by Archer, Kate
“Hush, boy,” Rupert said. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “The young fellow don’t mean to be so forward.”
“I do,” Doom said, never liking to be told he was not to be something. “I only say, it’s a steep hill he’s got to climb. All the servants are against him.”
Lord Cabot appeared exceedingly amused. “What care I for a thousand servants against me if Miss Darlington is not? Rupert, stay here until you can travel, Mendbridge’s people will see to you. As for me, I am going to give Mendbridge the what-for about his darling Burke and then I am off!”
“Who is Burke?” Doom asked. He was not answered, as Lord Cabot was already out the door.
A half hour later, Henry pushed through the crowd at Newmarket, making his way to Lord Mendbridge’s stand. He found his host surrounded by various friends who had worked their way into his private seats. The mood appeared exceedingly jolly and so Henry assumed Mendbridge had prevailed with his horse.
“Cabot!” Mendbridge called upon spotting him. “I wondered when you would turn up. You’ve missed the whole thing—Jupiter won it handily.”
Henry approached the foot of the stand. “Excellent, yes, very good,” he said. “Lord Mendbridge, I have come on a vital matter.”
Mendbridge peered down at him, as did all the other fellows in the stand.
“Yes?” Mendbridge asked.
“The thing is, well, the truth of the matter is…Burke will not do! I am sorry but he simply will not!”
Lord Mendbridge drew his brows together and said, “Eh? Burke will not do what?”
Henry breathed out a sigh of relief. He’d been worried that Mendbridge would be absolutely set on Burke.
He bowed and said, “I understand you perfectly, sir! I will set off at once!”
Henry left Lord Mendbridge staring at his coat tails as they flapped behind him.
It would not be an hour later when Lord Dalton and Lord Grayson arrived to Mendbridge’s stand. Dalton inquired where Cabot was. Upon hearing that he’d taken himself off to somewhere after insisting Burke would not do, Dalton turned to Grayson.
Grayson said, “Do we try to stop him?”
Lord Dalton, so rarely used to defeat but becoming more accustomed to it by the season, sighed and said, “We’ll never catch him.”
*
Freddy had dodged and weaved all the way to London. Mr. Farthingale had been on his heels, but never really had the chance to catch him. After all, the gentleman was not prepared to sleep in fields and haylofts. Therefore, Freddy had surmised his old master would stick to the usual roads and stop at the usual inns. He’d have good dinners and sleep in a bed.
For himself, Freddy had taken a more direct route over hill and dale. He packed up enough food in a rucksack and he drank from streams along the way. He hitched rides on carts when he happened on a convenient stretch of road and went on foot through fields and forests. He traveled night and day with barely an hour to sleep here and there. He used the sun and the stars to guide him south. By the time he arrived to the outskirts of London, he was satisfied that he’d left Farthingale far behind.
He’d initially thought of going to America. But on reflection, he realized he’d never afford the passage. He’d have to indenture himself for a year or more. He had no wish to indebt himself to anyone, having just shaken off one scoundrel.
There was, though, a particular scoundrel he had decided to see. A certain Mr. Mackery who just now lived with an old contessa in Italy. But first, he must get to Farthingale’s office and find Mackery’s notes.
*
Penny’s carriage arrived to London in good time. Time, however, had not been on the town staff’s side. As they had no notion that any of the family would be arriving, Penny had a momentary glimpse of how they lived when nobody was about. As evidenced by the open book and half-glass of port on her father’s desk in the library, the senior town footman considered himself very senior indeed when Montrose was not residence. They all had a look of terror on their faces and ran this way and that to destroy all notions of impropriety. It was the first thing that had made Penny laugh in days.
She, Kitty and Mrs. Wellburton would not trouble them long. They would stay over a day to complete some shopping and then be gone. Mrs. Wellburton would usually prefer a stop of three or four days, but her aunt had become more and more eager to get to Bath.
