“You would probably find walking more comfortable in suitable clothing,” the Captain continued, from close behind her. “That evening dress, whilst most appealing, is not very practical. Though with the boots,” he sounded as though he was giving the matter real consideration, “it is particularly fetching—”
Caroline set her lips in a tight line and still said nothing. She could not believe how unfortunately everything was falling out. Here was Captain Brabant, authoritative, assured and utterly unlike Julia had described him. Why could he not have been the gentle dreamer of Julia’s memory, or at the least a bluff old sea-dog with hair prematurely grey and an everlasting fund of boring tales? She watched him covertly as he retrieved his horse from the forest edge, where it had been happily munching its way through a brambly hedge. She was forced to acknowledge that there was something powerfully attractive about Captain Brabant’s loose-limbed grace, something deceptive about that air of abstraction. A thinker as well as a man of action. In Caroline’s experience that made him all the more dangerous.
It was the worst possible luck that they were obliged to be under the same roof, but she comforted herself with the thought that she need not see him much. Now that he knew she was not a guest but a servant his interest must surely wane, and any further unsuitable interest would have to be discouraged. It was a pity that he did not have enough proper feeling himself to understand the indelicacy of their circumstances. She was sure that she could hear him whistling under his breath, a sure sign that he did not take the situation seriously.
“Your basket, Miss Whiston.”
Caroline jumped. Captain Brabant gave her a slight bow and presented her with the woven reed basket, a few solitary mushrooms rolling around in its base. She had dropped it when she ran away, and she could see the rest of her crop scattered about on the path and in the undergrowth. He followed her gaze.
“We could pick them all up, I suppose,” he mused, “although in a ballgown it would be quite difficult—”
“Pray do not put yourself to any trouble, Captain!” Caroline said hastily, feeling cross and foolish in equal measure. Would the man never cease to remind her of her idiocy in wandering about in the scarlet dress? Now she was well served for her vanity! The dress would be banished to the back of the wardrobe and never see the light of day again!
She reluctantly allowed Captain Brabant to fall into step beside her as they made their way along the path towards Steep Abbot. Caroline tried to preserve a chilly silence, but found that that seemed to make her even more aware of the Captain’s presence at her side. Eventually she was forced into speech by her own self-consciousness.
“Did you have a good journey home, Captain?” she asked politely, picking on the most innocuous topic she could think of. Lewis Brabant smiled at her. It was decidedly unsettling.
“Yes, I thank you. I spent a few nights in London on my way up from Portsmouth. It was strange to be back.”
“Cold as well, I shouldn’t wonder,” Caroline said encouragingly, glad to see that he was capable of holding a proper conversation. “After the Mediterranean, autumn in England must seem very cold.”
There was now a decided twinkle in the Captain’s eye. “Oh, decidedly, ma’am! Cold and wet.”
“It has not rained here for several weeks, although the summer was very wet,” Caroline observed, ignoring the fact that he was now grinning. She knew he was funning her but she was determined to disregard it. She knew how to behave even if he did not.
“I had also forgotten,” the Captain said conversationally, “how the English are obsessed with the weather! Or perhaps,” he turned slightly to look at her face, “it is a defence against too personal a conversation? One thing I have not forgotten is society’s ability to discuss trivia for hours!”
Caroline knew what he meant and she agreed with him. She had spent many a long hour in various drawing-rooms, listening to ladies chatter inconsequentially about something and nothing, gossiping on fortune, connections and scandal. It was galling to think that she was sounding just as hen-witted as they. Yet how to avoid it? She already suspected that Captain Brabant was a man who had little time for prevarication and she felt she had to keep him at arm’s length.
She put up the hood of her cloak. The morning was chilly, though the sun was now breaking through the branches. She knew she looked most disheveled, with her hair in disarray, and she was anxious not to arrive at the Manor looking as though she had been dragged through a hedge—or thoroughly kissed.
“Ah,” she heard the smile in Captain Brabant’s voice, “there are other defences, are there not, Miss Whiston? Hiding away inside your cloak must be one of them! So I suppose that it is out of the question to ask you to tell me a little about yourself? After all, we shall be sharing a roof…”
Caroline did not like the sound of that. The implied intimacy made her blush and she was glad of the concealment of the hood. They had reached the edge of the wood now, and Lewis held the gate for her before leading the horse through. The path crossed the Steep River and approached the village. The river ran in lazy bends here, bounded by trees that in the summer bent down towards the slow, brown waters. This morning, with the sun gilding the frosty branches and glittering on the water, it looked very pretty.
“There is little to tell,” Caroline said, coolly. “I am a very dull subject. I have been a governess for eleven years, since I left the Guarding Academy, and I am now Mrs Chessford’s companion. A paid companion,” she added, to make her meaning crystal clear. For a long moment, blue eyes met blue, then Lewis Brabant nodded slightly.
“No one is ever as dull as they pretend, Miss Whiston! A lady’s companion who walks in the forest wearing a ballgown and reading Shakespeare seems extraordinary rather than ordinary to me!”
Caroline could feel her colour rising again. “Nevertheless…I wish you will not pursue it, sir!”
“As you wish…” Caroline could feel him watching her. “I did not realise that you were a school-friend of Julia’s,” he added thoughtfully. “I do not remember…”
“That is hardly surprising,” Caroline said sharply. In her experience, the relatives of her old schoolfriends, particularly the male ones, had no recollection of her at all. How could they, when she paled into invisibility beside Julia’s golden beauty?
Captain Brabant raised his hand in a gesture of surrender. “Very well, Miss Whiston, we will change the subject, since you evidently think it unsuitable! You are the paid companion here—scarce better than a servant!” His tone had taken on a sarcastic edge. “Far be it from me to overstep the social distinctions that clearly form the boundaries of your life!”
They had passed the Guarding Academy now and had turned down the cobbled lane that led to the Manor, walking at least four feet apart. Caroline clenched her fists in her pockets. She told herself that she had wanted Captain Brabant to observe the proprieties and it was therefore contrary to feel ill-used when he did precisely that.
They approached the gate of the Manor in silence and Caroline’s heart sank to see the Captain’s frown deepen as his gaze fell on his inheritance. The five-bar gate was rotten and a couple of the spars had broken off. The wall had long ago tumbled into the road and the drive beyond was overgrown with weeds and grasses. It was almost impossible to distinguish the formal gardens from the orchards, for all was a wilderness.
“Much has changed, has it not?” Lewis Brabant said under his breath, and Caroline felt his gaze linger on her as though she were part of a new, unwelcome order. It was not a pleasant feeling.
The clock on the stables read ten thirty, and somewhere in the house Caroline heard the echo of chimes. She winced. Julia might well be awake by now and wanting help with her toilette. She turned to Lewis Brabant, whose face was set in tense lines as he surveyed his home.
“I will go and tell them that you are here, sir. Excuse me—”
She pushed at the wicket gate leading into the gardens, slipping on the damp