Proposals in Regency Society: Make-Believe Wife / The Homeless Heiress

The thought had wormed its way into her mind against her will. Roxanne did not wish to become any man’s mistress, but if it was inevitable— Her thoughts were interrupted as Luke glanced at her.

‘You look pensive, tired. Why do you not lean your head back against the squabs and sleep for a while? I think we may trust Harold. Relax your guard and rest.’

‘Yes, perhaps I shall.’

Roxanne leaned her head back against the squabs, closing her eyes. When Luke Clarendon looked and spoke to her in that way her defences crumbled. He was such an attractive man and she was beginning to like him all too well.

When she woke an hour or so later, the chaise was drawing into the yard of what was clearly a prestigious inn. She discovered that she had been leaning against Luke’s shoulder and apologised, her cheeks warm.

‘Forgive me, sir. I hope I have not made you uncomfortable. Does your leg pain you very much?’

‘It is sore and, yes, a little painful,’ he said. ‘I shall live, Miss Roxanne—and you did not make me uncomfortable at all.’

The groom had brought the chaise to a halt. One of the inn’s employees had come to open the chaise door and let down the step. Seeing that Luke was carrying an injury, his breeches split and opened to allow for the bandages, the man offered his hand, helping him to descend. Luke did so slowly and carefully, his flinch of pain not going unnoticed by either the ostler or Roxanne.

‘I have suffered an accident, as you see, Johnston,’ Luke said with a friendly smile at the man who clearly knew him. ‘If you would have someone care for my horse and ask someone to give this kind fellow something to eat before he goes on his way again. Please help me inside yourself.’

‘Yes, sir, of course,’ Johnston replied and signalled to his minions, who came running and were given curt instructions to see to the horses.

Roxanne frowned as she thanked Harold for bringing them here safely and gave him a shilling of her own money for himself.

‘I’m sorry if you weren’t treated right at the last place,’ he said and pulled his cap. ‘I heard what happened, but I didn’t know until I was told what you did, miss. You were right brave.’

‘I do not think you belong at a place like that, Harold.’

‘No, miss, nor don’t I,’ he agreed. ‘I stayed because it were better than being on the road, but when I take this rig back I shall give me notice and look for work elsewhere.’

‘I am sure you will find it,’ Roxanne said and inclined her head before following Luke into the inn.

When she entered she saw him in close conversation with a man who looked to be the landlord. He was a very different man from the last one they had met; portly and pleasant-faced, he smiled and nodded at her in a friendly way.

‘This gentleman has told me he owes his life to you, miss. I know there’s more than one who should be grateful to you. My wife will take you up to a nice comfortable room and look after you. I dare say you are very tired.’

‘I slept a part of the way here,’ Roxanne replied. She looked at Luke, her fine brows raised. ‘Have you asked our host to fetch a doctor, sir? I think your leg may need further attention—just to make certain it has been properly treated.’

‘Don’t you worry, miss. His lor…his honour is in good hands now.’

Roxanne heard the change in the landlord’s tone and his hasty correction. What had he been going to say? It was clear that Luke Clarendon was well known and respected here—but how was he normally addressed?

She frowned as the landlord’s wife came to greet her, curtsying respectfully. ‘Come this way, miss. We are always glad to have his lordship come to stay—’ She clapped her hand to her forehead. ‘There, if Sid didn’t tell me I was to call Lord Clarendon his honour. My tongue runs away with me, so it does—but everyone knows who he is so why not say it openly?’

‘Why not indeed?’

Roxanne felt her cheeks getting warmer. What a fool she was not to have made sure of her facts for a start. He had told her his name was Luke Clarendon and she had assumed his title was plain Mister. He must have been laughing at her behind his hand.

Luke Clarendon was an aristocrat and therefore not to be trusted. Sofia had told her that they were the worst of all and warned her never to lose her heart to a member of the upper classes. ‘If you do, he will use you and then abandon you. Take notice, child, for I know of what I speak.’

Roxanne felt her stomach knot with a mixture of anger and disappointment. For a short time she had begun to think that perhaps Luke really liked her—so why had he not told her he had a title from the start?

He had pretended to trust her, but he hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her who he really was. She felt the sting of tears, but blocked them out. There was no sense in crying. She didn’t know Lord Clarendon at all and, after listening to Sofia’s opinion of the aristocracy for years, she was sure she did not wish to. Her friend had warned her that they were all the same: proud, arrogant and ruthless.

