Claiming the Chaperon's Heart

by Anne Herries

  ‘Yes, I had supposed something of the sort,’ Jane said. ‘However, I think it unwise to try and influence her. Melia must decide for herself what she wants of life.’

  ‘You are very wise,’ he said and once again that thoughtful look was in his eyes. ‘It is seldom wise to meddle in the lives of our friends, unless they ask us—and even then too often they will not thank us for it...’

  ‘I fear you are right,’ Jane said. She rose to her feet and offered her hand. ‘It has been a most pleasant evening and I am reluctant to leave, but I think I ought. I have neglected Sarah long enough and must go home and enquire how she is.’

  ‘Ah yes.’ He glanced at Melia. ‘My ward will not take kindly to being asked to leave, I think. She is still intent on her game—and winning, by the sound of it.’

  ‘Even so, I must take her away.’

  ‘Unless you thought I might bring her home safely in—say another hour?’

  ‘Oh...’ Jane was about to say she did not think it a good idea, but then remembered that he was Melia’s guardian and might, if he’d wished, have insisted that she live with him and a chaperon. ‘Yes, I think that might suit—if she likes the idea.’

  Melia hesitated and then agreed. She said she hoped that Jane found her cousin well and she would not disturb her when she came in but go straight to her room.

  ‘I prefer that you say goodnight. I shall not be asleep by then and indeed I could not unless I knew you were safely home.’

  ‘Oh, if you wish it.’ Melia gave a shrug of her pretty shoulders. ‘But Lord Frant is my guardian—and far too old to be of any consequence...’

  Jane gave her a puzzled look, wondering how she could speak of a man who had done so much for her. Five thousand pounds was a considerable gift and, properly invested, would bring in enough to keep the girl in comfort until she married. Living with her aunt, as she did, she would have no need to spend the interest on anything but trifles she fancied.

  Having taken her leave of her charge, Jane had her carriage brought round and was driven home. A sigh escaped her as she settled back against the squabs, for she half wished that she had stayed another hour. She had seldom passed a more pleasant evening and could only thank Lord Frant for that since he had been attentive and an interesting conversationalist, telling her some tales of life in India that she found fascinating.

  She spoke to her housekeeper, who told her that Miss Sarah had settled for the night and had drunk a tisane she’d given her.

  ‘She had a headache, my lady, and I gave her the special mixture I used to make for your dear mama. It will make her sleep through to the morning, never fear.’

  ‘Then I shall not disturb her,’ Jane said. ‘I should like some hot milk and sweet biscuits, if you please—and I will sit up in my dressing room until Lord Frant brings his ward home. Please let me know the moment she is in the house.’

  ‘Of course, my lady.’

  Jane went up to her own apartments and allowed her maid to undress her and brush her hair. It seemed that she’d left the company early for no good reason, but she had not liked to think of Sarah sitting alone in her room, despite her declaration that she was perfectly content to go to bed and rest.

  After she had dismissed her maid, Jane tried to read a book in the comfort of a large wing chair, but her mind kept returning to Lord Frant and his smile. His years in India had caused him to have lines at his eyes, caused perhaps by the relentless sun and the need to screw up the eyes against it at times. She did not find it unattractive that his face should have a slightly craggy look, for it showed that he had lived—and, if she were not mistaken, suffered in some manner.

  Something about him had caught her interest. Jane could not have said what, but at each meeting she discovered more about the man and his character, and she liked what she’d learned. Paul Frant was a man to be trusted and relied upon, Jane thought, and there was something honest and straightforward in his manner of address that appealed to her.

  * * *

  ‘I am glad to have this time alone with you,’ Melia said when she was sitting in Paul’s carriage on the opposite seat facing him. ‘I wanted to talk to you about Viscount Hargreaves...of the predicament he finds himself in, which makes it impossible for him to marry where he will...’

  ‘Indeed?’ Paul’s eyes narrowed but Melia ignored the warning sign. ‘Do you think it quite proper for you to speak this of a man you hardly know?’

