A Question of Impropriety

by Michelle Styles

  ‘That is a matter for you to decide.’ His face betrayed no emotion and he appeared utterly absorbed in handling the reins.

  Diana breathed easier when she arrived back at the Lodge. Brett had obeyed her wishes. He helped her down and his touch was impersonal rather than the searing one of earlier. A vague disappointment washed over her body. She realized she had wanted more.

  A wisp of hair blew across her face, reminding her how the wind had felt in her hair and she brushed it away with thoughtful fingers. Diana knew in that moment that she could never wear her caps again. She had remembered the joy that came with experiencing life.

  Another spray of roses needed to go in the garland, Diana decided as she regarded her sketch with a practised eye. She had spent the afternoon sketching out a new mural for the summer house.

  She had begun decorating it five years ago when she’d needed to forget Algernon, pouring out every passionate impulse until it seemed like her soul was on the walls and her body was only an empty shell. It had seemed complete six months later, but now she realised it could do with another garland or two of painted flowers. It had worked once. It would work again.

  ‘I understand you made an exhibition of yourself this morning,’ Simon said, glowering in the doorway of the dining room. ‘I would have thought you’d be the one person I could trust not to invite scandal.’

  Diana looked up from her sketch. Simon’s face bore traces of grease and the stock at his neck was askew. Her hand trembled slightly. She had considered that there might be some talk, but not that Simon would hear it—not so quickly, at any rate. Nor be upset about it. He had to realise that she was a grown woman and could be trusted to behave sensibly.

  ‘Hardly an exhibition, Simon. Lord Coltonby offered me a lift in his curricle. It would have been churlish to refuse.’ She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and made her voice sound firm. ‘It has been a long time since I have ridden in a racing curricle. The bays flew down the road with their heads held high and the wind whipping all around us. Truly magic.’

  ‘I know how they flew.’ Simon’s frown in creased. ‘Maurice Bolt challenged Coltonby to a race this afternoon. He wagered his best mare against Coltonby’s boot-blacking receipt.’

  ‘What happened?’ Diana pressed her hands against her thighs, and silently prayed that Brett had done nothing foolish. Maurice was the apple of Lady Bolt’s eye and thoroughly spoilt. According to Mrs Sarsfield, he had been sent down from Oxford last term for some unspecified misdemeanour. And Rose had decreed that no maid ever wanted to be caught in a corridor with him. Diana knew she ought to be neutral, but she did hope Brett had won and won decisively.

  ‘Coltonby won by a length. He is a menace. What sort of man claims a horse when he has only wagered a receipt?’

  ‘Maurice should not wager what he can ill afford to lose. And for that matter, what sort of man wagers his horse against a receipt?’

  Simon’s face turned beet red and his mouth opened and closed several times. Diana forced her hands to remain in her lap and her back to stay straight. Surely her brother was not so blind to reason that he could not see whose fault it had been?

  ‘I only speak the truth, Simon. And Maurice probably only challenged Lord Coltonby because he thought the bays were tired. He deserved every thing that he received.’ She leant forward, and was relieved to see an answering smile on Simon’s face. Crisis averted. She searched her mind for a more appropriate topic, one that would not include Brett Farnham and his exploits.

  ‘But why did you need a lift?’ Simon asked before she had fixed on a good subject. ‘You took the gig in. I distinctly remember you saying at break fast that you were taking the gig.’

  ‘Lord Coltonby’s tiger returned it. Jester is in the stables, munching away at her manger of hay.’

  ‘That is by the by.’

  ‘Do you really think I would pass up the chance to go behind a team like that? The speed, Simon.’ Diana clasped her hands together. Willed him to understand. ‘You know that I liked to drive curricles once upon a time.’

  ‘But Lord Coltonby…’ Simon’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘He has a certain reputation with women. I worry, Diana.’

  ‘I hardly think he would be interested in me, Simon. Ever since we renewed our acquaintance, he has behaved perfectly properly,’ Diana replied, looking her brother steadily in the eye. ‘Are you saying that you don’t trust your sister?’

