A Charming Lady for the Intriguing Baronet: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  “Father says that it is for my benefit, surely he is wrong? He would have me leave all that I am accustomed to and deposit me into the hands of a man that I have neither met nor known. It seems that not even I can escape the fate of all women under the authority of men.”

  Her voice, usually bright and captivating, held a note of sorrow that she couldn’t hide. There was nothing to be done about it: as soon as they reached London Dock, she would be sent to live with her uncle and his wife. Her father had described his brother’s wife as a good and respectable woman, but Madelene had a feeling that austere would probably be a more apt description. The English women who she had had the unfortunate chances of meeting were reserved women who catered to every whim of the men in their lives. They had looked down upon her, resenting her for her outspoken ways. She would have to hold her tongue once she set foot on English soil, but the thought of changing herself just to conform left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  Madelene bowed her head, allowing a few blonde tresses to escape her hastily donned cap. She had left her room in a flurry of clothes, needing the therapeutic smell of fresh air and the saltiness that was in keeping with the vast expanse of sea that surrounded the massive ship.

  “I fail to understand the reasoning behind his decision! Am I such a burden that he would remove me from his presence? Perhaps a daughter’s bond with her father does not suffice where matters of the ever–present patriarchal world are concerned.”

  She had always believed her father to be an unconventional man, one who was ahead of his time and didn’t give in to the pressures of society. He had been the one who had allowed her to grow used to living a type of life that would have been denied to her had she been closeted in the world of doctrines that England represented. Madelene had been fortunate thus far: her life on her father’s ship had afforded her entrance into the exotic and unusual world of pirates, sultans, princes, snake charmers, fortune tellers, sights, and sounds that put the civilised society to shame. Their journey to the East Indies had been profitable; stowed away below deck were goods fit for the extravagant life of the ton. Gold, diamonds, spices, tea, porcelain, china, and silk filled the cargo space to the brim. The goods would fetch a princely sum that would fill her father’s coffers handsomely.

  A sudden gust of wind loosened her grip on the shawl around her shoulders, and it rose in the air, dancing as if an invisible hand had attached strings to it. Madelene watched in dismay as her mother’s shawl threatened to be plunged into the sea, but it lifted into the air once more and floated down gracefully before settling into the steady hands of her father. She would have laughed at the good fortune of having her father save her shawl, but her sombre mood would not allow it. Her father’s eyes twinkled as he made an elaborate bow and held her shawl up as though he was some gladiator awaiting his prize.

  “My lady, I believe that this belongs to you,” he called out.

  Madelene made no move to meet him halfway, bringing forth a frown. My disappointment is greater than your need for reassurance, Father. Sighing, Madelene closed her eyes and turned away.

  *****

  Sir Cardross Huntington was an astute man in business, some could even call him ruthless. He could read people like an open book, and that had served him well as a merchant. Now, with the added role of a privateer, his life depended on making the right decisions in a split second or risk ruin. But when it came to his daughter, he was as malleable as the shawl in his hand. He was used to having her unwavering love and ready smile, thus he was at odds at what to do. His smile faltered as she turned away from him, leaving the shawl to dangle limply from his hand. He could feel his daughter’s sorrow as profoundly as his own, a torturous feeling that had stolen his sleep from him. It had been a fortnight since he had believed it necessary to tell her of his immediate plans for her welfare, and still, she refused to speak to him. Sir Huntington recalled how his words had been met with brief shocked silence, followed by such opposition that he was of the mind to gently remind her of her position as his daughter.

  “Madelene, I fear that you have forgotten your place. As your father, I am charged with your well–being – what I do, I do out of concern for your future.”

  Her eyes had pierced him with guilt, penetrating eyes that reminded him of his late wife. Sir Huntington experienced a pang of pain and regret as he recalled his last moments with Marguerite. She had held their infant daughter in her weak arms, painfully thin from the wasting disease that had eventually claimed her life. Cardross had made a vow to her to take care of their daughter, to shelter her from the ills of the infested world. Surely she would have agreed to his plans for their beloved daughter?

  “Father, must you send me away from you? Is there no other way?” she had asked.

