by Mary Nichols
‘And that is the best you can do in the way of a proposal?’ She smiled up at him, teasing again, simply to lighten the atmosphere, to release the bands of tension which seemed to be strapped around her chest, preventing her from breathing. ‘I am disappointed in you.’
He laughed with relief and caught her in his arms to kiss her. She did not resist, but neither did she respond with any enthusiasm, though he did not appear to notice that. ‘Oh, my darling, we will do very well together.’ He tucked her hand beneath his arm and grinned like a schoolboy. ‘Shall we go to Westminster? The Duke of Wellington is due to arrive there soon and the world will be there to greet him.’
‘Yes, I should like that, but Mrs Ryfield is using the barouche.’
‘We don’t need that. My cattle need an airing; I’ll drive you in my curricle.’
‘Without a chaperon? After all you have been saying?’
‘We are cousins and as good as engaged; it wants only the announcement in The Times. Besides, we are unlikely to meet anyone who matters.’
The trap had closed; there was nothing more to be done. She smiled wryly to herself; so much for all her determination to marry only for love. But perhaps love would come; she was very fond of him and there was nothing about him to dislike. If only she could forget a pair of laughing brown eyes and a mouth which had claimed hers with such devastating effect. But she must forget.
She went up to her room to change and then joined Mark at the front of the house where two magnificent horses stood harnessed to his curricle. She smiled as he helped her up and climbed in beside her; she would learn to love him.
At first she was nervous that he might try and drive too fast for the prevailing conditions, but he was most careful and she began to relax and enjoy the outing, marvelling that so many people could be gathered in one place. Before they had come within half a mile of Westminster, the press was too great even for the curricle. They left it in an inn yard and walked.
‘Hold on to my arm.’ He smiled, tucking her hand beneath his elbow. ‘I do not want to lose you.’
Somehow he managed to push his way through the throng and they were right at the front when the Duke’s carriage came in sight, amid resounding cheers which went on and on and almost deafened her. She felt Mark tug on her arm and turned towards him. His mouth was moving, but she could not hear what he said. and, shrugging, gave up trying. She pushed her way forward, craning her neck for a glimpse of the great man. He was not particularly handsome and she could see why they called him Old Hooknose, but he had fine eyes and a way of looking about him which seemed to take in everything at a glance. His smile turned to a frown when the people brought the coach to a halt and began taking the horses from the shafts, vying with each other for the honour of pulling it.
The crowd surged forward, carrying Maryanne along with it. It was not until she turned to speak to Mark that she realised he was not behind her. She tried to turn and go back, but the press of the throng would not allow it; she had to let herself be carried along or be trampled underfoot.
Before long she lost a shoe but could not stop to retrieve it and then her bonnet came off and disappeared under the feet of the cheering mass who surrounded her. She was hot and near to panic, but if she fainted she knew no one would help her and she would be trampled to death. She hobbled along, no longer interested in the coach and its occupant, her only thought to keep upright until the crowd thinned out enough for her to stop and find some other way back to Mark.
The crowd grew thicker than ever and the roads were lined with even more spectators, cheering wildly; she could not even drop out to the side. Her shoeless foot was hurting her and she could hardly breathe. ‘I must not swoon,’ she told herself. ‘I must not.’
‘You all right, miss?’ said a voice at her elbow.
She screwed her head round towards the speaker. He was dirty and scruffy but he seemed concerned for her. ‘I... I...’ She felt herself sliding down into a jumble of bodies and legs, heard the man beside her shout, and then nothing as darkness claimed her.
Adam, on the back of his great bay, surveyed the mass of bodies, looking for the glint of steel or the dark barrel of a pistol, for a stirring in the mass or someone creating a space about him, a movement which went against the tide. Others, in the body of the crowd, pretending to be part of it, were doing the same thing and he scanned the heads looking for their signal. He heard the shout and spurred his horse forward, but it was not the trouble he had been expecting. Maryanne’s inert form, without bonnet or shoes and with hair tumbling about her shoulders, was being hoisted above the heads of the crowd and passed from hand to hand.
‘Give her to me.’ He urged the bay into the throng and reached down to take their burden from them. He propped her up in front of him, holding her inert body steady with one hand while he held the reins in the other. ‘Keep alert,’ he said to one of the men, a disreputable-looking individual who seemed to have forgotten that a moment before he had been hobbling along with the aid of a stick. ‘I will rejoin you in a minute.’
Maryanne, in that grey dawn between sleeping and waking, thought she must be dreaming; she could have sworn the voice was Adam’s. Her eyelids fluttered. ‘I fainted.’
‘Yes. Sit still.’ It was Adam.
Her head lolled until it found something firm to lean against. It was comfortable there and though her feet were burning the pain in them had eased. In fact, nothing hurt her now and all she wanted to do was sleep in his arms. It was a ludicrous situation and she began to giggle weakly.
‘I am glad you are in such good humour,’ he said, attempting to be stern. ‘You know you could have been killed?’
She stopped as suddenly as she had begun; considering all that had gone before, it really wasn’t very funny after all. ‘I know, and I was very frightened, and I’m truly grateful you came along to rescue me.’
