most beautiful place in the world.”
“I have already spoken to the present owner, Mr. Charles Blackwood. He has kindly allowed me to visit Mannerling and see for myself.”
“Oh, it is so wonderful. Such an air of peace and elegance. I miss it so much. We were happy there. Who told you of Mannerling?”
“An elderly gentleman, Lord Hexhamworth.”
“Ah, yes, he was a friend of my father and was always invited to our balls. We had wonderful balls.”
“Mr. Blackwood seems much taken with Miss Santerton.”
Rachel looked down the long table to where Charles sat with Minerva.
“Yes,” she agreed, but impatiently. For some reason she wanted to forget the existence of Charles Blackwood and the glorious Minerva, who made her feel small and provincial. “The last ball we had at Mannerling,” she went on, “was the finest. The walls were draped with silk, and a double row of footmen lined the grand staircase, each man carrying a gold sword.”
“That is extravagance to rival the Prince Regent!”
“It was so very fine.” She gave a little sigh. “But we have accepted our new life and are relatively happy.”
“Perhaps Mr. Blackwood can be persuaded to let
you
show me the delights of Mannerling.”
“That would not be fitting. Besides, I would feel like an interloper.”
“And yet your beauty in a beautiful house would surely be fitting.”
“Thank you, sir, for the compliment. Do you stay long in England?”
“Several months. I have not been home this age.”
“Tell me about your life in the Indies.”
At first she listened, fascinated, to the tales ofhurricanes and heat, of hard labour and the rewards of being a plantation owner. But when he began to complain of the laziness of his black slaves, Rachel began to feel uncomfortable. Miss Trumble had lectured them on the evils of slavery. And yet she had up until that point found the company of this easygoing Mr. Cater pleasant.
“You obviously do not believe in all this talk of freedom for slaves,” she said at last.
Something flickered through the depths of his eyes and he said with a light laugh, “It may seem brutal to you here, in your sheltered world of England. But you would soon change your views were you in the West Indies. Sugar must be harvested and white skins are not up to labouring in the sun.”
“Possibly,” agreed Rachel. “But slaves!”
He smiled indulgently. “You are a very modern young lady. But tell me more about Mannerling.”
And in her enthusiasm in describing her old home, Rachel forgot for the rest of the evening about those slaves.
Charles Blackwood had to admit to himself that he was becoming quickly fascinated by the beautiful Minerva. He had not invited either Minerva or her brother to stay; they had invited themselves. At first he had been irritated, for the acquaintanceship was slight and they had not asked if they could stay, had simply sent an express to say they would be arriving. George Santerton was a bore and a fool, but the glorious Minerva more than made up for her brother’s deficiencies.
The intense blue of her eyes, the gold of her hair,the swell of her bosom, and the way those magnificent eyes lit up with laughter went straight to his heart. He had planned never to marry again, but Minerva would make such a beautiful ornament in his beautiful home.
But there were Mark and Beth to consider before he even thought of presenting them with a new mother. His fury at his late wife’s infidelity had made him neglect them. He realized that now and he was immensely grateful to Miss Rachel Beverley of Brookfield House for having brought that neglect to his attention. His eyes strayed to Rachel. She seemed to be enjoying the company of that stranger, Cater. If the man was as rich as rumour already had it, then perhaps yet another of the Beverley sisters would make a good marriage. He hoped she would find someone worthy of her. He could not in his heart blame the Beverleys for their reported
“I have already spoken to the present owner, Mr. Charles Blackwood. He has kindly allowed me to visit Mannerling and see for myself.”
“Oh, it is so wonderful. Such an air of peace and elegance. I miss it so much. We were happy there. Who told you of Mannerling?”
“An elderly gentleman, Lord Hexhamworth.”
“Ah, yes, he was a friend of my father and was always invited to our balls. We had wonderful balls.”
“Mr. Blackwood seems much taken with Miss Santerton.”
Rachel looked down the long table to where Charles sat with Minerva.
“Yes,” she agreed, but impatiently. For some reason she wanted to forget the existence of Charles Blackwood and the glorious Minerva, who made her feel small and provincial. “The last ball we had at Mannerling,” she went on, “was the finest. The walls were draped with silk, and a double row of footmen lined the grand staircase, each man carrying a gold sword.”
“That is extravagance to rival the Prince Regent!”
“It was so very fine.” She gave a little sigh. “But we have accepted our new life and are relatively happy.”
“Perhaps Mr. Blackwood can be persuaded to let
you
show me the delights of Mannerling.”
“That would not be fitting. Besides, I would feel like an interloper.”
“And yet your beauty in a beautiful house would surely be fitting.”
“Thank you, sir, for the compliment. Do you stay long in England?”
“Several months. I have not been home this age.”
“Tell me about your life in the Indies.”
At first she listened, fascinated, to the tales ofhurricanes and heat, of hard labour and the rewards of being a plantation owner. But when he began to complain of the laziness of his black slaves, Rachel began to feel uncomfortable. Miss Trumble had lectured them on the evils of slavery. And yet she had up until that point found the company of this easygoing Mr. Cater pleasant.
“You obviously do not believe in all this talk of freedom for slaves,” she said at last.
Something flickered through the depths of his eyes and he said with a light laugh, “It may seem brutal to you here, in your sheltered world of England. But you would soon change your views were you in the West Indies. Sugar must be harvested and white skins are not up to labouring in the sun.”
“Possibly,” agreed Rachel. “But slaves!”
He smiled indulgently. “You are a very modern young lady. But tell me more about Mannerling.”
And in her enthusiasm in describing her old home, Rachel forgot for the rest of the evening about those slaves.
Charles Blackwood had to admit to himself that he was becoming quickly fascinated by the beautiful Minerva. He had not invited either Minerva or her brother to stay; they had invited themselves. At first he had been irritated, for the acquaintanceship was slight and they had not asked if they could stay, had simply sent an express to say they would be arriving. George Santerton was a bore and a fool, but the glorious Minerva more than made up for her brother’s deficiencies.
The intense blue of her eyes, the gold of her hair,the swell of her bosom, and the way those magnificent eyes lit up with laughter went straight to his heart. He had planned never to marry again, but Minerva would make such a beautiful ornament in his beautiful home.
But there were Mark and Beth to consider before he even thought of presenting them with a new mother. His fury at his late wife’s infidelity had made him neglect them. He realized that now and he was immensely grateful to Miss Rachel Beverley of Brookfield House for having brought that neglect to his attention. His eyes strayed to Rachel. She seemed to be enjoying the company of that stranger, Cater. If the man was as rich as rumour already had it, then perhaps yet another of the Beverley sisters would make a good marriage. He hoped she would find someone worthy of her. He could not in his heart blame the Beverleys for their reported
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