Читать книгу The Captain's Kidnapped Beauty - Mary Nichols, Mary Nichols - Страница 7

1765

The regular meeting of the Society for the Discovery and Apprehending of Criminals, popularly known as the Piccadilly Gentlemen’s Club, was drawing to its close. Led by James, Lord Drymore, they were all gentlemen of independent means dedicated to promoting law and order in a notoriously lawless society. Some called them thieftakers, but it was a soubriquet they rejected only because of its unsavoury connotations. In general thieftakers were nearly all as corrupt as the criminals they brought to justice, but the members of the Piccadilly Gentleman’s Club were not like that and refused payment for their services.

Today each had reported on the case on which they were working. Jonathan, Viscount Leinster, was trying to trace two notorious highwaymen who had escaped from prison while awaiting trial and not having much luck. Harry, Lord Portman’s particular interest was counterfeit coiners and he often went in disguise to the rookeries of the capital in search of information, though to look at him, you would hardly believe it; he was the epitome of a dandified man about town. Ashley, Lord Cadogan, was chasing smugglers with the help of his brother-in-law, Ben Kingslake, and Captain Alexander Carstairs had just returned a kidnap victim safe and sound to her distraught parents without it having cost them a penny in ransom money. James himself was tied up with their sponsor, Lord Trentham, a Minister of the Crown, in maintaining law and order in an increasingly disgruntled populace.

‘Allow me to offer condolences on the loss of your uncle and cousin,’ James said to Alex as they prepared to disperse. ‘To lose both together was a double tragedy.’

‘And felicitations on your elevation to the peerage,’ Harry added. ‘Marquis of Foxlees, no less.’

‘Thank you,’ Alex said. ‘It was a great shock and I have hardly had time to gather my wits. A peerage is something I never expected and I’m not at all sure I like the idea.’

‘The same thing happened to me,’ Ash said. ‘My cousin was the heir and he died out in India and his father, my uncle, soon afterwards. It was an upheaval adjusting to it and just before my wedding, too.’

‘At least I don’t have a bride waiting for me,’ Alex said.

‘That will soon be remedied, my friend,’ Harry said, flicking a speck of dust from his immaculate sleeve. ‘Sooner or later, everyone in the Piccadilly Gentleman’s Club succumbs to falling in love.’

‘Not me. I will have my hands full sorting out my uncle’s affairs. It is just as well I have no case on hand at the moment.’

‘That, too, can be remedied,’ Jonathan put in.

‘I think we can allow Alex a short respite to sort out his affairs,’ James said with a smile.

They stood up, replaced hats on heads and headed from the room in Lord Trentham’s house where they held their meetings and emerged on to the busy thoroughfare of Piccadilly, where they went their separate ways.

Alex set off on foot to Long Acre because he wanted to hire a carriage to carry him to Norfolk and his newly inherited estate. He had not visited it in years, mainly because his uncle and cousin were so rarely there. They were seafarers, just as he was, just as his late father had been and his father before him. His uncle, his father’s older brother, had bought Foxlees Manor when his wife had decided, after a half a lifetime of following him all over the globe, that she had had enough of travelling and living in hot, uncomfortable places and wanted to stay at home.

That did not mean his uncle had given up his voyaging; the sea was in his blood and, being captain of an East Indiaman, he found it a lucrative business. He simply came home at the end of every voyage to spend a little time with his wife and their son, Harold, until Harold himself became a seaman and followed in his father’s footsteps. The marchioness had died soon afterwards and his uncle and cousin rarely visited Foxlees Manor after her demise. When not at sea they lived in their town house on Mount Street.

They had both been lost when their ship foundered in a storm while rounding the Cape of Good Hope and so Alex found himself a Marquis and owner of the Mount Street house and the Foxlees estate. It was something he had neither expected nor wanted, but he admitted the town house was a great deal better than the bachelor apartments he had hitherto occupied.

He enjoyed his life as Captain Alexander Carstairs, member of the Piccadilly Gentleman’s Club; it fulfilled his sense of adventure at the same time as he was doing some good in society. He had a full social life and many friends—what more could a man ask? But with his elevation to the peerage and the acquisition of an estate came responsibilities and these he could not shirk.

