The Ruby Heart: A classic Regency love story

by Janet Louise Roberts

  THE RUBY HEART

  Janet Louise Roberts

  writing as

  Rebecca Danton

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  MORE BOOKS BY JANET LOUISE ROBERTS

  CHAPTER 1

  “A ball? How can you possibly imagine that a ball would interest me, Maude?” Lesley Dalrymple stared at her friend in mingled amazement and fury. Mrs Meredith was usually so sensible and intelligent. “With poor Sandy in the hands of those horrible people…”

  Mrs Maude Meredith gazed at her guest thoughtfully. Lesley had come to live with her “bluestocking” friend as soon as she had turned twenty-one, unable to bear any longer the life she lived. But the others had not escaped so soon. Frank had gone into the Navy, but Viola and poor little Sandy remained in the Dalrymple townhouse, taken over by their Aunt Felicia Stukely as their nearest relative. Aunt Felicia wasn’t so bad, but Uncle Hubert Stukely … well…

  “Of course he is taking care of Sandy because of his hold on the Dalrymple money; the solicitors are worried about that,” Mrs Meredith said slowly. “And he will not give up Sandy and Viola until he is forced to do so. Have your solicitors no solution?”

  Lesley shook her lovely red-blonde curls, and gazed blindly through the window of the second-floor drawing room, into the darkening of the February afternoon. Snow had fallen softly on the lawns and streets of London and glistened in the lamplights. She saw no beauty in the day, her mind was inward. She felt filled with rebellion and rage. Why did she have to be a woman? At twenty-four, she hated men with a passion. They had the best of all worlds, they could rule and dictate, and no woman could withstand them. And they could be so stupid, so cruel, so vicious...

  “If only Alexander had lived,” she murmured, and put her hand to her throat. “And poor dear lovely Cecilia...”

  “Yes, dear, but it does no good to fret about what is past,” said Maude calmly. “I know it sounds cold, but you know my heart. I have no children of my own, my dear Dr Theo and I could not. And now he is gone, and I am alone, and all of you are dearer than even my own children could have been…”

  Lesley turned impulsively and came to kneel beside her friend. “Dear Aunt Maude! What would I have done without you? You have kept me sane! When Alexander died ... and Aunt Felicia moved in ... and, oh, all those horrible events…”

  Maude, stroking the red-gold curls softly with her hand, absently gazing across the lovely drawing room, furnished in blue and cream. “Frank is twenty-two, if he would but come home and assert his authority…”

  Lesley lifted her head. “If he only would. But he loves the navy, it is his life. It is not as though we had estates to care for,” she added mournfully. “Father sold up all of those when Grandfather died, he cared nothing for farming, nor for trade. It is just the hateful money ...”

  “That hateful money keeps you all in food, clothing, and shelter, my dear girl,” said Maude tartly. “And Frank could not have bought his commission without it. Perhaps we could persuade him to return home, take charge ...”

  “But meantime he is with the Duke of Wellington on the Peninsula, much absorbed in his life on shipboard, and adoring sailing back and forth in his various ships and being master of many men,” said Lesley bitterly.

  “My dear, you sound as though you hate your own brother!”

  “Oh, I do not, I love Frank,” said Lesley, with a sigh. “But he has escaped from all this turmoil! Men are able to, leaving the women to manage as they can! He says he loves me and Viola and little Sandy, but still he runs off to sea!”

  “That is how we see it, to be sure,” said Maude Meredith, with a twist of her fine mouth. “However, you and I feel very strongly, my dear Lesley, that women can manage! So, we must use our brains and come up with a solution. Eh?”

  To her relief, Lesley looked brighter, and went to take a seat beside her. “Yes, of course we can! So … what shall we plan? Let me see.” She scowled in thought, ruffling her bright curls, the colour of new guineas. In the plain green muslin, she looked like a bright spring flower, thought her older friend fondly.

  “The ball,” said Mrs Meredith again. “The Stukelys will probably attend, you know they are friends of Lord Ramsey. Birds of a feather,” she added drily. “You may see Viola there, if they permit her to attend. She is not yet out, but they wish to make a marriage for her and keep her under their control.”

