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‘Sally! Sally—can it be? But, no! Of course not!’
The countess stepped forward quickly to peer at Harriet’s face.
‘Please remove your hood, my dear—oh! Your hair! But the colour—and that face! Surely I would know it anywhere—Robbie! Come down at once! Who is this young lady—where is she from?’ She drew Harriet to the middle of the hall as Sandford slowly and reluctantly descended the stairs.
‘Forgive me, Mama,’ he replied, as Harriet agitatedly clutched the shabby cape around her, terrified that her disguise would be revealed both to the countess and to the several impassive servants on duty.
‘This is Miss Harriet Cordell. She requires our assistance in a rather delicate matter—shall we go into the salon?’
He took his mother’s arm and propelled her gently into a nearby withdrawing-room, signalling Harriet to accompany them. As the door closed, he drew the countess to a sofa and took up his stance by the fireplace, indicating a nearby seat to Harriet, who perched herself very gingerly on its edge, keeping the front of the cape closely about her breeched legs.
Lady Caroline waved her hand impatiently at her son. ‘What is this all about?’ she demanded. ‘This is Sally Rutherford to the letter—I should know! We were bosom bows at our come out. I don’t understand!’
She stared helplessly at Harriet, who was herself in total confusion at the older woman’s words.
‘I am Harriet Cordell, ma’am,’ she stuttered. ‘My father was Major Sir Jonathan Cordell—my mother Sarah is the daughter of Lord Douglas Ramsey …’
She stopped as Lady Caroline clapped her hands in delight.
‘Ramsey! Well, of course! He married Sally—I was her bridesmaid—he took her off to Craigburn and we never met again. We corresponded, to be sure, but she died in childbed—I always believed that her child died with her. Ramsey refused to answer any letters and I supposed him to have gone into a decline. He was much in love with Sally,’ she finished sadly.
There was a moment’s silence. Harriet cast her eyes up pleadingly at Sandford, who seemed to be studying the pattern
on the carpet with great interest. He cleared his throat and his mother looked quickly towards him and smiled.
‘Oh, dear,’ she said. ‘I am being maudlin, aren’t I? Do forgive me, my dears.’ She turned to Harriet and patted the seat next to her. ‘Come and sit by me, my child, and tell me your tale. I can see that Robert is fretting to go to his father and I feel that he will be of little use to us until he has done so.’
Harriet was only too pleased to comply with her hostess’s request and waited until Sandford had left the room before reciting her misadventures once more. The countess interrupted her flow only to clarify certain points and then sat, nodding her head in sympathy, until the tale was told.
‘—and what I have to do now, ma’am,’ Harriet spoke firmly, ‘is to ask if you will advance me the money to seek out my grandfather or perhaps …’
‘My dear child!’ Lady Caroline recoiled in distaste at the very idea. ‘I shall write to Lord Ramsey myself. Indeed, I should have done it years ago. Firstly, however, we must see to your dress—Mathilde will find you something.’
She pulled at the bell-rope beside the fireplace and, almost immediately, a footman appeared at the door.
‘Oh, March—send for Mathilde and tell Mrs Gibson to have the Rose room prepared for a lady guest.’ She turned once more to Harriet. ‘I expect you are famished too—have cook send up some substantial refreshments, March.’
The footman bowed and left the room.
‘We still keep country hours for our meals, my dear, and had our dinner at three o’clock, but I dare say a hearty supper will be welcomed by both Robert and yourself?’
Harriet nodded. Tired and aching, she was happy for the moment to place herself in her ladyship’s hands and, very soon afterwards, she found herself conducted upstairs to a delightful rose-coloured chamber overlooking the gardens at the rear of the house.
Meanwhile, Sandford had hastened to his father’s bedchamber where he was admitted by Chegwin, the earl’s elderly valet.
The viscount learned that the crisis had occurred during the early hours of that morning when Beldale had at last rallied and his fever had lessened, although he was still incoherent and weak from the blood-letting upon which Sir Basil, his physician, had insisted.
Chegwin had defied all attempts to remove him from his master’s side throughout his illness, refusing all offers of help with either the feeding of the patient or the changing of dressings, resting only when Lady Caroline herself was with his lordship.
