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The Society Catch
Louise Allen


RUNNING AWAY FROM LOVE!Miss Joanna Fulgrave has turned herself into the perfect society catch to be worthy of dashing Colonel Giles Gregory. But all her hard effort to improve herself comes to nothing when it looks as if Giles is about to propose—to someone else!Deciding that bad behavior is infinitely more attractive than perfection, Joanna flees her shocked family. Giles is hot on her trail, determined to catch her and bring her safely home. But will he be as determined to make her his bride?









‘Joanna, you simply cannot go around allowing yourself to be kissed because it is interesting!


‘How many other experiences do you think you might sample out of interest? You are playing with fire!’

‘Nonsense!’ Joanna got to her feet shakily. She felt as if her legs were going to give way at any moment, and she grabbed hold of the chair-back.

‘Nonsense? Joanna, I do not believe for one moment that you have any idea of the danger you are in when you trustingly let yourself be kissed. And don’t stand there looking at me like that with those big hazel eyes: there is just so much a man can take.’

‘You are trying to scare me for my own good,’ she retorted. ‘I don’t believe for one moment I am in any danger from you, Giles. I trust you.’

Giles stood looking at the defiant, piquant face. Her eyes were huge in the firelight, and the shadows flickered over her mouth, swollen from the pressure of his. Her hair fell like black silk, rising and falling with her rapid breathing, and she said she trusted him!




Praise for

Louise Allen


The Earl’s Intended Wife

“Well-developed characters…an appealing sensual

and emotionally rich love story.”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub

“I liked the unusual location of Malta in this sweet book.

I look forward to what Ms. Allen will write next.”

—Rakehell

“A sweet romance and an engaging story…

the sort of book to get lost in on a lazy afternoon.”

—All About Romance


The Society Catch

Louise Allen






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


Contents

Cover (#u523dbcee-6485-528b-9149-f7aea325ea0f)

Praise (#u25581346-9682-5c4f-9de1-6448b3ea68eb)

Title Page (#u50b5e4ca-9f3a-5297-a2ef-0e96e1d724fb)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One (#ue3977ead-b858-5a37-9b36-6237851df83e)


The encounter that led directly to Colonel Gregory being disinherited by his father and to Miss Joanna Fulgrave running away from home in disgrace took place at the Duchess of Bridlington’s dress ball on the sixth of June.

It was a very splendid occasion. As her Grace fully intended, it succeeded in both marking the approaching end of the Season and ensuring that any other function held between then and the dispersal of the ton from town seemed sadly flat in comparison.

Joanna progressed as gracefully to the receiving line outside the ballroom at Bridlington House as the necessity to halt on every step and to guard her skirts from being trodden upon allowed. Beside her Mrs Fulgrave mounted the famous double staircase with equal patience. The Fulgrave ladies had ample opportunity to exchange smiles and bows with friends and acquaintances, caught up as they all were in the slow-moving crush.

As always, mothers of less satisfactory débutantes observed her progress, and in undertones reminded their daughters to observe Miss Fulgrave’s impeccable deportment, her exquisitely correct appearance and her perfectly modulated and charming manner.

If Joanna had not combined these enviable virtues with a natural warmth and friendliness, the young ladies so addressed would have long since begun to dislike her heartily. As it was, they forgave her for her perfections while their mothers poured balm upon each other’s wounds with reminders that this was Miss Fulgrave’s second Season now drawing to a close and she was still unattached.

That was a matter very much upon her fond mama’s mind. No one, Mrs Fulgrave knew, could hope for a more dutiful, lovely, conformable daughter as Joanna. Yet not one, but seven, eligible gentlemen had presented themselves to Mr Fulgrave, were permitted to pay their addresses to Joanna and went away, their pretensions dismissed kindly but firmly. In every case Miss Joanna was unable, or unwilling, to provide her harassed parent with any explanation, other than to say she did not think the gentleman would suit.

However, that very morning Joanna had refused to receive the son of her mama’s dearest school friend, a gentleman of such excellent endowments of birth, fortune and looks that her father had rapidly moved from astonishment to incredulous displeasure and Joanna discovered the limits of parental tolerance at last.

‘How can you say you will refuse Rufus?’ her mother had demanded. ‘What can I say to Elizabeth when she discovers you have spurned her son out of hand?’

‘I hardly know him,’ Joanna had said placatingly, only to meet with a snort from her parent. ‘You hardly know him: why, you said yourself that you had not met his mama for over ten years.’

‘You met Rufus Carstairs when you were six.’

‘He pulled my pigtails and took my ball.’

‘When he was ten! Really Joanna, to turn down the Earl of Clifton because of some childish squabble is beyond everything foolish.’

Joanna had bitten her lip, her eyes downcast as she searched for some acceptable excuse. To tell the truth, the reason why she would have turned down anyone from a Duke to the richest nabob, was quite out of the question, but she was hesitant to wound her mama with the specific reason why she would not have considered Rufus Carstairs in any case.

‘Well?’

‘I do not like him, Mama, really I do not. There is something in his eyes when he looks at me…’ Her voice trailed off. Those penetrating blue eyes were the only clue to something burning inside the polite, elegant exterior that filled her with a profound mistrust. ‘It is as though I have no clothes on,’ she finally blurted out.

‘Joanna! Of all the improper things…I can only hope that your natural innocence has led you to mistake the perfectly understandable ardour of a young man in love for something which I sincerely trust you know nothing about!’ Mrs Fulgrave had broken off to compose herself. ‘Has he said anything to put you to the blush? No. Has he acted in any improper manner? No, I thought not. This is another of your whims and your papa and I are reaching the end of our patience with you.’

Pausing yet again on the stairs, Joanna closed her eyes momentarily at the memory of her mother’s voice, normally so calm and indulgent. ‘You could not hope for a more eligible or flattering offer. I suggest you think very seriously indeed about your position. If you think that your papa can afford to support you in an endless round of dances and parties and new dresses while you amuse yourself toying with the affections of decent young men, you are much mistaken.’

‘Mama, I am not toying with Lord Clifton’s affections,’ she had protested. ‘I hardly know him—he cannot love me! I have not seen him since we were children…’ But her mama had swept out, throwing back over her shoulder the observation that it was fortunate that the earl would not be able to attend the ball that evening and risk a rebuff before Joanna had a chance to come to her senses.

They climbed another two steps and came to a halt again. Mrs Fulgrave exchanged bows with Lady Bulstrode, taking the opportunity to study her daughter’s calm profile. What a countess she would make, if only she would come to her senses!

Long straight black hair coiled at the back of her head and held by pearl-headed pins; elegantly arched brows, which only she knew were the result of painful work with the tweezers; wide hazel eyes, which magically changed from brown to green in extremes of unhappiness or joy, and a tall, slender figure. Mrs Fulgrave could never decide whether Joanna’s white shoulders or her pretty bosom were the best features of her figure, but both were a joy to her modiste.

Madame de Montaigne, as the modiste in question styled herself, had excelled with tonight’s gown. An underskirt of a pale almond green was covered by a creamy gauze with the hem thickly worked with faux pearls. The bodice crossed in front in a mass of intricate pleating, which was carried through to the full puffed sleeves, and the back dipped to a deep V-shape, which showed off Joanna’s white skin to perfection. Her papa had presented her with pearl earrings, necklace and bracelets for her recent twentieth birthday and those completed an ensemble that, in Mrs Fulgrave’s eyes, combined simple elegance with the restraint necessary for an unmarried lady.

It was no wonder that the earl, who could hope to engage the interest of any young lady who took his fancy, should be so taken with the daughter of his mother’s old friend. He had seen her again for the first time as adults on his return from a continental tour where he had been acquiring classical statuary for what was already becoming known as a superb art collection. Joanna might not be a brilliant match, but she was well bred, well connected, adequately dowered and lovely enough to turn any man’s head.

Joanna herself was engaged, not in wondering how her gown compared with anyone else’s, nor in dwelling on that morning’s unpleasantness, but in discreetly scanning the throng on both wings of the staircase for one particular man. She had no idea whether he would be there tonight, or even if he was in the country, yet she hoped that he would be, as she had at every function she had attended since her come-out more than two years ago.

The man Joanna was looking for was her future husband, Colonel Giles Gregory, and for his sake she had spent almost three years preparing herself to be the ideal wife for a career soldier. A career soldier, moreover, who would one day become a general, would be elevated far above his own father’s barony and would doubtless, like the Duke of Wellington, become a diplomat and statesman of renown.

She had fallen in love with Giles Gregory when she was only seventeen and just out of the schoolroom. She was already causing her anxious mother to worry that when she came out she would prove to be a flirt and a handful. Unlike her calm, biddable sister Grace, who had become engaged to Sir Frederick Willington in her first Season, Joanna showed every inclination to throw herself into any scrape that presented itself.

Then their cousin Hebe had arrived from Malta to plunge the family headlong into her incredible and improbable romance with the Earl of Tasborough. As the earl was in deep mourning and had just inherited his title and estates, yet insisted that his Hebe marry him within three weeks, preparations were hurried and unconventional. As groomsman, the earl’s friend Major Gregory found himself thrown into the role of go-between and supporter of the Fulgrave family as they coped with the marriage preparations.

Much of his time had been taken up amusing young William Fulgrave, freeing William’s mama from at least one concern as she made her preparations. Army-mad William had plagued the tall major for stories and neither appeared to take much notice of sister Joanna, who would quietly come into the room in her brother’s turbulent wake and listen silently from a corner.

Joanna moved up a few more steps, her eyes on the black-clad shoulders of the gentleman in front of her, her mind back in the tranquil front room of the house in Charles Street. The sedate parlour had become full of vivid and exciting pictures as Giles held William spellbound with his stories of life on campaign. She had soon realised that, whatever William’s blandishments, his hero never talked about himself but always about his soldiers or his friends. Insidiously the qualities that meant that his men would follow their major into hell and back, and then go again if he asked, drew Joanna deeper and deeper into love with him.

She understood very clearly that she was too young and that he would not even think of the gauche schoolroom miss that she was now in any other light than as a little sister. But she would be out that Season and then she could begin to learn. And there was so much to learn if she was going to be the perfect wife that Giles deserved. And the wife she knew with blind faith he would recognise as perfect the moment he saw her again.

Almost overnight Mrs Fulgrave’s younger daughter became biddable, attentive and well behaved. From plucking her dark brows into submission to mastering the precise depth of a curtsy to a duchess or a rural dean, Joanna applied herself. Her parents were too delighted in the transformation in their harum-scarum child to question what had provoked this miracle, and no probing questions disturbed Joanna’s single-minded quest for perfection.

