Читать книгу Counterfeit Earl - Anne Herries, Anne Herries - Страница 8

“Will you both forgive me if I do not accompany you to Brighton?” Harry looked from his wife to Olivia, an apologetic expression in his eyes. “Papa and I have much to discuss, and I promise faithfully to join you in a week’s time.”

“We can easily wait until you are ready to come with us,” Beatrice pointed out. “We do not mind putting off our journey for a week.”

“No, I see no reason for you to be deprived of your pleasures,” Harry said, smiling at her. “I had thought Papa and I would have settled our business by now, but there is so much to discuss. You will be quite safe, dearest. You will have servants enough to escort you on the road, and your maid, Beatrice. I am sure you and Olivia will find so many of your acquaintance in Brighton that you will hardly notice I am not there.”

“Was there ever such a provoking man?” Beatrice asked, and Olivia laughed. “Very well, my lord. It shall be as you please. I should not wish to spoil your or Papa’s fun. Olivia and I will go tomorrow as agreed, but we shall expect you early next week without fail—shall we not, Olivia?”

Olivia merely smiled at their banter. They were so obviously in love, but sometimes merciless in the way they teased each other. Olivia knew that such a relationship was not for her. She did not know precisely what she was searching for, but she believed the man she could love would be very different…more intense, heroic perhaps.

“Well, I shall leave you to tear my character to pieces in comfort,” Harry said with a wicked look for his wife. “Papa has come up with the most ingenious design for a system of gravity heating, and we are about to inspect the east wing to see how it could best be implemented. It is really very exciting.”

Olivia raised her fine brows at her sister as he went out, leaving them in the sunny parlour, which overlooked a pretty rose garden and was Beatrice’s favourite room in the house.

“How can you contemplate the idea of having your house disrupted, Beatrice?”

Beatrice smiled. “We never use the east wing because it is so very cold. Papa can do no harm there. Besides, I have seen the new drawings. They look as if they might actually work. It is the principle of water finding its own level, you see. Harry explained it all to me. The idea is very much that used in those charming waterfalls you admire in landscaped gardens, where you see all the water tumbling down into a pool and wonder how it returns to the top to start falling again. The pressure of water carries it round and…”

“Oh, pray do not go on,” Olivia begged. “I never understand more than a few words of Papa’s theories.”

“That is because you have not had the benefit of Harry’s explanations,” Beatrice replied, her eyes alight with laughter. “We often discuss such things for hours at a time.”

“Truly?” Olivia looked at her in awe. “How can you bear it?”

“I enjoy listening,” Beatrice explained. “I have always been fascinated by the way other people’s minds work. I suppose that is why I love to gossip.”

“Oh, gossip,” Olivia said and laughed. “Now that is a very different matter, of course. Sophia wrote to me from town. Have you heard the latest about Caroline Lamb and Lord Byron? Truly, she is shameless! Everyone is talking about it…”

Olivia was thoughtful as she changed for dinner that evening. After spending a week at Camberwell, she could not doubt her sister’s happiness. Beatrice no longer spent long hours in the kitchen cooking, nor did she clean, but her influence was everywhere in the house. It was evident that her servants respected her, and her household was impeccably run while retaining a warmth and charm that was often missing in large houses.

Olivia supposed that she might be happy in a house like Camberwell, which happened to be the smallest of Lord Ravensden’s houses. Or she would be if she were married to a man she could love and admire; but somehow her rebellious spirit still craved adventure.

There was a strange restlessness inside her. She had begun to realise that her careful upbringing had been against her true nature. Lady Burton was a nervous, fussy woman, who had raised Olivia in her own image, but as each day passed the girl had gradually found her perception of the world and herself changing.

As yet she did not truly know the real Olivia. The girl who had loved to dance until dawn and flirt with the gentlemen who paid her pretty compliments was still there, of course, but she suspected there was another Olivia waiting to emerge.

“If only something exciting would happen,” she murmured to herself as she prepared to go downstairs and join her family at supper. “If only I could fall in love the way Beatrice has…” She laughed at herself. At Brighton, she was likely to meet the same gentlemen she had known in London, none of whom had caught her interest.

