by Mary Nichols
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, as if it was the last place she expected him to be. The question screwed his insides up in painful guilt.
‘Watching over you. You gave us all a fright, you know.’ He was about to ask her why she had been so foolish as to run off like that and frighten her poor grandparents to death, when he heard Charlotte’s voice, as clearly as if she had been in the room with them. ‘The poor child does not need a scolding. She was cold and frightened, but she stuck to her guns. It was very brave of her. You should reassure her, not ring a peal over her.’ He smiled. ‘But you are safe and that is all that matters.’
‘The puppy. They took him from me.’
‘You were ill and had to be put to bed, but do not worry, he is safe and being looked after.’ He stood up, patted her hand and left the room. Five minutes later he returned with the puppy in his arms.
The nurse had come in while he was away and, seeing the puppy, drew herself up to her haughtiest. ‘My lord, you cannot bring an animal into the sick room.’
‘Oh, yes, I can. My daughter nearly died trying to save it and it repaid her by saving her life. It will aid her recovery to have it by her.’ And, ignoring the nurse’s protests, he dropped the puppy on to the bed beside Julia. She hugged it to her. ‘Oh, Papa, thank you.’
It was the first time he could remember her smiling at him in any sort of friendship and he felt a glow of sheer happiness spreading through him. ‘You were a brave girl, sweetheart, and now you must get better. Later we will talk. But now I must wash and shave and change into some clean clothes. I feel like a tramp.’
She giggled suddenly. ‘You look like one too.’ Then, still tired and drowsy, she murmured, ‘But I think I like you when you are not so stern and correct.’
‘Oh, Charlotte,’ he murmured as he went to his own room. ‘You were right and I cannot wait to tell you so. But I must be patient. You, of all people, will understand that.’
Chapter Seven
The carriage came to a halt at the door of The Crow’s Nest and Stacey jumped down without waiting for Jem to climb from the driving seat and to let down the step. ‘Wait there,’ he said to Julia and strode up to the front door and knocked.
He had written to Charlotte at Easterley Manor as soon as he knew Julia was on the mend, but had received no reply. It left him wondering if she had moved without leaving a forwarding direction, or if she was still there, still unable to leave. Supposing those men had intercepted her mail and, knowing she was now in funds, had found a way of depriving her of them? The uncertainty had driven him nearly insane.
He had longed to set off to find out for himself, but he had made a vow not to go away and leave his daughter again. It was a promise he meant to keep and so he had watched over her day by day, sat at her bedside, brought her little treats, until she grew strong enough to be dressed and come downstairs. He was still awkward with her, didn’t know what to talk to her about, had started to tell her things and then suddenly realised they were not stories for young girls.
What on earth did you talk about to girls? Her lessons? They bored her. Fashions and society? She declared she had no interest in them. Animals? That was better. His father had been right and he had been wrong, she did have a feminine streak—she was soft-hearted when it came to birds and animals. Susan Handy had told him she had once risked being torn to pieces by the hounds in order to rescue a young fox they had chased into a corner. And she loved to ride. That was something they had in common and, as soon as she was well enough, they had taken long rides together, galloping across the open countryside that surrounded the Hall. There were several riding horses in the Malcomby stables, but he missed Ivor and meant to fetch him as soon as he could and find a way to restore Lady Hobart’s jewels to her, but in the meantime he must concentrate on Julia.
Little by little she had thawed, and he found her to be a delightful and intelligent companion who knew more about nature and the countryside than he did and very little literature and mathematics, geography or history. She had no interest in female pursuits like needlework and, when forced to do it, the result was a mess of lumpy, misplaced stitches, though she could draw well. He had seen sketches of rabbits and stoats that were admirably executed.
She still did not like being curbed and hated discipline of any kind. It was going to be a long road, this getting to know his daughter, and, although he had found a love for her he had not realised he had, he ached for Charlotte. It did not help to tell himself that she was strong and if she could manage a dozen children she could surely manage three ill-mannered men, and that her brother-in-law, for all his faults, would not allow the other two to lay hands on her.
