“Then how do you remove the foul humours from the body, Dr Hay? If you allow such to fester within, the patient cannot possibly improve.”
“I feed the body stronger blood, in order to fight the pestilent blood of the patient. Ox-blood, or red meat, or blood pudding… any of those will do. Even beef tea, if the patient is too weak for anything else.”
“Beef tea!” Father muttered. “What nonsense!”
“A friend told me of a case he had a few years ago of two sisters,” Dr Hay said. “Both succumbed to the same putrid fever, but only one agreed to be bled. The one who was not bled recovered well, but her sister weakened and would have died except that my friend decided to stop all blood-letting. Thereupon she eventually recovered.”
“There are always exceptions,” Father said, “but for almost all cases, removing the internal malaise with cupping or leeches is to be preferred. I myself always insist upon leeches, unless the patient absolutely refuses. It is wilful negligence in any medical man not to do so.”
“Negligence?” Dr Hay said. “That is a strong word to use. There is much we do not understand in the body’s workings, and to my mind it is better to observe and learn and try different treatments, always taking the constitution of the patient into account.”
“A little more wine, gentlemen?” Gil said.
Father tossed his napkin onto the table with a huff of annoyance.
“Or shall we withdraw?” Gil went on smoothly. “There is perhaps no purpose in the ladies withdrawing alone to the other side of the room, but we may still enjoy the port, or brandy if you prefer. And perhaps some cards? Cribbage, Dr Hamilton?”
“Do not look to me for a partner,” Father said gruffly. “I already know your incompetence, Captain Marford.”
“You may try me, if you wish,” said Dr Hay mildly. “And Mr Bridlington is a rare one for cribbage, if that is your game, sir.”
Father stood. “I did not come to this God-forsaken place for entertainment. Look at it!” He waved an arm vaguely about, to encompass the room. “Nakedness even on the ceiling, and the statues wearing nothing but a strip of cloth. Such decadence! It is no wonder these people are nothing but idle rakes and Paphians. Noble? Pah! And their clothes! Look at him,” he cried, pointing at Gil. “Nothing but a dandy, and as for the women, showing everything they possess? It is disgusting. Look what a few days in their company have done to my daughter, who was a chaste and modest girl when she was in my care. I came here to rescue her from degeneracy, but I am too late, far too late. I am ashamed of you, daughter.”
All the anger roiling inside Genista boiled to the surface, and she jumped up too. “And I am ashamed of you, Father. You are impolite to speak so of people who have taken you into their home as a guest, who have offered you nothing but kindness and civility. You have been impolite to Gil, and impolite to Dr Hay, and you have never been polite to me. You are no gentleman, sir!”
He straightened his back, and looked down on her from his greater height. “I suppose you imagine yourself a lady now, do you, daughter? But a fancy title doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t give you the right to pass judgement on your betters. All it does is make you as idle and useless as the rest of them.”
She was shaking like a leaf, so weak she felt she might faint, but she would not back down, she would not! And although she hadn’t seen him move, suddenly Gil was at her side, his arm sliding around her waist and holding her fast in his warm grip.
“Pah!” her father said. “I wish you joy of this evil family, daughter. You will see the corruption in them, in time, but it will be too late to save you.”
And with one withering glance around the shocked company, he stalked out of the room.
There was a roaring in her ears and her knees gave way, but Gil caught her as she fell, scooping her up and striding across the room to lay her gently on the sofa. “A little brandy, Hay, if you would be so good. There, my love, he has gone. You are quite safe now.”
“I beg your pardon…” she whispered.
He smiled and stroked her forehead. “Hush now. Ah, thank you, Hay. Here, Gen, drink a little of this. It will make you feel better.”
She sipped, and the brandy burned its way down her throat, but it did indeed make her feel better. Before long she was able to sit up again, although she made no protest at all about Gil’s arm which was securely around her, so that she could lean back comfortably against him.
