was not begging your pardon,’ she replied, spacing out the words as if to someone hard of hearing. ‘I was asking you to stand aside so I may pass.’
‘In a moment. Congratulations on your betrothal, by the way. Where did you meet Henry?’
She eyed the space between him and the doorway, clearly calculating her odds of slipping by.
‘We are neighbours in Nettleton.’
‘How charming. I didn’t know Nettleton harboured such hidden gems. How are you enjoying Huxley?’
‘We only arrived two days ago.’
‘A diplomatic but revealing answer. Not at all, then.’
She laughed and the tiny lines at the corners of her eyes hinted she smiled easily, which surprised him.
‘Judging by Lady Ermintrude’s comments about the Sinclairs, my welcome may be warmer than yours.’
‘You shouldn’t say that with such relish.’
‘True. It is very uncharitable of me. I hope Lady Ermintrude welcomes you with open arms, Mr Sinclair.’
‘That sounds a far worse prospect. May I ask how you would benefit from that unlikely scenario?’
‘Anything that puts a smile on her face would be welcome.’
‘Having never seen her smile, I cannot judge if it would be an improvement, but when that unlikely event occurs I doubt I will have been its cause.’
‘Was she always like that? Or is her stony façade a concession to mourning her brother-in-law?’
‘Façade implies something hidden, but after years of observation I can safely say her interior is completely consistent with her exterior. There is no inner sanctum, complete with crackling fireplace and a good book, so do not waste your time searching for it. Ermy is as devoid of emotion as she is of humour.’
‘That is what Henry says, but one cannot help wondering... Everyone has redeeming features. She appears devoted to her nieces.’
‘Yes, poor Dru and Fen. They would have fared better without it. Though devotion isn’t quite the word.’
‘What is, then?’
He opened his mouth to answer and paused, surprised by his willingness to satisfy her curiosity. He was not usually so revealing to a complete stranger.
‘You do know that in Aunt Ermy’s small universe, Henry marrying one of her nieces was as obvious as the sun rising in the east or two plus two equals four.’
‘My brother would point out that while the latter is indeed a given, there is nothing to say the sun must always rise in the east.’
‘Good God, I hope you didn’t make that Humean point to Aunt Ermy. Is that why you have banished yourself to the Folly?’
Her smile flashed again and was tucked away.
‘I had best return now. Good day, sir.’
She took a step forward, but stopped once more as he did not move out of the way. It was childish to be toying with her, but he was curious about Henry’s bride-to-be. His memories of his awkward but good-natured cousin did not tally well with this intelligent and curious specimen of femininity.
‘I must return to the Manor, sir.’
‘In a moment. Since there is no one here to help us follow convention, shall we break with it and introduce ourselves? I am Charles Sinclair, though my friends and quite a few of my enemies call me Chase. May I know the name of my cousin-to-be?’
‘Then will you stand aside and allow me to leave?’
He bowed. ‘My word on it.’
She huffed a little, as if considering a snort of disdain.
‘Miss Walsh.’
‘Walsh. Walsh of Nettleton.’ He shouldn’t have spoken aloud. Her eyes widened at his tone and their coolness turned to frost.
She didn’t look anything like the Fergus Walsh he’d once met in London. That man had been a red-haired Celt with charm and a temperament to match. He’d also been a charming wastrel and inveterate gambler who’d frequented all the clubs and gaming hells until bad debts drove him to ever more dissolute establishments. He’d brought his family to the brink of ruin and then compounded his shame by drowning in a ditch outside a gambling hell off the Fleet while inebriated.
Chase had also heard of him from Huxley who’d been bemused by his younger brother’s friendship with the man. Arthur Whelford, father to new Lord Huxley, was a vicar and possessed all the virtues of his calling. But despite these differences the Whelfords and Walshes had been the best of friends. And now the wastrel’s daughter was engaged to the vicar’s son and new Lord Huxley.
‘I shan’t keep you from your betrothed any longer, Miss Walsh. You may run along.’
‘How kind of you, Mr Sinclair.’ Resentment seethed in her deep voice, but as she moved towards the doorway something else caught his attention—a folded slip of paper held in her hand. The world shifted, both his pity and the last remnant of his enjoyment of the absurd little scene draining away in an instant, and he tweaked the letter from her hand.
‘I believe my cousin’s will stipulated that the contents of the Folly are mine and my siblings’, so I suggest you leave this here.’
‘How dare you! Return that to me this instant!’
She reached for the letter and in his surprise he raised it above his head, just as he would when he and Sam squabbled over something as children. And just like Sam, Fergus Walsh’s daughter lunged for it. Her move was so unexpected she almost made it, but just as her fingers grazed the letter he raised it further and she grabbed the lapel of his coat, staggering against him and shoving him back on to the stack of boxes that stood by the stairway.
He should have steadied himself on the wall, but instead he found his other arm around her waist as he toppled backwards. The top boxes tumbled down the stairway in a series of deafening crashes and he abandoned the letter to brace himself against the doorjamb before he followed them into the void. He saw the moment the anger in her eyes transformed to shock and fear as they sank towards the stairs, her hand fisting hard in his coat as if she could still prevent him from falling. The impact against the tumbled boxes and the top step was painful, but nowhere near as painful as their precipitous descent down them might have been.
‘My God, I am so sorry. Are you hurt?’ She was still on him, one hand fisted on his greatcoat, the other splayed against his chest. Her eyes were wide with concern and he could see all the shades of gold and amber and jade that meshed together around the dilated pupils and he had the peculiar sensation he was still sinking, as if the fall hadn’t stopped, just slowed.
‘Are you hurt?’ she demanded again, giving his coat a little tug. Out of the peculiar numbness he noticed her elbow was digging painfully into his abdomen and he forced himself to shake his head. At last the strange sensation ebbed, but now his body woke and instead of reconnoitring and reporting
