The Glitter and the Gold (Endearing Young Charms Book 7) Read online

  For his part, Sir Charles had just asked Miss Woodward to go driving with him the following day; she had accepted with such pretty grace that he forgot about Fanny, about being married to her. Miss Woodward was as tender and good as she was beautiful. She would be shocked when he told her about his marriage and lack of funds, but then those eyes would grow kind again and she would accept him. Like a number of army men, Sir Charles was singularly naive about women, and unlike most of his fellows, he had not taken prostitutes, having a healthy fear of syphilis.

  Everything around appeared to disappear in a golden haze; Fanny, Lord Bohun, Miss Grimes, and Tommy—and even the hard, squashed face of his hostess. He had Miss Woodward floating round in his arms to the steps of the waltz and nothing else existed for him.

  Even when Miss Grimes later told him that she had felt obliged to give Lord Bohun permission to take Fanny driving, Sir Charles only shrugged and said there was little that could happen to her in an open carriage and in the middle of a crowd of fashionables, and furthermore, he was going to be there himself with Miss Woodward.

  “They are both quite mad,” Miss Grimes said, sighing, to Tommy, and then forgot her worries when he asked her to dance. He was a dreadful dancer, but Miss Grimes did not notice. She thought that she should forget any responsibility to Fanny and Sir Charles and concentrate on enjoying as much of Tommy’s company as she could, while it lasted. She did not think much of herself, never had, and so the idea that he might propose, that they might have a future together, never entered her head.

  Having all had a delightful evening, they were all in charity with one another on the road home, and, instead of going straight to bed on arrival, sat up over the tea tray, laughing and joking.

  But underneath all their jollity was a darker strain of worry. Sir Charles hoped that Fanny would soon find out what sort of man Lord Bohun really was; Fanny was sure Miss Woodward was only interested in Sir Charles because she thought him rich; Tommy dreaded the day when he would have to return to his regiment and say good-bye to Martha Grimes; and Miss Grimes tried not to think of the bleak future without him and found it hard to do so.

  Lord Bohun had been busy laying plans for the seduction of Fanny, but nothing but pleasure in her company showed on his saturnine face when he set off with her in a smart phaeton in the direction of Hyde Park the following afternoon. The fickle weather had turned cold and blustery after a sunny morning and Fanny, shivering in the thinnest of muslin gowns covered with an equally thin muslin pelisse, hung on to her bonnet and reflected that it was very hard to think love kept you warm when all the while you were worrying about watering eyes and a pink nose.

  Fanny had not been schooled to flirt, but when they passed Sir Charles driving Miss Woodward—and so intent on the beauty that he did not even see his wife—a devil entered Fanny’s soul. When they went round the ring again and she saw Sir Charles approaching once more, she began to flirt outrageously, casting languishing looks up at Lord Bohun, but having the satisfaction of seeing out of the corner of her eye that Charles had noticed her this time and was scowling quite dreadfully.

  “I have to drive down to Richmond tomorrow,” said Lord Bohun, “to see my old nurse. I would so like you to meet her. She is the only ‘family’ I have left. She is very dear to me. She must be nearly eighty, a great age. Sarah Dunn is her name. Scotch. I say, would you like to meet her, too? There can be no harm in it if the day is fine and we take my phaeton. There is nothing in the unwritten rules of society that says a young lady cannot travel alone with a gentleman in an open carriage.”

  Fanny’s heart beat hard and she forgot about the irritatingly lovelorn Sir Charles. This was tantamount to a proposal of marriage!

  “I would like that above all things,” she said. “But there is the Bidfords’ breakfast tomorrow and …”

  “Sadie Bidford is a good friend of Dolly’s,” he remarked.

  “Oh!” Fanny’s face cleared. “In that case, I have every excuse not to go. I do hope Miss Grimes will not be difficult.”

  “Let us return and ask her now,” he said gaily, privately thinking it would be easier to handle the spinster without Sir Charles around.

  Tommy had gone out to meet some army friends and Miss Grimes, missing him quite dreadfully, although he had only been gone all of ten minutes, was in a vulnerable state and too obsessed with the missing captain to put up more than a token protest. Fanny, after all, was Charles’s responsibility, and she had not known until Lord Bohun told her so that Sadie Bidford was a friend of the Marsdens. She weakly gave her permission.

