Bless Thine Inheritance

by Sophia Holloway

  Celia felt otherworldly, her body at odds with heart and mind. Her leg ached abominably, all her muscles felt overwrought, and the shaking, at last diminishing, was exhausting. She had barely the strength to sit upright, and yet her heart beat strongly. Her mind, which had been fogged with terror, had cleared only to be filled with such delicious and happy thoughts it could still not function at a pragmatic level. He loved her.

  *

  The journey back to Meysey was one which both parties wanted simultaneously to last forever and be over as soon as possible. Being alone together transcended mere pleasure, though the irony was that in a situation where they might talk unreservedly of their feelings, they were too overwhelmed to say much. At the same time Celia was frightened that some damage might have been done to her leg, and Lord Levedale, despite being more sanguine, wanted the reassurance of her doctor.

  When they drew up outside the house, Celia sighed with relief. Lady Mardham came out in a flutter of agitation, but Lord Levedale barely acknowledged her, dismounted, and came round to look up at his beloved.

  ‘Safe home, as I promised.’ He smiled gently at her, set one foot upon the step, and lifted her from the curricle, settling her more securely in his arms to carry her into the house.

  ‘Miss Mardham has been badly shaken, and it would be advisable, ma’am, to send for her doctor, just to alleviate any qualms.’ He spoke calmly to Lady Mardham, seeing a woman who might dissolve into tears, if not hysterics, and strode to the front door. Copthorne held the door wide as he stepped within. He was about to carry her up to her room, but then realised that to do so would imply a knowledge of her bedchamber that might raise embarrassing questions. ‘Direct me to Miss Mardham’s bedchamber, and have her maid attend her immediately, please.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ Lord Levedale was clearly in charge of the situation, and Copthorne obeyed without demur.

  Lady Mardham fussed behind, suggesting everything from possets to hot bricks and laudanum. Lord Levedale carried Miss Mardham up the broad staircase in Copthorne’s wake, and along the passageway to her chamber, where the butler held the door wide. His lordship stepped over the threshold and laid his burden tenderly upon the bed.

  ‘I will leave you now, Miss Mardham,’ the words were formal, but his smile was intimate.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. Her hand reached for his. He clasped it, removed the glove, and kissed the back of her fingers. ‘I do not know what else to say.’

  ‘We do not need mere words. I know that I have your “yes”.’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘Rest, and do not worry. I shall go and find your Father.’ He turned, a little too quickly for Copthorne, whose normal impassivity had been replaced by a beatific smile, and for Lady Mardham, for whom his final words had cast any worries about her daughter aside. Her handkerchief was clutched to her bosom, but her face was a picture of relief and joy. Lord Levedale nodded to her ladyship and withdrew before she could assail him with questions, congratulations, or anything else.

  Chapter 22

  Lord Levedale’s desire to speak immediately with Lord Mardham was disrupted. At the foot of the stairs Mrs Wombwell was wringing her hands, and turned an ashen face towards him.

  ‘My poor boy! What has happened to my poor boy? You are returned, but he …’ She dissolved into gulping sobs.

  ‘Your “poor boy” ma’am, is perfectly well, except perhaps for a blister or two.’ Lord Levedale did not sound in the least sympathetic. In fact he sounded as if he wished Mr Wombwell was indeed lying lifeless at a roadside. ‘That is far better than he deserves, and if I encounter him upon his return I may yet ram his teeth down his throat.’

  Mrs Wombwell’s eyes widened in horror. ‘Villain!’ She exclaimed, and stepped forward to drum her fists upon his chest.

  ‘Oh, take a damper, ma’am.’ Exasperated, Lord Levedale thrust the lady from him, and made for the library, which he knew to be Lord Mardham’s favourite bolthole. He entered with the grim look still upon his face, which was rather unusual for a man about to solicit a young lady’s hand in marriage. Lord Mardham was already gazing towards the door, wondering at the high-pitched commotion beyond it. He regarded Lord Levedale with a questioning look.

  ‘Mrs Wombwell, my lord, and needless hysteria.’

  ‘Ah. I do not hear the more familiar tone of my wife in the same state, I note.’

