‘How good it is to see you again, and looking so well,’ he said softly.

All the time he was peering down intently at each delicate feature in turn, as though to assure himself that the boy-girl who had trailed about after him over the estate like some adoring puppy all those many years ago and this self- assured young woman now standing before him were indeed one and the same person.

Their years apart had undoubtedly been good to her. There was no sign now of the pretty plumpness of youth. Bright blue eyes considered him levelly above high cheekbones. The small, straight nose and the contours of her perfectly moulded mouth had not changed as far as he could tell. Only the firmness of the jawline seemed more marked, and there was a suspicion now of determination in the set of the slightly pointed little chin.

‘You look very well, Beth, my dear. Very well indeed,’ he assured her, releasing her hands the instant he felt her attempting to withdraw them.

‘And so do you, Philip,’ she returned, bestowing a smile upon him that emphasised wonderfully well those beneficial changes in her appearance…

Author Note

When I first began to write historical romances for Mills & Boon I did so by writing six books, all of which were linked by one or more characters. I have once again returned to a linking theme with my next two novels.

In each story one of the main characters—one male, one female—has been involved in the Peninsular Campaign. Their reasons for going out to Portugal and Spain are vastly contrasting, and both are changed by their experiences.

Both stories begin in September 1814, after our hero and heroine have returned to England, at a time when Napoleon is still in exile on the Isle of Elba and people believe the conflict with France is finally over.

Observing the courtesies practised during the Regency period—ladies first—THE TRANSFORMATION OF MISS ASHWORTH centres on Miss Bethany Ashworth’s story.

I hope you enjoy it.

Anne Ashley was born and educated in Leicester. She lived for a time in Scotland, but now makes her home in the West Country, with two cats, her two sons, and a husband who has a wonderful and very necessary sense of humour. When not pounding away at the keys of her word processor, she likes to relax in her garden, which she has opened to the public on more than one occasion in aid of the village church funds.

Recent novels by the same author:

A NOBLE MAN*

LORD EXMOUTH’S INTENTIONS*

THE RELUCTANT MARCHIONESS

TAVERN WENCH

BELOVED VIRAGO

LORD HAWKRIDGE’S SECRET

BETRAYED AND BETROTHED

A LADY OF RARE QUALITY

LADY GWENDOLEN INVESTIGATES

*part of the Regency mini-series The Steepwood Scandal

THE TRANSFORMATION OF MISS ASHWORTH

Anne Ashley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Chapter One

September 1814

With a heartfelt sigh Miss Bethany Ashworth transferred her gaze from what had once been very familiar countryside indeed, and focused her attention on her sole travelling companion.

‘I’m so weary, Ann,’ she revealed softly, ‘so very tired, now, of it all.’

The admission was instantly acknowledged by a soft smile, which managed to combine both affection and sympathy. ‘Hardly surprising, my dear. We’ve both done more than our fair share of jaunting about Europe during these past five years or so. And speaking for myself, I’ve found this last journey from Paris particularly trying.’

‘It isn’t the travelling I find irksome,’ Beth revealed, once again turning her attention to the view beyond the window. ‘It’s my own indecisiveness, not knowing my own mind, that I find so confoundedly bothersome.’ She gave vent to a shout of self-deprecating laughter. ‘I’ve frequently deplored the lack of resolution displayed by so many of our sex. Yet here I am now, indulging in just such a weakness myself! I shall have to take myself roundly to task, and do some very hard thinking in the not-too-distant future.’

Brown eyes betrayed a degree of concern. ‘Are you trying to say you now regret your decision to return, here, to your childhood home? I remember, after your dear papa passed away, you were quite undecided.’

‘No, I don’t regret that,’ Beth answered, before a faintly enigmatic smile curled what more than one gentleman in recent years had considered a perfectly shaped feminine mouth. ‘It might yet prove a means to an end. But whether I shall choose to remain indefinitely is quite another matter. Thankfully, we shan’t be forced to stay should we become restless. Which should come as no great surprise to either of us, considering the life we’ve led in recent years. And Papa, bless him, has ensured I’m no pauper. I could reside permanently in the capital should I choose to do so. Perhaps not in one of the most favoured locations, but at least at an address that is not frowned upon. But, no, Ann, I don’t regret returning to the house I grew up in,’ she reiterated, her mind turning to more mundane, practical matters. ‘And providing the indispensable Rudge has done his job, it will provide us both with a very comfortable abode for as long as we choose to stay.’

The older woman appeared a good deal easier having learned this. ‘Well, I for one am very much looking forward to residing in your childhood home, and putting down roots. I’m seven years your senior, remember, and rather weary now of the nomadic life, even if you are not.’

‘In that case, my dear Ann, I shall do my utmost to speed up our arrival,’ and, so saying, Beth pulled down the window to instruct the post-boys to turn off the road directly ahead.

The chaise then drew to a halt before a pair of impressive wrought-iron gates. One of the post-boys gave a blast on his horn to alert the gatekeeper to their presence, and a few moments later a small, stocky figure emerged from the lodge, looking anything but pleased at being summoned so summarily.

‘And what be your business ’ere at Staveley Court, may I ask?’ he demanded to know, the sight of a post-chaise-and-four seemingly having made no impression upon him whatsoever.

‘My business is my own affair,’ Beth called, half-smiling, thereby alerting the gatekeeper to her presence. ‘So just you look lively, and unlock those gates and let me pass, George Dodd, otherwise I might well be tempted to play the talebearer and have a word with your master when next I see him.’

For a full half-minute the gatekeeper peered between the iron bars at the hatless young lady staring back at him from the chaise window, before his craggy, weather-beaten face eventually broke into a near-toothless grin.

‘God bless my soul! As I live and breathe, if it ain’t you, Miss Bethany! And after all these years an’ all!’ he exclaimed, throwing wide the gates without further ado, and then moving as swiftly as his arthritic, bow legs would carry him to the side of the vehicle.

‘Never thought to see you back ’ere again,’ he declared, his beady-brown eyes betraying a suspicion of tears as he stared up at a face he well remembered.’

‘How are you, Dodd? she asked gently. ‘Still suffering with the old joints, I see.’

‘I do well enough, miss. All the better for seeing you. And I fancy I won’t be the only one, neither. The master be up at the ’ouse. Come back from Lunnon weeks back.’

All at once Beth’s radiant and unforgettable smile began to fade. ‘Truth to tell, Dodd, I’m not here to see your master. I’ve been travelling for the best part of three weeks, and thought to make use of the short cut across Sir Philip’s land. But I don’t want to get you into trouble.’

‘Bless you, Miss Beth, you go right on ahead. Master wouldn’t mind you crossing ’is land, that I do know.’

Staveley Court was not so much distinguished by its size as by its architectural splendour, and the magnificence of its surrounding park, which could be viewed unrestricted from most every room in the house. Consequently Lady Chalford had had little difficulty in following the progress of the post-chaise-and-four from her brother’s west-facing library window.

‘You didn’t mention at luncheon that you were expecting visitors, Philip. I wouldn’t have taken my customary afternoon nap had I known. You may as well make use of me during the time I’m here. At the very least I could have made your visitors welcome.’

The shapely hand moving back and forth across the page did not falter even for an instant, as the recipient of this disclosure confirmed his only caller that day had been his steward in the forenoon.

Lady Chalford’s brows came together in rare show of disapproval. ‘In that case, dear brother, someone is once again taking advantage of your good nature. I’ve told you before, Philip, you are far too tolerant in many respects, too complaisant by half! It’s common knowledge that, since the war, pockets of unrest have sprung up all over the country. Why, look what happened to you earlier this summer. Someone tried to take a pot-shot at you. And it’s of no use your pretending otherwise! You simply cannot afford to let strangers trespass on your property, even if they are travelling in a post-chaise-and-four.’

Completely unruffled, Sir Philip Staveley signed his name with a flourish, before rising to his feet and joining his sister at the window. ‘I would be extremely surprised, Connie, if that shooting accident was anything other than just that. Remember, it took place on my land. In all probability the culprit was one of my neighbours’ over-enthusiastic sons discharging his gun without due care. And as for that carriage… I very much doubt all the occupants can be total strangers, otherwise entry would have been barred, most especially by Dodd on the east gate. Furthermore, that conveyance, unless I much mistake the matter, has travelled some distance, possibly from London.’

Lady Chalford turned her head to stare up at her much taller brother, thereby instantly revealing a similarity or two in their profiles. Both had inherited certain Staveley facial characteristics—the long, thin aristocratic nose, not to mention clear, grey eyes.

Unlike his sister’s, however, Sir Philip’s orbs had once betrayed a disarming twinkle that a great many members of the fair sex had found most winning. His hair, a shade or two darker than his more mature sibling’s, swept back in soft waves from a high, intelligent forehead. A firm jaw-line, a shapely yet not overgenerous mouth, and a pair of gracefully arching brows above those thickly lashed eyes were all features worthy of note; and although he might not have been considered strictly handsome by the more fastidious among his class, a great many discerning female members considered him most attractive.

Which was more than could be said for his sister, whose youthful bloom had long since faded, and whose thickening figure betrayed the fact that she had presented her spouse with several pledges of her affection during fourteen years of marriage. Notwithstanding, even her fiercest critics would never have stigmatised Lady Chalford as an ill-favoured woman. In fact, when animated, as now, she still held an appeal to a certain number of the more mature members of the opposite sex.

‘You’re bamming me, Philip!’ she chided gently. ‘How can you possibly deduce that?’

‘By using my eyes and brain, Constance,’ he returned, slanting a mocking glance down at her. ‘Firstly, not many can afford the luxury of travelling in a post-chaise-and-four. Those in these parts with funds enough to do so, like myself, own their own carriages. Secondly, the majority of the larger houses in the locale lie to the north and east of my property. Furthermore, there is only one house situated on the western boundary whose owner has been absent for any length of time, and whose return might well be undertaken in a hired carriage.’

Lady Chalford’s jaw dropped perceptively, a clear indication that her mind had woken up to a startling possibility. ‘You don’t suppose, do you, that young Bethany Ashworth has returned home after all these years?’

Unlike his sister, Sir Philip betrayed no emotion whatsoever as he said, ‘Naturally, I shan’t know for sure, until I’ve consulted with Dodd. All the same, it’s a distinct possibility. Augustus Ashworth, together with his associates and members of his family, was among the favoured few who attained permission from our sire to take a short cut across the park in order to reach the village more quickly.’

