Chapter 11

11

THE WORK OF HEROES

As the journey wore on, Charlotte's confidence and courage began to seep away. The coach was nothing like as comfortable as the Rokeby one she and Leonora had used for their trip to London. It was cold and the jerky swaying on rusty springs made her queasy. As the light faded, there was little interest in gazing out on the passing countryside and market towns they travelled through. At the coaching inns where they stopped to change horses, there was some excitement in watching the variety of travellers as they bustled about their business, from the poorest country folk with sacks draped over their coats for warmth to the richest and most exquisitely dressed on their way between country estate and London town house.

She had even lost interest in her book. She closed it and it lay heavy in her lap. Captain Ormonde turned his head and watched her. ‘It's not too long now before we stop for the night.' He shifted to face her. ‘As I said, Miss Blythe, I will treat you in a gentlemanly manner; I trust you will behave like the lady you are and not draw attention to us or attempt to run away. After all, I can ruin both your reputation and your father's in one fell swoop.'

Before he revealed such implacable hostility towards the Earl of Rokeby and his good name, she had thought this brave soldier attractive, even rather distinguished. The idea of marrying him of her own free will had even occurred to her but he had since given up trying to charm her and no longer even gave her the benefit of his smile. Having made it obvious that he needed to marry an heiress to clear his debts and finance a profligate way of life, he offered now only his brooding narrow-eyed demeanour.

Out of the bleakest situations can come absolute clarity and as the twilight deepened, Charlotte was struck with a sudden revelation that altered everything: it was George Lockwood with his warmth and decency who was the heroic one. It was the height of virtue to be so truly himself, generous to others, protective, industrious and fond.

George Lockwood had the gift of constancy and his love would not change, regardless of what Captain Ormonde may demand of her, regardless of what she had to do. In that moment of recognition, Charlotte's heart turned over. How she longed to be enfolded in his arms, pressed against that broad chest, his deep voice laughing. Charlotte knew it was George Lockwood she wished to marry, whether she still had her fortune or not.

She turned back to face Captain Ormonde who was leaning forward, looking alert as the coach drew into the courtyard of The King's Head. This coaching inn was one of the largest and most comfortable of all the ones they had used on their journey north. It looked busy and prosperous, and Charlotte was so hungry and tired she really hoped they had beds for the night. This would be her chance. She was ushered in by Captain Ormonde, and played the part of his meek younger sister. They were shown into a small private parlour at the back of the building overlooking the stables. A welcome fire burned low in the grate. The Captain slung another log on the embers and kicked it into life with his boot, making the flames leap again.

A young countrywoman with cheeks chapped by the cold bustled in to take their orders. ‘Mutton stew 'n tatties, all that's left,' she told them in a warm brogue, and soon they were eating a bowl of grey stew with a few crumbling mounds of boiled potatoes like atolls in a greasy sea. Charlotte thought it delicious and was grateful for the accompanying bread to mop up the last of the gravy.

‘I like a woman with a healthy appetite,' Captain Ormonde drawled, his voice with an edge of his old seductive humour. Charlotte was counting how many tumblers of ale he drank; he showed no signs of intoxication, but she hoped he would sleep more heavily that night. As the evening wore on, she encouraged him to drink more as she engaged him in desultory conversation, discussing the sights they had seen on the journey and even sharing a laugh. The young blades in their racing curricles, so arrogant and reckless; the farmer whose bristly pig sat up beside him on the seat as he drove his cart home; the mail coach lurched into a ditch, its axle broken and passengers in disarray, their luggage strewn over the road.

Charlotte and Captain Ormonde eventually collected their candles and the young serving woman showed them to two rooms on either side of the landing in the main building. ‘Goodnight, Miss Blythe. I hope you sleep well. We have another long day ahead of us.' The Captain bowed and closed his door. Charlotte was desperate for sleep but knew she had to keep awake in order to follow through with her plan. She took the one seat in the room, a hard wooden chair, uncomfortable and cold, and waited. It was past midnight when she removed her shoes and opened the door with utmost care. There were still drinkers in the public bar downstairs, but their voices were muted as she tiptoed across the landing and listened at the Captain's door. She thought she could hear regular heavy breathing.

Her heart in her mouth, Charlotte turned the knob and eased the door open an inch or two. Moonlight flooded the room. On the bed was the prone figure of a sleeping man still in his shirt and breeches but minus his redingote and coat which had been discarded over a chair. She walked with careful step towards them, pausing to check on the sleeping Captain. Slipping her hand into the first pocket in the redingote, then the second and finding nothing, she moved to the fine-tailored superfine coat he wore by day. Charlotte was just about to investigate the first inner pocket when she felt an iron hand grip her wrist. She was so shocked she did not even cry out. Ormonde had sprung from the bed and reached her in one leap. He hissed in her ear, ‘Miss Blythe, you really don't think I'm foolish enough to leave such valuable material lying around for just anyone to purloin?' His grip tightened. ‘I warned you, if you're intent on double-crossing me, I'll have no compunction in treating you in the most ungentlemanly manner.'

