The Earl Next Door (4 page)

She stopped; then almost walked on.

‘Your business,’ he said.

She hesitated. Then turned. Slowly. And took him in. There was no more mockery in his eyes. He looked, for a moment, as though he might be someone to whom she could talk.

‘You said you wanted to see me on a matter of some urgency,’ he said.

A perplexed look crossed her face. She would rather sweep out of the room, reclaim her cart and head for home, putting the whole disastrous visit behind her. But the matter of the mantraps had not been resolved, and it was a matter of such importance that she knew she should swallow her pride and stay; at least long enough to put her case before him and hopefully persuade him to speak to Lord Ravensford about having the traps removed. For she did not believe for one minute that he was who he claimed to be.

‘I did. That is, I do.’

He nodded. The mockery had left him altogether, not just his eyes. ‘If I have offended you, I apologise,’ he said, seeming to remember that she was a guest. ‘I have no wish to be on bad terms with my neighbours. Will you not let me offer you a glass of Canary wine, and tell me what has brought you here, on icy roads and in all this snow?’

She gave a sigh. She could wish the circumstances were different; that the butler had shown her in and that Lord Ravensford, a kindly old man, had listened sympathetically to her plea. But the circumstances were not different. The man in front of her may be Lord Ravensford, as he claimed, or Lord Ravensford’s secretary, as she suspected; but whatever the truth of the matter, she could not refuse the opportunity of having the mantraps removed.

‘Very well. That would be . . . most welcome.’

Having decided to stay, she walked over to the duck-egg blue sofa and sat stiffly on the edge of her seat, her cloak folded in her lap. She might have agreed to stay, but that did not mean she wanted to make herself comfortable. As soon as her business was over she would be on her way.

He pulled the bell rope that hung next to the fireplace, and after a few minutes – awkward minutes for Marianne, though not, she suspected, for him, as he continued to look at her with an amused smile playing round his lips – a butler appeared.

‘Canary wine, if you please, Figgs.’

‘Very good, my lord,’ the butler said, before departing to bring refreshments.

The “my lord” startled Marianne, and she looked at the man opposite her with mingled feelings of surprise and dismay. So he
was
Lord Ravensford. Which in some ways made her feel better – she had not been insulted by a common secretary, at least - but in some ways made her feel far worse. She flushed. Lord Ravensford had mistaken her for a lightskirt. She flushed more deeply. If only she could have held him entirely responsible it would not have been so bad. But her honesty forced her to acknowledge that she had hardly arrived in the manner he might have expected of Miss Travis of Seaton Hall.

‘Yes.’ He seemed to read some of the subtle play of emotions crossing her face. ‘I am Ravensford – even though my behaviour may have led you to believe otherwise.’

Marianne sighed. ‘I suppose I should load you down with further reproaches, but what’s done is done. Besides, I have a matter of much more importance to discuss.’

Figgs returned with the Canary wine, and after pouring Marianne a glass Lord Ravensford took a brandy for himself and then said, ‘I’m listening.’

He didn’t know how it was, but there was something about her that made him want to listen to her; and it went without saying, he thought, as he looked at her intriguing face and figure, that he wanted to
look
at her. A pity she was not a lightskirt. He allowed himself to forget for a moment that she was gently raised and contemplate the pleasures they could have shared.

‘I will come straight to the point.’ Marianne was fortunately unaware of his thoughts, and had decided that in such a serious matter a direct approach was best. ‘When my groom and I were out riding yesterday, we discovered a mantrap.’

He sat up, resting his hands on his knees as he leant forwards. ‘A mantrap?’ His whole demeanour had changed, becoming sharp and fully attentive. ‘That’s a terrible thing,’ he said with a frown. He sat back a little. ‘But I don’t see what it has to do with me.’

‘The mantrap was on your land.’

‘On my land, you say?’ he asked her in surprise.

‘Yes. Or rather, on Billingsdale land. I know the villagers should not be poaching, but when the winter is hard they often have no choice if they want to stay alive. Usually the landowners hereabouts turn a blind eye to poaching at this time of year, particularly when there is snow on the ground, but Mr Billingsdale's manager is determined there will be no poaching on Billingsdale land. The traps are cruel, and can break a man's leg - surely too high a price to pay for stealing a rabbit in order to stay alive; especially as most of the men have families to feed. I have written to Mr Billingsdale about it but he will not interest himself in the matter. He has every faith in his manager, he says. And so I have come to see you. You are the new tenant, after all. It is in your power to do something about it.’

Lord Ravensford’s eyes narrowed, and he put his hands together, steepling his long, strong fingers. ‘You are sure about this? Under the snow it’s difficult to see anything clearly. Could you not be mistaken?’

Marianne shook her head. ‘We – my groom and I - discovered a man caught in one only yesterday.’

‘Yesterday, you say?’ His tone was penetrating, and an intent look had come into his eye. ‘Who was it? One of the local men?’

‘No. My groom and I freed him, but neither of us recognised him. He is definitely not from these parts.’

‘He will need medical attention,’ said Lord Ravensford, getting up and going towards the bell.

‘He has already had it. I called the doctor as soon as I got him back to the house.’

