Lady Knightley's Secret. Anne Ashley

home had been infrequent and of short duration, Elizabeth’s periods of childhood happiness had been few and far between.

      Agatha had never regretted the decision she had taken, after her master had died, in aiding Elizabeth in running away to her maternal grandmother. Elizabeth had seemed to blossom overnight under that wonderful old lady’s constant loving care. Although, even then, weakened by years of ill-health, Mrs Smithson had been more than a match for Elizabeth’s mother when she had come hotfoot to Bristol, demanding her daughter’s return.

      Agatha herself hadn’t been privileged to overhear what had passed between Mrs Smithson and her daughter that day, but whatever the old lady had said, it had been sufficient to send Mrs Beresford on her way again rather abruptly. Agatha was honest enough to admit that she hadn’t been sorry to see the last of her old mistress; honest enough to admit, too, that she had been completely unmoved when she had learned of Mrs Beresford’s death two years later. What Miss Elizabeth had felt was difficult to judge. She certainly hadn’t shed any tears over her mother’s unexpected demise; but the poor girl had wept bitterly when her dear grandmother had passed away the previous autumn. She just hadn’t been the same person since; but then, Agatha reminded herself, her young mistress hadn’t been the same since their return from Brussels last summer.

      ‘Why are you staring at me with that peculiar look in your eyes, Aggie?’

      Unable to hold her young mistress’s gaze, she went across the bedchamber to collect a shawl. ‘You’re imagining things, miss. I was merely thinking how sensible it was of you to accept Viscountess Dartwood’s kind invitation. You’ve locked yourself away from the world for far too long. You know your dear grandmother didn’t want that.’

      ‘No, I know she didn’t. She even begged me not to deck myself out in mourning.’ A sigh escaped her. ‘I kept that promise at least. I’ve never once even donned black gloves.’

      Rising to her feet, Elizabeth remained only for the time it took to have the shawl arranged about her shoulders, and then went back down to the salon, where she had left her host and hostess earlier, to find them looking the picture of marital bliss, seated side by side on the sofa.

      The Viscount rose at once and went over to the table on which several decanters stood. ‘I believe Verity omitted to inform you that we’re expecting another guest, a friend of mine from my army days, but I’m not quite certain just when he’ll be arriving—it could be today, or tomorrow.’

      He watched Elizabeth seat herself in one graceful, sweeping movement before handing her the glass of Madeira. ‘You were in Brussels last year, on hand, as one might say, to celebrate that famous victory. And I understand from Verity that you stayed to nurse some of our brave soldiers back to health.’

      ‘Yes, I was there,’ she admitted in a colourless tone, ‘but I saw little worth celebrating. The sight of that endless procession of carts, filled with the dead and dying, pouring into the city after the battle was over is an experience I shall never forget.’ She shook her head at the all-too-vivid recollection. ‘Where is the glory, sir, in all that waste of life…that suffering?’

      Verity noticed a look of respect flit over her husband’s features before he raised his head, his acute hearing picking up a sound from the hall.

      ‘What is it, Brin? Has your friend arrived, do you think?’

      ‘Yes, I believe so. I’ll go and see.’

      Verity waited until he had left the room before turning to Elizabeth with a rather impish smile. ‘I never realised until a few moments ago how similar your shade of hair is to Brin’s.’ She studied her friend’s beautifully arranged locks once again. ‘Except, perhaps, yours contains a little more red. Why, you might be brother and sister!’

      ‘I should have very much enjoyed having him as a brother. You’re a lucky girl, Verity. He’s a charming man.’ She cast her grey-green eyes over the Viscountess in a swift appraisal, deciding that marriage and the prospect of imminent motherhood suited her very well. She looked glowing and so utterly contented with her lot. ‘When is the baby due? Any time now, I shouldn’t wonder.’

      ‘Great heavens, no! Not for several weeks, unfortunately.’ Verity noted the slight frown. ‘I know I’m huge already. And to think I’ve still another month to go!’

      Her pained expression vanished as the door opened and she watched her husband return with a tall and ruggedly handsome gentleman in tow. She had never met this particular friend of Brin’s before and was instantly aware of his aura of powerful masculinity. So captivated was she by Sir Richard Knightley’s spontaneous and most engaging smile, as her husband made the introductions, that she failed completely to notice the effect the very personable gentleman’s presence was having on her friend.

      With a hand which trembled slightly Elizabeth took the very sensible precaution of placing her glass down on the conveniently positioned occasional table beside her chair, before she foolishly disgraced herself by spilling the contents down the folds of her rich green velvet gown. No one’s unexpected appearance could possibly have unsettled her more, but with a supreme effort at self-control she contrived to appear as composed as ever.

      ‘There is absolutely no reason to introduce Sir Richard to me, Brin,’ she interrupted when he turned, about to do just that. ‘I knew him quite well when I was a child.’

      Looking a trifle pale, but maintaining quite beautifully that self-assured air, she rose to her feet and even managed a semblance of a smile at the three rather startled expressions bent in her direction. ‘It has been several years since you last set eyes on me, sir, so I’m not in the least offended by your all-too-evident bewilderment.’ She held out her hand, which thankfully no longer trembled. ‘Elizabeth…Elizabeth Beresford.’

      He didn’t utter ‘Good Gad!’ but the expletive hung in the air, none the less, drawing forth a gurgle of wicked amusement from the irrepressible Viscountess.

      ‘I’m not in the least surprised, either, that you appear dumbfounded, sir, especially if you haven’t seen her for some time. When I met up with Elizabeth again last year I could hardly believe that it was my old school friend sitting in that famous Bond Street modiste’s.’

      ‘Indeed, you are vastly altered, Miss Beresford,’ he agreed in that attractive deep voice that she remembered so well, ‘but I ought to have recognised you.’ His dark eyes rested for a moment on the charmingly arranged rich red-brown hair before returning to the delicately featured face turned so enchantingly up to his. ‘Unlike your sister, you always did bear a marked resemblance to your father. With your unusual colouring you are unmistakably a Beresford.’

      ‘I cannot express strongly enough how relieved I am to hear you say so, sir,’ she responded with feeling, before turning and bestowing such a dazzling smile upon the Viscount that Sir Richard experienced a most unexpected and rather unwholesome spasm of jealousy gnaw at his insides.

      ‘Your darling wife, Brin, has recently remarked that we might well be mistaken for brother and sister. You must be aware that she has never been known to put a guard on that unruly tongue of hers. Before you know it, rumours will begin to spread and we shall find ourselves on the receiving end of some rather strange looks!’

      He laughed heartily at this before offering her his arm and escorting her across the hall and into the dining-room. Verity, following with Sir Richard, experienced a deal of wicked satisfaction when she noticed that her husband’s very personable friend seemed incapable of preventing his gaze from wandering in Miss Beresford’s direction.

      Elizabeth became increasingly aware of this fact too as the evening wore on but, unlike Verity, found nothing satisfying in those all-too-frequent dark-eyed glances. Never in her wildest imaginings had she considered the possibility that the Dartwoods’ other guest would turn out to be none other than the man she had secretly, and quite foolishly, loved since she was a girl.

      Calling upon that all-important inner reserve of self-control, she managed to conceal this all-too-painful truth. However, trying to behave towards him as she might have done any other acquaintance of long standing,