Mistress of Madderlea

by Mary Nichols

  Charlotte executed a deep curtsey. ‘Your Grace.’

  ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance again, Miss Roswell,’ he said. ‘I believe we have met. It was before the war. I was on a diplomatic mission to Belgium and your father and mother were so kind as to offer me hospitality. You were very small and naturally will not remember me. I was sorry to hear Captain Roswell perished in the fighting in Spain. A gallant soldier. You will be proud of him.’

  Charlotte, her face crimson with embarrassment, could find nothing to say but ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

  ‘We will talk again later. Richard bring her to me at supper.’

  Sophie, consumed by guilt and the dreadful fear that she was about to be found out in the worst possible way, wished she could cut and run, but there was no hope of that as Richard turned to present her to his grandfather. ‘And this is Miss Hundon, sir.’

  ‘How do you do, Miss Hundon.’ The Duke lifted his quizzing glass and subjected her to a close inspection, while the musicians struck up for the next dance. She could not recall having met him and, if she had been a baby at the time, he would not remember what she looked like, would he? ‘Miss Roswell’s cousin, I collect.’

  Refusing to be overawed, she met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

  ‘Close, are you?’

  ‘Indeed, yes, Your Grace. I am very fond of Charlotte and I think she is of me. For the last two years we have done everything together.’

  ‘Nothing much to choose between you, I dare say.’

  ‘No.’ She smiled, mischievously. ‘Except a fortune, Your Grace, which makes deciding on a husband very difficult for her.’

  ‘No doubt you are urging her to caution, but her trustees will no doubt make sure she don’t make a ninny of herself. Her fortune or otherwise shouldn’t trouble you.’

  ‘Oh, it does not.’ She was taken aback by her own temerity at hinting that the problems facing an heiress who must marry were as daunting as those of a nobleman. If Richard was going to marry Emily, it hardly mattered and she might as well go down fighting.

  ‘Pert article, ain’t you?’ He smiled suddenly, making her realise how much alike he and Richard were. They had the same masculine good looks, the sharp nose and humorous eyes. ‘Oh, you do not need to answer that. I shall sit here and talk to Lady Fitzpatrick.’ He sat down on the seat Sophie had vacated and waved her away. ‘Go and follow your cousin’s example and dance.’

  The ladies of Almack’s had, at last, given up their opposition to the waltz and Freddie was whirling Charlotte round, his hand about her waist. Sophie, who had no partner for the dance, turned to find Richard at her elbow.

  ‘Miss Hundon, please do me the honour of waltzing with me.’

  She was about to point out that the dance was almost finished, but decided that she would be the loser if she refused. Even in they only managed one turn about the floor, it would be something to savour in the long, lonely years ahead of her. She curtsied and he slid his arm about her and turned her into the dance.

  She felt light-headed, almost in a trance as they moved together in tune with the music. In tune with each other as well. Unwilling to believe that it was the end of everything for her, she tried pretending that it was only the beginning and that they had just been introduced: Miss Sophie Roswell and Viscount Richard Braybrooke, eminently suitable and about to fall in love.

  ‘You are quiet,’ he said.

  ‘Was I? I am sorry.’

  ‘Did your papa teach you to waltz as well as to ride astride?’

  ‘No, the waltz was not considered quite proper when…’ She stopped suddenly, realising she had almost given herself away by referring to her time in Belgium. ‘Freddie—Mr Harfield—taught us both, Charlotte and me, when we knew we would be coming to London for the Season.’

  ‘Oh, then he is a good teacher. Or you were a gifted pupil. I must congratulate you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She paused, unable to bear not knowing for sure. ‘May I offer my felicitations on your engagement?’

  ‘Engagement? Where did you hear that?’

  ‘It is the talk of the ton.’

  He smiled. ‘And who, according to the tabbies, am I engaged to?’

  ‘Your cousin, of course.’

  ‘Then the gossips are ahead of themselves as usual.’

  ‘It is not true?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Liar!’ he said softly.

  She felt the colour flood her face. ‘My lord, I am not accustomed to having my veracity doubted.’

  ‘Then you must learn to be honest. I collect I have said that before.’

