‘You must think of your life now—and Amelia. Don’t throw it away in trying to repay someone for what happened a long time ago.’
‘After what you have been through recently you, more than any other person I know, should understand how difficult that would be.’
‘Yes, I do. I’m not afraid of Mr Barrington, only of what he might do.’
‘It is sensible to remain wary. Hopefully after what occurred at the ball and the wound to his head following your assault with the candlestick, with any luck he will realise nothing can come of his plans to marry you and will move on to someone else.’
‘I hope not. I hate to think of someone else having to go through what I—and your sister—suffered at his hands. I can’t think why he would want me, never having set eyes on me.’
‘Can’t you?’ Christopher said softly. ‘I can. You have spirit and you’re very lovely, Lucy—and clever—like a beautiful jewel he wanted to own.’
‘He won’t—not ever. I hate him and I hope never to set eyes on him again. Thank you for telling me about Amelia. I suspect it’s not something you are comfortable speaking about, that it is still too raw and painful. Among the many emotions you must be feeling I know how angry and hurt you must feel. I cannot blame you for that. I understand perfectly.’
Christopher’s eyes searched her face with something like wonder in his silver eyes. ‘What a wise young woman you are.’
‘If I were wise, I would have come to terms with everything that has happened to me since Mr Barrington entered my life, but I am finding it difficult. That is a millstone round my neck I have to bear.’ Lucy shook her head and sighed with sympathy for their mutual plight. ‘So apart from your grandfather, you don’t have any family either.’
He shook his head, meeting her candid gaze. ‘That’s right. At least we have that in common.’
‘What will happen to Sofia?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘I think she is in love with Mr Barrington—but I also believe she is afraid of him. I—would like to see her, talk to her.’
‘If you think anything can be achieved in doing so, then of course.’
* * *
Christopher was far less concerned with Lucy’s stepmother’s fate than with protecting the woman who had been brutally attacked. Lucy had endured enough. He would not have her become the subject of unpleasant rumours if it were discovered Barrington had attempted to rape her.
As much as he was against Lucy visiting her stepmother, he knew she would not be content until she had seen her.
* * *
Sofia admitted them to the house herself. It was clear she was expecting them. Lucy looked at her without affection or kindness. She could not forgive her for turning a deaf ear when Mr Barrington had entered her room to rape her.
‘I could not let this pass without seeing you, Sofia. You must see that what you have done is beyond all forms of decency.’
Sofia took a deep breath and nodded. ‘I understand how angry and abused you must feel, Lucy, and for what it’s worth I am sorry.’
‘You should be. No doubt you thought I was too young and simple to fight you, that without Aunt Caroline I would be at your mercy. You sent the letter to the academy, didn’t you, Sofia?’
She nodded. ‘Mark insisted on it.’
‘And—and my father?’
Clearly emotional suddenly, Sofia looked at Lucy then down at her lap. ‘I’m sorry, Lucy. Your father is dead. He—he died three months ago. I should have told you but—but Mark...’
Lucy stared at her, unable to comprehend what she had said. ‘Dead? But—but he can’t be. How...?’ She stopped a gasp with her hand, unable to take in what she said. ‘But—how? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I—Mark—we were playing for time. I already knew Mark—had done for some time—but I was never unfaithful to your father.’
That was some consolation, at least, but the disgust Lucy was feeling and the heartbreak that would come later on from losing her beloved father showed clearly on her face. ‘But why was I not informed? His lawyers would surely have written.’
‘I told them that being so far away, with no one close, I didn’t want you to be upset, that it would be better if I came to London to tell you myself.’
‘But I had Aunt Caroline.’
‘Who, according to your father before he died, was on an extensive tour of the Continent.’
Lucy looked at her with loathing. ‘You had it all planned out, didn’t you, Sofia? With Aunt Caroline not expected to arrive back in London for at least six weeks, it was enough time for the wedding to take place and to return to America, secure in the knowledge that Mark Barrington was the new owner of Aspendale and my wealth—as is the custom. You began the affair with Mr Barrington soon after Father died,’ she accused angrily. ‘How could you do that?’
