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‘Oh, my dear Phipps,’ Brock said. ‘Of course you must do exactly as the doctor says and I perfectly see why you cannot have Miss Ross as a guest.’
‘I haven’t even told Amanda that you asked,’ Phipps said, looking anxious. ‘She would insist that Renfrew is an old fool and tell Miss Ross she was welcome to stay for as long as she wishes, but I simply could not bear anything to happen to my darling or her child.’
‘Certainly not. I wouldn’t ask such a thing of you now that I understand the risk—let me wish you a fortunate outcome to Amanda’s confinement. Do not worry too much, my dear fellow. Amanda is very strong and I’m certain she will pull through.’
‘Renfrew says the same, but he thinks she might lose the child if she doesn’t do exactly as he says. I feel an utter wretch for letting you down, Brock.’
‘You are not to worry about Miss Ross. I shall visit my godmother and ask her to take her in for a while. I am sure she will be only too happy. She likes young company.’
‘I am truly sorry, Brock. You know I would have obliged if I could.’
Brock smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You have enough troubles of your own. I shall come about, never fear.’
‘Where is the young lady now?’
‘I left her at Grillon’s in a private suite,’ Brock said. ‘She should be safe enough there for the moment, at least until I’ve spoken to Lady March. I secured a maid for her, though she is a little rough and ready, being the innkeeper’s daughter, but very willing.’
‘I am so sorry not to have been more accommodating.’
‘Think nothing of it.’
Brock shook his hand and left, frowning as he set out on foot for his godmother’s house two streets away. He wasn’t sure about Lady March’s reaction when he asked her to take in a young woman with only one decent dress to her name—especially if he told her the whole story, which in all honour he must.
* * *
‘You say she ran away from a forced marriage to a man of fortune?’ Lady March frowned at her godson. ‘It sounds rather impulsive and ill thought out to my mind. What family does the girl come from—and who is the man she refuses to marry?’
‘Her father was Lord Ross of Falmouth House and her mother was his mistress, but she is his heir and he adopted her legally, so her lawyer tells me.’
‘A bastard! Harry Brockley, how can you expect me to take in such a gel?’ Lady March asked in outraged tones. ‘This all sounds very fishy to me. Who is the man that is prepared to marry her?’
‘Sir Montague. That’s all I know.’
‘Sir Montague? I only know one man of that name. He is about your age, Harry, and a very decent, wealthy and upright man, too. The girl is a rogue!’
‘No, I assure you, Godmother. She is an innocent. I believe her when she tells me her family are trying to force her into this marriage—after all, many people would think it plenty good enough for a girl in her situation. I’m not sure whether they are truly trying to cheat her of her father’s fortune, or whether it is merely a business arrangement, similar to many marriage contracts. However, if she dislikes the idea, it cannot be right that she should be forced to it, can it?’
Lady March was silent for a moment, then answered reluctantly, ‘No, I do not think it can.’ Her gaze narrowed intently. ‘What is this girl to you? Have you a feeling for her? She isn’t your mistress?’
‘I swear to you that she means nothing to me. I am acting only as any honourable man would, having found her in such terrible circumstances. How can I desert her? I must find her somewhere to live until this unpleasant business is resolved.’
‘Well, I can only offer her a few days’ sanctuary. In ten days from now I am taking my niece Alice to Paris to buy her bride clothes. We are there for three weeks and after that we go down to Bath and shall remain there until the wedding at her fiancé’s house.’
‘Could you not take Miss Ross with you? At least buy her some new clothes—and then I may find somewhere else for her to live—somewhere respectable.’
Rosemarie was already kicking against his plans for her, saying that she could very well find a place to live and work if he would sell some trinkets for her, but he could not tell his godmother that, of course.
‘This is what I will do for her,’ Lady March said. ‘She may come to me for one week. Alice left some clothes here that she will not want again. We might have them remodelled for this friend of yours.’
‘Yes, she may consent to wear them, but you will please take her to the seamstress and have some new ones made, as well. I shall have to find someone she can live with until things are settled. I suppose you do not know of a respectable widow who would take her in charge for a while?’
‘A widow, you say?’ Lady March looked thoughtful, then inclined her head. ‘Yes, why not? I would not recommend her to a relative of mine, but for this girl she is perfectly respectable and invited everywhere, though I consider her a little fast. Mrs Scatterby...’
‘Samantha Scatterby?’
