Читать книгу Four Regency Rogues - Энни Берроуз, Annie Burrows - Страница 11
ОглавлениеLate as she had been in returning home and going to bed, Charlotte could not sleep and soon after dawn she rose and dressed. She had to be outside—the air indoors was stifling her. She went downstairs to the kitchen where May was raking out the fire ready to relight it. Mrs Cater had just appeared and was tying an apron round her plump middle.
‘Miss Charlotte, you are never going out before breakfast.’
‘I am not hungry,’ Charlotte said truthfully, making for outside door. ‘I am going riding.’
‘But ’tis raining cats and dogs.’
‘Is it?’ She opened the door as she spoke and a gust of wind and rain blew in. Hurriedly she shut the door again. ‘So it is.’
‘Sit down and have some breakfast with us. You can tell us all about Lady Brandon’s soirée. How many were there? Was it very fine? And the Earl, did he single anyone out?’
A real lady would not have dreamed of sitting down with the servants, but Charlotte had always been free and easy with Mrs Cater, who had befriended her when she was a lonely child and defended her against the governess of the day, and so she took her seat at the kitchen table.
‘It was a very grand affair, much grander than a soirée,’ she said, and went on to describe who was there and what they wore, who danced with whom as far as she could remember, the decorations and the food and drink. But they really wanted to hear about the Earl and her voice shook whenever she mentioned his name. It was going to be very, very difficult to live so close and meet him on almost a daily basis and yet maintain her cold dislike of him. He was not an easy man to dislike, with his innate good manners and cheerful disposition, except when he was talking about Browhill. Then he changed and became intractable. Why was she constantly thinking about him? Since he had returned to Amerleigh she did not seem able to think of anything else.
She picked at the ham and eggs on her plate and wished the rain would stop, but it was still raining at ten-thirty and she was obliged to go to church in the closed carriage. As everyone who owned a vehicle was doing the same, there was a jam about the church gate as they all endeavoured to get close enough to hurry into church under the shelter of an umbrella. The weather had brightened by the time they emerged and the Earl stopped with his mother to pass the time of day with other parishioners. Charlotte murmured a quiet ‘good morning’ and made her way to her carriage.
Pretending to pay attention to something the parson was saying to his mother, Roland watched her go, a proud, lonely figure, whom few people in his social circle even pretended to like. They had, almost to a man, sided with his father in his dispute with her father and it seemed the next generation were destined to follow the path of its sires, unless something was done to put an end to it. Last night, watching her at Lady Brandon’s, he saw how she was cold-shouldered by the gentry and the only partners she had, besides himself, were pretentious young fops being bullied by their mothers into dancing with her. She was wealthy and that was enough for them. He had found himself feeling sorry for her, until Jacob came and spoke to him. Why that should have annoyed him he did not know.
During the next few weeks, Charlotte noticed the smiles he gave to all the other ladies and withheld from her and wondered why she did not explain that she had no part in what her father had done, that she did not hold with many of his methods and was trying to put matters right. But to do that would be disloyal to Papa and she was too proud to demean herself by appearing to beg for his lordship’s good opinion. Jacob had relayed his conversation with the Earl and the sharp retort he had received to the offer to settle amicably. If that was how the man intended to proceed, then she could be obstinate too. She would open up that new level and it did not matter how much it cost.
When she had time she visited Mrs Biggs, but was always careful to make sure the Earl was not in the vicinity when she did so. But she heard about him, his name was on everyone’s lips. He was a caring landlord and employer and was doing his best for all the people who depended on him. ‘He has done wonders for Tommy,’ Mrs Biggs told her on one occasion. ‘He is going to see if something can be done for his deafness and, if not, to see if he can be trained to make signs and read people’s lips.’ To which Charlotte replied that she was very pleased.
Sometimes she would see him riding through the village and then she would call at one of the cottages or turn swiftly down the nearest lane, so that they would not come face to face when both were alone. Sooner or later, she knew she would find herself without a cottage or a lane to retreat into and there would be no avoiding him and it behoved her to be prepared, but when it happened she was not ready for it.
She was up at the mine, watching the carts pulled by two great Shires, bringing up the equipment, drills, gunpowder, ropes, pulleys and trucks, to start on the new level. It was quite an event and many of the villagers had walked up the hill to watch. Mining experts, who had located the seam, came to oversee the drilling into the rock of the hillside and the laying of gunpowder charges. When they were set off, the children squealed in delight and dodged the flying stones and clods of earth. Charlotte rounded them up and took them off to watch at a safe distance.