‘Your father became ill all of a sudden—his heart, the doctor said.’
Bright tears filled Lucy’s eyes. She swallowed and held herself very erect. ‘I wish I had known. You should have told me. I would have gone to him.’
Sofia shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t have done any good. His passing was quick. You couldn’t have got to Aspendale in time. You must write to his lawyer. He will explain your father’s last will and testament to you. He left me a small allowance. Everything else he left to you.’
‘Which you and Mr Barrington colluded to get for yourselves by forcing me into a marriage with him. He wanted to marry me to get his hands on the ranch.’
‘It was Mark’s idea. Everything he had lost at the gaming tables he could get back if he married you.’
‘And much more besides. You thought I would be truly at your mercy when you devised a clever plan to get your hands on my inheritance. How could you do that?’
Sofia raised her head and looked directly at her. ‘Because I loved him. I still do, so nothing is changed. There, it’s as simple as that.’
As the full implication of what Sofia was telling her began to sink in, Lucy saw the truth at last, along with the full horror if it. ‘And what would you have done had I married him? Would you have been content seeing me as his wife—or did you plan to have me removed permanently?’
Sofia blanched. ‘No, Lucy. You must never think that. I might be many things, but I am not a murderer.’
‘You might not be, but I wouldn’t put it past Mr Barrington.’
‘I’m sorry for what he did to you. After losing so much money to you, sir,’ Sofia said, glancing at Christopher, who stood rigid, his face expressionless, ‘he had to find a way to recoup his losses, which meant bringing forward his marriage you, Lucy—’
‘And getting his hands on my fortune,’ Lucy retorted. ‘Which was why he decided to compromise me.’ Sofia hung her head. In a strange way Lucy felt sorry for her. All her arrogance had been wiped away. There was only fear, and no one to turn to for help. ‘After the Skeffington ball he became desperate, didn’t he? So he thought to force the issue by seducing me, leaving me with little choice but to marry him or endure the shame of it. You thought he loved you, didn’t you, Sofia? When all the time he treated you no better than me. He saw you as a means to an end and nothing more.’ She would have liked to say more, but there was something more than ordinarily pathetic about the arrogant when they are brought low. Lucy was looking at a worried woman as well she might be. ‘So, what are your plans? Do you know where he is?’
‘No, and that is the truth. I intend to return to Louisiana for the time being. Should you need to contact me your father’s lawyer will inform you where I can be reached.’
Not until they were in the carriage taking them back to Hanover Square did Lucy give way to her grief and anguish in a sea of tears and emotion. Christopher gathered her in his arms and let her weep, silently and sorrowfully, as though her heart was breaking, hoping that by doing so it would help
to ease her loss and would cleanse her soul of all the ugliness that had defiled it by her association with Mark Barrington.
Chapter Six
Rockwood Park, three storeys high, was a house of peace and dignity. Set in a vast deer park, it was built of stone, which had mellowed into a beauty that was ethereal. Ancient trees stood about the house and the lawned gardens which produced an explosion of colour in the summer. Dotted here and there were stone sculptures and rockeries and a fountain spouting water into the air. The house overlooked a lake with a boat house at one end, almost hidden in the trees.
Christopher felt an odd sensation of unreality as the carriage passed through the wrought-iron gates. The drive wound through the neatly tended park, crossing an ornate stone bridge that spanned the upper reaches of the lake and offered a splendid view of the grand and impressive sprawling mansion. When the carriage came to a halt they stepped out, then entered the house. The hall was large, the ceiling high and vaulted, and long-dead Wildings hung on the walls. Over the huge stone fireplace the family tree stretched out in all directions.
