‘Nor I.’ He squeezed her hands warmly, but his lips compressed into a thin, uncompromising line. ‘I had no idea how frail he had become.’
‘He has not been well for some time,’ Mrs Croft conceded, ‘but the heart to fail! None of us expected that.’
‘I should have been here, seen what was happening...’ His eyes seemed to wander to a distant horizon and there was a bleakness in their depths. They were green—or were they grey? Lizzie wondered. They held a curious light, ever changing like the sea, and they spoke of restlessness, of constant motion. ‘I should have realised how vulnerable he was.’
‘You must not blame yourself, Justin—you have been fighting for King and country, and very bravely by all accounts. It is what your father would have wanted. And he has left you problems enough, I don’t doubt. The estate must be in a sorry mess.’
‘You excuse me too easily, but you are right. Chelwood has been badly neglected of late. I cannot make up for my prolonged absence, but I can at least set the estate on a smooth path before I leave.’
‘You are planning to leave Rye?’ Mrs Croft’s voice rose in surprise.
‘I must return to my regiment as soon as I am able.’
‘But I thought—’ her voice tailed off uncertainly ‘—I thought that now you have inherited the title and estate, you would be certain to sell out.’
‘I shall never take that course, Mrs Croft. The army is my life. There can be no other for me.’
Lizzie’s heart did another of those curious little bounces. She knew exactly what he meant, for did she not have the military in her very bones? He was a kindred spirit, she was sure, and she wanted to rush forwards and clasp those strong hands in hers. Taking a deep breath, she walked boldly from her shelter and into their conversation. Mrs Croft seemed surprised to see her, as though she had recently mislaid her companion as well as her umbrella, but was happy enough to perform introductions.
‘Justin, this is my young friend, Miss Elizabeth Ingram. My cousin was kind enough to recommend her. Elizabeth has recently been a pupil teacher at Clementine’s establishment.’
‘Miss Ingram.’
Justin Delacourt bent his head in the smallest of bows and when he looked up, his eyes refused to meet hers. Or so it seemed, for Lizzie was certain that he had deliberately looked through her. She felt angry at him and angry at her foolishness. Why was she always attracted to unsatisfactory men? She should not have allowed herself to be beguiled: he was cold and indifferent and far too like another soldier of her acquaintance. He was also quite possibly short sighted, for she knew herself to be a pretty girl and was unused to such treatment. There could be nothing in her appearance surely to give him disgust. The dove-grey gown had been carefully refurbished in deference to the occasion and a straw villager bonnet hid the dazzle of auburn curls. Did he perhaps not like women? Or was it simply snobbishness—she was a mere companion and therefore not worthy of notice?
‘I found the eulogy you gave most moving.’ She was determined he would take notice of her—he need not know it was his voice rather than his words that had moved her so powerfully.
‘Thank you, Miss Ingram. You are very kind.’ Another dismissive bow and he was turning back to his father’s old friend.
‘Such a splendid congregation, do you not think?’ she prodded. ‘They were most appreciative.’
‘I am glad you feel so. It is difficult to distil into a few words all that one man has meant.’
‘You must have succeeded. I did not know your father during his lifetime, yet I found myself touched by your words.’
She knew herself guilty of flummery but at least she had forced him to look at her. She saw his gaze travel over her figure and linger unwillingly on her face and though he might wish otherwise, he could not prevent his eyes betraying a flicker, a flash of interest. He gave a brief nod in acknowledgement and then abruptly looked away to address Mrs Croft once more.
But whatever he was about to say was lost. A well-dressed, middle-aged couple emerged just then from the shadows of the church and hurried towards them. There was a subdued murmuring of greetings mixed with farewells and in a moment Mrs Croft was leading the way from the churchyard with an unwilling Lizzie in her train. She would have liked the chance to make clear to Sir Justin Delacourt that she was not a woman to be ignored.
* * *
‘How wonderful to see you back in Rye where you belong.’
Caroline Armitage held out impulsive hands to the young friend towering over her, but for a moment received no response. Justin was struggling to regain his composure. He had caught sight of a light-grey skirt half-hidden behind the greenery, but he’d had no idea of its owner. Then without warning she was upon them and he’d glimpsed a pair of the deepest-brown eyes and a profusion of errant curls the colour of fresh chestnuts tucked beneath her bonnet. He had been taken aback at how young and pretty she was, far too young and far too pretty to be anyone’s companion, particularly a semi-invalid like Henrietta Croft. And far too interesting for his peace of mind. Experience had taught him that women were either manipulative or missish, and neither held any attraction, but he had sensed straight away that Miss Ingram was different. She was no simpering miss that was certain—she had a bold and lively spirit, but an honest one, he thought. She was also quite lovely. In truth, he had been unnerved by her and that made him feel ridiculous.
‘Justin? How are you, my dear?’
He gave himself a mental shake and embraced Mrs Armitage with affection, extending a warm handshake to her husband.
‘My very humble apologies for not having visited you both. It is what I most wanted to do but there has been so much to arrange at Chelwood and I have been home but a week.’
‘We understand that well enough,’ Caroline soothed. ‘It has been the saddest homecoming for you.’
‘Sad indeed, but I have the best of neighbours. I mean to pay Five Oaks a visit next week—once the formalities are over—and will hope to find you both at home.’
‘You know that whenever you come, you will be very welcome,’ James Armitage said heartily. His eyes slid uneasily towards his wife and a warning hand was placed on her arm.
Justin saw it and wondered. The Armitages were lifelong friends and their son, Gil, his closest companion for as many years as he could remember. But a note of discomfort had crept into the conversation and that was odd. Perhaps they, too, thought he should have been at Chelwood caring for his father rather than fighting battles in Spain. In an effort to cover the awkward moment, he said, ‘I collect that Gil is away on some adventure right now. As soon as he is back, he must ride over to Chelwood and tell me all. We will have much catching up to do—it must be over three years since I was last home.’
To his horror, tears began to fill Caroline’s eyes and two large drops trickled down each of her cheeks.
‘Mrs Armitage, what have I said?’ Justin was genuinely alarmed. In all the years he had known her, he had never seen her cry.
‘I’m sorry, it is not your fault,’ she managed at last. Then the tears became too much and she retreated into the folds of a cambric handkerchief. Her husband signalled urgently to their waiting groom to escort her back to the carriage.
‘I must apologise for my wife’s tears.’
There was an uneasy pause until Justin asked, ‘Can you tell me what ails Mrs Armitage?’ He felt upset as well as mystified. Caroline had been more of a mother to him than his own and he loved both the Armitages.
‘It was your mention of Gilbert, you see,’ James said haltingly. ‘The boy is missing.’
‘Missing?’ Justin’s face was blank. ‘But how, when?’