Engagement of Convenience Read online

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  Manfred reached the crest of the hill, breathing hard, his dark coat glistening with sweat. Julia eased him into a slow walk and they ambled down the bridle path tracing the top. A thin mist crept through the crevices of the valley while sheep grazed quietly in the green meadows. The three estates situated on the three high hills overlooking the rolling valley came into view. Creedon Abbey, the smallest, stood on the hill closest to Knollwood. Though some five miles off, the tips of the turrets were just visible above the surrounding trees. All the land here had once belonged to the old monastery before the Reformation and some debt-ridden descendant saw it sold off to create Knollwood and Cable Grange. There was little difference between Creedon land and Knollwood land, but drastic changes marked the boundary between Knollwood’s lush, well-tended meadows and Cable Grange’s weed-choked fields. Cable Grange stood on the third-highest hill in the area. Farther away than Creedon, she could just see it sitting on its hilltop perch, the distance obscuring its neglected state. Being so close to Knollwood, she knew Cable Grange could be one of the finest houses in the county.

  If only it were mine. She didn’t know who to curse more, her brother Charles for inheriting Knollwood or Mr Wilkins for ruining Cable Grange.

  Adjusting her leg against the pommel, she wished she’d chosen her standard saddle instead of the side-saddle. It was still early and the rest of the house had yet to rise, making it unlikely Emily would catch her riding astride. Soothed by Manfred’s gentle gait, she settled into the seat, her mind wandering back to the woods and the handsome stranger.

  He called me attractive, she mulled, remembering the heady way his blue eyes raked her body, their heat warming her skin. Four years ago, standing against the wall during London balls, she’d seen gentlemen examine other young ladies with similar hot eyes, nudging each other knowingly. For all her London finery, not one gentleman had cast a single amorous glance in her direction. How strange to garner a lustful stare while dressed in her old riding habit.

  If only he weren’t one of the Wilkinses’ good-for-nothing friends. She sighed, wondering what it would be like to feel his lips tease her neck while he whispered forbidden things in her ear. A strange thrill coursed through her before she forced the wicked daydream from her head. He was a scoundrel and not worth a second thought.

  Digging her heel into Manfred’s flanks, she drove him hard across the open ground, guiding him towards a hedge separating the fields. Pulling back on his reins, she sat forwards as he leapt and they easily cleared the bushes before landing on the other side.

  ‘Well done, Manfred!’

  She slowed him to a walk and, coming to another path, looked longingly east. A smooth mound stood out against the flatter fields, the ruins on top silhouetted by the rising sun. At a full gallop, they could reach the old fortress in a few minutes and she might spend a quiet hour picking through the high grass searching for relics. Her heel itched to tap Manfred, but she resisted, reluctantly directing him back to Knollwood. Emily expected her at breakfast. Why, she couldn’t imagine. Neither Simon nor Annette, her stepcousins, had risen before noon since their arrival and when they were awake, they only complained about the country.

  What could Uncle Edward possibly hope to accomplish by sending them here? she wondered, wishing he’d hurry up and recall them to London.

  They trotted into the paddock, greeted by the fresh scent of hay and the sharper smell of horses.

  ‘I see you’ve had another fine ride, Miss Howard,’ John, the head groom, remarked, helping her down from the saddle. ‘I’ve always said the two of you were made for each another.’

  ‘That’s because I believed in him when no one else did. Didn’t I, Manfred?’ Julia rubbed the horse’s nose and he shook his head as if in agreement. ‘John, please speak to the gamekeeper. I saw a poacher in the forest this morning.’

  ‘A poacher?’ He held Manfred’s reins, disbelief deepening the lines of his forehead. ‘We’ve never had such trouble before.’

  ‘Well, I believe the man is a poacher, though it may have only been one of Mr Wilkins’s guests.’

  ‘Mr Wilkins has no guests, Miss Howard.’

  Then who could he be? Julia tapped her riding crop against her palm, then handed it to John. ‘No matter. Please ask the gamekeeper to take care of it.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Howard.’

