At the entrance to the great hall, Gil recognised Connie’s maternal uncle, Lord Melthwaite, with a gaggle of his brothers. Beside them, his chest puffed out self-importantly, was Lord Wetherbourne.
Crabbe banged his staff, and intoned, “The Right Honourable the Viscount Melthwaite, the Right Honourable Lord Wetherbourne, Mr and Mrs Gerard Heatherington, Mr and Mrs Herbert Heatherington, Mr Jerome and Lady Annabel Heatherington, Mr Peter Heatherington.”
Gil took up his position, well inside the room, and just in front of the sofas set out for the titled dowagers. Humphrey was still beside him, and Reggie, Gus and Monty materialised out of the throng, forming a solid cluster of Marfords. Lord Melthwaite and his party moved slowly into the room through the crowds.
Uncle Lucius appeared at Gil’s elbow. “Let the fun begin,” he murmured. “Never liked his father, either.”
Step by step, the group drew nearer. Uncle Lucius and Uncle Joshua deftly drew Lord Melthwaite and his brothers aside, and suddenly, as if somehow they knew, the crowds parted and Wetherbourne was staring directly at Gil.
He smirked, and Gil knew exactly what he was thinking. “Gil, my old friend! How are you? I am to wish you joy, I understand.” And he laughed, the insufferable knowing laugh that, in a previous time, Gil would have dealt with using his fists.
Instead, Gil looked Wetherbourne in the eye and then, very slowly, let his gaze drift away. Then, as a shocked silence fell, he turned his back and walked away from him. He did not walk alone, for all four of his brothers were with him, passing the raised quizzing glasses of the dowagers with their heads up, making their way in stately fashion to the far corner of the room, beside the benches for the wallflowers.
Humphrey slapped him on the back. “There, all over now. How about some cards? Or dice?”
“Later, perhaps,” Gil said.
“Oh, you are in so much trouble,” Monty said. “Look.”
From the far side of the room, Carrbridge and Connie could be seen weaving their way through the crowds towards them.
“Connie knew all about it,” Gil murmured.
And indeed she was smiling. They were both smiling. Carrbridge slapped him on the arm, and then, as if that was not enough to display his brotherly approval, put an arm around his shoulders.
“Nicely done, Gil,” he murmured. “Never liked the fellow myself. Only put up with him because he was a friend of yours. Drink? There is some of Grandfather’s brandy in the tapestry room. It must be older than I am.”
“I have no intention of hiding away just yet. First, I am going to dance. Connie, who would you like me to dance with?”
“Are you serious? Well, then, Miss Princeton over there. Pretty little thing from Sagborough, and sharp as a needle. Her father has not a feather to fly with, but I should so much like her to be noticed.”
“Introduce me, then, and I shall limp through the cotillion with her.”
And so Miss Princeton, just seventeen years old and attending her first ever ball, was the unlikely recipient of Gil’s practised charm, as he demonstrated to the whispering onlookers that he had not a care in the world beyond entertaining his partner. He had the amusement of seeing that Wetherbourne was standing somewhat solitary, glowering at everyone who came near, before stalking off in high dudgeon.
After that, since his leg was aching abominably, he let Humphrey steer him to the card tables, where he answered a great many curious questions about Wetherbourne while he won fifty pounds at vingt-et-un, lost a hundred at whist and finally won two hundred at faro. And then, despite an urge to see out the night in the same way, and probably plunge to the tune of a thousand or two, he virtuously scooped up his winnings and took himself off to the supper room. There, at Connie’s behest, he sat with a group of worthies from Sagborough, listening with seeming interest to a long discussion on the merits of some new-fangled agricultural practice.
By this time, he was tiring, and his leg was aching horribly. The Mertons were still dancing energetically, so, after telling them that he would make his own way back to their house, he limped out into the hall to wait for a carriage heading through the village. There was no one about except the two footmen in charge of cloaks and canes, so he retreated into the darkness down the corridor to look for a seat.
