Heir to Rowanlea

by Sally James

“Cousin? A likely tale. Where’s your maid then? The cousins of Mr Norville wouldn’t come visitin’ wivout a maid, no’ow. Well, stands to reason. They wouldn’t come ‘ere at all, come to think of it!”

  “Well, I have, and if you don’t go and tell him at once that Miss—that his cousin is waiting for him, and needs to speak with him urgently, you will regret it!” Charlotte said angrily, though something in his manner made her cautious enough to avoid giving her name.

  He refused, and she was raising her voice in argument when Willis, Harry’s valet, appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “That is enough, Cooper,” he said firmly. “I know Mr Norville’s cousin and will announce her myself. This way, if you please, Miss.”

  Cooper retired, muttering imprecations, to the lower regions, and Charlotte thankfully followed Willis up the stairs and into a room furnished in comfortable rather than elegant style. It was reassuringly untidy. A greatcoat was flung across one of the chairs, a pair of pistols Harry appeared to have been cleaning were on a table in the middle of the room, together with a decanter and some glasses, and several whips and fishing rods were propped in a corner. She looked round with interest, recognizing some of the pictures Harry had previously had at Grosvenor Square, until she was made aware Harry was in the room by an angry exclamation, and turned to see him starting out of a deep armchair, tossing aside a book, and gazing at her in disbelief.

  “What in the world are you doing here?” he asked sharply, taking a couple of steps towards her.

  “I came to tell you something about Claude,” she replied, startled at his reception of her.

  “Have you no more sense that to come flaunting yourself to my rooms?” he went on, and turned away to pace back and forth in front of the window which overlooked the street, running his hands through his hair as he did so.

  “But, Harry, it is important, and I needed to talk to you,” she replied, bewildered, trying to catch at his arm. “And I’m not flaunting myself. What is wrong?”

  He shrugged out of her way.

  “You ask what is wrong when you should know perfectly well you should not visit me in my rooms,” he retorted. “Have you gone mad?”

  “Well, of course I know that in the ordinary way I ought not to visit young men,” Charlotte admitted, “but it was so worrying. Aren’t you going to ask me to sit down?”

  “No, I am not, and you are getting out of here as fast as you can,” he replied, striding across to the door and preparing to open it.

  “Oh, how ridiculous,” she said, plumping herself down in the chair Harry had vacated. “After all, you are only my cousin!”

  “What the deuce difference does that make?” he said in fury, coming to stand over her. “I am not your brother, and even if I were it would still not be right for you to visit me!”

  “I do not see the point of speculating,” she replied, by now as angry as he. “No one saw me, and no one need know. I had to come and tell you—”

  “I hope for your sake no one knows!” he interrupted. “If this gets about you would be ruined, your reputation would be in tatters, do you not realize?”

  “Oh, how antiquated!” she returned. “Just because I visit my cousin for a short time?”

  “No matter that I’m your cousin, or for how long you are here. You would be compromised! You’d never make a respectable marriage.”

  “Oh,” Charlotte replied, nonplused, and then giggled. “I suppose you would have to offer for me then. How funny! They couldn’t force me to accept though, so there is no cause to be so angry.”

  “It is not in the slightest bit funny,” Harry replied with loathing in his voice. “If you think I would offer for you for such a reason, you are out of your wits! Indeed you must be to come here in the first place!”

  “I do not think you are going to offer for me at all, for any reason,” Charlotte said, her color heightened. “I wanted to tell you what Claude said. It’s important, Harry.”

  “Could you not have sent me a note, and asked me to come round?” Harry said scathingly.

  “Well, I did think of it, but I could not depend on your coming,” she said frankly. “Besides, if you did come to Grosvenor Square, Claude might have seen you, and he would have known I was telling you, and that would have caused more trouble.”

  “Well, he’ll guess I shall discover whatever it is soon, in any event, so I do not see it is of such immense importance. Now I am going to escort you home. Did you bring your maid?”

  “No, I did not!”

  “Then at least it will not be tattled about through her. Come, the sooner you are back the better.”

