She closed her eyes. If only he had seen her, talked to her. She shook her head. Too late for that now. Suddenly, in the airy stillness of the little room, she thought of how Luke must have felt on that day—not the confident, strong young buck that she knew, but a nervous young man, uncertain of his welcome, knowing that, despite his title, his financial position would fall a long way short of the ideal match Lord Broxted planned for his niece.
‘Oh, Luke,’ she whispered, ‘your fortune or lack of it did not matter to me—it has never mattered!’
She sat up with a start as her mother came into the room, carrying a large basket.
‘Look, Carlotta, is this not generous?’ she said, smiling broadly. ‘Lord Darvell brought it himself; the fruit is from the hothouses up at the Court. He said his brother’s visitors would not miss a few peaches and grapes, and when I protested he pointed out that the fruit is so ripe it needs to be eaten! What could I do, but accept it gratefully?’
‘Lord Darvell has been here?’
‘Yes. I was resting on the daybed in the sitting room when Bessie announced him, and you can imagine how flustered I was to be found out. I have not the slightest doubt that my cap was askew! But he was very kind, and said he only wished to leave the fruit basket and would not disturb us. He is going to call again tomorrow, to see how we go on.’
Carlotta fought down her disappointment. There was no reason why he should ask to see her—in fact, she was not at all sure that he would want to do so.
Carlotta was carrying her father’s breakfast tray down the stairs when Luke arrived the following day. She heard his voice as Bessie admitted him and she hurried on to the kitchen with her dirty dishes. She hesitated only for a moment to consider running back up to her room to check her appearance in the mirror. That would waste too much precious time, so she contented herself with removing her apron and shaking out the skirts of her old dimity gown before hastening to the parlour. At the door she stopped, her hand hovering over the handle—perhaps he would not want to see her. If that was the case, she needed to know, and the sooner the better.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and went in.
Luke was standing by the window. His tall, broad-shouldered frame seemed to fill the little room. With his back to the light she could not see his face and Carlotta was suddenly too nervous to speak. Her mother was addressing her, and she made an effort to attend.
‘So your father has finished his breakfast?’
‘Yes, Mama. I left him with Jack, who has promised to shave him.’
Mrs Durini smiled and turned back to her guest. ‘I think that answers your question, my lord. My husband is feeling much more the thing this morning.’ She rose. ‘If you will excuse me, I had best go to him; he may even now be thinking of getting out of his bed.’ She added with a slightly distracted air, ‘I have instructed Bessie to bring in refreshments for our visitor, Carlotta. Pray look after him.’ She was gone upon the words.
Carlotta cleared her throat. ‘My mother is very anxious for Papa…’
‘You do not need to explain.’ As he moved away from the window she was relieved to see he was not frowning. ‘She has left the door open; there can be no impropriety.’
Carlotta nodded, thankful for his efforts to put her at her ease. Bessie came in, carefully carrying a tray bearing glasses and two decanters. They watched in silence as the maid put her burden down upon a side table, bobbed a curtsy and scurried out again. Carlotta looked at the tray in dismay.
‘Oh dear, I expected her to bring in some small beer for you; I have no idea what is in these…’
‘I am being treated as an honoured guest,’ he remarked, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. ‘Allow me.’ He walked over to the table. ‘One is quite clearly brandy. The other…’ he lifted the stopper from the decanter and sniffed it ‘…sherry, I think. By your leave, Miss Rivington, I shall help myself to a little brandy. May I pour you a glass of something?’
‘N-no, thank you.’ Already nervous, Carlotta knew it would be unwise to accept, especially when she had never tried either of those beverages. She watched him fill his glass and take a seat opposite her.
‘You had no unwelcome visitors?’ he asked.
‘No, my lord. I explained everything to Jack and he insisted upon bringing Mack, his dog, into the house, but we have not been disturbed.’
‘And have you spoken to your father about the attack?’
She nodded. ‘He was well enough to talk about it yesterday. He remembers very little, except being set upon as he climbed over the stile.’ She sighed. ‘We can none of us think of a reason for such an attack. It must have been footpads.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘You sound doubtful—what do you know?’
