Mistress of Madderlea Read online

  “I do not need an escort, my lord. I have nothing worth stealing.”

  “Except your good name.” It was out before he could stop it, and he knew he had laid himself open to a sharp retort. He was not disappointed.

  “That, my lord, was stolen earlier in the day and by someone I should have been able to trust.”

  “It was not stolen. It was freely given,” he said, equal to the challenge.

  “Lady Fitz said you were a rake, and how right she was,” she said, ignoring the truth of his remark.

  “And you are a tease.” He was angry now. He had thought she was in danger from ruffians, had expected gratitude, not this bitter exchange of accusations. Rake, indeed! “If you behave like a demirep, then you must expect to be treated like one.”

  Mistress of Madderlea Harlequin Historical #177—

  MARY NICHOLS

  was born in Singapore, and came to England when she was three. She has spent most of her life in different parts of East Anglia. She has been a radiographer, school secretary, information officer and industrial editor, as well as a writer. She has three grown-up children and four grandchildren.

  Mistress of Madderlea

  Mary Nichols

  Available from Harlequin® Historical and MARY NICHOLS

  The Incomparable Countess #156

  Lady Lavinia’s Match #163

  A Lady of Consequence #169

  Mistress of Madderlea #177

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter One

  1817

  ‘This is no good, no good at all,’ William Hundon muttered, reading a letter which had just been brought to the breakfast table. ‘Something must be done.’

  ‘My dear, do not frown so,’ his wife said, glancing up from the piece of toast she was buttering to look at him. ‘You will give yourself wrinkles.’

  ‘Wrinkles!’ he exclaimed. ‘If that were all I had to concern me, I should count myself fortunate…’

  ‘That is a letter from Mr Sparrow, is it not?’ she went on. ‘Only Mr Sparrow could put you in such an ill humour.’ Although an invalid and a martyr to rheumatics, his wife insisted on coming downstairs in a dressing gown to have breakfast en famille, which included their daughter, Charlotte, and her niece, Sophie, who had lived with them for the last two years.

  Sophie, alerted by the mention of Mr Sparrow’s name, looked up at her uncle. ‘Is there something untoward at Madderlea, Uncle William?’

  ‘There is always something untoward at Madderlea.’ He stopped speaking to tap at the letter with the back of his hand. ‘This time he wants money for repairs to the stable block, last week it was the roof of the west wing that was leaking. I do not know whether he is incompetent or criminal…’

  ‘Surely not criminal?’ his wife asked, taken aback by his vehemence.

  ‘Could you not employ another agent to manage Madderlea?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘And how could I be sure another would be any better? It is a highly unsatisfactory arrangement. We live too far from Madderlea for me to be constantly going to and fro to see that the man is doing his job. Besides, he does not own the place and one cannot expect him to have the same care as the family.’

  ‘But, Papa, there is no family, except Sophie,’ Charlotte put in, then stopped in confusion when her mother gave her a look of disapproval. The loss of her family was hardly ever mentioned in Sophie’s hearing to save her pain.

  ‘Precisely,’ he said.

  Madderlea Hall was the home of generations of the Roswell family. Her father had always referred to it as home, even when they lived in Brussels, and it was to Madderlea he had taken her when Napoleon’s conquests and tyrannical rule had made living on the continent too dangerous for an Englishman. It had been a terrifying journey for a fifteen-year-old.

  Because of the blockade of European ports, they had been obliged to travel eastwards to Gdansk where British ships were bringing guns and ammunition to the Russians who were retreating before Napoleon’s march on Moscow, and she had seen sights which were indelibly printed on her memory. Troops were left to forage for food from a countryside laid waste by its people in order not to feed the invaders. The fields remained untilled or scorched by fire, the livestock slaughtered. Men and horses starved, even during the advance.