And month after month the army kept Major, then Colonel, Gregory abroad. Joanna never gave up her calm expectation that they would meet again soon, although every day, as soon as her father put down his Times, she would scan the announcements with care, searching anxiously for the one thing that would have shattered her world. It never occurred to her that Giles might be wounded, let alone killed, for she believed that no such fate would intervene in his pre-destined path to greatness. But there was another danger always present and each morning Joanna breathed again when the announcement of Colonel Gregory’s engagement to some eligible lady failed to appear.

Mother and daughter finally reached the top of the stairs and Joanna sought diligently for something appropriate to say to the duchess. It would be important as the wife of a senior officer to say the right things to all manner of people. The Duchess of Bridlington, Joanna recalled, liked to be in the forefront of fashion, setting it, not following. She eyed the unusual floral decorations thoughtfully.

‘Mrs Fulgrave, Miss Fulgrave.’ Her Grace was gracious. She liked pretty girls who would enjoy themselves, flirt with the men and make her parties a success, and Miss Fulgrave, although not a flirt, was certainly a pretty girl who was never above being pleased with her company. ‘A dreadful squeeze, is it not, my dear?’ She smiled at Joanna.

‘Not at all, your Grace.’ Joanna smiled back, dropping a perfectly judged curtsy. ‘It was delightful to have the opportunity to admire the floral decorations as we came up the stairs. How wonderful those palms and pineapples look, and how original: why, I have never seen anything like it.’

‘Dear child,’ the duchess responded, patting her cheek, highly pleased at the compliment. Her gardeners had grumbled about stripping out the succession houses, but she had insisted and indeed the exotic look had succeeded to admiration.

Joanna and Mrs Fulgrave passed on into the ballroom, its pillared, mirrored walls already reverberating with the hum of conversation, the laughter of nervous débutantes and the faint sounds of the orchestra playing light airs before the dancing began.

As she always did, Joanna began to scan the room, her heart almost stopping at the sight of each red coat before passing on. She must not let her anxiety show, she knew. An officer’s wife must be calm and not reveal her feelings whatever the circumstances. A small knot of officers was surveyed and dismissed and then, suddenly, half a head above those surrounding him, was a man with hair the colour of dark honey. A man whose scarlet coat sat across broad shoulders strapped with muscle and whose crimson sash crossed a chest decorated with medal ribbons on the left breast.

‘Giles!’ Joanna had no idea she spoke aloud, and indeed her voice was only a whisper. It was he, and three years of waiting, of loving, of hard work and passionate belief were at an end.

He was making his way slowly up the opposite side of the dance floor, stopping to talk to friends here and there, bowing to young ladies and now and again, she could see, asking for a dance. Joanna’s hand closed hard over her unfilled dance card, which dangled from her wrist on its satin ribbon. As it did so a voice beside her said, ‘Miss Fulgrave! May I beg the honour of the first waltz?’

It was a round-faced young man with red hair. Joanna smiled but shook her head. ‘I am so sorry, Lord Sutton, I will not be waltzing this evening. Would you excuse me? I have to speak to someone at the other end of the room.’

She began to move slowly but purposefully through the crowd, her eyes on Giles’s head, trying to catch a glimpse of his face. Why was he in London? She had seen no mention of it in the Gazette. Anxiously she studied the tall figure. Her heart was pounding frantically and she did not know that all the colour had ebbed from her face. She felt no doubts: this was her destiny. This was Giles’s destiny.

He had almost reached the head of the room now. Joanna fended off three more requests for dances. Her entire card had to be free for whenever Giles wanted to dance. Or would they just sit and talk? Would he recognise her immediately or would she have to contrive an introduction?

She was almost there. She calmed her breathing. It was essential that his first impression was entirely favourable. She could see his face clearly now. He was very tanned, white lines showing round his eyes where laughter had creased the skin. He looked harder, fitter, even more exciting than she remembered him. Ten more steps…

Giles Gregory turned his head as though someone had spoken to him, hesitated and stepped back. Joanna saw him push aside the curtain that was partly draped over an archway and enter the room beyond.

The crowd was thick at that end of the room where circulating guests from both directions met and spoke before moving on their way. She was held up by the crush and it took her perhaps three minutes to reach the same archway.

When she finally lifted the curtain she found herself alone in a little lobby and looked around, confused for a moment. Then she heard his voice, unmistakably Giles’s voice. Deep, lazily amused, caressing her senses like warm honey over a spoon. She stepped forward and saw into the next room where Giles was standing…smiling down into the upturned face of the exquisite young lady clasped in his arms.

‘So you will talk to Papa, Giles darling? Promise?’ she was saying, her blue eyes wide on his face.

‘Yes, Suzy, my angel, I promise I will talk to him tomorrow.’ Giles’s voice was indulgent, warm, loving. Joanna’s hand grasped the curtain without her realising it; her eyes, her every sense, were fixed on the couple in the candlelit chamber.

‘Oh, Giles, I do love you.’ The young lady suddenly laughed up at him and Joanna’s numbed mind realised who she was. Lady Suzanne Hall was the loveliest, the most eligible, the wealthiest débutante of that Season. Niece of her Grace the Duchess of Bridlington, eldest and most indulged daughter of the Marquis of Olney, blonde, petite, spirited and the most outrageous flirt, she had a fortune that turned heads, but, even penniless, she would have drawn men after her like iron filings to a magnet.

Why does she want Giles? Joanna screamed inwardly. He is mine!

‘Oh, it is such an age since I have seen you! Do you truly love me, Giles, my darling?’ Suzanne said, her arms entwined round his neck, his hands linked behind her tiny waist.

‘You know I do, Suzy,’ he replied, smiling down at her. ‘You are my first, my only, my special love.’ And then he bent his head and kissed her.

The world went black, yet Joanna found she was still on her feet, clutching the curtain. Vision closed in until all she could see was a tiny image of the entwined lovers as though spied down the wrong end of a telescope. Blindly she turned and walked out. By some miracle she was still on her feet although she could see nothing now: it was as though she had fainted, yet retained every sense but sight.

Outside the archway she remembered there had been chairs, fragile affairs of gilt wood. Joanna put out a hand and found one, thankfully unoccupied. She sat, clasped her hands in her lap and managed to smile brightly. Would anyone notice?

Gradually sight returned, although her head spun. No one was sitting next to her, no one had noticed. She tried to make sense of what had happened. Giles was here, and Giles was in love with Lady Suzanne.

She had read—for she read everything that she could find on military matters—that it was possible to receive a mortal wound and yet feel no pain, to continue for some time until suddenly one dropped dead of it. Shock, the doctors called it, a far more serious and deadly thing than the everyday shocks of ordinary life. Perhaps that was what she was feeling: shock.

Joanna was conscious of a swirl of bluebell skirts by her shoulder and Lady Suzanne appeared, hesitated for a moment and plunged into the throng. Her voice came back clearly. ‘Freddie! I would love to waltz with you, but I have not got a single dance on my card left. No, I am not teasing you, look…’

Joanna found she could not manage to keep the smile on her lips. Her hands began to tremble and she clasped them together in her lap. Any minute now someone was going to notice her and start to fuss. She had to get herself under control.

‘Madam, are you unwell?’ The deep voice came from close beside her. Joanna started violently, dropping her fan, and instantly Colonel Gregory was on one knee before her. ‘Here, I do not think it is damaged.’

She began to stammer a word of thanks, then their eyes met and he exclaimed, ‘But it is Miss Joanna Fulgrave, is it not?’ Joanna nodded mutely, taking the fan from his outstretched fingers, using exaggerated care not to touch him. ‘May I sit down?’ Taking her silence for assent, he took the chair next to her, his big frame absurdly out of place on the fragile-looking object.

‘Thank you, Colonel.’ She had managed a coherent sentence, but it was not enough to convince him that all was well with her. Joanna fixed her gaze on her clasped hands, yet she utterly aware of him beside her, his body turned to her, his eyes on her face.

‘You are not well, Miss Fulgrave. May I fetch someone to you? Is your mother here, perhaps?’

‘I need no one, I thank you,’ she managed to whisper. ‘I am quite well, Colonel.’

‘I beg leave to differ, Miss Fulgrave. You are as white as a sheet.’

‘I…I have had an unexpected and unwelcome encounter, that is all.’ Her voice sounded a little stronger, and emboldened she added, ‘It was a shock: I will be better presently, Colonel.’ Please leave me, she prayed, please go before I break down and turn sobbing into your arms in front of all these people.

Giles Gregory was on his feet, but not in answer to her silent pleas. ‘Has a gentleman here offered you some insult?’ he asked, keeping his voice low and his body between her and the throng around the dance floor.

‘Oh, no, nothing like that,’ Joanna assured him. She forced herself to look up. The grey eyes with their intriguing black flecks regarded her seriously, and, she realised, with some disbelief at her protestations.

‘I will fetch you something to drink Miss Fulgrave; I will not be long, just try and rest quietly.’

Joanna sat back in the chair, wishing she had the strength to get up and hide herself away, but her legs felt as though they were made out of blanc manger. Her mind would not let her think about the disaster that had befallen her; she tried to make herself realise what had happened, but somehow she just could not concentrate.

‘Here. Now, sip this and do not try to talk.’ He was back already, two glasses in his hands. How had he managed to get through the press of people? she wondered hazily, not having observed the Colonel striding straight across the dance floor between the couples performing a boulanger to accost the footmen who were setting out the champagne glasses.

The liquid fizzed down her throat, making her cough. She had expected orgeat or lemonade and had taken far too deep a draught.

‘I would have given you brandy, but I do not have a hip flask on me. Go on, drink it, Miss Fulgrave. You have obviously had a shock, even if you are not prepared to tell me about it. The wine will help calm your nerves.’ He sat down again, turning the chair slightly so his broad shoulders shielded her. He watched her face and apparently was reassured by what he saw.

‘That is better. Now, let us talk of other things. How are your parents? Well, I trust? And your sister is married by now, I expect?’ He seemed happy to continue in the face of her silent nods. ‘And William—how old is he? Twelve, I should imagine. And still army mad?’

‘No.’ Joanna managed a wan smile. ‘Not any longer. He is resolved to become a natural philosopher.’

Giles Gregory’s eyebrows rose, but he did not seem offended that his disciple had abandoned his military enthusiasms. ‘Indeed? Well, I do recall he always had an unfortunate frog or snail in his pocket.’

‘That is nothing to the things he keeps in his room.’ Joanna began to relax. It was like having the old Major Gregory back again: she could not feel self-conscious with him and the last few minutes seemed increasingly unreal. She took another long sip of champagne. ‘And he conducts experiments which cause Mama to worry that the house will burn down. Papa even takes him to occasional lectures if they are not too late in the evening.’

