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

Autumn passed into winter and a jolly Christmas came and went. Henry liked things to run smoothly at Eden Park and kept a busy schedule. He always allowed himself enough time to indulge his passion for horses, travelling to horse sales near and far in his desire to buy only the finest horseflesh—hunters and Thoroughbreds alike. His search for a decent trainer wasn’t so simple. There were plenty of clever, knowledgeable men he could take on for the task, but he was determined to hold out for the best.

Amanda, an accomplished rider, shared her father’s love for the hunt, feeling there was no other thrill to compare with riding a courageous horse across fences and grass at speed, trying to keep up as close as possible to the pack of hounds hunting their fox. The challenge was manifest, the demands on her nerve clear, the test of her skill less easy to define, but the pleasure and thrill of the hunt were compounded of many other elements.

It was after one such day when they held the meet at Eden Park that Amanda went to her bed exhausted but content. A buffet had been provided for the hungry hunters of hot, spicy soup; roast beef; saddle of mutton, venison and pork and all the appropriate trimmings; cheese; jellies; tarts and pies for after. It had been a hectic day, with much hustle and bustle both above and below stairs as the servants worked feverishly to make sure everyone was replete with both food and drink.

The house was dark and totally silent when Amanda left her room. Surprised that she was unable to sleep following the day’s excitement, she padded down to the kitchens as the grandfather clock in the hall struck midnight, thinking a cup of hot milk might solve the problem. Sitting before the fire that Cook had banked down before going to bed, in an astonishingly tidy kitchen with no sign of the earlier chaos, she sipped her milk, feeling the hot liquid relaxing her. She took a quicker route back to her room, going quietly up the back stairs and along a narrow landing that passed through the servants’ quarters—not that many of the servants lived in at Eden Park. Most of them came from nearby Thurlow and went home after their day’s work.

Listening carefully for any small sound that might indicate that someone else was awake, she squinted in the darkness, having to be careful where she trod. She was just coming to the end of the landing when she heard a sudden cry coming from a room on her right. It was softly uttered, as if someone were in pain, but trying to stifle it. Greatly concerned, she moved towards the door, turning the knob and opening it to investigate.

She halted abruptly at the sight that confronted her. At first she could see little, the only light coming from the dying embers in the hearth and a single lamp at the side of the bed. But then she saw two figures so entwined they could easily have been one. Totally immersed in each other they were unaware of her presence. Her eyes saw the voluptuous nakedness of a young woman lying on the softness of the sheets. Her head was flung back, her eyes closed, her face contorted with pleasure as the man moved rhythmically between her legs.

‘My goodness, it’s Sadie Jenkins,’ Amanda gasped softly, unable to believe such wanton behaviour from a seventeen-year-old parlourmaid. The girl turned her head and half-opened her eyes. Amanda realised she must have heard her gasp. Sadie cried out in horror and began shoving at the man’s shoulders to try to push him away.

Her face flaming with embarrassment, Amanda was about to leave, but at that moment, recognising the man as none other than Mr Quinn, anger took hold of her and all she could do was stare. She knew she had no business being here, that what the servants got up to when they were off duty was their own affair, but the nausea welling inside her kept her rooted to the spot.

Only slowly did the naked man become aware that there was someone standing in the open doorway. Turning his head, he saw Amanda, his face registering neither surprise nor shame. As if he had all the time in the world he rolled away from the girl, leaving her shapely young body defenceless and exposed. Not in the least discomposed, he pulled on a long robe that fastened with a belt around the middle, covering his nakedness. Amanda could see the smugness in his eyes; he was full of conviction, not remorse, for his actions.

Wrapping a sheet around her to cover her own nakedness, Sadie slipped off the bed and stood looking at Amanda with a light of defiance gleaming in her large dark eyes.

‘Is this your room, Sadie?’ Amanda demanded, struggling to sound calm and in control.

Sadie shook her head. ‘No, mum. It’s farther down the landing.’

‘Then go to it. I will speak to Mr Quinn alone.’

Casting an indecisive glance at Mr Quinn, who indicated with a slight nod that she should do as Mrs Claybourne bade, Sadie crossed to the door, the sheet trailing behind her.

‘Just a minute, Sadie,’ Amanda said. Sadie turned and looked at her. ‘I thought you went home after work.’

‘I do as a rule, Mrs Claybourne, but today being so busy and with so much to do, I promised Cook I’d stay on and help. Besides, Ma doesn’t like me having to pass through the woods and by the lake, you see. She says there are too many scallywags roamin’ about for a decent girl to be walking home alone after dark. Why, she says anything might happen.’

‘I see. You may go.’

‘How long have you been here?’ Mr Quinn asked calmly when Sadie had closed the door behind her. ‘And by what right do you spy on me in my private rooms?’

Undaunted, Amanda lifted her head with a small but stubborn toss. ‘I have been here long enough to see the shameful thing you have done. Sadie is young enough to be your daughter. What were you thinking?’

Mr Quinn threw up his hands. ‘Amazing! A proper little prude! And you a married woman,’ he mocked. ‘Sadie is seventeen going on thirty. Did she look ashamed to you?’

Recalling the way Sadie had thrown back her shoulders and lifted her head, her action had told Amanda quite clearly that she was neither ashamed nor regretful.

Mr Quinn smiled, a smug, self-satisfied smile that infuriated Amanda. ‘She wanted it as much as I did. It was not the first time and it will not be the last. But if you must prowl around after dark, to save any embarrassment on your part, I would advise you to confine yourself to your own part of the house—unless, of course, you were looking for something that might be of more interest to your habits.’

Amanda seethed. How dare the man take the offensive by accusing her of creeping about the house and spying on the servants? ‘You forget yourself, Mr Quinn. My father will have harsh words to say to you about this.’

‘Really?’ He lowered his head, becoming thoughtful. Henry O’Connell was the only man Quinn had any regard for, and he had never told anyone the role that his employer had played in his life, or the gratitude Quinn felt for him. However, over the years since he had begun working for Henry, he had acquired a good, strong foothold both in the business and with Henry. Yes, it was a good, strong foothold and it was not a position he was prepared to relinquish because this girl could not keep her mouth shut.

‘Now listen to me,’ he said, moving closer until he towered over her. ‘Your father must never hear of this. You must never tell him what you have seen.’

‘But I have a duty to tell him what goes on beneath his roof, especially something as sordid as this. He does not condone this kind of behaviour among the servants and you, more than anyone, should know that. You hold a position of trust in this house, and you have just breached it.’

‘Have I? We shall see. Who do you think will benefit from the confession? Certainly not Sadie or her poor, misbegotten family that depends on what she earns here. If she is thrown out, there’ll be no work for her in any other house. Would you want that on your conscience—to see her family go to the workhouse? Think what it will mean. The story will become common gossip. Oh, no, Amanda, for her sake—and your own—you must say nothing.’