Regency: Innocents & Intrigues: Marrying Miss Monkton / Beauty in Breeches

‘And you are comfortable with that?’

The Countess looked a little taken aback as she met his steady gaze. ‘Comfortable? But it is what the girl has wanted ever since her father died. Why should I be uncomfortable about that?’

‘Because Sir Edward placed the responsibility for her upbringing in your hands. You are her guardian. Have you no wish to see for yourself the sort of man she is betrothed to?’

‘I have no need to. I have listened to what you have said, but Colonel Winston is a gentleman, having seen long and honourable service with the East India Company. He is eminently suitable to marry my niece.’

‘How can you know that, when you have never met him?’ Charles persisted.

‘Maria’s father, my brother-in-law, knew him well. He liked and trusted him enough to agree to a betrothal between them. That is good enough for me.’

‘I beg your pardon, Countess, but when he agreed to the betrothal Sir Edward was an ill man. I imagine he was ignorant of Colonel Winston’s passion for pleasure—for drinking and gaming. I do not lie to you. Colonel Winston is almost fifty years old, old enough to be your niece’s father.’

The Countess remained unmoved. ‘It is not unusual for young ladies to marry older gentlemen. Of course all men drink, and on occasion drink far too much and behave accordingly. But wives must not make an issue of such things. My brother-in-law placed Maria in my care until the time when she was of an age to marry Colonel Winston. She is nineteen years old. She will be under your protection until you deliver her to her betrothed. When she leaves the chateau I shall consider my obligation to her discharged.’

Charles looked at her for a long moment. His eyes had darkened with anger and his mouth had closed in a hard, unpleasant line. He was unable to believe the Countess could cast her responsibility to her niece off so callously, to send her into the clutches of a man who would use her ill. It was like sending a lamb to the wolves.

Sadly Miss Monkton’s father’s judgement about the prospective bridegroom had been seriously impaired. His eyes were too dim to see what Charles would have seen—the calculating, dangerous look in the Colonel’s eye. In those days he’d had the body of Adonis and the face of an angel, and was as full of vice as the devil.

‘You must not forget the fortune Miss Monkton represents. The prospect of being able to retire a rich man and preside over Gravely appeals strongly to his vanity. He will go through your niece’s wealth like water in a fast-flowing stream the minute he gets his hands on it. Colonel Winston left the Company in disgrace—an unsavoury scandal concerning his neglect of duty, which resulted in many lives being lost.’

‘Then he must have had good reason,’ the Countess replied, her tone falling just a little short of sounding flippant.

‘He was found in a brothel, drunk out of his mind, the following day.’

‘I see. I would appreciate it if you did not tell my niece of Colonel Winston’s … unsavoury habits—although personally I wouldn’t worry about it. You do see that, don’t you?’

Charles did see, and he was sickened by it. He saw that the Countess had no fondness for her niece and that she was willing to send the girl into the lion’s den without a qualm and impatient to do so, with no concern for her future protection. That she could do this was nothing short of despicable and had Charles quietly seething with anger.

‘Then you must forgive me, Countess, if I say that you are being extremely naïve. I have given you the facts and you choose to ignore them. I can do no more. But by doing nothing to prevent the marriage of a young girl to a man of his sort, it will not be long before she is broken in mind, body and spirit.’

The Countess looked a little taken aback at the harshness of his tone and his blunt speaking and she stiffened indignantly. ‘You exaggerate, sir. I know my niece,’ she told him frostily. ‘If you are worried about what she will do when she reaches Gravely, you need have no worries on that score. She is a sensible girl. Level-headed like her mother. When she reaches England she will see for herself and make up her own mind as to whether or not she will marry Colonel Winston—and she will. I have every confidence that Colonel Winston will lose no time in making her his wife.’

Charles, who had turned his head towards the door when he thought he heard a sound, spun round and looked at her again, thoroughly repelled by her attitude. ‘It is precisely on that account,’ he said fiercely, his eyes flashing, ‘that I hoped you would accompany her. I know very little about Miss Monkton, but from what you have told me she appears to have cherished a romantic and childish attachment for the man. In your care you could protect and support her when she discovers, as she will, the impossibility of marrying Colonel Winston.’

