by Anne Herries
‘Eliza dearest, I am glad you are back. Did you have a pleasant visit with Kate?’
‘Yes, thank you, ma’am. She has promised to write and insists that we attend her wedding, which I assured her we should.’ She heard a mutter of exasperation from Lord Manners, but ignored it. ‘May I do anything for you?’
‘Nuncheon will be served in the small dining room. Give me your arm, Eliza. I am hungry. Will you be joining us, Howard?’
‘No, Mother. I have some business in town.’ He glared at Eliza. ‘I should like to speak to you in private when I return, Miss Bancroft. My mother may be satisfied to take you without a reference, but I shall require at least one.’
‘I am sure the Earl of Standish would be happy to supply a reference should it be needed,’ Eliza said sweetly. ‘Ma’am, shall we have our nuncheon?’
She offered her arm to her mother, feeling the slight tremble of her hand as Lady Sarah leaned on her. Nodding coolly to Lord Manners, she passed him without another look.
In the dining parlour, Lady Sarah sat down in her favourite chair by the open window. She had clearly been more upset by the quarrel with her son than she was prepared to show.
‘I believe we have lemon sole with scallops in white wine sauce, minted peas and creamed potatoes today, Eliza. I shall try to eat a little, for it is a favourite dish. Would you serve it for me, please?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Eliza said. It was their custom to serve themselves from the hot dishes under silver covers on the sideboard and she quite often attended Lady Sarah.
‘Thank you, my dear. You know just how I like things.’
Eliza smiled. She had understood from the start that Lady Sarah’s appetite was not large and needed to be tempted. Small portions attractively arranged were more enticing to the invalid palate than huge meals.
‘I am so fortunate to have you,’ Lady Sarah said as the plate was placed in front of her. ‘No wine for me, my dear. I should like a little barley water—but please have wine yourself.’
‘I would prefer barley water,’ Eliza said as she poured the drink and then returned to the sideboard to choose her own food. ‘Does Lord Manners intend to stay long?’
‘I do hope he will not stay more than the one night,’ Lady Sarah replied. ‘He was always a noisy boisterous child. I did not have the heart to have him beaten, you see—though his tutor caned him on my husband’s orders more than once. Perhaps if I had asserted my authority when he was younger…’ A sigh escaped her. ‘We shall not speak of him, Eliza. Have you any shopping to do before we leave Bath?’
‘I think I have all I need, ma’am. Is there anything you need?’
‘Yes, there are one or two things,’ Lady Sarah replied. ‘I ordered some shoes, which should be ready this afternoon, and there are one or two other small things I have remembered. I have left a list on my dressing table. You will need six guineas to purchase the shoes and you should take another four with you to pay for the other items. You know where my box is…’ Lady Sarah took the key from her reticule and placed it on the table.
Eliza pocketed the key and promised she would go after nuncheon. They talked about Kate’s wedding for the remainder of the meal, discussing the clothes they would need and what gift they should give the bride.
‘I think I shall give her silver,’ Lady Sarah said. ‘I shall send it as a present from us both, Eliza. However, if you want to buy her a small present of your own, you may take your wage for next month.’
‘I shall not need to,’ Eliza said. ‘Mrs Bancroft left me some beautiful lace. It had been handed down in my father’s family. I have several pieces and I think I shall pick two that are rather fine and give Kate those. She can use them to trim a gown or whatever she wishes.’
‘That is a lovely idea.’ Lady Sarah smiled at her. ‘If you have finished your meal run along upstairs and fetch the list. I shall not bother to come with you, my love.’
Eliza did as she was told. She went into her mother’s bedchamber and crossed to the dressing chest. Opening the top drawer, she took out the box containing Lady Sarah’s money. She counted out ten guineas and locked the box before returning it to the drawer, sliding it in beside the leather jewellery box that she knew contained the things that her mother considered sentimental rather than valuable. Closing the drawer, she left the room and went downstairs to the parlour, where she returned the key to Lady Sarah.
