Helen Dickson (12 page)

Jaques was beckoning to them on the deck, and seconds later they crossed the plank connecting her with the shore and were aboard. Maria wrinkled her nose.
The boat smelled nauseatingly of fish. She looked at Charles, suddenly aware of how tense he had become. Jaques moved out of the dawn shadows across the deck towards them.

‘We’ll get off now. The tide’s all but full. Escort the lady below,’ he ordered, keeping his voice low.

‘Below?’ Maria asked hesitantly, extremely reluctant to enter the bowels of the boat. She had a dread of ships and would rather be on deck in the fresh air than down below.

‘Yes, Maria, down to the cabin,’ Charles said, taking her arm with a firm grip.

She held back. ‘May I not stay here?’

Charles’s grim expression as he met her gaze boded ill. ‘No, you may not. Until we have left the harbour you must remain below.’

‘But I don’t—much care for ships,’ she confessed, ashamed of her weakness, but she couldn’t help it. She hoped her request to stay on deck wouldn’t sound like cowardice and that he would understand her fear. ‘They—frighten me.’

His jaw hardened in annoyance. ‘This isn’t a ship, Maria, it’s a boat, a small fishing boat in case you haven’t noticed.’

Maria flinched. He spoke to her as he would to a naughty child. ‘I do know that, but they’re one and the same to me. My grandparents’—my mother’s parents’—ship went down in a storm in the Channel when they were returning to England after visiting my aunt.’

That made Charles pause. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘I recall you telling me. I should have known. Nevertheless, Maria, for our sake and for those already below, it
is essential that the coastguard and the harbour authorities don’t see us. If they should spot us, the consequences don’t bear thinking about. No one saw us board. As far as anyone is concerned Jaques is embarking on one of his regular fishing trips. Do you understand?’

She did not persist. ‘Yes, and I’m sorry. Of course I’ll go below,’ she said bravely. She hesitated, reluctant to go without him, she realised with a vague sense of surprise. ‘You will come with me?’

His voice softened. ‘Of course. We’ll come back on deck when we’re out in the Channel.’

So she allowed him to lead her below to the small cabin. In the yellow light of the lantern they saw they were not alone. Six shapes—the
émigrés,
two women and four men, who had smuggled themselves aboard during the night—all sat close together, clutching their few possessions.

Dressed in plain, shabby clothes, with caps covering their heads and pulled well down, they looked far more like the rabble who pursued them for their lives than aristocrats.

That was the moment when Maria was made forcibly conscious that she was just like them, a fugitive, because she was obliged to hide and flee. She had no choice but to humbly accept in silence what fate might send her, even to being ordered about by someone like Jaques.

Taking her hand, Charles drew her down on to a bench away from the others, just big enough for the two of them. Sensing her fear and feeling her body tremble next to his, he leaned towards her. ‘Maria,’ he said gently in her ear, ‘you needn’t fear the boat will go down. Jaques hasn’t lost one yet.’

She glanced at him and then away again, conscious of the intense physical awareness she felt at his nearness. She wanted him to put his arms around her and calm her fears. She could hear the wind getting up. Down in the cabin it seemed to be blowing with a force that was terrifying.

Something in Charles’s chest tightened. ‘Maria,’ he murmured, ‘are you all right?’ Placing a gentle finger under her chin, he compelled her to meet his gaze. ‘What is it? Are you really so frightened?’

She swallowed and nodded. ‘Would you…Do you suppose you could hold me?’

Wordlessly he put his arm around her and drew her close. She placed her head on his shoulder and he could feel her body trembling. ‘There’s nothing to fear,’ he murmured gently, stroking her head. ‘We’ll soon be out into the Channel and then we’ll be able to go up on deck.’ He pressed his cheek against her hair and repressed a smile, suspecting her docility was a measure of her fear and fatigue—and maybe the belated effects of the rum she had consumed.

The moment he drew her into his arms, Maria was instantly conscious of the warmth and potential power of his body against hers, and felt an answering spark in him. She tilted her face to look at him. His hair fell in an untidy sweep over his brow. He had an engaging face. She saw something she had not seen in him before, the sweetness and humour of his firm lips, the quiet amusement behind his alert gaze. She paused, holding her breath as her heart turned over. To her at that moment, he was quite simply a beautiful man. Something stirred inside her. Something was happening,
something that shouldn’t be happening—something she didn’t want to happen.