‘What were you doing in that crowd?’
‘We went to see the Duke arrive.’
‘We?’
‘Mark and I. We were separated. He will be very worried about me.’ She tried to turn towards him, and his grip tightened.
‘Sit still.’
‘But I must go back to him.’
‘You’ll not find him until the crowd has dispersed. Mon Dieu, the man is an imbecile. What possessed him to take you into that crowd on foot?’.
‘It wasn’t his fault. I went forward and didn’t realise he hadn’t followed me. We left the curricle in an inn yard.’
‘Which inn?’
‘I don’t know its name, though if I saw it again I might recognise it.’
They arrived outside a tall narrow house in a new terrace facing the river. A tall, broad-shouldered man about Adam’s own age came out of the front door and down the steps. Adam handed her down to him. ‘The young lady has been in a scrape with the crowd,’ he said, by way of explanation.
The man, who was actually a little older than Adam and fair-haired, took her weight easily while Adam dismounted. She struggled to be let down and he chuckled. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure but, I pray you, do not wriggle so, or I shall drop you.’
‘I’ll take her now.’ Adam held out his arms for her. ‘I’d appreciate it if we might have the use of a room. And perhaps a little brandy.’
‘Of course.’
‘This, by the way, is Miss Maryanne Paynter. And once again she has intruded into my affairs.’ His smile belied the unkindness of his words.
‘I assure you, sir, that I had no wish to do so,’ she said, but it was impossible to be dignified when she felt like nothing so much as a rag doll. ‘And you may put me down, I am perfectly able to stand.’
‘I think not. Your stockings are torn to ribbons and your feet are bleeding.’
He carried her up the steps and into the house and to her shame she ceased to struggle. She heard a voice behind them say, ‘Take her up to the blue room. I’ll ask Jeannie to bring some hot water. Miss Paynter will need to wash and change her clothes.’
‘Where am I?’ she demanded. ‘I must go back to Mark...’
‘He can wait,’ Adam said grimly. ‘And this is the home of my good friend Robert Rudge.’ He carried her effortlessly up the stairs and into a well-furnished bedroom, where he put her on a sofa and sat down beside her.
She became suddenly aware of the pickle she was in. Alone in a bedroom with a man! If she had been in trouble before, it was nothing to the disgrace she would be in if this got out; the gossips would have even more to keep their tongues wagging. It would condemn her to social purgatory forever.
Before she could do anything to remedy the situation, there was a knock at the door and Mark went to open it to a servant who held a bottle of brandy and a glass. Adam took them from him and returned to Maryanne. He poured a generous measure of the spirit into the glass. ‘Here, drink this.’
She sipped it and pulled a wry face.
‘All of it. It is good French cognac.’ He smiled; did she know what the sight of her like that did to his insides? She looked like one of the hundreds of little urchins who ran about the streets of Paris, barefoot and in rags, scurrying about that beautiful city made ugly by the atrocities committed there, and making a living in any way they could. They had been alone in the world, except for the companionship of each other and that had ceased when richer pickings were offered. They had no scruples; it was everyone for himself. It was where he had learned to keep his wits about him, where he had discovered you could trust no one, where he had been turned from a well brought-up twelve year-old to a cynical, unloved and unloving adult, and all in the space of four years. By the time he was sixteen he was a full-grown man.
Not that Maryanne was cynical and unloving - he did not believe that - but she was alone. And she needed her wits about her to survive, because none of the Danbury family cared a jot for her. Could he, in all conscience, leave her to their tender mercies? But he had to, not only now when he should be out with the crowd, doing his duty, but later when he had to keep his promise to the Count. If only he could be in two places at once!
‘That’s better,’ he said, as she drained the glass. ‘Would you like something to eat?’
‘No, thank you.’ She paused to look up at him. ‘I am sorry to be so much trouble to you.’
‘It is my pleasure and privilege to serve you.’ Better speak formally because he wanted to kiss her again and that ought to be resisted. ‘I have to leave you, but I want you to stay here until I come back.’
‘But I can’t! I must find Mark; he will be out of his mind with worry.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘It will do him no harm, might even teach him to take more care of you in future.’
‘You are being unfair! I said it was not his fault, it was mine. He would never knowingly lead me into danger; he loves me.’
‘Does he, now?’ The sardonic smile lifted the scar on his eye. ‘And what about you? Do you love him?’
‘I... I don’t know.’
He chuckled. ‘Then you do not, for if you did you would surely know it.’
‘You think so?’ She sounded eager and wistful at the same time and he longed to throw caution to the winds and take her in his arms, to tell her that he would teach her about love. But he couldn’t; he had no time and no right to; and what did he know about the subject anyway? He was saved from making a fool of himself by a light tap at the door, and a girl, slightly older than Maryanne, bustled in carrying a bowl of warm water and towels.
‘We shall soon have the young lady looking herself again, Captain.’
‘Good.’ He turned to Maryanne. ‘Madame Clavier will look after you.’ He smiled and stood up to leave. ‘I know how anxious you are to rejoin your escort, but I must counsel patience until I return. Now I have to deal with more pressing matters.’
