An Improper Companion
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Anne Herries
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Chapter One
Daniel Cavendish surveyed the room, his eyes dark and brooding as he watched the dancers enjoying themselves. Something was missing from his life and he did not know what it was—though he suspected that he still hankered after the adventure and danger of his army days. He had been forced to sell out when his father died, returning to take charge of the Cavendish estate. The past three years had been spent to good effect and his fortunes were now prospering—and yet he was restless. Sarah Hunter had been much on his mind of late, his failure to find her in all these months nagging at his conscience like a rat gnawing at the wainscot of a neglected manor house. Yet in the last few days information had come to them that had given him renewed hope.
‘I think I shall go down to the country,’ he said to the gentleman standing beside him. Where the Earl was tall, broad shouldered and dark haired, his friend was of a more slender build with soft fair hair that he now and then brushed back from his forehead. ‘London has lost its attraction for me of late—and I want to see what I can discover of that other business.’
‘Do you think that wise?’ John Elworthy asked. ‘Even if what we suspect is true, I do not see that there is much we can do about it. No lasting harm was caused to Maria, and as for Miss Hunter…’ He shook his head sadly as another of their friends came up to them. ‘Good evening, Robert. I did not think to see you here this evening.’
‘I had nothing better to do,’ Lord Young said and yawned behind his hand. Of the three he was the one most entitled to be classed as a dandy, his cravat so intricate and high that he could bend his head only with difficulty. ‘It’s dashed dull at the moment, don’t you think?’
‘Cavendish was saying as much,’ John Elworthy told him. ‘He has a mind to investigate that business with Maria…though, for myself, I think it may be dangerous to meddle in Forsythe’s affairs.’ Maria was the sister of his brother’s wife, a young, pretty girl with a great deal of courage, who had recently beaten an attempt to abduct her.
‘Nothing like a little danger to spice things up,’ Lord Young said, a sparkle in his eyes. ‘If you need any help, I’m your man, Cavendish. I dare say Hilary would say as much if he were here. What do you plan to do?’
‘Walk home with me, both of you,’ the earl said. ‘I do not wish to be overheard. I agree that this business is likely to involve some danger, but I think it must be attempted. Maria is a brave girl and the information she gave us helped me. I have begun to make fresh inquiries and I shall show you my agent’s reports…’
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Lord Young replied. ‘Coming, Elworthy? You may as well—there is nothing here to hold your attention.’
‘True enough,’ John agreed. ‘Let us go then. I believe you are right, Cavendish. If we do nothing, Forsythe will be free to continue as he pleases. I do not know what I should have done if those rogues had succeeded in their foul intent.’ The other gentlemen nodded agreement, for it was unthinkable.
They left Almack’s together, deciding to walk back to Cavendish Place because it was a fine night, completely unaware that they were being followed at a discreet distance.
‘My dear child,’ Lady Wentworth said, feeling distressed as she looked at the girl’s proud face and saw the underlying grief. ‘You will surely not hire yourself out as a companion when I have told you that you may accompany me to Bath this autumn? You know I love you as dearly as if you were my own daughter. Why will you not accept my offer to live with us at Worth Towers?’
‘I cannot accept, ma’am,’ Elizabeth Travers said, softening her denial with a smile. ‘I am very fond of you and grateful for your kindness to Mama, Simon and me these past months since Papa’s death. And after Mama’s…’ Her throat caught with tears that she refused to shed, for the loss of her mother was still raw and too painful to speak of. ‘If you will have me, I shall stay with you whenever I am in need of a refuge, but I cannot be a burden to you. Lord Wentworth has kindly paid Simon’s expenses so that he can stay on at Oxford until the end of the year, which was so generous that I shall be for ever in his debt. Besides, Lady Isadora is in need of a friend and I am delighted that she has sent for me.’
‘But you do not know her,’ Lady Wentworth protested. She was a small, plump lady with a kind heart and was genuinely fond of her late friend’s daughter. ‘And you could never be a burden to me, dear Elizabeth.’
‘You are all kindness, ma’am,’ Elizabeth said. ‘But I have given my word and I believe you would not have me break it.’
