A Sister's Secret (2 page)

Her gown was shamefully dishevelled and revealing by the time she managed to break free and rush to the bell-pull. She threatened to arouse every servant unless he left at once. Cumberland smiled, shrugged, tidied himself, and left.

The duke was now a new worry to her, and it was him she was thinking of as she addressed her visitor. ‘You are Captain Burnside?’

‘Captain Charles Wolfe Burnside, marm,’ he said, and offered her his card. She made a gesture and he placed the card on the desk.

‘Wolfe?’ she said, lifting an eyebrow.

‘After General Wolfe of Quebec, marm. An uncle of mine was distantly related.’

‘Really?’ She had acquired the distinctive English way of imbuing that word with scepticism.

‘Quite so, marm.’ Captain Burnside’s voice was warm, mellow and beguiling, and it put her on her guard. She had been trapped seven years ago by a voice just as beguiling. Yet she was not altogether displeased by this trait in the captain, for she was in need of an adventurer who could be accepted as a gentleman of charm.

‘You have a letter for me, sir?’

‘That is so, marm.’ Captain Burnside, extracting a letter from the tail of his coat, handed it over the desk to her. It was addressed to Mrs L. A. Carmichael. Caroline examined the flap. It was sealed by a blob of red wax as a precaution against it being steamed open, a natural thing for any rogue to do. She broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

‘This is to present Captain Charles Burnside. His production of this letter is a warranty of his identity. A.’

She placed it on the desk and sat down. She looked up at the captain. He smiled. Deferentially.

‘You are a professional gentleman?’ she enquired.

‘I am, marm.’

‘An adventurer of a kind?’

‘Of an accomplished kind.’

‘A virtuoso?’ she said drily.

‘I’ve a variety of gifts, marm.’

‘You’re willing to engage in an affair of deception and blackmail?’

‘I’m willing to engage in anything within reason, marm.’

‘Within what reason, sir?’ she asked, and he seemed intrigued by the softness of her Southern speech. He placed his top hat on the desk. She regarded it as if it had no right to be there. Nor, as yet, had she asked him to sit down.

‘Well, marm,’ he said easily, ‘the devil being my paymaster, as it were, my commissions run well ahead of the acceptable at times, but under no circumstances will I engage to assassinate anyone.’

Lady Caroline looked extremely cool. ‘You will not be asked to, sir. I am not in need of a cut-throat.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it, marm, relieved.’ Captain Burnside was smoothly cordial. ‘An affair of deception, then. And – ah – blackmail. Agreed, marm.’

‘Agreed?’ She was cooler. ‘We shall see. You at least come with not unsatisfactory references.’

‘True, I did have two or three meetings with a nameless gentleman.’

‘You may sit down, sir,’ she said, having made up her mind to continue with him.

‘I’m obliged, marm.’ He drew up a chair and seated himself. She noted the fluency of his movements: his limbs were commendably supple.

‘Now, sir,’ she said, ‘I confess I require the services of an adventurer capable of assuming the manners and deportment of a gentleman, while seeking to make the most of his dubious talents. Although it is something of a paradox, I also require him to be entirely trustworthy. Can you declare yourself so?’

‘I ain’t averse to cheating an opponent, marm, but I’ve a professional’s honour when dealing with a patron. And for your comfort and reassurance—’

‘My comfort and reassurance?’ Lady Caroline again raised an eyebrow.

‘Quite so, marm. I never, d’you see, enquire into a patron’s motives or reasons. I enter only their service, not their private lives.’

‘Really? How very good of you,’ she said sarcastically, at which Captain Burnside assumed the air of a man able to accept every sling and arrow. ‘Tell me, sir, is your rank authentic? Are you indeed a British Army officer?’

‘I was, marm. I’m now retired.’

‘Retired? At your age?’

‘Ah, precipitately retired.’ He coughed. ‘There was an unfortunate incident during a game of cards with fellow officers. I held three aces. Unhappily, the adjutant held two. Most unfortunate, since I was the dealer. More unhappily, I was also at the time under suspicion of having compromised the adjutant’s wife, although it was no more than a light kiss or two. The colonel took me aside, spoke to me about the honour of the regiment and also my mess debts, and I allowed myself to be placed on the retired list – ah, unpaid.’