  It had taken all her father’s savings and her late mother’s jewellery, everything they possessed, except the clothes they wore, to buy food and a passage home in a cargo ship which pitched and tossed on the rough sea until she was sick as a dog. From London, where they landed, Papa had taken her to her uncle, the Earl of Peterborough, and then gone off and got himself killed fighting in Spain.

  The experience had made her seem older and wiser than her years, able to take the ordinary ups and downs of life in her stride, resourceful and unafraid. Nor was she often sad; life was too short for that and the serious side of her nature was balanced by a sense of fun.

  Uncle Henry had treated her like the daughter he never had and she had loved him and his wife as a second set of parents. It did not diminish the fond memories she had of her mother, who had died years before, nor of her brave and loving father, but Madderlea had become her home too, a safe haven, a beautiful and happy place, the villagers content because the people at the big house cared about them. Until…

  She didn’t want to think of that day, but it would always be there in the back of her mind, a day in her life she would never forget, a day which had transformed her from a bright happy young lady looking forward to her first Season, into a quiet, withdrawn woman, who was never free of pain, both physical and mental. Almost two years on, her body had miraculously healed, but the mental images were still with her and would be to the day she died. Even now, sitting at the breakfast table in her Uncle William’s comfortable but unpretentious house, they returned to haunt her.

  They had been on their way to London for the Season and she was to have a come-out. She had been full of happy anticipation, making plans, talking about the gowns and fripperies she was going to buy, confident of finding a husband among the many beaux who would attend all the social occasions. Aunt Margaret had assured her she would be the catch of the Season and she had no reason to doubt her.

  She did not consider herself beautiful, being rather too tall and slim for the current fashion, and her hair was red-gold at a time when dark locks were favoured, but she carried herself well and her complexion was good. Her greeny-grey eyes were her best feature, or so her aunt had told her. She had been promised a considerable dowry too, provided her choice met the approval of her aunt and uncle, but that was only fair and she had no qualms about it.

  The weather had been fine when they set out in the family coach from Madderlea in Norfolk, but by the time they reached Newmarket Heath, black clouds had gathered and it became almost as dark as night. Long before it began to rain, lightning flashed across the heath and thunder rumbled ominously. There was nowhere to stop and take shelter. Her aunt had wanted to turn back but, as Uncle Henry pointed out, the clouds were moving northwards and turning back would mean travelling with them instead of against them; if they kept going they would soon be under clear skies again.

  It was the most terrible storm Sophie had ever witnessed and the terrified horses, intent on turning away from the flashes that continually rent the air in front of them, galloped off the road across the rough heath-land, bumping the carriage up and down so that the occupants were hard put to hold ont
o their seats. They had heard a scream as the coachman was thrown off and though the groom who sat beside him on the box tried to retrieve the reins, he could not. Helplessly, they hung on until a wheel hit a rock and the whole vehicle turned over to the sound of rending wood, screaming horses and cries of terror, hers as well as her aunt’s. And then there was black silence.

  How long Sophie had been unconscious she did not know. She had come to her senses when she heard rough voices. ‘They’re dead, every last one of them.’

  ‘Well, we can’t leave them here. Best find out who they are, send for help.’

  It was then she had cried out, unsure whether she had made enough sound to alert them, but then a man’s head peered at her over the edge of the mangled vehicle, where she had been trapped with the dead weight of her aunt on top of her.

  ‘There’s one alive in here. Help me get her out. There, there, miss, you’re safe now.’

  Safe yes, but badly injured. The rest of that day and the weeks that had followed were a blur of pain and misery, but there had come a day when she had woken to find herself in a pretty bed chamber and the sun shining in through the window. Aunt Madeleine, her mother’s sister, had been smiling down at her, her pale face full of gentle concern.

  ‘How did I come to be here?’

  ‘We fetched you, just as soon as we heard the dreadful news that you were lying at death’s door in the infirmary at Newmarket.’ Her aunt had lived in England since her marriage and her English was perfect but there still remained a trace of a French accent which reminded Sophie of her mother.

