The Regency Romances of Mira Stables: Part One

by Mira Stables

  “Don’t you see?” explained Charles, “if there really is danger, your uncle can do nothing openly. It would never serve if any so-called accident that might befall you could be traced to his agency. So when he is openly enquiring for you, you are safe. What we must guard against is any attempt to remove you from the keeping of your friends to—let us say—his Yorkshire home, where you would be much more vulnerable. Now tell me—who is your legal guardian?”

  She looked bewildered. “I don’t think I have one. There are trustees who manage my money affairs—my father’s lawyer is one of them—and he has always paid my school bills and my allowance. But that is not the same thing is it?”

  He shook his head. “Unless your father left a will appointing a guardian for the period of your minority, we could find ourselves in a very awkward situation.”

  She looked at him trustfully. “In what way?”

  “I very much fear that your Uncle Nicholas, as your nearest male relative, could claim rights of guardianship.”

  Her eyes widened and darkened. “I’ll never submit to such an iniquity. Do you mean that he could dictate where I should live and how I should behave?”

  “I’m afraid so,” nodded Charles ruefully. “Until you marry. And no doubt his consent would be necessary before you could marry. But come—we are looking at troubles that may not exist. We don’t know but that your father named some perfectly suitable guardian for you. So cheer up, my child. After all—you’re not quite friendless.”

  One small hand flew out to touch his arm fleetingly in an impulsive gesture of gratitude. She even managed a smile, though it was rather a tremulous one. “If you will hold me excused, I think I should at once tell Jasie of this newest happening,” she said quietly.

  “Aye—you do that, Miss Nell. I’ll lay he’ll be more than a match for your uncle. Or if he isn’t, Emma will be,” said Giles, moving to open the door for her and casting a darkling frown on Charles’s attempt to forestall him.

  “Had you forgot that you’re a sick man, Sir?” he enquired, a touch of acerbity underlying the soft Sussex drawl. “That wench is no dafthead. She’s bound to see you’re up to something.”

  “The poor child has troubles enough of her own without concerning herself with my affairs,” said Charles pityingly. “But no matter for that just now. What did you make of the innkeeper?”

  “Too smooth and too helpful by half,” said Giles bluntly. “And as for him having naught to do with smugglers, I don’t believe that either. He’s some reason for keeping his dealings dark, and that’s a mighty suspicious thing, for no honest Sussex man would think the worse of him for it. What’s more, he took good care that I’d no chance of a private word with Jim Cooke—that’s the stable lad I mentioned. Jim might just to say have let it out that they did have dealings with the free traders.” He shook his head ponderously. “It’s sure there’s something havey cavey about him, but whether it’s what we’re after is a different matter. You’ll have to take a fancy to a drop of his port. That’ll give me a chance to go over again.”

  Charles groaned. “Port! As though the headache I’ve got isn’t enough! Now. What about this uncle of Miss Easton’s? He’s been here before you say? Could he be concerned in our affair?”

  Giles stared at him. “Nay Sir!” he said reproachfully, “A brother of Colonel Easton’s?”

  “Half brother,” corrected Charles briskly. “And a thorough-paced scoundrel from what I can make out, or so the colonel himself thought.”

  Giles scratched his ear thoughtfully. “It’s possible it’s just about Miss Nell. Depends how long he’s been coming about these parts.”

  Charles nodded. “Yes. But one thing we can reckon on. It’s business of one kind or another that brings him, for there’s naught in Wintringham to bring a man of fashion out of town on pleasure bent. What’s more, Miss Easton says he’s employed in government service. That would fit too.”

  There was a thoughtful silence. Then Giles shook his head slowly.

  “Straws, master, just straws,” he grunted.

  “True enough,” agreed Charles grimly, “but given enough straws, one begins to make bricks.”

  “So parson used to tell us,” grinned Giles. “Well, Sir, we’d best make it the Madeira, since you don’t fancy the port. And maybe I’ll manage a word with young Jim. All agape I’ll be, about visitor, chaise, horses and all. Never seen such afore in all my puff. I reckon he’ll be proud to tell me all about ’em, including how regular they come.”

