The Constant Companion by M. C. Beaton Page A

problems. Peter, perhaps?”
    At that moment, Peter caught Constance’s hand and bent his long sheep-like face to kiss it, and Constance gently drew her hand away, her face turning pink with embarrassment.
    No, Peter is too clumsy, he thought angrily. She needs someone stronger—more masculine—like… like…
    “Like yourself?” whispered a mocking voice in his brain. “Like
yourself?
”

Chapter Seven
    The following day, Constance was informed by Eliot that she once more had the use of my lady’s old clothes. And not only that, there was a letter for her!
    Constance broke the unfamiliar seal and crackled open the parchment. She scanned it briefly and then began to read it more closely. It was from her late aunt, Miss Lamberton’s heir, a Mr. Nicholas Barrington.
    “
Dear Miss Lamberton
,” she read. “
I am selling Berry House since the house itself is of no interest to me and the little land there is, is nothing more than a few impoverished fields. I heard from the vicar that Lady Amelia Godolphin had kindly offered you a home and I am glad your future is secure. Nonetheless, I and my wife shall be calling on you on the tenth of this month, since we wish to assure ourselves that you are comfortably situated. I remain yr. Humble and Obedient Servant, Nicholas Barrington.
”
    Constance’s heart leapt with sudden hope.
Today
was the tenth! And Mr. and Mrs. Barrington were concerned over her welfare. She would
beg
them to take her with them. Perhaps they could employ her as a housekeeper, or if they had children, as a governess. But Amelia must not even guess at her hopes. She would simply tell her that they were to call and that she wished to remain at home to receive them.
    Amelia greeted the news rather sulkily. There was a
fête champêtre
in the Surrey fields she wished to attend. She was looking forward to recommencing the pursuit of Lord Philip in that sylvan setting, and with even more pleasure she was looking forward to another verbal battle with Mrs. Besant.
    But if she did not let Constance stay to see these tiresome relatives, Mrs. Besant was sure to find out about it somehow and use it as a weapon.
    “Very well, then,” she said ungraciously. “I see you are still wearing those terrible old clothes. Tell Eliot to find you something directly. I declare you go around looking like a quiz just to embarrass me!”
    Constance restrained from pointing out that she was wearing her own clothes on Amelia’s express orders, and merely murmured her thanks.
    Then came the agony of waiting. Amelia finally left in a flurry of silks and bad temper. Constance, attired in a pale yellow muslin gown tied under the breast with long yellow silk ribbons, set demurely in the drawing room, perched on the edge of her chair, starting at every sound of carriage wheels on the street outside.
    Bergen, the butler, kept scuttling into the room on various pretexts, seeming to enjoy Constance’s dislike and fear of him. At one point, as the butler’s pale gooseberry eyes roved over her figure with blatant insolence, Constance felt she would have to give up her vigil and escape from the house, but all at once carriage wheels did stop outside, and Bergen scuttled off to answer the summons of the knocker.
    But it was not Mr. Barrington but Lord Philip Cautry who was ushered into the room.
    Constance rose and curtsyed low, determined to get rid of him as soon as possible. But his infuriating lordship seemed to be in no hurry. He sat down in a chair opposite and stretched out his long legs in front of him. He discussed the weather, the press of traffic in the streets outside, the latest
on-dits
while Constance stared at him in amazement. He seemed a positive chatterbox this morning.
    “You are wondering why I have come,” he suddenly said abruptly.
    “I-I assume you expected to find Lady Amelia at home,” rejoined Constance nervously.
    “No. I came to see you, Miss Lamberton.” He rose and came to stand over her, his green eyes