  Sir Charles had been invited back to the Woodwards to take tea—and by the time he returned, Captain Tommy had told the delighted Miss Grimes that an army friend had invited both of them to his box at the playhouse that night and rapture drove any thoughts of Fanny’s future out of Miss Grimes’s head.

  Fanny thought it undiplomatic to tell her husband her plans. Charles was nearly always cross with her these days. Let Miss Grimes tell him.

  And so it was when Lord Bohun called to take Fanny out the following day that Sir Charles was in his room getting ready for the Bidfords’ breakfast.

  Tommy stepped forward. “Bohun,” he said, “just whereabouts in Richmond does this old nurse of yours live?”

  “Peartree Cottage,” said Lord Bohun easily. “It is just a little way along from the Star and Garter on the left. Old Miss Dunn will be enchanted to meet Miss Page. We will only stay for half an hour.”

  “I don’t like this much,” said Tommy after they had left. “I am surprised Charles did not have more to say about it.”

  Miss Grimes colored guiltily. “I—I did not tell him. Oh, I meant to, I really meant to, but—but the visit to the playhouse drove it out of my head.”

  “So Charles still thinks we are all going to the Bidfords?”

  “As to that, Bohun said that Sadie Bidford was a friend of Dolly Marsden’s and so it does to seem wise—”

  “All ready?” asked Sir Charles, strolling into the room. “Another fine day. We are having lucky weather. Where’s Fanny?”

  “She has gone to Richmond with Lord Bohun, to meet his old nurse?”

  “What? Unchaperoned?”

  “Well, Charles, he has an open carriage and—and it is in the middle of the day,” protested Miss Grimes, who had never heard of love in the afternoon.

  “But we are expected at the Bidfords.”

  “As to that, Lord Bohun did say that Sadie Bidford was a friend of Dolly Marsden and—”

  “Fiddle! The Bidfords are friends of the Woodwards and all that is respectable. Where in Richmond?”

  “He said Peartree Cottage, near the Star and Garter.”

  Sir Charles’s face grew bleak. “You both must go to the Bidfords and make my humble apologies to Miss Woodward.”

  “But Charles! Surely nothing can happen to Fanny!”

  “But it is my duty to make sure it does not. Why on earth did no one tell me of this?”

  Miss Grimes looked at him in dumb and guilty silence, for the correct reason was that they had all been so happy the night before she had not wanted to break the spell.

  “Do you want the traveling carriage?” she asked after the silence seemed to have dragged on to an eternity.

  “No, I will take my horse. Faster that way. Damn Fanny!”

  With that, he strode out, leaving Miss Grimes and Tommy feeling like schoolchildren caught out in some misdemeanor.

  Chapter Six

  FANNY, UNAWARE OF THE TURMOIL she had left behind her, was enjoying herself immensely. This was one of her dreams come true, bowling out of London in a smart phaeton with a handsome man. As they left the cobbles at Hyde Park Corner and moved onto the gravel surface of the Great West Road at a smart pace, her heart sang. He had said this nurse was his only “family.” That meant his intentions were serious and honorable.

  Then a little cloud passed over the sun of her day. It was going to be terribly hard to tell him about that marri
age. But perhaps she need not! How did one get an annulment? Did it take very long? It could perhaps be done quietly, with no one knowing about it. She was sure he loved her as much as she loved him. There was a new intensity in his gaze when he glanced down at her—and so in the brief burning looks that were mentally stripping her naked, Fanny read only the light of love.

  Bohun could feel the weight of the cottage key in his pocket. He had collected it from his agent that morning. He owned many properties, his agent buying up places for him when they fell empty and renting them at a good price. Peartree Cottage at Richmond was a recent acquisition and not yet let to anyone. He had been to see it himself and knew it was perfect for his plans, those plans being the seduction of Fanny. He would pretend to be bewildered that the place was locked up, that there was no sign of his old nurse. Perhaps inside, dear Miss Page, there might be some evidence of what has happened to her. She may be ill. How fortunate that she gave me a spare key. And so his busy mind ran gleefully on. He was comfortably aware that Fanny was besotted with him. Seduction should not be too difficult.

