‘You are very direct.’ He glanced at Polly, who had taken a chair at the back of the room. Flora sensed his frustration at her presence, but he could hardly ask her to leave.
‘I believe in plain speaking,’ Flora responded with asperity. The man’s presumption set Flora’s teeth on edge and she momentarily forgot that she had intended to play dumb in order to extract information about his association with her father. She allowed a long silence to spread between them as she took a moment to assess him, thinking his features too effeminate to be ruggedly handsome. The noble profile of a wounded scoundrel sprang unbidden to mind. Despite his incapacity, there was no questioning Archie’s robust masculinity.
Mr Conrad’s hair was styled a little too precisely to appear natural and his moustache had been carefully waxed. He clearly spent a great deal more time attending to his appearance than Flora did hers, but if he had done so in an attempt to impress her then it had been a waste of effort. Flora was not only unimpressed but also decidedly suspicious of his sudden appearance at her remote cottage.
‘You live very comfortably,’ he remarked, his words coming out loud and accusatory, breaking the awkward silence.
‘Were you expecting a hovel?’ she asked, raising a combative brow.
‘Not at all. I didn’t mean to imply…’ He spread his hands, and Flora felt a moment’s satisfaction at his obvious discomfort.
‘I see no profit in suffering in order to prove a point.’
‘My comment was not designed as a criticism.’ He treated her to what was probably supposed to be a charming smile. ‘Quite the reverse.’
She paused. ‘What brings you to the district, Mr Conrad?’
‘We had no opportunity to further our acquaintance at your sister’s wedding. You left very abruptly. A business appointment brought me to the district, I recalled your father telling me that you lived in Lyneham and an enquiry at the local tavern elicited your address.’
‘You are quite the detective,’ Flora said in a barbed fashion.
‘When one has sufficient incentive…’ He allowed his words to trail off and treated her to a flirtatious smile this time, which likely worked with most females. Unfortunately for Mr Conrad, she was the exception that proved that particular rule and she found his charm, such as it was, easy to resist.
‘Do you ordinarily make a habit out of calling upon single females without an invitation?’
‘Ouch!’ He scratched his ear. ‘Given that I am an acquaintance of your father’s and we had already been introduced, I hoped you would disregard the formalities.’
‘You will excuse me if I do not offer you tea. You will not be staying long enough to drink it.’
‘Miss Latimer.’ He smiled at her. ‘What have I done to offend you? Tell me at once and I will put it right.’
‘You are a single gentleman, aware that I live here alone, and yet you presume to call.’
‘Well, I…’
‘Do you think I don’t know how it will look, or do you assume that your presence will go unnoticed? I can assure you that it will not. Do you imagine that I do not care about my reputation simply because I choose to live alone?’
He sighed and spread his hands. ‘Miss Latimer, you are misinterpreting both my words and my intentions.’
Possibly, Flora conceded, but only because she knew that his intentions were not romantic, despite his charm offensive. He had another reason for attempting to befriend her and she was no nearer to deciding what it could be, other than that it had to do with her father.
‘What business are you engaged in?’ she asked, curious to see how he responded.
‘I occupy a senior investment position at Coutts Bank.’ He flapped one hand in a casual gesture but also sat a little straighter. ‘You may have heard of it.’
‘I am aware of the bank’s existence and its purpose, but if you have come here in the hope of encouraging me to invest then I fear you have had a wasted journey. My money is tied up very profitably.’
‘I am not here to beg for business,’ he replied with a condescending smile. ‘That is not my style.’
Flora found his superior attitude infuriating and could already understand why Archie disliked him. He was trying a little too hard to be a gentleman. Flora had spent the majority of her time since leaving Cathedral Close in the company of the real thing and Mr Conrad did not bear comparison.
‘How reassuring.’