‘I suppose not, since it is given.’ Lady Wentworth sighed. ‘But you will promise to come to me should you be unhappy or in trouble?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Elizabeth promised. She smiled at the lady who had been her mother’s best friend for the past twenty years or more. ‘I cannot think what Mama would have done without your help after Papa died, especially when we learned that he had lost the greater part of his estate to Sir Montague Forsythe in that infamous wager. Had you not supported us, allowing Mama to move into the dower house at Worth Park, I do not know what might have happened to us.’ Tears stood in her eyes for the months that had passed since her father’s death had been difficult and anxious, culminating in the illness and sudden demise of Lady Travers. ‘I can never repay all you have done…’
‘So foolish…’ Lady Wentworth shook her head over the circumstance that had caused Sir Edwin Travers to hazard his estate on a horse race. Such tragic circumstances had resulted from that wager that it did not bear thinking of. ‘Wentworth was inclined to discredit it, as you know. He could not believe that his old friend would do such a reckless thing, but he made inquiries and it seems that there were witnesses—and that your dear father may have been inebriated.’
‘Yes, and that was very odd,’ Elizabeth said, ‘for Papa seldom drank to excess. Mama swore with her dying breath that he had been cheated, for she would not believe that he had been so careless of his family’s well-being—and do you know, I think she was right. I do not know how it came about, but Papa was not a careless man.’
‘Indeed, that is Wentworth’s opinion,’ his lady said, ‘but he was not able to shake the statement’s of those witnesses—though, in truth, most were Sir Montague’s cronies, but Mr Elworthy is an honest man. If it were not for his testimony, Wentworth would have contested the wager in court, but he respects Elworthy and says he would not lie.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Elizabeth frowned. It was only the testimony of Mr John Elworthy that had prevented her from asking their lawyer to fight Sir Montague Forsythe’s claims against the estate, but Lord Wentworth had advised her against it, saying the little money they had left would otherwise be lost. Yet it had rankled with Elizabeth, for, like her mama, she had refused to believe that her father would do such a foolish thing as to bet everything they had on a horse race. ‘I suppose we must accept it that Papa drank more than usual and threw everything away on a whim.’
‘Sad as it is, that seems to be the case.’ Lady Wentworth looked at her unhappily. ‘Well, if you insist upon taking up this position, you will allow us to send you in our carriage, my dear. At least Lady Isadora will know that you have friends who care for you.’
‘That is very kind and I shall not refuse,’ Elizabeth said. She was glad of the offer; though she still had a little money at her disposal, it was not much above fifty pounds. She had given the better part of what they had to her brother Simon. It was Simon’s fate she worried about more than her own: he had naturally expected to inherit their father’s estate and would now have to make his own way in the world, which would not be easy for a young man of his volatile nature. She at least had been fortunate enough to be offered a position with a lady in Yorkshire—a lady of whom Elizabeth’s mother had spoken warmly in the past.
‘This Lady Isadora…’ Lady Wentworth screwed up her brow in thought. ‘Your mother’s old friend, you said? What is her family, Elizabeth?’
‘She is the late Earl of Cavendish’s widow and the daughter of a marquis,’ Elizabeth said with a slight frown. ‘I have only met her once, when she called to see Mama on her way to stay with her husband’s uncle—the Marquis of Brandon. She stayed with us one night and I remember that she was a kind, sweet-faced lady. She gave me a doll, and Simon five guineas.’
‘A generous lady, then.’ Lady Wentworth nodded approvingly. ‘And what are her terms, my dear? You must not mind me asking, for I would not have your good nature taken advantage of and some people appear kinder than they truly are.’
‘Lady Isadora asked me if I would prefer a dress allowance or a wage and I asked for an allowance.’ Elizabeth flushed. ‘Mama would have been very shocked had she known I was to seek employment as a companion, and I think she would have preferred me to take the allowance.’
‘If you would but let me…’ Lady Wentworth sighed and gave up as she saw the girl’s look. ‘I shall say no more, dearest, but remember that you always have a home here.’
‘Yes, of course. You are always so kind.’ Elizabeth kissed her cheek and rose to take her leave. She still had some packing to do and there were other friends she should bid farewell that afternoon. ‘I shall write to you as often as I can and let you know how I go on.’
Elizabeth was thoughtful as she walked towards the dower house that had been her home for the better part of the year. She was thankful for Lady Isadora’s letter that had come just in time, because she had been on the point of approaching an agency to help her seek out the right kind of employment. She had secretly been examining the ladies’ magazines that Lady Wentworth was so kind as to pass on for a suitable post these past weeks. Her situation had become more urgent since her mother’s death. Lady Travers had been in possession of a small jointure, which remained hers despite the loss of the estate. However, it ceased on her death, leaving her children with almost nothing other than what she had managed to save. Even when her mother was alive, Elizabeth had believed she must look for employment and now she had no choice. Or at least none that she felt able to accept.
