Mistress Of Madderlea. Mary Nichols

ladyship said. ‘Your cousin is also well-bred and she is most certainly not arrogant. Indeed, it were better if she could adopt a more haughty attitude, for she is far too shy.’

      ‘I cannot change the way I am,’ Charlotte said.

      ‘Nor should you,’ Sophie said. ‘If the gentleman cannot see that you are sweet and kind and would not hurt the feelings of a fly, then he is blind and does not deserve you.’

      The gentleman could see it. He was well aware of Miss Roswell’s virtues and it only made him feel unworthy. She deserved to be wooed for herself, by some young blood who appreciated the very qualities he found so cloying. He wanted and needed someone with more spirit, someone to challenge him as Miss Hundon had done. When he had said as much to Martin, his friend had laughed and reminded him of his list of requirements. Challenge had not been mentioned at all. ‘You have hardly had time to make a reasoned judgement, Dick,’ he had said. But then reasoned judgement and instinct did not go hand in hand.

      He called for the young ladies the following afternoon, not at all sure he was going to enjoy the outing. It might be the way Society dictated a man should court a lady, but it was not his way. It was too artificial. He felt a sham, dressed to make a killing in double-breasted frockcoat of dark green superfine, soft buckskin breeches and curly-brimmed top hat. He was not averse to dressing well, but to do so to catch a young lady smacked of hypocrisy.

      Sophie and Charlotte were waiting in the drawing room for him. There was still a keen edge to the wind and so Charlotte had chosen to wear a blue carriage dress in fine merino wool which almost exactly matched the colour of her eyes. It was topped by a blue cape and a fetching bonnet trimmed with pink ruched silk in a shade that echoed the rose in her cheeks. She looked delightfully fresh and innocent.

      Sophie, on the other hand, determined not to shine, was dressed in grey from head to foot and would not be persuaded to change her mind, when Charlotte said she had made herself look like a poor relation.

      ‘But that is exactly what I am, Charlotte dear,’ she had said. ‘I am your chaperon, after all.’

      There was no time to go back to her room and change, even if she had wanted to, for his lordship was announced at that moment and, after the usual courtesies, they made their way out to his lordship’s barouche. And what a carriage; it made Lady Fitzpatrick’s town coach, which stood beside it ready to convey her ladyship to her appointment, look even shabbier.

      It was a shining black affair with the Rathbone coat of arms emblazoned on both doors and seats comfortably upholstered in red velvet. The driver, in impeccable uniform of tailcoat, striped waistcoat and knee breeches, was sitting on the box, whip in hand. His lordship put a hand under Charlotte’s elbow and helped her into her seat, then turned to do the same for Sophie, but she was already climbing in, disdaining his assistance. He smiled at this show of independence and took his own seat and, giving the driver an almost imperceptible nod, they set off, with Luke riding demurely half a head behind on Charlotte’s little mare.

      Chapter Three

      It was a perfect late spring day and the carriageway in the park was crowded with vehicles of all shapes and sizes, and as they were all going at little more than walking pace it was almost like a parade. Richard seemed to know or be known by almost everyone and they frequently drew to a halt for the girls to be presented to the occupants of other carriages. They were also hailed frequently by riders from the nearby gallop, who reined in to speak to Richard, while casting admiring glances at Charlotte, who sat smiling beside him, enjoying every minute.

      Sophie hardly rated a second look, but that had its advantages in that she could take time to gaze about her, to make her own assessment of the wide range of characters who took part in the traditional afternoon procession. They ranged from dowagers to schoolgirls, not yet out, Lady This and the Countess of That, as well as some whom Sophie was sure came from the demi-monde and rode by with all the aplomb and self-confidence in the world, twirling their parasols.

      There were dandies and rakes, army officers resplendent in uniform, a few naval officers and more than a sprinkling of hopefuls who did not fit into any category but wished they did. Not one took her eye…except the man sitting in the seat opposite her and conversing so easily with her cousin at his side.

      He was handsome in a rugged kind of way, his features lined by exposure to sun and wind. He exuded masculinity; it came over so strongly it took her breath away. If only…She sighed and suddenly found his attention focused on her. ‘You do not agree, Miss Hundon?’

      She had not been attending to the conversation and found herself at a loss. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord, I was daydreaming.’

      He smiled. Her eyes had held a faraway look, as if she were thinking of some absent admirer. In Upper Corbury in the county of Leicestershire, perhaps. He had just learned from Miss Roswell that that was where the Hundons had their home. ‘Miss Roswell was commenting on the number of officers still in uniform and expressing the hope that the peace may last and they will no longer be needed to fight.’

      ‘Oh, to that I most heartily agree, but my sympathies are with the common soldiers, who know no other means of earning a living. I think it is shameful just to turn them loose, after they have fought so well for their country. We worry about Spain and Portugal, France and Austria, send delegates to the Congress of Vienna to ensure justice on the continent and we ignore the problems nearer home. It is no wonder there are riots. And ranging militia against unarmed men and women who are only trying to have their voices heard is not the way to go on.’

      He was inclined to agree with her, but the challenge was there, in her voice and in her greeny-grey eyes, and he could not resist the temptation to rise to it. ‘Law and order must be kept or we will descend into anarchy.’

      ‘Oh, that is the answer we are given for every act of repression. Shoot them, cut them down. Throw them in prison and hope everyone will forget them. Suspending the Habeas Corpus Act was a monstrous denial of justice.’

      He smiled. ‘I collect your father is a lawyer. Have you learned such sentiments from him?’

      In her fervour, she had forgotten her uncle’s profession and she had not heard him express any views on the subject. He was not a man to discuss either his clients or the state of the economy with his daughter and niece. Young ladies, in his opinion, did not need to know of such things. She glanced at Charlotte from beneath the brim of her bonnet, but her cousin was staring straight ahead, a bright pink spot on each cheek.

      ‘No, my lord, but I read a great deal and have always been encouraged to think for myself.’ She knew she was on dangerous ground and hurriedly reverted to the original subject under discussion. ‘If work could be found for the discharged soldiers, they would not be discontent.’ And then, because she could not resist having a dig at him. ‘It is all very well for the officers, for they have families and estates and education to help them…’

      He laughed. ‘Touché, my dear Miss Hundon. But, you know, families and estates bring their own responsibilities.’

      She smiled at that, thinking of her own situation, but he saw only sparkling greeny-grey eyes and a mouth that was made for smiling. And kissing. God in heaven, what had made him think that? She was nothing more than a country mouse, a little grey one. No, he amended, that description was inaccurate, for she was tall and her movements were not the quick scurrying of a tiny rodent, but the measured movement of a stalking cat.

      ‘Yes, my lord, the responsibility to marry well, to produce heirs. It is, I am persuaded, a form of vanity.’

      ‘Sophie!’ Charlotte cried. ‘How can you say that when you—’

      ‘Miss Hundon is entitled to her opinion, Miss Roswell. Do not scold her.’ He was looking at Sophie as he spoke and she felt herself shrink under his gaze, though she would not let him see it. ‘You are surely not implying your cousin is vain?’

      ‘Nothing was further from my thoughts, my lord,’ she said truthfully. ‘No one could be less vain or more sweet-natured than my cousin. But