Hungry for Love

CHAPTER ONE 1817-2

He looked tired, but that would be due, she thought, to the late nights he enjoyed in London and the amount of wine he had consumed.

It was to be expected that he should wish to live the same life as other young men of his age.

But she had glanced at him a little apprehensively as, instead of taking the cup of coffee she offered him, he walked to the sideboard and poured himself some brandy.

She had said nothing because, after all, Harry was now the Head of the Family and his own master and, if he wished to drink brandy in the morning, it was not for her to criticise him.

At the same time, perceptively, she sensed that something was very wrong and she wondered nervously what it could be.

Harry had arranged to stay with them last night and the night they arrived, so as to help them settle into the house. Also because he knew it would give his mother so much pleasure.

Today he was due to return to his lodgings where Araminta was well aware that he enjoyed, not only his independence, but also the attention of an excellent valet he had employed to look after him.

It was as soon as Lady Sinclair left the breakfast room that Harry had told Araminta of the trouble he was in.

“Six hundred pounds!” she said again beneath her breath.

“I have been thinking,” Harry said, “that, if I give up my lodgings and dismiss my servant, that would save some money.”

“I asked you how much you had left of your allowance.” There was a pause before Harry said defensively,

“I have nothing left of this quarter’s.”

“Oh, Harry!”

Araminta bit back the words that rose to her lips.

There was no use in being cross, she thought. If it was spent, it was spent – no amount of recrimination would bring it back.

“I shall get something for my horses.”

“Your horses?” Araminta asked.

“That is why I am hard-up,” he answered. “I had the chance of buying two really fine animals. They belonged to an acquaintance who was going abroad. He let me have them cheap.”

He paused before he added,

“I shall get more than I paid for them.”

“How much can you raise all together?”

“I have lain awake all night doing sums in my head,” Harry replied, “and I imagine that, with the horses, Papa’s watch, cufflinks and tiepin which Mama gave me before I came to London, I could raise about two hundred and fifty pounds.”

“You must not tell Mama,” Araminta said quickly. “Not about the tiepin, nor Papa’s watch.”

“No, of course not!”

“That is nearly half,” Araminta said, “and there is one hundred and fifty pounds which Mama has saved for my gowns. I think I told you about it.”

“But, Araminta, I cannot take your money!” Harry protested.

Araminta gave a little laugh that was almost a sob.

“You can hardly expect me to dance gaily at Almack’s while you are languishing in a debtors’ prison!”

“It will not come to that,” Harry said. “At least I don’t think so.”

There was some doubt in his tone.

“You mean that the Marquis will not sue you if you cannot meet your debt to him?”

“It would be an unprecedented thing for one gentleman to do to another,” Harry answered. “At the same time, you know as well as I do, Araminta, that a gambling debt is one of honour. To default means I should be forced to resign from White’s with ignominy and it is doubtful if any of its members would ever speak to me again.”

“That must never happen,” Araminta said firmly.

“I do not see how I can prevent it,” Harry admitted despondently.

He put his hands up to his face again.

“Oh, God Araminta, how could I have been such a damned fool? How could I have made such an absolute hash of everything?”

“I suppose if you – pleaded with the Marquis – if you told him the circumstances – ?”

“Plead with the Marquis of Wayne?” Harry asked derisively. “I might just as well plead with the Rock of Gibraltar! He is as hard as granite, with not an ounce of kindness in his whole make-up. He may be admired for his appearance, his possessions and his achievements, but I don’t suppose there is one person in the whole of London who really likes him.”

“But why?” Araminta enquired.

“God knows,” Harry replied. “There is just something about him. His air of superiority. I am not the only one who finds him insufferable.”

He paused before he added reflectively,

“He behaves as if we are all beneath contempt.”

“Then if we cannot appeal to him,” Araminta said, “we shall have to raise every penny we can, and promise him the rest in instalments!”

“He will not like that,” Harry muttered.

“It does not matter what he likes,” Araminta said. “It is a question of what we are able to give, him. Now, if we have two hundred and fifty pounds from you, the one hundred and fifty that Mama has put aside for my gowns, and I suppose there must be thirty pounds in the bank, then we have nearly four hundred and fifty pounds.”

“We have to live until next quarter day – ”

“Yes, I know,” Araminta agreed miserably.

She stiffened suddenly.

“There is Mama’s engagement ring!”

“Oh, no, I cannot ask her for that,” Harry demurred.

“It must be worth nearly one hundred pounds,” Araminta said. “She has always kept it, however hard-up she and Papa were, because she loved it so much.”

“It’s the last thing I would ask Mama to give me.”

“I am sure she would part with it willingly rather than allow you to be disgraced publicly.”

Araminta rose to her feet to walk restlessly across the room.

“If only we had something else we could sell, something we could do.”

“I have been thinking that myself,” Harry replied. “It’s ridiculous, Araminta, that an education like mine fits a man for nothing except a capacity for spending money. I suppose I might find employment grooming horses or driving a mail coach.”

“I am sure that would not bring in very much.”

“Then what can we do?” Harry asked desperately.

Quite suddenly Araminta stood still in the centre of the room.

She looked incredibly beautiful in the sunshine coming through the long square-paned windows.

