Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | The Master of Stonegrave Hall

The Master of Stonegrave Hall
Helen Dickson
FEW DEFY LORD ROCKFORD AND COME AWAY UNSCATHEDVictoria Lewis has grown up in the long, dark shadows cast by Stonegrave Hall. Yet when the Master takes her sick mother into his care she must finally confront the man whose presence is as brooding as his windswept Yorkshire lands. Men quake at Lord Rockford’s mere command, yet this slip of a girl defies him at every turn! His fury at her is matched only by his desire, and Victoria’s pure innocence burns brightly in the darkness of the Hall.But the light threatens to lay bare secrets that could ruin them both.


Few defy Lord Rockford and come away unscathed
Victoria Lewis has grown up in the long, dark shadows cast by Stonegrave Hall. Yet when the master takes her sick mother into his care, she must finally confront the man whose presence is as brooding as his windswept Yorkshire lands.
Men quake at Lord Rockford’s mere command, yet this slip of a girl defies him at every turn! His fury at her is matched only by his desire, and Victoria’s pure innocence burns brightly in the darkness of the hall. But the light threatens to lay bare secrets that could ruin them both.
His gaze, uncompromising and intent, settled heavily on hers. There was something so powerful in that look—an energy that flowed into her.
Victoria shuddered with a mingling of fear and awe. Indomitable pride, intelligence and hard-bitten strength were etched into every feature of his face. His mouth was firm, with a hint of cruelty in it, there was determination in the jut of his chin and arrogance in his square jaw. It was a face that said its owner cared nothing for fools. His compelling purple-blue eyes were watchful and mocking, as though he found the world an entertaining place to be providing it did not interfere with him. His expression was set and she suspected he did not often smile readily.
Victoria forgot her manners and stared back for as long as she was able. She felt her cheeks grow pink, sure he’d somehow read her mind. He wasn’t handsome in the classical sense, but with his shock of unruly hair as black as pitch he had the look of a pirate or a highwayman about him—or even the devil himself.
AUTHOR NOTE
I’ve always been a history buff, which is why I love writing Mills & Boon
Historical Romance—be it the pageantry of Elizabethan, Tudor and Stuart periods, the glittering Regency, or Victorian and Edwardian times.
MASTER OF STONEGRAVE HALL is set in my beloved home county of Yorkshire—the north Yorkshire moors, to be exact—which proved to be an interesting setting to work with.
Laurence and Victoria’s journey is beset with equal measures of joy and heartache, but in the end the power of love is too strong to deny.
The Master of
Stonegrave Hall
Helen Dickson

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
HELEN DICKSON was born and lives in South Yorkshire, with her retired farm manager husband. Having moved out of the busy farmhouse where she raised their two sons, she has more time to indulge in her favourite pastimes. She enjoys being outdoors, travelling, reading and music. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure. It was a love of history that drove her to writing historical fiction.
Previous novels by Helen Dickson:
THE DEFIANT DEBUTANTE
ROGUE’S WIDOW, GENTLEMAN’S WIFE
TRAITOR OR TEMPTRESS
WICKED PLEASURES
(part of Christmas By Candlelight) A SCOUNDREL OF CONSEQUENCE FORBIDDEN LORD SCANDALOUS SECRET, DEFIANT BRIDE FROM GOVERNESS TO SOCIETY BRIDE MISTRESS BELOW DECK THE BRIDE WORE SCANDAL DESTITUTE ON HIS DOORSTEP SEDUCING MISS LOCKWOOD MARRYING MISS MONKTON DIAMONDS, DECEPTION AND THE DEBUTANTE BEAUTY IN BREECHES MISS CAMERON’S FALL FROM GRACE THE HOUSEMAID’S SCANDALOUS SECRET* (#ulink_95ee178b-44d6-5ac1-98cd-9474dda20385) WHEN MARRYING A DUKE … THE DEVIL CLAIMS A WIFE
* (#ulink_79fcbf87-c333-5849-875f-21b633320053)Castonbury Park Regency mini-series
And in Mills & Boon
HistoricalUndone!eBooks:
ONE RECKLESS NIGHT

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
Contents
Chapter One (#udab37f77-2b26-5446-83af-3f9271e07d45)
Chapter Two (#u8b842b94-eac1-5cb2-b5b2-9414f21d3b3c)
Chapter Three (#u5a84e83a-0dcd-5271-b29d-ea3bafff2758)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
1820—Late spring
The stagecoach clattered to a halt in the inn yard in the market town of Malton in the North Riding of Yorkshire, some twenty miles equidistant from both York and Scarborough. The first of the passengers to alight, Victoria looked around for a post boy to assist her with her baggage. She would have liked to go inside the inn to partake of some refreshment, but she had another journey ahead of her and was impatient to be on her way before nightfall.
Attired in a cinnamon dress and a matching bonnet, the crisp wind flirted with the cluster of soft ringlets cascading over Victoria’s shoulders and played with the hem of her skirts, while it brought a fresh flush to her cheeks. Trim and bandbox polished, she was a most fetching sight for any man, many of whom paused after passing and openly glanced back for a second taste of her beauty.
The inn was thronged with an assortment of people going about their business and travellers, some sitting about waiting for stagecoaches to take them to their destinations. She was glad it wasn’t Saturday, which was market day, being largely attended by families and farmers from the surrounding countryside, causing congestion both inside the town and the nearby roads. She managed to secure the attention of a young post boy who was hauling luggage from the back of the coach.
‘Excuse me,’ she said as he placed her trunks on the ground, ‘I want to get to Ashcomb tonight. Is there anything going that way?’
He shook his head. ‘Not today, miss. You’ll have to go tomorrow—unless,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder to where a horse and piled-up cart stood beneath a dusty old clock, ‘you don’t mind going by carrier. Tom Smith goes that way three times a week. He’s to set off for Cranbeck within the next half-hour. He might give you a lift.’
‘I would be most grateful. Would you see that my trunks are transferred?’ she said, slipping him a coin and almost jumping out of her skin when a tinny horn blew, announcing the arrival of another stagecoach.
The lad grinned at her, slipping the coin into his pocket. ‘Glad to, miss. I’ll go and have a word with old Tom first.’
She was about to follow him when the arriving stagecoach was drawn to a halt. Suddenly, the door was flung open. Too late to take evasive action, it hit her and knocked her back. Stunned by the force of the blow, it was only by some miracle that she managed to remain upright. A slender young man smartly dressed in whipcord breeches and jacket accompanied by a woman stepped down. The man, fair-haired and with a lean, sunburnt face that spoke of warmer climes, clearly agitated, glanced round the door and glowered crossly at her.
‘Good Lord, young lady! Have you no more sense than to walk in the path of the stage!’
‘I—I realise that, but it was not all my fault,’ Victoria protested, setting her bonnet straight with trembling hands.
‘It most certainly was not,’ the elegant young lady attired in silver grey said, coming to Victoria’s aid, a deeply concerned look on her lovely face. ‘Are you hurt? Can I be of assistance?’
‘Thank you, but I am not hurt. The gentleman—’
‘My husband.’
‘Yes—he was quite right. I should not have been walking so close to the coach. But as you see the inn yard is a throng. I have just arrived in Malton myself.’
‘Well, you do not appear to be hurt,’ the young man said, clamping his tall hat on his head. Somewhat agitated and clearly wanting to be on his way, he peered at her intently. ‘You are all right?’ he asked impatiently.
Despite the sharp pain in her arm, which she realised she must have hurt when she had bumped into the side of the coach, and not wishing to make a fuss, she replied that she was.
‘That’s all right then.’ He gave Victoria one final brief glance before turning his attention to his wife. ‘Come along, Diana. We must get on. I see Bartlet is here with the carriage.’
‘Yes, I can see he is, but you go on, I’ll be along in a moment.’
Unconcerned, he strode off and did not turn to look at Victoria again.
‘I’m so very sorry. Are you quite sure you are all right?’ the woman called Diana asked, distraught on behalf of her husband’s rudeness. ‘We’ve been abroad and my husband is eager to get home. He—he...’
‘Please, do not concern yourself,’ Victoria was quick to assure her. ‘I really am quite all right—albeit a little winded.’
The lady looked anxiously at her husband’s retreating figure.
Victoria smiled at her. ‘You’d better go. Your husband is leaving you behind.’
‘If you’re sure—but can I not assist you in any way?’
Victoria saw in her eyes nothing but kindness and concern. She shook her head. ‘You are very kind, but I am not hurt.’
‘Well, if you’re sure.’
‘Perfectly, and thank you for your concern.’
Victoria watched her run across the yard in the wake of her husband. Still feeling a little shaken despite what she had told the lady, and her arm now beginning to throb, she made her way to the carrier cart, which was about to set off for the coastal town of Cranbeck.
‘I’ll be glad of the company,’ Tom Smith the carrier said, hoisting a sack into the back. ‘Mind you, I won’t have time to take you all the way to Ashcomb. I have to be in Cranbeck at my sister’s place by dark and not up on the moor. All kinds of miscreants travel the coast road at night. I can drop your trunks off in the morning on my way back.’
‘You’re quite right, Mr Smith, and I agree. It’s a brave man who ventures across the moor after dark. You can drop me off at Ashcomb lane end. I can perfectly well walk to the village.’
‘That’s settled then,’ he said handing her up onto the cart without more ado.
The arable farmland which was a feature of the Yorkshire lowland slowly gave way to moorland as the carrier’s cart climbed higher. They passed through sun-filtered woods, up grassy banks and down sheltered valleys, until they reached a narrow lane that veered off to the left and the small village of Ashcomb.
‘Will you be all right, miss?’ Tom asked as Victoria jumped down from his cart.
Adjusting her bonnet, she smiled up at him. ‘Of course I will and thank you for bringing me this far. You will bring my baggage to the cottage tomorrow on your way back, won’t you, Mr Smith?’
‘Aye, I’ll see to it. I’d take you all the way, but I’ll have to get a move on as it is.’
‘I understand. I shall enjoy the walk.’
Tom tipped his cap and urged his horse on. ‘Have a care how you go now.’
When he’d driven off Victoria stood for a moment to take in the view. The charm and tranquillity of the sweep of moorland, with rolling hills, folded valleys and the muted greens and browns of scrub and earth, wrapped itself around her in an endless vista and seeped into her bones. She breathed deep of the fresh tang of the sea beyond the moors. Combined with the warmth of late spring and the first petals of the season, it made a heady fragrance. Soon the heather would spring to life and, come July, these hills would be cloaked in glorious pinks and purple.