‘I am glad to see you home, my lord,’ he welcomed Sandford softly. ‘His lordship is sleeping, but he is no longer as restless as he has been these past days.’
Sandford took his seat by the big four-poster bed and contemplated his sleeping parent gravely. The pale, lined face looked so much younger in repose and his heart softened as he recalled the days of his childhood when he and his twin had accompanied their father around the estate, proudly riding alongside him and always taking his fine example as the pattern-card for their future lives.
He was at a loss to understand how his father, an excellent horseman, had come to take such a toss. The bridleway through the woods on the far side of the estate was a wide and open one and Sandford assumed that the earl would have been riding at a gentle trot. His lordship was over seventy, it was true, but had always been of a hale and hearty disposition and fully active in all outdoor pursuits and had, hitherto, managed his large estate with enjoyment and gusto. Now, the viscount was beginning to wonder if Philip’s death had affected the earl more than he had at first supposed.
After his son’s untimely death, Beldale had been closely involved with his daughter-in-law’s business affairs. To be sure, she had an excellent estate manager in their cousin Charles Ridgeway, but the earl had deemed it his duty to oversee his grandson’s inheritance and this was one of the reasons he had felt it necessary to insist upon Sandford’s quitting his military career.
During the past year Sandford had become increasingly aware of the fact that his presence at Beldale was likely to be of a permanent nature and that he would have to set about relearning the task of running the estates. He had grown up here, of course, and had dabbled in such matters before the yearning for a military life had sent him on his travels. He had always loved the place and its people, if not quite as wholeheartedly as Philip had done, he ruefully acknowledged, but was gradually coming to realise that there would be few regrets, especially after all the carnage and suffering he had recently witnessed.
The viscount now became aware that his father’s eyes had opened and were trying to focus upon the figure at his bedside. A frail hand reached out and felt for Sandford’s own and the viscount bent to hear Beldale’s whispered words.
‘The horse—he fell—something …’ His voice tailed off and he sank once more into his drugged slumber.
Sandford drew his head back, puzzled. Chegwin came to the bedside and confided, ‘That is how he has been, my lord, and always the same words. Is he worrying about his horse, do you suppose? Smithers tells me that the poor beast had to be destroyed—two legs were broken, I understand.
His lordship has not been informed, of course. Would that be causing such restlessness, sir?’
Sandford shook his head doubtfully. ‘I should hardly think so, but certainly it is odd that he constantly dwells upon it.’
He stood up, gently unclasping his father’s hand as he did so, saying, ‘I shall speak with Smithers myself. You are doing very well here, Chegwin. Please accept my deepest gratitude.’
The old manservant bowed, concealing his pleasure at the young master’s words. ‘We do our best, sir,’ was his reply, but there was a smile on his face as he closed the door after Sandford’s departure.
The viscount made straight for the stables, seeking out the head groom who was locking up for the day. Smithers confirmed the valet’s story that Cobalt had been destroyed. He himself had attended to the horse immediately after his master had been carried away from the scene of the accident.
‘Threshing about in great pain, so he were, sir,’ he said sadly, shaking his head. ‘ ‘Twere a real shame that—a grand old lad, he were. But both his front legs was broke, you see, sir, so couldn’t do otherwise.’ He looked anxiously at Sandford, knowing that his actions had been correct and wondering where his young lordship’s questions were leading.
‘Absolutely right, Smithers. I am not doubting your judgement. I just needed to clarify a few points in my mind. Did you notice anything odd about the fall?’
Smithers rubbed his chin and frowned. ‘I couldn’t see how his lordship came to fall at all on that path, sir, him being such a bruising rider, and Cobalt could have fetched him home blindfolded, as you know. But there it is, sir, his lordship had shot over Cobalt’s head—that were obvious
from how he was lying—and the horse had gone down on both front legs from the look of the cuts on his knees. Likely a hare or some such startled him is my best guess and I did give it a lot of thought, sir,’ he said, shifting uncomfortably. ‘Even went back the next morning to have a good look round. Still don’t get it, though.’ He shook his head again.