Once again, Charlotte was shocked by his strength and speed, for in one movement he had picked her up and tossed her on the bed. He gripped both her hands as the moonlight gleamed off his face and fell on hers.

She found her voice at last. ‘Captain, you're hurting my wrists.' Her heart was pounding as she realised the full extent of her foolishness in thinking she could outwit him when he held every trump, including physical strength.

His body crushed hers as his eyes glittered dangerously. ‘You know, Miss Blythe, you have forfeited all respect due to a lady and I no longer have any reason for restraint in my behaviour.' He looked at her, a wolfish smile on his face. ‘I quite like the idea of kissing my bride-to-be. What think you?'

Charlotte had been trying to wriggle from under him, but the pressure of his body and the soft lumpy bed trapped her. His breath was on her face, stinking of stew and ale. As he moved his lips towards hers, she twisted suddenly and his kiss landed hard on her cheek. He smelt of sweat and she recoiled, fearful of how powerless she was in a situation to which she had so thoughtlessly agreed. Her resistance and fear seemed to excite him. He muttered, ‘Now, Miss Blythe, I'll show you the bargain I'm offering in return for your fortune.' He laughed as his fingers began to ruffle up her skirts.

‘No, Captain! Remember your reputation as an officer!' Her voice was hard-edged with panic.

He purred in her ear, ‘Ah, but I am no longer a gentleman, my dear.' His fingers had strayed beyond her stocking and had reached her thigh.

Charlotte heard a creak of the floorboard outside the door. She tensed, listening. Captain Ormonde arose from the bed with stealth, suddenly sobered up and as alert as a fox.

For Lord Rokeby and George Lockwood, the flight north had not been straightforward. Such was George's distress at Charlotte's ordeal, he kept on seeing her in every pretty fair-haired woman along the way. He had just met up with Rokeby at The Queen's Head at Hatfield, where they were due to change horses, when both of them caught sight of a young woman bundled into a carriage and driven away at speed. George was certain it was his beloved in need of immediate rescue. He remounted his tired horse to make chase. After about a mile, the road had cleared enough for him to draw his horse alongside and demand the coachman pull up his horses. He was met by a furious gentleman in a cocked hat and his companion's shocked and angry pair of eyes, brown and sparkling but not Charlotte's.

Apologising profusely, he bowed and wheeled his horse to return to Hatfield, both weary to the bone. The fine hunter he rode was one of Rokeby's best, but fatigue had made them both inattentive and as they approached The Queen's Head for the second time, the horse stumbled and fell to one knee, immediately going lame. George Lockwood walked the last half a mile, leading his limping horse. From then on, the two men travelled together in the Rokeby chaise. As twilight set in, their spirits flagged.

By the time it was fully night, George Lockwood and Lord Rokeby were five miles from Alconbury where they had surmised Ormonde and Charlotte would have to stop for the night. Rather than have to find a roadside tavern to shelter them until dawn, the full moon became the traveller's friend, lighting their way farther along the high road to their goal. Anticipation that the end of their mission was in reach revived George Lockwood's spirits. From a relaxed, easy-going man he had become a knight of legend in his chivalric determination to protect the woman he loved.

This crisis had focussed and crystallised everyone's feelings in the most dramatic fashion. Charlotte discovered her love for George Lockwood; Lord Rokeby, his paternal affections at last and George Lockwood, beguiled for a while by Lady Livia Dearlove's siren-like attraction, had never lost his susceptibility to Charlotte's beauty and down-to-earth allure. Unlike Lady Livia, Charlotte was quite capable of helping birth a lamb, saddle a horse or bake an apple and blackberry pie. Now there was this chance that a blackguardly officer could snatch her from him, his blood surged in his veins. He had been brought up to think he was a failure in his aspirations to be a dandy about Town, as suave as his stepfather, but now for the first time he realised that given a cause, he was born to be a hero and would fulfil this to the hilt.

The coming of night made Charlotte's plight more distressing to him. Sitting opposite Lord Rokeby, he slammed his hand into the window prop of the chaise and said through gritted teeth, ‘By Jove, it's outrageous that cur is making Miss Blythe suffer! I'm not a violent man, Rokeby, but I swear I'll plant a facer on his handsome phiz!'

‘I've brought my pistol in case he needs a bit more persuasion. I haven't told anyone, but I think it's possibly relevant to the situation; my brother and I were certain he was operating as a spy for Boney's commanders in the Peninsula.' His face was grim. ‘As you know, there is no greater treachery. I don't know what, if anything, he has as a hold over Charlotte, but we will find out.' Lord Rokeby's face darkened further. ‘If he has compromised her virtue, I swear I'll kill him.'

The thought was unimaginable, but George Lockwood needed to clarify the matter and asked, ‘We do know she has gone under duress?'

‘Her maid who accompanied her to her meeting with him at the museum was certain that a piece of paper he showed her caused her much distress. This is all we know. Then the next morning, she was gone.'

‘For me, nothing can compromise her virtue, it is unimpeachable; she will never be spoiled in my eyes.' George Lockwood seemed so choked with emotion, his lordship looked at him with concern.

‘Are you in love with the girl?'

