The Return of Lord Conistone (9 page)

So the rumours were already spreading
. ‘We’re not absolutely sure who did it, Izzy,’ Verena told her gravely. Cook’s strong, sweet tea and the normal demands of the household had restored her to relative equanimity. ‘But, yes, he will stay for a day or two, until he’s well enough to move. And you must call him Lord Conistone’.

Seventeen-year-old Izzy’s face fell, then brightened. ‘But he’s actually in our house! And he’s so handsome, Verena. Wait till I tell my friends! I shall write to them all this minute…’. She was already on her feet, breakfast forgotten.

Verena cut in. ‘No gossip, please, Izzy. Remember, he is our guest!’

Izzy pouted and ran off. But Pippa, her red-headed, lively,
sensible
sister, had ridden over from the farm near
Framlington that morning with a basket of eggs and had appeared just in time to catch Verena’s last words.

‘Well,’ Pippa declared, ‘David says Lord Conistone most certainly won’t want to stay for long in a place that’s been stripped of half its furniture!’ She settled herself at the table and started pouring tea. ‘Why
did
he come here in the first place, Verena? I’m intrigued. Was it to gloat?’

‘Over our misfortunes? Our
disasters?
I don’t know, Pippa. I really don’t know’. Verena was shaking her head, still fighting to dispel the dreams that had haunted her sleep. ‘And do you know, yesterday Luc—Lord Conistone—actually had the effrontery to offer me money for our father’s private papers? Or rather, he said he knew people who would pay for them! I don’t understand why
anyone
would want them, do you?’

Pippa frowned. ‘You mean our father’s letters to us?’

‘Oh, letters, maps, diaries, I think; you know how he always wrote about everything on his travels, in the minutest detail! But I told Lucas I would never, ever sell anything of Papa’s!’

‘Good for you. But now you’re stuck with his lordship in the house. It really is appalling luck’. Pippa sipped her tea. ‘Although dear Mama will be delighted to have Lord Conistone a captive, as it were, under her roof’.

Verena absorbed herself in buttering a piece of toast. ‘They say he is as good as betrothed already, Pippa’.

Pippa snorted. ‘That story about Lady Jasmine, you mean? London tattle. Anyway, you think that would deter Mama? Here is her dream: a real-life viscount on the sacrificial altar of marriage, so to speak’.

‘Oh, Lord,
don’t
, Pippa!’ Verena feigned lightheartedness. ‘Mama must be kept away from him at all costs. And,’ she added more quietly, ‘it’s going to be hideously awkward for Deb’.

Pippa knew nothing about the Earl’s terrible letter to Verena. But Pippa did know about Deb’s encounter with Lucas at Lady Willoughby’s ball.

‘Deb? I see the problem’. Pippa frowned. Then her face brightened. ‘My goodness, I might have
part
of the answer! Don’t you remember? Mama and Deb and Izzy were supposed to be going to Chichester later today, to stay with Aunt Grace for a few days and visit the shops…’.

‘But then Mama vowed she could not travel into Chichester because of the shame of the dispersal sale!’

‘Nevertheless,’ said Pippa, eyes gleaming, ‘we will tell Mama that even if
she
doesn’t go, the girls absolutely must, this very afternoon! How will that do? I’ll persuade her, never fear!’

Verena’s spirits lifted. Aunt Grace, their father’s widowed cousin, often played host to the Sheldon family. ‘If you
could
, Pippa! But we must remind Mama and the girls that—’

‘That we’ve no money for Deb and Izzy to spend on frivolities, I know!’

‘We’ve no money to spend on
anything
, I fear’.

Pippa hurried to hug her sister. ‘Oh, Verena. Anyone would think it’s all your fault! You—you don’t feel anything for Lucas still, do you?’

‘Goodness me, not a thing,’ lied Verena, forcing a smile. ‘Unlike Deb, I can’t deceive myself that the heir to an earldom could be interested in a Sheldon sister!’

‘Oh, Deb’s a fool’. Pippa was silent a moment. Then she said thoughtfully, ‘You know, Verena, I always wondered about Lucas and you. So did David. We both used to notice the way he looked at you…’.

‘Marvelling at my absurdly rustic clothes, no doubt,’ said Verena lightly.

‘My dear, you are beautiful!’ said Pippa abruptly. ‘Just
don’t let him give you any more trouble, do you hear?’ She kissed Verena and went to tackle their mother.

