Four Regency Rogues

‘You have servants for that. You should be mixing with your guests and making sure the young people have partners.’

‘I know. I am just going back.’

She returned to the ballroom and set about her duties as a hostess with a bright smile, bringing young men and young ladies together to dance, chatting to the older men, laughing when they teased her about her costume, pretending not to notice the disapproval of the matrons. This was how it was going to be in future, this false brightness, this pretending, even with Roland Temple. Especially with him.

Roland was aware of her, but whenever he approached her, she found some reason to disappear, and just when he decided he would have to force the issue, he saw Lady Brandon crossing the room towards him, like an eagle bent on its prey. He looked about for a way of escape, but before he could do so, he felt someone pluck at his sleeve. Miss Brandon was looking up at him with an expression on her face he could only interpret as pleading. ‘My lord, I must speak to you before Mama reaches us. Come with me, please.’

He had no time to demur, for Lady Brandon was very close and Martha, with a bright smile for her mother, took his arm and almost dragged him from the room, in full view of everyone. He groaned inwardly, but was too polite to resist, as she led him to the library and shut the door after them. She stood facing him, breathing heavily. ‘My lord, it is important I speak to you.’

He bowed. ‘I am at your service.’

‘My lord, please do not let Mama bully you…’

‘Bully me?’

‘Bully you into offering for me.’

‘Rest assured, Miss Brandon, she could not do anything that would influence me one way or another.’

‘I am glad.’

He smiled ruefully. ‘I thought you were intent on bringing Mr Elliott up to the mark. Is he still hanging back? I cannot think why he should be so dilatory. You are a charming young lady and just right for him.’

‘The foolish man has decided I am above his touch, that he does not want people to think he is after my fortune and has told me he means to leave the field clear for you.’

‘Good God! Miss Brandon, I hope that nothing I have said has led you to suppose…’

‘No, of course not, it is all in Mama’s head and of course she must boast of it in front of Martin. I truly do not know what to do.’

He must not appear too relieved, but how to answer he did not know. ‘Can you not tell Mr Elliott the truth?’

‘I cannot do that!’ she said, aghast at the suggestion. ‘In any case, while Mama thinks I have a chance with you, she will not entertain him.’

‘Then what shall we say to your mama?’ he asked.

‘Nothing. I wish you would not accept Mama’s invitations so frequently. You are filling her with hope.’

‘Am I? I was only being polite and thankful to be received into society after my long absence.’

‘I know that, but you know how people gossip and it has enhanced Mama’s expectations. Could you not behave a little coldly towards me? Then perhaps Martin will see…’

The young lady was stronger than he had previously imagined, but she was also naïve and had not realised the consequences of taking him off to be alone with him. He was at fault for not resisting, but that would have caused just as much comment. ‘Miss Brandon, I am afraid that would not serve. Everyone saw us leave the room and we have been talking together without a chaperon for several minutes. You cannot say, that in all that time, I did not make an offer. It would humiliate you and make me less than a gentleman.’

‘Oh, I had not thought of that!’ She gasped. Then her face fell. ‘Do not tell me you feel obliged to offer for me after all?’

‘I ought to.’ He paused. Some way out of the dilemma had to be found. ‘Shall we say I offered and you refused? Will that do?’

She smiled, obviously relieved. ‘You would not mind?’

‘No, it is the least I can do. But will your mama accept that?’

‘I think so. I hope so. I hope Martin believes it…’

‘Then, with your permission, I shall act the rejected suitor and take my leave. You may say I am heartbroken, if you wish.’ He smiled, aware of the irony of the situation. ‘If you like, I will act the part and take myself off for a few days to recover.’

‘Thank you, my lord, but I wish you would not inconvenience yourself.’

Lady Brandon almost tumbled through the door as he was taking his leave ‘Oh, there you both are! May I offer my felicitations?’ She was so eager, she looked about to burst out of her tight pink bodice.

‘No, Mama, you may not,’ Martha put in, far more forcefully than Roland would have expected of her. ‘Lord Temple and I have decided we should not suit.’

