Beauty and the Beast of Thornleigh Read online

  Beauty

  and the

  Beast of Thornleigh

  A Regency Romance

  Kate Westwood

  Published by Kate Westwood

  www.katewestwood.net

  Copyright © 2019

  All rights reserved

  No parts of this work may be copied without the author’s permission.

  ISBN: 978-0-6484007-3-8

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organisations, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Books by Kate Westwood

  A Scandal at Delford

  Beauty and the Beast of Thornleigh

  A Bath Affair (Coming Soon)

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank Steve Wright, wherever he is, for his encouragement and helpful remarks. A huge thank you to Alex Aislabie, for social media, Kim Lambert for formatting and long Skype sessions trying to teach me IT skills, and Cathy Walker, cover-designer extraordinaire.

  To Pete, for three beautiful years.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty One

  Twenty Two

  Twenty Three

  Twenty Four

  Twenty Five

  Twenty Six

  Twenty Seven

  Twenty Eight

  Twenty Nine

  Thirty

  About the Author

  Connect with Kate

  Here is your preview of A Bath Affair

  One

  Two

  Three

  Other Books by Kate Westwood

  ‘The human heart, at whatever age, opens only to the heart that opens in return.’

  -Maria Edgeworth, Helen (1834)

  Prologue

  1812

  Captain Asher Brandt had come into Derbyshire with less enthusiasm than a mutineer walking the plank, and now he felt just like one, as he sat on a hard chair, too close to the fire, in Lady Selkirk’s drawing room on this unseasonably cool April day. The cold pierce of that lady’s gaze was powerfully chill enough to quell the perspiration rising under his linen shirt, from his close situation to the fireplace. He tugged at his cravat which felt too tightly tied. In that chill look, he felt all the force of Lady Selkirk’s disapproval, and yet, he must ask for lenience, and for time; he must ask an indulgence for which he dared not hope.

  Neither lenience nor indulgence looked promising; they did not signify upon Lady Selkirk’s stark countenance as she sat opposite him. In her eyes he divined only stern disapproval, the same disapprobation he had encountered on the last visit, twelve months previously, when he had first come, upon his own inclinations, to put his supplication forward.

  But he remembered, and it gave him hope yet, that the cut of her jib concealed an unexpected kindness which lay below her surface, and for which he had been grateful then; this remembrance now gave him some hope. If he could yet but draw out that human kindness once again, he would be willing to humiliate himself as he was about to do, for he needed Lady Selkirk’s good will, and perhaps even her pity, if he was to accomplish his object. His course had been, until now, nothing but doldrum winds. His scheme had been brought up short, and he was now obliged to ask for help. Although his visit was this time at Lady Selkirk’s summons, he harboured hopes of gaining her indulgence, through his opening himself to her and falling upon whatever tendency toward clemency might yet sit behind the chill glance of her eyes.

  He shifted his weight uncomfortably, a testament not only to the determination of the chair beneath him, which was now asserting its authority against his derriere rather zealously, but to his inner mental and emotional state, which was ever more uneasy and troubled with each minute of his being there. He was half hope, half despair. He knew not what to think, or what to hope.

  Lady Selkirk silently indicated to him to take up his tea, which he did, and sipped obediently against the cup’s delicate bone china edge, as much to borrow time as to quench his thirst. He looked down at the fragile pink china against his own comparatively vast hand, and idly thought how incongruous the cup appeared. It was a tiny, feminine symbol which made mockery of his own distinctly male, and brutish appearance. The corner of his mouth twitched, but it was not in humour.

  His accuser sat opposite, waiting for an answer to the question she had just asked him, eyeing him with that disapproving stare which was her way, and to which he yielded after a short time.

  Placing his teacup gently on its saucer, he met her eyes fully. ‘Ma’am. I have not yet resolved the matter. There have been — difficulties, with available choices. I find myself at a loss. I have made no advance towards securing what I promised in our last meeting, but, under the circumstance, I hope you will understand, it has not been easy. The situation is a rather delicate one.’

  Lady Selkirk waited. There was pity in her glance, he discerned, and it gave him some hope, even while it stung, but he could also discern that it was mingled with annoyance.

  He continued. ‘I understand your terms, and the agreement we came to at our last meeting, but my circumstances are, shall we say, of a somewhat unusual nature. It is my personal circumstance, Ma’am, to which I refer. It has not been easy to fulfil the terms of our agreement. I require more time.’ He looked away momentarily, self-conscious at having been obliged to make a direct reference to his personal situation. It was not that he was embarrassed, for he could not help his situation, but to admit that it was the cause of difficulty in gaining what it was that he needed, and that this may forever prevent him from obtaining that alone which his heart required to find peace and solace — he wished it were not so, and yet he must lay his pride before the woman who held his future in her power.