‘And your father is not anxious about this choice of career?’

‘I think he is resigned.’ Despite herself Joanna smiled, fondly recalling her father’s expression at the sight of the kitchen when Cook had indignantly summoned him to view the results of Master William’s experiment with the kettle, some yards of piping and a heavy weight. She took another sip and realised her glass was empty.

Giles removed it from her hand and gave her his untouched glass. ‘Very small glasses, Miss Fulgrave,’ he murmured.

‘Have you heard from the Earl of Tasborough lately?’ she asked. It must be the shock still, for she was feeling even more light-headed, although the awful numbness was receding to be replaced by a sense of unreality. She was having this conversation with Giles as though the past three years had not been and as though she had not just seen him kissing Lady Suzanne and declaring his love for her.

‘Not for a week or so. My correspondence is probably chasing me around the continent.’ He looked at her sharply. ‘Why do you ask? Is Hebe well?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Joanna hastened to reassure him. ‘You know she is…er…in an—’

‘Interesting condition?’ the Colonel finished for her. ‘Yes, I did know. I had a letter from Alex some months ago, unbearably pleased with himself over the prospect of another little Beresford to join Hugh in the nursery. I will visit them this week, I hope.’

Joanna drank some more champagne to cover her confusion at his frank reference to Hebe’s pregnancy. Mama always managed to ignore entirely the fact that ladies of her acquaintance were expecting. Joanna had wondered if everyone secretly felt as she did, that it was ridiculous to pretend in the face of ever-expanding waistlines that nothing was occurring. The Colonel obviously shared her opinion. ‘You are home on leave, then?’

‘Yes.’ He frowned. ‘It is a long time since I was in England.’

‘Almost a year, and then it was only for a week or two, was it not?’ Joanna supplied, then realised from his expression that this revealed remarkable knowledge about his activities. ‘I think Lord Tasborough said something to that effect,’ she added, crossing her fingers.

‘I am a little concerned about my father. My mother’s letters have expressed anxiety about his health, so when the chance arose to come home I took it.’ He hesitated, ‘I have many decisions to make on this furlough: one at least will entail a vast change to my life.’

His marriage, Joanna thought bleakly. That would certainly be a vast change to a man who had lived a single life up to the age of thirty, and a life moreover which had sent him around the continent with only himself to worry about.

‘Shall I take your glass?’ Joanna realised with surprise that the second champagne glass was empty. Goodness, what a fuss people made about it! She had only ever had a sip or two before and Mama was always warning about the dangers of it, but now she had drunk two entire glasses, and was really feeling much better. She gave Giles the glass, aware that he was studying her face.

‘You seem a little restored, Miss Fulgrave. Would you care to dance? There is a waltz next if I am not mistaken.’

Joanna took a shaky breath. Mama did not like her to waltz at large balls and permitted it only reluctantly at Almack’s or smaller dancing parties. But the temptation of being in Giles’s arms, perhaps for the first and only time, was too much.

‘Yes, please, Colonel Gregory. I would very much like to waltz.’




Chapter Two (#ue3977ead-b858-5a37-9b36-6237851df83e)


Joanna let Giles take her hand and lead her out on to the dance floor, trying not to remember what had just happened, forcing herself not to think about how she would feel when this dance was over and he was gone. Time must stand still: this was all there was.

She let her hand rest lightly on his shoulder and shut her eyes briefly as his fingers touched her waist. This was another memory to be added to the precious store of recollections of Giles, the most vivid being the fleeting kiss which she had snatched in the flurry of farewells when Hebe and her new husband had driven off after the wedding. Everyone had been kissing the bride and groom: what more natural in the confusion than that she should accidentally kiss the groomsman? Giles had laughed at her blushes and returned the kiss with a swift pressure of his lips on hers: Joanna could still close her eyes and conjure up the exact sensation, the scent of Russian leather cologne…

‘Miss Fulgrave?’

‘Oh, I am sorry! I was daydreaming, thinking about my steps,’ she improvised hurriedly to cover up her complete abstraction. She must not waste a moment in his arms by thinking of the past: only this moment mattered.

The music struck up and they were dancing, dancing, Joanna realised, as if they had been practising together for years. Giles Gregory was a tall man, but her height made them well-matched partners and his strength and co-ordination meant that their bodies moved together with an easy elegance which took her breath away.

‘You dance very well, Miss Fulgrave,’ he remarked, looking down and meeting browny-green, sparkling eyes. He had thought her much improved on the bouncing schoolroom miss he remembered; in fact, he had hardly recognised her at first sight, but now with the colour back in her face and animation enhancing those unusual eyes, he realised that he had a very lovely young woman in his arms. Who or what had so overset her? he wondered, conscious of a chivalrous urge to land whoever it was a facer for his pains.

‘Thank you, Colonel, but I think I must owe that to you. Do you have the opportunity to attend many dances whilst you are with the army?’ Joanna realised she must take every opportunity to converse, as while they were talking she could be expected to look into his face. She tried to garner every impression, commit each detail to memory: the darkness of his lashes, the small mole just in front of his left ear, the way his mouth quirked when he was amused, that scent of Russian Leather again…

He swept her round a tight corner, catching her in close to avoid another couple who were making erratic progress down the floor. Joanna was very aware of the heat of his body as she was suddenly pressed against him, then they were dancing once more with the conventional distance between them.

‘Dances?’ He had been considering her question. ‘Surprisingly, yes. We take whatever opportunities present themselves, and as not a few officers have their wives with them whenever circumstances allow—and certainly when we were wintering in Portugal—there is often an impromptu ball.’

‘And the Duke encourages such activities, I believe?’ Joanna asked. As they whirled through another ambitious turn she caught a glimpse of her mama’s face, a look of surprise upon it. She felt wonderfully light-headed. This was reality, the music would never stop. Giles would never leave her.

‘Yes. Wellington enjoys a party and he thinks it does us good,’ Giles smiled reminiscently.

‘His family, he calls his officers, does he not?’

‘You know a lot about old Nosey, Miss Fulgrave. Are you another of his ardent admirers? I have never known such a man—unless it were that fellow Byron—for attracting the adulation of the ladies. None of the rest of us ever stood a chance of the lightest flirtation while Wellington was around.’

‘Why, no, not in that way, for I have never seen him.’ Better not to think of Giles wanting to flirt. ‘But he is a fine tactician, is he not?’

She saw she had taken Giles aback, for he gave her a quizzical look. ‘Indeed, yes, but that is a question I would have expected from Master William, not from a young lady.’

‘I take an interest, that is all,’ she said lightly, wishing she dared ask about his life with his regiment, but knowing she could never keep the conversation impersonal.

And then, with a flourish of strings, the music came to an end, Giles released her and they were clapping politely and walking off the floor. Joanna felt as though the places where his hands had touched her must be branded on her skin, it felt so sensitive. Her hands began to tremble again.

‘Miss Fulgrave, might I hope that the next dance is free on your card?’ It was Freddie Sutton looking hopeful. ‘And now that I know you have changed your mind about waltzing tonight, may I also hope for one a little later?’

‘Miss Fulgrave.’ Giles Gregory was bowing to her, nodding to Freddie. ‘Sutton.’ He smiled at her, and she read a look of reassurance in his eyes and guessed that she must be looking better. ‘Thank you for the dance.’

Then he was gone, swallowed up in the crowd. She looked after him, catching a glimpse of the back of his head and slowly realising that with the ending of that dance the entire purpose for which she had been living for the past three years, and her every hope for the future, had crumbled into dust.

‘Thank you, Lord Sutton.’ She turned back to him, her smile glittering. ‘I would love to dance the next waltz with you, but just now what I would really like is a glass of champagne.’

To the chagrin and rising dismay of her mama, to the censure of the flock of chaperons and to the horrified and jealous admiration of her friends, Joanna proceeded to stand up for every waltz and most of the other dances as well. She did refuse some, but only to drink three more glasses of champagne, to be escorted into supper by Lord Maxton, a hardened rake and fortune hunter, and to crown the evening by being discovered by the Dowager Countess of Wigham alone with Mr Paul Hadrell on the terrace.

‘I felt I must tell you at once,’ that formidable matron informed an appalled Mrs Fulgrave, who had been looking anxiously for her daughter for the past fifteen minutes. ‘I could not believe my eyes at first,’ she continued, barely managing to conceal her enjoyment at having found the paragon of deportment engaged in such an activity with one of the worst male flirts in town. ‘I am sure I do not have to tell you, Mrs Fulgrave, that Mr Hadrell is the last man I would want a daughter of mine to be alone with!’

This final observation was addressed to Mrs Fulgrave’s retreating back, for Joanna’s harassed mother lost no time in hurrying to the doors that led to the terrace. It had never occurred to her for a moment that Joanna might be out there, but there indeed she was, leaning against the balustrade in the moonlight, laughing up at the saturnine Mr Hadrell, who was standing far too close and, even as Mrs Fulgrave approached, was leaning down to—

‘Joanna!’ Her errant daughter moved away from her beau with her usual grace and no appearance of guilt. He, however, took one look at her chaperon’s expression and took himself off with a bow and an insouciant,

‘Your servant, Miss Fulgrave. Mrs Fulgrave, ma’am!’

‘Joanna!’ Emily Fulgrave repeated, in the voice of a woman who could not believe what she was seeing. ‘What is the meaning of this? You have been flirting, waltzing—and, to crown it all, I find you out here with such a man! And to make things even worse, I was told where I could find you, and with whom, by Lady Wigham.’

Joanna shrugged, a pretty movement of her white shoulders. ‘I was bored.’

‘Bored!’ Mrs Fulgrave peered at her in the half-light. ‘Are you sickening for something, Joanna? First your obstinacy this morning, now this…’

‘Sickening? Oh, yes, I expect I am, but there’s no cure for it,’ she said lightly. She did indeed feel very odd. The aching pain of Giles’s loss was there somewhere, deep down where she did not have to look at it yet, but on top of the pain was a rather queasy sense of excitement, the beginnings of a dreadful headache and the feeling that absolutely nothing would ever matter again.

Her mother took her arm in a less than sympathetic grip and began to walk firmly towards the door. ‘We are going home this minute.’

‘I cannot, Mama,’ Joanna said. ‘I am dancing the next waltz with—’

‘No one. Home, my girl,’ Emily said grimly, ‘and straight to bed.’



The dreadful headache was there, waiting for her the next morning when she awoke, as was the hideous emptiness where all her plans had once been. It was as though the walls of a house had vanished, leaving the furniture standing around pointlessly in space.

