Gil’s anger at his brother was not far below the surface, but luckily he recognised the bantering tone and answered just as lightly. “Do you know, I find I do not much care any more whether Carrbridge approves or not.”
“Good for you!” Lady Humphrey said, laughing. “I confess, I think he has been too hard on you. It is not good for brothers to quarrel.”
“I hate being at outs with him, but undoubtedly he is right, for my behaviour has been abominable. I do not want to cross him, but I should very much like to see my wife, if she is willing.”
“Shall we find out? Genista! Here is Lord Gilbert to see you.”
And there was her face peeping round from some inner fastness. She was so pale, her eyes huge and wary, that he softened at once, all his residual anger against Carrbridge draining away. Today she wore one of her old gowns that he recognised from Lavender Cottage, dark and plain, yet it enhanced her ethereal beauty. It seemed appropriate, too, if they were to play backgammon, just as they had done when he was ill and in her care.
He rattled the box. “I brought a backgammon set, if you would like to play a little.”
“With you?”
“Certainly with me. If you wish to. But if you are busy—”
“Oh, no, no. Just… sewing. Thank you! I didn’t expect…” She trailed off, leaving him wondering what it was that she did not expect. To see him again so soon? “That would be pleasant. Thank you.”
Lady Humphrey found a small table to take the playing board, and directed Gil to carry it to a corner where spring sunshine flooded through the latticed windows, and a bowl of flowers nearby gave off a pleasant perfume. He set a pair of chairs either side of the table.
“There!” Lady Humphrey said, as Genista began to lay out the pieces. “You will not miss me for an hour or so, will you? I should like to find Humphrey and hear all about this meeting with the lawyers.”
“Of course. Do go,” Genista said. Her voice was not much more than a whisper.
“Just scream if Lord Gilbert misbehaves, and one of the footmen will rescue you.”
“Oh, I am sure he would not—”
Lady Humphrey laughed. “I am teasing you, Genista. You are perfectly safe with Lord Gilbert. He is your husband, after all.” And so saying, she whisked out of the room.
“I am gratified that someone trusts you to me, at any event,” Gil said lightly, throwing his dice. “A six and a three… There. Your turn.”
Her head had dropped, and for several moves she said nothing, throwing and moving without even looking at him. He watched her, his heart aching for this strange girl-woman who was his wife and yet was an utter mystery to him. How could he reach her? Dare he ask her directly, or was it better to pretend everything was normal? He had not the least idea.
But then she threw a double. Her head shot up, her eyes — those wonderful deep blue eyes — gazing at him, their expression unreadable. He had to guess her meaning.
“Do you want to ask a question?” A quick nod. “Go ahead then.” She licked her lips, took a breath, released it. Still she gazed at him. “Genista, you may ask me anything at all, just as you did at Lavender Cottage.”
“Are you angry with me?” she said quickly.
“Angry? With you? Not in the slightest. Whatever made you think I might be?” The head dropped again, two spots of pink on her cheeks. “Because I went off to Essex and left you behind, is that it?”
The head lifted again. “Oh no! No, that was perfectly understandable. I know I’m very boring to be with, so when something more exciting offered—”
“You are not boring at all,” he said, puzzled.
“Oh.” For the first time, she looked at him fully. “But…?” She trailed off, looking confused.
“I went to Essex because I was drunk and restless and foolish. If I was bored at all, it was with London and Bella and the crowd she runs with. And they taunted me, you know.”
“Because of me?”
“No. Well, a little, but that never bothered me much. Because of my leg. They were talking about this mill in Essex and someone — and I cannot even remember who it was, now — said, ‘You will not be up to it, Gil, not with your bad leg.’ So of course I was wild to go, just to show them that I was perfectly well able to. I could never resist a challenge. Ever since my first day at Eton, when some insufferable older boy, a great tall fellow — a marquess, I think — looked me up and down in a supercilious way and said, ‘Ah, the Marford runt.’”
