Kitabı oku: «Lord Portman's Troublesome Wife», sayfa 3

She climbed the stairs to her room to take off her hat. The chamber was empty of all but the bare necessities. A trunk, standing on the floor at the foot of the bed, was half-filled with clothes Janet had begun to pack. How much would Lady Bonhaven expect her to take with her? And what about her books and her escritoire? Would she be allowed those?

She sat on the side of the bed, from which the hangings had already been removed for cleaning before being sold, and contemplated her future. That led to thoughts of her brother. He had offered her a home, but had made it abundantly clear he did not want her. He was doing his best to marry her off. And to that macaroni! But even as she derided Lord Portman, she realised there was more to him than met the eye. When they were alone and talking seriously, he had suddenly stopped his mincing gait and matched her stride with his and that high effeminate tone of voice dropped to a more masculine level. What sort of a man was he? Why could he not find himself a bride in the conventional way?

Harry was ringing a peal over Ash, but his friend was unrepentant. ‘No harm was done,’ he said, as they made their way slowly along Piccadilly towards the City.

‘A great deal of harm was done. She guessed what her brother was about and passed it off as a jest, but I knew she was mortified. I felt very sorry for her.’

‘So did I. Poor thing, she is like to drown in deep water unless someone throws her a lifeline.’ Ash was an ex-naval man and his conversation was littered with nautical phrases. ‘And you must admit she is not the antidote we had been led to expect. Not a beauty, I grant you, but strong and healthy enough to bear children. She could be the mother of your heir with no trouble.’

‘I wish to God I had never told you about Beth. I don’t know why I did. I never told anyone before.’

‘That was because you have been dwelling on the problem and hoping to find a solution. I have given you one. You could at least think about it.’

‘I would rather not.’

‘Why not?’ Ash persisted. ‘She is not ugly, or stupid, or idiotish. Marry her, install her at Bishop’s Court, make her with child and then get on with your work for the Club and forget her.’

‘How callous you are. I am not at all surprised no woman has ever wanted to marry you.’

‘Oh, I could have married a dozen times over, an’ I so chose. And do not change the subject.’

‘I wish to change it.’

‘Very well. Do you go to Ranelagh on Saturday? I hear the fireworks are to be especially fine in honour of the royal wedding and coronation. We could patrol the crowds and keep an eye out for pickpockets. And what better place to winkle out people passing counterfeit coins?’

This was true and reminded Harry of the counterfeit guinea he had taken home the day before. He ought to be doing something about that, not bothering himself about women and marriage. ‘Very well, I will go.’

Satisfied with the success of his ruse, Ash spotted a couple of chairmen plying for hire and called them over. The two men took their leave of each other and were conveyed on their separate ways.

Once home, in an effort to put Miss Chalmers and her problems out of his mind, Harry went to the safe box he had had installed under the floor of his library and took out two counterfeit guineas, one the wine merchant had given him and the other he had brought home from the card game the day before. He weighed them carefully in his hand, deciding they weighed about the same, which was a fraction less than a genuine guinea. Then he studied them through a strong lens he took from a drawer in his desk, examining the milled edges carefully. He would swear that they had been done by the same hand with the same instrument. He was sure he had two coins by the same coiner, but they had come to him in very different circumstances and there were undoubtedly many more circulating about the capital.

Anyone who wanted to buy wine could have passed the one to the vintner, but which of the card players had put the guinea in the pot? Benedict was certainly too drunk and too foolish to bother his head about the size of the coins he had in his purse. Max Chalmers was a wily bird, but it was unlikely he would knowingly pass bad coins in White’s for fear of being excluded very publicly from its portals. Even Ash could have picked it up somewhere else and unknowingly put it down as part of his stake. It could have been done by any of the three, more interested in the game than in the weight of their coins. They would not be looking for bad money, which was something the counterfeiters relied on, more often than not successfully. The question was: if all three were innocent, who had passed them in the first place?

He locked them carefully away again and sat contemplating his next move. The trouble was that a pair of grey eyes kept coming between him and his deliberations. They were a redeeming feature in an otherwise unremarkable face. He imagined her as a companion to some demanding old lady and knew, without doubt, she would hate it. He wished he could help her. It was a pity he did not need a housekeeper; Mrs Rivers had kept house at Bishop’s Court for more years than he cared to remember and was entirely satisfactory. And in town, all he needed was his cook and the usual complement of other servants. Besides, Miss Chalmers with her straight back, firm chin and independent mind, not to mention her lineage, was certainly not servant material. If he could not love again, could he bring himself to marry without it? At her age and in her circumstances the lady would not expect it, would she?

