Deadly Inheritance E-Book

Janet Laurence

• Herausgeber: The Mystery Press
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2012

Beschreibung

Accompanying American heiress Belle Seldon on a visit to her ancestral family home in Somerset, Ursula Grandison soon discovers that the decaying stately Mountstanton House and its inhabitants has many secrets, including a crumbling marriage and a missing dowry. When Ursula discovers the drowned body of the nurserymaid, she is determined to reveal the killer and, in doing so, reveals a tangled web of deception and adultery that threatens the reputation of the house of Mountstanton.

Leseprobe

To Susan with thanks for all your support, encouragement and help over the years and for your wonderful friendship.

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to the Writers’ Group: Shelley, Gay, Georgie, Helena, and Maggie, who we miss so much. Without their always-constructive criticism, advice, friendship and support, this book would never have seen publication. Thanks also to Sir Anthony Dewey, Bt, for instruction in the use of shotguns; Dr Michael Dingle for medical advice; Dr Dorothy Gennard, Visiting Senior Research Fellow, School of Life Sciences, University of Lincoln, for forensic advice regarding the immersion of bodies; and Michael Thomas for reading and advising on the ms. Lastly, many thanks to my agent, Jane Conway-Gordon, whose expertise found a publisher for Deadly Inheritance, and to my editor, Matilda Richards, for her excellent eye for detail. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, can only be coincidence and all mistakes or inaccuracies are mine.

Contents

Title

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

About the Author

Copyright

Chapter One

April 1903

The boat train from Liverpool was crowded with passengers newly arrived from America.

The trip had been rough. Looking pale, a pretty girl of some seventeen years occupied a corner seat in a First Class carriage. She smoothed her smart, pink linen travelling suit with a careful hand. Her straw boater was set neatly on long, blonde hair. Her eyes were large and pale blue.

Opposite, sitting with her back to the engine, was a woman ten or so years older, who showed no sign of having suffered mal de mer. Where the girl was dressed in the height of fashion and displayed all the polish that money could achieve, her travelling companion’s costume was restrained and serviceable. Chestnut hair was drawn back in a plain knot, under a hat that would never catch anyone’s eye. Her gloves were cotton and her boots very ordinary. Her face, though, was rather fine, with classic features and a pair of exceptional grey eyes. She wore an expression of amused tolerance. After the porter had organised their heavy luggage and she had supervised the stowage of hand luggage onto the racks above the seats, she asked the girl, ‘Belle, dear, will you need a magazine or a book to read on the train?’

‘No, Ursula, how can you think such a thing? It would make me seasick all over again. Anyway, we are in England, on our way to London. How can I read when there will be so much to see?’

There came a whistle from the stationmaster followed by a louder, longer one from the train. The coal-fired steam engine began a slow and noisy progress, rather like a huge, lumbering elephant that required time to achieve momentum. Ursula Grandison, the girl’s companion, found their gradual increase of speed thrilling.

‘May I?’ asked a middle-aged man, taking hold of the leather strap that operated the door window. ‘It’s the smuts.’

He pulled up the window, secured the strap, and sat down again next to a well-dressed woman who Ursula took to be his wife. On her lap sat a King Charles spaniel.

‘Oh!’ said Belle with a charming smile. ‘What a cute little dog. May I stroke him?’

Ursula watched. Children and dogs, she thought, are a passport to instant friendship.

Soon Mrs Wright had exchanged names with Belle Seldon and they were in lively conversation.

‘Are you planning a long stay in England, Miss Seldon?’ asked Mrs Wright, sounding very English to Ursula’s ears.

‘I’m visiting my sister,’ Belle said, caressing the little dog’s long, silky ears. ‘She’s been married for over seven years but this is the first time I’ve come to England.’

‘Over seven years, is that so? You will be longing to see her again.’

‘Oh, yes! Though she and the Earl have visited us in New York.’

It was too late for Ursula to intervene and she watched the information Belle had so naively offered take root and blossom.

‘Your brother-in-law is an Earl?’ Mrs Wright strove to sound as though this was an everyday occurrence. ‘Then … then your sister must be a Countess?’

‘She is,’ beamed Belle. ‘And I am to become one too.’

‘You are? Which Earl are you to marry?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Helen only knows titled people, or so it seems from her letters, and she is to find me a husband.’

Mrs Wright did not appear to find this at all incredible. ‘And shall you like to be a Countess?’

‘Oh, yes! To have a title and have everyone look up to you and live in a beautiful house must be great.’

‘Belle,’ said Ursula gently. ‘Mrs Wright cannot be interested in your prattle.’

Belle smiled happily. ‘I do go on,’ she said to her neighbour. ‘Papa is always saying I should talk less and listen more. But I like to talk.’ She gave an extravagant caress to the dog. ‘Why don’t I take your little doggie for a walk down the corridor? I am sure he would like some exercise.’

‘If you are careful with him,’ said Mrs Wright.

‘Oh, I’ll be careful,’ laughed Belle. She took the little dog’s lead. One of the other passengers opened the door into the corridor.

‘She is a delightful girl,’ Mrs Wright said to Ursula. ‘Would you be another sister?’

‘I am her companion,’ Ursula said briefly.

Mrs Wright could not contain herself. ‘Is her sister really a Countess?’

‘The Countess of Mountstanton,’ Ursula said; her voice did not invite further comment.

‘Good heavens,’ breathed Mrs Wright. ‘And you are going to stay with her and the Earl?’

Ursula nodded.

Mr Wright cleared his throat. ‘I think, my love, we should consider whether we wish to take luncheon on the train.’

‘Of course we will take luncheon,’ his wife said in surprise, then coloured slightly. ‘I’d be grateful if you could reach up for my bag, James; I want my book,’ she added, a little belligerently.

Her wish was instantly gratified.

Allowed to retreat into her own company, Ursula studied the countryside as the train passed through. She failed to take in any of its features.

The mention of Mountstanton House had reminded her of the task she had been given. It was one she found daunting.

* * *

At London, a change of trains provided Ursula and Belle with a carriage to themselves.

As they racketed along towards Somerset, Belle exclaimed over the neatness of the countryside. ‘Everything is … is, well, so nicely arranged. It’s as though it’s all waiting to be painted. There are so many hedges, so many tiny roads; the people should be small too but they seem a normal size.’ She seemed totally recovered now from the effects of their voyage.

Ursula smiled at Belle’s enthusiasm and hoped it would last until they arrived at their destination.

