Regency Innocents

by Annie Burrows

  ‘I’m sorry, Robert. But you have to admit I received just punishment for my thoughtlessness.’

  He barked out a harsh laugh. Aye. You should have seen her, Walton. Laughed herself right out of the saddle. Lost her balance and landed on the cobbles at my feet …’

  ‘With you swearing down at me while I was struggling to untangle all those yards of riding habit from my legs …’

  And the grooms not knowing where to look, or how to keep their faces straight …’

  ‘It sounds better than the pantomime,’ Charles put in dryly. ‘Ah, Giddings, it is good to see you back with us. I take it your presence indicates that our dinner is ready?’

  Charles had tactfully arranged for the meal to be brought to a small round table set in the alcove formed by the bay windows, so that Robert had very little walking to do.

  Linney took a position behind Robert’s chair. When Charles’ footman approached him with a tureen of soup, the man took it from him, ladling a portion into a bowl for his master himself. For the first time it occurred to Heloise just how difficult it must be to eat a meal with only one arm, and how demeaning it must be for a man in his prime to have to rely on someone else to cut up his food for him. How he must hate having others watching the proof of his disability.

  Desperate to introduce some topic of conversation—anything to break the strained silence which reigned at the table—she asked Giddings, ‘Did I not meet you in Paris?’

  Although he was somewhat surprised to be addressed, the butler regally inclined his head in the affirmative.

  ‘How was your trip back to England? I hope your crossing was smooth?’

  ‘Indeed, once I was at sea I felt heartily relieved, my lady,’ he unbent enough to admit.

  ‘Did you dislike France so much?’

  The butler looked to his lordship for a cue as to how he should answer. Instead, Charles answered for him.

  ‘You have evidently not heard the news, my lady. Bonaparte has escaped from Elba. On the very eve of our marriage, he landed at Cannes with a thousand men and began his march on Paris.’

  ‘Damn the fellow!’ Robert put in. ‘Has there been much fighting? King Louis must have sent troops to intercept him?’

  Charles again gestured to Giddings, which the butler interpreted correctly as permission to tell his tale himself.

  ‘The last I heard, every regiment sent for the purpose of arresting him joined him the minute they saw him in person.’

  ‘It is no surprise, that,’ Heloise said darkly. ‘He has a way with the soldiers that makes them worship him.’

  ‘By the time I reached Calais,’ Giddings continued, ‘fugitives from Paris were catching up with me, telling tales of the desperate measures they had taken to get themselves out of the city before he arrived. The price of any sort of conveyance had gone through the roof.’

  ‘Thank heavens we married when we did,’ Charles remarked. ‘Else we might have been caught up in that undignified scramble.’

  ‘Is all you can think of your precious dignity?’ Robert retorted. ‘And how can you—’ he rounded on Heloise ‘—be so bacon-brained as to worship that Corsican tyrant?’

  ‘I did not say I worship him!’ Heloise snapped. First Charles had made light of the convenience of their marriage, and now Robert had jumped to a completely false conclusion about her. ‘Do you think I want to see my country back in a state of war? Do you think any woman in France is ready to see her brothers and sweethearts sacrificed to Bonaparte’s ambition? It is only men who think it is a fine thing to go about shooting each other!’

  ‘Now, steady on, there,’ Robert said, completely taken aback by the vehemence of her reply, and the tears that had sprung to Heloise’s eyes. ‘There’s no need to fly into such a pucker …’

  ‘Not at the dining table,’ put in Charles.

  ‘Oh, you!’ She flung her napkin down as she leapt to her feet. ‘All you care about is manners and appearances. Men in Paris might be fighting and dying, but all you can do is frown because I speak to a servant as if he is a real person, and say what I really think to your so rude beast of a brother!’

  ‘This is neither the time nor place—’

  ‘When will it ever be the time or the place with you, Charles?’ she cried. Then, seeing all hope torn from her—not only for her marriage, but also for her country—she burst into sobs and left the room.

  For a few moments the brothers sat in an uneasy silence.

  ‘Dammit, Walton,’ Robert said at last, flinging his spoon down with a clatter. ‘I didn’t mean to upset her so.’