He shrugged his thoughts impatiently from him. He must be going mad even to contemplate such a thing. What he needed was a little diversion, something to take his mind off that walk in the park. He sent a footman out for a chair and instructed the chairmen to take him to the Baltic Coffee House in Threadneedle Street. It was the favourite haunt of traders and he might pick up some useful information, perhaps find another bad guinea. He would do the rounds of the coffee and chocolate houses and when they closed for the night, he would move on to the gentlemen’s clubs. That should keep him occupied until the early hours and he could go home to his lonely bed.

Mrs Bullivant arrived at Holles Street at noon the following day, which showed how determined she was; she hardly ever rose from her bed before that hour. Rosamund, who had given up hoping for anything else to save her, put a short jacket over her mourning gown, sat a black bonnet right at the back of her coiffure and tied it on with wide black ribbons. Picking up her reticule, she announced herself ready to go.

Her aunt had brought her carriage and they were conveyed in some comfort to Brook Street, though they could easily have walked or taken chairs. ‘I do not want her to think we are beggars,’ her aunt said. ‘You must comport yourself with some pride, after all.’ Her aunt was nothing if not conscious of her rank in society.

‘She is unlikely to employ me if I am too toplofty,’ Rosamund said, half-wishing the lady would turn her down.

‘There is a middle road. Be polite, a little subservient perhaps, but not too much. Keep your head up and do not mumble.’

‘I am not in the habit of mumbling, Aunt.’

The lady ignored that. ‘It’s that or go to Max. Can you rely on him to treat you with compassion? If ever there was a chip off the old block, it is he, and besides that, he is truly under the cat’s paw.’

‘I know that, Aunt.’

They drew up at the door of Lady Bonhaven’s substantial house and were admitted by a footman. He bade them wait while he ascertained that her ladyship was at home and then led them upstairs to a boudoir that looked out over the busy street. Her ladyship was sitting by the window, so she must have seen the carriage arrive. She was extremely fat and with her padded black skirt and petticoat she left little room for anyone else on the sofa. She wore a black cap tied beneath her chin with a narrow ribbon and her tiny feet rested on a footstool. Beside her, on a small table, stood a half-empty glass of negus, a box of sugar plums, a hartshorn and a little silver bell, all readily to hand.

‘Come in, Jessie,’ she said, lifting her quizzing glass to examine Rosamund from to top to toe. ‘You have brought the girl, I see.’

‘Indeed I have, Clarissa. This is my niece, Rosamund Chalmers.’

Rosamund dipped a curtsy. ‘My lady.’

‘She is taller than I thought. And older. You did not tell me how old she was.’

‘I am six and twenty, my lady,’ Rosamund answered before her aunt could do so.

‘Past the age of being giddy for marriage,’ Jessica put in.

‘That is a point in her favour.’ She waved them into chairs, then addressed Rosamund. ‘What accomplishments do you have, miss?’

‘I have been educated…’

‘Pah! I did not mean that. Your education is of no interest to me so long as you do not flaunt it when I am in conversation with my friends. If I take you on, you will be my shadow, not my mouthpiece. I shall expect you to accompany me when I go out, to make sure I have everything for my comfort, to fetch and carry and keep your tongue between your teeth. Is that understood?’

‘Perfectly, my lady.’ Rosamund understood only too well. The idea of being at the beck and call of this autocratic lady filled her with misgivings.

‘I am a little chilly,’ the lady went on. ‘Fetch my shawl. You will find it in the cupboard in my bedchamber.’ She indicated a door to an adjoining room. ‘The lilac-and-cream one.’

Rosamund went to obey, murmuring to herself that her ladyship obviously did not adhere to the rule that, however high one’s rank, it was courteous to say please when giving an order. She found the shawl easily and returned with it, only to be castigated for bringing the wrong one. ‘I said lilac and cream,’ the lady said. ‘That is mauve and white. Can you not tell the difference?’

Rosamund, who was tempted to argue the colours, instead begged her pardon and went in search of the right one, knowing the old lady had deliberately set a trap for her. When she returned with the correct shawl, she was instructed to put it about her ladyship’s shoulders and that also met with criticism. When at last her ladyship was settled, she said, ‘Well, I am not sure you will suit. You have not been brought up in a way that fills me with confidence.’