  The pleasure of dancing with him was spoiled and she fell silent. He watched the fleeting expressions cross her face; guilt, perhaps, sadness, yes, and he longed to banish both. ‘Miss Hundon. Sophie, I must speak to you.’

  Her heart was beating almost in her throat and her voice came out as a croak. ‘You are speaking to me.’

  ‘Not here. When are you going to Maiden Lane again?’

  Maiden Lane. Oh, then all he wanted to talk about was the refuge. Perhaps he had found someone to help with the employment agency. Her heart resumed its steady beat and she allowed herself to breathe again. ‘I have promised Lady Fitz I will not go out unless I am escorted.’

  ‘Then I will undertake to escort you.’

  ‘I doubt her ladyship will agree. If she realises you are not affianced to your cousin, she will expect you to escort Charlotte, not me. She will not give up hope that you will decide your future happiness lies with my cousin.’

  ‘And do you also subscribe to that view?’

  If he was hoping she would let her guard drop, he was to be disappointed. Her expressive grey-green eyes met his in what could only be construed as indignation. ‘My opinion is of no consequence, my lord. You said you knew she was in love with Mr Harfield and you would not come between them.’

  ‘Did I?’ he said blandly. ‘Then just to be sure on that point, I shall ask Mr Harfield to come too. A sightseeing tour perhaps, taking in Westminster and the Tower and St Paul’s.’

  ‘Oh, no, that would mean telling them about Maiden Lane…’

  He smiled down at her as the music came to an end and they stood facing each other. ‘Oh, I think we can contrive to become separated, don’t you?’ He bowed low as she curtsied to him, then he offered his arm to escort her back to her seat.

  She never felt so confused in all her life. He was so insufferably cheerful, as if life had suddenly dealt him a winning hand. And why, oh, why had he changed his mind about Charlotte? Was it his grandfather’s doing? When he said they would contrive to become separated, did he mean he expected her to draw Freddie away, so that he could talk to her cousin alone? Did he intend to put pressure on Freddie to withdraw his suit? She would have to warn Charlotte.

  Lady Fitzpatrick did not rise before noon and the girls breakfasted together. Usually they had much to talk about—their social engagements, the latest fashions, what so-and-so had said to such-and-such, who might offer for whom, the latest on dit about the Regent, news from Upper Corbury contained in Mrs Hundon’s letters—but the morning after the visit to Almack’s, Sophie was silent.

  ‘Are you not well?’ Charlotte enquired after she had twice spoken and received no response.

  ‘What? Oh, I’m sorry, Charlotte. I have something on my mind.’

  ‘I should just think you have! It is that dreadful hum we have been practising. Has someone found out about it?’

  ‘No. At least, I do not think so, but Lord Braybrooke told me last evening that the rumour that he has already offered for his cousin is not true and he has not given up hope of marrying you.’

  ‘He was gammoning you. He has been no more attentive to me than to any of the other young ladies in Society.’

  ‘He was not teasing. He has involved me in contriving a way of speaking to you alone.’

  ‘I shall reject him.’ She laughed sudde
nly. ‘I think that might be a new experience for him, so high in the instep as he is.’

  ‘Oh, Charlotte, I think you do him an injustice. Whatever he is, he is not arrogant.’

  ‘You said he was.’

  ‘I have changed my mind.’

  ‘Does he have no idea that you love him?’

  ‘Certainly not! Do you suppose I wear my heart on my sleeve?’

  ‘Perhaps you should.’

  ‘Oh, Charlotte, please listen, for I have something else to tell you and we haven’t much time. The viscount will be here at any moment.’

  ‘Here? This morning? I shall refuse to see him. He must speak to Lady Fitzpatrick first and she is still abed. Sophie, we must tell the footman to say we are not at home.’

  ‘No. His lordship is bringing Freddie with him and we are all to go on a sightseeing tour in the Braybrooke barouche.’

  ‘Why is he bringing Freddie? They have not known each other above five minutes.’

  ‘Freddie is supposed to be dangling after Miss Hundon and, as far as his lordship is concerned, that is me. So, it is not so strange. Some time during the morning, I am supposed to draw Freddie away so that his lordship may speak to you alone. At least that is what I think he meant. He was not at all clear.’