Joanna rubbed her aching head, realising shakily that she must be suffering from the after-effects of too much champagne. How much had she drunk? Hazily she counted five glasses. Could she have possibly drunk that much? She could recall being marched firmly from the ball with her mama’s excuses to their friends ringing in her ears. ‘The heat, I am afraid, it has brought on such a migraine.’ But the carriage ride home was a blur, with only the faintest memory of being lectured, scolded and sent upstairs the moment they arrived home.

Oh, her head hurt so! Where was Mary with her morning chocolate? The door opened to reveal her mama, a tea cup in her hand.

‘So you are awake, are you?’ she observed grimly as her heavy-eyed daughter struggled to sit up against the pillows. ‘I have brought you some tea, I thought it might be better for you than chocolate.’ She put the cup into Joanna’s hands and went to fling the curtains wide, ignoring the yelp of anguish from the bed as the light flooded into the room. ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself, Joanna?’

‘Have you said anything to Papa?’ Joanna drank the tea gratefully. Her mouth felt like the soles of her shoes and her stomach revolted at the faint smell of breakfast cooking that the opening door had allowed into the room. Surely she could not have a hangover?

‘No,’ Emily conceded. ‘Your papa is very busy at the moment and I do not want to add another worry for him on top of your refusal yesterday to receive dear Rufus. Unless, that is, I do not receive a satisfactory explanation for last night.’

‘Champagne, Mama,’ Joanna said reluctantly. ‘I had no idea it was so strong.’ She eyed her fulminating parent and added, ‘It tasted so innocuous.’

‘Champagne! No wonder you were behaving in such a manner. Have I not warned you time and again to drink nothing except orgeat and lemonade?’

‘Yes, Mama. I am sorry, Mama.’ I am sorry I drank so much, her new, rebellious inner voice said. I will know better next time, just a glass or two for that lovely fizzing feeling…

‘I had thought,’ Emily continued, ‘of forbidding you any further parties until we go down to Brighton for the summer, but I am reluctant to cause more talk by having you vanish from the scene, especially as I know the earl will be in town for at least another fortnight. Fortunately there are only minor entertainments for the rest of the month. I hope the headache you undoubtedly have will be a lesson to you, my girl.’

She got up and walked to the door. ‘I must say, Joanna, this has proved greatly disappointing to me. I had been so proud of you. I can only hope it is a momentary aberration. As for Rufus Carstairs, I will have to tell him you are indisposed and will not be able to receive him for a day or two.’

On that ominous announcement the door closed firmly behind her and Joanna curled up in a tight ball of misery and had a good weep. Finally she emerged, feeling chastened and ashamed of herself. It was very good of Mama not to punish her for what had happened, she fully appreciated that. And dissipation only made one feel ill, it appeared. Perhaps she should return to normal, if only to prevent her mother ever speaking to her in that hurt tone of voice again.

It was all hopeless, of course: she was twenty years old and as good as on the shelf. How could she bear to marry another man when she would always be in love with Giles? Still, spinsters had to behave with modesty and decorum, so she might as well continue like that and become used to it.



This pious resolve lasted precisely two days; in fact, until the rout party at Mrs Jameson’s and her next encounter with the Earl of Clifton. Mrs Jameson’s parties were always popular although, as she admitted to Mrs Fulgrave when the ladies were standing talking halfway through the evening, it did seem rather flat after the Duchess’s grand ball. Emily, who could still not think of the ball without a shudder, agreed but pointed out that anything on such a scale must induce a sense of let-down afterwards.

Her daughter was certainly feeling that sensation, for the combination of being on her best behaviour, and knowing that many of those present this evening had observed her behaving in quite the opposite way, was oppressive. She tried hard not to imagine that people were talking about her behind her back, but could not convince herself. It became much worse when she realised that Lady Suzanne Hall was amongst the young ladies present.

Joanna had never had more than a passing acquaintanceship with Suzanne, who was at the centre of a group of her friends, all talking and giggling together. Knowing that she was going to regret it, but quite unable to resist, Joanna strolled across and attached herself to a neighbouring group so she could hear what was being said behind her.

There was a lot of giggling, several gasps of surprise and then one young lady said, ‘Colonel Gregory? Why, Suzy, you cunning thing! What does your papa say?’

‘As it is Giles, why, what could he say? He has always been against it, but darling Giles is so persuasive.’

‘Oh, you lucky thing! I saw him at the Duchess’s ball and I thought he was so dashing and handsome…’

Joanna moved abruptly away. So, he had asked Lord Olney for Suzanne’s hand in marriage and the Marquis had agreed. Now all she could look forward to was the announcement. Joanna scooped a glass of champagne from the tray carried by a passing footman and drank it defiantly before she realised that the Earl of Clifton had entered the room and was being greeted by his hostess. Joanna took a careful step backwards towards a screen but was too late: he must have enquired after her, for Mrs Jameson was scanning the room and nodding in her direction.

Regretting her height, which made her so visible, Joanna slipped her empty glass on to a side table and prepared to make the best of it. He could hardly ask her to marry him in the middle of a crowded reception, after all.

She watched him make his way across the room, critically comparing him to Giles. Rufus was slightly above medium height with an elegant figure and a handsome, slightly aquiline, face. His hair was very blond, his eyes a distinctive shade of blue, and Joanna suspected he knew exactly how attractive he was to look at. He was also always immaculately dressed in an austere fashion.

But compared to Giles’s tall, muscular figure, his air of confident command and the quiet humour in his face, Rufus Carstairs cut a poor figure to her eyes, and, although she could not quite decide why, a sinister one at that. His eyes flickered over her rapidly as he approached and once again she had that disconcerting feeling that he was paying more attention to her figure than was proper.

‘My lord.’ She curtsied slightly as he reached her side.

‘So formal, Miss Fulgrave.’ He took her hand in his and bent to kiss it. Joanna snatched it away, hoping that this unconventional greeting would go unnoticed.

‘My lord!’

‘Oh, come now, Joanna.’ He tucked his hand under her elbow and began to stroll down the length of the room. ‘How can you stand so on ceremony with an old friend even if we have only recently been reunited?’

‘We were hardly friends, my lord,’ she retorted tartly, wondering if she could extricate her elbow and deciding it would create an unseemly struggle. ‘As I recall, you considered me a pestilential brat and I thought you were a bully.’

‘But now you are a beautiful young lady and I am but an ardent admirer at your feet.’

‘Please, Lord Clifton, do not flirt, I am not in the mood.’ She looked around the room for rescue. ‘Look, there is Mr Higham. Have you met him? I am sure he would wish to meet you.’

‘I have no wish to meet him, however.’ Rufus’s hand was touching her side, she could feel its heat through the thin gauze of her bodice. Only a few days before Giles’s hand had rested there. ‘Joanna, when are you going to permit me to speak to you?’

‘You are speaking to me now. Oh, good evening, Miss Doughty. How is your mama?’

With a faint hiss of irritation Lord Clifton steered Joanna away from her friend. ‘That is not what I mean and you know it, Joanna. Your parents are more than willing for me to address you.’

Joanna wondered if she had the courage to refuse him there and then and risk a scene, but those blue eyes were glittering dangerously and she was suddenly afraid of what he might do. ‘Yes, I know, but it is too soon, my lord, we are hardly acquainted again.’

He smiled suddenly, but the attractive expression did not reach his eyes. ‘Such maidenly modesty! I know what I want, Joanna, and what I want, I get. I have a fondness for beautiful things and my collection is notable. And I do not think I am going to be fighting off many rivals, am I? I have heard the whisperings since I returned to London. Miss Fulgrave, it seems, is very picky and turns down every offer. Do you expect men to keep offering and risking a rebuff?’

‘I am surprised that you risk it, then,’ she retorted, trampling down the mortifying thought that people were gossiping about her.

‘But I told you, I get what I want and I want you, Joanna. Just think of the triumph of carrying off the Perfect Débutante, the young lady who has refused so many. How lovely you will look installed as chatelaine of Clifton Hall. I will be calling very soon. Now, I am expected at Rochester’s for cards. Goodnight, my dear.’

Watching him saunter back across the room and take his smiling leave of his hostess, she wanted to throw the glass at the wall, scream, do something utterly outrageous, but only the dark glitter of her eyes betrayed her innermost feelings. Somewhere, deep inside, the girl she had once been before she had met Giles was reawakening: older, more socially adept, polished, but still that rebellious, adventurous spirit burned, and now it roused itself and stared out at a hostile world through new and defiant eyes.



The next day while walking in Hyde Park with her maid, she saw a smart curricle bowling along the tan surface towards her. At the reins was the petite figure of Lady Suzanne, a dashing tricorne and veil on her blonde head, her figure clad to perfection in a deep blue walking dress. She was laughing with delight as she controlled the two high-stepping bays at a brisk trot and, with a wrench, Joanna realised that not only was the man beside her Giles Gregory but his right hand was over Suzanne’s on the reins and he was laughing too at her uninhibited enjoyment.

They swept past Joanna and for a moment she thought he had not noticed her, then the team was reined in and began to back. Joanna could hear Giles’s voice, ‘Keep your hands lower, Suzy, for goodness’ sake, you are trying to make a team back up, not encourage a hunter over a fence!’

The curricle drew level with her again just as he said, with unmistakable pride in his voice, ‘Good girl! There, I told you you could do it. Good morning, Miss Fulgrave, I do beg your pardon, we were past before I recognised you. I hope your family is well?’ His eyes asked something else, and Joanna felt a surge of warmth that not only had he remembered her distress, but that he had the tact not to mention it in front of Lady Suzanne.

‘Quite well, I thank you, Colonel,’ she replied, wondering at her own composure. ‘All of us are in good health.’

‘Excellent. Are you ladies acquainted?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Lady Suzanne said with a light laugh. ‘We know each other by sight, do we not, Miss Fulgrave? And, of course, I saw you at my aunt’s ball.’ As did most of the ton, her expression said, as her pretty blue eyes rested on Joanna’s face. She did not like another woman drawing her Colonel’s attention, that was plain.

‘Indeed.’ Joanna could feel the seams of her gloves creaking as she clenched her fists. ‘And I saw you. Such a lovely gown. Good day, Lady Suzanne, Colonel. Enjoy your drive.’

She forced herself to smile as she turned on her heel and began to walk home. Nothing mattered any more, the only thing left was to immerse herself in whatever diversions presented themselves so that she did not have the opportunity to even think about Giles.

Her mother noted with concern her silence and set face when she came in but within days she found that her daughter’s uncommunicativeness was the least of her problems.



At the end of two weeks the list of outrages committed by her lovely, obedient, perfect daughter included flirting heavily with every rake who came within her orbit, being found playing dice with three young gentlemen in a back room at a party, galloping on Rotten Row and eating ice cream in Gunther’s with Lord Sutton, having ‘lost’ her maid. This was on top of her managing, by what stratagems her mama could not establish, to avoid Lord Clifton on every occasion he called. The final straw was to walk up St James’s because—as she told her speechless mother—she ‘wanted to know what all the fuss was about’.