‘I was not brought up to be a paid companion, my lady.’

‘My niece means no disrespect,’ Aunt Jessica put in quickly. ‘But she will soon learn what is expected of her.’

‘Let us hope so,’ her ladyship said. ‘I shall give you a month’s trial, Miss Chalmers. Without pay, naturally. You may start at the beginning of next week, that will give you time to sort out your affairs. Now, you must excuse me, I am expecting callers at any moment.’ She picked up the bell from the table and shook it vigorously. When the footman answered the summons, she directed him to escort the ladies to the door.

As they crossed the pavement towards the carriage, they found themselves face to face with Lord Portman, who was on his way to a meeting of the Gentleman’s Club. Today he was in blue and white, elegant as ever. He swept off his sugar-loaf hat and executed a graceful leg. ‘Good morning, Miss Chalmers. A fine day, is it not?’

Rosamund curtsied. ‘Yes, indeed, very fine.’ She turned to her aunt. ‘Aunt, may I present Lord Portman. My lord, my aunt, Mrs Jessica Bullivant.’

He bowed. ‘Ma’am, your obedient.’

She inclined her head in acknowledgement. ‘Lord Portman.’

He hurried to open the carriage door for her and handed her in and then turned to do the same courtesy for Rosamund. He closed the door and ordered the coachman to proceed, then watched as the carriage drew away. Then he went on his way, mincing a little and twirling his cane, looking thoughtful.

‘When did you meet that gentleman?’ Jessica demanded, jerking her head backwards towards Harry.

‘Yesterday in the park. Max introduced us and we walked together for a little.’

‘I had no idea Maximilian knew his lordship,’ her aunt said, evidently aware of Lord Portman’s consequence.

‘I think they met at White’s.’

‘I am surprised that Max can afford to game with someone as prodigious rich as he is.’

‘How do you know he is rich?’ Rosamund asked. ‘Just because he evidently spends a fortune on his clothes does not mean he is wealthy. He could be in debt to his tailor.’

‘Oh, undoubtedly he is. What gentleman of his rank is not? But I have heard he inherited forty thousand a year besides Bishop’s Court in Middlesex and a hunting box in Leicestershire. Every unmarried girl for miles around would like to catch his eye.’

‘He told me had been married, but his wife died six years ago and he had found no one since to suit him.’

‘Did he now? That is a very personal disclosure for so new an acquaintance.’

‘Yes, but I asked him.’

‘Rosamund! How could you be so forward?’

‘It was done in self-defence; he was asking me about my marriage prospects and it annoyed me.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘Nothing that he did not know already,’ Rosamund said gloomily. ‘His lordship was not the only one revealing personal details. Max was particularly forthcoming. He told him about Papa not providing for me and the fact that I was contemplating being a lady’s companion. He even said I would like to marry to avoid that. I was exceedingly cross with him.’

‘Whatever was Max thinking of?’

‘I think he and his lordship’s friend, Sir Ashley Saunders, were trying to throw us together. Lord Portman certainly thought so…’

‘And?’

‘He treated it as a jest.’

‘Yes, I can see he would—why would he consider you when he could have the pick of London’s débutantes?’

This scathing comment did nothing to bolster Rosamund’s self-esteem and she fell silent. But she was not so much humiliated as furious. It was a mood that stayed with her the rest of the day and stopped her thinking about her future with Lady Bonhaven. She went back to her father’s papers, determined to go through them with a fine-tooth comb to see if there was any way the lawyer could have been mistaken and there was some small bequest for her.

‘There is a clever coiner passing guineas in London,’ Harry told the rest of the group. ‘I have picked up two myself.’ He took the two fake guineas from his pocket and laid them on the table. ‘I’d be obliged if you would look out for guineas like these.’

Jonathan pulled out his purse and tipped the contents on to the table. ‘I do not think there are any bad ones here,’ he said, picking his coins up one at a time and returning them to his purse.

The others followed suit and Ash was found to have one in his money. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ he said. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘It would help if you could remember,’ Harry said, taking possession of the coin.

‘I’ve bought nothing that needed change in guineas,’ Ash said.

