The Chaperon Bride

Charles shifted uncomfortably. ‘I met him last year when his brother-in-law died. It is a little difficult, Annis.’ Charles sighed. ‘The late Lord Tilney, Ashwick’s brother-in-law, was involved in a business scheme with Mr Ingram, but it failed and Ingram bought all his debts. When he died, Humphrey Tilney owed Ingram a deal of money. Ashwick agreed to pay the debt to save his sister from penury. The situation caused some difficulties.’

Annis raised her brows. Samuel Ingram, Charles’s most powerful client, was a man who rode roughshod over all those who opposed his business dealings. She could imagine a nobleman of Lord Ashwick’s calibre deeply resenting being in debt to such a man.

‘What was this business venture?’

Charles looked gloomy. ‘You probably remember it. It was in all the newspapers. Ingram and Humphrey Tilney were joint owners of the Northern Prince, the ship that went down carrying goods and money to the colonies eighteen months ago. There was the devil of a fuss.’

‘I imagine there would be.’ Annis frowned. ‘Was there not a fortune in gold on the ship?’

‘That is correct, and banknotes and silver and God alone knows what other valuables in addition.’

‘Surely it was insured?’

Charles shifted uncomfortably. ‘Yes, but Humphrey Tilney had overreached himself financially to fund his part in the enterprise in the first place. Under normal circumstances he might have recouped his losses within a couple of years but, as it was, he ended thirty thousand in debt. Ingram bought his debts up to help him rather than let him fall ever deeper into the hands of the moneylenders.’

‘How charitable of him,’ Annis said drily, thinking that a man such as Samuel Ingram seldom did anything out of the goodness of his heart.

Charles frowned to hear the note in her voice. ‘See here, Annis, Ingram charged a very reasonable rate of interest—’

‘And you wonder at Lord Ashwick resenting the fact!’ Annis said, even more drily.

Charles subsided like a pricked balloon. ‘That is the way that business works…’

‘I dare say. I suppose there was no doubt that the ship actually went down? Ingram has not compounded his sins by defrauding the insurers?’

Charles looked horrified. ‘Devil take it, Annis, of course not! Of course the ship went down! For pity’s sake, do not go around saying such things in public!’

Annis was startled at his vehemence. ‘Very well, Charles, there is no need to roast me for it! I only asked the question. Speaking of Ingram, I read in the Leeds Mercury that there had been a fire at his farm at Shawes. Is foul play suspected?’

Charles gave her a very sharp look. ‘Not at all. Why do you ask?’

Annis gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘No need to pretend to me, Charles! I know that Mr Ingram is not popular hereabouts. I have read all about the arson and the threats to his property.’

Charles looked shifty. ‘Yes, well, I will concede there has been a little local difficulty over the enclosure of the Shawes common, and there has been some discussion about rents this year—’

‘You sound like a lawyer!’ Annis said with a sigh.

‘Well, so I am. And Mr Ingram’s lawyer at that. It is my place to be dispassionate.’

‘I would have thought that Mr Ingram would see it as your place to support him,’ Annis said drily. ‘That is what he pays you for.’

Charles blushed an angry red. ‘See here, Annis, must you be so blunt? I’m astounded you ever find a match for those girls of yours if you are as outspoken with their suitors as you are with me!’

‘Fortunately the gentlemen are marrying the girls and not me,’ Annis said cheerfully. ‘I do not seek to marry again, as you know, Charles.’

‘Can’t think why not. At least you would not need to work then.’

‘Thank you, but I prefer to be independent. You know I dislike to be idle. Besides, I found that the married state did not suit me.’

‘Not surprised if you spoke to John as plainly as you do to me!’

Annis locked her gloved hands together and looked pointedly out of the window. It was no secret that she and her elderly husband had been unhappy together, but even after eight years of widowhood the memory caused an ache.

‘Sorry, Annis.’ Charles sounded remorseful. ‘I did not mean to offend you.’

‘It is no matter, Charles.’ Annis spoke briskly. ‘You know that John had decided opinions about women and their place. Now that I am no longer required to respect those views, I fear I have become quite outspoken.’

‘I suppose there are some men who like their wives to read the newspaper and have decided opinions,’ Charles said dubiously.

‘Are there? I have never met any of them.’ Annis smiled. ‘So perhaps it is fortunate that I do not look to marry.’

The carriage slowed before a grey stone house with neat sash windows, then turned through a small archway into a cobbled yard with stables along one side.

