Loving Protector

by Sally Quilford

  Loving Protector

  Copyright © Sally Quilford 2011 – All Rights Reserved

  Author’s Note

  There are differing opinions on what constitutes the ‘Regency’ era. It can either mean the era between 1811 and 1820, when due to George III’s incapacity, his son, The Prince of Wales, was given the king’s proxy as Prince Regent. However, the Regency era, for some, can also encompass a more extended period from 1795 to 1837. It is this extended period into which this novel falls, taking place when the Prince Regent has become King George IV. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Regency_era

  Regarding restaurants: I would like to point out that the first restaurants opened in Paris in 1765, which is more than half a century before this novel takes place. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Restaurant#History

  The oldest restaurant in London is Rules, which opened in 1798. http://www.rules.co.uk/

  Finally, as a British author, I write in British UK English and as such my spelling, grammar and punctuation reflect that.

  Loving Protector

  Chapter One

  “I do not see why she has to come to London,” said Blanche Kirkham. She glared at her mother and then at Calista. Blanche was tall and beautiful, but with a temper as dark as her hair and eyes.

  The coach in which they were travelling rocked over the uneven ground.

  “We can hardly leave Calista at home,” said Mrs. Evelyn Haywood. “As I explained to you, dearest, I could not afford to pay for the upkeep of Haywood Manor and your season in London.” Evelyn was very much like her daughter in looks, except that her face had softer features, and kind brown eyes.

  “I would have been quite happy to stay home, Evelyn” said Calista, looking up from her book. Polar opposite to her step-sister, Blanche, Calista was petite and pretty, with fair hair and cornflower blue eyes.

  “You say that,” said Blanche, before her mother could answer, “but I know you will be monopolizing all the men for yourself. As you always do.”

  Calista laughed. “I am not aware I have ever done such a thing, Blanche. They only speak to me when you are not available.”

  “She must stay out of the way,” Blanche said to Evelyn. “If she prefers to stay at home, then she may stay indoors in London. She is much too old for a season anyway.”

  “I am only six months older than you,” said Calista, with a grin that showed pretty dimples in her cheeks.

  “Mama, you are not to tell people I am twenty. You are to say I am eighteen.”

  “Blanche, dearest, I cannot lie.”

  “I shall be telling people I am eighteen and if you contradict me, Mama, it will look very bad for you.” She added waspishly, “It will make you seem older for a start.”

  “Blanche, I am thirty-eight years old and every one of those years shows on my face. Probably a few more besides. I cannot pretend to be otherwise.”

  “I am sure you would look much younger had you married a richer man instead of Bryan Haywood. Poverty makes people older quicker.”

  Calista’s eyes flashed and she was about to make a retort along the lines that Blanche’s real father had been poorer still. She hated to hear the way Blanche spoke about her late father, who had shown Blanche nothing but kindness, despite her many barbed insults to him.

  “But I would not have been happier,” said Evelyn.

  “Oh mama, you are so stupid sometimes. If we had money we would be very happy. When I marry a Duke or an Earl, then we will be happy. Calista can go back to her little house and with any luck she may persuade a farmer’s son to marry her.”

  “I do not see how there would be anything wrong with that if I loved him,” said Calista.

  “See?” Blanche gesticulated towards Calista. “This is the sort of family you have married into mother. She will bring shame on us, I can feel it. Not that it will matter when I am the Duchess. I shall tell people that I have disowned her.”

  “Do not count your chickens before they are hatched,” said Calista. “You have not yet met a Duke or Earl, nor he you.” In truth, Calista had no doubt Blanche would catch the eye of such a man. She was beautiful enough, and could be quite charming when she wanted to be. Added to which, Calista doubted a man from the nobility would be as intimidated by Blanche as the young men who lived in their town.

  “Do you see how cruelly she treats me, Mama?” said Blanche, starting to build up to one of her tempers

  “But you also treat Calista cruelly,” said Evelyn. “And I wish you would not. Please try to remember that it is her father’s money that is paying for your season in London.”

