through.’
‘Renfrew says the same, but he thinks she might lose the child if she doesn’t do exactly as he says. I feel an utter wretch for letting you down, Brock.’
‘You are not to worry about Miss Ross. I shall visit my godmother and ask her to take her in for a while. I am sure she will be only too happy. She likes young company.’
‘I am truly sorry, Brock. You know I would have obliged if I could.’
Brock smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You have enough troubles of your own. I shall come about, never fear.’
‘Where is the young lady now?’
‘I left her at Grillon’s in a private suite,’ Brock said. ‘She should be safe enough there for the moment, at least until I’ve spoken to Lady March. I secured a maid for her, though she is a little rough and ready, being the innkeeper’s daughter, but very willing.’
‘I am so sorry not to have been more accommodating.’
‘Think nothing of it.’
Brock shook his hand and left, frowning as he set out on foot for his godmother’s house two streets away. He wasn’t sure about Lady March’s reaction when he asked her to take in a young woman with only one decent dress to her name—especially if he told her the whole story, which in all honour he must.
* * *
‘You say she ran away from a forced marriage to a man of fortune?’ Lady March frowned at her godson. ‘It sounds rather impulsive and ill thought out to my mind. What family does the girl come from—and who is the man she refuses to marry?’
‘Her father was Lord Ross of Falmouth House and her mother was his mistress, but she is his heir and he adopted her legally, so her lawyer tells me.’
‘A bastard! Harry Brockley, how can you expect me to take in such a gel?’ Lady March asked in outraged tones. ‘This all sounds very fishy to me. Who is the man that is prepared to marry her?’
‘Sir Montague. That’s all I know.’
‘Sir Montague? I only know one man of that name. He is about your age, Harry, and a very decent, wealthy and upright man, too. The girl is a rogue!’
‘No, I assure you, Godmother. She is an innocent. I believe her when she tells me her family are trying to force her into this marriage—after all, many people would think it plenty good enough for a girl in her situation. I’m not sure whether they are truly trying to cheat her of her father’s fortune, or whether it is merely a business arrangement, similar to many marriage contracts. However, if she dislikes the idea, it cannot be right that she should be forced to it, can it?’
Lady March was silent for a moment, then answered reluctantly, ‘No, I do not think it can.’ Her gaze narrowed intently. ‘What is this girl to you? Have you a feeling for her? She isn’t your mistress?’
‘I swear to you that she means nothing to me. I am acting only as any honourable man would, having found her in such terrible circumstances. How can I desert her? I must find her somewhere to live until this unpleasant business is resolved.’
‘Well, I can only offer her a few days’ sanctuary. In ten days from now I am taking my niece Alice to Paris to buy her bride clothes. We are there for three weeks and after that we go down to Bath and shall remain there until the wedding at her fiancé’s house.’
‘Could you not take Miss Ross with you? At least buy her some new clothes—and then I may find somewhere else for her to live—somewhere respectable.’
Rosemarie was already kicking against his plans for her, saying that she could very well find a place to live and work if he would sell some trinkets for her, but he could not tell his godmother that, of course.
‘This is what I will do for her,’ Lady March said. ‘She may come to me for one week. Alice left some clothes here that she will not want again. We might have them remodelled for this friend of yours.’
‘Yes, she may consent to wear them, but you will please take her to the seamstress and have some new ones made, as well. I shall have to find someone she can live with until things are settled. I suppose you do not know of a respectable widow who would take her in charge for a while?’
‘A widow, you say?’ Lady March looked thoughtful, then inclined her head. ‘Yes, why not? I would not recommend her to a relative of mine, but for this girl she is perfectly respectable and invited everywhere, though I consider her a little fast. Mrs Scatterby...’
‘Samantha Scatterby?’
Brock hesitated, the pain twisting inside him as he spoke her name. He had thought he was over all that, had put the past behind him and was ready to make a new life. He’d had to forget, to make himself think of anything but her, because the last time he’d seen Samantha they had parted on a sour note. He’d seen that look of revulsion in her eyes when he’d behaved so badly that she had been disgusted, angry.
His kiss had been impulsive, because he’d felt her grief and he’d misinterpreted the look in her eyes, which had seemed to beg for his love, but he’d been wrong, because when he kissed her she had been revolted by his behaviour and he could not blame her because he’d done a despicable thing—making love to the wife of a dying man.
He recalled his thoughts quickly. When he’d left Sam that day he’d felt that she despised him for what he’d tried to do, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself when he saw the pain in her eyes. His first thought was that he couldn’t ask this favour of her. No, it was impossible! Samantha would not wish to see him after all this time. Yet she was a warm, loving woman and he believed that she might take pity on a young girl in trouble, even if she still despised him. She would surely have forgotten that foolish kiss by now, as he had. It had taken him a long time to forget, but he was certain that he was over that ill-advised infatuation he’d felt for his colonel’s lady as a young officer. He spoke at last, aware that he’d been silent too long. Even though in his heart he knew she was the only woman he would ever love so deeply, he knew that she was beyond him and he had made up his mind to settle for something else: a marriage of convenience.
That being the case, what possible reason could he have for not asking Samantha if she would help Rosemarie? There seemed to be no reason and he made up his mind to do it. Perhaps then he could put her out of his mind once and for all. He looked at Lady March and nodded.
‘Yes, of course. Colonel Scatterby’s widow. Oh, yes, she is ideal. Samantha was such a favourite with us all. We all adored her—every one of Scatterby’s friends were in love with Sam when she campaigned with us on the Peninsula.’ That was how he must think of her, as the kind friend she’d been to all her husband’s men. He had conquered that deep need for her, he’d had to because he knew she did not feel love for him.
‘What did you call her?’ Lady March was faintly disapproving. ‘Sam? Really, Harry! Well, she lives in one of these fashionable squares, but I’ve heard she may be a little strapped for cash. I dare say she might oblige if you made it worth her while.’
‘Oh, Sam will take her in,’ Brock said, sounding more confident than he felt. He swooped on his godmother, kissing her cheek. ‘Thank you for suggesting it—and I shan’t trouble you to buy Miss Ross those new gowns, I am certain Sam will enjoy kiting her out in some posh togs.’
‘Really,
