Sons of the Marquess Collection

by Mary Kingswood

  “How dare you play me for a fool like this,” he said, and the intensity of his voice made her quail. How had she ever thought him agreeable? He made a grab for her, but she jumped out of his reach. He grabbed again. She was so angry she could not speak, but with one hand she swung at him to slap his cheek. Futile of course, when her gloved hand could not hurt him, and she was weak with fear. He laughed and caught her arm, pulling her so hard against him that she was crushed. Then he bent his head to kiss her.

  Robinia panicked then, and screamed. Surely someone would hear her? He slapped one hand over her mouth, and half-dragged, half-carried her off the path and through bushes that stabbed her cruelly, their branches slapping her repeatedly across the face. But it brought home the reality of her position as nothing else had. No one would hear her scream, no one would come to her aid, and if she was to escape her dreadful predicament she was going to have to do it herself. She bit down hard on the hand clamped across her mouth.

  “Ow! You little vixen!” Daker slapped her so viciously that her head spun to one side. “So you want to make this difficult?” he hissed. “No objections from me. But you will marry me, whatever I have to do to ensure it.”

  He pushed her sharply backwards, and she fell like a stone, too surprised even to cry out. She hit the ground hard, banging her head, scraping one elbow. For a moment she was dazed, too stunned to move.

  Then he was on top of her, his weight flattening her, his hands pulling at her gown, touching her. She could not move, could not scream, could not catch her breath, he was so heavy. She closed her eyes to shut out the sight of his gloating face above her. Hot tears squeezed from under her lids. There was nothing, nothing at all, she could do to prevent him.

  A crashing in the undergrowth was followed by shouts, and abruptly Daker’s weight was lifted off her. More shouts and the glorious sound of men hitting each other.

  “Miss Chamberlain? Are you much injured, Miss Chamberlain?”

  She opened her eyes. “Lord Carrbridge?” she said, bewildered.

  “You are quite safe now, Miss Chamberlain. Humphrey and Gus are just dealing with Daker. Monty, give me your cloak to wrap Miss Chamberlain in. There now — can you sit up? Tuck this around you like so, then no one will know that your dress is a little disordered. Can you put one arm around my neck, do you think? Good girl. Now, hold tight and I shall lift you up. There! Now we shall take you out by a back way and get you home in no time. No need to cry, Miss Chamberlain. You are perfectly safe now.”

  “What shall we do with this little rat?” Lord Humphrey’s voice.

  “Toss him in the river. Monty, pray give Miss Chamberlain your handkerchief.”

  And through her tears, she could not help laughing. “I believe I am well on the way to a full set of Marford handkerchiefs, my lord.”

  22: Laurel Grove

  Reggie heard the dreadful news two days later. He was sitting with Merton in the writing room, the only sound the scratching of Merton’s pen, when Crabbe brought in the mail. Reggie’s sole letter was from Humphrey, but when he opened it, he leapt from his chair with a yell of shock.

  “Good God, man, whatever is it?” Merton said, looking up in alarm.

  “Miss Chamberlain… my curricle… Crabbe! Crabbe! Ah, Fitch, tell Frank to bring my curricle round at once! At once! And tell Lark to pack an overnight bag. If the horses are ready before he is, I go without him.” He sank down into a chair, head in hands. “I should never have left town, that is the truth of it. I should have been there.”

  “Whatever has happened? Has Miss Chamberlain met with an accident?”

  “Attacked by that monster, Daker. At Vauxhall! Dragged her off the path, tried to— Dear God, I should have been there!”

  “Only tried to? He did not succeed?”

  “No.” Reggie took a long breath, then another, before answering in more moderate tones. “No, thank God. Carrbridge and the others got to her in time. I’d set them to watch over her, you see. She is safe. But still… I should have been there. Must go to London at once!”

  “It is raining,” Merton said. “Will you not at least take the carriage? Or better still, wait until morning?”

  “No, if I go now, I shall catch the mail from Sagborough. Nothing will get me to London quicker than the mail coach, Merton, and I must be there as soon as possible.”

