A Kiss from the Heart (16 page)

The Countess glared at her son as she returned to the ballroom, but refused to allow the episode to ruin the evening.

Everyone appeared to be enjoying themselves and she shielded a little yawn behind her glove as she noticed it was fast approaching midnight.

Eventually the guests began to dwindle away and by quarter-past midnight there remained in the drawing room only her son and Sir Peter Robey.

Lord Brookfield had some moments earlier bidden farewell to the Countess and the coolness between him and her son had not escaped her attention.

As Sir Peter was finally helped to his carriage, the Earl stood by the fireplace and swirled the brandy around his glass thoughtfully.

Ever since their strained encounter in the hall, he could not stop thinking about what Lord Brookfield had said about Miranda. Could it be true? Had there been some understanding between them and then Miranda had run away?

He found it just impossible to believe that Miranda could have been involved with such a man. Even though he owned a title and estates, a gentleman could still be a bounder, could he not?

And then there was the hint of nuptials that he had mentioned when they had first met. Surely Miranda could not be the hoped-for wife of whom he spoke?

He drained his glass and asked Stringer to replenish it. He was fast becoming quite drunk and it felt pleasant.

He wanted for nothing more than that weird Lord Brookfield to be a complete liar. Yet, even he could see that there was some kind of connection between the two. Staring into the empty grate he sighed heavily and came to a conclusion.

‘I loved her as a boy and now that very love has resurfaced,' he finally admitted to himself. ‘But if she is definitely involved with Lord Brookfield and is more or less betrothed to him, then there is no hope for me! I must discover the
truth
!'

With the last guest gone and the drawing room empty, he told Stringer to go to bed and leave the rest of the clearing up till morning. Stringer gratefully bowed and wished him goodnight.

‘I must now discover the truth about Miranda and Brookfield!' he repeated to himself over and over again. ‘I could not bear it if she was to marry another!'

*

As soon as Miranda had returned home, she had gone straight to her room, torn off her finery, flung it to the floor and then lay sobbing on her bed for hours.

‘I did not think I would ever see him again!' she wept. ‘That evil, slimy man! How dare he track me down as if I was mere quarry! And to make those insinuations in front of Robert!'

She remained thus prostrate, until her father came to look in on her some hours later. He was most upset to see her in such a state.

“Does your mother know about this problem?” he whispered, as he held her in his arms and smoothed her hair.

“No, Papa. I did not wish to wake her. She had gone to bed by the time I returned home.”

“We must inform her first thing tomorrow morning and I will order one of the grooms to patrol the grounds to ensure that Lord Brookfield does not try to put in another appearance.”

“Another appearance?” repeated Miranda.

“Yes, my dearest, I did not want to tell you, but Mervin informed me that he was here just a few days ago. He arose Mervin's suspicions when he offered to inform me that we had a visitor and Lord Brookfield hotfooted it away. I did not tell you this, darling, but Mervin caught him snooping around the gardens. Miranda, do you think it wise to keep on working at the Hall under such circumstances?”

“Lord Templeton will surely protect me,” she answered fervently. “He will not allow me to come to any harm.”

Sir George sighed.

“It may well be that tonight's episode was designed merely to frighten you. He strikes me as the kind of man who derives his thrills from terrorising those weaker than himself. Now go to bed and do not worry.”

He retrieved his candle and kissed his daughter on her head. As he moved towards the door, he stopped and turned to Miranda.

“Perhaps you might now concede that staying at The Grange and not working for Lord Templeton might be a wise choice at the moment. I am sure he will understand. We shall discuss this subject again in the morning. Now goodnight, darling.”

As he closed the door behind him, Miranda began to weep again.

‘But I love him! I could not bear not to see him every day and not be involved in his plans for the future!'

But she knew that her father's words were wise.

He did not know what Lord Brookfield was capable of, as she had diluted the facts when presenting them to him upon her return from London.

Only she understood how ruthless he could be.

Yet the thought of not seeing Robert Templeton for weeks on end was unbearable.

She cried herself to sleep as she tossed and turned long into the night –

Lord Brookfield had not wasted his time at Ledbury Hall by just enjoying the entertainment his hosts had laid on for their guests.

After Miranda left he had quickly located the study and found what he wanted.

The plans for the new dairy were all laid out on the Earl's desk. He smirked as he took a clean sheet of paper from the desk and copied the map of the estate on to it. He then folded the paper and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

Then he noticed a pile of letters Miss Jenkins had written, some of which the Earl had signed.

‘A signature could be most useful,' he muttered to himself, secreting the topmost letter into his pocket.

Before he left, he took a sheet of headed notepaper from the desk.

He now patted his jacket pocket with a great deal of satisfaction before slipping out of the study, hoping that his absence had not been noted.

Much later that evening, while Miranda still sobbed into her pillow and the Earl was pacing his room mulling over the words that had been so poisonously tossed at him, Lord Brookfield was busy plotting in his hotel in Malvern.

With a sketch of the Earl's estate in his possession and the positioning of the new dairy, he soon concocted a plan to abduct Miranda.

As he ran over in his head what he would do, he went over to the small suitcase that he had hidden beneath the bed and took it out.

Inserting the key into the lock, he snapped it open and lifted the lid. Inside the red velvet lining was an object wrapped in a piece of black material.

Weighing it gently in his hands, he unwrapped it with a sinister smile playing about his lips.

‘She will give me no trouble with this in my hand,' he murmured, staring at the small pistol. ‘And with the aid of the chloroform I have with me, she will not know a thing about it until we are in Gretna Green!'

With a hollow laugh he replaced the gun in its case and then carefully locked it. ‘Tomorrow!' he whispered to himself. ‘Yes, I shall put my plan into action tomorrow!'

*

Sir George did not allow the servants to wake up Miranda the next morning.

