by Sheila Walsh
He said through clenched teeth: ‘Very well, Miss Mannering. You have called my bluff and have had a good laugh at my expense. Now let us make an end of it.’
He turned to where a wooden-faced footman waited to help him into his greatcoat ‒ a magnificent affair of many capes.
‘I am in deadly earnest, my lord.’ For the first time there was a hint of passion in her voice. ‘You won the wager ‒ I insist you must take responsibility for your winnings.’
‘You insist!’ He swung round. His voice cracked like a whiplash. ‘You insist! Nobody tells me what I must do, madam. Nobody!’
‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice was low, but intense. ‘But, oh please, my lord ‒ don’t leave me here!’
Hugo’s eyes narrowed, watching her tightly clasped hands. ‘Are you suggesting that I should take you away now ‒ tonight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Without so much as a maidservant to chaperone you?’
‘There is no one, sir, except perhaps one young girl and she will long since be abed.’
‘I see. And what the devil, pray, am I to do with you? You know that I live alone ‒ but for my servants.’ He let the implication lie.
Two spots of colour burned in the pale cheeks ‒ and for a moment something like desperation flickered behind her eyes. Then her drooping figure straightened. There was only the veriest tremor in her voice as she re-affirmed stubbornly: ‘I will not remain another night under this roof.’
They glared at one another in silence until Toby returned.
‘The damned fellow’s snoring,’ he snorted. ‘A man who can’t hold his liquor shouldn’t drink!’ He cocked an eyebrow at the two protagonists. ‘You agreed terms?’
Mandersely turned to his cousin, a sudden gleam in his eye. ‘It would appear that I am to take Miss Mannering home.’
Toby was scandalized. ‘You can’t do it, Hugo! Poor girl won’t have a shred of name left if it gets about.’
‘Dear boy ‒ you don’t need to convince me!’
Toby turned. ‘Do beg of you, ma-am ‒ reconsider!’
She stared back mutinously.
He tugged his cousin to one side. The Marquis removed his fingers and smoothed the creases from his sleeve. Toby’s idea of a whisper penetrated every corner of the hall.
‘Dare say you won’t like my speaking, Hugo ‒ you being seven years my senior …’
‘Only seven years!’ marvelled his lordship. ‘Unbelievable!’
‘Don’t hedge off, man!’ Toby grinned. ‘Dammit, I’m not one to preach ‒ least of all to you! It’s well known your affairs are discreetly conducted well away from Grosvenor Square. But that don’t stop the rumours flying abroad. Take last summer ‒ that little Portuguese opera dancer ‒ the redhead who talked you out of those superb match bays.’ He shook his head. ‘Shocking waste of good horseflesh. What was I saying? Ah yes ‒ Buffy Harcourt swore you had her tucked up in Grosvenor Square cosy as you please …’
‘Toby!’
‘Eh?’ He followed Hugo’s quelling gaze and saw Miss Mannering, very pink, trying to look as though she hadn’t heard every word. He stammered his apologies; assured her that she must take no notice of his rattling on. ‘Just the same ‒ it won’t do, m’dear ‒ take my word for it. Have you no friend to whom you might go?’
She shook her head. ‘We lived mostly abroad … when my parents were alive … I know no one in London.’
‘Then you’d best stay here ‒ make the best of it. Daresay old Franklyn’ll be sorry in the morning.’
‘No! I will not stay!’
The Marquis regarded the stiff little figure in silence. At last, he turned to pick up his high-crowned beaver, set it upon his head, took up his gloves and his cane and came to look down into her eyes. ‘Then there remains only one alternative, Miss Mannering …’
Toby, in the act of struggling into his own greatcoat, stared in open disbelief.
‘No, Hugo! Sorry, but dammit, I won’t let you do it!’ He turned and bowed to Miss Mannering with great decorum. ‘Profoundest apologies, my dear young lady. He don’t mean any harm … thing is, we’re both a trifle foxed, d’ye see …’
‘Speak for yourself, my boy,’ drawled his lordship. ‘For my part, my mind was never clearer.’
Toby shook his head earnestly. ‘Only think so, Hugo … takes some people that way.’
‘I shall take Miss Mannering to Aunt Aurelia.’
