Miss Winbolt and the Fortune Hunter (5 page)

Emily regarded at the couple slowly advancing towards them with horrified fascination. They made a striking pair. Mrs Fenton had pale gold hair and very light china-blue eyes. Her black dress was the very latest in fashion, her diamonds magnificent, and she walked up the room with conscious grace, seemingly in different to the many admiring glances cast in her direction. Emily's eyes turned to the gentleman at her side, still hoping for a miracle. Perhaps she had been mistaken, perhaps it was just an extraordinary resemblance. But her heart sank as she looked. It was a night mare. The gentleman… She swallowed. Lady Deardon's famous guest was tall, lithe and perfectly assured, completely at home in this gathering of the neighbourhood's highest society. He was dressed in beautifully tailored evening clothes, immaculate linen, and had a diamond pin in the snowy folds of his cravat. But he was unmistakeably the man who had rescued her from the tree. Will… William…
Sir William Ashenden
.

The pair drew near. It was certainly Will. No one else could have the same lurking amusement in such dark blue eyes, the same fan of laughter lines at the corners… Her knees grew weak at an unbidden memory of that broad chest under her cheek, the feel of those long legs wrapped round hers, the sensations aroused by his kisses. She sup pressed a faint gasp and clutched the back of the chair for support as a mixture of fear and this unfamiliar but powerful feeling almost undid her. Keeping her eyes lowered and her feelings tightly under control, she stiffly acknowledged the introductions that followed. Eventually she made herself look up. His eyes were amused, but she could perceive no sign of
recognition in them. She took courage. Why should he recognise her? Who would connect the well-dressed, highly respectable Miss Emily Winbolt with the untidy, bare-legged hoyden, the hussy who had responded to his kisses with such a lack of restraint? She had a reputation for coolness. On this occasion she would make very sure she lived up to it. She had to!

Mrs Fenton's china-blue eyes had swept over Emily with in difference, but she talked animatedly to Rosa for a moment or two, eyed Philip with lazy interest, then, after receiving an invitation to visit Shearings and thanking them all for their kindness, she excused herself.

‘I hope Sir William will see me safely back to my table,' she said, waving her fan at him with a smile.

‘At a price, Mrs Fenton,' he said. ‘On condition that you will dance this waltz with me first.'

‘You drive a hard bargain, sir,' she said with a delicious pout. ‘But I am in your hands.'

He laughed and offered her his arm to lead her on to the floor.

Emily would have been hard put to it to describe her feelings. Overwhelming relief, certainly. Sir William Ashenden had clearly not recognised her. But mixed with relief there was another less easily defined feeling… What was it? She watched the two dance up the room and decided that she disliked Mrs Fenton. The woman was too confident of her power, too obviously charming. And far too beautiful. Sir William was looking down at her with such admiration in his eyes… With a gasp she pulled herself together again. She should be thanking her stars that ‘her Will' had not recognised her, not be envious of his attentions to Mrs Fenton!

 

After the waltz was over William returned Mrs Fenton to her com pan ions and rejoined his god mother. He had enjoyed Maria Fenton's company, and looked forward to more of it in the future. He was by no means sure, however, that she was what he was looking for in a wife. He had met many such women in his travels, graceful, accomplished, with a gift for amusing conversation. But he was looking for more genuine warmth in the woman he would marry, someone who could not only charm his neighbours at balls and soirées, but would create an affection ate home for his orphans as well. He might be doing the lady an injustice, but he suspected kindness to children would not be a priority with Maria Fenton.

He turned his attention to his godmother's other choice. Miss Winbolt. At first sight she lacked any kind of warmth. Indeed, her manner was distinctly chilly. But she was hardly the woman Mrs Gosworth had de scribed. She couldn't be more than four or five and twenty and, far from being jealous of her sister-in-law, their affection for each other was clear. A bit of an enigma then, Miss Winbolt. Perhaps he should make an effort to know her better, if only to please his god mother.

