Devilish Lord, Mysterious Miss

by Annie Burrows

  Robbie sat up, glowering at her. ‘You don’t know what I’ve been through these past seven years. No man could have stood it without a wee dram now and again.’

  ‘You see?’ She laughed. ‘You are even making the same excuses he did. Nothing was ever his fault, was it? Someone else always drove him to it. Either Mother drove him to the edge of his patience with her constant ailments, or I was too much of a disappointment for any man to contend with, or you provoked him with your wildness…and the answer was always to punish us. And that’s what you’re doing, is it not? Punishing Christopher…for something that was not his fault!’

  She sat down abruptly on the sofa as a whole new set of memories came flooding to the surface, set free, apparently, by simply alluding to them.

  ‘You’ve remembered…’ Lord Matthison grated, moving towards her, on his knees. Blood was streaming from a split lip, water dripped from his hair, yet his eyes were alight with what, only this morning, she would have said was love. ‘Cora…’

  ‘Yes, I’ve remembered,’ she said in a voice so cold it halted him in its tracks.

  She steeled herself against his look of baffled hurt. For no matter how convincing it looked, she knew it was all an act. She meant nothing to him. She never had.

  Wrapping her arms round herself as the only barrier left against the pain, she groaned, ‘I remember everything.’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘I apprehend you no longer require the smelling salts?’ Mrs Paulding stood in the doorway, surveying the wreckage of the drawing room with distaste.

  Lord Matthison scrambled to his feet, his brows drawn into a frown.

  ‘As you see, Miss Montague has recovered from her faint—’

  ‘And would now like to retire to her room,’ Cora said firmly. Her heart was pounding, her whole body shaking with the effort of behaving correctly when what she really wanted to do was rage and scream and howl.

  ‘I will come to your room once I have changed,’ Lord Matthison said in an urgent undertone. ‘We must speak…’

  ‘It would be most improper to admit you to my room,’she replied frostily. ‘In future, anything you have to say to me, you will have the goodness to say in public.’

  His eyes widened. His face turned white, making the streak of blood trickling from his lip look an even darker red.

  As she turned to leave the room, he made to seize her arm.

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ growled Robbie, lurching to his feet, scattering water droplets and broken rose stems in all directions.

  ‘Dammit all to hell!’ cried Lord Matthison. ‘You cannot think I mean her any harm?’

  ‘I saw the way she looked at you. That’s enough for me,’ said Robbie, interposing his large body between Lord Matthison and his sister.

  ‘Robbie,’Cora sighed, ‘I do wish you would stay out of this.’He was itching for an excuse to take up the fight where she had obliged him to leave it off. Stepping to one side so that she could see Lord Matthison beyond her brother’s belligerent bulk, she said, ‘Please just do as I ask, Christopher, and leave me alone! I need time to…’ She squeezed her eyes shut against another surge of self-awareness left her feeling dizzy. ‘I need to think.’

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. Without taking his eyes from her, he rapped out, ‘Mrs Paulding, make sure Miss Montague reaches her room safely. And see she has everything she needs. She has journeyed far, and suffered a severe shock.’

  The housekeeper obediently placed her arm around Cora’s waist, and supported her from the room. Too grateful to be spared any further browbeating from either of the men in that room, Cora made no protest until the door was shut behind them. Only then did she halt, and turn to the grey-haired woman. More grey than she remembered, and more lines on her face, but then hadn’t the years taken their toll on them all?

  ‘You can drop the show of concern now there is nobody to see us. I know you have never liked me.’

  ‘It is not my place,’Mrs Paulding replied, ‘to express any sort of opinion regarding the young ladies his lordship chooses to bring into his home.’

  Cora reeled away from her at the implication Lord Matthison was always bringing women here. And Mrs Paulding just kept walking, rigid-backed, towards the dark oak staircase. Cora made it to the foot of the stair and grasped hold of the newel post for support, her pain redoubled by a fresh wave of memories. She was almost as breathless as she had been in the coach, but now, she was having to deal with them completely on her own.

