Chapter Ten

‘I am heartily sick of this interminable rain.'

Samuel looked up from his newspaper, suppressing his irritation at Charles's complaints, which were as endless as the biblical torrents falling outside. In the days since the Gordons' arrival the weather had indeed taken a turn for the worse, a fact which Charles seemed to have taken as a personal insult. Samuel had lost count of the number of times Charles had wandered over to the window, only to sigh heavily at the sight which greeted him. He knew from past experience that his friend was like a caged bear when confined to the house; a particularly wet few weeks spent in a villa by Lake Geneva had taught him that. Charles was a man who needed to feel the sun on his face and sense the world at his feet. It was a wonder, Samuel reflected now, that he'd ever returned to the damp confines of north-west England at all.

‘There is nothing to be done about the weather, Charles,' Samuel said, chuckling. ‘You'd be best to find yourself an occupation—the rest of us have. The ladies both look very content to sit with their books.'

He noticed Hope raise a brief smile at his remark, before returning her attention to the page in front of her once more. They'd retired to the library a little over an hour ago, after Miss Gordon had declared rather brusquely that she had nothing to divert her and Samuel had felt obliged to offer the opportunity to find some reading material. Hope had almost immediately taken the seat nearest to the fire, which burned brightly in the grate and kept the autumnal chill at bay.

His heart had warmed to observe that she'd brought one of Mr Hume's volumes with her and although there was plenty within his newspaper to occupy him he'd found his gaze wandering towards her more than once. He'd watched with some amusement as her upright, ladylike posture had dissolved into something more relaxed, sitting back, her chin resting on her hand, the book balancing on the arm of the chair. Once or twice he'd even seen her move to tuck her feet up beneath her, before remembering either the constraints imposed by her healing ankle or the requirement for decorum—he wasn't sure which. Whatever the reason, he found watching her forget then remember herself rather endearing. The distraction of a good book, it seemed, could make Hope Swynford almost drop her guard. In the end, he forced himself to avert his gaze. His eyes, and his thoughts, lingered upon her far more than they should.

‘What do you do for enjoyment in this wet little corner of Cumberland, then?' Charles continued, still complaining. ‘Are there no assembly rooms, no theatres?'

Samuel noticed Hope's eyes flick up briefly at Charles's question. ‘We have both in Lowhaven,' he answered.

‘And where the devil is Lowhaven?' Charles asked.

‘A few miles away, on the coast,' Samuel replied. ‘It is a busy port town, and has everything we need.'

‘Then let us take the carriage there,' Charles suggested. ‘We can enjoy a drive around the town. It will pass the time and we may discover what is on at the assembly rooms or the theatre.'

Hope's eyes flicked up again, for longer this time. Samuel met her gaze, saw what looked like panic rising within it.

‘You forget that Miss Swynford cannot leave Hayton Hall,' Samuel reminded his friend. ‘She is still convalescing and, besides, we cannot run the risk of encountering her uncle.'

‘Oh, of course. Well...perhaps Miss Swynford could remain within the carriage?' Charles asked. ‘Surely the chances of her being spied through a carriage window are vanishingly small and, anyway, I dare say this uncle has given up searching for her by now. It's been, what, more than a week since she fled from his clutches?'

‘Nearly two weeks,' Samuel replied. ‘Nonetheless, Charles, we cannot be certain, and I will not take any risks when it comes to Miss Swynford's safety. Take the carriage into Lowhaven if you wish but, regrettably, we cannot join you.'

‘Neither of you have bothered to ask Miss Swynford what she wishes.'

Miss Gordon's interjection startled both men. Samuel turned to regard her, observing that she had made her remark without so much as troubling herself to tear her eyes from the pages of her book. She'd selected Walpole's The Castle of Otranto from the library's shelves, and clearly the dark and supernatural novel held her interest. How unsurprising, Samuel thought wryly.

