charm the gentlemen in order to get them to agree to take part in Lady Sally’s watercolour book, and the gentlemen are not exactly resisting very hard!’
She leaned on the stone balustrade to scan the hall below. Saltires was too small to have a ballroom, so Lady Sally had cleared the Great Hall and had had a dais erected for the orchestra at one end, beneath the huge stained glass window. The iron sconces flared with candles and the stone walls were warmed with brightly coloured tapestries. The medieval atmosphere was further enhanced by a self-important little man who strutted through the guests dressed in doublet and hose, his chest thrust out like a ruffled pigeon.
‘That is Lady Sally’s tame artist, Mr Daubenay,’ Deborah commented, following Rachel’s gaze. ‘He is the one who is commissioned to paint her watercolours. Does he not affect the oddest attire? I almost expect him to bring out a lute and start to serenade the ladies!’
The artist had in fact whipped out a sketching pad and was starting to draw one of Lady Sally’s guests. As the crowd in the hall shifted, Rachel saw that it was Helena Lang. She seemed quite flattered by Daubenay’s attentions, for she was preening a little under his attentions, tossing her curls and trilling with laughter. At her side lounged a tall man with very dark auburn hair and the classic good looks of the Kestrels. Rachel caught Deborah’s sleeve.
‘Deborah, you must tell me who Lady Sally’s guests are, for I have not been introduced to them all. The gentleman with Miss Lang, for instance. He must be one of the Duke’s brothers.’
Deborah laughed. ‘That,’ she said, ‘is Lord Lucas Kestrel, the third of the unholy trinity! They say that he is even more unsafe to tangle with than his brothers because he
‘He is the one who is an army man, is he not?’ Rachel asked. She thought that Lucas looked extremely attractive. ‘I had heard that he was recently returned from India.’
Deborah snorted. ‘That poppycock! Lucas Kestrel is no more a soldier than Richard Kestrel can sail a ship. I heard the tale he was spinning you the other day about being invalided out of the Navy. I expect he trapped his hand in his desk drawer or some such injury!’
‘Oh, Deb,’ Rachel said reproachfully. She liked Richard Kestrel and thought her friend unduly harsh. ‘You are unkind!’
‘I know.’ Deb caught Rachel’s arm and turned her very firmly in the other direction. ‘There is the Duke himself, chatting to Lady Sally. You have not met him yet, have you, Rachel? He is only in Midwinter Bere briefly, for I hear business calls him back to London. A pity he cannot take Lord Richard with him!’
Rachel sighed. There was a certain air of careless distinction about the Kestrel brothers, as though just their presence bestowed a dazzle upon the proceedings. And, indeed, it was a very fashionable crowd that Lady Sally had gathered that evening. Without realising what she was doing, Rachel’s gaze instinctively sought out Cory Newlyn in the throng.
When she saw him, formal in his black and white evening clothes, her heart skipped a tiny beat as it had been doing every time she saw him since their kiss in the billiards room. It was pointless, it was annoying, but it was inescapable. Rachel had tried to cure herself of this strange affliction but to no avail. For someone who prided themselves on their common sense, it was particularly galling.
It had sounded quite easy at the time. Now she was not so certain. The following morning she had been possessed by a quite unexpected shyness where Cory was concerned. She had put off going down to the excavation for as long as possible and then conjured up some spurious excuse about asking Lady Odell if she wished for trout or salmon for supper. Naturally Lady Odell had no preference and was surprised to be asked, but at least it gave Rachel the chance to say a subdued good morning to Cory. He had given her a brief, smiling glance and had continued with his work, and after a moment Rachel had turned away and gone back to the house. She had seen Cory each day of the following week and he had seemed to be making a point of spending time with her. Normally Rachel would have enjoyed this, but now she felt a reserve in her manner towards him. She tried to behave as though nothing had happened between them but she knew that it had, and that seemed to make all the difference.
‘There is Lord Newlyn,’ Deborah said, suddenly. ‘My goodness, Rachel, there is something about him…’
Rachel looked-and felt once again the tiny, telltale shiver along her skin.