He emerged from Newport Street and crossed the road into Long Acre, looking for the coachmaking premises of Henry Gilpin.

‘The Earl of Falsham has failed to pay his interest again this month, Papa,’ Charlotte said, looking up from the ledgers on which she was working. ‘Last time I wrote to remind him, I warned him that if we did not receive at least some of what was owed, we would take him to court. He did not even favour us with a reply.’

The Earl had bought two carriages two years previously, a splendid town chariot for two hundred and ninety pounds and a phaeton for seventy-two pounds, borrowing the money from her father to pay for it. For the first six months he had diligently paid the five per cent interest on the loan, but since then nothing at all. Charlotte, who kept her father’s books, had written every month on behalf of the company to remind him, but the Earl had ignored her letters.

Henry Gilpin sighed. ‘You know how I hate taking customers to court,’ he said. ‘It ruins their reputation. As soon as news of the case gets out, every dunner in the country beats a path to their door. Let’s not forget that the Earl did introduce me to his cousin and he pays promptly.’

‘I am persuaded his lordship is counting on you remembering that.’

Henry chuckled. ‘No doubt you are right. Send the Earl another stiff letter. Give him seven days to reply and if he does not, then court it shall be.’

It was not that Henry Gilpin was in need of the money—he was one of the richest men in the kingdom—but his wealth was built on sound business practice and allowing bad debts to accumulate was not one of them. He did not in the least mind people owing him money so long as they paid the interest. To make sure of that he always insisted his debtors take out a bond for double what they owed in the event they reneged. The bond was backed by their assets which could, and sometimes did, include their estates.

Charlotte looked up from the desk at which she was working and looked about her. The Long Acre premises had been much enlarged over the years and were now big enough to house the whole coachmaking business, a workshop for the construction of the undercarriages, another for the body, one for the wheelwright, furnaces for the metal working, paint shops, leather shops, design rooms and offices, huge stores for the timber: mahogany, pine, birch and deal; racks of cloth and lace for the interiors—everything necessary for constructing coaches of every description. And in each department there were men to do the work, two hundred of them.

Charlotte was the only woman and she had had to plead with her father to allow her to work there. He had no son and she was his only child, so one day she would own it all. She needed to know how it operated and she loved the cut and thrust of business, the smell of varnish, paint and hot metal, loved watching the new coaches taking shape under the skilful hands of their operatives and derived huge satisfaction from the pleasure of their customers for a job well done. Since her mother had died, it had become her father’s whole life and hers, too. Not for her the round of meaningless social gatherings intended to unite eligible young men with suitable brides.

‘But you do not need to concern yourself with it,’ her father had told her when she first broached the subject of working at Long Acre with him. ‘One day you will marry and your husband will take over.’

‘I may not marry.’

‘Of course you will. You are a considerable heiress and that alone would secure you a bridegroom, even if you were not so lovely.’

‘Lovely, Papa?’ she queried.

‘Of course you are. You are the image of your dear mother, God rest her. You can afford to be particular. A title, naturally, and the higher the better. I do not have a son to make into a gentleman, but I am determined you will be a lady.’

‘If I am not already a lady, then what am I?’ she had demanded with a teasing smile. ‘An hermaphrodite?’

‘Do not be silly. You are a lady, do not doubt it, but I meant a titled lady, a countess, a viscountess or a baroness at the very least. I may be able to mix with the best in the land and you may be admitted to every drawing room in town, if you would only take the trouble, but it doesn’t make us gentry. That is something for the next generation.’

‘Hold hard, Papa.’ She had laughed. ‘I am not yet married. And supposing I don’t fancy any of the eligible titles? I might fall in love with a man of the middling sort, a businessman like yourself, someone I can respect.’

‘Bah!’ he had said. ‘Falling in love is an overrated pastime and does not guarantee happiness, quite often the reverse. If you must fall in love, then make sure he is worthy of you. A title he will have, even if I have to buy one for him, though I’d as lief he came with a respected family history.’

‘I might decide I would rather stay single and keep my independence. You need someone to help you run the business and that is what I most like to do. I should hate to see it ruined by a profligate son-in-law who does not understand how important it is.’

‘Then you must make your choice carefully. I will not always be here to guide you.’

