Loving Protector

Loving
Protector

Copyright
© Sally Quilford 2011 – All Rights Reserved

Author’s
Note

There
are differing opinions on what constitutes the ‘Regency’ era. It can either
mean the era between 1811 and 1820, when due to George III’s incapacity, his son,
The Prince of Wales, was given the king’s proxy as Prince Regent. However, the
Regency era, for some, can also encompass a more extended period from 1795 to
1837. It is this extended period into which this novel falls, taking place when
the Prince Regent has become King George IV.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Regency_era

Regarding
restaurants: I would like to point out that the first restaurants opened in
Paris in 1765, which is more than half a century before this novel takes place.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Restaurant#History

The
oldest restaurant in London is Rules, which opened in 1798.
http://www.rules.co.uk/

Finally,
as a British author, I write in British UK English and as such my spelling,
grammar and punctuation reflect that.

Loving
Protector

Chapter
One

“I do not see why she has to come to
London,” said Blanche Kirkham. She glared at her mother and then at Calista.
Blanche was tall and beautiful, but with a temper as dark as her hair and eyes.

The coach in which they were travelling
rocked over the uneven ground.

“We can hardly leave Calista at home,”
said Mrs. Evelyn Haywood. “As I explained to you, dearest, I could not afford
to pay for the upkeep of Haywood Manor and your season in London.” Evelyn was
very much like her daughter in looks, except that her face had softer features,
and kind brown eyes.

“I would have been quite happy to stay
home, Evelyn” said Calista, looking up from her book. Polar opposite to her
step-sister, Blanche, Calista was petite and pretty, with fair hair and
cornflower blue eyes.

“You say that,” said Blanche, before her
mother could answer, “but I know you will be monopolizing all the men for
yourself. As you always do.”

Calista laughed. “I am not aware I have
ever done such a thing, Blanche. They only speak to me when you are not
available.”

“She must stay out of the way,” Blanche
said to Evelyn. “If she prefers to stay at home, then she may stay indoors in
London. She is much too old for a season anyway.”

“I am only six months older than you,”
said Calista, with a grin that showed pretty dimples in her cheeks.

“Mama, you are not to tell people I am
twenty. You are to say I am eighteen.”

“Blanche, dearest, I cannot lie.”

“I shall be telling people I am eighteen
and if you contradict me, Mama, it will look very bad for you.” She added
waspishly, “It will make you seem older for a start.”

“Blanche, I am thirty-eight years old
and every one of those years shows on my face. Probably a few more besides. I
cannot pretend to be otherwise.”

“I am sure you would look much younger had
you married a richer man instead of Bryan Haywood. Poverty makes people older
quicker.”

Calista’s eyes flashed and she was about
to make a retort along the lines that Blanche’s real father had been poorer
still. She hated to hear the way Blanche spoke about her late father, who had
shown Blanche nothing but kindness, despite her many barbed insults to him.

“But I would not have been happier,”
said Evelyn.

“Oh mama, you are so stupid
sometimes.  If we had money we would be very happy. When I marry a Duke or
an Earl, then we will be happy. Calista can go back to her little house and
with any luck she may persuade a farmer’s son to marry her.”

“I do not see how there would be
anything wrong with that if I loved him,” said Calista.

“See?” Blanche gesticulated towards
Calista. “This is the sort of family you have married into mother. She will
bring shame on us, I can feel it. Not that it will matter when I am the
Duchess. I shall tell people that I have disowned her.”

“Do not count your chickens before they
are hatched,” said Calista. “You have not yet met a Duke or Earl, nor he you.”
In truth, Calista had no doubt Blanche would catch the eye of such a man. She
was beautiful enough, and could be quite charming when she wanted to be. Added
to which, Calista doubted a man from the nobility would be as intimidated by
Blanche as the young men who lived in their town.

“Do you see how cruelly she treats me,
Mama?” said Blanche, starting to build up to one of her tempers

“But you also treat Calista cruelly,”
said Evelyn. “And I wish you would not. Please try to remember that it is her
father’s money that is paying for your season in London.”

“Sometimes I think you love her more
than me,” said Blanche, wiping her eyes, which Calista was interested to note
were dry.

