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Serena gave a slight shake of the head and pulled the voluminous cotton wrap closer about her. There were dark terrors prowling at the edge of her memory but she could not face them just yet. The hangings around her bed had not been drawn and she looked slowly around the room. It was unfamiliar, but comfortably furnished and full of morning sunshine.
‘Where am I?’
The question was more to herself than the maid, but the girl bobbed a curtsy.
‘Melham Court, m’m. Lord Quinn’s Hertfordshire residence.’
Quinn. He had rescued her from... No. She would not think of that. She would think of Lord Quinn, the way he had coaxed her from the bath. The way he had held her. She put a hand to her head. Was it only last night that he had brought her here? She must have spoken aloud, for the little maid bobbed another curtsy.
‘Yes, m’m. Shall I call Mrs Talbot?’
‘No, no, pray do not disturb her. But I should like something to drink.’ Serena smiled at the young maid. ‘Could you fetch me something warm. Hot chocolate, perhaps, or coffee?’
‘Of course, m’m. I’ll do that straight away. But Mrs Talbot did say I was to inform her, as soon as you was awake.’
The maid hurried off and Serena drew up her knees, clasping her arms about them as she finally turned her mind to the events that had brought her here. She touched her neck. Her windpipe felt bruised and it hurt when she swallowed. The shock and fear she had felt at Sir Timothy’s attempted seduction was still there, but on top of that she felt remorse and humiliation. She had been foolish in the extreme. Arrogant, too, to think she could play such games without risk.
How worried Henry and Dorothea must be. She glanced at the bell-pull and considered requesting a note should be sent to them immediately, but decided against it. She would be back with them in a few hours, she was sure. Lord Quinn would arrange it.
She rested her chin on her knees and considered her host. Her rescuer. It was curious that she should have such confidence in a stranger. She had felt nothing but revulsion when Sir Timothy had put his hands on her. She remembered trying to wash away the feel of his touch from her skin, yet she had allowed Quinn to see her completely naked. She had not flinched as he had dried her and dressed her in this ridiculously large wrap. And when she wept he had cradled her in his arms. For such a big man he had been surprisingly gentle and she had clung to him, feeling safe and secure enough to curl up on his lap and fall asleep.
No man had ever held her thus before, not even Papa. In truth, Serena barely remembered her father. Neither could she remember much about her mother. Mama was a shadowy figure, nothing more than swirl of fashionable silks and a trace of perfume who had disappeared from her life completely when Papa had died. Serena had grown up in the care of nannies until she was old enough to be sent to school and after that she only met her half-brothers on rare occasions. She had grown up resilient, self-sufficient and independent. But very much alone.
There was a murmur of voices outside the door and the maid came in, carrying a tray laden with coffee, bread and butter. She was followed by the housekeeper, Mrs Talbot, who had a foaming cloud of lemon and white over her arm. She greeted Serena with a cheerful smile.
‘Good morning to you, Miss Russington. I trust you slept well? We have done what we can to clean and repair your clothing. ’Tis not perfect, but I think, with your shawl about you, it will do to get you home.’
Home! Serena glanced at the window. The angle of the sun showed it was much later than she had first thought.
‘Oh, heavens, yes.’ She waved away the breakfast tray. ‘There is no time to lose. I must get up immediately. I did not realise I had slept so long.’
‘All in good time, miss.’ Gently but firmly, the older lady ushered Serena back into bed and smoothed the bedclothes so that the maid could put the tray down before her. ‘Lord Quinn instructed that you should be left to sleep as long as you wished this morning.’
‘That is all very well, but—’
The housekeeper put up her hands. ‘Lord Quinn insists you break your fast before you go downstairs. And his lordship likes his orders to be obeyed.’
Serena sank back against the pillows. She did not feel up to a battle of wills with anyone, let alone a man to whom she owed so much. Obediently she drank her coffee while Mrs Talbot directed the maid in her duties, tidying the room and building up the fire, before sending her away to wash her hands and fetch up hot water.
