“Really. How terrible!” exclaimed Tiffin. “If she cannot appreciate you for the fine and brave man you are and worth a hundred dukes, she is not worth knowing!”
And although Peter smiled sadly, the large eyes turned up to his own warmed his heart.
“What a little charmer,” said Gerald after Tiffin was led away. “Such eyes!”
Lizzie felt cast down. The duke was walking a little way away with Lady Verity. She had to admit to herself ruefully that she had had a little hope that Gerald might turn out to be the amiable husband that she sometimes longed for.
“Who was that odd creature?” Lady Verity was asking the duke.
“If you mean the pretty and charming Miss Moon,” said the duke, “the pole of her carriage broke outside the gates and her aunt was knocked unconscious. Miss Moon will be staying until her aunt is recovered.”
“How very convenient that her carriage broke down where it did,” said Lady Verity acidly. “A farmer’s daughter, too! But I, too, am used to the machinations of pretentious people.”
“Miss Moon appears sweet and innocent,” he said coldly. What had Gerald Parkes said to take the sunshine from Lizzie’s face?
Sarah Walters looked moodily off in the direction that Peter had gone. She had decided to use Mr. Bond for her own ends. He must know his master better than anyone and she planned to pump him for information.
Her father, who had been sitting with his wife on a chair on the lawn, rose and headed in her direction. The duke, Sarah noticed, had left Lady Verity and was heading towards Lizzie. She moved quickly to his side and said, “I beg you to forgive me.”
“I already have,” he said crossly. Lizzie was moving off with Gerald. Where were they going?
Sarah put a confiding hand on his arm. “Thank you,” she breathed.
Only politeness restrained the duke from shaking off that hand. The squire gave himself a gleeful little hug and returned to his chair. Little Sarah was doing very well.
When Gerald and Lizzie walked into the rose garden, Peter found he was quite annoyed to have his conversation with Tiffin disturbed, particularly when Gerald swept forward and began to ask Tiffin about her aunt and then took her arm and began to lead her off down the path amongst the rose bushes, leaving him with Lizzie.
“Oh dear, Peter,” said Lizzie. “I do not think we should leave them alone.”
“Why?”
“I fear Mr. Parkes is restless and bored and perhaps he means to enliven his stay in the country by flirting with that innocent.”
“Then let us follow them,” said Peter eagerly.
A footman came up. “Mr. Bond, His Grace requires your presence in the study.”
“Go along, Mr. Bond,” urged Lizzie, formal in the presence of the servant. “I will attend to matters.”
“Lizzie?”
Lizzie turned and saw Miss Trumble coming towards her. “Where were you this morning?” asked Miss Trumble. “I was looking for you. The physician is with Miss Moon’s aunt and so I have a temporary respite. I promised Miss Moon I would look after her aunt while she joined the rest of you in the sunshine. Where is she? She is not with the rest.”
“She is here in the rose garden with Mr. Parkes. I went out riding this morning with the duke. We ended up in the Green Man at Hedgefield.”
“Gervase asked you to go riding with him?”
“Yes, Miss Trumble. But to more important matters. Miss Moon is very sweet and innocent and I fear the wretched Gerald is planning some sort of dalliance. Do come along with me and spike his guns.”
“By all means. Our little Tiffin—ridiculous name!—seemed quite taken by Mr. Bond.”
“Oh, but she is, and she is just the sort of lady to turn his mind from the dreadful Sarah.” Quickly Lizzie told Miss Trumble about Sarah’s iniquities.
Miss Trumble gave a little shiver and said half to herself, “It is quite amazing how Mannerling appears to warp minds. Ah, there is our quarry.”
Gerald was standing by a sundial. He was holding Tiffin’s hand in his own and she was blushing with confusion.
“Miss Moon,” said Miss Trumble, “the physician is attending your aunt. If you return with me, we will find out out his verdict on her condition.”
Lizzie noticed that Tiffin seemed pleased to have an excuse to escape from Gerald.
“I was doing very well,” said Gerald crossly, looking after Tiffin and Miss Trumble.
“I do not want you to do very well,” said Lizzie.
“Jealous?”
“You flatter yourself, sir. That is one very vulnerable and innocent lady, and unless you mean marriage, you have no right to pursue her.”
He tucked her hand in his arm and led her back out of the rose garden. “I would never have taken you for a moralist, Miss Lizzie.”
