by April Munday
The Heart That Hides
by
April Munday
First published in 2015 by April Munday
Copyright © April Munday 2015
The moral right of April Munday to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Cathy Helms, www.AvalonGraphics.org
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
With thanks to Linda Munday and Olga Colombo for reading and commenting and for making the last stages fun.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
London June 1812
Edmund Finch thought that he had long since come to terms with knowing that his contribution to his country’s security in these dangerous times would never be widely known or acknowledged, but tonight he was ashamed to admit that this was not true. Most of the other men at Lady Caroline Warren’s ball were in uniform and the women seemed to find them irresistible. He did not begrudge them the attention; he had learned enough about the way that soldiers lived and died to know that they deserved some glamour now that they were home. It was yet another symptom of the general feeling of discontent that had dogged him these last few months. He had been out of the country for most of that time and he had known failure of the most bitter sort. Finally he had returned to London, commanded to rest. So he had rested, but he had not been easy. Following hard on his personal failures, recent events had fed his discontent. The war with France was going badly; the Prime Minister had been assassinated and the government had fallen. Finch had returned to messages from his father telling him not to worry and it was only later, after a week without further news had compounded his exhaustion, that he had discovered what it was that he was not supposed to worry about. It seemed that attacks on manufactories by followers of General Ludd, whoever he might be, had spread across the North and the Midlands. Fortunately, his father’s glass manufactories were untouched, but it had seemed for a while that the country could turn easily and explosively to revolution.
Now General Warren, father-in-law to Lady Caroline and Finch’s commanding officer in the intelligence service, had encouraged him to leave his house to be entertained. Although Finch had been only too pleased to be in the company of Lady Caroline and her husband, he was not sure that he was fully recovered. At least Lady Caroline and her husband would not be offended if he had to leave early; they both knew how ill he had been. Deciding that it would be good for him to attend, Finch had taken care over his dress and set off for the ball. Lady Caroline’s balls were famous both for their elegance and for the propriety with which they were conducted. Even the most debauched and dissipated behaved themselves in her house. Being neither, Finch had always enjoyed the time he spent here.
Finch’s hope that General Warren’s prodding to go out into company indicated that he had work for him was all but dashed. The general had barely spoken to him all evening and now they had just finished eating supper. A month of enforced rest had given him time to think and to consider that he might no longer be wanted. He had not adjusted well to working alone again after several years of working with his friend the Earl of Meldon, Lady Caroline’s brother. It was not that he could not work alone, just that he missed having a trusted companion and he trusted no one as much as he trusted his friend.
One of the older Warren children ran through the room and Finch turned to follow his path with his eye. As he did so, he caught sight again of the woman who had captivated him earlier in the evening. They had not been introduced yet, so Finch had no idea who she was. All he knew was that she was beautiful and his eyes had sought her out all evening. She was fashionably dressed, but nothing was overdone. Her taste was impeccable. She had just the correct amount of décolleté; her figure was too slim for his own taste, but attractive. She wore enough jewellery to show that she had wealth, but not enough to be ostentatious about it. Her hair was piled artfully, but tastefully, on top of her head and secured with plain pins that contrasted favourably with the jewelled pins worn by the other women in the room. She danced as if it were the only way she moved and Finch was already more than half in love with her. He did not consider himself a particularly carnal man, but he found himself thinking about the things a man might do with such a woman when they were alone.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
Arthur Warren’s voice beside him surprised him. Warren was the last person Finch would have expected to be impressed by the stranger. The man had been married to Lady Caroline for more than 20 years and Finch had every reason to believe that it was a happy marriage, not least because of the large number of healthy and happy children they had produced. He also believed that they were faithful to one another, a rarity these days.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“Yes, she is.”
Warren laughed.
“I suggest you start thinking about something else, Finch, before it becomes obvious to the rest of my wife’s guests that you are... fascinated by her.”
“Of course,” said Finch, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t realised...”
“I’ll introduce you. She’s quite the coldest woman I’ve ever met. I doubt your ardour will last five seconds once you’ve felt the coolness of her glance.”
Finch followed Warren across the room. As they approached, the woman turned towards her host. Her eyes, which had seemed as blue as the sky from the other side of the room, now struck Finch as being icy. Her expression softened as she recognised Warren, but it seemed to Finch that it cost her some effort.
“Lady Louise Favelle,” said Warren after they had bowed to her, “may I present Mr Edmund Finch.”
