Sherida Read online

  Sherida

  By

  Judy Turner

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  'If she doesn't marry young McNaughton I shall be most surprised!' Sherida Winyard's aunt is only saying what the Polite World will say when it hears that the beautiful, amoral Lady Letty has left her only daughter to the care of the young and handsome Lord McNaughton. But Sherida herself is quite innocent of any such design—she has barely known her notorious mother, and hopes for nothing from her London Season but a little excitement!

  Can her innocence survive the sophistication of London? And how can she convince the gossips that she is not pursuing her exciting guardian, when she is in serious danger of falling in love with him?

  By the same author in Masquerade:

  FOLLOW THE DRUM

  A GIFT FOR PAMELA

  First published in Great Britain 1981

  by Mills & Boon Limited

  © Judy Turner 1981

  ISBN 0263 77668 7

  For Julie Redfern,

  who enjoyed the rough draft,

  and I hope will enjoy the finished product even more!

  CHAPTER ONE

  'Well, my dear, the lawyer has arrived. Shall we go down together to hear your mamma's will read, eh?'

  Sherida Winyard turned from her contemplation of the steadily falling rain outside the window. Her figure was garbed in deep mourning, but the face which she turned to her stepfather was disconcertingly cheerful.

  'Very well, Lord Craven. Let's see if we are to receive our just deserts! Indeed, you are more deserving than I, for I don't mind sick-nursing, whereas you felt yourself to be rather de trop.'

  Lord Craven, Sherida's third stepfather, said, 'You tended your mamma most faithfully, Sherida. She had little cause to expect such devotion, for I know you saw her seldom.'

  Sherida placed her hand on his arm, looking up into his dissipated but good-natured countenance. 'True. And whilst we're being truthful, can I admit I'm not looking forward to the will-reading? I'm sure you'd hate to be my guardian as much as…'

  'As much as you'd hate to be my ward, eh? Never fear, your mamma knew such an arrangement would be most unsuitable. You've aunts in plenty, however, and… Now for it!'

  They had crossed the hall while they talked and Lord Craven opened the library door and bowed Sherida through. She smiled at him, taking her place in the chair which old Mr Jobson, the family lawyer, was holding for her. The family, who had gathered for the funeral and stayed over for the will-reading, greeted Sherida according to their natures. Her aunts, Natalie and Bertha, gave her sad half-smiles, her uncles nodded, Great-Uncle Paul Winyard grunted. Only her cousin Bertram grinned and that was because, having lived next door to Knighton all his life, he knew that Sherida and her mamma had been little more than strangers.

  Mr Jobson cleared his throat, an expectant hush reigned, and the will-reading began.

  Lady Craven, through a series of advantageous marriages, had left a great many possessions, but Sherida listened with little interest whilst various bequests were detailed. Lord Craven was to receive a large sum of money and a property in Yorkshire which Lady Craven had despised as being too far from London; her aunts were left keepsakes and jewellery, small items went to personal friends, mourning rings and sums of money to faithful servants. And then, at last, her own name.

  And to my Daughter, Sherida, I leave in trust all my personal fortune and this manor of Knighton with all its farms and messuages, the said trust to be administered by Lord McNaughton of Albemarle Street, London, until my daughter marries or reaches the age of twenty-five, which-ever be the sooner. Such a marriage must be considered suitable by Lord McNaughton and by Lady McNaughton, in whom I place every dependence. It is my wish that my Daughter shall take up residence with the said McNaughtons until the celebration of her marriage, or until she reaches the age of twenty-five, when the estate shall be hers absolutely as previously stated.'

  As the lawyer ceased reading a buzz of conversation broke out, and Sherida racked her brains for some recollection of the name McNaughton. Had her mother ever mentioned them? If so, she did not recall it. But Aunt Bertha broke out plaintively, 'The McNaughtons? Why, they're not even connections! I really don't see why my dear niece should be sent to strangers. It would be more natural, surely, for her to make her home with Frederick and myself?'

