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

      ‘Oh, how Gothic! I declare, I will not set foot inside!’

      ‘Then pray wait in the cold!’ Sarah snapped, her nerves getting the better of her. ‘Gentlemen? Will you accompany me?’

      Greville and Guy followed her over the threshold and after a moment so did Amelia, who clearly preferred not to be left alone. Inside the house it was almost as cold as in the open air. Sarah could see her breath crystallise on the air before her.

      All the windows were shuttered and the hall was deep in darkness. She could just see the cobwebs that festooned the ornate central chandelier and the thick dust on the tiled floor. There was a stale smell in the air, the scent of dirt and decay. Sarah shivered violently.

      ‘It is scarce welcoming…’

      ‘Most quelling,’ Guy agreed. He strode forward and flung open a few doors. ‘Hello! Is anybody there?’

      His voice echoed strangely around the high ceilings, but there was no reply. Amelia gave a little shriek. ‘Oh, my goodness! How disgusting!’

      She was staring with fascination at a lewd statue of two entwined lovers raised on a plinth at the side of the hall. Their entangled limbs and suggestive expressions were grossly indecent. Sarah looked away hastily.

      ‘You are fortunate if that is all you find to offend you here, Lady Amelia,’ Greville said drily. ‘Since you have chosen to come here of your own free will, I beg you not to give way to missish vapours!’

      Amelia fired up at once. ‘Pray do not be so ungentlemanly, sir—’

      Sarah put her hands over her ears. She was not sure that she could stand their wrangling at that moment and evidently someone else felt the same.

      ‘God’s teeth!’ a voice roared from the top of the stairs. They all spun round. A huge man in straining waistcoat and breeches, a monstrous bedcap still perched on his balding head, was standing staring down on them. He clutched his head and gave a groan.

      ‘Madam, I must ask you to desist from that shrill cacophony! A termagant female is more than flesh and blood can stand!’

      Sir Ralph Covell, for it could only be he, did not cut an attractive figure. His embroidered waistcoat strained over an ample stomach and his little blue eyes peered suspiciously from beneath heavy black eyebrows. His complexion was high, suggesting a choleric temperament and his voice loud enough to shake the windows. Sarah, feeling a sudden rush of apprehension, wondered if he was about to throw them all out of the house without another word.

      Then, miraculously, Sir Ralph’s face broke into a smile of startling sweetness. He hurried down the stairs towards her, arms outstretched.

      ‘Well, if it isn’t little cousin Sarah! My, my, child, how you’ve changed! And what a pleasure to see you again!’

      He came forward, enfolding a stunned Sarah in a bear hug. ‘I never thought to see you at Blanchland again, my dear, but you are very welcome in your old home!’

      Sarah, released with all the breath crushed out of her, found herself struggling to form a suitable response. Only five minutes previously she had been racking her brains to think of a way to explain her presence at Blanchland. She had imagined Sir Ralph unwelcoming at best and most probably downright hostile. This bonhomie was as startling as it was unexpected. She caught Guy’s amused gaze on her and realised that he was trying not to laugh. Seeing her lost for words, he stepped forward, holding out a hand.

      ‘How do you do, Sir Ralph? I am Guy Renshaw—we have met in London, but several years back. I must apologise for our intrusion in your house—’

      ‘No intrusion at all, sir!’ Sir Ralph had seized Guy’s hand and was pumping it energetically. ‘My cousin is always welcome here and any friends of hers can only be my honoured guests!’ He bustled over to the windows and started to throw the shutters back with gusto. ‘That’s better! Let the dog see the rabbit!’

      His smiling gaze swept round to encompass Greville and Amelia, both of whom Sarah thought were looking as stunned as she felt.

      ‘Greville Baynham!’ Ralph beamed. ‘Remember you from that club in Bath last year! Now, what was its name…?’

      Greville cleared his throat, looking discomposed for the first time. ‘Sir Ralph. May I make you known to my betrothed, Lady Amelia Fenton?’

      This time, Amelia did not argue with him, but dropped a little curtsy. She was looking quite bewildered. Sir Ralph smiled sunnily. ‘Delighted, my dear, delighted! Would be more delighted if you could speak in a slightly softer tone, though! My head this morning, don’t you know…’ He turned back to Sarah, a slight frown marring his brow.

      ‘Sarah, my dear, you are most welcome to visit, as I hope I have made clear! However, there is one small problem…’ Sir Ralph came to an unhappy stop and rubbed his hands together with undoubted embarrassment. A deeper shade of red came over his already puce countenance. He looked like a schoolboy caught out in some unfortunate escapade. He stumbled on. ‘You see…you may not be aware…I hold small house parties here every so often…my revels, as I like to call them—’

      ‘Indeed, sir, I am aware.’ Sarah tried not to smile as she wondered how her cousin would broach this delicate subject. It was proving extremely difficult to dislike Ralph, for he seemed as eager to please as an overgrown puppy.

      ‘Ah, good.’ Sir Ralph looked gratified. ‘Good! I rather thought that my parties were getting a name for themselves! How agreeable! But—’ he suddenly seemed to recall the problem ‘—I am not at all certain, however, that they are the sort of affairs for a gently bred young lady! There are gentlemen, you know, and ladies of…ah…’ He floundered to a halt.

      ‘Dubious virtue?’ Guy supplied, helpfully.

      ‘Oh, you mean Cyprians!’ Sarah said heartily. ‘Why, yes, cousin Ralph, I have heard all about them!’

      Ralph looked slightly winded. ‘You have?’ He recovered himself a little. ‘But perhaps you did not realise—there are masques and plays, and a pagan ceremony to celebrate the winter solstice—’

      ‘I will not regard it,’ Sarah said blithely, ignoring Amelia’s look of horror and Guy’s amusement. ‘If you are happy for me to be your guest, cousin Ralph, I will only thank you for your generosity!’

      Ralph frowned again. It was obvious that his mind was currently too befuddled to unravel the puzzle before him. ‘I find it most singular that you were aware of Blanchland’s reputation yet still chose to come here!’ he said at last, clearly puzzled. ‘I do not like to criticise, Sarah, my dear, but I do not feel it is at all the way for a young lady to go on! Why, like as not you will find yourself with your reputation in tatters! I do feel you should show a little more concern!’

      Sarah dropped a meek curtsy. ‘I am persuaded that you are correct, cousin Ralph! Mama always said that I had no decorum! I am so very sorry if I have shocked you!’

      Now it was Sir Ralph’s turn to appear lost for words. ‘I do not expect that you will be staying long…’ he said hopefully.

      ‘Oh, no!’ Sarah agreed with a blithe smile. ‘It is simply that Frank asked me to conduct a little business in the neighbourhood, but I expect that I shall be gone directly! And do not worry that I will disturb you, cousin Ralph! I shall be so quiet you will scarce know I am here!’

      She heard Guy laugh and smother it with a cough.

      ‘Well, then…’ Sir Ralph seemed a little at a loss, clearly uncertain how to deal with his unorthodox relative. ‘Well, then,’ he said again, lamely, ‘you will need rooms, I suppose, and refreshment…’ His shoulders slumped as though the thought of it was almost too much. ‘I will call Marvell. Marvell is my general factotum…’ he glanced at the clock ‘…if he is from his bed…Pray excuse me! No way to greet ladies…If you would care to wait in the drawing-room, I shall see you are served with coffee! Join you shortly…’ And he hurried off, bellowing