A Sister's Secret (46 page)

‘No, he did not ingratiate himself,’ said Caroline palely, ‘he is not that kind of scoundrel. He is simply worthless.’

‘Our heads are on the block, his and mine,’ said Avonhurst sombrely, ‘and you shall take up the axe and strike at a moment of your own choosing.’

‘I do not want your head, Father-in-law,’ said Caroline, ‘or even his.’ She felt betrayed. Captain Burnside had stripped her of all pride and robbed her of all self-respect. His every word had been false, his every smile a mockery. He had never once thought of taking her into his confidence, of trusting her with secrets. She must have meant very little to him. From first to last he had made a fool of her. From beginning to end he had treated her as a simpleton. How he must have been laughing at her. He had taken her in with such ease that he no doubt saw her as a naive and credulous idiot. Her visit to his mother – oh, dear God, what a fool she had made of herself there. And he had let her speak hundreds of stupid words about her willingness to help him become an honest and industrious man. She would not be a true Howard if she did not cast him out of her life for ever.

‘Caroline?’ said His Grace, perturbed by her silence, by the glitter in her eyes. She came to her feet, and he felt a deep fatherly love for her in the way she held herself, her back straight. She was as much of an aristocrat as any woman he knew.

‘In the light of what you have told me, Father-in-law,’ she said, ‘I know I have not suffered at your hands what I have suffered at his. I understand your motives, your need for secrecy, and your immense concern about plans and plots. And there is too much affection between us for me to quarrel with you. But Captain Burnside is a man who lacks all human feelings, and I shall not trouble myself to see him ever again.’

‘Caroline, I am distressed beyond words to have you so unhappy, and cannot forgive myself for my part in it.’

‘You are forgiven by me,’ said Caroline, and gave him her cold cheek to kiss. Then she left.

‘Caroline?’ Annabelle entered her sister’s bedroom. Caroline, standing at her window, averted her face.

‘Yes?’ she said. She had been riding around London for hours in her carriage, Sammy driving her and wondering what was wrong with her that she would not let him take her home. It was ages before she did, and neither he nor she had had a bite to eat in all that time.

‘Caroline, where have you been all day?’ asked Annabelle. ‘You left in such a hurry.’

‘I have been to see Avonhurst, my father-in-law.’ Caroline sounded lifeless.

‘Oh, yes, such a lovely father-in-law.’ Annabelle was too heady to note her sister’s lack of interest. ‘Caroline, I have such sweet news.’

‘Have you? What news, pray?’

‘You will never believe it, but I’ve discovered I’m suddenly head over heels. Oh, I can scarcely believe it myself.’

‘You are in love? Again?’

‘Caroline, don’t be so unkind, I was never in love with Cumberland,’ said Annabelle. ‘I am dreadfully set on being proposed to – oh, I think he has already done so in a way.’

Caroline’s icy body stiffened, and she turned to look at her sister. ‘You are in love with Captain Burnside?’ That was the only name in her frozen mind, the only man she could think of. If he could be called a man. ‘If so, you are more stupid than I thought.’ The ice around her heart tightened its grip at the thought that he had proposed to Annabelle in some oblique way. It caused unbearable pain. ‘You shan’t marry him, he is even more unsuitable than Cumberland.’

‘Why, Caroline, how could you possibly think it is Charles? You know he has eyes for no one but you – oh, is he the one you are in love with? You said you would like to marry again. Is Charles the one?’

‘No, he is not!’ said Caroline fiercely. ‘Who is the man you are talking about?’

‘Oh, what a mood you are in,’ said Annabelle.

‘Who is he?’

‘Why, Jonathan,’ said Annabelle.

‘Jonathan?’ Caroline’s icy stiffness relaxed a little. ‘Mr Carter?’

‘Yes,’ said Annabelle. ‘Caroline, you aren’t going to be as fretful and unsympathetic about Jonathan as you were about the duke, I hope. You will upset me terribly if you are. I confess he may not be comfortably off, but I should think from his dashing style he isn’t actually penniless, or without the makings of a gentleman. And he’s such fun. I shall die if he neglects to propose formally, but I am sure he will, for when he left this morning it was to see his parents and arrange for me to meet them. Shall you disapprove if his father is only a tradesman or what the English call a country yokel? I should—’

‘Miss Annabelle?’ Helene looked in. ‘A gentleman has called and is asking to see you. Mr Jonathan Carter.’

Annabelle’s eyes danced. ‘Caroline, oh, do excuse me,’ she said.

‘There you are,’ said Jonathan, as Annabelle, bewitching in flimsy blue organdie, floated into the drawing room.

