Four Regency Rogues

‘From everyone. Why are you so against him?’

‘I am not against him. I have no interest in his affairs. I was thinking of Martin Elliott. I am sure he has hopes of Martha.’

‘Pooh, what is he? Nothing but a parson’s son and he hasn’t even found a living yet.’

Charlotte felt sorry for the poor man, but she refrained from saying so, because the dance had ended and the Earl was escorting Martha to them, smiling and speaking to her in what, to the highly sensitised mamas, was a most intimate fashion. The roomful of people watched their progress and sighed, many with disappointment.

He thanked Martha with an elegant leg, surreptitiously looking sideways at Charlotte as he did so, but she would not look at him, being engrossed in examining her fan.

‘My lord,’ Lady Brandon said. ‘It is gratifying to see you mingle with us all so amiably. We are glad to have you among us again.’

‘That is very kind of you, my lady.’ There was a pause which to Charlotte, still studying the picture of a shepherdess and her swain on her fan, seemed interminable, before he added, ‘Miss Cartwright, may I have the pleasure of the next dance?’

She looked up at him, fluttering her fan, as if she had only just discovered what the accessory was meant for.

‘Come.’ He was holding out his hand.

She stood up and put her hand into his and allowed him to draw her onto the floor for a waltz.

Waltzing had been in favour for two or three years in the capital, but had only recently been considered a suitable dance for the country. Lady Brandon was being greatly daring in asking the musicians to play for one, but she was determined that no one should think her behind the times and it might give the company some indication of whom his lordship might favour. And he had picked out Charlotte Cartwright! She was beginning to wish she had not tried so hard to induce Charlotte to come.

The warmth of his hand on her back through the thin silk of her gown seemed to spread right through Charlotte until she was quite breathless. For a big man, he was surprisingly light on his feet and she found herself wondering where he had learned to dance in that expert way, for he guided her unerringly. And for the first time in her life, she did not regret those dancing lessons. She chose not to notice that Lady Gilford and many of the other matrons were murmuring among themselves, nor the dagger looks of the young ladies who had hoped to catch his eye; she was immune to everything but the enjoyment of the dance, of doing something she had not done for years. Six years, in fact—the last time she had danced with him. She wondered if he remembered it.

The music came to an end with a triumphant flourish and Charlotte dropped into a deep curtsy. He bowed and took her hand to raise her up and then offered his arm to escort her back to her place and they found themselves the target of all eyes as they made their way slowly down the length of the room. She felt she had to make an effort at conversation, something safe, something not contentious.

‘Have you made any progress about a teacher for Tommy?’ she asked.

‘I have made one or two enquiries, but so far nothing definite. With the war coming to an end, the medical officer I spoke of might be coming home and I might wait to see what he has to say.’

‘If he is used to working with soldiers, he may not wish to teach a child.’

‘Then he will not be the man we want and we must find someone else.’

‘We, my lord?’

‘You and I, young Tommy and his parents.’

‘You include me?’

‘Of course. You are very necessary to the success of the project.’

She laughed. ‘Could it be that the help you need from me is monetary?’

‘Not at all,’ he said huffily. ‘I am sorry I mentioned it. I might have known you would reduce everything to pounds, shillings and pence.’

‘Pounds, shillings and pence are very useful things to have, my lord.’

‘Is that all you can think of? Do you have no heart?’

‘What has my heart to do with anything? It is a beating organ, necessary to life, just as yours is.’ That little imp was on her shoulder again, making her say outrageous things, egging her on to produce a reaction out of him.

‘True, but sometimes it can beat a little faster, someone says something or does something that sets it pounding. Have you never had that happen to you, Miss Cartwright?’ He paused to look down at her and she felt the colour flare into her face and, what was more, her heart was beating nineteen to the dozen. She was sure he could hear it.

‘That is neither here nor there. We were talking of Tommy and how he could be helped.’

‘By all means, let us talk of Tommy.’

‘I doubt a trained teacher would consider teaching one child a full-time task.’

‘Perhaps not. But it set me wondering how many other deaf children there are in the neighbourhood.’

