‘You’re the vicar’s daughter.’ Lady Beranger frowned as she peered more closely at Flora, who was obliged to bite back a smile upon hearing her father described in such lowly terms. He would have been mortified and immediately offended.
‘I am.’
‘You’ll be spouting the bible at me day and night, I suppose.’
Flora’s responding shudder didn’t go unnoticed by her charge, and it was clear that it took an extreme effort of will for her ladyship not to smile. ‘Certainly, ma’am, if that’s what you would like. You will find me word-perfect.’
‘Save it for Sunday!’ The old woman looked disappointed not to have offended Flora.
‘With the greatest of pleasure.’ The countess had not asked Flora to sit, but she did so anyway, perching on a footstool close to her ladyship’s chair. ‘Why would your grandson keep you away from the party he has planned?’ she asked casually.
The countess scowled. ‘You ask a lot of questions.’
‘I know.’ Flora leaned her elbow on her knee, her chin on her clenched fist and gave a half-shrug by way of apology. ‘It is one of my worst failings. Papa quite despairs of me.’
‘I can well imagine. There’s no place for opinionated misses in today’s church, or anywhere else for that matter.’ The countess made a disgruntled sound, no doubt intended to intimidate. ‘No wonder he packed you off and foisted you onto me.’
‘Well, I am sorry if my presence offends your ladyship, but I have no intention of quitting my post. It’s either stay here or go back to Salisbury Cathedral.’ She went with her instincts and flashed a wry smile. ‘What would you do in my position?’
‘Ha! Glad to know that I am not quite so unpalatable as praying five times a day. But still, the question remains, do I want you here?’
‘It seems to me that we need one another, ma’am. Like it or not, we’d be advised to make the best of the situation, at least for now. I am sure you don’t want to be excluded from the party.’
‘My grandson wouldn’t dare to exclude me, even if he does find me an embarrassment.’
‘Why? Do you dance around naked, or do you make do with being rude to his guests?’
This time the old lady couldn’t contain a brief smile. ‘I cannot abide idiots, or people who take me for one. I am eccentric, which makes me interesting. I have earned the right to be eccentric and I damn well refuse to give up that privilege. And I will not refrain from using offensive language. I care little for damaging delicate ears,’ she added, pouting briefly when Flora’s ears remained unaffected by her mild profanity.
‘I am very glad to hear you say so. It’s my opinion that in modern society we are so worried about giving offence that we seldom say what we are thinking.’
‘But you do?’
Flora gave a wry smile. ‘Far too often for Papa’s comfort.’
‘I dislike your papa intensely. But then, I dislike most men of the cloth. I find them pompous, opinionated and very good at giving advice that they don’t take themselves.’
Flora thought of Mr Bolton and nodded, but loyalty towards her family and the fact that she was still not properly acquainted with her ladyship prevented her from saying so. She contented herself with offering a non-committal grunt.
The countess looked discomposed not to have engendered more of a reaction. ‘The clergy seem to think that their calling gives them the divine right to adopt the moral high ground,’ she continued, apparently determined to make her opinions on the subject crystal clear. ‘But in my experience they are the very last people qualified to occupy it. They seldom practise what they preach and live quite shockingly dissolute lives.’
Flora couldn’t imagine her father doing anything the least bit dissolute but refrained from saying so and playing into the countess’s rather warped hands. Warped in the sense that she couldn’t properly straighten her fingers. Clearly they gave her pain. She wondered what was being done to alleviate it and whether living with constant discomfort accounted for her acerbic tongue.
‘Do they?’ Flora raised both brows. ‘Well, all I can say is that they keep their less palatable habits secret from us lesser mortals. Unfortunately.’ She smiled at the dowager and sensed her struggling not to return the gesture. ‘I think it most unreasonable of them not to extend the educations of us less worldly beings, but there you have it. The clergy always have and always will do as they please. Now tell me why your grandson thinks you are senile, since it’s apparent to anyone with eyes in their head that you are actually very astute.’
‘You think you’re quite the philosopher,’ the old lady complained.
‘I’m sorry if I have spoiled your pleasures.’ Flora spread her hands. ‘By all means, continue making as much trouble as you like. I shall find the display diverting.’
‘I have never been spoken to so familiarly by such a young person in my entire life,’ the countess said, her bosom swelling with indignation.
‘Do you find it refreshing?’
‘I find it insulting.’
Flora chuckled. ‘Sorry,’ she said, sounding anything but.
‘Are there others at home like you?’
‘I have four sisters, all younger than me.’
‘Cut from the same mould?’
‘Goodness, no! They all toe the parental line. I’m the black sheep, I’m afraid, but then so are you, it seems, so perhaps we will rub along together well enough.’
The countess tutted. ‘So forward.’
‘You have still not told me why your grandson threatens to keep you away from the party. Presumably he requires a hostess.’
‘None of your business,’ the old lady snapped.
‘Very likely not, but if I am to fight your corner then I need to be in possession of all the facts. Unless, of course,’ Flora said, narrowing her eyes at her charge, ‘you are in the habit of amusing yourself by being impolite to the earl’s guests.’
The countess tossed her head. ‘Much you know.’
