The Homecoming (13 page)

And then Verity screamed as a brick hurtled down past her head, missing her by inches.

“What was that?” cried Lizzie. “I heard a scream.”

“I neither know nor care,” shouted the duke above the drumming of the horses’ hooves.

They rode on in silence after that through a dream countryside, bleached of all colour by the mist. At last he slowed and stopped on the rise above Hedgefield where they had stopped before. “It will rain,” said Lizzie.

“It will not rain. You forget, I am a countryman. The sun will soon burn through the mist and we shall have a fine day.”

“And you forget I am a countrywoman, and it will rain!”

“Nonsense.”

“You are not always right, you know,” said Lizzie, feeling her hair coming out of its curl with the damp mist. “Should we go on? The mist hides everything.”

“But I am sure you, the countrywoman, can find the road to Hedgefield in this mist.”

“Yes, but it is not very pleasant.”

“Your company makes it pleasant, Miss Lizzie.”

“You amaze me. Very well. Hedgefield it is. It is market day. There will be many people about.”

“What of it?”

“I will be seen with you and do not want to damage my reputation,” said Lizzie primly.

“Anyone seen with me has their reputation enhanced.”

Lizzie gasped. “You are not even joking!”

“I am aware of my consequence.”

“How sad,” mocked Lizzie and spurred her horse.

He set out in pursuit of her flying figure, knowing that if he lost sight of her in the mist, he would probably lose his way.

They reached Hedgefield and left their horses at the Green Man and then walked through the gaily-coloured market stalls. Lizzie was greeted by many of the stall-holders and curious glances were thrown at the duke. And then a portly figure sailed through the mist and stopped in front of them.

“Lady Evans,” said Lizzie. She introduced the duke.

“We are acquainted,” said Lady Evans stiffly. “Where is Miss Trumble?”

“At Mannerling,” said Lizzie. “We are guests of the duke.”

“I am surprised Miss Trumble lets a young lady in her charge go unescorted,” said Lady Evans.

“I have her permission,” said the duke crossly.

“Yes, well, in the circumstances I am sure she could do little else if your mind was set on it,” retorted Lady Evans, who was aware of Miss Trumble’s true identity. “I shall call on Miss Trumble as soon as possible.”

The duke did not like the disapproving way she stared at Lizzie. He was tempted to say that he did not want callers and give her a set-down, but he remembered that this Lady Evans was an old friend of his aunt, and so he contented himself by saying coldly, “As you wish. Come along, Lizzie.”

“Oh dear,” said Lizzie. “How familiar of you!”

“What have I done?”

“You called me Lizzie.”

“Lady Evans will put the familiarity down to the great difference in our ages.”

“I had begun to forget that,” said Lizzie in a small voice. “But you always say or do something to remind me of it.”

He stopped and looked down into her eyes. “And that distresses you?”

“No, no. I mean, why should it?”

“Let us go to the inn for some refreshment.”

“We can hardly sit outside in this weather,” Lizzie pointed out.

“I will ask for a private parlour.”

The duke was used to his rank protecting him at all times from criticism and was blissfully unaware that by taking a young lady, known locally, to a private parlour would cause a great deal of gossip.

Lady Evans had been following them at a little distance.

She had once had high hopes of securing a suitable marriage for the daughter of a friend of hers with an eligible man. But one of those wretched Beverley sisters had snatched the prize.

Lady Evans considered the Beverleys scheming and devious. She saw the duke and Lizzie go into the Green Man. She turned to her footman. “Inquire discreetly what they are about.”

The footman returned after a few minutes and said, “His Grace has engaged a private parlour.”

Lady Evans’s face hardened. “This is the outside of enough. Get the carriage. We are going to Mannerling.”

Gerald was wondering if he would ever have even a few moments alone with the increasingly desirable Tiffin. She was constantly supervised by Miss Trumble.

Therefore, when a certain Lady Evans was announced, who urgently desired to speak to the governess in private, he found Tiffin left unguarded.

“At last,” he said. “I thought I would never speak to you again. What a dreary walk we had with that terrible old woman listening to every word.”

“Miss Trumble is very kind,” said Tiffin. Tiffin had been wondering when she could see Peter, but Peter had been very busy on the duke’s behalf and was now closeted in the study.