It was then Roland, being in the vicinity and hearing the explosions that seemed to shake the whole countryside, rode up to see for himself what was going on. He pulled up and raised his hat. ‘Miss Cartwright, your obedient.’
She inclined her head. ‘My lord.’
‘Are you well?’
‘Yes, my lord. I thank you.’
She was dressed in her grey working dress with the frogging on the jacket. Far from disguising her femininity it seemed to set it off, especially as she was hatless and her untamed chestnut-coloured hair blew about her face in curling tendrils. She had a habit of flicking them out of the way with a toss of her head, he noticed. He dismounted and looked round at the people milling about. ‘Quite a spectacle. How far do you intend to drill?’
‘As far as is necessary.’
‘I wish you well of it.’
‘Do you, my lord? You surprise me.’
‘Oh, yes. The more you do, the less I will have to do when I repossess the land.’
‘Surely you mean if you repossess it, my lord? I can tell you now that will not be until after I have extracted every last ounce of lead ore out of it.’
She was as intransigent as ever. Was it worth it, he asked himself, not only in terms of the cost of the litigation, but the bad feeling it aroused between them? He did not want always to be at loggerheads with her. If they could only work together, they could achieve so much more. He bowed. ‘I thought we had called a truce.’
‘So did I, but you seem intent on breaking it. Why have you come?’
‘Out of curiosity, Miss Cartwright. I have never before seen a shaft drilled.’
She laughed. ‘You think to learn from my endeavours how to go about it yourself?’
It came to him then that she was enjoying the battle, that there was no real acrimony, only a stubborn will to win. And he recognised the same thing in himself. It was like a strange courtship, a ritual dance, a showing off of one’s attributes, as a peacock might preen its feathers before the hen, or the ducking and diving in the ring before a single punch is landed. He chuckled. ‘Perhaps how not to go about it.’
She acknowledged the hit by waving a hand in the direction of the miners. Three worked together at the rock face, one holding a drill, the other two hitting it alternately with sledgehammers until they had a hole six inches deep. After making twelve such holes, they packed them with explosive. ‘Then please avail yourself of the opportunity, but if you get your head blown off, do not blame me.’
He did not go, but simply stood beside her, while his horse nibbled the sparse grass, only moving back with her when Robert Bailey came and herded everyone farther away. The explosion, so close at hand, rocked the hill and made his horse take fright. His battle charger would not have pranced and neighed like that, would have done little more than flick an ear as if driving off a buzzing fly. He spent some minutes calming it and when he looked back again, there was an even bigger hole in the hillside and men with shovels were digging out the loose earth. Miss Cartwright was walking towards them.
He watched her go, saw her speak to the men and then turn towards him again, as if to say, ‘What, are you still here?’
He swept off his hat with an exaggerated bow, mounted and rode slowly home again.
The next day he rode to Chester to buy lead for the roof of the Hall. He could simply have ordered it, but Charles Mountford had suggested it would be a good opportunity to inspect the lead works of Walkers, Maltby and Company. ‘It might help you to make up your mind about pursuing your claim against Miss Cartwright,’ Charles had told him. ‘They will tell you how much ore has been supplied to them from Browhill.’
‘Why should they tell me that? It is surely a confidential matter.’
‘I have asked them to do so. You have a vested interest and if the mine reverts to you, you must be in a position to deal with the company and know how much profit you are likely to make from it. They understand that.’
Having settled the matter of lead for the roof, Roland discovered that Charlotte’s father had done well with the mine in the beginning, but the depth and frequent flooding of the mine meant it was costing a lot to bring to the surface. Would he be able to manage it any better? It was not simply the cost of it, though that formed a large part of his reasoning when his resources were so stretched, but that he did not want to fight Miss Cartwright. He would rather have her as a friend than an enemy.
News that the allies had entered Paris and Napoleon had abdicated reached the village in the middle week of April. It was the mail that brought it, the driver and passengers passing it on at every post at which they stopped. It arrived at the King’s Head in Amerleigh in the early afternoon and by evening there wasn’t a soul in the village who had not heard it.
Roland, busy with his accounts in the estate office at the Hall, learned it from Travers with mixed feelings. While deploring the loss of life that was inevitable in wartime, he had enjoyed the comradeship, the well-ordered routine, the regulation of army life, when his main preoccupation had been about a coming battle and how to win it, and finding food for his men. His opponents had been men with the same troubles and aims as himself, not a slip of a girl. How could one fight a woman? How could one rejoice in overcoming the frailty of the weaker sex? He laughed at himself. Miss Charlotte Cartwright could hardly be called weak; she did not even stoop to using her womanhood as a weapon, swooning and weeping, as other ladies might have done to get their way. She stood tall and defied him. And disturbed him.