‘A debt repaid?’ Harry prompted. ‘Or a win at cards? I ask because one of these…’ he indicated the two he had brought with him, then put all three in his pocket ‘…was in the pot when we played at White’s the day before yesterday.’

‘You think I put it in?’

‘Anyone could have done so. You, Stafford or Chalmers. Inadvertently, of course.’

‘Even you,’ Ash said, with a grin.

‘No, for I have handled too many of them to be taken in. Examine all your winnings in future, will you?’

‘Certainly I will.’

‘Have you any idea who the counterfeiters might be?’ James asked.

‘No, but I am looking and listening. If I can find out who they are, then I must also find out where it is being done in order to produce evidence. Possession of a single guinea is not evidence; anyone could have innocently accepted and tried to pass on a fake coin. But I wish you all to be on your guard.’

‘We will all do that,’ James said, and with that the meeting broke up.

‘It was Benedict put most in the pot,’ Ash reminded Harry as they left. ‘And he did leave somewhat hurriedly.’

‘Yes, but that was because he hoped I had forgotten to ask for his voucher. If he had guineas to spare, he would not cry hard up, would he?’

‘Chalmers, by his own admission, has pockets to let.’

‘That is the tale he tells to unload his sister on to an unsuspecting bridegroom,’ Harry said. ‘I do not believe it.’

‘Poor woman.’

‘Yes, I know you feel sorry for her, Ash. I suggest you marry her yourself.’

‘I do not need a bride. On the other hand, you do. For someone who owns a vast estate like Bishop’s Court and no direct heir, it is a necessity.’

‘I am more concerned with tracking down whoever is passing false guineas and hoping he will lead me to the coiners.’

‘Yes, I should like to see them in chains myself. I do not like having my pockets raided…’

‘Raided, Ash?’

‘Well, you have deprived me of a guinea and put it in your own pocket.’

‘You could not have spent it without being an accessory. If the loss of a guinea is so important to you, then I will give you one.’

‘No, no, my dear fellow, wouldn’t dream of it. Tell you what, I’ll take you to the Cocoa Tree and toss you for it.’

Harry raised one quizzical eyebrow at his friend. ‘A bad guinea?’

‘Good heavens, no! A good one.’

‘Very well.’

They repaired to the Cocoa Tree and spent a convivial evening with the dice. Miss Rosamund Chalmers appeared to be forgotten.

Chapter Three

Ranelagh Pleasure Gardens were in Chelsea, next to the Royal Hospital, and were a favourite place of leisure for the more select of London’s inhabitants, simply because the admittance was more than that at the New Spring Garden at Vauxhall. The entrance fee of two shillings and sixpence or five shillings on firework nights was beyond the means of the honest poor and they had to content themselves with viewing the show from boats on the river. The price of entrance did not deter robbers, pickpockets and passers of counterfeit money who used the shadows and the letting off of fireworks to ply their trade. But in spite of that, the gardens cultivated an air of respectability and the haut monde happily mixed with the middling sort to enjoy a night out.

Rosamund had said all along she would not go. She was in mourning and it was unseemly and the last thing she wanted was for Lord Portman to think she was pursuing him, to all of which Max had an answer. No one knew her, so being in mourning did not signify; she could go in half-mourning, grey or mauve, and if his lordship were to show an interest, then she should be glad and cultivate him in so far as it was in her ability to do so. ‘Do you want to work for Lady Bonhaven?’ he demanded, when he arrived to escort her and found her unprepared. ‘She is an inveterate gabble grinder, out and about everywhere, and you will have to tag along behind her like a pet pug. Worse than that because a pug is not expected to work for his keep.’

‘Do you think I do not know all that?’

‘Then seize what opportunities are offered.’

She gave a short laugh. ‘I doubt I shall be offered an opportunity to seize.’

‘Then let us go to enjoy the fireworks.’

‘Oh, very well.’ She didn’t know why she agreed, except that sitting at home alone was something she had been doing so often of late, she felt she needed a little diversion. Perhaps, if she could put her problems to one side for an hour or two, her subconscious might come up with a solution.

She went up to her room to root about in her half-packed trunk for another dress and found a dove-grey silk she had worn when she had gone from mourning to half-mourning after her mother died. It was sadly out of fashion, having a wraparound bodice, narrow oval hoops and wide, stiffened cuffs to the sleeves, but it was a change from unrelieved black. A white kerchief served to fill the neckline. She scooped her hair up under a wide-brimmed hat she thought might hide her face and returned to her brother.