‘Papa, let us have no more of that. You are good for years and years yet.’

He had given in and allowed her to accompany him from their mansion in Piccadilly to Long Acre every day to assist the accountant with the book-keeping, a task which gave her a great deal of satisfaction. It was better than sitting at home looking decorative, reading, sewing or paying calls and listening to the latest scandals. And it gave her an insight into how the business was managed. If she had her way, she would do much more.

Their discussion about the Earl’s debt was interrupted by a shout and a resounding crash coming from the main workroom. They both dashed out from the office to see what was amiss.

Joe Smithson was lying at the bottom of the stairs to the upper floor and was struggling to rise. The stairs were wide and had a detachable banister because the coach bodies were constructed on the first floor and they were let down with ropes when complete and it was this task which had been occupying him when he fell. Charlotte had once said that the workrooms should be rearranged in order to construct the bodies on the ground floor, but her father had pointed out that to do that the metal workers, decorators and the upholsterers and all the other ancillary workers would have to be moved upstairs and how could they do their work if the coach on which they needed to work was downstairs? She was obliged to admit the logic of his argument. There was a completed shell of a town chariot on the upper workshop floor and Joe had been readying it for its descent to the ground which had meant removing the banister.

Charlotte and her father dashed forwards but someone beat them to it, a tall stranger who had come in from the street and reached Joe a fraction of a second before they did. He bent down and put his hand on Joe’s shoulder to stop him struggling to rise. ‘Be still, man,’ he said. ‘We need to know what damage is done before we get you to your feet.’

‘Yes, Joe, keep still,’ Charlotte said, as other workers crowded round them. ‘We will send for a doctor.’

‘Miss Charlotte, there’s no need for that,’ Joe said. ‘I’m not badly hurt, just shook up a bit. I’ll be right as ninepence when I’ve got me breath back.’

The stranger squatted down beside Joe and began feeling along his arms and legs. When he reached Joe’s left ankle the young man winced. ‘I am sure it is not broken,’ he told Henry who hovered nearby. ‘But if I were you I should send for the sawbones to be sure.’ He put Joe’s arms about his neck and hauled him to a standing position, then flung him over his shoulder. ‘Where shall I take him?’

‘Into the office,’ Henry said, leading the way. Charlotte sent the messenger boy for the doctor and the rest of the workforce back about their business before following.

She found Joe deposited in a chair, her father fussing round him and the stranger dusting down his coat. He looked up as Charlotte entered.

She was struck by his looks. She was not particularly short, but he overtopped her by a head at least. His complexion was tanned and there were wrinkles each side of his eyes as if he had spent hours out of doors, peering into the weather. A mariner, she surmised, and this was confirmed when he bowed to her.

‘Captain Alexander Carstairs, at your service, ma’am,’ he said, sweeping her a leg, a very elegant leg, she noticed.

‘I thank you for your assistance, Captain. It was lucky you were passing.’

‘I was not passing, I was heading here and just entering when the young man fell. It is surely dangerous to have stairs with no handrail?’

Henry started to explain the need for it, which made the Captain turn towards him and that gave Charlotte an opportunity to study him more closely. He was wearing a dark blue kerseymere suit of clothes, very plain but superbly tailored, a long pale blue waistcoat with large pockets and silver buttons, a white shirt and a neatly tied white muslin cravat. His stockings were white and his shoes had silver buckles. Besides being very tall, he was broad of shoulder and slim of hip. His hands were strong and capable. Her gaze travelled upwards. His dark hair was his own, worn long and tied back with a narrow black ribbon. He was most certainly not a fop. He turned back to her again and her breath caught in her throat. He had the most penetrating eyes, neither green nor brown but something in between, and they seemed to be looking right inside her, as if her skin and flesh were transparent and he could see secrets about her she had never even been aware of.

‘My daughter, Miss Gilpin,’ Henry said, waving a hand in her direction. ‘She likes to come and see her old father at work sometimes.’

Alex bowed to her again. ‘Miss Gilpin, how do you do?’

‘Well, thank you, Captain,’ she answered, resolving to have words with her father about the condescending way he had presented her. Likes to visit her old father, indeed! ‘How can we help you?’

‘I need to drive into the country and came to hire a carriage for the purpose.’

