To Romance a Scoundrel

by Rosie Wynter

  “You know, I do not think there are many men who would have gone to such lengths to protect the innocence of a neighbour.” She began. “I fear that in my anxiety to reach Gretna Green, I failed to take the time to thank you properly for your part in getting us here. Without your aid, I am certain my aunt and I would not have been able to make it here in time to stop Mr Hawkins and Miss Rosingden from forging their union.”

  The earl had kept his head high during the walk, but now he lowered it and ran a hand through his short dark hair. “You are far too generous with me, Miss Curtis. While I wish I could accept your kind words, we both know they are not true.”

  Claire frowned, turning her head as she walked alongside the earl. She looked at him carefully. There seemed to be no hint of irony or falsehood in him as he spoke. “I am not trying to be overgenerous with you. I really have been impressed by all you have done for Miss Rosingden here.”

  “Miss Rosingden….” The earl spoke the girl’s name with some derision in his voice. Something had obviously affected him deeply, but for the life of her, Claire could not divine what she had said that could have offended him. “Perhaps I could have taken your praise with good grace and cheer if I felt my actions were made from a place of goodwill and pure Christian charity,” he continued. “As it is, I know that there is a darker motivation that has driven me to help you.”

  “A darker motivation?” Claire shook her head, her brow knotting as she tried to understand. “You have only ever shown yourself to be a perfect gentleman and an honourable man under all circumstances.”

  “The truth of the matter is that I would never have come up here to aid Mr Rosingden in tracking down his daughter were it not for the fact that Mr Hawkins is involved. I like to think I am a man of charity, and I certainly would not have wished an improper and imprudent marriage upon my neighbour’s daughter. However, I do not believe I would have gone so far, were it not for the fact that it is Mr Hawkins, particularly, who is involved in this case.”

  “I… I understand.” Claire grew hesitant and felt a lump growing in her throat. She trembled a little and her eyes darted to her companion, taking in his tense expression. “Do you mean to say that you have come here to avenge yourself on Mr Hawkins? My word… if you can harbour such resentment towards him, I dread to think how loathsome you must find my company at this moment.”

  The earl stopped in his tracks, and Claire was forced to turn to look at him. Aunt Lynch, as though sensing the growing tension, pretended to avert her eyes elsewhere, giving the pair just a little extra space.

  “Miss Curtis, I know I left Holdenwood Manor somewhat abruptly after the incident at the assembly. Even before then, I know my behaviour towards you must surely have given you the impression that I had grown indifferent towards you. I–”

  “I understand entirely,” Claire interrupted, not wanting or able to hear more. “After the arrival of Mr Hawkins at Holdenwood Manor, I all but ignored you completely, throwing the friendship you had offered me in your face. I even dared to lecture you when you did not compliment the poet’s work the way I wanted you to. How on earth could you not have come to despise me? I am… I am just glad there is Miss Lambert in your life, and I hope she will prove a more constant friend and ally than I have been. I am sure that having the companionship of someone such as her must be a great comfort to you.”

  “Amelia is a rock. I can always count on her, even in the darkest of days,” Lord Dalton said. His openness and his direct answer stung, and Claire felt a tightness in her chest and her breathing became difficult.

  “I… I am sorry.” Claire could feel hot tears burning her eyes and threatening to spill over. She could no longer stay by the earl’s side and remain composed. If she spent any more time tormenting herself with the earl’s company, she would go mad. She also did not want to be seen breaking down pathetically in the view of every man and woman walking about the village. She could not let what little was left of her pride and dignity be destroyed in such a way. Though quitting the earl’s company was hardly ladylike or correct, she knew that to stay would only bring more pain.

  Claire rushed away at speed, not daring to look back as she marched in the direction of the inn. Aunt Lynch gave Claire a most confused look but did not ask her niece anything. The woman just fell in line and followed Claire at a reasonable distance. Claire was glad her aunt had not tried to stop her. Although she knew Aunt Lynch would demand an explanation sooner or later, at least she seemed willing to give Claire some time to wallow in the pain and misery she had inflicted on herself through her own actions and her poor decisions.

