An Unconventional Courtship

by Dorothy Mack

  “Pooh! What are housekeepers for if not to see to the running of households?”

  “You have a rather limited picture of the married state, I fear.”

  “I know that the men who court me are not seeking a housekeeper!” retorted Emerald, tossing her head proudly.

  And who am I to contradict her? Cleone repressed a smile. There was much truth in her cousin’s contention. She would have to discover in due course that all brides, even the loveliest and most-sought-after, eventually turned into wives, though perhaps Emerald might succeed in remaining a privileged pet or an adornment in her husband’s life if that was what she wished. It wouldn’t do for her, but then marriage was not a viable option for one in her position in any case. She said sympathetically, “I fancy the hours will drag now that Lord Altern has been delayed unless you have something to occupy your time. Perhaps you will like to take the children for a walk down to the orchards later?”

  “No, I thank you.” Emerald shuddered delicately. “I have no intention of getting all heated; in fact, I think I shall go to my room and take off this dress before it becomes crushed. Like your salad, I’ll save it for another day.”

  As she returned to her schedule of tasks to be done before welcoming a houseguest, Cleone reflected that Emerald’s departing look had spoken volumes: a hint of superciliousness, the pleasure in her adult status that permitted refusal of the older girl’s suggestions, but also a touch of humour. And thank heaven for that last characteristic! Cleone cherished no illusions with regard to her beautiful cousin. The girl was selfish, vain, spoiled, and wilful, but in all fairness, circumstances had contrived to render this a nearly inescapable result of her upbringing. She had been the apple of her father’s eye, petted and cosseted while he was alive. A more sensible mother would have leavened the effect of overpampering, but Isabella was too awed at producing such a rara avis, and too weak and indolent to take the firm measures that would have been necessary to instil character and generosity in her daughter. Fortunately for Emerald, she was provided with a raft of brothers and sisters who didn’t consider her person or her wishes sacrosanct. The rules of give-and-take obtaining among siblings in a nursery went some way to offset the parental spoiling. And she was not devoid of native wit and quickness of apprehension, which up to now had served merely to cloak her determination to get her own way in socially acceptable behaviour and an appealing manner. Cleone shuddered to contemplate the scene should one of her admirers fail to give in to her wishes. In the long run, it was vital for all concerned that Emerald’s future husband should be a man strong enough to control her starts, and good-natured enough to put up with her moods when she didn’t get her own way. It would be interesting to see if Lord Altern was such a man.

  Emerald and her as-yet-unknown suitor could not long remain in first place in Cleone’s thoughts, however. The nagging worry over what Philip was planning to do about his indebtedness kept intruding. Sheer cowardice kept her from speculating on her great-uncle’s reaction if and when he discovered the coil his grandson was in. A prospective husband for Emerald on the premises might not be sufficient inducement to throttle his fury down to manageable dimensions. As Cleone bustled about her remaining chores in the somnolent afternoon heat, she experienced a strong longing to hold time back. The stage was set for a good deal of action, but she was a reluctant player, fearful of the outcome.

  Cleone sighed with relief when Philip showed up for dinner, which took place in an atmosphere of anti-climax as far as the feminine members of the family were concerned. To his grandsire’s queries on his activities that day he said only that he had been riding over the estate and had been given lunch by one of the cottager’s wives. His preoccupied air, which allowed no passing interest in their expected houseguest, activated Cleone’s concern anew, and she sat impatiently through the feminine assemblage — in the great hall tonight in Lord Altern’s honour — waiting for the men to rejoin them so she might resume their discussion.

  Once again, her patience went unrewarded. Lord Brestwick entered the hall alone and to her question about Philip’s whereabouts replied that the young whelp had said something about seeing to a possible bruise on his horse’s fetlock. With that he demanded her participation in their ritual chess contest. Concealing her active concern behind a calm manner, Cleone joined him at a game table that had been moved into the room earlier.

