Gamble With Hearts Read online

  Charlotte folded the letter thoughtfully, then with a little sigh she said; ‘Well, this is disappointing news, to be sure, dearest. I do not think we should allow it to make any difference to our plans, however. Do you?’

  Mrs Wrexham turned a look of weary reproach upon her daughter. ‘It is all very well for you, Charlotte, to behave as though the loss of two hundred pounds or more were a mere nothing. You are young. You could even earn your bread if you had to, Why, you could be a governess or some such thing; but I, what can I do if we fail? How will I live with nothing behind me? Oh, I wish I had never allowed you to persuade me into this ridiculous scheme!’

  It was apparent that Mrs Wrexham was quite overset and suffering from an irritation of the nerves as powerful as it was unusual. Charlotte knelt beside her weeping mama and took her hands between her own. She gazed into her mother's face with such a look of love and hopefulness that the mother was comforted and returned the clasp of her daughter's strong young hands.

  ‘Mama, listen to me,’ begged Charlotte earnestly. ‘I promise that nothing shall happen to worry you. I swear to you upon my dear father's memory that if I cannot find a gentleman of wealth in London whom I can like and respect, why, then, I shall marry Mr Wimple after all and you need never worry about money again!’

  ‘My dear, dear child. Let us hope that you will meet someone to whom I can give my daughter with a happy heart and who will be able to keep you as I would wish to see you established.’

  ‘Let us hope so indeed,’ echoed Charlotte rather forlornly. She was very aware that she had made an extremely rash promise but one which she had every intention of keeping.

  In the days that followed, Miss Wrexham was far too busy to dwell upon her probable future with the unappetising Mr Wimple. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind and concentrated upon the arrangements for conveying herself and her mama to London in tolerable comfort and safety. In this task she was retarded rather than assisted by their cousin who arrived within a very few days.

  Charlotte and Mr Pollock had never met and, although Mrs Wrexham had a vague memory of a pudgy and unattractive urchin of some twenty years earlier, she was quite unable to recognise this figure in the self-important and pompous young man who now descended upon her.

  He had arrived late one bitter March afternoon, having travelled up alone from his home in Surrey. He entered the pleasant chamber in which the ladies were taking their tea, pushing past the surprised servant and remarking jovially: ‘Well, well, this is pleasant indeed, is it not? Your man was all for announcing me formally but I said 'Nonsense, the ladies will forgive me if I just bustle in. How very cosy and comfortable this is, to be sure!’

  ‘Mr Pollock, ma’am,’ intoned the servant, not to be denied, his voice expressing his disapproval of guests who entered unannounced.

  Mrs Wrexham bowed politely, although by no means pleased by the shabby-genteel notions displayed by their guest. She felt, quite correctly, that this informality marked Mr Pollock's contempt for their lowly circumstances rather than any real disinclination for ceremony. Charlotte for her part was so put out that only the fact that she depended upon this man for her transportation to the metropolis prevented her from giving him one of the blistering set-downs with which she was wont to discourage the vulgar. Swallowing her annoyance as best she might, she seconded Mrs Wrexham's civil welcome and looked so lovely in her plain morning gown of dark green merino that Mr Pollock was quite captivated. Only his wife's explicit instructions to expedite the removal of his relations with all haste prevented him from begging the ladies to remain at least until an improvement in the weather made travelling a less hazardous occupation than at the present season.

  Fortunately, Charlotte was obliged to endure her cousin's proximity for less than a sennight before the coach was to return to Richmond for Mrs Pollock and her offspring, but she was heartily sick of his company long before then. He ogled her continuously, paying fulsome compliments that could only disgust. Charlotte had first appeared in Society at the age of sixteen and so she was quite accustomed to being admired but not the most ardent admirer had ever ventured to do more than kiss her hand. She was therefore more shocked than frightened when, happening to pass her cousin upon the upstairs landing, she found herself quite suddenly enveloped in a suffocating embrace. She struggled, and as she was a tall girl and her cousin, though portly, was not a very athletic man, she was soon able to break free of his embrace. He still retained her hand, however, held sentimentally to his heart while he ranted incoherently of his love for her.

