Caroline and the Captain: A Regency Novella (2 page)

Nicholas had just finished breakfast when his butler, Kettle, announced Sir Marcus Mirrington.

As Nicholas left the breakfast room, his neighbor strode into the hall with a look of regret. “I’m sorry to call so early, my lord. But I must leave for London later today, and I hoped to speak to you before I did so.”

“Of course, Sir Marcus,” Nicholas said. “Come into the library, there’s a fire lit, can’t get accustomed to English weather. May I offer you coffee, or whiskey?”

“Thank you, no.” Sir Marcus followed him into the large room, its walls lined with bookshelves below a heavily coffered ceiling. They each took a leather armchair set by the hearth.

Sir Marcus crossed his ankles on the faded crimson Turkey rug, his gaze resting on Nicholas’s black armband. “I must apologize for the hastiness of this call, but I felt this could not wait.”

His glance was shrewd and assessing, reminding Nicholas that Sir Marcus was known to be an ambitious man who’d made a considerable fortune in business and was at one time a large shareholder in the East India Company. No one achieved that level of wealth without being clever and astute. Nicholas waited, curious to learn what brought him here.

The baronet removed an enameled snuff box from his pocket. He offered his blend to Nicholas who declined. Taking a pinch, Sir Marcus sniffed. “You are aware, of course of your brother’s intention to marry my daughter, Caroline.”

“George wrote to advise me of it.”

“It would have been advantageous for them both,” he said. “A likeable fellow, George. I need not tell you how deeply sad I am at his death, but perhaps something can still be achieved to benefit us both.” He sat forward. “I have a proposition to put to you, my lord. I make it now, because your brother made me cognizant of his financial situation with complete honesty. Although he was deeply in debt, he refused to sell any of his land. That’s something you must now deal with.

“I wish to settle my daughter well.” He shrugged. “Mothers you know, are tender hearted. My wife wishes her daughter to remain close to home after her marriage. She is our only child.” Returning the snuff box to his pocket, he smiled. “Grandchildren and so forth.”

“Yes of course,” Nicholas said politely, wondering where the baronet was heading. Did he think Nicholas would agree to sell him land?

“I’m not aware of your future plans, but I wanted to advise you that the handsome dowry I placed on my daughter still stands, should you come to see the financial sense of a marriage between you and Caroline.”

Nicholas was appalled. His brother was barely in the ground. “Sir Marcus. I appreciate your offer, but…”

Sir Marcus held out his hands, palms up, then clasped them together. “I am aware that this is ill timed, but I’m also aware of the difficulty of your situation. You may need time to learn the true state of your finances, so I’ll take my leave of you, but when you’ve done that, and perhaps cannot find a suitable way out of your predicament, please think on it, if you will.”

He rose. “I appreciate that you may prefer to look further afield, perhaps a titled lady. However, the joining of our properties should not be taken lightly. This could be a speedy answer to many of your problems, as it will allow you to keep your home, and gain a graceful, attractive wife into the bargain.”

Nicholas strolled with him to the door. “I had not intended to wed for some years, Sir Marcus, but I’m appreciative of the advantages you offer, and shall give your proposal serious thought.”

Sir Marcus bowed his head, put on his hat and strode to his waiting carriage.

Nicholas watched him leave. He had no intention of considering the man’s proposal. Mirrington’s description of his daughter piqued his curiosity, however, for it gave little clue to her character. Graceful and attractive were her more obvious charms. Might she be difficult? Did her father want her gone from under his roof before she sank into confirmed spinsterhood? Nicholas needed time to get a handle on his affairs and seek advice from those his brother and father had trusted. He strode into the corridor and found Kettle.

“I have decided to go to London. Is the Berkley Square house staffed?”

“It is, milord. Your brother had planned to take his bride there.” Kettle’s lips trembled and his eyes filled with distress.

Nicholas nodded, in sympathy with him. “I will spend several days there. Have the carriage brought round in an hour.”

“As you wish, milord.”

When the grey-haired butler hurried to send the footman to the stables, Nicholas climbed the stairs in search of his valet. He would call on his solicitor and his bank to find out the exact state of his affairs. Then he would look up some of his father’s old friends who might be able to help him through the difficult time ahead.

♥♥♥

Caroline’s father had just returned from London. He popped his head around the door of the morning room where she sat with her mother embroidering a sampler. “I’d like to see you in my study, Caroline.”

Caroline met her mother’s glance and received an enigmatic smile in return. What were they cooking up between them? She’d refused a Season every year before she met George. Surely, Father wasn’t going to try to persuade her again. Her excuses always sounded hollow, as she had thus far avoided telling her parent’s the real reason. And she would continue to do so, for it would break their hearts to learn the truth.

“Sit down, my dear.” Behind his desk, her father tucked his thumbs into his waistcoat and smiled broadly.

