Helen Dickson (14 page)

‘At least we have to be thankful for reaching home safely.’ His tone was matter-of-fact.

Maria threw him a killing look. ‘I’m glad you think so.’

Ignoring her heated remark and in no mood for further argument, Charles climbed out. ‘Let’s go inside.’ He turned and looked back at her, still pressed in her seat. ‘Maria,’ he said with strained patience, ‘don’t make this any harder on yourself than it needs to be. If you were expecting me to take you to Winston then you were mistaken. You have your reputation to consider and it would not be right for you to stay with him. The scandal would be enormous.’

‘And yet it’s all right for me to stay with you. That, too, is highly irregular. Living with you, also a bachelor, will create as great a scandal as it would were I to go to Henry,’ she taunted coldly.

‘Before you raise any further objections you needn’t worry. Your reputation will be quite safe, since you will be under the protection of my mother.’

Maria stared at him in astonishment, trying to assimilate what was happening. ‘Your mother? She lives here—in this house?’

He nodded. ‘So you see my home is not such a bad place for you to spend a few days.’ With that he stalked off towards the door.

For a split second Maria was too furious and too miserable and tired to move, then she blinked back the tears of futility stinging her eyes and got out of the coach and followed in his wake. She knew she was
being completely irrational in feeling so resentful, but she couldn’t help it. Wrapping her arms around herself, she watched him tug at the bell.

‘Don’t tell me your servants are all abed,’ she remarked with intended sarcasm when there was no response from inside.

He threw her an ironic glance. ‘It looks like it. I am not expected.’

‘Perhaps you could break a window,’ she quipped.

‘It won’t come to that.’ He scowled at her and said with exaggerated patience, ‘Have you always been so difficult?’

‘Difficult? Me? No, I have not. You seem to bring out the worst in me, that’s all.’

The door opened and a manservant looked cautiously out into the gloom. Astonishment registered in his eyes and the poor man became flustered.

‘Sir Charles…. Forgive me—I didn’t realise…’

‘It’s all right, Denning. You weren’t to know.’ He turned to Maria, his tone authoritative when he spoke. ‘We’ve already broken all the rules of etiquette where you are concerned, Maria, so I suggest you come inside and make yourself at home while a room is made ready.’

Realising she couldn’t remain standing on the doorstep, she stepped over the threshold and without taking any notice of her surroundings, she glared at him. ‘I’m not here out of choice,’ she retorted irately, ‘and don’t you forget it.’

In answer, he gave her a long-suffering look, as if she were being impossibly difficult, so she jerked her gaze from his. ‘And you will take some perverse pleasure in reminding me, I don’t doubt. This is not an ideal situa
tion for either of us, Maria, but I am determined to make the best of it. Welcome to my home,’ he said drily.

Until that moment Maria wouldn’t have believed she could feel more humiliated than she already did. She saw his eyes narrow and sensed his exasperation as he realised he might be stuck with her indefinitely, unless he sent her on her way and left her to whatever fate awaited her at the hands of her fiancé.

Terrified that the tears burning the backs of her eyes were going to fall, she tipped her head back and turned away, pretending to inspect her surroundings. Through the haze of her tears, as the hastily lit candles began to illuminate the hall, she noticed for the first time the splendour of Charles’s house, the graceful, curving staircases that swept upwards on both sides of the large marble hall. Two huge chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and she could imagine them glittering like giant tiers of brilliant diamonds when lit.

There had been moments on the journey when she had been curious about Charles and his background, imagining him to be a man of modest means with a lifestyle to match. It was obvious she had been very wrong, for he was clearly a man of means, a man who could well afford a country residence as well as a town house.

‘You must be hungry,’ he said brusquely. ‘I’ll arrange for us to have something to eat.’

‘I don’t want anything to eat,’ she stated ungraciously. ‘I just want to go to bed. I have to get some sleep.’

Something in her pale face and heavy eyes made Charles respond without argument. He turned to Denning. ‘What Miss Monkton means is that she’s rather exhausted from her long journey and not very
good company, Denning. She is to be my guest for an indeterminate period. How is my mother?’

‘Lady Osbourne is very well.’

‘Good. If she’s awake, I’ll go up and see her directly. Wake one of the chambermaids and have them attend Miss Monkton.’

‘There’s no need to do that,’ Maria said quickly, hating the thought of dragging anyone from their bed at such a late hour. ‘I am perfectly capable of managing by myself.’

‘I insist.’