  Unmaidenly though it might appear, Charlotte found she was struggling with an overmastering desire to giggle, particularly as her cousin was so unwise as to throw himself upon his knees before her. Sternly she controlled a quivering lip and begged her cousin to release her.

  ‘Indeed, cousin, you are not yourself. Please do let me go and I promise I will forget that this ever happened!’

  ‘I can remain silent no longer!’ declared her admirer, stubbornly remaining upon his knees. ‘Your beauty, your grace, have enslaved me. Charlotte, my adored one, be mine!’

  ‘How, sir, can I be yours when you have a wife and several children already?’ replied Miss Wrexham with some asperity. ‘Now please get up and stop being ridiculous!’

  At this Mr Pollock did get to his feet, although with some difficulty. He slipped an arm quickly around Miss Wrexham's waist and drawing her close he whispered in her ear. ‘My sweet cousin, you misunderstand me. I am offering you my protection. A young female, circumstanced as you are, without fortune or friends—you comprehend? How else are you to establish yourself?’

  Shaking with anger, Charlotte twisted from within his arm and faced him wrathfully. ‘How dare you! How dare you make me such an offer you—toad—you! Let me tell you, cousin, I would far rather beg my bread by the roadside than enter into such an arrangement with you or any man! And now, if you do not wish me to apprise Mrs Pollock of this interview, I suggest you leave my sight this instant!’

  Most men would have been quite cowed by such a lovely figure of outraged virtue, but Mr Pollock seemed blessed with a singularly thick skin. He merely leered at his cousin in an appraising way and remarked, ‘I daresay that is what you think now, sweetheart, but do not forget what I say. If you should ever change your mind, well, I won't hold this against you!’

  He then retired to his room leaving Charlotte torn between fury and hysterical laughter. From that moment she treated her cousin with a cold formality that affected him not in the least. Indeed, when at last he handed her into the travelling coach he murmured with some satisfaction; ‘I think we understand each other, do we not, dear Charlotte?’ To which Miss Wrexham replied by slamming shut the door so abruptly that Mr Pollock's fingers were in grave danger of amputation.

  ‘What was that he said to you, my love?’ inquired Mrs Wrexham, mildly curious.

  ‘Nothing dearest. Nothing at all!’ She settled back against the cushions and sighed deeply. ‘Well, we are off at last for better or worse. Let us hope I do not make a mull of it. Oh, I promise I will do my very best for us!’

  TWO

  Mrs Wrexham had spent a short season in London in her youth but upon her marriage she had been very happy to follow her young husband to the grim old house in Derbyshire. Her married life had passed pleasantly enough for she had much to content her. She was extremely attached to Mr Wrexham, indeed she had given up a very brilliant suitor in order to marry him; and moreover she found much to entertain her in the district, caring for her family and performing those acts of charity which fell to her lot as Mr Wrexham's spouse. For some years before his death, however, the damp climate of the northern moors had been affecting her health and spirits and it was with little regret that she watched the familiar landscape give way to unknown countryside.

  The horses supplied by Mr Pollock were strong rather than speedy beasts and although they had started out betimes they were obliged to put up for the night in Birchover, much t
o Charlotte's disgust. She had hoped to put Derbyshire behind her before the carriage halted for the night. However, the rambling little inn was excessively comfortable and, realising that her mama was sadly fatigued, she owned that it would have been foolish to proceed and risk being benighted.

  Circumstanced as they were, there was no possibility of their being able to afford a private room; but most fortunately there was only one other occupant of the cosy parlour, and as this young gentleman slept soundly throughout the whole evening, this was not felt by the ladies to be any very great inconvenience.

  By the greatest ill-luck there was a heavy fall of snow that night and when the ladies arose the next morning it was to be greeted by the unwelcome intelligence that the highway was blocked and quite impassable.