  She had a hazy memory of being carried, of being put in a vehicle of some kind, of groaning at the pain and of wishing only to be left alone to die in peace. But then there had been soft sheets and someone stroking her brow and muted voices, of returning consciousness which was too painful to bear and of drifting back into sleep. ‘When?’

  ‘Two months ago.’

  Two months! ‘Uncle Henry? Aunt Margaret?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sophie, you were the only one found alive and we thought we might lose you too. Now you are going to get well again. Charlotte will come and sit with you.’

  Only later, when they thought she was strong enough, did they tell her that she had inherited Madderlea Hall. ‘It is not entailed,’ Uncle William had told her. ‘Your grandfather had a daughter and when it looked as though he would have no more children, he took steps to break the entail. The irony of it was that his daughter died and then, late in life, he had two sons, your Uncle Henry and your father. Now both are dead and you are a considerable heiress.’

  She was mistress of Madderlea! But under the law, being unmarried and female, she could not have control of her inheritance, even if she had been well and strong. Until she married, it had to be administered by a trustee. In his will, her Uncle Henry had appointed William Hundon who, besides being her Aunt Madeleine’s husband, was also a lawyer. Uncle William had employed an agent-cum-steward to live at Madderlea Hall and look after its affairs while she remained with her uncle and aunt and her cousin Charlotte at Upper Corbury, growing stronger day by day.

  It was an unsatisfactory position. Madderlea needed more than an agent; it needed someone who cared about it. She ought to live there herself, but when she suggested it, her uncle and aunt threw up their hands in horror. ‘You know that’s not possible, Sophie,’ her uncle said. ‘Even if the law were to allow it, I, as a trustee, certainly should not. You would be the target of every rake and fortune hunter in the country.’

  ‘But it is such a worry to you, Uncle and I would not, for the world, burden you with it if I could help it. You have done so much for me already.’

  ‘There is only one sure remedy,’ her aunt put in. ‘You must find a husband.’

  A husband. A husband, to have and to hold, for better or worse, to obey, to share her burdens, someone to take over the running of her affairs and manage Madderlea, to produce heirs. But where was she going to find a husband prepared to take on Madderlea, who was not a rake and a fortune hunter in a quiet backwater like Upper Corbury? She could count the eligible bachelors in the county on the fingers of one hand. There were widowers of course…She shuddered.

  ‘You will have to marry sooner or later, Sophie dear,’ her aunt went on. ‘Now you are fully recovered, I think you should have a Season and William agrees with me.’

  ‘A Season? In London?’

  Her aunt smiled. ‘Yes, London, where else?’

  Charlotte, eyes shining, echoed, ‘A Season! Oh, Sophie, how wonderful. I wish…’ She stopped. There was no question that she could be brought out in that way; her parents did not move in those exalted circles and it was unkind of her to express the wish.

  ‘But, Aunt, surely that will be too much for you?’ Sophie said, knowing her aunt could only walk a few steps and that very slowly with the aid of sticks. ‘I am persuaded it can be very exhausting.’

  ‘Your aunt will not be going,’ her uncle said. ‘And neither will I. I would not dream of leaving her. Besides, I have an important case on at the County Court and it is set to last all summer.’

  ‘How, then?’ asked Sophie, mystified.

  ‘We shall find a lady to take you under her wing and bring you out with her own daughter. It is sometimes done, I believe, in return for a contribution to the expenses.’

  ‘In other words, I am to pay for my hostess’s daughter as well as myself?’

  ‘Yes, but you see—’

  ‘And suppose I do not care for the lady or her daughter?’

  ‘Sophie, please do not be difficult,’ begged her aunt. ‘It is the only way.’

  ‘I would much rather pay for Charlotte to accompany me. In truth, I would like that very much. It is not fair leaving her behind and showering money on a stranger.’

  ‘Oh, Sophie,’ Charlotte breathed. ‘I should like that above everything.’

