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She had made it her business to find out why, and when she had discovered the truth she confronted Mrs Aveton. It had been an unpleasant interview, with protestations of innocence on the lady’s part, and Prudence in such a towering rage that Mrs Aveton was forced to retract her slanderous remarks.
By then the damage was done, and Judith could bear it no longer. Though it broke her heart to do so, she had sent Dan away, vowing as she did so that no other man for whom she felt the least affection would be subjected to such inhuman treatment.
Dan had fought her decision with everything in his power, but she would not be swayed. His honour and his good name were at stake.
She placed no reliance on Mrs Aveton’s promise not to return to the attack. Her stepmother’s machinations might become more subtle, but they would not cease.
Now, as Judith was borne back to the house which she shared with her two half sisters and their mother, she regretted the impulse which had taken her to Mount Street that day. Prudence and Elizabeth had been shocked by the news of her betrothal. That much was clear. How could she explain the reasons which had led to her decision?
The news of her inheritance had caused uproar within the Aveton family, though the money was to be held in trust for her unless she married. True, she might use the income from it as she wished, but she might not touch the capital.
Mrs Aveton had spared no pains to discover if it was possible to break the terms of the old man’s will. When Judith’s lawyers explained that this could not be done, the girl had been subjected to a series of merciless attacks. They had continued until Judith began to fear for her own sanity.
There was nothing she could do. A woman of her age might not set up her own establishment, even had she the means to do so. The constant quarrelling caused her to retreat even further into her shell. Until today she believed that she’d succeeded in crushing her emotions to the point where nothing mattered any more.
Yet it wasn’t entirely out of desperation that she’d accepted the Reverend Truscott’s offer for her hand. She’d been moved by his kindly interest in her, and the way he took her part against her stepmother.
Mrs Aveton had seemed a little afraid of him. Certainly the preacher’s tall cadaverous figure was imposing. Dressed always in funereal black, when he thundered forth his exhortations from the pulpit the deep-set eyes held all the fire of a fanatic.
Yet, to Judith’s surprise, Mrs Aveton had welcomed his suit. Perhaps she welcomed the opportunity to be rid of a girl who was a constant irritation to her.
Judith walked across the hall, intending to seek the sanctuary of her own room. Her thoughts were in turmoil. The sight of Dan had brought the agony of her loss flooding back again. She had deceived herself into thinking that she had succeeded in forgetting him. Her present pain was as raw as it had been six years ago.
A footman stopped her before she reached the staircase.
“Madam has asked to see you, miss, as soon as you returned.”
With lagging steps, Judith entered the salon, to find Mrs Aveton at her writing desk.
“There you are at last.” There was no note of welcome in her stepmother’s voice. “Selfish as always! Had you no thought of helping me to write these invitations?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Had you mentioned it, I would have stayed behind.” Judith glanced at the pile of cards. “So many? I thought we had agreed upon a quiet wedding.”
“Nonsense! The Reverend Truscott is a man of note. His marriage cannot be seen as some hole-and-corner affair. It is to take place in his own church, and he tells me that you are to be married by the bishop.”
“He called today?”
“He did, and he was not best pleased to miss you. One might have thought that you would wait for him. What an oddity you are, to be sure! You take no interest in arrangements for the reception, the food, the musicians, or even in your trousseau.”
“I shall need very little,” Judith told her quietly. “Ma’am, who is to pay for all this? I would not put you to so much expense.”
An unbecoming flush stained Mrs Aveton’s cheeks. “The expense must fall upon the bride and her family, naturally. When you are wed, your husband will control your fortune. The creditors will wait until then.”
“I see.” Judith realised that she herself was to pay. “Shall I finish the invitations for you?”
“You may continue. Dear me, there is so much to do. My girls, at least, are pleased with their new gowns.”
Judith was silent, glancing down at the list of names upon the bureau. An exclamation escaped her lips.
“Well, what is it now?” her stepmother cried impatiently.
“The Wentworths, ma’am? Lady Wentworth is with child. She won’t be able to accept.”
“I know that well enough. It need not prevent us sending her an invitation. I detest the woman, and that uppish sister-in-law of hers, but we must not be lacking in our attentions to Lord Wentworth and his family. I have included the Earl and Countess of Brandon, of course. My dear Amelia will be certain to attend.” With this pronouncement she swept from the room.
As Judith walked upstairs she permitted herself a wry smile, knowing full well that Amelia, Countess of Brandon, would be furious to hear herself described in such familiar terms. Mrs Aveton was her toady, tolerated only for her well-known propensity for gossip.
