Grant found Adeline sitting on a stout fallen log at the edge of the wood, some considerable distance from the house. She didn’t turn when he approached but, seeing her back stiffen, he knew she was aware of his presence. Shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, he propped his back against a tree, his narrow gaze trained on her. Having half expected to find her in a distressed state, he was surprised to find her looking unruffled and as cool as a cucumber.
Adeline saw Grant was wearing the same grim expression she had seen when she had left the house. He looked strained with the intensity of his emotions, but slowly, little by little, he was getting a grip on himself. His shoulders were squared, his jaw set and rigid with implacable determination, and even in this pensive pose he seemed to emanate restrained power and unyielding authority. There was no sign of the relaxed, laughing man she had ridden with earlier—no sign of the passionate man who had kissed her so ardently last night.
Where he was concerned her feelings were nebulous, chaotic—yet one stood out clearly: her desire for this man. She hadn’t known herself when she had been in his arms, and last night she hadn’t wanted him to stop kissing her. He was weaving a web about her and she could do nothing to prevent it, to deny the hold he already had over her senses and her heart. She wanted him with a fierceness that took her breath, wanted to feel again the depths of passion only he was capable of rousing in her. But she was determined not to let him touch her again.
While she had been sitting there thinking, a strange calm had settled on her, banishing even her shame. She had left Grant to argue it out with her father, and whatever decision they had come to she was resolved to do things her way from now on. It was her life, to do with as she pleased, and no man would order her to do his bidding ever again.
Raising her brows, she gave him a cynical smile. ‘What a strange turnabout this is,’ she said, in a flat, emotionless voice, giving no evidence of how the mere sight of him set her heart pounding in her chest, how the thought of never seeing him again almost broke her heart. ‘Don’t you agree?’
‘I have to admit they’re not the most romantic of circumstances.’
‘No.’ She let her eyes dwell on his face. How well he shielded his thoughts. ‘I expect you are feeling a bit like a rabbit caught in a trap.’
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that.’ Grant lifted one hand and massaged the taut muscles at the back of his neck. His mind was locked in furious combat about what he was about to do. All the way here he had been straining against the noose of matrimony he could feel tightening about his throat. What had possessed him to announce that he’d asked Adeline to marry him? Now that he had, he was honour-bound to abide by his declaration, and there was no going back. ‘Your father certainly knows how to make a man feel small.’
‘I thought he only did that to women.’ Adeline knew Grant would surmise that she was so weak and malleable that she would gratefully accept anything he had to suggest, but she was determined to have some control over this. ‘Thank you, by the way. It was chivalrous of you to say what you did.’
‘I wasn’t being chivalrous.’
‘Nevertheless, I didn’t ask you to. In the view of conventional morality the loss of my virtue can only mark my downfall.’
He was frowning. ‘I take full responsibility for all of this.’
‘Why? You weren’t the one I was engaged to, and nor were you having an affair with Diana Waverley—well, you might have been, but that is beside the point and has absolutely nothing to do with me.’
‘Diana and I might have married once,’ he told her tersely, ‘but she married someone else instead.’
‘And now?’
‘Now we’re—friends—of a peculiar kind.’
Adeline tilted her head to one side and looked at him. Not for the first time did she wonder what their bitter argument had been about when he had stormed out on Diana at Westwood Hall. ‘By “peculiar” do you mean that now she is a widow she would like to be Mrs Leighton?’ The look he threw her told her this was exactly as it was. ‘And that is not what you want?’
‘No,’ he gritted. ‘I don’t give second chances.’ Grant looked at her coolly.
‘And how do you feel about her affair with Paul?’
‘I don’t feel anything. It won’t last. Diana soon tires of her lovers. But enough of her. It’s you and me we have to worry about.’
Adeline raised her eyebrows in question. ‘You and me?’
‘You have no need to worry about your future. It will be taken care of.’
‘Really?’ Adeline was quietly infuriated. It was as if she had no say in the matter. ‘Grant,’ she said, laughing lightly, ‘you’re not telling me that when you told my father you’d asked me to marry you that you actually meant it?’
‘I never say anything I don’t mean—and your father insists on it.’
