Regency High Society Vol 1: A Hasty Betrothal / A Scandalous Marriage / The Count's Charade / The Rake and the Rebel. Mary Brendan

settle next to the couch Harriet had just chosen.

      ‘I will be quick, for I can tell that your time is precious,’ she said gratefully. ‘You may have heard that Papa was injured at Nivelle and we returned to England before Napoleon escaped from Elba, so we were not involved in the Belgian campaign—much to Papa’s fury. He had been hit in the chest and never really recovered and he—he died last year, before the victory. Mama was totally to pieces and our neighbour—who farms the land next to ours—was so very helpful to us, arranging the funeral and organising the farmworkers to carry on and—so many things I shan’t tire you with. Anyway, somehow she grew to depend upon him and his advice and, just after Easter—three months ago—she agreed to marry him. Would you believe it, after being married to Papa for more than twenty years! I think Sir Chester is quite the most odious of men and as for his son—words fail me!’

      Harriet clenched her fists and her slim frame shuddered. ‘That was it, you see. Sir Chester had married Mama, thinking that she was wealthy—but Papa had left everything to me, in trust until I am twenty-five or marry. Mama has the interest from the trust and a generous competence, of course. Papa was not a rich man, but we were always secure, and he had also inherited the family farm when his cousin died. However, to the point; when he discovered that it will be another five years before I inherit the estate, Sir Chester started pushing his horrid son at me and throwing us together at every opportunity—he was determined to make a match, but I was very unco-operative, I can assure you! Two days ago I overheard them planning to abduct me and force an elopement, so I knew I had to get away before I found myself Mistress Gilbert Middleton!’

      She was obliged to stop to compose herself and Sandford took the opportunity to ask, ‘You mentioned a grandparent—he lives in Leicestershire? Perhaps I can take you to him?’ but Harriet shook her head and, after taking a deep breath, hurriedly continued with her explanation.

      ‘Mama’s father—he is a Scottish landowner, but she eloped with Papa when she was eighteen and she has had no contact with him since. I understand that he lives somewhere to the north of Edinburgh …’

      She then looked hopefully at Sandford, who had risen to his feet and was reaching for his jacket. Laying her hand upon his arm, she beseeched him urgently, ‘Please, my lord, will you lend me some money so that I can continue my journey? I was trying to reach Grantham for the staging-post. I believe the coaches leave for Edinburgh at six every morning. We cannot be far away, if you would be so kind as to convey me there?’

      ‘Absolutely not!’ retorted Sandford, shrugging into his driving-coat. ‘You, my dear Miss Cordell, will accompany me to Beldale where my mother will see to you. You must see that I cannot possibly leave you here alone in this inn. As for allowing you to travel by public stage to some unknown destination—you must be all about in your head still, if you imagine that I will do that! Now, tidy yourself and wash your face while Tiptree sees if the old dame has a cloak or something we can persuade her to sell!’

      Somewhat incensed at his lordship’s overbearing dismissal of her project, but suspecting that her protestations would be in vain, Harriet allowed herself to be bundled into the viscount’s curricle and, wrapped in the hooded cape procured from the landlady (who had made herself a considerable profit from the morning’s unexpected activities), resentfully succumbed to her fate.

      The journey to Beldale was completed almost in silence, with Harriet and Sandford each engrossed in their own thoughts, and Tiptree, seated behind them, wondering if his lordship had allowed his concern for his father’s welfare to overset his usually sound judgement.

      Sandford was, ruefully, wondering much the same. His mother would have had enough on her plate, he realised, without this additional complication, having hardly had time to mourn her son. Now to be faced with a serious and possibly life-threatening injury to her beloved husband must require all of Lady Caroline’s resources. From her hastily scribbled missive he had gathered that Beldale had been thrown, or had fallen, from his horse while returning from estate rounds and had lain helpless in the woods for some hours. His failure to arrive at the stables had eventually alerted the grooms but, although a search party had then quickly located the injured man, it appeared that drenching rain had exacerbated his condition. He had been given the best medical attention available but he had slipped in and out of consciousness as a raging fever had taken hold. His physician had voiced his worst fears and, after a frantic three days, Lady Caroline had reluctantly sent for her son.

      Sandford, having lost the precious time he had gained from his headlong dash out of the city, concentrated on his driving and, for most of the journey, refrained from making any sort of conversation until, leaning forward to spring his horses on a straight section of road, he happened to glance sideways and noticed Harriet’s white and set face.

      ‘Not so far now,’ he announced bracingly. ‘We turn off at the next village and then it is a mere three miles to the lodge.’

      Harriet nodded glumly. Still feeling the effects of the bump on her head and gradually becoming more aware of other painful areas of her body, she found herself growing increasingly nervous at the thought of the forthcoming interview with the Countess of Beldale. Although her upbringing had been an uncommon one, leaving her with a lack of some of the more usual feminine accomplishments, it had taught her to be very self-reliant. Her common sense now warned her that it was going to be difficult to justify clothing herself in male garb, whatever provocation had led her to do so. Hadn’t Mama and Martha frequently been obliged to remind her that she was a lady and that, even in extreme circumstances, she must always endeavour to behave as such?

      It had never been her intention to allow anyone of consequence to see her in her disguise. She had supposed that, as a stable lad, she would pass unnoticed on the roadside and that, hidden from view behind some barn or other, she could have changed into her carefully folded good dress and covered her hastily cropped hair with her ample bonnet before boarding the coach for Scotland. She had brought away a purse full of guineas so had expected to travel in reasonable comfort once she reached the staging route. She had not, of course, allowed for this disastrous turn of events.

      Having spent her formative years following the army on the continent, she believed that she was well able to take care of herself. She was a skilled and daring horsewoman, having learned her craft under the unforgiving eyes of the grooms and cavalry officers of her father’s regiment with whom she had been quite a favourite, with her swinging amber ringlets and her slim, boyish figure. Always willing to attempt the impossible, she had usually managed to remain steadfastly cheerful in the most disheartening conditions.

      Not quite so cheerful at the moment however, she saw, with very mixed feelings, that the carriage was negotiating a narrow curve running through a small, picturesque village. The sun was already nestling down into the puffs of cloud above the nearby hills and its light was fading quickly. She held her breath in admiration as Sandford turned his horses into a broad carriage-drive with hardly a check, raising his whip in response to the lodge-keeper’s salute as they swept through the high, wrought-iron gates.

      She was unable to appreciate the extent of the parkland flashing past her and, in reality, was in no mood to do so for, as the cream stone façade of the elegant house came into view, her apprehension increased.

      The great front doors were already on the point of opening as the carriage reached the steps and an elegantly attired lady of mature years was hastening out to meet Lord Sandford who, having cast the reins at Tiptree, had leapt down from his perch and was taking the stone steps two at a time with his hands outstretched.

      ‘Father? How is he?’ he cried, anxiously clasping his mother’s hands. ‘I am not—too late?’

      But her ladyship was smiling. ‘Robbie—oh, my dear! His lordship has rallied!’ she replied joyfully. ‘But I’m so glad that you have returned! The physician is with him now—come along, quickly. He will be wanting to speak with you.’

      The countess urged her son into the hallway as she spoke and, throwing his driving-coat to a waiting footman, Sandford bounded up the wide, curving staircase. Halfway to the landing he checked, turned and, with his hand on the banister, exclaimed, ‘Good grief! I almost forgot—Miss Cordell !