Love in Hiding

CHAPTER ONE ~ 1786-2

“Mrs. Merryweather, why did you say – I was your niece?” Gretna asked her and trying not to sound hostile.

Mrs. Merryweather turned her brown eyes from the tapestries to look at the exquisite heart-shaped face beside her.

“’Twas the best thing to do, dearie,” she answered. “And you’re not to tell them your name, do you understand now?”

“Why not? They are not likely to know – who I am.”

“But they are. Your mother will not have been forgotten even though Society has not seen her these eighteen years.”

“But even if they do know, does it matter?” Gretna enquired.

“Indeed it does. Now, see here, Miss Gretna. I was in service thirty years ago before I married my Tom. I never rose to anything grand, mark you, only fourth housemaid to Lady Lansdale, but I learnt what was right and what was not. And one thing I can tell you for certain sure, no young lady in your position should be gallivantin’ off to London alone on a stagecoach.”

“But I am not alone and I am not gallivanting,” Gretna smiled.

“I know that, dearie, I’m with you, but it was just a bit of luck that I could go at this last moment to visit my poor sick sister at St. Albans and you’re goin’ because you has to. At the same time you cannot explain those sorts of things to Gentry. They wouldn’t understand.”

“But it cannot matter to them anyway,” Gretna argued.

“Now, listen, dearie! You don’t know anythin’ about life, livin’ that quiet with your mother, hardly seein’ a soul since she’s been ill. You’re grown up now, you’re seventeen, but there’s a lot for you to learn and the first lesson is don’t trust no gentleman, not of the type of these two at any rate.”

“Why, what is wrong with them?” Gretna asked wonderingly.

“Well, it seems to me that I’ve heard of this Marquis,” Mrs. Merryweather answered, her brow wrinkling as if in the effort to remember. “And what I’ve heard ain’t much to his credit either. And as for the other, Sir Harry whatever he calls himself, I know his type right enough. Out for a bit of fun whoever pays for it and every pretty girl be fair game.”

Gretna gave a little laugh of sheer amusement.

“Oh, Mrs. Merryweather, you are funny! I don’t believe they are half as bad as you are painting them. They seem to me very kind, although I must admit that the Marquis seemed rather frightening and was not over-anxious to offer us his hospitality. I think Sir Harry forced him into it.”

She gave a little sigh.

“At any rate it’s only for a few hours. I cannot come to any harm in that time.”

“Don’t you be too sure,” Mrs. Merryweather warned her darkly. “I could tell you some tales. You can’t trust these young sparks.”

“Well, with you to protect me I shall be absolutely safe, as if I was sitting at home in my own little cottage,” Gretna said soothingly. “But do tell me what you know about Lord Stade.”

Mrs. Merryweather was about to reply when the door opened and two chambermaids wearing crisp mobcaps came hurrying in with jugs of hot water. They poured them into two basins standing on the marble washstand, added rosewater and laid ready two soft linen towels edged with lace.

“Thank you so much,” Gretna said to them gratefully.

“Is there anything else you want, miss?” one of the chambermaids asked. “There are clean brushes and combs on the dressing table.”

“That is all I require, thank you,” Gretna replied.

She took off her bonnet and washed her face and hands, feeling fresher as the dust of the journey was removed by the scented water. The towel was deliciously soft and, when she had dried her face, she walked across to the dressing table to comb her fair curls into some semblance of order.

“We never thought, when we set off this morning, that we should end up in a house like this, did we, Mrs. Merryweather?” she asked. “It’s a real adventure!”

“The sort I, for one, don’t appreciate,” Mrs. Merryweather replied. “I want to get you to London safe and sound and the sooner the better says I. This sort of thing ain’t goin’ to do us no good.”

“Oh, Mrs. Merryweather! Do look on the bright side of things,” Gretna urged her. “I am sure that neither Lord Stade nor Sir Harry mean us any harm. Indeed what harm could they do us? And this house is magnificent. I thought Mr. Smythe’s house was fine, but this is infinitely finer. Did you see the marble pillars in the hall, the pictures on the walls and the carved newels on the staircase?”

“Let’s hope that dratted coach is repaired quickly,” Mrs. Merryweather commented. “Just our luck that one of the horses losin’ his shoe made us so late that half the passengers cried off. If there had been another half-dozen, as there should have been, his Lordship wouldn’t have been so ready with his invitation.”

“I do not comprehend why you are worrying,” Gretna laughed. “I am looking forward to the glass of wine and biscuits the Marquis promised us. Come along, let’s go downstairs.”

She opened the door and led the way while Mrs. Merryweather came panting behind her.

It was a lovely house, there was no doubt of that. If the hall was magnificent, the salon that the footman showed them into was beautiful. Hung with delicate rose-pink brocade curtains, it had big crystal chandeliers that glittered from the sunshine streaming in through the long windows, while the elegant inlaid furniture was a perfect background for china, ivories and other elegant objets d’art.

Sir Harry was standing by the fireplace and he hurried forward eagerly at their appearance.

“Here you are!” he exclaimed. “I have been in the deuce of a pucker lest you should be the worse for the accident.”

“We are in excellent health,” Gretna smiled. “Mrs. Merryweather and I are only so mortified that we must put you to all this inconvenience.”

She glanced as she spoke towards the Marquis who had not moved from his position near the fire. She had not realised how tall he was or how broad-shouldered. He was exceedingly handsome, but his face wore a disagreeable expression.

She thought too that his cold eyes rested on her almost with an expression of disdain and she found herself blushing.

“But it is no inconvenience, we like to help above all things,” Sir Harry was expostulating. “Do we not, Julien?”

