‘Oh. I have no wish to embarrass you, Uncle. Would it not be better to go somewhere else this summer—Brighton, perhaps?’ asked Carlotta, hopefully.
A look of distaste flickered over his face. ‘I have never been one of the Prince’s set and would prefer that you were not brought to their attention. No, we shall go to Malberry. Your aunt mentioned that the clerk of works had seen you at the Court. I know from Ainslowe himself that he has sent the man off to oversee the building of his hunting lodge in Leicestershire. It is therefore highly unlikely that he will return during our visit. It is my hope that by the end of our stay at Malberry Court, it will be unnecessary for us to worry further over your origins.’
‘You mean, sir, that I should accept an offer of marriage if I receive one.’
‘But of course you should!’ Lady Broxted looked at her in surprise. ‘After all, that is the reason we took you under our wing, is it not?’
‘Yes,’ said Carlotta, stifling a sigh. ‘I suppose it is.’
‘I do not wish to pain you, Carlotta, but you have very little choice,’ her uncle pointed out. ‘What does the future hold for you, if you do not marry? Perhaps you have some idea of making your living as an artist, but you must know how precarious that would be, and you must not be thinking that I should feel obliged to give you a pension,’ he said, his face hardening. ‘I am afraid I could not bring myself to condone your choice of a lifestyle that could only bring more disgrace upon our family.’
‘So you consider Mama disgraced herself when she married an artist,’ said Carlotta, angry colour warming her cheeks.
‘No, of course he does not,’ put in Lady Broxted quickly. ‘I am sure—’
The earl raised his hand. ‘Please, madam, I think it is time my niece realised her situation. When we offered you a home, Carlotta, it was in an effort to reinstate a branch of the family. It has never been my intention to allow you to follow in your mother’s footsteps.’
Carlotta choked down the angry retort that rose to her lips. She had always known the whole point of bringing her to town was to find her a suitable husband—her aunt had never made a secret of the fact. How could she now say it was not what she wanted?
Chapter Eight
At the assembly the following evening, Mr and Mrs Price and their daughter could talk of nothing but the forthcoming visit to Malberry. They were discussing the subject when Carlotta and her aunt came up to them, and immediately drew Lady Broxted into the conversation.
‘We were just saying how much we are looking forward to seeing Malberry Court,’ said Mr Price in his blunt, jovial way.
‘Yes, we have heard much of the refurbishment,’ said Lady Broxted.
‘Well, here is one gentleman who can tell us if it is worth all the fuss!’ Mr Price looked past Carlotta and beckoned. ‘Lord Darvell, well met, sir. We are discussing Malberry—you were there when the work was being carried out, I understand. Tell us, is it as fine as everyone says?’
Luke paused. He did not look at Carlotta, but he was very aware of her standing so close, those expressive eyes shuttered, her countenance impassive.
‘Better,’ he replied. ‘My brother has spared no expense, the most fashionable architect was employed, and the finest artist available…’
From the corner of his eye he saw Carlotta jump and turn away. Damnation. He had intended to ignore her, but now, standing so close, he could not help himself; he would do anything to get behind the mask of indifference.
‘Aye, so I heard. An Italian.’ Mr Price gave a hearty laugh. ‘I hope there’s nothing on the walls that will shock the ladies!’
‘Oh, I would not think that likely, in the house at any rate,’ murmured Luke. ‘What do you say, Miss Rivington?’
Carlotta wanted to glare at him, but she was aware of her aunt’s nervous looks; it would not do to raise suspicions. She shrugged. ‘As I have never been a guest at Malberry, I could not say. I am sure Mr Ainslowe has commissioned everything in the very best taste.’
She turned away, but his voice followed her.
‘Miss Rivington is something of an artist herself. She is very good.’
‘My niece?’ Lady Broxted gave a nervous little laugh. ‘Wh-whatever gives you that idea, my lord?’
Unable to escape, Carlotta turned back to confront her tormentor. She raged inwardly when she saw the devilish amusement dancing in his eyes.
