Rosa watched her grandmother’s sharp eyes narrow with disapproval, for perching on a chair in front of her she presented a wild, untidy vision. Her laced leather boots were smeared with mud and her skirts were creased, and Rosa knew her grandmother was not fooled, that she was painfully aware that underneath she was wearing the outrageous breeches she insisted on putting on when she went riding. But above it all there was a passion in Rosa that was so potent it changed the atmosphere of the room.
‘Did you enjoy your ride, Rosa?’ Amelia enquired, pressing a perfumed handkerchief to her nose as the smell of horses wafted in her direction.
‘Yes, very much,’ Rosa answered, shoving her untidy mop of chestnut hair back from her face, putting off the moment to tell her of her visit to Ashurst Park. ‘I always enjoy riding and the horse the groom selected for me excelled itself.’
Her grandmother’s gaze became pointed. ‘Are you feeling well, Rosa? You are very flushed.’
‘Yes—I am quite well. If my face is red, then it must have something to do with the exhilaration of the ride. But I—I didn’t sleep very well,’ she said, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. ‘I—I am concerned about Clarissa and your insistence that she marry Lord Ashurst.’
‘You have no reason to be. It is my duty to stop her becoming involved with any man who cannot support her in a respectable lifestyle. Clarissa is no longer under age, I realise that, but it changes nothing. She must abide by your father’s wishes.’
‘Father would not want her to be unhappy. He would not force her into a marriage she did not want.’
‘Who is to say she will be unhappy? The Earl is an honourable man and Ashurst Park is a beautiful, noble house.’ She sat back in her chair with a determined expression on her aged face. ‘I am resolved that the decision I have made is the right one and will benefit Clarissa.’
With a worried, haunted look, as though carrying a burden too heavy to bear on her young shoulders, raising her head she looked at her grandmother, meeting her questioning eyes. She would have to tell her everything. It could not be avoided.
Rosa thought her grandmother was going to have a fit as she hesitantly told her what she had done. Her eyes never moved from her granddaughter’s face. She seemed unable to speak, to form any words, from between her rigidly clamped lips. When Rosa had finished speaking Amelia remained for a while in contemplation of her clasped hands. Her ashen face was set in lines of concern. Rosa respected her silence, stifling her painful anxiety.
Unable to contain herself any longer Amelia raised her eyelids and looked at her. Rosa shivered at the anger and disappointment in her eyes.
‘I am shocked, Rosa—deeply so. You had a plan, you say, one that would suit everyone concerned. It was a very stupid, thoughtless action to take. You had no right to take it upon yourself to do that. Lord Ashurst will never agree to such an outrageous idea.’
‘I know that now. He made it quite plain what he thought of it. Grandmother, I am so sorry.’
‘Being sorry is not enough. What you have done is outrageous. Among other things, to call on a gentleman uninvited and unaccompanied was disgraceful. Why on earth didn’t you take your maid?’
‘Dilys is still unwell. Besides, she does not ride. I told her to stay in bed until she’s feeling better.’
‘Then you should have taken a groom. The expensive education your father provided for you should have taught you about behaviour and comportment. You may not have been born into Lord Ashurst’s league, but you are still quality born with good breeding. And to offer yourself in marriage to a man who to all intents and purposes is about to become affianced to Clarissa is not to be borne.’
‘But he isn’t—at least he won’t be when he has told you that he has had a change of heart and will withdraw his suit.’
‘But why would he do that? Did Clarissa displease him in some way?’
‘No, not at all. He—he will not marry Clarissa knowing she is in love with someone else—and he has no wish to marry me, either.’
Amelia became quiet. She looked deflated. ‘I cannot blame him. He must think you’re too forward by far. At least he is honest. But until I have seen him and spoken to him myself, nothing is changed. You should not have gone to see him, Rosa, you should not.’
Having expected to be severely chastised, Rosa squared her shoulders. ‘I am truly sorry, Grandmother. I should not have gone to Ashurst Park without talking to you first.’
‘You should not have gone there at all. What were you thinking? To go there in the first place without prior invitation was an act of rudeness. Now what is to be done? What must Lord Ashurst think?’
‘He—he is going to call on you shortly. But—when I explained about Clarissa—he understands.’
