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It was several minutes before Charlotte realised she was not being taken to Piccadilly.

The chairmen had turned down a dark alley and were trotting at a pace that was bone-shaking. She put her head outside and commanded them to stop. They ignored her; if anything their pace increased. She shouted at them again, but it soon became evident that they had no intention of obeying her. Now she was very frightened indeed. Where were they taking her? And why?

Captain Carstairs’s warning came to her mind. She was being kidnapped!

After several more minutes they stopped outside a dilapidated tenement and let down the chair. She hurried to open the door and escape. But they had anticipated that and grabbed her arms and dragged her, protesting loudly, into the building, along a corridor which was as dark as pitch, and into a candlelit room.

A woman rose from a chair to face them. ‘You got her, then?’

‘We did, Molly, we did. ‘Twas as easy as winking, though she made a deal of noise.’

He was a big man, with a weather-beaten face, a moulting bag wig and bad teeth. He was also the man who had grabbed her bridle in Hyde Park. Captain Carstairs had been right in saying they might try again. Oh, how she wished she had listened to him …

AUTHOR NOTE

This is number five in my Piccadilly Gentlemen’s Club series, in which club members solve crimes in Georgian society. Previously I have featured murder, deception, coining and smuggling. This one explores kidnapping—but it is an unusual kidnapping, which involves sailing the high seas. Captain Alexander Carstairs, recently elevated to Marquis of Foxlees, being a Master Mariner, is just the man for the job.

The ‘kidnapped beauty’ is the daughter of a coachmaker. It was fun researching the coachmaking business, which was once very lucrative; the best coachmakers would have been multimillionaires in today’s terms. Anyone who was anyone needed a coach or carriage to get about, and the richest had more than one—just as today’s millionaires will have several different cars.

Henry Gilpin, father of my heroine, has become exceedingly wealthy in the coachmaking trade. The trouble is that it is trade—and tradesmen were not admitted to the society of the nobility. He is doing his best to find his daughter a titled husband when she is kidnapped.

I would like to acknowledge the help of Clive Gilbert, Chairman of The British Society of Portugal, in researching this book.

About the Author

Born in Singapore, MARY NICHOLS came to England when she was three, and has spent most of her life in different parts of East Anglia. She has been a radiographer, school secretary, information officer and industrial editor, as well as a writer. She has three grown-up children, and four grandchildren.

Previous novels by the same author:

RAGS-TO-RICHES BRIDE

THE EARL AND THE HOYDEN

CLAIMING THE ASHBROOKE HEIR

(part of The Secret Baby Bargain)

HONOURABLE DOCTOR, IMPROPER ARRANGEMENT

THE CAPTAIN’S MYSTERIOUS LADY*

THE VISCOUNT’S UNCONVENTIONAL BRIDE*

LORD PORTMAN’S TROUBLESOME WIFE*

SIR ASHLEY’S METTLESOME MATCH*

WINNING THE WAR HERO’S HEART

*The Piccadilly Gentlemen’s Club mini-series

And in Mills & Boon®:

WITH VICTORIA’S BLESSING

(part of Royal Weddings Through the Ages)

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Captain’s
Kidnapped
Beauty
Mary Nichols

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Chapter One

1765

The regular meeting of the Society for the Discovery and Apprehending of Criminals, popularly known as the Piccadilly Gentlemen’s Club, was drawing to its close. Led by James, Lord Drymore, they were all gentlemen of independent means dedicated to promoting law and order in a notoriously lawless society. Some called them thieftakers, but it was a soubriquet they rejected only because of its unsavoury connotations. In general thieftakers were nearly all as corrupt as the criminals they brought to justice, but the members of the Piccadilly Gentleman’s Club were not like that and refused payment for their services.

Today each had reported on the case on which they were working. Jonathan, Viscount Leinster, was trying to trace two notorious highwaymen who had escaped from prison while awaiting trial and not having much luck. Harry, Lord Portman’s particular interest was counterfeit coiners and he often went in disguise to the rookeries of the capital in search of information, though to look at him, you would hardly believe it; he was the epitome of a dandified man about town. Ashley, Lord Cadogan, was chasing smugglers with the help of his brother-in-law, Ben Kingslake, and Captain Alexander Carstairs had just returned a kidnap victim safe and sound to her distraught parents without it having cost them a penny in ransom money. James himself was tied up with their sponsor, Lord Trentham, a Minister of the Crown, in maintaining law and order in an increasingly disgruntled populace.

‘Allow me to offer condolences on the loss of your uncle and cousin,’ James said to Alex as they prepared to disperse. ‘To lose both together was a double tragedy.’

‘And felicitations on your elevation to the peerage,’ Harry added. ‘Marquis of Foxlees, no less.’

‘Thank you,’ Alex said. ‘It was a great shock and I have hardly had time to gather my wits. A peerage is something I never expected and I’m not at all sure I like the idea.’

‘The same thing happened to me,’ Ash said. ‘My cousin was the heir and he died out in India and his father, my uncle, soon afterwards. It was an upheaval adjusting to it and just before my wedding, too.’

‘At least I don’t have a bride waiting for me,’ Alex said.

‘That will soon be remedied, my friend,’ Harry said, flicking a speck of dust from his immaculate sleeve. ‘Sooner or later, everyone in the Piccadilly Gentleman’s Club succumbs to falling in love.’

‘Not me. I will have my hands full sorting out my uncle’s affairs. It is just as well I have no case on hand at the moment.’

‘That, too, can be remedied,’ Jonathan put in.

‘I think we can allow Alex a short respite to sort out his affairs,’ James said with a smile.

They stood up, replaced hats on heads and headed from the room in Lord Trentham’s house where they held their meetings and emerged on to the busy thoroughfare of Piccadilly, where they went their separate ways.

Alex set off on foot to Long Acre because he wanted to hire a carriage to carry him to Norfolk and his newly inherited estate. He had not visited it in years, mainly because his uncle and cousin were so rarely there. They were seafarers, just as he was, just as his late father had been and his father before him. His uncle, his father’s older brother, had bought Foxlees Manor when his wife had decided, after a half a lifetime of following him all over the globe, that she had had enough of travelling and living in hot, uncomfortable places and wanted to stay at home.

That did not mean his uncle had given up his voyaging; the sea was in his blood and, being captain of an East Indiaman, he found it a lucrative business. He simply came home at the end of every voyage to spend a little time with his wife and their son, Harold, until Harold himself became a seaman and followed in his father’s footsteps. The marchioness had died soon afterwards and his uncle and cousin rarely visited Foxlees Manor after her demise. When not at sea they lived in their town house on Mount Street.

They had both been lost when their ship foundered in a storm while rounding the Cape of Good Hope and so Alex found himself a Marquis and owner of the Mount Street house and the Foxlees estate. It was something he had neither expected nor wanted, but he admitted the town house was a great deal better than the bachelor apartments he had hitherto occupied.

He enjoyed his life as Captain Alexander Carstairs, member of the Piccadilly Gentleman’s Club; it fulfilled his sense of adventure at the same time as he was doing some good in society. He had a full social life and many friends—what more could a man ask? But with his elevation to the peerage and the acquisition of an estate came responsibilities and these he could not shirk.

He emerged from Newport Street and crossed the road into Long Acre, looking for the coachmaking premises of Henry Gilpin.

‘The Earl of Falsham has failed to pay his interest again this month, Papa,’ Charlotte said, looking up from the ledgers on which she was working. ‘Last time I wrote to remind him, I warned him that if we did not receive at least some of what was owed, we would take him to court. He did not even favour us with a reply.’

The Earl had bought two carriages two years previously, a splendid town chariot for two hundred and ninety pounds and a phaeton for seventy-two pounds, borrowing the money from her father to pay for it. For the first six months he had diligently paid the five per cent interest on the loan, but since then nothing at all. Charlotte, who kept her father’s books, had written every month on behalf of the company to remind him, but the Earl had ignored her letters.

Henry Gilpin sighed. ‘You know how I hate taking customers to court,’ he said. ‘It ruins their reputation. As soon as news of the case gets out, every dunner in the country beats a path to their door. Let’s not forget that the Earl did introduce me to his cousin and he pays promptly.’

‘I am persuaded his lordship is counting on you remembering that.’

