Helen Dickson - Regency - Innocents & Intrigues - Marrying Miss Monkton / Beauty in Breeches

Frustrated, she swilled her face with cold water. What manner of man was Charles Osbourne, who had crept into her mind and taken root? She was beginning to think he had entered her life with the express purpose of stealing her heart and perhaps even her soul.

Going in search of him, at the bottom of the stairs she paused, experiencing a feeling of alarm on seeing the man who had accosted her on her arrival going outside. Sober now, he threw her a sullen look, but made no attempt to approach her. The cut on his lip and blackened eye told its own story—Charles had obviously fought well in defence of his assumed wife’s honour.

Charles was waiting for her, his expression impassive, and yet there was a knowing gleam in his eyes when they settled on her that made Maria avert her gaze. There were others in the room eating breakfast before setting off on their journey.

As Maria did ample justice to her breakfast, she only half listened to the conversation around her. When she heard how a chateau, the home of an eminent nobleman, had been burned to the ground just yesterday in the Ardennes, she stopped eating and raised her head.

Knowing precisely what thoughts were going through her head, Charles shot her a warning look, his eyes conveying to her the danger of reacting too much to this news.

‘Did you hear what they said?’ she said softly, her face stricken. ‘I know the chateau they speak of. It is not far from Chateau Feroc. We often went there—such a lovely family. It can’t be true! I won’t believe it!’

Alarmed that her sudden distress would draw attention to them, Charles rose abruptly. ‘Come, the carriage is waiting. Finished eating? I think we should leave immediately. I know what happened at the chateau. Such things are happening all over France.’ Placing his hand on her elbow, he steered her outside to the waiting carriage.

‘But—but what about my aunt—and Constance?’ she asked, having to run to keep up with his long strides. ‘What are we to do?’ She was churning inside, her mind spilling with horrible thoughts.

‘There is nothing we can do,’ he told her briskly, handing her valise to Pierre to secure to the coach and assisting Maria inside. Sitting across from her, he said, ‘I warned the Countess this could happen. I urged her to leave.’

‘But what will happen to them?’ Maria’s eyes searched his, and for a terrible stabbing moment she knew a fear so strong it seemed to take the breath from her body. She strove hard to curtail it. ‘How could I have left them? I should have stayed. Everyone has been talking about what was happening, but I didn’t really know how bad things were.’ She leaned forwards and gripped Charles’s arm with her hand. ‘Charles, we have to go back. We must.’

Astounded by her totally unreasonable request, Charles looked at her. She really was ignorant of what was happening in France. She really had been contained in some kind of bubble at the chateau, living in some kind of dream world, while chaos went on all around her.

There was a brooding, hopeless expression in his eyes. ‘We cannot go back. It has to be faced.’

She stared at him, tense and white faced. People were milling about in the yard as the carriage began to move, but she did not see them. She said in a hard, breathless voice that she fought to control, willing him to comply to her wishes, ‘Please, Charles. It is not much to ask.’ She could not endure it and she could not bear to think about it. ‘I have to find out if she is all right—help her if need be.’

‘Stop it,’ Charles said curtly, averting his gaze as they took to the road. ‘You don’t know what you are asking. It isn’t as easy as that. There is nothing that can be done beyond what I have already done. We go on to Calais.’

She snatched her hand away. ‘You mean you won’t do anything? That’s what you’re saying.’

He turned his head and looked at the white face beside him. Her eyes were no longer hard, but wide and imploring, and there was pure panic in her voice. The change in that face was like a knife in Charles’s heart. After a moment, he said, ‘No. I’m sorry.’

She did not look at him and her own hurt made her desire to hurt him also. ‘No, you’re not. You don’t care—and why should I expect you to? You don’t know them. They mean nothing to you. You don’t understand,’ she whispered numbly.

‘Oh, yes, I do,’ he hissed fiercely, the frustration of his inadequacy to do anything to help her aunt and cousin increasing his anger. ‘I understand only too well. You did not understand the dangers that threatened you all at Chateau Feroc, and now you do you are perfectly prepared to jeopardise your chances of escaping the troubles, and risk both our lives into the bargain, just so that you can do what? If the chateau has not been attacked, then nothing will have changed. Your aunt will be as indomitable and awkward as ever, so our return will achieve nothing.’

‘At least I will know.’

‘Know? Know what, Maria? When I went to the Chateau Feroc to see the Countess I had just come from Paris. I had seen with my own eyes what was happening—the riots, the violence, death and looting that was going on all over the place. I hope I am wrong and that Chateau Feroc is not attacked. I can only say that in the event of my timorous fears proving justified, I hope the Countess will obtain some comfort from the realisation that she has sacrificed the life of her daughter and jeopardised the safety of the chateau in order to demonstrate a confidence in the fidelity of her servants.’

‘You speak harsh words. Do you forget that when you arrived she had just lost her husband? For her to contemplate leaving her home so soon was anathema to her.’

Charles’s precarious hold on his temper had departed and his voice was raw edged with anger. ‘I appreciate that, but this is no time for sentiment. She must have had doubts, but she would not admit it. It is all very laudable. But in the present crisis it is hardly practical.’

‘And if the chateau has been attacked?’ Maria asked, her eyes hard and accusing. ‘What then?’

‘As to that I cannot say. It depends on the mood of the mob.’

She stared at him, images of the chateau burning and her aunt and Constance at the mercy of those terrible, maddened people. ‘Do—do you think they would …?’

‘There would be nothing that you or I could do for them. I’m sorry, Maria, but that is the truth of it and you must face it.’

‘I never will.’

Although her glorious green eyes were glaring defiance at him, they were sparkling with suppressed tears, shining with an inner pain, and listening to her breathless, pleading voice, Charles would have given anything in the world to take her in his arms and kiss her tears away. But he knew that he must not.

‘I would never have left had I thought anything bad would happen.’

‘You don’t know that anything bad has happened,’ he said, trying to temper his impatience. ‘Plead their case all you like, Maria, but you will be wasting your breath. I have to be in London very soon and I cannot afford to let anything interfere with that.’

‘And I am one responsibility you can’t wait to be rid of,’ Maria retorted ungraciously.

‘I will not turn back, Maria. It is out of the question. We go on. Both of us,’ Charles said pointedly. ‘With any luck we’ll reach the coast tomorrow.’

The journey continued with Maria quietly seething at what she considered to be his overbearing and unreasonable attitude. Charles did not attempt to draw her out. He wished that he did not feel so responsible for her. It was an absurd feeling. It annoyed him and there was no reason for it. Nevertheless he could not rid himself of the feeling.