Engagement of Convenience

‘I’m afraid you have only worked to confirm it.’

Her saucy eyes teased him. Were this Tortuga, he would have covered her full mouth with his, allowed his fingers to free her hair from the bun as he pulled her close to kiss away the wry smile dancing about her lips. However, his good breeding, not to mention his status as George’s guest, prevented such a blatant breach of etiquette.

* * *

‘Julia!’ Emily appeared at the morning-room door. Julia stepped back, her cheeks burning, awkwardness replacing her courage. Silently, she cursed her impetuous nature, wondering what it was about the captain that kept causing her to forget herself. A few minutes in the gentleman’s presence and she was once again acting like a strumpet instead of a lady. How much had Emily heard? Hopefully nothing or she and Charles would feel vindicated in all their chastising.

Before anyone could say anything, baby Thomas’s wail filled the upstairs hallway and the nurse appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying the infant. He was only two months old, but he’d been born early and Emily fretted over him like no other well-born mother in the county.

‘Mrs Howard, it is time for his feeding,’ the nurse called over the screaming baby.

Emily glanced from the captain to Julia to upstairs, weighing her desire to reprimand with the need to see to her child. Luckily, Thomas’s cries grew louder, making the decision for her.

‘If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I must attend to my son.’ Emily shot Julia a silent warning before hurrying up to escort the nurse to the nursery. For all of Charles’s and Emily’s priggishness, they were firm believers in Rousseau’s ideas of breastfeeding. It was one of the few things Julia admired them for.

‘Despite being born two months early, my nephew has a healthy appetite and powerful lungs,’ Julia observed.

‘His lungs will serve him well if he enters Parliament. Like his father, his opinions will always be heard,’ Captain Covington teased.

Julia laughed, the captain’s joke putting her at ease. She was about to respond when a small cough from the landing interrupted them.

‘Good morning, Captain Covington.’ Annette glided down the stairs, her blue eyes raking over him. Dressed in a fashionable walking dress of expensive yellow silk, she stepped in between Julia and the captain. Her haughty air irked Julia and she clasped her hands together to keep from smacking the chit on the back of her elegantly coiffed blonde head. Though they were the same age, they had nothing in common and had never been more than civil to each other since Annette’s arrival.

‘Miss Taylor, a pleasure to see you again.’ The captain bowed over her extended hand, the relaxed Navy man from a moment before replaced by a proper gentleman.

Julia noted the change and her heart sank. Obviously, he respected the polished manners of a London lady to the questionable conduct of a country girl.

It doesn’t matter, she told herself. Neither of them will be here for ever.

‘How are your dear sister and mother?’ Annette asked, her voice light and charming.

‘My sister Charlotte is in Wiltshire with her husband. My mother is with them at the moment, though she returns to town next week. She prefers London to the country.’

‘Who of us doesn’t?’ Simon yawned from the top of the stairs, his voice heavy with the Devonshire lisp so popular in town. Tall and lean, Simon wore a suit of the finest material cut tight to accentuate his slender body. He possessed the same sharp features as his sister, but the affected boredom of his dandified style softened them considerably.

Annette’s face reddened at Simon’s remark. ‘You remember my brother?’

‘Of course.’ Both men nodded to one another, no affection lost on either side.

‘We are going to the local town. Please join us for I’m eager for some society after such isolation.’

‘Did I hear someone suggest a ride into Daringford?’ Uncle George asked, coming up behind the captain.

‘Yes. Care to join us?’ Captain Covington invited.

While they made their plans, Julia started up the stairs, sure no one would notice her absence. They had each other; they did not need her. She froze when the captain called out to her.

‘Miss Howard, would you like to join us?’

Surveying the waiting group, Julia wondered how much more of his company she could endure without gaining a reputation as a hoyden. Until she could learn to control her tongue in his presence, it was probably better to avoid him. She moved to make her excuses when Annette’s condescending sweep of Julia’s riding habit changed her mind. ‘Yes, but allow me to change. I’ll only be a moment.’

‘Your dress is passable. Come and let’s be off,’ Uncle George impatiently called.

Julia reluctantly stepped off the stairs. Emily would have a fit if she knew Julia wore her old riding habit into town. Oh, well, what was one more reprimand? Besides, it was worth the rebuke to annoy Annette.