Henry chuckled. ‘No doubt you are right. Send the Earl another stiff letter. Give him seven days to reply and if he does not, then court it shall be.’

It was not that Henry Gilpin was in need of the money—he was one of the richest men in the kingdom—but his wealth was built on sound business practice and allowing bad debts to accumulate was not one of them. He did not in the least mind people owing him money so long as they paid the interest. To make sure of that he always insisted his debtors take out a bond for double what they owed in the event they reneged. The bond was backed by their assets which could, and sometimes did, include their estates.

Charlotte looked up from the desk at which she was working and looked about her. The Long Acre premises had been much enlarged over the years and were now big enough to house the whole coachmaking business, a workshop for the construction of the undercarriages, another for the body, one for the wheelwright, furnaces for the metal working, paint shops, leather shops, design rooms and offices, huge stores for the timber: mahogany, pine, birch and deal; racks of cloth and lace for the interiors—everything necessary for constructing coaches of every description. And in each department there were men to do the work, two hundred of them.

Charlotte was the only woman and she had had to plead with her father to allow her to work there. He had no son and she was his only child, so one day she would own it all. She needed to know how it operated and she loved the cut and thrust of business, the smell of varnish, paint and hot metal, loved watching the new coaches taking shape under the skilful hands of their operatives and derived huge satisfaction from the pleasure of their customers for a job well done. Since her mother had died, it had become her father’s whole life and hers, too. Not for her the round of meaningless social gatherings intended to unite eligible young men with suitable brides.

‘But you do not need to concern yourself with it,’ her father had told her when she first broached the subject of working at Long Acre with him. ‘One day you will marry and your husband will take over.’

‘I may not marry.’

‘Of course you will. You are a considerable heiress and that alone would secure you a bridegroom, even if you were not so lovely.’

‘Lovely, Papa?’ she queried.

‘Of course you are. You are the image of your dear mother, God rest her. You can afford to be particular. A title, naturally, and the higher the better. I do not have a son to make into a gentleman, but I am determined you will be a lady.’

‘If I am not already a lady, then what am I?’ she had demanded with a teasing smile. ‘An hermaphrodite?’

‘Do not be silly. You are a lady, do not doubt it, but I meant a titled lady, a countess, a viscountess or a baroness at the very least. I may be able to mix with the best in the land and you may be admitted to every drawing room in town, if you would only take the trouble, but it doesn’t make us gentry. That is something for the next generation.’

‘Hold hard, Papa.’ She had laughed. ‘I am not yet married. And supposing I don’t fancy any of the eligible titles? I might fall in love with a man of the middling sort, a businessman like yourself, someone I can respect.’

‘Bah!’ he had said. ‘Falling in love is an overrated pastime and does not guarantee happiness, quite often the reverse. If you must fall in love, then make sure he is worthy of you. A title he will have, even if I have to buy one for him, though I’d as lief he came with a respected family history.’

‘I might decide I would rather stay single and keep my independence. You need someone to help you run the business and that is what I most like to do. I should hate to see it ruined by a profligate son-in-law who does not understand how important it is.’

‘Then you must make your choice carefully. I will not always be here to guide you.’

‘Papa, let us have no more of that. You are good for years and years yet.’

He had given in and allowed her to accompany him from their mansion in Piccadilly to Long Acre every day to assist the accountant with the book-keeping, a task which gave her a great deal of satisfaction. It was better than sitting at home looking decorative, reading, sewing or paying calls and listening to the latest scandals. And it gave her an insight into how the business was managed. If she had her way, she would do much more.

Their discussion about the Earl’s debt was interrupted by a shout and a resounding crash coming from the main workroom. They both dashed out from the office to see what was amiss.

Joe Smithson was lying at the bottom of the stairs to the upper floor and was struggling to rise. The stairs were wide and had a detachable banister because the coach bodies were constructed on the first floor and they were let down with ropes when complete and it was this task which had been occupying him when he fell. Charlotte had once said that the workrooms should be rearranged in order to construct the bodies on the ground floor, but her father had pointed out that to do that the metal workers, decorators and the upholsterers and all the other ancillary workers would have to be moved upstairs and how could they do their work if the coach on which they needed to work was downstairs? She was obliged to admit the logic of his argument. There was a completed shell of a town chariot on the upper workshop floor and Joe had been readying it for its descent to the ground which had meant removing the banister.

Charlotte and her father dashed forwards but someone beat them to it, a tall stranger who had come in from the street and reached Joe a fraction of a second before they did. He bent down and put his hand on Joe’s shoulder to stop him struggling to rise. ‘Be still, man,’ he said. ‘We need to know what damage is done before we get you to your feet.’

‘Yes, Joe, keep still,’ Charlotte said, as other workers crowded round them. ‘We will send for a doctor.’

‘Miss Charlotte, there’s no need for that,’ Joe said. ‘I’m not badly hurt, just shook up a bit. I’ll be right as ninepence when I’ve got me breath back.’

The stranger squatted down beside Joe and began feeling along his arms and legs. When he reached Joe’s left ankle the young man winced. ‘I am sure it is not broken,’ he told Henry who hovered nearby. ‘But if I were you I should send for the sawbones to be sure.’ He put Joe’s arms about his neck and hauled him to a standing position, then flung him over his shoulder. ‘Where shall I take him?’

‘Into the office,’ Henry said, leading the way. Charlotte sent the messenger boy for the doctor and the rest of the workforce back about their business before following.

She found Joe deposited in a chair, her father fussing round him and the stranger dusting down his coat. He looked up as Charlotte entered.

She was struck by his looks. She was not particularly short, but he overtopped her by a head at least. His complexion was tanned and there were wrinkles each side of his eyes as if he had spent hours out of doors, peering into the weather. A mariner, she surmised, and this was confirmed when he bowed to her.

‘Captain Alexander Carstairs, at your service, ma’am,’ he said, sweeping her a leg, a very elegant leg, she noticed.

‘I thank you for your assistance, Captain. It was lucky you were passing.’

‘I was not passing, I was heading here and just entering when the young man fell. It is surely dangerous to have stairs with no handrail?’

Henry started to explain the need for it, which made the Captain turn towards him and that gave Charlotte an opportunity to study him more closely. He was wearing a dark blue kerseymere suit of clothes, very plain but superbly tailored, a long pale blue waistcoat with large pockets and silver buttons, a white shirt and a neatly tied white muslin cravat. His stockings were white and his shoes had silver buckles. Besides being very tall, he was broad of shoulder and slim of hip. His hands were strong and capable. Her gaze travelled upwards. His dark hair was his own, worn long and tied back with a narrow black ribbon. He was most certainly not a fop. He turned back to her again and her breath caught in her throat. He had the most penetrating eyes, neither green nor brown but something in between, and they seemed to be looking right inside her, as if her skin and flesh were transparent and he could see secrets about her she had never even been aware of.

‘My daughter, Miss Gilpin,’ Henry said, waving a hand in her direction. ‘She likes to come and see her old father at work sometimes.’

Alex bowed to her again. ‘Miss Gilpin, how do you do?’

‘Well, thank you, Captain,’ she answered, resolving to have words with her father about the condescending way he had presented her. Likes to visit her old father, indeed! ‘How can we help you?’

‘I need to drive into the country and came to hire a carriage for the purpose.’

‘I am sure we can accommodate you.’ She held his eyes with her own, letting him know she was not the insignificant daughter her father would have him believe and that she was part of the workforce, but it took all her self-control. Being businesslike when one’s heart was definitely not behaving in a businesslike manner, but skipping and jumping about, was difficult. ‘What had you in mind?’

The doctor arrived before he could answer and as the room was not large enough for everyone, Charlotte led the Captain back into the main workshop so that her father could deal with the doctor. He hesitated, taking a look at Henry who was watching the doctor examine Joe, before deciding to follow her.

‘Now,’ she said, turning to face him, once more in command of herself. ‘Tell me, what do you have in mind?’

‘Do you not think we should wait for your father to join us?’

‘No. Do you suppose I am not capable of conducting the simple business of hiring out a coach?’ It was said with some asperity and served to disperse her last lingering discomposure.

‘Well …’ he began and then hesitated as her eyes challenged him.

‘I am a female and therefore useless, is that what you were about to point out to me?’