Toby stared. ‘But … it’s not far off midnight! The old dowager will be away to her bed long since. Can’t go hammerin’ on her door, knocking her up at this hour, dash it … give the old girl a nasty turn!’
‘Nonsense. She’s made of sterner stuff. Anyway there will be no need to disturb my aunt. Saunders will do what is necessary. Saunders never goes to bed.’
‘Oh well, if you say so.’ Toby was glad to have the matter settled.
Lucia Mannering, however, was looking uncertainly from one to the other. ‘I wouldn’t wish to put anyone about at this time of night …’
The Marquis found his irritability returning. He said shortly, ‘In that case, you had best remain here, ma-am.’
‘Oh dear!’ She put her hands to her face, trying to sort out her confused thoughts. ‘No … I will come.’
‘Good. Then let us go at once.’
They left Toby at his lodgings en route and when he had gone, it was unbearably quiet. There was no sound in the world, it seemed, but the creaking and rattling of the coach over the cobbles and the ring of the horses’ hooves.
The Marquis spoke not one word. He lounged in the corner of the coach, chin sunk deep in his chest, swaying easily with every lurch of the well-sprung vehicle. When Portland Place was reached he roused himself with a sigh. He stepped down and held out a hand. ‘Come,’ he commanded.
Lucia obeyed, stumbling as a sudden, almost overpowering weariness possessed her. His hand tightened, steadying her.
‘Tired, Miss Mannering?’
‘A little, sir.’ Truth to tell, she was beginning to feel that the evening had been some hideous nightmare from which she would presently waken.
Lady Springhope kept a porter on the door day and night, but since it was seldom that anyone called so late, he was in the habit of putting his feet up. He was soon roused, however, and sent in search of Saunders.
On the threshold, Lucia stared, her weariness forgotten. Used as she was to Mr Franklyn’s modest hallway, this huge area of marble was breathtaking. A staircase rose in an elegant, sweeping curve; huge chandeliers hung from the ceiling; and adorning every space were trophies ‒ extraordinary primitive statues, ornate masks and shields, objets d’art everywhere one looked.
The Marquis observed her wide-eyed wonder with amusement. He put up his glass and swung slowly round. ‘Hideous, ain’t it?’ he murmured. ‘My late lamented uncle was a much travelled man and a compulsive collector. I am persuaded that, as his tastes became odder, my aunt came to dread his return. Ah, Saunders …’ he turned as her ladyship’s butler appeared as predicted, impeccably dressed and quite unruffled.
‘This is Miss Mannering. She finds herself in an awkward situation. Accommodate her in one of my aunt’s bedchambers.’
Saunders heard him out without betraying the least surprise. He’d known Master Hugo too long to be put about by his quirks. As a young ’un he was forever kicking up larks ‒ and it was Saunders who usually got him out of trouble.
So now he inclined his head and said in his precise tones, ‘Certainly, Lord Hugo. Perhaps you would take the young lady into the library whilst I have a room prepared. Does her ladyship know of the arrangement? She has said nothing to me.’
‘Know ‒ of course she don’t know. I didn’t know myself until an hour ago. Don’t worry, Saunders ‒ I’ll square it with my aunt tomorrow.’
Lucia Mannering felt ready to sink. It was easy to imagine what this stiff-backed old retainer would be thinking. Her cheeks flamed and she was about to speak ‒ to say that she would return home on t
he instant, when there was a sound at the head of the stairs.
‘Good God ‒ Aunt Aurelia!’
A strange apparition came slowly down the stairs until she stood above them, a tiny rotund figure in a voluminous dressing robe. A lace boudoir cap was perched a-top of a quantity of fading red hair, which hung in one long, heavy braid.
She fixed her nephew with a haughty glare, so like his own that the family connection was unmistakable ‒ a truly formidable lady.
‘Well, Nephew,’ she snapped querulously. ‘I trust you have a good reason for kicking up a dust and disturbing the peace of my house in the middle of the night.’
‘I had no wish to disturb you, Aunt. Indeed I am sorry for it. I came to crave a bed for Miss Mannering, who has been forced to leave her home.’
Lady Springhope drew her rigid figure up straighter. Her nostrils quivered. ‘Pray enlighten me, Hugo. I have not moved in social circles of late. Is it now become the fashion to quarter your chère amie on your family?’
