06.The Penniless Peer (The Eternal Collection)

by Cartland, Barbara

  There were tears on her cheeks and he was looking cross and uncomfortable which told Fenella only too clearly what had occurred.

  “Oh, there you are, Fenella!” Lord Corbury said in relief. “I have persuaded Madame that it is wisest for her to leave at once. Scarlet fever is a most unpleasant disease, and I would never forgive myself if she were stricken down with it after travelling so many miles to see us.”

  “Perhaps Madame, you will be able to visit us another time,” Fenella said.

  The French woman did not answer, but still clinging to Lord Corbury’s arm proceeded slowly towards the front door.

  Only when she looked out and saw the Post-Chaise waiting for her outside, did she seem to shiver as if she realised that the happiness with which she had set out on her long journey was finally and completely extinguished.

  It was then she turned her face up to Lord Corbury’s.

  “Adieu, mon cher,” she said in a voice that trembled, “I shall never forget you.”

  She put out her arms as she spoke and putting them round his neck, drew his head down to her.

  She kissed him passionately on the lips and Fenella watching, felt once again the same stabbing pain that she had known when she had watched Periquine kissing the pretty lady in the coach.

  This embrace however, did not take so long. Abruptly Madame D’Arbley drew herself free of Lord Corbury and walked down the steps ahead of him.

  He helped her into the Post-Chaise. Once she was settled she put out her hand and he raised it to his lips.

  “I am sorry, Amaline,” Fenella heard him say.

  Then in a hard sharp tone which seemed almost to ring out, Madame D’Arbley replied,

  “Sorry! Mère de Dieu! I will never forgive you! Never!”

  Lord Corbury stepped back, the driver whipped up his horses and the Post-Chaise moved away.

  Lord Corbury stood politely on the steps until it was some way down the drive. Then he came back into the hall. He had taken a handkerchief from his pocket and was mopping his forehead.

  “My God!” he ejaculated, “I hope never to go through anything like that again.”

  He had spoken to Fenella, but when he looked the hall was empty, she was no longer there.

  The dinner-party was an undoubted success. Hetty arrived looking exquisite and completely ravishing, in a gown which only another woman would have known was too elaborate for a quiet evening in the country.

  She was also wearing a diamond necklace round her neck and there were diamonds sparkling in the ribbons which were entwined in her fair hair.

  She evidently intended to dazzle both Lord Corbury and Sir Nicolas, and Fenella watching her realised she had never known Hetty take so much trouble, or deliberately set out to fascinate.

  She was not jealous, what was the use? How could anyone compete with a creature so beautiful, so exquisitely dressed, so sparkling as Hetty?

  Fenella had nothing to put on except a plain white muslin she had made herself some months previously to wear in the evening at home.

  It was very simple with a fichu veiling her shoulders, her waist encircled with a sash she had worn since she was a child in the Nursery.

  Nevertheless, Augustus Baldwyn condescended to ogle her quite outrageously and to be so over-impressive in his compliments that Fenella had the greatest difficulty in not laughing in his face.

  More than once she exchanged a glance with Sir Nicolas and remembering their conversation about Augustus saw a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

  The food was unbelievably delicious. Sir Nicolas had certainly spoken the truth when he said that his valet was an experienced Chef, and even Lord Corbury seemed surprised when course after course was presented to him, each more succulent and exotic than the one before.

  “I had no idea that Mrs. Buckle was such a good Cook,” Hetty said as she helped herself to a quail in aspic, from a dish skilfully decorated in a manner which would have done credit to Careme - le Chef “par excellence”, to the Prince Regent.

  “She has made a special effort as you are here,” Lord Corbury replied, and catching Sir Nicolas’s eye, Fenella gave a hastily repressed laugh.

  “Why do I see so little of you, Fenella, these days?”

  Augustus Baldwyn asked ingratiatingly.

  Fenella wondered if it was the excellent Claret which was making him so mellow.

