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A Question of Impropriety
Michelle Styles


Indulge your fantasies of delicious Regency Rakes, fierce Viking warriors and rugged Highlanders. Be swept away into a world of intense passion, lavish settings and romance that burns brightly through the centuriesA very improper seduction… Diana Clare has had enough of London – the balls, the rakes you can never trust… Now, having returned home in disgrace, she is trying to forget what drove her from the ton. But rake and gambler Brett Farnham, Earl of Coltonby, seems intent on making Diana remember exactly what it was like to be whirled around the ballroom and seduced by the glint in your partner’s eye…But Brett has ‘mistress’ rather than ‘marriage’ in mind, and Diana is not sure her reputation can stand up to another scandal…







‘You and I are going to dance a waltz together at the ball,’ Brett said.

‘A waltz?’ Diana swallowed hard. ‘I have no idea how to waltz.’

‘I suspected that. It is why I am here.’ He held out his arms. ‘I plan to educate you on the fi ner points of the waltz.’

‘You must be joking. It is a highly improper suggestion. I won’t waltz.’

‘But you agreed, Miss Diana. You agreed to dance with me at the ball.’ His voice was smooth but there was a steely determination. ‘Unless you want me to choose another forfeit? A forfeit more suited to a wager between a man and a woman? You were the one who lost the wager. It is up to me to name the terms.’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘Try me.’


Although born and raised near San Francisco, California, Michelle Styles currently lives a few miles south of Hadrian’s Wall, with her husband, three children, two dogs, cats, assorted ducks, hens and beehives. An avid reader, she has always been interested in history, and a historical romance is her idea of the perfect way to relax. She is particularly interested in how ordinary people lived during ancient times, and in the course of her research she has learnt how to cook Roman food as well as how to use a drop spindle. When she is not writing, reading or doing research, Michelle tends her rather overgrown garden or does needlework, in particular counted cross-stitch.

Recent novels by the same author:

THE GLADIATOR’S HONOUR

A NOBLE CAPTIVE

SOLD AND SEDUCED

THE ROMAN’S VIRGIN MISTRESS

TAKEN BY THE VIKING

A CHRISTMAS WEDDING WAGER

(part of Christmas By Candlelight) VIKING WARRIOR, UNWILLING WIFE AN IMPULSIVE DEBUTANTE



Author Note

One of my favourite museums in the North East is the Beamish Open Air Museum, where they have several very early locomotives. It is possible to ride behind a replica of the Steam Elephant through a recreated Georgian landscape. As I did my research, I was surprised to discover how early the engines were developed, and that hundreds of miles of railway existed before George Stephenson developed the first public railway in 1823. As with many things, the Napoleonic War, with its restrictions on manpower and grain, provided the spur to develop the steam engine, and the first travelling steam engines date from around 1813.

Please be sure to look out for Simon Clare’s story, coming soon, because the only way I could get him to be silent in his sister’s tale was to promise him one of his own.

As ever, I love getting reader feedback—either via post to Mills & Boon, my website, www.michellestyles.co.uk, or my blog http://www.michellestyles.blogspot.com




A QUESTION OF IMPROPRIETY


Michelle Styles




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Lydia Mason, whose unerring eye for plot problems, challenging questions and enthusiasm for my stories continually inspires.


Chapter One

September 1813—the Tyne Valley, Northumberland

Diana Clare fought the overwhelming temptation to swear violent, inappropriate oaths, oaths of the type that no one would even consider a spinster such as she would know.

One tiny scream of frustration and the merest hint of a word passed her lips. Jester, the piebald mare, turned its head and gave her a disgusted look. Diana shifted uneasily in her seat on the gig. Jester was correct. She had given in to her anger, and had broken one of her cardinal rules—a lady never allows passionate emotion to overcome her sensibilities.

She drew a breath, counted to ten and concentrated hard on a serene outlook. But the gig remained held fast in thick oozing mud and the tug of pain behind Diana’s eyes threatened to explode into a full-blown headache. Adding insult to injury, Jester began to munch another clump of sweet meadow grass, daintily choosing the last few remaining daisies. Diana tucked a stray lock of midnight-black hair behind her ear and peered over the side of the gig. It was her fault that it had become stuck. No one else’s. She accepted that, but accepting, and wishing to admit it to the general populace, were two entirely separate matters.

Diana knew she ought not to have been reading and driving at the same time, but she had needed something to erase the full horror of visiting Lady Bolt’s At Home as the congregated gaggle of gossips had blithely torn another woman’s reputation to shreds.

That the third and final volume of Pride and Prejudice had been waiting for her at the circulating library she took as providence, a way to restore her temper. Normally she scorned novels as frivolous and refused to open them, but Mrs Sarsfield had insisted she read the first page, and Diana had discovered that she’d had to read on and on. She had not bought the book, but done things the proper way—waiting her turn for each volume. And finally it was here, on the seat beside her in the gig. As she often joked to her brother Simon, Jester knew every step of the way home.

And what possible harm could come to her in the country?

Slack reins and the temptations of late-summer meadow grass had proved too great for the mare and Jester had pulled the gig into the mud pool just as Diana reached another scene between Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy.

Diana straightened her straw bonnet and measured the distance from the gig to solid ground.

She could do this—easily, with dignity and in a ladylike manner. One long leap. She pushed off from the gig and hoped.

Her half-kid boot caught in the oozing mud, several feet short of dry land. Diana gave a small cry as her bonnet tilted first one way and then the other before sliding off into the mud, taking her cap with it. Gingerly, Diana picked the bonnet up by one ribbon and stuffed the cap inside. Mud dripped from it, splattering her dress.

‘Beauty in distress,’ a low voice drawled behind her, cultivated, with more than a hint of arrogance. A masculine voice. A stranger’s voice.

Her throat constricted and every particle of her froze. Her situation had suddenly become a thousand times worse.

‘Distress fails to describe my predicament.’ Diana refused to turn. Spoken to in the correct manner, the stranger would depart. Nothing untowards would happen to her as long as she behaved like a lady. She had to believe that, otherwise what had been the point of the last few years? ‘My gig has become stuck, and I am solving a problem with calmness and fortitude. There is a difference.’

Diana concentrated on finding the next halfway decent place for her foot, rather than glancing over her shoulder at the owner of the voice. If she ignored him, there was a chance that he would depart and everything would be fine. Her ordeal would end. It was her actions that mattered. Her balance altered slightly and she was forced to make a windmill motion with her arms in order to stay upright.

‘As I said—definite distress.’

‘Nothing of the sort. I am finding my way out. It is simply proving trickier than I first imagined.’ Diana put her foot down hard and heard a squelch as brown liquid spewed up. Her feet slipped. An involuntary shriek emerged from her throat. She flailed her arms about, trying desperately to regain her balance, before the mud sucked her down and destroyed all her dignity and decorum.

Her fingers encountered a solid object and she grabbed on with all her might. She rebalanced and looked, hoping for a branch. But instead her hands clung to the sleeve of a white travelling cloak. It was a choice between two evils—the indignity of falling into the thick black mud and the impropriety of clinging to an unknown man’s arm. Impropriety won.

‘It would be a shame to stain your dress, I believe.’

Without waiting for a reply, the man’s hands moved to her waist, and lifted her up. Her breast and thigh grazed his broad chest. Her senses reeled, then righted. She refused to give way to panic. She kept her body rigidly still and willed him to release her, but the arms stayed strong about her.

‘You may let me go.’ Her voice resounded, high and shrill, in her ears as she glanced up into deep grey eyes. A strange sensation stirred, deep within her, curling around her insides with insidious slowness. She swallowed hard and beat it back. ‘Please.’

‘After I have had my reward.’

‘Reward?’ Her tongue seemed to be three times thicker than normal. The day was rapidly becoming a nightmare. Surely this man, this gentleman, had to understand that she was a proper lady? She was not going to be punished. Again. ‘Why do you insist upon a reward?’

‘For rescuing you. Surely my gallant action warrants the merest trifle.’

He lowered his lips and his mouth skimmed hers—a brief touch, but one that sent a blaze of fire coursing throughout her body. Panic engulfed her. She turned her head and beat her fists against his chest.

‘Put me down this instant!’

‘If that is what you truly desire.’

Diana gulped and struggled to hang on to some sense of dignity. It was the only thing that could save her. A truly worthy and refined woman was never in danger. Ever. ‘It is.’

‘Never let it be said that I do not accommodate a pretty wench’s wishes.’

Her rescuer withdrew his arms and she was unceremoniously deposited on a green knoll. Her skirt flew up and revealed her legs up to her calves. Diana hurriedly pushed it back down and hoped that the man had been gentlemanly enough not to look. Silently she promised never to read novels again, never to utter oaths, if only she would be delivered from this nightmare. It was all her fault. She had broken her rules of ladylike behaviour and this was what happened to women who behaved inappropriately.

Diana forced her breath in and out of her lungs and regained some small measure of control. She could not show that she was discomforted. Exhibiting emotion only made situations like this one worse.

‘I did not mean quite so quickly.’

‘But I did as you requested. Beauty, thy name is perverse.’

‘You have rescued me. Now you may depart.’

His black boots remained still. She glanced up at her rescuer, praying that he was a stranger, someone she might never encounter again. Broad shoulders filled out the finely cut white coat with fifteen capes and two rows of pockets. Tapered down to buckskins and the pair of black Hessian boots. He sported a white neckcloth with black spots, immaculately tied. Diana’s gloom deepened. It was the sort only worn by a member of the Four Hand Club, the premiere carriage-driving club in the country.

She studied his dark features again and recognised the distinctive scar that ran from his forehead to his cheek.

Her insides twisted. That little place inside her that she normally kept locked and barred cracked opened. The man was Brett Farnham. Had to be. Diana pressed her hands into her eyes. She slammed the door of that place shut and willed the terror to go.

‘Is something troubling you, Beauty?’ The warmth in his voice lapped at her senses. ‘Forgive me if I have offended, I merely sought to assist you.’

‘Nothing, nothing at all.’ Diana forced her face to relax and her lips to smile. Politeness must be her shield. A lady was always polite. ‘Why should anything trouble me? Today has been without blemish or stain.’

‘Aside from becoming stuck in a pool of mud.’ A smile crossed his features.

‘Aside from that.’

Diana resisted the temptation to bury her face in her hands. She had allowed herself to be carried and kissed by one of the most renowned rakes in the country, a man who had founded the notorious Jehu driving club at Cambridge University and who had set the fashion for speaking cant, tying neckcloths, a close confidant of both Brummell and Byron. Her late fiancé had revered him, and ultimately that reverence had been responsible for his destruction.

After all the years she had spent here, trying to forget that London had ever happened. Then Brett Farnham appeared and everything came crashing back as if it were yesterday. But whatever happened, she had to remember that it was her actions that decided her fate. If she held fast to her rules, she would be safe. If she had learnt one thing in London, it was that. ‘Please, I beg you—go and forget about my predicament.’

He continued to stand there, looking down at her from a great height. ‘I am no fool. You disliked being rescued.’

‘Normally a gentleman waits to be asked.’

‘A gentleman acts when he sees a lady in distress. He attempts to prevent greater harm.’ His gaze roamed over her body. And Diana was fervently glad that she was wearing her dark brown gown with its high neck. ‘It would have been a shame if your dress had become mud-splattered.’

