Cherrybrook Rose (6 page)

‘What a delightful surprise,' he said in his crisp London accent. ‘I invested in Cherrybrook many years ago, but had I known Mr Maddiford possessed such a beautiful daughter, I should have paid a visit long before now.'

Rose's demurely lowered eyes flashed a vivid violet and she raised her chin stubbornly. ‘My father does not possess me, Mr . . . er . . .?'

‘Chadwick,' he answered, quite astonished.

‘Well, Mr Chadwick, radical though it may seem to you, I believe my father sees me, if not as his equal, then as a complement to his own role. He protects and provides for me, and I ensure he has a comfortable home to return to at the end of each day. And should you have visited in earlier years, you would have found in me a mere cheel, not deserving of any attention.'

‘Cheel?' Charles Chadwick raised a bemused eyebrow.

‘Devonshire,' she replied somewhat curtly, ‘for child. Usually female.'

She turned on him such a sweet, angelic,
stunning
smile, in contrast to the sharp sarcasm of her words, which were meant to remind him of the difference in their ages, that his heart turned over in his chest. That this graceful, sublime beauty possessed – and he was almost afraid even to
think
the word again – such intelligence and wit, was enchanting! Here he was, supposed to be questioning the finances of his investment, and instead finding himself bewitched by this spirited, quite glorious young woman.

‘I did not intend to offend, Miss Maddiford.' He managed to draw the cloak of self-assurance around himself again. ‘Quite the opposite, in fact. Please, I beg you, forgive me.'

Her eyes bore into his for a moment, trying to gauge whether his words of remorse were genuine, and then her long silken lashes swooped on to her flushed cheeks and she bent her head in an indication of a nod. She appeared calm and collected, and yet every pulse was vibrating inside her skull. What an idiot! She was supposed to be soothing troubled waters, and instead she was giving one of the major shareholders the length of her tongue! She felt so ashamed, and in an attempt to make amends, she looked up at Charles Chadwick with a beguiling smile.

‘'Tis I should be begging forgiveness, Mr Chadwick. I do have this . . . this fierce independence that runs away with me at times.'

‘Oh, don't apologize! I find vivacity in a lady quite splendid.'

His brown eyes danced somewhere between amusement and rapture, and Rose felt the relief sigh from her tense body. ‘Will you take some Madeira, sir, or perhaps some dry sherry? 'Twill warm you after your inspection of the works. 'Tis quite chillsome today, though at least 'tis not raining. Gentlemen, which would you prefer?'

She moved away, the refined hostess once more, circulating amongst their guests with easy charm. Mr Frean, of course, she knew well. He was more like an adopted uncle, her father having no other living relatives, and so it was no difficulty to remain by his side, nodding politely when necessary, and waiting to recharge any glass that was in danger of becoming empty. She did her best to ignore it, but among the business discussions of the men she felt many a furtive glance in her direction, and most frequent of them all was Mr Charles Chadwick.

The knock on the door was hardly heard above the chatter, and when Florrie entered the parlour she glanced about nervously but Rose saw her agitation and came forward with a dazzling grin.

‘Ah, Mrs Bennett!' She winked cheekily at the housekeeper, knowing that with her back to the room, no one else could see her face. ‘I take it luncheon is served?'

‘Yes, miss,' Florrie replied, adding a dip of her knees.

‘Thank you, Mrs Bennett. Now then, gentlemen, would you care to come through?'

She gestured graciously towards the open doorway with her long slender hand and the company moved into the dining room. Henry, naturally, occupied the head of the table with Mr Frean on his right, while Rose sat at the far end facing her father in order to attend to the gentlemen at that end. To her utter dismay, Charles Chadwick seemed riveted to her side, and he it was who drew out the chair for her and then seated himself next to her.

‘Thank you,' she smiled becomingly, though she could feel herself bubbling with animosity. Surely he could see that his attentions were not welcomed! He was supposed to be there to discuss business, not make advances towards the manager's daughter! If it had been young Mr Symons, it might have been understandable, but Mr Chadwick was old enough to be her father – at least, in Rose's eyes he was – and at his age, he really ought to know better!

‘Well, Henry.' George Frean spoke between spoons of Florrie's mushroom and celery soup, laced with a generous measure of white wine. ‘My word, this is good! You seem to have recovered quickly from the minor incident last week.'

