Country Cousin

by Jacqueline Gilbert

  COUNTRY COUSIN

  Jacqueline Gilbert

  He proposed—but it was to her sister!

  And Eleanor was devastated, because she was in love with him, too. Never again, she vowed, would she let herself become so vulnerable.

  But then she met Edward Mansel, who was too handsome, wealthy and experienced to look twice at a poor parson's daughter.

  Well, why should she care if he thought she was a straitlaced goody-goody? It wasn’t as if she was attracted to him. Anyway, she wasn’t about to make the same mistake again...

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘Then fly betimes, for only they,

  Conquer love that run away.’

  Thomas Carew

  As the driver lifted the cases from the taxi-cab, Eleanor Rose Ferrers stared wide-eyed at the house, feeling a quickening of interest, the first she had had since leaving home that morning. Nothing her mother had said had prepared her for the beauty of Priory Lodge. It was all very well being told that the old part of the house had been built in Elizabethan times, that there were four acres of ground situated in an exclusive part of Surrey, but when the real thing was in front of your eyes, it was time to take stock of this unlooked-for holiday of hers.

  A small cough indicated that the driver was waiting for his money, and shifting the art folio to her other arm, Eleanor fumbled in her shoulder bag, paid him, and watched the cab drive slowly out into the lane.

  She then turned her attention back to the house and grounds, delighting in the colourful display of flowers and shrubs, the immaculately kept lawns, the surrounding hedges and trees. Leaving the cases where they were, she walked over to the paddock and leaned on the fencing, grateful for the cool shade from the trees. It was September, but the day was as warm as midsummer. Eleanor took off her suit coat and pulled the cotton blouse stickily away from her body, thankful that it was fine and short sleeved. Her long-abandoned hat she used as a fan, and she gazed contentedly at the two horses grazing on the other side of the paddock.

  Perhaps things aren’t going to be so bad, after all, she mused, resting chin on hands, and thinking of the situation she had left behind her. She would have to be a bridesmaid ... Kate was her sister, after all, but the wedding was seven months away and time and distance should do wonders. By then, she thought firmly, she should be used to the idea of Kate and Guy being married. Mr. and Mrs. Guy Slade. Eleanor remembered the first time she had met Guy and how she had been instantly attracted to him, and seemingly, he to her. Of the bemused and happy state she had been in—she went red-hot now whenever she thought of herself then. Poor Guy, how awful being brought home to the Rectory only to fall head over heels in love with her sister Kate! It’s worthy of a comic song, she thought wryly, idly noticing that the horses had seen her on the fence and were cautiously making their way over. Thank goodness she had seen what was happening before she made a complete fool of herself, she reflected, hoping that no one but Guy had guessed how she felt about him, but she knew she was kidding herself. The parents must have had a suspicion, she acknowledged, hence the alacrity with which she was dispatched to Surrey. Remembering Guy’s embarrassed last words on York station just before the train left of ‘don’t forget us’, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry! Irony is a bitter pill to swallow. ‘Forgetting’ was what this trip was all about. Never again, she vowed fervently, would she allow herself to be so vulnerable.

  The horses were approaching her warily and she lifted herself gently on to the first bar of the fence and held out her hand. They allowed her to stroke them, showing their disappointment when she had no titbit to offer by nudging her sharply.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Eleanor, giving them a final pat. ‘The minute I can find something you shall have it.’

  She walked slowly back to the impressive oak front door, swinging her jacket with one hand, the other shading her eyes from the contrast of shadow and sunshine. She stared thoughtfully at the bell.

  ‘Well, here goes,’ she murmured, and pressed her finger firmly on it. A dog barked somewhere ... there was the sound of a lawn mower in the distance, and a blackbird was singing his heart out high up in one of the sycamore trees.

  She rang again, almost knowing that it wouldn’t be answered.

  ‘Dam it,’ she muttered, ‘they’re probably out searching for me!’ and she recalled once more the look of horror on Guy’s face when he saw the flat tyre, knowing that he couldn’t hope to change it in time for Eleanor to catch her train. She looked at her watch. With all the missed connections she was nearly three hours late. Uncertain what to do, she hesitated, nibbling her thumb, and then wandered round the side of the house towards the orchards at the rear, more out of curiosity than in the hope of finding someone.

