and who is more than capable, still, of exuding an abundance of natural charm, when the mood takes her.’ He took a moment to slant her a quizzical smile. ‘You certainly had Charles Bathurst clinging to your every word during dinner.’
‘What utter rot!’ she exclaimed, while eyeing him uncertainly, as though unable to make up her mind whether his intention had been to compliment her or not. ‘It was simply that, apart from Ann and myself, no one sitting close to him attempted to engage him in conversation very much at all. The vicar and his wife, seated opposite, apart from one or two polite exchanges, virtually ignored the poor fellow throughout the meal. And your sister didn’t precisely exert herself to converse with him very often, either.’
‘Mmm…I have frequently remarked upon it that dear Constance is not altogether wise on occasions,’ Philip responded, as he began to guide Beth along one of the paths that led back to the terrace. ‘There’s some excuse for the vicar and his spouse, I suppose. They’re good people, but the Reverend Mr Chadwick wouldn’t wish to offend the more influential part of his congregation by becoming too friendly with someone who was considered a bastard by the vast majority of the polite world for the first two decades of his life.’
‘Great heavens!’ He had captured her full attention, and it clearly showed. ‘I was wondering throughout dinner why it was I couldn’t remember old Eustace Bathurst ever mentioning he had a nephew. Not that I ever knew the old curmudgeon very well, of course.’ She frowned suddenly. ‘But surely he must have acknowledged him at some point, otherwise why did he leave his property, not to mention all his wealth, to his nephew?’
‘Poor old Eustace had been in an unenviable position,’ Philip began to explain. ‘I discovered from Uncle Waldo that not only was Eustace’s brother a key player in the scandal that took place almost four decades ago, Eustace himself was on friendly terms with the sixth Viscount Litton who, incidentally, remained until his death Charles’s mother’s legal spouse. It appeared not to trouble Eustace a whit that his friend the Viscount, when in his cups, wasn’t above beating his young bride unmercifully for the slightest misdemeanour. Like so many others, Eustace considered it a wife’s lot to put up with a husband’s—er—peccadilloes’
Disgusted, but intrigued, Beth demanded to be told more.
‘It was after she had suffered a particularly vicious beating, that the young Viscountess was attended by the newly qualified Dr Cedric Bathurst. They fell in love, and as soon as the Viscountess was restored to health they ran away to live under assumed names as man and wife. Some few years later the Viscount succeeded in locating his errant wife’s whereabouts. Charles had been born by that time, but even so the Viscount flatly refused to grant his wife a divorce, and made life so difficult for the couple that they were forced to flee yet again. Eustace had no contact with his brother at all during this period. In fact, it wasn’t until after the Viscount’s death, some fifteen years later, when Cedric had been able to marry the mother of his child, and had set up a very successful practice in Northamptonshire, that contact between the Bathurst brothers finally resumed. But even so mud sticks, and there are those still unwilling to recognise Charles Bathurst as his father’s legitimate offspring and the rightful heir to Eustace Bathurst’s fortune.’
Once again Philip found himself the recipient of an assessing blue-eyed gaze. ‘But you are not of their number, I fancy.’
‘Assuredly not!’ he concurred. ‘But sadly there are those in these parts unwilling to offer him the hand of friendship. I am hoping he can rely on your support?’
‘That must rate as the worst insult you have offered me thus far!’ she returned sharply, her dark brows having risen in feigned hauteur. ‘Really, Philip, I’m astonished you felt the need to ask!’
For answer he gave a bark of appreciative laughter. Then, before she was able to do anything to avoid it, he entwined her arm securely round his and returned to the house to rejoin his other guests.
Chapter Three
Early the following week, while alone in the front parlour busily dealing with household accounts, Beth was informed that Sir Philip Staveley’s sister had called. A few moments later the lady herself swept unaccompanied into the room, appearing, it had to be said, slightly put out.
‘What a—er—very singular manservant you keep, Bethany, my dear,’ she began, after accepting the invitation to seat herself in one of the comfortable chairs by the hearth. ‘His odd manner gives one every reason to suppose that he isn’t solely an indoor servant.’
‘Rudge’s coat buttons over many duties, Constance,’ Beth confirmed, all at once realising what must have given rise to her unexpected visitor’s odd expression when first entering the room. ‘Although I wouldn’t be without him for the world, even I must admit he lacks the natural aplomb and social graces of an experienced butler.’
She smiled wickedly as a thought suddenly occurred to her. ‘Perhaps, if I’m feeling particularly vindictive one day, I might persuade your brother to have Rudge up at the Court for a spell so that he might pick up a few pointers from the very estimable Stebbings.’
As the teasing had clearly been wasted on her guest, who appeared quite nonplussed, Beth didn’t attempt to explain she had been merely jesting. Instead, she glided smoothly across the room in order to provide her visitor with some refreshment.
‘Would I be correct in assuming you imbibe the same revolting concoction as my good friend Ann?’ she asked, holding up a certain decanter containing a clear liqueur flavoured with almonds.
‘What…? Oh, yes, yes. A glass of ratafia would be most welcome.’
‘Each to her own,’ Beth murmured, providing herself with a glass of burgundy, before joining her guest over by the hearth.
‘Is Mrs Stride not to join us?’ Lady Chalford asked after gazing about the room in a decidedly vague manner. ‘Such a charming woman, not in the least ingratiating. Yet, at the same time, one gains the distinct impression she’s quite accustomed to socialising with those more fortunately circumstanced than herself.’
Although in her formative years she had been far better acquainted with Sir Philip than his sister, Beth knew Constance well enough to be sure that she was not in the least malicious by nature. There was no denying, though, there was a wide streak of quaint snobbery running through her, which had a tendency to surface from time to time.
Consequently, although she had no intention in taking up the cudgels on her friend’s behalf, Beth was not slow to reveal, ‘If I were to tell you that her maiden name was Carrington, and that she is closely related to the branch of that family owning many acres of Gloucestershire countryside, you’ll perhaps appreciate why she’s not overawed in polite company.’
Quickly realising she had captured her guest’s full attention by what she had thus far revealed, Beth was happy to divulge more in the hope that it might pave Ann’s smooth introduction into local society.
‘It is true that her father, like my own, was a younger son, and therefore was obliged to make his own way in the world. He joined the church, and ended his days as a well-respected, if not particularly affluent, clergyman. Needless to say, Ann too was obliged to earn her own living at a young age, and thanks to both her parents’ efforts received a well-rounded education. She eventually attained a post as governess with a family in Hampshire, where she met and subsequently married Major John Stride, who owned a modest property in the county.
‘When