A slow flush crept up under Hugo’s skin. He spoke through his teeth. ‘That is unworthy of you, ma-am. I would never lay you open to the least breath of scandal. You have but to look at Miss Mannering to know she is not what you think her.’
Lucia had reached breaking point. She had been abominably ill-used ‒ humiliated ‒ bullied ‒ and now this, the final insult. A horrid lump threatened to choke her; she gasped halfway between a laugh and a sob. ‘Oh, let us make an end of it, sir! I should not have come ‒ I will go back!’
‘Nonsense! There is no difficulty. My aunt will not refuse you shelter.’
‘Come here, Miss Mannering,’ demanded Lady Springhope.
Lucia looked as though she would refuse. Then slowly she walked to the foot of the stairs.
‘Well, put your hood down, child. I can’t see you properly if you hide beneath it.’
Again she hesitated ‒ and then she lowered her hood and stared defiantly back at the old lady.
Lady Springhope looked down into the hostile green eyes opened wide against the threat of tears. She noted the shaded silver-gold hair, the fine-boned fragility of the features; for a moment something like recognition passed across her face. Then it was gone. ‘Hmp! Saunders?’
The old servant, who had faded discreetly into the background, now materialized silently.
‘Saunders. Have the Rose Room made ready.’
‘I had already taken the liberty of having it prepared, my lady.’
‘Oh had you?’ She bent a fierce stare upon him and sniffed. ‘Hugo could ever wrap you round his little finger.’ She turned and said over her shoulder, ‘I shall send for you in the morning, Miss Mannering. And, Hugo, you will wait on me at midday. Good-night to you.’
Lucia remained staring after her until Lord Mandersely said behind her: ‘She is not as fearsome as she would have you think, Miss Mannering.’ She turned with a quick nervous gesture, and he saw the weariness in her white face. ‘I will leave you in Saunders’ good hands. I’m sure you are fit to drop.’ There was a suspicion of a smile lurking in his eyes. ‘You have had a lamentable evening ‒ I wish you better dreams.’
‘Thank you.’ He swept out. She had to repress a strong urge to run after him, to call him back. It was as though her only friend was deserting her ‒ a ridiculous notion, she told herself dismally.
Saunders coughed ‒ drawing her attention back. ‘If you would follow me, miss.’ They went up the staircase and along corridors that made her dizzy until Saunders finally flung open a door. She hardly noticed the room, though she was gratified to find a fire burning in the grate and her band-boxes waiting for her.
‘Is there anything you will be wanting, Miss Mannering? I fear all the young maidservants have retired but I could rouse one of them.’
‘Oh no!’ she said quickly. ‘I wouldn’t hear of it. You have been more than kind. I assure you there is nothing I need.’
Saunders bowed and withdrew, leaving Lucia alone.
Chapter Two
Lucia had thought to drop asleep the moment her head touched the pillow, but she was still tossing restlessly several hours later. Her tired brain was spinning, returning with relentless persistence to the enormity of the step she had taken. The more she thought, the more she realized how glaringly open to misinterpretation were her actions.
In the darkness, the occasional flicker from the dying fire sent distorted shapes leaping on to the ceiling. Her face burned and she pressed it into the cool, faintly perfumed silkiness of the sheets.
Gradually she slipped into that no-man’s-land between sleeping and waking, pursued by fitful dreams ‒ a confused jumble of frightening incidents, dominated by a kind of mock auction where Mr Franklyn in a drunken frenzy was whipping up the bidding, led by a swaggering red-haired man who devoured her with bold, lustful eyes. Occasionally he would lean forward to caress her, allowing his hands to linger … The bidding rose higher, and so did her cries for help, but through it all, Lord Mandersely lay back in a chair, smiling and shaking his head.
Several times she started awake on the edge of terror as the red-haired man, triumphant, lifted her struggling and screaming from the platform …
She must have slept for she awoke to find a young girl drawing back the curtains to let in the sunlight. For a moment she wondered where she was ‒ and then with a sinking feeling she remembered.
The maidservant turned and bobbed a cheerful curtsy. ‘Good morning, madam. Mr. Saunders hopes as you had a comfortable night and I’m to bring breakfast to you here, madam, as her ladyship never rises very early.’
