Ten Guineas on Love

by Claire Thornton

  I wish that I need do no more than send you my congratulations but, unfortunately, on the same day that I learnt of your advancement I received news which may have disastrous consequences for all of us here at Hazelhurst. However, on reflection I think the coincidence may be fortuitous, and that, now you are Lord Riversleigh, it may be possible for us to be of mutual service to each other.

  Just before he died, Papa ran up monstrous gambling debts and now—because, of course, we can’t pay them—his entire property is forfeit! We have to leave Hazelhurst within the month! You can’t think what a relief it is to be able to tell that to someone who won’t moan and wring their hands and say, “But Miss Charity, what are we going to do?”

  Poor Mrs Wendle; it must have come as a dreadful shock to her—she’s been living at Hazelhurst for more than forty years, ever since she first began as a chambermaid. Well, none of that’s relevant now, of course.

  Charity paused briefly, biting the end of the pen. In the relief of being able to express herself freely she had nearly strayed completely from the point, and it was going to cost Edward enough to receive this letter without her adding unnecessary digressions. She dipped the pen in the ink again and carried on writing.

  At first I didn’t know what we should do, but, after thinking about it, I believe I might have come up with a solution. One that may be of benefit to both of us—you as well.

  Do you remember Mama’s brother, Jacob Kelland, who’d been sent to India in disgrace years ago? The one who suddenly turned up here at Hazelhurst about three years ago and demanded to be taken in? He was such a fusspot. He drove Mama to distraction, worrying about the price of candles, and when he started telling Papa how to manage the estate Papa was provoked into saying that India must have ruined his disposition, as well as his health and his fortune! Anyway, he stayed for weeks—we thought we’d never get rid of him—then one morning we got up to find that he’d left in the night without even telling us; it was so peculiar—and not at all polite—but Mama was relieved. Though, I must admit, I quite liked him—he used to make me laugh.

  Oh, dear, I’ve wandered off the point again. The point is that Mama and I found out only last autumn that he hadn’t been poor at all. He knew that his health had been undermined by the Indian climate and he suddenly took a quixotic notion into his head to come back to England—posing as a poor man—and see which of his relatives most deserved to inherit his fortune! When he’d made his decision he didn’t tell anyone, he just went back to India and carried on getting richer until he died! It’s hard to believe he was Mama’s brother.

  Anyway, for some reason he decided that I was the most trustworthy person to receive his worldly goods. That’s how he described me in his will—trustworthy.

  Charity paused again, remembering the less than courteous epithets which her uncle had used to describe her parents. She didn’t intend to share those with anyone—even Edward. She continued.

  I’m afraid I’ve been gossiping on here, but I’ll try to make the rest briefer. Uncle Jacob left me his entire fortune, but I cannot have access to it until I am thirty—or until I am married. Apparently he didn’t think I was that trustworthy!

  Anyway, Mama and I agreed not to tell anyone about it, because I’m happy as we are, and I don’t want my prospects to be more attractive to the people I meet than I am.

  But now it occurs to me that I can save Hazelhurst myself—if only I can find a husband before the end of February!

  I know that an early marriage has never been part of your plans. And I suspect that, even now, you are more concerned with pursuing your studies than you are with other, more worldly considerations—but, even so, I think Uncle Jacob’s fortune may be able to serve both our interests.

  It’s no secret that Riversleigh is mortgaged to the hilt and, however conscientiously you may discharge your duties, it will be years before the estate is back on its feet. Such a situation can only be to your disadvantage, particularly as your interests lie elsewhere.

  If you were to marry me, Uncle Jacob’s fortune could buy back Hazelhurst, release Riversleigh from the most crippling of its debts, and still provide you with sufficient funds to visit Rome and the other places you have been longing to see.

  I dare say that it is very unladylike for me to make such a suggestion, but it does seem to me to be an extremely practical solution to both our problems, and I do hope that you will agree to it.

  Yours hopefully

  Charity

  She signed the letter boldly and was just about to fold and seal it when she suddenly thought of something and opened the paper up again.

  PS The lease on Bellow’s farm has now expired and, since Mr Bellow had decided to go and live with his daughter in Middlesex, you will need to look for a new tenant. Your grandfather favoured Cooper, but both Mr Guthrie and I think Jerry Burden would be a much better choice. I hope you will look into this matter as soon as possible because it is not profitable to you or Jerry to leave the farm untenanted for long.

  She glanced quickly through what she had written, refolded the letter, sealed it and wrote the direction on the outside. Then she sat back with a sigh of satisfaction that she had at least done something towards saving Hazelhurst. Now all she had to do was send the letter off and wait for Edward to reply.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Good morning, Mr Guthrie. Isn’t it a lovely day?”

  “Aye, so it is, Miss Charity,” replied Mr Guthrie, the land agent for the Riversleigh estate. “Though I’m told all this melted snow has rendered the roads well nigh impassable halfway to London.”

  “But the sky is blue, the sun is shining and I’ve found some snowdrops. Look!” Charity held the flowers up in the bright morning light for the land agent to see. “Who cares about a little mud?” she finished exultantly. It was true that earlier that morning she had been quite worried in case the mailcoach foundered. But out in the sunshine her doubts could not linger, and now she was convinced that it would not be long before Edward would be reading her letter.

