Page 17 of Debtor’s Daughter

Mrs Finchley let out a shaky breath but looked a little less daunted.

“Just be honest with her,” Larkin suggested. “She’s very perceptive, in any case, and not the kind to be shocked easily, or to judge.”

“You are very patient, Mr Weston. I cannot think what possessed you to trouble yourself with us, but we are all indebted to you. We shall never be able to repay such kindness,” she said, her expression so grave and so earnestly sincere Larkin almost blushed.

Good lord, it had been a long time since anyone had provoked a reaction like that from him.

“Indeed, you are not,” he said, belatedly realising he’d spoken with too much force, for Mrs Finchley started, looking somewhat taken aback. Larkin cleared his throat, wishing he’d not snapped at her, but he did not wish them to feel beholden to him. “I am doing what anyone with a grain of decency would do, and that is all,” he said, careful to moderate his tone this time.

Mrs Finchley seemed a little uncertain but nodded and offered him a hesitant smile. Larkin looked up, relieved to discover they had arrived at St James’s.

“Here we are,” he said, as the carriage drew up outside Montagu House.

Larkin climbed out, waving away the footman that hurried down to greet them, and gave the ladies his hand to help them out.

“Heavens,” Miss Caroline said faintly, gazing up at the imposing edifice of Montagu House and suddenly looking as daunted as her sister had moments earlier. “Maggie, look. It’s so very grand.”

“A splendid house,” Miss Merrivale said, her green eyes sparkling with delight as she gazed up at the grand building. “And I am so looking forward to meeting Lord Montagu.”

If Mrs Finchley had been pale before, this pronouncement turned her the colour of alabaster.

“Oh, n-no, Auntie, we are not to see Lord Montagu. Only Lady Montagu, my dear, and we are to remember that if we make a good impression, she might help our darling Caro find her place in society. So we must all remember to mind our manners and not to talk too much,” she said with a touch of desperation.

Her aunt waved this away, the tassels on the magnificent pardessus she wore trembling and swaying with the movement. “I always make a good impression, Maggie. Do stop fretting needlessly. Come along then, my dears,” she added, sweeping up the steps beneath the elegant portico and toward the front door.

“Oh, dear,” Mrs Finchley said faintly. “Perhaps this was a bad idea.”

“Nonsense,” Larkin said, his tone brisk as he offered her his arm. “Everything will be fine,” he assured her, though even he quailed at the idea of a meeting between Montagu and Aunt Constance.

Still, there was no going back now, so he escorted the ladies inside.

Maggie’s heart was thundering as a very grand butler guided them through the house. Their father’s estate in Norfolk had been a modest one by these standards, but Maggie had loved it dearly. An ancient, rambling manor house, parts of it dated back to the sixteenth century. Age had softened all the sharp edges, and the mellow brickwork and neat weatherboarding combined with riotous climbing roses made it the most beautiful place in the world as far as Maggie was concerned. Melancholy pierced her heart as she realised she would never see her beloved home again. No doubt that horrid man was already there, making changes, destroying all that they had loved so dearly.

With an effort, Maggie shook the wretchedness away. This was Caro’s future at stake, and she would let nothing, and no one interfere with that.

Finally, the butler escorted them into a large, formal drawing room. Maggie heard Caro’s swift intake of breath and could not blame her for it. The space was bright, lit by five huge, full height windows. Tastefully decorated in soft shades of blue, every wall was a feast for the eyes, decorated with beautiful paintings, both portraits and landscapes. Their footsteps fell softly upon a complex Aubusson carpet, its warm tones giving the room a surprisingly cosy aspect despite its size. An imposing white marble fireplace dominated the lovely scene, a fire crackling in the hearth. The comfortable, elegantly fashionable furniture invited visitors to sit and relax in an atmosphere of graceful and effortless style.

Maggie felt certain that such exquisite taste was very far from effortless and someone with a fine eye for detail and colour had carefully chosen every stick of furniture and artwork. She did not need to look long for that person, for seated upon a gorgeous silk covered divan was Lady Montagu.

The lady looked up from the book she was reading as the butler announced them. “My Lady, Mr Larkin Weston, Mrs Finchley, and the Misses Merrivale.”

“Thank you, Carlton. We will take tea, if you please.”

The butler withdrew and, as he moved away, Maggie got her first proper glimpse of the noble lady. Her breath caught, for here was a woman of wealth, power, and great beauty, and to be in her presence truly was an honour. As they drew closer, Maggie was struck not only by her lovely face, still smooth and relatively unlined for a woman of her years, but by the kindness shining in her vivid blue eyes.

“Larkin, my dear, how lovely to see you,” Lady Montagu said as Mr Weston took her proffered hand, but leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Matilda, the pleasure is all mine, and how ravishing you look. Have you persuaded Lord Montagu to allow me to paint you again? I swear you look younger than the last time I made the attempt, but I believe my skills have improved. Perhaps this time I shall come somewhere close to doing you justice.”

She laughed, waving him away. “Dreadful boy. Don’t think pouring the butter boat over me will get you your own way. Besides, Lucian has already agreed, though I believe Tilly is your next commission?”

“Yes, but I also have ambitions to paint the most beautiful girl in London, which is why we are here. My Lady Montagu, may I make known to you, Mrs Magdelina Finchley, Miss Constance Merrivale, and Miss Caroline Merrivale?”

“Oh, my,” Lady Montagu said, her hand going to her heart as she looked upon Caro for the first time. “Goodness gracious, but you speak only the truth as ever, Larkin. What a gorgeous creature you are, but then three lovelier women are seldom seen all at once,” she added, looking between them with interest glittering in her eyes. “Please, be seated.”

Maggie sat down, finding herself poised on the very edge of the sofa opposite Lady Montagu, as if ready for flight. Caro sat close beside her, but Aunt Connie drifted over to a lavish gold framed chair upholstered in a pale yellow chinoiserie silk that Maggie ought to have realised would catch her aunt’s eye. Settling herself down with her usual grace, Aunt Constance spoke before anyone else could gather their wits.