‘Yes...’ Millie swallowed a mouthful of toast ‘...but under the circumstances, I was very grateful to see him. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t let me stay.’
‘Well, yes...’ Alexandra leaned forward over the table ‘...but a man? Wasn’t there anyone else in the house?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ She straightened her shoulders defensively. ‘I know it looks bad, but I couldn’t have walked another step and there was a blizzard. I almost collapsed on his doorstep as it was. The situation was regrettable, but unavoidable. Fortunately, only he and I and now the three of you know. Surely that’s safe enough?’
‘Do you think you can trust his discretion?’
‘Yes.’ For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to her to doubt it.
‘And nobody saw you leave?’
‘No, and I saw only one other person this morning, a maid on the road, but I was halfway back to the village by then.’
‘Yes, but the snow stopped during the night.’
‘What difference does that make?’
‘Your footprints.’ Her mother looked anxious. ‘They’ll lead straight back to the gatehouse.’
‘Oh...dear.’ She stared at her toast for a few seconds and then put it down, losing her appetite suddenly. Oh, double dear...
‘Well, that doesn’t mean the maid will have noticed—’ George’s tone was reassuring ‘—and even if she did, how would she know who Millie is?’
‘That’s true.’ She grasped at the idea eagerly. ‘Thank you, George.’
‘Always glad to be of service.’
‘Mmm.’ Alexandra sounded doubtful. ‘We were going to call on a few acquaintances this morning, but under the circumstances it might be best for you to stay here, just in case you were recognised. Your hair colour is quite distinctive, after all. We’d better give it a couple of days to make sure.’
‘In that case, we’ll have coffee and biscuits in the library.’ George winked at her. ‘How do you fancy a few games of backgammon?’
‘That sounds lovely.’ Millie smiled, trying to quell a nagging sense of disquiet. ‘Just lovely.’
* * *
Cassius knocked twice on the bedroom door with his knuckles and then twisted the handle. The cup of tea he’d left outside earlier was untouched despite his having knocked then, too, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He’d given it a full hour, but without any sound from upstairs, not so much as the faintest creak of a floorboard, he was becoming somewhat anxious.
‘Miss Fairclough?’
He nudged the door open slowly, though even a brief glance showed that the room was completely empty, albeit tidier than it had been before. The furniture had all been straightened, the bed completely made up and his dressing gown folded neatly across it. He walked in and picked it up, lifting the velvet collar to his face with a curious sense of loss. It smelt like her, of soap and some other floral perfume, like bergamot and orange blossoms. She was gone, though as to when and why she’d left without as much as a goodbye... He grimaced. The answers to both of those questions were obvious. When had been after he’d finally drifted into a deep and surprisingly restful slumber and why was in all likelihood due to his ungentlemanly behaviour. She’d probably been afraid he might pounce on her again.
He hung the dressing gown where it belonged on the back of the door and then crouched down, spotting something shiny on the rug beside the bed, a garnet-and-emerald-studded gold brooch shaped like a butterfly. He held it in his palm, studying it for a few seconds, then tucked it inside his jacket pocket and made his way determinedly down the stairs, stopping only to pull on his greatcoat, boots and top hat at the door. There was nothing else for it. Even if she’d run away in the early hours, then the least he could do was make sure she’d made it back to the village safely.
Fortunately for him, her footprints were still perfectly clear in the snow, leading him all the way back to Rayleigh and her front door. Which answered the question of who her relative was. George, Viscount Malverly, and his wife, Alexandra, were passing acquaintances. If he knocked now, then he could be certain that they’d receive him, at least. The question, however, was not would, but should, he, whether it wouldn’t simply be better for him to turn around and go. Miss Fairclough’s early departure made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want to see him again and, much as he ought to apologise, respecting her wishes was more important.
