The Rake's Redemption

by Anne Millar

  The Rake’s Redemption

  by Anne Millar

  First published in Great Britain 2014

  by AcuityPublishing

  Copyright © 2014 AcuityPublishing Limited

  The moral right of Anne Millar to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, incidents and events are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Frontpiece : Planning the Grand Tour by Emil Brack

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter1

  Chapter2

  Chapter3

  Chapter4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Northamptonshire, England. 1808

  The sun sweltered down as it had throughout August, causing the coachman and postillion to curse the thick, durable serge of their livery. By contrast the temperature inside the coach was perilously low. Not by reason of the draughts coming from chinks in the doorframe and the loose window that rattled at every bump. The froideur of the interior was entirely generated by the younger and smaller of the occupants, who slumped silently in her seat, radiating an intense and righteous displeasure.

  “The hurt will pass, child.” Jonathon Hampton couldn’t abide to see a scowl on the face of his only daughter. His mistake was to think that well meaning words might ease her anguish. He would have done as well to heap dry tinder on an incendiary blaze. Judith Hampton’s reaction to his placation was to draw herself bolt upright and let fly at him.

  “It will not pass. And I am not a child. I’m seventeen, father.”

  It took the long suffering patience of a father’s pride in his beautiful and wilful daughter for Lord Hampton to bite back a retort. Somehow he managed it, and leant forward instead to clasp Judith’s clenched hands. “It is the best thing for you, Judith. Even though you may not see it now, my dear. Your mother...” His hesitation before he went on was painful for them both. “Your mother would have agreed with me.”

  He was left clutching the air when his daughter tore her hands away. “Mother was allowed to marry whom she wanted, wasn’t she?” The accusation managed to combine undisguised scorn with transparent mystification at her mother’s inexplicable choice of husband.

  “I’m not saying you can’t marry Thomas Stainford, Judith.” For the first time that morning his listener showed some receptiveness, but it vanished as soon as he continued. “But my plans are made. We’ll spend the rest of the summer with your Aunt Chloe in Launceston. Then Matilde has offered you a Season next year, and after that we’ll see.” Jonathon Hampton was grateful to both his sisters for their offers of hospitality, but far more thankful for their advice on how best to deal with an enamoured and determined seventeen year old. “Nor has Thomas asked me for your hand yet. You may find that there are other young men who catch your eye quite as much as he.”

  “They won’t.” Not content with the bald finality of her pronouncement, Judith moved to the attack. “Thomas will follow me, father. Once John tells him where you’ve taken me. He may even be there before us. He certainly won’t take a slow old coach like this.”

  The town coach was indeed slow, with springs that should have renewed years before, and a coachman of like ilk. Their journey was never going to rival the mail coaches for speed, but Lord Hampton preferred his own carriage. Not only did it afford much needed privacy when travelling with his truculent daughter, but there was room to stretch out legs that nowadays seemed to grow stiff far too easily.

  “Thomas will be welcome if he follows us down to Cornwall, Judith.” Should by some mischance the young man find his way to Launceston, Jonathon Hampton was comforted by the thought that he would have the support of his strong willed sister in the contretemps that would inevitably follow. He’d heaved a guilty sigh of relief when they were safely away from Oakenhill: their sudden departure might have upset Judith, but it also forestalled any awkward scenes with the young Viscount Alsbury.

  “He will come. You’ll see.” Outrage used up, Judith settled back into her seat. Her cheek was too sore to continue rubbing it against the cracked and worn leather of the squab as she had been doing up till now. Her father had seen the livid red skin, she knew he had, but he hadn’t said anything. Still, it showed him just how furious she was with his high handed actions.

  She knew Thomas would come racing down to Cornwall. Just as soon as her brother told him where father had taken her. He would be as determined as she to end their separation. And once they were reunited Thomas would offer for her so they could never be parted again. Aunt Chloe would see how devoted they were and persuade father to give them his blessing. Then she could avoid all the silly nonsense of a season next year. Which wouldn’t change anything, despite what father thought.

  Aunt Chloe couldn’t help but like Thomas. Everybody did, from the grooms to old Bridges the butler. Apart from father with his warnings about ruined girls. Such stuffy notions didn’t apply, couldn’t apply, to Thomas and her. From her first sight of him when he’d come home with John for the holidays three years ago she’d known. Of course he’d hardly noticed a stumpy fourteen year old, but at Lady Guilmor’s New Year ball he’d been kind and danced with her. That cotillion in his godmother’s overheated ballroom had been the kind of magic that would never leave her. He’d been superb, guiding her effortlessly through the figures and changes, and even when they changed partners she could feel him watching her.

  “D’ye remember what a wonderful stable Chloe keeps, Judith? You loved that little chestnut you had last time we were down. Wanted to bring him home with us.” Her father was smiling at her in that silly way he had, as though she were still fifteen and capable of foolishness.

