The Master of Calverley Hall

by Lucy Ashford

  She was devastated to think that Connor believed them. And perhaps she really was secretly shameful, in her thoughts at least—because as she left the chapel and walked out into the lush greenery of the garden, her body still trembled from his nearness and her lips still imagined his kiss.

  Chapter Twelve

  The evening meal she was supposed to share with Connor and Laura developed into yet another disaster. Firstly, a footman she met on her way down to the dining room warned her that she wasn’t expected there until a quarter past seven.

  ‘I thought I was meant to join Mr Hamilton and Mrs Delafield at seven,’ she said, confused.

  ‘Oh, no, ma’am,’ the footman said earnestly. ‘It will look most odd if you arrive before a quarter past, I assure you.’

  He was one of the young footmen whom she suspected of salting her supper that first night. She should have known he wished her ill. By the time she arrived, the first course was already being served—and she also realised, to her horror, that there were two guests: a fashionably dressed couple who regarded her with polite surprise.

  What an atrocious start to the evening.

  ‘My apologies to everyone,’ Isobel began, colouring as they all turned to look at her. ‘What a scatterbrain I am, to be sure!’

  Connor had risen the moment she entered. ‘It doesn’t matter, Miss Blake. Though I did send a message to inform you we had guests.’

  No doubt he’d sent the message via that smirking footman, telling her not to come. Then she realised, with another sickening lurch, that there wasn’t a place set for her. She wished she could vanish into thin air, but Connor had already given a signal to the staff and another chair was being brought, another place set. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Connor had said. But she knew it did.

  Connor was dressed formally. He looked superb in his black evening coat and white cravat, and for a moment, as he held her eyes with his own penetrating blue ones, she felt unable to speak or even breathe. She could guess what he was thinking. No doubt he was wishing the pesky Miss Blake a million miles from here. At least her chair was next to Laura’s—that was a small mercy—and Laura couldn’t have been kinder, pointing out the dishes and the condiments, asking her what she wished to drink.

  It was quite a few minutes before Isobel had time to take further notice of the two guests. The man was around Connor’s age; he had fashionably cropped blond hair and his languid gaze flickered over Isobel curiously. The woman was a little younger, raven-haired and elegant in a dark green silk gown. Before Isobel had time to wonder who they were, Connor announced the guests as Roderick Staithe and his sister Helena. ‘They are London acquaintances of mine,’ he added.

  ‘And we arrived rather unexpectedly,’ put in Roderick Staithe in a drawling voice. ‘We’re on our way to Bath, my sister and I. We have a house on the Crescent and thought we’d spend a little time away from London. All that heat and dust in the capital in summer, you know? But when we realised we would be travelling close by Calverley Hall, we thought, we really must call in and see how our friend Connor’s faring. He astonished us all, by buying this place out in the wilds!’ He was staring at Isobel. ‘So you’re a governess, are you?’

  Isobel flushed because his pale eyes were devouring her. ‘Not quite. I’m a teacher, Mr Staithe.’

  Staithe nodded. ‘Same thing, surely? Connor’s told us a little and I must say I thought, “Now, is the country air getting to Connor’s head? Setting up a summer school for the children of tinkers?”’ He laughed. ‘Though Connor’s notions are often surprisingly good. He and my father and Miles Delafield once dabbled in quite a few projects together. Connor supplied the ideas, Miles provided the experience and my father, who was in Parliament and knew all the right people, made sure that everything they set their minds to—bridges, roads, whatever—got the official go-ahead. My father’s dead now, but I’ve got his seat in Parliament. So I can speak up for Connor just like my father did.’ He savoured a mouthful of wine. ‘I’ve always found Connor knows exactly what he’s doing. And aren’t you lucky, to be invited to live in a place like this, if only for a short while?’ He looked around the superb dining hall appreciatively.

  He doesn’t know, realised Isobel. He doesn’t know my father used to own this house.

  She found she didn’t care at all for Roderick Staithe. He was loud and full of himself and all the time he kept staring at her with those pale eyes.