Two miles in the distance and nestling in the shelter of the surrounding hills was the sprawling village of Ashcomb. It was a quiet village in an obscure setting of moorland and fast-flowing streams, uneven red-roofed cottages and smoking chimney pots. Victoria was alive with that tingling thrill that surged through her whenever she came home. She drew in a deep breath, her heart soaring at the welcome sight, and the more she gazed, the more she wanted to avail herself of such joyous abandon and run. There was no disguising her love of this wild open land. The kind of satisfaction it gave her was not given by another but achieved from within, and with the fresh breeze on her face, she moved forwards, savouring every moment.
Ashcomb was home and she’d been away far too long. Her life at the Academy in York and the minor society events she’d attended with her friend Amelia and Mrs Fenwick, Amelia’s mother, had been exciting and fun, but Ashcomb and her mother remained the loves of her life, the fiery beacon on a faraway hill that beckoned her home. Here she would settle back into the leisurely rhythm of country life.
A flash of scarlet caught her eye. Pausing a moment, she focused on it. A woman was galloping along the side of the beck that ran along the valley bottom. A gentleman mounted on a chestnut horse was way behind her, and the way he was riding he was clearly in hot pursuit. The clothes they were wearing and their splendid horses told her they were gentry—they also rode the moors with the God-given right of those whose family owned them, and rode the lower slopes with authority and arrogance.
Eager to see her mother, whose health was giving her cause for concern, with a spring in her step and carrying a small satchel, Victoria started on her way, smiling happily at the sheep that nipped the short moorland grass on the side of the road. A narrow ditch ran alongside and, nearing a part of the road where it narrowed and turned sharply, she was snatched from her preoccupation on seeing a horse and rider in scarlet habit hurtling towards her. Too late the horse was almost on top of her when with a cry and a diving action she went headlong into the ditch.
There had been rain the previous day and the silt and grass at the bottom had become soggy. Oh, no, she thought in perfect horror. Momentarily paralysed and stunned, she lay there gasping. She knew she wasn’t hurt—although her arm had taken another knock—but she also knew she was angry. In fact, she was furious.
Retrieving her satchel and clawing her way out of the ditch, with her bonnet hanging down her back by its ribbons, her hair in disarray and her skirts muddied, she stood at the side of the road and stared open-mouthed at the woman who had pulled her horse to a standstill. The woman gave Victoria an imperious look down her long nose and when she spoke her voice was high pitched and haughty.
‘Why didn’t you look where you were going?’ And then on a more concerned note, she asked, ‘Are you all right?’
Victoria Lewis—the product of eighteen years of careful upbringing and the product of five years at Miss Carver’s Academy for young ladies in York which had, until now, produced a charming and dignified young lady—looked up at the stranger and regarded her with scathing animosity. The woman’s tone—condescending, authoritative and at the same time lightly contemptuous—made Victoria’s hackles rise.
‘I’ve almost been run over by your horse,’ she fumed, quite beside herself. ‘Of course I’m not all right. It is you who should have looked where you were going. You might have killed me.’
The girl’s boldness and forceful attack infuriated the woman on the horse. Her initial concern that she might be hurt vanished. ‘How dare you speak to me so!’ The words were shrill, like those that might have come from a shrew.
‘I dare and I do. And look at your poor horse.’ Victoria pointed to the restless mount which was all a-lather. ‘And look at me.’ She held out her soiled skirts.
‘It’s your own fault. If you hadn’t been wandering in the middle of the road, you wouldn’t have fallen into the ditch.’
Victoria stared up into the beautiful, arrogant face above her, seeing angry grey eyes blazing in a soft-skinned face, topped by a feather-adorned high scarlet hat to match the velvet habit that had a white ruffle at the neck. The snug waist and fitted bodice enhanced the woman’s voluptuous body and the abundance of her light brown hair was secured in a net at her nape. Clearly she was a woman of note, but after Victoria’s run-in with the gentleman at the station and now this, she was in no mood to be browbeaten by anyone.
‘Me? If you hadn’t been racing your horse to death, I should not have fallen!’ she retorted before she could stop herself. ‘You shouldn’t be allowed on the road. Do you always ride like a lunatic?’
Her face a mask of blazing indignation, the woman could scarcely believe what she was hearing. ‘What? What did you say? Why, you impertinent little baggage! You will do well to watch your tongue. I swear you will pay for this insolence.’ Like a flash the woman’s arm went up, the riding whip with it, as she cried indignantly, ‘You dare to say such things to me—to me!’
At this point another horse and rider appeared on the scene, a gentleman, and he couldn’t believe his eyes at what followed, for he saw the girl standing in the road reach up, grab Clara’s arm and wrench the whip from her grasp. Then in one swift movement she snapped it in two and flung it into the ditch.
‘There, that’s where it belongs. How dare you raise your hand to me! Do you make a habit of going around beating people?’
‘What’s going on here?’ a deep, throaty voice broke in. ‘Clara? What’s all this about? It looks like a minor riot to me.’
The moment was brought to a halt by his mount. Restless at being pulled up when it had been in full stride, it tried to move on. Before the horse was brought under control it had made a full turn and moved closer to Victoria, who, always nervous around horses, eyed the beast warily and stepped out of the way of its hooves.
Distracted by the arrival of her companion, when Clara turned her head towards him a flush rose to her cheeks. Victoria saw her expression soften visibly and her eyes light up. Why, she thought, it was as if the gentleman had lit a candle inside her. The woman’s affection for her companion was more than obvious.
‘This—this girl was in the middle of the road and when I came round the corner she lost her balance and fell into the ditch,’ Clara explained on a gentler note than the one she had used on Victoria, her gaze reluctant to leave her companion.
‘Must you and your animal claim the whole road while lesser mortals take to the grass?’ Victoria retorted, feeling that she had to remind the woman of her presence.
Clara looked at her, but addressed her companion. ‘Never have I been so insulted! When I asked if she was all right the insolent girl accused me of being an idiot and a lunatic. Really! The audacity!’
‘Which you are,’ Victoria flared. ‘I’m not sorry for calling you those things. I could have been trampled to death, or terribly crippled.’
‘I don’t know who you are, but you should mind your manners, girl, if you know what’s good for you. And who might you be? Well?’ Clara demanded, her voice unnecessarily loud in the quiet of the countryside. ‘Where do you live?’
‘In Ashcomb,’ Victoria replied, lifting her chin proudly and looking directly into the narrowed grey eyes. ‘And there is no need to shout since my hearing is perfectly sound.’
Fixing the gentleman with her gaze, her eyes restless and pensive—the very essence of tempestuous youth—she was rendered momentarily speechless by the appearance of this scowling, masculine presence. An indescribable awe—or fascination—came over her as she stared at him. She had made a study of animals in her lessons to be able to pick out in an instant the dominant male and there was no question whatsoever that he was it.
He sat tall and lean in the saddle with strong shoulders straining at the seams of his well-cut olive-green jacket. Snuff-coloured breeches were fitted snugly about his muscular legs, which gripped the horse. His boots were brown and highly polished, and he wore no hat. There was a certain insolence in the lift of his head and in the casual way his body lounged upon his horse. Even his shadow, which stretched along the ground and almost touched her feet, seemed solid.
His gaze, uncompromising and intent, settled heavily on hers. There was something so powerful in that look, an energy that flowed into her. She shuddered with a mingling of fear and awe. Indomitable pride, intelligence and hard-bitten strength were etched into every feature of his face. He was clean shaven, his skin dark, slashed with eyebrows more accustomed to frowning than smiling. His mouth was firm with a hint of cruelty in it, determination in the jut of his chin and arrogance in his square jaw. It was a face that said its owner cared nothing for fools and in the purple-blue of his compelling eyes—the purple-blue of amethyst—silver flecks stirred dangerously like small warning lights. They were watchful and mocking as though he found the world an entertaining place to be providing it did not interfere with him. His expression was set with determination and she suspected he did not often smile readily.
Victoria forgot her manners and stared back for as long as she was able, suspecting he was a man diverse and complex, hard-edged and fine-tuned, with many shades to his character and much of it hidden. She felt her cheeks grow pink, sure he’d somehow read her mind. He wasn’t handsome in the classical sense, but with his shock of unruly hair as black as pitch, he had the look of a pirate or a highwayman about him, or even the devil himself.
Yes, she thought, feeling her stomach roll over, she sensed a wildness about him that would surely terrify the most experienced of women. He bothered her, bothered her senses. She tried to put that thought aside.
‘I see you’ve got yourself into a spot of trouble. Then thank God you are unharmed,’ the man said. ‘You are unhurt?’
‘Yes—but look at my clothes,’ Victoria said, upset that her mother would have to see her looking like this when she had so wanted to arrive home looking perfect. ‘They are quite ruined.’
The man, Laurence Rockford, looked down at her with interest and a furrowed brow. Her self-possessed response startled him. She wore a knee-length pelisse which matched the dress beneath. The expression on her face was interesting—wary, challenging, confident, all at the same time. It was familiar to him, that face, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember where he might have seen it before.
When she tilted her head back, his stare homed in on her slender neck and white fichu tucked into her neckline. He was struck by a jolt of unexpected lust Victoria little realised. Her dark-brown hair with shades of mahogany, caught in a mass of ringlets, cascaded over her shoulders. It was rich and luxuriant—and in disarray, having come loose from the pins that had tried to keep them tamed, due to her tumble into the ditch. Golden strands lightened by the sun shimmered among the carefree curls. He felt an absurd temptation to get off his horse and caress the bountiful silken mane and the delicate cheekbones blooming with colour. Her features were perfect, her eyes a warm shade of amber against the thick fringe of jet-black lashes. The soft pink lips were tantalising and he could imagine them curved in laughter, but just now they were turned down and her eyes were bright, fuelled with the same fire as his haughty companion’s.
Laurence’s eyes passed briefly over her muddied skirts and upwards, lingering a while longer on the swell of her bosom heaving beneath her pelisse. She glared at him like a slender pillar of indignation. Two rosy flags of resentment sprung to her cheeks, for had she not suffered enough indignity for one day?
‘That is unfortunate, but I am sure the mud can be washed out.’ As if to dismiss her—although he thought it would be impossible for any man to dismiss such a fetching creature as this—he looked at his companion. ‘You must have gone hell for leather and taken a shortcut to get ahead of me, Clara. In my book that’s cheating.’
‘I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t,’ Clara waspishly replied, ‘then I wouldn’t have had the misfortune to encounter this girl.’
Victoria glowered at her in righteous indignation while the gentleman held back, one eyebrow cocked mockingly, as if he found the whole situation an amusing turn of events. But my goodness, if the woman wasn’t taking the offensive by accusing her of being in the wrong! She threw back her shoulders and lifted her head, the action saying quite clearly that she was not going to be put on the defensive. ‘I am no girl,’ she flared. ‘Have you not the decency at least to apologise to me?’