  “Neptune was a good pony, father. But now I have Sherbery. Or would have if you’d let me bring him.” Sherbery was a sleek and elegant gelding, a fit mount for a young lady, though at a price that had made her father wince. Judith found a little guilt slipping in alongside her grievance. It had been unkind to remind father that they didn’t keep grooms enough to man the coach and bring her horse.

  “I’ll just have to borrow one of Aunt Chloe’s beasts, father. Thomas will be sure to bring Swiftsure with him. He may even ride down.” The new charger Thomas had brought to his godmother’s that summer had prompted Sherbery’s purchase. She needed a horse capable of keeping up with Thomas and John. Though it turned out to be only her and Thomas on so many mornings when John preferred to lie late in his bed.

  At first she been angry with her brother, not believing that Thomas would still want to ride when it was just her, but he did. Then his man had taken up the groom father insisted escort her when John overslept. And that gave the two of them freedom. For madcap gallops, and lazing in the sunshine. She’d never felt anything but safe when she was with Thomas. Even
when he kissed her, and she knew how improper it was, it never occurred to her to stop him. After the first time when she’d been so clumsy she learned how his lips would search out the response from hers, and how happy his kisses made her. She found herself looking forward more and more to their time together when the horses rested. The delicious warmth in her when he ran his fingers over her skin told Judith she could trust Thomas.

  “If Thomas doesn’t come down, you can still go riding with your cousins, Judith.”

  The words made it clear how little father understood. He sat there, pretending he was tugging on the leather strap of the window blind, but really watching her as he had been ever since they set out. The strain was starting to show in his face, and it made her want to explain to him how perfect Thomas was for her. Once father accepted that she and Thomas would marry, all his suspicion would vanish. Then he could be happy for her and the precious kindness that had always been between them would come back.

  “It’s not as if Thomas is a nobody, father. He is heir to the Earl of Penwick. If we were to be married, I should be a countess one day.” She paused, uncomfortable at how boastful that sounded, then decided her father didn’t look sufficiently impressed. “That outranks a baron you know.”

  Lord Hampton couldn’t repress the smile her pedantry provoked. “Yes, I do know, Judith. Though I’m still quite proud of our family. Humble as its position in the peerage may be.”

  A wiser man would have contented himself with that, but Jonathan Hampton never had been able to abide a frown on his daughter’s face. Especially when he had been the cause of it. “Thomas is a fine young man, Judith, but he is only nineteen, and still a little wild.”

  “Thomas is already an officer in the militia, father. And he intends to transfer to the army in the Peninsula, just like Jeremy.” Judith already suffered agonies of worry over her elder brother, a captain in the 43rd, and the prospect of Thomas facing the same dangers terrified her. But she wasn’t going to admit that to her father.

  Lord Hampton stretched out his hand to stroke his daughter’s arm, then thought better of it and let the hand fall back onto his travelling rug. “Thomas is reckless, Judith. He does not stop to think of consequences.”

  “It was John who wrecked the phaeton, father, not Thomas.” Her outrage at what was a blatantly unjust accusation left Judith gasping, and her father seized his opportunity for justification with a speed that spoke of considerable practice.

  “It was Thomas who challenged your brother to the race, Judith. John was lucky to break only his wrist.” Jonathon Hampton smiled and tried to mollify her. “There’s nothing wrong with the lad that more days under his belt won’t cure.”

  The pause before he continued was as good as a warning that she wouldn’t like what he had to say. “You can have your pick of the eligibles in your season, Judith.” Judith Hampton might lack conventional glacial beauty, but her dance card had never been less than full. A snub nose and neatly determined chin matched curly dark hair to provide the very portrait of feminine mischief. “If you still feel next summer as you do now, that will be the time to discuss marriage.”

  Except that next summer would be too late. Thomas was going to join the army in Portugal, and though he hadn’t asked yet she knew he wanted her to go with him. She had to be with him, or her life would be ruined. If this stupid trip hadn’t already spoiled everything. Though it was silly to even think that. Thomas was sealed to her by their love, and he would come after her. Then father would see just how much she meant to him.

  Chapter1

  Horseguards, London, 1812

  Thomas Stainford cursed the clink of iron on stone as he strode across the parade ground. He never would understand what had possessed the normally reliable Wright to send his Hessians to his boot maker, Hoby of St James Street, to be cobbled and shod. It would take weeks to recover their glove like comfort. If the boots could survive four years of campaigning with a few leather patches tacked on the soles then surely they were a match for the streets of London.

  Since it was less than a mile from the Stainford town house in Jermyn Street to Horseguards Thomas had chosen to walk this morning. Only to find himself struggling to maintain any sort of pace. The November day was bleak, bitter and overcast, but his shirt was sticking to his back with the gentle exertion of walking. He knew he wasn’t really fit enough to return to service. The only sensible course was to express regret and take himself back to his sick bed. So Thomas stiffened his back, damned the sentry for letting sympathy show on his face as he saluted, and marched through the portico into the grim interior.

  Inside the atrium an aide, the gorget round his neck polished to rival sunlight, watched him approach with a mixture of bored curiosity and disinterest.

