Regency Rumours/A Scandalous Mistress/Dishonour And Desire (54 page)

Caterina’s face was white. ‘And the families?’ she said.

‘Oh, heaven knows what’ll become of them. Perhaps your father will come up to see for himself, once the message reaches him. These families help each other out. They’re a close-knit bunch up here.’

She felt the support of Chase’s arm around her shoulders, easing her gently against him, sharing her shock. First the loss of profits on his cotton cargoes, now the terrible accident and the closure of his one remaining mine. Which would concern him most, she wondered, the loss of revenue or the loss of life and the destitute families?

‘I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad news,’ the Duke said. ‘Was the mine your father’s only source of income, my lady? Forgive me for asking.’

‘No, your Grace. I believe he may have others.’

She thought about the sugar plantations, the profits from raw sugar and the miserable slaves who toiled under the baking sun, about the fortune her father had squandered to bail Harry out of trouble year after year, and about patient Hannah and the sweet young woman she had once been, eager to please him. She thought about the secret she herself longed to share with her husband,
the petty theft that would compound her father’s distress. Perhaps she should not have done it, after all.

It was their last evening at Chatsworth as guests of the Duke, and Caterina sat on a bench next to Chase, watching two cats dart about between the bean canes and beds of young lettuce. White butterflies flirted over the spring greens as a stiff breeze lifted the ends of the long Kashmir scarf off her knees. With a shiver, she pulled it closer about her shoulders. ‘There’s something I must tell you,’ she said. ‘It’s important.’

‘Then you must tell me, sweetheart.’ He took her hand and held it upon his thigh. ‘About your father’s affairs, is it?’

‘And yours, too. I have his IOU. The one you returned to him.’

‘Your brother’s? For twenty grand?’

‘Yes, I took it from his desk. I know it was wrong of me, but I felt I had the right to do it, and now he’ll be worrying about that as well as hearing about the mine. I’m regretting it, Chase. Should I send it back to him?’

Deliberately, she stopped short of any mention of Harry’s incriminating letter and the cargo of cotton that would probably not be sold for some time, or the slaving and the law-breaking that could be the end of him. That ground was too dangerous to tread just now. She felt his eyes upon her and turned to meet them with trepidation. ‘You’re angry with me?’ she said.

His thumb moved over her skin. ‘Hell, no, but it sounds as if
you
were, my vengeful fierce little bird. What use is the IOU to you?’

‘None at all, except to give him a taste of the heartache he’s caused me.’

‘Well, then, it will have served its purpose by now.
If you’re uncomfortable with it, you can deal with it in two ways. You can either send it back, or tell him you have it safe, just to put him at ease. Or you can tear it up and send him the pieces and tell him no one wants it. I certainly don’t. I have what I want, thank you.’

‘You
don’t
want it?’ she insisted.

‘No, sweetheart. It’s of no use to anyone now, is it? He should have destroyed it himself.’

It could be some use, she thought, in the wrong hands. So could the letter. It could ruin him utterly. Was Sir Chase involved? Was he keeping quiet about what he knew of her father’s activities? She wished she could be more sure of him. ‘I’ll send it back to him, then,’ she said.

‘Yes, we shall be in Buxton by midday tomorrow. You can send it from there, then he’ll know where we are. A pity he didn’t offer to open up Chester Hall for us.’

‘Yes,’ she replied, stony-faced. ‘I thought he might have offered to let us use it, but he didn’t, so I didn’t ask.’

‘That’s all right. We can stay overnight at the hotel. What’s it called?’

‘St Anne’s. It’s on The Crescent. A very good place.’

The chill wind pestered them again as dark clouds loomed up from the south-west and, prompted by the Duke’s disturbing news, the matters that for a few days had given her some respite now began to reform for the next assault.

‘Let’s go inside,’ she said. ‘I think the Duke wants to beat you at billiards on our last night here. Is that likely?’

‘It certainly won’t cost him as much as a hand or two of whist, my sweet.’

