Jilted (6 page)

‘This place seems well managed,’ remarked Eustacia looking round her with the eye of one accustomed to a father’s diligence and a mother’s good housekeeping. The house was obviously cared for, with highly polished wood and sparkling windows, and the fabric of the place looked to be in good order. How much was Ilam responsible for this good care, she wondered? She bent to examine an exquisitely decorated table, and slipped her reticule off her wrist when it got in the way.

‘The gardens are beautiful, aren’t they?’ said Jessie. Eustacia looked up and wandered over to join her at the window. Beyond the parterre was a terrace with a summerhouse, and a variety of trees behind. ‘They were tended especially by Ilam’s grandmother. Ilam was born here, as his grandfather was alive at the time, and Ilam’s father was the viscount. He and the previous Lord Ashbourne hated each other. It runs in the family, I’m afraid – fathers and sons hating one another. Do you want to see the portrait now?’

They went into an anteroom set in a corner of the house, with latticed windows in two of the four walls. With two doors
diagonally
opposite each other, there was little space for furniture or wall decoration. There was one large picture in the room, hung to face the window to the left of the door through which they had just come. The gentleman in the picture was dressed according to the fashion of about twenty years ago. He was leaning negligently against a heavy wooden desk, his arms folded, one leg crossed over the other. It was an unusual pose.

There was only one portrait of Eustacia’s father at her home. In that picture, he was depicted as being outside in the grounds, the house appearing in the background. Beside him was seated Lady Hope with a diminutive Eustacia upon her knee. There was also a sketch of her father, again outside with the house in the distance. In this drawing, he was shown with his gun, and his dog lying obediently at his feet. On visits to other stately homes, Eustacia had seen similarly stylized depictions of the owner in a family group, or in a pose which sought to convey his sporting prowess. Often, too, there were portraits of peers in the ermine robes of their rank.

The stance of the sitter in this picture, however, seemed to suggest an attitude which might best be described as ‘If you want to paint me, you’ll do it here, damn your eyes.’ His expression was not a pleasant one; yet it was a handsome face as Jessie had said, if rather a lean one, with high cheekbones, soaring brows, a
well-shaped
but thin-lipped mouth and dark, rather hard eyes with a hint of a cynical smile behind them.

‘Was the painting done here, or at Ashbourne?’ Eustacia asked, wondering why it remained here when the man who had sat for it was resident elsewhere.

‘It was done here, when he was Lord Ilam,’ Jessie replied. ‘His father only died ten years ago.’ She paused for a short while, then said, ‘Shall we go now? I really ought to stop myself from looking at this picture. It does me no good at all.’

Eustacia readily agreed. As for the picture doing Jessie no good, doubtless she was right. After all, the picture was only a depiction of a man who, according to his reputation. had never done any woman any good either.

It was not until they were just a few steps away from the village shop, from which Lady Agatha had asked Jessie to procure some black thread, that Eustacia realized she had not got her reticule.

‘Are you sure you had it when we set out?’ Jessie asked, with half an eye on the shop. She wanted to get there before it closed for the customary two hours during the middle of the day.

‘Yes I did,’ said Eustacia after a moment’s thought. ‘I took my handkerchief out to use it just as we arrived at Illingham Hall, if you remember. I think I took it off my wrist in the long gallery when we bent over to examine the marquetry on that table in the window. I’ll go and get it while you buy the thread. Then I’ll meet you here.’

‘I could come with you after I’ve bought the thread if you like.’

‘No need for you to suffer for my mistake,’ said Eustacia
cheerfully
. ‘I’ll be back in no time.’ It would be as well for Jessie not to have another opportunity to gaze at Lord Ashbourne’s portrait, she told herself as she hurried back to Illingham Hall.

She was almost there when she saw some very pretty wild
flowers
that she did not recognize, growing by the side of the road. She bent to pick a few, meaning to ask Jessie if she knew what they were called. Moments later, she berated herself for her foolishness. She could have taken Jessie to the spot and shown them to her just as easily. Now they would wilt long before she got them home. Telling herself that what was done was done, she walked on to Illingham Hall with the flowers still in her hand.