Her sarcasm appeared to be lost on him. Flora folded her hands in her lap and said nothing more, glancing at Remus’s image as it floated into view. She expected him to be influenced by Mr Conrad’s pretty face, as Remus so easily could be when he saw a member of either sex who appealed to his eclectic taste. She was surprised when instead of making dreamy faces, her spirit guide recalled his duties and repeatedly shook his luminous head, making shooing motions in the direction of the front door.
‘This is a charming cottage,’ he said, appearing a little taken aback by her continued coolness.
‘I believe we have already exhausted the subject of my living arrangements, Mr Conrad. Be so good as to tell me why you have come.’ Flora allowed a momentary pause. ‘I cannot conceive that a woman of my relatively lowly status will be of any interest to a man of your ambition.’
His mouth gaped in response to her outspokenness but he quickly recovered his poise. ‘I had hoped to enjoy a pleasant half-hour in your company, getting to know you a little better.’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ He appeared baffled by the question. ‘Well, I am an acquaintance of your father’s, whom I admire and respect—’
‘How are you acquainted with him?’
‘How?’
‘That is the second occasion upon which you have thrown my own question back at me.’ She offered him a smile that lacked warmth. ‘Is an answer beyond your capabilities?’
‘I say!’
‘If I was rude I make no apology. You called upon me without an invitation. We are not acquainted and your visit, if observed by my neighbours, will have a detrimental effect upon my reputation; a possibility that doesn’t seem to have occurred to you. Therefore, I think it natural to ask about the reason for this call.’ Her tone would have left even a man with his thick skin in no doubt that she was not honoured by his attentions.
‘Salisbury is part of my area,’ he said, his attitude no longer quite so indolently self-assured. ‘I had occasion to negotiate with members of the synod regarding the church’s investments. That is how your father first came to my attention.’
There was something contrived about the response. ‘I was not aware that my father had any involvement with the church’s accounts.’
‘He is now the dean, so all matters of administration are his concern.’
‘I see.’
‘We found we had interests in common and became friends.’
‘Friendly enough to attend my sister’s wedding.’ Flora frowned. ‘I find that odd.’
‘Your father talks about you a great deal. He is inordinately proud of your achievements.’
Flora wanted to laugh aloud but somehow retained her composure, keen to keep the wretched man talking. ‘Really?’ she asked innocently.
‘Really.’ He gave her a reassuring smile that failed to reassure. Remus didn’t help matters by rolling his eyes. ‘When he told me that you had procured a position with the Earl of Swindon, naturally I was curious. I mentioned that I had been up at Oxford with Swindon and Felsham during the course of conversation one day, and our friendship progressed from there.’
Flora didn’t believe a word of it, but she was worried about this latest stratagem on her father’s part and would have given a very great deal to know what he expected to gain from it.
‘If you are on such friendly terms with Lord Swindon and Lord Felsham, I am surprised that you called upon me rather than either of them.’
He smiled seductively. ‘Ah, but you are far easier on the eye.’
She held back the reprimand
that sprang to her lips and remained stonily silent.
‘Do you still see Swindon now that you have left his service?’ he asked.
‘I am on friendly terms with his sisters, so our paths cross regularly.’
‘Felsham is a near neighbour of yours now. I wonder if that is a coincidence.’
Flora fixed him with an expression of mild rebuke. ‘And I wonder what business that could possibly be of yours.’
‘No offence was intended.’ He held up a hand, pushing the palm towards her in an apologetic gesture. ‘I have not seen Felsham since before he…well, died.’ A cynical smile graced his lips, one that Flora ached to wipe off with an acerbic remark in defence of Archie. But Archie was well able to defend himself and wouldn’t thank her for taking up the cudgels on his behalf. ‘Do you see much of him?’
‘From time to time.’ Flora had had quite enough of being quizzed and abruptly stood up. ‘Thank you for calling, Mr Conrad, but it is time for you to leave. Please don’t take offence if I ask you not to visit again.’
He looked surprised but had no choice but to stand when she did. ‘There is a production of Much Ado About Nothing in Swindon next week. I had hoped to persuade you to honour me with your company.’
