The Passionate Friends. Meg Alexander

sir. Give her enough children, and you will keep her occupied, but you must bear down hard upon her radical notions. She likes to read, and she even writes a little, I believe.”

      “Both most unsuitable occupations for a woman, but she will be taught to forget that nonsense.”

      The Reverend Truscott glanced at his betrothed. There was much else that he would teach her. Judith was no beauty. The brown hair, grave grey eyes, and delicate colouring were not to his taste at all, but her figure was spectacular. Tall and slender, he guessed that his hands would span her waist, but the swelling hips and splendid bosom promised untold pleasures.

      His eyes kindled at the thought, but the prospect of controlling her inheritance gave him even greater joy. He banished his lascivious expression and looked down at the list of guests upon the bureau, noticing at once that there were no ticks against the names of the Wentworth family.

      “My dear child, you must not forget to invite your friends,” he chided. “I know how much you think of them, and I must learn to know them better.”

      “I could well do without the ladies of the family,” Mrs Aveton snapped. “Lady Wentworth is mighty free with her opinions, and as for the Honourable Mrs Peregrine Wentworth…? Words fail me!”

      “A little…er…sprightly, perhaps? The privilege of rank, dear lady. After all, we must speak with charity of our fellow-creatures. And, you are friendly with the Countess of Brandon, are you not?”

      “She thinks no better of them than I do myself…”

      Judith made an unsuccessful attempt to hide her amusement. The animosity was mutual.

      “There now, we have made our dear Judith smile at last! Believe me, my love, your friends will always be welcome at our home.”

      Judith gave him a grateful look. Perhaps he would be kind. It was fortunate that she could not read his mind. The Reverend Truscott knew an enemy when he met one, and Prudence, Lady Wentworth, had left him in no doubt of her own opinion.

      He’d seen her look of disgust as he moved about among his congregation, fawning on the women, and flattering the men. She had surprised him once, when he’d cornered one of his young parishioners beside the vestry. He’d gone too far on that occasion, and the girl was looking distressed.

      Her ladyship had not addressed him, but her dagger-glance was enough to persuade him to hurry away, leaving the girl to rearrange her bodice as best she could.

      Mrs Peregrine was quite another matter. She was a beauty, that one, and he’d sensed the fire beneath the Madonna-like appearance. She hated and despised him. That much was clear. He could not mistake the expression in her huge, dark eyes, but her dislike only served to whet his appetite. He’d conquered such women before, with his talk of love and salvation. It would be a pleasure to add her to his list of victims.

      Looking up, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, and felt his usual sense of satisfaction. His looks were the only thing for which he had to thank his actress mother and his unknown father.

      Was he growing too gaunt? He thought not. His tall, spare figure and the dark head with the deep-set eyes and narrow jaw had just a touch of the fanatic. It was no bad thing. A certain air of the vulpine had served him well in his chosen profession. Who could resist him when he thundered forth his message from the pulpit?

      He sensed that Judith was watching him.

      “Forgive me, my dear,” he said easily. “I should not have come to you looking as I do. My duties with parishioners have kept me out all day. You must think me sadly dishevelled, but I could not resist the temptation to call upon you.”

      “Judith thinks nothing of the kind,” Mrs Aveton interposed. “It is good of you to call again, when this foolish girl was not here to greet you earlier in the day.”

      “Perhaps she believes that absence makes the heart grow fonder,” the preacher chuckled. With many protestations of devotion he took his leave of them.

      “You had best get on with the invitations, Judith. There is little time to spare before your marriage, and I suppose we must do something about your trousseau. Tomorrow we had best go into Bond Street.”

      Judith nodded her agreement.

      However, on the following day, her stepmother lost all patience with her lack of interest in the garments offered for her inspection.

      “Do pay attention!” she cried sharply. “Nothing will make you into a beauty, but you owe it to your husband to appear respectable.”

      “Miss has a perfect figure,” the modiste encouraged. “She would look well in any of these wedding gowns.”

      “Hold your tongue!” Mrs Aveton glared at her. Her own daughters were both short and dumpy. “I will decide upon a suitable garment.” She settled upon a dull lavender which did nothing for Judith’s colouring.

      “This will do! And now I have the headache, thanks to your stupidity. The rest of your things you may choose for yourself whenever you wish. I have no time to accompany you again.”

      Judith said nothing, though she felt relieved. The excuse to complete her shopping alone would get her out of the house, and away from the constant carping and criticism. She must take her maid, of course, but the girl was her only friend within the household, and she understood her quiet mistress well.

      This fact had not escaped Mrs Averton’s notice. She had already spoken to the Reverend Truscott on the subject.

      On the following day she confronted Judith.

      “You are grown too familiar with that girl,” she said. “You had best make it clear that she should be looking for another position after you are married. Your husband will not care to find you being friendly with a servant.”

      “I had hoped to take her with me. She is the daughter of my father’s housekeeper, and I’ve known her all my life.”

      “Your father has been dead these many years. I should have dismissed her long ago.”

      A lump came into Judith’s throat, but she did not argue further. Her husband-to-be might view the girl more kindly.

      Mrs Aveton glanced through the window. “It may be coming on to rain,” she said. “I shall need the carriage myself this morning. You may walk to Bond Street. There is plenty of shelter on the way.”

      Judith didn’t care if it poured. She could use a shower as an excuse to stay out for as long as possible. She left the house as quickly as possible, and walked along the street with Bessie beside her.

      “Miss Judith, it’s spitting already. You’ll get drenched. Must you go out today?”

      “I think so, Bessie. Have you got the list?”

      “It’s in my pocket, miss, but it’s coming on heavier than ever. Won’t you step into this doorway?”

      The wind was already sweeping the rain into their faces, and both girls ran for shelter. Half-blinded by the shower, Judith did not notice the hackney carriage until it stopped beside them. Then a strong hand gripped her elbow.

      “Get in!” Dan said. “I want to talk to you.”

      Chapter Two

      Judith was too startled to do other than obey him. It was only when she was seated in a corner of the carriage that she realised the folly of her action.

      She glanced up, a protest ready on her lips, but Dan was smiling at Bessie.

      “I hope I see you well,” he said kindly. “It’s Bessie, isn’t it? Do you remember me?”

      “You haven’t changed, Mr Dan. I’d know you anywhere.”

      He grinned at that. “Once seen, never forgotten? It’s my carroty top that gives me away.”

      “Dan,