The Earl Next Door Read online

  The carriage bowled along the drive, making for Billingsdale Manor. When last she had come this way, Marianne had been travelling in a horse-drawn cart, but this time she was arriving in style. The carriage, scrubbed and polished, was pulled by a team of horses, their manes and tails plaited, their gleaming bodies beautifully groomed. The fact that the horses were usually used for pulling ploughs was one which Marianne hoped no one would remark.

  The carriage pulled up before the door. The step was let down and Marianne tripped out, finding it impossible not to think of what had happened on her first visit to this same house. But this time she was not left to wander in alone and unannounced. She was greeted at the door by Figgs, who led her through a hallway lined with footmen, to the drawing-room which, unlike her first visit, was full of the sound of chatter. Miss Stock had again kindly agreed to be her companion for the evening and act as her chaperon, and followed Marianne into the house.

  Once divested of her cloak, Marianne was dressed in a simple yet becoming gown of gentian blue which matched the colour of her eyes, tied about the waist with a white satin sash. The neckline was square and fashionably, though decorously, low. The sleeves were long and close-fitting, and ornamented at the bottom with three little buttons of mother-of-pearl. A blue ribbon was threaded through her lustrous curls, setting off their glossy black.

  She saw the Cosgroves straight away. There, too, were the Lentons, the three girls, Amelia, Cordelia and Lobelia, all giggling mightily at something Lord Ravensford had just said. And there was Lord Ravensford himself, leaning negligently against the Adam fireplace which was decorated with a line of nymphs.

  It was the first time, apart from the Cosgroves’ ball, that she had really seen him in company. And it was the first time she had seen him playing host to a gathering in his own - albeit leased - home. It came as something of a shock to her to see how at ease he seemed, particularly as he was almost entirely surrounded by females. And it also came as a reminder that she hardly knew him. It would not do for her to refine too much on the time they had spent together, the things he had said or the way he had behaved. She would be a fool if she read anything more into it than the attentions of a man who was, by his own admission, anything but a gentleman, and who probably forgot all about her the moment she was out of his sight.

  ‘Miss Travis,’ he said, coming towards her with his half-mocking smile. ‘I’m so glad you could come.’ His eyes roamed over her, lingering on the ribbon which accentuated the blue highlights in her hair, and on the bodice of her dress, which sculpted her curves.

  ‘Lord Ravensford.’ On guard against his undoubtedly wicked charm, and against her own unruly feelings, she returned his greeting with a politely formal manner.

  He lifted his eyebrows, but made no remark on her cool air. ‘And Miss Stock,’ he said courteously, turning to her companion and kissing the spinster’s hand.

  ‘Oh, Lord Ravensford, so very happy . . . ’ mumbled Miss Stock, quite overcome.

  But when he turned to Marianne she knew he had noticed her coolness and that he was determined to make her pay, because the kiss he bestowed on her hand burned her even through her long white glove.

  ‘We are to have an interesting afternoon as I understand it,’ said Miss Stock breathlessly, as he finally let go of Marianne’s hand. ‘An ice yacht, I hear?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, speaking to Miss Stock and drawing his eyes away from Marianne’s.

  ‘And what is an ice yacht?’ Marianne asked, wishing he would not look at her as though he was undressing her with his eyes.

  ‘Why, the same as any other yacht; or at least, the principle is the same. An ordinary yacht carries people over the water; an ice yacht carries them over the ice. Shall you like to sail in it?’ he asked.

  ‘I didn’t know it would be big enough for a party,’ she said, surprised; for although an ordinary yacht could take any number of people on board she had the feeling that an ice yacht, because of its limited use, would be much smaller.

  ‘It isn’t. But it is big enough for two.’

  His wicked smile invited her to protest, but she refused to rise to his bait, and he turned back to her companion.

  ‘Miss Stock. You would not object to a turn in the yacht, I’ll be bound?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ began Miss Stock, not sure whether to be flattered or scandalised. Even at the age of fifty, the idea of being in an intimate situation with Lord Ravensford was not one she could contemplate with equanimity. Lord Ravensford was so undeniably male.

  ‘Marianne!’

  Jennifer’s halloo fortunately saved the good Miss Stock from the tricky situation, as all eyes turned towards Jennifer.

  ‘Marianne. Jem said you were coming. Did he really go down on one knee?’

  ‘Not here, Jennifer,’ said Marianne, feeling it would not be fair to expose poor Jem’s proposal to Lord Ravensford’s mocking, and yet surprisingly interested, eye.

  ‘Can I go on the yacht?’ asked Jennifer, young enough to flit from one topic to another, and gauche enough to find nothing wrong in it. Or in asking such outright questions.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Lord Ravensford, with the air of one speaking to a child. ‘We’ll see.’

  Mrs Cosgrove, following her bouncing daughter, crossed the room more sedately. ‘Marianne. I’m so glad to see you, my dear. Jem said you intended to come.’ Mrs Cosgrove, however, being more sophisticated than Jennifer, did not ask the question she was obviously wanting to ask, preferring to wait until later, when she could speak to Marianne alone.

