Somehow, the marquess was not surprised
when the search was finally over without anything being found. He wondered then whether to turn the authorities’ attention to the rowing-boat but decided against it. Perry would only protest hotly that he had had nothing to do with it and the house party would be made miserable by scandal.
He found himself gravitating towards Belinda, a cool figure in the inevitable white muslin considered suitable for young girls.
‘Did you expect to find a drowned man?’ she asked.
‘Not really,’ he said with a smile. One of her black curls had come loose and was lying against the whiteness of her neck. He had a sudden impulse to wind that glossy curl around his fingers.
‘Do you not plan to visit your home while you are here?’ he asked.
Belinda gave a little sigh. ‘I would like to call on my governess, Miss Trumble. She is an estimable lady.’
‘Then perhaps you will allow me the honour of driving you there tomorrow.’
‘Lizzie, too?’ asked Belinda, ignoring a little snort of disapproval from Lizzie, who had heard this exchange.
‘Of course. Shall we say eleven o’clock tomorrow morning?’
He noticed her hesitation and said gently, ‘Today was unusual. Saint Clair does not rise until two in the afternoon. You will be back in
plenty of time to resume the hunt.’
Belinda gave a reluctant laugh. ‘I feel I should not let you talk to me on such terms.’
‘I think you find it a relief to let down your guard and be honest.’
Gurney Burke watched Belinda and his friend with narrowed eyes. That Gyre, who had remained a bachelor so long, should fall for nothing better than a scheming adventuress called Belinda Beverley was too much. Gurney found himself joined by Mirabel, who languidly waved his quizzing-glass in the direction of Belinda and the marquess. ‘It seems as if my friend, Saint Clair, is no longer a target.’
‘Fustian,’ said Gurney crossly. ‘Gyre is a confirmed bachelor.’
‘Doesn’t look that way at the moment,’ said Mirabel airily. ‘But he has no chance. Belinda Beverley wants Mannerling and Saint Clair wants Belinda Beverley, and there’s nothing can be done about it and I, for one, only want to see my friend happy,’ with Jane Chalmers, he added silently.
Perry, too, observed the couple, but with satisfaction. The earl would be furious if the house party ended without St. Clair’s becoming betrothed. But Jane Chalmers was a difficulty. If she turned out to be the chosen one, then the earl would be even more delighted. Jane Chalmers was a rich heiress. Perry discounted the Hartley twins. Saint Clair hadn’t even seemed to notice their existence.
Mrs. Ingram found herself walking with St. Clair. ‘You are a hero,’ she said in her light, amused voice. ‘But does it not alarm you that someone deliberately tried to drown you?’
‘Might have been a prank,’ said St. Clair. ‘I mean, chaps will play pranks. We once sawed through old Lord Eaner’s carriage floor, just enough, you know. Carriage sets off, floor gives way, old boy running like mad. We laughed ourselves silly.’
‘He could have been killed, you wicked man!’
St. Clair beamed at her with approval. He found he liked being called wicked. ‘Oh, I’m a bit of a rip,’ he said complacently. A faint elusive scent was coming from her clothes. Her bosom was deep and generous. He felt an unaccustomed stirring of physical interest. Women usually frightened him. A few brief nasty tumbles in brothels had left him with an extreme distaste of sex.
‘What think you of my waistcoat?’ he asked suddenly.
Mrs. Ingram studied the waistcoat. It was a gaudy creation of sky-blue silk embroidered with sunflowers.
‘The pink of fashion,’ she commented.
‘You think so? I say, I am glad you are here. It is pleasant to have the company of a mature lady of discernment.’
‘Why, thank you, my lord.’ Mrs. Ingram flashed him a coquettish look from her fine
eyes and he visibly preened.
Good heavens, thought Mrs. Ingram, amused. Would it not put the cat among the pigeons were I to attract this amiable fool? I would be saving the beautiful Belinda from herself. But we’ll see…we’ll see.
* * *
Now that the novelty of being back at Mannerling was over, Lady Beverley relapsed into one of her mysterious illnesses. She had become all too accustomed to the invalid state, lying on a day-bed and keeping the servants running hither and thither to fetch things for her. And so she did not know her two youngest daughters were to visit their home with Lord Gyre. Belinda had behaved very prettily to St. Clair after dinner the evening before. Lady Beverley considered Mannerling as good as hers. She never stopped for a moment to consider that if Belinda did marry St. Clair, she might not want her mother in residence.
