Mary Nichols - The Earl and the Hoyden

‘Have you ever visited the Indies, my lord?’

‘No, never.’

‘Perhaps you should.’

‘One day, perhaps. Did you not find the climate uncomfortably hot?’

‘I do not suppose it was any worse than the heat in Spain.’

‘Probably not,’ he agreed. ‘One becomes used to it. But it is good to be back in England’s softer climate, do you not agree?’

‘Oh, most decidedly, and especially in springtime.’

The conversation ground to a halt. His mother plucked at his sleeve. ‘Good day, Miss Cartwright.’ He touched his hat again and, taking his mother’s arm, guided her to their carriage to return to the dower house.

‘Roland, how could you?’ his mother scolded him. ‘It is not like you to be discourteous.’

‘Perhaps I let my feelings on the subject carry me away,’ he replied unrepentantly.

Charlotte walked to the churchyard gate with Lady Brandon. ‘Charlotte, why did you not tell him you had freed your slaves?’ her ladyship queried, watching his departing back.

‘Because I did not choose to. He has no right to criticise me.’

‘Do you think he is married?’

‘I am sure I do not know.’

‘I should not be at all surprised if he did not have a Spanish wife tucked away somewhere, and we shall be expected to receive her. And just look at him! Was that meant to be a uniform he was wearing?’

‘It is the uniform of the 95th Rifles,’ Charlotte murmured. ‘I believe they are considered some of our finest fighters and always in the vanguard of any attack.’

‘Is that so?’

‘So I have read. And it seems to me that a green uniform is much more practical than a red one. It is less easily seen by the enemy.’

‘That is as may be,’ her ladyship said. ‘But I still say it made the Earl look devilish sombre.’

‘Good heavens, Catherine, he surely has reason to be sombre,’ Charlotte said, surprised to find herself defending him. ‘His father died while he was away and now he finds himself owner of a crumbling mansion and a run-down estate. It will be interesting to see how he comes about.’

‘No doubt he will marry an heiress.’

‘What happened to the Spanish wife?’ Charlotte asked mischievously.

‘Charlotte, is it in your nature to be perverse? Or is it simply that you enjoy provoking me?’

‘Oh, I am definitely perverse,’ Charlotte said, laughing.

They had reached her curricle, with its patient horse standing in the lane, and she bade her ladyship goodbye and drove herself home. In spite of telling herself what Roland Temple did was no concern of hers, that she despised him, she had frequently found herself thinking about him since his return and wondering how they would go on when they met again, because in a village as small as Amerleigh, they could not fail to meet. And now she knew. It was war.

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