Two men got to their feet from the armchairs as she began the interminable walk across the carpet. The taller must be the Earl of Kingsbury, she realised. His brown hair was grey at the temples, his thin face lined more with experience than age. Beside him was his son Andrew, Lord Bradon. Her betrothed. The man she was going to spend the rest of her life with—if he would take her. Shorter than his father, plumper, with the same brown hair and brown eyes. A comparison with another man of the same age flickered through her mind and she forced a smile.
She arrived in front of the sofa and the woman who sat on it. Small, birdlike, dark-haired and dark-eyed: the countess. Her steady regard changed suddenly into a bright smile. The two men bowed. Averil curtsied. We ‘re like automata, she thought wildly. A clock would chime at any moment.
‘My dear Miss Heydon! What an adventurous journey you have had to be sure. Come and sit beside me. Bradon, ring for wine—we must drink to Miss Heydon’s safe arrival.’
Averil sat, expecting an embrace, a kiss or at least a pat on the hand. Nothing. The men resumed their seats, the countess sat beside her, straight-backed, hands folded in her lap.
‘You left your family in good health, I trust?’
‘Yes, ma’am. My father sends his good wishes and regrets that he was unable to accompany me.’
‘Business pressures, no doubt,’ the countess remarked and the earl smiled. Rogers brought in a tray with champagne already poured. Averil curled her fingers around the fragile stem of the flute and made herself focus on not snapping it.
‘Er. Yes.’ No one appeared about to make a toast so she sipped the wine. It fizzed down into her empty stomach. Mistake. I don’t care.
‘And it was an uneventful voyage until the shipwreck, I trust.’
‘Yes, ma’am, thank you.’ She doubted that her future mother-in-law wanted to hear about mad dogs in Madras, Christmas festivities on board or a joint attempt by the younger passengers to write a sensation novel.
‘And the ship was wrecked on the fifteenth of last month, I understand?’
Why were the men so quiet? Averil addressed her answer to Andrew. ‘Yes, that is correct. At night.’
‘But the letter from the Governor was dated the twenty-first, six days later.’ The countess frowned. ‘That was very remiss of him, I fear.’
‘I was unconscious for three days, on one of the outlying islands. They did not know who I was.’ The Governor would have told them that already—her skin began to prickle with apprehension. They were already suspicious. She would tell Andrew what happened tomorrow; she could not blurt it out now, not in front of his parents like this.
‘Oh. I see. You were cared for by respectable people, one hopes.’
‘A secret navy mission. They rescued me when I was swept on to the beach.’
‘Men?’ The countess might as well have said Cockroaches?
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Averil took another sip between gritted teeth. She had known this was not going to be easy, but why did her betrothed not utter a word? The earl was watching her from under hooded lids: a calculating, predatory stare. ‘I really cannot say much more about it just now—it was very confidential. I will explain all about it tomorrow to Lord Bradon.’
He spoke so suddenly that she jumped. ‘I am sure you will.’ He might as well have been referring to details of a shopping expedition to buy a new hat. ‘Ah, here is Rogers. Dinner at last.’
‘You slept well, my dear?’
‘Thank you, yes. My lord.’ Andrew Bradon had not asked her to use his given name, so she did not presume. The study was very masculine, very English. Was it his taste, or his father’s? The earl had excused himself after dinner and she had not seen him since. She suspected that he was not much at home.
The chair Brandon offered her was comfortable, they were alone, his expression was pleasant. What, then, was making her stomach tie itself into knots? This was much worse than she had imagined when she had woken that morning in a bed that seemed far too large and soft and lonely.
‘I believe there is something you need to tell me about the shipwreck.’ He settled back in his own chair behind the desk and nodded encouragingly. Why, then, did feel she had been called in to explain breaking the best china?
‘About the aftermath and my rescue, yes.’ This was the right thing to do. Averil took in a breath. ‘I was washed up on the beach of an island that is normally uninhabited. I was found by a group of men who were part of a secret mission to intercept messages being sent to the French by a traitor in the islands. Their captain assisted me to shelter in the old isolation hospital on the island.’
‘And why did he not return you immediately to the main island?’
‘Because I was semi-conscious. He had no way of knowing whether, when I awoke, I would say anything about their presence there. At that point no one could be trusted.’
He did not say much, this man. No exclamations of sympathy or anger, no reaction at all save for a pursing of his lips. Averil guessed he was waiting for her to prattle on out of sheer nervousness and rather thought he was succeeding. ‘I was unconscious for two days.’
‘Three nights.’ Of course, he had to pinpoint the number of nights. ‘Who nursed you?’
‘He did. The officer.’
‘Did he rape you?’ Still the same calm, pleasant tone.