The Countess returned his gaze with a coldly smiling blandness that told its own story. ‘I think you should meet my niece. She will tell you herself how much she wants to return to England. It is six years since her father died. Six years since she left Gravely.’

‘Over six years since she saw Colonel Winston.’

‘That too, but as I said, in the end she will make up her own mind.’

‘As I always do, Aunt,’ a voice rang out from across the room.

The Countess and Charles looked towards the door to see a young woman standing there.

Charles rose to his feet, recognising her as the young woman he had met in the village the previous day distributing food to the children. Closing the door softly behind her, she moved towards him; he was struck by her proud, easy carriage, her clear skin and the striking colour of her blue-black hair, drawn from her face into a neat chignon. She was stately, immensely dignified, her face quite expressionless, but underneath he sensed that she had overheard some of his conversation with the Countess and that she was quietly seething.

‘Sir Charles, this is Maria, Colonel Winston’s future wife. Maria, meet Sir Charles Osbourne. He is to escort you to England.’

When Maria stood in front of him, Charles bowed his head and murmured a few words of conventional greeting. But when he raised his head a sudden feeling of unease caused him to look at her with a start, his scalp prickling. She was studying him with cool interest, her expression immobile and guarded. His eyes met the steady jade-tinted gaze, and for one discomforting moment it seemed that she was staring into the very heart of him, getting the measure of him, of his faults and failings. He had never seen eyes that contained more energy and depth.

It was not until she began to talk that he realised the depth of her charm. Her voice was low, beautifully modulated, and her French was a joy to hear. Everything about her fascinated him, drew him to her, and he felt a stirring of interest as he looked into the glowing green eyes, the passionate face of the young woman before him.

Maria found herself gazing into the eyes of the man she had seen in the village the day before. Her lips tightened ominously. ‘You! So you are the man Colonel Winston has sent to take me to England?’

‘He did not send me, Miss Monkton. He approached me and asked me if I would escort you when he heard I was coming to France.’

The light blue eyes rested on her tight face and she thought irately that he was aware of her dislike and amused by it. ‘I see. I do not know what you meant when you said to my aunt that when I reach England I will discover the impossibility of marrying Colonel Winston and nor do I care to—and he will not force me into marriage. No one could do that, sir.’

‘He—is much changed since you last saw him. You must be prepared for that.’

She smiled. ‘As I am changed. That is only to be expected after six years. It is quite normal.’

‘I do not speak lightly, Miss Monkton.’

Maria heard him with growing annoyance. There was much she wanted to say to him, but not with her aunt’s eyes watching her every move and her ears missing nothing of what was said. She disliked his easy manner and the steady gaze of his light blue eyes, but his last words awoke an echo in her mind, of her own doubts about marrying Henry. When his letter had arrived informing them to expect Sir Charles Osbourne who was to escort her back to England, she had experienced a joy like she had never known—joy because she was going home to Gravely, a joy that had little to do with her becoming reunited with Henry.

Of late there was a doubt inside her mind concerning her betrothed, like a small persistent maggot nibbling away. Perhaps it was that she had got older, had read more into his letters, which had become shorter as time went on. The writing was scrawled as if hurriedly written—as if he found writing to her more of a duty than a pleasure. Whatever it was, the spell had begun to lose some of the lustre of its first potent charm.

But she would not expose her doubts to this arrogant Englishman and she thrust them into the background of her mind.

‘You do not like Colonel Winston, do you, sir?’

‘No,’ he replied truthfully. ‘I don’t.’

‘These are troubled times. I am sure you have more important things to do than assist a complete stranger across France.’

‘I do have important matters that occupy me.’

‘Then if you dislike him, why did you agree?’

‘One of the reasons is because my father and your own were friends. They were in India together.’

‘Oh—I see!’ she faltered. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘How could you?’

‘And the other reasons?’

He smiled. ‘There were several—which I shall tell you about on the journey. When I became aware that you were to return to England and the difficulties you may encounter, I was happy to offer my services. My father would have expected nothing less of me than to help the daughter of an old and dear friend.’

‘Then I am grateful to you, sir. I will be pleased to avail myself of your protection and assistance on the journey. How are we to travel?’

‘By coach.’

‘Which Chateau Feroc will provide,’ the Countess offered.