“What are you waiting for, Olivia?” she asked her own reflection in the mirror. She shook her head at her own thoughts as the words of a poem came into her mind. A pale knight wandering lost and alone after the heat of battle…waiting to be brought back to life by a beautiful lady, who would take the shadows from his eyes… “Where are you, my pale knight?”

Her head was full of romantic nonsense! Why could she not settle for someone kind and generous? Why must she always look for something more?

Dismissing her own longings as ridiculous, Olivia picked up her silk shawl and went downstairs to join the others.

Olivia sighed as she glanced out of the carriage window. They had been travelling for three days, having broken their journey by staying two nights with Lord and Lady Dawlish, who were great friends of Harry and Beatrice, in their house near the lovely, ancient village of Bletchingley in Surrey. It was now nearly noon, and they had set out at half-past the hour of eight that morning. They would soon be stopping to take refreshments and change the horses at the posting stage.

“Whoa! Whoa there!”

“What is happening?” Beatrice said, looking surprised as their coachman pulled the horses to a rather sudden and juddering halt. “Can you see anything, Olivia?”

Olivia glanced out of the window. “I believe there is an obstruction on the road. It looks as if someone’s coach may have lost a wheel.”

“Oh, how unfortunate,” Beatrice said. She would have gone on, but her groom opened the carriage door and looked in. “Yes, Dorkins? Has there been an accident?”

“I’m afraid so, milady. It means a delay while we help the gentleman to clear the road.”

“Then we may as well get down and stretch our legs,” Olivia said, giving her hand to the groom. “Pray help me out, Dorkins. I need a little exercise.”

They had stopped on a quiet stretch of road, which was quite narrow and hemmed in by a thick wood to either side. One glance at the cumbersome coach ahead, which was tipped drunkenly forward, having lost its front nearside wheel, told Olivia that they would be delayed for several minutes while the grooms of both vehicles combined to move the coach off the road.

Beatrice looked out of the window as Olivia started to wander away. “Where are you going, dearest?”

“Just to stretch my legs. Do not worry. I shall not go far.”

Olivia left the road, entering the wood. Her purpose was an indelicate subject, and one that she was not prepared to discuss in full hearing of the grooms, but she had been waiting to answer the call of nature for some while. She had preferred not to ask coachman to stop, thinking that they would soon reach the posting inn, but now she had determined to seize her chance to relieve herself.

Not for the first time in her life, Olivia found herself wishing she were a man as she gathered the voluminous skirts of her stylish travelling gown and squatted awkwardly behind a bush, which was well out of sight of the road. A few moments later, she emerged feeling more comfortable and began to rearrange her clothing, peering round at the back to make sure she was decent. Reassured, she was about to return to the road when she heard a low growling noise and turned to find her way blocked by a huge black dog. Its top lip was curled back over vicious-looking teeth, and it was snarling, poised as if preparing to leap at her if she dared to try passing it.

Olivia froze, unable to move so much as a finger. Her heart was beating wildly. She was terrified of large dogs. Lord Burton kept a pack of fierce guard dogs at his country estate, and she had once been bitten by one of them. The scar on her arm had almost completely faded, but the mental scar was still there.

“Do not move, ma’am!” a male voice suddenly commanded from behind her. “He has been trained to attack intruders. Hold, Brutus! Lie down, sir!”

The dog seemed to hesitate, then it stopped growling and stretched down on the earth at Olivia’s feet, its head on its paws. She tried to make herself walk past, but found she was quite unable to move.

“He won’t hurt you now. It’s perfectly safe.”

Olivia’s mouth felt dry. “I—I cannot…”

“You need not be afraid,” a voice beside her said, and then she felt the gentle touch of a hand on her arm. “I shall not let him attack you. I give you my word.”

