Regency Masquerade (10 page)

“Oh?”
queried Carleton in surprise.  “Doesn’t he want to be an agent anymore?”

“Well
yes, but I thought I would send him up to Oxford for a year or so first, give
him a wider experience.”

“But
I thought one of the main reasons for him to stay here and learn from Martin
was because his health was not good enough to risk college life!” protested the
other man, puzzled.

Squire
Herbert looked somewhat flurried but repeated doggedly.  “It will do him good,
a year at Oxford.  Make a man of him, after all he is young yet to be choosing
a career.”

Carleton
considered him frowningly.  Something was not right here, Will Herbert, whom he
had known for years as a blunt man, had not quite met his eyes once, almost if
he had offended him in some way.

In
a different tone, he said, “Come on Will, stop pitching me a Banbury story! 
What is the real trouble?  Why don’t you want Jeremy to come here?”

The
Squire reddened then burst out uncomfortably, “I
saw
you, my Lord,
yesterday in Hough’s Wood.  I
can’t
let the boy come here!”

Neither
man noticed the door had opened slightly further behind them.

For
a minute Carleton stared uncomprehendingly at him.  Then he remembered, he had
been walking in the wood with Frances.  They had left their horses tied to a
tree on the edge and gone for a walk down a narrow winding path bordered with
occasional clumps of bluebells to where he had promised to show her a large
patch of blackberries to pick.  Hastily he searched his memory, what on earth
had he done?  Nothing that he could think of.  The Squire must have been
walking through the wood, taking the shortcut to the village but what the deuce
had he seen? 

Frances
had been delighted with the ripe luscious blackberries and he had helped her
pick a basketful to take back.  True, he had carried the basket for her but
that was unexceptional surely? They had laughed a good deal and he had helped
untangle her from the brambles yes – but nothing to cause a scandal there ... Well,
certainly not for a man and a woman, but ... for two men? Perhaps not!  It was
not the done thing for one man to help another out of a patch of briars and
laughingly wipe away the blackberry juice around his mouth with a handkerchief.

And
so the Squire did not want to send young Jeremy to him to be corrupted.  A
furious protest rushed to his lips to die a strangled death as he realised he
could not betray Frances.  Feeling sick he answered unconvincingly, “’Tis not
what it appeared Will, I promise you!”

When
she had heard the Squires anguished accusation from the study, Frances had
known instantly what the problem was, if not the precise cause of it.  She
spent a frozen minute wondering what to do - there was no time to dash upstairs
and throw on a dress.  All she could do was to take out the shoulder padding
from her jacket and loosen the binding over her breasts.  She stepped quickly
into the nearby library, no one would be in there this time of day and tore off
her jacket and shirt to make the necessary adjustments.  Working as fast as she
could she rebuttonned the shirt but let the jacket hang open.  In a minute she
was back at the study door pasting a saucy smile on her face and pushed it
open.

She
saw two startled faces turn towards her, one red and horribly uncomfortable and
the other white and sick.

“Frances!”
Carleton started involuntarily towards her.

“Oh
pardon mon seigneur,” she exclaimed in French, “Je m’excuse!”

The
Squire stared at the young man who had entered the room.  Frances put a hand to
her mouth, looked from one to the other and gave a little giggle of
embarrassment.  The Squire looked harder and turned to glare at Carleton “What
rig are you trying to run here?  That’s no boy!” The exclamation burst out of
him.

Carleton
was still staring at her rather blankly, then turned to the Squire and said,
“Forgive me, I haven’t introduced you. Squire Herbert this is Frances my – er”

“Amie,”
said Frances at the same moment Carleton said “Betrothed”.  They stared at each
other. 

Afterwards
the Squire was certain his jaw had dropped a foot, why on earth hadn’t Carleton
told him the truth instead of letting him say what he had?  The shocked
astonishment on Frances face however explained a good deal to him.  If she was
his betrothed, he was a Bond Street Beau.  Nevertheless it appeared Carleton
was going to do the right thing and marry her, for after that public
declaration he could be sued for breach of promise. 

He
bowed, “Pleased to meet you m’selle.  May I ask when the wedding is to be?”  He
felt a spurt of satisfaction at the start this gave both of them, after all he
had been made to look a bit of a fool this morning.  He looked sideways at
Carleton.  “Doing it too brown my lord! I’ll bid you good day then.”

He
picked up his stick and showed himself out.

Frances
had been totally astounded when Carleton called her his betrothed.  For one
delirious second she thought he meant it, and then reality crashed in and she
realised the declaration for what it was, a chivalrous impulse uttered on the
spur of the moment to protect her.  How he was going to explain it later to
Squire Herbert was obviously not something he had yet thought of.

She
managed a small smile, “Well, I think we brushed through that tolerably well!”

“Frances!” 
Carleton stretched a hand towards her.

Suddenly
she didn’t want to hear him explaining to her or much worse, pretending that he
had meant it.  She broke in “Thank you Richard, that was a kind thought but it
was not really necessary – after all the Squire will never see me again.”  She
started edging towards the door. “I must go upstairs and straighten up.”

Carleton
had surprised himself as well as Frances when he had called her his betrothed. 
His thoughts and feelings were still in turmoil, but when he had seen her gaily
confronting the Squire he had not wanted her treated with any less respect than
she deserved.  As soon as the word was out, he realised how right it sounded. 
All vague lingering thoughts about Rosamond withered on the spot.  How could he
ever have imagined spending more than a few hours with her?

Frances
had burst into his life, shocking him, entertaining him and oversetting every
notion he had ever had of a well brought up young lady and now he wanted her.
He reached out again to her but she drew back awkwardly rushing into hasty
speech, her eyes not meeting his.

