Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection

by Mary Lancaster

  Determinedly, he walked on.

  When he reentered the drawing room, he knew Marjorie and Richard had been talking about him. It was inevitable.

  “Is she settled?” Richard asked lazily.

  “Out like a light,” Javan replied. “I expect Marjorie’s been telling you of our full day of company—our first such since we came here. And I think it’s been good for her. Only…” He took the glass Richard thrust into his hand and sank into the chair by the fire. “I might as well tell you both at once. Marcus Swayle was at the castle.”

  Marjorie’s eyes boggled.

  “Sophia’s lover?” Richard said, stunned. “Good God, what brought him here? Did he track you down?”

  “That was my first thought, too,” Javan admitted, “though I can’t think what good it would do him. Besides, he looked so stunned, so appalled to see me that he bolted. It seems to be merely some unlikely, not to say unkind, coincidence.”

  “What was he doing there?” Marjorie demanded. “He is not some friend of the Tamars’ surely?”

  “They are friendly people,” Javan said impatiently. “Were they not, we would not have been there. Swayle didn’t look well. I suspect he’s here to drink the waters.”

  “You can go together,” Richard said flippantly. “Wouldn’t that be a cozy party?”

  “Not once I’d run him through or strangled him to death in public,” Javan retorted. “And so I shall avoid him. I want to be sure you know to do the same. On no account must he come anywhere near Rosa.”

  “You think he’s fond of her?” Richard asked doubtfully.

  “No.” Javan knocked the brandy down his throat. “I think he hurt her.”

  *

  “And what of the governess?” Richard asked. It was much later and they had begun on a fresh decanter. Marjorie had long since left them to it.

  “She is good for Rosa,” Javan said. “In more ways than simply educating her.”

  “Is she good for you, too?”

  Javan curled his lip. “Stupid question.”

  “Is it? My dear fellow, I could cut the tension between you like a knife. What’s more, when I first arrived, she looked very like a girl who’s been thoroughly kissed, if not tumbled.”

  Javan jerked the glass to his lips. “Don’t ever repeat that. She’s untouched by me or by anyone else, I’d wager.”

  “Ah, then she is good for you.”

  “That isn’t the point, is it? I would certainly not be good for her. Change the subject, for God’s sake.”

  Richard gave an annoying, lazy smile, but at least he obeyed. “Very well. What is to do in the neighborhood? Apart from drinking water and very excellent brandy?”

  “I believe these are the town’s chief claims to fame. How long do you plan to stay?”

  “Until marriage with me is farthest from my would-be-bride’s mind.”

  “Have a heart, Richard. She can’t be more in favor of this than you.”

  “Are you saying I’m not a good catch?”

  “I’m saying you’re a deplorable catch. I’m sure she’d cry off if she only met you.”

  “I missed you, Javan,” Richard said affectionately.

  “I know. And incidentally, if you’re in Blackhaven, I too am Mr. Benedict.”

  “Not Colonel,” Richard said carefully.

  “Absolutely not Colonel.”

  “Could we demote you? Just to distinguish you from me?”

  “No. For Rosa’s sake, I want no connection to the scandal.”

  “I doubt anyone remembers it now,” Richard said casually. “It was a long time ago in the world of gossip.”

  “I’m not prepared to take the chance, not until she’s older and would understand.”

  “She may understand more than you think, Javan. It’s hard to tell when she doesn’t speak.”

  “Well, her excellent governess has a plan for that. My money is on her.”

  “So is mine,” Richard murmured, though in connection with what, he did not reveal.

  *

  With so much going on in her mind and heart, Caroline could not sleep late as she’d been kindly bidden by Miss Benedict. Instead, giving herself a brisk, no-nonsense talking-to on the subject of her employer, her duties and her own foolishness, she rose at her usual time. Having washed and dressed in her Sunday gown, she peeped in on Rosa, who still slept peacefully. Caroline hesitated only a moment before going alone to the kitchen for breakfast.

  “No Miss Rosa today?” asked Williams, who appeared to be heading outside with a hunk of bread and butter clutched in one large hand.

