Bless Thine Inheritance

by Sophia Holloway

  ‘Now, here is our conveyance.’ He paused. ‘I am sorry, but will it prove awkward for you, getting up into the tilbury.’

  ‘Yes, but it does not signify. However I travel, there is awkwardness.’

  Beside the tilbury, Celia reached up her hand, and put her weight onto her good leg, raising the shorter limb carefully. For a moment she would be balanced upon it on the step. Without thinking, Lord Levedale, put his hands, lightly, to her waist, in case of any loss of balance. She stiffened, made the step, and sat down, using the arranging of her skirts as the excuse for not looking directly at him.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No. I am sorry, Miss Mardham. I acted precipitately, but the step was damp. If you had slipped …’

  ‘My thanks are genuine, sir. I merely regret the need.’ She spoke quietly.

  ‘I understand. Now, I promise to drive at a sensible pace, and not treat you to some exhibition of reckless driving.’ He climbed up beside her, nodded to the groom to leave the horses’ heads and climb up behind, and set off at a steady trot, requesting directions where the drive bifurcated. She gave them, and pointed out specimen trees planted by her great-grandfather that now made visual statements in the landscape.

  ‘You walked this route, Miss Mardham?’

  ‘Well, I generally took short cuts by walking paths. The carriage route is about half as long again, because it tends to skirt about the park. It is no more than a mile, on foot.’ She sighed. ‘It is so good to be out.’

  ‘Even in autumnal drizzle?’

  ‘Even in autumnal drizzle, sir. It is very kind of you.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘And it does keep you away from You Know Who.’ With the groom sat immediately behind them, Celia did not wish to name Miss Darwen.

  ‘I had not thought of that, ma’am.’ Lord Levedale sounded surprised, rather too surprised, she thought.

  ‘You had not? Hmmm. I am not sure that I believe you. It saves you skulking about.’

  ‘Me, skulking?’

  ‘Yes, my lord, skulking.’

  ‘I deny it, totally.’ His lips twitched.

  ‘How else would you describe your behaviour this morning?’

  ‘Circumspect,’ he answered, quickly.

  ‘Cowardly.’ She turned her head and looked at his profile. It was not the profile of a Greek god, for which she was thankful, having always thought they looked mean-spirited or haughty. His nose was not perfectly straight, having a hint of the aquiline, his chin was firm, and his mouth, currently trying to disguise a smile, was one which she thought could show resolution as well as humour. ‘But if you did not offer to drive me from motives of self-preservation, then I am even deeper in your debt.’

  The smile evaporated in an instant, and the lips thinned.

  ‘You are not in my debt, Miss Mardham. Not at all.’ His voice was suddenly stern.

  ‘I … I am sorry if I have offended, sir.’ She sounded deflated, and he cursed himself.

  ‘Forgive me, ma’am. That is not the case. I am merely unable to consider such a trifling service as putting you under any obligation. And besides, it has, as you say, freed me from being haunted.’

  They swept round a bend in the roadway, and before them, squat and square, but neither small nor unfriendly, was the Dower House, a building of warm, Cotswold stone in the Queen Anne style.

  ‘Very nice,’ murmured Lord Levedale, approvingly.

  ‘Yes. I have always thought so. My brother has said that one day I may live here, and the thought pleases me.’ There was only the slightest hint of melancholy in her tone, and she was smiling, but her words struck him like a blow. This was all the future she saw for herself: a girl not yet twenty, a beautiful girl of entrancing charm and a ready wit, looking to life in the Dower House. He almost felt the need to rail against it out loud, and it took an effort of will to remain silent.

  He slowed the horse to stand four square before the house, and the groom jumped down.

  ‘We shall not be more than half an hour, my lord, but best your groom takes the tilbury round to the stables lest he and Claret get cold.’

  ‘Claret?’

  ‘That is the horse’s name. He is a good old boy.’ Celia made her preparations to dismount, and found Lord Levedale before her.

  ‘It would be simpler, ma’am, if you let me …’ He held out his hands to lift her down, and place her safely upon the gravel. There was no doubting the increased colour of her cheek.

  ‘Thank you again,’ she said, and added quickly, ‘Grandmama will be most surprised.’

  Her grandmother’s butler was certainly surprised.

