Regency Masquerade (9 page)

“My
lord, I am very sorry for the distress I have caused you, but I ask you to
remember that you were friends with Peter and to let me go.”  Frances said
quietly, not making any effort to free herself.

Carleton
looked searchingly at her, “I must confess my head is still at sixes and sevens
over all this.”  He sighed and released his hold on her horse.  “I will not
force you to anything, but - I do not want you to return to London alone to be
hunted by Duverne.”

“You
do not need to be concerned sir, I will manage,” she murmured.

Carleton
was still considering, a frown between his eyes.  For the first time in his
life he was contemplating taking a mistress, but he knew it was too soon to
make the offer and only an idiot would have made such a suggestion now.  “What
if you stayed here for a few more days?  As Peter Francis.  Do you think we
could keep up the masquerade a little longer?”

Frances
was amazed. “Pardon?”

“Could
we return to our previous relationship, pretend last night never occurred?  I
have some business here I must complete, before I return to London.  I give you
my word you would be safe here.”

“Lord
Carleton, are you certain of this?  You would be prepared to have me stay here
as Peter Francis, knowing what you do about me?” Frances felt bewildered, she
had been certain he would never forgive her for the deception.

Her
companion was not actually certain about anything at the moment, except that he
did not want her to go.  This was the only way he could think of to persuade
her and to give himself some breathing space.  “My word on it.”

“Thank
you!  I did not expect ... I did not think you ...”Frances struggled to express
her feelings, she felt close to tears.  “You are too kind.  I will accept your
offer but only on the condition that you tell me to leave if my presence
becomes ... inconvenient.”

“Agreed. 
Perhaps we should return?”  They cantered side by side back to the stables.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

Frances
went upstairs to change and found that a new room had been prepared for her, a
few doors down from Carleton’s.  She still had a view of the front drive but it
was decorated in blue and cream without the rich wood panelling.  Her clothes
had been unpacked and put away, with the exception of course of those in her
locked bag.  A basin of warm water had been provided and she washed up before
going downstairs, feeling hungry after her ride.  A cold luncheon was laid out
on the sideboard and she helped herself to a large plate of cold meat while she
waited for his lordship.  He joined her shortly and they sat down at the table.

“I
intend to call on the Squire this afternoon,” he advised.  “Will you be alright
here?”

“Yes
indeed. I will practice my shooting if that is acceptable,” Frances replied,
relieved that he had not asked her to go with him.  She needed some time alone. 
Although she knew she could trust Carleton, he had given her his word, she was
anxious about whether his scheme would work.  She had noticed he was already
treating her differently than he had Peter Francis.  When they returned from
their ride, he had stepped towards her as if he would assist her to dismount, a
courtesy he would have offered without thinking to any woman of his
acquaintance.  Hastily she had swung out of the saddle protesting, “No - no, I
can manage thank you. I am quite recovered!”  Carleton had come to an abrupt
halt, realising his mistake.  “Of course. I’m sorry, Peter.”

Meanwhile
Carleton was being welcomed by Squire Herbert and his wife.  Part of him was
conducting a civil conversation but another part was still thinking about
Frances.  He had yet to recover from the shock that she was a woman.  Immense
relief had been his initial reaction because it had released him from a private
hell, but then he had felt furiously angry that he had made such a fool of
himself.  Now however, his feelings were more complicated, and sheer amazement
was not the least of them.  How incredible that she should have fenced so well
with Maestro Mancini and outshot his friends and himself so brilliantly.

“While
you are here Richard,” the Squire was saying, “I was wondering if I might send
Jeremy over to you, to meet your agent and see what the work would entail. 
Give him a chance to decide if that is what he wants to do with his life.”

Carleton
nodded his agreement.  Jeremy was the son who was interested in learning about
estate management.  Squire Herbert filled him in on the local news until
eventually he took his leave and swung himself onto Diabolo to complete his
appointed round of visits.

Back
at Chatswood, Frances finished her shooting practice and returned to the
house.  The thought had occurred to her that she might find some reference to
the Murray family in one of the many books in the library.  Mrs Madden showed
her into the room pleasantly enough, but she fancied that for some reason the
housekeeper disapproved of her.  At one time she caught a speculative look in
her eyes and wondered for a moment if by any chance she had guessed she was not
what she seemed.  “She is probably merely anxious to see that I am not imposing
myself on Carleton,” Frances concluded reassuringly.  “Which of course, I am!”
she admitted with a wry smile.  There was a comfortable deep leather armchair
in the library and she curled up cosily in it with a pile of books at her elbow. 
Carleton found her there on his return. Frances immediately stretched her legs
out in a more masculine pose, then sat forward, her arms on her knees.

“Hullo,
what are you reading?”

Frances
smiled up at him, “I am looking through some local histories.” She paused and said
consideringly, “You may be able to help me more though.  Do you know anything
about a Lady Julia Murray?”

He
frowned, “Murray? No I don’t think so... wait a minute, I believe there is an
older lady of that name living in London, but I think her Christian name is
Anna.  Would she be the one?  It is coming back to me now... I remember there
was a daughter, or perhaps two, but I am fairly sure she died some years ago. 
Maddy might know more, shall I ask her?”

A
disappointed expression came over Frances face as he spoke and she chewed her
lip.  “I do wish he had told me more!” she murmured to herself.

Carleton
looked at her inquiringly.

“I
am sorry my lord, it is merely that my father told me to seek out Lady Julia
Murray when I reached London, but I have no idea who she is or what he expected
to come of it!  It is very puzzling.”

Carleton
pulled up another chair and asked her to tell him her fathers’ exact words. 
She did so and he agreed that it was certainly not much to go on.  “Perhaps she
is some sort of relation?” he queried.  “That would seem to be the most likely
reason he would ask you to find her.”

