Gamble With Hearts (10 page)

Mrs Wrexham sighed. ‘You are very right, Letitia. Yet I cannot think that
Charlotte
will make him happy. She does not love him as—as a wife should.’

Lady Northwood stared at her sister in pardonable astonishment. ‘Well, that is the first time I have ever heard of the bride's mother worrying over the groom's happiness. Surely it is
Charlotte
's happiness that concerns you?’

Fanny Wrexham raised her drooping head and regarded her worldly sister rather sternly. ‘If either of us were truly concerned with my daughter's happiness, we would have allowed her to marry the man of her choice. How can she be content with Ruthin when we both know her to be in love with Carlington?’

‘Oh, she will soon get over that young rake,’ responded Lady Northwood, easily. ‘I daresay we all have a Carlington in our past. I know I fancied myself in love with the most delightful creature at one time, but really, I was very happy with Northwood.’

‘I daresay, Letty, but
Charlotte
is not like that. We were both silly, flighty creatures, I am sure. My daughter is more like her Papa. She takes things very seriously. No, Letty, whatever you say I refuse to be happy about a match that will bring nothing but sorrow to them both. In fact, I have a very good mind to speak to
Charlotte
before it is too late!’

‘You must be mad!’ cried Lady Northwood, aghast. ‘Have you any notion of the size of Ruthin's fortune? Think of the home
Charlotte
will have, the clothes, the carriages!’

‘You have all those. Do they make you happy?’

‘Yes!’ responded Lady Northwood with unmistakable sincerity.

Mrs Wrexham was obliged to laugh. ‘Well, if I had not been able to marry Wrexham, I am very sure that all the dresses and carriages in the world would not have comforted me!’

‘You talk as though Ruthin were some horrid old merchant, Fanny! Not only is Charlotte marrying one of the oldest titles in England, positively before the Conqueror, my dear, she is also to be the wife of the most attractive man I know. Can you deny that?’

‘No,’ replied Fanny with a tender smile. ‘No, I cannot deny that. Now, let us stop this absurd wrangling, sister. I have some letters to write and so you must excuse me now.’

Mrs Wrexham then retired to her own room, where she spent the day very much as her daughter had, sitting by her window, alone with her dejected thoughts. Last night it had seemed as though all her foolish dreams might be realised; now she could only berate herself as a pea goose for ever having cherished them.

It is often the case that events which prove disastrous for the principal protagonists can also have a profound effect upon those around them. Thus it was that Amelia Milverly, who was to have walked in the park that morning with
Charlotte
, was almost as disconsolate as her friend. For Amelia too had an assignation. There was, of course, no reason why young Mr Edridge could not call upon Miss Milverly at her home; he had, indeed, been invited to do so; but this was tame stuff to Amelia. Somehow she had managed to convince herself and her hapless suitor that they were the victims of the sternest parental opposition. The Marquis, who seemed so affable to his young friend, presented a very different face at home, according to his daughter. To Amelia, her father was little short of a tyrant and would punish her unmercifully if she did not obey his every command. As Amelia's idea of dreadful punishment was to be denied a new bonnet, it was not hard for her to convince herself that she had suffered terribly at her father's hands. Mr Edridge, horrified by his lady-love's trials, reluctantly agreed to secret meetings that went very much against the grain. However, he was so deeply in love that any chance to see his Amelia must be taken. Their last meeting had been at
Charlotte
's ball. Like the other pair of lovers, they had stolen away from the ballroom, choosing the more romantic location of the balcony, where they were screened from the interested by a heavy curtain.

‘Quickly, in here!’ Miss Milverly had hissed, seizing her escort by the hand.

‘I say, do you think we should, Amelia?’ protested Mr Edridge. ‘I mean, what if your father was looking for you?’

‘Sebastian, do you love me?’ demanded Amelia in thrilling accents, her huge brown eyes fixed upon his face, her little hands clutching his arm.

‘Of course I do, Amelia, but this isn't at all the thing, you know.’

‘The thing!’ exclaimed Miss Milverly, contemptuously. ‘We love each other, how can this be wrong?’

