being met, but then, his lordship was sitting on the other side of the room; he would surely have come forward if the young lady were his guest. ‘You weren’t going to the Manor, were you?’
‘No. Sedge House.’
‘There!’ His manner suddenly changed. ‘That ain’t even in Winterford. Right out on the edge of the fen, it is, miles from anywhere, and there’s many that’s thankful for that, everything considered.’ He looked at her again. She seemed on the verge of tears, not the sort of girl who normally visited that old reprobate, Henry Capitain. Sedge House guests were usually colourfully dressed, painted and be-wigged, and licentious, to say the least. ‘Are you sure you mean Sedge House, miss?’
‘Yes. Is something wrong there?’
‘No,’ he said hurriedly.
‘You haven’t answered my question. How can I get there?’
‘I should send a boy with a message in the morning and Master Capitain will send his carriage for you.’
It seemed a reasonable suggestion and Margaret resigned herself to waiting until the following day, and asked for a room for the night, something she had wanted to avoid doing. But tomorrow, perhaps, the sun might be shining and everything would look better; even her prospects might seem rosier, though she doubted it. She stood up and picked up her valise to follow the man up the stairs.
‘There!’ said Charles as she disappeared from sight. ‘Did you hear that? She is going to old Henry Capitain’s and no one with an ounce of good breeding would be going there. She is some waif he has picked up and invited to visit him. You could save her from a fate worse than death.’ He gave a cracked laugh when he realised what he had said. ‘Well, a short life but a merry one, eh?’
‘It is not a matter for jest.’
‘I am not jesting.’
‘We don’t know anything about her.’
‘We don’t need to know anything, apart from the fact that she is not already married, because that would certainly be an insurmountable obstacle.’
Roland laughed harshly. ‘And what about Susan?’
‘What about her? She is miles away in Derbyshire and she won’t come here in the middle of winter, considering the state of the roads and the fact that you have not yet issued the invitation.’ He paused, looking at Roland with his head on one side. ‘Have you?’
‘No, but are you suggesting I should keep news of my marriage a secret from the woman I love?’
‘That’s up to you, old fellow. You aren’t exactly betrothed, are you? You have not yet offered for her?’
‘No, but I believe there is an understanding…’
‘What good is an understanding to a young lady who has her heart set on a wedding-ring, not to mention babies? If my estimate of the fair sex is correct, she will not wait forever, so why not do something to hasten the day?’
Roland had polished off the best part of two bottles of claret or he would never have embarked on such a conversation, let alone taken it seriously. But he was in a fix and it seemed like a way out. If he married a complete stranger, someone he found not in the least attractive, as different from Susan as chalk from cheese, perhaps it would work. ‘And where did I meet this new bride of mine?’ he asked. ‘I can hardly tell Grandmama I picked her up in an inn.’
‘You’ve just come back from London, haven’t you? You’ve been away for weeks on business. You were introduced by Lady Gordon at one of her soirées, or something of that sort. You brought her home with you.’
‘Now?’ Roland was astounded. ‘You mean me to take her home now?’
‘No, tell the Dowager you left the young lady at the inn while you went on ahead to break the news to her. By the time you come back I shall have made the acquaintance of the woman in question.’
‘You assume she will agree.’
‘Well, yes, there is that,’ Charles conceded. ‘But it’s worth a try. In any case, it does not have to be this young lady; we can find others. You could advertise.’
Roland laughed, but it was a cracked sound and not in the least mirthful. ‘"Wanted, a wife for a year. Must be of mean appearance and desperate, not to say a little mad." They will flock to answer it.’
‘Have you got a better idea?’ Charles demanded, miffed. ‘Apart from remaining a single man for the rest of your days?’
‘Forget it,’ Roland said, rising unsteadily and picking up his tricorne hat. ‘I wish I had never told you. I’m going home. Are you coming?’
‘No, I’ll stay here for the night and come on in the morning.’
Roland looked at him suspiciously. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Nothing, my dear fellow. Simply ask a few questions, see how the land lies.’
‘I wish you would not.’
‘It can’t do any harm, can it? I will not commit you to anything.’
‘I should hope not,’ Roland said fervently. ‘What shall I tell Kate?’
Charles looked up in surprise. ‘She is not expecting me tonight, is she?’
‘How do I know?’ Roland was beginning to feel irritable. He supposed it was his friend’s unfailing good humour which irked him, his ability to find something to smile at even in the worst situations, but it was unfeeling of him to make a joke of Roland’s predicament. ‘You are the one who writes to my sister, not I. What did you tell her?’
‘That I would see her before the week was out. This is only Thursday. Tell her you saw me in London and that I was just going to Tattersalls to buy a horse. That’s true, because you did. Tell her I will be with her tomorrow. Send your curricle in for me.’
‘Very well, but I want your promise that you will not propose to the little kitten on my behalf.’
‘As if I would.’ Charles laughed. ‘You can do your own proposing.’
‘Never. I bid you goodnight.’ With that, he clapped his hat on his head and left the room to go to the stables, where he confidently expected that an ostler would have changed the horses on his travelling carriage.
Charles sat on while the room he asked for was prepared. A faint smile played around his lips. Roland would never have his heart’s desire if someone didn’t take him in hand.
Margaret opened her eyes to bright sunshine, and hurried to the window. It looked out on to the market, which was dominated by the great cathedral. The street was muddy and unpaved and was busy with carts loaded with produce, carriages, farmers on horseback, and men herding cattle and sheep to the pens from which they would be sold. Men and women hurried past and a coach rolled down the street and under the archway below her window. Perhaps when it had changed its horses it would be going on, and pass somewhere near Winterford. She washed and dressed and went downstairs.
The coffee-room was full,