“How horrid!” she said.
“Boys are rather horrid when they get together, I think. That is the trouble with being the youngest, and small for my age, too. Too many comparisons. Carrbridge got through school pretty lightly, being an earl by then, and Reggie was too polite even to notice insults. Humphrey and Gus were big, bruising fellows, so no one tangled with them. As for Monty — he is too good-natured for this world, so he always believed the best of everyone. He was just taken advantage of. But I… I did not like being put down, so I learnt to fight, and to earn the respect of my fellows by being outrageous, and always rising to the challenge. But it is a foolish way of going on, as I discovered in Essex. My leg gave me trouble almost from the start, and then I wished I had stayed with you, because you make me feel better. And I never even took you to the theatre.”
“Oh, that does not matter.”
“But it does. I promised you,” he said simply. “I am supposed to be a gentleman, and a gentleman always keeps his word, especially to a lady.”
“But I’m not a lady!” she said, smiling at him, and something inside him twisted and melted and warmed his heart. If only she would always smile at him in that way! But he had no idea how to make that happen.
“Yes, you are!” he said fiercely, wishing that he dared to kiss her, or just take her hand, but he was terrified of bringing back the fearful Genista with the lowered head. She blushed, and he went on quickly, “So if it was not the going to Essex, what was it that made you think I would be angry with you?”
“You didn’t come to see me,” she said, tipping her head to one side, eyes wide, so that his heart jumped again. She was so innocent and defenceless, and he so badly wanted to protect her from the harshness of the world, as he should have done right from the start. “When you arrived here. And I thought… you were angry… or ashamed of me… because I ran away.”
“You ran away?”
“The first evening I was here. So many people! I have never in my life—! And all the footmen… and the ladies all dressed up, and the gentlemen too… everyone so grand and so many of them… I felt I was suffocating. So I ran away and I got lost and… and I was upset.”
“Oh, Gen, I had no idea! I… what is it?”
She giggled, hand over her mouth. “You called me Gen.”
“I beg your pardon, I—”
“No, no! It is quite all right. My sisters call me that. I like it. Father never calls me anything but ‘Daughter’. He never calls me by name,” she ended sadly.
“Gen…” And this time he reached across the table and took her hand, for he could not resist. “Will you come for a walk with me?”
The fearful look returned instantly. “Where to? Will there be other people?”
“No, no. Just around the upper corridors. I want to show you something.”
With a quick nod, she rose and followed him to the door. He wondered for an instant what Carrbridge would say if he knew of the venture, but then dismissed it from his mind. He was not to be kept from his wife by Carrbridge or anyone else. So long as she were willing, what right had Carrbridge to object? And he was determined to deal gently with her. Indeed, he could do no other, for all the charms and subtle flirtations he normally used with a lady were impotent against Genista. She had no more idea how to flirt than a child, and she was too straightforward and honest for him to wish to spin webs around her. There was something about her innocence that he responded to in the same open way. He wanted to sit beside her and pour out his heart to he
r, knowing that she would listen gravely, those big eyes fixed on his. She was so different from any other woman he had known, and yet she was utterly beguiling. She made his head spin.
He showed her first the secret gallery above the chapel, where anyone who was sick could still attend the services without appearing in public. Then, through the minstrels’ gallery above the great hall, empty and echoing today.
“There will be a ball here in two days’ time,” he said. “The final grand event before everyone goes down to London for the season.”
“Will you go to London?”
“Only if you wish to go,” he said, smiling and tucking her arm into his. “But if you do not, we shall stay here. Or not necessarily here at Drummoor. We could go and annoy Monty, if we wish, or Humphrey. Or we could take a wedding tour, if you like the idea. Whatever would please you. Now down there is the kitchen court. There were chickens there when I was little, but one of the aunts complained about the cockerel waking the whole house at dawn, so they were banished to the gamekeeper’s garden. Let us go into the long gallery. This way.”