He glanced towards the Marquis as if forcing him to answer his question and almost reluctantly, it seemed to Gretna, the Marquis’s lips moved.

“It is, of course, a pleasure.”

Could any other man, she wondered, have made those last two words sound so sarcastic?

A footman offered Mrs. Merryweather a glass of Madeira and then brought one to Gretna. She took the glass, sipped it and then made an almost involuntary little grimace.

“You don’t like it?”

It was the Marquis who asked the question and she glanced up at him a little apprehensively.

“No, indeed, it is very – pleasant,” Gretna improvised hastily.

The Marquis turned to the footman.

“Take the lady’s glass away and bring some tea immediately.”

“Very good, my Lord.”

“Oh, but I would not – put you to so much – trouble,” Gretna faltered.

“It is no trouble,” the Marquis said and this time there was no sarcasm in his voice. “Wine is for those who like it. And for those who have not acquired the taste it is quite unnecessary to force it upon them.”

“Tea! I should never have thought of that,” Sir Harry exclaimed. “But, of course, that is the beverage my sister prefers.”

The Marquis glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.

“And that reminds me, Harriet will be waiting for you,” he said. “The horses are at the door. Pray convey my apologies to your sister and say that I shall hope to wait on her tomorrow.”

“Stop me, Julien!” There was no mistaking the protest in Sir Harry’s voice. “I’ll be hanged if I leave now. Harriet can wait”

“On the contrary,” the Marquis replied. “We contracted to be at Bridgewater Place by five o’clock. As it is, you will be nearly an hour late. There is no reason to incommode your sister any further.”

“’Pon my soul! Harriet’s party is of little consequence to me. And what about you?”

The Marquis smiled.

“As I have already requested you, Harry, please convey my regrets. But, if you recall, I had always intended to dine here. I am not interested in formal parties such as will take place at your house this evening.”

“I told Harriet that she was betting on an outside chance,” Sir Harry admitted. “But she hoped that you might be persuaded,”

“Your sister is always most kind,” the Marquis intoned formally.

Still Sir Harry hesitated. Gretna could see that he was longing to make some excuse or put up some argument in favour of his staying. It was equally obvious that the Marquis intended him to go.

The older man won.

“Rum sort of hospitality in Stade Hall!” Sir Harry complained. “All right, I’ll go, but remember, Julien, I do so under protest.”

He took Gretna’s hand in his.

“Goodbye, Miss Gretna. I am determined that we shall meet again. Will you tell me your address in London so that I may pay my respects?”

Gretna’s eyes dropped before his.

“I am not – certain – where I shall be – staying,” she stammered.

“Oh, Lud! That means I must search the whole City until I find you,” Sir Harry said despairingly. “Give me just a glimmer of where you might be or the name of some friend where I could enquire of you.”

“Now, now, young man,” Mrs. Merryweather interposed. “My niece has said she doesn’t know where she will be stayin’. Best leave it at that, though I’m sure you mean well, sir.”

“I do indeed, Mrs. Merryweather,” Sir Harry assured her. “Well, perhaps you will be gracious enough to confide in Lord Stade before you leave. I shall be consumed with anxiety to hear that the accident has had no serious effect on you, as well as your niece.”

“Get along with you, sir, that’s just an excuse and well you know it,” chuckled Mrs. Merryweather. “Thank you for your help, though. You’ve been kind, I’ll say that for you.”

“That is a recommendation in itself,” Sir Harry laughed as he turned towards the door.

“I’ll never forgive you for this, Julien,” he said. “I’ve a good mind to call you out for it. I shall detest every moment of Harriet’s dinner party and be in such a fit of the sullens that she’ll be incensed with you too when I tell her the reason for it.”

He opened the door and then he looked back at Gretna.

“Au revoir, Miss Gretna,” he said softly. “I am convinced that we shall meet again very soon.”

He departed, slamming the door behind him.

The Marquis reached towards the bell.

“I will enquire how far your coach has progressed. There should be news by this time.”

The door opened again to admit a footman with the tea that had been ordered for Gretna. It was served on a silver tray from a beautifully chased silver teapot and the cup she sipped it from was of such thin china that it was almost transparent.

Gretna’s eyes wandered round the room.

“Oh!” she exclaimed with a little lilt in her voice. “I see you have a Van Dyck and what a beautiful one. Mama always used to say that one could never mistake a Van Dyck because of the hands. How beautifully that man’s hands are painted.”

The Marquis’s eyebrows went up.

“He was one of my ancestors,” he explained. “But I am surprised that you should recognise the artist so readily.”

“Surprised?” Gretna questioned.

Even as she spoke she realised that his surprise was due to the fact that he thought her to be Mrs. Merryweather’s niece and she felt the colour come into her face, as with difficulty she stifled the retort that although she might be poor she had been well educated.

‘He is arrogant and overbearing,’ she thought and suddenly resented the fact that he had sent Sir Harry away when the younger man had wanted so much to stay.

‘I suppose everyone must obey his commands,’ she mused and noticed the disdainful way he took a note from the silver salver that had been brought to him by a footman.

He read the piece of paper through his quizzing glass and then laid it down again on the salver.

“I am afraid, ladies, I have bad news for you. My Agent informs me that the coach cannot possibly be ready tonight. Only by working on it for at least another seven hours will it be in sufficient repair to leave for London tomorrow morning.”

“That is bad news, indeed,” Mrs. Merryweather replied. “I said our luck was out from the very first thing this mornin’. Well, my Lord, we must thank you for your hospitality and see what sort of accommodation we can find at the local inn. There is one, I think you said.”