By the time they pulled into a small station decorated with tubs of wallflowers, the sun that had sparkled all the way from London had disappeared behind dark clouds. Ursula shivered slightly as she stepped down onto the platform, where a smartly uniformed stationmaster and a neatly dressed porter were the only signs of life. Where, she wondered, was Belle’s sister?

No other passengers left the train so the porter had only their baggage to unload. Ursula pointed out their belongings and he started on the task with no sense of urgency.

‘Where is Helen?’ asked Belle. ‘She promised to meet me.’

At that moment a large carriage drew up outside the station. A dashingly liveried footman jumped off and opened the door. Without waiting for the steps to be let down, a young man leapt to the ground and hurried onto the platform.

‘My dear Miss Seldon, a thousand apologies. Your sister has been forced to remain at Mountstanton. Her mother-in-law, the Dowager Countess,’ his face twisted in comic distress, ‘has returned unexpectedly. So I have come to welcome you instead.’ He swept off his hat, chucked it onto a bench, took Belle’s hands in his and smiled down at her. ‘Do say that you are not too desperately disappointed.’

Belle looked anything but disappointed.

Ursula studied the young man. He was extremely attractive. Looking to be in his mid-twenties, he was tall with hair carefully greased to repress a tendency to curl, eyes of a sparkling blue, a straight nose, and a mouth curved in a happy smile under a bold moustache.

‘The Countess told me that you are the prettiest girl in the world. I did not believe her but it is true.’ Another of those charming smiles.

Belle seemed unable either to remove her hands from the young man’s grasp or to utter a word.

‘It is very kind of you to meet us,’ Ursula said serenely. ‘Perhaps we could introduce ourselves? Miss Seldon’s name you know and I am Ursula Grandison, her companion. Whom have we the pleasure of addressing?’

He released Belle’s hands and with one of his fists hit his forehead. ‘My wits have been sent scattering by Miss Seldon’s beauty. William Warburton, at your service, ladies.’ He gave them a graceful bow. Now, let us see about your bags.’ He looked down the platform at the pile of luggage that was being assembled. ‘Porter, don’t hang about, bring that stuff over here.’ His voice was curt and authoritative. He snapped his fingers at the two liveried servants who had appeared. ‘Help him or we will be here all day.’ He turned back to Belle and Ursula. ‘Ladies, may I escort you to the carriage?’

Belle happily laid her hand on the arm that was offered to her.

Ursula said, ‘Mr Warburton, I think I should check that all the luggage has been retrieved from the baggage compartment. If you will allow, I will join you in a moment.’

He gave her a brief nod, retrieved his hat, and escorted Belle in the direction of the carriage.

* * *

Ursula never forgot her first glimpse of Mountstanton.

The journey had been no more than some twenty minutes through neatly ordered farmland. Then the carriage swept through a matching pair of stone lodges set either side of massive wrought-iron gates that stood open in welcome, before following a long drive through parkland where deer cropped grass beneath mature specimen trees. Finally, in the distance appeared the house.

Ursula had expected grandeur but could not suppress a gasp of surprise at Mountstanton’s size and majesty. As they drew closer, the house grew more and more imposing; the impressive façade with its rows and rows of windows, lightened a little by the way the frontage had been broken into three sections, with wings stretching back on either side in perfect symmetry. She found the total effect of the building and everything it represented overwhelming. Then, bending down sideways to see through the carriage window, she noticed a small domed and pillared pavilion sitting atop the central portion of the house with an almost frivolous grace. It was so delightful, her spirits rose. Maybe what awaited them would, after all, be a pleasant experience.

‘Ladies, welcome to Mountstanton,’ Mr Warburton said with a grand flourish as the carriage drew up on a gravelled area.

An elaborate and pillared stone portico shielded a heavy front door.

As the steps of the carriage were let down, the Countess of Mountstanton emerged.

‘Belle, darling, I’m so sorry I could not meet you at the station.’

Belle tumbled into her sister’s arms with incoherent cries.

The Countess searched her sister’s face as though she was seeing it for the first time, then she kissed Belle again. ‘I am so pleased you are here at last. You have grown even prettier. You will take Society by storm.’

As Ursula emerged from the carriage, the Countess held out her hand in a limp gesture.

‘I regret that Papa failed to give me your name. His last message merely said that Belle would be travelling with a companion.’

Ursula supposed she should dip a curtsey. She remained standing.

Belle slipped an arm through hers. ‘This is my dear friend, Ursula Grandison,’ she said cheerfully to her sister.

The Countess’s face froze. ‘You!’ she said.

Chapter Two

For a moment there was an ugly silence.

Helen stared at Ursula with baffled rage while Belle looked from one to the other in bewilderment. Then William Warburton said jovially, ‘I have never seen two more beautiful sisters, or two who looked more alike.’

Belle laughed and the moment was broken. ‘That’s not true. Helen is more beautiful; she is taller, her hair is more golden, and her eyes are green, not blue like mine – and her nose is straight.’ They all looked at Belle’s own nose; small, retrousé and quite charming.

The Countess smiled at her sister. ‘My mother-in-law is waiting to meet you, she has returned from her visit to Yorkshire especially.’ There seemed to be a note of warning in her voice.

A distinguished figure in a black tailcoat and striped trousers stepped forward. ‘Miss Seldon, welcome to Mountstanton.’

‘Thank you.’ Belle gave a quick, uncertain look at Helen.

‘This is Benson, our butler.’

‘If there is anything you need at any time, Miss Seldon, please let me know.’ The butler inclined his sculptured head with a practised movement that combined courtesy with a consciousness of his own standing.

A middle-aged woman with a stern face, dressed in unobtrusive black, a heavy ring of keys hanging from her waist, emerged from the shadows behind the butler. ‘I am Mrs Parsons, the housekeeper. I, too, welcome you to Mountstanton, Miss Seldon,’ she said.

As the sisters were about to enter the house, the Countess glanced back over her shoulder. ‘Come along, William.’

Mr Warburton threw a quizzical glance at Ursula, then hurried to follow.

Ursula Grandison stood for a moment on the gravel. She had told Mr Seldon how it would be.

‘You girls,’ he’d said lightly. ‘All that nonsense was years ago. I doubt if Helen remembers any of it.’ He looked at Ursula. ‘Belle needs someone to accompany her and business keeps me here. Anyway, I need both Helen and that husband of hers, that Earl, to be off their guard. They wouldn’t be if I was there.’