Which was precisely what he did. In no time at all a young girl called Ruby—her eyes still full of sleep and not much older than Maria—presented herself and attended to her in an enormous bedchamber every bit as comfortable and tastefully decorated and furnished as her room at the chateau. Looking at the silk-covered bed with longing, refusing the maid’s offer to help her undress, Maria wearily pulled off her clothes, bade the chambermaid goodnight, climbed into bed, and fell into an exhausted slumber.

Maria woke late the following day—midday, in fact. Ruby brought her some buttered toast and muffins and tea on a tray, drawing back the curtains and filling the room with light. Climbing out of the huge four-poster bed, her feet sinking into the plush Aubusson carpet, feeling refreshed after a sound night’s sleep, the strangeness of her new situation did not seem as intimidating as when Charles had brought her to his house.

She dressed quickly. Having memorised her way to her room the night before for fear of getting lost in this
vast house—a showpiece of opulence designed to awe those who entered—she went downstairs. In the hall she paused and looked around her at the closed doors in confusion. Seeing her hesitation, Denning, attired in a black suit and shirt, which was more in keeping with his position as the Osbourne butler than his dishevelled appearance of last night, came towards her.

‘Can I be of help, Miss Monkton?’

‘I do hope so, Mr Denning,’ Maria said, favouring him with a broad smile.

Denning was blown away by the beauty of it. It was so effective, so startling, that it took him a moment to realise it was the same young woman. It was such a transformation from the disgruntled young lady of the previous night.

‘Where can I find Sir Charles? There are so many doors I am totally bemused.’

‘I agree it is confusing. Sir Charles is in his study. I shall announce you.’

He swept the doors open in a soundless flourish and Maria found herself stepping into a room dominated by a large mahogany desk and book-lined walls and paintings in ornate frames. Maria’s gaze was immediately drawn to its occupant. The man seated behind the richly carved desk bore little resemblance to the man she had travelled halfway across France with. Today, he was an aloof, icy stranger, a man who for no accountable reason she was suddenly shy of, and she felt a
frisson
of something that wasn’t quite nervousness. She couldn’t suppress an unruly surge of excitement at being once again in his presence. However, she was encouraged when she saw his granite features soften and his eyes warm when
he looked up and his gaze rested on her, as if he understood how awkward she must be feeling.

Reassured and feeling the comfort and security of his presence, she entered the room quietly and walked towards the desk. His dark hair glinted in the bright sunlight, and she could see tiny lines around his eyes from all those times when he must have squinted into the bright sun in India.

‘Good morning, Charles.’

He stood up. ‘Morning? I think you will find it’s well into the afternoon, Maria.’

‘I know. I have no excuse other than I must have been more exhausted than I realised.’ She gestured to a pile of documents and correspondence on his desk. ‘I hope I’m not interrupting you.’

‘You aren’t,’ he assured her, ‘although the work has been piling up during my absence. I trust you slept well.’

‘Very well, thank you,’ she replied calmly, her heart beating faster than she would have wished, thinking that for a man who’d had less sleep than she had, he looked surprisingly vigorous. Clad in a tan frock coat, brown trousers and shiny black boots, there was a virile energy in his lean body, which provoked an immediate response in her own ardent nature.

‘Good,’ he said, relieved that she had tempered the cold animosity that had marked her mood on arriving at his home, and her tone. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘Yes, one of the maids brought me some food on a tray.’

The study looked out onto the square, which was surrounded by many fine residences. She moved towards the window, looking out. The sky was bright and clear blue, the branches of the trees swaying gently in the light breeze.

‘You’ve missed the best part of the day,’ said Charles quietly behind her, making her start. She hadn’t realised he was so close. ‘I much prefer the early mornings, which is when I usually take the opportunity to ride out in the park. If one goes early enough, there are few people about.’

Maria stood perfectly still, all coherent thought driven from her mind by his unexpected proximity. She was grateful she had her back to him and he couldn’t see her confusion. It would not do to let him see he had her at a disadvantage.

‘I like the early part of the day the best, too, which is when I would ride out when I lived in France. Although it is certainly a lovely day,’ she murmured, turning to face him.

Immediately she realised her mistake. He really was standing too close and she had no avenue of retreat. He looked straight into her eyes for a few seconds, almost overwhelming her with the force of his personality. For a fleeting second the intensity of his light blue eyes seemed to explode. An expression she did not understand flashed through them and was gone. She felt extremely confused and vulnerable by the unexpected intimacy of that brief contact—and something else as well—a lick of desire, brief but horribly, dangerously strong. It must have showed because a glint of amusement flickered in the intelligent eyes and he suddenly smiled, a slow almost triumphant smile, almost as if he had guessed what she was thinking.