‘Oh, most definitely you are female—as to being useless, that I could not say.’ Now there was a teasing look in his eyes and it was most disconcerting. Was he laughing at her? She did not care for that at all.

‘Nevertheless,’ she told him. ‘I have been running about these workshops ever since I learned to walk and I also keep the books, so you can trust me to know what I am about. Tell me about the journey you wish to make. How far? Are you in some haste? What will the roads be like, smooth or rough? Do you go alone or will you have passengers and much luggage?’

‘You need to know a great deal considering all I came to do is hire a coach to take me to Norfolk.’

‘Ah, that has answered one of my questions,’ she said with a smile meant to disarm him, which it very nearly did. ‘And probably a second. I believe the roads to that part of the country are devilishly bad.’

‘Touché.’ He returned her smile with one of his own. It softened his features and she realised suddenly that the lines on his face had not all been made by wind and weather, some were laughter lines. The erratic heartbeats began all over again. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

‘Do you need a large conveyance for passengers and luggage, which will be slower, or something lighter to carry you swiftly?’

‘I might have a passenger for part of the way,’ he said. ‘And little luggage, but as you so rightly pointed out, the roads to Norfolk, once away from the capital, are dreadful, so the vehicle will need to be sturdy enough to withstand the jolting if we are to travel at speed.’

‘And do you intend to make just one journey or will you be coming backwards and forwards to the capital?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘If you hire a coach, you will need to return it by the arranged time and hiring over a long period will be more costly than buying an equipage. We have several second-hand coaches for sale, which I can show you or, if you are not in a hurry, we can construct one to your own specification. We can also supply you with horses.’

‘Do not tell me you are an expert on horseflesh as well,’ he said, laughing.

‘I know a good horse when I see one.’

‘And no doubt you are a bruising rider, to boot.’

She let that pass without comment. ‘There is a very good chaise in the yard, taken in part exchange for a newer model, which might very well suit you. Shall you take a look?’

‘Yes, I might as well see what you have to offer while we are waiting for Mr Gilpin to join us.’

She was annoyed by his attitude, but it was not the first time and she did not suppose it would be the last when customers treated her with condescension as if she were just out of the schoolroom and needed humouring. She was twenty-two years old; many ladies of her acquaintance had been married for years at that age and already had a brood of children. It was the only thing she regretted about her single state, she could not be a mother.

She conducted him outside, crossed the yard which had standing for a least a dozen coaches, and into another building, a vast barn-like area which contained a host of vehicles: town coaches, travelling coaches, phaetons, landaus and landaulets, gigs and tilburys. There was even a magnificent berline. Some were plain, some highly decorated, but all bore the hallmark of the Gilpin works, meticulously finished and polished.

‘This chaise is a sturdy vehicle,’ she said, indicating a travelling coach in forest green, its only decoration lines of pale green about the body work and round the rims of the wheels. It was highly varnished, elegant but not ostentatious.

He walked all round it, rocked it on its springs, jumped on the coachman’s box with its red-and-green-striped hammercloth and sat there for a few moments before jumping down and climbing inside. The interior was upholstered in green velvet and there were light green curtains at the windows. He sat a moment and stretched out his legs. There was little leg room for one so tall, but that was not unexpected; he had yet to ride in a coach which allowed him the luxury of stretching out.

Charlotte watched him without speaking. He was undoubtedly athletic, climbing up and down with consummate ease, and the way he had climbed on the box suggested he was no stranger to driving a coach. He was self-assured and would not be easy to gull. Not that she intended to deceive him; that was not the way Gilpins did business. Their reputation for honesty and fine workmanship had been well earned over the years and she would do nothing to jeopardise it.

He emerged from the coach and rejoined her. ‘I think it will do me very well,’ he said.

‘Would you like to look at others before you make up your mind?’

He agreed and she showed him several more, some more sumptuous, others well used with scuffed paint which she told him would be remedied before the coaches were sold on. Some were extra large and cumbersome, needing at least six horses to pull them, some too lightweight for any but town roads.

‘No,’ he said, at last. ‘You have chosen well, Miss Gilpin. I will negotiate a price with Mr Gilpin.’

‘The price to buy is one hundred and nineteen pounds sixteen shillings,’ she said firmly. ‘We give value for money, Captain, and do not enter into negotiation. If that is too much …?’ Her voice faded on a question.

‘No, I did not mean I would beat him down,’ he said hastily. ‘The price seems fair enough. I meant that I would need to arrange for horses and harness and for the coach to be fetched.’

‘Let us return to the office and conclude the transaction,’ she said. ‘The doctor will have gone by now.’

They crossed the yard again and entered the main workshop where several men were using ropes to lower a coach body down the stairs. Joe, supporting himself on two sticks, was standing directing operations.

‘What did the doctor say?’ Charlotte asked him.

‘’Tis but a sprain,’ he answered. ‘I must rest it for a week or two and then all will be well.’

‘You will not rest it by standing there. The men can manage without you for a week. Ask Giles to take you home in the gig, and do not come back until you are recovered. You will lose no pay.’

‘Yes, Miss Charlotte. Thank you, miss.’

Charlotte moved on, followed by Alex. ‘Do the men usually obey you so promptly, Miss Gilpin?’ he queried. He had noticed the adoring look in Joe’s eyes as he answered her. The poor fellow was evidently in love with his employer’s daughter. He wondered if she knew it.

‘Yes, why not? One day the business will be mine and I will have the full running of it, but please God, not for a very long time.’

‘Really?’ he queried in surprise. ‘I had thought a brother or a husband would take over.’

‘I have neither brother nor husband.’ She was used to people making assumptions like that, but it never failed to raise her hackles and she spoke sharply.

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said. ‘I can see you are a very determined woman.’

A woman, she noted, not a lady. There was a world of difference in the use of the words and reminded her of her conversations with her father on the subject. It simply stiffened her resolve to prove she was as good as any man when it came to business. It was far more important than being a so-called lady. Or a wife, come to that.

They entered the office where her father was standing looking out of the window on to the busy street, watching the doctor’s gig disappearing up the road. ‘It’s time he changed that vehicle,’ he said aloud. ‘He’s had it three years now and it is beginning to look the worse for wear. I must persuade him to turn it in for a phaeton, much more befitting his status as a physician of the first rank.’ He turned from the window to face them. ‘Captain Carstairs, did you find something to suit?’

‘The captain is going to buy Lord Pymore’s travelling chaise,’ Charlotte told him, fetching papers from a cupboard and taking her seat at her desk. ‘He has agreed our price.’

‘Good.’ Henry said. ‘Captain, do you need embellishments? Heraldry? Additional lines, scrolls perhaps?’

‘No, thank you, I cannot wait for such things to be done. It will do me very well as it is, but I do need harness and cattle. Miss Gilpin tells me you can also supply those.’

‘Indeed we can. I pride myself on dealing in animals sound in wind and limb. You may safely leave those to me. Do you have a coachman?’

‘Yes,’ Alex said, thinking of Davy Locke, who had been his servant on board ship and now went by the grand title of valet, though anyone less like a valet was hard to imagine. He was an untidy giant of a man, but a good man to have beside you in a tussle, whether it be confronting lawbreakers or struggling to get into a tight-fitting coat. He was, surprisingly for an ex-seaman, very good with horses. He put it down to working on a farm before he was pressed into service with the navy. A man of many talents was Davy Locke.

‘I shall have the paperwork drawn up in a few minutes, Captain,’ Charlotte put in. ‘You are welcome to inspect the premises while you wait.’ She gave him what she considered to be a condescending smile. ‘You may learn something of coachmaking.’

Alex, recognising the put-down for what it was, smiled, bowed and left the room, followed by Henry Gilpin, who went immediately to inspect the coach body which had been safely brought down to the ground floor and was being set upon a wooden cradle waiting to receive it. It had yet to be set on its undercarriage, painted and decorated and the interior finished, but even so Alex could appreciate the skilful work of the woodworkers.