‘She told me so herself.’
‘Oh, do you draw, Miss Rivington?’ Mrs Price pounced on this news.
‘I prefer to paint, ma’am,’ Carlotta replied stiffly.
‘Perhaps you will take Julia’s likeness. I am sure she would sit for you, my dear.’
‘Miss Price will need a little patience, ma’am,’ said Luke. ‘Miss Rivington has promised that I shall be her first subject.’
An agitated murmur came from Lady Broxted. Carlotta’s cheeks flamed.
‘We were funning, sir. I am no portrait painter.’
‘No? I thought it was in the blood.’ He laughed. ‘You see how she colours up, Mrs Price? Miss Rivington displays a hasty temperament. Quite Latin, do you not agree?’
Mrs Price chuckled and tapped his arm with her fan. ‘What nonsense, my lord. You know very well it is your teasing that has overset her. Pray leave the child alone or you will make her afraid of you.’
‘Thank you, ma’am, but there is no danger of that,’ retorted Carlotta. ‘As well be afraid of a bag of wind!’
‘My dear!’ exclaimed Lady Broxted, mortified at her niece’s lack of manners.
Biting her lip, Carlotta excused herself and walked away. To disguise her agitation she began to tug at her gloves, which had slipped down below the elbow.
‘Take care, Carlotta, you are dangerously close to flouncing, you know.’
Luke had followed her. She almost screamed with vexation.
‘Pray leave me, sir. I do not care for your teasing.’
‘Well, that is unfortunate for you, my dear, because I have not done with this game. When you are angry you are quite…delicious.’
He reached out and drew one finger along the bare skin of her arm between the edge of her glove and the tiny puff sleeve. Carlotta shivered as his touch awakened the memory of being in his arms, of his kiss. It had been such a sweet moment and over far too quickly. She reminded herself how little that kiss had meant to him. She jerked away.
‘I will not play your game, sir!’
He bared his teeth. ‘Oh, I do not think you have any choice.’
Her eyes narrowed, but even as a sharp retort rose to her lips he bowed and lounged away, laughing.
Lady Broxted came up, frowning anxiously. ‘My dear, what did Lord Darvell mean? You have not really promised to paint him, have you?’
‘No, Aunt, I have promised him nothing,’ retorted Carlotta.
‘I am so glad.’ Lady Broxted gave a huge sigh of relief. ‘It would not do at all, my dear, and your uncle would be most displeased. I have noticed that Lord Darvell has been paying you more attention recently; he is very engaging, to be sure, but you know that his fortune is almost non-existent. Pray do not be losing your heart to him, especially now. Your uncle has hopes for something much better for you.’
‘Lose my heart?’ Carlotta gave a brittle laugh. ‘What an absurd idea, dear ma’am. Lord Darvell is an entertaining flirt, but when he is gone I never give him a moment’s thought.’
In an effort to prove the truth of her words, Carlotta threw herself into the dancing with an excess of energy. However, when she joined Miss Price a little later, the subject of Malberry Court was raised once again.
‘I am so glad you are going to be there with me,’ Julia said in her shy way. ‘I feel I know you so well now.’ She blushed a little. ‘Viscount Fairbridge has been invited, too. Did you know?’
‘Yes, I had heard,’ replied Carlotta. She added with a twinkle, ‘Perhaps he will propose to you while we are there—would you like that?’
Julia’s blush deepened to c
rimson. ‘I should like that very much.’
‘So should I.’ Carlotta smiled, not at all overset at the thought of losing one of her suitors. She only hoped her aunt and Lady Fairbridge would not be too disappointed.
‘I have never received an offer of marriage,’ murmured Julia. ‘Have you, Carlotta? Has a young man ever proposed to you?’
‘No, but—’
‘But?’
Julia was watching her and Carlotta shook her head.
‘Nothing. No one has ever proposed to me.’
