by Godman, Jane
“I cannot see any further point in pursuing this conversation, Clive. No matter how much we discuss the matter, I wish you would understand that I cannot and – even if I had the means to do so – will not access Harry’s fortune in order to pay your debts.”
“You will listen to me! The men to whom I owe money will not be fobbed off with promises or instalments! They will take what they are owed - in my blood if I cross them. My life is at stake here, and you – the one person who should obey me in all things – dare talk to me of what you will not do!”
He rose and stood over her, systematically clenching and unclenching his fists.
“By God, I can hurt you, Rosie, and I will do so if you continue to oppose me.”
Rosie sighed, “What more can you do to me, Clive?” She kept her voice even but her eyes flashed a challenge. “You have taken from me the most precious things I had. My father is dead because of you. Jack despises me and is in love with Lady Cavendish, and my brother lives in constant fear that you will expose his youthful folly. If you carry out your threat to publish Harry’s confession, you will lose my inheritance. I seriously doubt your ability to find another willing woman of fortune – and the Lord knows I am not willing! – to be your wife. Do your worst, you cannot hurt me more than you already have.”
“Don’t push me, Rosie,” he warned, his jaw working in frustration, “Else I will be forced to show you that I mean what I say.”
Rosie pushed her chair back from the table and sketched him a brief, contemptuous curtsey.
“You will excuse me now, Clive. I must spend some time with Harry, before he goes to bed and you will, I’m sure, have pressing … business … to which you must attend.”
She did not wait for a reply. As she closed the door behind her, the sound of a priceless porcelain figurine being hurled into the grate made her wince.
A letter had arrived earlier that day from Tom Drury. It was with relief that Rosie read that he was posting up to London to consult her on some matters of business. Tom was the only person in whom she could confide. Wrapped in thought, she trod slowly up the stairs to Harry’s bedchamber. He was seated near the window, looking out onto the street below and appeared lost in thought. Rosie went to him and he glanced up, smiling when he saw it was her. Beau thumped his tail lazily in greeting. Rosie knew how much Harry hated London and how heartily he longed for home. She had kept him with her, initially, so that they could help each other through the process of grieving for their father. Now, she realised sadly, she was being selfish to continue to do so. London had lost its charm. Harry pined for the freedom of the countryside. He also needed to get back to the structure of his lessons with the local curate who tutored him.
“Tom is coming to London in a day or two.” She informed him, taking a seat nearby and clasping his hand in both of hers. “How would you like to return to The Grange with him when he leaves?”
Harry’s eyes sparkled delightedly. “Would I? Oh, by Jove! Wouldn’t I just …” he paused, “But I cannot leave you here, sis, not with that villain …”
She smiled at his concern, “I will be fine, dearest,” she assured him.
“I do not know why you cannot tell Jack the truth.” he scowled, “He would run Sir Clive through for you!”
“That is exactly why I cannot tell him.” She explained, a soft smile trembling at the opportunity to talk openly about Jack with someone who loved him too. “Jack’s uncle managed to secure a pardon for him from the king, for his part in the Jacobite incursion into England. It was not an easy task. As you know, the king has been ruthless with many of the rebels. If Jack harmed, or killed – which is more likely, if he knew what he had done – Sir Clive for blackmailing us he would once again be a wanted man. This time, I am sure, the king would not grant him any leniency. Jack would be executed or, if by some miracle, he could escape, he would be forced to spend his days in exile.”
“You could go with him to the continent. A life in exile would be preferable to this.”
She shook her head but did not answer him. He would feel the weight of guilt at his foolishness all over again. If he knew he was the reason Rosie could not count the world lost for love and go to Jack regardless of the consequences. She had a duty to care for her brother – it was what he father would have wanted – and she would do so, whatever the personal cost to her own self. Harry must, in due course, take his place as master of Delacourt Grange and run the estate with the same care their father had taken. That cycle of obligation to their family heritage must not be broken. And it was she, she reasoned, not Harry who had brought Jack into their lives. She who, by loving Jack, had enraged Sir Clive. And she who continued to thwart over the matter of money. If there was blame to be apportioned here, Rosie was willing to take her fair share.
“But I thought you loved Jack,” Harry persisted, “… and he loved you.”
Rosie remained silent for a moment, “We thought so, too … for a while” she answered eventually, “But we were mistaken.”
Harry studied her face thoughtfully, “No,” he shook his head decisively, “You cannot fool me, sis. I still think you love each other. In fact, I know you do.”
Chapter Nine
“You cannot be serious, child!” Lady Aurelia could hardly have looked more shocked had Rosie announced her intention of walking the length of The Mall in her chemise.
“After the unfortunate contretemps at your betrothal party, you simply cannot be too careful of your reputation, my dear. People will think you are quite, quite odd!” Despite her genuine agitation, she still managed to devour a staggering number of sweet biscuits, each one dipped into a cup of sweet, thick hot chocolate.