Henry began explaining some of the processes to him, but Alex was hardly listening. He was thinking about Miss Gilpin. She was certainly very touchy about her gender. Perhaps she wished she had been born a boy. She was undoubtedly handsome with fine eyebrows, a straight nose and a well-defined, determined chin, but he would not describe her as feminine, not in the way he would have used the word. Her gown was decidedly practical, in a heavy grey taffeta, having only the slightest of false hips, and her quilted stomacher was made to match the gown and had no decoration beyond a satin bow on the square neckline. There wasn’t an ounce of lace on it anywhere. It was certainly not the height of fashion. She wore her own rich brown hair pulled back into a thick roll on top of her head and fastened with combs. She wore no gloves and her fingers were ink-stained.

And yet … and yet, she had the most expressive grey eyes. There was intelligence behind them, and humour, too, something he could admire. Was she really as competent as she appeared or was there, underneath that façade, a woman as weak and fickle as all her gender? Would she collapse in a flood of tears as soon as her self-sufficiency was put to the test? Did she really know the ins and outs of a coach-building business or was her father simply humouring a spoiled daughter? He found himself wanting to know the answers, to engage her in conversation, to find out what she was really like under that severe exterior. He felt sure such discourse would not be shallow and meaningless. It was a pity he was leaving town so soon, but then, on reflection, perhaps it was not. She was clearly not the sort for mere dalliance and he certainly did not wish for anything deeper, not after what had happened with Letitia. She had soured him for all women.

Why on earth had he suddenly thought of Letitia? He had buried that experience deep inside him where it could not surface, or so he had thought, but standing looking at half-a-dozen workmen manhandling the body of a coach with the aid of pulleys, he was suddenly back in his salad days.

He had met Letitia Cornish on a voyage out to India. Her father was a wealthy nabob and he the mere second lieutenant of an East Indiaman, plying back and forth between England and Calcutta, carrying European wines, furniture, glassware and even carriages on the outward journey, returning with spices, precious stones, ornaments, carpets and tigerskin rugs. She had been patrolling the deck and had stopped to gaze out over the stern at the wake, as if wishing she were back where she had come from. Hearing his footstep behind her, she had turned to speak to him. ‘Lieutenant, I am not in your way, am I?’

‘Not at all, Miss Cornish, but there is blow coming up and I advise you to go below. The sea is like to become very rough. Allow me to escort you.’ It was couched as a request, but she was expected to obey, which she did reluctantly. ‘It is so stuffy in the cabin,’ she said. ‘I prefer the fresh air.’

‘I fear it will become a little more than fresh,’ he had said, smiling as he accompanied her to the companionway. ‘When the storm is over, I will come and fetch you and you may take the air again.’

He had kept his word and escorted her back on deck as soon as the havoc caused by the storm had been cleared away and they were once more sailing on an even keel. She was looking white-faced, but assured him she had not been sick and would be right as rain as soon as she was up in the fresh air again. Her father had not emerged from his cabin. In spite of being a frequent traveller between England and India, he was not a good sailor and neither was Letitia’s maid and she was often left to her own devices. Thus they often met when he was on watch and she was patrolling the deck and they would stop and talk. In his eyes she was perfection with her shining golden hair and clear blue eyes.

He learned she was eighteen, a year younger than he was. Her mother had died years before; she could hardly remember her and Letitia had been brought up by her father with the help of an elderly aunt. Now she was grown up, her father was taking her to India where they expected to stay for several months while Mr Cornish assembled a new cargo to take back to England and after that she was to be brought out in London society. He told her about his life at sea, how he hoped to follow in his father’s and uncle’s footsteps and become a master mariner for the East India Company. By the time they reached Calcutta they were in love.

Her father would have none of it when Alex had approached him for permission to propose. ‘A penniless lieutenant—I should think not!’ he had said. ‘Whatever gave you the notion I would entertain a scapegrace like you for a son-in-law? After her money, are you? Think to make yourself wealthy at my expense?’

‘No, sir, certainly not, sir. I love your daughter and she loves me.’

‘Love, bah! What is that but a weak indulgence? Letitia will marry one of the young gentlemen I pick out for her when we return to London. And every one of them will have a title and some standing in society. She is wealthy enough and comely enough to take her pick. You, sir, are beneath her notice.’

Alex had been furious and had to use all his self-control not to lash out at the man, but young though he was, he knew alienating her father would not endear him to Letitia. Instead he turned on his heel and left with the man’s derisive laughter echoing in his ears. But he was not yet ready to give up. He knew Letitia liked to ride out very early in the morning before the heat became too intense and so he contrived to be out on horseback at the same time and prevailed upon her to dismount and talk to him. He had been hoping to persuade her to defy her father and run away with him. How foolish that notion was he had not realised at the time. She had tearfully refused to do any such thing. Her dear papa was always right and she would obey him as she always had.

He had not been able to understand her unquestioning acceptance of the fate laid down for her and continued to protest until the time came to part. ‘Goodbye, Alex,’ she had said and reached up to kiss his cheek and then remounted with the help of her syce and was gone, cantering away, raising the yellow dust.

She had not truly loved him or she would have defied her father, he told himself, she had been having a game with him. It was easier to be angry than admit he had a broken heart and, as his ship was loaded and made ready for the return journey, he left her behind, vowing that no woman, no matter how beautiful or how wealthy, would ever humiliate him like that again. Two years later he heard she had returned to England and married the Earl of Falsham, so her father had had his wish.

He had left the merchant service and had a spell in the cavalry in the hope that such a radical change to his way of life would cure him, but the lure of the sea was still in his blood and he had sold up and joined the navy. In due course he had become captain of a frigate, but with the end of the seven-year-long war with France two years before he had found himself with no ship and on half-pay. It was then he became involved with the Society for the Discovery and Apprehending of Criminals. And now his life was about to change again and he was not at all sure he welcomed it.

Miss Gilpin came out from the office, carrying a sheaf of papers. ‘Have you learned anything of coachmaking, Captain?’ she asked.

‘I have concluded it is a very complicated business,’ he answered. ‘I have been watching the men put the coach on its cradle. They make it look easy.’

‘They are all experienced men, Captain, though we shall miss Joe Smithson until he is well again. I collect I did not thank you properly for your help in getting him up. He is a big strong man, but you lifted him with ease.’

He bowed towards her. ‘My pleasure, Miss Gilpin.’

‘Your carriage will be ready tomorrow. My father will personally inspect it for defects before he allows it to be delivered, and of course the horses and licence have to be obtained so we cannot do it any sooner. I hope that is convenient for you.’

‘Entirely,’ he said, bowing. If he had hired a chaise instead of buying one, he might have been on his way before that, but Miss Gilpin had been right; he would need to travel back and forth frequently on society business, so it made sense to buy. ‘But I will fetch it from here. I mean to begin my journey immediately. Shall we say noon?’

She looked at her father. ‘Will you have the horses and harness by then, Papa?’

Mr Gilpin was only half-listening to their exchange, being more concerned with inspecting the half-finished coach and giving instruction to the carpenters who were to fix the moulding along the edge of its roof. ‘Yes, yes, I shall go to Tattersalls this afternoon.’

‘How will you pay?’ Charlotte turned back to Alex. ‘Credit terms can be arranged, if you wish.’

Alex resented the inference that he could not pay for anything he ordered. Just because he elected to dress simply, did not mean he was without funds. Even before inheriting his uncle’s estate he had been a wealthy man. He had earned good prize money as a sea captain and his father had left a fortune as a result of his captaincy of an East India merchantman. Each captain was allowed to carry a certain tonnage on their own account, for which privilege they paid five hundred pounds. It was money well spent; both Alex’s father and his uncle, the Marquis of Foxlees, had become exceedingly wealthy with this trade. ‘There is no need for that,’ he said, his tone conveying his annoyance. ‘It may be considered eccentric, but it is my strict rule to pay my dues on demand. I shall bring a money order on my bank when I come tomorrow.’

‘Thank you, Captain. Then the price is as we agreed.’

He took his leave and went on his way, first to his bank to arrange the draft then to his club where he intended to dine. He had barely sat down and ordered a capon and a couple of pork chops, when he was joined by Jonathan Leinster. ‘What, not gone home to the delectable Louise?’ he asked him.

‘No she has taken the baby and gone to visit her parents. I decided an evening in town would be more congenial than going back to an empty house. I am promised to Lady Milgrove’s soirée, later. What about you? I had thought you on your way to Norfolk.’

