Miss Winbolt and the Fortune Hunter. Sylvia Andrew

Deardons will be there, and I expect they’ll bring a guest of theirs, Sir William Ashenden. They are almost bound to include him in their party. Apparently he has just bought Charlwood.’

      ‘I can’t imagine what possessed Ashenden to buy that place. Does he know how much it will cost to put in order? A retired naval officer would need something other than his pay to make it habitable,’ said Philip.

      Rosa had other matters on her mind. ‘I wonder how old he is…and if he is married,’ she said thoughtfully.

      The ball was well under way by the time the party from Shearings arrived. The ladies left their cloaks in a small room set aside for the purpose, then Philip escorted them to the ballroom, where Lady Langley greeted them warmly, ‘You’ve known most of the people here since you were a child, Rosa, dear. But perhaps you haven’t met Lady Deardon? Her table is in the far corner. I shall take you to meet her.’ She added with an arch smile at Emily, ‘Lady Deardon’s visitor is with her. I’m sure Miss Winbolt would like to meet him. Such a distinguished man…’

      So Rosa’s efforts to marry her off had not gone unnoticed in the neighbourhood, thought Emily grimly. The idea was so unwelcome that, though she smiled and made a suitable reply, her manner as they were taken down the room to be introduced was distinctly frosty. Lady Deardon regarded Emily with interest, but then turned to Philip and Rosa to say she was alone for the moment, but hoped they would wait till the rest of her party returned. They agreed with pleasure and sat down. Emily gazed round.

      Further down the room a gentleman, tall, lithe and assured, was leading a strikingly attractive woman on to the floor. He was smiling as he bent his head to hear what his companion was saying. Little wrinkles fanned out from the corners of his eyes… Emily’s heart missed a beat. For a moment she was frozen. It couldn’t be! It couldn’t possibly be! She was imagining things. The likeness was purely accidental. It couldn’t be Will. Will was a carelessly dressed, carelessly mannered wanderer. He wouldn’t be a guest of one of the neighbourhood’s most stiff-necked families, dancing with one of its most beautiful women. Of course he wouldn’t! She sat for a moment telling herself to be sensible, to stay calm. But she found it quite impossible. The shock had been too great, and the ballroom was suddenly unbearably hot—she needed air, somewhere to recover. Slipping her fan into the arrangement of flowers behind her, she exclaimed, ‘How foolish of me! I seem to have left my fan in the pocket of my cloak. Please excuse me while I fetch it.’ And without waiting for any offers of help she got up and made her way as calmly as she could out of the ballroom.

      But once outside she fled to the small boudoir which had been set aside for ladies, where she sat down and requested a glass of water. She was trembling. The man in the ballroom couldn’t possibly be Will. It was a delusion. His face had haunted her dreams for weeks, and now she was beginning to imagine it when she was awake! That must be it. It wasn’t Will, it wasn’t…! She grew cold. But what if it was? Her throat felt dry and she took the proffered glass gratefully. After taking several sips of water, she calmed down again and began to reason sensibly. How could someone who was little more than a vagabond find his way into a house belonging to the Langleys who were one of the county’s highest sticklers? It was impossible. Of course it was! She must have imagined the resemblance.

      Rosa came into the room. ‘Have you found your fan? I was sure you had it with you…Emily, is there something wrong?’ She took a closer look at her sister-in-law. ‘Are you feeling the thing? You look a little pale.’

      ‘I…I felt the heat for a moment. It’s better now. No, I haven’t found it yet. Perhaps I dropped it in the ballroom.’

      ‘We’ll look for it when we go back. If you’re ready, I want you to come with me to meet the gentleman with Lady Deardon. Philip and I have been talking to him while you were in here and I think he could be the very man for you! He is just as distinguished as Lady Langley said—tall, very well dressed, with such a cultivated, intelligent air. I suspect he has a sense of humour, too. I know you will like him. I can tell Philip does. Do come.’