‘Don’t concern yourself, Smithers.’ Sandford clapped the groom on the back. ‘I’m sure that you did all that should be done in the circumstances. You can show me the spot in the morning, just to satisfy my curiosity. As you say, the fact that his lordship fell at all is a mystery. Now, finish up here quickly and get to your supper.’
Turning on his heel, he left, going at once to his rooms where, with Kimble’s disapproving assistance, he quickly changed out of his travel-stained garments before descending to join his mother once more.
The countess was awaiting his return with some eagerness, although she was unable to shed any further light on his father’s accident, describing only the injuries he had suffered. A blow to the head causing severe concussion and a broken ankle were the main problems, but the old gentleman was covered in bruises, too, and it would be some time before he was himself again. She was just too glad that Sir Basil, his lordship’s physician, was now quietly confident that his patient would make a good recovery and she was overjoyed when Sandford informed her of his intention to remain at Beldale and take over his father’s reins until Lord William had fully recovered.
By now, having had ample time to formulate her own ideas for Harriet’s salvation, Lady Caroline then turned the conversation to that particular problem.
Chapter Two
Harriet sank gratefully into the luxury of the bath, which had been quickly filled by a procession of maidservants and allowed the last of these, a plump, apple-cheeked damsel, who introduced herself as ‘Rose', to wash and rinse her shorn locks.
‘Rose?’ she asked, in amused curiosity. ‘Isn’t that the name of this chamber, also?’
The smiling maid nodded, dropping a curtsy. ‘Mrs Gibson thought it would be easier for you to remember, miss.’ Wrapping a huge, soft towel around Harriet, she helped her from the bath. ‘I’m to be your maid during your stay, if you please.’
Rose proceeded to carry out her duties with neat, precise actions, fetching undergarments and a gown from various sources within the room and, finally, taking up a pair of scissors from the dressing-table, set about restoring some sort of shape to Harriet’s hair.
‘ ‘Tis a lovely colour, miss,’ she said, brushing back the now shining, red-gold tendrils. ‘Who cut it last I can’t imagine, but I can just about coax it into that new style they call the ‘'Titus''. Luckily you have sufficient curl in it. There!’ She stepped back triumphantly to view her handiwork.
Harriet was amazed at the transformation. The curly crop certainly suited her elfin features and, somehow, made her limpid green eyes look larger than ever. The bronze silk gown Mathilde had ‘found, from somewhere’ accentuated her creamy skin and was of far better quality and design than any she had ever owned. The bruise on her forehead was becoming more obvious and was deepening in colour, but Rose had carefully arranged the curls to disguise it and had woven a spray of artificial lily-of-the-valley through the rest of her hair.
‘How very clever of you, Rose,’ she said in delight. ‘I will be very glad to have you as my maid. It is clear that you have a real talent.’
Rose’s ample cheeks flushed with pleasure and Harriet acquired her first loyal friend in the Beldale household. Trained not to ask questions of their superiors, the servants knew better than to query the unexpected arrival of a young lady in strange garb, without luggage or possessions, and, although Rose was bursting with curiosity about her new mistress’s background, it was more than her job was worth to exhibit such interest. Mrs Gibson had instructed her to bundle up the dirty, rough clothing and hand it straight to her, and Mathilde, her ladyship’s maid, had brought articles from Lady Caroline’s own boudoir, although Rose was sure she recognised some of the items as having belonged to one or other of Lord Sandford’s young nieces who were often in the habit of visiting with their mamas. The gown was certainly one that had belonged to Lady Sophie, Sandford’s youngest married sister, for Rose herself had been set to mend the flounce when her ladyship had discarded it after a recent visit with her young family.
Summoning up her courage, Harriet descended to the hall and was escorted by a patently admiring March to the small salon where her hostess was to be found in deep conversation with his lordship. They both turned at Harriet’s entrance and she could not help a feeling of smug satisfaction at seeing the expression of frank amazement on Sandford’s face as he took in her transformed appearance.
‘My dear,’ said Lady Caroline, holding out her hand. ‘You look delightful—but I knew that you would. Do please join us and take some refreshment. Robbie—pour Harriet a glass of wine, if you please.’
Sandford complied, taking sidelong glances at his onetime urchin as he did so. He handed the glass to her with a small bow and a practised smile, saying, ‘I see I rescued a nymph. No doubt the gods will reward me!’