She turned her head to look at the man, her eyes widening in surprise. At first sight, he was a little unnerving himself. His features were long, the chin square, rather thin, as if he had recently lost weight, and his dark eyes were red-rimmed. His hair was longer than was fashionable, very thick, dark and slightly curling, blown by the wind into a tangle about his face. His right temple bore a deep purple scar, which had begun to heal.

“Oh…” Her hand went to her breast as her heart thudded suddenly. He was a very large man, lean, but wiry, and simply dressed. She took him for a gamekeeper. “Forgive me. I…”

“No, forgive us for frightening you,” Jack Denning said, his tone and manner seeming harsh though the words were kindly meant. “Brutus was my grandfather’s dog. Sir Joshua Chambers, the late owner of Briarwood—which is where you are. The dog was trained to keep gypsies from trespassing in the woods. He does not know that you are a lady, only that you are a stranger to him.”

“I—I am afraid I was trespassing,” Olivia said, finding her voice at last. So he was not the gamekeeper, but the grandson of a baronet! “It was very wrong of me.”

Jack smiled, his features losing some of their harshness, becoming more like the man he had once been. “I am Captain Jack Denning,” he said. “My man told me there had been an accident on the road and I was on my way to investigate. Was it perhaps your own carriage, ma’am?”

“I am Miss Olivia Roade Burton.” Her head went up a little as her natural spirit reasserted itself. “I am travelling to Brighton with my sister, Lady Ravensden, and our carriage has been delayed—the coach ahead of us has lost a wheel.”

“Yes, so I understand. I have already directed some of my men to assist in clearing the road. Perhaps by the time you reach your carriage, the way may be open.”

“Thank you. I shall go immediately.”

“You will allow me to accompany you.” Jack frowned. “Although I believe you to be safe enough for the moment, I would not recommend wandering alone in strange woods, Miss Roade Burton. Were the gypsies I spoke of still here, I could not have been certain of your safety. They are wild, fierce creatures…and you are too young and vulnerable to be here alone.”

Olivia did not answer. For some unaccountable reason her heart was racing and she was finding it difficult to get her breath. Captain Denning had been kind enough, but his manner was not encouraging. She sensed that he was not pleased to find her in his woods.

“I…” It was too embarrassing! She could not explain her reason for leaving the road. “I do not usually…”

He made no comment on her loss of words, merely cautioning the dog to stay before turning to lead her back towards the road. Olivia followed behind, feeling foolish.

She had never met anyone quite like him and she did wonder what had made that scar at his temple. He looked as though he might have been very ill quite recently, though she saw by his manner of striding through the woods that he had recovered his strength.

“Here we are, Miss Roade Burton. I believe your carriage is almost ready to leave.”

“Thank you.” Olivia glanced up as they both paused at the roadside, her eyes meeting his for one moment. Something seemed to flicker deep within his and for the briefest time she thought his expression seemed haunted, almost tortured. What could have caused him to look like that? Before she had time to think, the look had gone. “Goodbye, Captain Denning. I thank you for your courtesy.”

“Goodbye, Miss Roade Burton. I wish you a safe journey onwards.”

“That is kind.” She smiled at him. “Perhaps we shall meet if you come to Brighton.”

She blushed, wondering what had made her say such a thing. It would not be remarkable if he were to visit Brighton, since his estate was no more than twenty miles distant, yet her words were rather more familiar than Olivia would usually use in speaking to a stranger.

“I doubt that we shall,” Jack replied. His gaze narrowed, becoming colder to her way of thinking. “I have no plans to visit Brighton at the moment.”

Olivia lowered her eyes. She felt as if he had given her a setdown, and knew that she had deserved it. Perhaps he imagined that she was setting her cap at him! It was her own fault. She had been forward, almost impertinent.

She walked away from him, her back very straight. What did it matter? She was sure she did not care whether he had thought her forward or not!

Beatrice was gazing out of the carriage window, looking anxious. She waved at her as she saw her, clearly relieved.

“Oh, there you are! I was just beginning to wonder if I should send someone to search for you, dearest.”