  Ivy covered this gable wall and she peered through a window, not surprised to find the inside equally elegant and satisfying, for it was to be expected; as one of the Mansels, she couldn’t remember which one, ran an antique business. It seemed to be a study as she could see a handsome rosewood desk and a huge leather armchair, set before a wall entirely filled with bookshelves. Eleanor drew back from the window and the interior receded, leaving the image of herself reflected in the glass. She pulled a face and ran a hand half-heartedly through her straight brown hair. Two hundred miles of train travel had left its mark and she was dying for a cup of tea.

  Losing interest, she carried on down the side of the house and was disappointed to find that the path led only to the kitchen garden and greenhouse beyond. Access to the back was barred by a six-foot-high laurel hedge.

  ‘Well, that’s that,’ said Eleanor, preparing to return, when her wandering eye caught sight of some crisp, green apples, growing on a tree, the branches of which overhung the other side of the hedge. Her mouth began to water, but she resolutely turned her back, rejecting the idea that had immediately come to mind, even taking three steps away, before swinging round and eyeing the apples again. None were within reach from the ground.

  ‘Eleanor Ferrers, don’t do anything you’d regret,’ she told herself firmly, seeking possible footholds with the eye of a professional. ‘Why ever not? I’m sure if they knew how thirsty I am...’ and without pausing for second thoughts, she began to climb. It was easy, but because the skirt she was wearing was new and she liked it, she took care and her time. The chosen branch was attained and the apple plucked. With satisfaction Eleanor polished it vigorously on the sleeve of her blouse and took a deep bite. Strong white teeth broke through the crisp green skin and juice trickled down her chin. After a couple of mouthfuls, she parted back the leaves and peered down below, to find that she was perched above a terrace on which white wrought-iron chairs and a table were placed.

  An earwig dropped on to her bare arm and she flicked it off with a shudder. She could stand most insects but did draw the line at earwigs. Easing her limbs, prior to making a descent, she suddenly froze. A brindle bull-terrier came barking on to the terrace from the house and a man’s voice called out sharply:

  ‘Quiet, Sykes!’

  Footsteps followed. Eleanor drew up her feet and sat as small and as quiet as she could, her heart hammering away against her knees, her eyes closed in anguish ... almost as if the fact that she couldn’t see them meant that they couldn’t see her.

  What a fool you are, she groaned to herself, and nearly fell out of the tree when she heard her own name come floating up to meet her.

  ‘Blast this Eleanor Ferrers! How have we missed her?’ The voice was female and cross.

  ‘Correction—how have you missed her? You’re sure you checked on the times of the train in the first place?’ The man’s voice was a bored drawl.

  ‘Of course I did!’ was the indignant reply. ‘I’m not a complete fool.’

  ‘Th
ere’s no of course about it, little sister.’

  ‘Edward, I did, honestly! And she must be somewhere ... or how can those two cases have suddenly arrived out of the blue? I’m fed up with the girl already. Mother invites these waifs and strays and it’s me that gets lumbered. She’ll probably be as strait-laced as hell ... a ghastly goody-goody with an awful northern accent.’ Her voice was now full of gloom.

  ‘What a little snob you are, Van,’ observed Edward carelessly. ‘I seem to remember Mother saying that the Reverend Hilary Ferrers met his wife when they were both up at Oxford, so your fears of an accent appear groundless. And in any case, accents are extremely attractive on the right person.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ve had first-hand experience,’ grumbled Vanessa, ‘and it’s all right for you—you’re adept at keeping out of the way of Mother’s schemes—at least, you are usually,’ and her voice took on gleeful interest. ‘What brings you down here this weekend, anyway? Come to look Little Miss Muffet over?’

  ‘You can hardly expect the visit of a parson’s daughter to excite much interest in my breast, Van,’ replied her brother, as bored as ever.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ drawled Vanessa, sitting herself beneath Eleanor, ‘she might prove amusing for a while. Your women never last long anyway, you’re so scared of getting hooked, and it might give the poor creature something to remember her visit by—that is, if she ever turns up. She’ll make a change from your usual types ... you know—innocent girl from the backwoods and all that sort of thing.’

