by Mary Nichols
‘Yes, Major, she has, but she left something out for you. I’ll bring it to the drawing room directly.’
He led the pony away and Roland put his hand under Charlotte’s elbow and ushered her into the house.
It was only curiosity that made her leave the curricle, Charlotte told herself. She had not been in the house since that fateful night six years before and by all accounts it was very different now. It would be good to see how far the Temples had fallen since then, but it was difficult to convince herself they deserved it, when the man beside her bore no resemblance whatever to the stripling who had disdained her. If it had not been for hearing that rejection and knowing of her father’s unmitigated hatred of the old Earl, who had so blatantly cheated him, she might have come to like and admire the present owner of Amerleigh Hall, might even have fallen in love with him. Fallen in love! What did she know of that? Nothing, nor ever would. Better not to think of it. But there was inside her an empty feeling, as if there should be something there that was absent.
She looked about her as they entered the inner hall. There were rugs on the marble-tiled floor. A table stood to one side and chairs were placed between the doors to the rooms. A solid oak staircase led up from the middle and divided on a half-landing before the two branches went up again to the first floor. There were no ornaments, no pictures.
He led the way into the drawing room. This was carpeted and properly furnished with tables and chairs and two sofas. The pale green paint on the walls was new and the curtains, drawn against the night, were of a rich ruby-red damask. A hand-painted screen stood before the empty hearth. Again there were no pictures or ornaments.
‘As you see, we have not finished refurbishing,’ he told her. ‘My mother is seeing to the interior while I look after the outside. It will take some time, I think.’
‘But it is lovely house, so full of history. It seems to have an atmosphere of its own.’
‘Yes, some of it goes back to Tudor times, but there have been additions over the years. It is something of a rabbit warren, but it has always been my home and I am very attached to it.’
‘You would do anything to keep it?’ she asked curiously.
‘I suppose I would. Within bounds, of course.’
‘Even to marrying one of those daughters of the wealthy whom you pretend to disdain?’
‘I hope it never comes to that. I am not entirely without means.’ His little nest egg was fast disappearing, but he would not admit that.
Travers arrived with a tea tray, which he set down upon one of the tables, and then went to fetch another on which was a plate of cold roast chicken legs, another of bread and butter and a third containing an assortment of little cakes. Roland and Charlotte watched in silence as he set them out. ‘Thank you, Travers,’ Roland said. ‘We can manage.’
He indicated the teapot to Charlotte. ‘Shall you pour?’
They sat at the table, she poured the tea and they picked at the food, but the intimacy they had been enjoying had dissipated, blown away with the opening of the door. They conversed politely about the peace just concluded, about the wisdom of allowing Napoleon to live on Elba, about the squabbling of the allied powers as they set about carving Europe up between them, but Charlotte found herself thinking of what had happened six years before and wondered what on earth she was doing in that house. She must be mad! As soon as they had finished their meal, she said she must be leaving.
He stood up and rang for Travers to fetch the curricle to the door, then he accompanied her to the front door and down the steps. Travers stood at the pony’s head, waiting. ‘Shall I drive you home?’
She laughed. ‘And then I should have to drive you back again and we could go backwards and forwards all night. I am perfectly capable, as well you know.’
He grinned. ‘So independent. Is there anything you are not capable of tackling?’
‘Oh, I am sure there must be something,’ she said airily. ‘I will let you know when I have discovered it. Goodnight, my lord.’
‘Goodnight, Miss Cartwright. And thank you for an evening far more enjoyable than I ever expected it to be.’ He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, lingering a little over the kiss, wishing he dare kiss her properly, but knowing he would be for ever damned if he did.
It was several seconds before she could repossess herself of her hand and by that time she was tingling with a sensation she could not describe. It was a feeling of being on the verge of something so exciting, she was shivering. Her stomach was churning, her heart beating so fast she could hardly breathe and her toes and fingers curled involuntarily. She climbed into the curricle without even knowing how she got there. This man was dangerous! He threatened everything she stood for. She must be on her guard, always on her guard, lest he undermine her confidence and the tenets by which she lived crumbled to nothing.
She flicked the reins and the pony started forwards, trotted round the circle before the door and out of the gate and she found herself murmuring, ‘Remember whose daughter you are, Charlie Cartwright. And remember whose son he is.’
Chapter Five
In the next few weeks, the Earl of Amerleigh was seen everywhere, walking and riding round the estate, putting in hand the many repairs and improvements needed. The villagers’ cottages were being repaired, window frames replaced, new doors hung, proper cess pits dug; up at the Hall, the builders were busy—bricklayers, plasterers, carpenters and painters swarmed about and every now and again a wagon loaded with carpets and furniture would draw up at the door and disgorge its contents. The Countess was in her element.
His lordship was also to be seen at musical evenings, at tea parties and picnics all round the county and all the hostesses praised his manners and all the hosts called him a fine fellow. He conversed intelligently, danced and played cards for negligible stakes and not by one word or gesture did he betray whom he favoured for a wife. It was being said that he could not make up his mind and everyone would know who it was when the refurbishment of Amerleigh Hall had been completed and he began entertaining himself. And so they waited for the invitation.
