SCANDAL AT THE DOWER HOUSE

 

Sally James

 

Chapter 1

 

‘You have very pretty manners, my dear. No trace of the shop floor.’

Lady Keith’s voice was penetrating, and the door to the dining room was still open. Catarina, Countess of Rasen, knew the men must have heard, and did not know whether to be offended, embarrassed, amused or furious. But recalling her pretty manners she refused to reply, instead leading the way into the formal drawing room. After just a few hours in the lady’s company she had concluded Lady Keith was the type of arrogant dowager who prided herself on always saying what she thought, however hurtful or silly. Though in her sixties, she dressed in clothes more suitable to a young girl, with far too many flounces of black satin ribbon and lace, and was adorned with a profusion of jet beads and mourning brooches.

Catarina felt dowdy in comparison. The only black gowns she possessed dated from six years ago, when Lady Unwin, the wife of Walter’s best friend, died. She had not had time or inclination to order more in the few days since Walter’s death.

Her young sister Joanna had no intention of letting the slur pass.

‘Papa never served in or owned a shop,’ she protested. ‘He was a very well-known wine importer, he sold wine to all the best people within a hundred miles of Bristol!’

‘But a merchant, my dear, is not so very different, though I understand your father came from a good family. It seems so vulgar for a gentleman to go into trade, even if he did make a vast amount of money.’

‘Joanna, would you be so kind as to fetch my shawl? I left it in the library earlier, when I was sorting out the papers for his lordship, and I find it grows chilly.’

Joanna, recalled to a sense of decorum by Catarina’s firm tone, blushed and made her escape. Catarina asked her guest if she had visited this part of Somerset before, and by the time Joanna returned the conversation was proceeding in the well-worn tracks of comparing opinions about places they had visited. It seemed that Lady Keith despised everywhere apart from London and Bath, her childhood home in Gloucestershire, and her late husband’s castle in Scotland.

Catarina tried to include the fourth member of the party, Olivia, in the conversation, but she seemed an exceedingly shy child, intimidated by her aunt, and stammered that she had never been anywhere except home and school. She still looked like a schoolgirl, in her simple gown and with her hair tied back in a long braid. Lady Keith’s injunction to sit up straight, speak up, and look at people when she was answering questions simply threw the poor girl into greater confusion.

Catarina hoped the men would not sit long over the port. All the arrangements with the Reverend Eade had been agreed that afternoon, and Sir Humphrey Unwin would wish to leave for Chase Manor, five miles away, before it grew dark. It was a moonless March night, and he was of a nervous disposition.

Her wishes were granted. Almost on the thought the door opened to admit the new Earl of Rasen, Nicholas Brooke, the most elegant man she had ever encountered in his tight-fitting pantaloons which showed not a crease, discreet waistcoat, intricately tied cravat and a coat which, like his pantaloons, showed every muscle of a trim, strong body. His brother Jeremy, equally elegantly attired, the Rector in a state of genteel shabbiness, and Sir Humphrey in clothes which had been fashionable twenty years ago, followed him. The latter immediately made his apologies and farewells, tried to deter Lord Brooke from escorting him to the stables, and in a flurry of thanks and promises of any further help he could give dear Catarina, backed out of the room.

Joanna cast a speaking look at her sister, but to the latter’s relief refrained from comment. Catarina could read her mind, and felt a great deal of sympathy. Lord Brooke had arrived at Marshington Grange just a few hours ago, for the first time, but was already assuming control. It was his right, she reminded herself, but she had been mistress of the house for so long it was hard to relinquish its management to another. It was, however, something she would have to accept, when she moved to the Dower House.

* * * *

Catarina tried to curb her impatience. Surely the funeral was over by now. She was seething with suppressed annoyance as she tried to reply politely to Lady Keith’s inane, often insulting comments. The woman was, she thought, rather like an inquisitive bird with her sharp nose, receding chin and scrawny neck. She had, since her arrival the previous day, found nothing but fault in the house, which was too small and furnished in such an old-fashioned way; the park surrounding it, which had too many trees and not enough deer for her liking; the church, which was undistinguished and at an inconvenient distance; and the servants, whose mourning clothes were shabby and who treated Catarina with far too much friendliness and did not keep the proper distance from their mistress who, even if her origins were suspect, was an Earl’s widow. At dinner she had picked at her food, tasted each dish and then pushed it away. It was too cold, too tough, too sweet or tasteless. No wonder she was so skinny.

Catarina moved restlessly to the window overlooking the long sweeping driveway, but none of the returning carriages she hoped to see had yet appeared. The elms, still starkly bare of leaves, were swaying in the March wind, and overhead a canopy of grey cloud made it a fitting day for a funeral. She was paying less than full attention to Lady Keith, until a few stray words made her swing round and stare at that lady.

‘Jeremy?’ she asked. ‘But I understood he is in the army.’

‘Of course, but now that monster is secured on Elba I expect he will sell out. Nicholas has several houses, he can have no need of another. Marshington Grange is rather small, but will do admirably for his brother. I expect the rents from the estate will be enough for its upkeep.’

‘But Bonaparte has escaped from Elba! Sir Humphrey heard the news only yesterday. He told me before the men went to the church.’

Lady Keith went pale. ‘Escaped? But where is he? And why was I not told immediately?’

‘I believe he has landed in France, but Sir Humphrey considers there is no cause for alarm. He doubts the French will want to be involved in more fighting.’

‘What does he, a mere country squire, know about it?’

‘He is a Justice of the Peace, like Walter was. He may live in obscurity now, but he used to be sent on diplomatic missions, before his health broke down and he could not tolerate long journeys,’ Catarina said sharply, unable to hide her annoyance. Sir Humphrey had been a good friend ever since she had married Walter, and she would not allow this ridiculous old woman to belittle him.

‘The coaches are coming,’ Joanna interrupted, and Catarina gave a sigh of relief. It would soon be over, tomorrow Lord Brooke and his siblings, and their appalling aunt who had accompanied them, she had been informed, as a chaperone, would be gone, and she could be left to mourn Walter and begin to order her new life without him.

She had been married to him eight years ago, when she was barely sixteen. Her uncle, Sir Ivor Norton, who had become their guardian when their father had died a year earlier, had been only too glad to dispose of her so advantageously. It had not mattered to him that Walter, recently inheriting from his elderly father, was forty years her senior. He had an ancient title, was much respected, Marshington Grange was an old, prestigious house, and the connection gave Sir Ivor and Aunt Hebe a good deal of satisfaction. They expected her to introduce her sister to similarly grand prospective husbands, but Walter despised London Society, and very rarely visited the capital, so those hopes had been unfulfilled, and they blamed her for it. She had been naive, straight from the schoolroom of the Bath seminary, and had been told so often she had believed it, that parents and guardians knew best, and girls accepted any matrimonial arrangements made for them.

It had not been an unhappy eight years. Walter had treated her more as a favourite daughter than a wife, and she had been truly shocked, feeling lost and rudderless, when he had been brought home on a hurdle, having broken his neck in a fall from his horse.

She swallowed hard. For just one more day she had to be strong. Then Lord Brooke would be gone, Joanna returned to Sir Ivor’s house near Bristol, and she could make her own plans.

The coaches were at the door, and she had to show a calm demeanour until the neighbours and friends departed. Bracing herself, smoothing down her skirts with hands which had suddenly become clammy, she moved away from the window and sat in her accustomed chair to one side of the fireplace. Staines, the butler, followed by a footman and two of the housemaids, processed into the room carrying large trays of refreshments.

‘Bring the tea things to me, Staines, I will pour as your — Lady Brooke will be too upset,’ Lady Keith ordered, and Staines, casting an agonized glance at Catarina, hesitated.

Catarina, feeling that she was behaving in a pusillanimous manner, but unwilling to cause embarrassment by insisting on her rights, nodded. She was no longer the mistress of Marshington Grange. The estate was entailed, and soon she would not even live here.

The men who had attended the funeral came into the room, and all was bustle. The local farmers and landowners, who had not seen Catarina since Walter had died, came over to express their condolences, and then, as soon as they decently could, departed.

‘Phew, at last!’ Jeremy exclaimed. ‘I thought they would never go and leave us in peace.’

Catarina considered the man who was likely to be her new neighbour. The same age as herself, he was tall, dark, and looked every inch a soldier. He was in one of the top cavalry regiments, she knew, and no doubt turned many female heads when in his regimentals. Even in his mourning clothes he had a foppish air, with everything slightly exaggerated. But he seemed very young to her, used as she was to being with Walter and his friends.

He would be thought handsome in almost any company, but his brother was in every respect more striking, though without the excesses of Jeremy’s costume. He was slightly taller, his hair a shade darker, with a deeper wave. His eyes were a darker brown, almost black, his nose more aquiline, and his lips more generous. Sometimes, though, he had a rather sardonic air which gave him a devilish look and made Jeremy’s teasing of him as Nick the devil seem apt. She found it odd that he was, at thirty, unmarried. Rich, handsome, and heir to an earldom, he would be a big prize on the marriage mart. Was he too aware of his own qualities to consider any girl a fitting mate? Though she had made herself content with Walter, in her girlhood dreams she had wished for a young, handsome suitor. She decided, however, she would not like one so apparently arrogant.

 Jeremy was full of smiles, and Catarina suspected he was having difficulties in suppressing his naturally high spirits in a house of mourning. Lord Brooke, on the other hand, seemed to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders. Catarina had yet to see his face relax in a smile. Though perfectly correct in his manner towards her, he was cold, distant, and she wondered if he disliked her.

When all the guests had departed, Walter’s solicitor, Mr Mowbray, who had come down from London the previous day, gave a discreet cough.

‘Your lordship, perhaps it is convenient now to read my late client’s will?’

* * * *

Catarina barely listened as Mr Mowbray read out a long list of minor legacies, money to the servants and his tenant farmers, personal mementoes to his friends. He had discussed them with her several years ago, when the will was drawn up. Then she heard her own name, and glanced up.

Her father had been wealthy, she and Joanna were his only children, and she had brought a small fortune to the marriage. She knew she would have that as her jointure, and would have a perfectly adequate, indeed generous income from the funds where it was invested. She also had her share of the profits in the wine business, which Mr Sinclair, her father’s partner, still ran, and which Walter had always insisted she should have.

‘I leave Marshington Grange, Oaktree Manor and all other entailed property to my cousin, Nicholas Brooke, who will inherit my title. All the non-entailed property is to go to my wife Catarina, in gratitude for her love and patience during the years we have been together.’

Mr Mowbray pushed back his spectacles. ‘Oaktree Manor, where the late Earl lived before his father died, is let, as you may know.’

‘And just what does that unentailed property consist of?’ Lady Keith interrupted. ‘How much of the estate is entailed? I must say, these legacies to servants are unduly generous, in my opinion. How will simple folk know what to do with a hundred pounds or more? It’s asking for trouble to treat them above their station in life.’

‘It was cousin Walter’s wish,’ Lord Brooke interrupted, and to Catarina’s surprise, his aunt reacted to the sudden steely tone in his voice and sat back in her chair, lips pursed, but mercifully silent.

Mr Mowbray glanced from Lord Brooke to Catarina, in obvious embarrassment.

‘I would like to know too,’ Catarina managed. She’d known about the jointure, of course, and had expected some personal memento, perhaps, such as the portrait of her by Sir Joshua Reynolds Walter had commissioned soon after their marriage, but had supposed the bulk of the estate would go to the new Earl.

Mr Mowbray glanced down at his papers. ‘I have a schedule here. There is the London house in Mount Street, which has been let for some years now. The house in Bath, the hunting lodge, and half a dozen farms adjacent to the original estate which his lordship purchased many years ago. Then there are his commercial interests. He was, you may recall, very interested in the developments in the textile industries, and the mechanical innovations there and elsewhere. You will have, at a rough estimate, my lady, the same income from these sources as from your own jointure.’

It was a distressed Catarina who eventually escaped to the privacy of her room. Lady Keith, restrained while Mr Mowbray had been present, had vented her fury on Catarina the moment the solicitor had departed. None of Lord Brooke’s protests, Olivia’s startled tears, or Jeremy’s embarrassed declarations that it was nothing to do with him, could stem the venom as she insisted that Walter’s money should remain in his family, and help to support the cost of the estate. She accused Catarina of influencing a senile, besotted old fool, and hinted she would make it so unpleasant for her that Catarina would never again dare show her treacherous face to Bath or London Society.

Finally Catarina lost her temper and told Lady Keith she was an interfering, jealous old bat who had not cared a jot for Walter when he was alive, had never visited him or paid him any attention, and was resentful that he had found happiness with her.

‘He told me you tried to inveigle him into marriage when he was barely twenty,’ she said, ‘and how thankful he was to have escaped being married to a harridan. For the moment this is still my home, and you are no longer welcome here. I expect you to have left before I have to see you again in the morning.’

* * * *

Later that night, when all the guests had retired, Catarina crept downstairs. She could not sleep, and had left the book she was reading in the small parlour. It was a book of sermons, not something she normally chose to read, but it had seemed appropriate after Walter’s death. Perhaps that would send her to sleep.

As she passed the door of Olivia’s room she heard sobbing, and paused. Was the child ill? She had looked pale and unhappy all the time she had been in the house. Catarina knocked gently on the door, and the sobbing ceased. She went quietly into the room, to find Olivia huddled on her pillows, looking with terrified eyes towards the door.

‘Oh, it’s only you!’

‘Who did you expect?’

‘Aunt!’

It was said with such heartfelt horror Catarina felt inclined to laugh. But the child was clearly afraid of Lady Keith. She closed the door softly behind her and went to sit on the side of the bed. Taking one of Olivia’s cold hands in hers, she stroked it gently.

‘Tell me. I won’t give you away. What has she done?’

Olivia sniffed. ‘She’s taking me to London, for the Season. She says that because of our cousin’s death I can’t have my comeout this year, I have to wear mourning, and I hate black, but she will make me go to call on her friends and things, and I know I’ll hate it! Her friends are all odious, and they spend all their time at the British Museum, looking at old stones and Roman things!’

Catarina tried not to laugh at her woeful tone. ‘What does your brother say? Is he willing?’

‘He says she knows best. But whenever I am with her I feel so stupid, and I never know what to say. She scolds all the time, and I seem to shrivel!’

‘I know just what you mean!’

‘I’d much rather go home to Brooke Court, and stay with Shippy.’

‘Shippy?’

‘Miss Shipton, my governess. I was sent to school for a year, but I hated it, and Nicholas asked Shippy to come back. He says she’s more of a companion, but she can still help me with my drawing and French. But Aunt Clara says she will be dismissed. She would have sent her away by now if we hadn’t had to change our plans and come here.’

‘Tell your brother how you feel, perhaps say you would like to delay going to London for another year. How old are you?’

‘I was sixteen in December.’

‘Much too soon to have to go to grown up parties, and perhaps be betrothed next year,’ Catarina said with feeling.

She had never been out in Society before she was married off to Walter, and afterwards, as his wife, she knew she had been awkward and not fully aware of all the proprieties when they went to stay for a few weeks in Bath, and once, on an occasion she looked back on with dismay at her naivety, to London, where she had known no one, and made so many gaffes she had pleaded with Walter to take her home. They had visited London only twice more, and Catarina thought she would be happy never again to set foot there.

‘He won’t listen to me,’ Olivia said, her voice breaking on a sob.

‘Tell him, and try not to weep as you do. Gentlemen hate to see females in tears. Explain you don’t feel you are ready. Say that if you are too shy to talk with anyone there is no chance of your making a suitable match. You do want to be married, in time, I suppose?’

Olivia blushed, and her hand in Catarina’s trembled.

‘Well, yes, if he is kind to me.’

Cynically Catarina thought that if Lady Keith had any say in selecting a husband for Olivia, kindness would be the least quality she would look for.

‘Have you any friends who may be making their comeouts next year? Friends from school, perhaps?’

‘I think so. I still write to some of them. It wasn’t the girls there I hated.’

‘Then tell him you would be so much more confident if you were able to be with them.’

Olivia looked doubtful, but she smiled slightly, and slid down under the covers.

‘Thank you, you’ve been kind.’

‘Go to sleep now.’

Catarina left the room and continued in her quest for the book of sermons, trying to decide whether it would do more harm than good if she were herself to speak to Lord Brooke, and explain how his sister felt.

* * * *

The sermons were of no help, and thoughts of Olivia’s distress kept Catarina wakeful. After such a sleepless night Catarina wanted nothing better than to breakfast in bed and stay there until the guests departed, but she knew that would be cowardly, and when Rosa, her maid, came in bringing hot water she forced herself to get up and dress. An apology for her outburst was due, and she would think less of herself if she avoided making it.

Her hope that Lady Keith would have breakfasted in bed was dashed when she entered the breakfast room. The lady was seated to one side of the long table, with nothing except a cup of coffee in front of her. Joanna was the only other person present, but the used plates indicated that the others had eaten and left.

Catarina took a deep breath. ‘My lady, I have to apologize for what I said last night. It was unpardonable of me, and I ask your forgiveness.’

Lady Keith glared at her. ‘You were abominably rude, but that is no more than I might have expected from a shop girl whose mother was a Portuguese peasant!’

Joanna gasped. ‘Mama came from a wealthy, aristocratic family! She was not a peasant!’

Catarina clung to the shreds of her temper. ‘Have you had breakfast, Lady Keith?’

‘Since I am so unwelcome here I do not care to abuse your hospitality by eating at your board. I have been persuaded to drink coffee, but soon, madam, we will leave. Nicholas has gone to see to the carriage. Then you may begin preparing to move to the Dower House, and the sooner you do so the better, so that my nephews may take possession, even though they have been cheated of much of the inheritance.’

Catarina bit hard on her lip. She would not rise to these taunts. Turning away she helped herself to coddled eggs, all she felt she could force down her throat. As she sat down Joanna began to chat with forced brightness about their uncle, Sir Ivor, and his wife and family.

‘I need not return tomorrow if you would like me to stay and help you move, Catarina,’ she offered.

‘Let us decide later, when I have had an opportunity to inspect the Dower House and plan what needs doing there.’

‘I suppose it is furnished?’ Lady Keith asked. ‘To whom does that belong? Or do you propose abstracting furniture from this house?’

‘As it all belongs to Catarina, since as far as I know furniture cannot be entailed in the same way as houses, she could take what she wanted, and sell the rest!’ Joanna informed Lady Keith, accompanying her words with a triumphant smile.

Catarina was saved from having to rebuke Joanna by the door opening, and Lord Brooke’s entrance.

‘The coach will be at the front door in five minutes, Aunt Clara. I’ve informed your maid, and your luggage is being brought down. Lady Brooke, may I have a few words with you before we leave? Let us go into the library.’

‘I wish to speak to you on another matter, my lord.’

