The Reluctant Escort. Mary Nichols
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the future.’
‘Oh, must you go? We so seldom see anyone interesting at Stacey Manor. It is the most boring of places. Nothing ever happens here. Begging you pardon, Aunt Margaret, but there is so little to do and no one to converse with at all.’
Duncan’s smile was a little crooked. ‘I am afraid if it is social discourse you are looking for I am a poor one to provide it.’ He stood up and bowed to her. ‘Goodnight, Miss Martineau. May your dreams be pleasant ones.’
When she had gone, Duncan settled down again with his grandmother. ‘The poor child must find it very boring here. Why in heaven’s name did Harriet not take her with her to London?’
Lady Connaught smiled. ‘And have everyone wondering how she can be old enough to have a daughter of seventeen? It would certainly be a stumbling block to her own prospects. Harriet has promised Molly a Season when she has landed a wealthy husband for herself. She is still a beautiful woman, not in the first flush of youth but not too old to want a husband.’
‘She has had three already! I should think anyone contemplating marriage with her might well consider how long he might live after the ceremony.’
‘Oh, that is unfair, Duncan. Her first husband, the French diplomat and Molly’s father, was a widower and an old man when she married him. Unfortunately her expectations on his death were not realised; he left his fortune to his first family in France and only a small portion came Harriet’s way.’
‘And her second?’
‘George Winters. He was a wine importer and plump in the pocket when they married, but the blockade of French ports ruined his business and he went to America to look for new sources of supply. He died out there of a fever in 1812 or 1813—I am not sure which it was. That marriage lasted eleven years, but it left Harriet no better off than before. Her third husband was Colonel Benbright…’
‘He was killed at Waterloo. I met him once. An old stick-in-the-mud, who believed it was dishonourable to retreat whatever the circumstances. He had been ordered by Wellington to withdraw from his position, but he chose to ignore the order and took a great many good and brave men with him to their deaths.’ He stopped, hearing again the sound of the unremitting guns and the cries and groans of the wounded men in that terrible conflict.
He had thought himself battle-hardened, but even he had been appalled and sickened by the carnage. And some of it was so unnecessary. Colonel Benbright’s men, not knowing his orders, had obeyed his commands and died at his side. Duncan had been glad not to be one of them, even though, at the time, he had been feeling sick at heart and would have welcomed a good clean death.
‘So now Harriet must find another husband.’ His grandmother broke in on his reverie and brought him sharply back to more mundane matters. ‘Her daughter is an encumbrance, if not a serious rival, so she sent her here to stay with me.’
‘Fustian! She is no more than an attractive child; how can she possibly be in competition with her own mother?’
‘She is not a child, Duncan. She is seventeen, nearly eighteen.’
‘She looks more like fifteen. A mere schoolgirl.’
‘That is Harriet’s fault for trying to keep her young. Poor Molly has not been allowed to grow up, but underneath that childish exterior there is the heart and mind of a young woman who could blossom into a real beauty.’
‘I do not doubt it. It makes me feel like horse-whipping that selfish mother of hers.’
‘That would not serve either. What Molly wants is someone to help her grow up. I can’t do that; I am too old and set in my ways. And Stacey Manor is too isolated.’
‘So?’ he asked, wondering where this conversation was leading.
‘You need to settle down, Duncan. It is about time you abandoned your scapegrace ways and made something of your life.’
‘With Molly Martineau?’ he asked in astonishment.
‘Why not?’
‘Grandmama, have you any idea what sort of life I lead?’
‘Yes, and it is not to your credit. You did not have to abandon your inheritance and take to the road. It was done in a fit of pique…’
‘No, Grandmama, it was not. When I came home and discovered I had been reported killed in action at Vittoria…’
‘The report of that action was detailed enough for no one to doubt it,’ his grandmother put in. ‘You were seen to fall and a French officer dismounted and finished you off with his sword…’
‘He meant to, but charitably changed his mind when he saw I was wounded and took me prisoner instead.’
‘It is a pity you could not have managed to let anyone know you were alive…’
‘I tried, but because I would not give my parole not to attempt to escape I was denied all privileges and no one would take a letter. When I did escape, I brought important intelligence and the Chief sent me back to discover more. I was not free to come home until after Boney surrendered. Too late. My father had died, my title had been usurped, the lady I was to have married had wed my brother and produced an heir.’ He paused, remembering the consternation his return had caused.
If it had not been for that spell as a French prisoner of war and Old Hooknose sending him back behind the lines as an agent, he would have come home long before and claimed his birthright. He would have arrived before his father’s death and there would have been no question of who was the heir. He would be head of the family, running his estates, married to Beth…Married to Beth.
He mused on that for several seconds. It was a prospect which had kept him going all the time he had been in the Peninsula. He had dreamed of it, sure that she was waiting for him. He had spent hours wondering what she might be doing, how she looked, whether she missed him and longed for his return as much as he missed her and looked forward to being reunited with her.
The reality had been very different. Coming home and finding her married to his brother had shaken him to the core. He had been angry and miserable and then anxious only to get away, to leave them to their happiness with each other. He had told them he did not care for the settled life, had not really wanted to be the Earl, that he was a soldier and would remain one. He would not bother them again; they might continue to believe him dead.
He had given a harsh laugh. ‘You may even continue to mourn me,’ he had said.
Hugh, though clearly discomfited, had not tried to dissuade him, but had offered him an income from the estate, saying it was the least he could do. He had refused it, being more concerned with salvaging his pride. He had wished them happy and reported to the War Office for further service. Napoleon’s escape from Elba and the second phase of the war was fortuitous in that respect.
‘What else was Hugh to do?’ she demanded. ‘He truly believed he had become the new heir and was entitled to inherit. We all did. And Beth had expected to marry the Stacey heir ever since she was a child; it was what both families wanted. You can hardly blame her for turning to your brother.’
Logic told him that Hugh and Beth were not at fault, but his heart was still sore. Beth had been so quick to change her allegiance that he began to wonder if, after all, it was Hugh she had wanted all the time and his reported demise had been a blessing. ‘Oh, I can quite see how it happened. My return was an acute embarrassment to everyone. It were better I had stayed dead. I returned to my regiment to give Napoleon another chance to finish me off at Waterloo. ‘Tis a pity he did not.’
‘Don’t be bitter about it, my boy,’ she said softly. ‘You chose to renounce your inheritance for the sake of Beth and their son, so now you must put it behind you and make a fresh start. Careering about the countryside getting into scrapes will not do. It just will not do.’
‘How do you know I have been getting into scrapes?’
‘Why else would you come here? And in the state you