“Of course not,” said Evelyn. “You are
my daughter and naturally I love you more.” Evelyn looked at Calista with
something like guilt in her eyes.  “But I am also very fond of Calista.
She has been a great help to me since her father died.”

“And I have not?”

“Well, no, not really dear. Not when you
insult a man I loved dearly.”

“I am bored with this conversation now.
Tell me about the dresses you are going to buy me. I shall need at least two
morning dresses and two evening dresses.”

“I am afraid that will not be possible.
You and Calista may have one new morning dress and one new evening dress each.
Other than that you will have to wear your usual clothes. Calista and I have
worked hard to spruce up our old dresses. We will all look very elegant when we
are presented to society.”

“Mama! I have told you. She is not to go
anywhere. She is to stay indoors with those boring books she reads. She will be
quite happy.”

“I know what you have told me, Blanche,
but as I have just told you, it is Bryan’s money that is paying for this
season. So Calista shall have her pretty dresses too.”

“I hate you!” Blanche raged. “I hate
you, Mother. You have ruined my life. Ruined it.”

Evelyn and Calista exchanged glances.
They knew what would come next. Blanche had been building up to it ever since
Evelyn had refused to leave Calista at home when they left that morning.

Blanche’s tantrum was curtailed. The
coach suddenly lurched to a halt and they heard a man shouting, “Stand and
deliver.”

“A highwayman!” said Calista, her heart
beating rapidly.  Since the end of the Napoleonic Wars, many returning
soldiers, having found there was no work for them, had turned to highway
robbery.

“I thought they only struck at night,”
said Evelyn. They could still hear talking outside, but as yet no one had come
to the coach door. “How far are we from London?”

“About an hour, I think,” said Calista.

“That means help will be a long time
coming.”

Blanche had gone very quiet and very
white in the face. Her hands trembled. “Do not worry,” Calista said to her
kindly. “I hear they are often very courteous to ladies.”

“I am not worried,” said Blanche, her
eyes flashing. But when the air was filled with the sound of gunshots, Blanche
almost flew across the coach and into her mother’s arms. “Mama, if they kill
me, I shall not have my season.”

Calista wanted to laugh at that. Blanche
always had her priorities right. One of Calista’s biggest dreams was that
Blanche would marry and go away so that she no longer had to put up with her
insults, but she did not wish harm on her step-sister. Calista was no blushing
violet when it came to dealing with Blanche, but the constant fight to defend
herself left her exhausted at the end of most days. It was not in her nature to
be unkind to anyone, yet there had been times when she was afraid she was
becoming as bad as Blanche.

When the carriage door opened, Calista
gave an involuntary scream but was determined to face the man down. If he shot
her, then he would have to do so whilst looking her in the eyes.

 “Do not be afraid,” a deep,
resonant voice said. “The highwayman has been captured.” Calista looked towards
the door and was faced with a man unlike any she had ever seen.  He was
about thirty years old and dressed in the height of fashion, but without looking
like one of the over-dressed dandies and rakes she read about in the gossip
columns. He was tall and dark, clean shaven, with flint grey eyes and hawk-like
eyebrows. He looked directly at Calista and even if he had not told her the
highwayman was under arrest, she would know she was safe with this man.

“I was not afraid,” said Blanche, before
Calista could reply. “It was my step-sister who screamed.”

Calista’s lips turned up at the corners
and she fought to suppress a smile.

“Well then you are a very brave lady
indeed not to be afraid,” said the man with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Please ladies, step out of the carriage. It is quite safe. I have a flask of
brandy, and I think you could all benefit from a drink.” He reached out his
hand to Calista, who was nearest to him.

One by one he helped them all out of the
carriage. When Calista’s legs touched the ground, she was perturbed to see that
they shook beneath her. She looked around and saw another man standing some way
off, holding onto the highwayman.

The man who had opened the carriage door
spoke. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Colonel Windebank.” He
naturally turned to Evelyn, as the eldest of the three women.