* * *

Anyone would think it was all your fault
, Pippa had chided. But that was the trouble—perhaps it was, for she, and she alone, had stirred up the old Earl’s vindictiveness. Her head aching with conjecture, Verena was crossing the main hall when she suddenly saw that the door to her father’s study was ajar. Frowning, she drew quietly nearer. Someone was going through the drawers of the writing cabinet.

Bentinck
. Lucas’s sinister-looking servant.

She rushed into the room. ‘What is this? What on
earth
do you think you are doing in here?’

He didn’t look in the least ashamed of being caught. He merely blinked and said, ‘His lordship wants pencil and paper. I was just looking for some’.

‘You should have asked me. Or one of the servants,’ she said crisply. She found paper and pencil and thrust them at him. ‘Although I appreciate you are needed by Lord Conistone, I would be grateful if you would not make yourself free with our house, Bentinck!’

‘My thanks, ma’am,’ was all he said. And he didn’t even sound as though he meant it.

More than ever, Verena was determined to get Lucas—and his manservant—out of here at the first opportunity.

* * *

Dr Pilkington made his morning visit, and assured her that the patient was making good progress. Pippa kept her promise, and by two that afternoon Izzy and Deb were squeezed into the old family carriage for the five-mile journey to Chichester. Izzy was highly excited. What Deb thought was made clear to Verena.

‘Thank you,’ Deb said to her with an expressive shudder
as she leaned out of the carriage window. ‘I really could not have borne staying in the same house as—that man. You will not listen to anything he might say about me, will you?’

The carriage rolled away; Verena and Lady Frances waved them goodbye. ‘Oh,’ said Lady Frances, ‘this is a wonderful opportunity for my girls! The latest fashions will be in stock in Chichester, and they will need so many things if we are to visit London again in the autumn!’

Oh, no
. ‘Mama, we have no money! A stay in London is completely out of the question, and in Chichester they will have to window-shop only!’

‘Who says we have no money?’ said her mother, looking slightly pink. ‘Didn’t dear Lord Conistone tell you? I spoke to him just half an hour ago’.

Verena froze. ‘You have no business—’

‘But he is our guest after all, and so obliging; he has money with him, you know! He told his servant to give me ten guineas and said that our families are linked by neighbourly ties, so I am to think nothing of paying it back!’

Verena went white.
No
. This was
impossible
.… ‘Where is the money? Give it to me!’

‘Oh, Deb has it. I told her to share it with Izzy, and to buy from only the best
modistes
—and to get themselves a ready-made gown each. For with Lord Conistone in the house, who knows?
One
of my daughters might find she does not have to go to London to look for a bridegroom!’

The carriage was disappearing into the distance. Verena watched it go, speechless with dismay.

Her mother gave one last fond wave, then turned with a sigh to go back into the house. But she had not yet finished with Verena. ‘I do wish, my dear, that you, too, would make some attempt with your appearance while Lord Conistone is here! Such an opportunity, even for you!’

Ten guineas
. Verena, burning with shame, resolved to dress like one determined on lifelong spinsterhood for the rest of Lord Conistone’s enforced stay.
Whatever he is up to, with his insulting gifts and his spying manservant, he will not get round us in such a shabby way. He will not humiliate my family any further!

She hurried up to her own room first, then marched to the kitchen where Cook, she knew, was preparing the thin gruel for Lucas that had been recommended by Dr Pilkington. ‘Is it ready, Cook? I’ll take it to his lordship!’

Cook’s face dropped. ‘Now that’s not right, Miss Verena, and you know it. That servant of his, he said he’d take it’.

‘Then I’ll save him the bother!’ If Lucas was well enough to make condescending gifts to her mother, he was well enough to explain his conduct. Verena picked up the tray and headed towards Lucas’s room, practising her speech.
You must realise that we are badly in debt. And yet you come here and lavish money on Mama—for fripperies!

Half-expecting to be barred by Bentinck, she knocked sharply, and, hearing nothing, eased the door open and carried in the tray with its bowl of steaming gruel.

Lucas was alone and asleep.

She put the tray down on the nearby table, rather carefully. He lay back on the pillows with the sheet pulled up to his waist. He wore a loosely buttoned shirt with the right sleeve cut away to make room for the bandaging on his upper arm.