  Jason Vaughan, sixth Earl of Altern, pushed back his chair after finishing his meal, well satisfied with the inn’s ordinary bill of fare. He glanced at his watch while waiting to pay his bill: just after eight P.M. He should be at Bramble Hall within the hour, certainly before it was full dark. The turnoff from the main Brighton Road couldn’t be too far away.

  This was confirmed a few minutes later by the ostler who brought Beelzebul to where Lord Altern stood eyeing the activity in the inn yard with mild interest. When at the last minute a friend’s troubles had interfered with his plans to travel in the early afternoon, he had sent his groom on ahead to explain and prepare his hosts for an evening arrival. He had set off a few hours later, traveling at the pace set by the lumbering old coach that had been his father’s. His coachman and his valet, who was traveling inside, had gone on after their own meal while he had dined more leisurely, knowing he could catch up with the slow vehicle within a few miles.

  It was a pleasant evening and Beelzebul, refreshed after his short rest, was eager to stretch his legs in the deepening twilight. Jason gave him his head, ready to enjoy a turn of speed himself after a plodding afternoon traveling with what his brother Marcus had always laughingly termed “the state coach.” After a couple of miles he reined in the big black gradually, exerting his domination over a thousand pounds of strong-willed muscle. Man and beast moved together with the ease of perfect familiarity through the soft air of the South Downs. There had been occasional traffic on the road earlier, but nothing wheeled or human had passed him since dinner. This wasn’t one of the roads made perilous by highwaymen, but most people preferred to do their traveling in daylight.

  Jason’s relaxed posture in the saddle was deceptive; his ear was attuned to discern the sounds of his traveling carriage ahead. The turnoff that would eventually take him to Bramble Hall must be quite close by. No doubt his coachman would have had precise directions from the inn ostler also.

  A satisfied expression appeared on the earl’s face a few minutes later at the unmistakable jingle of harness and the snorting of horses. Alertness replaced satisfaction almost immediately as other sounds intruded, and Jason dug his heels into Beelzebul’s flanks. The huge black surged forward and the pair came up over a rise to espy a scene of confusion a hundred yards ahead.

  It was his carriage, all right, and it was being held up! Two armed and masked riders were on the scene, one holding a pistol on his coachman while the other headed for the door of the halted carriage. Even as Jason removed his own pistol from the specially built holder attached to his saddle and spurred his horse forward, the highwaymen fled the spot, bounding up the low banks at the side of the road and heading across country. He was mightily tempted to pursue them, but it would be dark shortly and he was unfamiliar with the countryside around here. In his frustration, he did let off a following shot. Though he could not be certain in the dim light, he thought he saw one of the thieves grab his left arm with his other hand. His eyes never left the pair until they vanished into a copse of trees.

  In the few seconds before Jason arrived at his carriage, the coachman had gotten the frightened horses under control and his valet had climbed down onto the road.

  “Are you all right, Gregson?”

  “Yes, my lord,” said that individual, maintaining his professional demeanour.

  Jason nudged Beelzebul closer to his team, casting a sapient eye over the matched greys standing quietly now. “Horses seem fine, John?”

  “Yes, m’lord, all’s bowman wi’ t’lads,” confirmed the ruddy-faced driver.

  “I don’t think they got anything?”
The question was addressed to the coachman, but it was Gregson who answered.

  “Nothing, my lord. You appeared on the scene before they had a chance to demand the valuables.” He hesitated, waiting for an encouraging look from his master before proceeding. “Strange as it may sound, sir, I had the impression that they had changed their minds, as it were, about robbing us.”

  “Before I appeared?”

  Gregson deliberated for a second, then said apologetically, “It all happened so fast, but … yes. I was watching the one coming toward the carriage, naturally, and he seemed to pull in his horse when he was a few yards away. He called something to the other one. I didn’t catch the words — his head was turned — but I got the distinct impression that he had already decided against robbing us before you shouted, sir.”

