'Come to the library, I'll give you the document to take home with you tonight.'
He was back by the door to the drawing room, beckoning her, before Rachel had marshalled strength or sense enough to move.
The first people Rachel saw as they walked in silence into the drawing room were Paul and Lucinda Saunders. The second couple to catch her eye was her aunt and uncle Chamberlain.
Rachel groaned inwardly as she observed her aunt Phyllis quickly whisper in her husband's ear. Then the woman gave her eldest niece the first smile to be bestowed on any one of the Merediths in over six years. Rachel elected to ignore the distinction.
But she was not so dismissive of the interest stirred by their appearance.
Gossip might start in earnest if she and Devane again went missing only to once more emerge together. Quickly she voiced her fears. 4It might give rise to unwanted conjecture if we disappear at the same time. Whilst I join my friends, the Saunders, would you please go alone to collect the document, then return in a moment to give it to me?'
'No.'
There was no time for persuasion as her aunt and uncle were almost upon them. Her annoyance at his blunt refusal was limited to her stiffly removing her hand from where moments ago he'd placed it on his arm. Her vexation mounted when she saw Paul and Lucinda were not after all going to come over; now that her kinsmen were accosting her, they had diplomatically diverted to talk to some other people just returned from the supper room.
As her aunt Phyllis creaked close enough to peck her cheek in greeting, Rachel had to stifle the urge to elbow away her father's portly, corseted sister. Her uncle Nathaniel shuffled on the spot looking ill at ease, conscious that his wife's abrupt
volte face
was absurd in its excess. When last Phyllis had shown their eldest niece this much affection, Rachel had been nineteen and accepting felicitations on her engagement.
Her aunt beamed a welcome; Rachel returned her a sickly smile. Once she had been beyond the pale. Now, it seemed, she was to be allowed, nay, shepherded back into the fold. And it was all because of the man by her side.
He had forgiven her, taken pity on the unpopular spinster she had become.
Thus she was acceptable, even envied for his polite patronage. If only they knew! A surge of anger rose up in her, threatening her composure, as she recalled several occasions over the past six years when her parents or sisters had been snubbed in public by this woman just because once she had jilted Connor Flinte.
Rachel's eyes whipped from her aunt to her sheepish uncle.
'Why, Rachel, how pretty you look in that blue dress. I swear you never fail to suit that colour,' her aunt Phyllis gushed as though there had been no lengthy hiatus in their relationship.
Thank you, Aunt Chamberlain,' Rachel returned formally. 'I'm amazed you were able to recognise me at all, considering how much time has elapsed since last we .spoke.'
Rachel watched with not a hint of remorse as a flush mottled her aunt's jowls. What did stir her compassion was that her uncle visibly winced and stuck his fingers into his cravat, loosening it from his perspiring neck.
Nathaniel cleared his throat. 'Well! Well, then,' he gallantly distracted attention from*his wife's ugly confusion. 'And how are your sisters? Busy with sewing their pretty dresses? Young June will be a blushing bride. And Sylvie a picture in her frock. Yes, yes. Capital! Always a sweet little girl.
This fine weather is just the thing.' He nodded stressfully at Connor, who made a suave response to these garbled observations.
'A less sultry climate, is needed for the big day,' Phyllis interjected, fanning herself with a plump, glittering hand. 'We ladies won't want to be wilting in our wedding finery from the heat. Isn't that so, Rachel?'
'Are you to come, then?' Rachel asked in mock surprise. 'When first the invitations were sent months ago and there was no reply from you, we imagined you were busy trying to break a prior engagement. But we always knew it was bad timing, not bad manners, that kept you from penning us a line of explanation.'
Nathaniel visibly shrank back in his shoes. This time his wife rallied. Her sharp little eyes stabbed at Rachel. 'Indeed, so. You are right, in that respect.
But we are lucky in that we have managed to rearrange our schedule. Now all is attended to, I assure you, my dear. Just this week I dashed off a reply to your parents and had it to the post within an hour.'
