Jack smiled. He had been slightly concerned by Charity’s earlier evident confusion, but now that she had regained much of her composure his amusement at the situation in which he found himself had revived, though he was careful not to show it too openly. He was also slightly surprised by the lack of interest she had so far shown in the fate of the man she had just proposed to. It did not seem to suggest that her heart was inextricably bound to Edward.
“Well, as I said before,” he began, “my father, Richard, was the late Lord Riversleigh’s second son, and Edward’s father was his third son. But my father left Riversleigh thirty years ago, and when he did so Lord Riversleigh declared that as far as he was concerned he now had only two sons—Richard was dead to him.”
“How inhuman!” Charity gasped, her eyes fixed on Jack’s face, her dark curls dancing with indignation. “I never liked him! He behaved most unkindly to Edward for no good reason at all. Was there any reason for him to dislike your papa? Oh, dear! I mean…I mean…” She floundered to a halt, uncomfortably aware that once again she had allowed her tongue to run away with her.
“No,” said Jack. “My father refused to be ruled by my grandfather, but he never behaved dishonourably.”
“I never suspected he did!” Charity exclaimed indignantly. “Lord Riversleigh disliked Edward for being conscientious in his studies—and if that isn’t a crackbrained attitude for a guardian to hold I don’t know what is!”
“Quite.” Jack’s lips twitched, but he maintained an admirable gravity. “Anyway, my father married my mother not long after he left Riversleigh and, no doubt much to Lord Riversleigh’s annoyance, I was one of the consequences.”
“Did he know you existed?” Charity asked curiously. The workings of the late Lord Riversleigh’s mind had always been a mystery to her; she had never understood how he could be so cruel to those who should be closest to him.
“Oh, yes,” Jack replied. “I met him once, after my father died. I made it my business to do so—I wanted to know what kind of man he was—but when he discovered who I was he refused to acknowledge me. It didn’t greatly concern me. I had no idea that I might eventually succeed him.”
“Nor had anyone else,” said Charity. “At least…Edward didn’t know, did he?”
“No,” Jack said. “I believe my grandfather gave orders that my father’s name was never to be mentioned again. Over the years people must have forgotten, and even those who did know wouldn’t have spoken of the matter.”
“Of course not,” said Charity. “He could be quite…Poor Edward; I wonder what he’ll do now.”
In her first amazement she had not considered how Edward must feel about the whole thing, but now she felt sad that once more he had been unlucky. She stood up and walked over to the window, looking out at the holly tree that stood up against the blue sky beyond.
“You mustn’t think I’m not pleased for you, my lord,” she said. “But it must have been rather hard on Edward. Not that he wanted the title, but even if he hadn’t accepted my propo—I mean, at the very least the revenues of the estate could probably have provided him with a trip to Rome…Where is he?”
She swung round to face Jack as she suddenly realised that, interesting though all this was, she still didn’t have the one piece of information which was essential for the success of her plans.
“I’m afraid he’s already on his way to Italy,” Jack said quietly, watching Charity’s face carefully as he spoke.
He suspected that this news would be a great disappointment to her and, though he was not above being amused by the situation, he was reluctant to give her tidings which he was afraid would cause her real distress.
“Italy? But how on earth…?”
“As you said, it was something he’d wanted to do for a long time,” Jack continued smoothly. “I believe when he had the opportunity the excitement drove all other thoughts from his head. I’m sure he’ll be writing to you soon.”
“You mean, someone’s going to help him in his efforts to become an architect?” Charity asked incredulously.
“Yes.”
“Oh, I’m so glad!” she exclaimed, forgetting her own problems in her relief at Edward’s good fortune. “He’s worked so hard, and had so little support. He’ll enjoy that much more than being Lord Riversleigh!”
“I hope so,” said Jack, relieved at Charity’s reaction.