‘Miss Gordon is right,' Samuel said, returning his mind to the matter at hand. ‘Forgive me, Miss Swynford,' he continued, addressing Hope now. ‘I dare say you've had quite enough of gentlemen making decisions for you of late—decisions which they've absolutely no right to make. What do you want to do?'

Given the earlier look of panic he believed he'd glimpsed, he expected Hope to decline outright. Instead, however, she appeared to be giving the outing some consideration, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully as she apparently weighed up her options.

‘You have not asked Miss Gordon what she'd like to do either,' Hope replied after a moment, glancing at the other woman.

‘Oh, I care not,' Miss Gordon replied airily. ‘I find that it is best to remain indifferent, Miss Swynford, when your desires will not be taken into account in any case.'

Samuel saw Charles flinch at his sister's cutting remark. ‘Then it is up to you, Miss Swynford,' he said, smoothing over whatever was amiss between the Gordon siblings. Frankly, he could not care less about that right now. ‘If you would prefer to remain here, then I will stay with you.'

He watched as she looked towards the window, the rain still running like tears down its old panes. She bit that lovely pink lip once again, and he found himself wondering what she was thinking, if she was as taken with the idea of remaining at Hayton as he suddenly was. If it had occurred to her, as it now had to him, that they could sit together in the parlour and enjoy tea and cake, just as they had before the Gordons had arrived. That they could talk—really talk. That she might bring herself to confide in him, that she might answer some of the questions which had been whirling around his mind about her family, about where her home was and why she would not, or could not, return to it. About exactly what had happened to her to leave her at the mercy of such a wicked relative, and why it appeared she had no one except an unnamed friend in London to turn to.

Not that he had any right to expect such confidences, he reminded himself. Not when he was still deceiving her about who he really was.

At length, when Hope delivered her answer it came as quite a surprise. ‘I will come,' she said plainly. ‘But I will remain out of sight within the carriage, as Mr Gordon suggests.'

Charles clapped his hands with delight as Samuel mustered an obliging nod in Hope's direction. She met his eye but her expression gave nothing away. Nothing about what had informed her choice to venture out when she'd thus far been so cautious. Nothing about whether cake and conversation with him had even occurred to her and, if it had, why she had rejected it in favour of a rainy carriage ride with the restless Charles and his prickly sister.

‘As you wish, Miss Swynford,' Samuel replied, forcing a smile.

Hope shrank back into her seat, her heart beating hard in her chest as the carriage rattled along Lowhaven's bustling streets. She kept her head bowed, allowing the wide-brimmed bonnet she wore to keep her fully in shadow. She'd barely dared to look out of the window, convinced that the moment she did she'd be immediately recognised by some keen-eyed, wicked associate of her father and dragged back to Lillybeck. That had happened to her once before, after all.

She suppressed a shudder at the memory of being hauled away from the back door of the theatre, a coarse hand clapped over her mouth, stifling her screams. Of how powerless she'd felt as they'd dragged her along a lonely alleyway before binding her hands and feet and bundling her into a cart.

These past weeks at Hayton, she'd found sanctuary, and not only from the very real dangers she faced. She'd found sanctuary from her thoughts too, and from her memories. By inhabiting the role of Hope Swynford, she'd put some distance between herself and Hope Sloane's troubles. Now, in the midst of this busy port town, it all returned to her, running unabated through her mind. The confusion. The fear. The desperation.

In her lap, she squeezed her gloved hands together. Why had she come here? Why had she not simply said she'd prefer to remain at Hayton Hall?

Because Samuel would have remained with her, that was why. They would have been left alone, and that was something Hope feared she could no longer countenance. Ever since that tender moment they'd shared in the garden, Hope had come to believe that she could no longer trust herself around him. The way she'd reacted when he'd touched her hand and spoken to her so earnestly...the temptation she'd felt to surrender to the truth, to admit everything—it would not do.

It was bad enough that she was clearly in awe of his good looks, his fine house and his gentlemanly manners. It was bad enough that she'd allowed her thoughts to linger too often on how it'd felt to be in his arms as he carried her down the stairs or broke her fall in the pantry. It was bad enough that she'd entertained ludicrous ideas about him kissing her. Now, was she seriously contemplating placing her trust in him and telling him the truth? What good did she think could possibly come of that?