‘Not suit!’ her ladyship echoed, her mouth open in consternation.

‘Your daughter has rejected me, my lady,’ he said. ‘Now, if you will excuse me.’ He bowed to Lady Brandon and then turned to Martha, taking her hand and bending over to kiss the back of it. ‘Miss Brandon, I wish you happy.’

He heard her ladyship’s voice as he left. ‘Martha, whatever were you thinking about? After all the trouble I have taken…’

He returned to the ballroom and made his way over to the Countess. All the ladies seemed to be whispering and looking towards him over their fans. They had seen him go off with Miss Brandon and had come to their own conclusions. He had been alone with her for several minutes so he must have offered and of course she had accepted. What young lady would not? Would Miss Cartwright allow the announcement to be made at her ball or must they wait for an official notice in the newspaper? He wondered wryly what they would say when they learned there was to be no wedding. ‘I find I must leave,’ he told his mother quietly.

‘Why?’

‘I cannot explain now. You stay and enjoy yourself. Geoffrey will see you home safely when you are ready. We will talk tomorrow.’

‘Miss Brandon?’

‘Yes and no.’

She sighed. ‘Very well.’

A brief look about him ascertained Charlotte was not in the room and Lady Ratcliffe was in earnest conversation with Lady Brandon, who had followed him into the ballroom. He left the room and, instead of asking a footman to have his gig brought to the front entrance, found his way out of a back door and took a narrow path across the garden towards the stables. He would not say goodbye to anyone else; there was no one to whom he could bid adieu except Charlotte, and she was determined not to speak to him. The world would think he had left because of his disappointment, but that would not matter if it meant Miss Brandon could hold her head up in the community and not be laughed at for chasing him in vain.

Once he left the light shed on the garden by the lanterns close to the house, the darkness seemed absolute and he had to negotiate his way between bushes of buddleia and hibiscus, which was why he did not at first notice the dark shape on the path in front of him, a black, catlike shape. Not until she had bumped into him and he had his arms around her to save her from falling did he realise who it was.

‘Charlotte!’

She had seen him go off with Martha and had come to the same conclusion as everyone else. That he should make his offer at her ball compounded her wretchedness and, finding the atmosphere of expectation in the ballroom too much to bear, had come out into the garden to compose herself. She was angry with herself for caring so much. And now she was even angrier for blundering into him. ‘Let me go!’

He released her immediately, but as the path was narrow and he was going away from the house and she towards it, they had to pass each before they could continue. They stood facing each other, both undecided as to how to proceed.

‘What are you doing out here?’ he asked. The moon came out from behind a cloud and he could see her more plainly. The costume outlined every curve of her delectable figure and even the silly head that obscured most of her face only served to enhance its perfect contours. How could he have ever thought she was plain? ‘The air is still damp. Are you not cold?’

‘I am as warm as toast,’ she snapped. ‘I came out for fresh air.’

‘I am glad you did. I need to speak to you, to explain…’

‘Explain? I need no explanation. The truth is that in six years with the army you have not learned how to behave towards a lady. Oh, but I forgot, I am not a lady, I am a hoyden. Hoydens are tough as old leather, they do not have finer feelings, one may insult them with impunity…’

‘You do not understand.’

‘What is there to misunderstand? I heard you plainly enough.’

‘And have held it against me ever since.’

‘You are conceited if you think that, my lord. Until…’ She paused and gulped. ‘Until you were so ill mannered as to lay hands on me, I had forgot all about it.’

‘Lay hands on you! Is that what you call it?’

‘What else? No one has ever done anything like that to me before.’

‘No, I wager they have not,’ he said quietly, realising that in all probability she had always been deprived of physical contact, even as a child, and children needed hugs every bit as much as education and discipline. He longed to take her into his arms to try to make up for it.

She peered at him in the darkness, taken aback by his change of tone. How could he be so scathing one minute and gentle the next? He did not move out of her way and she stood undecided whether to ask him to stand aside or try to force her way past him. His very presence was upsetting her carefully managed composure. Inside the furry costume she was shaking and her breath was coming in great gulps. Anger was her only defence. ‘I am surprised you had the effrontery to attend this evening.’