As the post-chaise at last disappeared from view behind a screen of stately elms, Sir Philip moved across the room in the direction of a small table upon which several decanters stood. ‘Common report would have me believe the shutters have been removed from the Grange’s windows these past three weeks or more, and that a couple of village girls have been hired to work in the house. Seemingly someone, I know not who, has been buying in supplies of food, and making use of several local tradesmen in order to make the house ready for habitation.’

‘It stands to reason, then, that Bethany must be returning home,’ Lady Chalford concluded, after having accepted the glass of ratafia her brother held out to her. ‘What other explanation could there possibly be?’ she asked, rearranging her skirts as she made herself comfortable in one of the chairs.

Seating himself opposite, Sir Philip gazed across at his sister with lazy affection. Fond of her though he had always been, he had never rated her capacity for understanding very highly. At the same time he did appreciate her finer qualities. For instance, she was, basically, a very kind person, never one to bear a grudge or utter a deliberately unkind remark. Moreover, as she had never attempted to make unreasonable demands on his time, he was able to ignore for the most part her less favourable traits when she did choose to inflict her company upon him for a prolonged stay.

‘Several, my dear,’ he responded, after fortifying himself from his glass. ‘Dodd, as I mentioned before, must have recognised at least one occupant of that vehicle, otherwise he would not have allowed entry. It might have been Beth, of course. Or it might easily have been the late Colonel Ashworth’s man of business, who could well have received instructions to ensure the house is in good order for a new occupant.’

He couldn’t forbear a smile at his sister’s look of utter bewilderment. ‘Evidently you hadn’t considered the possibility that Beth might have chosen to sell the house in order to live elsewhere, possibly abroad,’ he went on. ‘After all, she’s lived away from these shores long enough. And now I come to think about it, when last I saw Lady Henrietta Barfield during the Season she mentioned something about her niece’s intention to remain in Paris for a while.’

All at once Lady Chalford was silent, clearly in a world of her own, before surprisingly announcing, ‘Do you know, Philip, I always considered her actions most strange.’

Philip paused in the act of raising his glass to his lips again to gaze across indulgently at his sibling. Clearly her thoughts had spun off at a tangent. In which direction, however, was anybody’s guess.

He wisely took the precaution of taking a further fortifying mouthful from the contents of his glass before asking, ‘Are we referring to Beth, now, or Lady Henrietta?’

‘Why, Bethany, of course!’ his sister exclaimed, clearly amazed at having been asked the question in the first place. ‘I never quite understood why she went to live with her mother’s relative in Plymouth. Surely Lady Henrietta Barfield was her favourite aunt?’

‘That I couldn’t say with any conviction,’ Philip responded. ‘After her mother’s demise, she certainly spent time with her father’s sister. And it’s also true to say that Lady Hetta, taking an active role in Beth’s upbringing, was a more frequent visitor to the Grange than any other relation. But you must remember that Colonel Ashworth was summoned urgently to London in the spring of ’08, and soon afterwards set sail with Wellesley for the Peninsula. Poor Beth was hardly granted much time in which to consider where she wished to reside. And who knows, maybe she felt that Lady Henrietta had interfered in her life quite enough. Or maybe she just didn’t wish to be an extra burden on the Barfield family at a time when they were fully occupied with matters relating to Eugenie’s future.’

At mention of his deceased fiancée, Lady Chalford shot her brother an anxious glance from beneath her lashes. It was rare, indeed, for him ever to allude to that period in his life, let alone his engagement to Lord Barfield’s beloved eldest daughter. During the past years, whenever the topic had been raised within her hearing, he had never been slow to change the subject.

Notwithstanding, this knowledge did not deter her from saying, ‘But that is precisely what I find so puzzling. She and Eugenie were so close—more like sisters than cousins, I seem to recall someone remarking once. One would have quite naturally supposed that Beth would have wanted to be with the Barfields at a time of such celebration.’

All at once it seemed as if her brother’s face had been cast into shadow, his lids lowering like shutters, concealing any emotion mirrored in his eyes.

‘As I said before, Constance, I’m sure Beth had her reasons for choosing to live with her late mother’s aunt. You may be lucky enough to satisfy your curiosity if she has, indeed, returned,’ her brother replied, with the all-too-familiar hint of finality in his tone that revealed clearly enough that he considered the topic at an end.

When residing at the Court Sir Philip generally kept country hours, and the following morning proved no exception. As his sister preferred to break her fast in her bedchamber, he enjoyed the leisure of a solitary breakfast, before setting off on horseback for the prearranged meeting with his steward.

It was a common sight to see the master of Staveley Court out and about at an early hour, astride one of his prime horses. From a very young age he had betrayed a keen interest in husbandry, and, since coming into the title, some seven years previously, his love of the land had not diminished in the least.

He concerned himself with every aspect of the day-to-day running of the estate, and the welfare of his tenants, who farmed his many acres of West Country land. His steward knew well enough that he could consult with his master on any problem, no matter how trivial, and made a practice of doing so quite frequently. All the same, as their meeting the day before had been fairly lengthy and involved, their business that morning was soon concluded, leaving Sir Philip with ample time to do as he wished before he need return to the Court for luncheon.

Finding himself close to the eastern boundary of the deer-park jogged his memory. Consequently, he turned his fine gelding in the direction of the gatehouse to discover one of his oldest employees busily working in a small vegetable patch.

‘Morning to ’ee, sir. Be ’ee wanting me to give the lads a ’and wi’ the logging again this autumn?’

‘Only if you feel up to it, Dodd,’ Philip answered, thereby betraying the affection in which he held this particularly loyal estate worker. ‘The reason I’m here is to ask you about a certain post-chaise-and-four I spied crossing the park late yesterday afternoon. The occupant made no attempt to come up to the house. Was it from this gate entry was gained?’

‘God bless you, sir, ’twere indeed! And ’twere none other than Miss Bethany ’erself come ’ome after all these years, would you believe!’ The old man removed his hat to run a hand over his balding pate. ‘What a sight for sore eyes she be, too, sir. Didn’t suppose you’d mind ’er taking liberties, not Miss Bethany,’ he added, casting a questioning glance up at the tall figure on horseback.

The assurance was not long in coming. ‘Of course I don’t object. But remain vigilant, Dodd. Miss Ashworth is by no means the only one to have returned from across the Channel in recent times,’ he said, recalling his sister’s fears. Which were not without foundation, as it happened. ‘There’s much unrest about the county at present, many who harbour bitter feelings now the war with France is at an end, and they have come home to find no work.’

Sir Philip took a moment or two to appreciate the picturesque landscape, where no firearm had been discharged in anger, as far as he was aware, since the Civil War, when his ancestors had stood firm against the Roundheads for several days before finally being defeated. Then his mind returned to more recent events, and the arrival home of someone he’d known almost since the day of her birth.

All at once he was consumed with curiosity, a rare experience for him these days. ‘What is she like, Dodd… Miss Ashworth? As you had no trouble recognising her, I can only assume she hasn’t changed much.’

‘Changed some, sir. But not so much that I didn’t know ’er after a second glance. I mind she’s a deal leaner than of yore. Not much flesh on the bone from what I could see. But the smile ain’t changed, sir. I’d know that smile of Miss Beth’s anywhere. Light up the dullest day, so ’twould!’

‘Yes, yes, you’re right,’ Philip acknowledged, his mind’s eye conjuring up images from the past. Memories, almost forgotten in recent years, came flooding back of a girl dressed in breeches, galloping, astride her horse, across the estate at his side. She had been more boy than girl in those years before Lady Henrietta Barfield had taken a very necessary hand in her niece’s upbringing. The transformation from sad romp had eventually been achieved. He seemed to remember that before she had left the Grange she bore all the trappings of a young lady; suddenly recalled, too, that he had not altogether approved of the changes that had taken place in her. But that was then, he reminded himself. What was she like now? Might she be a wife and mother?

For some reason that escaped him completely, he found the thought faintly disturbing, and consulted once again with his gatekeeper. ‘Was she travelling alone, Dodd, or with a protector?’

The old man shook his head. ‘That I couldn’t say for sure, sir. Being a mite on the short side, as yer might say, I can’t see into carriages none too well. But, I mind there were someone else in there with ’er, lurking in the shadows.’

Quickly taking his leave, Philip headed back towards the Court. He was halfway along the sweep of the drive when a second surge of curiosity, not untouched by tangled threads of lingering disquiet at the thought of Beth being married, gripped him, and he turned his mount, and headed across the park in a westerly direction.

Nestling just beyond the boundary wall in a picturesque, shallow valley was the thriving community where a good many of his estate workers resided. Neat rows of lime-washed cottages lined the main village street, and led up to the tiny church, where the Staveley family had for generations always worshipped. Beyond the church, several much larger brick dwellings had been erected during the latter half of the previous century. The Grange, the grandest of the newer buildings, was set in a large garden and was shielded from the road by a substantial yew hedge.

It had been a number of years since Sir Philip had had reason to visit the house. He could see at a glance, as he turned his fine bay hack into the driveway, that the property was showing signs of neglect. The garden, although far from overgrown, was nowhere near as neatly contained as he remembered, and the house, too, clearly demanded attention in several areas.

After securely tethering his mount to the hitching post, he wasted no time in making his arrival known. His summons was answered promptly enough by a middle-aged woman whom he had known since boyhood, and who didn’t attempt to hide her delight at seeing him.

‘Why, Sir Philip! It’s been a mort of years since you stepped into the parlour here at the Grange. Come in, do, sir,’ she invited. ‘Miss Beth will be that pleased to see you, I’m sure. She shouldn’t be long. Be out with that man of hers at present. But she promised to be back in good time for luncheon.’

‘Man…?’ Philip echoed, once again experiencing the strangest gnawing sensation in his abdomen.

‘That’s right, sir, Mr Rudge. Takes proper good care of her so he do. Hardly ever lets her out of his sight, so I understand. They be out now looking at horses over Markham way, it being market day. But Mrs Stride be here. Nice lady she be. I’m sure she’ll be happy to bear you company until the mistress returns. If you step inside, sir, I’ll make you known to the lady.’

Still trying to assimilate what he had discovered, and not put his own wild interpretations on the scant information, Philip entered the, now, slightly faded front parlour to discover a woman seated by the hearth, and looking so completely at home in her surroundings that one might have been forgiven for supposing she were mistress of the house.

As she set aside her sewing, and rose to her feet, he judged her to be of a similar age to his sister, though wearing rather better. The instant she spoke, inviting him to sit down and offering refreshment, it was evident, too, that she was an educated woman of no little refinement; and one who, moreover, betrayed no diffidence whatsoever at finding herself in the company of a peer of the realm. All of which only added to the puzzling questions swirling round his head.

