Heiress in Regency Society. Helen Dickson

her calmly, not in the least put out by the heated interchange between her and their nephew, a little impish smile tugged at her lips. ‘Oh, dear. I don’t think your nephew likes me very much, does he?’

      For most of the journey to Arlington, Angelina stared out of the window, uncomfortable beneath Lord Montgomery’s watchful gaze. He sat across from her next to a sleeping Patience, with his long legs stretched out in the luxurious conveyance, studying her imperturbably.

      He had discarded his coat and his pristine white shirt and neckcloth contrasted sharply with his black hair and dark countenance. His body, a perfect harmony of form and strength, was like a work of Grecian art and most unsettling to Angelina’s virgin heart. To rid herself of his studied gaze she closed her eyes, but even then the vision persisted and she could see and feel those piercing eyes boring holes into her. Unable to endure his scrutiny a moment longer, she snapped her eyes open and locked them on his.

      ‘Well? Have you had an edifying look?’ she demanded irately.

      Quite unexpectedly he smiled, a white, buccaneer smile, and his eyes danced with devilish humour. ‘You don’t have to look so angry to find yourself the object of my attention. As a matter of fact I was admiring you.’

      Unaccustomed as she was to any kind of compliment from him, the unfamiliar warmth in his tone brought heat creeping into her cheeks. In fact, she decided that she liked this softer side she was seeing even less than the one she was accustomed to. This other Alex Montgomery was beyond her sphere and she didn’t know how to deal with him.

      ‘If you think to use flattery as a new tactic to subdue me, it won’t work.’

      ‘I was merely thinking that when you aren’t scowling you really are quite pretty.’

      ‘And how many women have you said that to?’ Angelina asked, raising her nose to a lofty elevation.

      ‘Several. And it’s always the truth.’

      ‘Oh dear,’ Patience said, fighting a sneeze, which brought her back to awareness. ‘I do hope the two of you aren’t going to argue again. If so, kindly wait until we reach Arlington. I don’t think my nerves will stand it.’

      Angelina was concerned about Patience, who had been suffering a chill for the past twenty-four hours. Unfortunately it seemed to be getting worse. Her eyes were bright and feverish, her nose streaming.

      ‘I’m sorry, Aunt, we didn’t mean to wake you. As soon as we reach the house you must go straight to bed. Lord Montgomery will send for the doctor.’ Leaning forward, she tucked the rug over her aunt’s knees.

      Wiping her streaming eyes Patience looked too poorly to argue. ‘I shall not be sorry to get to bed. I do hope I am in my old room, Alex, and away from the noise of the workmen.’

      Reaching out, Alex gently touched his aunt’s cheek with long caressing fingers, causing Angelina to stare in astonishment at the smiling, tender expression on his face, which was not in keeping with the man she knew.

      ‘You are,’ he said in reply to his aunt’s question. ‘As yet work hasn’t started on the west wing. And Angelina is right. You must go to bed the instant we arrive.’

      ‘Where have you put Angelina?’

      ‘I hope you have accorded me the same consideration and I’m away from the noise too,’ Angelina retorted quickly.

      ‘The carpenters and masons do not work around the clock. They go home at night, so you will not be disturbed—unless you are in the habit of sleeping through the day,’ Alex said with a hint of sarcasm.

      Angelina threw him a wrathful look, but refrained from answering when Patience gave way to another fit of sneezing.

      Nothing had prepared Angelina for the exquisite splendour that was Arlington Hall in the heart of the Hertfordshire countryside. She saw it from a distance sitting like a grand old lady on the crest of a hill, timeless and brooding, its elegant beauty expressing power and pride.

      ‘Oh, my,’ she breathed, with a growing sense of unreality. Her mother had told her about the grand houses the English nobility lived in, but never had she envisaged anything as lovely as this. Arlington Hall was certainly not a house of modest proportions. ‘Why—it’s beautiful. Is it very old?’

      Alex smiled at the dazed expression of disbelief on her face, well satisfied with her reaction. ‘I’m afraid it is,’ he replied, folding his arms across his chest, preferring to watch a myriad of expressions on Angelina’s face rather than the approaching house. ‘Built during Queen Elizabeth’s reign about two hundred and fifty years ago, the main structure survives relatively unaltered.’

      ‘It must have taken years to build.’

      ‘Actually, it rose at amazing speed.’

      ‘And all those windows,’ she murmured, watching as the evening sun caught the three stories of huge windows, lighting them up like a wall of flame, contrasting beautifully with the green and yellow tints and fiery shades of the finest, early autumn foliage.

      ‘People were enthusiastic for enormous windows in those days. Glass was very expensive, so it became a status symbol. People used it in large quantities to show how rich they were.’

      Angelina looked at Alex with large eyes, her animosity forgotten for the moment. ‘Your ancestors must have been very rich.’

      ‘They were. The first Earl of Arlington was a powerful politician and a trusted adviser of Queen Elizabeth.’

      ‘And did Queen Elizabeth ever come to Arlington?’

      ‘Frequently. She liked living at her subjects’ expense. I’m having considerable alterations and improvements made just now—woodwork has to be renewed, rooms redecorated, and I’m having the modern convenience of running water installed. It’s being done in stages and at the moment it’s the east wing that’s being renovated. Needless to say there’s an army of workmen tramping all over the place so you’ll just have to bear with it.’

      ‘Is Uncle Henry’s house anything like Arlington Hall?’

      ‘No. Mowbray Park was built at a later time and is quite different. It was designed on a much larger scale and is very grand. But you’ll see it for yourself before too long.’

      ‘And will you inherit Mowbray Park one day?’

      ‘Yes.’

      She gave him a puzzled look. ‘Then—who will live at Arlington?’ It was a simple question, one she regretted asking when she saw his jaw tense and his eyes cloud over. ‘Will you sell it? After all, you can’t very well live here and at Mowbray Park.’

      Alex hesitated, and for a moment Angelina thought she saw pain in his eyes. ‘No, I don’t suppose I can,’ he answered quietly. ‘But I will never sell Arlington. If I marry, I will pass it on to my heirs.’

      Angelina shook her head and sighed with sympathy for their mutual plight. ‘So you don’t have any family either—apart from Aunt Patience and Uncle Henry. You say your mother’s ancestors built Arlington Hall. Does she still live here?’ she asked, recalling Uncle Henry telling her that Lord Montgomery’s father was dead. Immediately she sensed his withdrawal. It was as if a veil had come over his features. Her eyes saw the changing expression on his face, a look that at once seemed to warn her not to pry and to shut her out.

      Again Alex hesitated. When he replied to her question his tone was harsher than he intended. ‘I would prefer it if you did not mention my mother to me, Angelina. I cannot imagine that she would interest you.’

      ‘I—I just wondered—’

      ‘Then don’t,’ he said coldly. ‘My parents are both dead.’

      There was so much finality and suppressed anger and bitterness in his voice that she refrained from asking any further questions.

      The four bay mounts pulling the crested coach at last danced