Diana forced her eyes from his face. She struggled to breathe as her throat constricted again. It was nothing more than polite words, the sort that rolled off his tongue a dozen times a day. She was a fool to worry. This encounter would not happen again. London remained in her past. All was safe here. Her place in society was secure as long as she maintained her poise.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. Polite. Calm. She had to banish any hint of emotion and behave as if they had encountered each other at a tea party or some other social function. It was the only way.

‘Remain here and I will free your gig.’ A dimple showed in his cheek. ‘You may thank me properly…later.’

‘You do not need to do that. I am perfectly capable of freeing my horse.’ She struggled to stand and started forwards, but he blocked her way, preventing her from reaching the gig. She cleared her throat, and tried to ignore the sudden trembling in her stomach. ‘If you would kindly move, I have no wish to be in your debt.’

He lifted one eyebrow. ‘Ah, so you intend on ruining your boots after all the trouble I went to. And your…uh…pretty dress. I wouldn’t let a Beauty do that.’

‘I am quite capable of getting myself out of the difficulty.’ Diana crossed her arms, ignoring his flirtatious tone. A Beauty, indeed. She was no pretty farmer’s daughter or green girl ripe for the plucking. No doubt in another moment, he would give his dishonourable intention speech and steal another kiss. This time, longer, deeper. The thought of the consequences made her blood run cold, even as a tiny piece of warmth curled around her. She regarded her hands. This was all her fault. She should have been paying attention to the road. This is what happened when she forgot her rules of ladylike behaviour.

‘It looked different to me. It appeared as if you were heading for deep water and sinking fast.’ He put his hand on his heart and made an exaggeratedly contrite face, no doubt expecting her to smile. ‘Consider my reputation as a gentleman. How could I allow a Beauty such as yourself to meet with such a fate?’

‘I am hardly a fainting violet who does not know how to handle the ribbons. I can free the gig…in time.’

He cleared his throat and looked pointedly at the vehicle with its wheels half-submerged in the mud. The position made it perfectly clear that she had driven straight at the puddle. She hated to think how long it would take to clear it. Or the difficulties she would have with Jester, who appeared intent on devouring every last speck of meadow-sweet grass.

‘I like to have my roads free from hazard. It could have been worse. I intend to rattle down this road today at high speed. If a carriage had encountered the unexpected obstacle, there would have been an accident. A bad accident.’

‘It is a public road.’ Diana lifted her chin a notch. His road indeed. Arrogant. Concerned with only his pleasure and comfort. Her heart rate slowed. She was back in control. Brett Farnham and all his kind were in her past. She was immune from such men now. She knew what danger they represented. But they also understood the code. Ladies were to be respected.

‘I have never driven into a mud puddle, intentionally or unintentionally.’

‘You think I intended on driving in?’

‘As I am not privy to your thoughts, I remain unable to discern them. Mind-reading is, alas, not one of my talents. Dealing with horses is.’ But within a moment, Brett Farnham had moved around the gig and with a few whispered words coaxed Jester back towards the road.

The pool gave up its hold on the gig with a great sucking sound. Diana reluctantly admitted that he had done it far more efficiently than she could have. And except for the splashes of mud on his gleaming black Hessian boots, Brett remained spotless.

‘I must thank you for that. Very neatly done.’

‘You climb back in and then we will depart.’ He gestured towards the gig. ‘I will drive.’

‘Go? Where?’ Her throat closed around the word and she was suddenly aware how deserted the road was, how far she was from any cottage. Alone with this man. Vulnerable. ‘I refuse to go anywhere with you.’

‘I am taking you home. You drove into a mud pool. Anything could happen.’

‘My competence as a driver has never been questioned before.’

He pursed his lips and his face assumed a sceptical expression. ‘We have a difference of opinion on competence, I fear. Your horse is a placid and serene animal. Easily managed.’

‘It is not what you think. I can control Jester.’

‘And now you know what I am thinking? Mind-reading is a talent of yours. How marvellous.’ His eyes pierced her. ‘Do let me in on your secret some time. But for now, I will settle for your explanation.’

‘I failed to pay attention.’ Diana hung her head and her cheeks grew hot. ‘I was reading a…a book.’

‘Indeed. There is no book in the gig.’

‘But it has to be there,’ Diana said in dismay. ‘The last volume of Pride and Prejudice. I left it on the seat when I jumped. I had to know the ending. The author writes so well. I shall have to search out more of his books.’

‘I have it on good authority that the author is a woman.’

‘The author’s identity is a closely guarded secret, but I understand from Mrs Sarsfield that it is a man.’

‘Shall we wager on that?’ His grey eyes twinkled. ‘A simple wager. With a suitable reward.’

He held out his hand. Diana kept her hand firmly at her side. No wagers. Ever. A simple enough rule to remember. She raised her chin and stared directly at him. ‘I suspect you would not offer unless you knew the truth. I accept the author is a woman.’

‘It does help to know the publisher and his habits.’ He gave a small laugh. ‘Never wager on facts you are uncertain of or have not independently checked. It helps keep people honest. But I shall agree with you—Pride and Prejudice is well written.’

‘I had assumed that members of the Jehu club disdained reading and education, Mr Farnham.’

‘How do you know I have anything to do with the Jehu club?’ His eyes changed instantly and became cold slate.

‘My fiancé was an admirer.’ Diana spoke around the sudden tightness in her throat. ‘Algernon Finch.’

He drew his eyebrows together before shaking his head. ‘I have no recollection of the name.’

‘He was younger than you at Cambridge, but he used to speak about the doings of the Jehu club.’ Diana clenched her fist. The man who had done so much to encourage Algernon’s folly and ultimately his death had forgotten his existence. ‘He even introduced us five years ago.’

‘Five years ago is a long time. I regret that I cannot remember the occasion.’ Brett’s voice held the faintest note of hesitation. A smug satisfaction swept through Diana. It was beneath her, but she did enjoy the feeling of wrong footing a rake. ‘I look forward to renewing my acquaintance.’

‘He died five years ago, Mr Farnham.’

‘My condolences. But people will talk, and they do sometimes exaggerate the acquaintance.’ He gave a slight shrug of his perfect shoulder, once again every inch the arrogant gentleman. ‘You must not believe everything you hear. Remember that the next time. The Jehu club disbanded years ago. And it is no longer Mr Farnham. I am now the sixth Earl of Coltonby. Have been for the last six months.’

‘My mistake. Lord Coltonby.’ Diana inclined her head. ‘I am sorry for your loss, but my answer remains the same. A title does not give one licence to seduce.’

‘I can only apologise for the gross ineptitude of my sex.’ A faint dimple showed in the corner of his mouth. ‘It is lucky that I was not intending any such stratagem.’

‘I am relieved to hear it.’

His eyes slowly travelled down her body, lingered on her curves. Diana reminded herself that this was a simple round gown, nothing too flattering. Suitable for visiting the Bolts and others in the neighbourhood, but it would appear dowdy and misshapen in Newcastle, let alone under the bright lights of London. Demure. Modest. Unassuming. His fingers trapped hers, curling around them and holding them fast. He brought them to his lips as his eyes watched her with a steady gaze. ‘You will take driving lessons. I insist. Public safety demands it.’

‘The public make no such demand.’ Diana withdrew her hand and ignored the faint tremor that ran up it. ‘I doubt our paths will cross again.’

Brett Farnham stared at the woman in front of him. This interview was not going the way he had planned when he’d glimpsed her ankle and the slight curve of her calf as she’d drawn her hideous dress up to avoid the mud. ‘And if I say that the stories about me are exaggerated?’

‘My answer would remain the same. In any case, London is your natural habitat. Your stay here will be a short one.’ The Beauty’s bee-stung lips were turned down. They were the most exquisite colour of rose pink and Brett wondered what it might be like to taste them again. But he decided against the notion. He would be a fool to try such a thing without knowing her antecedents. She claimed an acquaintance. Brett took pride in being discerning. He had never toyed with a woman whose thoughts might legitimately lean towards marriage; women who understood the nature of the game were infinitely preferable.

‘It may be longer than you expect,’ he said, keeping his eyes away from the swell of her bosom. Until he knew the exact nature of her status, he refused to risk any consequence. Silently, he prayed that she might be a legitimate pursuit, rather than one who was off limits. ‘I recently won a highly desirable piece of Northumbrian property.’

‘Did you, indeed?’ Her blue-green eyes became cold. Her eyebrow arched. ‘It appears to me that you play for very high stakes. Far too high.’

‘Cuthbert Biddlestone had had rather too much port and challenged me to a race. I am hardly one to back down. I held his vowels, you see, and it was double or nothing. Now I hold the title to Ladywell Park.’

‘You raced a noted drunkard? That must have been challenging.’

Brett brushed a speck of dust from his travelling coat. ‘He was the one who insisted. He was the one who became a vice-admiral in a narrow ship. I did warn him what would happen. He chose not to believe me. I do warn people of the consequences.’

‘And do you intend to keep this estate or will you wager it again on another race?’

‘I never drink too much port. What I have, I hold…Miss…’ Brett held out his hand and prepared to recapture her fingers.

She smiled and managed to sidestep him. ‘You will not achieve my name by such stratagems.’

‘You claimed acquaintance earlier.’

‘You denied all knowledge.’

‘Perhaps I spoke too hastily.’ Brett dropped his voice to a husky rasp. ‘Enlighten me, O Beauty of the wayside, so that I may worship you properly.’

‘I shall wait until we are properly re-introduced—’ she tilted her chin and her eyes became glacial ‘—when the proper order has been restored, if indeed you have won the Park.’

Brett smiled inwardly. One of the local gentry. Unmarried as she did not bother to correct him. He had anticipated, given the ugliness of the dress, that she was a farmer’s daughter, rather than a social equal. But now that he listened to her tones, he conceded that it was a probability. Annoying, but true. There again, she had mentioned a former fiancé—perhaps there was a stout husband in the background? Or, better yet, she could be widowed. Brett smiled. Possibilities remained. He would play the odds. Five years was a long time. A woman who showed a zest for life like this one would not have remained unmarried.

‘I believe your book has tumbled into the mud.’ Brett reached down and picked the mud-splattered volume up.

The lady held out a hand. ‘My book, if you please.’

‘I would not want you to be distracted.’ Brett pocketed the volume. ‘I will arrange for it to be delivered if you will divulge your name.’

‘For propriety’s sake, stop this funning and give me my book back…’ Her lips became a thin white line, but her cheeks coloured.

‘I much prefer impropriety.’ He gave a half-smile at her outraged expression.

‘My book, Lord Coltonby, if you please. I have tarried here long enough.’

Brett ignored her outstretched palm, and placed the volume in his pocket. ‘I have no intention of keeping it any longer than strictly necessary, but for now I feel it would be a distraction.’ Brett made a bow as she opened and closed her mouth several times. ‘Your servant, ma’am. I look forward with great anticipation to our next encounter.’

Her response was to twitch the carriage ribbons. Brett stood and watched it. She would find an excuse to come to him. It was only a matter of time.


Chapter Two

‘Rude. Arrogant. Impossible.’ Diana threw her gloves down on her dressing table and finally gave vent to her frustration. Passion and emotion were permissible in private.