‘I shall not be more than two hours,’ Eliza said. ‘Is there anything I may fetch you before I leave?’
‘I have my netting box,’ Lady Sarah replied. ‘I shall be perfectly content here until you return.’
Eliza nodded and left her to sit with her work, though she knew that her mother would probably spend most of her time looking out at the garden. Lady Sarah enjoyed watching the birds that came to drink and bathe in the little fountain just outside the parlour window.
It was a pleasant afternoon, and Eliza enjoyed the walk to the shoemaker’s. She paid for Lady Sarah’s order, then left the little shop, pausing to look in the window of a fashionable milliner before moving on to pick up the various items she was to purchase for her mother.
It was as she was on her way home that she happened to meet Miss Susanne Roberts. The young lady was walking with two friends and Eliza could not avoid them unless she crossed the road, which would have seemed rude.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Roberts.’ She inclined her head politely.
‘Miss Bancroft. I hear you are leaving Bath soon…’ Miss Roberts smirked at her. ‘No doubt you have heard the latest tale. You are quite surpassed by the shocking elopement of Miss Cheadle.’
Eliza held her breath, counting to ten before she smiled. ‘Is that the latest foolish tale to circulate? How people love to invent things. For your information, Miss Roberts, Miss Cheadle has gone to stay with friends. I believe she is engaged, though she told me in confidence and perhaps I should not say…’
Smiling to herself, Eliza walked on. She laughed inside as she caught the crestfallen look on the spiteful young woman’s face. Crossing her gloved fingers, she hoped that Marianne was indeed safe and about to be engaged to Mr Hastings. However, the only way to nip an unpleasant rumour in the bud was to start another, which she hoped would have sufficient credence to at least throw doubt on the story of Marianne’s elopement.
Returning to the house, she discovered that Lady Sarah had gone up to her room to rest and Lord Manners was standing before the window, staring out at the garden. He turned as she entered, giving her a hard look.
‘I have been waiting for you, Miss Bancroft.’
‘Indeed, sir? Forgive me. I have been out.’
‘You seem to have a great deal of freedom for a companion?’
‘I was on errands for Lady Sarah, sir. However, you are correct in thinking she is very kind to me.’
‘You have a way of talking that no doubt inspires confidence in the unwary and particularly vulnerable ladies of a certain age—but I know you for what you are, miss. I am warning you that I shall not tolerate this situation. My mother has become attached to you and will not let you go—but you should leave while you can.’
‘I do not understand, sir.’
‘I know you are not as you seem.’ Lord Manners moved towards her, glaring down at her. ‘I have heard the rumours concerning you, Miss Bancroft. If you imagine that I shall allow you to steal what belongs to me you are much mistaken. I do not know who you are, but I shall be watching you. Make one slip and I shall have you out of here before you can blink. Your kind belong behind bars and that is where you will end if I have any say in the matter.’
Eliza’s heart sank. She had endured this once from the marquis. He had apologised to her, but now it seemed she had another enemy.
Lord Manners imagined that she was an adventuress and hoping to cheat him of a fortune that should go to him and his children.
‘I am sorry that you should think so ill of me,’ Eliza said. She lifted her head proudly, meeting his angry
gaze. ‘I am very fond of Lady Sarah. I shall do nothing to bring her harm. Believe me, I have her best interests at heart and I am not interested in her fortune.’
‘Oh, yes, you would say that,’ he grunted. ‘Allow me to inform you of something you may not know, Miss Bancroft. My mother is intending to return to her home soon. Well, the Dower House belongs to me. It is a part of the estate. Should there be any truth in the rumour that you are her lovechild, I shall have no hesitation in following my father’s instructions. If she acknowledges anyone as her daughter or takes her daughter to live with her—or gives her any part of her fortune—she will lose her widow’s jointure and her home.’ He laughed harshly as he saw Eliza’s face pale. ‘Yes, that makes you think, does it not? Oh, I grant you, she still has this house in Bath and money my father could not touch—but she would hate to live here all the time. So think about that and make plans for your future, Miss Bancroft.’
