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Had it been pure imagination, or had she detected a slight
inflection in his voice—a note of disapproval, perhaps? ‘I believe the general
consensus is one of approval. He is amiable, conscientious and quite
knowledgeable about many things.’

‘But not knowledgeable enough to diagnose my aunt’s fatal
condition, seemingly,’ he countered.

There was no mistaking the condemnation this time. And maybe
there was some justification for it, she decided. ‘I can only repeat what I’ve
told you already. He moved here from London a little under a year ago. He is
well-liked in the community and has earned himself a favourable reputation. I
assume he must have been successful in his former practice, as he was able to
purchase that large property on the outskirts of town.’

‘Perhaps. All the same, one cannot help but wonder why someone
would wish to abandon the metropolis, where there are very rich pickings to be
had, and set up a practice in the wilds of the country, most especially as he
retains strong ties with the capital, by all accounts. I have it on the best
authority that he has travelled back and forth on several occasions since
removing here, leaving his friend, the young apothecary, to deal with the more
urgent cases.’

Briony saw nothing amiss in this whatsoever. ‘Well, what of it?
He no doubt has friends and family living there still.’

‘Mmm, perhaps,’ he said again, though not sounding at all
convinced that this was a good enough reason, then shrugged. ‘And I suppose
there’s less competition here, so he could expect his services to be called upon
fairly frequently, providing of course he doesn’t kill off too many of his
patients.’ All at once he smiled. ‘It’s a mistake to prejudge; maybe I do him a
disservice to be suspicious.’ He appeared to consider for a moment. ‘He resides
with a sister, so I understand. Perhaps we should include them in our list of
guests.’

Briony wasn’t so sure. Given that Luke plainly didn’t hold the
young practitioner in particularly high regard, and for some reason seemed to
mistrust him, too, why on earth should he wish to invite him at all? She could
only hope that the other guests were looked upon more favourably, otherwise the
evening was destined to be a disaster.

‘If you give me a list of those you wish to invite, I shall
begin making arrangements.’

Her continued lack of enthusiasm was clear to hear. ‘Don’t make
it sound like such an ordeal,’ he reproved lightly. ‘I’m sure my aunt passed on
all her social skills and I’ve no intention of burdening you with a large
affair, at least not yet. Just a few neighbours, that’s all.’

When she offered no comment, he studied her as she sat quietly
in her chair, plying her needle, for all the world the epitome of a very restful
young woman, without a concern in the world. It was a mien that might deceive
many a gentleman, but it didn’t persuade him into foolishly supposing she was
contented with her lot. She was perhaps being acquiescent, falling in with his
wishes in order to maintain her part of the marriage bargain. But he would be
foolish to suppose she would always be so submissive, he mused, staring fixedly
across the hearth at her beneath half-shuttered lids.

* * *

Luke’s reading of her character had been uncannily
accurate—she had done her utmost to hide the conflicting emotions warring within
her. Yet, that night, alone in her bed, she tossed and turned, plagued by a
guilty conscience and a strong foreboding that she could never maintain the
pretence.

Oh, it wasn’t that she minded so much falling in with Luke’s
wishes and holding a dinner party. Finally abandoning any attempt to find solace
in sleep, Briony turned on her back and stared up at the lacy canopy above her
head. Given the choice, she would have much preferred to delay any socialising,
if only out of respect for her late godmother. No, that wasn’t wholly true,
honesty obliged her to acknowledge a moment later. What really pricked her
conscience was the fact that she would be obliged to put on an act, attempt to
appear a deliriously happy, newly married woman whenever in the company of
friends and people whom she had known and respected for years.

It was all so…so very base, she told herself. And all because
she had allowed the prospect of a future without financial concerns overrule any
ethical consideration. Really, she had only herself to blame if she was riddled
now with guilt! And the irony of it all was, the only person with whom she could
be totally at ease, totally herself, was the very one she had married, that man
who continued to remain a complete enigma.

Instinctively she turned to stare at the communicating door and
was surprised to detect the flicker of light beneath. She felt sure Luke had not
been long in seeking his bed after she herself had retired. In fact, she
recalled hearing him prowling about his bedchamber…just as he was doing now.

