A Dangerous Undertaking
Mary Nichols
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
THERE were two men in The White Hart inn, sitting in a corner with a bottle of wine between them. They did not appear to be enjoying it. One was tall, judging by the length of the buckskin breeches and leather top-boots which stuck out from under the table as he leaned back in his seat. His full-skirted coat with its large button-back cuffs was well cut and, though not exactly the height of fashion, certainly did not proclaim him as anything but a man of substance. He was surveying his companion under well-shaped brows, which at this moment were drawn down in a frown, spoiling what was otherwise a handsome face. He wore no make-up and had a clean-shaven, well-shaped jawline and thick dark hair which was unpowdered and tied back into the nape of his neck with a black ribbon. The light of the lantern hanging from the ceiling showed up glints of red-gold in it. His right hand, curling round the stem of his glass, was long-fingered and neatly manicured. He wore a large signet-ring but no other jewellery.
His companion was of an age with himtwenty-six or thereaboutsbut somewhat broader. His eyes were grey and he wore a lightly powdered brown wig with long side-curls. His mauve satin coat with its high stand collar was flamboyantly decorated with rows of pleated ribbon. He wore more jewellery than his frienda cravat pin, a fob across his braided waistcoat and a quizzing-glass, as well as several rings. In London he would not have been considered over-dressed, but in this sleepy town he shone like a beacon. He grinned at his morose friend.
Cheer up, Roly, old fellow; youll turn the wine sour.
Roland, Lord Pargeter, smiled, and his rather taciturn countenance lightened, so that it was easy to see the charming man he could be if he chose. Its all very well for you, Charles; you havent got an insoluble obstacle in the path of your happiness.
No, thank heaven, but then I dont believe in witches and curses and nonsense like that.
I wish it were nonsense. Its been true for the last four generations, so my grandmother tells me, and that can surely not be coincidence.
You know, Charles said slowly, what you ought to do is marry.
Roland looked at his friend in exasperation. Havent you listened to a word Ive said? I have just finished telling you why I cannot do so.
You have told me why you cannot wed Mistress Chalfont. Whats to stop you marrying someone else?
I dont want to.
Yes, you do. Think about it, Roly. You cannot marry Susan because you care for her
I love her too much to
Dont interrupt. So why not marry someone you do not care for? A complete stranger, in fact. It wont be forever, will it? A year. Whats a year?
Roland looked thoughtful; it was just what his grandmother had said when she had warned him to choose his bride carefully. He had not told her of his intention towards Susan because the time had not seemed propitious, what with his father so recently dead and heaven knew what arrangements to be made about the inheritance. And he had been obliged to return to London to clear up certain financial matters and consolidate his position at court. He could not assume that because he had inherited the title and the estates he had also inherited his fathers position and privileges. Having secured those, at least for the time being, he was on his way back home. No, I cannot. And who would have me in the circumstances?
Oh, anyone, Charles said airily, waving his empty glass round the oak-panelled room. You would be a very good catch. You aint bad-lookingat least not when you smileand youre not short of a penny or two. I reckon you would have no difficulty.
Its a mad idea.
But growing on you, eh? Charles paused to look closely into his friends face. If it meant happiness with Susan in the end
It would have to be someone desperate enough not to care why I married her. I dont think I could pretend
Charles grinned. Not even a little?
No. Roland paused, realising it was desperation which had led him to humour his friend, but the idea really was out of the question. How could I live with someone for a year, face her over the dinner-table, talk to her, smile at her, knowing what I had done to her?
You dont have to, dont you see? As soon as the wedding is over, you leave for London, say you have been called back to your regimentafter all, there is still trouble with the Jacobitesstay away the whole year. She will be happy enough playing lady of the manor here without you.
I could not do it.
Not even for Susan? If it were me, and it was the only way I could have Kate, Id do it. I wouldnt have any scruples at all.
I am not you, Roland said, thinking of Susan as he had last seen her in September, waving goodbye to him from the steps of her fathers mansion in Derbyshire and calling out that she would see him in London in April, if not before. April, five months from now and a whole year after he had received that wound at Culloden, a year in which he had gone from being so badly wounded that he was not expected to live, back to full health, and it was all because of the devoted nursing he had received at her hands. Well, perhaps not all at her hands because there had been nurses and servants too, but she had been the one to sit with him hour after hour, reading to him and amusing him as he slowly recovered. It had been almost inevitable that they would fall in love. He had left her to return to his regiment in London, full of confidence that, when the time came to propose, she would accept and they could look forward to a happy future together. In London he had learned that his father had died and he had hurried home, and that had led to the interview with his grandmother, and now here it was December and he was miserable. Charles was trying to cheer him up but with little success. Roland smiled at him, humouring him. Where would I look for such a one?
Charles shrugged. Anywhere. Theres a little waif just come in on the stage. If you turn round slowly, you will see her sitting in the chimney-corner with all her worldly possessions in a bag at her feet.
The room, which had been empty except for the two men, had filled in the previous two minutes from a coach which had clattered into the yard and disgorged its passengers, most of whom had come into the inn to stay the night before continuing their journey north in the morning.
Roland turned in leisurely fashion, searching out the girl Charles had mentioned. The hood of her black cape hid most of her face, though he could see the line of her chin and a firm mouth. Beneath the cape, her mourning gown was neat rather than fashionable, but it did not disguise a figure which was slim, bordering on thin.