  Her eyes had stared imploringly into his, a moment longer and he may have relented. But it was not to be, so she simply could not remain with him for her safety was at peril. He had spoken of his plans to send her to his brother’s house, but he had neglected to share his reasons for doing so. His daughter had blossomed into a rare beauty that drew the eyes of many admirers, and while some were purely appreciative of her striking features, there were yet others whose leering gazes had spoken of unsavoury thoughts and intentions. He was well aware that his ties with the Barbary pirates may soon come to an end as he was against the selling of humans as commodities, and should he decide to end their complicated partnership, there was no telling if they would capture his young daughter and sell her to some prince at the highest price. And there was the matter of the Viscount– Lord Allandale – who had approached him with marital designs on Madelene. The idea had been entirely preposterous, and he had stated so, effectively succeeding in earning the scoundrel’s contempt. Sir Huntington was all of three years older than the Viscount – it would not do for his daughter to be subjected to the affections of a man who would sap all her youthful exuberance before she had had her taste of life beyond the boundaries of a ship. The man was hardly the type of suitor that he had envisioned for his only daughter for there was a cruelty that emanated from the Viscount, kicking up a stench whenever Sir Huntington had the misfortune of seeing him. The tales surrounding the Viscount described great evil dealings that would put any convicted criminal to shame. A father hoped that his daughter would find true love; a type of love that saved one from the monotony of daily existence and lasted long after a spouse was lost to the abyss of death.

  Sir Huntington draped the shawl over his arm and approached his daughter, his weariness increasing with each step taken. You are angry now, Daughter, but it is my hope that you will soon understand that I have made this difficult decision to protect you. There was nothing that he wouldn’t do to ensure her safety, even if it meant having oceans and continents separating them.

  *****

  October 1811

  Hugh stepped down from his carriage, his heart in his throat. Six years. Six years, and it still feels like yesterday. His limp was more pronounced this morning, likely due to the chill that had settled in the country air. Autumn had made itself known and was steadily paving the way for the icy grip of winter that would soon strip the trees bare and cover every surface with a layer of white. There was a happy moment in time when the cold had meant blazing fires, hot cocoa, and being carefree while playing joyfully in the newly fallen snow, but age seemed to have a substantial bearing on a man’s view of the wintry season. To Hugh, it appeared that time was a man’s foe rather than a trusted friend; no one could escape the sand that steadily fell through the hourglass. He certainly had not. Here he was, standing before the gates of his home, and yet he could not bring himself to enter.

  “Furthermore, I am doubtful that I will receive a returning son’s welcome.”

  If his parents had not already turned his younger sister away from him, then he was sure of her welcome. I suppose that it can be counted as something.

  “Perhaps it will not be as terrible as I assume it will be.”

  But he would be be
tter off turning away from Trentham House rather than entering through its gate. His mother was not a woman who could easily forget, and his father was merely a puppet in her hands. If his fate could have been rewritten, Hugh would have taken his brother’s place without a second thought. However, fate was not subject to the wants of man, it was an unforgiving woman that gave lovingly and took away with a measure of hatred. He reached out towards the south gate and pushed – better for him to enter through the servants’ quarters than through the front like a guest.

  Chapter 1

  England 1812

  No. 7 Bennet Street

  ‘The Gold House’

  The Gold House was wrought with tension. Harry Huntington’s upper lip was beaded with sweat, and his eyes darted to the other gentlemen in the room.

  “You have nothing else to wager, Huntington, go home.”

  Harry shot a look at the man who spoke, narrowing his eyes in anger. The dark haired man surveyed him with a hard gaze, challenging Harry to deny his words. Harry firmly believed that he could win. I know that I can win; I just know it. He needed a good hand, just one good hand, and he would win back all that he had lost.

  “I will make that decision for myself, My Lord.”

  The Earl laughed. “Do not be a fool, man, just give up and go home.”

  But he couldn’t; he just couldn’t. The Earl of Scarborough had no right to tell him what to do – bugger the peerage. A gambling house evened things out, as far as he was concerned. Harry scratched his head and took a swig of rum, buying himself time. He would wager their house, but his wife would likely skin him alive and throw him to the pigs. The woman has no sense! He was the man of the house, not her! But he dared not upset his wife, not when she could ruin him with the right words spoken in the right ear. No, not the house, but then what? He had lost all of his money and what possessions he had brought with him, but he needed just one more chance and then everything would be alright. I can feel it in my bones – I’m going to win. He scrunched up his face, trying to think of something, anything, to wager with. A dark thought crept into his mind.

  “How many chips will the hand of a young woman get me?” he asked.

  The room went silent. Harry looked each of the five men in the face, pleading with them to agree to his plea. One by one, they all looked away, not wanting to meet the eyes of a man that would do such a thing. Three of the men had daughters who they doted on – they would never consider betting the hand of their own loved ones upon a game of chance – it was beneath them. Only one man kept a steady gaze on Harry.

  “You would bet one of your own daughters? Have you no sense?” the Earl asked.

  Harry hesitated to answer. Was he going too far? Not if I win.

  “Not my daughters, My Lord, my niece. She is of age and a beauty.”

