My Lady Smuggler

by Margaret Bennett

  “I am afraid it does not matter,” her aunt said. “For a young lady, the entire situation is quite shameful and proper action must be taken to ensure there is no hint of scandal.”

  Rosalind felt her temper rising. “You seem to have forgotten the reason why we were there, Aunt Eugenia. It was all quite innocent, I assure you.”

  Clearing his throat, Melvyrn straightened up and addressed Lady Stainthrope. “Perhaps if you’ll allow me a few minutes with Miss Wensley, my lady?”

  “You’ve had all the time you’re going to get alone with my niece until after a wedding, Melvyrn” her aunt replied with asperity.

  “I understand your concern,” he said, diplomatically. “However, I haven’t had an opportunity to discuss matters with your niece.”

  Listening to them, Rosalind shook her head. Finally, she stood. “Enough! This discussion is at an end. There will be no wedding.”

  “Don’t be mulish,” Aunt Eugenia chided her, “or foolish. No gentleman will have you if this scandal ever becomes known.”

  But before Rosalind could respond, Tinsley knocked on the door and announced, “Begging your pardon, Miss Wensley, but Lieutenant Showell from the Shorncliffe Redoubt wishes a moment of your time.”

  “I expressly told you we are not at home,” Aunt Eugenia said haughtily.

  “I did tell the Lieutenant that, my lady,” Tinsley said, with a bow. “However, he insisted he was here doing the Regent’s business.”

  Lady Stainthrope looked at Melvyrn and said, “Well?”

  Melvyrn inclined his head. “Show the Lieutenant in, Tinsley.”

  Rosalind squared her shoulders and noticed Melvyrn smiling at her. She raised her chin defiantly just as a tall and rail thin man entered with Tinsley, who announced, “Lieutenant Showell.”

  Rosalind noted his rigid posture as he took her hand and bowed. “Your servant, Miss Wensley,” he said with his hazel eyes focused on hers. He straightened and Rosalind completed the introductions before asking, “Just what is it you wish to speak to me about, Lieutenant?”

  “Forgive my intrusion, Miss Wensley, but we have reports that smugglers were sighted near your property last night,” said Lieutenant Showell.

  “We’ve seen no smugglers,” Melvyrn said coming to stand next to Rosalind.

  “In fact, Lieutenant,” Lady Stainthrope added, “we have not left the Hall since yesterday afternoon.”

  “I see,” said Showell. “But what about your staff, Miss Wensley? Perhaps they have seen someone?”

  “I am sure if they had,” Rosalind said, raising her chin, “they would have come to me or Lord Melvyrn.”

  “Were you given a description, Lieutenant?” Melvyrn asked.

  Showell looked at Melvyrn. “No, my lord, for it was dark.”

  “Well then, I am sorry we cannot help you, Lieutenant,” Melvyrn said with a dismissive tone.

  The Lieutenant appeared nonplussed for a moment. “You will report any suspicious activity?” he asked.

  “Most assuredly,” replied Melvyrn.

  Bowing to the ladies, Showell took his leave with Tinsley appearing to show the Lieutenant out. Rosalind let out a breath, which she had not realized she’d been holding, as her aunt said softly, “You see, my dear, it is a dangerous game you have been at.” She patted the seat next to her on the settee. “Do sit down, Rosalind.”

  Suddenly finding herself with wobbly knees, Rosalind sank onto the settee. “They must be questioning everyone,” she said, looking at Melvyrn who appeared unfazed by the Lieutenant’s visit. “What if someone did see us? What could we do?”

  “My name will protect you,” Melvyrn said, then glanced meaningfully at her aunt.

  “I believe I will ask Tinsley for more tea,” Aunt Eugenia said, rising and heading for the hall. Turning back at the door she said, “I won’t be but a minute.”

  Once the door closed, Melvyrn sat next to Rosalind and took both her hands in his. “I know you are distressed over the way things have turned out, but there’s no need to be,” he began, watching her face intently. “We will be married--”

  “No,” she said, snatching her hands from his. “That is not necessary, my lord.”

  “I’m afraid it is, Rosalind.”

  She realized suddenly that she was dismayed not by the fact that they would wed but, rather, by the sad note in his voice. He did not wish to marry her. After all, he was a much sought after prize on the marriage mart, a peer who could have his pick of debutantes. Now, he was faced with marrying a nobody, a woman whose dowry was respectable but brought little else to recommend her to an earl. Biting her lip to hold back tears, she rose on shaky legs and, when he did the same, she said, “My lord--”

  “After all we’ve shared, please call me Martin,” he said.

