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‘Yes. He was rich, but he was also kind, much kinder to me than my parents were. To them I was nothing more than a commodity, to be used to the family’s best advantage.’
Richard’s jaw clenched tight. Knowing his world he was well aware of what might have happened to her, sold to the highest bidder.
‘And was it a good marriage?’
‘I think so. I believe I made Sir Evelyn happy, even though I failed to give him the heir he wanted.’
‘I am not interested in Tatham,’ he said roughly. ‘What about you, were you happy?’
She smiled. ‘Why, yes, why should I not be?’
‘Did you love him?’
The little hand resting on his sleeve trembled.
‘I did not dislike him, and that is very important.’
Her cool, reasonable response angered him. Smothering a curse he stopped and pulled her round to face him.
‘How old are you, Lady Phyllida?’
She blinked. ‘I am four-and-twenty, not that it is any concern of yours!’
‘No, but it concerns me that you should be dwindling into widowhood before you have even lived.’
‘Mr Arrandale, I assure you I am not at all unhappy with my lot.’
He shook his head at her.
‘I saw your face when we raced the horses the other day. How often have you felt like that? When was the last time you really enjoyed yourself, dancing ’til dawn, walking in the moonlight, being kissed senseless—?’
Her eyes widened at that and she drew away from him.
‘You should not be talking to me in this way.’ She looked around. ‘We—we are at Charles Street. Thank you for your escort. Forgive me if I do not ask you to come in.’
With that she left him, almost running the last few yards to her door, where she was soon lost to sight.
Damn, damn, damn! What was he thinking of? Richard turned on his heel and strode away. He was supposed to be making a friend of her, preparing the ground so that she would support him when he made Ellen an offer. Instead he was saying all the wrong things.
What in hell’s name had got into him?
* * *
September advanced and the invitations continued to flood into Charles Street, including an urgent message one morning from Mrs Desborough, inviting them to take advantage of the continuing good weather to drive out of town and enjoy a picnic that very day. The Wakefields were going, which made Ellen keen to go and even Phyllida found the idea too tempting to resist.
‘I always think these things are so much better impromptu,’ declared Lady Wakefield as they made themselves comfortable on the rugs and cushions spread out upon the grass. ‘I am so pleased Mrs Desborough suggested it, and such a pleasant spot, too.’
Phyllida could not deny the spot was indeed delightful, a sloping meadow near the little village of Claverton, but she was not quite so happy with some of the company. Mrs Desborough had laughingly explained that Mr Fullingham had come upon her as they were about to set off.
She continued. ‘I had not the heart to say him nay, not when young Mr Wakefield had already asked Mr Arrandale to join us. After all, there is space enough here for everyone, is there not?’
‘And you have refreshments enough for an army,’ chuckled her fond spouse, eyeing the array of hampers set out before them. ‘But it is not only good food she has arranged for us, is that not so, my dear?’
‘Well, I did think that afterwards the young people might like to gather blackberries. The hedgerow is positively thick with them.’ She chuckled and beckoned to one of the servants who came forward. ‘You see I have brought three small baskets for you to fill, and to save you young ladies ruining your gowns there are aprons for you to put on.’
Lady Wakefield laughed. ‘Then there can be no objection. You have thought of everything, ma’am!’
* * *
They dined well on cold meats and cakes washed down with wine or small beer, but soon the effects of good food and the heat of the day took their toll. The party became less noisy and conversation began to die away to a soft murmur that Phyllida found quite soporific. Her eyelids were beginning to droop when she heard Penelope Desborough’s eager voice.
‘May we go and collect blackberries now, Mama?’
Mrs Desborough and Lady Wakefield were nodding sleepily, their spouses already snoring gently in the warm sunshine. As the young ladies donned their aprons Phyllida glanced across at the hedgerow. It meandered away for quite some distance and she was suddenly struck with misgiving. Of course, the gentlemen might not go to help, but Mr Fullingham was already on his feet, followed quickly by Adrian Wakefield and Richard Arrandale.
She jumped up, which caused Mrs Desborough to exclaim, ‘What’s this, Lady Phyllida, do you wish to collect berries too? I made sure you would want to rest a little.’
‘No, no, I am not at all tired,’ Phyllida assured her.
Mrs Desborough sat upright, looking perturbed.
‘But there are only three baskets, and I have no more aprons, ma’am, your gown—’
‘Oh, that is of no consequence,’ she replied airily.