Her body began to soften. It was a melting feeling, one her body liked. For what seemed to be an age she really looked at Charles. Even though she had been alone with him for three days, it was like coming face to face with a stranger. It frightened her, especially when his eyes locked on hers. It was all she could do to face his unspoken challenge and not retreat from him. Measure by measure the realisation dawned that this was a man she did not know.

Nothing had prepared Maria for the thrill of quivering excitement that gripped her now. Her heart swelled with an emotion of such proportions she was overwhelmed. She was aware that this was a moment of great importance yet didn’t know in what way.

Quite suddenly, and with stunned amazement, she was conscious of an overwhelming impulse to reach up and take his dark head between her hands and draw it down to her own. For a moment it was almost as though she could feel his thick hair under her fingers.

Against her will and against all common sense, something stirred deep, deep within her, something dark and soft and treacherous. A hot tide of incredulous horror engulfed her mind and body in a wave of burning shame, and she lowered her eyes, hiding them with her long black lashes. They had looked at each other deeply, a look that spanned no more than a few seconds and yet seemed to last for an eternity.

She shivered in anticipation, then almost shyly she pulled away from him. His eyes on hers were very bright, very tender.

‘I’m all right now. You must think I’m very foolish.’

‘No, Maria. To be afraid is nothing to be ashamed of. It often takes courage to admit it.’

Charles was not immune to the unresisting woman he had held close. He was a virile man, a very masculine man, who was accustomed to the women in his arms allowing him whatever he asked of them. He was well used to the lusting pleasures that were always available to him. He had not, until he’d kissed Maria, held a woman in his arms who was not only young but innocent. Not until she had met him had she encountered the closeness, the intimacy and power of a man’s body close to her own, of desire that inflamed the flesh and confused all coherent thought.

The vessel slipped slowly out of the harbour and bounded forwards running into the Channel. On a word from Jaques, those below were told it was safe to come up on deck.

Clinging on to the rail next to Charles and with Jaques at the helm, as the vessel rolled on the swell already making itself felt in a choppy sea, the waves capped with curls of foam, Maria was filled with confusion. She could not understand herself. She realised that Charles was becoming very dear to her, but how could this be when she didn’t really know him? Just a few moments ago, if he had made the slightest movement towards her she would have been in his arms.

Breathing deeply of the night air she looked back at the receding French coast shrouded in early morning mist. The wind was getting stronger, causing the sail to crack and the little vessel to lurch alarmingly.

‘We’re running right into a storm,’ Maria gasped fearfully.

‘This isn’t a storm.’ Jaques laughed, his voice booming over the noise of the wind. ‘If you saw a real storm, you’d never forget it.’

‘Get back from the rail,’ Charles ordered, taking her arm and almost dragging her away. ‘I’d hate to see you tossed overboard. I’d be forced to jump in to rescue you.’

‘And I would expect nothing less,’ she laughed, glad to be out of the claustrophobic confines of the cabin and the threat of being in such close proximity to him always posed to her susceptible heart.

‘Are you all right?’ he shouted above the wind.

She nodded. ‘Yes. I am now. Don’t worry about me. I’m going home and that’s all that counts.’

Drawing her cloak tightly about her, she looked up at Charles, at his profile etched against the lightening sky. Indomitable pride was chiselled into his handsome face, determination in the arrogant cut of his jaw, intelligence and hard-bitten strength etched into every feature of his face. There was an aloof strength, a powerful charisma about him that had nothing to do with his tall, strong-shouldered physique or that mocking smile of his. There was something else, a feeling she got that he had done and seen all there was to do and see, and that all those experiences were locked away behind an unbreachable wall of charm, a handsome face, and piercing light blue eyes. Beyond any woman’s reach.

Daylight had broken as the boat gently nosed its way towards the English coastline. It was a sight Maria would never forget. The boat was rolling gently now, the wind having dropped mid-channel. Gradually the land
came more clearly into view, with its white cliffs and the castle overlooking the harbour. What a relief it was to see England again.