So saying, she cast herself into Mr Edridge's arms, who nothing loath, caught her to his chest and, forgetting his scruples, kissed her very thoroughly.

‘Darling, darling Amelia, how lovely you are, and how much I love you,’ he sighed. Indeed, Miss Milverly was looking particularly well that evening. She was attired in a very becoming gown of sprigged white muslin, trimmed with deep blue velvet ribbons. She wore a simple wreath of rosebuds in her hair, and carried a little bouquet of the same blooms in a filigree holder. Outwardly, she looked as sweet and demure as any young Miss, but inwardly, Miss Milverly was a heroine. Now, still locked in her worshipper's arms, she began to make plans for their imminent elopement.

‘You will need to hire a post chaise, of course, and four horses, I think. I could meet you in the square at dead of night, and then we should be halfway to the Border before Papa was any the wiser!’

‘Amelia, what are you talking about?’ demanded her swain, considerably startled.

‘Our elopement, silly,’ replied Amelia, opening her eyes very wide.

‘But why should we elope?’

Miss Milverly's face puckered. ‘Do not you want to marry me, Sebastian? Have you been trifling with me all this time?’

‘No, no, of course not,’ he assured her hastily. ‘I mean, no, I haven't been trifling, yes, of course I want to marry you. The only thing is, why should we have to elope? Surely if I just go to your Papa and explain that we care for each other and that when I come down from Oxford I will be in a position to take care of you, then—’

He was interrupted. ‘I shall die if you breathe a word of this to Papa. Don't you know that he will do everything in his power to part us? He means to wed me to some rich, powerful man like himself. He will never agree to let us marry.’

Since this was the first time Amelia had mentioned her Papa's matrimonial plans for his daughter, Sebastian, not unnaturally, demanded to know who this rival might be. As he had no existence outside Amelia's fertile imagination, she was unable to tell him. She assured him, however, that it was quite a settled thing. Mr Edridge was a sensible young man, but he was in love. One hint that he might lose Amelia to this rich and powerful rival was enough. The elopement was agreed.

Carlington opened his eyes and shut them again, hurriedly. A sharp pain in his temple warned him to be more cautious in his movements and for some minutes he simply lay in the darkness trying to collect his thoughts. How he came to be lying in the damp gloom that surrounded him was a mystery he was quite unable to account for. His last recollection was of riding through the early dawn to keep his appointment with Farnley. Now here he was, unable to move and totally ignorant of his whereabouts. Very carefully he opened his eyes once more. As they became accustomed to the dim light he saw that he was reclining in a kind of store room, propped up against sacks of food stuffs; probably, from the feel of them, potatoes. The swaying motion which he had attributed to his swimming head was now seen to be a reality as the little room rose and fell before his eyes. Incredible though it seemed, Charles, Viscount Carlington, was at sea. His head pounded and in attempting to raise a hand to his brow, he made yet another discovery: his hands were bound.

Charles lost count of the time he spent, alone and sick, in that dank little hole. It seemed endless, although in fact it was little more than twenty-four hours later that his solitude was interrupted. He was dozing, his rest disturbed by nightmares only marginally more horrific than the situation in which he found himself. All at once he was awakened by the sound of voices and a light flickered through the gloom of his prison. He was aware that someone was bending over him and, with some blind instinct of self-preservation, he remained still, his eyes closed, his breathing deliberately heavy and even. The intruder stirred him with one great foot and called to someone outside the room. ‘E's still out cold, 'e must 'ave 'ad a right whack on t'ead t'be out this long. I 'ope t'bastard's not died on us!’

‘Nay, 'e's not dead, Capt'n,’ answered the other, drawing nearer. ‘Can thee not see 'im breathin'? Likely 'e's got the fever laying down 'ere so long.’

‘Well 'e's no manner o' use to us dead, so I reckon we'd best cover 'im up wi' this bit 'o sacking and ye get that broth down 'im or 'e's a deader for sure!’

