Chapter Three

 

Roborough met the reproach in those brown eyes and inwardly cursed. He might have known it. Very well to allow the rest of the family’s persuasions to prevail, but he should have anticipated this.

For it had not been his choice to set off immediately on an inspection of the place. How indelicate of him it would be to demand it almost upon his arrival, as if he could not wait to take possession. Particularly after the length of time he had taken to come here at all.

Not that he could have avoided that. Indeed, if it had not become imperative that he look over the possibilities at Pusay, he doubted whether he would have been able to find the time to come here even now. But the Pusay residents had not given him any choice. He did not know if he was glad or otherwise when they stated this fact in no uncertain terms.

‘It wasn’t his fault,’ protested Rowland.

‘We decided to take him about,’ said Fanny, adding in a superior tone, ‘and you might have guessed it, Dora, if you weren’t so ready to take offence.’

‘You ought to apologise at once, Dora,’ proposed Cousin Matty severely.

‘Good God, no,’ interrupted Roborough involuntarily. ‘Don’t ask her to do that, for pity’s sake!’

He saw, as he spoke, that Isadora’s eyes had softened. A muscle twitched in her cheek. Was she trying to keep from laughing? He had spoken unintentionally, but it seemed as if it might have served a useful purpose.

‘Matty, pray don’t enrage her,’ he heard Mrs Alvescot begging of her cousin in an undertone. Aloud to her daughter she said, ‘Dora, you know the stables better than any of us. Why do not you show Lord Roborough the horses?’

‘Pooh!’ broke in Rowland. ‘As if she would. I’ll show him the stables.’ As he spoke he ran into the entrance to the block, calling back to Roborough, ‘Come on, sir. We’ve a few tidy good ’uns in here.’

Roborough hesitated, glancing across at Isadora. ‘Won’t you join us, Miss Alvescot?’

Isadora had swung from anger to remorse and back again, in so violent a fashion that she had been unable to find speech. Then, just as anger threatened to get the upper hand, this infuriating man not only cast her to the brink of laughter, but overrode her cousin to invite her participation in the tour of the stables. Must he be so unfailingly pleasant? And must he smile at her in that irritatingly irresistible manner?

Within an ace of announcing that she had to go and change out of her cloth habit of dark blue, she relented.

‘Very well.’

She heard her mother sigh and almost retracted. But the viscount was standing at the entrance to the stables, waiting, and Cousin Matty was nodding encouragement. Fanny’s sour pout decided her. She walked into the stables, to find Rowland ready and eager to discourse on Titian’s manifold points as the under groom rubbed the horse down.

Roborough listened with only half an ear. He found himself thinking how well a riding habit became Isadora Alvescot. The jacket, tight to the waist where the petticoats flared out, emphasised her curves as the black satin gown, with its high waist, so popular at this time, did not. Her height enhanced the costume too and her black locks, now coaxed to the side under a beaver hat, curled attractively over one shoulder.

Why in the name of all the gods was she still unwed? What was she—nineteen? Twenty? Not less. Perhaps more. No, she could not be more, for Thornbury had told him she had still not attained her majority.

Not that it mattered. Even were she more than one and twenty, he had still to provide for her somehow. As he must for them all, God knew how!

His thoughts ran on as Rowland continued his eulogy, Roborough interpolating a suitable word or two at convenient moments. But his mind was far from horses. He had been with this unfortunate family for less than an afternoon, yet already he was aware that Thornbury’s guarded comments had by no means given him a full picture.

Mrs Alvescot, now. A helpless creature, if ever he saw one. Anxious she might be, but it was plain that she was used to someone else taking responsibility for her and it had not been at all difficult to allay any fears she had expressed.

Having shown him to his bedchamber, she had insisted on summoning Hampole, the butler—a frail and doddering individual who seemed only to add to the general helplessness of the Alvescot household—to warn him to expect Lord Roborough’s chaise, and to instruct his valet on arrival where to bring his lordship’s accoutrements.

‘Now I dare say you would like to see around the house,’ she had said, glancing up and down the corridor in a vague way as if she sought enlightenment on a mammoth task. ‘Oh dear, I wonder where Matty is. She is much better than I at this sort of thing.’

‘I beg you will not inconvenience yourself, ma’am,’ he said immediately.

