The Unmarriageable Collection (Books 1–3)

by Lancaster, Mary

  Not that there was anything remotely amorous about his attitude, for there wasn’t. Apart from inevitable and accidental contact, he never touched her, and he also was silent and somewhat remote during the ride.

  “We’re on the Seldon estate now,” she observed as she finally recognized the landmark river and gentle slopes, and the manor house standing clear and sharp under the moonlight. “We should be able to get right up to the drive without disturbing anyone…unless I’ve been discovered missing and Eliza has had to give us away.”

  But as they approached the drive, all was quiet and most of the house lights were out.

  Matthew waited for them to catch up. “I think we must have got away with it,” he said with a quick grin. “No more wagers, Henrie.”

  “Best pay up then,” she teased. “Or it will be double or quits.”

  “Hoyden,” Matthew accused and stretched out his hand to Sydney. “I’m sorry for being ungracious. I truly do appreciate your intervention and your escort home. And for what it’s worth, I do trust you to look after Miss Maybury. You’ve certainly done better than I so far!”

  Sydney shook his hand, with a lopsided smile.

  “Be good, brat,” Matthew said to her.

  “Brat yourself,” she returned with a quick smile. “And Matthew? Perhaps ask the doctor to take a look at your head?”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed. “Good night.”

  For a few moments, they watched him ride along the side of the house to the stables, then the captain wheeled the horse around. “This way to Audley Park, I believe.”

  Once clear of the house, they rode fast for the first time, as though both horse and captain were quite familiar with the route. It was exhilarating, but also alarming, especially in wooded areas, and Henrietta found herself shrinking closer to her companion as though for protection. She pulled herself away at once, grasping the pommel with both hands instead.

  “I won’t let you fall,” he promised.

  “It’s the horse falling that worries me,” she said breathlessly. She cast a glance over her shoulder. “You’ve spent all night on our business, and I have not even thanked you.”

  He slowed the horse as the wood thickened ahead. “I beg you will not. I believe I have enjoyed it.”

  “You are just being kind,” she said, and his gaze dropped quickly to her face.

  “I’m not known for it.”

  “Then you should be.” She straightened, staring between the horse’s ears, and took a deep breath. “That night in the theater, when my family was leaving, I pretended not to see you. Someone told me who you were. I’m sorry, that was unforgivably rude.”

  “Oh, ladies give men the cold shoulder all the time.”

  “Yes, but not in this way,” she objected. “And not after such a service. I wish I hadn’t.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then something touched the top of her head, like a kiss, and her whole body flushed.

  “You’re very sweet.”

  “I wasn’t sweet at all,” she said gruffly, “so why did you help us?”

  “Boredom and curiosity.”

  She could understand both of those so well that she merely nodded, her mind flitting on to other questions. “Are you hurt that the lady wants her ring back?” She heard his intake of breath and glanced over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, that was indelicate, wasn’t it? And obviously none of my business. It’s just that I wasn’t sure you noticed she seemed hurt that you were not wearing her gift.”

  He regarded her. “Are you trying to mend my entirely irregular and adulterous relationship?”

  “Put like that, it doesn’t sound quite so romantic,” she allowed. “But I do like people to be happy.”

  “You are thinking about married couples, which is not the same thing at all.”

  “I expect it’s not so different,” she argued. “Except, I suppose, liaisons are easier to get out of. One cannot end a distasteful marriage. Or at least, not without a great deal of trouble and scandal.”

  “Are you thinking of entering such a marriage?” he inquired.

  “Hardly. Only…it never entered my head until recently that any marriage was distasteful. It was merely the duty of a lady of birth, and stupidly, I was eager to make a better one than my sisters. Only then, Charlotte married the Duke of Alvan, and I don’t think anyone can better that.”

  “There’s always a royal duke or a foreign prince.”

  “You’re making fun of me.”

  “I think you were making fun of yourself.”

  She smiled. “I was. Apart from poor Matthew’s head, I had a lot more fun tonight than I’ve had all this season. I don’t think I want to be married at all.”