“I am sorry if I made you anxious. I went into the wood to—to, well, you know. There was a fierce dog. It snarled at me and would not let me pass. I dare not move in case it attacked me. Then a man came and called it off. I imagined at first that he was the gamekeeper, but I believe he may own the estate. He…looked odd.”

“How?” Beatrice stared at her in surprise. “I am not sure what you mean by odd?”

“I am not sure either,” Olivia said and laughed. “Perhaps odd is the wrong word. Yes, interesting might be more appropriate. I think he had been ill. His face looked thin, almost gaunt, and his eyes…” She shook her head. It was his eyes that had affected her most. “What ails thee, pale knight…?”

“What was that you said?” Beatrice asked.

“Oh, I was thinking of a verse I once read,” Olivia said. “It was about a knight wandering in a daze from the field of battle…pale of face and red of eye…”

“Oh, poetry!” Beatrice said and smiled. “What was his name, dearest? This man you met…”

“Denning…Captain Jack Denning.”

“Perhaps he was a soldier,” Beatrice said. “He may have been wounded in the Peninsula, and sent home to recover.”

“Yes…” Olivia was much struck by this. She had been shaken by the incident with the dog, and then a little annoyed with her rescuer for implying that she was foolish to have wandered into the woods alone, and had not given his title much consideration. “Yes, I think you may be right, Beatrice. That would account for his brusque manner. He did not strike me as someone accustomed to mixing in society often.”

“Are you saying he was not a gentleman?”

“No, of course not. He was definitely a gentleman, but his manner was a little harsh…or reserved might be a better word. I think he may well have been a soldier—and if he was wounded out there, it would account for his appearance.”

“Well, as long as he did not insult or harm you?”

“Oh, no,” Olivia said. “Quite the opposite. He seemed most concerned that I was alone in the woods, and insisted on seeing me safe to the road. His dog has been trained to attack gypsies. Apparently they are a nuisance in these woods…”

Beatrice nodded. Obviously a country gentleman, she thought, perhaps with some recent military service. Olivia was used to the refined manners and gentle flirtation offered by the gentlemen she had met in London drawing-rooms. She might well find the abrupt way of speaking some country squires had a little harsh.

“It seems there was no harm done,” she said. “Get into the coach now, my love. I think coachman is ready to go on.”

“Yes, of course,” Olivia said. She glanced back towards the wood but could see no sign of Captain Denning. Why should she want to? He was not handsome in a conventional way, nor charming. Yet there had been something about him. “Yes, of course, we should go on…”

She climbed into the coach and settled her gown about her. It was most unlikely that she would ever meet Captain Denning again.

Jack Denning stood amongst the trees, watching as the carriage moved off. He whistled to Brutus, then turned to continue his walk through the woods of his estate. All the land to both sides of the main highway had belonged to his maternal grandfather until a few months ago, when the very desirable estate and substantial property elsewhere had passed to him through Sir Joshua’s will.

Jack had been sad to learn of his grandfather’s death on his return to England. Sir Joshua was the one person ever to have shown Jack true love and affection, and he had been very fond of him.

“Sir Joshua was a very wealthy man,” the solicitor had told Jack when he at last answered Trussell’s repeated invitation to call at his offices. “His fortune was made from trade, Captain Denning. Ships, coal and iron—he had invested in a new foundry just a few months before his final illness. I do not know whether you would wish to sell? I do have buyers interested, should you wish to dispose of one or all of Sir Joshua’s assets.”

It was not usual for the aristocracy to be concerned in trade. Many young men in Captain Denning’s position would have instantly sold the flourishing businesses and invested their money in land or the five percents.

“Not for the moment,” Jack said, surprising the lawyer. “If Sir Joshua believed in them, I imagine they are good investments.”

“Your grandfather was an excellent businessman, sir.”

“Yes, I imagine he must have been. Tell his agents and managers to carry on as usual for the moment. I shall give myself time to think about the future before I do anything.”

Jack was not sure what he wished to do about any of the estate. There was sufficient money for him to live the life of a gentleman of leisure should he so wish, but he doubted it would suit him. He had loved the routine and bustle of army life—but that was over. His memories of comradeship had become tainted by those last hours at Badajoz.

