Regency Mischief

by Anne Herries

  She was wearing a gown of green silk that evening. It had a dipping neckline, but was not low enough to show the little mole just above her right breast. Lottie was very conscious of the fact that in the more revealing gowns that Clarice wore it would have been easy to see that she did not have such a blemish.

  As she approached the bottom stair, she was aware that the marquis had come out of the room to the right of the hall and was gazing up at her.

  ‘I was about to send someone in search of you, Lottie.’

  ‘Oh…’ She blushed. ‘Forgive me. I did not mean to keep you waiting for your dinner. I was talking with Rose and forgot the time.’

  ‘Talking with Rose…you mean the parlour maid?’

  ‘She is looking after me. We were talking about cats and dogs. Rose’s mother prefers dogs, but Aunt Beth loves her cat—’ Lottie broke off and laughed. ‘You will think the subject obsesses me. I am sure you are used to far more stimulating conversation in London. I fear I do not know any amusing tales of the Regent to tell you. I have never mixed much in society…’ She realised that she had made a mistake. ‘Apart from the trip to Paris with Papa, of course.’

  ‘You seemed perfectly at home there.’ His brows met in the middle. ‘Tell me, Lottie—is this an act for my benefit? If so, you are wasting your time. I am not a fool and my memory works perfectly.’

  ‘I would never think you a fool, my lord…’ She sensed there was a deeper meaning behind his words and wondered whether he had seen through her disguise. Clarice had sworn she had met him only once and that he would not know the difference between them, but was there something her sister wasn’t telling her about her time with the marquis? She crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘I am not sure I understand you?’

  ‘No, then perhaps I should refresh—’ He turned his head as the butler came into the hall. ‘Yes, yes, Mann. We are coming now.’ His eyes narrowed as he looked at Lottie once more. ‘We shall speak of this another time. Dinner is ready and Cook will not be best pleased if we keep her waiting.’

  ‘No, that would not do at all,’ Lottie said and laid her fingers tentatively on the arm he offered. ‘I think it would be best if we talked soon, my lord. I believe there is something I ought to—’

  A loud knocking at the door interrupted Lottie. The footman opened it and a lady entered, accompanied by several servants and a small King Charles spaniel, which barked noisily and jumped from her arms to rush towards Nicolas. He bent down and stroked it behind the ears, looking at the new arrival with rueful amusement.

  ‘Henri! You can hardly have had my letter more than a day. I intended to invite you to stay, of course, but this is a surprise.’

  ‘A pleasant one, I hope?’ The diminutive lady laughed confidently up at him. ‘I decided this morning I would visit you and here I am—and this young lady must be your intended bride?’ The lady bustled towards Lottie, exuding lavender and a warmth that seemed to envelop all she touched. ‘You are Miss Stanton? I am delighted to meet you. I have waited for this day too long.’ She laughed and seized Lottie’s hand, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘You are wondering who the devil I am, of course. This wretched godson of mine has not thought to introduce us—Henrietta, Countess of Selby. You may call me Henrietta.’

  ‘Ma’am…’ Lottie made a slight curtsy. ‘I am very pleased to meet you.’

  ‘And I you, though I really know very little about you my dear, not even your name?’

  ‘It’s Clarice, but everyone calls me Lottie.’

  ‘Well, it suits you, though I did not think your name was Charlotte?’

  ‘Clarice’s second name is Charlotte, which is why she often goes by Lottie. Anyway, enough chatter, Henri. We are late for dinner. Will you join us—or shall I have something sent up to you on a tray in half an hour or so?’

  ‘I shall rest this evening and will take a little soup in my room,’ she replied. ‘You may come in and see me for a few moments before you retire, Lottie—if it will be no trouble to you?’

  ‘No trouble at all, ma’am.’

  ‘Then I shall not keep you longer. Nicolas has a decent cook. You will not wish to lose her…’ She looked behind her, summoning a woman who looked as if she might be her companion. ‘Give me your arm, Millicent. That staircase looks daunting after a day spent travelling.’

