Carisbrooke Abbey (11 page)

But when the door opened, it revealed Lord Carisbrooke.

He had changed his clothing, making some small concession to evening. His tailcoat was blue, and was adorned with brass buttons. His breeches were cream, and his shirt was white. But even so, he wore his clothes. They did not wear him.

His expression was angry, his  eyes dark and turbulent.

‘What’s all this about taking dinner in your room?’ he rumbled.

Ah! So that was it.

‘I thought, as you had guests, I would —’

‘Skulk up here on your own?’ he demanded.

‘Relieve you of my presence,’ she returned, lifting her chin. She had learnt from experience that she must stand up to Lord Carisbrooke. He was a strong man, and courage was something he respected.

But instead of exploding with a customary Harumph! he asked, ‘What makes you think it would be a relief?’

There was something in his voice that told her it was not an idle question. He really wanted to know. Very well, she would tell him.

‘The fact that you have done your best to avoid me over the last few days,’ she replied calmly. But her calmness was misleading. She had been disappointed to see so little of him, and although her head told her it was a good thing, her heart told her otherwise. ‘You have made your feelings about me perfectly clear.’

He looked at her intently, and she felt herself grow hot with the sudden fire she saw in his eyes.

‘I certainly hope not,’ he said, his voice a low growl.

The words seemed double edged, but she did not dare to ask what he meant. The atmosphere was becoming charged with some potent force that she did not understand and could not control. The air, which a moment ago had been thin, was now thick and heavy, and she was finding it difficult to breathe.

With an effort, she wrenched her eyes away from his and went over to the window. She flung it wide, taking in a deep draught of fresh air. She knew she should continue their conversation, but her heart was beating too rapidly for comfort, and besides, she was being tormented by the memory of him sweeping her off her feet again ...

Breathing in deeply, she at last mastered her emotion enough to turn the conversation into less dangerous channels. ‘Lord Carisbrooke, I have no wish to embarrass you in front of your guests —’ she began firmly.

‘You seem to forget that you are one of my guests.’

‘Not in the same way,’ she returned. ‘They were invited —’

‘Miss Palmer has never been invited to Carisbrooke Abbey in her life. She doesn’t concern herself over such niceties, and if she wants to come, she invites herself. She is pleased to think that she was engaged to dine here because at our last meeting she said she would wait upon me as soon as her mother recovered from a slight indisposition, and remarked that it would be wonderful to have dinner in the abbey. More than that was never said.’

‘Nevertheless, they are —’

‘What?’

His eyes were fixed on hers, as if he was challenging her to put the facts into words.

Her heart misgave her. But then she rallied. If he was determined to make her say it, then say it she would. ‘Of a different sort. Beautiful, elegant —’

His eyes smouldered. ‘Whereas you are not?’

She should agree, but her voice for the moment deserted her.

His eyes never once left hers. ‘No - thank God. You are stubborn and headstrong, and completely uncontrollable, but beautiful and elegant you’re not.’

She felt a twist of pain. It was one thing to know it herself, it was quite another to have it spoken of, and spoken of by Marcus. As he stood there looking at her, his hands clenched by his sides and his eyes burning with some unnamed emotion, she was overwhelmed by a sudden desire to be the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, a breathtaking vision with golden ringlets and ivory skin, cornflower eyes and rosebud lips; an alluring damsel clothed in the finest silks and the most expensive laces, who would make him fall at her feet.

But this was folly! She would never be such a vision.

Her plainness had never troubled her before, but now it was a cause of great regret. She was, and always would be, a little, plain woman, shabbily dressed in old-fashioned clothes.

There was no use repining. So she fought down her unhappiness and said, ‘Then I can’t see why you would want me to join you.’

He looked at her long and hard.

As the silence grew she shifted uncomfortably. His eyes seemed to see more than other people’s. They seemed to see not only what was on the outside of her, but what was on the inside.

‘Oh, can’t you?’ he said at last, his eyes dark and smouldering. ‘Then you can’t see very much. Curse it, Hilary ... ’

He stepped towards her, and her heart stood still.

She could tell that he wanted to touch her. For all that she was little and plain, she knew that he wanted to caress her. And she wanted him to.

He stopped.

By the way his hands were clenching and unclenching at his side she could tell that he was at war with himself. Would he step forward and touch her? Or would he fight the impulse, and remain where he was?

