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  But more than once, dancing in the sets later that evening or speaking to less dangerous young men under her mother’s chaperonage, her gaze stole briefly across the room to Mr Hunt again.

  Sophia did not mean to look at him, for it could not prosper. Yet she could not help herself, studying him with secret fascination whenever her mother was otherwise engaged.

  Her father’s enemy.

  And she found him handsome to look upon. More than handsome. Compelling, even.

  Why, it was positively Shakespearean!

  CHAPTER THREE

  ROLLO

  The door to the sitting room closed with a quiet click.

  Standing by the fireplace, his arm along the mantel, Rollo looked down at Caroline in her straight-backed armchair. He managed a nervous smile. ‘Alone at last. I thought the moment would never come.’

  ‘Indeed, sir.’

  Caroline laid aside her embroidery, over which she had been bent with furious industry while her disapproving spinster aunt was still in the room, and settled her bare hands in her lap instead. Such a tiny thing, more like a bird than a young lady of eighteen. Her smooth fair hair was gathered neatly in a coil at the back of her head, a thin blue ribbon threaded through it to match her powder-blue gown, one of these fashionable hairstyles whose name he ought to know but did not.

  Her bearing was languid and her skin naturally pale, like most ladies of his acquaintance. She had steady good looks and knew how to present herself to best advantage. But there was nothing about Caroline Lewis one could describe as beautiful, and he had never yet seen her behave in anything but a quiet, studied manner.

  She did seem slightly flushed today though, he noticed. The heat of the fire, perhaps. Unless Caroline was embarrassed at being alone in her betrothed’s company for the first time? That was possible, for she had still not looked him in the eye, though he had been in the room some fifteen minutes now, conversing politely with her aunt, Lady Matilda.

  A curiously restful young woman, he thought, observing his betrothed for the first time without fear of being observed himself. Perhaps too restful. And little better than a child, though at eighteen she was far from being in the schoolroom. It was a marriageable age, he had to concede. He himself was seven years her senior, of course. But a man should always be older than his wife, his father had assured him.

  ‘You must call me Rollo,’ he instructed her. ‘We are to be wed by Christmas. I am not one of these men who wish their wives to preserve a polite title after marriage, so you may as well begin now.’

  ‘As you wish, Rollo,’ she said easily, but still did not look at him.

  He wished he knew her better.

  But no doubt marriage would soon solve this awkwardness between them. It had better, for he had no desire to spend the rest of his days shackled to a passive mute.

  She had grown up without a mother, for that lady had died in a terrible carriage accident when she was but a small child and her father, Lord Lewis, had never remarried. Raised by a series of nurses and governesses, and then her father’s spinster sister, she must have suffered a difficult childhood. But it had not left her agitated or even animated. Indeed, he was beginning to worry that she had little personality to go with those bland looks.

  ‘Will you sit down?’ she asked suddenly, surprising him by gesturing to the handsome daffodil-yellow silk sofa that stood on the other side of the hearth.

  ‘I much prefer to stand, I thank you.’

  ‘But your leg … Does it not ache you to remain standing so long?’

  It was the first time she had ever referred to his lifelong affliction, and the unexpected shock made his jaw clench.

  But of course the matter must be discussed, he berated himself. They would soon be man and wife. Caroline would be hoping for children, like any other young bride. She, and perhaps her inexperienced spinster aunt as well, must be concerned that his well-known difficulties with walking might render him unable to fulfil a husband’s duties in the bedchamber.

  Her curiosity was entirely natural and justified, and should be satisfied before they were wed. Of course, if she had been the kind to listen to gossip, she would surely have heard that he kept a different mistress in London every season. Sometimes more than one mistress. And his university days had almost been marred by a few colourful episodes involving the petticoat brigade. But Caroline seemed too gently bred to listen to such gossip, and he very much doubted her father would have sullied his own daughter’s ears with unsavoury tittle-tattle.

  With this in mind, he relaxed his fists, and even found a wry smile to reassure her.