  She had prepared herself with care, changing into a dress that was made of grey wool, with a narrow lace collar its only adornment. She had pinned back her unruly blonde hair almost severely, but Staithe still stared. ‘A teacher, eh?’ he kept saying between mouthfuls of food and wine. ‘Now I wonder where Connor found you?’

  Connor said, ‘I advertised, Staithe, as one does.’ His voice was cool. He had decided, Isobel realised, to keep quiet the fact that she once lived here. For her sake, or for his? She wasn’t quite certain. Surely he didn’t actually like this man? But in Connor’s world of money and towering ambition, no doubt business interests came above everything.

  And then Staithe’s sister Helena spoke up. She must have been travelling all day, but her gown was fresh and uncreased, and her dark ringlets were immaculate—no doubt she would have her own maid travelling with her. And Isobel realised, with a painful tightening in her lungs, that there was only one person in the room to whom Helena was paying any true attention—Connor.

  ‘Really, Connor,’ Helena was saying to him now in an amused voice, ‘don’t you think it’s a little much to expect this poor girl to deal with the children of tinkers, day after day? And what, exactly, is the point?’

  At Helena’s words Isobel felt her pulse begin to pound and gripped her hands tightly together under the table—then she heard Connor’s calm voice. ‘The point is, Helena,’ he said, ‘that I believe every child should be given the chance of an education.’

  ‘But surely...’ and Helena Staithe spread out her elegant hands ‘...these children are simply destined to work in the fields, like their parents?’

  Connor was silent a moment. Then he said, ‘I started my working life at my father’s forge, shoeing horses. Thanks to Miles Delafield, I was given a chance to better myself—through work and through education.’

  Roderick Staithe nodded. ‘Of course, Miles Delafield was a sound fellow. What a great deal we owe him!’ He looked at Laura and raised his glass. ‘A toast! To our departed friend, Miles!’

  ‘To Miles,’ said Connor. They all lifted their glasses, then Staithe turned his attention to the food again. ‘By Jove, this lamb is excellent—mind if I help myself to another slice or two? And are you quite sure, Mrs Delafield, that it’s not a problem if my sister and I stay the night?’

  ‘My dear Mr Staithe,’ said Laura, ‘your rooms are being prepared this minute.’

  A brief silence followed as the footman served the next course, then Isobel heard Helena Staithe addressing Connor in a cajoling voice. ‘I must tell you, Connor, that you were sadly missed at the small party Roderick and I held two weeks ago to celebrate our move into our new house in Mayfair. Later in the summer we’ll be returning there, of course, and you really must visit us—you’ll surely be coming back to town before long, won’t you? After all, what is there to do here? Who is there to talk with?’

  ‘Well, he has me,’ said Laura, her smile belying a certain sharpness in her voice.

  ‘Of course, Laura!’ Helena said quickly. ‘And there’s also your delightful grandchild—Miles’s poor orphaned daughter. But, Connor, how on earth do you fill your days?’

  Connor looked straight at her. ‘I’m hoping,’ he said, ‘to revitalise some of the farms that belong to this estate. For too many years, they’ve lacked investment and good management. I plan on making them prosperous again.’

  Helena pulled a face. ‘Oh, Connor. Tinkers’ children and farms! Whatever next?’


  Then Roderick, who’d been emptying his glass yet again, beckoned to a footman to refill it and said, ‘My God, old fellow, if you’re looking for somewhere to put your money and see it grow, you need to get back to your London foundries as soon as possible. After all, you’re ahead in the running to supply iron for the new east London docks, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am,’ Connor replied, ‘and the matter is well in hand, believe me.’

  For the next ten minutes the two men talked about the price of iron and the various building projects going on in and around London. Isobel noticed that Connor showed a real warmness, enthusiasm even for the topic, and in spite of herself she, too, was fascinated to realise just how much business Connor controlled, how much influence he had.

  * * *

  At last, as the desserts were removed, Laura bestowed her sweet smile on the company and said, ‘Now, gentlemen. Will you forgive me if I retire to my parlour?’