‘Of course I am. Who wouldn't be? I loved her from the moment I first saw her at the Manor. But we know such instant affections are impossible, so I denied it and found distractions elsewhere. But it was always her, and only now has it become so damnably clear, and I such a damned fool!'

Alistair Rokeby watched with a strange smile on his lips as his companion's face registered every emotion from outrage to astonishment and then a fiery passion. He said as if speaking to himself, ‘We men are fools when it comes to love.'

As the chaise approached their destination, George Lockwood was impatient. He had never been surer of anything in his life. He met Lord Rokeby's questioning gaze. ‘Rokeby, as her uncle and guardian, may I have your permission to ask Miss Blythe to marry me?'

In a quiet voice, the Earl replied, ‘She's not my niece but my daughter.'

George could not hide his astonishment. ‘No! Does she know?' His first thought had been how the shock of such news would affect Charlotte.

‘Not yet. It was a politic switch of identities with my brother that happened at her birth, but I should have told her the moment I returned from France. I deserve every kind of censure for not doing so.' Alistair Rokeby looked pensive and then addressed George's request. ‘Have you the means to support a wife and children?'

‘Yes, indeed. I have my father's estate in Oxfordshire and his investments, raising an income of just under ten thousand a year, and I'm moving to Hasterleigh Manor. That estate has rents of about five thousand a year. I am very happy to live in the village and if Miss Blythe should agree to marry me, she will be in close proximity to you and the Abbey, and to Miss Appleby, of course.'

‘Ah, Miss Appleby. What does she feel about having to move from her childhood home?'

‘She has been more than gracious in what seems a fundamentally unfair arrangement.'

‘It is what I would expect. I've come to realise what a remarkable woman she is.' Lord Rokeby spoke with a catch of emotion in his voice.

George Lockwood nodded and said, ‘Loved and esteemed in the village, too, so I'm pleased she will not move away but live in the Lodge on the Manor estate. I'll make sure the house is watertight and warm.'

It was close to one o'clock in the morning as the Rokeby chaise rumbled into the courtyard behind The King's Head tavern. The moonlight was unusually bright, casting mysterious shadows and illuminating the old thatched roof with a silvery sheen that made the ancient building appear otherworldly. Despite the romance of moonlight, the inn was unmistakeably rooted in the real world. George Lockwood led the way to the bar where they were assaulted with the stench of sweat and cheap alcohol and the sight of bleary-eyed sots, some passed out on the settle by the fire. The owner behind the bar looked up, startled; travellers on legitimate business were not expected in the dead of night.

Lord Rokeby strode forward. ‘Good evening, sir. A word in private.' His voice was quiet, but it was an order rather than a request. They were led into the same small room where Captain Ormonde and Charlotte had had their meal four hours before. ‘I'm Lord Rokeby and my underage daughter has been abducted by a Captain Ormonde; I think they may be here?'

His manner brooked no opposition and the innkeeper blustered, ‘Don't blame me, m'lord. 'E said she was 'is sister!' He seemed quite outraged at being so deceived.

‘They all say that,' was Lord Rokeby's dry reply. ‘Please show me to their rooms?'

The innkeeper at the bottom of the stairs indicated with his hands. ‘Gentleman on the left, lady on the right.' Before he had finished speaking, George Lockwood had bounded up the stairs, two at a time, surprisingly light on his feet for such a big man. He knocked on Charlotte's door and when there was no answer, opened it to find the bed empty. Fear and rage swept over him and he turned to barge through the door opposite. There he found a startled Ormonde, standing at the foot of the bed, his shirt untucked, and Charlotte scrambling to her feet, smoothing down her skirts. With a sob she flew into his arms. ‘You found me! Thank you, Mr Lockwood.' Her ecstatic face noticed Lord Rokeby who had followed George into the room. ‘And you too, my lord. How pleased I am to see you!'

Charlotte turned back to George Lockwood who had been in the saddle most of the day and was exhausted and dusty from the road. She was in disarray and tear-stained, yet they gazed into each other's faces as if they had awoken from a half-sleep and were seeing each other and the world for the first time.

George folded her against his chest, his expression distorted by rage and anguish. ‘What has this blackguard done to you?'

‘Nothing, Mr Lockwood.'

Captain Ormonde's languid voice cut through the fevered emotion. ‘You have rudely interrupted a very pleasant evening with my wife-to-be.'

Charlotte gasped and disentangling herself from his arms, attempted to drag George Lockwood away as he expostulated, ‘Despicable cur! How dare you!'

Captain Ormonde had recovered his sangfroid and sneered, ‘I think you'll find the young lady came with me of her own accord.' Before he finished speaking, a punishing left hook as fast as a serpent's tongue sprang from George Lockwood's forearm and landed in the middle of his smile. The Captain reeled backwards, almost losing his footing.

‘How dare you impugn Miss Blythe's honour, you, a man without honour!'

Charlotte rushed forward to take George Lockwood's arm. ‘I did go with him of my own volition. He threatened to ruin my father's, my whole family's reputation if I didn't. I thought I could retrieve and destroy the piece of incriminating evidence before we got to Scotland.'

Lord Rokeby stepped forward and in a voice as cold as ice, said, ‘Ormonde. Show me this evidence.'