  She picked up her drawing pencil and sketched another leaf.

  ‘He won’t marry you, Diana.’

  ‘Good. I have no intention of marrying him either, Simon.’ Diana tightened her grip on her pencil. ‘I am quite resolved on the subject.’

  ‘You are not considering…’ He cleared his throat.

  ‘Simon! What you are suggesting is infamous.’

  Simon’s face brightened. ‘I was worried. It was the talk of the reading room this afternoon. How my sister had brazenly wangled a ride with the notorious Lord Coltonby and then how he’d triumphed over poor Maurice Bolt.’

  ‘Who has spread the rumour?’ Diana saw the confirmation in his eyes. Her stomach churned. She had failed to consider that Lady Bolt might act out of spite. ‘Since when have you put any credence in her pronouncements about me?’

  ‘Women some times take strange notions into their heads. I have no wish for this aristocrat to break your heart. I know what that Finch fellow did.’ Simon slammed his fist on to the table. ‘Dammit, you deserve better than that, Diana. When Coltonby was at university, I lost count of the number of women he sneaked into his rooms. My sister will not share that fate.’

  ‘Simon, stop it. You are spinning fancy.’

  ‘Diana, you must be careful. The man has deliberately singled you out. There will be more to it than meets the eye. He will want something in return.’

  Diana held back her words. She knew all too clearly that Simon’s late wife had had her heart broken and had married on the rebound. Simon, blinded by her beauty, had not realised what was happening until it had been too late. It was one of the reasons Diana had been pleased to escape to London. Jayne had faded over the years, becoming a pale shadow. Diana knew that even now Simon refused to believe that Robert was his, refused to accept the evidence of his own eyes.

  ‘I learnt my lessons years ago.’

  ‘But you are no longer wearing your cap,’ Simon protested. ‘It suits you, but I wondered why. Are you seeking to enter the marriage market again?’

  ‘I may have little interest in marrying, but I do not have to conduct myself as a dowd.’ Diana care fully sketched a rosebud. ‘The two are unconnected. I grew tired of the caps. They made me feel old.’

  She bent her head and redoubled her efforts at drawing the rosebud as Simon’s eyes bore into her neck. He had to believe her. ‘Diana, I will trust you, but may I ask you a favour, a little trifle?’

  Diana’s hand stilled and she regarded her brother’s suddenly intent face. ‘A favour. What sort of favour, Simon?’

  ‘I want no distractions, Diana. I do not want to be worrying about you making a spectacle of yourself again. Let me concentrate on my engine.’

  Diana pressed her lips together. He was not concerned about her or her reputation—or her protection—rather the distraction it represented. All her brother wanted to do was to work on that engine. ‘I have no plans to make a spectacle of myself, as you put it. I am not even planning on going to the ball. You may go alone.’

  ‘You know what I mean—today. You and him. No more fodder for the gossips.’

  Diana fought to keep her voice calm. ‘Nothing happened, Simon. Nothing at all. He is our neighbour. I hardly wish to start a feud with a neighbour.’

  ‘Diana, be reasonable. I need to concentrate on the engine. How can I if you will persist in parading down the High Street with Lord Coltonby? It is distracting.’

  ‘I did not parade, brother, but I will assure you I have no intention of doing anything of that nature again. As you kn
ow, I only went to town because you insist I socialise with the local gentry. I am far happier here—painting and reading, visiting our workers’ families and the sick.’

  ‘I will have to accept that.’ Simon stuck his thumbs into his waist coat, every inch the superior brother.

  ‘You will.’ Diana jabbed her pencil down and broke the point. How dare he put strictures on her as if she had no more brains than a feather duster? ‘You may find that you have much in common with Lord Coltonby. You should take the time to be neighbourly your self.’

  ‘I have nothing in common with that…that arrogant fop. I have worked for every penny we have, Diana.’

  ‘I only meant that you were both men of intelligence. I am well aware of the sacrifices you have made, Simon. You do not need to detail them for me.’

