The Earl and the Hoyden

by Mary Nichols

  He stood inches taller than any other man present, dressed in a black evening suit, relieved by a pale blue embroidered waistcoat and snowy white cravat, skilfully tied. His dark curls had been trimmed into the latest windswept style and barely touched the high collar of his coat. Unlike the other men in the room, he wore no jewellery, but he did not need it. No one could deny he had a commanding presence and there was a concerted sigh from the ladies. His physical attraction was so strong and his character so compelling, he could, if she were the susceptible kind, make Charlotte go weak at the knees and forget they were mortal enemies.

  Lady Brandon hurried to greet him and proceeded to lead him round the room, introducing him to those he had not met before and reminding him of others he might have remembered from his boyhood. He bowed and smiled and passed on to the next, convinced that everyone who was anyone in Shropshire must surely be crammed into the room in all their finery for his benefit and he wished it were otherwise. If they had been giving him a true welcome, he would not have minded, but he knew most of it was curiosity to see if he would do something outrageous and confirm their worst fears. And if he did not, if he turned out to be perfectly abstemious and polite, then every mama of an unattached female would work herself silly to have her daughter noticed.

  He smiled quirkily as he bowed over Dorothea Gilford’s hand, which made that poor child blush to the roots of her mousy hair. And it was not as if the smile was directed at her, but his own stupidity for allowing himself to become a party to it. He moved on quickly to the next group, noticing that the next in line was Miss Cartwright. So used to seeing and picturing the hoyden, he was completely taken aback by her changed appearance and for a moment could not pay attention to Lady Brandon. Pulling himself together, he murmured a greeting to the couple to whom he was being introduced and then moved on to Charlotte. Standing before her, he was obliged to amend his original perception of her—she was not plain at all. Here was a beautiful woman with the figure of a goddess. Even her wild hair had been tamed. He swept her a flourishing bow. ‘Good evening, Miss Cartwright.’

  ‘Good evening, my lord.’ She was fully aware of the effect she was having on him and it gave her a wonderful sense of gratification as she dipped a slight curtsy. She would teach him to call her plain and a hoyden!

  He did not want to move on, but Lady Brandon was already approaching the next group and he had perforce to follow. It was not until he had perambulated round the entire room, smiling at the young ladies, kissing the hands of the matrons and bowing to their husbands, that he was able to relax a little. And even then it was not for long.

  The orchestra struck up a country dance and he was induced to join a set with Miss Jane Trent. And after that it was another dance and another young lady and then another and he was just about to make his way over to Miss Cartwright when he became aware of Miss Brandon standing only a few feet away and looking at him, half-shy, half-expectantly. He bowed. ‘Miss Brandon, will you do me the honour of joining this country dance with me?’

  She smiled and curtsied and he raised her to her feet and led her into the dance. But his thoughts were on the other side of the room where Charlotte stood beside Lady Brandon.

  ‘They make a comely pair, do they not?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Why, Martha and the Earl, of course. He is bound to look favourably on her, considering I have been at such pains to make him welcome.’

  Charlotte watched the two dancers. The Earl was smiling down at Martha and had obviously paid her a compliment, for she was smiling back at him, eyes shining. It gave Charlotte an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach that she could not explain. ‘You think he will offer for her?’

  ‘I do not see why not. We will bring him round to it. She will make a splendid Countess.’

  ‘Yes, but Amerleigh Hall is in a ruinous state.’

  ‘Martha has an inheritance from my aunt and she has never had to spend a penny of it, I am thankful to say. It has been growing with interest ever since the old lady died five years ago. Sir Gordon will ensure his lordship is aware of it.’

  ‘Do you think he would marry for money?’

  ‘It must be a consideration. If his pockets are to let, it must mean his title is up for sale.’

  Her words thrust Charlotte back six years to a time when the late Earl was ready to sell the title and Roland had refused absolutely to consider her. It stiffened her resolve; she would make him pay for that humiliation in whatever way came to hand.

  ‘I think he will make an excellent husband,’ her ladyship continued, unaware that Charlotte was no longer giving her full attention. ‘I have been hearing fine reports of him.’

  ‘From his servant, no doubt.’

  ‘From everyone. Why are you so against him?’

  ‘I am not against him. I have no interest in his affairs. I was thinking of Martin Elliott. I am sure he has hopes of Martha.’

  ‘Pooh, what is he? Nothing but a parson’s son and he hasn’t even found a living yet.’

  Charlotte felt sorry for the poor man, but she refrained from saying so, because the dance had ended and the Earl was escorting Martha to them, smiling and speaking to her in what, to the highly sensitised mamas, was a most intimate fashion. The roomful of people watched their progress and sighed, many with disappointment.

  He thanked Martha with an elegant leg, surreptitiously looking sideways at Charlotte as he did so, but she would not look at him, being engrossed in examining her fan.

  ‘My lord,’ Lady Brandon said. ‘It is gratifying to see you mingle with us all so amiably. We are glad to have you among us again.’

  ‘That is very kind of you, my lady.’ There was a pause which to Charlotte, still studying the picture of a shepherdess and her swain on her fan, seemed interminable, before he added, ‘Miss Cartwright, may I have the pleasure of the next dance?’