Clara’s cold eyes settled on her. ‘Certainly not. I wouldn’t dream of it. I have nothing to apologise for.’
‘Come now, ladies, the way I see it it was no one’s fault—an accident, surely.’ Laurence looked down at Victoria slightly disapprovingly. ‘You have a temper on you, young lady. It could get you into trouble if you don’t learn to curb it.’
‘And she is very rude,’ Clara quipped.
Rather than inspiring her silence, these words caused a fresh surge of anger to course through Victoria. ‘I wouldn’t call it rudeness, more like retaliation justly deserved. I don’t take kindly to people raising a whip to me.’ She looked directly at the gentleman. ‘Sir, you should have more control over your wife.’
Clara turned to Laurence and raised one elegant and faintly satirical brow. ‘Wife,’ she murmured softly, her expression softening as her eyes caressed her companion’s face. ‘Now there’s a thought.’
In a bored drawl and carefully avoiding his companion’s eyes, the gentleman said, ‘You are mistaken. The lady is not my wife.’ And nor will she ever be, his tone seemed to imply.
And not through want of trying, Victoria thought when she saw the flash of angry frustration that leapt into the woman’s eyes. She sensed the gentleman was distracted and not as caught up in the spirit of discussing marriage as the woman was. Realising her mistake, had the circumstances been different Victoria would have been mortified by her blunder, but as it was she really didn’t care. When the woman’s horse nudged its nose towards her she sprang back.
Amused by her nervousness, Clara laughed, her beautiful brows rising slightly. ‘Don’t worry. She doesn’t bite,’ she said with insulting solicitude.
Victoria seethed inwardly. ‘I have only your word for that. If she is anything like her mistress, I have reason to be wary. Excuse me. I must get on.’
‘Are you sure you’re unhurt?’ the gentleman asked. He trailed a leisurely stare over her and slid her a rakish smile that caused the woman to flash him an angry glare.
Remembering that this was the second time today that a gentleman had asked her that question, Victoria held his gaze. His brilliant blue eyes were fixed on her with immense interest, as if she was worthy of close and careful study, and, at the same time, with great appreciation. Every moment seemed to shrink her further.
‘Yes, perfectly all right,’ she replied, briskly detaching herself from his gaze.’
‘Are you heading for Ashcomb?’
‘Yes—not that it’s any of your affair.’
‘Oh, but it is,’ he said silkily.
‘How is that?’
‘You’re on my land.’
The silence after this quiet statement was deafening.
‘I see,’ she said in a small, tight voice, beginning to realise who he was and feeling trapped, but trying none the less not to show it. ‘You are Lord Rockford!’
If he had been astonished before, he was now thrown a little off kilter. ‘You have heard of me?’
‘Who in these parts has not?’ Afraid that her nerve would fail her, excusing herself with a toss of her head, she walked on.
Clara watched her go before turning on Laurence. Her heart leapt in dismay on seeing the warm glow in his eyes as they followed the girl down the lane. Resentful and hurt and wishing he would look at her that way, she took refuge in anger, a fierce glint lighting her eyes. ‘Why didn’t you do something? I can’t believe that chit broke my whip. I don’t know who she is, but I swear she’ll pay for it. She’s an uncouth, insolent chit and wants putting in her place.’
Without moving his gaze from the figure of the girl striding along the road—her spine ramrod straight, her chin tilted high with indignation and her bonnet bouncing against her back—he said, ‘For what? The whip or the damage to your pride? Don’t be silly, Clara. You were about to strike her. She was only defending herself.’
Clara faced him, her face convulsed with fury as she tried to hide the anguish that rippled through her caused by his obvious interest in the girl. ‘How dare you take that chit’s side against me! She is nothing but an upstart.’
‘Don’t be foolish. Calm yourself. Don’t let your temper get the better of you. You’d already run her into the ditch. I’m surprised you retaliated the way you did. Normally you would not have lowered yourself even to address such a person, let alone acknowledge her existence by attacking her.’
‘On any other occasion I would have snubbed her for her boldness, but I could hardly ignore her when she fell into the ditch.’
‘If you’d brought that whip down on her, you could have found yourself in grave trouble. Come—I’ll ride with you to the Grange.’
Angered and hurt by his nonchalant manner, pulling hard on the bit, Clara brought the horse round and galloped off, dashing away a rogue tear that ran down her cheek.
Clara’s sister Diana was married to Laurence’s younger brother, Nathan, and it was Clara’s burning ambition to marry Laurence Rockford now he’d returned from his travels abroad. But he treated her with little more genuine warmth than he did his servants. Nevertheless, she always eyed him with unveiled longing whenever he called at the Grange to see his brother, for, despite his cynical attitude, there was an unmistakable aura of virility about Laurence Rockford, something that was as dangerously attractive as sin, and just as wicked, that made her heart beat faster—for anyone who looked into those cynical blue eyes of his could tell there wasn’t an innocent or naïve fibre in his superb, muscular body. Whether he was riding a horse or dancing at a ball, he stood out among his fellow men like a magnificent panther surrounded by harmless kittens.
It crossed Laurence’s mind as Clara rode ahead of him that he hadn’t asked the girl her name—one of the village girls, no doubt—and then he shrugged and went on his way.
* * *
As soon as Lord Rockford and his companion were out of sight, Victoria slowed her pace. Her nerves felt raw, her anger all-consuming. Gradually the initial shock and outrage at being spoken down to and almost beaten with a whip began to wear off. She was mortified that she had just behaved in a manner no respectable young lady should in the presence of Lord Rockford of Stonegrave Hall.
The woman, whoever she was, was a savage, stuffed full of pride. But her manner and attitude and Victoria’s own volatile reaction reminded her that despite her time at the Academy and being taught that she must conduct herself with dignity, grace and refinement at all times, it was as if she’d never learnt anything at all.
Nothing had changed. She was still the daughter of a village schoolmaster and people like that woman would never let her forget it. She didn’t expect to see either of them again. People like them dwelled in a world far beyond her reach and would therefore vanish from her life for ever.
* * *
Victoria entered the village and walked across the vast expanse of green covered with moorland grass. Sheep grazed freely and several villagers were going about their business. At the far end of the green was the Drover’s Inn and Mr Price’s blacksmith’s shop. A swinging board with a trademark on it above the property next door distinguished the wheelwright’s shop, and further on was Mr Waller’s baker’s shop and next to that the butcher’s and then the village shop, which sold everything necessary for village life.
Victoria’s gaze went to the building that stood back from the village, up a cobbled lane across from the church. A lump clogged the back of her throat. This was the schoolhouse where her father had taught. Upon his death, Victoria and her mother had moved out of the schoolhouse into a cottage behind the church.
On reaching the cottage she opened the gate and walked up the short path to the door, noticing that the flower garden was overgrown and badly needed tending. She tried the door, only to find it was locked. Going to the window, she peered inside. There was no sign of her mother and there was no fire in the hearth. In fact, she was unable to see the familiar table and fireside chairs. She frowned, standing back. Perhaps Mrs Knowles across the way would know where she could find her mother.
Mrs Knowles was a widow who had always been kindly disposed to her and her mother. She was a busy, house-proud little woman who lived with her son Ned. Ned worked up at the Hall looking after the master’s horses. Her mouth fell open with astonishment when she saw Victoria standing on her doorstep. Delighted to see her, she drew her inside.
‘Why, just look at you. A right bonny lass you’ve turned out to be. Your mother will be right proud of you.’
The cottage was warm and above the smell of baking Victoria could detect the fragrance of beeswax. The wooden floor was covered with pegged rugs and two comfortable chairs were drawn up to the log fire, while a pile of neatly folded laundry and bunch of spring flowers in a copper jug stood on a gate-legged table under the window.
‘I expect you want to know where your mother’s gone,’ Mrs Knowles said, offering her a chair by the fire and a cup of tea, which Victoria declined.
‘Yes, Mrs Knowles. I thought I’d surprise her. I—I know she hasn’t been well of late and I’ve been most anxious about her, which was why I left the Academy. I couldn’t stay any longer knowing she was ill.’
‘Aye, well, you’re right about that. She’s been right poorly ever since you went back to that Academy. I told her to write and tell you to come home to look after her, but she wouldn’t hear of it.’
Victoria was mortified. Her mother had begun coughing a lot over the last twelve months. In fact, she’d had what she referred to as a ticklish cough for a number of years, but she had refused to find out the cause. Last summer it had become more persistent and she had finally succumbed to Victoria’s pleading and allowed the doctor to examine her. He had confirmed that she had consumption. Resigned to the fact that the time she had left was limited, she had insisted that Victoria return to the Academy until the time when she took to her bed.
‘My mother needed me. I should have been here.’
‘When you went away I told you that I would look after her. I did what I could, mind, but she needed more care than I could give her.’
A feeling of sick dread began to take root in Victoria. She stared at Mrs Knowles, seeing the anguished expression in her eyes. This was serious. Her blood seemed to chill in her veins. ‘She is very ill, isn’t she?’
‘Aye, lass, she is.’
‘Then where is she? Where has she gone?’
‘The master came and took her to the Hall.’
Victoria stared at her. ‘The master? Lord Rockford? How extraordinary! But—I don’t understand. Why would he do that?’
‘Lord Rockford heard how poorly she was and thought she would be best taken care of up at the Hall. I suppose it’s something to do with her being his mother’s maid.’
‘But that was years ago—before she married my father.’
‘Be that as it may, Victoria, I reckon that when the master came up from London and heard how ill she was, he felt obliged. Nobody could have been more solicitous in seeing she was conveyed to the Hall in comfort.’
‘And the cottage? When I looked in at the window it seemed empty.’
‘That’s because it’s been made ready for the next tenant.’
The colour slowly drained from Victoria’s face. ‘The next tenant? Are you saying that Lord Rockford has turned us out?’
‘Well—not exactly.’
‘Then where are our things—our furniture?’
‘They’ve been packed up and taken to the Hall.’
‘But he can’t do that. The cottage is our home.’
‘Can you afford to keep it?’ Mrs Knowles said gently.
‘Of course. Father left us well provided for. How else could Mother have been able to afford to send me to the Academy?’
Mrs Knowles clamped her jaw shut and turned away to stir a pot on the hob. How Betty had managed to send her daughter away to be educated was her business, but Mrs Knowles knew, she had always known, that there was more to it than that. ‘Well, you can see about the cottage later—when you’ve spoken to your mother. She’s the one you should be concerned about just now.’
