Mary Brendan - Regency High Society Vol 1 - A Hasty Betrothal / A Scandalous Marriage / The Count's Charade / The Rake and the Rebel

He led her to a nearby chair and stood uncertainly by, not wishing to exceed his duties but angry that something or someone had upset his little favourite. Ever since that first evening when she had tiptoed nervously down the stairs in her borrowed finery he had felt that she was something special. Always a smile and a kind word for the servants, quick with her thanks for their services and he, for one, had never heard a single complaint pass her lips. He had watched her change from that laughing-eyed, bright-haired angel into a silent shadow of her former self, all in the space of three weeks. One hardly ever heard her spontaneous and infectious laugh these days, he thought morosely, and if that’s what being engaged does for a girl he was damned if he was going to offer for Maudie Hiller. He watched closely, wearing his usual impassive expression, as Harriet composed herself, dabbing at her eyes with the ridiculous piece of lace the ladies called a handkerchief, longing to offer her his own pristine equivalent but knowing that it would be quite overstepping the mark to do so.

‘Thank you, March,’ said Harriet tremulously, rising to her feet. ‘I fear I must be coming down with a cold. I will go up to my room now—if you would be so good as to send Rose to me?’

‘At once, Miss Harriet,’ said the loyal footman. ‘And perhaps a glass of wine—a well-known restorative, so I’m

told?’

‘Thank you, I would be glad of that.’ Harriet nodded, avoiding his eyes.

He watched her walk unsteadily up the stairs and had the most disrespectful urge to ‘pop’ his lordship ‘one on the beak'. Blinking, he moved smartly to the green baize door that led to the lower stairs and delivered his instructions to Rose.

Sandford, meanwhile, had been staring blindly at the sheets of paper in front of him on the desk, unable to believe that he had uttered those unforgivable words.

Any minute now I shall wake up, he thought, praying that he must be in the throes of some dreadful nightmare but, raising his eyes to the window and perceiving the peaceful summer scene beyond, he knew beyond doubt that the whole episode had been only too real.

With a shaking hand he reached for the decanter on the side table and cursed when he saw that it was empty. Damned servants! What did they think they were employed for? He tugged angrily at the bell-rope and waited impatiently for March to appear. Pointing curtly towards the tray, he raised his brows imperiously.

March bowed his head in acquiescence. The fact that the room had been occupied for some considerable time, preventing the carrying out of certain domestic tasks, was no excuse for such laxity, as well he knew and offered no plea in his own defence. He picked up the salver and walked swiftly to the door.

‘Your lordship’s pardon,’ he said, exiting at the double. ‘I shall attend to it at once.’

Sandford eyed the closed door sourly. The whole damned house seemed to be going mad, he thought, quite certain he had sensed hostility in young March’s demeanour. It’s her fault, he concluded savagely, sweeping the papers to one side. She has everybody under her spell, from the lowest boot-boy right up to …

‘Me, confound it!’ he shouted, leaping from his chair. ‘But I won’t have it! I shall leave! I shall go back to London—Paris—anywhere! Put it down, man, and, for God’s sake, get out!’

This last was to March, who had returned with the full decanters. The footman stared at the viscount in open-mouthed astonishment, unable to believe his eyes and ears. Never before had he been spoken to in this manner, not in this house! He carefully set the silver tray down into its appointed place and bowing, with ill-disguised contempt, he left the room once more.

Sandford was astounded. The man was nothing short of insolent, he decided. He’d have him out of here before he could say …! Suddenly, he checked, took a deep breath and gripped the edge of the desk to steady himself, grimacing with shame at this inconceivable lapse. Collapsing limply into his chair, he buried his head in his hands and shuddered in despair.

‘Oh, God, Harriet! Forgive me!’ he whispered brokenly. ‘What am I going to do? The whole world is falling apart and I’m powerless to prevent it!’

He remained, for some time, slumped at the desk until the sound of the hall clock chiming the hour infiltrated his brain. Straightening up, his eyes fell on the papers he had been attempting to examine earlier. With very little enthusiasm he pulled them towards him and began to peruse the top sheet.

Charles Ridgeway sat pensively on his horse, surveying the landscape below him. To the far right he could just make out the chimneys and parapets of the Beldale mansion, bathed in the late evening sunshine and protected by the mass of woodland and fields that surrounded it. At the foot of the hill up which he had just ridden, on the very edge of the Beldale estate, nestled his own home, the Dower House, with its neat gardens and home farm. To his left lay the more modern structure of Westpark House, close to its own boundary with the larger estate and, still further left, the slate rooftop of Staines, the old Butler property, with only the terraced gardens remaining within its demesne. Beyond the distant village and as far as the eye could see, all Hurst owned, in one way or another. A man without property is surely an insignificant creature, he concluded, once more ruefully censuring his late and far from lamented sire for his weak and prodigal lifestyle. Then, not being a vindictive man, Ridgeway sighed and bent his mind to the more pressing problem that was troubling him as he turned his mount towards Beldale.

It is like looking for a needle in a haystack, he thought. Over a hundred men on the list and more than half of them

could be described as ‘tall, thin and dark'! Putting faces to the names had taken them all week, Sandford having refused to allow anyone, apart from his man Tiptree, to assist in the covert search. In addition, he had demanded that no one was actually questioned, pointing out that this would immediately put any villains on their guard, reminding his cousin that neither Billy Tatler nor his chum Nick had recognised the man at the boathouse and, therefore, this particular check was being carried out only for the purpose of eliminating the obviously innocent. Their objective, he had said, was to whittle down the total number to just a few men whom he could present to the young lads in the hope that they would be able to identify their tormentor.

‘We’re looking for a recent arrival or someone who doesn’t go about in the village much,’ he now said to Ridgeway, having arranged to meet his cousin in the paddock between the two estates, where he knew that their conversation would not be overheard.

‘Or a casual worker, who has come and gone,’ offered Ridgeway, exasperated that his hands had been so tied. ‘Or a passing tinker, tramp—oh, lord, Sandford—any number of itinerants come through the village!’

‘He won’t be an itinerant,’ returned Sandford firmly. ‘Billy told you he thought he was from the Big House—that indicates his manner of dress and, probably, speech as well. He would have said, if he had thought him to be a vagrant. No, Charles, I’m convinced that this ‘'cove” has to have some sort of status or position within one of the households.’

‘Well, I hope to God you’re wrong in that! And why should anyone have developed such animosity towards Miss Cordell in so short a time?’ asked his cousin. ‘As far as I can judge, from my discreet conversations around the village …’ He caught Sandford’s frowning expression ‘—very discreet, I promise you, old man—she is well liked, one could say almost revered in certain places. I, for one, can’t imagine anyone taking her in dislike. She appears to have no faults, as I’m sure you agree.’