  ‘I dare say she is anxious over the safety of her parents,’ Charles replied abstractedly. Did she really think he was so shallow all he cared about was good manners? ‘Giddings, give Her Ladyship an hour to calm down, then take a tray up to her room. As for you—’ he turned to Robert with a cool look. ‘—I suggest you finish your meal while you consider ways to make amends for insulting my wife and making her cry for the second time in one day.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Charles, you will never guess what has happened!’ Heloise greeted her husband, when he came in to bid her goodnight several nights later.

  She was not clutching the sheets nervously to her chest for once, Charles observed. Sadly, the robe which matched the gossamer-fine nightgown she wore was fastened demurely across her breasts, rather than lying provocatively across the ottoman. Though she was getting used to him visiting her room, she had no intention of inviting him into her bed.

  Still, it was a small step in the right direction. There were other indications that she was gaining confidence in her position as his wife, too. She had ordered some lower footmen to rearrange her furniture without asking his permission. She had dismissed the dresser and the maid he had engaged for her. Then, as though wondering just how far she dared push him, she had promoted the scrubby little girl who cleaned the grates and lit the fires to the position of her maid.

  She had then gone to Cummings and asked how she might go about doing some personal shopping.

  Was that what had put the sparkle in her eyes tonight? Discovering from his secretary what a generous allowance he had arranged for her to have?

  He took his seat at her bedside with a vague feeling of disappointment.

  ‘Robert is going to take me to Vauxhall Gardens to see the fireworks! Is that not wonderful?’

  His disappointment evaporated. Her pleasure stemmed from mending a quarrel with his brother rather than a so far concealed streak of avarice.

  ‘He said that he cannot take me anywhere by daylight, but if we kept to shadowy walks, so that nobody can raise objections to the state of his face, it might not be too bad. Charles, this is something I do not understand.’ Her brow puckered with confusion. ‘Nobody looks askance at a soldier on the boulevards of Paris, no matter how grotesque his injuries!’

  ‘But you have had conscription in France for many years. Everybody feels more personally involved in the war. Anyone’s brother or husband could easily suffer the same fate as those poor wretches.’ He sighed. ‘Heloise, you must understand that most people are basically selfish. They come to town to enjoy themselves. They want to gossip and flirt and dance. Seeing a man like Robert is a reminder that life can be ugly and brutal. And they don’t want reminders that outside their charmed circle men are fighting and dying to ensure their freedoms.’

  Heloise felt a twinge of guilt. She herself had become so preoccupied with her husband, and how she could win his approval, that she had not spared Bonaparte a thought for days.

  ‘I trust you have not fixed tomorrow evening for your outing to Vauxhall?’ Charles frowned. It had suddenly occurred to him that it would look very odd if her first outing in public was taken in the company of her brother-in-law. He rapidly reviewed the entertainments available to him for the next evening.

  And wondered why he had never thought of it before.

  ‘You will be accompanying me to the theatre.’ It had worked well for
them in Paris. Why should it not work here?

  ‘I … I will?’ Finally, finally he was going to permit her to appear in public as his bride!

  And people would look at how small and plain she was, and wonder why on earth he had married her when he could have had any woman for the lifting of his finger.

  Charles watched the joy drain from her face.

  ‘Is the primrose satin ready?’ he asked tersely, refusing to voice his hurt.

  It was not her fault she regarded an outing with him as a duty to be borne, when a trip to Vauxhall Gardens with his half-brother filled her with eager anticipation.

  When she nodded, he said, ‘Wear it tomorrow.’ Without further comment, he gave her the kiss which was always the prelude to leaving her room.

  It was only after he had gone that she allowed herself to feel resentful that he had not bothered to thank her for getting Robert to venture out of doors. Nobody else had succeeded in so much as rousing him out of his rooms for months. But could Charles unbend towards her enough to applaud her achievement? Not he!