He went with his mother to a thanksgiving service at the church, which everyone attended, including Miss Cartwright, sitting alone in her pew, and afterwards decided to wander over to the common where the villagers had built a huge bonfire. They had put an effigy of Napoleon on top of it, rejoicing in his defeat, though there were some, Roland among them, who did not believe he was beaten. He was not even to be punished, except by banishment to the island of Elba and that, in Roland’s opinion, was not far enough, not by a long way. But he kept his opinions to himself and joined in the general celebration.
Charlotte, who had changed from her church-going clothes into a light wool skirt and high-necked blouse, topped by a neat-fitting pelisse, was there with Mrs Biggs and Tommy. She was carrying Mrs Biggs’s baby.
He strolled over to them. Tommy turned to him, eyes alight with excitement. ‘Hallo, young fellow,’ he said, speaking clearly so that the boy could read his lips. ‘How do you do?’ The boy grinned and nodded energetically, but did not speak.
‘He is well, my lord,’ Mrs Biggs said.
‘I have been making enquiries about a teacher for him,’ Roland said. ‘I am hopeful that someone will be found soon.’
‘Your army friend?’ Charlotte queried.
He turned to look at her. She was always surprising him and tonight was no exception. The baby was fast asleep in her arms. Her whole demeanour was gentler, her eyes softer, the reflection of the bonfire giving them a dancing light as if she were truly happy. It did not take much effort to imagine her as a mother. Would motherhood cure her of her hoydenish ways? he wondered. Was his mother right in saying she was only mannish because of the way she had been raised? ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I have discovered he has come home from the Peninsula and is working for the War Department in Horse Guards. I have written to him and await his reply.’
He stood beside them, watching the revelry until Mrs Biggs decided it was time Tommy and the baby were home in bed. Charlotte handed the baby back to her and then walked over to a crowd of young people, laughing and drinking and forgetting the hardship of their lives. Roland watched as she spoke to them and heard them raise a cheer for her. He joined her again as she turned and made her way back to the lane. ‘Allow me to escort you.’
‘I am only going to pick up my curricle from the King’s Head, my lord. I am in no danger.’
‘No, I did not think you were, judging by the hearty cheers I heard just now.’
‘Oh, I told them they could take a day off tomorrow.’ Then, lest he thought she was becoming soft, added, ‘They will be in no state to work properly in any case.’
He was beginning to understand her a little. Her hardness was a shell, worn like a coat to protect her, and it was not a very thick one either. If he probed, might he pierce it? ‘Under the circumstances, do you not think you could call me Roland?’ he said. ‘At least when we are alone…’
‘We are not alone, we are surrounded by people.’
‘Then I cannot address you as Charlotte.’
‘No, my lord, you may not.’ She was very firm about that.
They walked on in silence to the King’s Head. There seemed nothing they could say that would not stir up dissent. He did not want to fight her and was toying with the idea of telling her he would not proceed with the lawsuit. It was only the memory of her defiance that held him back. If she would only meet him halfway, they could surely deal well together. He began to regret his sharp retort to Jacob Edwards.
Even in the dark, Charlotte was only too conscious of the man beside her. Tonight he was in uniform again as befitted the occasion. His physical presence was almost overpowering; he was taller than most men—broader too, and yet she knew he could be compassionate and gentle and little people like Tommy Biggs were not afraid of him. She did not fear him either, except that he could make her feel weak and helpless, and that she had to resist. She had to stay in control.
When they arrived at the inn, he waited with her while her pony was harnessed to the curricle, then handed her up. ‘I will drive you, if you wish.’
She laughed. ‘And then have to walk all the way back! No, my lord, I am used to driving myself and will come to no harm.’ She flicked the reins. ‘Goodnight, my lord.’
He doffed his shako. ‘Goodnight, Miss Cartwright.’
He watched her drive away, competent as any man. It was four miles to Mandeville on lonely roads with nothing to light her way but moonlight. Did nothing frighten her? He went to find his own horse and, instead of going home, followed her at a discreet distance. As soon as she turned safely in at the gates of Mandeville, he turned back, laughing at himself for his foolishness.
Among the letters that arrived at the Hall the next morning was an invitation to a ball two Saturdays hence, to be given by Lord and Lady Gilford to celebrate the great victory and welcome their son, Lieutenant Thomas Gilford, home. How the young man was able to return so soon after the end of hostilities, Roland did not know. He put the invitation on one side and opened the rest of the post.