  ‘Not when it affects my whole happiness, for you must know that I am in love with him and if he cannot wed me for lack of fortune I shall break my heart.’

  Paul was silent for a moment, then, ‘Has Hargreaves spoken to you of marriage? He should properly have asked my permission for you are under the age of consent and, even had you reached that age, mere politeness makes it imperative that he do so.’

  ‘Oh, pooh, as if I should care for such things if I were of age and had a suitable fortune. Had Papa only lived I am certain he would have given me at least ten thousand pounds on my marriage.’

  ‘I very much doubt your father could have found such a sum,’ Paul told her. ‘To do so he must have sold the estate, which, as you know, was entailed.’

  Melia stared at him, a rebellious look on her pretty face. For a moment she was silenced, but then began the second prong of her attack. ‘Do you not think you owe the viscount something for what he did when that young prince was rescued? You received a large reward while he had nothing but a few gold pieces, which he shared with his men.’

  ‘Did Hargreaves tell you that?’

  Melia hesitated, as though realising that she’d been not only rude but unguarded. ‘Can you deny it is true?’

  ‘The truth of the matter is my affair and no other’s,’ Paul replied in a measured tone that hid the anger he felt inside.

  Her accusations were unfair and he could not be sure how much of it was due to her resentment against him and how much Adam had said to her. Did the man he’d thought of as a true friend feel resentment because Paul had received so many gifts from the Maharaja? His part in driving the tribesmen off had indeed been heroic and vital, but it would all have been too late had Paul not done what he had—and the Prince’s father felt that the soldiers had merely done their duty to protect the province, for which service he’d already paid handsomely. His generous gift of two thousand gold coins was not something to be dismissed as paltry, even when shared with Adam’s men.

  ‘I do not think two thousand gold coins an unfair reward for a man doing his job. The Army is paid to keep the tribesmen in control and two thousand was a generous gift.’

  ‘It was nowhere near as much! Surely...’

  ‘I assure you that was the sum given to Hargreaves and his men, together with wine and food.’

  ‘Even so—why should you have so much more?’ Melia asked, looking sulky, but she stared in disbelief and he realised Adam must have mentioned a different sum.

  Paul might have told her why he’d been so favoured, but he held his tongue. ‘You speak of things you do not understand,’ he said in a mild tone. ‘I think you should reflect a little longer before you speak to me on this subject again. If you knew the truth...’ He sighed. ‘No matter—you are in love and young. You believe that only your wishes are important. Until you grow up a little and learn to think of others, I should not give my permission for your marriage even if Hargreaves had asked and had the fortune to keep you as you expect.’

  ‘I hate you and I wish my father had not named you in his will.’

  ‘I dare say he meant my father to be your guardian,’ Paul said. ‘They were friends, I believe—but my father died and yours just before him. It is unfortunate. I dare say my father’s wife might have brought you out, but I can assure you he would not have given you five thousand pounds. You should try to be content with your lot, Melia. Sulking does not become you
.’

  Melia glared at him but did not reply, and, since they had arrived at Viscount Salisbury’s house, Paul got out, giving her his hand to help her down from the carriage and see her to the door.

  ‘Will you not wish me goodnight, Melia? It will be better for us to remain on good terms, I think.’

  ‘Oh, goodnight then,’ she said ungraciously. ‘But I think you might help Viscount Hargreaves, so that we can marry.’

  ‘I know you do,’ he said with a faint smile. ‘Try to be patient, Melia; things often have a way of working themselves out. One day you may be glad I did not do as you asked.’

  The door opened and she was admitted. Paul returned to his carriage. He was thoughtful as he was driven home. Melia had no doubt been spun a tale that led her to believe Adam had played the leading part in the Prince’s rescue; it was the only possible reason for her attitude. He did not care for her character and could only be pleased that he had not been too hasty in the matter of offering her marriage; they would not suit, even had she agreed.