The Winbolts had moved on and were engaged in conversation with a group of friends nearby. Emily Winbolt was standing slightly to one side, talking to Rosa and one of the gentlemen. William examined her from a distance. It was true—compared with her sister-in-law she seemed almost plain. Her hair was drawn back into a neat knot at the back of her head, and though her dress was obviously a London creation, its severity did little to enhance her looks. But her profile had a purity of line that was attractive. And from what he could see,
she had quite a good figure… At that point something someone had said amused her and she laughed. William was astonished at the difference it made in her. It was a delightfully deep laugh, full of warmth and genuine enjoyment, and he was visited by a strange feeling that he had met this woman before. She turned as he approached and the laughter died abruptly. He could even have sworn he saw a fleeting expression of alarm in her eyes before she lowered them. But when she looked up again Miss Winbolt was once more the woman who had been de scribed to him. Her eyes contained nothing but chilly in difference. Undeterred, he went up to her and bowed.

‘Miss Winbolt, I know so few ladies here tonight. Dare I request a dance with you?'

The orchestra was warming up for the next set of dances. Miss Winbolt stared at him. He thought for a moment she would refuse, but her sister-in-law said,

‘Be kind to Sir William, Emily. He is to be one of our neighbours soon. Isn't that so, Sir William?'

‘N…neighbours?' Miss Winbolt was pale.

‘Charlwood, Miss Winbolt.' He offered his arm. ‘Shall we? Or shall we look for some refreshment and have a talk about Charlwood?'

‘Oh, no!' she exclaimed and put her hand on his arm. He was surprised to feel it trembling and felt a sudden, powerful urge to protect her. But from what? What was Miss Winbolt so afraid of?

He was still puzzled as they took to the floor. The urge to comfort persisted, though their conversation when they talked at all was conventional to the point of inanity. She danced well but stiffly, keeping her distance and giving him only the very tips of her fingers to hold when it was needed. By the end of the set he was ready
to concede that his first thought had been right, after all—Miss Winbolt was a born spinster.

When the music came to an end William took his partner to the edge of the floor, ready, and indeed relieved, to deliver her back to her family. Then something happened that caused him to change his mind yet again, this time irreversibly.

The behaviour of some of the younger guests had become rather boisterous. And one of them, eager to reach the refreshment tables before his friend, charged into Miss Winbolt. Taken by surprise, she lost her balance and would have fallen, but William caught her. She clung to him for a moment and again he was assailed with a sense of familiarity. Everything about her was familiar, but more than that, it was exciting—the way she held him, the sensation of her body against his, even the scent of her hair. He pulled her closer. The desire to kiss her was almost irresistible…

‘Sir William!' Her voice was muffled against his chest. ‘You must let me go! Immediately! Please.' She looked up at him. The look of desperation on her face, in her silver-grey eyes, brought him to his senses.

He stood back and shook his head, feeling more confused and embarrassed than he had for years. What had he been thinking of? ‘Miss Winbolt, I'm sorry. I…I hardly know what to say. I don't know what happened. That fellow…'

‘Yes, yes. He was to blame.' She turned away quickly and started towards the doors.

‘Miss Winbolt—'

‘Please. It was an accident. I was shaken. That was why I held on to you so tightly. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you.'

‘No, no! You re mistaken—'

Without looking, she interrupted him. ‘You must excuse me. I think I've torn the hem of my dress. I must put it right.' She fled through the doors and he saw her make for the ladies' boudoir.

It was some time before she reappeared, but William was still deep in thought. She started nervously when she saw him, but took his proffered arm and they began to make their way back into the ballroom. But after a few yards William stopped and turned. ‘I must make sure you have forgiven me,' he said.

‘For what, Sir William?' she said stiffly, without turning her head. ‘It was not your fault Edgar Langley knocked me over. You saved me from falling.'

He would have tried again, but she interrupted him as she had before. ‘Pray say no more,' she said impatiently. ‘It really isn't necessary. I would rather forget the incident. And now I should like to rejoin my brother. He must be wondering where I am.'

She walked away without another word. William was left a prey to an impossible mixture of thoughts and conjectures.

 

He was so silent on the way back to Thirle that Lady Deardon asked him if he was not feeling well. When he assured her he was perfectly fit she went on,

‘What did you think of our two ladies? You couldn't have a greater contrast between the two. Mrs Fenton is almost as lovely in her way as Rosa Winbolt, though older, of course. That dress must have cost a pretty penny, and her diamonds…! She certainly put herself out to charm you, William. Do you like her?'

‘Very well. She is good company.'

‘I don't fancy the friends she had with her,' said Sir Reginald unexpectedly. ‘Not quite county.'

‘I didn't see them, but you are always too much of a stickler, Reggie. I dare say they were friends of her husband. But, William, what about Emily Winbolt? I confess I don't know what to think of her. That dress probably cost every bit as much as Maria Fenton's, but it didn't do half as much for her. She was altogether very plainly dressed.'