Victoria was silent as she absorbed what Mrs Knowles had told her, unable to believe this was happening. She thought of Lord Rockford. The details of his face remained strongly etched in her mind, along with the conviction that this man would mean something, impinge on her life in some vital way.
‘You are right. I must go to her,’ she said, fighting to control the wrenching anguish that was strangling her breath in her chest. She refused to think about her home just now. Her mother would explain everything. But the thought of having to face Lord Rockford again was abhorrent to her.
‘It’ll soon be dark and it’s a long trek over the moor to the Hall. You don’t want to be going up there at this time. There’s no telling what might happen to a lass all by herself.’
‘I have to, Mrs Knowles. If I leave now and get a move on I’ll be there just after dark.’
‘Nay, lass, I won’t hear of it. Ned’s out the back. I’ll get him to take you in the trap.’
‘Thank you. I’m most grateful, Mrs Knowles. It is heartening to know my mother had you. I can’t thank you enough.’
‘Get along with you. What are friends for if they can’t help each other out in times of need? Now I’ll go and get Ned. The sooner you start out the better.’
* * *
Ned didn’t mind taking her to the Hall. Victoria had known him all her life and he’d never been one to indulge in idle chatter. She was content with this for she was happy to keep to her own thoughts on the journey to the Hall. She had never been inside, nor had she seen the master until today. As a child her playground had been the moors and she had often stood at the closed gates and looked at the house, never imagining that one day she would step inside and certainly not in circumstances such as these.
The old Lord Rockford had been well respected. His youngest son, Nathan, was a fun-loving man who preferred his horses and country pleasures, while the oldest son, Laurence, was reputed to be a surly, arrogant individual.
According to tales, following a broken romance some years ago, Laurence had left England and gone abroad to seek out fresh enterprises. By all accounts he had succeeded on a grand scale. It was said he owned large tracts of land in America and had a fleet of ships, with warehouses in both America and London filled with silks and spices from the east, furs from Canada and industrial machines which he sold to the woollen mills in Lancashire. His company, Rockford Enterprises, was headquartered in London. Immensely wealthy, Laurence Rockford had become one of the most powerful men in the north of England.
When Victoria had been a small child her mother had regaled her with stories of her time at Stonegrave Hall as lady’s maid to Laurence Rockford’s mother, and often told her of the grand events that had been held there during the late master’s time. Victoria had absorbed the stories in wide-eyed wonder, reliving the fantasies in her dreams. She didn’t know what to expect when she got there, or how Lord Rockford would react when he saw her.
The sky was darkening by the time they reached the high moor, and the upper part of the Hall set behind high walls came into view. Dark and sombre and set amid acres of gardens and lawns, it was a large, forbidding structure, a gentleman’s manor house, three storeys high, with Gothic turrets rising up into the sky.
Passing through the tall wrought-iron gates, Ned drove the cart up the long, straight, gravel drive, but there was no sign of life. Victoria’s trepidation increased a thousandfold by the sheer size of the building. It made her feel even smaller and more insignificant than she already did. The door was opened by Mrs Hughs, the housekeeper. Victoria informed her of her identity and Mrs Hughs let her in. Once inside the Hall the warmth struck her immediately, causing her to glance towards the roaring fire set in the deep stone fireplace.
Mrs Hughs gave a sad shake of her head. As soon as the master had heard of Betty’s illness, he had set the whole household agog by going to the extraordinary lengths of having her brought to the Hall.
‘The master has spared neither trouble nor expense to see that your mother is taken care of. He has been goodness itself.’
‘I’m sure he has and I am grateful.’
‘Your mother is very ill, Miss Lewis. Indeed, she cannot rise from her bed,’ she told Victoria in a quiet, sombre voice. ‘I’m very sorry.’
‘Please will you take me to her?’
‘Of course. Come with me.’
Victoria followed her up the wide, oak staircase on to a long gallery. Everything was very stately and imposing to her. She was aware of gilt-framed pictures on the walls, graceful marble statues in niches and the richness of the Persian carpet beneath her feet, but unaccustomed to such grandeur and with her mind set on reaching her mother, she did not give them much further attention.
She was ushered along a corridor that led to the domestic quarters. After several twists and turns they entered her mother’s room. It was small yet comfortable, offering a splendid view of the moors. A vase of flowers and a bowl of fruit stood on a dresser by the window.
Her mother was in bed. Her face was still beautiful. Age had faded the intensity and colours of her beauty, but not the structure. Her grey hair was long and braided and draped over her shoulder, her skin so pale it was almost translucent. Once so tall and fine, she was now all bones and her lips were blue.
Victoria knew that over the years her mother had tried her best, but she had never loved her as deeply as her father had. Her mother had rarely held her, and Victoria could not remember her coming to her room to kiss her goodnight except on the rare occasions in her childhood when she had been ill. Often when she had tried to hug her mother, she had been gently put away from her, with the words: ‘Not now, Victoria, Mother is tired,’ whereas her father had been more affectionate, sitting her on his knee while he read her stories and giving her bear hugs when she hurt herself. Victoria had always assumed that she was too much trouble for her mother, which was probably why she had been happy for her to go away to school.
Without her father to turn to, Victoria had taken the pain and turned it inwards and for a while she had been adrift. But now, seeing how ill her mother was, she decided to cling to those things that were wonderful about her and to ignore the insecurity, instability and anxiety that had beset her all her young life.
On opening her eyes and seeing Victoria, Betty offered a weak smile. ‘Why, Victoria! Is it really you? What a lovely surprise. I was not expecting you for several weeks.’
Victoria had not cried in a long while, not since the death of her beloved father when she had been a girl. Now tears threatened and she struggled to keep them at bay. Approaching the bed, she reached out and took her mother’s hand, bending over to kiss her mother’s brow.
‘I did not know you were so ill, Mother. Truly I didn’t. Why was I not told? I would have come home immediately to take care of you.’
‘I didn’t want to worry you. Your time at the Academy was almost over and I knew you would soon be home. Don’t look so worried, my dear,’ she said, seeing her daughter’s eyes bright with tears. After an awkward moment she reached up and with a slender thumb she wiped away a tear. Her eyes were soft and unafraid. ‘Don’t be concerned.’
‘But of course I’m concerned. I don’t understand why you are here—at the Hall.’
‘Because I was lady’s maid to the old mistress.’ She smiled. ‘Lord Rockford has been very kind to me. When he heard I was ill and alone in my cottage, he had me brought here where I can be looked after properly.’
Full of remorse and resentful that she was to be denied taking care of her mother when, for the first time in her life, she needed her—for was it not a daughter’s duty to look after her mother?—Victoria took her hand, relieved that she did not pull away. As poorly as her mother was, she had decided not to mention the cottage. But she wanted answers and only one man could give them to her. ‘I should have been here to look after you—and I would have been had you not sent me away.’
‘I have told you over and over again that it was for your own good, Victoria,’ she whispered, coughing. She closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath and expelling it slowly before continuing. ‘You know how important your education was to your father. It was what he wanted.’
Victoria gave her a tender smile. ‘While you always wanted me to be a lady.’
‘Which is exactly as you’ve turned out. Why, look at you—a proper young lady. You make me so proud. And you’ve done well at the Academy. Whatever you decide to do, you have a bright future ahead of you, Victoria.’
Victoria remembered the time when she had been taken out of the village school where her father had been the headmaster and sent to the Academy in York to be shaped. Into what? she had asked. A young lady, her mother had replied.
‘You cannot remain here. Will you come home now I am here to take care of you?’
‘Lord Rockford is most adamant that I remain at the Hall. I am well looked after and my every need is taken care of.’
‘But—Lord Rockford! I have heard he is most fearsome.’
‘Do not judge the master too harshly, Victoria. There is good in everyone. Always remember that. And there’s a great deal of good in him. He has shown it with his kindness to me.’
Victoria had almost forgotten her father’s words as he lay dying, telling her mother not to worry, that the master would take care of her. Until today she had never given Lord Rockford a moment’s thought, a man with whom she had never come into contact. She’d been too young and stricken with grief to realise that one day he’d be something more.
‘You must speak to him,’ Betty said. ‘I know he has been looking forward to meeting you. I—would like you to stay here with me, Victoria. Lord Rockford will suggest it.’
‘I see.’ Victoria didn’t see, not really, and she would do everything within her power to take her home. But her mother was becoming visibly weaker and her eyes were closing so she let the matter rest. She sat by her, the person who had remained the one constant throughout her life, and she told herself that if anyone deserved God on their side, it was she.
Chapter Two
It was dark when Laurence arrived home, having ridden with Clara Ellingham to the Grange, where she lived with his brother Nathan and his new wife Diana, Clara’s sister. Six weeks ago they had left for France on their honeymoon. They were expected back at any time.
He crossed the hall and went into his study. After a few moments Jenkins, the butler at Stonegrave Hall, entered. He carried a salver with some correspondence that had been delivered in the master’s absence and a glass of brandy, which the master always insisted on before dinner.
‘Some correspondence and your brandy, sir,’ he murmured diffidently as he placed both beside him on the desk.
Wordlessly, Laurence picked up the glass and took a drink.
All this was executed with the precision of a minuet, for Lord Rockford was an exacting master who demanded his estate and other business affairs ran as smoothly as a well-oiled machine. There was an authoritative, brisk, no-nonsense air about him. His sharp, distinguished good looks and bearing always demanded a second look—and, indeed, with his reputation for being an astute businessman with an inbred iron toughness, he was not a man who could be ignored.
He had always measured his own worth by how hard he worked, how many successful business transactions he could complete from the time the sun came up until it went down. His diligence was his calling card and the foundation of his fine reputation. He had built his sense of worth one step at a time.
The servants were in awe of him, regarding him as a harsh, sometimes frighteningly unapproachable deity whom they strove desperately to please.
Jenkins knew he’d been riding with Miss Ellingham, a young lady who had ambitions to be the mistress of Stonegrave Hall. But the master was having none of it. After being jilted at the altar some years earlier by a young woman in favour of a suitor with a loftier title, Lord Rockford had good reason to be cynical where women were concerned. However, he was still regarded as a tremendous matrimonial prize in high social circles.
‘How is Mrs Lewis?’ Laurence enquired without lifting his head.
‘The same, I believe, sir. Her daughter arrived a short while ago. She is with Mrs Lewis as we speak.’
‘I see.’ Laurence’s voice was without expression. ‘Have her brought to me, will you, as soon as I have eaten.’
* * *
Victoria sat with her mother until Mrs Hughs popped her head round the door half an hour later.
‘The master’s home and asking to see you. He’s down in the hall.’