While Mrs. Wellburton ticked off the names of all the ladies she was interested in calling on in that town, Penny was certain she was most interested in seeing Mr. Thornbridge. He was a great proponent of the waters and kept a house on the Paragon just as they did. In truth, Penny’s father did not own the house but rented it and she was certain her aunt had been the instigator. Lord Mendbridge had little use for Bath or its waters. Mr. Thornbridge remained devoted to the town, though it was not what it had been. Penny was all but certain her aunt was not as enthused about the waters as she was about Mr. Thornbridge residing conveniently nearby.
Mrs. Wellburton would not go so far as to send word to the gentleman that she would soon arrive, but then there was little need. Bath society was small enough in these days that word of their arrival would circulate instantly. If that were not sufficient, Mr. Thornbridge would certainly see the activity of the house being opened for them. She was sure he would call at the first opportunity.
Penny looked about her London bedchamber thinking it almost seemed foreign to her. It had been the scene of so many happy days! All those happy days until the last unhappy day.
She fondly remembered the excitement of getting ready for a ball, certain that Lord Cabot would attend. How her insides had fluttered and the air felt electric, like the moment before a lightning strike in summer. How intoxicating it had been when he had secured her for supper and they could hardly stop speaking to one another, only reluctantly turning to their other sides occasionally for decency’s sake. How wonderful it had been to come home and describe to Dora what the ladies wore and how dashing the gentlemen were. Secretly, and silently, she would review to herself how dashing a particular gentleman had been.
It had all been a lovely dream.
“Goodness, Penny,” Kitty said, “are you well? Why do you stand as still as a statue in the middle of the room?”
Penny turned, forcing herself to smile. “Daydreaming is all,” she said, making an attempt at cheerfulness.
Kitty crossed the room and took Penny by the hand. “You are deeply unhappy, my friend. I’ve known it since we set off. Did something happen at the ball?”
Penny looked away. She really did not want to explain what had happened. She could not imagine saying the words. Worse than that, she did not wish for anybody to pity her, especially not Kitty.
“I think the ox head has upset you again,” Kitty said. “I am beginning to thoroughly dislike the gentleman.”
Penny turned back to her friend, determined to regain her spirits. “Never mind it, Kitty. We are off to Bath tomorrow. You know how we both have a fondness for Mr. Wraith’s shop and I have quite a bit of money with me. I shall bury us in new fabrics and ribbons.”
Kitty smiled, having a particular weakness for Mr. Wraith’s ribbon selection. “Then we may call on Mrs. Yardley when we return home. She has all the newest circulars and we will make designs and have fittings.”
“With plenty of tea and biscuits,” Penny promised.
Kitty squeezed her hand. “You will be better in time, from whatever ails you. You’ll see.”
Penny hoped Kitty was right.
*
Henry had changed horses more times than he could remember as he made his way to Devon. He made excellent time, but what he could not understand was how he had failed to overtake Miss Darlington’s party. He’d stopped and asked in the usual places and had tracked them as far as the George. They had seemed to vanish since then.
It was not ideal. Part of his plan had been to catch up to them in some dramatic fashion as evidence of his devotion. He’d intended to gallop alongside he
r coach like a regular Dick Turpin and, rather than demand her purse, he would state his case.
As he had lost full confidence in his oratory skills after the terrible minuet proposal, he’d spent a good deal of time rehearsing everything he could possibly think of to induce her to accept him. If all went perfectly, she’d order her coach to stop. And then, well, he’d figure out how to proceed from there.
As they could not possibly be ahead of him, he had somehow passed by them. Now, he would be left to cool his heels in some nearby inn in Devon until he got word they’d arrived. He’d visit the house and attempt to get some idea when they were expected. Miss Darlington would be apprised of his inquiries and instantly surmise that he’d set off after them. That would have to do by way of dramatic gestures.