  “I respect the honor you wish to bestow upon me,” she began, then took a deep breath. “However, I cannot--”

  “Then consider it a fait accompli,” he said angrily. In a softer tone he added, “Things will work out, Rosalind.” He started for the door. “I will inform your aunt of our decision. I’ll also be leaving immediately to report to Whitehall, but will return soon.”

  The door closed and suddenly Rosalind’s vision blurred as tears welled, then overflowed. She sank down on the settee again as a cold vice gripped her heart. Her actions had trapped Melvyrn, who cared nothing for her. If Melvyrn had offered for her under any other circumstances, her heart would be singing for joy. But he’d been forced into this engagement by Aunt Eugenia.

  How had she gotten into such a coil?

  *** Chapter 17 ***

  Tinsley directed Melvyrn to the study where he found Lady Stainthrope sitting in an armchair, gazing out the window. He took the chair next to hers when she asked, “I take it everything is settled?”

  Melvyrn met the older woman’s clear blue eyes and saw a similar resolve that Rosalind possessed. “I’ll leave for London today and procure a special license. You may look for an announcement in The Times.”

  “I am sorry that circumstances dictate such urgency, Melvyrn,” she said.

  He brushed it aside with a wave of his hand. “Matters quite possibly would have worked out the same anyway.” He hoped he sounded gallant, not petulant, although he felt neither. In fact, what he did feel surprised him. He actually wanted to marry the little vixen. The only real problem was Rosalind. It was obvious from her reaction that she did not want to marry him. Even though he’d only the one kiss to go by, her reaction led him to believe she cared for him. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

  “I should warn you that your niece is not so resigned to the situation,” he continued.

  Lady Stainthrope chuckled. “I am sure that a man of your reputation with the ladies will soon rectify that,” she said rather saucily. “Perhaps Rosalind and I will go with you to London?”

  “Unfortunately, I must leave today,” he said, rising to take his leave. “However, I will be most happy to provide an escort for you whenever you are ready.”

  “Nonsense,” Lady Stainthrope said, waving him out. “I have my own outriders, and we shall soon see you in London.”

  ~~~~~

  A soft knock sounded on the drawing room door. Rosalind quickly swiped her tear filled eyes with the backs of her hands as Tinsley opened the door.

  Ever respectful of his mistress, he stood just inside the door. “Begging your pardon, Miss Rosalind, but Tolly is in the kitchen, requesting to see you. Shall I show him in?”

  “No, I will come.” Taking a deep breath, she followed Tinsley to the kitchen. It would never do to have Aunt Eugenia come into the drawing room and find her with the big, burly fisherman.

  She found Tolly seated at the big kitchen table, devouring one of Cook’s blueberry tarts. When he saw her, he quickly shoved the rest in his mouth, chewing furiously as he stood. She gestured for him to sit and took the chair across from him. “Did you have much trouble last night?” she asked.

  “No more than expected,” he said. “The
re was nothing for them to find, so they couldn’t hold us.”

  Rosalind accepted a cup of tea that Cook placed in front of her. While she took a sip, Cook said, “I’ll be out in the kitchen garden, Miss Rosalind. Mind that you call me, if you need anything.”

  After the back door closed, Rosalind told Tolly about the officer from Shorncliffe Redoubt who’d come by asking questions.

  “They’ve been all over, even searched a couple of houses,” Tolly said. He stared at the table for a long moment, then looked up at her. “You can’t go no more, Miss Rosalind. It’s too dangerous.”

  Rosalind bit her lower lip. But Tolly was right, for even now, Jacques risked harassment by the French soldiers. And now her aunt was involved, lying to cover for her niece’s whereabouts last night. With tears welling behind her eyes again, she felt like a watering pot. She took a deep breath. “Will you still continue smuggling?”

  He pushed the teacup away and stood. “Best you don’t know what any of us do.”

  As Rosalind pushed her chair back to stand, she heard her Aunt Eugenia’s voice behind her. “What is going on in here? Who is this man, Rosalind?”

  Rosalind looked at Tolly and gestured with her hand for him to leave. Turning back to Lady Stainthrope, she said, “No one you need to know, Aunt Eugenia. Come.” She took her aunt’s arm and guided her toward the front of the house. “We will have tea and discuss going to London.” Once she said this, an idea formed and she decided to act instantly on it. “I believe it is time I experienced a Season.”