‘There is a walled garden at the back,’ Charles said eagerly, ‘and I have engaged a couple of servants for you. You indicated that Mrs Hardcastle was to be housekeeper, so I imagine that she will wish to have the ordering of the household affairs once she arrives.’

‘Of course. Hardy will soon have everything organised.’ Annis looked about her with approval. ‘You seem to have done us proud, Charles.’

‘There is a drawing-room and walk-in cupboards in the bedrooms,’ Charles offered, still trying to make amends for his earlier insensitivity. ‘It is all very modern. I am sure that it is just what you require, Annis.’

‘Thank you.’ Annis took his hand as she descended from the coach. ‘There is a most pleasant aspect to the front.’

‘And the shops are not far away.’

‘I assume that it is a quiet neighbourhood and one suitable for the Misses Crossley? No undesirable alehouses or rowdy neighbours? I would not wish my charges to be subject to unsuitable influences.’

Charles had opened his mouth to reply when there was a loud tally-ho from the road and a green and gold phaeton shot past, its occupants shrieking with laughter. It turned neatly through the archway of the house behind. Annis raised her eyebrows.

‘My new neighbours, I presume?’

‘Oh, dear,’ Charles said unhappily.

‘Ashy dearest,’ Margot Mardyn said sweetly, draping herself over the arm of Adam Ashwick’s chair, ‘whatever would your mama say if she knew that you had brought me here?’

Adam glanced up briefly from the York Herald. The diva’s cleavage was inclining tantalisingly close to his nose. It was plush and pink, and smelled cloyingly of roses. Adam looked thoughtfully at it, then returned to his paper.

‘Margot, my sweet, do go and sit down. You are blocking my light. I am sure that Tranter will be in with the tea in a moment.’

Miss Mardyn flounced away to lay herself seductively along the sofa. ‘Ashy…’ her voice fell several octaves ‘…you have not answered my question.’

Adam sighed and laid his newspaper aside. He knew there was not the least chance of him finishing the item until Miss Mardyn had partaken of tea and been delivered to her palatial suite of rooms at the Granby Hotel. His original intention to deliver her directly there had been thwarted when one of his horses had thrown a shoe, necessitating the stop at the Hope Inn. After that, Margot had insisted that nothing but tea in Church Row would soothe her ruffled sensibilities.

‘I am persuaded that Mama would be delighted to find you here, Margot,’ he said. ‘She will be quite cast down to have been out of town.’

‘But now that we are here,’ Miss Mardyn purred, with a soft fluttering of her lashes, ‘we might find a pleasant way to pass the time, Ashy…’

Adam raised his brows. ‘Indeed we might, sweet. We could talk, and take tea and even…’ he smiled at her ‘…plan a trip to Knaresborough!’

Miss Mardyn scowled unbecomingly. She did not take kindly to teasing.

‘I had something so much more exciting in mind, Ashy!’

‘Did you?’ Adam murmured. ‘I doubt that Seb would appreciate it, my love, if I took you up on that offer!’

‘Sebastian will never know,’ the diva replied. She sparkled at him. ‘Please, Ashy. I am most curious. I beg you to indulge me. Lydia Trent says that you were magnifique—a stallion, en effet!’

‘I am indebted to Miss Trent for her enthusiastic description,’ Adam drawled. ‘Alas, the answer is still no, my sweet. Sebastian Fleet might not know, but I would know that I had betrayed his friendship!’

‘You men and your honour!’ scoffed Miss Mardyn. ‘Am I not worth it, Ashy?’

The answer, Adam reflected, was a decided ‘no’ but even he, renowned as he was for plain speaking, could hardly be so unchivalrous as to say so. He had been widowed for nine years and during those years he had sampled the favours of quite a few opera singers, actresses and dancers like Miss Trent, with the addition of several bored society ladies as well. Even so, he felt he could scarcely lay claim to the title of rake, for all that others awarded it to him. Despite Miss Trent’s extravagant praise, sexual conquest was not even an activity that particularly interested him. There was something deplorably mechanical about the amorous liaisons of many of the ton, whereas he, having once experienced true love, was at heart a real romantic.

