Miss Stanhope come here often?’ Nicholas asked, trying to appear indifferent to the answer.
‘Yes, indeed. She teaches three days a week and spends most evenings here. Her uncle has funded much of it, you see, but has fallen on harder times, so now we have to put out our feelers, so to speak.’ She looked slightly nervous again. ‘We try to keep our costs down to the minimum but, as you can appreciate, the whole task is a bit daunting given the age of this building and the needs of this community…’ Mrs Plummer was finding her tongue with growing gusto and it was almost ten minutes later when Nicholas was able to interrupt.
‘What I have seen has impressed me greatly. If you would like to put your figures together and send them to my secretary, I’m sure we could be of assistance.’
Mentioning a large sum of money, he leaned across the table and wrote down a name and address.
‘It has been most interesting, Mrs Plummer.’ He could hear that the music in the background had stopped and suddenly he had no desire to have Brenna Stanhope discover him here. Not now. Not yet. ‘And I am sure we shall be seeing each other again.’ Opening the door, he strode down the hallway to the outside sunshine and was pleased to see his man ready and waiting with the horses.
Betsy Plummer watched as he entered his coach and then she hurried back inside as soon as the conveyance had turned the corner.
‘Brenna, Kate,’ she called loudly, her voice shrill with unquestioned elation. ‘We got it, he’s promised us so much.’ Two faces came into sight, whooping with laughter and relief. ‘And you should see him, girls,’ Betsy added slowly. ‘He’s the most handsome man I think I’ve ever seen.’
Warning bells rang in Brenna’s ears. ‘What did you say his name was again, Betsy?’ she asked slowly, fearing the answer.
‘The Earl of Deuxberry,’ crooned the other, and Brenna expelled her indrawn breath with relief.
The months aged into November and the summer weather seemed all but gone. Brenna settled again into her comfortable, untroubled existence now that Nicholas Pencarrow seemed happy to leave her alone, though at nights sometimes, when the business of the day had receded, she allowed herself to daydream about him. Quietly at first and then with more ardour, the Duke of Westbourne’s gold-green eyes and lopsided smile invaded her fantasies, leaving her with a feeling of guilty pleasure in the morning and a firming resolution to put him from her memory.
At Beaumont Street things had become more agreeable, for under the patronage of Lord Deuxberry much of the old leaking plumbing had been fixed and the dormitories had been lined to make them warmer as they awaited the onslaught of winter. His chits came with a regularity no one dared to question and all hoped would continue, for, apart from the first visit, they had never dealt with him again directly, but rather with his chief secretary, a dour-faced but competent man called Winslop.
Today Mr Winslop had come to call with invitations in hand, one each for Brenna, Betsy and Kate, asking them to a supper Lord Deuxberry was hosting at his home in Kensington. Brenna felt uneasy as the man spelled out what would be expected of them.
‘His Lordship has made it very clear he would like the three of you to come. I think he may be ill pleased were this not to be the case as he has gone to some trouble to assemble an audience whose patronage would be forthcoming should you promote your orphanage well. It will not be too formal. If the weather is kind it may even spill out into the conservatory and, if not, all three drawing rooms will be in commission.’
Kate and Betsy looked at each other as they imagined the magnificence of the house. Brenna stared straight ahead and knew exactly what it would be like. Her one year out in the season had been so indelibly impressed on her mind, how could she not remember? The staff would stand at attention whilst cynical well-dressed men and women would condescendingly dissect their mission, their clothes, their manners and their looks, piece by piece until there was little left. And the worst of it was that she was caught, she would have to go, for to displease this patron could affect the welfare of the children who, after all, had no hand in the realm of these politics.
Mr Winslop handed each of them an invitation, their names printed boldly in black and he spoke quickly as he stood to depart.
‘The sixth is the date set, as you can see. I could arrange for his Lordship’s carriage to be sent if you should wish it so.’
Brenna shook her head, breaking in across his instructions. ‘No, my uncle will lend us his conveyance.’ The others nodded at her suggestion, anxious to be able to leave when they wanted rather than to be marooned in such illustrious company and dependent only on the whim of Lord Deuxberry.
Mr Winslop demurred and closed his book, handing over yet another chit to Betsy. ‘Very well, then. We will see you all next week.’
Five days later Brenna, Betsy and Kate found themselves pulling into the drive of a house far bigger than any of them could have imagined.
‘He must be one of the richest men in England,’ Brenna said as she observed the huge mansion and all the women looked at each other with undisguised apprehension. ‘No wonder he can afford to help us.’
‘Lord Deuxberry…’ The name ran upon her lips as she strove for any recollection of such an aristocrat when she was doing the season and failing in her quest. It was strange that she did not know of him, given his obvious wealth, for such opulence rarely went hand in hand with anonymity.
The carriage stopped outside the front portico, two footmen walking down huge marble steps to help them alight and accompany them to the butler, who stood stiffly at the main doorway.
Nicholas came out a moment later and his breath froze in his throat as he watched Brenna, dressed in simple blue, hair bound simply and face alight, her beauty reflected somehow in the moonbeams that danced across the glass dome above her, isolating her in the silver of an ethereal lightness.
‘Ladies,’ he said gently, striding forward on long legs, his gaze fastened firmly on Brenna Stanhope, ‘welcome to my home.’
Brenna whirled towards the voice, her glance snapping to his face. The Duke of Westbourne! For a second she thought to turn and leave—indeed, took the first step—before reason stopped her, and in that second she knew that this trap had been set most wisely, with patience and stealth. Her heart beat loudly in her ears as she forced her body into a stillness she was far from feeling, fists clenched white at her side as his hand came forward. She did not dare to let him touch her for fear of feeling again the sharp knowledge of his skin and was pleased when he let his fingers fall. The gentleness in his eyes flummoxed her, though, given her obvious insult, as did his next words.
‘I watched you from the balcony as you were on the piano playing “Ring a Roses”,’ he explained softly, his smile touching his eyes.
‘Indeed, Lord Deuxberry,’ she stressed the title and raised her chin, licking her lips in an unconscious message of fear.
‘I sometimes use the name, which is also mine by right, for it lets me function more anonymously.’
He looked straight at her and, liking his directness, she smiled.
Her face changed from hard to soft in a second, large dimples gracing both cheeks and liquid eyes dancing with lightness. God, she was so beautiful, how could her season here ever have gone poorly?
‘Could I take you through to meet our guests?’ he asked quietly. ‘I have tried to assemble a group who are the least
