LITMIR.BIZ

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the blame. But no, he must drag us all down with him. Only he is not down, but on top, and he means to grind us into the dirt.’

      ‘Lydia, pray do not be so melodramatic,’ Anne said gently. ‘The house is his to do with as he likes and he says he needs it, though why I do not know. If the Countess had lived and he had a wife and family, then of course he would expect his mother to live here, but as it is…’

      ‘Do you think he has a wife, then?’ Annabelle put in.

      ‘He is twenty-nine years old, so it is more than possible.’

      ‘Then I feel sorry for her,’ Lydia said sharply. ‘I wonder if she knows what happened? I wonder if he knows what people are saying about him?’

      ‘What are they saying?’

      ‘Oh, you know,’ Lydia said vaguely. ‘About him murdering Papa.’

      ‘I am sure they are saying nothing of the sort,’ her mother protested. ‘And I wish you would not speak of him in that fashion.’

      ‘Why not? It is the truth, isn’t it? Papa was unarmed and he was only trying to stop him firing—’

      ‘Lydia, you would not spread calumny about him, surely?’ her mother said, horrified at the violence of her daughter’s feelings. ‘That is deceitful and unjust.’

      ‘Which is exactly what he is. He allowed Freddie to take the blame for something that was entirely his fault. Freddie was always under his sway, even when they were boys.’

      ‘I do not think that is quite the case, dearest, and I beg you to curb your excessive feelings. It can only do you harm. Your papa preached forgiveness, remember.’

      ‘If he had lived, do you think even he could have forgiven Ralph Latimer for what he did?’

      ‘I like to think he would.’

      ‘But he did not live, did he? And we are in this coil because of what that…that devil did.’ She left her chair suddenly. ‘I am going to see him. I am going to tell him exactly what I think of him.’

      Anne reached out and seized Lydia by the wrist as she passed her. ‘No, child, you will do no such thing. He is within his rights. If you provoke him, he might not even allow us a month.’

      Lydia made no attempt to pull herself away, but stood passively, looking down at her mother. ‘You mean you are going to buckle under and leave without one word of protest?’

      ‘No.’ Anne smiled wanly. ‘We have nowhere to go. I will speak to him myself, he may not know our circumstances….’

      ‘Mama, you are never going to beg?’

      ‘No, but we need a little more time, Lydia. And I shall make a reasonable request for that.’

      ‘Time?’

      ‘Time to bring our family fortunes on to a more even keel.’

      ‘How? Oh, I see. When I have captured Sir Arthur. I am to be punished for what that man did ten years ago, just as Freddie was punished and you have been punished. It goes on and on. If I could think of a way to make him pay, then I would. I would see him rot in hell.’

      ‘Lydia!’ her mother cried. This battling daughter of hers was so consumed by her hate, it was threatening to destroy her. ‘You must not say such things. It is wicked.’ She paused. ‘Sit down again, Lydia, and calm yourself. You know, you frighten me when you talk like that. Hate is a dreadful emotion, and you should remember that vengeance is for God, not man. We are none of us guiltless.’

      Lydia sank back into her chair. ‘Oh, Mama, there is no one more innocent than you. How have you borne it all these years? How have you found the fortitude?’

      ‘Through my faith, child. The faith your father preached. Now, I want you to promise me one thing—that you will not attempt to see or speak to his lordship.’

      Lydia smiled wanly. ‘That is an easy promise to make, for he is the last man in the world I should want to have any discourse with.’

      ‘Good. Now, tell me, dearest, would it be so very bad to marry Sir Arthur? He is not an ogre, he is a pleasant, respectable man who is very fond of you. I am not thinking only of our circumstances, but your happiness. He will look after you…’

      Lydia gave a cracked laugh. ‘And curb my fiery temper, you think?’

      Her mother smiled and patted her hand. ‘He might. And living at his home in Southminster, with other things to occupy you, might bring you peace of mind, the strength to accept what we cannot change.’ She paused and added gently. ‘At least, say you will consider it.’

      Lydia sighed. She really had no choice. ‘Very well. I met him last night and he asked if he might call. You may intimate to him when he comes that I shall look favourably on his suit.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘But do not make me sound too eager, will you?’ Her mother released her hand and she rose to leave. ‘I am going to Malden—I need a book from the lending library. Is there anything you need?’

      ‘No, I do not think so, thank you.’

      Partridge was busy in the garden and, rather than take him from his work, she decided to walk the three miles into the little town which stood at the confluence of the Chelmer and Blackwater rivers. It was a spring fine day and Malden Water, though grey, was calm and several fishing boats could be seen either coming up from the sea or heading out towards it. Inland there were lambs in the fields, and the mare Farmer Carter kept in his meadow was proudly showing off a new foal which frisked about on its spindly legs, obviously pleased with life. It was the sort of day to raise the spirits and Lydia would have enjoyed the walk if her thoughts had not been occupied with her dilemma.

      It was all very well for Mama to say hate was a dreadful emotion, she knew it was, but she could not help herself. How could she be calm about the prospect of marrying a man old enough to be her father when there were men like her umbrella man in the vicinity? If she had never met the handsome stranger, would she have been content to marry as her mother directed? He had set her heart beating and fired her into longing for something she could only guess at: a passion, perhaps, that transcended everything.

      She did not need to know his name, or his circumstances, or anything about him in order to know that he could ignite in her an overpowering desire. It was wicked of her, wicked and almost depraved. She had not been brought up to feel like that, had not, until a week before, realised that such feelings existed, certainly not in young ladies with any pretensions of decency. She must squash such thoughts and feelings, cut them out of her life altogether, forget the young man and his dangerously compelling eyes.

      Ralph had spent most of the previous evening in the library at Colston Hall with a glass of brandy at his elbow, pouring over accounts and maps and reports from his general factotum about the condition of the estate, and what he read had appalled him. Today he had decided to see for himself and that could only be done on foot.

      Donning leather breeches and topboots, he had thrown on a brown worsted coat and visited all the farms on his domain, talking to the tenants and finding out what was needed. New thatch on the roofs, new glass in windows, new clunch on the pigsty walls, he was told when they got over their surprise at seeing him thus clad and being convinced he meant business. The ditches needed clearing, too, or come the winter there would be an inundation from the marshes.

      He was thankful he had come back home a wealthy man, or such a catalogue would have sent him bankrupt. He was doubly thankful when he realised that the fabric of the ancient church needed repair and that half the pews had woodworm and only he had the means to remedy it. After that, it was a quart of best ale in the village inn and back home via the old Roman road, now only a track, which ran alongside the marshes and the copse of trees where game was reared. Game birds were rare in this part of the world, which had few trees, except those planted in the gardens of the wealthy, who were following the latest trend for landscaping. His great-grandfather had planted this wood and his father had taken on a man who called himself a gamekeeper and who was skilled in

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