  Further elaboration on this simple method of extracting information was interrupted by Bella, who bobbed a curtsey and nervously rolled the corner of her apron round one hand as she anounced breathlessly, “If you please, Sir, Mistress Woodstead ’ud be glad if you could step along and have a word with her, if convenient.” Having delivered herself of which painstakingly acquired message, she turned and fled.

  Charles quirked an eyebrow at his ally. “She might at least have offered to conduct me to Mistress Woodstead’s room,” he said. “I own myself most eager to meet your good sister-in-law.”

  “It’ll be to do with Miss Nell’s affair. Emma thinks as much of Miss Nell as if she was her own flesh and blood. Which is natural, seeing as she’s brought her up from a baby. She’ll be worritting herself to flinders about this uncle coming down hereabouts. As for her quarters—they’re just a step across the landing from your door.”

  When Nell had said that even Papa was a little afraid of Emma, Charles had pictured a tough and strapping female, a regular Amazon, an image based on some of the camp-followers who had accompanied the army in Spain. But the woman who greeted him was quiet dignity as she sat propped against her pillows, was quite unlike the creature of his imagining. She was probably in her early thirties, for her skin was fresh and smooth and there was no trace of grey in the smooth bands of brown hair that showed beneath her beautifully laundered cap. She put down the sewing on which she had been engaged, settled her shawl more closely about her shoulders, and leaned back against the pillows, her hands lying relaxed in her lap and her calm grey eyes studying him with a cool concentration that was curiously impersonal. Under that clear measuring gaze Charles began to feel quite uneasy—a sensation almost unknown since nursery days. He found himself actually stammering a little as he murmured polite enquiries as to Mistress Woodstead’s health and the well-being of her small son, peacefully asleep in a wooden cradle standing near the hearth.

  She waved his courtesies aside, not rudely, but as one who had no time to waste on trivialities, and gestured to him take the chair which had been set beside the bed. Meekly Charles did so. The room was over warm, for even on this summer day a low fire was burning. Perhaps this was why he felt an impulse to run a finger around a neckcloth which suddenly seemed too tight.

  “I am much obliged to you for coming, Captain Trevannion. I want to beg your help for Miss Easton. Jasie says ’tis a great impudence on my part, and there’s no call to tease you with her affairs. But you’ve served with Colonel Easton, and I think you’ll not desert his child in her need.”

  Her softly accented country voice fell pleasantly, soothingly, on his ears. It was so serenely assured that he would naturally do his duty as she saw it, that he found himself, almost before he was aware, assuring her that he would be honoured to serve Miss Easton in any way that she could suggest.

  At this she smiled at him quite delightfully, so that he was able to sun himself in her approval. He wondered whether to mention his own tentative ideas for Miss Easton’s future, but since his hostess seemed to have fallen into a gentle reverie it was perhaps more courteous to wait for her to resume the conversation.

  Presently she sat up erect, nodded briskly as though her thoughts had reached a satisfactory conclusion, and with her head tilted a little to one side offered him her lovely smile again and said, “You will forgive my bluntness, Sir, but time presses. From what Giles tells me, I understand you to be a single gentleman. Have you any female relatives to
whom we could entrust Miss Nell?”

  So her plan was the same as his. Quite pleased, Charles smiled back at her. Really, with her head at that angle, she reminded him irresistibly of a very intelligent terrier at an unusually promising rat hole. There was nothing in the least intimidating about her after all.

  “I never before regretted my lack of female relatives, ma’am. I am, as you say, unmarried. And I have only the one sister who, as it happens, is in a delicate situation just now. I had been thinking of the wives of some of our senior officers, almost any one of whom would be happy to take Miss Easton for her father’s sake. But it would take some little time to arrange, and time, as you say, presses.”

  “Then is there any lady of good standing—the mother or aunt perhaps of some young lady of your acquaintance—to whom we could appeal?”

