The Dangerous Lord Darrington

Beth frowned at her. ‘Not at all. Mr Radworth is staying for dinner.’

‘So you won’t be wanting to hide your charms beneath a white fichu?’

‘That is enough of your insolence!’ Beth grabbed the fine muslin scarf and arranged it becomingly to fill the low neckline of her gown. She said, trying to sound severe, ‘I do not know why I put up with you, Tilly.’

Her maid merely laughed at her. ‘Because you know I love you and Sophie and Lady Arabella very dearly. And because no one else can dress your hair quite so well. So do sit down now, Miss Beth, and let me brush your curls for you.’

Beth had submitted to her maid’s ministrations and was rewarded by the look of approbation that she received from Miles Radworth as she entered the drawing room. She was disappointed to receive no such acknowledgement from Lord Darrington, who was conversing with Sophie and Lady Arabella on the far side of the room. He glanced across when she came in, but made no attempt to approach. As Miles took her hand and murmured any number of flowery compliments, Beth watched the earl from the corner of her eye, noting that he gave all his attention to her grandmother. She was piqued; she did not need Miles to tell her that the lavender silk set off her copper-coloured curls. One glance in the mirror had informed her that she presented a very striking figure, and while she would have been offended if the earl had been so impolite as to ogle her, she would have liked to see some sign of appreciation from him.

‘ … what do you say to that, my love?’

She dragged her attention back to Miles, who was obviously wanting an answer to his question. She summoned up her most charming smile. ‘I beg your pardon, Miles, I do not understand you?’

‘I was merely suggesting, in my roundabout way, that since you have done nothing yet about your bride clothes, I should take you to York. I am sure Lady Arabella can manage perfectly well without you for a few days.’

‘Ah, Miles, how thoughtful, but there really is no need. I intend to go and stay with my good friend Maria Crowther in Ripon and I will be able to buy everything I need there.’

She excused herself and moved towards Lady Arabella. The earl rose as she approached.

‘Mrs Forrester.’ He bowed and held the chair for her. ‘Perhaps you would like to sit next to Lady Arabella?’

Beth inclined her head and sat down, but she could not relax while the earl remained standing behind her. It took great strength of will not to turn her head to see if his hands were still resting on the back of her chair. She forced herself to say something.

‘Grandmama, I hope Sophie has taken care of you this afternoon?’

‘Of course, as she always does,’ replied Lady Arabella. ‘Such a good girl, and she reads so beautifully, not a hint of impatience when I am sure she would rather be elsewhere.’

‘Not at all, Grandmama!’ Sophie cried out at this and the old lady chuckled and patted her cheek.

‘Perhaps, my lady, you might allow me to read the newspaper to you tomorrow,’ offered the earl, moving around to stand beside Miles Radworth. ‘It would be a little something I can do to repay your hospitality.’

‘Aye, and I have no doubt you would do it admirably with that deep, smooth voice of yours,’ agreed the lady.

‘Oh, but I am very happy to read to you, Grandmama,’ said Sophie quickly.

‘So, too, am I,’ declared Beth. ‘We do not need to trouble the earl with such a task.’

‘What, would you deny me the company of such a handsome gentleman?’ Lady Arabella’s eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘I do believe they want to keep you for themselves, Darrington.’

The earl gave a little bow. ‘I am flattered, my lady.’

