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Brock’s thoughts were suspended as he was suddenly thrown forward and the curricle came to an abrupt halt.
‘What the devil! What on earth do you think you’re doing, Harris?’
‘In the road, sir,’ the groom said as he manfully grappled with the plunging horses and steadied them. ‘I didn’t see it until we were nearly upon her—I think it’s a woman, sir.’
Brock looked down and saw what had made his groom bring the horses to such a sudden stop. At first glance it was a bundle of old clothes, but on closer inspection he could make out the shape of a woman, her bare feet showing beneath the long skirts.
‘Good grief.’ He jumped down to investigate. Kneeling down, he turned the bundle of clothing and saw the face of a young and rather pretty woman. She was very pale, as if she had been ill for some while, her dark hair greasy and tangled, and her feet had bled, the dried blood crusted between her toes. However, her clothes were not rags as he’d first thought, but the clothes of a lady of quality. He bent over her, feeling for a pulse, and was relieved when he discovered that she was alive. ‘She’s still breathing, Harris. We’d better get her to the nearest decent inn. She needs a bed, warmth, food and a doctor by the look of her.’
He gathered the unknown girl in his arms and lifted her into the curricle. Her eyelids fluttered, but she did not open them, though her lips moved as if in protestor fear.
‘No need to be anxious,’ Brock soothed softly. ‘You’re unwell, but we shall look after you. We’ll fetch a doctor to you and put you to bed and you’ll be better in no time.’
Again the eyelids fluttered and a faint protest was on her lips. Brock heard the word no, but the rest of her protest was indistinct and he could not tell what she meant to say. Her unease was clear, even though she was too exhausted to be truly aware of him.
‘What do you think has happened to her, sir?’
‘She has suffered some harm,’ Brock said. ‘The sooner we can get her settled and a doctor to her, the sooner we shall know what caused her to collapse on the road like that. Well done for stopping in time. Had you run over her, she would surely have died.’
‘In this light I only just saw her in time,’ his groom said. ‘You’ll not make London tonight, sir.’
‘No, I think not,’ Brock agreed. ‘I must see to her needs first. It matters little when I get to town. I was engaged to play cards this evening, but my friends will understand. Drive on and stop at the Swan, please. It cannot be more than five miles. We must just hope that they have sufficient rooms to accommodate us.’
* * *
‘The young lady is awake now, Major Brockley.’ The innkeeper’s wife nodded to him and smiled. ‘That sleeping draught the doctor gave her worked a treat, sir. She feels much better this morning and asked me how she got here. Of course, I told her she had you to thank and she asked if you would step up and see her.’
‘Yes, of course. Perhaps you had best accompany me, ma’am?’
‘Oh, no, Major. My daughter Polly is there and will stay with her the whole time. You will forgive me, but I have much to do.’
‘Of course. I was thinking only of the invalid’s good name and her feelings. She might be nervous of a man she does not know.’
‘Bless you, sir. I told her a better man never walked this earth. She need not fear harm from a gentleman like you, Major—and her name is Rosemarie, so she says, though that might not be quite the truth. It strikes me that young lady has something to hide, but she is a lady, sir. I would vouch for that.’
‘I am certain you are right,’ Brock agreed, hiding his smile. ‘Very well, I shall go up to her. If Dr Reed returns, please ask him to come straight up. He said he would call to see her again this morning.’
‘Yes, Major. Certainly.’
Brock nodded his head to her and went up the broad staircase. The Swan was a coaching inn not more than thirty miles from London and one of the best for accommodation. He’d stayed here often in the past and that had stood him in good stead when he’d turned up the previous evening with an unconscious lady in his arms. His explanation was instantly accepted and a doctor called, the best available bedchambers handed over without a murmur of protest.
Walking down the landing to the door of the chamber allotted to the mysterious Rosemarie, he stopped and knocked. Invited to enter, he went in cautiously and saw that the patient was propped up against a pile of feather pillows. Her long dark hair spread over her shoulders and her slight body was wrapped in a thick yellow-and-white cotton nightgown that was three times too big for her. A white bedjacket was over her shoulders, showing only the very ends of her fingers. She was perfectly respectable and he saw for the first time rather pretty. At the moment her pale cheeks were flushed with a becoming pink.