‘I will not, my lord.' Captain Ormonde was holding his handkerchief to his nose.

George Lockwood had stripped off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves as if prepared for a fight. The drunken customers downstairs, roused by the commotion, had staggered to the foot of the stairs but the innkeeper barred the way.

Lord Rokeby asked the Captain again, his face distorted by anger and made more intimidating by the contraction of his scar with tension and fatigue. His voice was full of contempt for the man he believed was a traitor to his country, outraged that he should cast such calumny onto his own brother. With some menace, he repeated, ‘Show me the evidence that you swore to Miss Blythe would ruin my family's reputation.'

Captain Ormonde drawled, ‘I may be a blackguard but I'm not a fool.'

Lord Rokeby whipped the pistol from his waistband and pointed it straight at the Captain's chest. ‘I don't think you fool enough to ignore this. I know you as a traitor and will use it if I must.'

Charlotte gasped, ‘No!'

Captain Ormonde's face was ashen as he put up his hands in apparent defeat. He turned to his coat and in a split second withdrew not a piece of paper but a duelling pistol. He swung round to face Lord Rokeby but the Earl was faster: he discharged his bullet and it knocked the Captain's gun from his hand before thudding into the wall behind him.

George Lockwood picked up the duelling pistol and removed the shot. Lord Rokeby slipped his weapon back into his pocket. ‘I've shown you great indulgence. Now you reveal your evidence or I'll search your effects myself.' Captain Ormonde was beaten at last. He walked to his portmanteau, followed closely by Lord Rokeby, and rummaged through his clothes to reach the leather flap at the bottom, which he lifted to extract a piece of paper. The Earl called over his shoulder for another candle and George Lockwood left Charlotte's side to bring a second flame closer. Rokeby read and then looked up, his face cold with disdain. ‘This is a receipt for your services to the enemy! It is dastardly to use this lie to coerce Miss Blythe to marry you. I presume so you could claim her fortune?'

Charlotte ran forward to take the paper and read it for herself. Close to tears, she looked from Lord Rokeby to George Lockwood and blurted out, ‘What a fool I've been. To put all of you in danger for this! I thought I was saving my father's and his family's name and all I did was shame myself!' She hung her head.

Alistair Rokeby lifted her chin and looked into her tired face, her hair awry, her clothes crumpled and dusty, and he saw her for the first time too. She was so full of impetuous life, so willing to embark on a journey into the unknown when she felt it might bring justice, she was so brave and true. Her fair beauty was not his, but she shared his dark eyes, and he recognised her spirit and courage. His face softened as he folded the paper then placed it in his inside pocket. ‘It is you who have been wronged, Miss Blythe, but I think it better I keep this to ensure Captain Ormonde's future behaviour.'

Lord Rokeby turned to the Captain and said with a look of contempt, ‘I will not hesitate to use this receipt against you should you ever attempt to compromise my family's honour again. I suggest you emigrate. To the Americas.' Then realising how late it was, he added, ‘We all need some sleep before returning to London. Mr Lockwood and I will take your room and you can find a suitable crib in the hay above the horses. Where the coachmen sleep.'

Captain Ormonde quickly picked up his portmanteau and his clothes and as he left, he took Charlotte's hand with a sly smile. ‘I apologise for any distress I may have caused you. I must say that it would have been no hardship to be married to you, Miss Blythe. It was not just your fortune that I found attractive. I like a fighting wench!' George Lockwood took a step forward, his fist clenched, but Charlotte held him back. With a ghost of his dashing smile, Captain Ormonde clicked his heels together, saluted her and the two men, and descended the stairs two at a time to head for the stables.

Lord Rokeby said in a voice that was suddenly weary, ‘Well, young lady, are you really unhurt? Are your spirits restored?' Charlotte nodded, wrapped in George Lockwood's arms. ‘We've all had enough excitement for the night. We will take you home tomorrow in my fast chaise, a much more comfortable conveyance than the bone-shaker you travelled up in.' There was a note of smug pride in his voice. ‘Lockwood, you'll travel with us?'

‘Thank you, my lord. Until the last stage when I'll collect Titan. He will have had enough of a rest by then.'

‘Sleep well, my dear. We have much to discuss on the morrow.' Lord Rokeby squeezed Charlotte's hand with the force of unspoken feeling.

George escorted her across the landing back to her room. He stood on the threshold, both her hands in his. She was gazing into his face, her heart in her eyes. ‘Something has changed for ever,' she said in a soft voice, her face gleaming in the moonlight that filled her room with silver. ‘I no longer feel so alone knowing you are in the world with me.'

He squeezed her hands between his large warm palms and brought them to his lips to hold there, his blue eyes serious and full of emotion as he met hers. ‘My wasted youth is over. But every lonely year has led me closer to you.'

Charlotte took his left hand and kissed his bruised knuckles. ‘You are the rarest of spirits, so upright and honourable, as a knight of old.' She longed to be kissed by him but knew he would not take that liberty, not yet, but the longing in his eyes was worth a hundred kisses.

‘I need to talk to you, Miss Blythe. May I come by tomorrow evening, when you are home? If that is to your liking.'