The inconsequential thought entered Beth’s mind that his dark hair, cut short to collar length and with its tawny highlights glowing in the candlelight, was much more attractive than Miles’s curled and dully powdered wig. She scolded herself silently. She had invited Miles to take dinner with them, so it was unjust to make any comparison when he had not been able to change for dinner. She must not contrast his velvet jacket with the earl’s dark coat that seemed moulded to his form, nor should she compare topboots and riding breeches with satin knee-breeches and stockings that showed Lord Darrington’s athletic limbs to great advantage. When it came to ornaments, she thought the honours equal, for apart from a large signet ring and the diamond that flashed discreetly from the folds of his snowy cravat, Lord Darrington had only his quizzing glass, hanging about his neck on a black ribbon. Miles, however, wore an emerald pin in his neckcloth and was sporting a few fobs and seals at his waistband, as well as his ornate watch. No, she would not compare them, nor would she dwell on the fact that with his splendid physique, the earl looked very like the heroes that had once filled her dreams. Her marriage to Joseph Forrester had taught her to put aside such romantic notions. It had been a struggle to curb her impetuous nature, but Joseph had soon taught her that a husband did not want a wife constantly hanging on his arm or displaying affection. She did not think her life with Miles would be any different, for her feelings for him were well-regulated, unlike the disturbing turmoil Lord Darrington roused in her.

Looking up, she met his amused glance and her face flamed. She hoped he could not read her thoughts!

A glance at Miles showed that he was not too happy with the conversation and she said quickly, ‘Grandmama, you are very wicked to tease us so. We must not forget that when Dr Compton calls tomorrow he may declare Mr Davies well enough to return to Highridge and we will be obliged to say goodbye to our guests.’

‘And very sorry I shall be to see them go,’ declared Lady Arabella. ‘The Priory has been far too quiet since Simon died. We have become positively reclusive.’

‘You know I would willingly move in, my lady,’ offered Miles, ‘if it would comfort you to have a man in residence.’

Lady Arabella stared at him for a long moment, her face quite impassive. She said at last, ‘Thank you, Mr Radworth, but no one can replace my grandson.’

The silence hung uneasily about the room. Beth rose in a whisper of silk.

‘Shall we go in to dinner?’

Beth did not enjoy her meal. Lady Arabella presided over the table with her usual grace, but although the two gentlemen were perfectly polite to each other, Beth was uncomfortably aware of a tension in the air. Even Sophie cast uneasy glances at them. When she considered the matter dispassionately she did not think that any blame could attach to Lord Darrington, who was seated next to Lady Arabella and responded to her questions and remarks with perfect ease and good humour. Miles, however, was above being pleased. He found fault with every dish and, although Lady Arabella did not appear to notice his ill humour, his barbed remarks made even Sophie lapse into uncharacteristic silence. He was also drinking heavily, calling for his glass to be refilled with such regularity that Kepwith was obliged to fetch up another bottle.

The covers had been removed and the dishes of sweetmeats placed upon the table when matters came to a head. Miles was reaching for a dish of sugared almonds when his cuff caught the edge of his wineglass and sent the contents spilling across the table. The earl quickly threw his napkin on the pool of wine as Miles jumped up, cursing under his breath.

‘No harm done,’ said Beth, placing her cloth over the earl’s. ‘We have contained it. Sophie, if you give me your napkin, too, I think that will do the trick.’

‘I beg your pardon, that was dashed clumsy of me,’ muttered Miles, standing back and watching proceedings. ‘That last bottle was bad.’

‘Very possibly,’ said Beth in a tight voice.

A footman brought in more cloths to finish wiping the table.

‘There, all is well again,’ remarked Lady Arabella. ‘Pray sit down again, Mr Radworth.’

‘Aye, I will, but first I am going down to the cellars to find a decent bottle!’ He grabbed the butler’s arm. ‘Give me the key.’

‘Sir!’ The butler’s exclamation was a mixture of outrage and alarm.

Sophie gasped. Beth put a hand on her shoulder, aware that the earl was watching them.

‘There is no need for that, Miles.’ She kept her voice calm. ‘Kepwith shall bring another bottle if you wish for one.’

‘Aye, I do wish it, but I’ll have none of his choosing. It’s my belief he is fobbing you off with poor stuff and keeping the best for himself.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Beth sharply. ‘I do not keep disloyal staff. Neither do I allow my guests to venture into the servants’ domain.’

Her hauteur had its effect. Miles glared at her, but she held his gaze steadily and at last he resumed his seat, saying with a little laugh, ‘You are quite right, m’dear. Plenty of time to discuss how the household is run once we are married, eh? Very well, Kepwith, you may go and find another bottle of claret, and be quick about it!’