He held open the door for her, and Catarina, abandoning her cold eggs and full cup of coffee, escaped. Only a few more minutes, and the appalling old besom would be gone.

Lord Brooke closed the door of the library, ushered Catarina to a chair drawn up before the fire, and began to pace the room. He glanced across at her, one eyebrow raised, and she wondered if he was trying to intimidate her. She raised her chin in response and stared back unsmilingly.

‘I must apologize for my aunt,’ he said stiffly. ‘She was the only older female available, and I did not feel I could stay in your house without a chaperone. She is still suffering from the loss of her own husband two years ago, and the deaths of both her sons. They were with the army in Spain. It has embittered her, but she should not have said what she did.’

‘Neither should I, and I have apologized,’ Catarina told him, putting a slight emphasis on the second ‘I’.

She glanced up at him and was surprised to see a gleam of something like amusement in his eyes. When he was relaxed he could be a very attractive man. But it was so fleeting she wondered later if she had imagined it.

‘You will soon be left in peace. I intend to take some papers away with me that I have not had opportunity to study. I trust you have no objections?’

‘They are yours now, my lord.’

‘I also wanted to tell you there is no need for you to move yet. I understand the Dower House has been unoccupied for some years and will need work.’

‘Thank you, but I will go as soon as possible.’

Catarina knew she would feel uncomfortable if she thought she was in any way reliant on this man’s consideration. She was uneasy in his presence, and would be so in his house.

‘Please inform me when you do. There are a few matters I need to check, so I will come down for a few days when I can spare the time.’

‘Of course. Will your brother come to live here?’

‘It is one possibility, but he has his career in the army to consider, and would not be here most of the time, so I may prefer to find a tenant. Whatever is decided, I will keep you informed as to our plans. Now I must go, we are on our way to London, a long drive, and Aunt Clara does not like the coach to travel at much more than walking speed, for fear it causes her discomfort.’

There was what looked like another gleam of amusement, but it was gone so swiftly Catarina could not be certain.

‘What did you want to say?’ he asked.

‘I found your sister in tears last night. She is dreading being in London. My lord, she is not ready for Society! I should know, I was barely sixteen when I was wed to Walter, and I was utterly lost.’

He stiffened, and she was expecting a rebuke. His tone was cold.

‘My aunt can be trusted to know best.’

‘You have just apologized for her rudeness to me. Think how much worse it can be for a young girl who feels that, as she is a member of the family, she has to be obeyed!’

‘I hardly think that is your business, my lady.’

‘I agree, but at least give Olivia an opportunity to explain. She will be stiff and feel stupid, and gain a reputation she can never throw off. If you want her to make a good match she needs to be presented in a better light than your aunt is likely to provide for her. That is all I have to say, but I hope you will be considerate of your sister’s feelings!’

He did not reply, but pursed his lips, and she hoped she had not made things even worse for Olivia.

She went with him to the front door, to discover Olivia waiting to get into the ponderous travelling coach, while Jeremy, looking dashing in his breeches and riding boots, his coat lapels just an inch too wide, and his shirt collars an inch too high, held the reins of two magnificent riding horses.

Olivia dropped Catarina a curtsey and muttered shy thanks for her hospitality, then gripped her hands convulsively and tried to say something else. She could not speak, and turned guiltily in obedience to her aunt’s command to stop dawdling and get in the coach. The maid followed, the steps were raised, the doors shut, and the two sturdy horses set the coach moving in lumbering motion.

Catarina turned to the men to bid them farewell, just as Joanna came out of the house.

‘Has that dreadful old woman finally gone? Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,’ she said, giggling and looking from under her eyelashes at Jeremy, who grinned back at her.

‘And we must be gone too, though at the speed that coach moves we could spend another few hours here and still catch them up long before they stop for the night,’ Jeremy said. ‘How about your showing me more of the gardens than I have seen so far, Miss Norton?’

To Catarina’s relief his brother vetoed the idea. ‘You will have plenty of time to see the gardens in the summer, when there will be more to see. Now we must escort the ladies. Goodbye, Lady Brooke, Miss Norton, and thank you for your hospitality.’

He took the reins of a black, strong-looking stallion from Jeremy and swung up into the saddle. Jeremy seized Catarina’s hand and raised it to his lips, looking at her with laughing eyes as he did so.

‘Farewell, cousin. You too, Miss Norton,’ he added, releasing Catarina and taking her sister’s hand. ‘I trust we will have many more meetings, on less sad occasions.’

Joanna dimpled. ‘Oh, yes, so do I.’

Catarina wanted to chastise Joanna, tell her such flirtatious behaviour was indecorous, but she was feeling too stressed from the past dreadful few days to take the risk of another argument. They watched the brothers ride after the coach, and Joanna gave a little skip of excitement.

‘Let’s go and inspect the Dower House. I’ve never been inside, but it looks a pretty house, square and compact, not rambling like the Grange. I love planning rooms and decorations. There is a big double drawing room, isn’t there? What fun! You will let me help, won’t you?’

 

Chapter 2

 

Lord Brooke said little in reply to Jeremy’s comments as they rode away from Marshington Grange. There was a great deal to think about. He was angry with his aunt for her unfortunate remarks, with Catarina for her interference over Olivia, even angrier with himself that he had not made more effort to find a different chaperone. He knew what Lady Keith was like, and might have anticipated her abrasive behaviour. He had few female relatives, but if he had stopped to consider he could surely have found a suitable older woman from the ranks of his late mother’s many friends. It had been an unfortunate introduction to his cousin’s widow. Perhaps he should reconsider the plan for Olivia to stay in London. Then he felt angry again that he was permitting someone else’s opinion to influence him.

He tried to think of other things, but the vision of Catarina telling his aunt some much deserved home truths made him want to laugh. She had looked just a slip of a girl, in her rather outdated mourning clothes. He could scarcely believe she had been married for eight years. And she had faced him at his most imperious, flinging up her chin in defiance when she had expected him to scold her. No other girl he’d met had done that to him. Most were too anxious to make a good impression. Perhaps that was why he had never wished to make any of them an offer. Once again he tried to force himself to think of other matters.

Marshington Grange would be an ideal small estate for Jeremy, and he could probably break the entail in order to gift it to him, but his brother had no intention of quitting the army. With Napoleon at large again, there was every prospect of more fighting, and too many of the crack troops from the victorious Peninsular army had been sent to far off corners of the globe. Others had been pensioned off. He himself had left the army when his father died a few years before, but he was seriously wondering whether he ought to re-enlist. Wellington might need all the experienced men he could find.

Ought he to ask Catarina — he couldn’t think of someone so young and beautiful as a Countess — to remain at the house, in charge of the estate, or could he find and install a suitable tenant? Despite his annoyance with her over her criticism of his plan to send Olivia to London, he accepted that she had seemed to him a superbly capable young woman. The tenant farmers had spoken well of both his cousin Walter and Catarina. The house had run smoothly, the servants were well trained and from the brief tour he had made of the estate it was obviously in good heart, though there were a few matters he hadn’t had time to investigate which worried him slightly, and he meant to deal with them as soon as possible.

Most of the villagers were still using the old three field system, which was wasteful and inefficient. That would need to change. Yet if he did ask her to oversee everything she might resent it, consider he was imposing on her. She was much younger than he had expected. He’d known Walter had married a much younger wife, but he was surprised at how beautiful she was, despite the unflattering and outmoded black gown. The two branches of the family were so distantly connected, he himself had been in the army at the time, and Walter rarely went to London, so he had not known more than the barest facts. Had she wanted to marry a man so much older? Had the title persuaded her?

He had never expected to inherit the title. There was such a shortage of men in the family it had been a tenuous relationship. Walter’s grandfather and his own great-grandfather had been brothers. And once Walter married a young wife he would have expected him to sire his own sons. An ancient dispute between his grandfather and Walter’s father had ensured the families were not on more than terms of civility when they accidentally met. They never paid visits, even though their principal houses were but a day’s ride apart.

Unlike Lady Keith, he had no quarrel with Walter’s will. He was wealthy enough to be able to maintain the estate, even if the revenues from the entailed property proved insufficient. His father and grandfather had both married heiresses who had brought substantial fortunes into the family.

His thoughts swung to Catarina again. She was a difficult woman to dismiss from his mind. He knew little about her, but his aunt’s strictures on her parentage were, he suspected, spiteful guesses. A younger son, her father had made his own fortune by importing wine. He knew that much, and that her uncle was well-regarded in Bristol where he was influential in the town. If Joanna’s remarks were accurate, their mother was from a good family. Both girls seemed well educated, and ladylike, despite Joanna’s tendency to flirt with his brother.

He glanced at Jeremy. The boy was handsome, popular amongst his fellow officers, a welcome guest in Society whenever he was on leave, and had an adequate income from what his mother and grandmother had left him. He was, however, too young at four and twenty to contemplate marriage. He himself, six years older, did not yet feel the need to marry and set up his own nursery. There were too many complaisant young matrons bored with their husbands and offering distractions for him to want to lose his freedom just yet.

When they reached the inn where they planned to spend the night he shrugged off his preoccupations. There he might hear more news about Bonaparte’s escape.

* * * *

It was a lovely morning in May and Catarina, having admired the spring flowers in the meadows as she walked to the Dower House, and picked some bluebells to brighten up the drawing room, had been talking to the estate carpenter about the final details to the changes she was making there. She had just turned to walk back to the Grange when Sir Humphrey Unwin appeared.

She sighed. He and Walter had been friends since childhood, had done the Grand Tour together, and when they had both settled down on their estates, been fellow Justices. He rode over almost every day, offering all sorts of advice and help, and looking hurt and woebegone when she refused. He often brought news of what was happening in France, the progress of Bonaparte and the mobilising of the Allies in Belgium, but he pooh-poohed the idea that it would come to a battle.

‘You should not worry, my dear. The French will see sense.’

She could hardly tell him she was not worried. It all seemed rather far away from her present concerns.

As she was wondering whether she ought to invite him to take a nuncheon with her the sound of an approaching carriage made her glance towards the lane.

A very smart curricle was turning into the driveway to the Grange, which ran past the Dower House. Seeing her, the driver, wearing a many-caped coat, halted his equipage and alighted. Catarina recognized Lord Brooke, and her pulse began to beat rapidly. It was the shock of suddenly seeing him, she told herself. Before she could wonder what brought him here he had handed the reins to his tiger and was striding up the path towards her.

‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m pleased to have met you, as I have very little time, I have an appointment with my agent soon. Your servant, Sir Humphrey. Lady Brooke, may I have a few words?’

Sir Humphrey, looking disgruntled, acknowledged the greeting and turned to Catarina.

‘I had better take myself off, my dear, if you have business with his lordship. You won’t want me to interfere. Perhaps I will ride over again tomorrow, if there is further news. Goodbye.’

Before she could prevent him, he seized her hand and raised it to his lips. Over his shoulder Catarina could see Lord Brooke’s sardonic gaze, and resisted the temptation to snatch her hand away.

Eventually he was gone, and Catarina turned to Lord Brooke.

‘Come inside, my lord, and take a glass of wine. What brings you back now? The Dower House is almost ready for me, and I will be moving in next week.’

‘It was about some other houses I came. One of my reasons. I have discovered your late husband was contemplating removing the villagers from their present cottages to a point a mile away. He intended, I understand, to provide himself with a better view by so doing. I came to stop it.’

‘Stop it? But why?’

‘I didn’t know your husband, but from all I have heard he was a good landlord, so I find it desp — disappointing, to hear he is dispossessing the villagers of their homes.’

‘Have you seen those homes?’ Catarina asked.

‘No, except for seeing their roofs from the house.’

‘Those pretty thatched roofs are full of vermin, and the nearest water, apart from the river, is half a mile away. They are floored with earth, low lying, near the marsh, and very damp in winter. Occasionally they are flooded. A dozen houses share one privy.’

‘Those things can be improved, and I mean to see to it. I do not wish to criticize Walter, but I would have thought, as he was reputed a good landlord, that he would have done something about it.’

By now Catarina was fuming. ‘He did do something about it! Those hovels are a disgrace, and you will find the villagers are only too anxious to move, to the new cottages Walter has caused to be built near the church. Good stone cottages, with roofs of slate, each with its own privy, and a well within a few yards.’

‘Such improvements could be achieved where they are at the moment. Don’t the people work on the farms or in the house? Will they appreciate a long walk, at least a mile, to and from work?’

‘They will be closer to their friends and families who already live in the cottages Walter has been building for the past eight years. They will be close to the church, and there are shops in the village. They are closer to the commons and their animals. And to their taps.’

‘Taps?’

‘The strips in the common fields. Ask them, my lord, and listen to what they want before you prevent them from acquiring better houses, at the same rents as before!’

* * * *

The estate room, when Nicholas went into it, was untidy, with papers scattered all over the desk, and others lying on the floor. There seemed no kind of order. He sat behind the desk and was reading some of the papers when the agent, a young man of his own age, rushed into the room.

‘My lord! You should have told me you meant to visit, and I would have had it all tidy for you.’

‘Should have told you?’ Nicholas drawled, his tone icy.

The other man’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard.

‘I — I only meant, well, that I’d have been prepared for you!’

‘It should be tidy at all times. You might then even find it possible to hide your depredations of the estate.’

‘I — I don’t know what you mean, my lord!’

‘No? Then perhaps I had best explain. Your late master was building new houses in the village. You had the task of paying the builders, but I find from comparing the amounts you put in the accounts books and the receipts from the builders that you seem to have been stealing small but steady sums from the late Earl, and I presume, from me. I have not been able to compare the books since the funeral, but I intend to.’

‘I must have made an error in calculation, my lord,’ the wretched man said. ‘If you permit me to check them, I will soon discover the mistake.’

‘A systematic cheating is no error. How did you become agent here at Marshington? You are young for such a responsible position.’

‘I’m old enough,’ the man replied, looking frightened. ‘I came when my father died. A year ago, that was. He’d been agent here for many years, and the late Earl had promised him I would have the position after him.’

‘What did you do before?’

‘I worked for a merchant in Bristol, as a clerk in the counting house.’

‘Then I suggest you apply to have the post back, for I will not permit you to remain in my employment, cheating and lying to me. I will not, of course, be able to give you a reference.’

* * * *

Nicholas helped Catarina into the curricle, and she directed him towards a side path which led towards the cottages. He stole a glance at her to confirm his memory. For some reason he had not been able to forget her. She was truly lovely, though the stark black mourning dress did not flatter her golden skin. Her face was oval, her eyes a golden brown, and her mouth wide and kissable. She seemed to have gained weight since March, and her cheeks were fuller, as was her bosom, partially revealed by the lighter gown she wore and visible under the shawl casually draped round her shoulders. He felt a frisson of desire. Why on earth had such a girl married a man so much older? There must have been other suitors, for her money as well as her delicious person, apart from Walter, even when she was only sixteen. Recalling Sir Humphrey’s unctuous leave-taking he had an unwelcome thought. Surely Catarina was not contemplating a connection with him? Not with another elderly man. She deserved something better. In any case it was far too soon for her to be contemplating another marriage.

Then he recalled a conversation with Olivia soon after they reached home,  when he had agreed to her pleas that she might return to Brooke Court and Miss Shipton for another year. He had, besides, promised that he would find someone other than Lady Keith to sponsor her debut into Society. She had been in a confiding mood, such was her relief.

‘Joanna was expelled,’ she had told him.

‘Expelled? From your seminary? I didn’t know she had been a fellow pupil.’

‘Yes, but she is two years older than I, and we had little in common. She had her own friends. She remembered me, of course, but I don’t think she’d have recalled my name if I had not been with you.’

‘Was she as outspoken there?’

‘Yes, she never cared what she said, but that wasn’t the reason she was expelled.’ Olivia blushed. ‘She was caught climbing out of a store room window to meet a young man!’

Somehow that had not surprised Nicholas. All the time they had been at Marshington Grange for Walter’s funeral Joanna had been flirting, discreetly but with intent, with Jeremy. Was Catarina similarly inclined, another flirt? She had not seemed like that. Had there been some scandal which had induced her guardians to marry her off? It was not unusual for girls to wed straight from the schoolroom, and Walter, though so much older, had been a good match, but from what he had seen of Catarina’s spirit, he would have expected her to protest. Yet she seemed to be encouraging Sir Humphrey.

He pushed aside such distasteful speculations as they came to the first of the cottages. What had looked picturesque from the terrace at the Grange was, close to, rather more squalid. Several cottages had, it appeared, already been demolished, and piles of rubble showed where they had stood. The thatch was old and in dire need of renewing. The wattle and daub walls were pocked with gaps where the mud had fallen away. The window frames sagged, with spaces through which the wind would whistle.

‘These things can be repaired,’ he said to Catarina as he halted the curricle and took stock of the scene in front of him.

‘Of course, but I must show you the houses in the village, and you will see how much better they are.’

‘I deplore the fashion of clearing away whole villages just to improve the prospect from a house.’

‘So do I, if that is the sole reason, and especially if no other suitable provision is made for the villagers. But these people want to move. Ask them yourself.’

She scrambled from the curricle and vanished through a low doorway in the nearest cottage. Nicholas slowly climbed down, handed the reins to his tiger, and wondered whether he was meant to follow.

Before he could decide Catarina reappeared, tugging at the hand of a small, slight, bent old woman who glanced shyly up at him as she tried to curtsey. Several small children followed her out of the house and stood nearby, joined soon by two more women and an ancient man smoking a foul-smelling pipe which had in it, Nicholas thought, something far more obnoxious than tobacco.

‘Moll, this is the new Earl. Tell him why you want to move from this house.’

Moll took a deep breath. ‘Well, surr, it be mortal damp in’t winter. See t’river, it floods in’t winter. An’ we don’t ‘ave nowhere ter go, see, can’t, we don’t ‘ave more’n the one room.’

Nicholas glanced at the cottages and belatedly realized the thatch came so low it was impossible for there to be an upper storey, even a loft. ‘What do you do?’ he asked. ‘When the houses are flooded?’

‘It don’t often reach wall beds, so we can sleep in’t dry. We just ‘as ter wade through it. But it covers fireplace, so we can’t cook. Surr, when will our new cotts be ready? Old Marge went just afore ‘is lordship were killed, an’ says it’s ‘eaven, so close ter new well an’ all.’

‘Will the new houses be ready soon?’ Nicholas demanded.

‘Before the winter, if you don’t stop the building,’ Catarina told him. ‘And even if you preferred to rebuild here, you would need to find somewhere for these people to go while it’s done. How many still live here, Moll?’

There were three cottages remaining, so when Moll told him there were ten adults and as many children he looked at them again, wondering how on earth so many people fitted into their single rooms.

‘You’d prefer the new houses near the church? Rather than have these rebuilt, with upper floors and more room?’