  ‘Oh, and please don’t mention it to Mother or Emily. They’ll only worry and then Emily will lecture me if she discovers I went riding without you.’ Emily had been married to her brother Charles for less than a year, but she’d prove his equal when it came to chastising Julia about proper behaviour.

  ‘I won’t say a word.’ John laid a knowing finger against the side of his ruddy nose before leading Manfred inside.

  Thank goodness for his loyalty, she thought, fastening up the long hem of her riding habit. Without him, she and Manfred might never be allowed to enjoy their solitary rides.

  Walking up the path from the stables, she passed through a small grove of trees and into the large, open lawn. Crossing the wide space, she kicked the head off a dandelion, sprinkling her skirt with bits of grass and dew.

  I must speak to Bill about bringing the sheep here to trim the grass, she reminded herself before passing through a gate in the low stone wall surrounding the garden on the other side.

  Wandering down the gravel path through the semi-formal plant beds, she saw the house rise up in front of her, its many windows reflecting the morning sun. She removed her right glove and grazed the top of a large rosemary bush with her fingers before snapping off a sprig and inhaling the tangy scent. All the troubles she’d forgotten during her ride came rushing back, especially Charles’s letter.

  ‘His estate.’ Julia threw the rosemary sprig on the ground, crushing it beneath her half-boot. ‘What does he know of running Knollwood?’

  She’d burned the hateful parchment after reading it, watching with delight as the neat script crumpled and charred in the flames. However, all the burned letters couldn’t stop her brother from claiming his inheritance.

  Pausing at the small pond in the centre of the garden, she stared into the dark water. Goldfish flitted beneath the glass surface, failing to disturb the reflection of the thick clouds passing overhead.

  Why should he have Knollwood? Tears of frustration stung her eyes. He’s never taken an interest in it the way I have.

  Nor did he appreciate all her hard work to keep it prosperous. Only Father and Paul had ever recognised it, but with Paul serving with Admiral Nelson’s fleet and Father—

  No, she commanded herself, refusing to cry. Tears would not help her deal with Charles.

  Heading up the garden path, she passed her mother’s cherished rose garden, then hurried up the stairs of the column-lined stone portico leading to the back sitting room.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Howard,’ Davies, the butler, greeted, pulling open the large French door.

  ‘Good morning.’ She handed him her gloves and he held out a small paper-covered parcel.

  ‘This arrived from Mr Charles Howard.’

  ‘My book.’ She tore off the wrapper to reveal a leather-bound copy of The Monk. ‘I can’t believe Charles sent it. He’s always so concerned about not disturbing my delicate female mind. It’s fortunate he doesn’t know the half of what Paul tells me.’

  ‘Yes, very fortunate indeed,’ Davies solemnly concurred. He’d been Paul’s valet when Paul still lived at Knollwood, making him well acquainted with her brother’s nature and most of his escapades.

  ‘Has Uncle George returned from London yet?’

  ‘Captain Russell arrived a short while ago to collect Percy and speak with Mrs Emily Howard. He’s returned to Creedon Abbey to see to the repairs.’

  ‘Uncle George was here and didn’t wait for me?’

  ‘No, miss, b
ut it appears we are to expect another gentleman.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mrs Howard did not say, but she instructed me to open Paul’s room for him.’

  Julia chafed at the news. ‘When is he arriving?’

  ‘This afternoon.’

  ‘Thank you, Davies. Please tell Mrs Howard I won’t be joining her for breakfast.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  Julia walked down the hall to the study, determined to avoid the breakfast room no matter how many lectures it might create. What right did Emily have to make decisions at Knollwood? The maids and footmen were stretched thin enough with Uncle George staying here and all her stepcousins’ demands.

