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‘True, but she is also about to be married.’
‘And her future husband dined with you tonight?’
‘Why on earth should you want me to tell you anything?’ demanded Guy irritably. ‘You know it all already.’
‘Devil a bit! Peters has passed on the little he has gleaned. Most of it was nonsense about the ghosts that walk during the night. Peters tells me some of the servants even swear they have heard wailing and crying in the gardens after dark! Tales set about by the housekeeper, I suspect, to keep them in their own beds at night! I’m hoping you can give me all the details about the family.’ Davey put his head on one side and narrowed his eyes. ‘And by your frown I’d say something is puzzling you.’
‘Aye,’ said Guy slowly. ‘It is.’
He related the details of his evening and at the end of it Davey merely nodded.
‘Seems simple enough to me. The widow is marrying a fool. Nothing unusual in that.’
‘Not such a fool that he hasn’t tied up the business all right and tight,’ retorted Guy. ‘Over the port he made a point of telling me that the contracts were all signed, and even if Mrs Forrester should cry off now all the property would pass to him.’
‘Does she want to cry off?’
‘No—that is—I cannot say. I do not believe she is in love with him. The story goes that Radworth brought news of the brother’s death to the family, fell in love with the widow and had been courting her ever since. I don’t think the old lady is too enamoured of him, though.’ A smiled tugged at his mouth. ‘It should prove a stormy marriage—I saw the way she ripped up at Radworth when he threatened to go down to the cellars himself! I had the impression she might actually call upon the servants to restrain him, if he had persisted.’
‘It’s the red hair,’ muttered Davey. ‘It might look glorious, but she’ll make the very devil of a wife.’
They fell silent and Guy realised that Davey was looking rather pale. He stood up.
‘Thankfully, the problems of the Priory are nothing to do with us and I for one cannot wait to leave them behind! With good fortune, by this time tomorrow we shall be back at Highridge. Now sleep well, my friend. I shall call on you again in the morning.’
Guy made his way to his room where he was pleased to see the fire had been built up and a small basket of logs placed on the hearth beside it. Peters had unpacked his nightgown and it was draped across the bed, a pale, ghostly spectre in the shadows. A gusty wind was blowing, stirring the curtains that covered the ill-fitting leaded window and causing the occasional puff of smoke to blow into the room. Guy regarded the old stone hearth with disfavour and thought longingly of his own house, refashioned in the past ten years to provide such modern conveniences as small, iron fireplaces that threw out more heat and kept the smoke going up the chimney. Even Davey’s hunting lodge seemed luxurious in comparison to the Priory!
Guy was not used to keeping such early hours and as he put his coat over the back of a chair and kicked off his shoes he knew that sleep would elude him for some time yet. He picked a book at random from the mantelpiece and threw himself into the chair beside the fire, adjusting the candles to give him as much light as possible on the page. It was one of the volumes of Tristram Shandy and Guy was happy to amuse himself for an hour. He heard the board creak outside his room as someone padded along the passage. It was not the brisk step of a servant going about his business, but rather a slow, creeping tread. If they were trying not to disturb him, then their efforts were wasted, he thought sourly as another cloud of smoke belched from the chimney. He gave a wry smile. Perhaps Mrs Forrester was correct; he was grown too puffed up in his own conceit. He had stayed in much more uncomfortable houses in the past and never thought to complain. He stirred up the fire and threw a couple of small logs on to the flames, making up his mind that he would read until these had burned down, then go to bed.
The wind died down and the house grew quiet. The silence of the room settled around Guy and the slow tick, tick of the clock lulled him until he began to doze over his open book. He jerked himself awake. This would not do, he thought, stretching. He should go to bed.
At that moment he heard a cry. It was like a shout in the distance. It was not loud, and he thought that if he had been asleep it would not have roused him, but now he froze, his ears straining to catch the least noise. He heard the soft thud of a door closing, a murmur—it could have been the wind, or low voices, he could not be sure—then the definite sound of feet hurrying past.
Guy hesitated. Perhaps Lady Arabella had been taken ill, or one of the servants. It was none of his business, after all, and they would not thank him for his interference. But perhaps it was Davey—he hoped Peters would wake him if that was the case, but Guy could not be sure. Snatching up his bedroom candle, he opened the door and stepped out.