Moll looked frightened. ‘Oh, surr, you bain’t goin’ ter stop us ‘aving our nice new ‘ouses? The old Earl promised, and we’m lookin’ forward to being close ter them that’ve already gone.’

There was a murmur of agreement from the adults surrounding them.

Nicholas nodded slowly. ‘Very well, I’ll make sure the builders finish your new houses as soon as possible.’

‘Bless you, surr!’

‘Do you want to see the new houses?’ Catarina asked as they drove away.

‘I think not. I really must be getting on. I intended only to make a quick visit, to see my agent. I am on my way to Brussels.’

‘You are rejoining the army? Now that the threat from Napoleon seems greater? Is there really going to be more fighting? Sir Humphrey does not think so.’

‘I fear there will be. Perhaps he is trying to reassure you, prevent you from worrying.’

‘He is very considerate.’

Was he? Nicholas ground his teeth.

‘The Duke needs all the experienced officers he can find. Jeremy is already there, in Brussels, but so far all he appears to do is go to balls and parties.’

‘Then I wish you good fortune, my lord. My mother’s family in Portugal suffered during the French occupation. Several cousins were killed, either in the fighting or when the French massacred all the people of Evora.’

‘Do your family live there?’

‘No longer in Evora. The Quinta das Fontes is near Oporto. That is the main estate, though various members of the family have their own houses along the Douro. They are mostly producers of wine.’

‘Which I suppose is how your parents met?’

‘Papa did a lot of business with the family, but her parents were not pleased when he wanted to marry Mama. They had hoped for an alliance with one of the wealthy, well-connected Portuguese families.’

‘When did they die?’

‘Mama was ill for a long time after Joanna’s birth, There is six years between us, and several babies were lost before Joanna was born. She was only four when Mama died. Papa died four years later, of a fever he contracted when visiting a vineyard in the Canaries.’

‘And his brother became your guardian?’

Catarina merely nodded. He glanced at her and saw that her lips were pressed firmly together. Though she had talked freely about her parents, she was clearly unwilling to speak of her uncle. Was that because he had forced her into marriage with Walter? All he had heard about Sir Ivor Norton indicated the man was stern and unyielding. His own sons were reputed wild youngsters, though Nicholas barely knew them.

They had reached the Dower House and he helped Catarina to alight.

‘Will you take a glass of wine, my lord? I can offer you some of Papa’s best madeira.’

‘I must decline, I have a long way to travel. But my thanks for your — guidance over the cottages. By the way, I have dismissed the agent and my own man, Mr Trubshaw, will be arriving to take over. Perhaps you will talk to him? I know he would appreciate it.’

‘Dismissed? But why?’

‘He had been defrauding your husband, falsifying the accounts over the cost of the building materials for the new cottages, and telling me lies. Of all things I most abominate being lied to.’

She clearly wanted to know more, but Nicholas shook his head.

‘I’ll explain another time. I really must leave now.’

He drove away. He did not know what to feel. He was so accustomed to managing his own estates, where no one queried his decisions, that he was a trifle piqued at having had to accept Catarina’s advice. At least he would now have a reliable agent here.

He shrugged, and forced his attention back to the situation in France. Wellington and Napoleon had never met in battle. From all reports many of Napoleon’s former soldiers were flocking to join him, and the allied army was a heterogeneous collection of untrained and inexperienced men. If anyone could mould them into a proper fighting force it was the Duke. The sooner he got to Brussels the better.

* * * *

Two weeks later Catarina and Rosa, her maid, were in the Dower House putting away Catarina’s gowns.

‘Such a pity you can’t wear colours,’ the maid said. ‘Black doesn’t suit you.’

‘There’s no one to see me,’ Catarina said. ‘I can’t go out in company yet, and I have no wish to.’

‘Sir Humphrey calls almost every day.’

‘He’s been very kind. As one of his lordship’s oldest friends he’s made it his task to look after me.’

Rosa suppressed a smile and Catarina frowned. She knew what her maid, who had been with her since her marriage, thought. Sir Humphrey was a widower, his wife having died six years ago, and his children were all married and living at a distance. He made no secret of the fact he did not enjoy living a bachelor existence. And he had never hidden his admiration for Catarina. Fervently she prayed he would not make her an offer. She had been fond of Walter, but she had no desire to wed another man of his age. She had no desire to remarry at all, whatever romantic notions Rosa had. Perhaps it was her own imminent wedding to the son of one of the tenant farmers that directed her thoughts in such pathways.

They finished putting away the gowns, and Catarina picked up the older, less fashionable ones she had determined to give away. Walter had been a generous husband, and she had more gowns than she would need now. Besides, the Dower House had only four principal bedrooms, all far smaller than hers at the Grange, and there was insufficient room for them all. She would harness the gig and take them to the Rectory. Mrs Eade would know who needed clothing, and her sewing circle, made up of the few gentlewomen in the parish, a couple of farmers’ wives, and two favoured shopkeepers, would enjoy using the material and making the gowns over into apparel more suitable for needy villagers.

Rosa packed up the bundle, while Catarina sent Staines to order the gig. Walter’s butler, who had been with the Earl for more than thirty years, had insisted he wanted to remain in her service.

‘I’m getting on, my lady, and I can’t be doing with the sort of changes a new owner will want to make. I’d be better suited, much more content, looking after you at the Dower House.’

Touched, she had agreed. With him, Rosa, a cook, kitchen maid, two housemaids and two gardeners who also looked after her two horses and did odd jobs about the house, she was well served.

She was entering the village just as a mail coach pulled away from the Bear inn. Then she frowned. Surely that female standing before the inn, a carpet bag at her feet, couldn’t be Joanna? But it was, and as soon as her sister saw her she abandoned her bag and ran to meet Catarina.

‘Oh, Cat!’ she cried and burst into tears.

‘Joanna, what on earth’s the matter? Why are you here?’

‘I — I can’t tell you here.’

‘Get in. Let’s collect your luggage. I must take these gowns to Mrs Eade, then we can go home and you can tell me what brings you here, and in such a state. Now dry your eyes.’

Joanna sniffed, employed the handkerchief Catarina offered, and tried to calm herself. Fortunately Mrs Eade was out, so Catarina did not have to refuse any offer of refreshment, and half an hour later she was guiding Joanna into the Dower House.

Staines, without being asked, brought a pot of tea and some of Cook’s almond biscuits. Ellen, her cook, was no older than Catarina herself, and she had hesitated before employing her. She had been accustomed to have much older women, plump and comfortable, as cooks, but once Ellen had produced some of her delicious dishes, on a week’s trial, Catarina had had no more reservations. Ellen seemed to spend all her time reading old receipt books, and told Catarina she had inherited them from her grandmother, who had been cook to gentry.

Joanna tossed her travelling cloak over the back of a chair and curled up in a small ball in one corner of a big sopha. She seemed disinclined to speak, and Catarina did not press her. She poured tea for them both, and Joanna took the cup with a bleak smile. Then she attacked the plate of biscuits and ate voraciously.

‘I had no breakfast,’ she explained. ‘I had to leave in the middle of the night to catch the mail in Bristol.’

‘Does Uncle Ivor know you have come? Has he been unkind to you?’ she added, thinking back to the few months she had herself spent with her uncle’s family between leaving school and marrying Walter.

Joanna paled. ‘No, and you must not tell him I’m here! Promise, Catarina! He’ll make me go back!’

‘They will guess you have come to me.’

‘No, they won’t. I left a note saying I was going to a friend’s in London.’

Catriona frowned. She appreciated Joanna’s fear of their uncle’s anger, but she did not approve of telling lies.

‘He and Aunt Hebe will be worried.’

‘They’ve never cared for either of us except in the way of duty. They disapproved of Papa, and never accepted Mama. But they’ll want to drag me back, and Cat, I can’t!’

‘Why not? Have they been unkind to you?’ Catarina repeated.

‘No. Not them,’ and Joanna burst into tears.

It took time and patience to calm her, but eventually she sat up, pushed herself away from Catarina’s comforting arms, and wiped her eyes. Then she took a deep breath.

‘Cat, I’m — oh, I can’t tell you!’

‘You must if I’m to help you. And you must want my help, or you would not have come to me.’

Joanna nodded, and turned away her face so that she did not have to look at Catarina. Her words were muffled, and low, but Catarina heard them.

‘I’m increasing, I’m having a baby.’

 

Chapter 3

 

Nicholas put his lack of interest in accepting any of the many invitations waiting for him in London to his concerns about the coming struggle with Napoleon. Many of the people who normally spent the Season in London had flocked to Paris and Brussels, taking advantage of the opportunity to visit Europe, the first for many years, though it appeared that a few, apprehensive at the approach of the Corsican monster, had fled back to London.

One of the young matrons with whom he enjoyed a discreet liaison sent a brief note saying her husband was away for a week, and she hoped to see him before he too left for Brussels, but he tossed it into the fire. He had no appetite for her frivolity. Lady Keith, furious that he had countermanded her decision to have Olivia in London for the Season, sent an imperious command ordering him to dinner the following day, and to this he sent polite apologies, mentioning a previous engagement. He was in no mood to listen to her complaints.

He could not dismiss thoughts of Catarina from his mind. Used as he was to ordering his own affairs, it rankled that she had been better informed than he about the old cottages. However much he told himself that as she lived there it was only natural she would know the situation, he disliked the experience of having to admit he was wrong. She had not, however, known about the agent’s dishonesty, but that had no doubt been Walter’s province.

She was an enigma, and to his annoyance he could not rid his mind of thoughts of her. Going through Walter’s papers he had discovered several letters from an elderly Colonel Carsley, a member of White’s, and it seemed they were old friends. Almost without being aware of it he found himself entering the club later that day.

The Colonel was reposing in a deep armchair, his eyes closed, and a glass held loosely in his hand in imminent danger of tipping the port it contained onto his lap.

Nicholas drew up another chair and coughed loudly. The Colonel started, opened his eyes, and drained his glass.

‘What? Who? Oh, it’s you, young Brooke. Thought you were down in Somerset. How did poor Walter’s funeral go?’

‘That was over two months ago, and I have been busy elsewhere since. But I was at Marshington Grange last week and met his widow again. A pleasant girl, but rather younger than I expected.’

The Colonel uttered a salacious chortle. ‘Walter was an old dog. Didn’t know he had it in him. I wouldn’t have minded bedding that filly meself!’

Nicholas found his hands clenched into fists. He forced himself to relax.

‘We were such distant connections I hadn’t met Walter since I was a child. My father always said he would never marry, but when he did we assumed he wanted to secure the succession.’

‘Wants aren’t always granted to us. You should be grateful. You get the title and the estate. He was a warm man, Walter, never spent above his income, and managed to increase his fortune.’

‘Why did he choose a girl just out of the schoolroom? I’d have thought he might have preferred someone older.’

‘He didn’t confide in me, but I understand he was visiting her uncle in Bristol for some reason and saw the chit. He was smitten, and the uncle — Sir Ivor Norton, wasn’t he? — caught his fish. An odd man, Norton, not the sort to take kindly to having to take on two schoolgirls. Got a sister, I believe? Did you see her? Is she another beauty?’

‘She’s pretty, yes, but Lady Brooke is the more handsome. But enough of her. What’s the latest news from Brussels?’

* * * *

Catarina closed her eyes and shuddered. ‘Who was it? Were you forced?’ she asked, thankful that her voice sounded normal.

‘It was only once or twice. Well, a few times,’ Joanna muttered. ‘Just after I went home after Walter’s funeral. Matthew and I were married, but secretly, and he was leaving to join the army in Belgium. Oh, Cat, what shall I do?’

‘Our cousin Matthew?’

Catarina tried to suppress her anger. Matthew was Uncle Ivor’s eldest son, just a couple of years older than she was, and she had always detested him. As a child he had delighted in playing cruel pranks on other children, and lying to escape any punishment, quite willing to blame anyone else for his own misdemeanours.

‘Joanna, how could you! He was the most dreadful little sneak, and he was expelled from Harrow for stealing. It’s a wonder he hasn’t been kicked out of the army too!’

Joanna sniffed. ‘I thought he had changed. He was different from when we were little, friendly and fun, and Cat, you can’t imagine how awful it is living with our uncle! He promised to take me away from it all, and we were married anyway! Or at the time I thought we were.’

‘Thought you were?’ Catarina didn’t know whether to shake her sister or weep for her. ‘How can you be uncertain? Tell me all about it. When did this marriage take place, where, and who else was present? Didn’t you know that you needed Uncle Ivor’s permission, as you are only eighteen? If the marriage was secret how could you have had it?’

‘Matthew said it would be all right,’ Joanna said, her voice sulky. ‘It was late at night, I couldn’t get away at any other time, but I managed to climb out of my window and down the wisteria outside.’

Catarina groaned. ‘Like you did in the seminary. Oh, Joanna! Won’t you ever learn?’

‘It’s no good being cross with me now. I need your help, Catarina. I thought you’d be willing to help me.’

‘I will. Go on.’

‘It was at that nice little church just a few miles away, St John’s. You know it, the village has moved, it’s now further up the hill, and the church stands all on its own.’

Just right for a clandestine wedding ceremony, Catarina thought, but did not voice it.

‘Who else was there?’

‘Two of Matthew’s army friends, he said they were. I hadn’t met them before. And the curate, of course.’

‘They were witnesses, I suppose. Did you sign the register? I remember I had to when I married Walter.’

‘I signed in a big book. I suppose that’s what you mean.’

‘I don’t understand why it had to be a secret. Why did Matthew not wish his father to know?’

‘He’d got plans for Matthew to marry someone else, a girl Aunt Hebe met the last time she was in Bath taking the waters.’

‘Does he know about the baby? Have you written to tell him?’

Joanna nodded, and gulped. ‘I wrote as soon as I suspected. I had a reply yesterday. That was why I had to come to you. Cat, darling sister, you will help me, won’t you?’

Catarina’s foreboding increased. ‘What did he say?’

‘He said I had been a fool to believe him, he’d never married me, the ceremony was a joke, and the curate was just another of his friends. And he said he was now betrothed to a girl he’d met in Brussels. He gave me the address of a woman in Bristol who — who helped girls in my situation. He meant she would get rid of the baby for me. But Cat, one of the girls at the seminary went to one of these women, and she died!’

‘Do you still have the letter?’

‘Yes, I brought it to show you just how — how horrid he’s being.’

‘Give it to me, I’ll keep it somewhere safe, and if I get the opportunity one day I will do something drastic to cousin Matthew. Perhaps it would serve him right if we sent a copy to this girl he says he’s betrothed to. Did he tell you her name?’

‘Here’s the letter.’ Joanna took it from her reticule and handed it to Catarina. ‘Read it. He didn’t tell me who it is.’

‘Then perhaps it’s no one. He may be saying it just as an excuse.’

Catarina’s emotions were too complex for her to distinguish them. There was utter fury and disgust at Matthew’s calculating cynicism; anger at Joanna for being taken in by him, and permitting such intimacies; dismay at the scandal that would arise when their friends learned of the situation; and under it all a shameful jealousy that her sister knew more about this aspect of life than she did herself.

She and Walter had led celibate lives. On their wedding night he had confessed to her that, due to an accident some years before, he was incapable of fathering a child. They had never lived as man and wife, though no one but themselves knew this state of affairs. She suddenly had a vision of Nicholas Brooke, and wondered guiltily what it would be like to have such a handsome man make love to her. Before her wedding she had often wished for a young and handsome knight to come and carry her away from her uncle’s house, but when told she was to marry Walter had striven to banish such unmaidenly thoughts.

She pulled herself together. Kindness in a husband was more important than good looks. But he had invaded her dreams too frequently for her comfort.

‘Don’t worry, Joanna. We’ll think of a way round it, without resorting to any dirty old woman in Bristol! Now I’ll show you to your room, the pretty one with the rose-patterned wallpaper you chose, and in the morning I’ll have thought of a plan. And think yourself lucky you are not really married to Matthew!’

* * * *

In the aftermath of the battle, when the Emperor’s army had been routed, Nicholas, filthy from the mud and so weary he wanted nothing better than to lie down in his soaking wet clothes and sleep where he was, knew he had to make sure Jeremy was safe. He’d seen his brother a couple of hours previously, and at that time he had been alive and exalted with the success they sensed was coming. He set off, asking everyone he met if they knew where Jeremy’s regiment was, and was eventually directed to an inn on the road back to Brussels.

His horse, as weary as he was, stumbled along the chaussee, and dropped his head the moment Nicholas dismounted. The road was filled with carts carrying the dead and wounded, soldiers straggling back to Brussels, and people trying to go the other way, either to look for loved ones or, Nicholas suspected, to scavenge amongst the debris and rob the dead still lying where they had fallen. There was grass at the roadside, but his poor horse seemed too weary to bother eating. Nicholas knew how he felt. Though all he’d had in the past four and twenty hours was a small loaf of coarse bread, he had no desire for food, just for sleep.

There were several cavalrymen sitting on the ground outside the inn, but not Jeremy. Someone inside was screaming in agony, and Nicholas winced at the sound.

‘What goes on? I’m looking for my brother, Jeremy Brooke.’

One of the men gave him a sorrowing look. A second gestured towards the inn.

‘Don’t ask, mate. It’s butchery in there. He’s no surgeon.’

‘What?’

Nicholas pushed past them and found his way into the coffee room. The long trestle tables had been commandeered as beds, and several men lay on them, groaning, while others surrounded the furthest table. He glanced round swiftly but could not see Jeremy. Then he thought he heard his brother’s voice, demanding to be let go.

‘Pour some more brandy down his throat,’ Nicholas heard, and fearing the worst he pushed through towards this group of men.

Jeremy lay on the trestle, struggling to get free, but his arms and legs were being held down by four brawny fellows while a fifth was sharpening a large, wicked-looking saw. Jeremy’s breeches had been cut away and blood was pouring from a wound in his left thigh.

Nicholas grabbed the man with the saw and demanded to know what was going on.

‘Bullet lodged. Now get off, there’s plenty more to be done. Have you got the pitch ready?’ he asked yet another man standing beside him.

‘Aye, nice and hot.’

‘No! There must be another way. Bullets can be dug out, there’s no need to amputate.’

‘Look, mate, I’m the surgeon, I know what needs to be done. If I don’t take the leg it’ll be gangrenous, and he’ll die a lingering death, much worse than a few minutes of pain here.’

‘Nick?’

Jeremy, his gaze unfocussed, began to laugh and mutter about old Nick and the devil. Nicholas, seeing what appeared to be the landlord hovering in the background, beckoned to him.

‘Do you have a bed upstairs for my brother, away from these butchers? I’ll pay well.’

‘It’s no more than a garret, but you’re welcome.’

