The Outrageous Belle Marchmain

by Lucy Ashford

  He looked up at her and patted her dappled mare’s neck. ‘All set,’ he said flatly. ‘You’d best be off.’

  She nodded her head in curt thanks, then without a backward glance she rode swiftly and competently down the path.

  Adam Davenant shrugged on his coat and watched her go, his gaze narrowed.

  How her pretty green eyes had glittered with contempt when she spoke his name. Mr Davenant has no more right to this land than those black crows circling above the trees.

  She hadn’t recognised him. But one thing was very clear—she hated Adam Davenant like poison. He’d already guessed who she was. If his guess was correct, she had a brother who was heading for big, big trouble. With him.

  Chapter Two

  London—two months later

  Belle Marchmain rather distractedly picked up a length of pink ribbon from the display on the counter, then put it down again in the wrong place. Apprehension shadowed her dark-lashed green eyes as she said at last, ‘I’m sincerely hoping this is some foolish jest of yours, Edward.’

  Outside in the Strand the May dusk was starting to fall and lamplighters with clanking ladders were hurrying about their business. Normally Belle relished this time of quiet after a busy day. Once her shop’s doors were locked she would wander possessively amongst the bright lengths of silk and taffeta, herself resplendent in one of the boldly extravagant costumes that were fast making her one of the most talked-about modistes in London.

  But just now, her current attire—a striped jacket of black and green over a matching taffeta skirt, with green satin ribbons adorning her luxuriant black curls—seemed ridiculously flippant. Futile, in fact, in the face of approaching disaster.

  Belle was twenty-seven years old and had learnt to cope with much in her life. The humiliation in slow, steady steps of her once-proud family. The death of her husband five years ago. But now sheer, blind panic threatened to close in.

  It had been no surprise to see her brother, of course, at her glass-paned door, ringing the bell impatiently. She’d known he was in London for two weeks, staying at Grillon’s Hotel in Albemarle Street—‘catching up on business and old friends,’ Edward had told her blithely when he called on her a few days ago.

  He’d certainly been spending money. Grillon’s was expensive and so were the new clothes he was sporting: new boots, a new silk waistcoat, a new coat of blue superfine and smart yellow pantaloons. And now he perched on the end of her counter, full of casual confidence in his older sister’s ability to sort out his latest mess.

  ‘You can help me, can’t you, Belle?’ he cajoled. ‘This little shop of yours is doing mighty well, I hear!’

  Just then a young woman with curly brown hair burst in from the back room. ‘Madame, should I tell the girls—excuse me, I had no idea you had company!’

  Gabby—Belle’s French assistant—bobbed a curtsy to Edward, whose eyes, Belle noted with exasperation, lit up at the sight of her. Belle replied, more curtly than she meant to, ‘I’ll be with you shortly, Gabby. Yes, send Jenny and Susan home by all means, and thank them for all their hard work today, will you?’

  ‘Of course, madame! But there is something else—’

  Belle interrupted, ‘Tell me later, would you?’

  Edward watched Gabby go, then started talking again. ‘I just need a little more money, Belle.’

  ‘To pay your hotel bill? To pay for yet more new clothes? Edward, I am not doing well enough to repay your debts as well as my own.’ Belle had sat rather suddenly in one of the dainty gilt chairs her customers used.

  ‘But your business is thriving. You must be plump in the pocket!’ Edward, who was two years younger than she was, eagerly pulled up a chair to sit opposite her—admiring, she noticed, his own reflection in a nearby mirror. He was slenderly built and with the same shade of green eyes as she, the same raven black hair. But there was a hint of wilfulness, of weakness about his mouth. ‘You have clients galore,’ he went on, ‘you have servants! And dash it, Belle, you’re being as ratty as when you came back from Sawle Down that day in March, all of a stew about something.’

  If Edward had been in any way perceptive, he’d have seen how his sister’s cheeks became a little paler. ‘I was saying goodbye to the land that was once ours,’ she said quietly. ‘As for my servants, Edward, as you call them, I have Gabby, two assistants and a manservant—Matt—who works for me a few hours a week. That’s all.’