‘Thank you, Mr Conrad, but that will not be possible. You have done as my father probably asked you to and called to check up on me. You will be able to reassure him about my health and confirm that I am not running an opium den or a house of ill repute. And so now…Polly, Mr Conrad is leaving.’
‘Yes, miss.’
Polly jumped up and preceded their unwelcome visitor into the hallway. She handed him his hat and gloves and opened the front door, letting in a blast of frigid air.
‘Your servant, Miss Latimer,’ Conrad said, bowing over her hand. ‘I feel persuaded that our paths will cross again in the near future.’
Flora allowed him to have the last word without responding. She watched the door close behind him and shivered, but not because she was cold. She had seen the anger that flashed through his expression in response to his summary dismissal, but she knew that he wouldn’t be deterred. He had decided to latch onto her and she had not seen the last of him.
‘Would you like some tea now, miss?’ Polly asked, returning to the drawing room as Flora flopped back into her chair, pondering upon Conrad’s clumsy attempt to charm.
‘That would be delightful. Thank you, Polly.’
The girl left the room, clearly bursting with questions. Loyal to the core, she didn’t voice any of them.
Once the tea had been delivered and Flora was alone again, she decided to consult Remus. There was the outside possibility that he might tell her something helpful, but the wretched spirit had disappeared and no matter how hard she reached out to him with her mind he failed to materialise.
‘Probably watching men tearing one another apart at the Coliseum,’ she muttered.
She drank her tea and returned to her grandmother’s diary, but the mood had been spoiled and her mind wandered continuously. She put the book aside with an impatient sigh, wondering if she should let Archie know that Conrad had called. In the end she decided against it. Archie tended to be over-protective and she was obliged to frequently remind him that she was not his responsibility.
She wondered if Conrad had befriended her in the hope of ingratiating himself with Archie or Luke, perhaps in the expectation of offering them investment advice. From what Archie had told her, he would be aware that neither man held Conrad in high esteem and he needed to mend fences with the help of a third party if he was to add their illustrious names to his client list. If that was the case he was clearly not as important to Coutts as he would have her believe. Those in elevated positions did not scour the country in pursuit of clients; they left that sort of thing to their underlings.
Of more concern to Flora was Conrad’s friendship with her father. To the best of her knowledge, Papa didn’t cultivate friendships. He was not sociable by nature and discouraged intimacy in all its guises. Sometimes she felt surprised that he had managed to father five daughters. Papa gathered people around him who could further his ambitions but remained aloof.
‘What are you up to this time, Papa, and why am I still so important to you?’
Elroy Conrad stomped away from Miss Latimer’s hovel of a cottage in a towering rage. How dare the impertinent jade turn her pert little nose up at him as though he was beneath her notice. Who the devil did she think she was? Mixing with the aristocracy had turned her head, and she needed bringing down a peg or two.
Fury radiated through Elroy as he made his way back to the local tavern, where he had left his conveyance. Most women lived and breathed for a moment of his attention, and hung on his every word. He refused to believe that Miss Latimer’s disinterest was genuine. She might have harboured hopes with regard to Swindon, but Elroy could have told her she was wasting her efforts. Swindon or Felsham might be tempted to entice her into their beds—Felsham in particular had the morals of an alley cat—but neither of them would put his ring on her finger. Elroy had good reason to know that the aristocracy didn’t marry or forge friendships outside their own class for fear of lowering standards and letting the side down.
He pushed his way into the taproom, shaking rainwater from the shoulders of his coat and the brim of his hat and stomping his booted feet to restore some feeling into his toes. He took a seat close to the fire and signalled for ale, which was delivered promptly by the willing barmaid who’d given him directions to Miss Latimer’s cottage earlier. Eschewing the curiosity and conversational attempts of the men in the sparsely populated room, he fell to brooding. He reminded himself that none of the problems facing Latimer—either real or imagined—were of his making. He had tried to tell his partner that he had nothing to fear from his daughter. She knew nothing about their activities—she didn’t even suspect—but Latimer’s continued efforts to bring such a stubbornly determined chit to heel might arouse her curiosity. Better to let it be. As a group, they were too powerful to be touched.