Easing herself up on one elbow, she continued to watch the
light fade and then become brighter as Luke continued to move about, as though
seeking certain objects. Then she clearly heard the click of a door and
footsteps moving along the passageway outside her own room. Vaguely she
remembered hearing the long-case clock in the hall chiming the hour of two a
short while before. The dead of night seemed an odd time to be prowling about
the house, unless…

A disturbing possibility then occurred to her. Surely he wasn’t
feeling unwell? He had seemed hale and hearty after dinner, praising Janet’s
cooking up to the hilt, declaring it was every bit as good as anything he’d ever
tasted in the capital. So if he wasn’t feeling ill, what else might have induced
him to leave his bed at such a late hour? A strange noise…? The sound of an
intruder, perhaps?

Without taking a moment to consider, Briony tossed aside the
bedcovers and slipped her feet into slippers. It took a minute or two before she
had successfully lit her bedside candle, donned a dressing gown and had reached
the head of the stairs. Even so, she would have expected to glimpse Luke
somewhere below, either crossing the hall or entering a room, but there was no
sign of him whatsoever.

Holding her candle aloft, she slowly descended into the hall,
her heartbeat quickening with every step. Striving to ignore the eerie shadows
cast by familiar objects, she forced herself to venture into each and every
downstairs room, checking for anything out of the ordinary as she did so, but
everything was just as it should have been, with no signs of forced entry. She
ventured at last into the kitchen. The door leading to the stable yard was, like
the others, securely locked and bolted, and everything was in its place. So
where was Luke? He hadn’t left the house by way of any one of the exits; bolts
securely thrown were proof of that. So, he must surely be somewhere beneath the
Manor’s roof, she reasoned. But where?

Puzzled, but not unduly alarmed, Briony was on the point of
returning to the comfort of her bed when she noticed the door leading to the
cellar wasn’t properly fastened. She pushed it fully open, once again expecting
to find her husband lurking below, only to discover cold, dark and eerie
silence.

Carefully descending into the chill, musty atmosphere, she
peered about her once her eyes had grown accustomed to the intense gloom. She
had rarely ventured here during the dozen years she had lived in the house.
Neither cellars nor attics had ever held any great appeal for her. Added to
which, there had never been any reason for her to venture into the subterranean
room. Janet had always ensured that the place was swept out from time to time
and had made regular checks to ensure there were always adequate supplies of
wines, spirits and ale. The wine racks were reasonably well stocked, with just
the odd space here and there. There were several barrels littering the floor,
but certainly nothing untoward, she decided, except maybe for a curved scratch
on the flagstone floor, close to one of the wine racks, which suggested
something had been dragged across the floor quite recently… But there was no
sign of Luke.

The man simply couldn’t have vanished into thin air, for
heaven’s sake! Yet, if he’d left the house, he certainly hadn’t done so by means
of one of the usual exits. All remained securely bolted, she reminded herself,
as she closed the cellar door and made her way back up the staircase to her
room.

Quietly fastening the bedchamber door, she glanced across at
the communicating one, considering briefly whether to enter Luke’s bedchamber,
just to see if he had indeed returned, but then decided against it. In all
probability he had ventured downstairs for a drink of water, or some such thing,
and she simply hadn’t heard him going back to his room whilst she had been
engaged in her search. Yes, that must surely be it. Furthermore, if she should
enter his room and find him awake, he would undoubtedly think the intrusion most
odd, besides being highly embarrassing for her! No, best forget the whole thing,
she decided, slipping back into bed.

All the same, for the second time in the space of twenty-four
hours the niggling suspicion that something was not quite as it should be had
seeded itself in her mind.

* * *

The small room at the back of the house, which Lady
Ashworth had turned into her private study, was where Briony discovered Luke
early the following afternoon. He had not joined her at the breakfast table and
she had subsequently learned from his valet, Smethers, that his master had
passed an indifferent night and had requested a tray brought up to his room late
in the morning. Although this had come as no great surprise, she did think it
odd that he could look so hale and hearty after so little sleep.

‘I trust you are feeling more the thing?’ she remarked, placing
a vase of freshly cut flowers on the desk. ‘Smethers mentioned you’d passed an
indifferent night. Which, I must confess, came as no very great surprise to me.
I thought you must be suffering some slight malaise. I heard you leave your room
in the early hours, as it happens.’

Only for a moment did he check in the letter he was composing.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I went downstairs for a glass of
brandy. I thought it might help me sleep.’

She wasn’t wholly convinced. ‘Wasn’t there brandy in the
decanter in the drawing room?’ She frowned in puzzlement. ‘Or was that why you
went down to the cellar?’

Again the shapely hand moving back and forth across the page
stilled. ‘You followed me…?’ He gazed up at her searchingly for a moment; not
looking altogether pleased for some reason, it had to be said. Then he merely
raised a brow in a decidedly mocking arch. ‘My, my, such wifely devotion!’