Amelia looked at her hard, knowing just how single-minded she could be, how stubborn. God help her if ever she experienced the sheer driving force of passionate love—and the man it was focused on. Amelia knew how determined she could be, that when she had something on her mind she would have her own way at any cost, and if that kind of love touched her, she would not deny herself having it. Amelia also knew about the young man she had formed a deep friendship with on Antigua, that he had drowned and Rosa had been grief-stricken by his death. But that had been an adolescent love, the kind most young people experienced at one time or another, but not enduring.
‘I did not get the impression that Lord Ashurst was the kind of man to comply to the whim of a young woman he has never met.’
‘I know that now—and understand his reasons—but I had to try. All this is a quandary for you, I know, but it needn’t be.’
Amelia looked at her granddaughter with a keen eye. ‘Oh? You have the answer, do you, Rosa? I know you are sympathetic to your sister’s plight, but how can I let her wed that young man in London? It’s quite out of the question.’
‘But they love each other. Forgive me, Grandmother, but I must speak out,’ Rosa said softly, unable to remain silent any longer on the subject. ‘I know you have Clarissa’s best interests at heart—but she should not be forced into a marriage she does not want. She is feeling quite wretched about it all, knowing how much Father wanted her to make a splendid marriage—and you, too. If you insist on this she will not disobey you, but I know the last thing you want is to see her unhappy. Let her have her way and marry Andrew.’
‘I can’t, Rosa. What would your father say?’
Rosa studied her grandmother’s stern face for a moment and then affection came and softened her features. Rosa found herself bursting with affection for her. Slipping to her knees beside her grandmother’s chair, she took her crooked fingers in her own. ‘I think Father would not object to Andrew. His father is an influential man on Barbados—a sugar cane planter, too. Sadly, Father died before Andrew came to Antigua, but I know he would have liked him. Clarissa loves the Caribbean, Grandmother. She considers it her home. Let her go back.’
‘And what of you? It must have been a wrench for you when the plantation was sold and you were forced to leave Antigua. It was your home also.’
‘Taking my leave of our home and the island was not easy—and after Simon drowned...’ She faltered, biting her lip as the memories drifted into her mind. She remembered everything of that last summer on the island with Simon—the laughter, the foolishness, the lazy summer days, the intensity of a time which had meant everything to her. ‘Everywhere I looked held reminders, precious memories of the years too quickly gone by. But I am not like Clarissa. I will adapt to whatever life has to offer.’ She would like to have pressed her own case, that she be allowed to go to London to help Aunt Clara with her charities and to forget all about marrying anyone, but her aunt had already said no to her on that matter and her grandmother looked so crestfallen that she hadn’t the heart to add to her worries. Amelia remained silent, thoughtful. To Rosa, watching her with concern, she seemed so very frail and appeared to shrink into herself. Sighing deeply, Amelia shook her head slowly.
‘What a business this is.’ Her eyes looked bleak, her voice hollow with emotion. ‘What is to be done? If only your dear father were still here to guide you. It was my dearest wish that he would not go before me, but...’ Her voice faltered and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling. ‘I have buried all my children. No mother should have to do that.’
Rosa gazed at her, at her misshapen hands. Her face bore lines of grief. Deep inside the awesome, formidable lady was a profound loneliness, the loss of her three children who had died in infancy, her husband and only child who had lived to manhood its wellspring.
‘What can I do to help?’ she whispered.
‘Nothing, my dear, nothing at all. If you don’t mind, Rosa, I’ll return to my room. Ring for Margaret, will you? She will take me up.’
‘Are you feeling unwell?’ Rosa asked anxiously, getting to her feet. ‘Should I send for Dr Parish?’
‘No, there is no need for that. I’m just tired—nothing that a little sleep won’t cure.’
Rosa wasn’t convinced. According to Clarissa, their grandmother was spending more and more of her time in bed and hardly ate anything. Rosa hated to see her fading like this. Margaret had been her grandmother’s personal maid for twenty years. She watched the maid accompany her grandmother out of the room. Her movements were weary, her small body stiff. Rosa felt a constriction in her throat which she swallowed down and went in search of Clarissa.
Rosa and Clarissa were at breakfast the following morning when Margaret burst in on them, her distress so acute that Rosa felt her heart leap to her throat. She stood in the doorway, so out of breath she could hardly speak.
Rosa sprang to her feet. ‘What is it, Margaret? Is Grandmother...?’ Her blood seemed to chill in her veins.
‘Oh—it’s terrible, Miss Ingram. She—she’s had some kind of attack. She is asking for you.’
