Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise Allen

      ‘But she broke it off, and before she knew you had a title?’

      ‘Yes, but she did not know me then, in any guise.’

      ‘That is not what I mean. She is quite capable of throwing away an opportunity to marry a titled husband if she does not like him. And she was prepared to marry you on the off chance that you might have a title one day. In fact, she was so determined that she defied all modesty and convention and proposed to you herself.’ Caro regarded him quizzically. ‘Call me a fanciful female if you like, but that gives me just the tiniest suspicion that she likes you rather more than a little.’

      ‘You are a fanciful female,’ Jack responded grouchily. He was not going to admit it, but it felt as though a weight was being lifted off his heart. ‘You deduce that through intuition, I presume?’

      ‘No, common sense. Now, tell me all about the latest London fashions so I can give you a shopping list for when you go back again.’

      ‘When are you returning to London?’ Caroline demanded over breakfast on Tuesday morning, four days after Jack had arrived back at Allerton.

      ‘I have not said that I am.’ He reached for the preserve jar and contemplated the gooseberry jam for a while before pushing it away again.

      ‘Back to London?’ Lady Allerton put down her post and regarded him with concern. ‘You never said anything about going back to London so soon.’ With his father’s peccadilloes recalled so recently to his mind, Jack thought he glimpsed a related anxiety in his mother’s surprise.

      ‘Caro has a long shopping list she unaccountably forgot to give me before,’ he replied, making light of it. ‘There is possibly some business I might do—I have not yet decided.’

      Caroline’s sigh was meant only for his ears and he ignored it. It would be easier if he could make up his mind what he did want to do. Never normally indecisive, Jack found his days filled with busy, purposive activity but his nights sleepless and undecided. And when he did sleep it was to dream about Lily—hectic, erotic dreams that left him tired and frustrated. And unable to make up his mind.

      The bank had proved—in the face of his determination and his new research—perfectly obliging in the matter of a loan, which would enable him to expand the existing working, if not open another one. Provided the seams ran true. If they did not and the coal failed, then the only course to repay the loan would be to sell the mine and to give up the castle.

      For the mine workers and their families it could mean ruin, unless he could sell the pit. Even then, there would be no guarantee the new master would treat the people as he, Jack, had always tried to do. The loan was the last chance for them, a gamble he was instinctively uneasy about, but one he had to risk.

      His own family would have to fall back on the old Dower House, which would be cheaper to run. And then he could content himself with learning to be a farmer and carrying out all those breeding experiments on sheep he had always promised himself he would find time for. It was a less than entrancing prospect, but one which would at least provide for his family in modest comfort.

      Mr Roper, his nearest neighbour, was interested in hearing about the latest news on steam engines that Jack had gleaned in London and reciprocated with his own experiences with pumping, admirably concealing his disappointment that Jack had not ridden over to offer him the Allerton shaft to buy.

      So, all in all, things were as well as he could expect, and could only be made worse by gallivanting off to London, spending more money and distracting himself with a woman who drove him to distraction and who did not want him, whatever Caroline said.

      ‘I have a shopping list too,’ Susan put in. ‘I have been looking at those wonderful ladies’ journals you brought us, Jack, and I can see we are woefully behind the mode, all of us.’

      ‘Then I am afraid you will just have to make do with what the Newcastle modistes can produce and your dress allowances will stretch to,’ Jack said, making up his mind. ‘I am staying here for the foreseeable future.’ He reached for the preserve jar again and spread jam on his toast. He should feel braced and decisive. Relieved, even. Why, then, could he almost smell the smoke of burning bridges and the crackle as lost hopes went up in flames?

      Caroline was silent. He could feel her eyes boring into him and kept his own gaze fixed on his newspaper. She was in love, all she could see was happy endings. She wanted her own lover to act decisively, so she was urging her brother to do the same thing. But she had no responsibilities to consider. No family name to protect. No pride to weigh her down, a jeering voice whispered in his ear.

      After the meal the family dispersed to their various occupations, and Jack managed to evade Caroline. He should have known better; coming out of his study in search of some estate papers, he found himself cornered.

      ‘Jack! Please reconsider—you are going to regret this all your life if you do not.’

      He went back into his study, but, short of shutting the door in her face, had to stand aside to let her in. ‘No. I will not discuss it any further, Caroline. I have duties, responsibilities and I am not going to change my mind on this.’

      He could see the calculation plain on her face: to pursue the matter and risk a breach between them, or to yield when she felt so passionately that she was right. He loved her for caring and wished her anywhere but here. Eventually, when he had come to terms with the loss, he could consider it more rationally. Now, all he wanted was to never have to think about Lily France again.

      The sound of the heavy knocker thudding on oak had both of them turning towards the door. ‘Who on earth can that be?’ Caro puzzled. ‘It is scarcely half past ten. Who could be calling?’

      ‘Your suitor come to place his case before me?’ Jack teased, seeing an opportunity to get his own back.

      But the voice at the front door was not that of the respectable Mr Willoughby with his slight Northumberland burr. It was female, decidedly southern, clear and carrying.

      ‘No, I have come to see his lordship, not Lady Allerton. His lordship is not expecting me. My card.’

      Caroline swung round to stare at him. ‘Is that …?

      ‘Lily.’ It cannot be. I am dreaming. I must be. Jack felt his fists clench and as they did so his biceps contracted, sending a stab of pain through his wounded arm. Oh, no, this was no dream. This was real.

      ‘Jack.’ Caroline was tugging urgently at his sleeve. ‘Jack—you didn’t … there wasn’t anything that might have made her realise she had to come … was there?’

      His sister was blushing hotly and, as her meaning sank in, Jack felt his own colour rise too, guiltily. ‘No,’ he replied bluntly, not even trying to pretend he misunderstood her.

      ‘Well, thank goodness for that.’ Caroline flapped a hand in front of her hot face and opened the door. ‘Grimwade, his lordship is in the study.’

      Lily looked around the great hall with its soaring beamed roof and tried not to gape like a yokel. Allerton Castle should not have been a shock—after all, she had seen the print of it. But from the outside it just seemed unreal, something from a story book. It was only when the great oak doors had swung open to reveal a lugubrious butler and she had forced her shaking legs over the threshold that it all ceased to be a fantasy and became hideously real.

      Every morning on the journey following that evening in Stamford she had woken, determined to put the doubts and fears of the night before behind her and press on to do what she had set out for. Now, surrounded by the faded evidence of generations of pride and ancestry, every word of her carefully dignified speech fled.

      ‘I will ascertain whether Lady Allerton is at home, ma’am. Whom may I say is calling?’ The butler’s livery was ancient, the carpet he was standing on threadbare, but he regarded her with the air, she was convinced, of a man who could spot a cit at one hundred yards.

      ‘No, I have come to see his lordship, not Lady Allerton.