Ten Guineas on Love Read online

  To Charity Mayfield’s shock, she discovered a year after her father’s death that his debts could mean losing her home. Only by marriage could she touch her inheritance and save Hazelhurst. The one sensible candidate was Edward, newly come into the earldom, and the Mayfields’ neighbor. Industrious and desperate, Charity wrote to propose marriage! But she’d made a mistake; the new earl was Jack Riversleigh and he wasn’t at all disposed to help out—which led Charity rashly to bet him that she could find a husband within a month…. Dare she hope that her groom would be none other than the dashing Jack Riversleigh himself?

  TEN GUINEAS ON LOVE

  Claire Thornton

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Mr Canby! Are you telling me that unless we can find twenty thousand pounds by the end of the month we are going to lose our home?” Charity demanded.

  “I—er—that is to say—yes, Miss Mayfield,” the attorney replied miserably.

  For a moment there was silence as Charity gazed at Mr Canby in disbelief and Mr Canby stared dismally at the faded library carpet.

  “Why?” said Charity at last.

  “Your father used Hazelhurst as security for a loan,” Mr Canby explained. “According to the terms of the agreement, he had one year to repay the money, with the total sum due on the first of March 1766—but unfortunately he was killed within two days of signing the agreement.”

  “Yes, I understand that,” said Charity impatiently. She was holding a copy of the document in her hand. “What I don’t understand is why he borrowed the money in the first place—and why it is only now, nearly a year later, that you tell us about it.”

  The attorney began to look rather hunted.

  “It…it’s entirely my fault,” he stammered. “I knew about the agreement from the beginning—I’m sure Mr Mayfield meant to repay…but then he was…and it was at that time that our youngest died…and Mrs Canby so upset—I really feared for her. Everything to do with business went clean out of my head.”

  His distress was so palpable that when he briefly raised his eyes to Charity’s face she found herself nodding reassuringly at him.

  Her father had died almost eleven months ago, and at nearly the same time the Canbys had lost their last and youngest child. Mrs Canby had been hysterical with grief—for a while it had been feared that she might never regain her reason—and Mr Canby had been distracted with anxiety on her behalf. It was understandable if he had temporarily neglected his work.

  The attorney sighed, grateful for Charity’s forbearance, and continued with his explanation.

  “The document got lost under other papers and by the time I could attend to things properly I…I’m afraid I’d forgotten it. I only found it again yesterday evening. I came at once. I hope…I’m sorry.” He fell once more into dejected silence.

  “I see,” said Charity. She walked over to the window and stared out at the snow-covered garden. February snow. By the beginning of March she and her mother would have to leave Hazelhurst. The glare of reflected sunlight hurt her eyes and when she turned back to Mr Canby the room seemed very dark in comparison.

  “I still don’t understand what can have prompted Papa to make such an agreement,” she said. “I didn’t even know he knew the Earl…” she paused, glancing down at the document in her hand, searching for the name “…the Earl of Ashbourne,” she continued. “What did he want the money for? And how did he think he was going to re-pay it?”

  The enormity of the situation was finally coming home to Charity and her voice rose as she asked the last question.

  The attorney shuffled his feet and concentrated his attention on the carpet. He’d been hoping to avoid the need to explain that part of the story.

  “I think…I believe…”

  The clock on the mantel suddenly began to chime the hour, and Mr Canby started with surprise. He looked up at the clock-face, almost as if he expected to find the answer to Charity’s question there, and, without quite realising what he was doing, he began to count the chimes.

  …Eight, nine, ten. Ten o’clock in the morning, and all was not well.

  “Mr Canby!”

  “It was a gambling debt,” he said desperately.

  “A gambling debt. Dear God!” Charity sat down suddenly and put her hands up to her face.

  She had been hoping that, although her father had borrowed the money, he hadn’t had time to spend it. She’d been hoping that they might be able to recover it and use it to repay the loan—but if it was a gambling debt it was gone forever.

  Mr Canby looked down at her anxiously, but her face was hidden from him. All he could see were the wayward dark curls which, despite the prevailing fashion, she invariably wore unpowdered. She was a pretty, vivacious girl, with expressive hands that she used to emphasise everything she said. But today she seemed unnaturally still and her usually merry brown eyes looked strained and sombre when she raised her head and smiled bleakly at Mr Canby.

  “That’s it, then,” she said. “I was hoping…but never mind. We must start making arrangements for the move. Can you…?” She stopped abruptly, an arrested expression in her eyes.

  “What about the money Uncle Jacob left me?” she asked suddenly, wondering why she hadn’t remembered it at once. “Isn’t there some way we could use that to pay the debt?”

  “Not until you are thirty,” Mr Canby replied. “Mr Kelland’s will is very clear on that point.”

  “And I couldn’t borrow, using it as security?” Charity frowned, wishing her uncle hadn’t been quite so firmly convinced that wisdom could only be acquired with age.

  The attorney pursed his lips and shook his head slowly.

  “Possibly, he said, “but, even if you could find a lender who would agree to such terms, I wouldn’t advise such a course. A great deal could happen in the next seven years—and I’m sure that Mr Mayfield would not have wanted you to burden yourself with such a debt.”

