Page 38 of Needs Must
Leave her alone. She’s mine!
The nature of Cal’s thoughts brought him back to earth with a jolt. He liked her, enjoyed her society and wanted to help her, but that the extent of his interest in her. His mother and sister would have a collective fit of the vapours if he declared himself to a lady whose husband had died under questionable circumstances. Other than via Graves’s mystery informant, that news had not reached these shores. Yet. But it soon would, Cal knew. Besides, she was currently residing in a tavern, and that alone would be sufficient for her detractors to label her as not being quite the thing.
When he was obliged to entertain his neighbours and have their trying daughters thrust upon him, Cal usually found the experience tedious. Time passed at a snail’s pace and his mind constantly wandered. Tonight, however, two hours at table seemed more like ten minutes.
‘Now I shall have to endure the inquisition,’ Donna said with a wry smile when the dowager nodded to the ladies and pushed her chair back. Cal was on his feet in seconds, helping Donna with hers.
‘Don’t let them bully you.’
‘Don’t worry.’ She sent him a sparkling smile, almost as if she was anticipating the forthcoming confrontation. ‘I am not the passive type, as well you know, and if someone pushes me, I tend to push back harder. I cannot seem to help myself.’
‘We will not linger over port.’
‘Take all the time you need. I don’t need protecting.’ She sounded impatient. ‘How many more times do I have to tell you that?’
Cal smiled as he watched the elegant sway of her slender hips as she walked away, thinking she had not encountered his mother and sister when they joined forces against a person of whom they disapproved. Even so, he would not wager against Donna coming out on top of that encounter. She felt no pressing need to impress his relatives, so unimpeded by expectations she would no doubt give as good as she got. Cal wished he could be a fly on the wall in his own drawing room.
He reluctantly resumed his chair as the gentlemen gathered round it and the port circulated.
Chapter Eleven
Donna had not been surprised by the curiosity and downright hostility that had been directed towards her all evening, most particularly by the dowager countess and her daughter, and by Mrs Graves, who did not appear to have a forgiving nature. Not that Donna required forgiveness, but that was beside the point. Lady Seymour had also seemed most put out by Donna’s presence. She clearly had expectations regarding Lord Arndale and her daughter; a highly suitable match and one which the dowager countess doubtless promoted. She watched the two ladies, their heads together, deep in conversation as they led the procession of females from the dining parlour.
Donna lingered at the back, in no particular hurry to mix with the others. No one joined her, nor did she expect them to. She found the entire situation ridiculous. What threat could a near penniless widow possibly offer to the higher echelons of local society? She was one of them, yet they were closing ranks against her simply because she had fallen on hard times.
And, no doubt, because of her current living conditions.
She had been right to avoid being presented, she told herself, if this was how thetonbehaved. It was a ridiculous parody of one-upmanship and she wanted no part of it. Even if Jonathan had left her better situated, she decided at that moment that she would not have taken her rightful place in society. Instead, she would have lived quietly in the country and grown cabbages.
The dowager was pouring coffee for the ladies by the time that Donna entered the room. She watched that lady share a malicious glance with her daughter before addressing Donna.
‘Some coffee, Mrs Harte?’
‘Thank you.’
Donna accepted the cup passed to her by Lady Daventry. Some of its contents had been spilled into the saucer, deliberately no doubt, in the hope that Donna would stain her dress when she picked up the cup.
‘Tell us about yourself, Mrs Harte,’ Lady Seymour said. ‘What made you decide to settle in this particular village?’
‘It seemed as good a place as any,’ Donna replied, taking a seat. ‘I wanted to be near Chichester but not in the city itself. The rents are too expensive.’
‘But Denmead Cottage?’ Melanie Seymour wrinkled her pert little nose. ‘It’s a hovel. Are you not afraid of the ghost? Have you seen her?’
‘I am not afraid of ghosts,’ Donna contented herself with replying, ignoring the girl’s rudeness.
‘Do you intend to remain in the area for long?’ Lady Daventry asked.
‘I have not yet formalised my plans.’
‘Poverty and desperation will make it difficult for you to mix with your own class, no doubt.’
Donna stared at Lady Daventry. She was a disappointed woman, Donna had already decided. She did not share her brothers’ handsome features and wore a near-permanent scowl, even when not addressing Donna. ‘I beg your pardon,’ she said tightly.
‘Come, come, Mrs Harte.’ The dowager countess spoke in a cajoling tone. ‘You are amongst friends here and need not take offence.’
Friends?
‘You will not be able to accept invitations if you cannot return them,’ Lady Daventry said, glancing at the rest of the ladies, as if soliciting their support.
