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to Mrs Chitty’s cooking,’ Lord Wendover remarked, helping himself lavishly from the platter of ham, eggs and sliced sausage the footman presented.

      ‘Indeed, yes,’ Decima agreed. ‘It is excellent, is it not?’ This was all right, she could manage. They were too polite to stare at her height, in such a small group they could not whisper about her gawky plainness, and best of all, none of them were trying to marry her off.

      After the meal she got to her feet. ‘If you will excuse me, I think I should go and oversee my packing. I imagine my carriage should be here shortly.’

      Pru was already upstairs, but, although the portmanteaux were out and open and several drawers had already been emptied onto the bed, there was no sign of her, only the sound of all-too-familiar bickering from the room across the landing.

      ‘Pru!’

      ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Pru positively flounced out of Bates’s room and into her own. ‘That man!’

      ‘I see you have started the packing.’

      ‘Yes, Miss Dessy.’

      ‘Then shall we finish before the postilions arrive?’ she suggested briskly.

      At last, leaving Pru to organise William the footman into carrying down the bags, she went to rejoin the guests. It would seem odd to avoid doing so any longer. Voices led her towards the drawing room and she slipped in unnoticed, taking a chair by the door. The others were all grouped facing towards the fireplace with its cheerful blaze, and seemed to be engaged in ragging Adam.

      ‘So, was Sally as intent on finding you a bride as you feared, Adam?’ Lady Wendover asked with teasing laughter in her voice.

      ‘She was indeed, although I was completely lulled at first,’ Adam answered ruefully. ‘I was in the house for two days and there was not the hint of danger. No ingenuous young houseguest, no visiting bluestocking, no intimate parties threatened. I had let down my guard and then, out of the blue, the casual announcement that we were to expect a visit from some neighbours.’

      ‘Who proved to be accompanied by whom? An unmarried daughter? A plain niece?’ Mrs Highton enquired, much amused.

      ‘No, worse.’ Adam shuddered. ‘An unmarried, middle-aged sister. A lady, I was assured, of fortune and possessed of intelligence and amiability. I took to my heels before they arrived and ended up in a snowdrift for my pains.’

      ‘Oh, Lord!’ Mrs Highton produced a trill of knowing laughter. ‘A plain Jane, in other words. What was Sally thinking of? She must know what a high stickler you are.’

      The shocked anger burned through Decima’s veins. How could he? How could Adam joke with them about it? Oh, no names had been said, of course, he was too much the gentleman for that. Somewhere there was another woman, just like her, breathing a sigh of relief because her unwanted ‘suitor’ had fled. And no doubt she was having to endure her relatives’ endless lamentations that another ‘opportunity’ had been missed.

      She heard the sound of her own voice sounding coolly amused. ‘I should imagine she was thinking—like so many matchmakers think when they meddle in their single friends’ lives—that she was doing it for the sake of the people concerned, when in fact it is something that neither party would want.’

      The five people around the fire turned as one to gaze at her in surprise. As well they might, she realised in horror. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew how rude she was being about Adam’s sister.

      Adam’s face went blank, but Lady Wendover recovered herself with a laugh. ‘You are too severe, Miss Ross. Surely a sister must be concerned for her brother’s welfare?’

      ‘And this can be achieved by trying to fob an unwilling lady off on him? I am sure Lord Weston is more than capable of finding himself an entirely eligible bride, when he wishes to do so.’ She had already unforgivably accused his sister of meddling, she might as well face this out and say what she thought for once.

      ‘Well, I agree Adam might be unwilling to be party to such a thing, but surely not the lady? Presumably she is at her last prayers,’ Lord Wendover observed.

      ‘Is the married state so desirable that the humiliation of being paraded around by one’s relatives is a price worth paying to achieve it? It is nothing but a mortification for the lady concerned and a source of discomfort to any man of sensibility. And, in fact, I am sure many men who remain bachelors for perfectly sound reasons of their own also suffer this sort of interference.’ She was in full flow now, her new, strong inner voice carrying her along in the face of their surprise.

      ‘You do not approve of matchmakers, then, Miss Ross?’ Mr Highton enquired.

      ‘I despise matchmakers,’ she said roundly, then caught sight of Adam’s frozen expression. She had gone too far. ‘I beg your pardon, Lord Weston, if I have spoken disrespectfully of your sister. I am sure her motives are purely those of family affection.’ The lady probably could not help herself, any more than Hermione could; it seemed that, once married, any female was immediately seized with the urge to see her entire acquaintance paired off.

      Adam grimaced, apparently unoffended. ‘Sally is certainly motivated by a strong concern for my interests. Unfortunately she does not take my views of what those are into account one jot. As for the lady in this case, probably Sally can imagine no greater felicity than being married to me and would be incredulous to learn she might not wish for such a meeting.’

      ‘Dear Lady Jardine.’ Mrs Highton smiled affectionately. ‘I do miss her now she has moved to Nottinghamshire.’

      ‘Lord Weston’s sister Lady Jardine lives in Nottinghamshire?’ Decima repeated blankly. She could feel the sickening certainty taking hold of her stomach. Suddenly she wished she had not eaten breakfast. It could not be a coincidence. There could not be two Lady Jardines in Nottinghamshire who had both tried to introduce an eligible brother to someone’s spinster sister in the week before New Year. She was the lady ‘at her last prayers’ from whom Adam had run.

      ‘Yes, they have recently moved there,’ Adam said. ‘Have you met them? I have just realised I never asked you where you had come from, the day we met in the snow. Had you come from Nottinghamshire?’

      ‘No.’ Her friend Henry always said that if one was going to tell a lie, it might as well be a wholehearted one. ‘No, Leicestershire. I regret I have not had the pleasure of Lady Jardine’s acquaintance.’

      She was saved by the footman entering. ‘Miss Ross’s carriage has arrived, my lord. I have brought in your baggage that was left with it. Everything appears to be in order.’

      Decima rose to her feet. ‘Then I must be on my way. Thank you so much, Lord Weston, for rescuing me from a most uncomfortable predicament. If you will excuse me, I must just go and thank Mrs Chitty.’ She exchanged farewells with Adam’s guests and escaped into the kitchen where Pru was organising the footman.

      ‘All those bags inside the carriage, I don’t want my lady’s things getting cold and damp…Miss Dessy, I’ll just run up and get our cloaks.’

      Her head was still buzzing with shock and emotion, but Decima made herself speak pleasantly to the housekeeper. ‘You must be Mrs Chitty. I have to thank you for your discretion, and also for your wonderfully well-stocked stillroom. I do trust we have not wreaked too much havoc with your domestic arrangements.’

      ‘I’m only too glad it was of help, ma’am.’ Mrs Chitty’s eyes were regarding Decima with sharp intelligence, but her voice was entirely respectful as she added, ‘I’m sure his lordship took great care of you.’

      ‘Will you allow me to escort you to the front door, Miss Ross?’ It was Adam, entering soundlessly behind her.

      Somehow Decima managed to turn round and look at him. This man—the man she had laughed with, worried with, almost lost her virtue to—this man was the one who had fled his sister’s house rather than meet her and exchange a few stilted pleasantries. And who, all unknowing,

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