ANNE ASHLEY – Lady Knightley's Secret (страница 4)

‘Mmm.’ He glanced thoughtfully at the logs burning brightly on the hearth. ‘I hope you’ve forewarned her that it isn’t unusual for Lady Chiltham to pay us impromptu visits?’

Verity’s sudden scowl betrayed her feelings quite beautifully. She disliked Elizabeth’s sister intensely and considered Lord Chiltham a pompous nincompoop. The Chilthams, however, resided less than three miles distant and for the sake of neighbourly harmony she had managed to conceal her dislike whenever they had happened to meet.

‘She was so spiteful to Elizabeth when they were children. Elizabeth never returned to school after a vacation without having acquired at least one livid bruise from that sister of hers.’

‘It isn’t uncommon for brothers and sisters to quarrel, my dear,’ his lordship countered fair-mindedly.

‘I realise that. But Evadne’s seven years Elizabeth’s senior. It was nothing short of malicious bullying.’ A sudden gurgle of laughter escaped her. ‘I’d like to see her try it now,’ she went on, the wicked glint in her eyes betraying how she would relish the prospect of an unfriendly encounter between the sisters. ‘Elizabeth has changed out of all recognition since she went to live with her grandmother. I think darling Evadne’s in for a rather severe shock when she does see her again.’

‘Well, Elizabeth certainly didn’t strike me as a shrinking violet. She certainly is nothing like her sister, though, not even in looks.’

‘Very true,’ Verity concurred. ‘She was painfully shy at school, but thankfully that’s no longer the case. She appears to be remarkably resilient too, now. Which is a blessing considering her recent loss. I must say she seems to have got over her grandmother’s demise very well.’

In this, however, Viscountess Dartwood couldn’t have been more wrong, as Elizabeth’s personal maid and lifelong devotee could have enlightened her if asked.

None knew better than Agatha Stigwell, who had been employed as nursemaid in the Beresford household, what a miserable existence her young mistress had endured in her formative years. She had witnessed, first hand, the petty cruelties the pampered Evadne had inflicted on her sister and had been appalled by the sheer indifference Mrs Beresford had always shown when dealing with her younger daughter. The only displays of affection and kindness Elizabeth had ever received had come from her maternal grandmother when she had stayed with her in Bristol, and from her father, but as his visits to the family home had been infrequent and of short duration, Elizabeth’s periods of childhood happiness had been few and far between.

Agatha had never regretted the decision she had taken, after her master had died, in aiding Elizabeth in running away to her maternal grandmother. Elizabeth had seemed to blossom overnight under that wonderful old lady’s constant loving care. Although, even then, weakened by years of ill-health, Mrs Smithson had been more than a match for Elizabeth’s mother when she had come hotfoot to Bristol, demanding her daughter’s return.

Agatha herself hadn’t been privileged to overhear what had passed between Mrs Smithson and her daughter that day, but whatever the old lady had said, it had been sufficient to send Mrs Beresford on her way again rather abruptly. Agatha was honest enough to admit that she hadn’t been sorry to see the last of her old mistress; honest enough to admit, too, that she had been completely unmoved when she had learned of Mrs Beresford’s death two years later. What Miss Elizabeth had felt was difficult to judge. She certainly hadn’t shed any tears over her mother’s unexpected demise; but the poor girl had wept bitterly when her dear grandmother had passed away the previous autumn. She just hadn’t been the same person since; but then, Agatha reminded herself, her young mistress hadn’t been the same since their return from Brussels last summer.

‘Why are you staring at me with that peculiar look in your eyes, Aggie?’

Unable to hold her young mistress’s gaze, she went across the bedchamber to collect a shawl. ‘You’re imagining things, miss. I was merely thinking how sensible it was of you to accept Viscountess Dartwood’s kind invitation. You’ve locked yourself away from the world for far too long. You know your dear grandmother didn’t want that.’

‘No, I know she didn’t. She even begged me not to deck myself out in mourning.’ A sigh escaped her. ‘I kept that promise at least. I’ve never once even donned black gloves.’