“He will,” Charity assured him. “Last time I saw him he insisted on reading me extracts from a book he’d just acquired about the ruins of some palace at Spal…Spally…”
“Spalatro,” Jack supplied. “I believe you mean the book by Robert Adam on The Ruins of the Palace of the Emperor Diocletian at Spalatro in Dalmatia.”
“That’s it!” said Charity. “How on earth did you know?”
“I’ve read it,” said Jack apologetically.
“Oh.” She looked at him blankly. “Are you an architect too, sir?”
“No, but I’ve always been interested in a variety of different crafts. It’s important not to have too narrow a viewpoint,” Jack said, and changed the subject abruptly. “At the risk of being impertinent, may I ask you a question, Miss Mayfield?”
“Of course. What is it?” Charity glanced at him apprehensively, suddenly reminded that he had read her letter and consequently knew far more about her than she might have wished.
“Are you very disappointed by the turn of events?” he asked. “As I’m sure you’ve realised, I’m afraid I read your letter. I must apologise for that—I don’t make a habit of reading other people’s correspondence, and I assure you I will treat what I read in confidence—but at first I didn’t quite know what to make of it.” He paused.
“No, I understand,” said Charity; she looked down at her hands, feeling very self-conscious.
“I hope so. When I realised you’d intended it for Edward I would have forwarded it to him unread, but it seemed as if you needed his assistance urgently because he was Lord Riversleigh, so I hoped that I might be able to help instead. I’m sorry that I can’t. But if you wish I’ll do everything in my power to get your message to him as soon as possible.”
“Thank you,” she said. “But it would be too late. Edward was my first choice, but I dare say I can manage without him. I shall just have to look about me again.”
“You mean, you’re going to ask someone else to marry you?” Jack had been leaning back negligently in his chair, but he sat up straight at this.
“No,” said Charity. “Unfortunately Edward is the only man I know who can be relied upon to be sensible about such things. Next time I must try and persuade them to propose to me.”
“Good God!” said Jack. For the first time during the interview he looked startled—he hadn’t expected this. “But what about Edward?”
“What about him?” Charity looked puzzled.
“Less than ten days ago you asked him to marry you!” Jack pointed out.
“Yes, but that was when I thought he was available. He’s no good to me in Italy!”
“No, I suppose not,” said Jack. He had relaxed again, his surprise giving way to amusement. “I gathered from your letter that you had very little time at your disposal, but I hope you will forgive me if I tell you that you seem to have a rather prosaic view of matrimony.”
“No, just practical,” Charity replied. “One should always be practical, don’t you think?”
“An admirable philosophy,” Jack agreed. “May I ask if you have anyone in particular in mind? I imagine the supply of eligible bachelors is fairly limited in this part of Sussex—though being an heiress must widen your choice.”
“You mean, you can’t imagine why anyone should want me without the sweetener of Uncle Jacob’s fortune?” Charity demanded, seizing on his last comment.
“No, of course not!” he replied quickly as he saw the flash in her dark eyes. “I was thinking aloud and what I said was very badly phrased. I only meant that for various reasons most heiresses have, or could have, a wider ci
rcle of acquaintances than many other ladies. More—perfectly unexceptional—doors are open to you. That must be useful if you’re looking for a husband.”
“Possibly,” said Charity cautiously. “Lord Riversleigh, may I ask a great favour of you? Until now, nobody apart from Mama and me—and our lawyer, of course—has known about Uncle Jacob’s fortune. I didn’t want them to. I still don’t.”
“Yes, I see,” said Jack slowly. “You mentioned something about that in your letter; I should have remembered. Don’t be alarmed; I’ll keep your secret.”
“Thank you.” She smiled with relief. “As you said, there aren’t a great many suitable men in the neighbourhood, but at least I know them, and I needn’t worry about their motives if one of them…” She paused, an arrested expression in her eyes. “Yes, yes, definitely,” she said after a moment as if she was speaking to herself—which she was. Then she suddenly recollected herself.
“Good heavens! How remiss of me. I haven’t even offered you any refreshment. Would you like some tea, my lord? Or some wine?” she asked brightly.