Six months before, the past had finally and unexpectedly caught up with him and put paid to any rakish tendencies for good. They had taken dinner at Joss Tallant’s house that night, he, Seb Fleet and a number of other friends. Gradually the others had drifted away to the clubs and balls, leaving Joss and he partaking of a malt whisky and talking over times past and the time to come. At some point, late in the evening, Amy Tallant had come in, kissed her husband goodnight and warned him not to be too late to bed. From the look in Joss’s eye, Adam had guessed that it would not be long at all until he was politely ejected from the house and Joss went hot foot to join his wife. And that was when it had happened. Adam had felt the most sudden and shocking jolt of jealousy and misery go through him like a sword thrust. It was not that he envied Joss his wife, serene and charming though Amy was. It was that for the first time in years he remembered the warmth and intimacy and pure pleasure of marriage, and he felt sick to think that he had had it and lost it all.

Joss had seen the stunned look in his eyes and, old friend that he was, had challenged him on it. They had ended up talking until the morning and finishing the bottle of whisky between them. Adam had sent Amy a huge bunch of flowers the following day with his apologies for keeping her husband from her side. But the ache of loss had not been alleviated and Adam knew he would never find what he was looking for in the scented bordellos of Covent Garden. He would not even try. The favours of Margot Mardyn, so eagerly sought by so many men, were not for him.

Miss Mardyn was aware that his attention had slipped from her. She wafted over to the window and stood twitching the drapes and peering out inquisitively.

‘Alors, Ashy, it is that so-proper Englishman we met at the inn! I do so adore men like that—so prim, so correct. It makes me want to tear off all their clothes and shock them to the core!’

‘I am sure that Lafoy would be delighted were you to do that to him,’ Adam rejoined drily. ‘Do leave that curtain twitching alone, my love. It is so bourgeois!’

But Miss Mardyn was enjoying herself too much to obey him. ‘I do believe they must be your neighbours, Ashy. Oh, do come and look! The freakish cousin is with him. Have you ever seen anything so ugly as that bonnet?’

Adam felt a rush of irritation that had nothing to do with Miss Mardyn’s constant chatter. Why he should feel so protective of Charles Lafoy’s cousin he had no notion, but protective he was. When he had first seen Annis Wycherley at the inn he had thought her a drab creature of that class that were instantly recognisable as governesses and schoolmistresses, frumpish, proper, and dull. Then, when their eyes had met and he had seen the decided twinkle in hers, he had realised his mistake. He had watched her during the conversation and seen her covert amusement at both Margot’s affectations and Lafoy’s discomfort. It argued a certain sophistication of mind that intrigued him, hidden as it was behind the chaperon’s dull exterior. Yet she had also seemed an innocent, so much so that she was not quite able to hide the fact that she was not indifferent to him. It had charmed him—and he had wanted to see her again.

He could see her now, walking under the fruit trees at the bottom of the garden. The garden of his own house sloped down from the terrace to a narrow lane and the wall of the neighbouring garden backed on to it. Under normal circumstance it was not an arrangement that would have met with his approval. He was a man who guarded his privacy jealously, and the Harrogate town houses were too close together to suit him. He preferred his estate at Eynhallow—remote, unspoilt and not overlooked.

Adam watched as Charles Lafoy gave his cousin his hand to help her back on to the path. He disliked Lafoy intensely for his part in helping Samuel Ingram fleece his brother-in-law. Whilst he was able to accept that the sinking of the Northern Prince was nothing more than devilish bad luck, Adam still bitterly resented that Ingram had persuaded Humphrey into a partnership in the first place. Humphrey Tilney had been a weak man, easily led by the thought of making a fortune. Instead he had ended up losing one and bequeathing to his wife the uncomfortable role of Ingram’s debtor.

When Humphrey had died the previous year and Adam had discovered the extent of his debts, he had felt honour-bound to pay them off and rescue his sister from ignominy. It had been a humiliating and infuriating episode. Ingram made no secret of his amusement at the deal and Adam hated him for it.

He could hardly blame Lady Wycherley for her cousin’s sins, however. Finding out that she was a neighbour leant a curious attraction to what would otherwise have been a dull stay in Harrogate. Adam had originally intended only a short visit to his nearby estate at Eynhallow, but now he thought he might stay a little longer and find out about Annis Wycherley as well. It might prove interesting.

‘Look!’ La Mardyn was pointing at Annis now. ‘What a shocking frump! I shudder, darling, positively shudder, to think that there are women like that in the world!’

‘You are such a cat, Margot,’ Adam said lazily. He smiled to himself as he saw that his fair companion was not sure whether to laugh or pout at his unflattering assessment of her character. Eventually she pouted.