The housekeeper was nowhere to be seen, but the servant who
came to the door was very happy to allow her to return to the gallery once she had explained what had happened. Her reticule was on a chair near to the far window in the gallery. She picked it up, thankful that no servant had discovered it and taken it away for safe keeping. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she put it down again and walked into the little anteroom that housed Lord Ashbourne’s portrait.

There was a signature at the bottom of the portrait, and she leaned forward to see if she could make it out, setting her flowers down on the little table that stood in front of the picture. She could not decipher the writing, so instead she stood back,
wondering
how old Ashbourne had been when this likeness was taken. She knew that he was a little younger than her mother and the father of an adult son, so he would probably now be in his mid forties. Judging by his clothes, she would surmise that he must have been in his twenties when this was painted. What had happened to him by this time to make him look so hard? Was it because of the death of his wife?

It was while she was still looking at the picture that she became aware that she was no longer alone. Turning, she saw the figure of a tall, broad-shouldered man standing in the doorway and she gasped in surprise. Some magic must surely be at work, for there before her in the flesh, not roistering in Italy as she and everyone else had supposed, was Lord Ashbourne!

Suddenly remembering his reputation, and that she was all alone, she stepped back, her hand to her throat. Then he took a step or two into the room and as the light from the window fell upon his face, she realized that she must have been mistaken. This could not be Lord Ashbourne, for he was only the same age as the man in the portrait, and probably only a few years older than herself. Furthermore, although there was a likeness between them. the man who had just entered was built more heavily. His brows were a trifle thicker and without the pronounced arch which gave Ashbourne a look that was almost satanic. His hair, rather than straight and black, was wavy and very dark brown, and caught behind his head with a ribbon, whereas the sitter’s hair draped his
shoulders; his eyes though were the same shade of grey.

‘Forgive me for startling you, ma’am,’ he said. His voice was deep, and his tone, though courteous, was a little on the blunt side. ‘Were you looking for anything – or anyone, perhaps?’

Eustacia blushed, glanced involuntarily up at the portrait and back at the newcomer again. ‘I just came … that is—’

‘It’s all right,’ he interrupted, his voice becoming a little
world-weary
. ‘You need not bother trying to explain yourself. I’m well used to the spell that my father seems to cast over half the female population. I’m sorry to have to disappoint you, if you were in search of him, but he isn’t here.’

‘I am well aware of Lord Ashbourne’s whereabouts, Lord Ilam,’ Eustacia replied, guessing the identity of the gentleman. She had merely intended to sound haughty. To her chagrin, the gentleman raised his brows ironically. In so doing, he gained more of a look of his father.

‘Are you indeed?’ he replied. ‘Then what brings you here? Are you spying out the territory? I regret to have to inform you that this is not my father’s home but mine.’

‘I was doing no such thing,’ Eustacia protested, now red as much from anger as from embarrassment. ‘I was here earlier with a friend – as no doubt Mrs Davies will testify – and I left my
reticule
behind in….’ Her voice petered out.

‘In?’ he prompted her.

‘In the house,’ she replied, her chin high, determined not to be bested.

‘Indeed?’ he responded, looking and sounding unconvinced.

‘Certainly,’ she answered swiftly. ‘You can see it in there.’

He glanced round. ‘Ah. In the gallery. So you came to find your reticule, and decided that you would take another delicious look at his lordship.’

‘No,’ she protested, then realized that what he had said was true, at least in part. ‘I mean yes, but not for the reasons that you are implying. And I do not think that Lord Ashbourne is … is….’

‘You’ll forgive me if I keep to my own view on that,’ he replied.
‘And now, having looked your fill at his dark beauty, perhaps you would like to leave? I am more than happy for people to look round my house, but I’m damned if I’ll tolerate his female courtiers sighing over him and offering their homage.’ He picked up the flowers that she had laid down. ‘Take your tribute. It’s quite wasted on him, believe me.’

With an infuriated squeak, she snatched the flowers out of his outstretched hand, threw them in his face, then hurried out through the gallery almost at a run, snatching up her reticule as she went.

By the time she reached the village shop where Jessie was waiting, Eustacia had regained her composure. She did not say anything about her encounter to her companion as they resumed their walk. Had she done so, she might not have been able to avoid
confessing
that she had gone back to have another look at Lord Ashbourne’s picture. She did not want Jessie to think that Ashbourne had cast his spell over her as well.

