Winning the War Hero's Heart Read online

  It was a question that would never be answered now. Sighing, she turned over to try to sleep.

  * * *

  Miles sat in James Mottram’s office the following morning, discussing the market-garden project with him. James listened carefully and agreed that it was a worthwhile idea and he would help him all he could. It was after that discussion was finished that Miles told him about his father’s threat to sue Miss Wayland for libel. ‘I cannot persuade her to retract and my father is determined she shall be punished,’ he finished. ‘They are both being stubborn about it, but Miss Wayland has most to lose. I doubt she can afford a heavy fine and I cannot let her go to prison.’

  ‘Why are you so concerned? Newspaper proprietors are notorious for stirring up dissent. It is what sells their papers.’

  ‘I know that, but the trouble is, I agree with every word she says.’

  ‘So you want me to defend her?’

  ‘Yes, if it becomes necessary. As far as I know she has not yet been issued with a summons and my father might have a change of heart, though I doubt it.’

  ‘It seems to me, my friend, that you are going to find yourself stuck between the devil and the deep. Is she worth it?’

  It was a question he had been asking himself over and over again. Why was he so concerned? Why risk his father’s wrath in a cause that could not be won? His mother had asked him to consider her because the Earl in a temper was something to be avoided for her sake. But he still wanted to help those in need. The ex-soldiers and out-of-work labourers were in need and so was Miss Wayland, even if she would not admit it. It was, he told himself, no more than that. He realised James was waiting for an answer to his question. Was she worth it? ‘I think so,’ he said, then added, ‘but I do not want her to know who is paying for her defence if a case should come to court; she is obstinate and independent enough to refuse it.’

  ‘Then I must be as philanthropic as you are,’ James said with a smile. ‘First I must give away land I do not own and provide tools, materials and seeds to a group of men I do not know, then I must defend a young lady who, by all accounts, is as stubborn as you are, from a charge for which there is no defence. You ask a lot, my friend.’

  ‘I know, but you will do it, won’t you?’

  ‘For you, anything.’

  ‘Good. And you will own the land because I propose to sell it to you for the princely sum of one guinea.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if the men know I own the land, they will be wary about accepting the idea. I want to stand apart from it. The only condition I make is that you use it for the common good.’

  ‘And the seed and equipment?’

  ‘I will open a bank account in the name of the society…’

  ‘What name will that be?’

  ‘I have not yet decided. I shall ask the men. It is, after all, their project.’

  ‘Very well. I will wait to hear from you again.’

  ‘Another thing,’ Miles added as an afterthought. ‘Have you discovered who owns Ravensbrook Manor?’

  ‘Yes. Lord Brent. He lives in Cambridgeshire. I have written to him asking if the house is on the market; further than that I did not go. If he thinks you are keen to buy, he will undoubtedly ask a fortune for it and in my opinion it is not worth it, the state it is in. I have had no reply so far.’

  Miles thanked him, took his leave and caught the stage back to Warburton and the Three Cups where he had left his mount.

  He was riding out on to the road past Wayland’s shop when he noticed Miss Wayland putting a notice in her window. He dismounted and went over to read it. She had seen him and gave a little nod in acknowledgement. He bowed in response and went closer to scrutinise the notice, then, tethering his horse to a post, he went inside.

  He doffed his hat. ‘Miss Wayland, good afternoon.’

  ‘Good afternoon, my lord. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Nothing, I thank you. I was intrigued by your offer to lend books.’

  ‘Do you need to borrow a book, my lord?’ She knew that was not at all likely, but could not think why he should come into the shop, unless it was to torment her.

  He laughed. ‘There are enough books at Ravens Park to stock a dozen libraries.’ He went over to the shelves to peruse some of the titles. ‘A very eclectic mix,’ he said. ‘And some of them must be valuable. Are you not afraid they will be stolen? The temptation to keep them or sell them to buy food and clothing will be great. And even if they are returned, they might be covered in dirty fingermarks, with the corners of the pages turned down.’