  “I expect because you do not bother to look for me,” she answered. “I am either here, or at home, while you, Augustus, I am sure are making your mark amongst the Bucks and Dandies of St. James’s.”

  “You are right, my dear Fenella,” he replied conceitedly. “I play my part in the Beau Monde, but I would still like to see more of you. I will take you driving in my phaeton one afternoon.”

  This, Fenella knew, was a gesture of high condescension from someone as puffed up with his own importance as Augustus Baldwyn.

  “How very kind of you,” she replied, “but of course I would have to ask Mama if I can drive with a gentleman unchaperoned.”

  “Good heavens, we do not have to be chaperoned!” Augustus Baldwyn exclaimed. “We have known each other since you were in your cradle, and I am sure your Mother makes no restrictions about your driving with Periquine.”

  “Periquine is a cousin,” Fenella said demurely.

  “A distant one,” Augustus remarked.

  “Periquine’s grandmother was my grandmother’s first cousin,” Fenella said, and glanced at Sir Nicolas as she spoke.

  “Of course!” he said quietly, “I realised that was where the Farquhars were linked with the Corbury family.”

  “Corbury, or no Corbury,” Augustus said in an aggressive voice which showed that he was annoyed at Sir Nicolas joining in the conversation, “I will take you driving, Fenella. You will enjoy it.”

  There was obviously nothing further to say to this, except to thank him. But Fenella made up her mind that nothing would induce her to go driving with Augustus, if she could possibly avoid it.

  Two years ago, when she was only sixteen, Augustus had called at her home unexpectedly one afternoon with a box of plants for her mother from Lady Baldwyn.

  Fenella had been alone when he was announced. She was sitting in front of the fire drying her hair which she had just washed.

  It rioted like a wave, rich and red over her shoulders, framing her small face.

  “Oh Augustus ! “ she exclaimed rising to her feet. “‘The servants should not have shown you in here! “

  “Why not?” he questioned. “You look pretty like that.” He stood looking down at her, very grown up - the rich Beau patronising the village maiden! But there was something about him which made her feel nervous.

  “I will fetch Mama.”

  “Not so fast,” Augustus replied and she saw a glint of fire in his protruding eyes.

  He caught hold of her arm as she would have passed him to reach the door and Fenella was suddenly afraid.

  “Let me go!” she cried.

  “When you have given me a kiss!” Augustus replied thickly in a voice which she felt was slimy and unpleasant.

  “I will do nothing of the sort!” Fenella retorted trying to pull her arm free of his fat hands.

  But he was too strong for her. Inexorably, amused by her struggle to resist him, he drew her into his arms.

  “Let me go! How dare you!”

  Fenella was now really frightened, no man had ever touched her in such a manner. No man had ever kissed her.

  “No! No ! I hate you! “ she screamed, twisting and turning but despairingly aware that she could not escape, could not be free of him.

  Then just as with a kind of sick horror she realised his thick lips were only a few inches from her own and her voice seemed lost in her throat, the door opened and her mother entered the room.

  Augustus released her and she had collapsed onto the floor, hiding her frightened face beneath her hair and feeling somehow defiled because he had touched her.

  ‘I hate him! I h
ate him!’ she told herself and was humiliated at her own weakness.

  Her feeling had not changed with the passing of time. She disliked Augustus and everything he did.

  Already she had felt his knee trying to press hers under the table and he had squeezed her hand in a meaningful manner when she had greeted him on arrival.

  It had been a mistake, she thought now, to have chosen a round table for dinner but it was so much more cosy to sit at the small table in the huge oak-panelled Banquet Hall than to use the long refectory which could hold twenty or more people.

  Nevertheless it was a gay meal.

  Lord Corbury was in good humour because Hetty was being so charming, and only Fenella realised that she was deliberately setting out to make Sir Nicolas jealous by paying more attention to Periquine than she did to the Premier Baronet.

