The Master of Stonegrave Hall. Helen Dickson

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      Angered and hurt by his nonchalant manner, pulling hard on the bit, Clara brought the horse round and galloped off, dashing away a rogue tear that ran down her cheek.

      Clara’s sister Diana was married to Laurence’s younger brother, Nathan, and it was Clara’s burning ambition to marry Laurence Rockford now he’d returned from his travels abroad. But he treated her with little more genuine warmth than he did his servants. Nevertheless, she always eyed him with unveiled longing whenever he called at the Grange to see his brother, for, despite his cynical attitude, there was an unmistakable aura of virility about Laurence Rockford, something that was as dangerously attractive as sin, and just as wicked, that made her heart beat faster—for anyone who looked into those cynical blue eyes of his could tell there wasn’t an innocent or naïve fibre in his superb, muscular body. Whether he was riding a horse or dancing at a ball, he stood out among his fellow men like a magnificent panther surrounded by harmless kittens.

      It crossed Laurence’s mind as Clara rode ahead of him that he hadn’t asked the girl her name—one of the village girls, no doubt—and then he shrugged and went on his way.

      * * *

      As soon as Lord Rockford and his companion were out of sight, Victoria slowed her pace. Her nerves felt raw, her anger all-consuming. Gradually the initial shock and outrage at being spoken down to and almost beaten with a whip began to wear off. She was mortified that she had just behaved in a manner no respectable young lady should in the presence of Lord Rockford of Stonegrave Hall.

      The woman, whoever she was, was a savage, stuffed full of pride. But her manner and attitude and Victoria’s own volatile reaction reminded her that despite her time at the Academy and being taught that she must conduct herself with dignity, grace and refinement at all times, it was as if she’d never learnt anything at all.

      Nothing had changed. She was still the daughter of a village schoolmaster and people like that woman would never let her forget it. She didn’t expect to see either of them again. People like them dwelled in a world far beyond her reach and would therefore vanish from her life for ever.

      * * *

      Victoria entered the village and walked across the vast expanse of green covered with moorland grass. Sheep grazed freely and several villagers were going about their business. At the far end of the green was the Drover’s Inn and Mr Price’s blacksmith’s shop. A swinging board with a trademark on it above the property next door distinguished the wheelwright’s shop, and further on was Mr Waller’s baker’s shop and next to that the butcher’s and then the village shop, which sold everything necessary for village life.

      Victoria’s gaze went to the building that stood back from the village, up a cobbled lane across from the church. A lump clogged the back of her throat. This was the schoolhouse where her father had taught. Upon his death, Victoria and her mother had moved out of the schoolhouse into a cottage behind the church.

      On reaching the cottage she opened the gate and walked up the short path to the door, noticing that the flower garden was overgrown and badly needed tending. She tried the door, only to find it was locked. Going to the window, she peered inside. There was no sign of her mother and there was no fire in the hearth. In fact, she was unable to see the familiar table and fireside chairs. She frowned, standing back. Perhaps Mrs Knowles across the way would know where she could find her mother.

      Mrs Knowles was a widow who had always been kindly disposed to her and her mother. She was a busy, house-proud little woman who lived with her son Ned. Ned worked up at the Hall looking after the master’s horses. Her mouth fell open with astonishment when she saw Victoria standing on her doorstep. Delighted to see her, she drew her inside.

      ‘Why, just look at you. A right bonny lass you’ve turned out to be. Your mother will be right proud of you.’

      The cottage was warm and above the smell of baking Victoria could detect the fragrance of beeswax. The wooden floor was covered with pegged rugs and two comfortable chairs were drawn up to the log fire, while a pile of neatly folded laundry and bunch of spring flowers in a copper jug stood on a gate-legged table under the window.

      ‘I expect you want to know where your mother’s gone,’ Mrs Knowles said, offering her a chair by the fire and a cup of tea, which Victoria declined.

      ‘Yes, Mrs Knowles. I thought I’d surprise her. I—I know she hasn’t been well of late and I’ve been most anxious about her, which was why I left the Academy. I couldn’t stay any longer knowing she was ill.’

      ‘Aye, well, you’re right about that. She’s been right poorly ever since you went back to that Academy. I told her to write and tell you to come home to look after her, but she wouldn’t hear of it.’

      Victoria was mortified. Her mother had begun coughing a lot over the last twelve months. In fact, she’d had what she referred to as a ticklish cough for a number of years, but she had refused to find out the cause. Last summer it had become more persistent and she had finally succumbed to Victoria’s pleading and allowed the doctor to examine her. He had confirmed that she had consumption. Resigned to the fact that the time she had left was limited, she had insisted that Victoria return to the Academy until the time when she took to her bed.

      ‘My mother needed me. I should have been here.’

      ‘When you went away I told you that I would look after her. I did what I could, mind, but she needed more care than I could give her.’

      A feeling of sick dread began to take root in Victoria. She stared at Mrs Knowles, seeing the anguished expression in her eyes. This was serious. Her blood seemed to chill in her veins. ‘She is very ill, isn’t she?’

      ‘Aye, lass, she is.’

      ‘Then where is she? Where has she gone?’

      ‘The master came and took her to the Hall.’

      Victoria stared at her. ‘The master? Lord Rockford? How extraordinary! But—I don’t understand. Why would he do that?’

      ‘Lord Rockford heard how poorly she was and thought she would be best taken care of up at the Hall. I suppose it’s something to do with her being his mother’s maid.’

      ‘But that was years ago—before she married my father.’

      ‘Be that as it may, Victoria, I reckon that when the master came up from London and heard how ill she was, he felt obliged. Nobody could have been more solicitous in seeing she was conveyed to the Hall in comfort.’

      ‘And the cottage? When I looked in at the window it seemed empty.’

      ‘That’s because it’s been made ready for the next tenant.’

      The colour slowly drained from Victoria’s face. ‘The next tenant? Are you saying that Lord Rockford has turned us out?’

      ‘Well—not exactly.’

      ‘Then where are our things—our furniture?’

      ‘They’ve been packed up and taken to the Hall.’

      ‘But he can’t do that. The cottage is our home.’

      ‘Can you afford to keep it?’ Mrs Knowles said gently.

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