Regency Romance Collection: Regency Fire: The Historical Regency Romance Complete Series (Books 1-5)

by Bridget Barton

  “Cordelia, your opinion is as of nothing to me. And why would it be? You are not favoured by our mother nor even regarded by our father; what does your opinion matter?”

  “My opinion exists in its own right, Eleonora, and it does not rest upon the approval of any member of my family, nor anyone else on earth.”

  “Such clever words, my dear.” Eleonora sneered, and Davina could feel her own anger rising.

  Cordelia had done her very best to be kind to her sister and include her in the conversation, and this was how Eleonora repaid her. The woman was absolutely dreadful and it seemed she was entirely displeased all of the time. She appeared to glean no joy or interest in life whatsoever, only amusement at her plots and schemes and spiteful retorts.

  “Are you to be having dinner with us this evening, Davina?” Lady Eleonora looked Davina up and down from head to toe.

  “Indeed, I am, My Lady,” Davina said shyly.

  “Then perhaps you might like to dress for dinner? I am sure there is a room available for you to use.”

  “Eleonora!” Cordelia cut in.

  “Lady Eleonora, I am already dressed for dinner,” Davina said with as much dignity as she could muster.

  Although Davina was very respectably dressed, her gown was an old one and by no means expensive. Despite being a wealthy man himself, Wallace Marfont had no intention of wasting his money on the niece who had been thrust upon him when her parents had passed away.

  As a result, Davina always chose gowns that were simply cut and would not date too noticeably as fashions changed. And yet, despite the plainness of her dress, Davina was rather a beautiful young woman.

  Lady Eleonora, on the other hand, was not even passably pretty. She was tall and angular, rather like her mother, but had the dull brown hair and blue eyes of her father, Cornelius. Davina could not help thinking that the woman had inherited the worst of either parent and she thought that perhaps it was her very plainness which led her to be so cruel to others.

  “Oh dear,” Lady Eleonora said with a cruel laugh as she continued to look Davina up and down. “Do forgive me; I thought that you were simply wearing an old riding gown.”

  “I shall not put up with any more of this, Eleonora. Come, Davina, let us make our way into the dining room.” And with that, Cordelia took Davina by the hand and began to lead her away.

  “I am so very sorry, my dear,” Cordelia whispered to her the moment they were in the corridor outside the drawing-room.

  “You have nothing to apologise for, Cordelia. Rather, I am very grateful to you for defending me so. You really do not need to, for I know what it costs you to argue with your elder sister. I know that she will not let it rest now that you have argued back with her.”

  “She is quite despicable at times, Davina, and yet I cannot help thinking that there is a great sadness within her. It cannot be healthy or comfortable to spend each and every day so very displeased with everything and behaving in so cruel a way. It must surely take its toll on the body and the soul alike, and I wish that there was something I could do or something I could say to her that would change Eleonora’s outlook.” Cordelia looked so sad.

  “It is a sentiment which does you credit, Cordelia. How very kind and patient you are, and how very forgiving. I wished that I had half of your goodness, my dear sweet friend.” Davina squeezed her hand.

  “Let us sit side-by-side at the dinner table. At least we shall have each other to lean upon.”

  Chapter Two

  “Well, Marfont, with the Farringtons sniffing at our heels for information about the copper mine, I think we need to search for the source of the leak. We need to find the man who has been speaking our secrets abroad and flush the devil out.” Cornelius Cunningham, tall, brutishly built, with his dull brown hair fading to gray, spoke through a mouthful of food.

  It rather struck Davina that he always did that, almost as if manners were meant for lesser mortals than him. It was an arrogance that she herself found rather insulting, not to mention entirely disgusting. However, nobody else around the table seemed the least bit aware of it. Perhaps they were all simply used to it, their feelings on the matter tamped down over years of witnessing the ugly display.

  “Would it not be better to simply hurry along with the mining searches, Father?” Oscar broke in.

