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‘Now you are being unreasonable,’ exclaimed Edwin. ‘You cannot deny that at last week’s assembly the gentlemen from Newlands behaved impeccably. You have no reason to think ill of them.’
‘I have Louisa’s letters,’ replied Molly darkly.
‘Louisa has nothing better to do with her time than pass on salacious gossip, for the most part untrue or exaggerated. Come, Molly, you are being unfair to Sir Gerald and his friends. When people are disparaging about the inhabitants of Prospect House, you tell them that one should not make hasty judgements, yet here you are doing just that.’ Edwin squeezed her fingers, pressing home his point. ‘I am sure our new neighbours will have no interest at all in Prospect House, and if they do...’ He spread his hands. ‘You cannot keep your charges locked away for the duration of Sir Gerald’s visit, my dear.’
‘I know that,’ she admitted, as the carriage pulled up before the house. ‘But even if the gentlemen have no designs upon them, I very much fear one or two of the girls might find the presence of such handsome and fashionable gentlemen in Compton Parva...distracting.’
‘My dear, if they are ever to make their way in the world again then they will have to learn to withstand the attractions of personable gentlemen.’
‘Of course.’ Molly clasped her hands together. ‘But you saw how the ladies at the assembly reacted. Such fashionable young bucks, with all the glamour of the town clinging to them, are particularly attractive to susceptible young women.’
Edwin laughed. ‘Do you really believe that, Molly?’
She thought of Beau Russington with his dark looks and careless charm and felt her stomach swoop.
‘Oh, yes,’ she whispered, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘I really do.’
* * *
Sir Gerald and his friends were waiting for them in the drawing room. With the exception of Mrs Molyneux, Miss Kilburn’s aged companion, they had all been present at the assembly where introductions had been made. As greetings were exchanged, Molly took the opportunity to study the company. She had been reassured at the assembly to see that Mrs Sykes and Lady Claydon were homely matrons, while Agnes Kilburn and the Misses Claydon had soon been at ease and mixing with the young ladies of the town. They were all very lively, but not at all the dashing sirens she had feared. This second meeting appeared to confirm her view, which was a relief, and she turned her attention to the gentlemen. Their host, Sir Gerald, was the most genial looking of them all, while Sir Joseph and Mr Flemington were the most flamboyant in their dress. But there could be no doubt they were all very fashionable—the cut of their clothes, the number of fobs and seals and the intricacies of their cravats had made them stand out at the recent assembly.
All except Beau Russington. She had been too agitated at their first encounter to appreciate why he was considered a leader of fashion, but here, in the elegant drawing room of Newlands, she had the opportunity to make a calm appraisal of the man. It did not take her long to realise that although he was not as showily dressed as his friends, his style was far superior. At least to her inexperienced eye. There was a simplicity to his dress, but nothing shabby in the superb cut of his clothes. Not a wrinkle marred the perfection of the dark evening coat stretched across his broad shoulders. It fitted him so well she wondered how many servants it had taken to ease him into it.
A plain white waistcoat was buttoned across his chest and she refused to allow her gaze to linger on the close-fitting breeches that sheathed narrow hips and powerful thighs. She quickly raised her eyes to take in the snowy neckcloth, intricately tied and with a single diamond winking from amongst the exquisite folds. The study of his cravat took her eyes to the countenance above it. A lean face, darkly handsome with a sensuous curve to the mouth. At that moment, as if aware of her scrutiny, the beau turned to look at her and her cool assessment came to an abrupt end.
Even from the other side of the room she felt the power of his gaze. Those dark, almost-black eyes skewered her to the spot and caused her pulse to race. Not only that, excitement flickered deep inside, like flames licking hungrily at dry tinder. She looked away quickly, shocked to realise that he had awoken sensations she had never wanted to feel again.
Sir Gerald was addressing her and she forced her mind to concentrate on his words. She exchanged pleasantries with his sister and then joined in a conversation with Mrs Sykes and Lady Claydon while the gentlemen discussed the day’s shooting until dinner was announced.
Molly found herself seated at Sir Gerald’s right hand, with Sir Joseph Aikers beside her. Mr Russington, she was relieved to see, was sitting opposite her brother at the far end of the table. She did not think she would have enjoyed her meal half as much if the beau had been sitting beside her. Sir Joseph might be a fribble and a painted fop—as some people so cruelly described him—but Molly soon discovered he was exceedingly good-natured and assiduous of her comfort, ensuring her glass was filled and that she had her pick of the succulent dishes on offer.
