‘Thank you, sir.’
‘A pleasure, ma’am, believe me.’
Claire drew in a deep breath to steady herself, trying not to think of what might have happened but for the Major’s timely intervention. Seeing her trembling, Barstow put a gentle arm about her.
‘It’s all right, Miss Davenport. He cannot harm you now.’
This time the bodily contact was comforting, not threatening, and she managed a wan smile. ‘I am much in your debt, sir.’
‘Nothing of the sort,’ he replied. ‘Come, let us leave the loathsome brute and find more congenial company. I’ll escort you back to the salon.’
She nodded gratefully and allowed herself to be led from the conservatory.
‘I am so grateful for your help back there, Major Barstow. If you hadn’t come along when you did…’
He stopped and drew her gently round to face him, letting his hand rest lightly on her shoulders. ‘Say no more about it, Miss Davenport.’
‘How did you know I was there?’
‘I didn’t. To tell the truth, I thought the conservatory was empty. I wanted a cigar and it seemed like the ideal place.’
‘I see.’
He smiled down at her. ‘It’s a bit of a vice, but perhaps it does have its uses after all.’
‘Indeed it does, sir.’
‘Will you be all right now?’
‘Yes, perfectly.’
He took her hand and carried it to his lips. ‘Then I shall adjourn to the terrace for my cigar.’
‘I think you have earned it, sir.’
He laughed. Then she became aware that he was looking beyond her and glanced round. As she did so her heart missed a beat to see the tall and familiar figure on the threshold of the lighted doorway. Marcus! For a moment he stood there motionless, his expression thunderous, the grey eyes like chips of agate. His gaze raked her from head to toe.
‘I came in search of you,’ he said then, ‘but evidently too late.’ He threw them an icy smile. ‘Forgive me. I see I am de trop.’
With that he turned on his heel and strode away. Claire paled. Surely he could not have thought that she and Barstow… Almost immediately she knew that was exactly what he did think. Appalled by the implications, she was rooted to the spot. Barstow glanced from her to the Viscount’s retreating back. For a moment he seemed nonplussed. Then one eyebrow lifted slightly and he glanced down at his companion. Claire, pale before, had turned pink with mortification. However, he was too much the gentleman to remark upon it.
‘I think perhaps I should return you to your friends, Miss Davenport.’
‘Thank you, sir, I would be most grateful.’
Together they walked back into the salon. Determined not to reveal her inner turmoil, Claire lifted her chin and fixed a smile on her face. As they entered, the heat hit her at once. The room seemed stifling now, and heavy with the scent of beeswax and perfume and the press of human bodies. All around her conversation and laughter rose in a wave and a feeling of desolation swept over her. Suddenly, her magical evening was ruined.
*
Marcus returned to the ballroom and found a glass of wine. He tossed it back in one go and then set down the glass with a snap. No one looking at that expressionless face could have guessed at the thoughts behind. However, the grey eyes were more eloquent. He took a deep breath to steady himself. So she preferred the handsome Major, did she? His fists clenched at his sides. If he hadn’t had a house full of guests, he’d have run the man through. Part of him still wanted to go back and call the bastard out. And yet why was he surprised? Claire was a lovely young woman. He’d seen the way men looked at her. What red-blooded male wouldn’t want her? The handsome Major had lost no time in securing her affections. All too successfully it appeared.
*
As the evening drew to a close and the guests began to depart Claire was reminded of her social obligations. When her companions announced their intention to go, she accompanied them to the hall. She must smile and bid everyone farewell. Nothing of her inner feelings must be allowed to show in her face either. So far as anyone else was concerned the evening had been a huge success.
Marcus was already there, speaking to some of the departing company and, although his glance acknowledged her presence, she was glad that they didn’t have to talk. Her initial mortification had crystallised into anger now; he had been so quick to judge her, so ready apparently to believe the worst. He hadn’t even waited to speak to her, or to hear her side of the story.
As she watched him with his guests her chin lifted. If he could play a part, so could she. Accordingly she stepped into role, smiling and laughing, as the people departed. She tried not to think about what would happen when everyone had gone and they were alone together.
*
The clock was striking three before the last of the carriages rolled away from the door. Claire saw it go with a sense of relief. She was tired now and wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed and fall into a deep and dreamless slumber. However, it appeared that Marcus had other ideas.
‘A word with you, Miss Davenport,’ he said, glancing past her towards the study.
The imperious tone rekindled her resentment and she made no move to obey. ‘I’m very tired, sir. Can it not wait until tomorrow?’
‘I will not keep you long.’
Seeing there was nothing for it but to face the coming storm, she nodded. ‘Very well.’
He stood aside to let her precede him into the room. Then he closed the door behind them. For a moment they faced each other in silence. Almost she could feel the anger radiating off him. With more calm than she felt, Claire regarded him with a level gaze.
‘There was something you wished to say, sir?’
‘You know damned well there is. I refer to your unseemly conduct with Major Barstow.’
‘Unseemly!’ The fragile hold on her temper began to slip. ‘How dare you?’
