Mistress of Madderlea Read online

  She shuddered at the prospect. ‘I am going home.’

  ‘Then allow me to escort you.’

  She nodded, unable to bring herself to admit she would be glad of his company. In spite of their harsh words, she felt safe with him, safe and protected.

  At her door, he bowed with a flourish and strode away. She watched him go with a terrible ache in her heart. He failed her expectations in so many ways, but she loved him and everything else paled into insignificance beside that bittersweet knowledge.

  Chapter Four

  The Season began in earnest and the girls found themselves caught up in a flurry of social engagements. Accompanied by Lady Fitzpatrick, they drove out in the new carriage on most afternoons when the weather was fine, either in the park or to make calls. They left cards all over the place, went out to tea, visited the theatre with supper afterwards, attended musical gatherings and simple country dances but, until they had officially come out, they could not attend the big balls, which was where the higher echelons of the eligibles gathered. Lady Fitzpatrick, anxious to remedy that, was deep in negotiations with Lady Gosport to hold their come-out ball early in the Season. It was thus that Martin was privy to all the arrangements and gossip that went on between his mother and the girls’ sponsor, which he passed on to Richard. ‘It is going to be a fearful crush,’ he told him one day when the two men were relaxing at their club. ‘Lady Fitzpatrick is determined that Miss Roswell will be launched in style.’

  Richard laughed. ‘What does she know of style, unless it be thirty years out of date. She will have us in knee breeches like they do at Almack’s.’

  ‘It is to be a costume ball. And she is being guided by Mama, so you need not fear being made to look foolish.’

  ‘I am not concerned for myself, but the young ladies. Do they really suppose Lady Fitzpatrick is all the crack?’

  ‘No, they are not blind. And both have a sense of refinement, particularly Miss Hundon. There is a quiet dignity about her which would be more appropriate in the heiress than the country cousin. Miss Roswell, on the other hand, delightful though she is, does not have that presence, that spirit of independence, which is so evident in her cousin.’

  ‘Fustian! Miss Hundon is a hoyden, you said so yourself.’

  ‘I was simply reminding you of the requirements you listed, I did not say I agreed with you.’

  ‘I wish I had never spoken to you about them, if you are to be continually flinging them in my face. They are not writ in stone, you know. I may be flexible.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it.’

  ‘Why are you extolling the virtues of Miss Hundon? You know my grandfather would not countenance the daughter of a lawyer.’

  ‘Have you asked him?’

  ‘Certainly not. There is no need, I have no plans to offer for Miss Sophie Hundon.’

  ‘Miss Roswell, then? She is excessively wealthy, but you would not know it to speak to her, for she is modesty itself. And Madderlea is a great house, I am told, though, according to Mama, it needs repairs and renovation. She really must marry soon or it will go to rack and ruin for want of someone to care for it. Once the Season gets underway, the competition will be fierce.’

  ‘I thought it already had.’

  ‘No, what we have had are only preliminary skirmishes, the real battles are to come. I am looking forward to it.’

  ‘So you may be. You are not constrained by duty as I am.’ Richard chuckled suddenly. ‘But I intend to mix duty with pleasure. I shall flirt lightly with every unmarried miss between the ages of seventeen and thirty and keep them all guessing. I shall sometimes be disdainful and superior and sometimes flattering and eager and see what transpires. It will serve the dowagers right for putting wealth and title before character. Time enough to be serious when I have made up my mind.’

  ‘By then you will have earned the reputation of being a rakeshame and none will have you. Certainly Miss Roswell will not.’

  ‘I am persuaded that is already my reputation,’ he said, reminded of Sophie’s accusation. ‘I may as well live up to it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’ he echoed. He did not know. He was not a conceited man, nor was he vindictive, but he hated this notion that a single man in want of a wife must parade himself before hopeful mamas, his address and conduct scrutinised, his prospects and fortunes analysed, until it was impossible to sneeze without it being the subject of gossip. If he were not the Duke of Rathbone’s heir, if he were still a simple soldier, no one would be the least interested in him.