Nicholas gestured to two of the men assisting the surgeon, and told them to carry Jeremy upstairs. They shrugged, and lured by the thought of his largesse, picked Jeremy up and carried him, still muttering alternate prayers and curses, up the narrow stairs into a small room under the eaves. Nicholas could hear the surgeon shouting at his other assistants, ordering them to move the next one over. Poor devils, in his murderous hands. But he had to do what he could for Jeremy.

Nicholas handed the men some coins, and turned to the landlord.

‘Have you some woman who could help me? And plenty of hot water and bandages please.’

‘I’ll send up my wife.’

Within a few minutes a buxom woman came in, carrying a knife and a linen sheet which she intimated could be cut into bandages. Another, younger woman carried in a jug of water, and Nicholas took the first strip of bandage and began to swab Jeremy’s wound. He could not see the bullet, which was buried deep, but the wound looked clean, and if he could stem the bleeding, he might be able to keep Jeremy alive until he could reach a proper doctor.

* * * *

Catarina’s prediction that Uncle Ivor would suspect Joanna had come to her was proved correct on the following day. Half way through the morning his carriage drew up outside the Dower House.

Joanna, nervous, looked out of the window and gasped.

‘Cat, it’s Uncle Ivor! I won’t go back with him! Oh, please don’t tell him I’m here! I’m going to hide in the woods.’

Before Catarina could reply she had disappeared through the double doors dividing the front drawing room from the back half, and Catarina had a craven desire to follow. She would have to lie to her uncle, and convince him she knew nothing of the matter. She seized some embroidery, a seat cover she was making for the dining room chairs, and tried to appear calm.

Staines let him in, and Catarina trusted her uncle, who was high in the instep, would not stoop to asking questions of the servants. She gave him a look of surprise when he was shown into the drawing room, though her hands holding the embroidery were shaking so much she feared she would stab herself with the needle.

‘Uncle Ivor! What a surprise. I was so sorry you and Aunt Hebe could not come to Walter’s funeral.’

She had decided to attack, and try to put him in the wrong at the start.

‘We sent apologies. I really do have too much to do to traipse all the way out here, and you had your sister for comfort. She’s the reason for my visit today. Is she here?’

‘She isn’t in my house,’ Catarina replied truthfully. ‘Why do you ask? Where is she?’

‘The ungrateful wretch has run away, said she was going to a friend in London.’

‘Then I expect that is where she has gone. You have wasted your time coming here. Do you wish me to accompany you to London in search of her?’

‘You take this very calmly!’

‘I know my sister. She is quite capable of making her own way to London if that was what she said she would do. Why has she left you? Have there been disagreements? Have you been angry with her? She does not take kindly to unfair chastisement.’

As he spluttered in annoyance Catarina heard a horse neighing outside, and a few moments later Sir Humphrey entered the room. She greeted him more cordially than usual, and introduced her uncle. Sir Humphrey looked gratified. Staines brought in some madeira, and when his back was to the men he winked at Catarina. She suppressed a smile. Her servants would not give Joanna away.

It was a tense half hour, but eventually both visitors left, Sir Ivor saying he supposed he would have to ask at the mail offices. Fortunately Sir Humphrey had not known of Joanna’s arrival, so he was able to sympathise with the other man as they bade Catarina farewell and departed.

* * * *

By the following morning Catarina had her plan worked out. When Joanna, looking rather pale, appeared at breakfast she dismissed the servants and began to explain.

‘It’s possible to travel abroad more easily now, so I think it’s time we visited Mama’s family. We could travel on one of the ships Papa’s partner, Mr Sinclair, sends to Oporto.’

‘But we don’t want them to know,’ Joanna protested.

‘They won’t. It’s the middle of June now, and you can’t be more than two months pregnant. No one will notice for at least another two months. We’ll stay with them for a few weeks, then go further south, where we can rent a house and tell people you are the widow of a soldier killed recently.’

‘Rosa will know I’m not.’

‘Rosa is planning to get married, so I won’t take her with us. We’ll hire a Portuguese maid who doesn’t know us.’

‘What of the baby? I don’t want it, Cat! It would remind me of Matthew all the time, and how he deceived me.’

‘That we will have to decide later. You could give him, or her, away, or leave the child to be brought up in Portugal. It has been done before when ladies have found themselves in such a predicament. We can afford to pay for its keep.’

Joanna sighed. ‘I suppose that’s best. Oh, Cat, I knew you’d find a way to help me. How soon can we go?’

* * * *

Jeremy’s bullet was dug out by a Brussels doctor, and he was told that with care he might survive.

‘Though you will probably always walk with a limp. Some of the muscle has been torn. You should remain here for a while, not put undue strain on your constitution,’ he was warned.

For a few days he was delirious, and Nicholas almost despaired of him, but eventually the fever subsided and he was once more rational. Then he drove his brother to distraction by demanding to be taken home.

At last Nicholas decided that Jeremy would be less likely to fret himself back into a fever if they did go home, so he organized a large travelling coach and hired Bates, a soldier who had been a valet before he joined the army, and who assured him he had been used to nursing injured men. They set off at the beginning of July, travelling as slowly as possible. It was agony for Jeremy, for the roads were poor and despite all the coachman’s care he was inevitably jolted. He bore it stoically, but Nicholas was thankful when they boarded ship and Jeremy had not suffered a relapse.

When they reached Brooke Court late one afternoon Jeremy was put straight to bed, but on the following morning he insisted on being helped to sit in a large chair by his bedroom window, his leg supported by a footstool.

‘Nick, I’m a crock, useless for the army,’ he stated when Nicholas looked in to see how he did.

‘It’s too early to say.’

‘I know it. I’ll never be as active again, and I cannot bear the thought of anything less than proper fighting.’

‘You could still be useful, with your experience.’

‘No, I’d go mad tied to some desk in London. Did you mean it about letting me live at Marshington Grange?’

‘Yes, and as you are my heir we might be able to break the entail, and I’ll give it to you.’

‘I’m truly grateful. I doubt the rents from the entailed farms will cover the upkeep, but I have the money Grandmother Talbot left me, and I would like to try my hand at some of the new farming methods I’ve read about. I think I could make it profitable.’

Nicholas was amused. ‘I didn’t know you had an ambition to become a farmer.’

‘Well, I didn’t, before. I’ve always been interested, though. One of the fellows in the regiment lives near Thomas Coke at Holkham, and he was telling me about the gatherings they have each year. Coke’s Clippings they call them, because they hold them at shearing time. He invited me to visit him next year.’

‘Would you have mainly sheep?’

‘No. I think cattle would also do well, and I’d like to breed horses of some kind. I don’t yet know what sort, riding or carriage types. I’ve been reading about what some of the other farmers do. There’s a deal of marshy land which could be drained and made into good sheep pasture. I couldn’t sleep last night,’ he admitted, ‘so I compiled a list of books I want. Could you have them sent down for me? While I’m laid up I can be studying and making plans.’

‘Give me the list and I’ll send someone to London to fetch the books,’ Nicholas said, thankful to see Jeremy involved in new plans rather than repining over the end to his army career.

‘But I ought to be down at Marshington as soon as possible, before the harvest, so that I can plan for next year. I saw there was a lot of common land still, so I will need to make some enclosures. And if I can persuade the villagers to agree to amalgamate their strips they can all benefit. Oh, I assure you I intend to be a model landlord!’

‘You can’t go down until you are fit enough to ride.’

‘I’ll be able to drive a gig in a few days.’

‘I can’t permit it. But,’ he added, holding up his hand to stem Jeremy’s protests, ‘I’ll go down myself and see what needs doing. Then if there is a need to introduce an Enclosure Act I can do it in the Lords.’

* * * *

Catarina waited impatiently for answers to her letters. The one from Mr Sinclair came first, and said there would not be another boat going to Oporto until the end of July, but she and Joanna would be very welcome to sail on her, and he hoped they would spend at least one night with him and his wife before the departure. Some time later her Aunt Madalene, her mother’s older sister, sent to say how delighted she would be to see her nieces, and bemoaning the fact they did not intend to stay more than two weeks.

Joanna fretted at the delay, but Catarina had so much to do she was glad of the respite. The new agent, Mr Trubshaw, left to oversee matters on the estate, found his situation difficult, and he was for ever consulting her as to what her husband would have wanted him to do. No matter how often she told him that he should apply to the new Earl, she had to admit that while Lord Brooke was in Belgium with Wellington’s army she was the best person to make necessary decisions.

The news of Napoleon’s defeat was greeted with great joy and thanksgiving. Catarina heard of the many deaths, and wondered rather sadly what would happen to the estate if both Lord Brooke and his brother had perished. The thought of perhaps never again seeing Nicholas Brooke was unexpectedly painful. Who would be the next heir? Then she sternly told herself she ought not to care. Though she would be sorry, for they were pleasant men, it did not concern her. She felt a considerable lightening of her spirits, however, when a letter from Lord Brooke came to tell her Jeremy had been wounded, and would be unable to travel to Somerset for a while, but he himself would visit Marshington Grange in the near future to make any necessary arrangements.

‘Let’s hope we’ll be gone before then! I look such a sight!’ Joanna complained.

Joanna was complaining rather a lot and sometimes Catarina wanted to slap her young sister. She had got herself into this predicament by being too gullible, and ought to be thankful there was a possible way of hiding her shame.

‘I hate black! It makes me look sallow,’ she stormed when Catarina told her that if she meant to go into the village she had to wear one of Catarina’s mourning gowns, while her own were being made by the village seamstress.

‘You must, out of respect for Walter, or you’ll scandalize the village. And remember, when we are in Lisbon, and you are pretending to be a widow, you will have to wear it all the time. The Portuguese are very strict about that, and if you were to remain there you would be expected to wear black for the rest of your life.’

‘Then I shall return home as soon as I am rid of this incubus!’ she stormed, rubbing her still slender waist.

‘I can’t endure this food,’ she said the following day, pushing aside the plate of pork cutlets with Rober sauce. ‘It turns my stomach.’

‘If you make such a fuss at Aunt Madalene’s she may suspect your condition,’ Catarina warned. ‘After all, she has had a dozen children herself, and has several grandchildren.’

‘If I am forced to eat such messes I shall be sick!’

‘You will control yourself. And unless you stop complaining, and making yourself unpleasant to my servants, I’ll call off the entire plan. I’ll leave you there on your own, once we have been to Aunt Madalene’s.’

 

Chapter 4

 

Nicholas arrived a few days later, and found Catarina in the Dower House garden, wearing an old white sunhat and picking peas. He’d forgotten just how lovely she was.

‘Good morning,’ he called over the hedge which separated the garden from the drive to the Grange.

She glanced up, then straightened her back and walked across to the hedge. She looked pale, and somewhat harassed, he thought. There were shadows under her eyes which had not been there before, even at the time of the funeral, and there was a wary look in her eyes. Did she suspect him of planning things for the estate of which she did not approve? He felt a sudden desire to take care of her, to remove the worry from her eyes.

‘Good morning, my lord. We received your letter. How is your brother? Was he seriously wounded?’

‘A bullet in his leg, he’ll probably always have a limp, but at least I was just in time to stop some butcher of a surgeon amputating the leg. I swear they killed almost as many men as the French did!’

Then as Catarina paled he cursed his unruly tongue. He hurried on.

‘He is fretting to be down here. He will take up residence, and has many plans for farming. He wants to emulate Thomas Coke and breed fine sheep.’

‘Walter met Mr Coke once, and much admired him. If he had been younger I think he would have liked to experiment, but he maintained he had too much else to do. His father had left the estate in a shocking state, and it was all Walter could do to make it profitable by the time we married.’

‘Jeremy plans to drain some of the marshland and turn it into pasture. I trust you have no objections to such a scheme?’

For the first time since they’d met, Catarina smiled, and Nicholas was taken aback at the transformation of her face. She had been beautiful before, but rather in the manner of the expressionless Madonnas the Italians were so fond of painting. This smile gave a hint of mischief, and Nicholas wondered what it would be like to make love to her and release those emotions.

‘Walter was planning to do just that,’ she told him.

‘Then would you ride out with me and show me the best places? Had Walter made detailed plans?’

‘I imagine there are maps in the estate office which will show what Walter was planning. Mr Trubshaw will know. He has been assiduous in trying to master all the details of the estate. I feel so ashamed we did not discover the problems with Mr Carter. As he was the son of our dear former agent we trusted him. It was fortunate you found out so soon.’

‘I am accustomed to checking such matters. Then I will spend the rest of today consulting the plans, and may I call for you at ten tomorrow? You have a riding horse, I hope?’

‘Yes, my two horses were my own property,’ she replied, and the smile vanished.

Nicholas cursed his thoughtless words. She clearly recalled Lady Keith’s fury that she had been left anything beyond the minimum. He nodded and turned away.

‘Tomorrow, then. I am grateful.’

* * * *

As she went back into the house Catarina chastised herself for being so curt. Joanna’s tantrums were affecting her own temper. The sooner they could be on their way to Portugal the better. She must make amends by being helpful and friendly towards Lord Brooke tomorrow.

She had two riding habits, one of dark green, the other cherry red. As she has not anticipated riding anywhere other than on the estate, and by herself, and would soon be going to Portugal, she had not bothered to have a black one made. Which should she wear? The green was closer to mourning, but the cherry red one suited her better, and was much newer, more fashionable. Nicholas, the Earl, she kept reminding herself to call and think of him, had only ever seen her in dreary black, which did nothing to flatter her. She wanted to show him she could look more attractive, but shied away from considering why she wanted him in particular to see her as attractive. Would many people be scandalized if she wore the brightly coloured one? They would be on Grange land or in the village all the time, so perhaps it would not matter.

It wasn’t difficult to be friendly, she found. He put himself out to be a charming, interesting companion as they rode towards the village. He was so attractive she wondered yet again why he had so far escaped matrimony. Perhaps there was a woman he loved, she thought, to whom he was betrothed, or whom he wished to marry. The thought gave her an unwelcome jolt of dismay, and she was horrified as she realized she was considering what it would be like to be married to him herself. Hastily she cast about for something else to concentrate on. The army, the recent conflict with Napoleon, she decided.

When she asked he told her about the battle, which was already being called after Waterloo, the village where the Duke had made his headquarters.

‘It was one of the worst battles I’ve been involved in, and I spent several years fighting in Portugal and Spain. If Blücher and the Prussians had not arrived in time, we could well have lost.’

‘And your brother? Is he recovering?’

‘Slowly. He will not be fit to come and live at Marshington Grange for quite a time, so I will be coming for a few days occasionally. In the meantime may I hope you will keep a friendly eye on the estate, and let me know if anything needs to be done that the agent cannot deal with?’

Catarina shook her head. ‘I’m afraid that will not be possible, my lord.’

‘You won’t?’

‘I can’t. My sister and I are going to be away for some time. We have decided this is an opportune moment to visit Mama’s family in Portugal.’

‘Then I will have to depend on Mr Trubshaw. Your family live near Oporto, I believe you said?’

‘My Aunt Madalene and her family do, but there are many other cousins elsewhere. It is a large family.’

‘A friend, another officer, married a Portuguese girl and lives near Oporto. He spoke the language and acted as liaison with the Portuguese soldiers, but he was injured, and this girl’s family took him in and nursed him. I believe he is becoming an expert on growing olives. Thomas Winterton. Perhaps your family know him?’

‘It could be so.’

‘I’ll give you his direction.’

Catarina tried to change the subject. Once they had visited Aunt Madalene she and Joanna planned to vanish, not contact any of Nicholas’s friends. She pointed out the new cottages.

‘All the people are now housed here, delighted to have the room, and be near their friends and the common.’

‘I saw the old ones had been pulled down. These look handsome.’

They were built in pairs, of stone and with slate roofs. Each had a plot of ground in which vegetables were growing. Most of the cottages had a run with fowls scratching at the dirt, and beyond them the ground rose slightly until it became a low range of hills. It looked like the common, and already the hay was harvested and the animals turned out to graze.

‘The big fields are that way,’ Catarina explained, pointing, ‘and the marsh starts beyond them, and curves round following the river we saw by the old cottages. Walter was planning to drain the nearest part first, but — ‘ she swallowed, ‘he never began. He was coming back from looking at them when something happened and he was thrown from his horse. We don’t know what caused it, whether something startled the horse, or it stepped into a coney hole. It was a little lame when it returned to the stables, and then we began to search. It was some time before Walter was found, and by that time he was dead.’

‘I am truly sorry. You were fond of him, clearly.’

‘He was a good man. Now I think we should start back and go through the woods. The pigs won’t have been turned out there yet. But they grow fat on the acorns, and make a good meal for Christmas!’

* * * *

To Catarina’s relief Joanna behaved with all due decorum while they stayed with Mr and Mrs Sinclair in Bristol. The sea voyage was calm, and Joanna’s spirits revived.

‘I can see an end to this,’ she said on their first evening at sea. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been so obnoxious, but I felt nauseous and I was worried. Catarina, I’m so sorry to have caused you so much trouble.’

Catarina hugged her. ‘You were foolish, but we’ll manage it together. And what would I have done alone at the Dower House? At least we can see something of Mama’s home. Papa always meant to bring us, but he said the war made it too dangerous.’

One of their cousins, Antonio de Freitas, was waiting to greet them when the ship docked at Oporto, and drove them the few miles to the Quinta das Fontes. It was far larger than Catarina had expected, a long, low house painted white, with green shutters at every window, and wings extending back to enclose a delightful courtyard. This was ablaze with flowers, many of which were new to Catarina, set in stone urns. All the rooms, on the ground and upper storeys, opened out onto shaded terraces and balconies. Colourful tubs of flowers adorned the balconies and all the steps, and bougainvillea clambered up the walls. A fountain played in the centre of the courtyard, making a gentle tinkling sound as the water fell into an ornamental pool. The sun shone on the drops of water, creating rainbow colours which flashed for a moment and then died. Aunt Madalene, having greeted them enthusiastically and remarked how like they were to their dear mother, took them out to where a table was laid in the shade.

‘The fountain is from a natural spring,’ she explained as they drank tea and sampled delicious honey cakes, ‘and gave the name to the Quinta. There are other fountains in the garden, but we will show you those tomorrow. And the vineyards, and your Uncle Mario will explain how we make the wine. Oh, how delightful it is to have you here. I want to hear all about your lives in England. But I do wish you could make a longer visit.’

‘Now the wars are over, we will come back often,’ Catarina promised. ‘This time, I’m afraid, we have promised to pay visits in Lisbon and Faro.’

‘Do we know your friends? There are still many English officers in Lisbon, looking after things while the Court is in Brazil. Perhaps you will know some of them.’

For a moment Catarina wondered whether they should avoid Lisbon. She had not known about the English still being there, then she decided that as they would of necessity remain secluded there was little chance of being seen or recognized. It was unlikely she would know any of them, she and Walter had not been much into Society, and since both she and Joanna were dark haired and did not have the pale complexions of English girls they would be taken as Portuguese.

