Sir Rowland did not say who ‘he’ was, but Mary stared at the tiny portrait and then gave a strange squeak.
‘It is Valentyne! It is, surely it is. Oh, Sir Rowland, where …? How …?’ Her eyes pricked with sudden tears, and she held the portrait to her bosom for a moment.
‘Serendipity, I have to admit. I went to an auction in New Bond Street, where I picked up the van der Neer, and there was a small collection of miniatures. They all came from a collector near Cirencester. I cannot believe that Hilliard would have painted another young man that year, of that age, with that hair and in those clothes. From the description in Sir Robert’s letter, I am347certain this is Valentyne. Seeing a resemblance might be going a bit far but …’
‘It is him. I see it, and feel it. This is so wonderful, having him back in the house. Valentyne, returned at last.’
‘I was hoping,’ his hand took her free one, ‘that he might be mine too, by marriage. Will you do me the great honour, Miss Lound, of—’
There was a sudden interruption, a heavy knocking upon the door and insistent tugging of the bell. It was the worst possible time for it to happen, but it disrupted Sir Rowland’s flow and all eyes went to the door. ‘Answer it, man,’ admonished Sir Rowland, looking to the fire-watching footman. The footman bowed and went to the door, opening it to admit a heavily caped figure in a low-crowned beaver hat.
‘What sort of welcome is it when a man returns for Christmas and finds his nearest and dearest have gone to … Good God!’ The man stared at Sir Rowland.
‘Edmund, my dear son!’ cried Lady Damerham, spilling wine from her glass as she leapt to her feet and rushing to throw herself upon his chest.
‘Oh no,’ moaned Mary, ‘not him.’
‘So you are Damerham. How extraordinary,’ said Sir Rowland, calmly.
‘You have met?’ Mary looked from her brother to Sir Rowland.
‘In Oxford. In a gaming den. You told me your brother had gone abroad. He does not appear to have348got very far upon that journey. Perhaps he decided it was more profitable fleecing minors at cards.’ Sir Rowland’s voice was very level.
‘He …’ She closed her eyes, and then turned slowly to stare at her brother. ‘Was it indolence, or was it shame?’ she asked, scathingly.
‘It is none of your concern,’ responded Lord Damerham, crisply.
‘But Edmund, you were so set upon going away from England.’ His mother looked a little confused, however pleased she was to see him.
‘I only got as far as Ireland. I was vilely sick, if you must know, and disembarked in Cork when the ship stopped there to pick up more passengers.’
‘So it seems you did inherit at least one thing from your Lound ancestors,’ noted Mary, unimpressed.
‘I do not like your attitude, miss.’
‘And I do not like to have a card sharp as a brother,’ she came back at him.
‘There is nothing wrong with gambling for money. It is perfectly gentlemanly,’ he said, a little defensively.
‘Well, you used to lose, consistently, so either you improved very suddenly, or you prey upon those even less skilled than yourself, and if it is youths fresh from school then shame upon you. There is no honour in that.’
‘Stop talking to me as if you were my father.’
‘Well, even he would have drawn the line at fuzzing the cards.’ She had lost her temper. At the very moment when her life was about to change, when a new dawn349beckoned, here was the past, disreputable, and making her feel besmirched by association.
With no answer to this, Lord Damerham changed tack.
‘What I want to know is why you and Mama are here, of all places.’
‘Because they were invited.’ Sir Rowland did not sound best pleased either. He was aware that his carefully planned proposal had been ruined. He did not doubt that whenever he did ask her, Mary Lound would say yes, but this had been a perfect setting in time and occasion, and it was lost.
‘I am head of the family, and I demand that you both come home.’
‘Until you sold it over our heads this was our home,’ Mary reminded him.
‘I mean the dower house. I do not want you … consorting with these men, men who offer nothing but insult, and do so from what ought to be ours, were it not for mischance.’
‘I can see you are doomed to disappointm—’ began Sir Rowland but stopped suddenly as Lady Damerham burst into tears.