He turned on his heel, marching back the way that he’d come. And that, he supposed, was that. Footprints in the snow would be the last he would see of her. Which was probably for the best, all things considered. Any attraction he’d felt, that she’d seemed to feel, too, for that matter, had likely just been the result of the tense situation in which they’d found themselves.
Besides, no matter how beguiling or intriguing he found her, he had enough on his hands dealing with Sylvia. He certainly didn’t need another woman in his life, especially one who knew all about his past, not to mention his nightmares. And it wasn’t as if his finer emotions were involved. His heart was a battered and broken organ, incapable of feeling anything positive to any great degree, love especially. Love, in his experience, led to loss and pain. He’d lost too many people he cared about and seen too many terrible things for it to recover again, even for someone as intriguing as Just Millie. He didn’t regret what had happened between them. His time with her had been enjoyable—he might even say special—but it was over and done with. She would remain a bittersweet memory in his consciousness, but that was all. Which was clearly the way she wanted it, too. Under the circumstances, running away had probably been the wisest course of action.
Now that he had his thoughts in order, he felt an unaccustomed spring in his step that morning. Who would have imagined that talking could have such a calming, therapeutic effect? Well, talking and one deeply arousing kiss. The whole experience had been strangely invigorating, leaving him ready to face the world anew. He even felt ready to face Sylvia, which wasn’t something he’d ever thought before.
* * *
It was forty bracing minutes before he finally reached the steps of Falconmore Hall and strode up to the front door where his perpetually stony-faced butler stood ready to greet him.
‘Breakfast has been kept out in the dining room, sir,’ Kendrew intoned solemnly. ‘Lady Falconmore’s orders.’
‘Thank you, and Lady Falconmore is...?’
‘Already in the drawing room, sir.’
‘Excellent.’ Cassius shrugged out of his greatcoat and rubbed his hands together, heading straight for the dining-room sideboard and loading a plate high with eggs, bacon and sausages. Even his appetite felt better this morning, though doubtless that was just due to the morning’s exercise. Now if he could just eat in peace for once...
‘Cassius!’ The shrill tones of his cousin’s widow rendered that hope impossible, making him flinch and almost drop his plate in surprise. ‘You’re back! Finally! How could you put me through such a night?’
‘Good morning, Sylvia.’ He inclined his head in greeting before seating himself at the head of the table. ‘What exactly have I put you through now?’
‘Worry, of course. It started to snow so soon after you left yesterday evening. I was afraid you might have been trapped in a snowdrift. I barely slept a wink all night.’
‘How unfortunate, although I must say you look very well for it. Nobody would imagine you had lost any sleep at all.’
‘I have bags under my eyes, I’m certain.’ Perfectly coiffed blonde ringlets bounced indignantly. ‘I do wish you wouldn’t take such risks. Magnus was always behaving recklessly and look what happened to him.’
‘I’m perfectly aware of what happened to my cousin, thank you.’ Cassius gave her a hard look. ‘There’s no need to remind me.’
‘I just couldn’t bear to lose you, too.’ She flounced into the chair beside him and clasped her ha
nds together piteously. ‘Even a chill can become serious.’
‘I believe the camp surgeon mentioned that once or twice in the army.’
‘Hermione and Isolde have been quite distraught, too. You know they think of you as a second father.’
‘That would explain their rushing to greet me, I suppose?’
‘They’re at their piano practice now, but they’ll be vastly relieved to know that you’re back.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘You know...’ A small foot coiled its way around his ankle. ‘I don’t know why you insist on taking such long walks and sleeping who knows where. There are plenty of ways we could amuse each other without leaving the house. I never lock my bedroom door.’
‘But I do.’ He shifted his legs to one side. ‘As I believe we’ve already discussed. Twice.’
‘If it’s because of Magnus, then you needn’t be so squeamish. I’m his widow and if I don’t mind, then I really don’t see why—’
‘Enough!’ Cassius laid both his hands down flat on the table. ‘It’s about time we discussed your living arrangements. It’s been more than a year since the funeral. Maybe it’s time for you and your daughters to...’