There were several quotations for work to be done on the house, which he proposed to go over with his mother, and an answer to his letter to Captain Miles Hartley. The Captain had not thought about extending his work with the deaf beyond his service, he said, but his lordship’s letter had intrigued him and he would certainly consider it. He would come down and see him in a few weeks when his duties at Horse Guards was less hectic and they could discuss it. Roland was tempted to ride over to Mandeville to tell Miss Cartwright the good news, but his mother arrived and he decided it could wait.
They went over the quotations and spent some time deciding what was important and what could reasonably be left until he was a little more affluent, then he mentioned the Gilfords’ ball. ‘I suppose I shall have to go,’ he said. ‘But I have no one to escort. I wonder, would it seem very traitorous of me to ask Miss Cartwright?’
She laughed. ‘I do believe you are coming round to like her.’
‘In some ways I admire her, but that does not alter the fact that we are litigants and whenever we meet somehow or other the subject of Browhill crops up and we begin arguing. I would drop the whole thing if it wasn’t for that fact that Papa was so badly cheated.’
She sighed. ‘Roland, she could not help what her father did, any more than you could influence your father, and she does a great deal of good. I will not think any the less of you if you drop it.’
‘Then maybe I will. But what do you think about taking Miss Cartwright to the ball?’
‘I do not see how you can. Lady Brandon and Lady Gilford called on me this morning to bring me an invitation and they were arguing about whether Miss Cartwright should be invited. Lady Brandon said she ought not to be left out, considering how influential she is, but Lady Gilford was very top lofty and said it was her ball and she could invite whom she pleased and if she did not choose to invite that daughter of a mushroom who thought she was a man, then she would not. The gathering would be very select.’ She gave a little chuckle. ‘Lady Brandon was silenced by that, probably thinking her own invitation might be in doubt if she made more of it.’
‘Poor Charlotte.’
She looked at him sharply at his use of Miss Cartwright’s given name, but decided not to comment. ‘You could take Martha Brandon.’
‘I could, but I won’t. Lady Brandon is pushing the poor girl at me and Miss Brandon herself is against it.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘She told me so when we were dancing together at her mama’s soirée. She has her heart set on Mr Martin Elliott, but he is slow in coming forwards. She said she was only dancing with me to make him jealous.’
‘What a strange conversation for a well-bred young lady to have with an unmarried man.’
‘At least she is honest and I can admire her for it, but I do not wish to be used in that fashion. It is not fair on the young man for a start. I shall escort you.’ He laughed. ‘At least I shall be safe with you.’
‘Roland, I am still in mourning.’
‘You can still come, you do not have to dance or be gay, though I wish you would. It does not do to be always in the suds.’
‘How can I be in the suds when you are home again and I have work to do making the Hall habitable again? How could I not be joyful?’
‘Will you come with me? You can defend me from the mamas.’
‘You are perfectly capable of doing that yourself, Roland. And I will not cause more gossip for this family by flouting the rules of society. You may tell me all about it when you come back.’ And from that decision she would not be moved.
* * *
Charlotte heard all about the ball—Lady Brandon could not keep quiet about it, pretending she did not know Charlotte had not been invited. Charlotte herself realised very soon that she would not be among the guests and pretended she could not go on account of a prior engagement. Neither was deceived by the other. It left Charlotte wondering what the prior engagement could possibly be. And then it came to her; she would organise her own celebration on the same night. But not a ball, because everyone would be going to the Gilfords’. In any case, she did not think the haut monde would come to anything she arranged.
A party for her workers, that was it! She would invite every employee, high and low, to a grand occasion at the mill and make it a night to remember. The idea had the added attraction of proving to the Earl of Amerleigh that she treated her workers well and that they were all loyal to her. No expense would be spared. Food and drink would be the main expense; poor people were always hungry. There would be music and decorations, flags and flowers. And a brass band! If, led by the band and flags flying, they paraded through the streets of Amerleigh and Scofield, before entering the mill for the party, it would make a great deal of noise and drown out the oh-so-genteel orchestra playing at Gilford House. And fireworks. According to Lady Brandon, there were to be fireworks as a grand finale to the ball—then her fireworks would better, more noisy, more colourful. She would not be cowed and made to feel inferior, and set about the arrangements with a smile on her lips and a spring in her step.
* * *
Lord and Lady Gilford lived in a large mansion on the road between Amerleigh and Scofield, surrounded by a park and mixed woodland. The main part of the house was a hundred years old, but it had been added to in recent years and the whole of the inside refurbished and refurnished. Apart from the Temples, who ceased to count when the late Earl removed to the dower house, they were the haut monde of the area and an invitation to an occasion at their home was prized by local society. Lady Gilford had taken great pains with all the arrangements, the food and wine and music, only to find there was a shortage of fireworks. The supplier, who had a workshop in Shrewsbury, told her almost his entire stock had been bought up by another customer whom he declined to name. Her ladyship purchased what was left, hoping that her guests would be so mellow with food and drink by the end of the evening, they would not notice the Grand Finale was less than grand.
