After all she had been through, to lose him at the last moment was too vexing. And not only was it vexing, but it left her with a very real problem, namely, how was she to find him again?
She let out a long sigh. She had come so far, and yet she had been defeated at the last.
But perhaps Lydia and Frederick would be able to help her. As Mr Kendrick had clearly recognised a friend’s carriage, it might be that he would stay in the neighbourhood for a few days.
She went into the inn and arranged for a carriage to take her to Godmersham Park, where Lydia and Frederick lived.
It was not far to Godmersham Park. In less than a quarter of an hour the carriage turned off the road and bowled along a broad drive before coming to a halt. The building was an elegant one. Its golden stone glowed in the lamplight and its elegant proportions gave it a peaceful, tranquil air. The façade was lined by tall windows, and from them came a welcoming stream of light.
As she climbed out of the carriage, she was glad she knew Lydia and Frederick so well, for otherwise her unexpected arrival would be unforgivable. The butler was surprised to see her, but he welcomed her warmly, and as she untied the strings of her bonnet she heard the noise of conversation flowing out from the drawing-room.
‘There are guests?’ asked Eleanor.
‘Yes, miss,’ said the butler.
‘Then please don’t show me in. Would you just say that I am here?’
‘Very good, miss.’
As he departed, Eleanor looked round the familiar hall with pleasure. She had visited the house on a number of occasions, and it held many happy memories. The hallway was impressive. Large marble pillars rose gracefully to the high ceiling, where they were ornamented round the top with gold acanthus leaves. Beyond them, a splendid staircase curved upwards to the first floor. Family portraits were arranged neatly on the pale walls, and there was a black-and-white floor.
Before long, Lydia came out to her. She was an elegant woman of middle age, dressed in a lilac gown, with green eyes and dark hair.
‘My dear Eleanor!’ she said in surprise, her face breaking into a smile as she opened her arms to greet Eleanor. ‘What are you doing here? And why didn’t you tell me you were coming? What a wonderful surprise.’
‘Lydia!’ Eleanor greeted the older woman warmly, and returned her embrace. ‘I would have let you know I was coming if I could, but my journey was arranged at such short notice that —’
Lydia nodded sagely. ‘My dear, there’s no need to explain. You are on your way to London to try on your dress for the wedding, I suppose. I know how arrangements have to be made quickly sometimes. It was the same when Frederick and I were married, somehow everything always had to be done at the last minute!’
Eleanor was about to contradict her, but then changed her mind. If Lydia had assumed she was travelling to London in order to have a fitting for a new gown to wear at Arabella’s wedding then so be it. She did not feel equal to the task of explaining the real situation just at the moment.
‘I am glad you are going to have something new to wear,’ said Lydia. ‘And who knows,’ she added innocently, ‘with so many eligible young gentlemen attending, you might meet a husband of your own.’
Eleanor suppressed a smile. Lydia’s matchmaking instincts would not allow her to accept that Eleanor, at six-and-twenty, was on the shelf, and she insisted on making hopeful comments every time they met.
‘For you know, a society wedding is just the sort of place to meet a husband,’ continued Lydia. ‘There will be any number of dukes, earls and barons, all thinking about marriage. What better place to find your destiny?’
‘I don’t think dukes, earls and barons will want to marry a penniless young lady with no connections,’ Eleanor pointed out with a smile.
‘Why not?’ Lydia challenged her. ‘Charles did.’
The point was unarguable. But then, Arabella had qualities to counteract her lack of fortune and connections. Golden hair and cornflower-blue eyes, a sweet nature and a delectably tiny figure, were all powerful inducements to ignore her other shortcomings. Whereas Eleanor’s brown hair and plain features were not.
Eleanor, however, did not point this out, for Lydia would have immediately recommended a variety of lotions for brightening her hair and improving her complexion, and would not have rested until Eleanor had tried them all!
‘But we can’t stand out here in the hall. Come in,’ said Lydia. ‘You will stay with us, of course, for as long as you want.’
Eleanor gave her heartfelt thanks for the invitation and readily agreed.
