‘I can assure you reading about it is significantly more pleasant than fighting it.’
She couldn’t think of an answer to that and, as he was back to cutting his food with more aggression than the task warranted, it was patently obvious he did not want one. Effie had no idea where to look so stared mournfully at her plate, too, the awkward atmosphere as dense as city smog on a frigid winter’s morning.
‘Have you always lived at Hill House, Miss Nithercott?’
Effie grabbed his sister’s rescuing olive branch with both hands and for the rest of the meal the pair of them chatted over-brightly about everything and nothing while he did not attempt to say another word.
‘Thank you so much for having me.’
After another entirely mute half-hour in the drawing room, Lord Rivenhall accompanied his sister and Effie into the hallway to bid her farewell. She had never been so delighted to be leaving a place in her entire life and felt dreadfully sorry for Mrs Baxter who kept staring at her in abject apology. That they had managed half an hour in the drawing room was a miracle when he had continually glanced at the loudly ticking clock on the mantel every five minutes, making it as plain as day he was sat there on sufferance.
Effie never dared produce any of the interesting stash of coins, brooches and rings from her satchel which she had brought on Mrs Baxter’s express instruction and instead gulped down two large glasses of sherry in quick succession while she counted the seconds before she deemed it polite to leave.
She regretted that now.
Those two glasses on top of the dinner wine she had also consumed much too much of during the many awkward silences were making her head spin.
Smithson opened the door and she was almost out of it when Lord Rivenhall spoke for the first time since the main course.
‘Where is your carriage?’
‘I do not have one. I came on foot, my lord.’
‘But it is dark.’
‘I know the way home like the back of my hand. I have walked it often enough.’
‘But it isdark, Miss Nithercott.’ Nowhere near as dark as his eyes and his expression. ‘We have spoken about the dark. It is not safe for a woman all alone.’
‘Perhaps in London, my lord—but here in Cambridgeshire the only thing I am likely to encounter on my way home is the odd fox or badger.’
He shook his head and growled. ‘Smithson—have the stable ready two horses and bring them around immediately.’ Good grief, surely he did not mean to come with her?
‘Really, my lord, there is no need to trouble yourself or your poor stable master. In the time it takes to saddle the horses I will already be home. Hill House is just across the pasture.’ She pointed to the moonlit navy horizon while glancing pleadingly at Mrs Baxter, hoping she would aid in talking him out of it. ‘I do not want to be a nuisance.’
‘Miss Nithercott, I am afraid I agree whole-heartedly with my brother. What sort of neighbours would we be to leave you exposed to danger? It is best if Max accompanies you home. I should sleep easier knowing you are safe.’
‘I could send a message back the second I arrive if it would put your mind at rest.’ Although with the housekeeper and maid long gone home she would have to return to deliver it herself. ‘Honestly, this is unnecessary fuss when the walk takes less than fifteen minutes.’ She seriously considered making a bolt for it, but worried he might chase her. ‘And I am not a great fan of riding. Hence my choice to come on foot tonight.’
‘Then I shall walk with you, Miss No-common-sense-whatsoever.’ A prospect somehow more unnerving than riding alongside him. ‘Because alongside the badgers and the foxes are footpads. A man was robbed only last week on the turnpike not five miles from here. Something you would know if you read the newspapers alongside your scholarly books.’ A curt reminder, she supposed, that he disapproved of her extensive education, too. Typical, really. A woman with original thought! Whatever next!
‘For my own peace of mind as well as my sister’s I shall accompany you.’ And with that he strode past her out on to the porch, clearly in no mood to take no for an answer and clearly put out at having to do it.
At a loss as to what else she could do without appearing horrendously rude and supremely ungrateful in front of his charming sister, Effie was forced to surrender and ignore the alcohol in her system which was encouraging her to tell him the truth and to hell with the consequences—that he was the absolute last person she wanted to spend another moment with after tonight’s performance. He was as changeable as the wind and infuriatingly obnoxious.
‘Thank you.’
He nodded and they began to walk down the steps. By tacit agreement, they did this with a good six feet of the cool summer air between them. The awkward silence deafening; the atmosphere so thick you could cut it with a knife.
The front door clicked closed behind them and still he said nothing, apparently content to make her feel uncomfortable for the duration. They were halfway across the lawn when something inside her caused her tenuous grasp on her temper to snap. Probably, she was prepared to concede, fuelled almost entirely by the sherry.
‘If it is your mission to make me feel wretched whenever I am in your presence, then you havethoroughlysucceeded, Lord Rivenhall!’
He seemed shocked at the suggestion. ‘It was not my intention.’
‘Of course it was. You glare, seethe and grunt at and disapprove of everything, making no secret of the fact you find my company a tremendous chore. Thanks to you I had a dreadful evening—so well done!’ He didn’t need to like her. Effie was quite used to people not liking her—but would it kill him to be polite? She had been an invited guest after all. ‘So did your poor sister, who most certainly did not deserve it! Your appalling behaviour made it awful for the both of us.’
Incensed and humiliated, Effie suddenly stopped dead. ‘For the record, I was toldyouextended the invitation. Had I realised it was nothing to do with you, I would never have dared encroach on your precious privacy. Rest assured, I shan’t encroach upon it again. You can rot in that house all alone for all I care, because you do not deserve visitors! You are a horrible man, Lord Rivenhall! A rude, obnoxious, churlish...’ There really weren’t enough insulting adjectives to fling at him. ‘Boorish, selfish...’