That exploit led to Mr Fulgrave’s involvement, resulting in a painful interview. Joanna was forbidden any parties until they went to Brighton in two weeks’ time and had to suffer the ignominy of not being allowed out at all without her mother’s escort.

‘I do not understand it, I really do not,’ Mr Fulgrave said, more in sorrow than in anger. ‘At your age dear Grace was married with her first child and was mistress of a large household, while you are behaving like a hoyden of seventeen who knows no better. Lord Clifton will not contain his impatience for much longer my girl, and if these disgraceful exploits come to his attention he will withdraw his suit in disgust.’

Alone in her bedroom Joanna considered these strictures with little sense of remorse. She felt too numb to really care, although the hope that she would drive away Rufus Carstairs gave her a glimmer of pleasure. But disappointingly a course of dissipation did not seem to provide the distraction from the circling thoughts of Giles that she had hoped. Still, it was at least more stimulating than meekly withering into an old maid, which seemed the only alternative to an unwanted marriage.

Nothing, therefore, deterred Joanna from her plans for that evening, which involved leaving the house by the back door after she was supposed to be asleep and meeting her old acquaintance Catherine Marcus. Mrs Marcus, once plain Kate Hampton and now a rich young matron, had informed Joanna three evenings before when they met at a reception that she was getting up a party to attend the masquerade at Vauxhall Gardens. Her dear Joanna, she was sure, would thoroughly enjoy it.

Mama did not approve of Mrs Marcus, whom she considered to be fast and flighty, but, as far as she knew, she and Joanna had never been close at and she was therefore unlikely to lead her daughter astray. The thought that their reacquaintance would involve an expedition to Vauxhall for a masquerade, an activity entirely beyond the pale as far as Mrs Fulgrave was concerned, was inconceivable.

Her mask dangling from its ribbons in one hand, the other clutching her blue domino tightly around her, Joanna made her escape and was picked up by the Marcuses’ coach without mishap at the appointed place. No one, she congratulated herself, would know and she had always wanted to experience a masquerade. In the flickering light her friend did not notice the shadows under her eyes and the party set off full of high spirits.




Chapter Three (#ue3977ead-b858-5a37-9b36-6237851df83e)


Vauxhall Gardens seemed an enchanted dream to Joanna. Lights in their thousand twinkled amid the branches and framed pavilions and kiosks in a magical glow. Every twist and turn in the paths opened on to new vistas crowded with party-goers; music and laughter filled the air and Mrs Marcus’s party spent the first hour simply strolling, watching the passing throng and revelling in the strange feeling of safety their masks produced.

Mrs Marcus had invited a large group of friends and, although all the young ladies seemed to Joanna to be startling free and easy and the men escorting them more than a little inclined to take advantage of whatever flirtation was on offer, she felt quite comfortable in the company. Everyone seemed to behave towards her as befitted her unmarried status and she rather suspected that Kate had had a quiet word with her friends about their inexperienced new acquaintance.

Joanna firmly refused the offer of a glass of champagne when they retired to a kiosk for shaved ham and other trifles before joining the dancing; as everyone else became gayer and more light-headed, she retained a perfectly level-headed awareness of everything going on around her. Things were certainly becoming a trifle warm but, although she realised her mama would faint away at the sights her younger daughter was coolly observing, she felt only an amused curiosity.

However, she rapidly regretted allowing herself to be taken out on to the dance floor by one young gentleman who proved to be either a very inept dancer or perhaps simply an inebriated one.

‘No, no, it is quite all right,’ she protested lightly for the third time as he trod on her toe during the boulanger. ‘So crowded, is it not? Oh!’ His foot found her hem and half dragged the domino from her shoulder. Joanna pulled it back, found she had lost the ties securing it at her neck and that she could not see to untangle the ribbons whilst wearing her mask. ‘Oh dear, can we just go to the side of the dance floor?’ Her partner, apologising profusely at his carelessness, guided her out of the throng and stood by, helpfully holding her mask while Joanna adjusted her cloak.

‘Would you like to dance again?’ he asked as he handed back the black satin mask.

‘And have her toes completely bruised? I think not, young man.’ Lord Clifton appeared at her side, masked, but with his unmistakable blue eyes glittering through the slits. ‘May I offer you my escort home, Miss Fulgrave?’ He turned abruptly to her partner, who took a step back. ‘We need keep you no longer, sir.’

‘Yes, thank you for the dance, sir,’ Joanna said hastily. He seemed inclined to square up belligerently to the interloper and she added pacifically, ‘It is quite all right, I know this gentlemen.’

The young man took himself off with an affronted bow. ‘Would you be so good as to escort me back to my hostess, my lord? She is over there.’ Joanna forced herself to speak calmly and pleasantly, although her mind was racing. She could hardly make a scene here.

‘The fast young lady in the pink domino? Not, I am sure, a hostess your mama would approve of, Joanna.’ He took her arm and began to steer her away from the Marcus party. ‘And where exactly does your mama believe you to be at this moment?’ Joanna knew she was colouring, but could not help it. ‘Ah, blamelessly in your bed. I think we had better return you there.’

‘No! I cannot simply walk away from Mrs Marcus like that.’ But from the set of his mouth and the very firm grip on her arm she knew that, short of screaming and struggling, she was going to do just as Rufus told her. ‘I must at least thank her and say goodbye or she will worry.’

‘Very well.’ She could feel his eyes on her set face and she tried to look as happy as possible before they reached her party. ‘Do not sulk, Joanna, it does not suit you. Think what a disillusion it is for me to find my perfect bride-to-be in such company.’

‘I am not your bride-to-be!’ She broke off abruptly at the appearance in front of them of a tall figure in a black domino, a petite blue-clad figure on his arm.

‘Joanna!’ It was unmistakably Giles, and she realised with a shock that she had not replaced her mask. She fumbled it back into place, unable to meet his eyes. ‘Are you in any difficulties, Miss Fulgrave?’

‘No! No, none at all, just rather flustered by the crowd, Colonel, thank you. I was just about to leave. Goodnight.’ From being his captive, she almost towed Rufus after her towards Mrs Marcus, leaving Giles Gregory staring at their retreating backs.

‘What the…who was that she was with, I wonder?’

‘Oh, that was Rufus Carstairs,’ his companion said confidently. ‘Lord Clifton, you know. I would know those eyes anywhere. Frightfully eligible, but he makes my flesh creep. Well, the perfect Miss Fulgrave is behaving badly, is she not?’

Giles Gregory looked down at her. ‘Just as badly as you, Suzy, you little witch. Now, come along and let us get home or your papa will cut off your dress allowance and take a horsewhip to me.’

She laughed. ‘Not when I tell him you came to rescue me, Giles darling.’

‘As well you knew I would, you baggage, considering you left me a note!’ he said affectionately. ‘Now, do any of your errant girlfriends need an escort as well?’ He firmly walked her away from the dancing, but his eyes were scanning the crowd for the tall girl in the blue domino.



Joanna sat in the furthest corner of the earl’s carriage apprehensively expecting him to try and kiss her, but to her relief he made no attempt to do so as they rattled over the cobbles and through the nighttime streets.

Flambeaux outside town houses cast a flickering light into the interior and she saw he appeared to be thinking. Eventually, unable to stand the silence any more, she said, ‘I hope I do not take you away from your own party this evening?’

‘Hmm? No, not at all. I was just thinking what best to say to your parents: I would not wish them to be out of reason cross with you.’

‘Say to them? Why, nothing! I will let myself in and they will be none the wiser.’

‘You shock me, Joanna, you really do! Naturally I cannot be so deceitful, nor can I let you. I will have to tell them for, after all, we are alone in a closed carriage.’

‘You mean you…that you think I should…’

‘Your parents are, I know, in favour of my suit. Now I imagine they will be only too anxious for the engagement.’

Joanna stared at him speechlessly, then found her voice. ‘I would not marry you, Rufus Carstairs, if you were the last man on earth.’

‘Hardly an original sentiment, my dear. Now, here is your street. Ah, no need for any surprises, I see, they must already be aware of your absence.’ And, indeed, the lights were blazing downstairs as the carriage pulled up. Numbly Joanna allowed herself to be handed down out of the carriage and into the house.

Her mother took one look at her and said, ‘Wait in the drawing room please, Joanna,’ before vanishing with the earl into the front salon.

How her absence had been discovered she never knew. It seemed hours that she sat in the chilly room, exhaustion dragging at her eyelids, her mind tormented by the thought that Giles had seen her apparently happy to be with Rufus Carstairs.

At last her parents appeared, grim-faced, yet with a subdued air of triumph. ‘Well, Joanna,’ her father said heavily, ‘you are fortunate indeed to so escape the results of your wicked folly. The earl, against all reason, still wishes to make you his wife. He has agreed to wait until the end of the week to allow you to recover from this ill-advised romp but he will be coming then to make you an offer and you, Joanna, are going to accept it.’

‘No!’ Joanna sprang to her feet, her hands clenched, her voice trembling. ‘No! I will never marry him.’

‘Then I wash my hands of you,’ her father declared, also on his feet. ‘You will go to your Great-aunt Clara in Bath. She needs a new companion and, as we cannot trust you to take part in Society, let alone in the more relaxed atmosphere of Brighton, that is the best place for you.’

‘To Great-aunt Clara?’ Joanna’s tired, sore mind wrestled with the shock. ‘But she never goes out.’

‘Indeed,’ Mrs Fulgrave said repressively. ‘I am sure she will appreciate your company. You can read to her, assist with her needlework, help entertain her friends when they call. I shall tell the earl that her ill health has meant that we felt we had no choice but to send you. We must just hope that in a few months, when you have come to your senses, he is still interested in making you an offer.’

Joanna contemplated her sentence. Banishment to Bath, to a household of old age and illness, to the care of a formidable relative who, if she were truthful, rather scared her, and no diversion whatsoever to distract her mind from Giles. And at the end of months of incarceration, the only hope held out to her was that Rufus Carstairs might still want to marry her. And she had a dreadful apprehension that he would. He did not seem like a man who tolerated being thwarted. He was a man who would chase the length of Europe to beat a rival to a choice statue.

‘Please do not send me away, Mama,’ she said, her voice wavering on the edge of tears. ‘I will be so miserable.’

‘You should have thought of that before plunging into these wild scrapes,’ her father said severely. ‘Your mother will write to your great-aunt tomorrow. I only hope she is prepared to countenance your presence, considering what she will learn of your recent behaviour.’