  ‘No, my lord. She is with Miss Mardham, who has sustained, I believe, no lasting hurt, but has been rather shaken and is laid upon her bed until her doctor can assure her all is as it should be.’

  ‘What happened?’ Lord Mardham poured himself a glass of claret, and proffered one to Lord Levedale, who shook his head, and described the accident upon the Malmesbury road.

  ‘Wombwell’s a damned fool,’ grumbled Lord Mardham.

  ‘Yes, sir. He is.’

  ‘And I owe you a debt of gratitude for rescuing my daughter.’

  ‘There is none, sir, but if you believe it to be so then it is easily repaid. I would ask that you permit me to make Miss Mardham a formal offer.’

  ‘I assume that, informally, there is an understanding between you?’

  ‘Yes, my lord, there is.’

  ‘I see. Well, I cannot deny it is something I dared not hope for, in the circumstances, and you appear to be a decent and level-headed fellow. In fact, I would go so far as to say I am delighted, my boy.’ He smiled, and came forward to clasp Lord Levedale firmly by the hand. ‘I take it, of course, that you can support a wife?’

  ‘I have an income of some five thousand a year from my estate in Devon, and land in Leicestershire, sir, and I have been ploughing much of the profit back into the estate these last two years, since I inherited. Thus far I have put away three thousand in Funds, which is not, I admit, a fortune, but I have enough to live very comfortably if one does not spend the Season in Town.’

  A crease appeared between Lord Mardham’s brows. He was reminded of the stipulations of his father’s will. For himself, he thought that seeing Celia married, and to an excellent young man who would cherish her, was far more important than an inheritance, but he was not sure that his lady would see things in the same light. The repercussions might be unpleasant, and he disliked unpleasantness.

  ‘I see. Look, Levedale, I know this must sound unfair to you, but I feel I must consult Lady Mardham before making you an answer.’

  ‘Before …? Is there some doubt as to my suitability because of my income?’ Lord Levedale’s frown matched that of his host.

  ‘I cannot speak of it until I have consulted with my wife. You may be sure that I will give you my answer after dinner.’

  Lord Levedale, perplexed, and somewhat affronted, bowed, and withdrew to spend a very uncomfortable few hours in limbo. He did not want company, and therefore strode off into the park, where nature would give him solitude in which to contemplate his future, which he hoped would be bright.

  *

  Celia lay upon her bed, with a body as jumbled as her mind. Every bone and muscle felt jangled and disordered, and at the same time she felt an enormous lethargy, as if lying down was too much effort and she ought to simply melt into the mattress. She hoped Dr Stour would be able to come without delay, and remove the barrier of concern that held her back from total happiness. She dared not let herself be so happy, for fear that some awfulness would stand between her and the joy of being loved as she loved.

  She had tried telling herself that she was being silly, and that Lord Levedale – her own beloved Lord Levedale, was eminently sensible. What she was suffering now was the result of being tense and frightened and bounced about for miles, not a fall that might cause a break, but having discovered the fragility of her own bones she was more aware than most that they were not invulnerable.

  Her Mama did not seem concerned, as she had been upon her arrival, but was flitting about the room in an agitated manner, and coming out with disjointed phrases about winter weather and fur trimmings. Horley eventually turne
d upon her ladyship and requested that Miss Celia be left in peace until the doctor arrived.

  Dr Stour arrived an hour later, having been out attending Lord Bathurst’s butler at Cirencester Park, who had tripped and broken his wrist.

  ‘Now then, Miss Mardham, what have you been up to?’ His first glance assessed, and he already guessed that his fee would be one for affirming health, not confirming a problem.

  Celia did not want to give the truth, but Horley had no such qualms.

  ‘She’s been jangled and jumbled something terrible, Doctor, by a very silly man who thought that driving like a madman would impress her.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘I had to grip on so tightly, Dr Stour, that at one point I could not make my hands let go,’ Celia was still bemused by this spasm of muscles. ‘And after that I could not stop trembling.’

  ‘But there was no accident?’ The doctor lifted her wrist and measured her pulse, which was a little fast for one who was recumbent.

