Page 58 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

Lord Allendale chuckled. “I know something of your father. His reputation with a pistol exceeds my own. He fought in the Peninsula, did he not? And was wounded there.”

“That’s right.”

“Your family has a history of serving the crown. But not you. Not any longer. You were obliged to leave the Navy.”

Charles glanced at the letter in Lord Allendale’s hand. He could only imagine what Admiral Dixon had written to the earl. Something about Charles’s lack of patriotism, no doubt. “I resigned my commission,” he said. “Many officers, do.”

“The way I understand it from Dixon, you were compelled to resign.”

“It was suggested to me,” Charles acknowledged. “But there was no compulsion in it. Had I felt it was right to remain, I’d have done so, regardless. I acted then—and have always acted—in accordance with my own conscience.”

“Admiral Dixon mentioned that as well. Indeed, he describes the strength of your character in rather eloquent terms.” Lord Allendale held the letter up in the light from the candle on his desk so he could read it aloud. “‘My unofficial opinion of Heywood is that he’s an entirely noble, imminently heroic, and unquestionably unrelenting pain in the arse.’”

Charles suppressed a grimace. “Is that all?”

The earl lowered the letter. “He claims you suffer from an excess of compassion. A liability in battle, apparently. His criticisms are limited to your failure to follow orders.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

“A soldier must do what he’s told.”

“So everyone keeps reminding me.”

“If you dispute the policy behind those orders, you’re better served entering politics.”

“I have no ambition in that regard,” Charles said.

“Pity. The country could use men of conscience. Though noble sentiments mean little if one is unable to occasionally listen to those who know better.”

Charles’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t vying for Kate’s hand. He nevertheless felt the need to defend himself in the eyes of her father. “You’re not to think I make a habit of defying my superiors in every respect. I had good reason for objecting to certain orders in the Navy.”

“Yes. Dixon said. You disagree with the concept of Empire. You’re not the only one.” Lord Allendale studied Charles’s face. Something he saw there appeared to satisfy him. “In any case, I never did care much for gentlemen who practiced blind obedience. A man must have a will and a mind of his own—especially if that man means to court my daughter.”

Charles shook his head. “You’ve mistaken my reason for being here. It was my sister Lady Katherine invited, not me.”

“No, I don’t believe I have mistaken it. You see, I know my daughter.” Lord Allendale returned Admiral Dixon’s letter to his desk drawer. “Kate is formidable, like her mother. She’s also very young. A twenty-year-old heiress is vulnerable to all manner of fortune hunters, rascals, and rogues. You don’t appear one of them. Still, I must warn you that my daughter is not unprotected. If any man were to meddle with her, he’d have me to answer to. And once I was finished with him, her brothers would have their turn with whatever was left. You won’t find the Beresford men a forgiving lot. We’re not known for letting insults lie.”

Charles’s fingers flexed on the arm of his chair. He didn’t relish the idea of having to fight Kate’s father or her brothers on account of some imagined insult. Nor did he fancy informing Lord Allendale that, if there had been any impropriety thus far, Kate had been the one guilty of instigating it.

“I have no evil intentions toward your daughter,” he said instead. “I have no intentions whatsoever. The moment I develop any, you may be certain I’ll be calling on you.”

Lord Allendale smiled slightly. “Be sure that you do.”

Chapter Eighteen

A single night spent at Beasley Park was enough to confirm Charles’s suspicions: the Beresfords were nothing like the Heywood family. The house’s gilded ceilings and elegantly papered walls housed a peculiar brand of affectionate chaos, characterized by tart words, physical competition, and good-hearted bickering.

Not that affection was lacking in the Heywood family. Far from it. But where Charles’s parents were quiet and thoughtful, addressing their children with tender gravity, Kate’s were loud and boisterous, verbally jousting with each other as they dined, played cards, or engaged in rambunctious after-dinner games of charades.

They were no less fond of each other.

Lord and Lady Allendale held hands with the same frequency as Charles’s parents. Indeed, much like Arthur and Philly, the earl and his countess seemed to have a way of communicating all their own—an entire language made up of private glances and lingering touches.

Theirs was a love match, it was clear. One where the fires of passion were still blazing brightly.

“They’ve known each other since they were children,” Kate explained the next day as she and Charles set off on an early morning ride across the glistening, snow-covered grounds of the park.

Lord Allendale kept a fine stable. Charles was mounted on a gleaming, brawny chestnut warmblood, while Kate rode her mother’s hunter—a majestic ebony mare with a wild light in her eye.