  She looked up at him, fluttering her fan, as if she had only just discovered what the accessory was meant for.

  ‘Come.’ He was holding out his hand.

  She stood up and put her hand into his and allowed him to draw her onto the floor for a waltz.

  Waltzing had been in favour for two or three years in the capital, but had only recently been considered a suitable dance for the country. Lady Brandon was being greatly daring in asking the musicians to play for one, but she was determined that no one should think her behind the times and it might give the company some indication of whom his lordship might favour. And he had picked out Charlotte Cartwright! She was beginning to wish she had not tried so hard to induce Charlotte to come.

  The warmth of his hand on her back through the thin silk of her gown seemed to spread right through Charlotte until she was quite breathless. For a big man, he was surprisingly light on his feet and she found herself wondering where he had learned to dance in that expert way, for he guided her unerringly. And for the first time in her life, she did not regret those dancing lessons. She chose not to notice that Lady Gilford and many of the other matrons were murmuring among themselves, nor the dagger looks of the young ladies who had hoped to catch his eye; she was immune to everything but the enjoyment of the dance, of doing something she had not done for years. Six years, in fact—the last time she had danced with him. She wondered if he remembered it.

  The music came to an end with a triumphant flourish and Charlotte dropped into a deep curtsy. He bowed and took her hand to raise her up and then offered his arm to escort her back to her place and they found themselves the target of all eyes as they made their way slowly down the length of the room. She felt she had to make an effort at conversation, something safe, something not contentious.

  ‘Have you made any progress about a teacher for Tommy?’ she asked.

  ‘I have made one or two enquiries, but so far nothing definite. With the war coming to an end, the medical officer I spoke of might be coming home and I might wait to see what he has to say.’

  ‘If he is used to working with soldiers, he may not wi
sh to teach a child.’

  ‘Then he will not be the man we want and we must find someone else.’

  ‘We, my lord?’

  ‘You and I, young Tommy and his parents.’

  ‘You include me?’

  ‘Of course. You are very necessary to the success of the project.’

  She laughed. ‘Could it be that the help you need from me is monetary?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said huffily. ‘I am sorry I mentioned it. I might have known you would reduce everything to pounds, shillings and pence.’

  ‘Pounds, shillings and pence are very useful things to have, my lord.’

  ‘Is that all you can think of? Do you have no heart?’

  ‘What has my heart to do with anything? It is a beating organ, necessary to life, just as yours is.’ That little imp was on her shoulder again, making her say outrageous things, egging her on to produce a reaction out of him.

  ‘True, but sometimes it can beat a little faster, someone says something or does something that sets it pounding. Have you never had that happen to you, Miss Cartwright?’ He paused to look down at her and she felt the colour flare into her face and, what was more, her heart was beating nineteen to the dozen. She was sure he could hear it.

  ‘That is neither here nor there. We were talking of Tommy and how he could be helped.’

  ‘By all means, let us talk of Tommy.’

  ‘I doubt a trained teacher would consider teaching one child a full-time task.’

  ‘Perhaps not. But it set me wondering how many other deaf children there are in the neighbourhood.’

  ‘I have no idea. Several I should think. You surely do not intend to teach them all. You would need premises and equipment and specialist teachers. It could not be done on half a crown.’

  She was referring to the half-crown he had given to Beth Biggs, he knew. She never let slip an opportunity to have a prod at him. ‘I know, but it is worth a try, don’t you think?’

  He did not know why he was even asking her. He did not need her permission or co-operation. The trouble was he had not been able to banish her from his thoughts. She was like an itch he could not scratch and yet this evening he had truly enjoyed her company. She made everyone else seem flat and colourless.

  ‘Then rest assured, I will do what I can to help.’ She paused. ‘But that does not mean I have changed my mind about Browhill.’

  ‘I did not expect you would,’ he said with a faint smile, still unable to believe her transformation from hoyden to beauty. ‘But we will leave that for another day. For the moment we can enjoy the respite of a truce.’

  ‘Speaking of truces, do you think Napoleon can hold out much longer?’ She had to say something, to make everything sound commonplace and polite, to maintain her dignity when every fibre of her wanted to thrash out at him, make her see her for what she really was, a person in her own right, not simply the daughter of her father. Why that mattered she did not know.

  He recognised the change of subject as a way of diverting him from personal issues. ‘Let us hope not, but he has so far refused all offers of peace.’

  ‘Do you wish you could be with your comrades when they finally triumph?’

  ‘In one way. On the other hand, I would not, at this moment, wish to be anywhere else.’

  She must not allow herself to become susceptible to his flattery, she told herself, especially as she knew it was far from sincere. ‘I know you are needed here in Amerleigh with your people, my lord,’ she said, choosing to misunderstand him. ‘But coming back to England must have been a wrench for you just when you were so close to victory.’

  ‘It was necessary and if I could be sure of my welcome…’

  She waved her hand at the crowded room. ‘Tonight must have given you the answer to that.’

  ‘It is gratifying, I own, but I find myself wondering how much of that is down to my being the Earl of Amerleigh and unmarried and how much to the returning soldier.’

