Winning the War Hero's Heart

by Mary Nichols

‘But you are his kin and, under the circumstances, he is prepared to look after you. I gather he has a large family and room enough for one more. He has come all the way from Cambridge to take you back with him, so shall we see if these clothes fit you?’ She nodded at the nurse who was standing nearby. ‘I will be down in the drawing room when you are ready.’

  The clothes were cast-offs of the Countess’s, but the materials were of better quality than Helen had ever had. The undergarments were of the finest cotton and the gown striped silk in two shades of blue. The neckline was edged with a ruff of pleats, which was repeated round the hem of the skirt. It fitted well enough, but because Helen was taller than the Countess the skirt revealed a little more of her ankles than was altogether proper. She was given white stockings and a pair of black pumps. Dressing took a little time because of her bandaged hands, but at last she was ready, her hair brushed and a shawl draped over her shoulders.

  She was unsteady on her feet, but the nurse took her arm to help her downstairs. In the drawing room she came face to face with a cousin she had seen only once at her mother’s funeral. In his forties, he was a tall man, elegantly dressed in a brown double-breasted tailcoat, which had a very high collar from which a starched muslin cravat erupted. His mustard-coloured pantaloons were fastened under the instep of his shoes by straps. He put down the teacup he was drinking from and rose to bow to her. ‘Cousin Helen.’

  ‘How do you do, my lord.’ Helen was helped to a seat and the nurse withdrew.

  ‘I am sorry to find you in this predicament,’ her cousin went on. ‘I trust you are recovering?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘I hear you have lost everything.’

  ‘Yes. Even these clothes are borrowed.’

  ‘Oh, you may have them,’ the Countess put in. ‘I do not want them back.’

  ‘I never did hold with that newspaper business,’ he said.

  ‘I was not equipped to do anything else, my lord, and I had to earn a living.’

  ‘Quite. Now that is all behind you and best forgotten. I will give you a home. My wife will be glad of some help with the children in return for your keep. I trust you will agree to that?’

  She had to be thankful, but she did not view the prospect of living with this cousin who obviously looked down his nose at her with any degree of enthusiasm. But she had no choice. The Countess was as anxious to be rid of her as she was to go. ‘Yes, but until my hands are healed, I will not be much use.’

  ‘I understand that, but I am assured they are on the mend and the children’s nurse will help you until you can begin your duties.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Then we will go now, if you are ready. I had to postpone a meeting to come here and there are other matters at home needing my urgent attention.’

  ‘I am ready,’ she said, wondering what Miles would say when he returned and discovered she had gone. Would he be a tiny bit sorry? Would he miss her as she would undoubtedly miss him? Her heart was in pieces as she followed her haughty cousin out to his carriage.

  * * *

  They were silent for the first few miles. Helen, pretending to look out of the window, was thinking about all she had left behind: her home, her friends, her business, Tom, Edgar, Betty and the men of the Co-operative. She would miss them all, but most of all she would miss Miles. Without him there was a great void in her life that could never be filled. And what lay ahead? She did not know. She risked a glance at the man who sat opposite her. He was staring straight ahead, both hands on the top of the cane he held between his knees.

  ‘My lord, I remember you coming to my mother’s funeral, but as we were never introduced I am not sure what our relationship is.’

  ‘I am your second cousin, William. My father was your mother’s first cousin. He was at the funeral, too, but he passed on last year and I inherited the title. Did your mother never speak of us?’

  ‘No. Could you tell me about her? I know so little of her early life.’

  ‘I never met her and only know what I was told by my father just before we attended her funeral. As far as I can tell her childhood was uneventful. She lived with her parents at Ravensbrook Manor and grew up to be a beautiful young woman. When Gilbert Cavenham offered for her and she accepted, both families were pleased. A grand wedding was planned, half the arrangements were made.’

  ‘Gilbert Cavenham?’ she queried in astonishment. ‘You mean she was engaged to the Earl of Warburton?’