The passage was empty and silent. Moonlight filtered in through the mullioned windows at each end of the corridor, creating grey patterns on the floor. To his left the passage led to Davey’s room and the stairs down to the great hall, to his right it continued the length of the old building, then turned and provided access to the rest of the house. Guy walked towards Davey’s room. There was no bead of light from beneath the door, no sound save the sighing of the wind outside. As Guy stood, indecisive, a sudden cold draught hit his back. He might have put it down to imagination if his candle had not blown out. He turned. The cold had passed, as if a door somewhere in the house had been opened briefly.
Guy put down the candlestick. There was sufficient moonlight pouring in through the windows to light his way. He padded along the corridor in his stockinged feet, the only noise he made came from a creaking board. When he reached the end wall he hesitated. Mrs Forrester had led him this way to her own room, so he knew the passage led away into the Tudor wing of the house with the family’s apartments. He had no business here, but he was curious to know who might be about in the house in the middle of the night. Treading carefully, he made his way through moonlit passageways, past a series of doors in the polished-oak panelling until he rounded a corner and saw the dark rails of a narrow staircase before him. That would lead up to the servants’ quarters and down to the kitchens. His ears caught the soft sound of a footstep and at the same time a faint glow appeared in the stairwell as someone began to ascend from the basement. Quickly Guy drew back out of sight. It was most likely a servant, who could continue up the staircase to the bedchambers above. He strained to listen, heard the lightest footfall, the slight creak of a board, barely had time to note the approaching glow before a figure came around the corner and stopped with a small shriek of terror to find him blocking the way. Guy had the advantage of knowing someone was approaching, but he was surprised to find himself gazing into the terrified face of Beth Forrester.
‘Do not be afraid.’ Guy reached out and took the lamp from her shaking hand, holding it up so that she might recognise him. ‘I heard noises and thought I might be of assistance.’
She was shaking so much that he put out his free hand and caught her arm, feeling her trembling beneath the thin sleeve. She had changed her silk evening gown for a more serviceable closed robe in some dark colour. Her hair, free of lace and feathers, hung in a thick braid over one shoulder, gleaming in the lamplight like a trail of fire.
‘I suppose I am allowed to wander where I will in my own house!’ she retorted in a fierce whisper, pulling her arm free.
‘Could you not ring for a servant?’
She was regaining control. Guy noted that her large, dark eyes were no longer dilated with terror, although her look was still guarded.
‘It is not my habit to rouse my maid from her bed when I am perfectly capable of finding my way to the kitchen.’
She’s hiding something, thought Guy. Was there a man, perhaps? An assignation with someone other than her fiancé? He thought not. He hoped not. She had roused his admiration with the calm way she had dealt with Davey’s injury and, despite her coolness towards himself, Guy had thought her honest and honourable.
But he had been wrong about a woman before and it had cost him dear. He allowed his eyes to travel over her again. Would a woman go to meet her lover wearing such a homely gown? True, the soft wool clung to her figure, accentuating her tiny waist and the soft swell of her breasts, but its long sleeves and high neck looked almost Quakerish. What he had first thought was a pattern around her skirts at a second glance was seen to be dust. He frowned.
‘Where have you been, Mrs Forrester?’
‘That,’ she said haughtily, ‘is none of your business. Now, if you will please give me the lamp, I will show you back to your room.’
‘Surely I should be escorting you.’
Her eyes flashed scornfully, but she said sweetly, ‘But I wish to assure myself that you find your way safely back to your room, my lord.’
‘Are you afraid I might discover your horrid secret?’
Her eyes flew to his face and he was startled to see the stark terror in their depths again. He stepped closer.
‘My dear Mrs Forrester, pray do not look so alarmed. I was jesting.’
He noted the pale cheeks, the way the tip of her tongue ran nervously across her full bottom lip. Only a few inches separated them. He had to steel himself not to reach out and pull her to him. Her eyes were locked on his. They were cocooned in the lamplight and for a long moment neither spoke. Guy did not even breathe.