It was not only that he was concerned for her welfare, it was his own feeling of having let something good slip through his fingers, something he had been looking for all his life, that he found so unbearable. He wanted to be with her, protecting her, arguing with her, holding her and oh, yes, kissing those red lips and exploring every inch of her. And it was not raw desire, though that figured hugely, but a real, enduring love of her as a person, the woman she was. And he cared not one jot what her rank was; that she was well-born enough to be approved by his parents was simply a bonus.
But if he went back, would she be there? Would she give up her grand plans to be his wife? Would she jump at the chance to escape the life she was leading to become a viscountess? And there was Julia to consider. Her opposition could make his wife’s life very uncomfortable indeed. It was all conjecture, of course. He had no idea what Charlotte herself thought of him. He had let her down and, although he had written to explain, it was evidently not enough to appease her or she would have written saying she understood and forgave him.
It all came to a head one day in late April when he saw an advertisement in a London newspaper, which his father had sent down to Malcomby every day. ‘The Sir Grenville Hobart School for young ladies has limited vacancies for the daughters of gentlemen,’ it said. ‘The school is ideally situated in its own grounds and has excellent facilities for the proper education of young ladies.’ He smiled at the use of the word proper. He would take a wager Charlotte’s idea of proper was very different from her pupils’ mothers. The announcement went on to list the curriculum and invited interested parents to send for a prospectus. The address given was John Hardacre’s. So Charlotte had her school after all. He had written at once to Hardacre, asking for her whereabouts.
‘Would you like to come on a trip with me?’ he asked Julia the day he had John’s reply. She had fully recovered, but as he had decided he could not leave her again, she would have to come with him. Knowing she was capable of dressing herself, they had left Miss Handy at home.
Now he stood on the step of The Crow’s Nest, unsure of his reception and as nervous as a schoolboy on his first day at school. Had she received his letter and decided to ignore it? Had she given him up as not worthy of a second thought? Did she hate him for breaking his word to her? Did she think he was a thief? He fingered the small bag of jewels he had in his pocket—would they convince her he was not?
The door opened and he found himself facing one of the servants he had seen at Easterley Manor; Betsy, he thought her name was, and she did not look at all welcoming, no doubt associating him with Lord Hobart and his guests. He gave her a reassuring smile and touched his hat. ‘Is Lady Hobart at home?’
‘No, my lord.’ It was said firmly.
‘When will she be home? I have come a long way and I have my daughter with me.’ He nodded towards the carriage where Julia sat with her head out, bonnet askew, looking about her. ‘Do you think we might come in and wait?’
‘I can’t let you in when her ladyship a’n’t here,’ the woman said, almost filling the doorway with her bulk. ‘It’s more’n I dare do. Come back later.’
‘This is a school, how can there be no one here?’ He was becoming impatient with her, though he realised that was unjust. Betsy was only protecting her mistress and had probably been given
instructions not to admit anyone, especially anyone from the Manor.
‘They are all down on the beach.’
‘Oh, I see. Thank you.’ He turned away and went back to the carriage he had bought expressly for the journey, a light chaise drawn by two horses and requiring only Jem, his personal servant, to drive it. ‘Come, Julia,’ he said, opening the door. ‘We are going for a walk.’
Charlotte had, as yet, no fee-paying pupils, but she told herself she must not expect too much too soon and as her teaching methods were a little eccentric, she must prove they worked. Mr Hardacre had promised to put in a word for her with a couple he knew who might send their daughter, but as yet she had heard nothing.
The village children came every day to take their lessons with Lizzie and Fanny, trudging up from the village at nine in the morning and returning at two in the afternoon. The arrangement seemed to be working well and she was kept busy, preparing lessons and teaching, because so far she had not engaged more staff, relying, as before, on the help of the Reverend for those lessons she did not feel qualified to take. She was reluctant to spend more than was necessary of the funds Mr Hardacre had put at her disposal because she did not know how long they would last. Without an income from paying pupils, perhaps not very long.
