There was no use repining. So she fought down her unhappiness and said, ‘Then I can’t see why you would want me to join you.’
He looked at her long and hard.
As the silence grew she shifted uncomfortably. His eyes seemed to see more than other people’s. They seemed to see not only what was on the outside of her, but what was on the inside.
‘Oh, can’t you?’ he said at last, his eyes dark and smouldering. ‘Then you can’t see very much. Curse it, Hilary ... ’
He stepped towards her, and her heart stood still.
She could tell that he wanted to touch her. For all that she was little and plain, she knew that he wanted to caress her. And she wanted him to.
He stopped.
By the way his hands were clenching and unclenching at his side she could tell that he was at war with himself. Would he step forward and touch her? Or would he fight the impulse, and remain where he was?
The atmosphere was full of expectancy.
And then she saw his expression change, and some of the tension ebbed away.
‘Well, never mind,’ he said, as though with a great effort. ‘I want you there, and that is enough.’
Struggling to master her emotion, she said, ‘I beg your pardon, but it is not enough. I am not at your beck and call. I am accustomed to making my own decisions.’
‘So I’ve noticed.’ There was a touch of wry humour in his voice.
Against her better judgement she smiled, too. ‘Then you will realize my mind is made up.’
He regarded her steadily. ‘I see that it is. Very well, then. What if I ask you?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ She could not believe she had heard him correctly.
‘If I invite you to join me for dinner, instead of commanding you?’
She was nonplussed. ‘I suppose ... ’ Her mouth quirked despite herself. She doubted if this man had ever asked anyone for anything before, and she meant to make the most of it. ‘I suppose I will not know until it happens!’
‘Hah!’ His eyes smouldered with enjoyment at her mischievousness. ‘Very well, Miss Wentworth.’ He made her a low bow. ‘Will you do me the honour of joining me for dinner?’
She could not resist. ‘The honour is all mine,’ she said, dropping him a mock curtsey. ‘I accept.’
His mouth spread into a broad smile.
Not all the smiles in the world could make him handsome, but Hilary would have rather looked on his face than on the beauty of an Adonis. It had character and humour, depth and strength. Ugly though it was, it was fast becoming her model of perfection.
‘Then I will see you at eight o’clock,’ he rumbled.
Chapter Seven
Hilary hummed to herself as she went about making her toilette. There was nothing she could do about her shabby clothes, but she took down her hair and brushed it a hundred times, until it shone. Then she arranged it in a more elaborate knot than usual, securing it with her mother’s comb, a hair decoration she kept for special occasions. She teased out a few small curls round her face and then she was done. A glance in the mirror showed her that her eyes were sparkling, and she had the satisfaction of knowing that, although plain, she was in her best looks.
A moment later she reproved herself for her vanity. Just because Lord Carisbrooke had invited her to join him at dinner did not mean that ... She cut off her thoughts, before they could wander down dangerous paths. His invitation was no more than kindness. Indeed, it was no more than common courtesy, and if she read anything else into it, then she was a fool.
It was a good thing she had sobered herself, for as she went downstairs Miss Palmer’s silvery laugh greeted her before she had even entered the drawing-room. She had never heard such an enchanting sound.
‘Oh! Lord Carisbrooke! You must not say such things,’ Miss Palmer was protesting.
Quite what Lord Carisbrooke had been saying Hilary did not know, but by the sardonic look on his face it did not appear to have been amusing. Miss Palmer seemed pleased, however.
‘Why not?’ asked Mr Ulverstone charmingly. ‘Your habit does indeed match your eyes, my dear Miss Palmer. It cannot catch their sparkle, however. That could only be caught by sapphires.’
Miss Palmer gave another silvery laugh. ‘How you all flatter me!’
Then, hearing the door open, she turned her exquisite head towards Hilary. Her golden ringlets danced, and her rosebud mouth formed a surprised ‘o’.