Charlotte did her best to avoid him. On the pretext of being too busy, she made excuses not to go to functions she knew he would attend. She had always pleased herself what she did and Lady Brandon, who might have tried to persuade her, was too busy trying to put Martha forward to miss her. ‘He visits so frequently and is always punctilious in his attentions to Martha,’ her ladyship told her one day when they met by chance in Shrewsbury. ‘It must mean he is seriously considering her.’ Charlotte smiled and said nothing, but wondered if Roland Temple visited because he was too polite to refuse her constant invitations or if he was seriously considering Martha as a wife. She ought not to have minded, but somehow she did.
Lady Brandon was not the only one; every mama of every single young lady was doing the same. Standing on the sidelines, Charlotte could see it happening, and wondered what the outcome might be. Thinking about it gave her a vague feeling of discontent, which she refused to acknowledge was anything but irritation with the man. Occasionally, she found herself face to face with him. She would smile politely and pass the time of day with him before moving on, doing her best to ignore the fluttering of her heart.
And he, surprised by her sudden coolness after that night of her party when he thought they had established a rapport, would answer her in like manner and watch her proud back retreating from him. He found himself remembering his half-jocular remark—‘You have too much money and I have too much rank to find true love’—and wondered how accurate that was. She had built a wall around herself as impenetrable as the wall around Amerleigh Hall, determined to keep everyone out. And yet Tommy Biggs had found a way through her defences, along with other children in the village, which must mean she was not as hard as she would have him believe. If only he could crack that shell as they had.
‘You know, you ought to do some entertaining,’ Lady Brandon told Charlotte one Sunday afternoon, the only day o
f the week on which Charlotte did not go to Scofield or up to Browhill. It was the only day on which her ladyship could be sure of finding her at home. Sitting in the drawing room at Mandeville, sipping tea and nibbling cake, her friend evidently had something to say and was determined to say it. ‘You have this wonderful house and no one ever sees it, except the outside and that from a distance.’
‘I am entertaining you. And the Reverend and Mrs Elliott come and Mr Edwards…’
‘Yes, but they are not society.’
‘Neither am I.’
‘But you could be, if you made the effort.’
‘Why should I?’ She knew she was being stubborn, but ever since the return of Roland Temple she had been feeling fidgety, conscious that there was something missing in her life and yet afraid to face up to it.
‘You will become an antidote if you do not. A recluse. And for what? To acquire yet more wealth? What good is that to you? You have more than enough already.’
‘My goodness, Catherine, you do not mince your words, do you?’
‘I hope we have been friends long enough to speak plainly to each other, my dear. You used to go out and about, but I have noticed lately that you seem to prefer your own company. It cannot be good for you. You are still young. You should learn to enjoy yourself.’
Charlotte looked hard at her, making the poor woman blush. ‘What has brought on this sudden interest in my welfare?’
‘I have told you. You are working too hard and looking a little pale.’
‘So I must work even harder to entertain people with whom I have nothing in common.’
‘I will help you. You could give a concert, or a ball…’ She paused. ‘I have given a dancing soirée and Lady Gilford has held a Victory Ball—who else is there hereabouts to put on anything grand but you? Amerleigh Hall is not yet ready, though his lordship said he would hold a ball when it was. But we cannot wait for that.’
It occurred to Charlotte that her friend was running out of ideas for entertaining the Earl and throwing Martha in his path, and had suddenly thought of Mandeville. She smiled. ‘I see. Who would come?’
‘Why, everyone, especially if you invited the Earl. It would gain you an entrée into society if he were to accept.’
Charlotte laughed aloud. ‘If I know his lordship, he will not consent to be used in that manner. He is not a fool, you know.’
‘I did not say he was. But he seems to accept almost every other invitation. You are the only one who has not entertained him.’
It was obvious to Charlotte that her ladyship did not know about the party at the mill or else she discounted it. ‘I will think about it.’
Having succeeded in her aim, her ladyship took her leave, and Charlotte sat on, thinking dreamily of making her name as a hostess, of being accepted in society, of being beautiful and sought after. And then she pulled herself up short. It was only a dream and dreams had no substance; she would do better to go over the report the mine engineer had sent her about the new level. She would never have begun it if the Earl of Amerleigh had not come back, poking his nose into her business. His long, handsome nose. Why could she not get him out of her head? Why did everyone have to keep talking about him, reminding her that he had kissed her hand and gazed into her eyes and something had passed between them that she could not define, something that kept her awake at night and would not go away?
She stood up and began pacing the room. It was a very large room, tastefully decorated and furnished. A collection of valuable paintings graced its walls and a display cabinet in the chimney alcove was full of the porcelain her father had collected. At the end of the marble-floored hall was a huge ballroom and opposite that an oak-panelled dining room. The dining room was only used when she gave dinner parties for her managers and other business people, otherwise she ate alone in a smaller room nearer the kitchens. As for the ballroom, that had never been used for its intended purpose that she could remember, though Mrs Cater had once said her mama used to give balls in the days before she was born. ‘And very grand affairs they were too,’ the cook had said. ‘Your mother was so beautiful, so gentle and kind, everyone loved her, God rest her soul.’
