Ten Guineas on Love

by Claire Thornton

  Soon she would be sitting meekly in a shabby drawing-room in a provincial town, with nothing more exciting to think about than her embroidery or the gossip of her neighbours.

  I’ll go mad, she thought. But, of course, if her plans succeeded she would be married to Owen and living at Leydon House. For a moment her courage failed her—was that really the best solution? The memory of her conversation with Lord Riversleigh rose unbidden in her mind and once again she experienced an unaccountable sense of regret. But then she thought of Mrs Mayfield and Mrs Wendle and all the other people for whom Hazelhurst was home, and her resolve to marry Owen returned. To be sure, her household didn’t know she was planning their salvation, but, all the same, she couldn’t let them down.

  There were catkins in the hedge and she picked some, meaning to take them back for Mrs Mayfield. In the distance she could hear the sound of hounds in full cry and she was dimly aware that the hunt was out, but it was not until the fox ran straight past her and out through the gate that she realised how close it was. She swung round and saw the first of the hounds racing towards her across the field.

  Later she couldn’t explain what she did next, but at the time she was only aware of a sudden uncharacteristic anger at the dogs. Perhaps she felt a momentary affinity with the fox because she felt it was being driven from its home in much the same way that she was being driven from hers.

  Whether that was the case or not, with Charity thinking inevitably led to action. She dropped the bunch of catkins, heaved the heavy gate up on its hinges and staggered round to close it, letting it fall back in place just as the first of the huntsmen came over the opposite hedge, hard on the heels of the hounds. At the same moment the enormity of what she had done occurred to her—and she realised that she had shut herself in on the wrong side of the gate.

  She wasn’t frightened of the hounds, but the dogs would be followed by men, and even Charity’s courage failed her at the thought of what Sir Humphrey Leydon would have to say about what she’d done!

  She began to edge her way along the hedge, hoping that in the heat of the chase no one would notice her. The hounds had already reached the gate and checked. They couldn’t get through it, or below it—it was too low to the ground and the bars were too closely spaced. They whined and spread out on either side of it, forcing their way through gaps in the thick hedge. The first of them were through, but they checked again: they had temporarily lost the scent.

  Charity kept walking along the hedge and, to her relief, it seemed that nobody had noticed her, or knew what she had done. She spotted Sir Humphrey and some red-faced tenant farmers and a thin-faced man she didn’t recognise, but none of them saw her. They were anxious for the gate to be opened, for the chance to continue the chase.

  There was a fuss and some delay. It was a heavy gate, not easily opened from the back of a horse, and one of the whippers-in had to dismount. Then the last of the hounds went through, followed by the riders, and Charity was alone again, listening to the sounds of the retreating hunt.

  “Charity! What the devil did you do that for? How dare you ruin my father’s hunt?”

  Charity stopped and turned round slowly.

  Owen Leydon was riding up behind her—and he was furious.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said weakly; she couldn’t afford to argue with Owen now!

  “I saw you close the gate. How dare you do such a thing?” Owen was almost shaking with rage at what he considered to be her unpardonable interference; and his anger was undoubtedly made worse because until she’d closed the gate they’d been enjoying one of the best chases of the season.

  “Oh.” She realised he must have been the first rider over the hedge, and she could hardly deny his accusation.

  “I…I don’t know what came over me,” she said, trying to propitiate him, but unfortunately only increasing his anger by her procrastination. “I think I must have been startled when I suddenly saw all those hounds bearing down on me!”

  “Nonsense!” Owen might have been conciliated if Charity had made an immediate and frank apology, but he had known her far too long to be convinced by what he considered a very feeble excuse. “I don’t believe you. You’re no more frightened of the hounds than I am. You were deliberately trying to sabotage the hunt! What were you trying to do? Make my father look like a fool? Don’t you know we have an important visitor from London staying with us?”

  “Indeed I don’t know. How should I?” Any intention Charity might have had to apologise disintegrated completely at this unfounded accusation. “Why should I want to ruin your stupid hunt?”