‘I have no idea. Several I should think. You surely do not intend to teach them all. You would need premises and equipment and specialist teachers. It could not be done on half a crown.’

She was referring to the half-crown he had given to Beth Biggs, he knew. She never let slip an opportunity to have a prod at him. ‘I know, but it is worth a try, don’t you think?’

He did not know why he was even asking her. He did not need her permission or co-operation. The trouble was he had not been able to banish her from his thoughts. She was like an itch he could not scratch and yet this evening he had truly enjoyed her company. She made everyone else seem flat and colourless.

‘Then rest assured, I will do what I can to help.’ She paused. ‘But that does not mean I have changed my mind about Browhill.’

‘I did not expect you would,’ he said with a faint smile, still unable to believe her transformation from hoyden to beauty. ‘But we will leave that for another day. For the moment we can enjoy the respite of a truce.’

‘Speaking of truces, do you think Napoleon can hold out much longer?’ She had to say something, to make everything sound commonplace and polite, to maintain her dignity when every fibre of her wanted to thrash out at him, make her see her for what she really was, a person in her own right, not simply the daughter of her father. Why that mattered she did not know.

He recognised the change of subject as a way of diverting him from personal issues. ‘Let us hope not, but he has so far refused all offers of peace.’

‘Do you wish you could be with your comrades when they finally triumph?’

‘In one way. On the other hand, I would not, at this moment, wish to be anywhere else.’

She must not allow herself to become susceptible to his flattery, she told herself, especially as she knew it was far from sincere. ‘I know you are needed here in Amerleigh with your people, my lord,’ she said, choosing to misunderstand him. ‘But coming back to England must have been a wrench for you just when you were so close to victory.’

‘It was necessary and if I could be sure of my welcome…’

She waved her hand at the crowded room. ‘Tonight must have given you the answer to that.’

‘It is gratifying, I own, but I find myself wondering how much of that is down to my being the Earl of Amerleigh and unmarried and how much to the returning soldier.’

‘Time will tell,’ she said, as they reached the end of the room.

He bowed and, taking her hand, put it to his lips, at the same time raising his eyes to hers. For a moment she could not look away and felt herself being drawn towards him, though she had not moved. Almost mesmerised, his eyes held hers. She thought she detected a message in their dark depths. Something like, ‘I enjoy sparring with you, but we are not enemies, are we? We could be friends. More than friends.’ Was he flirting with his eyes? Or was she being fanciful? And it came to her very suddenly that if she could encourage him, even make him love her, and then disdain him, that would be sweet revenge indeed! The trouble was she had no idea how to go about it. She had always been forthright and truthful, even if her hearers did not like what they heard. She could not be anything else. She snatched her hand away, making him smile.

He saw her to her seat, then took up a station near the door where a potted plant half-concealed him and from where he could watch the assembly, and particularly Miss Charlotte Cartwright. How could you dislike a woman you found desirable? And she was desirable, too much so for his peace of mind.

‘Not dancing, my lord?’

He turned to find a young man, dressed in impeccable evening attire, standing beside him. ‘I beg your pardon.’

‘Jacob Edwards. You remember, we were often together as boys.’

‘Good Lord! Jacob. Of course I remember. Many’s the scrape we shared.’ He held out his hand, which the other grasped and pumped up and down furiously. ‘How are you?’

‘Well. And you? I was sorry to hear about your father. He was very good to me.’

He remembered his mother telling him that Jacob had become Miss Cartwright’s lawyer. ‘And you have justified his faith in you. I hear you have done very well for yourself.’

‘Yes, I give him credit for giving me a start.’

‘But perhaps not enough to refrain from acting against him.’

‘I assume you refer to Browhill?’

‘Yes, unless there is some other villainy I do not know about.’

‘I did no work for the late Mr Cartwright, my lord. I have only been in Miss Cartwright’s employ just over a year, after she quarrelled with her father’s lawyer soon after she inherited. I knew nothing of the business until recently and now, of course, I am obliged to act for her.’

Roland wondered what the quarrel had been about. ‘So?’

