked Mr Arrandale to join us. After all, there is space enough here for everyone, is there not?’

‘And you have refreshments enough for an army,’ chuckled her fond spouse, eyeing the array of hampers set out before them. ‘But it is not only good food she has arranged for us, is that not so, my dear?’

‘Well, I did think that afterwards the young people might like to gather blackberries. The hedgerow is positively thick with them.’ She chuckled and beckoned to one of the servants who came forward. ‘You see I have brought three small baskets for you to fill, and to save you young ladies ruining your gowns there are aprons for you to put on.’

Lady Wakefield laughed. ‘Then there can be no objection. You have thought of everything, ma’am!’

* * *

They dined well on cold meats and cakes washed down with wine or small beer, but soon the effects of good food and the heat of the day took their toll. The party became less noisy and conversation began to die away to a soft murmur that Phyllida found quite soporific. Her eyelids were beginning to droop when she heard Penelope Desborough’s eager voice.

‘May we go and collect blackberries now, Mama?’

Mrs Desborough and Lady Wakefield were nodding sleepily, their spouses already snoring gently in the warm sunshine. As the young ladies donned their aprons Phyllida glanced across at the hedgerow. It meandered away for quite some distance and she was suddenly struck with misgiving. Of course, the gentlemen might not go to help, but Mr Fullingham was already on his feet, followed quickly by Adrian Wakefield and Richard Arrandale.

She jumped up, which caused Mrs Desborough to exclaim, ‘What’s this, Lady Phyllida, do you wish to collect berries too? I made sure you would want to rest a little.’

‘No, no, I am not at all tired,’ Phyllida assured her.

Mrs Desborough sat upright, looking perturbed.

‘But there are only three baskets, and I have no more aprons, ma’am, your gown—’

‘Oh, that is of no consequence,’ she replied airily.

Ellen laughed. ‘I doubt if Matlock will agree with you, Philly! But never mind that. Here, you may have my basket, and I shall share with Penelope.’

The arrangements settled, they moved off towards the hedgerow.

Richard fell into step beside her.

‘Three gentlemen, four ladies,’ he murmured.

‘Even numbers are not required for berry picking, Mr Arrandale.’

‘Nor is a chaperon, Lady Phyllida.’

She put up her chin. ‘That, sir, depends upon the company.’

* * *

Ellen had stopped by the hedge and her voice floated across on the still air.

‘Adrian, will you help me and Penelope to fill our basket?’

Mr Fullingham stepped up. ‘Allow me, Miss Tatham—’

‘Ah, sir, I was hoping you would help Julia, because you see that she cannot quite reach those berries at the very top, there, and they look so delicious...’

He was subjected to a dazzling smile and Phyllida smothered a laugh as the gentleman went off to do as he was bid. She glanced towards Richard and saw that he was grinning at her. Caught off guard, she blushed and looked away, but her confusion increased when she heard Ellen’s next words.

‘That leaves Mr Arrandale to help Phyllida.’

That could not please him any more than it pleased Phyllida. He would surely protest. She waited, but after a brief hesitation he swept a low bow.

‘Your wish is my command, Miss Tatham.’

Phyllida glared at him and without another word she hurried away to begin filling her basket.

* * *

Mrs Desborough was right, the tall hedgerows were thick with ripe blackberries and Phyllida worked steadily. Her gloves were soon stained with berry juice and she had to take care to prevent herself from becoming caught up on the brambles. Richard Arrandale was only feet away from her. His body and the lush, straggling hedgerow hid the others from her sight although their voices floated to her from time to time. They were distant, unimportant. All that mattered, all that she could think of, was the man beside her. He had removed his gloves to pick the fruit and she found herself watching his long lean fingers as they gently plucked each soft, plump berry.

They worked in silence. Phyllida had placed the basket on the ground between them and was surprised at how companionable it felt. She was aware of the birdsong, of the hum of insects and the warmth of the sun on her back, but more than anything she was aware of Richard at her side. Occasionally he moved closer and pulled down the higher stems for her to collect the soft fruit, or held aside the thick branches so she could reach deep into the heart of the bush.

Clearly, it was her duty to keep Richard Arrandale away from Ellen, but there was no denying that she was enjoying herself, more than she had done in a long time. The thought surprised her and she realised how staid her life had become, not only the twelve months she had spent in mourning at Tatham Park but the years before that. Years spent running a household and looking after an ageing husband.

I became a matron at eighteen, she thought, as she reached between two long branches to pluck a few particularly juicy berries. I was caught up in the duties of being a wife and mother as soon as I left the schoolroom, with no time for frivolous pastimes.

‘Oh!’

A thorn had penetrated the soft kid of her glove and pierced her finger.

‘Keep still.’

Richard was at her side immediately and she found it impossible to remain silent.

‘I fear I have no choice but to obey,’ she told him. ‘The thorns have caught at my sleeve.’