  The Earl raised an eyebrow. “If she is of age, then why was she not introduced during this past Season? If I am correct, your daughters were present throughout the Season, why not your niece?”

  Harry squirmed in his seat. “There were ... money constraints, My Lord. But she is a beauty … I assure you.”

  He hoped that the Earl would not see through his lies. No, Madelene was a wealthy young woman – his brother had made sure of it. However, he could not go against the wishes of his wife; his niece was not allowed to join his daughters during their first appearance during the past Season – Cornelia was jealous of the girl. The Earl scratched his jaw, bringing attention to the long scar across his right cheek and jaw. There had been stories about how the Earl had acquired the injury. Some had spoken of his ambush during the War, others swore by the fact that he was a spy and was caught by Bonaparte’s men, and yet others believed it to be a gash from an angry husband’s knife. Whatever the reason may be, it gave him a fierce countenance. But Harry had no time to be intimidated; he needed the Earl to agree to his notion. Once he did, the others would as well, and then he would be back in the game.

  “Okay, Huntington, I’ll sponsor you a few chips. If you win, you keep your winnings, but if you lose ...” He let the words hang in the air.

  Harry’s face lit up. “Yes, My Lord! I understand perfectly.”

  The Earl pushed a couple of chips towards him, and he lunged for them, greedily scooping them up. The other gamblers shook their heads but joined the table once more. Two cards were dealt to each man, and they placed their bets.

  “This is my lucky hand, gentlemen, you mark my words,” he said.

  *****

  A woman grabbed Madelene’s hand, her eyes full of suffering.

  “Me son, miss, he has a terrible cough. He be only four, miss.”

  Compassion filled her heart as she looked at the harassed woman. Madelene didn’t mind the stench that seemed to seep from every pore of the woman. She had smelt far worse before and was not so unfeeling as to remove herself from the woman’s firm grip. Instead, she brought her other hand to rest on the woman’s hand. Giles, her father’s right hand and now her protector, signalled that it was time to leave.

  “We have to leave, Miss Madelene. Maria will have my head if I don’t bring you back on time.”

  Madelene sighed. She would much rather stay and help the needy, but neither did she want to give her abigail a reason to worry. She dug into her little purse and pulled out a few coins for the woman.

  “For your son,” she said, placing the coins into the woman’s hands. “Go to Doctor Roxwell– he will help you.”

  The woman raised Madelene’s hands and kissed them, tears streaming down her dirty face.

  “Thank ye, miss, thank ye. God sent, ye be. Now me Tom can get some help.”

  Madelene patted her hand. “You’re welcome, Anne. Just make sure that you take your son soon.” She turned to the other woman who was clamouring to get to her. Her heart cried out to each and every one of them, but there was only one of her and so many of them. How could she possibly help them all?

  “Miss Madelene,” Giles warned.

  “Yes, alright, Giles, just a moment.” She turned to address the women. “Ladies, please, I have to go.”

  Words of dismay ran through the crowd. One woman shouted out from the back.

  “When will ye be back, miss? I be suffering, I am. Me husband has disappeared, and the little ones be needing some food.”

  Madelene looked helplessly at the crowd, at a loss at what to do. She had asked the Reverend Binkley to send word to the poor to meet her at the little church, but she had had no idea that there would be so many. Giles stepped in front of her when the women started to crowd her, all shouting out their ailments and money woes. The Reverend, who had been silently watching her interaction with the women, stepped forward.

  “Ladies, your silence, please.”

  He was a slender man that possessed a voice so powerful that it was enough to subdue the women. He waited for the last of the chattering to stop before continuing.

  “I know that you are suffering, and many of you are desperate, but nothing can become of this behaviour! Miss Madelene came here with the purpose of helping as many women as she could, but there are too many of you. Now, she has engagements elsewhere, but I am sure that she will be back soon.”

  He looked at her then, and she nodded– she had every intention of returning. He gave her a quick smile and returned to the crowd.

  “Please, return to your homes, and I will send word of when next she will come again.”

  There were some murmuring and unhappy faces, but he fixed them with a stare that soon dispersed the crowd. Giles only stepped away when the last of the women had left, allowing her to approach the Reverend.

  “Reverend Binkley, I cannot thank you enough. I will be sure to return soon, but now I must hurry.”

  He took her hand and dropped a feather light kiss, bowing.

  “It is an honour, Miss Madelene. It is not often that we have a woman as beautiful as you are grace our humble church. You have a beautiful heart to match your outward appearance.”

  S
he smiled, but it was somewhat strained. “Thank you, Reverend … Giles?” she said, turning to him.