“Mr Finch.” Lady Louise spoke his name with a pronounced French accent.
Finch was surprised, but not unduly so; many French aristocrats had taken refuge in England after the Revolution.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said as she curtsied.
“And I yours. I am surprised to meet a Frenchwoman at a ball given by Arthur and Lady Caroline Warren.”
“I was born in this country. My parents came here as refugees.” Her face softened. “They were murdered by agents of the French Republicans.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
It seemed inadequate.
“So I cannot really consider myself French. You cannot hate them more than I do.”
Finch didn’t know what to say, since he didn’t hate the French at all. They were the enemy and he would do everything he could to protect his country from them, but there was no need to hate them. He couldn’t even say that he feared them, although he most certainly did not want Bonaparte’s armies to do the same to England
as they had to the rest of Europe.
“I’m glad we don’t have to be enemies,” he said, when it became clear that he must say something.
“Oh, no, never that.”
She smiled and, in the warmth of her smile, Finch gaped at her, then he remembered to close his mouth. From somewhere very distant came the sound of musicians making ready to play again; the supper break was over.
“Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?” he asked.
“I should like nothing more.”
Finch was more than half inclined to believe her, for she leaned towards him eagerly. He offered her his arm and led her into the other room where couples were beginning to line up.
They said little as they moved with and around the other dancers. He took advantage of this opportunity to look at her closely. She was every bit as beautiful as she had seemed from afar, although her skin was over-powdered to Finch’s taste and he was sure she had some kind of rouge on her lips and cheeks. Her figure was elegant and her feet, glimpsed occasionally as she negotiated the steps, were small. Although her hands were gloved, he could tell that she had long, narrow fingers. Already he longed to take them to his lips and kiss them. Her lips were full, or was that the effect of the rouge? He was certain that there was some artifice here and he wondered why she felt she needed it; she was easily the most beautiful and most alluring woman in the room.
The dance ended and Finch bowed to his partner.
“Thank you, that was most enjoyable.”
“I also found it so. Perhaps we might dance again later.”
Finch hoped that he didn’t show the shock on his face that he felt at such forwardness. He found himself saying, “It would be a pleasure.”
Reluctantly he turned away and bumped into Sophia Arbuthnot.
“Miss Arbuthnot, please forgive me my clumsiness.”
“Of course,” she smiled. “It was my fault, really. I was distracted and didn’t move out of the way quickly enough.”
“Are you in want of a partner?” asked Finch, seeing no one near her.
"For the moment, yes."
“Then would you dance with me?”
“Of course.”
They took their places in the rows of dancers.
“How are your sisters?” he asked as they crossed, for Sophia was the second of five sisters and he knew all of them.
“Lizzie married in March and is settling into her new home in Surrey. Charlotte and Anne are well and here tonight. Augusta is in Kent visiting an aunt.”
Dancing with Sophia was always a pleasure; she never forgot the steps or her place amongst the other couples. Possessed of intelligence and quick understanding, she was able to converse on many subjects and support her arguments. Finch wondered if that was why she was not much sought out by young men, although she was pretty and she was careful not to appear more intelligent than the person to whom she was speaking. Some men were intimidated by clever women, as if they were somehow unnatural. It was when he was in the company of women like Sophia that Finch most regretted that he had elected to play the buffoon in order to make people unguarded in their conversation with him. He had often been tempted to draw Sophia out on subjects that interested her. She frequently had to put up with irritated glances from her sisters when she had given voice to her opinions. Finch particularly enjoyed it when they discussed politics, for her views, though similar to his own, were different enough for them to be able to discuss them at length.
“I heard you had been away,” she said as they crossed again.
“Yes, Ireland. I’ve been investigating a new glass making process that we could use.”
“A process for what?”
Finch was taken aback. Although he and General Warren had invented a perfectly plausible reason for him to be out of the country, Sophia was the first person to show real interest in his trip. Most people he knew didn’t really want to talk about trade.
“It won’t mean anything unless you understand the manufacture of glass.”
The words were out of his mouth before he realised how rude they sounded, but the smile on Sophia’s face gave him another reason for fear. The dance ended and Sophia put a hand on his arm and drew him away to the edge of the room.
“Let me tell you what I know about the manufacture of glass.”