Anxious to leave him and return to Mark? If he only knew the truth! ‘How long will you be?’ she asked.
‘Rest assured, no longer than I can help. Stay here until I come back, then I will make arrangements to have you taken home.’ He went to the door, but turned back as he reached it, opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind, turned on his heel and left.
‘Now, miss,’ said the servant, standing the bowl on the table beside Maryanne. ‘Let’s have you out of those torn clothes. I’ll find some of mine for you.’ She looked Maryanne up and down. ‘Not that they will be up to what you are used to...’
‘Oh, pray do not consider that,’ Maryanne said. ‘I am very grateful for your help. But I do hope Mr Saint-Pierre will not be long.’
The girl laughed. ‘Oh, you mean Cap’n Shoecar. He will be back as soon as maybe.’
Shoecar! How many more names did the man have? And why were they necessary? The more she found out about him, the more he seemed to have to hide. ‘Do you know the captain very well?’ she asked, as she struggled out of her gown and stripped off the ruined stockings.
‘My husband served with him. He was devoted to him.’
‘In the British army?’
Madame Clavier smiled. ‘No, miss.’ She waited until Maryanne had washed her face and arms, then set the bowl of water on the floor at her feet and knelt down beside it.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ Maryanne said. ‘I can manage.’
‘If the cap’n says to look after you, then that’s what I shall do. Come, put your feet in the water.’ Maryanne obeyed.
‘Was he in the French army?’
‘Who?’
‘The Captain.’
‘Yes.’
‘He served Napoleon?’
‘He was serving before Boney became Emperor.’ She shrugged. ‘Approve of him or not, you couldn’t up and say you’d changed your mind about being a soldier after you were sworn in, could you?’
So Mark had been right. Did that make her feel any differently? ‘But you’re English.’
‘Michel, my husband, was French,’ she said. ‘He died of his wounds after the Battle of Orthez. ‘Twas only a month before the end of the war. If only...’ She busied herself at Maryanne’s feet. ‘But there, it’s no good sighing for what might have been. The Captain had promised him he’d look out for me, so he brought me back to England and found me this place.’ Her voice betrayed the devotion she had for the man who had helped her. ‘But for him...’
Maryanne reached down and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I am so sorry. It must have been dreadful for you.’
‘Yes, but I tell myself Michel’s at peace now and he wouldn’t have settled in England and he dared not stay in France, not after...’ She stopped suddenly as if she realised she was being indiscreet. ‘You were lucky you weren’t trampled to death, miss.’
‘Yes, I had no idea how unruly a crowd can become. It was like a great tide, unable to stop. And for one man. The Duke is greatly loved, is he not?’
‘Yes, miss.’ She sat back on her heels and spread the cloth over her knees, then she lifted Maryanne’s foot on to it and began very carefully to pat it dry. ‘You’ll need a salve on your heel, miss. I’ll go fetch some and a gown for you.’
She disappeared and Maryanne was left sitting on the settle in her underskirt with her bare feet out in front of her. So, the Frenchman had been a captain in Napoleon’s army and he was known as Shoecar in military company. Put him with the ton in an elegant drawing-room and he became Adam Saint-Pierre, the dandy. And, yet again, dress him in labouring clothes and set him down in the country and he became Jack Daw. Why, oh, why?
The brandy had made her drowsy and she was warm and comfortable; it was a pity she had to dress again and go out. If she stayed, would she learn more about Adam? But Mark must be searching for her and going mad with anxiety. And she had been compromised enough. Not that it was her rescuer’s fault; it was she who had been foolish, just as she had been foolish at the ball. It seemed she was fated to find herself in the Frenchman’s arms. Mark would never understand that, but suddenly she found she didn’t care. She lay back and shut her eyes.
When Adam re
turned, he found her curled up like a kitten, fast asleep.
Chapter Five
Maryanne stirred a little but did not open her eyes; she was too comfortable and, if truth be known, reluctant to let go of her dreams and face reality.
‘What are you going to do?’ The whispered words of the woman penetrated Maryanne’s consciousness.
‘I don’t know. What can I do?’
‘Go and see Danbury.’
‘No.’ Adam almost forgot to whisper. ‘Not yet. I must have proof, and, besides, until the Count’s affairs are settled. . .’
‘Pooh to that. What is the Count de Challac to you? Let him take care of his own affairs. You watch out for yourself. Even in England, even after the war is ended, there is danger...’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Mr Rudge’s housekeeper.’
‘Jeannie should have held her tongue.’
‘Don’t blame her. I asked and she is worried about you. And now you have made a fool of yourself over this one.’
Maryanne kept her eyes tight shut and lay very still, knowing she ought to let them know she was now fully awake, but unwilling to do so.
‘Not a fool,’ he said, and his voice ground out his anger. ‘A coward and that is worse.’
‘Anyone who knows you knows that is nonsense. Are you going through with the race?’
‘Of course.’
‘Did you go to Hatchett’s?’
‘Yes, the new curricle will be ready by the end of the week.’
‘Markham has promised to lend you his greys, but I advise you to have some practice or that young blood will beat you.’