Catarina was realizing how difficult it was going to be to keep Joanna’s secret, their aunt was so hospitable and interested in their lives in England. Already she was telling lies, inventing excuses, and hating herself for the deception. Joanna had no qualms, though.

‘We are visiting a couple of my friends from school,’ she said cheerfully. ‘One is married now and living in the south, which is why we want to travel there later, after we have seen the one in Lisbon.’

The two weeks they spent at the Quinta das Fontes were enjoyable, but both girls were glad when they could leave. One day Aunt Madalene had remarked that the good Portuguese food must suit them, as Joanna seemed to be putting on weight, and for a horrid moment Catarina thought she knew.

They left, promising to return the following year, and driven by their uncle’s coachman. Catarina insisted they take the public coach from Oporto, but she could not evade Antonio’s escort. It simply was not possible for two young girls to travel on their own, they were told. She could not risk anyone discovering their destination in Lisbon, but Joanna’s inventive mind provided the answer. They were, she said airily, to stay at an hotel for a night or so, as their hosts were away, and they would be collected as soon as the da Sousa family returned to the city. She had only a vague idea of the address where they would be staying, as the family had a couple of town houses and also a country estate.

Antonio was horrified at the notion of two ladies being alone in an hotel, and they were afraid he would insist on remaining with them. Catarina assured him it was considered acceptable in England, and to their relief he said he had to go back home, there were people he had promised to meet there, on business connected with the grape harvest.

Listening to Joanna, Catarina was thankful there were so few surnames in Portugal. There would be dozens, if not hundreds, of families called da Sousa and tracing an individual one would be difficult.

* * * *

By mid-August Jeremy was fit enough to go to Marshington Grange. He was so restless Nicholas was thankful to take him there. At his own house he would have more to do, and Nicholas meant to stay with him for several weeks and help him settle and get to know the people on the estate. Even to himself he did not admit that he hoped to meet Catarina again. She had not said when they would return from the visit to their Portuguese family, but surely they would be back before the winter.

Jeremy insisted he could ride around the estate, not have to travel in a ladies’ gig, but he agreed to rest for a day or so after the tedious coach journey. Then he rebelled, telling Nicholas he was living up to his devilish name, so Nicholas went to the stables to make sure his saddle was put on a placid mare. Jeremy frowned when he saw her, but said nothing more. Nicholas trusted he was beginning to realize his limitations.

It was clear within the first few minutes that Jeremy was finding riding difficult, and after they had ridden as far as the village and seen the new houses, Nicholas insisted on turning back.

As they passed the Dower House Nicholas saw Staines in the garden, and hailed him.

‘When do the ladies plan to return?’

‘Not for some months, my lord. I understand they are visiting several relatives.’

Nicholas thanked him, and was silent all the way back to the house. Jeremy, clearly in pain, did not wish to talk. He winced as he dismounted, and instead of following his normal practice of making sure his horse was properly looked after, he handed the mare to a groom, grimaced at Nicholas and said he would go into the house.

Before he went inside himself Nicholas made sure there was a suitable gig and a pony to pull it. Jeremy might object, and say he felt like a child or a female driving such a conveyance, but if he wanted to be able to tour his land he would have to endure the embarrassment.

After the first few outings Jeremy was reconciled. He met the tenant farmers, listened to their praises of the late Earl, and tentatively began to discuss his own plans for improvements. One or two of the farmers approved, but he met considerable resistance from others.

‘I’ll have to go slowly,’ he told Nicholas as they sat over their port one evening. ‘Do you think, if the dowager were here, she might persuade them? Several of them talked about her, and they seemed to respect her views. She has been good to many of them, sending help when they were in trouble. If she approved of my plans they would accept them more readily.’

For a few moments Nicholas wondered who Jeremy meant by the dowager, then with a shock realized he was talking of Catarina.

‘She’s still a girl!’ he exclaimed. ‘How can you call her a dowager?’

Jeremy grinned at him. ‘I know, it sounds ridiculous, she’s the same age as I am, but as soon as you marry she’ll have to get used to it. We can’t have two countesses.’

‘I’m not planning to marry,’ Nicholas protested.

‘Oh, come. You wouldn’t want me to inherit the title, would you? Besides, you’ll live to a ripe old age and I would be too ancient to make the most of it. I’ll be content with the connection, the reflected glory. Seriously, Nick, you need to set up your own nursery soon. There will be even more debutantes on the catch for you now you have the title. Why don’t you go up to London for the Little Season and survey the field?’

Nicholas grimaced. ‘The whole business is like a horse fair. Dance with some chit at two consecutive balls, or drive her in the Park, and the dowagers are taking bets. Dowagers!’ he added.

Jeremy chuckled. ‘I’ll hazard you don’t meet many like our own dowager at Almack’s!’

* * * *

Catarina rented an apartment a week after they arrived in Lisbon. She hired a cook and a Portuguese maid, and they announced that Joanna, a grieving widow, would not be entering Society or receiving calls.

‘That will explain how we don’t know anyone here.’

‘If we’d gone to a smaller town we could at least have driven out,’ Joanna complained.

‘And been more conspicuous. Here we are anonymous, and no one will notice us or begin to speculate about us.’

Joanna nodded reluctant agreement. ‘I am so bored!’ she complained. ‘I’ve read this book of poems so many times I could recite every one.’

‘There are clothes to make for the child,’ Catarina reminded her.

‘I hate sewing, and I have enough reminders of Matthew. I don’t want to spend my time sewing for his wretched brat!’

Catarina sighed. Joanna insisted she did not wish to keep the child, and it would have been impossible unless they moved from Somerset and all their acquaintances, and settled in another part of the country where they could have maintained the fiction of Joanna’s widowhood.

‘I’ve been making enquiries. There is a convent nearby which takes in orphan babies. They either find someone to adopt the children, or they keep them until they are old enough to be apprenticed to a trade. If I give them a large sum of money they will ensure the child goes to a good home.’

‘I don’t care.’

Catarina lost her temper. ‘This baby is yours too! You are as responsible for creating it as Matthew, and you can’t be so heartless as not to care what becomes of the poor mite!’

‘It was Matthew’s fault!’ Joanna muttered. ‘I thought we were married, and he might have been going to his death at Waterloo.’

‘You should have had the sense to know it was not all correct when it was done in a clandestine manner.’

‘He said he didn’t want Uncle Ivor to know, as he wanted Matthew to marry some girl with a title, not just a small fortune like mine.’

‘He survived.’ Catarina was horrified at her wickedness when she caught herself thinking it might have been better if he had not. ‘His mother wrote to tell me, and also to announce his betrothal to a girl from Leicestershire. Will you tell him when the baby is born?’

Joanna shook her head. ‘He doesn’t care, he wanted me to get rid of it, and as soon as I can I want to forget I ever had it. I mean it, Cat. This baby is not going to ruin my life.’

* * * *

Nicholas and Jeremy were still at breakfast when their new butler came to say that Staines was in the kitchen, rather upset, and wanted to speak to them.

‘We’ll see him in the estate office, in five minutes,’ Nicholas said.

‘I suspect some problem has arisen at the Dower House which he cannot deal with,’ Jeremy said.

‘There may be a message from Lady Brooke,’ Nicholas said, and knew it was unlikely Staines would be coming to them so early in the day just to relay a message that the ladies were coming home. He wondered at his preoccupation with Catarina. Why did she occupy his thoughts so much? He admitted frankly that he desired her, wanted to make love to her, but he had desired many women, and then banished all thoughts of them either until the desire faded, which it often did, or an appropriate moment came to satisfy it. Perhaps, perversely, it was because he knew Catarina was not like his other conquests, bored married women who could love and leave their lovers as readily as he did himself.

Staines was standing by the window of the estate office when the brothers entered. He swung round and took a few steps towards them, holding out his hands in supplication.

He had dressed hurriedly, and not shaved. His hair looked as though he had spent the time of waiting thrusting his hands through it.

‘What is it, man?’ Nicholas demanded. ‘Here, sit down, you’re as pale as a ghost.’

‘My lord, I don’t know what to do,’ Staines muttered, almost collapsing into the chair Nicholas thrust towards him. ‘It’s Cook. Ellen. She’s dead.’

‘Your cook at the Dower House? But she isn’t an old woman. Has she been ailing?’

Staines shook his head and wrung his hands together. ‘Wicked, it is!’ He took a deep breath. ‘It was her custom to go out into the garden last thing at night, she said a breath of fresh air helped her to sleep.’

Nicholas nodded. He knew many people who said the same.

‘Who normally locked up after her? Did you see her? Was she looking ill then?’

Staines shook his head and groaned. ‘She did herself. I saw to all the other doors and windows, but she’d lock the back door and go up to her room. I’d usually hear her, but not always. I was tired, yesterday. I’d been helping Mr Lewis repair the roof of his barn, and must have gone to sleep the moment I put my head on the pillow. Oh, why didn’t I wait for her!’

‘Are you saying she didn’t come back into the house?’

He nodded. ‘This morning she wasn’t in the kitchen when I went for my breakfast, so I thought she’d overslept. I sent up young Liza, and she said the bed hadn’t been slept in. Then — ‘

He stopped and dragged his sleeve across his eyes.

‘Well?’

‘The kitchen door wasn’t locked. We went out, thinking she might have had a fall. But — ‘ he gulped, ‘she was down by the raspberry canes, at the end of the garden, and — and, she was stone cold.’

‘Dead? Had she fallen, could you tell?’

‘She was covered in blood. Bludgeoned to death, poor lass.’

‘Have you called a doctor? Or the constable?’

Staines shook his head. ‘Doctor Holt could do no good. I didn’t know what to do, with my lady not there, so I came to tell you.’

Nicholas turned to Jeremy, who had been standing by the door, listening. He looked horrified.

‘Send a groom for Doctor Holt, and the constable. And saddle my horse. I’ll go straight down. You bring Staines in the gig. Did you move her?’ he asked, turning back to Staines as Jeremy, looking pale himself, nodded and left the room.

‘I thought it best not to. There was nothing we could do for her, poor wench.’

‘Good man.’

‘I have to tell my lady, but I don’t have her direction! She said she didn’t know where they’d be after they’d visited her aunt. What shall I do?’

 

Chapter 5

 

Joanna, having suddenly grown large and ungainly, so that even wearing a loose cloak did not hide her condition, refused to go out of the house apart from taking some gentle exercise in the small garden attached to it. Catarina, thankful to be away from her constant complaints, spent as long as she could over the daily marketing. She explored Lisbon on foot, admiring the many new buildings. Since convention demanded she take a maid with her she was thankful that Luisa had lived in Lisbon all her life, and was proud of her city so that she knew all the best places to see. At the same time Catarina was improving her grasp of the language, which she had rarely spoken since her mother died.

Sixty years earlier, on All Saints’ Day, just as people were going to church, the city had been destroyed by a large earthquake, followed by a huge wave which had capsized many boats, and a fire that raged for three days and destroyed most of what was left. Lisbon had then been one of the largest and most prosperous cities in Europe. Catarina had been old enough to remember her mother telling her how one of her uncles had been in Lisbon, one of the few survivors, and he had described how the house he was in had shaken, there had been a tremendous underground rumbling noise, and three terrific shocks, followed by the terrifying wall of water. Being on the outskirts, her uncle had been able to ride away.

‘There was great destruction all over Portugal, Spain and Morocco too, and the high waves reached the coast of England,’ Mama had said.

One day early in November she had escaped for a couple of hours, and was standing outside the Basilica de Estrela, admiring the white dome, when she heard her name.

‘Surely it’s Catarina Brooke? Catarina, how astounding to see you here! Are you visiting your mother’s family?’

Catarina turned, slowly. ‘Delphine. What are you doing here?’

Of all the people she might have met, her old school friend Delphine was the worst. She had been a noted gossip in the seminary, seemed to spend all her time writing letters, and had never been able to keep any secret. She was fashionably dressed in an olive-green walking dress and slightly darker green pelisse, and a chip straw hat was perched on her bright golden curls. An elderly woman, presumably her maid, stood slightly behind her, carrying a couple of parcels.

‘Oh, my husband, Captain Pearce, is here, doing something about the roads. He is in the army, and there is so little organization here since the French occupation we are helping. But you must come to dine with us. We have a sweet little apartment near the castle. Are you staying with relatives? And don’t you have a sister? Is she with you?’

Catarina thought rapidly. She dared not admit Joanna’s presence, or Delphine would insist on calling to see her, and that would be fatal.

‘I am staying with — with an elderly great aunt,’ she said slowly, praying that Luisa, who was standing just behind her, could not understand. ‘She has been very ill, and I am keeping her company. Jo — Joanna is with friends in London.’

‘Then I expect your aunt is not receiving — ‘

‘No, not at all, and she was rather reclusive before she became ill.’

Really, Joanna would be proud of her powers of invention, she thought wryly. She must be sure not to give Delphine their direction, for despite the mythical invalid, she suspected Delphine would contrive to visit.

‘Can you come to dine tomorrow? We keep country hours here, unlike the Portuguese, so I will expect you at four. I heard about your husband’s death, and I wrote my condolences, but I want to hear all about what you have been doing since. You are not a very good correspondent, Catarina!’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘It must be tomorrow, we are going back to England two days later. Oh, how wonderful to have run into you!’

What appalling timing, Catarina thought. Only three more days and this need not have happened. She considered her options. If she refused, Delphine would try to make a different arrangement, and would certainly insist on having her direction in order to contact her about it. She gave in to the inevitable, and hoped she could maintain the fiction.

‘I would love to dine. Thank you.’

‘I will send a carriage.’

‘No, no, that won’t be necessary. I’ve no doubt my aunt will have some commissions for me that I will need to do beforehand. She usually does, so I will use her carriage. Where is your apartment?’

She escaped soon afterwards, when Delphine recalled all the various tasks she had to perform before they left for home, and after watching her friend and the maid walk away, Catarina turned back towards their own apartment, walking slowly so that she could think what to do.

* * * *

Nicholas was relieved to see that the Dower House cook had not been so viciously attacked as Staines had suggested. There was a deal of blood, but it appeared to come from just one wound, a heavy blow to the side of her head. Doctor Holt arrived and pronounced her dead, which they all knew. Then the constable came and shook his head gloomily.

‘Poor woman, but she was asking for it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, sir, Ellen was always a flighty piece. The despair of her parents, though they tried to keep it quiet. Lady Brooke couldn’t have known what her reputation was when she took her on. After all, she came from ten miles away. But I’ve heard rumours lately she was meeting one of Farmer Lewis’s men on the sly. Married, Dan is.’

‘Mr Lewis’s man? Mr Lewis who rents the home farm?’ Nicholas asked. ‘So that could account for her breaths of fresh air late at night. You think this might be a lover’s quarrel?’

‘Aye, that or a jealous wife. Dan’s missus Annie has a vicious temper, and has given him a black eye or two since they’ve been wed.’

Jeremy was horrified. ‘This isn’t a woman’s crime!’

‘This was done with a heavy club, or more likely something like a heavy branch, not a fist,’ Doctor said. He was still examining the body. ‘Look, there are scraps of leaves and bark in her hair, which I swear didn’t get there except from the weapon. The blood has stuck to them.’

‘I’d best go and talk to Dan and his missus,’ the constable said. ‘And send a lad with a note for Ellen’s parents. Poor souls, they’ll be wretched. She was their only daughter. They may want her buried over their way.’

‘Doctor, if you have finished, can we put her in an empty stable?’ Nicholas asked, and the cook’s body was soon neatly stowed.

Staines had remained at a distance, but now he came forward.

‘My lord, how can I let her ladyship know? I don’t have her direction, I don’t know where her foreign relatives live.’

‘It’s near Oporto. I’ve no doubt her father’s partner will know. I’ll ride to Bristol and ask him. Jeremy, if I go immediately I may be able to return tonight. Can you deal with matters here?’

‘Of course. Staines, should we employ another cook for now?’

‘I couldn’t say, my lord. One of the girls can do all we need, while the mistress is away. I wouldn’t like to take the responsibility of engaging someone else until she comes back.’

‘If you need help, ask at the Grange. I have more servants than I need,’ Jeremy offered.

Nicholas reached Bristol several hours later. The roads had been dusty and busy, and he decided he would have to remain the night, his horse was too tired for the return journey. He stabled the beast and booked a room at one of the main inns, then set out on foot for the wine importer’s premises.

To his frustration Mr Sinclair was not there, and not expected back until the following day. Nor was he at his home, and his wife could not help, she did not know precisely where Catarina’s family lived.

‘I once heard her mention the Quinta das Fontes,’ he tried prompting her. ‘Could that be it?’

‘That sounds like it, but my husband will know.’

On the next morning Nicholas was able to obtain the full direction, and as there was a ship leaving for Oporto the following day, he left his letter to be sent by it. It would probably be faster than by the ordinary mails. Then he rode back to Marshington Grange to hear from Jeremy that the jealous wife, loudly protesting her innocence, had been placed in the village lock up.

‘One of Catarina’s maids had hysterics, said she would not under any circumstances stay here, so she has gone home,’ Jeremy reported. ‘I sent one of the grooms down to the Dower House to provide protection for the rest of them. Even Staines is badly shaken.’

‘But if this woman Annie has been apprehended, they are in no danger.’

Jeremy grinned. ‘Tell them that! They expect the husband to come wreaking vengeance on them. I must say village life is almost as exciting as Belgium!’

* * * *

Catarina had spent a sleepless night concocting fiction in readiness for the dinner party, but she had little need for it. There were several other English people there. It was, she realized, a farewell party for Delphine and her husband, and most of the conversation was to do with the political situation in Portugal, and speculation about whether the royal family would return soon from Brazil. The other guests were polite to Catarina, sympathised with her recent widowhood, and did not press her with questions.

‘You must write to me when you return to England and tell me how you get on at the Dower House,’ Delphine told her as she was leaving, but just then another guest captured Delphine’s attention and Catarina made her escape without having to give away her own address.

On the way back to her apartment she wondered whether Lisbon was too full of English people, and whether they ought to move to some other town once the baby was born. Joanna was too far into her pregnancy for them to travel now, and all the arrangements had been made for her lying-in, but once she was able to go out Catarina knew her sister would be determined to make up for the months she had spent hidden away.

She did not want to return to England in the depths of winter. The sea journey would be rough, and while she was here she would like to see more of her mother’s country. Perhaps they could go to the south, or even visit some of their cousins. Without the child they would be free, and Joanna was adamant she did not under any circumstances wish to keep it, or even see it once it was born.