She was, thought Hilary, the most exquisite creature in creation. She looked like a fairy, so fragile and dainty was she, and her dress accentuated the impression. She had changed out of her riding-habit - evidently she and her mother had brought a pack horse with them - and was wearing an ethereal gown of spangled gauze. Its puffed sleeves were decorated with knots of blue ribbon and its soft fabric draped itself appetisingly round her slender curves. In the candlelight the spangling shimmered and shone. Around her throat was a simple necklet, drawing attention to the whiteness and beauty of her skin, and satin slippers, peeping out from beneath her gown, revealed tiny feet.
Beside her, Hilary felt like a gargoyle.
Her spirits fell, and she wished she had not made a fool of herself by trying to do something a little more becoming with her hair. The few curls she had tried to tease out around her face were nothing but a mockery when compared with Miss Palmer’s ravishing curls. To make matters worse, she could see a satirical look in Miss Palmer’s eye.
‘Well, well, what have we here?’ enquired Miss Palmer.
Her voice was musical, but her words had a cruel edge.
Hilary felt her stomach contract, but a moment later she straightened her spine. Miss Palmer’s beauty had temporarily overawed her, but this was no fairy, no matter how like one she looked. This was a young woman, and, Hilary was beginning to suspect, a spiteful one.
Miss Palmer looked Hilary up and down, and a contemptuous smile broke out around her mouth.
‘Do tell me,’ she said, turning to Lord Carisbrooke, ‘who is this?’
She managed to invest the word this with a world of disdain.
‘This is Miss Wentworth,’ said Lord Carisbrooke, looking at Hilary with a warm light in his eye. ‘She has been helping me to reorganize the library.’
Miss Palmer’s beautiful eyebrows raised an inch. ‘How very peculiar. But still, she is dressed for the part. Where did you get that dress?’ she asked Hilary. ‘What an ugly thing it is. Mama, did you ever see such a thing? It looks more like a sack than a gown. But its colour is admirable. It is so dull already, it will never show the dirt!’
She dissolved into silvery laughter.
‘No, indeed,’ replied Hilary, refusing to be cowed. ‘The dress is most practical.’
Miss Palmer went into further peals of laughter. ‘Imagine wearing a dress because it is practical! I would as soon ride a horse because it has four legs!’
‘Oh, Veronica,’ laughed her mother, dabbing at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief, ‘you are too droll!’ She turned to Lord Carisbrooke. ‘Isn’t she, my lord? Veronica has always had the readiest wit!’
‘Indeed,’ said Lord Carisbrooke. ‘Miss Palmer is most amusing.’
Clearly missing the acid note in his voice and taking his words at face value, Mrs Palmer said, ‘And so she is, my lord. Everyone agrees. Why only last week Lord Grinston was saying that Veronica makes him laugh more than anyone he has ever met in his life!’
‘Mama,’ said Miss Palmer, blushing beautifully. ‘Lord Carisbrooke doesn’t want to hear about Lord Grinston, even though he is a duke!’
‘And a fine catch,’ said Mrs Palmer, watching Marcus for his reaction. ‘But Veronica will have none of him, for all his fifty thousand a year.’
‘Mama!’ said Miss Palmer, in the most delightfully outraged tones. ‘You must not say such things.’
‘Then let us talk of something else,’ said Marcus.
Miss Palmer looked put out.
Mrs Palmer, covering the awkward silence that
sprang up, said bad-naturedly to Hilary, ‘Well, girl, don’t just stand there. Don’t you have some work to do?’
‘I have finished for the day,’ Hilary replied calmly.
The Palmers might be doing everything in their power to belittle her, but she was not going to answer in kind.
‘Well, you must have remarkably little to do,’ said Miss Palmer spitefully, having recovered from her reverse. ‘When servants work for mama, she makes sure they earn their pay. Don’t you, mama?’
‘Yes, my angel, indeed I do. Servants who are not kept fully occupied are apt to get above themselves.’ She turned to Lord Carisbrooke. ‘Having someone to organize your library is no doubt a good thing, my lord, the abbey being such a venerable old building that it would be a shame to neglect it, but you must not allow your servants to take advantage of you. If you had a wife, of course, it could not happen. Women know how to manage these things. They take care of servants and relieve you from all the day-to-day trouble of running a home. You should think about taking one, my lord. The abbey needs a mistress. A well-bred young lady who would be able to manage your household and make sure your servants knew their place.’
