we? You may find that, eventually, there will be other things to occupy your time and energy, mistress.’
She would have been a dullard indeed not to have known what he alluded to, but she did not think that, in the circumstances, the prospect was very enticing. Nor, if she could help it, was it even feasible.
‘He kissed you, didn’t he?’ Aphra said.
‘You can tell?’
Aphra chuckled. ‘Well, there’s nothing to see, exactly, but...’
‘But what?’ Etta peered into the mirror, touching her lips with the tip of a finger, feeling not only the firm pressure of his mouth on hers but also the hardness of his thighs, even through her farthingale. His arm had pressed into her shoulders, bending her into him. Not a tender kiss by any means. She ought not to have allowed it, but Baron Somerville was not a man against whom she was likely to win any argument, as her time in the garden had proved. He would hear her side of things but, in the end, he would retain the upper hand.
‘You look as if you might be seeing eye to eye at last,’ Aphra said. ‘Are you?’
Etta scowled. ‘Indeed not,’ she said. ‘Not as long as I’m expected to live over a shop. He wants us to go and see it. As if that will make any difference.’
‘Just think of all those exotic fabrics and feathers, straight from the Orient and the Indies.’
‘Aphie! You’re not taking this seriously, are you? And anyway, where are the Indies?’
‘I don’t know, love. Sounds good, though.’
Etta was glad of her cousin’s company at a time like this when her deepest thoughts had begun to conflict with the impression she was trying to give of being resolute, strong-willed and still deeply frustrated by recent events. If the truth be told, her first experience of being held so forcibly, of being overruled, kissed without her permission and made to listen, had dealt a serious blow to her attempt at a frosty and implacable manner, and now she felt confused by a riot of new feelings brought on, she knew, by the man’s powerful and shocking closeness. Naturally, with his experience, he must have known how it would affect her, an innocent. He had been places, met people, done things, had women. That thought in particular made her frown. ‘He’s had women, Aphie,’ she said.
But Aphra was looking out of the window, her lovely face suddenly lit by an excitement she tried hard to control. ‘It’s Ben!’ she said, breathlessly. ‘I can see it is. He has someone with him. I must go down, Ettie. Come!’
Instantly switched to a different channel, Aphra dismissed Etta’s potentially interesting snippet of information to focus on their newest guest, their uncle, Dr Ben Spenney—Dr Ben, as he was known to the family—was the half-brother of Aphra’s mother and Etta’s stepmother, and was now an eminent apothecary whose home at Sandrock Priory had been left to him by his father, Sir Walter D’Arvall. Sir Walter and his long-suffering wife had been allowed to buy the priory after the closure of the monasteries over twenty years ago, spending a vast amount of money and effort on remodelling it for domestic use. Now, it was occupied by Dr Ben and his household, amongst whom were several young students of medicine from various parts of Europe come to study in England. He was a gentle and scholarly man, not unlike the monks with whom he’d been raised, and his family doubted he would ever find time to marry. In spite of the disparity in their ages, Ben and his niece Aphra had always held an extraordinarily deep affection for each other, though this had never been actively encouraged because of their close relationship. It was no secret to the family, but nor was it a subject ever singled out for comment, even by Aphra’s younger brother Edwin or the twin cousins with whom he worked. Now, as Etta saw the sparkle in her cousin’s eyes and the quick flush of colour to her cheeks, her heart ached for Aphra, whose special affection for Ben could never be allowed to flourish.
Downstairs, by the roaring log fire, the delight at seeing Dr Ben after an interval of several months was truly genuine, Sandrock Priory being miles away in the Wiltshire countryside within visiting distance of other second homes belonging to the D’Arvalls and Bettertons. Far enough away from London for the air to be sweet and pure. Dr Ben’s companion was quickly made welcome. ‘Master Leon of Padua,’ said Ben. ‘One of my very brightest students. I’m taking him with me to lecture at the Apothecaries’ Hall. For the experience,’ he added.
Master Leon, a well-made young man with large dark eyes and a skin that could only have been burnished by an Italian summer, wore a sober gown of dusty black over a grey-brown wool tunic and a flat cap that had seen better days. His manner and speech, however, suggested that his education had been exceptional. ‘Dr Spenney,’ he told them, ‘is either trying to offer me the experience or show me how little I know and how much I have yet to learn.’
They laughed, but Aphra said, ‘How little you know about what, sir?’
‘About the curative qualities of plants, madonna,’ he said, smiling.
‘But any housewife knows which plants heal. It’s part of a woman’s training,’ she said. ‘We have recipe books that are generations old.’
‘Aphra,’ said Dr Ben, gently, ‘stop teasing. You know what he means.’
The glances they exchanged seemed to imply much more than words, and the laugh that rose in Aphra’s throat was of a kind not often heard by the others. But his half-sister, Lady Raemon, who also had a special fondness for Ben, suspected that the real reason why he had chosen Master Leon to accompany him was to meet Aphra, and it was not long before the two were gently sparring about which plants were native to their respective countries. Etta joined in, then took them both to inspect the herb garden. So it was quite by chance that they missed the arrival of two more guests in the same barge from further down the river, Baron Somerville and Sir Elion D’Arvall, the eldest son of the late Sir Walter, and elder brother to Lady Raemon.
Sir Elion D’Arvall had once aspired to a senior position in the royal household, having assumed that he might be offered the post as King’s Cofferer on the death of his father. But with the change of sovereign had come a change in many other departments and Sir Elion had been overlooked, only to be instantly recruited by William Cecil, advisor on financial matters to the young Princess Elizabeth. Now she was Queen at last and Sir William made Secretary of State, Sir Elion had become an extra pair of ears and eyes both in England and abroad, acting as diplomat in the courts of Europe. It was inevitable that he and Baron Somerville would one day arrive together, having often met while on business abroad. ‘Where was it last, Nic?’ Sir Elion said, passing him a handsome silver-lidded tankard. ‘Antwerp, wasn’t it?’
Lord Somerville took it from him. ‘I was doing deals with silk merchants,’ he said, remembering with a smile. ‘I’ve learned a lot since then.’
‘And now you’re to marry the lovely Henrietta. Well, you’ll have your work cut out there, lad, and no mistake. Brave man, eh, Jon?’
Lord Raemon twitched an eyebrow in Somerville’s direction. ‘He knows what he’s doing,’ he said, laconically. ‘I’ve warned him. Don’t blame me.’
‘Shame on you both,’ said Lady Virginia. ‘Henrietta’s a lovely young woman and intelligent, too. If she has both of you running round in small circles, you can blame each other for forcing her hand.’
‘What’s this about?’ said Dr Ben, looking from one to the other. ‘Surely you didn’t think you