“Leave her be,” he told them. “She must rest.”

But Miranda was not asleep. She had opened her eyes when the first servant began moving around the house and then she lay awake staring at the ceiling going over and over the previous evening's events.

‘Why did Papa not inform me that Lord Brookfield had already been to the house? I could have run away and hidden!'

But she realised that there were precious few places left for her to run to and that he would persist in pursuing her, even if she fled to another Continent.

‘I don't wish to live my life as a prisoner,' she said to herself. ‘Papa and Robert will not allow any harm to come to me.'

She sat up in bed and thought about the Earl.

Had it been her imagination or had his manner last night been a little more than just that of a concerned friend or employer?

His timely intervention in the hall had prevented Lord Brookfield from harming her anymore.

She rubbed her wrist that still bore the red marks from his fingers. Had the Earl not arrived on the scene at that moment, he would have broken her delicate flesh.

And
the way he had spoken to her attacker – so strong and resolute, so protective.

‘Dare I believe that he feels for me as I have come to feel for him?' she asked herself, rising from her bed and going over to the window.

Outside the sun was shining and Church bells were chiming in the distance.

She heard the sounds of her father's carriage being brought round and she realised that he had left her to sleep while he and her mother went to Church.

Picking up her shawl from the chair, she wrapped it around her and allowed her thoughts to return to the Earl.

He had been so much her hero as a child and now, since he had returned to the Hall, she could hardly believe the transformation in him.

She had been told that he had become a good-for-nothing whose only concerns were pleasures and keeping away from the responsibilities of the Hall.

Yet nothing could have been further from the truth.

‘I would not have thought it possible,' murmured Miranda to herself.

Feeling tired but still unable to sleep she decided to go downstairs for breakfast.

The house was quiet as she walked to the dining room. As she pushed open the glazed door, she noticed that just one place had been laid.

She sat down and picked up the small bell by her place and rang it. Within moments Mervin arrived in the room, asking her what she would like to eat and drink.

“Just toast please, Mervin, and a small cup of tea,” she replied, tucking a stray strand of her hair into her low chignon.

The toast arrived and she sat and ate it thoughtfully – her thoughts still lingering on the Earl.

‘Could he love me?' she mused, spreading butter on her toast. ‘We were childhood sweethearts of sorts and he always said he would marry me – '

She shook her head at her own frivolousness.

‘Even if he did have any feelings for me, his mother would never allow him to pursue me,' she sighed.

Mervin refilled her teacup and the front door bell suddenly interrupted the morning quiet.

“Are we expecting visitors, miss?” he asked, setting down the teapot.

Miranda's heart leapt.

Was it the Earl?

Mervin went to answer the door.

She heard voices and Mervin reappeared bearing a letter. Her heart leapt again as she recognised the now familiar notepaper.

“A messenger is at the door, miss. He says that his Lordship needs to see you at once.”

Miranda's heart skipped several beats. He needed to see her! Was this the day she had secretly hoped for?

She took the letter and puzzled at the jumbled script that requested that she meet him at once at the site of the new dairy.

Yet the signature was most certainly the Earl's.

“
Please come at once to the site of the new dairy,
” it read. “
There is an urgent matter I wish to discuss with you. Regards, Robert, Earl of Templeton.
”

‘How strange that he should be so formal,' she pondered. ‘But perhaps, as he was entrusting the message to someone else, he did not wish for his true meaning to be divined?'

“Will you take the buggy, miss?” asked Mervin.

“No,” she replied. “I will take Bluebell. Can you ask the groom to have her made ready at once?”

Mervin bowed and left the room.

She quickly made her way back to her room, put on her hat and picked up her lace gloves. She had not ridden Bluebell since her return and she hoped that she was not too out of practice.

She ran towards the stables and heard Bluebell's whinny before she saw her being led out.

“Hello, old girl,” she crooned whilst patting the horse's neck fondly.

The stable boy pulled a box towards the horse and helped Miranda up.

Soon she was trotting down the lanes, revelling in the breeze that caressed her cheek.

All that mattered to her was seeing the Earl again.

‘It must be very important if he has summoned me on a Sunday,' she wondered as Bluebell picked up speed.

She was blissfully unaware that she was riding into a trap.

*

Lord Brookfield had paid the man to take the letter to The Grange after spending several hours practising the Earl's signature from the example he had stolen.

He had thought it best to keep the letter short.

‘She will think the strangeness of his handwriting is due to his urgency,' he told himself wryly. ‘She will flatter herself that he has been awake all night thinking of her and that he has some great secret to impart to her.'

He grinned as he tucked the pistol into his trousers and made certain that the chloroform and pads were in his coat pocket. Placing his hat on his head he ran downstairs and asked the concierge to have his luggage loaded onto his carriage.

“You are leaving us, my Lord?” said the concierge sorry to see the source of so many large tips leaving the hotel.

“I am afraid urgent business impels me to go North. I have an estate there.”

“Fetch his Lordship's luggage,” the concierge ordered the bellboy, “while I ask for his bill.”

Lord Brookfield pulled out his wallet. Opening it he took out a pound note and slid it over to the concierge.

“If anyone makes enquiries as to my whereabouts, you will be certain to tell them I have returned to London, is that clear?”

“Very, my Lord,” smiled the concierge, his eyes bulging with greed.

‘My alibi is now in place,' said Lord Brookfield to himself with a sinister smile. ‘And now, to business!'

With a confident stride he paid his bill, then left the
Spa Hotel
, grinning like the cat that had been given the cream.

*

At Ledbury Hall, the Earl was in a foul humour.

He had not slept well, thanks to Lord Brookfield's words and a surfeit of brandy. His head was thumping and the icy vibrations from his mother were worse than if she had berated him non-stop.