‘It is kind of you to take such an interest in my domestic concerns,’ remarked Marcus dryly.
‘It is no trouble, I do assure you. As your neighbour I feel it is my duty to give you a little hint now and again. But enough of this talk about servants,’ said Mrs Palmer, dismissing Hilary from the conversation, even if she did not have the authority to dismiss her from the room. ‘Tell me, Lord Carisbrooke, are you going to the Grants’ ball next week?’
‘Oh, yes, Lord Carisbrooke, do tell,’ said Miss Palmer, who was clearly growing tired of having no part in the conversation, and was now all smiles again. ‘We are so hoping to see you there, are we not, Mama?’
‘We are indeed, my angel.’ She turned to Marcus. ‘And who knows, my lord, at such a fashionable gathering, you might yet meet a wife?’
Miss Palmer and her mama continued their determined assault on Marcus, flattering and teasing him. He did not appear to enjoy their attentions, but neither did he discourage them.
And why should he? Hilary asked herself. Seeing him with Miss Palmer came as a timely reminder that the young beauty was the kind of woman he was likely to marry. He might not like Veronica, but she was of his world, and would be a suitable match. Perhaps, even now, he was formulating a plan to make her his wife.
A part of her thought that such an idea did not fit with what she knew of his personality - he clearly had no liking for Miss Palmer, and Hilary could not imagine him marrying without it - but another part of her said that she must not let her thoughts degenerate into wishful thinking. If he married a young lady he did not much care for, simply because she was eligible, he would be doing nothing more than leading the life led by most other man of his rank; a lifestyle that did not hold a place for a penniless, plain young woman.
Her spirits sank, because despite the fact that he was above her station in life, Lord Carisbrooke was the most intriguing man she had ever met. He was rude, it was true, and yet beneath his gruff exterior lay something very real. What it was she did not know, but she wanted to find out. What drove him? What troubles had shaped his character? Why was he so curmudgeonly? And why had he let her see something softer that lurked beneath?
Mr Ulverstone addressed a remark to her, and she gave him her attention. She must not let her preoccupation with Lord Carisbrooke show.
It was not long before Lund came in and announced dinner. Lord Carisbrooke gave Miss Palmer his arm, which she took with alacrity, fluttering her long eyelashes at him and favouring him with one of her sweetest smiles.
Mr Ulverstone hesitated. Hilary could see that he was torn. He should, by rights, offer his arm to Mrs Palmer, but clearly he did not want to do so. Besides, having offered his hand to Hilary, he no doubt felt he should offer her his arm as well. Mrs Palmer settled the matter for him by taking his arm without waiting for it to be offered, and almost dragging him into the dining-room, leaving Hilary to follow on behind.
The time spent over dinner was no better than the time beforehand. Miss Palmer continued to simper and flirt, and her mother indulged her, whilst Lord Carisbrooke did nothing to check her. If Hilary could have excused herself, she would have done so. The conversation ranged over people and topics she knew nothing about, and no attempt was made to include her, so that she was glad when dinner finally came to an end.
The ladies rose.
Once in the drawing-room, the full extent of Miss Palmer’s spiteful nature was revealed.
‘You needn’t think to set your cap at Marcus,’ she said, as soon as the drawing-room door was closed behind them. ‘He is not so lost to all sense as to marry you.’
‘I never thought he was for an instant,’ returned Hilary, stung.
‘Oh, didn’t you, though? Your kind are all the same. Scheming, nasty little hussies, on the hunt for a rich husband so that you can force yourselves on your betters. But you have no need to put on airs with me. I know what you are. Don’t I. Mama?’ she asked, appealing to her mother for support.
‘Of course you do, my angel. But you have nothing to fear from this drab creature. Lord Carisbrooke is not such a fool that he would pay her any attention when there is someone so much more beautiful nearby. Pray, do not distress yourself, my cherub. Now, what are you going to wear at the Grants’ ball?’