Rising to her feet, Elizabeth remained only for the time it took to have the shawl arranged about her shoulders, and then went back down to the salon, where she had left her host and hostess earlier, to find them looking the picture of marital bliss, seated side by side on the sofa.

The Viscount rose at once and went over to the table on which several decanters stood. ‘I believe Verity omitted to inform you that we’re expecting another guest, a friend of mine from my army days, but I’m not quite certain just when he’ll be arriving—it could be today, or tomorrow.’

He watched Elizabeth seat herself in one graceful, sweeping movement before handing her the glass of Madeira. ‘You were in Brussels last year, on hand, as one might say, to celebrate that famous victory. And I understand from Verity that you stayed to nurse some of our brave soldiers back to health.’

‘Yes, I was there,’ she admitted in a colourless tone, ‘but I saw little worth celebrating. The sight of that endless procession of carts, filled with the dead and dying, pouring into the city after the battle was over is an experience I shall never forget.’ She shook her head at the all-too-vivid recollection. ‘Where is the glory, sir, in all that waste of life…that suffering?’

Verity noticed a look of respect flit over her husband’s features before he raised his head, his acute hearing picking up a sound from the hall.

‘What is it, Brin? Has your friend arrived, do you think?’

‘Yes, I believe so. I’ll go and see.’

Verity waited until he had left the room before turning to Elizabeth with a rather impish smile. ‘I never realised until a few moments ago how similar your shade of hair is to Brin’s.’ She studied her friend’s beautifully arranged locks once again. ‘Except, perhaps, yours contains a little more red. Why, you might be brother and sister!’

‘I should have very much enjoyed having him as a brother. You’re a lucky girl, Verity. He’s a charming man.’ She cast her grey-green eyes over the Viscountess in a swift appraisal, deciding that marriage and the prospect of imminent motherhood suited her very well. She looked glowing and so utterly contented with her lot. ‘When is the baby due? Any time now, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Great heavens, no! Not for several weeks, unfortunately.’ Verity noted the slight frown. ‘I know I’m huge already. And to think I’ve still another month to go!’

Her pained expression vanished as the door opened and she watched her husband return with a tall and ruggedly handsome gentleman in tow. She had never met this particular friend of Brin’s before and was instantly aware of his aura of powerful masculinity. So captivated was she by Sir Richard Knightley’s spontaneous and most engaging smile, as her husband made the introductions, that she failed completely to notice the effect the very personable gentleman’s presence was having on her friend.

With a hand which trembled slightly Elizabeth took the very sensible precaution of placing her glass down on the conveniently positioned occasional table beside her chair, before she foolishly disgraced herself by spilling the contents down the folds of her rich green velvet gown. No one’s unexpected appearance could possibly have unsettled her more, but with a supreme effort at self-control she contrived to appear as composed as ever.

‘There is absolutely no reason to introduce Sir Richard to me, Brin,’ she interrupted when he turned, about to do just that. ‘I knew him quite well when I was a child.’

Looking a trifle pale, but maintaining quite beautifully that self-assured air, she rose to her feet and even managed a semblance of a smile at the three rather startled expressions bent in her direction. ‘It has been several years since you last set eyes on me, sir, so I’m not in the least offended by your all-too-evident bewilderment.’ She held out her hand, which thankfully no longer trembled. ‘Elizabeth…Elizabeth Beresford.’

He didn’t utter ‘Good Gad!’ but the expletive hung in the air, none the less, drawing forth a gurgle of wicked amusement from the irrepressible Viscountess.

‘I’m not in the least surprised, either, that you appear dumbfounded, sir, especially if you haven’t seen her for some time. When I met up with Elizabeth again last year I could hardly believe that it was my old school friend sitting in that famous Bond Street modiste’s.’

‘Indeed, you are vastly altered, Miss Beresford,’ he agreed in that attractive deep voice that she remembered so well, ‘but I ought to have recognised you.’ His dark eyes rested for a moment on the charmingly arranged rich red-brown hair before returning to the delicately featured face turned so enchantingly up to his. ‘Unlike your sister, you always did bear a marked resemblance to your father. With your unusual colouring you are unmistakably a Beresford.’