  'Letty wasn't a natural parent,' Aunt Natalie said spitefully. 'I doubt if she saw Sherida more than half-a-dozen times these past ten years, and being so fond of London life herself, no doubt she felt her daughter, too, would prefer it.'

  There was a difficult silence, and then Mr Jobson said, 'Your mother left you a letter, Miss Winyard, to be read when you had heard the will. Would you care to take it into the study and read it alone?'

  Sherida took the envelope with a murmured word of thanks and left the room. In the study, sitting comfortably before the fire, she opened it with feelings of lively curiosity. As Aunt Natalie had said, her mother had been almost a stranger to her only daughter until illness had driven her back to Knighton Manor. She had lived for only twelve weeks, growing steadily weaker and more wasted, and when she died Sherida's chief feeling had been one of relief that the other's suffering was at an end.

  'You will wonder why I don't, leave you in Aunt Bertha's charge, or even with Natalie,' the letter began abruptly. 'The truth is, Natalie knows nothing of the young, being a spinster and set in her ways, and Bertha has her eye on you for her son; he is a poor bargain and I should like you to meet other men. Bertha would scarcely take you to London for a season if she thought she might lose you by so doing! However, my old friend Fanny McNaughton is childless, and I have already ascertained that she will gladly introduce you into society. Lord McNaughton is elderly and something of a philanthropist, and will administer your fortune and estate. You will not be a charge upon their household, for I've made financial arrangements with Jobson, and Lord McNaughton will pay you an allowance out of the estate. Enjoy your first London season, my child, and don't think of wearing mourning. You scarcely knew me, after all! Your Mamma.'

  And then, scrawled weakly at the bottom of the page, 'I shall be surprised if you do not "take", as they say, for despite my dislike of being anyone's mother, I have found you a delightful companion.'

  For an instant, Sherida remembered her mother as she had been in health. Tall, slender and golden-haired, with graceful movements and great, sherry-coloured eyes, the only feature she had passed on to her daughter. So Lady Craven had felt some fondness for her, then, before the end.

  Carefully folding the letter and slipping it into her reticule, Sherida felt tears in her eyes. So it had been motherhood, and not her daughter, which Lady Craven had disliked! But it was no use grieving over what could not be helped. She blinked the tears away and returned to the library, where the funeral party was gathering round a cold collation provided by the housekeeper.

  'My mother seems to have arranged for me to go to Albemarle Street,' she said quietly to the lawyer. 'I don't know how soon I shall leave here, or…'

  The old man smiled at her paternally, patting her hand. 'My dear Miss Winyard, your guardian himself has arrived, to carry you back to London with him! I wrote at once, naturally, to acquaint him with your Mamma's sad passing, and he must have set out within hours of receiving my letter. Will you go to him? He's in the crimson salon, and I've instructed your butler to take a tray of luncheon to him presently, for he said he would not intrude upon a family party.'

  'Of course,'
Sherida said warmly. 'How very good of the old gentleman to come so far! But I suppose he wants to see the estate, talk to the bailiff and so on, if he's to administer it on my behalf.'

  And Sherida, determined to show her gratitude as speedily as possible, left the library, crossed the hall, and opened the door of the crimson salon.

  For a moment Sherida stopped in the doorway, rivetted by what she saw. Standing in the middle of the hearthrug, glancing towards her with raised brows, was a tall, broad-shouldered man in his thirties. He had thick, dark hair cut in a fashionable brutus and was elegantly clad in a many-caped driving coat which was opened to reveal a glimpse of a blue coat, snowy neckcloth, well-cut breeches and gleaming hessian boots. But what struck her most forcibly after his youth, was the scar which ran across his cheekbone from the corner of his left eye. It gave him a cynical look, and she found she was raising her hand instinctively to her own cheek and hastily lowered it again, feeling her colour rise.

  'Miss Winyard?' The man's voice sounded surprised.

  'Yes, I'm Sherida Winyard. And you must be… Lord McNaughton?' Despite herself she could not help a note of incredulity creeping into her voice.