  “Sometimes I think you love her more than me,” said Blanche, wiping her eyes, which Calista was interested to note were dry.

  “Of course not,” said Evelyn. “You are my daughter and naturally I love you more.” Evelyn looked at Calista with something like guilt in her eyes. “But I am also very fond of Calista. She has been a great help to me since her father died.”

  “And I have not?”

  “Well, no, not really dear. Not when you insult a man I loved dearly.”

  “I am bored with this conversation now. Tell me about the dresses you are going to buy me. I shall need at least two morning dresses and two evening dresses.”

  “I am afraid that will not be possible. You and Calista may have one new morning dress and one new evening dress each. Other than that you will have to wear your usual clothes. Calista and I have worked hard to spruce up our old dresses. We will all look very elegant when we are presented to society.”

  “Mama! I have told you. She is not to go anywhere. She is to stay indoors with those boring books she reads. She will be quite happy.”

  “I know what you have told me, Blanche, but as I have just told you, it is Bryan’s money that is paying for this season. So Calista shall have her pretty dresses too.”

  “I hate you!” Blanche raged. “I hate you, Mother. You have ruined my life. Ruined it.”

  Evelyn and Calista exchanged glances. They knew what would come next. Blanche had been building up to it ever since Evelyn had refused to leave Calista at home when they left that morning.

  Blanche’s tantrum was curtailed. The coach suddenly lurched to a halt and they heard a man shouting, “Stand and deliver.”

  “A highwayman!” said Calista, her heart beating rapidly. Since the end of the Napoleonic Wars, many returning soldiers, having found there was no work for them, had turned to highway robbery.

  “I thought they only struck at night,” said Evelyn. They could still hear talking outside, but as yet no one had come to the coach door. “How far are we from London?”

  “About an hour, I think,” said Calista.

  “That means help will be a long time coming.”

  Blanche had gone very quiet and very white in the face. Her hands trembled. “Do not worry,” Calista said to her kindly. “I hear they are often very courteous to ladies.”

  “I am not worried,” said Blanche, her eyes flashing. But when the air was filled with the sound of gunshots, Blanche almost flew across the coach and into her mother’s arms. “Mama, if they kill me, I shall not have my season.”

  Calista wanted to laugh at that. Blanche always had her priorities right. One of Calista’s biggest dreams was that Blanche would marry and go away so that she no longer had to put up with her insults, but she did not wish harm on her step-sister. Calista was no blushing violet when it came to dealing with Blanche, but the constant fight to defend herself left her exhausted at the end of most days. It was not in her nature to be unkind to anyone, yet there had been times when she was afraid she was becoming as bad as Blanche.

  When the carriage door opened, Calista gave an involuntary scream but was determined to face the man down. If he shot
her, then he would have to do so whilst looking her in the eyes.

  “Do not be afraid,” a deep, resonant voice said. “The highwayman has been captured.” Calista looked towards the door and was faced with a man unlike any she had ever seen. He was about thirty years old and dressed in the height of fashion, but without looking like one of the over-dressed dandies and rakes she read about in the gossip columns. He was tall and dark, clean shaven, with flint grey eyes and hawk-like eyebrows. He looked directly at Calista and even if he had not told her the highwayman was under arrest, she would know she was safe with this man.

  “I was not afraid,” said Blanche, before Calista could reply. “It was my step-sister who screamed.”

  Calista’s lips turned up at the corners and she fought to suppress a smile.

  “Well then you are a very brave lady indeed not to be afraid,” said the man with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Please ladies, step out of the carriage. It is quite safe. I have a flask of brandy, and I think you could all benefit from a drink.” He reached out his hand to Calista, who was nearest to him.

  One by one he helped them all out of the carriage. When Calista’s legs touched the ground, she was perturbed to see that they shook beneath her. She looked around and saw another man standing some way off, holding onto the highwayman.