  ‘We do not have to go.’

  ‘But we must. I have an errand of my own and you know I promised Lady Fitz I would not go out unaccompanied.’

  ‘What errand? Sophie, you are being very mysterious.’

  Sophie took a deep breath and explained to her cousin about the soldiers and the house in Maiden Lane and how Viscount Braybrooke had found out about it and had offered to help. Charlotte listened with eyes growing wider and wider in astonishment.

  ‘So that was where you were the morning after we went to Vauxhall Gardens? I knew Pewter had been out because I went to the mews to ask Luke if he had seen you. And later Anne told us you had gone to the Pantheon Bazaar. No wonder we could not find you there.’

  ‘I did go there, you know I did, because the stuff I ordered was delivered the next day. But then Luke cut himself helping make the house ready and could not drive the carriage home. I was driving when Monsieur Latour’s horse bolted with his little boy in the curricle and Lord Braybrooke suddenly turned up. I think he had been following me, though he denied it. He seems to have appointed himself my guardian.’

  ‘There you are, then! It is you he favours or he would not take such good care of you.’

  ‘Oh, Charlotte, he is only doing it to refine upon my faults, which he points out at every opportunity. I should not ride alone, nor walk unescorted, nor speak to beggars. He cannot allow it, he said, as if I would take a jot of notice of what he says.’

  ‘But he is right, you know that very well.’

  ‘That does not mean I enjoy having him ring a peal over me.’

  ‘But if he had not been close by when that horse bolted…Oh, Sophie, you might have been killed. We are indebted to his lordship.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but now he insists on escorting me when I go to Maiden Lane and I must go this morning to see how everything is and pay the rent. And if we are seen, the tattlemongers will have a field day, so you must come too. Oh, Charlotte, it is all such a mull…’

  ‘But where has the money come from to pay for it all?’

  ‘Donations from well-wishers. And my allowance. I wrote to Uncle William and told him I needed extra because our ball was going to be far more expensive than we had at first supposed. He sent me a draft for more, but most of it has been spent.’

  ‘Then I am glad you insisted I had the same allowance as you because I have hardly touched mine. That is no problem. And neither is Lord Braybrooke. I can deal with any overtures from him.’ Charlotte, who usually followed where Sophie led, had suddenly taken over the role of leader. Sophie smiled wanly, recognising that it stemmed from a new confidence brought on by the arrival of Freddie and his commitment to her, and a wish to have her cousin as happy as she was herself. ‘Now, we had better go and change so that we are ready when the gentlemen come.’

  Reluctantly Sophie agreed and followed her cousin upstairs. She dressed in the grey cambric round gown as she always did for a visit to Maiden Lane. The day was too warm for a cloak and instead she tied a fringed shawl about her shoulders. She was just leaving her room when she heard the front door knocker. Charlotte came out of her room at almost the same time. They smiled at each other in mutual reassurance and descended the stairs together.

  The two men were waiting for them in the vestibule. Richard was dressed in a frockcoat of brown Bath cloth and buckskin breeches, his neckcloth was plain white muslin, not top of the trees in elegance. Sophie understood the reason for this and so did Charlotte, but Freddie, not wishing to be outdone by a man whose sartorial reputation was of the highest order, had taken great pains with his appearance and now found himself considerably overdressed in a blue superfine tailcoat, white pantaloons and an elaborately tied cravat about a shirt collar whose points scratched his cheeks whenever he moved his head.

  Charlotte, seeing this, hurried upstairs to change her cape for a pink sarcenet pelisse and to replace her plain bonnet for one with pink ruching below the brim and tied with a large satin bow. ‘Now we are ready,’ she said, rejoining the others who had waited in the hall.

  Sophie might have been interested in the sights—Westminster Hall, Horse Guards, the Tower and its ravens, St Paul’s, which was more impressive outside than in—if she had not been so aware of the viscount and her own rapidly beating heart. He was at his charming best to both young ladies, and very knowledgeable.

  Freddie found a great many questions to ask him about the history and the architecture of the many buildings they looked at which he answered easily. At no time did his lordship suggest Charlotte might like to view something Sophie and Freddie did not.