Harriet flushed uncomfortably at his mocking undertone.
‘Who can tell?’ she responded dismissively. ‘I myself am very grateful for your help, of course, but I must endeavour to carry out my plan. I realise I would have been in great difficulty without your timely assistance but I still need to get to my grandfather.’
She turned to Lady Caroline. ‘Please, ma’am, will you give me your help?’
‘You may rely upon me to do whatever I can, my child,’ said her ladyship, kindly. ‘But it will take some time for the mail to reach your grandfather. You will remain in my care until then, of course, but—as I have just been telling Robert—we must concoct a story to explain your arrival. I have already put to him a suggestion that may serve …’ She looked towards Sandford and he took up the conversation.
‘My mother is concerned that you should suffer no harm to your reputation,’ he explained. ‘She will be sending to your grandfather, apprising him of your present situation and whereabouts. That, of course, will take several days. Therefore, her ladyship has suggested that, for the time being, it may be useful to engage yourself to me …’
Harriet jumped to her feet in consternation. ‘No, no!’ she cried, shaking her head in protest. ‘I have not run away from one groom simply to have another thrust upon me!’
Biting her lip, she confronted her hosts. ‘I am sorry—but I do not wish to marry anyone. I want to go to my grandfather. If you cannot help me, I must leave …’ Her voice trembled.
‘Please sit down!’ Sandford’s voice was curt. ‘Perhaps you could do me the courtesy of hearing me out. You mistake the matter. I assure you that there is no question of marriage!’
Harriet looked at him in amazement. ‘But you said …’
‘He said ‘'engaged'', my dear,’ her ladyship said gently, drawing Harriet down beside her once more. ‘You see, it will save such a lot of talk if Robert is thought to have brought home his new fiancée. It would be quite unexceptional that you should accompany him after his father’s accident. We can send notices to the local Mercury and to the Lincoln Post—for your mother’s benefit—then no one will have cause to make unseemly comment. When we hear from your grandfather and know his intentions towards you, you can simply break off the agreement, saying that you found that you did not suit.’
‘That, in any event, would be close to the truth,’ muttered the viscount under his breath, as he poured himself another drink.
When, during Harriet’s absence, Lady Caroline had proffered her suggestion of a mock ‘engagement', Sandford was at first horrified and then laughingly dismissive, but slowly began to realise that the scheme would in fact solve a good many difficulties that were certain to arise while they awaited Douglas Ramsey’s response to his mother’s letter, not the least of which, from his own point of view, was the embarrassing situation in which he always seemed to find himself on his visits to his sister-in-law’s house.
Since his return from the Continent he had been a frequent visitor to Westpark, offering brotherly advice and comfort to the young widow and getting re-acquainted with his little nephew and niece, who had grown to regard him almost as a substitute for their beloved father, because of the viscount’s uncanny likeness.
He, in his turn, found great delight in their company and had spent many happy hours with Christopher, engaging in those activities so beloved of small boys and grown men alike. Shy little Elspeth had, equally, won his heart with her huge brown eyes and appealing ways and Sandford would gladly have continued this happy association with Philip’s family had it not been for Judith’s mother, Lady Butler.
This cantankerous old lady had made her home with the young Hursts after her own husband’s death three years previously when Judith, having been Sir Frederick’s sole heir, had joined her property with Philip’s own estates. Although Lady Butler had been left an excellent annuity, she had deemed it more convenient to move in with her daughter, thereby avoiding any of the household duties and attendant difficulties with which she would have been obliged to involve herself had she remained in her own home. She eschewed anything that interrupted the level tenor of her existence and, being an indolent and tediously complaining woman who considered that Life had dealt her a shabby hand, she regarded even the slightest inconvenience as a personal affront. She refused to involve herself in domestic affairs, yet happily criticised their organisation and, whilst she would never dream of offering her daughter any guiding advice on household management, she was always quick to point out where errors had been made. Easygoing Philip had merely laughed at his mother-in-law’s eccentricities, even occasionally chaffing her, but Sandford found her both irritating and encroaching and had, in the past, always excused himself from her company at the first opportunity.
