Regency Innocents

by Annie Burrows

  ‘I don’t expect you will go back to blacking fires—not now you’ve become a lady’s maid,’ Heloise reproved gently. ‘You have learned to do it so well! At least, I think you have.’ She frowned. Then, seeing Sukey’s downcast expression in the mirror, she explained, ‘You see, I never had a maid—not before I married Lord Walton. In Paris I shared a room with my sister, and we used to help each other dress and do each other’s hair.’

  Absentmindedly, she nibbled on a biscuit. She had no experience with servants at all, if truth be told. In London, once she had discovered that Charles disliked her chatting to Giddings as though he were a real person, she had tried to ignore them. They had all helped her by taking care to be as unobtrusive as possible. They had certainly never all stood in one place at the same time, and stared at her as though she was some kind of fairground exhibit. Why had he not warned her they would all turn out to greet her like that? And why had he not told her what she should say? She had seen the expression of disapproval on his face when she had been struck dumb by the onslaught of all that curiosity. And she had felt the scorn emanating from Mrs Lanyon’s stiff back as she had led her way up the stairs.

  ‘I hope you won’t leave me, Sukey,’ she said, suddenly reaching for her maid’s hand over her shoulder. She needed at least one ally amongst all these strangers.

  ‘Of course I’ll stay. It’s not as if we’ll be down here for ever, is it? Old Giddings was explaining to me that though His Lordship comes down here regular, he never stays for long. We’ll soon be back in town, dressing you for parties and the theatre and the like!’

  Charles never stays for long. She sighed, replacing her half-eaten biscuit on the plate. But she doubted very much whether she would ever see London again.

  Just when he’d thought the day could not possibly get any worse, Charles discovered dinner had been laid out in the state dining room.

  Nothing could have been more daunting to a woman like Heloise. His place was at the head of the table, while she sat at its foot, some twenty feet distant. There was no point in even attempting any sort of conversation.

  He barely managed to stifle the irritation that had dogged him all day, reminding himself that the staff had clearly gone to a great deal of trouble to impress his new Countess. The meal was a culinary triumph. And he was sure Mrs Lanyon had not intended to intimidate Heloise the minute she stepped through the front door. It was just, he realised, that his guardians had inaugurated a devilishly formal atmosphere at Wycke. And he had never bothered to dismantle it. When he was in residence his focus was on the land, and his tenants. He did not care enough about household management to bother altering a routine into which he fell without thinking.

  He should have given Heloise a hint, though, about how to deal with that welcoming party. He had meant to, but when he had gone out to the coach and seen Robert sitting in it he had been so angry that the only way to avoid an unpleasant scene had been to have his hunter saddled up and claim he preferred to ride in such warm weather. So instead of spending the journey warning Heloise that their housekeeper liked to do things ‘properly’, he had flounced off in a right royal huff. He should have been pleased that she had somehow cajoled Robert into finally accepting an invitation to come and view the place where he should have grown up.

  All he could think of was that his plans to get Heloise to himself had been ruined. He would have to divide his time between wooing his reluctant bride and initiating his recalcitrant brother into the ways of Wycke. And in giving way to anger he had done them both a disservice. Not only had Heloise’s inadvertent recoil offended Mrs Lanyon, but he had not taken sufficient care of a man who was still far from well. It would probably take Robert days to recover from the journey down here.

  He rose to his feet when Heloise left the table, morosely noting how swiftly she fled his presence.

  He had the devil of a job on his hands with both Heloise and Robert. And, he reflected, gulping down port that should really have been sipped and savoured, he was damned if he knew how to proceed with either of them.

  Heloise took the stopper from the perfume bottle she had found on her dressing table and sniffed tentatively. It was floral, but with an underlying hint of musk that was quite sensual. She dabbed a little onto each wrist, and behind her ears. Then, feeling very daring, between her breasts.

  She had already dismissed Sukey, claiming with complete honesty that she would not need her any more. For seducing her husband was a thing a woman had to do for herself.