  When they came out of St Paul’s, they crossed Covent Garden and though there were few stallholders so late in the day, the area was swarming with urchins, who scrambled in the piles of discarded fruit and vegetables for something edible.

  ‘Poor things,’ Charlotte said, throwing them a few coins from her reticule which they pounced on with cries of delight. ‘Is that how they live?’

  ‘Yes. Scavenging in the mud of the river for flotsam and jetsam and begging.’ Richard smiled. ‘But now you have given them money, they will not leave you alone.’

  He was proved right when the few were joined by many more, dancing round them, holding out grubby hands, calling, ‘Me! Me too!’ Charlotte, who had no more money in her purse, showed every appearance of being frightened to death and even Sophie, who was used to dealing with the soldiers, felt a frisson of alarm.

  Richard showed them a guinea and then threw it as far as he could in the direction of a pile of garbage. The urchins raced after it. ‘Come,’ he said, taking Sophie’s arm as rubbish flew in all directions and the children began to squabble. ‘Let us make our escape while they are occupied.’

  ‘I have to go to Maiden Lane,’ she told him in an undertone as they made for the barouche which had been left in a side street. Freddie and Charlotte were close behind.

  ‘Then I suggest you find some way of parting us from our chaperons.’

  She looked at him quizzically, wondering if she had misheard him or whether he was being jocular but his expression told her nothing.

  ‘Charlotte knows about the house in Maiden Lane.’

  ‘Then you do not need to make excuses. Your cousin and Mr Harfield may take the barouche. We can make our own way home.’ He smiled down at her. ‘We have done it before, have we not?’

  She was puzzled. ‘But I thought you wanted to speak to Miss Roswell…’

  ‘So I do. Later. Mrs Stebbings first.’

  ‘Then we will all go.’

  Richard was convinced that Sophie was deliberately avoiding being alone with him, probably because she guessed he was going to tax her with her deception and demand a reason for it. He sincerel
y hoped that the young ladies would not let the world know about the switch in their identities before he succeeded in speaking to Sophie. If it became the subject of gossip, then he would never persuade her he had not changed his allegiance as soon as he heard she was the one with the legacy and not Charlotte. If only he had spoken sooner! Now, there was nothing he could do but postpone his confrontation with her and agree.

  The visit was not a success. The deputation was too big for Mrs Stebbings to handle calmly and the ex-servicemen looked on with undisguised suspicion. Freddie, in his finery, stuck out like a sore thumb, and Charlotte was so obviously repelled by the ragged men, some of whom had dreadful disfigurements, that she could do nothing but stand just inside the door with a wooden smile on her face, which deceived no one. Freddie, seeing this, took her out to wait in the barouche.

  Sophie tried to behave as she usually did, helping serve food and listen to the men’s woes, but she felt constrained and her previous natural compassion seemed forced. She was sure Charlotte was deliberately making it difficult for Richard to speak to her, and Freddie was not going to help, for which he could not be blamed.

  She gave Mrs Stebbings the rent and Richard escorted her to join the other two, his hand lightly under her elbow, making her want to howl with misery, knowing it was no more than a gesture of chivalry, when she wanted so much more.

  Sergeant Dawkins, who had been sitting unseen in a corner of the dining room, apparently tucking into meat pudding and potatoes, watched them go. An idea was forming in his mind. An idea based on the Major’s obvious fancy for Mrs Carter; it was evident in the way his eyes followed her round the room and the way his features softened when he spoke to her. ‘Fine feathers make fine birds,’ he murmured to himself. ‘And this one’s ready for the plucking.’

  Charlotte, taking off her bonnet in Sophie’s room where they had gone as soon as the gentlemen had paid their respects to Lady Fitzpatrick and left, was thoroughly satisfied with their morning.

  ‘There! You were worrying for nothing, Sophie, the viscount made no attempt to speak to me privately, nor even to part me from Freddie. He must know it would be a waste of time. Though how you can go near those filthy men, I do not know.’ She shuddered. ‘I feel dirty myself now and shall have to have a bath brought up and change every stitch. I cannot understand Lord Braybrooke encouraging you.’