‘Ladylike,' said Sir Reginald. ‘She looked a lady. More than the other one.'

Lady Deardon ignored this comment. ‘She's not as old as Mrs Gosworth led me to believe, and the story about her sister-in-law is obviously nonsense. Their affection for each other is plain. But she is definitely cool in her manner.' Lady Deardon looked sharply at her godson. ‘William! Have you heard a word I've said? What do you think of Miss Winbolt?'

‘I'm not at all sure,' said William slowly. ‘But I intend to find out. Did I hear Mrs Winbolt issue you with an invitation to visit Shearings?'

‘Yes, I asked her about its famous gardens and said how much I wanted to see them. We have arranged to go next week.' Sir Reginald stirred restlessly. ‘You needn't come, Reggie. William will escort me, won't you, dear?'

‘I certainly will,' said her godson. ‘I would very much like to have a closer look at…the gardens.'

E
mily was equally silent on her way home in the Winbolt carriage, though this was not noticed as quickly. Rosa was full of the ball and its guests. ‘Maria Fenton is as lovely as ever,' she said. ‘But I was disappointed in our conversation. She didn't seem to be very interested.'

‘My lovely, sweetest Rosabelle,' said her husband. ‘It was obvious to everyone but you that Mrs Fenton's eye was on William Ashenden. The beautiful Maria wouldn't waste much time on another woman, however old a friend she is.'

‘Oh!' said Rosa. She sounded disconcerted. ‘I thought…I thought Sir William seemed quite taken with Emily. He was certainly attentive enough later on.'

‘No! He wasn't! He can't have been!' Emily said this with such force that both Philip and Rosa regarded her with astonishment. ‘I mean…' She faltered. ‘I mean we only danced once.'

‘Well, you may not have noticed, but he hardly took his eyes off you after that one dance. Emily, what is wrong?
Why do you find the idea that he was interested in you so distressing? I would have said he was exactly the sort of gentleman who would appeal to you. You haven't taken a dislike to him, have you? I do hope not. We are to see quite a bit of Sir William and the Deardons in the near future.'

‘We are?' said Emily apprehensively. Her heart sank. How long could she avoid being recognised? She was very much afraid that William Ashenden was too intelligent a man to be deceived for ever. Sooner or later she would say or do something to remind him, and she didn't like to think of what he might do then. Added to that was this strange power he seemed to have over her. Tonight, she had lost her balance in more ways than one. When she fell against him she had had to fight an over whelming urge to hold him even closer, to rest her head against him even longer, to hold her head up for his kiss. It had taken every ounce of determination she possessed to stand away. He must have wondered what had come over her. He had certainly been surprised and embarrassed. She sighed. She was just as strongly attracted to him as Rosa could wish. If only she had met him for the first time at Lady Langley's ball, she might have found someone she could learn to love. But that was now out of the question. She could never relax with him, be herself. It would be too dangerous. When she caught herself sighing again, she told herself to be sensible. It wouldn't have done much good anyway. Sir William Ashenden was interested in Maria Fenton, a far lovelier woman than she could ever be. Meanwhile she was living with a sword over her head. How long would it be before it fell?

 

Emily's worst fears were in the process of being realised. William's suspicions were already stirring,
more because of his own astonishing reactions to her than anything she herself had said or done. He had been surprised at the strength of the desire he had felt for the girl in the hollow and had been quite unable to forget her. For a man who prided himself on his self-control, this was bad enough, but now, within a space of weeks, he had experienced the same degree of desire, this time in the highly civilised atmosphere of a ballroom. And not with a practised charmer like Maria Fenton, but with Miss Emily Winbolt, of all people! He had come damned close to kissing the girl in public! But on thinking it over later, he realised how very odd
her
reaction had been. Far from being angry with him for holding her longer and more closely than strictly necessary,
she
had apologised to
him!
Why? Why had she felt the need to apologise? Miss Winbolt was indeed the enigma he had thought her.

He lay awake that night, still puzzling over her behaviour. The more he thought about it, the stranger it appeared—and not only after that dance either, but through out the evening. Coolness might have been expected—after all, there was no reason why she should look more kindly on him than on anyone else. But fear? That was the emotion he had seen in her eyes before she had looked away, and her hand had trembled when it rested on his arm. Why? And why had so much about her seemed familiar when he had held her in his arms—her touch, the scent of her hair, her eyes…silver-grey eyes… Those eyes were her out standing feature—clear silver grey, like the water in the stream which ran along the valley in Stoke Shearings.