  It was by far the most uncomfortable journey Reggie had ever undertaken. He was accustomed to travel to and from London in his curricle or one of the Marford coaches, staying only at the best inns. The mail coach, he discovered, was a rather different mode of transport, and he shared his inside seat with an assortment of red-cheeked peasantry and sombre professional men, not to mention a few chickens. His valet, Lark, escaped the company of the chickens, but enjoyed the worst of the weather from his perch on the roof.

  “You look rather wet, Lark,” Reggie said sympathetically, when they stopped to change horses. “Is it very bad up there?”

  “The view is said to be incomparable, my lord,” Lark said. “In fine weather, that is.” He sneezed.

  “You had better have the inside seat,” Reggie said resignedly.

  So it was that Reggie spent the rest of the journey enduring the swaying of the coach and the rain, now reduced to a mere drizzle. But by six in the morning, the coach at last reached London and decanted Reggie and Lark, still sneezing, onto the wet morning streets. A hackney carriage took them the rest of the way to Marford House, where Reggie astonished the night porter by arriving, soaked to the skin, dishevelled and mud-bespattered, on the doorstep unannounced. Then nothing would do but for him to go straight to Humphrey’s room, the porter wringing his hands every step of the way.

  “His Lordship only reached his bed at four o’clock, my lord. He will not like to be woken so soon.”

  “I daresay he will not,” Reggie said, striding onwards. Throwing open Humphrey’s door and marching across to the bed, he flung the curtains aside. “Wake up, Humph, it is morning already.”

  A muffled shriek, and a blond head tried to burrow under the pillow. “No, it is not!”

  “It is, I assure you, and I have to talk to you, now, this very minute. Wake up, man, for God’s sake!”

  “Reggie?” Humphrey cautiously opened one eye, and then, wincing a little, the other.

  “Tell me the worst — how badly is she hurt?”

  Humphrey groaned, rolled over and propped up pillows to lean against. “Miss Chamberlain? You know about that?”

  “Of course I know! You wrote and told me, but all you said was that she was distressed. Tell me all, Humph, I beg of you. I must know everything.”

  “She is perfectly well, apart from a little bruising where she fell, that is all. We got there before Daker could do her any real injury. Truly, Reggie, you need not have come. There is nothing for you to do here.”

  “I know I am not supposed to be here, but how could I sit tamely at home waiting for word? I must know how she is. Lady Cotter will tell me more—”

  “Miss Chamberlain is not there, Reggie,” Humphrey said. “She has gone home to Lincolnshire — left yesterday morning.”

  Reggie was silent for a moment. “Humph, lend me your curricle, like the good fellow you are. I know Gus will not, and I have to go to Lincolnshire.”

  “Where is your own? Reggie, how did you get here so quickly? And look at you — I never saw a more bedraggled specimen of humanity.”

  “On the mail coach, and a damnably uncomfortable business it was, too. Rained the whole way. I assure you I have seen enough bedraggled specimens of humanity in the last day and a half to last me a lifetime. Bedraggled chickens, too.”

  “The mail coach! Oh, famous!” Humphrey gave a bark of laughter. “Good Lord, Reggie, you must be truly in love to brave the mail coach. By all means take my curricle, but you must take my groom as well. I will not trust my horses to anyone but Tom. Look, let me see to the curricle, you go and have a bath and change. You would not want Miss Chamberlain to see y
ou looking like that.”

  “I shall not see her,” Reggie said. “I promised I would not, but I must know how she is. I must.”

