Annie Burrows - Four Regency Rogues

Travers arrived with a tea tray, which he set down upon one of the tables, and then went to fetch another on which was a plate of cold roast chicken legs, another of bread and butter and a third containing an assortment of little cakes. Roland and Charlotte watched in silence as he set them out. ‘Thank you, Travers,’ Roland said. ‘We can manage.’

He indicated the teapot to Charlotte. ‘Shall you pour?’

They sat at the table, she poured the tea and they picked at the food, but the intimacy they had been enjoying had dissipated, blown away with the opening of the door. They conversed politely about the peace just concluded, about the wisdom of allowing Napoleon to live on Elba, about the squabbling of the allied powers as they set about carving Europe up between them, but Charlotte found herself thinking of what had happened six years before and wondered what on earth she was doing in that house. She must be mad! As soon as they had finished their meal, she said she must be leaving.

He stood up and rang for Travers to fetch the curricle to the door, then he accompanied her to the front door and down the steps. Travers stood at the pony’s head, waiting. ‘Shall I drive you home?’

She laughed. ‘And then I should have to drive you back again and we could go backwards and forwards all night. I am perfectly capable, as well you know.’

He grinned. ‘So independent. Is there anything you are not capable of tackling?’

‘Oh, I am sure there must be something,’ she said airily. ‘I will let you know when I have discovered it. Goodnight, my lord.’

‘Goodnight, Miss Cartwright. And thank you for an evening far more enjoyable than I ever expected it to be.’ He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, lingering a little over the kiss, wishing he dare kiss her properly, but knowing he would be for ever damned if he did.

It was several seconds before she could repossess herself of her hand and by that time she was tingling with a sensation she could not describe. It was a feeling of being on the verge of something so exciting, she was shivering. Her stomach was churning, her heart beating so fast she could hardly breathe and her toes and fingers curled involuntarily. She climbed into the curricle without even knowing how she got there. This man was dangerous! He threatened everything she stood for. She must be on her guard, always on her guard, lest he undermine her confidence and the tenets by which she lived crumbled to nothing.

She flicked the reins and the pony started forwards, trotted round the circle before the door and out of the gate and she found herself murmuring, ‘Remember whose daughter you are, Charlie Cartwright. And remember whose son he is.’

Chapter Five

In the next few weeks, the Earl of Amerleigh was seen everywhere, walking and riding round the estate, putting in hand the many repairs and improvements needed. The villagers’ cottages were being repaired, window frames replaced, new doors hung, proper cess pits dug; up at the Hall, the builders were busy—bricklayers, plasterers, carpenters and painters swarmed about and every now and again a wagon loaded with carpets and furniture would draw up at the door and disgorge its contents. The Countess was in her element.

His lordship was also to be seen at musical evenings, at tea parties and picnics all round the county and all the hostesses praised his manners and all the hosts called him a fine fellow. He conversed intelligently, danced and played cards for negligible stakes and not by one word or gesture did he betray whom he favoured for a wife. It was being said that he could not make up his mind and everyone would know who it was when the refurbishment of Amerleigh Hall had been completed and he began entertaining himself. And so they waited for the invitation.

Charlotte did her best to avoid him. On the pretext of being too busy, she made excuses not to go to functions she knew he would attend. She had always pleased herself what she did and Lady Brandon, who might have tried to persuade her, was too busy trying to put Martha forward to miss her. ‘He visits so frequently and is always punctilious in his attentions to Martha,’ her ladyship told her one day when they met by chance in Shrewsbury. ‘It must mean he is seriously considering her.’ Charlotte smiled and said nothing, but wondered if Roland Temple visited because he was too polite to refuse her constant invitations or if he was seriously considering Martha as a wife. She ought not to have minded, but somehow she did.

Lady Brandon was not the only one; every mama of every single young lady was doing the same. Standing on the sidelines, Charlotte could see it happening, and wondered what the outcome might be. Thinking about it gave her a vague feeling of discontent, which she refused to acknowledge was anything but irritation with the man. Occasionally, she found herself face to face with him. She would smile politely and pass the time of day with him before moving on, doing her best to ignore the fluttering of her heart.

And he, surprised by her sudden coolness after that night of her party when he thought they had established a rapport, would answer her in like manner and watch her proud back retreating from him. He found himself remembering his half-jocular remark—‘You have too much money and I have too much rank to find true love’—and wondered how accurate that was. She had built a wall around herself as impenetrable as the wall around Amerleigh Hall, determined to keep everyone out. And yet Tommy Biggs had found a way through her defences, along with other children in the village, which must mean she was not as hard as she would have him believe. If only he could crack that shell as they had.

‘You know, you ought to do some entertaining,’ Lady Brandon told Charlotte one Sunday afternoon, the only day of the week on which Charlotte did not go to Scofield or up to Browhill. It was the only day on which her ladyship could be sure of finding her at home. Sitting in the drawing room at Mandeville, sipping tea and nibbling cake, her friend evidently had something to say and was determined to say it. ‘You have this wonderful house and no one ever sees it, except the outside and that from a distance.’

‘I am entertaining you. And the Reverend and Mrs Elliott come and Mr Edwards…’

‘Yes, but they are not society.’

‘Neither am I.’

‘But you could be, if you made the effort.’

‘Why should I?’ She knew she was being stubborn, but ever since the return of Roland Temple she had been feeling fidgety, conscious that there was something missing in her life and yet afraid to face up to it.

‘You will become an antidote if you do not. A recluse. And for what? To acquire yet more wealth? What good is that to you? You have more than enough already.’

‘My goodness, Catherine, you do not mince your words, do you?’

‘I hope we have been friends long enough to speak plainly to each other, my dear. You used to go out and about, but I have noticed lately that you seem to prefer your own company. It cannot be good for you. You are still young. You should learn to enjoy yourself.’

Charlotte looked hard at her, making the poor woman blush. ‘What has brought on this sudden interest in my welfare?’

‘I have told you. You are working too hard and looking a little pale.’

‘So I must work even harder to entertain people with whom I have nothing in common.’

‘I will help you. You could give a concert, or a ball…’ She paused. ‘I have given a dancing soirée and Lady Gilford has held a Victory Ball—who else is there hereabouts to put on anything grand but you? Amerleigh Hall is not yet ready, though his lordship said he would hold a ball when it was. But we cannot wait for that.’

It occurred to Charlotte that her friend was running out of ideas for entertaining the Earl and throwing Martha in his path, and had suddenly thought of Mandeville. She smiled. ‘I see. Who would come?’