Lord Coltonby actually thought that she would seek him out! And the worst thing was that he possessed the same sort of lethal charm that Algernon had oozed from his every pore. But she had learnt her lesson about how quickly such things vanished. Her rules had kept her safe since then. Diana concentrated on taking deep calming breaths.

‘Who?’ Rose, her maid asked, looking up from her pile of mending. Rose coming into her life was the only good thing that had happened in London. Sometimes, Diana felt that the world would have gone entirely black if not for Rose’s practical approach to life and her sense of humour. ‘What edict has the master issued now? You were displeased with him at breakfast. I could tell by the set of your mouth when he went on about you going to visit Lady Bolt. Why he should be interested in the Honourable Miranda, I have no idea. The woman is a menace. She is the sort who considers every cold a lung fever and faints at the merest hint of anything untoward.’

‘It is not the Honourable Miranda’s charms that interest my brother, but the possibilities of using Sir Norman’s landing on the Tyne if he makes an offer. Business, always business with Simon.’

‘Your brother should make other things his business. That son of his needs a mother. You do your best, Miss Diana, but you ought to have a life while you are young enough to enjoy it.’

Diana gave a short laugh as she gazed with fondness at her maid who sat sewing by the window. ‘I have discovered someone worse than my brother—an unadulterated rake who goes by the name of Brett Farnham, the sixth earl of Coltonby. He thinks all he has to do is click his fingers and women will fall at his feet.’

‘And do they?’ Rose laid her mending on her lap. Her placid face crinkled up. ‘I have often longed to meet one and to see if such a thing is really possible. What was he like, your mysterious rake?’

‘He is no rake of mine. He will have forgotten my existence by the time my gig turned the corner, and certainly once he encounters the next skirt.’

‘You judge yourself too harshly. You have done so ever since you returned from London.’ Rose made an impatient motion with her hand. ‘And what do you know of rakes and their doings? You resolutely refuse to read the Crim. Con. papers.’

Diana gave a small shrug as she stared into the large mirror that hung over the mantelpiece. Her features were ordinary: dark hair, reasonable eyes and an overgenerous mouth. They had not been what had caught the eye of Algernon Finch. He had been attracted to the size and newness of her fortune. And his determined seduction and easy manner had dazzled her. She had never thought to question his stories until it was too late, far too late. But she had learnt her lesson. ‘Brett Farnham is a rake, Rose. His exploits with gaming, carriage driving and women were the talk of London five years ago. But simply because other women fall at his feet, there is no need to think that I should.’

Rose made a noise at the back of her throat. ‘How has he behaved? Tried to flirt with you a bit? You never used to mind such things, Miss Diana…’

‘That was a long time ago, Rose.’ Diana tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear as she tried not to think about the girl she had once been. ‘I am no longer a green girl, ready to believe the lies that drop from a man’s lips, particularly not when he appears sophisticated and charming. And I have better uses for my fortune than buying a bankrupted title.’

‘Is Lord Coltonby bankrupt?’ Rose’s eyes widened. ‘You know a great deal about a man in whom you profess no interest, Miss Diana.’

‘The state of Lord Coltonby’s finances fails to intrigue me. I simply know what sort of man chased after me in London. Bankrupt. Let in the pockets. They saw only my fortune and not my face or personality.’

Rose shook her head so that her ribbons bobbed. ‘You should judge each man on his own merit. And stop seeing yourself as a plain old maid, an ape-leader who is on the shelf. Abandon your caps and embrace life. There, I have said my piece, Miss Diana, and it has been a long time coming.’

‘Please, Rose. You have it all wrong.’ Diana briefly related what passed between her and Lord Coltonby. Her voice faltered briefly when she neared the kiss, but she pressed on, avoiding any mention of it. If she did not think about it, it would be as if it had never happened. ‘I shall enjoy seeing his face when he realises who I am.’

‘Why would you want to do that?’ Rose finished darning a stocking. ‘I thought you were not interested in the man’s opinion—good or otherwise.’

‘I can hardly allow Lord Coltonby’s arrogance in the matter to continue.’ Diana pressed her palms against her eyes, trying to think straight as Rose’s lips turned up into a smug smile. ‘I do have my pride, Rose. Simon is a man of consequence in this county.’

‘It is a start.’ Rose shifted the mending off her lap and smoothed out the wrinkles in her apron. ‘You should borrow one of those lady magazines and see the latest fashions. One of Mrs Sarsfield’s daughters-in-law is sure to be willing to lend her copy of this season’s La Belle Assemblée. I could easily alter one of your London dresses.’

Diana shook her head. She had lost count of the number of rules she had broken today. Wearing clothes that made her fade into the background was vital, a constant reminder of what happened when one let one’s guard down. ‘My clothes suit the life I have chosen.’

‘It is such a pity. All those lovely silks going to waste.’

‘They stay where I put them—in the attic.’

‘You have mourned your fiancé for too long, Miss Diana. No one expects it. Not after the manner in which he died.’

Diana froze. How could she explain to anyone that she went down on her knees every night and thanked God for her lucky escape? That she had no intention of being caught out again. Ever. There were things about the past that even Rose did not know. Diana forced her fingers to pick up a pile of letters from the dressing room table. ‘The post has arrived. You should have said.’

Rose tightened her lips and showed that she remained unmoved by Diana’s sudden enthusiasm for her letters. ‘Doctor Allen has written. Already.’

‘What has Robert done now? It is barely a week into term.’ Diana tore the seal on the schoolmaster’s letter. ‘He promised me when we said goodbye that there would be no repeat of last year. He would attend to his studies. Simon will be so cross.’

‘It would be better if—’

Rose’s words were drowned out by a door being flung open. The noise resounded throughout the substantive house. Diana gave Rose a startled look and hurried out of the room.

‘He’s gone and done it! Lost everything! On a horse race!’

‘Who has gone and done what, Simon?’ Diana regarded her brother’s thunderous face as he strode about the entrance hall, his black coat flapping and his neckcloth wildly askew. ‘You will make yourself ill, if you continue in this manner. Be calm and collected.’

Simon gave her a disgusted look.

‘Cuthbert Biddlestone has wagered his fortune on a carriage race. And lost.’ He handed the cane and top hat to Jenkins, the butler. ‘He lost his entire Northumberland estate, everything that was not in the entail.’ Simon Clare shook his head as his dark green eyes flashed emerald fire. ‘He wagered the whole thing on his ability to handle the ribbons against one of the best horsemen in the country! His father would be turning in his grave if he knew.’

‘I suspect he did know. It is why he put off Sir Cuthbert’s majority until he was thirty.’ Diana forced her lips to turn up, but saw no answering smile in her brother’s face. If anything, his face became darker. ‘You always predicted such a thing would happen. What was it that you called Sir Cuthbert—a witless fop?’

‘He was a fool. He claimed in his letter that it was my fault as he wanted the money to invest in the travelling engine.’

‘That is complete nonsense!’

‘But it is exactly like Biddlestone. And he did not listen to what I said. I only wanted a bit of his money…for my new engine. Then with the proceeds from the investment, he would have been able to build that new Italianate manor he was always on about. I was even prepared to sell him that parcel of land overlooking the Tyne—you know, the one where the old wooden wagon-way used to run—at a knockdown price.’ Simon ran a finger about his collar.

‘But what does this have to do with the new owner?’

‘He wants to buy the land. Says Biddlestone and I had an agreement. Goodness knows what arrangement he will then strike with Sir Norman Bolt. Bolt’s been after that land for years. About the only spark of intelligence Biddlestone showed was his loathing of Sir Norman.’ Simon’s lower lip stuck out. ‘Is it any wonder that I am furious? Get me the latest copy of Debrett’s, Jenkins, I want to know the measure of this Earl of Coltonby.’

Diana reached down and gave Titch a pat on the head. Lord Coltonby had told the truth—he was their nearest neighbour. The terrier looked up with big eyes. The simple act eased her nerves. She would be practical and she would not give in to her fears as Simon appeared to be overwrought enough for the both of them. Calmness and tranquillity were the keys to an orderly life. ‘Why should it affect us? Why shouldn’t we be able to go on as before? The colliery is profitable.’

‘Everything has changed, Diana. Everything.’ Simon’s lip curled back slightly and his eyes became even greener. ‘The bloody Earl of Coltonby now demands that I dance attendance on him and listen to his scheme for improving the area. I dare say that he will tap me for money. These aristocrats are all the same. Jenkins, I want my copy of Debrett’s now, not in a month’s time!’

‘I am trying, Mister Clare.’ The butler’s voice echoed from the library. ‘It does take time.’

‘I know of Lord Coltonby,’ Diana said quietly as Simon looked about to explode and the butler wore a hurt expression. The last thing she wanted was to have to find yet another butler. Jenkins was the third butler they had had in a year. ‘He was there when Algernon died. One of the seconds…for the other man. It was all in Algernon’s last letter. Then Brett Farnham…’

Diana hated the way her voice trembled. She swallowed hard and steeled herself to explain about today, but Simon held up his hand, preventing her from speaking further, from telling him about her earlier encounter with Lord Coltonby.

‘By all that is holy! Brett Farnham…’ He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. ‘I never realised your fiancé knew him. I would never have listened to Jayne and agreed to the match if I’d known that.’

‘You never wished to know much about him,’ Diana replied carefully. She refused to speak ill of the dead—neither Algernon nor Simon’s late wife, Jayne. ‘Perhaps it would have been better if you had. How do you know Brett Farnham?’

‘Farnham and I were at Cambridge together. He with his drawling voice and oh-so-smooth manner as he threatened to dunk me in the Cam for wearing the wrong cut of coat.’

‘It was mostly likely a joke, in poor taste, but an idle boast.’

‘The water was ice cold, but I swam to the other side while he and the rest of his cohorts stood braying on the bank.’ Simon’s eyes flashed a brilliant green. ‘The man is debauched, Diana. He bragged about his gambling prowess and how well he drove carriages. And the women. You should have seen the parade in and out of his rooms. He and his kind are one of the reasons I detested Cambridge.’

‘It may not be as bad you fear. Rakes are ever in need of money.’ Diana kept her head high and her voice expressionless. She wanted to shake Simon. He should have questioned her chaperon in greater detail before entering into negotiations about her marriage.

‘Why me? Why now when the engine design is beginning to show its true potential? Why am I being punished in this way?’ Simon slammed his hand down on the mantelpiece, making the Dresden shepherdess jump. ‘I should have insisted on the agreement being formal, but Sir Cuthbert hemmed and hawed about being honourable gentlemen. Honourable! Him! My great-aunt Fanny! He wagered his entire estate on a daft horse race. How can that be considered honourable?’

‘He was not the man his father was.’ Diana closed her eyes. ‘The ways of the aristocracy are very different from ours. They always honour their debts to other gentlemen.’

‘And never to their tailors. Papa finished being a tradesman before you were born and I am no tradesman’s son.’ Simon waved an impatient hand. ‘I do not need the lecture, Diana. We both know what they are like, despite our dear papa’s desire to become one. Coltonby is the worst of the lot. Mark my words. He will be up to some deviltry.’

‘You don’t know that.’ Diana laid a hand on her brother’s arm. She had to get Simon out of his black mood. A fit of the blue devils was not what anyone needed. The entire house’s routine would be upset for days on end. ‘Think logically, Simon.’