  ‘Miss Celia! Well, here’s an unexpected turn up, to be sure. How good it is to see you, miss. Her ladyship will be that pleased to see you too. And whom may I announce, sir?’ He looked at Lord Levedale.

  ‘This is Lord Levedale, Chorley, who is one of the party staying at Meysey.’

  ‘Welcome, my lord.’ Chorley made his bow. ‘Thomas will take your coat.’

  The footman took hat, coat and Celia’s pelisse, and then, tenderly, her bonnet.

  ‘If you will be pleased to follow me, my lord. Miss Celia of course knows the way.’ Chorley led them through a spacious hall, where a wide oak staircase swept up to the upper storey, and into a light and airy room where a fire blazed and gave off such heat that Lord Levedale wondered if they might give off steam. Celia went forward as quickly as her halting gait would permit, and bent to kiss the old lady’s cheek.

  ‘What’s this? I had no notion you were coming to visit. Your Mama never mentioned it.’

  ‘It was … spontaneous, Grandmama.’ Celia beamed at her grandmother.

  ‘And you, I did not catch the name, for Chorley mumbles so.’

  Chorley had announced Lord Levedale perfectly clearly, but the Dowager Lady Mardham was not going to admit she was hard of hearing.

  ‘I am Lord Levedale, ma’am.’ He bowed, and there was a hint of a smile.

  She frowned.

  ‘Curborough’s boy. Hmmm.’ It was not an approving ‘hmmm’. ‘Mended your ways, I hope.’

  ‘Er, no, ma’am, but I think you are mistaking me for my brother, Laurence. He was Lord Levedale until … his demise.’

  Lady Mardham did not look at all put out by this. Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinised him more closely.

  ‘You look like your mother.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. I take that as a compliment.’

  ‘As you should. Curborough was a witless popinjay. Never fathomed why she married him.’

  ‘Grandmama!’ Celia was mortified that her grandmother would openly insult Lord Levedale’s father, but Lord Levedale did not bat an eye.

  ‘I think she might have been the happier had she not, I agree.’

  ‘You do?’ Lady Mardham looked taken aback.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ He did not elaborate, and there was a short silence, which Celia curtailed by launching into a description of the house party.

  ‘Sounds an odd set to me,’ snorted the dowager. ‘Maria Wombwell was a drippy sort of girl, and I hear her son is a libertine.’

  ‘Where do you get all your information, ma’am?’ Lord Levedale was intrigued.

  ‘I have my sources, young man. Just because I live in the middle of a field does not make me a cow.’ Lord Levedale choked, and Celia covered her face and laughed, which earned her a reprimand.

  ‘But Grandmama, the park is lovely, and not at all like a field.’

  ‘It is green and goes on for as far as I can see, and nobody comes to see me. Might as well be a field.’

  ‘But it is a very fine house, ma’am.’ Lord Levedale was not using flattery.

  ‘Too many draughts, and not all the sweeps in the shire can cure my bedchamber chimney of smoking.’

  ‘You might move into another?’

  ‘Why? It is the best bedchamber.’

  Lord Levedale decided it would be best not to become embroiled further in a conversation that might
become an argument he was bound to lose. He looked rather beseechingly at Celia, who took pity on him. Lady Mardham noted the look between them and she wondered, just a little.

  ‘We must not stay long, Grandmama.’

  ‘No, for it will be time for my luncheon, and Cook has only made a meal for me. I doubt you would enjoy sitting watching me eat it.’

  ‘We would be pleased that you enjoyed it, Grandmama.’

  ‘Pretty words, miss, pretty words.’ She looked at Lord Levedale. ‘Has she tried them on you?’

  If she had hoped to put him out of countenance, she failed.

  ‘Actually, ma’am, on the way here Miss Mardham accused me of cowardice, so I think she can be acquitted of doing so.’

  It was Celia’s turn to choke, but he turned a bland gaze upon her. The old lady felt there was some secret joke to which she was not privy, and it disgruntled her. She listened to the tale of Miss Darwen and the poem, which amused Lord Levedale, and then came to a decision.

  ‘I am going to throw you out. I am hungry.’

  ‘May we come again, Grandmama, without warning?’ Celia smiled lovingly at her grandmother.