  ‘Yes. He wasn’t an Earl then, nor even a Viscount, but he was Lord Cavenham’s heir.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘There was a fire…’

  ‘At Ravensbrook Manor. Yes, I know. Was my mother there at the time?’

  ‘Yes. She was rescued and taken to Ravens Park to recuperate.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘She ran off with the curate.’

  ‘The curate?’

  ‘Yes, Henry Wayland was a curate. Did you not know that?’

  She was astonished. ‘No, I did not. My parents rarely talked about the past. I knew nothing of what had happened. But I do know they were devoted to each other and to me when I was born. I could not have had more loving parents.’

  ‘That came at a cost. There was a terrible scandal. Gilbert Cavenham was in a dreadful state and vowing revenge. Henry Wayland was forbidden by the church to practise as a cleric for the rest of his life and your mother was disowned by her family. My father, as the closest living male relative, inherited the title, but he was disinclined to rebuild the Manor and live there on account of the scandal and moved to Cambridge, which is where I now live.’

  ‘I did not know any of this. You have taken my breath away.’

  It took her several minutes to absorb what he had said, during which neither spoke. Miles was several years older than her, so the Earl must have found his new bride very quickly and her own parents delayed having her until some time later. Her father was probably trying to establish himself as a printer before they started a family. ‘Viscount Cavenham said there was a feud between my father and his, but I did not believe him,’ she said, at last. ‘I thought it was simply my father’s determination to stand up for the poor and downtrodden and that the Earl did not like being criticised.’

  ‘There was more to it than that.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that now. But I cannot believe my mother would do anything wicked. There must have been something behind it all.’

  ‘She said she had fallen in love and could not help herself. Love! Bah! It is the cause of half the world’s ills; people have no self-control and no sense of propriety. From what Countess Warburton has told me, you were in the way of following in her footsteps…’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘Setting your cap at the Viscount when he is about to become betrothed to another young lady.’

  ‘I did not set my cap at him. We worked together on a project to help the poor and unemployed; there was nothing more to it.’ She hoped she sounded convincing. She had not deliberately set out to love Miles and he did not know of it in any case, so there was no need for anyone else to know what was in her heart. It must stay hidden.

  ‘Now you are away from there, it will silence the gossip.’

  ‘I was not aware there was any gossip.’

  ‘Of course there was. How could there not be, when the man rescued you from the fire and carried you half-naked to his coach and brought you to his home? Some of the older inhabitants have long memories and they will recall the scandal of your mother and the curate.’

  ‘Then I am glad you came for me. I would not compromise the Viscount’s reputation for worlds.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it.’

  ‘Did you know the Earl has had me arraigned for seditious libel?’ she said, abruptly changing the subject. ‘The case comes up in October.’

  ‘Yes, I did know. We shall, with the Earl’s co-operation, try to get the case dropped, but there are conditions.’

  She s
ighed. ‘I expect there are.’

  ‘First, you will not return to Warburton, but remain under my roof at my behest. Secondly, you will not speak or write anything against the Earl of Warburton. Thirdly, you must not communicate with Viscount Cavenham under any pretext, and fourthly, if we cannot get the case against you dropped, you are to attend the hearing and throw yourself on the mercy of the court and blame your father for the way he brought you up. You are to plead that you did not understand what you were doing and you will promise never to do anything like it again. You will tell the judge and jury you have given up the newspaper.’

  ‘I have had to do that,’ she said tartly. ‘It went up in flames.’

  ‘And the other conditions? If you are to reside under my roof, I need those assurances.’

  It hurt her pride to agree, but what choice did she have? ‘You have them,’ she said and turned again to look out of the window so that he did not see her tears. Her heart was aching for Miles, but he was not for her, had never been for her, and she had to make the best of a bad situation. To think that all this upset came about because her mother had fallen in love with the wrong man. If it had not happened, Mama would be Countess Warburton now and more than likely still be alive because the Earl could afford the best doctors and nurses, which her father could not.

