The Regency Romances of Mira Stables: Part One

by Mira Stables

  He regarded his ‘betrothed’, submerged in helpless giggles, with an air of languid disdain. “Really, ma’am,” he drawled affectedly, surveying her through an imaginary quizzing glass, “this ill-timed mirth is not becoming to my future bride. And that is another thought,” he went on, with an abrupt reversion to his normal manner. “If we are supposedly betrothed I can scarcely continue to address you as Ma’am or Miss Easton. What may I call you?”

  She looked up at him a little shyly. “My name is Helen, but Papa always called me Nell. He said that Helen only led men on to destruction—I collect that he was referring to Trojan Helen—but Nell, he was used to say, was merry and kind. It would be comfortable if you would call me Nell. Should I address you as Captain Trevannion or as Sir Charles?”

  “If you can bring yourself to do so, I believe you should address me as Charles, perhaps even,” he teased wickedly, “as dear Charles, or dearest Charles.”

  She primmed up her mouth reprovingly. “I am sure it would be most improper in me to use such affectionate terms in public,” she said firmly, “so it will not be necessary for me to practise them.”

  “But seriously,” he rejoined, “I think we should try to maintain our roles even when we are alone.” Seeing her instinctive recoil he added hastily, “I was only jesting, of course, about the way you should address me, but do pray bear in mind that it is not only your uncle whom we wish to impress. We want everyone to accept our story, and we cannot always be assured of our present privacy.”

  “Yes. Of course,” said Nell thoughtfully. “You know it is all very well inventing a romantic tale, but I am afraid I do not know how I should behave. You see”—half laughing, half shy—“I was never betrothed before.”

  “I must confess equal ignorance,” admitted Charles. “Perhaps Mistress Woodstead will tell us how we should go on. Meanwhile I think it would present a pleasing picture if I were to carry the basket while you finish picking the lavender. I am sure they behave just so in Arcady—and can only regret that my attire is not more appropriate to the setting.”

  But Nell, looking fondly at his well worn uniform coat, declared that the satins and ribbons of Arcady could never be so becoming to a man as was a soldier’s coat.

  “Certainly not so comfortab’e,” added Charles. “I sometimes wonder how I shall do when this campaign is ended.”

  “You will sell out?”

  “Not till we have done with Bonaparte of course. Perhaps not then. Though I doubt if I’d enjoy a soldier’s life in peace time. It is difficult to remember a time when we were not at war, or to imagine a life spent in administering one’s estates.”

  “Do you inherit then? You mentioned your grandfather’s death, but I thought—” and she stopped, blushing at the impertinence of her question. But Charles was not offended. Indeed since they must necessarily be much in each other’s company, he was thankful to find her so natural and conversible.

  “Like you, I am an orphan,” he explained, answering her unspoken query first. “So I do, in fact, inherit. Trevannions is quite a small estate though. I doubt if there would be enough work to keep me occupied. And my grandfather’s steward has run the place ever since my father was killed.”

  “Oh! Was your father also a soldier?” asked Nell eagerly.

  He had said too much. But too late to poker up now, for he could not possibly snub this nice confiding child. “No,” he said quietly, “he was killed in a duel. I am afraid it is a most unhappy story. My mother had been brought up in Barbados in the West Indian islands and had never left that sunny clime until she married. She and my father were deep in love, but unfortunately my mother never settled in Sussex. The cold shrivelled her up, she was used to declare, the houses were both stuffy and draughty, and the sun never really shone. Nevertheless she endured these rigours patiently until, at the time of my sister’s marriage she chanced to meet a young man whom she had known as a child in her island home. I have always believed that it was only a nostalgia for the scenes of her girlhood that made her value his company, for he was ten years younger than she. But she was heedless, too trusting in her friendship. The affair became an open scandal, and the outcome was a duel in which my father was killed outright and his opponent so seriously wounded that he died within the month. Overwhelmed by the tragedy which she had brought upon us all, my mother fled, returning to her old home and, so my grandfather subsequently informed me, dying of a fever while I was still at school. Don’t look so sorrowful, child. It is an old story now, and grieves me only that I was never able to seek my mother out as I had planned to do.”