‘And you are so cruel, Ashy. I do believe that you are the rudest man in London.’

‘Nonsense! There are plenty with manners far worse than mine. I merely speak as I find.’

‘Then pray do not speak at all.’ Miss Mardyn turned her shoulder. ‘Or, if you must, tell me what you truly think of Lady Wycherley and her ugly bonnet.’

Adam sighed. He could see Annis walking slowly up the path and chatting to her cousin as she went. Certainly the black bombazine dress was unflattering, one might almost say disfiguring. It seemed to weigh her down and take the colour from her, leaving her drab and pale. On the other hand, he noticed that she had a slender figure that swayed with unconscious elegance as she walked. As for the offending bonnet, it was fit only for destruction.

As he watched, Lady Wycherley loosened the ribbons of the bonnet and, with one impatient gesture, flung it away from her. It bowled across the grass and came to rest under one of the trees, and Annis Wycherley laughed. Adam heard her. The late afternoon sunlight fell on her face, upturned to that of her cousin. She looked young and free and happy.

‘Well, bless me,’ Miss Mardyn said, forgetting her accent for once and sounding both older and irredeemably English, ‘look at her hair!’

Adam looked again. Then he stopped. And stared. Loose from the bonnet, Annis Wycherley’s long, blonde hair had come cascading down around her shoulders in a tumble of gold. It shone in the sun like a newly minted coin and framed a heart-shaped face that suddenly looked piquant and pretty.

‘I’ll be damned!’ Adam found that he was smiling. ‘What do you say now, Margot?’

‘Why, I think that she must be an even greater fool to hide such beauty,’ Miss Mardyn said acerbically. She had recovered her poise and now flounced away from the window. ‘Such a thing is incroyable! She would make a passable courtesan with hair like that and a good figure. Not as attractive as me, perhaps, but all the same…’

‘I rather think she disguises herself because she is a chaperon,’ Adam said. He had never met Annis Wycherley in London, but he remembered quite well that she had a reputation for being able to settle even the most unpromising of girls. Now he could see that she had quite a lot of promise herself. ‘No one is going to employ her as a companion if she outshines her charges!’

Miss Mardyn looked uncomprehending. ‘Eh bien, why be a chaperon if one can be a cyprian? I do not understand that, me!’

‘No,’ Adam murmured. ‘I do not suppose that you do.’

He watched Annis Wycherley for a moment, then strolled back to his chair and picked up the paper again as Tranter, the butler, came into the room, accompanied by a footman with the tea tray. There was an item about Samuel Ingram buying the lease to the local turnpike and building new tollhouses on the Skipton road. One of them would be near Eynhallow…

‘What do you think of the current state of the turnpike trusts, my dear?’ he asked Miss Mardyn, as the teacups were handed around.

Miss Mardyn bent a charming smile on the dazzled butler, then turned back to her host. ‘I have no opinion on it, Ashy darling. You should know better than to ask me. Politics, economics…pah! The whole business bores me. I never read the papers.’ She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘If I had realised that you were turning into such a dead bore yourself, I should have agreed to play Cheltenham rather than Harrogate this summer. I hear the shops are better!’

Adam smiled. ‘I do apologise for being such poor company, my dear. Perhaps you will find other gentlemen who please you more. Mr Lafoy, for example.’

La Mardyn dismissed Charles Lafoy with a wave of one white hand. ‘Oh, the conquest would be fun, but after that is over…pouf…I expect he is as dull as ditchwater. Are there no other eligible gentlemen in Harrogate, Ashy? I must amuse myself.’

‘I see that the Earl and Countess of Glasgow are here to take the waters this season,’ Adam said, consulting the paper, ‘though I fear the Earl may be a little infirm for you, Margot, and not very plump in the pocket to compensate. There is Lord Boyles—Boyles by name and by nature, I believe, so again, a gloomy prospect. Ah! Sir Everard Doble. He is a young man, and not ill favoured, if memory serves me. He might be a possibility.’

‘Sir Everard Doble…’ Miss Mardyn repeated. ‘Well, we shall see, Ashy. And how will you amuse yourself?’

Adam’s gaze fell on the paper again. ‘Oh, I have plenty to occupy me, Margot. Estate business will keep me quite busy, I fear…’

From the garden came the sound of feminine laughter, spontaneous and infectious. Adam’s gaze narrowed. He resolved that he would definitely find out more about Annis Wycherley. She seemed a most uncommon chaperon.