‘You are against me as well! My own sister.’ Simon slammed his fist against the table, narrowly missing the alabaster lamp.

‘Simon Clare. Do not pick a fight with me, simply because you are cross with Lord Coltonby and his treatment of you years ago. You will find the finance for the engine. Perhaps Lord Coltonby is keen on all these new machines. Maybe he, too, sees the possibilities of steam and iron. Ask him. Maybe he will want to invest.’

‘Ask? You never ask Farnham anything. He always declined politely to remove his boots from the stairwell, to not hold drunken parties, to stop fraternising with coachmen. He simply curls his lip and laughs at you.’

‘You could try. People do change. You have.’ Diana regarded her brother with his expensive frock coat and well-tied neckcloth, the very image of a prosperous landowner. ‘You are no longer a student at Cambridge with little consequence. You do have a name and standing in Northumberland. You have a reputation for innovation and resourcefulness. The earl will listen to reason in time. You are under no obligation to sell that parcel of land.’

‘I hope you are right, sister.’ Simon’s face closed down. ‘Is there a method you would like to suggest?’

‘Yes, wait and see.’ Diana popped the final bit of toast into the terrier’s mouth. ‘Time has a way of solving problems.’

Brett paced the library of Ladywell Park, sidestepping the boxes of books that needed to be re-shelved and the portraits of Cuthbert Biddlestone’s ancestors that needed to be sent on their way. The Beauty of the road invaded his thoughts, preventing him from learning more about the estate and how mismanaged it was, from planning his new house overlooking the Tyne, one which would be free of damp and mismatched rooms. He had had plans drawn for one years ago, something he had promised himself when he finally succeeded in restoring the family’s fortune. And the outlook here was perfect. Biddlestone had been correct about that.

Who was she? Her eyes haunted him. Blue speckled with green, fringed with dark lashes. He had seen them before. He idly took down a book. ‘Finch, Finch. Should I know the name?’

‘You won’t find songbirds there, begging your pardon, sir,’ Hunt, the butler, put down the tray of port. ‘Birds and natural history have always been kept at the other end of library. Shall I fetch you a book on the subject?’

‘Songbirds?’ Brett snapped the book and turned to face his new butler. ‘Admirable insight, Hunt. You must tell me how you do it some time. Songbirds, indeed.’

‘I do try, my lord.’

Brett waved a hand, dismissing the butler. Then in the stillness of the room, he poured a glass of port from the decanter and swirled the ruby-red liquid.

Songbird. Finch. Algernon Finch. Son of Hubert Finch, Viscount Whittonstall. He’d died in the duel. That dreadfully pointless duel over a disputed Cyprian. How could he have forgotten the name of Bagshott’s opponent? The man who had unwittingly changed Brett’s best friend’s life and his own. A stupid boorish man who’d got everything he’d deserved.

It bothered Brett that the detail of Songbird’s name had slipped away. He had been so sure that he would remember everything. The mud, the mist and the absolute horror of a life ended in such a way. Bagshott had already been up to his neck in debt, but it had not stopped him from quarrelling with Songbird. Standing on the dock after he’d bundled Bagshott into a ship, Brett had vowed that he would make a new start, that he would succeed and would restore his family’s fortune. That he would not waste his talent, waste his life; but would use it wisely. But he had forgotten Finch’s first name. And that of the man’s fiancée.

How much else had he forgotten? Brett pressed his knuckles into his forehead.

Now all he had to do was remember her name, and why she was off limits to him.

* * *

‘A man approaches,’ Rose said the next morning as Diana sat re-trimming her straw bonnet in the dining room. ‘He is driving one of the smartest carriages I have ever seen.’

‘Since when were you interested in carriages, Rose?’

‘I have an eye for a well-turned carriage, same as the next woman. My uncle used to work at Tattersalls. You should have seen them come in their carriages.’ Diana’s maid gave a loud sniff. ‘Which admirer of yours drives such a thing?’

‘I have no admirers, as you well know.’ Diana bent her head and concentrated on the bonnet. A large silk rose now hid the mudstain and the ribbons were a deep chocolate brown instead of hunting green. More sombre. Less noticeable. By following her rules, her life was returning to its well-ordered pattern. ‘It will be someone coming to see Simon.’

‘The master is at the colliery. Where he always is these days. Why would a man not call there?’

Diana stood and went to stand by Rose. Her breath stopped. Lord Coltonby neatly jumped down from the high-perch phaeton and handed the ribbons to his servant. Diana drew back from the window as his intense gaze met hers. Her heart skipped a beat, but ruthlessly she suppressed it. She began to pace the drawing room. ‘Lord Coltonby, Rose. He has come to call. What has Simon gone and done now? I told him to wait.’

‘Shall I inform his lordship that both you and the master are not at home, Miss Diana?’ Jenkins asked, coming into the dining room.

‘No, no, Jenkins. I will see him. I want to know why he is here. I can only hope that Simon has not done anything rash.’ Diana’s hands smoothed her gown and adjusted her cap so it sat squarely on her head. Although some might have argued that at twenty-two she was far too young for a cap, Diana had worn it ever since that dreadful day in London when she had received news of Algernon’s death. There was a safety of sorts in caps. ‘You may show him into the drawing room if he asks to see either one of us. Else you can take his card if he asks to see Simon.’

‘Should I stay with you, Miss Diana?’

‘That won’t be necessary, Rose. I believe I have the measure of the man,’ Diana dismissed the maid. The last thing she wanted was some subtle interference from Rose.

Diana forced herself to wait calmly and to rearrange the various vases on the mantelpiece as she strained to hear the conversation between Jenkins and Lord Coltonby. Why had he appeared today and what would he say when he realised who she was? Diana gave a wry smile. She doubted that he would call her Beauty any more. She would be proper and hold her temper—the very picture of a spinster, an ape-leader.

Brett followed the butler into the Clares’ drawing room. The house exuded new money, rather than old. The drawing room, with its multitude of alabaster lamps, Egyptian-style chairs and green-and-gold striped walls, was the height of fashionable elegance, even though the colours were enough to make a grown man wince in pain. He could well remember Clare revelling in his wealth at university, always going on about his latest acquisition or his father’s newest business. A man who knew the price of everything and the value of nothing. A man without bottom. He had not changed.

‘I wish to speak with…’ Brett arched an eyebrow as his gaze took in Diana Clare. Even her badly fitting dress in a green that rivalled the chocolate brown she had worn the other day for sheer horror and the oversized cap with ribbons did little to diminish her memorable eyes. Their almond shape and the curve of her mouth had plagued his dreams last night. Clare’s sister. And a woman with a delectable bottom. ‘How pleasant to renew your acquaintance, Miss Clare. I believe we once had correspondence on a less happy occasion.’

‘I thought you had no recollection…’ Miss Clare’s pale cheeks flushed.

Brett inclined his head. ‘I regret that it took me a while to connect you with Songbird’s demise. I had quite forgotten that his fiancée was from Northumberland. Forgive me.’

He watched her intently. The aftermath of that day lived with him still. His determination to do more than simply chase skirts and play at gaming tables stemmed from the moment he’d seen Finch breathe his last. He had seen how quickly the dead and the departed were forgotten, not even a ripple on time.

‘Songbird?’ A puzzled frown appeared between her brows, marring her perfect skin. ‘I am afraid that you are now the one who holds the advantage, Lord Coltonby.’

‘Algernon Finch, as was. I only recalled him by his nickname, more’s the pity. I had thought every detail to be emblazoned on my mind and now find that certain details had slipped from my grasp. A thousand pardons.’ Brett tightened his grip on his cane and prevented any words from slipping out. The irony of the situation did not escape him. The whore had taken a new man within hours of the duel, despite her protestations of undying devotion to Bagshott. And yet, Miss Clare, the innocent fiancée, who had had no party in the action was here, alone, apparently living a retired life. ‘A sorry business that day. Totally unnecessary. Both men were insensible to reason. They paid a high price.’

‘You do remember.’ Her blue-green eyes widened slightly.

‘It took me until the early hours of this morning to recall the precise identity of the fiancée,’ Brett explained smoothly. ‘It was a nag at the back of my mind that prevented me from sleeping. I then felt compelled to apologise for my behaviour. It was unforgivably rude of me to question your source of information. Although I would contend that Songbird was not the most reliable of men when alive. And people change over the years. You should not judge me on his tittle-tattle.’

‘I am surprised that you troubled yourself with the recollection.’ Miss Clare gave a bright smile, but her hand played with the ribbons of her hideous cap. ‘It was most impertinent of me to bring the connection up. I was out of sorts from my difficulty with the gig. Please accept my apology for referring to the matter.’

Brett stared at her. Today all the life seemed to have gone out of her. The vibrant woman of yesterday had vanished and in her place was this shadow. How long had she been like that? And which was the true Miss Clare? He knew which one he preferred.

‘It is I who must apologise,’ he said at last. ‘That particular duel has long played on my mind. It should never have happened and I most sincerely regret that it did. Hopefully, it does not impinge upon your present circumstances. And although I once presented them in a letter, again let me offer my sincere condolences on your most grievous loss.’

‘Five years is a long time. I have quite recovered from the shock of it all, Lord Coltonby. You do not need to allude to the matter in oblique terms. I know my fiancé fought the duel over a courtesan. I had friends in London who took great pleasure in explaining it all. And I see no point in pretending that the duel did not take place.’

‘I regret your choice of confidants, then. It was supposed to be a private matter.’ Brett cleared his throat. It was all too easy to imagine. And even though this woman was innocent of any connection with the duel, people would have drawn their skirts back and whispered behind their hands. ‘Those concerned with Songbird’s death did everything in their power to keep the affair hushed. You must believe that. I know I never breathed a word.’

‘A death such as Algernon’s was never going to be private, Lord Coltonby.’ Diana kept her head erect, but her insides trembled. She had never spoken of the hours that had preceded Algernon’s death and she did not intend to start now, particularly not to a man such as Lord Coltonby. ‘Whatever was said about me years ago is long forgotten. The wags and the wits found fresh victims to flay.’

‘I can only recall pleasant things. You were quite right in thinking that we had been introduced before. I particularly remember Vauxhall Gardens. You commented on the brilliance of the fireworks.’

‘I did?’ Diana’s feet felt rooted to the ground. Ice crept down her spine. Had he been there as well? That fateful night before the duel? How close had he been? Had he heard her cries and mistaken them for pleasure? And what would he say if he knew the full truth behind that night? She pressed her fingers to her temple. She would have to hope that he meant some other night. ‘I have no recollection…’

Brett’s eyes became a soft grey as he shook his head. ‘Songbird was a scandal waiting to happen. He would never have done for a husband.’

‘I didn’t ask for anyone’s pity.’ Diana pressed her hands together. Privately she agreed with Lord Coltonby. But she could not make any excuses for Mrs Tanner, employed to keep fortune hunters away from her. The chaperon had failed miserably. ‘My only excuse was that I was naïve and unused to the ways of the world. No doubt most young women saw him for what he was. I only regret that my chaperon did not.’

Lord Coltonby’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘What a pity your friends did not speak up. His situation was no dark secret.’