Chauncey Seldon commanded attention wherever he went. Over six foot, with the broad neck and powerful back of a fighter, his small dark eyes were astute and his face, with its razor-shell cheekbones, full of an intelligence that warned no one should attempt to double-deal him.

‘But no one is going to notice me, is that it?’

‘Don’t be bitter, Ursula, it doesn’t suit you. It’s not Helen’s fault things turned out the way they did.’

Ursula had taken a deep breath. They were in Mr Seldon’s panelled study, the engine room of the gothic house he had recently commissioned on Fifth Avenue. Everywhere in the mansion was evidence of the vast wealth he had accumulated. It was a world that once she had inhabited by right. Now she must remember that he was offering her a lifeline.

‘It will not be easy,’ she said slowly. ‘But if what you suspect is true, Helen will need help. I am already very fond of Belle and I think I could be of use to her. And,’ she gave him a brilliant smile, ‘I would love to go to England.’

‘Good! I know you will not disappoint me. Or Helen. Send regular reports. If they’re urgent, do not hesitate to cable.’ Mr Seldon rose, went over to a side table and picked up an ornate silver goblet. ‘Have I shown you my latest purchase? It’s Italian, sixteenth century, belonged to a Medici.’ His large hands with their carefully manicured nails caressed the decoration lovingly, before passing it over to Ursula for her appreciation.

She admired the workmanship and asked pertinent questions on its history, but she did not envy its new owner. It was, after all, only a goblet. Chauncey Seldon valued the past for its treasures; she for its memories. He seemed to think it possible to dismiss them. She knew he was wrong.

Ursula sighed and entered Mountstanton. Heavy panelling and murky tapestries seemed hungry for daylight, despite the size of the windows. Huge pieces of well-polished furniture stood on a flagstoned floor inadequately covered with Turkish rugs.

The Countess was in whispered conference with the housekeeper.

Belle moved towards Ursula. ‘What has happened to Mr Warburton?’ she murmured.

The young man who had met them had vanished.

‘No doubt he has matters to attend to.’

‘Now, Belle, we will find your room.’ Helen took her sister’s hand.

‘What about Ursula?’

‘Mrs Parsons will look after her.’

With a lost little look, Belle allowed herself to be led out of the hall and down a long corridor.

‘I am afraid I am unable to show you to your accommodation quite yet, Miss Grandison,’ Mrs Parsons said smoothly. ‘Allow me to take you somewhere you can refresh yourself after your journey.’ She flicked a finger at a footman standing at the side of the hall with all the animation of a waxwork figure. He approached, received her low-voiced instructions, gave an expressionless nod and disappeared. The housekeeper turned an unsmiling face to Ursula and took her up an imposing flight of stairs.

The room Ursula was shown into was undistinguished. A brass bedstead was covered in a chintz spread; a tired brocade armchair stood in one corner, and a washstand in another. Only two good watercolours offered any sense of style.

‘You will have had a long journey today. Is there anything from your luggage you require immediately, Miss Grandison?’ The enquiry was courteous but without warmth.

‘There are two dressing cases. The crocodile one belongs to Miss Seldon, the plain leather one is mine. We would both find them very helpful.’

‘Of course; I will see that they are delivered immediately. Tea is shortly to be served in the Blue Drawing Room.’ The housekeeper hovered for an uncertain moment. ‘We all hope Miss Seldon and yourself will be very happy with us,’ she added, without conviction.

A few minutes later a maid knocked, entered and placed a jug of hot water on the washstand. ‘Will there be anything else, miss?’

Ursula shook her head and asked the maid her name.

‘Sarah, miss.’ The girl was tall, with a plain face lit by lively eyes. Soft brown hair escaped from a mobcap.

There were a hundred things Ursula would have liked to ask but knew it was too soon. ‘Thank you, Sarah. It is a great pleasure to be here.’

The girl grinned. ‘Quite a place, isn’t it?’

At last a servant who appeared normal.

Another knock at the door announced the arrival of Ursula’s dressing case. Sarah took it from the footman and laid it carefully on a luggage stand. ‘There’s a bell if you need anything else, miss.’ She indicated a silk rope hanging beside the bed.

Ursula thanked her again.

* * *

Hat discarded, travel grime removed, hair brushed into place, Ursula descended the stairs.

She should, she supposed, be feeling nervous. Helen had shown every sign of being as difficult as Ursula had anticipated. Was she planning to accommodate her in the stables? Or would she try to dismiss her? Perhaps she was sending a cable to her father at that very moment.

The stairs were shallow, offering easy passage. On the walls hung huge oil paintings, their subjects half hidden by over a century of candle smoke.

Ursula was not nervous. On the contrary, she found herself pleasantly excited by the prospect of battle – and of discovering what the exact situation was in this extraordinary house.

The waxwork footman came to a semblance of life when Ursula asked him for directions, and led her down a corridor lined with marble columns as discoloured as the oil paintings.

The Blue Drawing Room was as gloomy as the entrance hall. Curtains insufficiently drawn back prevented a clear view of its décor. Ursula longed to grab the lengths of velvet and yank them clear of the glass so that light could flood the room and illuminate the dark blue flock wallpaper. Almost immediately, though, she realised that that would only expose the shabbiness of the furniture.

Sitting rigidly upright in a large wing chair that would have dwarfed someone less powerfully aware of her own identity, was a figure dressed entirely in heavy black silk. A row of jet buttons enlivened the bodice; an elaborate silk fringe edged the skirt.

Behind Ursula, Helen entered with Belle. They could not have spent much time in the privacy of the bedroom catching up on their different lives. Belle looked bewildered. Her shoulders were rigidly held back, her chin lifted in a manner that betrayed nervousness.

‘Mama, may I present my sister, Belle Seldon? Darling, this is the Dowager Countess of Mountstanton, my mother-in-law.’

Belle dipped the curtsey Ursula had made her practise.

The Dowager lifted a lorgnette and studied the newcomer, then snapped the hinged spectacles shut. ‘Come closer, girl.’

Belle advanced a couple of steps, her chin rising even higher.

‘Speak to me.’

Belle gazed at the Dowager Countess, her eyes wide with astonishment.

‘And don’t stare. Speak, I said. I am sure you can utter since I would have been told if you were a mute.’

‘Mama, Belle is a little shy,’ Helen said hurriedly.

Belle glanced at Ursula, who gave her the tiniest of nods and a smile of encouragement. She felt a moment of triumph that the girl had looked to her rather than Helen.