The innkeeper’s daughter Polly curtsied to him and retired to the washstand, fiddling with basins and little pots, clearly under instructions not to leave the room so long as he was in it. Smiling inwardly, Brock approached the bed, his expression serious as he looked at Rosemarie.
‘I am glad to see you looking much better, miss,’ he said in what he hoped was an avuncular tone. ‘I am told your name is Rosemarie. Are you willing to tell me why you were lying in the middle of the road last night?’
He saw her eyelids flutter and knew that she was preparing to lie to him, then, she smiled and he gasped, because her whole face lit up and he saw that she would, in the right circumstances, be beautiful.
‘I am told that your name is Major Brockley and that you brought me here, sir, thus saving my life. The innkeeper’s wife told me that I have nothing to fear from you. She thinks you the most honourable man she has met—and I have to thank you for your kindness.’
‘Mrs Simpson does me too much honour, but I promise you that she is right to say you have nothing to fear. As for kindness, well, it was the least I could do. Only a heartless rogue would have left you lying in the road. If you are in trouble, you have only to tell me and I shall do all in my power to assist you.’
‘How kind of you—but I fear there is little anyone can do now.’
‘Forgive me. I think you give up too easily. There is always something one can do—do you not think so?’
‘Well, I did,’ she replied in a frank way that surprised him. ‘I thought I could run away to London and find work as a seamstress—but I was robbed, set upon and...’ Her eyes slid away from his gaze. ‘Very nearly abused. I fled to avoid being forced into one hateful relationship and very nearly ended in a worse one. Now I do not know what I can do unless I go home and submit to them.’
‘You have been unfortunate, it seems,’ Brock said, a scowl on his face. ‘Give me the name of those who have harmed you and I will seek redress for you.’
‘If you do that, they will take me back and force me to marry him,’ she said, and a tear slid from the corner of her right eye. She dashed it away. ‘Everyone believes them and not me. They think he is a kind good man who will care for me—but I know that he wants Papa’s fortune and they want the Manor. I heard them making their wicked bargain. He said they could keep the house and land and he would take the mills. Papa had five, you see, and they are worth a lot of money—and then there are my mother’s jewels. They are worth a king’s ransom alone, I dare say, but they have them locked away in my aunt’s room. I know she covets them for she wears them when they go out and when I protested she said that I was not allowed to have them until I marry...or my fortune.’
‘I see.’ Brock’s frown deepened. ‘And you think this man will take everything you own and treat you badly?’
‘He says he adores me,’ she said, sighing deeply. ‘I know he wants me, because he will keep touching me, but he makes me shudder and I refused to marry him. My uncle says I have no choice. He is my guardian and this man is his friend, but it is only because he wants my papa’s house and land and my aunt wants the jewels. Sir Montague doesn’t care as long as he gets the mills. They think I am just a pawn to be used as they wish and it is not fair. Papa would never have allowed it.’
‘Yes, I see,’ Brock murmured, looking at her speculatively. ‘Do you not have any friends who would assist you? No one to take you in and fight for your rights?’
‘There is my old nurse,’ Rosemarie told him, a smile on her lips now. ‘She was sent packing after Papa died, because she was loyal to me. She told me she would write to me, but no letters came. I fear my aunt burned them.’
‘You have been the victim of a wicked plot,’ Brock said, not sure if he believed everything she said. ‘Would your old nurse take you in if you could contact her?’
‘Yes, of course. Sarah was my friend always. Papa said she loved me as much as any mother could—you see my mother died when I was still very young. I was Papa’s only child.’
‘Then, if we could find Sarah, you could stay with her until someone sorts out this mess for you.’
‘I would be safe with Sarah, but only if my aunt and uncle did not find me. Sarah has no authority and my uncle is my guardian. He would force me to go back to them—and then I should be made to marry Sir Montague.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Nineteen, though I know I look younger. My uncle is my guardian for another two years. If I do not sign any papers, they cannot touch Papa’s fortune or sell off his mills—but of course, my aunt has the jewels. Not that I care for that, because I have Mama’s pearls and some small pieces of hers that Papa gave me when I was sixteen. I managed to smuggle them out in my gown when I escaped, and it is as well that I did sew the bag inside my gown—for everything else was stolen when I stayed overnight at an inn.’