  In the centre of the garden was an ancient sundial. They had drifted towards it as they talked and Nell had seated herself on the worn stone at its foot, her head studiously bent over the lavender in her lap, while Charles leaned one elbow on the dial itself, tracing the scorings on the stone with an idle finger. The sun was still gilding the crumbling stone though the shadows were growing longer. A small hand slid gently into the battle hardened palm that hung lax at his side. A quick warm pressure and it was gone, so swiftly that he might have dreamed it, but the girl’s low voice roused him to present reality. “Just a schoolboy—perhaps the same age as my father was when he was so cruelly hurt. But at least your sorrow was caused by misunderstanding and not by deliberate treachery.”

  The loss of both his parents, and the circumstances which inhibited its discussion, had raised a barrier between a sensitive boy and his contemporaries, so that he had withdrawn into himself, pleasant but aloof, trusting no one wholly save Giles who had won his place before tragedy struck. It had cost him an effort even now to speak openly and calmly as he had done to the girl at his feet, yet the telling, after all these years, had brought a sense of peace. Perhaps there was a magic of healing in that sun-soaked herb-scented garden. Certainly he felt strangely refreshed.

  He smiled down at the shining dark head bowed so assiduously over the sprigs of blossom, and though she did not see the smile Nell could hear the lightening in his voice as he went on, “And indeed I do not know why I should be boring on for ever with tales of old griefs. Though doubtless”—and now for sure he was teasing—“when you are betrothed to a gentleman on such short acquaintance it is as well to learn all you can of his family history. My great-grandfather, for instance, was a very dirty dish. He made Cornwall too hot to hold him at the beginning of the last century. It is generally understood that he laid the foundation of his fortune by pursuing a successful career as a wrecker.”

  “What is that?” asked Nell, seconding his obvious wish to bring the conversation to lighter topics.

  “It is a pastime peculiar to isolated and savage sea coasts. By displaying false leading lights, especially during rough weather, it is possible to lure the unsuspecting mariner into dangerous waters, where in all probability his vessel will become a total wreck, to the great profit of the wreckers.”

  “But what happened to the sailors? Were they not brought into great danger?”

  “I fear so. Indeed it is said that such as survived the onslaught of the seas were often very roughly handled if they did manage to struggle ashore.”

  “What dreadful wickedness! Of course it all happened long ago,” she added hastily, suddenly realising that she was passing these severe strictures on his forebears.

  “Many years ago,” he agreed solemnly. “I do not think that I can justifiably be blamed for my great-grandpapa’s conduct. And even at his worst, he never, so far as I am aware, attempted to push his elder brother over a cliff. Certainly he cannot have succeeded in doing so, since there are still Trevannions living in the original family home in Cornwall. Perfectly respectable people I believe,” he added gravely, “though I have never had the pleasure of making their acquaintance. They still remember great-grandpapa you see.”

  Nell giggled. “And having founded his fortunes and earned the opprobrium of his neighbours, he removed to Sussex?” she enquired.

  “There to purchase an ancient and ruinous ma
nor house, which he caused to be pulled down, and several adjacent farms. He rebuilt the house, but for one reason or another was never able to settle on just the name to give it. Hence, being generally described by his neighbours at Trevannion’s place, it came by its present name—Trevannions. He later married the younger daughter of a neighbouring landowner, and settled down to a life of dignity and consequence. He even became a magistrate. Quite a reformed character you see.”

  Nell shook her head regretfully. “I am afraid that my ancestors are a very dull lot. None of them seem to have done anything exciting.”

  “Exciting people are not necessarily pleasant to live with,” Charles pointed out. “You certainly have a rather unusual uncle. And if I am not mistaken he is about to pay us a visit. From Giles’s description of it, that can only be his chaise. He is certainly not one to let the grass grow under his feet. I had not expected him until tomorrow. Now do we go into the parlour to meet him? No, I think not. We will permit him to seek us out here, for certainly in this pleasant spot we must present a picture of idyllic happiness.”