On a practical level her life was on an even keel, but on an emotional level, it was as topsy-turvy as ever. Her disappointment in Stacey Darton was profound and, though she told herself it was simply because of his duplicity and the way he had tricked her out of her jewellery, she could not banish him from her thoughts. He invaded her sleep and her awakening, invaded the school room and the kitchen where Betsy worked as her only household servant, invaded the children’s bedroom when she went to see that they had settled down for the night, even thrust himself into her prayers. Especially he was in her prayers.
He had been the one bright light in the gloom of her time at the Manor since the arrival of Cecil and his cronies and she could not believe that he was as black and malicious as they were. Time and again she remembered his kind words of warning, the way he deflected the other men’s offensive attention from her, the way he had returned the five guineas Cecil had stolen from her and won her jewels. She could feel again the pressure of his lips on hers and heard again in her head his murmured endearment when he said he would come back. But he hadn’t, had he? How he must be laughing at her! But why had he left that valuable horse at the inn? Was the animal still there or had he fetched it? Where had he gone? Had something dreadful happened to prevent him returning? She did not want to think of him being hurt, but was that preferable to thinking he had tricked her?
She told herself over and over again to stop torturing herself with questions like that and for a large part of most days she succeeded. But today, for some reason she could not fathom, she could not think of anything else. She found it so difficult to concentrate, she decided to take the children onto the beach for some exercise. But it was worse there, for that was where she had first met him, had first been the object of the scrutiny of his humour-filled brown eyes. He seemed to be everywhere, in the wind blowing off the sea, in the waves that crashed on to the shore, in the air she breathed, walking towards her along the strand. A figment of her imagination, she told herself sternly.
But the image refused to dissolve into nothingness as figments had a habit of doing; this one was very substantial. He came slowly towards her, so slowly she was able to take in every detail of his dress and manner. He wore a dark green coat with a high collar, light brown pantaloons and highly polished Hessians. He was carrying his hat to save it being carried from his head in the wind, which ruffled his dark hair. He was here! He had come back!
Her emotions went into a spin and she could not move. The incoming tide was lapping around her feet and the children had stopped their excited chatter to stare at the elegant newcomer, but she could not stir. Love and anger did battle in her head and heart. She did not know what to do. She wanted to run into his arms and cry with joy, at the same time to beat her fists against his chest and call him a thief, a deceiver, a mountebank. But her voice had gone; nothing came out but a croak.
He stopped three feet from her, scanning her face. ‘Lady Hobart. How do you do?’ It was said quietly, almost tentatively, except that he was too sure of himself to be nervous. It annoyed her. Did he expect her to welcome him with open arms?
‘My lord.’ She came to her senses enough to acknowledge him. ‘I did not expect to see you again.’ She surprised herself with how calm she sounded.
‘I said I would return.’ He looked about him for signs of the kind of pupils she hoped to have, but all he saw were her two daughters and the village children. Did that mean her school was not yet up and running?
‘So you did, but there is a mile of difference between saying and doing. Six weeks’ difference.’
‘I am sorry for that.’ He turned from her and, for the first time, she realised he was not alone. There was a girl behind him, dressed in a pale pink muslin dress and silk cape. Her hair, beneath the straw bonnet she wore, was as dark as Stacey’s and her eyes were the same golden brown, but without the humour of Stacey’s. In fact, she was looking decidedly mulish. He took her hand and drew her forward. ‘May I present my daughter, Julia, my lady? Julia, this is Lady Hobart.’
Charlotte smiled at the child. ‘Julia, how do you do? I have heard so much about you, it is good to meet you at last.’
Stacey gave the girl a nudge and she gave a reluctant bob before murmuring, ‘My lady.’
