Phyllida moved closer to Ellen. She had observed her talking to Richard during the ride, seen the looks, brimful with laughter, that Ellen had thrown at him and she had been conscious of a strong feeling of desolation. It had formed itself into a hard, unhappy knot deep inside. Phyllida wanted to snatch Ellen away but that would do no good at all. She was Ellen’s chaperon, not her gaoler, and would never prevent her merely talking to a gentleman. So she entered the house beside Lady Wakefield and left the younger ones to chatter together while they enjoyed the cold collation that had been set out for their delectation.
Afterwards, when they went off to look at the ruins of the castle, she made no attempt to keep Ellen at her side, but watched her scamper off with the other girls. Adrian, Mr Fullingham and Richard Arrandale accompanied the group to help them over the uneven ground while Phyllida followed a short distance behind with Lord Wakefield and his lady.
‘Oh, dear,’ murmured Lady Wakefield when the breeze brought snatches of the young people’s conversation floating back to them, ‘Adrian is recounting the castle’s gruesome history. Should we tell him to stop? I would not wish him to give the girls nightmares.’
‘Do not silence him on Ellen’s account,’ replied Phyllida, thinking of the copy of The Monk currently secreted in her stepdaughter’s bedchamber, ‘She will enjoy the horrid stories immensely.’
‘As will Julia and Penelope,’ added Lord Wakefield, with a complacent chuckle. ‘Do not worry, ladies, the children will not come to any harm here.’
Phyllida wondered if that were true, but she soon saw that the young ladies were much more interested in clambering over the ruins and listening to Adrian Wakefield’s blood-curdling tales than in dalliance with any of the gentlemen.
There was little to see of the castle except the gatehouse and what remained of the thick walls. The rest was merely piles of rubble, much of it overgrown, but this did not prevent the younger members of the party from scrambling around like excited children.
‘Which is what they are,’ remarked Lady Wakefield, watching them with smiling indulgence. ‘The girls are barely out of the schoolroom and Adrian is only a couple of years their senior. I wish I had their energy! The ride and then the refreshments have left me feeling quite languid, so Wakefield and I are going to find a convenient stone block to sit upon, Lady Phyllida, if you would like to stay with us?’
Phyllida declined gracefully. She was not at all fatigued by the ride and glad to have some time to herself. She wandered off, enjoying the solitude. She loved Ellen dearly, but having responsibility for such a pretty girl, and an heiress at that, was proving more arduous than she had thought. Having spent the past year living on her own at Tatham Park she had thought having Ellen to live with her would provide her with the companionship she had lacked since Sir Evelyn’s death, and it did, but Phyllida knew now that it was not enough. Ellen was not a kindred spirit, they could not converse upon equal terms, because Phyllida could never forget that Ellen was her responsibility.
She did not regret taking Ellen to live with her and she would devote herself now to looking after her. But later, when Ellen was married and she could look to her own happiness, what then? Perhaps she should marry again. Sir Evelyn had proved himself a kind and considerate husband but Phyllida knew that only the deepest love would make her give up her independence now, and ladies who had reached the advanced age of four-and-twenty did not readily fall in love, did they? The question hovered and impatiently she closed her mind to it. The future must look after itself. She was comfortably situated and had sufficient funds to do whatever she wished.
Such as wandering around ruined castles all alone?
Yes, she told herself firmly, and set off to prove it was possible.
The area adjoining the gatehouse was now a farmyard so Phyllida made her way in the opposite direction, where trees and bushes obscured what was left of the thick curtain wall. Stones from the ancient building were scattered around, making the ground uneven and she gathered up her voluminous skirts to avoid snagging them on the rampant vegetation.
‘Exploring, Lady Phyllida?’
Richard Arrandale was coming towards her. She quickly dropped her skirts, but not before she was sure he had glimpsed her stockings and half-boots.
And what of it? No doubt he has seen scores of ladies’ ankles in his career.
She told him, ‘I wanted, if I could, to discover something of the size of the castle.’
‘It is quite extensive. Here, take my hand and let me help you over these stones. We may find the path a little easier further on.’
