to hear, she thought, how the new Queen would react to anyone who tried to impose their will upon her in matters of the heart.
‘Dry your eyes at once, Etta,’ she commanded. ‘This kind of behaviour will cut no ice with your father. You are a grown woman and this is most unbecoming. Whatever you feel, Lord Somerville is our guest and you must act accordingly out of courtesy to us all. Come now, mop your face, come downstairs with me and be civil.’
Etta realised that there would be more to it than civility. ‘Mother,’ she said, turning to show brown eyes sparkling with tears of anger, ‘is he...are you...so determined on this...this union? Is this really the way you wish to make an arrangement?’
‘Etta, the way we’ve made the arrangement is neither here nor there. All women must accept their parents’ choice unless they are widowed and even then marriages may be arranged for them. It’s what happened to me and it will happen to you, too.’
‘You always told me that you and Father were in love when you married.’
‘We were, in a way. But that didn’t mean I was given any choice in the matter.’
‘So you mean that Father will insist on it?’
‘Yes, dear. There is no good reason to prevaricate any longer. Lord Somerville and your father have already entered into negotiations. That’s all there is to it.’ Her heart softened towards her beautiful stepdaughter, so intelligent and sensitive, brimming over with vitality and expectations.
* * *
To have continued the talk of dishonour and treachery over dinner would have been unthinkable, for Etta had been well schooled in good manners and the arts of hospitality. Even so, she could not pretend that nothing had happened to change how she felt about the man, his deceit, his profession. Her deeply felt anger at the deceit overpowered the meal to such a degree that she tasted nothing of the roast meats and savoury sauces prepared with such care, and it was only because Aphra was there to converse with their guest that the diners managed without Etta’s usually bright contributions. Politely, she spoke when she was spoken to, but since Lord Somerville made no attempt to coax her to say more on any subject, she found the meal miserably tasteless and tense.
There was still an hour of daylight left, though it was only mid-afternoon when they rose from the table. Etta had it in mind to excuse herself immediately, but her father had other ideas before she’d had time to speak. ‘Henrietta, I think our guest would like to see the gardens with you before it gets any darker.’
There was no way out. Much too quickly, Tilda brought her woollen cloak, and since it seemed to have been taken for granted that their guest would soon be one of the family, no escort followed them out on to the paved pathway leading to the herbier. With the intention of walking quickly to avoid any attempt at conversation, Etta marched away down the path between low hedges of hyssop, lavender and thrift, brown-spiked and tangled grey, reflecting her mood. But there was to be no evading the long stride of her companion who, without her knowing quite how it happened, managed to steer her into the trelliswork allée covered with the winter stems of honeysuckle and climbing roses. Shielded from the house, Lord Somerville wasted no time in bringing her contrariness under control, catching her beneath one arm and swinging her round to face him.
Momentarily off balance, all her resentments, hurts and loss of face rose up to the surface and, with all her pent-up energy, she aimed a blow at his head which, if it had connected, would certainly have hurt him. But he was too quick for her. He had noted how her anger had simmered throughout the meal and how that, before too long, something would explode. In the blink of an eye, her wrist was caught and held away into the small of her back, his grip so painfully tight that no amount of twisting or writhing would dislodge him or prevent her other wrist from joining the first.
‘Let me go!’ she snarled. ‘Let me go! I do not want you. Not now or ever!’
‘Yes, I know all about that. Saints alive, woman, I never met anyone with so many preconceived ideas about men as you. And when you find a man you like, you’re prepared to dislike him because he’s even better than you thought he was. What kind of nonsense is that?’
‘It isn’t nonsense,’ she said, pulling against his restraint. ‘I’m prepared to dislike you, sir, because of your deceit and because I told you of the reasons for our mismatch well before this. You lied to me about—’
‘No, I didn’t. I spoke only the truth, mistress. If you put your own slant on it, that’s your fault, not mine.’
‘So why could you not have told me who you were, instead of...?’
‘Shop-owner, ship-owner, mercer and merchant. I am proud of what I do, mistress. I have not lied to you, but nor did I tell you everything, either. What man would be flattered to know that it was his wealth and status that won the heart of a woman, rather than the man himself? Fathers may arrange marriages for their daughters along such lines, but I don’t entirely fall in with that principle. And don’t pretend you were not interested, because I know differently.’
‘In a wily knave like you, my lord? Never. I would rather—’
Whatever her high-flown protest was to have been, it was cut short by his kiss, hard, thorough and long enough to make her forget. Wedged with her head on his shoulder and unable to move away, she could only wonder at the change in him from soft-spoken courteous gentleman to this, as if the sudden revelation of his title had endowed him with an authority of a far more potent kind. If this change had any direct link to the change in her, too, then she conveniently forgot it. It was, however, a side of him she had not expected and one which, if the truth be told, she found exciting, for it suggested that she could protest all she liked but would still be as desired as she was before. ‘Let me go,’ she said, not quite as emphatically as she had intended. ‘If you think I appeared to be interested in you, my lord, you are mistaken. I was more interested in what you had to tell me about the fabrics That’s why I returned—to take another look at them.’
His hold on her relaxed. ‘And look where that got you, mistress,’ he said. ‘Was it worth all the effort?’
‘No, it certainly was not, my lord. How could you ever have believed I would take kindly to being manipulated in this way?’
‘I believed your father when he assured me it was probably the only way, mistress. He still does. But if you’d come down off your high horse, you’d see the advantages rather than the hurt to your pride. Recall, if you will, how you enjoyed talking with me about fabrics and the exotic places they come from, and about the latest trends in fashion. I could show you much more than that: the warehouses, the furriers and cordwainers for your leathers, the shoemakers, the very finest tailors.’
Her stony expression almost softened at that, but there was yet another cause to keep her anger simmering, too good not to use as ammunition. ‘I wish to attend the royal court,’ she said. ‘Of what use would finery be if I could not show it there? I believe the Queen knows of me, my lord, and it is my dearest wish to meet her.’
Placing an arm across her back, he moved her along the allée and out into the knot garden where a tiny wren flitted beneath their feet into the foliage. ‘It’s not quite as rosy as that, mistress. Surely Lord and Lady Raemon have explained the position to you?’
‘If you mean they have doubts about her wish to see me, then, yes, they have done their best to pour cold water on the idea. I’m not at all convinced.’
‘Then I don’t suppose I shall be any more successful, mistress. But I think you should be