  But she would have been stupid had she not realised that Sir Nicolas’s eyes on the other side of the table dwelt on her with a sort of kindly expression, and that their secret of knowing who was providing the dinner seemed to draw them closer than if they had been mere acquaintances.

  It was when the dessert was finished, and the port and brandy had been taken round deftly by Sir Nicolas’s servants, that Augustus said in his loud and bumptious manner,

  “I congratulate you, Periquine. I did not expect to enjoy such a good brandy in this house.”

  “I cannot think why you should be surprised,” Lord Corbury enquired.

  “I understood you were slightly under the hatch, old boy,” Augustus replied. “But this brandy is better than what I drank last week at Carlton House. I will tell you one thing, if you purchased it in Brighton, I will wager my last sovereign it was smuggled.”

  “Smuggled!” Fenella ejaculated.

  “It is the only way to get good wine nowadays, without paying an exorbitant sum for it,” Augustus went on. “And the smugglers know their job! Why a chap was telling me at White’s last week that he has made over fifty thousand pounds smuggling in brandy and other luxuries.”

  “Fifty thousand pounds!”

  Fenella heard Lord Corbury slowly repeat the words and felt her heart give a frightening leap.

  “No! No!” she wanted to cry, but it was too late.

  Lord Corbury was leaning forward across the table, his eyes fixed on Augustus, obviously much impressed.

  “I call that extremely interesting, Augustus. Do tell us more.”

  Augustus was only too willing to oblige. He launched into a long and complicated story of friends who had smuggled in silks, tea and spirits during the war; hidden it in Chapels or under hayricks, conveyed it by ponies to London, and made a fortune on every run.

  As she saw Lord Corbury’s interest in listening to Augustus’s booming voice, Fenella felt the breath being squeezed from her body. She knew as surely as if he had said the words aloud, exactly what plan he was concocting in his mind.

  To cause a diversion she suggested to Hetty that they should leave the gentlemen to their drinks. The two girls went upstairs.

  “Periquine really gave us a very good dinner,” Hetty said condescendingly, “but I cannot think how he could afford all those elaborate dishes.”

  “He gave the party for you,” Fenella said, evading the question.

  “It is kind of him,” Hetty said in an affected tone regarding her reflection in the mirror and obviously very satisfied with what she saw.

  On an impulse, without considering her words, Fenella said,

  “Be kind to him, Hetty.”

  There was a smile of satisfaction at the corners of Hetty’s beautiful lips.

  “I am kind to him,” she replied, “kinder than I have ever been to anyone else.”

  “He loves you so much,” Fenella insisted, “and I would wish him to be happy.”

  It was true, she thought, that if she could arrange for Hetty to marry Periquine, she would do so because she knew he believed that his happiness lay with her.

  “You cannot imagine,” Hetty said, “that I could live here in this dreadfully dowdy and uncomfortable house?”

  “Not in its present state,” Fenella agreed. “But if you really loved Periquine, money would not matter.”

  Hetty gave an affected little laugh.

  “My dear Fenella, you must have been reading some of those rubbishy romances which are written for housemaids. I assure you that money is very essential for happiness.

  “If you imagine that I love Periquine enough to only have one gown, like you, or to sit about in the Priory year after year, without the money to go to London or to travel, then you must be to let in the attic.”

  “You would be with Periquine,” Fenella murmured.

  “I like being with Periquine very much,” Hetty said, a feline look in her eyes. “But I wonder if I should enjoy it so much if he were my husband? I would see him every day and all day. You know, Fenella, I have always enjoyed variety, especially where men are concerned.”

  Fenella bit back the words she wanted to say. Instead she said,

  “Periquine may inherit some money from his uncle, Colonel Alexander Massingburg-Corbury ! He has always hinted Periquine would be his heir.”

  “When I last saw the Colonel he was leading in the hunting field and took a five-barred gate like a boy of twenty,”

  Hetty replied. “He cannot be many years over fifty and who would want to wait for a dead man’s shoes?”