Oh, heavens, what is happening to me? The thought screamed in Beth’s head while her eyes remained fixed on the earl. His blue-grey eyes, hard as granite, held her transfixed. Even in his stockinged feet he towered over her, like a bird of prey hovering over its victim. Yet she was not frightened. Instead she felt an irrational desire to close the gap between them, to cling to the earl and allow him to take the cares of the world from her shoulders.
No! With enormous effort Beth tore her eyes away. The impression that they were imprisoned together in a bubble of lamplight was merely an illusion and she must break free of it. She must stay strong and keep her own council.
She swallowed, cleared her throat and said huskily, ‘Thank you, but I am not alarmed.’ She added in a stronger voice, ‘Neither am I in the mood for funning.’
She reached for the lamp, her hand trembling as her fingers brushed the earl’s. She held the lamp aloft and led the way back through the darkened house. The earl walked beside her, his long, lazy stride easily keeping up. Neither spoke until they reached Guy’s bedchamber, where a faint shaft of light spilled out from the open door.
‘It is never wise to leave your bedside candles burning unattended, Lord Darrington.’
‘I hope I shall not have cause to do so again.’
‘You had no cause to do so tonight.’
In the doorway he turned to face her and they stood, irresolute, as if neither of them wished to bring the moment to an end. But Beth knew that was mere foolishness. Lord Darrington had received only the barest civility from her while he had been at the Priory and must be longing to return to more hospitable surroundings. For her part, the sooner the earl took himself and his friend back to Highridge the better.
Beth put up her chin and, bidding the earl a chilly goodnight, she turned and hurried back to her own room.
Chapter Six
‘Elizabeth, my love, you are looking haggard this morning. Far too pale.’
Lady Arabella’s greeting as Beth took her place at the breakfast table was direct and to the point. Beth ignored the earl sitting opposite her. It really was of no consequence to her that he was looking as if he had spent an undisturbed night with an army of servants to shave and dress him.
‘I did not sleep well, Grandmama.’
‘I think I know the reason for that.’
Lord Darrington’s remark brought Beth’s eyes to his face, her heart plummeting, then soaring to her throat, almost choking her as she waited fearfully for him to continue. He held her eyes for a long moment.
‘It was the wind,’ he said blandly. ‘It was rattling the window for most of the night.’
The suffocating fear was replaced by anger. He was teasing her! He met her furious glare with a look of pure innocence.
‘Would that be it, Mrs Forrester?’
Relieved laughter trembled in her throat at his impudence. ‘Yes, my lord,’ she said unsteadily. ‘I think you must be right.’
‘If the blustery wind kept you awake, I am sorry for it, my lord,’ declared Lady Arabella. ‘I cannot think it would affect Beth, however. She has lived here long enough to grow accustomed to it.’
‘Thankfully it does not appear to have disturbed everyone,’ said Beth quickly. ‘I saw Peters on my way downstairs and he told me Mr Davies passed a very peaceful night.’ She threw a quick look towards the earl. ‘I am hopeful Dr Compton will declare him fit to travel today.’
Sophie came in at that moment, hurrying towards the table, words of apology tumbling from her lips.
‘Grandmama, I beg your pardon for being late, I have been helping Mr Davies with his breakfast—’
Beth almost spilled her coffee at this artless speech. ‘Sophie! There was no need for that, especially now that Peters is here.’
‘I know, Beth, but I heard the most dreadful clatter as I passed his room and the door was open so I peeped in, just to ask how Mr Davies went on, and I could see that his valet was having difficulty because his master had thrown his spoon across the room.’ She twinkled. ‘I fear poor Mr Davies is quite uncomfortable, you see. He told me his wrist hurt far too much for him to feed himself.’
‘Couldn’t hurt that much if he could hurl his spoon at his valet,’ remarked the earl.
‘I fear the pain from his injuries had made him short-tempered,’ said Sophie innocently. ‘So I offered to help him with his porridge. He was very grateful, I assure you.’
‘I am sure he was,’ murmured Beth. She suspected that few gentlemen would object to being attended by a pretty young lady and she had to admit that Sophie was looking particularly fetching this morning in her yellow muslin gown and with her soft brown hair curling around an open, smiling face.
‘I have no objection to Sophie visiting the sickroom,’ pronounced Lady Arabella. ‘It is not as though Mr Davies is infectious and I am sure the sight of her will raise his spirits. But I must insist that she does not do so unaccompanied.’