“What do you want to talk to me about, sir?” asked Tiffin politely.

Gerald spread his arms. “Everything. Let us take a walk in the Long Gallery.”

Tiffin went with him. Perhaps Peter might come looking for her.

“I have something to tell you,” said Gerald as they walked along the gallery.

“Sir?”

“I have fallen in love with you.”

Tiffin blushed and her step faltered. “I do not know what to say. My father is not here and my aunt is unwell. But perhaps you should approach my aunt, nonetheless, and ask her for her permission to pay your addresses to me.”

Gerald gave what he hoped was a rakish laugh. “Ah, you are funning. Such a love as mine is not hidebound by the conventions.”

“A life like mine is very hidebound by the conventions,” said Tiffin. “I am flattered by your declaration of love, but I fear I cannot return it.”

“My heart is broken.”

“I do not think you have a heart to break, Mr. Parkes,” said Tiffin, remembering Lizzie’s warning.

He knelt on one knee in front of her and took her hand in his and pressed a warm kiss on the back of it. “Take pity on me, Miss Moon.”

Tiffin blushed again and snatched her hand away. “I think I should see how my aunt fares.”

“I have frightened you, but all I wish is to love you.”

He rose to his feet. “One kiss would ease the pain at my heart.”

He seized her in his arms.

Tiffin, despite the fragility of her appearance, was a farmer’s daughter and came from healthy country stock. With surprising strength and energy, she wrenched herself free and ran down the Long Gallery and headed straight for the study. She wrenched open the door, dived in, and slammed it behind her.

“Miss Moon!” cried Peter, getting to his feet.

“Oh, Mr. Bond, if he comes, tell him I am not here. Send him away!”

“Who?”

“Mr. Parkes.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Wait there,” commanded Peter.

He opened the door. “Is Miss Moon here?” asked Gerald.

“Yes, she is and we have private business to discuss. Good day to you.” Peter shut the door firmly in Gerald’s face.

He turned around. “I was just about to take a rest from work. Shall I ring for tea?”

“Thank you,” said Tiffin shyly. “I should like that above all things.”

Lizzie enjoyed her chat with the duke in the private parlour. They had discussed books and plays and the state of the nation. She only became aware of the unconventionality of their behaviour after the duke had said reluctantly that they should take their leave. As they made their way down the stairs, a housemaid bobbed a curtsy, but before she lowered her eyes Lizzie saw a sort of salacious curiosity in them.

“I should never have let you entertain me in a private parlour,” she said, as they went outside. “I fear my reputation is quite ruined.”

“My actions are above reproach,” said the duke loftily.

“Oh, you are so
arrogant.”
Lizzie stamped her foot. “It will be all over Hedgefield, and our servant, Barry, will be shortly returned from Bath. He will get to hear of it and he will tell your aunt.”

“I am not interested in the tittle-tattle of a bunch of peasants.”

“Do you never stop to think of my position? What if some gentleman should be interested in me and get to hear that I spent some time in a private parlour with the Duke of Severnshire.”

“I do not, and have never had, the reputation of a rake, Miss Lizzie.”

“You have now,” said Lizzie gloomily, “and I am the whore of Babylon.”

“I see what it is,” he said, his eyes cold. “I had forgot about the Beverley ambition. You are trying to force me to propose to you.”

Lizzie’s face flamed with anger. “You are insufferable. I do not want to marry a creaking old fool like you!”

“You are insolent!”

“And you are so rigidly armoured in arrogance and self-consequence that you are nigh inhuman!”

Their horses were brought round. The duke threw Lizzie up into the saddle with such force that she had to grasp the pommel to save herself from tumbling over the other side.

Her words burnt and hurt. He would like to have ridden away from her but the mist was thick and he felt sure he could not find the way back to Mannerling on his own.

And then it began to rain heavily. Lizzie stopped and dismounted under a stand of trees and he joined her. “I am not dressed for this weather,” she said crossly, “and my new riding habit will be ruined.”

“It looks set for the day,” he said bleakly.

She gave a tired sigh. “Well, I don’t want to be trapped here with you all day.” A little sob was wrenched from her and one large tear slid down her cheek.