  ‘I shall know who has borrowed each book and can remind them if they do not return them,’ she said. ‘As for dirty fingermarks, I would rather see a well-thumbed book than a pristine one. Books are meant to be read.’

  ‘Is this another of your crusades—to get the populace reading?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Why not, indeed? It is certainly safer than writing defamatory articles in your newspaper. I suppose it is no good trying once more to persuade you to retract.’

  So that was why he had come! ‘Not in the least.’

  He realised it was said out of bravado, nothing more; she did not want him to know how worried she was. But he could tell from those expressive eyes that she was. ‘Then I pity you, for I cannot see how you can defend your action.’

  ‘I do not need your pity, my lord. I shall do very well without that.’

  ‘Then I shall not waste it on you. Good day, Miss Wayland.’ He replaced his hat on his head and left, wondering why he had even bothered to speak to her when she was so stubborn.

  * * *

  She could have told him she had decided to set the record straight over the widow’s garden and how restitution had been made, though she had perhaps spoiled it from his point of view by implying it was done as a result of the publicity it had been given. The paragraph had been added to the account of the meeting on the common where she had said it had been the timely intervention of Viscount Cavenham that had saved the situation from becoming a bloodbath. ‘It is to be hoped that the return of the Earl’s son from the war will herald a change in attitude of those who have a responsibility towards lesser mortals over whom they hold sway,’ she had ended. It was the closest she was prepared to go to admitting there was some good in the Viscount without, in any way, mitigating the behaviour of his father.

  * * *

  Miles rode out to the far side of the village on Wednesday morning to look at the land he meant to hand over to the workers. His father had no interest in it and it had been left uncultivated while he had been away and had become overgrown with bushes, brambles and rough grass. It would need a concerted effort on everyone’s part to make it fertile. In the meantime, the men and their families had to live. There was so much more to the endeavour than he had first envisaged. He would have to finance it for at least a year, paying for everything the men needed and giving them enough money to live on until they could make a profit. His personal fortune, inherited, along with the land, from his maternal grandfather, was not huge, but fortunately his own needs were few. If the purchase of Ravensbrook Manor came to fruition, he might have to think again, but as such a move was not imminent, he did not regard it.

  * * *

  He called on Mrs Watson on his way home to tell Byers the project was to go ahead and there he encountered Miss Wayland again, interviewing Jack about his war service. He could see nothing controversial in that and joined in with a few of his own reminiscences. Their conversation of the day before was not mentioned, though it was in his mind. He wished he had not offered her pity; it was the last thing he should have done— sympathy, perhaps, but not pity.

  ‘Tell me about Waterloo,’ she said, doing her best to concentrate on Jack, though the presence of the Viscount was making her unaccountably nervous. Something intangible was drawing her to him and she did not know how to account for it or how to resist it. ‘I believe Wellington said it was a close-run thing. And Napoleo
n Bonaparte fled the scene when he realised the day was lost.’

  ‘So he did,’ Miles said. ‘I saw him briefly on a mound above the battle and then he was gone in that great coach of his.’

  ‘He abandoned it to escape by ship, but it availed him nothing,’ Jack said. ‘He was forced to surrender and the coach was brought to London to be exhibited. Have you seen it, Miss Wayland?’

  ‘No, it is some years since I was in the capital. What happened when the battle was over and you came home?’

  ‘Nothing happened, miss, nothing at all. Not even a thank-you, much less a job.’

  ‘But we hope to remedy that,’ Miles put in. ‘My friend is going forward with his plans to give all those who want it a strip of land to work in conjunction with others. The land is in poor heart, but can be made good and there is a barn that can be made into living accommodation for those who are homeless. The first year the project will be financed by my friend, but after that you must make it profitable.’

  ‘Then we must pray for good weather,’ Jack said.

  ‘Are you going to tell me the name of this benefactor now?’ Helen asked.

