The Earl of Highmott Hall: A Regency Cinderella

by Nina Clare

‘Mr Frederick Finch of Finch, Fotheringhay, and Foxley at your service, my lady,’ said the lawyer. ‘I come to deliver a missive for Miss Asher.’

  ‘Miss Asher is my daughter,’ said Lady Asher, wondering what mysterious missive from the offices of a London lawyer’s firm her stepdaughter could be receiving. ‘I will see she receives it.’

  The lawyer hesitated. ‘My particular instructions were to place it directly into the hand of Miss Asher.’

  ‘Miss Asher is not at home.’

  ‘This is a particular instruction, madam. Will Miss Asher be home soon?’

  ‘Not for many hours.’

  Mr Finch pulled out a pocket watch and glanced at the clock face.

  ‘You are welcome to wait, Mr Finch, but if you hope to reach the nearest town before it grows dark, you had better leave the missive with me.’

  Mr Finch’s bright eyes darted between the outstretched hand of the stately Lady Asher and the view from the drawing room window where the wintry afternoon sun was already weakening.

  ‘Very good, my lady. You are her legal guardian, after all.’ The sealed letter was handed over and Mr Finch was left to show himself out.

  Lady Asher watched at the window to be sure the lawyer had gone. On the front of the folded letter was written: For the attention of Miss Asher, Roseleat Manor. To be delivered on the 13th day of December 1810.

  Lady Asher’s lips pursed in consideration. Then she lifted up the seal and unfolded the letter.

  My dear Celia,

  I write this as I lie on what I know shall be my deathbed. I have laid my plans carefully, and beg one last kindness of you that they may be fulfilled.

  My nephew and heir will have arrived by this time. I have taken pains to gain reports of him in recent years. He is not a winebibber, nor a gambler, nor a hot-tempered man. If he were, I should not ask you to marry him.

  ‘Marry him!’ exclaimed Lady Asher.

  The conditions of his inheritance are that he must ask you to be his wife by midnight, Christmas Eve. The family fortune of half a million pounds and all the estate will then be his. Only a union between yourselves will end the family curse that began one hundred years ago. He is the last of the Marburys. If the curse is not broken, the Marbury line shall end, and the curse shall be complete.

  Unite your estates and prosper them.

  Fondest regards,

  Lady Wilhelmina Marbury

  ‘Half a million pounds!’ whispered Lady Asher, clutching the letter to her whale-boned chest. ‘Who would have guessed the old miser had so much ready money!’

  She remained in the window alcove, pressing the letter to herself, her form as still as a statue, but her mind working rapidly.

  The door to the drawing room clicked open, and Lady Asher flinched as she was roused from her plotting.

  ‘What is wrong, Mama?’ said Lavinia, stopping short in the doorway. ‘You look as though you have seen a ghost. Is that a letter? I hope it is not bad news. Is it from anyone I know?’

  Lady Asher roused herself. ‘No, my darling. No one you know. And it is not bad news.’ She folded up the letter quickly and slid it into the pocket of her gown.

  ‘Now I know something is wrong, Mama, for you only call me darling when there is something very important happening.’

  Lady Asher smiled, which only heightened her daughter’s suspicions of there being something up.

  ‘Come here, my darling. Let me look at you. Such pretty soft eyes, but you must wear your hair in a more flattering style. I hear Grecian curls are the fashion in London.’

  ‘But we are not in London,’ pouted Lavinia, ‘and there is no one to see if my hair is curled or not.’

  ‘We must see about trimming your gowns for the winter, darling.’

  ‘But there is no money for trimming, Mama. And there is no one to see if my gowns are pretty or not.’

  ‘Surprising things do happen sometimes, darling. All of a sudden, one’s luck can turn. All it takes is a knock on the door, a new arrival, an invitation.’

  ‘Or a letter?’

  ‘Or a letter. Ring the bell for Robin to light the lamps and stoke up the fire in your dressing room. I have a fancy to look over your wardrobe.’

  ‘This minute?’

  ‘This very minute.’

  ‘Where’s that reprobate cousin of mine?’ Lord Marbury descended the manor staircase two steps at a time, leaping the final four to greet his friend and cousin with an exuberant hand shake.

  ‘Marbury, you old codger, I’ve been riding for days to get here – could you live anywhere farther from town?’