  “There is no point in continuing with anything until we know who it is who tells our secrets, for it is they who need to be stopped before we continue. We do not want the Farringtons to know our every move,” the Duke retorted immediately, without pause.

  “But if we never find the culprit, Father, if we never find the source of the leak, then we shall never get started,” Lord Richard Cunningham, not keen to be silent whilst his brother spoke, interjected.

  “I must own that I am getting a little tired of my own sons second-guessing me. I find it really rather tiresome.” The Duke spoke in a manner which quietened the whole table and engendered something of an uncomfortable air that settled about the group like a shroud.

  Davina silently tried to make her way through the preposterous amount of meat on her plate, accompanied by vegetables and pastries. It really was far too much for Davina, but she did not like to leave too much behind for fear she would seem ungrateful.

  Of course, Lady Eleanor and the Duchess seemed to have no trouble whatsoever in leaving the vast majority of the food that was served to them, almost as if the effort that had gone into the making of it was of little consequence. The Duchess did, however, seemed to Davina to imbibe very much more wine than she herself thought ladylike.

  “Perhaps it might be wise to find some other conversation. After all, do we not want secrecy in this mining business?” Prudence Cunningham, with her faded red hair and watery pale blue eyes, was just about the most insipid looking human being that Davina had ever seen.

  And yet, she seemed to wield some sort of power over the entire family, the Duke included. Had one of his sons made so bold a suggestion, the Duke would have ridden high on his dignity straight across the table. However, since it was the suggestion of his wife, it seemed not to trouble him.

  “Yes, you never quite know who is listening, do you?” Lady Eleanor said, looking pointedly at Davina.

  Davina rather realised that she was going to be Lady Eleanor’s sport for the entire evening. She fully intended to continue as she had begun in the drawing-room, and Davina was starting to lose her appetite altogether.

  Nobody spoke and, clearly, everybody at the table knew exactly what Lady Eleanor meant by her slight. Davina rather thought that if she were at any other table, a table where manners were an accepted part of the evening, such a thing would not have been said without challenge. It sickened her how this family seemed to indulge each other’s worst excesses, only serving to make them worse. Quite how Cordelia Cunningham had turned into the sweet and beautiful girl she was had been entirely beyond Davina. The wonderful woman must have been, quite simply, self-taught and nothing more. She must have looked deep inside herself to find her own true person and was never afraid to be simply herself, never once trying to appeal to either her father or mother.

  “Well, perhaps we ought to talk about the little evening out that Cordelia and Davina here have planned for next week,” Lady Eleanor went on. “That is if we are to change the conversation altogether.”

  Davina cast a sideways glance at Cordelia who looked truly annoyed for the first time.

  “Well, I have only just moments before dinner begun to speak to Davina about it, and have yet to ask her properly if she will attend with me,” Cordelia said to Eleanor before she turned to Wallace Marfont. “Mr Marfont, I do hope you will have no objection to me stealing your niece away for one evening next week? It is simply that there is a poetry recital being held by Miss Florence Nelson over in Stoneden. I should very much like to attend, but should not really like to go alone.”

  “Certainly, Lady Cordelia.” Wallace Marfont smiled at her obsequiously, his fat, grizzled face wrin
kling up to the point where his eyes were almost non-existent.

  Lady Cordelia had guessed quite correctly that he would not refuse the invitation were she to make it to him directly. Davina knew precisely what sort of man her uncle was. He would toady to the Cunninghams in their presence and moan about them wildly behind their backs.

  Wallace Marfont was the brother of Davina’s long dead father. Casper Marfont had been a good and kind man, a clergyman who had married Davina’s mother out of the purest of love.

  When her beloved parents had died in a fire at their home from which she herself had managed to escape, Davina was sent to her only living relative, Wallace Marfont.

  She had seen nothing of her uncle prior to then and did not have to wonder for long why it was her father and uncle seemed, in all practical senses, to have been estranged. Never could two brothers be more different than her father and Wallace Marfont. Wallace was as devious as Casper had been honest; as cruel as Casper had been kind.