‘I wish I had known her,’ Charlotte had said wistfully.
‘’Tis a pity you never did, but there, it was God’s will to take her from us. You are very like her, you know.’
‘Am I? How?’
‘In looks and on account of caring for those less well off. She could not bear to see a child with bare feet and would buy up a whole shop full of shoes and boots and take them to the village for everyone to help themselves. Your papa used to laugh about it, but he always let her have her way.’
Papa laughing! That was something Charlotte had rarely witnessed. For the first time in her life she felt utterly alone. Catherine Brandon had unsettled her, as if she had not been unsettled enough as it was! She left the room, walked along the hall and entered the ballroom, all of eighty feet long and thirty wide, and stood looking round her. Empty. Huge and empty. Nothing but emptiness. Was that symptomatic of her life? Hurriedly she turned on her heel and went back to that mine report.
Roland was inspecting the new carriage horses, which had just arrived. Travers, who was knowledgeable about horses, had helped him choose them, a couple of well-matched sturdy greys with white tails and manes. The family carriage had been cleaned and repainted black with the Temple crest on the door, and now the horses were here, he could go out and about in a manner befitting an Earl. He did not mind so much for himself, but his mother had missed being able to order out the coach and pay calls and he wanted to please her. He had just watched the horses being led to their stalls when the sound of a rider trotting into the yard made him look up. A man in the uniform of a Captain of Hussars was entering the yard.
‘Miles Hartley,’ Roland said, coming forward to shake his hand as he dismounted. ‘Why did you not tell me to expect you?’
‘I was unsure of being able to leave until two weeks ago and then I decided to take my time and see a little of the countryside on the way.’ The Captain was tall, though not as tall as Roland. His face was tanned and his hair black. He had curly side whiskers and dark, humorous eyes.
‘You are very welcome. Come indoors and I will order refreshment for you. Corporal, see to the Captain’s horse, will you? And then ask Mrs Fields to come to me.’ He led the way, taking his visitor in through the front door, across the wide hall and into the drawing room. They had barely seated themselves on the new sofas when his housekeeper appeared.
‘Your man said you wanted me, my lord.’
‘Yes, we have a guest. Please bring him some refreshment, then make up a bed in one of the spare rooms.’ He turned to Miles. ‘You will stay?’
‘It will be a pleasure.’ He gave Mrs Fields a smile that crinkled up his eyes and revealed perfect white teeth. She flushed with pleasure and bobbed a curtsy before leaving to obey her instructions.
‘Tell me, what news?’ Roland asked, as she disappeared. ‘What have you been doing?’
‘Administration work in the War Department, transporting troops home for discharge, bringing back unused supplies and armaments, making arrangements for Lord Wellington’s return to the capital. He is in Paris at the moment, but there’ll be a great to-do when he comes home, you can be sure. But until he does, there is a lull in the business and I decided to take advantage of it to come to see you.’ He looked about him, taking in the newly refurbished room. ‘Didn’t know you had a place like this, Temple,’ he said.
‘I have only recently come into it. It has been rundown, but is coming round now. Still a lot to do, though.’
‘What’s this about deaf children?’
Roland told him about Tommy Biggs and his idea for teaching him signs. ‘He was born deaf so I do not think he can be cured, but if only he could learn to communicate, his life would be so much better,’ he finished. ‘That is why I thought of you. I know you dealt with soldiers, but surely the principle is the same?�
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‘Yes, but a great deal depends on the receptiveness of the child. I should need to see him before I decide.’
‘Of course. When you have eaten I will take you to meet him.’ He paused, wondering how to go on. ‘I have no idea what remuneration you would require. The family is very poor, but I could undertake a small salary.’
‘Let us talk about that later,’ Miles said as Mrs Fields returned.
‘I’ve put everything in the dining room, my lord,’ she said, bobbing.
Roland conducted his guest to the dining room. This was furnished with a table, six chairs and a sideboard and little else. They looked lost in that huge room. ‘As you see, there is still much to be done,’ Roland told him.
The food, though, was good and Miles did it justice before the two men set out on horseback for the village.
They had dismounted and were approaching the Biggs’s cottage when they met Charlotte. She was wearing her strange riding habit, but as she was on foot, the wrapover skirt covered her breeches. She had a basket on her arm, evidently making for the same destination. They stopped and eyed each other warily, each wondering what the mood of the other might be. Avoiding the Earl of Amerleigh when she ventured into the village was almost impossible, she had discovered, but then why should she need to? Stiffening her shoulders, she smiled. ‘Good afternoon, my lord.’
‘Miss Cartwright, your obedient. May I present Captain Miles Hartley. Captain, Miss Charlotte Cartwright, a neighbour.’
‘Captain Hartley. Are you the gentleman who might be able to help Tommy?’ Charlotte smiled and offered her hand, more the gesture of a man than a lady, who would have bent her knee and lowered her gaze.
Roland was used to her ways, but for a moment Miles was taken aback, then he grasped the hand. ‘We shall see. I have come to meet the little fellow.’
‘I do hope you can do something for him. I have promised the Earl my support in this, and as I know the family well, I shall be interested in what you think.’