‘You could not be so cruel?’ Eliza gasped as she saw the malice in his face. ‘How could you threaten your own mother with the loss of her home?’
‘My father made it a condition in his will,’ Lord Manners said, though she saw a flicker of unease in his eyes. ‘If you care for her at all you will think very carefully, Miss Bancroft. I intend to make enquiries and if I discover that you are my mother’s bastard I shall know how to act.’
Eliza turned away, going out of the room and up the stairs without another word. Her heart was aching. She was caught in a patch of thorns. Lady Sarah loved her. She needed her. How could Eliza leave her—and yet the threat was real.
If Lord Manners discovered the truth, he would force his mother to leave her home and that might have terrible consequences, for living in town was too tiring for her.
Eliza heard from Maisie that Lord Manners had left the next morning for London. She was glad that she did not have to see him again, but she felt that a shadow was hanging over her.
She had said nothing of his threat to Lady Sarah, but she was uneasy in her mind. It was likely that the truth would come out in time and that could mean ruin and heartbreak for Lady Sarah.
Perhaps it might be best if Eliza found some excuse to leave once Lady Sarah was settled in the country. It would break her heart to leave her mother now that she had found her, but she must do what was best for the woman she loved.
She could not leave her yet.
In all the turmoil of packing and the threat from Lord Manners, Eliza had not been able to dwell on Daniel’s plight. She had hoped he might call during their last day, but he had not done so and she hesitated to write. If he had wanted to see her he would no doubt have sent word, even if he could not come in person.
She thought wryly that Daniel was the one person in Bath who did not imagine her to be an heiress. The look in his eyes as they had lain side by side for a moment that morning had told her that he was not indifferent. Her heart ached because she knew that she might never see him again, but she told herself that it was for the best. Had he cared sufficiently, he would no doubt have spoken before this—but even though she was the child of gentlefolk, she was also a bastard.
Daniel had a proud name and he would want a girl of good background for his wife.
‘Is everything packed, dearest?’ Lady Sarah asked as Eliza came into her room just as she fastened her hat with a long pin the next morning. ‘I should hate to get home and discover that we had left something behind, though to be sure it is a journey of no more than thirty miles.’
‘The maids have been looking everywhere, under cushions and in drawers. I believe everything we shall not need is in the trunks, ma’am, and I have a portmanteau with all the little things we may need on the journey.’
‘Do you have the powders my doctor delivered yesterday?’
‘Yes, I have one in my reticule just in case and there is water in the basket with our refreshments. The others are packed in your little trunk with your jewels.’
‘That will go inside the carriage with us.’ Lady Sarah sighed. ‘I am always so nervous when I travel, though there is really no need. As I said, it is but thirty miles to my son’s estate, but it might as well be a hundred.’
‘You have me to look after you this time,’ Eliza said and smiled at her. ‘There is no need to be nervous, ma’am. I am sure everything will go smoothly.’
‘I do hope so. I hate it when something breaks on the carriage—and I should hate to be held up by a highwayman, as you were, dearest.’
‘I am sure nothing of the sort will happen.’
‘Very well, then, we should go,’ Lady Sarah picked up her reticule and looked around her. ‘Have I left anything?’
‘Your gloves and your fan.’ Eliza picked them up. ‘I shall bring them for you. You need not fear to lose them.’
‘You are such a comfort to me.’ Lady Sarah sighed and left the room, going carefully down the stairs. The housekeeper was waiting downstairs to say goodbye and was rewarded with a guinea and thanks for looking after them. ‘You will not forget, Mrs Browne, I left a letter for Lord Seaton, should he call. You will see that he receives it?’
‘Yes, my lady, certainly. The maids have their instructions. I wish you a good journey. All the staff hope that you will visit again one day soon. We have been pleased to serve you.’
