Regency Surrender: Infamous Reputations. Sarah Mallory

      ‘I shall not tell you. It is always best to play one’s cards close to one’s chest, is it not?’

      He frowned. ‘Now where did you learn that expression?’

      ‘From my teacher, Mrs Ackroyd. She explained to us about games of chance. Cards, and dice and the like.’

      ‘Ah, I did not think you would have heard Lady Phyllida say such a thing.’

      ‘Goodness, no. Sometimes I think Philly needs me to look after her, not the other way round.’

      Before he could respond, a call from Lord Wakefield informed them that they had reached Farleigh and the party reorganised itself to ride up the drive to the house. They were met at the door by the housekeeper, who confirmed that the family were not at home but that refreshments were waiting for them, if they would care to step inside for a little while before they inspected what was left of the castle and the chapel.

      Phyllida moved closer to Ellen. She had observed her talking to Richard during the ride, seen the looks, brimful with laughter, that Ellen had thrown at him and she had been conscious of a strong feeling of desolation. It had formed itself into a hard, unhappy knot deep inside. Phyllida wanted to snatch Ellen away but that would do no good at all. She was Ellen’s chaperon, not her gaoler, and would never prevent her merely talking to a gentleman. So she entered the house beside Lady Wakefield and left the younger ones to chatter together while they enjoyed the cold collation that had been set out for their delectation.

      * * *

      Afterwards, when they went off to look at the ruins of the castle, she made no attempt to keep Ellen at her side, but watched her scamper off with the other girls. Adrian, Mr Fullingham and Richard Arrandale accompanied the group to help them over the uneven ground while Phyllida followed a short distance behind with Lord Wakefield and his lady.

      ‘Oh, dear,’ murmured Lady Wakefield when the breeze brought snatches of the young people’s conversation floating back to them, ‘Adrian is recounting the castle’s gruesome history. Should we tell him to stop? I would not wish him to give the girls nightmares.’

      ‘Do not silence him on Ellen’s account,’ replied Phyllida, thinking of the copy of The Monk currently secreted in her stepdaughter’s bedchamber, ‘She will enjoy the horrid stories immensely.’

      ‘As will Julia and Penelope,’ added Lord Wakefield, with a complacent chuckle. ‘Do not worry, ladies, the children will not come to any harm here.’

      Phyllida wondered if that were true, but she soon saw that the young ladies were much more interested in clambering over the ruins and listening to Adrian Wakefield’s blood-curdling tales than in dalliance with any of the gentlemen.

      * * *

      There was little to see of the castle except the gatehouse and what remained of the thick walls. The rest was merely piles of rubble, much of it overgrown, but this did not prevent the younger members of the party from scrambling around like excited children.

      ‘Which is what they are,’ remarked Lady Wakefield, watching them with smiling indulgence. ‘The girls are barely out of the schoolroom and Adrian is only a couple of years their senior. I wish I had their energy! The ride and then the refreshments have left me feeling quite languid, so Wakefield and I are going to find a convenient stone block to sit upon, Lady Phyllida, if you would like to stay with us?’

      Phyllida declined gracefully. She was not at all fatigued by the ride and glad to have some time to herself. She wandered off, enjoying the solitude. She loved Ellen dearly, but having responsibility for such a pretty girl, and an heiress at that, was proving more arduous than she had thought. Having spent the past year living on her own at Tatham Park she had thought having Ellen to live with her would provide her with the companionship she had lacked since Sir Evelyn’s death, and it did, but Phyllida knew now that it was not enough. Ellen was not a kindred spirit, they could not converse upon equal terms, because Phyllida could never forget that Ellen was her responsibility.

      She did not regret taking Ellen to live with her and she would devote herself now to looking after her. But later, when Ellen was married and she could look to her own happiness, what then? Perhaps she should marry again. Sir Evelyn had proved himself a kind and considerate husband but Phyllida knew that only the deepest love would make her give up her independence now, and ladies who had reached the advanced age of four-and-twenty did not readily fall in love, did they? The question hovered and impatiently she closed her mind to it. The future must look after itself. She was comfortably situated and had sufficient funds to do whatever she wished.

       Such as wandering around ruined castles all alone?

      Yes, she told herself firmly, and set off to prove it was possible.

      * * *

      The area adjoining the gatehouse was now a farmyard so Phyllida made her way in the opposite direction, where trees and bushes obscured what was left of the thick curtain wall. Stones from the ancient building were scattered around, making the ground uneven and she gathered up her voluminous skirts to avoid snagging them on the rampant vegetation.

      ‘Exploring, Lady Phyllida?’

      Richard Arrandale was coming towards her. She quickly dropped her skirts, but not before she was sure he had glimpsed her stockings and half-boots.

       And what of it? No doubt he has seen scores of ladies’ ankles in his career.

      She told him, ‘I wanted, if I could, to discover something of the size of the castle.’

      ‘It is quite extensive. Here, take my hand and let me help you over these stones. We may find the path a little easier further on.’

      ‘Perhaps I should be getting back. Ellen—’

      ‘Miss Tatham is safely under the eye of the Wakefields,’ he replied. ‘And Fullingham has taken himself off to smoke a cigar.’ He said solemnly, ‘You are at liberty to enjoy yourself, Lady Phyllida.’

      Tentatively she put out her hand. As his fingers closed around her glove she felt his thumb moving over the soft leather. The slow sensual strokes made her want to purr and she had to struggle to ignore it. He led her on through the ruins, pointing out portions of carved stone amongst the rubble and the outline of walls that were now no more than ridges in the ground.

      ‘You are very well informed, Mr Arrandale.’ She cast a suspicious look up at him. ‘When Lady Wakefield told you of this excursion you gave the impression you had not been here before.’

      ‘Did I?’

      She stopped. His expression was innocent enough but there was laughter in his eyes. She said severely, ‘You know very well you did.’

      He laughed.

      ‘Very well, I admit it. My great-aunt brought me here several times when I was younger. I explored the ruins then.’

      ‘Oh? Did all your family visit here?’

      ‘Good God, no. My father would have thought this place beneath him. He and my mother were too busy enjoying themselves in town to bother with their children.’

      She tried to ignore the bitterness in his response.

      ‘Did your brother come here too?’

      ‘No. By the time I visited here Wolf was at Oxford, causing mayhem.’

      ‘Ah.’ She smiled. ‘The Scandalous Arrandales.’

      ‘Quite. However, unlike me, he wasn’t sent down. He saved his disgrace for something far more serious.’

      He looked so grim that she could not prevent herself from squeezing his hand.

      ‘I am very sorry.’

      ‘You need not be.’

      He spoke roughly and she knew he wanted to pull away from her. It was an almost imperceptible movement but she was aware of it and immediately she released him. He