  Jason continued to stare at his valet while he considered the man’s words. Gregson was a sober, reliable individual, not given to flights of fancy. “Might he have changed his mind because he recognized that the coach was not the one he was expecting?” he inquired, thinking out loud.

  “I really couldn’t say, sir. I’m sorry.”

  “No, no,” Jason waved aside the apology. “You kept your heads, both of you. What did they look like? Would you recognize either of them if you saw them again?”

  “I only got a look at one, and he was masked, so I strongly doubt my ability to recognize him. As for a description: he was of middle height — as far as I could tell with him being mounted — slightly built, wearing leathers and high-top boots of a good quality, and a blue coat with oversized buttons. He also wore a low-crowned hat of the sort coachmen wear that was decidedly dilapidated and too big for him as well.” A sniff of disdain expressed Gregson’s opinion of the thief s raiment.

  “They was just ord’n’ry blokes,” put in John as his employer sought his contribution. “T’other one were rigged out similar. I dunno what colours, being too busy with t’horses to look on ’em right partic’lar.”

  “What about their ages?”

  Both servants were of the opinion that the highwaymen were on the young side, which tallied with Jason’s quick impressions of them riding away. John related that the would-be thieves had come at the coach from the same copse of trees into which they had disappeared.

  The sky had darkened while they had been discussing the abortive holdup, and now Lord Altern said decisively, “Well, this is getting us nowhere. We must be thankful that no one is hurt and nothing was taken. The horses will be on the fret if we delay much longer, and I would not wish to further inconvenience my hosts. Let us be on our way.”

  The turnoff they were seeking was less than a half-mile from the site of the attempted holdup, but it was nearly another half-hour before the earl’s carriage rolled up under the entrance portico of Bramble Hall. They had passed no one on either road for these last few miles. By moonlight, candlelight, and lamplight he could discern that the Hall was old, probably late Elizabethan, possibly designed in a simple E shape before additions like this portico had blurred its origins. He had no time for further observations as the door opened and Lord Brestwick’s major-domo and his staff came bustling out to greet him and direct his carriage to the stables. Within five minutes, Gregson and the baggage were on their way to Lord Altern’s bedchamber and he was following the butler to the family’s quarters, having elected to present himself to his hosts immediately rather than keep them longer from their beds by taking time to clean up and change.

  A discreet gleam of approval in Oliphant’s eye confirmed the wisdom of his choice.

  “The family awaits you in the great hall, sir. This way, please.”

  Himself the owner of a very fine manor house, Lord Altern was not awed by the impressive chamber into which he was conducted, but he was perfectly willing to concede that its proportions were magnificent. The immensely tall mullioned windows he had noted as he approached the house were on his left as he entered, and he glimpsed a handsome Renaissance screen below the minstrel’s gallery at the far end of the room before the butler’s announcement of his arrival brought his head around to include the room’s inhabitants in his field of vision. They were in a group in front of one of the fireplaces, or more accurately, two groups, one of which contained the beautiful magnet that had drawn him here, sitting with her mother and sister on a long sofa, all three engaged in needlework. The other comprised an old man and young woman playing chess at a table nearer the fireplace.

  A smiling Lady Henley rose and came to greet him, hands extended, as he quickened his pace. He accepted the invitation, gracefully raising both hands to his lips as she exclaimed, “Welcome to Bramble Hall, Lord Altern.”

  “It is my very great pleasure to be here, ma’am.”

  “You know my daughters, of course,” continued Lady Henley, giving him no more than a second to bow in the girls’ direction before guiding him toward the game table, “but I do not believe you are acquainted with my father-in-law, Lord Brestwick, or our cousin, Miss Latham. Father Hardwicke, Cleone, may I present Lord Altern?”

  “Sir, your very obedient servant. Yours, Miss Latham.” Jason made his best bow to the crusty-looking old gentleman regarding him from under slanted brows before turning to touch the fingers extended to him by a comely young woman who gave him a direct gaze from surprisingly dark eyes in one of her fair colouring. Her welcoming murmur was lost in his host’s acknowledging remark.