  There was no answer to this. Fenella felt she had done her best to further Periquine’s suit, but Hetty would not let her heart rule her head.

  “Are you going to marry Sir Nicolas?” she asked quietly. “You will hurt Periquine if you do.”

  “I might,” Hetty answered. “I have not really made up my mind.”

  Even as she spoke Fenella was aware that Sir Nicolas had not yet asked her. But looking at Hetty’s beauty, it could only be a question of time.

  Fenella could see her own reflection behind Hetty’s in the mirror. And she could see her outmoded, old-fashioned, home-made gown, and in front of it the sparkling, radiant Hetty. She was so lovely she was more like a painting than a human-being.

  Finding the contrast unbearable, Fenella walked to the other side of the room, and tidied the brushes and combs that she herself had set out on the dressing-table.

  “The trouble is,” Hetty was saying, in a slow satisfied voice, “I have so many beaux! I have already had four offers of marriage since the beginning of the year, but Papa’s turned them down because he did not think that the gentlemen in question were rich or important enough for me.”

  She sighed almost ecstatically before she continued.

  “Nevertheless, Fenella, I cannot help thinking that however old I grow, there will always be men who will fall in love with me.”

  “You are very lovely, Hetty,” Fenella said with an effort.

  “I know,” Hetty said. “Did I tell you what His Royal Highness the Prince Regent said the first time he saw me?”

  Fenella had heard it about half a dozen times before, but she appeared attentive, while really she was thinking of Periquine.

  She could not bear that he should break his heart over Hetty.

  Having known her ever since they were children, she knew that Hetty was both hard and selfish. Although Periquine might be the first man to excite her, and perhaps had aroused her as no other man had been able to do, she would never make a sacrifice of any sort for his sake.

  She would never give up one gown, one diamond or even one party to make him happy!

  ‘Perhaps,’ Fenella thought to herself, remembering Madame D’Arbley, ‘sooner or later I shall have to save Periquine from Hetty !’

  Chapter Six

  ‘It is like being in a dream,’ Fenella thought to herself.

  The boat was moving smoothly through the water and the only sounds were the creak of the rowlocks and the men’s heavy breathing as they bent their backs to the oars.

  She could hardly believe it possible that in such a short time Periqui
ne could have arranged everything and they were actually at sea.

  Of course it was she who had found the right person for him to contact! Even when she gave him the name she had felt a little tremor of fear in case she was helping him into danger.

  But she had known there was no denying his intention to make money by smuggling.

  From the moment she had seen his eyes light up at the dining-room table and heard the eagerness in his voice when he asked Augustus to give him more particulars of his friend’s smuggling activities, there had been no chance of his turning back.

  The idea must have been uppermost in Lord Corbury’s mind all through the evening.

  As soon as the party from the Hall had departed and Hetty had said her last soft farewell, looking up into his eyes with an expression which no man could resist, the words had seemed to burst from his lips.

  “Smuggling! Did you hear what Augustus said, Fenella ? That is how we must make some money!”

  “It is very dangerous,” Fenella said warningly.

  “Everything we have done so far is dangerous, but they have still not caught us!” Lord Corbury retorted. “I re member now when I was in London hearing that the traffic of contraband across the Channel since the war ended has never been heavier.”

  “Exactly,” Fenella agreed, “and that was why in January this year, when you were abroad, they appointed a Controller-General of the Preventive Boat Service. His name is Captain Hatchard and he was in the Royal Navy.”

  “If other people succeed, there is no reason why we should fail,” Lord Corbury asserted.

  “I heard Papa say that they reckon there are twenty thousand people smuggling contraband goods every year,” Fenella replied. “At the same time the Courts and Assizes are filled with those who have been caught and there are more prisoners being transported to Australia than ever before.”

  “What is the matter with you?” Lord Corbury demanded angrily. “You are always trying to put a damper on me these days!”

  “I am not, Periquine, I am not really,” Fenella answered. “It is just that I am afraid for — you.”