‘It did. That was my intention—before I knew who she was. I am unequal to one of her birth or her fortune. I am the younger son of the third Baron Howarth and I live on my pay. When I prevailed upon Clemence to tell me her name, I realised that the power of the Ravenhurst family would both protect her good name and effectively crush her uncle and his schemes. She has no need to marry me—she may marry who she chooses, as high as she chooses.’
‘That is true.’ The duchess sat studying him. Nathan looked stolidly back at her. If she thought she was going to push him into babbling on, she was mistaken. ‘What do you know about her uncle?’ she asked at length.
‘That when Clemence ran away her face was swollen from the blow he had dealt her because she had refused his son. Their intention was for the young man to come to her bed and force her until she was with child. They assumed this would compel her to give in for the sake of the baby, thus giving them permanent control of her fortune.’
He had thought he could get through this without emotion, but it was an effort to control the anger in his voice. The duchess’s eyes widened in shock, but she did not speak. ‘The navy has legal representation on Jamaica. We have left a deposition with them against the time when you wish to act.’
‘Then I must thank you, Captain Stanier. It seems Clemence owes you her life—I am not sure how we may repay that debt.’ He made an abrupt gesture of rejection and she nodded. A perceptive woman with more sensibility than her forthright appearance had led him to expect. ‘What are your plans now?’
‘To report to the Admiralty as soon as I reach London. The post chaise is waiting.’
‘Then all I can do is thank you.’ The duchess rose and held out her hand. He bowed over it and turned. ‘Tell me, Captain Stanier,’ she said softly as he was halfway to the door, ‘do you love her?’
It halted him in mid-stride, the truth of it like a blow. Nathan stood, his back to the tall woman, staring into the glass that hung on the wall, reflecting his image and hers into the overmantel glass and back again. He saw his own face, endlessly repeated and the sudden shock of knowledge on it, and he saw, too, the pity on hers.
In front of him the door handle turned and the door opened a fraction. It was Clemence, he knew it by instinct. She had not wanted to abandon him to her aunt’s questions; now she had come back to defend him.
‘Do I love Clemence?’ he repeated, his voice clear and cool, his intent driving the words through the wooden panels as though they were a rapier thrust. The door stopped opening. ‘No,’ he lied, shocked at how the word hurt. ‘No, but I would have done my duty by her if that was the right thing, naturally. I confess, it is a relief not to have to take that step. I have been married once, your Grace. I have no desire to be burdened with a second wife, however sweet and young.’
The gasp was so soft he hardly heard it—perhaps he imagined it. He felt as though he had hit her. By why should he feel so badly? She did not love him, even if she felt friendship, gratitude and perhaps, still, some half-aroused desire. At worst, she had formed a tendre for him and that would soon vanish in the admiration and attention of a dozen young aspirants for her hand and heart. The door closed softly. Click. There, it was finished.
‘Good day, your Grace.’
The hall was empty when he stepped out into it, although the butler appeared with the usual supernatural efficiency of his kind, Nathan’s hat and gloves in hand. ‘I have found accommodation for Miss Ravenhurst’s maid and man.’
‘Personal cook and bodyguard,’ Nathan explained, finding some faint amusement at the expression that crossed the butler’s face.
‘As you say, sir. Doubtless we can outfit him suitably. The hound is in the stables.’
But not for long, I’ll warrant. ‘Thank you.’ There was nothing for it now but to walk out of the wide front doors and get into the chaise and drive back to London and to duty and the whims of their lordships of the Admiralty and to learn to pretend that the last three months had not happened. To come to terms with the fact that his feelings for Clemence Ravenhurst were not simply liking and friendship and desire, but love. Thank God he would never have to see her again.
Clemence stood on the landing, a foot back from the balustrade, and watched Nathan’s back until the doors closed, something hot and painful lodged in her chest. What had she thought, what had she dreamed? Surely not that he would change his mind at the last moment, ignore the wealth and magnificence of her cousin’s home, the dignity and station of her aunt and discover that he loved her after all?
Yes, of course that was what she had dreamed. A fantasy of Nathan on his knees, clasping her hands, telling her he could not live without her and his scruples were as nothing compared to the force of his love and adoration for her.
So, now she knew. He would have done his duty and she was sweet and young. But it was a relief not to have to marry her, he had said, with the air of a man explaining why a horse was not of the right conformation to suit him.
Something was hurting her hand. She looked down to find it clenched around the slim hard package he had given her. Clemence retraced her steps to the bedchamber that had been allotted to her and sat down at the dressing table to unwrap it.
It was a fan. Not new, slightly scuffed, with plain sticks and a printed design on one side. Feeling as though she was watching someone else through a window, Clemence opened it and studied the design. Six young women clustered around a table on which stood a revolving drum and above their heads little Cupids fluttered, taking papers from the drum and giving them to the girls. The verses were in French, the print small. Clemence began to read. It was, it seemed, a lottery for a lover.
Here is Love, putting the charms
Of all these beauties to the test.
The prizes, he has promised, will be
The true qualities of men…
A constant f
riend, a faithful husband,
Are both a lottery.
It was horribly apposite. Clemence made herself continue to translate. Isis, despairing, had drawn a blank, Aglaé a man with no merit; Aglaure, though, was more fortunate, winning a man both constant and handsome. Mélise finds she has a man with three good qualities—he will be generous, handsome and sensitive. Clemence began to see the pattern: the next girl would win a man with four virtues and, indeed, Aline’s lover was destined be a man with wit, beauty, good heart and fidelity.
And finally, there remains but one.