She walked meekly beside him, but her head was down again.
“Gen, the only reason I did not come to see you as soon as I arrived was because my brother refused me.”
Her head shot up. “Lord Carrbridge? He wouldn’t let you see me?”
“Exactly so. He would not even let me into the house. Banished me. I am living in exile with Mr Merton, the secretary, who luckily has a house in the village. Last night was the first time I was even allowed to cross the threshold.”
“Oh!” She stopped abruptly, turning to face him. “You wanted to? See me, I mean?”
“Well, of course! But Carrbridge was adamant. We had the most appalling row about it in the entrance hall. I am astonished you did not hear us yelling at each other.”
“I knew nothing of it. The ladies… they’re so… so protective, but I wish I’d known. Why was he so angry with you?”
“Because I had neglected you shamefully, and abandoned you to Bella, who is not an appropriate companion for you. He was quite right to berate me, you know, so you must not look so… outraged.”
“I beg your pardon,” she said, in subdued tones, and her head dipped down again.
“I intended no criticism,” he said, stroking her hand, where it still rested trustingly on his arm. “Shall we go on? The long gallery is just around this corner.”
Their feet echoed hollowly as they entered the gallery, pools of sunshine casting golden rectangles on the wooden floor. A few chairs scattered about and some urns on plinths were the only furnishings.
“Oh, I remember this place,” she said, gazing around her at the line of portraits stretching away into the distance. “This was where I ended up, when I ran away. I was trying to find my room, but I got horribly lost.”
“Everyone does,” he said lightly. “A veritable rabbit warren, Drummoor. It used to be just the great hall and the chapel court and stable court, and that part of the house is big enough, but it got extended here, there and everywhere. This is the new part, being not much more than a hundred and fifty years old. Now this fine fellow is the first Earl of Deveron. Not that it was painted in his day, of course. Not sure there even were portraits in those days. There were barons before that — Baron Wolfstone — but the viscountcy came at the same time as the earldom. Viscount Mishcombe. The second earl, the third — that one is so bad it might be a true portrait. They could not get the perspective right in those days. The fourth… and the fifth is missing. Bit of a black sheep, the fifth earl. Everyone pretends he did not exist. And that one is the sixth earl, and the first Marquess of Carrbridge. That was painted in 1647. You can see the Marford nose very clearly there. The second marquess… and the third… and the fourth, the first Francis. After that, the eldest son was always Francis. Even the younger sons, sometimes, followed the tradition and named the first son Francis, just in case they came to inherit. Are you tired? Forgive me, I am boring you with family history.”
“Oh no, it is fascinating! To see the images of your forefathers in this way — it is wonderful! Mama had a cameo of her mother, which she wore for special occasions, but nothing like this. Your leg is hurting you, I think.”
“A little. Shall we sit down for a while?” He led her to the window seat opposite the portrait of the eighth marquess, and she studied it fixedly.
“That is your father, then? He has a very strong face, doesn’t he? Very stern looking. And the nose is quite distinctive. You have it too.”
He laughed, then winced as he stretched out his aching leg. “We all do, except Reggie. Even the bastards have it. But you see before you all the weight of Marford family history. Sometimes it presses down on me dreadfully, and I feel I should like to have been plain Mr Smith of Nowhere-in-Particular. And sometimes — quite often, truth be told — I run away too, when the drawing room is overfull of elderly aunts and uncles and cousins, and all of them eyeing me disapprovingly.”
“Do you really run away?” Those big eyes turned to him, with a shy smile.
“Indeed I do. I have nothing against Connie, but she will stuff the place to the roof, and it gets a bit much sometimes. But now I have you, so we can run away together.”
