Carola Dunn by Angel Page A

don’t want to be last to see the waterfall.”
    “It will wait for us. We don’t want Lady Elizabeth to think we are hurrying after her. In fact, I’d rather she thought we were dallying together.”
    “You mean you want to flirt with me to make her jealous? I don’t believe you will succeed. She has not the least idea of marrying you.”
    “Oh, she’ll come around. After all, she knows no one else in the least degree eligible, though she pretends to be in love with some imaginary fellow. To make herself interesting, I suppose. She’ll get tired of it and then we’ll tie the knot quick as winking. Won’t hurt to make her worry a bit.”
    Angel was dubious, but he seemed very sure of himself, and he had known Beth forever while she had met her two short weeks ago. Perhaps she did intend to marry him in the end. No one could blame her for inventing a romance to brighten a dull life.
    But what then of Mr Marshall, who had been so anxious to see her? Though he had not mentioned the matter when they met by the lake. Was it for Beth’s sake that he wished her to teach him to pay compliments to ladies?
    Angel shied away from the thought and urged her horse faster up the slope.
    Braddock’s Force was a series of falls, none high, which tumbled from pool to still, brown pool. The banks were set with mossy rocks, their crevices green with maidenhair ferns, while over the white foam of the cascade leaned a rowan tree laden with scarlet berries. Angel was delighted with the scene.
    If St Braddock had indeed lived here, it was so long ago that his dwelling had merged back into its surroundings. They found a number of flat stones which might once have been part of the hermit’s modest shelter. Seated on them in comfort, they consumed the excellent picnic provided by Sir Gregory.
    The baronet had apparently made up his mind to tolerate the viscount for the duration, and his lordship avoided harassing Beth by either his attentions or deliberate neglect, so they had an agreeable time.
    Lord Welch was in fact somewhat in awe of Sir Gregory, who in spite of his lower rank had years and inches in his favour. He found Sir Gregory’s usual air of cynical boredom intimidating. As long as the earl favoured his suit, a mere cousin was not a serious stumbling-block in the way of his possession of Beth’s fortune, but he thought it only commonsense to take every opportunity to turn him up sweet. It was always possible that the old curmudgeon would pop off the hooks before he persuaded my lady to toss her cap over the windmill, and then the baronet would hold the pursestrings. In fact, if she did not soon abandon her freaks and fancies, Lord Welch would find himself without a feather to fly with. He needed that dowry and he needed it soon.
    Exerting himself to please, Lord Welch succeeded to the extent that Beth lost most of her nervousness, Sir Gregory and Catherine for once found his company pleasant, and Angel, denied her usual throng of admirers, went so far as to wonder momentarily whether she should pursue him on her own account. He would not have been pleased had he known how quickly she dismissed the notion. It seemed laughable when she recalled how recently she had rejected Damian Wycherly’s offer.
    The trouble was, she thought, that of the four young gentlemen known to her in this part of the world, none showed signs of admiring her wholeheartedly. Which led to the lowering reflection that her charms were more solidly based on rank and fortune than she had supposed. Perhaps she should purchase a feather, just a small one, for her bonnet?
    As they rode back down the hill, Angel announced that, since Lord Welch was going that way, she wanted to ride up Dowen Crag.
    “Should you mind riding further, Miss Sutton?” Sir Gregory asked. “It is not more than half a mile, but the way grows steep.”
    “Fortunately it is my horse’s limbs and not mine which must bear the burden,” said Catherine. “I should like to see the