The Duke (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 6)
Page 16
“And all of these people, and many more besides, have employment and live in comfort because of it,” Ran said.
“Enough! You have convinced me you are not totally without purpose,” Ginny said, but distractedly, for her eye had been drawn to a series of maps pinned to the wall. “This is Valmont, isn’t it?”
“Yes. The main house, the eight lodges, the three adjoining villages, stables, estate cottages, ice house up here, Old Manor in the trees here. This one is the larger Valmont estate, showing the outer fields and woods, and the other map over there is of England and Wales, showing all the Valmont holdings elsewhere.”
She peered more closely at the Valmont map. “What is this oddly drawn path that seems to have trees growing out of it?”
Ran laughed. “That marks the tunnel that connects the Old Manor to the main house. The Third Duke lived in the Old Manor while Valmont was being built, and after one dreadful winter with snow piled up everywhere, he ordered the tunnel built. It is used for storage now, but it is still sound.”
“What is the Old Manor like?” she said, turning clear blue eyes on him.
“Rambling, dark, dismal and possibly haunted. Very old-fashioned. Six bedrooms. We use it occasionally when we get a newly-married pair here, but most of the family dislike it.”
“But it might suit me very well, do you not think?” she said. “Then I can stay out of sight of all your grand relations, and no one will be shocked by me.”
“It might, with a bit of work,” he said, in pleased surprise. She was a sensible and practical young lady, he was realising. “Ger will not like it, though. I believe he wants to shock them.”
She gave a low, throaty laugh. “Leave me to manage Ger.”
Ran smiled his approval, but Max merely glowered silently at her.
15: Meetings
MAY
Ruth’s father was all for leaving town immediately, but for once the duchess stood her ground. Susan could not be abandoned, she told her husband firmly. He must wait until she had worked upon Lady Crosby and persuaded that lady that her plan for Susan to visit Crosby Manor must be very soon. The dowager grumbled and fussed and protested that she had too many engagements to leave town just now, but in the end she was brought to appreciate the urgency, and all was set in motion. Even then it took her several days to prepare herself for the journey. All the while Ruth’s father fretted and brooded, and it was only when Ruth helped him to calculate just how many days it would be before Ran and Ger reached Valmont that his grumbles abated.
It was fortunate for Ruth that they could not leave at once, for never had her thoughts and emotions been so turbulent. Ger alive! It was almost too much to take in. How was it possible? Where had he been for the past year — more than a year? What had he been doing? It was too puzzling for words. She had asked her father if she might read the letter bringing the tidings, and he had thrust it into her hands.
“There! See if you can make out that the fellow understands what is due to us, for I am sure I do not see it. Seems to think everything will go on just as it was. He is as foolish as you, Ruthie.”
But the letter had provided little explanation.
‘Trehannick Inn, Cornwall. My Lord Duke, I write to inform you that my brother Gervase was not drowned aboard the Brig Minerva as supposed. He survived, although suffering from loss of memory, and has now been discovered alive in Cornwall. We leave for Valmont almost at once. I leave it to you to convey the news of my change in status to the Lady Ruth as you think best. This will delay my arrival in town, but I shall come to see you as soon as I am able. Randolph Litherholm.’
Cornwall! That was where the ship had been wrecked, so he had found his way ashore, with no notion of who he was, and perhaps been cared for by the local people. Now his memory had returned. But there was nothing to tell her how Ger was — badly injured, perhaps, or with lingering effects from the head injuries that caused him to lose his memory. And what did Ran mean when he talked of coming to see them in town? To marry her or to jilt her? Did it make a difference to him? He had offered to marry her from duty because he was the duke and it was a long-standing obligation, but now, perhaps, he could honourably withdraw. He was not a duke after all, and any obligation sat with Ger. Although… ‘convey the news of my change in status’. That seemed as though he expected the marriage to proceed despite events. How confusing it was! She would not know what he intended until she could see him again.
Of her own feelings, Ruth was no more clear. The little glow that had warmed her ever since her betrothal was now dimmed. For two days she wrestled with the problem whenever she had a quiet moment during the day, and for long, long hours at night, as she lay wakeful beside Susan’s slumbering form.
Her certainty of the rightness of her course had been swept away, she decided. When Ran was thought to be the duke, her parents’ wishes, her sense of duty and her own preference had been in alignment. Now she was facing a terrible dilemma. If she were to insist on marrying Ran, and he were willing, then she would be putting herself against her father, and that would be a terrible thing. A rift with her own family would make her desperately unhappy. Could marriage to Ran be enough to compensate her for the breach? She would have no dowry, and perhaps he could not even afford to marry her without it, now that he had not the wealth of a dukedom to call upon.
Yet if she did not, could she marry Ger after all? Her father would be pleased, but Ger had been away for four years. He might have changed beyond recognition, even supposing he remained unmarried. She could barely remember him. It was Ran whose face rose most readily to her mind. And if she married neither of them, what would become of her? She was one and twenty, entering her fourth season, and the prospect of abandoning the Litherholms and beginning her search for a husband elsewhere was daunting.