Instructing Margaret to go to the village to fetch Dr Parish, Rosa and Clarissa went immediately to their grandmother’s room. She was propped against the pillows in the big, canopied bed she had shared for forty-five years with her husband. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks sunken, her lank, lacklustre hair spread over the pillows. Her thin, deeply veined hands plucked at the bedcovers in a distracted fashion.
Rosa was shocked. She had not expected to find her so reduced, so ill in such a short space of time. She was filled with self-recrimination, feeling her foolishness in going to Ashurst Park had brought her grandmother to this, tears stinging her eyes. She would never do anything intentionally to hurt her.
Amelia opened her eyes and looked at her granddaughters, trying to draw breath.
‘What is it, Grandmother?’ Rosa said, gently taking her hand, terrified that something might happen to her grandmother. ‘Margaret has gone for Dr Parish—he won’t be long.’
‘I—I’ve had some kind of turn...’ Her voice was a thread, but her blue-tinged lips turned up in a small smile. ‘I—I’ll be all right soon...’
The doctor came, old Dr Parish who had attended Amelia on a regular basis. He took her wrist and put his ear to her chest, and told Rosa when they had left the room that he didn’t like the sound of it, but they were to take care of her and give her a few drops of laudanum to settle her and to help her sleep. He would call the following morning.
She became worse in the night, worrying about what would become of her granddaughters should she be taken. She died a few moments later, her hand in that of younger granddaughter.
Rosa and Clarissa were bereft. Their grandmother had been very dear to both of them. What did the future hold for them now?
Dealing with their grandmother’s affairs kept both sisters occupied during the ensuing days. Funeral arrangements had to be made and her lawyer paid them a visit to deal with her financial matters. Her death had affected everyone. Rosa missed her terribly, but it wasn’t like when Simon had died, when she had wanted to drown in her sorrow.
Two days before the funeral, on a lovely sunny day, escaping the confines of the house, the sisters took the carriage into Ashurst to purchase some black ribbon to trim their bonnets from the haberdasher’s in the High Street.
They had just stepped out of the shop into the street and were returning to their carriage when a prickling sensation at the nape of Rosa’s neck told her she was being watched. Curious, she turned her head to find herself looking into the black, impertinent eyes of the Indian gentleman she had seen at the inn, the same man she believed had pushed the boy into the path of the horses. She could see the unconcealed hostility in his eyes. Although never of a nervous disposition, she felt the chilling hand of fear clutch at her. Her heart began to race, urging her to turn and walk on, but she held her ground.
Another Indian gentleman came to stand a little behind him. He was not quite as tall, but like his companion his face was long and thin, his nose hooked. Shifting her gaze back to the taller of the two, when she looked into his eyes she saw nothing. No emotion, nothing. If, as it was said, the eyes were the windows to the soul, then this man’s windows were firmly closed and shuttered. Both men had an air of menace and cold ruthlessness about them that inspired fear. Rosa stiffened, finding the encounter curiously distasteful. With their faces as inscrutable as a rock, they looked like the harbingers of woe.
Unaware of what was happening, Clarissa carried on walking. Averting her eyes, Rosa was about to walk on, but paused once more. A feeling of unreality crept over her and she shuddered.
Overcoming her initial surprise, she automatically found herself speaking to them. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’
The taller man took a step towards her, the pupils of his eyes narrowed like a cat’s in the light. When he spoke, his voice was heavily accented with his native tongue. From between his parted lips a gold tooth gleamed as it caught the sun. ‘I know who you are—and that you are acquainted with William Barrington. I know what you did that day. We want nothing from you. Our presence here does not concern you. Do not interfere in what we do.’
Thinking it a strange thing for him to say, Rosa forced herself to back away, her heart beating faster than normal. She shared another glance of hostility with the Indian man before he turned and walked away, closely followed by his companion. Gradually her pulse steadied, but she wore an air of acute unease.
Clarissa came to her side, a curious frown creasing her brow.
‘Who were those men, Rosa? Do you know them?’
‘No, not at all. I saw one of them at the inn where we took refreshment on our journey from London. I think he is connected to Lord Ashurst in some way.’
‘Quite possibly,’ Clarissa said. ‘Those gentlemen are clearly Asian and Lord Ashurst has just returned from India so it would not be unusual.’
‘I don’t think they are nice men, Clarissa.’