  ‘You will become used to her,’ Nicolas said as his godmother began her colourful ascent of the stairs, her servants fluttering around her, the spaniel bounding ahead up the stairs. ‘Henri usually takes over the house when she arrives—though she has not stayed here often since…’ He shook his head. ‘Dinner awaits and we are now very late. We shall talk later.’

  ‘You must be very fond of her?’

  ‘I have many relations, but she is the only one I care for.’

  ‘I see…’ Lottie wondered what he had been going to say before his godmother arrived, but no doubt he would tell her later.

  As it happened, Lottie did not learn what had been in the marquis’s mind that evening. Dinner had been served in what was more usually the breakfast room because, as he explained, there were so few of them.

  ‘Tomorrow evening I shall invite some of our neighbours,’ he said as they all rose at the end of the meal. ‘I had intended a period of quiet time for us to get to know one another, Lottie—but now that the countess has seen fit to join us we must entertain.’

  ‘Please do stay and enjoy some port,’ Lottie said. ‘You need not accompany me to the drawing room. I think I shall visit your godmother and then go to bed. If I want a drink, I am sure Mrs Mann will have a tray sent up.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Nicolas frowned. ‘I had thought we might talk?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning if you wish,’ Lottie said. ‘I am a little tired myself and would wish to retire after I have visited the countess.’

  ‘Very well,’ he replied, inclining his head.

  Lottie sensed that he was not best pleased. She was not sure why she was putting off the evil moment, because she could surely not delay it much longer.

  It would be embarrassing, but there was really no alternative. Lottie had been feeling guilty enough about deceiving the marquis himself, even though he did deserve it in a way, but to deceive the lady who had just arrived would be unforgivable.

  She would simply go in for a few minutes and explain that she was too tired to talk this evening. It was clear that the countess expected an intimate heart to heart, but that could not happen. Not until Lottie had told the marquis the truth.

  If he truly had no preference for her sister, he might be satisfied with her in Clarice’s place—but he must be given the choice.

  Nicolas frowned over his brandy. He had offered to give Sir Charles a game of billiards but his future father-in-law had declined. They had talked in a desultory fashion of the King’s madness, which had resulted in the prince being called on to become the Regent once more, then discussed the price of corn and the weather. Then, after smoking a cigar, Sir Charles had excused himself and gone to his room.

  Nicolas sat on alone in his library. He was not sure why his thoughts were so disordered. The day had not gone as he expected at all and he was still undecided what to do about the situation he had created.

  He should, of course, have spoken to Sir Charles as soon as he realised what a fool he had been, made some settlement and withdrawn. It was clearly too late now. Bertie would have spread the news all over the neighbourhood—besides, Henrietta had rushed here as soon as she had his letter. The delight on her face when she saw his fiancée had struck him to the heart.

  Lottie gave the appearance of being a modest charming woman, exactly the kind of person who would grace his home and make his relatives welcome. He knew that at heart she was a scheming adventuress, but for the moment she seemed determined to play the part of an innocent—why? What could she hope to gain?

  His fingers drummed against the arm of his comfortable wing chair. What a dilemma! And he had only himself to blame. He frowned as he r
ecalled the laughing words he had overheard outside the parlour—so she had a fancy to become the next marchioness, had she?

  Well, would it be so bad? He had considered she would do before he had witnessed the theft of those guineas. It was that that rankled, he admitted—and the suspicion that she had been making love with—or at least been prepared to be seduced by—Ralph.

  The thing was that he found he did not dislike Lottie. He was not sure he could trust her—and he would have to send her father packing after the wedding. Yet he did need a wife and if Henrietta liked her…he supposed she would do.

  Nicolas groaned. He was such an idiot to have become embroiled with a pair of adventurers.

  Why did he have the feeling that Lottie was playing a part? Had she decided to reform her ways now that she had a chance to move up in society?

