The Ruby Heart: A classic Regency love story

by Janet Louise Roberts

  She found Burke was respected and his opinion valued. When she spoke of this, his mouth curved wryly. “It was not always so, not at first. They would think about what I said, and maybe remark, ‘We-e-ell, that was no’ the way yer fa-a-ather would ha’ done it, laddie!’ Or even, from some of the old-timers, ‘We-e-ell, that was no’ the way your grandfa-a-ather would ha’ done it, laddie!’”

  Lesley burst out laughing at his exaggerated drawl. “Laddie, yet!” she managed, when she controlled herself. He was smiling himself, she knew he was not offended. “That must have stung!”

  “Ah, yes, but lately the laddie is less, and the master is more,” he said quaintly. “They like having a master who knows what he is about, so I try to learn more and more.”

  She was silent, thinking about that. He reached out and caught at her hand, and squeezed it in a friendly manner.

  “And I like having a mistress who knows what she is about,” he said gaily. “They admire you, you know it? You know what you speak of, or if not, you listen to them, and they like it. You’ll get along fine!”

  She blushed and caught her hand back, saying, “Race you to that big elm!” and was off down the dusty lane, laughing over her shoulder as he raised in the saddle and encouraged his black. She won, and could not help thinking he had let her. He was very nice to her at times, she thought rather suspiciously.

  When people were nice to her, especially nice, she had always felt suspicion. They would want something in return, and what Burke wanted, she might not be willing to give.

  When he kissed her, catching her about the waist, kissing her laughingly, and letting her go ... or when he held her hand in comradely fashion ... or sat beside her in church and his hand brushed hers in turning the pages of the missal ... or when his gaze met hers across the dining table ... or when they laughed or fussed over Sandy ... or quarrelled quickly and fiercely, soon over, on any matter ... she somehow felt strangely close to him. They were Mr and Mrs, master and mistress, the squire and his wife — paired together, going about together, bound in more and more ways.

  And where would that all lead, she often wondered?

  Yet — as the pleasant days slid past and summer burst in, all golden and red and bright, and Sandy’s laugh was more frequent, and Viola and Edgar strolled in the garden, her parasol shielding them both — Lesley could not help thinking how very nice it could be if this could go on for ever. Even with Burke to quarrel with!

  CHAPTER 8

  The peace and quiet were deceptive. Burke received a long white letter from London and went about grim and scowling for days. Lesley dared not ask him about it, he was quick-tempered and absent-minded, and Edgar shook his head gravely when Lesley would have spoken.

  “He is much troubled,” confided Edgar. “He will discuss it with you presently. He has been good enough to confide in me, and I have advised him as well as I could.”

  “But what is it?” worried Lesley. Edgar could not tell her, he said.

  Then on a beautiful day in late June, as they took tea on the terrace and Sandy scampered about with one of the puppies, a series of carriages was seen in the distance on the wide lane leading to Penhallow. Burke stood up, stared, and said, “Oh, damn it to hell!”

  Lesley gulped, set down her teacup, and turned quite pale. “Is it ... can it be...?”

  “Your charming relatives, I fear,” he said grimly. “Best take Sandy inside, I don’t want him upset yet.”

  Sandy had noticed the carriages now, and stood staring at the dust they had raised, the puppy’s lengthening legs dangling over his arm. Lesley went to him quickly. “Darling, come inside. Time to wash for supper.”

  Sandy turned to her slowly and gazed up at her. “Aunt Les,” he whispered, and she noticed that the freckles were standing out on his fresh little face. “Is it ... them?”

  “I fear so,” she said steadily. “But you don’t need to see them yet.”

  She reached down for his grubby hand, he put it into hers. Burke strolled up to them.

  Sandy said to him, “Uncle Burke, don’t let them take me away! Don’t let them take me away! I’ll be good, please, I’ll be good —”

  Lesley bit her lips. Burke reached down and swung him up to his shoulders.

  “We’ll go in now, lad,” he said gruffly, and Lesley and Sandy were both quick to note he made no promises. “Nursery for you, and early supper, and bed. You don’t need any visitors, Sandy.”