  Mr Canby winced a little as he said those last few words—whatever Mr Mayfield’s intentions might have been, he had hardly set his daughter a good example—but Charity simply nodded. Her immediate impulse was to do anything she could to save the family estate, but she had no desire to take on an enormous debt that she would be unable to repay for years to come.

  “You won’t be destitute,” Mr Canby pointed out, glad that the situation was not totally black. “There’s still your mother’s jointure and the quarterly allowance Mr Kelland left to you. You will be able to live quite comfortably—but not here.” Mr Canby bit his lip; he didn’t think his words of reassurance had helped much.

  “No, not here,” said Charity.

  Then she remembered her duties as a hostess and managed to smile at the attorney.

  “I’m sorry, Mr Canby, I haven’t offered you any refreshment, and it’s a bitter day to be out,” she said. “Would you like some tea, or perhaps some brandy? It’s a fair ride back to Horsham.”

  “No, no, thank you, Miss Mayfield,” he replied uncomfortably, thinking how like Charity it was to be thinking of his comfort even at such a time. In all her dealings with him, both before and after the death of her father, she had been unfailingly generous and good-natured. She deserved
better than this, Mr Canby thought wretchedly.

  So did Mrs Mayfield, of course, but Mr Canby had always found her a more difficult woman and he had been secretly rather glad that a minor indisposition had kept her in bed that morning and obliged him to make his explanations directly to Charity. Charity could always be relied upon to listen rationally to what was said to her.

  “I’m so sorry!” he burst out suddenly. “If only I’d remembered sooner…”

  “Perhaps it was better that you didn’t,” Charity said quickly. She’d had enough of the attorney’s regrets and self-recriminations. All she wanted now was to be left alone so that she could think, but she was too kind-hearted to dismiss Mr Canby without saying anything to assuage his guilt.

  “There was nothing we could have done and we’ve had nearly an extra year here without having to worry about the future,” she pointed out. “Now, have you heard from Lord Ashbourne yet?”

  “No,” Mr Canby replied, gazing at her in some bewilderment. Her brisk assumption of a businesslike manner rather confounded him.

  “Then I think you’d better contact him,” said Charity. “I’d also like you to come back tomorrow when I’ve had time to consider the situation in more detail. There will be a great many arrangements to make—and I must also tell Mama…”

  She paused, and he suddenly saw that her eyes were suspiciously bright. She was very close to tears, though she was doing her best to hide it.

  “Of course,” he said quietly. “I’ll see myself out.”

  He turned to go, then paused with his hand on the door-handle as he remembered something.

  “I meant to tell you—there will be other changes in the neighbourhood soon,” he said. “I heard only yesterday that Lord Riversleigh is dead.”

  “Lord Riversleigh? Good heavens!” said Charity faintly. At any other time the fortunes of her neighbours, even those of one she disliked as much as Lord Riversleigh, would have been of considerable interest to her. Now she hardly cared.

  “What did he die of? Apoplexy?” she asked, with rather disconcerting bluntness.

  Lord Riversleigh’s bad temper and feuds had been a byword for miles around. He’d given every indication of having loathed his one surviving son, and Charity had good reason to know that his treatment of his grandson had been no better.

  “His carriage overturned in London,” Mr Canby replied, reflecting that no one could accuse Miss Charity of being mealy-mouthed.

  “Mr Harry Riversleigh was also with him. I think they were both killed. Of course, I may have been misinformed,” he added pedantically, “but I don’t think I was. No doubt we’ll be seeing Master Edward—I mean, Lord Riversleigh back at the Hall before long. Well, I must be going. Please let me know if there’s any way I can be of assistance to you. Good day, Miss Mayfield.”

  He closed the library door quietly, unconcerned that Charity hardly seemed to be aware that he was leaving and rather pleased with himself that even at such a black moment he had been able to give a new direction to her thoughts. Everyone knew that Miss Charity and young Edward Riversleigh had always been uncommonly friendly.

  * * *

  For a while after Mr Canby had gone Charity continued to be preoccupied by his final piece of news, partly because at that moment she would have welcomed anything that distracted her from her own troubles, but mainly because, as Mr Canby had suspected, she was genuinely interested in what happened to Edward.

  In her opinion there hadn’t been much to choose between Harry Riversleigh and his father: one had been an elderly tyrant, the other a middle-aged bully; she couldn’t pretend to grieve for either of them.

  Edward, on the other hand, she most definitely liked, and she was glad that for once he seemed to be having good luck. Harry had never married, and Edward was the child of the late Lord Riversleigh’s youngest son. He had been orphaned at an early age and he had been brought up at Riversleigh Hall in an atmosphere of contention, his wishes constantly thwarted by his uncle or his grandfather. In the circumstances, it said a great deal for Edward that he should have grown into a generous and likeable man. Charity thought he deserved his good fortune and she was pleased for him—then she remembered that she wasn’t likely to be there to see him enjoy it, and she sighed.

