Page 34 of The Twelve Days of Christmas

‘Mr Busgrove,’ said she, planting on her face an insincere smile and turning to greet said gentleman, who stood before her – red-cheeked and sweating, clearly in his altitudes – with a wide-toothed smile of his own. ‘You startled me.’

‘Did I?’ came the reply, and Charlotte could indeed smell sherry on his breath. ‘Forgive me, Miss Pépin, I had not meant to. But so absorbed were you in your books, and so affecting did you look with your hair loose about your shoulders, I did not wish to disturb you by making undue noise.’

To this sickening declaration, Charlotte gritted her teeth. ‘And yet,’ she said sourly, ‘I am disturbed.’

Nigel Busgrove, only son of the esteemed family of Busgrove Bank and therefore a man prone to thinking himself vastly superior in terms of status and affluence, gave an insincere chuckle and inclined his head.

His blonde curls lay crisp against his crown by way of too much pomade, which he patted now upon his rise.

‘So you are, so you are – forgive me again, but I sincerely wished to speak with you. I thought we might discuss last night’s riddles together.’

Charlotte did her utmost not to sigh. She should have known that coming to the library (usually, for her, a place of refuge) was an unwise decision, but in her haste to ensure she was not wrong-footed by Charles Heysten again she had clean forgot that Mr Busgrove might discover her there.

Perhaps she would not mind his company if he were not so transparent in his attempts at securing Charlotte’s affections, and she could barely keep her countenance whenever he sought her company.

Indeed, she remained amazed that he had won last night’s treasure hunt, since he had always appeared to be such an addle-pate.

‘I’m afraid,’ Charlotte said, clutching Thomas Bewick’s History of British Birds to her chest like a shield, ‘that our discussion will have to wait. My … my father is in need of me.’

‘No, no, he is not,’ replied Mr Busgrove, pale eyes alight with some emotion Charlotte suspected was gleeful satisfaction, ‘for I just left him discussing his investment of pineapples with my father, and they shall not wish to be disturbed, I am sure.’

Drat . Charlotte bit her lip, willed herself to think of something to say which might rescue her. But then there came the sound of footsteps on parquet, and suddenly Charles Heysten presented himself at the library door.

‘Miss Pépin,’ said he, with a formal bow.

‘Lord Heysten.’

His lordship looked much improved from that morning.

Before, he had looked tired and haggard, the suggestion of a beard apparent on his over-pale skin, his salt-and-pepper hair an unruly mess.

Now, however, he was shaved and combed, dressed formally in his own attire of sober colours unlike the flamboyant style of her unwanted companion, and Charlotte found herself conflicted at the sight of him.

In some measure she was relieved to no longer be alone with Mr Busgrove, but in another, her consternation that it should be him to interrupt them was great indeed.

Seeing the pained expression on her face, his lordship looked between Charlotte and the man at her side.

‘I apologise,’ said he, with care. ‘I am interrupting.’ Lord Heysten turned to regard the inelegant Mr Busgrove and raised his dark brows. ‘And you are, sir? I do not believe we have been introduced …’

Mr Busgrove beamed, hurried to shake Lord Heysten’s hand.

‘I am Nigel Busgrove, your lordship! You have recently undertaken the services of my father at Busgrove Bank, and I simply cannot tell you how thrilled we are you chose to trust us with your accounts. An honour, Lord Heysten, a true honour!’

Mr Busgrove was still heartily shaking his lordship’s hand, and Charlotte found a little satisfaction in seeing Lord Heysten’s strained smile.

‘Of course,’ he said, taking back his hand which he then surreptitiously wiped upon the hem of his tail coat. ‘It made the most sense, under the circumstances.’

‘So it did, my lord!’ Mr Busgrove puffed out his chest which strained at the buttons of his mustard yellow waistcoat.

‘We never could understand why your father insisted on using a London branch when we were so close at hand. Such shameless expense, all because the bank serves the royal family! Oh, it has a sense of history and patronage, to be sure, but Busgrove Bank has a sterling reputation of its own which will grow year on year.’

‘Quite.’

‘But the error has been rectified, so it has, and you will find we are much more affable and convenient.’

Lord Heysten’s jaw clenched. ‘Indeed.’

‘In fact—’

‘Busgrove?’

The younger man paused. ‘Yes, Lord Heysten?’

‘Absent yourself, won’t you my good fellow? I have need to speak with Miss Pépin. Alone.’

Charlotte pressed her lips. Mr Busgrove blinked heartily.

‘Oh.’ He looked between her and Lord Heysten.

‘ Oh, ’ he said again, and in that moment looked quite dejected; his fleshy cheeks reddened further, his lower lip fell so that Charlotte could detect the glisten of spittle upon it.

‘Yes,’ Mr Busgrove muttered, ‘yes. I am much obliged to you. I …’ And it was with such bumbling mutterings that Nigel Busgrove shuffled himself away.

Charlotte pressed her fingertips hard against the book.

She did not like Mr Busgrove’s ‘ Oh ’ and its implied meaning, for it was clear the buffoon suspected a prior attachment between her and Lord Heysten which was really most degrading.

Even if she were receptive to the notion of marriage, Charlotte would never stoop to consider the suit of a man such as he !

‘Really, Miss Pépin,’ said that gentleman in mocking tones. ‘Must I always be put upon to rescue you?’

