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

‘No. She married an Englishman—my father—and chose to remain in England when he died. Colonel Winston was worried that Miss Monkton might become caught up in the troubles and wanted her to get out. When he heard I was leaving for France, he approached me to ask if I would see her safely to England.’

‘And you agreed, without having met her.’

‘My father and Sir Edward Monkton were close friends for many years. They were in India together. I remember him as being a very fine and noble man. I also owe him a great, personal debt.’

‘Tell me.’

‘When I was a boy my mother and I were washed away while crossing a swollen river. Sir Edward came to our rescue, putting his own life at risk. Without his bravery I would not be here now. It is for that reason that I agreed to escort Miss Monkton to England. While in India I came into contact with Colonel Winston on numerous occasions. He made no secret of how Sir Edward had been easily manipulated into agreeing to his betrothal to Miss Monkton. It was a matter of great amusement to him. I feel under an obligation to protect Sir Edward’s daughter and I have made it my duty to try to stop her marrying Colonel Winston when the time comes. Will she have any objections to leaving France?’

‘Not at all,’ the Countess answered crisply. ‘All Maria talks about is going home and marrying the Colonel.’

‘She has not seen him for six years. She will find him much changed.’

‘As he will Maria. She is no longer a child.’

‘And you, Countess? Will you and your daughter not accompany us to England?’

The Countess studied him for a moment in silence, contemplating his question and curious as to what had prompted him to ask. ‘Ah,’ she said, narrowing her eyes on him. ‘Would I be correct in assuming you are about to try to persuade me to leave my France?’

Charles’s firm lips curved in a slight smile. ‘You are, Countess. I sincerely hope I will succeed. I would be happy to escort you and your daughter, along with Miss Monkton, to England. France is in great turmoil and every day things get worse. There is no organisation in the country, only chaos everywhere. I believe you are in mortal danger, and that you are at risk of your life—I would not like to be a noble in France now. Very soon you will find yourself alone and friendless, and prey to all kinds of dangers.’

The Countess smiled thinly. ‘I think you exaggerate. I hear rumours—most of it nonsense, of course. My husband was of the opinion that the fear is spread to provoke disorder so that it will bring about anarchy. Rumours of conspiracy and crime, reports of disaster, spring up everywhere, both by word of mouth and by writing. It is the panic mongers you have to fear.’

Charles’s expression tightened. ‘I shall hope very much to be proved wrong, but it seems—unlikely. I am staying at a local tavern and I hear things—that some of your own servants have run off and joined the people. The peasants are in such a state of revolt that they are ready to commit any crime. Indeed, in this very parish, they talk openly about setting fire to the chateau. I urge you, if you do not think of yourself, then think of your daughter.’

The Countess raised her head imperiously and gave him a hard look. ‘Constance will remain here with me.’

‘Being English will not save you, Countess. English law cannot reach you here. You were the Count’s wife. The mob will not see beyond that.’

‘Are you saying that we should all leave immediately, that you think I need saving?’

He nodded. ‘You must leave quickly. I took the liberty of having false travelling papers drawn up for that eventuality.’

The Countess’s brows rose with surprise. ‘You did? How did you manage that?’

Charles’s face remained closed. ‘I know the right people.’

‘I see. Well, I will not pry into the whys and wherefores, sir, of how these things are done, but I must tell you that you have wasted your time. But is it safe to travel? If there is danger, would it not be safer to stay here?’

‘There is no safety anywhere, least of all in the chateaus of France.’

‘No one would dare attack the chateau. I know the people hereabouts. They have always looked to us for their livelihood and they will continue to do so.’

God give me strength, prayed Charles, setting his teeth. It was no use. She did not even now realise the magnitude of this terror that was overtaking them. He was tempted to ask—what livelihood would that be? The people you speak of are starving because of the likes of you and your exorbitant taxes, but instead he said calmly, as though reasoning with a fractious child, ‘Because of who you are, I urge you to flee the country.’

‘This is my home. I feel perfectly safe. I have no intention of—fleeing. If things do get worse then of course I shall consider leaving, but I am confident that they won’t.’

A mildly tolerant smile touched Charles’s handsome visage, but the glint in the pale blue eyes was hard as steel. Could there be any greater display of contempt for the hardships the people were facing? While ordinary people had starvation staring them in the face day after day, the Countess was blind to the offence the ordinary French people took to their self-indulgent plutocratic life style.

‘If you don’t wish to make mourners of your friends, Countess, I suggest you leave with us.’

‘You do much to fan the flames of discontent with such foolish talk, sir. I am sorry. I have made my decision.’

Charles shifted in his chair impatiently, holding his irritation in check. He could see he was wasting his breath—she had no intention of relenting. She was adamant, blinkered about the atrocities going on around her, and very foolish.

‘I am sorry to hear that. However, I will leave you the papers—but you will have to make your own way and travel as peasants, Countess. It will be difficult, I know, and will need much planning on your part and assistance from people you can trust. You would never reach the Channel otherwise. You do realise that Miss Monkton will be very much alone when she arrives in England, and very dependent on Colonel Winston.’

The Countess raised her head imperiously. ‘As her betrothed, that is the way of things.’

‘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.’