had seen that love rarely had much to do with these transactions and was quite content for this to be the case. The fact that his father wished him to settle down and provide an heir for Woodallan he viewed as a completely separate issue. Or, he had viewed it as such until he had met Miss Sarah Sheridan.
Guy shifted in his chair. He had told Greville about the rumours that were circulating about Sarah and a little of the scene between them, though, naturally enough, he had not imparted the whole tale. Greville had been frankly incredulous.
‘Sounds all a hum to me,’ he said judiciously. ‘The Bath tabbies usually prefer fiction to fact! They find it so much more scandalous. Ten to one the whole thing is nothing more than a Banbury tale!’
Guy pulled a face. ‘I would like to agree with you, Grev, but Miss Sheridan practically confirmed it! When I asked her if it was true she was visiting Blanchland, she did not give a convincing denial! What was I to think?’
Greville waved his fork about descriptively. ‘That she was visiting her old nurse? That Ralph Covell wanted to hand over some of her father’s paintings? I don’t know—anything except what you clearly did think, old chap!’
Guy did not deny it. Now he said, ‘I suppose…I may have been a little hasty—’
‘Seems to me you should think about why you reacted as you did,’ Greville said drily, demonstrating his disconcerting habit of hitting the nail on the head. ‘I believe you must owe Miss Sheridan an apology, Guy. Do you care to accompany me to Brock Street this morning? I was intending to call on Lady Amelia anyway.’
Guy hesitated. He sincerely doubted that Sarah would either offer an explanation or give him the chance to apologise. It seemed most likely, in fact, that she would never speak to him again. He thought again of the previous night, of how Sarah’s initial resistance to him had melted into response and how he had taken ruthless advantage of it. Much as he would have preferred to deny it, her willingness had raised an echo of genuine passion in him that had transcended the blind fury that had first prompted him to punish her. He had been as shaken as she was—or as she had appeared to be.
Guy paused. Supposing—just supposing—Sarah had been the innocent he had always thought her to be? How must she have felt to have her inexperienced reactions construed as calculated passion? How would she be feeling that morning, confronted with the discovery of her own desires and the memory of his contempt? There were no excuses. He had taken disgraceful advantage of her.
Guy gave a groan and buried his head in his hands. Looking at matters in the cold light of day, he was both stunned and disconcerted by his violent reaction to the gossip he had heard. As Greville had said, he needed to analyse why he had responded so furiously and the answer was not far to seek. Although he had not previously acknowledged it, his feelings for Sarah Sheridan ran very deep indeed. The knowledge was a shock on one level, but on another he was obliged to admit that he had known it from the first. The fact that he had known her such a short time was irrelevant to his feelings. And now he had made the most godforsaken mess of the whole business…He groaned again.
Greville was eyeing him with concern. ‘I’ll ring for an ice bag,’ he said, getting up. ‘And, Guy, have a shave before you go out. It won’t help your cause to arrive in Brock Street looking half cut!’
The house in Brock Street was shuttered and it seemed to take an inordinate amount of time before Chisholm answered the bell. Nor was his demeanour particularly encouraging when he did so, for there was a look in his eye that seemed to imply that they should be using the tradesmen’s entrance.
‘Good day, Lord Renshaw. Good day, Sir Greville. May I be of service?’
Guy and Greville waited to be allowed over the threshold, but Chisholm remained obdurately in the way. Greville raised his eyebrows.
‘Good day, Chisholm. Is Lady Amelia receiving visitors? Pray tell her that we have called!’
Chisholm folded his lips into a thin line. His stance seemed to suggest that such good humour was sorely misplaced.
‘I regret to inform you, sir, that Lady Amelia has left town.’
There was a pause. Guy stepped forward. ‘And Miss Sheridan? Is she at home?’
Chisholm’s gaze seemed to turn even more glacial. ‘I fear not, my lord. However, her ladyship asked me to give Sir Greville the following message.’ He cleared his throat and avoided looking directly at either of them. ‘Her ladyship wishes it to be known that she has gone to the country with her cousin. Further, whilst you are still welcome to visit here, Sir Greville, the same invitation does not extend to your friends. Good day, sir.’
Chisholm bowed neatly, stepped back and closed the door firmly.
Both Guy and Greville stared at the wooden panels in stupefaction, then Greville took a hasty step forward and reached for the bell again. Guy laid a hand on his arm.
‘Grev! Wait!’
Guy did not think he had ever seen his friend so angry. Greville’s grey eyes were burning with fury. ‘How dare he say such things! The confounded impertinence of the man! Why, I’ll—’
‘He is only doing as he was instructed,’ Guy pointed out quietly. ‘Come away, Grev. There are people watching.’
It was true. Several curious passers-by, including the ubiquitous Mrs Clarke, were occupying the pavement at the bottom of the steps.
‘Oh, Sir Greville!’ that lady trilled, stepping forward to block their way. ‘Lord Renshaw! Have you heard the news? Lady Amelia has gone to Blanchland with her cousin! I can scarce believe it, but it must be true for Mrs Bunton heard it from Lady Trippeny, who—’
Greville set his shoulders. He gave the gossip a look of comprehensive dislike. ‘It is perfectly true, Mrs Clarke, but of no great import! Miss Sheridan has been called to Blanchland on an urgent family matter and her cousin has gone with her as chaperon! That is all! And I do beg you to remember that, before you indulge in idle speculation about the lady who is shortly to become my wife! Why, I shall be joining her at Blanchland shortly myself!’
Mrs Clarke’s mouth rounded in astonishment. ‘Oh, Sir Greville! And, Lord Renshaw—’ she swung round on Guy accusingly ‘—were you aware of this?’
Guy tried not to laugh. ‘Which part, Mrs Clarke? The bit about Lady Amelia chaperoning her cousin to Blanchland, or the part about Sir Greville being betrothed to Lady Amelia and joining her at Blanchland tomorrow? Or even…’ his smile broadened ‘…the fact that I am shortly to announce my own engagement to Miss Sheridan? Yes, I am aware of all of it!’
Mrs Clarke backed away from them, almost tripping over the kerb in her haste to escape and acquaint Mrs Bunton with her news. The two men nodded amiably to the rest of the crowd and strolled off down Brock Street with every appearance of nonchalance.
‘I cannot believe we just did that,’ Guy said under his breath, as they turned into The Circus and paused for a moment. ‘The story will be all over Bath in less than a half hour! Did you mean what you said?’
‘Of course!’ Greville looked grim. ‘You know I’ve been meaning to marry Amelia this past age! This ridiculous jaunt to Blanchland has simply precipitated matters!’
‘Hope she sees it in the same light as you, old fellow,’ Guy said feelingly. ‘Do you mean to go there to offer her your protection?’