  “No, I don’t need any visitors,” echoed Sandy, clutching Burke’s dark hair with one fist to hold himself erect. He glanced back fearfully at the carriages. “Tell them to go away, Uncle Burke!”

  “Wish I could,” muttered Burke under his breath. Lesley, following them into the big house, could just hear him as he strode off with the child.

  Burke and Lesley returned in time to greet the guests as the carriages rolled up. First there was the carriage with the Stukelys, Aunt Felicia and Uncle Hubert. They climbed down, gasping from the dust, exclaiming over the peaceful scene.

  “My dear,” gushed Aunt Felicia. “Town was unbearable! The season is winding up, and it is already so hot and quiet, we could not endure it! We decided to descend on you, and find out how poor dear Sandy is getting along!”

  There was a catty little smile about her lips, the feverish green eyes glittered. Lesley greeted her politely. “You shall have rooms in the east wing,” she told them. “The servants are preparing them now. Tea shall be served at once in one of the drawing rooms —” Then she stopped abruptly.

  The second carriage had pulled up in the lane. Down came Guy Janssen, with his black curly wig flowing to his shoulders, his smart travelling dress of grey velvet impeccable. After he had stepped to the ground, he reached up to aid a female from the coach — Mrs Denise Huntington, in violet silk and modish bonnet of shirred purple silk and feathers. Lesley’s heart sank down to her slippers. The third and fourth carriages contained trunks and cases and hatboxes. They had all come to remain a long time. The peace was quite shattered. The summer was ruined.

  Later as Lesley was feverishly planning menus, dinners, entertainment for their guests from her desk in the private parlour, Burke came in.

  “I must consult with you, Lesley,” he began, closing the door to the hallway.

  She flung around at him in the temper she had been repressing for hours, during an interminable dinner. “How could you, Burke? How could you invite those ... those ... despicable ... malicious ... troublemakers?” she stormed.

  He blinked, and sat down opposite her desk, stretching out his long legs. “I did not invite them, I am not yet run mad, dear Lesley!” he said mildly.

  “But you knew they would come,” she said shrewdly. She tossed back her head impatiently. She had unwound her plaits and let down her hair to hang loose about her shoulders. Her head ached, and the pins that had bound her hair had made it hurt the more. In her green negligée, she sank back in the soft chair and contemplated him. “You’re hiding something, Burke! I won’t have it. Those dreadful people —”

  “Your relatives, my dear,” he said, gazing up at the ceiling.

  “And your mistress,” she said swiftly, flushing.

  “Ex-mistress,” he said calmly. “And I am thinking they are here to make mischief. I had a long letter from my solicitors the other day. Uncle Stukely is protesting the courts. He has made out statements, saying that Sandy should not be put into our charge. He claims that I am an unfit guardian for the child, citing my reputation in London.”

  “Oh ... no ... no,” whispered Lesley, her hands going to her cheeks. “He would not ... oh, Burke ... can he take Sandy away?”

  Burke slowly nodded, and Lesley felt sick. “I fear so. I have entered a protest at once, through my solicitors. I have consulted with Edgar, he is a close friend and a shrewd man, as well as a man of God. He said that my reputation in Penhallow should count for much, as well as our marriage. Fortunately, my dear, your reputation is good,” he added drily.

  �
��And they have come ... to take Sandy away?” she whispered. “Oh, dear God...” She moved her hands to hide her face, the tears that sprang to her eyes. “And he was so happy with us,” she added brokenly.

  “Now, Lesley,” he said sharply. “Don’t leap to conclusions! We have only to play our parts well, act the loving and trusting man and wife. Be careful what you say to them. Do not leave Sandy alone with them, of course. They must leave eventually. I have a feeling they are up to mischief. Well, we must be careful not to fall into any traps,” he added grimly.

  “Traps? What traps could they lay for us?” asked Lesley, reaching for her small lace-trimmed handkerchief and drying her eyes with care.

  “Several kinds,” he said thoughtfully. “First, I should tell you. It is practically certain that Guy Janssen is your aunt’s lover.”

  Lesley started violently and stared at Burke. He nodded.

  “She gives him much jewellery, I think. You know how she buys expensive pieces, then it disappears in a month? I carefully observed them last winter, and I found that what she wore, he would later wear. Or it would turn up in a pawnshop, and a man of his description brought it in. She is definitely supporting him, without Uncle Stukely’s knowledge, of course.”