Adeline felt an uneasy disquiet settling in. She could not believe what Grant was saying. He looked and sounded so cold, so dispassionate. ‘Does he, indeed?’
‘He has decided that our engagement will be announced when this unpleasantness has died down. We will be married following a decent interval of time.’
‘That’s a bit extreme.’ She gave him a quizzical look. ‘I’m sorry, but I seem to have missed something. I don’t recall you asking me to marry you, Grant.’
‘That’s because I haven’t.’
Adeline’s expression dared him to attempt control of herself. ‘Now, why do I feel this has happened to me before?’ she retorted, her voice heavy with sarcasm.
‘I apologise if that’s how it seems to you. My only regret is that it was my intoxication which led to this.’
‘And you are one of those men who has to do something noble in life?’
‘It’s not noble. We have no choice. You must see that.’
‘No, as a matter of fact I don’t.’
‘Well, we haven’t. I took that away when I announced to the world that I had asked you to be my wife.’
‘And I recall you saying I had not given you my answer. I simply cannot believe that you want to marry me—a woman you hardly know, a woman you have no personal regard or respect for.’
Shoving himself away from the tree and running an impatient hand through his dark hair, Grant began pacing to and fro in frustration. ‘How can you know that?’
‘Because last night you accused me of being little better than a harlot,’ she reminded him coldly.
He stopped and looked at her, his expression one of contrition. ‘I’m sorry if I implied that. But that was last night.’
‘And nothing has changed. To my mind all this talk about marriage and doing the honourable thing is wholly unnecessary. You are under no obligation to marry me.’
He stopped pacing and glared at her. ‘Dear God! I appreciate the wrong I have done you, and that compounds my obligation to marry you.’
No longer able to contain her temper, Adeline shot to her feet in angry indignation, her hands clenched by her sides. ‘And you assume in your arrogance that I am so pathetic, so desperate for a husband now Paul and I are no longer engaged, that I will accept you—me, plain, serious Adeline Osborne, who by all rights, as Paul so cruelly pointed out, should remain a spinster because no man unless he were blind would want me.’
‘I think you undervalue yourself.’
‘Perhaps you’re right. But what a weak-willed idiot I must seem to you. Despite all my diligent efforts throughout my life to be the model of propriety, I let a total stranger—a handsome, inebriated stranger—make wonderful love to me—a man who wouldn’t have given me a second glance had he been sober.’
‘Now you insult me. I am ashamed of what I did to you. I can’t blame you if you hate me for it completely, but it cannot be nearly as much as I hate myself.’ This was true. Grant did despise himself for what he’d done to her—and the mess she was in because of it—and for the unprecedented weakness that made him want to repeat the act. ‘Damnation, Adeline, can’t you see that I’m trying to do the right thing by you?’
Fury flared in Adeline’s eyes. ‘How dare you say that to me? Don’t you dare pity me, Grant Leighton.’
‘I don’t pity you. That’s the last thing I feel. But you must realise that because of this, and what Paul might disclose, you will become the subject of gossip, your reputation in ruins.’
‘And marrying you will shift the sentiment, I suppose, and find general favour?’ she mocked. ‘Given an interval of time I shall produce an heir for Oaklands and cause no further scandal—which will in turn bring redemption through association, all my transgressions forgotten.’
‘Something like that.’
Adeline drew back her shoulders and lifted her head, the action saying quite clearly that she knew her own mind. ‘Do you know, Grant, I don’t care a fig about any of that? What people think of me no longer matters. I’ve got a broad back. I can endure the slights and slurs. Besides, I certainly don’t see a husband as the solution to my problems. You’re not required to marry me. If I agree to this mockery of a marriage you will hate me for ever and I will be miserable for my entire life—as I would have been if I had married Paul—and no doubt longing for release in an early grave.’
‘Now you exaggerate.’ His biting tone carried anger and frustration.
‘I don’t think so,’ Adeline bit back. ‘My reputation is already besmirched, I agree—but do you know I don’t feel guilty or ruined? Yes, the future is an uncharted path, and will possibly be filled with censure, but for the first time in my life I feel completely at peace. When you came to my bed I knew what I wanted and I took it. If I don’t marry you nothing will change—at least not immediately. But given time any scandal will be forgotten.’