“Well, what a disagreeable man!” Miss Hay said. “I am very sorry to say it of your father, Lady Gilbert, but he is not at all the thing, even though he is a physician.”
“He expresses his opinions most forcefully,” Dr Hay said. “What does he have against the nobility, I wonder?”
“There is some family history,” Gil said. “We need not speak of it now, however.”
“But he is wrong, and I will speak of it, if you will not,” Genista said. “He blames the entire nobility for the wickedness of one man. Baron Wetherbourne deceived my sister and abandoned her when she was with child.”
“Good Lord, I know him well,” Gil said. “I had not realised he was the one of whom you spoke.”
“Baron Wetherbourne?” Dr Hay said. “I have seen him, when I attended Lady Melthwaite at Tambray Hall. He is staying there — some distant relative, as I understand it. And he dishonoured your sister, and then abandoned her? And did he acknowledge the child?”
“No, nothing of the sort. They were betrothed, but he changed his mind. He is all that Father says. But it is not right to condemn all nobles on that account. What wrong has Lord Carrbridge ever done, or Lady Carrbridge? Or Gil, for that matter?”
Gil smiled ruefully. “You may think Carrbridge and Lady Carrbridge paragons of virtue if you choose, and I will not quarrel with you on that score. But for myself, your father’s accusations are a truer hit. My brothers would say there is not paper enough to list of all my iniquities over the years. I have been selfish and degenerate and idle — everything your father accuses me of. But the past is gone, over and done with. Nothing can remedy my past sins, or amend the harm I have done to those who trusted me. I may have committed no crimes and broken no laws, but I have given great pain to friends, and to my family too. And to you, Gen. I abandoned you to strangers, and that was a dreadful thing to do to an innocent like you.”
His blue eyes were fixed on her with such intensity that she couldn’t move, could barely breathe. He still had one arm around her, and his free hand held hers tightly, squeezing it with each word. She gazed up at him, mesmerised.
“But a man may change,” he went on. “Whatever wickedness I succumbed to before, I can choose to follow a different path. None of us is defined by one mistake, or even a succession of mistakes. Is it not so, Mr Bridlington?” But the chaplain seemed incapable of speech. “God will judge me by my whole life, not just the early part of it, and if I can do better… I will do better, Gen, I swear it, and I have the best reason in the world for it now, for I have you.”
His intensity swept her away on a tide of overwhelming emotion. Genista turned her face into his coat, and wept.
There was a heavy sigh, then Miss Hay said, “Oh, that was so romantic! You are so lucky, Lady Gilbert.”
Through her tears, Genista wondered. It was a powerful speech, but it was far from a declaration of love. But she was held tight in his arms and, for the moment, that was enough.
~~~~~
Gil summoned the carriage to convey him back to the Mertons’ house, for his leg ached and his head, too. It had been a long day, with the meeting with the lawyers, his afternoon with Gen and the arrival of her father, and then a somewhat fraught dinner. The Mertons were still at table, so he went through to the drawing room to await them. He had not been there long when the housekeeper came to find him.
“Mr Merton begs the favour of your company in the dining room, my lord. He would be obliged if you would take a glass of port with him.”
When he entered the dining room, Mrs Merton rose at onc
e to withdraw, leaving the two men together.
“How did your family dinner go, my lord?” Merton said, pouring port into a glass and sliding it down the table.
“It could have been worse, I suppose,” Gil said, with a rueful laugh. “Not a great deal worse, however. But there was one great triumph — Lady Gilbert dared to defy her father, which I never thought I should see. She told him he was not a gentleman, and I was so inspired by her bravery that I swore to live a life of perfect rectitude from now on. Do you think I shall manage such a feat? It is ambitious when I begin from such a low point.”
Merton laughed. “None of us is perfect, my lord, with the exception of my wife, who is an angel.”
“You come damned close, Merton. You do not gamble or drink to excess or keep a mistress. Even your manner of dress is sober.”