Elizabeth had known that her mother would find it painful to see her daughter take employment, but thought that she must have mentioned the possibility in her letters to Lady Isadora. Of course, they had not expected that Elizabeth would so soon be orphaned, for Lady Travers had not been particularly delicate, but she had taken a sudden virulent fever and perhaps had lacked the desire to live. Elizabeth had written to her mother’s old friend to tell her the news and some weeks later received an offer to become Lady Isadora’s companion.
Elizabeth had at first been afraid that she was being offered charity and had delayed answering for nearly a month, but Lady Isadora’s second letter had made it clear that she was truly in need of a companion. She had been ill this past winter and was unable to walk far without assistance. She needed someone to run her errands and read to her, because some days she was confined to her bed. Her letter had touched Elizabeth’s heart, and she realised that it was exactly the kind of position that would best suit her. Being so recently bereaved, she would not feel comfortable in a household where there was a constant stream of guests, and it appeared that Lady Isadora lived alone, rarely receiving visits from her family. It was exactly as Elizabeth had lived with her mother these past months—they had seldom gone into company after Sir Edwin’s death.
Lady Wentworth had been all that was kind, but Elizabeth had felt that she was being smothered by her friend’s good nature. Besides, to remain so near the estate that had been so cruelly taken from them was a source of continued grief. Had it not been for that wicked wager—which Elizabeth felt must somehow have been forced on her dear papa—he and Lady Travers might both be still be alive.
How could he have done such a foolish thing? Elizabeth had puzzled over it again and again, but she was no nearer to finding a solution. Simon had told her that he intended to get to the bottom of things, but she had begged him to be careful. He was nineteen years old, four years younger than Elizabeth, and inclined to be hot headed.
‘Father was cheated,’ her brother had told her angrily before he rode back to Oxford after her mother’s funeral. ‘I know it, Bethy, and one day I shall prove it and claim back my inheritance.’
‘I do not deny that I think the circumstances strange,’ Elizabeth said. ‘But there were witnesses and—’
‘Only one that was not in the palm of that rogue’s hand,’ Simon Travers said. ‘I have written to Elworthy twice and asked to meet, but he has refused. If there were not some havey-cavey business, he would surely have agreed. Why should he not?’
Elizabeth had found it impossible to give him a reason for Mr Elworthy’s behaviour, which seemed odd to her—as, indeed, were all the circumstances of the affair. She could not blame her brother for wishing to investigate further, as she might herself had she been in his shoes, but she did fear that he might land himself in some trouble. She could not bear it if Simon were to end up putting a pistol to his head as their father had done the day after the disastrous wager.
It had taken Lord Wentworth’s word to persuade her that Papa had not been murdered. Even now, she still had a nightmare in which her father appeared to her and demanded justice for his wrongful demise.
Sighing, Elizabeth pushed the disturbing thoughts away from her. There was nothing to be gained from dwelling on the past—she could not bring back her beloved parents. She must make up her mind to do the best she could for her future employer and simply pray that Simon would stay out of trouble.
‘But that is shameful of you, Mama,’ the Earl of Cavendish said, a wicked sparkle in his blue eyes. He was glad that he had decided to come down, for it was exactly what he needed to sweep away his growing sense of restlessness. His mother was up to mischief and his good humour was restored, his quest to find Sarah banished temporarily from his mind. ‘To lure the girl here under false pretences that way…’ His gaze swept over her fashionable toilette, taking in her elegant gown and the lustre of eyes that were almost a mirror image of his own. ‘I will own that it is almost two months since I last visited you, but…’
His mama gave a little cough and lay back against the piles of silken cushions on her elegant daybed. ‘Have you no pity for your poor mother, Daniel? I have had a terrible chill and my doctor absolutely forbade me to leave my room for ten days. I was confined to bed for five. You cannot imagine how tedious that was, dearest—especially as your sister is increasing and cannot come to me. I was lonely. Besides…’ her eyes twinkled with mischief ‘…in her last letter, my dear Serena told me that Elizabeth is very proud—a lady of character. She suspected that the girl intended to find some employment and of course it upset her dreadfully…poor Serena. It is all the fault of that scoundrel Sir Montague Forsythe, of course. He cheated her poor husband out of his estate and in desperation the foolish man put a pistol to his head.’
‘Yes…’ The earl’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘Had Elworthy not witnessed the scene I might have doubted the wager ever took place—but he swears it was as Forsythe says and I have never known John to lie.’
‘No, indeed. When Serena told me that your friend was the one reliable witness my heart sank, Daniel, for I could not doubt him. He would never lie for anyone—and especially a man he despises.’
