The Master of Calverley Hall

by Lucy Ashford

  Her arms were bare from her gardening and tinted gold, like her complexion, from the sun. She’d washed her hands, of course, before making the tea—he could smell the fresh lavender scent of the soap—and she’d removed her cotton bonnet, so that her golden curls bobbed untamed around her neck. Her frock—cheap and garish as it was—matched her defiance of conventional taste and he felt a sudden pulse of lust. Forget the frock. It was far more tantalising to imagine that sweet figure in nothing at all...

  The absolute wrongness of his thoughts made him draw back abruptly. Oh, no. Stay well away from that, you fool.

  She’d poured the tea and he nodded his thanks. Then he said, ‘Miss Blake. If I may return once more to the subject of the Plass Valley children?’

  Her expression, though polite, was unreadable. ‘You may,’ she said coolly, ‘though as I said, I fear I am unable to help personally.’

  Connor took his tea. ‘Even so, I hoped you may have some ideas. Some suggestions. I estimate, for instance, that the children probably have only another six weeks in this district before their families move on to other work in other places. I imagine they would require lessons, oh, for only three hours in the morning at most—it’s doubtful if their concentration would last for longer. But if they could learn their letters and some basic arithmetic—if they were to hear some stories from history, perhaps, and tales of other lands—who knows what spark might be kindled? Who knows if maybe just one or two of those children might decide they want to learn more?’

  She was silent a moment. Then she looked at him and said politely, ‘So now that you’re rich, you feel the urge to do something mildly charitable? As wealthy people do?’

  That pulled him up. He replied, with an edge of irritation, ‘That is how it might appear, I agree. But I mean it. I want to do something for those children and I want you to help me. Please, Miss Blake. I’ve advertised, I’ve interviewed for the post, but as I’ve said, time is short and I think you would be ideal...’

  She was shaking her head. ‘You don’t know me,’ she whispered. ‘You really don’t know me.’

  Again he was feeling some emotion that he didn’t want to recognise and it confused him. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. ‘Look...’ he was trying to speak as mildly as he could ‘...if I’m the problem, you really won’t have to see very much of me. I’ve told you, I thought the school could be held in the old chapel, in the Hall’s grounds—you remember it?—and you can, for your convenience, have your own bedroom and parlour in the Hall for the duration, so you don’t have the daily walk—’

  She broke in, looking very white. ‘I can’t.’

  She was panicking again, he could see. He rose and walked to the window before turning back to her, angry and frustrated. ‘Is it because of Calverley Hall? Is it because you simply cannot bear the thought of living as an employee in the place you once called home?’

  He saw a burst of the old spirit flash in her eyes, followed by a shrug. ‘Something like that,’ she said.

  He’d thought earlier that she’d looked vulnerable—terrified, even—by his proposition. But now—was she merely being arrogant? He really couldn’t tell.

  ‘Surely,’ she was almost whispering now, ‘surely you could look again and find someone more suitable than me?’

  He sat down and leaned forward to face her. ‘I’m not at all sure that I could. I saw you—remember?—with those children at the midsummer fair. They liked you. They respected you. And I’ve heard how you met and talked with Elvie in the garden of the Hall this morning.’

  She flushed. ‘I suppose it was presumptuous of me, for which I apologise.’

  He stifled an impatient exclamation. ‘Miss Blake, I’m not criticising you for being kind to her—far from it! But since Elvie’s father died earlier this year, she’s hardly spoken a word to anyone other than her grandmother and me. As I said, children clearly trust you and it confirms for me that you would be ideal for the Plass Valley school. Won’t you give them a chance?’

  She was quite pale again now. ‘These children mean a good deal to you.’

  He looked straight at her. ‘I was born into a society that condemned me to the lower ranks, but I was lucky. Miss Blake, I think we decided outside in the garden just now, you and I, that perhaps we ought to sweep aside our differences and fix our minds on this one objective—the school.’

  She was gazing at him still. ‘I can’t do it,’ she whispered. ‘Believe me, I cannot.’