‘Come, Captain Covington.’ Annette motioned for his arm and like a true gentleman he offered it, leading her outside to the waiting carriage. Julia watched the way her stepcousin moved, the rich material and fine cut of her dress emphasising her willowy figure. A slight twinge of jealousy took hold and Julia wondered if things would be different if she made an effort to dress so well every day or demonstrate proper, genteel manners.

‘My lady.’ Uncle George offered her his arm with an exaggerated flourish.

‘Why, thank you, sir,’ she answered with equally false formality.

‘What do you think of the captain?’ he asked in a low voice as they strolled out to the waiting carriage.

‘He strikes me as quite the man about town. He’s already caught Annette’s attention.’

‘Any man with a pocketbook catches her fancy,’ George huffed. ‘You shouldn’t let her have him.’

‘I have no interest in a Navy man, especially one with a thin London polish.’

‘He’s no Simon, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s rich, too. Thanks, I might say, in part to many of my lucrative schemes.’

Julia suppressed a laugh, knowing how proud Uncle George was of the numerous profitable ventures he’d embarked on during his time in the Navy. ‘Why did the captain resign?’

‘George, stop gossiping and get in,’ Captain Covington interrupted from beside the open carriage door. ‘No need to give away all my secrets on the first day.’

‘Not possible, Jim. You’ve got too many.’ Uncle George chuckled.

‘May I?’ Captain Covington held out his hand, a playful smile lighting up his face. Julia reached for his upturned palm, hesitating a moment before pushing against the strength of it to step up into the carriage.

‘Thank you.’ She didn’t dare meet his eyes, but slid across the squabs and settled in next to the far window, her hand still tingling from his touch. Uncle George sat beside her in an attempt to place some distance between her, Annette and Simon and she was grateful. The captain took a seat across from them, next to Annette, much to the chit’s visible delight.

Simon paused to adjust his cravat, then carefully climbed into the carriage, moving like an old lady to avoid wrinkling his morning coat. The door closed behind him, but Simon wasn’t fully seated when Uncle George rapped on the roof. The vehicle sprung into motion, throwing Simon into the seat next to his sister.

‘I say,’ Simon complained to George.

‘Sorry about that.’ George shrugged, unruffled by Simon’s outburst.

‘Men can be so silly, don’t you agree, Captain Covington?’ Annette laughed, reprimanding her brother with a look he pointedly ignored.

‘Yes, they can be.’ The captain allowed the conversation to drop, watching the countryside pass by outside the window, a strange melancholy clouding his face. Julia noted the way the afternoon sunlight spread over his features, highlighting a very small scar on his cheek and giving him a bit of mystery and depth she’d never seen in any London gentleman. Then his eyes darted to hers and she turned away, her heart fluttering, the heat in the carriage rising sharply.

What’s wrong with me? she wondered, touching the warm skin of her neck. It wasn’t like her to act so hen-witted in the company of a man, especially a Navy rake like the captain. Struggling to regain control, she concentrated on the river flowing in the gully below the road. No matter how much she focused on the clear water pouring over the rocks, the captain lingered on the edge of her vision. When she dared to look at him again, she found him still smiling at her.

‘Captain Covington, were you at Lady Wellsingham’s ball last month?’ Annette asked.

‘No, I’m afraid business kept me away,’ he answered with a slight frown before covering it with a gracious smile.

Perhaps he’s not so taken by London charms, Julia mused, sitting back to observe the conversation with a new interest.

‘What a pity. You would have enjoyed it. All anyone could talk about was Lord Langston’s comment on Napoleon. He said the Emperor’s coat was too tight to suit a real gentleman, and if the Emperor had a better tailor, he might not be so fond of war.’

‘I thought politics a taboo subject at balls?’ Julia asked, more to annoy her stepcousin than out of any real interest.

‘We were discussing Lord Langston’s comment, not politics,’ Annette arrogantly clarified. ‘Surely you’ve heard of the earl, even here?’

Julia bit back a sharp retort, struggling through gritted teeth to remain cordial.

‘Yes. Charles keeps me abreast of the latest London news, though I pay it no mind. I hardly feel the comments of a man who thinks only of clothes and dancing is worth the breath to spread it. Were he a man of actual accomplishments, such as Lord Nelson, I might take more interest in what he has to say.’