Lady Sarah thanked them and went out, followed by Eliza, who also stopped to thank the housekeeper.
Outside, she looked about her. The weather was cooler and there was a hint of rain in the air. She saw Lady Sarah settled in the carriage and climbed in beside her, taking a last look down the street. It was foolish to hope. Lord Seaton obviously had no intention of calling—unless he was ill again…
Eliza scolded herself for the ridiculous notion that he would attempt to see her before she left town. However, as they were driven away she caught sight of a blue coat from the corner of her eye and, sitting forwards to look back, thought the gentleman standing outside the door of Lady Sarah’s house might just be Daniel. He had called too late and would be told that he had just missed them.
Daniel swore beneath his breath when he was told that he had almost caught Lady Sarah and Eliza.
‘They have but this minute left the house,’ the housekeeper told him. ‘Please step in for a moment, sir. Her ladyship left a letter for you. She asked me to be sure and give it to you, should you call.’
‘Thank you. I should be glad to have it.’
Daniel waited in the hall while the woman fetched the letter. The house had that empty feeling, which comes when the owner is not at home, and he cursed himself for not coming sooner. His wound had troubled him more than he had anticipated and his doctor had advised rest. Even now he was disobeying orders—he had been told to rest for another three days at least—but his impatience to see Eliza had brought him here—only to discover it was too late.
Why had she not told him she was leaving town?
The answer was plain enough. He had given her no reason to think that it would matter to him one way or the other. He should have told her that morning after discovering that she had nursed him through his fever. Daniel cursed himself for a fool. He could offer her very little, because he would have a thousand or two at best once his father’s debts were paid. If, however, she was willing to marry him and become an officer’s wife, living in rented accommodation when they were billeted in a garrison town, or abroad, he would strive to make a better life for them.
But for now he had the pressing issue of his father’s debts to resolve. He intended to post up to London to arrange for the deeds to his property to be taken from the bank and lodged with his lawyer. Meanwhile, Cheadle was in Newmarket with his daughter. Daniel had had a brief note from the marquis, telling him all was well.
I can hardly thank you enough for your help. I believe we shall brush through this affair with the minimum of scandal. Lady Runcton is a formidable lady and has made it known that it was by long-standing arrangement that her godson brought his fiancée to see her before announcing their i
ntention to wed. It seems you knew your friend well and he is indeed a suitable husband for my daughter. I am glad to see her happy and I hope you will attend her engagement ball. I shall also be asking Miss Bancroft and Lady Sarah. I shall expect to see you there. I have a proposition for you.
Daniel left the house in the Crescent feeling thoughtful. His resentment against Cheadle had gone for some reason. It had been based on his belief that his father was cheated at the tables, but he had begun to realise that perhaps the late Lord Seaton’s careless play had been at fault. He must sell his estate, of course. Perhaps Cheadle had guessed he was in trouble and wished to buy it?
First he needed to clear up this business of his cousin’s murder. Daniel’s agent must have disturbed a wasps’ nest when ferreting around for the truth. If someone had risked attempting another murder, he must have a great deal to hide. The would-be assassin had run off at once. No one had caught more than a glimpse of him.
Daniel must go to London and speak with his agent personally. He wanted this cleared up soon, because until then he could not risk publicly announcing his intention to marry Eliza. As far as he knew, no one had any inkling of his feelings for her, which meant that she was safe, but once their engagement was announced—should she have him—Eliza’s life might be at risk.
He would not feel certain of her safety until the villain was behind bars or dead, but as he still had outstanding business with Lady Sarah, surely it couldn’t do any harm to call upon her and Eliza in the country on his way back from London?
Chapter Ten
Eliza had been to the village to take her letter to Kate and three letters from Lady Sarah to her friends to the receiving office. It had cost sixpence to send her own letter for she had crossed her lines in order to get as much on the page as possible.