Lady Arabella led the ladies away to the drawing room soon after, and Beth was not surprised that the gentlemen did not tarry over their port. Miles seemed to realise that he had gone too far and tried to approach Beth and apologise, but she would have none of it, turning a shoulder to him, only relenting when he announced he was leaving shortly after they had drunk tea together and humbly begged her to accompany him to the door.

‘My dear, I can only apologise for my outburst,’ he said, unclipping his watch and putting it safely in his waistcoat pocket.

She shrugged. ‘The effects of inferior wine, I collect.’

‘Not only that, Elizabeth. I fear I was jealous of seeing Darrington so at ease here.’

She blinked. ‘You are jealous of the earl? You have no need, I assure you. I have no interest in him at all!’

‘Ah, but what if he is interested in you?’ said Miles. ‘I observed how often he watched you this evening.’

‘No, I am sure you are mistaken,’ she cried, her colour heightened.

‘I think not. I fear he may wish to fix his interest with you.’

She raised her brows. ‘How can he, when I am already betrothed to you?’

‘Betrothed, yes, but how I wish we were wed!’ He pulled Beth into his arms. ‘I would have married you the moment you came out of mourning—’

‘I know, but we must give Grandmama time to grow accustomed. You have been very forbearing,’ she said softly. ‘Pray, Miles, be patient for a little longer.’

‘Why must we wait?’ His arms tightened. ‘You are no innocent schoolgirl, Beth—can you not tell how much I long for you? You need have no worry that I am making you false promises to get you into my bed. The contract is signed, ‘tis only the priest’s blessing we are lacking—’

‘Good heavens, Miles, would you have the shades of this old place rise up against us?’ she asked him jokingly. She placed her hands against his chest and held him off when he would have kissed her. ‘But, to be serious, Miles, the church vows are very important to me. I would have nothing spoil our wedding.’

She gazed at him steadily and was relieved when the hot, ardent look died from his eyes and he smiled at her.

‘Very well, my love, you know I can deny you nothing.’

He pressed a last kiss upon her fingers and took his leave. Thoughtfully Beth made her way back to the drawing room.

‘Has Mr Radworth gone now? I cannot say I am sorry,’ declared Lady Arabella. ‘How oddly he behaved tonight. I do hope he is not sickening.’

‘I am sure he is not, Grandmama. I think it is as he says, a poor wine.’

‘More like the quantity,’ put in Sophie bluntly. ‘You did not feel any ill effects, did you, my lord?’

Beth frowned at her sister. She could not be happy about the way Grandmama and Sophie had taken to Lord Darrington. It would be better for everyone’s peace of mind when he and his friend had gone.

Guy noticed the change as soon as Radworth had left the Priory. Lady Arabella’s outward demeanour did not alter, but he sensed she was a little more at ease. Sophie, too, became more talkative. Only Beth remained aloof, but Guy suspected that might be because she was embarrassed at her fiancé’s behaviour.

He was still pondering on the events of the evening when he made his way up to Davey’s room after supper.

He found his friend propped up in bed and thumbing idly through one of the newspapers that littered the bed. He tossed it aside as Guy came in and greeted him with a cry of relief.

‘Darrington, thank heaven you are come! I thought I should expire with boredom!’

Guy grinned at him. ‘You are looking much better, old friend, and sound much more like your old self. How are you?’

‘Everything still hurts like the very devil, but only if I move.’ Davey beckoned him forwards. ‘Come and sit down here and tell me all that is going on downstairs. Have you kissed any of the ladies yet?’

Guy laughed. ‘Only your broken ribs prevent me from punching you for that, Davey! Of course I haven’t! Lady Arabella is a matriarch, born to command, and her two granddaughters are both completely ineligible, one being a schoolgirl, the other a widow.’

‘A very beautiful widow, if Peters is to be believed.’

‘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.