  ‘As long as is it not when I am about to eat, you may. Now, kiss me like a dutiful girl, and be gone.’

  She proffered her cheek, and Celia did as she was bid. Lord Levedale, not to be outdone, lifted a gnarled hand and his lips brushed the back of her fingers in a courtesy Lady Mardham appreciated, though she called him ‘a jackanapes’.

  ‘I think that went rather well,’ announced Lord Levedale, assisting Celia into the tilbury. The grin on his face lasted all the way back to Meysey.

  *

  After luncheon Lord Levedale ignored the continuing drizzle, and wandered over to the stables, where he was greeted with some consternation.

  ‘Are you wishful to be a-going out again, my lord?’ His groom had hurried from the tack room as soon as a stable boy alerted him, and still had a half polished bit in his hand.

  ‘No, no, Jeb, I was actually wanting to speak with Lord Mardham’s head groom, and not in complaint.’

  ‘I’ll fetch him to you, my lord, but come out of this here mizzle. There’s only me and Lord Pocklington’s man cleaning bridles in the harness room.’ Jebediah Knook ushered his employer into a room redolent of leather and saddle soap. Lord Pocklington’s groom was caught mid-spit as he polished a cheekpiece, and choked as he stood up. Lord Levedale apologised for intruding and smiled, but it could not be said that the groom relaxed.

  Thankfully, it was only a couple of minutes later that Lord Mardham’s head groom came in and touched his cap to Lord Levedale.

  ‘You wished to see me, my lord.’

  ‘Yes, I did, er …’

  ‘Harrop, my lord.’

  ‘Well, Harrop, do you have a pony cart in the stables?’

  ‘A pony cart, my lord?’ The head groom looked stunned. A humble pony cart was not for the likes of Quality.

  ‘I know it sounds an odd thing to ask, and I am not about to try and set some ridiculous fashion. It is just that I have had an idea, and before I approach Lord Mardham, I thought I would find out what the stables could provide.’ Lord Levedale did not elaborate until he and Harrop were alone among the assorted equipages of host and guests, and then he explained his purpose.

  ‘So you see, whilst a bespoke carriage would be the ideal, in the meantime, and for basic work, an even-tempered little pony and a good, stable conveyance are what we would need for teaching purposes.’

  ‘Well, my lord, I can see as how that would be a grand idea, and Miss Celia … ah, what happened was an awful mischance. A good rider she was, and understanding of her horses, and I would lay a month’s wages she never crammed her horse at that fence where they came down. Pure bad luck it was and …’ He sighed. ‘Howsoever, what’s done is done, and if his lordship is agreeable … Trouble is, my lord, the only pony cart in the stables is the one that one of the lads drives when Mrs Howsell, the housekeeper up at the House, has need to go into Cirencester. It’s in good condition, I wouldn’t have anything rickety here, but it is not fitting for the likes of Miss Celia or yourself to be seen in.’

  ‘Show me. We would be working within the estate for the most part, and in the circumstances, how it looks has to be pretty immaterial.’

  Harrop passed along the line of visitors’ vehicles, her ladyship’s barouche-landau, the travelling carriage and then to the outmoded and more lowly transport. There was a serviceable, if unfashionably styled gig, in which young Mr Mardham had first tooled the reins before he bought his tilbury, the tilbury itself, a dog cart, and the pony cart. It was most certainly not something which Lord Levedale would have imagined himself driving, but he consoled himself with the thought that none of his friends would see him do so, and the cause was good. It would mean initially teaching Miss Mardham to drive seated sideways, but that was no matter. What was of importance was making access easier and the seating, which was bare board, more comfortable.

  ‘Could the local blacksmith add an extra step, one which could be bolted on for while it is needed? It would make it much easier for Miss Mardham. And we will need a cushion affair for the seat. I doubt there is a great deal of comfort normally.’ He looked at the fairly basic springing.

  ‘I can send over to Jacob Twiston, the smith, and for something temp’ry like, Mrs Howsell will be able to provide an old window seat cushion, p’raps, my lord.’

  ‘Excellent. Do nothing until I have Lord Mardham’s permission, however. He may be dead set against such a scheme.’