‘I needed a coach to convey me there and decided to buy one, so I have been at Gilpin’s.’

‘You can’t go wrong there. They have a reputation for the best, but not cheap, by no means cheap.’

‘That I discovered.’

Jonathan turned to give his order to the waiter before continuing the conversation. ‘Did you meet Miss Gilpin?’

‘Indeed I did. She seems to think she runs the business.’

Jonathan laughed. ‘Not quite, but her father does not disabuse her of the idea. No doubt she will learn the difference when she comes to wed.’

‘Is she engaged, then?’

‘No, but her papa has been putting it around that he is looking for a title for her.’

‘And no doubt she will marry whoever Papa picks out for her.’

Jonathan shrugged. ‘Who’s to say? I am glad I am married and not in the running. I think she will be a veritable harridan and hard to handle.’

‘Do you say so?’

‘Yes. You saw her. Do you not agree she is something of an antidote?’

‘No, I can’t say that I do,’ Alex said slowly. ‘She could hardly work in the business dressed in the height of fashion with hips a mile wide and coiffeur a foot tall.’

‘I don’t see why she has to work in the business at all. Gilpin is prodigiously wealthy and can indulge her in whatever she wants.’

‘So he intends to buy her a title, does he?’

‘So it seems.’

‘Then I hope she has the good sense to resist.’

Jonathan looked sharply at his friend, a look that was not lost on Alex, who quickly changed the subject. ‘I did not fancy riding to Norfolk by stage and was going to hire a conveyance, but decided to buy one, after all. I shall need it if I am to come up to town for our regular meetings at Trentham House.’

‘That’s true, and neither can you shut yourself away in the country away from society. You will have to start looking for a wife now you are a marquis.’

‘Oh, I shall, shall I?’

‘Of course. You will need an heir.’

‘There is plenty of time for that.’

‘How old are you, Alex?’

‘I am thirty-four.’

‘Good heavens, there is not a moment to lose! You will be an old man before you know it.’ It was said with mock dismay which made Alex laugh. And then, after a pause, ‘Come with me to Lady Milgrove’s.’

‘I will hardly find a wife there,’ Alex said, still laughing.

‘Perhaps not, but more to the point the evening is in aid of the Foundling Hospital, a charity close to Louise’s heart and I promised her I would go. You do not leave town tonight, do you?’

‘No, I am to take delivery of the chaise tomorrow at noon, but I shall be on my way directly after that.’

‘So, you’ll come? I will enjoy it the more if I have company.’

‘Very well, I will come.’

Their food arrived and they set to tackling it with hearty appetites.

‘No sign of those two escapees, then?’ Alex asked.

‘No. I am persuaded someone is sheltering them. I sent Sam Roker into the rookeries where they might seek refuge, to see if he could discover any news of them, but so far nothing.’

Sam was the only one of the society who could not be called a gentleman. Officially James’s servant, he came and went according to the needs of its members, being a great one for disguise and able to speak the cant of the ruffians who inhabited the seedier parts of the city.

‘No doubt they will turn up when you least expect it,’ Alex said. ‘If you need any help, call on me.’

‘I will, if you are not too busy courting.’

‘If you do not desist from your nonsense, I shall leave you to go to Lady Milgrove’s on your own, my friend.’

Jonathan held up his hands in surrender. ‘Not another word. Shall we have a hand of faro to while away the rest of the afternoon?’

Chapter Two

‘I’ve taken on some help for the men,’ Henry told his daughter as they rode home in the Gilpins’ town coach that evening. ‘He arrived in the works this afternoon and said he had heard we were without our overseer and he was looking for employment.’

‘How did he know about Joe?’

‘I’ve no idea. I expect one of the other men said something to him. I told him Joe would only be absent a few days and would then be back, but he said he understood that, but he had a wife and little ones and any work of however short duration would be a help. He had good references, so I told him he could start tomorrow, but not as an overseer. He accepted that. His name is Martin Grosswaite.’

‘We could have managed.’

‘We could, but it would be easier to have another man to help with the bodywork. We are to start a new landaulet tomorrow and we are already short-handed with Colin away sick.’ Colin was one of their carpenters and he had gone down with an infection on his lungs, brought about by the wood dust that flew everywhere on the upper floor, which was another good reason for keeping that side of the manufacture away from the painting, varnishing and upholstery.

‘Is he a wood worker?’

‘He said he could turn his hand to most things.’

‘Then I hope you do not come to regret it, Papa.’

He turned to her in surprise. ‘Now why should I do that, child?’

‘Papa, I am not a child.’

‘You are to me. You will be my child however old you grow. Still, I will try to remember not to address you thus. Now why do you think I might regret it?’

‘A strange man walked in off the street and you took him on without checking him out. That is unlike you.’

‘He had references from Sir Elliott Foster.’

‘Did you have them confirmed? They could easily be forgeries.’

‘Do you take me for a gull? I have written to Sir Elliott asking him to confirm what he has said about the man. In the meantime, I shall put him to work. I only tell you that you may not be startled when he arrives for work tomorrow. He said he would have to arrange lodgings first so he will not arrive until after noon, but he knows our normal hours of work.’

‘You know best, Papa,’ she said meekly. She knew her father was letting her know who was in charge, which was undoubtedly because she had taken over the selling of the coach to Captain Carstairs. He prided himself on his own salesmanship and besides, he was not altogether reconciled to her working in the business. She knew better than to continue arguing with him. Instead she said, ‘Are you going out this evening, Papa?’

‘I had a mind to attend the musical recital at Lady Milgrove’s. There is a young violinist who is making a name for himself and I believe he is going to play some of Handel’s music. At any rate, as one of the Foundling Hospital’s trustees, it behoves me to go. Shall you come with me?’

‘Yes, Papa, I should like that.’ She smiled and added, ‘So long as you do not call me child and so long as you do not attempt any matchmaking.’

‘Oh, I doubt there will be any eligibles at an occasion like that, fusty old men like me, I shouldn’t wonder, and aged dowagers.’

For the most part he was right; the audience seem to have arrived in pairs, married or engaged or widows with companions—all except Viscount Leinster and Captain Alexander Carstairs. The viscount was happily married and the captain ineligible in Mr Gilpin’s eyes, so Charlotte felt able to relax and enjoy the music which was very fine.

During the interval when everyone was invited to partake of refreshments, Charlotte found herself standing next to the captain in the line waiting to go to the long table in the dining room, which had been set out for guests to help themselves to a plate of the plentiful food on offer. Her father had disappeared into the library with another of the trustees and had left her to fend for herself, which was typical of him. She smiled up at Alex. ‘Good evening, Captain. I had not expected to see you again so soon.’

‘Nor I you.’ He sketched her a bow. ‘Have you enjoyed the concert so far?’

‘Indeed, yes. Of course it is not the same without Mr Handel. His loss will be keenly felt by everyone, but especially the poor orphans. He was a great benefactor.’

‘So I have heard from my friend, Viscount Leinster. You are acquainted with his lordship, I believe?’ He indicated Jonathan with a movement of his hand, which made the lace fall back over the sleeve of his dark-blue evening coat. She wondered if he always wore dark blue when everyone else seemed to favour peacock colours. Viscount Leinster, for instance, was in apricot.

She bent her knee to him. ‘Yes, we have met at Long Acre. Good evening, my lord.’

Jonathan acknowledged her with an elegant leg. ‘Your servant, Miss Gilpin. I have been telling my friend the M—’ He stopped when he saw Alex shaking his head and hastily corrected himself. ‘Captain Carstairs, that Mr Handel was a great influence in making the work of the hospital known.’

‘Yes, indeed he was. Have you ever visited the hospital, Captain?’ she asked.

‘I am afraid not. It is a pleasure still to come.’

‘You will not have time before you go to Norfolk,’ she said. ‘But perhaps when you return you will find time for a visit. Mr Hogarth’s paintings are particularly fine.’ Hogarth was another well-known benefactor of the charity and many of his paintings were on display at the hospital.

‘I shall make every effort to do so.’

‘I feel so sorry for the motherless children,’ she went on. ‘They are well looked after and given some training in an occupation when they are old enough and they seem happy, but life in an orphanage must be hard.’

‘Do you visit often?’