‘Here, here, Julia.’ George slapped his knee and Annette pursed her thin lips.

‘Sounds like a rather American idea to me, Miss Howard,’ Captain Covington asked.

‘Have you been to America, Captain?’ Julia asked.

‘Yes, it’s an interesting country.’

‘I don’t agree with the Americans. The French followed their example and all their patriotism and liberty turned out dreadful,’ Annette interjected, but both Julia and Captain Covington ignored the remark.

‘I’m a great admirer of Mr Jefferson. Are you familiar with his agricultural inventions?’ Julia asked.

‘Yes, I read one of his books while I was in London. I read quite a number of books while I was at home.’ He paused, watching his left hand open and close before he looked up at her again. ‘I don’t recall the specific of Mr Jefferson’s designs, but I remember them being quite innovative.’

‘He devised a plough specifically for hills. It’s proved most beneficial to Knollwood,’ she volunteered, encouraged by his response. ‘Like Mr Jefferson, I’ve discovered the best way to develop new techniques is to ask the workers. I regularly speak with mine to keep abreast of their progress and any potential problems.’

‘How plebian to be so familiar with your servants,’ Annette sneered.

Julia went silent, the conspicuous difference between her and her London cousin making her self-conscious.

‘I agree, Miss Howard, servants are often aware of more than their employers realise,’ the captain offered with a smile.

‘Indeed, they know the land and conditions better than anyone else.’

Careful not to gloat over the obvious check to Annette’s mocking remark, Julia continued her discussion of agriculture, encouraged by the captain’s extensive knowledge. The bulk of it came from books, but he asked many questions about the practical application, eager to learn. While they spoke, Julia watched the way Annette hung on his every word, fluttering her eyelashes at him while praising his wit and intelligence. Each compliment brought a smile to his face and as much as Julia’s opinion of him rose with their current discussion, his apparent infatuation with Annette lowered it. Perhaps the captain thought her cousin a better country amusement than Julia. After all, the way Annette fawned on him made her interest apparent. How typical of a man to fall prey to such a shallow woman.

* * *

The carriage rattled into town, coming to a stop near the centre of the High Street. James stepped out into the crisp autumn air and took a deep breath. Being confined for so long next to Miss Taylor reminded him of a tight gun deck on a humid day in the islands. Only Miss Howard’s airy voice and sparkling eyes offered any respite from Miss Taylor’s cloying company.

‘What an exile,’ Mr Taylor sighed, taking in Daringford’s dusty streets lined with shops. ‘I’ll return shortly.’

‘I thought you were going to stay with me?’ Miss Taylor whined as James handed her out of the carriage.

Mr Taylor ignored her, strolling off towards the Sign of the Swan tavern, much to his sister’s visible displeasure.

James turned back to the carriage to help Miss Howard out, only to see her alight from the other side before hurrying around to join them.

‘I’m afraid I must leave you as well,’ George announced. ‘I have some business to attend to with my solicitor. Take good care of the ladies, Jim.’ He went off in the opposite direction, leaving James alone with Miss Taylor and Miss Howard.

‘Well, ladies, where shall we go?’

‘The milliner’s shop,’ Miss Taylor decided. ‘I must purchase some lace, though I doubt it will be of the same quality here as in London.’

‘The milliner it is, unless Miss Howard has somewhere she wishes to go?’

Miss Howard shook her head. ‘No, I’m simply here for the diversion.’

‘One could hardly call this place a diversion.’ Miss Taylor made for the row of shops lining the north side of the street, stepping gingerly around the dirt and mud.

‘I suppose we must follow.’ Miss Howard sighed.

‘I suppose we must.’

Their progress across the square was slow, with Miss Howard stopping more than once to speak to some farmers’ wives. He stood by while they conversed, noting how she addressed the women without arrogance or conceit. There were no signs of her former awkwardness and he thought it strange she should get along so well with these women, yet seem utterly out of place with people like the Taylors. It baffled him, but he enjoyed it, her friendly attitude a refreshing change from rigid London ways.

When they finally reached the milliner shop, James held open the door, then followed her inside. ‘Do you come to the village often?’

‘Yes, it seems I am always purchasing necessities for Knollwood.’

