Ten Guineas on Love

by Claire Thornton

  “I see,” said Owen stiffly; he looked very put out. “I thought you wanted me to come and see you today, but if you’ve changed your mind…”

  “No, no, indeed I haven’t,” Charity said hastily. “I’m so glad you’ve come. There’s something I particularly need to ask you.

  “Lord Riversleigh,” she turned to Jack, “thank you for giving Jerry the lease; I’m sure you won’t regret doing so. And thank you for escorting me so far of the way home. I don’t think I need to trespass on your time any further—I’m sure Owen will be happy to see me the rest of the way.”

  “The pleasure has been all mine, Miss Mayfield,” Jack replied politely, accepting his dismissal gracefully. His expression was grave, but she thought she saw amusement in his eyes and she acknowledged it with a slightly rueful look in her own.

  “Mr Leydon.” Jack took his leave of Owen. Then he turned the bay and considerately urged him into a steady canter. He thought Owen, and therefore Charity, would probably be glad to see the back of him as quickly as possible. It was very difficult to have a good argument when the cause of it was still within earshot—and the more Charity and Owen argued, the better.

  “I thought you were going to be busy today,” said Owen belligerently as he watched Jack disappear from view. “Couldn’t Gregory have shown that fellow where the Burdens live just as well? There was no need for you to make a spectacle of yourself, riding about the fields with a total stranger!”

  “I am busy,” Charity retorted, “but I had to see Mrs Burden anyway. She’s very anxious about all the changes that are going to happen. Besides, ‘that fellow’ is not a total stranger, he’s Lord Riversleigh, and a perfectly respectable gentleman.”

  “Respectable gentleman!” Owen exclaimed. “I heard he’s nothing but the grandson of a common tradesman. He may possess the title, but he certainly doesn’t have any breeding. Father was saying only last night that it’s not surprising the old Lord should have disowned his son if he married so far beneath him. He must be turning in his grave at the thought of such an upstart stepping into his shoes!”

  “If that’s what Sir Humphrey thinks then he must be a narrow, bigoted fool!” Charity declared, her eyes sparkling with indignation. “I’d rather see an honest coal-heaver’s son as Lord of Riversleigh than the mean-spirited, bullying, apology for a man who would otherwise have inherited it. Harry’s birth might have been unimpeachable, but the only man I’ve ever respected less was his father!”

  “Well, I know the late Lord wasn’t exactly…” Owen was beginning, somewhat taken aback by Charity’s vehemence and precluded by his innate honesty from defending the late Riversleigh, when he suddenly remembered what she’d said about Sir Humphrey.

  “How dare you speak about my father so? At least he’s not a worthless wastrel who gambled away his family’s inheritance, and left his wife and children to be turned out of their home!” Owen stopped, appalled at what he had just said.

  Charity stared at him, her face deathly pale. She was too shocked even to be angry, and she didn’t say a word.

  “Charity, I’m sorry! I never meant to say that…you just made me so angry. Charity! Don’t look like that!”

  In his agitation Owen leant over and gripped Charity’s arm, shaking it in an effort to get through to her.

  The grey mare didn’t like being crowded so close, and snorted. Then she tossed up her head and sidled away.

  “No. You didn’t mean to say it, but it was what you were thinking,” Charity said, her voice cold and even. “And who shall blame you? It must be what everyone in the country is thinking. But don’t ever say so in my presence again, Owen.”

  “No, I promise. I’ll go now,” said Owen humbly. This cold, calm Charity was new to him, and much more disturbing than the old hot-tempered Charity who flared up at the slightest annoyance.

  He began to ride away, and Charity watched him go.

  The groom watched with interest. Miss Charity was certainly having a busy ride. First the conversation under the oak tree with Lord Riversleigh, now a full-scale quarrel with Mr Owen. Gregory hadn’t been able to hear what had been said under the oak tree, but he knew what the argument with Owen had been about and he felt sorry for Charity. She might be too free with her tongue, and she certainly shouldn’t have said what she did about Sir Humphrey, but Owen had had no business to come back at her like that. Any fool could guess how badly she felt about what Mr Mayfield had done—she didn’t need her face rubbed in it. Gregory was glad to see Owen riding away. He was disappointed when he heard Charity call after him.