Seeing the gentle flush that mounted her cheeks and sensing her discomfort, Charles stepped away from her.

Maria relaxed slightly, only then aware that she had
been holding her breath. She began to breathe normally, chastising herself for acting so foolishly. ‘Charles, I am sorry for my behaviour last night. It was unforgivable of me. I am not normally so rude. I can only put it down to exhaustion.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I was churlish.’ Combing his fingers through his hair, he sighed. ‘We were both tired. It’s been a trying few days since we set out on our journey.’

Maria’s throat constricted at his decency to apologise to her when she was the one who had been difficult. Charles had been a godsend to her. He deserved more from her than petty sulks, she thought fiercely, vowing in future to curb her temper and to find a way of dealing with her own irrational attraction to him.

‘Yes, it has. I can’t believe that just four days ago I was still at the chateau. When are we leaving?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Leaving?’

‘For Henry’s house.’

‘Soon.’ His tone was dismissive. ‘We’ll discuss it later.’

‘When will we discuss it?’ she persisted stubbornly.

‘Later,’ he repeated.

‘I want to go, Charles. I am impatient to get my meeting with Henry behind me. Why are you being difficult about it?’ He lifted his brows and regarded her in cold silence for a long moment. ‘You can’t stop me seeing him, you know, no matter how hard you try.’

‘If it were up to me, I would see that the two of you never met.’

‘It is not up to you,’ Maria said quietly. ‘You have no right.’

He nodded, his expression suddenly grave. ‘You are
quite correct. I have no right. I promise I shall take you to see him later, but first my mother would like to meet you.’

‘And I would like to meet her.’

‘Unfortunately she does not enjoy the best of health—she tires easily,’ he explained, ‘and she spends a great deal of her time in bed.’

‘I am sorry to hear that. I will try not to tire her.’

C
laudette Osbourne lay in a large bed. She was propped up by several thick white pillows, down which fell a thick plait of silver hair streaked with traces of gold. Her eyes were pale blue and tiny wrinkles creased her face. She was a striking-looking woman, a forceful woman secure in her own strength and will, a will, along with the dominating power of life that shone in her eyes, that filled the room with her presence.

Her shrewd eyes took in every inch of Maria before she spoke. ‘I’m glad to meet you, Miss Monkton—but come closer where I can see you,’ she said pleasantly.

Taking Maria’s hand, Charles drew her closer to the bed. ‘Maria, meet my mother.’

‘I’m happy to meet you, Lady Osbourne. I apologise for imposing myself on you like this, but I assure you my stay will by of short duration.’

‘My dear, you are welcome to stay just as long as you like—is that not so, Charles?’ she said, with a
strong trace of her French accent. ‘I apologise most sincerely for not getting up to greet you. I was not expecting you, you see.’

‘Please don’t worry about it. We arrived very late and I was exhausted after all the travelling.’

‘I hope your room is comfortable and to your satisfaction.’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘I understand you’ve had quite a journey and I am relieved you have managed to reach England safely—you and Charles.’ An odd tenderness glowed in her eyes whey they rested on her son. ‘I have every confidence you would have been safe in his care. But you have left relatives there.’

‘Yes, my aunt and her daughter—my cousin Constance.’

‘And naturally you must be very worried about them—as I am about my own family in the south of France.’

Maria nodded. ‘I pray for them and hope they are safe.’

‘Then I hope your prayers are answered. My son tells me you are in London to meet your betrothed.’

‘Yes.’ Maria glanced pointedly at Charles, thinking how considerate he was to his mother, although his persona, that of caring, loving, sympathetic son and committed guardian of herself, disguised the fact that, where keeping her from Henry was concerned, he could have put Machiavelli in the shade.

‘I hope to see Colonel Winston before the day is out, is that not so, Charles?’ The light from the window illuminated her face and picked out the midnight-blue lights in her black hair. She was pale, and her expression seemed strained, but her candid green eyes met
Charles’s with an almost innocent steadfastness, for she had no intention of letting him renege on his promise.

‘I told you I shall arrange it,’ he replied stiffly.

‘And make sure you do.’ Lady Osbourne laughed, surprising Maria with the youthful zest with which she dismissed her son’s statement. ‘It would be cruel of you to postpone their meeting any longer.’

‘I have no intention of doing so,’ he replied, breaking off as Denning knocked on the door to announce he had a visitor. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, striding to the door. ‘A gentleman of some importance I’ve been expecting has arrived. I’ll be downstairs.’