His sarcasm not only made her feel rather foolish, but annoyed
her, too. Clearly her concern over his well-being had been quite misplaced. ‘If
you must know, I thought you might have heard an intruder. I went down to
satisfy myself that all was as it should be. That was all. Evidently you
returned to your bedchamber whilst I was conducting my search of the
ground-floor rooms.’

‘Evidently. I shall endeavour not to disturb you in future,
madam, if I feel the need to wander about in the dead of night.’ He reached for
a sheet of paper on the desk and almost thrust it into her hand. ‘Now, if you’d
care to run your eyes over that short list of names and add any others you feel
we should invite, we can begin to arrange this dinner party of ours. I thought
perhaps the week after next, if you’re agreeable.’

By his tone she doubted whether he cared a whit whether she was
agreeable or not. Something had clearly annoyed him and she doubted very much
that it had been her initial reluctance to hold the dinner party.

Chapter Six

‘O
h, I don’t know what to choose,’ Briony
confessed as she rummaged through the jewellery case to find something suitable
to don for the evening. ‘I’ve taken such great care over the arrangements for
this wretched dinner party, but I must confess I cannot be easy in my mind.
Holding the event so soon after the funeral is bad enough, without decking
myself out in a load of gauds.’

The housekeeper shot her mistress an understanding smile. ‘Why
not choose something simple, Miss Briony? What about that fine cameo brooch your
godmother was so fond of wearing? If you were to thread that through with a
length of black-velvet ribbon, it would go well with that new silver-grey gown,
besides showing a mark of respect.’

‘What a very good notion! Yes, that will serve very well.’ As
she began searching through one of her dressing-table drawers for the required
length of ribbon, Briony became aware of movements in the adjoining bedchamber.
‘Good heavens! Sounds as if your master hasn’t finished dressing yet. He came
upstairs to do so long before I did.’

‘Saw Mr Smethers go in there with another pile of freshly
starched neckcloths a while ago,’ the housekeeper revealed. ‘Seemingly Master
Luke’s having some trouble arranging his cravat to his liking this evening.’

Briony rolled her eyes in disgust. ‘There are times I’m
convinced I’ve married a twiddle-poop. There are only two things he seems ever
to trouble himself over—his appearance and his horses!’

Chancing to glance in the dressing-table mirror at that moment,
Briony caught a decidedly troubled expression on the housekeeper’s face. ‘I was
merely jesting, Janet. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed your master and I have
been rubbing along remarkably well during these past couple of weeks. Being
married isn’t so very bad, after all.’

And she had meant it, too. During the past days Luke had seemed
very content to spend a deal of time in her company; she had discovered they had
a surprising number of interests in common. As riding was perhaps their
favourite pastime, they had ridden out together whenever the weather had
permitted them to do so.

She had quickly discovered the coastline road seemed a
favourite ride of Luke’s. She had been more than happy to fall in with his
wishes whenever he had chosen to ride in that direction, as she had discovered
half-hidden caves and inlets she had never known existed. Only one occasion had
caused her a modicum of disquiet—that was when they had chanced upon the
Customs’ Riding officer employed to catch those engaged in the smuggling trade
taking place in his area, and she was reminded of her friend’s brother Will and
the bolt of dark blue silk in Mary’s shop.

As the days had passed she had grown more and more at ease in
Luke’s company, taking his frequent teasing in good part and more often than not
retaliating by giving him some of the same, which never failed to elicit a
rumble of appreciative masculine laughter. More importantly, she had never felt
threatened by his presence when they had been alone. Never once had he attempted
to touch her, unless he had been offering a helping hand in or out of the
carriage—save for that one occasion when he had clasped her waist and had lifted
her effortlessly down from the saddle, an experience that she had found
particularly disquieting for a minute or two, mainly because she had enjoyed the
familiarity so much.

Yes, all in all, life was quite pleasantly satisfying at the
moment, so she couldn’t quite understand why Janet all too often wore a troubled
expression, as now.

‘Truly, Janet, I’m very contented with married life, believe
me.’

‘Well, that’s all right, then, so long as you’re happy.’

The response was decidedly flat. It was almost as if the
housekeeper hadn’t believed a word of what she’d been told, Briony mused,
wondering if there could be a personal reason for Janet’s evident disquiet.

‘You’re not finding the extra work too much, are you? I know
with more servants about the place you’ve extra mouths to feed. You must be very
busy in the kitchen these days. You don’t need to add to your workload by
dancing attendance upon me as often as you do,’ she pointed out. ‘Alice is quite
capable of helping me to dress.’

