The Earl and the Hoyden. Mary Nichols

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      It was Jacob who found out who she was: daughter of Mr Cartwright the owner of Mandeville, an estate on the other side of the hill from Amerleigh. Roland had returned to school without seeing her again that year, but on subsequent holidays he and Jacob had come across her out riding or fishing and they had shouted a greeting and sometimes stood over her on the bank to watch her fish. It was only on reflection now that he realised she had always been alone and he wondered if she had ever had any siblings or playmates. Jacob had admired her, for all the neighbourhood considered her wild and unmanageable. Roland had gone away to university and did not see her again until a few days before that fateful ball, galloping over Browhill, just as he had seen her today. She had not changed.

      ‘Father paid for Jacob’s schooling later, didn’t he?’ he queried, coming back to his conversation with his mother.

      ‘Yes. He has climbed his way up to be a lawyer and is Miss Cartwright’s man of business.’

      ‘Rubbing salt in the wound.’

      ‘Yes. It was all too much for your poor papa and he seemed to give up. The estate became neglected and he thought of nothing but revenge. It soured him, Roland.’

      ‘And he blamed me.’

      ‘In a way I suppose he did.’

      ‘And you? Do you blame me?’

      ‘No, you were young with your life before you and you did not know the whole story. I begged your father to explain the position to you, but he said he would expect you to comply simply because he said it was necessary.’

      Roland closed his mouth on the comment that it was most unlikely that even an explanation would have made him change his mind. In the middle of the most lavish ball he could ever remember his parents holding, he had been told by his father that he was expected to propose to Miss Cartwright that very evening. He remembered his angry reaction as if it were yesterday. ‘Not for anything,’ he had said. ‘The chit is barely out of the schoolroom, if she was ever in one. She is a hoyden and ought to have been a boy. She is certainly plain enough.’ They had had a bitter quarrel and he had stormed up to his room where he had remained despite the entreaties of his mother to come down and his father’s threats that he would cut him off without a penny if he defied him. ‘If you do not obey me in this,’ he had shouted through the thick oak door, ‘you are no son of mine.’

      Next morning Roland had left the house with no luggage except a small carpet bag and taken a stage to London, where he bought into the 95th, which later became part of the Rifle Brigade. His rise to his present rank had been made on merit as more senior officers had been killed and wounded, which he supposed was something the war had done for him.

      ‘Why was it so important to Papa?’

      ‘Your father and Mr Cartwright were once friends in a way, though the man had no breeding to speak of. They were both magistrates and used to meet at the courthouse and at the sheep market and talk about business. Mr Cartwright suggested our name coupled with his wealth would together make one of the most influential families in the kingdom. Miss Cartwright’s dowry would be prodigious; not only that, he was prepared to stand buff for your papa’s debts, which at that time were considerable. And there was cash in hand too. All to give his daughter a title. The offer was too tempting to resist and your father accepted a payment in advance, which of course the man demanded back when you left. Unfortunately, most of it had already been spent, some on that disastrous ball, on paying debts, and on new furnishings to impress Cartwright. I also had new gowns; your father said it was a matter of pride that his wife should be dressed in the latest mode…’

      ‘He did all that without consulting my wishes,’ he said, wondering if the proposed engagement had been as much a surprise to Miss Cartwright as it had been to him.

      ‘I am sorry for that, but he supposed you would agree for the sake of the dowry. You must not condemn him too harshly, Roland. In his day parents often arranged marriages for their children and the children rarely complained. Marriage was more of a business matter then, a joining of great houses, the making of a dynasty. If a man needed more than his wife could provide, he could easily find it elsewhere, and as long as he was discreet she would turn a blind eye…’

      ‘Times have changed, Mama. I prefer to find my own bride and I most certainly would not expect her to turn a blind eye, as you put it.’

      ‘Have you? Is there a lady…?’

      ‘No. I have been too busy fighting a war to worry about courting.’

      ‘Then it is not too late.’

      ‘Good Lord! Surely I am not expected to pay court to the chit, just as if the last six years had never been.’

      ‘No, I can understand you would not want to do that and it would not do. Two such strong characters as you both are would make for endless conflict. She is not one to bow to any man, husband or no.’

      ‘How far has this litigation gone?’

      ‘I have no idea, no one confided in me. Mountford will tell you.’

      ‘So the new Earl has come home at last,’ Mrs Elliott said, helping herself from a tureen of vegetables offered by one of Charlotte’s footmen. An invitation to Mandeville for supper was worth accepting if only because the food was sumptuous, much better than anything she was able to provide at the vicarage. Tonight Charlotte was entertaining the Reverend Mr Elliott, Mrs Elliott and their son, Martin, who had just been ordained as curate and was waiting for his first post, together with Sir Gordon and Lady Brandon and their twenty-year-old daughter, Martha. ‘The Reverend saw him arrive on horseback, with no luggage or servants, except one dowdy-looking fellow in army overalls, is that not so, husband?’

      ‘Yes,’ the parson agreed. ‘I hardly recognised him, he was so dusty and travel-stained. He had on a dark green jacket, which had certainly seen better days, and a black shako, just as if he were a common soldier. He dismounted to go into the church and stood before the Amerleigh vault. He was there some time in quiet contemplation and it was then I guessed who he was.’

      ‘Did you discover if he means to stay?’ Sir Gordon asked. Both Sir Gordon and his wife had succumbed to good living and were almost as round as they were tall. Sir Gordon owned a cotton mill in Scofield, not far from Charlotte’s, but as far as she knew, he rarely went near the place and knew very little of what went on there, but she invited him and his wife to dine occasionally because he was a great gossip and enabled her to keep abreast of what her competitors were doing.

      ‘And why would he not? It is his home and his inheritance, after all.’ This from Martin Elliott. He was a pale young man, and very thin, but not ill-looking.

      ‘Inheritance!’ Sir Gordon exclaimed. ‘Millstone would be a better description. How he will bring it about, I do not know.’

      ‘He probably has a private income,’ Lady Brandon put in, while Charlotte remained silent. She did not want to say anything that might inadvertently reveal that she had already met the gentleman in question. ‘Or he has become rich by the war. It sometimes happens, I believe. The victors plunder the vanquished.’

      ‘He will need every groat he can lay his hands on,’ Sir Gordon said. ‘His father has left the place in a sad state.’

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