Regency Surrender: Passion And Rebellion. Louise Allen

glowered up at the gloomy façade of Durant House as he strode across the stable yard to one of the rear doors. He’d sworn he’d never spend another night under its roof, but what else was he to do? Mary was here.

      And he couldn’t stay away from her another moment. He’d got to the stage where he’d rather have her rant and rage at him, or even skewer him right through the heart with a hatpin, than spend one more dreary day without the chance of getting so much as a glimpse of her. Or endure one more restless night, reaching out for her after finally succeeding in dozing off, only to jerk wide awake on finding the space at his side cold and empty.

      He paused, with his hand on the door latch. He had no more idea now what to say to her, how he could make things right with her, than he’d had the first minute after he’d read her farewell note. He hadn’t come here with a firm plan, but...

      Hell, when had he ever made plans? Only the once. And look how that had turned out.

      With a sense of impending doom, he pushed open the door and went in.

      The corridor was deserted, but he could hear some sort of activity going on towards the front of the house. A strange clattering, rattling sound, interspersed with what sounded like shouts of encouragement. And the smell of paint hung in the air.

      No matter what she thought of him, Mary was obviously keeping her word about doing up Durant House. The noises were probably that of workmen, doing something in the hall. It certainly needed it. There couldn’t be a gloomier entrance hall anywhere in town. What had his grandparents been thinking when they agreed to its design?

      ‘The deuce!’

      The words escaped his lips involuntarily as he opened the door from the servants’ quarters and stepped into a space that he barely recognised.

      It was the light that struck him first. He looked up, astonished to see there were so many windows.

      But before he could register what other changes Mary had made, he saw two little boys go thundering up each of the lower staircases that rose to the gallery. When they got to their respective half landings, they flung themselves down on to what looked like little sleds.

      ‘Three,’ shouted a footman who was stationed at a midway point of the upper landing. ‘Two! One! Go!’

      The boys launched themselves down their staircases with blood-curdling yells. Explaining what the odd clattering, rattling sound had been that he’d been able to hear from the stable yard.

      Seconds after they landed on piles of what looked like bundled-up holland covers, money changed hands between his footman and a stranger in brown overalls. They’d clearly been taking bets on which boy would reach the ground first.

      ‘Strike me down, it’s ’is lordship,’ cried one of the boys—whose face looked vaguely familiar—struggling to free his legs from the swathes of material that had cushioned his landing. He rather thought it was Jem, although the pickpocket looked vastly different with a clean face and wearing the Durant livery.

      He thought he recognised the other boy, too. He only had to imagine him coated in flour and he would swear it was the youngest Pargetter.

      While he was eyeing the boys with something that felt very much like jealousy—because he’d never seen the grand staircases put to better use and only wished he’d thought of tea-tray races down them when he’d been their age—the footman sprang guiltily apart from the workman and came dashing forward, buttoning up his jacket.

      ‘May I take your hat, my lord?’ he said, red-faced and perspiring nervously. ‘Your coat?’

      He handed them over.

      ‘Is my wife at home?’

      ‘Yes, my lord. In the ballroom.’

      ‘I will take you up myself, my lord,’ put in the butler, who just then came wheezing out of one of the reception rooms. He was swathed in an enormous sacking apron and had cobwebs in his hair. ‘I do apologise for not being here to admit you. I did not hear the door knocker over the noise....’

      ‘Didn’t use it, since I didn’t come in the front way,’ said Lord Havelock dryly. ‘And I think I can find the way to my own ballroom.’ Indeed, now that the boys weren’t making such a racket, he could hear the sound of piano music echoing down the stairs.

      ‘Will you be staying here?’ The butler regarded him anxiously.

      What the devil was going on? Why shouldn’t he stay here?

      ‘Where the hell else would I stay?’

      ‘I beg your pardon, my lord. Only it is not usually your habit to... I mean, that is, not that I would question your movements. Only it won’t be easy to find a room that doesn’t have some kind of workman attending to it. As you can see...’ he waved his hand to encompass the workman in brown overalls ‘...her ladyship has us busy on various projects.’

      He was damned if he would slink off, simply because it didn’t suit his wife to have him here.

      ‘Of course I am going to stay here. In the same room as my wife, if there really is nowhere else fit,’ he snapped.

      Having staked his claim on his house, and his wife, he stepped over the holland covers and stalked up the stairs.

      Only to come to a halt in the doorway to the ballroom. Or the rear half of the ballroom, anyway. Mary had left one section screened off by the huge double doors, which could be moved aside entirely to double the area of the dance floor.

      There was an elderly woman he would swear he’d never seen before in his life sitting at the piano, playing a country dance tune with some gusto. Mary’s cousins were skipping up and down the room with two young men he’d also never seen before in his life. A stringy little man—no doubt a dance teacher—was shouting the figures as he capered alongside them to demonstrate how it should be done.

      And Mary was sitting on a sofa, by a cheerfully crackling fire, the low table in front of her almost entirely hidden under mounds of various coloured materials, notebooks and charts. Her aunt Pargetter was sitting next to her. They had their heads bent over a length of stripy stuff, running it through their fingers and murmuring to each other.

      The pain of her leaving was nothing compared to what struck him now. Here she was, cheerfully getting on with her life as though she hadn’t a care in the world. She didn’t need him. She wasn’t showing even the slightest sign of missing him. On the contrary, the atmosphere in here was positively festive.

      Here he’d been, tying himself in knots trying to think how he could make it up to her, and she’d gone and got over him all by herself.

      He must have made some sound, or movement, or something, because her head suddenly flew up and she saw him standing in the doorway.

      For a moment her face lit up. She made as if to rise.

      And the pain vanished. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, sweep her into his arms and tell her he couldn’t bear being apart from her one moment longer. But the room was full of people.

      And anyway, her smile had faded now. She’d sat back in the seat, and lifted her chin.

      ‘This is a surprise,’ she flung at him.

      ‘Not you, as well,’ he growled, stalking across the room, snagging a chair on the way so he could sit down beside her. ‘I’ve already had Simmons complaining about me coming here without giving him fair warning.’ He sat down and folded his arms across his chest. ‘I don’t see why I should have to give an account of my movements to all and sundry.’

      ‘No. You wouldn’t,’ she responded tartly.

      ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

      ‘Only that you don’t think about the work it takes to prepare a room, or order in extra food...’

      ‘You seem to have a house full of guests eating and drinking their heads off,’ he said, pointing to a