Page 35 of Needs Must
‘Miriam!’ Donna laughed in spite of herself.
‘Well, it’s true, lass. The straight lines cling in all the right places and are far more flattering than the current fashion for wider skirts.’
‘I amnottrying to make an impression.’ Donna crossed her fingers behind her back. That wasn’t strictly true. The earl had only seen her at her worst. For her own satisfaction, she would like him to see her properly turned out. Just this once. That, she decided, would account for her nerves.
‘None of those fussy frills and flounces that are all the rage, thank you very much.’ Miriam warmed to her theme. ‘They do well enough for those skinny misses who are as flat-chested and heavy hipped as you please. But you have the figure for it, my love. You have it in spades, so show it off and enjoy yourself.’
Miriam wielded the hairbrush in the air and Donna carefully seated herself so that she could work her magic with Donna’s heavy tresses.
‘You know, Miriam,’ Donna replied, a mischievous look in her eyes. ‘I rather think that I will put my worries behind me for just one night and do precisely that.’
‘That’s the spirit!’ Miriam wrapped a strand of hair around her fingers and deftly fixed it with a pin. ‘It’s beyond time that you put yourself first.’
And Donna would do so, but for her lingering fears about Aykroyd. She had been on edge all day, waiting for him to put in an appearance at Denmead Cottage. She and Miriam, distracted by Willow, had continued to work on the curtains there all day and had been relatively unprotected. Aykroyd must be aware that she had taken the lease. It was common knowledge, the talk of the taproom apparently, but he had not materialised. She wanted to believe that she had imagined his presence the previous day but knew in her heart that she had not. She suspected that he was playing with her, making her anxious as she tried to anticipate his next move.
If that was true then he was doing a far better job of it than he would ever know.
‘There,’ Miriam said a short time later, standing back to admire her handiwork. ‘It’s been a while since I had reason to dress your hair, but I haven’t lost my touch, if I do say so myself.’
‘It’s a sensation, Miriam.’ Donna looked at the image staring back at her. Elegant curls flowed at the back of her head, and long, curling strands danced on her bare shoulders. She barely knew herself and stood to impulsively hug the older lady. Willow, slumbering on the rug, seemed to think it was a game and jumped up to join in. Miriam shooed him away before he clawed at Donna’s skirts. ‘I don’t deserve you. I have put you through so much, but I have yet to hear you complain.’
‘Get away with you, lass.’ Miriam waved the compliment aside, but Donna could see that it had pleased her. ‘We’ll be having none of that talk. Nothing that’s happened to you is your fault. And my reward, if I need one, is to see you dressed like the lady that you are, ready to be entertained by a handsome earl.’
There was a tap at the door and Mrs Cooper put her head round it. ‘A carriage just arrived from Arndale … My goodness.’ Mrs Cooper repeatedly blinked. ‘You look a picture, Mrs Harte.’
Donna was amused rather than offended by the speculative look in Mrs Cooper’s eye. She would know where Donna was going but probably didn’t imagine that she would be welcomed by the disapproving dowager. But still, she reasoned as she picked up her evening cape and Miriam draped it around her shoulders, if word of her friendship with the earl had spread through the taproom it might explain why Aykroyd had not approached her. He always had been one to pick his battles and wouldn’t confront a woman who was probably assumed to be the earl’s latest mistress.
‘That gown is perfection,’ Mrs Cooper said, admiration in her tone. ‘I never did see the like. No doubt you will meet the dowager countess,’ she added, clearly fishing for information.
‘It will be inevitable,’ Donna replied truthfully.
Every cloud, and all that, she thought as she left the room behind Miriam’s reassuring bulk. Her maid, she knew, would not permit her to pass the taproom door unescorted. She would see her safely into the earl’s carriage before returning to their room. Willow tried to follow them, but Donna bent to tug gently at his now clean and unmatted ears, telling him she would be back soon.
The noise from the taproom abated as she passed the door, head held high and deliberately not looking inside. If Aykroyd was among the throng she would prefer not to know it. A loud clatter of conversation resumed as soon as she was out of sight of the room’s occupants. The speculation, she knew, would be rife – but for once it could work in her favour.
A footman opened the carriage door as soon as she approached. He inclined his head as he held out an arm to help her into it, too well trained for his expression to reveal what he thought of a brazen woman who resided in a tavern being entertained at the big house. He put up the steps and closed the door again as soon as she was settled. Miriam watched, fixing the footman with a narrow-eyed gaze of disapproval, and waved Donna on her way.
The horses moved off and she was on her own.
The journey to Arndale Hall was comparatively short, giving Donna insufficient time to become any more nervous than she already was. She thought it just as well. She knew that the earl’s family, the female members of it at least, would disapprove of her sitting at his table. She was not about to be intimidated by them, or by anyone else, and had absolutely nothing to feel nervous about, she repeatedly told herself, tapping her fingers anxiously on the velvet squabs.
People were judgemental and loved to gossip when they were not in full possession of the facts, but their words could not hurt her. Aykroyd on the other hand could, and very likely would before too long, if she didn’t find a way to prevent him. He was simply testing the lie of the land and biding his time.
The grounds, she noticed as the carriage conveyed by matching greys passed through ornate entrance gates, were pristinely maintained. A uniformed porter emerged from the gatehouse, peered into the vehicle and saluted her. She inclined her head, feeling a little like royalty.
The conveyance came to a halt at the entrance portico to a vast mansion. The windows to what was presumably the drawing room were well lit, and she could see a dozen or more people moving about inside. She had not stopped to consider that there would be other guests, but obviously that was the case and a moment’s consideration was all it took for her to decide that was probably just as well. It meant that the attention would not be all on her.
The same footman jumped down from behind, opened the door and lowered the steps. Donna lifted her skirts and placed one slippered foot on them, glancing up at the magnificent building as she did so, wondering if she would be announced by a regal butler and have to endure all heads turn in her direction.
Instead, a lone figure appeared at the top of the steps in pristine evening clothes, looking regal and unapproachable. Then he smiled, pushed the hair from his eyes and tripped lightly down the steps, taking them two at a time.
‘Mrs Harte,’ the earl said, taking in her appearance with a practised sweep of his eyes as his smile widened in obvious appreciation, bolstering confidence that had chosen a most inconvenient time to desert her. He took her gloved hand in his and kissed the back of it. ‘I am so very glad that you came.’ He placed her hand on his sleeve and escorted her into the house. ‘Come and meet my family, if you dare.’
Chapter Ten
Henry Aykroyd emerged from the shadows, watching the earl’s carriage departing the Ship’smews with Donna Harte inside it, dressed to the nines. He’d been keeping in the background in the taproom for most of the day, drinking little and saying even less, but listening. Always listening. Speculation was rife regarding the mysterious widow residing in the tavernwith her dragon of a maid. No one knew quite what to make of her. Even Mrs Cooper, who was apparently renowned for extracting information from her guests and spreading it far and wide, had discovered frustratingly little about Donna Harte.
Henry could have given them chapter and verse on the little harlot but had kept his counsel. He’d been commissioned by his nemesis to run her to ground and relieve her of certain letters that she had in her possession. Ian Harte hadn’t told him what was in those letters, but Henry would find out for himself as soon as he got his hands on them. Then he would decide whether to return them to Harte in exchange for the balance of the fee he’d been promised or sell them to the highest bidder.