‘Thanks to the hard work of the men,' Henry replied guardedly. ‘And their loyalty is very much due to the fact that we treat them with respect. Gunpowder manufacture requires skilled labour, skills acquired over years, so we do our best to avoid changes.'

‘The repairs were not too costly, then?' one of the investors demanded over his rotund stomach.

‘As you have seen, our machinery is made of wood to avoid explosions, and timber is not the most expensive commodity. 'Tis the carpenters' skills and dedication that had the corning mill up and running again in a few days. They know their jobs depend on it. And as for the practice that seems to have caused the incident, we are investigating.'

‘You are following all the government directives?' the youthful Mr Symons put in, clearly to impress upon Miss Maddiford that he was not as wet behind the ears as he looked, for as he threw her a purposeful glance his cheeks suffused with crimson.

‘Without question,' Henry assured him. ‘I have the papers from the last inspection in my office if you should care to peruse them after luncheon. We never exceed the limits on storing powder at the various stages of its manufacture, and all the regulations are strictly abided by.'

‘But it is still a dangerous and risky business,' Charles Chadwick considered, and then, turning to Rose with a half-patronizing, half-challenging smirk, he added, ‘would you not agree, Miss Maddiford?'

Inside her breast, resentment fumed with livid force, but her face was a picture of composure, for the last thing she wanted was for the wealthy Mr Chadwick to withdraw his considerable investment in the mills.

‘Indeed, I would not, Mr Chadwick,' she told him, her steady eyes meeting his. ‘There has been no serious accident here since 1858, long before my father took over, whereas serious injury and even death occurs regularly in the quarries and mines hereabouts. Everything possible is done to reduce the risks to a minimum. As I'm sure you will have seen on your visit, all machinery is wooden, including shovels. All the men wear leather-soled shoes and leather aprons. The buildings are set well apart, especially those that require chimneys. The floors of the incorporating mills are covered in tanned hides, and the interior walls rendered to facilitate cleaning. And in the unlikely event of an explosion, the walls are thick and the roofs are made of flimsy wood and tarpaulins, so that the force of any blast is funnelled upwards, blowing off the roof rather than damaging the machinery or anyone inside. So I would say that over all, 'tis actually quite safe.'

Her mouth closed in a compressed line as she realized seven pairs of amazed eyes were trained upon her. If only her heart would stop bouncing in her chest, for she felt that Charles Chadwick had deliberately driven her into a corner from which she must fight like a tigress to escape. Was he playing with her, as a cat plays with a trapped mouse? It certainly seemed like it to her, and now the embarrassment flamed in her cheeks at her animated response that had drawn everyone's attention.

It was George Frean who rescued her. ‘My dear Rose,' he chuckled good-naturedly, ‘you speak so eloquently, I fear I will soon be out of a job! But everything our young hostess says, gentlemen, is quite true. And as for competition from dynamite, well, such change is often resisted. As you have seen from the accounts, trade is still lucrative and promises to be so for some time, although perhaps not quite at the same peak as in earlier years.'

‘I fear you are being a little optimistic,' one of the older investors chimed in with a frown. ‘I shall give it some thought on my return to London, but I may want to suggest some changes.'

‘May I ask if you could give me an indication of what they might be?' Henry enquired cautiously.

Rose drew a calming breath through her nostrils and released it slowly as a lively discussion developed around the table. She rested her hands in her lap, bowing her head as etiquette demanded of a hostess in a man's world, but as she did so, her eye caught Charles Chadwick as he flashed her a sympathetic,
approving
smile before he joined in the debate. Her face was an impassive mask, but she listened intently to every word exchanged. The conversation gradually drifted away from business, assisted by the arrival of Florrie's fish course of local salmon followed by a magnificent crown roast of lamb. By the time the sumptuous dessert arrived – Charlotte Russe made with bananas she had travelled by train to Plymouth to purchase, and topped with lashings of cream from Cherrybrook Farm – the conversation had divided into several private dialogues of little consequence, and Rose was vehemently wishing she could escape the present company, saddle Gospel and head out across the lonely moor to freedom.