The atmosphere was full of expectancy.

And then she saw his expression change, and some of the tension ebbed away.

‘Well, never mind,’ he said, as though with a great effort. ‘I want you there, and that is enough.’

Struggling to master her emotion, she said, ‘I beg your pardon, but it is not enough. I am not at your beck and call. I am accustomed to making my own decisions.’

‘So I’ve noticed.’ There was a touch of wry humour in his voice.

Against her better judgement she smiled, too. ‘Then you will realize my mind is made up.’

He regarded her steadily. ‘I see that it is. Very well, then. What if I
ask
you?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ She could not believe she had heard him correctly.

 ‘If I
invite
you to join me for dinner, instead of commanding you?’

She was nonplussed. ‘I suppose ... ’ Her mouth quirked despite herself. She doubted if this man had ever asked anyone for anything before, and she meant to make the most of it. ‘I suppose I will not know until it happens!’

‘Hah!’ His eyes smouldered with enjoyment at her mischievousness. ‘Very well, Miss Wentworth.’ He made her a low bow. ‘Will you do me the honour of joining me for dinner?’

She could not resist. ‘The honour is all mine,’ she said, dropping him a mock curtsey. ‘I accept.’

His mouth spread into a broad smile.

Not all the smiles in the world could make him handsome, but Hilary would have rather looked on his face than on the beauty of an Adonis. It had character and humour, depth and strength. Ugly though it was, it was fast becoming her model of perfection.

‘Then I will see you at eight o’clock,’ he rumbled.

Hilary hummed to herself as she went about making her toilette. There was nothing she could do about her shabby clothes, but she took down her hair and brushed it a hundred times, until it shone. Then she arranged it in a more elaborate knot than usual, securing it with her mother’s comb, a hair decoration she kept for special occasions. She teased out a few small curls round her face and then she was done. A glance in the mirror showed her that her eyes were sparkling, and she had the satisfaction of knowing that, although plain, she was in her best looks.

A moment later she reproved herself for her vanity. Just because Lord Carisbrooke had invited her to join him at dinner did not mean that ... She cut off her thoughts, before they could wander down dangerous paths. His invitation was no more than kindness. Indeed, it was no more than common courtesy, and if she read anything else into it, then she was a fool.

It was a good thing she had sobered herself, for as she went downstairs Miss Palmer’s silvery laugh greeted her before she had even entered the drawing-room. She had never heard such an enchanting sound.

‘Oh! Lord Carisbrooke! You must not say such things,’ Miss Palmer was protesting.

Quite what Lord Carisbrooke had been saying Hilary did not know, but by the sardonic look on his face it did not appear to have been amusing. Miss Palmer seemed pleased, however.

‘Why not?’ asked Mr Ulverstone charmingly. ‘Your habit does indeed match your eyes, my dear Miss Palmer. It cannot catch their sparkle, however. That could only be caught by sapphires.’

Miss Palmer gave another silvery laugh. ‘How you all flatter me!’

Then, hearing the door open, she turned her exquisite head towards Hilary. Her golden ringlets danced, and her rosebud mouth formed a surprised ‘o’.

She was, thought Hilary, the most exquisite creature in creation. She looked like a fairy, so fragile and dainty was she, and her dress accentuated the impression. She had changed out of her riding-habit - evidently she and her mother had brought a pack horse with them - and was wearing an ethereal gown of spangled gauze. Its puffed sleeves were decorated with knots of blue ribbon and its soft fabric draped itself appetisingly round her slender curves. In the candlelight the spangling shimmered and shone. Around her throat was a simple necklet, drawing attention to the whiteness and  beauty of her skin, and satin slippers, peeping out from beneath her gown, revealed tiny feet.

Beside her, Hilary felt like a gargoyle.

Her spirits fell, and she wished she had not made a fool of herself by trying to do something a little more becoming with her hair. The few curls she had tried to tease out around her face were nothing but a mockery when compared with Miss Palmer’s ravishing curls. To make matters worse, she could see a satirical look in Miss Palmer’s eye.

‘Well, well, what have we here?’ enquired Miss Palmer.

Her voice was musical, but her words had a cruel edge.