‘Is that it?’ Flora sent the countess a triumphant smile, defying her to deny it. ‘I have only been here for an hour or two, but already know that your grandson plans to marry Miss Carlton, so you had best be nice to her.’
‘I had best be no such thing.’ The countess’s features settled into a curmudgeonly expression. ‘The girl is a widgeon. Oh, she hides it well, but I can see through her and she knows it. She cares nothing for Luke and thinks only of the benefits to her if she entices him into matrimony.’
‘I see. And you intend to live up to your reputation and behave outrageously in the hope of dissuading her?’
‘I am old, senile and worthy of respect. But the moment that little madam takes up occupation in this house…if she does, then I shall be packed off to the nearest asylum in double quick time.’ Her old eyes gleamed with displeasure. ‘What my grandson fails to comprehend is that if he brings that creature here then I shall be happy to go somewhere, anywhere else.’ She shook her head. ‘Luke has inherited my stubbornness but I never thought him to be a fool. He is blinded by her beauty and supposedly sweet nature, and can’t see beyond it.’
‘Has it occurred to you that you could open his eyes? Clearly you see more objectively than he does. More to the point, if you know something to Miss Carlton’s detriment, would it not be easier simply to tell him?’ When the countess looked away, muttering beneath her breath, realisation dawned. ‘Ah, you have been amusing yourself by pretending to be dicked in the nob for so long that no one takes you seriously anymore.’ Flora nibbled at the end of her index finger as she thought the matter through. ‘I can see how that would make things difficult for you, but you really have no one but yourself to blame.’
‘Keep a respectful tongue in your head, young woman, or I will send you straight back to Salisbury!’
‘No you won’t. Your ladyship is already rather enjoying my company. No one has found the courage to stand up to you before now, but I am a contrary individual, I will admit that much. If I am told to do somethi
ng for my own good, I tend not to do it. And you, I fancy, are just as obstinate.’
‘You make me sound like a mule.’
‘Mules, in my opinion, are noble and much maligned creatures.’
‘Yes, well…’ The countess settled her shawl more comfortably around her shoulders and sniffed, clearly at a loss for words. Flora sensed that didn’t happen very often and congratulated herself upon handling the situation exactly right.
‘What is being done about your hands?’
‘What do you mean? There is nothing wrong with my hands.’
‘You don’t have to live with constant pain, but you must begin by admitting to it,’ Flora said, lowering her voice. She reached up and briefly touched one of the countess’s hands. A bolt of pain shot through her arm, confirming her suspicions. Flora had been accused on more than one occasion of being a witch, simply because she could tell by touching a person if they were afflicted with pain, acute sorrow and a whole range of other emotions.
Her gift was a blessing and a curse, to say nothing of intruding on her day-to-day life. She often learned things that she would prefer not to know anything about simply by accidental contact with another person, and once she did know she couldn’t seem to help interfering, putting herself at odds with her sanctimonious father. She didn’t deliberately try to undermine his authority, but her gift was simply too precious to ignore. It was far more reliable than the sixth sense that warned her when danger lurked, or if a person was being dishonest, unreliable or deceitful. She had learned with the passage of years and as a result of painful parental punishments to keep it under closer guard…most of the time.
‘I can understand stubbornness better than you imagine, but there is little point if it causes you to suffer unnecessarily.’
‘Why do you wear your hair in such an unflattering style?’
Nice change of subject, Flora thought, deciding not to pursue the matter of the countess’s hands. At least not verbally. There was something practical that she could do to help and nothing would prevent her from trying it.
‘What’s wrong with my hair?’ she asked, patting the despised coil. ‘I am a servant, in case you had forgotten, as well as a cleric’s daughter and I am not here to draw attention to myself. There is no place for vanity in my life.’
‘Balderdash! If I have to look at you all day, and it seems that I must, at least for now, then you can oblige me by making the best of yourself.’
‘This is about as good as it gets,’ Flora replied with a droll smile. ‘Oh!’ she cried, delighted when a snow-white cat stalked regally from the countess’s bedchamber, pausing when it noticed Flora and subjecting her to a probing scrutiny through clear green eyes.
‘Careful,’ the countess warned. ‘Zeus is as unsociable as me.’
Flora simply smiled and reached out a hand, already aware that Zeus would make an exception for her.
‘Well I never!’ the countess spluttered when Zeus walked up to Flora, examined her outstretched hand and then jumped up onto the footstool to sit sentinel at Flora’s side. ‘He’s never done that before. He usually uses his claws on my visitors. My granddaughters are petrified of him.’
‘Which is why you like him.’
‘Cats give unconditional love and don’t judge.’
‘Quite so.’ Flora stroked the cat’s sleek back, not nearly so surprised as the countess appeared to be when Zeus responded with a rattling purr.
‘Ah, this must be Miss Latimer.’
A severe-looking servant entered the room without knocking, gave a startled look at Zeus and then busied herself banking up the fire. Flora found the atmosphere cloying and thought she would be better advised to open a window and allow a little fresh air to permeate the room. She didn’t say so, aware that it would be in her best interests to get along with the woman who was obviously the countess’s personal maid.
