Free Reckless Griselda by Harriet Smart

boy. They are an accepted couple in some circles. Wansford had a wife until about a year ago. I dare say they are only waiting for sufficient time to elapse before they marry.”
     
    “And he expected you to submit to him like a stepson?”
     
    “Exactly,” said Tom. “You may imagine how I detested that. The worst of it is that I think their attachment hastened my father’s death – and for that I can never forgive them. And the moment I reached my majority I was determined not to let Wansford rule me any longer. And he cannot forgive me for that.”
     
    “Yet he wants you to marry his daughter. It would be an advantageous match for you.”
     
    “Yes – more than advantageous. She is an only child and the estates are not entailed.”
     
    “Good God,” said Farquarson. “That surprises me. So she gets everything?”
     
    “Everything. She is an heiress sans pareil. I believe he does have some regard for my mother and this is his strange way of obliging her – by forcing Lady Mary and me to the altar. My mother would like nothing better. She hopes I might even be raised to the peerage as a result.”
     
    “To the extent that they would fabricate documents?”
     
    “I hope to God it has not gone so far.”
     
    “No, I think that was said merely to frighten you – a whiff of grape shot,” said Farquarson.
     
    “So Colonel, how do we counter-attack?” said Tom. “Assuming you think my position worth defending.”
     
    “Well, considering you saved my life this morning, I do not have much choice but to reciprocate and help save your skin. Besides, it is abominable to use a child like that.”
     
    “Yes, she’s the real victim of this. And since I shall not marry her, I dare say she will be hawked around town in an outrageous fashion next season and sold to the highest bidder.”
     
    “Poor creature.”
     
    “Perhaps you should offer for her, then. You are welcome to Wansford as a father in law. Better still, persuade her to elope with you,” he added with a grin.
     
    “No thank you,” said Farquarson. “No offence to the lady, of course. She’s pretty but not in my style. She is too fair and pale for me. I like dark hair and dark eyes and a high complexion. That is what I have always admired – that and an elegant open manner with a great deal of playfulness in it.”
     
    That was Caroline Rufford to the letter.
     

Chapter 7
     
    Caroline had dressed Griselda with sophisticated simplicity in white silk with an embroidered silver gauze slip, and sent her maid to attend to her hair and disguise the ravages of the scissors with a matching silver gauze scarf. Now feeling like a stranger to herself in such finery, Griselda sat alone at the pianoforte, diligently reminding herself of the tune of “Caro me bene” in case she was not able to escape performing that evening. The tune sounded more wistful and plaintive than usual as she laboriously picked out each note. She had just decided that she would refuse to play, when the door behind her opened and a servant announced, “Sir Thomas Thorpe.”
     
    She got up and turned around, the apologies for her cousin and aunt all ready to fall from her lips. But then she completed the turn, faced the gentleman and saw exactly who the famous Sir Thomas Thorpe was.
     
    It was her stranger – now every inch of him showing him to be the gentleman of birth and fortune she had guessed he might be. He was impeccable in the discreet elegance of his evening clothes; his black silk stockings and the subtle figure in an ivory waistcoat proclaimed his quality and position. She felt her own stupidity and shame flare up in her cheeks and she longed to walk straight out of the room.
     
    For an instant she thought that he had not recognised her, but then she realised that shock had paralysed his features. He had come into the room with a bland polite expression and it had got stuck in the moment when they faced one another.
     
    “You – you are Sir Thomas