Rogue in the Regency Ballroom: Rogue's Widow, Gentleman's Wife / A Scoundrel of Consequence

‘It’s a little late for that. My congratulations on your deceit. Your visits to the shops had me completely fooled. You must be the cleverest young woman this side of the Atlantic. I demand to know why you did not see fit to tell me.’

‘You know why. You would have prevented me.’

‘Damn right I would.’ His expression was set and hard. ‘To plan this—to enter the City Gaol and to tie yourself to a murderer—is nothing less than outrageous … scandalous. And to try to use his name … Has it not entered your head that your father will question you about the family you have married into, that he will want to know to which branch of Claybournes your husband belonged to, and that he may well communicate with them to offer his condolences for their relative’s loss?’ When Amanda blanched, a coldness closed on his face. ‘No, I thought not.’

‘I confess that I haven’t given it a deal of thought and I shall face it if it happens. However, because I shall be a widow, Father will have to respect one year of mourning, by which time I shall be independent of his authority and able to choose myself a husband in my own good time. At this particular moment I am impatient to leave for England. I have no wish to be in Charleston when they hang Mr Claybourne.’

Cursing Amanda to hell and back, Mr Quinn seethed as he paced the carpet. He had reasons of his own to quit Charleston at the earliest opportunity, and when Henry O’Connell had ordered their return he had looked on it as a Godsend. However, if he valued his position, he had no choice but to take part in Amanda’s subterfuge.

‘Mark my words, this spells trouble. If it is ever known what you have done, it will bring disrepute on your family—and all because of a moment of intense madness. May God help you—and me—should your father ever find out the truth. It was badly done, Amanda—badly done indeed.’

Amanda looked at the letter he was holding. ‘Is there a message for me in Father’s letter?’

‘Only that he’s arranged what he considers to be a suitable match for you—but I suppose he will have to explain to the gentleman that you are no longer available.’

‘What gentleman?’

‘It is Lord Prendergast he has in mind.’

Amanda’s mouth dropped open and her face lost all vestige of colour. ‘Lord Prendergast!’ she gasped. ‘That man is nothing but an old bag of bones. To marry him would be a fate worse than death.’

‘You might wish you had when your father gets wind of what you’ve done. You haven’t a care in the world beyond getting whatever you want out of life, have you?’

‘Which certainly isn’t Lord Prendergast.’

Faced with Mr Quinn’s wrath, for once Amanda felt afraid. She did not feel reckless or defiant now. She felt young and guilty and conscious of the seriousness of what she had done—and fear, should her father ever learn of his daughter’s deceit and scandalous marriage. But she took heart that England was an ocean away and he would never find out the true nature of her husband. Because Mr Quinn would face instant dismissal, he wouldn’t tell. Besides, it would put him in such a bad light as a chaperon.

‘There’s—something else you should know,’ he said hesitantly, ‘something that will affect you. You father’s getting married—to a Lady Caroline Brocket. She comes from a Coventry family who were loosely connected to the aristocracy. She married a baronet who died after fifteen years of marriage. There was no issue.’

Amanda froze and stared at him. ‘Married? I don’t believe it.’ She had never entertained the idea that her father would marry again, and she’d never even heard of Lady Caroline Brocket.

‘It’s true. He is also selling the house in Rochdale and moving to the country, where he has purchased a large property—Eden Park. He fancies his hand at breeding horses. Lady Brocket is in favour of this and has given him a good deal of encouragement. By the time we arrive in England the move will be complete.’ Meeting her eyes, which were dark with worry, he frowned. ‘Your reaction tells me that you disapprove of your father’s actions.’

‘That I am surprised is putting it mildly. Business has always come first with Father. He’s never listened to me when I’ve told him he works too hard. This—Lady Brocket must be quite exceptional to have succeeded in finding the chink in his armour when everyone else has failed,’ Amanda said, feeling a stab of resentment towards this unknown woman. ‘While he plays the country squire, who will be running his business empire?’

‘He is employing others to do it for him.’

‘I suppose it will take some getting used to.’

‘Change always does. Be happy for him—and perhaps then, if he discovers the disgraceful facts of your own marriage, he will not be so hard on you.’

Chapter Three

Mr Quinn’s chilling expression was bad enough, but the worst part of it all was that Charlotte was disappointed in her and shaken and stricken by her deceit. Her painful attempt to reprimand her formed more of a punishment than any violent demonstration of anger, and in an agony of mortification Amanda begged her forgiveness. On this edifying note of repentance she hoped the conversation would be concluded, but Charlotte had to have her say.

‘When Mr Quinn told me what you had done I could not believe it of you, Amanda. What can I say? I knew how much you wanted to avoid an arranged marriage, but—well, I never thought you would go to such lengths—and to go inside that dreadful place … Oh, I shudder when I think about it. Still, it is done now, so it’s no use getting all emotional about it and indulging in petty displays of hysterics. But I have to say that I’m disappointed in you, and what your father will have to say I dread to think.’

Amanda could see the expression of shock on Charlotte’s face, and yet she was confident that soon she would understand the desperation that had made her do it. ‘Charlotte, I am so sorry if I’ve upset you.’

Charlotte looked at her sharply. ‘But you’re not sorry you married Mr Claybourne, are you?’

‘No.’

‘At least it will stop your father marrying you off in a hurry.’

