A Sister's Secret (44 page)

I am afraid I gave Betsy the impression I was married in order to convince her I was too faithful a husband to set her up in a stylish love nest. But she has truly been invaluable as an accomplice respecting a certain majestic gentleman, and I would consider myself even less than I am if I failed her in a moment of trouble, for I suspect she is in trouble. Accordingly, I will meet her as she requests.

Permit me to ask you to remember me to Annabelle, for I hold her in affection and wish her well. In saying goodbye to you, I do so in the conviction that I have had the pleasure and privilege of serving a lady entirely gracious and exceptionally endearing, of whom America can be proud. The days have been momentous. I would not have changed them for any others. Forgive me that I cannot accept the promissory note. It is impossible to accept payment for what has been a privilege.

I am, most sincerely, Charles Burnside.

Tears came to mortify and scald her. She turned and buried her face in the pillows, her hand crushing the letter.

Oh, what had she done? Her note to him, so cold and unfeeling, and so ungrateful. What must he think of her? What did it matter that he had the faults she most disliked in a man? He had countless good points, and of all things was a joy to be with and to talk to. How could a man who had contrived so well in her behalf be given in the end only a cold, bitter note of dismissal? And he had not taken the bank draft, he had refused all payment. Oh, dear heaven, what had she done?

But there was still some pride left, and when Helene came in with the tea Her Ladyship was sitting up, opening the second letter, head bent over it.

‘Thank you, Helene. I shan’t require breakfast.’

‘Milady—’

‘No breakfast, please. Is Miss Annabelle taking hers in her room?’

‘No. She was up early, and Thomas is serving hers now, downstairs.’

‘I see.’ Caroline cleared her eyes and scanned the second letter. It was from her father-in-law, the Duke of Avonhurst, but in its brevity was hardly a letter at all.

My dearest daughter,

I regret I have no further information to give you on Burnside, and recommend you have nothing more to do with him. Dismiss the blackguard if he has served his purpose.

My fondest love. A.

It was not good enough. It hid something. But what? That Captain Burnside was even worse than a blackguard? Had he committed an act so godless that he was liable, if caught, to be hanged? If so, she would save him and reform him. She could save him by persuading him to go to South Carolina with her. There he would be far removed from Tyburn Tree, and there she would reform him. He had done so much for her. He had done even more, by not having a wife.

First, she must call on her father-in-law, and beg from him the full extent of Captain Burnside’s sins and omissions, and where his lodgings were.

Annabelle spread another finger of toast with marmalade. Introduced to English marmalade on arrival at her sister’s house, she had acquired a passion for it.

‘Miss Annabelle?’ Thomas appeared. In his arms was a magnificent bouquet of long-stemmed red roses.

‘Thomas? Mercy, how beautiful. Who are they for?’

‘I was asked, Miss Annabelle, to present them to you.’

‘I am overcome,’ said Annabelle, eyes alight. ‘Who has sent them? Is there a card?’

She received the bouquet in its open white box. She could see no card.

‘The gentleman, Miss Annabelle, asked me to say as he would follow the bouquet in.’

‘I follow at speed,’ said Jonathan, entering the breakfast room, which was bright with morning light. ‘Good morning, Miss Howard. Why, that looks good. I’ve a weakness for toast – and do I see marmalade? Thank you, Thomas, I’ll help myself.’

‘Very good, sir,’ said the footman, and departed gravely, leaving Annabelle in round-eyed, tongue-tied speechlessness at the cheerful effrontery of the visitor, who was all of unwelcome. He sat down at the table with her. His buff-coloured coat was trim, his cravat neat, his hair formally brushed. But his devil-may-care jauntiness was no different. He helped himself to toast and peered into the marmalade pot.

‘Bless us, dear girl, you ain’t eaten it all, have you?’ he enquired.

Annabelle came to, laying the bouquet aside. ‘Well, I declare,’ she said. ‘What do you mean, you audacious scallywag, by coming here and inviting yourself to breakfast?’

‘Important business,’ said Jonathan. ‘Thought I ought to let the roses precede me. Young ladies should be sweetened first.’

‘I don’t wish to be sweetened by you, sir,’ said Annabelle forthrightly. ‘What is your business? Is it with my sister?’

‘Lady Caroline? Lord, no.’ Jonathan scraped round the pot and spooned marmalade on to his toast. ‘I fancy it’s the encouraging hand of sweet fate that has enabled me to catch you alone.’

‘It is not sweet to me, it’s a painful start to my day.’