‘The ton is not so forgiving when one is only clinging to the edge.’ She kept her head high and refused to allow the old feelings to swamp her. Calm. Tranquil. Her rules had protected her ever since that night at Vauxhall. She forced her mind to clear and then continued. ‘I much prefer the peace of Northumberland. Society here may be an altogether duller affair, but the quality and quantity are at least known.’

‘Why go to London in the first place?’

‘My father had his heart set on brilliant matches for his children. My late sister-in-law’s mother advised him to send me down there. I was to share the Season with her niece. Unfortunately the girl became ill and was forced to abandon the project. My father determinedly pressed ahead.’

‘Did your father take the disgrace well?’

‘My father died of lung fever, in the same epidemic that took Jayne. He never knew. When my brother’s letter arrived, my duty to return to Northumberland was clear.’ Even as she said the words, she knew they were a half-truth at best. Simon’s letter demanding her return had been a godsend, a chance to lick her wounds and to dedicate her life to being sensible and calm. It was wrong of her to think that their deaths had been providence, however much it felt that way. ‘I learnt my lesson the hard way, and have no regrets.’

‘No regrets.’ His eyes swept down her body, lingered on the neckline. ‘That is good. I had worried. Songbird would not have wanted it.’

She paused and smoothed out the lines of her green round grown. ‘Is there some other reason you called, Lord Coltonby? Surely it is not to reminisce over departed friends. I have turned my face towards the future. Life has been good to me.’

‘Your book, Miss Clare, as you did not call for it. I felt certain you had need of it now that you were safely home.’

‘My book.’ Diana stared at the volume and then back Lord Coltonby. ‘Of course, my book.’

She reached out to take it and their fingers touched. A small shock jolted her arm and she fumbled with the book, sending it tumbling towards the ground. Brett smoothly caught it and placed it gently on the small table.

‘I had expected you to send a note, as you held the advantage,’ he said into the silence.

‘I had no wish to trouble you or your servants with such a trifling matter,’ Diana breathed.

‘And here I thought you would want to see me again.’ His eyes became hooded. ‘We have unfinished business, you and I.’

‘We have no business.’ Diana cleared her throat, ready to send him on his way, before she asked him to stay. With every breath she took, that little reckless piece of her seemed to once again grow stronger. She had to slay it before it led her back down the road to ruin and scandal, a road she had blithely trod before. Her heart pounded in her ears.

‘I intend on teaching you to drive, Miss Clare. I have no wish to discover the roads cluttered with all manner of gigs and carriage simply because of your inattention.’

‘It will not happen again, I can assure you. In any case surely you will not remain in the neighbourhood for long. A few weeks at most.’

‘You know my schedule? Intriguing. Is this some party piece of yours? Or do you wish me ill?’

‘Sir Cuthbert always complained of being buried in the countryside,’ she said quickly to cover her faux pas. ‘He only spent a little time here each year.’

‘I am hardly Sir Cuthbert. His figure is far more rotund than mine. I do not think there is any danger of anyone mistaking us.’ Lord Coltonby smiled. Diana found it impossible not to answer his smile with one of her own. ‘I find the air very agreeable here.’

‘On that we hold the same opinion.’

‘Shall we be friends as well as neighbours? Put the past behind us?’

Diana drew in a breath. Friendship? Since when did a man like that seek friendship from a woman? ‘We are neighbours.’

‘And how shall we celebrate this neighbourliness? How shall we seal our friendship?’

Diana licked her suddenly parched lips. Sealed. The back of her neck prickled as a distant memory woke. Warned her. She held out her hand. ‘As a gentleman and a lady.’

He regarded her hand, and then his gaze lifted to her mouth, made it tingle under his gaze. A smile transformed his features. He reached out and touched her hand. Held it for a moment longer than strictly necessary. ‘A pleasure as always, Miss Clare.’

‘Welcome to Northumberland and the neighbourhood, Lord Coltonby,’ she said gravely, trying to ignore the sudden pounding of her heart, and withdrew her fingers.

‘I look forward to discovering everything Northumberland has to offer. To deepening our friendship.’

‘There are neighbours, and then there are friends.’

‘I trust we can be both.’

Diana adjusted the ribbons of her cap so it sat more squarely on her head. ‘My brother will be sorry he missed your visit.’

‘It gives me an excuse to come by another time.’ Lord Coltonby’s deep grey eyes met hers.

‘If you wish,’ Diana replied and made a mental note to add another rule—Lord Coltonby represented danger and was to be avoided. Her survival depended on it.


Chapter Three

‘Have you heard about the exciting development, Miss Clare?’ The tinkling tones of the Honourable Miss Miranda Bolt assaulted Diana’s ears as she left the circulating library the next morning.

Pride and Prejudice had been safely returned to the library, and Diana had no reason to even think about her new neighbour. Her well-ordered life would go on as before. She would be able to concentrate on things like needlework and visiting the houses of the colliery’s employees, tasks that today held about as much appeal as getting her teeth pulled. But good tasks, worthwhile ones.

‘What news? What has happened?’ Diana asked cautiously as she turned to greet the impeccably dressed Miranda Bolt. Already she could feel a distinct pain behind her eyes. ‘Is it anything untoward, Miss Bolt?’

‘Positively the most important thing that has happened in the district for the last century.’ Miss Bolt gave a toss of pale yellow curls. Her tiny mouth quivered with excitement. ‘My parents are to give a ball in honour of our new neighbour. I fainted when I heard the news. Mama had to call for the smelling salts. Papa has agreed to the ball.’

‘You mean the most important thing to happen to the district since the Napoleonic War.’

‘War is utter tedium and boredom.’ Miss Bolt gave a tiny shrug of her shoulders. ‘The only good part is the number of men in uniform. Both Carlisle and Newcastle are full to the brim with soldiers. Lovely, lovely red coats and gleaming buttons. They add such colour to a party.’

‘We received our invitation yesterday.’ Diana forced her face to stay bland. Penning her regrets was a task for this afternoon. Simon might go if he liked, but she would find a reason to avoid the ball. She always did.

‘You and your darling brother must come. You missed the St Nicolas Day ball in Newcastle last Christmas and you must not miss this one.’ Miss Bolt gave a clap of her hands. ‘I knew if it was in the neighbourhood, all the eligible bachelors would come. I shall be quite in demand. I told Mama that. A woman who is in demand soon attracts the eye. It is only a matter of time before I make a brilliant match, one which is well suited to my station. Forgive me, Miss Clare, if you think me proud, but I only speak the truth.’

‘Indeed.’ Diana’s jaw tightened and she forced her smile to remain in place.

‘It would be so lovely if we had more entertainment in the district. Then, we should not have to venture quite so far afield in search of culture.’ Miss Bolt stuck her chin in the air. ‘Culture is very important to me. It is the foundation of society.’

‘You are forgetting about the Grand Allies routs. And the Sarsfields’ musicales.’ The idea that the Bolts were the final arbiter of culture in the Tyne Valley grated on Diana’s nerves. They had only arrived here when Sir Norman’s great-aunt had died and he had finally come into his inheritance. ‘The elder Miss Sarsfield plays the spinet beautifully.’

‘True, true, but I thought her Chopin was a bit sharp last week. It laid waste to poor Mama’s eardrums.’ Miss Bolt tapped a finger against her mouth. ‘There again, you were absent, weren’t you?’

‘Unavoidable. One of the servants had come down with a chill.’ Diana forced her lungs to fill with air. The excuse was threadbare, but she had discovered it was far easier to keep to her rules if she avoided entertainment wherever possible. ‘It sounded pleasant enough to me when I heard the dress rehearsal.’

‘Dear Miss Clare, if you could but hear what passes for music in the great drawing rooms of London…’

‘I have been to London, Miss Bolt.’ Diana held back a stinging retort. A lady must be polite, but Miranda really was insupportable. ‘I even managed to attend several musicale evenings there when I had my Season.’

‘The London Season. I have tried and tried to convince Mama of the necessity of a London Season. A proper one, with vouchers to Almack’s.’ Miss Bolt put her hand to her mouth. ‘My dear Miss Clare, I nearly forgot how trying the mention of London and the Season must be to you. Mama has warned me and warned me, but my tongue goes flippety-flop.’

‘Why should the mention of London be trying?’

‘You know the disaster.’ Miss Bolt lowered her voice and her blue eyes shimmered as she put a hand briefly on Diana’s elbow, a show of false concern. ‘Every time I think about it I want to weep. Mama remarked on it the other day and how it should be a lesson for me, a lesson I intend to take to my heart. Dear, dear Miss Clare, when I go to London, I shall be a success. I will not be a wallflower.’

‘I wish you every opportunity.’

‘And I will take every single one, I can assure you of that. I am meant for a viscount or an earl at the very least. It is too bad that the royal dukes are so very old.’ Miss Bolt gave her curls a little pat. ‘With my looks, breeding and Papa’s fortune, a title should be within my grasp.’

‘One should always aim for the attainable.’

‘How very witty of you. The attainable, not the unattainable. I will remember that. I collect witticisms so that I can repeat them to my friends.’ Miranda Bolt gave another trill of laughter. ‘There again, did you?’

‘Did I what?’ Diana stared at Miranda Bolt. Was Miss Bolt entirely without reason this morning? The young woman seemed intent on ignoring all of Diana’s attempts to end the conversation.

‘Aim for the attainable,’ Miranda Bolt replied with maddening complacency. ‘Is that why it was a disaster?’

‘My situation hardly compares to yours.’ Diana gritted her teeth. ‘I returned to Northumberland for family reasons.’

‘It must be so hard getting old.’ Miss Bolt tilted her head to one side and gave her parasol a twirl. ‘Every broken sleep shows. Mama told me. It is why I take such care with my complexion.’

Diana counted very slowly to ten. Passionate emotion was the enemy of reason, but the thought of Lady Bolt and her odious daughter pitying her after all these years was insupportable. ‘I believe your mother will be looking for you.’

‘Mama is always searching for me. It is part of our little game.’ Miss Bolt gave a gasp and a tremulous giggle as she lifted her reticule. ‘Is that…? Can it be Lord Coltonby’s carriage?’

Diana felt a prickling at the back of her neck and turned to see a smart yellow curricle. A tiger held the heads of two sleek bay horses. The lines of the horse proclaimed speed and the need for a firm hand on the ribbons. ‘It may be.’

‘He made his own fortune, you know,’ Miranda Bolt continued on, her cheeks becoming infused with pink. ‘Papa said that all he inherited when his brother died was a bankrupt title. Luckily Lord Coltonby had already won his fortune. He apparently has an eye for the horses. Papa is very much hoping to persuade him to support him in a business venture.’

‘Lord Coltonby is a force to be reckoned with.’

‘Have you met him? He is your nearest neighbour, after all.’ Miranda Bolt clasped her hands together. ‘I do think he is the most handsomest of men. He called on Papa the other day and we were introduced. Mama is most hopeful.’

‘How pleasant for you.’ Diana tapped her finger against her mouth, determined to make her voice sound casual, but to gently lead the subject away from Lord Coltonby. ‘The horses have good lines as well.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘It is the way they hold their heads and shift their feet. They have a bit of spirit. In the right hands that curricle would fly over the ground.’