  “I don’t know,” Owen said disagreeably, the heat of his fury having died down into sullen animosity. “I’ve never understood the crazy notions you take in your head. But I do know a more contrary, obstinate, self-willed girl can’t exist!”

  “I beg your pardon?” By now Charity was so rigid with indignation that she hardly cared what she said. “But this is Hazelhurst land you’re riding across—and cutting up with all your pounding hoofs—and if I want to close the gate on my own land I have every right to do so!”

  “Not when the hounds are running! Well, all I can say is that it’s fortunate my father doesn’t know what you did. Good day, Miss Mayfield,” Owen ended, and wheeled about to follow the hunt without waiting for Charity to reply.

  She stepped back to avoid the mud thrown up from the horse’s hoofs and tripped over a rut in the ground, falling heavily.

  It hurt; but instead of calling out she sat up and rubbed her elbow ruefully, watching Owen disappear through the gate, unaware of her accident.

  “And a perfect opportunity missed,” said an amused voice behind her.

  She looked up quickly to see Lord Riversleigh dismounting from a fine bay gelding.

  “Are you hurt, Miss Mayfield?” He pulled the reins over the horse’s head and led him over to her.

  “No, of course not!” Charity exclaimed, feeling rather annoyed at being discovered in such an undignified position by someone who seemed so very point-device. Nevertheless, she accepted the hand he offered her and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

  “Thank you. What are you doing here? What do you mean, ‘a perfect opportunity’?” she asked, running one question straight on from the other.

  “And I’m delighted to meet you again, Miss Mayfield. Very fine weather we’re having for the time of year, don’t you think?” Jack said, looking at her in some amusement. She was so unselfconsciously outspoken that he found the impulse to tease her irresistible.

  Charity blinked at him, then she laughed and held out her hand. “I’m sorry, I’ve never been very good at polite conversation. How do you do?”

  “Very well, thank you.” He took her hand and kissed it gracefully, and she felt her fingers tingle at the touch of his lips.

  “As to your first question, I was out riding when I heard the sound of the hunt and I thought I’d watch it pass,” he explained as he straightened up. “And as to your second…am I by any chance correct in suspecting that that’s the young man who is destined to take Edward’s place in your plans?”

  “What if he is?” Charity asked cautiously. She was trying, ineffectually, to brush the mud and pieces of dead twig from her skirts, and feeling at a decided disadvantage.

  “Then I stand by my first opinion: you did indeed miss a perfect opportunity,” Jack declared.

  “I don’t understand,” Charity said. She was still feeling ruffled from her encounter with Owen and she wasn’t at all sure she cared for the amused expression in Lord Riversleigh’s grey eyes. He was so entirely different from the other men she knew that she couldn’t predict his reactions at all.

  “You should have cried out when you fell,” he explained gravely. “A few tears, perhaps a little raillery against his brutish conduct in causing you to fall, and he would have been your devoted servant. You could probably have had the whole thing settled in a trice.”

  Charity gasped. “How could you
think me so ungentlemanly?” she demanded. “It wasn’t Owen’s fault I fell over. I should scorn to use such devious methods!”

  Jack shook his head in mock sadness, an appreciative gleam in his eyes as they rested on the riot of dark curls which framed a face both unselfconsciously pretty and very feminine.

  “Then I fear that if you cannot bring yourself to be ungentlemanly in the pursuit of a husband you are destined to remain a spinster, Miss Mayfield,” he said.

  “I am not!” Charity declared, outraged. “I wager you ten guineas I’m married by the end of the month.”

  Lord Riversleigh laughed. “Come, allow me to escort you home,” he said, and offered her the support of his arm.

  She stepped away from him and put her hands behind her back.

  “Are you refusing my wager, sir?”

  “Well, it’s certainly not my habit to make bets on such a subject.” Jack looked at her in some exasperation. “Are you coming down to the gate or are you going to try to force your way through the hedge?”

  Charity stopped backing away—it was perfectly true that the sharp hawthorn twigs were beginning to dig into her—and looked at him challengingly. “I think you’re afraid I’ll win,” she said scornfully.