  They fell into general conversation and Lord Ravensford was quickly reclaimed by the Lenton girls, who had visibly pouted when he had given his attention to Marianne. But was he enjoying their company, or was he silently laughing at them? Marianne asked herself. A moment later asking herself why she cared.

  She turned her attention to the new guests who were just arriving, the Pargeters and Kents, thinking how fortunate it was that, as the party was being hosted by Lord Ravensford, she need have no fear of Mr Windham being one of the guests.

  The hubbub grew until at last everyone had arrived. Lord Ravensford announced that the ladies should claim their cloaks and the gentlemen their caped coats as they were about to walk down to the lake.

  ‘And there is the yacht,’ said Lord Ravensford, as they reached the side of the lake.

  It was tied up to the jetty, lying innocently on the surface of the ice. Small and slender, it looked something like a canoe. A sail was tied to a tall mast and flapped in the breeze. ‘It was invented by an American named Booth a few years ago,’ said Lord Ravensford. ‘I’ve made a few modifications to his original design.’ He lifted his head, considering the weather. Waving trees gave sign of the breeze. ‘It should sail well today. There’s enough wind to power it, but not enough to capsize it.’

  ‘Wouldn’t mind a go on that myself, Ravensford,’ said Henry Kent, who had idled along beside them and was now looking at the ice yacht with interest, walking round it and admiring its construction.

  ‘Be my guest.’

  ‘Marianne, my dear,’ came Mrs Cosgrove’s voice, seizing the opportunity to speak to Marianne as Mr Kent asked Lord Ravensford to explain the workings of the yacht. ‘Tell me, how is your dear Papa?’

  She drew Marianne aside. Marianne, whilst knowing that Mrs Cosgrove’s questions about her father’s health were just a subterfuge to gain her attention, nevertheless answered with a good grace, and then allowed Mrs Cosgrove to turn the subject round to Jem. Marianne listened patiently whilst Mrs Cosgrove explained Jem’s worth, and the value of a husband to a young woman with a reclusive father and a missing brother, but whilst agreeing with much of what she said, Marianne nevertheless left her in no doubt that, although she valued Jem as a neighbour and a friend, she could not marry him.

  ‘He made a mull of it, I suppose,’ said Mrs Cosgrove with a sigh.

  ‘No, not a bit of it.’ Marianne was loyal to her childhood friend. ‘I just
don’t think of Jem in that way. I couldn’t have accepted him, no matter how romantically he’d proposed.’

  ‘Then it is no use him trying again?’ asked Mrs Cosgrove.

  Marianne knew she had to be firm. ‘None at all.’

  ‘Ah! Well,’ sighed Mrs Cosgrove. ‘I suppose it’s for the best. A good solid girl will probably be more suitable, after all. Tell me, what do you think about Susan Kent?’

  Happy to praise the stolid young woman, Marianne listened to Mrs Cosgrove’s hopes for her children and then, when Mrs Cosgrove departed, turned her attention back to the lake. Lord Ravensford was demonstrating the ice yacht to young Mr Kent, controlling the precarious looking machine with skilled ease. As she watched him laying back and shifting his weight to control the yacht, Marianne smiled. He was obviously enjoying himself. He looked younger. Almost boyish! Her smile widened. It did her good to see him like this. It showed her another side of his personality.

  Realising her smiles were likely to give her away she pulled her cloak closer and determinedly fixed her attention on the yacht, instead of its owner.

  The yacht slid across the ice, leaving a wake of churned-up ice behind it.

  The young men in the party were all eager to have a go, and after Lord Ravensford had demonstrated the workings of the yacht they took it in turns to sail across the lake. Once they had tried it out the ladies were offered a turn at being a passenger. There was little room on the craft, it being low and slim, but there was just enough room for a second person to sit beside the first. One by one, the bolder of the ladies took a turn, some with their husbands, others with their brothers. And then Lord Ravensford turned to Miss Stock. ‘Miss Stock, you have not yet taken a turn on the yacht. As your brother is not here you will allow me, as your host, I hope, to display its virtues?’

  Miss Stock, thus appealed to, could not resist, and when her trip was over, what more natural than that Lord Ravensford should offer the same politeness to Marianne?

  ‘You can have no objection, I hope?’ said Lord Ravensford smoothly to Miss Stock. ‘As Miss Travis’s father is unfortunately unable to join us, I will offer myself to take her round the lake.’

  The smile he gave Miss Stock was so disarming that, although she fluttered how it was not quite the thing for a young lady, she went on to say that with so many people there, and all in plain view, and as poor dear Marianne must not be neglected . . . in short, she gave way before his undoubted charm and Marianne allowed herself to be escorted to the yacht.

  ‘Do you always have your way with maiden ladies?’ she asked him mischievously, arranging herself, not without difficulty, on the yacht.

  He threw her a wicked smile which brought a blush rising to her cheeks and she realised that her words, innocently spoken, could have a different meaning. Then he took pity on her. ‘Not always,’ he said.

