Married By Christmas. Anne Herries

is proud and does not wish for assistance. But she works very hard, and I am not sure it is good for her in her condition.’

      ‘No, I am very sure you are right. I shall do what I can for her.’

      ‘She would not accept anything she saw as charity.’

      ‘It would not be charity. She and my brother’s child are entitled to a decent life, and I wish that she would allow me to help her with her expenses.’

      ‘I think you must be clever in how you offer help.’

      ‘Yes, I am sure you are right. I must think of something, for at the moment she will not let me help her.’

      The music was coming to an end. Jo found herself wishing that it might go on for much longer, but she knew that she must be satisfied with the one dance, for it was unlikely that he would ask her again.

      ‘Perhaps she will when she needs you,’ Jo said, as the other dancers began to leave the floor. ‘I believe it may be time for supper, sir. Yes, I see that everyone is making a move in that direction.’

      ‘Are you hungry?’ Hal asked, and Jo shook her head. ‘Come out into the conservatory for a moment or two. I should like to speak to you further on this matter.’

      ‘I…’ Jo was about to say that she was not sure if she ought to do that when she saw Chloe coming towards them. ‘Perhaps another time. I may call on Ellen at something after noon tomorrow.’

      ‘Oh, there you are, Jo,’ Chloe said, but her eyes were on Hal. ‘Are you coming into supper with me?’

      ‘Yes, I was just about to,’ Jo said, and looked at Hal. ‘Shall you join us, sir?’

      ‘Yes, of course, why not?’ he replied. ‘It shall be my pleasure to look after both of you. The two prettiest girls here this evening—what a damned lucky fellow I am!’

      Jo smiled and shook her head, but Chloe had slipped her arm through his. She knew that his compliment was for Chloe, but he was being gallant, of which she approved. It was due to Chloe’s efforts on Jo’s behalf that she had not sat out one dance that evening. All the young gentlemen were happy to oblige Chloe. If a small voice told her that she had only chosen Jo as her special friend because she did not wish for competition, she ignored it.

      ‘You are a determined flirt, Mr Beverley,’ Chloe told him, eyes sparkling. ‘I do not think you deserve us, but you may fetch our supper to prove that you were not merely mocking us.’

      ‘How could you think such a thing of me?’ Hal replied and turned to look at Jo with an expression of innocent appeal. ‘Miss Horne knows that I mean everything I say—do you not? Please support me against this tyrant, Miss Horne.’

      Jo merely smiled and shook her head, for it was obvious that they were comfortable together, and she would not be surprised if they were to make a match of it. She was almost certain it was in Chloe’s mind to accept him if he made an offer—but would he? Jo had no way of guessing what was in his mind. He was a charming companion, and she liked him, but she did not know him well enough to have formed an opinion of his character.

      If Jo’s thoughts were in some confusion, it was as well that she could not know or even guess at what Hal was thinking. She would doubtless have been shocked to know that his thoughts were in turmoil, and his plans for the future had been turned upside down.

      Hal’s mind had been more or less made up before he came down to Bath. He would find Ellen, set her up in a decent house with enough money to allow her to live in comfort, if not luxury, and then ask Chloe Marsham to marry him. He had hoped that when his brother’s child was born, Lord Beverley would accept his grandchild and then perhaps Ellen would be given the attention and consequence she deserved. His plan had gone sadly wrong, for Ellen had stubbornly refused his help with her finances, and he was no longer sure that he wished to marry Chloe.

      He was not precisely sure why he had changed his mind—or, indeed, if he had changed his mind. Chloe was very lovely and she was a nice girl, just the sort of wife his father would approve. Harry had previously decided that she was the one he would feel most comfortable with of all the suitable young ladies he had met since his return from the army, but now he was wavering, and he was not certain why.

      It could not possibly be anything to do with Chloe’s friend…could it? Hal wrinkled his brow as he discarded his cravat. The hour was late, but he was not in the least tired. In London he would probably have gone on to his club from the Marshams’ card party, but although he was acquainted with most of the gentlemen staying in Bath at present, none of them was his particular friend.

      He thought about his old friend, Drew Marlbeck, feeling regretful that he had not answered his recent call to help capture the traitor who had betrayed so many of their friends in Spain. At that time he had been following a lead that had taken him to Amsterdam and which had turned out to be completely wrong. He had visited Drew in Truro before leaving, and on his return from abroad sent him and his new wife a wedding gift, though he had not gone down to the wedding, because his father had had one of his turns just as he was about to leave. By the time he had recovered, the Marquis and Marchioness had departed on their honeymoon.

      He wondered if Drew ever thought about the old times. There had been a special companionship between the men out there…a bond that only shared grief and the knowledge that death hovered at one’s shoulder could forge. Hal sighed. There was little point in repining, for he had made his decision when he sold out. Lord Beverley’s health was uncertain, which was why Hal was doing his best to keep his quest for Ellen a secret. He knew that his father felt that Matt had let him down, and he had wanted to make things right by marrying well and giving his father an heir. It was his duty to do just that, but somehow it wasn’t proving as easy as he had imagined.

      Why? Hal was damned if he knew. It could not be because of Miss Horne, could it? She had remarkable eyes and he liked her straight way of talking, but she wasn’t beautiful…at least in the conventional sense, though there was something about her. Hal sat in a high-backed chair by the window and looked out at the night sky, which was sprinkled with stars. Josephine Horne was a respectable girl with good connections, but he sensed instinctively that she would not be his father’s choice of a bride. Lord Beverley expected him to marry an heiress of good family and would take some persuading if he were to suggest a match with the daughter of a parson.

      Did he wish it himself? Damn it, what on earth was he thinking? Hal smiled ruefully. He hardly knew the girl whereas he had known Chloe slightly for some years, because her parents were cousins to their nearest neighbours at Beverley, and, although not close friends, at least on nodding terms with his father. He had not taken much notice of her as a child, but they had met a few times at small gatherings since his return from the army, and he did like her. He believed Chloe would be a comfortable wife, and she was certainly beautiful—so why had he dragged his feet? He believed that she would accept an offer from him, and if he were able to tell his father the good news, he might also be able to break it to him that Ellen was having Matt’s child.

      It was the sensible thing to do. He knew that he owed his father the surety of a grandchild, and he must not delay his decision for too long, because Chloe was an heiress and would probably receive an offer very soon. She might decide to wait until after her Season next spring, of course—but her mother would possibly agree to an engagement and a wedding next summer.

      ‘Damnation!’ Hal knew that he would never sleep a wink with this on his mind. He needed a drink…

      Jo spent a very happy morning helping out at the church hall the next day. She had found several companions of like minds, young women who found pleasure in helping others, and in the friendship that could be found at such affairs. They painted banners to hang at the sale and wrote out neat price tickets, sorted through piles of unwanted items that people had given and helped to set up stalls ready for the bazaar the following weekend.

      ‘Would you be kind enough to help at the sale itself, Miss Horne?’ Mrs Henderson asked. She was a young matron of perhaps five and twenty, with two small children, who were at home with