  ‘No doubt you got distracted by theatres and gaming tables on the way. And it’s Lord Marbury now.’

  ‘Hah!’ laughed his guest. ‘I knew it would go to your head!’

  ‘Actually,’ said Lord Marbury, his grin fading, ‘I won’t be lord of the manor for long. Come on, let’s get you fed and watered and I will tell you all about it.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ George Neville stared at Lord Marbury.

  ‘Unfortunately,’ said Lord Marbury, swirling his wine glass and looking glumly into it. ‘I knew my aunt was eccentric, but I never dreamed she was raving mad.’

  ‘You’re the mad one, Marbury!’

  ‘Me?’ Lord Marbury looked up in surprise.

  ‘Yes, you! You’re actually going to throw away a big old pile like this, with, how much acreage did you say?’

  ‘About eight thousand,’ said Lord Marbury. ‘Though it’s mostly lying fallow—’

  ‘With how many farms?’

  ‘Three, they’re not all occupied at present—’

  ‘How much potential income?’

  ‘Well, the steward thinks if improvements are made and things taken in hand, it could be worth as much as nine or ten thousand a year, but that is after a time of—’

  ‘And you would throw away ten thousand a year, and walk away with a mere fifty, all because you won’t marry some local girl, and one who will extend your estate and generate even more profit?’

  Lord Marbury stared at his cousin. ‘Are you seriously suggesting I should marry a stranger just to get my hands on a good income?’

  ‘Of course, I am, you nitwit.’ Neville slapped the table for emphasis, and reached for the decanter to refill his glass. ‘I’d do it in a heartbeat.’

  ‘But…but…’ Lord Marbury sputtered with indignation, ‘but she could be the biggest harridan in the kingdom! She could be some old crone who cannot find a husband outside of having one forced to marry her, she could be—’

  ‘Well you will never know until you meet her!’

  Lord Marbury pulled a face.

  ‘Look,’ said Neville, ‘I know you’re terrified of women—’

  ‘I am not!’

  ‘You were the only fellow at university who didn’t have some dalliance going on—’

  ‘That’s not because I’m frightened of women, I’m just…’

  ‘Just what?’

  ‘Well. You know.’

  ‘No. I don’t know. Spit it out, Marbury. You might not be as good looking as me, but you still had plenty of women offering to make you happy.’

  ‘And that is just the sort of woman who could not make me happy,’ said Lord Marbury, his hair standing on end as he rumpled it in agitation.

  ‘Look, Marbury. I know all about your romantic notions, and all that true love nonsense you hold to – no, you can’t deny it – I’ve seen those poetry books hidden in your desk.‘

  ‘They were text books,’ argued Lord Marbury. ‘Some of us actually studied at university.’

  ‘Text books, my eye. You’re a romantic, and it’s got to stop!’

  ‘Why?’ said Lord Marbury, looking sulky. ‘I can’t help how I feel. The thought of marrying for money revolts me.’

  ‘No, the thought of marriage revolts you. You think it would be a tie, and in some ways it would, but there are ways round that. You can still have your freedom. You’ll be the lord of the manor; you ca
n take off for a shooting party or a bit of travel and leave the wife behind. Men do it all the time. The women don’t care, as long as they’ve got their nice gowns and furniture and can show it all off now and then.’

  ‘I don’t agree with your vision of domestic bliss, Neville.’ Lord Marbury resumed his gloomy gaze into his wine glass. ‘It is too shallow. I want more.’

  ‘You don’t know what you want, that’s your second big flaw.’

  ‘What’s my first?’

  ‘Being a romantic. You and your old aunt have more in common than you think.’

  Lord Marbury did not reply.

  ‘Look,’ said George. ‘You do whatever this daily appointment thing of your aunt’s says, you throw the party, you meet Miss Whats-her-name, and if she’s six foot tall, three foot wide with a bald head and a face full of warts you can back out and be off with your fifty thousand. But what if she’s bearable? Who knows, she might even be better than bearable. Then you can make a go of doing up this old pile, which, by the way, is the gloomiest thing I’ve ever seen, and you can be a very rich man. Get into parliament. Make a difference. Isn’t that the kind of nonsense you like?’

  Lord Marbury lifted his eyes from his glass and stared past his cousin, as though seeing the future that was being described.