Charlotte lifted her chin, produced a pointed sniff, and raised an arching eyebrow in disdain.

‘As with this morning, you quite mistook the matter. I was in no need of rescuing. I am more than capable of taking care of myself.’

‘Are you quite sure? A swan and a Busgrove – rather formidable foes, I do concede.’

Lord Heysten wore such a look of amusement that it vexed her greatly. Seeing it, his lordship adopted a serious expression and stepped forwards.

‘Come now, Miss Pépin. I think we got off on the wrong foot. Pray, might we begin again? I am sure we can be civil to one another at the very least, though I would prefer it if we could be a little more amiable than mere civility if you are to teach my Faith.’

This appeal made Charlotte pause, for his lordship suggested she could teach Faith, and the words were spoken with such earnestness … but almost immediately she was assaulted with the memory of that ghastly line from Snelgrave and could not contain her disgust when she replied:

‘I have no objection to maintaining a civil discourse with you if I am indeed permitted to have a hand in your sister’s education. But beyond that I do not see a need to forward the connection further, not when your character is so clearly written.’

‘Miss Pépin?’

‘Any man who could have a part in the suffering of a human being is not worth my favourable attention.’

Charles regarded the young woman standing so proudly before him.

It was rare a woman should hold his interest, but if the lady had spirit he invariably found himself drawn.

Clarissa had been a mistake, a mistake that cost him more than his pride – her husband had made sure of that.

The long barrel of a pistol. A lucky near-miss.

That mistake of over a decade ago meant that, now, at five-and-forty, he had little to offer a woman beyond a crumbling estate and his affections if she should manage to engage them, and so for many years marriage had been the furthest thing from his mind.

Until, that is, he encountered a stubborn hotheaded miss trying to rescue a damn swan from a frozen pond.

‘I think, Miss Pépin,’ Charles said, ‘you are suffering under a misapprehension.’

‘Oh?’

‘I saw your disgust when I revealed earlier that I owned a plantation. You think me a fiend.’

‘Do you claim not to be?’ Miss Pépin returned, widening those fine honeyed eyes. ‘I do not see how you could be otherwise. Slavery in any capacity is disgraceful.’

‘I quite agree.’

Miss Pépin stared. Charles drew a breath.

‘The cotton plantation in question belonged to my father. He had purchased it in his youth, after he inherited Heysten Park from his father. Theophilus did not squander his fortune as Archibald later did – the plantation was the first of many ill-advised investments my father made, and it took some persuading for him to sign it over to me but his debts, being what they were, made the decision inevitable; in order for him to secure Heysten Park, I had to secure the plantation and take over the running of it.’

Miss Pépin narrowed her eyes.

‘I see.’

‘No, I do not think you do. Let me explain further.’

And so Charles did – he divulged to her his abhorrence of the terrible conditions Archibald Heysten’s slaves suffered, how far the plantation’s fortunes had dwindled without proper and humane guidance.

‘I hired a more compassionate overseer, improved living quarters for the workers, and in time the plantation began once more to turn a profit. I confess that I was conscious of how my own fortunes were being made over the years because of it, but the earnings were necessary to pay for Faith’s education and settle my father’s other debts.

Then, finally, when he died and Heysten Park returned to me, I was legally able to free the men and women, and sell the land. ’

There was silence as Miss Pépin considered this. At length she said once more, ‘I see,’ and Charles replied, ‘Do you?’

She hesitated, and he was gratified to mark that while she still clearly felt some conflict within herself the harsh expression she wore had softened, and that small victory was enough … for now.

He gestured to the book in her arms, which she had clasped tightly to her chest throughout their conversation.

‘What were you reading before Busgrove interrupted you?’

A blush bloomed across her handsome face, and Charles smiled when she reluctantly admitted to the book’s title.

‘So you know, now,’ he said, teasing, ‘that swans can break ice if they so wish it?’

Miss Pépin’s jaw clenched, her lovely eyes flashed, and it was all Charles could do not to take her in his arms and kiss her there and then.

‘Forgive me, Miss Pépin,’ he said in gentler tones. ‘I do not mean to tease, but I confess you make it rather easy.’

Charlotte – feeling conflicted and not a little embarrassed – returned Bewick’s volume to the shelf.

‘You are not alone,’ she replied, grudging. ‘My sisters share your view and contrive to tease me almost daily. Maman especially does not approve of my reading habits and I admit I do not tolerate being spoken down to. It makes me somewhat irritable.’

‘Yes,’ Lord Heysten replied with a nod, ‘I discovered that much this morning. And you must forgive the harsh way in which I addressed you then. I was not quite myself, and seeing you so close to harm made me even less so. I shall endeavour not to tease you again.’

Charlotte blinked. This admittance of error was quite unexpected, and though she could not quite bring herself to say he was forgiven, Charlotte did go as far as to accept that perhaps her first impressions of him were erroneous, and so she inclined her head.

At that moment the gong for dinner sounded, and Lord Charles Heysten dipped into a bow.

‘Miss Pépin,’ said he, ‘will you allow me to escort you? I would be interested to hear about all the reading habits your mother finds so detestable. I do, after all, need to be quite sure you are teaching Faith something most enlightening.’

‘Oh, never fear, my lord – I have every intention of enlightening her in ways she will find useful. Including how not to rescue swans from frozen ponds.’

And feeling rather pleased with her answer, Charlotte consented to take his arm.