While he’d been composing his case, he’d had ample time to think of how he could convince Miss Darlington that he was not the man she’d witnessed at the Tudor ball. That, very uncomfortably, had led to an examination of who he had been that night. Petulant over Ashbridge, and alarmed for himself and his own feelings. To reject both of those things, he’d conducted himself like a spoilt child being denied a piece of cake.
He’d let loose with those juvenile feelings, depending on Miss Darlington’s good nature to carry them through it. He had not taken into account a lady’s situation.
In truth, he did not think he had ever really taken into account a lady’s situation.
His friends routinely joked about determined debutantes and their steely-eyed mamas. It had been a great jest. None of them had closely examined what was at stake for those women. If a man did not marry, he was perennially a desirable bachelor until he hobbled with gout. If a lady did not marry quickly, she was put on a shelf. Worse, if she did not have some means of support, she became a burden to her family or hired herself out as a companion. A female pressed to make a choice in a few number of years must be careful. Very careful, else she end up wishing she’d become a dowager’s companion after all. The ghastly situation had always been there for all to see, and yet somehow he had not consciously thought of it. He had since paid a great price for the information.
No matter, he would rectify Miss Darlington’s fears. He must. After all, she must love him. She’d risked so much to take his horse across the finish. As it happened, she would not even have known how much had been at stake. She would not have known that he had bet heavily and had been in deep with Farthingale.
Farthingale might be finished now, but he had not been then. Miss Darlington could not have known all the ins and outs of the plot against him.
What she had known was his love of the races and his care for his horses. She had understood the importance of the day to him, as no other lady could.
She loved him, but she was afraid of him. What a situation! Still, he thought smiling to himself, she did love him. There were, from time to time, niggling ideas that suggested there might have been another cause for the lady riding his horse that he could not yet fathom. He pushed them away with energy. Now was no time to lollygag and wonder.
He had come to the lane that led to the Mendbridge estate. He spurred his horse on to the front doors and leapt down. It was not a moment after he banged on the door than a very old footman answered it.
The man looked at him bewildered. “Sir?”
“I know the family is not at home at this moment,” Henry said, “at least I assume not. What I would like to know is when Miss Darlington is expected.”
The footman looked confused by the request. Henry said, “Excuse me, you’ll want to know who I am. Lord Cabot, a friend of Lord Mendbridge.”
The footman nodded slowly. “I expect they’ll get here in a fortnight or so.”
“A fortnight!” Henry nearly shouted. Seeing he had frightened the man, as evidenced by him staggering back, he lowered his tone.
“I do not understand,” he said. “At Newmarket, I understood they had set off for Devon?”
The footman nodded. “If I knowed Mrs. Wellburton, which I have knowed these many years, she took her own particular route.”
“What route!” Henry cried.
The footman rubbed his chin. “Well, she do favor a stop in London, I think I know that much.”
Henry stared at the man. The old fellow might be senile, or they might have gone to London, or they might arrive here tomorrow, or they might have gone somewhere else altogether.
“But you think London,” Henry said.
“Aye, I think it,” the footman repeated.
“To London I go, then,” Henry muttered.
As he mounted his horse, the footman called to him. “Shall I tell them you called, Lord Babbitt?”
“Cabot!” he shouted. “It’s Lord Cabot!”
*
Though it had often been their habit to stop overnight at Froxfield on the way to Bath, it had been agreed that they would forgo it this time. Mrs. Wellburton was a friend of a family who lived there, and often thought it an obligation to stop. Penny was not sorry to skip it, the lady of the house was severely ostentatious and the house was run on a strict timetable. She found she was forever staring at a clock when she was there, lest she arrive late to anything the lady had arranged.
In any case, the road to Bath had been so vastly improved of late that they all agreed they might set off early and be in Bath for a late dinner as long as no calamities were met with on the road.
Penny could not help but note the eagerness with which Mrs. Wellburton took up the idea. Her aunt was impatient to get to Bath, and she was sure, impatient to see Mr. Thornbridge.