  She gave a twitch of a smile; she might have had the Earl for a father. And Miles would be her brother. She stopped herself thinking of that. It had not happened. Her mother had given it all up for love. Fancy her father being a curate. He had never once breathed a word about that. Had he felt guilty about what he had done? Had he felt in the least sorry for Gilbert Cavenham? Had her mother? Did Miles know the tale? She did not think so. And after all he had done for her, he would think her terribly ungrateful to dash off and never see him again. Oh, how was she going to endure it?

  * * *

  Miles had to pass Ravensbrook Manor on his way home and decided to have another look round. What he hoped to discover he did not know—evidence of how the fire started, perhaps. It seemed strange that history should repeat itself like that, but fires were a common occurrence when lamps and candles were carried about and often left unattended, and fires were banked up to cook and keep houses warm. Sparks from spitting coal could ignite rugs and carpets. He should not read anything into it.

  As he suspected, he learned nothing new. The house was just as derelict, just as overgrown, just as dark. Whoever was squatting in the back parlour was still doing so. The remains of a recent meal lay on a plate before the hearth and the kettle was still warm. There was also a large can of oil, which he supposed the man used to fuel a lamp, but strangely there was no lamp, simply a burned-out candle. There was no sign of the interloper; he had obviously heard him coming and made himself scarce. Miles was curious and did a quick search of the house and outbuildings, but found no one. Returning to his horse, he gave the stallion his head and covered the last mile home at a gallop.

  * * *

  He was eager to talk to Helen, only to be told by his mother that she had gone.

  ‘Gone?’ he queried in dismay. ‘Gone where? You mean she took herself off. She can’t have done—she had no clothes, nowhere to go.’

  ‘Her cousin came and fetched her,’ the Countess said, almost cringing from his blazing eyes. ‘He offered to give her a home. It is best for everyone.’

  He was especially annoyed that it had been done secretly while he was absent. His parents had colluded to have him out of the way when it happened and even his normal deference to his mother and her frailty deserted him. ‘Best for you, perhaps, and my father, who is determined to see me married to Verity Somerfield. Well, it will not happen. I am going to find Helen. I mean to marry her, if she will have me, and nothing on earth will divert me from that and do not tell me she is a nobody because I have discovered she is as well born as I am.’

  ‘I know that. It was Lord Brent who came to fetch her.’

  ‘How did he know she was here? Someone must have told him.’

  ‘I did. I wrote to him.’

  ‘You?’ He could believe it of his father, but not his mother.

  ‘Miles, please calm down. Miss Wayland was destitute, she has lost everything. Where better to be under such circumstances but in the bosom of her family? She could not stay here, it was causing gossip and…’

  ‘Lady Somerfield was laying down the law. We are not beholden to the Somerfields, Mama.’

  ‘Your father…’

  ‘Why are you so afraid of him? He has never beaten you, has he?’

  ‘No, of course not. But he is impossible to live with when he is angry, you know that. And he has told me Lord Somerfield is prepared to inject some capital into Ravens Park when you marry Verity. He assured me it was vital to the future of the estate.’

  ‘I am sorry for that, Mama, but it makes no difference. Verity Somerfield does not want me and I do not want her and there’s an end of it.’

  ‘Then you had better make that clear to her, though what your father will say I dread to think.’

  ‘I think he already knows it. Where is he?’

  ‘Did he not come home with you?’

  ‘No, I left him in Swaffham and rode the new horse home. He ought to have arrived almost as soon as I did, considering I stopped on the way. He must have been detained in Swaffham. Perhaps he met someone he knew.’

  ‘Perhaps. What are you going to do now?’

  ‘It is too late to go calling, but tomorrow morning, I am going to ride over to Gayton Hall to settle things once and for all. And then I am going calling on Lord Brent.’

  ‘Do you know where he lives?’

  ‘No, but you are going to tell me.’ This statement brooked no denial.

