Buch lesen: «A Penniless Prospect»
The boy was breathing,
thank God.
Richard turned Jamie over. To his surprise, he found, instead of broken and bleeding skin, thin bandages covering most of the boy’s back.
Richard crossed to his desk for scissors, then cut through the bandages from waist to shoulder. He was relieved to find that a few fine red lines were the only sign of the beating Jamie had received.
Gently he turned him on his back to make him more comfortable. The bandages fell away. To Richard’s astonishment, he found that his hands were cradling, not the body of a thirteen-year-old boy, but the breasts of a fully formed girl.
Richard’s head spun. He remembered everything that had happened since Jamie had come into his life. All the strange attraction he had felt toward the boy. His hands continued to cup her breasts.
At that moment Jamie’s eyes opened and she looked up into his.
A Penniless Prospect
Joanna Maitland
MILLS & BOON
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JOANNA MAITLAND
was born and educated in Scotland, though she has spent most of her adult life in England or abroad. She has been a systems analyst, an accountant, a civil servant and director of a charity. She started to write for her children when they were very small, and progressed from there into historical fiction, which she used to write while commuting daily to London. Joanna now works as a part-time consultant so that she can devote more time to her writing, her husband and two children, and their acre of untamed garden in Hampshire.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter One
‘It’s Cinderella, all over again. Who says fairy tales don’t come true? The only difference is, I’m a mite short of fairy godmothers.’ With a heartfelt sigh, Jessamyne sank into a hard, straight-backed chair, the only one in her spartan bedroom.
‘Oh, miss, you mustn’t take on so. If my lady should hear you—’
‘The wicked stepmother? Come now, Biddy dear, she knows precisely what I think of her, as you are well aware. But she also knows there is nothing I can do about it, since she has my father’s ear as well as control of the purse-strings. Papa will not help me. And without money, I cannot help myself. Now, if you were but a fairy godmother, Biddy…’
‘Oh, give over, Miss Jamie, do. Them things only happen in fairy stories. There ain’t no Prince Charmings in the real world. P’raps if you was to make more of an effort to please her ladyship—’
‘I’ve tried that, Biddy. You know I have. It doesn’t work. She simply walks all over me. But if I stand up to her, she has to acknowledge I exist, however little good it may do me.’ She glanced at the empty grate and the layer of crazed ice on the inside of the window pane. Drawing her threadbare shawl more closely round her shoulders, she smiled bravely at her old nurse. ‘At least she doesn’t make me scrub floors and sweep cinders.’
‘No,’ agreed Biddy, ‘but it would make little difference if she did. Your hands are little better than a scullery maid’s, with all that gardening you do. In the depths of winter, too! If only you would—’
She was interrupted by a scratching at the door— a maid with a message summoning Miss Jessamyne to her stepmother’s dressing-room.
Jamie swallowed hard. Such a summons always boded ill. Sometimes she would simply be berated, belittled for her looks or her behaviour. Sometimes she would hear of punishments to come, for real or imagined transgressions. And sometimes both. Never, in all Lady Calderwood’s time in the house, had she spoken a single kind or loving word to her stepdaughter. There was no reason to suppose that this summons would be any different.
Although Jamie entered those stern precincts with head held high, she could not wholly conceal the uncertainty she felt. Lady Calderwood was seated at her dressing table while her abigail put the finishing touches to her hair. Jamie was left standing by the door, unacknowledged, for several minutes. Her uncertainty was soon replaced by indignation. How dared that woman treat her so?
At length, her ladyship was satisfied, and her woman was dismissed. She turned slowly to look at her stepdaughter, scrutinising her from head to toe with ill-concealed dislike. Her lip curled slightly. ‘Well, Jessamyne, you may guess why I have sent for you.’
‘No, ma’am,’ replied Jamie evenly, ‘I have not the least idea.’ She noted, without surprise, that she was not invited to sit. She was deliberately being left to stand like a disobedient child awaiting punishment. Well, she would not help her stepmother to play her little games. Jamie lifted her chin a fraction. She would not say anything more.
After a moment, Lady Calderwood continued grimly, ‘Very well, I shall tell you, since you do not wish to venture an opinion.’ She gave a very nasty smile at which Jamie shivered a little, in spite of all her efforts at self-control. She felt so helpless when she was in the power of this woman.
Her ladyship’s smile broadened. ‘You are past twenty already, Jessamyne. It is high time you were married and ceased to be such a charge on your poor papa.’
Jamie bit her lip in frustration. She was precious little charge on ‘poor papa’, considering how little was spent on her. She could not remember when she had last had a new gown or anything becoming to wear, even at second hand. But marriage—did that mean a season in London, at last? And perhaps even a few new gowns? For if they did not garb her becomingly, who would be found to offer for her?