  ‘Then you will understand.’ Simon leant forwards, so that his face was level with hers. His green eyes burnt with a fierce intensity. ‘I will do what is necessary to make sure Ladywell Colliery not only survives, but thrives. The travelling engine will be my legacy to the world. And no one is going to stop me.’

  Chapter Seven

  Diana looked back over her shoulder at the line of painted flowers and leaves. The morning’s work had sped by and she now could see the outline of the garland taking shape. It would work, this plan of hers. It had worked five years ago when she had done the first few. Her mind needed a focus, an outlet for her creativity, rather than sitting there, dreaming about things that could never happen.

  A leaf was slightly off centre on the first sequence of roses. She wrinkled her nose and stared at it, the mistake in the shading growing more obvious by the breath. Diana bit her lip, considered her options. Did she really want to reposition the heavy ladder for one bit of shading? She could reach it, if she stretched. She glanced down at Titch. The little terrier wagged her tail and shook her head before giving a low bark and covering her nose with her paws.

  ‘I will be careful, I promise.’

  She dipped her brush in the paint and began, balancing precariously. Her knees trembled slightly as she reached out a little bit further. Her mind circled back to the problem. Brett Farnham with his money and title had his pick of women. He always had. She didn’t need Simon’s university tales to tell her that—she had the evidence of her own eyes from London. Why would he be interested in her, an acknowledged spinster? She sighed as she added one final line of dark green. Eventually if she repeated it to herself enough times, maybe her heart would believe it. Maybe she would stop listening for the scrunch of carriage wheels on the gravel.

  ‘Do you always take risks like that?’ Brett’s low voice re sounded in the room.

  She turned quickly and the ladder rocked violently. A small shriek escaped her throat. She made a wild grab for the top rung. Missed. Her body fell back wards through the air. Slowly. Strong arms closed around her, and held her.

  The still ness of the air was shattered with the thump of the ladder hitting the ground and the splintering of glass. She shivered and tried not to think about what could have been. Looking up, she noticed the dark lashes that fringed Brett’s grey eyes. Short, perfect for a man.

  ‘You are safe.’ His voice caressed her ear. Their breaths mingled, more intimate than a kiss. His mouth was mere inches from hers. All she had to do was lift her head the merest fraction.

  She swallowed hard and resolutely turned her face away. ‘Let me go, please.’

  ‘You should take more care. You could have been hurt.’

  His arms loosened and her body slid down his, his hand on her back guiding her descent. Soft curves met the hard muscular planes of his chest and thighs. Slow. Sensuous. Creating a burning ache within her. She stood there within the circle of his arms, her body arching closer, seeking him. His hand tightened slightly, burning through the thin cloth of her muslin gown.

  Then reality intruded. She realised what she was doing—practically begging for his kiss. She stepped away from him, filled her lungs with air and determinedly changed the subject. ‘How…how did you find me?’

  ‘I happened across your maid, sewing in the garden. She thought you might be here.’ His voice was silk across her jangled nerves.

  Silently Diana cursed the perfidy of Rose and her match-making tendencies. She would have to speak to her maid. She gestured towards the fallen ladder, and spilt paint. ‘If you had knocked first, all this might have been prevented.’

  ‘What were you doing, risking life and limb like that?’

  ‘I was painting.’ Diana rocked back on her heels and peered up at him over her shoulder. Her pulse raced as the shifting colours in his eyes mesmerised her. She had forgotten the exact curve of his lips and the way he had faint smile lines about his eyes. She pressed her fingertips together. Strove for a normal tone. ‘It is one of my pastimes. An enthusiasm. An important one.’

  ‘The ladder was not steady. It was an accident waiting to happen. You could have been seriously injured.’

  Diana regarded the wreckage. Water and paint mingled with broken glass and crockery. The ladder, which had seemed sturdy, was now on its side, a pile of sticks. A shudder went through her. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, a small act, but one which steadied her. ‘I had missed the green shading on a leaf. It seemed the easiest way.’

  ‘You ought to have taken the time to move the ladder. You could have over balanced at any time. If you are going to take risks, you should have someone watching over you.’