When realisation of what she was saying dawned on him, Grant stared at her in disbelief. ‘Are you saying you don’t want to marry me?’
‘Yes. I don’t want to be any man’s wife.’
Placing his hands on his hips, towering over her, he glared down into her defiant face. ‘You might at least show some gratitude. You are behaving as though I’ve suggested we commit murder. I’m offering to deliver you from a barren future—a way out—an answer to your dilemma.’
‘How do you know I want one? You did a noble thing by offering, but it was spur-of-the-moment—a moment of madness—an absurd compulsion. Once said, you couldn’t in all honour retract it, but I have no intention of holding you to it.’
The corner of his mouth twisted wryly in a gesture that was not quite a smile. ‘No? I’m surprised.’
‘Why? Because I melted in your arms like the naïve and silly woman that I am?’ She smiled. ‘You are persuasive, I grant you that, but I don’t know you and I don’t trust you.’
‘But you do want me,’ he said, with a knowing light glinting in his eyes.
‘That’s beside the point, and has nothing to do with marriage. Men are the cause of my troubles—my father, Paul, and now you. As far as I am concerned men make excellent dancing partners, but beyond that are no use at all to me. In fact, the more I think about them the more depressed I become.’
‘Now you’re beginning to sound like Lettie.’
‘If I am then I consider it a compliment. Your sister talks a great deal of sense.’ She moved close to him, and suddenly he seemed enormous, his powerful body emanating heat, reminding her of what could be hers if she complied to his will and that of her father. But she would not back down. Meeting his gaze directly, she said, ‘Let’s stop all this nonsense, shall we? Be honest about it, Grant. You don’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry you.’
With his face only inches from hers, his eyes boring ruthlessly into hers, he ground out, ‘You’re absolutely right. I don’t.’
‘And you agree that the whole idea is absolutely ludicrous?’
‘Right.’
‘I’ve decided that I’d make an exceedingly poor wife, and on reaching that conclusion I consider it wise to avoid that particular state of affairs. That is my final resolve.’
Her rejection of his proposal put her beyond his tolerance, and his voice took on a deadly finality. ‘That’s extremely wise of you. I’d make an exceedingly bad husband.’
‘Good. I am glad we are in agreement. Then it’s settled. We won’t marry. Your duty, obligation to me—call it what you like—is now discharged.’ Stepping away from him, she raised her head haughtily. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, I will go and tell my father.’
Grant stared after her, feeling bewildered, misused, furious with himself and with her, and seriously insulted—for what man who had just offered a respectable marriage proposal expected to be rejected? What was he to do? He supposed it had been rather arrogant of him to assume she would fall in with his plans—and her father’s—but damn it all, he was asking her to be his wife—a position he had never offered to any other woman. So it wasn’t conceited of him to expect her to accept. Was it?
In his anger he had tried to blame her for what had transpired at Westwood Hall. He shouldn’t have. She was proud, courageous and innocent. He knew damned well she wasn’t promiscuous, shameless or wanton, but he had implied that she was and then treated her as if she was, and she had endured it and let him kiss her again.
Furious self-disgust poured through him. Bullied by her father, taken for granted, treated as less than a second-class citizen by Paul Marlow, and then told that she would have to marry him, Grant, little wonder she’d had enough of men and wanted her independence.
But none of this lessened the fury that ran in his veins. By making their sordid night of passion common knowledge and then turning down his offer of marriage she had humiliated and shamed him voluntarily, and no one did that. He hoped that when she left Oaklands on the morrow he would never have to set eyes on her again.
With courage and determination, Adeline sought her father out in his room. When his voice barked out for her to enter, she set her teeth on edge, inwardly trembling but outwardly calm, and entered his presence. She knew that he would have plenty to say when she told him she would not marry Grant Leighton, and she was not disappointed. He broke out into such a fury of anger that Adeline thought he might actually strike her.
What had possessed her to behave so wantonly? Had she no morals, no grain of sense or the slightest feeling of gratitude for all he had done for her? And if Adeline thought she had heard the last of it, she was very much mistaken.
And so he ranted on.