‘Why, it’s Mr Carter,’ she said. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Carter.’

‘Oh, that’s the way of it now, is it?’ said Jonathan. ‘I’m out in the cold again? Then good afternoon, Miss Howard.’

‘I am not Miss Howard, I’m your love,’ protested Annabelle. ‘You said so when you left this morning.’

‘So I did,’ said Jonathan, ‘but I ain’t having any shilly-shallying.’

‘But, Jonathan, I want to be your love.’

‘Bless you, my angel,’ said Jonathan, and pressed a chaste kiss on her forehead. Annabelle cast a demure glance. ‘I ain’t sure I won’t finish up eating you.’

She laughed and she sparkled. ‘Jonathan, you are such sweet fun,’ she said.

‘And ain’t you a sweet shape?’ said Jonathan, eyeing her figure with appreciation.

She blushed in pleasure. She did not feel, as she had with Cumberland, the shivers and palpitations that related as much to fright as excitement. She felt warmly and lovingly responsive. Cumberland’s dark eye had regarded her rounded prettiness wickedly. Jonathan regarded it with the frank, healthy pleasure of a frank, healthy young man. However, a certain amount of decorum was called for.

‘Jonathan, do turn your glance, I beg, or I shall go pink all over.’

‘All over?’ he said. ‘Well, I’ll not ask you to prove it here and now. We’re not married yet.’

‘And I shan’t prove it even then, you disgraceful sauciness – oh, Jonathan, am I to receive a formal proposal? I do declare it’s only fair, and in return I shall give it fair consideration.’

‘You’re a teasing witch,’ said Jonathan.

‘Witch? But I am divinely fresh and innocent.’

‘Agreed,’ said Jonathan, ‘though your innocence don’t prevent you running rings round me. Well, I shall have my own back and come to the sweetness of unlacing you with bold adventurousness once we’re married …’

‘Oh, you all are a dreadful sauciness! Have you no consideration for my blushes?’

‘Not as much as for marrying you, kissing you and loving you,’ said Jonathan. ‘So will you say yes now or in ten minutes? I ain’t able to endure longer than ten minutes. Now will you say yes, or shall I ransack you?’

‘Oh, I must say yes,’ she gasped, ‘I cannot risk being ransacked in Caroline’s drawing room.’

At which Jonathan kissed her tenderly. ‘There,’ he said, ‘never think I don’t recognize how sweet you are and how lucky I am.’

‘We will have such fun, won’t we?’ said Annabelle. ‘But shall we be desperately poor?’

‘Eh?’ said Jonathan.

‘Oh, I shall still love you, but as you aren’t a bang-up, slap-up, fancy gentleman …’

‘Eh?’ said Jonathan again.

‘You don’t understand the language of persons of the quality?’ said Annabelle. ‘Oh, I suppose not.’

‘Bang-up, slap-up and fancy is the language of the quality?’ enquired Jonathan, hiding a smile.

‘Of course. I am very up with Corinthian terminology. But never mind if you aren’t comfortably off. I shall receive a dowry from my father, and you can invest it in the East India Company, which I’m told is a most recommendable way of making a fortune.’

‘You’ll give me your dowry? You won’t.’

‘But I want to,’ said Annabelle.

‘Well, I ain’t going to take it,’ said Jonathan. ‘I fancy we won’t starve. Now, I’ve seen the P.P. and She Who Must Be Obeyed, and am taking you to meet them tomorrow. Put on your best bonnet and I’ll call for you at ten thirty in the morning.’

‘What do you mean, “the P.P. and She Who Must Be
Obeyed”?’ asked Annabelle, reclining in the fashion of a young lady happy to prolong these moments.

‘The P.P. is my Paternal Parent, and She Who Must Be Obeyed is my Maternal Parent.’

‘Oh, they sound dreadfully formidable. Am I to fear they won’t approve of me?’

Jonathan laughed and kissed her again. She gave her lips very happily. ‘Approve of you? They’ll give you Burleigh Court. Well, they’ll give it to both of us. It comes to me when I marry.’

Annabelle’s eyes opened wide. ‘Jonathan, what is Burleigh Court?’ she asked.

‘A little estate in Sussex, not too far from Great Wivenden. It’s one of our family properties, and you’ll find the house owns a commendable kitchen.’

Her eyes became huge. ‘Jonathan, oh, I declare, you’ve been keeping things from me,’ she said. ‘Who is your father?’