‘Oh yes, please do, Mr Lockwood.' Her heart was fluttering like a bird.

The intensity of their communion was broken by Lord Rokeby's voice. ‘We all must to bed. We're leaving early on the morrow.' George Lockwood and Charlotte broke apart and quietly closed the doors on their separate rooms.

Leonora and Amy had walked back to Bucklebury House, Leonora's head teeming with thoughts she could not control. They entered the great hallway. Amy had set off for the kitchen with Leonora's exhortation for the necessity of discretion ringing in her ears as Leonora looked up to see Mrs Priddy descending the stairs, her knitting bag in her hands. ‘Nora my dear! Where have you been? Where is Charlotte? I've been most concerned.'

Leonora took her arm, steered her into the sitting room at the front and closed the door. ‘I don't think you will believe the turn in events. I barely can, and I've had hours to get used to the shocks.'

‘Well, don't leave me on tenterhooks. What is it?' Mrs Priddy settled herself on the sofa by the window and patted the seat beside her.

Leonora took a deep breath and said, ‘Charlotte's eloped with Captain Ormonde, under duress we believe. Flora woke me this morning alarmed because she found her young mistress long gone, with a packed portmanteau. Flora thought that Ormonde had some hold over her and was insisting she marry him.'

‘You mean she's headed to Scotland?' For the first time, Mrs Priddy seemed concerned. ‘Now this is foolish! That's shockingly dishonourable behaviour on the part of the Captain. I never trusted that smile!'

‘I immediately went to Berkeley Square to tell Lord Rokeby and he and Mr Lockwood have set out in pursuit.'

Nanny P relaxed. ‘Such an early start must have been a rude awakening for Master Alistair. But with him and that young giant in the rescue party, I'm sure Charlotte will soon be home.'

‘But Nanny P, this is serious! The Earl took his pistol!' Leonora was haunted by the thought that there would be violence and Lord Rokeby killed or forced into exile.

Mrs Priddy was untroubled. She tutted. ‘Don't concern yourself, Nora dear. Men can be cork-brained and think with their fists. Master Alistair was as wild and foolish as they come, but he is older now, and wiser. It will be fine.'

‘Well, that was my early morning shock, closely followed by my second.' She looked into Mrs Priddy's face, still barely understanding the full import of everything she had learned in these few hours. ‘Flora Lacey, Lady Dundas's maid who came to help when Amy was ill – she's Charlotte's mother! She was the maid at Rokeby Abbey when the Rokeby brothers were running wild.'

Mrs Priddy put down her knitting. ‘Well, who'd have thought it? I am surprised by that. I saw her occasionally. She wasn't at the Abbey long but she seemed such a sensible, quiet girl. I always thought it would most likely be one of the laxer girls, of whom there were many!'

‘I've been charged with telling Charlotte, when she returns.'

‘I don't think it will be too much of a surprise to her.'

‘Why do you say that?' Leonora gave Nanny P a quizzical look.

‘She knew her mother was a maid, so that's no revelation. And she seemed to get on unusually well with Flora who's a most attractive woman and seems to have lived a blameless life since that early indiscretion. It could be so much worse.'

‘There's one final revelation.' Leonora could barely believe her own words, but she had to share the momentous news with her old nanny, so closely involved as she was with everyone. ‘Lord Rokeby told me this morning that it is he, not Charles, who is Charlotte's father!'

Nanny P looked unsurprised. ‘I've always wondered, and now it makes sense. Charles protected his younger brother, come what may. But poor Alistair, what guilt he must live with over his brother's death.'

Leonora had her head in her hands as she said, ‘It's such a cauldron of emotion, of guilt and loss, of grief, hope and desire.'

Mrs Priddy put a hand on her shoulder. ‘This is what it is to fully live, dear Nora. You cannot protect yourself from feeling.'

‘Can I confide something to you that fills me with such a feeling of fear?'

Mrs Priddy turned a concerned face to her young companion. ‘Of course!'

‘I can barely allow myself to articulate it out loud…' She paused. ‘The thing is, I actually know I love Lord Rokeby. And I think he might have some affection for me.'

Mrs Priddy put her small soft hand on Leonora's. ‘I know.' Leonora looked at her, startled. ‘To someone who understands and loves you as I do, it's been as clear as day since you first met him.'

Leonora's hands flew to her face, her cheeks flaming. ‘Oh, no! It cannot have been so obvious. How mortifying! Does he know?'

Mrs Priddy scoffed, ‘Of course not! Men are blind, deaf and dumb when it comes to knowing a woman's heart! He's probably worrying that you cannot care for him, that you recoil from his looks.'

‘But might he have lost any regard he once had? I have behaved so badly.' Leonora was fearful of entertaining any hope after disappointing him with her own ugly suspicions and jealousy.

‘I've known that boy from when he was a baby in skirts. I think he certainly holds you in highest regard. He's been a soldier and not much used to female company and is probably shy too, about his disfigurement. But more than anything he's loyal and does not readily change his mind.'

Leonora sighed and put her head on Mrs Priddy's shoulder.

‘Oh, Nanny P, how I long to go home.'