‘I am looking forward to the wedding,’ said Lydia as the two ladies crossed the hall. ‘And Frederick is very pleased to be giving Arabella away. He - but where is your bag?’ asked Lydia, suddenly noticing that Eleanor did not have a valise.
Eleanor was just about to say that it was a long story, when Lydia forestalled her. ‘You weren’t on the stagecoach, were you? The one that was held up by the highwayman?’
‘How do you know about that?’ asked Eleanor in surprise.
‘Bad news always travels quickly,’ said Lydia, ‘and Fredrick is a magistrate, you know. He received a message not five minutes ago and he is off, looking for the miscreant.’
‘Yes, I was on the stage,’ Eleanor acknowledged.
‘Oh! How wonderful. That is, how terrible,’ Lydia said, suddenly recollecting that she ought not to exclaim quite so happily over Eleanor’s misfortune. ‘I do hope you have not been hurt?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘Oh, good.’ Reassured that Eleanor was all right, Lydia was free to enjoy the sensational happening. ‘It will be something exciting to talk about over dinner.’
‘I don’t want to intrude. I know you have guests.’
‘Intrude? My dear Eleanor, you could never intrude. You are always welcome here. There is just time to introduce you to everyone before it is time to change for dinner.’ Turning to the butler, she went on, ‘Inform Mrs Hingis we have another guest and instruct her to make up the blue room, if you please, Tompkins.’
‘Very good, madam,’ he said, before withdrawing to make the necessary arrangements.
As they crossed the hall, Eleanor asked, ‘Do you know a Mr Kendrick?’
Lydia became thoughtful. ‘No, I don’t think I do. Why?’
‘Oh, no reason. It is just that he was on the coach, and he then climbed into a private carriage, which led me to think he might be a neighbour of yours.’
Lydia shook her head. ‘No. The name is not familiar.’
Eleanor swallowed her disappointment. Besides, it was possible that Frederick might know something about him. Then she followed Lydia into the drawing-room, where the other house guests were passing the time until they were ready to dress for dinner. It was an elegant apartment, and although not quite as grand as the hall, it had a large marble fireplace and impressive white mouldings on the walls.
The room was full of guests. There was a young girl with her mother, an elegant woman just beyond the first flush of youth, two respectable-looking gentlemen, and over by the far wall, with his back towards her, another gentleman.
‘Everyone, we have a new guest in our midst,’ said Lydia.
Eleanor turned her attention back to her hostess.
‘Miss Grantham, one of my dearest friend’s daughters, is here. She was on a stagecoach which has just been held up, and a monster of a highwayman took everything but her clothes,’ she said. ‘She is going to be staying with us, but you are not allowed to ask her anything about her ordeal until she has had something to eat.’ She turned to Eleanor. ‘And now, let me introduce you to everyone, Eleanor, my dear.’
As Lydia went through a list of names, Eleanor found her attention once again drawn to the gentleman standing in the corner. Continuing to pour his drink, he did not look round as she was introduced to the rest of the guests.
‘This is Mrs Benson,’ said Lydia, continuing with the introductions.
Eleanor mur
mured something politely as she was introduced to the glamorous Mrs Benson.
‘And that’s just about everybody,’ said Lydia. ‘Except, of course, for Lord Silverton.’
At this, the tall man in the corner slowly turned. Eleanor saw a lean, tanned face, with olive skin drawn tightly across high cheekbones, a straight nose, a firm jaw and deeply cleft chin. Black hair framed his face . . . and a pair of steely blue eyes met her own.
She was startled, but he gave no sign of recognition, and she thought she must be mistaken.
‘Lord Silverton, allow me to introduce Miss Grantham,’ said Lydia.
Eleanor watched him as he crossed the room towards her. His hard muscles rippled beneath his black tailcoat, and his stride was one of predatory grace.
‘Miss Grantham,’ he murmured, taking her hand.
He lifted it to his lips and kissed it. As he did so, a surge of energy ran up her arm and down her spine, leaving her tingling from head to foot. Her eyes flew open.
Impossible! she thought.
But impossible or not, Lord Silverton was the highwayman.