‘Yes, but you will wish to know your way about at once, for it is your house. It is not true that you are just a guest, and perhaps if you take your place straight away we may all of us be more comfortable.’ Her rounded countenance gazed anxiously up at him. ‘Or don’t you think so?’

Roborough smiled. ‘My only wish is to see you comfortable, Mrs Alvescot.’

A great sigh escaped the lady. ‘There now; if I did not say to Dora over and over again that it must be so.’ Then she lowered her voice a trifle, glancing over her shoulder as if she feared to be overheard. ‘I must tell you, Lord Roborough, that, though it may make me more comfortable, I cannot answer for Dora. I only hope you will not take it amiss if she—if she…’

Her voice petered out, and she could only cast him a look imploring his understanding. Roborough concealed his amusement. It was easy to see who had the ordering of things here—not Mrs Alvescot but her strong-minded daughter. He leaned conspiratorially towards her.

‘To tell you the truth, ma’am, I had already surmised that Miss Alvescot does not view my coming with any very great enthusiasm.’

Mrs Alvescot sighed. ‘Dear me, no. She is used, you see, to do very much as she chooses and she did not take at all kindly to Matty’s suggestion that you might take it into your head to—’

Then she broke off, evidently recognising that these intimacies were addressed to one who was little more than a stranger.

‘But I must not run on so. Let us go at once to the drawing-room and engage Matty’s good offices. She is a dear creature. Such a comfort to me.’

Roborough had begun to realise that comfort constituted the sum of Mrs Alvescot’s ambition. He knew the type: so indolent, so easy-going that any undue exertion or call to tax their very limited brainpower became a strain upon them, yet so universally pleasant and easy to please that they were invariably surrounded by loving families who did everything they could to encourage their laziness. Isadora, in every way opposite, must, he supposed, have taken after her father.

Although there was a resemblance in feature here. About the eyes, he thought. For Mrs Alvescot’s brown orbs were set in the same wide hollow that characterised her daughter’s vividly expressive eyes, topped by the same arched brow. Her hands, too, were given to gestures that found an echo in Isadora’s own movements. And, for all her plumpness, Mrs Alvescot moved with a flow similar to that which added so much grace to her daughter’s carriage.

He would not have noticed so much but for the fact of having watched Isadora performing her Juliet in the gardens. A rare opportunity. It was not often that one had the chance to study a female unconscious of one’s gaze. Although, he recalled with a quickening of interest, she had not laid on any arts to attract even when she had become conscious of his presence. A refreshing change.

And she did not do so now, he reflected, glancing again at her as she stroked the muzzle of her mare. Far from it. She was much too involved in talking of her horse, and, he noted in passing, of her father, for it seemed that Mr Alvescot had chosen the animal.

Roborough could not tell if her joy in the beast or her patent admiration of her father’s knowledge of horseflesh was uppermost. Mr Alvescot had evidently been a man beloved in his family circle. How different from his own case.

But this was no moment to be reminding himself of the horrors he had left behind. He had something of more importance to hand here, for the present. And an agreeable interlude it was proving to be, before the fell hand of fate moved inexorably on. Because Isadora Alvescot—a mercurial creature—had eased into warmth, and he wished, if he could, to sustain that.

‘What do you call her?’ he asked her of the horse.

‘Juliet,’ she answered, and instantly laughed. ‘Now you will say that you should have guessed it.’

‘Had I thought about it, yes,’ he agreed, smiling. ‘But then I have only seen you do the one role. You might as easily have named her Lady Macbeth.’

‘Oh, indeed?’ said Isadora, firing up. ‘Is that supposed to reflect upon my character?’

‘Not unless you are driven to murder the unwelcome guest under your roof.’

Isadora let out a crow of laughter, her quick flare of anger dying down. ‘Let me tell you, it will not be your fault if I don’t. Murder you, I mean. You are quite the most abominable man I have ever met.’

‘As I don’t know what other men you have met, Miss Alvescot, I am unable to judge the worth of your estimate,’ he retorted. ‘You will notice that I make no attempt to return the compliment.’

Isadora found herself smiling warmly at him, only half aware that Rowland watched the quick give and take of words in frowning puzzlement.

‘That is because you are stronger than I,’ she told the viscount, ‘and you must know how unfair it would be to enrage me into engaging in hand-to-hand combat. But I can be fair, too. I will save you the trouble. I know I am abominable.’

