Annie Burrows - Four Regency Rogues

Roland laughed. ‘There are plenty of those about.’ He paused. ‘Can you really track down cotton yarn for her?’

‘Some, probably not all she needs, but enough to keep her going for a week or two.’

‘You have my grateful thanks.’

‘Your thanks? Does that mean she is more to you than a mere neighbour?’

‘She is a delightful adversary.’

‘Adversary? You mean over Browhill? Is it that important?’

‘I thought it was because of what it meant to my father and also because it has always been part of the estate, but now I am not so sure. What do you think? You are, after all, my heir.’

‘For now, yes, but what is that to the point? You will marry and have a nursery full of children.’

‘Perhaps, perhaps not.’

Geoffrey looked searchingly at him. ‘Oh, come, Roly, you are young and virile, of course you will marry. It is a man’s duty, especially when he has an estate like Amerleigh to pass on. There must be any number of young ladies who would jump at the chance to become the Countess of Amerleigh.’

‘I believe there are, but none I would feel comfortable with. And at the moment, recovering the estate is taking up all my time.’

‘Well, I should forget Browhill, if I were you. Amerleigh is large enough without it and it does not do to be for ever at war with one’s neighbours.’ He stood up. ‘Shall we join the ladies?’

Roland swallowed the remainder of his port and followed his host to where Elizabeth and Charlotte were enjoying a comfortable coze over the teacups. Charlotte was sitting on a sofa next to Elizabeth, her grey skirt and frogged coat a strange contrast to the green taffeta afternoon dress that her hostess wore.

Prompted by Geoffrey, who wanted to know what he had been doing the last six years, he spoke of the war. Bearing in mind there were ladies present, he did not go too closely into the cruelty and barbarity he had witnessed, but spoke of the daily routine, the long marches and the countryside.

‘But you liked the life?’

‘Yes. It has its good moments, and I do not mean the glory of victory, though that is exhilarating beyond anything you can find in civilian life, but the comradeship, the faith and trust we all put in each other. Every man’s life depends on the man next to him.’

‘What about the women who go to war?’ Charlotte asked. ‘How do they go on?’

He had smiled. ‘Do you fancy yourself as a soldier, Miss Cartwright? I have known it happen on a very few occasions that women dress in male attire to fight alongside the men, but they are soon discovered.’

‘I did not mean that. I meant wives and camp followers—that is what the women who follow the men are called, is it not?’

‘Yes, and some are the most faithful, stalwart and courageous women I have ever met. They are often wet, cold and hungry and at other times hot and thirsty. And frequently they are very close to the fighting.’

‘They walk?’

‘Most of them. Some of the senior officers’ wives have carriages, but the terrain is often difficult and frequently they are obliged to abandon them or fall behind and then they become prey to bandits. I would not recommend it, Miss Cartwright.’

‘You evidently do not think a married man should take his wife on campaigns.’

‘No, for if their husbands are killed, they are left entirely alone. Many marry again immediately in order to have some protection. I would never subject a wife of mine to that possibility.’

‘How dreadful,’ Elizabeth put in. ‘They cannot love their new husbands.’

‘I doubt love is even thought of.’ He paused and smiled. ‘Though you would be surprised at how often love does thrive in such unpromising circumstances. I have seen devotion of wives for husbands and husbands for wives, which is an example to us all. And liaisons made out of necessity that have stood the test of time.’

‘But you remained immune?’ Charlotte queried.

He looked closely at her, wondering what had prompted the question. ‘Miss Cartwright, I am unwed, as you well know.’

‘Unwed, yes, unloved—perhaps not?’

‘Now that is something else entirely, and we were not speaking of me, but of soldiers in general.’

Realising she had gone too far with her questions, designed to learn more about the man himself, she quickly changed the subject and began to ask him what he thought the outcome of the allied deliberations might be, which led to a general discussion about the future, and that led to the state of the harvest and trade in general, and on that subject Charlotte was easily able to hold her own.

The harmony of the evening should have prepared Roland for a peaceful night, but in that it failed. He slept badly, his mind full of images of Charlotte: Charlotte comforting Tommy, cradling Mrs Biggs’s baby in her arms, dancing wildly with her mill workers, sitting on a nursery chair, giggling like a schoolgirl over the signs they were making; Charlotte on horseback and driving the curricle to an inch, Charlotte in a temper, green eyes flashing; Charlotte, her face creased with worry about the Fair Charlie and its captain. How could he not adore her?

He woke late and went down to breakfast, only to discover that she was up before him and had left. ‘She said she wanted an early start,’ Geoffrey told him. ‘She is anxious to reassure her workers that the yarn is on its way.’

‘Why the devil did you not wake me?’

‘She asked me not to. After all, you have your own coach.’ He smiled. ‘By the way, Elizabeth and I have been invited to a masked ball.’

‘I had forgotten all about that. Will you go?’

‘Of course. I would not miss it for the world.’

‘Then you are welcome to stay at the Hall. I will ask my mother to join us; she will be happy to see you again and show you all the improvements we have made.’

‘Thank you. I shall look forward to it. Now, help yourself to breakfast. I must leave if I am to do anything about that cotton.’ He hurried away, leaving Roland looking down at the breakfast table where the used plates and crumbled remains of bread told of two people having breakfasted.

‘Damn the woman!’ he exclaimed. ‘Damn! Damn! Damn!’ He turned on his heel and went out to the stables to tell Bennett to harness the horses to his carriage. It suddenly seemed important to catch up with her.

Chapter Seven

It was not only her need to be at the mill that had hastened Charlotte’s departure, but something within herself she did not want to face. It was the Earl, of course. He had been courtesy itself all the previous evening, chuckling at her jokes, smiling at her in a way that turned her stomach over and set her heart beating like a drum. She had watched the easy way he dealt with his cousin and Mrs Temple and realised being part of a family, however distant, was something to be envied.

And as they talked, she had learned more about the enigmatic man that was Roland Temple, seventh Earl of Amerleigh. What she could not do was relate the man she had come to know to the youth he had been. If she were truly honest with herself, could she blame him for not wanting to marry her when ordered to do so? Would any man with an ounce of pride do it? If he had meekly done as he was told, she would have despised him. What she found more difficult to explain away was the manner in which he had rejected her. He did not know she had heard him, so there was no reason why he should allude to it, and she would not demean herself by asking.

And now she was beholden to him for introducing her to his cousin, arranging a night’s lodging and, what was more, helping her over her difficulty with the cotton. It was only a temporary reprieve and she would have to face it again if the Fair Charlie did not arrive with raw cotton for the spinners, but it was more than she could have hoped for the morning before when she was combing the warehouses. It had been a very long twenty-four hours, made bearable, even pleasant, by Roland Temple’s intervention. And that galled her.