‘You mean you were forced to resign,’ said Caroline
coldly. ‘But you pass yourself off as Captain Burnside, retired. Yes, that opens certain doors to you, no doubt.’

‘Only middle-class doors, marm. A retired cavalry officer don’t count for much in higher circles.’

‘I am to assume, sir, that you live by fleecing the middle classes?’ she said.

‘Fleecing?’ Captain Burnside smiled, and she thought yes, he might very well charm some women in much the same way Lord Clarence had. ‘Impossible, marm. The middle classes – tradesmen, merchants and the like – have come by what they own through being industrious, inventive and shrewd. They ain’t inclined to part easily with their gains. One must become a family friend, win their confidence, sweeten their wives and charm their daughters – ah, and then borrow from the dear young ladies.’

‘And then disappear?’ said Caroline with undisguised contempt.

‘I make it a rule, d’you see, never to turn up for a wedding,’ said Captain Burnside with disarming frankness.

‘Sir?’ She was not disarmed, not by any means, and she regarded him with frank dislike. Painful experience had made her despise men of his kind. ‘Do you say, sir, that you actually propose to innocent and trusting girls, and then make off with such monies as you’ve been able to wheedle out of them?’

‘Not monies, marm,’ said Captain Burnside affably. ‘Few daughters of the middle classes are able to lay their hands on the family dibs. But some own a little jewellery.’

Caroline’s contempt was of a freezing kind. ‘Am I to understand, sir, that having deceived a young lady into believing you’ll marry her, you are then blackguard enough to decamp with her heirlooms?’

‘But don’t you see, marm, it’s far better for any of ’em to lose a few trinkets than to acquire a husband as worthless as myself. I’d be their ruination, and in faith I can’t marry ’em all. But I will say that if the doors of prime society were open to me, I’d gladly marry an heiress and cling most devotedly to her and her wealth.’

Icily, she said, ‘I expected to have to deal with an unprincipled rogue, sir, but I did not expect an out-and-out scoundrel.’

Captain Burnside looked pained. ‘Marm, I’m a professional,’ he said.

‘You are also despicable.’

‘True, I ain’t precisely angelic …’

‘Be quiet, sir.’ She rose to her feet and swept to the window to collect herself, and the sunlight kissed her partly visible bosom with pale gold. She reflected on whether or not she should reject this man, as she was inclined to. But if she let her intense dislike of him discount his suitability, what was left? Interviews with a succession of other rogues, all just as unlikeable, as they were bound to be. It was an impossible venture she had in mind, perhaps, but she could think of no other way to deal with two problems, the problem of her sister’s dangerous infatuation with the Duke of Cumberland, and the problem of a dear friend’s appalling indiscretion. Such matters were not of a kind to disclose to other friends. In London, one’s closest friends talked. The town was a hotbed of gossip. She must put her faith in her father-in-law’s recommendation. Without that recommendation she might already have sent Captain Burnside packing. Yet he had the manners and the airs of a gentleman, and he was also a British cavalry officer – retired. He was a Redcoat. Her sister, like their Aunt Marigold, had an eye for Redcoats. When Sir Henry Clinton and his staff quartered themselves
in Charleston during the War of Independence, Aunt Marigold had decked herself out in irresistible fashion for one of Clinton’s handsomest officers, so the family said. And when the British departed, Aunt Marigold went with them, together with other young and infatuated Southern belles. Aunt Marigold had married her officer in New York, and they now owned a plantation in Georgia, where they enjoyed a contented middle-aged existence.

Caroline reflected further. Perhaps, yes, perhaps she must make do with Captain Burnside. She turned to him. He smiled.

‘Marm?’ he said.

‘I detest deceivers,’ she said.

‘The natural feelings of any lady,’ he said. ‘However, I never stipulate that a patron should like me.’

‘I declare, sir, you have an impudence I do not care for,’ she retorted. ‘But you may suit my purpose, and I’d not want to interview further scallywags. Now, sir, make up your mind you are to obey me from the outset, and in a manner that will give me no offence. You are to conduct yourself at all times like a gentleman, especially as it will be necessary for you and I to give the impression we are old friends.’

‘Be assured, marm, that things shall look precisely as you require,’ said the urbane captain. ‘As a gentleman, I shall be faultless, for while I’m no prince or even a baron, I can conduct myself as if I were.’