Judith sighed. She liked the Earl of Brandon. As head of the Wentworth family and a highly placed member of the Government she knew him only slightly, but he had always treated her with courtesy and kindness. His wife was a cross which he bore with fortitude.
She removed her coat and bonnet and then returned to the salon. There she sat dreaming for some time, the pile of invitations forgotten. Her life might have been so different had she and Dan been allowed to wed. Now it was all too late.
“Great heavens, Judith! You have not got on at all.”
The door opened to admit the Reverend Charles Truscott, with Mrs Aveton by his side.
“Now, ma’am, you shall not scold my little bride. If I forgive her, I am sure that you may do so too.” The preacher rested a benevolent hand upon Judith’s hair, as if in blessing.
It was all she could do not to jerk her head away. She rose to her feet and turned to face him, but she could not summon up a smile.
“So grave, my love? Well, it is to be expected. Marriage is a serious step, but given to us by the Lord especially for the procreation of children. Better to marry than to burn, as the saying goes.”
Judith had the odd impression that he was almost licking his lips. Revulsion overwhelmed her. How could she let him touch her? Her flesh crawled at the thought. For an instant she was tempted to cry out that it had all been a mistake, that she had changed her mind and no longer wished to wed him, but he and Mrs Aveton had moved away. Now they were deep in conversation by the window. She could not hear what they were saying.
“The arrangement stands?” Mrs Aveton asked in a low voice.
“I gave you my word, dear lady. When the money is in my hands, you will receive your share.” The preacher glanced across at his bride-to-be. “I shall earn mine, I think. Your stepdaughter is the oddest creature. Half the time I have no idea what she is thinking.”
“That need not concern you, sir. Give her enough children, and you will keep her occupied, but you must bear down hard upon her radical notions. She likes to read, and she even writes a little, I believe.”
“Both most unsuitable occupations for a woman, but she will be taught to forget that nonsense.”
The Reverend Truscott glanced at his betrothed. There was much else that he would teach her. Judith was no beauty. The brown hair, grave grey eyes, and delicate colouring were not to his taste at all, but her figure was spectacular. Tall and slender, he guessed that his hands would span her waist, but the swelling hips and splendid bosom promised untold pleasures.
His eyes kindled at the thought, but the prospect of controlling her inheritance gave him even greater joy. He banished his lascivious expression and looked down at the list of guests upon the bureau, noticing at once that there were no ticks against the names of the Wentworth family.
“My dear child, you must not forget to invite your friends,” he chided. “I know how much you think of them, and I must learn to know them better.”
“I could well do without the ladies of the family,” Mrs Aveton snapped. “Lady Wentworth is mighty free with her opinions, and as for the Honourable Mrs Peregrine Wentworth…? Words fail me!”
“A little…er…sprightly, perhaps? The privilege of rank, dear lady. After all, we must speak with charity of our fellow-creatures. And, you are friendly with the Countess of Brandon, are you not?”
“She thinks no better of them than I do myself…”
Judith made an unsuccessful attempt to hide her amusement. The animosity was mutual.
“There now, we have made our dear Judith smile at last! Believe me, my love, your friends will always be welcome at our home.”
Judith gave him a grateful look. Perhaps he would be kind. It was fortunate that she could not read his mind. The Reverend Truscott knew an enemy when he met one, and Prudence, Lady Wentworth, had left him in no doubt of her own opinion.
He’d seen her look of disgust as he moved about among his congregation, fawning on the women, and flattering the men. She had surprised him once, when he’d cornered one of his young parishioners beside the vestry. He’d gone too far on that occasion, and the girl was looking distressed.
Her ladyship had not addressed him, but her dagger-glance was enough to persuade him to hurry away, leaving the girl to rearrange her bodice as best she could.
Mrs Peregrine was quite another matter. She was a beauty, that one, and he’d sensed the fire beneath the Madonna-like appearance. She hated and despised him. That much was clear. He could not mistake the expression in her huge, dark eyes, but her dislike only served to whet his appetite. He’d conquered such women before, with his talk of love and salvation. It would be a pleasure to add her to his list of victims.
Looking up, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, and felt his usual sense of satisfaction. His looks were the only thing for which he had to thank his actress mother and his unknown father.
Was he growing too gaunt? He thought not. His tall, spare figure and the dark head with the deep-set eyes and narrow jaw had just a touch of the fanatic. It was no bad thing. A certain air of the vulpine had served him well in his chosen profession. Who could resist him when he thundered forth his message from the pulpit?
He sensed that Judith was watching him.
“Forgive me, my dear,” he said easily. “I should not have come to you looking as I do. My duties with parishioners have kept me out all day. You must think me sadly dishevelled, but I could not resist the temptation to call upon you.”