‘I am sure we can accommodate you.’ She held his eyes with her own, letting him know she was not the insignificant daughter her father would have him believe and that she was part of the workforce, but it took all her self-control. Being businesslike when one’s heart was definitely not behaving in a businesslike manner, but skipping and jumping about, was difficult. ‘What had you in mind?’

The doctor arrived before he could answer and as the room was not large enough for everyone, Charlotte led the Captain back into the main workshop so that her father could deal with the doctor. He hesitated, taking a look at Henry who was watching the doctor examine Joe, before deciding to follow her.

‘Now,’ she said, turning to face him, once more in command of herself. ‘Tell me, what do you have in mind?’

‘Do you not think we should wait for your father to join us?’

‘No. Do you suppose I am not capable of conducting the simple business of hiring out a coach?’ It was said with some asperity and served to disperse her last lingering discomposure.

‘Well …’ he began and then hesitated as her eyes challenged him.

‘I am a female and therefore useless, is that what you were about to point out to me?’

‘Oh, most definitely you are female—as to being useless, that I could not say.’ Now there was a teasing look in his eyes and it was most disconcerting. Was he laughing at her? She did not care for that at all.

‘Nevertheless,’ she told him. ‘I have been running about these workshops ever since I learned to walk and I also keep the books, so you can trust me to know what I am about. Tell me about the journey you wish to make. How far? Are you in some haste? What will the roads be like, smooth or rough? Do you go alone or will you have passengers and much luggage?’

‘You need to know a great deal considering all I came to do is hire a coach to take me to Norfolk.’

‘Ah, that has answered one of my questions,’ she said with a smile meant to disarm him, which it very nearly did. ‘And probably a second. I believe the roads to that part of the country are devilishly bad.’

‘Touché.’ He returned her smile with one of his own. It softened his features and she realised suddenly that the lines on his face had not all been made by wind and weather, some were laughter lines. The erratic heartbeats began all over again. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

‘Do you need a large conveyance for passengers and luggage, which will be slower, or something lighter to carry you swiftly?’

‘I might have a passenger for part of the way,’ he said. ‘And little luggage, but as you so rightly pointed out, the roads to Norfolk, once away from the capital, are dreadful, so the vehicle will need to be sturdy enough to withstand the jolting if we are to travel at speed.’

‘And do you intend to make just one journey or will you be coming backwards and forwards to the capital?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘If you hire a coach, you will need to return it by the arranged time and hiring over a long period will be more costly than buying an equipage. We have several second-hand coaches for sale, which I can show you or, if you are not in a hurry, we can construct one to your own specification. We can also supply you with horses.’

‘Do not tell me you are an expert on horseflesh as well,’ he said, laughing.

‘I know a good horse when I see one.’

‘And no doubt you are a bruising rider, to boot.’

She let that pass without comment. ‘There is a very good chaise in the yard, taken in part exchange for a newer model, which might very well suit you. Shall you take a look?’

‘Yes, I might as well see what you have to offer while we are waiting for Mr Gilpin to join us.’

She was annoyed by his attitude, but it was not the first time and she did not suppose it would be the last when customers treated her with condescension as if she were just out of the schoolroom and needed humouring. She was twenty-two years old; many ladies of her acquaintance had been married for years at that age and already had a brood of children. It was the only thing she regretted about her single state, she could not be a mother.

She conducted him outside, crossed the yard which had standing for a least a dozen coaches, and into another building, a vast barn-like area which contained a host of vehicles: town coaches, travelling coaches, phaetons, landaus and landaulets, gigs and tilburys. There was even a magnificent berline. Some were plain, some highly decorated, but all bore the hallmark of the Gilpin works, meticulously finished and polished.

‘This chaise is a sturdy vehicle,’ she said, indicating a travelling coach in forest green, its only decoration lines of pale green about the body work and round the rims of the wheels. It was highly varnished, elegant but not ostentatious.

He walked all round it, rocked it on its springs, jumped on the coachman’s box with its red-and-green-striped hammercloth and sat there for a few moments before jumping down and climbing inside. The interior was upholstered in green velvet and there were light green curtains at the windows. He sat a moment and stretched out his legs. There was little leg room for one so tall, but that was not unexpected; he had yet to ride in a coach which allowed him the luxury of stretching out.