After an early breakfast, Lord Rokeby checked that Captain Ormonde had already departed before all three climbed into the Rokeby chaise. As they settled in their seats he said, ‘This is most irregular that you are not chaperoned, Miss Blythe, but at least I am a close member of your family, which should be protection enough from Society's censure.' For propriety's sake, the men sat together and Charlotte opposite them, still weary from the previous day's alarms. She was vividly aware of them both but only the most desultory conversation passed between them, so tired were they all, so momentous the things that were in their hearts.

George Lockwood disembarked at the last change of horses at Barnet to reclaim Titan and ride him down the Great North Road back into London. Lord Rokeby and Charlotte at last were alone. As the chaise swung back onto the highway, he crossed to sit beside her. She looked at him, his face pale and drawn, the scar prominent, but she now saw it as an honourable mark of his virtue and valour. He took her hand and said in a low voice. ‘Miss Blythe – Charlotte – I have something to tell you and I can only apologise for not doing so sooner, when I first returned from France.'

Charlotte's heart started pounding in her breast. She had had enough emotional reversals already; what shock was about to be delivered now? ‘Yes, my lord?' she said, trying to sound unconcerned.

‘When you were born, your mother and father were very young and did not know what to do for the best.'

‘Being given to Mama Mildmay and the Reverend to be cared for was the best. I could not have been more loved.'

‘I'm very grateful that that was the case. But my brother Charles and I also made a pact that we swore to keep until death. To protect me from our father's wrath, Charles said he would claim that you were his.'

His face was anguished, and Charlotte's eyes widened as the full import of his words settled into her consciousness. ‘You mean that you are my father?'

‘I am.'

‘You're not dead?' Her voice was full of wonder.

‘I don't think so,' he said with a rueful expression.

‘So I have a real father, someone I can get to know and love?'

He nodded as she threw herself into his arms with a cry. ‘I cannot believe that my father has been restored to me. That he is real!' She held him tight against her as if to reassure herself of his bodily presence.

Lord Rokeby was so prepared for hysterics, blame and rejection that he was completely taken aback at her uncomplicated joy at having a real flesh and blood father at last. After initial hesitancy, he hugged her as forcefully as she did him, and they were locked in each other's embrace for a few minutes as the chaise passed on through Highgate and down the hill to Hampstead village. When he extracted himself from her grasp, Alistair Rokeby said, ‘Is there anything you need to ask me?'

‘There's so much I need to know, but just now I want to sit beside you and let the thought sink in that I am not an orphan.'

‘You are definitely not orphaned.'

‘I can't wait to tell Leonora my news. I have a father and he is you!' She grasped his hand, the damaged right one, and held it in hers.

‘Miss Appleby gave you a mooring in your life, did she not?' Lord Rokeby asked with an anxious frown.

‘She is as close as a sister and was always there. I couldn't bear it if she moved away.'

Lord Rokeby's voice surprised her with its urgency. ‘That's not likely, surely?'

‘If she married, she would move to her husband's property.'

His face looked pained as he took her arm and asked, ‘Is there anyone she has in mind?'

Charlotte looked at him, surprised he was so perturbed. Her heart leapt; could it be that he did harbour affections for Leonora after all? That her love would be returned? The conversation was cut short by their arrival at Lady Bucklebury's mansion in Brook Street.

The Earl handed Charlotte out of the chaise and said, ‘I know that Miss Appleby has been careful not to alert my grandmother to your escapade, but you've been away for too long. I'll come in with you. Our story is close to the truth, that Ormonde tricked you into accompanying him out of Town and I and Mr Lockwood brought you back.' It was late in the afternoon and they were ushered into the drawing room, both looking travel-worn.

Lady Bucklebury was in her favourite chair by the fire, still working on her tapestry frame, and had reached the eagle's talon. Leonora was reading and Mrs Priddy's knitting needles were flashing. Leonora leapt up as Charlotte entered first. She dashed to her side and embraced her in a fierce hug, then released her, remembering Lady Bucklebury did not know how close she had been to being embroiled in scandal.

Lord Rokeby took charge of the situation and walked forward, tiredness making his limp more pronounced; he gave a quick bow to his grandmother and then kissed her cheek. ‘Alistair,' she greeted him with a piercing look, ‘where have you and Charlotte been? You both look shockingly disreputable!'

Charlotte stepped forward, feeling this delicate situation needed some word from her. She took Lady Bucklebury's thin arthritic hand and kissed it. ‘Grandmama, it's entirely my fault. I was tricked by Captain Ormonde into travelling out of Town with him, but luckily my lord and Mr Lockwood followed and brought me home.'

‘Silly gal! You have to learn that Town bucks cannot be trusted!' She seemed to be unbothered by this potential scandal and was distracted by pain. ‘Could you help me to my feet, my dear. I feel in need of rest.' Charlotte and Mrs Priddy came forward to attend to her; Alistair Rokeby offered his hand to Leonora and walked her to a distant window overlooking the Square.

She looked into his tired face. His scar was all the more noticeable against the pallor of his skin and she had a sudden longing to trace it with her finger and kiss the slight pucker where it reached his lip. How outrageous this was! she remonstrated to herself.