  During dinner she’d had ample opportunity to study her distant spouse and form a plan. He seemed very much at home here, in this house that ran with the precision of a clockwork toy. He was not the sort of man to break any habit he had formed without good reason. So she could probably expect him to come and bid her goodnight.

  Gazing along the length of polished mahogany that had symbolised the vast gulf that separated them, she had noted that he was able to enjoy the meal for which she had little appetite. He was a healthy man in his prime, with healthy appetites—at least one of which had not been met since they had married, so far as she could tell. And they were miles from anywhere. And he was not the sort of man to dally with the housemaids.

  Which was why she had got Sukey to fetch her most revealing nightdress under the pretext that it was a very sultry night. And doused herself with the only perfume she could lay her hands on.

  Finally, with great daring, she arranged herself in what she hoped was a seductive pose on top of the covers.

  And waited nervously for Charles to come to her.

  It was hard to resist the instinctive desire to preserve her modesty by pulling the covers over herself when she heard the knock that presaged his arrival. Her sense of vulnerability increased when he strode into the room fully dressed.

  His reaction was not what she had hoped for either. He glanced only briefly to where she knew her nipples were just visible through the filmy fabric of her nightgown, then, his jaw tightening, fixed his eyes firmly on her face.

  ‘I must apologise,’ he said, sitting on the chair beside her bed and crossing his legs as though he had not noticed she was barely decent, ‘for the reception you received from the staff. Mrs Lanyon meant well. I was remiss in not preparing you for the formality with which things are done here,’ he added, thinking of the dreadful atmosphere at dinner. ‘Mrs Lanyon has ruled the roost for a long time.’

  Far too long. It was well past time some changes were made. Mrs Lanyon presided over the routine his guardians had inaugurated. But he could remember that Wycke had had a far more relaxed, happy atmosphere when his father had been alive.

  ‘I hope you will make whatever changes you feel are necessary to make this a comfortable home.’

  Heloise bit her lower lip. Before they had married he had told her that his staff were efficient, and that he did not want her altering anything. That had been before he had discovered she was such a liability he would not be able to tolerate living in the same household. That he was now granting her permission to make whatever changes she wished here at Wycke, so that she could be relatively comfortable in her exile, was a generous concession on his part.

  ‘You must be tired,’ he said. ‘It’s been the devil of a day.’

  He kissed her swiftly, and left so abruptly he might just as well have slapped her.

  It was only after he had gone that she worked out what she should have done. When he had bent to kiss her she should have put her arms about his neck and kissed him back. Not on the lips, she had not the courage to be so brazen. For if he had recoiled from such a kiss she would have died of the humiliation. But she could have given him an affectionate peck on the cheek. She frowned. Though he had warned her he did not like displays of affection.

  Oh, damn the man! She knelt up and flung a pillow at the door through which he had retreated. Then buried her face in her hands. The barriers which separated them were impenetrable. Especially since he bolstered them every way he could. She should just gi
ve up before she totally humiliated herself.

  Charles’ mood the next morning was even blacker than it had been the night before. Heloise had looked so tempting, lying on her bed in that confection of lace and moonbeams, that it had been all he could do to keep his hands off her. The wary look on her face had reminded him just in time what a disaster that would have been. The speech he had spent so long carefully preparing had evaporated like morning mist at the sudden hot flare of lust he’d had to disguise by sitting down quickly, crossing his legs, and clasping his hands in his lap.

  He’d spent a sleepless night, remembering how she had looked reclining on that bank of pillows and wishing he could be beside her. Racking his brains to think of some way he could achieve that goal.

  While he had been shaving, he’d had a brainwave. For a couple of days he would have Heloise to himself, while Robert was recovering. He could make a start by showing her over the house. And while he was doing that he would persuade her that it might be a good idea to learn to drive the estate gig. The narrow seat of the two-wheeled vehicle could only accommodate a driver and one passenger. They would have to go out on their own. He would have to take hold of her hands to teach her how to use the reins. She would get used to him touching and holding her, under the guise of accepting instruction, and slowly she would cease to feel threatened by him. When they reached that point he would slide his arm about her waist, or her shoulder. He would inform her that her bonnet was most becoming, and drop a kiss on her cheek …

  A less contained man than he would have whistled on the staircase as he went down to breakfast.