  “But ... that makes her an unfit parent or guardian!” gasped Lesley. “Doesn’t it?”

  “Not Uncle Stukely, and he controls the purse strings,” said Burke. “Now, why have they brought Guy here? For Aunt Felicia’s amusement, or for a trap? He is an attractive man, Lesley, and he may make a play for you. Do not be alone with him.”

  “I detest the man,” she said vigorously. “I’ll stay out of his path, you may be sure of it.”

  “Good,” he said, and frowned. “Now ... Denise. I cannot imagine she would join forces with Aunt Felicia, they hate each other. Yet she came with them. So...”

  “So you had better be on your guard,” said Lesley tartly. “Unless you mean to have your cake and eat it also?”

  “I hope you know me better than that,” he said angrily. There was a flush high on his tanned cheekbones. “That affair is over, I do not mean to start it up again! I am married now, and hope to make a good thing of this marriage. Lesley,” he said, pleading now. “Do not think such thoughts, trust me! We must present a united front, calm and loving with each other —”

  “Loving!” she said incredulously. “You must think all of us fools!”

  He did flush more violently then, with fury. He started up. “Let me remind you, Lesley. Any such remarks like that in company and Sandy is the one who will suffer! I came to ask you to help me in this cause. I cannot think you are so spiteful that you would ruin all in order to slap at me! I know my past is not so spotless, yet I love Sandy, and want to keep him safe. Do you?”

  She dropped her gaze from his angry dark one. “Yes, of course, Burke. I am sorry,” she said, subdued. “It is just ... oh, I think ... I am afraid of them. Aunt Felicia is stupid, yet she can be cunning and quick at gossip. And Uncle Stukely is no fool. He will smile and smile at you, and then strike you down in an instant.”

  “I know that. I have studied him this winter,” said Burke, and ran a tired hand over his dark curly hair, leaving it in rather endearing peaks. “Well, goodnight, Lesley. Do not work longer, we are both weary, and tomorrow and the rest of the week will not be easy.”

  He came over to her, bent and kissed her lightly on the forehead, and left the room. She did not remain long; her mind was churning about so, she could not think straight. She went to bed, to lie awake worrying for a long time.

  The next day was no easier. Uncle Stukely, smiling broadly, told Lesley and Burke, in the presence of Viola and the others, “Well, well, we may have dear Sandy back with us presently! I have petitioned the courts for him, we miss him sadly! And Burke’s reputation, you know...” He shook his greying round head, and grinned. “You cannot wish him about, anyway, he is a wild, mischievous lad and requires stern handling. When you start your own family and have a quiver full, you’ll not wish to be bothered with him!”

  “Of course we will,” said Lesley swiftly. “We both love Alexander’s son dearly, and of course Cecilia was a favourite cousin of Burke. He thought the world of Cecilia.”

  “He did?” asked Felicia quickly. “Little Cecilia, who seemed so innocent and sweet? Well, well, that is gossip I had not heard!”

  Lesley gasped. How quickly her aunt had picked up that innocent remark intended to show a good side of Burke. “You know I meant nothing of the sort, Aunt Stukely! Burke loved her as a sister, no one could have been more pleased when she and Alexander married...” She sent a pleading look towards Burke.

  He was seated in the big chair near the fireplace in the front drawing room. His face was flushed — by the fire? He spoke calmly enough, almost in a drawl. “Your slanderous gossip is meant to be amusing, Aunt Stukely. However, I am not at all amused by this remark. Cecilia was a good, fine girl, and her death was a great loss to her devoted husband and son, as well as her other relatives and her many friends and admirers.”

  Aunt Stukely laughed, her green eyes glittered. “I must really look closely at Sandy, to see whom he resembles!”

  Edgar Creswick spoke sternly in the appalled silence. “Mischievous tongues, madam! Mischievous tongues! Sandy strongly resembles both his father and his mother! I know you enjoy gossip. But this goes beyond pleasure and into slander!”

  “What a to-do about nothing,” said Denise languidly. “I could name you dozens, nay, hundreds of families in society in which the son resembles another man more closely than his own father, so-called! What matter? So long as no one makes a fuss about it, and nobody is harmed!”

