Rebel Heiress (27 page)

‘I see.' Henrietta was beginning to see a great deal. ‘And to whom, if I may ask, am I indebted for this rumour of my disappearance? I have yet to learn that to drive down into the country and visit a friend is to disappear.'

‘Yes, but to go alone, Henrietta. What have you to say to that?'

‘Oh, of course. Lady Marchmont has been conferring with the Miss Giddys. I had quite forgot. No wonder the story of my “disappearance” is all over town. This is really most unfortunate.'

‘Unfortunate! I should rather think it is. Of course I believe you implicitly, Henrietta. If you tell me that you have had nothing to do with Mr. Clinton's escape, that is good enough for me. But I am afraid the Runners will not be so easily satisfied. What are you going to tell them? Henrietta, how
could
you go so far unattended?'

‘But I did nothing of the kind, Charles. Thank God, there is no reason I should not tell
you
. Simon was with me.'

‘Simon?'

‘Your brother. I knew I ought not to go alone, and, truly, Charles, I had to go. So, as he happened to visit me yesterday, I asked him to be so good as to accompany me. And I must say, he was the greatest comfort and assistance to me. I think your brother does you credit, Charles.'

‘Oh, he is well enough.' Carelessly. ‘But he is at Oxford, or supposed to be.'

‘Now you have hit on the exact difficulty. He had overstayed his leave already and has ridden back tonight hoping that his absence will not have been noticed. I promised him faithfully that I would not mention he had accompanied me. I cannot possibly betray him, so what am I to do!'

He was frowning. ‘Really, it is too foolish in you, Henrietta. What on earth was the use of having him go with you, if you knew you could not mention it?'

This was an aspect of the situation that had not struck her before. ‘Well,' she said, ‘he was the greatest comfort to me, and sat on the box across Putney Heath and frightened off a highwayman.
But I see what you mean: You are concerned about what the world will say, not about my safety.' She stopped, horrified at what she had said. For how many sleepless nights had she thought of this meeting, and now they were wasting the precious minutes in quarrelling. ‘Charles,' she went on, ‘forgive me. I did not mean it, and nor, I know, did you. To tell truth, I am so weary I do not rightly know what I am saying. Let us talk of this again in the morning. You cannot really mean that you have to leave again tomorrow?'

‘I am afraid so. But not, I hope, till the afternoon. The despatches I am to carry can hardly be ready before then.' He took her hand. ‘Sleep well, Henrietta,' and forgive me if I seemed to speak sharply. I love you too well not to be anxious for you sometimes.' And on this note of half reconciliation they parted.

Henrietta woke to sunshine, and happiness. Charles had been angry the night before, it was true, but he was home, even if only for a day. And he had come because of his anxiety for her. There was great comfort in this. She knew well what a coveted honour the bringing of despatches was; it must have taken the greatest solicitude on her behalf to make him ask for it as a favour. No wonder then he had been put out when he found her so mysteriously absent. And then, to have her return, looking such a hoyden. Of course he had been displeased. She would not have blamed him if he had spoken to her more sharply still. Anyway, there was happiness in the thought that his chidings had been those of an accepted lover. In her heart she had never been able to stop thinking of herself as engaged to him; now, to her infinite relief, the breach had been tacitly healed. If it had taken a quarrel to do it, thank God for quarrels.

Her only anxiety, as she urged Rose to lose no time in putting her into her most becoming muslin, was for Simon. Suppose the Bow Street Runners really did come to question her?
How should she clear herself of suspicion without getting him into trouble? But this anxiety was soon allayed. Rose, handing pins, was talkative as usual. She dealt first with Mr. Rivers' unexpected arrival and then turned to the news of the day.

‘Only to think, miss, of that poor American gentleman being catched so easy. My heart bleeds for him, truly it does. Fancy escaping from the Tower and then being caught by a parcel of bargees.'

‘What? Is he caught then?'

‘Why, yes, miss. He had hidden himself on a barge in the Thames, hoping, I have no doubt, to find some means of getting over to France, but his foot stuck out of the sacks and they spotted him — and back he is in the Tower, this very minute.'