“Thank you.” Jack watched her pull the bell, and then allowed her to steer the conversation on to more mundane matters until after Charles had arrived with the tray and then departed, desperate with curiosity to know more of what was happening in the library.
“Is it really essential that you be married?” Jack asked when they were alone again. “I’ve no wish to appear impertinent, but our acquaintance began in such an unusual way that I trust you won’t be offended if I seem a little outspoken.”
Charity looked at him suspiciously, but his expression was perfectly grave and it was impossible to accuse him of laughing at her.
“No, it’s not essential,” she said at last. “But, since you’ve read my letter, you know why I need a husband.”
“To retain your home,” he said. “I can understand why you would wish to do that.” He looked appreciatively round the library as he spoke. “It’s a fine old house. When was it built?”
“Just before the Civil War,” Charity replied. “There were Mayfields living here for at least a century before that, but the old house was in a sad state of decay by the beginning of Charles I’s reign, and Thomas Mayfield had this one built. That’s Thomas there.”
She pointed at a portrait hanging on the chimney breast. It was quite a dark, almost a gloomy picture, certainly not by the hand of a master. But somehow it seemed to capture something of the spirit of the man it depicted. He was not a handsome man, but he looked both amiable and sensible—and his gaze was as direct as Charity’s.
“Unfortunately he didn’t have long to enjoy the house,” Charity continued. “He died a few years later, fighting for the Royalist cause, but his baby son inherited it and it’s remained in the family ever since.”
She sighed, and some of the animation died out of her face. She loved her home, and now that she had recovered from her initial astonishment at Jack Riversleigh’s unexpected arrival she was feeling sadly deflated. She hadn’t realised until now how much she had been counting on Edward.
“I’m sorry,” said Jack. “Is there no other way to save it?”
“No.” Charity shook her head.
“I see. It did occur to me that you would have to leave your home anyway, if you were married. Doesn’t that rather defeat your purpose?” Jack asked delicately.
“Yes, I know,” Charity replied impatiently. “But Mama would be able to continue here, and the rest of the household. It’s been their home for so long…Oh, well,” she continued more briskly, “I shouldn’t be burdening you with our problems, my lord. At least…” She paused, a speculative expression in her eyes as they rested on his face.
“Are you married, sir?” she asked at last.
Jack blinked and then gave a shout of laughter. “No, Miss Mayfield, nor do I have any immediate plans to be. Thank you.”
“Are you sure?” said Charity. “After all, the same considerations apply to you as did to Edward. Riversleigh is still mortgaged; it will still be difficult for you to pull it out of debt.”
“Miss Mayfield, you don’t know me,” Jack said more soberly. “Don’t think I’m not flattered, but I hope you don’t intend to fling yourself at every man you meet until the end of February. That’s a sure way to come to grief—particularly if you intend to offer them a fortune at the same time!”
“No, of course not,” said Charity impatiently. “You may think I’m a hoyden, but I assure you I’m not entirely lacking in sense. If you had agreed to marry me you would have kept the bargain—wouldn’t you?”
“Do you think every man would?” Jack asked, without answering her question.
“No. But I shan’t ask one who won’t.”
“I hope you don’t,” he said quietly, and stood up. “I must be going; I have already stayed far too long. Thank you for your hospitality. I trust your schemes will meet with success.”
“So do I.” Charity held out her hand and felt a curious moment of regret as his lips lightly brushed her fingers.
“Who is your next target?” he asked. “You’ve decided already, haven’t you?”
She looked at him consideringly. “I don’t think I’ll tell you that,” she said at last. “You might warn him.”
He laughed. “You do me an injustice,” he said. “I look forward with interest to our next meeting. Your servant, Miss Mayfield.”
When he was gone the library seemed oddly empty without his presence to fill it. Charity sat in the window-seat and gazed with unfocused eyes at the holly tree. All her plans had been completely overturned and now she would have to begin again, with ten days already wasted.