  And would then have thumped Giddings for informing him that his bailiff was already waiting for him in the estate office.

  Why had he forgotten that he always spent his first day at Wycke going over the estate accounts? And damn the place anyway, for its relentless routine which ground any hope of spontaneity into the dust!

  Heloise checked on the threshold of the breakfast room when she saw the thunderous expression on his face. A stickler for good manners, he got to his feet and bade her a gruff good morning, but it was evident he had not expected her presence at the breakfast table.

  The room was far nicer than the one where they had dined the night before. It was smaller, for one thing, and the floor-to-ceiling windows gave a view over a gravelled parterre in the centre of which an ornamental fountain played. The table was round, and lacked formal place-settings. If Charles had not retreated behind his newspaper, indicating his preference for solitude, she could have sat next to him.

  ‘I had thought you might like a tour of the house this morning,’ he said, as she helped herself to some chocolate from a silver pot which stood on a sideboard. ‘Unfortunately I have pressing estate business to see to, else I would have taken you around myself.’

  ‘It is of no matter.’ Heloise shrugged. She would have years to explore this horrid house, and would probably come to detest every inch of it. ‘I will go and make a visit with Robert, see how he does. And after I shall take a walk through the gardens.’

  ‘I have another suggestion,’ he put in hastily. He had to wean her from the habit of turning to Robert. ‘Have Mrs Lanyon take you over the house this morning. She knows far more about its history than I, in any case. She has made quite a study of it. And, you know, it would be a good opportunity to get on terms with the woman.’ They had not got off to a good start. ‘You are going to have to deal with her on a regular basis …’

  Yes, Mrs Lanyon was to be her jailer! Breaking open a bread roll with rather more force than was necessary, Heloise considered her husband’s advice. It was bad enough that she was going to have to live in this wilderness, let alone with a woman who despised her. One who wielded such immense power over the staff as well.

  ‘You are right,’ she sighed.

  ‘Then I shall arrange it. Also,’ he added in a deceptively casual tone, ‘one day soon, since the estate is so large and you do not ride, I shall teach you to drive a gig. Then you will be able to get around more independently.’ He studied her downbent head with a growing feeling of disquiet. It was almost as if she sensed his suggestion was merely a ruse to get her alone, and was thinking of excuses to put him off. ‘It would be a great pity to be restricted to the house when there are so many delightful vistas just a short drive away,’ he went on, in some desperation. ‘Once you become proficient I should not object to you driving yourself into the village on occasion—provided, of course, you took your maid.’

  Heloise could hardly swallow her bread and honey for the lump which formed in her throat.

  He might not be able to feel any affection for her, but he was clearly not going to leave her here until he was fairly sure she had the means to be comfortable. He was intent on smoothing her way with the formidable Mrs Lanyon, and had come up with a plan to ensure she had a degree of freedom when he was no longer there.

  Though he did own a village, and held the lives of so many people in the palm of his hand, he was by no means a tyrant. His strict sense of duty ensured he looked out for the welfare of all his dependants, be they tenants or injured and estranged brothers, or ill-chosen wives. How could she help loving him?

  She sighed. It would take a remarkable woman to earn his regard. She did not know why she had even thought it was worth trying.

  There was no point in her wearing transparent nightgowns and dousing herself with perfume to try to titillate his manly impulses. Or trying to worm her way into his busy life by interrupting him at the breakfast table when he clearly would much rather be reading his paper. She would revert to the routine they had set in London and keep out of his way, as she had initially promised.

  She lifted her chin, laying what remained of the honeyed crust on her plate.

  ‘You do not need to teach me to drive. I shall get Robert to do it. It will do him good to get out in the fresh air. Besides, I am sure he wants to explore the estate, but nothing would let him admit as much. If he has the excuse of having to look after me, it will mean he can get out as often as he wants.’