“We are very grateful for your help, Colonel
Windebank.” Evelyn curtseyed, with Blanche and Calista following suit. “I am
Mrs. Haywood. This is my daughter, Miss Blanche Kirkham, and my step-daughter,
Miss Calista Haywood. We are on our way to London for the season.”

“Then do allow us to accompany you the
rest of the way in case there is any more trouble.”

“Brook?”  The man holding the
prisoner spoke for the first time.

“What is it Harry?”

“What are we to do with him?”

“Let him go, but keep his gun.”

“That’s very good of you, Colonel
Windebank, sir,” said the highwayman. He was not very old. No more than
twenty-two or three. The colonel walked towards him.

“You’re an idiot, Jimmy, but I know
you’ve struggled to find work since the war ended. I’ll write you a note to
take to my estate, where you’ll be given a job and a cottage. You can write to
your wife and child and ask them to join you.”

“I don’t deserve this, sir,” said Jimmy.

“No, you probably don’t. Especially for
terrorizing three women. But I’ve fought with you. I know you’re a good man at
heart. Go on, be off with you. If I find you’ve done something like this again,
I shan’t help you. Come on, Harry. We’ll continue our journey.”

The man called Harry let Jimmy go and
walked forward, bowing to the ladies, who curtseyed in return. He was a good
looking man in his late thirties. He stopped when he saw Mrs. Haywood. “Evelyn?
Evelyn Morehampton?”

Calista’s eyes widened in surprised. It
was rather a familiar address.

“Yes … Oh my goodness. It’s Mr.
Benedict, is it not? I have not seen you since I cannot remember when.” Yet
when Evelyn spoke, Calista had the impression that she knew exactly when she
had last seen Harry Benedict. Her delight seemed to be tinged with something
else that Calista could not put a finger on. Fear? Surely not. The man seemed
personable enough.

“More than twenty years ago.”

“It seems that no introductions are
needed,” said the Colonel with a smile.

“I have not had the pleasure of meeting
these two delightful young ladies,” said Mr. Benedict. Evelyn introduced Blanche
and Calista.

“Miss Kirkham, Miss Haywood, I am very
pleased to make your acquaintance. Your mother and I were good friends a long
time ago, Miss Kirkham.”

“Really, how fascinating.” Blanche was
not interested. She only had eyes for the Colonel, for which Calista could not
blame her. He had shown himself to be not only brave, but also merciful. “I am
very eager to reach London, Colonel Windebank.”

“I thought,” said the Colonel, “that we
might accompany the ladies, Harry. With your permission, Mrs. Haywood?” Evelyn
bowed her head gracefully, and thanked him. “We will tie the horses to the back
of the carriage and sit inside with them. It will surprise any other ruffians
who wish to try their luck.”

A short time later they all sat in the
carriage together, as they neared London.

“I cannot believe that we met again
under such circumstances,” Mr. Benedict said to Evelyn. He had not taken his
eyes from her since they got into the coach.

“It was certainly lucky that you
happened along,” she replied.

“Are you on your way to London for the
season, Colonel?” asked Blanche.

“No, I was merely on my way to check on
my home in London.”

“I am sure it is still there,” said
Blanche, laughing a little bit too gaily.

“But sadly in very bad repair due to me
being abroad for extended periods of time. This is why Mr. Benedict accompanies
me. He is going to tell me how I may improve upon the house.”

“Of course, you were training to be an
architect,” said Evelyn. “I remember now.”

“Father was an architect too,” said
Calista.

“My dear step-father, Bryan,” said
Blanche, “we all miss him dreadfully.” That was a surprise to Calista, but she
clamped her lips shut.

“Haywood?” said the Colonel. “Not Bryan
Haywood?”

“Yes, that is correct,” said Calista.
“You knew my father?”

“I certainly knew of him. In fact … and
please do not take offence, Harry … I had him in mind for some of the
renovations only to learn of his sad death.”

“No offence taken,” said Mr. Benedict
with a smile.

“Please accept my condolences, Mrs.
Haywood, Miss Haywood.” Calista noted that the colonel did not include Blanche
in his condolences. “I was very taken by some of the buildings your father
created in Derbyshire, Miss Haywood. Then sadly I had to settle for Harry.”