Charlotte watched him without speaking. He was undoubtedly athletic, climbing up and down with consummate ease, and the way he had climbed on the box suggested he was no stranger to driving a coach. He was self-assured and would not be easy to gull. Not that she intended to deceive him; that was not the way Gilpins did business. Their reputation for honesty and fine workmanship had been well earned over the years and she would do nothing to jeopardise it.

He emerged from the coach and rejoined her. ‘I think it will do me very well,’ he said.

‘Would you like to look at others before you make up your mind?’

He agreed and she showed him several more, some more sumptuous, others well used with scuffed paint which she told him would be remedied before the coaches were sold on. Some were extra large and cumbersome, needing at least six horses to pull them, some too lightweight for any but town roads.

‘No,’ he said, at last. ‘You have chosen well, Miss Gilpin. I will negotiate a price with Mr Gilpin.’

‘The price to buy is one hundred and nineteen pounds sixteen shillings,’ she said firmly. ‘We give value for money, Captain, and do not enter into negotiation. If that is too much …?’ Her voice faded on a question.

‘No, I did not mean I would beat him down,’ he said hastily. ‘The price seems fair enough. I meant that I would need to arrange for horses and harness and for the coach to be fetched.’

‘Let us return to the office and conclude the transaction,’ she said. ‘The doctor will have gone by now.’

They crossed the yard again and entered the main workshop where several men were using ropes to lower a coach body down the stairs. Joe, supporting himself on two sticks, was standing directing operations.

‘What did the doctor say?’ Charlotte asked him.

‘’Tis but a sprain,’ he answered. ‘I must rest it for a week or two and then all will be well.’

‘You will not rest it by standing there. The men can manage without you for a week. Ask Giles to take you home in the gig, and do not come back until you are recovered. You will lose no pay.’

‘Yes, Miss Charlotte. Thank you, miss.’

Charlotte moved on, followed by Alex. ‘Do the men usually obey you so promptly, Miss Gilpin?’ he queried. He had noticed the adoring look in Joe’s eyes as he answered her. The poor fellow was evidently in love with his employer’s daughter. He wondered if she knew it.

‘Yes, why not? One day the business will be mine and I will have the full running of it, but please God, not for a very long time.’

‘Really?’ he queried in surprise. ‘I had thought a brother or a husband would take over.’

‘I have neither brother nor husband.’ She was used to people making assumptions like that, but it never failed to raise her hackles and she spoke sharply.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘I can see you are a very determined woman.’

A woman, she noted, not a lady. There was a world of difference in the use of the words and reminded her of her conversations with her father on the subject. It simply stiffened her resolve to prove she was as good as any man when it came to business. It was far more important than being a so-called lady. Or a wife, come to that.

They entered the office where her father was standing looking out of the window on to the busy street, watching the doctor’s gig disappearing up the road. ‘It’s time he changed that vehicle,’ he said aloud. ‘He’s had it three years now and it is beginning to look the worse for wear. I must persuade him to turn it in for a phaeton, much more befitting his status as a physician of the first rank.’ He turned from the window to face them. ‘Captain Carstairs, did you find something to suit?’

‘The captain is going to buy Lord Pymore’s travelling chaise,’ Charlotte told him, fetching papers from a cupboard and taking her seat at her desk. ‘He has agreed our price.’

‘Good.’ Henry said. ‘Captain, do you need embellishments? Heraldry? Additional lines, scrolls perhaps?’

‘No, thank you, I cannot wait for such things to be done. It will do me very well as it is, but I do need harness and cattle. Miss Gilpin tells me you can also supply those.’

‘Indeed we can. I pride myself on dealing in animals sound in wind and limb. You may safely leave those to me. Do you have a coachman?’

‘Yes,’ Alex said, thinking of Davy Locke, who had been his servant on board ship and now went by the grand title of valet, though anyone less like a valet was hard to imagine. He was an untidy giant of a man, but a good man to have beside you in a tussle, whether it be confronting lawbreakers or struggling to get into a tight-fitting coat. He was, surprisingly for an ex-seaman, very good with horses. He put it down to working on a farm before he was pressed into service with the navy. A man of many talents was Davy Locke.

