Page 38 of The Book of Lost Stories
‘Alys Weston!’
‘Yes. Can it be that you have met her already?’
‘If it is the same person, which I suppose it must be, with such an unusual name, then yes, we are a little acquainted.’
‘My daughter was called Alysaun, an old Cornish name used in her mother’s family, but she was always called Alys. It seems her daughter was named for her.’ For the first time a faint flicker of some softer emotion crossed the old man’s severe countenance. ‘I do not suppose she bears any other resemblance to her mother. But how came you to meet her?’
‘It was in Harrogate, just after I first sold out. She was paying a visit there with her aunt, a Lady Basset.’
‘Yes, they were living in a grace-and-favour cottage on some relative’s estate, I heard.’
‘Our acquaintanceship at that time was brief,’ Rayven said. That it was also a comedy of errors ending in a damp denouement, he kept to himself. ‘Then recently, while on my way to Town, I again met her. Her coach had had an accident and overturned, although she and her companion were unharmed.’
‘Her companion?’
‘A dowdily respectable older lady, whose name I am afraid I have forgotten.’
‘Hmm … so at least she was not so lost to all sense of propriety as to jaunter about the country alone.’ He shot another hard look at Rayven. ‘And what do you think of her?’
Rayven, recalling a pair of large and indignant grey eyes and a determined chin, said with a sudden grin, ‘Oh, I think you will find Miss Westonquiteout of the common way!’
Hartwood stared at him consideringly. ‘Will I so indeed? Yet her mother was a silly, headstrong little fool.’
‘Well, Miss Weston is no fool. But headstrong, opinionated, determined – all of those I would say, yes.’
‘A woman of virtue?’
‘Undoubtedly.’
‘Hmm … She is staying with Mrs Rivers in Portman Square – respectable address, know the family. George Rivers is another crony of Chase and that fool nephew of mine, and presumably involved in the Brethren, as they call themselves.’
‘Yes, I believe so, as was my friend Harry Stavely’s brother, Gervase.’
‘Killed himself, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, drowned. He was often of a melancholic turn of mind, but of late seemed to have had something on his conscience that led him to take so desperate a step. Harry is made of sterner stuff. He was a first-class officer and will be a loss to Wellington now.’
‘I suppose you both wish yourselves back on the battlefield?’
Rayven’s dark blue eyes glowed. ‘That we do. But there, we must accept what fate has given us.’
‘Most men would be thankful to have plump inheritances land in their laps.’
‘Life in the Rifles suited us both, but I am not ungrateful and nor is Harry, except that he would rather have his brother back, hale and hearty, of course.’
‘A man must do his duty in whatever sphere he is called to.’
‘Very true, sir.’
‘Well, I will tell you what I think of Miss Weston when I have seen her, for I have told her to bring herself and the gold Poseidon here tomorrow,’ Hartwood said in a voice of dismissal, and, seeing that he was tiring, Rayven took his leave.
As he let himself out of the room he caught a glimpse of a fluttering pink gown vanishing around the turn of the stair. He smiled sardonically. Someone – the niece? – had been curious enough about his visit to listen at the door. But it was solid enough and she could not have heard much, even with her ear pressed to the keyhole.
He drove home thinking how odd it was that MissWeston should turn out to be Titus Hartwood’s granddaughter, for he could perceive no family resemblance. But perhaps the likeness lay rather in character and some part of the old man’s stern inflexibility had been passed down to her, for he had never met any young lady with such an air of competence and of knowing just what she did –and didn’t!– want.
He had been fighting off a strong urge to pay her a visit ever since Harry had told him that he had met her at Mrs Rivers’ house, for he would enjoy teasing and provoking her. Besides, did he not deserve a little of his own back in return for his icy dipping at Knaresborough?
However, despite what she had said at their last encounter about not aspiring to marriage, her grandfather must have been correct in thinking she had come to London with that very hope in her heart. Near penniless, orphaned and alone, what else was there for her to do?