‘Perhaps I should be getting back. Ellen—’
‘Miss Tatham is safely under the eye of the Wakefields,’ he replied. ‘And Fullingham has taken himself off to smoke a cigar.’ He said solemnly, ‘You are at liberty to enjoy yourself, Lady Phyllida.’
Tentatively she put out her hand. As his fingers closed around her glove she felt his thumb moving over the soft leather. The slow sensual strokes made her want to purr and she had to struggle to ignore it. He led her on through the ruins, pointing out portions of carved stone amongst the rubble and the outline of walls that were now no more than ridges in the ground.
‘You are very well informed, Mr Arrandale.’ She cast a suspicious look up at him. ‘When Lady Wakefield told you of this excursion you gave the impression you had not been here before.’
‘Did I?’
She stopped. His expression was innocent enough but there was laughter in his eyes. She said severely, ‘You know very well you did.’
He laughed.
‘Very well, I admit it. My great-aunt brought me here several times when I was younger. I explored the ruins then.’
‘Oh? Did all your family visit here?’
‘Good God, no. My father would have thought this place beneath him. He and my mother were too busy enjoying themselves in town to bother with their children.’
She tried to ignore the bitterness in his response.
‘Did your brother come here too?’
‘No. By the time I visited here Wolf was at Oxford, causing mayhem.’
‘Ah.’ She smiled. ‘The Scandalous Arrandales.’
‘Quite. However, unlike me, he wasn’t sent down. He saved his disgrace for something far more serious.’
He looked so grim that she could not prevent herself from squeezing his hand.
‘I am very sorry.’
‘You need not be.’
He spoke roughly and she knew he wanted to pull away from her. It was an almost imperceptible movement but she was aware of it and immediately she released him. He took a couple of paces towards one of the low stretches of wall rising up through the grass and rested one booted foot upon the stones.
He said with feigned carelessness, ‘It gives one a certain...standing, don’t you know, to have a murderer for a brother. I attracted all the choicest spirits at Oxford, most of ’em older, all of them ripe for mischief. I did not last a year before they kicked me out.’
‘Why, what did you do?’ The question was voiced before she could prevent it.
‘Gambling, drinking. Women. Then I moved on to London, where I found even more of the same pleasures to be enjoyed.’ His mouth twisted. ‘After all, I had to maintain the family reputation. Although I stopped short of murder.’
Her heart went out to him.
‘I do not believe the Arrandales are as black as they are painted. As for your brother—it was a long time ago but I know the whispers, the rumours, continue.’ She tried to smile. ‘They are probably much worse than what actually happened.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Would you like to tell me?’
She spoke the words softly and wondered if he had heard them for he ignored her, idly swiping at a thistle with his riding crop. Phyllida waited and eventually her patient silence was rewarded.
‘I am no better informed than you about how my sister-in-law died. I was spending that winter with my great-aunt at Shrewton and my parents decided it would be best if I remained in ignorance of what had happened. Of course that state of affairs could not last, Sophia’s acquaintances soon informed her of the situation and she took me back to Arrandale but by then it was too late. Florence, my sister-in-law, had been dead three months and my brother was gone.’
He turned and began to stroll on. She fell in beside him.
‘How did she die?’
‘Fell down the stairs. Florence was pregnant at the time and the fall brought on the birth. The child survived but Florence died that night. Everyone thought Wolf had killed her. Oh, the death was recorded as an accident, my father saw to that. After all he’d had plenty of practice covering up his own transgressions.’ His lip curled. ‘I come from a family of wrongdoers, Lady Phyllida. My family history is littered with murder, abduction and thievery, the stories of Farleigh Castle pale in comparison. Wolf was merely following the family tradition.’
She shook her head, but did not contradict him, merely asked what had happened to his brother.
‘My father sent Wolf abroad immediately after the tragedy. Then Florence’s parents demanded the return of a diamond necklace. It was a family treasure, apparently, to be passed to the heir, in this case Florence’s twin, but she had borrowed it for her wedding and had kept it to wear on grand occasions. Only it wasn’t there. It would seem that Wolf took it to pay his way abroad.’