Ellen laughed. ‘I doubt if Matlock will agree with you, Philly! But never mind that. Here, you may have my basket, and I shall share with Penelope.’
The arrangements settled, they moved off towards the hedgerow.
Richard fell into step beside her.
‘Three gentlemen, four ladies,’ he murmured.
‘Even numbers are not required for berry picking, Mr Arrandale.’
‘Nor is a chaperon, Lady Phyllida.’
She put up her chin. ‘That, sir, depends upon the company.’
* * *
Ellen had stopped by the hedge and her voice floated across on the still air.
‘Adrian, will you help me and Penelope to fill our basket?’
Mr Fullingham stepped up. ‘Allow me, Miss Tatham—’
‘Ah, sir, I was hoping you would help Julia, because you see that she cannot quite reach those berries at the very top, there, and they look so delicious...’
He was subjected to a dazzling smile and Phyllida smothered a laugh as the gentleman went off to do as he was bid. She glanced towards Richard and saw that he was grinning at her. Caught off guard, she blushed and looked away, but her confusion increased when she heard Ellen’s next words.
‘That leaves Mr Arrandale to help Phyllida.’
That could not please him any more than it pleased Phyllida. He would surely protest. She waited, but after a brief hesitation he swept a low bow.
‘Your wish is my command, Miss Tatham.’
Phyllida glared at him and without another word she hurried away to begin filling her basket.
* * *
Mrs Desborough was right, the tall hedgerows were thick with ripe blackberries and Phyllida worked steadily. Her gloves were soon stained with berry juice and she had to take care to prevent herself from becoming caught up on the brambles. Richard Arrandale was only feet away from her. His body and the lush, straggling hedgerow hid the others from her sight although their voices floated to her from time to time. They were distant, unimportant. All that mattered, all that she could think of, was the man beside her. He had removed his gloves to pick the fruit and she found herself watching his long lean fingers as they gently plucked each soft, plump berry.
They worked in silence. Phyllida had placed the basket on the ground between them and was surprised at how companionable it felt. She was aware of the birdsong, of the hum of insects and the warmth of the sun on her back, but more than anything she was aware of Richard at her side. Occasionally he moved closer and pulled down the higher stems for her to collect the soft fruit, or held aside the thick branches so she could reach deep into the heart of the bush.
Clearly, it was her duty to keep Richard Arrandale away from Ellen, but there was no denying that she was enjoying herself, more than she had done in a long time. The thought surprised her and she realised how staid her life had become, not only the twelve months she had spent in mourning at Tatham Park but the years before that. Years spent running a household and looking after an ageing husband.
I became a matron at eighteen, she thought, as she reached between two long branches to pluck a few particularly juicy berries. I was caught up in the duties of being a wife and mother as soon as I left the schoolroom, with no time for frivolous pastimes.
‘Oh!’
A thorn had penetrated the soft kid of her glove and pierced her finger.
‘Keep still.’
Richard was at her side immediately and she found it impossible to remain silent.
‘I fear I have no choice but to obey,’ she told him. ‘The thorns have caught at my sleeve.’
He stepped closer and she was painfully aware of the hard wall of his chest against her back. Her mouth dried, he filled her senses. She breathed in the masculine smell of him, the mix of soap and leather and an indefinable hint of musky spices. Surely she was imagining the thud of his heart against her shoulders, but she could feel his breath on her cheek and she trembled.
‘Steady now.’
One hand rested on her shoulder while the other reached past her to lift away the offending thorny tentacle.
‘There, you are free.’
Free? How could she be free when her whole body was in thrall to him? When he was so close she could feel the heat of him on her back? Phyllida shook off the thought and carefully withdrew her arm from the briars. When Richard removed his hand from her shoulder she felt it immediately, a yearning chill and an emptiness that was almost a physical pain. She stepped back and turned, only to find that he was close behind her, less than a hand’s width away, his broad chest and powerful shoulders filling her view, like a cliff face. She was distracted by detail, the fine stitching of his exquisitely tailored blue coat, the double row of buttons on his pale waistcoat, the snowy folds of linen at his neck. The hammering of her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. Surely he must hear it, see how shaken she was? She tried to speak lightly to divert his attention and her own.
‘Thank you, sir. I fear I could not have extricated myself without ruining this gown.’
