The Earl Next Door (18 page)

‘Since I saw you last I have been speaking to Henri.’

He frowned, and his mouth tightened. ‘Henri?’

‘He told me everything. About you, and Kit, and –’

‘He should have kept his mouth shut,’ he snapped.

‘And let me believe Kit was a gambler and you were the man who ruined him?’ demanded Marianne.

‘You believed what Henri told you, then?’ asked Lord Ravensford obliquely.

Marianne nodded. ‘Yes. I did. I’d always found it difficult to accept that Kit would run up gambling debts. He didn’t like games, for one thing, and was never interested in dice or cards. And he never did things to excess. Perhaps he might have lost a few sovereigns at a game of chance, that I could believe, but thousands of pounds? And then to ask my father to pay his debts? No. Kit would never have done that. He has too much pride.

If he had run up gambling debts he would have taken great pains to make sure news of it never reached my father, and he would have found a way of paying them off himself. I never believed it – except that, as he told me of his debts himself, I felt I had no choice. Why else would he say it if it wasn’t true?’

She shook her head. ‘Even then, somewhere underneath, I still didn’t really accept it. So that when Henri said he had needed the money to go to
France
, things began to fall into place. In normal circumstances Kit would never have asked my father for money, but to rescue Adèle? Yes, I believe he would do anything for Adèle.

And then again, going to
France
to search for her is exactly the sort of hot headed thing he would do. He is not the kind to gamble, but risking everything for the sake of someone he loved? Yes, that is the sort of thing he would do.’

‘And was it only your knowledge of Kit’s character that led you to believe Henri, or may I hope that it was in part an understanding of mine? That you realised I am not the sort of man to lead an innocent young person to perdition?’

A sudden tension filled the air. Marianne’s thoughts went to their encounter in the lane; the feel of his mouth on hers and the touch of his hand.

She fought down her unruly thoughts and, forcing them to focus on his question, turned to look at him. Strong, dangerous and implacable as he was, she did not believe him to be capable of such a thing. ‘No. I don’t think you are.’

‘As I have told you before,’ he remarked, ‘you are a good judge of character. And so, what do you think of Kit going over to
France
?’

Marianne frowned. ‘I’m concerned for him. And afraid —’

‘Which is why he didn’t want to tell you.’

‘ — but I’m pleased that he’s gone. I  always suspected that he loved Adèle. I pray he finds her and brings her safely to Seaton Hall.’

‘Amen to that.’

They had now fallen significantly behind the rest of the party.

‘I think we had better join the others, my lord,’ she said.

He threw her a tempting smile. ‘I think, now that you know who I am, instead of calling me “my lord” you should call me Luke.’

‘No, I couldn’t do that,’ she said, feeling a small shiver wash over her at the intimacy of his suggestion. ‘Come, we are falling behind.’

She spurred her horse, putting the animal into a gallop. He followed suit and she thought he meant to ride beside her, but he reached over and caught hold of her bridle, forcing her mare to slow, until at last the animal came to a snorting halt. He swung his own horse out in front of her.

‘I would like to hear my name on your lips,’ he said, his eyes trailing across them with barely-disguised longing.

‘I . . . don’t think it would be proper,’ she said. His glance was having a profound effect on her, and her voice came out as a whisper.

‘Nothing between us has ever been proper,’ he said huskily. ‘Why should this be any different?’

‘I don’t . . . ’ She felt a pulse beating in her throat.

‘Marianne . . . ’

‘You shouldn’t call me that.’

‘But I am going to. I’ve been fighting it for long enough. Miss Travis and Lord Ravensford won’t do for all we’ve been through.’

‘And just what have we been through?’ she asked, her voice throaty, trying to keep him at a distance.

‘If you’ve forgotten, perhaps I should remind you.’ The glance that roved over her face was burning.

‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked, her voice low, as she had a sudden memory of him walking arm in arm with Mrs Kilkenny.

‘Why am I doing this?’ he repeated softly. Murmuring, a moment later, ‘Yes, why
am
I doing this?’ as though speaking to himself.

She danced her mare back a step. ‘I think, my lord, we ought to join the others before Miss Stock begins to grow concerned.’

He gave her a searching look and then nodded. ‘Of course, Miss Travis.’ He moved his horse aside. ‘Perhaps you would care to lead the way.’

It was with relief that Marianne found herself once again riding next to Miss Stock. With that kindly lady on one side of her and Jennifer Cosgrove on the other she had some measure of protection against Lord Ravensford, a protection she seemed to need. Because somehow their relationship had not been simplified by the removal of the secret that had, unbeknownst to her, stood between them. Indeed, it now seemed more complicated than ever.

‘ . . . warm for March,’ Miss Stock was saying. ‘I am truly enjoying the ride.’

The conversation was general, and Marianne willingly joined in, praising the early spring sun, the beauty of the grounds and the newly-burgeoning blossom that was appearing on some of the ornamental trees. Trying not to notice that Lord Ravensford had fallen in beside Mrs Kilkenny.