  He searched his fellow conspirator’s face for signs of undue nervousness, but was well satisfied with what he saw. Her expression was perhaps a little set but her colour was natural and there was a militant sparkle in her eyes. Feeling his gaze upon her she looked up at him enquiringly. He smiled at her—and Charles’s rare smile was delightful. “That’s my good girl,” he said cheerfully. “Chin up—Nell!”

  Chapter Eight

  The gentleman who stood surveying the scene from the doorway of the inn appeared to have little taste for the Arcadian idyllic. His brows had creased slightly at the sight of the couple in the garden, though he had already been informed of the presence of a military gentleman at the Lamb. Now, as he saw the girl smile up into the officer’s face, saw the fellow actually set his fingers under her chin and stoop as though to kiss her, the crease deepened to a scowl and he strode forward a pace, only to check at once. He had not, for years, permitted himself to act upon impulse. The situation was not quite what he had expected to find, but he had no doubt of his ability to handle it to his own satisfaction. Undoubtedly, until he found out exactly how the land lay, his best approach was one of avuncular concern for the welfare of an orphaned niece. So it was with lips curved in an agreeable smile that he strolled forward and bowed gracefully to the young lady.

  “Miss Easton? Miss Helen Easton?” he enquired in soft cultured tones.

  Nell was rather taken aback. Somehow she had built up the picture of a regular villain, of the type she had frequently encountered in forbidden novels. The eminently presentable gentleman bowing before her bore no resemblance to the creature of her imagining. His air was assured and easy, his dress immaculate. She could see nothing to cavil at there, though to the more worldly Charles it spoke eloquently of town life and was unsuited for country wear. To crown everything he was undeniably handsome, his colouring dark, his features clear cut, and his figure good, apart from a slight tendency to fleshiness natural in a man of sedentary occupation.

  Yet Nell found herself regarding him with a revulsion that had nothing to do with her knowledge of his past. Later, when she had time to sort out her impressions, she was to decide that it was the smooth impassivity of the face that was so repellent. It was almost mask-like in its calm. The smile which curved his mouth did not warm his eyes. Whatever thoughts and emotions stirred behind the mask were not permitted to wrinkle its smooth surface. To Nell, herself a creature of impulse and as transparent as glass, he seemed slightly inhuman and a little frightening.

  She curtsied slightly at his address and said composedly, “Yes, sir. That is my name.”

  “Then may I be permitted to present myself? I am your father’s younger brother—your Uncle Nicholas.”

  She curtsied again, this time with a touch of cool hauteur, but did not speak. In dealing with the enemy—and that Sir Nicholas was the enemy she had no doubt whatever—it was quite unnecessary to subscribe to social conventions. They could dispense with small talk.

  Sir Nicholas seemed unperturbed by his chilly reception. “You may have heard my brother speak of me, my child,” he went on kindly. “I have not presumed to intrude earlier on your grief, since I knew that you were well cared for in the seminary where my dear brother placed you. But now that the time has come for you to take your place in society you will need help and guidance. I can, of course, produce proof that I am indeed your uncle if you so desire.”

  “My father told me a good deal about his half brother,” said Nell, with some emphasis on the ‘half’. “I cannot see any family resemblance, but I don’t doubt that you are indeed Sir Nicholas Easton.”

  “Then perhaps you will consent to be private with me, since there are certain family matters to be discussed between us. Pray hold the lady excused, sir,” he added, bowing politely to Charles.

  “Present me to your uncle, Nell, if you please,” said that gentleman quietly.

  “Why yes—if you wish it—” she murmured with an air of mild surprise at such a request. “Captain Sir Charles Trevannion, of the 52nd. Regiment, Sir Nicholas Easton of Scarroby in Yorkshire, my father’s half brother.”

  The gentlemen exchanged slight formal bows.

  “And now—may we be private, niece?” repeated Sir Nicholas. “Time presses, for already it is evening and there are many arrangements to be made.”

