A Compromised Lady (3 page)

Her stomach churning, she turned to the letter addressed to her father—then hesitated. ‘This one is addressed to you, sir—’

‘Read the lot!’ he said savagely. ‘Damn fool! I told him! Warned him what you were—and he does this!’

Sick and shaking, Thea looked at the letter to her father. And frowned. She was to have two hundred a year? From her twenty-fifth to thirtieth birthday, unless she married with her father’s approval in the meantime, after which she would have the rest of the income…that Mr Kirkcudbright understood from his nephew that not all the blame could attach to Thea…that Aberfield’s foolish attitude…She risked a glance at her father over the letter. No wonder he looked apoplectic.

Her world spun and reshaped itself. Two hundred a year—her twenty-fifth birthday was less than three months away…she would be free. Independent. What happened after her thirtieth birthday?

She turned to the will. Apart from various minor bequests, the major one was to herself. And after her thirtieth birthday she received the entire income from the bequest.

Dazed, she looked up and met her father’s bitter gaze.

‘Well?’ he said. ‘God, what a coil! I told him what had happened! And he does this! Now there’s no help for it—you’ll have to marry! Almeria Arnsworth will find you a husband.’

‘Only if that’s what Thea wants,’ interrupted David.

Aberfield ignored that. ‘It shouldn’t be too hard with fifty thousand to sweeten the deal.’

Thea dropped the papers. ‘Fifty thousand?’

Lord Aberfield snorted. ‘That’s about the figure. In trust, of course. Thank God Theodore retained that much sense, despite David’s meddling. And believe me, I’ll see that you never get more than the two hundred a year if you don’t marry with my permission!’

Two hundred a year until her thirtieth birthday. Thea said nothing, retrieving the papers from the floor. It was wealth. An independence. And it would be hers in less than three months. All she had to do was to avoid her father’s matrimonial plans until then. An odd crunching noise distracted her.

She looked up. Aberfield was grinding his teeth.

‘Don’t get any ideas about setting up your own establishment after your birthday,’ he warned her.

‘You’ll be married long before then. In fact,’ he said, ‘you’ll be married by the end of the Season!’

He looked triumphant. ‘Dunhaven—he’ll have you.’

‘What!’

This exploded from David. ‘Dunhaven? For God’s sake, sir! Are you insane?’

Aberfield banged the arm of his chair. ‘Who else would have her?’ He cast a contemptuous glance at his daughter. ‘No point being fussy at this stage. Thing is to get her married off.’

‘Thea,’ began David, ‘you don’t have to—’

She waved him to silence and lifted her chin a notch and considered Aberfield from an entirely new perspective—that of having a choice.

Playing for time, she said, ‘I assume, then, that Lord Dunhaven is now a widower?’

‘Just out of mourning,’ confirmed Aberfield. ‘And looking for a bride.’

Her mind worked furiously. Appearing to fall in with his plans would be far safer. Safer than outright defiance anyway. He had shown once before that there was little he would not do to force her compliance…If she allowed him to think that she would toe the line…

Calmly she rose to her feet. ‘I shall look forward to renewing my acquaintance with Lord Dunhaven then. I won’t keep you any longer, sir. I have no doubt that I shall be perfectly safe under Lady Arnsworth’s roof.’

David’s sharply indrawn breath told her that he had understood her meaning perfectly.

Aberfield’s face was mottled. ‘Just remember: this time, you’ll do as you’re bid. Don’t expect me to protect you if you play fast and loose with another suitor!’

Her temper slipped its leash very slightly. ‘Nothing, sir,’ she said, ‘could possibly lead me to expect anything of the sort.’

‘Miss Winslow and Mr Winslow, my lady,’ Myles announced. His eyes flickered briefly to Richard, with what Richard would have sworn was a look of amused sympathy.

So he’d been right. A trap. And Myles knew all about it. He wouldn’t have been surprised had the dainty gilt chair he sat in suddenly sprouted shackles as Almeria rose and swept forward to greet her visitors.

Richard rose automatically as Thea Winslow and her brother came forward. Then he blinked in frowning disbelief. Could this be Thea? Dressed all in grey, not a scrap of colour, not a frill nor flounce relieved the drab, functional appearance of her pelisse and bonnet. She looked more like a governess or companion than an heiress.