‘They know how to be charming and they will smile and tell you they adore you, but underneath they are cold and heartless. They will not marry out of their class—and they toss you to one side when they are finished with you. The English aristocracy are the worst. Some foreign royalty are kinder and more generous. Never trust an English gentleman, Roxanne—particularly if he tells you he will always love you. Just take what you can from him and move on before he does.’

Roxanne kept her anger in check as she followed the innkeeper’s wife along a hall and into a room. It was large and comfortable, well furnished and, with a fire burning in the grate, warm.

‘This is next to his lordship’s chamber,’ she said. ‘He always has the same one when he visits on his way to stay with the earl.’

‘Who is the earl?’

‘Why, his grandfather, of course.’ The woman gave her an odd look. ‘I thought you would know that, miss, being a cousin of his lordship.’

‘Yes, of course. There is more than one earl in the family.’

Her quick answer banished the other woman’s frown. ‘So there will be,’ she replied and laughed, her large bosom shaking. ‘Silly me. Now, is there anything more you need, miss?’

‘May I have my supper here, please? Just something light—and I would love a cup of tea.’

‘Yes, of course you would. You ladies love your pot of tea and bread and butter—but I’ve a nice pie cooking and some chops for his lordship. His lordship is partial to a nice chop or two.’

Roxanne inclined her head. She was so angry that she barely knew how to answer. One part of her mind was telling her to walk out now and make her own way to London. If Harold had not left, he might have taken her a bit further before returning the rig to its owner. Yet if she did that she would not have the chance to tell Lord Clarendon exactly what she thought of him and his lies.

The warmth of the fire was enticing and Roxanne’s feeling of annoyance faded as she moved closer, holding her hands to the flames. There was nothing to stop her moving on alone, because Lord Clarendon was amongst friends and would be properly cared for. Her instincts told her that she might be laying up trouble for herself if she stayed here and yet she was seduced by the thought of a warm bed, the fire and some hot food.

What harm could it do to travel on with him, even if he had not been entirely honest with her?

It was good to be in a house again instead of the cramped conditions in the caravan… Now where had that thought come from?

Try as she might, Roxanne had never been able to remember anything about her previous life. Sofia was convinced she had run away from her home, that she was the child of gentry, but had been in some terrible danger.

‘Something happened to you, my love,’ Sofia had told her. ‘You were frightened and ill. In your fever you spoke of many things, of places you’d seen and people you knew. For weeks you woke crying and screaming, frightened of a dream, but you could never recall it. It is the reason I did not try hard to find your family. If you ran away in such distress there must have been a reason—and I would not give you back to people who might ill treat you.’

Had Roxanne’s family mistreated her? Sofia had burned her clothes, because she said they were not fit for use and could tell them nothing about her past, except that they were of good cloth.

Roxanne shook her head. If her family had wanted her, she would not have been wandering the roads alone and in such a state. It hardly mattered where she had come from. Sofia had been like a mother to her, giving her all the love she instinctively knew had been missing from her previous life. A wave of grief swept over her, bringing tears to her eyes. She dashed them away with her hand, determined not to give into foolishness. Sofia was gone and she must manage alone.

Faced with walking the rest of the way to London alone or travelling in a chaise with a gentleman, who was truly in no condition to ravage her, she thought she must be sensible and choose the latter. If Lord Clarendon tried to seduce her as he recovered his strength, she could leave him and go on alone.

Removing the black-velvet cloak that had been Sofia’s, a relic of the days when she had moved amongst gentlemen of fortune and their mistresses, Roxanne sat on the edge of the bed. Her dress had also belonged to Sofia when she was a young woman; though old-fashioned, it was of good cloth with a low, dipped neckline, in which Roxanne had sewn a frill of soft cream lace for modesty’s sake. Amongst her things was a silver hand mirror that she had inherited from her friend, an ivory comb and a bristle brush. She took them out and then tidied her dark red curls, glancing at herself once before replacing them securely in her bundle.

When she heard the knock at the door, she gave permission to enter, but was surprised when Lord Clarendon walked in.

‘I thought it was the innkeeper’s wife, my lord,’ she said and raised her head defiantly. ‘Why did you not tell me you were the grandson of an earl? I should not have called you Mr Clarendon had I known your title, sir.’

‘It hardly matters. Hartingdon is about to disown me anyway.’

‘Why?’ Roxanne asked. ‘Is he not your grandfather?’

‘He brought me up after my parents died, but I was a nuisance. He did not truly wish for the trouble of a young boy and I was left to the care of servants. When he was forced to discipline me, he was harsh. As soon as I inherited my father’s estate I left Hartingdon and have visited very seldom since—and yet…’