‘General Sir Laurence Cheviot Carter. Fought your American rebels years ago, and got dished with Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown. He’ll dip you in brimstone when he discovers you’re American. I fancy you’d better not blow the gaff. I’ve told him you come from China.’

‘Horrid beast.’ Annabelle laughed. ‘I vow you wicked – you haven’t told him any such thing. And I am really very vexed with you that you made me think you were poor. It has been very worrying today, feeling I’d have to exist in rags.’

‘I don’t recall making you think—’

‘Oh, Jonathan!’ Annabelle exclaimed in delight. ‘Do you realize you’re not a common ruffian after all, but a bang-up, slap-up, fancy gentleman?’

‘Oh, so-so,’ said Jonathan cheerfully.

The Prince of Wales was, as Beau Brummell subsequently observed, becoming a fat fellow, and the Dukes of York, Clarence and Kent were all traditionally pear-shaped Hanoverian princes. Cumberland alone had a chest in advance of his stomach, which was a firm and flat terrain, and was apt to make a mistress feel that her belly would never regain its curve.

The Prince of Wales was also becoming pettish. Once handsome, generous and charming, rich food was now making him soft and plump; extravagant debts caused him to tighten his pockets, and flattering sycophancy had spoiled him, leading him to imagine he was the wittiest prince in Christendom.

His brothers bored him. He also bored them. It could not be said that the sons of George III were too compatible. Each did what he could to avoid the others socially, restricting contact in the main to state occasions or family conferences. Typically, there was little pleasure or satisfaction to be derived from this conference at Cumberland’s town residence, but it had not been easy to say no to him. It was never easy to say no in any manner to Cumberland, whose powerful personality
put its limits on brotherly hedging and procrastination.

Wales was fidgeting irritably. In his pale pink coat, yellow breeches, white waistcoat, and high, fussy cravat, he resembled a popinjay when compared with the majestic Cumberland clad in sober hues. Wales had already evinced boredom, and even fatigue, at Cumberland’s private meeting with him. The latter had produced a petition from a certain lady in respect of the compromising of her honour by Wales. He had taken the petition in graceless fashion, crumpling it up and thrusting it into his coat pocket. Now, with York, Clarence and Kent also present, he had had to listen to Cumberland’s request for family consideration of his potential marriage to a German duchess. As far as Wales was concerned, Cumberland could marry any duchess he liked. But Cumberland enunciated difficulties. There were no difficulties Wales could see, and his other brothers considered their opinions counted for nothing. It would be their kingly father who would say yea or nay.

They were all seated, except Cumberland, who remained on his feet, giving vent to certain exasperations by stalking about. He dominated the atmosphere as he expounded on consequences, good and bad, advantageous or disadvantageous. From time to time his stalking came to a halt before a window. There he seemed in brooding reflection, looking out of the window and directing his gaze downwards. The window overlooked the gravelled area on the west side of the house. Perhaps Cumberland was expecting four men to appear, four men garbed as building workers, and carrying long ladders that would enable them to climb up and inspect the gutters. One man would have a forged paper on his person, a paper giving them the authority to carry out the inspection, and to make good gutters that were faulty. And two
would have bombs secreted in workmen’s tin containers, together with tinder boxes to light the fuses. Perhaps it was fatefully important for Cumberland to note their arrival and to take careful heed of the moment when the ladders were erected against the wall of the house. That would be the moment he would have to absent himself. He needed a good reason for doing so. He had one.

Wales paved the way by making a testy comment. ‘All this don’t signify, Ernest. Ye’ve no mountains to climb, nor even molehills. Ye’re painting pictures of what don’t exist. Unless’ – Wales put a sly smile on his face – ‘unless ye’re looking for an excuse to set aside a plain duchess in favour of a ravishing commoner. I’m told she’s the coveted American commoner.’

‘The devil she is,’ said York.

‘I ain’t denying I do favour her,’ said Cumberland, ‘nor that she’s suitable in all ways.’

‘She ain’t in the least suitable, if she’s a commoner,’ said Kent.

‘I’ve looked her over a time or two,’ said Clarence, jovial by nature, ‘and swear her bosom at least ain’t common.’

‘Allow me,’ said Cumberland, ‘to inform ye all I’ve details of her family tree.’

‘Have ye, b’God,’ said York. ‘I assume ye’re speaking of Lord Percival’s widow, Lady Clarence?’

‘Ye assume correctly,’ said Cumberland, glancing out of the window again.

‘I ain’t acquainted with the lady’s antecedents,’ said Wales, with a mincing laugh, ‘but I’m acquainted with her magnificence. But she won’t do, not for His Majesty.’