  Edward shrugged. ‘Yes, but you live the high life, sister mine—you’re always being invited to routs and parties. And when you stayed with me and Charlotte you said you were even thinking of setting up another shop in Bath!’

  ‘It came to naught,’ she answered rather tightly.

  ‘Hmm.’ Bored already, Edward was picking up a little silk fan. ‘Nice trinket, this.’

  Belle snatched at it and put it down with something of a snap. ‘Edward—’ she was gazing directly at her younger brother ‘—Edward, I think you’d better tell me everything.’

  So he did. And Belle’s heart sank almost as low as she’d known it, while Edward recounted the entire sorry tale. In which everyone in the world was at fault, except, of course, himself.

  At twenty-one Edward had inherited the Hathersleigh family’s estate near Bath—or what remained of it—and within the year he’d married his sweetheart, Charlotte. By the time of their wedding Belle was living in London. And whenever she saw Edward he was forever telling her how the estate was thriving, and, of course, how clever he was.

  Just over a year ago he’d announced to her that he’d sold a large portion of the estate’s land to a neighbour—Adam Davenant. Belle had felt apprehension and more. She’d never met the man. He owned, she was aware, estates all over the country and wasn’t often in Somerset. But she knew her father had loathed Davenant—called him a money-grubbing upstart.

  ‘Did you have to sell to him, Edward?’ Belle had asked at the time.

  ‘Yes,’ Edward said flatly, ‘and Davenant was desperate to buy. You know what all these new-money families are like, Belle. They want as many acres

  as possible in hopes of making themselves respectable.’

  Belle had grieved the loss of the land at Sawle Down, but had hoped that Edward would concentrate on making a success of what remained of their ancestral estate near Bath. Hoped that marriage and family responsibilities might perhaps be the making of

  him.

  Some hope. The amount Davenant offered for the land had, in fact, turned out to be derisory—though he was now set to make a fortune from his purchase, because the sudden surge in price of Bath stone had made the old quarry there workable once more.

  He must have known. Must have deliberately set out to swindle them. And now, with the London dusk closing in around her and Edward staring at her with that half-defiant, half-scared look that she knew of old, Belle rubbed her temples with her fingertips as her brother told her anew—rather resentfully, as if

  it were her fault—that last summer’s harvest had been a poor one, thanks to the rain that had ruined his wheat. ‘And the taxes, Belle! Last year this blasted government brought in new taxes on barley, on farm horses—anything that grew or moved, basically!’

  Then Edward proceeded to remind her that the roof of Hathersleigh Manor had needed replacing entirely. ‘Uncle Philip neglected the place so badly,’ Edward complained. ‘The roof had to be fixed, or the thing would have caved in.’

  Their father’s brother, the dour Philip Hathersleigh, had overseen the estate from their father’s death fourteen years ago until Edward reached his majority. Belle didn’t feel particularly close to Uncle Philip—even less to his shrewish wife Mildred—but she’d formed the opinion that Philip was a sound, careful man whose advice Edward had rashly spurned, with the result that Uncle Philip and his wife had retreated back to their estate in the north with little love lost.

  ‘Look after the paperwork, young man,’ Uncle Philip had said grimly to Edward. ‘And get yourself sound legal ad
vice, if you want to stand any chance of holding your inheritance together.’

  Edward had blithely ignored Uncle Philip’s warnings; her brother’s desk, Belle couldn’t help but notice on her March visit, was overflowing with neglected files and unread correspondence. And, of course, with bills.

  ‘So the new roof and taxes got you into debt,’ she now said steadily. From the back of the shop she could hear the merry voices of her assistants making their departure. Could hear Gabby’s laughter and Matt’s deep voice as he began to lock up. ‘Surely though, Edward,’ went on Belle, trying to keep calm, ‘the income from the estate could have kept your debts at bay?’

  ‘I did get on top of my debts, Belle. Or at least, I thought I had. You see, back in February—it was just before you came to stay with us, actually—I sold some of the sheep from that land Davenant purchased from me last year.’

  ‘You did—what?’ breathed Belle. She felt suddenly cold.

  Edward shrugged, but his cheeks were pink. ‘I sold some of Davenant’s stock. He’s so rich I thought he wouldn’t even notice.’