“Frances!’
he repeated. “It is alright, I won’t embarrass you with a declaration now.  But
the sooner you return to being a woman, and I can call on you properly, the
better.  It may be easier for
you
to be a man but it’s been downright
disastrous for me!” he laughed.

She
smiled woodenly and murmured, “We will see.  I must go to my room for a moment,
my lord.”

“I
will see you at dinner then,” he announced with a smile. “I have to drive over
to Selby this afternoon to finalise some business matters, we will talk more
when I return.”

Frances
escaped to the safety of her room and stood staring blindly out the window. 
What a disaster!  She had achieved the last thing she had ever intended, to
trick Richard into making an offer for her.  Who would believe it had not been
her intention all along?   How could she have served him such a turn? She was
suddenly furious with herself, she should have left as soon as Richard knew she
was a woman, instead of indulging herself by staying on, pretending to be his
friend,  while falling further in love with him every day.  Yes, she admitted
to herself, she had fallen head over heels in love with him.  How could she
not? And now she had been offered what she longed for most in the world but
could not take it, she would have to leave and never see him again.  Tears were
trickling down her cheeks as she packed her bags again.  She could not stay a
moment longer.   I cannot face him again, thought Frances, I will have to leave
now, while he is away in Selby.  I’ll borrow the roan and ride to Guildford,
then I can leave the horse at the inn and take the stage from there.

She
would have to leave a letter.  What reason could she give for her abrupt
departure?  She tore up three attempts before she managed a brief note which
said simply,

“My
lord,

Forgive
me but I cannot stay any longer.  It is time for the masquerade to end. Please
do not try to find me. 

I
wish you well,

F”

She
folded it twice, wrote his name on it and left it propped on the mantelpiece of
her room.  Then it was time to leave.

Picking
up her two heavy bags, she realised for the first time that it might not be
quite so simple to walk out of the house and leave with her luggage while her
host was absent.  If a servant challenged her, what could she say?

As
if her very thoughts had conjured her up, Mrs Madden appeared at the top of the
stairs.  She stared at Frances, taking in the travelling cloak and the two
bags, “So you’ll be leaving him then?”

Frances
stared back.  What did she mean?  “’Tis for the best,” was all she could think
to say.

“You
should never have come at all!” the housekeeper stated fiercely, “But I will
help you leave.  How were you planning to get away?”

“I
thought to borrow the roan, and leave it at the inn at Guildford,” she replied,
startled into telling the truth.

Mrs
Madden thought quickly. “I said I will help you - give the bags to me and I
will arrange for them to be carried to the front gate. You can pick them up
from there.  Then it will look as if you are just going for a ride.  Well? The
sooner you are gone the better!”

“Here
they are. I cannot thank you enough!”

“I
am not doing it for you!” she interrupted, taking the bags.  “I will put them
in a basket and get the kitchen boy to take it down to the gatehouse, he won’t
need to know what is inside.”

Without
another word, the housekeeper turned and went downstairs, carrying Frances’
possessions.

Frances
swallowed silently and followed her down to the hall, then went out the door to
the stables.  It seemed to take forever until the groom had the roan saddled,
“It is a grand day for a ride,” he commented cheerfully. Frances agreed, then mounted
up and walked her horse slowly down the drive to the gate, keeping an anxious
eye out for anyone else around.  Where was the basket? Had the housekeeper
changed her mind? No, there it was!  Quickly she dismounted and it was the work
of a moment to tie the bags onto the saddle and climb back up.  She took a last
look back towards the house then trotted off in the direction of Guildford,
with any luck it would be several hours before Richard returned and discovered
her flight. 

Twelve
miles later, she reached Guildford and soon found the inn.  It was bustling
with horses and carriages, much more than usual surely?  “What has been
happening here?” she asked an ostler, as she made arrangements for the roan to
be stabled until Lord Carleton was able to send his groom for him.

“It’s
the fight sir. There was a mill between Gentleman Joe and the Guildford
champion.  Did you miss it then?”

“I
am afraid so,” confessed Frances.  “Can you tell me when the stage to London is
due?”

“Well
you’ve missed the one today sir.  The next is not ‘til tomorrow at midday.”

Before
she could decide what to do, she heard her name.

“Francis?
Is that you?” called a familiar voice.  Frances looked up and saw Jack Lambert
and Harry Belmont coming across the yard towards her.  She walked towards them,
moving quickly out of the ostler’s hearing.

“Great
turn up wasn’t it? No mere flourishing.” cried Harry, beaming with enthusiasm.

“I
feel a fool but I missed the whole show!  I arrived just as it finished!” she
complained, laughing.  “I was staying with a friend at Bristow and he dropped
me off but we got the time wrong between us and now I hear the stage is not due
until tomorrow!”

“Come
with us,” offered Lambert. “We’ve got room haven’t we Harry?”

“Are
you sure?” asked Frances, picking up her baggage.  In no time at all she was
seated in the post chaise, barrelling along the road to London, encouraging her
companions to talk about the mill they had just witnessed so that they did not
think to ask her too many questions about her own activities.

Lord
Carleton returned from his trip to Selby feeling tired and looking forward to
his dinner.  He was also thinking about Frances.  They would play cards again
and then, now they were betrothed, he would kiss her. He had been celibate so
long that now he could hardly wait.  There was no need for a long engagement
surely, the thought that Frances would refuse his offer never even entered his
head.  He knew the way of things and a young woman in Frances’ position would
not be so foolish as to refuse an offer of marriage, especially from a man as
beforehand with the world as himself.  His mind was racing ahead, perhaps she
would let him take her in his arms, and he would hold her tightly against him,
then slip his hand into ... he felt hot just imagining it.