Chapter Two
And now what do I do? Eleanor thought, as Lydia continued to introduce her to the other guests. Do I expose him for being a thief?
She decided against it. She couldn’t do that in front of everyone, it would be too embarrassing for Lydia. And besides, even if she did expose him, who would believe her? Lord Silverton was evidently a man of some standing. It was unlikely that anyone would accept her word for it if she said that he was the highwayman.
Besides, she found the situation odd. Lord Silverton was evidently a wealthy nobleman, and moreover he was a friend of Lydia and Frederick’s - and Frederick was a magistrate. Why, then, would he dress as a highwayman and hold up a stagecoach? A spirit of devilment? No. That explanation did not satisfy her. Lord Silverton was some thirty years of age, and was too old to indulge in such a prank. She had the instinctive feeling there was more to the situation . . . and to Lord Silverton . . . than met the eye.
The gong rang in the hall outside, recalling her thoughts to the present. It was time to dress for dinner.
‘I’ll show you to your room,’ said Lydia, as the other guests made their way upstairs. ‘I am sure you would like to refresh yourself before we eat. Will you mind dining as you are? I would be happy to lend you some clothes, but by the time I have found you anything suitable the dinner will be spoiled.’
Eleanor assured her that she did not mind and then she accompanied Lydia up the elegant sweeping staircase and along a maze of corridors before arriving at the bedroom.
‘I’ll send a maid along in a minute. If you need anything, you have only to ask, and she will fetch it for you,’ Lydia said.
Eleanor thanked her then, once Lydia had left, she closed the door and looked around the bedroom with approval. Silk panels covered the walls, and a matching counterpane was spread over the half tester bed. Facing the bed was a mahogany mantelpiece, intricately carved with bunches of grapes, and next to it was a washstand. Above the mantelpiece hung a gilded mirror, and on either side of it were wall sconces. The candles were lit, and a warm glow spread over the room.
There was a scratching at the door and a minute later a neat little maid entered the room with a jug of hot water. She carried it over to the washstand and poured the water into a pretty porcelain bowl, then helped Eleanor to remove her dress.
As Eleanor washed, the maid set a flat iron by the fire and when it was hot enough she ironed Eleanor’s gown. Eleanor dried herself on a fluffy towel and then slipped back into her dress before sitting down so the maid could arrange her hair.
The young girl unpinned it deftly, loosing it from its chignon and letting it cascade around Eleanor’s shoulders. Then she took up a silver-backed hairbrush and brushed the brown locks until they shone. Finally, she twisted Eleanor’s hair into a fashionable knot and pinned it neatly on top of her head.
‘Thank you,’ said Eleanor, nodding approvingly at the maid’s handiwork, before leaving her room and going downstairs.
It was too early for dinner and the other guests, having more elaborate toilettes to make, were still in their rooms. She was relieved, for it would give her time to slip into the drawing-room and write a note to Arabella. Her absence might be prolonged, and Arabella would be concerned if she returned from visiting friends to find that Eleanor was not at home.
She opened the door of the drawing-room but no sooner had she stepped across the threshold than she realized she was not alone. There, with his foot on the fender, was the enigmatic Lord Silverton.
Despite herself, her eyes lingered on him. There was something about him that drew her gaze. It was not just that he was darkly handsome, although with his black hair, lean face, blue eyes and cleft chin he was undoubtedly that. It was something more. But despite his good looks he was dangerous and she did not want to be alone with him.
She was about to slip soundlessly out of the room again when, as if sensing her presence, he turned round. There was a tense moment. They stood looking at each other across the elegant furnishings and Aubusson carpet as though it were a battleground instead of a drawing-room.
What was going through his mind? she wondered. Did he know she had recognised him? Or did he suspect? Or was he satisfied that she had not? Had he expected her to denounce him? And how did he feel now that she hadn’t? Did he feel safe? Or did he feel wary? She wished she knew.
He made her a slight bow.
‘Miss Grantham,’ he said politely. ‘Won’t you come in?’
She lingered by the door. His words were innocuous but there was something in the atmosphere that made her wary.
He took his foot from the fender.