‘This is Sandwell,’ the countess said, waving a hand in the direction of the woman.
‘You are very young, Miss Latimer.’ Sandwell made it sound like an accusation. ‘I cannot imagine what the earl was thinking to send someone so inexperienced to bear her ladyship company.’
‘Leave the child alone,’ the countess said, before Flora could word a suitably diplomatic response. Diplomacy did not come naturally to her, and generally required forethought. ‘She will do well enough.’
‘I can see that you are tired, ma’am, and it’s beyond time for your afternoon rest.’
‘I am no such thing.’ The countess elevated her chin. ‘I will ring if I need you.’
‘Miss Sandwell gives good advice,’ Flora said, having noticed the countess fighting against dropping eyelids several times. ‘I shall return in two hours, my lady. Perhaps then you will have the goodness to introduce me to your relatives.’
‘If I must.’ The countess waved Flora away.
Flora left the room but did not return to her own. Instead she found her way downstairs and asked a footman to direct her to the stillroom. But before she could follow his directions and make up an infusion of goldenrod that she was convinced would ease the countess’s suffering, a gentleman appeared before her, taking her by surprise. She assumed from his formal attire that he must be the earl, so she dropped a hasty curtsey. Assessing the not unattractive young man from beneath lowered lashes as she did so, she was relieved not to sense any hostility in his appearance.
‘No need to curtsey to me, Miss Latimer. Like you, I am the hired help. Dalton is the name. I’m the earl’s private secretary, for my sins, and he asked if you would have the goodness to attend him in his library.’
‘In that case, Mr Dalton,’ Flora replied, returning his smile, ‘I fail to see how I can decline. Lead the way.’
Chapter Three
Flora lifted her chin, swallowed her nerves and preceded Mr Dalton through the door that he opened for her. It led into a magnificent library, clearly the earl’s private domain, furnished with his personal comfort rather than the desire to impress visitors in mind. Nevertheless, Flora was impressed by this telling glimpse into the earl’s character, which revealed more about him than he probably intended.
There was a large mahogany desk at one end of the room, a small arrangement of comfortable chairs around the empty fireplace—and books. Books everywhere. Floor to ceiling shelves packed with treasures that Flora itched to explore. She had been prohibited during her childhood from reading anything other than the bible and books with strong Christian overtones that were intended to improve her mind. Without the circulating library to fall back upon, she often thought she would have run completely mad. She had become adept at finding ways to slip into it, unseen by strict parental eyes, and borrow disapproved of and therefore hugely desirable novels. These shelves, she sensed, dedicated little to religion and offered much to tempt the rebellious spirit.
Conscious of the gentleman behind the desk subjecting her to a scrutiny every bit as exacting as Zeus’s, she slowly turned to look at him. And almost failed to contain a gasp. The earl rose to a height of about six feet, his stance conveying absolute authority—a gentleman who would not tolerate being gainsaid, she instinctively knew. A thick sweep of dark curls failed to conceal deep-set, intelligent brown eyes, now focused upon her with an attitude of extreme annoyance.
‘I should have done it myself,’ she heard him mutter, immediately setting her teeth on edge.
‘This is Miss Latimer,’ Mr Dalton said, winking at her before leaving her standing where she was and quitting the room. Coward!
Feeling abandoned, Flora considered her next step. She should probably curtsey and cultivate a subservient manner, but since he regarded her without making any attempt to conceal his irritation, she decided not to put herself to the trouble.
That’s what came of being handsome, she supposed. She had noticed before that handsome members of both sexes simply assumed their appearance set them apart from less attractive individuals such as herself. Vanity was most definitely a sin, and not an especial
ly attractive one. At least she and her father were in agreement upon that particular point.
Lord Swindon was handsome, she conceded, even when scowling at her in such an insulting manner. His rugged features and aristocratic bearing suggested strength of character in a man who knew his own mind. His strong, angular jaw supported a full mouth, currently pinched with irritation. His displeasure at her appearance, her youth, or whatever else about her that failed to meet with his approval, set her nerves jangling. But her perception warned her that he was more worried than arrogant, so she decided to reserve judgement and afford him the benefit of the doubt.
For now.
Be that as it may, she had been introduced and it was now up to him to break the terse silence that spread between them, threatening to envelop them like an ill-fitting shroud. She stood calmly in front of him, a combative expression lighting her features, waiting for him to speak.
‘You are very young,’ he eventually said.
She sighed impatiently. ‘So everyone keeps telling me, but since I am here…’ She allowed her words to trail off, leaving him to decide upon the precise nature of the offence she had committed.
‘I apologise for keeping you standing,’ he said, finally recalling his manners. The deep lines that had creased his forehead eased and charm replaced displeasure. ‘Please have a seat.’
He touched her arm, albeit fleetingly, as he guided her towards the arrangements of chairs in front of the fireplace. That touch was sufficient to settle Flora’s doubts about him. He was not a vindictive man, nor was he guilty of the vanity she had initially held against him, but he was definitely deeply troubled.
‘You have met my grandmother?’ he asked after she had taken a seat and he’d thrown himself into a casual sprawl in its twin.
A Sense of Belonging Page 3