Caroline grew nervous when he got one of his ideas. They seldom seemed to please anyone but himself. She was terribly fond of her father, but really, he was like a dog with a ham bone at times. “What is it, Father?” Tense with expectation, she sank into a chair opposite him.

“Before I went to the city, I queried the earl as to whether he would consider taking his brother’s place and marrying you.”

She’d suspected her father might consider Nicholas, although she’d tried to dismiss the distressing thought from her mind. Dismayed, Caroline drew in a sharp breath. “What was his answer?” she asked her voice faint.

“Debenham has not yet given me one. He intends to think on it. Nevertheless, I thought I should alert you to the possibility. The earl must find a bride with an excellent dowry, and quite quickly, I believe, if he wishes to pay his debts and keep Debenham Park in the family.”

Caroline’s cheeks flushed hot. To have a man forced to marry her because of his financial troubles was bad enough, but not a ruthless, hard-hearted soldier. The prospect had not been so appalling when it was George, but this was another matter entirely. A man used to violence, who’d witnessed unspeakable things. She clutched her hands tightly in her lap. Surely, such a marriage was unlikely to interest him, she realized with relief. There must be heiresses a plenty-those of his class, who would marry the handsome earl. Impoverished or no.

“He will let me know in a few days, my dear. I know you were fond of George. We all were. However, I’d be pleased to settle you at Debenham Park with his brother. I like him, I must say.”

She stared at her father. He didn’t usually take to a man so quickly. “You like him, Father? Why?”

“Nicholas is more like his father than was George. An exceptional parliamentary performer was the former earl, courageous and honorable. I look forward to seeing what this new earl might achieve when he takes his place in the House.”

She expected Debenham to be brave, he was a soldier after all, but she wasn’t entirely sure about the other. “Why are you so certain that Lord Debenham is honorable?”

“You don’t know him of course. He’d been away at war when we moved here. But I’ve read of his valor in battle. I wouldn’t have considered him for a minute if I didn’t like the fellow, my dear.” Her father formed a steeple with his fingers. “And I expect he’ll handle his affairs far better than poor George did.”

“What makes you think so, Father?”

“He gained First Class Honors in mathematics at Oxford for one thing.”

She would never have imagined Nicholas to be a scholar. “How odd that he’d chosen the army.”

“Second sons, my dear. Often at a loose end,” Father said with a shrug.

She tamped down a burst of interest. There was certainly more to the earl than met the eye.

Her father’s sharp eyes observed her. “I can see that you’re intrigued.”

“I really don’t think we’d suit, Father. But his lordship will likely come to that conclusion himself.”

“He will do what he must,” Father said obliquely. 

“Yes, but it’s unlikely an officer such as he would make rash decisions.”

“I imagine not. I’m told he has gone to London.”

Caroline released a breath. He would surely find a way to solve his problems in Town. It would be far better for them both if he married the daughter of a lord who’d been brought up to be a countess. Marrying her would be a disaster, and he’d rightly feel cheated in the end.

Nicholas spent his time in the Metropolis learning the true state of his finances. After visiting his bank and solicitor, he began to understand the seriousness of his situation. The insight hit him like a blow to the solar plexus. The situation was far worse than he’d believed. After he’d found four thousand pounds in the safe at Debenham Park, he hadn’t been prepared for such bad news.

When he came out into the street again an hour later, he considered his dire circumstances. Both Debenham Park and the townhouse were heavily mortgaged. He was on the brink of insolvency. The bank had many like him, and refused to lend him a penny. All he could do was return home. While he could still call the estate his own.

He’d looked up his father’s old cronies in their clubs only to find some had passed away, and others claimed the war and the present economic climate had sapped their resources. Nicholas was thoroughly dispirited. A marriage of convenience went against the grain with him. In fact, he’d considered the years he’d spent in the army rendered him unsuited to marriage. But now he was an earl he must produce an heir at some point, although he’d considered he had some years before he did. He had planned to select his bride himself when the time came, and wasn’t sure he’d make a decent go of it, if he were to marry the neighbor’s daughter. The whole thing seemed a very bad idea, and doomed to failure.

On Wednesday evening, an old friend from Oxford, Freddie Masters, Viscount Wrigley, obtained vouchers and took him to Almacks where this year’s debutantes were paraded on the marriage mart. The young women, barely out of the schoolroom, either talked too much or were painfully silent. He supposed he presented a rather formidable figure. Their mothers were not so daunted. Their eyes lit up like candles at the sight of him. It was evident that news of his impending insolvency hadn’t yet reached London drawing rooms. He began to feel like a grouse at a country shoot and left Almacks soon after.