It was not her ladyship’s usual custom to rise so early. But she had promised to spend the day with an old friend who lived in Kensington – ‘quite dreadfully un-modish, my dear, but then she was always an eccentric, why, when we were girls she positively enjoyed reading books and was quite open about it!’ – and was trying to persuade Rosie to accompany her. Serenely, Rosie had revealed that she was going on a visit of her own. Sir Hans Sloane, that famous, but now retired, collector of curiosities had kindly agreed to show her his natural history collection. It was this announcement that had caused Lady Aurelia’s distress and she sat back now, eyeing her young guest in much the manner with which one would regard a coiled python.
“It is what Harry would like above all things,” Rosie told her firmly.
“Yes, but why must you accompany him? Can he not go with one of the footmen?” a glimmer of hope lit Lady Aurelia’s eye briefly.
“Absolutely not, I get little enough time with him, as it is, my lady,” Rosie would not be swayed, “Anyhow,” the dimple danced naughtily at the corner of her mouth, “I shall enjoy it immensely myself!”
Lady Aurelia, accepting defeat, rose to prepare for her journey into unfashionable parts only pausing at the door to plead with Rosie, in fading accents, “Pray, child, for my sake, do not reveal where you have been to a soul!”
Rosie frowned at the clock as she finished her breakfast. There was still no sign of Harry – usually the earliest of risers – and, more telling still, the breakfast table had not been graced by an appearance from Beau. Normally, his greediness knew no bounds whenever food was served. He could be relied upon to materialise and give a passable impersonation of a dog that has not been fed for days. She wondered if Harry had stayed up late reading and overslept. She hoped he was not unwell. Finishing the cup of tea over which she had been lingering, she decided to go and wake the slugabeds.
Harry’s bedchamber was in darkness and, as she tiptoed towards the bed, she was surprised not to hear the familiar thump of Beau’s tail. A sense of foreboding assailed her and she hurried to the window, throwing wide the heavy curtains. Harry’s bed had not been slept in and a folded slip of paper rested on the pillows. Uneasily, she opened it and read the single, carelessly scrawled line: ‘You were unwise to ignore my warning. C’
Rosie’s
hand flew to cover her mouth in a moment of panic. When she told Sir Clive he no longer had the power to hurt her, she had evidently not appreciated the depths of his desperation or the extent of his villainy. Too late she knew what he had meant by the bullying pronouncements he made. He had unerringly found her Achilles heel once again. In threatening Harry, he knew he could control her.
Rushing down the wide staircase, Rosie had but one thought … to instantly set off after them. She was brought up short by the sounds of an arrival, and paused, hoping against hope it was Harry returning. It was the next best thing and she gave a little cry of mingled relief and joy when Tom strode through the front door, dominating the scene with his reassuring bulk. Rosie ran to him, clasping his hand and almost dragging him into the drawing room, barely shutting the door behind them before blurting out.
“Oh, Tom, I am so glad you are here … you have no idea … Clive has taken Harry …” her voice broke and the tears she had been fighting to suppress threatened to overcome her.
Tom led her to a sofa and sat next to her.
“Taken him?” he repeated in astonishment, and, when she explained, “You mean he has kidnapped him?” Rosie nodded, “The filthy cur!” Tom’s voice was a growl, “Just wait ‘til I get my hands on him, the scoundrel …”
Rosie had recovered from her sudden bout of emotion. “We must go after them, Tom! You do not know him as I do. He is capable of anything … when I think of Harry in his power …” she shuddered at the thought.
“Aye, and so we shall … or I shall, at least,” Before she could protest at this high-handed remark, he continued, “But what does he mean by this, Miss Rosie? What can he hope to gain by taking Master Harry in this way?”
Rosie quickly filled him in on the details of Sir Clive’s financial straits and her own steadfast refusal to rescue him by embezzling Harry’s inheritance. Tom’s expression grew increasingly thunderous at her words.
“They must have gone last night when I was at the theatre with Lady Harpenden … I did not check on Harry when I arrived home because it was so late. And, when Clive cried off from that engagement, I did not suspect anything. Indeed, I was relieved at the prospect of a night without his company. I assumed he had an appointment with a game of chance … or some poor harlot!” She broke off, biting her lip, before jumping up in agitation to pace the room, “But we must hurry, Tom! … they could be anywhere by now!”
“That’s just it, Miss Rosie,” Tom’s tone was thoughtful, “How will we know where he has gone? We could rush off like headless chickens, only for him to have gone in the opposite direction. Be patient and let me make some enquiries.” Having known Rosie since she was a babe in arms, he was not particularly hopeful about her ability to do as he asked. True enough, she opened her mouth to protest and he asked, “Is Jack in town?”
“Yes, but what …?” The question stopped Rosie in her tracks.
“He is the very man we need for this venture.” Tom informed her briskly, “While I see what I can discover about their direction, you must go and explain to Jack that you need his help.”
“I cannot. You don’t know how things are between us now, Tom,” Rosie blushed furiously, “Jack detests me. I doubt he would even see me.”