But he was going to do so. The words ripped through her. She had been convinced Luke was going to propose…
He had escorted her home from Malberry Court after the storm. It had stopped raining and the clouds were breaking up, allowing a fitful moonlight to cast its blue-grey light over the park.
‘It must be close to midnight,’ he said. ‘Wait here while I collect my horse, and I shall walk you to your door.’
She waited obediently, listening to his footsteps as he strode away into the gloom. She was not afraid of the dark and knew she was quite capable of making her way home alone, but she did not want to say goodbye to Luke. Luke—just thinking of his name spread a warm glow inside her, even though she knew she could not call him by that name, not yet.
When he returned, she stepped down on to the drive to join him.
‘The ground is very wet,’ he said. ‘Shall I throw you up onto the saddle?’
‘Thank you, but no. I would much rather walk with you.’
‘Then give me your hand. I do not want to lose you.’
They walked in silence, the only sound their footsteps on the gravel and the drip, drip of water from the trees.
‘Will you be leaving Malberry soon, sir?’
‘Yes. I must go to my own house, it is in Worcestershire—Darvell Manor. I have business there. I have already delayed here too long.’
‘Oh…’ She hesitated. ‘Your brother’s affairs have taken more time than you expected?’
Glancing up, she saw his teeth gleaming in the dim light.
‘No, sweet torment, I remained here for pleasure only.’ She heard him sigh. ‘I sought to pass the time here with a little idle dalliance, but—’ Angrily she tried to pull her hand away. His hold tightened. ‘Wait until I have finished, Carlotta. But, I found myself enchanted.’
‘You cannot blame me for that,’ she said stiffly. ‘I never sought to entrap you.’
‘No. That was my downfall.’
‘Oh.’
He stopped and pulled her round into his arms. ‘This is madness, my dear, our worlds are so different. I have been wild, reckless even; you are such an innocent you could not begin to understand. And yet why should we not be happy?’
He appeared to be talking to himself. Carlotta waited patiently, content to be in his arms. With a short laugh he turned and they began to walk again, but Luke kept one arm possessively around her waist.
‘What are your father’s plans for you, Carlotta?’
‘Why, none, sir.’
‘Is there no young man in Italy pining for you?’
She laughed at that. ‘Of course not. We left Rome two years ago.’
‘Perhaps your father wants you to marry another artist, to carry on the family business.’
‘If he does, I know nothing of it.’
Puzzled by his questions, she walked on in silence. They followed the drive to the gates and turned to walk along the road towards the village. It was a much longer route than going through the woods, but she was glad of that—it gave her more time with Luke.
‘Is your father well enough to receive visitors, Carlotta?’
‘Why, yes, sir.’
The dark shapes of the village houses appeared through the gloom, and Carlotta could see the outline of her parents’ cottage, standing square and proud in its own little garden. A candle burned in one of the windows.
‘Mama has set a light for me,’ she said.
‘Will she be anxious for you?’
‘Of course, but she knows I would not venture out until the storm had passed.’
‘Then you had best go in.’
‘Will you not come with me?’ she asked, greatly daring. ‘I am sure Mama would want to thank you for escorting me home.’
‘No, no, it is very late, and I am not dressed for such an important occasion. I shall call upon you tomorrow.’
‘Important, sir?’
He took her face in his hands and kissed her gently. ‘Say nothing of our meetings; it would be best if I explained everything tomorrow. I would have no censure fall upon you, my dear. Any blame must be mine, all mine.’ He kissed her again. ‘Until tomorrow, my sweet life…’
He stepped away from her, took the horse’s bridle and set off at a smart pace along the road. Carlotta watched him until the bend in the road hid him from her sight. A little bubble of happiness was growing within her. Tomorrow, she thought, her hand upon the latch, tomorrow my whole life will change.
Her life had changed, but not in the way she had hoped. She had not seen Luke again—until she had come to London. She realised Julia was still speaking, and gave herself a little mental shake. ‘My apologies, Julia, what did you say?’
‘I wondered why Mr Woollatt was not here tonight.’
