Free Nicola Cornick by True Colours Page B

of Mullineaux have plans to travel on today?’
    Alicia smiled faintly. ‘I believe he does, ma’am, although I know little of it. Believe me, the Marquis was too displeased by my folly to think of indulging in much conversation!’ She stared miserably at a bright square of sunlight on the carpet. ‘Not,’ she added suddenly, ‘that any blame for this situation can lie with him. He was generous enough to offer me the protection of his name, but I declined.’
    Mrs Henley’s eyes opened very wide at her words. What sudden impulse could have prompted Mullineaux to offer for Alicia Carberry when he so clearly despised her? And why did Alicia feel that she hadto refuse him but still make it clear that he had behaved as a gentleman ought?
    ‘I had no choice but to refuse his offer,’ Alicia was saying softly, more to herself than to Mrs Henley. ‘How could I accept, knowing that he detests me so?’
    Their eyes met and what Anne Henley saw reflected there made her think that perhaps she understood. Lady Carberry’s predicament was worse than she had originally imagined, for, whatever Mullineaux’s motives had been in proposing, Anne Henley knew Alicia had refused him because she had the misfortune still to be in love with him.

Chapter Three
    A licia slept for most of the journey from Ottery to her father’s home north of Taunton and woke only as the carriage turned in at the black iron gates of Greyrigg. Despite the wonders worked on her appearance by Mrs Henley’s maid, who had both dressed her hair and miraculously removed all dirt from her clothing, Alicia felt both worn and tired. Her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep and she already had a slight headache which she wryly ascribed to tension. Her first meeting with her father after seven years was bound to be difficult and she did not feel best prepared to face it, but having got this far she was determined to go through with it.
    A line of bare chestnut trees bordered the gravel drive which led up to the house. Greyrigg had once been the home of an impecunious Viscount but had been purchased some twenty-eight years previously by Alicia’s father, Bertram Broseley, who was a fabulously wealthy nabob. Broseley had made his fortune in trade with both the Indies and the African continent, and the Viscount, who had considered him to be an upstart of the most encroaching sort, had nevertheless seized the opportunity to turn the least favoured part of his estate into hard cash.
    It was easy to see why the Viscount had felt no attachment to the house. On this wintry day the grey bulk of the building was uncompromisingly ugly as it stood amidst its park. Not even the carpeting of wild snowdrops beneath the trees could lend it any charm. It was as though the house had absorbed some of its owner’s characteristics over the past decades, and now it had an air of gloom and neglect.
    As the carriage drew up outside the imposing portico, the door of the house opened and a liveried butler emerged. The groom jumpeddown and opened the carriage door for the occupants to descend. Alicia tilted her head to gaze up at the massive edifice and could barely repress a shiver. Taking a deep breath to sustain her, she turned to greet the butler, who was advancing across the gravel with an unctuous smile on his face.
    ‘May I welcome you to Greyrigg, my lady.’ Obsequiousness did not become Castle, who had the physique of a prizefighter and, indeed, was more at home in dealing with the unsavoury side of Bertram Broseley’s business affairs than in greeting his guests. His black boot-button eyes flicked over Alicia with an unpleasant expression which reminded her of their last meeting. Things were different now. She raised her chin.
    ‘Thank you, Castle.’ She sounded as coldly regal as the Dowager Countess of Stansfield herself. Nothing would induce her to say that she was pleased to be home.
    Alicia preceded the butler up the steps and into the gloomy entrance hall with her