  Once they were settled he pulled on a series of ropes and the yacht began to glide forward over the ice. It moved slowly to begin with, but as Lord Ravensford tacked to catch the wind it began to pick up speed. Marianne let out a gasp. The sensation was exhilarating. The wind caught her hair and blew it into confusion, stinging her cheeks and making them glow. Back and forth across the lake they went, the yacht leaving a trail of churned-up ice behind them, whilst ahead it was as smooth as glass.

  At last the yacht began to slow. Lord Ravensford steered it in to the shore and brought it gliding to a halt. He secured the ropes, sprang out of the yacht, and offered Marianne his hand. She took it gratefully – the yacht was breathtaking, but getting in and out of it was precarious – and found herself once more on firm ground. She looked across the lake towards Miss Stock, who was busily chattering to Mrs Kent. Lord Ravensford had brought the yacht to rest at the far side of the lake, away from most of the guests, something Marianne suspected he had done on purpose. Whilst still being in full view, they were accorded some measure of privacy, and would retain it until they had walked round the lake.

  ‘It’s good to see you enjoying yourself,’ he said, taking in her brilliant eyes and rosy cheeks.

  She looked at him suspiciously, not sure whether he was mocking her or not, but for once he seemed to be serious.

  ‘It can’t be easy for you,’ he continued, ‘now that your father's become a recluse.’

  ‘Sometimes . . . ’ she began.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Sometimes it would be nice to have someone to turn to.’

  She knew herself to be both intelligent and capable, but even so, there were times when she found it all getting too much for her.

  He looked at her intently. ‘You weren’t tempted to accept Cosgrove’s offer, then?’ he asked, his hand drifting to her chin, which he lifted gently towards him. His eyes were searching as they probed her own.

  She swallowed. ‘No.’

  ‘Life would be so much easier for you if you had a husband.’

  Marianne felt the tension in him as he spoke, as though he was a coiled spring. ‘I could hardly marry Jem for that reason,’ she replied.

  ‘Many women do marry for that reason.’

  ‘And I do not blame them for it. But that is not for me.’

  He looked at her searchingly for another minute and then, seeming satisfied, dropped her chin.

  They walked on in silence, skirting the lake.

  ‘I have to admit that Jem’s proposal has changed things. It has made it much more difficult for me to ask Mr Cosgrove for advice,’ she said.

  ‘I have my own estate in Surrey. I am used to managing it. If you need any help I hope you will ask me.’

  Marianne was surprised and yet relieved by the offer. It certainly would make her life easier if she had someone to turn to, and hard though Lord Ravensford undoubtedly was, he was also someone she instinctively felt she could trust.

  ‘And as to this estate,’ he said, as they walked on. ‘I know you were concerned about trees being cut down and not replanted, so I have given orders that the woods are to be re-stocked.’

  She turned to him, eyes wide.

  ‘You’re surprised?’ he asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘Good. I’m glad to have surprised you. Because you, Miss Travis, are surprising me all the time.’

  On this enigmatic note they rejoined the other guests.

  ‘You’ve left the yacht on the other side of the lake, Ravensford,’ protested Maurice Pargeter, who had been looking forward to taking the yacht out again.

  ‘The ice has been weakened enough for now. The yacht churns it up, and it becomes thinner with each crossing. But don’t worry, if the weather holds it should be possible to take it out again another day.’

  With the yachting over, the guests began to think about returning to the house. The weather, which had been pronounced fresh on the way down to the lake, was now being described as perishing. A brisk walk, however, revived everyone and it was a merry party that, divested of their cloaks and greatcoats, settled down in front of a roaring log fire.

  Marianne was claimed by Maurice Pargeter, whilst Lord Ravensford, shrugging off the attentions of the Lenton girls, was claimed by their cousin, Mrs Violet Kilkenny.

  Mrs Kilkenny was an outwardly respectable matron of some thirty years, but she was rarely seen with Mr Kilkenny, whose business kept him in London. She had a decided preference for male company and had begun the afternoon by talking to Mr Havers, a wealthy merchant who owned much of the land hereabouts. She now turned her attention to Lord Ravensford. She began to converse with him in a beautifully-modulated voice, which was very alluring.

  In fact, the whole of her was alluring, Marianne had to admit, though why the idea should occur to her she did not know. Although decorously dressed, Mrs Kilkenny wore her amber crêpe gown with a subtle negligence that made it seem almost risqué. It hovered on the verge of revealing her shoulder, and although the bodice revealed no more of her breasts than was fashionable, her rope of pearls was of just such a length as to nestle invitingly between them. She leaned towar
ds Lord Ravensford as she talked, and if Lord Ravensford’s smiles were anything to go by he was enjoying every minute of it.

  Marianne turned her attention firmly back to Mr Pargeter, reminding herself that Lord Ravensford’s behaviour was none of her concern. If he chose to flirt with Mrs Kilkenny that was up to him. Even so, she was relieved when Figgs entered the room and announced that dinner was served.

  There was a chorus of approval from those assembled. The hour was early but, in the country, dinner was always served early, particularly during the winter months.

  Mr Kent escorted Marianne into the dining-room, whilst Lord Ravensford gave his arm to Mrs Cosgrove; something that did little to alleviate Marianne’s feelings, as Mrs Kilkenny sat at Lord Ravensford’s left hand.