  Yes, he decided, this was sheer arrogance and it angered him. ‘Very well,’ he said flatly. ‘As I mentioned earlier, I know about your friends the Molinas’ financial troubles. I believe they’re considerably in arrears with the rent on this house.’

  He saw her blink, just once. Then she said, very calmly, ‘Why, Mr Hamilton, I rather think that’s none of your business.’

  ‘It is, actually.’ He rose to his feet again and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Because, you see, I happen to own this house. In fact, I own the entire valley.’

  * * *

  Isobel felt beaten and trapped and afraid. All she could do, by way of defence, was to try her best not to let this man realise it. ‘I can see,’ she answered at last, ‘that it’s no wonder you’ve risen so far. You really have got everything planned out, haven’t you?’

  ‘I didn’t plan it at all, as it happens.’ He looked, she thought, as if he was growing a little tired of the tussle. ‘When I bought the Hall, I knew some land came with it, but I didn’t realise until extremely recently that this place was mine.’

  ‘So you decided to try a little blackmail, Mr Hamilton?’ she queried almost sweetly.

  She saw the anger flare in his eyes. ‘No. I’m merely trying to point out that if you accepted the post I’m offering, then as well as helping the Plass Valley children, you could at the same time be of use to your friends the Molinas. And I thought...’ He spoke more quietly. ‘I thought that being with those children might make you happy.’

  She truly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All sorts of long-buried emotions had been stirred up by this man who’d once meant so much to her as a friend. They welled up inside her like a great, surging tide. And she couldn’t let him see what his presence did to her.

  She rose again, since he was still standing. At the far end of the room Joseph was completely absorbed in his painting. Of his sister there was no sign, but Isobel could imagine Agnes staying out of the way deliberately, perhaps peeping in every so often with hope in her eyes, thinking, A visitor. A rich visitor for Miss Isobel.

  Once this man had meant the world to her as a friend; but for all sorts of reasons there was no chance of friendship now. Especially as she was having to acknowledge that something else had come between them. She’d realised it at the fair; she’d tried to deny it, but his impact on her was something she’d never before experienced. Every time she looked into his face, with its harshly defined jaw and cheekbones, she felt a confused heat stirring inside her like a secret threat; especially if she looked at his mouth, his surprisingly expressive, curved mouth...

  How horrified he would be, if he knew the effect he had on her. He would despise her even more.

  She met his gaze at last and was relieved that her smile didn’t falter. ‘You thought being with the children might make me happy.’ She said it very softly. ‘“Sometimes you have to learn to find happiness. Sometimes you never do.” You said that to me once, Connor, just before you left your home for good, seven years ago. Do you remember?’

  So far he’d hardly moved a muscle—all six foot of him, packed with an iron strength of body and mind. But now she saw him catching his breath. And he was walking towards her and was so near she could breathe in the scent of his fine clean linen and his citrus cologne, could see the almost silver glints in the navy blue of his eyes and the faint stubble of his jaw, where his dark beard was already starting to show.


  And she was shaken to her very core, because she’d had the most astounding thought—that if he were to take her in his arms and kiss her now, this minute, she would be helpless. Absolutely helpless.

  It was such a ridiculous thought that she almost laughed aloud. Connor Hamilton, rich London iron master, would no more wish to seduce her than he would a Calverley Hall chambermaid. He would have a sophisticated mistress—mistresses, even—in London for his physical needs and, when he did marry, it would be for status and fortune, nothing less.

  A little shiver ran through her at the term she’d just used—his physical needs. Connor Hamilton would, she thought, be as formidable in love as he was in every other sphere of his life—though ‘love’ was a ridiculous word for her to choose, since she guessed he didn’t believe in it.

  But... Connor.

  Again she felt that lurch of her heart. Something about this man made her vulnerable and afraid in a way she’d never, ever felt before, not even during the very worst times of her life. She must have looked as unsteady as she felt, because suddenly he touched her arm. And once more she felt that plunging sensation in her stomach, as if she was falling, falling...

  ‘Miss Blake,’ he said. ‘Miss Blake, are you listening?’

