“No, oh no, and I would not for the world let her know. It’s my cross to bear, and bear it I must, with such fortitude as I can command. Mr Hammond, I wouldn’t want you to suppose that I bear any grudge against Rowena, or Sophia, either. I’m thrilled that they have both been so fortunate as to find husbands who love them well, and I dote on that baby almost as much as her parents do. I can even hold her when asked to do so, but… it does remind me of all that I’ve lost and will never find again.”
“Now that I will not have, Mrs Hastings,” he said in his lightest tone. “You are far too young to turn your face against marriage altogether. Who knows what your future may hold?”
“Not another Henry, that is certain.”
And Jamie could think of no argument against that.
He was not required to, for one of the footmen came in just then in a state of some excitement.
“There’s a Mr Chamberlain arrived, sir.”
“Are we expecting a Mr Chamberlain?”
“No, sir, although he seemed to think we were. He had a letter, sir. From Mr Goodenough!”
Mr Goodenough! Twice before he had invited perfect strangers to Staineybank, for his own secret reasons, and here he was up to his tricks again.
Jamie ran. He was young and fit and his feet fairly flew, but it was no use. By the time he had reached the Marble Hall and hauled open the heavy front door, the carriage that had brought their visitor was already making all speed down the drive.
“Missed him!” he said, in disgust.
3: Staineybank
Lance was rarely discomposed by the eccentricities of a noble household, but the reaction to his arrival was quite out of the ordinary way. Firstly, the servants had had no notice of his coming, so they stood about wringing their hands and sucking their teeth in the most moronic fashion. Then, when he had produced the letter from Goodenough, they had all gone into some sort of collective madness, as agitated as chickens with a fox in the coop, before abruptly scattering in different directions.
“Is this a ducal seat or a lunatic asylum?” Denny said, and Lance could not help but feel he had a point.
And then a young man, not a servant, by his dress, came tearing past them as if the house was on fire, stopping abruptly at the open front door.
“Missed him!” he cried, quite oblivious of Lance and Denny, watching in astonishment.
“Shall we send a groom after him?” said an older servant, presumably the butler.
“It would be fruitless,” the man said, gazing outwards, hands on hips. “He is gone — again.”
“Would it be impertinent to enquire who it might be who is missed?” Lance said in dulcet tones.
Without turning, the man said, in disgusted tones, “Mr Goodenough! Good enough for what, one may ask?”
“Indeed one may, if one wishes,” Lance murmured. “This is a free country, after all. One may equally well ask if everyone in this fine establishment has quite run mad. Is the Brinshire air so injurious to the mind, one wonders. Or perhaps there is some noxious substance in the waters hereabouts.”
The man turned round, amusement written across his features. He was a slight figure, bespectacled, with light hair that was not properly brown but not quite blond, either. “I beg your pardon, sir. You might indeed express concern at our antics, and I would not blame you in the least. You must be Mr—“ He gave an exclamation of disgust. “Now I have quite forgot your name.”
“It is Mr Chamberlain, sir,” the butler said.
“Mr Chamberlain.” He bowed respectfully. “James Hammond at your service, secretary to his grace. I must apologise for this ramshackle reception.”
“It has all been most entertaining, but sadly you could not have intercepted Goodenough, however fast you managed to run. He parted from us in Brinchester, having given instructions to the postilions.”
That brought forth another explosion of disgust.
“Setting this Goodenough person aside for the moment,” Lance said cautiously, “I understand you are not expecting me, is that correct?”
“Yes, but— Ah, here is Miss Charlotte Merrington now.” There was definite relief in his voice as a pleasant-faced young woman appeared. “Miss Merrington, here is another example of Mr Goodenough’s handiwork.”
Lance sighed. Clearly, Goodenough was not to be set aside. One by one, other members of the household emerged from various fastnesses both above and below stairs, all to exclaim over the antics of Mr Goodenough. Lance was tired, he was cold and stiff from long hours in the carriage, and he was both hungry and thirsty, but he was a guest in the duke’s house, so he simply sat on his own trunk in the middle of the hall, and waited for them to remember him.
A quiet voice at his shoulder made him turn, to find himself staring at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was quite small and not above thirty, and although she was expensively dressed in the latest fashion, she had not the air of nobility about her.
