aside ‘—don’t you be crying now. You’ve done too much of that these past months.’
‘I’m not crying.’ Her eyes were dry. It was inside that the tears flowed. Or perhaps she was bleeding where some organ she could not put a name to had been wrenched out. It could not be her heart, she could feel that beating, hard and fast.
Mab stomped across the room and sat down on the sofa. ‘She loves him and he’ll do the best he can for her by the sounds of it. He’ll be one of those gentlemen who’ll stick by family come hell or high water—it’s part of their pride. You’ve just got to be glad for her and get on with your own life. He’ll be off abroad again soon, those diplomatic gentlemen are all over the place. Think of all the sights she’ll see, the things she’ll do. And when she’s all grown up he’ll give her a big dowry and find her a nice man to marry and she’ll be happy, just you see.’
‘I know.’ I know. It is the right thing. I am happy that she is alive and so clever and bright and kind and lovely. But she will never know that Piers was her real father, she will never know that her mother loved her and wanted her. ‘I am going to stay for a week. Just a week. I will see her again, I will make certain she is truly safe and happy and then I will go back to London and take off my blacks and rejoin society.’
‘A good thing, too. But who’s going to chaperon you, then?’ Mab asked. ‘You turned down all those fubsy creatures that came in answer to the advertisement.’ She stood up and administered a brisk pat on the shoulder before going to hunt for her duster.
‘I have written to my mother’s cousin Florence. She is a widow and she isn’t in very comfortable circumstances. She says she’d be delighted to be my companion.’
‘What? Lady Carstairs? The one your mama always said had feathers for brains? She’ll be no use as a chaperon.’
‘I am too old to need one of those. I just need a lady companion to give me countenance.’
‘Huh.’ Mab snorted.
‘Yes, I know, I am shockingly fast and have no countenance to preserve, some would say, but I am not seeking a husband. So long as I am received, I really don’t mind.’
‘There’ll be many a man who’d overlook a slip-up in your past.’
‘For the sake of my bloodlines and dowry, you mean?’ Just as there would be gentlemen who would overlook Alice’s birth when the time came, all for the sake of her powerful father and the money he would dower her with. ‘I don’t believe there is and I don’t want a man who would overlook something for anything but love.’ And none of them would get close enough to her heart to arouse such emotion. She did not have the courage to risk it, one more wound would kill her.
Coward, a small voice jeered. Once she had been prepared to do anything for love. Not now. Now the only battle she was prepared to fight and be hurt in was the one for Alice’s welfare
Mab suddenly slapped her own forehand with the palm of her hand. ‘I’ll disremember my own name one of these days. You had some callers while you were out. It went right out of my mind when you came back just now in that smart carriage, white as a sheet. They left their cards. I’ll go and get them.’
‘Three.’ Laura picked up the cards and found all were from married ladies and all had the corners turned to indicate that they had called in person. ‘Your visit to the village shop has obviously caused some interest.’
‘A right gossipy body she is behind the counter, so she’ll have told everyone who came in. I was careful to say who you were so they’d know we were respectable and there’d be no problem with credit. Who you are pretending to be,’ Mab corrected herself with a sniff.
‘Mrs Gordon, The Honourable Mrs Philpott and Mrs Trimmett. She is the rector’s wife, I assume, as the address is the rectory. I will call on them tomorrow, they all have At Homes on Tuesdays according to their cards.’
‘What, and risk them finding something out?’
‘Why should they suspect I am not who I say? I am not pretending to be someone whose status might excite their curiosity and it will look strange if I do not.’ Laura fanned out the cards in her hand and realised she had reached a decision. ‘I will stay for a week and I will find out all I can about Lord Wykeham. These ladies and their friends will be agog about his arrival and full of information.’
‘You always say you despise gossip,’ Mab muttered.
‘And so I do, but I will use it if I have to. I’d wager a fair number of guineas that all these ladies know just about everything there is to know about what goes on at the Manor. All I have to do is give them the opportunity to tell me.’
* * *
One of the disadvantages of her disguise was not having a footman in attendance, or a carriage to arrive in, Laura reflected as she rapped the knocker on the rectory door the following afternoon.
‘Madam?’ The footman who opened the door to her was certainly not a top-lofty London butler, which was a relief. She could hardly assume the airs of an earl’s daughter if he snubbed her.
Laura handed him her card. ‘Is Mrs Trimmett at home?’
He scarcely glanced at the name. It was certainly more casual in the country. ‘Certainly, Mrs Jordan. Please enter, ma’am.’ He relieved her of her parasol and flung open a door. ‘Mrs Jordan, ma’am.’
There were two ladies seated either side of a tea tray. One, grey-haired and plump, surged to her feet. ‘Mrs Jordan! Good day, ma’am. How good of you to call, please, allow me to introduce Mrs Gordon.’ She had all the rather forceful assurance of a lady who knew her position in the community was established and who spent her life organising committees, social gatherings, charity events and the lives of anyone who allowed her to.
Laura and Mrs Gordon—a faded blonde of indeterminate years—exchanged bows and Laura sat down. Two birds with one stone, she thought with an inward smile. ‘I am so sorry I was out yesterday when you were both kind enough to leave your cards. As a stranger to the village it is most welcome to make new acquaintances.’
Over cups of tea Laura endured a polite inquisition and obligingly shared details of her fictitious bereavement, her depressed state of health and her need to have a change of air and scene before facing the world again. The two ladies tutted with sympathy, assured her earnestly that Westerwood Magna was a delightful, healthful spot where she would soon recover both health and spirits, and delicately probed her background and family.
Laura shared some of her invented history and nibbled a somewhat dry biscuit.
‘You will find everyone most amiable and welcoming here,’ Mrs Gordon said. She was, Mab had reported, the wife of a city lawyer who had retired to a small country estate and spent his time fishing and breeding gun dogs.
‘I do hope so,’ Laura murmured, seizing her opportunity. ‘I fear I may have inadvertently inconvenienced the lord of the manor yesterday.’
‘Lord Wykeham?’ Both ladies were instantly on the alert.
‘Yes, I became lost crossing his park and strayed off the footpath. The earl came across me and I was startled and turned my ankle. In the event he was kind enough to offer me refreshment and send me home in a carriage.’ It was impossible to keep that sort of thing secret in a small village and she saw