‘Nothing, but robberies usually take place upon known highways, not little-used paths.’
She shuddered. ‘I hate to think that someone wishes to harm Papa.’
‘Perhaps I am wrong; I do not wish to make you anxious. All I ask is that you take care.’
The concern in his voice touched her. She tried to put on a brave face.
‘Well, Papa will be confined to the house for a few weeks at least, and Jack will not leave his side.’ Carlotta hesitated. It was important that he realise how grateful she was for his help. She cleared her throat. ‘While we are alone, sir, please let me thank you for bringing me from London—’
‘It is not necessary.’
‘I think it is, especially—especially when I think of what I said to you.’ Her voice failed. She took a deep breath to regain control. ‘I was very much at fault.’
‘We were both at fault,’ he responded quietly.
She clasped her hands tightly together. ‘Then, is it—do you think we might be…friends?’
Luke regarded her sombrely. As the silence lengthened Carlotta’s heart sank. Perhaps too many insults had been traded. Perhaps she had given him too great a disgust of her. Nervous, hurried words began to tumble from her lips.
‘I am aware that there have been misunderstandings and I regret that, very much. But—but if you could only bring yourself to forget everything that has passed between us, I…I would very m-much value your friendship.’
Her fingers were digging into her palms as she fought down the urge to weep. She could do no more. Her apology was heartfelt, but perhaps it was not enough.
‘My memory is yours to command, ma’am.’ He spoke lightly, and there was a strange look in his eyes, but his words gave her hope.
‘Oh, yes, please, my lord! If we could begin again, from today, perhaps we could be true friends.’
‘If that is what you wish, consider it so, Miss Rivington.’
Carlotta sighed and closed her eyes, feeling that a great weight had lifted from her shoulders.
‘Thank you, you are very good.’
A rustle of skirts and hasty step announced Mrs Durini’s return. She came bustling into the room, tutting.
‘Well, what a good thing I went up. Giovanni had persuaded Jack to bring his clothes and was preparing to come downstairs! If ever I saw the like—I told him he must not even think of getting out of bed until the doctor has seen him again.’
‘And when will that be, ma’am?’ asked Luke.
‘Tomorrow, although how we will persuade him to remain in bed until then I do not know.’
‘We shall hide his clothes, Mama. Then he will be obliged to keep to his room.’
‘Yes, we can do that.’ Mrs Durini sank down on the sofa. ‘Doctor Johnson has told me that he must rest, but he is not an easy patient. Thank goodness I shall have you to help me, Carla, at least for a few days.’
‘Oh, but I shall not quit you now, Mama. Not until Papa is better.’
‘But of course you must go,’ exclaimed Mrs Durini, regarding her in some surprise. She put one hand to her head. ‘But of course, you do not know—oh, I shall go distracted, I vow! Your aunt has written; she sent it express and it arrived while you were with Papa t
his morning. They are coming down to Malberry as planned and will collect you on their way.’
‘No!’ Carlotta shook her head vehemently. ‘I cannot leave—she does not know how matters stand here!’
‘Well, naturally she knows that if Giovanni was seriously ill there would be no question of you leaving us, and she says as much in her note. But that is not the case, my love. And she has explained to me about—I mean—she has explained how important it is for you to join her at Malberry.’
Carlotta flushed scarlet at the knowing look her mother gave her.
‘No—I—that is—’
‘Your mother is right,’ said Luke quietly. ‘If your father continues his recovery, there is no reason why you should not join the house party at the Court. You may rely upon my discretion.’
‘That is very good of you, my lord.’ Mrs Durini fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘I do not know what my daughter has said to you about the arrangement with Lord and Lady Broxted…’
‘Nothing to the detriment of her parents, ma’am, I assure you. However, I am aware it is not generally known that you are living at Malberry.’ A noise from upstairs made him look up. ‘I am keeping you from your patient. I must go.’