  It had been seeing Mrs Paulding’s back, turned to her after delivering a cruel aside, that had done it this time. She sucked in a deep breath, as she mounted the first step, deliberately avoiding looking back at the morning room, where Christopher and Robbie were still closeted together. Last time she had been in there, the woman lying on that sofa had not been her, but Christopher’s mother. Christopher had kept a tight hold of her hand as he had made the introductions with his chin up, and more than a hint of defiance in his voice.

  ‘Oh, Christopher,’ Lady Matthison had wailed, pressing one hand to her bosom, which had heaved dramatically. ‘Surely you cannot mean to make me so unhappy because of—’ and she had waved her other hand in Cora’s direction, lowering her voice to a tragic moan ‘—that Creature? I could have understood it if she was in the least bit pretty,’ she had added, reaching for a scrap of lace with which to dab at her eyes. ‘But when you know how desperately Kingsmede stands in need of an heiress…’

  Cora opened her eyes, which she had inadvertently shut against the sting of the reception she had endured all those years ago. Mrs Paulding had reached the landing, and was staring down at her, bristling with impatience.

  For a moment or two, past and present merged, and she was just a nervous girl on her first visit to her fiancé’s family home. She had just been mortally wounded by her future mother-in-law’s reaction to her, and there stood Mrs Paulding, bidden to take her to her room, staring at her with open derision on her face.

  She had scarcely seen Kit’s mother after that. Lady Matthison had made no attempt at extending any hospitality to the girl she saw as her son’s great mistake, taking all her meals in her room. Kit and Robbie had shrugged off her attitude, telling Cora that mealtimes would be more congenial without her drooping over the table. But Cora had taken it to heart. Neither of his parents had approved of her. His mother had showed it by refusing to welcome her properly to Kingsmede, and his father by not even bothering to come home to meet his son’s intended bride at all. And she could quite understand their attitude. Because she was not a worthy bride for a man of Kit’s standing. He should have been marrying somebody pretty, or wealthy, or both. A woman who came from his world, who would know how to deal with servants who despised them.

  No wonder, she gasped, she had felt so aware of the discrepancy between her station in life and Lord Matthison’s this time round. It echoed exactly what she had felt before. When she had been his fiancée.

  Slowly, her eyes came back into focus, drawn to the stony-faced housekeeper who still waited for her at the head of the stairs.

  Last time Cora had been here, the woman had gone out of her way to make her as uncomfortable as she could. And Cora had never had the confidence to complain. Instead, she had begun to wonder, along with Mrs Paulding, why such a handsome young lord should have taken up with a plain, ill-educated minister’s daughter? Long before the housekeeper had enlightened her as to what was really going on, she had begun to feel as though she had only dreamed he had asked her to marry him, and that one day she would wake up, and find herself back in Auchentay. Every day she had spent at Kingsmede had increased her fear that one wrong move on her part could bring everything crashing down around her ears.

  Pressing her lips tightly together, Cora climbed the remaining stairs, her eyes fixed on Mrs Paulding’s face.

  ‘You still do not want me to marry Lord Matthison, do you?’ she said, once she was on a level with the dour woman.

  ‘You are not,’ the
woman replied with venom, ‘and never have been, any good for his lordship. While you stayed away, Lord Matthison has prospered. He has looked after his tenants, improved his lands, and refurbished this house. You have not been back in his life for five minutes, and already there’s brawling in the drawing room. That is my opinion, madam, and I shall stick by it.’

  Certain things had not changed, then. Cora remembered the gleeful way Mrs Paulding had finally managed to convince her how little Kit really cared for her. Her eyes had flashed with malicious triumph as she had informed Cora that everyone knew the young master had only proposed to her because her bully of a brother had forced him to it. And went on to say that if she had any integrity, she would not hold him to an engagement that had already caused a breach between him and his parents.

