Regency Rumours: A Scandalous Mistress / Dishonour and Desire

‘No, there will be no other, Sete. It’s this one, or nothing.’

‘Oh, really. And does she believe that?’

‘It’s the last thing she wants to hear at this point. She would not believe a word of it, I’m afraid.’

The hooves clattered across the stableyard cobbles where grooms came running to hold the bridles and to wait for the men to dismount. With a last look at the swishing tails, the brothers turned towards the house.

‘Sounds to me,’ said Seton, unhelpfully frank, ‘as if you’re nicked in the pipkin, old chap. Taking on a prime Ace of Spades and a niece can spell nothing but a fistful o’ trouble, ‘specially if it’s not much to her liking. Still, you usually know what you’re doing. You can rely on my discretion, you know that.’

‘Yes, I do know, Sete. Thanks. The story so far, in case our sister wants to know, is that Lady Chester’s affairs are being examined to see what’s what. Meanwhile we shall be seen out and about together before any announcement is made. That should give the parents time to see that I’m serious.’

‘But Father’s bound to think she’s Apartments to Let, Nick.’

‘Maybe at first, until he can see for himself that it’s not so. She’s as able to flash the screens as any widow in London, and more than most. You’ve seen for yourself what would drive a man to make a bid for her, haven’t you?’

The long slow breath expelled from between Seton’s lips was followed by a deeply envious growl. ‘I wish that pert little miss had half her aunt’s style. She’s a nice enough little thing, and I don’t mind helping you out while I have nothing much else to do, but there are times when I’d like to put her across my knee.’

‘Then you’re being too kind to her,’ said his brother, tersely, passing his hat, gloves and riding whip to a waiting footman.

‘You told me to be kind, dammit.’

‘Use your loaf, Sete. If the chit needs a firm hand, then use one. She’ll not break in half.’

‘You don’t suppose she’ll go crying to Aunt Amelie, then?’

Lord Elyot allowed himself a huff of amusement at last, though it was for the name, not the potential crisis. ‘No!’ he said. ‘She might cry into her pillow, but she’d not admit to losing the upper hand. I expect she’s had her father wrapped round her little finger since her mama died, so now’s the time to break the habit before she kicks the door down.’

Seton’s whip slapped hard against the side of his top-boot before he handed it over. ‘Oh, good lord, Nick, why should I care what bad habits she gets? She’s not a filly of my choosing.’

‘Then have yourself a bit of fun,’ said Lord Elyot, callously. ‘It’s only for the short term, after all. You’ve broken in fillies before.’

‘Not two-legged ones.’ The frown returned. ‘You’re not suggesting I seduce her, are you?’

‘Of course I’m not, halfwit. I’m not suggesting anything as irrevocable as that. But if you want her to grow up, you must school her. You’ve had it too easy, Sete. See what you can make of her.’

‘Hmph!’ Seton grunted.

It soon became evident, that afternoon, that the promised ride was to lead them up the stony road to Hill Common, the road Amelie had last travelled on a donkey in driving rain and darkness. By daylight, it gave them astonishing views across the river, across Richmond town and the royal parkland beyond. But it was the workhouse itself that surprised her most, having never seen it except in her imagination where she expected it to resemble all the others she knew of, stark, uninviting, with high walls and barred windows, silent, forbidding, a desolate last resort.

In reality, the only common factor with those she had seen was its size: in every other respect the Richmond workhouse was revolutionary in its attitude to care and clean accommodation, in variety of useful occupation and teaching, in food and self-sufficiency, in everything but the luxury of family, which many of them had never had, anyway. Amelie and Caterina learnt that it had its own infirmary and maternity ward, which is where Lord Elyot guessed they would stay longest.

While the men visited the leather workshop, the weavers, the gardens and the blacksmith, the two women were escorted by the friendly white-aproned matron into a bright clean dormitory that smelled of babies and soap and woodsmoke from the fire. Between curtains, beds and cots were arranged along each wall and round the central pillars and, although privacy was not a priority, mother and childcare was of a kind that Amelie had thought quite impossible in a place which, by tradition, had such a low regard for human comforts.

They visited every mother and her infant, of whom at least six could have been the one she had attempted to rescue on that rainy night a week ago. And by the time Amelie had held the last soft helpless bundle against her shoulder, nuzzled its downy head and breathed in the sweet milky aroma, the tears she had been fighting were running freely down her face and dripping off her chin, and the mothers to whom she had come to offer pity were, without exception, pitying her.

The last sleepy little mite was prised gently out of her arms and put to her mother’s breast. ‘Her name?’ Amelie asked, still weeping.

‘She ain’t named yet, m’lady. What’s yours?’

‘Amelie.’

‘Then that’s what I’ll call her. Emily. She’ll be called Emily.’

‘Thank you. It’s a lovely gown she wears.’