‘Your … your ladyship, I am very happy to see my sister and to visit England.’ Belle’s voice, after the initial stumble over the correct form of address, was steady.

‘No nasal twang; I am relieved. And you really are very pretty and quite suitably dressed. If you allow yourself to be instructed by your sister, you will do very well.’

The lorgnette was once again opened and raised. ‘And who is this?’

Ursula took a step forward. ‘I am Ursula Grandison, Miss Seldon’s companion, your ladyship.’

‘Indeed?’ Cold eyes surveyed her. ‘Necessary for the time being, I suppose. Your appearance is acceptable and you, too, lack that particularly ugly vocal characteristic so many of your fellow Americans display.’ She gave a small shudder of distaste.

Ursula wished she had adopted a Brooklyn accent, then reflected that it would only have upset Belle and done nothing to repair relations with Helen.

‘Here is tea, Mama,’ Helen said with a note of relief as a procession of footmen arrived.

The bustle of service allowed seats to be found and something approaching a sense of ease to come over the little group.

‘Where is Richard?’ The Dowager Countess had refused the cucumber sandwiches and sat holding her porcelain cup with unstudied dignity. Her voice was sharp.

‘Out riding somewhere, Mama,’ Helen said negligently. ‘None of us expected you to arrive back today.’

‘I do not understand why not when it was common knowledge your sister was to arrive this afternoon.’

A small boy ran into the room, fair hair curling round his face, bright blue eyes alight with excitement. He was followed by a comfortable-looking woman wearing a grey work dress enveloped in a large white apron. She dipped a curtsey, saw her charge was safely inside the room and then withdrew.

‘Mama! Mama!’ the boy cried.

Helen opened her arms to him. ‘Darling Harry.’

‘You should not allow that child so much licence.’ The Dowager’s mouth set into a grim line.

Harry leaned against his mother’s knee and looked resentfully at his grandmother. A little nudge at his back propelled him in her direction.

Reluctantly he approached. ‘Good afternoon, Grandmama,’ he said and, feet placed together, one hand held across his front and one behind, gave her a bow.

‘Good afternoon, Harry. What have you learned since I last took tea with you?’

‘I can recite the Kings and Queens of England, Grandmama.’

‘Excellent. Tomorrow I will ask you to do so. Now, you must greet your Aunt Belle. Belle, this is the Viscount Hinton, your nephew.’

Belle gave him a brilliant smile and held out a hand. ‘Come and show me this book, Harry, it looks so interesting.’ She indicated a large volume of architectural sketches lying on a table near the window. ‘And I would love to talk and get to know you. Have you been to New York? It is such an exciting city. Do you know its buildings almost reach the sky?’

Ursula saw that Belle knew just how to interest children.

‘It is most neglectful of Richard not to attend a family tea.’

Ursula had chosen a seat a little apart. She watched as Helen tried to parry her mother-in-law’s increasingly acid comments on her son’s general lack of respect, ending with, ‘It’s not what is expected of a Mountstanton.’

Over by the window, Belle teased and played with her nephew, encouraging him in a game of hide-and-seek with a floor-length chenille cloth covering a round table.

Little shrieks of delight drew a frown from the Dowager.

‘Harry,’ she said sharply as the boy climbed on the window seat. ‘Stop that.’

Helen advanced, saying, ‘Darling, come down …’

But she was too late. He jumped off with a cry of ‘Look at me,’ stumbled on landing and caught at the tablecloth.

A large porcelain bowl fell off the table and broke, shards scattering over a wide area. As Helen rushed to pick up her son, he broke into shrieks of distress.

Belle stood aghast.

The Dowager Countess rose. ‘Harry,’ she said in an awful voice.

Harry fell silent.

‘You should know better at five than to behave like a hooligan. I have warned you before about the necessity to control your excessively high spirits. You will be beaten and sent to bed without supper.’

‘Mama!’ protested Helen, hugging her son.

Belle looked at the Dowager, her eyes wide with horror. ‘He mustn’t be beaten!’ she said passionately. ‘It wasn’t his fault. He’s only little.’

The gorgon stare switched from the small boy to young Belle. ‘You dare to question my authority, girl?’

Holding her son in her arms, Helen joined battle with her mother-in-law. ‘Mama, he realises how badly he has behaved.’

‘It was an accident,’ Belle said. ‘If the bowl was valuable, my father will replace it.’

‘The bowl is not the issue.’

Harry was now sobbing, quietly but relentlessly.

Ursula knew there was no point in saying anything, but she came and stood beside Belle in an effort to lend her support.

The Dowager narrowed her eyes and took a deep breath as the door opened to admit a tall man dressed for riding.

‘Mama, I apologise for not being here earlier,’ he said smoothly.

Ursula gazed in fascination at the Earl of Mountstanton. He had inherited the chill of his mother’s eyes. Like those of a fish, there seemed nothing behind them. His features were unmemorable. His figure was too thin for true elegance but he moved with a certain ease.

A kiss was dropped on the Dowager Countess’s cheek, then, ignoring his wife and crying son, the Earl turned to Belle. ‘Why,’ he drawled, ‘it’s my little sister-in-law. Welcome to Mountstanton, Liberty Belle.’

Chapter Three

Little dimples appeared on either side of Belle’s mouth as she smiled shyly up at the Earl.

‘I’m so happy to see you again, my lord,’ she said.

‘Come, come! Not “my lord” please. My name is Richard and I am delighted you have at long last paid us a visit.’

‘Belle has only just left school, Richard; it would have been inappropriate before,’ Helen said, her tone sharp.

‘Of course.’ The Earl gave Belle the sort of look that, in Ursula’s experience, belonged to a man assessing the points of a horse.

‘I think with a little tuition, Miss Seldon could possibly be an asset to the Mountstanton name, Richard,’ said the Dowager.

Belle flushed and looked towards her sister. The Countess said with a hauteur of her own, ‘Belle is already an asset to the Seldon name.’

There was a flash of something indecipherable in the Earl’s eyes. ‘Quite,’ he said and looked around the room. ‘Warburton not here?’

‘Apparently you had letters requiring his attention.’ Helen picked up her cup of tea and sipped at it.

The Earl looked at his son, now leaning against his mother, biting on his thumb. ‘Harry, you stand to attention when I come into the room.’ He looked at his wife. ‘I hope the boy is not going to grow up a disgrace to his name.’