‘That has been my experience, though he says he was not one of their party, merely an observer.’ The earl’s face was thoughtful, and there was something in his eyes that might have led the men he had fought with in Spain some years earlier to suspect that he was not being as open as he might be on the subject of Sir Montague Forsythe.
‘Well, we must suppose it was an aberration,’ Lady Isadora said and sighed. ‘But I have been determined to do something for the family since I learned of their trouble. I would have offered Serena a home here had the Wentworths not done so before me—but I shall do something for the boy and I am determined to find Elizabeth a husband.’
‘But did I not hear someone say that she is plain?’ The earl raised his brows. ‘I know she did not take at her first Season and there was never another. I do not remember her for I was away serving with the army, but I am sure someone told me—it may have been you, Mama.’
‘I did not see her when she had that Season,’ Lady Isadora said, wrinkling her brow. ‘I recall her as a thin child, tall for her age, with a dark complexion and her hair in pigtails. Of course, she will have altered a great deal since then. I blame myself for not visiting the family more often. I always meant to, but somehow there was always something to prevent it. Your papa did not care for visiting and then I was busy with Melanie’s wedding, and then your father was ill…’ Lady Isadora sighed. She had been very fond of her husband, though it had not been a love match at the start. ‘After he died, I did not wish to visit anyone for a long time. I might have gone when Sir Edwin died, but Melanie was expecting her first child and—’
‘And now she is expecting her second,’ the earl said with a rueful look. ‘I dare say Rossleigh is delighted, though how he bears with her temper I do not know.’
Lady Isadora laughed wryly. ‘Yes, well, I admit that your sister gets a trifle irritable when increasing, but it is a most uncomfortable time for ladies, Daniel.’
‘Yes, I dare say,’ the earl said and smiled at her. ‘But we digress, Mama. You have lured Miss Travers here under false pretences. How do you know that she will not simply turn tail and go home again once she realises that you are not the invalid she imagines?’
‘I am confident that she will not desert me when she realises that I need her.’ Lady Isadora saw the challenge in his eyes. ‘Well, I do need companionship now that Miss Ridley has left me, Daniel.’
‘You know full well that she went reluctantly to nurse her ailing mother, and that she may wish to return if anything happens in that quarter—which it may well do, Mrs Ridley being past seventy.’
‘Yes, and of course I shall take her back—how could I not?’ Lady Isadora said. ‘But sometimes I do long for young company, Daniel—and if my sweet Jane had not died of a fever when she was but a child, I should have been making plans to bring her out this year, you know.’
The earl nodded—he was aware that his mother had never quite recovered from the loss of her youngest child, and because of that made allowances for her. ‘Supposing Miss Travers does not wish to be brought out, Mama? She is, after all, grieving for the loss of both her parents.’
‘I do not mean to rush her up to town. I would not be so insensitive. However, once she has learned to know and like me, I shall suggest a visit to Brighton for my health. The sea air does me good, you know. I am not looking for a title for Elizabeth, dearest. I shall be quite content with a pleasant gentleman of modest fortune. It is merely that I know Serena would not have wanted her daughter to work for a living.’
‘Well, you must do just as you wish,’ the earl said, giving his mother a warm smile. Although they did not live in each other’s pockets there had always been a deep affection between them. ‘But what is it that you wish me to do for you, Mama?’
‘I shall entertain only a few of my neighbours for the next few weeks,’ Lady Isadora said. ‘We must be quiet at first until Elizabeth recovers her spirits, but…I wondered if you might bring a few of your friends to visit next month…’
‘And whom had you in mind?’ the earl asked, a militant sparkle in his eyes. ‘I am not sure that any of my particular friends is likely to be interested in a plain spinster past the first blush of youth—especially if she has no fortune to recommend her.’
‘But I intend to repair her fortune. Your father was generous to me, Daniel—and I have not touched the twenty thousand pounds my father left me. I thought I might settle ten thousand on her.’
‘Indeed?’ The earl raised his brows. ‘That is generous, Mama. I dare say you may find someone willing to take a plain bride for such a sum—though I am not sure you would care for Winchester or Ravenshead.’
‘Those fortune hunters?’ Lady Isadora shook her head. ‘No, indeed, they will not do for Elizabeth—but I rely on you to produce one or two others who might.’
‘Mama…’ Her son eyed her warily. ‘Supposing Miss Travers does not want to be married off to one of my friends?’
‘Well, I am not saying she must, Daniel. Do not be so obstructive! I only wish her to have some acquaintance when we finally go into company.’
‘You are a devious schemer,’ the earl said, and laughed. She had managed to banish his fit of the blue devils. ‘When does Miss Travers arrive?’