Mrs Durini rose and held out her hand to him. ‘I am very grateful for your kindness to us, my lord. Remember, you are welcome to call here at any time.’
‘Thank you, ma’am. You are most kind.’
Luke kicked viciously at the thistles in his path as he walked back to Malberry Court. So she wanted to forget everything. Hah! If only that were possible. What he would give to banish her from his mind, to forget how sweet she had tasted, how soft and yielding she had felt in his arms, but that night at Malberry was burned into his memory. He would never forget it, even if she could. But he had agreed that they should start again as friends. Friends! His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. She wanted to keep him as a friend while she accepted an offer from Daniel Woollatt—as though he could stand by while she became another man’s wife. Luke stopped. That was just what he must do: if Woollatt was her choice, then so be it. After all, what had he to offer her except an impoverished title and an estate that would take years to turn a profit? No, he could not ask that of her. She wanted him as a friend—needed him as a friend. Aye, that was some small comfort. That is what he would be, although every moment he was near her, knowing she could never be his, would twist the knife a little deeper into his soul.
When Lord Broxted’s travelling coach swept through the gates of Malberry Court a few days later, Carlotta was once again dressed as befitted a member of the earl’s family. Lady Broxted had insisted she put on her cream flounced gown, holly-green spencer and matching silk bonnet before setting out for the Court and now she nodded in approbation, declaring that her niece was once more fit to be seen.
‘So now we shall see these famous frescoes we have heard so much about,’ remarked Lady Broxted, leaning forward to gaze out of the window at the approaching house.
‘My dear, I think the least said about the paintings the better,’ returned the earl repressively.
Apart from an airy wave of her hand, Lady Broxted ignored him. ‘You must show me the ones you worked upon, my love. What a pity it is that we cannot tell anyone about your painting, because you are a clever little puss, when all’s said and done.’
Carlotta repressed a smile. ‘Thank you, Aunt. I painted the two smaller roundels on the ceiling of the portico, here at the main entrance.’
The carriage pulled up at the foot of the shallow steps and a liveried footman hurried forward to open the door.
‘You will do nothing to draw attention to these paintings, madam,’ muttered the earl as he handed his wife out of the carriage.
‘No, of course not, but I must see them.’
As they ascended the steps she glanced up at the ceiling behind the soaring pillars that supported the portico.
‘Oh, my heavens!’ Lady Broxted began to ply her fan furiously. ‘My dear child! The nymphs—’
‘They are maenads, Aunt,’ said Carlotta. ‘It is Dionysius surrounded by dancing maenads.’
‘Never mind what they are called.’ Lady Broxted lifted her fan to cover her mouth while she whispered to Carlotta, ‘They are naked!’
‘No, no, they have a diaphanous veil that covers them, a little,’ Carlotta replied soothingly. ‘But my efforts are the smaller roundels: the grapes and the lyre. I did not paint the maenads.’
‘No, but you were very close to them!’ Lady Broxted lowered her eyes and hurried into the house. ‘Heaven and earth, Carlotta, I hope we are never found out!’
Suppressing her giggles with difficulty, Carlotta followed her aunt inside.
The hall was very crowded and Carlotta’s first, alarming thought was that everyone had come to greet them, but a quick glance around showed her that they were all in riding dress. James Ainslowe separated himself from the crowd and came forward, grinning broadly.
‘Welcome, my lord, Lady Broxted…Miss Rivington. We did not know what time to expect you and have this minute sent word to the stables. We could put off our ride for an hour, if you would like to join us…’
Lord Broxted put up his hand. ‘No, no, Ainslowe, you must carry on.’
‘Of course they do not want to come riding with us,’ exclaimed Adele, stepping forward to greet the new arrivals. ‘They will want to rest and refresh themselves after their long journey, is that not so?’
Her smiling question encompassed them all, and Carlotta was tempted to say that her journey had been no more than a mile, and that she would dearly love to go riding. She was obliged to press her lips together to prevent any such impulsive utterance. Carlotta glanced at the assembled group; she knew them all: Mr and Mrs Price and Julia, Lord Fairbridge, Sir Gilbert Mattingwood, Lord Darvell—Carlotta gave Luke a shy smile, hoping he would come over to her, but even as her eyes found his, Mr Woollatt was pushing past him and bustling forward, his face wreathed in smiles.