‘Thank you, but I must decline your offer. It must be an ordinary equipage, nothing too grand, you understand. I will acquire the coach and two post horses. There must be nothing in your baggage to give you away,’ he told Maria with a note of authority. ‘All your fine clothes and any jewels you might have must be left behind.’

‘I have no jewels, sir. Everything I have of value—jewels my mother left me—is in England in the strong room at Gravely.’

‘Good. We shall travel as husband and wife—Citizen Charles Duval and his wife Maria, visiting relatives in a village near Calais. We shall speak French at all times. Consequences could be dire if we are heard speaking English. We are both fluent in French, so if we are stopped no one will suspect we are anything other than what we seem. Memorise your assumed surname if you will. You will dress in plain clothes as befits the wife of a cloth merchant of modest means. Good clothes are enough to brand a person, as the mob attribute fine dress to nobles and rich bourgeois.’

‘And my maid?’

‘Will remain behind.’

Her delicate brows rose. ‘This is all very unconventional.’

His eyes sliced to hers. ‘These are not ordinary circumstances.’

‘Nevertheless Maria cannot travel alone with you without a maid. Why—it’s quite unthinkable,’ the Countess remarked, her expression one of shock.

‘That is how it will be. I am not planning a tea party, Countess. I am trying to execute a plan to get your niece to England with her life intact. On this occasion etiquette and protocol don’t count.’

‘When must we leave?’ Maria asked.

‘In the morning. We must prepare for the journey at once. It is essential that we have food and warm clothes.’ He turned to the Countess. ‘I must go. Have Miss Monkton brought to the inn at first light. I consider it safer that the servants should know nothing of her departure. For our own safety the driver will know us under our assumed names.’

After politely taking his leave, he went out, striding along the corridor to the stairs. On hearing the soft patter of running feet and the soft swish of skirts he turned, pausing when he saw Miss Monkton hurrying towards him.

Chapter Two

‘There is something you wish to ask about the journey?’ Charles asked.

‘No, not that. It is about Colonel Winston. Why do you dislike him so much?’

Charles’s face hardened and the perfectly amicable expression in his eyes disappeared. ‘My dislike is neither here nor there. I am not concerned about Colonel Winston. Can you not at least show some gratitude towards the people who are trying to help you?’

Maria raised her head. ‘Yes, of course I am grateful, and it was ill mannered of me not to show it. I apologise, but please do not abuse Colonel Winston to me.’

‘I will not abuse him to you and nor will I offend your ears with matters that are beyond your comprehension, but I strongly urge you not to marry him.’

Maria’s eyes were suddenly bright with anger. ‘You say this to me. You, a perfect stranger.’ She saw the sudden anger flare in his eyes. Her chin lifted haughtily and she favoured him with a glance of biting contempt. ‘My father was a good judge of character and thought well of him. He would never have agreed to the betrothal if he was not of good character.’

‘And you, Miss Monkton? How well do you know your betrothed?’

‘I have got to know him through his letters.’

‘That is hardly the same.’

‘It is good enough for me.’

Charles sighed, turning away. ‘Who can claim to know what moves a woman’s heart? At all events,’ he went on in a harder voice, looking back at her, ‘your betrothed is not a fit person to wed a decently bred girl, but it is none of my business, of course. I have said my piece. I can do no more just now.’

He saw the lovely face turn white with anger, and he knew a fraction of a second before she raised her hand what she intended. His own hand shot up and he caught her wrist before she could deal the blow to his cheek. She gasped at the quickness of his reaction and to her fury he unexpectedly laughed.

‘I see I have misjudged you. Perhaps you will be a good match for Colonel Winston after all.’ Releasing her wrist, he turned on his heel and proceeded to walk away.

Maria watched him go, the bright colour flaming up in her cheeks. ‘One more thing, sir,’ she said to his retreating back. ‘I heard what you said to my aunt about me cherishing a romantic and childish attachment for Colonel Winston. How dare you presume to know that?’

Charles’s jaw tightened, his humour of a moment before gone. So this girl thought she could impose on him with her queenly airs. Furious with himself, more than with her, he took refuge in anger. ‘So much the worse for you,’ he said grimly. ‘I will not mention it again. I will escort you to England and Colonel Winston, but I will not go so far as to wish you joy in your union.’