  The men rose from their seats. A footman had already stepped forward to take charge of Laura’s bath chair and Isobel was preparing to take her leave, too, the sooner the better. But then she felt Staithe’s touch on her arm. He was blocking her way to the door and she realised with a shiver that he was scrutinising her even more closely.

  ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘you really are far too pretty to be a teacher. And I could swear I’ve seen you before! London—it must have been London...’

  She felt a sudden sick lurching at her stomach, but she opened her eyes wide in mild surprise. ‘I truly doubt our paths can ever have crossed, Mr Staithe!’

  He sighed. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’

  Isobel made for the door again, but not before she heard Staithe’s sister saying to Connor, ‘Now I know you always act with the best of intentions, but that poor girl over there really is out of her depth in more ways than one, isn’t she?’

  Isobel couldn’t hear Connor’s reply.

  Her intention was to retreat to her room as quickly as possible, but Laura, out in the hallway, had dismissed the footman and was beckoning to her. ‘I am so very sorry about the misunderstanding, Miss Blake. When I invited you to dine with us, I’d no idea the Staithes would be arriving. And of course neither Connor nor I would have dreamed of mentioning to them that you once lived here. That your poor father...’ Her voice trailed away.

  Isobel looked at her steadily. ‘My father was a bankrupt. Did Connor tell you that?’

  Laura looked startled. ‘No. No, he didn’t.’

  ‘Then it’s only fair that you should realise it, before feeling too sorry for my father or me. He drank, he gambled, he borrowed, then finally he lost the Hall. He would have ended up in a debtors’ jail had he not died.’

  ‘Even so,’ Laura said. ‘It must be very hard for you, my dear, to come back here like this. And I tried to say as much to Connor...’

  ‘Mr Hamilton offered me a job and I accepted. I do have to work for my living.’

  Laura nodded, but she still looked anxious. ‘I suppose this teaching post was the best way Connor could think of to help you. But I’m really not sure he was right. And were you in London? Did you have a coming-out there?’

  Isobel felt her pulse thudding. ‘It was several years ago and it was not a success, I assure you.’ She looked around. ‘Mrs Delafield, you’ve been most kind, but I really would prefer to retire to my room before your guests join you—’

  ‘No. Please!’ Laura reached out for her hand. ‘Do join me in my parlour, if only for a little while!’

  But just as Isobel hesitated—how to escape?—the opportunity mercifully arrived. Elvie’s maid appeared and bobbed a curtsy to Laura. ‘Begging pardon, ma’am.’ She glanced at Isobel also. ‘Miss Elvira, bless her, can’t sleep. And she asked if she could see—Miss Isobel’

  ‘May I have your permission to go to her?’ Isobel asked Laura.

  ‘But of course.’ Laura nodded. ‘First let me say, though, that all in all, my dear, I think we’re extremely fortunate to have you here at Calverley Hall.’

  Isobel left—just as Helena Staithe was sweeping towards them from the dining room.

  * * *

  Roderick Staithe, clearly intrigued by Isobel, continued to ask Connor questions as the two of them drank their port after the ladies had departed. ‘That young woman,’ he pronounced, ‘doesn’t look in the slightest bit like a teacher if you ask me. Damn it, she’d be as pretty as a picture in the right frock and with her hair primped up a bit!’ He winked. ‘This wasn’t some sort of ruse, was it, to get your latest paramour living here? Right under the nose of Miles Delafield’s mother!’

  ‘You’ve been drinking too freely,’ Connor answered flatly. ‘She’s here to temporarily teach the travellers’ children and that’s all there is to it.’

  ‘She’s got an enchanting face. And that figure!’ Staithe shook his head in admiration. ‘You know, I really could swear I’ve seen her before—I just can’t get the notion out of my mind. Well, no doubt the delights of the country will fade fast enough for you and my sister and I will see you when we’re all back in London...’

  Roderick Staithe was nothing like his father, to whom Miles Delafield had owed so much in his early career. Now Staithe was changing the topic to some race meeting he’d recently attended and Connor listened with only half an ear.