  ‘I suppose it is because I dislike the idea that my faults should be weighed against my title and fortune and not against my virtues,’ he said slowly. ‘I am curious to know how far the scales will tip before one outweighs the other.’

  ‘That is a dangerous game to play, my friend. You may put off the avaricious, though give me leave to doubt it, but you will also give the lady of your choice a hearty aversion to you.’

  He had already done so, he realised with a jolt that shook him to the core. Miss Hundon, the country cousin, an entirely unsuitable young lady in the eyes of his grandfather, had never been far from his thoughts ever since he had met her. She had more than most to gain by becoming the Duchess of Rathbone. Had she deliberately set out to trap him into that kiss, hoping for a declaration? Had she galloped away, knowing he would follow and that if she fluttered her eyelashes at him, he, being a man, would be bound to do what he had? It was easier to convince himself of that than to admit he had fallen in love.

  His conviction was sorely shaken when he next came across Miss Roswell and Miss Hundon after a visit to the opera one evening when he discovered they were included in the supper party Lord and Lady Howard had arranged afterwards. Paying attention to the Howard daughter while uncomfortably aware that Sophie stood only a few yards away and could hear every word was unnerving. He felt an almost uncontrollable urge to turn towards her and tell her he was only acting the part, to grab hold of her and hurry her away some private place where he could taste her lips again, feel her body pressed up against his, to know her passion matched his.

  Instead he completed his conversation with Miss Howard and, turning as casually as he could towards the object of his discomfort, swept her a leg of such exaggerated proportions that he made her smile. ‘Why, Miss Hundon, I did not know you were to be here. How do you do?’

  ‘Well, my lord, thank you.’ Having had a few moments to compose herself while he talked to Miss Howard, her voice was cool and distant. He must not know how his very presence in the same room set her heart fluttering uncomfortably in her throat. Lady Fitzpatrick’s informant had been correct: his behaviour, now the Season’s events were following each other thick and fast, was definitely rakish. His eye roved over the company at every gathering, stayed on her for a second that seemed like a month, and moved on. He danced with every debutante, talked a great deal of nonsense, leaving the mamas twittering and the young ladies sighing.

  How had she come to be so deceived in him? Why, even now, did she tremble whenever he was near? Why could she not be like Charlotte, relieved that his attention had moved on, able to laugh at his antics and thank goodness for her escape?

  ‘Has this been your first visit to the opera?’ he queried, almost at a loss for a safe subject for conversation.

  ‘No, my lord, my father took me to…’ Goodness, she had almost said Vienna ‘…the local operatic society amateur performances but, naturally, they were nothing like this. I enjoyed tonight’s singing very much, but I did think the soprano had a tendency to shriek on the high notes.’

  ‘So she did.’ He smiled, thankful not to have to flirt with her. He could talk to her in a sensible fashion about all manner of subjects and he allowed himself to enjoy the experience. She was not in the running for Duchess of Rathbone and he did not have to pretend she was. ‘Her talent is fading now, but she had a fine voice when she was younger. I heard her sing in Milan years ago, just before the war, when I went on the Grand T
our. But when hostilities began, her planned visit to London had to be cancelled.’

  ‘The war spoiled so many pleasures, took so many good men’s lives,’ she said softly, thinking of her father. ‘And many of those that survive are in dire straits.’

  ‘You are thinking of those soldiers you spoke to?’

  ‘Yes, and others. I cannot get them out of my mind. Surely something could be done to help them?’

  He decided to humour her, simply to prolong the discussion. ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘Work could be created. Repairing the roads, for they are in a parlous state, building houses. Give them plots of land so they may be self-sufficient…’

  ‘My goodness, a Radical!’

  ‘I did not expect you to agree with me,’ she said, stiffly. ‘Brought up as you have been in comfort. You cannot know what it is like to be poor.’

  ‘Not poor, perhaps,’ he said. ‘But my father was a second son and had to make his own way and I have been a soldier myself. Do not brand me a humbug.’