Catarina felt as though she had never really known her sister. She’d always been aware Joanna was light-minded and reckless in her behaviour, caring little for the opinions of others, but she had not previously realized how callous she could be. She began to worry about what would happen once they returned to England. Joanna would not be able to go back to live with their uncle, nor would she want to. When Catarina had written to tell him she and Joanna were planning to go to Portugal his response had been curt and uncompromising. He never wished to set eyes on the ungrateful wretch again. The sooner she was one and twenty and he could hand over her fortune and all responsibility for her the better. Meanwhile he would arrange for Joanna’s allowance, which she did not deserve but which, as an honest guardian and trustee, he felt bound to continue giving her, to be sent each quarter into Catarina’s charge.

With a sigh she supposed Joanna would have to come and live with her at the Dower House. It was not that she didn’t love her sister, rather dread at the task of controlling her. What the girl needed was a stern husband, and perhaps they could go to London in a year or so for the Season and she might find one. Meanwhile they could spend some time in Bath so that Joanna might learn how to conduct herself properly in Society. Then she recalled Joanna’s disgrace at the seminary. Maybe they ought to go to some other spa town such as Cheltenham, or even Tonbridge Wells. It would be better to be where there was less chance of meeting people who might know of Joanna’s previous exploits.

* * * *

Joanna was uninterested in anything but the discomforts of the last months of pregnancy. Their best estimate for the birth was the middle of December, and Catarina had engaged a midwife, who promised she could find a suitable wet nurse for the baby when the time came. Joanna had reacted in horror at the mere thought she might have to suckle the child herself. She insisted to Catarina she would be happy not even to see the child. Then, in the middle of November, she went into labour late one evening.

Luisa was sent for the midwife, while Catarina tried to recall all she knew about childbirth. She’d thought they would have more time for preparation, but at least she knew enough to set water to boil and collect as many clean rags and sheets as she could.

For several hours Joanna wept and railed against fate, then swore she would soon die of agony. The midwife came and looked at her, told her she would be several hours yet, and she had to attend first to another lady who was much closer to giving birth. She would return in the morning.

Joanna screamed abuse at her, demanded that Catarina find another midwife, or send for a doctor.

‘There are doctors who act as midwives,’ she wept.

By morning Catarina was exhausted. Joanna had wept or screamed the whole night, had clung to her hand with such force when the spasms gripped her that she felt they would never again be capable of holding anything firmly.

The midwife returned, looked at Joanna, and told her, with considerable relish, that her previous patient had given birth to stillborn twins.

‘And she did not make nearly so much noise about it as you do, my girl!’

‘How dare you speak to me — ow, ow, ow! I’m splitting apart!’

‘Should have thought of that nine months ago. Here, bite on this leather strap, it’ll help.’

Joanna glared at her, panting. ‘It’s filthy! How many other women have bitten on it? Ow, give it to me!’

An hour later a tiny girl was born, and Joanna subsided onto the pillows with a sigh of relief.

‘A good size, even though she came a few weeks early. She’ll do,’ the midwife said, wrapping the child in a sheet and placing her beside Joanna.

‘No! Take it away! I won’t have her!’

‘Let me hold her,’ Catarina said, and took the baby into her arms. She looked at the tiny face, red and puckered, the pale blue eyes, the dark curly hair, the tiny fingers curling round her own, and fell instantly in love. At that moment she determined that her niece would not be given away, to finish up heaven knew where, with some unknown family, or given, when she was old enough, into some kind of service. She was of her blood, and she had never expected to have a child, married to Walter. Joanna might reject her, but she could depend on her aunt.

* * * *

Nicholas wrote to the Quinta das Fontes, and received a reply saying Catarina and Joanna had left months ago, to visit friends in Lisbon. He was tempted to forget it, assuming they would be home soon, but Staines kept appearing whenever he rode past the Dower House, asking if he had any news.

‘Dan’s wife says she had nothing to do with the attack on Ellen,’ he reported one day. ‘She was at home, and there are neighbours who support her story. But if Annie’s convicted she’ll be hanged, or sent to that Botany Bay the other side of the world, and she’ll not see her family again.’

‘Do you believe her?’

Staines rubbed his forehead. ‘I believe the neighbours,’ he said at last. ‘And they can’t have got the day wrong, as he was helping us with that barn roof. I wish her ladyship was at home, she’d help.’

So Nicholas thought of Thomas Winterton, the fellow officer who, wounded when Oporto had been recaptured six years earlier, and unfit for more fighting, had married the daughter of the family who had looked after him, and settled to grow olive trees in the Douro valley. Perhaps he could ask more questions and find a trace of Catarina and her sister.

He admitted to himself he was concerned, and would have gone to Portugal in search of the girls if he had spoken the language, but he accepted he would be of little use without it.

All he had from the Quinta was the family name of the friends they had been meeting in Lisbon, and the hotel where they had stayed when their cousin Antonio escorted them there. They had said something about travelling further south, but Antonio had no notion where. Nicholas wrote to Thomas begging for his help, either in searching himself or employing someone to do so. Thomas promised to do his best, but said he held out little hope without more clues.

Nicholas told himself that Catarina’s return could make little difference to the accused woman. She had not been there, she could only give her a character testimonial, and there were others who could do that. But he was by now seriously worried for Catarina. She had, as far as he could discover, corresponded with no one in England since she had left. What had happened to her? He was missing her, thinking of her every day. He knew he loved her, wanted to see her, to hold her safe in his arms, to care for her for the rest of her life.

Jeremy, he knew, guessed something of this, but with rare tact his brother made no reference to it, pretending that the real reason for contacting Catarina was to help the suspected murderer.

‘If she did not do it, who did?’ Jeremy would ask, but no one in the village could supply a name. Ellen had, they discovered, been walking out with a young man from her own village before she came to work at the Dower House, but his friends vouched for him, saying he had been with them on the fateful night. They could discover no other liaisons, no one else with a motive.

Christmas came. Jeremy was by now able to ride round the estate, and Nicholas frequently rode over from Brooke Court. He visited London and his other houses occasionally, but remained away for no more than a few nights. Rationally he knew he would hear any news just as quickly in Gloucestershire, but in Somerset he felt closer to Catarina. He would wait there until they had news.

* * * *

When Catarina told Joanna she intended to keep the baby herself, Joanna merely shrugged.

‘As long as I don’t have to have anything to do with her,’ she said.

She even refused to select a name, so Catarina called her Maria, after her mother. She wanted to name her Brooke, but reluctantly accepted that if she did people would assume the child was her own, so she called her de Freitas, for her family.

‘We will tell people she is a cousin’s child, who has been orphaned, and I have adopted her.’

‘I really don’t care what name you give the brat.’

Joanna had swiftly recovered her health, though she was plumper than before, with a voluptuous bosom. By the new year she was fretting to become involved in Lisbon society.

‘It’s a great shame your friend Delphine had to go home,’ she said more than once.

Catarina silently disagreed. She had been involved in so many uncomfortable lies since Joanna had been pregnant that she dreaded to have more to contend with. How could she account to Delphine for Joanna’s presence in Lisbon when she had not been visible before? If people came to know about the baby they would soon realize the truth.

Joanna wanted to explore Lisbon, so Catarina sent her out with Luisa. She remained in the apartment, partly because the baby was ailing and she was concerned, partly because she did not wish to be seen with Joanna by any of Delphine’s acquaintances.

Her precautions were, however, of no avail. The doctor had prescribed medicine for the baby, and when Catarina went out to fetch it from his dispensary she met Joanna at the end of the street, talking to an elderly Portuguese lady. The woman turned to Catarina and smiled.

‘Oh, you too! You are both so like your mother,’ she exclaimed. ‘She was one of my best friends when we were children. That’s why I spoke to your sister, to ask if you were related. I am giving a reception next week for some Brazilians who are about to go back to Brazil. I have also invited some of the English officers who have been administering the country. There will be some Portuguese friends there too, quite an international gathering. You must both come.’

There was no way to refuse without giving offence.

‘But if we meet any English we know, how do we explain your presence?’ Catarina demanded when they were back in the apartment.

Joanna was unconcerned. ‘We’ll tell them I have just arrived in Lisbon, after visiting friends.’

Catarina, who had considered herself honest before this imbroglio, thought she was turning into the most mendacious creature imaginable, she had told so many untruths in the past few months. The sooner they could leave Lisbon the better, but baby Maria was still frail, and they had been advised not to travel until the weather improved.

Joanna was thinking more of her first party. ‘How do you like this blue silk? I am going to have a gown made of it.’

‘I don’t think you should wear colours yet. It isn’t a year since Walter died.’

‘Don’t be so odiously correct, Cat! It’s been almost a year, it’s February now. I’m no longer pretending to be a widow. As it happens we didn’t have to tell people that, so if I want to wear colours, I will! I simply refuse to wear this unflattering black any more!’

Catarina gave way and was herself tempted into half mourning, a silver grey shimmering silk, and privately admitted she was glad to be wearing something which suited her after so long. Little Maria could be safely left with Clarice, her wet nurse, who adored her and regarded her as her own. She had lost her own baby, and her husband, a sailor, had been lost at sea some months before, and she said she wanted to go to England with them when they ventured to make the sea journey. That solved a big problem, and Catarina longed for the day when she would once more be in her own home.

The reception was a large one, with many Brazilian and Portuguese guests as well as English. Joanna, enjoying her first party for months, sparkled, and whenever Catarina saw her seemed to be surrounded by admiring men. Surely, thought Catarina with an inward shudder, she had learned her lesson and would be careful not to make the same mistake again.

‘It’s quite a large delegation going to Brazil,’ one the men Catarina talked with informed her. ‘There are many celebrations now the Prince Regent has given it the status of a Kingdom. It is only just, since so much of our wealth derives from there. Brazil, Portugal and the two Algarves will from now on be a United Kingdom of Portugal.’

It seemed rather remote to Catarina. She was on edge wondering what Joanna was doing. Joanna was fizzing with excitement as they drove back to their apartment afterwards.

‘Eduardo Gonçalves has invited me to drive with him tomorrow. He’s a Brazilian, incredibly handsome, and has a huge estate there. They found gold on it, and he is fabulously wealthy.’

‘Is that all you care about?’

‘Of course not, and though he is so handsome and charming, having a great deal of wealth does add to a man’s attractiveness. But he is sailing for Brazil in a week’s time. There will be few opportunities for us to meet.’

Catarina was thankful. She wanted no further complications in their lives. Eduardo, when she met him, was suave but charming, and she looked forward to the day when he would be gone from Lisbon.

* * * *

Nicholas went regularly to Marshington Grange, even though Jeremy was now fit enough to ride about the estate. His friend in Oporto could discover nothing of Catarina, and the anxiety made him short tempered. What had become of her? Staines had no news of her return.

‘Annie has been convicted,’ the butler said when Nicholas stopped to ask how they went on.

‘I thought she had an alibi.’

‘That was only for the first part of the evening. Apparently they went to bed early, tired like I was, and Dan slipped out, thinking Annie asleep. But she followed him. She was seen by old Simeon, who was out poaching. He let it out when he was drunk.’

‘So she’ll be executed?’

Staines shook his head. ‘No. The sentence has been commuted to transportation. Dan’s beside himself. Mr Lewis has threatened to turn him out of his cottage, since he does little work. He’s incapable most of the time. I don’t know where he finds the money for so much ale.’

Nicholas rode on, having asked Staines to inform him the moment he heard when his mistress was coming home. he had other problems more urgent to think about.

Jeremy was encountering considerable opposition to his proposals. The villagers welcomed the drainage scheme, for it would give them work, and some of them expected to benefit when he had more sheep. But life was harder for them than it had been for several years, and some of them blamed him.

‘As if I could do anything about the high duties on malt and barley which leads to more smuggling of brandy and other spirits!’ he complained to Nicholas as they sat over dinner. ‘Or the size of the tithe and the poor rate!’

‘There will be proposals before Parliament soon,’ Nicholas said. ‘I hear some of them relate to imposing more duties to protect our own agriculture, and alleviating the poor rate.’

‘Then I hope you will go and tell them how badly the people are suffering. Yet they won’t see that the changes I am suggesting will help!’

* * * *

Joanna went riding or driving several times with Eduardo. There was always a groom accompanying them, and sometimes other friends of the Brazilian. Catarina relaxed, more concerned over the health of the baby. She scarcely listened to Joanna’s chatter, merely thankful that her sister had recovered her high spirits and was no longer querulous and dissatisfied.

She did listen when Joanna told her Eduardo’s ship was to sail that Saturday, relieved he would be out of her reach. Joanna was rather quieter than usual, and Catarina assumed she was dreading the parting. On Friday night, when they went to bed, Joanna hugged her tightly.

‘I do realize how good you have been to me, Cat! Thank you.’

Catarina hugged her back. Perhaps Joanna was growing up.

On Saturday morning Joanna was gone, and the note she had pinned to her pillow announced she was leaving with Eduardo, and would be married to him aboard his ship.

 

Chapter 6

 

Without waiting for Luisa Catarina ran from the house and hurried down to the quay, her emotions overwhelming her. She had little hopes of finding the ship, it would have sailed early, but she had to try.

As, ignoring the shocked glances of the inhabitants, she picked up her skirts and ran, the memory of her mother’s frequent stories of the earthquake flitted through her mind.

Many people, Mama had been told, had gone down to the river Tagus in the hope of escaping the horrors of the falling city. Some had boarded boats, but these had been overturned and swept away by the enormous wave which then flooded much of the lower town. Those on the Quay de Pedra, newly built of marble, had drowned when the quay itself had collapsed and fallen into the raging river.

Catarina looked round anxiously, searching for one ship amongst the many moored in the broad river. It was impossible. Then she saw a man who, in his smart uniform, looked like some official.

‘The ship, for Brazil, has it gone?’ she panted.

He looked disapprovingly at her. ‘What do you want with it?’

‘My sister, she’s on it. Has it sailed?’

‘Sister? Or sweetheart who’s left you?’ he sneered. ‘It’s gone, hours since. Why don’t you try to swim after it? Might catch it this side of the Atlantic.’

Chortling at his wit he turned away.

Catarina, accepting the truth, turned and walked slowly back to the apartment. Would Joanna never learn? She somehow doubted that Eduardo would marry her. Men did not fall in love with such rapidity, and since he came from an important family it was likely there were plans for his marriage which did not include a foolish girl from England.

She breathed deeply. There was nothing she could do about it. She could scarcely chase after Joanna even if another ship were available. Her first emotion had been distress, then anger at Joanna’s folly. Then a feeling of desolation had swept over her. She felt abandoned. Joanna was the only one of her family left. She did not think of her Uncle Ivor as family, since he had scarcely behaved like it. She had nothing in common with him or his wife, and certainly not with Matthew. She doubted she would ever see Joanna again. Now she was truly on her own.

Then the anger returned. She had rescued her sister from her folly once before. This time Joanna was out of reach of her help and would have to make the best of it. She would be fortunate not to end up in one of Rio’s bordellos. But being Joanna, Catarina thought wryly, she would almost certainly find someone foolish enough to help.

She considered her own plans. As soon as the baby was well enough, and Maria seemed to be recovering, they would go home to England. Clarice had been sworn to secrecy over Maria’s parentage, and vowed she would not reveal it. She knew the situation, and that for it to be known Joanna had borne a child out of wedlock would be ruinous for her reputation. Catarina hoped she could trust her, but she was paying the girl well. As yet she spoke no English, and she had said it would reflect on her own reputation if it were known she was nursemaid to a bastard. Catarina had winced, but she knew the girl spoke the truth.

She would write to Mr Sinclair and ask when a suitable ship would be calling at Lisbon or Oporto. It would be better to embark from Lisbon if at all possible, to avoid the land journey to Oporto, which would be difficult with the baby. Also, there she ran the risk of meeting some of her family. While one part of her said she owed Joanna nothing more, another shrank from revealing her sister’s disgrace. If Joanna ever returned from this mad Brazilian escapade Catarina could not be responsible for preventing her readmittance to Society.

* * * *

Nicholas, on his way to the Grange, was driving past the Bear inn when he saw Mr Lewis going inside. He wanted a word with the man, so he stopped the curricle and walked into the tap room. Mr Lewis had seated himself at one of the small tables and spread some papers and a box in front of him. A line of men formed, and Nicholas realized the farmer must be paying wages to his labourers. He would have to wait, so he ordered some ale and sat down at the far side of the room, beside a window overlooking the roadway.

A few minutes later a short, stocky man came in, blinking as he became accustomed to the dim light. Several more young men crowded in after him. He looked round cautiously, and then pointed his finger at one of the men in Mr Lewis’s line.

‘You’m the one I want! It were your doin’s my Ellen got killed! A good girl, she were, till you bedazzled her!’

Nicholas deduced that this was the murdered woman’s former lover, come to exact vengeance.

The newcomer strode across to the line of men and yanked one of them, Dan, towards him. Before any of the others could grasp what was happening, the stocky man was dragging his victim outside, while his friends, blocking the doorway, made sure none of the locals could easily follow.

Dan’s protests could be heard, but were soon drowned out by the tumult erupting inside the tap room. However much Dan’s activities had been condemned by the village, these farm hands were not going to see one of their own attacked by foreigners from ten miles away.

The fight was vicious, but when the locals resorted to banging pewter tankards on the heads of the intruders, the latter were thrust outside, and the villagers poured out after them. The fight continued, but outside the invaders had the advantage, as there were more of them. Dan was suffering, and Nicholas, observing what was happening through the window where he sat, concluded that Ellen’s lover had considerable science. He must have had experience in the boxing ring.

Soon a thoroughly defeated Dan was being tossed almost contemptuously into the duck pond, and with a cheer the invaders disengaged and marched away.

Mr Lewis went and stood in the doorway, glowering.

‘I’ll finish paying you ruffians tomorrow. As for you, Dan,’ he went on, surveying the bedraggled, weed-draped figure who had been pulled from the pond by his friends, ‘this is the end. I’ve warned you several times of late. You’ve not worked well these past months, and I’ve tried to make allowances, but I’ll do so no more, if you bring such a rabble here. You can get out of the cottage by tomorrow.’

There were protests from Dan’s friends when they realized they would be unable to buy ale until the following day, but they clearly held Mr Lewis in awe, and though they grumbled, they gradually drifted away.

Mr Lewis turned back into the tap room and began to collect his papers. He glanced at Nicholas and shrugged.

‘You may think me hard,’ he said, almost apologetically, ‘but I haven’t had a decent day’s work out of him since it happened. And it was his own fault. If he hadn’t been chasing that Ellen from the Dower House, poor Annie wouldn’t have done what she did.’

‘What will he do? Has he family?’

‘No, he’s a foreigner, from Devon. If I was him I’d want to go back there. The men might have fought for him today, but that was local pride. They blame him, and he doesn’t have a pleasant time of it here. Annie was born here, see. Some of them think what she did was justified.’

‘We spoke for her, but it didn’t influence the judge. Mr Lewis, I wanted to have a word with you about the drainage scheme. I’ll order some ale and we can talk about it here.’

