‘Thank you, I know I need not worry about Ellen for the whole day.’
‘What will you do with yourself?’
Phyllida laughed. ‘I hardly know.’
But in truth she knew only too well. She would busy herself with her accounts and with her household duties, tasks that would occupy her mind, because if she turned to her painting, her books or strolling in Sydney Gardens, then the nagging ache that had been with her since the Denhams’ party would intensify and her thoughts would again be filled with Richard Arrandale.
Phyllida had spent the days and nights following the Denhams’ party going over the events of the evening and trying to understand Richard’s behaviour. Her head told her the man was a rake and that any chivalrous action would be designed to ingratiate himself with Ellen, but her heart did not want to believe it. Ellen was convinced that he was reformed and Phyllida had to admit that in these matters Ellen appeared to be wise beyond her years. Lady Wakefield, too, believed Richard Arrandale to be a reformed character. Even after Phyllida had confided to her all that had occurred on that night she had no hesitation in defending him, or in concluding that he must be truly fond of Ellen. Could she have been wrong? Phyllida wondered. Could Richard really be the honourable man her heart wanted him to be? The trouble was, she thought sadly, if that was so, then she had insulted him most grievously.
Resolving not to waste her free time in fruitless speculation Phyllida took her leave of Lady Wakefield. The clouds that had been gathering all morning had descended even lower and as she reached the Pump Room doorway the first fat spots of rain began to fall.
‘Lady Phyllida.’
She tensed as she heard that familiar voice at her shoulder.
‘We have nothing to say to one another, Mr Arrandale.’
‘Are you going to Charles Street? That is on my way, allow me to escort you.’
‘No, thank you,’ she responded icily. ‘I am perfectly capable of walking alone.’
‘But it is raining and you have no umbrella. And I do.’ Phyllida knew it was a mistake to look at him but she could not help herself. The corners of his mouth had curved upwards and he was smiling at her in a way that broke through all her resolve. He held out his arm. ‘Shall we?’
As if they had a will of their own her fingers slid on to his sleeve. In her own defence, Phyllida told herself that if she refused him he was quite capable of walking behind her all the way to Charles Street.
They stepped out of the Pump Room. Phyllida was obliged to keep close to his side to avoid the rain, which was now falling steadily.
She told him, ‘If you expect me to thank you for your gallant behaviour the other evening you will be disappointed.’ When he made no reply the guilt that was worming away inside her became unbearable. ‘But I do beg your pardon, for what I said to you that night.’
‘You admit, then, that I meant no harm to Miss Tatham?’
‘She has assured me that was the case.’
The words came out stiffly, but Richard was heartened by them, until she added, ‘At least on that occasion,’
He smothered an exclamation.
‘Lady Phyllida, there are other, far more dangerous men seeking to undo your stepdaughter.’
‘I am aware she is the subject of a wicked gamble, Mr Arrandale, but whether the other participants are more dangerous than you is questionable.’
‘You are an innocent, Lady Phyllida. You do not know what these men are capable of.’
‘Just because I have lived retired does not mean I am not aware of what men are like.’
‘From gossip and discreet whispers!’
‘And from novels,’ she flashed, stopping to look up at him. ‘I have read Clarissa.’
‘What, all of it?’
She put up her chin. ‘Yes.’
A grin tugged at his mouth.
‘By George, your marriage must have been extremely dull if you had so much time to read.’
Her eyes flashed. Richard laughed. She had withdrawn her hand but he caught it and tucked it on to his arm again, saying as they began to walk on, ‘Forgive me for that last remark, ma’am. Will you concede it is a fair trade with the insult you flung at me at the Denhams’ party?’
‘I shall concede nothing,’ she replied with icy dignity but did not pull away. It was progress, of a sort.
They strolled on and Richard exerted himself to draw her out, talking to her of books and art and the theatre. Inwardly he was smiling, thinking how well their steps matched, how similar were their tastes.
How conveniently tall she was, so he would only have to drop his head a little to reach those full red lips. He glanced down at her profile with its straight little nose and determined chin. She was frowning a little as she considered the question he had asked her about the new Theatre Royal in Drury Lane.