  “Owen! Owen, wait a minute. It was my fault. If I hadn’t abused Sir Humphrey you’d never have said it. I know that.”

  Owen came back to her. “That’s no excuse,” he said. “Just because you provoked me I should never…”

  “Let’s forget we ever had this conversation, shall we?” Charity asked, and held out her hand, smiling at him, though she couldn’t quite hide the hurt in her eyes. “We’ve been friends for far too long to be on bad terms now.” Strangely enough, she wasn’t thinking about her plans to save Hazelhurst; she just didn’t like being seriously at odds with someone she had played and bickered with since childhood.

  Owen looked at her as if seeing her for the first time—perhaps he was. He’d known her for so long that he never really thought about her, or what she thought or felt. He’d taken her for granted. But now he was seeing a side of her he’d never even suspected, and he thought he liked it.

  “You’re a remarkable girl,” he said slowly. “Lyddy wouldn’t have forgiven me.” Lydia was his sister.

  “I’m not Lyddy.” Charity smiled wryly. Lydia was the darling of the Leydon household, pampered and spoiled since birth. She was perfectly good-natured, but Charity had never had much in common with her.

  “Come back to the house and I’ll find you something to eat,” Charity offered.

  “Well, I must admit, I am devilish hungry,” Owen confessed. “It seems such a long time since I last ate.”

  “It’s always a long time since you last ate.” Charity laughed. “Even if it was only five minutes ago!”

  “No, that’s not fair!” Owen declared. But from his new perspective he was thinking how well Charity knew him. He remembered all the times she had anticipated his wishes in the past, and how bravely she had bandaged up his leg with her petticoats when they had both been thirteen and he had fallen out of a tree and cut himself on a sharp stone. Perhaps his mother was right; perhaps it was time to start thinking about finding a wife.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “My dear Mrs Mayfield, I came at once when Owen told me what had happened here last night. It must have been very distressing for you, but, Owen tells me, no harm done.”

  Sir Humphrey stepped briskly up to Mrs Mayfield as he spoke. He was a large, vigorous man in his middle fifties, and his devotion to both his sport and his wine could be clearly seen in his face and figure.

  He was also the local magistrate, and he pursued his duties with a kind of casual diligence that served his neighbourhood remarkably well. Like most Sussex gentlemen, he paid no duty on the smuggled brandy in his cellar, and he knew as well as the next man when to look the other way, but for all that, his parish was remarkably well-governed. Charity particularly respected him for his ability to temper justice with compassion—though he always denied that he did any such thing. He was a man who knew his own worth and who valued his place in his community—but change made him nervous.

  “Sir Humphrey, how kind of you to come!” Mrs Mayfield exclaimed. “I really wouldn’t have had you put yourself to so much trouble.”

  “Nonsense, no trouble at all,” Sir Humphrey declared, taking the seat Mrs Mayfield offered him. “Did you get a look at the scoundrel, m’dear?” he added, turning to Charity.

  “I’m afraid not, Sir Humphrey,” Charity replied. “It was dark and I was taken by surprise. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to recognise him again.”

  “Pity,” Sir
Humphrey grunted. “I don’t like to think of him getting away with this, but, if he didn’t take anything and you can’t recognise him, there’s not much I can do.”

  “Oh, no, we quite understand,” Charity assured him.

  “I’m so looking forward to your party tomorrow night,” Mrs Mayfield said. “It will be our last before we leave here. I shall be so glad of an opportunity to see everyone before we go.”

  “Hmph, yes.” Sir Humphrey cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “It’s a bad business, Mrs Mayfield. I don’t say anything as to the cause of your leaving, but Lady Leydon and I shall be sorry to see you go. There’ve been Mayfields at Hazelhurst so long that it won’t seem the same without you. If there’s anything we can do, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thank you, it’s so kind of you. Everyone has been very kind to us this last year.” Mrs Mayfield smiled at Sir Humphrey. She hadn’t caught his fleeting reference to her husband and, even if she had, she was spared some of Charity’s distress because she divided the blame for what had happened between the Earl and Mr Canby.