He stared at her in disbelief. ‘How dare I? Can you deny that he held you in his arms?’
‘I have no wish to deny it.’
‘I see.’
‘No, you don’t.’
He gave a short, harsh laugh. ‘I suppose I imagined that tender scene.’
‘Your imagination is greatly overworked.’
‘I know what I saw.’
‘Major Barstow had just saved me from an unpleasant encounter with Hugh Wraxall. I was still shaken and the Major was merely being kind.’
‘That’s one way of describing it!’ He paused and the dark brows drew together. ‘What encounter with Hugh Wraxall?’
‘A little earlier I had gone into the conservatory for some fresh air. Unfortunately, Wraxall followed and trapped me there. He was drunk and he…he laid hands on me. Major Barstow came along in time to stop it.’
The hawk-like gaze rested on her face. ‘Did Wraxall hurt you?’
‘No, it was merely disagreeable.’
The thought of any other man touching her at all was unbearable. That one should have taken liberties filled him with fury. Part of him felt relief that it hadn’t gone further, but another part was unwilling to let it go.
‘You should not have wandered off alone,’ he replied. ‘It leads to such misunderstandings.’
‘I told you, I needed some air.’
His breast was filled with conflicting emotions: he wanted to take her in his arms; he wanted to shake her. His inner demon refused to lie down and be quiet.
‘Some air? How very convenient.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you really expect me to believe such a tale?’
‘But it’s the truth.’
He turned, glowering down at her. ‘Is it? Or is it rather that Wraxall inconveniently interrupted the tryst you had planned with Major Barstow?’
‘What!’ Claire glared back. ‘You cannot believe that.’
‘All the evidence points that way, does it not? Having dealt with the interloper and seen his plans in ruins, the good Major
brought you back to the main company, but not before he afforded himself the solace of a comforting embrace.’ He paused. ‘An embrace which you evidently found most agreeable.’
‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘It looked very much like that from where I was standing.’
‘You saw what you wished to see.’
‘I had the evidence of my own eyes.’
Claire’s chin lifted to a militant angle. ‘If Major Barstow and I had wished for intimacy, do you really think that we would have chosen to meet in a public corridor when there are a hundred secluded places in this house?’
His lip curled in a sneer. ‘Oh, like the conservatory, for instance?’
‘Why are you so determined to think the worst of me? Why will you not hear me, or take my part?’
For a moment there was silence as her gaze searched his face, and for a second there was a flicker of something like pain in his eyes.
‘Why do you persist in lying to me?’
‘I’m not lying to you.’
‘Can I trust you, Claire?’
Her heart thumped painfully hard and a lump formed in her throat. ‘If you do not know the answer to that, Marcus, then we have nothing more to say to each other.’
With that she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him staring in impotent wrath at the empty doorway.
Chapter Twelve
For the next few days Claire barely set eyes on Marcus and when their paths did cross he treated her with a cold civility that was worse than his initial anger. All the ease of their earlier relationship vanished as though it had never been, and overnight they became like distant strangers. His indifference and his apparent belief in her unseemly behaviour confirmed her in the opinion that his feelings had never been as deeply engaged as her own. He had been amusing himself with her company, but nothing more.
When she learned from Mrs Hughes that, in the days following the ball, he had accepted several invitations to call upon his wealthy neighbours, her suspicions were confirmed. It was clear he meant to cast a much wider net. There were many eligible young ladies among the local gentry and several of them were very pretty girls. Perhaps he meant to choose a wife from among their number. At any rate he would never consider a governess for such a position, and she had been a fool to attach any significance to the attention he had shown her.
Her birthday was only a week off, and with it the end of the three-month probationary period. It marked the end of a chapter. After what had happened she knew there was no alternative now but to leave Netherclough for a new position elsewhere and try to forget Marcus Edenbridge. It was a thought that filled her with dread. In spite of everything she could not imagine a life without him, a house where he was not. However, it was impossible to stay here. She felt certain that Ellen would let her stay in the interim if need be, but hoped the gap between this situation and the next would not be too lengthy. She would not want to impose on her friend for long. With a heavy heart she began to scan the advertisement columns in the newspaper.
Her search produced two possibilities, both in London. Before she could apply for them she knew that Marcus would have to be informed. He would need to make alternative arrangements, too. Besides, she would need a character reference. She had to hope that enough goodwill remained for him to provide it. In many ways it would be to his advantage to do so—he would be rid of her and Lucy could start afresh with someone else.
The thought of breaking the news to Lucy caused a sharp pang. In the past weeks she had come to care for the child very deeply and knew it would be desperately hard to leave her behind. It was an additional disruption that the little girl could do without. What signal did it send out when everyone she relied on seemed to abandon her? Claire was saddened to think that she too would be letting Lucy down, and yet there was no other choice now. And if it had to be done, then perhaps the sooner the better. Waiting for Marcus’s next visit to the nursery, she steeled herself to speak to him and ask for the necessary interview.
He heard her request in stony silence and she wondered if he would refuse, but at length he favoured her with a nod.
‘Very well, Miss Davenport. Come along to the study this evening.’