  “How old are you? Nineteen? Twenty?”

  “Eighteen,” she confessed.

  “Dear God,” he uttered for no obvious reason, causing her to twist around again to look at him in surprise. His smile was twisted. “You are a bit of a handful, aren’t you? You have plenty of time to meet and marry some poor devil and lead him a merry dance. He’ll love every minute of it, too.”

  She thought about that for a moment. It didn’t sound so bad, but she couldn’t quite picture it. “What about you? Will you marry the lady if her husband dies?”

  “God, no.”

  “Don’t you love her?”

  He stared down at her. “No. There is no love on either side. And if there were, she would not marry out of her own class. Not many would. Why are we talking about marriage? Are you contemplating the evils of being forced to marry young Matthew?”

  She laughed. “Oh, that wouldn’t be evil, precisely, since we’re friends. But we are quite unsuited. And he’s too young.”

  “Says the mature lady of eighteen summers.”

  “I miss travelling,” she confided. “I didn’t think I would, because being at home and going to balls was different.”

  “Where have you travelled?” he asked curiously, and she told him something about the family’s adventures in America and Russia, Portugal and Spain.

  “I appreciate it all so much more now,” she added. “Since most people are trapped at home by the war. Sailing must be risky for you.”

  “It can be a little hair-raising.”

  “I expect that’s why you do it,” she said shrewdly. “How did you go from banking to sailing?”

  “I ran away from school. But that is a story for another day.”

  To her surprise, they were already approaching Audley Park. Over the house, the sky was already lightening.

  “It’s almost dawn,” she observed. “What time do you sail?”

  “About seven.”

  She frowned. “Where from?”

  “Close by,” he said vaguely.

  “Are you going somewhere exciting?”

  “Oh no. Mostly short journeys, around the coast and so on. How is the best way to approach the house?”

  “Follow the edge of the wood around to the back of the house and I can run from there.”

  He obeyed and at last reined in his horse. The house was still, shuttered and dark. So far as she could tell, there was no panic caused by the discovery of her absence.

  She twisted in the saddle, strangely sad that the adventure was over, instead of relieved as she should have been.

  “Thank you for everything, Captain Sydney,” she said warmly.

  A smile curved his lips and lightened his rather hard eyes. “Call me Sydney. Or Captain. But not both together. Sydney’s my Christian name.”

  “That doesn’t seem very proper,” she said. “What is your surname?”

  “Cromarty. But don’t hold it against me. One thing before you go… Don’t take risks as you did tonight. That could have been you instead of Matthew.”

  She opened her mouth to say something trite about even the lady’s servants not being stupid enough to mistake her for the captain, but seeing the seriousness in his eyes, she bit her lip and only nodded. “It was foolish,” she agreed humbly, alt
hough she spoiled it with an irrepressible smile. “But I did enjoy it!”

  He laughed. “Go away, hoyden.” His hands closed around her waist, lifting her so that she could swing her leg over the saddle, and then he let her slip gently to the ground.

  Suddenly and rather stupidly shy, she stretched up her hand. “Goodbye, Captain. And thank you.”

  “Goodbye, my sweet.” His tone was teasing as he took her hand, bent from the saddle, and kissed her fingers. He released her. “Good luck.”

  Suddenly breathless, she smiled just a little tremulously and fled across the garden toward the house. The fingers he had kissed were tingling. She stroked them with her thumb as she ran.

  *

  Captain Cromarty watched her with an odd pain behind his enjoyment. She was sweet and fun and innocent, and very much not the type of woman he admired. And yet, he liked to look at her in those shocking boy’s clothes as much as he had in her fashionable gown at the theater. When she reached the wall of the house, she really did jump up and begin climbing up the ivy, using footholds in the stone as well, as agile as a monkey and a hundred times as brave.

  He waited until she all but fell through the open window on the first floor. His breath hissed out in laughter. Thank God she was not for him. He wheeled his horse around and rode hard for the Hart.