Ever since she had left she had wished to return. Now there was no need to wish any longer. At that moment she saw the sun rise in a ball of crimson on the horizon—just like an omen, she thought, marking the start of a new life, a happy life. Would Henry be a part of it?

Before Charles had arrived at Chateau Feroc she had had her doubts about marrying Henry, and now, after the short time she had spent alone with Charles and the sensations he had awakened inside her, sensations and womanly desires far different from anything she had ever experienced before, as arduous as the task promised to be, she saw no help for it. Already the decision was beginning to form in her mind that she would have to tell Henry she would not marry him.

M
aria was returning to a country under the reign of King George III, a man who was devoted to Queen Charlotte. The court of King George was irreproachable, respectable and formal. Unfortunately of late he had become mentally unsound. The malady had precipitated a political crisis and making his son George, a man who was totally self-indulgent and as incapable of curbing his spending as of governing his passions Prince Regent, was being considered.

In the coming days, and the more familiar Maria became with England and its politics and the royal family, she would realise there were many similarities in the man who would be Regent and the man to whom she was betrothed.

Once the boat was tied up to the quay, after thanking Jaques and bidding him farewell, Charles and Maria headed for the town. As they approached the inn where they were to meet Henry, Maria walked stiffly beside
Charles, her back ramrod straight, unable to forget what had taken place between them on the boat, and the profound effect those moments when they had looked at each other as if for the first time had had on her. She noticed how quiet Charles had become, how tense.

On the point of meeting her betrothed at long last, she masked her trepidations by an extreme effort of will. Whether Henry was as unworthy as Charles said he was, was yet to be determined.

With these thoughts she went inside the tavern. There were few people about. Her eyes scanned every face for the one she remembered. She turned to Charles, who was just behind her.

‘I don’t see Henry. Maybe he arrived ahead of us and has gone out—for a stroll, perhaps.’

Charles’s expression was one of cynicism. How little she knew Henry Winston. He was not the type to waste his time strolling.

‘Or perhaps he’s been delayed on the road,’ Maria suggested hopefully.

‘I didn’t expect him to be waiting, Maria. We have arrived a day ahead of schedule. I would imagine he is still in London. I’ll go and order refreshment while we decide what to do.’

Maria seated herself at a table in a window recess so she could see the road and not miss the moment when Henry arrived. Now the moment had come, she was so scared and utterly unnerved that she knew she could not have moved a muscle to flee if need be. She waited as one transfixed, not knowing what to expect of the man her father had chosen for her to marry.

She turned and looked at Charles when he ap
proached the table. Meeting his eyes she sensed that all was not as it should be. He was holding a letter in his hand, a hard, angry look on his face.

‘Charles? What is it? Is something wrong?’

He held out the letter. She took it, her hand shaking a little. Seeing that it was addressed to him and strangely reluctant to open it, she offered it back to him, her eyes wary.

‘It’s addressed to you.’

‘It concerns you. Read it.’

‘Who is it from?’

‘Winston. It would seem that he’s unable to come to meet you—something about unforeseen business. He won’t be coming to Dover.’

‘You mean he can’t get away?’

Can’t or doesn’t want to bother, Charles thought furiously. ‘Now why is it,’ he mocked, pacing the floor in exasperation, ‘that letter doesn’t surprise me? I had my doubts about him travelling to Dover, which would have been a true test of his merit. I can only thank God that he had the foresight to inform us, otherwise we might have been kicking our heels here for a week, waiting for him to arrive.’

Maria read Henry’s brief note. It would appear she would have to remain under Charles’s protection a while longer, and Henry was sure Sir Charles wouldn’t mind seeing her safely to London where they would be reunited and married right away.

With a strange feeling of relief that she had been handed a reprieve, Maria folded the letter and handed it back to Charles. ‘I’m sorry, Charles. It looks as if you’ll have to put up with me a while longer.’ She
expected the news that he would have charge of her for a while yet to get a reaction, but except for a muscle that began to twitch in his jaw, there was none. She sensed a change in him. His manner and the way he was looking at her was in sharp variance to what she had become used to.