  Crossing the study’s large, woven rug, Julia sighed. Emily, as Charles’s wife, had every right to invite whomever she pleased, even if it did mean additional work for Julia and the staff. For a moment she imagined herself mistress of her own home, free to make decisions and live without her brother’s censure, then dismissed the thought. Once Charles took control, he’d soon realise the limitations of his estate management skills, or return to London for Parliament in the spring, leaving Knollwood in Julia’s hands once again. Or so she hoped. Her brother had a habit of being very stubborn.

  She sat down behind the large, mahogany desk situated at the far end of the study. High bookcases lined one wall while south-facing windows with a view of the garden dominated the other. A tall, wooden bookstand supporting a fine atlas stood guard near the window, flanked by two leather chairs. Her father had decorated the room, choosing every element down to each book. From here he conducted all family business, patiently bearing Charles’s sermons about the proper education for Julia, dealing with one of Paul’s many near scandals or teaching Julia to run Knollwood.

  It’d happened by accident, after she’d fled here one day to avoid drawing lessons. Sitting with her father while he reviewed the figures, she’d asked questions and he’d answered them, noticing her interest. The next day, he’d invited her to join him again and it became their habit. In the afternoons, they’d ride the estate, speaking with the workers and learning their methods and the land. Then, one day, he told her to do the figures, allowed her to sit in the room while he met with the overseer and gave her correspondence to read and answer. No one in the family except Charles questioned her strange education and Father would laugh him off, saying he wasn’t about to lose his best manager because she was a girl.

  Julia smiled at the memory, then opened the large, leather-bound ledger. Settling herself over the accounts, she reviewed the figures, wrinkling her nose at the increased expenditures brought on by her stepcousins’ visit. Closing the ledger, she gathered up the large bundle of letters resting on the corner of the desk. She read through the missives, the minute details of the dairy and reports from the tenant farmers helping her forget the excitement of the morning.

  Chapter Two

  The study door swung open, startling Julia, and her pencil slipped, leaving a dark mark across two rows of figures.

  ‘Yes?’ she answered testily as Davies entered the room.

  ‘Captain Russell and his guest have arrived.’

  Tossing down the pencil, she sat back in the chair, needing just a few more minutes to finish balancing the accounts. ‘They’re early.’

  ‘I believe they are on time.’

  She looked at the windows, finally noticing how the sun and shadows had shifted in the garden and the room. ‘How long have I been working?’

  ‘All morning, Miss Howard.’

  ‘Then I’d better hurry and join them or I’ll never know a moment’s peace with Emily.’ Closing the ledger, she stood and started for the door. ‘Though I know Uncle George won’t mind my being late. He isn’t one for formality.’

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Howard...’ Davies coughed ‘...perhaps a change of dress is advisable.’

  She stopped, inspecting the riding habit skirt, her loose hair falling over her face. Bits of leaves stuck to the honey-coloured fabric, making the damp hem noticeable and emphasising the creases along with the habit’s older style. She hardly ever wore this habit, but she’d soiled her better one yesterday by taking Manfred over a fence and through the mud on the other side. Had she seen the puddle, she wouldn’t have jumped him.

  ‘I’ll never hear the end of it if Emily catches me greeting guests in such a state. Where are they?’

  ‘The morning room.’

  ‘Do you think I can sneak upstairs and change before she sees me?’

  ‘It is quite possible, Miss Howard.’

  ‘We shall see.’

  She hurried from the study and down the corridor. Approaching the entrance hall, she crept over the stone floor to the stairs, listening to Uncle George’s robust laughter followed by the deep tones of the other gentleman in the morning room. The stranger’s voice sounded oddly familiar, but she didn’t dare peek inside for fear of being seen. Stealing past the open door, she turned the corner to slip upstairs, coming face to face with her sister-in-law.

  ‘What are you doing in your riding habit?’ Emily demanded in hushed tones, her delicate eyes darting nervously to the morning room. ‘And your hair? You can’t welcome your guests looking like a dairy maid.’

  ‘My guests?’