‘That sounds lamentably boring, darling,’ Margot Mardyn said, yawning widely.

‘On the contrary,’ Adam said, with a smile. ‘I have the feeling that my stay could be very interesting indeed.’

Chapter Two

Tickets for Miss Mardyn’s performance proved to be the most sought-after items in Harrogate, and it was a whole fortnight before Charles Lafoy could book a box at the Theatre Royal. Thus it was that, on a Thursday evening two weeks later, Annis sat in the theatre and reflected that acting as chaperon to two high-spirited girls at the same time was utterly exhausting. The Misses Crossley had taken to Harrogate society like ducks to water, and every day had been packed with outings and every evening with parties and entertainments. Indeed, a trip to the theatre was a rare luxury, for it allowed Annis to keep an eye on both girls at once and sit down at the same time. On this particular evening she was further blessed, for she had the pleasure of her family’s company as well. Charles, Sibella and Sibella’s husband David had all accompanied them to the theatre that night.

‘That was very…entertaining, was it not?’ she said, joining in the applause as Margot Mardyn executed her final spin and ran gracefully from the stage. ‘Miss Mardyn is really quite talented.’

Annis caught her cousin Sibella’s gaze. Sibella was an indolent blonde who had been an accredited beauty in her youth and still had the fair Lafoy looks, blurring a little into comfortable plumpness now. Sibella glanced towards the men and rolled her eyes expressively.

‘I hear that dancing is the least of Miss Mardyn’s talents!’ she said.

Annis laughed. The sight of the shapely Miss Mardyn in her gauzy finery had transfixed the male members of the audience. Miss Mardyn might not be a particularly skilful dancer or indeed an above average singer, but no one in the audience cared a whit for that, Annis thought. Harrogate had never seen anything quite like her and the whole auditorium was buzzing with excitement. Annis could not help wondering whether it had been a suitable entertainment for the Misses Crossley. Perhaps the more provocative of Miss Mardyn’s dance movements had passed them by. She hoped so.

She consulted her theatre programme. ‘I see that there is an interval now. Would you care to stretch your legs, girls?’

‘No, thank you, Lady Wycherley,’ Fanny Crossley said pertly. ‘Lucy and I shall do very well where we are. We are…admiring these country fashions…’

The two girls dissolved into giggles and Annis sighed inwardly. She knew perfectly well that the Crossley girls were hanging over the edge of the box so that they could assess all the young gentlemen in the audience and be admired in return. Miss Fanny, attired in a fussy dress of yellow silk that Annis privately thought much too old for her, was making waspish observations. Miss Lucy was agreeing eagerly. Miss Crossley and her echo, Annis thought. There was no malice in Lucy Crossley, for her elder sister had enough for two, but Lucy did so like to agree with everyone.

‘Look at that strange gentleman there, Luce—’ Miss Crossley was pointing with her fan into the pit. ‘Why, he is as scruffy as a scarecrow and I do believe the candle wax has dripped on his bald head! How absurd he looks!’ She stifled a giggle.

‘Quite absurd,’ Lucy echoed dutifully.

‘That is the Marquis of Midlothian,’ Annis said. ‘He is a most highly respected gentleman.’

During the first two weeks of the Miss Crossleys’ visit, when Annis had been getting their measure, she had corrected Fanny’s bad manners and barbed remarks. Now, in the third week, she had realised that there was little point in trying to improve the elder Miss Crossley. Fanny was vulgar through and through, and, unlike her sister, was disinclined to accept guidance. Indeed, any attempt to improve Fanny’s behaviour often had the reverse effect, for she was like a wilful small child. As a result, Annis often held her tongue and concentrated instead on the large sum of money that Sir Robert Crossley was paying her to chaperon his tiresome niece. She simply hoped that she would not be tempted to strangle the goose that laid the golden eggs before the egg actually materialised.

‘A marquis!’ Fanny looked put out, then brightened. ‘Oh, but as it is an Irish title one cannot be surprised that he looks all to pieces. I hear the Irish aristocracy are a ramshackle bunch.’

‘They may well be,’ Annis said, ‘but Midlothian is a Scottish title.’

Fanny turned her shoulder to Annis and leaned towards Lucy again. ‘Look at the shocking quiz in that purple feathered turban,’ she said, in a stage whisper. ‘I do declare she is the greatest frump in creation!’