  ‘Titch is here.’ She gestured towards where the traitorous terrier wagged her tail.

  He reached down and gave the dog a pat. Titch wagged her tail furiously at the attention. ‘As sweet as the dog might be, she does not inspire confidence.’

  ‘I am fine, truly fine. Nothing untoward happened.’ She clenched her jaw. ‘I have no need for a protector.’

  ‘Allow me to be the judge of that.’ His eyes darkened again, becoming deep pools.

  She forced her gaze away and stumbled over to the small table where the teapot and cups sat, waiting for her to take a break from her painting. She concentrated on the fine porcelain and tried to regain control of her pulse.

  When she decided she could risk it, she turned, half-expecting him to have followed her. But he stood where she had left him. A large solid presence that had invaded her sanctorum. She knew she would not find the peace she had craved here, that the image of him standing there would be for ever engraved on her mind. Her way of banishing him had failed. She picked up a porcelain cup, but her hand trembled and she set it down with a bang. All she felt capable of doing was staring blankly at the table.

  ‘Did you do all of this?’ Brett walked over to the far wall and examined the earlier garlands. His voice was calm, soothing, as if he were speaking to a skittish horse. ‘The flowers are very intricate. At first glance, one would almost believe them to be real.’

  ‘It is something to occupy my days. I try to avoid going into the village.’ Diana crossed her arms over her breasts, and stared stubbornly at the wall. ‘It amuses me to get it correct. I have recently returned to these murals. It needs another garland around the walls. Around the ceiling as well as at chair level. I can’t think why I had not realised before.’

  ‘You should be more careful. Your maid should keep you company.’

  ‘I generally am, but I also require solitude when I am painting. Ask anyone. Miss Diana Clare is exceedingly sensible, they will say. An uninteresting life.’

  ‘Except when she drives into mud pools and falls off ladders.’ A faint smile played on his lips as he took a step closer. The tiny room appeared to shrink. Diana’s hand wanted to stretch out and touch his white shirt front. Instead, she twisted it around her apron. ‘It was providence that I arrived when I did.’

  ‘I understand you won a race yesterday.’ Diana gestured about her, tried to retake control of the conversation as her heart thudded in her ears. ‘When I first heard that you had raced, I was worried that the horses might have been tire
d out.’

  ‘I wanted Bolt to think that. He was mad to think I would even consider racing if my horses were not up to the job.’

  ‘You tricked him. You wagered your blacking receipt against a mare.’

  ‘He made the challenge. I accepted. There are many who wish to discover the secret of my black boots. My valet has been offered numerous bribes, but, thus far, he has proved a loyal servant.’ He gave a short laugh and put a boot on the chair. ‘My boots remain as black as ever and now I possess a decent brood mare. I really must go driving down the High Street with you more often.’

  Diana resolutely ignored the sudden flush of warmth that went through her. The words flowed naturally. Smooth. Elegant. And all the more deadly for it.

  ‘I can offer you a cup of tea.’ She picked up the pot and held it in front of her like a shield. ‘Rose only left it a little while ago. I covered it with a towel.’

  He pulled out his fob watch, checked it. ‘We have no time to spare. We are going driving and I hardly think you want to be seen with paint flecks in your hair.’

  ‘And you think I will go driving with you? Down the High Street again? My brother was livid.’

  ‘In the country.’ His eyes danced and his voice became a low purr. ‘Your brother can have no objection to my current scheme.’

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’

  ‘I thought you might want to take a basket of food to Mrs Satterwaite. You appeared concerned about their welfare.’ He paused. Each word became slower and more seductive. ‘Think of the possibilities, Diana.’

  ‘I can easily drive the gig. I will have the cook pack some calves’-foot jelly. It is a quick journey. You really must not think about troubling yourself.’

  Brett took a step closer. His smile became more enticing. ‘The offer to drive my curricle may not come again for some time. And my cook has already made a meat jelly and a rice pudding.’

  ‘You mean to let me drive?’ A shiver of delight ran through her. The bays! And the curricle! ‘As reckless and fool hardy as I am?’