* * * *

It was March before Catarina arrived back at the Dower House. She had hired a post chaise in Bristol, refusing to accept Mr Sinclair’s invitation to spend a few days with his family to recover from the voyage, which had been rougher than usual at that time of year.

‘I need to get home to the Dower House as soon as possible, I’ve been away far too long,’ she said.

They had been fortunate in being able to start at daybreak. Having docked late at night, Catarina had decided it was easier for them all to remain on board until morning, rather than move to an inn for just one night.

Clarice, to her relief, had proved to be a good sailor, and when Catarina herself had to retire to her bunk she had been thankful the girl could take charge of Maria. The child had thrown off her illness and was growing fast. Making up for being born early, Clarice said with a laugh.

The coach journey was, Catarina thought, almost as wet as the sea voyage. It rained incessantly, and from the drenched look of the countryside and the pools of water in low-lying fields, it seemed to have been raining for weeks.

It was dark before they arrived, but the house was ablaze with lights. She had written to tell Staines of her return, but had not been able to predict which day. He had clearly been prepared for her whenever she came, and when they clambered stiffly from the chaise and went into the house, Catarina blessed his efficiency as she almost collapsed, Maria in her arms, into a chair before a roaring fire of sweet-scented apple logs.

‘Welcome home, my lady. I’ve sent the post boys round to the stables, and to get some food.’

He studiously avoided looking at the baby, who was smiling up at him. She was not, like some babies, shy of strangers, and occasionally Catarina felt a twinge of apprehension in case she turned out to be like her mother.

‘This little one is Maria de Freitas,’ Catarina said, ‘and Clarice, her nurse. She is the child of a cousin, who died when she was born, and as her father had been killed in a hunting accident the poor thing was orphaned. Her father’s mother was English,’ she added, thinking that this was the only partly truthful thing she was saying, ‘so I have taken her in. We can turn the main guest room and dressing room into a nursery, since the Dower House is not supplied with one.’

‘No, my lady. I will see to it at once.’

‘Is there a fire there?’

‘Yes. We expected Miss Joanna to be with you.’

Catarina had decided it was too difficult to explain in a letter. Besides, she had in some way felt that if she were present when people were told of Joanna’s marriage, there would be less speculation. She took a deep breath.

‘While we were staying in Lisbon Joanna met a Brazilian gentleman, and she has married him and gone with him to Brazil. It will probably be some years before we see her again.’

If ever, she added to herself. Unless this romance is also a disaster and Joanna runs back to me.

Staines was imperturbable. ‘Would Miss Clarice care to bring the little one upstairs? I will see that she has all she needs, and perhaps you, my lady, would prefer to have supper on a tray here in the library, in front of the fire? It is warmer here than in the dining parlour.’

‘That would be perfect. But not a big meal. I’m sure Cook will know exactly what I need.’

‘Yes, my lady,’ Staines said, and turned away. He seemed about to say something else, but shook his head slightly, then indicated to Clarice to follow him.

Catarina relaxed. She was home, Staines was in charge, and she could trust him to do all that was necessary. She wanted to know what was happening at the Grange, but that could wait until tomorrow, until she had slept in her own bed once more, and recovered from the journey.

* * * *

Perhaps it was being back at Marshington, Catarina thought, that induced dreams of Lord Brooke. She blushed as she recalled some of the images which had invaded her sleep. She could still remember everything about him, and he had seemed so real, as though he had been in the room with her.

This was strange. She had thought little about him while she had been away, but she had been preoccupied with so much else during the past few months. She had not dreamed of Walter once.

Before descending the stairs for breakfast she went to see how Clarice was settling in, and whether Maria was content. She found her housemaid Liza, who had just brought up a tray for Clarice’s breakfast, cooing over the baby.

‘Oh, my lady, she’s beautiful! She’s got such lovely big eyes, a sort of hazel colour. Were they blue when she was born? They say they turn darker. Rosa will be so envious of this lovely hair. It’s so dark, and thick, and curly. Her own little one has only a few strands of fair hair.’

‘Rosa has a baby already?’

Her maid had been married just before they left for Portugal.

Liza giggled. ‘A honeymoon baby! I told Rosa it was as well it didn’t come a couple of months early. My lady, your breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. Would you like a tray, or will you come down?’

‘I’ll come down, thank you.’

She must find a new maid to take Rosa’s place as soon as possible, so that Liza did not have that work to do as well as her own. She’d write to the Bristol Registry offices today.

Clarice said she was being well looked after, had all she needed, and although she was learning some English from Catarina, she found it impossible to understand what Liza said.

Catarina laughed. ‘She has a local accent. I’m afraid you’ll find most of the people round here speak in the same way. But you will soon begin to understand. You have a quick ear, and have already learned much.’

She went downstairs into the dining room, where Staines brought her coffee, and helped her to ham and boiled eggs and sausages.

‘I have missed these sausages,’ Catarina told him. ‘Now, while I eat, tell me all that has been happening. Is Mr Jeremy settling in at the Grange? Have they finished the drainage? What other news is there?’ And, she added to herself, has Nicholas been here often? Would she be likely to see him soon?

When the butler did not reply she glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. He took a deep breath and turned away from her. When he spoke his voice was muffled and she had difficulty in hearing him.

‘We tried to send to you, but no one knew where you were. His lordship wrote to your aunt, he even set one of his friends who lives in Portugal on to try and find you.’

Catarina slowly put down her knife and fork.

‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What on earth has happened to cause such trouble to be taken?’

‘It’s Ellen, my lady.’

‘Ellen? My cook? Has she left? Is that all? Are you telling me you had to hire a new cook?’

‘No, we didn’t like to. Liza’s been doing the cooking for us while you’ve been away.’

‘Then what is the problem? We can soon hire someone else. I’ll write when I ask about a new maid to replace Rosa.’

‘It’s not just that, my lady. It was a terrible thing to happen. Ellen — she was killed, struck down.’

Catarina stared at him. ‘Killed? Ellen? Oh, how terrible. What happened? Was it a carriage accident?’

He shook his head. ‘It was Annie, you know her, Dan’s wife, him that worked for Mr Lewis. Dan, well, he was playing about with Ellen, and Annie knew, and came after Ellen with some sort of club. She killed her. Late one night, it was, and we didn’t find the poor lass till morning.’

Sinking her head into her hands Catarina tried to take in the full, unexpected horror of it.

‘Poor Ellen! But what has happened to Annie?’

‘Transported, to New South Wales. Dan’s beside himself, and he’s lost his job and his cottage since he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, work properly. Mr Lewis turned him off in the end, though he’d been sympathetic to begin with.’

‘Then what is he doing? Has he gone back to wherever he came from? He hasn’t family here, has he?’

‘He’s seen occasionally in the village, but no one knows where he’s living. He’s not gone back to Devon. It’s my belief he’s living rough in the woods. When I’ve seen him he looks worse than he ever did, unshaved, hair grown long, and his clothes not fit for a Christian to wear.’

Catarina pushed away her plate. ‘I’m sorry, Staines, but I’ve no appetite. I can’t eat this.’

‘I shouldn’t have told you right away. It was stupid of me,’ the man said, ‘I should have waited.’

‘No, things like this can’t wait. But are there any other disasters I need to know of?’

* * * *

Two days later a letter came from Joanna.

Catarina opened it in some trepidation. She felt as though any more bad news would be too much. But Joanna was clearly happy. She apologized for having run off without telling Catarina, ‘but I know you’d have stopped me, and I could not let such an opportunity go.’ She had married Eduardo a few days into the voyage, and he was a most considerate husband. ‘He doesn’t know about the baby, and he was so drunk on our wedding night he did not realize I was not a virgin.’

Catarina felt embarrassed at the knowledge her sister displayed. Where had she obtained it? And had Joanna deliberately encouraged Eduardo to drink too much? Was she so calculating?

She read on. Eduardo, it seemed, had known there was a baby in the apartment, for he had seen Clarice taking it for an airing. ‘But I told him it belonged to you, that your husband had died before it was born. It can’t do you any harm, Cat, for no one we knew there knows you in England.’

Were there any lies Joanna would not tell if it suited her? Catarina felt a spurt of anger against her unprincipled sister, but unless this entire letter was lies, she was at least happy and someone else had the responsibility for her. She hoped Eduardo was a strong but tolerant man, though in some ways it might do Joanna good to be beaten occasionally.

‘I’ve written to Uncle Ivor, and so has Eduardo,’ Joanna went on. Catarina knew this was inevitable. She could soon expect a visit from her uncle, but she dreaded the forthcoming confrontation. He would blame her. It would make no difference to him that Joanna had secured a wealthy husband. He disliked all foreigners, and the further away from England they were the more he disliked and despised them. In his eyes a Brazilian would be as bad as a Hottentot.

Catarina finished the letter. Eduardo had several houses, all of them delightfully spacious and sumptuously furnished, and simply miles of land, many huge plantations on which he grew sugar cane and coffee. Rio de Janeiro was a beautiful city and she had her own carriage and driver. The other Portuguese residents had made her welcome, and she had been presented to the Royal family. It would be such a shame when they decided it was safe for them to return to Lisbon, since many of the delightful courtiers would no doubt return with them. But that might be good for Eduardo, as he was much in the confidence of the Prince, and might secure diplomatic missions, which would enable her to visit Europe, even London, and see her dear Catarina again.

There was no mention of Maria apart from that transfer of her parentage. Joanna, true to her resolve, wanted nothing to do with her daughter, and did not ask how she fared, or even if she were still alive. When so many babies died in their first year it could have happened. Catarina felt a renewed anger against her sister, and in order to calm down walked out into the garden.

It had rained almost continuously since they arrived back in England, but today, though the sky was full of scudding black clouds, it was dry, though not as warm as Catarina expected at the end of March. Perhaps, in the warmer climate of Portugal, she had simply become unaccustomed to a cold, wet, and windy English spring.

She was looking across the hedge into the park, wondering whether she wanted to visit her old home, or whether it would bring back too many memories, when she heard the sound of horses and carriage wheels. She turned, saw a familiar curricle, and began to tremble. She was not ready for this, she told herself. She needed more time to prepare herself for meeting Lord Brooke.

He leapt down and strode through the gate a few yards away from where she stood, talking as he came towards her along the gravel path.

‘Catarina! I didn’t know you were home! Where have you been all this time? Oh, my darling girl, I’ve been so very worried about you,’ he said, and before she knew what was happening, she was in his arms, and he was smothering her face with kisses, and pushing her hat away from her face so that he could look down into her eyes.

* * * *

Nicholas held her away from him.

‘You are more beautiful than ever,’ he said, and trailed a finger down her cheek and across her lips. He felt her tremble, and saw in her eyes the welcome she could not hide before she dropped her gaze.

‘My lord,’ she managed, but her voice was hoarse and he felt a stirring of joyous anticipation. She was far from indifferent to him. She was wearing a lilac muslin dress, half mourning, he realized, as it was trimmed with black ribbons around the hem. She had a green and grey Paisley shawl round her shoulders. Apart from her red riding habit, it was the first time he had seen her in colours instead of the unrelieved black she had worn after Walter’s death.

‘I’ve been away, in London, on Parliamentary business,’ he said, his own voice a little husky. ‘How long have you been home?’

‘Just three days — I think,’ Catarina began, attempting to straighten her hat, and at that moment the rain began. ‘Oh, do come inside, my lord. Send your man round to the stables. Come, you’ll be wet through in moments!’

Laughing, they ran for the nearest door, which happened to be into the kitchen. They were very wet, for the rain had been swift and heavy. Nicholas shook his head and droplets of rain spattered from his hair. Catarina threw off her hat, which had protected her own head, but the fabric of her gown clung to her legs. They were, he noted, as shapely as he had expected, and he felt a surge of desire, and had great difficulty in remembering the interested servants who were working in the kitchen.

‘Come into the drawing room,’ Catarina said. ‘Liza, can you bring some wine? And I think his lordship might appreciate a towel to rub his hair.’

Nicholas could have done without the wine and the attentions of the servants, but he had to endure them. As he sat with a glass in his hand he was thinking that his somewhat ambiguous feelings for Catarina had solidified into a real resolve. He had desired her almost from the beginning, when she had been so controlled and in command at the time of Walter’s death. She was beautiful, and he readily admitted he would like to take her to his bed. Now he knew his feelings were deeper than mere lust. The sudden surge of joy he had felt on seeing her was more than relief at her safe return, it was a primitive desire to possess her, for the rest of his life. This, he told himself, was true love.

Should he tell her now, or give her time to understand? He had sensed, during that swift embrace, her own willing response, but to ask her to be his wife, so suddenly, might be premature. Didn’t females prefer to be courted, to come to a gradual realization of a suitor’s intentions? As he had never courted a girl with a view to marriage before he was astonishingly uncertain. He was still debating when there was a thunderous knock on the front door, and Staines could be heard crossing the hall to open it.

‘Come on, man, why do you take so long? I’m soaked! This weather is appalling, they haven’t managed the spring planting yet, and unless the ground dries soon they will be far too late.’

‘Allow me to take your hat, Sir Humphrey, and your driving coat. Have you sent your man to the stables?’

‘Of course I have!’

Nicholas, suppressing his irritation at the interruption, muttered that the Dower House stables would be getting rather crowded.

Catarina chuckled, but Sir Humphrey was still in full flow.

‘I’ve only just been told Lady Brooke is at home. I do think a message might have been sent to an old friend, not leaving me to hear by accident from one of my tenants.’

‘I suspect her ladyship wished for a few days to settle back at home after her journey, Sir Humphrey. She is in the drawing room.’

And there, thought Nicholas, goes all hope of any private conversation with Catarina.

* * * *

On the following day Catarina was in the small library writing a reply to Joanna when Staines came into the room.

‘My lady, there are two of the village men come, asking if you would see them.’

Catarina sighed. ‘It seems the entire village wants to call now it is known I am back.’

Mrs Eade had arrived soon after Sir Humphrey, and as soon as the rain had ceased all three visitors had decided they ought to try to reach their homes before another downpour came. They were all wet and uncomfortable, and wanted to change out of their damp clothes. There had been time for no more than basic civilities, no time for Catarina to tell them about Joanna’s marriage. She knew that if she had mentioned it they would have wanted all the details, and at the moment she did not feel capable of providing a rational explanation.

‘Shall I send them away?’

‘No, I suppose I had better see them now, in case it is important. Bring them in, Staines.’

The men, two of the older villagers, came in rather sheepishly, wiping their hands over their hair.

‘Tom, Billy, what can I do for you? Do sit down.’

‘Well, my lady,’ Tom began, ‘we don’ like ter bother you, but it’s like this. No one else’ll listen, and we thought perhaps, well, you might be able ter put a word in for us wi’ Mr Jeremy.’

‘Why can’t you speak to him?’

‘It don’t do no good, ‘e won’t listen!’ Billy said, ‘but if ‘e does it, what’ll us do fer feed?’

‘Feed?’ Catarina was bewildered.

‘Let me explain, our Billy. You’m too excited ter make sense.’

Billy scowled. ‘Get on wi’ it then.’

Tom took a deep breath. ‘Mr Jeremy, see, ‘e wants ter put fences round common. Ter keep ‘is own cattle separate. Says they’m special, an’ mustn’t breed wi’ ours. Can’t see what difference it meks. A bull’s a bull, ain’t it, beggin’ yer pardon, my lady.’

Catarina immediately saw the problem.

‘Then where will you graze your own cattle and sheep?’

‘We won’t ‘ave nowhere.’

‘Us can’t afford ter pay rent fer fields. An’ the common’s bin free fer generations back, since that there Magna Carta they talk about so much, an’ such like. Mr Jeremy’s got no right ter tek it from us.’

‘And ‘e wants ter change the taps. If we do as ‘e says, an’ change over so’s all my taps are in one field, I’ll ‘ave all the poor land, and none o’ the good,’ Billy said. ‘It ain’t fair.’

‘So, my lady, we came ter see if you’d put in a word fer us, talk ter Mr Jeremy. If yer ‘usband were still alive there’s be none o’ this silly changin’ the way things be done. They’ve bin good enough fer us, an’ our fathers an’ grandfathers before us, fer generations.’

He stopped, and the two men looked at one another, then slowly nodded.

‘Well, thanks fer listenin’, my lady,’ Tom said. ‘We’d best go now we’ve ‘ad our say.’

‘I’ll see Mr Jeremy for you,’ Catarina said slowly. ‘I can’t promise it will do any good, but at least I will tell him he must find other grazing for your animals. Now go to the kitchen, and Staines will give you some ale.’

 

Chapter 7

 

Nicholas watched as Jeremy strode nervously about the room. He limped, but it was not too noticeable, and by now it discommoded him hardly at all.

‘Nick, what can I do? They are so hidebound! They don’t see how such improvements could benefit them in higher production and better prices.’

‘They clearly have not understood.’

‘But I’ve explained until I’m blue in the face, and most of them refuse to listen. They even turn away from me when I drive or ride through the village. When I first came they were friendly and tipped their caps whenever they saw me. Now I feel I’m hated!’

‘Country folk dislike change.’

‘Not all of them. Some, well, two, of the farmers understand me. But they’ve had enclosures for many years, and have seen the benefits.’

‘Can you not get them to explain to the others?’

‘They say they’ve tried, but it does no good. Besides, one of the fellows said to me that if they grew richer they’d have to pay more to the poor tax.’

‘Perhaps Lady Brooke might be able to explain. Have you been to see her since she came home?’

‘No. I thought I’d let her settle in before calling. Do you think she might have any influence with them?’

‘They liked her husband, and they appreciated the changes he made. They haven’t objected to the drainage schemes, have they?’

‘No, and they have worked on them. And it has given them extra wages.’

‘Because it was of benefit to them and they could see it immediately. Jeremy, I think you must take this slowly, show them the benefits.’

‘How? Unless they all agree to amalgamate their strips of land and create consolidated fields I can’t demonstrate the benefits. And I’m not permitting my own animals to mate indiscriminately with their scrawny cattle and sheep, so I have to enclose the common and cut part of it off for my beasts. If they won’t agree to do it I’ll have to have an Act to make them.’

‘Do you need all of it? Why not use the marsh pastures, and just enclose a small portion of the common?’

‘It seems ridiculous that I can’t do what I choose with my own land, and even though it will be better for them they oppose me!’

‘Perhaps if Parliament reduces some of the taxes as is proposed they will consider it.’

‘But that won’t be in time to do anything this year.’

‘You must not be impatient,’ Nicholas said, and thought ruefully of his own impatience to go back to Catarina.

‘I’m not impatient when I consider how many years it could take to improve the strain of cattle or sheep,’ Jeremy said, ‘but the sooner I can start the better. I feel I’ll be hanging about doing nothing for a year or more.’