‘He looks most distinguished,’ she said colourlessly.
‘Well, yes…’ Deborah put her head on one side thoughtfully ‘…in a thoroughly disreputable way!’
Rachel was obliged to laugh. Cory did indeed look supremely elegant tonight, but still rather dishevelled, in a manner that suggested that he had just got out of his own-or someone else’s-bed. His tawny hair was tousled, his neckcloth tied with casual aplomb and Rachel was glad to see that he had at least done Lady Sally the honour of having his evening clothes pressed.
As she watched, Cory strolled over to Lucas Kestrel and Helena Lang, looked over the artist’s shoulder and grinned. He made some comment to Helena that caused her to look at him archly through her lashes and Rachel felt another sharp twinge in her side, as though someone had stuck a pin in her.
‘Are you quite well, Rachel?’ Deborah enquired. ‘Just for a moment, you looked a little sick.’
‘I am very well, thank you,’ Rachel said hastily. ‘I do believe that your sister and her husband have arrived, Deborah.’
‘Oh!’ Deb beamed. ‘Excuse me! I must ask Ross for a dance.’ And she skipped away down the stairs to the hall.
Left alone, Rachel sighed and followed more slowly. Sir Arthur and Lady Odell were being feted at one end of the hall, but Rachel had no wish to stand in her parents’ shadow and hear them talk forever about their greatest excavations. Nor did she wish to hover about Cory Newlyn, listening to him flirt with Helena Lang and feeling like a spare part. Evidently Cory did not have the same difficulty that she did in forgetting. But then, Cory was a rake…
Rachel reached the bottom step and was almost immediately accosted by Lady Sally, the best of hostesses, who would not allow one of her guests to wilt in the shadows untended.
‘Miss Odell, I have been looking for you everywhere. Pray come and meet my guests.’
She took Rachel’s arm and drew her towards the baronial fireplace, where the Duke of Kestrel was standing. Justin Kestrel professed himself extremely pleased to meet her and Rachel had no reason to doubt his sincerity. His manner was entirely devoted to making her feel at ease, whilst also making her feel she was the most delightful creature in the room. Rachel appreciated this whilst recognising exactly what he was doing. They chatted happily for a few moments, but Rachel was amused to note that when the Duke thought that her attention was not upon him, his gaze was drawn back to Lady Sally like a compass to north.
‘Justin, you have monopolised Miss Odell for quite long enough,’ Lady Sally said reproachfully, returning after a minute with another gentleman in tow. ‘I have brought your cousin James to make her acquaintance.’
Justin Kestrel bowed, a faint smile playing about his lips. Rachel had the strong impression that he was amused. ‘Then I concede gracefully, of course, Lady Sally,’ he said smoothly. ‘Miss Odell…James…’
He bowed and strolled away, and Rachel looked at the newcomer with sharpened interest. This was the only remaining Kestrel that she had not met, and he stood out like a sparrow in a family of peacocks. He was neat where his cousins were flamboyant, quiet where they were gregarious. He seemed colourless beside them and Rachel felt her heart warming to him. She felt drawn to someone who did not quite fit into their surroundings.
The orchestra struck up for a country dance and suddenly the room was vivid with excitement. Justin Kestrel came across and solicited a dance from Lady Sally. Deborah Stratton strolled past on the arm of her brother-in-law, Ross Marney, whilst Cory Newlyn was prising Lily Benedict away from Sir John Norton with a skill that argued long practice. Rachel waited.
James Kestrel adjusted his cuffs and admired his reflection in the long mirror on the wall behind them. Finally he said, ‘Would you care to dance, Miss Odell?’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Rachel said.
James offered a decorous arm.
‘This is a very elegant occasion, is it not?’ Rachel said, when they took their places in the set. ‘Lady Sally entertains in great style.’
James looked around. His thin face wore a slightly disapproving expression as though there were an unpleasant smell beneath his nose.