Recently, however, the viscount’s necessary visits to Westpark had thrown him into Lady Butler’s society more often and she had lately taken to pointing out how the children ‘loved him so', and how ‘dear Judith blossomed’ in his company and, worse, ‘how comfortably we all sit together'. With increasing dread, he saw clearly where her fancies were leading.
His continuing lack of a bride was being misconstrued by Lady Butler as a sure sign that he was still ‘carrying the torch’ for her daughter and a second marriage into the Hurst family would simply ‘make all neat and tidy’ from her point of view, as well as raising her a notch higher in the social scale, for she was very much concerned with her own consequence.
But Sandford was not about to indulge the old woman’s fantasy that one brother could simply step into the other’s shoes. Judith had made her choice years ago and, Sandford was certain, had never regretted it, so, with this scheme of his mother’s, he now saw what seemed to him a perfect solution to his own difficulties. For this reason alone he had finally agreed to the charade.
He was, therefore, more than a little piqued at Harriet’s reaction to the suggestion, for he could hardly help being aware that his rank and wealth inevitably classified him as a considerable ‘catch’ in the marriage mart. He found to his surprise that, although his mother’s scheme was clearly meant to be merely a temporary arrangement, he had anticipated a more flattering and appreciative response from this chit of a girl and, considering her present situation, a certain gratitude towards himself.
In his early days as a subaltern in a Rifle Brigade he had found himself fighting alongside Major Sir Jonathan Cordell in several engagements of the Peninsular campaign and had soon learned to respect the older officer’s judgement. Conditions were such, during that time, that he had met Lady Cordell very infrequently and her daughter, as far as he was aware, not at all.
Preferring to be in the thick of the action, he was seldom to be found far from the front lines, this enthusiasm earning him rapid promotion, but inevitably he had, during one engagement, received a splinter in the thigh, which had necessitated him being carried off the field and transported to what passed as the hospital area. Here, amidst the sickening carnage and filth, he had witnessed ‘Mrs Major', as she was termed, working alongside the wives of the troopers and artillerymen as though she were a mere camp-follower instead of an officer’s lady. He had seen that she spoke as gently and compassionately to the roughest infantryman as she did to those of rank and title and he had been equally impressed by her firm efficiency as she tended the most appalling wounds. His own injury had not been severe and his conversations with her had been few and he had soon been transferred to his own quarters but, on other fields and in other battles, he had often recalled the sight of ‘Mrs Major’ walking quietly amongst the rows of dead and dying, bending to offer what little comfort she could.
Her daughter certainly seemed to have that same indomitable spirit, he now mused, as he watched Harriet deep in conversation with his mother. He had been quite taken aback at her entrance. True, he had not studied her very closely up until that moment, but the transformation from mud-urchin was astonishing.
The dirty, raggedly cropped hair was now a burning halo of soft curls framing a quite delightful face upon which was centred a neat straight nose, lightly dusted with some very unfashionable freckles. And that was a decidedly stubborn looking chin, he conjectured in growing amusement. The generous rosy lips, unpainted, he would swear, were half open as they exclaimed at some words the countess had uttered, and the eyes—what colour? He could not immediately recall, but was answered as the owner turned her face in his direction. Green as moss and fringed, most unusually, with thick, dark lashes.
The result was breathtaking and, with a gleam in his eye, it suddenly occurred to him that being ‘engaged’ to this curious little creature could prove to be rather more than just an amusing diversion. Confident of his ability to charm her out of her unwarranted antagonism towards him, his spirits rose as he resolved to take her to visit his sister-in-law at the first opportunity.
Chapter Three
Harriet had suffered a restless night in her rose bedchamber. Her head ached and parts of her body felt very sore as she tossed and turned in the big bed. She was glad that it was not a four-poster, as she had always hated them, slightly fearful that someone may be prowling around beyond the closed bedcurtains.
Having spent most of her youth in Spain and Portugal, she disliked being shut in, preferring open spaces and wide skies. She had discovered, to her surprise, that she loved the lush greenness of England and, even though she had also found that she was expected to conform to the rigid pattern of behaviour required of an English miss, she had eventually settled into her new life as a gentleman farmer’s daughter quite contentedly.