‘I was under the impression I had been invited.’

‘That was before…’

‘Before what?’

‘Before you insulted me.’

‘I meant no insult.’

‘No? To kiss one woman when intent on offering for another is an insult to both in my book.’

He could not deny that without humiliating Miss Brandon. ‘You do not understand…’

‘I understand perfectly well. It is permissible to kiss a hoyden because a hoyden cannot expect the courtesy and chivalry due to a lady of rank.’

He laughed softly. ‘A real hoyden would not care so much.’

‘You are mistaken if you think I care, my lord.’

‘Oh, I think you do. Shall we put it to the test?’

Before she could do a thing about it, he had taken her chin in his hand and turned her face up to his and was scrutinising it as if committing its features to memory. She tried to struggle, but was powerless as his mouth came down on hers. His hand left her chin and went round behind her back, drawing her towards him, enclosing her in an embrace that was both powerful and tender. She felt herself slacken, felt her mouth open, felt her hands creep up around his neck, as if she had no will. He held her for a second, two seconds, a week, an age—she did not know how long it was before she suddenly came to her senses and started struggling furiously, hitting him about the shoulders and body with her fists, using words that were far from ladylike. Her hand came into contact with the hilt of his sword and she pulled it out of its scabbard and pointed it at him. ‘Come a step nearer and this will be in your black heart.’

‘Sharp as needles,’ he said, laughing and taking it from her with little effort. It was, after all, not a weapon of honed steel designed to kill, but a toy for dressing up and she could never have used it in any case. ‘You chose the right costume, I must say. A cat, a green-eyed, scratching feline. Sheath your claws, kitten, you are in no danger from me.’

‘I wish I could say your costume was equally well chosen. But St George! The chivalrous knight, the slayer of dragons, the defender of womanhood. It is meant to be a joke, of course.’

He smiled crookedly. ‘Of course.’

‘At least you are honest.’

‘Yes,’ he said, his voice suddenly losing its edge and becoming soft. ‘I am honest enough to admit my fault.’ He stood looking down at her by the light of a pale moon, which had come out from behind one of the blustering clouds. Her lovely eyes beneath the catlike head-dress were huge and shocked. ‘Charlotte, please listen to me…’

‘Go back to Miss Brandon,’ she told him. ‘I wish you happy. She will never know from me what a charlatan you are.’

He stood a moment longer, but he knew there was nothing he could usefully say, except a murmured, ‘Goodbye, Charlotte.’ Then he stepped past her and went on his way. He did not look back or he might have seen her, standing looking after him, her eyes swimming with tears. She brushed them away angrily. He had kissed her because he could, because it gave him a sense of superiority and put her in her place, no more than that. Thank goodness she had not been so foolish as to offer him Browhill. She scrubbed at her eyes and returned to the house.

How she endured the remainder of the evening, she never knew. The ball appeared to be a great success, there was dancing and laughter and gaiety and the supper was pronounced the most lavish anyone could remember, though she was aware of a certain tension in the air, as if everyone was waiting for something to happen. The matrons muttered behind their fans, while the men in little groups laughed a little too loudly, and Lady Ratcliffe was as busy as ever acting the hostess and urging Charlotte to look a little more pleased with the way things were going, which she made every effort to do. It was thanks to her father’s teaching that she was able to achieve it. And when the time came to unmask, she stood beside her great-aunt as everyone revealed themselves, though most already knew each other. After that there were fireworks that rivalled even those she had put on for her workers. She smiled and received the congratulations of her guests as they departed and no one knew the misery in her heart.

When the last of them had gone, she did not stay to go over the events of the evening with her great-aunt, but pleaded a headache and went straight up to her room, where she dismissed Meg and stripped off that dreadful costume. It had not been a good idea; the Earl had made fun of it, as her great-aunt had predicted. And even in her grief she had been aware of the whispers about him and Martha. A gentleman did not take a lady off unchaperoned unless it was to propose to her. That he had done so at her ball added insult to injury as far as Charlotte was concerned. Martha had undoubtedly accepted him and in due course they would be married and live at Amerleigh Hall. How could she go on seeing him day by day, pretending civility and never tell him, or anyone, what was in her heart and mind? But there was no alternative and she must bear it. She had said she did not care, so now she must prove it.