She had reached no conclusions by the time the day of departure arrived. Susan, in sulky mood, had been carried away in Lady Crosby’s vast travelling coach the day before, with Aunt Maria in attendance. Now the usual three coaches drew up outside the Berkeley Square house — the luxurious travelling coach, the considerably less luxurious second coach, bearing Papa’s valet and the two lady’s maids, and the lumbering baggage coach. Such a drama, with footmen rushing about with boxes and valises and band boxes and oddly-shaped packages, and why the need for three parasols apiece, anyway? And then there were horses stamping, coachmen shouting instructions and outriders milling about. A small crowd of passers-by had stopped to watch the performance, and three small boys were dodging about almost under the horses’ hooves and making a thorough nuisance of themselves. Ruth felt a headache coming on.
Eventually, they were away, and Ruth’s miserable confusion of mind now bore the added burden of many hours in the confinement of her parents’ company. Her mother, normally too dignified to admit of any discomfort, felt at liberty in the privacy of her own carriage to complain of every lurch and jolt. She fancied herself a poor traveller, and required much sympathy and application of a vinaigrette to sustain her spirits on the journey, a task which the duke left to Ruth by the simple expedient of ignoring his wife. He, for his part, was still angry with Ran, although it was hardly his fault that he was not a duke. Ruth knew better than to offer any comment more challenging than “Yes, Papa,” or “No, Papa,” at regular intervals. There was no point in provoking him. Soon, very soon, she would see Ran again, and then she would know what her fate was to be.
They stayed overnight at Basingstoke, and early in the afternoon of the second day they turned in through the gates of Valmont.
“At what hour are we expected?” the duchess said. “I trust we are not too early. There is nothing so inconvenient as arriving exhausted to find nothing in readiness.”
“Oh, well… I have not exactly advised them of our coming at all,” the duke said, running a finger inside his high collar. “No need, you know… always very hospitable to unexpected arrivals… never at a loss. The rooms will be ready in a twinkling, I assure you.”
“No need, no need. Reply not expected, you know. Litherholm will be perfectly happy to see us.”
Ruth fervently hoped he was right.
The Valmont servants had spotted the train of carriages arriving, and were awaiting them on the entrance steps. Ruth helped her mother out of the carriage and up the steps to the entrance hall, where she made a miraculous recovery from her indisposition, arranging herself elegantly on a wooden bench carved in the Egyptian style, with her maid and a footman in solicitous attendance. The duke was engaged in supervising the unloading of the luggage. It was left to Ruth to smile ruefully at the butler.
“Good day, Brent. What a troublesome family we are, to be sure, descending upon you unannounced in this ramshackle way.”
“My lady’s presence at Valmont could never be anything less than a pleasure, and your rooms will be prepared in a trice.”
“You are very good. Ah, there you are, Pinnock.” She allowed the maid to help her out of bonnet, pelisse and gloves. “Is Lord Randolph at home, Brent?”
“I regret to say that his lordship is out with the steward at present, and not expected back for two or three hours.” He hesitated. “His Grace is at home, however. Shall I inform him of your ladyship’s arrival? Or Lord Arthur may be in the Queen’s Room.”
“Lord Arthur will be enjoying his little snooze, and His Grace is at the instrument, I think. That music I hear can only be by his hand. Do not disturb them, if you please. Is the fire lit in the Ante-Chamber? We shall await Lord Randolph there. My father would be glad of something to revive his spirits, and some tea for my mother.”
“I shall attend to it at once, my lady.”
The butler bowed, and moved away, leaving Ruth alone in the middle of the entrance hall. In the distance, music drifted out from the Grand Saloon and she was irresistibly drawn in that direction, step by slow step. Nearer and nearer until she stood outside the gilded doors, listening in enchantment. She could not help herself… she gently turned the doorknob and pushed open the door a little way.
There he was, seated at the Broadwood looking just as he had always done. His hair was a little longer than was fashionable, but he wore his clothes in the same careless way, as if he had merely shrugged himself into whatever came to hand. His neckcloth looked as if he had tied it all by guess, without the benefit of a mirror. But he was the same Ger, throwing himself intensely into the performance, lost in his music.
He came to the end of the piece, and for a moment he sat motionless, the glow still upon his face. Then he somehow divined her presence, turned, smiled.
“Dussek,” she said.
“Yes!” he cried, the smile breaking into a wide beam. “You know this sonata?”
“I learnt it last year. A lovely piece.”
“Come, play it for me!” He jumped up and waved her to the stool. “Nothing is equal to the pleasure of hearing a piece played by another hand, especially yours. I shall turn for you.”
Laughing, she did as she was bid, for the instrument was so fine that any invitation to play it was to be welcomed. For some minutes she played, but then her fingers ceased to move.
“What is it?” he said. “You were doing well.”
“But not as well as you. You draw out something deeper, more moving that I cannot grasp.”
“That is only because I have played nothing else for three days,” he said. “See, this part here…”
He sat down beside her on the stool to demonstrate, and to Ruth, the years rolled away. She was twelve again, meeting Ger for the first time and discovering a fellow musician who talked to her, not as teacher to pupil, but as one performer to another. Such delight in having a friend with whom to discuss the nuances of this piece or that, the best way to play each one, the emotions that underlie a simple arrangement of notes. Until that moment, she had understood music only as an accomplishment to impress a potential husband. Ger had taught her that it was a pleasure to be enjoyed for its own self, for the joy it gave the performer, whether anyone else listened or not.