  He arrived under a beautiful, golden sunrise, looking forward to two hours’ sleep before he went on board. But inside the inn, he was confronted by a bizarre repetition of the first evening he had seen Henrietta Maybury.

  Mrs. Villin, the innkeeper’s wife, emerged from her kitchen. “Morning, Captain! There’s a gentleman waiting in your bedchamber.”

  “For the love of… What the devil did you let him in for?”

  “He’s a gentleman, sir!” Mrs. Villin said, shocked.

  “Exactly. I’ll only kick him out again!”

  Mrs. Villin sniffed. “That’s your privilege, sir, not mine.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You do remember I asked for a private bedchamber?”

  But Mrs. Villin could not be intimidated. It was one of the reasons he liked her. “You’ll understand when you see him.”

  Cursing beneath his breath, he strode up the stairs, eager to throw out the damned lawyer so that he could sleep.

  All but kicking open his bedchamber door, he marched in. “Out, Godfrey, I won’t be har—”

  He broke off as a gentleman rose from the chair by the window. Not Godfrey but a much older and much haughtier gentleman. Ramrod straight and perfectly dressed, the pouches of age under his eyes and jowls did not diminish the fierce gleam in his eyes. His pure white hair did not seem to have thinned but merely receded at the temples. A distinguished man, still, in his own world.

  Cromarty had only seen him once in his life before, and that from a distance, beyond his father’s grave. He had never had any desire to see him again and nothing had occurred to change that.

  Cromarty threw his hat on the bed. “Forgive my rudeness, my lord, but I must ask you to bespeak your own chamber. For I am about to sleep in this one.”

  “Yes, they said you were insolent.”

  Cromarty lifted his brow. “This from the man trespassing in another’s private chamber.”

  “Trespassing!” The old gentleman waved his cane in disparagement. “I’m your grandfather!”

  When Cromarty had been a boy, he had longed for this moment. Older and wiser, now, he still took it. “No, you’re not,” he said deliberately.

  The old man smiled thinly. “Waited a long time to throw that in my face, eh?”

  Cromarty shrugged. “When I was a child, I thought it mattered because it hurt my father. It never hurt me.”

  “Godfrey told you, you’re now my heir.”

  “How can I be when my father was not your son? When you believe I was not his son and my mother some whore desperate to get her hands on the family silver?”

  The old man flushed slightly. “I was angry. I said things I did not mean. Everyone makes mistakes in their lives.”

  “You had many years to acknowledge your mistakes. There is no point in doing so to me.”

  “I came to his burial,” the old man uttered, turning away.

  Cromarty curled his lips. “That must have meant a lot to him.”

  “Damnation, you bear almighty grudges, man!”

  Cromarty laughed. “Sir, the only grudge I bear you is that you prevent me from sleeping. I sail in less than three hours.”

  “Sail? From here? Then it’s true, you’re a damned smuggler. That will have to stop.”

  Cromarty lifted one eyebrow. “Then who would supply your fine cognac?”

  The old man turned a worrying shade of purple as he tried not to rise to that bait. Eventually, somewhat to his grandson’s surprise, he succeeded. With an attempt at coolness, he asked, “Why do you bother? At five-and-thirty, are you not a little old for schoolboy pranks?”

  “Have to earn a crust,” Cromarty murmured, yawning rudely as he sat down on the bed.

  “Liar. I’m well aware the extent of the “crusts” you earn from perfectly legitimate enterprises!”

  “I have my share of the family firm,” Cromarty said carelessly. “And believe it or not, despite disappointing my own father in my initial choice of trade, I learned a lot from him. He had an eye for investments and stocks, you know. Took to it like a duck to water. In short, you might call me a “warm” man, in terms of wealth. I don’t need yours. I don’t want yours. And I certainly don’t want to move in your world, being toadied by the very imbeciles who once shunned my father and me. Let your damned title die out. I don’t care.”

  “I care!” bellowed the old man.