It lit the gold of her hair and glinted in her worried grey eyes before she exclaimed in a voice that seemed to echo round the walls,

“I have an idea! Oh, Harry, I have a really wonderful idea!”

*

General Sir Alexander Bracknell was reading The Morning Post in his lodgings in Half Moon Street when his valet came into the room.

“There’s, a lady to see you, sir,” he said in the crisp military tones of a man who has once served in the Army.

The General looked up in surprise.

“A lady?” he questioned.

“A young lady, sir. Says it’s of the utmost importance she should speak with you.”

“In which case I must undoubtedly see her,” the General replied. “Show her in, Hawkins.”

“Very good, sir.”

Hawkins marched smartly from the room and the General put down The Morning Post and pulled the lapels of his coat into place.

He had been noted as being one of the smartest commanders in Wellington’s army, but he was remembered not so much for his brains as for his popularity.

There had been two of Wellington’s Generals who had been not only admired but also loved by the troops.

One had been Lord Hill, who was always known as ‘Daddy Hill’ to those who had served with him in the Peninsula and the other was General Bracknell, who was called by all and sundry ‘Uncle Alex’.

He thought now as he waited that the woman who had called to see him was probably the wife, the widow or the mother of one of the soldiers under his command.

Although the war had been over for nearly two years, hardly a week passed in which there was not someone pleading for his assistance or, in far too many cases, begging for financial support.

Only those who were close to the General were aware that he could afford very little in the way of luxuries owing to the fact that his wife had for the last five years been insane.

The General’s pension and everything he had accumulated during his distinguished career in the Army was spent in providing accommodation for Lady Bracknell and paying doctors who failed hopelessly to better her condition.

It was therefore a little apprehensively that the General awaited his caller, thinking it was unfortunate that she should have arrived so early, since otherwise he would already have left the house for his invariable constitutional walk in Hyde Park.

The door opened.

“Miss Araminta Sinclair, sir!”

Araminta stood smiling in the doorway before she hurried across the room towards the General, both hands outstretched.

She looked exceedingly pretty in a high-crowned bonnet which tied under her chin, but the General was too well-versed in the Social world not to realise that, although she looked charming, both her gown and her bonnet were very countrified.

“Araminta, my dear!” he exclaimed, as he rose to his feet. “This is indeed a pleasure!”

“I was so afraid that you might not be at home,” Araminta said. “Oh, Uncle Alex, I had to see you!”

“Harry told me that you were arriving in London and I intended to give myself the pleasure of calling on your mother this afternoon.”

“She will be delighted to see you, but it is important for me to speak to you alone.”

The General drew her towards an old but comfortable sofa that stood by the fireplace.

“What is the trouble?” he asked.

Araminta hesitated a moment and then she said,

“We have always believed, Uncle Alex, that you know everyone in the fashionable world.”

The General looked a little puzzled, but he said gently,

“People are very kind to me, Araminta, and I suppose I can say without boasting that I am invited to almost all the fashionable houses and to most of the receptions and assemblies.”

He gave a rather ruthful laugh as he added,

“At my age, retired and with no family, there is little else for me to do except go to my Club.”

“Which is White’s!” Araminta said in a hard little voice.

“Yes, White’s,” the General replied, “and I am very glad that Harry was accepted as a member. The Duke of Bedford proposed him and I seconded him. There was no question after that of his not being elected.”

“And Harry was so thrilled and pleased to be a member,” Araminta said. “At the same time, Uncle Alex, it is because of White’s that he is in such trouble.”

The General stiffened.

“Gambling?” he asked.

“I am afraid so.”

There was an expression on the General’s face which Araminta did not understand for a moment. Then she gave a little cry.

“Oh, no, Uncle Alex! No, I was not thinking of that! You know that we would never ask you for money whatever happened! I need your help in a very different way.”

She knew that, almost imperceptibly, the General relaxed as he said,

“If there is anything I can do to help, Araminta, you know I am yours to command.”

“I knew you would not fail me, Uncle Alex,” Araminta said. “You were so wonderful when Papa died and I think he worshipped you. He always said that the troops would have followed you into hell and I am sure that was true.”

“You are embarrassing me, my dear,” the General replied, “but I was very fond of your father and, as you well know, I love you and Caro. But tell me about Harry.”

“He has lost a large sum of money,” Araminta said, “and we have a very short time in which to raise it. But, Uncle Alex, I have an idea!”

The General did not reply but his eyes were on Araminta’s as she went on,

“You have often stayed with us in Bedfordshire. What would you say was the one thing you most remember about our hospitality?”

The General smiled.

“That is not a very difficult question to answer, Araminta. Your father always provided his guests with superlative food. The really fantastic meals I have had when I have been in your house are unforgettable.”

“That is what I hoped you would say,” “and do you know who did the cooking after poor old Bouvais died?”

“I half suspected that it was you, Araminta.”

“It was!” she nodded. “Papa made Bouvais teach me everything he knew. He always said that he would never be able to afford another French chef, but he was not going to eat the ‘pigswill’ which is served in most English houses.”

“Your father was a great epicure,” the General said. “I always thought it was a pity he could not afford to entertain on a larger scale.”

“Perhaps it was a good thing,” Araminta smiled. “We should all have grown extremely fat. But you did enjoy our food whenever you came to stay?”