‘You must forgive me, ma’am, for calling so soon after your arrival here. Only I allowed avid curiosity for once to override basic good manners. Miss Ashworth and I knew each other so well at one time that I wished to renew the acquaintance without delay.’

‘I know she will be delighted to see you, Sir Philip. She mentioned yesterday, when we took a short-cut across your land, that you would forgive such a liberty in one whom you had known since she was an infant.’

Heartened by the fact that Mrs Stride had not attempted to correct him after he had referred to Beth as Miss Ashworth, Philip took a moment to sample his wine and study the handsome woman seated opposite. ‘Forgive me, ma’am, for asking, but would I be correct in assuming you’re not even distantly related to Beth?’

‘You would indeed, sir,’ she instantly confirmed. ‘I am, to all intents and purposes, a hired companion. But you will never get Beth to admit as much. My late husband was a major in the army, and lost his life at Talavera. It was while I was attempting to attain passage back to England that Colonel Ashworth engaged my services, after his daughter’s unexpected arrival in the Peninsula.’

Sir Philip’s ears instantly pricked up at this. ‘Unexpected…?’ he echoed.

The widow appeared nonplussed for a moment, then she shrugged. ‘I believe I’m right in thinking the Colonel wasn’t expecting her. But it was some years ago, and my memory is a trifle hazy. Many letters from home were never received, so perhaps it was merely that he wasn’t sure when to expect her.

‘He certainly never seemed displeased by her presence,’ she continued after a moment’s consideration. ‘That I can tell you with complete conviction. Quite the opposite, in fact! I believe he derived great comfort from having his daughter with him. And, of course, he always made sure she was well protected.’ She shook her head and smiled. ‘Not that Beth needs much protection. As you are possibly aware, she can ride and shoot as well as most men. Which, she assures me, was the result of a somewhat unorthodox upbringing.’

‘Unorthodox in the extreme, ma’am,’ he concurred, smiling as he was assailed by further memories. ‘Encouraged by a doting father, she scandalised half the county by her tomboyish behaviour.’

‘But not you, sir, I think,’ the widow remarked, after staring across at him intently.

‘How very perspicacious of you, ma’am,’ he responded, not attempting a denial. ‘No—in fact, in many ways I thought it a great pity that the Colonel permitted his sister to interfere to such an extent in his daughter’s upbringing. Under Lady Henrietta Barfield’s guiding hand much of Beth’s natural charm simply disappeared.’

Clearly Ann Stride was amazed to hear him say this. Before she could voice her surprise, however, the door was thrown wide, and the young mistress of the house stood framed in the aperture.

For several long moments no one spoke. It was evident to Ann, at least, that her dearest friend had been apprised of the precise identity of the caller awaiting her in the parlour, for no vestige of astonishment whatsoever was apparent in her face. In fact, her expression remained so impassive that it was impossible to judge just what was passing through her mind, as her visitor rose at once to his feet and her vivid blue eyes scrutinised him unashamedly from head to toe.

Sir Philip, on the other hand, appeared, if not precisely stunned, certainly taken aback. And favourably so, Ann suspected. At first glance his shapely brows had risen sharply, then, with the self-assured air of a gentleman of breeding and aplomb, he moved languidly towards the door, hands outstretched to capture both of Beth’s.

‘How good it is to see you again, and looking so well,’ he said softly, whilst all the time peering down intently at each delicate feature in turn, as though to assure himself that the boy–girl who had trailed about after him over the estate like some adoring puppy all those many years ago, and this self-assured young woman now standing before him, were indeed one and the same person.

Their years apart had undoubtedly been good to her. There was no sign now of the pretty plumpness of youth. Almost half a decade spent out in the Peninsula, suffering privations he dared not even imagine, had helped to hone her face into something quite out of the common way. Bright blue eyes considered him levelly above high cheekbones. The small, straight nose and the contours of her perfectly moulded mouth had not changed, as far as he could tell. Only the firmness of the jaw-line seemed more marked, and there was a suspicion, too, now of determination in the set of the slightly pointed little chin.

‘You look very well, Beth, my dear. Very well indeed,’ he assured her, releasing her hands the instant he felt her attempting to withdraw them.

‘And so do you, Philip,’ she returned, bestowing a smile upon him that emphasised wonderfully well those beneficial changes in her appearance, before brushing past and turning her attention to the other occupant of the room.

‘How often have I remarked, Ann, that the passage of time is grossly unfair to favour for the most part the male of the species, though overindulgence can be disastrous for members of both sexes. And talking of which…can I tempt you to remain a little longer, Philip, by refilling your glass?’

He readily agreed. Ann, on the other hand, refused, and begged to be excused a moment later in order to search the workbox in her bedchamber for a certain shade of thread better suited to the fabric she was sewing.

Once again smiling, only wryly this time, Beth watched her leave, before returning her attention to her guest, and tutting loudly. ‘Really, I think I must have a word with dear Mrs Stride. If she wishes to be considered my companion, then she will need to take her duties a deal more seriously from now on. To leave me ensconced with an eligible bachelor…what can she be thinking of!’

He had no difficulty recognising that age-old glint of mischief dancing in her eyes, so wasn’t unduly taken aback when she added outrageously, ‘Of course, she might have wisely perceived that I was in no danger. But she might at least have considered you, Philip. An eligible baronet is fair game, and it isn’t totally unknown for me to act on impulse. Just think what a scandal we’d cause if I were to take it into my head to importune you.’

For answer he threw back his head and laughed heartily, something he had done so very infrequently in recent years. ‘I was wrong. You haven’t changed much at all.’

‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. People do, you know,’ she countered, after collecting his glass. ‘Can I tempt you to join me in a measure of port?’ The slight frown of disapproval bent in her direction was patently not lost on her, for she added, ‘No, not considered a lady’s drink, I know. Unfortunately I picked up the habit whilst abroad, and got my darling Rudge to return to Portugal in order to obtain a couple of dozen cases of the stuff, before setting sail for home.’

‘And dare I enquire who “darling Rudge” might be?’ Philip asked, watching her lower herself with a grace that was wholly natural into the chair opposite.

‘For want of a better description, I suppose you might say Amos Rudge is my major-domo.’ Leaning back in her chair, she appeared completely at ease in the company of a gentleman whom she had not set eyes on in six long years. ‘He’s a trifle rough around the edges, it must be said. The Lord only knows what callers to the house will make of him. He’s not above telling someone he doesn’t like the look of to clear off in no uncertain terms. Used to be dear Papa’s batman, as it happens.’

At mention of the late Colonel, Philip immediately offered his condolences. Which were sincerely meant, for not only had he respected his late neighbour, he had genuinely liked him too.

‘I understand it happened towards the latter part of the campaign,’ he added, when she regarded the contents of her glass with a pensive expression on her face, though blessedly with no suspicion of tears.

‘Yes, he was shot in the back whilst out on a scouting mission for Wellington, shortly before the army crossed into France, and died a few days later. But I’m not sorry it happened that way,’ she surprised him by admitting. ‘I had been informed by one of the army surgeons a few months before that my father was in the first stages of the wasting disease. He died serving his country. He would have wanted it that way. He was buried in Spain. And I remained with the army until we reached Paris. I believe he would have wished that too.’

Once again she relapsed into silence for a few moments, whilst all the time regarding him steadily over the rim of her glass, before adding, ‘Yes, sadly we have both lost loved ones during these past years, Philip. It was very many weeks before the sad news of Eugenie’s death reached us. Papa did write on behalf of us both. I hope you received his letter?’

Beth continued to regard him keenly. Although the heartfelt sympathy he had shown when speaking of her father was still there, lurking in the depths of his eyes, she could detect, amazingly enough, absolutely no other very evident emotion hidden in those grey depths. It was really most strange. She would have expected to see something…anything to betray his own deep sorrow. But there was nothing.

‘I did write to my aunt and uncle, of course, during the time I was out there in Spain, keeping up with all their news as best I could,’ Beth went on to reveal, more in an attempt to bridge the lengthening silence than anything else. ‘I will say one thing for Aunt Hetta, she’s nothing if not a pragmatist. Grieve over the loss of her eldest daughter she undoubtedly did, and always will, I do not doubt, but it clearly didn’t deter her from doing her absolute best for her other girls. Three married daughters now—some achievement!’

‘Indeed, yes,’ Philip agreed, a suspicion of a smile tugging at his lips now. ‘Life goes on, as the saying goes,’ he added, finishing off his port, and rising to his feet. ‘And speaking of which, would you and Mrs Stride care to dine with us at the Court on Friday evening as, judging by your attire, I assume you consider your period of mourning at an end?’

‘Us…?’ Beth echoed, swooping down on this surprising disclosure.

‘Connie intends staying with me for a few weeks, playing hostess.’

‘Has she brought the family with her?’

‘Good God, no!’ Philip shuddered at the mere idea. ‘I might be an indulgent brother, Beth, but not to that extent. The whole brood, five of ’em at the last count, decided to come down with a string of childish ailments that continued throughout the spring and most of the summer, resulting in their mother’s total exhaustion. She’s taking refuge with me at the Court for a few weeks’ well-earned rest. Or at least that’s what she’s putting about. What she’s really determined to do is ensure my thirtieth birthday doesn’t pass without celebration.’

Beth frankly laughed as she, too, rose to her feet to bid him farewell. ‘Oh, well, in that case we’ll be delighted to accept your invitation to dine.’

‘Excellent!’ He appeared very well pleased. ‘Only a small affair, you understand? But it will offer you the opportunity to reacquaint yourself with a few neighbours, and meet some new ones too.’

With that, he captured her hand, and, before she could withdraw it from his grasp, he had brushed his lips lightly across the skin.

Chapter Two

At the click of the door Beth abandoned her position by the window, from where she had been following her esteemed visitor’s progress along the short sweep of the drive, until he had disappeared from view. She wasn’t remotely surprised to see her good friend return to the room, just as she hadn’t been particularly surprised by her feeble excuse to leave it a short time earlier. Ann was nothing if not highly perceptive. She would have judged in a trice that the rapport between the master of Staveley Court and the mistress of the Grange had once been, perhaps, a trifle stronger than that of merely affable neighbours, even though Beth had done her utmost to keep her feelings well under control the instant she had discovered the identity of the unexpected caller.

She continued to do so now, as she slanted a mocking glance on her way back over to the decanters. ‘My paid companion you might wish to be termed, but pray abandon any desire to become a duenna. I should dismiss you in a trice for rank incompetence.’

Far from chastened, Ann frankly laughed. ‘But, my dear, I could see you were in no danger! I believe I recognise an honourable gentleman when I see one. And such a handsome one, too!’