‘I think it is the fact that it is so large,’ she was saying. ‘The audience is too distant. Too...’
She looked up at him at that moment, her lips remaining pursed around the word long after the sound had faded. He watched the colour rise in her cheeks, saw her eyes darken as she recognised the attraction between them. Then her head snapped back, she gazed ahead of her and presented her profile to him once more.
‘You were saying?’ he prompted.
‘I seem to have forgotten it. But it is no matter, for we are in Charles Street now. I am home.’
‘Yes.’ He found himself wishing they had another mile to walk, just for the pleasure of her company. He gave a little bow.
‘Then I shall take my leave of you, until next week. Our visit to Shrewton.’
Phyllida drew a deep breath. The decision she had been putting off for so long was now clear.
‘We shall not be going,’ she said. ‘I shall write to Lady Hune today to inform her that Ellen and I will not be able to join her party.’
‘May I ask why you have changed your mind?’
‘I might have misconstrued your actions at the Denhams’, Mr Arrandale, but that does not alter the fact that you are party to a vile conspiracy against Ellen and where she is concerned I dare not trust you.’
Richard’s brows rose fractionally, but he said nothing, merely inclined his head and walked away. She watched him go. He had not tried to change her mind, he had not argued, merely accepted her news. She should be glad, for she would have had to resist his persuasions and although she knew she was doing the right thing, it would have been hard. She must keep away from Richard Arrandale, for her own sake as much as Ellen’s. How could she allow herself to become fond of a man she would not let near her stepdaughter?
She hurried indoors and went directly to her writing desk. She must write now to Lady Hune and when Ellen returned that evening, she must face the even more difficult task of breaking the news to her.
The note to Lady Hune received a reply by return, inviting, nay, commanding Phyllida to call upon her that very afternoon. Phyllida toyed with the idea of declining, but only for a moment. She had planned to spend the time writing to Olivia but since she had no good news to convey the task was no more welcome than taking tea with the dowager marchioness. She therefore changed her gown and made her way to Royal Crescent.
‘Your letter came as no surprise,’ said Lady Hune, as soon as they were alone. She poured tea into a cup and handed it to Phyllida. ‘My nephew told me to expect it.’
‘In truth, ma’am, I should have sent it days ago. I beg your pardon, and hope it will not affect your arrangements overmuch.’
‘I take it your reason is that Richard will be one of the party?’
‘Yes.’ Phyllida saw no reason to prevaricate.
‘I suppose it is useless for me to tell you that, despite his reputation, Richard has no designs upon Miss Tatham?’
Phyllida shook her head. She wanted to believe it, part of her did believe it, but she no longer trusted her own judgement. How could she, when she knew now that she was in love with Richard Arrandale?
‘My mind is made up, Lady Hune. It is best if Ellen and I do not go to Shrewton Lodge.’
‘I hope you will forgive me, my dear, but I disagree.’
Phyllida blinked. ‘Ma’am?’
‘I know of the wager concerning your stepdaughter.’
‘And do you know also that your nephew is a party to it?’
Phyllida was unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
‘Yes. He was foolish to agree to it, but men were ever thus. He assures me now that he has no intention of following it through.’
‘He is hardly likely to tell you anything else, ma’am.’
To her surprise Lady Hune smiled.
‘He is a rascal, Phyllida, I know, but in this instance I think he is sincere.’ She paused for a moment. ‘He is not a bad man, my dear. I believe I know him as well as anyone and I assure you he had no wicked intentions to ruin your stepdaughter.’
Phyllida gave a tiny shake of the head. The marchioness was undoubtedly biased.
Lady Hune continued. ‘Even if I am wrong, have you considered? The terms of the bet are for one of these so-called gentlemen to seduce Ellen before Michaelmas.’
Phyllida looked up.
‘I did not know that,’ she said slowly. ‘So it will all come to naught once the twenty-ninth is past?’
‘Yes, when we are at Shrewton. It was this knowledge that persuaded me to arrange the visit for next week. Think, my dear. You will have Lady Wakefield and myself to help keep an eye on Ellen with you, plus her maid, whom Richard tells me is quite fearsome.’