  “She’s still fast asleep after her adventurous day. Williams, if Mr. Benedict is awake, could you ask him if I might walk into Blackhaven this morning to go to church?”

  Church was just what she needed today. Mr. Grant, the vicar, had a way of lifting one’s mood, of encouraging one to do better without judging one’s past.

  “You’d have to run, not walk, Miss,” Williams said doubtfully. “Tell you what, though, if you don’t mind the cart, I’m driving a few of the servants to church. You could come with us. He won’t mind, if you don’t.”

  “That would be ideal,” Caroline said warmly. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be leaving in about half an hour,” Williams said, nodding as he clumped out the door.

  “Do the family never go to church?” Caroline asked Nan the kitchen maid. She hadn’t had the courage to ask before.

  “No, Miss, not that I know of. They’re good people but keep themselves to themselves.”

  That much, Caroline already knew.

  Since she only possessed the one cloak and bonnet, she retrieved them from the hallstand by the side door, and then wondered what to do with herself for the next thirty minutes.

  It was, she supposed, an ideal time to work a little on Mr. Benedict’s book, He would not be up and about, and if she worked on it now, she could avoid doing so later when he was in the same room. Avoiding him would be sensible for the next few days at least.

  The study door stood open, so she walked in.

  Mr. Richard Benedict stood by one of the glass cabinets, examining the samples. Impeccably dressed in buff pantaloons and a blue superfine coat, with a dazzlingly white cravat intricately tied about his throat, he looked far too fashionable for the over-casual household of Haven Hall.

  Caroline halted in surprise.

  He glanced up with a quick smile. “Miss Grey. Good morning.”

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “If you seek the master of the house, he is not an early riser like you and me.”

  “Oh, I am aware, sir. I came to work on some copying I have undertaken for him, but I shall come back another time.”

  Richard waved one expansive arm. “No, no, feel free. I am just curious as to what he’s been doing with himself this last year.”

  Caroline draped her cloak and bonnet over the back of her usual chair and sat down at the desk, opening the notebook. She reached for her pen.

  “It always amazed me,” Richard continued, “how he managed to bring live plants home from the most obscure and war-torn areas of the world. Intact, too, usually. I would have expected his mind to be on other things. I expect it was his way of dealing with situations most of us would have found intolerable.”

  Caroline suspected it still was. She worked in silence for a few minutes.

  “You have been good for them all, I hear,” Richard murmured.

  “I hope I have taught Rosa a little, but I have not been here long.”

  “I don’t just mean Rosa. Marjorie, for example. I find her much brighter, and she likes you.”

  “The two aren’t necessarily connected, but I’m glad if I’ve found favor with her.”

  There was a pause then, “You’re being very proper, aren’t you?” he said with a hint of amusement. “Don’t you wish to ask me about Marjorie? Most people would.”

  “Miss Benedict has shown me nothing but kindness,” Caroline said.
“I have no intention of discussing her with a stranger, even one who is related to her.”

  “Very proper,” Richard drawled. “It’s a melancholy,” he added after a moment. “It has afflicted her periodically since she was a young girl little older than Rosa. Sometimes, she takes to her bed for weeks on end. On top of everything else, Javan found her like that when he came home and Louisa died. No one was looking after her except servants. I include myself, by the way. I was in the country at the time. Javan took her with him when he left London. Everyone thought Marjorie a poor choice to care for Rosa, but that was never his reason. He looks after both of them, even locks Marjorie in her room when things are bad and she is liable to hurt herself.”

  “I know.” If she hadn’t known, she’d certainly guessed. She looked up from her writing and set her pen aside before she looked at him directly. He leaned one hip against the farthest corner of the desk, watching her. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because Javan is one of the very few men I admire. I am curious as to how you regard him.”

  “As my employer and Rosa’s father,” she said coolly.

  “And how does he regard you?”

  “As Rosa’s governess.” The words didn’t come so easily this time as she struggled to prevent the color seeping into her face. “If you wish more information, you must apply to Mr. Benedict himself.”