‘You have been taken advantage of,’ Brock said, deciding that he believed at least a part of her story, though he was sure she was keeping something from him. ‘Will you trust me to help you?’
She looked at him in a considering fashion. ‘That depends on what you suggest, sir.’
‘I have some friends who I am sure will be happy to invite you to stay for a while. You would be quite safe with Amanda and Phipps—and, if you were willing to give me the names of your aunt and uncle, I might be able to discover what they are doing about your disappearance.’
‘You wouldn’t tell them where to find me?’
‘No, you have my word as a gentleman that I shall keep your secret, Miss...’
‘Ross,’ she said. ‘I’m Miss Rose Mary Ross of Ross House in Falmouth, though I have decided that I should like to be called Rosemarie in future—and my aunt and uncle are Lord and Lady Roxbourgh. My uncle is not a wealthy man, because his estate is small. Papa inherited his estate from his father and then increased his fortune. My uncle is related to Papa by marriage through their mother, who married my grandfather first and then, after he died, Lord Roxbourgh’s father. It is a little complicated.’
‘Yes, I can see that, but it explains why this gentleman is willing to stoop to wickedness to gain a fortune he covets, but has no right to.’
‘Papa left everything to me, because his estate was never entailed—but he trusted his half-brother...’
‘And so he made him your guardian. That was unfortunate, but not insurmountable. It is possible to have someone removed as guardian, you know—if we can prove that he is unfit to continue and has abused his position.’
‘Yes, but how can it be done, when everyone thinks it is such a good idea? Sir Montague is not terribly old nor is he ugly, and all our friends think it a splendid match for me, because he isn’t even a gambler or terribly in debt.’
‘Yes, I quite see how they’ve managed to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes,’ Brock said. ‘However, at nineteen you are quite old enough to make up your own mind and it is very wrong to force you—or to deny you the rest of your mother’s jewels.’
‘I wrote to my lawyer. He said he was sorry I was unhappy, but he could do nothing until I came of age, unless I married—and he likes Sir Montague himself. I know he thought I was just a silly girl.’
‘Well, I believe you,’ Brock said. ‘I’m not sure you’ve told me everything, Miss Ross—but I am perfectly willing to help you on the basis of what you’ve told me.’
Rosemarie avoided his eyes, confirming his suspicion that she had not told him the whole story. ‘Perhaps if you could help me get to London?’
‘To be a seamstress?’ Brock shook his head. ‘I do not think you would enjoy that very much, Miss Ross. Far better to stay with my friends and allow me the privilege of sorting out this mess for you.’
‘Why should you do so much for me? You do not know me at all.’
‘No, but I saved your life—and the ancient civilisations say that once you save a life you are responsible for that life.’
Rosemarie laughed and shook her head. ‘That is silly, Major. I am sure you cannot want the bother of dealing with my aunt and uncle and sorting out my troubles.’
‘No, you wrong me, Miss Ross. I never make a promise I don’t intend to keep—and I promise that I shall do all I can to put this muddle straight.’
‘Well, are you perfectly sure that your friends would not find me a nuisance?’
‘Once you meet Amanda you will know that she could never find you a nuisance. I dare say that she will be reluctant to part with you when the time comes.’
‘But what shall I do?’ Rosemarie asked doubtfully. ‘If I had another aunt I could live with, I might see an end to all this, but I cannot stay with your friends for ever. Even if you were to recover a part of my fortune.’
‘I shall also endeavour to find your old nurse, and if you have money you may pay for a respectable lady to be your chaperon. Besides, if your aunt and uncle were sent packing, you might like to return to your home with your nurse—until it is time for you to come out.’
‘But it is time now,’ Rosemarie pointed out. ‘I asked my aunt to bring me to London, or indeed Bath, but she said Sir Montague wished to marry me and there was no point, because I would not find a more suitable husband...’
‘I do not know why she should say that,’ Brock said. ‘I am certain that you could find any number of suitors given time.’