  Cromarty stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. He wished he could sleep, but his grandfather’s heavy breathing distracted him.

  “I hear Lady Carew doesn’t shun you,” the old man said slyly.

  Cromarty opened one eye. “But she don’t invite me to parties, and we only bow distantly in public.”

  The old man glared at him from across the room. Cromarty closed his eye again.

  “Come to Steynings,” the old man said abruptly.

  “My ship is waiting for me.”

  “Come to Steynings, within two weeks. I have something of your father’s you should have.”

  In spite of himself, he found he was squeezing his eyes shut. “No.”

  “I’m an old man and I’m stubborn. I acknowledge mistakes. I want to make it right.”

  “You can’t,” Cromarty said simply. “It’s too late.”

  There was silence, and then movement within the room. “Is it?”

  Footsteps crossed the floor and the door closed. Cromarty’s eyes sprang open and he punched the pillow. Damn the old bastard. How am I to sleep now?

  Chapter Five

  Amazingly enough, Henrietta’s extended adventure went unnoticed by any except Eliza, whom she found asleep on her bed when she lit the candle. Hastily, she undressed and donned her nightrail and a dressing gown before shoving Richard’s clothes to the back of her wardrobe to be returned later.

  She hesitated over whether or not to wake Eliza, who, in her dressing gown, lay over rather than under the covers. She was trying to pull the sheet gently out from under her when the child woke up and threw her arms around Henrietta’s neck.

  Surprised and rather touched, Henrietta hugged her back.

  “I thought you’d gone,” Eliza whispered. “You were so long.”

  “I was longer than I intended, but of course I came home in the end. Do you want to sleep here or in your own chamber?”

  “I’ll go back now,” Eliza said.

  Henrietta lit the way for her, tucked her up in bed, and blew out her candle before returning to her own room and falling, finally, into bed.

  *

  Over the next few days, Henrietta thought a lot about Captain Cromarty. She had never met anyone like him before, so it was not surprising that he would pop into her head
at odd times, remembering amusing things he’d said, the smile in his eyes, or the total confidence with which he had faced both threatening men and the beautiful lady who had been responsible for Matthew’s mistaken abduction.

  She wondered a lot about his odd life, this son of a banker, turned sea captain who seemed to know rather too much about smuggled brandy. He spoke like a gentleman, had seemed as much at home at the theater as in the Hart taproom. He was not the sort of man she would ever have been introduced to in the normal course of her life. Her father might talk business—or brandy—with him in his study, but he would never be invited to her mother’s drawing room.

  And yet, he intrigued her more than any man she had yet encountered. In itself, that was a curiosity, but one she rather liked.

  Socially, not a great deal was happening in the neighborhood, so Lady Overton decided to hold an informal dinner party, inviting Lord Verne, the sinister baron himself, for the first time. Now that he was married to Lady Cecily, the daughter of a duke and Charlotte’s sister-in-law, he was considered respectable enough to be in the house.

  “I could take the invitation over to Finmarsh House,” Henrietta offered at breakfast when her mother had voiced her decision. “Cecily will love to meet Minnie. Eliza could come with me, perhaps.”

  “And Miss Milsom,” her mother said brightly, smiling at the governess. “Do you want the carriage?”

  “It would be quicker to ride,” Henrietta said. “Do you ride, Miss Milsom?”

  The governess’s rather severe face brightened, making her suddenly appear much younger. “Oh yes.”

  “Well, be sure to take one of the grooms,” Lady Overton commanded.

  Lord Overton, who was rifling the post beside his plate, cast a card of invitation toward his wife. “What do you think of that, my dear? Old Silford is holding a ball over at Steynings, and invites us.”

  “Good lord, how unusual. I thought he would be in mourning. Did one of his grandsons not die unexpectedly?”

  “Tragic thing. I expect his name and the title will die out now,” Lord Overton said.

  “Well, we must go. An invitation to Steynings is too rare to miss. And we are invited to spend the night since it is too far to travel home afterward. There, Henrie, a ball to enliven your spirits!”