‘My lord, cannot the dispute be settled amicably? I am sure with a little goodwill…’

Roland was angry. Not five minutes before, he had been dancing with the lady and offering her compliments. He must have been mad. ‘You may go back to your employer and tell her that when she shows a little goodwill over the matter, I might reciprocate. And, may I add, a country dance is not the place to air legal matters.’

‘Then I beg your pardon. I spoke out of respect for our past friendship and a wish to prevent the expenditure of time and money that could be better spent elsewhere.’

Oh, how he agreed with that sentiment, but he had no intention of letting the other know it. ‘How I spend my time and money is up to me,’ he said. ‘Now, if you will excuse me.’ And with that he left him to join his hostess. The evening was drawing to a close and already some of the guests were taking their leave, so he felt justified in bidding his adieus. He knew he was being impulsive and erratic, but he did not seem able to help it. Charlotte Cartwright was making him like that.

The departure of his lordship caused something of a stir, and there was not a little consternation among the young ladies and their mamas, but Lady Brandon was quietly triumphant. He had danced with Martha and, having done that, there was no point in him staying and raising anyone’s hopes only to dash them again. It was all coming about as she intended, so she told Charlotte, who had watched the Earl depart with a sinking heart. She was thankful when the evening was brought to a close and she was able to go home.

Chapter Four

Late as she had been in returning home and going to bed, Charlotte could not sleep and soon after dawn she rose and dressed. She had to be outside—the air indoors was stifling her. She went downstairs to the kitchen where May was raking out the fire ready to relight it. Mrs Cater had just appeared and was tying an apron round her plump middle.

‘Miss Charlotte, you are never going out before breakfast.’

‘I am not hungry,’ Charlotte said truthfully, making for outside door. ‘I am going riding.’

‘But ’tis raining cats and dogs.’

‘Is it?’ She opened the door as she spoke and a gust of wind and rain blew in. Hurriedly she shut the door again. ‘So it is.’

‘Sit down and have some breakfast with us. You can tell us all about Lady Brandon’s soirée. How many were there? Was it very fine? And the Earl, did he single anyone out?’

A real lady would not have dreamed of sitting down with the servants, but Charlotte had always been free and easy with Mrs Cater, who had befriended her when she was a lonely child and defended her against the governess of the day, and so she took her seat at the kitchen table.

‘It was a very grand affair, much grander than a soirée,’ she said, and went on to describe who was there and what they wore, who danced with whom as far as she could remember, the decorations and the food and drink. But they really wanted to hear about the Earl and her voice shook whenever she mentioned his name. It was going to be very, very difficult to live so close and meet him on almost a daily basis and yet maintain her cold dislike of him. He was not an easy man to dislike, with his innate good manners and cheerful disposition, except when he was talking about Browhill. Then he changed and became intractable. Why was she constantly thinking about him? Since he had returned to Amerleigh she did not seem able to think of anything else.

She picked at the ham and eggs on her plate and wished the rain would stop, but it was still raining at ten-thirty and she was obliged to go to church in the closed carriage. As everyone who owned a vehicle was doing the same, there was a jam about the church gate as they all endeavoured to get close enough to hurry into church under the shelter of an umbrella. The weather had brightened by the time they emerged and the Earl stopped with his mother to pass the time of day with other parishioners. Charlotte murmured a quiet ‘good morning’ and made her way to her carriage.

Pretending to pay attention to something the parson was saying to his mother, Roland watched her go, a proud, lonely figure, whom few people in his social circle even pretended to like. They had, almost to a man, sided with his father in his dispute with her father and it seemed the next generation were destined to follow the path of its sires, unless something was done to put an end to it. Last night, watching her at Lady Brandon’s, he saw how she was cold-shouldered by the gentry and the only partners she had, besides himself, were pretentious young fops being bullied by their mothers into dancing with her. She was wealthy and that was enough for them. He had found himself feeling sorry for her, until Jacob came and spoke to him. Why that should have annoyed him he did not know.

During the next few weeks, Charlotte noticed the smiles he gave to all the other ladies and withheld from her and wondered why she did not explain that she had no part in what her father had done, that she did not hold with many of his methods and was trying to put matters right. But to do that would be disloyal to Papa and she was too proud to demean herself by appearing to beg for his lordship’s good opinion. Jacob had relayed his conversation with the Earl and the sharp retort he had received to the offer to settle amicably. If that was how the man intended to proceed, then she could be obstinate too. She would open up that new level and it did not matter how much it cost.