‘I knew you would know about carriages and that sort of thing. I have heard Papa converse with you about them before.’ Miss Bolt gave a little wave of her hand as if discussing the speed of carriage and horses were somehow slightly outré. ‘I will confess that they bore me senseless. All a carriage does is get you from one place to another and wild horses scare me. But if they are Lord Coltonby’s passion, I suppose I must assume an interest. It will be expected.’

‘Horses are noble creatures. They deserve better than the conditions they are currently subjected to.’ Diana tightened her grip on her reticule. Rules. An accepted mode of behaviour. She must not give way to her anger and keep within the bounds of society. It was the only thing that protected a lady. Why did she always come so close to forgetting the basic precepts of etiquette in Miss Bolt’s presence? Diana strove to keep her voice light and bland. ‘Do you know how many horses are lost because of the mail coaches each year?’

‘Mail coaches, Miss Clare, are a necessity.’ Miss Bolt looked down her nose. ‘How else would I know which regiments were in Newcastle?’

‘How, indeed?’ Diana hid a smile and felt the tension ebbing from her shoulders. She would now bring the conversation to a close and everything would be well.

‘I do believe he has glanced this way.’ Miss Bolt rapidly smoothed her skirt and readjusted her bonnet. ‘Mama says that his fortune exceeds that of Lord Allendale and Lord Carlisle combined. Mama is always right about such things. Marriage is not something that should be left to the young. She is singularly determined.’ Miss Bolt gave another trilling laugh. ‘But I forgot, dear Miss Clare, you are unlikely to marry. The ever-so-sensible Miss Clare. Does it pain you when other people speak of marriage?’

‘It does not affect me in the slightest, Miss Bolt. I take little notice of such things. If you will forgive me, Robert requires a few sweetmeats from the grocer’s. He particularly asked for candied peel in his last letter.’ Diana started to move away from Miss Bolt, but the young woman clutched Diana’s arm.

‘Wait, please, Miss Clare. Your dear sweet nephew can have his things later. My need is at present the greater one.’

‘Miranda Bolt, kindly contain your gesticulations.’ Diana stared in astonishment at the young woman. And slowly Miss Bolt released her vice-like grasp. Diana rubbed her arm, trying to get the blood to flow again.

‘If I have given offence, I most humbly beg your pardon, but please remain here with me.’ A faint glimmering of tears shone in Miss Bolt’s eyes. ‘Do not desert me in my hour of need!’

‘Why? What is so urgent? What disaster can possibly befall you on Ladywell’s High Street?’ Diana struggled to contain her temper. She started to fumble in her reticule. ‘Are you feeling unwell? Do you need smelling salts?’

‘Lord Coltonby is going to acknowledge me. I know he is. He is coming towards me. We met the other day when he called on Papa. It was a very brief meeting, but somehow I knew.’ She gave a huge sigh. ‘It is in the way he says hello. And he is attainable, I know he is.’

Diana’s hand stopped halfway out of her reticule. Someone had to warn the girl before she did something foolish, before she made a life-altering mistake. Rakes only brought scandal. ‘Miss Bolt, Lord Coltonby is definitely not one of the attainables. You will have to trust my judgement on this matter.’

‘We shall see.’ Miss Bolt nodded towards where Lord Coltonby had emerged from the livery stables. His black coat contrasted with the cream of his breeches. He appeared every inch the gentleman, but there was something more in the way he moved, something untamed, something that called to her. Diana forcibly wrenched her gaze away and filled her lungs with steadying breaths. She tried to remember all the reasons why Lord Coltonby was dangerous, and found she could only think of his smile.

‘It does appear that he is coming towards us, but it could be that he wishes to visit the circulating library.’ Diana prayed he would nod, acknowledge them both and move on. A civilised way out of her predicament.

‘My knees grow weak. Mama will be ecstatic.’ Miss Bolt hurriedly pinched her cheeks and straightened her gown. ‘To be favoured in this way by Lord Coltonby. Do you know how far his lineage stretches back? Mama had me learning it the other night. Fortune favours the well prepared.’

‘You hardly need me here.’ Diana prised Miss Bolt’s fingers from her sleeve. ‘Your mama has brought you up properly. Eschew the vulgar and you will prosper.’

‘I have heard of his reputation and do not wish him to say anything untoward,’ Miss Bolt whispered. ‘Mama insists that there always be a witness. A woman of quality cannot be too careful, particularly when she means to catch an earl.’

Diana pressed her lips together, holding back the words of warning. Poor foolish Miss Bolt. She had never expected to feel pity for the young woman. Someone needed to explain about the consequences of trying to capture a rake. Someone—but not her. Miss Bolt would dismiss her as a jealous spinster. And what could she say without betraying her own experience?

Diana wrinkled her nose and looked again at the figure striding towards them. His top hat shrouded his expression. The only thing she could do was to try to subtly protect Miss Bolt. It was her duty.

‘You always have a choice, Miss Bolt. Your mother will not be the one married to him.’

‘But will I make the right decision? My future husband needs to be someone special, someone who will put me on a pedestal.’ She shook her head. ‘It is a matter that vexes me nightly. I must marry well, Miss Clare. A title or a fortune, preferably both. It is expected. Mama will not have it any other way. And sometimes I dream of dashing redcoats and faraway places.’

‘Sometimes, the unexpected happens.’ Diana kept her voice carefully neutral, but felt her throat tighten around the last words. Suddenly she wanted Miss Bolt to experience happiness. ‘Hold fast to your dreams, Miss Bolt. Never settle for second best.’

Miss Bolt gave a small squeak in response and grabbed Diana’s arm again.

‘Ah, Miss Clare, how delightful to see you again.’ Lord Coltonby captured Diana’s hand and brought it to his lips. He held it there for an instant longer than was proper. Diana gave a little tug. His thumb lightly caressed her palm as he released it. She was grateful that the shadow of her bonnet hid the sudden flame of her cheeks. She regarded his black boots, counted to ten and regained a measure of control.

‘Lord Coltonby. I have returned the book to the library. It will trouble you no further.’

‘I can only hope you enjoyed the ending as much as I did.’ His rich voice rolled over her. ‘I enjoy a happy ending.’

Miranda Bolt gave a soft cough and pointedly held out her hand. Her eyelashes fluttered and her soft blonde curls quivered. ‘Lord Coltonby, it is marvellous to see you again. Such an unexpected pleasure.’

‘Miss Bolt.’ Lord Coltonby inclined his head, but made no move to take the outstretched fingertips. ‘I trust your mother is well. The fruit basket she sent over was such a thoughtful, welcoming present.’

‘Mama will be so pleased.’ Miss Bolt swept into a deep curtsy. ‘She told me to ask specifically after your health if we should meet. She has several tonics that you might wish to try if the Northumbrian air proves to be too chilly…’

‘How kind of Lady Bolt. I have no need of attention at the moment.’

Diana breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps Miss Bolt was not in his sights. She could safely take her leave, if Miss Bolt would let her have a word.

As Miranda twittered on about the weather, Lord Coltonby languidly reached into his pocket and withdrew his snuffbox. Diana’s eyes narrowed and her body tensed as she remembered Algernon had once used that stratagem. Should she intervene? She could see Miss Bolt at war with herself over whether or not to take the proffered snuff. Diana gave a pointed cough and shook her head. Miss Bolt’s face fell, but she made no further move towards the snuffbox.

‘You do not approve, Miss Clare. I can tell from the set of your eyebrows,’ Lord Coltonby said and a faint smile touched his lips. ‘The ever-so-faintly censorious Miss Clare. Always so determined to do what is right and proper.’

‘Whether I approve or not is immaterial as you appear intent on taking snuff.’ Diana kept her chin up and made her gaze meet his, forced herself to ignore her natural inclination to walk away as quickly as dignity would allow. She would protect Miranda. She refused to allow an innocent to be drawn into his web. No true lady could ever do that.

‘But I desire your good opinion. Your smile is so much prettier than your frown.’ Lord Coltonby slid the snuffbox back into his pocket. ‘I bow to your knowledge of the local situation as I do in all things. What is permissible in London…And it was a gift from Brummell.’

‘The rules of society seldom change that much, Lord Coltonby.’ Diana drew a deep breath and tightened her grip on her reticule. Protecting herself had to come second when she was faced with a situation like this. Miss Bolt stood poised on a precipice. She did not understand the danger. Surely a small sacrifice on Diana’s part was worth preserving Miss Bolt’s reputation. ‘I find if one exercises common sense and courtesy, most situations resolve themselves.’

‘What sound and estimable advice, Miss Clare. Is it any wonder I hang on your every word?’ A dimple flashed in his cheek.

‘Insincere flattery does you no favours, Lord Coltonby.’

‘How do you know it is insincere?’

‘It was the upward twitch of your lips that gave me the final clue,’ Diana said with crushing firmness. All she wanted was to end this exchange, to get back home where she was safe.

He gave a barely suppressed snort of laughter. His grey eyes shone like opals. ‘As ever, Miss Clare, I find it difficult to disconcert you…but it is so much fun to try. I can’t remember when I have been so amused.’

‘My existence does not revolve around your amusement.’

‘It could be arranged, if you desired it.’ His voice lowered to a purr, one that played on her senses and made promises of sensual delights, if only she’d accept. As if she were some naïve débutante to be led astray during a visit to Vauxhall Gardens.

Diana shook her head. She’d never forget. She knew him for what he was—a leader of the Jehu club, the prince of rakes. Such men spelt trouble for the unwary woman. They were only interested in their own pleasure, and took rather than gave. But a tiny piece of her wanted to believe that he was different.

‘Ignorance is bliss, as some say.’

‘But I thought you enjoyed being educated, Miss Clare. A denizen of the circulating library?’

Diana struggled to contain her temper. He delighted in provoking her.

‘I was unaware that you were familiar with Lord Coltonby, Miss Clare. That you were intimate friends.’ Miss Bolt’s voice held an edge to it and her tiny mouth turned down, giving her the appearance of having swallowed a particularly sour plum.

She elbowed her way so she was standing between Diana and Lord Coltonby. The feathers on Miranda’s bonnet tickled Diana’s nose and she fought against the urge to sneeze. She stepped to one side.

‘Intimate? Are we?’ Lord Coltonby raised an eyebrow, regarded her with a faintly sardonic look. ‘You must inform me of the Northumbrian definition of intimate, Miss Clare. I wish to see if it coincides with mine. As you know, I never like to disappoint a lady.’

‘She hasn’t said anything. She simply let me make a fool out of myself,’ Miss Bolt cried. ‘She has been keeping secrets!’

‘Miss Bolt, Lord Coltonby and I were acquainted in London,’ Diana replied, swallowing hard, scarcely able to believe it was her own voice. ‘Lord Coltonby was good enough to call on me the other day as he happened to be in the neighbourhood and we renewed our acquaintance. He seeks to tease. It is his way. You must ignore him.’

‘I always like to renew acquaintances where I can.’ A bright light appeared in Lord Coltonby’s eyes. ‘Particularly when they are as charming as Miss Clare. It was one of the bonuses of coming to reside in this neighbourhood, to be able to renew an acquaintance that was cruelly cut short.’

Diana tilted her head and peered at him from under her lashes. This time his face, save his dancing eyes, was a mask of sincerity. No one would guess that it was an act. Her heart thudded in her ears. She played with the button of her glove, wishing she knew why he seemed determined to play this game.