Coldly furious, Charles had no intention of exerting himself further in this matter just now. Having seen much service with the army in India and returning to England on the death of his father, when a prominent member of the Whig opposition found him about to travel to France on his mother’s bequest to see how her relatives fared during these troubled times, he had asked him to secretly collect and report information on the events in Paris. Happy to oblige an old friend, Charles had agreed.

With this and other things on his mind, he’d had little time to think about the problem of Colonel Winston’s bride. Having fulfilled his commitments, travelling miles out of his way to Alsace to collect Miss Monkton, he had done what he thought was right by informing her guardian of certain aspects of Colonel Winston’s character. As far as he was concerned he had discharged this office and his conscience was clear. But he was encouraged, for, despite her youth, Miss Monkton clearly possessed both character and courage, and was quite capable of breaking off the engagement at the last minute if necessary.

Maria arrived at the inn at first light. She rode her favourite horse, her intention being to leave it at the inn where a groom would collect it later. She was dismounting when she caught sight of the dark forbidding figure striding towards her with the silent sureness of a wolf. This morning he seemed even taller, lean and superbly fit. In fact, if it were not for the arrogant authority stamped in his firm jawline and the cynicism in his cold eyes, Maria would have thought him breathtakingly handsome.

Looking her up at down and satisfied that she would not attract any untoward attention in her plain black woollen dress, which she had obtained from her maid with another carefully packed with other items necessary for such a long journey in her valise, he said brusquely, ‘Come. It is time.’

Their departure occasioned no remark. Once in the inn yard, they were caught up in a fierce gust of wind that blew rain into their faces. Maria breathed in deeply with a sudden exhilaration. The wind smacked of freedom, of England and home, and suddenly she discovered a new meaning to her flight.

Her initial thought when Charles Osbourne had told her of his plans had been undoubtedly to go home, but now as she felt the wind on her face it came to her suddenly that there was a fierce joy in severing all ties with Chateau Feroc and France. Impulsively she threw back her head and laughed, as if she were offering herself up to be carried away by it.

Her effervescent laughter caused Charles to look at her in fascination and curiosity. ‘I imagined you would be apprehensive about the journey. It will be a hard flight.’

‘I don’t care,’ she said, still laughing. ‘I love the wind. And besides, I am happy. I am going home, which is what I have dreamed about for so long.’

The rigid lines of Charles’s face relaxed. ‘I know. Come—wife.’

His eyes twinkled somewhat wickedly in the grey morning light. Maria looked at him sharply. ‘Only for the duration of the journey to Calais,’ she quipped, quick to resent his easy dismissal of her grudge against him. And yet despite her attempt to remain cool and detached, her heart beat out an uncontrollable rhythm of excitement.

‘I hope you don’t harbour an aversion to being alone with me for such a lengthy period,’ he said, taking her hand to assist her into the coach.

‘Why should I?’ Maria enquired quizzically, pausing with her foot on the step to look at him. ‘Unless, of course, you are a rogue at heart.’

‘I may well be,’ Charles acknowledged, lifting to his lips the slender fingers of his assumed wife, letting his warm, moist mouth linger on her knuckles in a slow, sensual caress.

Maria became aware of a strange quivering in the pit of her body and realised her breath was being snatched inwards when his lips came into contact with her skin. Sliding her hand from his, she lifted her skirts to step aboard and immediately felt her companion’s hand beneath her elbow aiding her ascent. She settled herself on the seat while striving to control her composure.

His eyes danced teasingly up into hers, his lips curved into a smile. ‘You could be in danger. You are by far the most enticing female I have seen in a long time.’

As Maria listened to the warm and mellow tone of his voice, and her gaze lit upon that handsomely chiselled visage, her eyes were drawn into the snare, and for a moment she found herself susceptible to the appeal of that wondrous smile. She glanced at him reflectively, wondering if she should read anything into his statement, and raised her brows meaningfully.

‘Perhaps I should warn you that if warranted, I am not above defending myself.’

Charles had the feeling that what she said was true—and her intended slap the day before proved that. He laughed to ease her fears, while his glowing eyes delved into hers. ‘I am sure you could do so admirably, so be confident of my good intentions. I shall take care to treat you as I would a wife—with the utmost respect.’