The girl in the hollow just above the stream had such eyes, too…silver-grey… A thought came into his head at that point which appeared to be so completely fantastic
that he began to wonder whether his obsession with the girl in the hollow was affecting his mind. It was impossible to believe that Emily Winbolt and that girl were one and the same… No, it was quite impossible!

But as the night wore on the idea began to seem no longer quite so absurd. It would explain a lot—her alarm at meeting him tonight, her reluctance to talk to him, the strange sense of familiarity… Was it because he
had
met her before tonight? Had held her in his arms before? Shearings, where the Winbolts lived, was not far from the spot where he had rescued the girl from the tree, and she had run in that direction. Could it possibly be true? If it were…

William started to smile. What a situation that would be! Emily Winbolt, born spinster, society's model of rectitude, abandoning herself to making love with a stranger in the fields! What a hypocrite that would make her! He lay for some time thinking about the two women, and fell asleep at last still trying to reconcile what he knew of them.

 

William had an important appointment the next morning with his architect at Charlwood. But after his sleep less night he had decided to look first at the spot where he had met the girl who had haunted him. He rose early, and instead of setting off towards Charlwood he made for Stoke Shearings. He left his horse once again at the inn and followed the path along side the stream. The water was as clear as he remembered, the slope above it just as steep. The hedge and even the oak tree where he had first caught sight of her soon came into view. He climbed up the slope and stood beside the oak. Someone had cleared away the broken branch and tidied up the hedge, but it was unmistakeably the spot.

‘You're not thinking of climbing through that there hedge, are yer, sir?' William looked down. A man was standing on the path below, shaking his head. He went on, ‘I don't advise it. It'd be the last short cut yer'd take. There's a vicious animal in the field on t'other side.'

‘Really?'

‘Black Samson, Farmer Pritchard's bull. A dangerous beast, if ever there was one.'

‘Thanks for the warning,' William said. ‘I'll take note. And you are…?'

‘Will Darby, at your service, sir. I work close by for Mr Winbolt.' He clambered up the slope and went on, ‘I could tell you a tale or two about that bull, I could. Job Diment. Elias Carter, they'm both still laid up after 'e attacked 'em. Not worked for weeks and weeks, they 'asn't. Why, it's not long since Mr Winbolt's own sister barely got away with her life. Don't go near 'um!'

‘I certainly shan't. Miss Winbolt, you say?'

‘Aye, sir. You'm be looking at the very spot where she escaped. Leastways, that's what Mr Winbolt said when he told us to mend the hedge just where we're standing. Lucky, that's what she was. With the branch giving way under 'er and all.' He looked curiously at William. ‘Be you bound fer Shearings, sir?'

‘'Er, no. Not today. I'm going in the other direction. Well, thank you, Will.' They clambered down the slope together and William slipped a coin into Will Darby's hand. ‘I'll be on my way—and I'll take your advice and go the long way round!'

To William's relief Will Darby gave him a tooth less grin, touched his cap, and set off without asking any more questions. He had no desire to lie to the man, but nor did he wish to explain what he was doing in that quiet spot at such a very early hour.

 

William Ashenden suffered from an over-developed sense of humour and a strong sense of the ridiculous. His friends frequently told him that his major fault was a desire to tease. The situation he was in the process of uncovering was so perfectly bizarre, so exactly to his taste that, as he rode on to Charlwood, a bubble of mirth was growing inside him. He was hard put to it not to laugh out loud. Ice-cool Emily Winbolt and his passionate seductress—what an unlikely combination! Soberly dressed Emily Winbolt and a raggle-taggle, bare-legged gipsy girl—what a contrast! Oh, yes! The alarm in Miss Winbolt's eyes, her fear of him, were both now perfectly understandable. Indeed, she must be worried out of her skin lest he should recognise her and tell the world what she had been up to. His grin broadened. What fun he would have with her! The little cheat deserved a bit of teasing before he put her out of her misery.