  “Oh, I have and I will,” Richard said.

  Caroline couldn’t help it. She laughed. “Mr. Benedict, are you warning me off? I’m afraid you must trust me when I say that I am well aware of my own position in life and his.” She stood, reaching for her cloak and bonnet and allowing him to see her in all her dowdiness. “I am no Circe, am I?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. The rumor is Lord Braithwaite found you tempting enough.”

  Caroline closed her eyes. “He did nothing of the kind. Repeating such rubbish is unkind, both to me and to Lord Braithwaite. I shall not discuss the matter with you. If Mr. Benedict is satisfied with my work and my past, I see no reason for you to cast aspersions.”

  Richard threw up his hands. “Acquit me, dear lady. I merely seek out the lie of the land.”

  “Allow me to leave you to your seeking while I go to church.” It was an excellent parting line, though she would have been happier with it if she hadn’t heard his breath of laughter behind her. In that, he reminded her of Javan.

  Chapter Twelve

  Blackhaven’s picturesque little church was packed for the Sunday service, Mr. Grant being a popular vicar, both with gentry and lesser mortals. Caroline barely managed to squeeze onto the end of one of the back pews. Behind her, several people, including the servants from Haven Hall, were standing.

  When Caroline had been before, she had occupied the Braithwaite pew at the front of the church. But while her current position was less comfortable, it afforded her a better view of the congregation. Half way through the first hymn, as she gazed about her, she glimpsed the pale man who had run from the castle party at sight of Javan Benedict.

  He sat across the aisle from her, as though he, too, had squashed himself in at the last minute. Under her scrutiny, he glanced around and met her gaze. Somewhat to her surprise, he inclined his head. She returned the gesture and hastily averted her gaze to the vicar. For the rest of the service, she made a point of never glancing in his direction again.

  And yet, as she emerged from the church, feeling somewhat stronger than when she’d entered it, thanks to Mr. Grant’s uplifting sermon, she knew this man followed behind her. He was there when she paused to speak to Mr. Grant and to Mrs. Grant who was admiring a fisherman’s baby close-by.

  In the street, Williams and the cart—already full of the hall servants—waited for her. Some distance from them, Serena and her sisters waved madly at her. To go to them, Caroline walked across the grass toward the side gate.

  “Excuse me,” a male voice said politely behind her.

  Caroline turned and faced the pale man, who bowed to her.

  “Forgive me,” he said humbly. “I know we are not acquainted, but I understand you are Miss Grey, Rosa Benedict’s governess.”

  “I am.”

  “My name is Swayle. Marcus Swayle.” He seemed to expect the name to mean something to her. When she only gazed at him somewhat blankly, he said anxiously, “Please tell me…how is she?”

  Caroline frowned. “How is who, sir?”

  “Little Rosa.”

  “She is very well,” Caroline replied.

  Mr. Swayle smiled deprecatingly. “I can see you are wondering what business it is of mine, and legally speaking, the answer is none. However, you should know that I regard Rosa as a beloved daughter.”

  “You do?” Javan’s warning about this man echoed through her mind. “Someone who must never, ever be anywhere near Rosa.

  “This is hard,” Mr. Swayle said ruefully. “I can only imagine what that man has told you about me.”

  “To the best of my recollection, he has never mentioned you at all.”

  This seemed to take Mr., Swayle aback, though only for a moment. “I expect he is ashamed, for I know all. The cruel way he treated his wife and daughter.”

  “Cruel?” she repeated, startled. Even when she’d first known him, his only sign of gentleness had been toward his daughter. “Sir, you are mistaken.”

  She began to turn away, but he flung out one hand to detain her, only swiftly withdrawing it again with a hasty apology. But belatedly, his possible identity struck Caroline with all the force of a hammer.

  “You were her—” she blurted, only just breaking off before she uttered the word lover.

