Counterfeit Earl

“Forgive me,” Jack apologised, his dark eyes focusing on her once more. “I was not intending to ignore you.”

“You were just a little distracted,” she murmured, a sparkle of amusement in her soft grey eyes. She was a remarkably attractive woman, with dark brown hair and a wide, generous mouth. “Tell me, which of the two young ladies drew your attention, my dear?”

“Was it so obvious?” Jack gave her a rueful smile. “Two days ago Miss Olivia Roade Burton wandered into my woods. Brutus was preparing to attack her when I arrived on the scene. I was concerned that she had ventured so far into woods she did not know, for there has been trouble with gypsies, and I fear I may have been harsh with her. Indeed, since she could not bring herself to pass me just now, I believe I must have offended her.”

Anne nodded, her intelligent eyes thoughtful as they continued their walk along the marine parade. “I know your manner can sometimes be a little abrupt. You must apologise next time you meet Miss Roade Burton, Jack.”

He shook his head at her. “She is not for me, Anne. You know I have no thoughts of marriage.”

“I am aware that you have some foolish ideas in your head, my dear.” She smiled at him with affection. “You are worth ten of most gentlemen I know. What happened at Badajoz was not your fault.”

“It is not just that—though it haunts my dreams,” Jack replied, his dark eyes shadowed with pain for a moment. “I do not believe I am capable of loving, Anne, not with my whole heart. Not as a woman I would make my wife has a right to expect. You are my friend. You do not ask for more than I can give.”

“I believe you have a great capacity for loving,” Anne replied, her look full of warmth. “You were hurt too many times as a child, but one day you will discover your true self. Our arrangement has been a pleasant one for us both. However, should you wish to marry…”

“Yes, I know your mind,” Jack said. “I have a true fondness for you, my dear. Had you been free, Anne, I believe we might have found happiness together.”

“Perhaps.” Her lovely eyes clouded with sadness. “Unfortunately, I am not free.”

Jack touched her hand in sympathy. He knew that she was sometimes desperately unhappy, but her family would never permit her to divorce her husband. They had persuaded Sir Bernard Simmons to allow her to retire to Bath, to live quietly with a companion, but for the sake of the two sons of the marriage, the husband and wife met occasionally in society. Anne’s sons were both boarders at an exclusive school, and she saw them two or three times a year. It was not an ideal situation for her, but it was the best she could expect. Her only alternative was to live abroad in exile, and then she would not have been allowed to see her sons until they reached their maturity.

“Do not pity me,” she said softly. “I was deceived in the man I married, but I have learned to live with my mistakes. I have friends who care for me, and most of the time I am content.”

“I have never pitied you,” Jack replied honestly. “I admire and respect you, Anne. You are one of the finest—and certainly the bravest—woman I have ever met.”

“One day you will meet a woman you can admire, respect and love,” Anne said. “Because I care for you, my dear, I hope that day will come soon.”

Beatrice was sitting in the back parlour of the house in Royal Crescent; it was one of the fairly new houses built by J.B.Otto, an elegant three-storied building faced with black mathematical tiles. She glanced up with a smile as Olivia entered.

“Your walk has given you some colour,” she said. “I am sorry I was so sleepy this morning. It is unlike me. I cannot imagine what was wrong with me.”

“As long as you are not ill?” Olivia was a little anxious. Having found her sister at last, after so many years spent apart, Beatrice had become doubly precious to her.

“Oh, no, not at all,” Beatrice replied. “I feel wonderful. I hope your walk was not spoiled because I did not accompany you?”

“I missed you, of course I did—but it was the most fortunate thing,” Olivia replied, smiling at her. “I met Robina Perceval. She was out walking with a maid, too. The Dowager Lady Exmouth was also feeling a little tired apparently. Robina asked if we would take tea with them this afternoon. I said yes. I hope that was all right?”