‘When I can. It is the babies I feel most for. Poor little things, being without a mother is so sad. I like to go and help feed them and bathe them and nurse them. I lost my mother when I was a little girl and I know what it’s like, even though I have a papa who has tried to be both mother and father to me.’

‘You have a soft heart, Miss Gilpin. I am persuaded you will make a splendid mama.’ He dug his elbow into Jonathan’s ribs when that worthy seemed unable to stifle his laughter and added, as they shuffled forwards, ‘Are you here alone?’

‘No, my father is here. I believe he has gone into the library with Lord Milgrove and another of the Coram trustees and will join me directly.’

‘In the meantime you have no one to serve you. Please allow me to help you. Would you like the chicken, or would you prefer the ham? Some green salad, perhaps? And there are love-apples, too. I wonder how they acquired that name?’

She looked hard at him, wondering whether he was teasing her, but his expression was inscrutable. ‘I have no idea.’

‘I believe they are supposed to have aphrodisiacal qualities,’ Jonathan put in. ‘But I have never put them to the test.’

They were bamming her. Charlotte felt the colour rising in her cheeks. ‘I should like the ham and the green salad,’ she said. ‘And one of those little tartlets, but I think I will give the tomatoes a miss.’

Alex noted the colour rise in her cheeks and realised suddenly that she was beautiful and for a single heartbeat he was tongue-tied, but gathered himself to put some of the food on a plate for her and helped himself to another plateful, which he carried to one of the little tables arranged about the room. Jonathan, plate piled high, joined them.

While they ate they engaged in a lively conversation about the music they had been hearing, the weather, the terrible state of the roads and the dreadful crime which was becoming more and more prevalent, especially in the capital. Pickpockets abounded, some as young as five or six who had been taught to creep under the skirts of a man’s coat and cut away his purse. They were so deft and so slippery, the victim did not know he had been robbed until he went to fetch out his purse to pay for something and by then the culprit was long gone.

‘We have to find the gang leaders,’ Jonathan said. ‘You may depend upon it they are being trained by unscrupulous men. It is not the children’s fault. If they are hungry and ragged, who can blame them when someone offers them a way out of their difficulties?’

‘Oh, I agree wholeheartedly,’ she said. ‘Something ought to be done, not to put the children in prison, but to help them keep out of it. That is why the Coram Foundling Hospital is so important— besides taking in unwanted babies, they house some of these urchins, but unfortunately there are more such children than they have room for.’

‘Arresting the men who train them in their pocket picking is equally important,’ Jonathan said.

‘Lord Leinster is one of the Piccadilly Gentlemen, as am I,’ Alex told her by way of explanation.

‘I have heard of them,’ she said, looking from one to the other. ‘I believe they investigate crimes and bring the criminals to justice. I remember reading about some coiners being apprehended through the offices of the Piccadilly Gentlemen. And wasn’t there a murderous gang of smugglers rounded up by them recently?’

‘We do what we can,’ Alex said. ‘Unfortunately we are only a small force and cannot be everywhere.’

‘Do the Bow Street Runners not work to the same end?’

‘They can arrest wrongdoers when they are brought to their notice, but they do not go out investigating crime,’ he explained. ‘Besides, they do not operate outside London unless they are sent for.’

‘There should be runners in every town and on the roads,’ Jonathan put in. ‘A national force. It is hardly possible to travel abroad in one’s own coach without being held up by highwaymen.’

‘I have heard my father say it is the common practice to have two purses,’ she said. ‘One with little in it to hand over when stopped and the other containing one’s real valuables to be well hid.’

‘I have heard that, too,’ Alex said. ‘But so, I think, have the robbers and if they suspect anything has been withheld they rip everything out of the coach to find it and often manhandle the poor travellers when they try to resist. It is sometimes more expedient to hand over one’s belongings and hope the criminals will be caught with the booty still on them.’

‘Which is a rare event,’ Jonathan put in morosely. ‘And when they are apprehended and put into prison, they somehow manage to escape.’

‘You will surmise from that,’ Alex told her, smiling, ‘that my friend is even now engaged on tracking down two escaped prisoners. They held up a coach and fatally wounded the coachman who dared to try to defend his passengers.’

‘They are dangerous men, then?’

‘Very dangerous.’

‘Then I hope you will take great care on your journey into Norfolk, Captain.’

He looked hard at her, but there was no irony in her tone and nothing in her expression to suggest she was roasting him and he accepted the advice on face value. ‘I shall do that, never fear.’

‘My father has devised a secret compartment in some of his coaches,’ she said. ‘It can only be found and opened if you know the way of it.’

‘Is there such a place in the carriage I have bought?’ Alex asked.

‘Yes, did I not show it to you? How remiss of me. Remind me to do so when you come to take delivery.’

Her father arrived at this point and seated himself at the table to join in the conversation which ranged from ideas for reducing crime to the latest news of John Wilkes’s controversial arrest on a charge of seditious libel and his subsequent release on the grounds that the arrest contravened his rights as a Member of Parliament.

‘Just because he is a Member of Parliament is not fit reason for him to escape punishment for wrongdoing,’ Charlotte said. ‘No one, high or low, should be above the law.’

‘Oh, I agree,’ Alex said, smiling at her vehemence. ‘But it is a free country and if a Member of Parliament cannot express an opinion without being arrested, then who can?’

‘There is a difference between opinion and sedition,’ Henry said.

‘Certainly there is.’

‘Papa, Lord Leinster and Captain Carstairs are members of the Piccadilly Gentleman’s Club,’ Charlotte told her father, changing the subject before the discussion could become heated. ‘Did you know that?’

‘I have heard the name somewhere, but there are so many clubs nowadays, it is difficult to remember them all. Remind me, my lord.’

He was jovial and wary at the same time and Alex was reminded of Jonathan’s assertion he was looking for a titled husband for his daughter. Jonathan was married already and he, as a mere sea captain, would never do. It was strange how that old rejection was still able to hurt, even when the last thing he had on his mind was courtship and marriage.

They were strolling homewards, he and Jonathan, picking their way along the muddy street when his friend mentioned Miss Gilpin again. ‘I was wrong and you were right, Alex. Miss Gilpin is not an antidote at all. On closer inspection, her skin has the bloom of good health and her eyes are particularly fine. She looks you straight in the eye when she speaks, almost as if daring you to contradict her. No doubt that is because of the hoydenish way she has been brought up without feminine influence.’

‘Is that so? No lady to advise her at all?’

‘I believe there was an elderly aunt, but she died some time ago and since then Miss Gilpin has had only her father for company, which is why she goes to the coachworks every day and he treats her like a son. No self-respecting mother or governess would have left her to fetch her own supper.’

‘Then it was as well we were on hand,’ Alex said laconically.

Jonathan was not yet ready to give up being a matchmaker and went on, ‘But with a little guidance, I am persuaded she would be perfectly acceptable in society.’

‘And what, pray, is your interest in the lady, Jon, and you a happily married man?’

‘I am thinking of you, my friend. You have all the attributes her father desires and she would make a fine marchioness, not to mention bringing a prodigious fortune with her.’

‘Then I wish you would not think of me. I am not looking for a wife. And please note, I do not intend to use my title, certainly not to capture a bride. I am plain Captain Alexander Carstairs and I’ll thank you not to forget it.’

Jonathan held up his hand in mock supplication. ‘Pax, my friend! I was roasting you. It is not like you to take offence so quickly.’

‘I have not taken offence. I simply wanted to make sure you understood.’

‘I am not at all sure I do, but never mind, I will say no more on the subject.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘I think I prefer the captain to the marquis in any event; the marquis is not so much fun. Do you go home or will you come to White’s for a hand or two?’

‘I mean to go home. I must be up betimes in the morning if I am to be at Long Acre at noon. I intend to be on my way half an hour later. I think I will take a short detour and call on my mother on the way. She may like to come with me to Norfolk. If the Piccadilly Gentlemen need me, James knows where to find me.’

‘Then I will bid you adieu.’ Jonathan hailed a chair, which was passing empty, and climbed inside. ‘Come back soon. London will be monstrous dull without you.’

And with that the chairmen picked up the handles and trotted off with him. Alex continued on his way, smiling a little, thinking of Jonathan’s teasing. He might have the attributes Henry Gilpin insisted upon, but one thing was certain: one spoilt daughter of a widowed father was more than enough. He would never fall into the same humiliating situation again. Neither would he use his title, which in no way altered the man he was.

