to indicate that they had called in person. ‘Your visit to the village shop has obviously caused some interest.’
‘A right gossipy body she is behind the counter, so she’ll have told everyone who came in. I was careful to say who you were so they’d know we were respectable and there’d be no problem with credit. Who you are pretending to be,’ Mab corrected herself with a sniff.
‘Mrs Gordon, The Honourable Mrs Philpott and Mrs Trimmett. She is the rector’s wife, I assume, as the address is the rectory. I will call on them tomorrow, they all have At Homes on Tuesdays according to their cards.’
‘What, and risk them finding something out?’
‘Why should they suspect I am not who I say? I am not pretending to be someone whose status might excite their curiosity and it will look strange if I do not.’ Laura fanned out the cards in her hand and realised she had reached a decision. ‘I will stay for a week and I will find out all I can about Lord Wykeham. These ladies and their friends will be agog about his arrival and full of information.’
‘You always say you despise gossip,’ Mab muttered.
‘And so I do, but I will use it if I have to. I’d wager a fair number of guineas that all these ladies know just about everything there is to know about what goes on at the Manor. All I have to do is give them the opportunity to tell me.’
* * *
One of the disadvantages of her disguise was not having a footman in attendance, or a carriage to arrive in, Laura reflected as she rapped the knocker on the rectory door the following afternoon.
‘Madam?’ The footman who opened the door to her was certainly not a top-lofty London butler, which was a relief. She could hardly assume the airs of an earl’s daughter if he snubbed her.
Laura handed him her card. ‘Is Mrs Trimmett at home?’
He scarcely glanced at the name. It was certainly more casual in the country. ‘Certainly, Mrs Jordan. Please enter, ma’am.’ He relieved her of her parasol and flung open a door. ‘Mrs Jordan, ma’am.’
There were two ladies seated either side of a tea tray. One, grey-haired and plump, surged to her feet. ‘Mrs Jordan! Good day, ma’am. How good of you to call, please, allow me to introduce Mrs Gordon.’ She had all the rather forceful assurance of a lady who knew her position in the community was established and who spent her life organising committees, social gatherings, charity events and the lives of anyone who allowed her to.
Laura and Mrs Gordon—a faded blonde of indeterminate years—exchanged bows and Laura sat down. Two birds with one stone, she thought with an inward smile. ‘I am so sorry I was out yesterday when you were both kind enough to leave your cards. As a stranger to the village it is most welcome to make new acquaintances.’
Over cups of tea Laura endured a polite inquisition and obligingly shared details of her fictitious bereavement, her depressed state of health and her need to have a change of air and scene before facing the world again. The two ladies tutted with sympathy, assured her earnestly that Westerwood Magna was a delightful, healthful spot where she would soon recover both health and spirits, and delicately probed her background and family.
Laura shared some of her invented history and nibbled a somewhat dry biscuit.
‘You will find everyone most amiable and welcoming here,’ Mrs Gordon said. She was, Mab had reported, the wife of a city lawyer who had retired to a small country estate and spent his time fishing and breeding gun dogs.
‘I do hope so,’ Laura murmured, seizing her opportunity. ‘I fear I may have inadvertently inconvenienced the lord of the manor yesterday.’
‘Lord Wykeham?’ Both ladies were instantly on the alert.
‘Yes, I became lost crossing his park and strayed off the footpath. The earl came across me and I was startled and turned my ankle. In the event he was kind enough to offer me refreshment and send me home in a carriage.’ It was impossible to keep that sort of thing secret in a small village and she saw from the avid look in their eyes that they had already heard that she had been seen in a vehicle from the Manor.
‘Well! How embarrassing for you,’ Mrs Trimmett remarked with ill-concealed relish as she leaned forward in an encouraging manner.
‘It was a trifle awkward, but he acquitted me of trespass. Oh, you mean the refreshments? Just a cup of tea on the lawn with one of the female staff in attendance. I would not have gone inside, naturally.’
‘Naturally,’ they chorused, obviously dying to do just that themselves.
‘Do tell us,’ Mrs Gordon urged, ‘what is the earl like? My husband has left his card, of course, and they have met, but he has not yet called.’
‘He was perfectly punctilious and civil, but I found him arrogant, you know. Perhaps it is just those devilish flyaway eyebrows—’
The two ladies opposite her went very still, their eager expressions frozen into identical stilted smiles. Too late Laura felt the draught from the opening door on the nape of her neck.
‘The Earl of Wykeham,’ the footman announced.
Chapter Four
It seemed impossible the earl had not heard, which left two alternatives, once Laura had stifled the immediate instinct to flee the room. She could apologise and probably dig herself even deeper into the hole or pretend the words had never been uttered.
‘My...my lord.’ Even Mrs Trimmett’s self-assurance seemed shaken. ‘How good of you to call. May I make Mrs Gordon known to you?’ The matron managed to utter a conventional greeting. ‘And Mrs Jordan I believe you know,’ she added as the earl moved into the room.
‘Mrs Gordon. And, Mrs Jordan, we meet again. Are you quite recovered from your fall yesterday?’ His voice was silk-smooth, so bland that Laura was suddenly doubtful whether he had heard her faux pas after all. Willing away what she was certain must be hectic colour in her cheeks, she sipped the cooling tea. Thank Heavens he has been seated to one side of me!
‘I have no pain at all now, thank you, Lord Wykeham.’ Laura shot a glance at the clock, mercifully in the opposite direction to the earl. She had been there twenty minutes which meant, by the rules governing morning calls, Mrs Gordon should be departing soon, her own half-hour having passed. ‘I was just telling the ladies that I trespassed in your delightful park yesterday.’ She smiled and shook her head at Mrs Trimmett’s gesture towards the tea pot. She would finish this cup and then could most properly make her escape. Mrs Gordon was obviously determined to hang on now this intriguing visitor had arrived, never mind the etiquette of the situation.
‘No trespass at all and my daughter, Alice, was delighted to meet you.’
Both the older women stiffened and the polite smiles became thin-lipped. He has done that on purpose, Laura thought. It wasn’t thoughtless—he wants to see how they react. Then the realisation hit her. That is my daughter they are pokering up with disapproval over.
‘Miss Alice is a delightful child,’ she said. ‘Such charming manners and so pretty and bright. A credit to you, my lord. I do hope she soon makes some little friends in the area. Do you have grandchildren, Mrs Trimmett?’
The vicar’s wife looked as though she had been poked with a pin. ‘Er...no, they are all in Dorset. Such a pity.’
‘Mine will be coming to stay next week,’ Mrs Gordon said. ‘My two dear granddaughters, aged six and eight. Perhaps Miss Alice would like to come to tea?’ Her expression was such a mixture of smugness and alarm that Laura almost laughed. She could read the older woman’s mind—an earl’s daughter...but illegitimate. The chance of an entrée to the Big House...but the risk that her neighbours might disapprove.
Laura told herself that she had defended Alice and perhaps made some amends for her tactless remark about Lord Wykeham, which, whatever she thought about him, had been inexcusable.
‘I