  “That is just why it behoves a man to make his marriage bed very carefully,” said Burke swiftly. “He should choose carefully, a virtuous woman, and be sure he fathers his own sons! I myself should not care to think my son was not my own! And with Lesley, an intelligent, wise, and virtuous woman, I can rest easy!”

  The Stukelys laughed, so did Guy. Denise’s eyes flashed with anger, she knew why he had not married her. But her little cat-smile soon appeared again, and she made it a point to go up to him when he stood at the mantel and slide her rounded white arm in his and whisper to him.

  They were together too much. Lesley had resolved to put on a good front with Burke before the malicious eyes of their guests. However, she found it difficult, if not impossible. Denise strolled out with him whenever she could. She took carriage rides with him in place of Lesley, and Burke seemed unwilling or unable to displace the beautiful divorcée. When Lesley gazed one afternoon from her parlour window and spied Denise sitting in the beautiful summerhouse with Burke at her side, laughing and teasing him with taps of her black lace fan, Lesley burned with rage — and jealousy.

  Why did Burke let her get away with so much? Did he really enjoy her company, her malicious wit, her jests, her teasing flirtatious ways? He must! And so Lesley grew cold to her husband, held herself off from him, turned her shoulder to him, and of course it was noticed.

  Gentle Viola came to Lesley’s parlour one afternoon, to find her sister sitting at her desk gazing blankly at the pages before her.

  “Dearest sister,” said Viola, sitting down with her on the sofa. “I am troubled for you and for Burke. Do you not see what Mrs Huntington is doing? She is trying to make you so jealous of Burke, that you will believe the malicious lies of Uncle Stukely! Do you want to lose Sandy for ever to their care? I shudder for that poor boy!”

  “Oh, Viola, do you not understand? If Burke truly disliked that — that female, he would put her aside! He would not stroll with her, flatter her, laugh with her!” cried Lesley, with great bitterness. “He loves her still, that is very evident!”

  “And you care?” asked Viola gently.

  Lesley started. Viola put her hands over Lesley’s restless ones.

  “Oh, dear sister, no matter why you married him, I think you are coming to love him! And he is worthy of love! He is a good,
kind man, a generous man, who has been exceedingly good to all of us! Why cannot you treat him as a wife should, be obedient to him, trust him?”

  “He has done little to make me trust him,” said Lesley, in a low tone, abandoning pretence. “He hangs over her! He has had her as mistress for a year — and others before her. I do not wish to pretend love for — for such a man.”

  “I do not know a great deal about such matters,” said Viola earnestly. “I am but seventeen, and sheltered all my days. However — even though you do not love Burke, it seems to me that you must come to respect him. Is that not a good basis for marriage, darling? You snap at him, round on him, take pleasure in wit at his expense just as Aunt Stukely does! I fear you turn him from you, darling. It is not feminine and sweet to be — to be so shrewish!”

  “Oh, how can you say —” Lesley started up, snatching her hands from Viola’s. She strode about the room, humiliated, troubled. “I do not do that ... do I? I do not act shrewish! I cannot be like Aunt Felicia, I despise her...”

  “But your wit is like hers, if you do not take a care,” said Viola. “I know it is fashionable to make smart remarks, at others’ expense. But I cannot care for that, it makes me wince, whether the other deserves it or no. It is not kind, it is not Christian!”

  Edgar Creswick’s influence was showing clear, thought Lesley, staring blindly from the window. Lesley could not be sorry for that, it was an influence for the good. She considered her sister’s remarks, her unusual rebuke. Could it be true? Was she too witty, too unkind? She flinched as she remembered luncheon, when the knowledge that Denise had spent the morning driving about with Burke had made Lesley so jealous that she had answered remark with a snappy rejoinder, wit with malicious wit, especially against Denise.

  “What do you suggest that I do, Viola? Silence myself? Answer malice with kindness? Or bow my head meekly and let the blood flow when she draws it?”

  “Yes,” said Viola. “All of those. At least it will not anger Burke, or cause him to think you as bad as Denise! You are unkind to us all when you are so spiteful at table. It quite makes me sick at my stomach!”