  ‘There’s a world of difference between being a landed earl with influence, and being just another moderately rich man about town with nothing but a title, Marbury.’

  ‘I hear what you say,’ said Lord Marbury. ‘But how can I gauge whether or not this Miss Asher is someone I can spend the rest of my life with? I can visit her, observe her, talk to her, but what if she only puts on a good show because she wants to marry money?’ He thought of the envelope of his aunt’s he had opened that morning, dated the 14th December. It had ordered that he introduce himself to the family at Roseleat and invite them to dine.

  A wide smile slowly stretched across George Neville’s face.

  ‘What are you grinning about?’ Lord Marbury said. ‘I know that look. You’re thinking up mischief.’

  ‘Marbury, you’re a very lucky fellow, do you know that?’ Neville leaned forward. his eyes gleaming. ‘Very lucky fellow indeed to have such a friend as me.’

  Lord Marbury raised his eyebrows. ‘Out with it. What’s the scheme?’

  ‘We look alike, do we not? Same age, though I have better experience, same height, though I have better posture, about the same build, though I cut a more dashing figure, same brown hair, though I do not stick mine on end like a scarecrow. The only difference between us is our eye colour.’

  ‘Neville, what are you saying?’

  ‘That we swap places! Isn’t it obvious? You haven’t met anyone yet, and they haven’t met you, so we go and make their acquaintance, I’ll be Lord Marbury, and you’ll be Mr Neville, and if the wench is bearable, you can marry her, and if not – well, you can take your romantic notions and cash and be gone, and no one will be any the wiser. It’s only for ten or so days, isn’t it?’

  Lord Marbury looked appalled. Then he grew thoughtful. Then he stared at his cousin for a full minute.

  ‘It might not be such a bad idea,’ he said slowly. ‘I could speak to her without her knowing who I am. What have I got to lose?’

  ‘More to the point, what have you got to gain?’ Neville lifted his glass. ‘To ball dancing and fair damsels and pots and pots of money!’

  Lord Marbury slowly raised his own glass, hesitating before he clinked his against his cousin’s. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Let’s do it.’

  5

  ‘This is a terrible idea,’ said Lord Marbury, removing his riding hat, and lifting a hand to mess up his hair. Neville batted his hand away. ‘Get on the horse, Marbury.’

  Neville stepped onto the mounting block and swung himself into the saddle. The groom came forward with the borrowed black horse.

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Lord Marbury, ‘I am not riding that thing again. He tried to throw me twice. Why hasn’t he been taken back to the rogue of an innkeeper who gave him to me? And where’s my own horse?’

  ‘Your own horse is at the farrier, my lord,’ his groom informed him. ‘The shoe that was fitted was of poor workmanship.’

  ‘Then saddle up a carriage horse. I am not risking my neck on that thing.’

  ‘Take my horse,’ said Neville, dismounting. ‘Come on. I’ll ride the borrowed one.’

  ‘I tell you, he’s a menace, Neville. I’ll not see you thrown in a hedge, or worse.’

  ‘You’d love to see me thrown in a hedge. You’d laugh no end. I’m not afraid of a badly trained horse, you forget whose son I am.’

  Lord Marbury thought of Neville’s father, the brother of Lord Marbury’s late father. Neville’s father had been a renowned horseman in the royal cavalry. Neville was already mounted up on the Beast, so there was nothing for it. It was not as though he could change Neville’s mind on any matter.

  ‘There is a bridle path down to the Roseleat estate,’ Lord Marbury called back as he moved ahead. Neville’s horse was prancing wildly about the courtyard. ‘This way.’

  ‘You hear, you rogue!’ cried Neville to his mount, ‘it’s this way! Good thing for you that I like a challenge!’

  ‘It’s a bit of a mess,’ said Neville, when they reached Roseleat Manor. ‘The whole place looks neglected.’

  ‘It does rather.’ Lord Marbury looked about at the unruly shrubs and the flowerbeds overgrown with weeds. ‘It doesn’t bode well for a future mistress of Highmott, if she cannot keep her own house in order.’

  ‘Might be down to lack of finances, rather than neglect,’ said Neville optimistically. ‘Is there a groom to hold the horses, do you think?’

  ‘Knock on the door, and ask,’ suggested Lord Marbury.