‘Well, I ain’t going to beat about the bush,’ said Jonathan, ‘so I put it to you here and now, Miss Howard. Would you allow me the pleasure of becoming a suitor?’

‘A suitor?’ Annabelle could not believe her ears. ‘A suitor?’

‘Marriage being the objective, don’t you see. I’ll be frank, dear girl. I ain’t met a prettier or more mettlesome young lady than you.’

‘Well!’ gasped Annabelle. ‘Such outrageous nerve. You are actually daring to propose?’

‘Giving it thought,’ said Jonathan. He sampled the toast and marmalade. ‘Delicious. So, in fact, are you, and I ain’t going to quarrel with your tendency to bite my head off. You look good enough to eat when your dander’s up.’

‘Why, you bumptious beast,’ said Annabelle, ‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.’

‘Positive?’ said Jonathan.

‘Utterly,’ said Annabelle.

‘Ah,’ said Jonathan, and eyed her with a rueful smile. ‘Well, I ain’t surprised. I thought it might come to an uncompromising negative. I ain’t the best catch in the world.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Beg to reassure you I ain’t going to pester you. I don’t favour harassing a young lady after she’s administered a positive no.’ His smile was more rueful. Annabelle, looking up at him, felt oddly discomfited. ‘Bid you good morning, Miss Howard, and long may you adorn life.’

He walked to the door.

Impulsively, and quite without making sense to herself, Annabelle called to him. ‘Come back!’ He turned, shaking his head. ‘Come back!’ He came back. Annabelle searched for sense. ‘You haven’t finished your toast.’

He smiled and shook his head again. Annabelle, in wonder, felt she knew then why yesterday evening had been so dull.

‘No matter,’ said Jonathan, ‘toast don’t signify now. Fare thee well, sweet girl.’ He bent, he kissed her goodbye, on the mouth. It was a light kiss, but it lingered a spell. Breathless, Annabelle fell in love.

‘Oh,’ she said faintly, and took a deep breath. ‘You kissed me,’ she said.

‘Sorry,’ said Jonathan, ‘couldn’t help myself. Had to kiss you just once.’

‘I was afraid you wouldn’t,’ said Annabelle, and turned pink.

‘Eh?’

‘It was very ungentlemanly of you, sir, to take such advantage of me.’

‘Eh?’ said Jonathan again, and eyed her suspiciously. Her lashes fell demurely, hiding her blue eyes. ‘You’re confusing me,’ he said. ‘Now I ain’t noted for kissing every girl I meet …’

‘I should hope not,’ said Annabelle. ‘I am simply surprised you can kiss so sweetly. Heigh-ho, how perplexing it is not to know if you really are an unmannerly ruffian. Are you?’

‘Not always,’ smiled Jonathan. ‘Can I take it I ain’t precisely out in the cold, after all?’

‘Well, perhaps you might have the makings of a fairly acceptable gentleman,’ said Annabelle, feeling a little giddy. ‘Perhaps it isn’t your fault that you still have some
way to go. Perhaps you were brought up by a ruffianly father and unsympathetic mother. Who are your parents, and what are they like?’

‘I think I’d better go and see them and talk to them about you. Under the circumstances, I think I’d better arrange for you to meet them and let you find out for yourself what they’re like. I’ll dash off in a moment.’

‘Jonathan, under what circumstances?’ asked Annabelle, giddier.

‘These, Annabelle,’ said Jonathan, and kissed her again, warmly and lovingly. The images of Cumberland and dark, towering majesty slipped for good from her mind.

‘Now, Betsy, what ails you?’ asked Captain Burnside in a private room of the coffee house. Betsy was gulping coffee agitatedly, and disregarding the confectionery.

‘Oh, sir, that were a terrible proud lady I saw last night at your house – no, it were her house, she said.’

‘Never mind whose house it was,’ said Captain Burnside, his mood very sober. ‘Or how proud the lady was.’

‘There were another lady there too, and she made me quake a mite, for I thought her your wife.’

‘Never mind her, either. Betsy, you were to let me into the duke’s house this morning.’

‘Oh, I know.’ Betsy sighed in her worry. ‘That were one reason why I had to see you, for I can’t let you in now. Oh, Lor’, you’ll not be hard on me for that, will you, sir?’

‘Well, I’d have been there, as arranged, but only to tell you it was no longer necessary. His Royal Highness is presently as safe as you might wish him to be.’