‘Well, you can spend some of the time in London this Season. It will be a busy one, now the wars are over.’

‘Unless half the people go off to Paris. And many of my friends died at Waterloo.’

Nicholas nodded. ‘That does not mean you have to give up your own pleasures.’

‘Are you going up soon?’

‘I’m opening the town house for Olivia, if I can find a suitable matron to introduce her.’

‘Not Aunt Clara?’

Nicholas laughed. ‘She feels it necessary to visit Paris this year. Perhaps my offer to pay her expenses influenced her decision. No, I want someone more sympathetic. Olivia is shy, she needs to be encouraged rather than chastised all the time.’

‘It’s a great pity you haven’t yet got into parson’s mousetrap. Then your wife could present Olivia.’

Catarina had never had a Season herself, and she had spent little time in London, so would not know the right people. That would not do. Nicholas shook his head.

‘I have a couple of dowagers in mind, who will do it for a fee. Of course I must be in town for her ball, but otherwise my plans are uncertain.’

Until, he said to himself, he knew whether Catarina would accept his offer. If she did he would urge a speedy marriage.

* * * *

Catarina pondered for a long time over what she could do to help the villagers. She understood Jeremy’s desire to change things. Walter had been intending to do much the same, but Walter would have done it slowly, talked to the villagers, and persuaded them to his views before making the changes. He would not have allowed anyone to suffer. He had done this with regard to the cottages and the draining of the marsh. And he had been a much older man, with less time to achieve what he desired, she thought with a regretful sigh. He’d had less time than he’d anticipated. Jeremy was so much younger, but in so great a hurry.

Ought she to visit him or ask him to come to her? She had not seen him since she arrived home. She was reluctant to go up to the Grange in case she met Nicholas. She had ceased thinking of him as Lord Brooke. His greeting, his words, his calling her his ‘darling’, had at first startled her, and then, when she had been unable to sleep for thinking of their significance, delighted her. She had not expected another opportunity for marriage to come to her, unless it was an offer from Sir Humphrey, and that she would certainly refuse.

Until now she had thought she would refuse any offer, and when she had seen a tentative admiration in her cousin Antonio’s eyes she had rejected the very idea that he might wish to marry her. Now she was not so certain. She was still only five and twenty, no debutante, but young enough to marry again. Had Nicholas’s words indicated he meant to make an offer, or had they just been the friendly greeting of a cousin?

It was a cold, wet day again, and as she sat before the fire in the front half of the big drawing room she dismissed her thoughts during the night as ridiculous dreams, foolish imaginings. Nicholas had his pick of eager young debutantes, and since he had reached the age of thirty without succumbing to any of their blandishments, or feeling the need to marry and produce an heir, why should he choose an older woman? But he would want an heir eventually, and he would think her barren when there had been no child during her eight years of marriage with Walter. He would not know, and how could she tell him, that they had never lived as man and wife.

She was trimming one of Maria’s dresses with coloured ribbon when Staines announced a visitor. It was Sir Humphrey. She tucked the dress into her sewing basket and rose to greet him.

‘I did not expect any visitors while this rain lasted,’ she said, giving him her hand.

‘That’s why I came today. Thought I had a chance of finding you alone. And I drove over in the carriage, so I’m not wet, even if my horses are. I sent them round to the stables, knew you would not object.’

‘Of course not, and I trust your coachman will go to the kitchen for something to warm him. Would you prefer wine, or coffee, Sir Humphrey.’

‘Nothing, thank you my dear. I don’t want any distractions from what I have to say. Catarina, it’s over a year since poor Walter died, and I wouldn’t have spoken before now, even if you hadn’t been away, and despite my eagerness. But you’re a young woman still, you ought to have the protection of a husband, be able to go out in Society and enjoy yourself, not hide yourself away in a small village miles from London.’

‘I have no intention of hiding myself away,’ Catarina interrupted, suspecting what was coming and wanting, if she could, to deflect it.

‘A widow cannot entertain or go out in Society in the same way a married woman can. You must know that. And you are still young, and beautiful. My dear, you are wealthy with what your father and Walter left you. You’ll be prey to all sorts of unscrupulous fortune hunters, and you’re not up to snuff. You need a man’s protection.’

For a wild moment Catarina wondered just what sort of protection Sir Humphrey was offering.

‘I may not be familiar with London Society, but I think I can tell whether men want me for my fortune or not,’ she said, and then almost giggled.

Sir Humphrey was no more than comfortably off. Chase Manor was just a small manor house, and he owned no other. Nor was his estate large. If he went to London, which was seldom, he stayed in an hotel, not possessing a town house, and in Bath he hired apartments in one of the best hotels. Could he possibly be thinking as much of her money as of herself?

‘My dear, take it from me, you need a man’s protection, that of a husband, and I am begging you to permit me to become that husband.’

‘I — I do not wish to marry again, Sir Humphrey,’ Catarina managed. And especially not another elderly man, she added to herself. ‘I am flattered by your offer, but I must refuse. I esteem you, of course, and you have been a good friend to both me and Walter, but friendship is all I can accept from you.’

He did not appear at all put out.

‘I am too soon. It is just as I expected, and I respect your honesty, your reverence for Walter’s memory, but he would not wish you to languish, a widow for the rest of your days. I will not speak of it again, just yet, but I know you will come to agree that becoming my wife will be the best for you. Now I must go, I have other calls to make.’

She avoided the kiss he attempted to drop on her forehead, and moved quickly to ring the bell for Staines. As soon as Sir Humphrey was out of the room she collapsed into her chair and tried to stifle her giggles. She had been daydreaming about another proposal, one that would, she admitted, have been far more welcome. How could she avoid Sir Humphrey’s threat to repeat his? It was a threat, she acknowledged. She’d known him for so long, and recognized he was a stubborn man, prepared to hammer away at whatever he desired until the sheer weight of his persistence wore down the opposition.

Needing to calm herself she went up to the bedroom which had been turned into a nursery for Maria. Playing with her little niece, watching the baby smile as she clutched at the coloured ribbons and balls hung above her crib, always delighted her. She thought sadly of what Joanna was missing, and wondered yet again at her sister’s unfeeling attitude towards her own daughter. Many women, she knew, sent their little ones to a wet nurse, often a villager near their country houses, and did not have them in their own homes for years. They might see them only occasionally until the children were a few years old. It was something she had never been able to understand. Watching Maria, and the almost daily changes in her, was a constant source of wonder.

How could she deter Sir Humphrey? He would come back, she knew. Marry someone else, said an insidious little inner voice. If Nicholas proposed, would she accept? Did she feel fondly enough towards him? Was it love she felt for him or just a sort of satisfaction that an attractive, eligible man appeared to want her? Did she love him in the consuming way Joanna appeared to love her Eduardo? She had not decided by the time she went to bed, and told herself she was worrying about nothing, since Lord Brooke would, when he married, want a well-connected young girl as his bride.

* * * *

Before Nicholas could go to the Dower House again he received a message from Brooke Court that Olivia had suffered a fall from her horse. It was not serious, Miss Shipton said, just some bruising, but the message sent both of her brothers hastening to her side.

Olivia was shaken, badly bruised, but no bones were broken and the doctor said she would soon recover.

‘It will not prevent our going to London, will it?’ she asked, anxious. Her debut had been delayed once because she had suffered from an attack of measles soon after Christmas. ‘The bruises don’t show, and I will not be so stiff in a few days. Have you found someone to chaperone me yet? I was hoping to be in London by the beginning of May when Princess Charlotte marries Prince Leopold. I think that’s so romantic, that she refused the man her father wanted and chose him.’

‘I’ve written to Lady Mortimer, Mama’s cousin. Do you remember her? I am expecting a reply any day now. But I will send the servants to open up the house so it will be ready for us whenever we wish to go.’

Olivia gave a sigh of relief. ‘I was so hoping it would not have to be Aunt Clara after all.’

Nicholas grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I will find someone even if Lady Mortimer cannot oblige.’

The next day he received that lady’s reply, which was favourable. She wrote she could start for London in a week’s time and go straight to Grosvenor Square. Olivia insisted she would able to travel in a few days, so he left her in the care of Jeremy and Miss Shipton while he made a quick visit to London to ensure everything was in readiness, and to learn what was happening in Parliament. Seeing Catarina would have to be postponed for a while, but as soon as Olivia was installed in London he could return to see her.

He had been somewhat shocked by his instinctive reaction on meeting her, and relief that she was well and safely back home. Despite his numerous liaisons, he had never before been in love, which was what he supposed his feelings for Catarina were. Those liaisons he had always treated lightly, diversions similar to a game of cards or a day at the races. But he knew deep within himself that Catarina would be far more than that, and the thought of possibly losing her, if she married someone else, was unbearable.

He had been made aware of Sir Humphrey’s proprietorial attitude towards her when they had both been at the Dower House. Whether it was fatherly or something warmer he had not been able to judge. But surely Catarina would never again marry an old man? She had, at sixteen, had little choice, and she seemed to have been content with Walter, and sorry when he died. If she had freedom to choose, would she not prefer a man nearer her own age?

She had not repulsed his kiss. Perhaps she had been too startled, and the rain had started so soon afterwards there had not been time for anything but running into the house. Then Sir Humphrey had appeared, and any chance he might have had of talking to her vanished.

He fretted all the way to London, had to ask his Grosvenor Square housekeeper to repeat some of her questions, and paid little heed to the debates in the House. When Lady Mortimer arrived he was distracted, and more than once she asked him if he had heard what she said.

‘You seem like a man in love,’ she commented after dinner the first evening she was there. ‘Who’s the gal? Yet I gather you have been down in the country. Don’t tell me some country miss has achieved what none of the debutantes of the past dozen years has managed.’

‘Very well, then, cousin, I won’t.’

She laughed. ‘I shall be watching you with more than normal interest. You will be coming back to Town soon, I hope.’

‘Once Olivia is settled with you, I must go home for a while. Jeremy may stay, but he is having difficulties at Marshington. The people do not want to accept the reforms he is proposing.’

‘Marshington? The Grange? Of course, you inherited the estate last year, did you not?’

‘And I have given it to Jeremy. Or I will do as soon as the formalities of breaking the entail are completed.’

‘I believe Sir Walter left a young and, if reports can be believed, beautiful widow,’ she said slowly, and suddenly laughed. ‘I shall look forward to meeting her. No doubt she will be coming to London now her year of mourning is over. I shall insist you present her to me.’

‘If she does come,’ he replied, trying to sound as though it mattered nothing to him one way or the other. ‘I believe her house in Mount Street is let. Now, have we settled all the details about Olivia? You will choose a day for her ball when you have had time to see what else has been planned by other debutantes’ mothers. Have her bills sent to me, but no doubt there will be occasional expenses, so if the amount I have given you is insufficient let me know. I have no idea how much a comeout will cost, but I don’t want Olivia to economize.’

‘I shall have great pleasure in spending your money, Nicholas. You have far too much!’

* * * *

The day after Sir Humphrey’s proposal Sir Ivor Norton arrived at the Dower House. For once it was not raining and Catarina was in the garden, talking to her head gardener about the vegetables she wanted him to plant.

‘Though it’s been so wet the ground’s not fit,’ he said.

‘Well, do what you can, when you can, and if you really think it would help to extend the glasshouses along this wall, arrange to have it done. I confess I would miss my early peas and potatoes, and would be happy if you can make them grow under glass.’

‘The little ‘un will be ready to enjoy some by then, well mashed up,’ he said. ‘My missus says it don’t do to keep them just on milk, like some do, and she’s reared six.’

‘I’m sure she will enjoy them,’ Catarina began, when she was interrupted by a harsh voice haranguing someone.

She heard him before, with a sinking heart, she turned to face Sir Ivor who was striding down the path towards her, followed by Staines.

‘Catarina, I wish to speak with you. Tell this fool to stop bleating and go and order some refreshment. It’s a long drive from Bristol.’

‘Come into the house, Uncle. A nuncheon should be ready by now, and no doubt you are hungry after your journey. Will ham and fruit be enough for you, or should I order some mutton chops to be cooked?’

‘How do you get fruit at this time of year? Spending your money forcing it, or buying it at outrageous prices from Bristol, no doubt.’

‘We still have apples, they store well, and yes, I do buy oranges. Papa’s partner brings some on the wine ships.’

He snorted. ‘I’ll have a couple of chops.’

‘See to it, please, Staines. This way Uncle.’

He glared at the house.

‘Far too big for you now you’re widowed.’

‘Not yet ready to have guests, the bedrooms need decorating,’ Catarina said hurriedly. It would be disastrous if he expected to remain the night.

He waved aside her remarks.

‘Bad organization. But I have to be back in Bristol tonight, however late it is. That wasn’t what I came about. How dare you take your sister to Portugal without my leave? She’s under age, and I’m her guardian. And now I have this impertinent letter from some knave of a foreigner saying he’s married her and wants her fortune. Well, he can whistle for it. She married without my consent, so not a penny will she have until she’s of age!’

Catarina reined in her temper. She led him into the drawing room, where Staines was ready with the decanter of madeira, and excused herself, saying she needed to wash her hands and tidy herself after being in the garden. Hastening up to the nursery she warned Clarice not to bring Maria downstairs until the visitor had gone.

‘But the weather, is good, and fresh air good.’

‘I know, but I don’t want this particular gentleman to know about Maria, not yet.’

Clarice smiled and nodded. ‘He not like children?’

That was the easiest explanation, so Catarina nodded, and on her way back to the drawing room slipped into the kitchen to warn Liza and Staines also not to mention the baby.

‘He — will not approve of my adopting her,’ she said, and surprised a sceptical look in Liza’s eyes. Did Liza not believe the story?

Dismissing the idea, she went back to Sir Ivor, and managed to keep her temper during the meal. She explained to him that Eduardo was very rich, had large estates in Brazil, and a connection with the Portuguese Royal family, but none of it placated her uncle.

‘How long had she known the wretch?’ he demanded. ‘Was that why you stayed there for so long, when you told me you were going to visit your mother’s family? No such visit ought to last for months.’

‘We have many cousins there,’ Catarina explained. She did not need to tell him that they had in fact visited only her mother’s sister, and she did not want to admit how short a time Joanna had known Eduardo, or that she had gone with him on the ship without telling Catarina. She would, she decided, let people believe Joanna had known him for a long time, or even that she had left Portugal much earlier. It would also be better if they thought she had gone before Maria was born.

To her relief, having vented his fury on her, eaten some very good mutton chops, and drunk a considerable amount of wine, he soon afterwards took his leave, saying he must be back in Bristol before it was too late. Feeling weak she waved him off, and almost staggered back into the drawing room. When Staines appeared at her elbow with a glass of wine she laughed.

‘This is the good wine, my lady, not what I served at table.’

‘You had better have one yourself, Staines. I am so sorry he was so rude.’

‘I have had occasion to meet Sir Ivor before, my lady, so I knew what to expect.’

‘I’m ashamed to be related to him!’ she burst out.

‘Most of us have relations we might prefer not to know. Cook is preparing your favourite syllabub for dinner, and I have fetched up another bottle of the best wine.’

How fortunate she was with her servants. They took good care of her, were enchanted with the baby, and clearly capable of keeping their mouths closed when necessary.

So far very few people knew of Maria’s existence. But she could not keep the baby hidden, and had no desire to do so. The next time Mrs Eade called she must tell her the story she had told the servants, that Maria was a dead cousin’s child. Then the entire neighbourhood would know within days.

* * * *

It was two weeks before Nicholas returned to Marshington Grange. Catarina saw a carriage sporting the Earl’s crest sweep past the Dower House late one afternoon, but it did not stop. She knew it was Nicholas, and the following morning dressed in one of her best gowns and her most fetching cap, trimmed with more lace than the ones she normally wore about the house.

If he meant to make her an offer it would not do for her to be wearing mourning black, or even half mourning, so she pulled out a silk morning dress in deep cream which she had bought just before Walter’s death, and never had an opportunity to wear. The sleeves were close-fitting, they and the bodice were trimmed with coqulicot embroidery, and a coqulicot rouleau edged the skirt. It suited her colouring, and with a shawl of the same colour round her shoulders, a pearl necklace and pearl drops in her ears, she told herself she was looking her best.

It was the middle of the morning before Nicholas came. It was another fine day, after several when it had rained almost continuously, and Clarice had taken Maria outside to sit on a bench under one of the apple trees, where the baby could watch the changing patterns of the branches against the sky.

Staines, beaming, showed Nicholas in.

‘His lordship, my lady,’ he said, and Catarina, nervous, thought his tone was almost paternal. Did her servants suspect the same as she did?

‘How are Jeremy and Olivia, my lord?’

‘They are both in town. Olivia makes her comeout this Season, under the auspices of a cousin of our mama. Jeremy is there too, and I believe has for the moment given up trying to convince the villagers of the advantages of his proposed changes.’

‘Olivia is looking forward to the Season?’

‘With some trepidation, but Lady Mortimer is the sort of woman who can give her confidence.’

‘Will you have some madeira, my lord?’ Catarina asked, suddenly aware of the decanters she had asked Staines to bring in earlier, so that she would have something ready to offer Nicholas, if he came.

‘No, thank you. Catarina. For once it’s a fine day, can we not walk in the garden for a short while? I did not have an opportunity to see it the last time I was here.’

Catarina led the way through the doors at the back of the drawing room which opened onto the terrace, and they trod down the steps at the end onto one of the gravelled paths. Nicholas took her arm and they made stilted conversation as they walked through the flower garden and into the small walled garden where the new glasshouses were being built.

‘You plan to grow more grapes?’ Nicholas asked.

‘Amongst other things. The weather has been so bad this year we are going to try some of the early vegetables under glass, but I’m not sure the new glass houses will be ready in time.’

They went on towards the small orchard at one side of the garden. As they reached the gate leading into it Nicholas stopped, put his hand on it to stop her opening it, and turned towards Catarina.

‘My dear Catarina, I think you must know how I feel about you. I was so worried when you were away for so long, without anyone here having any news of you.’

He reached out towards her, and just at that moment Maria began to wail. Nicholas gave a start and turned round to see Clarice coming towards them, Maria cradled in her arms.

‘I take her in, she hungry,’ Clarice said, and as she walked towards the gate Nicholas hurriedly stepped back. He watched, silent, as Clarice came through the gate and held Maria out for him to see. ‘See baby, pretty, no?’

‘Whose baby is that?’ Nicholas asked, his voice hoarse. ‘Is it yours?’

‘Yes. No. That is, yes, she is in a way. I have adopted her. She is a cousin’s baby, the cousin died,’ Catarina stammered.

He was looking at her so accusingly she was almost incapable of speaking. He watched Clarice go towards the house, then took a deep breath.

‘I will speak to you another time. Goodbye, my lady.’