‘Miss Rivington, the day is suddenly all the brighter now that you are here. I am sure our host will understand if I cry off from our ride now.’
Luke raised his brows. ‘Oh, why should you want to do that, sir, if, as you say, the day is suddenly so much brighter?’
A bubble of laughter rose in Carlotta’s throat and she was obliged to turn it into a cough. Mr Woollatt was in no way put out.
‘I was speaking metaphorically, my lord. If you will allow me, Ainslowe, I shall not ride with you. Instead I shall go upstairs and change. Then I shall be on hand to entertain our new guests until you have all returned from your ride. There, now, what have you to say to that?’
In the face of his smiling self-satisfaction, Carlotta could find nothing to say and it was left to her aunt to speak up.
‘An excellent idea, Mr Woollatt. How kind of you to think of our comfort.’
‘Well, then, if that is settled, we had best get on,’ declared Mr Ainslowe, shrugging.
‘And I must find my man to help me change,’ muttered Mr Woollatt. ‘Never seems to answer my bell, whereas your man always seems to be on hand, Mattingwood. I’m always tripping over the fellow!’
Sir Gilbert, who had been casting an admiring glance at Carlotta, laughed at him. ‘Reed is very conscientious and likes to be close by in case I need him.’
‘Well, there is no need for him to be hovering in the corridors,’ put in James. ‘There is a bell-pull in every bedchamber so you can ring for him from your room. Perhaps you should explain that to him, Mattingwood.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Sir Gilbert. ‘I will.’
A flurry of activity followed and for a few moments noisy chaos reigned in the hall. The riding party made its way outside, narrowly avoiding the puffing footmen who were carrying in the corded trunks bearing the Broxted coat of arms. Mr Woollatt exchanged a final few words with Lady Broxted before disappearing up the stairs while Lord Broxted was assured by his host that the housekeeper would be down soon to show them to their rooms.<
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‘Carlotta, my dear, are you ready?’
Lady Broxted peeped into the little bedchamber and Carlotta turned from her mirror.
‘I am, ma’am. I just need my fan…’
‘How quick you are,’ declared her aunt, coming into the room. ‘You will see that I am not yet changed. Jarvis has only now unpacked the gown I wish to wear. But if you are dressed there is no need for you to wait for me; you may go on down to the library and I shall join you shortly.’ She handed Carlotta her fan and propelled her towards the door.
‘Oh, but I would much prefer to sit here and read until you are ready, Aunt,’ said Carlotta, resisting.
‘No, you must go on. By all means take your book down with you, love. I am sure the light will be much better there and after all, the library is the proper place for book-reading.’
Smiling, Carlotta made her way downstairs. She was honest enough to admit that she was happy to have the opportunity to explore the house while most of the guests were absent. She was curious to see how the rooms looked now they were furnished. She could not linger in the hall, liveried servants were on duty there, but the new bell system, installed while her father had been working at the house, meant that it was no longer necessary to have footmen waiting in every room. She forced herself to hesitate as she reached the foot of the stairs, as if unsure of her way; after all, it was meant to be her first visit to Malberry Court.
She passed through the small ante-room where doors led to both the library and the drawing room, then went into the library, closing the door carefully behind her. The lofty ceiling was painted in shades of blue, from deepest indigo to near-white, the intricate pattern matched exactly by the huge Axminster carpet that covered the floor. She remembered her father’s apprentice had carried out most of the painting in this room, for there were none of the impressive murals that were her father’s trademark, any wall space not covered by bookshelves being left bare to display Mr Ainslowe’s art collection. This mainly comprised family portraits and conversation pieces, but on one wall there was a single large canvas showing a more classical scene. It must be the Tiepolo, she thought. She was moving towards the picture to study it more closely when she heard the door open.
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