Lord Montague (Sons of the Marquess Book 4)

by Mary Kingswood

  “Oh, indeed, her clothes so old and worn,” said Lady Juliana.

  “And she was so thin,” said Lady Carrbridge. “That is despicable, to keep one’s own sister without adequate food, for look how you have filled out since you first arrived, dear Melissa. Why, you have a charming form now. I do believe we shall need to let out your gowns a little before too long.”

  And that set the aunts twittering and hinting about other possible causes for the tightness of her gowns, and although Melissa blushed, she knew that it was entirely the result of her fondness for syllabub. Still, perhaps before too long there might be another reason for a little extra stoutness?

  ~~~~~

  The following morning at breakfast, Mr Merton entered with a great stack of letters.

  “Everything was held up by the snows,” he said. “Most of these came yesterday, and I have only just now sorted them out. Lady Carrbridge… my lord… my lord… my lady… oh, and one for Lady Montague.”

  “For me?” Her stomach clenched in sudden alarm. “Who writes to me?” She turned it over and over in her hands, all her fears rushing back to swamp her.

  “You will not know unless you open it,” Monty said gently.

  With shaking hands she broke the seal. “Oh! It is from Lady Bentley… Patience, Lady Bentley, that is. The fifth earl’s third wife.”

  “Your step-mama, then,” Monty said.

  “Oh yes! So she is… I had not realised. Oh, Monty, she must have written to me before… ‘My previous letters…’ she says. I hardly know what it says. What does she say, Monty? Has something happened to one of the children? I cannot make it out.”

  He took the paper from her trembling hands. “Shall I read it to you? ‘My dearest Melissa, It was the greatest surprise to see the notice of your marriage in the newspaper, for I had not the least notion that you were acquainted with that family. But perhaps Randolph finally did his duty by you and arranged it all. However it came about, I wish you the greatest joy, my dear, and it pleases me so much to know that you will at last be valued as you should be. We are all well, and William’s arm has mended beautifully and he is already riding again, although more circumspectly! As I mentioned in my previous letters, we have no hope that Randolph will do anything at all for the girls, but my godmother has a niece to bring out next season and has offered to take Alice to London with her, and will even pay for her gowns. It is the greatest kindness, and she is so pretty and good-natured that she is bound to marry advantageously, although we do not tell her so, for there is nothing so fatal as the weight of one’s family’s expectations, as I know myself only too well. Alice herself is in transports to think that she will see you in town, but I do not think it likely you will move in the same circles. You are very much risen in the world, my dear Melissa! Might I hope that you will be able to write to me now? I daresay Randolph would not frank your letters, and you wished to spare us having to pay, but perhaps the marquess might be so obliging as to frank them? It would delight me so much to hear from you. Your loving friend, Patience.’”

  The room had fallen silent, everyone listening in astonishment. Melissa was too choked with misery to say a word, dashing away tears with the back of one hand.

  “You never received her letters, did you?” Monty said softly. She shook her head. “You did not even know her direction. And this Lady Bentley is the present Lord Bentley’s stepmama, and Alice is his sister, yet they seemingly live in poverty.”

  “That man is a disgrace,” Lord Carrbridge said loudly, laying down his own sheaf of papers. “I will frank every letter you write, Lady Monty, and when you write to Lady Bentley, you will oblige me by finding out what I may do for her. Schooling for the boy, perhaps. As for the daughter—”