Lizzie was inclined to sulk as she went down to the great hall with Belinda. She feared her sister was going to neglect St. Clair in favour of Gyre. Belinda looked at her pinched face, half in exasperation and half in amusement. Only the mad Beverleys would fear a marriage to a rich and handsome marquess. ‘Gyre is simply being kind,’ she assured Lizzie. ‘He is so much older than I am. He goes on rather like an
uncle.’
‘Pooh,’ muttered Lizzie and would not be comforted.
Even the sight of the racing curricle which Lord Gyre had borrowed from the stables to drive them or the appearance of the handsome marquess himself in impeccable morning coat and snowy cravat did little to cheer her.
They drove the short distance to Brookfield House. Miss Trumble herself came out to meet them, her face breaking into a glad smile of welcome. Lord Gyre saw an elderly lady whose curls were still glossy brown and with fine eyes in a wrinkled face.
Belinda flew into her arms, crying, ‘We are come! We have missed you so much.’
Lizzie followed reluctantly.
Belinda introduced Lord Gyre and then said gaily, ‘Miss Trumble was at that musicale where we first met.’
Lord Gyre remembered only that Belinda’s companion on that evening had been a lady with puffed-out cheeks and a ferocious black wig and assumed Belinda had made a mistake.
‘The day is fine,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘We will take tea in the garden. You must see Barry.’
At that moment the odd man came around the corner of the house. Lord Gyre had heard much gossip about the haughtiness and pride of the Beverleys, but there was no sign of it as even little Lizzie greeted this servant like an old friend.
Soon they were seated around a table under the cedar tree, drinking tea and eating the cook’s feather-light cakes.
‘It is peaceful here,’ said Lord Gyre, stretching out his long legs. ‘I, for one, am glad to get away from Mannerling for a little.’
‘And what has been going on?’ Miss Trumble asked Belinda. ‘Are you having a pleasant stay?’
‘The best,’ said Lizzie defiantly. ‘It is so good to be home again.’
‘Home is here,’ said Belinda crossly. ‘What will Lord Gyre think of you?’
She turned to the governess. ‘We have been having an eventful time. Someone tried to drown Lord Saint Clair.’
Lord Gyre noticed a flicker of alarm in the governess’s eyes as Belinda told her of the deliberately damaged rowing-boat.
‘That evil house,’ said Miss Trumble, half to herself, when Belinda had finished.
‘Houses are not evil,’ protested Belinda. ‘Only people are evil.’
‘Tell me about the mysterious Mr. Cater,’ said Lord Gyre. ‘I gather nothing was ever heard of him after his disappearance.’
‘We assumed he had gone abroad,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘Why?’
‘Only that two of the grooms, local lads, who were sent down into the lake to retrieve the boat swore that they had seen this Mr. Cater.’
‘Mr. Cater was courting Rachel Beverley,’ said Miss Trumble. ‘He tried to force her to
marry him and fled to escape arrest. Nothing was heard of him since. Perhaps he was drowned at sea.’
‘So you believe there is a ghost…that people see the drowned Mr. Cater in the lake?’
‘I assure you, my lord,’ said Miss Trumble, ‘that before I ever visited Mannerling, I did not believe in anything supernatural at all.’
‘I confess I begin to take a dislike to the place,’ said Lord Gyre. ‘How pleasant it is here! I declare I find myself reluctant to return.’
Miss Trumble smiled. ‘You may stay as long as you like.’
‘Ah, my revered lady, I must point out that Miss Belinda is anxious to return to the hunt.’
Belinda coloured as Lizzie threw her a fulminating glance and Miss Trumble a reproving one.
‘Belinda always did have a puckish sense of humour,’ said Miss Trumble quickly. ‘You must not take her too seriously, my lord.’
‘I assure you, Miss Trumble, I do not take her seriously at all.’
The minute the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. This grand governess made him feel as if he had been childish and rude. And yet, he had become used to being chased and courted and fêted. The fact that Belinda Beverley obviously did not find him attractive in the least rankled in an increasingly unpleasant way.
He recovered quickly and said blandly, ‘That was said in the wrong way. I find the fascination Mannerling appears to hold for everyone extremely irritating. It causes a false air of menace to permeate the rooms of the place and leads to the servants’ tattling about ghosts.’
‘It is an odd place,’ said Miss Trumble while her brain worked furiously. Gyre had referred lightly to Belinda’s ‘hunt’, which probably meant that Belinda had actually discussed her ambitions to secure St. Clair with this highly eligible man. How on earth could Belinda or any other woman look at St. Clair with a prize like Gyre around! She longed for a private word with Belinda but could not think how to engineer it. Then she saw Barry coming around the corner of the house and hailed him. As Barry came up to them, Miss Trumble said, ‘We are most proud of our vegetable garden, my lord. Would you care to see it?’