  Her eyes were thoughtful, but still, disapprobation met his own gaze. She set her teacup down, her brown taffeta gown rustling in the quiet room as she did so. ‘You refer, I suppose, to the problem of your appearance,’ she said, not unkindly. ‘You think that no young lady will want you. You are timid in society, my friends tell me. You do not go out, refuse all invitations to card parties, dances, and public entertainment, you do not go to London for the season, and you shutter yourself up in that dreadful house of yours, keeping to your own company. Oh, do not deny it, Captain, for my friends tell me it is true. No wonder, that you have not found it easy to accomplish your task, when you refuse to go about in society!’

  He concurred. ‘It is true, Ma’am. I do shun society. I do not go about in it as easily as I once did. I do not feel— out of respect for my brother, and yes, due to my own shame, my pride, I do not go about in society any more than I can help. This circumstance has limited my ability to be introduced to young ladies.’

  ‘But have you enlisted the support of your friends? Surely, they must know some well-bred young lady or other who might agree to an introduction? Perhaps you are too fastidious, Captain! The young woman need not be rich or beautiful, you know! So long as she is well-bred, sensible, and has a tolerable maternal instinct about her, she will meet all my requirements!’

  He inclined his head. ‘My good friend, Captain Townsend, last month set up private introductions with two eligible young women. The
first young lady took one look at me, and fled the room in tears, without uttering a word. The other suffered hysterics on the spot, and a fainting fit, and had to be carried away! You can see my predicament, Lady Selkirk. They cannot even hold a conversation with me, let alone consider an offer. My face is my downfall, Ma’am; no woman will look at me.’ He gave a short, bitter laugh.

  ‘Then I am very sorry for you, Captain; this must be a material change from the kind of reception you have been used to from young ladies.’

  He uttered a short, mirthless laugh. ‘Only three years ago, I regularly moved in the best of society; young ladies fell over themselves to set their caps at me, to flutter their fans at me and flirt outrageously! Now, things are very different. I need more time, Ma’am, to locate the right prospect. I admit I am straightened, to my limit, to find somebody by the end of the year. I must beg for your indulgence, while I devise a new scheme.’

  ‘As you are aware,’ replied Lady Selkirk ominously, ‘my foremost concern must be for my granddaughter, your brother’s child. She must be cared for adequately. If you cannot provide what I have asked, she must return to this house permanently, and be cared for here. She is of an age now where she is impressionable, an age in which her character and personal attributes are being formed. If she is to remain with you, she must have a mother; she must have a gentlewoman’s care. Her visits to me are of too short a duration to have any lasting influence over her. She will, of course, have a governess, but she must be schooled in the ways of a lady. She needs a mother’s guidance – and a mother’s love,’ she added a trifle less severely.

  Asher waited while his hope dwindled.

  Lady Selkirk sighed. ‘I am not a harsh woman, Captain, and it is my desire that, should you find a wife of whom I can approve, my granddaughter may remain at Thornleigh, her natural home. And despite my reputation for sternness, I am not inured to the difficulties, the complexities, of your — situation, as it were.’

  She rose and Asher thought she went to the window, but she stopped short at her desk, and reaching into the drawer there, she withdrew a letter, and held it out to him. He took it, puzzled. Before he had time to peruse its contents, she seated herself and spoke again.

  ‘I have taken the liberty of procuring you an introduction to a young woman whom I think will meet your needs. That is the letter from her mother, giving her consent to the plan. You will travel down to London, where the family is in residence for the season. You will find the details of the introduction in the letter. It has been arranged that you will attend one or two dinners, card parties and so on, as the guest of my friend, Mrs Fanny St. George. She is the girl’s aunt. The girl herself is of good breeding, and meets all my own requirements in this matter, which is all that needs to answer, for my part. Most importantly for you, Captain, I am almost certain she will accept an offer should you make her one.’

  With these words, Asher’s heart rose once again from despair to hope, although this was coupled with humiliation. He swallowed down his pride. ‘I am at a loss, Ma’am, to know how to reply. You know it is my fondest object to have Rose live with me at Thornleigh. But what makes you think this young lady will accept my offer? How can you be so sure?’

  ‘The young lady, Miss Georgiana Hall, is the middle daughter of three, the niece of my friend, Mrs Fanny St. George, who at present is in town for the season with her sister’s family. The father passed away almost two years ago. It appears that he was a wastrel of sorts,’ she added disapprovingly, ‘deep in debt when he died, and left almost nothing in the way of an income for his children or widow. There was the estate, of course, their current home, but that is entailed to a brother, a man— I will not say a gentleman— of trade, who can hardly be expected to support the girls and their mother indefinitely, along with his own family. The girls have a home at Loweston, here in Derbyshire, for their uncle has not yet turned them all out, but his son will inherit Loweston on his marriage, and as he is of age, they cannot have long.’

  ‘But do they not have any means at their disposal? Are they really so poor that a daughter among them would accept a marriage proposal from a stranger?’

  ‘The girls have no provision to speak of, and the oldest is beyond the age for marriage. The youngest is not yet fifteen. The middle daughter is three and twenty and has had no offers made her as yet, if my friend, Mrs St. George, has not been misled. As the most eligible daughter, she will feel it her duty to accept any offer which might be to the advantage of the whole family. But there is one more thing.’

