Reckless Griselda by Harriet Smart

service one day.”
     
    Griselda managed to smile but she ached with her own duplicity.
     
    When she was alone again, she found she could no longer prevent herself from crying into her pillow – hot, self-lacerating tears. Why had she been such a fool and given into her desire for him? And how could that angel of a man turn out to be such a shabby and commonplace devil?
     

Chapter 8
     
    “So what do you think of Sir Thomas?” Hugh asked Griselda the following morning as they walked along the seafront together.
     
    “Do I believe him to be guilty, you mean?” she said.
     
    “No, I meant nothing of the sort. I take his innocence as read and you should too.”
     
    “Caroline does not,” said Griselda. “She is nervous now.”
     
    “One is always nervous in the face of fire,” said Hugh, calmly. “That is quite understandable.”
     
    “But what would you feel if it were proved to be true?” said Griselda. “Think how unhappy that would make Caroline. You would not have her heart broken, would you?”
     
    “Nothing would make me more angry, but I do not believe it will be,” said Hugh. “She and Thorpe seem very well suited and I wish them joy.”
     
    “You must think him a very fine fellow indeed, for you obviously think the world of Caroline,” Griselda could not help saying.
     
    “I have always regarded her highly, that is true, but there is no more to it than that, Griselda.”
     
    “I do not believe it,” said Griselda. “And I wish Sir Thomas Thorpe had long married his wretched Lady Mary and had never come to bother our dear cousin. Then you would be free to love her.”
     
    “I do not love her,” said Hugh with a growl of irritation in his voice.
     
    “Oh, do you not?” said Griselda. “Did you not love her as a child?”
     
    “Perhaps, but loving a child is quite a different thing from loving a young woman of three and twenty.”
     
    “But you could love her, I dare say, if there were no Sir Thomas. Very easily. And she could love you.”
     
    Hugh’s face betrayed nothing and he said with typical calmness, “But there is Thorpe, and he has engaged her affections. A young man might give himself hope there, but I am old and sensible enough to protect myself against such feelings. You will learn that too.”
     
    “Never!” exclaimed Griselda.
     
    “That shows you have never loved yet nor had your heart broken, as I have. If you knew the pain of it, you would not wish it on yourself.”
     
    Griselda was attempting to form a suitable retort when they were interrupted by the approach of a large and luxurious barouche, drawn by four very handsome greys.
     
    “Heigh-ho,” said Hugh. “The enemy is showing himself.”
     
    “Who?”
     
    “That is my lord Wansford and his daughter,” said Hugh, taking off his hat and bowing slightly. Wansford signalled to his coachman to stop. “I wonder what he wants with me,” he said as the carriage drew up beside them.
     
    “Good morning to you, Farquarson,” said Lord Wansford, getting out of the carriage and then handing down his daughter. “My daughter and I were about to take a stroll. Might we have the pleasure of your company?”
     
    He was very elegantly dressed, of good height and good figure. In all he was a fine looking, middle-aged man and not the sort of man to forge documents, Griselda decided. Lady Mary was small and delicate. Dressed in a sumptuous blue silk twill pelisse with an equally stylish bonnet, she looked like a very expensive French doll and not at all objectionable. Without any difficulty at all, Griselda could imagine Sir Thomas Thorpe making himself agreeable to her. To have such looks as well as an inheritance would tempt any man.
     
    “I am very delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Farquarson,” said Lord Wansford, offering her his arm. “I must say I do like what this sea air does to the young ladies’ complexions, Farquarson. Makes them all look prodigious healthy.”
     
    Hugh