He stepped closer and she was painfully aware of the hard wall of his chest against her back. Her mouth dried, he filled her senses. She breathed in the masculine smell of him, the mix of soap and leather and an indefinable hint of musky spices. Surely she was imagining the thud of his heart against her shoulders, but she could feel his breath on her cheek and she trembled.

‘Steady now.’

One hand rested on her shoulder while the other reached past her to lift away the offending thorny tentacle.

‘There, you are free.’

Free? How could she be free when her whole body was in thrall to him? When he was so close she could feel the heat of him on her back? Phyllida shook off the thought and carefully withdrew her arm from the briars. When Richard removed his hand from her shoulder she felt it immediately, a yearning chill and an emptiness that was almost a physical pain. She stepped back and turned, only to find that he was close behind her, less than a hand’s width away, his broad chest and powerful shoulders filling her view, like a cliff face. She was distracted by detail, the fine stitching of his exquisitely tailored blue coat, the double row of buttons on his pale waistcoat, the snowy folds of linen at his neck. The hammering of her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. Surely he must hear it, see how shaken she was? She tried to speak lightly to divert his attention and her own.

‘Thank you, sir. I fear I could not have extricated myself without ruining this gown.’

She stretched her cheeks into a smile and looked up, confident she could ask him calmly to let her pass, but her gaze locked on to his mouth and the words died in her throat as she studied the firm sculpted lips. She was distracted by imagining how they would feel on her skin. She swallowed, forced her gaze upwards but that proved even more dangerous, for his blue eyes held her transfixed. She was lost, unable to move. She could no longer hear the skylark’s distant trill, nor the laughing voices of those picking berries further along the hedgerow. The world had shrunk to just the two of them. Anticipation tremored through her when he ran his hands lightly up her arms and the skin beneath the thin sleeves burned with his touch. His fingers came to rest upon her shoulders, gently pulling her towards him as he lowered his head to kiss her. She made no effort to resist. Instead her chin tilted up and her lips parted instinctively as his mouth came closer.

It was the lightest contact, a slight, tantalising brush of the lips, but Phyllida felt as if a lightning bolt had struck her, shocking her, driving through her body and anchoring her to the spot. She kept her hands at her sides, clenched into fists to prevent them clinging to him like a desperate, drowning creature. She found herself straining upwards, trying to prolong the contact but it was over almost as soon as it had begun and as he raised his head Phyllida felt strangely bereft. The kiss had been the work of a moment, but it had shaken her to the core and she struggled to find a suitable response.

‘You, you should not have done that.’

There was a faint crease at one side of his mouth, the merest hint of a smile.

‘No one saw us.’

That was not what she meant at all, but it brought her back to reality. The thorny brambles were at her back so she sidestepped, breaking those invisible threads that had held her to him, even though it was like tearing her own flesh to move away from him. Distance gave her the strength to think properly again.

‘I did not mean that and you know it. Your behaviour was ungentlemanly, sir.’

‘You could have said no. You could have resisted.’

She scooped up the little basket and began to walk away.

‘I should not have had to do so.’

He laughed softly as he fell in beside her.

‘I believe I deserved some reward for rescuing a damsel in distress.’

She stopped, saying angrily, ‘What you deserve, sir—’

‘Yes?’

He was smiling down at her, sending her thoughts once more into disorder. Alarms clamoured in her head, it was as much as she could do not to throw herself at him and the glint in his blue eyes told her he knew it. With a hiss of exasperation she walked on.

‘You deserve to be shamed publicly for your behaviour.’

‘Ah, but the Arrandales have no shame, did you not know that?’

He spoke lightly, but there was something in his tone, a faint hint of bitterness that undermined her indignation. It could have been a ploy, a trick to gain her sympathy, but somehow she did not think so. With a sudden flash of insight she thought he was like a child, behaving badly because it was expected of him.

‘Oh, how despicable you are!’ she exclaimed. ‘I should be scolding you for your outrageous behaviour and instead—’ She broke off.

‘Yes?’ he prompted her gently.

I want to take you in my arms and kiss away your pain.

Phyllida was appalled. She had come very close to saying the words aloud. With a tiny shake of her head she almost ran the last few yards to where Mrs Desborough and Lady Wakefield were sitting under a large parasol.

The two ladies greeted Phyllida cheerfully and although they noted her flushed countenance, they put it down to too much sun and suggested she should come and sit with them in the shade. Mr Desborough, who was now awake and enjoying a glass of claret, invited Richard to join him.

As the ladies admired her basket of blackberries, sympathised with her ruined gloves and uttered up thanks that she had not spoiled her gown, Phyllida recovered her equilibrium. She decided not to say anything about Richard’s disgraceful behaviour, especially since it did not reflect well upon her own judgement in allowing him to take such a liberty.

No, she thought, as the others returned and they prepared to make their way back to Bath, she had learned a valuable lesson and she would be sure Richard Arrandale had no opportunity to repeat it, or to try such tricks upon her stepdaughter.

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