For the rest of the day she tried not to think about it but somehow it kept intruding on her thoughts, like his face as he looked at her. The grey eyes were bleak with no spark of their former warmth. His voice too was cold. Clearly he still thought the worst. Heartsick, she knew that the matter was beyond remedy now, that her only recourse was to get away as soon as possible and put the whole sorry business behind her.
*
She presented herself at the study at the appointed hour. He was seated behind the desk, but rose at her entrance and offered her a chair. She declined it, fearing that if she sat down her legs might refuse to let her stand again after.
‘I have come to tell you that I am seeking a new situation and to give you notice, sir.’
His brows twitched together and he shot her a piercing look. ‘Indeed?’
‘I do not wish you to think me ungrateful for all your past kindness,’ she went on, ‘but in the light of recent events I feel it is better for all concerned if I go.’
‘Go where exactly?’ he demanded.
‘To London, sir.’
‘I see.’ He paused. ‘Is this what you really want?’
She swallowed hard. ‘I feel it is the right thing, sir.’
‘Will you not reconsider?’ There was another pause. He made a vague gesture with his hand. ‘After all, Lucy is growing attached to you, I believe.’
‘I am very fond of her, but she is young and will soon form a new attachment.’
For a long moment he said nothing, only regarded her steadily. The grey eyes seemed even bleaker. ‘Are you quite resolved to go, then?’
‘I believe I must, sir.’ She hesitated. ‘There is one more thing…the matter of a reference.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. Do not concern yourself over that.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Marcus cleared his throat. ‘There is also the question of remuneration…’
‘You have already advanced me part of my salary. You owe me nothing more.’
For another long moment they regarded each other in silence. Then she made him a polite curtsy and bade him a good evening. With that she hurried back to her room and closed the door, leaning upon it as the tears welled in her eyes.
*
Marcus rose from the desk grim-faced, and paced the room several times. Eventually he came to a halt by the hearth and stood for a while gazing moodily into the flames. When Claire had asked to speak to him he had not expected that it would be to announce her departure. In anyone else he might have suspected a fit of pique, but her quiet resolution was very different. It left him feeling strangely shaken.
Over the past few days he had had time for calmer reflection and knew that his earlier behaviour had been a complete overreaction. Unusually, he had let his temper get the better of him, but somehow he hadn’t been able to help himself. Even now the thought of her in Barstow’s arms was enough to goad him to wrath. At the time he hadn’t cared to ask himself why. He had thought himself immune to the green-eyed god, but now he realised he was not. Once he had believed he could never care for another woman as he had for Lakshmi. He had believed his heart was dead. Over the past weeks he had been drawn insensibly closer to Claire Davenport: her beauty, her intelligence, her wit, her laughter had all acted on him like sunlight after a lengthy period of darkness. Her strengthening relationship with Lucy was another factor. More than just a gifted teacher, she was genuinely kind and compassionate to boot. Small wonder then if other men should notice her many talents and be charmed in their turn.
For a moment Major Barstow’s face impinged upon his consciousness and his fist tightened. The man was personable and good-looking. Why should Claire not find him attractive? It was evident that the feeling was mutual or he wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of arran
ging a tryst. How mortified he must have been to have it all spoiled by a little cockroach like Hugh Wraxall. For a moment Marcus knew a sense of gloating delight. However, it faded almost as quickly as it had come. What replaced it was sweeping desolation.
*
His mood was not improved when, the following afternoon, Claire did not turn up to ride. He had informed her that morning that he would be accompanying his ward, but only Lucy arrived in the stable yard.
‘Miss Davenport has a headache, Uncle Marcus, and begs you will excuse her.’
His hand tightened round the handle of his riding whip. ‘Has she?’
‘Yes.’ Lucy regarded him with solemn eyes. ‘Are you all right, Uncle Marcus?’
He forced a smile. ‘Of course, never better. Are you ready?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Then let us go.’
He lifted her onto the pony and slid her foot into the stirrup. Then he mounted his own horse, reining in alongside the little grey. Sensing his preoccupation, Lucy remained silent, her solemn gaze going to his face from time to time, but not daring to interrupt his unwontedly sombre mood.
Unaware of her scrutiny, Marcus could think only about Claire. He strongly suspected that the headache was an excuse—she was avoiding him. At first he had been sorely tempted to go back to the house and fetch her himself, but a moment’s reflection told him he could not. Besides, as he now acknowledged, she was probably right. The less they saw of each other, the better. The realisation didn’t make him feel better though; up until that point he hadn’t realised how badly he had wanted her company. It was quite clear that she, on the other hand, didn’t wish to see him. Thinking about his behaviour towards her, he could hardly blame her now.
*
He stayed out with Lucy for an hour and then walked with her back to the house. The child went off with a maidservant to change her clothes and Marcus headed for his own chamber. He was halfway down the corridor when he met Claire. Both of them stopped short and there followed an awkward silence. He was about to make a sarcastic comment about her absence, but one look at her face stopped the words on his tongue. She was pale and the hazel eyes spoke of inner pain. The sight of it filled him with remorse.
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