Somewhat nervous, not wishing to keep Lord Rockford waiting, Victoria went immediately. On reaching the bottom of the stairs she stopped. A man stood in front of the fire. Within the circle of firelight he looked to her to be tall and dark. There was something else she could not put a name to. It wasn’t frightening, yet it was unsettling. His dark head was slightly bent, his expression brooding as he gazed into the fire, his booted foot on the steel fender. He’d taken off his jacket, and beneath the soft lawn shirt his muscles flexed as he raised his hand and shoved it through the side of his hair.
Power, danger and bold vitality emanated from every line of his towering physique. Thinking back to her earlier behaviour when they had met on the moor, mortified, she was contemplating fleeing back to her mother’s room, but he must have sensed her presence because he turned his head and looked directly at her. Her eyes collided with his. They were focused, intently, on her, the expression she could not fathom.
‘Well, well,’ he said, noting that her eyes held a gravity that matched his own. The devil in him stirred and stretched, then settled to contemplate this latest challenge. ‘So you are Victoria Lewis. I should have known, although you were not expected back just now.’
‘I knew my mother was ill, which is why I left the Academy at the end of the Easter term. I was deeply concerned about her. I also hoped to surprise her.’
‘Come and join me. I would like to take a closer look at the young woman I met earlier, who played such havoc with my companion’s temper.’
Victoria complied, albeit hesitantly, and walked towards him, yet there was something in the impatient, yet formal tone which gave her a slight feeling of nervousness. Lord Rockford’s dark face, stern features and gathered eyebrows gave his face a grim look. She could see there was something purposeful and inaccessible about him, and those blue eyes, which penetrated her own, were as cold and hard as newly forged steel. There was no warmth in them, no humour to soften those granite features.
Yet she felt no fear of him, only a little shyness now. A not unpleasant aroma reached her nose, a mixture of sweat, tobacco fumes and leather mixed with a distinctive smell of horseflesh.
When she stood before him he took a step towards her and before she knew what he was about to do, he put a strangely gentle finger under her chin, tilting her face so that he could see it better. He looked at it hard, seeming to scrutinise every detail, probing her eyes with his own, searching—for what? she wondered. He nodded slightly, as if he had found what he was looking for. Victoria pulled away from his hand, almost tripping in her eagerness to get free, suddenly aware of the intimacy of the moment, the nearness of his searching eyes, the touch of his hand on her skin, his strong chin, the lovely deep blue of his eyes and the warmth of his breath on her face. She moved further away from him, her cheeks touched with colour.
‘Do you always subject people to such close scrutiny when you meet them, Lord Rockford?’ she asked directly. ‘I am not used to being looked at like that and find it extremely unsettling. Is there something wrong with my face that makes you examine it so thoroughly?’
A faint smile tugged at his lips. ‘I assure you, Miss Lewis, there is nothing wrong with your face.’
‘That’s all right, then.’
Laurence saw no trace of the girl he had met on the moors earlier. This young woman was the personification of elegance, refinement and grace. Her loveliness was at once wild and delicate. As fine as sculptured porcelain, her face expressed a frank, lively mind and a mercurial nature, full of caprice—the sort of girl who would play her way or not at all. But as he gazed at her he was most keenly aware of her innocence. He felt the touch of her eyes, felt the hunter within him rise in response to that artless glance. Though her wide amber eyes hinted at an untapped wantonness, he could sense the youthful freshness of her spirit, a tangible force that simultaneously made him want to cast her away from him or bare his soul.
He would do neither, but he did nothing to stem the rakish twist of his lips. ‘Don’t disappoint me, Miss Lewis, by acting sensibly now,’ he said, his eyes agleam with a very personal challenge.
Victoria stiffened at his silken taunting, but could hardly take offence after her unacceptable behaviour earlier.
‘Don’t be nervous. You’re not afraid of me, are you? Where is the girl whose pluck to stand up to my companion earlier won my admiration?’
Victoria mentally took a deep breath to barricade herself against the nervous jitters.
Laurence gestured to a chair by the hearth, indicating that she be seated. She did so, her every movement graceful and ladylike, even the way she crossed her ankles and tucked her dainty feet under the chair. Looking down at her, he searched the delicate features, yearning to see some evidence of the fire he had seen in the girl earlier.
‘That’s quite a temper you have, Miss Lewis. Miss Ellingham was still seething when I left her.’
Victoria dropped her gaze, feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment, wishing he’d do her a favour and just forget that excruciating incident, but she seriously doubted he would. When she looked up she found her gaze ensnared by the glittering sheen of his blue eyes.
‘I would appreciate not being reminded of the incident, sir. You must think I’m the most ill-behaved female alive,’ she murmured dejectedly.
‘No, but I think you are undeniably the bravest one.’
Victoria was surprised. ‘You do? Why is that, pray?’
‘Because you aren’t afraid of Miss Ellingham.’
‘That’s because I was too angry to think straight.’ Her confidence began to return on being able to speak freely. ‘Perhaps if I were to meet her in different circumstances, it would be a different matter.’
‘Ah, but you didn’t show fear, you see, and that is not a bad thing, because once Miss Ellingham realises another female is frightened of her, she uses that knowledge against her.’
Victoria’s lips twitched with amusement. ‘Really? You make her sound like an ogre. But you must consider I was returning home to see my mother after a considerable absence. Looking my best, I wanted to surprise her.’ Standing up, she looked down and spread her arms out in a gesture to indicate her soiled skirts and sighed with dismay. ‘As you see, my carefully arranged elegance has turned into the dishevelled disarray of any village girl let loose on the moor for the day. You saw what happened, so I will not go into it again—only to say that your companion lacked the manners of a lady. I will not be browbeaten.’
‘So, it is a matter of pride as well,’ Laurence observed.
‘I suppose it is my greatest sin,’ she confessed.
‘Mine, too,’ he said with a slight smile. ‘It breeds stubbornness. But it also gives us the will to endure adversity. Did you enjoy being at the Academy?’
‘Yes, very much—although until today I would have said they had done a very good job on me, filing down my rough edges. Yet when I encountered your companion, I realised it was all wishful thinking on my part.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. You were provoked by her horse toppling you into the ditch—either that or you bewitched the beast.’
‘I did no such thing and nor was Miss Ellingham’s horse to blame. The reins were in her hands. She was in control and, in my opinion, she was riding in an irresponsible manner. Through her thoughtlessness I could have been badly hurt.’
‘You may be right. Miss Ellingham is somewhat reckless when on horseback. So, I think you were justified in anything you said. I am sorry it happened, but relieved that there was no real damage done.’
‘Thank you. It is most kind of you to say so. I’m sorry it happened, too—but not for what I said to her. Miss Ellingham was arrogant and very impolite.’
Laurence chuckled softly, finding it a refreshing change to find someone who was prepared to stand up to the formidable Clara Ellingham. ‘Forbearance, patience and understanding never were on the list of Miss Ellingham’s strong points.’
‘I am sorry if I appeared rude. I really must learn to control my temper.’
Laurence thought for a moment. So many young ladies were turned out by their mothers and governesses to a pattern—you couldn’t tell one from the other. But Miss Lewis was of a turn of character that he doubted would ever conform to type.
‘So, Miss Lewis, you have left the Academy for good.’
‘As to that I cannot say for certain. I actually finished my education last year, but knowing my heart was set on teaching, Miss Carver, who is the head of the Academy, suggested I stayed on.’
‘Is that what you want to do? Teach—like your father before you?’
‘Yes. He instilled in me the importance of education, that it is only through learning that you will get that which will make you get on in the world. He taught me in my early years and was very proud of my success in class and that I inherited his interest in mathematics.’
‘And you are not concerned that with all this learning you are in danger of being accused of being a bluestocking?’
‘Not at all. I am not ignorant of the meaning and would not be insulted of being named as such. I have enjoyed my time at the Academy, but unlike some of the pupils, who come from wealthy families and will marry gentlemen who will be delighted to marry a clever woman, as an independent woman who will have to make her own way in the world, education is important and necessary to my future.’
‘Your father would have been proud of you.’
‘I would like to think so.’ Victoria wondered what Lord Rockford would say if she were to tell him that her father’s dedication to his profession and to making sure his only child would be able to take care of herself when the time came, was due to his wife’s impassiveness and lack of involvement in both their lives, caused by her clear devotion to his own mother, her previous employer.
‘I have always had the idea of following in my father’s footsteps,’ she went on. ‘Not, of course, to go to university because ladies are not admitted, but staying on at the Academy would fit me out to be a teacher. I have my future to consider and there are few occupations appropriate for young women.’
‘I suppose a position as a governess may offer intelligent young ladies a roof over their heads.’
‘Exactly, and many gracious families prefer to employ a resident governess for the education of their daughters and younger sons than send them away to school.’
‘I suppose it is an occupation which will keep you occupied from morn till night without a moment to be spared for frivolous pastimes with which some ladies fill their days.’
‘I do not spend my days light-mindedly, sir, though I do leave myself time to do as I please.’
‘Indeed? The picture I have of you is that you do not employ yourself with useless activities.’
Victoria bristled. Was he implying that he found her uninteresting and plain? ‘We have only just met, sir. I cannot imagine that you have any picture of me in your mind. In fact, I fail to see how you have had the time to form any picture at all.’
‘I recognise an intelligent female when I see one, Miss Lewis, and I can only extend my sincerest admiration when I do.’
‘You do?’ Victoria wasn’t convinced.
‘Indeed. My mother involved herself in improving the education of young ladies—and other charitable works. She was quite the saint, in fact.’
‘I am no saint, sir. Far from it.’ The mere thought of it brought a smile to her lips.
The unexpectedness of it sent a jolt through Laurence that stole his breath and robbed him momentarily of his common sense. He, Laurence Rockford, who had stared down thieves and cut-throats on the meanest streets from Europe to America, who snapped his fingers at death, found himself mesmerised and weakened in the presence of this pretty girl. How utterly absurd!
‘And you are confident that you are competent in your subjects and able to impart your knowledge to others, are you, Miss Lewis?’
‘I hope to achieve a certificate of qualification in further education very soon. Miss Carver has encouraged my ideas—and my mother supports my ambition.’
Drawing a deep breath, Laurence regarded her with a steady gaze. At last they had got down to the reason why she was here at Stonegrave Hall. ‘You have seen your mother?’
‘Yes. She is very ill. I am grateful to you for bringing her here. I would very much like to take her home where I can take care of her myself, but I have been told the cottage has been taken from us. Is there some mistake in this?’
‘No mistake. I would say your information is entirely accurate.’
‘Forgive me if I appear confused and more than a little concerned, but I really do not understand what is happening. I return home to find I no longer have a home and my mother has been brought to live at the Hall. You must see that it is all most unusual and unsettling for me.’