  She felt the colour flare in her cheeks at this put-down but, though she knew she deserved it, she was not yet ready to apologise. ‘I notice you did not follow my example and give a little money to those beggars.’

  ‘No, because they would spend it all on drink. It is the soldier’s panacea for everything. Believe me, I know. It is not charity they need, but work. You said so yourself.’ He smiled. ‘My dear, if you must indulge in deep debate do, at least, be consistent.’

  ‘Oh, you are the outside of enough!’ she exclaimed, proving to his satisfaction that, faced with logic, she reverted to being entirely feminine. He could have told her that whenever a vacancy occurred at any of his grandfather’s properties, priority was always given to ex-soldiers, particularly those with families. It had taken him more than a little effort to persuade the Duke to agree, but the policy had paid off with loyal and hard-working staff. He didn’t tell her because he did not want to score points over her. And he knew what her reply would be if he did: what he had done was a drop in the ocean compared to what needed doing.

  They were interrupted by Lady Howard who felt that her chief guest had been monopolised long enough by Miss Hundon who had no fortune and no prospects and should never have been encouraged to share dear Miss Roswell’s come-out. It was giving her ideas above her station.

  ‘Do come and allow me to introduce you to Miss Greenholme,’ she said, dragging him away. ‘She is the Marquis of Bury’s granddaughter, you know.’

  ‘And I am the granddaughter of an earl,’ Sophie muttered to Charlotte who had, at that moment, come to her side.

  ‘Then why not say so and be done with this charade?’

  ‘Charades! What an excellent idea!’ Lady Fitzpatrick exclaimed, catching only the last word.

  ‘Charlotte did not mean this evening,’ Sophie said, enunciating carefully. ‘It is far too late.’

  ‘Yes, you are right, my dear,’ her ladyship agreed equably. ‘We will arrange something for another day. Now, I think it is time to take our leave.’

  The girls dutifully did the rounds of the company, saying goodbye, but Lord Braybrooke had gone to play cards in an adjoining room and was nowhere to be seen. Sophie told herself she was glad; the less she saw of that pompous young man the better.

  Richard spent almost the whole night at the gaming tables, but his mind was not on the cards; though he did not lose too heavily, he realised that playing whist was not the way to take his mind off a certain young lady. He needed to think. Declining Martin’s offer to accompany him, he returned home just before dawn, bathed, changed into riding clothes and ordered his horse to be saddled. A long ride into the country might serve to clear his head.

  The sky was shot with pink and mauve as the sun rose slowly in a great orange orb above the horizon as he rode out on to the Hampstead road. The trees were in full leaf and the air was heady with the scent of blossom. The heath, when he reached it, was dotted with grazing cows and goats, and in the clear air, the birds were in full song, greeting the dawn. There was nothing to beat the English countryside in early summer, he decided, breathing deeply. It was something he had dreamed about in the heat and dust of Spain, England’s green and pleasant land and his home in Hertfordshire.

  He walked his horse, allowing it to have its head and go where it willed, reflecting on those dreams of home and how he had felt when he was told he had become his grandfather’s heir. The war had been coming to an end at the time, but he would have been expected to give up his commission in any case, to come back and prepare to take up the responsibilities of administering a vast estate, to learn how to be a landowner, to care for his people, to do his duty.

  He was a military man, an officer; he knew the importance of doing one’s duty even when it was disagreeable. He had punished men for failing the high standards of courage he expected of them. He could not be any easier on himself. And his duty was clear; he must marry. It was all very well to joke with Martin about his requirements in a wife, but it was a deadly serious business and he would do well to take stock of his situation.

  He was thirty years old next birthday, wealthy and titled. He was strong and healthy, not ugly by any means, and he dealt well with almost everyone. He would not make unreasonable demands of his wife, but she must be up to being a duchess and that took breeding. Being cool and level-headed about it, he could see that Miss Hundon was already out of the running. Miss Greenholme was a possible, but she was hardly out of the schoolroom and terrified of him. There were others, but the one who stood out as being the one his grandfather would most likely sanction was Miss Roswell.

