Scandal At Greystone Manor. Mary Nichols

      ‘I expressed the wish to beat her brother.’

      Drew laughed. ‘Oh, I assume you told her of our meeting with Lord Bolsover.’

      ‘Yes, but she already knew some of what Teddy had been up to but, I suspect, not the whole. It makes me angry the way everyone in that family leans on Jane and expects her to fetch them out of whatever bumblebath they have tumbled into.’

      ‘Is that so?’

      ‘Yes. She has given up everything for them and is now proposing to use her own money to pay off Teddy’s debt.’

      ‘Does she know how much that is?’

      ‘I don’t think so. Nor do I think she has enough. According to Isabel, their grandmother left each of the girls a little money for a dowry. Isabel has already spent hers on her trousseau, so it cannot have been a great amount.’

      ‘Tell me,’ Drew said thoughtfully. ‘Why did you choose Isabel over Jane, when you so clearly have a high regard for her?’

      Mark hesitated before replying, trying to find a satisfactory answer. ‘A high regard is not love, is it? Jane has much to commend her, but I did not think of her in that way. Everyone, and that includes me, simply accepted that she was not going to marry and it became easy to think of her as Isabel’s unmarried sister. Unfair, perhaps, but that is the way of it.’ How unfair he was only now beginning to realise.

      ‘And Isabel?’

      ‘Isabel is beautiful and lively and she loves me. What more can a man ask?’

      ‘What indeed,’ Drew murmured.

      ‘Have you never been in love?’

      ‘Frequently. I have been in love with every mistress while it lasts, but it never does. They always reveal their true colours in the end.’

      ‘Then you have not been in love at all. Love is meant to last a lifetime.’

      ‘Is that so?’

      ‘Yes. I fear you are too cynical, Drew. What has made you like that? Have you been disappointed?’

      ‘I have just said so. Frequently.’

      ‘I was not talking about mistresses and you know it. I meant a proper young lady.’ He paused, remembering something Drew had said. ‘Oh, the young lady who turned you down. That hurt, did it not?’

      ‘At the time, yes.’

      ‘So have you come back to try again?’

      ‘No. It happened too long ago, we are both changed.’

      ‘Who is she?’

      ‘That would be telling.’

      ‘Then tell.’

      ‘One day, perhaps. Now can we change the subject? I find it exceedingly boring.’

      Mark laughed. ‘Very well, keep your secrets. Would you like to ride this afternoon? We could go round the estate and across the common to the fen. I can find you a good mount.’

      ‘An excellent idea.’

      They turned in at the wrought-iron gates of Broadacres and made their way up the gravel drive to the house. It was a very large house, testament to the wealth of the Wyndham forebears who had built it. Almost a castle, it had a turret on each of its four corners and a cantilevered flight of stone steps up to a huge oaken front door. Four storeys high and with a crenellated roof decorated with carvings, its long windows reflected the sun and shone like a myriad of mirrors. Mark loved it. It was his inheritance and it was to this home he would bring his bride. It was certainly extensive enough to support two families; he did not need or want to find another home for himself and Isabel.

      ‘What do you think of Broadacres?’ he asked his friend. ‘Is it as you remember it?’

      ‘Yes. Even better. Lord Wyndham has a good estate manager, methinks.’

      ‘The best, but my father likes to involve himself in the running of it and he always tries to include me in any decisions, so when the time comes—though I pray it is a long time off—I will be able to take over with little or no disruption.’

      ‘You have your life planned out so neatly, Mark, does nothing ever upset your equilibrium?’

      ‘Occasionally, but I try not to let it. To be constantly up in the boughs is not good for one’s health.’

      Drew laughed. ‘Then you and I must differ. I like a little excitement, doing something out of the ordinary just to feel I am alive.’

      ‘Was India not exciting enough?’

      ‘It had its moments.’

      ‘Tell me about it. I promised Isabel we would travel widely for our wedding trip and India might be the place to go.’

      ‘It is an extraordinary continent. There is enormous wealth and abject poverty side by side, and there are always battles of one kind or another between the natives and the East India Company. It is also very beautiful if you can tolerate the heat. The best place to be in the summer months is up in the mountains. If you really intend to go and I have bought my ship, you could take passage on her. It will be my wedding gift to you both.’

      ‘That is very generous of you, thank you.’

      ‘Not at all. You and your parents have been generous to me. I have not forgotten that.’

      ‘We shall have to find you a bride.’

      ‘If I need a bride, I will find one for myself,’ Drew said. ‘I abhor matchmakers. Begging your pardon, my friend.’

      Mark laughed and they climbed the steps and entered the cool interior of the house.

      * * *

      Jane walked home with her head in a whirl of mixed emotions. The last few days had upset the even tenor of her life. From helping her sister with her wedding, determined to make it the best she possibly could in the hope that it would settle her demons, she had been flung into what she could only call disarray. First there was Teddy and his problems, which were bad enough, then her father’s revelation that they were not nearly as comfortable financially as everyone thought and now the sudden arrival of a ghost from the past which unnerved her. Was she as immune to him as she had always hoped she would be if they ever met again? Only time would tell; he had taken her breath away and made her heart beat fast, but what did that signify except surprise? How long did he intend to stay? According to Mark he was down for the wedding, still three weeks away. And to top it all, Mark had seen her cry and had taken her in his arms and the demon that sat on her shoulder had done a little dance of glee. At all costs she must conquer it.

      She took the long way home in order to calm herself and put her mind to what was important, so she turned down a quiet lane that led into the ancient wood which shielded the house from the north wind that came down from the Arctic with nothing in its way to stop it.

      The woods were quiet, but there were sounds if one took the trouble to listen. The song of the birds, always stronger in spring; the cooing of pigeons; the rustling of small animals in the last of the dead leaves; the sighing of the wind in the tree tops; the distant barking of a dog; her own, almost silent, footsteps. And there were other things to see and note: the buds on the chestnut trees; the unfurling of pale, new bracken stems; bluebells with their gently nodding heads; the odd browned leaf hanging on the bare branch of an oak, not yet in new leaf; a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis and drying its wings in a patch of sunlight filtering through the branches. Spring was a time of new beginnings, of hope. Where was her life going from here? Would she go on as she had been doing for the last ten years, or would it take a different direction? How could she best help her father?

      She emerged on to the lane, crossed the narrow road and went through a gate which led to the back of the house. She stood a moment to look at it. It was old, but not as old as Broadacres, having been built just before the Civil War, when it was sequestered