For a moment he paused.
Did
she deserve it? Was she in the habit of finding secret pleasure with strangers? Or was she indeed a respectable woman who had been under the same spell as he had been that day, unable to resist, swept up by some mysterious force? For a moment he hesitated, but then shrugged his shoulders. It wouldn't do her any lasting harm. Circumstances had forced him to be too serious lately—he felt in need of diversion. The problem of what to do with the children had been worrying. The question of a wife and a home, and the chores associated with renovating Charlwood, had been interesting, but not exactly amusing. A brief spell of teasing Miss Winbolt would provide some light relief. Not for long, though. He couldn't keep her in suspense for long. And, whatever happened, the affair would be strictly between himself and the lady. She
might worry for a short while, but she would under stand that the world outside would never learn from him what had happened between them one evening in May.

 

Rosa's invitation to the Deardons threw Emily into a panic. She realised that she would sooner or later have to meet William Ashenden again, but this seemed altogether too soon. During the intervening week she at tempted to find a dozen reasons why she should not be present, but her sister-in-law frustrated them all. Rosa thoroughly approved of William Ashenden and knew Philip liked him, too. This was enough to persuade her that this was indeed ‘just the man' to be Emily's salvation and she was determined to promote the acquaintance. She genuinely could not under stand why Emily didn't agree, and was convinced that once her sister-in-law got to know Sir William better she would acknowledge that Rosa was right. She was disappointed, there fore, when Emily appeared just before Lady Deardon and Sir William were due to arrive.

‘Emily! You have so many pretty summer dresses! Why on earth are you wearing that one?'

‘What's wrong with it?'

‘It's…it's so dull. And surely you'd be cooler in one that didn't fasten right up to the neck? Why didn't you wear your new pale green muslin? It's so pretty, and the colour suits you perfectly.'

‘I've decided that it is cut too low, Rosa. I prefer this one.'

Rosa was not finished. ‘And what have you done to your hair?' she exclaimed. ‘It's more suited for a walk through a cloister than a summer afternoon in the garden!'

Emily, who had taken pains to make herself as unlike
the girl who had fallen out of that tree as possible, was pleased, but did her best to sound offended. ‘I'm sorry you don't like the way I look,' she said. In fact, she agreed with Rosa's every word. Her dress was plain, in an unflattering shade of grey, and fastened up to the top. Much to her maid's distress, she had insisted on having her hair pulled back and twisted into a low, tight knot at the back of her neck. Fashionably thin sandals, her usual wear in summer, had been replaced with boots. Emily had decided not to give in without a fight. She would deceive William Ashenden for as long as she could, until she could decide how to deal with him. She heard the sound of a carriage drawing up at the door. ‘But I'm afraid it's too late to change my dress now,' she said, doing her best to put a note of regret into her voice.

 

Philip and Rosa made their guests welcome, then led them into the garden. All five walked about in it for an hour or more, Emily using considerable ingenuity to avoid William's company. When Rosa suggested they should sit in the shade for a while Lady Deardon accepted with pleasure, and the party made its way to a cool arbour, which had been furnished with a table, chairs and one or two benches. Here they sat down—all of them except Sir William.

‘You said something about an avenue of trees planted by your great-grandfather, I believe, Winbolt? I'd like to see them. Perhaps Miss Winbolt could show me the way and tell me about them?'

‘What a good idea,' exclaimed Rosa. ‘She knows almost as much about the grounds as my husband, Sir William. I'm sure she would be de lighted to be your guide. And you must ask her to show you the maze.
The Shearings maze was once quite famous, but it was in a sad state before Philip and Emily restored it, along with the rest of the gardens.

‘A maze? That sounds very interesting. Miss Winbolt?' He held out his arm.

Emily stared at him hopelessly. ‘I…I don't think…' she began and then stopped. She couldn't come up with a single reason why she should refuse to go with him, except that she didn't want to!

‘I do hope you can oblige him, Miss Winbolt,' said Lady Deardon. ‘A large number of the trees at Charlwood are old and decayed, and will have to be replaced. William is becoming quite an expert on the subject. He has already inspected the plantations at Thirle. I'm sure he will find your avenue very interesting.'

Emily smiled weakly and took his arm. Sir William's request was harmless enough. To persist in refusing, especially after his godmother's encouraging words, would seem ungracious, and might well make him suspicious. But go into the maze with him she would not!

Once they were out of sight of the arbour Sir William stopped and asked, ‘Is something up set ting you, ma'am? The sun, perhaps? Or are you tired? We could easily sit some where and talk, if you would prefer it.'