  Charlotte. If there had been no Miss Hundon, no kiss in the park, he might have been very content with Miss Roswell. Perhaps he still could be. He would stop being frivolous and seriously set about wooing that young lady.

  His horse whinnied, reminding him that the sun had climbed high in the sky and food and water were required for both of them. He stopped at an inn on the other side of the heath for refreshment, before riding back to town, his mind made up. Duty before love.

  Because Lady Fitzpatrick had her hands full concentrating on Charlotte, Sophie was often left to her own devices, a state of affairs she found very agreeable, even though Charlotte frequently protested. ‘You are the heiress, not me,’ she said. ‘You should be the one to be paraded before all the eligibles.’

  ‘And very glad I am not to be,’ she said, watching her cousin change to go out with Lady Fitzpatrick. ‘You can sum up their characters for me and weed out the hopeless ones.’

  ‘And how am I to know who they are?’

  ‘You know my criteria.’

  ‘If I am to adhere to that, then every single man I have met so far falls a long way short.’ She paused. ‘There is Lord Braybrooke, of course.’

  ‘Him! No, he was the first to go. We will not mention him again.’

  Charlotte sighed heavily. ‘Very well. But if I am to pay calls with Lady Fitz this afternoon, what will you be doing?’

  ‘I am going to see the sights: the Tower and London Bridge, Westminster Abbey, St Paul’s, the waxworks and Bullock’s Museum. I believe Napoleon’s coach is on view there.’

  ‘You cannot do that in a single afternoon, Sophie.’

  ‘Naturally I cannot. Hatchett’s is sure to have a guide book to help me find my way about. Shall I find a book for you while I am there?’

  ‘Sophie, I am not given time to read, you know that, nor for sightseeing, though I would dearly love to accompany you, and it is all because of this masquerade you have embroiled me in. It rates more than a scolding and I dread to think what Mama and Papa will say when they find out.’

  Sophie felt exactly the same, not so much for herself because she did not care two pins for Society’s conventions, but for her cousin, but whenever she thought she could play the part no longer, she thought of Madderlea and why they had come to London. Choosing a husband who would be good for Madderlea was one thing, falling in love
quite another. And she had fallen in love, she could not deny it. She had fallen in love with the most unsuitable man in the whole of London, if her list of requirements were to be the yardstick.

  He was a dandy, a fortune hunter, a flirt, a man without honour who could take a gently brought-up young lady into the bushes and kiss her without so much as a by-your-leave or any sort of declaration and then accuse her of being a tease! And all that when he was clearly trying to fix Charlotte’s attention, believing her to be the heiress. Would he, as soon as he knew the truth, suddenly turn to her? She didn’t want him on those terms. No, she did not! She would find herself a husband and then reveal who she really was and that would serve everyone right for engaging in this affectation they called the Season.

  ‘Wait until after our ball, Charlotte, please. I promise I will not prolong it after that.’

  Charlotte agreed. In truth, she enjoyed playing the heiress and found it very gratifying to have every eligible young man in London paying her court, but she was not such a goose as to imagine their attentions were sincere and she had a great deal of sympathy for her cousin’s predicament. She smiled and picked up her reticule. ‘But I will not have you crying off outings to go to staring at old buildings, it is no way to go on if you want to find yourself a husband. Tonight we are invited out to supper and entertainments at Mrs Whitworthy’s and you must come.’

  Sophie had every intention of going to Hatchett’s, but there was something else she wanted to do as well, something she knew perfectly well Lady Fitzpatrick and her cousin would not approve of and it had nothing whatever to do with social engagements and finding a husband. Before she set out, she went to the mews to find their groom who was busy harnessing the greys to the carriage.

  ‘Sorry, Miss Sophie, I was told two o’clock,’ he said, finding that mode of address easier than her fictional one of Miss Hundon. What Mr Hundon would make of it all when he heard, Luke dared not think. But he was very fond of both girls and the five guineas would go a long way to allowing him to propose to the young lady he had set his heart on. ‘I will have the carriage ready in a shake of a lamb’s tail.’