  Was Adam as resentful of him as Melia’s unguarded words seemed to indicate? If she believed that he’d taken all the honours and rewards for himself—rewards that rightfully belonged to Adam—it was possible that he thought much the same.

  Paul felt a slight unease. He’d been so grateful for Adam’s attentions on the ship that he’d fallen into the habit of thinking him a great friend—but in India they had not been close. He recalled that he’d once thought the young Army officer was in love with Annamarie. Now that he was remembering, Annamarie had only begun to show her preference for Paul when he’d recovered from his injuries. Her mother had visited him several times when he was suffering from the burns to his back and leg, and she’d invited him to visit them when he was able to resume his normal life. It was then that the beautiful young girl had made it clear she thought him worthy to be her husband.

  A wry smile touched Paul’s mouth; he’d become a hero overnight in the small community, and Annamarie was not the only girl to throw him encouraging smiles. Glad to be well again and wishing only that people would forget his actions and not make so much fuss over what had, after all, been instinctive, Paul had taken little notice. He’d been aware of Annamarie’s marked interest because she’d been offered to him as a wife—but before that...before the night that was only a blur in his mind and the weeks of pain, had Adam believed she might favour him?

  Paul sought in his mind for a scene he only partially recalled. It was at a regimental ball. He’d been invited as an ex-officer and an influential businessman—but Adam had been there, dressed in his uniform, new to the post and looking very handsome. Was he imagining it, or had he seen the pair go out to the veranda, returning some thirty minutes later looking flushed and excited?

  It was an image Paul had long forgotten. Of no importance to anyone but the girl and her mother who she chose to spend her time with...but now it made him wonder.

  Was it possible that Adam held a grudge against him because Annamarie had transferred her attention to Paul after the dramatic rescue? Had he been hoping that she would marry him? Annamarie had quite a large dowry and a man with no fortune and, in peacetime, little hope of earning prize money, would never have been considered a suitable husband?

  Paul would have supposed she might be married off to an Indian prince, unless her mother intended to bring her to England and find a husband amongst her own people for the girl. It was not his concern. He shrugged his shoulders as he entered the house. As he intended to make his home in England and would never marry the beautiful girl who had been offered to him by a grateful father, he had no interest in the matter—but it did affect his relationship with Adam.

  He’d looked forward to running the racing stables with his friend, but if Adam was harbouring resentment perhaps it was not such a good idea... Paul put it from his mind. Melia clearly resented her father’s will and perhaps she’d misunderstood what Adam said to her. Paul could only hope that had been the case...but he would keep an open mind.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Mama was left almost penniless,’ Sarah confessed over the coffee she and Jane were drinking in Jane’s parlour that morning. ‘When she discovered that Papa had been getting further and further in debt for years, it was a terrible blow to her.’

  ‘Yes, I imagine it would be,’ Jane said. ‘Why did you not come to me at once? I should have done what I could to help. You might both have lived in my house. I would gladly have given you a home.’

  ‘We did not want to ask for charity from anyone. Mama’s brother sold what was left of Papa’s estate and loaned us a cottage on his estate, which is where we’ve been living. We had enough to live respectably, but when Mama died my uncle told me he did not think it right for me to live alone there—and his wife does not like me...’ Sarah hesitated. ‘He suggested that I should marry and brought two gentlemen to my attention—Sir Jonathan, a pleasant gentleman of some sixty years, and Colonel Brush. He is a widower and needs a mother for his six children. Since his wife died because she was simply worn out with childbearing I did not care to take her place. Sir Jonathan was kind and told me that he needed only a gentle companion but...’

  ‘Oh, my dear,’ Jane cried and sat forward to catch her hand. ‘Your uncle was most unfair to impose such conditions. Of course you should not marry either of those gentlemen.’

  ‘Well, I considered taking Sir Jonathan’s offer just to satisfy my uncle—but then I thought of you, Jane, and wrote my letter more in desperation than in hope.’