‘I shall have the paperwork drawn up in a few minutes, Captain,’ Charlotte put in. ‘You are welcome to inspect the premises while you wait.’ She gave him what she considered to be a condescending smile. ‘You may learn something of coachmaking.’

Alex, recognising the put-down for what it was, smiled, bowed and left the room, followed by Henry Gilpin, who went immediately to inspect the coach body which had been safely brought down to the ground floor and was being set upon a wooden cradle waiting to receive it. It had yet to be set on its undercarriage, painted and decorated and the interior finished, but even so Alex could appreciate the skilful work of the woodworkers.

Henry began explaining some of the processes to him, but Alex was hardly listening. He was thinking about Miss Gilpin. She was certainly very touchy about her gender. Perhaps she wished she had been born a boy. She was undoubtedly handsome with fine eyebrows, a straight nose and a well-defined, determined chin, but he would not describe her as feminine, not in the way he would have used the word. Her gown was decidedly practical, in a heavy grey taffeta, having only the slightest of false hips, and her quilted stomacher was made to match the gown and had no decoration beyond a satin bow on the square neckline. There wasn’t an ounce of lace on it anywhere. It was certainly not the height of fashion. She wore her own rich brown hair pulled back into a thick roll on top of her head and fastened with combs. She wore no gloves and her fingers were ink-stained.

And yet … and yet, she had the most expressive grey eyes. There was intelligence behind them, and humour, too, something he could admire. Was she really as competent as she appeared or was there, underneath that façade, a woman as weak and fickle as all her gender? Would she collapse in a flood of tears as soon as her self-sufficiency was put to the test? Did she really know the ins and outs of a coach-building business or was her father simply humouring a spoiled daughter? He found himself wanting to know the answers, to engage her in conversation, to find out what she was really like under that severe exterior. He felt sure such discourse would not be shallow and meaningless. It was a pity he was leaving town so soon, but then, on reflection, perhaps it was not. She was clearly not the sort for mere dalliance and he certainly did not wish for anything deeper, not after what had happened with Letitia. She had soured him for all women.

Why on earth had he suddenly thought of Letitia? He had buried that experience deep inside him where it could not surface, or so he had thought, but standing looking at half-a-dozen workmen manhandling the body of a coach with the aid of pulleys, he was suddenly back in his salad days.

He had met Letitia Cornish on a voyage out to India. Her father was a wealthy nabob and he the mere second lieutenant of an East Indiaman, plying back and forth between England and Calcutta, carrying European wines, furniture, glassware and even carriages on the outward journey, returning with spices, precious stones, ornaments, carpets and tigerskin rugs. She had been patrolling the deck and had stopped to gaze out over the stern at the wake, as if wishing she were back where she had come from. Hearing his footstep behind her, she had turned to speak to him. ‘Lieutenant, I am not in your way, am I?’

‘Not at all, Miss Cornish, but there is blow coming up and I advise you to go below. The sea is like to become very rough. Allow me to escort you.’ It was couched as a request, but she was expected to obey, which she did reluctantly. ‘It is so stuffy in the cabin,’ she said. ‘I prefer the fresh air.’

‘I fear it will become a little more than fresh,’ he had said, smiling as he accompanied her to the companionway. ‘When the storm is over, I will come and fetch you and you may take the air again.’

He had kept his word and escorted her back on deck as soon as the havoc caused by the storm had been cleared away and they were once more sailing on an even keel. She was looking white-faced, but assured him she had not been sick and would be right as rain as soon as she was up in the fresh air again. Her father had not emerged from his cabin. In spite of being a frequent traveller between England and India, he was not a good sailor and neither was Letitia’s maid and she was often left to her own devices. Thus they often met when he was on watch and she was patrolling the deck and they would stop and talk. In his eyes she was perfection with her shining golden hair and clear blue eyes.

He learned she was eighteen, a year younger than he was. Her mother had died years before; she could hardly remember her and Letitia had been brought up by her father with the help of an elderly aunt. Now she was grown up, her father was taking her to India where they expected to stay for several months while Mr Cornish assembled a new cargo to take back to England and after that she was to be brought out in London society. He told her about his life at sea, how he hoped to follow in his father’s and uncle’s footsteps and become a master mariner for the East India Company. By the time they reached Calcutta they were in love.