Clarissa looked at her curiously. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Because Lord Ashurst was also at the inn that day—not that I knew who he was then—but I have an uneasy feeling that the men you have just seen are dangerous individuals—men Lord Ashurst has reason to fear.’
They attended their grandmother’s funeral as did many others who had known her. It was a warm sunny day, marred only by the sorrow. It was then that Rosa realised just how well known and respected her grandmother had been. The funeral service was held in Ashurst village church, the service simple and moving. Afterwards Amelia Ingram was laid to rest with her beloved husband in the churchyard.
At the back of the church on the opposite side to where the Ingram sisters sat, enclosed in a boxed pew, William rested his gaze on the two young women at the front. Their heads were bent over their prayer books as the priest in his ornate robes intoned the solemn, centuries-old words of the funeral service. His gaze passed over Clarissa to her sister, where he let it rest, looking at Rosa with interest. Remote and slender, she had a purity of profile which arrested and compelled his eyes. Her devotions as she knelt and prayed seemed absolute. Her black-bonneted head was haloed in the light penetrating the windows and he saw, when she lifted her head and let her gaze fall on the cross on the altar, that her expression was sorrowful and tense. There was a shadowed hollowness to her cheekbones and she was pale, which told William how affected she was by her grandmother’s death.
Along with the rest of the mourners he followed the service, automatically saying the familiar words of the prayer, but his gaze kept straying to Rosa Ingram, to the gracefulness of her head, now bent in utter submission, her lips moving in silent prayer.
As if aware of his gaze, suddenly she turned her head and looked directly at him, her eyes a brilliant green and intensely secretive in the atmosphere of reverence, a recognition stirring in their depths. The sheer intensity of that glance, the nakedness of it, and the intimacy, made William feel that they were the only two people inside the church.
Then the service was over and he stood, momentarily distracted by the people moving all around him, following the funeral procession outside into the blazing sunlight. Outside the church he stood back, watching the proceedings as the coffin was lowered into the ground, but all he could think about was Rosa Ingram and the imprint of her secretive glance. He had been made uneasy by it. There was something about her that reached out to him and touched him in half-forgotten, obscure places.
Rosa and a tearful Clarissa greeted the steady stream of guests as they arrived at the house. Rosa had noted Lord Ashurst’s presence in the church. He had become the focus of everyone’s scrutiny. Everyone knew the new Earl of Ashurst had taken up residence at Ashurst Park, but few people in the surrounding district had seen him. It was well known that he had spent almost his entire life in India, which made him a somewhat mysterious, curious figure, but there were those who remembered him as a youth when he had come to England for his education and resided at Ashurst Park.
Rosa saw him arrive and studied him for a moment in silence before moving forward to greet him. He was clad in jet black with the exception of his snowy-white shirt and cravat, which gleamed in stark contrast to his black suit and silk waistcoat. As she had noted on their first meeting there was a strong, arrogant set to his jaw. Everything about him exuded brute strength and arrogant handsomeness. He was the kind of man who was capable of silencing a room full of people by just appearing in the doorway, whose attitude was that of a man who knew his own worth.
His appearance in the church had pulled her from the strange melancholy that had seemed to enclose her since her grandmother’s death. She had experienced a feeling of alarm on seeing him again. He had appeared too suddenly for her to prepare herself, so she had been unable to suppress the heady surge of pleasure she experienced.
As Rosa faced him, it was difficult to set aside their last meeting and what had transpired. ‘Lord Ashurst, thank you for coming.’
‘I won’t stay, but I wanted to speak to you both personally to convey my condolences. I must apologise for not coming sooner, but pressing matters of business have taken up my time.’
‘Yes, I can understand that, but no apology is necessary, I assure you,’ Rosa said. ‘We are grateful to you for coming. Grandmother did not have the best of health, but we did not expect her to leave us so soon. Her death has come as a crippling blow to both of us.’
William shifted his gaze to Clarissa, who hovered shyly a step behind her sister. ‘I intended riding over to see you, Miss Ingram.’ He saw her moist eyes light with hope and an underlying uncertainty. ‘Worry not. Your sister has explained everything to me so we need not discuss the matter further.’ Seeing Clarissa’s happy response, he smiled. ‘We will speak of it no more and I wish you well in your future happiness.’
‘Thank you,’ Clarissa murmured, clearly relieved that she had escaped marriage to this formidable man. ‘I appreciate your understanding.’ Her eyes filled up with tears. ‘Please—excuse me.’