Charles thought Maria looked very small and forlorn and as he looked at her his heart softened. Absently she smoothed a lock of hair from her temple. She had twisted the heavy black tresses in a large knot at the nape of her neck, which emphasised the perfection of the delicate features and oval contours of her face. Hers was a soft and rare beauty that would remain ageless for many years to come.

He wished that he didn’t feel so responsible for her. It was an absurd feeling and it irritated him, for there was no reason for it. But the truth of it was that at the very beginning he had felt obligated to protect Sir Edward’s daughter, and knowing the nature of her betrothed, he had made it his duty to try to prevent her marrying Colonel Winston when the time came.

‘I’m sorry, Maria. I know how bitterly disappointed you must be feeling.’

Maria looked at him. His eyes were fixed on her with a frowning intensity. Her lips curved in a cynical smile. ‘If there’s anything I’ve learnt over the years, it’s that life is full of disappointments. One has to learn to bear them.’

She looked up at him, at his taut features, and it became apparent to her how Henry’s tardiness affected him also. Suddenly she was overwhelmed with a loneliness that wrenched her heart. Until now she hadn’t realised how much she had come to depend on Charles
for both his strength and his protection. Parting from him was going to be harder than she had realised.

‘It is you that concerns me, Charles. I have no doubt that you hoped to discharge your duty where I am concerned and be about your own affairs. This must have come as a blow to you. I have no wish to be a burden to you so perhaps if there is a conveyance that will take me to Gravely—’

‘No,’ he said sharply. ‘I will not hear of it.’

‘I recall you telling me that you had made your own arrangements once we reached Dover.’

He nodded. ‘My home, Highgate, is in Kent. It was my intention to go there.’

‘I’m so sorry. But—you don’t have to change your plans. If I cannot go to Gravely, I am quite capable of going on to London alone.’

He shook his head, rejecting her suggestion. ‘I will not allow it. I arranged for my own coach and driver to meet me here. As soon as they arrive, if you don’t feel too bruised from your journey to Calais and in need of rest, we can leave as soon as we have eaten. Highgate is close to Canterbury. We can break our journey there.’

Still seated in the window recess, Maria raised her eyebrows, her look one of admiration as she watched a splendid coach, its body lacquered a gleaming black, drawn by four identical grey horses, the coachman turned out in formal bottle-green livery, arrive.

Charles, who had been pacing the floor impatiently, suddenly came to a halt.

‘Here he is. Very soon we shall be on the road.’

Maria stared at him. ‘You mean—that fine-looking carriage belongs to you?’

‘It does—and I am sure you will find it a good deal more comfortable than the conveyance we travelled in to Calais.’

When the horses had been rested and fed, the coachman put up the steps and closed the door, and with scarcely any sensation of motion, the well-sprung travelling chaise glided along the road behind the four prancing greys.

Maria glanced about her, admiring the crystal lamps and the heavy silver door handles and the soft dove-grey upholstery. Luxuriating in the unexpected comfort of the spacious conveyance, she looked across at her companion, who had his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He was gazing morosely out of the window. Immediately she was filled with contrition. What a nuisance all this must be for him and how he must be cursing Henry for not coming to Dover to meet her.

‘I hate inconveniencing you like this, Charles,’ she said softly. ‘Will you stay long at Highgate?’

He flicked a glance in her direction. ‘I haven’t made up my mind. It depends what I find when I get there. Hopefully things will be as they were when I left for France. I have to go to London anyway. I have pressing matters and important people to see.’

‘Has it anything to do with you being in France?’ she dared to ask, expecting a rebuff.

She was surprised when he fixed her with a level look and said, ‘To satisfy your curiosity, Maria, now it is safe to do so I can tell you that I went to France on the request of some members of the government to see and
report on the general order of things in Paris. Like everyone else in England, the government is horrified about what is happening—the massacres and the burning of properties. Those with a vested interest in the social order are seriously worried that revolutionary ideas will spread to Britain.’

Maria stared at him wide-eyed in astonishment. ‘Good gracious! So you are a paid spy in the employ of the British government. How exciting—though highly dangerous,’ she finished on a more sombre note.