Adeline merely stood and felt the fierce scolding beat her like a stick. And yet, despite her wretchedness, she could not help noticing his own suffering at knowing all he had hoped for for his only daughter had crumbled into dust. Curiously enough, Adeline felt sorry for him, and with some degree of self-control she was able to apologise. She begged him to forgive her, and to try to understand why she could not marry either Paul or Grant. She had behaved extremely foolishly, and would never again be so selfish as to forget all he had done for her.
Her sincerity was as evident as her determination to stand firm on her decision. When her father realised this and spoke to her, at last his voice had lost its anger. On a sigh, his shoulders slumped with dejection, he told her that they would leave Oaklands for Rosehill as planned the following morning, where they would discover how seriously this unfortunate incident would affect her future.
Later, when Adeline was preparing for dinner, she sat in front of the mirror and looked at the image staring back as if she were seeing herself for the first time. When she had left her father, for the first time in her life she had begun to feel alive—but when she stared at the face looking back at her now, she knew she was in danger of losing her fragile newfound courage.
Attired in a plain beige dress, which seemed to drain the colour from her face, expensive though it was, never had she felt so drab. It did absolutely nothing for her. The fashion was for pastel silks offset by contrasting ribbons, beading, fringing, tassels and lace, in a style of gown that gave more emphasis to the back of the flat-fronted skirt, with complex drapery over a bustle trimmed with pleats and flounces.
As she surveyed her reflection she was far from satisfied with what she saw. On a sigh, she turned away.
Answering a knock on the door, her maid Emma opened it to admit Lettie, who breezed in and swept across the carpet to where Adeline was sitting. She perched on the end of the dressing table.
‘Ooh, why the frown, Adeline? Why so pensive? Do you not like your gown?’
‘Since you ask, no, I do not. But it’s one of my best.’
Lettie was wearing a forget-me-not-blue taffeta with trailing skirts, and she looked radiant. ‘You, Adeline Osborne, need taking in hand very seriously.’
‘I do?’
‘Most definitely. A visit to the dressmaker is what I advise—and someone to arrange your hair into a more flattering style.’
Adeline had the miserable notion that Lettie was right. She cast a surreptitious glance at the fashionable woman. Did she dare ask for guidance from her? Yes, she did—and she was willing to listen to any suggestions that would improve her looks.
Reading Adeline’s mind, Lettie laughed softly. There was an ease in their communication, as if their friendship were natural. ‘I will look forward to accompanying you to the shops, if you like. You must come and stay with me in London. I should love it if you could. You would be such good company for me, and I could introduce you to all my friends—when we’re not visiting the fashion shops.’
‘And I always thought feminists dressed in practical, unadorned clothes. You certainly don’t look like a Suffragette.’ This was true, and it was a conflict these women faced between the desire to be feminine in appearance and decrying what this entailed.
‘I always try to make the best of myself, and I see no point in denying the side of my nature which adores finery. I enjoy wearing glamorous clothes, and refuse to be ashamed of the feeling—nor to agree that wearing nice clothes is only to please men. Not for one minute would I think of donning any kind of feminist version of sackcloth and ashes just to resemble a caricature of what a feminist is supposed to look like.’
‘And do people take you seriously—looking as attractive as you do?’
‘Some don’t—especially people in authority. I confess that to look attractive is both a weapon—which I use to excess when necessary—and a hindrance. To be feminine is to be thought frivolous and empty-headed, and in my case,’ she said, her eyes dancing with mischief, ‘more than possibly wicked.’
‘I suppose if I wanted to make a mark at all it would not be for my beauty but my individuality.’
Lettie’s expression became serious. ‘There’s no reason why you can’t have both, Adeline. But, you know, beauty isn’t everything.’
Adeline smiled ruefully. ‘Beautiful women always say that.’
‘But you are a very attractive woman—Grant must think so, too, considering the intimacies you’ve shared. If there’s one thing Grant’s not, it’s blind.’
‘But we’re not—I mean…’ Adeline hesitated, knowing she was blushing to the roots of her hair and wondering who could have told Lettie. She didn’t know how to say this. ‘We—we aren’t sharing a bed,’ she managed to whisper, thankful that Emma had disappeared into the dressing room.
Lettie frowned in puzzlement. ‘But when I spoke to Paul as he was leaving—and he was most irate, I must say—he accused you of doing just that. And when he told me that Grant had asked you to marry him—well, I assumed you were—conducting an affair, I mean.’