Beth paused in the act of refilling her glass to consider for a moment. ‘Do you think him handsome?’

‘Why, yes! Don’t you?’

‘Not particularly, no. Attractive, certainly,’ Beth answered, as candid as ever. ‘But I have always considered him completely trustworthy. And I cannot imagine my opinion on that will ever change.’

‘And, of course, you have known him well enough to have formed that opinion of his character. Yet, when you took the liberty of crossing his land yesterday, and touched upon your relationship with the eligible Baronet, you gave me every reason to suppose you had never been anything other than amiable neighbours.’

Although the accusation was clearly discernible, Beth wasn’t unduly troubled by it. ‘And so we were, Ann dear. Here, pass me your glass, and I shall refill it with that revolting concoction you choose to tip down your throat!’

Once comfortably settled in their respective chairs again, Beth made no attempt to divert her companion’s mind by raising a different topic. Instead, she tried to explain her past relationship with the Baronet more fully by first reminding Ann of certain convivial evenings enjoyed out in the Peninsula in the company of Colonel Ashworth, and other distinguished officers.

‘So, having heard him, on more than one occasion, reminisce about my childhood,’ she continued, ‘you must have gathered I had had something of an unorthodox upbringing.’

‘Oh, yes, I do recall your father mentioning on more than one occasion that you were something of a tomboy, shamefully going about in breeches.’

Beth gurgled with mirth, genuinely amused. ‘Yes, and it was all very well for him, years afterwards, to lament over my deplorable behaviour, but let me assure you, at the time, he actively encouraged me to behave like the son he’d never been blessed to have.’ She considered for a moment. ‘Had my father been next in line for the title, instead of the youngest of three sons, I think maybe he might have remarried at some point and tried to beget a son himself. But as it was…’

Settling herself more comfortably in the chair, Beth allowed her mind to wander back over the years yet again. ‘You’ll remember me telling you that my mother died when I was very young. My recollections of her are distinctly hazy, merely flashes of memory concerning sweet perfumes and gentle words and caresses. My recollections of my father in my formative years are, by contrast, most vivid. He taught me to ride. Astride, I might add. When I was seven years old and he wished to purchase a side-saddle for me, I quite naturally recoiled in horror at the mere thought. So he bought me a suit of boy’s clothes instead.

‘Don’t be fooled by anything you might have heard him say out there in Spain,’ Beth advised, smiling fondly. ‘Believe me when I tell you he felt so proud that his little girl was a bruising rider, and had learned to shoot as well as he could. He rarely objected when I escaped from my long-suffering governess to accompany him out. And so it followed that whenever he was invited to join a shooting party in the locale, or went fishing with neighbours, I, too, went along. Philip frequently accompanied his father, and so, naturally, we became very well acquainted. I always looked forward with much pleasure to those times when he came home from school and, later, university. I regarded him as…possibly…a surrogate brother then, and followed him about everywhere.’ Smiling still, she shook her head. ‘He, poor boy, must have found me such a confounded nuisance, but he was always so very patient with me.’

Pausing to reduce the contents of her glass, Beth took a moment to collect her thoughts. ‘Of course such a state of affairs couldn’t possibly continue. Dear, dear, the granddaughter of an earl, no less, going about in breeches…?’ She raised her brows in mock horror. ‘It was not to be borne! Eventually my father’s only sister, the only member of his family, incidentally, with whom Papa ever had any dealings during the vast majority of his adult life, succeeded in forcing him to acknowledge the error of his ways, and in persuading him to pack me off to an exclusive seminary in Bath, where her own eldest daughter was a pupil.

‘I must confess I did somewhat resent Aunt Hetta’s interference at first,’ Beth went on to reveal. ‘And woe betide the woman if she ever attempts to meddle in my affairs again!’ A reluctant smile then tugged at her mouth. ‘To be fair, though, I’m forced to own she was in the right of it on that occasion. Eventually even I was brought to acknowledge the fact that I simply couldn’t go on behaving in such an outrageous fashion, especially if I ever hoped to make a suitable marriage. And besides—’ she shrugged ‘—the few years I spent at the seminary weren’t so bad. My eldest cousin and I were much of an age, and of course we’d seen each other on several occasions before then. But at the seminary we shared a room and became the very best of friends, more like sisters than cousins. At least, that’s how I eventually came to look upon Eugenie.’

The widow thought she could detect just the faintest trace of bitterness in Beth’s voice, and was frankly puzzled by it. Although Beth could never have been accused of boasting about her more illustrious family connections, she had on several occasions during the past five years mentioned her cousin Eugenie, always with affection, and always with much regret at her passing.

‘I seem to recall your saying you kept in regular contact with that cousin in particular,’ she remarked, in an attempt to discover a little more about this period in her dearest friend’s life.’

‘Yes, we exchanged letters on a regular basis and, as Papa had become increasingly less remote as the years had passed, at least where his only sister was concerned, we visited Lord Barfield’s mansion in Surrey at least once a year. Then, quite out of the blue, shortly after Eugenie had enjoyed a very successful first Season in town, Aunt Hetta professed a desire to accompany her eldest daughter here. The visits quickly became more frequent, every three months or so. Foolishly I imagined my cousin instigated those frequent journeys into the West Country for the sole purpose of seeing me.’ The shout of laughter that echoed round the parlour held a distinctly hollow and bitter ring. ‘How wrong can one be! The main reason for the regular visits was to remain in close proximity to a certain eligible young bachelor who had paid her no little attention during her weeks in London the previous year.’

Ann sympathised. ‘Little wonder you felt so aggrieved, my dear.’

‘Yes, and much more than you realise. I also foolishly imagined that Philip’s visits to this house were prompted by a desire to keep in regular contact with his childhood companion, not to moon over the beautiful girl with whom he had fallen head over heels in love.’

Rising to her feet, Beth went to stand before the window once more, and after a significant silence, when the only sound to be heard was the crackling of the logs on the fire, she at last conceded, ‘But perhaps I’m doing Philip an injustice to speak so disparagingly of him. Little wonder he fell so hopelessly in love with Eugenie. Believe me, Ann, she was the most beautiful girl imaginable—golden blonde hair, big, bright blue eyes, and the sweetest of dispositions.’

The sigh she uttered seemed to hang in the air for a long time before she added, ‘Although I was blissfully ignorant of it at the time, Waldo Staveley persuaded his nephew to wait until the following year before making anything official. Philip, seemingly, must have been content enough to follow his uncle’s advice. Which was understandable in the circumstances. He was very young, not four-and-twenty, and he was having to accustom himself to a vast number of responsibilities, as he had only months before come into the title. None the less, one cannot expect to keep things secret indefinitely and eventually word leaked out that an engagement announcement would be forthcoming in the spring of the following year.

‘During this period, Papa sailed for Portugal with Wellesley in the summer of ’08, as you know, and there was no possibility that I could remain here at the Grange. Foolishly I felt hurt, and harboured far too much resentment towards Eugenie and her mother to stay with them for the duration of Papa’s absence, and so I inflicted myself on my mother’s maiden aunt, who still resides in Plymouth. I was brutally aware, of course, that I would be expected to travel to Surrey for the engagement party the following year. As the months passed, and the date for the celebration loomed ever nearer, in sheer desperation I sought a way out of my predicament, and managed to attain passage on board a ship bound for Portugal, just a matter of a week or so before the engagement was made official. Great-Aunt Matilda suspected nothing until she discovered the note I had left her, poor darling. She must have been desperately concerned, even though I assured her I was sharing a cabin with the wife of an army surgeon, eager to join her husband out in the Peninsula, and would therefore be adequately chaperoned for the duration of the voyage.’

‘Even so, you took a desperate risk, my dear—a young girl, just turned twenty, travelling without a male protector,’ Ann pointed out.

‘True,’ Beth was obliged to agree. ‘But at the time to have remained seemed a far worse fate.’ She shrugged. ‘Her numerous letters since would suggest Great-Aunt Matilda has long since forgiven me for the distress I caused her. Lady Henrietta Barfield is a different matter entirely. Although she did eventually bring herself to write to me, the few letters received during the intervening years have contained precious little warmth.’

Ann stared intently at the figure still standing at the window. ‘And do you still feel resentment now?’

Beth turned to stare out at the slightly neglected garden once more. ‘Not towards my Aunt Hetta, no,’ she at last revealed. ‘Perhaps a little towards Philip, still. But I hope I didn’t allow it to show.’

‘I could detect nothing of the kind,’ Ann assured her.

‘Good—because we have been invited to dine at the Court on Friday, and it would be the height of bad manners to reveal the least animosity towards one’s host, don’t you agree? Besides which, I am determined to put such youthful grievances behind me!’

Ann offered no response. She merely turned her attention to her sewing once more, her brow furrowed by a thoughtful frown.

Philip arrived back at the Court to discover his sister seated close to the parlour fire, also plying a needle. Unlike the lean yet shapely women with whom he had conversed a short time earlier, Lady Chalford was not given to indulging in any form of strenuous exercise, if she could possibly avoid it. And it showed!

‘Ahh, busily occupied again, I see!’ he quipped, making a beeline for the table on which recently refilled decanters stood. ‘Can I tempt you to join me in a glass of madeira before luncheon, m’dear?’

‘Yes, I rather think you can, Brother. I’m quite fatigued after all the embroidering I’ve been doing during your absence.’

Living up to his reputation for gentlemanly conduct, he refrained from comment, and merely apologised for deserting her for the entire morning. ‘But as the business with my steward was accomplished swiftly, I took the opportunity to call in at the Grange in order to welcome Beth home personally.’

Happily abandoning her sewing, Lady Chalford accepted the glass of madeira, while favouring her brother with her full attention. ‘Well…?’ she prompted, after he had quietly settled himself in the chair opposite. ‘What is she like? Did you find her much altered?’

Philip took a few moments to contemplate the contents of his glass, his mind’s eye conjuring up a clear image of a pair of clear, azure eyes, set in a finely boned face. ‘Yes, some…and the changes are not merely physical, either. I detected a certain reserve in her now that might almost be taken for aloofness.’

Although not known for being particularly perceptive, Lady Chalford on this occasion could easily see something was troubling him. ‘Do you mean she didn’t seem pleased to see you?’

‘Oh, no. No, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, exactly.’ Frowning more deeply, he shook his head. ‘Perhaps I just imagined it, or am being too sensitive. After all, she’s a woman grown, not the lively girl she once was, given to displays of adoration. And, of course, she was bound to have changed after what she’s experienced during these past years.’