  Chapter 18

  Claire had no visitors or disturbance for the remainder of the day. Both Aunt Lynch and Lord Dalton seemed to understand her need for space, or else were fearful of what they might discover if they were to intrude upon her. She found herself free to wallow in her grief and misery, knowing that the earl was lost to her forever. The fact that the man did not enquire after her seemed ample proof of his lack of feelings for her.

  For a time, she cried on the bed. When the first flood of tears had passed, she dried her eyes and began to think about how untoward she had been to flee from the earl in full view of the public. She paced the floor of her small, cramped quarters in irritation. A battle raged within her, between the urge to remain locked away and the growing feeling that she should step out of her room and apologise to the man for her outburst. In the end, cowardice won out. Claire opted to remain inside and out of sight. She could not bring herself to seek out the earl and apologise to him. She had already been in the middle of apologising over the matters concerning Mr Hawkins when she had let her emotions get the better of her. The earl would doubtless be tired of her ever-changing moods now. She had already driven him into the arms of another woman through her actions, and now she looked set to lose him even as a friend. She cursed her inability to keep her right mind in the man’s presence and prayed to all the powers that her heartache would end soon.

  As the sun was descending, a shadow passed over Claire’s door. She heard the telltale creak of footsteps and could see the outline of a person through the slight crack in the door frame. She wrapped her arms about herself, sucking in a breath as she prepared for either her aunt or the earl to ask for her. She had no idea how she would respond. Her instinct told her to remain quiet, to pretend not to be in her room at all, and to wait until her visitor had left. Whoever was on the other side of the door, seemed to know her mind, however, and did not bother to knock.

  Claire frowned as she saw a small slip of paper being slid under the door frame and then she heard the creak of the corridor floorboards once more. Her visitor had left and whatever they had to say was no doubt waiting for her in the small missive that lay on the floor.

  Claire looked at the slip of paper for a while. She did not dare pick it up at once. Finally, she summoned up her courage and picked it up. Only when she turned it over and found the handwriting to be in her aunt’s hand, did she relax a little. Although Aunt Lynch’s censure was hardly desirable, she knew she could endure it far better than she could any rebuke or condemnation from the earl.

  Her spirit emboldened, she began to read.

  “My dear child,

  I thought it might do you good to know that Lord Dalton has not left us and seemed very understanding when I begged his forgiveness and indulgence for your outburst earlier. I am sure you are wondering why the man has not come by himself to check on you. To speak plainly: I advised him not to. You have proven so erratic and nervous, that I did not believe it would be a good thing for him to seek reconciliation with you at this time. No doubt, you are upset at the prospect of confronting Mr Hawkins and from spending so long in the earl’s company again. I feel it is a good thing for you to have some time alone, to collect your mind and to calm yourself.

  I have instructed the innkeeper to have your evening meal brought to you in your room.

  Do not worry. The earl seems doubly determined to catch
Mr Hawkins for you – if indeed that erstwhile gentleman should even dare to show his face here. He has spent much of the day patrolling near the blacksmith’s shop and the local church. He has already detained and questioned one couple, planning to marry today. You could not ask for a more dedicated watchman. If Mr Hawkins does choose to pass through this town, he will not escape the earl’s notice.

  I will consider myself lucky if I can convince the man to sleep tonight.

  Rest now and let us worry about Mr Hawkins.”

  Claire frowned and put the piece of paper down on the small table in her room. She obeyed her aunt’s request and remained locked in her room. She lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. From time to time she rolled onto her stomach and closed her eyes. She tried to sleep, but rest was not forthcoming. Her guilt-wracked mind was now in far too much turmoil to be silenced.