‘I’m sure the other guests will be down presently,’ he said.
It was too late now to back out of the room and so she walked in, taking a seat as far away from him as possible.
There was a strained silence. Then he said searchingly, ‘It must have been a shock for you, being held up by a highwayman this afternoon. I hope you were not too alarmed?’
She had not expected him to refer to the robbery, and wondered whether he was toying with her. Deciding in the end that he was trying to find out whether or not she had recognised him she turned her eyes to his and replied in the same cool tone, ‘No.’
‘Ah. Good. I’m pleased. I wouldn’t like to think you had been afraid.’
You didn’t care whether I was afraid or not. The angry words were on the tip of her tongue, and she had to bite them back. She saw his eyes sharpen, as though he sensed that she had been about to commit herself. The thought stiffened her spine. Mastering her emotion, she said instead, ‘Fortunately not.’
There was another strained silence. As she watched him, Eleanor realised that if Lord Silverton was the highwayman, it meant that he was now in possession of Mr Kendrick’s case. Which meant that he might possibly be in possession of Arabella’s letters.
The idea made her see things, however unwillingly, in a different light. If she told him that she had recognised him, then all she had to do was to ask him if he had the letters. It was tempting, for if he had, then Arabella’s problem was solved. But did she have the courage to ask him? Or rather, did she have the recklessness? Because it would be reckless to admit that she knew who he was.
She hesitated. And yet if it meant that she could reclaim Arabella’s letters without ever having to speak to Mr Kendrick, might it not be worth it?
‘Will you be staying with Lydia and Frederick for long?’ Lord Silverton’s voice cut across her musings.
‘No.’ To her annoyance, her voice cracked on the word, betraying signs of her tension. She moistened her lips and then said, ‘I am only staying the one night. I will be travelling onwards tomorrow.’
‘A pity.’ His tone of voice, however, did not go with the words. Indeed, it sounded as though he should have been saying, ‘Thank God!’
There was another silence.
Elea
nor weighed up the arguments, and in the end she decided to speak. But just as she was about to ask the question the door opened and Mrs Benson entered the room.
Seeming to sense some of the tension in the room, Mrs Benson stopped short when she saw Eleanor and Lord Silverton, alone together. But her scowl was quickly replaced by a charming, if false, smile and she came forward in a cloud of expensive scent.
‘Miss Grantham,’ she purred. ‘I didn’t think you would be downstairs so soon. But as you have no evening dress to wear, I should have expected it. Not that it matters,’ she added patronisingly. ‘Your quaint little muslin looks charming, my dear.’
She gave Lord Silverton an arch smile, as if inviting him to ridicule Eleanor’s gown, but instead he turned away.
Mrs Benson scowled.
Fortunately - for the atmosphere was becoming decidedly frosty - the door opened again, and Mrs Oliver entered with her daughter.
Remembering that she wanted to write a note to Arabella, Eleanor went over to the escritoire and took up a quill.
In the background, she could hear Mrs Oliver regaling Lord Silverton with a list of Miss Oliver’s many perfections. She could almost feel sorry for him! It seemed that every female in the house had set her cap at him. But would they have been so eager to attract his attention if they knew how he had spent his day?
‘And she sings divinely!’ Mrs Oliver gushed. ‘She is so obliging, that I am sure if you ask her for a song after dinner she will not disappoint you.’
‘Mother!’ said Miss Oliver in agonised tones. ‘Please don’t.’
‘Nonsense, child. Lord Silverton would love to hear you sing,’ said her redoubtable mama. ‘He has spent many long years in the army, and now that he is home again he is longing for some superior company. It is just a pity there is no instrument, otherwise you could delight him with your playing as well.’
The other guests soon began to fill the drawing-room, until at last they were all assembled and dinner was announced.
‘Oh, dear, and Frederick has not returned,’ said Lydia as she organized her guests with their dinner partners. ‘He was called away to investigate the hold-up and he hasn’t yet come back. But we will not delay our dinner for him, he will probably be away for some time. Now, if we are all ready, I suggest we go in.’
The Silverton Scandal Page 3