Roland, dressed in impeccable good taste, in a black evening coat, black trousers and a pristine white shirt, arrived only a few minutes late and was greeted warmly by Lady Gilford, who attached herself to him and took him round to make sure he knew everyone. When that was done, she invited him to join her party, which consisted of herself and her husband, her son, the lieutenant of the invitation; her daughter, Eleanor; and an elderly aunt. Eleanor was about eighteen, as plump as her mother was thin, with pale blonde hair, carefully dressed to make it look thicker than it really was. She was also painfully shy, which was obviously a source of irritation to her mother. Roland smiled at her and offered the usual politeness before marking her card for two country dances, which made the poor girl’s cheeks turn bright pink.
After the first of these, she left him to dance with young Leonard Manton and Roland sat down to talk to Lieutenant Gilford, enquiring about his service. ‘How did you manage to arrive home so quickly?’ he asked him.
‘I was in Lisbon with the Commissariat when the news came through and hopped on the first ship out. I saw no point in hanging about and Papa made it right with the Colonel.’
His mother, who had been busying herself with her guests, returned to them. ‘My goodness, we cannot have two handsome young men sitting together and not dancing. Thomas, go and ask Miss Manton to stand up with you. As for you, my lord, I am sure I can find you a partner.’
‘Thank you, my lady,’ he said, with a smile. ‘I think I can manage.’ He left her and went to ask Martha Brandon to dance, realising as he did so that he was probably playing right into her hands, because he saw Martin Elliott scowling at him. After that, he found himself standing up with several other young ladies and then with Miss Gilford again. He escorted her into supper, much to the chagrin of Lady Brandon. He was beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable, though not for a moment did his polite smile leave his face. Returning from supper, he stationed himself in an alcove to watch the dancers and found himself unaccountably wishing Miss Cartwright were present. He had enjoyed that waltz with her and the discovery that she was truly beautiful. If she were here, he might enjoy it more. The admission, if only to himself, surprised him.
‘It must seem strange. Being home again, I mean.’
He turned to find Lord Gilford standing beside him. He had been a sea-faring man, which was evidenced by his weatherbeaten complexion and his way of standing with his feet braced apart as if still on the deck of a ship. ‘Yes, it is a little.’
‘Coming about, are you?’
He was annoyed at the impertinence of the question, but too polite to show it. ‘I believe so.’
‘Glad to hear it. Not married, though?’
‘No time for it.’
‘But thinking of it? After all, a single man with a title and a great estate must look for a wife at some point.’
‘That goes without saying, but at the moment I am not contemplating marriage.’
‘No? But if you are not, then there are going to be a number of disappointed mamas and their daughters. The little beauties are all in competition for you.’
Roland smiled wryly. ‘I should hate to disappoint them, but there is no competition. I am not a prize to be won.’
His lordship gave a little snorty laugh of embarrassment. ‘No, of course not. But you should perhaps be careful not to give the gabble-grinders fuel for their gossip.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My wife tells me you are often to be seen in Miss Cartwright’s company and she without a chaperon.’
Roland was furious and did not trouble to hide it ‘That, sir, is my affair.’
‘You may say so, but it won’t do, you know. Your father and hers became mortal enemies and she is a chip off the old block, riding around as if she owned the whole village. I advise you to assert yourself before she rides all over you.’
Roland was taken aback by the man’s impudence. ‘No one rides over me,’ he told him coldly.
‘Of course not. But did you know her father was a mill hand before he rose to become manager and married the mill owner’s daughter and became very rich through the trade?’ His derogatory emphasis on the last word betrayed what he felt about that. ‘She is very high in the instep, but not one of us, Amerleigh, never one of us, not of any consequence, at all. Apart from Lady Brandon, who hardly counts, she is not accepted in polite circles. You ought to bear that in mind.’
‘What makes you suppose I have that particular lady in mind, or any lady for that matter?’ Roland reminded himself that the man was his host and it would be ill mannered to be rude, but his voice betrayed the fact that he was angry, even while holding himself in check.
‘Hold hard!’ His lordship held up both hands as if to ward off an imaginary blow. ‘I meant no disrespect. I told her ladyship it would not serve, but she would have me speak to you, to warn you…’
‘I do not need to be warned,’ Roland said icily. ‘But thank her ladyship for me.’