'Why...that is good of you, Aunt Chamberlain! I trust the people we steal you from on this occasion won't too earnestly mourn the loss. And of course, Mrs Pemberton will be honoured. Why, I swear, if I didn't know it impossible, I would have the two of you for sisters. You're so alike!' Her eyes strayed to Pamela Pemberton's bony limbs and long, equine face before settling on the small, round woman close by.
'Some months ago, you say, the cards were sent?' Phyllis rattled off furiously, well aware that characters, not figures were being disparaged.
'Well, I'm sure I have not had mine as long as
that,'
she forcibly protested.
'The post, of course, is not to be relied upon; possibly it was misdirected—'
'I think not—'
'I imagine it was,' Connor drawled over her words, with a hint of finality in his voice that drew Rachel's eyes to his.
She read a warning there. Perhaps he was worried she and her aunt might start a cat-fight right here in his refined drawing room. The notion held great attraction. But for June's wedding dictating decorum, she might have thoroughly enjoyed impressing on this hypocritical cow exactly what she thought of her. Challengingly, she met Connor's deceptively mild gaze.
This
is my business
, was the message flashed beacon-like in her limpid eyes.
Don yt push me too far
, was signalled back in the blue-flame heating her face. A heavy masterful hand curved over her elbow ready to move her on.
He nodded politely at her aunt and uncle.
Keen not to let their noble host escape too soon, and desperate to know if her suspicions were correct, Phyllis cooed, 'And will you be attending my niece's, nuptials, my lord?'
'I'm soon to return to Ireland,' was all he said as, with a smile, he steered Rachel away.
Phyllis Chamberlain watched them go with narrowed eyes.
'Good of him to be so kind to her and take her about with him like that.'
Nathaniel sighed. 'I've seen her look monstrous forlorn this evening skipping from place to place trying to find someone to talk to. Took her for a stroll in the air, too.'
'Stroll!'
his wife hissed. 'I swear he's got a touch of rouge on his mouth. What does that tell you?'
Nathaniel looked aghast. 'No! Really? I'd never have had Devane for a poncy dandy! More of a Corinthian, I'd have said...'
With a withering look flung across her fat shoulder at her spouse, Phyllis stomped off to confer with the woman who bore no family likeness to her at all.
'Witch!'
Rachel burst out beneath her breath when sufficiently far away for no one but her companion to hear the expostulation.
'Hush, sweet, or people might think I'm paying my kind attentions to an ill-tempered virago.'
Rachel slanted him a smouldering look. About to snap that he could pay his attentions elsewhere, she realised that he was leading them towards Paul and Lucinda who were waiting to greet them.
'Supper was delicious. Have you yet eaten?' Lucinda blandly opened the conversation. 'We looked for you, Rachel...'
'No... I... er... was looking for you on the terrace and found Lord Devane. He was also taking the air.'
Paul and Lucinda gamely avoided catching each other's eye or indeed that of either of their companions.
Four people started a conversation.
Everyone stopped and Connor said into the quiet, T've a minor matter to discuss with Miss Meredith and also a few business papers to give you, Paul.
Would you mind if we all went along to the library for a few minutes and attended to it now? It shouldn't take long. Might I persuade you to come along, Mrs Saunders? While I bore your husband, I've a fine collection of Gothic novels you might like to look at.'
'How wonderful; I'd love to see them. I like to read.' Lucinda immediately slipped a hand on to the suave arm Connor offered.
'They're mostly my mother's books, so are probably quite romantic tales, I imagine...' Rachel overheard this conversational explanation as he lead Lucinda towards the door. Paul took Rachel's hand, threaded it through his arm and gave it a brotherly pat. Rachel glanced obliquely at his pleasant face, sure he was about to say something. Instead he gave a small, bemused shake of the head, then they followed in their host's wake.
'Come and sit down, my dear; she went in there with him quite willingly,'
Paul Saunders told his wife as she again tiptoed towards the stately double doors that led from the huge library into the Earl's study.
Lucinda inclined sideways and bent her small ear towards mahogany panels.