No good—that was what.

Sir Samuel Liddell was hardly likely to greet the news that she'd lied to him, that she was no heiress or gentlewoman but an actress and the offspring of an outlaw, with anything other than horror and disdain. For all that he'd shown himself to be kind and decent, such qualities had limits, and a gentleman in his position could surely not countenance allowing a woman like her to remain under his roof. She was the lowest of the low—a common criminal's daughter who'd only managed to escape her father's grasp by taking a profession which, in the eyes of many, made her little better than a harlot. And she had lied about it—she'd dined at Samuel's table, slept in his guest bedchamber and socialised with his friends under false pretences. That, she realised now, was perhaps the most unforgivable part of all.

She had to hold her tongue, she reminded herself, and if that meant avoiding being alone with Samuel and using the Gordons as a shield, then so be it. As soon as they left, she would make plans to leave too. She would allow Samuel to escort her to London as agreed and she would begin her life anew from there, even if that meant making her home in the Rookeries and acting on the makeshift stages of the city's many penny gaffs. This time, she vowed, she would put as many miles between herself and her father as possible. She tried not to consider that the same distance would then exist between herself and Samuel. There was, after all, no point in dwelling upon that.

Hope was so lost in her thoughts that it took her several moments to realise that the carriage had drawn to a halt. She looked up to see Mr Gordon hurry out of the door, before reaching back in to assist his sister as she too disembarked.

‘We shan't be long, Sammy,' Mr Gordon called, his tone so cheerful that Hope was sure he'd almost sung the words.

Behind them the carriage door clicked shut, concealing Hope from the outside world once more, and leaving her with the master of Hayton Hall once again. So much for avoiding being alone in his company, she thought wryly. Clearly, fate had other ideas. Across from her, Samuel attempted what looked like a reassuring smile, but it quickly dissolved into an exasperated sigh.

‘Goodness knows if either of them will find anything at the assembly rooms or the theatre which will please them,' he said, shaking his head. ‘I fear Buxton has spoiled them both. Lowhaven's meagre entertainments and lack of pump rooms can hardly be expected to compete. Do you know, Hope, that we have only seawater here? Appalling.'

Hope smiled at his witty remark. ‘I dare say Buxton's plays differ little from Lowhaven's. They're all put on by touring provincial theatre companies, after all.'

‘Very true,' Samuel replied, raising his eyebrows at her observation. ‘You are quite the theatre enthusiast, I think.'

Hope shrugged, trying to ignore the way her stomach lurched. Once again, she'd forgotten herself. Forgotten who she was meant to be. ‘I do enjoy a play from time to time,' she replied, doing her best to sound nonchalant. ‘Although, of course, I will not be able to join you and the Gordons at the Lowhaven theatre, should they find a play they wish to see one evening.'

She watched as Samuel knitted his brow. ‘No, of course, but as you cannot go, I shall not join them either.'

‘But you must,' she protested. ‘They are your guests...'

‘They know the situation,' he insisted. ‘They will understand. I promised that you would remain under my care until I escort you to London. I would be remiss in my duty to you if I left you alone and went to Lowhaven for the evening.'

‘I would not be alone. I would have Maddie, Smithson and all the other servants there with me...'

‘And what if that blackguard of an uncle were to come for you under the cover of darkness?' He held her gaze, his blue-grey eyes seeming to darken. ‘What would my poor old butler or my maid be able to do about it then? I can see that you are fearful of your uncle, Hope. You have looked terrified all the way here, even though Charles is correct—there is little chance of him spying you in a carriage with us, if he even remains in Cumberland at all.'

‘Trust me,' she replied, lowering her gaze. ‘He will still be close by. He will not give in until he has found me.'

Samuel frowned. ‘If that is the case, what difference will going to London make? Does he know you have a friend in the city and, if he does, isn't it possible he will find you there? Can this woman and her husband protect you, or are you simply going to be running for ever?'