  She was relieved to be interrupted from her worries by the innkeeper who brought up her evening meal. She tried her utmost, while eating, to concentrate on the flavours of the cooked pie and potatoes that swam in an ocean of watery gravy. It was not a particularly appetising meal by any stretch of the imagination, but Claire was grateful for it, simply because of the momentary diversion it offered her. However, even this respite did not last long. Soon her meal was finished, and she had nothing else to do except return to bed and to her thoughts.

  She knew she did not wish to see the earl. Even putting aside her aunt’s counsel about staying in her room, Claire did not feel ready to confront the man. She did not wish to risk having another moment of weakness in front of him. She was convinced that she was proving to be an unholy terror to the gentleman, and she resolved not to clap eyes on him again until she was quite certain she could master her emotions. Her body had no real need of sleep or rest. Her muscles ached and tingled as though demanding to be used. Her entire being craved movement and action, resenting being confined to the bed.

  After hours of fighting inaction, Claire rose from her bed. She was not sure what hour it was, but the noise from outside her room had all but completely died down. She felt quite confident that even the diligent earl would have turned in for the night and that she could wander the corridors of the inn without risk of being disturbed. Of course, moving about the inn by herself, at night, was probably not the most advisable thing for her to be doing. But Claire had to allow herself the small indulgence. If she didn’t, she knew she was doomed to spending the entire night trapped in both her room and her mind.

  Descending from the upstairs bedrooms to the downstairs tavern, Claire was relieved to find the place in darkness. The tables and chairs were all empty and the candles all snuffed out. She took some tentative steps into the space, feeling a little uneasy as she stepped behind the bar where the innkeeper worked. She was looking for something with which to light the candles. The innkeeper did a poor job of organising his workspace, and in the dark, Claire found it all but impossible to locate what she was looking for. She knelt down behind the counter and tried to use her hands to feel her way through the various shelves. It was at that moment that a knock at the door caused her to freeze.

  Claire’s breathing became shallow and her mind went blank, as she listened to the rapping on the main door. They were being made somewhat desperately. Whoever was outside was eager for admittance. Few locals would be abroad at such a late hour and so Claire could only assume that the visitor was a traveller from out of town. Needless to say, her imagination leapt straight to one particular person. Though it was untoward of her to do so, she remained where she was, hidden from view behind the work counter. She listened attentively as the stranger continued to knock on the door. Soon enough, she heard footsteps from inside the property and then the familiar grumblings of the innkeeper.

  “Damned travellers, do they not know we need our sleep as well?” The man mumbled to himself as he shuffled towards the front door. He had a lamp lit, but Claire was well enough hidden that the innkeeper would not see her ducked behind the counter. She tried to control her breathing and to make as little noise as possible, as she listened to hear who the late-night caller could be. She heard the door to the property open and then she heard a voice she recognised and remembered well.

  “My dear Sir, I am sorry to trouble you so late at night, but I must enquire if you have any rooms available, and, if it does not seem too untoward, I must know if I am safe to be here in Gretna Green.”

  A wave of relief flooded her body as she realised that she had not guided the earl and her aunt in the wrong direction.

  “You are telling a familiar story, boy,” the innkeeper grumbled. “These past ten years that I have been running this place, I think I have lost track of the amount of hours of sleep I have lost because of you runaways.”

  “Still, do you have enough heart and pity for a young couple trying to make a start in life together? I cannot believe any man or woman who lives in this village, so oft associated with romance, could own a hard heart against–”

  “Please, I beg you, no damned poetry or moon-eyed sentiment,” the innkeeper said.

  Despite herself, Claire could not help but smile at the innkeeper’s words. She felt silly for ever having shared the poet’s over idealistic sentiments, now that she listened to them with a clearer mind.

  “Are you here with whatever young lass you hope to marry?” The landlord asked, only caring for the business at hand.