He stood up, gathering his dressing gown around himself. As he picked up his chamber candle he remarked with unconscious cruelty, ‘Perhaps the contemplation of the loneliness of a single old age will convince you that the rewards of truly happy domestic life with a devoted husband are worth more than the transitory pleasures you have been indulging in.’

Joanna walked slowly up to her bedchamber, well aware that, however late the hour, she could not possibly sleep now. What was she to do? She stood, her forehead pressed against the glass of the window, her eyes unfocused on the darkness outside. Where did she belong now? Probably, she thought bitterly, her role in life would be as the spinster aunt, or cousin or devoted niece. Dear Joanna, always so good with the children, always available to help with the old ladies… It wasn’t that she did not like old ladies, or children, come to that, it was just that she had hoped to have her own children—Giles’s children.

Suddenly she whirled away from the window, propelled by a determination not to be crushed, not to be dictated to. Her life was in ruins: well, no one else was going to rebuild it but she. ‘Strategy and tactics,’ she said out loud. ‘Strategy and tactics.’ Then the burst of energy left her and she sank down on the bed. Strategy was no good without an objective.

Resolutely she straightened her spine. She had trained herself to be a soldier’s wife—now she had to use the courage she had prided herself she possessed. Her short-term objective must be to decide what to do with the rest of her life, and her strategy would be to go somewhere she could think about this in peace. And that was not Bath, where she would be the disgraced niece to be watched and lectured.

So…Joanna bit her lip and thought. Who could she run away to? Not Hebe and Alex at Tasborough Hall: not when Hebe’s confinement was so close. There were Uncle and Aunt Pulborough in Exeter—but they would be scandalised by the arrival of an errant niece—a second cousin in Wales, but he had been recently widowed. One after another Joanna passed her relatives under review and came to the conclusion that the only one who might have helped her, if circumstances had been different, was Hebe. Or, her own sister.

Thoughtfully Joanna picked up a notebook from the night table and wrote, Grace, Lincoln. She had no idea how Lady Willington would react, let alone her brother-in-law, Sir Frederick, but perhaps they might serve as a diversion. Her dearest friend from Miss Faversham’s Seminary for Young Ladies in Bath had been Georgiana Schofield; Georgy was now Lady Brandon and living in Wisbech, from where she wrote frequently to say she was utterly bored and was dying for darling Joanna to visit her.

‘If I set out on the stage for Lincoln,’ Joanna reasoned out loud, ‘there is sure to be a point where I can change and go to Wisbech, and everyone will think I am with Grace. And when they realise I am not, I will have vanished into East Anglia without a trace.’ She added, Georgy, Wisbech, to her list.

Or would her mama suspect she was with Georgy? No, for Mama never asked to see her letters from her school friends and Joanna doubted she even knew Georgy’s married name. Something she had just thought touched a chord of memory. East Anglia… Aunt Caroline, of course! Her father’s youngest sister, the sister no one was allowed to mention, the one who had made a scandalous marriage.

But Joanna had once overheard a conversation between her parents that she had not dared ask about, yet had never forgotten.

‘I am sorry, my dear,’ her mother had said firmly. ‘But she is your sister when all is said and done, and despite the scandal I will continue to write once a year at Christmas to enquire after her health and to tell her news of the family.’

‘The affair nearly killed Papa,’ her own father had replied harshly. ‘Is she the sort of woman you wish our Grace and Joanna to associate with?’

‘Nonsense,’ Mama had replied calmly. ‘Writing to offer Christmas wishes will not expose our girls to scandal or bad influences. You must do Caro justice, my dear. Has she ever attempted to return to London from East Anglia or to call here?’

Her father’s muttered response was inaudible and Joanna, guiltily aware that she had been eavesdropping, had left the study door and had walked on. But somewhere in East Anglia she had a disgraced and scandalous aunt. Would she understand? Could Joanna talk to her and find someone who could counsel her?

But how to find her? Joanna thought hard, then realised that if her mother was writing to Aunt Caroline, then she probably had her direction in her remembrancer where she noted all her addresses, birthdays and other important lists. She got up, opened the door on to the dark and silent house, and went downstairs.




Chapter Four (#ue3977ead-b858-5a37-9b36-6237851df83e)


Three days after Joanna’s disastrous masquerade party, Giles Gregory turned his match greys neatly into Half Moon Street, sensing his spirits lift perceptibly as he saw the smart black front door of the Tasboroughs’ town house in front of him.

He felt heartsore, anxious and hurt, and the thought of Hebe’s warm common sense and Alex’s astringent comradeship had seemed like a beacon on the journey from his family home in the Vale of Aylesbury. He had crossed with them journeying up to town from their Hertfordshire estate when he had made his painfully short visit to his parents and, instead of finding refuge at Tasborough, had had to drive back to London to seek out his friends.

He handed the reins to his groom and jumped down. ‘Take them ’round to the mews, Mellors, and tell his lordship’s man that I am expecting to stay for a day or two. If that is not convenient, come back and let me know and you can take them to the livery stables, but I do not expect the earl has brought more than his carriage horses and one hack up for a short stay.’

The man drove competently away down the street and Giles took the front steps in two long strides. The door was opened by Starling, the family butler, who permitted himself a small smile on seeing who was there.

‘Colonel Gregory. It is a pleasure to see you again, sir, if I may be so bold. His lordship is out, but her ladyship is in the Blue Room. She is not generally receiving, but I will venture to say she will be at home to you, sir, if you would care to go up. Will you be staying? Your usual room is free.’

‘Thank you, Starling.’ Giles handed him his hat and gloves. ‘I hope Lady Tasborough will not object to a house guest for a night or two.’

He made his way up to the elegant room on the first floor which was Hebe’s favourite retiring room, and opened the door. ‘May I come in?’

‘Giles!’ She was lying propped up against a pile of cushions on a chaise longue, a wide smile of delighted welcome on her face.

He strode across to her side, warmed by her delight. There were times when he wondered if he would ever find someone like his friend’s wife, someone whom he could love as Alex loved Hebe, someone who would love him back with such passionate devotion.

‘Good grief, Lady Tasborough!’ He stopped in front of her, his mouth curving into a warm, teasing, smile. ‘Just when is this child due? I give you fair warning, I have delivered one baby in my time, and it is not an experience I am willing to repeat.’

Hebe held out her arms to him, giggling as he attempted to kiss her across the bump. Sheets of notepaper scattered unregarded to the carpet. ‘It isn’t due for six weeks, Giles, so you need not be alarmed. Have you truly delivered a baby? Whose was it?’

‘The wife of one of the men. The father fainted, the doctor was away cutting some poor man’s leg off, there was not another woman in sight, so it was down to me.’ He grinned at her affectionately. This felt like coming home. ‘Six weeks? Are you sure it isn’t twins?’

‘Oh!’ Hebe stared at him wide-eyed. ‘Surely not? There are none in either family as far as I know, and it does follow, does it not?’

‘I think so. I’m only teasing you. How are you, Hebe? I am surprised to find you in town just now.’

‘I am well, only so tired of feeling like a whale. I cannot recall when I last saw my feet. But never mind me, what are you doing here? Can you stay until we go back to Tasborough? Please do, we would love that so much.’

‘Are you sure? It won’t be difficult at the moment?’

‘Not at all, and you will distract Alex and stop him fretting about me. I am in disgrace because I will not see any of the fashionable accoucheurs, which is the excuse I gave for coming up the other day. Alex says if all I want to do is shop, then I must go straight back to the country and rest. But we are here for another two days at any rate.’ She settled herself against her cushions and watched him with her wide grey eyes steady on his face. ‘The decanters are over there. Pour yourself a drink, then come and sit down beside me.’

Giles did as he was bid, dropping on to a footstool beside the chaise and settling himself comfortably. ‘Now, tell me what is wrong, Giles,’ she commanded.

‘Wrong?’ He shifted so that he was sitting with his back against the side of the chaise, his face turned from her.

‘Yes, wrong.’ Hebe rested her hand lightly on his shoulder. ‘You look as though someone has been kicking you—spiritually, I mean.’

Giles put up his own hand and covered hers. ‘Clever Hebe. That is exactly how I feel. I went home to Buckinghamshire two days ago because Mother has been writing to say that she is worried about Father. The doctor thinks he had some kind of seizure last month, now one side of his face is stiff and he is limping. Denies there is anything wrong, of course.’

‘How old is the General?’

‘Only sixty, but he’s had a tough life. Wounded at least six times, broken bones, yellow fever. He was never the kind of officer who stayed back at headquarters in comfort. Now he’s getting tired, but he will not admit it, and that’s a big estate for one man to manage. If I had a younger brother…’

‘So you came home to see him?’ Hebe curled her fingers within his and gave an encouraging squeeze.

‘Yes. I did not want to rush straight there as soon as I arrived in the country or he would suspect why I came home. My idea was to see for myself how he did, and, if he really looked bad, to sell out. I thought I’d try horse breeding and at the same time take over some of the estate management. Nothing too much at first, just the bits that really bore and tire him.’

‘And gradually he would let you do more and more and he would never have to admit he couldn’t cope?’

‘Yes. At least, that was my plan.’ He fell silent. The pain of his father’s reaction was almost too raw to speak about yet. ‘Where’s Alex?’

Hebe laughed. ‘At his club, taking refuge because I will not let him fuss over me, and if he stays at home he fidgets himself to death.’ Hebe paused, then, ‘How did your father react?’

‘Badly.’

‘Tell me,’ she persisted gently.

‘He demanded to know what had happened to make me lose my nerve and to want to sell out, like some coward of a Hyde-Park soldier,’ Giles said harshly. Hebe gasped.

‘He doesn’t mean it.’ Giles continued more easily now the shaming words had been said. ‘He expects me to be a general too—and even younger than he had been. I think in his heart he knows why I am talking of selling out and he is railing against his own weakness, not mine.’

‘I shouldn’t think that makes it hurt any less,’ Hebe said, lifting her hand to touch it softly to his face. Giles turned his cheek against her knuckles, comforted. Lucky, lucky Alex.

‘No. And of course he knows he has been unjust and doesn’t know how to put it right. So he managed to find yet another sin to throw at my head to justify his anger.’

‘What else?’

‘He wants to know what I think I’m about, flirting with Lady Suzanne Hall and not making her an offer. Damn good catch, the old boy says with considerable understatement, and he isn’t going to stand by hearing stories about me trifling with her affections.’

‘Are you?’ Hebe asked.

‘Flirting or trifling?’

‘Intending to marry her,’ Hebe said tartly.

‘None of those things. I’ve known Suzy since I was ten and she was toddling. She’s the sister I never had and I’d as soon marry a cage full of monkeys. I feel nothing but the deepest sympathy for whichever poor idiot marries her. That girl is the most outrageous minx I have ever come across.’