Miss Taylor ignored them in favour of the shopkeeper who hustled to help the London girl spend her blunt. Miss Howard did not shop, but loitered with him near the front window, as out of place here as Miss Taylor would be among estate labourers.

‘You have no interest in lace?’ James asked.

‘I’ve come to town in my riding habit. I assure you, I have no interest in lace.’

He noted the older cut of the habit with its lower waist and fitted bodice. The style skimmed her flat stomach and accentuated her curved hips. He preferred the form-flattering shape to the high-waisted style dominating Rotten Row. ‘I like your dress.’

‘Do you?’

He heard disbelief in the question, but also a note of hope. ‘I do.’

She played with a small piece of ribbon dangling off the table next to her, then nodded at Miss Taylor, who stood at the counter negotiating with the shopkeeper over the price. ‘She certainly drives a hard bargain. I’m amazed she bothers to be so economical.’

‘Perhaps her situation is not what it seems.’

Miss Howard’s puzzled face indicated her ignorance of the London rumours regarding the Taylors. However, before she could respond, a round matron followed by a blonde young lady with similar full features entered the store.

‘Miss Howard,’ the older woman called out, crossing to where they stood. ‘What a pleasure to see you in here. I didn’t think you one for the milliner’s shop.’

Miss Howard’s lips drew tight and James’s ire rose at the belittling way the matron’s eyes swept over Miss Howard, making her flush with embarrassment.

‘Mrs Johnson, may I introduce Captain Covington.’ Miss Howard motioned to him. ‘He is a friend of my uncle and staying with us. Captain Covington, this is Mrs Johnson and her daughter, Miss Caroline Johnson.’

The two ladies curtsied to James, sizing up his value as a potential husband.

He bowed, unwilling to remain here or give this woman another chance to insult Miss Howard. ‘If you’ll excuse us, we were just about to step outside and leave you lovely women to your shopping.’

He offered Miss Howard his arm. She slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow and flashed the disbelieving Mrs and Miss Johnson a wide smile as he escorted her out of the shop.

‘I see some mamas are as rude here as they are in London,’ James fumed once they were outside. ‘What did she hope to gain by being condescending to you?’

‘I don’t know, but please pay it no mind. I’m quite used to it.’ Miss Howard withdrew her hand and placed a respectable distance between them. He brushed his fingers over the spot where she’d held his arm, missing the soft weight of her touch.

‘You should make a habit of responding to rude people,’ James suggested.

‘Why? Emily and Charles would only hear of it, then chastise me for being ill mannered. It seems I must be civil to everyone while everyone may speak to me as they please.’

‘There are many ways to appear courteous, yet still strike a cutting blow.’

‘Then you must teach me some for I’m tired of putting up with such nonsense.’ She laughed, the charming sound carrying over the noisy rattle of equipage in the street.

‘It would be my pleasure. What sort of remark would you like to learn first?’

‘James Covington,’ the long-forgotten but familiar female voice called out from behind them, slicing through him like a sword and shattering his jovial mood. ‘I can hardly believe it.’

He turned, watching Melinda Knight saunter up the street, a wicked smile decorating her full lips. A low-cut gown showed off her ample white bosom, much to the appreciation of the passing village men. Many paused to admire her, elbowing one another as their lecherous eyes enjoyed the well-displayed assets. They obviously deemed her a beauty, but James, who’d known her in his youth, saw the toll London indulgence had taken. Her dark-brown eyes seemed tired and dull while her once slender form had grown more stout, filling out her face and keeping away, for a few more years at least, the lines forming about her eyes and the corners of her lips.

‘Miss Knight,’ he greeted through clenched teeth.

‘I’m Mrs Wilkins now, or have you forgotten?’

James’s lip curled in loathing. ‘So you married him?’

‘Is that any way to greet an old friend?’ Her seductive voice had once heated his blood; now it left him icy with disgust.

‘I would hardly call us friends.’

She wedged herself between him and Miss Howard, her bosom brushing his chest. ‘At one time you called me a great deal more.’

‘That was a long time ago.’ He stepped back, fighting the urge to push her away. The reaction unnerved him. He thought he’d forgotten her treachery years ago. Taking control of his surging emotions, he turned to Miss Howard, noting her stunned expression. ‘May I introduce Miss Howard of Knollwood.’

