Regency Admirer/The Merry Gentleman/The Gentleman's Demand

by Meg Alexander

  “Quite understandable, ma’am.” Chris accepted his dismissal with good grace, but Perry was incensed. His bow was stiff in the extreme.

  It was not until they reached the street that he spoke again. “That woman should have been drowned at birth,” he announced with feeling. “She ain’t even human.”

  “Oh, come on, Perry, you can’t blame her for not wanting to do the pretty. She had a shock, you know, and she must be worried sick about her father. Besides, she’s little more than a child—”

  “But old enough to have a lover. It ain’t at all the thing to have men climbing through her bedroom window.”

  “Turned prudish, have you?” Chris began to chuckle. “Admit it, you ain’t forgiven her for that flowerpot.”

  “She may do as she pleases,” Perry said stiffly. “Though I think she might have allowed us to wait for the surgeon’s verdict.”

  “Nothing to do with us, old chap. Best forget it. I say, though, she is a beauty, isn’t she? Those eyes could make men weaken at the knees.”

  “You’ve been at sea too long. She looks well enough, I suppose, but she don’t appeal to me. Imagine living with that tongue! A spoiled brat, too self-assured by half, and arrogant with it.”

  “Would you have liked her better if she’d fainted at the sight of blood?” The question was innocent enough, but Chris’s eyes were twinkling.

  “I don’t like her at all.”

  “Hmm! She certainly made an impression on you.”

  “That she did, and all of it unfavourable.”

  “You are growing sour in your old age. Didn’t you look about you, Perry? I shouldn’t be surprised if she ain’t an heiress. The treasures in the hall alone are worth a fortune.”

  “Then I wish good luck to the man who takes her on. He’d need to be stone-deaf.”

  Chris began to laugh, and after a moment Perry joined him. “Sorry!” he said. “I’m behaving like a bear with a sore head.”

  “Might have been worse if she hadn’t missed you with the pot.”

  Perry grinned. “I never met a woman yet who could hit a barn door at ten paces.”

  “Thank the Lord for that! Now, ain’t that a tavern that I see before me...the handle towards my hand?”

  “Culture, too?” Perry aimed a playful blow at his friend. “Don’t parody Macbeth, old son. It’s more than I can stand at present. Let’s sample some low life, for a change.”

  They pushed their way into the crowded inn. It was only when they were seated at a table in the corner that Perry noticed the parlous state of his uniform.

  “Devil take it!” he announced. “I might have been in a slaughterhouse.”

  The condition of his garments bore this out. His previously immaculate whites now bore clear evidence of bloodstains. They were also muddied at the knees where he had knelt down by the fountain.

  Well aware of the curious glances of the other customers, he made an unsuccessful attempt to draw his blue coat together across his massive chest.

  “Won’t do to let the captain see you in that state,” Chris murmured. “Bad for the image of the British Navy. We’d best get back to the ship.”

  “Not before we’ve finished this bottle. No one will see us when we go aboard. I’ll slip down to my cabin.”

  “Hope you manage it, otherwise you’ll be in for an unpleasant interview tomorrow.”

  Thankfully, this dire prediction went unfulfilled, and their return to the Artemis went unremarked by their redoubtable captain.

  For the next three days his duties aboard kept Perry fully occupied. Absorbed with the problems of repairs, provisioning, and certain matters of discipline, the night’s adventures faded from his mind.

  It was therefore with some surprise that he opened an invitation for himself and Chris to dine with Mr Grantham on the following day.

  “The old man must be feeling better. Now you can set your mind at rest about him.”

  “You can!” Perry said with meaning. “I’ve no wish to go in order to cross swords with that wench again.”

  “Sorry, old chap, I can’t oblige you. I’m on duty.”

  “I could claim to be on duty too.” Perry smoothed the note between his fingers.

  “Too churlish, Perry. Why not spare him an hour or two? Besides, I thought you planned to go ashore. Don’t you have commissions for your family? You mentioned tobacco, and a pipe or two of wine...”

  “I could get them at Gibraltar.”