  There was a moment’s silence. Then, “Very well, Miss Mayfield,” Lord Riversleigh replied. “I accept your wager. If I lose I’ll buy you a wedding present—unless you’d prefer cash.”

  “Thank you,” Charity said regally. “But perhaps you’d better not make the wager after all. I’m afraid you’ll soon be sadly out of pocket.”

  “I hope so, Miss Mayfield,” said Jack politely. “I would hate to see you dwindle into an old maid.”

  For a moment they stared at each other, then Charity laughed and took his proffered arm.

  “I wouldn’t like it either,” she confided. “It wouldn’t suit my plans at all. How are you settling in at the Hall? Do you feel at home?”

  “I wouldn’t say that it much resembles my notion of a home,” said Jack precisely as they made their way over the uneven ground towards the gate. “Too much decaying grandeur for my taste. You must realise, I’m a simple man, Miss Mayfield. On the other hand, the people have been very welcoming.”

  “I expect they’re curious,” said Charity, without mentioning that his notions of simplicity didn’t quite tally with hers. “Besides, anyone would be a better master than Lord Riversleigh was, or Harry would have been,” she continued.

  “It’s not what I’ve been brought up to,” said Jack, “but I shall do my best not to disappoint them.” And Charity heard an unaccustomed note of seriousness in his voice as he spoke.

  “There’s no need to come any further with me,” she said as they reached the gate. “If you’re going back to the Hall our paths lie in opposite directions. Are you really going to do your best for Riversleigh?”

  “Certainly.” He looked down at her. “I did not ask for the responsibility, but I have no intention of shirking it.”

  “You could milk the estate for all it’s worth and live the high life in London, just like your grandfather,” Charity said. “But I hope you won’t. Lord Riversleigh was a bad landlord—sometimes I think Mr Guthrie despaired of him.”

  “Yes, I trust I shall do better than my grandfather,” said Jack. He gathered up the reins and swung easily into the saddle.

  “Good morning, Miss Mayfield; I hope all your plans meet with success,” he said, but as he glanced down at her upturned face it occurred to him that it might be a pity if she was too successful. His impression of Owen Leydon was necessarily imperfect, but he was afraid that Charity’s more unusual and delightful qualities would be wasted on the young man.

  “I look forward to our next meeting,” he said. “I shall be anxious to hear of your progress with your friend—or shall I say victim?” He smiled at her wickedly and touched his heels to the bay’s sides before Charity could think of a suitable response.

  She watched him go, fulminating at his impertinence. Then her mood changed abruptly and she sighed. Her conversations with Lord Riversleigh seemed destined to follow unusual channels, but at least he had never exasperated her with his stupidity. How different he was from Owen—or even Edward, who had never been more than half aware of the world around him. But Edward was on his way to Rome, and Owen was the only hope of saving Hazelhurst.

  She turned and began to walk home, hoping that she could get back into the house without anyone seeing her, because if they did she’d no doubt be drawn into a tedious explanation about how she had come to be covered in mud. She seemed to be spending all her time at the moment explaining awkward circumstances—and she was annoyed with herself for having lost her temper first with Owen and then a second time with Lord Riversleigh. How could he have provoked her into making such a foolish wager? And now she had to find some way of ingratiating herself with Owen again.

  * * *

  “Well, m’lord?” Mr Guthrie asked, his eyes on Lord Riversleigh’s face.

  “Not well at all,” said Jack. He sat back and looked at the land agent, a book of accounts open on the desk before him. “Even from my cursory glance at the accounts I can see that things are in a bad way and, from my understanding, the whole of Riversleigh is in a run-down or dilapidated state.”

  “Aye, m’lord,” said Mr Guthrie drily.

  “Very well.” Jack tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the desk once or twice before continuing. “Now, as you know, my experience hitherto has been entirely confined to the City, and, whatever success I might have had there, I am a complete novice at estate management. On the other hand, I see no reason why I shouldn’t learn—and my father always spoke very highly of your capabilities, so…” suddenly he smiled “…I don’t see any reason why between us we can’t bring Riversleigh about.”