  ‘If it makes Miss Celia’s life the happier, I would doubt it, my lord, but he’ll be thinking of her safety first and foremost.’

  ‘As am I, Harrop, as am I. Thank you.’

  *

  Lord Levedale next sought out his host, but since he wanted private conversation with him, this proved awkward. Lord Mardham was in the billiards room with the other gentlemen, watching in some amusement as Lord Pocklington systematically beat his son.

  The atmosphere was light-hearted, and although keen to share his idea with Lord Mardham, Lord Levedale gave no outward sign of impatience. Instead, he offered himself as scorer as Lord Corfemullen took on Sir Marcus. This proved a less entertaining game, and Mr Mardham took his two friends off part way through, very obviously not including Mr Wombwell, who was left to making desultory conversation with Lord Mardham, and was caught between pleasure that the young sprigs realised he was above their touch, and irritation at being consigned to boredom. He would have far preferred seeking out the ladies, but on his own this would appear odd.

  Lord Levedale took the opportunity to study Sir Marcus Cotgrave at a time when the man was not setting up Miss Mardham’s back. His initial impression had been that the widower must be a little slow, since he seemed totally unaware of the prickliness of the young lady whenever he offered to assist her or make overt allowances for her disability. He appeared, however, perfectly able to conduct a sensible and serious conversation with Lord Corfemullen upon the state of the post roads in Oxfordshire whilst deftly potting the ivory balls. His witticisms were on the ponderous side, but he was not some blundering idiot of a man. Why could he not see how his manner alienated the young lady?

  With the conclusion of the game, the billiards room party broke up, and Lord Levedale was able to request a private conversation with Lord Mardham, who looked a little surprised but assented willingly enough.

  ‘By all means, Levedale. Let us adjourn to the library, where we are unlikely to be disturbed.’ He led the way to that chamber, and invited his guest to be seated. Once ensconced, he enquired how he might be of assistance.

  ‘Well, sir, I was wondering …’ This was not going to be easy. ‘You see, I have been observing Miss Mardham, and hearing too that if she as much as wishes to take the air upon the terrace she has to avail herself of a rather uncomfortable Bath chair, and the assistance of a footman. She is, was, clearly an active young lady and it must be terribly frustrating
for her.’

  ‘There is little further that can be done.’

  ‘Medically, I am sure that is true, but what about if she were able to drive herself about, visit her grandmother at the Dower House, that sort of thing. A degree of independence would be a boon to her.’

  ‘I am afraid she has great difficulty getting in and out of carriages, and if there were to be another accident …’

  ‘I am not talking some fashionable turn-out, my lord. I am talking about something practical for her use. My Mama had a low phaeton some years ago, and one designed for Miss Mardham specifically would be low enough, with one permanent step, to enable her to get in and out with only minimal assistance, and a pair of twelve two ponies would be easy to handle. The centre of gravity would be so low an upset would be most unlikely, and she would have a groom up behind her.’

  ‘If it gave the poor girl some freedom I suppose the expense would be worthwhile, but she cannot drive.’ Lord Mardham frowned, considering.

  ‘That is where I come in, sir. I am no nonpareil, but I am a tidy whip, and do not flash about the countryside at neck or nothing pace. If you would give your permission for me to teach her, upon the estate itself, I would be pleased to do so. I had the temerity to take a look in your stables earlier, and there is a little pony cart which would not be too awkward for Miss Mardham to climb into, and that would be extremely safe. As a teaching vehicle it would seem ideal.’

  ‘You seem to have thought this all through, Levedale.’

  ‘I have given the matter most serous consideration, sir.’

  ‘Well, I am inclined to accept your offer, but I think it would be prudent to ask Lady Mardham’s opinion upon the matter first. If she is in agreement I will tell you after dinner.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I hope she will see the benefits outweigh the minimal risk.’

  With which Lord Levedale accepted a glass of fine burgundy, and then departed, not unhopeful of a positive outcome.

  Once Lord Levedale had taken himself off, Lord Mardham went to find his lady. She was in one of the smaller saloons, reclining upon a daybed with a novel, while Lady Corfemullen, in a similar posture, dozed lightly upon another chaise longue. She put her finger to her lips when he entered the room, and got up very quietly, coming to the door. Once in the hallway, she smiled at him.