“Every man has his weakness, even if he hides it well,” Merton said. “Mine is money. As the youngest of five boys, there was never much to spare. My schooling was paid for, but that was all. I never had coins in my pockets like so many boys did. But then I met Osborne — Sir Osborne Hardy — and he was positively dripping with money. He was a timid soul, so he used to send me out to buy things for him, and… and I am ashamed to say that I often returned fewer coins to him afterwards than I should have. A florin here, a crown there… it was riches to me, and he never noticed. Fortunately for me, when I left school he offered me a position as his secretary. He intended it as a sinecure, but I was so grateful to have money of my own that I made it my business to repay him a thousand fold for all my thievery over the years. I gradually reduced his expenses and improved his investments until he was a great deal richer than he had started out.”
“As you are, too,” Gil said lightly, waving an arm to encompass the house. “You have done well for a secretary.”
“I have,” Merton said. “But it is all honest, in case you had any doubts. I invested the bulk of my salary, and then Osborne was generous enough to leave me a bequest when he died, enough to enable me to marry. Once I had an income of my own, I never took so much as a penny piece extra. So do not despair, my lord. It is very possible to fall into wickedness and yet to leave it behind. But there has to be change. One cannot live the same life and expect not to fall into the same errors.”
“I do not know how I can change my life,” Gil said. “But I have had my Epiphany, Merton. Or rather, two Epiphanies. I have come close to losing this leg of mine through my own recklessness, and I do not want to, not if it can be avoided, so I am being very careful. And I have had the very good fortune to meet a woman who is everything that is good and estimable and honourable. I am not worthy of her, yet I am determined to be, in time. I want her to be proud to be my wife, but I am not sure I shall ever be able to achieve such an aim. I have been a worthless human being all my life, and it will be a challenge to alter that.”
Merton smiled. “You have never shied away from a challenge, my lord.”
“True. But this one might be beyond me.”
“But worth the effort,” Merton said. “What finer objective could there be for any man than to be deserving of a lady’s regard?”
Gil laughed, and agreed to it. But it would be difficult, all the same.
17: A Grand Ball
There were fewer grand balls at Drummoor than in times past, for Connie liked to do most of her entertaining in London during the season. Two or three times a year, however, the great hall was cleared of extraneous suits of armour and odd items of furniture awaiting a new home, and given over to dancing for a few hours.
Gil tracked down Connie in a side room, giving orders to the flower arrangers.
“Gil! Are you coming tonight?” she said, a large urn in her hands. “I suppose Genista will not wish to.”
“I imagine not, but you may depend upon my attendance. Connie, is Lord Wetherbourne to be here?”
“Aunt Emma’s second cousin? He is invited, certainly, and I am fairly certain I have received an acceptance from him.”
“Then I give you fair warning that I shall do something this evening that will embarrass you. I intend to give him the cut direct.”
“Oh!” She almost dropped the urn in shock. Grabbing Gil’s arm she led him out of the room, away from the interested ears of the servants. “But why? Is it something to do with Genista? Oh, her sister! I remember now. Well, at least you are giving notice of your scandals this time. It will be a scandal, you do realise that? Lord Wetherbourne is received everywhere.”
“Then he should not be,” Gil said firmly. “He is a loose fish, who should not be allowed to mix in good society. I am no paragon of virtue, God knows, but I would never abandon a lady under those circumstances. No gentleman would.”
“And is it quite certain that this happened so? He was betrothed to the elder Miss Hamilton, he took her virtue and then left her ruined?”
Gil nodded.
“Then you must cut him, beyond all question. But must it happen in the great hall?” she said nervously. “Perhaps if it were to happen in one of the card rooms…”
“Which would materially reduce the effect, do you not agree? No, it must be done, Connie, and it must be in as public a place as possible. I accounted him a friend, you know, and I cannot possibly keep up the acquaintance under such circumstances.”