  Charles shook his head. “I’m afraid my acquaintance is almost entirely masculine,” he said apologetically. “Military duties leave one little time for social engagements.” He looked up, caught a derisory gleam in the grey eyes, and capitulated completely. “And are much more to my taste,” he confessed, grinning.

  She smiled back; that wonderful, understanding maternal smile. “In that case, the best thing you can do is to make Miss Nell an offer,” she said gently.

  For a moment Charles scarcely realised the import of her remark. He was still savouring the satisfaction of having so easily made friends with the redoubtable Emma, of whom ‘even Papa was a little bit afraid.’ The shock of comprehension was all the greater. Could he have heard aright? Had the incredible creature really made that preposterous suggestion, just as though it were the most natural thing in the world?

  And she was laughing at him. “Pray don’t look so frightened!” she begged. “Oh dear! Jasie has always said that my enjoyment of the ridiculous would be my undoing. But if only you could see your own face! I don’t mean you to marry her! But you could give us good cause for holding out against Sir Nicholas when he seeks to take her from us. Which he will do,” she went on, seeing Charles still bereft of speech, “for well I know the Colonel never writ anything down, dear careless man that he was, always one to put off doing the dull tasks till next day.”

  “Even if I were to consent to such an outrageous scheme,” said Charles, already half convinced that this mad-brained goddess was in the right of it, “will you ever get Miss Easton to agree to it?”

  Again that piercingly sweet beneficent smile. “As to that, Master Charles, I’ll rely on you to persuade her. She’s just the least mite wary of my management.”

  As well she might be, thought ‘Master Charles’ never even noticing that he himself had been reduced to nurseling status by his unconscious acceptance of the childhood title.

  “It will be best,” explained his mentor, “if you settle it between you right away. The Parfitts were instructed to tell any callers that Miss Easton was visiting friends in the neighbourhood, but it hasn’t been possible to keep the child close hidden, and any number of people will be able to advise Sir Nicholas of her whereabouts. There may not be very much time to think of a credible story. Fortunately Sir Nicholas can know nothing about you, or how recent is your acquaintance with your ‘betrothed’. At least—” with sudden anxiety—“you do not know him, do you?”

  Charles shook his head reassuringly.

  “Then it should be possible to convince him that your friendship is of long standing and that the betrothal had Sir Jonathan’s approval. We shall say that you are to escort Miss Nell to your sister’s house as soon as I am sufficiently recovered to accompany her.”

  “And if he remains in the neighbourhood? We can scarcely hope to maintain such a deception for more than a few days.”

  “Oh—by then we shall think of something else. You will find Miss Nell in the herb garden. I asked her to pick the lavender while the sun was on it. It is good for the hands to be busy when the mind is anxious. I am sure that you will be able to bring her to a proper understanding.” And she nodded gentle dismissal.

  Chapter Seven

  “No,” said Nell firmly. “I could not do it.”

  Charles ran a hand through his already wildly ruffled locks, and returned to the attack. “You need say nothing yourself,” he pointed out. “I will engage myself to apprise your uncle of the situation. All you have to do is to acquiesce.”

  “But it’s all lies,” she persisted. “And when I know it to be false, acquiescence is as bad as telling the lies myself. I know Papa would say so.”

  “And would he also say that you must meekly submit to your uncle’s guardianship?” reminded Charles grimly.

  “Of course not. But I must think of some way out that does not involve me in deceit. You must never lie for your own advantage,” she ended, as one reciting a well learned lesson.

  Sudden inspiration visited Charles. Perhaps after all there was a way out of the impasse. “Could you bring yourself to accept the scheme if it were not to advantage yourself, but to help me?” he asked.

  She lifted a surprised face to his. “How would it help you?” she said doubtfully.

  “It could do so,” he answered, “but if I am to explain how, I must tell you a little more of my purpose here, and I must be able to rely absolutely on your discretion.”

  Perplexity and doubt were swept from her expressive countenance, and eagerly she assured him that she would be discretion itself. Charles had little faith in the discretion of any female, but after all he need not tell her very much.