  “Her lover?” Swayle said bitterly. “That is what he told you? It is true I loved her before he even met her and forced her to marry him. He wanted her money, for she was a wealthy heiress. You may think this wrong of us, but it was such a relief to us when we thought he was dead. I married her, was living with her as her husband. She and Rosa and I were a happy family at last and blissful that she was expecting my child. And then he came home. Clearly not dead at all. Enraged at finding us together, he beat me, half-killed me—as you see, I am still recovering. That, I can forgive. But Louisa’s death, that of my unborn child, that is firmly at his door. And I fear so for Rosa.”

  Caroline’s ears rang with his terrible accusations. She felt almost dizzy. Williams strode purposely through the side gate, glaring at her.

  “Care for her, I beg you,” Swayle said urgently. “And please, should you need help, or just wish to know more, you may find me at the hotel. Goodbye, Miss Grey.”

  Bemused, she stared after his retreating back as he walked back toward the church, leaning heavily on his cane.

  “We’re going home, Miss,” Williams said abruptly.

  “Of course.” She turned with him to walk to the side gate.

  “What did he want?” Williams demanded aggressively.

  “You know him? I wondered if he was a little mad.”

  Williams snorted. “Not he. Nor even deluded, though he pretends. Best if you ignore him. What did he say to you?”

  “He asked after Rosa,” Caroline replied vaguely. “Mainly.”

  Williams paused. “You do know you mustn’t let her see him?”

  “Let her see him?” she repeated. “Does she want to?”

  “No,” Williams said flatly. “And don’t believe a word that bas—that man—says.”

  *

  Marcus Swayle walked directly from church to the rather disgusting town tavern. Although he wasn’t much of a man for slumming it—he liked his comforts—this was the second time in two days he’d found himself there. The first was yesterday after coming upon Javan Benedict at the castle rout.

  He knew almost at once that he shouldn’t have fled the castle, leaving Benedict, as it were, in possession of the field. But the shock had been great. And in truth, he was physically afraid of the man. It was only in the tavern, drinking a restorative brandy, that the possibilities for revenge ha
d begun to percolate.

  After the death of Louisa, Benedict had seemed to disappear from the face of the earth. Nursing his bruised body and aggrieved by the removal of Louisa’s funds from his reach, Swayle had merely been glad of his enemy’s absence. By the time he had recovered enough to re-enter London society, the juicy gossip of Benedict’s return to England had almost died down—until Swayle had added fuel to the flame.

  It had begun as mere vitriol against the man who had taken everything from him. And yes, perhaps there was a little shame in being beaten so comprehensively in a fight with a man who could barely stand. So, he never mentioned Benedict’s injuries in his version of events. And it was then he had invented two ingenious fictions—that he and Louisa had been so convinced of Benedict’s death that they had married, and that he feared for Rosa’s life at the hands of her monstrous father. Society had lapped it up greedily. Only when Richard Benedict had returned to London, had Swayle felt it politic to depart the capital for the sake of his “shattered health”.

  He’d never expected to find the Benedicts here in Blackhaven, of all places. He was short of funds and in search of a wealthy woman to part from her fortune. Preferably a sickly widow, since she was likely to be more grateful for his attentions. And of course, she might die and leave him free to enjoy his inheritance unencumbered. Having obtained an introduction to Lady Tamar, he had expected her rout to be the best place to begin his search…until he had looked into the cold eyes of his enemy.

  Well, his departure had been more of a tactical retreat than a defeat. For in the tavern, he had heard all Blackhaven’s rumors about the family at Haven Hall. And had begun to tell his old stories.

  Today, he had almost missed Miss Grey as the cart in front of him had disgorged several female servants. It had taken several seconds to connect her dowdy, respectable person to the beautiful lady he’d seen with Benedict last night. He’d followed her into church from instinct, listening and learning as he went.

  Oh yes, there were possibilities there. Smiling, he raised his brandy to his lips just as someone large and clumsy bumped into him. Remembering where he was, he slapped his hand to his pocket and caught a grubby hand. It belonged to the man who had bumped into him, a big, villainous looking individual with his hat pushed to the back of his unclean head.