“No. No, I do see that, dear. I wonder if—” She stopped, frowning. “There was a young lady last season, a Miss Hyde, who was supposedly on the brink of a betrothal to Lord Wetherbourne. It never seemed very likely to me, since she had neither connections nor fortune, and one felt that that he was hanging out for a rich wife, but so it was rumoured. And then she disappeared, and I heard she was married very quietly to a cousin not long after. Oh dear! I wonder if Miss Hamilton is not the only unfortunate young lady to fall victim to the baron. How dreadful! But I am very glad you have told me of your plans, Gil, for there is nothing more fatal to a successful event than a surprise.”
~~~~~
Gil spent the afternoon with Genista, playing backgammon and, when they tired of that, listening to her play the spinet. Once or twice, one of Connie’s sisters looked in on them, but finding their company was unneeded, they went away again.
They went for a walk around the upper corridors, and Gil took her to the minstrels’ gallery so that she could see the bustle going on down below, with the wooden floor being polished, potted plants and chairs arranged, and the musicians’ dais being erected.
“They do not play here in the gallery?” she said in surprise.
“For grand dinners they do, for there is no room for them down below, but when they play for dancing, it is better if they can see the dancers. This gallery will be empty tonight. Do you wish to attend the ball?” he said, suddenly anxious, for if she decided she would like to, it would greatly interfere with his plans.
“Oh, no! Not in the least!” she said.
“Do you wish me to keep you company tonight? I can bring you here to watch, if you like.”
“No. You go and dance and enjoy yourself.”
“I shall not dance much, not with this leg,” he said, with a rueful grin. “And… I daresay I shall not enjoy myself much. Someone I dislike will be there, a man I once called a friend.”
“How unpleasant! And you will not be able to avoid him, I suppose.”
“I do not wish to avoid him, for I plan to give him the cut direct. Do you know what that is?”
“It’s when you refuse to acknowledge someone. That’s a very serious matter, isn’t it? He must have done something terrible.”
“He has. It is Lord Wetherbourne.”
She gazed up at him, shocked, and he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I do this for Dionisia,” he said. “And for you.”
~~~~~
Gil dressed with unusual care that evening, appraising his uniform for the smallest deficiency. Normally such attention was due to a lady, but tonight was different. He had never before given the cut direct, or received it, either, which was
something of a surprise considering his past behaviour. But then his own misdemeanours were those expected in his level of society — gambling, pranks, affairs with married women and quarrels with their husbands.
Wetherbourne’s actions were different — a gentleman who compromised a lady’s honour, even inadvertently, was obligated to marry her. One might perhaps play games with the parlour maid, but not with the respectable daughter of a professional man. It was ironic to consider his own situation, married even though both sides were innocent of any wrongdoing, whereas Wetherbourne, who was not innocent in the least, had walked away. And perhaps his cut direct would have no effect and Wetherbourne would sail blithely on in society. But still, it would be noted and talked about and questions would be asked, and Gil was very happy to answer them.
He drove to Drummoor with the Mertons in their carriage, sat in near silence through dinner, and then made his way through to the great hall for the opening of the ball. Carrbridge and Connie stood just inside the door to receive their visitors. The first guests arrived, the musicians struck up and the dancing began. Gil ambled about here and there, talking to acquaintances and trying to keep a smile on his face as he was asked again and again about his sudden marriage.
He saw Dr Hamilton standing a little apart, watching the dancing with a scowl on his face. With his new-found wish to be respectable uppermost in his mind, he made his way across the room to the physician’s side.
“Good evening, Dr Hamilton,” he began.
The physician huffed, muttered, “Popinjays!” and stalked off.
“A cheery soul, your papa-in-law,” said a voice in his ear. Humphrey.
Gil laughed. “He is out of his milieu.”
“Lady Gil safe in her room, is she?”
“I hope so.”
“Ah, here comes your mark,” Humphrey said. Gil was not surprised. Naturally his brothers would know all about it, and perhaps Connie had primed them.
Lord Gilbert (Sons of the Marquess Book 5) Page 16