‘Harry is not waiting to grow up.’ The Dowager Countess waved an imperious hand towards the shards of porcelain littering the carpet.

‘How now, what’s this?’

Harry shrank against his mother’s side and tears began to well up in his eyes.

‘We were playing a game and … and there was an accident,’ Belle’s words tumbled out. ‘I will replace the bowl. Please do not beat Harry – or send him to bed without any supper.’ No angel could have pleaded more prettily.

‘And has this punishment been suggested?’ There was little more than polite enquiry in the Earl’s voice.

‘It is no more than the boy should expect.’ The Dowager sounded implacable.

‘Ah, but he is not your boy,’ the Earl said softly.

‘He is a Mountstanton.’

‘Quite. So I am the one to dictate his punishment.’

Harry trembled and his tears spilled over. His mother put her arm around him. Neither said anything.

Belle grabbed the Earl’s hand. ‘Please, don’t be so cruel as to beat him.’

He detached his hand from her grasp. ‘Harry, stand up straight. Look at me.’

The boy reluctantly unglued himself from his mother’s side and fixed a fearful gaze on the tall, unyielding figure before him.

‘You will go upstairs now and remain in the nursery. You will have no supper and I will be up later to demonstrate exactly how displeased I am with you. Helen, send for Mrs Comfort.’

Ursula had remained standing after the accident with the bowl, her whole body rigid with distaste. She hoped that the woman’s name reflected her nature.

The Countess rose without expression and went to pull on the long silk cord that hung beside the fireplace.

A footman appeared, received his instructions, and left.

The Earl flicked his gaze round the silent room. It rested for a moment on his mother, then passed on until it fell on Ursula.

The cold, fish-like eyes studied her for a moment. ‘And you are?’ he said in an indifferent voice.

‘Ursula Grandison, companion to Miss Seldon, sir.’ She deliberately did not give him his title nor dip a curtsey.

He raised an eyebrow.

She was silent and stood looking straight at him. Then he said, ‘So,’ and turned to his wife. ‘Do I see tea?’

By now there were several servants in the room, brushing up the broken pieces of china and filling empty cups.

‘Come and sit by me, Richard,’ the Dowager Countess said to her son, indicating a chair set next to hers. ‘I have been waiting to hear what you have been up to while I’ve been away.’

‘Later, Mama. I wish to learn what Liberty Belle thinks of her first sight of England and Mountstanton.’

Ignoring the flashes of red that flamed in the Dowager’s cheeks, the Earl settled himself next to Belle. ‘No doubt now you are so grown up, I shall have to call you Miss Seldon,’ he said pleasantly.

* * *

By the time it came for Ursula to be shown to her room by Mrs Parsons, she was exhausted. It was not the rigours of the travel; looking back on that morning’s train journey, it seemed positively tranquil compared with what had awaited at Mountstanton.

The life of Ursula Grandison had been full of ups and downs. Using her wits, she had extricated herself from potentially disastrous situations. Tragedy had visited her and so had extreme happiness. She had learned to survive in situations that would have swamped girls less courageous than herself. Never, though, could she remember having to witness such powerful cross-currents of tension. With no part to play in the scene, Ursula had found the afternoon more challenging than the time she had found herself separating men seemingly determined on beating each other into extinction.

Relief came when Ursula was handed over to the housekeeper to be shown her accommodation. And Helen’s announcement that dinner would be at seven o’clock, giving a clear indication that Ursula should not expect further contact with the family until then, was received thankfully.

There was careful politeness in every line of Mrs Parson’s carriage as she led the way back along the corridor towards the great staircase. As she followed in her wake, Ursula realised that the housekeeper could well provide a key to much that happened at Mountstanton. Would she, though, be able to reach through the impregnable reserve displayed by so many of the servants? Maybe even achieve a cosy chat?

‘This seems a very ancient house,’ she said, a note of enquiry in her voice.

‘Indeed it is, Miss Grandison.’ Mrs Parsons sounded pleased at her interest. ‘The original house was built in the reign of Elizabeth but the classical front was added some hundred and fifty years later.’

‘There are so many interesting pictures and pieces of furniture.’

The woman dipped her head in acknowledgement of this truth. ‘No doubt, America being such a new country, Miss Grandison, there will not be such houses there.’

Ursula thought of the treasures in the Seldon New York mansion and in some of the others built in that city over the last few decades. After visiting them, you would not be blamed for thinking that there could hardly be an antique piece of furniture, sculpture, painting, panelling or ancient hall left in Europe, so much had been transported to the New World.

‘It is a great privilege to be allowed to stay in a house such as this,’ she said. ‘Would you, perhaps, be able to give me a tour one day?’

‘Why, Miss Grandison, I would be privileged. But I am sure that her ladyship will wish to do that.’

‘The Countess must have a great many calls on her time. As indeed, must you,’ Ursula added hurriedly. ‘But your knowledge of Mountstanton must be unrivalled. How many years have you been here?’

‘Nearly thirty.’ They had reached the stairs. ‘I started as a maid, as my mother did before me. And my grandmother had charge of the laundry.’

Ursula looked at her in admiration as they moved upstairs. ‘Why, that could be called a dynasty! I do not believe we have any such tradition of service in America.’

Mrs Parsons paused on the landing. She looked pleased. ‘There is a tradition in England called noblesse oblige. It means that titled families, indeed, any with great estates whether titled or not, have a duty to those who serve them. We at Mountstanton believe that those who serve also have a duty of loyalty and dedication to the Stanhope family. That is the family name of the Earls of Mountstanton,’ she added in a helpful manner.

Ursula was fascinated. ‘I would very much like to hear more about Mountstanton, Mrs Parsons, when you have time.’

They started up a further flight of stairs.

‘It would be an honour, Miss Grandison. And I shall hope to hear from you what America is like.’

The higher in the house they went, the more the grandeur dropped away. By the time Ursula was led along a corridor there were no ornate balustrades, no great oil paintings on the walls, few pieces of furniture, and the floor covering was no more than serviceable.

A door opened as they passed and Mrs Comfort stood there, looking apprehensive. Then her expression lightened. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, miss, I’m sure. I thought …’

Ursula realised she must have thought it was the Earl come to discipline his son and heir. She smiled at the nanny. ‘Has the young Viscount recovered from the unfortunate incident in the drawing room?’

‘Unfortunate is the word, Miss Grandison. I never knew such goings on. I’ll be pleased when a new nursemaid has been engaged. ’Tis too much on my own, Mrs Parsons, as you well knows. I can’t manage the boy and his washing and ironing and everything else.’