‘I might not,’ Rosemarie said and lowered her gaze. ‘Perhaps I should tell you everything. Mama was not a respectable person.’
‘What do you mean?’ Brock looked at her in astonishment.
‘Papa had a wife...she lived in an institution. He took Mama to live at the Manor with him until she died giving birth to me, but she was never his wife.’ Rosemarie bit her bottom lip. ‘You see, that is why everyone thinks I’m lucky that Sir Montague is prepared to marry a bastard. I may be rich, but I am still illegitimate.’
Brock was stunned into silence for a moment. Her revelation did alter the circumstances a little. She might be rich, if her fortune could be saved from these grasping relatives, but some people would consider that she could never enter the ranks of society, because her father was not married to her mother.
‘Why did they not marry?’
‘Papa was a Roman Catholic and so was his wife. He said he could not obtain a divorce and remain within his church—and Mama said rather than make him terribly unhappy, she agreed to live with him. He always said she was his wife in everything but name and he promised me that they were happy until she died.’
‘Ah, that explains it.’ Brock shook his head. ‘Are you also a Roman Catholic?’
‘No. Papa said it was a curse and allowed my aunt to bring me up in a more forgiving faith and I was grateful to her. Indeed, we got on very well until Sir Montague offered for me and they saw a way of taking over the Manor. However, I remain grateful that I was brought up as a Protestant for I would never join a church that could condemn a child to be born out of wedlock because her parents were not allowed to marry. Had Papa divorced his wife, who would have known nothing of it, Mama would have been respectable and I might not be in this predicament.’
‘Yes, I see. How very sad for your parents,’ Brock said. ‘I understand a man’s faith is important, but...’ He shook his head. ‘It is not my affair. Thank you for telling me the whole. Having secrets does not help when you are dealing with people such as your aunt and uncle—and this Sir Montague.’
‘No, it was just that...’ She looked at him uncertainly. ‘Do you still think I’m a suitable person for your friends to meet?’
‘I am quite certain they will not hold your birth against you, Miss Ross,’ he said. ‘Now, I believe that is the doctor I can hear on the stairs. I shall leave you to speak to him alone.’
‘You will still help me?’
‘Of course. I gave you my word. I shall not go back on it,’ Brock said, and smiled at her. ‘Try not to brood on your wrongs, child. Everyone concerned has treated you very badly, but I shall find a way out of this mess for you. Just believe that not everyone is as evil as those people you have fled from.’
Leaving her just as the elderly doctor entered, Brock toyed with the problem he’d taken on. He had no doubt that Sir Roxbourgh and his lady had high hopes of keeping hold of both the Manor and the jewels, while Sir Montague was hoping to become the owner of several mills. However, he had a lawyer in London who would move heaven and earth to please his favourite client and Brock did not doubt that the fraud could be exposed. Whether it could be done without scandal reflecting on Miss Ross herself was another matter. As an illegitimate child, she would be ostracised by most society hostesses—and though she might not mind that, Brock found that he did for her sake.
He would certainly discuss the legal details with his lawyer, but as for the rest? That would take some clever planning if they were to come off without a scandal of the first degree.
As yet he had not asked himself the question why he had decided to take up the cudgels on Rose Mary’s—no, Rosemarie’s, he smiled at the change of name—behalf. It might have something to do with the unease and feeling of guilt that had come over him when he was told of Sister Violet’s death, but if that were the case his mind had not understood it. All Brock knew was that a young woman stood in desperate trouble and this time he would do all in his power to see that she did not come to harm.
Brock was still uncertain whether she’d confessed the whole, but her revelations concerning her mother were startling and made her situation even more unfortunate. Indeed, many of the ladies who might have taken her under their wing would not contemplate the idea of harbouring a bastard, however delightful she might be.
Chapter Two (#ulink_1b03b7aa-65f2-5fdb-a12d-6104f365b36b)
Brock sat at the desk in the parlour he had taken at the inn. He was obliged to remain here for two more days, until Miss Ross was sufficiently recovered to travel. He must write to the friends he had let down and explain that he was delayed—and he must also write to Amanda and Phipps, asking if they would take in the young lady he’d rescued until he found alternative accommodation for her. He did not think that Amanda would be shocked by the circumstances of Rosemarie’s birth, but he would be obliged to tell her.