‘So you are not in love with her?’ Hebe persisted.

‘I love the girl—but just as a sister—and she and her parents know it. She has been practising flirting and wheedling on me since she was eleven because she knows I’m safe and her mother likes me to squire her about when I’m in town because she knows I’m safe. I scare off the bucks and the fortune hunters and Suzy can play the little madam to her heart’s content.

‘But she’s probably the best catch of the Season, as my father is all too aware. Some old pussy has been telling him I was seen with her driving in the park and dancing with her rather too often and that’s enough for him. And that’s another thing,’ he added bitterly. ‘Her father didn’t want her to learn to drive because his own sister was hurt in a bad accident, so what must she do but wheedle me into persuading the poor man that I can teach her.’

‘Well, you are a very good whip, Giles,’ Hebe pointed out.

‘Yes, and I’m well known for not letting ladies drive my teams, so Father puts two and two together, gets six and then finds no sign of me doing the right thing. And, of course, as he points out, it’s about time I was getting married and setting up my nursery and look at Lord Tasborough with one heir to his name already and that pretty little wife of his increasing again…’

‘Oh, poor Giles,’ Hebe said with indignant sympathy. ‘You have been giving your head for a washing, haven’t you? What are you going to do? Oh, listen, I think that’s Alex.’

The door opened to reveal the Earl, his face breaking into a grin when he saw who was with his wife.

‘Giles! No, don’t get up, stay there.’ He bent down and gave his friend a powerful buffet on the shoulder, wrung the hand that was held out to him, and dropped to the carpet by his side. ‘Are you here to stay? Is that why I find you here flirting with my wife?’

‘He isn’t flirting,’ Hebe said, half-anxious, half-laughing. ‘He thinks I’m expecting twins.’

‘Good God!’ The Earl twisted round to regard both his wife and friend. ‘Are you serious? And what do you know about it, might I ask?’

‘He says he’s delivered a baby.’

‘But not twins,’ Giles hastened to say. ‘No, don’t hit me! It is merely that kissing your delightful wife is like trying to reach her over a pile of sofa cushions and either someone’s mathematics are out, or it’s twins. Or triplets…’ he added wickedly, ducking away from Alex’s punch.

‘Oh, stop it!’ Hebe cried, slapping at black and blond heads impartially. ‘I might as well have two more small boys on my hands as you men. Giles is staying until we go back to Tasborough: he is having a perfectly horrible time at home. Giles, tell him.’

Giles recounted his story again. When he reached his father’s reaction to his plan to sell out, Alex went quite still, then simply reached out and gripped his arm. Giles found his vision suddenly blurred and rapidly finished the rest of his tale.

‘Just how angry is the General?’ Alex asked. No one ever referred to Lord Gregory by his title.

‘Angry enough to disinherit me.’

‘Can he?’ Alex enquired.

Giles shook his head with a rueful grin. The morning’s final, painful, interview was beginning to seem less painful and more farcelike now he could talk about it. ‘There’s the entail, and the money I inherited from Grandmama Ingham—he can’t do a thing about either of those. If he really puts his mind to it he can find about sixty acres and a couple of farms—and the furniture, of course—to leave elsewhere. But he doesn’t mean it.’

‘What will you do?’ Hebe was still not reassured.

‘I am under orders from Mama to come up to town and embark upon a life of reckless dissipation.’ He twisted round to smile at Hebe. ‘I’d already taken rooms at Albany as a pied-à-terre, but they aren’t fitted out yet, which is why I had hoped you’d take me in.’

‘Dissipation? But why?’

‘She says he will soon hear all about it and order me back home to be lectured. At which point he will decide that the best thing for me is to rusticate on the estate for a while.’

Hebe laughed. ‘How clever of your mama! Of course, if he thinks you don’t want to do it and would rather be in London, then helping with the estate will be just the thing to punish the prodigal, and after a few weeks he’ll be so used to it, and will enjoy having you there so much, that you will get exactly the result you want.’

‘Has it ever occurred to you that your mother is a better strategist than your father?’ Alex enquired.

‘Frequently. She always outflanks him and the poor man can never understand how she has done it.’ He shifted his position and one hand flattened a sheet of paper, which crackled. ‘Sorry, I appear to be crushing the letter you were reading.’

‘Oh, goodness!’ Hebe exclaimed, taking the crumpled pages. ‘I had quite forgotten in the excitement of Giles arriving. It is from Aunt Emily,’ she explained to the two men. ‘She sent a footman with it this morning, just after you had left, Alex. It is the most incredible thing. She says she is to send Joanna to stay with her great-aunt in Bath because she is in disgrace.’

‘I will go into the library.’ Giles started to get up. ‘You will want to discuss this in private.’

‘No, stay, please. You are one of the family, Giles, and besides, you are staying here and will have to know what is going on.’ She started to re-read. ‘And it is not as though it is anything actually, er, indelicate.’

‘What, not an elopement with the apothecary or the unfortunate results of an amorous encounter with the footman?’ Alex enquired, earning a look of burning reproach from his wife.

‘I still think I had better leave,’ Giles persisted. ‘I can go to an hotel until my rooms are ready at Albany. Your aunt will want to call and discuss the problem, that is obvious, and she will not feel at ease if she knows I am staying here.’

‘Nonsense, Giles. We need you to help us get to the bottom of this puzzle. Aunt Emily says it all began at the Duchess of Bridlington’s ball. Joanna got drunk on champagne, flirted outrageously and then went on to commit just about every act in the list of things she could do to be labelled fast. And, to cap it all, she is wilfully refusing an offer from a highly eligible nobleman—discreetly unnamed.’

‘Joanna? Drunk on champagne?’ Alex looked incredulous. ‘That girl is a pattern-book of respectability and correct behaviour.’

‘The Duchess of Bridlington’s ball?’ Giles sat down again. ‘Oh, lord.’ His friends looked at him incredulously. ‘Don’t look at me like that! I haven’t been seducing the girl! But I think I may have started her off on the wine—’ He broke off, his eyes unfocussed, looking back into the past. ‘You know, she had had a bad shock of some kind: that’s why I gave her a couple of glasses of champagne.’

He had forgotten about his encounters with Joanna in the face of his estrangement with his father, but, looking back in the light of Mrs Fulgrave’s letter, things began to make sense. ‘At the ball I found her sitting outside one of the retiring rooms looking shocked,’ he began.

‘You mean someone might have said something risqué or unkind to her?’ Hebe ventured.

‘No, not that kind of shock.’ He remembered the blank look in those wide hazel eyes and suddenly realised what it reminded him of. ‘Alex, you know the effect their first battle had on some of the very young, very idealistic officers who came out to the Peninsula without any experience? The ones who thought that war was all glory and chivalry, bugles blowing and flags flying?’

‘And found it was blood and mud and slaughter. Men dying in something that resembled a butcher’s shambles, chaos and noise—’ Alex broke off and Hebe could see they were both somewhere else, somewhere she could never follow. ‘Yes, I remember. What are you saying?’

‘Joanna had the same look in her eyes as those lads had after their first battle, as though an ideal had disintegrated before her and her world was in ruins. She was white, her hands were shaking. I asked her what was wrong, but she would not tell me. I assumed it was a man. We talked of neutral subjects for a while. After two glasses of champagne she was well enough to waltz, which helped, I think. Movement often does in cases of shock—’ He broke off, remembering the supple, yielding figure in his arms, those wide hazel eyes that seemed to look trustingly into his soul, his instinct to find and hurt the man who had so obviously hurt her.

They discussed the matter a little more, speculating on the spurned suitor to no purpose and, after a while, left Hebe to rest.

Giles went up to his usual room. While Alex’s valet unpacked for him he paced restlessly, fighting the urge to drive straight back home to see how his father was. To distract himself from his cantankerous parent, he thought about Joanna Fulgrave. To his surprise he found he was dwelling pleasurably on the memory. He frowned, trying to convince himself that he was merely intrigued by what had turned a previously biddable débutante into a fast young lady. But there was more than that, something that lay behind the desperate hurt in those lovely eyes, something which seemed to speak directly to him.

He shifted in the comfortable wing chair where he had finally come to rest. His body was responding to thoughts of Miss Fulgrave in a quite inappropriate way.

It was two months since he had parted from his Portuguese mistress. There were, of course, the ladies of negotiable virtue who flourished in town. They had not featured on his mother’s list of dissipated activities that she had suggested to him. ‘Cards, dearest, drink—I know you have a hard head for both, so they are safe. Be seen in all the most notorious places. Perhaps buy a racehorse? Flirt, of course, but no young débutantes, that goes without saying… Do you know any fast matrons?’

‘Only you, Mama,’ he had retorted, smiling into her amused grey eyes.



After an hour, Hebe, thoroughly bored with resting, summoned both men back to her salon, announcing that she had not the slightest idea what she could do to assist her aunt.

‘Send Giles to listen sympathetically,’ Alex was suggesting idly when there was the sound of the knocker. ‘Who can that be?’

Starling appeared in the doorway. ‘Mrs Fulgrave, my lady.’ He flattened himself against the door frame as Emily Fulgrave almost ran into the room, ‘Oh, Hebe, my dear, Alex… Oh!’ Both her niece and the Earl regarded her with consternation from the chaise where Alex was sitting beside Hebe who, he had insisted, was to stay lying down for at least another hour. Mrs Fulgrave burst into tears.

It took quite five minutes and a dose of sal volatile before she could command herself again. Giles, his escape cut off by a flurry of hastily summoned maid-servants and general feminine bustle, retreated to the far side of the room, hoping that his presence would not be marked. Hysterical matrons, he felt, were even less his style than fast ones.

Finally Hebe managed to ask what was wrong. Her aunt regarded her over her handkerchief and managed to gasp, ‘Joanna has run away.’

Eventually the whole story was extracted. Joanna had vanished from her room, but was not missed until it was time for luncheon because she was assumed to be hiding herself away until her unwanted suitor was due that afternoon and Mr Fulgrave was not in a mood to be conciliatory and seek to encourage her to emerge.

When her mama had finally opened her bedchamber door she was gone, with only a brief note to say she was going ‘where she could think.’

After several hours of sending carefully worded messages to her friends in town, all of which drew a blank, her parents were at their wits’ end. Mr Fulgrave was prostrate with gout, dear Alex had seemed their only resort.

Alex shot one look at Hebe’s white, shocked face and said firmly, ‘I am sorry, Aunt Fulgrave, but I simply cannot leave Hebe now.’

‘I know, of course, you cannot,’ Emily Fulgrave said despairingly. ‘I should have thought. It will have to be the Bow Street Runners, but we will have lost a day…’

‘I will find her,’ Giles said, standing up and causing all of them to start in surprise.