  Belle said, ‘You stole from him. Oh, Edward. You stole from that man.’

  Edward jumped to his feet and walked around the candlelit shop with his hands thrust defiantly in the pockets of his new coat. ‘Stealing? Hardly—his sheep had strayed because he’d not bothered maintaining his fences. And dash it all, Belle, you could say that Davenant was stealing from me, you know? He paid me a pitiful amount for that land I sold him and if that isn’t stealing, I don’t know what is! Belle—Belle, are you all right?’

  A spring evening, on Sawle Down. A stranger, whose arrogance had made her cheeks burn. Are you querying his right to this land? he’d asked cuttingly. And he’d only been one of Davenant’s labourers.

  Something tightened painfully in her chest, as it did whenever she remembered that hateful day. She dragged herself back to the equally unpalatable present. ‘You were telling me you’d stolen some of Mr Davenant’s sheep.’

  ‘I wouldn’t exactly call it theft! But then Davenant found out about the sheep, curse it, and I got a lawyer’s letter...’

  Edward told her all this very rapidly, almost indignantly, as Belle sat there in her bright-striped jacket with the green ribbons trailing from her hair.

  I have fought. I have fought so hard, to make this new life for myself.

  ‘Davenant himself came to call on me two months ago,’ Edward was continuing. ‘In Somerset, just after you’d been to visit.’

  Belle clenched her hands. ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘Oh, positively detestable, you can imagine, risen from rags to riches in a generation. “Miner Tom”, they called his grandfather—made the family fortunes from tin in Cornwall. As for Davenant—well, he’s a big fellow dressed in black, a positive boor—what more can I say? I tell you, Belle, not a pleasant word passed his lips during our conversation. He told me I was nothing less than a sheep-stealer—as if a few sheep should matter to him!’

  Belle was finding she could scarcely breathe. She twisted the slender wedding ring on her finger. ‘Is this why you’ve come to London?’

  ‘Well, yes. Davenant demanded another meeting—demanded, can you credit it? He said he’d travel to Somerset again to see me if I preferred, but I—actually, I didn’t prefer it, not with the baby due, you know?’

  Belle did know. She knew that Edward’s poor wife had already had two miscarriages within the past two years, and she dreaded to think what would happen if Charlotte lost this baby.

  ‘Anyway,’ went on Edward, ‘we met the other day at my hotel, and Davenant had all the figures with him about his sheep—now, isn’t it the sort of thing a normal fellow would leave to his man of business? But, no, I’d swear the creature had gone through all his stock lists with a toothcomb. Dash it, he must make thousands a week from his various interests!’ He gesticulated angrily. ‘Nevertheless, he told me that my debts regarding those dratted sheep could not be ignored.’

  Outside in the Strand a crowd of merrymakers went by on their way to an evening in the clubs of St James’s. Belle waited for the noise to fade and asked, ‘Has Charlotte any idea of this?’

  ‘No,’ he said defiantly, squaring his shoulders. ‘Poor Charlotte, not a thing, and I don’t want her to. She’s delicate, you know?’

  And what if I were delicate? Belle bit back the retort, knowing it was ridiculous to expect Edward ever to see her as anything other than his capable, shrewd-headed older sister. But she had to think. This could be disastrous.

  Adam Davenant was after Edward, not her. But her shop, her own small savings—would they be implicated? Would everything she had worked so hard for since her husband’s death be lost?

  For a moment sheer panic clawed at her chest. Somehow she fought it down and forced herself to say calmly, ‘Is there any possibility that Mr Davenant will let you pay this sum back gradually, month by month?’

  ‘Good God, I doubt it. He’s a grasping wretch, Belle!’ As Edward distractedly pushed his dark hair back from his forehead, he unintentionally laid bare the old, white scar that puckered the skin there. ‘He’s told me I’ve got to bring the money to his house in Mayfair within the week or he’ll press charges. Damn it, if I had it, I’d hang it round the necks of a few sheep and get them herded up the steps of his fancy house.’

  Belle briefly rested her forehead in her hand.

  ‘You’ll help me, won’t you?’ Edward pleaded. ‘Charlotte. Our home. The new baby... I can’t go to prison, Belle. I can’t...’

