Lord Ravensden's Marriage. Anne Herries

I think so,” Beatrice replied, smothering a sigh. It wasn’t that she was unhappy with her life in her father’s house, but she sometimes longed for some stimulating company—a friend she could sharpen her wits on now and then without feeling that she was either hurting or bewildering that friend.

      She briefly remembered her long-dashed hopes, which had been destroyed when she was a girl of nineteen—just the same age as her sister was now!—but their situations had been very different. Olivia was in London enjoying a brilliant season, and engaged to one of the best “catches’ of the Season. For Beatrice there had been no Season, and only one suitor she might have taken—if he had asked. However, after toying with her hopes and affections for a whole month one summer, he had taken himself back off to London and proposed to an heiress!

      “Pray do not look so sad, my love,” Nan said. “Come, sit by the fire and let me dry your poor feet. You look as if you have had a tumble in the mud!”

      “As a matter of fact, I have,” Beatrice said, forgetting her disappointments as she recalled what had happened to her that evening. “I walked home through the Abbey grounds, Nan.”

      “You never did!” Nan looked horrified. “Never say that monster attacked you?”

      “In a way,” Beatrice replied, then shook her head as Nan looked fit to faint. “Oh, nothing like that. I heard something…a scream, I think…then this horse and rider came up out of the darkness and I was forced to throw myself out of his path. Had I not done so, I must have been crushed beneath the hooves of the horse. I am sure it was the Marquis himself, and in a fearful mood.”

      Nan crossed herself instinctively. Neither she nor any member of her family were Catholics, but in a matter such as this, the action could be very comforting.

      Beatrice laughed as she saw her aunt’s reaction. “I must admit to doing much the same as you when I heard the scream,” she admitted. “It was the most horrifying sound imaginable…” She broke off as their one little maid came into the room, carrying a silver salver. “Yes, Lily—what is it?”

      “Bellows fetched this letter for you from the receiving office this afternoon, Miss Roade. It’s from London.”

      “Then it must be from Olivia,” Beatrice said, feeling a flicker of excitement. “Perhaps it is an invitation to the wedding at last.”

      The longcase clock in the hall was striking the hour of five as Beatrice took the sealed packet from her servant.

      Beatrice had been anxiously awaiting the invitation since learning from her sister that she was about to become engaged to Lord Ravensden, the wealthy Lord Burton’s heir. Not that Lord Burton’s wealth was of any interest to his heir, who, according to rumour, already had far more money than any one person could possibly need.

      Olivia had been adopted by their rich relatives when she was a child. She had been loved and petted by them ever since, living a very different life from her elder sister, who had been overlooked by Lord and Lady Burton when they agreed to take one of the children as their own.

      The sisters’ parting had devastated Beatrice, who, being the elder, had understood what was happening, and why. She had kept in touch by letter since the day Olivia was taken away, but they had met only twice since then, when her mother’s sister-in-law had brought Olivia on brief visits. Having seen the engagement announced in The Times, which her papa continued to subscribe to despite his meagre funds, Beatrice had expected to hear from her sister almost daily, and was beginning to think she was to be left out of the celebrations.

      She ripped the small packet open eagerly, then read its contents three times before she could believe what she was seeing. It was not possible! Olivia must be funning her…surely she must? If this was not a jest…it did not bear thinking of!

      “Is something the matter?” asked Nan. “You look upset, Beatrice. Has something happened to your sister?”

      “It is most distressing,” Beatrice said, sounding as shocked as she felt. “I cannot believe this, Nan. Olivia writes to tell me that she will not now be marrying Lord Ravensden. She has decided she cannot like him sufficiently…and has told him of her decision.”

      “You mean she has jilted him?” Nan stared at her in dismay. “How could she? She will be ruined. Has she no idea of the consequences of her actions?”

      “I think she must have.” Beatrice gave a little cry of distress as she read over the page something she had missed earlier. “Oh, no! This is the most terrible news. Lord and Lady Burton have…disowned her. They say she has disgraced them, and they will no longer harbour a viper in their home…”

      “That is a little harsh, is it not?” Nan wrinkled her brow. “What she has done is wrong, no one could deny that—but I should imagine Olivia must have her reasons. She would not do such a thing out of caprice—would she?”

      “No, of course not,” Beatrice defended her sister loyally. “We do not know each other well—but I am sure she is not so cruel.”

      “What can have prevailed upon her to accept him if she did not mean to go through with the marriage?” Nan asked, shaking her head in wonder. Jilting one’s fiancé was not something to be undertaken lightly—and a man as rich as Lord Ravensden into the bargain!

      “She says she has realised that she cannot be happy as his wife,” Beatrice said, frowning over her sister’s hurried scrawl. “And that she was cruelly deceived in his feelings for her.”

      “What will she do now?”

      “Lord Burton has told her she has one week to leave his house—so she asks if she may come here.”

      “Come here?” Nan stared at her in dismay. “Does she realise how we go on here? She will find it very different to what she has been used to, Beatrice.”

      “Yes, I fear she will,” Beatrice replied. “However, I shall speak to Papa at once, and then, if he agrees, I shall write and tell her she is welcome in this house.”

      “My brother will agree to whatever you suggest,” Nan said a little wryly. “You must know that?”

      Beatrice smiled, knowing that she always without fail managed to twist her father round her finger. He could refuse her nothing, for the simple reason that he was able to give her very little. Fortunately, Beatrice had a tiny allowance of her own, which came to her directly from a bequest left to her by her maternal grandmother, Lady Anne Smith.

      Nan had given her a towel to dry herself, and Beatrice had used it to good effect. Her long hair was wild about her face, gleaming with reddish gold lights and giving her a natural beauty she had never noticed for herself. She handed the towel back to her aunt, and looked down at herself. Her gown was disgraceful, but her dear, forgetful papa would probably never notice.

      “You realise Olivia will be an added burden on your father’s slender income?” Nan warned. “You have little enough for yourself as it is.”

      “My sister will be destitute if we do not take her in,” Beatrice replied, frowning. “I do not know whether they have cast her off without a penny—but it sounds as if they may have done so. It would be cruel indeed of me if I were to refuse to let her shelter in her own home.”

      “Yes, and something you could never do,” Nan said warmly. “I have no objections, my love. I only wish you to think before you leap—unlike my poor brother.”

      “We shall manage,” Beatrice said, and left her aunt with a smile.

      The smile was wiped out the instant she left the room. She had not mentioned anything to Nan, because it was still not clear to her exactly what her sister’s rather terse words had meant—but clearly Lord Ravensden was not a man Olivia could love or respect. Indeed, if Beatrice was not mistaken, he was a hard, ruthless man who cared for little else but wealth and duty.

      He had had the cold-hearted effrontery to tell one of his friends that he was marrying to oblige Lord Burton. Since the Burtons had no children of