Amanda brightened. ‘Yes, it will all be changed—especially now he is to wed himself—and a lady, too. So at least there is one good result from today’s events.’

‘I’m glad you think so,’ Charlotte said drily. ‘Well, in no time at all you’ll be a widow. No doubt your father will hold me responsible for all this. What you do in England is, of course, entirely your own concern, Amanda, but here Mother had her standards—and so have I, and I wish you had observed the proprieties.’ Since her mother had died, Charlotte felt responsible—certainly morally accountable—for Amanda’s brazen behaviour and her restless, dissatisfied state. ‘I suppose I had better write to your father and explain everything.’

‘Please don’t,’ Amanda said quickly. ‘I’ll tell him, Charlotte, I promise I will.’

‘He has a right to know. You cannot conceal the fact that you married a convicted murderer.’

‘He is innocent, Charlotte, I know it.’

‘The judge who sentenced him does not think so.’

‘There are many who do not believe it and never will accept his guilt.’

‘And if he is innocent, will you devote your life to saving him from the undeserved penalty awaiting him? Because, if so, imagine what it will mean to you.’ She put her hands to her flushed cheeks. ‘Oh my goodness, what a muddle all this is. I’ll talk it over with Mr Quinn. Perhaps by now he will have calmed down and will be in a more logical frame of mind.’

‘There—there is more, Charlotte.’ Charlotte looked at her, waiting for her to continue with absolute dread as to what might be coming next. ‘Mr Claybourne has a child. I have promised him I will take her to England—to her cousin.’

Shaken by this latest piece of news, Charlotte listened in an appalled silence as Amanda told her of the promise she had made to Kit. ‘I am his wife, even if only in name. I promised I would take care of his child, and I will honour that promise.’

Charlotte took a moment to assess the situation. At length she sighed with resignation and said, ‘Very well. You and I will see to it in the morning. I can only hope that none of this gets out. A scandal is the last thing we want. Perhaps it’s a good thing you’re to return to England.’

The scene was one of tranquillity and sparkling water snaking inland. The surface of the river tumbled and tossed its white foam on either side of the river steamer as it ploughed its way through. Gulls screeched overhead and an assortment of waterfowl swam in the shaded reaches. They passed several plantation houses, some lived in, some still nothing but empty shells—the scars of the Civil War. It was a beautiful day. Nature was at its grandest, with the landscape wrapped in a warm, golden haze as Amanda and Charlotte sat in the boat beneath their parasols.

When the steamer neared a small landing the whistle bellowed. A flock of alarmed egrets exploded into flight, their plumage snowy white against the black water and sombre trees. The boatman pointed to them the house where Samuel Blake lived. Tall shrubs allowed only a glimpse of the roof of the timber-framed house, and several others. Walking up a dusty lane, they stopped outside the house as a motherly woman, robust and with a kindly face, came out, wiping her flour-coated hands on her wide pinafore. There was a warm light in her eyes as she introduced herself as Agatha Blake. A small child of three came up behind her, peering round her skirts at them curiously.

‘I do hope we are not putting you to too much trouble, Mrs Blake, descending on you at such short notice. I am Amanda O’Connell,’ she said, having decided not to tell anyone about her marriage to Christopher Claybourne, ‘and this is my cousin Charlotte. It was Mr Claybourne who told us where you lived. We—we’ve come to see you about the child—Sky. He gave me a letter for you.’

Agatha looked at them both, assessing them carefully, and then a large smile broadened her lips as she took the letter. ‘Of course you are no trouble. Come inside and have some tea. It’s rare enough I have visitors—and please call me Agatha. A friend of Kit’s is a friend of ours. You are fortunate to find Sky and me the only ones at home just now. I have a large brood and usually there are children all over the place, but my husband has taken them fishing to give me some peace.’

Amanda smiled at the little girl, realising for the first time that this child was her stepdaughter. She was a startlingly attractive child, her Cherokee ancestry evident in her features. Her mane of jet black hair was loosely caught by a thin ribbon so that its length hung down between her shoulder blades. What entrapped Amanda was the compelling blackness of her eyes. They were large and widely spaced, set above prominent cheekbones and heavily fringed by glossy lashes. The incredible black eyes regarded her with interest.

Having heard her father’s name mentioned, she tugged on Agatha’s skirts to gain her attention and said, ‘Is Papa coming home, Agi?’

‘No, child, but he has sent these ladies with a message.’

Charlotte held back when Agatha turned to go inside. Holding out her hand to the child, she smiled. ‘Would you like to come with me and show me the pretty flowers in the garden, Sky? I’d love to see them.’ Sky nodded and took her hand trustingly.

Amanda looked at her cousin gratefully. It would be easier talking to Agatha without the child. She watched the two of them go into the small garden, feeling her throat tighten. Poor little mite, she thought. Wasn’t it bad enough being without her father, without being taken away from those she loved by strangers? She followed Agatha inside the house. It smelled lovely—of baking and polish and all the other smells that mingle together to smell of comfort and home.

‘Have you known Mr Claybourne long?’ Amanda asked as Agatha busied herself making tea.

‘Sam and me have known Kit for five years. I know all about what they say he’s done, but don’t you believe it. He’s a good man. We like him—and I would trust him with my life if I had to—and our five children adore him. Kit never killed that woman. I’d swear it on my life.’