  She had lain awake all that night, weeping as she recalled the events that had led up to Kit’s proposing to her.

  He had taken her out on to the loch in the rowing boat. And he had finally kissed her. She had been yearning for him to kiss her for days and days.

  No, longer. She had always admired Robbie’s solemn-eyed friend, right from the first moment he had stepped into their home. He had fascinated her. He was so different from the men who lived in the village, and even from her irascible father, and brother. He had good manners. What her mother termed breeding.

  But it was not that alone that drew the young Cora to him. It was the fact that he was always so calm, and controlled. He never spoke without considering for a moment or two, unlike Robbie and her father, who invariably said whatever was at the forefront of their mind. And occasionally lashed out with their fists without bothering to explain their thinking at all.

  She lived for the times he came to visit, though she rarely plucked up the courage to speak to him.

  Until that last summer. Robbie had been so busy, he had not been able to prevent her from spending every waking hour with the object of her adoration. It caused her almost as much pain as pleasure, finally being able to spend whole days with him, whilst wondering if he was only tolerating her company out of deference to his friend’s difficult situation. Not that he ever made her aware of how he must have felt. His manners were far too polished.

  ‘Come on,’he had said, with that smile she had always found completely irresistible for being so rare, ‘I will teach you to row.’And they had climbed into the boat.

  In order to show her how to handle the oars, he’d had to take hold of her hands as they sat side by side on the narrow bench. She had been able to feel his hip through the material of her skirts, pressing up against her own as they had each plied their own oar. She had felt as though she was in heaven. The laughter, the sunshine, their close proximity—it had all gone to her head. She blushed even now to think of how shameless she had been. A large wave had jostled the oar from her hands, and instead of lunging for it, she had clung to Kit for safety as the boat rocked alarmingly. He had put his arms round her, to steady her, and she had gazed up into his face with naked adoration in her eyes. She must have done, for he had said, ‘You want me to kiss you.’ She had nodded. He had obliged.

  It had been, she swallowed, a moment of pure magic. Her first kiss.

  But not his.

  Even back then, she had sensed that a boy did not get that level of mastery without having practised on dozens of other female lips. Not that the knowledge had prevented her enthusiastic response. Pretty soon, they had tumbled to the bottom of the boat, meshed together from shoulder to hip, her skirts tangling round his legs as she twined herself round him.

  And the sun had beat down on their writhing bodies while the waves lapped gently against the hull, rocking them. The gulls wheeled in the clear blue sky overhead, keening, but she had shut her ears to their warning cries. Her heart had been so full of exultation, she had vowed to treasure this moment for the rest of her life.

  And when he had come to her, later that same day, and asked her to marry him, it had seemed too good to be true.

  ‘You cannot mean that!’ she had cried. ‘You hardly know me!’

  ‘I have visited your home many times,’he had replied seriously. ‘I know you well.’

  She had shaken her head, still too dazed by her good fortune to believe he could be in earnest.

  ‘We are too young,’ she had persisted. She had heard him talking about going to university. Could he afford to do that, if he married her? Besides, his family would surely want him to marry a woman of his own class, a woman who had been brought up knowing how to run the kind of estate he would one day govern. ‘I am not the kind of girl you should marry,’she had concluded sadly.

  ‘But you want to marry me, though, don’t you?’ he had frowned. ‘You would not have kissed me so enthusiastically this afternoon unless you were already thinking along those lines. You are not that sort of girl.’

  She had opened her mouth to protest that she had not been capable of thinking of anything that afternoon. She had just been swept away by the yearnings of her heart, the insistent clamour of her body. But he had stopped her mouth with a kiss before she could explain anything. And had kept on kissing her until all power of rational thought deserted her. ‘Say yes,’ he kept murmuring between kisses. Until she was so hazed with passion she could scarcely remember what her objections had been.

  She blinked away the mist that obscured her eyes, and the malevolent form of Mrs Paulding swam back into focus.