  ‘Almost. A wheel went into a ditch, but the vehicle did not topple over, just tipped at an angle.’

  ‘I doubt there is anything seriously wrong, Miss Mardham, but you were wise to call me out. Now, if I may just check your left leg …’

  He pressed and moved the limb, asked questions about sensation, and smiled at her in an avuncular way.

  ‘Well, Horley has the correct diagnosis, Miss Mardham. You are indeed, er, “jangled and jumbled”. An excessively unpleasant experience has had your frame very tense, and this is the very natural reaction that follows. I know how you dislike taking laudanum, but would say that if the discomfort persists tonight, a few drops would help you sleep, and a good night’s rest will see you back to normal. I would recommend that you let Horley tuck you up comfortably in bed, and that you remain there until tomorrow. By all means eat well, if you have the appetite, but do not be concerned if you are not very hungry. What you have is a shocked system that will take a few hours to calm itself.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr Stour.’

  She looked so relieved he patted her hand. ‘I am always pleased to give encouraging news, Miss Mardham, and to good patients who obey my instructions.’

  With which he went to assure Lady Mardham that there were no serious consequences to ‘the incident’.

  *

  Celia was so relieved that tears pricked her eyes, and she closed them to conceal her emotion. By tomorrow she would feel perfectly well, and everyone would be happy for her and … She completely ignored Miss Darwen, Sir Marcus, and Mr Wombwell in the tableau she imagined in her head, and from which she moved to Sarah opening the letter which announced that her friend was as happy as she was herself. She sighed.

  ‘There now, Miss Celia. You just close your eyes awhile and rest like the doctor said. I will go and arrange for tea and biscuits to be brought up because you have missed your luncheon, or would you prefer a posset?’

  ‘Tea would be nice, Horley, thank you,’ murmured Celia, rather dreamily.

  Left alone, she permitted herself a broad smile.

  ‘He loves me,’ she whispered, and because saying it sounded so good, she repeated it several times, louder.

  *

  Welney was already laying out his evening clothes by the time Lord Levedale returned. Having seen Lord Curborough’s man below stairs, and who had revealed, most unprofessionally, that they had come very much in a rush, Welney was well aware of the earl’s arrival. Since his master did not mention the fact he thought it unlikely that he knew of it, and decided it was not his place to inform him. His lordship therefore went down to dinner in blissful ignorance of his father’s unwelcome presence. He stepped into the room and came up short.

  ‘Good God!’ As a greeting it lacked warmth, but more than made up for it in surprise. Lord Curborough was in conversation with Lady Corfemullen. He looked a his son, coolly.

  ‘Good evening, Levedale.’ He sounded almost bored, as if the encounter had been planned weeks before.

  Lord Levedale advanced into the room, and bowed self-consciously to his sire.

  ‘I had no idea you were coming to Meysey, sir.’ He did not sounded overcome by delight.

  ‘Nor had I until I read your letter, Levedale,’ responded Lord Curborough, cryptically, which made Lady Corfemullen prick up her ears. Much to her annoyance, however, the earl then changed the subject entirely.

  ‘What happened to your face?’

  It had an altercation with a tree.’

  Lord Curborough appeared to think this was not the real reason at all, and looked huffy, and Lord Levedale excused himself as soon as he was able and went to ask Lady Mardham how Miss Mardham fared.

  ‘Oh, Dr Stour said that she had suffered a nasty shock, but that all she required was rest. He recommended that she remain in bed until the morrow, but that rest and quiet are all she needs, my lord.’ She smiled at him, but it was a tight smile, and she gave no further information. It gave him food for thought, and the thought was not encouraging. A lady who had just agreed to her daughter receiving a gentleman’s addresses would surely have been more forthcoming and effusive towards that gentleman.

  Lord Mardham entered, and the feeling of impending gloom increased. He look preoccupied, and at Lord Levedale’s low voiced request to be given his answer, replied with a hasty ‘not yet’.