  Chris shook his head. “You won’t get Italian wine there. Didn’t you tell me that Barolo was your mother’s favourite?”

  “That’s true, always supposing that the custom officers won’t be difficult when we dock at Portsmouth.”

  “It’s worth a try. Give my regards to the siren of the balcony.” He dodged aside as Perry advanced towards him. “No, no! You can’t fight me! I am the shorter by four inches, and you give me at least three stones in weight.”

  “Wretch!” As Perry threw a cushion at Chris’s head, he was laughing.

  However, it was in no easy frame of mind that he stepped into the bum-boat on the following day, resplendent in full dress uniform.

  His commissions were soon accomplished, but he was strangely reluctant to return to the Villa Castiglione. For a time he wandered about the narrow streets of Genoa, and it was growing dusk before he forced himself to make his way to the wealthy quarter of the city. As he lifted the knocker on the heavy door, he vowed to take his leave of Mr Grantham as soon as politeness would allow.

  To his relief the old man was alone. Apart from a bandage round his head, he showed no other signs of injury.

  One bright eye inspected Perry as he walked into the room.

  “How are you feeling now, sir?” Perry shook the proffered hand.

  “Much better, Mr Wentworth, though the surgeon tells me I was lucky not to lose an eye. My dear sir, I owe my life to you. Words are not sufficient to express my gratitude.”

  “You would have done the same for me, I believe. It was fortunate that we happened by. Lord Christopher sends his apologies, sir. His duties made it impossible for him to accept your kind invitation.”

  Mr Grantham nodded. “You young men are fully occupied these days. Tell me, what do you think of the present situation in France? I won’t deny that it concerns me.”

  “I am no politician, sir. Here in Genoa, you are safe enough from the fervour of the revolutionary movement.”

  “Are we, Mr Wentworth? I do not share your hopes. That French mob? Fanatics, to a man! Will they stay within their borders? Not a hope of it, in my opinion.”

  “Mr Grantham, they are ill-disciplined...ill-led... Against the armies of the Allies they would stand no chance.”

  “Possibly not, but they may not see it in that light. Since they executed the Queen and their King they are drunk with power...”

  Perry was silent. There seemed little he could say.

  “Poor lady!” Mr Grantham sighed. “Whatever her mistakes, she did not deserve that fate. Now bloodlust sweeps the country. They have set up guillotines in every town...”

  Mr Grantham was growing agitated, and Perry felt moved to intervene.

  “My dear sir, don’t distress yourself. This is a matter for the French alone.”

  His host smiled faintly. “I see you are no politician, Mr Wentworth. There is a new spirit abroad in Europe. These revolutionaries, with their talk of liberty, brotherhood and equality, intend to take their message further. Even if they did not, they must consider the enemy at their gates.”

  “You speak of Britain and her allies?”

  “Indeed, my boy. If the French should decide to strike first, they will sweep through this part of Italy down to Naples.”

  “You may be right,” Perry said slowly. “Captain Nelson in the Ariadne was ordered to make all haste to the Court there, to see how matters stand with the King.”

  “It bears out my worst fears.” The old man’s eyes were sad. “I must think of my family.”
/>
  “Sir, could you not take ship for England?”

  “Would that I could, but my wife is in poor health. She could not stand the journey. You will excuse her if she leaves us after we have dined? It has been something of an effort for her to appear this evening, but she was determined to meet you for herself.”

  Perry bowed. “Madame should not have troubled herself. Indeed, sir, there was not the least need for you to feel obliged to entertain me.”

  “There I must beg to differ. Now, here is Elizabeth, come to welcome you...”

  Perry rose to his feet. Gowned simply in white, with a knot of azure ribbons at her breast, Elizabeth had no need of further embellishment for her charms. In spite of his dislike of her, he was forced to admit that she was indeed a beauty. Dark, silky curls, cut à la Sappho, framed the little heart-shaped face and emphasised the brilliance of her enormous eyes.