Maria cast an apprehensive eye toward him as he climbed in, but much to her relief, he settled across from her. As he caught her gaze, he grinned.

‘I fear the nearness of you would completely destroy my good intentions. It is safer if I sit here.’

Maria relaxed back in the seat. She could only hope that his restraint would continue and her resistance would not be tested.

The carriage was discreet, with no outward signs of wealth beyond a pair of post horses. The driver, Pierre Lamont, who knew them by their assumed names and had been paid an enormous amount of money to drive them to Calais, clicked his tongue as the whip curved gracefully through the air and the conveyance lurched into motion. When they had passed from the cobbled inn yard, the long journey back to Gravely had begun.

Maria had left Chateau Feroc without regret. However, despite the cold reserve with which her aunt and Constance had always treated her, she did feel a slight pang of remorse. Even at the last minute her aunt had refused to give way to sentiment and embrace her, but Maria was surprised to see how much distress Constance displayed.

Constance did embrace her, her eyes in her white face wide and full of tears. Maria felt her tremble as she clung to her. It was only then that she realised how afraid her cousin was of remaining at the chateau and that she secretly wished she was leaving for England with Maria.

In that one brief moment Maria saw Constance not as the self-obsessed cousin, whose sole interest lay in her pretty face and her ability to attract the sons of the nobility as well-to-do as themselves, but as a young girl frightened for her life. Maria had held her, surprised to feel her own throat constrict with pain and tears brimming in her eyes.

‘I wish I was going with you,’ Constance had whispered earnestly, ‘but Mama won’t hear of it.’

‘Then defy your mother, Constance.’

‘I cannot. I could not go unless she came too.’

‘I wish you were coming with me,’ Maria had replied with heartfelt understanding. ‘If you can persuade her and you manage to get out of France, you must come to me at Gravely. Do you promise?’

With tears running down her cheeks, Constance had clung fiercely to Maria for a moment longer, and then, tearing herself free, she fled into the house.

Maria had turned away, too afraid to think of her cousin’s fate.

As the driver urged the horses into a faster pace, Maria braced herself against the sway of the carriage. Glancing across at her companion, she was suddenly reminded that she was going to be completely alone with a man for the first time in her life, a man who was as handsome of face as he was of physique—and with a boldness that gave her a sense of unease.

She knew nothing about him, and what, she asked herself, was he doing in France at this present time? She could not exactly understand what she was doing with him and why this stranger should have interested himself in her affairs to the extent of coming halfway across France to find her. Had he some ulterior motive? He might even be a spy—British or French, she had no way of knowing, since she knew nothing about spying.

During the journey perhaps she could turn the conversation to draw him out, to get him to talk about himself. In some strange way he both attracted and intrigued her. She looked into his light blue eyes and the expression there made her heart trip and beat a little faster. His long compassionate mouth curled in a slight smile.

‘We have a long way to go,’ he said, when they were settled, ‘so don’t make this harder on yourself than it need be. You’re stuck with me for a few days so you may as well accept it. Shall we declare a truce for the duration of the journey?’

‘Yes, I think we must,’ she concurred.

‘We shall also forgo formality and use our given names. It is for the best, you understand.’

‘Of course,’ she replied, removing her bonnet and dropping it on the seat beside her.

‘I’m sorry the Countess and her daughter would not come with us.’

Maria felt a small tremor of misgiving. ‘You fear the chateau will be attacked?’

He nodded gravely. ‘It is only a matter of time. Your aunt is a stubborn woman.’

‘Yes, yes, she is. I sincerely hope they come to no harm.’ Maria stared out of the window at the passing scenery. It was all familiar, but soon they would pass into fresh territory that was alien to her. In the grey light it looked dismal. ‘I hate France,’ she said in a small voice, her expression subdued.

‘I sense you were not happy at Chateau Feroc?’

‘I do not mean to sound ungrateful or uncharitable but, indeed, I could not wait to leave. It is a cold, joyless place with no laughter.’

‘And you like to laugh, do you?’

‘Yes, although I have been at the chateau so long I fear I might have forgotten how to.’ Inexplicably the laughter rekindled in her eyes and she laughed again, just for the sheer joy of laughing, and when she looked into her companion’s eyes, she experienced a sudden relief of tension.