  Nicolas knew that he would not find it difficult to play his part in this strange marriage. It would be no hardship to make love to her—and her morals could be no worse than some of the ladies he had made his mistresses in the past. His last mistress had been grasping and selfish, which was why he had felt no remorse in finishing his arrangement with her. He would at least start his marriage without a clandestine attachment. He would certainly not tolerate being played false by his wife. If she imagined he would turn a blind eye to any future indiscretions, she would soon discover her mistake!

  ‘Damn it!’ he muttered and stood up. He would not find the answer in the bottom of a brandy bottle.

  In the morning he would make it clear that, if they went through with this marriage, he would expect Lottie to be faithful—at least until she had given him a son or two.

  Feeling unaccountably tired, he realised that for the first time in a while he would sleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

  It must be the country air.

  Lottie rose early, as was her custom. She sat up and looked over at the kitten lying on her bed. She had left it in the basket that Rose had provided for her, but it seemed that Kitty had other ideas. Reaching out, she picked the tiny creature up and stroked it, kissed its head and then climbed out of bed and placed it back in the basket.

  ‘That is your place, little one. You must not form bad habits, for I might roll on you in the night and suffocate you.’

  Lottie found some water left over from the previous evening and washed her face and hands. She would have a proper wash before breakfast, but she wanted to go for a walk first.

  Going downstairs, she surprised a maid already hard at work polishing the furniture.

  ‘I beg your pardon, miss. We did not know you were awake. Do you wish for something?’

  ‘Not until I return. I am going for a walk. I shall be back in time to dress properly for breakfast.’

  A sleepy footman opened the door as she approached. She flashed a smile at him and went out into the early morning air. The dew was still on the grass and silky cobwebs hung between the perennials in the mixed border.

  Walking across the lawns in the direction of the park, Lottie felt a sense of peace. The marquis’s estate was a lovely place to stay and she would have liked to live here, but she had decided that she must tell him the truth this morning.

  She entered the park, reflecting that some of the trees here must be very ancient. One particular oak tree had grown so large that she thought it must have stood here for well over a hundred years. Lost in thought, she was startled by the sound of a shot somewhere to her right. Whilst it had come nowhere near her, she was concerned—she was certain that the marquis had said he did not hunt or shoot. Who could be shooting on his lands?

  Without consideration, she turned towards the sound and a moment or two later came upon an unpleasant scene. A man had been shot in the leg. He was clutching at his wound, and the blood was trickling through his fingers. He lay on the ground and looked up at the man with the gun standing over him.

  ‘What is going on here?’ Lottie asked, walking up to them. ‘Why has this man been shot?’

  ‘He was poaching on his lordship’s land,’ the man who she instantly realised was a gamekeeper said, and touched his hat. ‘We do not allow poaching here, miss.’

  ‘My wife is starving. I only wanted a rabbit for the pot…’ the poacher whined looking at her hopefully. ‘Tell him it ain’t right, miss. There’s more than enough game in these parts—and his lordship ain’t never ’ere to want it.’

  ‘Poaching is illegal and must be stopped,’ Lottie said. ‘For one thing it is cruel to trap things. You should have come to the house and asked for help. However…’ She fixed the gamekeeper with a reproachful look. ‘It was not necessary to shoot the poor man in the leg, sir. You will take him to the house, where I shall bind his leg—and then we shall give him some food for his family.’

  ‘I don’t know about that, miss. His lordship don’t hold with poachers.’

  ‘I dare say he does not, but I do not hold with what you have done, sir. If you will not help him, I shall do so myself.’ She looked down at the poacher. ‘Can you stand?’

  ‘If he gives me a hand up.’

  ‘I’ll carry him over me shoulder,’ the gamekeeper said grudgingly. ‘You had best take me gun, miss. It ain’t loaded now so it can’t hurt you.’

  ‘I should not fear it if it were loaded,’ Lottie replied. ‘My father shoots occasionally. I am used to guns in the house.’ She checked that it was indeed harmless and slung the strap over her shoulder, following the men up to the house, round the back to the kitchen. ‘Bring him into the scullery. Cook will not want him bleeding over her kitchen floor.’