  Mrs Mayfield had conceived a violent dislike of the unknown Lord Ashbourne, but she saved her greatest ire for the unfortunate attorney. She blamed his negligence for their uncomfortable situation and, in the first few days after they had heard they must leave Hazelhurst, she had tried Charity’s patience high by demanding they take action against him. Fortunately she had been diverted from the subject by the preparations for the move, and she hadn’t returned to it.

  “Owen particularly,” Mrs Mayfield continued. “He was here only this afternoon, helping Charity with some of the arrangements. It’s so complicated—I can’t understand all these legal documents at all.”

  “Owen, helping! Well, well, I’m pleased to hear it. Not that he’s got any experience. You should have asked me, Charity. I would have been glad to help.” Sir Humphrey sounded slightly put out that Charity hadn’t applied to him for assistance.

  “You were my first thought,” Charity assured him hastily. “And I know your advice would be invaluable. But I know how busy your magisterial duties keep you, sir, and how little time you have for your own affairs. I didn’t want to trespass on your good will if I could get help from someone else, and, Owen being your son…”

  “Well, you’re a thoughtful young woman,” said Sir Humphrey, puffing up with gratification in a way that reminded Charity irresistibly of Owen. There was a distinct likeness between father and son.

  “But I’m here now, so if there’s anything you’d like to ask me…”

  “Thank you!” Charity tried to assume an expression of eager pleasure while her heart sank within her. “Oh…” she seemed to hesitate “… only if you’re sure you have the time.”

  “All the time in the world for you, m’dear,” Sir Humphrey assured her.

  Despite the fact that she occasionally shocked him to his conventional core, the magistrate had always liked Charity. He thought she was a spunky little thing, and the day she’d tried to jump clear across the lily pond for a dare and climbed out covered in green weed and mud he’d laughed until tears had poured out of his eyes. Not that he necessarily regarded her wisdom as highly as he did her courage.

  Charity saw the reminiscent gleam in his eyes and hurried into speech before he could comment once again on her childhood misdemeanours. That was the problem with being surrounded by people who’d seen you grow up—most of them still thought of you as the child you’d been ten years ago.

  “If you’d like to come down to the library, Sir Humphrey,” she said. “I have all the papers there.”

  “I’d be delighted, m’dear.” Sir Humphrey stood up and bowed to Mrs Mayfield. “Excuse us, ma’am.”

  “Of course, so kind of you to help.” Mrs Mayfield smiled brightly.

  An hour later, feeling quite shattered, Charity led Sir Humphrey back upstairs again. She had not enjoyed the last sixty minutes and she hoped she wouldn’t have to repeat them. It was not that Sir Humphrey’s advice was bad—in fact, it was very good, just as she had known it would be. But he couldn’t help commenting on her father’s system—or lack of it—and regretting that there was no man to see to things properly.

  Charity was grateful for his help, but she didn’t like opening up her family affairs to the disapprobation of her neighbours, and she didn’t intend to let it happen again. But she knew it was her fault: she shouldn’t have used her need for advice as an excuse to get Owen to visit her. She should have guessed what would happen next.

  “Well, I hope I’ve been of assistance,” Sir Humphrey said as he sat down opposite Mrs Mayfield again. “Your late husband seems to have had a very peculiar way of doing things, ma’am. Not but the more recent records are in far better order. Still, it will be a relief to you, no doubt, when everything is sorted out and you’re safely established in Horsham.”

  “I shall be glad to be settled again,” Mrs Mayfield admitted. “Oh, Sir Humphrey! I met the new Lord Riversleigh this morning!” she exclaimed, changing the subject completely.

  “What did you make of him?” Sir Humphrey asked cautiously.

  “I thought he was a charming man. Not at all like his grandfather!” Mrs Mayfield declared.

  “No, by all accounts. I hear his maternal grandfather was a common tradesman! And apparently the new Lord is no better than…Well, there’s no need to go into that! But it’s a pity that such a fine old title should be brought to this!” And Sir Humphrey shook his head disapprovingly.

