Hope's Betrayal Part 11

"I can't think why, you are just being kindhearted."

"Take today as an example. I come home to find Miss Tyler dressed like a lady, in sprig muslin."

"Oh, did you like it? I thought that pale-rose so set off her hair."

"Mother, if you are trying to be deliberately infuriating, it won't work. The point is, Miss Tyler escaped the law's judgment, and to some it appears she has been rewarded, rather than punished." And besides, he almost added, she is temptation personified.

"Perhaps I haven't been fair, George." She adopted a more conciliatory tone. "What I haven't made clear, is that Hope is no ordinary girl."

"Being able to write doesn't make her above the law."

"No, of course not, what do you take me for? But, you say she should be treated like a servant and I tell you she is a woman of breeding."

"Oh please, Mother! Spare me the romance!"

Lady Ryevale pushed on. "Hope's mother was a Baron's daughter, and her father an Earl... it was unfortunate her father was married to another woman at the time."

"She told you this and you believe her?" He said, wearily.

"Not exactly dear, that's the thing-I put the pieces of the puzzle together. Don't roll your eyes...it's disrespectful. Hope's well-read, can converse in French and her manners are delightful" Lady Ryevale leant forward, eyes glittering. "When I was newly married I remember a scandal which set the ton alight."

"There are always scandals in the ton."

"Not like this. Emma Castelle, the poor ruined dear, refused to give up her illegitimate child...and ran away to the Isle of Wight..."

"I don't see..." The Captain pressed his fingers to his temple. "Romantic nonsense. Mother, I'm too tired for this. What's on your mind?"

"Dearest, don't you see? I believe Hope to be that child! She's like the daughter I never had and I'm thinking of finis.h.i.+ng what her mother began, perhaps even launch her into society."

Huntley waved his hands. "Enough! Impossible. Stop this foolishness!"

But right on queue, just as Huntley rose to protest further, the door opened and in walked Miss Tyler carrying a tea tray.

"Your tea, Lady Ryevale. Oh, and Captain Huntley."

"Lovely dear, just what's needed. You will join us?"

"Thank you."

For all his arguments, Huntley had overlooked the pull of Hope's smile. He forgot everything else and stared back. Her hair was caught back off her face, pinned up in a confection of curls which emphasised her jawline. She looked beautiful, the muslin gown hinting at her lithe body in a way which left him speechless. She crossed the room. There was something different about her today-and then he realised she was walking without the aid of a stick. The ache of pride caught him off guard and against his better judgement, he shot her an encouraging smile acknowledging that today at least, he had lost the battle, but there was always tomorrow....

Chapter Eight.

It had been another bad day for Captain Huntley; not only had the patrol been a waste of time but he'd overheard the men speculating as to why-needless to say it involved him and a certain female -so when the s.h.i.+ft ended the Captain set off home in a foul mood.

The maid who answered the door bore the brunt of his displeasure as he grunted and pushed past. In the hall, Huntley caught his reflection in the mirror and paused; there was mud on his cheek, bracken in his hair and anger in his eyes. Rubbing a hand across a bristly chin, Huntley scowled at his appearance but decided brandy, rather than a shave, took priority.

He took the stairs two at a time, making for the decanter in the library. Within the peace of the bookshelves, he sought to soothe his nerves in preparation for what must be done. But when he pushed open the door to his sanctuary, murmuring voices caught his ear. He bristled. What manner of intrusion was this? Stalking past the bookcases, he found the very people he most wished to avoid seated around the table in front of the fire.

"What are you doing in here?" he snapped.

"And good afternoon to you too, George." Lady Ryevale glowered at her son. "As it happens the chimney in the office is blocked, so we decided to work in here instead."

Huntley glanced from Miss Tyler, and d.i.c.kens, running his hat between his hands.

"Humph, I need a drink." He grasped the decanter and poured a gla.s.s of brandy. d.i.c.kens licked his lips, as if he fancied a drop himself.

"d.a.m.n it!" Huntley drained the gla.s.s in a gulp, trying to drown out Hope's sea-green eyes which were at that moment unmanning his composure.

"George! There's no need for that sort of language."

"Sorry, Mother."

"Accepted. Do I take it you've had a bad day?"

"You could say that." He threw a venomous stare at Miss Tyler. "But of course, certain people knew all along we were wasting our time."

A glow of satisfaction, or brandy, warmed his insides as Miss Tyler turned pale. d.a.m.n it, she was so beautiful with her heart-shaped face against the dark frame of hair, that his insides ached as her gaze brushed his skin. He glared harder, but instead of flinching, her pale-green eyes met his with a challenge. Huntley jabbed an accusing finger in her direction.

"What is she doing here?"

Lady Ryevale answered in a tightly controlled tone. "Miss Tyler is taking notes. She helps because everyone else is too busy."

Huntley's voice dripped with sarcasm, while appalled by a want which went beyond the physical, almost to obsession. "I apologise that I am too busy about His Majesty's business to play secretary."

"Now George, don't take on so. Let's discuss this matter later, rather than take up Mr d.i.c.kens' valuable time now, not to mention embarra.s.s him with your loutish behaviour."

"Then I shan't say another word. Just pretend I'm not here." Picking up the decanter, Huntley made for an armchair and settled in an ungentlemanly sprawl. He would be d.a.m.ned if Miss Tyler was going to win. Well, he would make her feel so d.a.m.ned uncomfortable she'd beg to be let go. The Grange was his home and any halfway decent person would take the hint and leave.

Lady Ryevale regarded her son sternly, then with a shake of her head, picked up a paper. "Where was I? Oh yes. d.i.c.kens, what plans for winter feed?"

