LITMIR.BIZ

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‘Might I fetch you refreshments, Miss Ross? No? I regret the necessity of locking you into the cupboard, but I feared the door might swing open again if I did not.’

      ‘Have you been speaking to Bates?’ Adam enquired, regarding the butler with suspicion.

      ‘No, my lord, not for a day, at any rate. Miss Ross’s woman is in the kitchen, my lord.’ He paused on his way out. ‘Mrs Channing was also gracious enough to confide that she is going out of town for a few days, leaving Miss Channing to the chaperonage of her cousin.’

      ‘How very convenient.’ Adam stood looking out of the window, all the fun and the teasing gone from his face. ‘I will speak to Olivia about the house in Bushey this afternoon. If I were to send you a note, perhaps you would be good enough to let me know when you and Sir Henry could accompany us.’

      ‘Will Mrs Channing not want you to wait so she can go with you?’

      ‘Probably.’ He grinned suddenly and Decima forgot all her good resolutions in a swamping tide of love and longing. ‘I will tell her I have a good offer and must make up my mind soon—which is true enough. She won’t want me selling it, not after I have described it. The more properties Olivia becomes mistress of the better, in her eyes.’ He stopped looking out of the window and turned the smile on Decima. ‘And she approves of you, so she will not think twice about you chaperoning Olivia. Please, Decima—save me from an entire day of my future mama-in-law.’

      The reminder of the role Mrs Channing was destined to play in Adam’s life was sobering. Decima hesitated, torn between what she knew was her duty and the temptation of one last day with Adam. ‘I will ask Henry,’ she temporised. And Henry might either feel the same about being with Olivia, or might think that the pain of being in her company outweighed the pleasure—or the strain on his acting skills in not revealing his feelings. ‘It sounds delightful. Will we need a picnic?’

      ‘I will ensure we have the very best,’ Adam promised. ‘Now, I think we had better see you out through the kitchen door for discretion.’ He seemed quite normal, chatting of inconsequential things as he escorted her down the back stairs and into the kitchen, earning a scold from Cook for bringing a lady below stairs.

      But Decima, even distracted as she was by Pru’s guilty air, noticed something new about him. It was as though he was watching, planning, waiting with a kind of tension that held nothing of apprehension and everything of excitement and determination. She was as conscious of him as a man, of his strength and his will, as when she had been rescued by him in the snow or when he had caught her in his arms and made love to her.

      It was an effort to collect herself to greet Cook, nod pleasantly to the kitchen maids and take an indifferent, formal leave of Adam. What his staff thought of her choice of exit she had no idea, but no doubt they were too well-paid and well-managed to presume to either comment or speculate.

      Once she and Pru were safely in the carriage and the vehicle in motion, the maid began to fidget. Decima refrained from speaking for a long minute, increasing Pru’s discomfort until at last she burst out, ‘Is it all right, Miss Decima? You and his lordship are speaking again?’

      ‘No, it is not all right, Pru! You lied to me, did you not? No, don’t try and tell me what you said—you may have been very careful, but you deliberately left me with the impression that Lord Weston had warned Bates off marrying you simply because we had had a falling out. Did you not?’

      ‘Yes’m.’ Pru had her head down and the reply emerged as a painful mutter. Then she looked up and burst out, ‘He ought to be marrying you, Miss Decima, not that washed-out little Miss Channing. You love him.’

      Denying it seemed futile. Decima ignored the statement. ‘He is engaged to be married. Even if he has made a mistake—which I am not saying he has, so do not quote that back to me, if you please!—he cannot honourably withdraw.’

      ‘She ought to,’ Pru said mutinously. ‘She could if she wasn’t so hen-hearted.’

      ‘Would you have the courage to disobey Mrs Channing?’ Decima enquired tartly. ‘Poor Olivia is terrified of her mother and she deserves her chance to make her own life and be happy.’

      ‘Well, and so do you,’ Pru retorted. ‘Men haven’t the wit they were born with, most of them. You have to write a sign and wave it under their noses afore they’ll see what a woman’s feeling.’

      ‘So you are thinking better of marriage to Bates, are you?’ Decima enquired wickedly.

      ‘No. He needs looking after,’ Pru declared. ‘I’ll make something of him.’

      Henry was at home when Decima returned and she caught him alone to tell him about her morning. He nodded gravely as she recounted her uncomfortable visit to the Carmichaels.

      ‘I’m glad you’ve made peace again. Does Charlton insist upon you going to stay with him and Lady Carmichael?’

      ‘He tried to.’ Decima pulled off her gloves and went to curl up on the sofa next to Henry’s writing desk. He seemed to be working his way through an alarming stack of correspondence, much of which looked like modistes’ bills to Decima’s newly experienced eye, and did not seem unhappy at being distracted. Doubtless launching a sister into society was not a cheap exercise.

      ‘I refused, but, of course, if you or Lady Freshford would rather I didn’t stay after yesterday, I will leave, naturally. I know I am refining too much upon going there—I’m sure it will be all right once he realises that I’m independent.’

      ‘No, please stay.’ Henry grinned at her. ‘We would hate to lose you—even Starling has consented to withdraw his resignation. Now, tell me about your encounter with LordWeston.’

      Decima did so, not even omitting the episode in the study cupboard, which made Henry roar with laughter. ‘Oh, lord! Can you imagine Starling bundling me into a cupboard to save me from a compromising situation?’

      Decima had to confess she could not. The image was so ludicrous that she felt she had better stay away from the butler until she could command her face. Then the thought of the rest of her news sobered her.

      ‘That is not all. Adam wishes us to accompany him and Olivia on an expedition to visit an estate at Bushey.’ She explained what Adam had told her, watching Henry’s reaction. ‘I had a stiff wrestle with my conscience,’ she admitted, ‘and I finally gave in, although I have not told him so yet. It will be a treat to reward myself for exercising the utmost discretion ever afterwards. But I was not sure how you would feel—’ She broke off, catching her lower lip between her teeth anxiously. ‘I thought perhaps you might feel the same about Olivia. Or it might be too painful…’ Henry was silent, tapping the edge of a milliner’s bill with one fingernail. ‘Or perhaps you no longer feel…’

      ‘Oh, I feel—I feel just the same about her,’ he admitted eventually. ‘And I expect I will yield to temptation, one last time, just as you intend to. Do you remember we discussed how one knew if one was in love? Ironic, is it not? I wish I had stayed ignorant.’

      The bitterness that was suddenly in his voice stung and Decima winced. How could people find sport and entertainment in match-making? For every happy union they brought about, how many broken hearts were there? Still, Pru and Bates would be all right, of that she was certain.

      Adam’s promised note arrived later that afternoon, suggesting an expedition in two days’ time, providing the good weather held. There was a separate note for Henry, who read it with raised brows.

      ‘What is it?’ Decima asked, watching his thoughtful face.

      ‘Weston urges me to accompany you as he has some concerns after recent reports of footpads in the area. He says he has no real fears, but would feel happier about going if there was another gentleman to take care of the ladies, as opposed to grooms.’

      ‘Do you think it dangerous?’ Decima queried.

      ‘No.’ Henry shook his head. ‘There have been reports, but only occasional ones,

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