‘She should be here by the end of the week—why?’
‘I think that I shall stay and meet her,’ the earl said. ‘If I am expected to present the sacrificial lamb, then I should at least have some idea of what she looks like…’
Lady Isadora was careful not to allow her complacency to show. It suited her very well that her beloved son should remain at Cavendish Hall for a few days yet. Not that she would do anything to influence him, of course, but at the age of five and thirty it was time that the Earl of Cavendish began to think of taking a wife—and why not a girl of good breeding and character, even if she were a little plain? She had it on Serena’s authority that Elizabeth would make a very good wife for any gentleman and, after all, Cavendish could keep his mistress if he chose. A girl of Elizabeth’s breeding would very likely be pleased for him to visit her now and then, and actually prefer a country life once she had her children to love.
‘You had plenty of warning that I would need two rooms for the night.’ Elizabeth glared at the innkeeper. He towered above her, a large, ruddy-faced man. His very size made him a challenge for she was forced to crane her neck to look up at him, and he might have knocked her to the ground with very little effort. However, his bull neck was flushed red and he stared at her uncomfortably, clearly in awe of the young woman who was very determinedly remonstrating with him.
‘I’m sorry, miss, for I dunno how the mistake was made—and there’s little I can do about it now, for the gentleman has taken the room.’
‘Oh, well, I suppose there is no help for it. Have you a truckle bed for my maid to sleep in?’ She saw the denial in his face. ‘You do not expect us to sleep in the same bed?’
She saw that he did and sighed inwardly. Mary was a large girl and she snored. Elizabeth knew that for a fact, because she had fallen asleep in the carriage and after some half an hour or more she had been forced to wake the girl up.
She turned back Mary, who had lingered behind her, making faces at the young lad who was carrying tankards of ale through to a private parlour.
‘Come along, Mary,’ she said, just as the door of the private parlour opened and two gentlemen came out. ‘It seems that the landlord has let one of our rooms to someone else, which means that you will have to sleep in my bed.’
‘But I snore, miss,’ Mary said looking as alarmed as Elizabeth felt. ‘’Tain’t right you should have to share with me. Tell him as you want the rooms you sent for, miss.’
‘I have already done so,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do. You must make up your mind to it, Mary.’
‘But I kick, miss. Leastways, my sister allus said as I did when we were children.’
‘Come along, Mary. I have told you, the room is let and we must make the best of things.’
‘Excuse me, ma’am.’ One of the two gentlemen from the parlour came towards her. ‘I could not help overhearing your maid. I think I may have taken one of your rooms. Please forgive me for any inconvenience. I shall have the landlord move my things immediately.’
‘There ain’t no more rooms, Mr Elworthy,’ the landlord objected. ‘You’ll have to sleep with the other gentleman or over the stables.’
‘I shall be quite happy with the stables,’ John Elworthy said and smiled at Elizabeth. ‘I think that perhaps I have the best of the two rooms. If you would care to sit in the parlour for a few minutes, I am sure the landlord can make all right. Perhaps you wish to take supper?’
‘I had thought the parlour would be ours,’ Elizabeth said. She had stiffened at the mention of his name and did not wish to be obliged to him, for she could not help wondering if he were the same Mr Elworthy who had been a witness to her father’s ruin. ‘But I believe we shall do well enough in our rooms—if the landlord would be good enough to send us some supper up?’
‘Yes, of course, miss. Just you wait in the parlour for a moment or two and my wife will fetch you as soon as maybe.’
‘I would give the parlour up to you,’ John Elworthy said and glanced awkwardly towards the stairs, up which the second gentleman had disappeared. ‘However, Sir Montague has bespoken his supper there and I fear he would not accept a move to the taproom.’
‘You are here with that man?’ Elizabeth looked at him in horror. ‘If he is using the parlour, then I shall not set foot in it. Indeed, I do not think I can stay here at all this night…’
She turned to leave, but Mr Elworthy caught her arm urgently. ‘You know something of Sir Montague Forsythe?’
Elizabeth looked back at him, her face pale. ‘He—and I think perhaps you in part, sir—were responsible for my father’s ruin and his death.’
It was Mr Elworthy’s turn to look shocked. ‘Then you must be…’
‘Yes, sir. I am Elizabeth Travers.’ Her eyes were bright with a mixture of anger and accusation as she looked at him. ‘I had not thought you such a close friend of Sir Montague, but since you are travelling together—’
‘Indeed, Miss Travers, you wrong me.’ John Elworthy hesitated, and then, ‘Would you do me the honour of stepping into the parlour for one moment? I have something I would wish to say to you in private.’