  “You poor fellow,” Humphrey said sympathetically. “You are smitten. But really, Reggie — the mail coach. You will never live it down.”

  ~~~~~

  Reggie had never expected to see Laurel Grove again, and it seemed smaller than memory had made it, but warmer, its stone walls shining in the sunshine. The sun taunted him, for all the way from London he had been assaulted by abrupt rain showers, after which the sky had cleared magically to set his greatcoat steaming. He was bedraggled again, but he hardly cared. What did that matter when Miss Chamberlain had suffered such a monstrous insult. If only he had been there!

  He rattled the curricle up to the front door, and leapt to the ground, leaving Tom to mind the horses and Lark, still sneezing, clutching the overnight bag. Reggie took the steps two at a time and rang the doorbell. Then, two seconds later, he banged on the knocker and rang again.

  It was Mrs Chamberlain herself who opened the door to him. “Lord Reginald! What a pleasure! Do come in.”

  “No, no! I must not… promised… gave my word. Just wanted to know… is she all right? No grave injury?”

  “Robinia is very well, but do come in, my lord.”

  “I promised! Cannot stay… but she was not hurt? Humphrey mentioned bruising.”

  “Nothing to speak of. Do come in, my lord. She is out in the garden at present, so we may sit in the drawing room and be comfortable, and I shall answer all your questions. So good of you to come. Robinia will be so pleased.”

  “No, she never wants to see me again,” he said desperately, but Mr Chamberlain emerged from his book room, and between the two of them, they towed him to the drawing room, protesting all the way.

  “There, now do sit down, my lord,” Mr Chamberlain said. “You must allow us to thank you for your foresight in arranging for your brothers to watch over Robinia. We are so grateful, you cannot imagine. Please, will you not sit?”

  Reggie perched awkwardly on the edge of a chair, but almost immediately jumped up again, running his hands through his hair.

  “May I offer you some refreshment, my lord?” Mrs Chamberlain said with unimpaired politeness. She and her husband were still standing, waiting for Reggie to settle.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said, sitting again. “I think I should not have come, but I could not bear—” He heaved a great sigh. “I had to know.”

  “Of course you did. Brandy for Lord Reginald, Mr Chamberlain, if you will. But it will set your mind at rest if you see her for yourself, surely? She is only in the garden. I need only call to her.” She gestured to where the doors to the garden stood open, the curtains shifting gently in a rose-scented breeze.

  “She will want to thank you herself,” Mr Chamberlain added. “Here, drink your brandy, my lord.”

  “No, no,” he cried. “I gave her my word. She never wants to see me again, and I would not distress her for the world.” He leapt up once more, so that Mrs Chamberlain was obliged to stand too. “I beg your pardon,” he said, wringing his hands at his own foolishness. “I hardly know what I am saying or doing. I have been half out of my mind with worry. She is so dear to me… but I cannot… I must not… she would be so angry…” He ran his hands through his hair again. “Would not distress her for the world. So long as she is well, that is all that matters. I will leave you now.”

  And then the miracle, for there she was, standing at the open doors, gazing at him, and she was smiling.

  ~~~~~

  Robinia had heard the curricle arrive, racing up the drive with gravel spraying everywhere. By leaning forward from her seat in the summer house, she had seen Reggie leap from the curricle and disappear into the house. Her heart jumped into her throat at the sight of him, although he was startlingly dishevelled, as if he no longer cared about his appearance. Was he here for her? He must be, but… she dared not allow herself to hope. She had been so shamefully rude to him, and sent him away so decisively, that she had no reason to imagine… was it possible that he still cared for her?

  Holding her breath, she had heard his agitated voice emanating from the drawing room, heard it draw nearer then further away as he paced about the room. Poor Reggie! Even from the other side of the lawn, she could detect the anxiety in his voice.

  Tossing her book aside, she ran towards the house, careful to keep herself out of sight of the occupants of the drawing room. Stopping behind the roses, she listened to Reggie’s voice. Ah, his voice! How she had missed it, although these were not the measured tones she was accustomed to. This was a new, wilder Reggie. ‘I could not bear it… I had to know…half out of my mind… she is so dear to me…’ And still so punctilious, even in his anguish. ‘I would not distress her for the world’

  Distress? If he could only know how her heart sang at his words. ‘…so dear to me…so dear to me…’ This was not the same man who had proposed to her, who had talked of respect and admiration and love, but so calmly, without passion. This was a man who felt passion to the core of his being, who loved her so much that he had driven all the way from Drummoor to find out how she was, who cared nothing for his appearance when she was in trouble. Dear, dear Reggie.

  She walked along the rose bed and onto the terrace, standing at the open doors. And there he was, his hands tearing at his hair, his cravat disordered and was his coat wet? He looked so miserable, but then he saw her and his face changed — and she knew that all her hopes and wishes had come true.

  “Lord Reginald,” she said, curtsying, trying very hard to keep her voice steady.

  “M-m-miss Chamberlain,” he breathed.

  “Would you… care to… walk in the garden with me, my lord? It is… it is a very fine afternoon.”