‘What an admission.’

’You are supposed to deny the charge, you know,’ Isadora told him frowningly.

‘You jest,’ he said, brows raised. ‘Nothing would induce me to do so.’

Isadora began to think that in Roborough she had met a foe to be reckoned with. She was quite unused to be spiked at her own game. No one in the family had either the wit or the will to challenge her thus. They moaned at her, nagged at her and called her unlovely names. But they could not engage in this sort of cut and thrust. She had to admit to a feeling of exhilaration.

It faded rapidly as she came out of the stables to find the rest of the family waiting. As she noticed her young cousin run up and whisper in Fanny’s ear, she began to regret having allowed herself to become engaged in such banter with the viscount. Rowland would tell his sister. She would report to Cousin Matty and Mama, no doubt, that Dora had threatened to murder Roborough. Then she would be obliged to endure Cousin Matty’s recriminations and Mama’s lamentations.

Great heavens, why must they be so blind? Could they none of them see that the man had something up his sleeve? She felt it, even had it not been obvious. If the family would but look, instead of fawning all over him, they would see it too.

She watched the viscount’s face surreptitiously, taking little part in the noisy argument that accompanied the showing of the house to its new owner. She could not have been said to gain by it—no clue as to his intentions, certainly. That strong countenance, firm at the jaw for all the ready laughter, its lean lines animated enough, and the light eyes, alive with interest, nevertheless gave little away.

* * *

Roborough, had she but known it, had as little idea as she of his intentions. As the tour continued, wending its way into the added wing, back through the kitchens and thus, room by room, up the stairs to the living area most frequented by the family, he brought his wayward attention to bear on his surroundings. They were extraordinarily apt for this family. Had he a choice, he would leave them living here as they always had done. But the estate, Thornbury had told him, could not sustain them. What was he going to do?

His preoccupation kept him silent, although he was aware of the argumentative voices of the family all about him as he walked.

He came to himself to find that he was standing at his bedchamber door, down the hall from the big drawing-room, and that all the members of the Pusay household—with the exception of Isadora, whose features were once more tight and closed against him, he noted—were gazing at him expectantly.

‘We dine in an hour,’ Cousin Matty said helpfully.

‘Dear me, yes,’ fluttered Mrs Alvescot, reminded of her duty. ‘You will wish to change. We will all do so now.’ She looked hopefully at her cousin. ‘Matty, is it the dining parlour upstairs, or—?’

‘Yes, indeed, Ellen,’ said Cousin Matty at once. ‘Lord Roborough will not wish for any formality. Not on this first day.’

Formality, Roborough thought, had long gone by the board. Which was all to the good. Let it be more so.

‘Indeed, no,’ he said reassuringly, addressing himself to Mrs Alvescot. ‘And I do wish you will drop the title. My given name is Titus, if you care to use it, but Roborough will do.’

‘Titus?’ repeated Fanny. ‘What an odd name.’

‘Be quiet, Fanny,’ begged her mother in a strangulated tone. ‘You will not use it, be sure.’

‘Perhaps we can call him Cousin, as we do you, Cousin Ellen,’ suggested Rowland brightly.

‘Yes, yes,’ said his mother hurriedly. ‘Now that will do, both of you. Go away and leave Lord—I mean, Cousin Roborough—to his toilet.’

‘Yes, I thank you,’ agreed Roborough, his eyes crinkling with that innate warmth. ‘I would not wish to make a performance of it. I do not have Isadora’s talent.’

Cousin Matty instantly scattered her offspring, and Mrs Alvescot hurried away, leaving only Isadora standing her ground. She was staring suspiciously at him. He eyed her, a hint of a question in one slightly raised brow. Now what was troubling her?

At length, he said resignedly, ‘I see I have been relegated to a coiled snake again.’

‘Why are you being so pleasant to everyone?’ Isadora burst out.

So that was it. Well, he could counter that one. He allowed a slight frown to crease his brow.

‘Do you think there is anything to be gained by being rude and offensive?’

Isadora flushed. ‘Which is to say that I am offensive.’

‘Strange to say,’ he said mildly, ‘I meant no such thing.’

Mollified, Isadora said grudgingly, ‘I suppose I have been rude.’

‘Very.’ Then, not quite deliberately, he grinned. ‘But not without provocation, I confess.’