Roland slept badly, his mind going over and over the encounter with Charlotte in the garden, the hurtful things they had said to each other, words, like those uttered six years before, which could not be unsaid. But words were not everything. He had not imagined it the first time he kissed her; she felt as passionately as he did, it had been evident in every move she made, the way her lips sought his even when he was ready to break apart, the way her arms wound round him, setting him on fire with desire. And her violent reaction—what was that but a very feminine fury at her own weakness? But apart from satisfying his curiosity on that score, what had he achieved by behaving so badly? Nothing.

He rose and was halfway through his breakfast when Geoffrey joined him. ‘You are up betimes, cousin, considering the time you arrived back from the ball,’ he greeted him.

Geoffrey sat down and helped himself to eggs and ham. ‘Did we wake you?’

‘No, I was not asleep.’

‘Plenty to think about, eh?’

‘You heard?’

‘Heard there was something going on. Whispers all round and Lady Brandon flitting about like a bee, taking the news from flower to flower.’

‘Did you hear what was said?’

‘Only from Lady Gilford, and you know how things become exaggerated with repetition. I should pay no heed to it.’

‘Come on, tell me the worst.’

‘That Miss Brandon turned you down on account of your doubtful character.’

‘My doubtful character!’ he exclaimed. ‘What did she mean by that?’

‘Two nights away with Miss Cartwright, and her coming back in your coach for all the world as if she had been rolling around in the hay. Her hat lost and her dress torn…’

‘You knew the truth of that and so did Lady Ratcliffe. Surely one of you said something? It is a vicious slur on my good name, let alone the reputation of Miss Cartwright.’

‘I tried, but no one would take any notice of me and I never heard Lady Ratcliffe say a word on the subject, though I swear she heard it. It’s my belief she would like to see you leg-shackled to the hoyden.’

‘She is not a hoyden!’ Roland almost shouted the words.

‘Well, whatever her reputation was like before, it is certainly ruined now, unless you marry her and you can hardly do that, can you?’

Roland groaned inwardly. In trying to do his best for everyone, he seemed to have done just the opposite. He could not tell Charlotte he had not offered for Miss Brandon and the fact that the young lady had turned him down would carry no weight with her; for all she knew, Miss Brandon had been his first choice. As for the vicious rumour, what could he say to Charlotte about that, except to ask her to marry him? But Geoffrey was right, he could not do that so soon after having apparently offered for Miss Brandon. It would only add fuel to the rumours. He was in a cleft stick and his position in the village rapidly becoming untenable. He left his cousin munching toast, and set off for the dower house.

His mother had not yet put in an appearance downstairs, but on being told he was waiting for her, she slipped into a grey silk dressing gown and came down to join him. ‘Come and have breakfast with me,’ she said, leading the way into the dining room.

‘I have had my breakfast.’

‘Then come and sit with me while I have mine and tell me what happened last night. You told me Miss Brandon had her heart set on Mr Elliott.’

‘So she has. Things were taken out of my hands somewhat.’

‘So I noticed, and so did everyone else.’ She seated herself at the table and indicated the chair next to her. ‘Sit down, do, and at least have a cup of coffee.’ She filled two cups from the jug at her elbow and pushed one towards him. ‘I assume you offered for her?’

‘Of course not. The silly girl dragged me off to beg me not to, but hadn’t realized the consequences of her actions.’

‘And Lady Brandon knows this?’

‘She believes I offered and her daughter refused me. Miss Brandon and I agreed on this to save her reputation.’

‘And you think that is an end of it, Roland? You must know it is not. She will not take that as her daughter’s final decision, you may be sure. Young ladies often refuse a first time they are asked, only to give in later.’

‘That is why I said I would go away to recover from my disappointment and give her time to bring her mother round to accepting her real choice.’

‘Go away, Roland?’ she asked in consternation.