‘Lord Coltonby seeks to flatter, but one must never believe insincere flattery.’

‘You sought Miss Diana Clare out? Deliberately?’ Miss Bolt gave a little stamp of her foot. Diana noted her face did not appear nearly as angelic. ‘You went to visit her? But I always understood her time in London to have been a complete and utter disaster.’

‘You were misinformed, Miss Bolt.’ Lord Coltonby made a deep bow. ‘She was one of the highlights of the Season that year. Unfortunately, duty called her home and the capital became a little greyer, a little less pleasant.’

‘Duty…yes, I suppose.’ Miss Bolt tapped a finger against her folded arms. ‘Poor Mr Clare’s wife died, leaving him that…that boy. I had never considered. It makes a great deal of sense now that I think of it. Dear Miss Clare was truly selfless.’

‘Every time I have encountered Miss Clare, I have noted her quality. It is only increased if she also manages an impossible child.’

‘Robert is far from being impossible,’ Diana protested. ‘He’s lovely, if a little high spirited. I am very proud of my nephew.’

‘High spirited? He put beetles in your sugar bowl and frightened poor Mama half out of her wits.’

‘He had thought the bowl empty.’ Diana stifled a smile as she remembered the incident from earlier that summer. Robert had sworn that it was a natural history experiment, but neither of the Bolts had been amused, particularly as one of the beetles had found its way on to Miss Bolt’s new straw bonnet. Simon had claimed he’d been able to hear the shrieking all the way from the estate office. ‘He did apologise.’

‘Only because you demanded it.’ Miss Bolt gave a loud sniff. ‘I can never look at that particular bonnet without a shiver going down my back. If you hadn’t plucked the beetle out!’

‘It is good to hear that Miss Clare had the situation well in hand. Quick thinking and a calm head are qualities to be admired.’

Diana lifted her gaze and met Lord Coltonby’s steady one. She nodded her thanks. She bit her lip. She had been so quick to believe the worst of him. What if she had made a mistake? What if he truly sought only friendship?

‘I must confess to having never given it much thought. A cool head in a moment of crisis. You could describe it that way.’ Miss Bolt drew her top lip over her front teeth, giving her face the expression of a startled rabbit, and brought Diana back to reality. ‘Mama can be wrong in her assessments of people sometimes.’

‘I consider it best to judge people as individuals. To eschew cant and hypocrisy whenever possible.’

Miss Bolt’s smile vanished as she looked quickly from one to the other. ‘I don’t listen to gossips.’

‘You have a wise head on your young shoulders, then, Miss Bolt. Discover the true person. That is the key to success.’

Diana knew the words were for Miss Bolt’s benefit, but to her surprise a tiny piece of her wanted them to be true. She wanted him to think well of her despite the long-ago gossip from London and Lady Bolt’s pronouncements.

Diana put a hand to her face and mentally shook herself. Soon she would wish to believe in impossible dreams again. There was safety in the everyday world. Its strictures and structures prevented impulsive action. Impetuosity had led to her downfall before. It would never do so again. She had conquered it.

‘It was lovely to meet you again after so long, Lord Coltonby,’ she said, inclining her head. ‘And to know that your feelings remain the same.’

‘My feelings towards you have never changed since the day I first glimpsed you,’ he murmured, capturing her hand again and bringing it to his lips.

Diana forced her body to stay still as his mouth touched the small gap left by her undone button. Heat washed through her. Rapidly she withdrew her hand and did the button up. When she glanced upwards, she discovered he was watching her with a sardonic twist to his lips.

‘Oh, oh, I see Mama. She will need to know…to know…’ Miss Bolt hurried away.

A smile tugged at the corner of Lord Coltonby’s lips as they watched Miss Bolt run to her mother, obviously bursting to impart the bit of gossip she had learnt.

‘That went delightfully well. Now I look forward to exploring your Northumbrian definition of intimate.’

‘I have no idea what sort of game you are playing, but I don’t like it.’ Diana took a long steadying breath. ‘We are not having and never will have a flirtation. How dare you imply otherwise?’

‘Did I? You must be reading too much into my words. A very bad habit, Miss Clare. I always mean precisely what I say. I find it saves trouble.’

‘I have shopping to do. I do not have time to discuss the precise meaning of words with acquaintances on the High Street.’

‘And here I had anticipated that we might become friends.’

‘I fear, Lord Coltonby, that we are destined for ever to remain acquaintances.’

Diana straightened her back and, with a sigh of what she convinced herself was relief, walked away from him. She refused to look behind her even when she thought she heard the word—coward.

Brett swirled the amber liquid in the crystal glass and gazed at the darkening landscape through the study’s window. All the land the eye could see—his, and unencumbered by a mortgage or debt. He had kept his promise, the one he had made on that windswept field and on the dock as he’d waved off Bagshott’s ship. He had turned his fortune around. He had not sunk into the mire like his brother, and neither had he needed to run to the Continent. And he had achieved it in his own way. And yet, the victory seemed hollow in some fashion. He pushed the thought aside. It was a victory, and that was all that mattered.

All things considered, today had gone well. He had enjoyed crossing swords with Diana Clare, far more than he ought to have.

She might not have conventional beauty, but it was her prickly exterior that intrigued him. Why was she so set against him? What had he ever done to her?

‘Simon Clare to see you.’ The butler had barely uttered the words when the tall man brushed past him. The cut of the coat might be better and the boots shinier, but Brett felt he would recognise the intensity of Clare’s eyes anywhere—and the feebleness of his manners.

Brett pursed his lips. The days when all he’d had was his name and a good eye for the horses were long gone. He refused to be intimidated by a man wearing the latest of everything and boasting about it. Clare always assumed that having money meant you could forgo the niceties of polite society.

‘Ah, Clare,’ he said, reaching for the decanter. ‘It has been a long time.’

‘I have come to discuss your latest demand.’ Clare ignored the decanter and waved a piece of paper. ‘I assume it is why you called at my house yesterday.’

‘To see if things could be settled satisfactorily without calling in the lawyers.’ Brett paused. How to say it? How not to antagonise Clare? ‘Between landowners. Disputes have a terrible way of getting out of hand.’

‘You mean amongst the aristocracy.’ Clare snorted. ‘Don’t worry. I know where I fit in. And I can guess what flim-flam Biddlestone said, but I have no intention of selling that piece of land. I might have use for it sometime in the future.’

‘Doubtful.’ Brett swirled the brandy. Clare was the same jumped-up arriviste with his eye on the main chance that he’d been at Cambridge, lacking in bottom. Dog in the manger. The land was lying derelict. ‘You have not used that wagon-way since you built the new staith. You have no use for it. I have offered a fair price in the circumstances.’

‘You know all about coal mines as well as horses now, do you? Once I have a travelling engine up and running, that old wagon-way could be highly desirable.’

‘I can tell when a man seeks to take advantage. Travelling engines are notoriously unreliable.’ Brett regarded Clare. At university, Clare had gone on and on about this investment and that investment, always seeking to further his own ends. ‘I want the land for the view over the Tyne. Not that you would understand that. The pursuit of pleasure is nothing compared to the pursuit of wealth. Wasn’t that what you proclaimed on the staircase? That first day at Cambridge?’

Clare made a disgusted noise. ‘You have a better memory than I. Is this derisory sum your final offer?’

‘It is a fair sum. Consider it. That is all I ask.’ Brett reached for the brandy again, preparing to pour Clare a glass. He and Clare were neighbours after all. They would have to put Cambridge behind them. ‘I enjoyed speaking with your sister when we met at your house.’

‘And spoke to her again on the High Street.’ Clare crossed his arms and glowered. ‘What sort of game are you playing at, Coltonby?’

‘We were introduced in London. I had no idea at the time she was your sister. She is somehow much more…’

‘Refined? Is that the word you were searching for? My sister was educated at a ladies’ academy. She is young enough not to remember how my father had to scrimp and save for every penny.’

‘Convivial was the word I was looking for.’ Brett permitted a smile to cross his face. ‘It would have been vulgar of me to cut her. Don’t you agree, Clare? I do despise vulgarity.’

A muscle in Clare’s cheek twitched. ‘I know what you and your kind are like. You are trying to use her.’

‘Am I?’ Brett managed to hang on to his temper. ‘Pray tell me how.’

‘My sister is a lady. Remember that.’

Brett stared at the man in astonishment. ‘Tell me how I have behaved inappropriately.’

‘I know what you’re like. I remember you and your deeds from Cambridge.’ Clare leant forward. ‘Your business is with me. Keep away from my sister. You are not fit company for her.’

Clare stalked out. The door slammed behind him.

‘And what will you do if I keep company with her? How will you stop me? What price will you be prepared to pay?’ Brett asked quietly in the empty room. ‘Will you sell me the land? No, you will give the land to me, Clare.’

If ever there was a woman who needed a bit of romance and flirtation in her life, it was Miss Clare. All Ladywell society would thank him if she abandoned her hideous caps. He would do it. It would prove a challenge. But in the end, Simon Clare would surrender.

Brett raised his glass. ‘To this week’s quarry—Miss Diana Clare.’


Chapter Four

Diana balanced the empty basket on her hip. When she had started out this morning, it had been full to the brim with gifts for the sick, and hard to carry, but after visiting the miners’ cottages down by the wagon-way, it weighed hardly anything. It had been a productive morning concentrating on other people’s problems and once again her mind was free from outlandish thoughts.

‘Miss Clare, wait a moment and I will walk with you.’ Lord Coltonby called from where he stood, chatting with one of the farm labourers. His hat was slightly pushed back and his cane dangled from his fingertips. The cream of his breeches outlined his legs perfectly. He seemed so entirely different from the men who surrounded him and yet he appeared perfectly at ease.

Diana shielded her eyes. She could hardly cut him now that he had called out. She attempted to ignore the sudden thump of her heart. She had nothing to fear here, not with all the children running about the lane and playing in the dust. ‘Lord Coltonby, what a surprise. I did not think to find you here. That is, Sir Cuthbert never came here if he could help it.’

Lord Coltonby covered the distance between them in a few strides of his long legs. ‘I believe you and my tenants will discover that I am a very different sort of landlord. Crop rotation, corn yields and stock breeding excite my interest. I vowed a long time ago that I would not be an absentee landlord when I came into an estate, but instead would nurture it. The land responds to care and attention.’

‘Then you plan on doing the repairs to the east cottages?’ Diana asked, unable to disguise the scepticism in her voice. The answer was far too pat and too easy. Care and attention indeed. Sir Cuthbert had never given a jot about his tenants. ‘A number of the miners and their families rent rooms there. I quizzed Sir Cuthbert about the repairs, but despite his assurances, nothing was done.’

‘Repairs cost money.’

‘Having unlivable hovels costs even more in the long run—the landowner has a duty towards his tenants.’

‘Quite so.’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘And I am here to see my buildings. Please judge me on my own merits, Miss Clare.’

‘And have you? Have you seen what needs to be done—the holes in the roofs and the smoking chimneys?’ Diana asked quickly before her courage failed. She had seen the conditions that the people lived in. Concern for other people and their welfare had been her salvation. She knew that.