She tried, but the bubbling laughter would not be contained. In spite of herself, Isadora warmed to him again, feeling her suspicions melting away. But not entirely. It could be that he was just as he appeared. But she could not rid herself of the conviction that there was about everything he did, everything he said— if not to her, to the rest of the family—a calculation, as if he meant to achieve something by it.

Roborough, aware of the changes in her thoughts because they were reflected by the expressions flitting across her face, wondered at her a little. That she did not trust him was certain. But she could not help herself enjoying this sort of bantering exchange—as he did himself, for God knew it came as a welcome diversion from the relentless gloom he had left behind him at Barton Stacey. Really, he did not know why he was making this effort with her. It did not matter what he decided. It was plain that Isadora was going to be difficult.

‘What are you going to do with us?’ she asked on an almost plaintive note, almost echoing his line of thought. ‘And pray don’t fob me off with your depending upon circumstance. You have not come here without any plans, for all you may try to make the rest of them believe that.’

‘Isadora…’ he began, then, realising what he had said, added quickly, ‘If you will permit me to call you so?’

‘I don’t care what you call me,’ she said impatiently, ‘if only you will tell me what I want to know.’

He grinned. ‘That is a considerable concession, I hope you realise. I have a very fertile imagination—especially when it comes to name calling.’

‘Don’t try to turn the subject,’ ordered Isadora crossly. ‘I will not be put off so, Roborough, so do not think it.’

‘I don’t,’ he admitted.

Though he had hoped to divert her, the persistent little devil. What in the name of all the gods was he to answer? Scarcely the truth. Heaven help him if she learned what he had in mind. She must eventually, if it proved the way forward. But not now.

‘Isadora,’ he said in as non-committal a tone as he could summon to his aid, ‘you are an intelligent female. Look at the thing from my point of view. I scarcely know the situation here. I have not seen the accounts. I have not been around the estates. I cannot possibly make any value judgements until I have some facts upon which to base them.’

It was not working. Isadora’s eyes had narrowed and the enmity, which seemed to slide in and out of her in wayward fashion, was back.

‘Fudge! You do not mean me to know, and that is the matter in a nutshell.’

He was silent. It was true. What could he say? For a moment Isadora held his eyes, a dangerous light in her own. Then she turned abruptly and walked off down the corridor towards the entrance to the wing.

Roborough watched her out of sight, beset by the oddest feeling of depression—an echo of that which he had been enduring at Barton Stacey. Was Pusay to become unbearable too? Shrugging off the threatening mood, he went into his allotted bedchamber and gave himself up into his valet’s capable hands.

***

 

‘But what an extraordinary coincidence,’ said Harriet Witheridge, amazed.

True to her promise, she had hunted Isadora out in the little end-parlour downstairs, a retreat to which she was prone to escape, either to practise her roles or when she did not want anyone to know where she was. Harriet was privy to this hiding place only by virtue of the fact that she had once, walking across from the squire’s house, come upon Isadora entering by a side-door to the house which led directly into this room.

The only other person who knew of it was the elderly butler Hampole, who had discovered the young daughter of the house shivering in there one winter morning, and, without betraying her, had taken it upon himself ever since to make up the fire for her. Today, however, Isadora had escaped not to work but to think furiously, so that she would be ready with a counterplan the moment she learned what Roborough intended.

Not that she could have been said to have profited by it. Nothing had occurred to her. Instead she had found herself going over everything that had happened since his arrival, recalling the truly infuriating manner in which the family had taken him to their collective bosom.

Rowland and Fanny had rapidly passed from awe to downright devotion, as far as she could see. The viscount might have been their long-dead father! Cousin Matty apparently regarded him as some sort of hero. While as for Mama… Well, if she had not placed her future fair and square in Roborough’s lap, then Isadora did not know her own parent. And the viscount himself was plainly amused by the whole thing. Yes, and very obviously amused—great heavens, how she was beginning to loathe the wretch!—by her own disgust at her family’s voluntary subjugation. Amused, too, for all she could tell, by her stubborn determination not to swell the number of his Pusay conquests.

It was therefore with distinct relief that she greeted the arrival of her friend Harriet, and proceeded to regale her with every detail of the event that had turned their lives around in the Pusay house in the less than twenty-four hours since Harriet had left them yesterday.