“Aye, that was to be expected. He was never going to accept your betrothal to another man with good grace. And the fact that it was Sir Clive only added fuel to his fury! But his feelings – and yours – are about as important as a farthing to a moneylender.” Tom deliberately ignored her look of outrage and rose to his feet. “Sir Clive is a dangerous man, and he has reached the end of his tether … mayhap, from what you have told me, even the end of his sanity. He is also rumoured to be a devil with a small sword. I’d as lief not face him alone. And the only other man I’d trust with your business and Master Harry’s is Jack. I’m asking you to swallow your pride, Miss Rosie, and – for Master Harry’s sake – to go to him.” He smiled, “When you were little, and I was teaching you to ride, and you were being high-spirited – and even more stubborn than usual,” he added with a twinkle, “I’d say ‘Tom knows best’ and, after a while, you’d come round to my way of thinking and agree with me. Think on that now, Miss Rosie, and do as I ask.”
“There is a lady to see you, my lord.” The butler’s face was inscrutable and Jack eyed him in some surprise.
“Your words suggest that the lady is alone, Cholcombe.” Jack, seated at his desk, continued with the task of sharpening a pen. “In which case, I am sure that you have already denied me and that you would do so to any lady indiscreet enough to visit a gentleman in his home without the protection of her chaperone?”
Cholcombe bowed, his discomfiture obvious, “I did try, my lord, but the lady was most insistent. She said I must tell you that Miss Delacourt is most desirous to speak with you.”
Jack looked up at that. Cholcombe, who knew his moods well, was hard pushed to know what he was feeling. “Very well, show Miss Delacourt in. And, Cholcombe?” that faithful retainer waited, “You will strive to forget that Miss Delacourt has paid me this visit.”
Cholcombe permitted himself a tiny smile. “My memory is not at all good, my lord,” he stated blandly.
Rosie hesitated on the threshold, putting back the hood of her cloak to reveal a worried countenance, and Jack came forward, forgetting, if only momentarily, to keep his distance. Possessing himself of her hands, he scanned her troubled face in concern.
“Why, Rosie, what has happened to cause you such distress?” he asked, and the unexpectedly gentle note in his voice made her lip tremble slightly.
She returned the warm pressure of his clasp gratefully, “Oh, Jack,” her voice caught pathetically and she determinedly bit back the tears. “It is Harry …” Realising she was trembling, he drew her over to a sofa close to the fire, “Sir Clive has kidnapped him …” Jack stiffened at the mention of Sheridan’s name and abruptly released her hands.
“Kidnapped?” He repeated with no little stupefaction and she nodded. His manner had changed so quickly and dramatically that she felt suddenly nervous and struggled to find the right words.
“He … you see, I … we quarrelled and …” It had seemed an easy matter to explain when she had rehearsed it in the hired hack which brought her here. But now Jack raised his brows incredulously and under that supercilious stare her explanation floundered, “Tom said I should come to you and ask for your help,” she finished lamely.
“I feel Tom may be labouring under a misapprehension about my feelings where you are concerned, Miss Delacourt. I see no other reason why he would imagine I might embroil myself in your affairs.” Jack informed her coldly.
Rosie bit her lip, “Jack, you do not understand …” her voice refused to rise above a whisper.
“Oh, I think I do!” a mirthless smile just touched his lips. “You have had a tiff with your lover, and you imagine that flying to good old Jack for sympathy will serve to make him jealous!”
The first, tiny flicker of rage stirred within her at his mocking laugh. “And, as always, you have Tom twisted so tightly around your little finger that he is convinced I will be happy to help.”
“I told Tom that to come here would be a mistake!” Rosie burst out furiously, “I should have known you would be too pig-headed and stubborn to even listen to me!” She jumped up, whirling away from him and heading towards the door. She turned back, her fingers grasping the handle, and he thought she had never looked more beautiful than she did now, with her eyes flashing fire and her cheeks flushed. “I will find Harry myself and rescue him from the danger he is in … and …” she faltered, trying to find the right words.
“Good luck with that, hampered as you will be by your petticoats!” Jack looked her feminine attire up and down sardonically.
Rosie was so angry she could barely speak, “To … to hell with you, my lord!” and, whirling away, she slammed the door as hard as she could, causing Cholcombe, who had been loitering nearby in the hope of hearing something interesti
ng, to jump nervously and skitter away.
“Damn you, Jack, I should ram your teeth right out through the back of your throat.” Tom barged into the room where Jack was, once again, seated at his desk trying to concentrate on his sheaf of letters.
Jack raised a brow and regarded his friend’s furious face thoughtfully. “Why, Tom, what delightful surprise,” he drawled mockingly. “You will permit me to inform you that your society manners still leave something to be desired.”
“Don’t look down your nose and sneer at me, my lord!” Tom growled furiously. “I came only to tell you that, thanks to your refusal to help her, Rosie is hell bent on pursuing that cur of a betrothed of hers alone.”
Jack paused a moment, and Tom thought he saw a flicker of emotion in the depths of his eyes. It passed quickly, and he shrugged disdainfully, “You must be all about in your head if you think I’ll be dragged into Miss Delacourt’s romantic entanglements, Tom.”
Tom gave a strangled groan of frustration. “Give me strength! The Lord St Anton I once knew would not turn his back on a friend with this coldness of manner.”
