Rags-to-Riches Bride. Mary Nichols

      ‘You do not have to. It is our job.’

      It was more than just a job, Diana thought as she made her way out of the hospital, it took courage and dedication, both of which would be required of her in the next few days and weeks. Or perhaps it would be months and years. How was she ever going to manage?

      ‘Miss Bywater!’

      She looked up and was surprised to see Richard Harecroft striding towards her. And suddenly she felt more cheerful, simply because he was there. ‘How is he?’ he asked.

      ‘Comfortable. He is being well looked after and I have been sent away to rest.’

      ‘Quite right, too. I have brought the gig to take you home. Stephen would have come, but he has gone to work, so I have come in his stead.’ He took her elbow to usher her towards the patient pony. ‘I know, you are going to say you can easily walk…’

      ‘No.’ She managed a smile. ‘I am glad you came, I wanted to thank you for what you did for my father last night. And for me.’

      ‘I did nothing.’ His tone was brusque, dismissing her gratitude.

      ‘All the same I am grateful, and I am sure Papa will be too, when he understands what happened.’

      He helped her into the gig, climbed in beside her and set the pony off at a trot. She was silent, too tired to make conversation, until they came out of the end of the street and turned towards the river. ‘Mr Harecroft,’ she said, sitting forward in dismay, ‘this is not the way. You have taken a wrong turn.’

      ‘I do not think so. Great-Grandmama instructed me to take you home and that is what I am doing, taking you to Harecroft House.’

      ‘Your home! Oh, no. I cannot go.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘I am unkempt, my father is in hospital and I must be on hand to visit him; besides, you could not have told her ladyship the whole sorry story.’

      He knew what she meant. ‘No, that is between you and me and no one else’s business unless you choose to tell them.’

      ‘Oh.’ She paused to reflect; she could not keep her job and look after her father at the same time, and yet she needed to earn if they were to live. It was a problem that would have to be faced, but at the moment she was too exhausted to think about it. ‘Would that not be dishonest?’

      ‘I do not see why. Your father is ill and he is not going to be in a position to go wandering off on his own for a little while, is he? Why stir up more problems for yourself?’ He turned to look at her. She was very pale; there were dark circles under her troubled blue-grey eyes and her hands were shaking in her lap. He put one hand over hers. ‘Our secret, eh?’ Even as he spoke, he wondered what he would say to the dowager if she asked him what he had discovered? What had Great-Grandmother seen in her that had made her so anxious to probe? The whole business was on the way to distracting him from his main purpose, being elected to Parliament and having his book published. He thought becoming an MP ought to come first, but he had heard nothing from Peel or Chadwick.

      ‘Thank you.’ She looked down at his strong brown hand covering hers and it felt so comforting and so right, she did not withdraw it as she ought to have done, but a minute later he was obliged to put both hands on the reins to steer the pony to a stop in order to pay the toll over Waterloo Bridge and the moment of intimacy was gone. ‘But I still do not think you should take me to Harecroft House. I am an employee, it is not fitting…’

      ‘That makes no difference as far as the old lady is concerned. When she says do something, we all jump to obey.’ His voice softened. ‘Do not be alarmed. She will not eat you. You will be given a room where you can rest and refresh yourself and later someone will take you to visit your papa. It is better than going back to those dismal rooms and the uncouth Mrs Beales, is it not? You could never rest in the daytime there.’

      ‘Yes, but…’

      ‘I suggest you accept, it will be easier in the long run.’

      ‘Thank you.’ She leaned back and shut her eyes and let him carry her forward, though she could not help feeling she was being manipulated, losing control. Accustomed to directing her own life, of looking after her mother before she died and her father since then, she was not sure she liked it. But she was too tired to argue, much too tired…