For a moment or two, she toyed with the idea of casually telling Jessie that she had bumped into Ilam, but it did not take her long to decide against this. Jessie knew the family well, and she might therefore feel bound to go back and greet him after his absence. In those circumstances, Eustacia would have to accompany her, and then Jessie would learn how she had thrown the flowers at him. What was worse, Ilam would think that she had gone back for yet another look at his wretched father.

If only the truth were told, she was rapidly becoming sick of hearing about the man. As for yearning after him, she had
experienced
quite enough heartache and humiliation at the hands of Morrison. She had no desire to pursue a rake who was noted for dealing out that kind of treatment. She would do well to put Ilam out of her mind as well. He was probably no better than his father, as her mother had suggested.

News of the viscount’s arrival did not reach the vicarage until the following day. ‘Ilam’s back,’ Lady Agatha announced at the
breakfast
table. ‘He returned yesterday.’

‘That’s funny. We didn’t see him, did we, Jessie?’ said Eustacia quickly.

‘Been to the hall, have you?’ said her ladyship, her eyes
narrowing
. ‘You shouldn’t keep mooning over that portrait you know. It’ll do you no good at all.’

Eustacia realized that in her haste to establish the fact that she had not seen Ilam, she had put Jessie in an awkward position. She glanced at Jessie and saw that she was looking at her reproachfully. ‘Jessie did not go to moon over the picture, I promise you, Godmama,’ she said, anxious to make amends. ‘I asked her if you and your brother were alike and she offered to take me so that I could see. That was all.’

‘Hmph,’ replied Lady Agatha, only half convinced. ‘You know of Jessie’s hankering after my brother. I would have thought that you would have refrained from mentioning him at all.’

‘I’m sorry, Godmama,’ said Eustacia contritely. ‘I’m sorry, Jessie.’

‘It wasn’t your fault, Eustacia,’ replied Jessie readily. ‘I should never have mentioned the picture.’

‘Have done with this mutual exonerating exercise at once,’ Lady Agatha commanded. ‘It is very tiresome. No doubt Ilam will be round this morning in order to pay his respects. I would like you both to be present, if you please.’

Eustacia hurried upstairs to prepare for the visit. Much to her irritation, she was conscious of a feeling of nervousness at the thought of encountering Lord Ilam again. For some reason, this seemed to necessitate her looking her very best. So Ilam had mistaken her for one of his father’s fancy pieces, had he? He would soon discover his error. She rang for Trixie, and when the maid arrived it was to discover her mistress looking through her wardrobe. The maid looked a little put out and Eustacia wondered whether she had interrupted the girl in the middle of a promising flirtation.

‘Change your gown, miss?’ Trixie asked, bewildered. ‘But I dressed you not above an hour ago.’

‘Yes, but I think I may have spilled some fat on it at breakfast,’
Eustacia replied mendaciously.

‘Fat!’ exclaimed Trixie in horror-stricken tones. ‘We’ll be lucky if I ever get that out! Where is the mark, then?’

‘Oh … er … was it just here?’ murmured Eustacia, catching hold of a fold of her skirt. ‘No, it was there, I think. Oh well, never mind. You’ll just have to look for it later. Help me out of this gown, and into something else – something demure.’

Trixie looked at her suspiciously, but said nothing, simply taking out a charming gown of white muslin with a modest neckline, trimmed with tiny rosebuds. ‘I suppose you want your hair to look demure as well,’ she said, as soon as she had fastened her mistress’s gown.

‘Yes please,’ answered Eustacia, watching as her maid worked busily amongst her dark curls with clever fingers. ‘That ought to do it,’ she said in satisfied tones when Trixie had finished, and she was standing looking at herself in the full-length mirror. She looked the image of a virtuous debutante from the highest rank of society. She also looked her very best. That, of course, was entirely beside the point.

‘Do what, miss?’ asked Trixie as she picked up the discarded gown for cleaning.

‘Never mind,’ replied Eustacia, turning to look at herself from another angle. ‘I just want to look my best for my godmother’s visitor, that’s all.’

‘Is it the rake, miss?’ said Trixie avidly.

‘I don’t know whether he is a rake,’ replied Eustacia. Then she bit her lip because she hadn’t meant to tell Trixie anything. Deciding that to say no more now would be worse than to explain, she said ‘It’s Lord Ilam, Lady Agatha’s nephew.’

