The Dangerous Lord Darrington. Sarah Mallory

‘I think I may be expected to know how to entertain an earl.’

      ‘Yes, Grandmama.’ Beth looked down at her plate and acknowledged herself beaten. ‘I beg your pardon.’

      Guy said little for the remainder of the meal; when Lady Arabella announced that the ladies would retire to the drawing room and leave him to enjoy a glass of brandy alone, he bent his mind once more to Beth Forrester’s outburst. She had been quite determined that he should not stay. It could only be that she was uneasy with his presence. They lived very isolated here, but perhaps she was aware of his dubious reputation. Perhaps he should not have teased her so. Certainly it had been wrong of him to keep her talking alone in the bedroom, but she was a married woman, or at least a widow, not an ingenuous schoolgirl. He sipped at his brandy. One thing was certain, he wanted to remain at Malpass Priory at least until he knew that Davey was recovering well. He would apologise to Mrs Forrester and assure her that he would in future be the model of propriety. That should ease her mind.

      Having made his resolve, Guy drained his glass and made his way to the drawing room, where he was disappointed to find only Lady Arabella waiting for him, the younger ladies having retired. However, she assured him that his room had been prepared and beckoned to the hovering footman to show him the way. With an inward smile Guy bowed over the beringed hand held out to him and prepared to leave. He had been dismissed for the evening.

       Chapter Three

      Martin the footman showed Guy to his room, a comfortable chamber that bore all the signs of having been a gentleman’s bedroom.

      ‘Was this Mr Forrester’s room?’ he enquired, glancing around him.

      ‘No, my lord, this was Mr Simon’s room,’ offered the footman. ‘My lady wouldn’t have anything changed in here after she heard he was drowned and you will find the press still full of his clothes. But Mr Simon was much smaller than your lordship, so the mistress has searched out one o’ Mr Forrester’s nightgowns for you. And Mrs Forrester said to tell you that your own clothes will be brought to you in the morning.’

      Nodding, Guy dismissed the servant. He removed his coat and draped it over the back of a chair, glad to be free of the restriction about his shoulders. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was not yet midnight and, despite the excitement of the day, he did not feel sleepy. He prowled around the room, inspecting the sporting prints upon the walls and idly flicking through the few books that were stacked carelessly on the mantelshelf. The room had a cluttered, lived-in look, as if its master was expected to return at any time. The only exception to this was the dressing table, which was bare of the brushes and combs that one would expect to find in a gentleman’s room. He supposed that Simon Wakeford had taken these items with him when he went travelling and they would have been lost at sea. He felt a sudden sympathy for Beth Forrester. His own brother, Nick, was a sailor and Guy could well imagine the pain of losing him. How much worse must it be for a widow, left to shoulder the burdens of running this old house and at the same time looking after her grandmother and her younger sister?

      ‘Not that it is any of your business,’ he told himself, coming back to the fire and throwing himself down into the chair. ‘She has made it very plain that you are here on sufferance, so do not waste your sympathy where it is not wanted.’

      He began to unbutton his waistcoat, but stopped when he heard a faint cry break the silence. Before he undressed he should look in on Davey and make sure he was comfortable. Picking up his bedroom candle, he let himself quietly out of the room. The borrowed shoes he had worn at supper were too loose to walk without tapping noisily on the polished boards of the corridor and he left them behind, padding silently through the darkened house until he came to the door at the top of the stairs.

      There was a faint line of light beneath the door and as he entered the room he saw that a single lamp glowed on a side table, illuminating the curtained bed, but leaving the corners of the room in deep shadow. A movement beside the fire brought him to a stand.

      ‘Mrs Forrester!’ She rose as he whispered her name, the dim light muting her fiery hair to a deep auburn. He continued, ‘I heard someone cry out and thought perhaps he might be …’

      Guy waved towards the figure in the bed. She looked discomposed and took a step as if she would leave the room, then thought better of it.

      ‘Mr Davies has not moved,’ she said quietly. ‘It must have been a peacock, or some night creature that you heard, my lord. The night time is full of noises.’

      He nodded. ‘Of course. But why are you here, ma’am?’

      ‘Doctor Compton suggested someone should sit with your friend tonight,’ she said softly.

      ‘But he did not mean you, ma’am.’

      She spread her hands. ‘I wanted to be sure he was comfortable. Besides, the servants need to be fresh for their duties in the morning.’

      ‘And you do not?’ He placed his candle on the mantelshelf before turning his attention to the figure in the bed. ‘How is he?’

      ‘Still sleeping. He grows a little restless now and again, but nothing serious.’ She added with a thread of humour in her voice, ‘It is very tedious keeping watch over a sleeping man.’

      ‘Then may I sit with you for a while?’

      ‘Oh, no—that is, I did not mean to imply …’ Beth trailed off, disturbed lest he should think she had been hinting for him to stay.

      ‘Of course not, but surely a little company would be welcome to while away the long night hours.’

      Beth could not deny it. With a little nod she resumed her seat beside the fire and motioned him to a chair opposite, her eyes dwelling for a while on his stockinged feet.

      ‘Ah. I did not wish to wake the household by clumping along in those court shoes.’

      ‘I did not hear you approach; that is unusual for this house—the building is very old, you see. It is full of rattling doors and creaking boards.’

      ‘I was aware of that as I came along the landing earlier this evening. A person with a more fevered imagination might well have thought there were spirits abroad.’

      ‘The wind does howl through the corridors and rattle the locks.’ She was glad of the opportunity to explain away any noises he might hear in the night. ‘Some guests think they hear voices, others declare the Priory to be haunted. All nonsense, of course. I hope you will ignore any strange sounds, my lord, and remain comfortably in your bed.’

      ‘You may be sure I shall, madam.’

      They lapsed into silence. After a few moments the earl said slowly, ‘I am glad of this opportunity to speak to you, Mrs Forrester. We have given you a great deal of extra work, I fear.’

      ‘Think nothing of it, my lord.’

      ‘But you were very much against my remaining here overnight.’

      ‘Oh, no! It was … I mean—if I was ungracious, my lord, I beg your pardon.’

      ‘There is no need. I quite understand, given the circumstances.’

      Startled, Beth looked up. What did he know, what had he guessed?

      ‘My lord?’

      ‘To have me walk in, wearing your late husband’s clothes. I should have realised how distressing my appearance must be to you.’

      ‘Oh.’ She breathed again, relieved. ‘I have been a widow for nigh on six years, sir. I barely remember that suit of clothes. Besides, you are nothing like my husband.’ Beth wished she had not spoken. Would he think she was trying to flirt with him? She added hastily, ‘I mean, sir, that Mr Forrester was a very good man.’

      ‘As I am not?’

      ‘I have no idea!’ she retorted, flustered.

      He laughed at her. ‘I beg your pardon, madam. I could