He shut the pictures out of his mind resolutely. There were times now when he almost managed to forget…almost.

But there was no sense in remembering. He had failed, and his shame haunted him, most often at night when the dreams tortured him so that he woke sweating and crying out in pain and remorse.

He should have stopped it! Damn it! He should have done something. He had been so stunned, so disgusted by what he was seeing, that he had been slow to react…and then it had been too late. No, he could not go back, he must find a way to go forward, find a future for himself.

Jack frowned as he returned to the house at last and saw the old-fashioned, heavy travelling coach pulled up outside the front door of Briarwood House. The crest on the side panel would have told him who his visitor was had he needed to be told, which he did not. He had subconsciously been expecting this visitor for weeks, ever since his return to England.

“The Earl arrived half an hour since,” Jenkins told him as he entered the hall after scraping the mud from his boots outside the annexe door. “I asked his lordship to wait in the library, sir, and I took him some of the good Madeira Sir Joshua laid down.”

“Thank you,” Jack said and smiled. “You did exactly right.”

He glanced at himself in the mahogany-framed mirror in the main hall, brushing some debris from the sleeve of his coat. He was dressed in the simple garb of a country gentleman, but he must not appear careless. The Earl was a stickler for good manners, and it would not do to arrive looking as if he had come straight from the stables.

In the large, comfortable parlour, the Earl of Heggan was standing by the long French windows looking out on to the formal gardens. He was a tall man, silver-haired and impeccably dressed in knee-breeches and a frockcoat with wide tails, a style that had been fashionable some years back and was perhaps more formal than usual for the country. He turned as Jack entered, moving a little stiffly, his face showing no signs of the pain he suffered almost constantly.

Jack would not have expected anything else. Lord Heggan had never been known to show weakness of any kind.

“Forgive me for not being here to receive you,” Jack said. “You sent no word of your intention to visit today.”

“I imagined you would be expecting me?” Lord Heggan’s clipped tones spoke of his disapproval.

“Yes. I expected a visit at some time, though I was uncertain of precisely when you would come.”

“It would have done you more credit had you the courtesy to call on me, sir.”

“I believe you know my reason for not doing so,” Jack replied. They were very alike in that moment, two strong-willed, uncompromising men. “You have been staying at Stanhope. I vowed never to return when I left six years ago, and I do not lightly break my vow.”

“You are a stubborn young fool,” the Earl said and sighed. “You will forgive me if I sit down? I am past seventy and too old to stand for long. Besides, the journey tired me.”

Jack knew a moment of concern as he saw beneath the older man’s mask and sensed how much of a strain he was under.

“Forgive me, sir. You are not well. I had not realized.”

“It is merely age,” the Earl said and frowned. “I dare say there are less than five years left to me at most—that is why it is imperative that we talk.” He looked straight at his grandson. “I know you have no love for Viscount Stanhope. I do not blame you. My son has lived as a wastrel, and will, I have no doubt, die with his sins upon him. He does not repent and swears he will not as he draws his last breath.”

“My father cursed me when I left his house,” Jack replied. “I am aware that he is ill. Mama told me that he cannot live long when I called on her in London. If you have come to beg me to see Stanhope, you have wasted your time, sir. He would spit in my face and accuse me of having come to gloat at his deathbed.”

“I dare say you are right,” the Earl said. “I am not such a fool as to waste my breath on a lost cause. It was my duty to see Stanhope. I have advised him to make his peace with God at last. I could do no less.”

Jack nodded. The Earl had seemed a distant figure when he was younger. Unbending, a stern disciplinarian who descended on the house only to make his displeasure known, but he was a just man by all accounts.

“No one could expect more, sir.” Jack looked him in the eyes. “If it was not for my father’s sake—why have you come?”

“To remind you of your duty to the family,” the Earl said. His faded blue eyes were seemingly without warmth or feeling. “You have been sent back to England for one purpose. Since your father has only months—or weeks—to live, you must make sure of the succession. You must marry and get yourself an heir before it is too late.”