  It was only two days since Mr Canby had visited, but the weather had broken and Charity had been unable to stay indoors a moment longer. She had gone out into the garden and then, enticed by the crisp fresh air, she had walked down the drive to the gate. It had been while she was standing there that Mr Guthrie had passed by.

  The land agent’s dour expression softened slightly as he looked down at Charity and the fragile blooms she held in her hand.

  “I’ve always had a fondness for the brave wee flowers, growing in the snow,” he said, managing to give the impression that he was rather ashamed to admit to such a weakness; then he swung down stiffly from his horse.

  “Does your leg hurt?” Charity asked, concerned to see how awkwardly the land agent was moving.

  “No, no. Mebbe the cold weather aggravates it—but nothing to speak of,” he said impatiently, his Scottish accent more pronounced than usual.

  “So don’t fuss, woman!” Charity finished for him.

  Mr Guthrie looked at her disapprovingly. “You ought to mind that pert tongue of yours,” he said. “One day it will get you into trouble.”

  “It already has—many times,” Charity agreed, undaunted by the grim expression on his weatherbeaten face. “Would you like some snowdrops?”

  Without waiting for a reply, she stood on tiptoe and carefully inserted a small bunch of flowers into Mr Guthrie’s buttonhole.

  “Thank you,” he said gruffly. “Is it true you must leave Hazelhurst?” he continued, his sharp eyes scanning her face intently as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. “You’re looking more cheerful than I had expected.”

  “There, it’s amazing what a difference a buttonhole can make,” Charity said. “If you’d only smile a bit more often you’d look quite festive. Yes, it’s true. But I hadn’t expected the news to get out quite so soon.”

  “You sent Charles to post a letter for you yesterday. I dare say the whole village knows by now,” said Mr Guthri
e drily.

  “So I did; I’d forgotten that,” Charity said ruefully. “Never mind, it was bound to come out sooner or later, and I dare say people will lose interest very quickly. I think your news is much more dramatic. It must have been a terrible shock to you, Lord Riversleigh and Mr Riversleigh being killed at the same time like that,” she added in her forthright manner.

  “It was,” said the land agent grimly. “There’ll be great changes at Riversleigh now, I don’t doubt.”

  “For the better, surely?” said Charity.

  She had known Mr Guthrie for a long time and she was well aware that he had shared her dislike for his late master. In fact, she had often wondered why the land agent had remained at Riversleigh, and she had been sure he would be pleased with the unexpected course of events.

  “I know Edward’s always dreaming of designing the perfect building,” she said, “but he must be an improvement on his grandfather!”

  “Aye, but…”

  “Miss Charity! Miss Charity! Mrs Wendle says, please can you come at once?” A maid came running down the drive towards them, stumbling over her gown in her haste.

  Mr Guthrie’s mare shied back and tossed her head nervously, and the land agent seized her bridle and spoke soothingly to her while Charity turned to greet the girl.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “It’s Mrs Mayfield,” Ellen gasped. “She was trying to decide which furniture to take and she got upset! Please come quickly, miss!”

  “Of course. Excuse me, Mr Guthrie.” Charity smiled briefly but warmly at the land agent, then she picked up her skirts and ran back to the house, with Ellen following behind her.

  Mr Guthrie watched until she had disappeared, then he sighed and put his foot in the stirrup and dragged himself into the saddle. He had broken his right leg in a riding accident nearly fifteen years ago and it was aching more than usual today. I must be getting old, he thought; but he’d known Charity since she was a child, and he was going to miss her.

  * * *

  “Miss Charity!”

  “I’m here, Charles. What is it?” Charity looked up as the footman picked his way towards her through the crowded and dusty attic.

  It was nearly a week later and Charity had finally persuaded her mother that it would do her good to visit the Leydons, and now she was taking advantage of Mrs Mayfield’s absence to sort through the attic, trying to decide if there was anything up there worth taking with them.

  “Lord Riversleigh is here to see you, miss!” Charles announced, and, even in the gloom, Charity thought she caught sight of a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes.

  Charles had only been working at Hazelhurst for a few months, but he was already devoted to Charity and it had been he who had posted the letter for her. She had asked him not to tell anyone else she was writing to Lord Riversleigh and, as far as she was aware, he had not done so. But no doubt someone must have told him she had always been on very friendly terms with Edward Riversleigh. Never mind; if her plan succeeded he was welcome to share some of the credit.

  “He’s in the library, miss,” said Charles as he followed Charity out of the attic. “That being the only room apart from Mrs Mayfield’s where a fire’s been lit.”

  “Thank you, Charles,” Charity called over her shoulder. In her haste she was already halfway down the stairs and she didn’t pause in her headlong flight until she had burst impetuously through the library door.

  “Edward! I’m so pleased you could…” She stopped short.