When she had time she visited Mrs Biggs, but was always careful to make sure the Earl was not in the vicinity when she did so. But she heard about him, his name was on everyone’s lips. He was a caring landlord and employer and was doing his best for all the people who depended on him. ‘He has done wonders for Tommy,’ Mrs Biggs told her on one occasion. ‘He is going to see if something can be done for his deafness and, if not, to see if he can be trained to make signs and read people’s lips.’ To which Charlotte replied that she was very pleased.

Sometimes she would see him riding through the village and then she would call at one of the cottages or turn swiftly down the nearest lane, so that they would not come face to face when both were alone. Sooner or later, she knew she would find herself without a cottage or a lane to retreat into and there would be no avoiding him and it behoved her to be prepared, but when it happened she was not ready for it.

She was up at the mine, watching the carts pulled by two great Shires, bringing up the equipment, drills, gunpowder, ropes, pulleys and trucks, to start on the new level. It was quite an event and many of the villagers had walked up the hill to watch. Mining experts, who had located the seam, came to oversee the drilling into the rock of the hillside and the laying of gunpowder charges. When they were set off, the children squealed in delight and dodged the flying stones and clods of earth. Charlotte rounded them up and took them off to watch at a safe distance.

It was then Roland, being in the vicinity and hearing the explosions that seemed to shake the whole countryside, rode up to see for himself what was going on. He pulled up and raised his hat. ‘Miss Cartwright, your obedient.’

She inclined her head. ‘My lord.’

‘Are you well?’

‘Yes, my lord. I thank you.’

She was dressed in her grey working dress with the frogging on the jacket. Far from disguising her femininity it seemed to set it off, especially as she was hatless and her untamed chestnut-coloured hair blew about her face in curling tendrils. She had a habit of flicking them out of the way with a toss of her head, he noticed. He dismounted and looked round at the people milling about. ‘Quite a spectacle. How far do you intend to drill?’

‘As far as is necessary.’

‘I wish you well of it.’

‘Do you, my lord? You surprise me.’

‘Oh, yes. The more you do, the less I will have to do when I repossess the land.’

‘Surely you mean if you repossess it, my lord? I can tell you now that will not be until after I have extracted every last ounce of lead ore out of it.’

She was as intransigent as ever. Was it worth it, he asked himself, not only in terms of the cost of the litigation, but the bad feeling it aroused between them? He did not want always to be at loggerheads with her. If they could only work together, they could achieve so much more. He bowed. ‘I thought we had called a truce.’

‘So did I, but you seem intent on breaking it. Why have you come?’

‘Out of curiosity, Miss Cartwright. I have never before seen a shaft drilled.’

She laughed. ‘You think to learn from my endeavours how to go about it yourself?’

It came to him then that she was enjoying the battle, that there was no real acrimony, only a stubborn will to win. And he recognised the same thing in himself. It was like a strange courtship, a ritual dance, a showing off of one’s attributes, as a peacock might preen its feathers before the hen, or the ducking and diving in the ring before a single punch is landed. He chuckled. ‘Perhaps how not to go about it.’

She acknowledged the hit by waving a hand in the direction of the miners. Three worked together at the rock face, one holding a drill, the other two hitting it alternately with sledgehammers until they had a hole six inches deep. After making twelve such holes, they packed them with explosive. ‘Then please avail yourself of the opportunity, but if you get your head blown off, do not blame me.’

He did not go, but simply stood beside her, while his horse nibbled the sparse grass, only moving back with her when Robert Bailey came and herded everyone farther away. The explosion, so close at hand, rocked the hill and made his horse take fright. His battle charger would not have pranced and neighed like that, would have done little more than flick an ear as if driving off a buzzing fly. He spent some minutes calming it and when he looked back again, there was an even bigger hole in the hillside and men with shovels were digging out the loose earth. Miss Cartwright was walking towards them.

He watched her go, saw her speak to the men and then turn towards him again, as if to say, ‘What, are you still here?’