‘I’ll come and have a look at him,’ said Trixie slyly. ‘I can tell a rake when I see one.’ This time, Eustacia was reminded not so much of someone hoping to take in Astley’s Amphitheatre as a would-be visitor to the menagerie in the Tower of London.

‘If I catch you so much as peeping at him from round the corner, I’ll box your ears,’ Eustacia threatened.

‘Oh, all right then,’ answered Trixie sulkily. ‘I’ll go and see to
this gown, but if you ask me, the mark on it is a bit like some other things that are going on here – not quite what it seems.’

As soon as Trixie had gone, Eustacia hurried downstairs to find her godmother. She now felt very foolish for not mentioning that she had seen Ilam. She would be obliged to make more of the matter, which was the last thing that she had intended. It was either that, or run the risk of Ilam revealing that they had met, thus making her guilty of being seen to have told falsehoods for no good reason.

She ran her godmother to earth in the library, bent, as usual, over some ecclesiastical documents, and told her that she had seen Ilam at Illingham Hall when she had gone back alone to look for her reticule. ‘In that case, why on earth did you not say that you had done so?’ Lady Agatha asked her, her fine brows drawn together.

‘I hadn’t said anything about him to Jessie before this morning, and I thought that it would sound rather silly if I suddenly
admitted
that we had met.’

‘I suppose that’s understandable, given that you said nothing in the first place. What I still do not understand is why you said
nothing
to me privately about Ilam’s presence at the Hall.’

‘Because he was very rude,’ Eustacia replied forthrightly. ‘He made some unpardonable assumptions about my purpose for being there, and he very nearly threw me out on my ear.’

Lady Agatha laughed briefly. ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ she said. ‘He has none of his father’s polish. Sometimes I think that he cultivates a boorish demeanour just to be as different from his father as possible. Raff says that he has the shoulders of a
coal-heaver
and the manners to match.’

‘Raff?’

‘My brother is Raphael, Lord Ashbourne. I always called him Raff when we were children.’

‘Is Lord Ilam not a rake like his father, then?’

Lady Agatha gave a bark of laughter. ‘Never let him hear you say so,’ she said. ‘Ilam’s a very principled young man.’

‘Yet there is a physical likeness between father and son,’
observed Eustacia. ‘In fact, when he appeared in the doorway, I thought that it was Lord Ashbourne at first.’

‘If he knew that that was what you thought, then no wonder he nearly threw you out,’ retorted Lady Agatha. ‘There is a likeness between them as you say, but they would both die rather than admit it.’

‘It was partly because of the likeness that I didn’t tell Jessie,’ Eustacia said. ‘Then I thought that perhaps she would want to go back and greet him, and she would have to see the picture again.’

‘That picture is very bad for her,’ agreed Lady Agatha. ‘In fact, I’ve been wondering whether to send her away for a short holiday. She gets away from here very seldom, and a change of scene would do her good. The only question is where.’

‘Does she have any relations?’ Eustacia asked.

‘None. I shall have to give the matter some thought. For now, we’d better repair to the drawing-room in order to receive Ilam. I don’t want him to see all these papers. Please do not mention this tiresome dispute of mine. Gentlemen, in my experience, are very bored by ecclesiastical matters, unless they are clergymen
themselves
.’

They arrived at the drawing-room door at the same time as Jessie came down the stairs. She was dressed in a neat, plain grey gown which complimented neither her colouring nor her figure.

‘Jessie, I did see Ilam yesterday,’ said Eustacia quickly. ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to upset you.’

‘Upset me?’ Jessie echoed.

‘Because he’s like Ashbourne, I expect,’ put in Lady Agatha as the doorbell rang. ‘Sit down, both of you. Not there, Eustacia; over by the window.’

Eustacia immediately recognized the gentleman who entered, admitted by Grimes. He was dressed very much as on the previous day, as far as she could remember. On this occasion, his coat was dark green, and he wore it with a buff waistcoat, buckskin breeches and shiny but serviceable top boots. All his clothes were of a good cut, but the fit was comfortable rather than skin tight. Altogether, he looked like a well-dressed country gentleman rather
than the fashionable man-about-town which Eustacia suspected his father must be.