Hilary felt her stomach contract, but a moment later she straightened her spine. Miss Palmer’s beauty had temporarily overawed her, but this was no fairy, no matter how like one she looked. This was a young woman, and, Hilary was beginning to suspect, a spiteful one.

Miss Palmer looked Hilary up and down, and a contemptuous smile broke out around her mouth.

‘Do tell me,’ she said, turning to Lord Carisbrooke, ‘who is this?’

She managed to invest the word
this
with a world of disdain.

‘This is Miss Wentworth,’ said Lord Carisbrooke, looking at Hilary with a warm light in his eye. ‘She has been helping me to reorganize the library.’

Miss Palmer’s beautiful eyebrows raised an inch. ‘How very peculiar. But still, she is dressed for the part. Where
did
you get that dress?’ she asked Hilary. ‘What an ugly thing it is. Mama, did you ever see such a thing? It looks more like a sack than a gown. But its colour is admirable. It is so dull already, it will never show the dirt!’

She dissolved into silvery laughter.

‘No, indeed,’ replied Hilary, refusing to be cowed. ‘The dress is most practical.’

Miss Palmer went into further peals of laughter. ‘Imagine wearing a dress because it is practical! I would as soon ride a horse because it has four legs!’

‘Oh, Veronica,’ laughed her mother, dabbing at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief, ‘you are too droll!’ She turned to Lord Carisbrooke. ‘Isn’t she, my lord? Veronica has always had the readiest wit!’

‘Indeed,’ said Lord Carisbrooke. ‘Miss Palmer is most amusing.’

Clearly missing the acid note in his voice and taking his words at face value, Mrs Palmer said, ‘And so she is, my lord. Everyone agrees. Why only last week Lord Grinston was saying that Veronica makes him laugh more than anyone he has ever met in his life!’

‘Mama,’ said Miss Palmer, blushing beautifully. ‘Lord Carisbrooke doesn’t want to hear about Lord Grinston, even though he is a duke!’

‘And a fine catch,’ said Mrs Palmer, watching Marcus for his reaction. ‘But Veronica will have none of him, for all his fifty thousand a year.’

‘Mama!’ said Miss Palmer, in the most delightfully outraged tones. ‘You must not say such things.’

‘Then let us talk of something else,’ said Marcus.

Miss Palmer looked put out.

Mrs Palmer, covering the awkward silence that sprang up, said bad-naturedly to Hilary, ‘Well, girl, don’t just stand there. Don’t you have some work to do?’

‘I have finished for the day,’ Hilary replied calmly.

The Palmers might be doing everything in their power to belittle her, but she was not going to answer in kind.

‘Well, you must have remarkably little to do,’ said Miss Palmer spitefully, having recovered from her reverse. ‘When servants work for mama, she makes sure they earn their pay. Don’t you, mama?’

‘Yes, my angel, indeed I do. Servants who are not kept fully occupied are apt to get above themselves.’ She turned to Lord Carisbrooke. ‘Having someone to organize your library is no doubt a good thing, my lord, the abbey being such a venerable old building that it would be a shame to neglect it, but you must not allow your servants to take advantage of you. If you had a wife, of course, it could not happen. Women know how to manage these things. They take care of servants and relieve you from all the day-to-day trouble of running a home. You should think about taking one, my lord. The abbey needs a mistress. A well-bred young lady who would be able to manage your household and make sure your servants knew their place.’

‘It is kind of you to take such an interest in my domestic concerns,’ remarked Marcus dryly.

‘It is no trouble, I do assure you. As your neighbour I feel it is my duty to give you a little hint now and again. But enough of this talk about servants,’ said Mrs Palmer, dismissing Hilary from the conversation, even if she did not have the authority to dismiss her from the room. ‘Tell me, Lord Carisbrooke, are you going to the Grants’ ball next week?’

‘Oh, yes, Lord Carisbrooke, do tell,’ said Miss Palmer, who was clearly growing tired of having no part in the conversation, and was now all smiles again. ‘We are so hoping to see you there, are we not, Mama?’

‘We are indeed, my angel.’ She turned to Marcus. ‘And who knows, my lord, at such a fashionable gathering, you might yet meet a wife?’

Miss Palmer and her mama continued their determined assault on Marcus, flattering and teasing him. He did not appear to enjoy their attentions, but neither did he discourage them.