He swept off his hat with an exaggerated bow, mounted and rode slowly home again.

The next day he rode to Chester to buy lead for the roof of the Hall. He could simply have ordered it, but Charles Mountford had suggested it would be a good opportunity to inspect the lead works of Walkers, Maltby and Company. ‘It might help you to make up your mind about pursuing your claim against Miss Cartwright,’ Charles had told him. ‘They will tell you how much ore has been supplied to them from Browhill.’

‘Why should they tell me that? It is surely a confidential matter.’

‘I have asked them to do so. You have a vested interest and if the mine reverts to you, you must be in a position to deal with the company and know how much profit you are likely to make from it. They understand that.’

Having settled the matter of lead for the roof, Roland discovered that Charlotte’s father had done well with the mine in the beginning, but the depth and frequent flooding of the mine meant it was costing a lot to bring to the surface. Would he be able to manage it any better? It was not simply the cost of it, though that formed a large part of his reasoning when his resources were so stretched, but that he did not want to fight Miss Cartwright. He would rather have her as a friend than an enemy.

News that the allies had entered Paris and Napoleon had abdicated reached the village in the middle week of April. It was the mail that brought it, the driver and passengers passing it on at every post at which they stopped. It arrived at the King’s Head in Amerleigh in the early afternoon and by evening there wasn’t a soul in the village who had not heard it.

Roland, busy with his accounts in the estate office at the Hall, learned it from Travers with mixed feelings. While deploring the loss of life that was inevitable in wartime, he had enjoyed the comradeship, the well-ordered routine, the regulation of army life, when his main preoccupation had been about a coming battle and how to win it, and finding food for his men. His opponents had been men with the same troubles and aims as himself, not a slip of a girl. How could one fight a woman? How could one rejoice in overcoming the frailty of the weaker sex? He laughed at himself. Miss Charlotte Cartwright could hardly be called weak; she did not even stoop to using her womanhood as a weapon, swooning and weeping, as other ladies might have done to get their way. She stood tall and defied him. And disturbed him.

He went with his mother to a thanksgiving service at the church, which everyone attended, including Miss Cartwright, sitting alone in her pew, and afterwards decided to wander over to the common where the villagers had built a huge bonfire. They had put an effigy of Napoleon on top of it, rejoicing in his defeat, though there were some, Roland among them, who did not believe he was beaten. He was not even to be punished, except by banishment to the island of Elba and that, in Roland’s opinion, was not far enough, not by a long way. But he kept his opinions to himself and joined in the general celebration.

Charlotte, who had changed from her church-going clothes into a light wool skirt and high-necked blouse, topped by a neat-fitting pelisse, was there with Mrs Biggs and Tommy. She was carrying Mrs Biggs’s baby.

He strolled over to them. Tommy turned to him, eyes alight with excitement. ‘Hallo, young fellow,’ he said, speaking clearly so that the boy could read his lips. ‘How do you do?’ The boy grinned and nodded energetically, but did not speak.

‘He is well, my lord,’ Mrs Biggs said.

‘I have been making enquiries about a teacher for him,’ Roland said. ‘I am hopeful that someone will be found soon.’

‘Your army friend?’ Charlotte queried.

He turned to look at her. She was always surprising him and tonight was no exception. The baby was fast asleep in her arms. Her whole demeanour was gentler, her eyes softer, the reflection of the bonfire giving them a dancing light as if she were truly happy. It did not take much effort to imagine her as a mother. Would motherhood cure her of her hoydenish ways? he wondered. Was his mother right in saying she was only mannish because of the way she had been raised? ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I have discovered he has come home from the Peninsula and is working for the War Department in Horse Guards. I have written to him and await his reply.’

He stood beside them, watching the revelry until Mrs Biggs decided it was time Tommy and the baby were home in bed. Charlotte handed the baby back to her and then walked over to a crowd of young people, laughing and drinking and forgetting the hardship of their lives. Roland watched as she spoke to them and heard them raise a cheer for her. He joined her again as she turned and made her way back to the lane. ‘Allow me to escort you.’

‘I am only going to pick up my curricle from the King’s Head, my lord. I am in no danger.’