  ‘But of course!’

  ‘I have no desire whatever,’ he went on, ‘to force you into the post in question. But I will gift your friends the Molinas the lease of this house for their lifetimes, regardless of whether or not you accept the job.’

  His hand was at his side now and there was nothing to remind her of that contact except that her skin still tingled in warning. ‘But that’s charity. And people will say...’

  ‘People will say what?’ he answered evenly.

  She didn’t reply. She didn’t understand any of this—and what frightened her most of all was that she didn’t understand herself. She swallowed hard and shook her head.

  ‘I’ll go now,’ he said. He was already making for the door, but he paused a moment. ‘I can see that you have little liking for me personally. But if you do agree to take on the post, it might help you if I repeat that you won’t see me often, since my business affairs take me regularly to London. Though I’ll always, of course, be available if you have any problems. I hope, too, that you’ll accept my offer of accommodation at the Hall.’ With his hand on the door, he held her eyes with that fathomless blue gaze that transfixed her. ‘I shall send someone for your answer tomorrow.’

  And he was gone. She sat on her chair, clasping her hands in an effort to steady them.

  Trapped. She was trapped, by her own big mouth and by his clever scheming. She felt humiliated and stupid and afraid. Often nowadays she attracted attention from men who repelled her—but Connor Hamilton was different.

  He didn’t repel her. He wouldn’t repel any woman, with those blue eyes that made you dizzy if you looked into them for too long. With that lean but muscular body that promised all kinds of things she’d never allowed herself to even think about before. She would be making a huge mistake in more ways than one if she accepted his offer.

  And then Agnes came hurrying in, beaming. Isobel said rather wearily, ‘You never brought the almond cakes, Agnes.’

  ‘Almond cakes? I knew you would want to be alone with that handsome gentleman for a while! So I went into the garden to be out of the way. And I’ve got such good news! Mr Hamilton came up to me out there and said he was very sorry to hear of Joseph’s ill health. And he told me he is our new landlord now and there was a mistake in the letter about the rent, and we can stay here without paying anything for the present, since he sees that the place suits us so well. And he also promised he will get a doctor to come and visit Joseph—a doctor all the way from Bath! Can you believe he’d do all this out of the goodness of his heart?’

  No, Isobel thought flatly, I can’t. ‘There’s something else, Agnes. Mr Hamilton has plans for me also. In fact, he came here to offer me employment at Calverley Hall.’

  Isobel saw Agnes’s reaction immediately. The doubt. The shock.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Isobel went on, ‘everything is perfectly respectable. You see, Mr Hamilton has asked me to teach for a short while at a school he’s setting up for the Plass Valley children.’

  Agnes’s eyes widened. ‘And you’re going to accept?’

  ‘Yes,’ Isobel said quietly. ‘I’m going to accept.’

  Even though Connor Hamilton really couldn’t have thought of a more perfect way of humiliating her.

  * * *

  Connor rode back to the Hall with the bitter taste of a hollow victory in his mouth. He honestly hadn’t realised, until Carstairs pointed it out on the map this morning, that the Calverley estate included the Molinas’ dilapidated old farmstead. And so he’d gone there and used it to his advantage.

  He remembered that when she was younger Isobel Blake had been passionate about justice, both for animals and people. He remembered how once, when she visited the forge, he’d noticed a red weal on her forearm—she’d tried to make light of it, but in the end he got her to tell him how that morning her father had whipped a young stable boy for not having his favourite hunter ready on time.

  Apparently she’d tried to stop her father by grabbing at his whip, but that vicious man had struck out at her. She’d said no more about it—she never complained, she was completely without self-pity. She took everything life threw at her—including his visit, just now.

  She had coped well with him, on the whole. She had been calm and rational when he pointed out the fragility of her situation at the Molinas’ home. But he’d also seen a flare of sheer vulnerability in her eyes that had made him want to draw her close and soothe her, and...

