Regency Masquerade

Chapter Fourteen

Carleton was just finishing a rather late breakfast with Peter when the message was brought to him that the Squire was wishful of speaking to him urgently on a serious matter.

"I had better see him now," he apologised to his companion, with whom he had been about to engage in a fencing match when they finished eating.

"Of course, go ahead, I am nearly done here." Frances drained her coffee cup.

Carleton sent back a message for the Squire to await him in the study and soon joined him after brushing the crumbs from his waistcoat and straightening his cravat.

"Yes, Squire?" he asked, pulling the door closed behind him but failing to notice that it had not latched. "What's the problem?"

Squire Herbert did not return his smile but continued to look very solemn.

Clearing his throat, he replied, "I've come to tell you, my Lord, that I won't be sending young Jeremy over here. I've changed my mind."

"Oh?" queried Carleton in surprise. "Doesn't he want to be an agent anymore?"

"Well yes, but I thought I would send him up to Oxford for a year or so first, give him a wider experience."

"But I thought one of the main reasons for him to stay here and learn from Martin was because his health was not good enough to risk college life!" protested the other man, puzzled.

Squire Herbert looked somewhat flurried but repeated doggedly. "It will do him good, a year at Oxford. Make a man of him, after all, he is young yet to be choosing a career."

Carleton considered him frowningly. Something was not right here. Will Herbert, whom he had known for years as a blunt man, had not quite met his eyes once, almost as if he had offended him in some way.

In a different tone, he said, "Come on, Will, stop pitching me a Banbury story! What is the real trouble? Why don't you want Jeremy to come here?"

The Squire reddened then burst out uncomfortably, "I saw you, my Lord, yesterday in Hough's Wood. I can't let the boy come here!"

Neither man noticed the door had opened slightly further behind them.

For a minute Carleton stared uncomprehendingly at him. Then he remembered, he had been walking in the wood with Frances. They had left their horses tied to a tree on the edge and gone for a walk down a narrow winding path, bordered with occasional clumps of bluebells, to where he had promised to show her a large patch of blackberries ready for picking. Hastily he searched his memory, what on earth had he done? Nothing that he could think of. The Squire must have been walking through the wood, taking the shortcut to the village but what the deuce had he seen?

Frances had been delighted with the ripe luscious blackberries and he had helped her pick a basketful to take back. True, he had carried the basket for her but that was unexceptional surely? They had laughed a good deal and he had helped untangle her from the brambles yes - but nothing to cause a scandal there ... Well, certainly not for a man and a woman, but ... for two men? Perhaps not! It was scarcely the done thing for one man to help another out of a patch of briars, and laughingly wipe away the blackberry juice around his mouth with a handkerchief.

And so the Squire did not want to send young Jeremy to him to be corrupted. A furious protest rushed to his lips to die a strangled death as he realised he could not betray Frances. Feeling sick he answered unconvincingly, "'Tis not what it appeared, Will, I promise you!"

When she had heard the Squire's anguished accusation from the study, Frances had known instantly what the problem was, if not the precise cause of it. She spent a frozen minute wondering what to do - there was no time to dash upstairs and throw on a dress. All she could do was to take out the shoulder padding from her jacket and loosen the binding over her breasts. She stepped quickly into the nearby library, no one would be in there this time of day and tore off her jacket and shirt to make the necessary adjustments. Working as fast as she could she rebuttonned the shirt but let the jacket hang open. In a minute she was back at the study door, pasting a saucy smile on her face and pushing it open.

She saw two startled faces turn towards her, one red and horribly uncomfortable and the other white and sick.

"Frances!" Carleton started involuntarily towards her.

"Oh pardon, mon seigneur," she exclaimed in French, "Je m'excuse!"

The Squire stared at the young man who had entered the room. Frances put a hand to her mouth, looked from one to the other and gave a little giggle of embarrassment. The Squire looked harder and turned to glare at Carleton. "What rig are you trying to run here? That's no boy!" The exclamation burst out of him.

Carleton was still staring at her rather blankly, then turned to the Squire and said, "Forgive me, I haven't introduced you. Squire Herbert, this is Frances my - er - "

"Amie," said Frances at the same moment Carleton said, "Betrothed". They stared at each other.

Afterwards the Squire was certain his jaw had dropped a foot, why on earth hadn't Carleton told him the truth instead of letting him say what he had? The shocked astonishment on Frances' face however explained a good deal to him. If she was his betrothed, he was a Bond Street Beau. Nevertheless it appeared Carleton was going to do the right thing and marry her, for after that public declaration he could be sued for breach of promise.

He bowed, "Pleased to meet you, m'selle. May I ask when the wedding is to be?" He felt a spurt of satisfaction at the start this gave both of them, after all he had been made to look a bit of a fool this morning. He looked sideways at Carleton. "Doing it too brown, my lord! I'll bid you good day then."

He picked up his stick and showed himself out.

Frances had been totally astounded when Carleton called her his betrothed. For one delirious second she thought he meant it, and then reality crashed in and she realised the declaration for what it was, a chivalrous impulse uttered on the spur of the moment to protect her. How he was going to explain it later to Squire Herbert was obviously not something he had yet thought of.

She managed a small smile, "Well, I think we brushed through that tolerably well!"

"Frances!" Carleton stretched a hand towards her.

Suddenly she didn't want to hear him explaining to her, or much worse, pretending that he had meant it.

She broke in, "Thank you, Richard, that was a kind thought but it was not really necessary. After all, the Squire will never see me again." She started edging towards the door. "I must go upstairs and straighten up."