Her heart thudding, she glanced again at his sleeping face; at his thick black hair, just a little too long for fashion; his lean, hard-boned features with the aristocratic nose and square jaw, lightly stubbled now. At the expressive, wickedly curving mouth that had kissed her and made such enticing, false promises.
The man is utterly dangerous
. Yet somehow he looked so vulnerable in sleep.

She felt a small, tight knot of yearning set up in her stomach that throbbed and grew.

Here was the man who had betrayed her callously. And yet last night he had somehow known that she’d been in danger, and he’d saved her at the risk of his own life
—why?

Why had he come here at all?

He was stirring. He was trying to heave himself up, but his eyes were still half-closed, and perspiration gleamed on his high cheekbones. She should leave, now.

‘No one must know,’ he was muttering agitatedly. ‘Do you understand that, Bentinck? No one—’

‘My lord!’ She hurried close. ‘It’s not Bentinck, but Verena!’

‘Bentinck,’ he went on hoarsely, as if she’d not spoken, ‘soon it will be too late, the French are on the trail, damn them, they know it’s here’.

Oh, no. He was feverish; she needed help. Already making for the door, she said, ‘I will fetch your valet, my lord—’

‘Verena’.
Suddenly he was awake, and lifting himself again on his uninjured arm; those slate-grey eyes were clear and penetrating. ‘Verena!’

Oh, my goodness. If he knew how she had gazed at him.

She turned round, swallowing on her dry throat, her heart thumping.

He was hauling himself up further. She saw him flinch at the fresh pain in his arm, before he said, ‘I am exceedingly sorry to intrude on your family like this’.

He is not telling the truth. Remember it. Be strong
. ‘No, you’re not sorry!’ she broke in, almost wildly. ‘I know now that you
planned
to come here, Lucas; you even sent your man Bentinck on ahead, to spy on us—and now you’ve
given my mother a purseful of money! You treat us as if we were paupers, to be pitied and mocked—
why?’

He said quietly, ‘I didn’t plan on getting shot. And your mother came to my room earlier and begged me to lend her the money’.

‘Oh, no…’. She stood stock still, sick with shame.

She remembered the day he’d let her ride side-saddle on his big grey mare. Verena had been both excited and terrified. ‘Trust me,’ he’d said softly, ‘only trust me’. Afterwards he’d helped her dismount, catching her in his strong arms, and she’d found herself straining, exhilarated, towards him, wanting to be pressed against that warm and powerful body for not just a few moments, but for ever.

Now she said, her voice shaking with hurt, and the effort to suppress those and many other sweet, painful memories, ‘Lord Conistone, while you are our guest, I would be more than grateful if you—and your servant—would interfere as little as possible in our lives. And as for my mother asking you for money—I apologise, and here is the money you gave her!’ Defiantly she reached into her pocket and handed him her little purse with ten guineas in it—her entire savings.

He took it and cast it aside. She reached across to grasp for it and his sound arm suddenly snaked around her waist.

‘I don’t want that damned money,’ he said. His hand was relentlessly pulling her closer, so that she had to sink to the bed beside him, her entire being fighting the longing to be held by him, cherished by him, kissed by him.

‘Please,’ she whispered. Her voice was agonised. ‘Please let me go’.

‘Stop struggling,’ he said, ‘or you’ll hurt my injured arm’.

She gasped. ‘How can you use your injury as a weapon, to humiliate me still further?
Let me go!’

‘What if I don’t want to let you go?’ he answered softly. His lips were close to her cheek, her ear. ‘What if this is the only way to get you to tell me the truth? Look at me, Verena! Why didn’t you answer my letters?’

Enveloped by the scent of warm male skin, she closed her eyes briefly. ‘I destroyed your letters, Lucas! I
burnt
them!’

He released her. For a moment she thought he might actually push her away, he looked so angry. ‘In God’s name,
why?’

She was backing away from him. ‘You must know!’ she cried. ‘You must know that, thanks to you, your grandfather brought about the ruin of my family!’

For a moment he stared, incredulous. Then he rested his head back against the pillows and said in a dangerously mild voice, ‘It appears I don’t know a damned thing. You’d better tell me’.

Verena remembered, almost sickeningly, that night at the harvest feast when he’d kissed her. The passion in his eyes and voice as he’d begged her to wait for him.

Harlot. Fortune-hunting harlot.

No more, Verena. No more
. To repeat those—
abominable
insults would achieve no purpose now.