  And kiss her? And where the hell would that lead to, you fool? Isobel Blake belonged to his old life and it was best to let that past be buried for good. There would be sneers and criticism enough, God knew, of the fact he was hiring her—he really didn’t want any involvement with her at all, other than to ensure that she had—for the time being at least—a useful occupation that might open up some future path for her life to take. As for him, he had his expanding business empire to keep him busy. He had little Elvie and her grandmother to take care of and the Calverley estate to restore.

  But all he could think of, as he rode home, was how Isobel had smiled just now, even when she looked as if life was breaking her into tiny pieces.

  Chapter Seven

  Two days later

  Billy with his carrier’s cart took Isobel as far as Calverley Hall’s lodge. She had estimated she’d have plenty of time to walk along the drive to the Hall, but as she crossed the stone bridge over the river she heard the clock over the stables striking four. Oh, no. She was already late.

  Yesterday, just the day after Connor’s visit, his secretary Mr Carstairs had ridden over to the farmhouse, had introduced himself politely and handed Isobel a sheaf of papers listing her terms of employment. She’d glanced at them and felt her heart hammering. ‘This,’ she’d said coolly, ‘is exceedingly prompt.’

  ‘Mr Hamilton likes to be prompt, ma’am.’

  ‘So he has already assumed I will take the position?’

  ‘Indeed, and Mr Hamilton would like you to start as soon as possible—the old chapel is already prepared as a schoolroom. So if you would kindly read the contract and sign here.’

  He was laying the papers on a nearby table. She’d gone to fetch pen and ink, and all the time a kind of black panic was tightening in her chest. Ink squirted as she scrawled her signature. ‘I am sure,’ she’d said, ‘that I can rely on Mr Hamilton to ensure everything is as it should be.’

  The minute Carstairs had gone, Agnes hurried in and hugged her. ‘Oh, Isobel. I couldn’t help but overhear. So soon! We really don’t want you to go!’

  ‘And I don’t want to leave you and Joseph, Agnes.’ Isobel tried to smile. ‘But it’
s all going to be for the best. I will have a delightful new job for a few weeks, working with children. Really, what could be better?’

  ‘You ought to have children of your own,’ muttered Agnes darkly. ‘With a man to love you and share your life.’ Then Agnes hugged her again and cried a little, until Isobel finally got away, and went to start packing her few things for Calverley Hall.

  And here she was. She’d hoped the walk along the drive might calm her nerves, but the portmanteau she carried seemed heavier by the minute and she was hot and anxious by the time she reached the Hall’s big front door.

  She rattled the heavy brass knocker, until it was abruptly opened by a middle-aged man in a dark frock coat who stared at her with a frown. She recognised the steward, Haskins—he’d tried to turn her away when she called to see Connor about the Plass Valley children. He said, very stiffly, ‘Can I be of assistance—ma’am?’

  She’d heard from the village gossips how Connor had hired new staff from London. ‘They’re top-notch,’ she’d heard people say. ‘Nothing but the best for Mr Hamilton!’ That might be so, but it was far from encouraging to see how Haskins’s sharp eyes scanned her drab cloak and bonnet, then dropped to the battered portmanteau by her feet.

  She met his gaze steadily. ‘I am Miss Blake. I’m going to be teaching the Plass Valley children and I believe a room has been prepared for me, since I’m to stay here for the duration of my employment. You’re Mr Haskins, I believe? How do you do?’

  She held out a hand for him to take, but he merely looked at it. ‘I was told,’ he said frostily, ‘that you weren’t arriving till tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow! But my note of appointment says today. I have it here...’

  She pulled it from her pocket and handed it to him; he merely glanced at it and handed it back. ‘It says you are due to arrive tomorrow, Miss Blake.’

  ‘Oh.’ The colour flooded her cheeks. ‘Oh, how foolish of me...’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘However,’ went on Haskins, ‘I’m pleased to say your room has already been prepared.’ He didn’t sound in the least bit pleased about it. ‘But before we go in, it’s my duty to point out that as a member of staff you should have used the side door. The front door is for Mr Hamilton and the Delafield family only, and their visitors. Please wait while I fetch a maid to show you to your room.’