seemed the obvious thing to do.
Somehow, insanely, it still did.
Even if she was the strangest-looking damsel in distress he’d ever seen. With his eyes closed, he’d assumed the brother’s insults had been exaggerated to hurt her feelings, but first impressions made it difficult to argue. It was hard to imagine what Sir Charles saw in her. Her clothes were so old-fashioned they seemed to belong to another era, every item a drab, uniform grey that did nothing for her wan complexion. Her collar was so high it looked as if it must surely constrict her breathing, while the rest of her gown was completely shapeless, hanging loose around her waist with almost no definition at all. Combined with an ancient-looking poke bonnet, woollen gloves, a shawl that might better serve as a dishcloth and a pair of heavy lace-up boots, she seemed determined to look as severe and dowdy as possible.
Ungallant as it sounded, she wasn’t exactly the bride he’d envisaged when he’d set out that morning. Louisa, with her golden curls and indigo-blue eyes, was the most exquisitely beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. This woman looked as though she never even glanced in a mirror. Side by side they might resemble an old crow next to a glamorous swan.
After Louisa’s rejection, on the other hand, the very contrast was appealing. Besides which, there was no trace of meanness in her face, no hint of Louisa’s sulkiness or petulance. It was a pleasant face, albeit a trifle too thin, a fact accentuated by the severity of her hairstyle, scraped back so tightly that he could hardly distinguish the colour, a nondescript shade somewhere between blonde and brown. But her skin was clear, her lips full and wide, and there were even faint lines curving upwards from the corners of her eyes as if, difficult though it was to imagine, she was accustomed to laughter. Overall, she might be quite pretty, if she hadn’t clearly resolved to be otherwise.
‘It’s only twenty minutes to Pickering.’ The brother seemed blithely unaware of any tension in the compartment. ‘So the porter says.’
‘A little longer.’ Robert interrupted smoothly, glad of the chance to prove his respectability, if not his sanity, at least. ‘Forgive my intrusion, but the new deviation line to Whitby has only just opened. It’s a longer route so it’s caused a few delays along the branch line, but some of the porters still forget.’
‘The new line takes longer than the old one?’ The youth sounded scornful. ‘That doesn’t sound like progress.’
Robert allowed himself a cynical half-smile. What was it the sister had called him? Pompous. The word seemed particularly apt.
‘It’s much safer than the old rope-worked system at Beckhole. It’s a steep hill and there have been several bad accidents there over the years. The new route is safer.’
‘Ah...well, when you put it like that.’ The youth nodded sagely. ‘Are you connected to the railway, sir?’
‘I’m on the board of directors.’ Robert smiled, gratified to see the woman’s head twist slightly towards him, as if she were reviewing an earlier opinion.
‘Indeed? Then I’m glad to meet you. My name’s Percy Holt.’
‘Robert Felstone, delighted to meet you.’
‘Felstone? Have we met before, sir? Your name seems familiar, but I can’t place it.’
‘I don’t think so. Unless...perhaps you visit the area often?’
‘No, not for a long time, though we used to come every summer as children. Our mother was from Pickering. We’re going to stay with our aunt there now.’ The youth gestured towards the woman almost as an afterthought. ‘This is my sister, Miss Ianthe Holt.’
‘A pleasure, Miss Holt.’
He offered a hand, wondering if she would take it. She could hardly refuse to acknowledge him without telling her brother what had just happened and, from what he’d observed of their relationship, he didn’t think she was about to do that. Besides, for some strange reason he found himself actually wanting to touch her, to find out if she were really as buttoned-up as she seemed. She looked so strait-laced that he felt an unexpected desire to ruffle her up.
‘Mr Felstone.’ She extended a hand, letting it drift vaguely in his direction before retracting it again quickly.
Robert felt a powerful urge to laugh. He wasn’t accustomed to women expressing anything other than gratitude for his attention. Even Louisa, insincere as she’d apparently been, had seemed flattered by it. This woman looked as though she wanted to throw him from the train. Was she still angry over his earlier comments or did she simply doubt the sincerity of his proposal? he wondered. And in the latter case...how could he convince her?
‘Ianthe. That’s an unusual name.’
He flashed his most charming smile. Even during his penniless youth, he’d quickly discovered the disarming effects of his good looks upon women. Since earning his fortune, these seemed to have increased tenfold, though he suspected this woman might prove more of a challenge.
‘It’s from a poem.’ Her expression didn’t alter.
‘Ah. There are gaps in my education, I’m afraid. I never studied poetry.’
‘You amaze me.’ She didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm. ‘It teaches men refinement, I think. Or at least how to speak to a lady.’
‘Ianthe!’ Percy sounded shocked. ‘Forgive my sister, Mr Felstone. We’ve travelled all the way from London today. She must be tired.’
‘On the contrary—’ she glared at her brother acerbically ‘—I’m feeling quite fresh. There’s no need to speak for me.’
Robert bit back a smile. No, it seemed the prim and proper Miss Holt—he was glad to know her name at last—wouldn’t be so easy to charm at all. Somehow the thought made her all the more appealing. But the train was already slowing into Pickering station. If he was going to convince her, he didn’t have much time.
‘Wait a minute!’ The brother held up his newspaper suddenly, pointing to the headline. ‘“Felstone’s of Whitby awarded new naval contract.” I knew I recognised your name from somewhere! Are you connected to the shipbuilding family, sir?’
‘I am that family, I’m afraid. All there is of it anyway.’
‘So you’re on your way to Whitby?’
‘Eventually, though I’m staying in Pickering for a few days. There’s to be a public gala and private ball celebrating the official opening of the new railway line tomorrow. I’d be happy to add your names to the invitation list if you wish?’
‘I don’t travel with a ball gown, sir.’ Miss Holt sounded distinctly unimpressed.
‘Well, I’d be delighted.’ The youth threw her an icy look. ‘I’m afraid my sister prefers books to dancing these days. I expect she’d rather visit the castle.’
‘Indeed?’ An image of Sir Charles flashed into Robert’s mind. ‘You like old things, then?’
Doe eyes flashed back. ‘I enjoy history, Mr Felstone. I don’t enjoy being mocked.’
‘I’m quite serious, I assure you, Miss Holt. I’m rarely anything but.’
She