The answer came, swift, decisive, and in distinctly harsher tones. ‘It must seem that way and I realise how alarmed and upset you must have been at the time.’ He gave her a narrow look. ‘Do you have an aversion to staying here?’
She searched his eyes, then looked away. The anger she had felt when Mrs Knowles had told her that the cottage was being made ready for a new tenant was beginning to reassert itself. ‘No—it’s just...’
Laurence caught the flame that ignited in her eyes before she turned away. His own narrowed. ‘Careful, Miss Lewis. Your temper is about to resurrect itself.’
‘Maybe that’s because I have a streak to my nature that fiercely rebels against being ordered what to do.’
‘I have a formidable temper myself,’ he told her with icy calm.
Spinning her head round to look at him once more, she swallowed hard as his cold blue eyes bored into hers. It had not taken her long to throw good judgement aside and flare up at him. She must learn to control her feelings better, but with her emotions roiling all over the place it was proving difficult.
‘When anything happens to my mother, do you mind telling me what I am expected to do—where I will live now my home has been taken from me? Surely you must understand my concern.’
‘Of course, and I am sure your mother has taken everything into consideration.’
‘She has? Will you please explain it to me?’
‘I am sure your mother will do that if you ask her. I have not been made privy to her plans—and if I had it would not be my place to discuss them with you without her permission.’
‘No—of course not. I’m sorry. I should have known better than to ask.’ Victoria loathed herself for apologising and for being a coward. Another woman might rant and rave at him for taking it upon himself to do what he had done—or go beyond good thinking and slap his arrogant face. But she couldn’t feature herself doing such a thing.
‘Much as I admire your spirit, you should take special care to bite your tongue sooner,’ Laurence chided. ‘You will grow tired of pleading for my pardon if you do not.’
She glared at him with accusation. ‘It is difficult to be silent when I find my home has been taken from me. Not only have you taken that, but my liberty as well. You have left me with nothing.’
‘I disagree. Are you not comfortable here?’
‘How would I know that? I have only just arrived.’
‘The staff will see that you want for nothing.’
After a second’s pause, during which the defensive tension in her shoulders eased slightly, she said, ‘I know and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful—but I would prefer to nurse my mother myself in our own home.’
‘I can understand that, but you weren’t here to be consulted. The decision to let the cottage go was your mother’s, no one else’s. Betty’s condition has become progressively worse since she came here,’ he said, with the familiarity of long acquaintance. ‘She is far too ill to be moved. Even if you still had the cottage, the doctor would advise you against taking her back there.’
‘But—when she is better...’ Her words faded when she caught his look and a lump appeared in her throat. ‘She’s not going to get better, is she?’ she said quietly.
He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, Miss Lewis. I’m sorry.’
She nodded. ‘Yes—I am, too.’
‘It is her wish—and mine—that you stay at the Hall so that you can be close to her.’
‘Thank you. That is very kind of you.’
Laurence gazed at her with a cautious half-smile. Either she had not heard, isolated at that Academy of hers in York, that he was the Devil incarnate, or she was too starved of male company to care. As someone who had little use for the human race, he found himself strangely moved by her shy smile.
‘Nonsense,’ he said on a gentler note. ‘Your mother was kind to me when I was a boy. I grew very fond of her. I owe her a debt. So, would you consider my offer and remain here? I believe a room has already been made ready for you close to your mother’s.’
Victoria felt as if he had just backed her into a corner from whence she could find no escape. Why did she have this feeling of unease, that there was something not quite right about all of this? It was most unusual for an employer to show such concern for someone who had worked for his family so long ago.
‘Yes, I would like to stay here. But—my bags. Mr Smith, the carrier, is to deliver them to the cottage in the morning.’
‘I’ll instruct Jenkins to have them brought here.’ His eyes passed over her soiled skirts. ‘Meanwhile I am sure Mrs Hughs will provide you with anything you might need.’
Laurence noted that she seemed to be holding her arm. He frowned. ‘Is there something wrong with your arm? Did you hurt it when you fell?’
‘Oh, no—it was before that—when I arrived in Malton. A rather irate gentleman opened a coach door, knocking me back into the side of it. I’m afraid my arm took the brunt.’
‘Does it give you much pain?’
Absurdly flattered by his courtesy and concern and his understanding of her situation, and relieved because he didn’t seem to hold an aversion to her for invading his house, Victoria shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. Truly.’
‘All in all you’ve had a rotten day, haven’t you, Miss Lewis?’ he said softly. ‘Doctor Firth is coming to check on your mother in the morning. I’ll get him to take a look at it.’
‘Oh, no, there’s no need, really. There are no broken bones, just bruises.’
‘Nevertheless it’s best to be sure.’
Sensing that the interview was over, Victoria moved towards the stairs where she paused and glanced back. He was watching her. He was very attractive, she decided, but it wasn’t just his good looks that drew her eyes to his profile, it was something else, something elusive that she couldn’t pinpoint. Unable to stop herself, she smiled. ‘Thank you. Goodnight.’
Two things hit Laurence at once. Light-hearted banter with young ladies just out of the schoolroom was completely alien to him and Victoria Lewis had a breathtaking smile. It glowed in her eyes and lit up her entire face, transforming what was already pretty into something captivating. But she was so clearly a mass of pent-up emotion. There was a tension about her, a sense of agitation. He watched her walk to the stairs and was strangely disturbed by the way she moved—like a racehorse, he thought. He had a sudden desire to see her legs. She somehow seemed to glide on them—they propelled her forwards in one smooth, easy movement, rather than in a series of steps.
He couldn’t remember ever seeing a woman’s face transform the way hers had when she talked about her mother. He’d seen ambitious women light up at the possibility of getting a piece of jewellery from him and give convincing performances of passionate tenderness and caring, but until tonight he’d never, ever, witnessed the real thing.
Now, at thirty years old, when he was hardened beyond recall, he’d looked at Miss Lewis and succumbed to the temptation to wonder.
‘Goodnight, Miss Lewis. Sleep well.’
And so Victoria sought out her room. Not until she was in bed did she allow her mind to wander and go over the events of the day. It would seem that Stonegrave Hall was to be her home until her mother... She bit her lip to stop it trembling and pushed the thought away. She couldn’t bear to think of that or what would happen to her afterwards. It was too painful and made her feel helpless.
But it was not only her situation that had rendered her helpless, but this man, the master of Stonegrave Hall, the dark and devastating Laurence Rockford. She admitted to a certain thrill on first meeting him. There was an aloof strength, a powerful charisma about him that had nothing to do with his tall, broad-shouldered frame. There was something else—a feeling Victoria got when she looked at him. This man had done all there was to do and see and all those experiences were permanently locked away—beyond any woman’s reach.
That was his appeal. Like every other woman he came into contact with, Victoria wondered what it would take to get past that barricade and find the man beneath.
* * *
Sunlight streamed in through the open curtains of Victoria’s room. Somewhere below, a horse’s hooves clattered across the cobbled yard, disturbing Victoria’s slumber. Dimly aware that she was not in her bed at the Academy, she opened her eyes, remembering her mother.
Washed and dressed, she immediately went to check on her. She was asleep, her face almost as white as the pillows on which her head rested. Not wishing to wake her, leaving the nurse Lord Rockford had employed to take care of her sewing by the fire, she found her way to the kitchen to partake of some breakfast. The house was large and comfortable. Taking a peek into some of the rooms she passed, she noted that there were many lovely pieces of furniture: gilded chairs upholstered in rich damask, with elegant sofas and walls to match, carpets into which one’s feet sank and marble fireplaces with shining steel fenders.
* * *
After eating her breakfast in the kitchen, she left the house by a back door, taking a short stroll around the gardens. The air was pure, the sun shining from a clear blue sky. Here everything was fresh and clean. The lawns were extensive and two gardeners were busy in the borders. A red squirrel ran across the grass and dashed up the rough trunk of an oak, cheekily flashing its bushy tail before disappearing.
There were coach houses and stables at the back of the house; the mixture of the grey and pale-honey colour of the stone from which they and the house were built mellowed into a timeless graciousness.
She did not see the man who propped his shoulder against the window of his study, a closed and brooding expression on his face as he watched her. As if sensing his presence, she turned and looked in his direction. He turned away.
* * *
Victoria was enjoying the calm and the pleasant fresh air, yet listening with delight to a trilling blackbird, when a carriage came speeding up the drive and came to a bone-jarring halt in front of the house. A groom ran forwards and the young gentlemen tossed the reins to him and jumped down, striding purposefully up the front steps to the house.
‘Good day, Mr Rockford,’ Jenkins intoned as he opened the door and stepped aside.
‘Is my brother at home?’ Nathan Rockford asked, handing him his hat and gloves, clearly agitated about something.
‘Yes, sir. You’ll find him in his study.’
Nathan stalked past him and down the hall, his quick strides eloquent of his turbulent wrath as he flung open the study door and confronted the older brother he had last seen in London two months earlier. Laurence was engrossed in his ledgers at his desk. He glanced up and, seeing his brother, shoved back his chair and stood up to greet him, taller than Nathan by a head.
‘Nathan! Good to see you back. How was Paris—and how is Diana?’
‘Well—she is well. But I haven’t come here to talk about Diana or Paris. Laurence, I cannot believe what you have done! When I got your letter I don’t think you need me to tell you that I was outraged. How could you bring that—that woman into this house! It is not to be borne! I take it she is still here?’
‘If you mean Betty, then, yes, she is.’
‘Then she must leave. At once.’
He gave Laurence that beguiling look that ever since their childhood could get nearly anything he wanted out of him, but this time Laurence was unmoved. ‘No,’ he stated implacably, undaunted by his brother’s soaring fury. ‘Betty stays, Nathan.’
Victoria was passing through the hall to the stairs. Hearing raised voices coming from behind the closed door, she paused, intending to walk on, but on hearing her mother’s name mentioned she became rooted to the spot. She felt a coldness seep into every pore at the words that came next. She was stung by them, as sharply as if by a hornets’ nest.
A pulse drummed in Nathan’s temple as he fought to control his wrath. ‘Have a care, Laurence. By raking over old coals you are in danger of exposing our sordid and most intimate family linen to the scrutiny of all.’
‘That won’t happen.’
‘And you can be sure of that, can you? I am telling you that bringing that woman here will portend no good. To allow her to remain at Stonegrave Hall is detrimental to our own well-being. If we are to avoid a public and very unsavoury scandal, she must leave. For goodness’ sake, Laurence, she shouldn’t be here and I strongly resent what you have done. Did you not think to consult me? Did my opinions on a matter as important as this not count?’