Lady Chalford uttered a sound that was suspiciously like a snort. ‘Well, if she did suffer hardship, she has only her late father to blame. What on earth possessed Colonel Ashworth to send for his daughter, do you suppose? If he had placed her in his sister’s care, I’m sure Lady Henrietta would have been only too happy to chaperon her for a Season. It would have been the ideal time to bring Bethany out. Once the event to celebrate your engagement was over, that is.’

As always, she cast her brother a searching look in an attempt to gauge his reaction. On this occasion, however, his expression gave absolutely nothing away. It was almost as if he had not heard. ‘Bethany might well have been married by now had she remained in England.’ A thought suddenly occurred to her. ‘Or is she married?’

‘No, she isn’t,’ he eventually revealed, frowning more deeply than before. ‘Which is most surprising, because there’s no denying she’s become a most attractive young woman, quite strikingly so. But what puzzles me even more is why she took it into her head to join her father in the Peninsula in the first place. Beth’s companion inadvertently revealed something that has given me every reason to suppose that Augustus Ashworth didn’t plan for his daughter to join him out there.’

He shrugged, straining the material of his impeccably tailored jacket across much-admired shoulders. ‘No doubt we’ll discover the truth in time, possibly even this coming Friday, as I’ve invited Beth and her charming companion, Mrs Stride, to join our small dinner party.’

Philip favoured his sister with a prolonged stare. ‘And have a care, Connie,’ he warned. ‘Unless I much mistake the matter, Beth looks upon this woman as rather more than a companion. I know you are far too well bred to make any guest of mine feel ill at ease, but you do not always put a guard on that tongue of yours.’

Lady Chalford clearly bridled at the accusation, yet possessed sense enough not to refute it, and merely said, ‘Well, if I’m being forced to play hostess to a man of Bathurst’s stamp, I’m sure I can be civil to a hired companion.’ Her grey eyes were suddenly lit by a catlike gleam. ‘In fact, the companion might turn out to be a blessing in disguise. I was wondering who to place next to Mr Charles Bathurst at table, as you will insist on inviting the fellow to dine.’

‘An excellent notion!’ Philip announced, completely impervious to his sister’s attempts to provoke him. ‘And it might not be such a bad notion to place Bethany on my affluent new neighbour’s other side, for unless her character has changed out of all recognition, and I don’t suppose for a moment it has, she wouldn’t care a jot if she was seated next to someone who for the first twenty years of his life was considered a bastard!’

Although having had the advantage of becoming reacquainted with Bethany, and therefore having already appreciated the quite apparent physical changes in her, even Philip found himself almost gaping when she entered his drawing room with her companion early on Friday evening.

A gentleman of no little experience in such matters, it was evident to him that both ladies were dressed in creations clearly fashioned by a leading modiste, and possibly purchased during their recent and quite lengthy sojourn in the French capital. Bethany’s gown of kingfisher-blue silk clung to her slender figure in gently flowing folds. Long evening gloves, satin slippers and the ribbon entwined through a coiffeur of intricately arranged dark-brown curls were all dyed the exact same shade as the stylish dress. Only the simple string of pearls adorning her throat and the pearl-drop earrings provided some contrast. From head to toe she was the epitome of serene elegance, and her companion’s appearance, too, left nothing to be desired.

Leaving his sister still staring slightly open-mouthed, he set about playing the gracious host until dinner was announced by introducing the new arrivals to his other guests, some of whom were known to at least one of the ladies.

Although he had left most of the organising in his sister’s very capable hands, Philip had specified which of his female guests he wished placed next to him at the head of the table. For reasons which escaped him still, he had refrained from choosing Beth as one of his close dinner companions. Nevertheless, throughout the meal he found himself frequently casting surreptitious glances in her direction in an attempt to assess her social skills.

No one could ever have accused her of being in the least shy when a child. She had simply oozed confidence in those early years of her life. Yet surprisingly enough when she had returned home after her final year at the seminary, he at least had detected tiny cracks of insecurity in her character. She had certainly been more at home on the hunting field in those days than in a fashionable drawing room. Now, however, there wasn’t a sign of diffidence or awkwardness in her demeanour. She conversed easily with those sitting nearest to her, and paid particular attention to the wealthy newcomer to the locale.

Interested to discover what she thought of Charles Bathurst, he didn’t encourage the gentlemen to linger over their port, and surprised the ladies by returning to the drawing room before the tea things had even been removed.

‘Can I tempt you to take a stroll with me in the garden, Beth?’ he asked her, easily prising her away from the other female guests. ‘It’s a fine evening, and there’ll not be too many more to enjoy before autumn sets in.’

If she was surprised to be singled out for particular attention, she betrayed no sign of it, and appeared quite relaxed and content as she accompanied him across the terrace and down the steps to the formal gardens at the rear of the mansion.

‘I’d quite forgotten how splendid the grounds are here,’ she admitted, her expression openly admiring. ‘Or maybe it’s that I never fully appreciated the beauty of English gardens until I was denied the pleasure of being in one for so many years. The roses here in the summer must have been breathtaking! I’m determined the garden at the Grange will be as lovely as it once was when Mama was alive. Papa frequently remarked on how wonderful it looked during those few short years before he became a widower.’

Had it been any other female of Philip’s acquaintance, he wouldn’t have considered the remarks in the least trite, merely a well-bred young woman’s attempts to maintain a conversation that was lacking any hint of contention and, in consequence, could offend no one.

Yet, because it was Beth, because it was someone who throughout childhood had possessed such a wealth of roguish charm, he had found the discourse commonplace, and could only wonder at himself for experiencing such a surge of dissatisfaction. What had he expected, for heaven’s sake! She was no longer the adoring infant, only too willing to share confidences with someone whom she had looked upon as an indulgent big brother. Furthermore, this evident reserve in her now hadn’t suddenly manifested itself overnight, he reminded himself.

Quickly casting his mind back over the years, he recalled the time when she had returned after the period spent at that Bath seminary. He remembered experiencing a sense of acute disappointment in Beth then, especially when she had attempted to ape the more ladylike behaviour of her beautiful cousin. Missish conduct hadn’t suited her in the least. He recalled vividly now that he had found the totally feigned manners irksome in the extreme. It simply hadn’t suited Beth at all to act the helpless, languishing damsel. It was different now, though, he realised. During their years apart she had developed her social skills, and her manner no longer seemed artificial. Undeniably it was some achievement, and one of which he would have wholeheartedly approved had he not the increasing suspicion that she was determined to keep him at a distance.

This strong impression was endorsed moments later, when they continued their stroll through the gardens, and Beth inadvertently stepped on a large pebble and momentarily lost her balance. Instinctively he grasped the upper part of her right arm in order to steady her, and just as quickly she wrenched it out of his gentle clasp, as though the heat from his fingers had seared through the material of the long evening glove, burning her flesh.

She recovered her poise almost at once, the frantic look of a creature caught in a trap instantly fading from her eyes. ‘Forgive me, I’m not usually so clumsy.’

He experienced a stab of irritation at the needless withdrawal. Exerting the praiseworthy self-control for which he was much admired, he none the less suppressed his annoyance in a trice. ‘On the contrary, I clearly remember you being exceedingly accident-prone as a child,’ he countered. ‘I distinctly recall rescuing you from countless scrapes. I was obliged to climb numerous trees in order to assist you down. I even plunged into the river, here, to save you on one occasion, when you ventured too close to the bank, remember? And ruined a pair of brand new boots for my pains!’

Philip could only stare in wonder as he watched a smile, full of that roughish charm he well remembered, light up her face like a beacon. He had seen it numerous times in his youth, and realised quite suddenly how much he had missed not seeing it in recent years. It worked on him like a physic, instantly lifting his spirits from the merely contented frame of mind he’d been in for far, far too long.

‘Great heavens! I’d quite forgotten all about that!’ Her spontaneous gurgle of mirth was further proof, had he needed any, that beneath the demur, ladylike surface trappings lurked, still, that impish and intrepid spirit of yesteryear. ‘Poor Philip, you must have found my company confoundedly tiresome on occasions.’

‘Far from it,’ he was swift to assure her. Then, after considering for a moment only, he quite deliberately added, ‘Only after you’d returned from that seminary did I find your company less than agreeable.’

Study her though he did, he could detect nothing to suggest she was in the least offended by the disclosure. Her smile had faded in an instant, true enough, but her expression gave him every reason to suppose she was more intrigued than anything else by the candid admission, before she eventually asked, ‘Why so?’

‘Because I found your behaviour during those few years leading up to your eventual departure from the Grange quite artificial,’ he told her bluntly, fervently hoping that by so doing it might result in a resumption, at least in part, of the relationship they had once shared, which had been based on mutual trust, deep affection and honesty.

He chose not to dwell on the reasons why he should wish for a resumption of their past close association as he gave voice to his earlier thoughts. ‘You attempted to ape the manners of your cousin Eugenie, and it simply didn’t work. It just didn’t suit you to play the simpering miss.’

One finely arched brow rose, as blue eyes studied him keenly. ‘I cannot recall you regarding Eugenie in the light of a simpering miss,’ she reminded him, with just the faintest trace of pique in her voice. ‘In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, I seem to recall your remarking once that her manners and conduct were beyond reproach.’

‘And so they were,’ he readily concurred. ‘And perfectly natural too. From the cradle your cousin had been strictly reared. You were not. Eugenie’s behaviour was scrutinised at all times for the slightest imperfection. You, on the other hand, were allowed to do more or less as you pleased. I thought at the time that it was not the wisest thing your father ever did, allowing his sister to persuade him to send you away to a school that was renowned for turning out débutantes who all behaved exactly the same. No doubt it was beneficial for some; for others, like yourself, it was nothing short of disastrous. The Colonel would have done better either to engage a stricter governess-companion to instruct you on how to comport yourself, or to send you to a school where standards were not so rigidly high. ’

He watched as she turned her head and stared intently in the direction of the neat yew hedge that divided the formal gardens from the shrubbery. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, Beth. Believe me, it wasn’t my intention.’

‘You haven’t offended me,’ she said at length. ‘You’ve merely given me pause for thought. No doubt I shall mull over what you’ve told me at my leisure, and decide if there is some justification for the criticism.’

Once again he became the object of a level blue-eyed gaze.’ At the risk of inviting further criticism, dare I ask how such an arbiter of conduct in the fair sex rates my behaviour now?’

Although half-suspecting her of mockery, he decided to be totally frank. ‘If what I have observed since your arrival here is a true representation of your character, and I would be most surprised if it was not, I should say you’re a young woman who conducts herself to please no one but herself, who is now totally without artifice and who is more than capable, still, of exuding an abundance of natural charm, when the mood takes her.’ He took a moment to slant her a quizzical smile. ‘You certainly had Charles Bathurst clinging to your every word during dinner.’