The food was excellent and the conversation interesting. No awkward subjects were broached and Molly began to relax. These were cultured, educated people who knew how to set a guest at ease. Perhaps she had been magnifying the dangers they posed. Just as that thought occurred to her, Edwin laughed and she glanced down the table towards him. After his day of sport, her brother was clearly upon easy terms with the gentlemen. Mr Russington was looking her way and he caught and held her gaze. Molly’s heart began to race again. She felt trapped, like a wild animal, in thrall to a predator. With an effort, she dragged her eyes away, realising the danger was all too real. At least where one man was concerned.
Her appetite was quite gone and she was relieved when Miss Kilburn invited the ladies to withdraw. Molly intended to sit with Lady Claydon and Mrs Sykes, but when they reached the drawing room Miss Kilburn and the Misses Claydon were determined that she should perform for them.
‘Your brother was eager that we should hear you play upon the pianoforte, Mrs Morgan,’ explained Miss Claydon, opening the instrument and beckoning to Molly to sit down. ‘He told us you are most proficient and that you sing, too.’
‘Such praise,’ murmured Molly, vowing to give Edwin a trimming as soon as they were alone. ‘I am very much afraid I shall disappoint you.’
Harriet Claydon gave a trill of laughter. ‘I doubt that, ma’am. Judith and I are both hopeless, despite Mama insisting that we have the best of teachers.’
‘Sadly that is very true,’ agreed Lady Claydon, shaking her head. ‘We spent a fortune upon their education and they can neither of them do more than play a few simple pieces. Miss Kilburn, however, is very accomplished.’
Molly drew back in favour of her hostess, but Miss Kilburn was quick to decline.
She said shyly, ‘We should very much like to hear you play, Mrs Morgan.’
Molly took her place at the piano. Perhaps it would be as well to play now, before the gentlemen came in. She played a couple of short pieces and, when urged to sing, she rattled off a lively folk song, before concluding her performance with an Italian love song. Her audience were generous in their praise, but when she could not be persuaded to play more, Agnes Kilburn took her place and Molly retired to sit with the older ladies, relieved that she was no longer the focus of attention.
She hoped that might be the case for the rest of the evening, but it was not to be. When the gentlemen came in, the conversation turned towards Newlands.
‘Many of our friends were against my purchasing such an out-of-the-way place,’ said Sir Gerald cheerfully. ‘Including the beau here. Ain’t that right, Russ?’
‘I was.’ Mr Russington moved a little closer to the group. ‘After all, there are good places to hunt that are much closer to London.
‘Aye,’ declared Mr Flemington, coming up. ‘These provincial towns can be the very devil for entertainment. Not Compton Parva, you understand,’ he added hastily, with a bow towards Edwin and Molly. ‘The assembly at the King’s Head last week was as good as any I have attended outside London.’
‘Well, I do not regret my choice,’ declared their host. ‘It may be a long way north, but what is a few days’ travel, compared to the sport that is to be had here? No, I am delighted with my new hunting lodge and glad now that I did not allow myself to be dissuaded.’
Edwin laughed heartily. ‘Did you expect to find only savages in Knaresborough, Kilburn? I admit I had the same reaction from my friends and acquaintances when I accepted the living here. But I am very much at home, you know. And I vow it provides some of the best riding in the country.’
‘Yes, I grant you, if your taste is for rugged grandeur,’ put in Sir Joseph Aikers, waving one hand. ‘You cannot deny the weather here is less clement than the south. And the mud.’ He gave a comical grimace that made his companions laugh.
‘In the main we are very favourably impressed,’ declared Mrs Sykes. ‘It is true the journey was a trifle wearisome. But Kilburn has made the house very comfortable and the townspeople of Compton Parva are most welcoming.’
‘We are relieved to have Newlands occupied at last and not only for the enlargement of good society,’ Edwin told her with a smile. ‘It provides occupation for local people and business for our tradesmen. That must always be welcome.’
‘There is one thing that surprised me,’ remarked Lady Claydon. She hesitated and glanced towards the pianoforte, where her daughters and Miss Kilburn were engaged in singing together. ‘I had not expected to find a house here for females of a certain order.’
‘My wife means the magdalens,’ declared Lord Claydon. ‘I admit I was surprised when I heard of it—one usually associates Magdalene hospitals with the larger cities. But I suppose small towns have the same problems, what? It’s a way of keeping that sort of female off the streets.’
Molly stiffened, but Edwin caught her eye and gave a slight shake of his head.
‘You refer to Prospect House’ he said calmly. ‘It is a refuge for unfortunate women who have suffered at the hands of men. It is not a house of correction.’
‘However, it is a little disturbing to think there is a need for one in Compton Parva,’ remarked Mrs Sykes.