  * * *

  But none of that happened, because Greaves came home long after dark with the horses pulling a flat cart on which lay the covered body of the Earl of Warburton.

  The whole household was put in a spin, with servants running hither and thither, not knowing what to do. The Countess swooned clean away and had to be administered to, the body had to be lifted from the cart and taken to a bedchamber and Dr Graham sent for to confirm the death, though it was obvious there was no life in the man. Only then was Miles able to set aside his own real grief to question the groom.

  ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’ He had gone out to the stables where Greaves was seeing to the horses. They were lathered and in distress and needed soothing.

  ‘It were an accident. I couldn’t stop it. When his lordship came out of the George to come home, he suddenly decided he would drive the carriage himself and got up beside me. I did not want him to, on account of he was—’ He stopped suddenly.

  ‘On account of he was a little foxed, you mean.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He were goin’ along all right, but a little too fast for my likin’, but he took no notice when I suggested he oughta ease up a bit. We were going round a bend when a dog fox ran across the road in front of the horses and they got all of a flurry and his lordship couldn’t hold them. They ran the coach into the ditch. His lordship were flung off the driving seat and hit his head against a tree. I reckon he died there and then. I was thrown off and dazed for a while, but when I came to, I could see the coach was smashed beyond repair. The horses were struggling to rise, so I got them free and was thinking of putting his lordship’s body on one and riding the other, when another coach stopped to see what was happening. I do not know the name of the man and did not think to ask, but he said it would be more fitting to send his lordship home on a cart, so he arranged for one to come from a nearby farm. When it came I hitched our horses to it so the farmer could take his own horses back. He said he needed them to work on the farm tomorrow. So that’s how I came home.’

  ‘Thank you, Greaves.’

  ‘It weren’t my fault, my lord. I did tell his lordship, but he would not listen and it would ha’ been more dangerous to wrestle the reins
out of his hands. Any case, I daren’t do that, the mood he was in.’

  ‘I understand. No one is blaming you. See to the horses, will you, and then arrange for that cart to be returned to its owner.’

  He went back indoors to see his mother. She would need comforting and there was a funeral to arrange and heaven knew how many people who must be informed. He was going to be busy for the next few days. It was only when he sat down with his tearful mother to talk about it that he realised he was now the second Earl of Warburton. It was an awesome responsibility, come much sooner than he had ever anticipated. For the moment, duty must come before love.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was her cousin, William, who told Helen that Miles had succeeded to the title on the death of his father. She could hardly take it in. The Earl had been hale and hearty the last time she had seen him, and, for all his antagonism, she had never wished him dead. She wondered how Miles was managing. And the Countess. What a blow it must have been to them. Miles was now Earl of Warburton and that seemed to end whatever slim hope she might have had that she might see him again.

  ‘I must write and offer my condolences to the Countess,’ she told her cousin.

  ‘You may do that,’ he agreed.

  Although only a quarter the size of Ravens Park, Larkspur House was a substantial four-storey mansion set in a small estate in a village on the western outskirts of Cambridge. As soon as she arrived it had been made very clear to her that she was going to be treated as the poor relation. She was given a room on the top floor and a doctor was sent for who subjected her to a careful examination of her burns. ‘Take the bandages off and let her wear mittens,’ he had told Lady Brent. ‘Her hands are all but healed and the scars will fade in time. There is no need for her to stay in bed.’

  A mantua maker had been fetched to provide her with a simple wardrobe befitting her lowly station. As soon as she was suitably clothed and provided with some cotton mittens to cover her hands, she had been introduced to her charges. There were three of them: Harold, a boy of seven, and twin girls, Sophy and Chloe, who were five. Her task was to begin their education, although Harold would soon be sent away to school. They did not treat her with any deference, but she was fond of children and set out to win their trust. This was her life, she could have no other, and must make the best of it, but when she found her bed at night, she was overcome by desolation. She was lonely and she missed her own home and independence, but most of all she missed Miles.