Brock hesitated, the pain twisting inside him as he spoke her name. He had thought he was over all that, had put the past behind him and was ready to make a new life. He’d had to forget, to make himself think of anything but her, because the last time he’d seen Samantha they had parted on a sour note. He’d seen that look of revulsion in her eyes when he’d behaved so badly that she had been disgusted, angry.
His kiss had been impulsive, because he’d felt her grief and he’d misinterpreted the look in her eyes, which had seemed to beg for his love, but he’d been wrong, because when he kissed her she had been revolted by his behaviour and he could not blame her because he’d done a despicable thing—making love to the wife of a dying man.
He recalled his thoughts quickly. When he’d left Sam that day he’d felt that she despised him for what he’d tried to do, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself when he saw the pain in her eyes. His first thought was that he couldn’t ask this favour of her. No, it was impossible! Samantha would not wish to see him after all this time. Yet she was a warm, loving woman and he believed that she might take pity on a young girl in trouble, even if she still despised him. She would surely have forgotten that foolish kiss by now, as he had. It had taken him a long time to forget, but he was certain that he was over that ill-advised infatuation he’d felt for his colonel’s lady as a young officer. He spoke at last, aware that he’d been silent too long. Even though in his heart he knew she was the only woman he would ever love so deeply, he knew that she was beyond him and he had made up his mind to settle for something else: a marriage of convenience.
That being the case, what possible reason could he have for not asking Samantha if she would help Rosemarie? There seemed to be no reason and he made up his mind to do it. Perhaps then he could put her out of his mind once and for all. He looked at Lady March and nodded.
‘Yes, of course. Colonel Scatterby’s widow. Oh, yes, she is ideal. Samantha was such a favourite with us all. We all adored her—every one of Scatterby’s friends were in love with Sam when she campaigned with us on the Peninsula.’ That was how he must think of her, as the kind friend she’d been to all her husband’s men. He had conquered that deep need for her, he’d had to because he knew she did not feel love for him.
‘What did you call her?’ Lady March was faintly disapproving. ‘Sam? Really, Harry! Well, she lives in one of these fashionable squares, but I’ve heard she may be a little strapped for cash. I dare say she might oblige if you made it worth her while.’
‘Oh, Sam will take her in,’ Brock said, sounding more confident than he felt. He swooped on his godmother, kissing her cheek. ‘Thank you for suggesting it—and I shan’t trouble you to buy Miss Ross those new gowns, I am certain Sam will enjoy kiting her out in some posh togs.’
‘Really, if that is your army talk, Harry, I would prefer you kept it for your comrades. However, I am glad to have been of help and I am sorry I was unable to take the gel on myself. I am very fond of you and would oblige you if I could.’
Brock smiled and took his leave. He would be a fool to lose this chance for young Rosemarie just because Samantha had once been angry with him for kissing her. No doubt she’d forgotten his indiscretion long since—and he would like to meet her again, to finally lay to rest the ghost that had hovered in the back of his mind since that day.
There was determination in his step as he set out for Hanover Square. Samantha Scatterby was a big-hearted woman and he believed that his problem was solved. Once Sam took Miss Ross under her wing, he could set out for the country and speak to Cynthia about setting the date for their wedding.
Chapter Three (#ulink_82a3c8de-a5ae-500c-b08e-5b30ed5eef62)
Samantha had just returned from a shopping trip and was loaded with parcels. She enjoyed buying pretty trifles and had been refurbishing her wardrobe, which was much in need of it. Now, some six months after she’d moved into the modest house in London, it was time she finally came out of her mourning and began to introduce some colours into her wardrobe once more. After all, Percy had been gone for many months now and he would not have wanted her to mourn him for ever. He’d told her she was not to wear black for him and she had done so only a short time before choosing grey or lilac gowns, both of which suited her well enough, but she wanted something new, something to make her feel that she was still young enough to find happiness again.
Tears pricked her eyes but she brushed them away. The time for weeping was over and she must begin to live again, truly live and not just go through the motions, which she had done for the first few weeks after his death.
Samantha was very fortunate in having many good friends who invited her to their houses and to the theatre, on picnics and drives and to splendid balls. She had no excuse to be lonely and her particular friend Lady Sally Seaton, was always telling her that she ought to marry again.
The reason she had never remarried was not because she lacked suitors. More than one gentleman had made his intentions known to her, but she always smiled and shook her head at them, offering a teasing smile and deflecting their advances with a light touch. It was her warmth and kindness that brought her so many friends, for she would never willingly hurt anyone, and had been an excellent military wife.
