their troubled look piercing his heart. ‘Yes, yes, I think you are right.’
When she excused herself and left the room, Ralph wanted to follow her. He would abandon this charade, do anything to put the smile back in her eyes. Yet how could he? How could he allay her fears, offer her any happiness until he knew the truth himself? And for that he needed to go on with his plan.
The others were calling for him to join them, and he was their host, after all. He forced his thoughts away from Lucy Halbrook. He was paying her well for her part in this charade, there was no need for him to feel concerned for her welfare. But even as he joined his guests he knew that he was fooling himself. Lucy’s happiness had somehow become the most important thing in his life.
* * *
Lucy passed a sleepless night, caused by the stuffiness of the room, she told herself, but she knew it had more to do with Adam’s declaration as they walked back together from Ingleston. The thought that Adversane was still in love with his wife and wanted to recreate her presence made Lucy uneasy, but it was nothing to the revulsion she felt at the idea that he had deliberately caused his wife to end her own life. Lucy was convinced now that they had not been a happy couple but she could not believe Ralph had intended to be cruel. And yet...why did Helene run off to the Rock alone after the play?
She tossed and turned in her bed, Adam’s accusation gnawing at her mind. After all, what did she know of Ralph? She had seen that hard, implacable look in his eyes, guessed he could be ruthless, when he chose, but at that point she sat up in bed, saying aloud to the night air, ‘No. I know he would not do such a thing.’
Not deliberately, perhaps, but his harshness might easily overset a more gentle nature. Unfortunately that was all too easy to believe.
And as she lay down again, another thought, equally unwelcome, returned to haunt her. That he was still in love with Helene—so in love that he could not bear to let her memory go.
* * *
There was no storm that night and by the next morning the heat in the house was oppressive. Lucy rose, heavy eyed and irritable from lack of sleep. There were no orders from Ralph so she chose a fine muslin gown worn over a gossamer-thin petticoat.
Ruthie regarded her doubtfully.
‘Well,’ Lucy demanded, ‘what is it? Why do you look at me in that way?’
‘I never saw my mistress wearing such a gown.’
‘Well, thank goodness for that!’
‘There was a muslin like it in the linen press,’ Ruthie continued. ‘I remember seeing it when Miss Crimplesham and I packed up all my lady’s things. She took them with her when she went back to be lady’s maid to Miss Charlotte.’
‘Well, at least there is something that won’t remind him of her,’ Lucy muttered to herself as she went off to breakfast.
* * *
With the threat of thunder in the air no one wanted to ride out that morning and the guests gave themselves up to less energetic pursuits. Lucy decided to try out her new paint box. She ran upstairs for an apron to protect her gown and took her things to the empty morning room, where the light was good. Byrne brought in the old easel Lord Adversane had found for her, and after suggesting diffidently that she should avoid setting it up on the master’s treasured Aubusson carpet he retreated, and she was left in peace.
The view from the window was very fine, but there was a heaviness in the air that dulled the aspect so she reached for her sketchbook to find a suitable subject. Flicking through the pages, she found herself staring at the craggy likeness of Lord Adversane.
A wry smile tugged at her mouth. No watercolour could do justice to that harsh countenance; it needed the strong lines of pen and ink, or the heavy surety of oils. She moved on and soon found a small sketch she had made of a drift of cotton grass, the delicate tufts standing white against the dark boggy ground. Her hand went to her cheek, feeling again the soft downy touch of the fronds upon her skin. That was what she would paint.
Lucy worked quickly, but painting was not engrossing enough to keep her mind from wandering. Adam Cottingham’s words kept coming back to her but each time she dismissed them. She was sure Ralph could not be so ruthless, even if he no longer cared for his wife.
How can you be so certain?
The question, once posed, had to be answered. She could not ignore it. Ralph’s kindness to her, his wit, their shared moments—even when they disagreed violently—had given her more pleasure than anything she had ever known.
‘I love him.’
She spoke the words aloud to the empty room.
Love. What did she know of that? This was nothing like the love she felt for her parents. Apart from the painful grieving when Papa died, that love had always been a comfort. There was nothing comfortable about her feelings for Ralph Cottingham, fifth Baron Adversane. She wanted to rip and tear at him, whether it was a difference of opinion or—a shiver ran through her—in the dreams that disturbed her rest. Then she would imagine him in her bed, her hands touching his naked body, her mouth covering his skin with kisses, tasting him.
She shifted restlessly. This was beyond her experience. It could not be right to feel such violent emotion for a man she had known but a few weeks. It was not sensible. It was not safe. The sooner she left Adversane and its difficult, disturbing master the better.
The door opened and she looked around quickly, expecting to see the object of her wicked thoughts coming in. Instead, it was Lady Preston. Lucy summoned up a smile.
‘If you are looking for company I am afraid there is only me and my poor art here, ma’am.’
‘It is you I wish to see, Miss Halbrook.’
Lucy put down her brush but before she could speak Lady Preston launched into an attack.
‘You think to fill my daughter’s shoes in this house, do you not, Miss Halbrook? I advise you to think again, and reflect upon what you are doing.’
‘Lady Preston, I—’
‘He has chosen you because of your likeness to Helene.’
‘Really?’ Lucy could think of nothing else to say, since she could not deny it.
Lady Preston’s lip curled. ‘Oh, you may have fooled Adversane, but you do not fool me. Very clever of you to style yourself upon my daughter. How did you do that? Talked to the servants, I suppose, and to her friends. And of course now you are at Adversane there is her portrait to guide you.
‘Very clever, miss, but think carefully, before it is too late.’ The matron came closer. ‘He does not love you, my dear. It will all end in tears. You see, Charlotte promises to be as beautiful as her sister, and in a year or two, when she has matured, she will be her equal. Then what will you do? Adversane will not want you, a pale imitation, when he can have the real thing.’
‘Lady Preston, if Lord Adversane wishes to marry me—’
‘Oh, I am sure he does, at present, because you have bewitched him. He sees Helene every time he looks at you. But how long will that last, do you think? You are nothing like the glorious creature that was my daughter. And when he does see through