  “I shall take care of Lady Alice,” Lady Carrbridge said, tears sparkling in her eyes. “It is within my power to give her a season such as all girls dream of, and if she is amenable, she may look as high as she pleases for a husband. And we shall make sure everyone knows that her own brother would not do it.”

  “As to that, perhaps it would be best not to rub Bentley’s nose in it,” Lord Carrbridge said mildly. “We are trying to put the recent difficulties between the two families behind us, after all.”

  “Well, that will diminish the fun a little, to be sure,” said his wife. “Nevertheless, I shall enjoy showing off Lady Alice. In fact, let us have her to stay here, now that the weather is a little better. Where does she live?”

  Monty looked at the letter. “Birmingham.”

  “Birmingham. Good gracious. I never knew anyone from Birmingham before. But by all means let her come. And her mother and her brother, if they are so minded.”

  “There are two other sisters, as well,” Melissa said, laughing. “You should perhaps know the exact numbers before you issue a general invitation.”

  “The more the merrier,” Lady Carrbridge said at once. “We have been very quiet since Christmas and it is weeks yet before we go to town, so let us have some company. There are a few others I could invite. I shall go and make a list at once.”

  “There now,” said Lord Carrbridge, as his wife bustled out of the room. “That has done her a world of good. She has been so quiet since Mary was born, not at all herself. A little company will be— Oh, of all the vexatious things!” He waved the letter in his hand in annoyance.

  “What is it?” Monty said. “Shall I fetch Merton back? He is very good at dealing with vexatious correspondence.”

  Lord Carrbridge threw down the letter he had been reading. “Gil is being sent home. Of all the foolish—! That boy will be the death of me, I swear it.”

  “What has he done this time?” Monty said, but he was smiling as he spoke. “Is his leg healed?”

  “Not properly, for the little idiot will not stay quiet and rest. His colonel says that he has been getting into fights and has aggravated his injury, not to mention making himself unpopular with his fellow officers. And there is somebody’s wife involved, as well.”

  “There is always somebody’s wife involved, where Gil is concerned,” Monty said, laughing.

  “True, but this time they are sending him home to spend some time in the soothing bosom of his family, according to his colonel. We may expect him within the week, and then we shall no doubt have him up to his high jinks here instead of there. Mrs Compton will need to keep the house maids out of his way. Good Lord, whatever did I do to deserve a brother like Gil?”

  “He will settle down,” Monty said. “We all went through a foolish phase and got into a great deal of trouble, and we all grew up eventually. I am sure that Gil will too, one of these days. And he has never played around with the house maids. His tastes always ran to married women, who cannot see beyond that angelic face of his. He is not one to corrupt innocents. You worry about him too much, Carrbridge.”

  Lord Carrbridge stared at him, then turned to Melissa. “Lady Monty, I congratulate you. You have wrought a great miracle with Monty, and turned him into a normal human being. He was quite a saint before, and very wearing it was to be with him, let me tell you. But now he hardly ever quotes the Bible at us, and is far less inclined to burst into prayer. It is a great relief to us all.”

  Monty laughed. “I was a sanctimonious prig. Humphrey said so, and he was quite right. But now I am far too happy to be sanctimonious. You may all do as you please without the least censure from me, except on Sundays, when I shall don my vestments and terrorise my congregation with visions of eternal damnation for those who fail to show the proper respect to Lady Monty.”

  “Ah, yes — love,” Lord Carrbridge said, smiling fondly. “It makes contented slaves of us all, in the end.”