‘Good day to you, Ilam,’ said Lady Agatha in response to his polite greeting, which had included Jessie Warburton as well as his aunt. ‘I’m glad to see you looking well.’

‘I’m in good health thank you, ma’am, and trust that you are the same,’ replied Ilam in the same deep, rather harsh voice that Eustacia remembered from the previous day.

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ said Lady Agatha. ‘No doubt you are feeling strong enough to make your apologies to my goddaughter for your rudeness yesterday.’

Eustacia now saw the reasoning behind Lady Agatha’s decision to send her into the window seat. It meant that Ilam had been unaware of her presence until the moment when her godmother chose to disclose it.

Ilam turned his head in the direction which Lady Agatha indicated. Whereas the previous day, he had had the advantage of surprise on his side, today that advantage belonged to Eustacia. Furthermore, because she had her back to the light, it was not possible for him to read her expression. She got to her feet. From where she was standing, she could see the look of dawning
recognition
on his face, followed by a dull flush. ‘Your goddaughter, ma’am?’

‘My goddaughter, Eustacia. You may call her Miss Hope.’ She gestured to Eustacia to come to her side.

He bowed. It was a gesture which conveyed power and energy rather than elegance. ‘Your servant, Miss Hope.’

‘Good day, my lord,’ replied Eustacia, her curtsy as demure as her gown. She was beginning to enjoy herself.

‘Your apology, Ilam,’ prompted Lady Agatha.

‘My apology?’ he echoed, drawing those uncompromising brows together.

‘For your rudeness to Eustacia yesterday.’

He turned to Eustacia. She noted that his grey eyes were
uncomfortably
penetrating. ‘Forgive me for having startled you, ma’am,’ he said, his tone not perceptibly contrite. ‘Had you made yourself
known to me at the time, I would have been less….’ He paused.

‘Rude?’ suggested Eustacia sweetly.

‘I was going to say “direct”,’ he replied.

‘You would say that you were direct rather than rude, then,’ put in Lady Agatha.

‘Yes, I would say so,’ he responded. ‘Unlike your goddaughter’s aim.’

‘Her aim?’ Lady Agatha’s brows soared. It was Eustacia’s turn to blush as her godmother looked at her in enquiry. ‘What have you been throwing at Ilam?’

‘She threw a bunch of flowers at me,’ said the viscount. ‘I thought it rather an extravagant gesture at the time, especially when we had only just met.’ There was no change in his
expression
, but there was a softening in his tone that although not a chuckle, had the potential of developing into one.

Eustacia eyed him with some annoyance. ‘Had you not been unpardonably offensive, then I would not have needed to throw them,’ she retorted.

‘That settles it then, ma’am,’ said Ilam, turning to Lady Agatha after a brief silence during which he directed a penetrating gaze at Eustacia. ‘I will certainly
not
beg Miss Hope’s pardon.’

‘Your reasons, Ilam?’ her ladyship demanded haughtily.

‘She has declared my behaviour to be unpardonable,’ he responded. ‘That being the case, begging her pardon would surely be a fruitless exercise.’

Lady Agatha gave a bark of laughter. ‘You have your father’s quickness, I’ll say that for you,’ she declared.

‘I’ll not pretend to be flattered by the comparison,’ Ilam responded. ‘I’m prepared to cry quits with Miss Hope if she will do the same. To be at odds over such a trivial incident seems a trifle unnecessary to me.’

Eustacia could either agree or appear ungracious in the extreme. ‘Very well, my lord,’ she said, in as pleasant a tone as she could muster. ‘Let us consider the matter closed.’ Inwardly, she was seething. He had leapt to quite unwarrantable conclusions about her presence in his house. Perhaps she should not have thrown the
flowers at him, but he had been the first one to be rude. She had only been retaliating. He had offended her, both by what he had said and by his manner of saying it. Now, he had as good as implied that she was making something out of nothing. Well, she would not give him the satisfaction of making a fuss like a silly schoolgirl. Let him be on his guard, though. She would find a way to turn the tables on him one way or another.

The viscount only stayed for half an hour, as was proper, but he left having accepted an invitation to dine with them later in the week. ‘It will just be ourselves, so we shall be a very quiet party,’ said Lady Agatha.