So saying, the burly leader of the two wrapped the Viscount in a dirty but dry piece of rag, and his companion produced a wooden bowl full of a greasy liquid which was poured down Charles' throat, half choking him in the process. Rank though it was, the hot liquid revived him and he was able to open his eyes and survey his hosts.

They were not a prepossessing sight. The first, a giant of a man with a face badly pitted with pock marks, was watching Carlington with the detached interest of a farmer regarding a dubious piece of horseflesh. The second was, if anything, more hideous than the first, but when this figure took a handkerchief from its neck to wipe the hapless prisoner's face, Charles caught sight of a scraggy bosom and realised with some disgust that the creature was a woman.

Try as he might, he was unable to put into words all the questions that revolved in his confused mind. All he could do was mutter in a voice that was little more than a croak: ‘What am I doing here?’

His nurse seemed gratified by this sign of life. She grinned at him, showing cracked and blackened teeth.

‘Well my deary, so ye're feelin' better; that's right. We wants to get a good price for ye, the fine young feller that ye are. There's them who'll pay well in Jamaiky an' no questions asked.’

‘You are taking me to
Jamaica
?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘But do you know who I am?’

‘Do we know who you is?’ repeated the hag delightedly. ‘Do we know? We don't know nor we don't care, me fine young feller. We was paid 'andsome to take ye on board and the flash cove as 'anded ye over was shy o' tellin' us 'is name. Oh, 'e was smooth 'e was. Fair giv' me the shivers!’

‘Ye talk too much, woman!’ the man growled suddenly, and, snatching up the bowl, he grabbed the woman by the arm and dragged her towards the door. As he reached it he turned and spoke over his shoulder to his victim. ‘I don't know who ye are an' I don't want to. Ye've got an enemy, that's all ye need to know. Ye'll be fed an' watered an' when we get to Jamaiky ye'll be set to work on the plantations. So, whoever ye are young feller, if I was you I'd forget about the past or ye'll be out o' yer mind afore we see land again!’

Revived by the soup and warmed by his pitiful piece of sacking, the Viscount was by no means disposed to take his host's advice. Now that he knew with what he had to deal, his usually active and daring mind took command. The first essential was obviously to unbind his hands. They were tied behind him and there was little doubt that a seaman had tied the knots. After several hours the bonds had refused to loosen themselves, and Charles was almost in despair. Then an idea occurred to him. The bonds were not of rope. He had been bound, no doubt for extra security, with leather thongs. If he could but dampen the leather it might stretch just enough to enable him to slip out one hand. Eagerly he cast around his prison. Surely on this leaky tub of a boat there must be enough water to do the business. As ill-luck would have it, however, Charles had been lodged in one of the very few dry corners of the entire ship; naturally enough, since this was where they kept their stores. This was not the answer. But Charles was determined this smooth-tongued enemy of his, whoever he was, should not get away with it. There must be another way.

A noise outside his prison warned him that one of his warders had returned. The door opened to reveal the unlovely old hag of the morning. She carried more of her noxious soup and, to Carlington's secret delight, a candle. Obviously the lady must be charmed into leaving that candle behind. Quite unscrupulously Charles set about the task. It was not so very difficult after all. Charles was not only a very personable young man, he was the first man of any description to give the creature a kind word in many a long year. The time had been when Daisy Brody, fresh from the country and pretty as a picture, had listened to far too many sweet words for her own good. Unfortunately, a succession of protectors and a predilection for gin, had soon robbed her of her looks and since she had thrown in her lot with the Captain of this hell boat, hard words and blows had been her portion. Even now, when she smiled a faint shadow could be seen of the girl she had once been and, as Charles talked persuasively, flattering her and begging for her assistance, her face softened so as to look almost comely.

She did not, however, give in as easily as all that. Much as she disliked her master, she was far too frightened of him to disobey his commands readily.

‘'E'll kill me if he finds out,’ she insisted.

‘He need never know. Just leave me that candle, that is all I ask of you, Daisy. How could he guess that it was you who did so? I will take the thing with me so he will never find out. It will be a complete mystery to him! I promise you this; come to me when you get back to London and I will see that you get enough gold to make you free of that brute for the rest of your life!’