‘Come and say hallo to the others,’ Charlotte said, taking her hand and drawing her towards the children. ‘This is Elizabeth and this is Frances. This scamp is Danny and the little one is his sister, Meg.’ She went on to name them all, then added, ‘We were gathering shells to see how many different ones there are and later we are going to look them up in some books. Would you like to join in?’
The village children simply stared at her, but it was Lizzie, who was nearest to her in age, who took her hand and began to show her their finds so far. Charlotte, who had decided to be cool and dignified, turned back to Stacey. ‘Well, my lord, what brings you back to Parson’s End?’
‘I have unfinished business in the neighbourhood.’ Why, in heaven’s name, was he being belligerent when all he longed to do was take her in his arms? He could not do that in front of the children, but he could have made himself more pleasant. ‘You may recall I told you I was searching for a school for my daughter.’
‘Yes, but we agreed you were unlikely to find it in Parson’s End.’
‘I do not remember agreeing that. On the contrary, I recall being interested in your ideas. I assume you have a school, since you have advertised its existence—’
‘It exists.’ She was sharp and snappy and didn’t seem able to help it, but then it was he who was in the wrong and she had no intention of humiliating herself by letting him see how hurt she was. ‘It was fortunate that I did not, after all, need the money from those jewels. For all you knew or cared, I could have still been at the Manor, still being insulted by those horrible men, could even have come to harm at their hands.’
‘God forbid.’
‘It was as well He did, for it was no good relying on you, was it? What I cannot understand is why, since you absconded with my jewellery, you bothered to come back at all?’
‘Is that what you thought, that I had made off with your jewels?’
‘What else was I to think?’
‘You could have trusted me.’
‘I did and have ever since been wondering why I did. It was fortunate that Mr Hardacre discovered that my own dear Grenville had provided for me after all.’
He almost winced when she spoke of her husband in such glowing terms. Now was most decidedly not the time to tell her whom she really had to thank for the change in her fortune. ‘So you decided to use it to go ahead with your school?’
‘Yes, of course. Why would I not?’
‘If your husband left you
well provided for, there was surely no need—’
‘No need at all,’ she said waspishly. ‘But it was something I have wanted to do for a long time. I thought you understood that, but there, I do not think I can be a very good judge of what men think. They appear to say one thing and mean another…’ She was looking at him, studying his face, wishing desperately that they could begin this conversation again, that he would explain, show a little humility, convince her she had been wrong to doubt him, but he said nothing, simply met her gaze and made her feel weak. She did not realise that the tide was coming in and that the wind was whipping up the waves. He was facing the sea and saw a breaker that was about to engulf them and suddenly scooped her up in his arms and carried her to safety.
Without putting her down, he turned to see that the children were safe. Squealing with a mixture of delight and fear, they raced ahead of the breaker, until they were out of its reach. They turned open-mouthed, to see Charlotte in the arms of the man who was showing no sign of setting her back on her feet.
‘Put me down at once, sir,’ Charlotte hissed in an undertone.
‘If I must.’ It was said with a sigh and a mischievous smile.
‘Of course you must. We are not alone. The children…’
The children, yes, he could not forget their presence; it was why he had not been able to speak openly to her about his feelings. And she had been so unwelcoming, so ready to castigate him, he suddenly realised those feelings were not reciprocated. He set her down, but kept her hand in his as another breaker, bigger than the first, surged towards the land. ‘Run, children, run,’ he called and, scooping little Meg up with his free arm, herded them all to the safety of the foot of the cliffs, where he reluctantly released Charlotte’s hand and set Meg on her feet. It was while the children were putting on their shoes that he realised that Julia was standing a little to one side, glaring at him. His actions had obviously upset her and the last thing he wanted was for her and Charlotte to be at odds with one another. He went and put his arm about her shoulders and they climbed the cliff back to The Crow’s Nest together.