  ‘No. He does not wish it revealed.’

  ‘Then we must respect his wishes, but it will be good to publish some good news, even if we cannot say who is at the heart of it.’

  ‘And if you drop a single hint that you think you know his identity, I shall take steps to have you stopped,’ he said, looking sharply at her, making her more than ever convinced she knew.

  * * *

  He had left her talking to Jack and Mrs Watson and ridden home for nuncheon. The Wednesday edition of the Warburton Record had just been delivered and his father was hidden behind it. Miles kissed his mother’s cheek and bade his father good morning before helping himself to food from the dishes on the sideboard. He began eating, waiting for his father to come out from behind the paper.

  When he did the Earl’s face was purple with rage. He flung the offending article down beside his plate. ‘Are you determined to make me look a fool?’ he raged. ‘What, in heaven’s name possessed you to go to that meeting? You knew I had ordered it to be broken up. Why the devil can’t you mind your own business? That woman is enjoying humiliating me and I will not have it—especially I will not have it when my own son sides against me.’

  ‘I am not siding against you,’ Miles said, endeavouring not to raise his voice as his father was doing. ‘I am not siding with anyone. I wanted to hear what was said and prevent trouble. That’s what you wanted, surely?’

  ‘What I want is to have that woman silenced. And for good.’

  ‘What woman?’ Miles asked mildly.

  ‘Miss Helen Wayland, daughter of that mountebank, Henry Wayland, who encouraged her to be so mannish she has become unmarriageable. If she had been my daughter, you can be sure she would have been brought up very differently. She would have been a proper lady, learning to behave as ladies should. It’s too late now, the damage is done and she must be dealt with.’

  It was a strange speech and left more questions unanswered than it answered. That there had been a feud between his father and Henry Wayland he did not doubt, but it sounded as if his father regretted that Helen was not his daughter. If that were true, why did he persecute her?

  ‘Dealt with?’ Miles repeated. ‘You mean dragging her through the courts and ruining her, I suppose.’

  ‘It is the only way to teach her that she cannot hurl insults at me with impunity. I will not have my authority to do as I wish on my own land and with my own people questioned. That way leads to anarchy, and the Roger Blakestones and Jason Hardacres of this world will ruin a way of life that has held good since the dawn of time. Everyone has his place and should stick to it. And that is true for you, too, Miles. I wish you to curb your activities with the lower orders and behave as a son of mine should.’

  Miles opened his mouth to protest that he did not appreciate being spoken to as if he were a child, but he saw his mother shaking her head and desisted.

  Unable to provoke him, the Earl stood up. ‘I am going to see Sobers about this. It is worse than defamation, it is sedition.’ He left the room, taking the paper with him.

  ‘What was in that newspaper to make him so angry?’ his mother asked.

  ‘I haven’t seen it so I can only guess, but it was undoubtedly accusing Papa of sending in the militia to halt the meeting on the common and the fact that I stopped the troops laying about them and ordered them to leave the field. There were women and children there; I could not stand by and let them be battered to death.’

  ‘Oh, Miles, will you never learn? I understand your sympathy with the lower orders, but you are not one of them and you cannot go wading into every cause that takes your fancy. And especially you must not appear to stand beside Miss Wayland against your father. She is not one of us and you know what he thinks of her.’

  ‘I do and I wish I understood it. He may have had reason to hate Henry Wayland, that I do not know, but it is no reason to take his ire out on the daughter.’

  ‘But he would not, Miles, if she did not provoke him so. I fear he is right and the only way to bring the conflict to an end is to have her silenced. You must see that.’

  Unfortunately he did. If only Miss Wayland would silence herself there would be no need for a court case, but she was too proud, too convinced she was right, to do that. Now, it seemed, she had exacerbated her offence in his father’s eyes by reporting the fracas on the common. And he did not doubt she had not spared the Earl and made matters between them worse.