  ~~~~~

  On the following Saturday, Monty left for Kirby Grosswick. His arm was well enough healed to contemplate resuming his duties as vicar, and he was curious to see what state the village was in and whether the flood waters had receded sufficiently to enable the labourers to return to their cottages. He had no desire to leave Meliss
a, but he could not shirk his obligations. But to his delight, she asked if she might go with him.

  “I do not want to spend even one night without you,” she said, hugging him tightly, and this was so much in accordance with his own wishes that he agreed to it at once.

  He sent word ahead to ensure that he would at least have good dinners to look forward to, however great the disruption to every other part of his establishment. But he found no such disruption. The labourers had gone, some back to their homes, some to friends and a couple of families to the stables, where they had turned the unused side of the hayloft into a comfortable temporary home, repaying the debt by helping in the kitchens and gardens. The house was clean, and two more rooms had been finished. Monty now had a book room, and Melissa a drawing room, so they spent the afternoon in the pleasant task of arranging furniture to their liking.

  The church was as full as it could hold for both services, Monty was pleased to see, and after each service there was no restraint between the residents of long-standing and Bridget Kelly and her women. In fact, several men could be seen in close attendance, among them Ben Gartmore, chatting to Kitty with an easy to read expression on his face.

  “I daresay you will be wanting a permanent position here,” Monty said to him with a smile, as they made their way back to the parsonage after the second service.

  Ben looked conscious. “I’d like that, if you’d be willing to have me and if his lordship the marquess don’t mind. There’s plenty for me to do in the garden, and you’ll need a gamekeeper to manage your coverts. They’ve been a bit neglected, by the look of them. And… those old cottages behind the stables just need a bit of doing up.”

  He looked so hopeful that Monty could not help laughing. “Then choose one and do it up, Ben. Far be it for me to stand in the way of true love.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Ben said, with the wide grin that reminded Monty forcibly of Gil. Ben was so much a Marford, it was almost a shame he could not have the name.

  One surprise was that Callum, the former vicar’s manservant, had begun attending services again. He joined in the responses loudly and displayed a fine baritone voice during the hymns. He even smiled at Monty as he filed out of church.

  “He looks a lot better,” he whispered to Melissa.

  “I think he was driven half mad by being cooped up with Mr Whittaker all those years. Mrs Green says he is helping in the kitchen, and she does not mind him mumbling to himself all the time. I am glad we never sent him to the work house.”

  “That would have been too cruel for words,” Monty said. “What is our dinner tonight, my love?”

  “Goose for you and syllabub for me,” she said, laughing.

  “Splendid,” he said.

  And so it was. Afterwards, Melissa decorously withdrew upstairs to the drawing room. Monty sat over his port for perhaps five minutes before rising to join her. But first, he went to his bedroom to retrieve a neatly wrapped package.

  “I have a small gift for you,” he said, as he entered the drawing room. “I promised you some proper jewellery once we were married, and here it is.”

  Her astonishment and pleasure were all he had hoped for. The emeralds caught the candlelight and created a thousand dazzling points of light.

  “Oh, Monty, you are so good to me! These are beautiful.”

  “Then they are well suited to their owner,” he said complacently, taking them from her and fastening the jewels around her neck. “There! And there are ear drops and a bracelet too. Happy birthday, my darling one.”

  “My birthday! I had almost forgotten,” she said.

  “But I had not. You are of age now, and your fortune is your own.”

  “Except that I do not know where it is or how to claim it!”

  “A minor detail. We will make enquiries when we are in town.”

  “I daresay it will turn out to be nothing much at all,” she said, laughing. “And I should have so liked to have my own carriage, and not an unwanted old thing from Drummoor. Ah well.” She went to the looking glass, turning this way and that to admire her emeralds. “It does not matter, for I have all the fortune I need. I have you, Monty dear, and what more could any woman want for?”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. “And I have you,” he murmured. “My sweet, wonderful Melissa.”

  23: Family

  Mary, Lady Hardy married Mr Daniel Merton on a sleety day in early February. No one minded the weather in the slightest, for the ceremony was held in the Drummoor chapel, officiated with aplomb by Monty, and witnessed by some fifty friends, relations and servants. The bride was beautiful, her new husband smiled constantly, and no one could doubt their happiness or the strength of their attachment.

  Afterwards, there was a wedding breakfast in the great hall, and when all had eaten their fill and toasted the happy couple sufficiently, a small group of stout-hearted souls donned cloaks and furs and scarves to accompany Mr and Mrs Merton on the short walk to their home through the softly falling snow. Uniformed servants waited on the steps, despite the weather, to welcome their new mistress.

  Monty and Melissa walked hand in hand through the spacious rooms of Lake Cottage, each one fitted out with the greatest elegance, and furnished with the newest styles of furniture.

  “Now this is how it should be done,” Monty murmured. “Mr Merton has ensured that everything is in readiness for his bride. No cast-off furniture, no smell of paint or newly cut wood, and undoubtedly there will be a good dinner on the table this afternoon.”