  ‘I’m so pleased you did,’ Jane said, giving her a frank look. ‘If Will marries I must set up my own house. I think I shall take up residence in Bath—though I may spend some time in the country. Naturally, I must have a female companion, and your letter made me think of you. We might be very happy living in Bath together, Sarah. Visits to London and the country, and my brother occasionally, of course, but mostly in a pleasant location in Bath—what do you think of that?’

  ‘It sounds like heaven,’ Sarah said and sighed. ‘Do you not think of remarrying?’

  ‘No, I do not think so...’ Jane hesitated. ‘I had made up my mind to remain Harry’s widow, but now I must admit that it might happen one day. However, you too may meet someone you wish to wed, and if that happened I should wish you well, dear Sarah. If I did marry before you, you would always have a home with me.’

  ‘You are so kind,’ Sarah said. ‘I do not wish to be a burden...’

  ‘Nor will you,’ Jane said at once. ‘I should have to employ someone to bear me company, and I would so much rather you were my guest for as long as we both wish it. Melia is staying with me now, but she—she is a young lady of strong opinions and this was only intended to be a visit for the duration of our stay in London. Will had hopes of her, but I think her head may have been turned. I hope it is her head and not her heart, for I cannot like the man she favours...’

  ‘Surely she cannot prefer another man when she has the offer of...’ Sarah’s cheeks flushed as she halted. ‘The viscount is so very kind and thoughtful, Jane. When I came down this morning...nothing could have been more pleasant in the way he welcomed me to his home.’

  ‘Yes, I am fond of Will and I shall be upset if Melia hurts him—but I hope that he will find his own way. Either she is the girl he loves or she is not...but I speak out of turn. Melia has not told me what she feels and I must not presume to know her mind or Will’s.’

  ‘As a sister you think of him first,’ Sarah said. ‘I longed for a brother or sister when I was a child, but now that I know of Papa’s behaviour... I am glad there was no one else to be hurt by it.’

  ‘I know how you feel. My father was a stern man, though he did not waste his fortune. Instead, he dictated to his family and made all our lives difficult—most of all for poor Mama.’

  ‘But she is happy now? She sent me a most delightf
ul letter and told me she would help me to buy some pretty clothes when I came to you—and...’ Sarah blushed delicately. ‘She suggested that she could find me a husband from her many acquaintances...’

  ‘Poor Sarah,’ Jane said with a wry laugh. ‘Mama has almost given up trying to find me a husband so now she will turn her attention to you. I shall tell her to leave you in peace.’

  ‘Oh, no, for she means well, I am sure. She promised not to bully me but to introduce me to lovely gentlemen who would make me happy if I let them...’

  ‘Mama has paraded so many handsome and rich men for me to see,’ Jane said, smiling at the memory. ‘But for some reason she seems to have given me up this time. I dare say it will amuse her to introduce you to her friends—and if it does not upset you, there is no harm done.’

  ‘It will not upset me,’ Sarah told her. ‘The duchess is to call for me at ten this morning and she insists on taking me to her dressmaker.’

  ‘In that I shall not interfere,’ Jane said. ‘Mama has perfect taste and will know just what suits you. I had intended to offer you a dress allowance and I shall, but you must let Mama spoil you a little—Porky gives her far more than she can spend on herself and she enjoys spending it on those she cares for. She will inundate Will’s wife and children with gifts once he is married, I have no doubt.’

  ‘Why should she not?’ Sarah said and laughed softly. ‘It is surely what money is for—to spend on those one cares for.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, which is why you must let us spoil you, Sarah. This trip to London was meant to be enjoyed and, like Mama, I enjoy giving presents.’ Jane touched her hand once more. ‘I have an errand to run this morning—unless you would like my support?’

  ‘No, not at all; I adore the duchess,’ Sarah said. ‘You must not let me interfere in any way with your plans, Jane.’