‘Of course they did, but you weren’t here.’
‘And if I had been I doubt very much you would have sought my feelings on the matter. I have always respected your judgement in the past, but not this time. What in God’s name made you do it?’
‘You know why. I promised our mother that Betty would be taken care of should the need arise—and it did.’
‘Mother’s dead and this woman hasn’t been inside this house for over twenty years. And if taking her in isn’t bad enough, I believe you have extended your hospitality to her daughter. It beggars belief, Laurence, it really does,’ he thundered, combing his fingers through his hair and pacing the carpet in frustration.
‘None of this is Miss Lewis’s fault. You must understand that.’
‘Really! Then she must be made to understand that I don’t want her here and you know damned well why.’
‘I do,’ Laurence retorted fiercely, ‘and I’m going to find it very difficult keeping it from her whilst she lives in this house. I wish you would just tell her, Nathan, or at the very least allow me to do so.’
Nathan paled and gave his brother a desperate, beseeching look, sudden fear clouding his eyes. ‘No, Laurence, I implore you not to,’ he said, his voice low and hoarse with tension. ‘Diana and I have just returned from our honeymoon. To have this thrust on me now is intolerable. I could not bear it—the explanations... For my sake, I beg you to keep this to ourselves.’
Laurence was silent. Seeing the tortured look in his brother’s eyes he nodded. ‘Yes—yes, I will.’
‘Thank you. It means a lot to me. I am sure Miss Lewis is capable of taking care of her mother in her own home, where she doesn’t have to hang about the Hall like a beggar or some charity case.’
‘No,’ Laurence said sharply. He might have agreed to keep the secret within the family to protect Nathan, but he would not turn Betty and her daughter out of the house. ‘Betty is too ill to be moved. Whatever your feelings on the matter, mother and daughter are staying, Nathan, so you’ll just have to get used to the idea.’
Nathan reacted to his brother’s statement with withering contempt. ‘I don’t want to get used to it! A girl who is on a par with the kitchen maids?’
‘Stop it, Nathan. She’ll never be on a par in any way with the maids in the kitchen and you damned well know it—no matter how hard you try to ignore the fact by pretending she doesn’t exist. She is the daughter of a schoolmaster—an academic, whose own father was a high-ranking military man. Betty is from good stock—the Nesbitts of Cumbria. The family fell on hard times and her parents died, which was the reason why Betty became a lady’s maid, but they were of the class.’
‘Good Lord, Laurence! We have gone into their heredity, haven’t we?’ Nathan retorted, his voice heavily laden with sarcasm. ‘I was already aware of it.’
‘I want you to know that my actions in bringing Betty to this house did not stem from a flash in the pan. I thought deeply on it.’
‘And did you not consider the effect it would have on her daughter?’
‘I did, but Betty has consumption and needed taking care of. She was my primary concern. I expect you to accept it.’
‘You don’t know what you are asking of me. I will never accept it! I may not live in this house any longer, but this is still the family home and I want her and her daughter out of it.’
‘Nathan, I know you are not as heartless and unfeeling as you sound right now. At least try to imagine how Miss Lewis must be feeling—in a strange house, her mother at death’s door.’ When his brother remained silent and unmoved, Laurence ran out of patience. ‘Damn it, Nathan! Have you forgotten how you felt when our father died? How you went to pieces? Think how she will feel when her mother dies. You are not unacquainted with death and loss—or have you forgotten the pain?’
They were facing each other now over a distance and the older brother’s countenance had darkened. His lips were drawn tight and his unblinking eyes were implacable. Looking at his brother, he could see in his eyes that which must not be spoken between them, not named, not defined, for fear it would become an active, swift, deadly danger, rather than something still contained, locked away, for as long as possible.
Struggling with his emotions, Nathan stared at him hard, then abruptly turned and strode to the door where he paused and looked back at his brother. ‘I will not set foot in this house until Mrs Lewis and the girl have left.’
‘If you wish to take it like that, Nathan, then it is up to you. You’ll always be welcome here, you know that.’
Too angry to reply, Nathan went out, leaving his older brother glowering after him. Closing the door behind him, he almost bumped into the very person who was at the heart of his fury and frustration. For a moment he was taken by surprise and shock and bewilderment—or was it fear that clouded his eyes?—but he quickly recovered.
‘I don’t believe it! Aren’t you the girl my wife and I met in Malton yesterday?’
‘Yes,’ she replied tightly, his words still hammering painfully in her brain. ‘The same.’ Having heard quite enough, with humiliation washing over her in sickening waves, Victoria had been about to flee to her room, but now she stood her ground and looked him directly in the eyes. Unlike his brother, he was only a little taller than she was and perhaps five years older. He did not resemble his brother, his hair being fair and his features more refined. He also lacked the aura of power and authority that seemed to surround Laurence.
‘I take it you are Miss Lewis?’ His angular face was etched with slowly deepening shock.
‘I am.’
‘And by the look on your face you must have overheard what my brother and I were discussing.’
‘Yes—at least, most of it.’
‘In which case I won’t have to repeat myself, so before you go any further you should know where you stand,’ he told her coldly. ‘When anything happens to your mother you will leave here. Is that understood?’
‘Don’t be absurd! After what I have just heard, why would I want to remain here a minute longer than is necessary? I make my own way in life,’ she said, her tone sharpening as she showed him her determination. ‘I won’t starve.’
‘You have cheek, I’ll give you that.’
‘I give as good as I get, that is all.’
‘Your impudence is most unappealing!’
‘Oh, don’t worry. Your comments don’t bother me. But next time have the decency to say them to my face.’
‘My brother may be acting a little soft in the head where your mother is concerned, Miss Lewis,’ he said coldly, ‘but as far as I am concerned you would be wise not to outstay your welcome. It is a warning.’
Victoria arched her brows. ‘Welcome? It is hardly that. And as far as issuing a warning—why, it sounds like a threat to me. However, it is what I intend,’ Victoria told him, equally as cold.
‘Good. Then we are in agreement.’
‘Absolutely. And for your information,’ she said, her voice low and shaking with anger, ‘I am not a beggar nor am I a charity case. My mother did not ask to come here and I most certainly did not. I do not know why Lord Rockford insisted on bringing my mother to the Hall. One thing is certain. Had I not been away it would not have happened.’
‘As long as that is clear.’ Grim faced, the look of hatred in his eyes was as potent as a spoken curse. Without another word Nathan Rockford strode across the hall and out the door—but not before Victoria had seen the tortured, fractured look in his eyes.
She stared after him. It was not his reaction to her presence at the Hall that unsettled her. It was his reaction to her, as a person. It was as if she meant something to him. She had surprised him—she had more than surprised him—seeing her had frightened him. There was something there. Something very strange—and she had to find out what it was. It was too important to ignore.
‘I’m sorry you had to hear that,’ Laurence said, watching her closely, having followed his brother out of the room.
‘I’m not,’ she retorted, beside herself with fury. ‘And before you say another word I was not eavesdropping. Your brother was assassinating my mother’s character and my own in a voice that could be heard in Ashcomb. How dare he? He insulted my mother and I will not allow anyone to do that. She is the kindest, gentlest of women ever to draw breath, but that is something a man as conceited as your brother would never understand. It is your fault that this has happened. I hate being here and I do not stay where I am unwelcome.’
Turning on her heel, her arms rigid by her sides, her hands clasped into tight fists, she marched to the stairs and up to her room, where she began shoving things into her bags, which had been delivered to the Hall earlier. The thought of staying in this house a moment longer was anathema to her. Suddenly the door was pushed open.
Victoria glanced up. Lord Rockford’s eyes touched hers—coolly arrogant, he raised his brows. Looking away, she carried on packing. ‘Someone should have taught you that before entering a room you should knock.’
‘Why, when the door was partly open?’ Laurence said with dry mockery.
‘Well-bred young ladies do not entertain gentlemen who are not their husbands in their bedchamber, but since I do not come into that category I don’t suppose I count,’ she retorted drily.
Laurence was aware of his own transgression in being there. He chose to ignore the issue in favour of speaking to her. He glanced at the bag and gave her an arched look. ‘Going somewhere?’
‘To Ashcomb,’ she replied, stuffing her hairbrush into the bag.
Chapter Three
Laurence crossed to the window and perched his hip on the ledge, crossing his arms with a casualness that aggravated Victoria’s temper still further. ‘Why?’
‘I will not stay where I am made to feel uncomfortable. I will stay with Mrs Knowles. I do not want to be here.’
‘And your mother? Are you about to abandon her? Because she is certainly not well enough to be moved.’
Victoria stopped what she was doing and glowered at him. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. Furiously she blinked them away. If she broke down and cried, he would have the mastery over her. She would not grant him that.
‘Don’t you dare try to make me feel guilty. I would never abandon my mother. Can’t you see that by bringing her here you have placed me in an impossible position? If you were so concerned about her, you should have sent for me. Until then Mrs Knowles would have taken care of her. As it is, your interfering has made the situation worse.’
Laurence’s black brows snapped together and his eyes narrowed, but his voice was carefully controlled when he spoke. ‘Interfering? You are mistaken, and before you accuse me of abducting your mother, perhaps you should take a look at yourself. You seem to forget that your education at the Academy finished last summer. Your mother has been ill for some time. Had you not returned to further your education you would have been at home to take care of her yourself instead of leaving it to others. As it was, her condition deteriorated rapidly. I had her brought to the Hall where I took full control of her care.’
His words were insulting and their meaning cut Victoria like a knife. ‘Control?’ she repeated acidly. She should have withered beneath his icy glare, but she was too enraged to be intimidated by him. ‘My mother does not come under the category of property, Lord Rockford.’
‘Now you insult me, Miss Lewis.’ His words were like a whiplash, his eyes glacial. ‘I have taken your mother in and I do not need to justify my actions for doing so, not even to you—even though you are her daughter. What matters is that she is in this house under the care of my staff and I—and you, now that you have finally turned up.’
Victoria glared at him, two bright spots of colour burning on her cheeks. She refused to look away, but there was little she could say in her defence. To a certain extent he was right. Last autumn there had been signs that her mother’s consumption was getting worse and she should not have left her. But her mother had encouraged her in her ambition to become a teacher, insisting she return to further her education, which she hoped would increase her prospects of eventually making a good marriage.
‘Have you nothing to say for yourself?’
‘What’s the point? You seem to have said it all.’
‘You are still going to Ashcomb?’
‘Yes, not that it is any of your business. You are rude, dictatorial and I cannot abide your superior male attitude. I shall not stay here a minute longer than I have to.’
Laurence arched his brows, faint amusement and a stirring of respect in the depths of his eyes. ‘That bad?’