“Yes, of course,” Beatrice said. “I met the Dowager when I was in London this spring. I liked her. I am very pleased you will have Robina for company. It is pleasant to have real friends.”

“Yes.” A shadow passed across Olivia’s face. She had had so many friends in London, but she was not sure how many of them would want to know her now. “Yes, it is pleasant to have real friends.”

“I have been reading some letters Harry sent on, which one of the maids fetched this morning from the receiving office,” Beatrice said. “There was one from Amy Rushmere, who as you know lives in Abbot Giles, and another from my friend, Ghislaine de Champlain. Incidentally, she writes that she has found a gentleman she likes. A young curate who has taken an interest in her.”

“That is good news. I liked Ghislaine, though I saw very little of her. Was there any other news?”

“They both had gossip from the village to tell us.”

“Oh, what did they say?” Olivia was as curious as her sister to hear news from the villages. “Does anyone know what is going to happen to Steepwood Abbey yet?”

“No, I do not believe so,” Beatrice said. “Ghislaine told me there are many rumours flying around. Everyone is still wondering who could have killed Lord Sywell, of course.”

“Nothing has been discovered yet?”

“No, nothing certain. Ghislaine heard that a pedlar was seen entering the grounds the previous day, a man who was a stranger to the four villages.”

Olivia nodded. “I am sure it must have been someone like that, or perhaps a jealous lover.”

“Yes, I dare say.” Beatrice looked thoughtful. “Amy Rushmere’s news was even more intriguing. She says that a rather peculiar little man has been to the village making enquiries about Athene Filmer of Datchet House—you remember that she and her mother Charlotte live in Steep Ride? And Amy says that although she did not realise it until later, he also prompted her to talk about Louise Hanslope…”

“I have seen Athene at the market in Abbot Quincey, I believe, though I have not passed more than a few words with her.” Olivia frowned. “Was not Lady Sywell’s name Hanslope before she married the Marquis?”

“Yes,” Beatrice agreed. “You know her history as well as I, Olivia. Everyone imagined her to be Hanslope’s by-blow—but it seems the investigator was very curious about how and when she was first brought to the villages as a child. What do you make of that? And why do you suppose he was enquiring about Athene Filmer?”

“I do not know.” Olivia frowned. “It all sounds a little odd to me. Why should anyone be asking such questions…unless…” She looked at Beatrice. “Do you think someone has discovered what happened to Lady Sywell?”

“Well, there must be some reason for the enquiry,” Beatrice said. “Amy could not get any information out of the man who spoke to her, except that his name was Jackson—but she says she thinks he may be a Bow Street Runner. And a very clever man by the sound of him.”

“No! Then his enquiry may be official.” Olivia looked stunned. “Why would an officer of the law be enquiring after Lady Sywell? Surely no one truly believes that she could have killed her husband?”

“I cannot believe that they should, but obviously someone is interested in finding out more about her,” Beatrice said. “It is certainly intriguing, is it not?”

“Yes,” Olivia agreed. “I do wish we could discover what has happened to her, don’t you?”

“Well, perhaps we shall in time,” Beatrice said, and smiled at her. “Now, tell me, dearest—which gown are you going to wear to Lady Clements’s ball this evening? That pale lemon, which becomes you so well—or the white?”

The ball was already in full swing when the two sisters arrived at the large assembly rooms where the festivities were being held that evening. It was a glittering occasion, Lady Clements having given it to celebrate the engagement of her niece to Lord Manningtree, and everyone of note who was staying in Brighton had been invited.

“Ah, dear Lady Ravensden.” Their hostess greeted them with a beaming smile of approval and a kiss on the cheek for Beatrice. “How pleasant it is to see you again—and you, Miss Roade Burton, of course.” Olivia could not but be aware of the slight look of disapproval in Lady Clements’s eyes. However, she had been accepted on the surface and she knew it was up to her to put a brave face on the situation. She could not expect to be as popular or as universally approved as she had been during her Season.