Lord Exmouth's Intentions. Anne Ashley

your affections are not engaged, are they, Robina?’

      ‘No, Mama, they are not,’ she responded, scrupulously honest, but with a hint of wistfulness which Lady Elizabeth’s sharp ears had little difficulty in detecting.

      She turned away from the window to look directly at her daughter once more. ‘But you wish they were, is that it? You wish that during your time here in London you’d met just one young man who had succeeded in sending your heart pounding…? A knight in shining armour who might have swept you off your feet?’ The sudden shout of laughter, though unexpected, lacked neither warmth nor sympathy. ‘Ah, child, I was your age once and know what foolish fancies pass through a young girl’s mind. Remember, my dear, that very few members of our class marry for love. And perhaps that is no bad thing…Love, after all, is a luxury few can afford.’

      After a moment she moved slowly across to the door. ‘Your father and I would never dream of forcing you into a marriage with a man you could neither like nor respect. I do not believe for a moment that you are indifferent to Lord Exmouth, child. So I would ask you to think long and hard before you turn down what might well prove to be your one and only chance of making a truly splendid match.’

      Robina, watching the door being closed quietly, realised that her mother had divulged far more about herself during the past few minutes than ever before.

      She had long held the belief that her parents’ union had been a love-match. Lady Elizabeth Finedon, proud and aristocratic, the daughter of a duke, no less, had chosen to marry the Reverend William Perceval, a younger son of an impoverished baronet. If love had not been the reason for the union then Robina was at a loss to understand what it might have been. Maybe, though, during the passage of time, there had been occasions when her mother had regretted allowing her heart to rule her head.

      Her father, a worthy man of rigid principles, had made no secret of the fact that it had been his wife’s substantial dowry which had enabled him and his family to live in relative comfort, if not precisely luxury. Even so, it had been only the practising of strict economies over the years that had enabled the Vicar of Abbot Quincey and his wife to fund a London Season for their eldest daughter.

      Robina knew that her parents had every intention of offering her three younger sisters the same opportunity as she herself had received. The twins, Edwina and Frederica, would have their come-out next year, an even greater expense with two of them to launch. Little wonder, then, that her mother was wishful to see her eldest daughter suitably established before next spring.

      Her conscience began to prick her as she gazed at the half-filled trunk. Her parents had found it no easy task to finance this enjoyable London Season. Her mother especially had deprived herself of so much over the years to ensure that each of her children possessed at least a small dowry to offer a prospective husband. Was it not time for the eldest daughter to show her appreciation by doing something in return?

      She reached for the lovely gown which she had allowed to slip through her fingers a short time before and, folding it with care, placed it neatly on top of the other garments in the trunk.

      Those perfectly matched greys which had momentarily captured Miss Robina Perceval’s attention were brought to a halt some twenty minutes later outside a fashionable dwelling in Curzon Street. The middle-aged groom, sitting beside his master on the seat, willingly took charge of what he considered to be one of the finest pair of horses he’d seen in many a long year, and watched with a hint of pride as the greys’ highly discerning owner jumped nimbly to the ground.

      Although perhaps no longer in his first flush of youth, his master was none the less in the same prime physical condition as the animals he had purchased that very morning. Tall, lean and well-muscled, Lord Exmouth was still a fine figure of a man who, most people considered, was at last beginning to show definite signs of recovering from the tragic blow life had dealt him.

      But there were those who knew better. There were those who knew the truth of it all and whose respect and devotion continued to hold them mute, Kendall mused, watching his master disappear inside the house.

      Another prominent member of this touching band of loyal retainers was in the hall, ready to relieve his lordship of his hat and gloves. ‘Her ladyship’s compliments, my lord, and could you possibly spare her a few minutes of your time before incarcerating yourself away in your library.’ The butler permitted himself a thin smile. ‘Her ladyship’s words, sir, not mine.’

      ‘Where is the Dowager? Not still abed, I trust?’

      ‘No, my lord. But still in her bedchamber, supervising the—er—packing of her trunks, I believe.’

      White, even teeth flashed in a sportive smile. ‘I didn’t suppose for a moment, Stebbings, that she was undertaking the task herself,’ his lordship responded and, swiftly mounting the stairs, did not notice the butler’s slightly stooping shoulders shaking in appreciative laughter.

      Her ladyship, now well into middle age, was not renowned for exerting herself unduly, not if she could possibly avoid it. So it came as no great surprise to her lean, athletic son to discover her prostrate on the chaise longue, one podgy, beringed hand poised over the open box of sweetmeats too conveniently positioned nearby.

      She paused before reducing the box’s contents further to turn her head to see who had entered her room. ‘Daniel, darling!’ She greeted him with every evidence of delight, proffering one soft pink cheek upon which he might place a chaste salute, and then waiting for him to oblige her. ‘I was informed you went out bright and early this morning. I sincerely trust you didn’t forgo breakfast.’

      ‘No, ma’am. You will be pleased to learn my appetite remains hale and hearty.’

      ‘Yes, you do take after your dear papa in that, as in so many other things. He was not one to pick at his food, and yet he never seemed to put on an ounce of superfluous fat.’ Her sigh was distinctly mournful. ‘And yet here am I, eat like a bird, and have a girth like a Shetland pony!’

      ‘Mmm, I wonder why?’ his lordship murmured, casting a brief glance at the half-empty box at her elbow, before lowering his tall, lean frame, the envy of many of his friends, and much admired by more than one discerning female, into the chair nearby.

      ‘You wished to see me, Mama?’ he reminded her.

      ‘Did I?’ She looked decidedly vague, but as her son knew very well the Dowager’s appearance was deceptive. She might have grown quite indolent in recent years, rarely bestirring herself if she could possibly avoid it, but little escaped the notice of those dreamy brown eyes. ‘Ah, yes! It was only to remind you that the trunks are being sent on ahead today. We don’t wish to be burdened with piles and piles of luggage when we set forth on Friday.’

      ‘I believe Penn has seen to everything in his usual efficient way.’

      ‘What a treasure that valet of yours is, Daniel! Just like my own dear Pinner.’ She turned to the birdlike female, busily occupied in folding clothes into a sizeable trunk, and gave the faintest nod of dismissal.

      ‘I trust you are looking forward to the forthcoming sojourn in Brighton, dear?’ she continued the instant they were alone. ‘And quite content to bear your feeble old mama company for several more weeks? I must confess I have thoroughly enjoyed our time together here in London.’

      His lordship’s eyes, so very like his mother’s in both colour and shape, held a distinctly sardonic gleam. ‘You are neither feeble-minded nor old, my dear. And neither am I a moonling. So you can stop trying to hoodwink me, and voice the question which is quivering on the tip of that occasionally ungovernable tongue of yours! Which is, of course, am I looking forward to furthering my acquaintance with Miss Perceval. The answer to which is…yes.’

      His mother’s gurgle of appreciative laughter was infectious, and his lordship found it impossible not to smile. ‘Possibly just as well that I am anticipating a pleasant time by the sea, since Montague Merrell, together with half my acquaintance, is firmly convinced that the Reverend’s delightful daughter would make me an ideal wife.’

      ‘And so she would!’