‘You wouldn’t be so cruel!’ Sylvia practically leapt out of her chair. ‘This is our home. Surely you wouldn’t throw us out on to the street?’
‘The Dower House is hardly the street. It’s perfectly comfortable and—’
‘Stop it!’ She put her hands over her ears. ‘I can’t listen. I won’t listen!’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake, we can’t go on like this.’
‘No!’ She uttered one last piercing wail and then ran headlong from the room.
Cassius tossed his napkin aside with a sigh of disgust. Why was it, he wondered, that every conversation with the woman had to end in either a seduction attempt or hysterics or both? She hadn’t been so bad for the first six months of his living there, but ever since he’d suggested a move to the Dower House she’d seemed positively determined to flirt with him instead. If he wasn’t mistaken, she actually wanted to marry him! He supposed he ought to be flattered, but the thought of marrying, let alone bedding, his cousin’s widow was abhorrent. This was at least the dozenth time he’d broached the subject of her moving out, but she doggedly refused to listen. It was a wonder to him how Magnus had ever put up with her, but then his cousin had never been able to resist a pretty face.
An image of Miss Fairclough’s notably undramatic face floated into his mind. It wasn’t as pretty as Sylvia’s, somewhat on the long side, in fact, but just the memory served to make him feel calmer again. She, he was quite sure, never threw tantrums. It was hard to imagine her being dramatic at all. Strangely enough, he actually missed her. After only a few hours he wanted to see her again, to hear her voice, too. Now that the chance had passed he wished he’d told her about his predicament with Sylvia. Something told him that Just Millie would know exactly what he should do.
He reached into his jacket pocket and felt for the butterfly brooch. He’d forgotten about it in front of the Malverly house earlier, but it needed returning at some point. He could send a footman, he supposed. That would probably be the discreet thing to do. Or he could take it himself, but what would Miss Fairclough think of that? He had no idea what she’d told her family about him...and hadn’t he already decided that seeing her again was a bad idea? After one night, she already knew more about him than he felt comfortable with. Except for the one significant fact of his real identity, of course, and if he met her again in more formal surroundings then he’d have to explain who he really was...
He sighed and tucked the jewellery away again. No, sending someone else was a much better idea. It would probably be best for both of them if he avoided the village for the foreseeable future. He’d send a footman this afternoon, or tomorrow maybe, certainly at some point. For the time being, however, and just for a while, he wanted to keep the brooch in his pocket next to his shrivelled heart.
He had no idea what to think about that.
Chapter Six
Millie walked out of Rayleigh’s Norman-built church arm in arm with her mother, smiling brightly while Alexandra and George exchanged greetings with the Vicar. She was already feeling ten times better than when she’d first arrived in the country. Alexandra had been right, she’d needed a holiday and some rest. The evening after her adventure in the snow she’d gone to bed straight after dinner and slept through until noon the next day, something she’d never done in her whole life.
The rest of that day she’d occupied herself with reading, eating and playing backgammon with George. In between time she’d done her best not to think about the night she’d spent in the gatehouse. She certainly hadn’t let herself think about the kiss she’d shared with Cassius, though during the night her mind had seemed determined to relive the moment over and over again. She had a sneaking suspicion that that was part of the reason she’d slept so late yesterday morning, although she refused to think about why that might be. Maybe one day she might let herself think about it, when the memory wasn’t quite so stirring, but for now she needed to concentrate on the future. She still hadn’t come to any decision about that, but she was in a better frame of mind at the prospect of making it, which was a start.
‘Dearest?’ Her mother tugged gently on her elbow, drawing her closer as they walked along the path to the gate. ‘Have you noticed anything unusual this morning?’
‘Unusual?’ She drew her brows together. ‘No, although I have to say I found the Vicar’s choice of sermon rather curious for this time of year. I expected something festive rather than a stricture on the perils of sin, but I thought maybe you’d called on him to discuss the Foundation.’