  “In the pursuance of my orders,” he picked his words with care, “it is necessary that I remain in this district for a while. And since my true purpose is secret, I must have an obvious and convincing reason for so doing. It seemed at first that my—er—accident might serve the purpose. Unfortunately it also limits my usefulness, since if I am supposed to be laid on a bed of pain I cannot move freely about the village. This scheme of Mistress Woodstead’s would suit admirably, for no one would think it at all odd that I should wait to escort you both to my sister’s house when we are supposedly betrothed.”

  Nell was wavering. “Yes—I can understand that. And though I cannot like the scheme, yet if it would serve you—”

  Charles played his final trump. “It would indeed serve me. But remember too, if such deceit is distasteful to you, that in helping me you are also serving England.”

  As he had hoped, this argument proved to be a clincher. From positive aversion she began to display modest enthusiasm, and by the time they had worked out the details of their imaginary acquaintance, it must be regretfully confessed that a youthful delight in play acting had quite overcome any remaining moral scruples. Once convinced and committed she proved a far more ingenious conspirator than Charles, inventing a romantic story of their first meeting, which, she decided, had taken place at Shorncliffe. The ten year old Nell had taken a tumble—“And that’s true enough,” she interjected, “for it was for ever happening. I had an ambition at that time to ride one of my father’s horses, Conqueror, a splendid chestnut, and since he wouldn’t accept a side saddle I rode him with just a blanket strapped on him till Emma found out. She was so angry with me she actually reported me to Papa. He gave me a tremendous trimming for daring to ride his horse without permission, but he wasn’t really cross. Indeed I heard him telling Jasie afterwards that I was pluck to the backbone and should have been born a boy.”

  She broke off abruptly, colouring furiously, and put her fingers over her mouth in a gesture of dismay. “Oh dear!” The gay young voice dropped to a repentent murmur. “That was boasting wasn’t it? Papa would have been disgusted if he had heard me.”

  “No such thing,” contradicted Charles briskly. “He would still be proud of your pluck—but if he could see how charmingly you look, he would be glad he had such a pretty daughter instead of a son.”

  As a compliment it was rather a clumsy effort, but Charles had had little opportunity of practising the art of turning a smooth phrase. Nell heard it with interest. “Do you real
ly think I’m pretty?” she asked hopefully, “or are you just practising to impress my uncle? I suppose, if we are betrothed, that you will have to pay me compliments.”

  “That will be my pleasure,” declared Charles, improving rapidly.

  “It’s a delightful pastime,” agreed the lady cheerfully. “I like to hear you say charming things, even if it is only a game. But where was I? Oh yes! Conqueror had just thrown me. And a tall and handsome young ensign came to my assistance. I can pay compliments too, you see,” she said with demure mischief. “From that day I became most deeply attached to my gallant rescuer,” she went on with a fine dramatic flourish, “And so—and so—oh dear! What comes next?”

  “Why, when I was on furlough eighteen months ago,” improvised Charles, determined not to be outdone, “I visited my Godmother who resides in Tunbridge Wells, and chanced to accompany her to church. Judge of my surprise when, among the bevy of young ladies from the local seminary—which one was it, by the way? Miss Pringle’s?—I recognised my youthful sweetheart, now grown to a damsel of surpassing beauty. Whereupon I fell headlong in love.”

  The ‘damsel of surpassing beauty’ eyed him with considerable respect, and said reverently, “It’s a splendid story, isn’t it? Only I’m afraid now we have to be serious. I don’t like to bring darling Papa into such a farrago of nonsense, though he would have dearly enjoyed the joke, but I think we must say that on rejoining your regiment you made it your business to become better acquainted with him, and at last approached him with a request for my hand in marriage.”

  Better to finish the tale on a light-hearted note, thought Charles, and plunged boldly on, “And he, well aware that with my natural genius I must inevitably end up as a Field Marshal, naturally snatched at such an excellent match for his only daughter. He was, of course, already cognisant of my domestic virtues, having frequently shared the suppers of acorns and army mule with which I was so apt to entertain my friends. Such a paragon is rare. He could scarcely be blamed for accepting such an eligible offer on your behalf.”