Rosa watched her go before turning back to Lord Ashurst. ‘Clarissa’s taken Grandmother’s death badly. She is quite overwhelmed by all this and will probably go to her room to lie down.’
William noted a change in Rosa Ingram from their previous two encounters. This was not the face of the young woman who had boldly come to his home and proposed marriage to him. Then, her haughty manner had marked her as strong of character whereas now, with her eyes full of grief and a gentle smile on her lips, there was a softness about her, an elusive gentleness that declared her to be as vulnerable as the roses that clambered over the garden walls. Clearly she was a woman of ever-changing moods and subtle contradictions, and while her physical beauty first arrested the attention, it was this spectrum, this bewildering, indefinable quality that held him captive.
‘And you, Miss Ingram? Your grandmother’s death must have come as a shock to you, too.’
‘Yes, it has. I am going to miss her terribly. To have only recently arrived in England and then to lose her so soon is heartbreaking.’
A strange, sweet melting feeling softened William’s innermost core without warning, the place in him that he usually kept as hard as steel. ‘And it will affect your future, no doubt.’
‘Of course,’ she replied stiffly.
‘What will you do? Have you decided?’
‘I’m not sure. I don’t have to do anything at present.’
‘And the house?’
‘My grandfather’s nephew has inherited Fountains Lodge—Antony Ingram. He is a businessman and married with a young family so this house will be perfect for them.’
‘He was not at the funeral?’
‘No. He lives in Scotland. He is held in the highest regard. His reputation as a gentleman and a businessman is unequalled and, I regret to say, as yet I have not had the pleasure of making his acquaintance. He has many things to take care of before he can leave. Ingrams have lived at Fountains Lodge since the day it was built over two hundred years ago. I’m glad it’s to remain in the family.’
‘Will you stay until he arrives?’
‘No, I don’t think so. It could be several weeks before he manages to get here. I might go with Clarissa to London, where we will stay with my mother’s sister, Aunt Clara.’
‘And Clarissa?’
‘Will marry Andrew and return to the West Indies. His family lives on Barbados. His father is also a planter of sugar cane. She will be happy there.’
‘I sincerely hope so.’ He looked beyond her to the knot of people looking curiously his way. He stepped back. ‘If you will forgive me, I will bid you good day, Miss Ingram. I have pressing matters to attend to.’
‘Yes—of course. Thank you for coming.’ She watched him leave the house before remembering there was something of importance she wanted to say to him. Quickly she went after him, halting him in his stride as he strode towards his carriage. ‘Please, Lord Ashurst, wait. There is something I have to tell you. It may be important, it may not, but I think you should know.’
Pausing, he turned and looked at her, waiting for her to speak.
‘It’s about the Indian gentleman I saw at the inn on our journey here. He was in Ashurst two days ago.’
William froze. He felt nausea strike within him and a sudden grinding pain behind his eyes. ‘How do you know this?’
‘I saw him. I was with Clarissa. He was tall and thin with a hook nose. I also noticed that one of his teeth at the front was gold. There was another Indian gentleman with him, very similar in looks, but not quite as tall.’ As he listened she observed his reaction, saw his jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle began to throb in his cheek.
‘I see,’ he retorted tightly.
‘You—know who they are?’ she queried tentatively, curious as to their identity and their connection to Lord Ashurst and the woman and boy she had seen at the inn.
He nodded. ‘I do.’ He felt as if he had stepped into his worst nightmare. Kamal Kapoor had a gold tooth.
‘Who are these men?’ she ventured to ask.
His eyes narrowed to dark blue shards. Unable to quell the cauldron of emotions that were seething inside him, his fury escaped him. It vibrated around her. ‘Believe me, Miss Ingram, you don’t want to know.’
His reply was brusque, warning Rosa to pry no further, but she was curious as to the bitterness her question had evoked. ‘Of course not. I understand. It is none of my business—which is what one of the men said to me.’
There was a steely strength to him as he gave her a slow, studied glance. ‘They spoke to you?’
‘Yes. One of them recognised me.’ She looked at him directly. ‘He told me not to interfere in what they do. Tell me, Lord Ashurst—am I in danger?’
‘No. You have no need to feel threatened by them. It’s me they are interested in—and the child,’ he said in a controlled voice, while inside he was seething with rage, knowing Anisha’s assassins—her brother Kamal Kapoor and his cohort—had followed him to Ashurst. ‘Don’t let it concern you, but should you see them again I would appreciate being told.’