  ‘Miss Stanton…’ Rose came out to them as they reached the scullery door. ‘What is going on?’

  ‘This poacher has been shot. He was stealing a rabbit because his wife is starving, or so he says. We shall give him some food to take home—but in future he must work for his wage. I dare say he can be found some kind of work on the estate?’

  ‘That’s Sam Blake,’ Rose said. ‘He has never done a decent day’s work in his life.’

  ‘Then it is time he started,’ Lottie told her. ‘He must obviously rest his leg for a while, but as soon as he can walk, he must be given a job cleaning out the stables.’

  ‘I’ll tell Mrs Mann you said to give him food, but you’ll have to ask his lordship about giving him a job,’ Rose said. ‘Sit him down on that stool, Jeb Larkin, and I’ll patch him up.’

  ‘I was going to cleanse and bind his wound, Rose.’

  ‘Best you let me, miss,’ Rose told her firmly. ‘He has a wound in his thigh and it wouldn’t do for you to tend him, miss. Besides, I’ll be sending your water up with one of the other maids. You’ll be wanting your breakfast.’

  ‘Yes, well, perhaps—but don’t forget to give him some food.’

  ‘I shan’t forget, miss.’

  Lottie left the maid to bind up the injured man and went upstairs. She bit her lip as she reflected that perhaps she had been rash to bring the poacher to the house. His story had touched her, but if he was a rogue his wife’s plight might be his fault rather than anyone else’s.

  She hurried upstairs. Her walk had made her hungry, though she would have gone further afield had she not chanced on the poacher.

  Lottie was at the breakfast table alone when the ring of booted feet on tiles told her that someone was about to enter. Her hand trembled a little as she sipped her tea. The unpleasant incident had put the thought of her confession from her mind, but it must be made this morning without fail.

  ‘So you are here. What the hell do you mean by interfering in the way I run my estate? You are not mistress here yet.’

  Lottie looked up and saw the anger in the marquis’s face. He was speaking of the wounded poacher, of course. She rose to her feet, feeling the nerves knot in her stomach.

  ‘Forgive me. The man was hurt. I thought your gamekeeper might have fired in the air as a warning.’

  ‘And so Larkin might had the rogue not been warned a hundred times before. Blake is a thief and
a scoundrel. You may feel that taking what belongs to others is acceptable but I think you will discover that others do not. Far from giving him work in my stables, I have called the constable. Blake will see how he likes a few months in prison.’

  ‘That is harsh, is it not? His wife is starving…’

  ‘He has only himself to blame. Besides, his wife never sees any of the game; he sells what he steals to the inn in the village and gets a few drinks in return, I’ve no doubt. He will be lucky if he does not hang.’

  ‘Oh…I am sorry,’ Lottie clasped her hands in front of her. ‘And I do not condone stealing. I was just moved to pity for his wife.’

  ‘You do not condone stealing?’ He spluttered incredulously. His eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Then pray tell me whether you think taking gold coins from a man’s pocket when he is in a drunken stupor is theft? Not to mention going to a bedroom alone with a man in that state.’

  ‘What..?’ Lottie felt the blood drain from her face. She was stunned, her mind reeling as she tried to take in what he was saying. ‘She… I would never… Where did this happen?’

  ‘You know full well where we were, at that gaming house in Paris. You were going through my friend’s pockets as he lay senseless.’ Nicolas stared at her intently. She looked so shocked and distressed that it suddenly dawned on him that it could not have been her. What an idiot he was! He should have seen it instantly. ‘Who the devil are you? You’re not her, are you? I thought from the start that something was different. You’ve been lying, trying to make a fool of me…’

  ‘No, it wasn’t to make a fool of you,’ Lottie hastened to reassure him. ‘I meant to tell you yesterday…to ask if you would let Papa repay the debt over a period of years. Clarice is my twin. She refused to marry you and—’

  ‘You thought you would take her place. How noble of you—or was it just a clever move to trick me into marriage, because you had a fancy to be the next marchioness yourself?’