‘You mustn’t let Charles bully you, my dear,’ Lady Osbourne said when he’d gone out, indicating with a wave of her hand that Maria should sit in the comfortable chair beside the bed. ‘Pay him no attention, at least not when he’s in one of his moods. He’s really a very nice man, but having to leave his precious India when his father died, and with an invalid for a mother, it hasn’t been easy for him.’ She sighed, a softening entering her eyes as they rested on Maria’s face. ‘I remember your father from the brief time I spent in India. I have much to be grateful to him for—Charles’s life, for one. Charles told you how your father saved his life by pulling him out of a swollen river?’

‘Yes—yes, he did.’

‘It was an act of immense bravery on your father’s part. You resemble him very much. He was very handsome as I recall.’

Maria was unprepared for the lump that suddenly clogged her throat. ‘I thought so, too. He spoke of India all the time and his life there. It saddened him to leave,
but when my mother died he thought it in my best interest to be raised in England.’

‘You were born in India as I recall.’

‘I was, but I don’t remember it. I was a baby when I left,’ Maria said, finding herself responding to Lady Osbourne’s warmth and friendliness.

‘You must miss him dreadfully—as Charles misses his own, my dear Frederick. Frederick was so proud of Charles. After completing his training at the East India Company’s military college, he went to India, where he served with distinction. He was filled with ambition in those days, and he had the ability to go far in the Company’s rapidly expanding empire.’

‘Will he go back to India?’

‘No. Not now. He came home when Frederick died—there was so much to do at Highgate. I know he worries a great deal about me.’ She smiled gently. ‘I tell him there’s no need, but he still does.’

Maria suspected that Lady Osbourne was stronger and had more stamina than she liked people to think. ‘Do you stay in London all the time?’ Maria asked.

‘I do now. Until last month I spent a good deal of my time at Highgate, but I have many good friends in London—and I do not like to travel any great distance any more. But what of you, Maria—you don’t mind if I call you that?’

Maria shook her head. ‘I would like that.’

‘I confess I am confused about the matter of your betrothal to Colonel Winston. Charles did mention it. Did your father give his blessing to it?’

‘Yes. But he insisted that I must be eighteen before we could marry.’

‘Very wise. And you are how old now?’

‘Nineteen.’

‘And you have not laid eyes on him for six years?’

‘No. Father had no reservations about the betrothal. Besides, he knew he was dying and it was important to him that my future was taken care of.’

‘Are you apprehensive about meeting Colonel Winston?’

‘I’m afraid I am. Charles has firmly set his mind against Henry. He—must have told you.’

‘He has known Colonel Winston for a good many years. Their work with the Company often brought them into contact with each other.’

‘Charles’s opinion of Henry is not—favourable. However I have told him I shall make up my own mind when I meet him.’

Lady Osbourne patted her hand. ‘And quite right, too. Now, let’s forget about Colonel Winston and be glad you’re here safe in England. Have you much to do while you are in London?’

‘I do have some matters to take care of. I have to speak to my lawyer and see my bankers—I’ve been away from England a long time and I would like a summary of my affairs. I would also like to purchase a carriage and some horses. The horses at Gravely were sold when I went to France so I must think about replenishing the stables. I also desperately need a new wardrobe. I left France with just a few necessary items I would need for the journey and nothing else. Never having been to London, I am at a loss as to where to begin.’

‘I shall be delighted to advise you. I shall have Madame Cecile—my own modiste, who is one of the
most fashionable in London—come here and design an extensive wardrobe for you.’

Maria smiled. ‘Not too extensive. I have no intention of remaining in London for too long.’

‘That shouldn’t be a problem at this time. You must try to see as much of London as you can while you are here.’

And so Maria passed a pleasant hour chatting to Lady Osbourne with unbelievable swiftness, while downstairs Charles remained closeted in a meeting with two members of the government.

As night fell over the city the focus of pleasure was to be found behind the heavily curtained windows of some licentious establishments. Charles’s town coach stopped before one such house sandwiched between two others on the Strand, and sounds of gaiety could be heard.

‘This is it,’ Charles said, grim faced as he took Maria’s hand to assist her down.

The fleeting moment of contact, feeling his hand in hers, Maria found reassuring. She wanted to hold on to him and beg him not to make her go in this house, but she said nothing. She had been anxiously anticipating this moment for so long, but now it was here she was reluctant to go inside. However, whatever awaited her behind that door must be faced sooner or later. Best to get it over with.

‘It sounds as if Henry is entertaining friends.’