      Emily sighed. Another candidate to save me from my doom, she thought. This time it’s an elderly naval officer. How tired I am of meeting ‘just the man’ for me. In the last few months, ever since I told Rosa of my wish to live alone, I have been introduced to a knight, two baronets, an admiral and what seems like every possible rank of the Army from an ensign to a brigadier… And when we’re in London Rosa will no doubt find distinguished men of letters, artists, poets, diplomats, any one of whom might be ‘just the man for me’… I shall die of a surfeit of suitors! The thought amused her. She was even smiling as she accompanied Rosa back to the ballroom.

      But at the door she paused and took a cautious look round. There were plenty of tall gentlemen, but no one who looked remotely like Will. Her imagination had been playing tricks on her. Sighing with relief, Emily followed Rosa to Lady Deardon’s table.

      Philip was there, in conversation with a tall, grey-haired gentleman. My goodness, thought Emily, Rosa must be getting desperate. This one is even older than the brigadier! But she smiled charmingly as she curtsied to Lady Deardon, who turned to the gentleman next to her and said, ‘My husband, Sir Reginald Deardon, Miss Winbolt.’

      Sir Reginald Deardon! The lady’s husband! Emily had difficulty in suppressing a broad grin at her own mistake. Perhaps Rosa was not as desperate as she had feared! They exchanged a few words, then Lady Deardon said, ‘My godson will be here shortly, Mrs Winbolt. He has just gone to invite Mrs Fenton to join us for a moment. I believe you wanted to talk to her. Here they come.’

      Emily regarded at the couple slowly advancing towards them with horrified fascination. They made a striking pair. Mrs Fenton had pale gold hair and very light china-blue eyes. Her black dress was the very latest in fashion, her diamonds magnificent, and she walked up the room with conscious grace, seemingly indifferent to the many admiring glances cast in her direction. Emily’s eyes turned to the gentleman at her side, still hoping for a miracle. Perhaps she had been mistaken, perhaps it was just an extraordinary resemblance. But her heart sank as she looked. It was a nightmare. The gentleman… She swallowed. Lady Deardon’s famous guest was tall, lithe and perfectly assured, completely at home in this gathering of the neighbourhood’s highest society. He was dressed in beautifully tailored evening clothes, immaculate linen, and had a diamond pin in the snowy folds of his cravat. But he was unmistakeably the man who had rescued her from the tree. Will… William… Sir William Ashenden.

      The pair drew near. It was certainly Will. No one else could have the same lurking amusement in such dark blue eyes, the same fan of laughter lines at the corners… Her knees grew weak at an unbidden memory of that broad chest under her cheek, the feel of those long legs wrapped round hers, the sensations aroused by his kisses. She suppressed a faint gasp and clutched the back of the chair for support as a mixture of fear and this unfamiliar but powerful feeling almost undid her. Keeping her eyes lowered and her feelings tightly under control, she stiffly acknowledged the introductions that followed. Eventually she made herself look up. His eyes were amused, but she could perceive no sign of recognition in them. She took courage. Why should he recognise her? Who would connect the well-dressed, highly respectable Miss Emily Winbolt with the untidy, bare-legged hoyden, the hussy who had responded to his kisses with such a lack of restraint? She had a reputation for coolness. On this occasion she would make very sure she lived up to it. She had to!

      Mrs Fenton’s china-blue eyes had swept over Emily with indifference, but she talked animatedly to Rosa for a moment or two, eyed Philip with lazy interest, then, after receiving an invitation to visit Shearings and thanking them all for their kindness, she excused herself.

      ‘I hope Sir William will see me safely back to my table,’ she said, waving her fan at him with a smile.

      ‘At a price, Mrs Fenton,’ he said. ‘On condition that you will dance this waltz with me first.’

      ‘You drive a hard bargain, sir,’ she said with a delicious pout. ‘But I am in your hands.’

      He laughed and offered her his arm to lead her on to the floor.

      Emily would have been hard put to it to describe her feelings.