  Sophie gave her an affectionate smile. She loved her cousin dearly. At nineteen, she was almost the same age as Sophie, but shorter and rounder. Her hair was very fair and her eyes blue as the summer sky, giving her an innocent, almost childlike look which was deceptive. Sophie turned back to her uncle. ‘Could you not find a lady without daughters, a widow, perhaps, who would sponsor both of us?’

  Her uncle looked doubtful and she added, ‘Please, Uncle William. I am quite determined on it. If you wish to see me married and have the burden of Madderlea lifted from your shoulders, then Charlotte must come too. I do not care how much it costs.’

  Charlotte was aghast at the way Sophie had spoken, but her father seemed not to be offended. ‘That sounds very like blackmail, Sophie, or bribery…’ The twinkle in his eye belied his words.

  ‘Oh, Uncle, I did not mean that. Please forgive me.’

  ‘Very well. I will try to find a mature lady to take you both under her wing. And the sooner the better. Charlotte, you must look after your mother, while I am away. I shall not be gone above two days, I hope.’ With that he left the table and called his manservant to help him to pack.

  Charlotte could not contain her excitement, though Sophie was more subdued. In the previous two years she had become so used to taking life very quietly and avoiding agitation in order to aid her recovery that it had become a habit. No one would have believed she was once animated and brimming over with energy. The family physician had said she would recover her spirits in time, they must all be patient. Now, it seemed he had been right for a little of Charlotte’s enthusiasm was beginning to affect her and she began to be impatient for her uncle’s return.

  ‘Do let us go out for a walk,’ Sophie suggested when her aunt had been helped back to her room, where she would dress with the help of her maid and sit reading or sewing until the pain in her hands forced her to stop. ‘I shall die of boredom if I’m confined to the house a day longer.’

  For the first time that year the air was balmy, the rain which had kept the young ladies indoors all the previous week had lifted and everywhere was fresh and green. Daf
fodils and gilly flowers were blooming in the garden and Sophie had noticed violets out along the edge of the drive. It was a day for walking and breathing deeply and thanking God you were alive to enjoy it.

  ‘We’ll walk through the woods,’ Sophie said, as they donned cloaks to cover their light wool morning gowns and buttoned their feet into sturdy boots. ‘Round over Corbury Hill, down through Little Paxton and back through the village. We can call on old Mrs Brown on the way and see how she is. What do you say?’

  ‘But, Sophie, it’s all of five miles. Are you sure you’re up to it? ‘

  ‘Of course. I’m perfectly well now, or Uncle William would not have suggested going to London. I am persuaded one needs a great deal of energy for all the balls and soirées and visits to the theatre, not to mention picnics and riding in the park.’

  Charlotte laughed as they left the house behind and made for the footpath to the woods which ran alongside the garden. ‘You have left out the most arduous exercise of all, Cousin.’

  ‘Oh, what is that?’

  ‘Finding a husband, of course.’

  Picking her way carefully over the damp grass, Sophie contemplated the prospect. The only men she had really been close to were her father and her two uncles and the thought of being touched or kissed by anyone else sent a frisson of fear, mixed with a strange surge of excitement, through her whole body. And then she thought of Madderlea and her fortune and knew that those two facts alone would ensure a flock of suitors. But how to choose? How to be sure that whoever offered for her was looking at her for herself and not her inheritance?

  ‘It will not be easy.’ She sighed. ‘There are times when I almost wish I had no fortune, no Madderlea. It is a weighty responsibility, you know.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘It is not only Madderlea Hall which is old and always in need of repair—there are servants, indoors and out, and the tenants, who look to the Hall to repair their cottages and keep the land in good heart, and the villagers, whose welfare must be considered, and the parson, whose living is in the gift of the Lord of the Manor. I must choose a husband who will be as careful of all those responsibilities as Uncle Henry was, who will love Madderlea as much as I do.’