His eyes hardened and a thin, cynical smile curved his lips. ‘You needn’t appear so surprised, Maria. You had me cast in the role of spy from the first.’

‘In all truth I didn’t know what to think. I’m just relieved things have turned out the way they have—that France is behind us. What will happen in the end, do you think?’

‘That depends on what you mean by the end.’

‘When all the rioting and burning of noble houses and the killing has ended. Will France get her republic?’

‘I believe it will.’

When he made no attempt to converse further with her, Maria sensed that he was grappling with some sort of weighty problem, and she let the silence continue, content to watch the passing scenery roll past the windows.

Arriving at Highgate they were admitted through the tall gates of the estate where Charles lived. The warm mellow brick manor house stood proudly against a backdrop of sprawling parkland as they drove up the gracefully curving drive.

Maria looked around in approval. ‘What a lovely house.’

‘I agree—but then I would. It’s been in my family for generations.’

They stepped out of the carriage and climbed the wide flight of stone steps to the massive door. Before they reached it it was opened by a stiff-faced man dressed in dark blue and gold livery. His face relaxed with pleasure when he saw who had arrived.

‘Sir Charles! It’s good to see you back.’

Charles lifted a hand in an invitation for Maria to precede him. ‘Thank you, Jesson,’ he said, striding past him and nodding at Mrs Moor, the housekeeper at Highgate. ‘It’s good to be home. How is my mother?’

‘Lady Osbourne left for London last month, Sir Charles. She was quite well when she left. She said she was tired of the country and was missing her friends.’

‘I see. Then I shall see her there. We are on our way to London. When we have eaten and the horses have rested we’ll continue with our journey. Is there anything I need to attend to while I am here?’

‘I don’t think so, sir. Mr Parry has everything running like clockwork. There is some private correspondence that needs attending to.’

‘I’ll take it with me and deal with it in London. Mark Parry is my bailiff,’ Charles explained to Maria. ‘He is highly competent and I don’t know what I’d do without him. Have cook prepare a meal for us, Mrs Moor—and if you could, show Miss Monkton to a room. I’m sure you would like to freshen up before we eat,’ he said, looking at Maria. His gaze passed over her attire and his expression became one of distaste.

‘I think it’s time you disposed of that dress. I’m sure Mrs Moor can find you something else to wear. My sisters both have dresses stashed somewhere. I think Georgina is more your size. There’s bound to be something that will suit. For safety’s sake, Miss Monkton was forced to leave everything in France in a hurry,’ he explained to his housekeeper.

‘Which is why I appear before you dressed as a peasant,’ Maria said, looking with mock dismay at her dismal attire. ‘I assure you I don’t normally look like this.’

Mrs Moor faced Maria with a cheery smile. ‘Come with me, Miss Monkton. I’ll see what I can find.’

And she did. Attired in a delicate lemon gown, the long tresses of her hair pulled from her face and left to fall down her back beneath trails of lemon ribbon, Maria entered the drawing room like a fresh breeze, sweeping in through the door.

Seated by the window flicking through some correspondence, Charles quickly came to his feet in appreciation of her dazzling beauty. His gaze slid boldly over her, from the top of her shining head to her swelling breasts beneath the bodice of her gown and right down to her feet. Maria was accustomed to the admiring glances of gentlemen, but there was nothing gentlemanly about Charles’s lazy perusal of her body.

‘Are you quite finished?’ she asked tersely.

His unhurried gaze lifted to her eyes and a wry smile quirked his stern lips when he heard the exasperation in her voice. Perhaps she resented him suggesting she shed her unflattering black gown that had seen better days on her maid. ‘I was merely admiring the transformation, Maria. You look quite radiant.’

She had been lovely before, but he hadn’t expected her to blossom into a full-fledged beauty simply by changing her gown. When she reached London she would dazzle society’s gentlemen. And therein lay his problem, for she was a complete innocent, an inexperienced innocent in his charge, and for whom he was responsible. The image of himself as guardian of her virtue—not forgetting her fortune—was so ludicrous it was laughable. But that was the role he would be forced to play when Maria had sent Henry Winston packing—which she would, when she laid eyes on his gross bulk, and she was truly alone.