Lady Knightley's Secret. Anne Ashley

too urgent for him to stop.

      ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Mary?’ he asked gently when at last he lay beside her once more, and cradled her head on his chest. ‘Did I hurt you very much, my darling? Had I known, I—’

      ‘Had you known, Richard,’ she interrupted, ‘I suspect you wouldn’t have made love to me at all.’

      He wasn’t so certain. He wasn’t a man accustomed to curbing his natural desires. A string of mistresses over the years had satisfied his needs, but he had never before tampered with innocence. Maybe if it had once occurred to him that she might be untouched he wouldn’t have reached a point where he was incapable of stopping, but it was rather too late to question the wisdom of his actions now. There was only one course open to a man who possessed any degree of honour.

      He brushed his lips lightly over her forehead. ‘We’ll be married just as soon as I can arrange matters.’ He felt her stiffen. ‘What’s wrong, Mary? Don’t you want to marry me?’

      ‘More than anything in the world, Richard!’ It was like a desperate cry from a loving heart. ‘But—but you know next to nothing about me.’

      ‘I know that you’re one of the sweetest scolds I’ve ever met,’ he told her laughingly. ‘I also know that your hair is blonde and your eyes are blue.’

      ‘Ah, yes,’ she murmured, a distinct catch in her voice, as though she were finding it difficult to speak. ‘That’s always been your favourite combination, hasn’t it, my Richard?’

      ‘How do you know that? Has Sergeant Hawker been gossiping again?’

      She didn’t respond to this, but asked instead with that bluntness which so characterised her, ‘Do you truly want to marry me?’

      ‘Of course!’ he answered without a moment’s hesitation and only hoped his voice hadn’t betrayed his grave misgivings. ‘Besides, now that I’ve come into the title it’s essential I produce an heir. And I’ve come to know you well enough in these past weeks to be certain you’d make a wonderful wife and mother. So, we’ll take it as settled.’

      There was no response.

      When Richard woke again it was to discover himself alone and that portion of bed beside him quite cold. By the tramping of feet in the passageway outside his room—which sounded like a regiment of infantrymen parading up and down—he knew it must be morning, a morning he had been longing for and dreading by turns; a morning that, no matter whether he would see again or not, would change his life forever.

      Raising his arms, he rested his head in his hands and gave vent to a heartfelt sigh. He was honest enough to admit that for a newly betrothed man he certainly wasn’t experiencing untold joy; honest enough to admit, too, that Mary wouldn’t have been his ideal choice for a wife. He liked her very well, probably more than any other woman he had ever known. She was both kind-hearted and amusing, and for all that she spoke with a pronounced West Country accent she was far from uneducated.

      It had been she who had penned the letter to his London solicitors in response to the one they had sent informing him of his brother’s tragic demise. He had also learned from Sergeant Hawker that she had spent many hours with him improving his reading and writing skills. But this, he was only too well aware, was hardly sufficient reason to suppose that she would make a suitable wife for a baronet. The truth of the matter was, of course, that she was totally unsuitable. She could have no notion of what was expected of her. Those vicious society tabbies would have a field day at her expense when they discovered her former station in life.

      ‘But you know next to nothing about me.’ He frowned suddenly as Mary’s words echoed in his mind. It was true: he knew absolutely nothing about her life. She had received a good education. He knew this from the numerous conversations they had had when she had spoken intelligently on a wide range of topics. She might well be the daughter of some country parson or practitioner. If this did turn out to be the case then the outlook was not all doom and gloom. She could be moulded and taught the ways of his social class. Added to which, she must surely come from a family with sufficient means to have been able to afford to hire this house for several weeks. Was she the daughter of a wealthy merchant, perhaps? But it was pointless speculating, he told himself. He would discover all he wanted to know, and perhaps a great deal that he didn’t, when she visited him next.

      The door opening interrupted his thoughts. ‘Mary?’

      ‘No, sir. It’s me.’

      He recognised his sergeant’s rough voice instantly and smiled. ‘What brings you here so early, you old rogue? And what the devil’s that confounded din?’

      ‘The servants be moving some trunks, sir. Captain Munroe be leaving us this morning. We be the last two ’ere now.’

      ‘Where’s Mary?’

      There was a tiny pause, then, ‘She be a bit—er—busy at the moment, sir, so she asked me to see to you. High time I took up me dooties again. I can get about well enough, even though the old knee’s still a bit stiff. Now, sir, I’ll just pop this towel round you and give you a bit of a shave.’

      No sooner had this task been completed than the doctor arrived, and Richard, for once not having Mary there offering comfort and support, found himself grasping the bedclothes. Not once during any one of those many cavalry charges in which he had taken part could he recall being in the grip of such intense fear as he was in those moments when the bandages were removed and he opened his eyes for the first time since that never-to-be-forgotten last battle.

      At first all he could detect were dark, blurred shapes. It was like trying to peer through a thick London fog, but then, blessedly, the mists slowly began to clear and the concerned face of his sergeant staring down at him gradually came into focus.

      ‘I never thought I’d experience pleasure at seeing that ugly phiz of yours, Hawker. And I have to say it hasn’t improved any since last I saw it!’

      The sergeant, far from offended, laughed heartily as he moved across to the window so as not to impede the doctor’s further examination. He looked down into the street below, his amusement vanishing as he gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head, and then watched as the carriage pulled away from the house.

      ‘Where is Mary?’ Richard asked again, making his eagerness to see her very evident.

      Giving a guilty start, Hawker looked back across at the bed. ‘She’s—er—just this minute stepped out for a bit of air, sir.’

      ‘Well, when she returns to the house tell her I’d like to see her.’ Richard smiled at the choice of words. ‘Tell her I’m longing to see her.’

      The sergeant didn’t respond, but he knew it would be only a matter of time before this gallant commanding officer realised there was something amiss.

      The moment he had been dreading came early that evening when he brought Richard his dinner.

      ‘Where is she, Hawker? Why hasn’t she been to see me today?’

      He saw little point in trying to conceal the truth any longer. ‘She be gone, sir.’

      ‘Gone? Gone where?’

      ‘She be journeying back to England. She left in the carriage as soon as she knew you were back to normal, as yer might say.’ He couldn’t bring himself to add that it had been he who had signalled to her from the window.

      Richard experienced such a maelstrom of conflicting emotions that it was several moments before he could think clearly. ‘Did she say why she had to leave so suddenly?’

      ‘Her old lady were right poorly, sir. Never once left ’er room in all the time we’ve been ’ere. Miss Mary must ’ave wanted to get her back ’ome before she weakened any more, I suppose. Don’t think Miss Mary would ’ave stayed this long if she hadn’t been nursing us lot.’ Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a letter. ‘Before she left, she asked me to give you this, sir.’

      Richard almost snatched