  “It won’t be easy,” the land agent warned. “It needs money to be put into it, not taken out—there’ll be no easy profits here.”

  “Do I look like your idea of a complaisant banker, Guthrie?” Jack asked gently.

  “No, m’lord.” The land agent looked at him thoughtfully. “I’m bound to say you lack sufficient girth to be convincing in the role.”

  “Thank you.” Lord Riversleigh inclined his head ironically. “I’ll need to study the books at greater leisure, of course. And I’d like you to show me over the estate as soon as possible. I have a lot to learn.”

  “Whenever it’s convenient.” Mr Guthrie stood up, wincing a little as he took his weight on his bad leg. “There is one matter that should be dealt with urgently, m’lord.”

  “What is it?”

  “You’re in need of a tenant for one of your farms. The present lease has expired, and Bellow doesn’t want to renew it.”

  “I see.” Jack remembered the reference to Bellow in Charity’s letter to Edward; he also remembered her advice as to his choice of tenant, but he didn’t mention that the matter was already familiar to him. Instead he asked, “Do you have anyone in mind?”

  “Yes, sir. Jerry Burden. He’s the eldest son of one of the Mayfields’ tenants. He’s young, but he’s learned a lot from his father, and Sam Burden is one of the best farmers in the area. I think he would be a good choice. Of course…” Mr Guthrie hesitated “… I should tell you that your grandfather disagreed with me,” he said at last, somewhat reluctantly. “He favoured Nat Cooper.”

  “But you didn’t,” said Jack. “Well, my knowledge of farming may be limited, but I believe I’m a fair judge of men. You say this young man lives on the Mayfield estate? I’ll ride over tomorrow and meet him.”

  “I could have him come to the hall,” Mr Guthrie offered.

  “No, don’t do that; I’d rather meet him on his home ground when he’s not expecting me.”

  “Do you wish me to accompany you?”

  “Thank you, no. I’ll find my own way,” Jack said as he stood up. If the luck favoured him—and Jack had a way of influencing his own luck—he might meet Charity again; and he had no particu
lar desire for the land agent to be present at such a meeting.

  He had been quite sincere when he had told Charity that he had no immediate plans for marriage, but it was also true that he had found her an extremely stimulating and entertaining companion. He was certainly looking forward to further encounters with her and, though he had no real expectation that her scheme to inveigle Owen into proposing would be successful, their wager gave him an excellent excuse to seek her out. All in all, his stay in Sussex promised to be far more pleasurable than he had anticipated.

  He dismissed that train of thought from his mind and said to Guthrie, “I won’t need you in the morning, but if you have no other pressing business to attend to I’d like to see the rest of Riversleigh tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Very well, m’lord.” Mr Guthrie bowed stiffly and went out. To all appearances, his new master was a vast improvement on the old, and the land agent had always liked Richard Riversleigh, but Guthrie was not in the habit of making hasty decisions and he would reserve judgement for a little longer.

  * * *

  “Mr Leydon, ma’am,” Charles announced.

  “Owen! Good heavens! Whatever can he want?” Mrs Mayfield exclaimed. “How very peculiar. Yes, of course, show him in, Charles.”

  “Mrs Mayfield.” Owen bowed punctiliously in her direction and then turned with a hint of awkwardness in his manner to Charity.

  “Good evening, Owen,” she said cautiously, hoping he wasn’t going to say anything embarrassing in front of her mother. She’d told Mrs Mayfield she’d tripped in the lane; she didn’t want any more lectures on her unladylike behaviour.

  “Charity.” He stood in the middle of the room, looking uncomfortable. “I came…I wanted…That’s a very pretty cap you’re wearing, ma’am,” he finished desperately, addressing himself to Mrs Mayfield as his courage failed him.

  “Thank you,” she smiled, delighted at the compliment. “Won’t you sit down? I’ll ask Charles to bring us some wine. How dark it is already. These short winter days pass so quickly, don’t they? Ring the bell, Charity.”