  When they reached the cottage, Fanny exclaimed in pleasure. It was low and thatched, with a riot of roses round the door and a neat, well-kept, pocket-sized garden at the front. Through the trees beside the house, she could see the lazy roll of the river, ruffled by a light breeze and sparkling in the sun. A few birds chirped lazily, a dog barked from the fields nearby, and there was the faint sound of music from somewhere, someone practicing on the pianoforte, repeating the same phrase over and over again. And then as they approached the low door, everything went absolutely still, not a sound. Fanny felt a qualm of unease but did not know why.

  Lord Bohun hammered at the door with his fist; there was no knocker. Fanny waited expectantly for the shuffling of old feet on the other side of the door, but there was nothing but that eerie silence.

  “Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “I hope nothing has befallen her.” He knocked again.

  “Perhaps she is asleep,” suggested Fanny.

  He took the key out of his pocket. “Miss Dunn gave me this key,” he said. “We should go inside and see if she is there.”

  “I shall wait for you here,” replied Fanny.

  “In truth, I would rather you came in with me,” he said earnestly. “She may be ill, and I am not very good at coping with sick ladies.”

  He unlocked the door and pushed it open. Fanny followed him into a neat parlor. She looked about. Everything was tidy and clean but had an oddly unlived in air about it.

  “Miss Dunn!” called Lord Bohun loudly.

  Fanny listened to the echoes of his voice. What on earth would Miss Grimes say if she knew that she was alone in this cottage with Lord Bohun? thought Fanny. For she was all at once sure that there was no one at home. But Lord Bohun was making for the narrow wooden stairs that led off the back of the parlor.

  “I had better see if she is resting.” He held out his hand. “Come, Miss Page, I may need your assistance.”

  Fanny hesitated. “I think you should go upstairs by yourself, my lord. I will wait for you in that pretty garden. Should Miss Dunn be there and need my assistance, call me.”

  Now the time had come to seize her in his arms. But she looked so small and dainty and trusting. Besides, he had left the front door standing wide open, and, as he looked, a couple strolled past arm in arm, talking loudly. So to perfect his plan, he would need to walk past her and slam that door, turn the key, and then proceed to ravish her.

  Perhaps the best idea would be to let her go outside, to ascend the stairs, then call for her in an alarmed voice and get to work when he had her upstairs in the bedroom.

  “I won’t be long,” he said.

  Fanny walked out and into the garden just as Sir Charles Deveney rode up and swung himself down from the saddle. “Charles!” cried Fanny, running to meet him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I am come to save you from ruin. Where is Bohun?”

  “He is upstairs, looking for his old nurse. He is afraid she might be ill. Really, Charles, you must stop following me around.”

  “Look here, you idiot. I don’t believe there is an old nurse or even was. Bohun’s set on a seduction … and you are falling neatly into his trap.”

  Lord Bohun had seen Sir Charles arrive from the upstairs window. Memories of Sir Charles’s expertise at pistol shooting made him sweat in the confines of the small bedroom. He ran lightly down the stairs and let himself out through the back door. A solitary man was sculling past on the river. Lord Bohun hailed him, and when the man had rowed to the bottom of the garden and shipped his oars, Lord Bohun said urgently, “Like to earn yourself a guinea?”

  “So,” Sir Charles was saying, “if you will just step aside, Fanny, I will go in there and give Bohun the beating he deserves.”

  “Pooh!” said Fanny. “You will only get hurt. He is bigger and stronger than you.”

  She had backed to the cottage door and was now blocking it. He picked her up as if she weighed nothing at all and set her to one side—and walked in just as Lord Bohun was emerging from the back garden with a man behind him.

  “Deveney!” exclaimed Lord Bohun with well-feigned surprise. “What are …? No matter. This is a grave business. This person informs me that poor Miss Dunn departed this life last week.”

  He took out a large handkerchief and covered his face and bowed his head.

  “Oh, dear,” said Fanny in distress. “How terribly sad.”