  The tall man standing by the window was not Edward Riversleigh. Edward could never have appeared so casually elegant, nor could he have imposed his presence on a room so completely that his surroundings faded into insignificance. Yet the stranger had done nothing dramatic, he had simply turned at the sound of the opening door and looked at Charity; but, as her eyes met his, she was instantly aware that he possessed an aura of strength and sophistication which seemed quite out of place in the small, comfortably shabby library.

  “I…I beg your pardon, sir,” she stammered, dazedly wondering how Charles could possibly have mistaken this man for the far from grand Edward. “I was expecting someone else. How…how do you do? May I help you?” she finished rather breathlessly.

  “Thank you, you are very kind,” the gentleman replied, and even in her confusion Charity could not help noticing that his voice was deep and melodious. “But I am afraid it is I who should apologise to you.”

  He came towards her as he spoke and as the light from the window fell on his face she could see that he had grey eyes, a firm chin and a decisive mouth.

  He halted before her and bowed courteously over the hand she instinctively offered him.

  “You…you should?” Charity said, still somewhat confused by his presence, and disconcertingly aware of the firm clasp of his fingers on hers.

  “Certainly.” The gentleman straightened up and released her hand. His expression was grave, but there was a distant glint of amusement in his grey eyes as he looked at Charity, though she was far too bewildered to notice it.

  “I believe I have the honour of addressing Miss Mayfield…Miss Charity Mayfield?” he said, his eyebrow lifting enquiringly as he spoke.

  “Yes, but…”

  “It’s always wise to make certain of these things, don’t you think?” he continued smoothly. “My name is Jack Riversleigh.”

  “Jack Riversleigh?” Charity echoed, staring up at him blankly.

  “Richard’s son,” he explained. “Richard was the late Lord Riversleigh’s second son.”

  “Oh!” Charity gazed, open-mouthed, at her unexpected visitor, still so stunned that it was several minutes before she understood the significance of what he had said.

  “You mean you come before Edward in the succession?” she said at last.”

  “I’m afraid so,” he agreed.

  “But I thought Richard died in disgrace years ago!” Charity burst out, losing some of her awe in her amazement at this remarkable turn of events.

  Lord Riversleigh smiled.

  “My father died in the most respectable of circumstances seventeen years ago,” he said. “I believe it was only the late Lord Riversleigh who held him in such aversion.”

  “I’m sorry.” Charity blushed, painfully aware of what a poor impression she must be making. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just that…it’s all rather surprising. Good grief!” she exclaimed suddenly. “You must have received my letter!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jack Riversleigh said gently. “It was that which prompted my visit today. I thought, in the circumstances, you would prefer to be appraised of your misapprehension in private.”

  “Oh, how dreadful!” Charity put up her hands to her burning cheeks and closed her eyes, not really listening to what he was saying as she realised with horror that she had proposed marriage to a stranger!

  “Come, I think you should sit down,” he said, and he guided her unresistingly to a chair. “You’ve had quite a shock.”

  “No, no, I’m all right,” she said mechanically.

  Her thoughts were in such a turmoil of confusion and embarrassment that she hardly knew what to say—or do—but almost instinctively she sought refuge in her role as hostess.

  “I’m so sorry, I should have invited you to sit down, my lord,” she said with an attempt at polite formality, which she immediately spoiled by bursting out impetuously, “Oh, dear! You must have formed the most dreadful impression of me!”

  “No.” Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, he laughed. “No, Miss Mayfield, dreadful is not the word I would have used. I apologise for startling you; I should have introduced myself less baldly.”

  Charity looked at him doubtfully. Then she smiled hesitantly. Now that her first shock was receding she could see that the strength in his face was tempered by humour, and she began to feel slightly more at ease with him. She thought that perhaps it was his fine black coat which had made him seem so grand—and then realised almost immediately that h
e must be in mourning for his grandfather.

  She felt relieved to have discovered the reason for her unexpected lack of composure earlier, and instantly resolved never to be impressed by fine clothes again. Then, just as she was about to make a polite comment on the weather, or the state of the roads, or some other bland, innocuous topic—to indicate her own level of unconcern and sophistication—it suddenly dawned on her that he was finding the situation amusing, and she began to feel flustered all over again.

  She raised startled and rather alarmed eyes to his—and then began to feel more comfortable as she realised that, although he was certainly amused, he was equally definitely not gloating over her discomfiture. She even thought she detected a gleam of sympathy in his expression.

  She thought ruefully that he might well find it amusing to receive a proposal of marriage from a woman whose existence he had hitherto been completely unaware of and cursed herself for not having addressed the letter more precisely.

  “Good,” he said when he saw she had recovered at least partially from her initial astonishment. “I was sure you would have too much presence of mind to be overset by my visit. I believe, in fairness to you, I ought to explain how this peculiar situation has arisen—if you’re interested?”

  “Oh, yes!” said Charity, leaning forward eagerly and momentarily forgetting her embarrassment in her desire to find out just how it had come about that Riversleigh had been inherited by a complete stranger. “Oh, I beg your pardon.” She blushed again as she suddenly remembered all her mother’s lectures on decorum. In a belated attempt to make amends for her unmannerly interest she sat up straight and folded her hands demurely in her lap. “I mean, thank you, that would be very kind of you.”