ANNE ASHLEY - Lady Knightley's Secret

‘She hasn’t written down her direction.’ He looked up at the rather concerned face of his sergeant. ‘Did she leave a forwarding address, do you know?’

‘That I don’t, sir. Miss Mary left with all ’er servants. There’s only the Froggies ’ere now.’

‘They’re Belgians.’

‘All the same to me, sir. Do you want I should fetch the ’ousekeeper?’

Richard nodded, but she wasn’t able to help him. Mademoiselle had never mentioned her address. The only thing the housekeeper could suggest was that he wait until her master returned from Italy at the end of the month, and ask him if he knew where Mary resided in England.

But Richard was not forced to await the owner’s return. Tragically, a little over a week later, he was to read a report in a newspaper of the passenger vessel The Albatross, bound for Southampton, capsizing in mid-Channel. Amongst those listed as missing, believed drowned, were a Mrs and Miss Mary Smith.

With all the exuberance of an excitable child, Lady Dartwood uttered a shriek of delight as she watched the carriage pull up outside the front entrance and saw a young woman in a very fashionable fur-trimmed travelling outfit step gracefully down the steps.

‘She’s here, Brin! She’s arrived at last!’

‘Will you stop jumping up and down that way!’ her husband admonished with a passable attempt at sounding severe. ‘For heaven’s sake remember your condition!’

‘I can hardly forget it, now can I?’ Glancing down at the rather large, figure-damaging protuberance at the front of her gown, the Viscountess’s expression managed to betray dismay as well as a deal of motherly love for her unborn child. ‘And Elizabeth’s so beautiful, too. I know you’ll fall instantly in love with her!’

The Viscount rose from the comfort of his armchair and took his young wife gently in his arms. ‘I promise I shall like her for your sake, Verity. I know how very fond you are of your old school friend. But you’re the only girl for me. How many times do I need to assure you of that?’

She rewarded him for his sound good sense, but quickly extricated herself from his embrace as the door opened and a young woman in her early twenties swept into the room and came tripping lightly towards them, looking so gracefully ethereal that the Viscountess couldn’t help but feel a tiny stab of resentment, but hid it quite beautifully as she gave her friend an affectionate hug.

‘I swear, Elizabeth, you get lovelier each time I see you. And slimmer, too!’

‘And you are blooming, my dear Verity. The very picture of health!’ Elizabeth then turned and held out one hand to the Viscount. ‘How do you do, my lord. Your wife mentions you so often in her letters that I feel I have known you for years.’

‘And I must reciprocate, Miss Beresford,’ he responded, executing an elegant bow before releasing his brief hold of the slender, tapering fingers. ‘My wife has spoken of nothing else since she received your letter accepting her invitation to be our guest.’

‘How odiously stuffy!’ Verity’s expression of staunch disapproval drew spontaneous chuckles from both her husband and her friend. ‘Now you must know that in my delicate condition it isn’t very sensible to vex me. So let’s have no more of this unnecessary formality!’

‘In the circumstances it might be wise to indulge her, sir,’ Elizabeth suggested. ‘But only on condition,’ she added, casting the most winning smile up at him, ‘that you refrain from addressing me in any one of those repulsive abbreviations so widely used where my name is concerned. I cannot abide Lizzie or Eliza. And I’m not enamoured of Beth, either.’

The Viscount readily agreed, thinking what a graciously charming young woman Verity’s friend was, her manners open and wonderfully unaffected, and by the time she had left them a short while later to dress for dinner, he had decided, without any further coaxing from his wife, that he liked Elizabeth Beresford very well.

‘Why in heaven’s name isn’t that charming young woman married? She’s not only extremely pretty, but intelligent too.’

Not in the least surprised that he had been captivated so easily by Elizabeth’s engaging manner, Verity smiled with satisfaction. ‘I honestly don’t know, Brin.’ The smile faded. ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised, though, if it didn’t have something to do with her upbringing. She had quite a miserable childhood. From odd things she has let fall from time to time, I gather her parents’ marriage wasn’t a happy one. I believe Elizabeth was quite close to her father, but didn’t deal at all well with her mother. And as for that sister of hers…!’

‘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!’