A frown drew his black brows together. ‘Miss Appleby, as you are Charlotte's closest friend, I wanted to tell you that I have made her aware that I am her father. I cannot bear to have you think any worse of me than you already do.'

‘You have brought Charlotte back, avoiding scandal and the ruination of her name. For this, anyone who loves her will be eternally grateful.'

The shock of the revelation the previous morning had faded, and Leonora instead was overwhelmed with sympathy for both the brothers and poor Flora, all so young and faced with such censure and fear. ‘How did she take the news?'

‘She seemed rather pleased to have a live father rather than a dead one.' He managed a smile. ‘It quite surprised me. But then the eruption of my fatherly feeling for her has surprised me too.'

Leonora realised that everyone else had left the room and they were alone. ‘Perhaps we should go?' She looked up into his face, beloved to her in its damaged asymmetry.

His scar and eye patch were in shadow and his good eye, so dark and full of life, glittered as he met her gaze. ‘Miss Appleby, I return to Rokeby Abbey tomorrow.' The strain drained from his expression as he said with some amusement, ‘Hasterleigh is not the same without you, you know. My piano-forte is declining into anarchy and its master is more in disarray than usual.' In a spontaneous movement, he grasped her hand and held it to his cheek.

Leonora shivered, her pulse quickening. How different he was from any man she had known; how different from her boyish William Worth whose death had taken her youth with him. Now Alistair Rokeby had reunited her with that hopeful self, and she felt it flare up again like a flame that had survived the storm. She took a deep breath and smiled. ‘I have been longing to go home. I very much need to swim and restore the rhythm of my life.'

He looked down at her with his crooked smile. ‘It's still too cold to swim. My lake won't have begun to warm up yet.'

‘I think I must be a Viking; I can bear the cold quite well.'

He let out a bark of laughter. ‘Even if that is true, dear Miss Appleby, you are not to go swimming alone. You promised me that. And I doubt your fabled forebears ever chose to swim; their skill was to navigate and travel at speed across the mighty North Sea rather than to plunge into its unforgiving depths.' Lord Rokeby was laughing as he offered his arm and escorted her out of the room. ‘Farewell then, my intrepid mermaid. I shall look forward to your return.' He crossed the landing to his grandmother's rooms to take his leave, and after a few minutes bounded down the stairs with unexpected grace, collected his hat and coat, climbed back into his chaise and was gone, leaving Leonora's world strangely bereft.

Charlotte and Mrs Priddy had been sitting talking in the small room beside the kitchen, warmed by the big kitchen range. At the sound of the front door closing, Charlotte called, ‘Leonora! Come quickly.' When Leonora entered the room, she was confronted by a radiant Charlotte, her cheeks flushed, her brown eyes sparkling, and although her clothes looked the worse for two days' wear, she showed no sign of the adventures, assaults and revelations of the previous two days.

Charlotte pulled her into the room and closed the door. ‘I am in love with George Lockwood, and he is with me! He rescued me from Captain Ormonde by boxing him hard on the nose. I've never seen him so angry, and on my behalf!' Her voice sounded quite thrilled by being the focus of a man's protective violence.

‘Well, you couldn't choose a better man to fall in love with, Lottie.'

‘That's just what Nanny P said.'

Leonora looked across at her old nanny who was nodding with a knowing smile on her face. ‘Charlotte, tell Nanny P your other piece of news.'

‘Yes! Almost as exciting is the fact that my papa is not a dead hero but a live one! He is in fact Lord Rokeby, not his brother, and I am so happy to have a father I can know. Such a heroic one too. You should have seen how brave he and Mr Lockwood were with Captain Ormonde who had brought his own pistol!'

Leonora took her hand and said, ‘I'm very glad you feel so blessed. Lord Rokeby is indeed a fine father to have.'

Mrs Priddy had picked up her knitting again and said quietly, ‘I'd always thought your father was more likely to be Master Alistair. You have his impetuous nature too, my dear. Charles at heart was quite a sobersides.'

Leonora wondered if the time was right to impart to her friend the next astonishing fact about her parentage. She could not justify keeping it from her any longer. She took Charlotte's hand and drew her to the seat between Mrs Priddy and herself. ‘My dear, I have another piece of information for you which I hope will please you equally. You know Flora Lacey?' She paused.

Charlotte's eyes widened. ‘Flora is my mother, isn't she?' When Leonora nodded, Charlotte dropped her eyes, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She didn't speak, although Leonora could see her cheeks grow pink with emotion. Leonora looked with concern at Nanny P who just smiled and nodded.

After what seemed an age, Leonora laid her hand on Charlotte's. ‘Is this a great shock to you?' she asked in a quiet voice.

Charlotte looked up, tears in her eyes. ‘No. It is consoling. I felt such a connection with Flora. When she was brushing my hair with tenderness, and when she dressed me, it was with such care.' She sobbed and leant across to embrace Leonora and with her voice muffled, she said, ‘Then when she met my eyes in the looking glass there was a recognition of something, I knew not what.' She straightened up and looked from Mrs Priddy to Leonora.