  Now those eyes were wary, though she was smiling with perfect civility as she greeted him. Perry was reminded of his nephews, summoned to account for some misdeed, as Elizabeth shot a searching glance at her father’s face.

  Perry’s lips twitched in amusement. She is wondering if I have betrayed her, he thought to himself. His countenance was grave as he took her hand, but she had seen the smile, and resented it. A second glance at her father appeared to reassure her, and the wary look was replaced by one of crushing dignity.

  Mr Grantham reached out an arm to draw her to his side. “Have you lost your tongue, my love?” he teased. “If so, it will be for the first time.”

  “Of course not, Father. Excuse me!” A delicate flush of colour touched her cheeks. “Welcome to our home, Mr Wentworth.”

  Perry sensed that she was struggling for composure. The memory of that scene upon the balcony was clearly uppermost in her mind, and she would not meet his eyes.

  “Your stepmother is come down, dearest?” Mr Grantham struggled to his feet.

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “Then come! We must not keep her waiting.” He reached for his stick and followed his daughter and their guest as Elizabeth led the way across the hall. He was limping heavily, and for the first time Perry realised that his host was badly crippled.

  “Sir, you were more badly injured than I had supposed. Will you not take my arm?”

  “No need for that, my boy. This game leg is the result of an old riding accident. I have learned to cope with it.” He urged Perry into the salon and towards the lady lying on a sofa by the fire.

  “Lucia, my dear, this is Mr Wentworth. I know you wish to thank him for his services to me.”

  “I do, indeed.” Smiling, Lucia Grantham held out her hand. “My dear sir, what am I to say to you? Without your help my husband might have died. Will you accept my deepest gratitude?”

  Perry took the frail hand and kissed it. Beside this tiny creature he felt larger than ever, and as clumsy as an ox. She seemed to sense his feelings, and patted the seat beside her. In her prettily accented English she began to draw him out, asking about his family in England.

  “You must miss them sadly,” she went on. “I hear that you have been at sea these many months.”

  “Yes, ma’am, but I hope to see them shortly. We shall soon be on our way to Portsmouth.”

  “I have never been to England, but when my health improves....”

  “Mama, that may be sooner than you think.” Elizabeth’s tone was encouraging. “You know you have been feeling stronger in these past few weeks.”

  Husband and wife exchanged a glance, and Perry felt a pang of pity. Lucia Grantham was clearly very ill. Traces of beauty were still apparent in her ravaged features, but her skin bore a yellowish tinge. In the gaunt face her eyes were sunken and shadowed with pain.

  His fears were confirmed when she was wheeled into the dining-room in a bathchair, but though she barely touched the food her spirit was indomitable. At a sign from her, Elizabeth rose when the meal had ended.

  “Will you excuse me, Mr Wentworth? I must obey my doctor. He insists that I must rest.” The sick woman gave him a rueful smile, but it was clear that the effort to speak was becoming too much for her.

  Perry took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I appreciate your kindness to me, ma’am. May I offer my sincere wishes for your speedy recovery?”

  She nodded, and signalled to Elizabeth to wheel her from the room.

  Perry looked at his host. “Sir, I feel that I should leave you now. I’ve trespassed upon your hospitality for too long.”

  “Don’t go, I beg of you, Mr Wentworth. Won’t you sit down? I have something to discuss with you.”

  Chapter Two

  Perry was at a loss to understand the anxiety in Mr Grantham’s tone. For a moment he wondered if news of Elizabeth’s escapade had reached her father’s ears.

  His host was silent for some time, but when he spoke at last it was upon another subject.

  “Doubtless you believe that my fears are groundless,” the old man said in a low voice. “But let me ask you something. Have you ever lived in an occupied country where you were the enemy?”

  Perry shook his head.

  “I have. It is not a fate that I could wish upon my daughter.”

  “My dear sir, Italy is not occupied—”

  “It will come. I am convinced of it, as I explained to you. As you see, I cannot travel with Lucia in her present state of health, but I have been wondering...will your captain allow Elizabeth to take passage on your ship? She has relatives in England.”