‘Quite, Mrs Comfort.’

The nanny gave the sort of nod that said she hoped due note had been taken of her words and closed the door.

Where, wondered Ursula, as Mrs Parsons continued along the corridor, did the nanny figure in the accommodation hierarchy? No doubt above the position of the ordinary servant but well below the status of family or honoured guest. Well, that surely summed herself up as well.

‘Here we are,’ said Mrs Parsons and threw open a door. ‘I hope you will be comfortable.’

Remembering how lacking in charm the room she had been shown into on arrival was, Ursula did not expect much in the way of décor or furniture, and she was not disappointed. There was an iron bedstead covered with a cotton spread, a washstand, an upright chair, a simple chest of drawers, a small table and a deal wardrobe. A mirror hung on the wall above the table. There was also a text: ‘Be thou thrifty and the Lord will provide’, and a badly foxed print of a small child kneeling beside a bed to say her prayers, eyes closed and a deep frill round her otherwise plain nightgown. Ursula’s trunk had been placed against one wall.

Mrs Parsons ran a hand over the surface of the chest of drawers, as though checking that dust had been satisfactorily removed. ‘Do you require assistance to unpack?’ Her voice was distant; it was as though she was removing herself from the decision to award this inadequate room to Ursula.

‘Thank you, Mrs Parsons, but I am well able to undertake that task myself.’ Ursula grinned inwardly as she thought how seldom she had had the luxury of a personal servant in recent years. ‘May I enquire if the maid the Countess informed Mr Seldon would be provided for her sister is looking after the unpacking of her luggage?’

Mrs Parsons nodded. ‘Didier, as she has informed us she is to be called, is in the process of doing that right now.’ Her voice was noncommittal but Ursula received the distinct impression that the maid had not endeared herself to the housekeeper. ‘You will no doubt require a gown to be pressed for dinner this evening. I will send Sarah up to collect it shortly.’

Left on her own at last, Ursula sank onto the bed. The mattress was thin and supported by a hard, unsprung base. It did not matter. At least she could close her eyes and try for five minutes or so to blank out everything that had taken place since her arrival at Mountstanton.

After a little while she remembered that Sarah was to collect a gown for pressing. As she unlocked the trunk and picked out a dark grey silk gown, the door was flung open and Belle entered.

‘At last I have found you!’

Ursula rose and found herself wrapped in urgent arms.

‘Oh, Ursula, this is a horrid place. I was so looking forward to being with Helen again. My big sister who always cared for me. And now all she can do is tell me I must do this and I must do that and I mustn’t do the other.’ Belle burst into tears.

Ursula sat her down on the bed and found a handkerchief.

‘Hush, hush,’ she said gently and stroked the distraught girl’s hair. ‘Helen has a great position to maintain. She has a child to raise and this enormous house to run; she is no longer a carefree girl with all her choices in front of her, she has chosen her role and now has to make it work. Think how complicated her life must be, particularly with the Dowager Countess for mother-in-law.’

‘And that’s another thing,’ Belle screwed the sodden handkerchief into a tight ball and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you knew Helen?’ She gazed at Ursula, all tears now gone. ‘She says I am not to trust you. She is going to try and send you away, I know it!’ Belle flung her arms around Ursula again. ‘I don’t want you to leave, I need you. I hate this house. If you leave, I’ll leave too. I’ll go home to Papa.’

Ursula held Belle tight. ‘Shhh, shhh, I am staying here with you. And you know how much your father wanted you to come here and enjoy a London season.’

‘But why didn’t you tell me you knew Helen?’

‘It’s a long story,’ Ursula said slowly. ‘Helen and I were at school together, first in New York and then in Paris.’

Belle looked at her with wide eyes. ‘In Paris?’

Ursula nodded. ‘You were probably too small to remember but I often used to visit with you in New York during the holiday. So did my father. You called him Uncle Ogden.’

‘Uncle Ogden?’ Belle stared at Ursula. ‘I remember him. He was very tall and had a loud laugh.’

Ursula smiled. ‘That was my father.’

‘He used to give me liquorice ropes, and pinched my cheek. What happened to him?’

‘I’m afraid he died.’

Belle placed a soft hand on Ursula’s knee. ‘I’m so sorry. You must miss him very much.’

Ursula blinked rapidly. ‘Just as you miss your mother.’

‘What about your mother?’

‘She died when I was born. I never knew her.’

‘How sad.’

Ursula took Belle’s hand. They sat together in silence for a moment then Ursula faced the young girl. ‘Darling, we are in a foreign country and things are very different here from at home.’

‘I thought we were all the same. I mean, we talk the same language and we, well, we came from England originally, didn’t we?’

Ursula grinned at her. ‘You may have done. My father’s grandfather was Norwegian. My mother came from Poland with her parents when she was a little girl. Americans are a stew-pot of different nationalities.’

‘And are proud of it,’ said Belle passionately.

‘And are proud of it,’ agreed Ursula. ‘And you and your sister are showing this ancient nation that a new one can be just as good and behave just as well.’

‘I don’t think these English behave at all well.’

‘We all behave badly at times,’ Ursula said mildly. ‘Don’t be too hard on them. And you like little Harry.’

‘I love Harry.’

‘I think he loves you, too. And what about Mr Warburton, didn’t you like him?’

Belle flushed. ‘I asked Helen if he would be at dinner, and she almost flew at me. I wasn’t to give him a second thought, she said, he was not for me. And then … and then, oh, Ursula, I couldn’t believe it but she said something about my future husband having been chosen for me and it wasn’t Mr Warburton.’

Chapter Four

Max Russell winced as he fastened the stud in his wing collar, then he released the tender piece of skin it had caught and took the bow tie from his valet.

Holding up his chin and working blind, he secured it, then checked his appearance in the mirror. ‘Will it do, Jenkins?’

‘Undoubtedly,’ said the servant, tidying away riding clothes.

‘You might at least make a pretence of looking at me.’

‘If I thought anything I said would make a difference, I would.’ Jenkins closed the wardrobe door, went over to the tallboy, picked up a watch and chain and handed them over. ‘You’ll do.’

‘Jenkins, do I get the impression you have something on your mind? Something other than my appearance?’

The man shifted his feet uneasily then looked straight at Max. ‘I’ve had an offer, sir.’

