Marrying Miss Monkton

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.’