‘What is a coincidence?’ demanded Isadora, picking up her friend’s remark.

‘That Lord Roborough should also have lost his father, thus giving rise to all your nonsensical speculations about the poor man.’

‘He is not a poor man,’ protested Isadora fiercely. ‘Anything but, in fact. I have never met anyone more capable of holding his own. Nor of making himself agreeable. Why, the rest of them are positively berserk with admiration.’

‘So why not you?’ demanded her friend, arranging her muslin skirts as she sat next to Isadora on the small sofa on which she was perched. ‘What is he really like?’

Isadora’s eyes kindled. ‘He is abominable, if you must know. A teasing wretch. He chooses to joke with me, but I suspect it is only to bring me around like the others.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Dora,’ exclaimed Harriet impatiently. ‘I mean, what does he look like? Is he young? Is he handsome?’

‘I will allow him to be attractive,’ Isadora said grudgingly. ‘But he is neither young nor handsome. At least, I dare say he is not above thirty. But he is not pretty like Edmund.’ She paused a moment, and added almost as an afterthought, ‘His eyes smile.’

‘Dora, you do like him,’ Harriet accused.

‘Like him?’ echoed Isadora, jumping up the better to face her friend. ‘You must be mad, Harriet. I am well on the way to disliking him intensely.’

She might as well not have spoken for all the notice Harriet took of her words. Eagerly, she asked, ‘Is he married?’

‘Harriet, you are as bad as Fanny.’

‘But what else is there to know about such a gentleman? We know he is a viscount. You have yourself confessed that he is agreeable, and attractive, and,’ she went on very firmly as Isadora opened her mouth to respond, ‘his eyes smile.’

‘Yes, I know, but—’

‘What is more, he is less than thirty. He must be quite the most eligible gentleman to come your way in all these years.’

‘Come my way? Just what—?’

‘And if you are not the fool I take you for, you will at once cease to prate about this nonsensical dislike you say you have taken to the man and be at pains to attach him immediately.’

For a long moment, Isadora merely gazed at her friend in utter stupefaction. Had Harriet run completely mad? She to set her cap at Roborough? She would rather die. What, was she to be counted a traitor, to take the usurper of her home to husband? A traitor not only to the family, to Papa’s memory, but also to her own ambition. Besides, she had every expectation that they would find him to be married after all. Not that she cared. It made no difference to her.

‘Harriet,’ she said at last with a calm born of astonishment, ‘you have quite taken leave of your senses.’

‘On the contrary, Dora, you must be counted quite crazy if you cannot see—’

‘Fudge. Even were such a thing remotely possible, I should not marry Roborough—not if he were the last man in the world. I dare say I shall never be married. Not, in any event, to anyone of that social standing.’

Harriet eyed her ominously. ‘I suppose I need not ask what you mean by that remark. Now, Dora, you must listen to me—’

‘Not if you mean to prose on at me about marrying Roborough, for a more stupid—’

‘Dora, you have got to stop this nonsense about going on the stage. I know that is what you think you may do, but you are living in a fantasy. This is real life, Dora. There is only one life for you—just as there is for me, and—’

‘Well, then, why don’t you marry Roborough?’ cut in Isadora, exasperated.

‘I am betrothed to Joseph,’ Harriet reminded her with dignity. ‘Besides, I am only thinking of your future, Dora.’

‘I know, and I do wish you would not,’ said Isadora despairingly. ‘I have my future well in hand, Harriet. Besides, you know me well enough to know that I will not be deterred.’

‘Yes, I do,’ agreed Harriet. ‘But, Dora, I cannot and will not stand by and let you ruin yourself without a fight.’

Isadora laughed. ‘Well, believe, my dearest Harriet, that there will be a fight. Particularly if you mean to try and marry me off to the Errant Heir. I only hope the wretch is married already. That will put your ideas firmly to bed.’

‘I wish I could remember,’ Harriet said, frowning. ‘Only I never did meet him, for all we must have been attending the same parties. At least—what was his name before he came into the title?’

‘I haven’t the least idea. Nor do I care.’ Isadora moved to the door. ‘However, since you are so determined to find out all about him, I will introduce you and then you may question him to your heart’s content.’

‘I shall do nothing of the kind,’ Harriet protested as they left the little parlour together.

‘Well, you need not refrain on my account,’ said Isadora frankly. ‘For my part, I will be only too happy if you plague him beyond bearing.’