  The man who had opened the carriage door spoke. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Colonel Windebank.” He naturally turned to Evelyn, as the eldest of the three women.

  “We are very grateful for your help, Colonel Windebank.” Evelyn curtseyed, with Blanche and Calista following suit. “I am Mrs. Haywood. This is my daughter, Miss Blanche Kirkham, and my step-daughter, Miss Calista Haywood. We are on our way to London for the season.”

  “Then do allow us to accompany you the rest of the way in case there is any more trouble.”

  “Brook?” The man holding the prisoner spoke for the first time.

  “What is it Harry?”

  “What are we to do with him?”

  “Let him go, but keep his gun.”

  “That’s very good of you, Colonel Windebank, sir,” said the highwayman. He was not very old. No more than twenty-two or three. The colonel walked towards him.

  “You’re an idiot, Jimmy, but I know you’ve struggled to find work since the war ended. I’ll write you a note to take to my estate, where you’ll be given a job and a cottage. You can write to your wife and child and ask them to join you.”

  “I don’t deserve this, sir,” said Jimmy.

  “No, you probably don’t. Especially for terrorizing three women. But I’ve fought with you. I know you’re a good man at heart. Go on, be off with you. If I find you’ve done something like this again, I shan’t help you. Come on, Harry. We’ll continue our journey.”

  The man called Harry let Jimmy go and walked forward, bowing to the ladies, who curtseyed in return. He was a good looking man in his late thirties. He stopped when he saw Mrs. Haywood. “Evelyn? Evelyn Morehampton?”

  Calista’s eyes widened in surprised. It was rather a familiar address.

  “Yes … Oh my goodness. It’s Mr. Benedict, is it not? I have not seen you since I cannot remember when.” Yet when Evelyn spoke, Calista had the impression that she knew exactly when she had last seen Harry Benedict. Her delight seemed to be tinged with something else that Calista could not put a finger on. Fear? Surely not. The man seemed personable enough.

  “More than twenty years ago.”

  “It seems that no introductions are needed,” said the Colonel with a smile.

  “I have not had the pleasure of meeting these two delightful young ladies,” said Mr. Benedict. Evelyn introduced Blanche and Calista.

  “Miss Kirkham, Miss Haywood, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. Your mother and I were good friends a long time ago, Miss Kirkham.”

  “Really, how fascinating.” Blanche was not interested. She only had eyes for the Colonel, for which Calista could not blame her. He had shown himself to be not only brave, but also merciful. “I am very eager to reach London, Colonel Windebank.”

  “I thought,” said the Colonel, “that we might accompany the ladies, Harry. With your permission, Mrs. Haywood?” Evelyn bowed her head gracefully, and thanked him. “We will tie the horses to the back of the carriage and sit inside with them. It will surprise any other ruffians who wish to try their luck.”

  A short time later they all sat in the carriage together, as they neared London.

  “I cannot believe that we met again under such circumstances,” Mr. Benedict said to Evelyn. He had not taken his eyes from her since they got into the coach.

  “It was certainly lucky that you happened along,” she replied.

  “Are you on your way to London for the season, Colonel?” asked Blanche.

  “No, I was merely on my way to check on my home in London.”

  “I am sure it is still there,” said Blanche, laughing a little bit too gaily.

  “But sadly in very bad repair due to me being abroad for extended periods of time. This is why Mr. Benedict accompanies me. He is going to tell me how I may improve upon the house.”

  “Of course, you were training to be an architect,” said Evelyn. “I remember now.”

  “Father was an architect too,” said Calista.

  “My dear step-father, Bryan,” said Blanche, “we all miss him dreadfully.” That was a surprise to Calista, but she clamped her lips shut.

  “Haywood?” said the Colonel. “Not Bryan Haywood?”

  “Yes, that is correct,” said Calista. “You knew my father?”

  “I certainly knew of him. In fact … and please do not take offence, Harry … I had him in mind for some of the renovations only to learn of his sad death.”

