The Master of Stonegrave Hall. Helen Dickson

her mother.

      Washed and dressed, she immediately went to check on her. She was asleep, her face almost as white as the pillows on which her head rested. Not wishing to wake her, leaving the nurse Lord Rockford had employed to take care of her sewing by the fire, she found her way to the kitchen to partake of some breakfast. The house was large and comfortable. Taking a peek into some of the rooms she passed, she noted that there were many lovely pieces of furniture: gilded chairs upholstered in rich damask, with elegant sofas and walls to match, carpets into which one’s feet sank and marble fireplaces with shining steel fenders.

      * * *

      After eating her breakfast in the kitchen, she left the house by a back door, taking a short stroll around the gardens. The air was pure, the sun shining from a clear blue sky. Here everything was fresh and clean. The lawns were extensive and two gardeners were busy in the borders. A red squirrel ran across the grass and dashed up the rough trunk of an oak, cheekily flashing its bushy tail before disappearing.

      There were coach houses and stables at the back of the house; the mixture of the grey and pale-honey colour of the stone from which they and the house were built mellowed into a timeless graciousness.

      She did not see the man who propped his shoulder against the window of his study, a closed and brooding expression on his face as he watched her. As if sensing his presence, she turned and looked in his direction. He turned away.

      * * *

      Victoria was enjoying the calm and the pleasant fresh air, yet listening with delight to a trilling blackbird, when a carriage came speeding up the drive and came to a bone-jarring halt in front of the house. A groom ran forwards and the young gentlemen tossed the reins to him and jumped down, striding purposefully up the front steps to the house.

      ‘Good day, Mr Rockford,’ Jenkins intoned as he opened the door and stepped aside.

      ‘Is my brother at home?’ Nathan Rockford asked, handing him his hat and gloves, clearly agitated about something.

      ‘Yes, sir. You’ll find him in his study.’

      Nathan stalked past him and down the hall, his quick strides eloquent of his turbulent wrath as he flung open the study door and confronted the older brother he had last seen in London two months earlier. Laurence was engrossed in his ledgers at his desk. He glanced up and, seeing his brother, shoved back his chair and stood up to greet him, taller than Nathan by a head.

      ‘Nathan! Good to see you back. How was Paris—and how is Diana?’

      ‘Well—she is well. But I haven’t come here to talk about Diana or Paris. Laurence, I cannot believe what you have done! When I got your letter I don’t think you need me to tell you that I was outraged. How could you bring that—that woman into this house! It is not to be borne! I take it she is still here?’

      ‘If you mean Betty, then, yes, she is.’

      ‘Then she must leave. At once.’

      He gave Laurence that beguiling look that ever since their childhood could get nearly anything he wanted out of him, but this time Laurence was unmoved. ‘No,’ he stated implacably, undaunted by his brother’s soaring fury. ‘Betty stays, Nathan.’

      Victoria was passing through the hall to the stairs. Hearing raised voices coming from behind the closed door, she paused, intending to walk on, but on hearing her mother’s name mentioned she became rooted to the spot. She felt a coldness seep into every pore at the words that came next. She was stung by them, as sharply as if by a hornets’ nest.

      A pulse drummed in Nathan’s temple as he fought to control his wrath. ‘Have a care, Laurence. By raking over old coals you are in danger of exposing our sordid and most intimate family linen to the scrutiny of all.’

      ‘That won’t happen.’

      ‘And you can be sure of that, can you? I am telling you that bringing that woman here will portend no good. To allow her to remain at Stonegrave Hall is detrimental to our own well-being. If we are to avoid a public and very unsavoury scandal, she must leave. For goodness’ sake, Laurence, she shouldn’t be here and I strongly resent what you have done. Did you not think to consult me? Did my opinions on a matter as important as this not count?’

      ‘Of course they did, but you weren’t here.’

      ‘And if I had been I doubt very much you would have sought my feelings on the matter. I have always respected your judgement in the past, but not this time. What in God’s name made you do it?’

      ‘You know why. I promised our mother that Betty would be taken care of should the need arise—and it did.’

      ‘Mother’s dead and this woman hasn’t been inside this house for over twenty years. And if taking her in isn’t bad enough, I believe you have extended your hospitality to her daughter. It beggars belief, Laurence, it really does,’ he thundered, combing his fingers through his hair and pacing the carpet in frustration.

      ‘None of this is Miss Lewis’s fault. You must understand that.’

      ‘Really! Then she must be made to understand that I don’t want her here and you know damned well why.’

      ‘I do,’ Laurence retorted fiercely, ‘and I’m going to find it very difficult keeping it from her whilst she lives in this house. I wish you would just tell her, Nathan, or at the very least allow me to do so.’

      Nathan paled and gave his brother a desperate, beseeching look, sudden fear clouding his eyes. ‘No, Laurence, I implore you not to,’ he said, his voice low and hoarse with tension. ‘Diana and I have just returned from our honeymoon. To have this thrust on me now is intolerable. I could not bear it—the explanations... For my sake, I beg you to keep this to ourselves.’

      Laurence was silent. Seeing the tortured look in his brother’s eyes he nodded. ‘Yes—yes, I will.’

      ‘Thank you. It means a lot to me. I am sure Miss Lewis is capable of taking care of her mother in her own home, where she doesn’t have to hang about the Hall like a beggar or some charity case.’

      ‘No,’ Laurence said sharply. He might have agreed to keep the secret within the family to protect Nathan, but he would not turn Betty and her daughter out of the house. ‘Betty is too ill to be moved. Whatever your feelings on the matter, mother and daughter are staying, Nathan, so you’ll just have to get used to the idea.’

      Nathan reacted to his brother’s statement with withering contempt. ‘I don’t want to get used to it! A girl who is on a par with the kitchen maids?’

      ‘Stop it, Nathan. She’ll never be on a par in any way with the maids in the kitchen and you damned well know it—no matter how hard you try to ignore the fact by pretending she doesn’t exist. She is the daughter of a schoolmaster—an academic, whose own father was a high-ranking military man. Betty is from good stock—the Nesbitts of Cumbria. The family fell on hard times and her parents died, which was the reason why Betty became a lady’s maid, but they were of the class.’

      ‘Good Lord, Laurence! We have gone into their heredity, haven’t we?’ Nathan retorted, his voice heavily laden with sarcasm. ‘I was already aware of it.’

      ‘I want you to know that my actions in bringing Betty to this house did not stem from a flash in the pan. I thought deeply on it.’

      ‘And did you not consider the effect it would have on her daughter?’

      ‘I did, but Betty has consumption and needed taking care of. She was my primary concern. I expect you to accept it.’

      ‘You don’t know what you are asking of me. I will never accept it! I may not live in this house any longer, but this is still the family home and I want her and her daughter out of it.’

      ‘Nathan, I know you are not as heartless and unfeeling as you sound right now. At least try to imagine how Miss Lewis must be feeling—in a strange house, her mother at death’s door.’ When his brother remained silent and unmoved, Laurence