‘I was thinking of his account rather than yours,’ retorted her friend. ‘I would not be guilty of such a piece of presumption as to question him about anything at all. I only hope you will not put me to the blush by quarrelling with him in my presence.’

‘Never fear,’ Isadora told her with mock-meekness. ‘I shall be as good as gold—just for you. But if—’

She broke off, halting suddenly in the middle of the hallway. Harriet, almost bumping into her, began to ask what was the matter.

‘Hush!’ said Isadora urgently. Had she heard what she thought? Voices in the library. Men’s voices. Yes, there they were again.

She saw by Harriet’s face that she was hearing them too now. The low tones had filtered through just as they were passing the library door on the way to the main staircase. Creeping on tiptoe, Isadora sneaked closer and put her ear to the woodwork, ignoring Harriet’s shocked look.

Yes, it was Roborough and Thornbury. She could hear them clearly now.

‘You are sure there is no alternative?’ the lawyer was saying. ‘It must be the estate?’

‘I’m afraid a sale will prove inevitable.’ That was Roborough. Apologetic, but determined. ‘Perhaps you could begin by putting out some discreet feelers. I do not wish it generally known just yet that the property is on the market.’

He was going to sell the estate! Isadora reeled in shock, moving away from the fateful door without even being aware that she did so. He was going to take their home from under them and pass it on to strangers. How could he be so cruel?

‘Dora, what is it?’

Harriet’s concerned tones brought her a little out of the oddly unreal sensation she was experiencing, as if she were not actually there.

‘He is going to sell,’ she said blankly.

‘What? What do you mean?’

‘Roborough. He is going to sell the estate.’

Harriet stared. ‘Sell this house?’

‘Yes, I tell you. He is just instructing Thornbury.’

Without thinking, she put her ear back to the door.

‘Dora, for God’s sake,’ hissed Harriet.

‘Hush!’ whispered Isadora again, for she had just heard her own name spoken. What more? Great heavens, what more?

‘You have some query concerning Miss Alvescot, my lord?’ asked Thornbury.

‘It is rather a delicate matter, Thornbury. I only wondered if there might be a local suitor.’

‘A suitor?’ echoed the lawyer, evidently surprised.

‘Yes. Surely it is not a strange idea that Isadora could well be married off in the near future?’

Isadora, listening behind the door, very nearly burst into the room on the instant. Married off? Married off?

‘So that is what he intends, is it?’ she said aloud, her tone wrathful. ‘We’ll see about that.’

But Harriet, seeing her reach out towards the door-handle, seized her wrist and began to run back the way they had come.

‘Harriet, let me go!’

But it was plain that Harriet had taken fright, and nothing would do for her but to bundle her friend back into the little parlour, shut the door firmly—but quietly—and lean against it, half panting with effort.

‘Harriet, come away from that door!’

‘No!’

‘Harriet!’

‘Dora, I know you. You will say dreadful things and this Roborough of yours will be furious and your poor mama will be distracted and everything will be terrible.’

She ended this rattling speech on a rising note that in itself gave Isadora pause. But it did not assuage her fury. She swung away across the parlour.

‘That man!’ she raged. Oh, but she would like to murder him with her bare hands. ‘How dared he? How dared he?’

Harriet relaxed away from the door, though she remained in front of it, as if she suspected Isadora might make an unexpected dash to get out.

‘Dora, calm down,’ she pleaded. ‘You have not even told me what he has said to cause you such distress.’

‘Distress?’ echoed Isadora, whipping about to face her. Could not Harriet see what was the matter with her? ‘I am not distressed, Harriet, I am livid. Do you know what he said?’

‘No, I don’t,’ Harriet snapped. ‘I have just said so.’

‘He asked Thornbury if I had a suitor,’ Isadora told her, biting out the words. ‘Because, if you please, he wants to parcel me off in marriage.’

‘He said that?’

‘Well, not exactly that.’ Really, why must Harriet quibble? She knew what she had heard. ‘But it is what he meant, you may take it from me.’

‘That,’ said Harriet sceptically, ‘is what it seems to me I can’t do. I know you, Dora. You always manage to make something out of nothing. What exactly did he say?’

‘How in the world should I remember it exactly?’ exclaimed Isadora impatiently. What did it matter, in any event? She knew what Roborough was about.