“Lizzie,” he said, wondering. “Miss Beverley!” He took off his riding gloves. One long finger reached out to that tear.

“Leave me alone!” Lizzie jerked her face away.

“I have distressed you, indeed,” he said contritely. “Come, let us be friends and put this sorry misunderstanding behind us. You worry too much about that private parlour. Believe me, people will think nothing of it.”

She gave him a watery smile. “I fear you really do not understand the gossip that is rife in a country place. Let us go. Miss Trumble will be becoming anxious.”

He put his arms at her waist to throw her up into the saddle. He looked down into her face. She was still upset and her lips trembled. He gently kissed her on the lips. They felt warm and sweet. He suddenly wanted to stay where he was and go on kissing her, but with a great effort he helped her up into the saddle and then mounted himself. They rode off into the rain.

By the time they reached the long drive which led up to Mannerling, Lizzie was soaked to the skin, but she felt no physical discomfort because her mind was in such a turmoil.

The duke had dried himself and changed when a footman called to say that Miss Trumble and Lady Evans wished to speak to him as soon as possible.

“Where are they?”

“In the Green Saloon, your grace.”

The duke entered the Green Saloon. As both elderly ladies rose and curtsied to him, he looked at their severe and disapproving faces and felt like a boy who has been caught stealing apples.

“Sit down, Gervase,” said Miss Trumble. “Lady Evans is called with some shocking intelligence.”

“I trust nothing ill has happened to your family?” The duke flipped up his coattails and sat down.

“I believe you engaged a private parlour at the Green Man and there you entertained Lizzie,” said Miss Trumble.

He raised his thin eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Had you no care for the girl’s reputation?” barked Lady Evans.

“We wished some refreshment and I could hardly entertain her in the tap,” said the duke.

“The inn servants will gossip,” said Miss Trumble, “and that gossip will spread out throughout the county.”

“I did nothing wrong and I do not like to be interrogated like this,” said the duke. “Now if that is all…?”

“No, it is not all,” said Miss Trumble in an exasperated voice. “What are we to do to repair Lizzie’s reputation?”

“You will next be suggesting that I marry her,” said the duke.

“Yes.” That one quiet word from Miss Trumble dropped into the quietness of the room like a stone.

Rain dripped monotonously from the eaves, a log shifted in the fire, and the clocks of Mannerling ticked and chattered and tocked, racing away the minutes and hours.

The Beverleys should not have such a prize, thought Lady Evans. “Now, now, Letitia is joking,” said Lady Evans. “I am sure there is no need to go to such extremes. I suggest Lizzie be sent away to one of her sisters, preferably the one in Ireland, until everyone has forgotten the gossip. She is too young and heedless for you, Duke, and I am sure your aunt will forgive me for pointing out that the Beverleys are not up to your weight.”

“Lizzie is too generous and warm-hearted to be forced into a marriage she does not want,” said Miss Trumble. “But I would suggest an engagement, to be terminated after a few months.”

The duke was about to contemptuously dismiss this suggestion, but then in a flash he realized it had advantages. He would be free of the expectations of the other guests and their families. Lizzie was bright and amusing. He was sure the idea of an engagement would intrigue her. She would see the funny side of it.

“Very well,” said the duke. “If Miss Lizzie will agree to a few months’ engagement, so be it.”

“If you will take my advice,” said Lady Evans heavily, “you will get her to sign something. Have you met Lady Beverley? That family will have you in court for breach of promise, I assure you.”

“That is going too far,” protested Miss Trumble. “I will guarantee Lizzie’s integrity.”

“Let’s put it to her,” said Lady Evans cynically.

When Lizzie entered, she looked curiously at the three of them. “Sit down, child,” said Miss Trumble.

Lizzie sat down. Lady Evans surveyed her sourly. That red hair! It practically lit up the room! And those odd green eyes sparkling in that thin face.

“Lizzie,” began Miss Trumble gently, “we fear His Grace has damaged your reputation.”

Those green eyes of Lizzie’s flickered towards the duke. “It was only a kiss, and no one saw us.”

Lady Evans and Miss Trumble glared at the duke who, for once in his life, looked nonplussed.

“This is worse than we thought,” exclaimed Lady Evans.