  ‘No, I do not know,’ said Edward repressively, ‘and I always did think you had a particularly lurid imagination. I’ve told you before,’ and his voice had a slight edge to it, ‘keep your nose out of my affairs.’

  ‘Darling, I would, only I’m not allowed to. You’d be surprised how popular I am with all the aspiring females that live in a fifty-mile radius—all eager for me to introduce them to my tall, dark, handsome brother! And don’t you think you could use a word other than affairs?’ she added sweetly.

  ‘Don’t push too far, little sister,’ Edward said lazily, ‘or I might turn the tables. For instance, Philip Nolan seems to be one of your more frequent escorts these days.’

  Vanessa replied carelessly: ‘What of it? He’s useful and good fun.’

  ‘Mmm ... older than your normal boy-friends, isn’t he? I hope you know what you’re doing?’

  ‘Edward dear, are you giving me the concerned brother act?’

  ‘No, but I doubt the parents would approve. Nolan’s over ten years older than you are, and has a reputation for fast cars and fast women.’

  Vanessa snorted. ‘You’re a fine one to talk! I wonder what...’

  ‘We’re talking about you, not me, and a word in Mother’s ear could curtail your activities somewhat. We both know how involved she is in her charities and committees, but if she thought it necessary, she’d drop them like a shot.’ He paused and his cynical tone softened. ‘Don’t burn your fingers, Van.’

  ‘I wish you’d realise that I’m not a child any long ... ouch!’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘An apple dropped on me. Look here, Edward, I’ll make a bargain—you keep out of my affairs and I’ll keep out of yours.’

  ‘Mmm...?’

  ‘Aren’t you listening? I said, I’ll make a bargain with..

  ‘No bargains,’ replied Edward firmly. ‘Why isn’t Duffy answering the telephone?’

  ‘Sam’s taken her to the dentist, poor darling, she was in agony with the toothache.’

  There was a pause while a chair scraped the paving and Edward Mansel said dryly: ‘It might be our lost parson’s daughter waiting to be rescued.’

  ‘I’ll organise some tea,’ said his sister languidly, and Eleanor heard them walk into the house. For a few seconds she sat rooted to the spot, thoughts whirling round in her head. It was one thing for her not to want to come on this visit, but quite another to find the feeling reciprocated! ‘Straight-laced! Goody-goody! I may be a parson’s daughter,’ she fumed, ‘but I’m no innocent from the backwoods, and if that’s what they’re expecting, then who am I to disappoint them?’

  She thrust herself hastily down the tree, deeply thankful that she had not been discovered ... that would have been dreadful! The half-eaten apple must have rolled uneaten side up, or else it would certainly have given her away. She brushed her skirt free of dust and leaves, picked up the abandoned folio and shoulder bag, and hurried to the front of the house—bending low beneath the windows as she went.

  Things had altered since she was there last. The two suitcases had disappeared and on either side of the curved drive were parked a bright red Spitfire and a sleek, silver-grey Jensen. A fleeting vision of the mud-splattered family estate back home came to her, and unreasonably her indignation gathered strength.

  Rummaging in her bag, Eleanor found sunglasses, large and horn-rimmed, and put them on. Next she stuffed her hair into the crown of her hat and pulled the brim ruthlessly down. There was nothing she could do about her clothes, but she scrubbed at her lipstick with a handkerchief, and fixing an inane smile upon her face, raised a finger once more to the bell. This time the door opened to reveal a young girl, attractively dressed in a cream trouser suit. Before she could say anything, Eleanor stretched out a hand, and in a broad Yorkshire accent, gushed:

  ‘Happen we missed each other at t’station. I’m Eleanor Ferrers, and you must be Vanessa. How-do.’

  The girl visibly winced. ‘Oh ... yes ... hullo,’ and gingerly held out her hand.

  ‘Aye, I reckoned I was reet,’ continued Eleanor cheerfully, shaking it vigorously. ‘I’m that glad to meet you.’

  ‘Won’t you come in?’ Vanessa asked, her face now a polite mask. ‘We’re on the terrace, it’s still warm enough in a sheltered spot to sit out.’

  Eleanor followed, well satisfied with results. Vanessa Mansel seemed stunned and, determined to give full measure, Eleanor continued non-stop chatter, about how she had missed the train, as they walked through the house and out into the garden, taking a mental picture of low ceilings, mellow wood, pictures, soft carpets, sparkling china, beautiful furniture, with her.