  ‘Never mind. We’ll say you were out riding and then you can meet the captain now before Uncle George drags him off for who knows how long.’ Emily pulled her in front of the gilded mirror beneath the stairs and out of sight of the door.

  ‘Did you say Uncle George’s guest is a captain?’ Julia winced as Emily untangled a small twig from her hair.

  ‘Yes, Captain Covington.’

  ‘Uncle George’s friend from Tortuga?’ Julia twisted around to face Emily before her sister-in-law gently spun her back to the mirror, dividing her hair into three sections, then working them into a braid.

  ‘Yes, I believe so.’

  Julia forced down a frustrated sigh. Single gentlemen were a rarity at Knollwood and Julia could practically see Emily’s matchmaking machinations. It was the only explanation for why she insisted on this hurried first meeting. Apparently, she didn’t know as much about Uncle George’s friend as Julia did or she wouldn’t be so excited, or eager to make the introduction. ‘Well, if Captain Covington is to stay with us, I’d better instruct Davies to lock up the brandy.’

  ‘Captain Covington isn’t that kind of gentleman.’

  ‘Then I’d better lock up the maids.’

  ‘Julia!’ Emily stared at her in the mirror, her pale face alight with shock. ‘Young ladies shouldn’t know about such things.’

  Thankfully Paul thinks I should. If Emily and Charles ever learned the full extent of what Paul had told her, they’d probably chaperon their every conversation.

  Emily smoothed the sturdy wool of Julia’s habit, picking off stray leaves, her hands fluttering while she worked.

  ‘You received another letter from Charles, didn’t you?’ Julia asked. Emily’s concern for propriety always increased after a letter from her husband.

  Emily blushed, pink spreading from her cheeks to her light blonde hair. ‘Am I so obvious?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘It’s only because we want to see you well settled.’

  ‘No, it’s because Charles thinks I don’t act like a proper lady and such behaviour will cause a scandal and hurt his career in Parliament.’

  Emily laid a motherly hand on Julia’s shoulder. ‘Your brother loves you and only wants to see you happy.’

  Despite the well-meaning remark, Julia wasn’t ready to concede defeat. ‘I’m happy as I am.’

  Emily moved behind Julia, fastening the braid into a small bun at the nape of her neck. ‘I know, but time doesn’t stand still. Some day you may want more.’

  ‘What about Simon and Ann
ette? They aren’t greeting Uncle George. Why not censure them?’

  ‘It’s not my place to comment on their conduct.’ Emily frowned and pulled her lips tight. ‘They are both indisposed and will be down later.’

  Julia bit back a sharp retort about the two of them always being indisposed when another idea came to mind. ‘Perhaps I can speak to Captain Covington about Paul’s promotion. Maybe he knows someone in the Admiralty who can arrange for Paul to get his own ship. I can’t believe he didn’t receive a command. If I ever find the man who wrote his bad recommendation—’

  ‘I’m sure your brother is capable of managing his own affairs,’ her mother interrupted, descending the stairs. Her grey eyes took in Julia, neither approving nor disapproving of her attire. Under her arm Charlemagne, her King Charles spaniel, panted, his pink tongue dangling from his mouth. Mother swept into the morning room, her plain dress whispering about her legs, her dark hair flecked with grey pulled neatly into a twist at the back of her head. Julia envied Mother’s refined presence and decorum, wondering how many difficulties she could have avoided if fate had given her even a small portion of Mother’s poise.

  Emily, eager to fulfil her duties as hostess and, Julia thought, to fling her in the captain’s path, guided Julia to the morning room. ‘Come along. We’ve kept our guest waiting long enough.’

  Inside, Mother exchanged pleasantries with Uncle George and the captain, who stood with his back to Julia.

  ‘Your lands are some of the best I’ve seen,’ he complimented, the rich, familiar voice vibrating through Julia. She noticed the dark hair curling just above the collar of his uniform and the way the sunlight falling through the window highlighted the deep-red tones.

  The stranger! A sudden rush of excitement mixed with fear jolted her and she froze just over the threshold.