Almeria said, ‘Welcome, my dears.’ She took Thea by the hand and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. ‘Dear Dorothea, do come and sit down.’ She led her to a chair, still patting her hand affectionately. ‘I am sure you are exhausted after your journey. Shall I ring for some tea?’

Even her cheeks looked grey. A pang went through him. Did she still mourn Lallerton?

For an instant their eyes met, and shock hit him as her gaze blanked. She hadn’t recognised him.

But would he have recognised her? The soft tawny curls were doubtless still there, hidden beneath the bonnet and cap. And her eyes—perhaps it was the grey of her gown, but he remembered them as more blue than grey. He remembered her face as vivid, expressive—not this blank mask with shuttered eyes. And she was thinner than he remembered.

He could have passed her in the street, even spoken to her, and not realised who she was. Yet now that he looked closely, in some strange way he did recognise her—as one sees the likeness between a waxwork doll and a friend.

The ache inside deepened. Had grief done this to her?

Thea’s breath jerked in as she realised that Lady Arnsworth had a gentleman with her.

The gentleman had risen and regarded her with a friendly smile on his face. She lifted her chin a little. Surely he was familiar…tall, a spare frame, dark brown hair, his face lined a little…no, it couldn’t be—

‘I am sure you both remember my nephew, Mr Richard Blakehurst.’

It was. Richard Blakehurst. Lady Arnsworth’s nephew and other godchild. Richard with his broken leg. As a boy he’d spent months here at Arnsworth House recovering after a riding accident that left it doubtful if he would ever walk again without the aid of crutches.

David was the first to speak, his voice coldly biting. ‘Blakehurst. I didn’t expect to see you here.’

Richard’s eyes narrowed at this chilly acknowledgement. ‘A mutual feeling, Winslow. How do you do?’

Eyes glittering, David strode forward and took the proffered hand.

‘Servant, Blakehurst.’ His tone suggested anything but cordiality.

Thea felt her cheeks burn. For heaven’s sake! Surely David did not imagine that Richard could possibly have joined the ranks of fortune hunters? Or that he could pose the least danger to her?

Seemingly unconcerned, Richard turned to her.

Swallowing hard, she nodded. ‘I…yes. I remember Mr Blakehurst. You are well, sir?’

The dark brows shot up. His eyes. She had forgotten how expressive they were. And she did not remember him as being quite so tall. Or the planes of his face to be so…so hard.

He inclined his head. ‘Very well, I thank you, Miss Winslow. Delighted to meet you again.’

Panic flooded her as he came towards her, hand outstretched. He was going to take her hand. He would touch her. And she had stripped off her gloves in the hall…

Richard. This is Richard…you knew him as a boy… She forced herself to stillness. But Richard Blakehurst was no longer a boy. Tall, broad-shouldered—despite the remaining halt in his stride, Richard was a man…

Deliberately she lifted her chin. She knew Richard; he had been her friend—it wouldn’t be too bad…Braced to withstand her usual panic, she held out her hand. A gentle vice gripped it. Her breath jerked in and caught as tingling warmth laced every nerve.

Their eyes met, his suddenly intent, even startled. She was wildly conscious of the strength of his long fingers. They tightened very slightly, as though staking a claim, and an instant later released her.

The sudden silence seemed to hum with awareness as she struggled to understand what had happened.

Lady Arnsworth bustled up. ‘Do sit down, dear Dorothea,’ she said. ‘How nice that Richard was here to meet you. It must be several years since you met.’

‘Eight, or…or thereabouts,’ Thea temporised, as she sat down. He had attended her come-out ball.

Eight years ago, though his touch hadn’t seared her.

‘Of course,’ said Lady Arnsworth. She turned to her nephew. ‘Although I dare say, Richard, that you see Mr Winslow from time to time?’

‘Not often of late years,’ said Richard, resuming his seat.

Thea tried to listen, nodding occasionally, as Lady Arnsworth outlined all her plans for the Season, which were comprehensive to say the least.

Richard must be…two and thirty now, surely. He was about eight years older than she. He couldn’t really be any taller than she remembered. It just seemed that way for some reason. She flickered sideways glances at him, trying to understand what it was about him that was so different to her.