  Sir Charles eyed the bearer of the sad tidings narrowly. The man was standing, twisting his cap in his large red hands and grinning sheepishly. “How did she die?” he asked.

  He noticed the way the man’s eyes flew to Lord Bohun, as if for help. “Dunno,” retorted the man, transferring his gaze to the blackened beams of the ceiling. “Old age, I reckon.”

  Lord Bohun uncovered his face. “You have been of great help. I must be left alone now with my grief.”

  The man tugged his forelock and escaped.

  “We will be glad to leave you alone,” said Sir Charles in a chilly voice. “Come, Fanny.”

  “But you’ve only got one horse,” exclaimed Fanny, “and poor Lord Bohun!”

  “As you heard,” said Sir Charles grimly, “he wants to be alone with his grief. Is that not so, Bohun?”

  Lord Bohun, who had no intention of enduring further questioning from Sir Charles Deveney, sank artistically into a low chair and bowed his head.

  Sir Charles took a firm grip of Fanny’s upper arm and hustled her out.

  “There is no need to be so rough. Or so unfeeling,” raged Fanny. “That poor gentleman needs our help.”

  “Don’t argue. Up you get.”

  Fanny gazed up at his tall hunter. “But I am not dressed for riding, and you do not have a side saddle.”

  “And I am not going to argue with you. You deserve an uncomfortable journey home.” He tossed her up into the saddle and then mounted in front of her.

  “Hold on to me tightly,” he ordered. She put her arms around his waist as he spurred his horse away from the cottage.

  After several miles of this headlong jolting, Fanny shouted in his ear, “Do stop, for goodness sake. I am feeling sick.”

  He swung in under the arch of a pretty little inn, and when an ostler had seized the reins, he dismounted and then helped a white-faced Fanny down from the saddle. She staggered slightly when he released her and moaned, “I do not think I shall have the proper use of my limbs again.”

  The landlord came out to greet them and Sir Charles asked for lemonade to be served to them in the garden.

  Soon Fanny gradually regained her color—and her temper.

  “I am not a schoolgirl, Charles,” she snapped. “I am quite able to handle my own affairs.”

  He looked at her steadily. “Do you know what I think, my sweeting? I do not think Bohun ever had an old nurse at that cottage. I think he bribed that idiot into saying he had the moment he saw me arrive.”

  “Oh,
you are determined to believe the worst of him!”

  “All right. I will strike a bargain with you. If Bohun formally asks Aunt Martha leave to pay his addresses to you, if he places an announcement of your engagement in the newspapers, then you may do as you wish,” said Sir Charles, confident that such an event would never happen.

  “I cannot let him print the announcement of our engagement in the newspapers,” said Fanny. “What if the vicar who married us should see it? Or any of the wedding guests?”

  “Very well then. Let us forget about the announcement. If he is serious about you, then he will approach Miss Grimes in a formal way.”

  “And if he does that, you will leave me alone?”

  “On my honor.”

  Fanny gave him a shrewd look. “You are prepared to promise because you are easy in your mind that such a thing will never happen.”

  He shrugged slightly. “Drink your lemonade.”

  The inn garden was very tranquil, with sunlight dappling the grass at their feet. The moving leaves on the trees above them cast flickering shadows over Sir Charles’s face. What do I really know of him? wondered Fanny.

  Aloud she said, “What will Miss Woodward say to you going back to the wars?”

  He smiled lazily. “She will let me go. I can hardly use my wife’s money to buy myself out.”

  “What was your worst time … in the war, I mean?”

  “Oh, that’s easy. Corunna, or rather the retreat to it, stumbling over the mountains, men dying of exhaustion, women with babies dropping at my feet. The resentment of the men toward Sir James Moore was terrible to behold because he had ordered the retreat. ‘Why die in these awful mountains, running like dogs?’ they said. ‘Let us turn and fight the French and die with honor.’ Discipline had crumbled. A great number of the soldiers were criminals released from prison to fight. Some of them I was happy to see die because of the misery they inflicted on the Spanish with their drunken looting and burning.”

  “I thought the French behaved like that,” said Fanny in a small voice. “Not the British.”