Miss Palmer became voluble on the subject of her dress, saying to her mother, ‘The white satin, I think, Mama. Or perhaps the embroidered muslin. Which do you think will be most likely to bring him up to scratch?’
Disgusted by the Palmers’ conversation, Hilary slipped over to the door.
‘Aye, about time too,’ said Miss Palmer, as she reached it. ‘Sitting in here, aping your betters. Get back to the servants’ hall, where you belong.’
Hilary left the room with a feeling of profound relief.
Once in the hall, she considered what to do. It was still too early for her to retire and so she decided to repair to the library, where she could continue her work until it was time for bed. She had almost finished organizing the first bookcase before dinner, and she wanted to see how it would look when it was done.
She crossed the cavernous hall and went into the library. The fire was still burning in the grate, but the candles were not lit. By the light of the fire she went over to the mantelpiece, and took a candle from the candelabra. Bending down, she lit it at the fire’s small flames, then used it to light the other candles. They shook and shivered before blossoming into life.
She turned her attention to the bookcase. It now presented an ordered appearance. Although it would most probably have to be rearranged when the other bookcases were organized, for the time being it was almost done. Everything pertaining to the abbey was arranged on the top two shelves, scrolls and manuscripts on the top shelf and books beneath. Then came the works of learning. Previous Carisbrookes had been interested in natural history and science, and books on travel were also well represented. Underneath came the novels.
She turned her attention to the table. A pile of books lay there, waiting to be sorted. Once she had done them she would have completed the first bookcase. Carrying a many-branched candlestick over to the side of the room, and placing it carefully so that no wax could spill onto any of the books by accident, she continued with her work. She had not been working for more than a quarter of an hour, however, when the door opened, and to her surprise, Lord Carisbrooke appeared.
‘What are you doing in here?’ he growled. He stood in the doorway, and the candlelight did not reach as far as his face. It was shadowed, and she could not read his expression.
‘I had some work I wanted to finish,’ she said.
‘Did you indeed?’ He came in. The door swung to behind him. ‘You should be in the drawing-room, entertaining my other guests.’
‘I don’t think I like their idea of entertainment.’
‘Do y
ou not? You surprise me. Two hours ago, you were telling me that you were not fit to share the same table with them. I see your feelings have changed.’
She made no reply.
‘Can it be that you wanted to get away from the estimable Miss Palmer? Or perhaps it is her mother who does not suit your taste. Tell me, Miss Wentworth, which of my guests does not take your fancy?’
‘I really don’t think it is for me to say.’
‘But I am asking you, and I require a reply.’
Still she said nothing.
‘I shall, and will, have one,’ he growled.
‘Very well,’ said Hilary, turning to face him, ‘as you have asked, I like neither of your guests.’
‘And yet you were singing their praises earlier in the day. Elegant, I believe you described them as, and beautiful. Do you find Miss Palmer lacking in elegance, now you have seen her close to?’
‘No, I do not,’ she answered him honestly.
‘Then it is her beauty that is lacking.’
‘No indeed. She is everything that is lovely.’
‘She is, is she not? Those golden curls ... that rosebud mouth ....She is like a fairy, wouldn’t you say? Tiny and ethereal, with a face and figure that are both enchanting.’
Hilary’s spirits sank, but she could not help agreeing.
‘And yet you do not like her.’
‘No, I don’t.’
He pursed his lips. ‘Do you know why she comes here?’ he asked.
‘No.’ She busied herself with the books, hoping he would leave her. The conversation was proving decidedly uncomfortable.
‘Because she wants to be the next Lady Carisbrooke,’ he said.
Hilary’s hands stilled. She had suspected as much. But to hear the words from his own lips made her grow cold.
‘You don’t approve,’ he said.
There was a strange note in his voice, part mocking, part hopeful, part questioning.
With an effort she roused herself from the deadness that had gripped her and began to sort the books again. ‘It isn’t for me to approve or disapprove. Your choice of wife is your own concern. I would not presume to offer an opinion.’