Amidst shrieks from the ladies he gave a muffled bark and galloped off. Clemence turned with the others to see Andrewes leading three naval officers down the slope towards them. Tail wagging frantically, One-Eye bounded up to the one on the right and deposited the duck at his feet. The bird flapped off, quacking hysterically.
I am going to faint, Clemence thought as her vision darkened and her head began to spin. It couldn’t be Nathan—she was hallucinating.
‘Clemence?’ It was Cousin Bel, Lady Dereham. She slipped a hand under her arm. ‘Are you all right, my dear?’
‘Yes, just a moment’s dizzi
ness. So foolish—I think I must have turned too quickly, made my head spin.’ It is Nathan. He isn’t looking this way, he hasn’t seen me. Was it possible to escape? But there was nowhere to go, no ship in harbour. She saw now that the other officer was Captain Melville, and the tall man who was kissing Jessica on both cheeks must be Lord Hoste.
There was no escape, but at least she could hide away until she had regained some composure. The Ravenhursts en masse, even without the drama of a soaking wet child and an uncontrollable dog, were more than adequate cover.
Clemence smiled at Bel, skirted round behind Theo and his wife, Elinor, who were in animated conversation with Eden Ravenhurst and his pretty new wife, Lady Maude, and slid thankfully into the cover of the shrubbery. It was not until she reached the sanctuary of the terrace and risked a backwards glance that she saw that Nathan had turned and was looking up the slope directly at her. She jumped over the sill of the long window and ran through the dining hall as though McTiernan and Cutler were at her heels.
‘I was just admiring this prospect of the house,’ Nathan said to his hostess in apology for his distraction. ‘Charming.’ Clemence had vanished, leaving him with the haunting image of her white face. She did not want to see him, then—hardly surprising, given that she had heard his dismissive words to her aunt.
It had taken him until Guildford to emerge from the animated discussion he was having with Melville about the risks and benefits of setting up a spying network across the islands and to realise that the road was looking worryingly familiar.
‘Where are we going, my lord? In the hurry to get ready, it did not occur to me to ask.’
‘Hmm?’ Lord Hoste emerged from his perusal of the Gentleman’s Magazine. ‘Standon’s place, near Romsey. Damn good food.’
‘Excellent,’ Nathan had responded hollowly, earning himself a puzzled stare from Melville. Now James was looking at him with dawning comprehension as he was introduced to one Ravenhurst after the other.
‘Where’s Miss Ravenhurst?’ he asked, sidling up to Nathan when attention turned to removing the pond weed from Street and Freddie and sending them back to the house.
‘Gone inside.’
‘Don’t blame her,’ Melville remarked with feeling. ‘I should imagine the last thing she wants is to see us again, reminding her of the whole bloody nightmare.’
There was that, of course, Nathan pondered as they walked back to the house. Was he simply being a coxcomb, fancying that Clemence had a tendre for him and was upset on that score, when more likely he was simply the unpleasant reminder to her of terror and danger? Whichever it was, he had no wish to cause her pain. Somehow he had to stay as far from her for this interminable fortnight as he could.
‘Is the company complete, ma’am?’ he asked Lady Standon as they passed into the hall to be shown to their rooms.
‘Only one party to come—and here they are,’ Jessica said cheerfully as the footman threw open the doors to admit a small, thin man with the air of having a quizzing glass permanently poised and two plain young women.
‘Polkington,’ Nathan said. It needed only that—the witness to the tragic and shocking last days of his marriage on Corfu, the man with the sharpest nose for gossip in Europe, here under the same roof as Clemence. And also, if he could just drag his mind away from his emotions and think about his career for a moment, in a position to remind his distinguished superior officer of the scandalous and illegal duel he had fought.
‘You know each other?’ Delighted at this serendipitous circumstance Jessica was bringing him forward as she greeted her guests. ‘Mr Polkington! I do trust the journey went well? Here is Captain Stanier, whom I believe you know, just arrived also. Miss Polkington, Miss Jane…’ She abandoned him for the two young women.
‘Stanier.’ They exchanged nods. Up came the quizzing glass. ‘You are just back from the West Indies, I believe? My correspondents tell me of the most exciting occurrences taking place—pirates, scandals…’
‘Your correspondents are most assiduous. I have scarcely got back myself. Pirates, I have to confess to, in plenty. But scandal?’ he drawled, sounding bored. Surely, he could not have heard anything about Clemence?
‘My dear man, do not alarm yourself. I have just had the most titillating letter from my second cousin in the Governor’s staff, but where a lady is concerned my lips are sealed. Especially a lady with such illustrious relatives.’ Polkington seemed to be hugging the delicious secret to himself. Nathan remembered his technique—nothing overt, never that, but hints and teasing and an air of mystery that could blow the slightest glance into a full-scale love affair or one angry word into a blood feud.
‘You are wise,’ Nathan remarked. ‘I have never seen a more formidable collection of cousins. I would be most wary of giving offence to any lady in this household.’
Polkington pursed his lips and produced his high-pitched titter. ‘Oh, yes, indeed. I believe you are not the only gentleman present given to duelling, Captain Stanier.’
‘If looks could kill,’ James Melville commented in Nathan’s ear as he watched Polkington being ushered upstairs with his sisters, ‘that man would be writhing on the floor at your feet. I never thought to see him here. An unpleasant reminder of Corfu.’
‘He has got wind of some scandal in Jamaica. I have just pointed out to him the likely consequence of distressing any lady under the collective protection of the Ravenhurst menfolk.’
‘What? If you didn’t run him through first?’ His friend jerked his head towards one of the panelled doors leading off the hall. ‘Standon has handed over the keys of the library to Hoste. Tompion is setting it up as an office for us. I would go and freshen up, he’s expecting us down here in half an hour—the man’s a glutton for work.’ He grinned. ‘Still, if it’ll stop you getting into a fight…’
‘I don’t duel,’ Nathan said harshly. ‘Not any longer.’
‘I was thinking of a clenched fist, myself,’ Melville countered. ‘I can’t see you waiting for a Ravenhurst to happen along if Miss Clemence requires your protection.’ He strode off and was through the study door before Nathan could think of an answer. Damn it, he thought, following the footman who was waiting patiently beside his luggage. Am I that transparent?