‘Am I to understand – you have taken this man in?’ His gaze was very direct, and she noticed again how unusual his eyes were, of a brown so bright as to be almost gold.

‘Yes.’

‘And he is not known in these parts, you say?’

‘No. But as I told Trudie, we are in no danger from him,’ she said, misunderstanding his interest. ‘His leg has been badly damaged and although he can hobble around it will be some time before he can walk easily again.’

‘That was good of you,’ he said slowly. ‘To take him in. Particularly if he is a stranger in these parts.’ Then, as if recollecting himself, he added, ‘but not very wise.’

‘I couldn’t leave him out in the snow,’ replied Marianne simply. ‘He was badly hurt, and in too much pain to tell us who he was or where he came from, otherwise I would have arranged for him to have been taken home, so in the end I thought it best to take him back to the Hall. But I am concerned. There are other traps, you see. Tom has seen them.’ She raised her eyes to him appealingly. ‘I don’t want those traps on my – on neighbouring land,’ she said. ‘Will you remove them for me?’

He gave her a mocking smile, his eyes roving over her gentian blue eyes and her delightfully rosy lips. ‘When you look at me like that, I can deny you nothing,’ he said with a quirk of his mouth.

‘Are you never serious, Lord Ravensford?’ she asked in exasperation; but a smile tugged at the corner of her own mouth nonetheless.

‘Not often.’ He paused. ‘But I promise you I will be serious over this, Miss . . .?'

‘Travis.’

His face froze. There was a moment of unnatural silence. And then he said. ‘Miss Travis.’ His smile this time was not mocking. In fact, it seemed forced.

‘Well, my lord?’ asked Marianne, too concerned about the traps to notice his strange expression and response. ‘Will you order their removal?’

He let out his breath. ‘Mantraps are an abomination. Yes, I will. I will give orders that they are to be cleared immediately. You are right, the winter is hard. A little poaching is to be expected.’

Marianne breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you. I knew I could make you see reason. I am only sorry to have troubled you before you have even unpacked.’

‘It was no trouble.’

She looked at his suspiciously, but for once there seemed to be no hidden meaning in his words. ‘Well, now that is settled I will not keep you. I must be getting back to Seaton Hall.’

She stood up.

‘I will see you again before long, I hope?’ he asked as he, too stood up; all six feet and more of him.

She hesitated. ‘Perhaps,’ she replied.

‘With that it seems I must be content.’ He made a low bow then rang for Figgs, and she was escorted from the room.

‘So that’s Kit’s sister.’ Figgs’s voice was speculative as he returned to the drawing-room, having shown Marianne out.

‘It is.’ Lord Ravensford, standing by the window, was watching Marianne as she drove away in her rustic cart. She made a lovely figure, sitting erect as she skilfully handled the reins, her cloak reflecting the blue-grey of the sky and her black ringlets cascading down her back.

'And you weren't tempted to tell her?' asked Figgs.

'What? That I am a friend of her brother's, and that I am here to give Kit any help he needs in rescuing his beloved Adèle from the revolution in
France
? That her brother did not need money to pay gambling debts as she supposes, but that he needed it to mount the rescue attempt, and that even now he is on the other side of the Channel, facing God knows what perils in order to bring Adèle safely back to England?' he asked with a wry smile.

'Any of that. Or all of it,' Figgs said. He had lost the deferential look of a servant and was now talking to Lord Ravensford with the air of a comrade in arms.

Lord Ravensford's eyes lingered on Marianne until she was out of sight. ‘No,' he said, reluctantly turning away from the window and giving his full attention to Figgs. 'I gave Kit my word that I would not tell her anything. He does not want her to worry, and she would be sure to do so if she knew where he was. Even so, I wish I'd known who she was from the outset. I should have guessed, I suppose, but I hadn’t imagined her to be anything like that. Somehow I had the impression that Kit’s sister was a large-boned, mannish woman —’

‘Because Kit told you she’d be able help her father with the estate whilst he was away,’ Figgs suggested.

‘Probably so,’ Lord Ravensford agreed. ‘I certainly never imagined such an intriguing beauty, with such a delightful figure or such gentian-blue eyes. But that’s no excuse. I should have guessed who she was, or at least guessed who she might be. Particularly once she revealed we were neighbours. Then, if not before, I should have had the idea at the forefront of my mind. It isn't like me to get so carried away.’

‘What’s done is done,’ said Figgs practically.

Lord Ravensford frowned, settling himself in a Sheraton chair.

Figgs sat down opposite him.

‘Perhaps,' Lord Ravensford said. 'But it’s unfortunate all the same. I’d planned things quite differently. I was going to be charming and respectable at our first meeting. I have promised Kit I'll keep an eye on his little sister whilst he is away,' he said. 'And since I've arrived I've been even more determined to help her. I know Kit said she would be able to help her father with the running the estate whilst he was in
France
, but according to the local gossip Mr Travis has turned into something of a recluse since Kit’s departure. He has taken it hard and has retreated to his room, where he nurses his grievances. He rarely comes out, and Marianne has been left to run the estate by herself. I wanted her to feel she had a friend in me; someone she could turn to if she needed any help, so that if the burden of running things at Seaton Hall became too great she wouldn’t have to feel she was alone. ’