Claiming The Chaperon's Heart. Anne Herries
Читать онлайн книгу.
weary.’
‘I feel less than my normal healthy self,’ Paul replied truthfully. ‘It pains me to say it, but for a while there I believed it was the end. I must have been carrying the fever with me, for some of my colleagues had it at the Company offices before I left. Poor Mainwaring died of it, leaving a widow and two young sons in England. His death was a part of the reason I decided to come home. Before he died, he asked me to make sure that his family received his pension and all that was due to him. I think he’d hoped to make his fortune out there, but unfortunately he was not good at business.’
‘Unlike you,’ Adam said with a wry twist of his lips. ‘You must be as rich as Croesus, Frant.’
‘I haven’t done too badly out of the Company,’ Paul said modestly. ‘Enough to give that poor child of Bellingham’s a decent dowry. I inherited the charge of her along with the title, for which I have not the slightest use, but I must accept it, I suppose, if I choose to live here. I’m not sure yet whether I shall do so. I may return to India when I’ve seen to things in England. I’m not certain I could settle to the life of an English gentleman.’
‘Find it a trifle dull after fighting the wild tribesmen of the hills, eh?’ Adam gave him an odd look. ‘Or is it the lure of a beautiful woman that calls you back, my friend?’
‘I had little time for ladies of any description; I left that to you and the rest of the Army,’ Paul mocked him gently. ‘Annamarie was beautiful; I give you that—but she was not to be trifled with. Only if I’d decided to marry her would I have thought of trying to capture her heart. If indeed she has one; I found her charming but with little real warmth.’ Paul had thought there was something hard and cold about the woman so many men admired.
‘She is a proud beauty,’ Adam said. ‘I admired her. It must be hard to be of mixed birth as she is, Paul. Her father was an Indian prince, her mother an English lady. Annamarie says that her father was married to her mother by a Christian priest; his other wives went into purdah after he died but Princess Helena was allowed to leave the palace and bring up her daughter as she pleased in a palace of her own. One might almost say that she’d been cast out by her royal relatives. Because of her marriage, which was not in the Indian way, some of her husband’s people think her a concubine rather than a wife.’
‘Yes, that is unfortunate. Princess Helena sent her daughter to the school for the daughters of English gentlemen,’ Paul said. ‘Annamarie was brought up to believe she was legitimate and, since her maternal grandfather still lives in Shropshire and is an earl, she has been accepted by some of the officer’s ladies...but not all. If it had not been for Colonel Bollingsworth’s wife, she might have found herself ostracised, but most followed her lead and accepted Annamarie into their company.’
‘Out there, some of the ladies allow a little leeway.’ Adam nodded to himself. ‘You know as well as I do why her mother does not send Annamarie to school in England. She would not be accepted into the top echelons of Society here, I think.’
‘Then Society is a fool,’ Paul said angrily. ‘She has every right to be accepted here, but it is the same in India—her father’s people treat her as an outcast. I believe she and her mother might do better to come home to England. I am sure such beauty as Annamarie’s would find many admirers and, if she were taken up by the Regent’s set, might do well enough.’
‘Yes, perhaps...’ Adam eased his long legs as the carriage drew to a halt. ‘Ah, I believe we are here. This is your house, Paul?’
‘It was my father’s but now mine,’ Paul replied with a twist of his lips. He was a good strong man, with fine legs and broad shoulders. Seen in company with Adam, he might not be thought handsome, but there was nothing coarse or ugly in his features. His chin was square and forthright, his eyes clear, his gaze sometimes piercing, but his mouth was softer than the rest of his features, a clue to the warmth of his heart. He had warm brown eyes and light brown hair, but not the pure blond of his companion’s locks. Adam’s profile was almost beautiful, his hair short but softly curled about perfect features, his eyes a blue some called cerulean and his mouth sensuous. His body had all the proportions of a Greek god and his skin the natural tan that came from being accustomed to a life outdoors in a warm climate.
‘Ah yes, your father.’ Adam frowned, uncertain now. ‘As I recall, you did not exactly see eye to eye with Lord Frant?’
‘No, and never could after the way he treated my mother and I...’
Paul’s eyes narrowed in anger. The row with his father after his mother died had split them apart. Paul had left his home vowing never to return while his father lived, and he’d kept his word. He’d made his own way, rising first to the rank of Major with Wellington at Salamanca and then, after a wound to his leg from which he recovered well, gave up the Army that would have bound him to an administrative position and used his share of the prize money to go out to India and invest with the Company. Some shrewd business moves had made him richer than he’d expected, and a fortunate encounter with a rich Maharaja had resulted in him being made an honorary son and given lands and palaces. If he chose to return to India, he could live like a prince and marry almost anyone he chose.
Paul knew that Annamarie had hoped he would ask her to be his wife. Because he’d once saved the life of a prince, Paul had a unique position in the region. It would have suited the daughter of an English lady and an Indian prince to marry a man who had both English rank and Indian favour. Together they might have been second in importance to the present Maharaja in the district. She’d made it quite clear that she hoped for a proposal of marriage before he left for England, but Paul had not been sure what he wanted.
In England he had inherited his father’s title and estates, but he knew that his younger brother—the son of his father’s second wife, although still only in his teens, would have been delighted to step into his shoes. Paul had no need of his family estates in England—and in particular he had not needed the bother of the small estate that had come to him through a distant cousin. The young girls who were made his wards by Bellingham’s will were a part of Paul’s reason for returning. Although he’d been told the older girl had married well, that still left the younger one—at eighteen, she was ready for marriage if a husband could be found for her. To that end, Paul had written to an old friend of his mother who had recently been widowed, asking her if she would be kind enough to chaperon the young girl. She had graciously given her consent, though the exchange of letters had taken months to complete. It was imperative that the girl be chaperoned, for Paul was unmarried and could therefore not fulfil his task of guardian without female assistance.
Some years had passed since Paul had met Lady Moira. He’d been seventeen then and it had been just before his mother died of grief over her husband’s infidelity, and the terrible quarrel that caused him to leave home and become an officer in the Guards. Fortunately, he’d had some small fortune left him by his maternal grandmother and when his own father cut him off without a penny was able to survive on his pay as an officer and his allowance from the inheritance. Later, he’d won prize money and honours and life had become much easier when an uncle left him a small fortune.
Paul knew that his father had bequeathed everything that was not entailed to his half-brother. He minded that not at all, and would have been glad to pass the rest of it over had he been sure he did not wish to live in England, but some small perverse part of him clung to what his father had been forced to leave him. How it must have gone against the grain with Lord Frant to know that the son of the wife he’d married for her dowry would have his title.
Paul would have freely admitted that the woman his father had taken in his mother’s place was beautiful. Goodness knew, his own mother had been far from a beauty, but she had a beautiful nature, gentle and loving—and her heart had been broken by her husband’s cold indifference.
Watching his mother fade, become frailer and sadder, had broken the young Paul’s heart and after her death he’d railed at his father for his cruelty.
‘I never loved her,’ his father had told him bluntly. ‘I needed her money to restore my estates—but it was not the fortune I’d been led to believe. A paltry twenty thousand...’