  ‘Well, my dear, this is ill news to be sure,’ remarked Mrs Wrexham in a philosophical tone. ‘When do you think the road will be clear? Did the landlord say?’

  ‘A few days, I am afraid. We are quite marooned here. One comfort, however, is that although we cannot get away, at least no one else will arrive and so we may be sure of enjoying our own company, uninterrupted save for the gentleman we saw last night.’

  ‘Is there no one else staying in the inn, then?’ questioned Mrs Wrexham.

  She was answered by the landlord's wife, who entered the breakfast parlour at that moment, bearing chocolate and freshly baked rolls still steaming in a snowy cloth.

  ‘There is one other gentleman, Mum, as has taken the private parlour. Cratchett, that's my man, Mum, says the gentleman is the Marquis of Ruthin an' has a coronet on his coach an' everything slap up. We don't get many such quality folks stoppin' 'ere, but with the snow an' all he didn't like to push on to the Bear. Lucky for us, I say!’

  As she talked Mrs Cratchett had set out the viands and supplied the ladies with breakfast. She showed every disposition to linger for a friendly chat, but was obliged to leave before she had quite finished acquainting the ladies with her life's history as the bell had been rung in the Marquis' bedchamber and she bustled off to obey this august summons.

  The ladies were silent after she had left. The same thought had occurred to both but they felt a little delicate in discussing the matter. For two adventuresses, for this as Charlotte well knew was what they were now committed to being, there could be few happier situations than to be isolated in a small inn for several days with a Marquis. Of course, he might be old, or married, or both, but there was no gainsaying that it was an odd chance and might, thought Mrs Wrexham, almost have been meant.

  Charlotte glanced up from her reflections to find her mother's eye upon her.

  ‘Charlotte, my love, I think I see a spot of coffee upon your gown. You had better change. Into the primrose muslin I think.’

  Although Charlotte could detect nothing amiss with her gown she took her mama's advice and retired to her chamber. Then she engaged in a short, sharp struggle with her pride which was offended at the notion of dressing to please this unknown Marquis. The memory, ever present, of Mr Wimple was enough to make up her mind and she quickly donned the filmy muslin. She salved her pride, however, by determining to make no attempt to captivate the gentleman and to treat him with the same cool civility that she would accord to any fellow guest under the circumstances.

  It seemed as though the primrose gown was to quite wasted that morning, for it appeared that his lordship was not an early riser. While Charlotte and her mama sat in the parlour sewing or reading the books that Mrs Cratchett had found for them, they could hear the servants climbing the stairs with pitchers of hot water for my Lord's bath, laden trays for my Lord's breakfast and lastly, a valet tenderly bearing my Lord's coat.

  If his Lordship did not appear, they were more fortunate with their somnolent acquaintance of the previous evening. They were aware of a rather timid knock upon the door which opened a few inches to reveal an anxious, youthful face. This apparition gulped visibly and then remarked in a rather squeaky voice: ‘A fine morning ma’am.’

  Mrs Wrexham smiled welcomingly. ‘So it is, sir,’ she answered politely. ‘Will you not join us for there is a very pleasant fire in here and you must be quite chilled?’

  Much encouraged, the young gentleman entered the room and bowed. ‘My name is Edridge, ma'am, at your service.’ His voice had a more normal tone as he addressed Mrs Wrexham but showed a tendency to shoot up again as he greeted Charlotte.

  ‘I am most happy to meet you, sir,’ she smiled, holding out her hand.

  ‘I — I — thank you, ma'am, stammered Mr Edridge and sat down rather quickly upon the very edge of his chair.

  Charlotte, who guessed his age to be around seventeen, was rather amused as she had never been much in the company of very young gentlemen unless the swains who appeared at the Buxton Assemblies might be said to count. These youths were more inclined to tell her long stories of famous hunt runs they had enjoyed and interminable games of cricket they had played than to stare at her in blatant admiration. She was quite happy to spend the hours until dinner in drawing out her new acquaintance and was very soon in possession of all the facts about him. He was going up to Oxford shortly, it appeared, but his Papa, the best of fathers and a famous sportsman, had said that before he devoted himself to study he should be allowed the indulgence of spending a few weeks with his elder sister who resided in Half Moon Street.