Elizabeth was inclined to refuse, and yet he seemed a steady, pleasant man, not handsome by any means, but with an attractive manner. And of course this was the opportunity her brother had sought and been refused. She inclined her head and went in front of him into the parlour, leaving Mary to wait for her in the hallway.
‘Well, sir—what have you to say to me?’
‘Firstly, I wish to say that I was never more shocked in my life than when I heard what had happened to your father, Miss Travers. I knew him only slightly, but had not thought him a man to gamble so carelessly. Nor did I expect that he would—’ He shook his head and looked grave. ‘But I did see him in the company of Sir Montague and I happened to hear the wager he made on that horse race, for I was standing next to their party. I would say that Sir Edwin had been drinking unwisely and that he spoke recklessly.’
‘You were standing next to Papa when he made the wager?’
‘Yes, I was. I thought it foolish, but it was not my affair. I wish now that I had remonstrated with him, but of course I could not—a wager is, after all, a matter of honour between gentlemen and once accepted cannot be taken back.’
‘But if Papa was drunk…’
‘I agree that no true gentleman would have accepted such a wager—but I fear that Sir Montague is not of such nice scruples.’
‘No, indeed, for we were given only two weeks to leave our home and we were not allowed any time to grieve.’
‘That was wicked indeed.’ Mr Elworthy looked distressed at the news of how harshly they had been treated. ‘He should be ashamed of himself!’
‘I had not thought you a friend to Sir Montague, sir? Lord Wentworth told me that your word was to be trusted.’
John Elworthy met the angry sparkle of her eyes. Miss Travers was a tall girl, attractive rather than pretty in his opinion, her figure shapely, her dark hair peeping beneath the brim of her bonnet. However, her eyes were lustrous and expressive and just now held a challenge that had to be answered. He could not tell her the truth, of course—which was that he had deliberately followed Sir Montague in order to have what seemed a chance meeting.
‘We travelled here independently. We are polite to one another socially—our estates are no more than twenty miles apart—but I have never been more than an acquaintance, I assure you. I hope you will believe me?’
‘Yes, I must do so since you tell me as a gentleman,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I have always believed there was some mystery in this matter of the wager, but—’ She broke off as the parlour door opened and another gentleman came in. He was in his middle years, a tall, heavy-boned man with a ravaged complexion and a long nose. Knowing that he must be the man who had, she still believed, in some way cheated her father, she gave Mr Elworthy a speaking look and left the room immediately.
As she went out into the hall, the landlord came to tell her that her room was now ready, and Mary beckoned urgently from the top of the stairs. Elizabeth went straight up, her head held proudly as she fought the rush of anger that had come over her as her father’s murderer entered the parlour. Nothing could alter the fact that he had caused her father’s death by taking that infamous wager.
‘We’re side by side, miss,’ Mary told her. ‘I shall be able to hear you if you call me in the night.’
Elizabeth doubted that, for the girl slept like one of the dead, but she smiled and nodded. She had not wanted to bring Mary at all, but Lady Wentworth had insisted that she ought not to travel alone, because it would be necessary to stop at an inn for one night on the way.
‘I do not think that likely,’ Elizabeth told her. ‘I intend to lock my door when I retire and I should advise you to do the same. I will require your help to unpack my things,’ Elizabeth added. ‘But I shall not need your services again this evening.’
After Mary had unpacked she left the room. Elizabeth took off her bonnet and travelling cape, laying them down on the stool at the foot of the bed. At that moment there was a knock at the door, and then the landlady’s wife entered with a tray containing a dish of cold meat, pickles and some bread and butter together with a glass of ale, a jug of water beside it.
‘You said as you wanted a light meal, miss?’
‘Yes, thank you, that will do very well,’ Elizabeth said. She might have wished for a cup of tea, but doubted that it would be worth drinking had she ordered it.
After the woman had left, she ate a little of the bread, with some butter. It was fresh and wholesome. Elizabeth had no appetite for the meat or pickle, and drank only a mouthful or two of the strong ale.
It was still light as she looked out of her window, and she felt restless, disinclined for sleep. Yet she felt it might not be prudent to go downstairs again, especially as Sir Montague was staying at the same inn. He probably had no idea of who she was—unless Mr Elworthy had told him after she left the room, of course—but she had no wish to meet him.
At least there was a decent supply of candles in her room, which meant she might read for a while before she slept. She would be glad to reach her journey’s end, she thought, for it had been tedious with only Mary for company. How different it might have been if her dear mama had been alive.