‘What utter rot!’ she exclaimed, while eyeing him uncertainly, as though unable to make up her mind whether his intention had been to compliment her or not. ‘It was simply that, apart from Ann and myself, no one sitting close to him attempted to engage him in conversation very much at all. The vicar and his wife, seated opposite, apart from one or two polite exchanges, virtually ignored the poor fellow throughout the meal. And your sister didn’t precisely exert herself to converse with him very often, either.’

‘Mmm…I have frequently remarked upon it that dear Constance is not altogether wise on occasions,’ Philip responded, as he began to guide Beth along one of the paths that led back to the terrace. ‘There’s some excuse for the vicar and his spouse, I suppose. They’re good people, but the Reverend Mr Chadwick wouldn’t wish to offend the more influential part of his congregation by becoming too friendly with someone who was considered a bastard by the vast majority of the polite world for the first two decades of his life.’

‘Great heavens!’ He had captured her full attention, and it clearly showed. ‘I was wondering throughout dinner why it was I couldn’t remember old Eustace Bathurst ever mentioning he had a nephew. Not that I ever knew the old curmudgeon very well, of course.’ She frowned suddenly. ‘But surely he must have acknowledged him at some point, otherwise why did he leave his property, not to mention all his wealth, to his nephew?’

‘Poor old Eustace had been in an unenviable position,’ Philip began to explain. ‘I discovered from Uncle Waldo that not only was Eustace’s brother a key player in the scandal that took place almost four decades ago, Eustace himself was on friendly terms with the sixth Viscount Litton who, incidentally, remained until his death Charles’s mother’s legal spouse. It appeared not to trouble Eustace a whit that his friend the Viscount, when in his cups, wasn’t above beating his young bride unmercifully for the slightest misdemeanour. Like so many others, Eustace considered it a wife’s lot to put up with a husband’s—er—peccadilloes’

Disgusted, but intrigued, Beth demanded to be told more.

‘It was after she had suffered a particularly vicious beating, that the young Viscountess was attended by the newly qualified Dr Cedric Bathurst. They fell in love, and as soon as the Viscountess was restored to health they ran away to live under assumed names as man and wife. Some few years later the Viscount succeeded in locating his errant wife’s whereabouts. Charles had been born by that time, but even so the Viscount flatly refused to grant his wife a divorce, and made life so difficult for the couple that they were forced to flee yet again. Eustace had no contact with his brother at all during this period. In fact, it wasn’t until after the Viscount’s death, some fifteen years later, when Cedric had been able to marry the mother of his child, and had set up a very successful practice in Northamptonshire, that contact between the Bathurst brothers finally resumed. But even so mud sticks, and there are those still unwilling to recognise Charles Bathurst as his father’s legitimate offspring and the rightful heir to Eustace Bathurst’s fortune.’

Once again Philip found himself the recipient of an assessing blue-eyed gaze. ‘But you are not of their number, I fancy.’

‘Assuredly not!’ he concurred. ‘But sadly there are those in these parts unwilling to offer him the hand of friendship. I am hoping he can rely on your support?’

‘That must rate as the worst insult you have offered me thus far!’ she returned sharply, her dark brows having risen in feigned hauteur. ‘Really, Philip, I’m astonished you felt the need to ask!’

For answer he gave a bark of appreciative laughter. Then, before she was able to do anything to avoid it, he entwined her arm securely round his and returned to the house to rejoin his other guests.

Chapter Three

Early the following week, while alone in the front parlour busily dealing with household accounts, Beth was informed that Sir Philip Staveley’s sister had called. A few moments later the lady herself swept unaccompanied into the room, appearing, it had to be said, slightly put out.

‘What a—er—very singular manservant you keep, Bethany, my dear,’ she began, after accepting the invitation to seat herself in one of the comfortable chairs by the hearth. ‘His odd manner gives one every reason to suppose that he isn’t solely an indoor servant.’

‘Rudge’s coat buttons over many duties, Constance,’ Beth confirmed, all at once realising what must have given rise to her unexpected visitor’s odd expression when first entering the room. ‘Although I wouldn’t be without him for the world, even I must admit he lacks the natural aplomb and social graces of an experienced butler.’

She smiled wickedly as a thought suddenly occurred to her. ‘Perhaps, if I’m feeling particularly vindictive one day, I might persuade your brother to have Rudge up at the Court for a spell so that he might pick up a few pointers from the very estimable Stebbings.’

As the teasing had clearly been wasted on her guest, who appeared quite nonplussed, Beth didn’t attempt to explain she had been merely jesting. Instead, she glided smoothly across the room in order to provide her visitor with some refreshment.

‘Would I be correct in assuming you imbibe the same revolting concoction as my good friend Ann?’ she asked, holding up a certain decanter containing a clear liqueur flavoured with almonds.

‘What…? Oh, yes, yes. A glass of ratafia would be most welcome.’

‘Each to her own,’ Beth murmured, providing herself with a glass of burgundy, before joining her guest over by the hearth.

‘Is Mrs Stride not to join us?’ Lady Chalford asked after gazing about the room in a decidedly vague manner. ‘Such a charming woman, not in the least ingratiating. Yet, at the same time, one gains the distinct impression she’s quite accustomed to socialising with those more fortunately circumstanced than herself.’

Although in her formative years she had been far better acquainted with Sir Philip than his sister, Beth knew Constance well enough to be sure that she was not in the least malicious by nature. There was no denying, though, there was a wide streak of quaint snobbery running through her, which had a tendency to surface from time to time.

Consequently, although she had no intention in taking up the cudgels on her friend’s behalf, Beth was not slow to reveal, ‘If I were to tell you that her maiden name was Carrington, and that she is closely related to the branch of that family owning many acres of Gloucestershire countryside, you’ll perhaps appreciate why she’s not overawed in polite company.’

Quickly realising she had captured her guest’s full attention by what she had thus far revealed, Beth was happy to divulge more in the hope that it might pave Ann’s smooth introduction into local society.

‘It is true that her father, like my own, was a younger son, and therefore was obliged to make his own way in the world. He joined the church, and ended his days as a well-respected, if not particularly affluent, clergyman. Needless to say, Ann too was obliged to earn her own living at a young age, and thanks to both her parents’ efforts received a well-rounded education. She eventually attained a post as governess with a family in Hampshire, where she met and subsequently married Major John Stride, who owned a modest property in the county.

‘When he went out to Portugal with his regiment, Ann was happy to accompany him. Sadly he lost his life at Talavera. It was around that time I arrived on the scene.’

Lady Chalford gave a sudden start. ‘Why, yes! I clearly recall darling Philip mentioning something about that only the other day—said something about wondering whether Colonel Ashworth had sent for you at all. My brother seemed to suppose it had been entirely your own decision to join your father out there.’

Beth attempted to hide neither her surprise nor her grudging respect. ‘Well, well, well! The clever devil! I wonder how he managed to deduce that.’

‘It is true, then?’ Lady Chalford prompted, after watching closely as Beth, her expression revealing absolutely nothing at all, merely turned her head to stare intently at the logs smouldering nicely in the grate.

‘Oh, yes, it’s true, right enough,’ she admitted at length. ‘Very few people know it, however. I don’t think even Ann was ever officially informed, though she might have guessed, of course.’

Raising one hand, she waved it in a dismissive gesture. ‘Still, we digress. Getting back to dear Ann’s history—her husband was with Wellesley in India, and the, now, Duke of Wellington thought well of him. Needless to say, even though she was my paid companion, she was treated with respect by the vast majority of the more discerning officers. She most always partook of meals with Papa and myself and, in consequence, has rubbed shoulders with a great many younger sons of the aristocracy. Little wonder, then, that she isn’t in the least diffident when in polite company.’

‘Indeed, no,’ Lady Chalford agreed, frowning slightly. ‘But I still think it strange that she agreed to be your paid companion when she might have returned to her house in Hampshire, and lived a genteel existence in her late husband’s home.’

‘You say that because you don’t know Ann very well,’ Beth told her bluntly. ‘Her husband, although a serving officer, was by no means a wealthy man, and did not leave his widow so very comfortably circumstanced. Besides which, the house is leased until the end of the year, and is presently occupied by a practitioner and his family. We’ve never discussed it, but I doubt very much whether Ann would wish to return there. Engaging in some genteel occupation for a few hours each week in order to enjoy a luxury or two wouldn’t suit her at all. She is both energetic and resourceful.’

Raising her head, Beth stared at the wall behind her visitor’s head, her mind’s eye easily conjuring up images from the past, the vast majority of which were not so very pleasant.

‘Having no desire to offend your sensibilities, ma’am, I shall say only this—my friend and I suffered hardship out there in the Peninsula. We witnessed many happenings to which any gently bred female would not normally be subjected. That said, I believe my years with the army were the making of me. Had I remained here in England, I would undoubtedly have eventually been coerced into marriage, more than likely a loveless union, and would by now be heartily bored with my lot.’

Lady Chalford’s expression was all at once one of both shock and disapproval. ‘But, my dear! It’s every young woman’s ambition, surely, to achieve a suitable match, and become a wife and mother?’

‘Not mine, it isn’t!’ Beth returned bluntly. ‘I might have thought differently at one time. Thank the Lord I’ve more sense now!’

Easily recognising the signs of mortification her plain speaking had aroused, Beth changed the subject entirely by asking her visitor if her call was merely social or whether there was a specific reason for the visit.

‘As a matter of fact, I did wish to consult with you on a particular matter,’ Lady Chalford admitted, after once again appearing slightly taken aback by the younger woman’s blunt way of expressing herself. ‘And so pleased to have this opportunity to speak with you in private.’ She shot a quick glance across at the door. ‘Are we likely to be disturbed, do you suppose?’

‘Only by Rudge, if he takes it into his head to bring in more logs. But don’t be alarmed. Despite his blunt manner, he’s remarkably discreet,’ Beth assured her. ‘And Ann isn’t likely to return much before luncheon. It just so happens the vicar’s wife, having somehow discovered Ann was the daughter of a clergyman, approached her on the evening of your dinner party, and asked if she would kindly assist in helping to distribute clothes to the needy in the parish.’ Beth cast a brief look at the plasterwork ceiling above her head. ‘And she agreed, more fool her!’

‘Well, it just so happens that that is what I wish to consult with you about.’

It was Beth’s turn to be slightly startled, and she stared at her visitor in no little amazement over the rim of her glass for a second or two before fortifying herself from its contents. ‘You wish to discuss the vicar’s wife importuning Ann?’

