Michelle Styles - A Question of Impropriety

‘You were misinformed, Miss Bolt.’ Lord Coltonby made a deep bow. ‘She was one of the highlights of the Season that year. Unfortunately, duty called her home and the capital became a little greyer, a little less pleasant.’

‘Duty…yes, I suppose.’ Miss Bolt tapped a finger against her folded arms. ‘Poor Mr Clare’s wife died, leaving him that…that boy. I had never considered. It makes a great deal of sense now that I think of it. Dear Miss Clare was truly selfless.’

‘Every time I have encountered Miss Clare, I have noted her quality. It is only increased if she also manages an impossible child.’

‘Robert is far from being impossible,’ Diana protested. ‘He’s lovely, if a little high spirited. I am very proud of my nephew.’

‘High spirited? He put beetles in your sugar bowl and frightened poor Mama half out of her wits.’

‘He had thought the bowl empty.’ Diana stifled a smile as she remembered the incident from earlier that summer. Robert had sworn that it was a natural history experiment, but neither of the Bolts had been amused, particularly as one of the beetles had found its way on to Miss Bolt’s new straw bonnet. Simon had claimed he’d been able to hear the shrieking all the way from the estate office. ‘He did apologise.’

‘Only because you demanded it.’ Miss Bolt gave a loud sniff. ‘I can never look at that particular bonnet without a shiver going down my back. If you hadn’t plucked the beetle out!’

‘It is good to hear that Miss Clare had the situation well in hand. Quick thinking and a calm head are qualities to be admired.’

Diana lifted her gaze and met Lord Coltonby’s steady one. She nodded her thanks. She bit her lip. She had been so quick to believe the worst of him. What if she had made a mistake? What if he truly sought only friendship?

‘I must confess to having never given it much thought. A cool head in a moment of crisis. You could describe it that way.’ Miss Bolt drew her top lip over her front teeth, giving her face the expression of a startled rabbit, and brought Diana back to reality. ‘Mama can be wrong in her assessments of people sometimes.’

‘I consider it best to judge people as individuals. To eschew cant and hypocrisy whenever possible.’

Miss Bolt’s smile vanished as she looked quickly from one to the other. ‘I don’t listen to gossips.’

‘You have a wise head on your young shoulders, then, Miss Bolt. Discover the true person. That is the key to success.’

Diana knew the words were for Miss Bolt’s benefit, but to her surprise a tiny piece of her wanted them to be true. She wanted him to think well of her despite the long-ago gossip from London and Lady Bolt’s pronouncements.

Diana put a hand to her face and mentally shook herself. Soon she would wish to believe in impossible dreams again. There was safety in the everyday world. Its strictures and structures prevented impulsive action. Impetuosity had led to her downfall before. It would never do so again. She had conquered it.

‘It was lovely to meet you again after so long, Lord Coltonby,’ she said, inclining her head. ‘And to know that your feelings remain the same.’

‘My feelings towards you have never changed since the day I first glimpsed you,’ he murmured, capturing her hand again and bringing it to his lips.

Diana forced her body to stay still as his mouth touched the small gap left by her undone button. Heat washed through her. Rapidly she withdrew her hand and did the button up. When she glanced upwards, she discovered he was watching her with a sardonic twist to his lips.

‘Oh, oh, I see Mama. She will need to know…to know…’ Miss Bolt hurried away.

A smile tugged at the corner of Lord Coltonby’s lips as they watched Miss Bolt run to her mother, obviously bursting to impart the bit of gossip she had learnt.

‘That went delightfully well. Now I look forward to exploring your Northumbrian definition of intimate.’

‘I have no idea what sort of game you are playing, but I don’t like it.’ Diana took a long steadying breath. ‘We are not having and never will have a flirtation. How dare you imply otherwise?’

‘Did I? You must be reading too much into my words. A very bad habit, Miss Clare. I always mean precisely what I say. I find it saves trouble.’

‘I have shopping to do. I do not have time to discuss the precise meaning of words with acquaintances on the High Street.’

‘And here I had anticipated that we might become friends.’

‘I fear, Lord Coltonby, that we are destined for ever to remain acquaintances.’

Diana straightened her back and, with a sigh of what she convinced herself was relief, walked away from him. She refused to look behind her even when she thought she heard the word—coward.

Brett swirled the amber liquid in the crystal glass and gazed at the darkening landscape through the study’s window. All the land the eye could see—his, and unencumbered by a mortgage or debt. He had kept his promise, the one he had made on that windswept field and on the dock as he’d waved off Bagshott’s ship. He had turned his fortune around. He had not sunk into the mire like his brother, and neither had he needed to run to the Continent. And he had achieved it in his own way. And yet, the victory seemed hollow in some fashion. He pushed the thought aside. It was a victory, and that was all that mattered.

All things considered, today had gone well. He had enjoyed crossing swords with Diana Clare, far more than he ought to have.

She might not have conventional beauty, but it was her prickly exterior that intrigued him. Why was she so set against him? What had he ever done to her?

‘Simon Clare to see you.’ The butler had barely uttered the words when the tall man brushed past him. The cut of the coat might be better and the boots shinier, but Brett felt he would recognise the intensity of Clare’s eyes anywhere—and the feebleness of his manners.

Brett pursed his lips. The days when all he’d had was his name and a good eye for the horses were long gone. He refused to be intimidated by a man wearing the latest of everything and boasting about it. Clare always assumed that having money meant you could forgo the niceties of polite society.

‘Ah, Clare,’ he said, reaching for the decanter. ‘It has been a long time.’

‘I have come to discuss your latest demand.’ Clare ignored the decanter and waved a piece of paper. ‘I assume it is why you called at my house yesterday.’

‘To see if things could be settled satisfactorily without calling in the lawyers.’ Brett paused. How to say it? How not to antagonise Clare? ‘Between landowners. Disputes have a terrible way of getting out of hand.’

‘You mean amongst the aristocracy.’ Clare snorted. ‘Don’t worry. I know where I fit in. And I can guess what flim-flam Biddlestone said, but I have no intention of selling that piece of land. I might have use for it sometime in the future.’

‘Doubtful.’ Brett swirled the brandy. Clare was the same jumped-up arriviste with his eye on the main chance that he’d been at Cambridge, lacking in bottom. Dog in the manger. The land was lying derelict. ‘You have not used that wagon-way since you built the new staith. You have no use for it. I have offered a fair price in the circumstances.’

‘You know all about coal mines as well as horses now, do you? Once I have a travelling engine up and running, that old wagon-way could be highly desirable.’

‘I can tell when a man seeks to take advantage. Travelling engines are notoriously unreliable.’ Brett regarded Clare. At university, Clare had gone on and on about this investment and that investment, always seeking to further his own ends. ‘I want the land for the view over the Tyne. Not that you would understand that. The pursuit of pleasure is nothing compared to the pursuit of wealth. Wasn’t that what you proclaimed on the staircase? That first day at Cambridge?’