‘Oh, Giles, thank you,’ Hebe said warmly. ‘I had quite forgot you were there. Aunt Emily, Giles is staying with us. What could be more fortunate?’

Giles wondered if Mrs Fulgrave would consider that the family scandal coming to the ears of someone else, however close a friend, to be a fortunate matter. ‘You may trust my absolute discretion, ma’am, but you must tell me everything you know about what is wrong and where she may have gone,’ he began briskly, only to stagger back as the distraught matron cast herself upon his chest and began to sob on his shoulder. ‘Ma’am…’

Eventually Mrs Fulgrave was calm, sitting looking at him with desperate faith in his ability to find her daughter. Giles was already bitterly regretting his offer.

Damn it, what else can I do? he thought grimly. Alex and Hebe would fret themselves into flinders otherwise, and the Fulgraves had welcomed him into their family. And the thought of the girl with the pain in her hazel eyes tugged at him, awakening echoes of his own hurt.




Chapter Five (#ue3977ead-b858-5a37-9b36-6237851df83e)


On the thirtieth of June, two days after Mrs Fulgrave had arrived distraught at the Tasboroughs’ house, her errant daughter sat up in bed in the best chamber in the White Hart inn at Stilton and decided that, just possibly, she was not going to die after all.

It had been the meat pie she had so incautiously eaten at Biggleswade that had been her downfall. She had known almost at once that it had been a mistake, but she had been so hungry that when the stage had stopped she had eagerly paid for the pie and a glass of small ale.

Up until then the entire undertaking had seemed miraculously easy. She had packed a carefully selected valise of essentials and had donned the most demure walking dress and pelisse in her wardrobe. Her hair was arranged severely back into a tight knot, she had removed all her jewellery and her finished appearance, as she had intended, was that of a superior governess. And governesses were invisible; young women who could travel unregarded on the public stage without the slightest comment.

Finding the right inn from which to depart had taken a little more initiative, but careful study of the London map in her father’s study showed her which area the Lincoln stage was likely to leave from, and a shy governess enquiring at six in the morning for the right departure point for Lincoln was apparently an unremarkable event.

In fact, she had felt remarkably pleased with herself and her tactics. Giles would have been proud of her, she caught herself thinking before that fancy was ruthlessly suppressed. Her only worry was how to get from Peterborough to Wisbech and Georgy, but that would doubtless become apparent once she had reached Peterborough.

Joanna pressed her arm against her side, feeling the reassuring bulge of the purse tied to her belt under her pelisse. She had only just received her quarter’s allowance and still had, quite unspent, her birthday present from her generous godmother. Of all her worries, how to pay for her journey was the least of them.

Then she had eaten that wretched pie. Goodness knows what it had been made from, or how long it had been sitting in a warm kitchen before she had eaten it. By St Neots she was feeling queasy, past Eaton Socon she knew that at any moment she was going to be violently sick.

The stage had drawn up at the White Hart and she had staggered off, just finding enough voice to request the coachman to throw down her valise before she dived behind the shelter of a barn and was hideously ill. When she emerged shakily some time later the coach was gone, but thankfully the landlady proved motherly and kind to the white-faced young governess who explained that she was travelling back to her employer in Lincoln and had been taken ill.

‘I am sure it is something I have eaten,’ Joanna explained weakly, ‘but I cannot travel like this. Fortunately Lady Brown does not expect me for another week so she will not worry. Is there any possibility of a room?’

The landlady was impressed by the genteel appearance and cultured accents of the young woman before her, and even more reassured by the sight of her guinea-purse. Such a pity that a young lady like that had to demean herself as little more than a superior upper servant.

‘You come along, my dear,’ she had urged. ‘By good luck the best bedchamber is free and I’ll have the girl see to you.’

The girl in question was kept more than a little busy over the next night and day. Joanna was thoroughly sick and at one point the landlady considered sending for the doctor, but by the following morning she was pale but recovering and could manage a little plain bread and a glass of water without it promptly returning.

She sat up and considered her situation. It was a setback, for she felt uneasily that until she turned off for Wisbech she was in danger of detection, but otherwise her plan was still holding together. But the delay had made Joanna think, and for some reason a particularly dry and academic book on strategy she had once tried to read came to her mind. She had cast it aside after a few chapters, unable to read further even to impress Giles. What had struck her as so idiotic about it was that the author propounded all manner of cunning manoeuvres without once considering that the enemy would be doing whatever they decided was best, thus overthrowing all the plans of their opponents.

It was just what she had been doing: planning her life with Giles without thinking for a moment that he might be doing something entirely otherwise. All at once it dawned on her that she hadn’t been thinking about the real man at all, only the object of her dreams, her innocent, ignorant fantasy. Did the man she loved really exist at all?



Giles Gregory meanwhile was finding a perverse pleasure in the hunt. He had never been an intelligence officer, unlike his friend Alex, but no army officer could rise through the ranks without knowing how to hunt down and track the enemy through hostile or strange county.

And this was a foreign country to him, he realised, shouldering his way into the bustling inn yards of London. To a man used to command, and used to the least of his commands receiving instant obedience, the experience of being out of uniform and on the receiving end of the London working man’s tongue was instructive.

‘Move yer arse!’ he was abruptly ordered when he stood too far into the yard of the Moor’s Head as the stage swung in through the low arch, then, as he sidestepped out of the way, he was buffeted by a swaggering postilion with his iron-shod boots and aggressive whip. ‘Shift yourself, bloody swell cove!’

He swung round to meet the man eye to eye and the postilion backed off, hands raised defensively, muttering, ‘Sorry, guv’nor, no offence meant.’

Giles looked him up and down without speaking until the man was reduced to stuttering silence, then said with a hint of steel in his pleasant voice, ‘You will oblige me by telling me the inn for the Lincoln coaches.’

‘This one, guv’nor. Let me show you the office, sir!’

Giles allowed himself to be shown the way. He was taking a gamble, but close questioning of a tearful Mrs Fulgrave by her niece and both men had elicited the fact that her sister Grace was the most likely refuge for Joanna. ‘Then there is her schoolfriend Lady Brandon in Wisbech,’ her mother had said, showing a greater awareness of Joanna’s correspondence than her daughter had given her credit for. ‘And, of course—’ She had broken off, looking guilty.

‘Who, Aunt?’ Hebe had probed. ‘We have to think of anyone she could have gone to.’

‘Oh, dear. You must not tell your uncle I mentioned this.’ Mrs Fulgrave took a deep breath. ‘My sister-in-law Caroline near Norwich.’

‘I have never heard of her, Aunt Emily.’

‘I know, dear.’ Emily had looked round imploringly at her audience. ‘You will promise not to tell Mr Fulgrave that I told you? His youngest sister Caroline…’ she blushed and went on bravely ‘…she lived with a married man as his wife. They fell in love, and then it transpired that he had a wife living who had run off with another man. So Caroline and Mr Faversham could never marry. It was impossible, of course, but she went and moved in with him. The family cut her off, even after his wife died, ten years later, and he married her, only to die himself within six months.’

‘Oh, poor lady,’ Hebe cried. ‘How sad!’

‘I thought so,’ Emily said stoutly. ‘And so I told Mr Fulgrave. I have written to her every year, but he would never relent because he says it nearly killed his poor father. But it is foolish of me even to consider Caro—Joanna could not know of her.’

‘Are you sure?’ Giles pressed. ‘Where do you keep her address?’

Mrs Fulgrave had removed her remembrancer from her reticule and held it out, open at the right page. Giles studied the address, then delicately lifted one long black hair from the crease in the page. Silently he held it up, dark against Mrs Fulgrave’s own light brown hair. ‘I think she knows.’ Only Hebe noticed that as he noted the address in his own pocket book he carefully laid the hair in its folds.

However, their supposition that Grace was the most likely choice for Joanna to make appeared to be confirmed at the stage-coach office. Not only did the book keeper assure Giles that this was the right departure point for Lincoln, but he remembered Joanna. ‘If you mean the young lady governess, sir? Least, I suppose that was what she was. Remarkable handsome young woman, that I do know. But anxious somehow—that’s why I recall her, sir—that and her looks, if you’ll pardon me saying so. All dressed so demure-like and those big eyes…’

‘Where did she buy a ticket to?’ Giles demanded, coming to the conclusion that if he took exception to every man who offended him that day he would not get far.

‘Lincoln, she said. At least, first she asked about Peterborough, then she looked confused and said she wanted Lincoln, sir.’

‘And what would be the town to change for Wisbech?’

‘Peterborough, sir.’

‘And what are the stops between here and Lincoln?’ Giles dug his hand in his pocket and began to sort coins. The man brightened at the chinking noise.

‘I’ll make you a list, shall I, sir? All of the stops or just the junction points, like?’

‘All of them,’ Giles had replied, tapping a gold coin suggestively on the counter.

Within half an hour his curricle, with the matched greys in the shafts and his groom left behind, faintly complaining, swung out on to the Great North Road heading towards Stevenage. Joanna had a full day’s start on him and he could not risk simply assuming she was going to Peterborough; he was going to have to check at every stopping place on the list. But then, there were French colonels—some of them still alive to remember it—who had had similar starts on Giles Gregory and who had still found themselves tracked down, outmanoeuvred and defeated. One chit of a girl was not going to elude him now.



Joanna parted with some reluctance from the comforts of the White Hart the next morning. She was anxious to be on her way and to reach Georgy, but the inn and its motherly landlady, Mrs Handley, had seemed safe; although she would never have admitted it, Joanna was feeling lonely and not a little frightened.

Still, she was taken up by the stage without any problem and Mrs Handley had come out herself to see her off and to remind her which inn in Peterborough to get off at in order to pick up the Lynn stage, which would drop her in Wisbech.

She eyed her new travelling companions from under the brim of her modest bonnet and was reassured by the sight of a stout farmer’s wife with a basket, a thin young man who promptly fell asleep and a middle-aged gentleman in clerical collar and bands who politely raised his hat to her as she got on.

‘I trust I do not intrude,’ he ventured after a few moments, ‘but I heard the good landlady directing you to the Crown and Anchor and I wonder if I might be of assistance? My name is Thoroughgood, Reverend Thaddeus Thoroughgood, and I am changing at that point myself as I do very frequently. I would be most happy to point out the stage office and so forth when we arrive.’

Joanna thanked him politely, somewhat nervous that he might want to continue talking to her, for conversation with a strange man, even a most respectable-looking clergyman, on a public stage was not what she had been brought up to regard as ladylike behaviour. However, the good reverend did not say any more and she thanked him and leaned back, feeling happier now she knew she had a guide should she need one.




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