‘The sad fact is we need more of these places,’ said Edwin. ‘Since Prospect House opened its doors, it has always been full, taking in residents from far and wide.’
‘Ah,’ cried Mr Flemington, rolling his eyes, ‘So it is not that this area has more than its fair share of Lotharios.’ He cast a laughing glance around at the gentlemen standing beside him. ‘At least, not until now!’
There was much good-natured protest from his auditors and Mrs Sykes rapped his knuckles with her fan, telling him to behave himself.
‘This is no laughing matter,’ she said. ‘I would assure Mr Frayne that we are great supporters of the Magdalene houses. After all, someone has to help these poor women and show them the error of their ways.’
‘Error of their ways?’ Molly was unable to keep silent any longer. ‘None of the women in Prospect House are prostitutes, ma’am, although that might have been their only way to survive had they not been taken in. However, I admit it was set up on the precepts of the original Magdalene hospital,’ Molly added, ‘to provide a safe and happy retreat for women of all classes.’
Molly knew her words would bring the attention of the group upon her, but it could not be helped. She sat up very straight, holding her head high. A couple of the gentlemen had raised their eyeglasses to regard her and Beau Russington, too, was watching her, but Molly ignored them all.
‘Do you mean there is no attempt to reform them?’ asked Lady Claydon, her brows rising in surprise. ‘Is this not merely pandering to vice?’
‘The women at Prospect House are the victims of vice, ma’am, not perpetrators,’ Molly told her. ‘Some have been seduced, others come here to escape seduction or because their reputations have been ruined by men who sought to use them for their own ends. As for reform, they are taught suitable skills in order that they may support themselves.’
‘You appear to be very well informed about the business, Mrs Morgan,’ remarked Mr Russington.
‘I am,’ said Molly, tilting her chin a little higher. ‘I set up Prospect House.’
Her words brought a flutter of gasps and exclamations.
‘Oh, good heavens,’ murmured Mrs Sykes, fanning herself rapidly.
Molly kept her head up, prepared to meet any challenge, but she could see no condemnation or disapproval in the faces of those around her. Some of the gentlemen looked amused, the ladies merely surprised and then, to her relief, she heard Edwin’s cheerful voice.
‘Yes, and I am very proud of my sister. She purchased the property, provided a small annuity to fund it and then set up a committee of local people, knowing it was important to have the goodwill of the town if the house was to survive.’
‘Most commendable, I am sure.’ Lady Claydon responded faintly.
‘It is proving a great success,’ Edwin continued. ‘They have a small farm which provides most of their food and any surplus of eggs, butter and the like is sold at the weekly market.’
‘Quite an enterprise,’ declared Sir Gerald. ‘You must allow me to contribute to your fund, Mrs Morgan.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Molly smiled, warming to him, until in the next breath he suggested they should all visit Prospect House to see it for themselves.
‘I am afraid not,’ she said quickly. ‘With the exception of the doctor, they admit only women to the house. All deliveries and callers are directed to the old farmhouse.’
‘But a house full of women, that is quite a temptation.’ Mr Flemington sniggered. ‘To, ah, uninvited guests.’
‘We have seen to it that they are well protected,’ replied Molly. ‘Their manservant, Moses, is a fearsome fellow. A giant. He has orders to keep all unwelcome callers at bay.’
Her fierce stare swept over the gentlemen.
‘Well, well,’ declared Sir Gerald, breaking into the awkward silence. ‘Shall we have some dancing?’
The gentlemen jumped up with alacrity and began to move back the furniture from the centre of the room and roll up the carpet. Hoping to atone for making everyone feel uncomfortable, Molly immediately offered to play. This was robustly contested by Mrs Sykes and Lady Claydon, who both expressed a willingness to perform this duty and persuaded Molly that as a guest she must take her turn on the dance floor.
‘Now, now, Mrs Morgan, I hope you are not going to say you do not dance tonight,’ said Lady Claydon, moving towards the pianoforte. ‘Lord Claydon does not dance, since his accident, and if I play for you all, everyone else has a partner. Is that not splendid?’
‘And as our guest, the honour of leading you out falls to me,’ declared Sir Gerald, coming up. He held out his hand. ‘Come along, let us show the others the way!’
Molly felt her heart sinking. She had not expected that there would be any impromptu dancing, but a very quick calculation told her there were just enough gentlemen and ladies to make six couples, if one excluded the pianist and Lord Claydon, with his bad leg. It would look odd, therefore, if she refused to dance, for that would leave only one gentleman without a partner. She had not even the excuse that she was not dressed for dancing, because her green muslin evening gown with its moderately flounced hem would not be any hindrance at all. She accompanied her host to the floor, pinning her smile in place.