  “But I haven’t told you yet!” Charlotte almost wailed.

  “You can tell me on the way back to Grosvenor Square,” Harry said, taking her by the arm, pulling her up from the chair and relentlessly pushing her from the room.

  Knowing she was powerless to resist, Charlotte flounced away from him and went down the stairs before him, to find Willis discreetly opening the front door and peering out.

  “All is clear, Mr Harry,” he said in a low voice, and with a smile and a nod, Harry took Charlotte’s arm and whisked her out of the door.

  “Now, what has put you in such a state?” he demanded, and swallowing her resentment at his treatment of her, she told him what she feared.

  “He means to sell off a great deal more than the hunting-box, even the town house,” she concluded. “How can we stop him?”

  “We can’t, and he’ll either gamble it all away or send it to France,” he said grimly, and Charlotte, her anger having evaporated as she related what she feared, was struck by the despair in his voice. She turned to look up at him, and found him gazing across the Square, into which they had just turned, with so bitter an expression in his eyes that, startled, Charlotte swung round to see what it was that had caught his attention.

  On the far side of the Square, just emerged from Upper Brook Street, she saw Elizabeth, being driven in a stylish phaeton by an older man she recognized as having been at some of the balls she had attended. She glanced back at Harry who was watching their progress steadily. At that moment he raised his hand and rubbed it across his forehead, and the little gesture, of weariness and despair, touched Charlotte to the quick.

  “It seems all is lost,” Harry murmured as if to himself, and Charlotte found herself possessed of a fiercely renewed determination that Harry should not suffer if she could contrive it. If he indeed wanted to marry Elizabeth so desperately she would aid him all she could, for she loved him and wanted him to be happy. Even if she could not prevent Claude from destroying Rowanlea, Harry should have some consolation.

  Filled with this resolve, Charlotte smiled sympathetically.

  “Who is that man Elizabeth is with?” she asked brightly. “I have seen him but do not know his name.”

  “He is a blot, a scourge!” Harry replied with so much venom in his voice that Charlotte was startled. “Sir David Clarkson, who ought to be drummed out of the country!”

  Harry’s feelings for Elizabeth must be truly deep, Charlotte thought, to make him so vicious just because the man was driving Elizabeth out.

  “I don’t suppose Elizabeth really likes him,” she said in an attempt at reassurance. “I’ve noticed she seems to favor younger men.”

  “Does she?” was all he responded.

  “Hadn’t you noticed? I thought for a while Mr Penharrow was paying her attentions, but I never see them together now.”

  Harry merely grunted, and Charlotte cast about for something else cheering to say.

  “The Maines are coming to dinner the day after tomorrow,” she reminded Harry. “It is to be just them and us, for Aunt Claudine thought it would be an excellent notion for her to get to know some of our neighbors in Sussex. She did ask Lord Fenton and his mother too, but they are going out of town for a few days. I believe he is to announce his betrothal soon, and goes to visit Miss Wolverley’s parents. She is his mother’s godchild.”

&nb
sp; Harry did not appear to have taken in much of what she had been saying, for he did not reply, and as they had by now reached the front door and were waiting for Rivers to open it, she did not feel equal to persevering. When Rivers did open the door he looked in some surprise at Charlotte, while Harry bade her an abrupt farewell and turned to walk swiftly away.

  Chapter 9

  Ignoring Rivers’ patent curiosity about how she had left the house without his knowledge, Charlotte ran up the stairs and into the sanctuary of her own room. There she set herself the task of planning how she could further Harry’s suit with Elizabeth. He would never offer for her, she knew. He regarded her still as the often irritating small cousin who had plagued him when they were children, demanding to be included in his adventures. But he had often been kind, and she had adored him then, accepting his frequent refusals to let her join him on more dangerous exploits as justified. As always, Harry’s wishes came first. If he wanted to marry Elizabeth, she would do all she could to bring it about.