He looked her up and down. ‘Is that the best you can manage?’

‘Yes. If you do not care to be seen with me, I beg you to go alone.’

‘No. Come along. We shall be late.’

He had hired chairs to take them, so there was no opportunity for conversation until they were set down at the entrance. Max bought two tickets at five shillings each, paying for them with a guinea and receiving four half-crowns and a shilling in change, then he took her arm and hurried her inside.

The gardens were crowded and they were jostled several times as they made their way forwards, heading for the magnificent circular building in the centre of the garden, where the patrons could listen to the orchestra from its many boxes, or parade the central floor, sometimes drowning out the music with their chatter. There were booths selling tea, coffee and chocolate, as well as others containing gaming tables. Some booths were privately hired and here Cyprians and demi-reps and even apparently respectable ladies, would meet their lovers. Max ignored them as he hurried her along.

Rosamund supposed he was in a rush to meet Lord Portman and wished she had not agreed to come. What, in heaven’s name, could she say to the man? Half of her hoped he would not come, the other half began to look forward to seeing him again and wondering if her first impression of him as a strange mixture of the empty-headed exquisite and the perspicacious man about town would still hold good.

As they neared the Rotunda, Max slowed his pace and they walked more sedately. ‘There they are,’ he said suddenly. ‘Do put on a smile, Rosie. I never saw such a Friday face in my life.’

Harry had not expected to see her there and was at first surprised, but then he saw Ash’s grin and knew he had been hoaxed. There was nothing for it but to greet the lady with his usual gallantry. ‘Miss Chalmers, how do you do?’ His hand, holding his hat, swept forwards over his foot as he bowed to her.

She noticed his burgundy silk coat, pink waistcoat and pink small clothes as she bent her knee and bowed her head in acknowledgement. He was nothing if not colourful. She straightened herself to meet cool blue eyes regarding her with amusement. She felt herself blush at his scrutiny. Was he, like her brother, deprecating her gown? ‘I am well,’ she said, taking a firm grip on herself to answer him. ‘And you?’

‘All the better for seeing you, ma’am.’

She laughed at this preposterous lie. ‘Then you must have been feeling singularly out of sorts before that. Has your friend been roasting you again?’ She turned to Ash and dropped him a small curtsy. ‘Sir Ashley, I bid you good evening.’

‘It is a very good evening now you have arrived,’ he said, bowing to her.

‘I do not know which of you is worse,’ she said. ‘Pray do not try your flummery on me, sir. I am immune to it.’

‘Then you are the first lady I have met who is,’ Harry said, looking at her through his quizzing glass. It was an affectation; his eyesight was perfect. He saw that she had changed out of the dreadful black silk, but the grey she wore was only marginally better. It was a great pity because he felt sure she would repay a little spent on a wardrobe, even in mourning. ‘Surely you are not averse to being told your company is a pleasure?’

‘Not if it is true, but I suspect the contrary. I vow you had no idea you would meet me tonight.’

‘That does not signify. Shall we walk a little?’ He abandoned the idea of catching anyone passing counterfeit coins and instead offered her his arm and she laid her fingers on his silk sleeve. The path was so crowded all four could not walk abreast and Max and Ash fell behind.

‘I came to view the fireworks,’ Rosamund said, feeling she ought to have a reason for her presence.

‘I did too, so we can view them together.’

‘My lord, please do not feel you have to entertain me or even be polite to me. I am well aware of what my brother is up to and if I were you I would pay neither him nor me any heed and go about your business.’

‘It is not in my nature to be impolite,’ he said. ‘And what do you suppose Sir Maximilian is up to?’

‘Would you put me to the blush by asking me to speak of it when you could not help but know what he is about?’

‘I beg your pardon. I was not sure you perfectly understood.’

‘To be sure, I understand. He does not wish to give me house room himself and yet he is averse to his sister lowering herself to go to work, especially as Lady Bonhaven’s companion. He has other ideas, which are even more embarrassing.’

That was what she had been doing in Brook Street when he had met her and her aunt; he had guessed as much. Poor thing, he would not recommend Lady Bonhaven as an employer to anyone. Her ladyship had been a friend of his late mother and he knew her to be a tyrant to her servants. ‘And do you think you will like working for her ladyship?’