However, although occasional digressions still occurred, her stubbornness still had to be held firmly in check, especially if she felt that her wishes were being unreasonably overridden, and her father had often had cause to wonder from whence this mulish streak had come. Her mother could only suppose that it must have been inherited from her Scottish forebears, once reminding her husband that her own father’s cussedness had been legend in his lands and who,
Harriet had been subsequently informed, had continued to earn this reputation over the succeeding years.
Harriet wondered if he would respond to Lady Caroline’s missive. She had intended arriving, unannounced, on his doorstep, confident of her ability to win round the dear old gentleman she had supposed him to be but, after her conversation with the countess, she was no longer so sure of herself. In fact, he sounded a rather disagreeable sort of fellow, refusing to have anything to do with Mama just because she had wanted to marry darling Papa. He must be slightly touched in his upper quarters, she decided, pulling the quilt around her. Mama had seldom spoken about him and it was only after Papa’s death that she had told her daughter that she believed him to be still alive, having read of some Highland clearance dispute with which he was involved. Hearing that he had taken a sympathetic view of the Highlanders’ plight had been the main reason that Harriet had elected to seek out her grandfather. She could have succeeded too, she fulminated resentfully, had not that fool coachman knocked her down. Then, that arrogant Sandford! Carting her off like so much baggage! And in the opposite direction, too! And now, she had to pretend to be engaged to him! What a disappointment he had turned out to be! A small tear crept from her eye as she took stock of her situation and, sniffing, she realised forlornly that she would have to make the best of it until a better opportunity presented itself—the words her father had been wont to use if ever he heard her complaining about her lot. She drifted off to sleep, beset by dreams of marching columns, speeding coaches and Viscount Sandford, surrounded by hundreds of tartan sheep!
The following morning at breakfast, Sandford announced his intention of riding over to Westpark to introduce hi ‘betrothed’ to the Hursts. He nodded briskly to Harriet, who glowered at him over the rim of her cup.
‘If you could arrange to be ready in half an hour, I shall have the horses saddled.’
‘Oh, I’m afraid I cannot accompany you,’ she countered. ‘I have no habit, although I dare say could wear my breeches, of course,’ she offered pertly.
Lady Caroline frowned at her and shook her head. ‘Don’t be naughty, my child. You must not tease him. He has not yet got out of the way of giving orders.’ She turned to her son and smiled. ‘I have arranged for Madame Armande to bring her seamstresses to us this morning, my dear. If you could wait until Miss Cordell has some suitable garments I am sure she will be happy to accompany you. You will want her to make a good impression, I know—especially on Lady Butler.’ Her eyes twinkled as she saw her words take effect.
‘As you say, ma’am,’ replied Sandford, rising. ‘Then I shall go up to see how Father does and tend to other business instead. Your servant, ladies.’ He bowed in Harriet’s direction and left the room.
‘He’s very high-handed, isn’t he?’ Harriet said, in some surprise at his sudden departure, and strangely disappointed that he had refused to rise to her bait.
Her ladyship patted her hand. ‘He has been used to making decisions, my dear,’ she said. ‘And, like yourself perhaps, he has been out of Society for so long that he forgets how it goes on. You must not mind him.’
Looking at the clock on the mantel-shelf, she rose to her feet. ‘Come, now we must attend to Madame. She will be waiting in the sewing-room and we have a lot to get through.’
The next few hours were a test of stamina, with Harriet being pushed and pulled and pinned and measured until her head was in a whirl. Madame had brought several garments ready-made, which were to be altered to fit her at once, in addition to the many bolts of various fabrics that she offered for Lady Caroline’s inspection.
At last, the countess took Harriet down for the cold luncheon that had been laid out for them in the dining-room. Sandford was nowhere to be seen. Harriet supposed him to be about his ‘other business'. She, herself, was desperate to get out into the fresh air and was about to ask her ladyship’s permission to take a walk on the terrace when March entered and announced a visitor.
‘The Honourable Mrs Hurst, my lady,’ he intoned grandly, and a tall, raven-haired beauty swept in past him.
‘Judith, my dear!’ The countess rose from her seat. ‘I was not expecting you, surely? Not that you need an invitation, to be sure. Sit down, please—you will see we are still at lunch—such a busy morning we have had!’
