Mary Brendan - Regency High Society Vol 1 - A Hasty Betrothal / A Scandalous Marriage / The Count's Charade / The Rake and the Rebel

For, after a sleepless few hours, she had at last made up her mind. Sandford’s continued protestations of love certainly seemed genuine and she was almost sure that he had been about to ask for her hand when they returned from Westpark last evening. Having searched her conscience thoroughly, she could see no good reason for refusing him. There were times when she actually liked him, although she found him very disconcerting too—and very high-handed, but that was to be expected in someone of his rank and position. He had been used to dealing with hundreds of men from different walks of life, many of them rather unruly and very badly behaved, as she well remembered. He would have had to be very strict and autocratic with some of them, she felt sure and, after so many years, it had probably become second nature to him. He wasn’t always like that, as she herself could testify and he was often very amusing to be with. She was sufficiently level-headed to realise that refusing an earl’s son would be considered absolute folly by the bastions of English Society and, although she knew none of these worthies, she felt that even her unknown grandfather would view such a refusal as somewhat puzzling from a girl with her unusual background. Besides which, she had to admit that the idea of immuring herself in a Scottish castle in a lonely glen was growing less appealing by the day, especially after having been in this glorious Leicestershire countryside for these past weeks.

She was not, she had to own, completely comfortable with the idea of marrying for the aforementioned reasons, especially after her high-flown speech about love and chivalry, and she was uneasily certain that Sandford would not be at all impressed to have any one of them offered to him as her justification for accepting his hand.

However, she was sure that they could learn to deal perfectly amicably together, which was more than a great many married couples could claim. She was well aware that her own parents’ marriage had been most unusual in having been a love match and, in contemplating such a union between Sandford and herself, her cheeks grew hot and her heart seemed to skip several beats. Her lips curving in anticipation, she allowed herself to visualise the wicked glint that would appear in his eyes when she gave him her answer. Ridiculous! She admonished herself for her foolish thoughts, vowing to concentrate on only the practical aspects of the matter.

She finished the rolls and coffee that Rothman had brought to her and went into the hall to see if young Davy had returned from his errand to the village.

March shook his head. ‘Sorry, Miss Cordell,’ he said. ‘He’s not back yet—but young Cooper would be glad to accompany you—he’s not that keen on polishing silver!’ He grinned at her and she smiled in return.

‘I can sympathise with that—a thankless task!’

March went to the back stairs to call Cooper up. Harriet walked through the small parlour out to the rear terrace, where a blushing young footman joined her a few minutes later.

At this early hour the dew was still wet on the grass and Harriet was glad she had pulled her riding boots on before coming downstairs. Having dressed with a view to being ready to ride at moment’s notice should Sandford have been available, she was still wearing her riding habit. Not the most suitable skirt for a walk on the grass, she realised, but since she would have to change later to attend the church service she elected not to waste any more of the beautiful morning worrying about a damp hem and set off across the park with Cooper in train.

After some moments, the increasing absurdity of the situation brought a smile to her face and she motioned to Cooper to come alongside. ‘I hear that you are not fond of silver-polishing.’

Cooper grinned shamefacedly and nodded.

‘Will you enjoy being a footman, do you think?’ Harriet persevered.

Cooper looked at her in surprise. Enjoying one’s work had never been a question that any of the staff had given a great deal of thought to as far as he was aware. ‘I think I should like Mr March’s position, miss,’ he ventured shyly. ‘But it has taken him more than ten years to get to be first

footman and I’m not sure I’d want to wait that long—or even if I’d be that good at it!’

‘I suppose you didn’t really have a lot of choice in the matter,’ Harriet mused, more to herself than to the youth. ‘What would you have done otherwise?’

‘I suppose I could have gone in the stables—or the gardens, like my dad, but I’m not that keen on an outdoor life,’ said Cooper. ‘What I’d really like, miss, is to be a carpenter—but I’d have to go for apprentice and it’s not that easy these days.’

Harriet nodded sympathetically. The country had been in a state of unrest since the war ended. Prices had risen sharply and wages had fallen; returning soldiers had been unable to find work and, in many areas, marauding gangs were set on inciting riots amongst the discontented and mob rule frequently prevailed. Beldale had, so far, escaped involvement with these crises, mainly because of the earl’s policy of care for his tenants and servants—his ‘people’, as he called them. This was why Judith had expressed such concern over the possibility of laying men off and why young Cooper was grateful to have a job at all.

They strolled through the knot gardens, with Harriet pausing every so often to admire particularly attractive floral displays. When her young escort ventured to point out which of the gardeners was his father, she stopped to compliment the older Cooper on the magnificence of the late summer roses he was pruning.

‘We’ve had a good year, miss,’ he said, knuckling his forehead to her. ‘Plenty of sun these last few weeks—although I shouldn’t be surprised to see rain before the day’s out.’ He indicated the clouds gathering over the hill. ‘If you’re going riding, miss,’ he warned, having observed her costume, ‘you’ll be wise not to venture far afield, if you’ll pardon my saying so.

How very good of you to mention it.’ She smiled at him and, much moved, he bent to clip a perfect specimen from one of the bushes and offered it to her.

‘For your buttonhole, miss—almost matches your pretty hair,’ he said, ignoring his son’s impudent grin. ‘It’s called ‘'Beldale Sunset''—one of our own varieties.’

Harriet was deeply touched. ‘How lovely!’ she exclaimed, inhaling the delicious perfume before carefully tucking the flower into the braiding on her jacket. ‘Thank you—for the compliment as well as the rose—I’m honoured that you should clip one for me.’ She bestowed another of her captivating smiles upon him and was about to turn away when she happened to catch young Cooper’s low and hurried parting words to his father.

‘—news of young Tatler?’

She saw the older man’s frowning shake of the head as he knelt to resume his work. An odd premonition overcame her and, as they walked on through the gardens, she questioned the young footman.

‘Were you referring to Billy Tatler? Has something happened to him?’

Cooper shuffled uncomfortably. Visiting gentry didn’t usually concern themselves too much in local problems and he was unsure of the wisdom of passing on rumours, but Harriet’s eyes were fixed upon him in such a steadfast way that he found the words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them.

Harriet’s eyes grew round with horror as his tale unfolded. It appeared that the lad Billy had gone missing two days previously but, because of his errant lifestyle, his mother had not begun to worry about his absence until late the previous night when she had expressed her concern to Ridgeway on his return from Westpark. He had, it seemed, chosen to regard the boy’s disappearance as a much more serious matter than the rest of the household would have expected and had immediately set several men on to searching Billy’s known haunts. Mr Ridgeway himself, Cooper told Harriet, had been out most of the night.