  Correctly deducing from all this that Mr Edridge moved in the best circles, Mrs Wrexham was content to let the two young people talk while she put down her embroidery and allowed her mind to dwell upon the future. She was not unhopeful. The sight of Charlotte in her fashionable attire was one to gladden any mother's heart. How could she fail to attract some eligible gentleman? But what would happen to herself after the marriage had taken place she did not know. Doubtless Charlotte would want her mama to reside with her but Mrs Wrexham felt that this would never answer. She foresaw that she was doomed to solitary old age. As she was indulging in these depressing reflections, the door opened once more, this time to reveal a very different gentleman. From the top of his burnished head to his gleaming top boots he was a vision of elegance. He appeared to be about forty years of age, his figure was athletic, his leg in the pale fawn pantaloons sufficiently shapely. The coat of blue superfine fitted him so tightly that Charlotte wondered how he ever contrived to don it. The vision stood in the doorway for a moment regarding them all, then he smiled, a singularly warm and attractive smile.

  ‘Forgive my intrusion, ladies. When you hear my reason I feel sure you will appreciate the necessity.’ He bowed. ‘Permit me to present myself. Ruthin, very much at your service.’

  The ladies bowed and Mr Edridge stammered something inaudible, admiring the newcomer's address. He was rewarded with a friendly handshake. Obviously the Marquis was not so high a stickler as to appear above his company, nor, it seemed, did he have any desire to play the great man.

  Kissing Mrs Wrexham's hand with an old-world courtesy, he explained: ‘The case is this. I had engaged a private parlour, having been assured, dear lady, that you yourself did not desire it, and I had hoped not to have thrust myself upon you in this way. Alas! This morning I entered the room to find that a tomcat had been there before me. Believe me, ma'am, the odour is quite overpowering and although my experience is limited I should think it will outlast the snow!’

  They were obliged to laugh, for his rueful expression was too ridiculous. Mrs Wrexham hastened to assure him that he was entirely welcome, which indeed he was.

  Without appearing to indulge in anything so vulgar as curiosity, the Marquis was very soon able to draw from Mrs Wrexham the tale of her husband's death and their consequent journey to London. Of the purpose of this journey she naturally did not speak, but doubtless the Marquis was astute enough to need no telling. He complimented her upon her daughter who was engaged at the window with Mr Edridge, being initiated into the mysteries of certain revolutionary methods of crop rotation with which he meant to experiment as soon as he came down from Oxfor
d. Squire Edridge's only fault, it appeared, was a certain scepticism regarding his only son's enthusiastic schemes for improving the land.

  ‘But won't I show him, by Jove! Just wait 'til I come down. Then he must see that it is not just a fad. It is what I really want to do, you know. There is so much being discovered just now! So much experimentation! And I have to waste time going to university. What use will a lot of Latin and Greek be for a farmer?’

  ‘You will have plenty of time when you come down, will you not?’ she answered. ‘I am sure you will enjoy yourself very much at Oxford and be such a credit to your Papa that he will be happy to let you try out your methods.’

  ‘That's all very well, but it still seems like a great waste of time to me!’

  They continued to talk in a desultory way until dinner was announced. They were all happy to sit down to the landlady's famous cooking and the talk flowed freely between them. Charlotte and Mr Edridge had reached so good an understanding that Mrs Wrexham felt some alarm until she realised that their friendship was quite devoid of romantic sentiment. Indeed, they were already wrangling amiably over some book or other that Mr Edridge had the bad taste to admire. While the young people chatted, the Marquis devoted himself to Mrs Wrexham.

  ‘You are fortunate in your daughter, ma'am,’ he observed, refilling her wine glass. ‘Do have some of this excellent hock. As I was saying, you are fortunate. I too have a daughter but circumstances have kept us much apart. I could wish she showed me but half the affection that Miss Wrexham so obviously feels for you.’