Lady Arnsworth continued to expound her campaign. Almack’s, of course. There could be not the least trouble in the world gaining vouchers…

Perhaps it was just that he was broader. Yes. That was it. He was a long way removed from the rather slight young man she remembered. She wondered if he still enjoyed chess…He had been a formidable opponent and she did not doubt that he was even more formidable now. Something about the calm self-contained gaze told her that. Still waters…

Only none of that explained why her whole body had seemed to shimmer and leap to life when he took her hand…

Lady Arnsworth preened a little as she listed the invitations they were likely to receive. Once people knew that dear Dorothea was at Arnsworth House, there would be invitations aplenty. And Lord Dunhaven had already left his card.

An odd choking noise came from Richard, and, glancing at him, Thea had the distinct impression that something had struck a jarring note with Mr Richard Blakehurst. His jaw bore a startling resemblance to solid stone.

A glance at David revealed his jaw in much the same condition, which was no surprise at all after what he had said about Lord Dunhaven as they crossed the Square.

Lady Arnsworth sailed on, listing all the more influential hostesses who would be aux anges to receive the Honourable Miss Winslow.

The Honourable, wealthy Miss Winslow. Lady Arnsworth didn’t bother to spell that out.

Mr Blakehurst’s fathomless gaze met hers over the rim of his glass. Thea forced herself not to look away, to keep her own expression blank…Richard had…had grown up. That was all. It had been surprise, nothing more. Nothing deeper.

Lady Arnsworth finished, ‘I don’t doubt we will be invited everywhere. Everyone will wish to make Dorothea’s acquaintance, you may be sure.’

‘Oh, without a doubt,’ said Mr Blakehurst. ‘How could it possibly be otherwise?’

Thea’s gaze narrowed at the faintly ironic tone, as a spurt of annoyance flared, swiftly suppressed.

Control. She could not afford to betray anything.

Lady Arnsworth shot Richard a quelling glare and turned back to Thea.

‘Now, my dear,’ she said, ‘should you like to go up to your bedchamber and rest? Dinner will not be for some time, but perhaps some tea on a tray?’

Another strangled noise came from Richard, but, ignoring this, Lady Arnsworth smiled graciously at David. ‘And I am sure, Mr Winslow, that you will wish to inform Lord Aberfield that Dorothea is safely with me. My nephew will see you out. I shall bid you farewell now.’

T here was something distinctly strained about Richard’s voice as he assured Lady Arnsworth that he would not be in the least put out, but Thea had no time to ponder on it as she bid David farewell, and Lady Arnsworth led her from the room.

All along the upper hallway, Lady Arnsworth waxed lyrical about the joys of London. Especially for

‘…a young lady as well-dowered as you, dear Dorothea!’

Thea could not repress a chill, remembering how people clustered around heiresses. Gentlemen, smiling, pretending affection, while all the time…She pushed the thought away. She would manage perfectly well once she was accustomed.

Except—‘I…ma’am, I would really rather not have dozens of suitors tripping over themselves. After all—’

After all, what? What can you possibly tell her that would convince her you don’t want a husband?

Lady Arnsworth opened the door to the bedchamber, an arrested expression on her face. ‘Dozens of suitors?’

It was as though the idea had never occurred to her.

Thea flushed. Was she that much of an antidote these days? ‘Well, fortune hunters,’ she said, following her godmother across the threshold.

A maidservant was already putting her belongings away.

‘Fortune hunters? Oh, dear me, no! There will be nothing like that.’

And the sun might rise in the west. ‘There won’t?’

‘Oh, no…now I am sure you will be perfectly comfortable in this chamber. And don’t worry about fortune hunters. You may trust me to see to that. Why, the very idea! The maid will have your things unpacked in no time,’ she said. ‘And if there is anything you require, of course you must tell me.’

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said Thea politely. ‘Er, you seem very certain about the fortune hunters.’

‘Ah, the girl has finished.’ Lady Arnsworth flipped her hand at the maid. ‘That will be all.’

The maid dropped a curtsy and left. Lady Arnsworth turned back to Thea.

‘My dear, what a sensible girl you are!’ Her ladyship was all smiles as she took Thea’s hand. ‘While naturally your circumstances will attract a certain amount of attention, you may rest assured that as your sponsor and chaperon, I shall be most careful to ensure that only the most eligible suitors are brought to your notice. Two, perhaps three at the most should be quite sufficient.’

Thea blinked as Lady Arnsworth patted her hand and repressed a shiver at even that simple touch.

Two or three? What would her ladyship think if she knew that Thea didn’t want any suitors?