‘When Meggy comes back she will help you to dress,’ she told Serena, when the coffee was drunk and the last crumb eaten. ‘Then you are to go down to the library.’ She picked up the tray and headed for the door. ‘Lord Quinn is waiting there for you.’
* * *
Some half-hour later Serena asked Meggy to show her the way to the library. A glance in the looking glass on the dressing table told her the bruise on her cheek was now blue-black, but there was nothing she could do to hide it. However, it was not painful and Serena did her best to ignore it. Mrs Talbot had washed her muslin fichu and Serena crossed it over the bodice of her gown and tied it at the back, so no one would see the repairs, but there were shadowy marks on the petticoats, evidence of her struggle with Sir Timothy. As she descended the stairs, the whisper of her satin skirts taunted her. It was easy enough to replace a gown, but her lost reputation was an altogether different matter.
She had been oblivious to her surroundings last night and had no idea what Melham Court looked like from the outside, but from what she could see inside, it was clearly an old building and everything suggested it was well maintained. The wainscoting and the staircase, with its intricately carved balusters, were polished to a high shine and there was not a speck of dust on the windowsills. Fine paintings covered the walls and exquisite porcelain was displayed on side tables. Serena was in no mood to dwell on her surroundings, but there was an indefinable feeling of calm comfort about the house. Meggy left her in the staircase hall, where a waiting footman escorted her through the great hall, with its lofty vaulted roof, to the library.
Serena’s step faltered as the servant opened the door and it was with a definite straightening of the back that she stepped across the threshold. Lord Quinn was standing in the window embrasure, scrutinising a large framed canvas propped against one side of the bay. He did not appear to notice her entry and she walked across the room until she, too, could see the picture. It was a woman, half-naked, sitting on a velvet-covered couch and looking into a mirror held aloft by two red-haired cherubs. The painting glowed with colour, especially the golden sheen of the woman’s hair and the deep red velvet drapes that covered the lower half of her body.
She said, ‘Is that a Titian?’
‘Yes. Venus with a Mirror.’
‘By the master, or a copy by his students? I believe there are several versions in existence.’ He looked at her in surprise and she explained, ‘My half-brother made a tour of Italy during the Peace of Amiens. He came back full of admiration for the old masters and talked of them to anyone who would listen.’
Serena stopped. She often encouraged Henry to tell her about art, especially when he summoned her to his study to criticise some aspect of her behaviour. She thought wryly that the situation now was not so very different. Lord Quinn had turned his attention back to the painting.
‘Experts are agreed this is by the master.’ He beckoned her to come closer. ‘Look at the brush strokes. He has given her a most natural complexion and the velvet is so fine one can almost see each thread.’
His enthusiasm was infectious and it distracted her from other, more disturbing thoughts, a dark, shadowy terror she did not want to face. She took another step towards the picture. ‘I like the way we see her reflection in the mirror.’
‘But look at her eyes,’ he said. ‘She is not actually looking in the mirror; her gaze is towards someone out of the frame. Her lover perhaps?’
He turned to her for an answer as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Serena felt a blush stealing into her cheeks. She was an unmarried lady, she should not discuss such things with a stranger. His look changed, as if he realised how inappropriate was their conversation and he turned away with something between a cough and a growl.
‘I beg your pardon. I should not be talking about Titian when there are far more important matters to discuss.’
There were indeed. Her spirits sank and she waited to be rebuked for her folly.
‘That bruise on your face, for example. Does it hurt?’
She blinked. ‘No...that is, only if I touch it.’
He nodded, then turned and walked across to the desk. ‘You must be wishing you were at home.’
No. I wish I could run away and hide from the world.
‘Of course.’
‘I took the liberty of writing to Lord and Lady Hambridge, to assure them that you are safe.’ He picked up a letter. ‘I sent it at first light and this has just arrived, express. They are on their way to fetch you.’
‘Thank you, my lord. You are too kind.’ She looked at her hands, twisting themselves together as if trying to wipe away the shame of it all. ‘Kinder than I have any right to expect.’
