why a young lady like yourself should bury herself in a place like this.’
‘I am not buried here.’
‘No?’
Ignoring the provocative tone, she lifted her chin.
‘Certainly not. I have good friends and am kept busy enough.’
‘And what do you do for your own amusement? When you are not about your good works?’
‘I sketch, Mr Eden.’
‘Touché!’
Claire’s cheeks flushed a little, not least because she suspected he was the one in control of this situation. It was too dangerous to let it continue so, before he could question her further, she seized the initiative.
‘And what of you, sir?’
In spite of himself he was amused. ‘What of me?’
‘Doctor Greystoke said that you and he are old friends. From your days in India.’
‘That’s right.’
He was glad George had told a partial truth even if he could not divulge his friend’s real name. It made things easier. Anyway, he didn’t want to lie to her.
‘He said you were based in the same barracks at Mandrapore.’
‘Did he also tell you he saved my life?’
The hazel eyes widened. ‘No, he did not.’ She paused. ‘Won’t you tell me how?’
‘My men and I were ambushed by bandits and there was a fierce fight. Many of the force were killed and the rest of us left for dead. Fortunately, another contingent of soldiers happened along and took the survivors to the company barracks at Mandrapore. George Greystoke was the doctor in residence. It was thanks to his efforts that I pulled through. While I was convalescing we played a lot of chess and the friendship developed from there.’
‘He said only that you and he met as a result of his work.’
‘True enough, but also far too modest. Typical of George.’
She smiled. ‘Yes, I believe it is. He is a good and kind man in every way. You must have been glad to see him again after so many years.’
‘It was a welcome surprise, believe me. I had no idea he was here. Last time we spoke of such things his family was living in Richmond.’
‘Miss Greystoke told me that he removed here after their father died.’
‘I remember George left India to take care of the family’s affairs at that time.’
‘He was subsequently offered a position in Helmshaw,’ she explained. ‘When the previous doctor retired.’
‘And you, Miss Davenport?’ he asked. ‘How came you to be in Yorkshire?’
‘I told you, I came to visit Miss Greystoke.’
‘Your parents permitted you to travel alone?’
The pink colour deepened in her face, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.
‘My parents had no say in the matter since they are both dead.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yes, so am I.’
He heard the note of bitterness beneath the words and was surprised since it was at variance with her normally cheerful demeanour.
‘Then whom do you live with now?’
‘With my father’s relations.’
‘And when do you return to them?’
‘I… I have no set plans.’
For a moment there was a heart-thumping silence. She had told as much of the truth as possible and hoped now that he would let the subject drop. Much to her relief he seemed to accept it and merely nodded. Then he handed her the sketchbook.
‘I look forward to seeing the finished picture, Miss Davenport.’
She took it thankfully and retired to her seat by the window to continue the task. For a moment or two he watched and Claire, conscious of that penetrating gaze, had to force herself to ignore it. It was with relief that she heard the rustle of paper as he picked up the news sheets And began to read.
In fact, Marcus barely scanned the page in front of him. His mind was otherwise engaged. Far from accepting her words at face value he found his curiosity roused to a degree she would have found alarming. For all that she tried to pretend that there was nothing unusual in journeying alone to so remote a place as Helmshaw, he was quite undeceived. Ordinarily no respectable young woman would do so. And yet there was nothing in her that he found disreputable. Everything in her manners and appearance spoke of a gentle upbringing. She was no minx; naïve perhaps, but not of doubtful virtue. God knew, he’d had enough experience to judge. And she had spirit, enough anyway to stand up to Jed Stone. Recalling the incident and the perpetrators, Marcus felt only contempt. It was fortunate that he’d been there to intervene. She would have had no chance against such scum as those and he could no more stand by and see a woman assaulted than he could fly. Her self-control had been impressive. Most young women would have been reduced to hysterics by what had happened. Though much shaken, she had not treated him to a fit of the vapours nor even cried, though he could see she had wanted to. It was unexpected and oddly touching, serving to underline her vulnerability. At least he hadn’t come too late that time.
Disturbed by his own train of thought, Marcus laid aside the paper and glanced once more at Claire who, apparently, was engrossed in her drawing. Then he rose and, having excused himself politely, left the room. Claire watched him go, feeling a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. With a conscious effort she forced her attention back to what she was doing.
Marcus stood by the garden wall, looking out at the view. The scenery was beautiful and it was pleasant to feel the sun on his face once more. The enjoyment of the moment was enhanced by the knowledge that but for good fortune and expert doctoring he might never have done so again. His health was improving daily and he would soon be able to dispense with the sling. The inaction of the past few days was beginning to chafe now. Besides, there were several matters requiring his attention. Foremost of these was the need to return to Netherclough and take up the reins of government there.
When he had left it all those years ago he had little thought to see the place again. Who could have foreseen the circumstances that would demand his return? His father would be turning in his grave if he knew that his scapegrace son was now Viscount Destermere. Not without reason either. Thinking of the wild days of his youth and the reckless pranks he had embarked upon, he knew his father had had much to bear. Perhaps if they had been closer… Marcus grimaced inwardly. After their mother’s death, he and Greville were left to a succession of tutors before being packed off to school. They had seen little of their parent. It was Greville that he looked to for advice and guidance, not his father. Their last words together had been spoken in anger and yet, paradoxically, the old man might have been pleased with his son’s performance since. India suited Marcus down to the ground; it provided a disciplined environment but also enough scope for an adventurous spirit. He had loved its diversity, its colour, its vibrant life. Once he had thought to see out his days there. Now fate had decreed otherwise. He had responsibilities and he must fulfil them. It was time to face down the ghosts of the past and go home.
Having come to that decision, he imparted it to his friend when they met a little later. Greystoke heard him in silence and then nodded.
‘If that is what you wish to do then I will support you in any way I can.’
‘Thank you. There is one more thing, George. Before I go, your sister and Miss Davenport must be told of my real identity.’
‘If that is what you want.’
‘I owe them that much.’
‘Ellen will