On that note William left her, knowing there was nothing he could do about the two men unless he was prepared to commit murder. His temper, a true Barrington temper, was never a wise thing to stir. Right now, he was prowling, a hungry wolf seeking blood. If anyone harmed Dhanu, that equated to an act of aggression against him and the experienced soldier beneath the veneer of an elegant gentleman reacted and responded appropriately.
He asked himself why a man could kill his fellow man in battle and why a man could be shot or hanged for a crime he has committed, yet he was not permitted to kill a man who was intent on murdering Dhanu.
The early-morning mist had lifted and the day was crystal clear as William rode up the valley, his mount’s hooves striking sharp against the rocks.
Although the estate employed a very efficient bailiff, William considered running the estate a full-time occupation, and the concerns of his tenant farmers were his own concerns. He rode out to make himself known to his tenants and their families and inspected properties and land. He talked to them in depth and made mental notes of their needs—which were many. No doubt some of his fellow landed aristocrats considered his work habits most eccentric, but he didn’t care a jot. The welfare of his farmers was most important to him and he hadn’t realised what dire straits they were in. Unable to make a decent living from the land and their livestock, some of them were considering coming out of their farms. In all conscience he could not let that happen. Something must be done and it was up to him entirely.
But on this particular morning he felt at ease and at peace among the gently rolling hills and valleys that lay all about him. Why this should be so was a mystery to him since his situation was more serious than he had realised when he had come to Berkshire. The last few months had been full of anxiety, tension and infuriating frustration for him and finding out the extent of the debts had driven him almost to breaking point. His lawyer had informed him that time was running out. Only yesterday he had sat at his desk looking with despair at the list of debts that far exceeded what he had imagined. It had sent a chill through his heart.
In the past, under the diligent care of previous earls, Ashurst Park and all its land and properties had prospered. With the death of his cousin and the troubles, it was as if the life and soul had gone out of the place. Everyone connected to it knew there were dark days ahead. He could not rest until the money that was owed was paid back. It was not right that his family’s bad luck should impact on the livelihood of others. If he couldn’t find his way out of the financial mess within the next two weeks, with creditors coming at him from all directions, there would be nothing for it but to sell the estate.
Knowing there was no time to go heiress hunting and loath to leave Dhanu at Ashurst Park too long because of the dangers the two men posed to his safety, William’s thoughts turned to Rosa Ingram and the proposal she had made to him. Women had been drawn to him since he was a youth, but he had never left himself vulnerable, as he was now. The thought that he would marry her to secure his estate was acutely distasteful to him.
In truth he didn’t want to dwell on the threat she posed to his carefully held feelings and emotions. But she had offered him a solution to his situation that could prove useful to him. And though furious at not having the upper hand, he was considering trading his aristocratic lineage for the sake of his future security and Miss Ingram’s money—a commonly accepted practice, but it made him feel less of a man.
Halting his horse on the wooded hill overlooking Ashurst Park and the lake, he gazed about him. Crushed by all the unsupportable issues he was involved with, he had taken to coming to the tranquil and everlasting peaceful countryside to gain relief from the empty stillness, which was quite profound. The durability all around him gave him hope for the future.
Rosa loved to ride in the early morning. As soon as breakfast was over, eager to get out of the house and away from the sombre funereal atmosphere that clung to it, she made her way to the stables. Clarissa didn’t join her, preferring to stay and help Margaret and Dilys sort through their grandmother’s possessions and put them into storage, but she stressed that Rosa should be accompanied by one of the stable hands. To placate her, Rosa agreed.
In no time a horse was saddled and she was cantering out of the yard, Thomas, the stable boy, hard pressed to keep up. The air was warm and heavy with a fragrance of the trees and undergrowth. She halted her horse on a rise, beneath some giant elms that cast a web of shadows around her. Below her the lake was bathed in bright sunlight, a shimmering, radiant expanse of water. She sighed. It was perfect. She felt dazed with the colours and the sunlight and the beauty of it all. The water beckoned. What a pity she was unable to bathe.
To the left of her a ribbon of water cascaded over stone steps carved out of the hillside. A splendid baroque temple stood at the top. The water tumbled into a deep pool spanned by the three-arched stone bridge before flowing into the wider body of the lake. To the right the house was perfect in its setting. With its surrounding gardens and fronted by the lake, it seemed to be slumbering in a golden peacefulness.
Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes. Ashurst Park had a timeless quality. Nothing mattered. Nothing existed but the moment.
It left her totally unprepared for what was about to unfold. Seeing a flash of bright blue on the bridge, she watched as it took form. It was the Indian child, out walking with his Indian nurse and a maid. Unconcerned, she continued to watch, the boy’s happy laughter reaching her. She saw him point to the temple above, and before the nurse could take his hand he scampered off, the nurse, hampered by her skirts, shouting for him to come back as she ran after him. Fear began to unfurl in the pit of Rosa’s stomach. She saw the child leave the bridge and run round the pool at the bottom of the cascade to begin to climb the slope beside the tumbling water and move closer to danger.
Alarm shot through her and, calling to Thomas to follow her, she urged her horse on. On reaching the bridge she flung herself off her mount and looked up the slope, hoping to see the boy. There was no sight of him, only the nurse and maid scrambling up the grassy slope. Then she saw a flash of bright blue in the fast-flowing cascade, carrying the boy down and into the pool. Without thought she hurriedly unfastened her boots and kicked them off her feet before throwing off her hat and removing her jacket and the skirt she wore over her breeches, knowing the heaviness of the thick fabric would drag her down. Over the parapet she saw the boy gasping for breath and flailing and floundering about wildly, before disappearing beneath the water.
Scrambling down the steep bank, filling her lungs with air, Rosa dived into the water, trying not to think of the unimaginable depths beneath her. After bobbing up to the surface once more, terror and panic on his little face, the child was dragged down once more.
Upon seeing a horse and rider emerge from the trees further along the hill from where he was and go tearing down towards the lake, another rider following in her wake, William also saw Dhanu climbing up beside the cascade of fiercely tumbling water. Fully alert to the fact that he was liable to fall in, William touched his heels to the stallion’s flanks, sending him forward. He now knew that the rider who had reached the bridge before him was Rosa Ingram. A strange mixture of fear and relief swept over him. Reaching the bridge, he threw himself out of the saddle at the same moment she disappeared from his sight beneath the dark swirling, frothing water.
As he watched, his expression turned rock hard as a suspended memory broke free and he recalled his lawyer informing him of his cousin’s suicide and the manner of it—of how Charles had ended his life in this place.
‘Oh, my God!’ he whispered. ‘You little fool! You brave, courageous little fool!’
His breath left his body and immediately he vaulted over the end of the bridge and slithered down the bank, more frightened than he’d ever been in his life. In the space of a split second, fear consumed him, fear that both Rosa Ingram and Dhanu would perish in the same pool of water.
Rosa went down into the endless darkness. The seconds seemed limitless as she felt around for the boy, but she couldn’t see a thing. She came up for more air before disappearing beneath the water once more, hampered by the water swirling around her from the tumbling cascade pushing her down. From somewhere a long way off she could hear her name being called above the roaring in her ears. Unable to breathe, she felt as though her lungs would burst. And then her hands touched an arm and then a small body. Holding on to him, she kicked strongly and they were rising once more, the bright light coming closer, larger, until she burst through its centre and felt the warm sun on her face once more, before being thrust back by the raft of water and hitting her head on the rocks at the bottom of the cascade.
Momentarily stunned, a red haze began to cloud her vision and for a moment she almost lost her hold on the boy. Somehow she managed to hold on to him and when he coughed and spluttered and wriggled against her, her heart swelled and she offered up a prayer of thankfulness. Despite the dizziness inside her head, clutching the small body tightly to her with one arm, she swam desperately towards the bank. Someone was kneeling and holding out a hand and shouting for her to take it.
‘Take the boy first,’ she gasped, having recognised the voice as belonging to Lord Ashurst.
William reached out and took the boy from her, passing him to his nurse before turning his attention to Rosa.
Knowing that the boy was safe, with an ache in her head and the red haze increasing before her eyes, Rosa felt her consciousness begin to recede and a calmness begin to descend on her. Just when she thought she was lost and about to sink beneath the surface of the water once more, strong hands grasped her arms in a paralysing grip.
‘Hold on to me,’ William ordered. ‘We’ll soon have you out.’
Instinctively Rosa obeyed, unable to do anything else as with much slipping and sliding he hoisted her out of the water with what seemed to be superhuman strength. She collapsed, gasping and helpless, onto the grass at his feet, where she lay with her eyes closed, her chest heaving for breath.