  He bowed, acknowledging it. 'Greville McNaughton. My mother was unable to leave Albemarle Street, but she asked me to be her proxy and to accompany you and your maid back to London as soon as possible. Since I'm to administer your estate, it seemed best that I should come into Norfolk myself.'

  'Your… Your Mamma? But my mother said… she thought…'

  He said a shade impatiently, 'I gather that your mamma didn't realise that my father was a widower with a son of two when he married my step-mamma. But I didn't realise Lady Craven had a daughter, either, until I found myself called upon to become your guardian.'

  'Oh. I beg your pardon,' Sherida said. She crossed the room and tugged at the bell-pull, then returned to stand watching him while he shrugged himself out of his coat. 'And your father, sir?'

  'Dead, these six years,' he said briefly. The door opened and Simmonds, the butler, majestically took the coat and beaver hat which Lord McNaughton held out, informed them that a tray of luncheon would arrive in a few moments, and quitted the room again.

  'Six years? And she did not know you, though you both moved in the same circles? Then how… ?'

  'If you would sit down., Miss Winyard, then I might follow suit,' Lord McNaughton said mildly. After they were seated he continued, 'I was with the army until my father's death, and though I did know Lady Craven, I doubt she knew my name. It seems that she missed the announcement of my father's death, and upon hearing of Lord McNaughton, jumped to the conclusion that he had recovered from his last illness, instead of dying of it! And since we were both christened Greville…'

  'I see, but how dreadful it is,' Sherida said distractedly. 'Then it is you who will manage my affairs! Why did you agree to it?'

  'I did not,' he returned, frowning down at his boots. 'My mother did, however. And to do her justice, she had no idea that your mother was dying.

  She thought it strange, she said, that Letty should begin to talk of her responsibility to you, but she is very good-natured, and…'

  'Is there no way we can escape from it?' Sherida asked. 'I can't like the arrangement!'

  'You can't dislike it more than I, Miss Winyard! But I'll not cheat you, you may be sure of that, and my mother will take good care of you.'

  'Cheat me? Oh no, no,' she disclaimed, her colour rising. 'But it must be inconvenient… cause you trouble…'

  He raised one brow. 'Do you intend to be a difficult charge, then, Miss Winyard?'

  Her confusion increased, as she was sure he intended. 'Of course not! And I'll do my utmost to see that your guardianship won't last too long!'

  He raised both brows at that. 'So you intend to find yourself a husband without loss of time? You're honest, at any rate! But don't forget, your choice must meet with my approval until you're twenty-five. I suppose I could refuse my consent!'

  This thought seemed to amuse him, but Sherida jumped to her feet, her cheeks hot. 'Fiddlesticks! You know very well that my mamma intended Lady McNaughton to look after me, with the help of your father. She didn't even know you existed! I'll obey your mamma of course, but you shan't bully me!'

  Lord McNaughton had risen when she did and now they stood facing one another across the hearthrug. 'My mother is both easy-going and amenable, Miss Winyard. I'm not going to allow anyone to impose upon her.'

  'Then wouldn't it be better if we could change things? Can you not tell my aunt that you'd prefer me to be put in her charge?'

  He looked down at her for a moment, his face expressionless. Then he said curtly, 'No, impossible. I tell you my mother agreed eagerly to the conditions! I fear you and I must make the best of it, Miss Winyard.'

  Sherida frowned, then her face cleared and she smiled up at him, her eyes dancing. 'How foolish I'm being, my lord, and how ungracious! I do apologise, but this has been a shock for me too, you know. I'll do my best to marry someone of whom you thoroughly approve. There! How does that sound?'

  He could not help laughing and she thought that when he did so, one quite forgot the harsh features and the scarred cheek, and saw that he was a handsome man.

  'It sounds generous, Miss Winyard! In my turn, I promise not to bully you, and to do my best to see that you enjoy your come-out.' A knock on the door heralded the entrance of a servant, carrying a laden tray. 'Ah, luncheon! Will you eat with me, or must you return to your relatives in the library?'