  “If they attempt to wed dear sweet Viola to that — that rake, Lord Ramsey, I’ll have their heads!”

  “Yes, dear, so will I,” said Maude placidly. “But Viola may be able to acquaint you with the condition of Sandy. You must not depend on the gossip of servants as to that. They are prone to exaggerate.”

  “When I think of the boy, only six, starving in his room, beaten...”

  “I know, dear, I know. But they will not dare do much to him, will they? Let us be practical. What is the worst that could happen? Eh? If they kill him —”

  “Kill him?” cried Lesley poignantly, her hands clasped.

  “If they kill him,” said Mrs Meredith firmly, “they would answer to court, and lose all control of the Dalrymple money. You now have control of some of yours, so does Frank. When Viola comes of age in another year, the solicitors will then act for her completely. The Stukelys can control only the money of Alexander, left to Sandy, his only son. So they will cling to Sandy and keep him alive, believe me.”

  Lesley rubbed her face with trembling hands. They had sickened her and made her desperate, the rumours about her little nephew. She loved him, she had cared for him after her sister-in-law had died in childbirth with their second child, who had died also. Alexander, in his agony, had gone off to war, and last year he had died in battle. It seemed there was no end to the pain and anguish in their family.

  “And there is Burke Penhallow,” said Maude Meredith, after a thoughtful pause. She gave her friend a wary look.

  Lesley exploded as she usually did on hearing that name. “Burke! A rake, a Corinthian, a shallow, despicable piece of nothing! Sporting with his mistress and her dyed blonde hair, how I despise him!”

  “He has taken the estates left him by his father and built them up beautifully,” said Maude. “He has increased his income from the hops and the apples — some say he has doubled his wealth since his gaming father died.”

  “He must have a splendid estate manager!” snapped Lesley.

  “You used to like him.”

  “In the old days.” Lesley’s grey eyes were troubled. “When he and Alexander made friends in Eton, and he stayed with us on holidays, he was such a nice boy. Oh, arrogant and teasing, like Alexander, to us younger ones. But never mean or vicious. And he would invite us there in the summers, to Penhallow...” Her face had softened and grown dreamy. “How I loved Penhallow, down there in Kent. The apple orchards in the spring, and the smell of fresh grass. His groom taught me to ride, and Burke let me have his finest mare ... oh, he was kind then. And he and Alexander went into service together ... he wrote more often than Alexander, I swear. It was such a comfort to Mother. Then his injuries, and he sold out ... and what a change! He became a rake, making scandal in London...”

  “I think sometimes he encoura
ges the gossip, out of mischief,” said Mrs Meredith. “And he is still kind to Sandy, and thinks much of him. He adored Cecilia, you know. He said she was the kindest, gentlest, sweetest person in the world, his cousin. When Cecilia and Alexander married, I think Burke was even happier than they were! The people he loved best in the world — for his own mother died young, and his father...” She grimaced. “A rake himself, gaming, drinking...”

  “It is his one good quality,” acknowledged Lesley. “He loved Alexander and Cecilia, and now Sandy. How he can endure that horrid, malicious, greedy Denise Huntington ... her own husband has divorced her, and I am happy to see him so pleased with little Jeanne, she is very sweet.”

  “Denise Huntington is very pretty and dances admirably. She has much poise, and looks a sight on her horse in the park —”

  “And takes all the jewellery her lovers give her!”

  “Lesley! I wish you would not speak so. Oh, well, it is true. But I should not encourage you to speak so bluntly,” she added ruefully. “I am no aunt to you, I tell you to speak your mind, to give lectures in public, write articles on controversial subjects ... oh, dear. What would your mother say?”

  “Mother would be shocked, but Father would be pleased and pat my head,” smiled Lesley, her eyes softening. “He wanted me to be as much a scholar in Latin and Greek, in science and education, as he was himself. Alexander and Frank were a sore trial to him, he was glad to send them off to Eton. He educated me himself, as you know...”