She stretched her cheeks into a smile and looked up, confident she could ask him calmly to let her pass, but her gaze locked on to his mouth and the words died in her throat as she studied the firm sculpted lips. She was distracted by imagining how they would feel on her skin. She swallowed, forced her gaze upwards but that proved even more dangerous, for his blue eyes held her transfixed. She was lost, unable to move. She could no longer hear the skylark’s distant trill, nor the laughing voices of those picking berries further along the hedgerow. The world had shrunk to just the two of them. Anticipation tremored through her when he ran his hands lightly up her arms and the skin beneath the thin sleeves burned with his touch. His fingers came to rest upon her shoulders, gently pulling her towards him as he lowered his head to kiss her. She made no effort to resist. Instead her chin tilted up and her lips parted instinctively as his mouth came closer.
It was the lightest contact, a slight, tantalising brush of the lips, but Phyllida felt as if a lightning bolt had struck her, shocking her, driving through her body and anchoring her to the spot. She kept her hands at her sides, clenched into fists to prevent them clinging to him like a desperate, drowning creature. She found herself straining upwards, trying to prolong the contact but it was over almost as soon as it had begun and as he raised his head Phyllida felt strangely bereft. The kiss had been the work of a moment, but it had shaken her to the core and she struggled to find a suitable response.
‘You, you should not have done that.’
There was a faint crease at one side of his mouth, the merest hint of a smile.
‘No one saw us.’
That was not what she meant at all, but it brought her back to reality. The thorny brambles were at her back so she sidestepped, breaking those invisible threads that had held her to him, even though it was like tearing her own flesh to move away from him. Distance gave her the strength to think properly again.
‘I did not mean that and you know it. Your behaviour was ungentlemanly, sir.’
‘You could have said no. You could have resisted.’
She scooped up the little basket and began to walk away.
‘I should not have had to do so.’
He laughed softly as he fell in beside her.
‘I believe I deserved some reward for rescuing a damsel in distress.’
She stopped, saying angrily, ‘What you deserve, sir—’
‘Yes?’
He was smiling down at her, sending her thoughts once more into disorder. Alarms clamoured in her head, it was as much as she could do not to throw herself at him and the glint in his blue eyes told her he knew it. With a hiss of exasperation she walked on.
‘You deserve to be shamed publicly for your behaviour.’
‘Ah, but the Arrandales have no shame, did you not know that?’
He spoke lightly, but there was something in his tone, a faint hint of bitterness that undermined her indignation. It could have been a ploy, a trick to gain her sympathy, but somehow she did not think so. With a sudden flash of insight she thought he was like a child, behaving badly because it was expected of him.
‘Oh, how despicable you are!’ she exclaimed. ‘I should be scolding you for your outrageous behaviour and instead—’ She broke off.
‘Yes?’ he prompted her gently.
I want to take you in my arms and kiss away your pain.
Phyllida was appalled. She had come very close to saying the words aloud. With a tiny shake of her head she almost ran the last few yards to where Mrs Desborough and Lady Wakefield were sitting under a large parasol.
The two ladies greeted Phyllida cheerfully and although they noted her flushed countenance, they put it down to too much sun and suggested she should come and sit with them in the shade. Mr Desborough, who was now awake and enjoying a glass of claret, invited Richard to join him.
As the ladies admired her basket of blackberries, sympathised with her ruined gloves and uttered up thanks that she had not spoiled her gown, Phyllida recovered her equilibrium. She decided not to say anything about Richard’s disgraceful behaviour, especially since it did not reflect well upon her own judgement in allowing him to take such a liberty.
No, she thought, as the others returned and they prepared to make their way back to Bath, she had learned a valuable lesson and she would be sure Richard Arrandale had no opportunity to repeat it, or to try such tricks upon her stepdaughter.
Chapter Seven (#u29bbfd4e-c1a0-5a52-b48d-077660225407)
The season had not yet started in Bath but the Assembly Rooms were crowded for the latest ball. Lady Wakefield had offered to include Ellen in her party, but Phyllida had decided she should go, too. She was concerned at the number of gentlemen who were vying for Ellen’s attention, so much so that she had mentioned it to Lady Hune, when they had met a few days earlier. Ellen was attending her dancing class and Phyllida had taken the opportunity to call upon Lady Hune and enquire after her health, but the dowager’s kindness encouraged Phyllida to confide in her.
‘I had not thought there would be so many gentlemen in Bath on the lookout for a wife,’ she admitted. ‘Ellen’s inheritance is held in trust until she attains her majority in four years’ time but even that knowledge does not seem to deter them.’
‘And does Ellen favour any of these gentlemen?’