And with that he walked away, out of the room and through a conservatory into the garden.
It was a clear, starlit night. Behind him the orchestra was playing a waltz and he found himself thinking of Charlotte Cartwright again. Did she mind being treated like a pariah? He had heard about her own party; Mrs Biggs had been full of it. The whole Biggs family was going, even young Hannah had been invited if he would be so good as to release her from her work. Of course he had agreed, almost wishing he could go too. Even from a distance he could hear the music.
Turning back to the house, he sought out his hostess, thanked her for her hospitality and took his leave, much to her chagrin. Then he walked out into the night again and, instead of turning for home, made for the sound of merriment coming from somewhere along the Amerleigh to Scofield road.
He came upon the procession just before it reached Scofield. There was a very noisy band playing a marching tune and it was followed by a great crowd, all dressed in their Sunday best, waving flags and singing. At the gates of the mill, which stood wide open, Charlotte was waiting for them. She was wearing a skirt short enough to reveal her ankles and feet clad in half-boots, and a dark-coloured burnoose with the hood thrown back. He watched as the workers, including, he noticed, Corporal Travers and others from his estate, marched past her and into the mill, which was blazing with light.
After they had all gone in, she saw him standing on the other side of the road in his fine evening clothes and wondered why he was there. She called out to him. ‘What brings you here, my lord? Boredom or curiosity?’
He laughed. ‘Both.’
‘Would you like to join us? No one here is bored, I can promise you.’
He crossed the road and walked up to her. ‘Thank you. I should like that very much, provided my presence does not spoil anyone else’s enjoyment.’
‘Shall we ask them?’ She led the way into the schoolroom, which had been cleared of furniture. Already the musicians were playing a lively dance tune and the floor was crowded with dancers. A long table along one wall was so loaded with food there was no room to put another dish. At the end a man stood beside a barrel of beer, dispensing its contents. There was also cordial for the children. Charlotte clapped her hands and the band fell silent and everyone turned towards her.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she said, an address that raised a laugh and a cheer. ‘His lordship finds the entertainment at Gilford House boring. We are not bored, are we?’
‘No!’ they yelled.
‘Shall we let him share our party?’
‘Yes!’
He knew they would have agreed to anything she suggested, considering she had provided all the food and drink and they were already merry on it. ‘Thank you,’ he said with a smile. ‘Carry on, don’t mind me.’
They took him at his word and the gaiety continued. The level of beer in the barrel went down and the loaded plates emptied and were refilled. The dancing became more boisterous and Roland and Charlotte were pulled into it, being grabbed and hauled round by mill workers. The estate workers were a little more restrained at first, but soon they, too, lost their awe of the Earl and began enjoying themselves, especially as he joined in with enthusiasm, dancing a gavotte with Mrs Biggs, while Charlotte danced with Corporal Travers, who was in uniform and very popular with both the men, who wanted to hear about the fighting, and with the women, who appreciated his rugged good looks.
In a pause in the dancing Roland found himself standing beside Charlotte again. He wondered why he had ever thought her cold. She was flushed and her eyes sparkled. She was truly enjoying herself and seemed to have forgotten they were at daggers drawn. And then she spoke and reminded him. ‘In the ordinary way of things, this is the schoolroom,’ she said. ‘The law requires me to teach the children to read and little else, but some are quite intelligent enough to go further than that, so here they are taught not only to read and write, but simple mathematics, some geography, a little history.’ She smiled. ‘It is not only for the workers, but their younger siblings.’
‘But they do not play.’
‘This is a place of work, my lord, not a playground. It is all very well for the rich to play, they do not have to earn a living, but days like today put new heart into everyone and they are not unhappy. The only time they think about it is when some well-meaning philanthropist puts ideas into their heads or, what is worse, one of their own number with a grudge makes trouble.’
Was she warning him not to meddle? he wondered. ‘Is anyone making trouble?’
‘There are always troublemakers, my lord, though none that I know of here.’
Looking round at the joyful crowd, he could well believe it. She was such a strange mixture of benevolence and hardness, it was difficult to understand her. She could shut an employee out who was a few minutes late for work and yet she could take the trouble to distribute food to those in need. Her clattering looms kept her workers chained to them like slaves and yet she wanted to educate them, even though education gave people ambition, which might in the end not be to her advantage. She appeared not to care what people thought of her, but he had seen enough of human nature to know that she was susceptible. He would be her friend if only she would let him.