Melinda faced Julia, taking her in and dismissing her all at once. ‘We already know one another. My husband owns Cable Grange. My, what a pretty riding habit. Did you ride here?’

‘No,’ Miss Howard retorted, her dislike of Melinda palpable.

‘Must be the new fashion. I find it so hard to keep up. You country girls have such different tastes.’

Melinda laid a gloved hand on James’s arm and he pulled away, leaving her fingers hanging like talons before she lowered them. Far from being embarrassed, she seemed to take pleasure in his revulsion. ‘You should come and visit us, James. I know Rowan would love to see you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be going.’

She swept off down the street, collecting more appreciative stares as she went.

‘You know her?’ Miss Howard gasped.

‘I knew her once, a long time ago. It’s of no importance.’ He wondered how best to correct whatever false impression his acquaintance with Melinda left. He refused to be judged by a past mistake, but no proper explanation came to mind.

‘Here comes George.’ James motioned over her shoulder, thankful for the distraction.

George rushed along the road, the light of delicious news in his eyes.

‘I can tell by the way he’s hurrying, he’s heard gossip,’ Julia observed. ‘He enjoys a story more than any old matron in Daringford.’

James laughed at the candid and accurate description. ‘It is good to know some things haven’t changed.’

‘Julia, you won’t believe what my solicitor told me,’ George blurted out between winded pants when he reached them. ‘Cable Grange is to be sold at auction in ten days if Mr Wilkins can’t pay his London creditors.’

Chapter Three

Julia jumped from the carriage the instant it halted in front of Knollwood. Flying up the front stairs, she ran down the hall, throwing open her mother’s sitting-room door, not caring what anyone thought of her very unladylike entrance.

‘Cable Grange is to be sold by the bailiff in ten days. You must write to Charles and tell him to arrange for my inheritance at once.’

‘Julia, do not stomp about the house,’ her mother instructed without missing a stitch in her embroidery. Charlemagne watched from a basket at her mother’s feet, his tail wagging lazily.

‘Mother, did you hear what I said?’ she demanded, chafing in the face of her apathy.

‘You know he won’t approve.’ Her mother pulled a long, red thread through the fabric. ‘He hardly approves of you running Knollwood in his absence.’

‘That’s why I need you to write him. Demand my inheritance, but don’t tell him why. I can’t have him buying Cable Grange out from under me.’

‘I have little influence with Charles, especially in this matter.’

‘But he has to give me the money,’ Julia cried, pacing the room. ‘This could be my only chance to secure an estate of my own.’

Her mother paused mid-stitch. ‘Without a husband? He’d never allow it. You must be married first.’

‘To whom? One of the many young men throwing themselves at my feet?’

‘My dear, don’t sound so despondent. Some day you will find a gentleman who loves you.’

‘Not in time to purchase Cable Grange.’ Julia sat down hard in the window seat.

‘Perhaps George can supply the necessary funds?’

‘Creedon Abbey is profitable, but not enough to finance another estate, especially not with the repairs from the fire.’ She knew because she often helped Uncle George with his accounting.

‘Then I’m afraid Cable Grange will go to another.’

Julia bit her thumbnail in frustration, feeling like a rabbit caught in a snare. Though the money was hers, her father’s will gave Charles control of it until she married or Charles died. At the moment, she wanted very much to kill her obstinate brother.

She picked at the gold thread on a pillow. ‘Why did Father put Charles in charge of my inheritance? Why not Uncle George or even Paul? They wouldn’t be so difficult.’

Her mother rose, sitting down next to Julia and taking her hands. ‘It’s what his solicitor advised. Your father intended to change it once George purchased Creedon Abbey, but his illness was so sudden—’

Silence heavy with grief settled between them. Outside, birds chirped in a nearby tree and Julia heard the distant bark of Uncle George’s hunting dogs.

‘It’s not fair.’

‘No, it isn’t, but don’t fret, my dear. Nothing is hopeless. Now, go and change for dinner.’ Her mother kissed her gently on the forehead, then returned to her embroidery stand.

Julia wandered down the hall to her room, her mind working over the current dilemma. She had to have Cable Grange. She refused to be shoved aside at Knollwood by Charles or to let him control her life. Paul would never do such a thing if it were up to him.