She was only roused when she heard her mother’s voice in the hall and realised Mrs Mayfield had returned from the Leydons’. No doubt she had already heard that Lord Riversleigh had visited. Charity suddenly woke up to the fact that she was going to have to tell her mother that Edward wasn’t the new Lord Riversleigh, and to explain why Jack Riversleigh had come to call!
She gasped and quickly tried to think of an excuse. And by the time the door opened and Mrs Mayfield came into the library she was able to smile at her mother quite calmly, ready for any question.
CHAPTER THREE
The morning after Jack Riversleigh’s unexpected visit Charity went out early for a walk. Mrs Mayfield was still in bed and Charity needed some peace away from the house to think. Her mind seemed to be divided: part of her was busy planning for their departure; part of her was hoping they’d never have to leave.
Mr Canby had visited again to tell her that Lord Ashbourne’s agent would soon be arriving to discuss the transfer, and Charity was trying to get everything in order before he did so. Mr Canby was doing what he could to help, and Mr Guthrie had offered his services also, but there were a great many things which only Charity could do.
Yet all the time she was adding up the household and farm accounts, or overseeing the packing of boxes, a voice in her head kept telling her that none of this was necessary, that everything would turn out fine in the end.
She shook her head irritably in an effort to clear it and walked briskly down the lane. There had been no rain since the last of the snow and, despite Mrs Mayfield’s fears and Mr Guthrie’s comments, the roads had remained surprisingly good. Charity had only to pick her way round the odd puddle and to avoid those boggy patches which never dried out except during exceptionally fine summers.
She still thought her plan of getting married was a good one, and Lord Riversleigh had been correct when he had suspected that she already had someone in mind.
Owen Leydon was much of an age with Edward Riversleigh and she had known him, like Edward, all her life. He would not have been her first choice—indeed, he hadn’t been—but she thought he would suit her purposes very well. The only difficulty was that she would have to adopt more circuitous means to achieve her end. With Edward you could be as blunt as you liked and he wouldn’t take offence—but she had always had to coax Owen ro
und to her viewpoint. In fact, there had been occasions when his stubbornness had driven her to distraction, but this time she was determined to be subtle.
The hedges on both sides of the lane were thick and well tended and, because she couldn’t see much over the top of them, she was glad when she reached a gate. There was no stock in the field and the gate had been left open, so she walked through it and stood looking out across the rolling farmland—Hazelhurst land. The sun was shining and it was surprisingly warm. It was the kind of morning when Charity found that it was impossible to stay indoors.
She took a deep breath and looked about her. To the right the field was edged by a hazel coppice, and in the centre a huge old oak tree raised its branches to the sky. She had climbed that tree as a child, and every year since she could remember she had come nutting here in autumn. She wondered if Lord Ashbourne liked hazelnuts, but, even if he did, he was unlikely to pick his own.
She would miss this when she left Hazelhurst. She would miss the easy access to the countryside, and the freedom she had always enjoyed there—but it wasn’t just memories she would be leaving behind her. She had worked hard and accomplished a great deal in the past few years and now, just as she felt she was really beginning to get somewhere, she had to hand over everything to a stranger.
Hazelhurst was a small estate, consisting only of the home farm and two tenant farms, but in the last few years, even before her father’s death, Charity had started to increase its efficiency. It wasn’t easy: the heavy Sussex Wealden clay didn’t lend itself to all the improvements possible in Norfolk or even further south on the Sussex Downs or coastal regions; and the impatience of her father and the old-fashioned notions of one of the tenants hadn’t helped.
But Charity had persisted. She had watched and waited and made tactful suggestions whenever the opportunity arose, coaxing change—never forcing it—and at last she was beginning to see the reward for her patience in the increased yields from all three farms. Only days ago she had been optimistic about the future, busy making plans for further improvements—and now she was to lose it all.
Ten Guineas on Love Page 3