‘Oh, no, no! You misunderstand me, my dear. It was mention of the dinner party that jogged my memory. You see, I wanted to ask you about Philip. I couldn’t help but notice you and he spent some little time together quite privately in the garden during the evening.’

Once again Beth was at a loss to understand what her visitor was attempting to convey. Disapproval, perhaps? ‘What of it?’

‘Well, I was wondering, you see, what you thought of him—his manner towards you, I mean?’

Just a ray of enlightenment at last began to dawn. ‘Damnably insulting, if you must know!’ Beth returned, at her most plainspoken. ‘Had the crass impudence to accuse me of once having behaved like a simpering idiot, would you believe!’ A vindictive glimmer all at once added an extra brilliance to her striking eyes. ‘And I shan’t forget it in a hurry, either, I can tell you!’

Lady Chalford gurgled with mirth. ‘You jest, wicked girl! Philip is ever the gentleman in mixed company.’

‘Ha! Much you know!’ Beth scoffed, but then relented when her visitor appeared slightly put out by the slur on the Baronet’s character. ‘Well, I suppose he’s your brother, so you’re bound to think the best of him.’

‘Oh, I do. I do,’ she was speedily assured. ‘And I’m so very concerned about him too.’ A moment’s pause, then, ‘Do you find him much altered?’

‘Well, naturally I do!’ Beth returned in a trice, thinking the question faintly absurd. ‘We’ve all changed in more than half a decade. The passage of time is kind to so very few.’

‘Quite!’ Lady Chalford acknowledged, frowning. ‘But I was thinking not so much of physical differences as changes in his character, his manner. He has become so withdrawn, so insular since…since poor Eugenie’s demise. Oh, I know he puts a brave face on it when in public, poor boy. But I have seen him, Bethany…have come upon him on several occasions since my arrival at the Court, just sitting there, studying the miniature of his late fiancée, which he keeps in the desk in his library. He always looks so forlorn, so lost, just staring down at the only remembrance he has of that lovely, lovely girl. But whenever I’ve attempted to console him, he sets me at a distance, and is distinctly aloof. I hardly dare mention Eugenie’s name for fear of upsetting him, and on the rare occasion I do he invariably changes the subject.’

‘How odd!’ Beth was genuinely perplexed as she recalled Philip discussing Eugenie quite openly with her on the evening of the dinner party, and surprisingly betraying little emotion whatsoever. Perhaps, though, it wasn’t sympathy he sought. Furthermore, he had never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, she reminded herself.

‘Your brother was ever the private man, preferring to keep his own counsel for the most part, at least in his private concerns. He wouldn’t willingly betray his emotions in public, even in front of you, Constance. I do not doubt, though, he has suffered much over the loss of Eugenie.’

‘Oh, he has!’ Lady Chalford wholeheartedly agreed, taking a moment to dab at her eyes with the wisp of fine lawn swiftly extracted from her reticule. ‘He has never so much as looked at another female since the tragedy occurred.’ She coloured slightly. ‘At least, he has taken little notice of any female who would make him a suitable wife…not until, that is, this past Season.’

All at once Lady Chalford brightened, betraying more liveliness of spirit than Beth had ever witnessed in her before. ‘I do not know if you are aware of it, but your cousin Phoebe was brought out in the spring. And although, perhaps, not the instant success her eldest sister once was, she wasn’t without certain admirers. Even Philip paid her no little attention. Hardly surprising, though, really. She bears a striking resemblance to Eugenie.’

‘Really?’ Beth said, mildly interested. ‘The last time I saw Phoebe she didn’t resemble her eldest sister very much at all. Quite the little brown mouse, in fact! But that was some years ago, now I come to think about it.’

‘Then you are in for a surprise, my dear, for she does so now, as you’ll discover for yourself next month. Your aunt and cousin are to attend Philip’s birthday celebration, and are to put up at the Court for a few days. And that is where I am hoping I might count on your support.’

All at once alarm bells began to sound in Beth’s head. ‘How do you mean—count on my support? For what, precisely, may I ask?’

‘In helping Philip see a little more of Phoebe by, perhaps, generously inviting your cousin and aunt to stay here, enabling them to extend their sojourn in the county.’

‘Absolutely not! I shall not be made a convenience of a second time!’ Beth could see at a glance that she had shocked her visitor by the vehemence of her refusal. Nevertheless, she had no intention of changing her mind.

‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s simply out of the question. And you’ll forgive my saying so, but I don’t suppose for a moment Philip would thank you for interfering in his personal concerns. He certainly wouldn’t appreciate me doing so, especially as we no longer share that close bond of friendship we once enjoyed. Furthermore, since I chose the Peninsula in preference to staying with her, the affection in which my aunt once held me has lessened considerably, if the letters I’ve received in recent years are anything to go by. If, however, she is now prepared to let bygones be bygones, and voices a desire to stay with me here at the Grange, then I shall be only too happy to invite her…next year, when I hope to have the entire house in good order.’

And with that Lady Chalford was forced to be satisfied.

Ann, returning in good time for luncheon, discovered her young mistress seated at the escritoire in the parlour precisely where she had left her some two hours earlier. The accounts book was opened at the exact same page, with few entries having been set down. The neatly stacked pile of bills by the slender right hand, did not appear to have decreased by very much, and there was clear evidence of a troubled frown lurking between the striking azure eyes.

‘What is it, Beth dear? Are you feeling slightly put out not having accomplished your accounts this morning? Would you like me to leave you in peace to finish the task?’

So deep in thought had she been that Beth had hardly been aware of the fact that someone had entered the room. As always, though, the soft, understanding tones, successfully breaking through her reverie, had had an immediate calming effect upon her troubled spirits, at least up to a point.

‘It’s true I haven’t done as much as I might have wished, but that’s the fault of my unexpected visitor, Ann,’ she informed her. ‘All the same, I don’t wish to be left alone. Come, let’s sit by the fire for a spell, and you can tell me all about your morning and the interesting snippets you’ve managed to pick up at the vicarage.’

Ann frankly laughed, because she knew well enough that Bethany, being somewhat unorthodox in behaviour, neither indulged in gossip nor paid much heed to it. Notwithstanding, there had been one or two curious pieces of information discovered that morning that Ann thought might be of interest to her unconventional employer. Consequently she had no reluctance in revealing the disturbing fact that instances of robbery in the area had increased dramatically in recent months.

‘Mrs Chadwick also said that even two or three of the larger houses in the village had been broken into in recent weeks. And, by all accounts, it’s much worse in the local town, where men hang about on street corners, behaving in a distinctly offensive manner to those more happily circumstanced.’

Beth wasn’t unduly surprised to learn this. ‘It’s only to be expected. Now the war with France is blessedly over, there are too many looking for too few jobs. The unrest will continue, and get very much worse while men are unable to support themselves, let alone feed their families.’

Ann nodded in agreement before she bethought herself of something else she had discovered that day. ‘Are you by any chance acquainted with someone by the name of Napier? Mrs Chadwick seemed to suppose you were. Seemingly he’s a close friend of their son, and has been a frequent visitor at the vicarage in recent years. Said something about him heralding from Surrey, and living quite close to Lord and Lady Barfield,’ she continued, when Beth had merely frowned.

‘Oh, you must be referring to young Crispin Napier,’ she responded, after giving the matter more thought, and then shook her head. ‘I haven’t seen him since he was a boy. He must be in his early twenties by now.’

‘That’s right,’ Ann readily confirmed. ‘I’ve discovered he and the vicar’s only son were at some school together, and have remained friends ever since. Apparently, Mr Napier is returning here next month for Sir Philip’s birthday celebration. Which I find most strange in the circumstances.’ She shook her head, clearly perplexed. ‘Mrs Chadwick divulged something that gave me every reason to suppose that young Mr Napier, for some reason, isn’t too fond of the Baronet. Apparently Sir Philip organised a shooting party soon after his return from London earlier in the summer, and invited a great many of his neighbours, including the Reverend and Mrs Chadwick’s son and Mr Napier, who happened to be staying at the vicarage at the time. Seemingly Mr Napier wasn’t too eager to join the party, and only did so to bear his friend company. So why do you suppose he was so keen to accept the invitation to attend the birthday celebration if he truly isn’t so very fond of Sir Philip?’

‘Seems odd, certainly, but I suppose young Crispin has his reasons. Furthermore, I expect Lady Chalford was responsible for issuing the invitation, and I cannot imagine he holds a grudge against her,’ Beth responded, before she bethought herself of something else. ‘And talking of Lady Chalford… It was she who paid me a visit this morning, and whilst here gave me every reason to suppose that her brother knew, or at least strongly suspected, that it was indeed my decision to join Papa in the Peninsula, and not he who sent for me.’ Beth paused for a moment to search her friend’s face. ‘It must surely have been you who told him.’

If Ann was startled by the blunt accusation, she betrayed no sign of it. If anything, she appeared slightly bewildered. ‘I might have done so,’ she acknowledged. ‘But I honestly cannot recall.’ All at once her expression betrayed slight concern. ‘Does it matter? Would you have preferred him not to have known?’

‘To be perfectly frank…yes,’ Beth admitted, having quickly decided it would serve no purpose to lie. ‘It doesn’t redound to my credit, you see, the way I behaved back then…the bitter resentment I felt towards him and Eugenie. Naturally, I should prefer that he never discovers anything about my feelings at that time. It’s all water under the bridge now, after all.’

She looked up to discover herself being regarded intently, and felt obliged to force a smile, feigning unconcern. ‘Not that I need trouble myself unduly about it. Philip might be as sharp as a tack, but it’s unlikely I shall find myself in his company so frequently that I might inadvertently relax my guard and reveal my—er—once, less than charitable feelings towards him.’

Two days later, whilst visiting the local market town, Beth was obliged silently to own that she might have been a trifle optimistic in her predictions, when she espied none other than her most influential neighbour sauntering along the main street towards her. In an instant she accepted that it was too late to avoid the chance encounter. Furthermore, she wasn’t so very sure she even wished to try, as he was accompanied by none other than Mr Charles Bathurst, a gentleman who had left a very favourable impression upon a certain discerning female, judging by the number of times his name had been raised in conversation since the evening of the dinner party at Staveley Court.

Beth chanced to glance sideways in time to catch a becoming hue rise in her companion’s cheeks the instance Ann observed precisely who it was approaching.

‘Here to replenish stocks?’ Beth asked, instantly drawing both gentlemen’s attention, thereby allowing her surprisingly flustered companion a little time in which to regain her poise. ‘Or merely enjoying the bustle and atmosphere of a Markham market day?’