  “No,” Mr Hawkins replied. “She sleeps soundly in a village just south of the border tonight. The journey had tired her greatly. My brave and noble purpose was to ride ahead and ensure that we would be able to marry at Gretna Green in safety. I also wished to attend to the practical arrangements of our stay. I do not wish our wedding day to be marred by petty logistics and business matters.”

  “Of course,” the innkeeper said without any enthusiasm.

  “Now, before I book a room with you, I must ask if you know whether an older gentleman, by the name of Mr Rosingden, has arrived in Gretna Green?”

  From her hiding space, Claire could hear the innkeeper suck in a breath. Considering that she could hear it from so far away, she could only imagine what his surprised face must have looked like at that moment.

  “A… um well, I do not think I recollect hearing such a name.”

  Claire winced. It seemed the innkeeper, for all his sleaze and money-grabbing ways, was not much of a liar. She knew with absolute certainty that Mr Hawkins would see through the blundering landlord and realise that people were waiting for him in the town.

  “I see.” The poet’s voice had grown a shade frosty. Claire pursed her lips, feeling certain that the man was about to slip away. “Well, now that I know that, I will be sure to return tomorrow, since things are safe in Gretna Green for my young love and I.”

  “Oh, excellent. I do not suppose you would wish to pay for your room, now would you?” The innkeeper asked. “After all, Gretna Green is a busy place, and I might not be able to guarantee you and your fiancée a room tomorrow, should another couple come before you and wish to claim it.”

  “No, that is all right. I am sure we will do just fine. I can make alternative arrangements should your fine little inn be full. I am sorry to have disturbed you so late at night, and I look forward to meeting with you again tomorrow.”

  “Yes… Well, good night, Sir.”

  Claire closed her eyes and shook her head. She could not believe how stupid and incapable the innkeeper was. She was sure, beyond any doubt, that Mr Hawkins was aware that something was amiss. She knew the man would not risk bringing Miss Rosingden to Gretna Green, now that he thought the girl’s father had reached the village ahead of them. So, much as the poet wished to have the ideal star-crossed lover’s wedding on Gretna Green, he would not risk being found out. In all likelihood, he would now look to take Miss Rosingden to some other town or village north of the border. If Claire did not do something now, she knew the man would go to ground and she would never be able to confront him before he married Miss Rosingden
.

  Not caring how she would appear to the landlord at that moment, Claire rose up from her hiding spot behind the counter and rushed as fast as her feet could carry her to the door. The innkeeper blustered as she sped past him, letting out some irked remark that Claire did not hear. She held her skirts high as she ran out into the night, chasing after Mr Hawkins before it was too late.

  The poet had a horse bound to a post on the far side of the street. As Claire ran out into the night, she could not help but be reminded of the unfortunate night of the assembly ball. Once again, she was speeding off after him, alone, at a time of night when no lady of good standing should be conversing with a man who was not her husband. However, as similar as the scene seemed, the tone and purpose of her meeting with Mr Hawkins were now entirely changed.

  “Mr Hawkins! Ruben!” Calling the poet by his Christian name was enough to make the man freeze.

  He turned around to face her.

  Even in the gloom, his surprise was evident. Hawkins’ usually calm and calculating eyes widened as he saw her, and his mouth fell open. For perhaps the first time in his life, he appeared speechless, unable to find any pretty words or clever remark to account for Claire’s sudden appearance.

  “Claire? Claire – is that you?”

  Claire could feel her heart pounding against her rib cage. Her entire body was bristling as the man she had at one time entertained as a fit prospect for marriage called out to her. Over the recent days she thought she had developed a thick skin, to defend herself against the poet’s charms and ways. Nevertheless, seeing him before her now caused a pain inside of her not dissimilar to the one she felt whenever she looked on Lord Dalton. She stopped in her tracks, about a metre from the poet, faltering in her purpose. Her eyes took in his wild russet hair that she had once found so endearing, wandered over his lithe frame, which was perfectly highlighted in his close-fitting clothes. The man still had appeal even now, and she hated that her heart still held some feeling for him.