Max halted the act of anchoring his watch chain across his waistcoat. His expression went blank. ‘“Sir” is it, Jenkins? The offer must have been good.’

‘It is, sir.’

‘And you are minded to accept.’ It was not a question.

‘It’s a matter of circumstances, sir.’

Max jammed the watch into his waistcoat pocket. He should have seen this coming. ‘I know, I haven’t paid you for several months. Is the offer from anyone I know?’

Jenkins’ face was without expression. ‘No, sir.’

Well, at least his servant had not been pinched by any of his acquaintances; he’d hardly call any of them ‘friends’. The man must have approached an agency. He had known there was no point in asking for a rise. Well, the timing could be fortuitous.

‘I will miss you, Jenkins. You have served me well.’ Which he had, apart from a certain surliness every now and then which, given the fact that he was often forced to go without his wages, was forgivable.

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘When do you wish to leave?’

‘I am asked for in one month’s time, which is the length of notice I am bound to give.’ The valet handed over Max’s loose change.

Max gave him a nod, ‘I have no objection.’ He adjusted his cufflinks then slipped his arms into the sleeves of the jacket the valet held ready for him. He did not bother to check its set. ‘I just ask that you do not let Lady Frances know you are leaving.’

‘As you wish, sir.’

‘Good night, Jenkins. Don’t wait up.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Max left the valet picking up the shaving bowl and towel and strode along the corridor. He paused outside his mother’s room, summoned up a warm smile, knocked and entered.

‘Mama, how do you feel this evening?’ he asked, his voice low and gentle.

Lady Frances Russell, daughter of an Earl, relict of the Very Reverend Russell, an austere but charitable dean who had died some eight years previously, smiled at her only child. ‘I am well, thank you my darling.’

Max looked closely at her pale face and pain-laden eyes. The thin hand that lay on the coverlet looked almost transparent.

‘I saw Doctor Mason after his visit to you this morning, Mama. He said he’d given you something to ease your suffering.’

The doctor had been blunt. ‘There’s nothing I can do for her, Mr Russell, the disease has advanced beyond medical aid. Even my strongest opiates cannot rid her of pain but I hope what I’ve left will help.’ He’d looked compassionately at Max. ‘She’s a brave woman.’

‘How much longer?’

The doctor shrugged. ‘I would say no more than a few weeks. But I have found we doctors are not arbiters in these matters; they are decided by a higher authority.’

‘Have you time to sit with me for a moment, Max?’ Her breathing was harsh, her speech laboured.

He sat down beside the bed, brought her thin hand to his mouth and kissed the palm. He turned his head away from her and closed his eyes for a moment.

‘You look so smart, my darling. Is it for Mountstanton?’

He nodded. ‘I’d rather be with you. Shall I cancel and stay here? Would you like that?’

She shook her head and struggled to sit a little more upright.

He helped her, rearranging the pillows, smoothing them and then carefully settling the lacy wool comforter round her shoulders. Her bones felt so frail it was agonising.

His mother smiled at him. ‘Leave an empty place at the table? The Countess would never forgive you.’

Max sat down again, taking her hand in his. ‘That would be nothing compared to your comfort.’

She smiled. ‘I like to think of you there.’

They sat for a moment in silence.

‘Can you ever forgive me, darling?’

‘What for, Mama?’

‘Giving birth to you.’

He drew a quick breath. ‘There is nothing to forgive. All my life you have given me such love. I am much, much luckier than – well, than many men I know.’

‘Thank you for staying here. Without me, I know you would have left the country.’

Before he could protest, she started to cough and he had to pour some of the medicine Doctor Mason had left, then hold her close as the racking threatened to tear her chest apart.

Ann came in and took her mistress from him. ‘Go, sir. It’s for the best. She’ll be all right later. Tomorrow she’ll want to know how everything went.’

Safe, stolid Ann, who knew exactly how to care for his mother. She had always been part of his life. He placed a brief hand on her shoulder as she laid her mistress back on the pillows, the poor lungs gasping for air.

Outside, the horse and trap were waiting. He thanked Jethro, the groom, and told him not to wait up. ‘I can stable Cobbley,’ he said.

When the Very Reverend Russell died, Max and his mother had moved from the large rectory back to her father’s estate, into a small but pretty house several miles from Mountstanton. Max’s uncle had inherited the Viscountcy and Max had expressed his gratitude.

‘Was always fond of my sister, Frances,’ his uncle, the Viscount of Broome, had said. ‘Thought my father behaved disgracefully towards her. It’s a small thing; sorry there’s no money to go with it; finances very dodgy, you know?’

Yes, Max did know. The family circumstances had always been straitened. Still, he and his mother managed, just. It looked as though her capital would last just as long as herself. As for him …

Max clicked the horse into action and set off. With his mother gone, there would be nothing left for him here. It was as well Jenkins had found other employment. His uncle would find something for Ann and for Mrs Sutton, their housekeeper. That would leave him completely free to go where he would.

He pushed away the thought of what he would be leaving behind.

* * *

At Mountstanton, Max handed over the pony and trap to one of the waiting grooms and entered the house.

The butler took his hat, driving cape and gloves. ‘Good to see you, sir,’ he said, sounding pleased.

Max smiled. ‘Everything going well here, Benson?’

‘Indeed, sir. Miss Seldon, sister to the Countess, has arrived from America. The dinner tonight is in her honour. And, sir,’ Benson continued, leaning towards him with as much excitement as a butler might ever be allowed to express, ‘soon we expect Colonel Charles home.’

That was the Earl’s brother, Colonel Stanhope. ‘On leave, is he?’

‘I believe he has resigned his commission.’

Now why should such a successful soldier leave the army?

More arrivals entered and Max moved on.

Helen greeted him with the usual, slightly distant courtesy she always showed towards him in company.

She seemed oddly tense and Max resisted the temptation to tease her. Instead he greeted the Earl, who clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good to see you, Max. Might like your advice on a filly I found the other day.’

‘Any time, Richard.’ Max hoped his equine expertise would earn him an income one of these days. In the meantime, he was happy to build his reputation for assessing a horse’s potential and revealing any unsuspected shortcomings.

Helen took his arm. ‘I want to introduce you to Miss Grandison, my little sister’s companion. You will take her into dinner.’

He winced inwardly. The companion rather than the heiress was to be his lot. No doubt she would be at least forty years of age.

A servant approached. ‘My lady, the Dowager Countess wishes a word with you.’