‘Well, we’re not.’
‘Adeline, I’m not trying to pry, but I know there must be more to this than meets the eye.’
‘Oh, Lettie, I just don’t know what’s going on.’ Adeline briefly described the circumstances of her involvement with Grant, omitting—for her pride’s sake and Grant’s—the fact that Grant had been blind drunk at the time.
At the end of the tale Lettie stared at her with a combination of mirth and wonder. ‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s too delicious for words. The two of you—and under Diana Waverley’s roof at that. How intriguing. And are you going to marry Grant?’
‘No, I’m not going to marry him, Lettie. It was a mistake. We both agree about that. And what he said about having asked me wasn’t true. He thought he was doing the honourable thing, that’s all.’
‘Knowing my brother, he will be filled with remorse for what he did while you were engaged to Paul.’
‘He did ask me—after he said what he did in the conservatory—but I said no. I told him my future from now on is my own affair.’
‘I see. Loss of respectability can be unexpectedly liberating, you know—although I’m sorry to hear you turned Grant down. I would love to have you as a sister-in-law. But if you’re not in love with him then you did right to refuse him.’ Glancing at her obliquely, she said, ‘You’re not in love with him, are you, Adeline?’
Adeline’s flush deepened and she averted her eyes. ‘No, of course I’m not.’
Lettie wasn’t at all convinced by her statement. ‘But you can’t admit to a supreme indifference to him, can you?’ she persisted. ‘It’s written all over your face.’
‘Am I really so transparent?’
Lettie smiled with gentle understanding. ‘I’m afraid you are.’
‘I only hope this unpleasant business soon blows over. The last thing I wanted was to involve your brother in my break up with Paul. The gossip will be dreadful.’
Lettie gave her a mocking sideways glance. ‘Grant won’t care two hoots about that. What he will care about is having his offer of marriage turned down. As far as I am aware he has only ever proposed marriage once before, and when the lady married someone else he vowed he would never again offer marriage to any woman.’
‘Was the woman Diana Waverley?’
Lettie nodded. ‘Grant was deeply affected by it. Hardening his heart, he became cold and distant, killing whatever feelings he had for her. He cut her out of his life without a backward glance—until Lord Patrick Waverley, Diana’s husband, died. After that Grant began seeing her again, but he’ll never marry her. Diana burnt her bridges when she rejected Grant for a title. He never gives anyone a second chance.’
Adeline recalled Grant saying the same thing to her. ‘She must have hurt him very badly.’
‘She did—although I think his pride was hurt the most. And, knowing my brother like I do, this latest will have left him seething. Grant is quite awesome when his anger is roused.’
‘Then I shall endeavour to stay out of his way until it’s time for us to leave. After that I doubt we shall see each other again.’
‘Men can be difficult enough without marrying them—and you must remember that no one can force you to marry Paul, Grant or any other man, come to that. Even the smallest steps in a woman’s life are guided by and controlled by the men around her—father, brother and husband—who think women should be passive and inactive except in matters concerning the home.’
Adeline liked Lettie enormously, but she doubted she would ever get used to her candid way of speaking.
‘I can see I shock you. I am a feminist, but I am also a realist. I like having my independence—I also like having a good time. For myself, I want everything: career, husband, or lover—’ her eyes twinkled ‘—which is so much more exciting—and children. My husband must back everything I do, and believe my work to be as important as his.’
‘And do you have a gentleman in mind?’
‘I do have someone—but I will never marry him.’ Sadness clouded Lettie’s eyes and she turned her head away, but too late to hide it from Adeline. ‘I do not see marriage as an element in a love affair. But we’re madly happy, of course.’ She laughed—rather forced, Adeline thought—and, getting up, went to the door. ‘I’ll see you downstairs.’
As she went in search of her mother, Lettie considered her conversation with Adeline. Although she had told her that her future from now on was her own affair, Lettie thought that perhaps she could make it her affair as well. She knew her brother to be a man of passionate feeling, despite his outward demeanour. Having seen the way he had looked at Adeline in the stableyard, and the unconcealed admiration in his eyes when he had watched her ride hell for leather across the park, she just knew he was attracted to her.
