But just now she did not feel as if she could add up a simple column of figures, let alone work her way through the complex maze of a marriage settlement—and one she intended to wriggle out of the moment she could.
‘Phyll? Are you all right?’ Gregory bounded in, full of enthusiasm, and perched on the end of the couch.
‘Just tired, that is all. It has been an eventful few days.’ Should she tell him what she intended? No, too risky, she thought, studying his open, cheerful face. He would never be able to stop the knowledge colouring his reactions to Ashe.
Her hands lay in her lap, curved palm up, the swell at the base of her right thumb pinker, plumper than the left. The Mount of Venus, they called it on fortune-telling charts. She had thought it just a pretty name, but Ashe had known its sensual potential and had used it ruthlessly. What else did he know that he was prepared to use in her undoing?
There were whispers amongst some of the more daring ladies of erotic pictures and books from the East. Lady Catherine Taylor had confided that she had found just such a volume high up on a dusty shelf in her grandfather’s library, but had been too flustered to do more than take a few shocked peeks inside. The next day it had vanished. Others spoke of stone carvings in private collections.
Her imagination presented her with images of Ashe surrounded by beautiful Indian women all highly skilled in the erotic arts, of him studying ancient love texts, viewing carvings, refining his technique…
What would it be like to lie with a man who made love instead of using her bodily brutally for his own gratification?
‘Phyll? You are very flushed. Shall I ring for tea or should you go and lie down, do you think?’
‘Luncheon,’ she said with decision. ‘And then I shall do the accounts.’ There was nothing remotely erotic about debit and credit columns. ‘Tomorrow, please do not commit to anything with the settlements. I would prefer to go through any proposals with my lawyer first.’ Old Mr Dodgson could prevaricate for weeks given the slightest encouragement.
‘Yes, of course,’ Gregory agreed amiably. ‘I’ve enough to do working through all the stuff for my own wedding. I don’t imagine for a moment there will be any problem once they realise you are to marry Clere. They want St George’s, which is fine with me.’
‘And in only a few weeks’ time? Until this blew up Mrs Millington appeared very calm about a wedding at such short notice. There must be so much to organise.’
Gregory grimaced. ‘It seems Millington simply throws money at it. His secretary could organise the invasion of a small country, from what I’ve seen of him, and he has hired two lady assistants for Mrs M. who spend all their time planning flowers and drafting lists. I can scarcely get a word with Harriet because she’s being fitted for her bride clothes, which is why they are quite relaxed about us exchanging notes.’
‘So where will you live?’ Phyllida sat down again, all thoughts of luncheon and the accounts forgotten.
‘After the visits we are being organised into, you mean? Apparently we will be away for about three weeks and by the time we get back the town house will be transformed.’
‘Our town house?’ No wonder Gregory looked faintly stunned. ‘But we rented it to Sir Nathaniel Finch for three years.’
‘He has been persuaded that the alternative offered by Mr Millington, at a lower rent and a longer lease, will suit him admirably.’
‘What a wonderful father-in-law to have.’ It seemed she had succeeded beyond her wildest dreams in finding the right match for her brother.
‘He will do anything for Harriet, I think. And it is also very clear that if I am not a good husband my body will be found in several pieces, widely scattered.’ Gregory coloured up and regarded his boots with rapt attention. ‘Not that I would ever do anything… I mean… I’m in love with her, Phyll.’
‘And that is wonderful.’ She jumped up and went to kiss him. ‘You see—all our troubles are over.’ Until Ashe Herriard realises I have no intention of marrying him.
The next day’s post brought a letter from Lady Eldonstone. She was most grateful to Miss Hurst for offering to handle the unwanted and undesirable items from the country house, she wrote. She wondered if Miss Hurst would care to come and stay for a few days to expedite that and to get to know the family.
It was a charming note, friendly and informal, and quite definitely an order. That was where Ashe had got his assumption of command, perhaps. Phyllida wrote that she would be delighted to come the next day as Lady Eldonstone suggested and was most appreciative of the offer of the family carriage to collect her and her maid.
Phyllida had thought her poise equal to the most trying social occasion, but she found her hands were trembling as she walked up the steps to the big Mayfair mansion. It would be bad enough if she really had any intention of marrying Ashe, but while she had some scruples about deceiving him, she felt thoroughly guilty over accepting his parents’ ho
spitality.
The Herriards were waiting for her in an airy reception room decorated in cream and greenish-greys. The celadon vases that Ashe had bought at the warehouse gleamed on the mantelshelf, flanking the family group before the hearth.
Lord and Lady Eldonstone were seated, their son and daughter standing beside them. It seemed they had been looking at a book the marquess was holding open on his lap. Lady Sara bent slightly forwards, her hand on her father’s shoulder. Ashe was smiling. They looked beautiful, poised, exotic and so at ease with each other that tears came to Phyllida’s eyes.
To have grown up in a family like that, with so much obvious love and affection, would have been wonderful. The money and the insecurity would have seemed trivial, if only they had been together like this. She swallowed and blinked hard. What on earth would the marchioness think if she stood there with tears pouring down her face?
‘Miss Hurst, here you are.’ Lady Eldonstone came forwards, holding out her hands, and caught Phyllida’s as she was about to sink into a curtsy. ‘None of that, please! This is just a family gathering.’ She did not release her, but looked deep into her eyes. ‘Is everything all right?’
The blinking had obviously not been hard enough. ‘Some dust just now in the street. The wind caught it and it went on my eye, ma’am.’
‘Then come and sit with us and I will ring for tea. Oh, you are here already, Herring. Take Miss Hurst’s things, if you please, and send in the tea. Now,’ she said, hardly waiting until Phyllida was relieved of bonnet, pelisse, gloves and parasol. ‘You know my son, of course.’
Of course. ‘Lord Clere.’