‘Of course, there can be no question of a season for you,’ announced her ladyship sharply, watching her stepdaughter’s face fall. ‘Your papa could not countenance the expense. And it would be a waste of money, for who would choose to offer for a girl like you? No looks and no portion? No. Even I could not fire you off successfully.’
Jamie could feel the colour draining from her face. She clamped her lips tightly together in an effort to control their trembling. No doubt her ladyship was pleased with the effect.
‘I see you have grasped my meaning. There is only one solution for a girl like you. And you should be grateful to your papa for all the trouble he has taken to find you a husband who is prepared to have you, in spite of all your shortcomings. What have you to say to that, my girl?’
She smiles like a snake, thought Jamie, a snake who is about to swallow me up. Oh, God! What am I to do? She is waiting for me to ask who has been found to take me off their hands.
She compressed her lips even more tightly and stared brazenly at her stepmother, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. She was pleased to see her stepmother’s frown. Jamie’s defiance had turned self-satisfaction to anger. Good—even if it did turn on her.
‘You think to defy me, girl? But not for long, I assure you, not for long.’ Lady Calderwood paused to rearrange the generous folds of her amber silk gown. ‘You will be married within the month. And I shall warn your husband about the need to curb your rebellious nature, be sure of that. He will see that you abide by your vows of obedience.’
Jamie remained motionless, but her brain was churning. Who was this man who had agreed to marry her, a plain girl with no dowry? And why? She shivered again, but then she forced herself to straighten her back and stiffen her wobbly knees. Clearly her stepmother was determined not to give her a name until she asked for it. So be it. There would be a battle of wills.
For long moments, the two women stared at each other—one young, shabbily dressed but proud, the other somewhat past her prime and indulged in every way. The older woman broke first. ‘Insolent chit!’ she hissed. ‘Go to your room. I shall deal with you later.’
Head held high, Jamie left the room and returned to her own freezing chamber, where she threw herself on to the bed and thumped her clenched fists into the pillow. ‘The old witch,’ she muttered. ‘May she rot in hell!’
Much as she tried, Jamie was not able to prevent a few tears from squeezing their way out on to her cheeks. She despised her own weakness. But the thought of marriage to some unknown man—chosen by her stepmother, so bound to be utterly hateful— was horrifying. She would be completely in his power, forced to submit to his will in everything— until the day she died.
Not for the first time, Jamie was left alone in her room for hours with neither food nor company. She had known it would be so. However frightened she might be of the fate which awaited her, she refused to yield to her stepmother’s petty tortures. Dumb insolence was her only weapon and she was quite prepared to use it, at whatever personal cost. In this case, she knew she would win eventually, for she would have to be given the name of the lucky bridegroom sooner or later, even if only on the day of her wedding.
She huddled herself into a ball on the bed, wrapping every scrap of blanket around her in an effort to stop herself from freezing. Eventually, in spite of cold and hunger, she fell into a troubled sleep.
It must have been the sound of the door which woke her. Biddy was standing in the centre of the room with a gown draped over her plump arm. She looked uncomfortable. ‘Her ladyship sent me to warn you that your betrothed is arriving later today. You are to be ready to receive him.’
Jamie sat up immediately, her eyes wide with shock. She was still freezing cold, in spite of the blankets, but at least she was not shivering. She refused to appear as a quivering wreck in front of her old nurse.
But she was not too proud to ask Biddy for the man’s name.
‘I’m sorry, miss, but I’m afraid I don’t know. Nobody does—except her ladyship, and your papa.’ Biddy moved towards the bed. ‘Her ladyship sent this gown for you to wear to dinner this evening.’ Biddy sounded more confident now, moving on to practical matters.
It was a plain white muslin gown such as might be worn by a debutante from a family of modest means. ‘White,’ breathed Jamie bitterly, ‘as becomes the virgin sacrifice. How very appropriate. With my colouring, I shall certainly look the part.’
Her irony was lost on old Biddy. ‘White is the proper colour for a young girl such as you, miss. I’ll admit you do look better in colours, being as you’re so pale-complexioned, but you have no choice tonight. You have no other decent gown to your name. It’ll have to be this white muslin.’
Jamie got up, pulling the blankets from the bed and wrapping them round her shoulders. ‘When is he due to arrive, Biddy?’
‘Nobody is sure. He may be delayed by the weather, o’ course. It’s difficult travelling at this time of year.’ Biddy seemed to be trying to avoid the subject of Jamie’s future.
Jamie was not really surprised. Old Biddy had served the family for over twenty years as, first, Jamie’s nurse, then as her half-brother’s, and now Jamie’s three half-sisters’. Biddy would not dare to risk her place with the Calderwood family by taking Jamie’s part against the formidable mistress of the house.
Jamie forced a smile. She still had her pride. ‘Thank you, Biddy. I shan’t need you this evening. Go back to your little ones. They’ll be fretting for you.’ Biddy hurried away to the nursery where it was warm and cosy.