Her voice wobbled and she bowed her head to hide her tears.
‘Enough of that, madam. You were served an ill turn by a rogue. He is to blame, not you. You behaved foolishly, to be sure, but you have escaped quite lightly, in the circumstances.’ She kept her head down and dashed a tear from her cheek. She heard a couple of hasty steps and he was before her, holding out his handkerchief. ‘Come now, dry your eyes. Lord and Lady Hambridge will not be much more than an hour. What would you like to do until then?’
Serena wiped away the tears and took a couple of deep breaths. ‘I had best return to my room.’
As she handed the handkerchief back to him he caught her fingers and she looked up quickly. His hazel eyes were fixed upon her and she felt the full force of his penetrating gaze.
‘If I were a doctor I would prescribe fresh air to put a little colour back into your cheeks.’ His brows snapped together. ‘There is no need to look like that, Miss Russington. I have no designs upon your virtue, but I would have you look less like a corpse when your brother comes to fetch you.’
His rough manner had its affect. For the first time since this whole sorry business had begun she felt like smiling, if only a little.
‘Very well, my lord. I shall take a turn in the gardens. If you will excuse me...’
‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘The place is a rabbit warren. I will not risk losing you.’
‘I must not take any more of your time,’ she protested.
‘Not at all. I should like to show you the gardens. Now run upstairs and fetch your shawl.’
* * *
Quinn escorted his guest out of doors, resigning himself to an hour’s tedium. He could have appointed a servant to accompany her, if he was so worried about the woman’s well-being, but something had made him speak, and once the words were out there was no going back. He led her out into the cobbled courtyard around which the old house was built. The west front with its central, castellated gatehouse was of sturdy stone, while the other three walls were all half or fully timbered, the upper stories jutted out and a haphazard collection of leaded windows overlooked the yard.
‘The building predates the Tudor monarchs, I think?’ she said, looking around.
‘Yes. It is medieval in origin but there have been alterations, over the centuries.’ He pointed out the most notable features. ‘Look up there. That room on the first floor was originally the solar, but it was rebuilt later and you can see Henry VIII’s emblems carved on the timbers. And over there, the open arcade running along the eastern side is one of the finest of its kind.’
‘And the clock face in the gatehouse tower, is that new?’
‘Yes. I installed that a few years ago, when we carried out repairs.’
He was reluctant to say too much for fear of boring her, but Serena appeared to be genuinely interested. She asked pertinent questions and he found himself telling her what he knew of the house’s history.
‘It was built for a wealthy farmer and passed into my own family only two generations back. My ancestors never cared for it,’ he told her. ‘There are few guest chambers and the reception rooms are small. The house does not lend itself to entertaining.’
‘Oh, but surely there is room to dance in the great hall,’ she replied. ‘It would be a wonderful setting for a ball and guests could always be accommodated at the local inns, could they not?’
‘I did not move here to be sociable, Miss Russington.’
She lapsed into silence and he cursed himself for snapping at her. He sensed she had withdrawn from him, even though her fingers still rested on his sleeve. He led her out through the arch saying, as they crossed the bridge, ‘There is a moat, too. You may not have noticed it when we drove in last night.’
Damnation, another blunder, to remind her how she came to be here! Nothing for it but to continue.
‘The stables, gardens and outhouses are spread over the adjoining land, but the moat surrounds the house and has always defined its limits.’
‘Perfect, if you do not wish to be sociable.’
He glanced down quickly, not sure he had heard aright. She was looking around her, but he detected a very slight upward tilt to her mouth. So, she had not quite lost her spirit. The thought cheered him.
‘My lord, someone is approaching!’ Her hand tightened on his arm and he looked up.
‘Devil take it, ’tis Crawshaw, the vicar. And he has seen us.’
Serena watched the stocky figure in cleric’s robes hurry towards them, one hand holding his shallow-crowned hat firmly on his head. She pulled her fan from her reticule, spreading it wide as the vicar greeted them.
‘Lord Quinn. Well met, sir, well met indeed. I was hoping for a word.’