  Asher’s countenance became guarded. ‘Yes?’

  ‘The girl has a deformity herself. She has a wasted limb.’

  He was still for a second, his face was ashen. He stood up. His voice was cold, full of barely-checked disgust. ‘I beg your pardon, but I cannot agree to such a scheme. It is a bad enough affair, that I must subject myself to… to pity,’ he flung the word out, ‘although my circumstances have obliged me to submit. For the sake of my brother’s child, I submit willingly! But that I should also allow myself to be paired up with a… a… cripple! I may have lost my face, and yes, I may well inspire pity wherever I go, from all who look upon me, but Madam, I refuse to subject myself to the insult that you have paid me, inferring that only a cripple would take me! I may no longer be considered handsome, but I have my fortune, I am a gentleman, and I am respected in the circles which matter to me. I will find a wife, and she will not be a cripple with no other prospects!’

  Lady Selkirk had stared mildly at Asher during this outburst, not seeming to be affected by his anger. She smiled humourlessly and indicated the chair. ‘Sit down, Captain. I thought this might have been your response. I recommend you calm yourself, for I did not intend offence, although it appears I gave it nonetheless. Now, before you storm out of my drawing room, hear me out. I have something more to say on the matter.’

  ‘What more could you possibly have to say on the matter, Lady Selkirk? I think you have made yourself quite clear.’

  ‘Nonetheless, stay a moment. Now, Captain, I am not quite intending to pair you up with a cripple, as you put it. The girl has a wasted limb, yes. But it is not quite so bad as it sounded at first. There is no obvious defect, except a slight limp, and she relies on a cane. Unfortunately, this has affected her ability to marry, since her deformity makes any offer unlikely. It is a great pity, for I have heard from her aunt that she is considered a great beauty, and she has been bought up a gentlewoman. I am told that she is quiet, dutiful and would make a grateful wife. If an offer were made to her, I feel that she would all the more willingly accept if it were made from someone in, shall we say, a similar position? Stay Captain, hear me out,’ she added commandingly, as Asher strode towards the door, unable to hear more.

  He stopped unwillingly and turned, the smooth portion of his face as angry and bitter as the other side was ugly and deformed.

  Lady Selkirk continued, her voice placating. ‘It is not my intention, I assure you, to offend, but to facilitate an event which by your own admission, has been difficult to bring about. Whatever your fortune, Captain Brandt, young ladies do not readily marry older men with, excuse me, disfigured features. Forgive my bluntness, but it is so. It is my firm belief that this young woman will accept you; you may find yourselves, shall we say, simpatico. Go to London, Captain Brandt. It may be your only chance to keep Rose.’

  One

  Georgiana sat in the modestly furnished, candle-lit drawing room of a fashionable London townhouse, awaiting her mama and sister. Her white-on-white muslin was not new, but of good quality, and became her dark hair and eyes. Beside her rested a walking stick, and this she took up now, running her fingers lightly over its beautiful walnut wood, to idly trace the whorls of knots which made it, to her, more unique. Her papa had crafted the item for her in his woodworking room at Loweston. Indeed, it was the third one of its kind, for he had fashioned two others for her, of inferior, but strong enough woods, one when she was around ten years of age, and on its be
ing outgrown, another on her fifteenth birthday. Near the head of the cane, a noose and tassel of fine silk had been attached securely, allowing her to dangle the cane from her wrist in the manner of fashionable ladies, its soft rose complementing the dark brown wood.

  Had the cane had been purely decorative, Georgiana thought to herself, it would have been the pride of any young lady of fashion. A little carved ivory hare’s head had been set into the wood as a handle, which was Papa’s own work, and which she loved to feel under her palm. The walking stick had been a twenty-first birthday present, the last thing Papa had given her, and she cherished it above most other things in the world. Except for Julia, of course. And dear cousin Henry! And Loweston, the abode of her youth and likely the abode of her old age, Henry assured her, should she never marry.

  Georgiana Hall, at three and twenty, was a great deal behind her peers, who, her mama pointed out frequently, were all but married by the middle of their second decade. If her mama had her way, thought Georgiana grimly, she too, would be made to quit London next week, on the arm of the first ancient widower who would offer, so long as he could provide for them all. But Papa had not left them very much, and fifty pounds each per annum did not pave a very fine road to matrimony!

  She looked around her, at the pleasing, understated furnishing of the drawing room, and silently thanked her aunt. If it was not for her generosity, there would be no season in London at all!

  Georgiana was not at a loss to understand why they had been forced to retrench after her father’s death; she understood well her mother’s character. She collected from Colonel Walker that there had been some large debts, although he would not give details out of a delicacy for her feelings, but she knew that her father would not have left them in lowered circumstances without his being able to help it! There were rumours that he gambled, and Elizabeth liked to point this out to Georgiana from time to time, to her vexation.