Her father would have none of it when Alex had approached him for permission to propose. ‘A penniless lieutenant—I should think not!’ he had said. ‘Whatever gave you the notion I would entertain a scapegrace like you for a son-in-law? After her money, are you? Think to make yourself wealthy at my expense?’

‘No, sir, certainly not, sir. I love your daughter and she loves me.’

‘Love, bah! What is that but a weak indulgence? Letitia will marry one of the young gentlemen I pick out for her when we return to London. And every one of them will have a title and some standing in society. She is wealthy enough and comely enough to take her pick. You, sir, are beneath her notice.’

Alex had been furious and had to use all his self-control not to lash out at the man, but young though he was, he knew alienating her father would not endear him to Letitia. Instead he turned on his heel and left with the man’s derisive laughter echoing in his ears. But he was not yet ready to give up. He knew Letitia liked to ride out very early in the morning before the heat became too intense and so he contrived to be out on horseback at the same time and prevailed upon her to dismount and talk to him. He had been hoping to persuade her to defy her father and run away with him. How foolish that notion was he had not realised at the time. She had tearfully refused to do any such thing. Her dear papa was always right and she would obey him as she always had.

He had not been able to understand her unquestioning acceptance of the fate laid down for her and continued to protest until the time came to part. ‘Goodbye, Alex,’ she had said and reached up to kiss his cheek and then remounted with the help of her syce and was gone, cantering away, raising the yellow dust.

She had not truly loved him or she would have defied her father, he told himself, she had been having a game with him. It was easier to be angry than admit he had a broken heart and, as his ship was loaded and made ready for the return journey, he left her behind, vowing that no woman, no matter how beautiful or how wealthy, would ever humiliate him like that again. Two years later he heard she had returned to England and married the Earl of Falsham, so her father had had his wish.

He had left the merchant service and had a spell in the cavalry in the hope that such a radical change to his way of life would cure him, but the lure of the sea was still in his blood and he had sold up and joined the navy. In due course he had become captain of a frigate, but with the end of the seven-year-long war with France two years before he had found himself with no ship and on half-pay. It was then he became involved with the Society for the Discovery and Apprehending of Criminals. And now his life was about to change again and he was not at all sure he welcomed it.

Miss Gilpin came out from the office, carrying a sheaf of papers. ‘Have you learned anything of coachmaking, Captain?’ she asked.

‘I have concluded it is a very complicated business,’ he answered. ‘I have been watching the men put the coach on its cradle. They make it look easy.’

‘They are all experienced men, Captain, though we shall miss Joe Smithson until he is well again. I collect I did not thank you properly for your help in getting him up. He is a big strong man, but you lifted him with ease.’

He bowed towards her. ‘My pleasure, Miss Gilpin.’

‘Your carriage will be ready tomorrow. My father will personally inspect it for defects before he allows it to be delivered, and of course the horses and licence have to be obtained so we cannot do it any sooner. I hope that is convenient for you.’

‘Entirely,’ he said, bowing. If he had hired a chaise instead of buying one, he might have been on his way before that, but Miss Gilpin had been right; he would need to travel back and forth frequently on society business, so it made sense to buy. ‘But I will fetch it from here. I mean to begin my journey immediately. Shall we say noon?’

She looked at her father. ‘Will you have the horses and harness by then, Papa?’

Mr Gilpin was only half-listening to their exchange, being more concerned with inspecting the half-finished coach and giving instruction to the carpenters who were to fix the moulding along the edge of its roof. ‘Yes, yes, I shall go to Tattersalls this afternoon.’

‘How will you pay?’ Charlotte turned back to Alex. ‘Credit terms can be arranged, if you wish.’

Alex resented the inference that he could not pay for anything he ordered. Just because he elected to dress simply, did not mean he was without funds. Even before inheriting his uncle’s estate he had been a wealthy man. He had earned good prize money as a sea captain and his father had left a fortune as a result of his captaincy of an East India merchantman. Each captain was allowed to carry a certain tonnage on their own account, for which privilege they paid five hundred pounds. It was money well spent; both Alex’s father and his uncle, the Marquis of Foxlees, had become exceedingly wealthy with this trade. ‘There is no need for that,’ he said, his tone conveying his annoyance. ‘It may be considered eccentric, but it is my strict rule to pay my dues on demand. I shall bring a money order on my bank when I come tomorrow.’