‘No, I haven’t spoken to him at all, although he was glancing in our direction rather often, don’t you think?’
‘I suppose so and, come to think of it, we got some rather strange looks when we arrived, too. Maybe it’s because we’re guests here?’
‘Maybe.’ Her mother sounded doubtful. ‘Or perhaps your adventure the other night didn’t go unnoticed, after all.’
‘But surely you don’t think...?’ Millie looked over her shoulder just in time to see a dozen heads turn quickly in the other direction. ‘Oh!’ A wave of mortification swept over her. ‘You mean you think the Vicar was directing those words at me?’
‘I’m afraid he might have been, dearest, yes.’
‘Lilian!’ Alexandra caught up with them, her manner brisk. ‘Have you noticed it, too? I think that perhaps you ought to take Millie home. George and I will stay and find out what’s being said.’
‘Eh?’ Her husband looked startled. ‘What do you mean? What’s going on?’
‘Correction.’ Alexandra rolled her eyes. ‘I will find out what’s going on and my husband will escort me. I’ll do my best to fix it, too.’
‘Thank you, Cousin.’ Her mother nodded in agreement. ‘I think that would be best.’
‘But he was talking about fornication!’ Millie looked between them, appalled.
‘Quite.’ Alexandra thrust her shoulders back like an Amazon preparing for battle. ‘Only try not to worry just yet. You go on home and we’ll see you there for luncheon. I shall see to this.’
* * *
‘The time has come to worry!’ Alexandra announced, throwing her bonnet aside and wrenching at the leather ends of her gloves. ‘We have a rather substantial problem.’
‘You mean everyone knows?’ Millie stopped pacing in the centre of the drawing room, grabbing the back of her mother’s chair for support as the abrupt halt made her dizzy.
‘I’m afraid so. It turns out the girl who saw you works as a laundry maid at Falconmore Hall. She followed your footprints to the gatehouse and found out who else was staying there. Then when she got back to the village that night she told her sister who recognised you from the description.’
>
‘Oh, no.’
‘Oh, yes. If you’d only had blonde or brown hair we might have got away with it.’ Alexandra finally succeeded in removing her gloves and clasped one of her hands instead. ‘The only question, Millie dear, is why you didn’t tell us the whole truth?’
‘What do you mean?’ She felt every muscle in her body tense at once. The whole truth wasn’t something she’d intended to tell anyone ever, but how could the maid have found out about the kiss?
‘You told us the man you stayed with was an estate manager.’ Alexandra’s tone was mildly admonishing.
‘He was.’
Alexandra glanced towards her mother and back again. ‘Is that what he told you?’
‘Yes. He said his name was Cassius Whitlock.’
‘Alexandra?’ Her mother clasped her other hand supportively. ‘Are you saying that Millie was misled?’
‘I say.’ George followed his wife into the room, wearing a baffled expression. ‘This is a curious turn of events. Calls for sherry, I’d say.’
‘I think it might require something stronger.’ Alexandra looked somewhat perplexed herself. ‘At least he gave you the right name, although as to why he’d tell you he was an estate man—’
‘Cousin!’ Her mother interrupted. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that the man in the gatehouse that night was Cassius Whitlock, only he isn’t an estate manager. He’s the Marquess of Falconmore.’
‘What?’ Millie dropped down on to the sofa, wondering if she were the butt of some practical joke. ‘The Marquess?’
‘Yes.’
‘Of Falconmore?’
‘Yes.’
‘But that’s ridiculous! Why would a marquess be sleeping in his gatehouse? There must be some mistake. He said he’d been a soldier.’
‘He was, only he came back from India a year ago. As for the rest, I admit it does seem rather eccentric, but perhaps he is eccentric. He grew up at the hall, but I can’t say I’ve spoken to him more than a couple of times.’
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