‘It is plain enough what he intends. He means to sell the estate. That much I did not mistake, I assure you. And if I don’t miss my guess he is looking to marry me off as soon as he may, and so be rid of the whole concern of us.’

Harriet blinked. ‘Dora, what are you talking of? How could he possibly get rid of all of you by your getting married?’

‘Easily,’ Isadora responded evenly. ‘My husband would assume responsibility for the rest of my family, would he not? In the circumstances, he could scarcely refuse. That is, of course, presuming the existence of this local suitor Roborough has invented for his purposes.’

All at once Harriet’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, Dora, you don’t suppose Thornbury will tell him about Edmund, do you?’

‘I should not be at all surprised.’

‘But Edmund could not possibly afford to take responsibility for your family.’

‘No, and I would not wish it on him either, be sure.’

For a moment or two Harriet gazed at her friend, an appalled expression on her face, while Isadora paid no heed, instead pacing to and fro about the little parlour, her mind full of Roborough’s iniquities.

Now she understood why he had been so pleasant to them all. He was trying to curry favour, to put himself in a situation of sympathy with the family, that he might the more easily persuade them to accept this hideous decision to sell off the only home they had all of them known.

Such duplicity! Such a barefaced, unmitigated liar! He did not know what he would do. It must depend upon circumstance. Yes, on the circumstance of finding someone stupid enough to wish to buy this ugly old house.

Well, let him try. She would be very much interested to see what he would do when he discovered that no one in their right mind would give him so much as a penny piece for the place. She had almost forgotten the presence of Harriet until her friend, dropping into the nearest chair, spoke at last in accents of reproach.

‘Really, Dora, you are dreadful. You are making me think as absurdly as you do yourself. As if you have any real idea of what Roborough intends. You cannot take a few words overheard through a shut door and assume an entire history upon them in this way.’

‘I don’t see why not. And if he did not wish me to make such assumptions he should have told me to my face what he intends—as I asked him to.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He would not tell me, of course. Now I see why.’ She nodded in a determined manner. ‘Well, he will find he has made a very serious mistake.’

‘Yes,’ agreed her friend drily, ‘when he discovers that there is no suitor—except Edmund. And he must guess at once that he doesn’t count.’

‘I don’t mean that. It is plain enough that he does not wish to take responsibility for us all. He may or may not be planning to foist it all off on to me. But I shall spike his guns, see if I don’t. My plans may serve the family just as well as his.’

Harriet groaned. ‘Your plans? God help them all!’

‘They will be safer in my hands than in Roborough’s.’

‘I strongly doubt that. What do you suppose you can do? In any event, you cannot stop him selling the estate if he chooses to do so, you know.’

Isadora tossed her head. ‘I may not be able to stop him selling the estate, but I can, and will, stop him selling me.’ She moved purposefully towards the door.

Harriet jumped up. ‘Where are you going?’

‘Have no fear, I am not going to thrust myself into his meeting with Thornbury. There will be time enough to tell him what I think of him. But I am not going to let the family remain in ignorance of his dastardly intent.’

But the family, confronted with Isadora’s plan to rescue them from Roborough’s plot, greeted it with an discouraging silence.

‘But what in the world is the matter with you all?’ demanded Isadora, standing arms akimbo in the middle of the drawing-room, flanked on one side by Harriet. Her glance went from one to the other. They had not looked like this when she had told them of Roborough’s scheme to sell.

Mrs Alvescot, ensconced in her usual chair, seemed vaguely apprehensive, lines of worry creasing her countenance. But Cousin Matty’s frankly disapproving gaze and Fanny’s superior smirk were quite unwarranted. Only Rowland, a slight frown marring his chubby features, appeared to be giving Isadora’s idea consideration.

‘Anyone would suppose you had rather trust to a stranger than your own flesh and blood,’ Isadora pursued, a little hurt in her voice.

‘Dear me, no, my love,’ said her mother at once. ‘It is not that.’

‘It is when the flesh and blood is Dora,’ put in Fanny with devastating candour.

‘Fanny!’ reproved Harriet, forgetting her own condemnation of Isadora’s plans. ‘That is a horrid thing to say.’

‘Don’t mind it, Harriet,’ Isadora said drily. ‘I am quite used to hearing that sort of thing from Fanny.’