  “Sir Edmund Hewston please.”

  The man’s expression changed abruptly to relief. “Viscount Alsbury?”

  “I am, Lieutenant.”

  “If you would follow me, my lord, Sir Edmund is awaiting you.” Was there a hint of reproach in his voice? Judging by the alacrity with which the Lieutenant took off it was not done to keep Sir Edmund waiting, but Thomas stuck to his measured pace as he followed the aide through long corridors. Finally the man opened one of the interminable doors to announce him, “Sir Edmund, Major the Viscount Alsbury.”

  Thomas couldn’t help being gratified by his welcome. Sir Edmund rose and advanced with outstretched hand. “My boy, how are you? I was glad to hear you were recovering. Though maybe not so far along that road as your reply suggested? Port?” He accepted Thomas’ refusal, but beckoned to the aide who passed a filled glass to him. “Thank you, Mather. If you are well enough, Thomas, I have a task you might undertake.”

  “I should be obliged, Sir Edmund. Convalescing is a tedious business. I am not quite recovered, but perfectly able to undertake some work.”

  “Not even partially recovered, if you ask me. You seem to have difficulty standing on your feet, sir. Better sit down I think.” Thomas had always liked Sir Edmund. The Major General had a reputation for intrigue, but relished plain speaking. “It’s not exactly an exciting job, but it does promise some amusement. And opportunity. Fellow called Horsley. Sir Theodore Horsley. He’s raised a battalion of militia to defend us from invasion. Sanctioned by my predecessor. God knows why, the French haven’t thought of mounting an invasion for years.”

  Sir Edmund rose to refill his empty glass and chivvied Thomas when he went to rise too. “Sit still, man. No need to stand on ceremony here. I attended a review three days ago. Biggest shambles since his Royal Highness’s last militia camp at Brighton. Just a single battalion, and they couldn’t all march in the same direction. I wouldn’t let them fire their muskets in case they killed each other. Or me. Need some training.”

  “You want me to train them?” Thomas worked hard to keep the lack of enthusiasm out of his voice.

  “Well not to teach them the quadrille. Horsley thinks he’s going to take them to Spain to aid the Peer.”

  “But if they are militia?” The men had been enlisted for home defence and could not be made to serve overseas. A splendid opportunity this: training a rabble for a deluded glory hunter. Thomas found his mind switching to alternative ways of occupying his time while he waited for his body to heal. Society had some very pleasant distractions to offer.

  “Quite. Though it would be useful for some of them to list with the regular army. God knows we’re short enough of men. But at present this battalion is ill trained and lazy. The best thing about them is their name: the Loyal East Mercian Volunteer Regiment of Fencible Infantry, God save us. Sort them out for me, Thomas. Once they are in better shape we may have a way to get them to Spain.”

  “I take it Sir Theodore will resent my assistance with his regiment, Sir Edmund?” It would do Sir Edmund no harm to be reminded that his plan had flaws.

  “Yes, of course he will. Don’t be a blithering idiot, Thomas. The volunteers are his excuse to put on the glorious scarlet coat and strut abou
t in front of the grateful ladies he’s saving from ravishment. He won’t welcome you interfering. But interfere you will.” Hewston stopped his diatribe abruptly and looked at his visitor, who sat unperturbed. “Bad business, Thomas. A second duel. How is Charles?”

  “My brother is well, Sir Edmund. He’s with Colonel MacKenzie and the regiment in winter quarters at Ciudad Rodrigo.” The last thing Thomas wanted were questions about the confounded duel.

  “MacKenzie won’t have you back, you know. Nor will the Peer have you on his staff. There’s thorough disapproval of what you did. Are you up to this?”

  “I do know how a battalion should be trained, sir.” If Sir Edmund valued plain speech, Thomas could answer in that coin.

  “No doubt of that, my boy. I meant your condition.”

  “I grow stronger every day, sir.” Soon, with the exercise he took each morning, he might approach the fitness of a small child.

  “A question neatly evaded. I take it you want to return to the war?”

  “Yes, I do. Till the business is finished.” And so he could fulfil the promise to his father to look after Charles.

  “How will you do that, Thomas?” Sir Edmund was leading up to something.

  “If Colonel McKenzie will not have me back and the Peer will not have me on his staff, I will exchange into another regiment.” It would mean leaving the men he’d fought beside for four years, but better than sitting idle in England while they died in Spain.

  “You could do that, Thomas. There is another way. If you can persuade and train enough of the Loyal Volunteers, you can take them to Spain as the second battalion of your regiment. McKenzie could do nothing about it. What do you say to that?”

  “I’d be pleased at the chance, sir.” In truth Thomas was delighted. His own battalion meant promotion to Lieutenant Colonel. Sir Edmund’s game made sense: leave Horsley to pay for the militia till they were ready for Spain, then use the bounty of ten guineas a head for joining the regular army to persuade the men to volunteer. “Would the Peer object to me, sir?”