How long they sat there she could not say. There was laughter and teasing and threads of serious discourse, and she felt exactly as she had when they had first known each other, and she had realised that she had found a friend, and possibly a husband. It was only later, when she met Ran, and discovered that the lively, open-hearted Ger was sometimes replaced by a darkly moody stranger, that she had wondered how comfortable marriage to Ger might be. When he had seemingly died, therefore, it had not been hard to see in Ran a pleasingly acceptable substitute. Yet now, the delightful Ger was back, and if her father were to get his way and betroth her to Ger instead, she could not at that moment be displeased with the idea.
The door opened a little wider, accompanied by a delicate tapping and the simpering face of the duchess. “May I come in? But I have no wish to disturb such a charming picture as you present.”
“Mama,” Ruth said, rising to curtsy. “I beg your pardon, I have been neglecting you shamefully.”
“Not at all. I have been very well attended, I assure you. There is tea, if you want some. How are you, Duke? Are you quite recovered from your dreadful ordeal? But such a miracle that you have been spared after all, and are returned to us again! I cannot tell you how thrilled we are to have you restored to us.”
He bowed and murmured something civil, but there was a wariness in his eyes that surprised Ruth. They followed the duchess to the Ante-Chamber, where the duke pumped Ger’s hand hard enough to make him wince, and they were plied with tea and sherry and macaroons and sugared cherries.
“You must forgive the rest of the family for not coming to greet you,” Ger said. “My brother is out just now, my uncle and aunt are resting, and even the chaplain… where is Mr Ponsonby, Brent?”
“Visiting old Mrs Brown, Your Grace. Word has been sent to Lady Elizabeth, Your Grace, although I believe she has gone to Andover.”
“Have you sent word also to Miss Chandry? She is at the Old Manor.”
There was just the slightest hesitation before the butler said, “I shall see to that at once, Your Grace.” He bowed and withdrew.
“Well, I must just entertain you single-handed until reinforcements arrive,” Ger said cheerfully. “Ah, I see you admiring the Mennecy vase, sir. One of my favourites.”
They fell immediately into a discussion of porcelain, and before two minutes had passed, Ruth’s father had persuaded Ger to explain some finer point of a piece in the Porcelain Room and they had gone. Ruth and her mother were left alone with their tea on a sofa beside the fire.
“Well, this is very satisfactory,” the duchess said. “I had thought things might be a trifle sticky just at first, until your papa had explained what he expects of Falconbury, but when I saw you sitting at the instrument together, it became clear that there will be no difficulty at all.”
Ruth could foresee any number of possible difficulties, but she said nothing. Contradicting her mother served no purpose other than to make her cross, and nothing that was said changed the situation one whit. She was engaged to Ran, and it was at present uncertain whether he would be willing to release her, or that Ger would wish to marry her instead. Until such questions were answered it was best not to speculate.
Her mother, however, could not be kept from doing so. “How clever of your father to contrive an excuse to get Falconbury alone. He will have an excellent opportunity to talk to him, as one man to another. I daresay by the time they return, they will have settled it all between them. Most satisfactory.”
When the two men returned twenty minutes later, Ruth could not tell whether anything was settled or not. They both smiled and seemed on good terms, but the wariness in Ger’s expression was even more pronounced. Her father picked up his sherry glass and sat down on the sofa opposite Ruth and her mother. Ger accepted a cup of tea and took a chair
nearby. For several minutes, the four laboured diligently to make stilted conversation. All Ger’s animation at the instrument or when discussing his beloved porcelain had dropped away, and he seemed nervous and uneasy.
The door opened and a head peeped round. “Ah, here you are! I thought Brent meant the other Ante-Chamber.”
Ruth guessed instantly that this was the Miss Chandry about whom the butler had misgivings. She was not young — Ruth guessed perhaps five and twenty — but tall, with a well-formed figure and a pretty face. Her clothes identified her instantly as lower gentry, but she had a graceful self-assurance that showed she had moved in society somewhat.
At once, Ger’s face lit up and he leapt to his feet. “Come in, come in and meet everyone. This is Her Grace the Duchess of Orrisdale. The Lady Ruth Orrisdale. His Grace the Duke of Orrisdale. This is Miss Chandry of Pendower in Cornwall, who rescued me from the English Channel one dark night last year, and then nursed me back to health. She is my very good friend.”
There were slight bows from Ruth and her parents, and deep curtsies from the girl. Then, before anyone else could speak, she tucked her arm proprietorially into Ger’s, looked Ruth straight in the eye and said, “I’m his mistress, and I’m with child. Best you should know it straight away.”
“Ginny!” Ger cried, turning reproachful eyes on her.
The silence was so profound one might drown in it. Ruth could not, for the moment, feel anything except outrage. How dared the girl make such a shameless confession in her presence! And how dared Ger introduce such a person to her! It was an unforgivable discourtesy. She was too shocked to move or to speak.