‘Worse. You are also insufferably arrogant.’
He looked at her with condescending amusement. ‘And you, Miss Lewis, with a tongue on you that would put a viper to shame, can hardly be called a paragon of perfection.’
Victoria raised her head and gave him a haughty look. ‘Then that makes two of us, Lord Rockford.’
‘I realise that you have been inconvenienced by all this, Miss Lewis, but taking everything into account, you must see that I have been more inconvenienced than you.’
‘In which case I shall do us both a favour and remove myself from your house. I shall come here every day and sit with my mother—if that is agreeable to you—but I will not sleep under this roof another night. Not only is being under it abhorrent to me, I have no wish to be the cause of contention between you and your brother.’
‘You’re not.’
‘You could have fooled me.’
Laurence’s dark brows rose in sardonic amusement. ‘And what will you tell the villagers of Ashcomb? That the master of Stonegrave Hall has turned you out?’
‘No. I am not one to tittle-tattle.’ She stopped what she was doing and looked at him squarely. ‘Your brother is clearly deeply upset about my mother being here. In fact, I would go so far as to say he is positively hostile towards her. Why is that?’
‘It’s of no consequence.’
‘Not to you, maybe, but it is to me. What’s the matter? Do you think it would tax my poor female brain too much to be told the truth? What aren’t you telling me?’
Laurence’s eyes gave nothing away. Guilt and fear made him turn away from her questing look. Cursing silently, he realised that no matter what he told her now, she was going to feel duped if—when—the truth came out. Between that and the fact that he’d kept it from her because of his promise to Nathan not to reveal the true facts that had led to Betty leaving Stonegrave Hall, she was going to hate him thoroughly when this was over.
But not as much as he hated himself.
‘Nathan cannot understand why a woman who once worked for my mother has been brought here to be taken care of in her final days. The explanation is simple. My mother was extremely fond of Betty and left clear instructions that she should be taken care of should she find herself in the situation she is now in.’
‘I don’t believe you. It is more than that. I know it. Your brother’s bitterness—and I would even go so far as to say hatred of my mother—was evident. I heard him tell you that he will not set foot in this house until she has left—which gives me reason to believe it is a serious matter indeed. He said something about exposing your sordid and most intimate family linen to scrutiny and that to avoid a public scandal my mother must leave this house. Which leads me to ask how a woman who is knocking on death’s door can possibly pose such a dire threat to your family.’
‘My brother was angry. He exaggerates.’
‘I don’t think so. I know there is something you are not telling me and I swear to you, Lord Rockford, that I will find out. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like you to leave so I can finish packing my bag.’
‘Forget it,’ he said coldly. ‘You are going nowhere.’
‘I do not remember asking your permission,’ Victoria retorted defiantly.
Laurence stared hard at her. He was unaccustomed to being challenged by grown men, yet here was this slip of a girl doing exactly that. At any other time he would have laughed outright at her courage, but his annoyance and irritation caused by his encounter with his brother was still too raw.
Suppressing the unprecedented urge to gentle his words, he said curtly, ‘It wouldn’t make any difference. I refuse to give it.’
‘Then please leave me alone. I wish I’d never come here and met you. I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t ask for it. It has been thrust on me against my will.’ She breathed as if she couldn’t inhale enough air. ‘Don’t you understand that I don’t like you?’
Laurence looked at the proud young beauty who was glaring at him like an enraged angel of retribution and realised that she was on the brink of tears. He felt a twinge of conscience, which he quickly thrust away. ‘I know you don’t,’ he said coldly. ‘And you will dislike me a good deal more before I am through.’ He turned from her. In the doorway, he stopped and looked back at her, his angry gaze pinning her to the spot. ‘I mean it. You are to remain here. If your mother’s condition should take a turn for the worse during the night, you’ll put me to the trouble of sending for you. And you might be too late. Have you not thought of that?’
On that harsh note he went out, leaving Victoria feeling wretched and thoroughly deflated. Of course he was right. The hard facts were that her mother was too ill to be moved and, if she, Victoria, were to leave the Hall, there was every chance that her mother would take a turn for the worse and she would not be with her at the end.
Sinking down on to the bed, she knew she could not leave and cursed Lord Rockford with all her might for being right. She stared blindly at the closed door for a long time, her heart palpitating with frustration. A whole array of confusing emotions washed over her: anger, humiliation and a piercing, agonising loneliness she had not felt before.
Somehow, all in one day, life had become so much more serious. After just twenty-four hours of not knowing what was happening to her, of what was expected of her, she seemed to have no choice but to live and wait passively in a stranger’s house for this time to be over.
* * *
Over the following days Victoria didn’t come into contact with Lord Rockford. She suspected he was not a man who let down his guard or allowed anyone behind the professionally polite screen he projected to keep everyone at a distance. Everyone around him treated him with cautiousness—like a beautiful, healthy predator, something to be admired and feared, equally.
She realised her presence at Stonegrave Hall was the subject of a good deal of gossip and speculation in the servants’ hall—and she seemed to trip over a servant round every corner, there were so many. No one seemed to know how to treat her. She was neither a guest nor family, but the daughter of an old employee. But she had been educated at some posh school in York, so that made her different. However, when they realised she would be taking her meals in the kitchen or her room, and that Mrs Hughs and Jenkins were kindly disposed towards her, they accepted her presence in the house and got on with their work.
* * *
Craving some fresh air, Victoria escaped the confines of her mother’s sickroom for a little while. The scent of flowers assaulted her and she drew a deep breath. She paused in a secluded area of the garden. Taking an orange out of her pocket, she sat on a stone bench and began to remove the peel, putting it into her pocket to be disposed of later. She began dividing it into segments.
The sight of her stopped Laurence in mid-stride as he came round a bird topiary and his eyes warmed with fascination as he gazed at her. Seated on the bench, Miss Victoria Lewis presented a very fetching picture. Her head was bent slightly as she concentrated on the task before her, providing him with a delightful view of her patrician profile with its elegant cheekbones and delicate little nose. Sunlight glinted on her rich brown hair, picking out the golden lights, turning it into a shimmering rich waterfall that tumbled over her shoulders. Long curly eyelashes cast shadows on her smooth cheeks as she caught her lower lip between her teeth, dividing her orange.
Victoria was about to bite into one of the juicy segments when she saw Lord Rockford strolling towards her. It was the first time she had seen him since his brother’s visit and, recalling the angry words they had exchanged, she wondered how he would treat her. She watched him come closer, suddenly on her guard. Stealing a glance at his chiselled profile, she marvelled at the strength and pride carved into every feature on that starkly handsome face.
Standing before her, he looked down into her upturned face. Her body was tense and the translucent skin beneath her eyes was smudged with dark shadows. ‘How is your mother?’ he asked quietly.
Victoria was surprised by his unexpected gentleness and relieved to hear civility in his tone. ‘Very ill,’ she replied, relieved that his anger from their last encounter seemed to have dissipated. ‘She doesn’t cough as much and she sleeps a great deal. I—I don’t think it will be long.’
He nodded, his expression sombre. She was upset, he could see that, and he was determined to treat her with the extra care and gentleness her situation called for. What she needed right now was all the solid strength that he could give her, not the shocking revelation of what would inevitably come later.
‘I’m saddened to hear it. I am not completely heartless, Miss Lewis. I am not totally insensitive to your situation.’
‘I do know that.’
His gaze swept over the garden. ‘I was working in my study when I saw you come out into the garden. It’s a shame to think of anything being conducted within doors on such a day as this.’
‘So you thought you would come out into the garden.’
‘Something like that. I wanted to apologise to you for the other day. You were upset—’
‘Upset and angry—and still awaiting answers to my questions,’ she interrupted, wanting to appear haughty and coldly remote—anything but miserable, for that was tantamount to weak and helpless.
Laurence glanced away to avoid the puzzlement and scrutiny in those wide eyes, finding it increasingly difficult to maintain the subterfuge and silence Nathan had imposed on him. ‘After overhearing my brother’s words you had every right to be angry. But I have done nothing to justify your anger. I merely wanted to make sure your mother was cared for.’ He looked at her levelly. ‘For this, do you honestly think I deserve your bitterness and animosity?’
Victoria’s shoulders drooped. She swallowed and looked away. She felt confused and miserable, no longer entirely right, yet not completely wrong, either. ‘I—I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what you deserve.’
To her surprise, the blue eyes watching her showed no sign that he had taken offence. Instead, Lord Rockford’s long lips curved. ‘Whatever it is, save it for my brother.’
‘He was very angry. However, I do apologise for accusing you of interfering when you brought my mother here. I may not show it, but I am indeed grateful—and I assure you, Lord Rockford, that it is not my intention to disrupt your household.’
Those candid eyes lifted to his—searching, delving, expressing her gratitude—only made Laurence feel more than ever like a disgusting fraud. He paused, then, his smile deepening, he said, ‘Thank you. I respect your frankness. I hope the servants are looking after you.’
Victoria, her gaze locked in the blue of his, felt a tingling sensation run over her skin. She blinked, then frowned. ‘How thoughtful of you to ask. Yes—thank you,’ she replied. ‘Everyone is being very kind.’
‘And you like the house?’
‘Very much—but then, who would not?’ she said, warm in her admiration. She lowered her eyes. An odd sensation, a ripple of awareness slid over her nerves, leaving them sensitised. It was most peculiar. She would have put it down to the touch of the breeze, but it wasn’t that cold.
Beside her, Laurence raised his brows, his predator’s smile in evidence. Her dress was hardly fashionable, but it hugged her contours, emphasising their softness, leaving him with an urgent longing to fill his arms with their warmth.
‘Are—are you and your brother close?’ she dared to ask. Looking up, he trapped her gaze.
‘As close as brothers can be. Until he married Diana Ellingham and bought the Grange halfway between here and Cranbeck, he ran the estate in my absence.’
Victoria hesitated, searching his eyes. ‘And now you’re back you can do that yourself.’
‘For now. My business is in London, which is where I’m often to be found. Either there or on board my ship bound for foreign parts.’
‘It sounds exciting. What is the name of your ship?’
‘I own a fleet, Miss Lewis, but I’m rather fond of The Saracen. It was my first vessel, you see. I’m very proud of it.’
‘Aren’t ships usually named after women?’
‘Not in my fleet.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because they are more trustworthy.’
She tilted her head to one side. ‘And ladies are not.’
His reply was a world-weary crooked smile and a shake of his head.
She smiled. ‘I see you’re a cynic, Lord Rockford.’
‘Absolutely, and I’m not about to change. Have you been to London?’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/helen-dickson/the-master-of-stonegrave-hall/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.