At midnight, the musicians put away their instruments and the leftover food was packed into little parcels so that everyone had something to take home, then they trooped out to the common for the fireworks, singing lustily as they went. It was a wonderful display, set out by Charlotte’s mine manager, who knew a thing or two about explosives. Rocket after rocket shot skywards and exploded into the air, releasing a myriad of coloured lights. Roland, watching the faces of the children, alight with wonder, felt a tug at his heart. He would like children of his own, to nurture and love, someone to come after him, to keep his name alive, to look after Amerleigh so that it never again drifted into neglect. And to make that happen, he needed a wife. Sooner or later he would have to give some thought to it.
The trouble was that whenever that idea came into his head, he found himself thinking of the woman who stood beside him. He could not banish her from his mind. She invaded every aspect of his life, every decision he made, almost every word he uttered. She was with him every hour of the day and, worst of all, through the lonely watches of the night. Who she was, what she did, the life she led, made her entirely ineligible as a wife for him. That gabble-grinder, Gilford, was right, damn him!
When the last shower had drifted to earth and there was silence, someone called for three cheers for Miss Cartwright and the hills echoed to the sound. And then old John Bennett, bowed with a lifetime of working in the gardens at Amerleigh Hall, called for three cheers for his lordship and again the hills echoed. Roland wondered if they could be heard at Gilford House.
After standing about for several minutes, reluctant to call it a night, everyone slowly drifted away, many with a rolling gait that betrayed the amount of good ale they had consumed. Roland stood beside Charlotte, watching them go, as reluctant as they were to go home. If only everyone could always be as happy and cheerful as they had been this night, there would be no dissent, no quarrels, no need to resort to war. Or litigation.
‘I have my curricle at the mill,’ she said, as they reached the road. ‘I can take you back to Gilford House, if you wish. It is not out of my way.’
‘I am not going back there.’
‘Then allow me to take you home to Amerleigh Hall.’
He laughed. ‘When I suggested escorting you the other night, you disdained my offer.’
‘But you did it anyway.’
‘Oh.’
‘Did you think I did not know you were behind me?’ She was laughing up at him, enjoying his discomfiture.
‘It must have been someone else.’
‘Of course. Someone else, how silly of me.’
They had arrived back at the mill. The lights had all been extinguished except the lamp over the gates, which illuminated the horse and curricle being held in readiness by the night watchman. ‘Now, do you come with me or do you walk home by yourself? The people might give you three hearty cheers, but your watch and fob might be too great a temptation if one or two of them met you alone in the dark.’
‘Thank you.’ He helped her up and climbed up beside her, taking the reins from her fingers. He’d be damned if he’d allow himself to be driven by a woman, however capable.
They set off at a walk. He was in no hurry to part from her. The air was balmy, the black velvet of the night sky was pierced with a myriad of diamond-like stars and, above the copse of trees on the slope of the hills, a new moon hung motionless. A faint shushing sound drifted on the air and he looked up to see a few red and green sparks flying skywards. They were passing Gilford House.
Charlotte laughed suddenly. ‘Not up to mine, are they?’ she said.
He knew she was referring to the fireworks. ‘No, they are altogether more genteel.’
‘Are you sure you do not want to go back?’
‘Positive. At the moment I would not be anywhere else in the world.’
‘Ah, I see you know how to frame a compliment.’ He did not answer and she went on, ‘What happened? Why did you leave the ball?’
‘It was deadly dull and the efforts of the mamas and their daughters too obvious for words. I felt I was walking on eggs not to give offence.’
‘But you will have to choose one of them and that will offend all the rest.’
‘I do not have to choose at all.’ He turned to look at her, sitting beside him so composed, so cool, so in command of herself, he found himself wondering what it would take to rouse her. The only emotion she had shown him was anger, cool politeness and a willingness to bandy words, though she was soft enough with Tommy and the Biggs’s baby. ‘What about you? Do you not wish for a husband?’
‘No, for I doubt I could find anyone to put up with me. I am too used to running my own life and doing as I choose, I should drive a husband to distraction.’
‘You must have had offers?’
‘From milksops after my wealth. They do not see me as a wife, but as the provider of an easy life. They do not stay about long.’
‘Then we are both at an impasse. You have too much money and I have too much rank to find true love. What a pity!’
She was not sure whether he was bamming her or not, but decided not to comment. They rode on in silence until he turned into the gates of the Hall and trotted up the drive to the front door, where he stopped. Should he ask her in? The absence of a chaperon seemed not to have occurred to her, but then she went about on her own all the time. He had never seen anything remotely like a companion or even a maid with her, though he supposed she had one. And if she did go in with him, what could he offer her in the way of refreshment?