  * * *

  Belle had always been aware that the once-renowned Somerset estate of the Hathersleigh family had, thanks to the profligacy of successive generations, dwindled to very little—unlike, unfortunately, the aspirations of its title-holders.

  She’d also had to face up to the fact that her own prospects were bleak when her husband died five years ago in one of Wellington’s final campaigns of the war. She’d had to make harsh choices: either to move in with Edward at Hathersleigh Manor, or to earn her own living. In fact, imposing herself on Edward never seriously crossed her mind and the idea of being a governess or companion horrified her. Certain offers she’d received from so-called gentlemen repelled her even more.

  Then inspiration had come. She had always been a talented seamstress and was fascinated by the women’s fashions that ebbed and flowed like the long Napoleonic wars, so—in the face of her brother’s disapproval—she’d decided to open a dress shop in London.

  Her designs were bold and eyecatching. Outrageous, some of the ton’s older matrons were heard to intone witheringly. Her shop, though small, was well situated in the Strand, and she and Gabby lived in the two rooms above it. Soon she’d begun to attract customers who were tired of soft pastels and wanted something different, but she was by no means making a fortune. She was lucky if her own rent and bills were paid every quarter day. How on earth could she deal with Edward’s debts?

  Now, as the candles flickered around the bright silks and satins in this little shop, which she felt sick at the thought of losing, she looked at her brother steadily and said, ‘There’s no point in my even asking the amount of your debt to Mr Davenant, Edward, for I know I won’t be able to pay it. But I will go and see him for you.’

  ‘Go and see him?’ Her brother was astonished. ‘And then what? I’m damned if you’ll grovel on my behalf in front of that—that nouveau-riche upstart!’

  A flash of anger darkened Belle’s eyes. ‘I have never grovelled in my life. I will simply explain that you realise you have made a grave error—’

  Edward jumped up, about to protest, but something in Belle’s steady gaze made him clamp his lips together and sit down again.

  ‘That you’ve made a grave error,’ she repeated, ‘and would be grateful if Mr Davenant would accept your word of honour that your debts will be paid off steadily over—what? Three years, Edward?’

  He looked sullen now, a little boy again. ‘Three years! I suppose so. Times ar
e hard, though Davenant’s thriving, blast the fellow...’

  ‘I shall go and see him,’ said Belle quietly. ‘And I’ll let you know how I get on.’

  He got up to pace to and fro, nodding. ‘Very well. And put on some charm, eh? Come to think of it, Belle, a second marriage for you, to some rich fellow—not Davenant, of course, God forbid—could be the answer for both of us. You’re really not at all bad-looking, if you’d just make an effort not to frighten the fellows off with those startling clothes and that sharp tongue of yours.’

  This time, there was an edge of ice in her voice. ‘Let me assure you I have absolutely no intention of getting married again. Ever.’

  Her brother shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. I’ll stay on in town for a week or so at Grillon’s, so you can let me know there when it’s all sorted with Davenant, can’t you?’ He started putting on his hat, checking his reflection in the mirror.

  ‘Edward,’ Belle said suddenly. ‘You’re not going to visit any of the gambling dens, are you?’

  He swung round. ‘Gambling dens? Never. And thanks for this, Belle. Some day I’ll return the favour.’

  Breezily Edward let himself out. Belle sat with her hands frozen in her lap, immobile.

  Gabby came in rather hesitantly. ‘Are you free,

  madame? I wanted to tell you that there was a little trouble earlier.’

  Belle’s heart sank anew. ‘What kind of trouble?’

  ‘Jenny told me about it. It appears that when you and I were measuring Lady Tindall in the back workshop for her new gown, a customer came in and complained about a cuff that was loose on a pelisse she bought last week.’

  ‘What did Jenny do?’

  ‘She mended it there and then, and the customer left—but she was so unpleasant, Jenny said! And she declared she would not be using our shop in the future!’

  ‘Well, it sounds as if we’re better off without her,’ Belle soothed and Gabby went off, looking happier, to tidy the workroom. Originally from Paris, the lively French girl had come to Belle’s notice when she’d advertised for an assistant seamstress and Gabby had proved invaluable, good both with the customers and with the two girls Belle also employed.