‘Thank you, Captain. Then the price is as we agreed.’

He took his leave and went on his way, first to his bank to arrange the draft then to his club where he intended to dine. He had barely sat down and ordered a capon and a couple of pork chops, when he was joined by Jonathan Leinster. ‘What, not gone home to the delectable Louise?’ he asked him.

‘No she has taken the baby and gone to visit her parents. I decided an evening in town would be more congenial than going back to an empty house. I am promised to Lady Milgrove’s soirée, later. What about you? I had thought you on your way to Norfolk.’

‘I needed a coach to convey me there and decided to buy one, so I have been at Gilpin’s.’

‘You can’t go wrong there. They have a reputation for the best, but not cheap, by no means cheap.’

‘That I discovered.’

Jonathan turned to give his order to the waiter before continuing the conversation. ‘Did you meet Miss Gilpin?’

‘Indeed I did. She seems to think she runs the business.’

Jonathan laughed. ‘Not quite, but her father does not disabuse her of the idea. No doubt she will learn the difference when she comes to wed.’

‘Is she engaged, then?’

‘No, but her papa has been putting it around that he is looking for a title for her.’

‘And no doubt she will marry whoever Papa picks out for her.’

Jonathan shrugged. ‘Who’s to say? I am glad I am married and not in the running. I think she will be a veritable harridan and hard to handle.’

‘Do you say so?’

‘Yes. You saw her. Do you not agree she is something of an antidote?’

‘No, I can’t say that I do,’ Alex said slowly. ‘She could hardly work in the business dressed in the height of fashion with hips a mile wide and coiffeur a foot tall.’

‘I don’t see why she has to work in the business at all. Gilpin is prodigiously wealthy and can indulge her in whatever she wants.’

‘So he intends to buy her a title, does he?’

‘So it seems.’

‘Then I hope she has the good sense to resist.’

Jonathan looked sharply at his friend, a look that was not lost on Alex, who quickly changed the subject. ‘I did not fancy riding to Norfolk by stage and was going to hire a conveyance, but decided to buy one, after all. I shall need it if I am to come up to town for our regular meetings at Trentham House.’

‘That’s true, and neither can you shut yourself away in the country away from society. You will have to start looking for a wife now you are a marquis.’

‘Oh, I shall, shall I?’

‘Of course. You will need an heir.’

‘There is plenty of time for that.’

‘How old are you, Alex?’

‘I am thirty-four.’

‘Good heavens, there is not a moment to lose! You will be an old man before you know it.’ It was said with mock dismay which made Alex laugh. And then, after a pause, ‘Come with me to Lady Milgrove’s.’

‘I will hardly find a wife there,’ Alex said, still laughing.

‘Perhaps not, but more to the point the evening is in aid of the Foundling Hospital, a charity close to Louise’s heart and I promised her I would go. You do not leave town tonight, do you?’

‘No, I am to take delivery of the chaise tomorrow at noon, but I shall be on my way directly after that.’

‘So, you’ll come? I will enjoy it the more if I have company.’

‘Very well, I will come.’

Their food arrived and they set to tackling it with hearty appetites.

‘No sign of those two escapees, then?’ Alex asked.

‘No. I am persuaded someone is sheltering them. I sent Sam Roker into the rookeries where they might seek refuge, to see if he could discover any news of them, but so far nothing.’

Sam was the only one of the society who could not be called a gentleman. Officially James’s servant, he came and went according to the needs of its members, being a great one for disguise and able to speak the cant of the ruffians who inhabited the seedier parts of the city.

‘No doubt they will turn up when you least expect it,’ Alex said. ‘If you need any help, call on me.’

‘I will, if you are not too busy courting.’

‘If you do not desist from your nonsense, I shall leave you to go to Lady Milgrove’s on your own, my friend.’

Jonathan held up his hands in surrender. ‘Not another word. Shall we have a hand of faro to while away the rest of the afternoon?’