‘Oh, the poor man.' But Henrietta's heart sang. She hurried downstairs in the hope of finding Charles alone, but the footman on duty in the hall told her that Mr. Rivers had already ridden out, to Whitehall, as he understood. He had said he would return shortly.

And, indeed, Henrietta had hardly finished her second cup of tea when Charles joined her. Mindful of the man in waiting, he bent low, respectfully over her hand, but his eyes told her of the kiss she should have had.

‘I can see you are none the worse for your long day.' He had an approving glance for Rose's handiwork.

‘Not the least in the world. But tell me, what news in Whitehall?'

‘Why, a reprieve, I am glad to say. I do not leave till tomorrow. And good news, too, from the Tower.'

‘Yes, so I have heard. Poor Mr. Clinton. I cannot help but feel sorry for him.'

‘Hush,' he said warningly. ‘Have you not learned your lesson yet, Henrietta?'

‘Oh, come, Charles, let me at least be myself with you. Good God, how I have missed you, and now you come home only for one day. It is too much to be borne.'

He accepted a cup of tea and smiled warmly at her. ‘I owe it to a good friend of yours that I do not have to return today.'

‘A friend? Of mine? I did not know I had any.'

‘Now it is I who must say, “Oh, come,” to you, Henrietta. Of course you have friends, and good ones too. I referred to Miss Jenkinson, whom I met at Lord Liverpool's today. It was she who persuaded her cousin that he could not possibly make up
his mind what to say to Lord Wellington until tomorrow. And, to complete her kindness, she has invited me to accompany you to their house tonight.'

‘Of course. It is Lady Liverpool's rout. I had quite forgot. And you are to come too. Oh, that is delightful news indeed. And I owe it all to Miss Jenkinson. Yes, I was wrong, she is a true friend. Did you not find her delightful, Charles, in her odd way?'

He laughed. ‘Anyone with so much money has leave to be odd. She means to call on you this morning, by the way.'

‘Oh.' Henrietta made a moue. ‘I had hoped that we might have this day at least to ourselves. Can we not escape before she comes, Charles? Let us, for once, be wicked and go riding in the park together.'

For a moment his hand touched hers. ‘If we only could! But it will not do, Henrietta, as your own good sense, I am sure, will tell you. Miss Jenkinson is too valuable a friend to be lightly affronted. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to find that you have formed so eligible a connection. I must confess that I had some anxious moments when the gossip about you began to reach me. You will forgive me, I know, for referring to so painful a subject again, but talk of any kind is what I must of all things avoid, and you also for my sake. I have long wished for an opportunity to talk to you about our future. Let us go out into the garden. There, at least, we can with propriety be alone.' And he handed her out through the French windows on to the terrace, pausing merely to tell the footman in attendance that if Miss Jenkinson called, Miss Marchmont was to be found in the garden.

Henrietta could not help feeling that it would have been more gallant to have omitted this precaution, but, at least, here she was at last, alone with her love. He led her across the lawn to a seat under an arbour and installed her there, solicitously. Was it shady enough for her? Should he fetch her a hat? She longed to suggest that they would be at once cooler and more private on one of the rustic benches in the shrubbery, but pride would not allow this. If he preferred to remain here in full view of the house, they must do so. She looked up at him with a teasing smile. ‘Am I in disgrace still, Charles?'

‘In disgrace? How can you think so? You must know that it is only my love for you that makes me anxious on your behalf. I am sorry if I seemed to speak sharply last night, but I had
been in an agony of fear for you. To come back and find you gone — and so mysteriously gone. Henrietta, you can have no idea of what I suffered.'

‘Dear Charles, I am so sorry. But let us not waste time talking about that. It is all to be forgotten now. Tell me instead what it is you have wished to say about our future.' She coloured as she spoke. Would he think it forward of her to remind him?

But he smiled down at her kindly. ‘Yes, we must lose no time. These minutes alone together are too precious to be wasted. I fear you are bound to have a rush of callers today, after the talk that was going about yesterday. Indeed, I think that Miss Jenkinson had that very much in mind when she said she would come to see you.'

‘Oh, you mean she too knows that I was “mysteriously gone” as you call it?'