  Melissa laughed. “You do like a good dinner, husband dear. This house is beautiful, but I like our way better. Besides, Mr and Mrs Merton had to wait several months to marry, until she was out of mourning, so there was plenty of time to prepare the house. I should not have liked to wait so long.”

  Monty suspected that the Mertons had been waiting somewhat longer than a few months, but he said nothing of it. If they had fallen in love while she was still married, they had managed the business very discreetly and no one could have found the slightest cause for censure in their behaviour. Monty said only, “It is very pleasing that such patience has met its reward at last.”

  Although she declared herself content with her half-finished house, Melissa decided to stay at Drummoor a while longer. She and Monty drove over to Kirby Grosswick each Saturday, entertained some half a dozen of the local worthies to dinner, participated in the Sunday offices and returned to Drummoor on Monday. From time to time, Melissa and Monty stayed overnight with Lord and Lady Reggie, or with Lord and Lady Humphrey, and Melissa began to feel as if she belonged to this sprawling Marford family.

  Her friends from the past arrived, Patience with her four children, who wept all over Melissa, and hugged her very tight and then wept some more. Lady Carrbridge looked Alice over with a practised eye and then swept her away to spend the afternoon trying on gowns.

  “Why did you go to Birmingham?” Melissa asked Patience one day.

  “That is where my sister lived,” she replied. “She and her husband have no children of their own and a large house to maintain, so they were glad enough to have my modest jointure to help with the expenses. Between us we had just about enough to live upon, so we managed well enough.”

  “But you are a countess,” Monty said, in his gentle way. “There should have been a dower house or some such.”

  “Oh, the dower house was sold years ago, and there was no money to spare for me or the children. I shall be very thankful for Alice to have her season, though. It was much spoken of when my husband was alive. He always promised that she, at least, would have a proper season, no matter the cost. But Randolph will not do it. Well, he has not the money, poor man. He inherited little but the title, the hall and a mass of debts. No wonder he wanted to keep hold of your allowance, my dear Melissa. And he married very foolishly — a widow, and not a penny to her name, so I heard. It will be down to Cornelius to restore the family’s fortunes. And so you are on good terms with
them? That surprises me.”

  “It would be very bad to have it spread about that I spent the night locked into a bed chamber with a man who was not my husband,” Melissa said. “And on their side, it would be very bad for Cornelius to be had up in court accused of attempted murder. So it is agreed that we will put it behind us. Randolph has written to me in very conciliatory terms.”

  “He just wants to keep in with the Marfords,” Monty said.

  “You are a cynic,” Melissa said, smiling fondly at him.

  “A realist,” he said. “That does not make the approach unwelcome, however. At least now we will not have to decide whether to cut him if we meet in town.”

  “True, and I do not have to worry about my family any more.” She squeezed Patience’s hand as she spoke.

  “There is always something to worry about with families,” Monty said. “You would think that Carrbridge would be happy enough, would you not? He has his fortune restored and is once again one of the richest men in the kingdom, thanks to Merton. Sharp has gone, his little empire returned to its rightful owner, his misappropriated fortune dissipated. His wife — if she is indeed his wife — is behind bars in Northumberland awaiting trial for her crimes. Yet Carrbridge is not happy. He worries about Sharp, and believes he may still be capable of some mischief.”

  “Is he right? I have never known Mr Sharp so I cannot judge.”

  “Sharp is too clever to be vindictive. I am certain he still has money secreted away, and if he is sensible, he will take that and slip away quietly. Somewhere abroad, perhaps, where he is not known and cannot be pursued. That would be the course any man of sense would take, and Sharp was ever quick-witted. He will never be seen again. But Carrbridge frets over him. And then there is Gil.”

  “Is there still no word of him?”

  “Nothing, but he was always so, prone to vanish. He is so distractible. There will be a mill somewhere or a curricle race or some such. All we know is that he has left his camp at Dover, heading for London on the first stage of his journey here, and has not been seen or heard from since. But he will turn up. He always does.”