  Mrs Paulding, who had shattered her dreams with her ruthless delivery of a piece of information that both Robbie and Kit had kept from her.

  ‘Your brother was walking home along the headland overlooking the bay, and saw you frolicking in the boat with the young master,’ she had hissed, barely a week after Cora’s arrival at Kingsmede. ‘He caught up with him in the boat-house, and set upon him. He did not stop hitting him until he had forced the poor lad to agree to propose to you!’

  It had felt like the missing piece of the jigsaw, finally falling into place. She had wondered what they had been fighting about, down on the shore, when they should have been indoors, getting changed for dinner. But she had seen them wrestling dozens of times over the years, and had not thought there was any particular significance to that fight. Especially since they had eventually come in with their arms round each other’s shoulders, grinning.

  She had thought it peculiar, though, when Robbie had made himself scarce after supper, leaving her alone with Kit when his habit before had been to send her away, so that he and his friend could indulge in ‘man talk’.

  No wonder Kit had brushed aside her feeble objections to his proposal. He was, first and foremost, Robbie’s friend. And wished to remain so. So much that he was even prepared to marry his gauche, unattractive little sister after being caught kissing her.

  She had been completely wretched at Kingsmede after that, seeing everything from the moment of that fateful boating trip in a new light.

  Kit had not wanted to make her his wife because he had fallen headlong in love with her! She had cringed to recall the numerous times she had poured out all that had been in her heart, and he had just smiled, and kissed her. She could no longer excuse his silence by telling herself he was not the kind of man who spoke about his feelings. The truth was that he simply did not have any deep feelings for her. But he was far too much the gentleman to tell her to her face that she had trapped him into a marriage he did not want. He had even managed to maintain a cheerful demeanour for the remainder of his stay at Auchentay.

  When all the time, he must have wished he had never met her.

  She had wanted to die.

  Instead…

  With a start, she came to herself, finding she was standing on the upper landing, gazing sightlessly at Mrs Paulding.

  ‘You did all you could to make me leave,’she breathed.

  Mrs Paulding gave her a considering look. ‘You did the right thing.’She frowned. ‘I thought you understood how unsuitable you were—and still are—to become mistress of Kingsmede. I cannot com
prehend why you have changed your mind and returned.’

  Cora felt a flash of surprise. Just now, in the hall, when that part of her memory had returned, it had seemed obvious that Mrs Paulding had been behind all that had happened that last day. Yet her words now showed she had no knowledge of it.

  She turned and stalked along the corridor that led to Cora’s room. Cora drifted behind her in a daze. How wrong she had been about everything. Everyone. Even Mrs Paulding. Though the woman had never made any secret of her animosity towards her, she was no criminal. Just a woman with strong convictions, and utter loyalty to the family she served.

  Cora paused on the threshold of her room, assailed by yet more images from her past. The last time she had been here, the bed-hangings had been dusty, the curtains frayed and faded, and the bed linen so fragile that she had put her foot straight through the top sheet the first time she’d got in. She had been so scared of informing Mrs Paulding of the damage she had done, she had sat up half the night sewing it sides to middle. Only to have the housekeeper inform her scathingly the next morning, with the offending article draped over her forearm, that in the residence of persons of quality there were maids to attend to the linen.

  Everything was fresh and new now. There was even a pretty rug beside the bed, thick and soft and luxurious for bare feet to step on to first thing in the morning. Not like the ragged old thing she had always been catching her heels in. And, as she stepped into the room in which she had suffered such agonies of self-doubt, she could not help noticing that everywhere smelled different too. The Kingsmede of old had smelled of dust and mildew. Now, the scent of beeswax and lavender hung in the air.

  Mrs Paulding stood in the middle of the room, her hands clasped at her waist, her expression wavering between defiance and…apprehension.

  It struck Cora that, this time around, she had far more power over events than she’d had before. If she really were to marry Lord Matthison, she could fire Mrs Paulding from her post.