And Adeline had confessed she had feelings for Grant. She was also a young woman who’d had the temerity to stand up to him. That boded well for the future. How wonderful it would be if they could be brought together. She was sure they would make each other happy.
Ten minutes after Adeline had left him—in high dudgeon and frowning like thunder—knowing how concerned his mother would be by Paul’s sudden departure, Grant found her in a small sitting room, away from the guests.
As soon as Grant entered she arose, her face strained with anxiety. She studied her son for a moment, noting his narrowed eyes and the grim set of his mouth. Even to her, it was a little intimidating.
‘Horace has informed me of all that has transpired, Grant. You cannot mean to go through with this? Surely not?’ she said without ceremony.
‘You will be relieved to know Miss Osborne has turned me down,’ he informed her brusquely, pacing up and down in agitation.
‘Oh, I see.’
‘But I should tell you that if she hadn’t, I intended to marry her.’
‘But why?’ Hester demanded. ‘You hardly know the girl—unless what Horace says is true and the two of you have been conducting an affair.’
Grant had the grace to look contrite. ‘Not an affair, exactly.’
‘But the two of you were involved in a relationship of—an intimate nature?’
‘Yes.’
‘While she was engaged to Paul Marlow?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, dear!’ Sitting back down, she folded her hands in her lap. ‘Then perhaps you ought to marry her.’
‘I’ve told you, she won’t have me.’
Hester seemed to find his dry comment amusing. Grant sounded outraged—baffled, too—without any comprehension as to why Adeline had turned him down. ‘I can scarce believe it.’
‘Believe it, Mother. It’s true.’
‘Why did you offer to marry her?’
‘Because I felt sorry for her,’ Grant replied with brutal frankness. ‘And, like it or not, I’m also responsible for what has happened. It’s as simple as that.’
Hester frowned. ‘If what I’ve heard is correct, isn’t Paul Marlow equally to blame? Has he or has he not been conducting an affair with Diana Waverley? Your—mistress, I believe, Grant?’ she said, her eyebrows raised with knowing humour.
‘Yes,’ he said, trying to keep his voice calm, while irritated that his mother seemed to take some quiet delight in reminding him of something he preferred not to think about just then.
‘How extraordinary.’ Hester smiled. ‘You do seem to be quite put out. Although I fail to understand why you should be if, as you say, you only asked her because you felt sorry for her. You should be relieved.’
Grant was clearly not amused. ‘I am. Immensely.’
‘In which case there is nothing else to be said on the matter, as I see it, so there is no point in beating yourself up about it.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Paul and Adeline are responsible for the break-up of their engagement, and if Adeline doesn’t want to marry you then so be it. Although I have to say there is something about that young lady that I like. She seems such a serene, steady sort of person.’
‘Appearances aren’t always what they seem.’
‘No—well, where Adeline is concerned you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?’ Hester said, giving him a meaningful glance. ‘I really can’t imagine why she refused you…’ She paused, and her eyes narrowed on Grant. ‘Did you ask her, Grant, or tell her? Which—however much I have come to like Horace—is what he would do. Is that how it was? No doubt that is the reason why she stuck her toes in—so to speak.’ She laughed lightly. ‘Good for her is what I say.’
Grant frowned. He found his mother’s amusement at his expense irritating. ‘I can see you’re enjoying this, but you are supposed to be on my side.’
‘I’m on no one’s side, Grant, but I’m beginning to admire Adeline more and more. She is a young woman who deserves to be courted. You cannot expect her to obey an order to marry you—which is what she must have done when she became engaged to Paul Marlow.’ Lowering her eyes, she said, ‘At least Horace seems to have taken it in his stride.’
‘When I left him he was reconciled to Adeline’s change of husband. How he’ll react when she tells him she doesn’t intend marrying either of us, I have no idea.’
As if the incident in the conservatory had never happened, dinner was a relaxed, convivial affair. Grant fulfilled his role as host with careless elegance, but beneath the polite façade, as Lettie had predicted earlier, he was seething. Adeline’s refusal to marry him, when he’d made the gesture against his will and to make things easy for her, had placed her beyond recall.