  Perry was astounded. “Mr Grantham, it would be impossible,” he protested. “The Artemis is a warship. On the passage home we are more than likely to be attacked. Your daughter will be safer here with you.”

  “No! I must get her away. Three days ago I was reminded of my own mortality—what will happen to her when I am no longer here? Lucia cannot care for her.”

  “Then why not arrange a passage for her on a merchant vessel? There are many such in the docks at present.”

  “All of them unarmed. Can you tell me that they won’t be attacked?”

  “No, sir, but it is your only hope. Captain Robsart will take no passengers on the Artemis.”

  “Mr Wentworth, will you ask him? He would not lose by it. If it is a question of money...?”

  “That would not weigh with him,” Perry said stiffly. “It is a matter of navy rules and regulations.”

  “I see that I have offended you. Forgive me...I feel quite distracted.” The lines on the old face deepened. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Mr Grantham, let me beg you to consider. Even were it possible, you can have no idea of the sheer discomfort on a warship. Your daughter has been gently bred...”

  This brought a smile to the face of his host. “Don’t be deceived by her appearance, sir. Elizabeth is tougher than you might at first suppose.”

  Perry needed no convincing, but he would not be put off. “Mr Grantham, you have had a shock,” he said doggedly. “When you are recovered, you will see the folly...excuse me, I mean...the undesirability of what you are suggesting.”

  “I shall not change my mind.” The lines about the old man’s mouth had hardened. “Elizabeth was a late joy. Her mother died when she was born. All I have left of her to remind me is this child of my heart. Naturally, I love Lucia, but blood calls to blood. Mr Wentworth, I am asking for your help. Will you not save my daughter? At least, speak to your captain.”

  “I’ll try, sir, but I cannot offer much hope.” Perry was powerless to resist the impassioned appeal. “Mr Grantham, I must thank you once again for a very pleasant evening.” He rose to take his leave. As Mrs Grantham had retired, he would not be required to join the ladies in the salon, and he was glad of it. He had reckoned without his host.

  “Elizabeth will be waiting for us,” Mr Grantham murmured.

  Perry resigned himself to a further exchange of courtesies, but it was soon borne in upon him that he had misjudged the daughter of the house.

  A raised eyebrow fr
om his host and a quick nod from Elizabeth sent Mr Grantham up to bid his wife goodnight. Then his companion wasted no time. She faced him squarely.

  “I have to thank you, sir. You did not betray me.”

  Perry looked at the lifted chin, and saw the flash of defiance in her eyes. She had not forgiven him for his interference.

  “Don’t thank me,” he said deliberately. “My concern was for your father, not yourself. At this present time he has enough to worry him.”

  She flushed at that. “How dare you criticise me? You know nothing of the matter.”

  “Enough to know that you have no business adding to his worries.”

  “Ha!” she said. “I knew from the moment I first saw you...bombastic, priggish, arrogant and insufferable!”

  “Leave out the priggish, and we might be twins,” he suggested sweetly.

  “Why, you worm! Who are you to criticise my conduct?”

  “At least I don’t throw pots.”

  “Oh, did you think I threw it?” She dimpled delightfully. “That is famous! I wish I had, but I didn’t think of it. I caught it with my elbow. You may be sure that if I’d aimed, I should not have missed.”

  “A charming accomplishment! Have you any others?”

  “Oh, yes!” she assured him in an airy tone. “I have learned to damp pretension—”

  “What!” he shouted.

  “A sore point, sir? Believe me, you may swagger about the streets of Genoa with your cronies, dressed to the nines, and expecting the world to grovel at your feet, but I am not so easily taken in.”

  “Of course not!” he snarled. “With years of experience behind you, you would be a match for any mushroom squire.”

  This reference to her tender years caused Elizabeth to bridle. “It does not take a lifetime of experience to know a busybody, sir.”

  “Naturally not, especially when one’s preference lies with some monkey who scrambles in the branches of a tree.”

  “You cannot be referring to Count Cesare di Tavola. His family history goes back five hundred years.”

  “Without learning the use of a door?”