The rosy-cheeked girl was obviously agog to learn how they came to have a guest appear so mysteriously overnight. Lucia was obliged to hide a smile.
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘It is very kind of Mr Saunders. If I could just have a drink. I am not hungry.’
‘You’re not ill are you, Madam? You do look a bit peaked.’
‘I shall feel better directly,’ promised Lucia.
When she was dressed and as neat as she could make herself with the limited means at her disposal, she looked at her reflection in the dressing mirror, smoothing the pale green muslin with nervous fingers ‒ it was the best of the few dresses she had hastily packed. Lord! The little maidservant was right. She looked positively sickly! She rubbed her cheeks vigorously and sat down to await the summons from Lady Springhope.
When it came, she was led back along the corridors of the previous night to her ladyship’s room, where she was commanded to enter.
Lady Springhope was sitting bolt upright against a bank of pillows in the middle of a huge four-poster bed, enveloped in a beautifully worked Indian shawl. She waved a hand towards a chair placed beside the bed.
‘Come and sit down, child. Will you take some chocolate?’
Lucia declined politely.
Her ladyship turned to a thin, frosty-faced woman who hovered over her. ‘Then you may go, Parsons. I shall ring when I need you.’
The woman nodded and cast a disparaging glance in Lucia’s direction as she silently slid from the room.
Lady Springhope observed the pale young face ‒ the dark circles under the eyes. ‘You do not look much rested, Miss Mannering. I trust we may soon set you more at your ease.’
‘You are very kind, my lady.’
‘Before we speak of last evening, perhaps it would interest you to know that I am acquainted with your grandfather.’
Lucia’s eyes widened; she half-rose in her chair. ‘My … grandfather, ma-am?’
‘Yes Miss ‒ your grandfather. I also knew your father ‒ he was my godson, in fact. I liked him very well, though he was as wilfully stubborn as his parent. I was sorry to hear of his death.’
‘Thank you.’ Lucia forgot for a moment to be awed. ‘But … how did you know …?’
‘That you were Freddie Mannering’s daughter? Recognized you instantly, m’dear. You are the image of your late grandmother ‒ God rest her. She was my dearest friend.’ Lady Spring
hope shook her head. ‘My word, had she lived things would have been different! She would never have allowed that stupid rift to continue. But when a stiff-necked father and a hotheaded son clash head-on, with no softening influence …’ She shrugged expressively. ‘However, that is past and too late to mend. What of you and your mother, child?’
Lucia Mannering clasped her hands in her lap. ‘My mother, too, passed away six months ago.’
Lady Springhope made sympathetic noises. ‘Dear me ‒ I didn’t know that. I am sorry, my dear. You must be missing her.’
‘Oh ma-am, you can have no idea how much I am missing her!’
It was like flood-gates bursting open ‒ the pent-up emotion of months, once unleashed, would not be stopped. Lady Springhope let her talk, just uttering a word now and again.
‘Mama was not at all as my grandfather imagined her. She came from a well-respected Neapolitan family. They were wiped out in a dreadful plague of cholera when she was just seventeen, all but herself and a small brother who died two years later. There was little money and, with a sickly child to support, Mama had to find some means of earning a living. Her only talent was her voice, so she went into the opera.’
Lady Springhope, watching the animation of the young face before her, was deeply moved. Tears rolled down Miss Mannering’s cheeks unnoticed and unchecked. She was in the grip of a deep emotion.
‘My father first saw her in Rome at the opera when he was on the Grand Tour. They fell in love on sight and were married within a month.’ A wistful note crept into her voice. ‘They were still as much in love to the day he died.
‘Grandfather cut off Papa’s allowance the moment he heard of the marriage and refused to have any dealings with him. We lived abroad a great deal. There seemed little point in coming home.’
Memories came flooding back, of that vagabond existence with her dear, impractical father and her beautiful mama; of the times they had crept away at dead of night to avoid Papa’s creditors.
‘… of course it was wrong, but to my child’s mind it was a splendid lark! We were so happy, in spite of everything! Sometimes Mama would take engagements so that we might keep the tradesmen at bay. She had the loveliest voice …’ Lucia’s voice cracked.