  The library seemed cold and she was more aware than ever of the draughts coming in through the cracks in the mullioned windows. The heavy curtains stirred restlessly as a particularly large gust of wind hit the corner of the house, and outside the snow began to drift. If the weather continued so the roads would become impassable. It wasn’t a good time to have to leave one’s home.

  When Charity entered her mother’s room Mrs Mayfield was sitting up in bed, a shawl wrapped round her shoulders and a cup of chocolate in her hands. She had taken a chill the previous day and the cold weather had inclined her to stay in bed longer than usual. She smiled when she saw her daughter and patted the edge of her bed invitingly.

  “Hello, love. Come and sit down. Tabby tells me we had a visitor this morning—Mr Canby. I’m glad I missed him. Such a well-meaning man, but he does fidget me so. What did he want? You look cold. Good heavens, your hands are like ice. What have you been doing? Why don’t you ring for some chocolate?”

  “I am a little cold,” Charity acknowledged, grateful for her mother’s habit of never requiring an answer to more than one or two of the questions that invariably formed such a large part of her conversation. “I think the wind must be in the east; it’s certainly very draughty in the library.”

  “I hate winter.” Mrs Mayfield shivered and instinctively pulled her shawl more tightly about her, though in fact her room was one of the cosiest in the house. Her dislike of the cold was well known and her maid, Tabitha, always made sure that the fire was blazing in the hearth before she allowed her mistress to venture from her bed.

  “Well, perhaps the cold weather will soon be over,” said Mrs Mayfield hopefully when Charity, did not immediately reply to her previous comment. “Tabby told me she saw several snowdrops yesterday. Spring must be on its way.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Charity tried to smile. “I saw them as well. I’ll pick you some later.”

  “Thank you, dear. Oh, I do hope the weather improves,” said Mrs Mayfield, her gentle voice running on without pause. “I’m so looking forward to the Leydons’ party, and if the weather is too bad we won’t be able to go. Though it will be worse if it rains, of course. Nothing is as bad for the roads as a flood. I still haven’t forgotten that dreadful time when I went to London with your father and the coach got stuck above the axles in the mud and there was no inn for five miles! I had to wait in the most uncomfortable cottage for hours before we could continue our journey.”

  “Papa said it was only forty-five minutes,” Charity said mildly.

  “It was nearly three hours,” said Mrs Mayfield firmly. “You should have known better than to believe what Papa had to say on such a matter. You know how he always used to make light of even the most dreadful situations.”

  “He was an optimist,” said Charity. “Mama, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Really, dear? Do you know, I’ve been wondering what I ought to wear to Sir Humphrey’s party? Do you think that gown I had made up in Horsham last November would—”

  “Mama!” Charity interrupted, suddenly unable to endure her mother’s flow of gentle chatter any longer.

  “Yes, love?” Mrs Mayfield said in surprise. Then she saw the look on Charity’s face and her own expression altered abruptly. “What is it?” she asked.

  Charity hesitated, then she gripped her hands tightly together, took a deep breath and began to tell Mrs Mayfield what Mr Canby had told her.

  * * *

  It was late that evening before Charity could even consider going to bed. Mr Canby’s news had thrown the whole household into turmoil. Not only Mrs Mayfield but the servants too were anxious about their future, and no sooner had Charity managed to calm her mother than she had had to face worried qu
estions from the housekeeper.

  She had done her best to reassure Mrs Wendle, but she was ruefully aware that she hadn’t entirely succeeded. She was also resigned to the fact that soon the whole parish would know of their troubles. It wouldn’t be long before they received visits from the more sympathetic—or curious—of their neighbours. She could only hope the cold weather would keep them at home for as long as possible.

  She sighed, and put another log on the library fire. Everyone else was in bed but now she needed time alone to think, and for some reason she’d always felt more at peace surrounded by the shelves of old books than she did in any other room in the house.

  The wind had died down, but she knew that if she pulled back the curtains she would see large white flakes of snow, falling down against the darkness beyond. She tucked up her feet beneath her, rested her chin on her hand, and gazed into the fire as she considered ways and means.

  Whatever they did would be up to her. Mrs Mayfield had never been a decisive woman, and ever since the death of her husband she had increasingly allowed Charity to take on the responsibility for managing their affairs. It was a task which Charity relished and, even now, she was aware of a small spark of excitement at the thought of the new challenge she had been set. Somehow she would manage, not only for her mother, but for everyone on the Hazelhurst estate.

  It was well past midnight when she finally thought of a way to do it.

  She turned the plan over in her mind a couple of times in case there was a flaw, then, with typical energy, she set about executing it.

  She’d been sitting in the firelight, but now she lit a candle and put it on the desk while she found the necessary materials to write a letter. She moved the candle once, so that it cast no shadow upon the paper, dipped the pen in the ink, and began to cover the sheet with bold, confident writing.

  My dear friend,

  Today I heard the news of your unexpected change of fortune and I write at once to congratulate you. I dare say that perhaps I ought to commiserate with you also, but we know each other too well for such commonplace utterances to be necessary. I don’t suppose there is a single person at Riversleigh Hall, or on the rest of the estate for that matter, who is not thanking heaven that it is you, not Harry, who will be their new master.