‘I know she is, Miss Briony. But I enjoy arranging your hair
and the like. It gets me out of the kitchen, gives me a break from the pots and
pans,’ Janet admitted, all at once appearing more animated than she had for
days. ‘And as far as having too much work to do—’tis no such thing. That girl
Daisy Master Luke employed to help about the kitchen, and the like, has been a
treasure. Worth her weight in gold, young as she is! She’s keen to learn, and
will start to make a fair cook in a year or so, if I know anything.’

Sam had said much the same thing about the girl’s brother, who
had been set to work about the garden and in the stables the week before. They
both remained at the Manor at night, which of course resulted in more room in
the labourer’s cottage their father rented from one of the local landowners.

‘I hardly know the place these days,’ Briony admitted. ‘What
with Luke’s valet wandering about, and the young footman who accompanied
Smethers here, the Manor isn’t quite the same place any more. Not that I’m
complaining, of course,’ she added, when Janet’s expression showed signs of
disquiet again. ‘All the changes have been for the better, as far as I can
see.’

‘If you say so, miss,’ was the non-committal response.

Given that time now was pressing, Briony decided not to attempt
to uncover the root of Janet’s evident anxiety and made her way down the stairs
to discover Luke, looking immaculate in a black coat and buff-coloured
pantaloons, already in the drawing room. His expression as he turned to look at
her showed clearly enough that he was nowhere near as impressed with her attire
as she was with his.

He shook his head. ‘Grey again,’ he admonished, but Briony
refused to take offence, for she knew she looked well enough in the pearly-grey
silk.

‘Janet thought the gown most appropriate in the circumstances,
and so, too, do I,’ she told him.

Luke fixed his gaze on the decoration tied about her slender
neck and smiled. ‘Did you know that a few years ago it was fashionable for
Frenchwomen to tie a length of red ribbon round the throat. It was meant to
signify victims of Madame Guillotine.’

‘How ghoulish!’

‘Yes, it is rather,’ he agreed while studying the artistic
arrangements of her shining brown locks, which he clearly remembered had made
her appear so gorgeously alluring on their wedding night, cascading about her
shoulders as they had been on that bittersweet occasion.

It took some effort, but he managed to focus on their topic of
conversation. ‘All the same, I think red would become you very well with your
colouring. I shall see about having a dress made up for you in that colour when
next I go up to town.’

‘Don’t waste your blunt,’ she advised, though secretly touched
by the offer. ‘I shouldn’t wear it if you did. It would be most improper at the
present time.’

‘Don’t talk nonsense, girl!’ Luke retorted, refusing to give
way on this issue. ‘How many times do I need to tell you that Aunt Lavinia
wouldn’t have wanted you to waste precious months of life mourning her and doing
little else. She was far too practical, not to mention too dashed fond of you to
wish you to observe strict mourning. The black ribbon encircling your throat
shows respect enough. By the beginning of next month I expect to see you in
colours other than grey. Otherwise I might be obliged to resort to rather
drastic measures and dress you myself!’

Although she laughed, she wasn’t altogether sure he wouldn’t
attempt to carry out the threat. For all that he paid great attention to his
attire, his pernickety valet Smethers ensuring there wasn’t so much as the
slightest flaw in any of his master’s clothes, Luke was without doubt every inch
the red-blooded male. He enjoyed regular outdoor exercise and was lean and well
muscled as a result of it. Although he had a healthy appetite, he could never be
accused of gluttony, and he always drank in moderation. Moreover, he was clean
in his habits and she had never once heard him resort to bad language. All in
all, she decided, one would need to go a long way to find a more model
husband.

* * *

Unbelievable though it was, later that same evening her
good opinion of him had sadly begun to erode somewhat. Not only had he singled
out Lord Petersham’s niece Melissa, whom he had insisted be placed next to him
at table for particular attention, he had behaved quite out of character by
drinking far more than usual. Every time she had chanced to glance in his
direction it was to discover his glass empty and about to be refilled by the
young footman he had brought with him from London. She began to feel
increasingly uncomfortable, conscious of the sympathetic glances from several of
the guests, including Dr Mansfield. Consequently, she was rather glad when the
meal finally came to an end and she was able to invite the ladies to leave the
table.