Elroy had been forced into accepting an invitation to that dreary wedding, and was curious to meet the young woman who’d found the courage to go against such a strong-willed man as Latimer and forge her own path. More curious still about her connection to Swindon and Felsham, which was a cause for concern—a situation that he had chosen not to share with Latimer.
Both men had looked down their noses at Elroy when he had been up at Oxford, as though his comparatively lowly origins did not entitle him to a place in such an august bastion of learning. He had never forgotten the slight and had luxuriated in the knowledge that Felsham had killed himself when falling from a lady’s bedroom window.
Except now he had come back to life.
Elroy was one of the few men in the country who didn’t seem that surprised when Felsham miraculously rose from the dead. His friendship with Miss Latimer, which ran deeper than the romp had implied, he was absolutely sure of it, could be disastrous and had to be discouraged. The last thing they needed was Felsham sticking his unwelcome nose into their business in an attempt to protect the chit.
Elroy, the only young and single man in Latimer’s inner circle, had been charged with befriending Flora and diverting her attention away from men like Swindon and Felsham. Men who might want to seduce her but would never marry her. First and foremost, he had been charged with discovering if she suspected anything. The book she had been reading when he called—a diary of some sort—looked old. He’d tried to get a glimpse of it but she hadn’t wanted him to see and had hidden it beneath a cushion. He’d mention it to Latimer in passing, but he didn’t think it was significant. If there was anything in writing to concern them, it would have come to light before now.
Latimer was panicking about nothing.
Elroy finished his ale and signalled for a refill. He had raised objections when assigned to bringing Miss Latimer to heel—at least until he made her acquaintance. She was no raving beauty, but he could see what attrac
ted Felsham. Simpering misses were ten a penny, but this self-sufficient female had backbone, an independent mindset and a lively personality that held Elroy’s attention. He would enjoy taming her, while ensuring that she really didn’t possess any harmful information.
He might have to search her cottage to achieve that ambition, but only if his charm offensive failed—which of course it would not. She couldn’t be serious in her disinterest.
‘Find Miss Latimer, did you?’ the barmaid asked as she delivered his ale.
‘I did, thank you. I had a message to deliver from her father, the dean of Salisbury Cathedral.’
‘Religious man, are you?’ The girl sent him a jaundiced look. ‘You don’t look the type.’
Elroy smiled at the girl, but she seemed as unimpressed by his charm as the troublesome Miss Latimer had been earlier. He must be losing his touch, or perhaps it was simply a case of being insufficiently interested to make a real effort. He reminded himself what was at stake and adjured himself to be more sincere on the next occasion that his path crossed Miss Latimer’s.
‘Latimer is a family friend,’ he said, fixing the barmaid with an assessing look. She wasn’t bad looking in a common sort of way. A little plump, but unlike Miss Latimer she’d be free enough with her favours, he suspected. Her good opinion would be worth cultivating simply because there wouldn’t be much going on in this village that she didn’t get to hear about. Taprooms were hotbeds of gossip and he would make it his business to become a familiar figure in this one.
The girl sniffed without responding to his friendly overtures. ‘You’re close to her pa but he didn’t tell you where his own daughter lives?’ She frowned. ‘Sounds a bit suspect.’
‘Miss Latimer has just moved here, so I expect her father forgot her direction.’
‘Very popular is Miss Latimer. She does a lot of good without feeling the need to get down on her knees and pray every five minutes. More practical help is appreciated by them that need it, and people round here hold her in high regard.’
Elroy recognised a veiled warning when he heard one. ‘I don’t intend her any harm; quite the reverse.’ He paused, encouraged when the barmaid didn’t take herself off again. ‘I hear tell that Lord Felsham and she are on friendly terms,’ he said, playing a hunch.
A Sense of Fate (Perceptions Book 7) Page 5