‘It was a pleasant evening,’ Henry said as he and Charlotte journeyed home. ‘It raised several hundred pounds for the orphans and I was introduced to Sir Bertram Hambleton, who is desirous of bespeaking a travelling coach. I am assured by Lord Leinster that he is well able to pay for it, being heir to Viscount Beresford, who is rich as Croesus. I am to travel down to his estate in Oxfordshire to talk about his requirements. There may be more than one vehicle to manufacture. Shall you mind being left on your own?’

‘Of course not, Papa. You have done it before, many times, and the work will go on quite well in your absence. When shall you go?’

‘It has not been decided yet. In a week or two. Sir Bertram has business in town and I must wait until he is ready to return home. I will see the work started on the new landaulet for Mr Corton before I leave.’

‘Then it is as well we do have a new man starting tomorrow, if you are to be away.’

‘I am quite taken up with Sir Bertram,’ Henry went on, discounting the argument that he never did any of the practical work and had not done so for many years. Not that he couldn’t if he chose, he was fond of telling her. ‘He is young, twenty-four, I believe, and besides having good prospects, presents an altogether pleasant demeanour.’

‘Papa, are you thinking what I think you are? You promised not to matchmake.’

‘Oh, I am not matchmaking, child, simply pointing out his good points.’

‘And you said you would cease to call me child.’

‘I forgot,’ he said blandly.

The more her father sang the praises of the various titled bachelors with whom he came into contact, the more determined she was to resist his efforts to marry her off. She was not ready for marriage, was not sure she ever would be if it meant surrendering her independence and giving up her part in running the business. When she fell in love would be time enough to consider that, but not before. If she fell in love. Perhaps she never would and a marriage without love was not to be borne. The matter of a title, in her eyes, was entirely irrelevant. Why, Captain Carstairs had no title, but she was convinced that he was every inch a gentleman.

Now, why had she suddenly thought of him? Was it because she had been talking to him only two hours before? Was it because of his masterly handling of the accident earlier that day? Was it his good looks and his easy manner? He had not paid her any particular attention beyond politeness and affability, no more than Viscount Leinster had and his lordship was a happily married man.

Alex rose early, intending to ride in Hyde Park before going to Gilpin’s. He would have to leave his mount behind while he was in Norfolk and he would not have the pleasure of a gallop until he returned. Besides, Pegasus needed exercise.

The animal was well named. He carried Alex’s weight easily and covered the ground almost as if he were flying. Alex loved the exhilaration and, once in the park, eschewed the usual bridleway and let him have his head. Although early, the day promised to be warm and sunny, a beautiful day for a ride. He was galloping across the rough grass towards a stand of trees when he noticed he was not the only one out early. A lady on a magnificent bay mare was galloping across the grass. She had a wonderful seat, at one with the horse, and was evidently enjoying the ride. He pulled up to watch her, wondering how long she could keep going before the animal decided he had had enough and threw her?

It was not the animal that forced her to pull up, but a horse and tumbril which suddenly appeared out of the trees as she was passing. Alex held his breath, expecting the worst, but she showed herself to be in full control of her mount. She pulled him up with a flurry of hooves and turned angrily on the man who had been driving the vehicle and who had jumped to the ground and taken hold of her bridle. She raised her crop and brought it down sharply on the man’s hand, but he did not let go. And then another ruffian appeared and came round to the other side of her and attempted to edge her and her mount towards the cart, making the mare shy. Alex decided it behoved him to intervene.

He was riding without a sword, but he always carried a pistol in a holster on his saddle and he drew it as he approached at a gallop. He dare not fire for fear of hitting her, but the arrival of a man brandishing a gun was enough for the two men; they scrambled into the cart and urged it into a gallop. It was when he turned to go back to the rider that he realised the lady was Miss Gilpin.

He dismounted and ran to where the pale-faced lady still sat on her horse, which was standing perfectly still now.

He reached out to her and she slid from the mare and into his arms. He held her while she regained her breath, which was coming in great gasps. ‘You are safe now,’ he murmured. He could feel her heart beating hard against his chest, making him realise just how frightened she had been. She wasn’t so mannish, after all. Her closeness, the way her body seemed to fit so snuggly into his, the scent of violets on her hair, was enough to send his senses reeling. It was years since he had held a woman like that and she was stirring passions in him which he had forgotten existed.

‘Thank you,’ she said when her breathing steadied and she drew away from him to look up at him. ‘I do not know what I would have done if you had not been on hand.’

He looked down into her face, uplifted to his. Her lips were slightly parted and he was inexplicably tempted to kiss her, but thrust the temptation from him. ‘I am glad that I was,’ he said, trying to control his ragged breath enough to answer her. ‘What did they want?’

‘I don’t know.’ She was calmer now, but still pale, still in his arms. Until she moved, he would not put her from him. ‘I have nothing on me worth taking, except my horse, of course. Do you suppose that was what they wanted? Amber is a valuable beast.’

‘Perhaps,’ he agreed, careful not to wonder aloud why they would bring a cart to steal a horse from someone still riding it, when it would have been easier to take it without a rider on its back. He felt sure it was the rider they were after. ‘It was foolish of you to ride out alone. Have you no escort?’

‘No. If any of the grooms come with me, they are so fearful for me, they stop me having a good gallop. Besides, at this time of day they are busy with all the other horses. I have never come to any harm.’

‘Until now,’ he said repressively.

‘I am not hurt.’

‘You might very well have been if I had not come along. I have no doubt you could command a fair sum in ransom …’

‘Ransom! Good heavens! Is that what you think?’

‘It is a possibility—more than a possibility, I should think.’ He paused, unwilling to frighten her more than she had been already, though she appeared to have recovered her poise remarkably quickly. ‘Do you feel able to ride home?’

‘Yes.’ She stepped away from him. ‘If you would be kind enough to help me mount.’

He fetched her horse and offered his cupped hands to lift her into the saddle and put her foot in the stirrup, and then mounted Pegasus, who had been patiently cropping the dry grass. ‘Let us go, then.’

‘Captain Carstairs,’ she said, gathering up her reins. ‘I would be obliged if you did not tell my father of this incident.’

They rode side by side at a gentle walk. ‘Naturally I shall say nothing if you do not wish it, but you ought to tell him about those men yourself so that he can take suitable precautions in future. I will not always be on hand to rescue you.’

‘No, I do not expect you to be. But if I tell Papa, he will have people guarding me all the time. He might even refuse to allow me to go to the works.’

‘And that is important to you?’

‘Very important, Captain. It is my life’s work.’

‘Oh, surely not. You must have other interests.’

‘Of course I do. The orphans, for one, and I enjoy gardening and reading.’

‘What do you like to read?’

‘Everything. Scientific books, books about manufacturing and new ideas …’

‘No novels? No poetry?’

She smiled. ‘Those, too. I do not think of myself as a blue stocking, Captain.’

‘Nevertheless, I want you to promise me you will not go out without an escort again.’

She looked sharply at him. ‘Why should I make promises to you, Captain Carstairs? I really cannot think why you expect me to do so.’

‘I know it is no business of mine what you do, but I should be sorry to think of you being abducted by the likes of those two. They would not treat you gently, you may be sure.’

‘How do you know so much about it?’

‘I have twice lately been engaged on kidnap cases for the Society. Desperate men do not hesitate to put an end to their victim’s life if their demands are not met, and even sometimes if they are, if they think she can identify them. I should hate that to happen to you.’

‘What was the outcome of your investigations, Captain?’ she asked. ‘Did you restore the victims to their families?’

He smiled, realising she was evading making the promise he asked for. ‘One was returned safely to her parents without the ransom being paid because the kidnappers were foiled. The other had not been abducted, but had run away to Gretna Green with a lover. I had the devil’s job to persuade her to go back home. The couple had been together for two or three days, so her father felt obliged to allow the marriage to go ahead.’

‘A happy ending, then.’

‘Who’s to know? Her father had his reasons for refusing his consent in the first place and perhaps he was right. Only time will tell.’

‘Are you always so cynical?’

‘Not cynical, Miss Gilpin, simply a realist.’

