Helen Dickson - Rogue in the Regency Ballroom - Rogue's Widow, Gentleman's Wife / A Scoundrel of Consequence

He stared at her in appalled amazement. ‘You are asking me to become your co-conspirator? You were not brought up to be devious,’ he snapped.

‘It’s too late for recriminations, Mr Quinn. It’s done. I am Mrs Claybourne now. There is no need for my father to know my husband was a murderer hanged for his crime. He will be told Mr Claybourne died on board ship.’

‘I do not like conspiracies.’

‘To bring this matter to his ears will hurt him, Mr Quinn, you must see that, and nothing will induce me to wound him.’

‘It’s a little late for that. My congratulations on your deceit. Your visits to the shops had me completely fooled. You must be the cleverest young woman this side of the Atlantic. I demand to know why you did not see fit to tell me.’

‘You know why. You would have prevented me.’

‘Damn right I would.’ His expression was set and hard. ‘To plan this—to enter the City Gaol and to tie yourself to a murderer—is nothing less than outrageous … scandalous. And to try to use his name … Has it not entered your head that your father will question you about the family you have married into, that he will want to know to which branch of Claybournes your husband belonged to, and that he may well communicate with them to offer his condolences for their relative’s loss?’ When Amanda blanched, a coldness closed on his face. ‘No, I thought not.’

‘I confess that I haven’t given it a deal of thought and I shall face it if it happens. However, because I shall be a widow, Father will have to respect one year of mourning, by which time I shall be independent of his authority and able to choose myself a husband in my own good time. At this particular moment I am impatient to leave for England. I have no wish to be in Charleston when they hang Mr Claybourne.’

Cursing Amanda to hell and back, Mr Quinn seethed as he paced the carpet. He had reasons of his own to quit Charleston at the earliest opportunity, and when Henry O’Connell had ordered their return he had looked on it as a Godsend. However, if he valued his position, he had no choice but to take part in Amanda’s subterfuge.

‘Mark my words, this spells trouble. If it is ever known what you have done, it will bring disrepute on your family—and all because of a moment of intense madness. May God help you—and me—should your father ever find out the truth. It was badly done, Amanda—badly done indeed.’

Amanda looked at the letter he was holding. ‘Is there a message for me in Father’s letter?’

‘Only that he’s arranged what he considers to be a suitable match for you—but I suppose he will have to explain to the gentleman that you are no longer available.’

‘What gentleman?’

‘It is Lord Prendergast he has in mind.’

Amanda’s mouth dropped open and her face lost all vestige of colour. ‘Lord Prendergast!’ she gasped. ‘That man is nothing but an old bag of bones. To marry him would be a fate worse than death.’

‘You might wish you had when your father gets wind of what you’ve done. You haven’t a care in the world beyond getting whatever you want out of life, have you?’

‘Which certainly isn’t Lord Prendergast.’

Faced with Mr Quinn’s wrath, for once Amanda felt afraid. She did not feel reckless or defiant now. She felt young and guilty and conscious of the seriousness of what she had done—and fear, should her father ever learn of his daughter’s deceit and scandalous marriage. But she took heart that England was an ocean away and he would never find out the true nature of her husband. Because Mr Quinn would face instant dismissal, he wouldn’t tell. Besides, it would put him in such a bad light as a chaperon.

‘There’s—something else you should know,’ he said hesitantly, ‘something that will affect you. You father’s getting married—to a Lady Caroline Brocket. She comes from a Coventry family who were loosely connected to the aristocracy. She married a baronet who died after fifteen years of marriage. There was no issue.’

Amanda froze and stared at him. ‘Married? I don’t believe it.’ She had never entertained the idea that her father would marry again, and she’d never even heard of Lady Caroline Brocket.

‘It’s true. He is also selling the house in Rochdale and moving to the country, where he has purchased a large property—Eden Park. He fancies his hand at breeding horses. Lady Brocket is in favour of this and has given him a good deal of encouragement. By the time we arrive in England the move will be complete.’ Meeting her eyes, which were dark with worry, he frowned. ‘Your reaction tells me that you disapprove of your father’s actions.’

‘That I am surprised is putting it mildly. Business has always come first with Father. He’s never listened to me when I’ve told him he works too hard. This—Lady Brocket must be quite exceptional to have succeeded in finding the chink in his armour when everyone else has failed,’ Amanda said, feeling a stab of resentment towards this unknown woman. ‘While he plays the country squire, who will be running his business empire?’

‘He is employing others to do it for him.’

‘I suppose it will take some getting used to.’

‘Change always does. Be happy for him—and perhaps then, if he discovers the disgraceful facts of your own marriage, he will not be so hard on you.’

Mr Quinn’s chilling expression was bad enough, but the worst part of it all was that Charlotte was disappointed in her and shaken and stricken by her deceit. Her painful attempt to reprimand her formed more of a punishment than any violent demonstration of anger, and in an agony of mortification Amanda begged her forgiveness. On this edifying note of repentance she hoped the conversation would be concluded, but Charlotte had to have her say.

‘When Mr Quinn told me what you had done I could not believe it of you, Amanda. What can I say? I knew how much you wanted to avoid an arranged marriage, but—well, I never thought you would go to such lengths—and to go inside that dreadful place … Oh, I shudder when I think about it. Still, it is done now, so it’s no use getting all emotional about it and indulging in petty displays of hysterics. But I have to say that I’m disappointed in you, and what your father will have to say I dread to think.’

Amanda could see the expression of shock on Charlotte’s face, and yet she was confident that soon she would understand the desperation that had made her do it. ‘Charlotte, I am so sorry if I’ve upset you.’

Charlotte looked at her sharply. ‘But you’re not sorry you married Mr Claybourne, are you?’

‘No.’

‘At least it will stop your father marrying you off in a hurry.’

Amanda brightened. ‘Yes, it will all be changed—especially now he is to wed himself—and a lady, too. So at least there is one good result from today’s events.’

‘I’m glad you think so,’ Charlotte said drily. ‘Well, in no time at all you’ll be a widow. No doubt your father will hold me responsible for all this. What you do in England is, of course, entirely your own concern, Amanda, but here Mother had her standards—and so have I, and I wish you had observed the proprieties.’ Since her mother had died, Charlotte felt responsible—certainly morally accountable—for Amanda’s brazen behaviour and her restless, dissatisfied state. ‘I suppose I had better write to your father and explain everything.’

‘Please don’t,’ Amanda said quickly. ‘I’ll tell him, Charlotte, I promise I will.’

‘He has a right to know. You cannot conceal the fact that you married a convicted murderer.’

‘He is innocent, Charlotte, I know it.’