As Jamie began to change into the thin muslin gown, she heard the sound of wheels crunching across the drive. He was here! The ice on the window blurred her view, but she could just make out a gentleman’s travelling carriage and four horses. Her betrothed travelled in style to acquire his reluctant bride, it seemed. He must be wealthy—which might explain how he could afford to marry a girl with no dowry. What else might it mean?
She felt an overpowering desire to see what this man was like. Would she recognise him? Would he be one of her father’s gambling cronies? Hastily throwing her shawl around her bare shoulders, she crept down the stairs to find a safe vantage point on the landing. Kneeling behind the balusters, she peered through to get a glimpse of her fate when he was admitted through the great doors of Calderwood Hall.
But the gentleman who stood in the entrance hall to be relieved of his travelling coat was like no man she had ever met. Although he was dressed in deep mourning, to Jamie’s untutored eye he was tall, dark and unbelievably handsome.
She drew in a sharp breath and held it, waiting for him to speak.
‘My name is Hardinge,’ he said, in a deep, well-modulated voice that sent a shiver all the way down to her toes. She was transfixed by the sound. It set her mind spinning so much that, for several moments, she could not make out a word that was being said.
She came to her senses as the gentleman stopped speaking. The butler was glancing surreptitiously at the card in his hand. ‘Certainly, my lord. If you would kindly step into the saloon.’
Jamie watched as the noble visitor was bowed into the crimson saloon. The door closed on him, but his image remained before her. How could it be that such a man—a man whose mere presence could make her skin tingle and her heart race—should arrive at Calderwood now? He could not be her betrothed.
Could he?
Chapter Two
‘My name is Hardinge.’ Richard, Earl Hardinge, proffered his card to the butler. ‘Be so good as to take my card up to your master and beg him for the favour of a few minutes of his time, with my apologies for having arrived unannounced. It is a matter of some importance.’
Richard was content to wait in the saloon while his message was delivered. He looked carefully at his surroundings. So much for the rumour that the family was deep in debt. This elegant room was fairly recently refurbished, as far as he could judge from the sumptuous hangings. A pity the family’s extravagance did not extend to more than a tiny fire—the room was absolutely freezing. He was not altogether surprised, for he had heard nothing but ill about this family of wastrels. He would be glad when his business was concluded—provided, of course, that he was successful. He could not afford to fail.
Richard stood with his back to the fireplace, trying to get some warmth into his limbs after the long journey. He hoped his servants were receiving better hospitality in the kitchen than he was, for they must by now be frozen to the marrow.
Barely five minutes after the door had closed behind the butler, Lady Calderwood entered the saloon and extended her hand politely to her visitor. ‘Lord Hardinge,’ she said, with a hint of enquiry in her voice, ‘you have come on a matter of some urgency?’
‘Lady Calderwood.’ Damn the woman! The last thing he wanted was to discuss his business with Calderwood’s wife. Surely the man was not too cowardly to meet him? Richard managed to conceal his annoyance as he bowed over her immaculate white hand. ‘How kind of you to receive me, ma’am. I hope Sir John is not indisposed? I shall not take up much of his time, I assure you.’
Lady Calderwood took her seat in a wing chair near the fire and motioned her guest to sit opposite. ‘I am afraid my husband is suffering from a severe chill,’ she said silkily. ‘His doctor has forbidden him to leave his room—or to receive visitors. It seems you have had a wasted journey.’ She smiled. ‘But you must be cold after your hours on the road. Perhaps I can offer you some refreshment before you leave?’
Richard shook his head, returning her false smile. He had not the least intention of leaving empty-handed. If Calderwood did not dare to face him, then he would have no choice but to get to the man via his wife. She was just one more calculating society woman—he would put the fear of God into her, if he had to. By the looks of her—he could tell at a glance exactly how much had been spent on her lavish attire—she was deeply involved in her husband’s spendthrift habits. He was going to enjoy putting her in her place.
He relaxed slightly into his chair and lifted his chin. The smile still played around his firm mouth. ‘You must be wondering about my errand, ma’am,’ he began. ‘It is a matter of business, you understand.’ He paused. ‘Normally, I would not dream of discussing business matters with a lady…so few men confide in their wives. And yet…yet I feel somehow certain that Sir John is one of those rare men who knows how to value a shrewd and intelligent helpmeet. I cannot doubt that you are in your husband’s confidence.’ Lady Calderwood was smiling broadly now. Excellent. Just a little flattery and she had given herself away. Her husband would have been more on his guard, Richard was sure. Perhaps it was as well that the man was indisposed, after all. ‘It is a matter of some delicacy, I fear, ma’am, but I am sure I may rely on your discretion.’
Lady Calderwood inclined her head graciously.