Nicholas was about to resign his commission from the army, but if he could refinance the estate, it was tempting to lease his properties, and return to army life. There was always a war to be fought somewhere. He could leave England and the sad memories behind him. It began to look like an excellent idea as he approached the last bank on his list where the famous Debenham Emerald and diamond parure and jewelry were in safe keeping.

The banker looked surprised. “We no longer keep any of the jewelry, milord.”

Nicholas knew they were not at the house, although there was that money in the safe. “When did my brother remove them?”

“Only a month ago, milord. I believe he sold them.”

Nicholas stared him. “Not the emeralds?”

“All of them, milord. To a jeweler. There was an article in
The Morning Post
. I’m surprised you didn’t know of it.”

“I’ve been out of the country. Do you recall the jeweler’s name?”

“As a matter of fact I do. They are Rundell, Bridge & Rundell, jewelers to the Crown. Their store is in Ludgate Hill.”

“Thank you.” Nicholas strode from the building, heavy hearted. Had the jewels been broken up and sold separately? Why did George do it? The answer came swiftly. George didn’t care about such things. Although he valued the land, their family history held little interest for him. And he supposed George had a creditor who refused to wait for his money.

Some hours later, Nicholas entered through the impressive stone arch of a five story building at 34 Ludgate Hill. The window and the store’s interior were crammed with snuff boxes, watches, daggers, pistols, swords, canes, seals, cases, and impressive silver plate. He approached an elegant man in a black suit behind the counter. He looked up, and removed his eyeglass. A gleaming diamond lay on the black velvet cloth before him.

“Earl of Debenham.” Nicholas gave him his card.

He bowed. “Bridge. How can I help you, milord?”

“Am I right in believing that you bought the Debenham emeralds?”

“We did, milord. And very fine pieces they are.”

“Have you sold them?”

“I’ve had several interested buyers, milord, including Princess Charlotte. But she confesses to have spent her yearly allowance, or they’d be gone. I’ve yet to part with any of them.”

“Might I see them?”

He nodded, pocketed the diamond and went through a door. A moment later, he returned with a pile of boxes.

He opened them one by one and laid them out along the counter. The light flashed on the emerald and diamond oak leaf tiara, and the exquisite necklace with the enormous emerald pendant drop, matching earbobs and bracelet. Other family jewels followed: the pink topaz and gold pendant his mother had favored; a necklace of fat grey pearls with earbobs; a rose cut diamond brooch and bracelet which had belonged to his great grandmother. Gold chains, several other necklaces, brooches and rings, and his mother’s diamond engagement ring. 

“How much did you pay for these?”

“Five thousand pounds, milord.”

“They are worth much more.”

“Your brother was in a hurry to sell.”

“Did he happen to say why, by any chance?”

“No, milord he didn’t.”

“What do you want for them?”

“I’m considering an offer of five thousand for the parure alone. I will accept seven thousand for the lot. I could get much more as you say, but I prefer to see them returned to the family, if that is your wish. Too many family jewels are broken up and sold these days,” he cast Nicholas an inquisitive glance. “Often to pay for gambling debts.”

“My brother did not gamble. Seven thousand it is then.”

George had spent a thousand somewhere. Nicholas frowned. He would have to add three thousand of his own money. It would take a bite out of his savings, which he wished to pour back into the estate. He could have put the money to better use. But so be it. He must save the estate intact, for he would regret it for the rest of his life if he failed.

“Wrap them. I’ll obtain a bank check and return for them in an hour.”

“Very wise to keep them in the family, milord.”

Nicholas nodded. Yes, for as long as he could.

Before he left London, he called on his old friend, Freddie Masters, at his club. Freddie knew all the secrets in London worth knowing. Nicholas needed to find out the reason George was so desperate for money when he was about to marry and receive a large dowry. What was the urgency?

He and Freddie sat in the club library, a bottle of whiskey on the table beside them, while Nicholas explained. Freddie eyed him curiously. “I would have heard rumors if there was something untoward, but I’ve heard nothing. Do you have any idea what it might be?”

“No I don’t,” said Nicholas. “But I can tell you in confidence that there’s a lot more debt than I expected and certainly far more than when my father was alive.” He raised his glass and took several swallows. The taste of malt warmed his throat, but his heart remained chilled. “I just wanted to be sure that there was nothing suspicious about the way George died.”

Freddie frowned. “What makes you doubt it was an accident?”

“George was the best rider I ever knew. I just can’t come to terms with it.”

“I agree with you, of all people, George was the least likely to fall from his horse. Why I remember when he took that jump over the high wall at Debenham Park, when we were riding to hounds.” Freddie smiled in memory. “I bet him five pounds he couldn’t do it. But he cleared it with ease.”

“He wasn’t reckless,” Nicholas said. “Never did anything he wasn’t sure he could pull off.” Nicholas reached for the bottle and poured them both a glass. It was proving very hard to accept. If George had died from an illness, he could, but this!

