Regency Christmas Vows: The Blanchland Secret / The Mistress of Hanover Square. Anne Herries

Frank’s death, she could hardly bear to think what he had done to it.

      The journey progressed uneventfully until they neared the Old Down crossroads, where a sudden downpour took them by surprise and set the road awash. Within moments the horses had lost their footing and the carriage lurched off the road and into the ditch.

      ‘No harm done, ma’am,’ the coachman reported cheerfully as he helped Amelia and Sarah down on to the road, ‘but it might be better if you took shelter in the inn whilst we haul it out. A nice dish of tea should help you over the shock!’

      The Old Down Inn was accustomed to passing trade and soon put a private parlour at the disposal of its unexpected guests. Amelia regarded her dripping figure with deep displeasure, whilst outside the rain splattered against the window and emphasised the sudden decline in the good weather.

      ‘Oh, I look hideous,’ Amelia declared, wringing water from her cloak into a bucket helpfully provided by the landlady. ‘This bonnet is quite ruined, and I have only worn it twice! A fine pair of figures we will cut, arriving at Blanchland in such a state!’

      She glanced critically over Sarah, whose hair was drying in corkscrew curls about her face. ‘Humph! Well, at least you look the part, Sarah, with your wild hair and soaking dress! Oh, this is too bad!’

      ‘Thank you,’ Sarah said drily. ‘It is comforting to know that I already look like a demi-rep and I have not even set foot in the house yet! Do you care for tea and cakes, Milly? It might improve your temper!’

      Amelia looked rueful. ‘I’m sorry, Sarah, I know I am like a bear with a sore head! Truth to tell, I was feeling nervous before, but now I just feel downright unpresentable! Oh, to arrive in so undignified a state when we do not even know what we will find…’ She took a cup of tea and moved over to the window. ‘I had better not sit down or I shall cause a puddle! I wonder when this storm will cease—’ She broke off with an exclamation and Sarah looked up from the fire, which she had been trying to coax into reluctant life with the poker.

      ‘Whatever is the matter, Milly? You look as though you have seen a ghost!’

      ‘It is Greville!’ Amelia whispered, looking as though she was about to rush from the room. ‘Greville and Lord Renshaw! Sarah, they are here!’

      Sarah felt her heart leap into her throat. ‘Oh, no, it cannot be! You must be mistaken, Milly!’

      ‘I tell you, they were right outside the window—’

      Amelia broke off at the sound of voices in the passageway outside. The parlour door opened.

      ‘Good afternoon!’ Greville Baynham said affably, as though he were meeting them in Milsom Street. ‘An inclement day! I am glad to see that you appear to have suffered no injury when your coach left the road!’

      Neither Sarah nor her cousin were up to answering him in kind. Sarah met Guy Renshaw’s quizzical gaze, blushed crimson and looked hastily away. As he came towards her, she backed away from the fire, still holding the poker, and took refuge behind the parlour table. Amelia, obviously viewing attack as the best form of defence, burst into speech.

      ‘You!’ she said, in tones of ringing outrage. ‘Whatever are you doing here, Sir Greville?’

      ‘Came to find you,’ Greville said imperturbably. He crossed to the fire and kicked it into a blaze, warming his hands. ‘Heard you’d gone off on some mad start and thought that you might need some help—’

      Amelia drew herself up to her full—tiny—height. ‘Well, we do not, sir! Not from you, at any rate! We can manage perfectly well on our own!’

      ‘I doubt that,’ Greville said coolly. ‘You have only been on the road for a few hours and already you are in a scrape! And as for your destination—well, that proves you have not the least notion of how to carry on! Good God, two gently bred ladies visiting a house of ill fame! Fit for Bedlam, both of you!’

      Amelia’s stormy gaze swept from Greville to Guy Renshaw and rested there for a moment. ‘Do not preach to me, sir, when you keep such poor company!’

      Sarah winced. Amelia seldom lost her temper properly, but when she did so the results could be spectacular. This promised to be one of those occasions. She caught Guy Renshaw’s eye and saw that he was looking rather amused. A slow smile was curling the corners of his mouth and Sarah felt an answering gleam and stifled it at once. The last thing she wanted at that moment was to experience any kind of kindred feeling for Guy. He had humiliated her and insulted her, she reminded herself severely, and his charm was of the most superficial kind.

      ‘It ill becomes you to speak of bad company when you are planning so rash an escapade, madam!’ Greville said to Amelia, more coldly than Sarah had ever heard him. ‘Do you forget that this will ruin your reputation forever? And yet you disparage those who seek to offer you their aid—’

      ‘Offer their aid!’ Two spots of colour were burning on Amelia’s cheeks now. ‘Forgive me, sir, but it seems to me that you came to censure rather than to support! My cousin and I can do very well without such dubious assistance!’

      ‘You may claim so, but you have as much idea of how to go on as a pair of schoolgirls! Less! At least a schoolroom miss knows her manners!’

      Sarah caught her breath sharply as Amelia made a noise like an enraged kitten. The combatants faced each other fiercely across the table, Amelia with her fists clenched and Greville with a singularly unyielding look on his face.

      Sarah could feel Guy watching her across the room and she found herself looking around for a means of escape. Guy was between her and the door, the window was too small and she could scarcely scramble up the chimney. A strange panic took hold of her as he came towards her.

      As Amelia drew breath for another salvo, Guy reached Sarah’s side and took her arm.

      ‘I believe that we may safely leave these two to settle their differences, Miss Sheridan. May I beg a word in private?’

      ‘Certainly not!’ Amelia snapped, before Sarah could speak. She flashed Guy a look of contempt. ‘Stand aside from my cousin, Lord Renshaw! You have done her enough harm!’

      Guy looked from Amelia to Greville. ‘My dear Lady Amelia, pray confine your quarrel to Sir Greville and leave Miss Sheridan to deal with me!’ He removed the poker from Sarah’s hand. ‘I should feel safer if you were without this!’

      Sarah had forgotten that she had been stirring the fire when they had arrived. She relinquished her weapon and edged away from Guy towards the door.

      ‘A moment, Miss Sheridan.’ Guy had turned back to her with exquisite courtesy. ‘Pray do not leave just yet! It is still raining and your carriage is not fit for use! Will you grant my request of a private interview?’

      Sarah shook her head. ‘My cousin is in the right of it, sir. I do not care to have my business discussed in a wayside inn!’

      Guy inclined his head. ‘Then come back with us to Woodallan and discuss it there!’

      ‘Impossible!’ Amelia retorted, her colour still high. ‘We must reach Blanchland before nightfall—’

      ‘Must you?’ Guy strolled into the middle of the room and turned back to smile at Sarah. ‘Had you thought what might happen if you arrive at dinner time?’ he asked conversationally, looking from her to Amelia. ‘Why, Sir Ralph may well be indulging in one of his famous orgies and you would walk right into the middle of it! Time enough for that once you have been there a little while! But if you leave it to the morning, you will find them all still abed. Not ideal, of course, but less…active, perhaps, than the night before!’

      ‘Outrageous!’ Amelia declared.

      ‘But true,’ Greville said coolly.

      ‘I fear Lord Renshaw may be right, Milly,’ Sarah said after a moment. ‘Perhaps we should bespeak rooms here for the night—’

      ‘Out of the question,’ Guy said