Good. Now he had her. ‘I should explain, ma’am, knowing that I may speak in complete confidence to you, that I am in the process of settling my father’s affairs following his recent death.’
Lady Calderwood murmured condolences.
‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Richard looked innocently at Lady Calderwood, keeping his expression unreadable. ‘You will be aware that my late father lent a very large sum of money to your husband,’ he said bluntly. ‘I have come to collect that debt.’ Lady Calderwood had become suddenly paler. He bent forward so that his face was near hers. In a low voice, but with every syllable absolutely clear, he said, ‘The debt is repayable on demand.’
Lady Calderwood flushed. ‘How can you possibly know that? Your father had no—’ She stopped and bit her lip.
He held her gaze for several seconds without speaking. ‘No papers?’ he said gently.
He gave her time to speak, but she did not. He found he was not really surprised. ‘The debt is, none the less, due. And I intend to collect. Every last penny. You may tell your husband that he has fourteen days, otherwise…’ He let the threat hang in the air. Without written evidence of the debt, Richard had very few legal avenues open to him, but the Calderwoods might not be aware of that. And there were other ways.
Lady Calderwood had been outmanoeuvred and she probably knew it—but if she felt any chagrin, she did not allow it to show. ‘My dear sir, I shall naturally convey your message to my husband, though I am not sure… I cannot say what his reaction will be. He has never mentioned to me any financial transactions with the Hardinge family. Indeed,’ she added with a titter, ‘as far as I am aware, the only dealings we have had were in the matter of references for my present abigail. She was previously employed by your lady mother, I collect.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Richard vaguely. He was not surprised by her ladyship’s attempt to turn the conversation. ‘A tall woman, I recall, though I do not remember her name.’
‘Smithers,’ said Lady Calderwood.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Richard again. ‘I believe she was with my mother for some years. A first-class dresser, I think my mother said, but really only suitable for a lady who is prepared to spend a fortune on her back every season.’ He looked her up and down appraisingly. It was a studied insult. ‘No doubt Sir John makes you a very handsome allowance, ma’am.’ He was being incredibly rude, but he was determined to shock this woman into some kind of action which might prove useful to him. Otherwise he might indeed leave empty-handed.
Lady Calderwood’s eyes flashed dangerously as she rose abruptly and started for the door. ‘I do not think my financial arrangements can be of any interest to a stranger, sir,’ she said icily. ‘If you will excuse me, I shall go and tell my husband of your visit—and give him your message.’ With the faintest bow, she passed through the door he was holding for her.
Richard smiled faintly as he closed it on her. He had struck a spark, right enough, but would the tinder catch?
The butler soon returned with a decanter of madeira and some biscuits. Richard was glad to see that he added some wood to the pitifully small fire in the grate, but it was still far from generous. Her ladyship obviously practised strict economy in her household—especially on unwelcome visitors. Richard was still pondering the inconsistency between the mean fire and her ladyship’s extravagant attire, when the door opened once more. It was the abigail, Smithers. Now, why on earth…?
Richard took a few moments to scrutinise the young woman. He had barely noticed her when she had been part of his mother’s household. She was about thirty, tall and slightly angular, with rather wiry, dark red hair and a host of freckles across her nose and cheeks, but she was dressed with the quiet elegance of a top-class lady’s maid.
Smithers returned his gaze for a moment before making a quick curtsy. Richard fancied she looked uncomfortable. ‘Her ladyship’s compliments, my lord. She…she has asked me to tell you that, since Sir John is likely to be convalescing from his illness for some time, it would not be…advisable for you to make another visit. She will write to you when Sir John is recovered enough to receive visitors.’
So neither of the Calderwoods would dare to face him now. Damn them! Richard fixed the abigail with a hard stare. She coloured slightly. Obviously she was embarrassed at having to tell such downright lies, especially to the son of a previous employer. He should feel sorry for her. It was not her fault, after all. ‘My mother will be glad to know that I have seen you, Smithers,’ he said, adopting an affable tone. ‘I hope you are well?’
The abigail visibly relaxed. ‘Yes, my lord—and thank you for your enquiry. Her ladyship was kind enough to write that she hopes I am well settled here. I admit I did not expect to receive such a mark of attention.’
Richard refrained from asking whether the woman was happy in her new position. It was none of his concern. On the other hand, she might be a useful source of information about this appalling household. She might even know some detail of her master’s financial dealings. With an engaging smile, Richard deliberately set about exercising his charm on the abigail.
He did not succeed. It seemed that Smithers was too clever to let fall anything really helpful. Eventually, he gave up.
‘I am keeping you from your duties, Smithers. My apologies to your mistress—and my thanks for her hospitality.’
Smithers curtsied herself out, looking somewhat relieved to escape.
Richard sat quietly sipping his madeira while he reviewed his meagre store of information. Precious little so far. In fact, almost a wasted journey. Almost.
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