‘I told you of Winston’s insatiable addiction for pleasure, but I did not think you would have to be confronted by it as soon as this.’ Charles looked at her and frowned. ‘You don’t have to go in.’

Despite being drawn to flight and evasion, Maria stiffened her spine. ‘I want to. I must.’

She smoothed her skirts and squared her shoulders and then they walked together up the steps to the house. Some of the guests in the hall dropped back as Charles pushed open the door. Tall, radiating command and authority, he stalked over the threshold, Maria following him a step behind.

The scene that met their eyes was quite shocking, lurid and bizarre and all Maria could do was stand and stare with morbid fascination. The house was full of partying people, with men and women drinking and carousing and lolling on couches. Powdered and patched and drenched with perfume, the ladies were dressed in high fashion to excite the curiosity of the males, and their unerring instinct for pleasure was freely suggested in low-cut gowns and unfastened bodices and deliberately exposed bosoms.

Charles glanced around, his face hardening, realising his mistake in bringing Maria to a place such as this. In this house the debauchery of human nature levelled all distinctions, making the gentry no better than the meanest street worker, the high-born lady no more respectable than the cheapest whore. That Henry Winston’s dissolute habits were much the same as when he had been in India was blatantly obvious.

All those present were under the influence of liquor and inflamed by the time-honoured desire to have their fun, each succumbing to the compelling sensuality of lengthy foreplay that would eventually have them falling into bed with whomsoever took their fancy. The ribald laughter and conversation was crudely sexual and many a carnal encounter took place in the heated shadows of this house on the Strand.

Maria’s eyes swept the hall, coming to light on a well-rounded giggling woman draped around the bulk of a large man. He wore an elaborately curled bobbed wig that failed to sit straight on his head. The woman’s ample breasts almost spilled out of her tight, firmly waisted bodice. Her blonde hair was styled high and wide and frizzed to complement the width of her dress. Maria shuddered as she saw the man’s fleshy fingers pawing at her body.

Suddenly the man became distracted on seeing the newcomers, all the more noticeable because of the plain black garb they wore, stark against so much garish colour. The man used his elbows and his considerable bulk to ease himself sideways through the throng.

Charles looked down at Maria. She hadn’t uttered a word since entering this den of debauchery. Her face was white and drawn with shock, her eyes wide and fixed and unbelieving.

‘I did warn you,’ he murmured.

Maria turned her eyes up to his. His figure was tall and erect, his lean face stiffened into a mask of scorn as he looked at the man approaching them.

‘I know, and I should have listened.’ Her voice was stiff and expressionless.

‘It’s good to see you back, Osbourne, and that you’ve managed to escape those damned Frenchies, eh,’ a deep voice boomed.

Maria’s attention was drawn to the voice and she turned her head and looked directly at the man she had seen fondling the buxom blonde woman. Her feeling was one of revulsion. Instinctively she moved closer to Charles.

‘As you see, Winston, I have survived unscathed.’

The man’s gaze shifted to Maria. ‘And who have we here, might I ask?’

‘Miss Maria Monkton.’ Charles took Maria’s arm and drew her a step closer to her betrothed. ‘Maria, this is your betrothed. Don’t you recognise him?’

To Maria, there was nothing recognisable about this man. She had expected him to be changed—a little older, to have put on a little weight perhaps—but this bloated, red-faced individual reeking of spirits, with protuberant eyes and slack mouth and whose fleshy fingers were already reaching for her, she found unexpectedly shocking. She was repelled by him and drew back as if stung. She fought down a childish desire to clutch at Charles’s sleeve and hold it tightly. She doubted he would have noticed had she done so, for he appeared to be singularly distracted with his own thoughts.

Henry moved closer to Maria to take stock of the woman and the fortune he expected to marry, looking her over with considerable approval. She wasn’t the type he usually went for, but she was a good looker. The day he married her would be the pinnacle of triumph for him. Laughing out loud, he turned and, making a wide sweeping gesture with his arm to include those around him who were evidently finding the whole situation highly diverting, said loudly, ‘Meet the lady who is to be my wife—a beauty—a rich one, too, and no mistake. I am well blessed—twice so. A toast—only the best champagne, no less.’

More loud laughter and congratulations filled the house.

‘I intend for us to be married by special licence the
day after tomorrow.’ He bent low, his mouth close to Maria’s ear. ‘Enough time for us to get to know each other, Maria, eh?’ he said, chuckling low, sliding his arm around her slender waist and giving it a hard squeeze, ignoring Charles, whose face had hardened into a mask of icy wrath.