‘My poor Henrietta, I fear you must resign yourself to the fact that everybody knows it. But with Miss Jenkinson and me at your side I think you can rely on carrying it off with a high hand. That brings me though, exactly to the point I wished to make. Of course I know that these scrapes of yours are merely the result of your high spirits but, Henrietta, for my sake, I beg you will be more careful. You must know that I do not mean to remain a mere army officer forever. The tide of war has turned at last. It will be over soon, I think, and, with peace, the chance of a successful army career is, of course, slight. I mean to sell out as soon after the peace as I can.'

She interrupted him, surprised. ‘Why, Charles, I thought you were to be a general!'

‘Why, so I should, if the war had but lasted a while longer, but as things are going now, I do not believe Boney can hold out much beyond next spring. Then, of course, with peace will come the cry for retrenchment; the army will be cut to the bone, there will be no chance for promotion, certainly not by merit. No, no, there is no career for me there.'

‘But what do you mean to do?'

‘Why, go into politics, of course. With you at my side, and your father behind me, I am sure I shall have no difficulty in finding a seat. It is unfortunate that the dissolution will probably come this autumn, before I am out of the army, but we will just have to hope for a by-election. And once I am in the House, let me alone to make my mark. Now, Henrietta, I am
sure you understand why I have been somewhat troubled about you. It is bad enough — you will forgive me, I know, for saying this — for your father, in his position, to have you made the subject of public comment. For me it might be fatal. You know the tag about Caesar's wife. I beg you will apply it to yourself.'

‘You mean then to be First Minister, I take it?'

‘With God's help — and yours. And now I know you will understand how delighted I am to find you such good friends with Miss Jenkinson. She is on the very best of terms with her cousin, Lord Liverpool, and who knows what might not come of that? But here, if I mistake not, comes the man to announce your first caller.' And indeed, a footman was floating majestically across the lawn towards them. ‘Miss Jenkinson is here, Miss Marchmont,' he said, ‘and the Miss Giddys.'

‘Oh!' Henrietta made a face. ‘What am I to say to them, Charles? Stand by me, I beg of you.'

‘Of course I will. Do not trouble yourself for a moment. They cannot harm you now I am here.' And he took her arm and led her back to the house.

In the comfort of his touch, Henrietta forgot a certain disappointment she had felt in her conversation. If Charles' plans for the future had seemed just a shade cold-blooded, she must remember that all his life he had had his own way to make. And now he had her to plan for as well as himself. No wonder if the responsibility weighed him down so that the lover was somewhat lost in the man of affairs. She pressed his arm gently. ‘Charles, I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to have you here.'

They found Lady Marchmont entertaining Miss Jenkinson and the three Miss Giddys, who swooped upon Henrietta with little cries of affection.

‘You dear wicked creature,' said Miss Giddy, reaching up for an unwanted kiss.

‘Giving us such a fright,' added Miss Letitia.

‘We quite thought you had been abducted,' explained Miss Patricia.

‘Fanny was positively in spasms when we told her,' said Miss Giddy.

‘We thought we would have to send for dear Sir Henry,' said Miss Patricia.

‘But then this morning we had the good good news that that
wicked Mr. Clinton had been captured. Hanging's too good for him, if you ask me,' concluded Miss Letitia.

Allowing them each to kiss her cheek in turn, Henrietta thought that there was one thing to be said for the Miss Giddys. They did make conversation very easy. And this time they obviously knew that they had gone too far in what they had said about her yesterday. Mr. Clinton had done her an admirable turn in getting captured when he did. In their contrition over having accused her of helping him to escape, they would forget to wonder what she had really been doing. She returned their greetings courteously and delighted them by asking after ‘poor Miss Fanny'.

Poor Miss Fanny, it seemed, who had been in spasms all day yesterday, had eaten a hearty breakfast after hearing the news of Mr. Clinton's capture and had sent them out with strict instructions to bring her all the news.

‘So of course we came to dear Lady Marchmont's,' said Miss Giddy.

‘And see how right we were,' said Miss Letitia.

‘We shall be able to tell her we found you radiant, positively radiant with happiness,' Miss Patricia told Henrietta.