Free The Homecoming by M. C. Beaton, Marion Chesney

securing a position as secretary in the duke’s household.
    “I will try to become friendly with Sarah,” said Lizzie at last, “and try to find out if she has any feelings for you.”
    “Would you? You are the best of friends. Tell me, do you approve of my choice of beau for you?”
    “Mr. Parkes is very handsome,” said Lizzie cautiously. “He appears sunny and good-natured. Farther than that, I have no opinion.”
    When Peter had left, Lizzie went next door to talk to Miss Trumble.
    She wondered whether to tell Miss Trumble about her odd feeling that the house was angry with her, but decided against it. Miss Trumble would worry that the old Beverley obsession with Mannerling had returned.
    Instead she told Miss Trumble about Peter’s worries. “There is not much hope there,” Said Miss Trumble, “unless the obvious hopes of the squire are well and truly dashed and the duke says something about allowing Mr. Bond to marry and set up his establishment.”
    “Could you speak to him about it?” pleaded Lizzie.
    “Gervase is…difficult. He is still angry with me for remaining at my post. But we will see. How did you find Mr. Parkes?”
    “Very handsome. Very cheerful.”
    “Try to look beyond his looks, Lizzie. I sense a carelessness and heedlessness there.”
    “He is very young,” said Lizzie sententiously.
    Miss Trumble smiled. “And you so old. Now let us repair to your rooms and get you ready for dinner. The duke keeps fashionably late hours. Seven-thirty for dinner! I remember when not so long ago dinner was served at four in the afternoon.”
    The duke, without thinking, took his aunt in to dinner, as she was the highest-ranking lady there. Lady Verity frowned awfully and Celia flounced. Sarah was, in her head, setting up her nursery, having successfully married the duke. Squire Walters greedily surveyed the table. Such a profligacy of dishes! This could be the sort of life the Walters family could lead if only his daughter would make a push to attract the duke.
    Lizzie was placed between Gerald and Peter. The secretary’s presence at the dinner-table made the Earl and Countess of Hernshire think their host must be an eccentric. Sarah was on Peter’s other side, but to his despair she answered all his sallies with monosyllabic answers. He did not know that he was interrupting a really splendid dream.
    When the ladies retired to the drawing-room, to leave the gentlemen to their wine, Lizzie went to sit beside Sarah. “You must be delighted to meet Mr. Bond again,” she began.
    “Mr.—”
    “Bond,” said Lizzie sharply. “The duke’s secretary.”
    “Ah, yes,” said Sarah. “Mr. Bond is very kind, I think.”
    “Do you know why you and your parents were invited?” demanded Lizzie.
    Sarah blushed slightly and looked down at her hands. “Why, Papa says he must have heard of me and considered me a suitable lady to make his bride.”
    “That was not the case at all,” said Lizzie. “It was Peter, Mr. Bond, who prompted the duke into asking you.”
    Sarah looked at her in bewilderment and then her face cleared. “That explains how His Grace came to learn of me.”
    “Yes.”
    “He must have asked Mr. Bond to find him a suitable lady,” said Sarah with a little laugh, “and Mr. Bond remembered me. How clever of him!”
    Lizzie raised her eyes to the painted ceiling in exasperation. “My dear widgeon, Mr. Bond has formed a tendre for you and his sympathetic master, on learning of it, suggested he invite you and your parents.”
    Now she had Sarah’s full and undivided attention as all her rosy dreams of marriage and children and being a duchess whirled about her head and disappeared. She raised her hands to her white face. “That cannot be true. It
must
not be true!”
    “Mr. Bond is a friend of mine and an excellent gentleman.”
    “But he is only a secretary!”
    “And you are only a squire’s daughter,” said Lizzie brutally.
    Sarah eyes swam with tears. “Papa will be