***

By morning, the clouds had lowered to shroud the hilltops and to drench the Duke’s extensive acres with much-needed rain. The drop in temperature brought out extra layers and many caped coats for the journey, and today Caterina’s fur-edged green velvet pelisse was draped with a paisley shawl that complemented the cream-and-green-patterned day dress beneath. Green kid half-boots peeped from below the scalloped hem, and a rather mannish felt hat lay on the cushion next to her, its spotted veil dripping like water on to the toe of Sir Chase’s polished boot. She had spoken only intermittently during the few miles to Buxton, for although the countryside was dear to her, the thought of spending time in the gossipy town of her birth and to make enquiries into her father’s detestable affairs had completely lost its appeal.

Lady Elyot, who had once been married to her father’s elder brother, had not been able to tolerate the claustrophobic society there any longer and she had taken Caterina, at her father’s request, to live in far-away Surrey where, as it turned out, society was just as gossipy and insular, though perhaps with more reason. Did she
really
want to know more about her father’s disastrous enterprises? Caterina asked herself. No, what she wanted most was to know about her husband’s, even if that meant hearing what she dreaded.

The small town of Buxton, however, was three-quarters owned by the Duke of Devonshire, and last evening he had enjoyed discussing his plans for its development with Caterina. It could, he told her, with its warm and cold medicinal natural springs, become a northern version of Bath in Somerset. The Duke’s own town house was situated right in the centre of The Crescent,
built by the previous Duke, his father. He would not hear of them staying next door at St Anne’s Hotel. They
must
stay in his rooms which were, like all his others, always available at a moment’s notice, and they could think of no good reason to refuse his offer.

Although impressive at first glance, The Crescent had none of the classically elegant proportions of the sweeping crescents of Bath, for the architect, John Carr of York, had never been in the same league as Nash or the Adam brothers, and the arcade that underpinned the frontage was too narrow to be functional and too solid to be purely decorative. Not that this concerned the travellers in the smart coaches with the liveried footmen as the doors opened to disgorge them all before a small crowd, gathered especially to see who was to stay at Centre House, as it was called.

It was a strange homecoming for Caterina to feel that she was now a virtual stranger just like any other visitor to Buxton, unrecognised and unsure where once she had been a well-known part of a respectable family. Her father had been a local benefactor, known by everyone, but she had been away from here for longer than he and had changed beyond recognition. To have to re-introduce herself to acquaintances and then to ask them what they knew of his business interests was going to look very odd. Where did she begin? And how was she to do any of this with Sir Chase by her side?

‘I may take a walk over to Chester Hall with Millie,’ she said to him over a cold collation of chicken and ham pie, fruit compote and cold custard.

‘It’s still raining,’ said Sir Chase, passing the basket of warm bread rolls across to Signor Cantoni. ‘I’ll take you there in the coach.’ The butler and housekeeper, well known to Sir Chase, had done everything possible
to make them welcome, as their master would have wished.

‘Oh, we have umbrellas,’ Caterina said. ‘It’s not far.’ ‘But I’d like to see where you once lived.’ She had told him, and so had Stephen Chester, of the large house in its own grounds with gardens sheltered by a hillside, and Sir Chase intended to see for himself what they had all forfeited by moving to Richmond. Chester Hall had once been Lady Elyot’s home, too, inherited by Stephen Chester, but it was interesting to note that he had not sold it to raise capital to buy Number 18 Paradise Road from her. What explanation had he offered to Mrs Chester about that, he wondered, or did he keep all his cards close to his chest? Had she ever been up here for well-earned rest from the family?

From the outside, Chester Hall was everything the father and daughter had said, heavily stone-built, situated on the edge of town overlooking a beautiful wooded valley, high-walled, and approached through large wooden gates that kept out the gaze of the curious. The drive up to the front of the house took them through an avenue of dark dripping pines that gave off the distinctive aroma that Caterina loved, and it was not until they rounded the last bend of trees that they saw the old rain-battered town coach outside the porch being loaded with trunks, boxes and cases, strapped to the roof by Stephen Chester’s shiny-wet valet.

‘That’s your father’s coach, surely,’ said Sir Chase, handing her down.

This was something neither of them had expected, but Caterina’s astonishment was answered at once, for it was not hard to see that he had come
either
to reclaim his missing documents
or
in response to the troubles with the sale of his cargo in Liverpool. He could not yet
have heard about the mining disaster, and it was obvious that he was moving on in a hurry. Whatever the reason, she could not believe he would be pleased to see them.