‘No, I did not think you were, judging by the hearty cheers I heard just now.’

‘Oh, I told them they could take a day off tomorrow.’ Then, lest he thought she was becoming soft, added, ‘They will be in no state to work properly in any case.’

He was beginning to understand her a little. Her hardness was a shell, worn like a coat to protect her, and it was not a very thick one either. If he probed, might he pierce it? ‘Under the circumstances, do you not think you could call me Roland?’ he said. ‘At least when we are alone…’

‘We are not alone, we are surrounded by people.’

‘Then I cannot address you as Charlotte.’

‘No, my lord, you may not.’ She was very firm about that.

They walked on in silence to the King’s Head. There seemed nothing they could say that would not stir up dissent. He did not want to fight her and was toying with the idea of telling her he would not proceed with the lawsuit. It was only the memory of her defiance that held him back. If she would only meet him halfway, they could surely deal well together. He began to regret his sharp retort to Jacob Edwards.

Even in the dark, Charlotte was only too conscious of the man beside her. Tonight he was in uniform again as befitted the occasion. His physical presence was almost overpowering; he was taller than most men—broader too, and yet she knew he could be compassionate and gentle and little people like Tommy Biggs were not afraid of him. She did not fear him either, except that he could make her feel weak and helpless, and that she had to resist. She had to stay in control.

When they arrived at the inn, he waited with her while her pony was harnessed to the curricle, then handed her up. ‘I will drive you, if you wish.’

She laughed. ‘And then have to walk all the way back! No, my lord, I am used to driving myself and will come to no harm.’ She flicked the reins. ‘Goodnight, my lord.’

He doffed his shako. ‘Goodnight, Miss Cartwright.’

He watched her drive away, competent as any man. It was four miles to Mandeville on lonely roads with nothing to light her way but moonlight. Did nothing frighten her? He went to find his own horse and, instead of going home, followed her at a discreet distance. As soon as she turned safely in at the gates of Mandeville, he turned back, laughing at himself for his foolishness.

Among the letters that arrived at the Hall the next morning was an invitation to a ball two Saturdays hence, to be given by Lord and Lady Gilford to celebrate the great victory and welcome their son, Lieutenant Thomas Gilford, home. How the young man was able to return so soon after the end of hostilities, Roland did not know. He put the invitation on one side and opened the rest of the post.

There were several quotations for work to be done on the house, which he proposed to go over with his mother, and an answer to his letter to Captain Miles Hartley. The Captain had not thought about extending his work with the deaf beyond his service, he said, but his lordship’s letter had intrigued him and he would certainly consider it. He would come down and see him in a few weeks when his duties at Horse Guards was less hectic and they could discuss it. Roland was tempted to ride over to Mandeville to tell Miss Cartwright the good news, but his mother arrived and he decided it could wait.

They went over the quotations and spent some time deciding what was important and what could reasonably be left until he was a little more affluent, then he mentioned the Gilfords’ ball. ‘I suppose I shall have to go,’ he said. ‘But I have no one to escort. I wonder, would it seem very traitorous of me to ask Miss Cartwright?’

She laughed. ‘I do believe you are coming round to like her.’

‘In some ways I admire her, but that does not alter the fact that we are litigants and whenever we meet somehow or other the subject of Browhill crops up and we begin arguing. I would drop the whole thing if it wasn’t for that fact that Papa was so badly cheated.’

She sighed. ‘Roland, she could not help what her father did, any more than you could influence your father, and she does a great deal of good. I will not think any the less of you if you drop it.’

‘Then maybe I will. But what do you think about taking Miss Cartwright to the ball?’

‘I do not see how you can. Lady Brandon and Lady Gilford called on me this morning to bring me an invitation and they were arguing about whether Miss Cartwright should be invited. Lady Brandon said she ought not to be left out, considering how influential she is, but Lady Gilford was very top lofty and said it was her ball and she could invite whom she pleased and if she did not choose to invite that daughter of a mushroom who thought she was a man, then she would not. The gathering would be very select.’ She gave a little chuckle. ‘Lady Brandon was silenced by that, probably thinking her own invitation might be in doubt if she made more of it.’