  Charity bit her lip in an effort to avoid saying something rude. She knew that Sir Humphrey didn’t like change and hated any hint of social climbing, but she couldn’t understand why both he and Owen should be so badly disposed towards a man they hadn’t even met.

  “Who told you about Lord Riversleigh, Sir Humphrey?” she asked, trying to keep her voice friendly.

  “Lord Travers. He’s staying with us at the moment. Splendid fellow, marvellous horseman. He knows all about the new Lord,” Sir Humphrey explained.

  “Does he? What did he say?” Charity asked.

  “Oh, he told us how the grandfather—Pembroke, I believe his name was—started as a common apprentice. He’d no family or position; dare say he couldn’t even read or write. No doubt a good enough man in his way, but rough, very rough. Not the kind of blood any man would want in the family,” Sir Humphrey concluded, refraining from repeating some of the warmer stories Lord Travers had told him. He didn’t think they were suitable for female ears.

  “Lord Travers said that?” Charity said, resisting the urge to make a more heated reply.

  She was beginning to feel extremely indignant on Jack’s behalf, but it was clear that the slurs on his character and antecedents had not originated with the magistrate. Sir Humphrey was only repeating what he had been told, and it would do no good to be angry with him.

  “Did Lord Travers say what the apprentice grandfather became, sir Humphrey?” she asked.

  “No, I don’t think so.” Sir Humphrey frowned in an effort of memory. “No doubt he completed his apprenticeship and set up as a tradesman somewhere—if he could raise the capital. I wouldn’t want any son of mine marrying a tradesman’s daughter. Though by all accounts that must have been the least of Richard’s crimes.”

  “Perhaps,” said Charity slowly.

  It seemed to her that there was a definite hint of vindictiveness in what Lord Travers had told Sir Humphrey. Apart from anything else, goldsmithing had always been one of the few trades in which it was possible for gentlemen to interest themselves. That was why so many French Huguenot refugees had links with the craft. Yet, despite his loquacity, Lord Travers didn’t seem to have mentioned to the magistrate which trade Joseph Pembroke had been apprenticed in—or how he had developed his business. What other facts had Lord Travers misrepresented?

  “Sir Humphrey!” she said suddenly. “Until a few days ago I’d always thought that Richard died more than thirty years ago. You’ve lived here all your life. Did you k
now Richard wasn’t dead? Or, at least, that he didn’t die until only seventeen years ago?”

  “No-o-o.” Sir Humphrey looked at her with a puzzled expression. “Now I come to think of it, I didn’t. But I wasn’t here at the time. My father had packed me off to France to finish my education—and a dreadful place it was too.”

  For a moment he was distracted from the subject in hand by his recollections of his time abroad. Like many Georgian gentlemen, Sir Humphrey had little love for the French and, when in his cups, he was quite likely to shout “Hurrah for the roast beef of good old England”.

  “Yes, but what do you remember about Richard?” Charity reminded him.

  “Oh, Richard,” said Sir Humphrey, cut off before he could begin a diatribe against all foreigners. “Not a lot. When I got back he was gone, name never to be mentioned again in Lord Riversleigh’s presence. I wasn’t much interested and it’s a long time ago.”

  “But did you think he was dead, or did you think he’d done something terrible?” Charity persisted.

  Sir Humphrey thought about it. “Both!” he said suddenly. “I mean, I thought he was dead, but I was sure he’d disgraced the family. Not a savoury topic for discussing in the drawing-room. I dare say that this was why his name was never to be mentioned again.”

  “But what was it he did that was so disgraceful?” Charity asked, impatience finally creeping into her voice.

  She was becoming increasingly annoyed by lack of substance in the magistrate’s account. It seemed outrageous to her that Jack, his father and grandfather should all be condemned for sins or crimes which she was sure they hadn’t committed, and which no one even seemed able to name.

  “Damned if I know, m’dear,” Sir Humphrey confessed. “In fact now I come to think of it, young Richard always seemed devilish strait-laced to me. It just goes to show how you can be deceived in a man. Travers was telling me only last night…well, well, I beg your pardon, Mrs Mayfield, that’s hardly a suitable story for your ears. But if this fellow is anything like his father I should be on your guard in his presence, that’s all I can say.”