care, selecting her new lilac gown. It was simple and elegant without being ostentatious, and the colour suited her. As she had no other jewellery her only adornment was her locket. Nevertheless she was not displeased by her appearance when she looked in the glass. It should at least pass muster. Affording her reflection a last wry smile, she left her chamber and made her way to the drawing room.
She arrived to find the guests talking to their host, but at her entrance they greeted her with expressions of pleasure, which she returned with equal sincerity.
George gave her a beaming smile.
‘Good to see you, Miss Davenport, and how very well you look.’
Ellen echoed the sentiment. ‘Indeed you do, my dear. And what a delightful gown.’
The Viscount, listening, knew the words for truth. As he hadn’t seen the frock before he gathered it must be a new purchase. Clearly the trip to Harrogate had been productive. The colour of the fabric became her well, suiting her dark curls and fresh complexion, and his critical eye could find no fault with the cut or the style. It epitomised simple, understated elegance. She seemed to have an instinct for it. He noted that she was wearing the silver locket again. It was a pretty trinket, but amethysts would go better with that gown. Even so it showed off her figure well and, he reflected, a figure like hers should be shown off. It was beautiful. His imagination stripped away the dress and contemplated what lay beneath. He caught his breath. With an effort of will he forced the image away and his attention back to his guests.
A short time later dinner was announced. He offered his arm to Miss Greystoke while her brother led Claire in. Throughout the meal, though he kept up his part in the general conversation, Marcus found his attention repeatedly returning to Claire. Yet his critical eye could discern not the least hint of awkwardness in her demeanour, and her manners were impeccable. Far from seeming out of place, she looked as though she belonged.
Once the meal was over the two ladies withdrew to the drawing room, leaving the men to talk over their brandy and cigars. Claire had been looking forward to having the opportunity for private speech with Ellen, and when at last the two of them were alone she seated herself on the sofa beside her friend.
‘Now tell me all,’ Ellen said. ‘And especially about your young charge.’
She listened avidly as Claire supplied the details.
‘I am so glad that all is well. I gathered as much from your letter, but it’s always reassuring to hear it from your own lips.’
‘I have nothing to complain of,’ said Claire. ‘The Viscount takes a great interest in Lucy’s education and provides whatever I ask for in that regard.’
‘Excellent.’
‘He is most solicitous about the child and seems anxious to ensure her happiness.’
‘So it would seem.’ Ellen paused. ‘Has he said any more about finding the men responsible for his brother’s death?’
‘No, but that does not mean he has abandoned the scheme.’
‘At least he can use his position to enlist the help of the authorities. That must be far safer than adopting a false identity.’
‘I cannot think he will do so again, not now he has Lucy to consider.’
Had they known it, the conversation in the dining room was turning on a similar theme.
‘Have you taken further action?’ asked George.
‘I called upon Sir Alan Weatherby in Harrogate last week. He is my godfather—was Greville’s too—and is a local magistrate besides. He is most anxious to have information about the wreckers. Rest assured, if he learns anything I shall know of it soon after.’
‘Then he knows the truth?’
‘Yes. Sir James Wraxall also knew of Greville’s mission here, though not his true identity. He knew my brother by the pseudonym of David Gifford.’
‘Wraxall knew?’
‘Yes, and lent his full support to the scheme.’
‘I suppose he would, being a local magistrate. All the same he is not a popular man in the district.’
‘Magistrates rarely are popular,’ said Marcus.
‘Wraxall is a mill owner, too. He was the first to cut wages.’
‘Ah, I see.’
‘I am glad you have chosen this way to find your brother’s killers.’
‘I hope the disappearance of Mark Eden didn’t cause you any difficulties?’
‘None at all. As you asked, I gave it out that he had gone to stay with relatives further north. I left the destination suitably vague.’
‘I am much obliged to you, George.’
‘No offence, but I rather hope Eden does not return.’
The Viscount smiled wryly. ‘Really? I rather liked him.’
‘Seriously, Marcus.’
‘Seriously, George, so do I.’
A short time later they rejoined the ladies in the drawing room and the conversation was directed into other channels for a while. Then George suggested some music. The Viscount’s grey eyes gleamed. Recalling the story-telling episode on the way to Harrogate, he looked straight at Claire and seized his opportunity for revenge.
‘Perhaps Miss Davenport will oblige us with a song.’
As he had foreseen, Claire could hardly refuse. He watched as she got up and moved to the pianoforte. When her back was to the others she threw him a most eloquent look. His grin widened. Enjoying himself enormously, he followed her to the instrument and riffled through the sheet music until he found the piece he was looking for. Then he handed it to her.
Torn between annoyance and amusement Claire took it from him, scanning it quickly. In fact it was neither difficult nor unfamiliar as she had suspected it might be. He wasn’t that unkind, she decided. All the same she would have preferred not to be the centre of attention. Thank goodness it wasn’t a large company.
‘I’ll turn the pages for you,’ he said.
Undeceived by that courteous offer she nevertheless returned him a sweet smile.
‘How very kind.’
The grey eyes held a decidedly mischievous glint, but he vouchsafed no reply and merely stationed himself beside her. Supremely conscious of his proximity but unable to do anything about it, she turned her attention to the music. Then, taking a deep breath, she settled down to play.
After hearing the opening bars Marcus’s amusement faded and was replaced by pleasure and surprise; she played and sang beautifully, more so than he could ever have supposed. He had expected competence, but not the pure liquid notes that filled the room. Her voice was clear and true and had besides a haunting quality that sent a shiver down his spine and seemed to thrill to the core of his being. He had heard the song countless times, but never so movingly