  Mrs Meredith encouraged her charge to talk of this. When later she ventured on the subject of the ball, she found Lesley more amenable. “We might have a good coze with Viola,” said Lesley, more cheerfully. “I shall have the truth of it from her, she sees Sandy daily.”

  “Of course, dear. She shall tell you all.”

  Mrs Meredith dressed herself in her semi-mourning of dove grey, which set off her greying hair. Lesley wore a gown of emerald-green silk and the fine Dalrymple emeralds: a necklace of modest size, fine earrings and a slim gold bracelet set with several good emeralds. Her golden-red hair, covered only by a fine gold net to protect it against the chill wind, glowed in the darkness of the carriage as they set out. Her grey satin cloak glimmered in the lamplight.

  Later, in the drawing room of their hosts, Lesley stood out, a fine, tall figure. She was about five feet six inches, with a rounded form and high breasts, the curves just showing above the low cut of the emerald gown. The ruffled hem revealed fine ankles and narrow feet in golden slippers. She was immediately surrounded by suitors for the dance, and her smile was half-mischievous, half-scornful, as she met Maude’s amused look. Maude had given her usual mild warning: “Do be kind to the men, my dear, do not show your scorn of them so clearly!”

  “Why not? I do scorn those peacocks, those popinjays!”

  “But it is not courteous to show it,” murmured Maude Meredith. Her mind was fortunately as quick as that of her charge. She had been writing and speaking in public for years, her doctor-husband had encouraged her interests. But she had retained her femininity and combined intelligence with a shrewd feeling for others’ sensibilities.

  Lesley was dancing with their host, Lord Ramsey. His dowager mother, her eyes shrewd and narrowed, watched their progress down the hall in the contradance. Lesley had enough money to interest them, but she could wish the girl not so strong of will. Viola Dalrymple would please her more, she was much younger and much more pliant.

  Lesley kept her eyes open for Burke Penhallow. Maude’s wise words had sunk in. A woman could do little in English society, to Lesley’s vast irritation. But Burke might manage to do something, if he could bestir himself! He and Lesley were the godparents of Sandy, of no legal help, but it might stir Burke to try to get custody of the boy. Or he might warn Hubert Stukely to treat the boy in a nicer manner. Men seemed able to get that point across more easily than women!

  Finally Burke entered the hall, and on his arm was the notorious, beautiful Denise Huntington. A hum and stir was immediately set about. Lesley’s mouth curled in contempt.

  A number of men gravitated to the beautiful divorcée in her gown of purple velvet, diamonds at her throat and wrist. She laughed up at them all, whirling from one to the other, while Burke kept his hand jealously on her arm.

  “Little chance of talking sense to him tonight,” said Lesley drily to Mrs Meredith.

  “Dear, do try,” urged her friend. “Burke has his weaknesses, yet he has never had to pretend fondness for Sandy.”

  It was true. Lesley nodded, and smiled at a young man who had shyly approached her. She took his arm and went into the set with him, chatting automatically about the brightness of the company, the dreariness of the weather. In 1812, there was another topic of conversation — the war in the Peninsula — but that was not much spoken of in gay society. It was too grim, too dreadful, that number of war dead, the injured streaming back to England, the homes that felt the pangs of loss.

  She went to another beau, then another. She was popular, for all her intelligence, her dry wit, her scathing scorn of Corinthians. She could ride, she could dance well, and her wit was amusing when not turned on oneself.

  It was past eleven o’clock when Burke Penhallow finally sought her out. Lesley had waited with more and more impatience, eyeing him scornfully as she saw him down one drink after another. His step was unsteady when he came to her. Nevertheless, she stood, smiled politely, and took his arm as he led her out on the shining polished floor.

  “And how are you this evening, my dear friend?” he asked politely, arming her deftly around the next couple.

  “Sober,” she flashed.

  He frowned down at her, then laughed, with a flash of his dark eyes. His short, curly hair was brushed à la Byron, or had been when he entered the ballroom. Now locks hung down on his forehead, and his cheeks were flushed with drink and exercise.

