Page 58 of A Sense of Misgiving
The drawing room in Lucy’s home was mercifully warm. It was a long way from Swallow Hill, and despite the carriage’s hood Mary had become quite damp. She accepted the cup of tea that Lucy poured for her and took a sandwich from the platter. Lucy and her brother were good company and Mary began to relax when they started telling exaggerated stories of their younger days. As one of a large family herself, Mary understood sibling rivalry and the deep-seated affection that still prevailed between the youthful warring factions.
‘You spoke earlier of your artistic endeavours,’ Lucy said, when tea had been consumed. ‘I myself dabble and would value your opinion. I have only just taken up the hobby, and you will probably be able to tell that I am in urgent need of instruction from a good tutor. But I find it soothing and a good way to fill the long hours when my husband is away.’
Mary lifted a shoulder, feeling remarkably sorry for her friend. ‘Then by all means, but I should warn you, I am hardly an authority. Paul is actually much more accomplished than me, and sometimes gives me hints.’
‘Oh yes, Mr Dalton.’ Lucy frowned. ‘I confess I find the hierarchy in your household confusing. He is Luke’s secretary, and yet dines at table with the family. As does the countess’s companion for that matter.’
‘Paul is more than a mere secretary. He is one of Luke’s closest friends. They went through school and university together. You knew him then, surely?’
‘Yes, but his circumstances are not on a par with your brother’s, so I am surprised he kept up the connection.’
‘Paul is a younger son and must make his own way. Luke trusts him absolutely, so the arrangement works very well. We all look upon him as a member of the family, as we do dear Flora. There is nothing confusing about it, I assure you.’
Lucy didn’t respond, making Mary wonder why strict demarcation lines were so important to her. She stood and followed Lucy from the room, slightly surprised when the captain tagged along. But his behaviour had been impeccable, and she told herself she had nothing to fear from him. Besides, she did like him very much. She blushed when she felt the warmth of his gaze focused on her profile and decided that if he tried to steal a kiss or two, she would not put up too many objections.
Lucy led the way through the small house to a conservatory at the back of it. There was no sunshine to penetrate the glass, which made the room chilly but not uncomfortably so. Lucy’s latest creation, a half-finished portrait of the garden beyond the conservatory, stood on an easel. Mary stood back to study it, trying hard to come up with words of encouragement for a work that was poorly executed, showed little talent and less application on the artist’s part.
‘Very promising,’ she said diplomatically.
‘Yes, what is it?’ Lucy asked impatiently, turning when a maid hovered in the open doorway.
‘A visitor for you, ma’am.’
‘Who is it?’
The maid looked uncomfortable as she proffered a salver. Lucy picked up the card resting upon it and tutted. ‘I shall have to receive this gentleman. He is a close friend of my husband’s and might bring news of him.’
‘Then go,’ Mary said, shooing her away.
It suddenly seemed very still and quiet in the conservatory. The captain loomed over Mary’s shoulder as they both studied the canvas with barely an inch of daylight separating their bodies. Had he been standing so close before?
‘It’s not terribly good, is it?’ he said, breaking the uneasy silence with a smile in his voice.
‘It would be unkind to discourage her by saying so. She has some talent and is still a beginner. As she herself said, with the guidance of a good tutor—of whom there are many in the area—and a little dedication, she will soon improve.’ Mary turned away from the canvas, starting to feel distinctly uneasy. ‘It’s cold in here. Shall we return to the drawing room and rejoin Lucy?’
‘Hang Lucy!’ Mary was astonished when the captain’s hands caught hold of her shoulders and swivelled her around to face him.
Mary’s eyes flared. ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded.
‘I am glad of this unexpected opportunity to speak with you alone, Lady Mary.’ His dark eyes gleamed with passion as he looked down at her, but there was also an edge to his voice that made his words sound rehearsed and clinical. ‘I have not known you for long, but I sensed the moment we were introduced that there was a connection between us.’
Mary swallowed. ‘You did?’
‘You feel it too, I think.’
‘Well, I…’
Mary allowed her words to trail off because there was no correct answer to give. She studied the floor, wishing that Lucy would return. This was all wrong. She felt suddenly afraid of him. The desire for a clandestine kiss was one thing, but the dark, brutal passion she saw in his eyes and his cold, calculating expression truly frightened her.
‘Admit it, my love, agree to become my wife and I will dedicate my life to your happiness.’
‘Your wife!’ She forcibly shook his hands from her shoulders and turned away from him. ‘So Flora was right,’ she said beneath her breath. This was all about her fortune. He couldn’t possibly have formed a lasting attachment in such a short time. ‘You disappoint me. Do you imagine me so desperate for a husband that I will accept a man I am barely acquainted with and count myself fortunate? If so, you don’t know me at all.’
‘I’m sorry. Please make allowances for a man gripped by the fiercest love who is unaccountably nervous.’
Mary laughed aloud, which appeared to be the last reaction he had expected and deeply offended him.
‘I regret that you find me amusing,’ he said stiffly.