Half starved, Charles commented.
Do you know who she is?
No, but thats the beauty of it. A complete stranger to these parts.
How do you know that?
It would be easy enough to find out.
No, Charles, I forbid it.
The girl looked up suddenly and met Rolands gaze. She had clear violet eyes and very dark hair which curled over her forehead beneath the black lace which lined the capes hood. Her face was pale and she looked apprehensive, though not exactly frightened.
She seems a little lost, Roland said pensively. Like a kitten thats strayed from its mother.
Perhaps she has. She is in mourning.
Margaret Donnington could not hear what they were saying but she sensed they were talking about her and she felt herself blushing. She turned away in confusion. She should not have come into the building at all. It had made her the object of curiosity.
She had never in her life before been into an inn alone; it was not something a well-nurtured young lady should ever have to do and, though she was not really afraid, she was certainly nervous. She had been uncertain whether to come in at all, debating whether to enquire the way to Winterford and see if she could find someone to take her there at once, or to use some of her precious savings on a meal and a room for the night, and continue in the morning. She had written to Great-Uncle Henry advising him of her arrival, and had expected that he would send a conveyance for her, but there was no conveyance, no Uncle Henry, nothing, and if she turned up on his doorstep at this time of night there was no telling what sort of welcome she would be accorded, especially if he had not received her letter.
Until a week ago, she had not even known of his existence and she was not sure he had known of hers. She was beginning to wish she had never left London, but it was too late now; she had burned her boats. She had given up the tiny apartment she and her mother had occupied, and spent all but a guinea or two of her savings on the journey, so there was no going back. Besides, what was there to go back for? Her darling mama had died and she had no relatives in the whole world except Great-Uncle Henry Capitain, her mothers uncle. Mother had made her promise to go to him. He is family, she had said, that last day when not even Margaret could convince herself that her mother would get better. He will not turn you away. She had gone on to explain that Henry Capitain lived at Winterford, a small village in the Fens, not far from Ely.
Margaret had been too concerned with making her mothers last hours comfortable to ask questions about the unknown relative, and only after the funeral had she found herself wondering what was to become of her. There was no money, hardly enough to pay the rent they owed. Mama had been ill for some months and unable to work herself, and though Margaret had had a position with one of Londons leading milliners, which was just enough to keep them both, she had been forced to give it up to nurse her mother. Walking away from the simple grave, Margaret had been overwhelmed by grief, and not until she had returned to the tiny apartment that had been her home did she realise that she no longer had a home. The landlord had been adamant, telling her that he had not pressed for payment because of Mrs Donningtons illness, but now the time of reckoning had arrived. He wanted the back rent and he wanted Margaret out; he had others waiting to move in who would pay more, and regularly too.
She had sold everything except her clothes and one or two pieces of inexpensive jewellery which had been her mothers, and paid him, then taken a stage-coach to Cambridge. In Cambridge she had changed to another coach, a very heavy old-fashioned vehicle which had jolted its passengers unmercifully over the rutted tracks which went by the name of roads, making her wish she had never set out. The feeling had been heightened as the coach had taken them through the bleakest countryside she could ever have imagined. True, it was winter, not the best time to see it, and there had been a cold mist which hung over the fields and obscured everything except one or two houses which stood very close to the road. And even these signs of habitation had disappeared as night fell. In common with the other passengers, she had been glad when theyd finally turned into the yard of The White Hart, but she was still short of her destination.
She called the waiter over to her and smiled, determined not to be cowed. Would you please tell me how to get to Winterford? she asked.
Winterford? he repeated. Its a fair step. Eight miles, I reckon. You werent aimin to go tonight, were you, mistress?
Eight miles. Her smile faded. Then is it possible to hire a vehicle to take me there?
I doubt anyone would want to turn out at this time o night, he said. Whereabouts do you want to go? Theres nobbut there but a fen, a church and a handful of houses. And Winterford Manor, o course He paused, looking her up and down, wondering if anyone going to the Manor would arrive without being met, but then, his lordship was sitting on the other side of the room; he would surely have come forward if the young lady were his guest. You werent going to the Manor, were you?
No. Sedge House.
There! His manner suddenly changed. That aint even in Winterford. Right out on the edge of the fen, it is, miles from anywhere, and theres many thats thankful for that, everything considered. He looked at her again. She seemed on the verge of tears, not the sort of girl who normally visited that old reprobate, Henry Capitain. Sedge House guests were usually colourfully dressed, painted and be-wigged, and licentious, to say the least. Are you sure you mean Sedge House, miss?
Yes. Is something wrong there?
No, he said hurriedly.
You havent answered my question. How can I get there?
I should send a boy with a message in the morning and Master Capitain will send his carriage for you.
It seemed a reasonable suggestion and Margaret resigned herself to waiting until the following day, and asked for a room for the night, something she had wanted to avoid doing. But tomorrow, perhaps, the sun might be shining and everything would look better; even her prospects might seem rosier, though she doubted it. She stood up and picked up her valise to follow the man up the stairs.
There! said Charles as she disappeared from sight. Did you hear that? She is going to old Henry Capitains and no one with an ounce of good breeding would be going there. She is some waif he has picked up and invited to visit him. You could save her from a fate worse than death. He gave a cracked laugh when he realised what he had said. Well, a short life but a merry one, eh?