  ‘Time will tell,’ she said, as they reached the end of the room.

  He bowed and, taking her hand, put it to his lips, at the same time raising his eyes to hers. For a moment she could not look away and felt herself being drawn towards him, though she had not moved. Almost mesmerised, his eyes held hers. She thought she detected a message in their dark depths. Something like, ‘I enjoy sparring with you, but we are not enemies, are we? We could be friends. More than friends.’ Was he flirting with his eyes? Or was she being fanciful? And it came to her very suddenly that if she could encourage him, even make him love her, and then disdain him, that would be sweet revenge indeed! The trouble was she had no idea how to go about it. She had always been forthright and truthful, even if her hearers did not like what they heard. She could not be anything else. She snatched her hand away, making him smile.

  He saw her to her seat, then took up a station near the door where a potted plant half-concealed him and from where he could watch the assembly, and particularly Miss Charlotte Cartwright. How could you dislike a woman you found desirable? And she was desirable, too much so for his peace of mind.

  ‘Not dancing, my lord?’

  He turned to find a young man, dressed in impeccable evening attire, standing beside him. ‘I beg your pardon.’

  ‘Jacob Edwards. You remember, we were often together as boys.’

  ‘Good Lord! Jacob. Of course I remember. Many’s the scrape we shared.’ He held out his hand, which the other grasped and pumped up and down furiously. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Well. And you? I was sorry to hear about your father. He was very good to me.’

  He remembered his mother telling him that Jacob had become Miss Cartwright’s lawyer. ‘And you have justified his faith in you. I hear you have done very well for yourself.’

  ‘Yes, I give him credit for giving me a start.’

  ‘But perhaps not enough to refrain from acting against him.’

  ‘I assume you refer to Browhill?’

  ‘Yes, unless there is some other villainy I do not know about.’

  ‘I did no work for the late Mr Cartwright, my lord. I have only been in Miss Cartwright’s employ just over a year, after she quarrelled with her father’s lawyer soon after she inherited. I knew nothing of the business until recently and now, of course, I am obliged to act for her.’

  Roland wondered what the quarrel had been about. ‘So?’

  ‘My lord, cannot the dispute be settled amicably? I am sure with a little goodwill…’

  Roland was angry. Not five minutes before, he had been dancing with the lady and offering her compliments. He must have been mad. ‘You may go back to your employer and tell her that when she shows a little goodwill over the matter, I might reciprocate. And, may I add, a country dance is not the place to air legal matters.’

  ‘Then I beg your pardon. I spoke out of respect for our past friendship and a wish to prevent the expenditure of time and money that could be better spent elsewhere.’

  Oh, how he agreed with that sentiment, but he had no intention of letting the other know it. ‘How I spend my time and money is up to me,’ he said. ‘Now, if you will excuse me.’ And with that he left him to join his hostess. The evening was drawing to a close and already some of the guests were taking their leave, so he felt justified in bidding his adieus. He knew he was being impulsive and erratic, but he did not seem able to help it. Charlotte Cartwright was making him like that.

  The departure of his lordship caused something of a stir, and there was not a little consternation among the young ladies and their mamas, but Lady Brandon was quietly triumphant. He had danced with Martha and, having done that, there was no point in him staying and raising anyone’s hopes only to dash them again. It was all coming about as she intended, so she told Charlotte, who had watched the Earl depart with a sinking heart. She was thankful when the evening was brought to a close and she was able to go home.

  Chapter Four

  Late as she had been in returning home and going to bed, Charlotte cou
ld not sleep and soon after dawn she rose and dressed. She had to be outside—the air indoors was stifling her. She went downstairs to the kitchen where May was raking out the fire ready to relight it. Mrs Cater had just appeared and was tying an apron round her plump middle.

  ‘Miss Charlotte, you are never going out before breakfast.’

  ‘I am not hungry,’ Charlotte said truthfully, making for outside door. ‘I am going riding.’

  ‘But ’tis raining cats and dogs.’

  ‘Is it?’ She opened the door as she spoke and a gust of wind and rain blew in. Hurriedly she shut the door again. ‘So it is.’

  ‘Sit down and have some breakfast with us. You can tell us all about Lady Brandon’s soirée. How many were there? Was it very fine? And the Earl, did he single anyone out?’

  A real lady would not have dreamed of sitting down with the servants, but Charlotte had always been free and easy with Mrs Cater, who had befriended her when she was a lonely child and defended her against the governess of the day, and so she took her seat at the kitchen table.

  ‘It was a very grand affair, much grander than a soirée,’ she said, and went on to describe who was there and what they wore, who danced with whom as far as she could remember, the decorations and the food and drink. But they really wanted to hear about the Earl and her voice shook whenever she mentioned his name. It was going to be very, very difficult to live so close and meet him on almost a daily basis and yet maintain her cold dislike of him. He was not an easy man to dislike, with his innate good manners and cheerful disposition, except when he was talking about Browhill. Then he changed and became intractable. Why was she constantly thinking about him? Since he had returned to Amerleigh she did not seem able to think of anything else.