  “Are you trying to say I am in my cups, dear Lesley?”

  “No. Drunken!”

  His mouth set dangerously. He would brook no criticism. “I wonder that you consented to dance with me!”

  She waited until they had changed partners, then he returned to her. She had meantime caught firm hold on her temper. “I wished to speak to you about Sandy,” she said in a low tone.

  “Oh, is he up to mischief already? Boys will be boys!” His tone mocked her. “You have ever been willing to condemn us for anything and all things!”

  She bit her lip. She had rather bossed her brothers about, agonized over them when they neglected their studies and worried her father with their pranks. She well remembered how Burke had teased her and even shouted at her to let them alone, that a mere girl could not understand how men felt!

  “Sandy is but six years of age,” she said, in her usual cool tones. “It is not that. It is that I feel he is being hurt by Uncle —”

  The set again interrupted her, and she felt annoyance. When they came together again, she said quickly, “I beg you, Burke, will you meet me somewhere and talk of this?”

  “My dear, you shock me!” he murmured in her ear, as he whirled her about. “Can sane, sober, sensible Miss Dalrymple be suggesting an assignation?”

  “You beast!” she flared. “You know I detest you and your ways! But we are godparents of Sandy —”

  “Meet me in the garden, and we will discuss ... being parents!” he mocked her.

  She flushed, to his pleasure. He flung back his handsome large head, and laughed. Curious looks were sent at them, including that of the beautiful Mrs Huntington.

  “You are an oaf, as well as a rake!” said Lesley passionately. “I wonder that I bothered to speak to you! You care for nobody but yourself! You are following in your father’s steps, becoming a drunken gambler, a chaser of bits of fluff, a dastard and a beast!”

  She left his arm, flinging herself away, not caring that the music had not yet ended. She walked away from him, straight to Mrs Meredith. Burke shrugged, his hands up as though to say The girl is impossible
! and gave a crooked smile as he wended his way towards Denise Huntington.

  Lesley was breathing heavily, her cheeks were bright pink. Mrs Meredith sighed as she saw her coming. The girl could not keep her temper with Burke, he had a gift for aggravating her.

  She did not question her, the flash of the grey eyes told her they had not had a meeting of minds.

  “I saw the Stukelys enter, and Viola was with them,” she said to Lesley in an undertone as soon as the girl seated herself on the sofa beside her. “Do try to talk to her quietly, my dear. You may learn the truth of it. It could all be the gossip of servants.”

  The nervous hand pressed hers in gratitude. “I will do it, thank you, Aunt Maude. Where is she now?”

  “Dancing with Lord Ramsey. I asked him to return her to us for a good coze,” added Mrs Meredith quickly, as Lesley stiffened.

  Lesley glanced about the room, as though casually. Her gaze first met that of Burke. Half-turned to her, he raised his eyebrows mockingly. But his face was angry, briefly. She realized she had hit home with her remarks about his father. She let her glance drift past him, towards the purple magnificence of Mrs Huntington and the glitter of diamonds, then on to others. Burke had made no secret of his hatred of his father, the way his mother’s heart had been broken early with the gambling, the mistresses, the heavy money losses, the neglect of his family.

  Lesley would have thought his father’s way had been a lesson to Burke. But no, he was heading straight in the same direction — drinking too much, gambling too much, keeping one mistress after another — to the delighted scandal of London. He did seem to have the gift of making money instead of losing it, that was one of the few things to his credit.

  Then she saw young Viola, her sister, and forgot Burke. The girl was gently lovely in a gown of shell-pink silk, modestly covering her shoulders and arms. She glowed as she smiled up at Lord Ramsey. He was thirty years of age, darkly, devilishly handsome, and with a much worse reputation than Burke Penhallow.

  “Do not worry,” murmured Mrs Meredith. “The Stukelys will not promote that marriage. He would take over her money, and run through it rapidly.” Her dry, practical voice soothed Lesley, who smiled and nodded at her friend’s tone.