LITMIR.BIZ

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her cynical retort. Quite what use a cavalry officer might be against her unknown assailant she could not imagine, but Aunt Lucy seemed smitten, and Eleanor had not the heart to deny her.

      ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Pray continue, Pacey. Which girl was it? Is she all right?’

      ‘Yes, she is now. Once it was all in the open, she calmed down. It was Agnes, one of the kitchen maids. Cook sent her to the grocer’s at Shepherd’s Market for some almonds and spices. She noticed a man outside the house and he followed her. Then, on her way home, he began to walk beside her. She wasn’t suspicious at first. She said he seemed harmless enough and pestered her about when she had time off and so forth. But then he began to ask about the house, and the routines, and about you, my lady. Agnes got scared and told him to go away and that our household was none of his business. He threatened her then and said if she told anyone about him, he would find her and hurt her.’

      ‘I wish she had told us immediately,’ Eleanor said, ‘although no doubt the man would have run off as soon as she came indoors. Did she describe him?’

      ‘Yes. She said he was about five and forty, and medium height with mousy brown hair. He was dressed respectably, in a brown suit.’

      ‘A brown suit.’ Eleanor’s stomach clenched. It sounded like the man she had seen. Who was he? Why was he watching her? Was it he who had tried to kill her and had attacked that poor girl in Stockport.

      ‘Yes,’ Pacey said. ‘And a pointy nose.’

      Eleanor sank on to the sofa. ‘Thank you, Pacey. That will be all, but please ensure one of the men accompanies any of the maids if they have to go out on errands, will you? I do not want any of my household put in jeopardy.’

      ‘Pacey,’ Matthew said, as the butler walked to the door, ‘just to be certain...did Agnes tell him anything about the house or Lady Ashby that might endanger her?’

      ‘She says not, sir. But I cannot be certain she did not let something slip without realising its significance.’

      ‘Very well. Thank you.’ When the door closed behind Pacey, Matthew continued, ‘Does that sound like the man you saw the other day, El...my lady?’

      Eleanor nodded.

      ‘Will someone please tell me what all this is about?’ Sir Horace demanded.

      ‘May I tell him everything?’ Aunt Lucy asked Eleanor. When Eleanor nodded, Aunt Lucy said, ‘Come here and sit by me, Horace, and I shall tell you what has been happening.’

      Sir Horace settled into the chair opposite Aunt Lucy and Matthew sat on the sofa next to Eleanor. Their conversation in the park seemed a lifetime ago. All she could feel now was relief that he was here and that he hadn’t walked away in the face of her suspicions and doubts.

      ‘Are you all right?’ he asked in a low voice.

      All right? Would she ever be all right again? All she wanted was to feel safe.

      ‘Yes. I am fine,’ she said.

      She squirmed under his sceptical blue stare. ‘No,’ she admitted finally, ‘not really.’ She bit her lip, thinking. ‘Would you do something for me?’

      ‘It depends.’

      Hmmph. In her head, his response had been unequivocal. Anything, he had said. She might have known he would not simply dance unquestioningly to her tune.

      ‘Well? What is it you want?’

      ‘A pistol,’ she said, ‘a small one that will fit into my reticule.’

      ‘No.’

      Was that unequivocal enough, Eleanor? Her lips curved into a smile despite her best efforts to maintain a straight face. She had—really—expected no other response.

      ‘You do know,’ she said, ‘that I could simply go out and buy a pistol myself? Or send one of the servants to do so?’

      ‘Do you know how to shoot? Or even how to load a pistol, or to care for it?’

      ‘No. That is why I am asking for your help. I want you to teach me to shoot.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because I do not feel safe!’ In her agitation, she swivelled to look at him. ‘Because you cannot always be here. Because, sometimes, in the dead of night, I lie awake and I think about what happened to that girl in Stockport.’

      A low growl rose from deep in his chest. Heartened, Eleanor pressed on. ‘It would be safer, surely, for you to guide me in the choice of pistol. And you will be able to reassure yourself that I am capable. And competent.’

      ‘And bl—impossible!’

      ‘That, too,’ she said, smiling her satisfaction. ‘So you will do it. Excellent. Shall we say tomorrow morning? At eleven?’

      * * *

      The thunderous knocking on his front door continued unabated. Where was Henry? Matthew put down his book and went to answer the door.

      ‘Did you not take the hint?’

      ‘Come in.’ Matthew stood aside as his eldest brother, Viscount Claverley, swept past. He indicated the sitting-room door, which opened from the small hallway.

      ‘Go on through.’

      Henry appeared, red-faced and breathing hard, from the direction of the cellar steps. ‘Sorry, sir. I was—’

      ‘It is quite all right, Henry.’

      It wasn’t, not really. If Henry had been around to answer the knock at the door, he could have denied Claverley admittance, told him Matthew was from home.

      On the other hand, this meeting had to take place at some point. Perhaps it was best to get it over with. At least he would know what he was facing. Judging by the scowl on Claverley’s face and his opening salvo, it was not destined to be a warm ‘welcome home, brother’.

      Matthew followed his brother into the room. ‘To what do I owe this honour?’

      Claverley rounded on him with a cold glare. Matthew was gratified to see that he now topped his eldest brother by a good couple of inches.

      ‘You were told never to return. Father—’

      ‘Did he send you to tell me that?’

      Claverley’s mouth snapped shut. Matthew waited. Unless he had changed a great deal, he knew his brother would not lie. It was about the only thing to admire about him—his innate truthfulness.

      ‘No,’ he said. ‘He does not know I am here.’ He looked around the room with a curl of his lip. ‘Is this the best you could afford to lease? I knew you would never amount to anything.’

      Matthew held his temper in check. Claverley. Same smug, self-serving swine he had always been. Matthew’s nose throbbed in an echo of the pain of that lucky punch...he would never forgive Claverley for the cowardly way he had caught Matthew off-guard and knocked him unconscious.

      ‘Why,’ he asked, suddenly overcome with curiosity, ‘have you always disliked me so much?’

      ‘You have to ask? You are a cheat. I despise any dishonesty.’

      ‘Good God, you are such a pompous bag of wind. You haven’t changed a jot, have you? Did it ever—?’ Matthew thrust his face close to his brother’s and gained some small satisfaction from the leap of doubt in Claverley’s eyes as he recoiled.

       Good! Let him wonder what kind of man I have become. Coming into my home and throwing his weight around.

      ‘Did it ever,’ he repeated, ‘occur to you that I wasn’t guilty of cheating?’

      ‘You would say that. Father tried everything to prove your innocence. I told him he was wasting his time.’

      ‘And

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