“I
hardly think so, after all my father never mentioned her before then.  As I
told you, I don’t know which of the names he used was his own, if any, but I am
sure he never used Murray.”  She answered doubtfully.

“What
was your mother’s maiden name, do you know?” pursued Carleton.

“Emerson
I think.”

He
frowned, “That is not familiar to me either.  Shall I ask Maddy to join us?”

“Yes,
if she would.”

Carleton
went off to find her and returned in a few minutes, Mrs Madden puffing slightly
at his heels.  “Have a seat Maddy, I would like to ask you something. A glass
of sherry?”

The
housekeeper was soon settled comfortably on a chair in front of the fire and
Carleton asked “I was wondering if you knew anything about a Lady Julia Murray
or her family?”

“Julia
Murray?” repeated the housekeeper, narrowing her eyes in concentration.  “Let
me see.  She married Sir Thomas Pointon, rather late in life I believe, but she
died in that boating accident in the Channel about three or four years ago
now.  She had a younger sister I remember, there was some sort of scandal
connected with her a long time ago – I fancy she died abroad somewhere.  There
is only the mother left now to my knowledge, Lady Anna.  What is your interest
in the family, my lord?”

“Not
me, ‘tis Peter,” he explained.  “It appears he has some connection with the
family but we are not sure exactly what.”

Maddy
raised her eyebrows and looked at her doubtfully.  “Thank you for your help Mrs
Madden, perhaps I will call on Lady Murray when I return to London,” said
Frances, not wanting to tell her the whole story.

“Yes,
and I can make some enquiries for you as well,” agreed Carleton.

At
that point, the footman arrived to announce that dinner was ready.  Both of
them did full justice to the dishes prepared for them.  The food was plentiful
but fairly plain, his lordship not having gone to the trouble of bringing his
French chef with him from London.  Frances entertained him with some stories
from her life in Florence and he returned with some of the livelier anecdotes
circulating the London drawing rooms.  They opened a second bottle of claret
between them and enjoyed themselves thoroughly.  If sometimes the glances
Carleton bestowed on his companion were a little warmer than those to be
expected for such a recent acquaintance, he was not aware of it, and the
footman put it down to him being a little merry, not foxed exactly but
certainly on the go.  Eventually, the remains were cleared away and the port
brought out.

“Shall
we play cards tonight?” invited Carleton, sitting back in his chair.

“By
all means, as long as we play no more than a penny a point,” answered Frances.

They
took their glasses into the study where there was a warm fire burning merrily
in the grate, and Carleton passed a pack of unopened cards across to Frances. 
She shuffled them professionally. “Whist sir?”

Carleton
nodded.  They both played cautiously at first, taking each other’s measure. 
The luck ran with Carleton at first, but even so Frances could see that he was
a skilful player.  “I would need to keep a clear head if ever we should have a
serious game my lord!”

He
laughed and continued to win points, “Would you like another drink? Some brandy
perhaps?”

“No
thank you, I have had quite enough!  Could I have some coffee instead?”

“That’s
a good idea, I could do with some myself.”

By
the time the footman had brought the coffee and it had been drunk, Carleton had
won five shillings and Frances conceded him the winner.

“If
you do not mind my lord, I will retire for the night. It has been a long day,”
she added.

“Yes
indeed, I feel as if I had been burning the candle at both ends myself.” 
Carleton followed her upstairs and paused at her door.

“Good
night Frances,” he said unthinkingly as he opened the door for her.

“Do
not call me that my lord whatever you do,” she whispered urgently. “Someone may
overhear you and we will both be in the suds!  Just think of me as Peter,
nothing else.” 

Carleton
looked at her, seeing her as “male” again and felt suddenly uncomfortable.  Not
only was he beginning to grow accustomed to her short curls and breeches, but
if truth be told he found them very attractive.

“You
are right!  I will see you tomorrow, then,” He nodded curtly and moved swiftly
to his own room.

Three
more days passed, filled with riding, long walks and interspersed with meals
and conversation.  They played cards in the evening for small sums and laughed
a lot.  Frances continued to practice her shooting when Carleton was involved
in the business of the estate and also to delve into the local history books
which she found fascinating.  Occasionally she found Mrs Madden studying her
with a curious eye and she would make an extra effort to do something boyish
such as cracking a walnut in her hand or skinning the rabbit she had shot.

Meanwhile
Squire Herbert was wrestling with a dilemma.  Such a shocking thing had
occurred that he would not have believed it if he had not seen it with his own
eyes.  He was very worried.  He valued his own standing in the neighbourhood as
a respectable man that others could look up to as an example, but he was also
old fashioned, with a deeply inbred awe of those he considered his betters. 
The two qualities warred within him until he reached a reluctant decision.  He
would seek a meeting with Lord Carleton the very next morning.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

Carleton
was just finishing a rather late breakfast with Peter when the message was
brought to him that the Squire was wishful of speaking to him urgently on a
serious matter.

“I
had better see him now,” he apologised to his companion, with whom he had been
about to engage in a fencing match when they finished eating.

“Of
course, go ahead, I am nearly done here.” Frances drained her coffee cup.

Carleton
sent back a message for the Squire to await him in the study and soon joined
him after brushing the crumbs from his waistcoat and straightening his cravat.

“Yes
Squire?” he asked, pulling the door closed behind him but failing to notice
that it had not latched. “What’s the problem?”  Squire Herbert did not return
his smile but continued to look very solemn.  Clearing his throat, he replied,
“I’ve come to tell you my Lord, that I won’t be sending young Jeremy over
here.  I’ve changed my mind.”