  But she still, foolishly, studied his face for some sign of approval as she descended the stairs the following evening, dressed according to his dictates. She felt a little uncomfortable in the high-waisted gown which would have left her arms completely bare were it not for the matching gloves that came past her elbows. The neckline glittered with the most intricate beadwork Heloise had ever seen. The motif of thistle-heads and leaves was picked up in the self-coloured stitching on her gloves, and repeated around the three flounces on her skirts.

  ‘Come into my study for a moment before we leave,’ he said, crooking his finger imperiously. His guarded expression told her nothing. ‘I have something I wish to give you.’

  She followed him, her stomach feeling as though a nest of snakes had taken up residence there. She was thrilled he was taking her out, desperate to be a credit to him, terrified she would let him down, and agonisingly conscious of every single one of her physical deficiencies.

  Walking to his desk, he opened a large, square leather case which had been lying on it, and pushed it towards her across the polished mahogany surface. Inside, nestling on a bed of black velvet, was a parure consisting of necklace, bracelet, earrings and an aigrette of pale yellow gems, in a rather heavy and elaborate setting of gold. From another box, which he produced from his pocket, he took a matching ring.

  ‘I wished to have given you this sooner, but on returning to London and examining it I found it needed cleaning.’

  ‘Oh?’ Her eyes filled with tears as he slid the ring, which fitted perfectly, onto her finger. He had bought Felice a ring that matched her eyes. When he had given it to her, he had said no jewel could compare with them. He had merely had some old baubles he’d had to hand cleaned up for his plain and undeserving wife.

  Still, at least she understood now why he had ordered her to wear the primrose satin. There were not many fabrics that could complement such unusually coloured gems as the ones he lifted from the box and fastened in her ears.

  ‘Perfect,’ he said, standing back to admire the effect of the earrings glittering against the curtain of his wife’s dark hair.

  Heloise stiffened her spine, stifling her momentary pang of self-pity. She had always known she was a second-best wife. Of course she would only get second-hand jewels! What had she expected? That her husband would begin to act out of character and forget that she was not the woman he had wanted to marry?

  He was being very kind, considering the way she had acted since being installed in his home. He had never, for example, upbraided her for the scene she had created at dinner, when she knew such behaviour was what he deplored above all else. He had merely sent her food up to her room.

  Because he was, she suddenly realised, a kind man underneath those chillingly controlled manners. It was why she had never really been able to stay afraid of him for longer than a minute at a time. Why she had been able to confide in him from the very first. She had even been secure enough to give way to the childish temper tantrums that her brother had predicted would drive any husband to give her a beating.

  Charles would never beat her. He did not, she saw with a sinking heart, care enough about her to lose that glacial self-control.

  ‘I couldn’t have you going out without any jewellery, could I?’ he said, fastening the necklace round her throat.

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ she replied. He might not care about her much, but he cared about his own reputation. His Countess could not appear in public without adequate adornment. The dress, the jewels—they were just the costume that made her look the part she was playing.

  Charles was rather perplexed by Heloise’s response. He had just hung diamonds worth a king’s ransom around her neck, and instead of going into raptures she seemed weighed down.

  Could she be nervous at suddenly having so much wealth displayed upon her person? She had never owned much jewellery before.

  Nor wanted it. She had not even been tempted to try on the emerald ring that had been her sister’s.

  ‘These are yours by right as my wife, you know, Heloise.’ The set of yellow diamonds had been in his family for generations, handed down to each new bride upon her wedding—except for the ring, which was given upon the occasion of the betrothal. ‘It never felt right that you had to wear that ring I bought in Paris.’

  ‘I shall never wear it again,’ she vowed. It must remind him of all he had lost! And while she had been complaining to herself of all that she did not have, she had entirely forgotten that her husband was still trying to recover from his broken heart. He was so good at disguising his emotions that it took moments like this to remind her how much he must still be hurting.

  ‘What are we going to see at the theatre tonight?’ she said, deciding that he would be more comfortable if they talked about trivial matters.

  ‘The beau monde,’ he quipped, taking her arm and leading her to the door. He was glad he had taken that moment to reassure her. Now that she had got over her initial reluctance to accept the family heirlooms, she might even be able to enjoy herself a little. ‘As in Paris, we go to the theatre to see who is in the audience, not what is being performed upon the stage. I expect that during the intervals persons wishing for an introduction to my new Countess will besiege our box. They will probably think,’

  he remarked dryly, ‘that they will be able to get to me through you. I hope you will not be taken in.’ He frowned. ‘It would be best if you did not associate with anyone without checking their credentials with me first.’