The mother smiled while the matron explained, ‘The Marchioness and her daughter run sewing groups,’ she said. ‘They make most of the baby gowns, and very nice they are too. Lord Elyot and Lord Rayne brought a bundle of them up only a day or two ago. They’re very caring, that family.’ She opened the door and waited for her guests to pass. ‘Always have been. Very involved they are, bless ‘em. People come here from all over the country, you know, to see how we manage things, and there’s never a month goes by without Lord Elyot coming to see us, never emptyhanded.’

The full significance of the matron’s revelation made less than its full impact upon Amelie then, although she recalled feelings of both confusion and contradiction. But outside the door, Caterina took her aunt into her arms, holding her until she could collect herself while Lord Elyot waited a little way off, aware of the crisis, but keeping the farm manager and bailiff in conversation. There was nothing Amelie could do to conceal the effects of her distress from him, in spite of Caterina’s mopping, the kindly matron’s understanding and her soothing cordial. She could see at a glance where the problem lay.

Lord Rayne had been visiting the stables, coming to meet them as they emerged from the large stone porch on to the cobbled courtyard where their horses were waiting. With unmistakable authority, he took charge of Caterina’s attempts to arrange her long skirts over her legs, brusquely changed her riding crop from her left to her right hand and told her to face forward properly in the saddle, which she thought she was doing. From his own saddle, he saw her attempt to move away and, reaching for her horse’s bridle, clipped a leading-rein to it. Then he sat back, grim-faced.

‘I can manage,’ said Caterina, crossly.

‘You need to concentrate.’

‘On you, or the horse?’ she muttered.

‘On your riding. Walk on.’

Not another word was spoken by either of them on the way home, but a glance that passed between Caterina and her red-nosed aunt assured her that silence was no bad thing.

For that matter, there was no actual conversation between Amelie and Lord Elyot either, and what did pass between them was mostly monosyllabic.

To an outsider, one tear-stained face and a lack of communication between four people might have appeared disastrous, but to Lord Nicholas Elyot it was far from that. For one thing, his brother seemed to have accepted his advice about what young Miss Chester really needed and, for another, he himself had discovered what her aunt needed, if that little scene was anything to go by. Through the pane of glass in the ward door, he had seen how reluctantly she’d handed back the warm bundle to its mother as if it broke her heart to do so, and he had wanted to take her in his arms there and then to give her the comfort she craved so desperately. But the episode had, for him, answered the question about her zeal for the plight of fallen women, a discovery that did not unsettle him as it once might have done. With previous mistresses, the problem of raising bastards had been enough to cool his initial ardour. This woman disturbed him in quite a different way.

Back in the stable courtyard at Paradise Road, he lifted her down from the saddle, knowing that she would attempt to escape him as quickly as Miss Chester had dismissed herself from his brother’s uncongenial presence. ‘No,’ he said, gently hooking a hand beneath the velvet-covered arm. ‘We need to speak, in private, if you please.’

Lord Rayne was remounting, preparing to leave.

‘Seton,’ Lord Elyot called to him, ‘go on up to the Roebuck and I’ll join you in a few moments.’ The sound of a door being slammed in the house made him smile and throw a wink in his brother’s direction.

On the ground floor, the saloon and the dining room were connected by a pair of large doors, leaving Lord Elyot in no doubt that both rooms would compliment each other in similar tones of soft blue, white and gold, warmed by the honeyed oak floor and a huge vase of red and gold foliage. This woman certainly had style and a liking for Mr Wedgwood.

In the saloon, she stood rather like a deer at bay, prepared to defend herself without knowing where the first attack would come from. ‘Don’t ask me,’ she said, in a voice torn with emotion. She put out a hand as if to ward him off. ‘I can’t explain. You would not understand. It would be best if you were to leave me, my lord. I’m not company for anyone.’ She turned away from him to hide her face.

Slowly, he peeled off his leather gloves and laid them upon a small side table, watching the graceful curve of her back and the irritable stacatto pulls at the finger-ends of her gloves which, in the next moment, went flying across the room like angry bats, followed by her veiled hat, narrowly missing a blue Wedgwood urn.

‘I will leave you, my lady but, before I go, allow me to tell you that my only reason for taking you up there was to put your mind at rest about the welfare of the mothers and infants, not to upset you. I wanted you to see how seriously the Vestry treat the problem. I can see where your pain is.’

‘You cannot possibly know,’ she retorted, angrily, still with her back to him.

‘I do know,’ he said, harshly. ‘I’d have to be blind not to know.’

‘It’s none of your business,’ she whispered.

‘It is, Amelie. It’s very much my business, and so are you.’ He waited, but she did not contradict him, nor did she remark on his familiar use of her name. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘so far you have avoided asking me about the two invitations. Well, one is to my sister’s birthday dinner party at Mortlake.’

‘When?’ She turned at that, suddenly apprehensive.