‘No, indeed, Grandmama,’ Sophie assured her earnestly. ‘Peters was in attendance all the time. And I should like to help—perhaps I may read to Mr Davies later …’
‘Let us wait to see what Dr Compton says when he calls this afternoon,’ put in Beth quickly.
‘Well, I do not see that he will object,’ returned Sophie. ‘And since Grandmama approves, I shall go back to sit with Mr Davies when I have broken my fast. Peters is going to let me know when he has made his master presentable, for Mr Davies insists upon being shaved before I visit him again.’
Sophie applied herself to her breakfast, unaware of the effect of her words upon her sister.
‘It does appear that Davies is vastly improved this morning,’ murmured the earl as he helped himself to another slice of cold beef.
Beth did not reply. She hoped he was improved enough to leave the Priory. She had cares enough without adding a blossoming love affair between her sister and the invalid.
She was just emerging from the wine cellar when Kepwith announced that Dr Compton had arrived.
‘The earl was waiting for him on the drive, madam,’ the butler informed her. ‘He has taken him up to the sickroom.’
‘Has he indeed?’ declared Beth, angrily shaking the dust from her skirts. ‘And who gave him the right to do that?’
Kepwith bent a fatherly eye upon her. ‘Now, Miss Elizabeth, you know the doctor never stands upon ceremony in this house and would have gone up anyway.’
‘That is not the point,’ she declared, stripping off her apron and hurrying to the stairs.
She entered the sickroom just as the doctor was pulling the bedclothes back up over the patient.
‘Well, now, things are mending very nicely indeed,’ he declared. ‘Your ribs will be sore for a few weeks, I dare say but I think if you are careful there is no reason why you shouldn’t sit out of bed …’
‘Does that mean Mr Davies could manage a carriage ride?’ asked Beth hopefully.
‘To take him home, you mean?’ replied the doctor. ‘Well, I don’t see any reason why …’ his jovial gaze went past Beth and after an infinitesimal pause he continued ‘ … why he shouldn’t be fit enough to travel in a—um—a week or so.’
Beth swung round. The earl was standing behind her, his countenance impassive.
‘I thought, Doctor, that you said Mr Davies was much improved,’ she said suspiciously.
‘He is, my dear Mrs Forrester, but one cannot be too careful with a fracture such as this.’
‘It is still as sore as the very devil,’ added the patient, giving Beth a soulful look.
‘But I am informed the earl’s travelling carriage is very comfortable,’ Beth persisted. ‘And I am sure we can find mountains of cushions to protect Mr Davies’s leg.’
‘Out of the question,’ returned the earl. ‘I could not go against the doctor’s advice.’
‘No, it would not be wise.’ Doctor Compton shook his head. ‘Let us give it another week and I will call again.’
‘A week!’ cried Beth, dismayed.
‘Well, there is little point in my calling before that. Time is the great healer, madam!’ He picked up his bag. ‘You may send for me if there is any change, but if not I shall call again in a se’ennight.’
With a cheerful word of farewell the doctor went out and Beth followed him, closing the door upon the two gentlemen.
‘If I were a more sensitive soul,’ remarked Davey in thoughtful tones, ‘I should think our hostess was wishing me at Jericho.’
Guy grinned at him. ‘Not you, Davey, it is I she wishes to see gone from the Priory.’
‘And I thought you shared the sentiment. Why, man, only yesterday you were saying how much you wanted to leave.’
‘That was yesterday.’
‘Well, I must say it suits me very well to stay, especially if Miss Sophie is here to entertain me.’ He looked up at Guy, an added glow in his blue eyes. ‘Is she not an angel?’
‘She must be if she could persuade you to eat porridge!’
‘Yes, well, it isn’t so very bad, you know, especially when served up by Miss Sophie.’
‘She will provide you with a very pleasant diversion,’ laughed Guy.
‘But that does not explain your change of heart,’ Davey persisted. ‘I made sure the old sawbones was going to say I was ready to go home, then he caught your eye and changed his mind.’
‘There is some mystery here, Davey, and I am intrigued.’ Briefly he told Davey about meeting Beth in the corridor.