  Davina had never once formed any kind of affection for her uncle, and it was clear that he harboured no good feelings towards her either. He had never once made her feel welcome, nor even soothed her poor broken heart when, as a child of twelve, she had lost both of her parents. He seemed immediately vexed that he had been encumbered with the child, despite the fact that she was almost silent in his presence, did much work inside his home, and asked for nothing.

  He seemed almost to take some sort of perverse delight in seeing that she went without just a little here and a little there; her clothing a case in point.

  However, Davina sought nothing from him and wanted nothing from him. Were he to buy something particular for her, she would have felt too uncomfortable to receive it; such was the low feeling she had for the man.

  However, she remained as respectful as she could possibly be and gave him not one reason to turn her from his house. She behaved herself at all times and knew, deep down, that he would seek for any ridiculous pretext upon which to dismiss her and render her homeless and without family.

  “How very kind of you, Mr Wallace,” Cordelia said with a smile.

  “I think nothing of poetry,” Richard Cunningham said imperiously. “It is pointless and ridiculous.”

  Davina, despite trying to keep her eyes on her food, allowed them to flick up just briefly to look at Richard. He was almost as insipid as his mother and had inherited her pale, faded red colouring. He was so slim and angular that he gave the impression of delicately picking his way through life with the utmost disdain. Whilst he was not an ugly man, neither was he an attractive one. Surely only the fact that he was to inherit the Dukedom would be the only thing which would one day secure him a wife. He had the aquiline features and the angular body of the natural-born aristocrat.

  “Nor I, Richard. I think it is most dreadfully dull,” Eleanor said, returning to her theme of the drawing-room.

  “Then perhaps it is a good thing that neither one of you are coming with us,” Cordelia said with a smile, although Davina could almost sense her frustration.

  How awful for so bright and tender-hearted a young woman to have to live among such people. For all their breeding, and every privilege they enjoyed, Davina could not help thinking that the Duchy of Horndean was filled with people who might well have made better savages.

  “Perhaps I ought to go with you,” Oscar Cunningham almost purred.

  As he spoke, it was clear to all that he was looking directly at Davina, making no reference whatsoever to his sister. Lord Oscar Cunningham’s regard of her, as always, made Davina feel dreadfully uncomfortable. Of course, she had to look at him. He had addressed her almost directly, and she could do no other than attend him. However, when she looked at his face and saw the open leering, she felt herself blush.

  Davina Marfont was in no way attracted to Oscar Cunningham, despite the fact that he was very much more handsome in his face than his older brother.

  Oscar was thick-set, almost exactly the same shape as his father yet younger, firmer, and very much healthier. He had the same dull brown hair that seemed to run wild through the majority of the family and pale blue eyes. It was not his face which was unattractive, as such, rather the look he always gave her. There was something behind that man’s eyes which told Davina most clearly that the rumours which circulated about him were undoubtedly true. He assumed every woman in his presence was his God-given right, there for him whenever he wished. Davina rather thought that she would sooner die than allow the dreadful leering man to ever lay a hand upon her.

  “No!” The Duchess spoke with such vehemence that all present turned sharply to look at her. “I see no reason for you to attend this poetry evening, Oscar.” She sounded most annoyed.

  Davina knew well that the woman’s sudden vehemence was entirely because she thought Davina Marfont very far beneath her son, despite his low manners and poor reputation.

  “Do not make yourself uneasy, Mama; men do not generally like these silly, intellectual girls who turn up at every talk and afternoon of interest imaginable. I think even Oscar would agree, would you not?” Lady Eleonora stared across the table at her brother.

  “I do not mind a lady being intellectual, sister, as long as she does not talk about it in my presence. In truth, I do not need to hear a young lady speak very much at all.” And with that, Oscar threw his head back and boomed with laughter.