During those happy days on campaign with Percy, Samantha had been in her element, treating the young men under her husband’s command with gentle respect and consideration. If they’d had a problem they felt unable to communicate to their commanding officer it was to Sam they had come with their tales of woe, often of broken heart when the lady of their choice had let them down. Samantha had lost count of the times she’d seen a young man weep, wounded and frightened. They had spoken of their mothers and clung to her hand, and she’d done her best to comfort them, some as they lay dying.
That time had been a very precious part of her life. Grateful to the husband who was twice her age, she’d loved him deeply in her way, and if that love had been more that of a daughter than a wife, she’d tried never to show it when he was affectionate towards her. Percy had given her a life and although she flirted on occasion with handsome young officers she would never have thought of betraying him.
Even when she fell desperately in love with one particular young officer, Brock, she had done nothing to give him encouragement. She’d smiled, offered advice and comfort when he was in despair, but never had she shown by a word or a look that his smile broke her heart. Until that dreadful last day, when she’d broken down in tears, because Brock was leaving and she would be alone with the husband who was dying so slowly and painfully, and she hadn’t known how to bear it.
And then he’d swept her into his arms and for one moment she’d clung to him, melting into his strong body, her longing and desire stripping her naked so that he must have seen her need. What must he have thought of a woman who would give herself so completely when her husband lay close to death?
Suddenly, revulsion at her own behaviour had shot through her and she’d wrenched away from him, knowing that what she was doing was despicable. Her husband lay upstairs, dying slowly, painfully but inevitably, and she had kissed another man; had almost been swept away to the point of madness. As she’d pushed him away she’d seen the look in his eyes—accusation and pain...
He’d turned and walked away, leaving her weeping inside, longing to call him back, to confess her love, but knowing she dared not. Samantha knew that he must condemn her, might think her of easy virtue. The memory of the look in his eyes had haunted her, and she’d known that he must hate her for she had hated herself for a long time.
The time for grieving was over, Samantha knew. Percy was dead. He had told her that she ought to marry again when he knew that death was near.
‘I can leave you enough to manage on, my dearest,’ he’d told her as he held her hand. ‘But you deserve so much more, Samantha. Marry a younger man this time—and one who can give you the finer things of life.’
She’d shaken her head and smiled at him, telling him that she wanted him to live and recover, but they’d both known he could not.
Percy was right, she ought to marry, but this time she wanted to be sure that she could feel more than just affection for the man she married.
Pushing away her troubled thoughts, Samantha took the pretty hat she’d purchased from its box and tried it on. It suited her English complexion. Cream straw with pink roses and ribbons, it became her well and would go with the white-muslin gown with the tiny pink motif she had recently had made, but not yet worn.
She had just taken off the hat and was tidying her hair when her maid knocked and then entered.
‘Begging your pardon, ma’am, but there is a gentleman downstairs wishing to see you.’
Samantha took the card and read it, and her heart jerked in surprise. How strange that Brock was here after all these months when they had not met. It was as if her memories had conjured him up. She trembled a little and almost refused to see him, but then she knew she could not do other than greet him as a friend. She could never thank him enough for all he’d done to help her when Percy was wounded. She must be friendly, but keep the joy she felt inside from showing in her face. Brock was a man and she knew that he had long forgotten her, because it was widely known he was engaged to be married to a beautiful young woman.
‘Yes, I see, Allie. Please tell him I shall be down in a few minutes. I shall receive him in the back parlour.’
* * *
‘Brock, how lovely to see you,’ Samantha cried as he was shown into the elegant parlour. He looked anxious and she went towards him impulsively, hands outstretched, caution lost as she felt his unease. ‘What brings you to me? What can I do for you?’
‘How are you, Mrs Scatterby? You look blooming, as lovely as ever.’
‘I am, as you see. My dearest Percy always told me I wasn’t to wear the willow if he died and he hated black so I have chosen grey and lilac, which suit me very well, and I live a perfectly satisfactory life. But I shall never forget those times when we were all together in Spain, before my darling...’ She shook her head and brushed away a tear. ‘None of that, it’s just seeing you again because Percy thought the world of you, and Phipps and Jack. You were his favourites of all his boys.’
‘And we worshipped him,’ Brock said. ‘Nothing will ever be like those times, Mrs Scatterby.’
