A Vow For An Heiress. Helen Dickson

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      She believed she had found the perfect match for her elder granddaughter in William Barrington, the Earl of Ashurst. Having distinguished himself as a soldier in the East India Company, he had recently returned to England to fill the role of the next Earl of Ashurst, heir to the vast Barrington estate in the county of Berkshire. Unfortunately it was almost bankrupt. To avoid closing the house and selling land and the Barrington town house in Grosvenor Square, an enormous amount of money must be acquired—and quickly. With no means of his own, William Barrington had agreed to his lawyers’ suggestion that he found himself a wealthy wife.

      The Ingram family’s small land portion bordered the Ashurst estate. Miss Clarissa and Miss Rosa Ingram’s widowed grandmother had been in London for the sole purpose of calling on the Earl’s lawyers to propose a match between the Earl and her eldest granddaughter. Matters had been approved but nothing signed, and following a brief meeting between the Earl and Clarissa, their grandmother had returned to Berkshire with Clarissa. Unfortunately, Aunt Clara had taken to her bed with a severe cold. Concerned for her aunt, Rosa had remained behind until she was well enough for her to leave.

      The travelling chaise pulled into the yard of a busy inn, where coaches going to and from London stopped for their passengers to partake of refreshment. Rosa uttered a sigh of relief. The journey was proving to be long and tedious, made worse by her maid’s sniffles and coughing. The poor girl did look most unwell. The sooner they reached their destination and the girl was in bed the better.

      ‘Come along inside, Dilys,’ Rosa urged as they climbed down from the coach, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head to protect herself from the relentless rain while stepping round the deep puddles that had formed in the yard. ‘Something to eat and a hot drink will probably make you feel better.’

      The inn was thronged with a rumpled assortment of noisy travellers, trying to get close to the warmth of the crackling fire as they waited to resume their journeys. Seeing her dismay on finding the inn so crowded, the driver sought out the landlord. After speaking to him they were shown into a less crowded room.

      Rosa found a quiet corner for herself and Dilys while the driver left them to take care of the horses. After removing her fur-trimmed cloak and bonnet and ordering their meal, she glanced at the other occupants. Her gaze came to rest on a foreign woman and child seated across the room. She was conspicuous in the silk tunic of an Indian lady and she was trying to coax the child of the same race to eat. She was perhaps nearing thirty. A purple silk scarf was wrapped around her head, framing and half-covering her face. She appeared to be ill at ease, her eyes darting around the room and constantly looking towards the door.

      Rosa’s observations were interrupted when food was brought to them, but she did notice the gentleman who came into the room and went to sit at the same table as the foreign woman. His eyes flicked around the room. They met Rosa’s briefly and without undue interest, then moved on.

      Distracted, Rosa found herself staring at him. She judged him to be about thirty years of age, and he was tall and impressive—over six foot and lean of body—in the athletic sense. His skin was a golden olive shade—almost as dark as those people of mixed race on her island home. His hair was near black and thick, but it was his eyes that held her attention. They were piercing and ice blue, darkly fringed with lashes beneath fiercely swooping brows.

      Unlike her sister and most of her friends Rosa was not a romantic at heart, but she thought him to be the most handsome man she had ever seen. He had an unmistakable aura of authority about him, of forcefulness and power. He also had an air of unease and the deep frown that furrowed his brow told her he didn’t appear to be in the best of moods. Her attention was diverted when Dilys was suddenly overcome with a fit of sneezing. The man shot a glance of irritation in their direction before concentrating his attention on the boy.

      Having eaten and eager to be on her way, Rosa left the inn. Dilys excused herself and disappeared into the ladies’ retiring room. The yard was busy with carriages and people alighting and some setting off. Holding her skirts free of the puddles, she pushed her way through the people mingling about. The woman and child she had seen inside the inn were among them. Rosa heard the sound of hoofbeats and could feel them pounding the ground. She saw the crowd break up and part and then she saw a coach and four careering madly towards them.

      Out of the corner of her eye she caught a movement next to her and two hands seemed to leap out of the crowd beside her. The next thing she saw was the little boy suddenly propelled into the path of the horses. Without conscious thought she leapt forward and grasped the child, pulling him back before the horses galloped past and came to a halt. The child began to cry and the woman, who had been distracted and was looking the other way, turned back and took his hand.

      ‘What are you doing? You must be more careful.’

      The woman spoke crossly in a voice whose faintly sing-song intonation alone betrayed the fact that it was not an Englishwoman who spoke.

      The dark, frightened eyes of the child overflowed with tears. ‘I—I was pushed,’ he cried. ‘Someone pushed me.’

      The woman focused her attention on Rosa. On seeing the flush on her face and her closeness to the child, she immediately assumed Rosa to be the guilty party, having no idea that she had just saved the child from being trampled to death. She was unable to truly comprehend what had just happened but the look she cast Rosa was cold and accusing.

      The small, silent boy, who now had tears streaming down his cheeks, stared up at her, clasping the Indian woman’s hand. He was a strikingly attractive child, his Indian ancestry evident in his features and his jet-black hair. What entrapped Rosa more than anything was the compelling blackness of his eyes. They were large and widely spaced and fringed by glossy lashes. The woman began to drag him away, but not before Rosa had heard the child say in a small, quivering voice, ‘I was so frightened.’

      Then the man she had seen inside the inn stepped between them and gently brushed away the child’s tears while bending his head to hear what the woman had to say. They spoke together in a language Rosa did not understand. After a moment he stood up straight and looked at Rosa, anger blazing in his eyes.

      Some deep-rooted feminine instinct made Rosa’s breath catch in her throat at being confronted by a man of such powerful physical presence. He had an expression of strength and marked intelligence. His eyes drew another’s like a magnet to a pin. They were so full of life, so charged with the expression of their owner’s awareness. Unexpectedly, she found herself the victim of an acute attack of awkwardness and momentarily at a loss for words, for in such close proximity, his overwhelming masculinity seemed more pronounced. When her eyes locked on his she was quite unprepared for the effect he had on her—her pulse seemed to leap. With his piercing blue eyes and his rich dark hair, he was an extremely attractive man.

      ‘The child is unhurt—’

      She was brusquely interrupted. ‘No thanks to you.’

      His words had an aggressive ring to them. Bright colour flamed in her face and her slender figure stiffened and drew itself erect. She stared at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’

      He looked at her full in the eyes, fixing her with a gaze of angry accusation. ‘I realise that your carelessness may have been accidental and if that is the case then I advise you to be more careful in the future.’

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