  As she dressed for dinner, Sherida pondered on Lord McNaughton's attitude. Why has he said he would not have his mother 'imposed on'? Surely he did not mean to imply that she would take advantage of her hostess's kindness? And why should he care whom she married? Obviously, while under his guardianship it would not do for her to encourage the attentions of gazetted fortune-hunters, but the sooner she married, the sooner he would be rid of her! And then, as she put the finishing touches to her appearance, she had her answer.

  Aunt Bertha, her husband Frederick and Aunt Natalie had consented to dine with her and had met Lord McNaughton during the afternoon. As she leaned near the mirror to fasten the black velvet ribbon round her throat, she heard voices rising from the terrace below her window. The rain had stopped, to be succeeded by a fine, warm evening, and Aunt Bertha and Aunt Natalie were strolling outside and talking, oblivious of her nearness.

  'Of course the reason she's been left in McNaughton's care is obvious, once you've laid eyes on the young man,' Aunt Natalie said clearly. 'Letty was ambitious for the girl, Bertha! I imagine that Fanny McNaughton must have persuaded Letty to give the child into their guardianship for a year or so, and no doubt Letty leapt at the chance. If she doesn't marry young McNaughton I shall be most surprised!'

  'Sherida may be an heiress, but she's not the finest catch on the marriage market,' Aunt Bertha said plaintively. 'Now if she were to marry my dear Bertram, combining the estates, that would be different.'

  'An excellent match for your son, my dear!' Aunt Natalie said with an artificial laugh. 'Not only is the girl worth twice what Bertram will be, but she owns some of the finest agricultural land in the county.

  Properly administered, her fortune could be trebled before she comes of age. And why should this McNaughton person work to make some other man rich? No, no, you mark my words, it is he who will own Knighton, not Bertram!'

  'But what good would the land be to him?' Aunt Bertha queried hopefully. 'His estates are in Surrey!'

  'Now they are, yes. But didn't you know he's Lord Crome's heir? And his lands…'

  'March with ours, and consequently, with Knighton. Yes, Natalie, you must be right. Poor Bertram will be heartbroken—I'm sure he considers he and his cousin are as good as betrothed. But there, she may not take McNaughton, for all his title and fortune! I think it might be as well to hire a house in London for the season. I'll speak to Frederick about it.'

  The voices died away as the two ladies turned from t
he terrace to re-enter the house, and Sherida was left to ponder over what she had heard.

  Lord McNaughton, busy with the tying of a complicated knot in his wide muslin neckcloth, had no doubts as to why Lady Craven had placed her daughter in his charge. He had driven down to Norfolk seething with annoyance, determined to deny any responsibility for the girl, but the wind had been taken out of his sails the minute he had set eyes on Sherida.

  For despite his reassurances to the daughter that his guardianship had been the result of a misunderstanding, he had, in truth, believed that Lady Craven was throwing her child at his head. One glance, however, at his ward's small, heart-shaped face had forced him to admit that she, at any rate, was innocent of any such intention. He had expected to meet a younger edition of Lady Letty; blonde, seductive, self-assured. Instead, Sherida Winyard was small and lively, with chestnut hair and sherry-coloured eyes, clear skin, and a certain wide-eyed innocence which he was sure could not be assumed.

  He speedily realised that his mother's hints were true; Lady Letty had had little hand in her daughter's upbringing. Equally obvious, Sherida knew nothing of her mother's behaviour and reputation. Lady Letty had been as free with her favours as any demi-mondaine, despite her birth. He disliked her more, perhaps, because in his own salad-days he had been captivated by her for a short time, until he had realised she smiled upon quite half-a-dozen young men as she had smiled upon him. Then, disgusted, Lord McNaughton had ceased to form one of her court.

  But when he set eyes on Miss Winyard, he realised it would not be fair to visit his dislike of the mother upon the daughter. She had been badly treated enough already, by all accounts. And if he did not agree to the guardianship, what would happen? She would remain cooped up in the country until she agreed to marry her dull young cousin, or some bluff country squire.