  ‘Not likely. I’m the master now, remember?’

  Lord Marbury stared at his friend’s grinning face.

  ‘Go on,’ said Neville. ‘An earl don’t knock on doors when he has an inferior companion to do his bidding.’

  ‘Don’t you start overplaying this,’ Lord Marbury warned.

  Neville laughed. ‘Oh, this is going to be a real lark!’

  Lord Marbury looped the reins of his horse around a railing, and entered the porch to rap on the door.

  ‘Don’t forget who you are,’ Neville reminded him, still grinning from the saddle of his horse, who was trying to skitter sideways into the out-of-shape topiary.

  ‘You don’t look very aristocratic on that dancing horse,’ Lord Marbury called back. ‘More like a circus performer.’ He rapped again, but there was no answer. ‘No one home,’ he said, stepping away. At that moment the door creaked open and an aged woman with a linen cap opened the door just wide enough to peer out.

  ‘Yes?’ said the woman, looking wary. ‘There’s nothing left to take, unless you’re wanting cooking pots and third best linen.’

  Lord Marbury was momentarily wordless at such a greeting.

  ‘Is Lady Asher at home?’ he enquired, when he had recovered himself.

  ‘Who’s asking?’ the door was closed a few more inches, as though the woman was getting ready to slam it. ‘We’re not alone, you know. My grandson is as strong as an ox.’

  ‘I am sure he is, ma’am,’ said Lord Marbury. ‘Perhaps I have made a mistake. I am Lady Asher’s new neighbour.’

  Neville gave a loud cough at this, and Lord Marbury hastily said, ‘that is to say, that I accompany Lord Marbury, Lady Asher’s new neighbour.’ Lord Marbury waved a hand in the direction of Neville. The woman opened the door far enough to peer out at the gentleman in question.

  ‘Lord Marbury,’ she exclaimed. ‘Well I never. How young he looks.’

  ‘Is Lady Asher at home?’ Lord Marbury pressed. ‘If not, I will leave my…er…my companion’s card.’

  ‘Wait there,’ said the woman, and slammed the door.

  ‘I think we should get out of here as quick as we can,’ said Lord Marbury, moving towards his horse. ‘The place is is
a mess, the servants are mad, I have a bad feeling about it all.’

  ‘You’re not getting out of it that easily,’ said Neville. He had finally got his horse to stand still long enough to dismount; he tied him to the trunk of a potted bay tree. ‘You always run away when things get tight.’

  ‘I do not!’

  ‘Oh yes you do!’

  The manor door opened again, and the servant called out, ‘Come in, milord. Lady Asher said she’d be right pleased to receive you.’

  Lord Marbury stepped forward, but Neville grabbed hold of his coat tail and tugged him back. ‘Delightful!’ cried Neville, brushing past Lord Marbury. ‘I should have been so disappointed not to find her ladyship at home. This way, Neville, my good fellow!’

  ‘Lord Marbury, what an honour.’ Lady Asher made a deep curtsey. ‘You find me alone, my lord. My daughter is indisposed at present, but I hope you will call again very soon, she would be honoured to meet you.’ Lady Asher caught sight of the real Lord Marbury, hanging back.

  ‘This is my good friend, Mr Neville,’ said Neville.

  ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr Neville. Do come and take tea in the drawing room, gentlemen.’

  ‘Ah, no time for tea,’ said Neville with a charming smile. ‘I have urgent estate business, but I would not pass a second day in the country without making the acquaintance of my nearest neighbour. Perhaps I may call again tomorrow, and have the honour of being introduced to your daughter. I should very much like to meet all the family.’

  ‘The honour would be entirely ours, my lord,’ said Lady Asher. ‘I beg that you will call at any hour that pleases you.’

  ‘Delightful!’ said Neville, taking Lady Asher’s outstretched hand and bowing over it. ‘Till tomorrow.’

  ‘Well,’ said Neville, as they rode away. ‘She was well looking enough. Good manners. It bodes well if the daughter is a younger, handsome version, does it not?’

  Lord Marbury could not answer him, for at that moment Neville’s mount took off in a mad gallop down the track with Neville bellowing at him to stop.

  ‘I told you he was a menace,’ Lord Marbury called out, urging his horse to ride on and catch them up.