  ‘I am going to call on Lady Somerfield this afternoon,’ his mother said, interrupting his thoughts. ‘Will you accompany me? With all this unrest in the countryside against us, I am a little fearful.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I will go and change.’

  * * *

  Half an hour later he returned, elegantly clad in a green single-breasted tailcoat, silk waistcoat striped in a lighter green and cream, a white-silk shirt with a starched white-muslin cravat elegantly tied and white pantaloons tucked into Hessian boots.

  ‘Splendid,’ she said, looking him up and down. ‘I am sure you will impress Miss Somerfield.’

  The idea had not been to impress Miss Somerfield, but not to disappoint his mother, but he let it pass.

  * * *

  Miss Somerfield, he had to admit when they were ushered into the drawing room of Gayton Hall, had become a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty. The coltish schoolgirl was now an elegant young lady, with an enviable figure. After greeting Lady Somerfield first, as was correct, he bowed to Verity. ‘Miss Somerfield, your obedient.’

  ‘You remember Verity, do you not?’ her mother said to him. Constance Somerfield was tall and upright in bearing and gave the impression she could not bend even if she wished to.

  ‘Yes, indeed, my lady.’ He smiled at Verity as he spoke. ‘But it was many years ago and Miss Somerfield has grown in loveliness. I am persuaded she will have a string of suitors when she comes out.’

  A faint blush stained Verity’s cheeks. It was, he noticed, nothing like the fiery red in Miss Wayland’s cheeks when she was roused by something he said or did. He wondered why the newspaper proprietor had come into his mind just then. The two women were poles apart: one genteel, the other earthy. He supposed it was because he had been a soldier too long and acting the exquisite did not come naturally to him. He would rather be exchanging words with those who had to earn a living and knew what it was like to toil for their bread and the butter to put on it.

  He was forced out of his reverie because his mother was speaking. ‘Miles is settling down into civilian life now,’ she said, ‘but he has got out of the way of social intercourse.’

  ‘Oh, I do not agree,’ Verity put in with a light laugh. ‘He has just paid as pretty a compliment as anyone who has been at the heart of society all along.’

  He bowed to her. ‘I spoke only the truth.’

  ‘You will be coming to our ball, I hope?’ Lady Som
erfield said. ‘We have sent out the invitations in good time, so that our guests do not find themselves booked elsewhere.’

  ‘I am sure no one will turn down an invitation to Gayton Hall,’ the Countess said. ‘We shall certainly come. We are all three looking forward to it. It is why I called today, to bring our reply in person and so that Miles can become reacquainted with Verity.’

  It implied he needed a head start over his rivals and Miles did not like that idea, but he could hardly contradict his mother, so he hastily changed the subject to the weather, which they all agreed was unprecedented in awfulness. Lady Somerfield said they had not been able to have even one picnic the whole year and had been forced to stay indoors and play cards. ‘We have even lit the fires,’ she said. ‘And it will soon be June.’

  ‘It has been the same at Ravens Park,’ the Countess said. ‘The garden is looking very bedraggled and hardly a flower to be seen.’

  ‘It is hitting the farmers hard and throwing many good men out of work,’ Miles put in, wondering if either woman understood the true implications of the bad weather. ‘Already there is unrest and it can only become worse. Something needs to be done.’

  His mother looked sharply at him. ‘Miles is so used to being responsible for his men in the army, he cannot break the habit,’ she explained to her hostess. ‘Even when the labourers’ problems are nothing to do with him.’

  ‘It is to his credit,’ Lady Somerfield said. ‘But no one can help the weather.’

  Miles did not like them talking about him as if he were not there and broke in with a laugh. ‘I realise that, but I think something should be done to help the men. After all, when the weather improves we shall need them again, but if they are weak from hunger, they cannot work, can they? It makes economic sense to help them to stay fit and healthy.’

  ‘Let us talk about something more cheerful,’ his mother put in. ‘Constance, would you and Verity take tea with us on Thursday afternoon?’