Chase kept hold of her hand. ‘He must have been close on our heels,’ he said. ‘Come on, sweetheart, we’re here together, so we’ll soon find out what he knows. Let’s go and find him.’

It was not necessary, for a grey great-coated figure with his head down against the rain strode through the solid stone portal, a large leather briefcase clamped under one arm. Catching sight of another team of horses behind his own, he whirled round with an obvious annoyance that immediately turned to amazement, then to anger. beneath the wide-brimmed hat, his face was blotched grey and crimson, his eyes bloodshot with drink, evidence of which bulged from one pocket.

The briefcase plummeted before he caught it, irritably shoving papers back inside. ‘At last,’ he snapped. ‘I’ve been waiting here five days for you to show up in Buxton, Caterina. Where’ve you been? And
you,
sir! Especially you. You are a blackguard, sir. And a thief. And now you’re here, you can explain your dishonourable behaviour to my face instead of—’

‘Enough!’ Sir Chase bellowed, tightening his hold on Caterina’s hand. ‘If you intend to talk nonsense, Chester, perhaps we may be allowed to hear it under cover. You did not invite us to come here, so you can count yourself fortunate to see us at all. We’ll go inside, if you have no objections.’

‘Eh? Fortunate?’ Stephen Chester swivelled on the wet flagstones, taking a hard look at his daughter’s pitying expression.

‘Inside,’ said Sir Chase. With a determination that
Caterina had grown to love, he strode past her father into the damp-smelling hall that had lost all the warmth and welcome for which it had once been famed.

Chester followed them still loudly complaining, ignoring the stares of the two old servants whose smiles and greetings for Miss Caterina and her new husband withered into deep anxiety. She touched their arms as she passed, comforting them with a smile. ‘Some tea?’ she whispered.

‘You have taken my daughter, sir, under false pretences,’ Stephen Chester raged, ‘and you have reneged on our agreement in the most dastardly way imaginable. I shall call you out, sir. Name your seconds.’

Sir Chase showed not the slightest response to this tirade as he followed Caterina’s steering hand into the large ground-floor salon where dust covers shrouded all the furniture, though some had been sat upon and even slept upon, too, to judge by their dishevelled appearance. The usually sunny room reeked of spirits and a sourness that wrinkled Caterina’s nose.

But now she saw her chance to ask some of the questions that had burned holes in her heart for weeks. ‘What agreement are you referring to, Father?’ she said. ‘And how has Sir Chase not fulfilled his part in it? I believe I have a right to know.’

She half-expected Sir Chase to protest, but he did not.

‘You
do
know, lass!’ her father snapped. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t. He agreed to waive Harry’s IOU in return for your acceptance of his offer. Well, now he’s helped himself to it, hasn’t he? And I’m back where I was before. I’m not only accusing him,’ he said, slamming the briefcase down upon the nearest dust-sheet. ‘I’m challenging him to a bloody
duel,
girl. That’s what.’

‘Not in your state, you’re not,’ said Sir Chase, sternly. ‘And mind your language in front of my wife, sir. Sit down and try to get your head round a few simple facts, if you will. What’s your reason for coming up to Buxton? Surely not to chase a missing IOU?’

Stunned by the severity of his son-in-law’s tone which, up to this point, had always been pleasantly deferential, Stephen Chester sat down obediently. ‘You admit taking it?’ he whined. ‘And you have the impudence to ask why I’ve come all this way? To find
you,
sir. And to demand the return of my documents from my desk. Either you hand them back or I’ll have Caterina. Make your choice, Boston.’

‘What documents do you refer to?’ Sir Chase squeezed a warning upon Caterina’s hand. She had been about to explain.

‘Oh, come, Boston. I have no time to play guessing games. I have to be in Liverpool some time tomorrow. Don’t pretend you didn’t take my son’s IOU and his letter, for I know the truth of it. You’re the only one who would do such a thing, and I want them back. I hardly need to say why.’ He shot a furtive glance at Caterina before looking away in discomfort.

‘Father, I …’ Caterina began her admission before she felt another silencing squeeze from Sir Chase, catching a quick frown from his eyes.

‘I have them both,’ he said, evenly. ‘I believe Lady Boston has more right to them than anyone, Chester, since it is she who has been most inconvenienced by your son’s wild behaviour. You must agree with me there.’