‘Fanny, that was uncalled for,’ Cousin Matty told her daughter sternly, throwing a minatory glace at her but returning her gaze almost immediately to Isadora’s face. ‘However, I cannot help but feel that—in this instance—there is much to be said for trusting in Roborough rather than a chancy scheme like yours, Dora.’

Isadora bridled. ‘Chancy? You do not believe me capable, then, of becoming a successful tragedienne?’

‘Even if you did,’ broke in Harriet, ‘bringing the family into it with you is quite ineligible.’

‘Exactly,’ said Fanny. ‘You may choose to tread the boards if you wish; there is no need to drag the rest of us into it.’

‘I’m with you, Dora,’ chimed in Rowland. ‘Perhaps I could get a position in the theatre where you’re acting. Maybe I could lift the scenery on and off.’

‘Yes, and drop it on the actors’ heads,’ sneered his sister unkindly.

‘Don’t be foolish, Rowland, ’said his mother irritably. ‘You will be going to school.’

‘Yes, but if I was working in the theatre with Dora I need not go to school, and—’

‘That will do,’ said Cousin Matty firmly. ‘Dora is not going to work in the theatre.’

‘Am I not?’ said Isadora dangerously.

‘Certainly not. I hold to it that the whole notion is ridiculous, and I am sure Cousin Roborough will put a stop to it on the instant.’

‘Oh, Matty, pray,’ pleaded Mrs Alvescot feebly, glancing at her daughter’s face as if she thought to see storm clouds gathering there.

Her intervention was in vain. Eyes snapping, Isadora said bitingly, ‘Cousin Roborough will put a stop to us all doing anything but what he chooses if he is allowed to sell this house. Is that what you want?’

‘But Dora, my love,’ came plaintively from her mama, ‘we are in any event obliged to do what Roborough chooses. And if he is planning to sell the house I am quite sure he has already decided where we are to live. He only wants us to be comfortable, dearest.’

‘Comfortable? Where are we to be comfortable? In any event, I may make you just as comfortable when I am able to afford a house, Mama.’

‘Yes, my love, but Society will be closed to us if you are an actress, and so we should have no need of your house. We had as well live in a cottage.’

Isadora was silenced. She had not seriously expected any of them to acquiesce in her designs, but she had thought at the least that they might be moved on hearing that the estate was to be sold. But Roborough had so bewitched them all that the wretch could do no wrong.

‘You are all besotted,’ she said in a defeated tone. ‘I only hope you may not be in line for a rude awakening.’

‘Even if they are, Dora,’ Harriet said persuasively, ‘and Lord Roborough proves not to be as good as his word, you must see that even this unknown future is safer than the certain scandal you would bring down upon their heads with this actress scheme of yours.’

‘It is well for you to take everyone else’s part,’ Isadora retorted crossly. ‘I dare say you will not be so complacent when you find that Roborough is pressing Edmund to marry me.’

‘What?’ gasped Cousin Matty, and Mrs Alvescot looked startled.

Harriet grimaced at them, saying apologetically, ‘She has taken it into her head, only from a word or two she overheard, that Lord Roborough plans to marry her off.’

‘He did say so,’ Isadora insisted.

‘Oh dear,’ fluttered Mrs Alvescot in her helpless sort of way, but she added sensibly, ‘Only Dora, my love, what else is he to do with you?’

‘Very true,’ agreed Cousin Matty. ‘Although it’s my belief Dora has misinterpreted the whole thing.’

‘That is what I think too,’ Harriet chimed in. ‘In any event, I know you will never marry Edmund, Dora.’

‘I’ll marry Edmund,’ piped up Fanny eagerly. ‘That will save the family just as well as Dora’s silly scheme.’

‘Pooh!’ scoffed her brother. ‘As if Edmund would marry you when he is head over heels for Dora. Even I can see that—’

‘What I want to know,’ interrupted Harriet, ‘is whether Lord Roborough is married.’

‘Don’t we all!’ said Fanny despairingly.

‘Because it seems to me—’

‘Harriet!’ cut in Isadora warningly.

Cousin Matty and Mrs Alvescot caught the meaning at exactly the same moment.

‘You don’t mean Dora and Roborough?’

‘Oh, dear me. Dora and Roborough?’

At this precise instant, the door opened to admit the viscount himself, Thornbury in close attendance.