“I am kind and you are not.”
“You are too severe. All ladies enjoy dalliance.”
“Miss Moon has a socially ambitious father. Dally much more and you will find yourself at the altar with a shotgun in your back.”
“You dare to challenge me? You have just added the necessary spice of danger to a boring visit. I shall continue to pursue Miss Moon.”
“And I shall do everything to stop you!”
He flung a careless arm about her shoulders and gave her a hug. “You are jealous!”
The duke, emerging from the house with Peter, saw that hug and his face darkened. There was something about Gerald’s glowing good looks and youth which kept reminding him of that dreadful reflection in the mirror of himself as a twisted old man.
Lizzie disengaged herself from Gerald and ran forward. “Mr. Bond, if His Grace can spare you for a few moments…”
“Certainly,” said the duke sourly, thinking Lizzie was a trifle too forward in befriending gentlemen. He would need to speak to his aunt about it.
Lizzie walked a little way away with Peter. “Peter, do you like Miss Moon?”
“I do not know her very well, but she seems a charming young lady.”
“A young lady in need of rescuing!”
“From what or whom?”
“From Mr. Gerald Parkes. He is chasing her and he does not have marriage in mind.”
“What can I do?”
“Oh, she does admire you so, Peter. Do try to cut Gerald out.”
“How can I do that? I am only the duke’s secretary. Besides, what of Miss Walters?”
“You cannot have the slightest feeling left for Miss Walters after the way she has behaved!”
“I am shocked by her,” said Peter slowly, “but one must make allowances…”
“For what? For mad, murderous behaviour?”
“You are too harsh.”
Lizzie stamped her foot. “Men! I despair for the lot of you. I shall warn Miss Moon about Gerald myself!”
Later that day the duke was dressed to go out riding to see a tenant farmer. He reached the first landing overlooking the Great Hall and found Miss Trumble looking at the great chandelier, which was on eye-level with the landing. “It was from that chandelier that Judd hanged himself,” said Miss Trumble.
“A pox on Judd,” he said testily. “I would speak with you about the behaviour of your charge. She is much too free and easy in her manner towards the gentlemen. You should curb her.”
“As to that, Gervase, I must ask you your intentions towards Lizzie Beverley.”
“I beg your pardon, Aunt!”
“Everyone here knows you are looking for a bride and yet you go out riding alone with Lizzie without even asking my permission to do so. You are seen with her in a common inn in Hedgefield. I ask you again. What are your intentions?”
“I do not have any
intentions
towards Lizzie Beverley,” he said wrathfully. “She is at times an amusing chit, that is all. If you think I could possibly be considering allying my great name with a pert miss barely out of the schoolroom, you must be mad. I have no intention of marrying Lizzie Beverley. Good day to you, Aunt!”
He strode down the stairs and stood under the chandelier in the centre of the hall, drawing on his gloves.
Lizzie entered through the open main door and stood looking at him, her hand to her mouth. For suddenly the atmosphere of hate and menace emanating from the very walls of Mannerling was terrifying.
Afterwards, she did not know what possessed her. She suddenly flew across the hall and cannoned into him. Tall and strong as he was, the duke was taken by surprise, stumbled backwards across the hall and fell headlong, with Lizzie on top of him.
The great chandelier came crashing down right onto the spot where he had been standing a moment before. Lizzie buried her head in his chest as shards of crystal flew about the hall.
There was a stunned silence and then the sound of running feet.
Lizzie began to cry with fright, hot tears soaking into the duke’s cravat.
He struggled upright, still holding her. “How did you know?” he asked.
Lizzie brushed away her tears from her white face. “There was a sudden feeling of hate. I acted instinctively.”
“You saved my life,” he said through dry lips. The wreck of the chandelier was lit from above by a shaft of sunlight striking through the glass of the cupola at the top of the stairs. The crystals winked at them like so many glittering little elfin eyes.
“Sell this place! Leave here, Gervase!” Miss Trumble shouted from the landing.
The servants agreed afterwards that the Beverley girl’s governess must have indeed been out of her wits with fright to address their master by his first name.
“We cannot let this go unchecked,” said Lady Verity. She was being dressed for dinner by her maid while Celia sat in a chair in Verity’s room.
“She saved his life,” said Celia gloomily. “How can we rival that?”
