Secrets in the Regency Ballroom. Joanna FulfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
on the road, but half an hour later it came on to rain, a thundery summer shower. The open roadway offered no shelter and in a very short time she was soaked through. It was with real relief that she saw the first houses on the edge of the village. An enquiry of a passing carter directed her to a grey stone house set back from the road in a pleasant garden. Claire paused by the gate, feeling her stomach knot in sudden apprehension. What if Miss Greystoke had moved on? It had been seven years after all. What would she do then? Where would she go? Taking a deep breath, she walked up the paved pathway to the front door and rang the bell. A maidservant answered. On seeing Claire’s bedraggled and muddied appearance she eyed her askance.
‘The doctor’s not at home,’ she said.
Shivering a little now, Claire stood her ground.
‘It is Miss Greystoke I seek, not the doctor.’
Before the girl could answer another voice spoke behind her.
‘Who is it, Eliza?’
Claire’s heart beat painfully hard. The woman’s elegant lavender-coloured gown was different, but everything else was familiar from the light brown hair to the blue eyes now regarding her with shock and concern.
‘Claire?’ The woman came closer, wonder writ large in her expression, and then a beaming smile lit her face. ‘Oh, my dear, it really is you!’
‘Miss Greystoke.’
‘What a wonderful surprise. But what am I doing talking here on the doorstep? Come inside, do.’
Only too happy to obey, Claire stepped into the hallway and for a moment the two women faced each other in silence. Then Ellen Greystoke opened her arms and drew her visitor into a warm embrace. Knowing herself safe for the first time in days, Claire began to shake.
‘Good gracious! How cold you are! We must get you out of those wet clothes at once. Then we shall sit down and have some tea and you can tell me everything.’
Claire was escorted to a pleasant upstairs bedroom, provided with hot water and towels, and then left in privacy. Shivering, she removed her bonnet and then stripped off her wet things. How good it was to be free of them at last and to be able to bathe again and tidy her hair. Having done so, she donned a clean gown. It was one of two that she had been able to bring. Apart from those, a russet spencer, a few necessary personal items and her sketchbook, the valise contained nothing of value. Involuntarily Claire’s hand sought the locket she wore around her neck. It was her sole piece of jewellery and it bore the only likeness of her parents that she possessed. She had inherited her mother’s dusky curls and hazel eyes and her face had the same fine bone structure. Her father too had been dark haired with rugged good looks. It was not hard to see why her parents had been attracted to each other or why Henry Davenport should fly in the face of his family’s disapproval and marry a young woman with only a pretty countenance and a hundred pounds a year to recommend her. Goodness was not a marketable quality in their eyes. Yet, contrary to all predictions, the marriage had been a success. Claire had fond memories of her early years, days filled with sunshine and laughter when she’d been truly happy and carefree. How long ago it all seemed and how like a dream.
An outbreak of typhus changed everything: her father had sickened first and then her mother, the fever carrying them off within three days of each other. At a stroke she was an orphan. Miss Greystoke had taken it upon herself to inform her father’s family and in due course Uncle Hector had arrived. Her thirteen-year-old self could see the likeness to her father in the dark hair and grey eyes, but there the similarity ended. The tall, unsmiling man in black was a stranger whose cold expression repelled her. She hadn’t wanted to go with him and had sobbed out her grief in Miss Greystoke’s arms. In the end though there had been no choice and she had been taken to live at her uncle’s house.
From the moment of her arrival she knew Aunt Maud disliked her and resented her presence there. At first she had not understood why, but as time passed and she grew from child to young woman the contrast between her and her much plainer cousins became marked. To be fair her cousins showed no resentment of her good looks, but then they were so timid that they never expressed an opinion on anything. Claire, outgoing and high-spirited, found them dull company. Moreover she found the educational regime in the house stifling.
From the start Miss Greystoke had always encouraged her to think for herself and to read widely and Claire’s naturally enquiring mind devoured the books she was given and easily assimilated what she found there. She loved learning for its own sake and enjoyed gaining new skills, whether it was drawing or playing the pianoforte, speaking in French or discussing current affairs. In her uncle’s house everything was different. Independent thought was discouraged, and only the most improving works considered suitable reading material. They were taught their lessons under the exacting eye of Miss Hardcastle, a hatchet-faced woman with strict views about what constituted a suitable education for young ladies, and an expectation of instant obedience in all things. In this she was fully supported by Aunt Maud and any infraction of discipline was punished. Claire, loathing the constraints imposed on her, had been openly rebellious at first, but she had soon learned the error of her ways. Remembering it now, she felt resentment rise in a wave. She would never return no matter what.
Some time later she joined Ellen in the parlour where she was plied with hot tea and slices of fruit cake. When she had finished she favoured her friend with an explanation of why she had fled her uncle’s house. Ellen listened without interruption, but the blue eyes were bright with anger and indignation. Claire swallowed hard.
‘I’m so sorry to impose on you like this, Miss Greystoke, but I didn’t know where else to turn.’
‘Where else should you turn but to me? And let us dispense with this formality. You must call me Ellen.’
‘You don’t know how I missed you all these years.’
‘And I you. My brightest pupil.’
‘Did you receive my letter?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘I wanted to write again, but my aunt would not permit it.’
‘Then you did not get my other letters?’
Claire stared at her. ‘What other letters?’
‘I wrote several, but there was never any reply, so in the end I stopped sending them.’
‘On my honour I never received them.’
‘No, after what you have told me I imagine you did not.’
Anger and indignation welled anew and Claire bit her lip. To think that all that time her aunt had lied to her, if only by omission.
‘It was the saddest day of my life when I had to leave you. Your parents’ house was such a happy place and they were always so good to me. I felt more like a member of the family than a governess.’
‘I feel as though I have been in prison for the past seven years. And then this. I could not do what they wanted, Ellen.’
‘Of course not! No woman should ever be compelled to marry a man she does not love and esteem. What your uncle did was shameful.’
‘But what if he finds me?’
‘He shall not remove you from this house.’
‘I wish I were not so afraid of him, Ellen.’
‘I am not surprised that you are. The man is a perfect brute.’
‘If my aunt read your letters, she will have seen the address and may guess where I am.’
‘She probably burnt them without reading them. In any case it was a long time ago. It is most unlikely she kept them.’
‘I pray she did not.’ Claire’s hands clenched. ‘If only I might reach my majority and be out of their power for good.’
‘That day cannot be so far away now. How old are you?’
‘Four months short of my twenty-first birthday.’
‘No