The marquess looked surprised, but said politely, ‘Yes, I would.’
Miss Trumble waved one thin, elegant hand. ‘Barry, do conduct my lord to the vegetable garden. Belinda, there is something I want to show you.’
Belinda reluctantly followed Miss Trumble into the house. ‘No, not you this time, Lizzie,’ said Miss Trumble quietly as Lord Gyre disappeared with Barry.
Lizzie pouted but returned obediently to the table in the garden.
Miss Trumble led the way into the parlour and turned to face Belinda. ‘Now, young miss,’ she began sternly, ‘what are you about, to confide your ambitions so freely to Lord Gyre?’
‘I did not…’ began Belinda, and then she shrugged. ‘It seemed better to tell the truth,’ she confessed. ‘Everyone learns sooner or later about the Beverleys’ ambitions.’
Miss Trumble forgot all her good resolutions to let Belinda make her own mistakes and lead her own life. ‘Are your wits wandering?’ she demanded. ‘Here is a handsome, rich, and eligible man. I had hopes…’ She bit her lip. ‘Belinda, I am fond of you. I am fond of you all. I did not mean to criticize or interfere. But it infuriates me that you are prepared to ally yourself to a useless fop for the rest of your life and, yes, to bear his stupid children when you might have had a man like Gyre.’
Belinda looked at her haughtily. ‘I am persuaded Mama has the right of it and you forget your position in our household. You praise Gyre, yet what do you know of him? He is too old for me, and not only that, he parades his mistress Mrs. Ingram, at Mannerling. This Mrs. Ingram is of the house party.’
‘I have heard nothing but good of Mrs. Ingram,’ said Miss Trumble, suddenly heartily weary of the Beverleys and all their machinations.
‘And what can you possibly have heard?’
demanded Belinda. ‘You are not exactly in society.’
‘I hear a great deal more than you could possibly imagine, miss. Gyre is in his early thirties and a man like that could not be expected to live like a monk. Oh, forget what I said. Do what you wish.’
Belinda felt herself crumple. She had hoped that a lecture from Miss Trumble on the folly of chasing St. Clair would have strengthened her resolve to do just that, but here, in her home and away from Mannerling, she could feel her resolve ebbing away.
‘We must not quarrel, Miss Trumble,’ said Belinda. ‘Come, smile at me. We have been friends for so long.’
‘A friend who is all too often reminded of her place.’
‘I was annoyed. You must not stand between me and Mannerling.’
‘I think Mannerling does what it wants,’ said Miss Trumble, but in such a low voice that Belinda could not make out what it was she had said.
Lizzie looked anxiously at her sister as she and Miss Trumble walked back towards the table in the garden. Lord Gyre came back at the same time, remarking, ‘What a splendid garden. You’re lucky to have found Barry.’
‘We are indeed,’ agreed Miss Trumble. ‘I do not know what we would do without him.’
‘He is a servant,’ snapped Lizzie, ‘and one
can always replace servants.’ She then quailed under an icy look from Miss Trumble and flushed as red as her hair. Belinda quickly began to talk about the fine weather. Lizzie felt miserable. She adored Barry and yet felt he was in league with Miss Trumble in trying to stop Belinda’s marrying St. Clair. And Belinda must marry St. Clair. All the humiliations and frights her elder sisters had undergone were forgotten along with her own good resolutions never to let the house get a grip on her again. So Lizzie sat silently, praying to God to return the Beverleys to Mannerling.
At last, to Lizzie’s relief, Belinda said they must leave. ‘A charming home and a charming governess,’ said Lord Gyre as they drove off. ‘Do you not miss your home?’
‘We miss Mannerling very much,’ said Lizzie eagerly.
Belinda laughed. ‘He means Brookfield House. It is not such fun as it was, my lord, since our sisters have left. But, yes, I have grown accustomed to the place.’
The weather was glorious; warm sunshine bathed the fields in a golden glow. A field of flax looked like a fallen piece of sky, and trees heavy with leaves arched over the road.
Belinda felt strangely happy. She had the treacherous thought that it would be infinitely preferable if she could amble on through the beautiful countryside with this handsome companion and no longer gear herself up to
entrap such a man as St. Clair. But had she had any romantical thoughts about Lord Gyre—and she had not, she told herself firmly—she would have put paid to them by her confidences about her unmaidenly ambitions.