Page 1 of Needs Must
Chapter One
‘It will suffice.’
Donna Harte ran a gloved finger over the carved arm of an oak chair, drawing a pattern in the dust. She did her very best not to wince or to dwell upon the downturn in her circumstances. It served no purpose to wallow in self-pity.
‘Are you sure, lamb?’ Miriam, Donna’s long-standing and fiercely loyal maid, showed no such restraint and wrinkled her nose disdainfully. Donna wanted to tell her that the gesture was unnecessary. She shared Miriam’s view regarding the standard of the accommodation, but needs must. She was no longer the wealthy wife of a plantation manager but a widow facing destitution. She had run back to England with as many of her late husband’s possessions as she could manage and had somehow managed to keep her virtue intact.
Count your blessings.
‘The cottage comes with two paddocks, ma’am, stabling and extensive gardens,’ the fussy letting agent by the name of Potts informed her. His obsequious manner was already trying Donna’s patience and she had only been in his company for half an hour. As a woman alone she knew that she must become accustomed to being patronised – but that didn’t mean she had to like it.
Donna glanced out the window to be confronted by a wilderness of tall grass and taller weeds that were strangling what had once been herbaceous borders. A few hardy shrubs struggled to survive, but Donna could see that they were fighting a losing battle. Indeed, it was hard for her to tell where the gardens ended and the paddocks began.
The premises must have been vacant for some considerable time, not the few weeks that Potts had implied. Donna wondered why. Arndale was a prosperous village situated in a thriving part of the country made fashionable by the prince regent’s annual visits to Brighton. No half-respectable property in the immediate vicinity would remain vacant for long, she reasoned. Any landlord with an ounce of sense would have kept the premises in a better state of repair in order to obtain the highest possible income from it. Despite its unappealing condition though, Donna could see through the grime. The house could be made habitable without a great deal of expenditure, so the owner’s neglect might prove advantageous from her standpoint.
‘There is accommodation above the stables for your groom,’ Potts added, a note of desperation entering his voice, presumably because the ladies had failed to respond to his gushing enthusiasm for the hovel.
Donna and Miriam glanced at the structure in question. It leaned alarmingly to one side and looked on the point of collapse. A hefty gust of wind off the sea might well prove to be its downfall. Donna thought it just as well that she had no groom, since the loft that Potts optimistically described as living space was clearly an accident on the point of happening.
‘Show me the rest of the accommodation, if you please, Mr Potts,’ Donna said, suppressing a sigh.
Miriam looked set to argue, but at a gesture from Donna she held her tongue. Donna had eyes in her head and was able to confirm her original opinion that it would not take too much effort to put the place to rights. Miriam knew that Donna could no longer afford to be selective. The cottage’s setting was more important to her, as was its comparatively isolated location. No one would find her here until she was ready to be found.
The tour did not take long. Aside from the sitting room in which their conversation had taken place, there was just a scullery and small boot room on the ground floor. Taking their lives in their hands, they ascended a rickety staircase and examined the two bedchambers, which did little to relieve Donna of her abiding depression. Things were not supposed to be this way. This was not what she had envisaged for her future. The entire property was smaller than Donna’s luxurious quarters in Jamaica, and was not something she had ever anticipated occupying.
How quickly things had changed for her.
‘How long has the cottage been on the market?’ she asked Mr Potts, who seemed very eager to offload it. ‘More than a few weeks, surely?’
‘Perhaps a month or two, ma’am.’ He rubbed his chin, his thin face again wreathed in smiles. ‘Unfortunately the previous applicant proved to be unsuitable.’ He shook his head, drawing Donna’s attention to his scrawny neck and putting her in mind of a gobbling turkey. She looked away, repulsed. ‘Very unsuitable indeed. We were entirely deceived by his manner, I will be the first to admit that much. I thought he was a gentleman but that proved not to be the case at all.’
Donna wondered what gentleman in possession of his senses would even consider taking such accommodation. There was a possibility, she supposed, that like her he’d found himself down on his luck. But even so …
‘You will have the Earl of Arndale as a close neighbour, of course.’
The subservient attitude had returned, obliging Donna to resist the urge to throttle a man whom she didn’t trust and whom she had taken in extreme dislike. Be that as it may, this cottage would suit her requirements.
For now.
It was cheap. Some hard work and a little expenditure would put it to rights, and at least she would be her own mistress here. That thought went a small way to improving her spirits. There was a lot to be said for independence and the freedom to do as she pleased without interference from a controlling husband, she had good reason to know.
Arndale was a small village on the south coast, not far from Brighton. She had not realised when applying to see the cottage she now stood in that it bordered the earl’s estate. She took a moment to think, trying to recall if Arndale had property in Jamaica, in which case their paths would almost certainly have crossed.
She couldn’t recall if he did or if they had. Nor could she conjure up an image of the man himself. She would be beneath his notice in this humble abode if she did happen to encounter him, and if they had met in her previous life then it was doubtful that he would make the connection now. Great men, she knew, didn’t waste time or energy on people of less consequence, especially if they were women.
She glanced out of the small casement window in the larger bedchamber, confronted by a persistent drizzle which perfectly reflected her mood.
‘Thank you, Mr Potts,’ she said, turning on her heel and almost tripping over a loose floorboard. ‘But the cottage will not suit.’
Potts’ face fell. ‘Oh, but surely … Come now, madam. I am absolutely sure that you won’t do any better. Not if your circumstances are straitened, if you will forgive the impertinence.’
‘Now look here my good man!’ Miriam planted her fisted hands on her ample hips and glowered at Potts. ‘Keep a civil tongue in your head. My mistress’s circumstances are no concern of yours. Remember your place, if you know what’s good for you.’
Donna turned a smile into a cough. Miriam was like a mother bear protecting her cub when anyone dared to criticise her. They might be down on their luck, but standards had to be maintained, at least insofar as Miriam was concerned. Donna had matters of greater urgency to occupy her mind, and the pompous attitude of an annoying agent who seemed to think that he could hoodwink Donna into paying over the odds for a tenancy barely registered.
‘The rent you are expecting for this hovel is outrageous,’ Donna said, motioning to Miriam to follow her down the stairs. ‘I wish you good fortune in finding someone desperate enough to agree to it, although I rather doubt that you will.’
Potts’s small feet pounded down the stairs behind them, somehow managing not to trip over one of the many loose floorboards.