  The trouble was, he couldn’t afford to alienate Staithe—at least, not yet. The docks project would require the approval of a Parliamentary committee and Staithe was the man to see it through. But that didn’t mean Connor had to like him! And Isobel’s arrival at the dinner table had set up all kinds of further possible problems.

  Staithe wasn’t likely to forget about the young woman Connor had employed to teach the travellers’ children. Staithe hadn’t realised yet who she was, but if—when—he did, the gossip would spread like wildfire. Isobel had coped well with a damnably awkward situation and it was Connor who’d been thrown sideways almost, because he’d felt nearly overwhelmed by the urge to protect her and save her from further hurt.

  Yet he was the one responsible for all this. He’d been recklessly stupid to choose her for his school and, to add insult to injury, he’d virtually forced her to come back here and live in such changed circumstances that every minute of every hour must be torment for her.

  Yet up till now she appeared to have coped steadfastly. He suspected she might even be rather enjoying ruffling the feathers of his senior staff, and himself, too. But once or twice already he’d glimpsed a raw vulnerability when her guard was down, a vulnerability that Roderick and Helena’s arrival had brought to the fore.

  Roderick, of course, hoped Connor would offer for his sister. The Staithe family was of noble heritage, but lacked ready cash—Connor would bring money in plenty and Helena clearly wasn’t averse to the idea. Helena had good breeding, beauty, too, if you liked her kind of immaculate, chilly style. A few years ago Connor could only have dreamt of such a fine match.

  But seeing Helena again tonight had made him realise that she just didn’t compare with Isobel. Tonight must have been agonising for Calverley’s former heiress, yet she’d endured it all with dignity, and as she’d sat there in her plain, long-sleeved dress he’d suddenly realised she’d never looked lovelier. She wore no frills or fripperies to distract from her slender figure and the neutral colour of her gown somehow seemed to heighten the warm gold of her skin and the sheen of her silky fair hair, which had been escaping from its ribbons as usual to trail in tempting disarray down the delicate nape of her neck.

  And all those sickening stories Connor had heard about Isobel, that he’d perhaps just been starting to hope were lies, came flooding back.

  They must be true. Yet it frightened him how strongly he felt about them. Worst of all, she’d made no attempt whatever to clear her name—done nothing at all to dispel the rumours about her and Loxley. And Connor offering her
this job would in no way help her either, because once the news spread that she was living under his roof, the gossips would have yet more fuel for their talk.

  Staithe was still rambling on about racehorses, but when he broke off to reach yet again for the port decanter, Connor put out his hand to stop him and said, ‘Shall we join the ladies?’

  Fortunately Staithe seemed to have forgotten about Isobel. And Connor was hardly surprised, when they reached Laura’s parlour, to find that Isobel had vanished. No wonder. She probably couldn’t wait to escape. Helena was there, of course, and she was playing some tinkling tune on the piano while throwing an inviting smile in Connor’s direction. Connor moved close to Laura and said quietly in her ear, ‘I take it Miss Blake has retired for the night?’

  ‘No. There was a message from Elvie’s maid—Elvie couldn’t sleep and wanted to see Isobel. So Isobel, bless her, went up to her straight away. But perhaps I should go, too, to check all is well—’

  ‘No need for you to disturb yourself,’ Connor interrupted. ‘I’ll go.’

  * * *

  Isobel had reached Elvie’s bedroom to find the child tearful and anxious. ‘I’m so sorry, Miss Blake,’ Elvie whispered as Isobel settled herself in the chair at her bedside. ‘For getting you into trouble, because of our day by the river with the children!’

  Swiftly Isobel reached out to stroke back her hair. ‘Elvie, there’s no need to cry. Connor knows the truth now and he’s not cross with you. He understands.’

  ‘But I let you take all the blame for meeting the children! I lied to Connor!’ Elvie’s voice broke. ‘The V-Vicar says that t-telling lies is one of the very worst things of all.’

  Sometimes, thought Isobel, I could do something drastic to that Vicar.

  ‘Well,’ she said, taking Elvie’s hand, ‘the Vicar told me, when I was about your age, that I was an abomination.’