‘I have never shirked my responsibilities, Miss Clare.’ He held up his hand, preventing her from saying anything more. ‘Sir Cuthbert was not overly concerned with his estate and his manager was incompetent. We can agree on that. It is in far worse shape than he led me to believe. Give me time to put things right and I am certain you will be pleasantly pleased with the situation.’

‘Are you saying that you would not have taken the estate if you had known?’ Diana shifted the basket to her other hip. A shiver ran down her back. She was not sure why the thought alarmed her.

‘I always enjoy a challenge, Miss Clare. It saves me from getting bored.’

‘And boredom is undesirable?’

‘You are only leading a half-life, if you have a safe existence.’ His eyes flashed steel. ‘In order to live, you need to take risks.’

‘Ah, does that mean you will be leaving soon?’

‘I believe that Ladywell Park offers me enough challenges for the present.’ Lord Coltonby stopped by an apple tree. He picked two apples off the branch hanging over the road, and offered one to her. Diana took the fruit with trembling fingers and held it while he took a large bite of his. ‘I dislike predicting the future. It can change in an instant.’

Diana rapidly placed the apple in her basket, resisting the temptation. ‘Sir Cuthbert always hated being here after he had had a taste of London. The attractions of the city can exert a strong pull.’

‘Sir Cuthbert and I are not alike.’ He took another large bite of his apple. ‘My primary interest is racing, Miss Clare, the breeding and the running of horses. It is how I earn my crust of bread. Northumberland grass is sweet. The air is clean. The purses and plates are rich because the local landowners have the coin from coal. It is a simple equation.’

‘Everyone in the village will be glad that something is being made of Ladywell Park. It was once a prosperous estate.’

‘It will be again. Better than before. I intend to build a new house overlooking the Tyne. I have had plans for such a house drawn for a very long time.’ Brett finished his apple and tossed away the core. ‘I made a vow once.’

‘Which is why you wish my brother to sell you the land?’ Diana inclined her head. The reason for Lord Coltonby’s attention was now clear. He thought she could exert some influence over Simon. She should have guessed. The knowledge made her both relieved and vaguely disappointed. ‘I am very sorry, Lord Coltonby, but I have no say over what my brother does.’

His eyes widened slightly. ‘How did you know I was going to ask you?’

‘It stands to reason. Simon was in a frightful temper when he returned home last night.’

‘I would consider it a great personal favour if you would at least speak to him.’ He paused. ‘We shared a landing at Cambridge and it was not successful. I fear he holds my youthful indiscretions against me.’

‘My brother keeps his personal feelings out of business.’

‘Does he?’ Lord Coltonby’s lips twisted upwards. ‘I wonder if that is a good thing, or not.’

‘He never consults me on such things.’ Diana tightened her grip on the basket. The conversation was meandering down an unexpected path and she had no wish to repeat the High Street incident. ‘Now tell me, is the grass really that much sweeter than Warwickshire? Does the location give you that much advantage? Everyone in Ladywell will want to know.’

‘Much.’ His eyes grew grave. ‘Racing horses is my passion. When I race, I race to win. And I want to be where the biggest purses are.’

‘I will remember that.’ She gave an uneasy laugh. ‘I doubt we will have the occasion to race or even to pit our wits against each other.’

‘You never know. You might enjoy it.’ The words poured out of him, smooth as velvet. She could almost feel them stroking her skin. ‘Are you issuing challenges now, Miss Clare?’

‘No.’ Diana forced her chin to rise and refused to let him see her discomfort. He was trying to unsettle her, that was all. She tried to ignore how silent the track had become and how the sounds of the children playing were now quite distant. ‘If nothing else, London taught me caution. I found it hard to credit how many inappropriate suggestions were put to me before Algernon was cold in the ground. Good day to you, Lord Coltonby.’

She took several steps and then felt his hand on her elbow, preventing her from leaving. His breath fanned her cheek, warming it. Diana kept her body still and concentrated on a stone in the road. ‘Let me go.’

‘I can only apologise for the crassness of Songbird’s brethren, but you mistook my meaning.’ His voice became clipped, his eyes chilled. ‘I would never use such a stratagem to force a woman to do anything that she did not want to do. You have nothing to fear from me, Miss Clare, with or without your spinster’s cap.’

She knew the combination of her current gown and cap made her look bilious and forty. Even Simon had remarked on its ugliness. She had been pleased with this before, but suddenly she wanted Lord Coltonby to look at her in a different way. A faint tremor went through her. It was as if she had opened Pandora’s box and all thoughts and desires she had tried to suppress or hide rushed out in one fell swoop. Maybe she was wanton after all. Maybe all this attraction was coming from her. Maybe her cap no longer protected her. Maybe it never had. No, it had to. It was just further back on her head than she would wish.

Diana jerked the ribbons of her cap hard. The right-hand ribbon and half the cap came away in her hand. Her insides turned over and the stain of humiliation flooded on to her cheeks as she saw the gleam in his eyes.

‘It still does not suit you. Heed my advice, Miss Clare—get rid of the cap. Better yet, burn it. A truly determined suitor would take no notice in any case. It only gives the illusion of protection.’

The man was insupportable. How dare he say such things! Her cap was important. It kept her safe. It showed the world that she was a lady, that she was not in the market for a husband. She would have to repair the cap immediately. ‘Illusion of protection?’

‘I once knew a man who swore that a certain rabbit’s foot would keep him from illness and ruinous debts. He paid a tremendous amount for it. He even cajoled me into returning to a nest of thieves and cut-throats to retrieve it after he had been injured in a fight and could not leave his bed. I tried once and was beaten back, but the pleas of the man only increased as he begged me to help him. Bagshott had suggested caution and to forget it, but I opted for the bold approach and retrieved the item. I had promised, you see.’

‘And what happened to the man after…?’

‘My brother died of typhoid with the rabbit’s foot clutched tightly between his fingers. And he was in the process of removing to the Continent to escape his creditors.’

‘I am so sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I merely sought to illustrate what happens when one puts one’s faith in objects. Actions are what counts, not objects, Miss Clare.’

‘Good day to you, Lord Coltonby.’

‘And you, Miss Clare.’

Brett watched her go—her skirts swung about her legs, revealing a well-turned ankle. The encounter had gone better than he had dared hope.

A light suggestion. Friendly banter. Nothing too overt. Miss Clare in the end would do as he wished.

He smiled. And there was very little Simon Clare could do about it, except fume and fret. He looked forward to seeing Clare’s face, but mostly he wanted to see what Miss Clare would do next. The chase in many ways was far more satisfying than the final surrender.

‘I had expected you to be at home.’ Simon’s annoyed tone greeted Diana before she had even had time to put the basket away.

‘I was out visiting the colliers’ families. Mrs Dalton is confined with her third child and the Widow Tyrwhitt has taken to her bed.’ She paused and removed her bonnet. ‘It is my afternoon for making the rounds. You agreed on the importance of this. It is our duty to make sure they are looked after.’

‘Yes, yes, you do a fine job. God knows that I cannot see the point. People always have complaints and they fail to understand the virtues of business.’

‘Simon.’ Diana pressed her lips together. They had had this argument several times over the past few years. It bothered her that Simon appeared to care more about the machinery rather than the people who made it work.

‘Later, sister. There is something you need to see.’

‘What have you done, Simon?’ Diana’s corset suddenly felt too tight as she looked at her brother. He was swaying back and forth like Robert did when he’d found a new bird’s nest. He was up to something.

‘You need to come with me to the colliery. Straight away. There is no time to change.’

‘To the colliery? Now?’ Diana glanced out of the window at the lengthening shadows. ‘It will be nearly dark by the time we get there. Can’t this wait until morning? I can then take a basket to the Widow Bosworth. You know how she likes company now that her boys are working down the mine.’

‘There is something I want you to see.’ He put his hand on hers. ‘Please, Diana, say you will come? For me.’

When he looked like that with his dark green eyes, Diana was forcibly reminded of how her brother had been before he had married Jayne, before he had become obsessed with order and control. Before business had ruled his life. Whatever new thing he wanted to show her, it would take her mind off Lord Coltonby and that could only be a good thing. ‘I will come.’

* * *

‘Behold the future!’ Simon proclaimed when they arrived at the colliery.

Diana stared at the huge black machine on wheels. A gigantic smokestack was at one end and at the other, a place for someone to stand. Her mouth went dry. ‘What is it?’

‘A travelling engine based on adhesion rather than pulling or ratchet.’

A travelling engine. The holy grail of every coal owner in the district. Besides William Hedley at Wylam and the viewer at Killingworth, she doubted another man in the whole of England could make a travelling engine work.

‘Where did you get it?’ she asked, coming to stand by Simon. ‘Who drew up the plans?’

‘I acted decisively.’ Simon’s expression was that of a rapt schoolboy. ‘Isn’t it a thing of beauty?’

‘But how did you get it? Only last week, you said that you could not find one. Or even obtain the plans for one.’

‘I have ways and means, Diana.’ Simon hooked his thumbs into his waistcoat. For the first time in months, Diana saw him smile, a genuine smile instead of the tight-lipped one that did not reach his eyes. ‘I had to take the opportunity. All the other masters would have given their eye teeth. Once it is up and running, whole vistas will open out in front of us. I can start up Little Ladywell again, run wagons along the disused wagon-way. Then no one can claim that the land is worthless and redundant.’

Diana sucked in her breath. The disused wagon-way. The land Lord Coltonby wanted to purchase. While she did not doubt Simon’s dedication, she wondered how much he was being spurred on by his desire to antagonise his old rival. ‘And you discussed this with Lord Coltonby?’

‘They delivered it today. I could hardly discuss it before I had the engine.’ Simon advanced towards the big black machine, and ran his hand down its side. ‘Hedley is right. The only way an engine will work is to be free running, not on a ratchet system.’

‘And how much will it cost? Who are the other investors? You have to be practical, Simon.’ Diana crossed her arms, and refused to let her brother divert her attention.

‘Not if I run it along the old wagon-way. I worked it all out in my mind. It can be done. The old staith can be reopened. And I will have no over-privileged aristocrat telling me how to run my business.’

‘Simon!’ Diana said through gritted teeth. ‘You are behaving in a high-handed fashion. You will antagonise him. I remember the quarrels you had with Sir Cuthbert.’

‘But he had learnt the errors of his way. Common sense prevailed.’

‘Only because he needed money.’ Diana drew a breath. She would have to explain about her encounter earlier and what she had seen. ‘Lord Coltonby is different. He isn’t intent on drinking the port cellar dry and gambling away his inheritance.’

‘What on earth are you talking about Diana? I knew Coltonby at university. Gaming and drinking are the man’s life. He was a seven-bottle man. And I could not count the number of card tables he graced, how many brawls he was involved in.’

‘University was a long time ago. It strikes me that he is someone who you would want to have as an ally, not as an enemy.’

‘He was the over-privileged son of an earl. He threw his weight around. Humiliated me. And I refuse to bow to his wishes and desires. He is not getting one inch of my ground until he has sweated blood for it.’

Diana stared at the large black machine. She had never realised how deeply Simon’s experiences at university had affected him. But she had also heard the passion in Lord Coltonby’s voice when he spoke of his estate and his desire to do something with it. There was more to the man, if only Simon would see it.

‘Simon, you need to grow up and think beyond what happened to you all those years ago.’




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