‘Then you do not think love lasts?’

‘I am sure genuine love does, but recognising it when it comes, that is the hard part.’

‘Oh, then you are a cynic.’

He was tired of her quizzing him, especially as she was getting very close to the bone, and decided to turn the tables. ‘Have you ever been in love, Miss Gilpin?’

‘Now that is a very personal question, but as you have been so kind as to rescue me and shown concern for my safety, I will answer you. No, I have never been in love, but I am sure I will recognise it when it comes.’

‘But you must have had many suitors.’

‘Money-grabbers, Captain, silly young fops who think my fortune will allow them to live in comfort without doing a hand’s turn to earn it. I shall not marry one of them. Papa has had to work hard to build up the business and I would not have all that wasted on a ne’er-do-well. Gilpin’s is far too important for that.’

He was silenced by this. Her father’s business meant more to her than falling in love. Jonathan had been right; she would be hard to live with if that was all she cared about. But at least she was honest. Letitia had not been honest; she had led him on, knowing she was never going to accept him. He shook the memories from him and turned back to Miss Gilpin. She was riding steadily with no sign of the fright she must have had. Foolish and hoydenish she might be, but he found himself admiring her composure, which would have done credit to a duchess. ‘Do you go home or to Long Acre?’ he asked, as they left the park and rode along Tyburn Lane.

‘Home to Piccadilly,’ she said. ‘I will slip indoors and change before joining my father for breakfast, then we will go to the Long Acre together as usual.’

They turned down beside Green Park and on to Piccadilly and thence to the mews. She pulled up as a groom came out to take her horse. Alex dismounted and held out his hands to help her down. ‘Are you recovered?’ he murmured, noticing her hands were still shaking a little.

‘Yes, thank you. I will bid you good day now, Captain, but remember when you come to collect your carriage, say nothing of what occurred.’

He bowed. ‘As you wish. But you must remember what I said about not going out alone. Having failed once, those men might try again.’

‘I will remember.’

He remounted and rode back to Mount Street to change and have his own breakfast. He was more than a little worried by the episode with the two men. That they had intended an abduction he was fairly sure and if that were the case he thought they might try again and if Miss Gilpin was foolish enough to ride alone in the park, he could not answer for her safety. He wished wholeheartedly that he did not have to go to Norfolk. Why he was so bothered he did not know; Miss Gilpin was nothing to him and Henry Gilpin had funds enough to pay a dozen ransoms. And perhaps he was seeing trouble where none existed. He left Pegasus with Davy and went indoors.

Charlotte was far more shaken up over the episode that she liked to admit. Had those men really intended to kidnap her? Whatever would she have done if Captain Carstairs had not come along to scare them off? She had been so relieved to see him, she had fallen into his arms. How could she have been so blind to decorum as to let him hold her like that? They had stood so close, toe to toe, his arms encasing her so that she could hear his heartbeat against her ear. No one had ever held her like that before and the strange sensations it had produced in her body had altogether eclipsed the fright she had had. She had looked up into his face and wondered if he would kiss her. But of course, he had not; it would have been the height of impropriety and would certainly have soured their business relationship. That was more important than wondering what he thought about her and whether he knew the effect he had on her. Why did it matter? Because he had held her in his arms and set her heart racing? No doubt he would have rescued any young lady in the same danger. She was not special.

She breakfasted with her father and managed to chat about what the day held for them without saying a word about riding in Hyde Park. She hoped Captain Carstairs would keep his word and not give her away. She could not face any questions about that or any restrictions on her freedom. But she would take care to ask one of the grooms to ride behind her when she went riding in the park again.

* * *

Alex arrived at Long Acre promptly at noon where he found his new carriage had already been harnessed to a splendid pair of matched greys. It was a matter of a moment to transfer his baggage from the handcart he had hired into the boot of the carriage with the aid of the young lad who had pushed it there. He tipped the boy generously and sent him on his way before carefully inspecting the whole equipage, watched by Davy who had been brought along to drive it.

‘It meets with your approval?’ Henry queried after showing him the secret compartment.

‘Most certainly. What say you, Davy?’

‘As fine an outfit as ever you could meet, my … Captain,’ he amended, catching a warning look from his master.

‘Then let us go into the office and complete the transaction,’ Henry said.

Alex followed Henry into the office where Charlotte sat at her desk. She was in the plain gown she had worn the day before, her hair was once more dragged back severely into a knot. Miss Gilpin at work was very different from Miss Gilpin at a concert. One was severely dressed in plainspun cloth with the minimum of padding, the other as elegant as any of the ladies of the ton, in a wide-skirted dress of heavy blue silk which emphasised a superb figure. It was almost as if she were two different people, three if you counted the hoyden who rode a horse many a man might find hard to handle.

She bade him good morning as if it were the first time they had met that day and he felt obliged to play along with that, asking her how she did and if she had enjoyed the concert the evening before. He was bidden to be seated while she completed the invoice. He watched her as her pen glided over the paper. She seemed composed, the ultimate businesswoman, but he noticed her hand shook a little and realised she was not impervious to him. Why that pleased him he did not know. She was most definitely out of bounds and the episode in Hyde Park was an aberration and he must not continue to dwell on it.

The horses, he discovered, when she handed him the invoice, cost as much as the coach, but he did not doubt they were worth it. Nor did he doubt that Gilpin had made more than a fair profit, but he did not begrudge him that. He was prepared to pay for quality, as so many others were, a fact testified by the man’s success. Altogether his bill came to two hundred and forty pounds ten shillings. He filled in the full amount on the bill of exchange and gave it to Miss Gilpin, receiving a neat receipt.

Henry had been to a cupboard and extracted a bottle and two glasses. ‘Will you join me in a drink to celebrate?’ he said, pouring cognac. The man seemed utterly unaware of the dangerous currents passing between his customer and his daughter.

Alex took a glass of brandy from him and they stood toasting each other, watched by Charlotte, who found herself studying him again. Although he had changed his clothes, he was still wearing dark blue and white, but far from making him look sombre it emphasised his magnificent physique. She felt herself unwittingly remembering how she had stood enveloped in his arms and how warm and comfortable it had been and, afraid her rosy cheeks would betray her, hurriedly looked away.

His glass empty, Alex put it down, bowed to them both and took his leave, having promised to bring the coach back for servicing when it required it.

Davy was already on the box ready to drive off. ‘Right, off to Briarcroft,’ he told him. ‘We will call on my mother first.’

Charlotte watched him go from the window, conscious of a feeling of anticlimax, of wishing she knew more about him. He had an air of aloofness and a cynicism that sat ill with his courtesy and compassion. He had ridden hard to save her from those men, then berated her for riding alone, as if it was any business of his. Just what was his business? She knew he was a seafaring captain and belonged to the Piccadilly Gentlemen, but that was all. He had vouchsafed nothing about his family. For all she knew he was married and had a brood of children. Would a man buying a travelling coach not include a wife in the transaction, if only by mentioning her tastes? He had done nothing like that. And he had arrived at Lady Milgrove’s with Viscount Leinster when she would have expected him to bring his wife if he had one. But perhaps the wife lived in Norfolk and did not like town ways. What, she told herself sternly, had it got to do with her? She turned away from the window to answer a knock at the door. In answer to her ‘Enter’, a man in working garb and clutching a soft felt hat in his hand came in to stand before her.

He bowed his head. ‘Miss Gilpin, I am Martin Grosswaite, here as promised. What would you like me to do?’ He did not, as she expected, ask to see her father who was in the paint shop, where the artist they employed was about to begin putting a coat of arms on a chaise before it was varnished. She surmised her father had told him to speak to her.

She entered his particulars in the register she kept for employees and then conducted him to the upper floor to be introduced to the head carpenter and set to work. Then she went thoughtfully back to her office. Martin Grosswaite had been perfectly polite and had answered her questions in a straightforward manner, but there was something about him that troubled her. It might have been his craggy face, but she was not one to be disturbed by ill looks, or it might have been his pale eyes, which darted about as he spoke and never once looked directly at her. It made her feel uncomfortable.

She shook her foolish thoughts from her; he had been nervous and anxious to please, that was all, and if he did not please it was easy enough to dismiss him. And with that thought she sat down at her desk and pulled the sales ledger towards her.

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