Elizabeth pulled a wry face. It was time to start thinking of the future—even though there was little to cheer her in that if the truth were faced. She must be at the beck and call of her employer, and though she believed that would be an easy task in Lady Isadora’s case, she might not always be in that lady’s service.
Sometimes, Elizabeth wondered what her life might have been had she accepted one of the three proposals she had received when she was nineteen. She had not been universally popular during her Season, but she had attracted some admirers. However, she had not felt that she wished to marry any of them, and her mother had told her that she should wait, that the right man was bound to come along. They had spoken of giving her another Season, but somehow it had not happened. Her father had been unwell one year, and then he had seemed to be anxious about his estate, and things had drifted—until he had died and the estate was no longer theirs.
No, she would not have wanted to marry any of the gentlemen who had asked her, Elizabeth decided as she began to brush her hair. In the soft candlelight her skin looked creamy and her hair had a reddish tint. Her features were perhaps a little plainer than was required for true beauty, but her eyes were remarkable. However, she saw none of this, for she was not in the habit of noticing her own appearance, except to make sure that her hair was tidy and her gown clean and respectable. She had gone into company very seldom these past two years, and had long ago given up hope of marriage. The best that might come her way now was to be an aunt to her brother’s children should he find himself able to take a wife.
Elizabeth read her book, which was a slender volume of poems that had come from her father’s library, and was one of the few items that she had managed to bring away with her. She and her mother had been told they might take only personal possessions, and the book had been amongst her things for she often read at night. Lady Travers had taken a few pieces of silver, which had been personal gifts to her, but all else was denied them. Those silver items remained at Worth Towers, for Elizabeth believed they might be sold for a few guineas, and her brother would have need of money when he came down from Oxford if he were to have time to look about him for a suitable position.
Somehow she could not see Simon as a lowly clerk, but it would not be easy to find a post as an estate manager. Perhaps she would talk to him when he came down, try to discover what he would truly wish to do if he had the choice.
‘Oh, Papa,’ Elizabeth murmured as she got into bed. ‘I do wish you had not made that wager…’
Elizabeth partook of a breakfast of bread and honey in her room the next morning. When she went downstairs she looked for Mr Elworthy, but saw nothing of him. On inquiry, she was told that both gentlemen had departed some minutes earlier. For a moment she regretted that she had not taken the chance to question him further about what he had seen, but supposed that he had told her all he could about her father’s behaviour. It would simply have to remain a mystery, for she had woken with a new determination to put the past behind her.
Mary did not make the mistake of oversleeping, so they were able to leave the inn in good time. Elizabeth had asked the innkeeper’s wife for a basket of provisions, and they ate a picnic in the carriage, stopping only once at a post house to change the horses, which meant that they approached Cavendish Hall at just before three that same afternoon.
Elizabeth craned to catch a glimpse of the house as the carriage drove up to the front entrance, feeling pleased as she saw that it was not a huge, ancient mansion, but a pleasant country home. She would guess that there were no more than ten or twelve bedrooms, and it had the look of a substantial building put up in the last century with long windows and a good slate roof. In fact, it was much like her father’s house, and she immediately felt that she would be at ease here.
‘You’ll be all right ’ere, miss,’ Mary gave her opinion as the door opened and an obliging footman helped them both down from the carriage. ‘I reckon as it ain’t much bigger than Worth House.’
‘No, that is very true,’ Elizabeth agreed. ‘And very pretty. Look at those roses growing against that wall.’
‘That’ll be south facing, mark my words,’ Mary said. ‘If your room looks out this way it will be warm even in winter, miss.’
‘I dare say the family has the front-facing rooms,’ Elizabeth said. She glanced up at the windows and glimpsed a female figure clothed in a gown of pale peach for a moment, and then another woman, dressed more soberly in grey, came out of the house. She smiled as she approached them.
‘Miss Travers?’ the woman asked. ‘I am Mrs Bates—Lady Isadora’s housekeeper. You are in good time, miss. We wondered whether you might be late because of the state of the roads.’
‘No, indeed, we made good speed,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I think some of the country roads were a little rutted, but the highways were well enough.’
The housekeeper nodded, leading the way inside. A young maid was waiting in the hall, and she came to take Mary away and show her where to go. Elizabeth wondered if she might be given a moment to tidy herself before meeting her employer, but instead Mrs Bates led her upstairs to a parlour on the first floor.
‘Her ladyship is expecting you, Miss Travers. If you would care to greet her, your maid may unpack your things for you by the time you go up.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Elizabeth said. She stifled a sigh. She must accept that she was an employee now and not at liberty to do as she pleased. ‘Thank you, Mrs Bates.’