"Well Ladys.h.i.+p, by my reckoning, in addition to our regular crops, if we plants the bottom fields with turnips and turn the summer meadows over to hay, if the weather aint too severe we should be self-sufficient." d.i.c.kens, the estate manager, was now an old man. For too long, Lady Ryevale had run the day-today business, but it was Charles' place as eldest son, who should oversee the running. But Charles abhorred the countryside, too busy living a rakish life in London to be bothered with small details such as keeping the estate going.

"How did we fair, the winter just gone?"

"Not so well, Ladys.h.i.+p, we're just now buying in hay to cover the shortfall. Cost a pretty penny it is."

Huntley's attention wandered to Miss Tyler, seeing her poised over the inkwell meant once again Charles had been let off the hook.

"And the cottages? How much will the repairs cost?"

d.i.c.kens scratched his head. "Not too bad-lost slates, that sort of thing. Nothing major."

"Well, thank heavens for that."

Covertly, Huntley studied Miss Tyler-from her glowing cheeks she was well aware of his presence. Despite his fatigue, a bolt of hot need shot to his groin. Miss Tyler with the looks of an angel-that pointed chin, plump lips and upturned nose-and yet she was no lady. Or was she? Huntley emptied a second gla.s.s, confused by the possibility of n.o.ble blood. Could there be any truth in his mother's fanciful story? He pushed the decanter away, clearly the brandy was affecting his judgment.

His mother shuffled the papers into a pile.

"Now, Hope. If you could attend to replies, it would be an immense help."

"Yes, Lady Ryevale, my pleasure. When they are finished I'll bring them to you for signing."

"Thank you, Miss Tyler, use the writing desk in the parlor."

Huntley rolled his eyes. The chit was making herself indispensible, winkling her way deeper into his mother's good books. Why was he the only one able to see her plan?

With something close to affection, Lady Ryevale smiled after Hope's retreating back.

"I'd best be off, Ladys.h.i.+p." d.i.c.kens touched his forelock and shuffled to the door, swinging an arm to counterbalance his stiff leg. Preoccupied by his bad thoughts, too late George realised he was now alone with his mother.

"I'm off for a wash." He mumbled and made to stand.

"Oh no you don't, George Huntley. You stay right there until you explain your rudeness."

"I'm not a child." He countered sulkily.

"Then don't act like one."

Huntley stood and drew himself up to his full height. "I apologise if my manner offends, but I've been chasing shadows-no doubt due, in no small part, to our house guest."

"Miss Tyler?"

"Yes! Miss Tyler." Her name burnt like a brand on his tongue. He leaned on his fists on the desk, all the anger at how she made him feel turned into accusation. "While you were warm at home, five of His Majesty's revenue men have been tramping across the marches trying to apprehend smugglers. Only someone tipped them off."

"Well I'm sure it wasn't Miss Tyler."

"Humph."

"Besides, you set a bad example for d.i.c.kens. Making an exhibition of yourself like this."

"It's not me making an exhibition..." Too late, Huntley bit back the words.

"And by that you mean?"

His tone softened. "I'm just saying you should be wary of being used."

"If you are referring to Miss Tyler-she deserves a chance."

"Mother, she's a smuggler's daughter!"

"Ah well, that's not wholly correct. Mr Tyler is not her blood relative and her mother was a member of the ton."

"Not that again. You're being obtuse, Mother, as well you know. I'm tired and right now, all I want is a bath. If you know something I don't, you'd better tell me now."

Huntley didn't like how her face lit up, the unmistakable look of a woman with gossip to share.

"I've been doing some investigation of my own. I believe Hope's mother was indeed Emma Castelle, the youngest daughter of a Baron." She continued in hushed tones. "Hope's mother was victim to a rogue's seduction and fell pregnant. When her parents found out, they were outraged and sent Emma away, to give birth secretly."

"This is so much romantic twaddle, Mother." Huntley rolled his eyes.

"Is it? I don't think so. I made some inquiries and found out Miss Castelle spent her confinement not far from here on the south coast, where she went for long solitary walks...and met William Tyler."

"About his smuggling business no doubt."

A look of comprehension dawned across Lady Ryevale's face. "I hadn't thought of that, but quite possibly. Anyhow, they formed a friends.h.i.+p. Well, the baby, Hope, was born and the Castelle's ordered her removed to the parish. But Emma refused to give the child up and with William's help, ran away to the Isle of Wight."

Huntley stifled a mock yawn. "Where they fell in love and married."

"Precisely!"

"Who told you this?"

"When Hope was delirious with laudanum she gave me the bones of her past, not that she remembers telling me, the poor dear, and then I made my own inquiries."

"And you believe it?" He scoffed.

"I do, because I remember the scandal! As a young married woman, I was on nodding terms with the Castelle's and remember Emma's disappearance. At the time, gossip linked her to Lord Roche-whose dark hair and green eyes bear a strong resemblance to Hope's."

Huntley closed his eyes, determined to show patience with his mother despite his own lurching heart. "Then why didn't she call upon her relatives rather than live in poverty as a fisherman's daughter?"

"Because she is stubborn and proud. Plus, Lord Roche died a bankrupt, and the Castelle's swore never to have anything to do with Emma's b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"And how do you know this, Mother?" Huntley quizzed, feeling uncomfortable that he already knew the answer.

"Because I wrote and asked them!"

Huntley sagged. "You did what?"

"Oh yes. The Castelle's are elderly now, but time hasn't blunted their venom. Quite brusque, their reply. Didn't deny a thing, but decidedly don't want to be reminded."

Huntley sank into a chair and pressed his forehead into his hands.

"I despair!"

"Well, I don't see why."

He took a deep breath-he didn't want to hurt his mother's feelings. "For all that Hope Tyler may have good blood, she's a smuggler and you're too trusting."

"Really George, sometimes you talk nonsense!"

"Mother, not everyone is an honest as you."