Page 2 of The Lady Who Said No to the Duke

She could write herself some letters of recommendation, she thought, pondering the possibilities, but only governess, companion or semptress came to mind and she could not see herself being very successful at any of them.

Companion perhaps. Not every lady in need of one could be as objectionable as Cousin Elizabeth, surely?

An hour later, she recalled the road book that lived in a door pocket of the coach and drew it out. Following the route might be a distraction.

Thea found Harrogate on the map. Goodness, but it was a long way north. She traced the route with her fingertip, all the way up the Great North Road. Finchley, Baldock, Stamford, Grantham, Doncaster…

Grantham . Grantham was the nearest town to where her godmother, the Dowager Countess of Holme, lived.

Thea had six godparents, carefully selected for their position in society, their contacts and the likelihood they would leave her something substantial in their wills.

She wrote them all dutiful letters from time to time, exchanged small gifts at Christmas, and that was all she had to do with them.

Except for Clarissa, Lady Holme, the widow of Papa’s cousin.

She was charming, took an interest in what Thea was doing, wrote long, chatty letters and sent gifts of interesting books.

Most of those had to be hidden from Mama because they were novels or tracts by ladies proposing the vote for women and other such scandalous things.

Godmama would not approve of Cousin Elizabeth and she wouldn’t approve of Thea being forced into marriage, either, even if it was to a duke.

And they would be driving past her doorstep. Well, within ten miles or so from it. She had two days to think of a plan. Thea lifted the road book, looked out of the window and began to talk. She must seem bright, interested and cooperative.

‘This must be Highgate Hill, Maunday. How steep it is! Just think of Dick Whittington climbing it, all ready to give up and leave London, and then hearing the bells calling him back! Now, what is next? Ah yes, Finchley Common. My goodness, do you think we will be held up by highwaymen? There’s a tree called Turpin’s Oak… ’

* * *

Three days later Thea was almost hoarse from chattering and Maunday had the glazed look of a woman whose brain had been lightly scrambled.

They had stopped for the first night at Eaton Socon at the White Horse and the second at North Witham, about one hundred miles from home and ten miles south of Grantham.

The coachman, she knew, had orders to drive very steadily and to change horses every ten miles or so.

He would certainly be prepared to stop at either of the excellent inns at Grantham—either the Angel, reputed to be the eldest inn in England, as Thea told the maid at length, or the very modern George.

They were about a mile from the town when Thea let her voice trail away. She doubled over, gave a deep groan and clutched at her stomach.

‘My lady! What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘Handkerchief!’

Maunday scrabbled for one and pressed it into her hand.

‘Oh, I should never have eaten that ham at breakfast. I thought it tasted strange but I assumed it was a local cure… Oh !’

‘Hold on, my lady,’ the abigail said urgently. ‘We are almost in the town and the inns are very good, so I’m told. John said he’d stop at one to change horses. They’ll have a room for you and you can lie down. Just hold on. Wherever did I put the lavender water?’

* * *

Hal stretched out long legs and leaned back in the deep armchair. ‘You have no idea, Godmama, how good it feels simply to stop travelling.’

‘I have, my boy.’ The Dowager Lady Holme put down her teacup and smiled fondly at him.

‘My late husband never seemed to stop in one place for more than seven nights together and I was dutiful enough to travel with him. Dear Reginald has been gone these past six years and now I move at my own pace. But you are almost at the end of your journey, are you not?’

He nodded, ‘I had planned to go into Norfolk, but it is not urgent. I am inclined to continue on down to London now. I’m my own master, after all.’

‘It will be quiet, the Season has not yet started,’ she reminded him. ‘But I suppose you are hardly planning to join the social whirl.’

‘True. There are some tiresome business affairs,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Then visits to my tailors, a look in at—’

From the hall the sound of the front door knocker penetrated upstairs to the comfortable seclusion of Lady Holme’s sitting room.

‘Bother,’ she said vaguely. ‘But I told Fenwick I was not at home, so we will not be disturbed.’

Barely a half minute later the door opened.

‘A caller, my lady. I believe you will wish to speak with her.’ Fenwick, an old family retainer, knew when to treat orders as mere suggestions. ‘I have shown the young lady to the drawing room.’

‘Do not disturb yourself, dear boy.’ His godmother waved him back into his chair as he rose when she did. ‘I will not be long. Some problem with the tenants, no doubt.’

Hal settled himself more comfortably, considered another cup of tea, realised it must be cold by now, dismissed the idea of finding a newspaper or a book on the grounds that his godmother would return very soon and settled on simply relaxing.

It dawned on him, after perhaps thirty minutes, that whatever the problem was, it did not appear to be yielding to Godmama’s usual decisive approach. Should he go and see if it was something he could help her with?

He stood up, flicked his coat tails into order, pulled down his waistcoat and turned to the door as it opened and his godmother swept in.

Her lips moved but no sound emerged. He realised she was mouthing the words help me as she looked fixedly at him.

Help her with what? All seemed tranquil outside the room, his godmother looked perfectly well—except for an expression of what he could only describe as concentrated urgency.

He stared at her wondering if she had received a blow to the head or was suffering a seizure. ‘Yes, of course I will but—’

‘ And be tactful ,’ she whispered before turning to speak to someone behind her.

‘Ah, there you are, my dear. You will be positively dying for a cup of tea, I have no doubt. It will be here in a moment, but first I must introduce you. Thea, my dear, allow me to present Mr Hal Forrest, one of my many godchildren. Hal, Lady Thea Campion, my goddaughter.’

Somehow he managed a murmur of greeting and a smile. The tall young woman in front of him was not regarding him as though he had lost his wits, so perhaps he had succeeded.

‘Lady Thea, an honour.’ He bowed, just as an untitled gentleman should when introduced to a member of the aristocracy.

To a very comely member of the aristocracy.

‘Mr Forrest, how do you do? I am sure that if we are both Lady Holme’s godchildren we must be related in some way,’ Lady Thea said with a warm smile as she sank into an armchair and twitched her skirts into order.

‘God-cousins, perhaps, if such a thing exists. I am so sorry to have broken into your quiet afternoon, but I have explained to Godmama that it is an emergency. I am running away, you see.’

‘From home?’ Hal enquired politely, remembering Lady Holme’s instruction on tact.

‘Oh, no, nothing so unoriginal.’ She flashed him a smile, presumably for his careful lack of censure. ‘From my utterly impossible Cousin Elizabeth. I am in disgrace, exiled to the penal colony of Harrogate with my cousin—a veritable gorgon, I assure you—as my gaoler.’

‘And what—’ Hal fell silent as Fenwick entered, supervising a footman with a laden tea tray and a maid bearing a platter of tiny cakes.

‘Thank you, Fenwick. You pour, dear,’ Lady Holme said, sitting back.

However hoydenish Lady Thea’s behaviour might be in running off—although he had some sympathy with anyone wishing to avoid the stuffy gentility of a spa town out of season—she certainly had the training of a young lady, judging by the assured manner with which she established his requirements, dispensed tea and urged him to sample a cake.

But what had the daughter of an earl—this particular daughter—done to justify being sent to a northern spa town in disgrace when the Season was about to start?

‘Tell me, if you are willing to confide, Lady Thea, what prompted your enforced exile to Harrogate?’ he asked when they all were all served.

‘Oh, I refused to marry a duke,’ she said cheerfully.

Hal, who had followed his question with a mouthful of tea, almost choked.