  He was still groping for some objection to her very logical suggestion when she rose from her chair and glided from the room without a backward glance. Somehow she had managed to slip through his fingers yet again.

  * * *

  ‘And now we come to the portrait gallery,’ Mrs Lanyon intoned.

  She certainly knew a great deal about Wycke, and the family who had lived there since it had been built, in the latter days of Queen Elizabeth. She liked nothing better, she had confided on collecting Heloise from her rooms, than showing interested parties around.

  Wycke was mentioned in guidebooks, and visitors to the county always put it at the very top of their itinerary, she had further declared, with pride.

  ‘This is the first Earl,’ she said of a life-sized portrait of a man with a ruff round his neck and a fierce expression on his face that put Heloise in mind of Robert.

  Each successive Earl and Countess Mrs Lanyon introduced her to gazed down at her with varying degrees of disdain.

  ‘The late Countess of Walton,’ Mrs Lanyon said, jerking Heloise out of her introspection.

  ‘Which one?’ she dared to ask, her interest reviving for the first time since 1724.

  ‘I mean to say, is it the Earl’s mother, or his stepmother?’

  Mrs Lanyon drew herself up to her full height before saying frostily, ‘His mother, naturally. She was the granddaughter of the Duke of Bray.’

  She looked as though she might have been, Heloise mused. The weight of generations of breeding sat heavily on the slender shoulders of the young woman who looked out of her gilded frame with a somewhat pained expression. The glossy curls which peeped from under the brim of her hat were of a similar colour to Charles’ hair, and her eyes were blue, but her mouth had a petulant droop to the lips that she would never associate with him.

  ‘My grandfather,’ Heloise blurted in a spirit of rebellion, ‘was among the very first to go to the guillotine
.’ Her father might be only a government functionary, but her mother’s blood was as blue as any of these ancestors of Charles’.

  ‘Dreadful!’ gasped Mrs Lanyon, her hand flying to her throat.

  ‘Yes, he was. He doubled the taxes during a period of famine, causing great hardship to the peasants. Something that Charles,’ she declared with conviction, ‘would never do.’

  Having finished her tour of the house, Mrs Lanyon handed her over to Bayliss, the head gardener. Thoroughly oppressed by so much history, and aware she had spoken too controversially for Mrs Lanyon’s comfort, Heloise was glad to get out of doors.

  To her dismay, the Walton family, and in particular the ladies, pursued her through the grounds. A knot garden was the work of the first Countess; a rose garden was the inspiration of the third. She could see why the place attracted visitors, for it contained a great deal that was beautiful. But it was more like a museum than a home.

  Spying a familiar figure lounging on a south-facing stone terrace, Heloise escaped from her guide.

  ‘Robert!’ she cried, running up the steps and bounding to his side. ‘You are better today, yes?’

  ‘Just sitting out enjoying the fresh air,’ he groused. ‘Don’t go pestering me to go anywhere today, because I have no intention of stirring from this terrace. Which is mine, by the way.’

  ‘How do you mean, yours?’ She sat on a wooden bench next to him, her eyes alight with curiosity.

  ‘I mean just that. The windows behind me lead directly into my rooms. Nobody is supposed to disturb me out here. Do you know you have to walk across I don’t know how many lawns to get to those steps you ran up?’

  ‘Only too well!’ she snorted. ‘For I have walked across them. Oh,’ she said, suddenly registering what he had said, ‘you wish me to leave you alone.’ From his eyes she met the hostility of generations of Waltons. ‘I understand.’

  Leaping to her feet, she ran back down the steps and, without knowing where she would end up, headed away from the house. Anywhere, she fumed, blinking back tears, as long as she was out of everyone’s way! She blundered through a dense shrubbery to emerge on the lip of an embankment. To her amazement she discovered she had come out just above the curving carriage drive, and that beyond it a flower-sprinkled meadow undulated down to the lake.