  ~~~~~

  The first order of business for Melvyrn was to report to the War Office in Whitehall. The Marquess of Roeburn warmly greeted him before the debriefing in which Melvyrn carefully left out any reference to Rosalind and her connection with the smugglers and Jacques Embree.

  “Things on the coast have heated up, what with skirmishes between the revenuer cutters and these cutthroat smugglers,” Roeburn said after hearing about Melvyrn’s late night swim. Leaning forward, Roeburn asked, “Other than your former sergeant, you’ve not provided any of the smugglers’ names.”

  Melvyrn shrugged. “For the most part, the people involved are simple villagers or farmers. They mean no harm to anyone.” Melvyrn thought of the hardworking men trying to improve life for their families that he’d seen on both sides of the Channel.

  “Perhaps, but because of them, too many gold sovereigns have made their way into Napoleon’s coffers.” Roeburn leaned back in his chair, swinging his pince-nez on its black cord around his hand. “This man, Tolly, you say he can be trusted to deliver the dispatches. What about your other contacts?”

  “All are dependable, except for Antoine Ratel. But the old Frenchman, Embree, is under too much suspicion to be useful. For now, dispatches should be delivered to the farmer in Marquise.”

  “Seems smuggling must not agree with you,” Roeburn said, sitting forward. “You look like the very devil. How’d you get that bruise on your jaw?”

  While shaving that morning, the soft blue coloring stared back at Melvyrn, reminding him of the delightful handful Miss Rosalind Wensley was. But he hadn’t considered that the Marquess would notice it. Thinking again that he’d willingly go another round with the petite and curvy smuggler who’d given him the blow, Melvyrn smiled self-deprecatingly. “Afraid it’s not something I care to relate.”

  Roeburn chuckled as he rose and saw Melvyrn to the door. “Like that, is it? Better go home, Melvyrn and keep away from your sisters for a day or two ‘til the bruise disappears.”

  But Melvyrn didn’t take the Marquess’s advice. Instead, he headed for St. James’s Street. Entering White’s, he was instantly greeted by Lord Denholm.

  “What bloody well happened to you?” Denholm asked, indicating a chair for Melvyrn to pull up. He grabbed a glass from a passing waiter and poured three fingers of brandy from a bottle sitting at his elbow. Pushing it toward Melvyrn, he pointed to his discolored jaw and said laughingly, “Don’t tell me that little vixen leveled you one?” When Melvyrn didn’t answer, Denholm whooped, “Damn, she’s a handful!”

  “Keep it down,” Melvyrn hissed, then took a long pull of the brandy. Seeing the interest in Denholm’s eyes, he added, “Don’t ask.”

  Still chuckling, Denholm inquired, “How’d the run go?”

  Melvyrn glanced around the near empty room. At this time of day, most of the gentlemen’s club members were tending to business or just rising after a late night. Observing the two old codgers across the room ensconced in red leather wingbacks reading newspapers, he said, “Ratel would turn his own mother over to the enemy for a gold sovereign, the old Frenchman had soldiers watching his cottage, and the Arrow had a run-in with the Valiant.”

  Denholm let out a low whistle. “Could things get any worse?”

  Melvyrn raised on eyebrow. “Lady Stainthrope, who arrived unexpectedly, was on hand when I delivered her niece, Miss Wensley, after being chased by the revenuers.” He was careful to leave out the fact that he’d spent a night with Rosalind, innocent though it was, and swam to shore to avoid interrogation by the crew of the Valiant.

  Denholm, for once speechless, sat back in his chair. After a moment, he asked, “Need a best man?”

  This time it was Melvyrn’s turn to chuckle. “I do--pardon the pun.”

  “You don’t seem upset.” When Melvyrn shook his head, Denholm smiled. “Ah, smitten at last.”