Sir Gerald’s good humour was infectious and Molly’s smile became genuine. She loved to dance, although she did not indulge in the amusement very often, and she was soon lost in the music. She skipped and hopped and turned as the lively, noisy, country dance progressed. They began to change partners and Molly was moving from one gentleman to another and another, and by the time she was standing opposite Mr Russington her smile was wide and brilliant. As they joined hands and began to skip down the line she looked up into his face. He caught and held her eyes, a glinting amusement in his own, and in that moment everything changed. She could hear the piano, the other dancers clapping in time, but it was as if she and her partner were in a bubble, contained, connected. Her mind was filled with images of him pulling her close, holding her, kissing her, undressing her...
The familiar patterns of the dance saved her from humiliation. She danced like an automaton, moving on, smiling at her next partner, on and on until Sir Gerald claimed her once more and the dance was ending. She joined the others in applauding, but inside she was in a panic. Everyone was changing partners for the next dance. From the corner of her eye she saw Beau Russington looking at her. She could not dance with him. Would not! Quickly she grabbed Edwin’s hand.
‘Pray dance with me, brother. It is an age since we stood up together.’
‘Dance with you?’ Edwin sent a quick look over her head. ‘Oh, I was hoping to ask Miss Kilburn to stand up with me again.’
‘Please, Edwin.’ She hoped her tone was not too beseeching, but she clung to his hand, and after a moment, he capitulated.
For this dance she had only the smallest contact with the beau as the dancers wove in and out of one another. It was a mere touch of the fingers and this time she was prepared. As they crossed one another she was careful not to meet his eyes, but just his presence made her body tingle. Every part of her was aware of him, as if there was some connection between them, and it frightened her.
* * *
When the music ended Molly made her way to the piano, where Lady Claydon was leafing through the sheet music.
She said, ‘My lady, I know the music for “The Soldier’s Joy” by heart. I beg you will allow me to play.’
‘Oh, but surely you would prefer to dance, my dear. You so rarely have the opportunity.’
‘I think I sprained my ankle a little in the last dance, ma’am, and would prefer to rest it for a while, but that would leave a gentleman without a partner, and besides, my brother would fuss so if he knew of it.’
Lady Claydon was immediately full of sympathy. That made Molly feel a little guilty, but they exchanged places, Lady Claydon going off to join in the dancing, and Molly’s guilt eased a little when she saw how much the lady was enjoying herself.
* * *
She remained at the piano for two dances, then Miss Claydon suggested ‘Dancing Hearts’ and Molly was obliged to search through the sheet music. She had just found the piece when Beau Russington approached and that nervous flutter ran through her again.
‘Would you not prefer to dance, Mrs Morgan? I am sure one of the other ladies would play for us.’
Without looking at him she waved her hand towards the music. ‘No, no, I am quite content, thank you. I am not familiar with the steps of this dance.’
He leaned closer. ‘I could teach you.’
Her mouth dried as, inexplicably, her mind filled with images that had nothing to do with dancing. It was his voice, she decided. It was too low, too deliciously seductive.
‘No. I—that is, I turned my ankle in that first dance and prefer not to dance again this evening.’
‘Ah, I see. So you do not trust yourself to dance? I quite understand.’
His tone suggested he did not believe her and Molly felt guilty colour rushing to her cheeks. She busied herself with straightening the sheet music on the stand, trying to concentrate on the notes she would have to play, and after a moment he walked away.
‘Well, if he understands that I do not want to dance with him, then so much the better,’ she muttered, running her fingers over the keys. ‘And if he is offended enough to leave me alone then that is better still!’
She played two more dances, which were very well received, then Sir Gerald announced that refreshments awaited everyone in the dining room. There was a general move towards the door and as Molly got up from the piano, she found Beau Russington beside her.
‘Allow me to give you my arm, ma’am.’ When she drew back he added, ‘It is best you do not put too much weight upon your foot.’
‘My—oh. Oh. Yes.’
He offered his arm, and as her fingers went out he grasped them with his free hand and pulled them on to his sleeve.
‘I am perfectly capable of walking unaided,’ she told him, panicked by his firm grip.
‘But what of your ankle, Mrs Morgan?’
‘It is well rested now, thank you.’
‘I think you are afraid of me.’
‘And I think you are teasing me.’
‘Well, yes, I am. Your reluctance for my company is intriguing.’
‘It is not meant to be. A gentleman would be able to take the hint.’
He sucked in a breath. ‘Cutting. You do not consider me a gentleman, then?’