  ‘Not as much as it will ache if I am foolish enough to sit down on one of your father’s very comfortable-looking sofas, and then find I cannot rise without assistance.’

  Caroline’s blue eyes widened at this frank admission, and her lips formed a soundless ‘Oh.’

  ‘But please be assured, my bad leg does not mean I am not fully capable of being a good husband to you.’

  Now she was blushing in earnest.

  ‘And I would never marry,’ he continued more gently, ‘if my disability extended so far. It would not be just.’

  ‘F .. forgive me, sir,’ she stammered.

  ‘Rollo,’ he corrected her. ‘And there is nothing to forgive. It is your right to know such things. Indeed, I should have discussed it with you before I made you an offer. It was discourteous not to have done so. You must be the one to forgive me, Caroline.’

  Her blush did not abate, for this was the first time he had ever used her Christian name. But she did manage a stiff nod. ‘To use your own words, there is nothing to forgive. I was glad to accept your offer, sir … I mean, Rollo. Very glad indeed. And I intend to make you as good a wife as I am able.’

  ‘Handsomely said.’

  He took a few awkward steps towards her, for he had left his cane leaning against the wall by the door, and took her hand.

  The girl’s hand was chill, almost clammy. Nerves?

  Bowing over the back of her hand, he touched his lips to her skin and felt her jerk slightly in response. It was the first time they had touched. He wondered if she would be so nervous in the bedchamber, and vowed not to frighten or hurt her if he could avoid it.

  ‘Now we are even,’ he said calmly, and smiled encouragingly when she looked up at him. ‘It is a pity we had no chance to become better acquainted before I proposed. But as one of the more eligible débutantes this season, I was worried you might receive and accept another offer, so pushed myself to speak first. But let me remedy that now and introduce myself.’

  He bowed. ‘My name is Rollo, and while I harboured romantic dreams as a youth of becoming a wandering minstrel, I fear that at some point in the misty future I am destined to be Lord Farraway instead, and take my place in the House of Lords. For now though, my father still lives, and at his expense I maintain a modest household in London and occasionally travel into the country to a fair residence in the green fields of Hertfordshire, where you will soon be mistress. I fear I shall never make an elegant dancer, it is true, though I essayed a few country gigs in my university days. But I can ride, and drive a carriage. And I shall never prevent you from dancing with other gentlemen, even when we are married. That would be cruel indeed.’

  She met his eyes shyly. ‘Thank you for that reassurance, Rollo. I think you will make a very good Lord Farraway.’

  ‘Not if my father is to be believed,’ he said a little bitterly, but dismissed her unspoken question with a gesture. ‘And what about you, fair Caroline? What secret ambitions do you harbour under that mild façade?’

  ‘Secret ambitions?’ Caroline bit her lip, looking away again. She seemed almost childlike in her secrecy. ‘Oh no, none. Indeed, there is not much to tell.’

  ‘A blank, my lord?’ he teased her.

  ‘Not quite a blank,’ she replied, unsmiling. ‘My mother died when I was young, as you know, and I was raised by a nurse and governess until I was fourteen, when my new m
ama sent me away to a school in Cheltenham. I made some friends there. Only a few in truth, but one I have kept all these years. I shall invite her to the wedding, if I may, and her older brother too, who is her guardian now.’

  ‘You must invite whomever you choose to your own wedding. What is your friend’s name?’

  ‘Patience,’ she told him. ‘And her brother is Michael Hunt.’

  ‘Hunt. I seem to know that name.’

  ‘I believe that he … Well, he is a gentleman of political aspirations.’

  ‘Well, you must invite both these persons to our wedding. I insist upon it.’ But he was frowning, still trying to place the name Michael Hunt. ‘So you attended this school in Cheltenham for your education. And then?’

  ‘At seventeen, I returned to London in the company of Aunt Matilda, and was prepared for my come-out ball.’ She shrugged, staring rather too woodenly at the floor. ‘Nothing much else has ever happened to me. Nothing worth your notice.’