‘I don’t wish him,’ said Betsy. ‘There’s been a terrible rumpus, and they’ve thrown me out, along with others. The duke’s soldier staff, they said there were damnable
rogues and vagabonds serving His Highness, that someone’s been at his private desk and suchlike, that someone’s pocketed a letter. Oh, them high-tailed soldier officers, giving some of us such a going-over, sir, and twisting my arm near to pulling it off. And saying I be too often where I shouldn’t be in the house, and light-fingered as well, which made me kick one of them. Sir, I’d hardly know how to pray in church if I were given to lifting and pocketing and nipping.’

‘Betsy, you kicked one of His Highness’s staff officers?’ said the captain.

‘He were at me something wicked – oh, the Lord Chancellor won’t top poor Betsy just for a kick, will he, sir? You’ll speak up for me, won’t you? I never did know a kinder gentleman, and it’s not just them guineas you give me.’

‘No, you shan’t be topped, Betsy. But you’ve been dismissed, is that it?’

‘And not even given wages, sir, nor a character writing,’ said Betsy, moist-eyed and woebegone. ‘I be in black disgrace, and daresn’t hardly know how I can get another position, or how I can add little bits to my savings. I daresn’t write and tell my parents I been dismissed from the duke’s household, they’ve been that proud of me. I be the rosy apple of my father’s eye, and he’ll be like to fall down and die if he hears they threw me out without a character writing. And I don’t have lodgings, sir. I stayed with Mr Pringle’s kind sister last night, but she didn’t dare let Mr Pringle know.’

‘Dry your eyes, puss,’ said Captain Burnside, ‘you shall have lodgings at least, and a promise to see what can be done about another position. It won’t do to have you out of work in London, and trying to find yourself a gentleman, for I fancy you might mistake a smiling and helpful
face for one of gentlemanly kindness, and it won’t be kind at all.’

‘Oh, you’ll help me, sir?’ asked Betsy, eyes swimming with hope.

‘Of course, puss.’

‘Sir, you be a true gentleman, even if you didn’t tell me you were a captain. I hardly knows when I cared more for anyone.’ Betsy regarded him with warm, sentimental affection, then with a little worry. ‘Sir, be there anything wrong?’

‘Wrong?’ he asked.

‘You look sad, sir, and I never saw you sad before.’

‘Sometimes, Betsy, one day isn’t quite as good as another.’

‘Well, if loving be …’ Betsy found it difficult for once to be flirtatious, to offer consoling kisses and cuddles. ‘Sir, it’s just that you be a very special gentleman.’

Captain Burnside regarded her swimming eyes. For all her acquisitiveness, she had proved a loyal partner, her word as good as her bond. ‘And you, Betsy,’ he said, ‘shall become a very special girl with a very special appeal to some young man who is as yet unknown, but exists somewhere. You ain’t going to be set up by any sensuous gentleman. Come, let’s find lodgings for you.’

The Duke of Avonhurst received his American daughter-in-law in his study. He had no option, for having been admitted and told where he was, Caroline swept there at once.

Aged sixty, Avonhurst had the distinguishable air of a born aristocrat, although he considered it more of a privilege to have simply been born to God’s world than to be born the first son of a duke. He was tall, and there was silver in his hair. For all that, he had the physical fitness of an active and temperate man. His affection for his daughter-in-law was constant and unchangeable, and his most melancholy regret was that his wastrel son Clarence had given her neither children nor happiness.

‘Caroline? My dear young lady.’ He rose, came round from his desk, took her hand and kissed her on the cheek.

‘I am very glad, Father-in-law, that I am always your dear young lady, for I sometimes feel the years are running away with me.’ Caroline might have exchanged a variety of affectionate greetings with him, but such was her obsession with one matter alone that she came at once to it. ‘Yet how unkind you were to send Captain Burnside to me.’

‘Unkind?’ The duke’s glance, usually steadfast, wavered a little, and he fingered his white lawn cravat. ‘He hasn’t been up to my recommendation?’

‘More than you suggested he might, more than I expected he would, and more than he himself boasted he would.’

‘Even so, he’s been a disappointment to you?’ enquired the duke.

‘Grievously, Father-in-law, in one singular respect,’ said Caroline, her calmness a deceptive mask. But if she could confide her feelings to anyone, it was to the understanding Duke of Avonhurst, always a comforting father figure. ‘It was unkind of you, was it not, to send me a man so attractive to women that I was bound to fall in love with him?’

His brows drew together. ‘I might have thought a weak woman would come to hold him in foolish affection,’ he said, ‘but not you, Caroline.’

‘Foolish affection?’ Caroline’s little laugh was hardly mirthful.