Beauty And The Brooding Lord. Sarah Mallory

be gone.’

      * * *

      ‘Well,’ exclaimed Henry, as the carriage rattled out of the courtyard, ‘I had heard it said that Rufus Quinn had no social graces and now I have seen it for myself. Why, he virtually threw us out of the house.’

      ‘You said yourself we should not tarry,’ Serena reminded him, but she could not help feeling disappointed. Quinn had left it to Henry to escort her to the carriage.

      ‘That may be so, but the fellow was positively curt,’ retorted Henry, settling himself back into a corner. ‘Heaven knows he must have some good qualities, Serena, but you have to admit he has no manners.’

      ‘Yes, for all his wealth he is odiously rude,’ Dorothea agreed. She glanced out of the window, ‘And I had expected Melham Court to be much grander. Why, I should be ashamed to receive visitors in such a small house.’

      ‘I do not think Lord Quinn wishes to be sociable,’ murmured Serena.

      Henry snorted. ‘Well, thank goodness he spends so little time in town, because I confess I should find it difficult to be civil to such a man!’

       Chapter Four

      Serena kept to her room for a full week and even after that she was reluctant to leave the house. Gradually the bruises and the horror of the abduction faded, but her spirits remained low. She had no defence against Dorothea’s constant reminders of how badly she had behaved. Even a note from Elizabeth Downing, wishing her well, could not raise her mood. Henry cheerfully assured her that she could go out and about again as if nothing had happened.

      ‘Trust me,’ he told her, ‘Lord Byron’s flight to the Continent and the salacious rumours that have been circulating about him have cast your little scrape into the shade. And now there’s speculation that poor Brummell is quite done up. And don’t forget Princess Charlotte’s recent wedding. The gossipmongers are far too busy to concern themselves with you, Sister.’

      Dorothea, who had been listening, gave a little snort of derision. ‘You believe that if you will, Henry, but I think such optimism is misplaced.’

      * * *

      It was. Late one afternoon, barely ten days after the thwarted abduction, Serena heard the ominous words that Lord Hambridge wished to see her in his study. Henry and his wife were deep in conversation when she entered and looked so anxious that she stopped by the door.

      ‘Is something wrong?’

      ‘It is indeed,’ exclaimed Dorothea. ‘You are undone.’

      ‘Undone?’ Serena moved to a chair and perched herself on the edge of it. ‘I don’t understand.’

      ‘I was taking tea with Lady Grindlesham two days ago when more visitors came in,’ Dorothea told her. ‘Among them Mr Walsham. He had just returned to London after going north to attend his father’s funeral.’ She added pointedly, ‘He was one of the suitors you rejected, Serena.’

      ‘Yes, I remember. A horrid little man. What of it?’

      Dorothea tapped her foot on the floor and glared at her husband, who said solemnly, ‘Walsham was on the night mail on May Day. It stopped at the Swan. He saw you there, Serena, going up the stairs with a man. He is now making it very clear to everyone that he is exceedingly relieved you rejected his offer.’

      Dorothea jumped up and began to pace the room. ‘You know what a gossip Walsham is,’ she said. ‘And a vicious tongue, too. Of course, I told him he must be mistaken, that it could not have been you, but the damage is done. I have just come back from Bond Street, where more than one acquaintance stopped me to ask after you. Lady Mattishall even asked me outright if you had eloped!’

      ‘Oh, dear,’ said Serena faintly.

      ‘It is time you were seen out and about,’ Henry told her. ‘You must drive out with Dorothea, then at least we may stop the rumours that you have run off. And there is one stroke of luck,’ he continued. ‘Walsham was unable to name the fellow at the Swan. If I had dined at home rather than going to White’s that night, we might have said I was escorting you. As it is, we must continue to deny that it was you at Hitchin that night.’

      ‘Which the Downings will not believe,’ cut in his wife, still pacing.

      ‘Elizabeth assured me in her letter that they have not said anything,’ added Serena.

      ‘Which is quite true,’ Henry agreed. ‘And in time the rumours will be forgotten.’

      ‘In time!’ Dorothea shook her head. ‘Serena is very nearly one-and-twenty. By next Season she will be considered an old maid. I vow I am ready to give up on her!’

      ‘Perhaps you should. I know I have disgraced myself, and I am very sorry for it.’

      ‘Well, one thing is plain now, madam.’ Dorothea stopped her perambulations and glared at Serena. ‘There is no possibility of your marrying well!’

      Henry protested mildly, ‘Come, come, my dear. Serena still has a considerable fortune. Someone will have her.’

      Serena winced. ‘I will not marry a man merely to save my reputation,’ she said. ‘I am already resigned to remaining single.’

      Dorothea’s eyes narrowed. ‘Pray do not think we will allow you to set up your own establishment. What would people say about us then?’

      ‘They would most likely say I was an eccentric. And they would pity you most sincerely.’

      ‘It is not to be thought of,’ declared Henry. ‘Once you come into your own money at five-and-twenty it will be a different matter, but at the moment you are far too young to consider such a thing.’

      ‘Perhaps I could go and live with Russ and Molly at Compton Parva.’

      Henry shook his head. ‘It will not do. You are known there and I have no doubt they will have heard all about this little episode, even in such an out-of-the-way place. I have written to Russ, assuring him it is all nonsense and that there is no need for him to come to town.’

      ‘No indeed,’ agreed Dorothea. ‘His concern must be for his wife. I believe the birth was a difficult one and she is not yet recovered. They will not be able to look after Serena.’

      Serena’s chin went up. ‘I do not expect anyone to look after me. I merely need somewhere to live.’

      ‘To hide, more like.’

      ‘Call it that, if you wish, Dorothea.’ Serena rose. ‘I will drive out with you in the carriage, so that people may see I am in town, but please do not ask me to accompany you to any balls or parties. I do not feel ready to meet anyone just yet. Perhaps you could say I am recuperating,’ she suggested. ‘That would give you an excuse to ship me off to the country.’

      ‘It would, my dear, if that is really what you want, but let us discuss it again later. Off you go now and change your gown for dinner. We will say no more about it tonight.’ Henry waited until Serena had left the room, then he said slowly, ‘I do not like it, Dorothea. She has lost her spirit.’

      ‘That can only be a good thing. The girl was growing far too wild.’

      ‘I grant you she was always a little hot to hand, but this new meekness—I cannot be easy. Perhaps we should call the doctor.’

      ‘What, and have him quack her with expensive and unnecessary medicines? No, leave her be, Henry. I have long considered that she thinks far too highly of herself. This incident with Forsbrook has brought her down to earth. I have no doubt she will recover and, in the meantime, we should seek out a husband for her. With her fortune it should not be impossible to find an acceptable match, despite this scandal.’

      ‘I agree. There are several fellows who would take her, I am sure.’

      ‘Then