For a while they lapsed into silence, as she gazed at the portraits, and he gazed at her. She wore no matron’s cap yet, so her hair was coiled smoothly on top of her head, just as it had been in Kent. The afternoon light caught it and lit it up with the colours of fire — gold and orange and red. It was better at night, when the flickering candlelight brought her whole head to shimmering life, but it still enchanted him. He wished he could reach out and stroke it, but he was terrified of driving her back to timidity. How ironic that he, who had always prided himself on his ability to win over any woman he set his mind to, found himself incapable of charming his own wife. And the reason hit him with the force of a thunderbolt — it was because she mattered to him, in a way that none of his many lovers and mistresses ever had. He cared about her. Perhaps he was even half way to being in love with her.
He smiled at the thought, and immediately her attention was caught. “I… I beg your pardon, my lord.”
“Now, what is that about? Why should you beg my pardon?”
“You’re staring at me, so I thought…” The eyes dropped, and her cheeks reddened.
A thousand frivolous answers rose to his lips, but she deserved his honesty. “I am looking at you because you are beautiful.”
Her lips parted in astonishment, and the urge to kiss them, to sweep her into his arms, was so overwhelming that he shifted restlessly. She flushed even more, but before she could answer him, a commotion was heard from somewhere below them. Even as they strained to listen, one irate voice rose above the hubbub.
“Where is my daughter? I want to see my daughter, right now!”
“Father,” she whispered, her face chalk-white. “He is here.”
15: A Visitor
Genista jumped up, panic threatening to overwhelm her. “What am I to do? What does he want? Gil, what should I do?”
He stood too, and she caught the slight wince. Poor Gil! His leg was still bothering him. She should look at it… but no, he had Dr Hay to attend to him now. He didn’t need her help any more.
“Do you want to see him? You can go back to your room if you want, and let me deal with him.”
The voice floated up the stairs. “Certainly not! I shall not stir until I have seen my daughter, sir!”
“Perhaps it would be better for me to see him, but…” She trembled from head to toe at the prospect. As if it helped, him coming all this way to find her! What could he mean by it? Such a foolish thing, for he had no claim on her now. And yet… there he was, somewhere down below, shouting at the servants. “I don’t know what he wants of me, but I must see him, I think.”
“Just remember that he cannot make you do anything you do not wish to do, not any more. He has no power over you, and there is nothing to be a
fraid of. I will protect you.”
“You will not let him take me away?”
“Absolutely not! He cannot do that, and he will have me to deal with if he tries it. Shall we go down?”
He sounded so fierce! Could he really protect her, even from Father? It was hard to believe. He had tried to stand up to Father before, but that hadn’t worked. He offered her his arm, but still she hesitated.
“Gen, you are in my care now. You are my wife, and I will not allow anyone to hurt or distress you. If you want your father thrown out of the house, then out he will go.”
Her eyes widened. “You could do that?”
“Of course. At least — it would be more dignified to get the footmen to throw him out, but I shall haul him outside myself if it pleases you.”
She giggled nervously, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Gen, do you trust me?”
“Oh yes!”
“Then let us go downstairs and talk to your father.”
She nodded, resting her hand gently on the proffered arm. There were stairs through an archway, and they descended slowly, as the shouting from below grew closer. Then there was a corridor, with windows on one side overlooking a courtyard with a fountain in it, and they emerged into the entrance hall at the foot of the main stairs.
Quite a crowd had gathered — the butler and a gaggle of footmen to one side, awaiting orders, and little clusters of people, the women whispering behind their fans, the men with forbidding faces, one or two remonstrating with the cause of the trouble. Father. Red-faced, shouting, in the centre of the hall.
“Where is she? I want to see my daughter! Don’t think you can hide her from me!”
Genista shook from head to toe, hanging her head, but Gil rested his hand over hers, holding her firmly to him.
“Good afternoon, Dr Hamilton. What an unexpected pleasure to see you here,” he said calmly.
The hubbub died away.
“You!” Father said, turning to Gil. Then he spotted Genista. “Daughter! There you are. I was worried about you when I received no letter. Hurry now, go and pack your things. I have a post chaise waiting.”
Lord Gilbert (Sons of the Marquess Book 5) Page 14