‘I do not know.'

Beneath her lashes, Hope felt a tear slip out. That was the truth, of sorts: Hope Sloane had as little a notion of what the future held for her as Hope Swynford apparently did. Beyond that, Hope was at a loss for what to say. Her story was quickly coming apart under Samuel's growing scrutiny; the tangled web of deceit she'd hurriedly woven together was disintegrating, and she could not even bring herself to attempt to repair it, to tell yet more lies.

‘Forgive me, I have upset you.' Samuel leaned forward, placing his hand over hers, which remained folded in her lap. ‘Tell me how to help you, Hope. Tell me what more I can do.'

‘You have done enough already, Samuel,' she replied, attempting a watery smile.

‘Clearly that is not the case, if I am to deliver you to London so that you may spend the rest of your life living in fear. And what sort of a life will you have there? Can you support yourself? Can you access your inheritance?'

‘Please, do not concern yourself...'

‘But I am concerned,' he insisted. ‘I am very concerned about exactly what this nasty and ruthless individual has done to you. I am very concerned that you do not appear to have any family except him, that there is no one to care about your welfare...'

‘You are right—I have no one,' Hope conceded, her tears continuing to fall. ‘You have been very kind to me, Samuel, and I thank you for it, but you are not my father or my brother, or my...'

Husband .

She stopped herself, just before she could say the word.

Hope sniffled, trying to regain her composure. ‘As I said,' she concluded quietly, ‘it is none of your concern.'

At that moment the door to the carriage swung open once more, causing them both to flinch. Swiftly, Samuel withdrew the hand which had been resting over hers and, despite herself and all that had occurred in those past moments, Hope could not help but feel bereft at the loss of his touch. She watched as Miss Gordon climbed back in, followed in quick order by her brother who, judging by his broad grin, was very satisfied with his findings indeed. The air which blew in behind them was crisp and laced with salt, and Hope found herself wishing she could go outside and take a swift, restorative lungful of it. Right then, she needed something—anything—which might help to get her thoughts in order.

‘Well, that was very enlightening,' Mr Gordon began. ‘There is a ball each month at the assembly rooms, and the place has a card room, which suits me very well. And the theatre has a performance of As You Like It every evening, although it is finishing its run very soon so we must be quick to catch that one.'

‘But that is not the most interesting thing we learned,' Miss Gordon interjected. ‘Brother, tell them what we heard about the previous play.'

Hope felt her heart begin to beat faster as Mr Gordon leaned forward conspiratorially.

‘Oh, yes,' he said. ‘ The School for Scandal— one of my favourites. Apparently, an actress went missing on its penultimate night in town. Disappeared right after the show, it seems. No one's seen or heard anything from her since.'

‘Really?' Samuel asked, furrowing his brow. ‘The poor woman. I do hope she's not come to any harm.'

‘I dare say that actresses absconding from the stage is not all that uncommon,' Mr Gordon scoffed. ‘Such is the sort of life that many of them lead—or so I hear. Courtesans at best and harlots at worst, in many cases.'

‘All right, Charles,' Samuel replied, making a face. ‘I do not think that is a suitable topic of conversation with ladies present.'

By now Hope's heartbeat had grown so fast and so loud that it was a wonder the whole carriage could not hear it. Her cheeks burned as she looked down at her lap once more, wringing her hands together and praying that no one would spot her sheer mortification. Of course these people thought that—didn't everyone? Of course Samuel thought that. Whilst he had not said the words himself, he had not contradicted his friend either. Further confirmation, if it was needed, of exactly why he could never know who and what she really was. Confirmation too of exactly why he could never know just how profoundly true her words had been when she'd told him that she was none of his concern.

Gentlemen like Sir Samuel Liddell concerned themselves with high-born heiresses, not lowly actresses with criminal connections. As the carriage set off for Hayton once more, Hope decided that she would do well to remember that the next time she was tempted to be truthful with him. The truth, she realised, would only injure them both.