He stopped before them, beaming and looking from Quinn to Serena, clearly waiting to be presented. Surely even someone as famously rude as Lord Quinn must comply. She kept the fan high, almost hiding her face. Better that Mr Crawshaw should think her shy than he should see that tell-tale bruise.
‘Miss Russington is waiting for her guardian to collect her,’ explained Lord Quinn, once introductions had been performed. ‘We expect him any moment.’
‘Then I shall not keep you,’ replied the vicar. ‘I merely wanted to discuss the repairs to the bell tower. Have you seen the church, ma’am? It is a fine example of the perpendicular Gothic. You must allow Lord Quinn to show it to you before you leave.’
Serena murmured something polite and Quinn dismissed Mr Crawshaw with a promise that he would make a generous donation to the restoration fund.
‘Nothing could have been more unfortunate,’ he muttered under his breath, when the vicar had gone on his way. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Russington. I hope I have given him the impression that you have only spent the morning here.’
‘Is he likely to speak of me?’
‘I hope not, but I thought it best to keep to the truth as far as possible.’
‘Of course. To be caught out in a lie would be the worst of all worlds,’ she replied. ‘Let us pray he is too intent upon repairing his bell tower.’
Quinn gave a bark of laughter. ‘After what I said to him, I have no doubt he will expect me to pay for the whole.’
‘Would you have done that if I had not been here?’ She sighed. ‘Your silence gives me my answer. I do not know how I am to repay you for all your kindness, my lord.’
‘I do not want any recompense, madam, merely to see you safely returned to your guardian.’
‘Perhaps I should go indoors until then, lest there are more visitors.’
‘If you wish.’ He hesitated. ‘But the sun is still shining and you have not yet seen the gardens.’
Hell and damnation, Quinn, what are you doing?
He should take her back, leave her with Mrs Talbot until Hambridge arrived. After all, he had put himself out more than enough for the woman already. But when she indicated that she would like to continue their walk, he was not displeased. The day suddenly became a little brighter.
* * *
It was like a dream, thought Serena. To be walking with a stranger, calmly discussing flowers. She felt oddly detached from everything. Until she had climbed into Sir Timothy’s carriage yesterday, she had thought herself very much in control of her own life, but she realised now that had been an illusion. Her half-brothers and their wives had always been there to protect her. Even when she had slipped away to flirt with some gentleman, their proximity had given her a modicum of protection.
Putting herself in Sir Timothy’s power had changed all that. She had been in real danger. He had intended to rape her, then force her into marriage to gain control of her fortune. She had fought him desperately, prepared to die rather than give in, and the bruises around her throat convinced her that her defiance might well have ended with her death.
Quinn had rescued her, but her life was still in ruins. Dorothea and Henry would insist she went into the country. If the whole affair could be hushed up then after a suitable period she might be allowed to return to society, but she knew she would never be as confident, happy and carefree as she had been one day ago. Things had changed. She had changed. No matter how brightly the sun shone everything was dulled by the grey cloud that enveloped her and weighed heavily upon her spirits.
‘You are not attending, Miss Russington.’
Lord Quinn’s gruff tones brought Serena out of her reverie and she quickly begged pardon.
‘I asked what you thought of these roses from China. They bloom every spring, even this year, despite the atrocious weather.’
‘Oh. Yes. They are very beautiful.’ She glanced up, needing to be truthful. ‘I was thinking of my future.’
‘No doubt you think it destroyed for ever,’ he said. ‘Do not believe it. You are feeling very sorry for yourself at present but you will forget this unfortunate episode, in time.’
‘I do not think so.’ She pulled her arm free to rearrange her shawl.
‘Believe me, you will recover. Why should you not, when you have all the advantages of birth, fortune and a family to support you?’
‘I never thought myself in any danger until yesterday. Until Sir Timothy b-began to maul me.’ Her fingers crept to her throat. ‘I thought I was going to die. I shall never forget that.’
‘Perhaps not, but you must not let it blight your life.’
His cool assurance annoyed her.