  ‘Let me be the judge of what is worth my notice. You enjoyed your time in Cheltenham? It is a beautiful town.’

  Her smile surprised him, wide and tremulous. ‘Oh yes, Cheltenham is a most beautiful town. I miss it terribly. I miss … ’

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted her.

  But she shook her head, and her smile disappeared abruptly. ‘Nothing. I’m sorry, forgive me.’

  He bowed and returned to the mantelpiece, leaning against its warm stone rather than reaching for his cane. But he felt something bold and extraordinary had stirred inside her for an instant, then been ruthlessly suppressed. A fond memory from her Cheltenham days.

  No, more than fond. A memory of love.

  His leg aching, he stared broodingly into the fire, but said nothing. What was there to say? They were bound to each other now. A formal announcement had gone out in the newspaper and the church was booked for a few days before Christmas.

  Besides, his father wanted this match with absolute determination. Had pushed for it, in fact, with more than his usual bluster. The handsome bridal settlement involved would save the last of their fortune from being drunk or gambled away. And Lord Lewis himself was equally determined to press forward with the match, keen to ally himself with such a prominent family, for the mysterious circumstances of his wife’s death had brought his own name low many years ago, and he had never recovered his prominence in society. No, to call a halt or ask for more time to consider would not be countenanced by either party.

  ‘I’m afraid that I must leave within the hour,’ he told her without expression. ‘My father and mother have arranged to pick me up in the carriage as soon as their shopping expedition is concluded.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘But perhaps I could call again tomorrow.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’

  Caroline picked up her embroidery and set her bright needle in motion, head once more bent over her work.

  Rollo, he thought, correcting her silently.

  He studied her bent head, noting one wispy strand of hair that seemed to have escaped the tight coil and ribbon. He had always felt some sympathy for her careful reticence, for his own mother had died in childbirth with his sister Ellen, when he had been a small boy of four and not quite able to understand where his ‘dear mama’ had gone. It was his observation that early loss of that kind did not lead a person to be effusive in later life. But if his wife-to-be was going to spend the first years of their marriage pining for some lost lover, that was another matter …

  In his mind’s eye, he saw again that unexpected hint of passion in her face, heard the slight tremble of tears behind her words.

  Cheltenham is a most beautiful town. I miss it terribly.

  Perhaps, after all, it would be better for them not to know too much about each other before their marriage.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ROLLO

  Less than an hour later, Rollo was pressing his back against the stiff squabs of his father’s carriage and glaring at his stepmama. Temper seethed in his chest, only held in check by a supreme effort of will.

  Lady Farraway might be his stepmother, and a noblewoman to whom he owed at least some filial respect and obedience. But she had no right to speak to him in that condescending tone, nor to call him a cripple. Nor indeed to suggest that his father should consider what to do if Rollo failed to produce the next generation as expected.

  She might as well have asked outright if he was a whole man. Except that she was too duplicitous for such honesty.

  Though he made it obvious by his angry stare what he thought, Rollo continued to hold his tongue. She was a viper, but he refused to stoop to her level by being discourteous. Not least because his father was in the carriage too and appeared to be listening seriously to what she had said, as though he too thought of his eldest son as less than a man.

  That possibility hurt.

  He kept his glare on her face, despite disliking the sight of her, for he did not wish her to think him afraid of her tongue. The current Lady Farraway was a tall and extravagantly fair woman with a brittle smile and icy manners. She was also mother to his half-sisters Dorothea and Georgina, and his young half-brother, Oliver. That was her only saving grace, for he liked his half-siblings and was painfully aware that life would have been lonely indeed for him and his sister Ellen without at least her two eldest girls to keep them company.

  Dorothea was a clumsy but enthusiastic, red-cheeked girl, sadly prone to stammering in the presence of strangers. She was enjoying her first London season this year, at the respectable age of eighteen. This was despite the fact that Ellen, her senior by some three years, had not accepted any of the numerous offers of marriage made to her.