  Heloise was virtually silent all evening. At first, Charles wondered if he had said something to offend her. She had lifted her chin as he’d handed her to her seat, and stared fixedly at the stage throughout the first act. Fortunately, this had left her oblivious to the stir her appearance, decked in the Walton diamonds, had created.

  Gradually, he recognised that this was the Heloise he had first become acquainted with. The quiet, reserved girl that nobody noticed. Who observed but did not participate. This public Heloise was a far cry from the termagant who yelled at his brother, flounced out of rooms, slammed doors, and rattled on without pausing to draw breath.

  He welcomed her return when they got into the carriage to go home.

  ‘Charles,’ she breathed, leaning forward and tapping his knee with her ivory-handled fan. ‘Who was that dreadful man—the great big dark one who accosted us in the corridor during the interval?’

  He smiled wryly. He had assumed it would be easier to control exactly whom he permitted to approach her if they went for a stroll, rather than sitting passively in their box and letting the importunate besiege them.

  ‘Lord Lensborough,’ he replied, no doubt in his mind as to who she meant.

  The Marquis had stood directly in their path, blocking their progress. And when he had said, Allow me to felicitate you upon your marriage,’ his hostility had been unmistakable.

  ‘Is he one of the family you won’t speak to because
of what they did to Robert?’

  ‘Far from it. If anything, he regards himself as Robert’s champion. His own brother, who serves in Robert’s former regiment, was so concerned about the Turkish treatment I would mete out, he wrote begging Lensborough to watch over him.’

  ‘Oh. I am so sorry.’ Heloise laid one gloved hand upon her husband’s sleeve.

  ‘For what?’ It was ridiculous, he reflected with a frown, that his spirits should lift just because she had forgotten herself so far as to reach out and touch him.

  ‘That people should so misunderstand you. What do they think you mean to do with Robert? Is he not your brother? Your heir?’

  ‘Alas, from Lord Lensborough’s reaction this evening, I fear they suspect that I mean to cut him out by siring an heir of my own. Through you.’

  ‘Well, that just goes to show,’ she said, snatching back her hand, remembering his reaction when she had made such an impulsive gesture once before, ‘how silly they are.’ Couldn’t they see how devoted Charles was to his brother? Didn’t they understand how outraged he had been by the way his guardians had tried to cut him out of the succession?

  Charles sighed. The reminder that she would one day have to face this distasteful duty as a wife had brought about an instant withdrawal.

  But at least when he went to her room later, to bid her goodnight, she seemed to be in good spirits.

  ‘Thank you for this evening, Charles,’ she said prettily, when he bent to bestow a chaste salutation on her forehead. ‘I did enjoy it.’

  ‘Really?’ He frowned. ‘I thought you seemed … abstracted.’

  ‘Oh, well …’ She fidgeted nervously with the ties of her robe, her cheeks flushing pink as she averted her eyes from his.

  Ah! She was relieved it was over. But she did not wish to wound him by confessing as much.

  She wanted him gone. Very well, he would oblige her! He would not force his unwelcome presence on her a moment longer. Turning on his heel, he stalked from the room.

  Heaving a sigh of relief, Heloise flung back the covers and went to the desk which she had converted to a drawing table. She had nearly given the game away then. It was just that there had been so many odd people at the theatre. And the knowledge that there was, at last, a fresh sheaf of drawing paper and a selection of really good-quality pencils hidden in a box beneath her bed was like a tonic fizzing through her veins. Now that she was a countess, with an army of staff at her disposal, she did not have to search the shops for what she wanted. She simply sent her maid, Sukey, with a list, and voilà ! After an hour or so the girl returned with exactly what she requested! And, since Sukey was so grateful for the meteoric rise in her status, she would rather cut her own throat, she had breathed dramatically, than ever betray Her Ladyship’s confidence.