‘Conduct yourself modestly, sir, and not conceitedly,’ she said, as imperious as if she had been born of the nobility. She did not intend to relinquish command of their relationship, either now or at any time. ‘I’m compelled, I vow, to put my trust in you.’

‘You’ll not be disappointed, marm.’

‘If I am, you shall not receive a cent, sir, a penny,’ she
said. ‘Listen carefully. First, I am not Mrs Carmichael. I am Lady Clarence Percival, widow of Lord Clarence Percival.’

‘Ah,’ said Captain Burnside, and looked suitably impressed.

‘You may discard at once, sir, any thought that as a widow I’m a woman of a helpless kind, for I am not.’

‘Be assured, marm, I’ve never met any woman who could be called helpless,’ said Captain Burnside fervently. ‘The dear creatures have many subtleties, and can plant the sharpest barbs in Lucifer himself.’

Caroline glanced sharply at him. There were some people to whom Cumberland was known as Lucifer.

‘To whom are you referring?’ she asked.

‘Why, the devil, marm.’

‘Well, sir,’ she said, ‘in this venture you may meet him. But do me the civility, please, of not alluding to my sex as dear creatures. We are not zoological specimens, waiting to be fed sugary buns.’

‘Indeed you ain’t, marm, none of you,’ said the captain warmly.

‘Now, sir,’ she said, ‘I have faced many problems and resolved them all myself. I come of brave and spirited stock. However, on this occasion, I confess I need help. I am commissioning you to give that help.’

‘Pray proceed, Your Ladyship,’ said Captain Burnside.

She proceeded. He listened.

There was a twofold problem, said Lady Caroline. The first concerned her sister Annabelle, who had arrived in London several months ago. Annabelle was twenty, and a little while before sailing for England she had broken her long-standing engagement to a Charleston gentleman. She said she did not love him enough. Her parents, though shocked, were understanding, and helped her to escape biting tongues and acid gossip by letting her go to England for a while. She was accompanied on the voyage by a relative who had business to conduct in London and Manchester.

Once in London, she was received by Caroline with delight and affection. She confessed then that she had broken her engagement because she was fearful of being bored to death by her would-be husband. Caroline not only sympathized with her, she complimented Annabelle on being wise enough not to marry a man unsuited to her. Alas, it was not wisdom in its essence, it was the headstrong act of a vivacious young lady who envied her sister her sophisticated life in London. And once there herself, she was completely captivated by the excitements of its social calendar and the gallantries of the Corinthians. These
sporting rakes devoted much of their time to pugilism and horse-racing. When in their presence, Annabelle’s eyes were constantly dazzled by their gleaming Hessian boots, thigh-clasping pantaloons and colourful coats.

She proved even more impressionable at twenty than Caroline had been at eighteen. Received at court, she met a personage of royal rank who quizzed her with a dark and devious eye. He was by no means the most handsome personage of the day, but on the other hand he was so impressive of character and so majestic of bearing that he was a danger to any young lady whose demeanour was that of a breathless, fluttering butterfly. The butterfly, mesmerized, was ready to fly dizzily into the net.

Caroline, aghast, endeavoured to send her back home. Annabelle would have none of it, and Caroline recognized an infatuation potentially more ruinous than her own had been. She knew her parents expected her to take care of Annabelle, to become the watchful chaperone, and to guard her until such time as the emotions and repercussions of the broken engagement had died their death.

Annabelle was only a few weeks away from her twenty-first birthday. At her coming of age she would undoubtedly regard herself as free to do exactly as she liked. She was sweet and engaging, but wilful. Impending degradation loomed in front of her, for the man in question would not hesitate to seduce her and, later, discard her. As a virgin, she would be an amusement to him, no more.

‘You are speaking, marm, of the royal personage?’ enquired Captain Burnside.

‘I am,’ said Caroline, and went on to say that despite being royal he was not a gentleman. The august personage would not himself have agreed with this, for he believed no shame could attach to blood royals, however immoral
their pursuits. Her infatuated sister, quite overwhelmed by his attentions, imagined herself becoming the love of his life. She was deaf to what the whole of London could have told her: that she would never be more than just another brief pleasure to him. She was incapable of believing a royal duke could be a villain. Yet he patently was.