‘Yes. When she has accomplished that, I can return.’

‘But that could take an age! Lady Brandon is the most stubborn and self-opinionated woman in the world. She will nag Martha to death.’

‘But there is nothing she can do about it if I am not here, is there?’

‘And what about all the work you have been doing here? You cannot abandon it.’

‘No, but I am sure Geoffrey will keep an eye on the place for me and make sure everything runs smoothly while I am away.’

‘Roland, these are drastic steps to take.’

‘Drastic cures for drastic ills, Mama. It is for the best. I cannot bear another young lady to be hurt by me…’

‘Another young lady? Roland, what do you mean? What other young lady has been hurt by you?’

‘I have discovered Miss Cartwright heard me telling my father I would not marry her and the reason I gave, for which I am heartily ashamed.’

‘But that was six years ago and you were only a stripling.’

‘Nevertheless they were not the words of anyone calling himself a gentleman, as she has taken pains to remind me.’

‘Have you not apologised?’

‘Yes, Mama, but the lady is not disposed to accept my apology.’

‘I see,’ she said slowly, as understanding dawned. ‘Then perhaps a week or two away might be beneficial. When are you going?’

‘As soon as I am ready. There are one or two things I must clear up before I go.’

‘I wish it had not come to this, Roland. I have been so happy to have you home these last weeks and the work you have done on the estate is beginning to pay off, everyone is more cheerful because of it. But if you have made up your mind, I will not attempt to dissuade you. I will try to see if I can influence Lady Brandon to accept Martha’s choice of suitor, then you can come back the sooner.’

‘I have been thinking about that myself. I believe the living at Scofield is in my gift and is due to become vacant shortly. Do you think it will help if I offer it to Mr Martin Elliott?’

‘Oh, I am sure it will.’ She rose and walked over to where he sat and bent to kiss each cheek in turn. ‘Bless you, my son.’

She released him and he stood up and, with a parting embrace, left her. Returning to the Hall, he saddled his horse and set out for a ride, wondering if he might meet Charlotte doing the same thing, though he had little hope of it. The ball had not finished until nearly dawn and she was bound to rise late. Unless, like him, she could not sleep. If he did meet her, would she listen to what he had to say, any more than she had listened the night before? What was he going to say? That he was sorry his actions had led to gossip about her, that he had fallen deeply in love with her? Ask her to marry him? It might save her reputation, but it would certainly tarnish his in the eyes of Lady Brandon and the villagers who believed him smitten with Martha Brandon. Was ever a man in such a coil?

After days of rain, the air was fresh and clean and the meadows lush. Little rivulets of sparkling water found their way down between the stones on the hillside. In some places the ground was boggy and he picked his way carefully. The underground waterways would be rushing along in torrents, he mused, and that set him thinking of Browhill. The water in the lower levels would be higher than ever and unworkable. He still had not told Charlotte he was not proceeding with his claim and evidently Mountford had not. He turned his horse towards the mine, though he was sure no one would be working on a Sunday morning.

He was surprised to find the great wheel turning and several men hurrying about with ropes and buckets. Robert Bailey, the engineer, was directing some sort of operation. Roland dismounted and approached him. ‘What’s afoot?’ he asked him.

‘There’s two men trapped underground, my lord. They were working at the lowest level yesterday when a great rush of water broke through and filled the tunnel. It rises slightly towards the face and they are stuck there.’

‘You know they are alive?’

‘Yes, the spot where they are is just below a higher level and the men working there heard them banging, but if the water rises any more, they will undoubtedly drown. The pump is having little effect.’

‘So what are you doing?’

‘We are trying to break through from above, but we dare not use explosives. It is a question of hammering out the rock to reach them and the men have been going down in turns all night. The trouble is that we have no idea how much air they have. Time is not on our side.’

‘Can I help?’

‘I do not see how you can, my lord.’ As he spoke two workers came up from below. They were stripped to the waist and glistening with sweat, and obviously exhausted. They sprawled on the ground. Bailey and Roland went over to them.

‘We’ll never do it,’ one of them said. ‘We’ve been down there three hours and hardly made an impression.’