Nicholas left London the next morning, glad to put the noisy, teaming streets and foul air behind him. No one could deny that the English countryside in spring was glorious, but even that failed to lift his spirits. His carriage turned off the toll road and traveled along a lane bordered by flowering hedgerows. Bright yellow daffodils and daisies spread over the fields. The carriage turned through the gates of Debenham Park. There was a sense of permanence about his home he’d always taken for granted until now. There would be a carpet of Bluebells beneath the trees, this spring, just like when he and George wandered the woods years ago. The thought of his boyhood brought a fresh pang of sorrow, as the soaring chimneys of his home appeared above the trees.

The carriage rounded a bend in the gravel drive revealing the front aspect of Debenham Park flanked by its two wings. Nicholas held his breath. As the younger son, he’d never considered this property might one day be his. He loved the old Restoration house, built in 1698 for the first baron. The years had painted the ancient stone with lichen, and ivy covered the walls around the entry. Perhaps George’s spirit was still about for a peaceful air seemed to settle over it, banishing its violent history. Nicholas liked to think it was so.

The coachman set him down and the carriage rolled away toward the timber-framed barn and the stables.

“I trust your visit to the city was beneficial, my lord?” Kettle asked at the door.

Nicholas handed the butler his hat and gloves and shrugged out of his coat. “Enlightening, Kettle.”

He crossed the oak-paneled Great Hall with its huge stone fireplace and climbed the staircase. The sweet smell of each carefully tended room revived personal memories deeply ingrained in his psyche. He was forced to admit he’d had his fill of army life. More than enough, after the horrors of the last campaign. Leaving this life didn’t make good financial sense. His batman, Holmes appeared to enjoy his new position as valet. Nicholas went first to the library and placed the jewels in the safe.

By the time he reached his bedchamber, he’d made up his mind. Returning to the army wasn’t an option. He felt a responsibility to his ancestors and future generations, and would remain to fight to keep his estate. He was forced to consider the only course open to him. To marry, and with haste. Miss Millington’s visage swept into his mind’s eye. The baronet had known that what he offered would be difficult for Nicholas to resist.

“Holmes?”

Holmes emerged from the adjoining room. “Did you have a successful trip, my lord?”

Nicholas sighed heavily. “I’m afraid not. I am in sore need of a bath and a whiskey.”

“Right you are, milord.”

Nicholas soaped himself in the hipbath while Holmes poured water over him, and wondered what George would make of his marrying Miss Millington. His brother had not expressed a deep abiding passion for the lady in his letters–that was not his nature. He’d written,
who better to marry than your good friend?
Well that would never have been Nicholas’ choice. The lady in question was clearly saddened by George’s death, but beyond that, Nicholas had little idea. What was the strength of her feelings towards her former fiancé? If they married, would he then be burdened with a wife who mourned his brother and constantly compared them? He was nothing like his brother. George was an even-tempered, good-hearted man, who was deeply entrenched in his equine world. He’d wanted little else than to live quietly with his dogs and his horses.

Nicholas admitted to being more passionate and determined. He wanted a lot from life, and now that he’d made up his mind to stay and turn things around, he intended to get it.

He stepped from the bath and dried himself with a towel. “Does the idea of remaining here appeal, Holmes? Or do you yearn for army life?”

“I shall be more than happy to stay, if that should be your decision, milord.”

“Had enough of living rough?”

“It’s not that so much, milord.” Holmes assisted Nicholas into his riding breeches and boots. “I rather fancy finding a wife—having a few young’uns.”

“Ah.” Nicholas nodded.  

He went to the library, poured himself a whiskey and sat, staring into the fire. Miss Mirrington was no wallflower, so why hadn’t she married? Might she have a difficult manner that scared a fellow off? But that didn’t fit with her relationship with George. It made little sense. Her father could have bought her a title. There were plenty of financially strapped lords hoping to marry a lady with a good dowry. Hadn’t Sir Marcus given her a Season? It seemed remarkable that she hadn’t been presented. Or had she? That last thought was troubling. None of this fitted together. Nicholas didn’t like mysteries, and intended to discover what lay behind the fetching Miss Mirringham’s unmarried state. Had she been ill perhaps? Or in mourning? There was no point spending time in conjecture. He would have to see her.

He finished his drink and went to the office to sort through the pile of bills and accounts awaiting him. He hated owing money, especially to those with less than he had.

Mirrington knew he held an ace in his hand. An arrangement between the two families would have distinct financial advantages that none other could match. It would certainly help Nicholas out of his present financial fix, speedily, with the promise of a better future. Even then, there would be work to do to set the estate to rights. A burst of enthusiasm to tackle the task surprised him. But unease swiftly followed. He was seriously considering committing himself to marriage. If he went through with it, would he live to regret it?