She was still telling him when Lady Caroline’s oldest son came to ask her to dance. Finch didn’t know if he was more surprised or flattered by her interest in glass. He was, however, troubled by what it might mean. Watching her dance with John Warren, he saw her glance in his direction a couple of times. His uneasiness was compounded by the look on John’s face. Deciding that he had no wish to be called out by his friend’s nephew and heir, Finch looked around the room for a suitable partner for the next dance. Louise Favelle caught his eye and he smiled. His interest in her was not pretended and Sophia would have to draw her own conclusions from his actions.
“You are come late to ask me for this dance,” said Lady Louise as he drew near.
It seemed perfectly natural to him that she should be without a partner for this dance.
“On the contrary. I am come early for the next.”
Her laugh was light and intoxicating.
“Punctuality is an underrated virtue.”
Finch suspected that Lady Louise knew little about virtue. Her boldness towards him was both attractive and repellent.
“I find that where a beautiful woman is concerned only a foolish man would keep her waiting.”
“Yes, I did indicate that dancing with you again would be most diverting. You are by far the most handsome man in the room.”
Only years of practice at schooling his features enabled Finch to keep the smile on his face. He did not prize his looks, having done nothing to earn them. At school they had got him into trouble on more than one occasion. When his wife had been alive, the attention that he had received from other women had grieved her greatly which had, in turn, grieved him.
Finch laughed as he appreciated the irony of the situation, for he acknowledged that his fascination with Lady Louise was based solely on her beauty.
“Did I say something amusing?”
“No, my lady. You simply reminded me that I am a man.”
“I should not think you need me to do that.”
She leaned closer to him. It was only when he let his breath out in a rush that Finch realised that he had been holding it. Then he remembered their conversation.
“Perhaps not. Ah, the dance is over, shall we take our places?”
As when they had first danced, there was little conversation while they moved around the floor. Finch was content to observe her. Her beauty gave him all the excuse he needed to stare and she seemed to appreciate his attention.
He was not entirely surprised when, once the dance was over, she seemed disinclined to leave him.
“May I bring you something to drink?” he asked, for he, too, wished to make the most of her interest in him.
“Thank you.”
While he was waiting for the drinks, he noticed Lady Caroline standing next to him.
“Lady Caroline, thank you for inviting me this evening.”
“I’m glad you were able to come. You are looking so much better than when you returned from Ireland.”
Finch smiled. Lady Caroline’s plain speaking was like a balm to his soul. He was fond of her and was sorry that she had come to visit him immediately on his return to London. He had been quite ill and her concern for him then had been painful to see.
“I was just in need of some rest.”
“You were too thin, Mr Finch. There has never been much of you to spare, but I’ll admit that I was worried about you.”
He was glad she did not comment on what his mental state had been, for he had been sicker of mind than body. It was for that reason alone that he had stayed on the continent so long; he had not wanted his son or his friends to see him so melancholy.
“I’m sorry to have
caused you a moment’s concern.”
“Do you not think that you have caused me more than one moment’s concern over the last twenty years? You fell out of a tree at Meldon Hall one summer. I was afraid you’d broken your neck. George knocked you out when you were fighting one day upstairs. You were unconscious so long that the doctor said you might never recover your senses. Neither of those worried me as much as this last.”
It did not occur to Finch to protest that Lady Caroline had no right to worry about him. For twenty years she had treated him as if he had been a member of her family and he loved her as dearly as he would an older sister or an aunt. She had every right to worry about him and he regretted that he had given her cause.
He did want to stop the conversation, however, before Lady Caroline reached her inevitable point. He opened his mouth to speak.
“It’s time you married again.”
Finch closed his mouth.
“Edmund?”
Finch opened his eyes. He couldn’t remember closing them. Lady Caroline’s hand was stretched out towards him as if she was afraid that he would fall. He shook his head slightly and she lowered her arm, but the look of worry didn’t leave her face.
“You’re right, of course,” he said. “I should marry again, if only for Freddie’s sake.”
“No, for your sake. Freddie will manage without a mother. You’re a good father.”
A cynical man would think that, having finally seen her brother married, Lady Caroline had now picked on him, but Finch knew that Lady Caroline had only been waiting for the right moment and she had chosen her moment well. Meldon’s marriage had caused the earl to leave the intelligence service and kept him on his estate in Hampshire. Had he been in London he would have seen his friend frequently and Finch would not have become quite so aware of his own loneliness. He had always known that he threw himself into his work for General Warren to avoid having the time to dwell on the pain caused by Emily’s death and he had done so even more enthusiastically than usual, perhaps even carelessly, in the spring.