‘Both,’ Sir Philip revealed, his gaze fixed on the young lady whom he considered appeared particularly becoming that fine morning in a dashing bonnet trimmed with blue ribbon. ‘Bathurst is here to cast an eye over a few beasts. I’m here, as you so rightly surmised, merely to soak up the atmosphere. I love market days…always have.’

Beth’s smile faded very slightly. ‘Yes, I remember. I frequently accompanied you here.’

It would have been at this juncture that she would have made some excuse to part company with the gentleman, had it not been for the fact that she was certain her dear companion felt no similar desire to go their separate ways. Consequently, Beth disregarded her own feelings, and asked the gentlemen if they would be so obliging as to escort them back to where their carriage awaited them at the town’s most popular inn.

Although she might have preferred it to be quite otherwise, Beth wasn’t unduly surprised to find herself squired by Sir Philip, leaving Mr Bathurst to engage, if her expression was any indication, a highly contented widow in conversation a few feet behind.

‘Without wishing to appear vulgarly curious,’ Philip began, determined, himself, not to walk along in stony silence, ‘might I be permitted to know what has brought you to town today?’

‘A surfeit of nerves, I’m ashamed to say.’

‘Now, that I simply cannot believe!’ he countered, totally unconvinced.

‘Well, let us say a desire to take some necessary precautions prompted the visit,’ Beth confessed. ‘I wanted half a dozen hens. So I thought to get a couple of geese at the same time. I’ve been reliably informed, you see, that there have been one or two burglaries taking place in the village in recent weeks,’ she added, staring across the street at where a small group of men just happened to be loitering by a low wall.

‘Very wise,’ he said, following the direction of her gaze, and frowning slightly as he focused his attention on one lean, unkempt man in particular. ‘But wouldn’t a dog serve the purpose better? You could keep it close by, in the house, if you chose.’

‘True. But I haven’t heard of any new litters being born in the neighbourhood. And I should want a pup,’ Beth answered, glancing up at him and catching his frowning scrutiny. ‘What is it, Philip? Do you recognise one of them?’

‘I’m not sure. But one does seem vaguely familiar, though I cannot for the life of me imagine why he should be. He certainly doesn’t work for me.’

‘Funny you should say that, because I thought I’d seen the short one, with the limp and mousy-coloured hair, somewhere before.’ Frowning, Beth shook her head. ‘If he’s a native of these parts I cannot imagine where I might have come across him. More than likely, though, he’s a survivor of the Peninsular Campaign. Trouble is, I nursed so many out there I have difficulty remembering each individual.’

‘You nursed the wounded? Good gad!’

Philip had been unable to keep both surprise and disapproval from creeping in to his voice, which instantly earned him a flashing look of mingled reproach and anger.

‘What did you suppose I did out there, Philip?’ she demanded to know, the perfect shape of her mouth marred by a contemptuous curl of the upper lip. ‘Did you imagine me just sitting there beneath the shading branches of some exotic tree, fanning myself like a simpering idiot, while ignoring the blood bath that was each and every battle? Do you suppose I remained oblivious to all those whom the surgeons considered too badly injured to warrant attention? Do you suppose I gave a damn about my reputation when a life might be saved…? How little you know me!’

He felt hurt, and not just a little annoyed as well, by the derision so clearly discernible in her voice. Yet before he could formulate a response, Beth’s attention had already been captured by another man, hailing her from the forecourt of the While Hart Inn. He then found himself on the receiving end of a prolonged stare that was no less insultingly assessing, though a deal less sinisterly threatening, than the one he’d received a few minutes earlier from the tallest of the loiterers in the street.

‘Ah, Rudge! Were you successful in your endeavours? Please tell me you were.’

‘Aye, Miss Beth,’ he answered, his expression softening noticeably. ‘Half-a-dozen prime layers, if I’m any judge. The farmer’s going to drop ’em off on ’is way ’ome from market later today, with a couple o’ geese. Not that I don’t think you’d be better off with a cur.’

Blue eyes began to twinkle with an impish gleam of bygone years. ‘It might surprise you to know, Rudge, that you and Sir Philip, here, are as one in that belief.’

‘Well, I never! Who’d ’ave thought I’d ever ’ave something in common with a nob,’ Rudge responded, appearing anything but gratified.

Neither, it had to be said, was Sir Philip, who considered the servant insolent in the extreme, and in urgent need of being reminded of his place. All the same, he was in no danger of losing his temper, and when in the next moment Charles Bathurst captured his attention by inviting him and the ladies to dine at his home the following week, his annoyance was quickly forgotten.

That evening, however, while mulling over what had turned out to be on the whole a most unsatisfactory day, Philip could only wonder at himself for becoming so irritated over such a trivial matter as a servant’s lack of deference. Finally, after quietly considering the matter, he was obliged to acknowledge what had truly annoyed him. It hadn’t been Rudge’s lack of respect so much as his mistress’s behaviour a matter of moments before that had really stirred his ire.

He sought solace in the contents of the glass by his elbow, finishing half of it before forcing himself to acknowledge, too, that Beth’s attitude towards him since her return was increasingly beginning to both hurt and annoy him in equal measures.

Yet how on earth did he expect her to behave? She was no longer the adoring little companion, willing to cling to his every word in the staunch belief that he could say and do no wrong. She was a young woman with a mind of her own. Moreover, unless he was much mistaken, she was a young woman who had witnessed, first hand, the very worst traits of mankind. Little wonder, then, that her time out in the Peninsula had changed her, made her perhaps a deal more cynical in her outlook, he reasoned.

But that still didn’t account for her attitude towards him now. He had already gained the distinct impression that she was determined to keep him at a distance whenever possible. What was worse, he could almost feel a resentment in her towards him that bordered on dislike… But why? What had he ever done to engender these almost hostile emotions in her? And why should he suddenly feel so determined to eradicate those negative feelings completely, and regain that special place he had once held in her affections?

The door opening brought a temporary cessation to his troubled musings, and he raised his eyes to see his sister framed in the doorway. One glance was sufficient to convince him that she was doubtful about entering his private sanctum and disturbing him on an evening when he had not been the best of company, leaving her entirely to her own devices once dinner had ended.

Prompted by a guilty conscience, he bade her enter and join him by the hearth, even though he would have much preferred to be left alone with his troubling thoughts.

‘I’ve been poor company today, neglecting you so. Can I tempt you to join me in a night-cap…? A glass of wine, perhaps?’

‘No, I thank you, Brother,’ she answered, though readily accepting his invitation to seat herself opposite. ‘I merely wished to ask if there’s anyone else you wish to invite to the party? I’ve already sent out most all the invitations, and have received quite a number of replies already. But I was just wondering if there was perhaps someone else you might have forgotten?’

‘No, I don’t think so. I did glance through your list, remember?’ He checked for a moment before raising his glass once again to his lips. ‘You haven’t forgotten to send Beth and her companion a formal invitation, I trust?’

‘No, and I feel quite annoyed with myself. As it happens, I could have taken it over with me the other day when I paid a visit. But it quite slipped my mind. I must remember to send it tomorrow.’

‘You didn’t mention you’d paid a visit to the Grange, Connie,’ he remarked casually, and saw at a glance that for some reason she didn’t seem able to meet his gaze.

‘Didn’t I?’ she returned, plucking at the folds of her skirt. ‘Must have slipped my mind. You know what a scatterbrain I can be on occasions.’

He knew nothing of the sort. Although his sister could never have been described as a bluestocking, she was neither downright hen-witted nor forgetful. All the same he decided not to pursue the topic as it was evidently causing her some embarrassment, and asked, instead, if she considered Beth had altered very much over the years.

‘Why, yes! I do, as it happens,’ she answered. ‘In looks she’s much improved, a most attractive young woman, I should say, if a trifle on the slender side.’ All at once she looked primly disapproving. ‘I do think she’s grown quite hard, though, Philip. Quite unbecomingly so, in my opinion! I asked her to do me the tiniest little favour, and she virtually snapped my nose off.’

Intrigued though he was, he had to delve deep into his reserves of self-control to stop himself laughing at his sister’s rare show of pique. ‘Don’t worry, Connie, I shall take her roundly to task the very next time I see her for daring to ruffle your feathers so.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Philip, please don’t do that!’ she implored, having clearly taken her brother’s mock-threat quite seriously. ‘I could see on the night of the dinner party, when you returned after your stroll in the garden, how well you two still get on. You appeared so blissfully content in each other’s company after your walk round the garden. I should hate to be the one to cause a rift between you. Besides, which,’ she added, little realising that an arresting look had flickered briefly in her brother’s eyes at mention of that particular interlude with Bethany, ‘she had every right to refuse to invite her aunt and cousin to stay with her.’

After forcing his mind back to the present in order to digest everything his sister was revealing, Philip suddenly experienced the gravest misgivings. ‘Pray enlighten me, Sister, as to why you should have wished Beth to invite her aunt and cousin to stay?’

No explanation was forthcoming. Furthermore, Constance seemed unwilling to meet his gaze once again, which only succeeded in arousing his suspicions even further. ‘You would not, by any chance, be so foolish as to attempt to indulge in a spot of matchmaking where the youngest Miss Barfield is concerned?’

‘Oh, but, Philip, you cannot pretend you don’t like her. You paid her such attention during the Season,’ she reminded him, meeting his gaze, if only briefly. ‘She’s such a sweet child, and so like Eugenie.’

Only by exerting a deal of control did Philip stop himself from indulging in a rare show of ill humour. But even so his sister was left in no doubt that he would brook any interference in his personal concerns.

‘Even if Phoebe Barfield was the very image of her dead sister, which she most certainly is not, I would still never consider making an offer for her hand. And I sincerely trust, Constance, that you have never given the child, or her mother, for that matter, any reason to suppose that I might.’

The softness of his tone was a threat in itself, and resulted in only emphasising his evident displeasure. ‘Of course I wouldn’t dream of offering any encouragement to Lady Henrietta,’ his sister responded, at last raising her eyes to meet his. ‘It was just that I hoped… Oh, dear,’ she continued, her voice betraying a slight tremor now. ‘Bethany said you wouldn’t appreciate any interference in your personal concerns.’

This succeeded in diverting his thoughts. ‘Said that, did she…?’ He was impressed. ‘Evidently she’s grown into a perceptive little minx.’

‘Maybe,’ Lady Chalford grudgingly acknowledged. ‘But that wasn’t why she refused. Said she wouldn’t be made a convenience of again. Though what in the world she meant by such a thing is anybody’s guess.’

‘How very interesting,’ Philip murmured, studying the remaining contents of his glass with narrowed, assessing eyes. ‘Yes, most interesting.’

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