Did the gentleman not see her aunt’s fondness for him? They really were well suited and Penny did not see why he did not get on with it. They were not young, but they were not so old that they might not enjoy a good number of years together. Why did they waste the time they had?
Though they had all presumed they would get to Bath in good time, Penny once more realized how foolish it was to ever expect a trip to go smoothly. There was invariably something that caused a delay—a broken wheel, a lame horse, a passenger who felt ill and needed to get out and walk for a while.
On this particular trip, one of the springs on the carriage had broken and it had taken hours to repair. There had been some talk of finding a local inn and setting off again in the morning, but Mrs. Wellburton was convinced they ought not to. The lady claimed that one could not rest easy at an inn one was not familiar with. Penny did not know if that was a real fear or not, but they went forward all the same.
It had been after ten o’clock when they finally arrived. Fortunately, the landlord of the house was an organized and patient gentleman and had seen to their comfort. The rooms were ready, the staff was ready, and there had been a sideboard left with meat and drink.
They had eaten in near silence and gone to bed.
The next day dawned fine, at least as fine as one could hope for through the smog of Bath. Penny had breakfasted and then occupied herself in her room, leaving Kitty the time to lounge around with her books before they went out shopping.
She finally went downstairs out of boredom. She paused at the drawing room doors as she distinctly heard Mr. Thornbridge’s voice. Penny smiled. The gentleman had wasted no time in making his way over.
“You deny me outright, then?” Mr. Thornbridge said.
“Believe me, I do not wish to,” Mrs. Wellburton answered.
“Then why—”
“I cannot leave until Penny is settled. Even if I were willing to do so before, I fear something troubles her now. My brother is a dear of a man but he is not suited to raising daughters.”
“I see,” Mr. Thornbridge said, in as sad a tone as ever Penny had heard.
“I hope you do see, Mr. Thornbridge,” Mrs. Wellburton said. “I must not throw over my obligations.”
“I understand you, madam. Now, I think everything that can be said just now has been said. I thank you for your consideration and I will take my leave.”
Chapter Eighteen<
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As Mr. Thornbridge took his leave from her aunt, Penny ran from the door and made her way to the back garden. She wound through the rather unkempt rows of flowers, dashing a tear from her cheek.
He had asked! Mr. Thornbridge had finally asked her aunt for her hand. Mrs. Wellburton had refused him—on her account! Her dear aunt, who she was certain was in love with Mr. Thornbridge, had turned him away. They were well-suited. They could be happy, she was sure of it.
None of that was to be because Penny Darlington was troubled.
She had ruined her own happiness, and now she had ruined her aunt’s chances too.
And why? Because she was afraid somebody might hurt her feelings?
Penny stumbled to the old stone bench in the back of the garden. It was inconveniently covered in green lichen, but she had no care for her dress at that moment.
Her family had always surrounded her in a soft cocoon. They had recognized early that she fell on the sensitive side of things and buffered her against all that might upset her. She had known nothing but kindness in Devon. Of course, it had not been possible to protect her so well in London. And then the first time someone had really hurt her feelings, she had all but disintegrated.
She, Penny Darlington, driver of a Hooper High Flyer. Daring rider of the winner of the thousand guinea stakes. She had felt an insult and blown apart like a dandelion clock in a breeze.
How was she to go on so? Could any marriage, regardless of the amiability of the gentleman, entirely escape a row or two? Even her father, who had loved Penny’s mother so dearly, sometimes spoke of the time his wife nearly left. He’d come in late to his own dinner party, having been on a fox hunt and making a subsequent ill-advised stop at a tavern.
Recriminations had followed, generally along the lines of horses and foxes being more important than his wife. Lord Mendbridge laughingly recounted his grave error in mentioning that dinner guests might wait but foxes never would. He’d thought it an exceedingly clever turn of phrase in that moment, until he noticed his wife’s lady’s maid packing up her things for an extended visit to her mother.