  Whilst Prudence Cunningham and Eleonora did not laugh, both looked rather satisfied that Oscar seemed not one bit interested in Davina. In truth, Davina was feeling rather satisfied about that herself. However, his insulting comment made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and she felt a little dizzy with anger. To make things worse, her dreadful, paunchy, red-faced uncle, already having taken too much wine, laughed heartily at the comment.

  “That’s enough,” Cornelius Cunningham said simply, and silence prevailed everywhere.

  It was not often that the Duke rode high in Davina’s regard, but she had to admit that she was rather grateful for his intervention at that moment. Had he simply allowed the two other men at his table to laugh at so ugly a comment, then she would have felt the most terrible sensation of society crumbling all around her. What an ugly, savage little family they were.

  “Well, you may have your evening out, Davina,” Wallace Marfont spoke again once, and ease of conversation had been restored to the group. “Though quite why I allow it, I do not know.” Davina now knew that he had taken on too much wine. “I ought really to put you to some sort of use. Maybe you should be a governess or go into service or something of that nature. You are of age, and I have no use for you. Now that you are twenty years, I hardly see that I ought to continue to subsidise your every move.”

  Davina could hardly believe that he was speaking of such things in public, and she felt terribly ashamed, not only of him but of her own circumstances.

  She despised her uncle and, given the opportunity, she would have lived almost anywhere else in the world. However, opportunities of that nature were something that Davina Marfont was sadly lacking.

  The food in Davina’s mouth felt simply like dry sand, and she could hardly swallow it. If only the evening could be over. Just as she could feel tears begin to spring to her eyes, she felt her hand suddenly gripped under the table and squeezed reassuringly. With Lady Cordelia Cunningham by her side, Davina managed to blink away the tears before they fell.

  Chapter Three

  Despite the coolness of the early autumn evening, Lord Lucas Farrington, brother of the Duke of Calgarth, rode out to his evening engagement on horseback. He liked nothing better than to canter through the open countryside, the cold air stinging his face as he tore through pathways of wind-tortured trees and rocky outcrops at the bottom of the steep hills.

  Where others would see an ugly wasteland, uninhabitable, not even fit for the grazing of livestock, Lucas Farrington saw raw beauty. It mattered not what time of year, whether the sun shone or the wind howled, Lucas felt entirely at one with the r
ugged landscape of the North of England.

  Of course, he would arrive at his engagement red-faced and bright-eyed with his hair dishevelled and his snorting horse in need of some refreshment. However, Florence Nelson knew him well and would have undoubtedly expected nothing less.

  Lucas had met the ageing spinster just two years previously when he was but four and twenty years. They had been introduced at an afternoon of tea and bridge in a smart and fashionable home on the edge of Winterton. They had spoken at length and, despite their differences in station and age, their keen intellects and love of the arts had seen them bonded as the firmest of friends ever since.

  Whilst Lucas did not always attend her evening events, he had been so very keen on the idea of a recitation of the work of John Keats. He only hoped that he was not about to be treated to a dreadfully dainty sort of reading, and rather wished that people would see the passion behind the gentlest of works.

  As Lucas and his trusty horse skirted the edge of the Duchy of Horndean lands, he thought idly of the ridiculous midnight excursions he and his brothers had been forced to perform at the behest of the Duke. His oldest brother, Gabriel, had been so intent on them finding the Cunningham pit entrance, the existence of which Hugh had learned about in a session of eavesdropping. Gabriel had also been keen that they find it in complete secrecy, and thus had sent them out night after night, never a word to anyone but themselves, to search for it in darkness.

  Lucas had done as he was bidden, without comment of any kind. However, he had known well that his mind had wandered on every single night that he had been sent out to look. Lucas would much rather have been at home reading or sleeping, and he had dwelt upon those particular pursuits as he wandered the perimeter of the Duchy of Calgarth lands in the darkness. More than once he had wondered if his inability to concentrate might have led him to miss this pit entrance altogether.