“Lizzie Beverley appears quite taken with Mr. Parkes.”
“Mr. Parkes shows no interest now in anyone other than that vulgar little farmer’s daughter and her simpering ways.”
“Wait for a moment. I am thinking very hard.” Verity held up a hand. “We have been despising Lizzie, but there is something in her character which obviously attracts the duke. There is a certain wildness in her and lack of discretion.”
Celia brightened. She thought her own girlish manner was closer to that of Lizzie’s than the cold Verity.
“So you think we should emulate her behaviour?” she asked.
“I think we should befriend her, find out all about her. Know thine enemy.”
“I cannot understand why that odd governess of hers is held in such high regard,” said Celia.
“As to that, I think she is probably related to the duke on the wrong side of the blanket, some mistake of his late father,” said Verity with a worldly-wise air. “But I will not stoop to befriending a servant, particularly one who puts herself forward.”
“Perhaps you had better leave Lizzie to me,” said Celia. “I have a more open and confiding manner than you, Verity.”
“But you do not have either my acumen or intelligence,” said Verity dismissively, and for one little moment Celia actually wished Lizzie Beverley well and hoped that she
would
secure the duke if only to bring down this haughty miss a peg.
Not far away Miss Trumble was interrogating Lizzie about her ride with the duke. “Gentlemen are apt to amuse themselves if they can get away with it,” said Miss Trumble, “and they are apt to forget the conventions. In future, Lizzie, if Gervase wishes to take you somewhere, then he must obtain my permission first.”
“Oh, very well,” said Lizzie.
“Having said that, I must point out you were very brave today. How did you know that chandelier was about to fall?”
Lizzie shivered. “It was a feeling of hate from the house. I do not know how I knew the chandelier was going to fall.”
She waited for the governess to pooh-pooh this fancy, but Miss Trumble said seriously, “Perhaps we should leave here and go home, Lizzie.”
“And leave little Miss Moon in the clutches of Gerald Parkes?”
“So Mr. Parkes has fallen from grace in your eyes. Are you sure, Lizzie, you do not want him for yourself?”
“No, not at all,” said Lizzie. “But I think I should tell Miss Moon that Gerald is only interested in dalliance.”
“That might be a good thing to do. Miss Moon is an engaging creature and much too good for such as Mr. Parkes.”
“You do not like him?”
“I neither like nor dislike him. Let us just say I have met many Geralds before this.”
After Miss Trumble had left, Lizzie made her way to Tiffin’s room, and finding her absent went two doors away to where she knew Aunt Bertha was to be found.
Aunt Bertha had recovered consciousness, and as Lizzie entered the room was lecturing her niece in a weak voice. “A great opportunity has come your way,” Aunt Bertha was saying in a quavering, querulous voice. “You must set out to win this duke. God has put you in his way, and if you do not take advantage of your situation, then God will not forgive you. Neither will I.”
Lizzie approached the bed and curtsied. “I am glad to see you are recovered, Miss Moon.”
“Who are you?” Cold grey eyes surveyed Lizzie.
“I am Miss Beverley of Brookfield House.”
“Humph. Did I not hear the dressing-bell?”
“I will take a meal here on a tray,” said Tiffin. “If you like, I shall read to you, Aunt.”
“Nonsense. You abuse the duke’s hospitality. Go and put on your silk, the one with the bows, and mind your manners. Be off with you!”
Tiffin, as she followed Lizzie from the room, looked glad to escape. “Will you come to my room and look at my gown?” she asked Lizzie. “Aunt Bertha thinks it my finest but the young ladies at the seminary thought it provincial.”
“What nasty young ladies they sound!”
“Oh, no, they were only trying to be helpful.”
In Tiffin’s room, Lizzie studied the gown, which was laid out on the bed. It had little bows on the shoulders and bows at the hem, and was of a depressing shade of dull pink.
“What else do you have?”
Tiffin went to the press and lifted down several gowns wrapped in tissue paper.
“Oh, this one is pretty,” said Lizzie, shaking out the folds of a blue muslin.
“Do you think so? It does not have much embellishment.”
“The colour is lovely. I will help you with your hair. Miss Trumble taught me and I am become quite clever. Sit down at the toilet-table and find me your pins.”
Tiffin obediently sat down while Lizzie began to brush out her hair.