A small army of green and gold liveried footmen and housemaids seemed to be lurking about, ostensibly going about their work. As Christopher looked around him, with his mind on getting cleaned up before his meeting with his grandfather, he was oblivious to the searching scrutiny he was receiving.
Lambert, the butler, a lean, dignified man with a shock of white hair and a poker face, stepped forward. ‘Good afternoon, my lord,’ he intoned formally. ‘And might I say how good it is to have you home at Rockwood Park.’
‘Good afternoon, Lambert. It’s good to be back. This is Miss Walsh. I sent word ahead to have rooms made ready for her. She will be staying with us for a while.’
‘Of course. A maid has been appointed to her.’
Christopher turned to Lucy, aware of the effect the house was having on her. ‘You like the house, Lucy?’
‘It—it’s quite splendid.’
‘That’s exactly how I felt when I first arrived. I suppose those who live here are inclined to take it all for granted. Mrs Edwards will show you to your room. I will see you at dinner.’
‘If you would prefer to dine with your grandfather and sister alone, I can eat in my room. I have no wish to intrude.’
‘I wouldn’t hear of it. You are a guest in this house. You must feel that you can come and go as you please. Besides, I know my grandfather will be delighted to meet you—as will Amelia. She spends her days quietly with her maid as her companion. She spends time with Grandfather. They get on very well—which is a relief.’
* * *
Nothing had prepared Lucy for the exquisite splendour of Rockwood Park. Her godmother had told her about the grand country houses the English nobility lived in, but never had she envisaged anything as lovely as this. Rockwood Park was certainly not a house of modest proportions. At a glance as the housekeeper escorted her to her room up the ornately carved oak staircase, she became aware of the rich trappings of the interior, the sumptuous carpets and wainscoted walls. The opulence and elegance of the muted cream and green room into which she was shown took her breath away. The bed was huge over which was a dome upheld by four columns, the hangings of green velvet.
‘Oh, what a lovely room, Mrs Edwards,’ she enthused with delight.
‘You will see it offers a splendid view of the park. It also faces south and has an abundant supply of sunshine—especially during the summer months.’
A fresh-faced young woman with dark curls escaping from beneath a mob cap appeared from what Lucy would find out was a dressing room. She bobbed a respectful curtsy, her face split with a broad smile. Lucy thought she was probably just a little older than herself.
‘This is Ruby. She is to be your maid while you are here.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you, Ruby. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.’
* * *
Later, having taken great care over her appearance, Lucy entered the dining room, nervous about meeting Christopher’s grandfather.
The Duke of Rockwood, tall and silver haired, possessed a commanding presence. He had the poise and regal bearing of a man who had lived a thoroughly privileged life. He looked cool and contained in his charcoal-grey suit and pristine white stock. She saw at once that Christopher bore a striking resemblance to him. A chandelier suspended above the table filled the room with flickering light, reflecting the large, ornate silver pieces set on the mahogany sideboard, where the two gentlemen stood drinking wine.
Breaking off his discussion with his grandfather, Christopher placed his glass on the sideboard and came to meet her, his eyes warm with admiration as they swept over her. Taking into account that she was in mourning, but reluctant to wear black, she had settled on a plain dark blue gown to wear with a high neck, which made her look prim and proper. Apart from her face and slender hands not an inch of flesh was exposed. In the soft light her face was like a cameo, all hollows and shadows. There was a purity about her, something so endearingly young and innocent that reminded Christopher of a sparrow.
‘You look lovely, Lucy,’ he said, taking her hand and drawing her towards his grandfather.
‘I do hope I’m not late.’
‘No, and try not to look so nervous. Grandfather, may I introduce Miss Lucy Walsh.’
Lucy dropped a graceful curtsy, aware that the Duke’s eyes were studying her with an unnerving intensity.
‘This is a most unexpected pleasure. I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Walsh, and welcome you to Rockwood Park. I hope that the rooms are to your liking?’