  “No need for privacy, sir,” said Charles cheerfully. “Nell and I have no secrets from each other. You could not know it of course, since you have only just found us out, but we are betrothed, and plan to be married soon. You may count me quite one of the family.”

  The privilege seemed to give Sir Nicholas little satisfaction. “You cannot be serious,” he said in deeply shocked accents. “Marriage plans so soon! Not for anything would I wish to appear censorious, but I am sadly grieved to find you wearing colours, my dear. To have put off your half mourning so soon seems to indicate a lack of sensibility that I can only deplore.”

  Nell’s eyes flashed fury. “My father expressly forbade us to wear mourning if—if—in the event of his death. No one, he said, should mourn for a soldier killed in the execution of his duty. They should be proud—as I am, sir.”

  Since this was certainly unanswerable, Sir Nicholas continued smoothly as though she had not spoken. “Nor can I approve your residing in this—er—hostelry,” turning upon the humble Lamb a critical eye, “quite unchaperoned and, to make matters worse, in company with your affianced husband. It is really shocking.” He turned reproachful eyes on Charles. “You, sir, have been about the world, and must be well aware that such conduct is most improper. Consider the slur that your heedlessness casts on the fair name of this innocent child! Why—if it were to become known there is not a lady in good society who would receive her. My niece!”

  This reflection appeared to move him beyond speech, for he fell silent, obviously brooding over the shocking behaviour of the younger generation and their total lack of consideration for the susceptibilities of their elders.

  “No slur can possibly rest upon Miss Easton’s good name,” said Charles very softly. “If any such suggestion is made, I shall know very well how to deal with it. In the present instance it is quite absurd. Miss Easton has been all the time in the care of her devoted servants. As for my own presence here, since you are a relative of Miss Easton’s, and so in some measure entitled to concern yourself with her welfare, I am willing to explain. Shortly after my arrival here last night I met with a slight accident and sustained a trivial injury which made it impossible for me to remove from the inn. If however this explanation does not satisfy you—” He shrugged, and allowed the sentence to trail away, his eyes bright and hopeful.

  But Sir Nicholas, it appeared, was not yet ready to force an issue. He ignored the scarcely veiled challenge, bowed acknowledgement, and remarked coldly, “I am happy to see that your health is now fully restored. I apprehend that you will be leaving Springbourne very shortly?
”

  “No,” said Charles steadily. “I have decided to wait till I can escort Miss Easton to my sister’s house, where she is to reside until our marriage can be arranged. I daresay Mistress Woodstead will be able to undertake the journey, perhaps a month from now.”

  This news apparently dealt Sir Nicholas a shattering blow. He positively groaned as he shook his head over such shocking depravity. “It cannot be, young man. I really cannot permit such scandalous laxity. Helen, pack such things as you will require for the night. You must place yourself under my protection at once. How extremely fortunate that I decided to come in my chaise instead of riding over, as was my first intention. I shall carry you back with me to the Fleece this very day. The rest of your gear may be sent after you. We can only trust that this very foolish lapse will never be discovered. I take it that you can rely on the loyalty of your servants. And you, sir, can be discreet I trust?” He glared fiercely at Charles.

  Charles smiled at him affably. “Why—as to that, Sir Nicholas, it has never been tested,” he said pleasantly. “Nor is like to be now. I do not share your opinion that you are Miss Easton’s natural guardian. As her affianced husband, the care, both of her person and of her reputation is my privilege—and my pleasure,” he added, with a slight bow in Nell’s direction. “But since we are not agreed on this point, perhaps it would be better if we discussed it more privately. Nell, my dear, would you not like to take this lavender to Mistress Woodstead? You must be weary of all this brangling.”

  She met his eyes squarely, her face a little pale, her slim body tense but her voice quite composed as she said, “I think Sir Nicholas is in the right of it, dear Charles. In our joy over our reunion we have been careless of convention. I have been sadly at fault and must beg your pardon, but while you lay senseless I could think of nothing but my prayers for your recovery. I see now that I have been betrayed by my anxiety into conduct unbecoming to my position.”