Later, when she was leaving the drawing room to fetch her book from her room, Adeline watched in astonishment as her father led Mrs Leighton off in the direction of the conservatory. She suddenly realised they had spent a good deal of time together, and that a singular affection was growing between them—which she suspected might have something to do with why her father had decided not to cut their visit short. She saw his hand slide about Mrs Leighton’s waist, saw his head lean towards her upturned laughing face, and Adeline knew that what they felt for each other was in danger of becoming more than friendly regard.
Turning to her right, Adeline saw Grant standing not two yards away from her. He, too, was watching her father and his mother, his whole body tensed into a rigid line of wrath. When he looked at her she could almost feel the effort he was exerting to keep his rage under control.
Moving closer to her, he met her gaze coldly. ‘So that’s the way of things.’
‘And what do you mean by that?’
‘Your father and my mother appear to enjoy each other’s company. It has not escaped my notice that they spend a good deal of time together.’
‘And do you find something wrong with that? They are both adults. If anything were to develop, would you disapprove?’
‘It’s not for me to approve or disapprove—but there’s one thing I do know.’
‘And what is that?’
‘If my mother wants something really badly, she gets it.’
‘Not always. She didn’t get Rosehill.’
‘No?’ Grant looked at her and smiled a wry, conspiratorial smile. ‘Not yet, maybe. But it’s not too late.’
‘We shall see. After tomorrow Father and I will be on our way home—back to reality. You can forget all about us then.’
Grant’s eyes swept contemptuously over her. ‘I intend to. When you leave in the morning we will not see each other again,’ he said scathingly. ‘This unfortunate business is over. Done with. It should never have happened. The proposal was an insane idea, and I regret and curse ever having made it.’
‘Not nearly as much as I do.’
‘You have caused too much disruption to my life, and when you leave I don’t give a damn where you go or whose bed you occupy. You, Miss Osborne, have a highly refined sense of survival, and you’ll land on your feet wherever you go.’
Adeline felt as if he’d slapped her, but her wounded pride forced her chin up. ‘Yes, I will,’ she said with quiet dignity. ‘That is what I intend.’
Without bothering to excuse herself, turning from him, Adeline went up the stairs. Oh, damn you, Grant Leighton, she thought in helpless rage. I never want to see or think of you again. But she knew she would not be able to stop thinking of him. She had no power over her thoughts. She was trapped by her own nature. Tears gathered on her thick lashes and trembled without falling.
The following morning, when they were leaving and everyone was saying their farewells, displaying a calm she didn’t feel, Adeline searched Grant’s hard, sardonic face for some sign that he felt something, anything for her—that he might regret her leaving. But there was nothing. The awful feeling that there was nothing she could do beat her down into a misery too hopeless for tears.
Adeline had been back at Rosehill three weeks when a letter arrived from Lettie, informing her that she was in London, staying with Lord and Lady Stanfield at Stanfield House in Upper Belgrave Street, and that they had invited Adeline to come and stay with them. Adeline was delighted—it was just what she needed at this time, when she seemed to be at an impasse in her life.
Her father was none too pleased at the prospect of her gallivanting off to London. He had always demanded respect and subservience from her as his right as her father, but now, since leaving Oaklands, although there was still respect there was no subservience. Of course she was still piqued at discovering Paul had been carrying on with Lady Waverley. It was natural, he supposed, and therefore he must make allowances, but her own behaviour hadn’t been much better.
When he saw how determined she was to go to London he capitulated. Their relationship had been strained since their return to Rosehill, so perhaps it was for the best. However, he insisted that she stay at their own London home in Eaton Place, where Mrs Kelsall, the housekeeper, would be able to keep an eye on her. Horace spent a great deal of his time in London, so the house was always kept in a state of readiness.
He was acquainted with Lady Stanfield—a strong woman, who followed an exacting campaign of work for the Women’s Movement—and he was concerned that Adeline, with her new-found confidence, drive and determination, might become drawn in. He was worried that she might be led even more astray…
Determined to enjoy her new freedom, accompanied by Emma, Adeline boarded the train for London. She was looking forward to seeing Lettie. To Adeline’s experience, Lettie was the most stimulating woman imaginable, and she felt a mixture of excitement and insecurity at the thought of being with her—certainly life would never be dull.