  He nodded, and drifted towards her as if in a dream. But when he reached her, he gave her a very tiny smile — oh, that delightful lop-sided smile — and offered her his arm. Trembling, she took it, and they walked slowly out of the doors to the terrace and stepped down onto the lawn.

  Robinia knew she ought to speak, to thank him for his care for her, for leaving his brothers to watch over her, but her heart was too full to say a word, and he also said nothing. They progressed in silence half way across the lawn before he stopped and turned to face her.

  “Tell me truly, are you unhurt? You did not suffer?”

  “Indeed, I am perfectly well. Your brothers rescued me before Daker could do… what he intended to do.”

  He squeezed her arm convulsively, then said, so low that she could barely hear him, “Thank God!” After a moment, he said more normally, “Thank you for seeing me. I did not mean… I promised you… you must not think…”

  “That was foolish of me, my lord,” she said quietly. “It must be forgot. Everything I said that night must be forgot, I beg you.”

  “You are too generous,” he whispered. Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed the back of it and then, almost absently, turned it over and kissed her palm. She could hardly breathe, and warmth flooded her at his touch. When he lifted her hand to rest it against his cheek, and leaned against it, eyes closed, she trembled so violently that she feared she might faint. He went on, murmuring, “Miss Chamberlain, I am lost. I hardly know what I am doing, and if you do not send me away at once I very much fear I shall make a dreadful spectacle of myself and embarrass you enormously. There is an ocean of words inside me that will spill out and drown us both in nonsense if you do not. I am so much in love with you that I barely know what day it is. You must tell me to go away at once, because I cannot seem to move.”

  “Do not go,” she breathed, her hand still resting on his cheek. His skin was warm and slightly prickly, as if he had forgotten to shave. “Please, please do not go.”

  He let out a long sigh. “May we go somewhere more private? Because we are standing in the middle of the lawn in full view of your parents.”

  She laughed. “There are also two gardener
s lurking in the shrubbery, the groom and coachman watching from the stables, the entire kitchen staff at the scullery door and my sisters are at the nursery window, and every one of them is waiting for you to kiss me.”

  “Oh,” he said, eyes widening.

  “As am I.”

  “Oh. Oh, Miss Chamberlain. Robinia.” Slowly, so slowly, his face lit up with happiness.

  “I am waiting, my lord. Or may I call you Reginald?”

  “No!” He shuddered. “Never that!”

  She took a step back, and fear shot through her. Had she mistaken him? Was he not about to renew his addresses?

  “Only my aunts ever call me Reginald,” he said, with a sudden wide smile that twisted her insides delightfully. “And only when they are about to scold me, so you must never call me that unless you wish to scold me. Everyone who likes me calls me Reggie.” He hesitated, sudden anxiety flooding his face. “Do you like me?”

  She giggled. “I like you very much… Reggie.”

  “Do you like me enough to become my wife, do you think? You may scold me as much as you wish, then, for I shall not mind. I shall not mind anything, if only you will marry me, my delightful Robinia. Oh… this is not how it is supposed to be. I should make a long speech and point out all the advantages of the match, that sort of thing.”

  She giggled again. “You did that once before, and I turned you down, remember? I prefer this way. Yes, I like you — I love you enough to marry you, Reggie, and now will you kiss me?”

  He laughed and bent his head to oblige her, his lips warm and soft and very tender. Somewhere in the distance she was aware of rousing cheers, and then there was only Reggie, his arms tight about her, his lips pressed against hers, and his love warming her down to her very toes.

  23: Settlements

  Reggie stayed ten days in Brigsby, imposing once again on the Chisholms for accommodation, while spending all his time at Laurel Grove. The engagement was not yet official, but Mr Chamberlain had given his consent and Mrs Chamberlain had told all her acquaintance, in the strictest confidence. Reggie supposed that the news was all over town by now, but he did not care. He was in a daze, too happy to care much about anything except his adored Robinia. When the sun shone, they crossed the lawn to sit for endless hours in the summer house, gazing into each other’s eyes and holding hands and murmuring who knew what nonsense into each other’s ears. When it rained, they sat in the drawing room, while the rest of the household tried to pretend not to notice them.