‘I’m still Sam to you,’ she said gracefully, keeping her distance, but smiling. He must never guess how seeing him again after so long made her heart race and her body ache with the longing to be in his arms. He might have cared for her once, but it could only have been a young man’s infatuation. Had he still loved her, he would not be engaged to Miss Langton. ‘Now tell me, what can I do for you?’
Brock explained Rosemarie Ross’s predicament in as few words as possible. ‘I went to Phipps first, but he has other things on his mind just now. My godmother is otherwise engaged for months, but she suggested you, Sam. I am at my wits’ end to know what to do with young Miss Ross. Will you take pity on me?’
‘Oh, how perfectly romantic and wonderful,’ she said, and laughed in the enchanting way that had made her husband’s comrades fall head over heels in love with her when they were young men. ‘Yes, of course. You must bring her here at once. It is exactly what I need—an adventure to brighten up my days and give me a reason to go shopping. I fear I am terribly extravagant and it is my favourite pastime.’
‘I shall pay for anything Miss Ross needs and any extra expenses you may incur on her behalf.’ Brock laughed and shook his head as her brows went up. ‘No, there is no attachment, Sam. She has nothing until her affairs are settled and it cannot mean anything to me—I am too rich for my own good, so my godmother tells me.’
‘Then I shall not bother what I spend on her,’ Samantha said, smiling at him in approval. ‘You must bring her to me at once. I shall engage to give her some town bronze and rely on you to do the rest.’
‘She may have to stay with you for some months. If I cannot settle her affairs to her liking, perhaps until she forms an attachment and marries?’
‘I dare say if she is as charming as you say, I shall never wish to part with her,’ Samantha declared. ‘I have no relatives, no family of my own, and she will be no trouble to me, I assure you. Now, my dearest Brock, you must go and fetch her and I shall have her room prepared. Oh, what fun. I declare I’ve never been so pleased with a visitor before.’
‘You are an angel,’ Brock said, throwing her a kiss with his fingertips as he turned to leave. ‘Once Miss Ross is settled I can go down to visit Cynthia.’
‘Your fiancée?’ Sam’s look was suddenly serious, the smile leaving her eyes. ‘Are you sure she is at home, Brock? I am almost certain I saw her the other evening at a dance I attended. She was with Lord Armstrong and her mother.’
‘Cynthia Langton in town and with Lord Armstrong?’
‘Yes, I believe she has been staying with him and the countess for the past week or more,’ Samantha said. ‘You were not aware of it?’
‘No. I dare say her letter informing me is waiting for me at home. There is a pile of post, but I did not bother to go through it for I wanted to settle Miss Ross’s affairs first.’
‘I am sure their mothers are good friends. It will save you a journey to the country, after all,’ Samantha said with a smile. ‘Now, please, go and fetch Miss Ross. I dare say she is imagining that you have deserted her.’
‘Good grief, yes. I said I should be an hour and I’ve been at least three. Sam, I can never thank you enough,’ he said and left her with another kiss blown from his fingertips.
* * *
Samantha rang the bell for her housekeeper as soon as Brock had gone. She would have been a fool to dwell on the feelings seeing him had stirred in her breast. She’d been so nervous of seeing him, but his manner was that of a casual acquaintance, which was all they were now, she supposed. Oh, but it might have been so different had she not been such a fool.
Shaking her head over her own foolishness, Samantha concentrated on preparing for her visitor. She wanted to have her guest’s room ready for her when she arrived and gave instructions for the best spare chamber to be prepared. Flowers were to be picked from her small but very pretty garden at the rear of the house and arranged in one of the nicest vases; clean towels, linen, soaps and magazines must be placed in the room for Miss Ross’s use. Depending on what size she was, Samantha might be able to lend her one or two dresses until they could purchase some new ones from the seamstress she favoured.
It was always exciting to have visitors, and a young woman in trouble was surely someone she could make a new friend. She would so enjoy taking the girl about with her to discreet parties and private dances, though she was not sure whether Miss Ross was actually out or not. She thought, given her story, it was unlikely that she had been presented to their Majesties, but if it was required Sam might be able to prevail on Mrs Burrell or Lady South to undertake the business.
She would need to consult Brock and Miss Ross herself about her wishes in the matter, but nothing could be wrong in taking the young lady to small card parties and dinners or dances. Samantha had been feeling rather low for the past few months and having her young visitor would cheer her up. Not that she was past the age of wanting to enjoy life herself, for she was but five and twenty.