The housekeeper opened the parlour door and announced her. She then stood back for Elizabeth to go past her, which she did with some trepidation. Her heart was beating wildly as she advanced into the room and glanced at the lady lying elegantly on a sofa near the fireplace, where a small fire was glowing despite the spring sunshine. Dressed in an elegant peach silk gown, she looked younger and more stylish than Elizabeth had imagined, and she was glad that she had chosen to wear one of her better gowns. Although grey because of her mourning, it was becoming and of good quality cloth.
‘Ma’am…’ Elizabeth said hesitantly. ‘Lady Isadora…?’
‘Elizabeth, my dear,’ Lady Isadora said and eased herself into a sitting position. ‘How kind of you to come to me so quickly.’ She gave a little cough behind her hand. ‘I have been very poorly, but I must confess I am feeling a little better today. Perhaps it is the prospect of your company that has made me feel more cheerful.’
‘I was pleased to come,’ Elizabeth said, advancing further into the room. She bobbed a slight curtsy and smiled. ‘It was very kind of you to offer me the position as your companion.’
‘Oh, no, I am happy to have your company,’ Lady Isadora said holding out both her hands. ‘My companion of many years has retired to take care of her mother, and my daughter is increasing, which means she cannot travel to see me—though my son has decided to visit me at last.’ Her plaintive tone managed to convey the idea that it was a rare occurrence. ‘He is out seeing to estate matters at the moment, but will be here for dinner, I dare say.’
Elizabeth took her outstretched hands, bending to kiss her cheek since it appeared to be expected. She was kissed warmly in return and then was asked to sit on the chair opposite Lady Isadora’s sofa.
‘You must be happy to have him here, ma’am?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Lady Isadora told her with a sigh. ‘Cavendish is a good enough son to me, but it is not like having the company of a young lady. My youngest daughter would have been eighteen this year had she lived. It has been much on my mind of late. I would have been making plans to bring her out this summer.’
‘Oh, I did not know of your loss,’ Elizabeth sympathised instantly. ‘I am so sorry. You must miss her dreadfully.’
‘Yes, I do, of course,’ Lady Isadora said. ‘My eldest daughter is married, but I see her so infrequently…’ Not quite the truth, for Melanie had spent a month with her earlier in the year.
‘You have friends, ma’am?’
‘Yes.’ Lady Isadora waved her hand languidly. ‘I have not entertained much recently because of my illness…’ She coughed delicately. ‘However, once I am feeling a little stronger—’ She broke off, frowning as she heard footsteps in the hall. She had told Daniel to stay away from the parlour until the evening, but he had either forgotten or ignored her request. ‘It seems we are about to have company…’
‘Mama…’ The earl came into the room and stood looking at his mother for a moment before turning his gaze on Elizabeth. His brows narrowed—she was not quite what he had expected. Not pretty by any means, but certainly not the plain-faced spinster he had been anticipating. He had been right to suspect his mother of some mischief. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Travers. We had not expected you this early.’
‘If I am in the way…’ Elizabeth sensed his reserve and stiffened. She had the feeling that he did not quite approve of her being here. She stood up as if prepared to leave the room.
‘Oh, do not mind Daniel,’ Lady Isadora said. ‘Ring for tea, my love—that little bell on the table beside you. Unless you wish to go up and refresh yourself first?’
‘Thank you, I should like to wash my hands before taking tea,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I shall return in fifteen minutes.’ She lifted her brilliant eyes to meet the earl’s. ‘Will that be sufficient time for you to speak privately with Lady Isadora, sir?’
‘Quite adequate,’ he said and inclined his head, his expression giving little away. ‘Besides, Mama will be impatient for your return. I am sure she wishes to talk to you about so many things…’
There was an odd expression in his eyes, almost as though he suspected her of something. Elizabeth inclined her head to him, smiled at her employer and walked from the room. Her head was up, her back very straight. She hesitated as to whether she should close the door behind her, and, as she lingered for a second, she heard the sound of the earl’s laughter.
‘Well, Mama, what are you up to?’ he said in a mocking tone. ‘Not quite the little country mouse you led me to believe. Not pretty, but not hopeless by any means. I think that perhaps you will have no need of my sacrificial lamb. I dare say you will find what you require without any help from me…’
‘Daniel, do not be so provoking. Tell me, did you not think her a charming gel?’
Elizabeth’s face went bright red as she heard the tinkling laugh from her hostess. She hurried across the hall and up the stairs, not wanting to hear another word of their conversation.