  “I was acquainted with your grandfather back in the days when we all did the grand tour. He was a hard goer, on and off the hunting field.”

  “So I am told, sir. I have only the vaguest recollections of him as he died before I went off to school.”

  “You have a slight look of him about the mouth and jaw.” Lord Brestwick went on to recount an involved story about his guest’s grandparent while the others practised keeping their expressions interested. Lord Altern remained in an attentive attitude, but he was perfectly aware of the concealed impatience of the two young ladies seated on the sofa, and when a door in the wall behind him opened, he intercepted a quick exchange of glances between his hostess and Miss Latham. Lady Henley’s face was somewhat averted, but he interpreted the fleeting expression on Miss Latham’s face before the polite mask was resumed as one of relief. Without moving his shoulders, he angled his head to include in his peripheral vision the path of a youth approaching the group.

  The old earl brought his story to a close with a remark that elicited a genuine chuckle from Lord Altern, though the latter rather hoped it remained as obscure to all the ladies as Lady Henley’s blank look would indicate. Miss Latham, he noted, had dropped her eyes, and the younger ladies behind him were questioning the late arrival as to his recent whereabouts. A glowering expression in Lord Brestwick’s eyes as they rested on the newcomer might have given rise to a testy remark had not Lady Henley intervened to make her son and their houseguest known to each other.

  As the two exchanged courtesies, Jason decided he liked the look of the lad despite his taste in waistcoats, which was colourful, to say the least. For the rest, young Henley had settled on the black coat and knee breeches that had become almost a uniform in the evening. There was a hint of deference in his manner, but his eyes were friendly.

  “Where have you been all evening?” The old earl’s sharp question broke into the introductions.

  “I was knocking the balls around in the billiard room when I heard the commotion of Lord Altern’s arrival,” replied his grandson carefully. There was nothing to take exception to in his tone, but Jason received the impression of rebellion held rigidly in check. Again Lady Henley intervened with a laughing suggestion that they allow their visitor to make himself comfortable.

  “Have you dined, sir?” she inquired solicitously when he had accepted the invitation in Miss Hardwicke’s eyes and smilingly seated himself beside her on the long sofa. The earl and Miss Latham also joined the circle, abandoning their chess contest.

  “Yes, thank you, about an hour ago. I must apologize ag
ain for any inconvenience my late arrival may have caused your household.”

  “We feared at first that some accident might have delayed you.” Miss Hardwicke spoke for the first time, flicking long lashes upward as she gazed in concern at the man next to her.

  “Surely my groom explained that it was merely an unanticipated circumstance, momentarily pressing but not serious,” Lord Altern offered smoothly.

  “Yes, of course,” Lady Henley put in, sending a warning look to her daughter to cease probing. “We are delighted that you arrived safely and trust the trip was uneventful and not too tiring.”

  “I am not tired in the least, thank you, ma’am, but I must admit that the journey was not as uneventful as I could have wished. There was an attempt to hold up my coach not ten miles from here.”

  Jason’s bombshell secured him the attention of everyone in the room. The ladies’ exclamations of dismay were drowned out by his lordship’s outburst.

  “The devil, you say! Why, it’s been years since I’ve heard of any trouble on that road.”

  “I regret to be obliged to report, sir, that this is no longer the case.”

  “Did they get anything? You said an ‘attempted’ holdup?”

  Jason related the details of the incident, including his valet’s impression that the thieves may have decided not to go through with the robbery even before he rode up to challenge them.

  “Harrumph! Got cold feet, did they?”

  Jason shrugged. “Who can say, sir? Perhaps they recognized the crest on the door panel, although why that should deter them has me stumped.”

  “Or perhaps they failed to recognize the crest,” suggested Miss Latham quietly.

  Lord Altern looked at the young woman with respect. “That is also a possibility, of course.”