All that was audible was a sweet melody emanating from the music room at the opposite end of the house. 'Do you think Rachel is...well...safe in there with him?'
'If she's not, you'll soon know of it. Rachel won't scruple to scream,' Paul wryly remarked. He idly glanced at the documents spread out on the leather-topped library desk and smiled at the parchment. He'd already perused an identical set of insurance policies quite thoroughly some days ago at his office where the Earl had had them delivered. But he kept up a manly pretence of earnest interest in every conceivable form of maritime disaster.
Lucinda approached a towering bookcase and eased out a tome from the packed shelf nearest to her. 'He truthfully has a fine collection of novels.'*
'Good...' her husband said as he watched her buxom figure traipsing to and fro, novel-in hand. He pushed back his chair and went to settle himself on the leather couch by the unlit fire. The atmosphere was still warm, and he removed his jacket and sank back into supple hide. He watched his wife from beneath heavy lids; her new shawl slipped absently from her plump arms to the floor as she reached for another book on a higher shelf.
'Come and show me what you've got. I hope Connor's right and it's romantic.'
Lucinda turned, blushing at his husky tone of voice, recognising it very well.
She shot a look at the study door. 'Do you think he's proposing again?'
'Possibly...but
what
I wouldn't like to hazard a guess. Come here,' Paul said on a rumble of a chuckle. 'Let's get comfortable, it might be a long wait...'
'Do you trust me now, Rachel?'
Rachel looked at the document beneath her fingers. Quickly she smoothed it, refolded it. 'May I take this home with me?'
'Yes.'
'Thank you.' The document was made smaller, briskly and precisely, so it would fit into her reticule. But it was the other papers, rolled and tied with red tape, sealed with red wax, that again drew her eyes.
She was sitting in his chair, behind his imposing desk, where he had indicated she should sit. He had extracted the dispensation from the top drawer, but omitted to shut it. Instinctively she knew what lay revealed in the shallow recess: he was intentionally tempting her with the deeds to Windrush. Ownership of her home, her inheritance, was close at hand. And just one mantra drummed in her head: possession is nine-tenths of the law.
Her fingers itched to snatch them up.
Slowly, impertinently, she reached in and lifted out the scroll. Reverently she placed it on the polished mahogany, then moved it with one fingertip until she could just read: Freehold in Title to the house and demesne known as Windrush...
'You want me to ask for this too.' She looked up at him. He was standing by the huge marble mantelpiece beneath a painting of an enormous, fierce-looking hound. 'Why are you taunting me with the deeds to Windrush?'
'If you're prepared to negotiate for them, then I can tell you what else I want.
On the terrace I told you I wanted two things.'
'Perhaps I might not ask for them,' Rachel said, her eyes adhering to his through the candle-flicker.
'You will. Any minute now.'
She flung the deeds back into the drawer and slammed it shut, then stood up.
'You think you're so clever, don't you? You think you can manipulate me, make me dance to your tune. You're wrong...'
'Why didn't you marry Moncur or that other fop...Featherstone, wasn't it?'
The unexpected change of topic brought her pacing to an abrupt halt and she simply stared at him. 'That's none of your business,' she finally said with insolent levity.
'Knowing why you rejected them might be all I want.'
'Is it?'
'Why did you break those engagements?'
With a dramatic show of ennui she began removing pens from the holder and leaning them against the standish. 'Because...because I didn't want to be married. It was a mistake...it was as simple as that...'
'It's a mistake you make too often. Did you love them?'
'No! Yes, of course...I think...' The last pen was flung on to the desk and she threw up her hands in frustration, forming fists. Conscious of her friends next door, and to prevent herself shouting, she gritted through her teeth, 'It's none of your business.'
He'd used Paul and Lucinda as chaperons to get her decently here, just to torment her into an argument. Well, she refused to be provoked. She must keep debate between them calm and reasonable. She gazed at the proud stance of the canine in the picture. It looked untrained... wolflike.
Immediately she thought of Rosemary Davenport and her revelations regarding this man and his unruly father.