‘Tell me, Miss Maddiford, when you are not extolling the virtues of the powder mills, what do you find to occupy your time in this isolated location? Perhaps you are an expert in . . . What is it ladies like to excel in? Ah, yes, needlepoint, or perhaps some other virtue such as painting? Or perhaps music?'

Rose's heart had sunk like a stone as Charles Chadwick's voice dragged her spirit back from its reverie, and she blinked at him with disdain as she focused on him again. But his expression was soft and inviting, warm flecks in his mahogany eyes and the corners of his mouth lifting pleasantly. Perhaps she was being a little hard on him, and it was her duty to entertain her guests and instil in them feelings of goodwill at the end of their visit.

‘I have to admit to being quite skilled with a needle,' she said with genuine shyness. ‘Though I put it to practical use rather than such things as tapestry. I make all my own clothes, and shirts for my father and Joe. He's an ostler at the powder-mills stable, but he helps look after Gospel and does the heavy work around the house in exchange for a room over our stables.'

‘Gospel?' Charles gave an intrigued frown.

‘My horse,' she replied flatly, but she could not prevent the brilliant light that shone from her eyes at the thought of the beloved animal.

‘So, you
ride
, do you, Miss Maddiford?' he asked, his heart almost tripping over itself in his enchantment. ‘Or perhaps you mean you drive a gig?'

‘Oh, no,' she answered with a spark of indignation. ‘I mean, I can drive a gig, yes. Though 'tis a dog cart we have. But 'tis no good out on the moor. Gospel and I, we like to go for miles . . .' She stopped abruptly, her mouth clamped shut, as she realized she had let her tongue – and her passion – run away with her. Hardly the done thing for the lady of the house!

But Charles Chadwick was lost in some strange emotion that was beyond his usual comprehension. Had she been studying his face, she would have seen it tighten in some odd spasm that even he could not control, and he had to clear his throat before he could speak again.

‘Splendid!' He surprised her with the strength of his exclam-ation. ‘Then tomorrow I shall hire a horse and you can take me out and show me . . . well, wherever you would like on this beautiful moor of yours! We're all staying at the Duchy Hotel in Princetown. We were all to return to London tomorrow, but
I
shall stay on. I have thought what a wild and spectacular place Dartmoor appears to be, and I am sure, Miss Maddiford, you will prove a most knowledgeable guide.'

Did he see her flinch away, her jaw drop, the flints of ice in her eyes? Who did he think he was! But she had answered her own question before she had finished asking it. He was one of the major investors in the powder mills and it was her duty to humour him!

‘Why, Mr Chadwick,' she almost croaked, her voice dry, ‘I fear I cannot accept such an invitation. 'Tis hardly seemly, and my father would not allow—'

‘Oh, I shall of course seek your father's permission,' he assured her with the enthusiastic smile of a young boy as he glanced along the table to where Henry was deep in conversation with Mr Frean. ‘I am sure he will feel able to rely on my integrity as a gentleman, shall we call it?'

He watched as her lovely mouth tightened, her chin set stubbornly. She was magnificent, the most beautiful creature he had ever clapped eyes on, yet driven with such captivating spirit. His normal indifference to women had been wiped out in one fell swoop, and for the first time in his life, his heart was enslaved.

Charles Chadwick was deeply, hopelessly, irrevocably in love . . .

‘Rose, will you please sit down!'

For once, Henry raised his voice to his daughter as she angrily paced the parlour carpet, kicking at the full hem of her skirt each time she spun round. She halted then and glared at him, her lips in a petulant knot, before she swung into the chair opposite his and sat bolt upright, her head erect and obstinate as she stared sightlessly out of the window.

Henry sighed weightily, his shoulders slumped, as he lifted his weary eyes to her face. ‘I do appreciate how you feel, but—'

‘How could you, Father!' she rounded on him, her eyes glinting the colour of ripe mulberries. ‘How could you give your consent to my riding out with a complete stranger?'

‘A stranger to us, perhaps, but not to Mr Frean.' Henry pulled in his chin, knowing that was not the true reason for her objection. ‘I didn't give my permission until I'd spoken to Mr Frean, who assured me Mr Chadwick is of a sound reputation and not known for frivolous dalliances. You don't think I'd allow you to go unless I knew you'd be quite safe, do you?'