Her marriage to Percy Scatterby when she was nineteen had been a matter of necessity, for her own father, also a colonel in the army, had died, leaving her alone with barely the wherewithal to pay her rent. She’d struggled on alone for a year and then someone had come to her rescue. Her darling Percy had been a great friend of Papa’s and nearer his age than her own, but he had offered her the protection of his name and she had accepted him. She’d thrown herself into a life of following the army, accepting the often terrible accommodation and learning to live off the land, as other soldiers’ wives did.
Sam had taken to the life as a duck to water. At home in the saddle, capable of cooking a decent meal with the barest ingredients and possessed of a sunny nature that was seldom overset, she had soon had the young subalterns eating out of her hands. They vied with each other for invitations to her dinner parties, when there was food enough to go round, helped her when the conditions were hard and invariably lost their hearts to the Colonel’s lady, while treating her with the same respect that they gave their beloved officer.
It was Brock who had supplied the country house where Percy had spent his last months.
Samantha knew that she would have done anything she could to help Brock. He had been so very kind to her, so thoughtful and generous. Of course she would repay him in any way she could, because he had helped her at a time when her situation had been at its worst. But then, he was a true gentleman, a man whom any woman could admire and trust. Percy had thought the world of him.
Tears stung her eyes as she recalled the day Percy had died as she’d sat holding his hand. He’d looked at her sadly, regret in the grey eyes that had always been filled with wicked laughter.
‘I have not been fair to you, my darling,’ he’d said. ‘You know I always loved you, but I was too old. You were young. You should have had a young husband and children. I have given you nothing.’
‘You gave me four years of happiness,’ she’d told him and bent to kiss his hand. ‘I love you, Percy. I had nothing. You have made me secure for I shall have enough to live quietly in London and that is all I require of life now.’
‘You loved me,’ he’d said in a voice that was no more than a whisper. ‘But not as you would have loved a younger man. No, do not deny it, Samantha. I know I was never quite the lover you needed. You are a passionate woman and you should have had a man twenty years younger who could have matched you.’
‘No, my dearest,’ she’d denied, knowing in her heart it was the truth, yet wanting to ease the regret in his eyes. ‘No man was ever a better husband than you, Percy.’
‘No man could have loved you more,’ he’d said and his fingers pressed hard on hers. ‘Promise me, Sam. Promise me that you won’t grieve for me. You must find someone else, a man who can give you all I could not. I know there is someone you care for, my dear.’
‘Percy, I have been perfectly happy...’ she’d said, but even as she’d spoken the words she knew he’d left her and she’d wept.
Her tears were the more bitter because she believed that she must have hurt him in some way. Surely he had not guessed at those feelings she’d hidden deep in her heart—feelings for Brock, one of his men, that she had never once allowed to show. The realisation that Percy had guessed was painful and made her grieving harder. She had kept up her mourning for more than several months and then only began to go into society gradually. It was Lady Jersey and her great friend Lady Patricia South who had finally dragged her back to the land of the living and made her face up to the future.
These days, she gave discreet, but very popular, dinner parties to which she invited both married and single friends, often including young officers who had served with her husband, and was never alone for very long. At a ball she would gather a crowd of younger men and women about her, though only the very strict would have thought her fast. She was a great rider and was usually to be seen in Rotten Row of a morning, riding a great red horse that looked as if it were far too strong for her and yet responded to her lightest touch. If she began her ride alone, she did not finish it so for there was always an officer or a fashionable gentleman to ride with her.
Samantha cast an approving eye over the chamber prepared for her guest. She could only be glad that Brock had no idea of her continuing feelings for him, because she was sure that his heart was given to another. Indeed, it must be for why else had he asked Cynthia Langton to be his wife? And yet the wedding had not yet been announced...
Chapter Four (#ulink_e4898832-147c-5414-9288-8178facc0551)
‘Stay with a widow?’ The look in Rosemarie’s eyes told Brock that she was not happy with the idea. ‘I do not wish to live quietly and hardly dare to raise my voice. Why will you not advance me a little money on my trinkets and let me go where I please?’
‘Because it would be quite improper for you to live alone, Miss Ross,’ he said patiently for perhaps the twentieth time. ‘Besides, Sam is not a long-suffering widow wearing black. Her husband has been dead for almost two years. She goes into society and will take you to small parties and dances, once you have suitable clothes.’
‘She will?’ Rosemarie tipped her head to one side, reminding him with her bright eyes of a hungry robin, ready to pounce on a worm. ‘Where shall I get the money to buy my clothes?’