  *

  Dinner was a strained affair, at which the negative emotions of the majority depressed those unaffected, namely the Corfemullens, Miss Burton and Lord Pocklington. The table was, perforce, uneven, with only four ladies present, and Lady Mardham had placed Lord Curborough next to herself, but with Levedale on his other side, whom he rather pointedly ignored. Lord Levedale was lost in some deep cogitations of his own for much of the meal, and spent the rest looking angrily at Mr Wombwell sat opposite him.

  Mr Wombwell looked sullen, which was an understatement. He had had a very bad day. Miss Mardham, instead of being excited by his ‘abduction upon an adventure’ had shown every indication that she was loathing every second, and was obviously responsible for his veering off the road, with her alternate pleadings and caustic comments. He had been forced to walk five miles upon the public highway with all those passing him from behind well aware of why he was on foot. He had been subjected to very insolent comments from persons of inferior rank, who had laughed at him. His phaeton had sustained such damage that it would take at least two days to repair, even though he had offered the wheelwright an excessive sum to see to it as a matter of urgency, and had driven back in a vehicle that he was ashamed to be seen in. The wheelwright, disliking the gentleman’s high-handed tone, and seeing that the wheel would require the removal of the rim and two felloes to insert new spokes, decided that Mr Pye’s cart wheel would take precedence over this unknown dandy’s fancy vehicle.

  As if all this were not enough, Mr Wombwell had returned to find his Mama in mild hysterics, throwing herself upon his bosom and behaving in a most embarrassing manner. None of what had occurred had been his fault, and his nemesis, Lord Levedale, still looked as though he would dearly love to knock him down. Whilst enjoying boxing as a spectator, Mr Wombwell had never enjoyed participation in the Noble Art, and was not at all sure that he could adequately defend himself if Lord Levedale chose violence.

  All in all, he simply wanted to leave Meysey as soon as possible, visit his own friends as cheaply as possible, and think up some new scheme to restore his fortunes. A wealthy widow still sounded the best bet.

  Mrs Wombwell’s nerves were, like Celia’s bones, ‘jangled’, and she was aware that her beloved son had acted in a most thoughtless manner towards her friend and hostess. He could be, she decided, such a silly boy. It ruined her appetite and made speaking with Lord Mardham embarrassing.

  Sir Marcus Cotgrave was wallowing in a rather enjoyable gloom. Feeling sorry for himself was in some ways rather consoling, especially when he lacked anyone else to do so. However, he had resolved to go on to Bath, where ladies of a delicate constitution were prone to
gather, and where Mamas might yet hope to find husbands for daughters who had not quite ‘taken’, or those who were not sufficiently wealthy to have essayed London for the Season. He had been undervalued here, but ultimately, after these disappointments, he would find a young bride.

  Miss Darwen’s annoyance with Mr Wombwell was profound. He had ruined an excellent opportunity, and in fact thrown The Cripple almost literally into the arms of Lord Levedale. That Lord Levedale did not look in alt this evening, did not penetrate her justifiable wrath. She would make her excuses to Lady Mardham, who was a foolish woman, and go home to regale her Mama with the tale of three pointless weeks among persons of poor intellect and worse manners.

  The ladies withdrew. Lord Levedale could do nothing but sit and drink his port and make part of what was a less than convivial grouping. Lord Mardham, giving up after the decanters had been round the table but twice, suggested that they join the ladies. It was Lord Levedale’s opportunity, and he fell in beside his host.

  ‘Well, sir?’

  ‘I am sorry, my boy, damned sorry.’

  ‘I see. I think, my lord, I am at least due some explanation, in view of your apparent pleasure at my declaration earlier.’ Lord Levedale felt as if the bottom had just fallen from his world.

  ‘Yes, I can see that you would. Not now though. We will speak of it in the morning. I am sorry.’

  That was all Lord Mardham felt that he could say. He had endured a very fraught half hour with his wife, who had been all but making out the guest list for the wedding breakfast until he had revealed the state of Lord Levedale’s finances. Her face had fallen.

  ‘Can he not simply transfer some of his income into Funds immediately?’

  ‘My dear, he has put that money back into his estate. It is not accessible.’

  ‘But he has to do so, my lord.’ There was an edge to her voice, one he knew well. It meant that whatever he said she would stick to her assertion, regardless of it being impossible.