At least as far as the weather was concerned, the evening could
not have been better and Briony invited the ladies to take tea on the terrace.
The garden looked lovely, the roses at their very best, and Lady Willoughby, a
keen rose grower herself, not to mention an accomplished hostess, maintained the
conversation on such safe topics as cultivating beautiful blooms, the latest
fashions appearing in the
Ladies’ Journal,
and
certain recipes her cook had recently attempted.

‘And I must say, Briony,’ she continued, ‘I thought the dinner
you arranged for this evening was faultless. You must persuade your Janet to
give my cook the recipe for that creamy sauce served with the chicken.
Absolutely delicious!’

Beginning at last to feel more relaxed in the all-female
company, Briony assured her she would speak to the housekeeper. She had always
liked Lady Willoughby and her husband Sir Henry. They had been particular
friends of her godmother and frequent visitors to the house. Their daughter
Clara had just turned seventeen, and this was one of her first ventures into
adult society. She was a pretty girl and clearly shy. It was perhaps just as
well, therefore, that she had been spared Luke’s flirtatious attentions that
evening.

Briony frowned slightly as her gaze slid to another female
guest who had thankfully been spared Luke’s surprisingly familiar overtures.
Which Briony considered most strange, now she came to consider the matter, for
without doubt Miss Florence Mansfield was by far the prettiest guest present.
Yet, apart from greeting her and her brother most cordially, Luke had not
attempted to favour her with any undue displays of gallantry, Briony clearly
recalled, her eyes automatically focusing on that one surprising exception.

Having attained the age of three and twenty, Miss Melissa
Petersham had enjoyed several Seasons in town and was brimful of confidence as a
result. Throughout the evening thus far she had actively encouraged Luke’s
advances, laughing outright at his asides and flirting in return by tapping his
arm with her fan, when not clinging to it in a possessive fashion.

In recent years the biggest landowner in the district, Lord
Petersham, had suffered indifferent health and was virtually housebound as a
result. He rarely socialised and had left it to his only son and heir to act as
escort during his niece’s visit. It was the first time Briony had ever met Miles
Petersham, and she had already decided she didn’t quite like him either. It
wasn’t that he was ill-looking—far from it, in fact. Nature had been kind to him
in both face and form. Unfortunately, any man who resembled her late father in
any way she was inclined to view with distaste.

It was common knowledge that Miles Petersham spent most of his
time in the capital. When he did visit the ancestral pile it was for days rather
than weeks. Like Luke himself—and indeed her late father—Miles had earned the
reputation of being something of a gamester and womaniser, and was rumoured to
be frequently in debt—much like Sir Henry and Lady Willoughby’s only son Claud,
who had been forced to rusticate in recent weeks because of bad debts. He was
yet another whom she had taken in great dislike some years before, but had been
obliged to include in the guest list at Luke’s insistence. Just what Luke could
possibly have in common with such a spindle-shanks as Claud Willoughby was
anybody’s guess. There again, she wouldn’t have supposed he had much in common
with either Miles Petersham or Dr Mansfield, come to that, and yet he had
insisted on inviting them, too. All in all, Briony decided, she wasn’t enjoying
this, her first dinner party, in the least!

At Lady Willoughby’s behest Briony accompanied her and the
vicar’s wife for a stroll through the garden. Horticulture was one interest all
three ladies had in common; it was while they were considering several specimens
in the large herbaceous border that they were joined by Dr Mansfield. It wasn’t
long before Lady Willoughby and the vicar’s wife had wandered some distance
ahead and Briony was left alone with the man whom she had always considered
possibly the most handsome of her acquaintance.

As they fell ever further behind the two other strollers, they
maintained a conversation that was quite impersonal. Then, quite without
warning, Dr Mansfield reached for her hand and startled Briony somewhat by
pulling her to a halt and demanding to know if she were happy.

‘Why, of course I’m happy. Why shouldn’t I be?’

He stared down at her, his expression an odd mixture of
sympathy and disbelief. ‘You’ll forgive me for saying so, but your husband does
not behave like a newly married gentleman.’

All at once Briony felt both hurt and angry, but certainly not
with John Mansfield. He had spoken no less than the truth, after all. Through
sheer thoughtlessness, or possibly even design, Luke had placed her in the most
invidious position. How on earth was she supposed to react, or defend Luke’s
over-familiar overtures to a certain female guest? Any wife who cherished
feelings for her husband would feel furiously aggrieved if she witnessed him
flirting so outrageously. And the peculiar thing was so did she! But she wasn’t
supposed to feel that way, she reminded herself. Her marriage, after all, was
one of convenience only. She had a role to maintain and must somehow continue to
honour the pledge she had made.

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