‘I know I should hate it.’ There was no point in trying to hide her dilemma from him, since her brother had already been more than frank. ‘If I could find congenial work or set up a business, do something useful that will earn me enough to live on, I would not need to.’

‘What could you do?’

‘I do not know. I have been educated. I could teach. Or help someone catalogue a library, or write book on household management. Or do fine embroidery.’

‘Ugh!’ he said with a shudder. ‘It would ruin your eyes. And such lovely eyes too.’

She ignored the compliment. ‘It is all very well for you to belittle such occupations, but you are not in my shoes.’

‘I do not think they would fit, my dear,’ he said, lifting up one elegantly shod foot and regarding it complacently. His balance on one foot was perfectly steady.

‘I wish I had never said anything to you at all, if you are going to treat it as a jest,’ she said angrily, noting his muscular calf in its pink silk stocking; there was no need for padding there. In fact, his whole physique belied the idle fop. She shook such irrelevant thoughts from her. ‘As for my brother’s outlandish scheming, that is certainly not to be taken seriously…’

‘Then you are at an impasse.’

‘It would seem so. But do not mistake me, I am not done yet.’

‘No, of course you are not.’ He looked sideways at her, wondering how much of the last half-hour had been carefully planned to trap him, how much of an actress she was. He gave a little chuckle. ‘You have forgot one calling open to impecunious ladies.’

She turned to stare at him. ‘How dare you! I had thought you were a gentleman, my lord. I see now how mistaken I was.’ Angrily, she began to walk on very fast, but he soon caught her up.

‘You misunderstand me, ma’am,’ he said, taking her arm and forcing her to stop. ‘Such a thing never entered my head. I was thinking of the stage.’

She pulled herself out of his grasp. ‘An actress! That is nearly as bad.’

‘It need not be. The stage is becoming respectable, you know. I am acquainted with several actresses who are as staid as nuns.’

‘How disappointing for you!’

‘Ouch! Perhaps I deserved that. Shall we call a truce? I so dislike being at outs with anyone.’

‘Very well,’ she conceded. ‘But I cannot act, and it does not appeal to me.’

‘But do you like to watch a play?’

‘I used to, when Papa was…’ She paused. ‘I have not been lately.’

‘Then we should remedy that at once. I have a box at the Theatre Royal. It will be my pleasure to escort you.’

‘Why?’ she demanded.

‘In order to make amends for my serious blunder just now.’

‘There is no need for that. I have forgiven you.’

He stopped and bowed to her. ‘I am indeed relieved.’ He took his place beside her again and they continued their walk. ‘But what about a visit to the theatre?’

‘Lord Portman, you forget I am in mourning for one thing and on Monday I am to begin work at Lady Bonhaven’s. I will have no opportunity to see a play, unless she chooses to go and I accompany her.’

‘She won’t do that. I know the lady and she abhors all such entertainment as the height of depravity. A more strait-laced matron it would be hard to imagine.’

‘Then I am sorry, I shall have to forgo the pleasure.’

‘I am sorry too. Look, we are at the end of the path. Shall we turn about and go back to the Rotunda or make our way to the field for the fireworks?’

She turned, looking for her brother and Sir Ashley in the milling crowds, but they seemed to have disappeared. She suspected they were deliberately throwing her into a compromising situation. ‘Oh, it is too bad of Max. Where has he got to? I must go at once and look for him.’

‘He will find us if we go to the fireworks. If not, I will undertake to see you safely home.’

‘How could he?’ she stormed. ‘How could he?’

It was not a question to which she expected a reply, but he chose to answer it. ‘I think he is hoping that I will be chivalrous enough to make you an offer, as I am sure you are aware.’

‘Then he has been wasting his time. You are not going to, are you?’

‘You are nothing if not outspoken,’ he said. ‘And you have put me in a predicament, as you did when we first conversed three days ago: to agree would certainly not be gallant and to disagree would mean that I must make the offer.’

‘Oh, be done with your jests! I cannot abide any more of them.’

‘Then by all means let us be serious.’ He drew her to one side of the crowded path, where a Grecian statue stood on a plinth in a little arbour. Here it was quiet and they would not be disturbed. She knew she ought to protest, but there was something about him that was hard to resist. He pulled her down beside him on to the plinth, which was at the right height to make a seat. ‘We could play their little game out for them.’

‘You refer to my brother and Sir Ashley?’