During luncheon, rain set in. It began as a drizzle and then became a downpour, lashing the trees and scattering the blossom so that it looked like falling snow. Far from dampening everyone’s spirits, however, the rain made everyone feel pleasantly smug, for they had beaten the English weather and had returned to the house before it started to rain.

‘I know,’ said Jennifer, when they were all assembled in the drawing-room after lunch was over and an air of lethargy had started to set in. ‘We must play charades! Can we?’ She turned appealingly to Lord Ravensford, who sat, dark and amused, in a Sheraton chair.

‘Jennifer,’ said her mother warningly.

‘Why not?’ asked Mrs Kilkenny, finding the idea stimulating. She turned to Lord Ravensford. ‘It would be a good idea for a wet afternoon, would it not?’

He smiled lazily. ‘If it pleases you.’

Mrs Kilkenny gave an arch smile. ‘Indeed it does.’

‘But what shall our charades be about? I know. Plays!’ Jennifer burst out.

‘Plays?’ asked Jem, his enthusiasm caught. ‘Dash it, Jenny, that’s just the thing.’

‘Why, yes, that is a good notion,’ said Mrs Kilkenny. ‘And do you know, I believe I already have an idea.’ She turned to Lord Ravensford. ‘I shall need your help, my lord.’

His regarded her mockingly. ‘I thought you might.’

Mrs Kilkenny chose to take this as a compliment and fluttered her fan. Then, turning with a show of kindness to Jennifer, she said, ‘We shall need you, too, if you would be so good.’

Jennifer beamed mightily at having been chosen, and carried away with an excess of high spirits asked, ‘Can we look in the attics, Lord Ravensford? For props, I mean?’

He gave her a look of amused tolerance. ‘Are there any props in the attic?’

‘There are sure to be,’ said Jennifer confidently. ‘All attics have props. And Figgs can bring them down for us.’

‘Really, Jennifer, it isn’t up to you to arrange Lord Ravensford’s household,’ said her mother reprovingly.

But Lord Ravensford was in a mood to humour his young guest. ‘Figgs shall bring down anything you require.’

‘We’ll have to practise somewhere. I know. The music room,’ Jennifer said.

‘The very place,’ agreed Mrs Kilkenny. ‘And Mr Kent, Mr Havers, may we have your help as well?’

‘Delighted,’ they agreed, caught up in the scheme.

‘And we will make a second group,’ said Marianne, seeing Jem’s crestfallen face: he had always been fond of charades. ‘That is, if everyone wishes to play?’

Jem’s face lit up. Mr and Mrs Cosgrove expressed their willingness, as did Mr Pargeter and Miss Stock, and before long everything was a bustle and confusion. Mrs Kilkenny’s group retired and Marianne asked her own companions for suggestions. They settled in the end for
The Winter’s Tale
, and began to think of the tableaux that would illustrate their choice.

It had been arranged that the gong would ring in an hour and everyone would partake of tea, after which the charades would begin. There was much laughter in Marianne’s group as the tableaux were rehearsed, and after tea her group was the first to act out the title of their chosen play.

Lord Ravensford’s group sat in a semi-circle around the performers and the charade began.

It opened with Jem and Maurice Pargeter sitting by the fire, rubbing their hands and puffing and blowing.

There was much conferring amongst the other group. Mrs Kilkenny’s fair head was almost touching Lord Ravensford's dark one as she talked over with him the meaning of the scene. Marianne, watching from the side of the room, felt her spirits sink. Mrs Kilkenny was making an obvious play for his attention; something he was only too willing to give. Surely Mrs Kilkenny was too shallow for him? She gave a start as she realised that that was the complaint she had levelled at Lord Ravensford on their first meeting; that he was shallow. But she had learnt since that he was anything but. Anything but shallow, anything but a gentleman, anything but a man who should make her melt inside . . . And yet he did.

At last, after several vain tries, Mr
Kent
guessed the word was
winter
, and the second tableau began.

This one involved Mr Cosgrove senior, marvellously entering into the spirit of the thing, galloping around the room with a skein of Miss Stock’s knitting yarn hanging from the back of his breeches. After much merriment, the word
tail
was guessed.

The final scene showed the whole word. Marianne took her place by the fire with a book on her lap. Mrs Cosgrove and Miss Stock sat on low stools at her feet, turning expectant faces towards her.

‘I have no idea,’ said Mrs Kilkenny to Lord Ravensford, wafting them both with her fan. ‘What can it be?’

‘It’s perfectly clear,’ said Lord Ravensford, his eyes tracing the bright highlights in Marianne’s hair, painted there by the leaping light from the fire. ‘It’s
The Winter’s Tale
.’

‘Of course it is,’ said Mrs Kilkenny. Adding, to display her learning, ‘One of my favourite of  Shakespeare’s plays.’