Charles smiled a little crookedly, thinking her courageous and fresh and very lovely. Despite her youth and inexperience she was no vapourish miss who would swoon at the first hurdle. ‘You should laugh more often,’ he murmured softly. ‘It suits you.’

She sighed. ‘There is nothing to feel happy about in France just now. What will happen, do you think? You have been to Paris?’ He nodded. ‘Was it very bad?’

‘I saw much blood shed by the mob. I have had to ask myself, where has the dignity, the self-control, the resolution gone in the France of today? But the people have their grievances—it would seem with some justification. The rise in prices and rents, as well as the taxes they have to pay, are increasingly burdensome. It is only right and natural that they want change.

‘I agree absolutely and the demands of the people must be listened to and acted on. Privilege must be abolished, and all men should be taxed equally, according to their wealth.’

Maria looked at him with interest. ‘Anything else?’

‘These and a hundred others.’

‘You speak like a politician. Is that what you are?’

A cynical smile curved his lips. ‘No.’

‘Then what do you do?’

‘Do I have to do anything?’

‘I suspect you are not the sort of man who would be content to idle his days away doing nothing.’ She looked out of the window. ‘You have to do something.’

‘I dabble.’

‘In what?’

He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘This and that.’

She took her eyes off the passing scenery and regarded him intently. ‘You mean you’re a businessman?’

He grinned. ‘You might say that.’

‘And is your business respectable?’

Her question brought a humorous gleam to his eyes, and a tantalising smile played on his lips. ‘Perfectly respectable,’ he declared, ‘but if I were to tell you more of what I do, we will have nothing to talk about, and we have a long way to go.’

‘You may not consider the question important, but it is to me. My life is very important to me. Since I have entrusted it to someone I know nothing about, it is perfectly natural that I want to know everything there is to know about you.’

He stared at her, one black brow raised interrogatively. There was a direct challenge in his eyes, which she found most disturbing.

‘Everything?’ he enquired silkily, and Maria could sense the sleeping animal within him begin to stir.

Her thoughts were thrown into chaos, for she had not expected such an uncompromising response to her hasty remark. She glanced away, trying to regain her composure, and then looked up to meet his eyes.

‘I do not wish to offend you, but I do not know you, so how do I know I can trust you?’

‘What exactly do you fear?’ he asked. ‘That I am not equal to the task of escorting you to England?’

‘I am naturally apprehensive. If you were in my place, wouldn’t you want some indication of your good faith? Since when did businessmen risk their lives by coming to a country torn by strife?’

‘When they have family they are concerned about.’

She looked at him with interest, her green eyes wide and questioning, her lips parted slightly in surprise. ‘Your family live in France?’

‘In the south—the Côte d’Azure. My mother is French.’

‘I see. So that explains why you speak French like a native. I did wonder. Did you manage to see your family?’

‘Yes.’

‘And are they all right?’

‘When I left them they were in perfect health.’ His eyes darkened. ‘Whether they will remain so remains to be seen.’

‘Why? What are you afraid of?’

‘They are connected to the nobility. That connection could well bring about their death—and my own. Anyone found assisting suspected royalists will be ruthlessly condemned. The life of a noble is not worth a candle in France. I believe that every noble family and many of the richer bourgeois will suffer unless they flee the country.’

‘And your mother?’

‘She is safe in England, thank God.’

‘Do you have siblings living in France?’

He shook his head. ‘I have two sisters, both of them happily married in England.’

‘And—do you have a wife waiting for you in England?’

He laughed easily and dusted the knee of his breeches. ‘No. And were you always so inquisitive about others, or is it just me?’

She smiled and gave him a coy look. ‘I’m sorry. I suppose it must seem like that to you. It’s just that it’s so long since I talked to another English person, apart from my aunt and Constance, that I forget my manners.’

Charles thought that Maria Monkton had a truly breathtaking smile. It glowed in her eyes and lit up her entire face, transforming what was already a pretty face into one that was captivating. He was intrigued, but he did not let it show in his face, for as much as he would like to taste and relish at first hand what was before his eyes, to throw caution to the four winds and dally to his heart’s content, he had to consider at what cost he’d be doing so.