‘Your mother-in-law has returned?’ Over the other side of the drawing room Max saw the Dowager, her face thunderous. As she caught his eye, she deliberately turned away. ‘I am amazed you did not send to cancel my invitation for tonight.’

‘I shall be allowed to have whom I choose to my own dinners.’ Helen’s voice was tightly controlled. ‘Ursula, may I present Mr Russell, one of our neighbours. Max, this is Miss Grandison.’

And then she was gone.

Max was pleasantly surprised to find that Ursula Grandison looked less than thirty and had a remarkably fine pair of grey eyes, now looking at him with startled interest, the reaction of so many around here.

‘If you are companion to Miss Seldon, may I assume you, too, are American?’

‘You may.’ Her voice was cool.

‘Our hostess has neglected to introduce me to her sister. May I ask which she is?’

Helen’s deliberate discourtesy nagged at him. He regretted revealing his irritation to Miss Grandison but she appeared to have the good manners not to notice anything amiss.

‘She is in the pink silk gown with roses in her hair, over by the fireplace talking to Mr Warburton.’

Max swallowed renewed irritation at finding William Warburton so firmly ensconced at Mountstanton and looked across the room.

The girl was talking vivaciously, her blonde hair, with the roses, beautifully dressed. Max was no expert on women’s fashions but he could see she was perfectly turned out. Even at this distance, Max knew that there would be an aura of Parisian fragrance about her to match her gown. And yet her most noticeable feature was how naïve and innocent she looked.

Dinner was announced and he offered his arm to Miss Grandison.

As they waited for the more distinguished members of the party to pass onwards to the dining room, he mused over the news that Benson had given him. Why had Charles resigned his commission and when, exactly, would he be returning to Mountstanton?

‘I think we should follow,’ murmured Miss Grandison and Max saw that they were in danger of being left alone in the drawing room.

With a muttered apology, he led her smoothly towards the door.

They were a party of twenty-four. Max and Miss Grandison were, as he expected, seated in the middle of the table, as distant as it was possible to be from both their host and their hostess.

The Earl had his mother on his right and Miss Seldon on his left. Her cheeks were bright with excitement.

Max stopped himself from checking who was on either side of the hostess. Instead he turned to his partner. ‘When did you arrive in England, Miss Grandison?’

‘Three days ago, Mr Russell.’

‘Then you will not have had much time to form an opinion of the natives?’

The cool grey eyes surveyed him with amusement. ‘They afford me much interest.’

Wine was poured and Max sampled his. ‘This is a splendid vintage,’ he said. ‘Richard has a wonderful cellar, much of it laid down by his father. I don’t know if you have had much experience of French wines?’

She looked at him for a moment, raised her glass and sipped assessingly. Then she gave him an engaging smile and said, ‘Montrachet, I think. I’m afraid I can’t tell the year.’

‘I’m stunned. Not only that you have recognised the wine but that you know how to pronounce the name. Not a “t” to be heard.’

She chuckled, a warm sound with a hint of irony. ‘Not bad for a Yankee?’

By now he was enchanted. ‘Are you making it a mission to transform the usual English opinion of our American cousins’ sense of culture – or lack of it?’

‘I think that would be doomed to failure. But it would be nice to think I have converted at least one Englishman?’ Her head slightly on one side, she gazed at him with a hint of a challenge.

He put down his glass and held up his hands. ‘I surrender. But, having known Helen ever since she arrived, I am well aware that American women can be educated, sophisticated and charming.’

‘And there must be other American belles you have met; I understand English society is threaded through with our well-heeled sisters.’

Max laughed. ‘You mean, our poverty-stricken landed gentry have been looking to fill their coffers with the riches garnered by enterprising Americans?’

Her expression lost its vivacity. Max followed her gaze and saw Helen’s little sister ignoring Mountstanton, who was no doubt involved in dodging his mother’s inquisition into his activities. Instead she was looking down the table and smiling beguilingly.

Max followed her gaze and saw William Warburton give her the tiniest of salutations with his glass. He was rewarded with a blush from Miss Seldon, who then looked down at her plate.

Miss Grandison’s eyes narrowed and Max saw her glance at the Countess. As she turned her beautiful face to the aged Duke of Aberdare, seated on her right, her hand fiddled with the stem of her wine glass. A moment later, the glass had overturned. Benson retrieved the situation in a moment and the Duke never hesitated in whatever the story was he was relating.

‘What level of title is Miss Seldon expected to attract?’ Max asked as his empty plate was removed.

Miss Grandison looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Do you really expect me to answer that question?’

He shrugged. ‘You Americans are so open and frank, it was worth asking.’

‘Mr Russell, I am sure you realise my social training is sufficient to understand that, much as I have enjoyed our conversation, it is time for me to give my attention to the guest on my other side.’ She gave a polite nod of her head and addressed a remark to her other partner, Aberdare’s third son, a young man of little brain and less personality.

Reluctantly Max turned to do his duty to the female seated on his left. She was the eighteen-year-old, not-very-pretty, not-very-intelligent, but gentle and sweet second daughter of a local baronet. He knew her and prepared himself for a polite query on his mother’s condition.

Instead she looked wistfully up the table at Miss Seldon and said, ‘Mr Russell, that gown is the most beautiful I have ever seen. What must it be like to be very pretty and very rich?’

‘I imagine that, like everything else in life, Miss Cary, it has its problems.’

‘Problems?’ Her pale eyes widened.

‘For instance, it must be difficult to decide if someone, a young man for instance, likes you for yourself or because you are very rich.’

Her mouth formed an ‘O’ of comprehension. ‘I never thought of that.’

‘Then I also think it must be very, very difficult to decide which gown to choose if you have a vast number. And what about which shoes or hat?’

She stared for a long moment then laughed a little uncertainly. ‘Oh, Mr Russell, you are teasing me.’

He was very glad when the moment came in the long, drawn-out meal when he could reclaim Miss Grandison’s attention. She turned back to him with what, if he was not flattering himself, was similar relief.

‘In England do none of society’s young men occupy themselves with a profession, Mr Russell?’ she asked abruptly.

‘Work is beneath our station in life, Miss Grandison.’

Her eyes flashed, as though she suspected him of laughing at her. ‘Do you do nothing, then, Mr Russell?’

For a moment he saw himself through her eyes and inwardly winced. ‘I am something of an historian, Miss Grandison. I am currently studying the French Revolution and intend to write a book.’

She thought about this for a moment. ‘Is that what the male members of English society do? Study?’