her. If there was a way of helping Clarissa, then she would do everything in her power to do so. Clarissa said the Earl was handsome—at least he wasn’t in his dotage so she would have that to be thankful for. However, the biggest obstacle was her grandmother, but she need know nothing about what she was planning until she had been to Ashurst Park. She would take a closer look at the Earl of Ashurst’s noble pile to give her an insight into the house and its owner, to see what awaited her if she went ahead with her plan.
After breakfast two days later, relieved that her grandmother was still in bed—she never left her bed before mid-morning—without a word to Clarissa of what she was to do, she left the house. She was dressed in her best riding habit. The colour was dark blue, the jacket cut tight in at the waist, to slope away at the sides, the ensemble set off by a jaunty feather-trimmed hat. There was no sign that she had spent a sleepless night wrestling with the wild plan she had conceived. But her delicate jaw was set with determination.
Feeling deeply sad for Clarissa, she was prepared to sacrifice herself. So what did it matter that the Earl of Ashurst was a stranger to her? Whoever she married would not possess the qualities Simon had. She would never forget what had happened to Simon, but she must put it behind her if she was to forge a new life for herself here in England. It was important to her that she rediscover something within herself, something she had lost the day he had drowned. She would love to fulfil her desire to do something more worthwhile with her life, for she would dearly like to become involved with Aunt Clara’s charities and help underprivileged children, but since that was to be denied her then she was pretty confident that she would be able to persuade the Earl of Ashurst to marry her and he would be well rewarded for it.
The Berkshire countryside was lush and green, with the sleepiness of late summer. Pausing on a rise, she looked down into a gently sweeping basin, where the gracious Ashurst Park was situated in what she thought was a pastoral paradise. It took her breath away, for it was the most beautiful house her eyes had ever beheld. Facing due south, it sat like a gracious queen in the centre of her domain. It had been built in the sixteenth century in the classical style of Brittany in France, which had been a fashionable form of architecture at the time. It stood among tall beech trees and oaks, guarding the brooding house like sentinels. Lawns adorned with flowerbeds and statues added to its beauty and further afield a rolling deer park stretched to the horizon.
A shiver crept along her spine. It was the same as she remembered, every detail. It was hard to believe that if Clarissa did marry the Earl of Ashurst, this beautiful house would be her home. Rosa’s heart warmed to it. She would not mind being mistress of such a beautiful, noble house and, as the Countess of Ashurst, whether she was accepted or not, she would be in the forefront of society.
Since Simon’s death, followed so soon by her father’s, and coming to England, she had existed in some kind of daze. Halting her horse and looking at Ashurst Park, she felt all that was about to change. Determined not to think of the impropriety of an unaccompanied lady visiting a bachelor’s residence, urging her horse on, she had not felt this energised for a long time. In some way she was back to being the old Rosa, headstrong and tempestuous and accustomed to having her own way.
But suppose the Earl wouldn’t marry her? Suppose, despite all the money that would come his way, he still insisted on marrying Clarissa? Then what would she do? As she clenched her jaw, her eyes took on a determined gleam. She wasn’t fool enough to think it would be easy, but she would make him want to marry her, she vowed.
It seemed to Rosa that she was entering a new world as she rode through the wrought-iron gates. When the gatekeeper closed them behind her she continued along the winding drive. Riding slowly past the lake, she took a moment to pause beneath the leafy canopy of a great sycamore tree. A cascade of water tumbled down a hill into a deep pool on the other side of a gracious three-arched bridge which spanned the narrow head of the lake. The still surface of the water was broken by the occasional swallow diving for midges on the surface. A boathouse could be seen in a recess among the trees on the other side.
She breathed deeply, the summer smells wafting about her. A sudden glow warmed her heart. She decided there and then that whatever drawbacks the Earl of Ashurst might possess, she would be well compensated by the beauty of Ashurst Park.
Coming to a halt at the foot of a low flight of stone steps, she dismounted. As she looked about her, a young man she assumed must be a groom hurried towards her.
‘Is Lord Ashurst at home?’
‘Yes, miss. Would you like me to take your horse?’
‘Yes—thank you.’ She watched him walk away leading her horse before climbing the steps. When she stood facing the door, she experienced her first signs of genuine apprehension. As if on cue the door was opened by a middle-aged male servant attired in black jacket and knee breeches.
‘I am here to see Lord Ashurst.’
He nodded. ‘Who shall I say, Miss...?’
‘Ingram,’ Rosa provided.
Waiting for the servant to return and removing her bonnet, Rosa looked about the large panelled hall. It was sun filled, polished and scented. She stood in awe of her surroundings. Beautiful artefacts reposed on a gleaming table in the centre, and on the walls were paintings of long-dead family members in gilded frames. The house exuded an indefinable quality—a sense of order, centuries of happiness and disappointments, memories of men and women who had lived and breathed within these walls—all folded into the fabric. The house was living, breathing, but empty of life.
Her eyes shone and she felt a peculiar excitement. It was unlike anything she had felt before and she found herself ensnared, as if this wonderful house was trying to wrap itself around her. She wanted to claim it for herself—she felt it was part of her destiny.
An elaborately carved oak staircase rose on one side of the hall to the upper floors, forming a gallery. She was conscious of a small contingent of curious maids lurking there. Open to their searching scrutiny, she was aware they stole lingering looks down at her. She managed to direct a self-conscious smile at them, but her mind was braced on the meeting with the Earl of Ashurst.
The servant reappeared.
‘Lord Ashurst will see you now. Please come this way.’
Keeping her eyes straight ahead of her, Rosa followed in his wake along an assortment of corridors, taking note of everything she saw. The house was awe-inspiring and, despite the crippling debts that the Earl was desperately trying to meet, the atmosphere was of comfort and luxury, of elegance and a style of living she could never have imagined in her island home. The servant swept open a pair of carved oaken doors and stepped aside to admit her into the study, a comfortable, tastefully furnished room lined with books and discerningly furnished. Large French windows were open, the scent of freshly mown grass drifting in.
The servant closed the door behind him as the man she assumed to be the Earl got up from his desk with a welcoming smile on his face, clearly expecting to see Miss Clarissa Ingram. He halted in surprise, staring instead at a vaguely familiar, beautiful young woman wearing a stylish riding habit.
Rosa was equally surprised when she recognised him. In that moment she noticed the startling intensity of his light blue eyes and again she thought how extraordinarily attractive he was. His tall frame was clad in impeccably tailored dark blue trousers and coat and white shirt and neckcloth at the throat. He stood, his shadow stretching across the room. Then he was striding towards her. The room jumped to life