Leonora said, ‘When she found your bed empty two mornings ago she was so distraught I immediately thought, she is Charlotte's mother , and she confirmed it but asked me to be the one to tell you. I think she was afraid of your reaction.'

Charlotte's face was full of concern. ‘But I am so pleased. She is familiar to me. How could I wish for a better mother? I have Mama Mildmay and I now have Flora Lacey.' Her face broke into a smile and she reached to take Mrs Priddy's hand and Leonora's. ‘Has she been happy, do you know?'

‘She says she's married to a good man, a gardener. You must see her and ask her yourself.'

Charlotte appeared overflowing with feeling. ‘Perhaps they will come and live with me and George when we marry? He has so many planting schemes.'

Leonora laughed with delight. ‘Has he asked you yet?'

‘No, but he will. I know he will. And I will say yes!' Charlotte was ecstatic. ‘I feel the sun, moon and the stars have all aligned to pour their benison down on me. How could I be any happier?' They hauled Nanny P to her feet so that they could all embrace, laughing with the joy of it. ‘And I'm going to go to Beau Beacham's party with him as his betrothed!'

Leonora smiled. ‘Mr Lockwood inadvertently has pleased his exacting stepfather, no doubt, by winning the hand of an heiress.'

Charlotte was suddenly serious. ‘Do you think my mother would mind living in the same village as Lord Rokeby?'

‘It was a different century and they were different people, children playing at life and getting burnt. I don't think it will matter to either of them, especially as she seems happy with Mr Lacey.' Leonora swung Charlotte around. ‘Oh, what pleasure this gives me! Lottie, you have found your perfect match and we can all go home! I'm longing for home, as a wave longs for the shore.'

Charlotte giggled, ‘And as Mr Lockwood longs for Hasterleigh too. He hates Town life and has only endured it until he found someone to love.' She twirled with joy at knowing that the someone he loved was her. ‘How strange, though. We travel all the way to London only to discover that everything we need for happiness is to be found at home.' She hugged Leonora. ‘You made all the difference in my passage from green country girl to someone happy to be married, able to run my own household and take my place in Society.' Tears had filled her eyes with the thought of how much richer her life had become with a father and mother alongside the love of the Mildmays. ‘And do you really mean it when you say that you've always wanted it to be me to take your place at the Manor? Your family home?'

‘Of course, you goose. Who could be better? And I can come and plague you every day, as all your life you've done to me!'

Charlotte looked from Leonora to Mrs Priddy and said, ‘You don't need to stay any longer. If you and Nanny P want to leave, I'll travel down with Mr Lockwood once we are betrothed.'

They looked up to see Lady Bucklebury at the door, leaning heavily on her stick and supported by her maid. Leonora and Charlotte jumped up. Leonora came forward. ‘Lady Bucklebury, we thought you were resting. Which is the most comfortable chair for you?'

‘That higher one by the fire will do well.' Her bird-like frame looked frail as she hobbled across the room.

‘I'm sorry Grandmama, if we had known you were no longer resting, we could have joined you in the drawing room and saved you the stairs.' Charlotte looked concerned.

‘Oh, don't worry yourself, my dear. It's quite good for me to try the stairs occasionally. I've come to let you know, Charlotte, that Alistair has told me everything. What a naughty boy he was! But I'm glad he has become steadier with age and experience. Are you happy to have him as a father?'

Lady Bucklebury had always been forthright, and Charlotte flew to her side and knelt so their heads were on the same level. ‘I am very happy to have Lord Rokeby as my father. I'm particularly pleased that my father is alive. I felt cheated by fate when I thought he was dead before I could know him.'

Lady Bucklebury patted her arm. ‘Well that is a good thing then.' She cast a piercing gaze at Leonora who stood before her. ‘Alistair also said I was to give every assistance to you, Miss Appleby, should you need it.'

‘It would be very kind if you could lend Mrs Priddy and me your coach to convey us home in the next day or so. Charlotte seems happy for us to leave her in your and Mr Lockwood's care.'

‘Of course.' The old lady's face became thoughtful and with a knowing expression, she added, ‘If you wished to return home tomorrow, you could join Lord Rokeby in his carriage, much finer and more comfortable than any I could offer. He told me he is heading for Hasterleigh after his usual leisurely breakfast.'

Leonora felt her pulse quicken. She did not even check with Nanny P but said, ‘We would be very grateful for that. But Lady Bucklebury, would your grandson be happy to share his conveyance?'

‘It was he who suggested it.'

Leonora met Mrs Priddy's bright eyes. ‘Well then, we will be delighted. Lady Bucklebury, I will not forget your generous hospitality.' She took her hand. ‘Being here under your protection has taught me so much of life and also of myself. Thank you.'

The Countess inclined her head with a smile. ‘I felt rather put upon when Alistair asked me to sponsor Charlotte's entry into Society, but I have been surprised myself that I've much enjoyed it. Having you young women in the house, the sound of music being played, your singing, the laughter, all reminded me of past times. It has been a pleasure, my dear. And to see Mrs Priddy again. Perhaps when you and Charlotte are married, Miss Appleby, I'll come down to Hasterleigh again for a last visit. It has been so many years.'