  “No offence taken,” said Mr. Benedict with a smile.

  “Please accept my condolences, Mrs. Haywood, Miss Haywood.” Calista noted that the colonel did not include Blanche in his condolences. “I was very taken by some of the buildings your father created in Derbyshire, Miss Haywood. Then sadly I had to settle for Harry.”

  “Do not push your luck, Brook,” said Mr. Benedict. Calista could not help noticing how easy the two men were together. “You did rather a lot of that during the war, when all we underlings could do was follow you.”

  “You are wondering are you not, Miss Haywood, how Mr. Benedict dares to be so familiar with a superior officer?” His eyes twinkled and his tone was self-deprecating. “He and I shared a lot of trenches during the war. One soon learns that it is rather dangerous to point one man out as the leader of the troop. Besides, Harry is a good and honest friend and we all need that.”

  Blanche cut in, “Then I shall always be honest with you, Colonel. And one day, perhaps I may be allowed to call you Brook.”

  “Blanche!” her mother admonished her.

  “And what of you, Miss Haywood?” said the Colonel. “Will you always be honest with me?”

  “I would hope I am always honest, Colonel.”

  “Wait until I tell everyone in London that we were rescued by a dashing Colonel,” said Blanche, clapping her hands together.

  “I cannot take full credit for that,” said the Colonel. “Harry was the one who saw you were in danger.” He turned once again to Calista. “You look troubled, Miss Haywood.”

  “I am only thinking that it is sad that the highwayman has suffered so much he turned to crime. Not that I condone his actions or have any reason to criticize yours, Colonel. It is just that I have heard that many soldiers are struggling since the end of the war.”

  “Yes, the problem of the returning soldiers is something we hope to address in Parliament. But be aware that had we not caught him, in his desperation he might have harmed, even killed, you all. It has happened too often lately. At the very least he would have taken all your money and belongings. Then Miss Kirkham would not have her season.” When his eyes twinkled again, Calista realized that he had heard everything that went on inside the coach before he ope
ned the door.

  “Where are you staying in London?” asked Mr. Benedict when they were nearing the outskirts.

  “Lady Bedlington has agreed to let us stay with her, and she will introduce the girls to society,” said Evelyn.

  “Goodness, is she still alive? I remember her chasing us off her land in Midchester when we stole some apples.”

  “I am hoping she has forgotten,” said Evelyn. “So please do not remind her.”

  “You stole apples? Mama, really,” said Blanche, blushing. “You shame me in front of the colonel.”

  “I assure you, Miss Kirkham,” said Colonel Windebank, “I have stolen a few apples in my time. It is something all children do.”

  “And soldiers too,” said Mr. Benedict grimly. The Colonel looked at him and nodded just as grimly. Calista immediately understood that they too had gone through some very severe hardships during the war.

  “I am sure I never did,” said Blanche. “But if you say it is permissible, perhaps I shall try it.”

  “I do not think it is as forgivable in an adult. At least not in peace time. We certainly cannot run as fast. Have you ever stolen apples, Miss Haywood?”

  “I’m sure she stole loads,” said Blanche. “Her father was very poor.”

  “And yet we did not have to steal to eat,” said Calista quietly. Then she smiled, mischievously. “But I have climbed a few apple trees, Colonel.” She said it more to shock Blanche than anyone else.

  “I am glad to hear it. To be surrounded by so much virtue can make a man feel inadequate.”

  “Perhaps, Colonel, you will call upon us whilst you are in London,” said Blanche. “I am sure Lady Bedlington would not mind.”

  “Great Aunt Agatha would no doubt be delighted.”

  “Great Aunt Agatha? I had not realized you and Lady Bedlington were related,” said Evelyn. Calista wondered why he had not mentioned it when Lady Bedlington’s name was first mentioned.

  “Yes, though I have not seen her for some time. Every time I see her she insists on trying to marry me off.”

  “I am sure no one could force you to marry anyone, Colonel,” said Blanche.