Regency: Innocents & Intrigues: Marrying Miss Monkton / Beauty in Breeches. Helen Dickson
Читать онлайн книгу.
bravery I would not be here now. It is for that reason that I agreed to escort Miss Monkton to England. While in India I came into contact with Colonel Winston on numerous occasions. He made no secret of how Sir Edward had been easily manipulated into agreeing to his betrothal to Miss Monkton. It was a matter of great amusement to him. I feel under an obligation to protect Sir Edward’s daughter and I have made it my duty to try to stop her marrying Colonel Winston when the time comes. Will she have any objections to leaving France?’
‘Not at all,’ the Countess answered crisply. ‘All Maria talks about is going home and marrying the Colonel.’
‘She has not seen him for six years. She will find him much changed.’
‘As he will Maria. She is no longer a child.’
‘And you, Countess? Will you and your daughter not accompany us to England?’
The Countess studied him for a moment in silence, contemplating his question and curious as to what had prompted him to ask. ‘Ah,’ she said, narrowing her eyes on him. ‘Would I be correct in assuming you are about to try to persuade me to leave my France?’
Charles’s firm lips curved in a slight smile. ‘You are, Countess. I sincerely hope I will succeed. I would be happy to escort you and your daughter, along with Miss Monkton, to England. France is in great turmoil and every day things get worse. There is no organisation in the country, only chaos everywhere. I believe you are in mortal danger, and that you are at risk of your life—I would not like to be a noble in France now. Very soon you will find yourself alone and friendless, and prey to all kinds of dangers.’
The Countess smiled thinly. ‘I think you exaggerate. I hear rumours—most of it nonsense, of course. My husband was of the opinion that the fear is spread to provoke disorder so that it will bring about anarchy. Rumours of conspiracy and crime, reports of disaster, spring up everywhere, both by word of mouth and by writing. It is the panic mongers you have to fear.’
Charles’s expression tightened. ‘I shall hope very much to be proved wrong, but it seems—unlikely. I am staying at a local tavern and I hear things—that some of your own servants have run off and joined the people. The peasants are in such a state of revolt that they are ready to commit any crime. Indeed, in this very parish, they talk openly about setting fire to the chateau. I urge you, if you do not think of yourself, then think of your daughter.’
The Countess raised her head imperiously and gave him a hard look. ‘Constance will remain here with me.’
‘Being English will not save you, Countess. English law cannot reach you here. You were the Count’s wife. The mob will not see beyond that.’
‘Are you saying that we should all leave immediately, that you think I need saving?’
He nodded. ‘You must leave quickly. I took the liberty of having false travelling papers drawn up for that eventuality.’
The Countess’s brows rose with surprise. ‘You did? How did you manage that?’
Charles’s face remained closed. ‘I know the right people.’
‘I see. Well, I will not pry into the whys and wherefores, sir, of how these things are done, but I must tell you that you have wasted your time. But is it safe to travel? If there is danger, would it not be safer to stay here?’
‘There is no safety anywhere, least of all in the chateaus of France.’
‘No one would dare attack the chateau. I know the people hereabouts. They have always looked to us for their livelihood and they will continue to do so.’
God give me strength, prayed Charles, setting his teeth. It was no use. She did not even now realise the magnitude of this terror that was overtaking them. He was tempted to ask—what livelihood would that be? The people you speak of are starving because of the likes of you and your exorbitant taxes, but instead he said calmly, as though reasoning with a fractious child, ‘Because of who you are, I urge you to flee the country.’
‘This is my home. I feel perfectly safe. I have no intention of—fleeing. If things do get worse then of course I shall consider leaving, but I am confident that they won’t.’
A mildly tolerant smile touched Charles’s handsome visage, but the glint in the pale blue eyes was hard as steel. Could there be any greater display of contempt for the hardships the people were facing? While ordinary people had starvation staring them in the face day after day, the Countess was blind to the offence the ordinary French people took to their self-indulgent plutocratic life style.
‘If you don’t wish to make mourners of your friends, Countess, I suggest you leave with us.’
‘You do much to fan the flames of discontent with such foolish talk, sir. I am sorry. I have made my decision.’
Charles shifted in his chair impatiently, holding his irritation in check. He could see he was wasting his breath—she had no intention of relenting. She was adamant, blinkered about the atrocities going on around her, and very foolish.
‘I am sorry to hear that. However, I will leave you the papers—but you will have to make your own way and travel as peasants, Countess. It will be difficult, I know, and will need much planning on your part and assistance from people you can trust. You would never reach the Channel otherwise. You do realise that Miss Monkton will be very much alone when she arrives in England, and very dependent on Colonel Winston.’
The Countess raised her head imperiously. ‘As her betrothed, that is the way of things.’
‘And you are comfortable with that?’
The Countess looked a little taken aback as she met his steady gaze. ‘Comfortable? But it is what the girl has wanted ever since her father died. Why should I be uncomfortable about that?’
‘Because Sir Edward placed the responsibility for her upbringing in your hands. You are her guardian. Have you no wish to see for yourself the sort of man she is betrothed to?’
‘I have no need to. I have listened to what you have said, but Colonel Winston is a gentleman, having seen long and honourable service with the East India Company. He is eminently suitable to marry my niece.’
‘How can you know that, when you have never met him?’ Charles persisted.
‘Maria’s father, my brother-in-law, knew him well. He liked and trusted him enough to agree to a betrothal between them. That is good enough for me.’
‘I beg your pardon, Countess, but when he agreed to the betrothal Sir Edward was an ill man. I imagine he was ignorant of Colonel Winston’s passion for pleasure—for drinking and gaming. I do not lie to you. Colonel Winston is almost fifty years old, old enough to be your niece’s father.’
The Countess remained unmoved. ‘It is not unusual for young ladies to marry older gentlemen. Of course all men drink, and on occasion drink far too much and behave accordingly. But wives must not make an issue of such things. My brother-in-law placed Maria in my care until the time when she was of an age to marry Colonel Winston. She is nineteen years old. She will be under your protection until you deliver her to her betrothed. When she leaves the chateau I shall consider my obligation to her discharged.’
Charles looked at her for a long moment. His eyes had darkened with anger and his mouth had closed in a hard, unpleasant line. He was unable to believe the Countess could cast her responsibility to her niece off so callously, to send her into the clutches of a man who would use her ill. It was like sending a lamb to the wolves.
Sadly Miss Monkton’s father’s judgement about the prospective bridegroom had been seriously impaired. His eyes were too dim to see what Charles would have seen—the calculating, dangerous look in the Colonel’s eye. In those days he’d had the body of Adonis and the face of an angel, and was as full of vice as the devil.
‘You must not forget the fortune Miss Monkton represents. The prospect of being able to retire a rich man and preside over Gravely appeals strongly to his vanity. He will go through your niece’s