  Several of Elizabeth’s suitors had defected, she realized. Lord Pauling had left the country to escape from his creditors, Lord Fenton appeared to have turned to Miss Wolverley, and Mr Penharrow was never now seen with Elizabeth. That ought to make Elizabeth more willing to listen to Harry, unless better prospects appeared. This Sir David Clarkson might prove a danger, and she must discover all she could about him and any other man Elizabeth seemed to encourage. Jack must be her informant. Yet this alone would not serve. Somehow she had to persuade Elizabeth to favor Harry.

  How about Claude? She had almost forgotten him. But he was now the owner of Rowanlea, not simply the heir, as Harry had been. Sadly she accepted Claude was an even better prospect than Harry, in Elizabeth’s view, and from his attitude when she had been thrown from her horse he appeared to find her attractive. She had to do something before Claude made an offer.

  Suddenly she recalled Harry’s dismay at the thought she would be compromised by visiting his rooms alone. She had dismissed the notion then as ridiculous, for they were cousins and had been brought up together, but it occurred to her now that if Elizabeth were to be found alone with Harry it would be a different matter. Her reputation would be ruined, and she would have to accept the offer Harry would be bound to make. The question was how to entice Elizabeth into Harry’s rooms, for Charlotte knew she set such store by proper behavior she would not willingly go there.

  Charlotte began to weave fantasies in which she would abduct Elizabeth by force, but the practical difficulties of overpowering another female, and then having her carried bound or unconscious past the unpleasant Mr Cooper who rented the rooms to Harry daunted her. For a moment she considered enlisting Jack’s aid, but only for a moment. She knew that however willingly Jack might enter into most of her escapades, he would draw the line at abducting an unwilling female. She sighed, and turned to devising less exciting but more feasible schemes.

  She was interrupted in this by James, who knocked stealthily on her door, and crept in with immense pains not to be seen when she opened it.

  “Whatever is the matter?” she exclaimed.

  “Hush!” he whispered. “Thank you for your note. I’ve foiled the villain!”

  “What on earth do you mean?”

  “I’ve taken Wolf away. Mr Penharrow is going to look after him for me.”

  “Mr Penharrow? But you have no claim on him!” Charlotte said, dismayed at what her mother’s reactions would be. “You ought not to be asking favors of him, we scarcely know him.”

  “Huh!” James responded enigmatically. “He helped me when I found Wolf, didn’t he?”

  This was unanswerable, though Charlotte could not see the logic which thereby made Mr Penharrow responsible for Wolf now. After swearing Charlotte to the deepest secrecy regarding the animal’s whereabouts, James took himself off with exaggerated caution, and left her to her plotting, until Jenny came to remind her she had to dress to attend the ball that evening.

  * * * *

  Harry evaded all his hostess’s efforts to persuade him to dance, and spent the first hour propping up the wall by the entrance to a small anteroom. He had contemplated not attending, but he knew Claude would be there, and Elizabeth, and probably her new escort Sir David Clarkson. He needed to watch what they were all doing. He accepted that Rowanlea and everything else now belonged to Claude, and legally he could dispose of any but the entailed land, but he could not stomach the thought that a man with Sir David’s reputation for leading young men astray would benefit.

  Sir David was generally held to be a dangerous man to play cards with, but no one had actually caught him fudging the cards, and as he was reckoned an excellent shot no one had been foolhardy enough to challenge him without clear evidence of wrongdoing.

  His second cause for concern was the situation between Claude and Elizabeth. He’d known her for ever, and even if she didn’t want him he did not wish her to be unhappy, and if she were tempted to accept any offer Claude made she would certainly not experience much happiness.

  She was a considerable heiress, an only child, and none of her father’s estates were entailed. Once he had possession of her fortune, and later on, when her parents died, the rest of her inheritance, Claude would be able to gamble that away. He did not wish that fate on Elizabeth, and could only hope her father would be sufficiently wary to secure her jointure so that Claude could not get his hands on it.

  Should he talk to Mr Maine? No sooner had the notion come to him than he discarded it. He would be regarded as jealous, resentful at the loss of Rowanlea, and of Elizabeth. The way he had been behaving the past few weeks it was probable Mr Maine was well aware of his attentions to Elizabeth.