“I am seven-and-twenty, sir,” Jack said, a faint smile in his dark eyes. “I do not think the case desperate just yet.”

“Your life has been in danger since you went to the Peninsula,” the Earl replied. “Now that you have returned to England, you could be killed in a fall from your horse or take a fever and die of it in days. Until you have at least one son, there is a danger that the title will die with you. We have no male relatives. Therefore it is your duty to make sure of the succession.”

“I have no wish to disoblige you, sir,” Jack said, his mouth set hard. “But at the moment I cannot promise to do as you ask. I have no desire to marry.”

“Your desires are of no importance.” The Earl glared at him. “I thought I had made myself plain. This is a matter of duty. Your own wishes are secondary. You owe this to me as the head of the family.”

“Forgive me, sir, but you do not know what you ask.”

“If you are thinking of love…”

“I was not,” Jack said. “And I know what you were about to say—that I should make a marriage of convenience and take my pleasures where I will. You above anyone should know that the idea of such behaviour is abhorrent to me. I have a mistress who suits me well enough for the moment. She is a lady of good birth, married to a man who neglects her. Should I take a wife, Anne and I would part by mutual agreement and as friends.”

“At least you have some sense of decency, which is more than Stanhope ever did,” muttered the Earl, a grudging approval in his eyes. “Why will you not do your duty, Jack?”

“If I were to marry, it would naturally be to a girl of good family, an innocent, respectable girl—and that I shall not do.” Jack’s face was hard, his mouth set in a stubborn line. “My hands are stained with the blood of innocents, sir. My touch would defile a decent girl.”

“Ridiculous!” snapped the Earl. “You are a damned fool, Jack. I shall hear no more of this nonsense. If you wish to inherit my personal fortune as well as the Heggan estate and title, which is of course entailed, you will do as I ask.”

“Titles mean nothing to me,” Jack replied. “As for money—Sir Joshua left me more money than I shall ever spend. I have ever lived by my own code of honour, and it is all I have left to me. Do not ask me to deny it for the sake of a fortune, for I shall not do so.”

“By God, sir!” The Earl’s eyes glinted. “If I were a younger man I should thrash you.”

Jack smiled oddly. “You might try, sir—but if you were a younger man and not my grandfather, I might be forced to kill you.”

“Damn you! Where did you get your stubborn nature? Your father was a weakling, a drunken wastrel who gambled away his life and his fortune. Your mother a cold beauty with no heart.”

“Would you have me trapped into the same kind of marriage as they had?” Jack asked. Then, before the Earl could reply, “And, since you ask, I believe I resemble you in character more than either of us had previously imagined.”

“Perhaps.” The Earl inclined his head stiffly, the faintest flicker of a smile in those faded eyes. Jack’s remark seemed to have softened him. “We should not quarrel, Denning. Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“At this moment? Nothing.”

“Then I may as well go back to Stanhope. The servants will neglect your father if I am not there to remind them of their duty. I believe they hate him to a man.”

“Can you blame them?”

“No, I do not blame them, but I will not have him neglected. He shall die peacefully in his own bed, if not at peace with himself and his Maker.” For one brief moment there was a flicker of emotion in the Earl’s eyes. “I beg you, Jack. Find yourself a wife—not just for my sake, not just for duty, but for your own good. To live and die alone is a fate I would not wish on my worst enemy.”

Jack turned away, walking over to the window to gaze out at the sky, which was clouding over. For some reason he did not understand, a girl’s innocent face had come into his mind.

“If I found a woman of the right birth, a woman who could bear me near her knowing what I feel, that I am tainted to the core and can never love her, then I might oblige you. I am not unaware of my duty to you, Grandfather.”

“I pray that you will find such a woman,” the Earl said. “Indeed, you are often in my prayers, Jack. I sincerely hope that you will find peace soon.”

“Would that I could!” Jack muttered. He did not turn, for he knew that his face must reveal the inner torment he felt. “Would that I could…”