‘I believe he has gone out of town for a few days.’ Carlotta smiled inwardly as she recalled her relief when she had heard the news.
‘Mama says she thinks he will make you an offer, Carlotta,’ remarked Julia. ‘Would it not be splendid if we were both to find husbands at Malberry?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Carlotta in a hollow voice. ‘Splendid.’
‘Miss Rivington, do tell me that my luck is in at last, and that you are not engaged for the next dance?’
She turned to find Sir Gilbert Mattingwood at her elbow. Shaking off her sombre reflections, she bestowed a sunny smile upon him. ‘I am not engaged, sir.’
He held out his arm and took her to join in a lively country dance. As they skipped and danced through the set she found herself thinking of the rumours she had heard of his impoverished state. It was a pity, she thought, for he was an engaging companion and might make a pleasant husband. He was certainly more entertaining that Mr Woollatt. Carlotta gave herself a mental shake. She was becoming positively obsessed with the subject of marriage. As the music ended Sir Gilbert took her arm.
‘Let us go and find some refreshment.’
They strolled into the next room where a table was set out with several punch bowls. Lord and Lady Broxted were standing nearby with Mr and Mrs Ainslowe, and it was only natural that when Sir Gilbert had served Carlotta with a cup of punch they should join the group.
‘So hot!’ exclaimed Lady Broxted, fanning herself vigorously. ‘I do not know how you young people have the energy to dance. I shall be very glad to go down to Malberry next week, for it is always so much cooler in the country.’
‘Aye, so it is, ma’am,’ agreed James Ainslowe. He turned to Sir Gilbert. ‘I was telling Lord Broxted about that picture I won from you. I have sent it on down to Malberry Court.’
Carlotta sipped at her punch, wondering that Sir Gilbert should not be embarrassed at this allusion to his gambling debts. However, he did not appear to be in the least discomposed, and merely bowed.
‘The canvas is so large I have always thought it more suited to a country house.’
‘A Tiepolo, is it not?’ interpolated Lord Broxted.
‘Aye,’ Mr Ainslowe nodded. ‘Maeceanas Presenting the Arts to Augustus, or some such thing. Is that correct, Mattingwood?’
‘Yes, something in that line. I was never greatly interested in art.’
‘Well, it does not matter, for I shall ask Signor Durini to have a look at it while I am there.’
Carlotta stiffened. Lady Broxted looked anxiously at her husband and plied her fan energetically.
‘Your pardon, Ainslowe,’ said Sir Gilbert. ‘I did not catch that name?’
‘Giovanni Du
rini, the artist I have working at the house.’
‘I hope you are not suggesting my painting is not genuine,’ cried Sir Gilbert, feigning outrage.
‘Don’t be such a fool, Gil.’ James grinned. ‘But since Durini is at hand I shall ask him what he thinks of it.’
‘Is not the work on the house complete now, Ainslowe?’ Lord Broxted’s tone was so studiously casual that Carlotta had to suppress a nervous giggle.
‘Oh, the house itself is finished,’ replied James. ‘Durini has been painting the temples in the gardens this summer. His work is magnificent; I cannot wait to show it off to you all.’
Carlotta swelled with pride at this, but her aunt’s anxious face sobered her. Sir Gilbert touched her hand.
‘Another cup of punch, Miss Rivington?’
‘Yes, yes, if you please, sir.’
‘And when do you set off for Malberry, Mrs Ainslowe?’ asked Lady Broxted, anxious to move the conversation away from art.
‘Friday next, to make everything ready for you all to join us the following week. I would have liked to go down sooner, but we are engaged to Lady Ottwood for her entertainment on the Thursday.’
Lady Broxted nodded. ‘Yes, we, too, are going. I am told we are to dine out of doors and there are fireworks planned for the evening.’
‘Fireworks,’ exclaimed Adele. ‘How exciting. What a pity Luke will not be there. He says there is business he must attend to. But it does not matter—we will arrange something of our own at Malberry, will we not, my love?’
The Wicked Baron Page 11