  Brooding, he watched the dancers and suddenly saw Charlotte dancing with Richard. They seemed to be on remarkably familiar terms, he thought, clenching his fists. They had all known one another for years, and he suddenly wondered whether there was something more than friendship between them. The thought startled him. Of course he knew that girls making their come-out were expected to find a husband, but somehow he had never thought of his little cousin being someone’s wife.

  He considered the possibility. Richard was a good friend. He was not especially wealthy, but his fortune was perfectly adequate to support a wife. He was sensible, he neither gambled nor kept mistresses, he had a neat little manor house not far from Rowanlea, and when his father died would inherit a much larger property in Kent. He would probably at some time take over his father’s parliamentary seat, when the older man wished to retire. Most people would consider him a good match, but for some reason Harry was not pleased at the idea.

  Harry’s attention was abruptly snatched away from considering Charlotte and her prospects when he saw Charlotte’s mother dancing with Mr Penharrow. It was by no means unheard of for chaperones occasionally to dance, and his aunt was still young. This evening she looked even younger, no more than a girl, in a ball gown of deep gold glittering with gold thread embroidery. The cap she wore was no more than a scrap of lace, and she looked anything but a dowager with a daughter of eighteen.

  The dance ended, and Harry pushed himself away from the wall. It was time he talked to a few people. So far he had seen neither Claude nor Elizabeth, but Sir David was strolling around the ballroom, as if he were searching for someone.

  He had taken half a dozen steps when he saw Charlotte and Richard going into the anteroom by which he had been standing. He was sure it was empty, and he felt a sudden hot wave of anger towards Richard. Charlotte, he knew, after the afternoon’s visit to his rooms, was as innocent as a baby, and would not stop to consider it wrong to go apart with a young man, but Richard should have known better and ought to be protecting her reputation.

  Swinging round he strode across and went into the anteroom. The pair were seated on a small satin-covered sofa, and laughing. Charlotte, indeed, was almost convulsed with it, and Richard was holding his sides.

  “What the devil?” Harry asked, feeling rather stu
pid for his suspicions. “You oughtn’t to be here alone,” he added.

  “I know, but I’d have disgraced myself if I hadn’t been able to hide,” Charlotte said, still giggling. “And it’s all perfectly innocent, and now you are here, Harry, so no one can criticize us.”

  “But what is so amusing?”

  “Claude,” Charlotte began, and once more dissolved into giggles.

  Richard began to explain.

  “The dance had ended and we were going back to Lady Weare, when we happened to pass Claude talking to Clarkson. Well, to be precise, he wasn’t talking, he was gobbling like a turkey cock. Clarkson asked him who the little ladybird was he’d been seen with earlier, and whether Claude would introduce him, for she looked a tasty little piece.”

  “We stopped to listen,” Charlotte added. “I don’t think Elizabeth would like to know that Claude is keeping a mistress.”

  “You ought not to know about such things,” Harry felt bound to say. “Or at least not talk about them.”

  “Pooh! I’ve heard you and Jack talk about the girls, and seen them parading at Drury Lane, showing off and presumably looking for protectors. But those girls were dressed in all their finery, and Sir David described this one as looking starved and wearing rags, even though she was so pretty. When Claude said something, which we couldn’t hear, Sir David said he ought to look after her better, and that was when Claude started to threaten him, but he was so incoherent he could hardly spit the words out. Sir David asked him if he wanted to call him out for insulting his light o’ love, and then walked away. I do think if he’d stayed Claude would have called him out,” she added wistfully. “That would have solved everything, for Richard has heard he’s a famous marksman.”

  “You are an unprincipled brat. Come and dance with me, if you can stop this giggling.”

  He nodded to Richard and led Charlotte out to the ballroom where a country dance was about to start, but his thoughts were not on the movements, and several times Charlotte or the other dancers had to prompt him. What did it mean? Did Claude have a mistress? Was she as poor as Sir David seemed to think? He ought to be pleased Claude was not spending his blunt on women, but if he were serious about Elizabeth, ought Harry to speak to her and warn her?