Rosemarie needed something for a few months, at least until her problems were settled, and there was no telling how long that might take. Brock could not expect his friends to keep her more than a week or two. Had he been married, he could have asked his wife to chaperon her while he... Of course, he must write to Cynthia, too.
He sighed deeply, feeling uneasy and doubtful of the future. Cynthia Langton was a charming young woman and beautiful, but the more Brock saw of her the less certain he was that they would suit once they were married—and yet only a cad would withdraw now.
He had intended to visit her this weekend, but now he might be tied up for weeks with this affair. It was a nuisance and he could not be surprised if Cynthia were to be angry. Brock had shamefully neglected his fiancée and he knew he must make amends. Perhaps he would leave Miss Ross and travel down to see Cynthia this weekend and explain in person rather than write. Letters only conveyed half a story.
Cynthia would be more inclined to sympathise with his desire to help the young woman if the date of their marriage had been set. Yes, he thought, drawing the paper towards him and dipping his pen in the ink, it might be best just to write a line or two saying he was coming down rather than explaining in a long and complicated letter.
Having penned his brief note to Cynthia and addressed it to her home, he wrote to Amanda and Phipps, telling them he would be in London in two days and had a favour to ask. Then he drew another sheet of paper towards him and began to write a list of what he ought to do in order to set Miss Ross’s affairs in order. A visit to his lawyer and then to hers, and depending on what he learned there, perhaps a visit to Miss Ross’s home.
Another deep sigh escaped him, for it looked as though a time of frustration was ahead and he wondered why he had been moved to give a girl he did not know his promise of help. Miss Ross was certainly lovely to look at, but Cynthia was beautiful—quite the most beautiful woman he’d ever met—and she’d agreed to be his wife. He was the world’s worst wretch for having left her alone in the country for weeks on end.
He would definitely go down this weekend, for once his temporary ward was safely in Amanda’s charge, he need not worry about Miss Ross’s affairs immediately. A visit to the lawyers should be sufficient to set things in motion.
He had not fallen for the girl? Examining his motives, Brock decided that it was merely the natural and proper instincts of a gentleman to protect a vulnerable girl. No, his affections were not engaged. Rosemarie was young, vulnerable and pretty, but if he admitted the truth only one woman had touched his heart...only one woman could have made him happy, but that woman was out of his reach. Of course, he’d loved sweet Mary—or Sister Violet, as the nuns called her—but that was as a friend of his childhood or a sister. No, there was but one lady he had wanted for his wife, but that dream was long squashed—almost forgotten.
He had learned that the only way to cope with his pain and grief over Samantha Scatterby was to block it out of his mind. She had loved her late husband and despised him for having tried to make love to her while her beloved husband was lying ill upstairs, and indeed, he despised himself for it. He had been swept away by a look in her eyes and that was weakness and it shamed him. Brock knew that he must live in the world as it was, remember his duty and keep the promise he had made, even if he had regretted it almost at once.
He would speak to Cynthia about setting the date this weekend, after he’d settled Miss Ross, and for that he must first go to London, for Amanda and Phipps were in residence in their town house.
* * *
‘You only just caught us,’ Phipps said when Brock entered their elegant parlour in the London house two days later. ‘We are returning to the country tomorrow. Indeed, had your letter not reached us we should have left today.’
‘Oh, well, I suppose it cannot matter to Rosemarie where she lives,’ Brock said, frowning. ‘You know the favour I would ask, Phipps. I hope it will be only a matter of weeks, because I imagine her lawyers can settle the matter soon enough. However, she does need a sanctuary for a while.’
‘And I wish that we might offer it,’ Phipps said. ‘I’m afraid it is out of the question at the moment, old fellow. Amanda has been ordered complete quiet once we are home. She is to go to bed and stay there for at least the next month. She is expecting our first child and is not doing too well at the moment, I’m afraid. Doctor Renfrew says if she is taken home by easy stages and made to rest she should bear a living child—but if we ignore his advice he has little hope of it. It’s because she’s such a little thing.’
