my—er, lineage—was not up to the standard that the gentleman required in a wife and he therefore felt himself obliged to withdraw his suit.’
‘But, that is ridiculous!’ exclaimed her friend, her eyebrows raised in astonishment. ‘Your lineage, as you call it, must be second to none! The Venables family history goes back hundreds of years—even the royals themselves could not claim a more distinguished pedigree!’ She paused, frowning in contemplation, then, drawing in a deep breath, she asked excitedly, ‘Was that it, Georgianne? Was your reluctant suitor a member of the royal family?’
‘Absolutely not,’ Georgianne hastened to assure her. Then, rising to her feet once more, she added, ‘It really would be better if you forgot everything that I have told you this evening, Steffi. Since the gentleman in question swore never to disparage my name, I feel that he too is entitled to assume that his identity will remain my secret.’
‘Hardly a gentleman, in my opinion!’ sniffed Stephanie. ‘Especially since you seem to have been carrying a torch for him all this time—’
‘Oh, no, Steffi!’ Georgianne interrupted hurriedly. ‘You may relieve yourself upon that score, at least! I ceased to think of his—him—in that particular way some time ago. Further to which, I understand that the gentleman has since found himself a wife who would appear to have all the necessary qualifications.’
But then, as she fixed a stern eye upon her friend, she added quietly, ‘Now that I have done my best to satisfy your curiosity, you must give me your promise that you will never refer the matter again.’
‘But, of course you have my promise,’ returned Stephanie, somewhat affronted that her friend should even consider otherwise. ‘Although, I must confess that I still find it hard to understand why the matter should have wrought such a change in you.’
‘I am bound to admit that the whole unfortunate business did have rather a sobering effect on me,’ returned Georgianne, with a shrug, as the two friends made their way down the magnificent oak staircase to join the rest of the countess’s guests. ‘Which was due, most probably, to my self-esteem having suffered rather a setback!’ At the foot of the staircase, she paused momentarily then, with a slightly rueful smile, added, ‘It certainly taught me that it does not do to take anything for granted.’
Just as I had always done until that time, she recollected, with an inward shudder, as they walked across the marble-tiled floor towards the drawing-room.
Whilst it was true that Lord Tatler’s retraction of his offer of marriage had affected her greatly, her initial distress had been as nothing compared to the painful humiliation that she had felt on being made aware of the real reason that lay behind her suitor’s reluctant withdrawal. Her uncle’s somewhat embarrassed explanation that she had, in fact, been born before her parents had exchanged any marriage vows had delivered a devastating blow to her self-confidence, and was certainly not something that she would ever be prepared to share with Stephanie, no matter how much her friend might tease and cajole her!
As a result of her uncle’s disclosures and despite her aunt’s protests to the contrary, Georgianne had, forthwith, resigned herself to a life of spinsterhood. Having already known the pain of rejection, she had done her best to protect her heart from any further such damage. While she had always been perfectly charming and agreeably polite to every one of the several prospective suitors who had attempted to win her hand during the past three years, she had been equally dogged in her determination that the unfortunate facts of her birth should not become common currency and had, thus far, refused to allow her heart to be swayed by any of those young men’s eager blandishments.
Nevertheless, as she found herself wistfully recalling, for perhaps the third or fourth time that evening, the rapt look that had appeared on Will Maitland’s countenance, as he had sat drinking in Stephanie’s loveliness, it was with considerable difficulty that she managed to control the sudden longing that welled up inside her, its very presence threatening to destroy her hard-won equanimity.
Chapter Four
Leaping from his mount, Maitland passed the reins to a waiting ostler and was just about to make his way into the Dun Cow when he heard a voice from the far side of the stableyard calling out his name. Turning swiftly, he beheld a very familiar face from his not-so-distant past.
‘Sergeant Andrews!’ he grinned, reaching forwards to grasp the other man’s outstretched hand. ‘What in the name of fortune are you doing here? I was under the impression that you hailed from Essex!’
Pete Andrews, an ex-sergeant from Maitland’s own Light Cavalry regiment, was a tall, lanky individual whose once-handsome features had been severely marred by the vicious sabre slash that he had received while on the field at Waterloo.
‘Didn’t fancy goin’ back home with this ’ere, guv,’ he grunted, ruefully fingering the puckered scar that ran diagonally across his face. ‘Frighten my poor Rosie to death, so it would!’
‘You would rather that your wife believed you dead?’ exclaimed the astonished Maitland. ‘But what about your children—you have two young sons, I believe?’
‘Aye, that I have.’ Andrews nodded, his bright blue eyes clouding over. ‘Tommy and Billy—ain’t set eyes on the pair of ’em for nigh on four years now—but I do my best to send ’em all bits of cash whenever I gets the chance, guv!’
‘Very commendable, Andrews,’ returned his former major, raising an eyebrow. ‘However, I would be prepared to gamble that your good lady would as lief have your presence, rather than your pennies!’
‘Not possible at the moment, guv,’ shrugged Andrews. ‘Us old soldiers ’ave got to go where we can find the work—two of my old muckers are up ’ere, too, as it ’appens. I dare say you’ll, no doubt, recall Privates Skinner and Todd?’
‘Only too well, Andrews!’ replied Maitland, with a reminiscent grin, as he brought to mind the pair of rather shady individuals to whom his ex-sergeant had referred. Although they had always been up to some devilry or other, their ingenuity at ferreting out provisions for the communal pot had been second to none. Had it not been for the pair’s amazing scavenging abilities, there had been more than a few occasions when he and his men might well have been forced to face the enemy with empty stomachs.
‘So, what brought you to this part of the country?’ he enquired.
‘Matty Skinner used to work ’ere when ’e were a lad,’ explained Andrews. ‘Put in a word for us, so ’e did—seems coachin’ inns can always find work for them as knows their way round ’orses.’
‘Well, your employers will surely not be able to fault you on that score, Sergeant,’ nodded Maitland, as he turned to go. ‘I just wish you would give some more thought to returning to your family.’ Then, after a thoughtful pause, he added, ‘I dare say I could find you a place in my own stables—probably run to a cottage, too, if needed. What do you say?’
At first, the man’s eyes appeared to light up in eager interest but then, after a brief hesitation, he gave a careless shrug, saying, ‘Thanks for the offer, Guv; I’ll certainly bear it in mind!’
Later that same evening, Maitland, comfortably ensconced in the small parlour that had been set aside for his private use, swirled the remnants of the brandy in his glass and, gazing down into the amber liquid, spent some little while ruminating over the day’s happenings. That his ex-sergeant had not immediately