“Judith thinks nothing of the kind,” Mrs Aveton interposed. “It is good of you to call again, when this foolish girl was not here to greet you earlier in the day.”
“Perhaps she believes that absence makes the heart grow fonder,” the preacher chuckled. With many protestations of devotion he took his leave of them.
“You had best get on with the invitations, Judith. There is little time to spare before your marriage, and I suppose we must do something about your trousseau. Tomorrow we had best go into Bond Street.”
Judith nodded her agreement.
However, on the following day, her stepmother lost all patience with her lack of interest in the garments offered for her inspection.
“Do pay attention!” she cried sharply. “Nothing will make you into a beauty, but you owe it to your husband to appear respectable.”
“Miss has a perfect figure,” the modiste encouraged. “She would look well in any of these wedding gowns.”
“Hold your tongue!” Mrs Aveton glared at her. Her own daughters were both short and dumpy. “I will decide upon a suitable garment.” She settled upon a dull lavender which did nothing for Judith’s colouring.
“This will do! And now I have the headache, thanks to your stupidity. The rest of your things you may choose for yourself whenever you wish. I have no time to accompany you again.”
Judith said nothing, though she felt relieved. The excuse to complete her shopping alone would get her out of the house, and away from the constant carping and criticism. She must take her maid, of course, but the girl was her only friend within the household, and she understood her quiet mistress well.
This fact had not escaped Mrs Averton’s notice. She had already spoken to the Reverend Truscott on the subject.
On the following day she confronted Judith.
“You are grown too familiar with that girl,” she said. “You had best make it clear that she should be looking for another position after you are married. Your husband will not care to find you being friendly with a servant.”
“I had hoped to take her with me. She is the daughter of my father’s housekeeper, and I’ve known her all my life.”
“Your father has been dead these many years. I should have dismissed her long ago.”
A lump came into Judith’s throat, but she did not argue further. Her husband-to-be might view the girl more kindly.
Mrs Aveton glanced through the window. “It may be coming on to rain,” she said. “I shall need the carriage myself this morning. You may walk to Bond Street. There is plenty of shelter on the way.”
Judith didn’t care if it poured. She could use a shower as an excuse to stay out for as long as possible. She left the house as quickly as possible, and walked along the street with Bessie beside her.
“Miss Judith, it’s spitting already. You’ll get drenched. Must you go out today?”
“I think so, Bessie. Have you got the list?”
“It’s in my pocket, miss, but it’s coming on heavier than ever. Won’t you step into this doorway?”
The wind was already sweeping the rain into their faces, and both girls ran for shelter. Half-blinded by the shower, Judith did not notice the hackney carriage until it stopped beside them. Then a strong hand gripped her elbow.
“Get in!” Dan said. “I want to talk to you.”
Chapter Two
Judith was too startled to do other than obey him. It was only when she was seated in a corner of the carriage that she realised the folly of her action.
She glanced up, a protest ready on her lips, but Dan was smiling at Bessie.
“I hope I see you well,” he said kindly. “It’s Bessie, isn’t it? Do you remember me?”
“You haven’t changed, Mr Dan. I’d know you anywhere.”
He grinned at that. “Once seen, never forgotten? It’s my carroty top that gives me away.”
“Dan, please! I’m sorry, but we have so much to do this morning. I am to go to Bond Street. Bessie has a list…” Judith felt that she was babbling inanities. What did her shopping matter?
“Then Bessie can do your shopping for you. Your credit is good, I take it? She may order your things to be delivered…”
“No, she can’t! I mean, that would not do at all. I am to choose…at least…” Her voice tailed away.
“Bessie, will you do this for us? I must speak to your mistress.”
“No, you must not! Bessie, I forbid you…”
Bessie took not the slightest notice of her pleas. She was beaming at Dan, who had always been a favourite with her.
“I’ll be happy to do it, Mr Dan.”
“Then we’ll pick you up on the corner of Piccadilly. Shall we say in two hours’ time?”
“Dan, I can’t! Please set us down. We shall be missed, and then there will be trouble.”
“Nonsense! Prudence informs me that shopping takes an age. Besides, I can’t wait outside your door indefinitely, hoping to catch you on your own.”
“We might have met again in Mount Street,” she protested.
Dan gave her a quizzical look. “Yesterday I had the impression that you didn’t plan to visit your friends for some little time.”
They had reached Bond Street, and he rapped on the roof of the carriage to stop the driver. Bessie sprang down, but when Judith tried to follow her he barred the way.
“Hear me out!” he begged. “It is little enough to ask of you.”