‘You’re safe now,’ she heard Lord Ashurst say, but she couldn’t move. Everything seemed so far away and her body felt like lead. The pain in her head, which had momentarily disappeared, returned to torment her with a savage vengeance. When she was able to breathe more easily, her eyes fluttered open to see Lord Ashurst’s darkly handsome face. He was kneeling beside her. His light blue eyes were clear and shone as bright as jewels. Black brows were puckered together in frowning concern.
‘My—my head,’ she managed to whisper. ‘I seem to have bumped my head.’
‘I can see that,’ he murmured, wiping back the veil of wet hair from her pale face and looking down at her in silent contemplation, ‘but you’ll be all right. You’re out of danger. You little fool—jumping in like that. You could have drowned.’
‘No, I wouldn’t. I can swim. Living on an island surrounded by sea, I had every opportunity to learn.’ She wondered what he would say if he knew she often swam naked in the clear blue Caribbean Sea, her hair floating free. ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you. I only went in to retrieve the boy. I wasn’t in any danger until I hit my head on a rock.’
William believed her. He had watched her swim beneath the surface of the water, her figure moving swiftly as if she had been born there. Taking her face gently between his lean fingers, William turned it to one side, brushing back tangles of her hair to reveal a small gash just above her ear, from which a thin trickle of blood oozed. He smiled down at her, making an instant appraisal of the rest of her. Sheathed in her clothes clinging to her body, her blouse moulding the curve of her soft breasts and her legs encased in tight cream-coloured breeches, she was as slender as a wand.
‘The wound is superficial and I don’t think any permanent damage has been done—but no doubt your head will ache for a while.’
‘The boy? Is he conscious?’
‘Yes. Thank the Lord you got here in time—and that you can swim. I, too, was out riding. I saw Dhanu on the bridge and rode hell for leather to get to him. You beat me to it.’
‘I really thought he was going to drown. With the amount of water pouring into the pool from above, I knew the current would drag him down. I was up on the hill overlooking the lake when I saw him.’
Rosa struggled up from her dazed trauma to prop herself up on her elbows, glancing towards the boy, who was weeping and trembling in his nurse’s arms. Deeply affected by the boy’s ordeal and her own distraction which had allowed him to wander off, the woman sobbed over him, clutching so desperately at him that she was in danger of smothering him.
‘Poor woman. She tried so hard to reach him when he ran from her.’
‘I saw,’ William said, glancing at the nurse who was visibly distressed.
Her voice was becoming very high pitched as she said over and over, ‘You are safe, little one, you are safe now. Never run away from me again.’ The ragged note of relief was apparent as she pressed her cheek against his hair, offering strength and comfort to the trembling child.
‘We have got him back to the house. Mishka is very good with him but he is a boisterous child. He is watched all the time.’
‘Why? Why does he have to be watched?’
‘It’s no matter,’ he said quickly. ‘Do you feel that you can stand? We’ll get you back to the house where you can be tended to.’
‘No—I mean, no, thank you. I’ll be all right to ride home.’
‘I won’t hear of it. I see you have a groom with you. I’ll send him to your house for a change of clothes. He can take your horse with him. When you are ready I’ll have you sent home in the carriage. Now, let’s get you onto your feet.’
Knowing it was useless to argue, taking his hand she allowed him to pull her to her feet.
In silence, William looked down into her upturned face. ‘You did well just now. Dhanu owes you his life and I owe you my unending gratitude. The lake can be hazardous. Even when the water looks calm there are eddies there. It’s treacherous where the water enters the pool.’ His eyes narrowed on hers and his expression softened. ‘You’re not afraid of anything, are you?’
‘I’m not afraid of water,’ she told him blithely. She was deeply touched by how alarmed he’d seemed. His voice had been hoarse with concern when he’d pulled her from the water, his face ravaged with worry as he had called her a little fool.
‘I’m glad,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t want you to be.’ He looked down at her dripping clothes, trying to ignore how delectable she looked at that moment. ‘Come. You must get out of those clothes and into dry ones before you catch a chill.’
After instructing Thomas to return to Fountains Lodge with her horse and inform Clarissa of what had happened and to have a change of clothes sent to Ashurst Park, it was a sorry, bedraggled little group who made their way at a steady pace to the house, the child, now quiet, walking slowly beside Mishka.