  Melvyrn didn’t dispute this. Nor did he explain that his bride to be was anything but happy about the impending nuptials. “Dare say, my sisters will be ecstatic.”

  ~~~~~

  Once the decision was made to spend the rest of the Season in London, Rosalind was amazed by her aunt’s efficiency. Trunks were packed and ready to load on Lady Stainthrope’s traveling coach by early the next morning. Although over the years, Rosalind had been to London several times with her father, she was still awed by the crowds, the noise, the stench, and the cloud of smoke that hovered over the city. It was nearing tea time when they pulled up to a large, four story Georgian townhouse on St. Charles Street. Following her aunt up the flagstone steps, the front door was opened by the butler, an elderly man with sparse white hair and moustache. “Good evening, Lady Stainthrope. I took the liberty of ordering tea to be set up in the drawing room,” he intoned in a deep, resonating voice, totally uncharacteristic to his small stature.

  “Very good, Felton,” Aunt Eugenia replied, stripping off her gloves, hat, and short cape. “I dare say an early dinner might be in order as well, for we must be up early tomorrow.” Leading the way into a long room with tall windows overlooking the street, she instructed Rosalind to pour the tea as a maid carried the tray in behind them. “Unfortunately, you have nothing suitable to wear, my dear,” she said. “You will have to make due with a few ready made gowns for the next few days, while I persuade Madame Collette to hasten several gowns immediately.” Accepting a teacup, she added, “I will send a note around to Melvyrn to let him know we are in Town.”

  “Please, Aunt,” Rosalind said beseechingly, “can it wait for a couple of days, or at least until I have a few new gowns.”

  Tapping her index finger to her chin, Aunt Eugenia eyed Rosalind. “Yes . . . perhaps that is the thing to do. Let Melvyrn see you in a more sophisticated role.”

  Thus, early the next morning, Rosalind’s aunt dragged her first to the modiste in Oxford Street, the bootier in Regent Street, then the haberdashers for ribbons and buttons, and the Royal Exchange for hats, trimmings, feathers, and artificial fruits and flowers. And every afternoon upon their return, Fulton presented Lady Stainthrope with a silver salver piled high with invitations. Both days the Earl of Melvyrn’s calling card crested the pile with the corner turned down, signifying that he’d called in person.

  Since Madame Collette had promised Rosalind alterations for several gowns would be completed by the second day, the next morning Lady Stainthrope informed her that they would attend a dinner given by Lady Matilda Egremont. “She is t
he Earl’s oldest sister, and most likely Melvyrn will be there. You will, of course, want to look your best,” she said, preparing to take Rosalind on another round of shopping.

  Despite her ambivalent feelings over seeing Melvyrn again, Rosalind took meticulous care dressing for Lady Egremont’s dinner party. Her apricot silk gown moved with her figure, softly clinging to her slender hips. The low neckline and short puffy sleeves exposed more skin than she was used to, but with a short string of pearls and long white gloves, she felt confident enough to meet the Prince Regent.

  That was until Lady Stainthrope’s coach pulled up in front of the Egremonts’ enormous townhouse.

  She’d expected a small, intimate dinner party. But upon entering a long drawing room decorated with gold, green, and yellow fabric on the walls, Rosalind was overwhelmed by the number of people already present. As she followed a half step behind her aunt, their hostess, a tall woman resplendent in a purple gown and a jewel-studded ribbon threaded through her dark brown hair, quickly met them, taking Lady Stainthrope’s arm.

  “Eugenia, I am so glad you and your niece were able to come upon such short notice.” Lady Egremont’s smile reached her deep blue eyes, so like Melvyrn’s. “I have been most anxious to make her acquaintance.” After Aunt Eugenia made the introductions, Rosalind found herself on her hostess’s arm, being led around the room for more introductions. She kept an eye out for the Earl, but there were so many people grouped in small clusters that she didn’t immediately see him.

  When they came to a group of gentlemen standing about one of the room’s two fireplaces, Lady Egremont singled out a tall, distinguished gentleman with graying sandy blonde hair. “Egremont, I have brought Melvyrn’s Miss Wensley to meet you.”

  Rosalind was not quite sure how to react to that and wondered if Melvyrn had already told his sister that they were engaged. She hoped not, for that would make her plan more difficult. But before she could respond, Melvyrn himself stepped forward and bowed over her hand. His touch set her heart pounding. He looked exceedingly handsome, impeccably dressed in black pantaloons that hugged his long, muscular thighs, a matching jacket that outlined his broad shoulders, cream silk waistcoat, and snowy white cravat. She drew her eyes from the dark brown locks swept from his high brow. “Don’t let Mattie intimidate you, Miss Wensley. As the oldest of my sisters, she has a tendency to see herself as a matriarch.”