Lucy smiled. There was an unmistakable nobility etched on his features, but the light grey eyes held a kindness that instantly eased her tension. ‘They are, thank you, Your Grace,’ she said, taking the glass of wine Christopher handed to her. ‘Rockwood Park is a beautiful house.’
‘I think so, too—but then I am an old man and allowed to be biased. I suppose we who live here are inclined to take it all for granted.’ He gave her a warm smile. ‘Christopher has told me a little of your situation and that you are from Louisiana?’
‘Yes—between Baton Rouge and New Orleans. My father sent me to England for my education.’
‘I imagine that was a wrench—to leave your home.’
‘It was. When my mother died, my father thought it would be for the best for me to receive an English education. I haven’t been back to Louisiana since.’
‘I offer my heartfelt sympathies for your loss. It must have come as a shock, losing your father like that.’
‘Yes, it was. I wish I had been with him. I am just sad that I didn’t see him one last time.’
‘I can understand that.’
‘Now come and meet Amelia,’ Christopher said, taking her arm and escorting her to where a young woman sat on a sofa. She rose when Lucy approached and bobbed a small curtsy.
Amelia was older than Lucy, but looked the younger of the two. She looked very young, in fact, and very shy and there was a nervous, lost look about her.
‘Amelia, this is Miss Walsh,’ Christopher said, ‘the young lady I told you about. She is to stay with us for a few days.’
‘How do you do, Miss Walsh,’ Amelia said. ‘I am so happy to meet you.’
The words were spoken as though she had rehearsed them many times. Knowing what she did about her, Lucy felt sorry for her and understood Christopher’s need to protect her.
Lucy smiled at her. ‘I am well and delighted to meet you, too.’
Amelia was very pretty with a clear, creamy complexion and large soulful brown eyes. Her dark hair was her crowning glory.
‘Now come and sit down,’ Christopher said. ‘The food is ready to be served. It’s been a long time since you’ve eaten. You must be hungry.’
He pulled out her chair at the damask-covered table decorated with orchids from Rockwood Park’s hothouse. Lu
cy slipped into it, taking a sip of wine while taking in the grandeur of the room. The long table shone with silver and crystal ware and up above was a magnificent stuccoed ceiling. Gilt-framed paintings of hunting scenes adorned the walls and the white marble mantelpiece was supported by Roman figures.
It was a simple, lovely meal, excellently cooked and served by the aloof footmen who came and went. Unfortunately, having little appetite, Lucy was unable to do it justice and toyed with her food, too nervous to eat. Her stomach was all aflutter.
‘You must eat something,’ Christopher urged. ‘You will do none of us any good if you die of starvation—and the cook is extremely temperamental and takes it as a personal criticism if anyone refuses to eat.’
‘Then I will endeavour to do the food justice, but really, Christopher, you are beginning to behave like a mother hen,’ she said and even as she spoke she scooped some trout with her fork and methodically consumed the rest of it with an unconscious grace under his watchful eye.
Christopher and his grandfather talked amiably about Rockwood Park and the surrounding countryside, giving Lucy a brief insight of the people who lived and worked in and around the village of Rockwood, just one mile from the house.
* * *
As soon as Amelia had finished her dessert she expressed her wish to retire. ‘You will come and talk to me over the coming days, won’t you?’ she said to Lucy as Christopher stood up to escort her from the room.
‘Of course. I would be delighted.’ Amelia smiled and Lucy was pleased because she could see that the apprehension she had clearly felt on meeting her was already receding. After a few minutes Lucy followed Amelia.
‘Would you like some coffee before you leave?’ the Duke asked.
‘No—thank you. I’m rather tired and coffee might keep me awake.’
‘I would very much like to show you around, Miss Walsh,’ the Duke said, having risen from his chair and placed his napkin on the table. ‘It would give me great pleasure to have you join me in my carriage—and,’ he added, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, ‘it will give the neighbourhood something to gossip about. It’s a long time since I entertained such a charming young lady.’
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