He jumped down and was about to hand the reins to her, when the front door opened and Travers came down the steps, having arrived back half an hour earlier. ‘Shall I look after the curricle, Major?’
Roland turned back to Charlotte to find her standing beside him. He could hardly tell her to climb back in and go home. ‘Yes, Corporal, if you please, and do you think you can find us some refreshment? I am sure Mrs Fields has gone to bed.’
‘Yes, Major, she has, but she left something out for you. I’ll bring it to the drawing room directly.’
He led the pony away and Roland put his hand under Charlotte’s elbow and ushered her into the house.
It was only curiosity that made her leave the curricle, Charlotte told herself. She had not been in the house since that fateful night six years before and by all accounts it was very different now. It would be good to see how far the Temples had fallen since then, but it was difficult to convince herself they deserved it, when the man beside her bore no resemblance whatever to the stripling who had disdained her. If it had not been for hearing that rejection and knowing of her father’s unmitigated hatred of the old Earl, who had so blatantly cheated him, she might have come to like and admire the present owner of Amerleigh Hall, might even have fallen in love with him. Fallen in love! What did she know of that? Nothing, nor ever would. Better not to think of it. But there was inside her an empty feeling, as if there should be something there that was absent.
She looked about her as they entered the inner hall. There were rugs on the marble-tiled floor. A table stood to one side and chairs were placed between the doors to the rooms. A solid oak staircase led up from the middle and divided on a half-landing before the two branches went up again to the first floor. There were no ornaments, no pictures.
He led the way into the drawing room. This was carpeted and properly furnished with tables and chairs and two sofas. The pale green paint on the walls was new and the curtains, drawn against the night, were of a rich ruby-red damask. A hand-painted screen stood before the empty hearth. Again there were no pictures or ornaments.
‘As you see, we have not finished refurbishing,’ he told her. ‘My mother is seeing to the interior while I look after the outside. It will take some time, I think.’
‘But it is lovely house, so full of history. It seems to have an atmosphere of its own.’
‘Yes, some of it goes back to Tudor times, but there have been additions over the years. It is something of a rabbit warren, but it has always been my home and I am very attached to it.’
‘You would do anything to keep it?’ she asked curiously.
‘I suppose I would. Within bounds, of course.’
‘Even to marrying one of those daughters of the wealthy whom you pretend to disdain?’
‘I hope it never comes to that. I am not entirely without means.’ His little nest egg was fast disappearing, but he would not admit that.
Travers arrived with a tea tray, which he set down upon one of the tables, and then went to fetch another on which was a plate of cold roast chicken legs, another of bread and butter and a third containing an assortment of little cakes. Roland and Charlotte watched in silence as he set them out. ‘Thank you, Travers,’ Roland said. ‘We can manage.’
He indicated the teapot to Charlotte. ‘Shall you pour?’
They sat at the table, she poured the tea and they picked at the food, but the intimacy they had been enjoying had dissipated, blown away with the opening of the door. They conversed politely about the peace just concluded, about the wisdom of allowing Napoleon to live on Elba, about the squabbling of the allied powers as they set about carving Europe up between them, but Charlotte found herself thinking of what had happened six years before and wondered what on earth she was doing in that house. She must be mad! As soon as they had finished their meal, she said she must be leaving.
He stood up and rang for Travers to fetch the curricle to the door, then he accompanied her to the front door and down the steps. Travers stood at the pony’s head, waiting. ‘Shall I drive you home?’
She laughed. ‘And then I should have to drive you back again and we could go backwards and forwards all night. I am perfectly capable, as well you know.’
He grinned. ‘So independent. Is there anything you are not capable of tackling?’
‘Oh, I am sure there must be something,’ she said airily. ‘I will let you know when I have discovered it. Goodnight, my lord.’
‘Goodnight, Miss Cartwright. And thank you for an evening far more enjoyable than I ever expected it to be.’ He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, lingering a little over the kiss, wishing he dare kiss her properly, but knowing he would be for ever damned if he did.
It was several seconds before she could repossess herself of her hand and by that time she was tingling with a sensation she could not describe. It was a feeling of being on the verge of something so exciting, she was shivering. Her stomach was churning, her heart beating so fast she could hardly breathe and her toes and fingers curled involuntarily. She climbed into the curricle without even knowing how she got there. This man was dangerous! He threatened everything she stood for. She must be on her guard, always on her guard, lest he undermine her confidence and the tenets by which she lived crumbled to nothing.
She flicked the reins and the pony started forwards, trotted round the circle before the door and out of the gate and she found herself murmuring, ‘Remember whose daughter you are, Charlie Cartwright. And remember whose son he is.’