  ‘I’m sorry you had to make your own way here...’ began Vanessa, as her visitor was compelled to take breath.

  ‘Nay, don’t look so fatched, luv,’ broke in Eleanor. ‘I’ve been nobbut a nuisance to you, and I’m not a dafty. ’Twas reet easy to find a taxi.’

  She heard a footfall behind her and saw Vanessa give an agonised look somewhere over her right shoulder—no doubt our bored Don Juan! she thought grimly.

  ‘There you are, Edward!’ Vanessa was saying thankfully. ‘This is Miss Ferrers. My brother, Edward, Miss Ferrers.’

  ‘Nay, then!’ protested Eleanor, thoroughly enjoying herself. ‘I shan’t know who you mean if you call me that! Eleanor’s the name—more homely, like.’ She turned and held out her hand, keeping eyes coyly lowered. Hum... she thought, as a tall shape stepped from the shadows of the house—black leather shoes, very expensive, well creased grey flannels—and then her hand was held longer than was necessary, and he said:

  ‘I’m so glad we’ve found you at last, Miss Ferrers. Did I hear you telling my sister that you’d had a puncture on the way? How annoying.’ The drawl was instantly recognisable, although the boredom seemed to have disappeared. Good, thought Eleanor with satisfaction ... evidently the sight and sound of her had demoralised him too! She was released, his hand transferred itself to beneath her elbow, and she was led firmly to one of the garden chairs.

  ‘Aye, it was reet inconvenient,’ she babbled on, inwardly blanching at how awful she sounded, but too launched into the act to stop. ‘My sister Kate’s fiancé was giving me the lift into York, and he was that mad when we picked up this puncture. Eh, lad, I said, not to worry—worse things happen at sea.’

  ‘How true. Sit here, Miss Ferrers, and Vanessa will bring the tea. I’m sure you must be ready for a cup after your long journey.
Off you go, Van,’ the deep voice ordered, and his sister disappeared willingly.

  Rather intrigued, despite herself, to see the owner of this attractive voice, Eleanor thought she could abandon coyness and take a peep from under the brim of her hat, but before she could do so, his next question startled her into stillness.

  ‘And what have you done with your family, Miss Ferrers?’ There was an infinitesimal edge to his voice that made her stiffen. Even the bull-terrier lifted his head uneasily.

  ‘Eh, there’s nobbut me come to stay.’

  ‘Really? Dear me, how heartless you are. Have you disposed of the rosy-cheeked baby and small boy with a liking for steps? It seems you can dispose of an impeccable accent equally well.’

  With deep foreboding, Eleanor slowly lowered the glasses to the end of her nose and peered over them. Standing before her, hooded blue eyes staring down at her, was the Good Samaritan from the railway station! Retribution! Of all people, it had to be Edward Mansel!

  ‘You appear to have lost your Yorkshire tongue, Miss Ferrers,’ he observed with soft sarcasm.

  Eleanor’s heart sank like a stone. She took a deep breath. ‘You came to meet the train?’ she asked, using her normal voice.

  ‘Naturally,’ was the dry reply. ‘Each train has been met when you were not on the expected one. Since there didn’t appear to be a girl travelling on her own, I assumed you were not on that train either. It seemed I was wrong.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Eleanor miserably. ‘You’ve been to a great deal of trouble. I ... travelled down with a young family and while the mother collected the cases and pram from the guard’s van, I looked after the children for her.’ She could see herself now, walking along the platform, the baby in her arms, the toddler by her side. She had had to drop the little boy’s hand to rescue the baby’s shoe and finding himself free, he had run on ahead to unsteadily climb the steep iron steps alone. Eleanor had hurried after him as fast as she could, hampered by the baby and her handbag, and had caught him half-way up, only to slightly overbalance herself as she made a grab for him. A steadying hand from a fellow pedestrian forcefully resumed her equilibrium and for a few seconds she was held in a firm grip, and found herself looking into a pair of amused blue eyes. She heard a quiet ‘allow me’ and the boy was lifted effortlessly under the Good Samaritan’s arm, much to his glee, and the ascent achieved with hardly a pause. When Eleanor breathlessly joined them at the top, she gasped: