Regency: Innocents & Intrigues: Marrying Miss Monkton / Beauty in Breeches. Helen Dickson
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The vessel slipped slowly out of the harbour and bounded forwards running into the Channel. On a word from Jaques, those below were told it was safe to come up on deck.
Clinging on to the rail next to Charles and with Jaques at the helm, as the vessel rolled on the swell already making itself felt in a choppy sea, the waves capped with curls of foam, Maria was filled with confusion. She could not understand herself. She realised that Charles was becoming very dear to her, but how could this be when she didn’t really know him? Just a few moments ago, if he had made the slightest movement towards her she would have been in his arms.
Breathing deeply of the night air she looked back at the receding French coast shrouded in early morning mist. The wind was getting stronger, causing the sail to crack and the little vessel to lurch alarmingly.
‘We’re running right into a storm,’ Maria gasped fearfully.
‘This isn’t a storm.’ Jaques laughed, his voice booming over the noise of the wind. ‘If you saw a real storm, you’d never forget it.’
‘Get back from the rail,’ Charles ordered, taking her arm and almost dragging her away. ‘I’d hate to see you tossed overboard. I’d be forced to jump in to rescue you.’
‘And I would expect nothing less,’ she laughed, glad to be out of the claustrophobic confines of the cabin and the threat of being in such close proximity to him always posed to her susceptible heart.
‘Are you all right?’ he shouted above the wind.
She nodded. ‘Yes. I am now. Don’t worry about me. I’m going home and that’s all that counts.’
Drawing her cloak tightly about her, she looked up at Charles, at his profile etched against the lightening sky. Indomitable pride was chiselled into his handsome face, determination in the arrogant cut of his jaw, intelligence and hard-bitten strength etched into every feature of his face. There was an aloof strength, a powerful charisma about him that had nothing to do with his tall, strong-shouldered physique or that mocking smile of his. There was something else, a feeling she got that he had done and seen all there was to do and see, and that all those experiences were locked away behind an unbreachable wall of charm, a handsome face, and piercing light blue eyes. Beyond any woman’s reach.
Daylight had broken as the boat gently nosed its way towards the English coastline. It was a sight Maria would never forget. The boat was rolling gently now, the wind having dropped mid-channel. Gradually the land came more clearly into view, with its white cliffs and the castle overlooking the harbour. What a relief it was to see England again.
Ever since she had left she had wished to return. Now there was no need to wish any longer. At that moment she saw the sun rise in a ball of crimson on the horizon—just like an omen, she thought, marking the start of a new life, a happy life. Would Henry be a part of it?
Before Charles had arrived at Chateau Feroc she had had her doubts about marrying Henry, and now, after the short time she had spent alone with Charles and the sensations he had awakened inside her, sensations and womanly desires far different from anything she had ever experienced before, as arduous as the task promised to be, she saw no help for it. Already the decision was beginning to form in her mind that she would have to tell Henry she would not marry him.
Chapter Five
Maria was returning to a country under the reign of King George III, a man who was devoted to Queen Charlotte. The court of King George was irreproachable, respectable and formal. Unfortunately of late he had become mentally unsound. The malady had precipitated a political crisis and making his son George, a man who was totally self-indulgent and as incapable of curbing his spending as of governing his passions Prince Regent, was being considered.
In the coming days, and the more familiar Maria became with England and its politics and the royal family, she would realise there were many similarities in the man who would be Regent and the man to whom she was betrothed.
Once the boat was tied up to the quay, after thanking Jaques and bidding him farewell, Charles and Maria headed for the town. As they approached the inn where they were to meet Henry, Maria walked stiffly beside Charles, her back ramrod straight, unable to forget what had taken place between them on the boat, and the profound effect those moments when they had looked at each other as if for the first time had had on her. She noticed how quiet Charles had become, how tense.
On the point of meeting her betrothed at long last, she masked her trepidations by an extreme effort of will. Whether Henry was as unworthy as Charles said he was, was yet to be determined.
With these thoughts she went inside the tavern. There were few people about. Her eyes scanned every face for the one she remembered. She turned to Charles, who was just behind her.
‘I don’t see Henry. Maybe he arrived ahead of us and has gone out—for a stroll, perhaps.’
Charles’s expression was one of cynicism. How little she knew Henry Winston. He was not the type to waste his time strolling.
‘Or perhaps he’s been delayed on the road,’ Maria suggested hopefully.
‘I didn’t expect him to be waiting, Maria. We have arrived a day ahead of schedule. I would imagine he is still in London. I’ll go and order refreshment while we decide what to do.’
Maria seated herself at a table in a window recess so she could see the road and not miss the moment when Henry arrived. Now the moment had come, she was so scared and utterly unnerved that she knew she could not have moved a muscle to flee if need be. She waited as one transfixed, not knowing what to expect of the man her father had chosen for her to marry.
She turned and looked at Charles when he approached the table. Meeting his eyes she sensed that all was not as it should be. He was holding a letter in his hand, a hard, angry look on his face.
‘Charles? What is it? Is something wrong?’
He held out the letter. She took it, her hand shaking a little. Seeing that it was addressed to him and strangely reluctant to open it, she offered it back to him, her eyes wary.
‘It’s addressed to you.’
‘It concerns you. Read it.’
‘Who is it from?’
‘Winston. It would seem that he’s unable to come to meet you—something about unforeseen business. He won’t be coming to Dover.’
‘You mean he can’t get away?’
Can’t or doesn’t want to bother, Charles thought furiously. ‘Now why is it,’ he mocked, pacing the floor in exasperation, ‘that letter doesn’t surprise me? I had my doubts about him travelling to Dover, which would have been a true test of his merit. I can only thank God that he had the foresight to inform us, otherwise we might have been kicking our heels here for a week, waiting for him to arrive.’
Maria read Henry’s brief note. It would appear she would have to remain under Charles’s protection a while longer, and Henry was sure Sir Charles wouldn’t mind seeing her safely to London where they would be reunited and married right away.
With a strange feeling of relief that she had been handed a reprieve, Maria folded the letter and handed it back to Charles. ‘I’m sorry, Charles. It looks as if you’ll have to put up with me a while longer.’ She expected the news that he would have charge of her for a while yet to get a reaction, but except for a muscle that began to twitch in his jaw, there was none. She sensed a change in him. His manner and the way he was looking at her was in sharp variance to what she had become used to.
Charles thought Maria looked very small and forlorn and as he looked at her his heart softened. Absently she smoothed a lock of hair from her temple. She had twisted the heavy black tresses in a large knot at the nape of her neck, which emphasised the perfection of the delicate features and oval contours of her face. Hers was a soft and rare beauty that would remain ageless for many years to come.
He wished that he didn’t feel so responsible