  Clearly her ladyship felt it would take a few seasons for Dorothea to find a suitor.

  Georgina, at fifteen, was a charming minx still in the charge of her governess. Though she often escaped that dour lady and disappeared on unscheduled expeditions to the shops with the two older girls, much to her mother’s disapproval.

  But it was his young half-brother Oliver of whom Lady Farraway was thinking at this very moment. She could not have made that plainer if she had written it on the ceiling of the carriage.

  If Rollo could not furnish his father with a grandson, and thus secure the succession, she was jockeying for her own son Oliver to be pushed up into the position of heir apparent, a healthy young boy whose existence Rollo did not resent but whose name featured rather too frequently in dinner table conversations about the succession.

  ‘Adolphus, did you hear what I said?’ she demanded in a voice that could crack glass.

  His father stirred uneasily. ‘I could hardly fail to hear you, my dear.’

  ‘Well, and what do you say to my idea? I know you love Rollo. Why should you not? He is your first-born son. But you cannot keep hiding from the truth, my poor, dearest Adolphus. Look at him, for pity’s sake.’ Both she and Lord Farraway turned their heads to survey Rollo, slumped in a corner of the carriage. He stared back defiantly, making no attempt to correct his posture. ‘There is a sad possibility that you may not enjoy the security of a grandson until Oliver is old enough to wed.’

  ‘I’m sure Rollo will do his utmost to overturn that possibility.’

  ‘Yes, and put so much pressure on himself in the process, such a heavy weight of expectation, that he is all but doomed to failure.’ She shook her head. ‘My dear, would this not be an excellent time to bestow the succession on young Oliver instead, and so lessen the burden on poor Rollo’s shoulders?’

  ‘Rollo is my first-born and always will be,’ his father muttered, gazing out of the carriage window.

  ‘Yes, indeed, and when a healthy son is born to his marriage, you can reverse the situation. It would be the work of a moment.’

  Rollo drew in a long breath, and held it.

  In his head he counted very slowly to ten. He would not lose his temper, he told himself. But at the same time he had not missed his stepmother’s slight – but hugely insulting
– emphasis on healthy. As though his disability might be passed on to the next generation.

  But his father made no reply.

  Lord Farraway was staring out of the carriage window instead, his attention caught by someone else in the park. ‘Good God!’ he exclaimed, leaning forward. ‘It c … can’t be.’

  ‘Adolphus,’ his wife said angrily, but it was clear he was no longer listening to her.

  Rollo observed his father with surprise. Whatever his lordship had seen in the park was having a powerful effect. His right hand was clenched into a fist, the knuckles white with strain, and his face had lost all colour. He looked like a man who had suffered a tremendous shock, and for a moment Rollo felt some concern for his father’s health.

  ‘Father, what is it?’ He leaned forward, ready to bang on the ceiling with his cane. ‘Should I have the carriage stopped?’

  ‘No, nothing. It is … n … nothing.’

  Lord Farraway seemed to choke on these words, grasping at his white cravat as though it had been tied too tight. But when Rollo would have loosened it for him, his father made a violent gesture, almost a shake of his fist, and thrust him away.

  ‘I do not need your assistance,’ he hissed, his face suddenly mottled with red. ‘And do not stop the carriage. We must keep driving. Keep driving, do you hear?’

  Astonished, Rollo said nothing in response to this order but looked curiously out of the carriage window. He could see nothing except two men on horseback, exercising on the green a few feet from the road that wound its way through the park.

  Were these the men who had caused his father to behave in such an extraordinary fashion?

  Horsemen in the park were a common enough sight, except that these men’s faces were a little more bronzed and weathered than might be expected for Englishmen. Both men were dressed with style and distinction, Rollo noted, but not in the first stare of fashion. Their boots looked newly-made, and their hats too, both men dressed in sombre blacks and browns.