He had not gone ten paces when he heard a familiar voice from behind him.
“There you are, Gil! Just the man I want. Where have you been hiding?”
“Evening, Bella. Not hiding at all. Are you following me?”
She gave him an enquiring look. “A little touchy tonight, are we not? But where is your lady wife? Alone in her bed, by all I hear, as she has been since London. Have you bedded her at all, Gil?”
“Really, Bella, that is hardly your concern. Or anyone’s, I should think.”
“But indeed it is my concern, for if your wife is not attending to your needs…” She took his hand and pulled him behind a nearby pillar. “…then who is, I should like to know? And since my husband is not attending to mine—”
“Stop it, Bella!”
“Ooh, I like a man who puts up a bit of a fight,” she murmured, pushing him against the pillar and holding him there with her voluptuous body.
Even though Gil could not but be aware of her womanly charms, resting, as they were, directly against him, yet he was not tempted in the slightest. He took her arms and pushed her away, not roughly but firmly.
“That is all over, Bella. You really are a trollop, you know. Do try for a little decorum when you are among decent people. Could you not have left the chaplain to himself, for one?”
“I gave him a night he will never forget,” she said defiantly.
“True enough. He thinks he is damned for all eternity, poor man. Go back to London, Bella, where you belong, for there is not a shred of virtue in you.”
“You have gone very righteous since you married, Gil Marford, but you have no cause. You can snub Wetherbourne all you like, but that sister of your wife’s was no better than she should be, so I hear, and I daresay it runs in the family. You will find out what your wife is like soon enough.”
He grabbed hold of one wrist and pulled her so close that her nose was an inch from his own. “She is worth ten thousand painted, empty harlots like you, Bella Dryton. You disgust me!”
“Good God, Gil, I do believe you are in love with the chit! Whoever would have thought it?”
He only laughed. “Maybe I am, at that!”
Releasing her abruptly he strode off, forgetting that he was waiting for a carriage. He headed for the main stairs, taking the first few steps two at a time, until his leg screamed in protest. After that, he proceeded more circumspectly. He had no very clear idea where he was going, but his feet found their way without direction to his old room. It was in darkness, so he lit a candle from the lamp in the passageway outside, went in and shut the door.
It smelt fusty and unused, as if the windows had not been opened for a long time, but the bed was made up and there was a fire burning low, as if he was expected. Connie’s doing, he supposed. He lit a couple more candles and then walked around, touching the familiar furnishings. This room had been his since the age of seven, when he had accidentally set the nursery on fire. Candles were devilish dangerous things, especially to a boy who always wanted to know what would happen if… Well, he had found the answer to the question of what would happen if he placed a candle behind velvet curtains. There would be a very pretty pink glow for about five seconds, followed by a whump of flames and a rather spectacular fire. After that, he had moved to this room, and been forbidden access to all naked flames for several years.
He set the candles down on his small writing desk. This was where he had composed crude acrostics when confined to his room for some misdemeanour or other. It was also where he had written his first very bad love poem, and penned secret missives to certain married women, using a code so that their husbands would be unsuspicious if the letters were intercepted.
He was almost ligh
t-headed with relief. His meeting with Wetherbourne had gone better than he had dared to hope, he had resisted the charms of both Bella and the gaming tables, and he had even done his duty socially. He had been extraordinarily well behaved. His heart quailed at the prospect of maintaining this level of respectability indefinitely, but for one night he had done well.
Laughing for sheer joy, he paced up and down the room, and for an instant considered going to Genista’s room to tell her all about his triumph. He dismissed the idea almost at once. It was gone midnight, and she would surely be asleep long since. A vision rose unbidden in his mind of her head on the pillow, her glorious hair spread out behind her and he was assailed by a longing so profound he was almost swept off his feet. Maybe he truly was in love with her. Was it love, this burning need for her? Not just the physical need to touch her and kiss her and hold her in his arms, but the need for her approval. More than anything in the world, he wanted her to esteem and respect him. Perhaps, if he behaved himself, she would even like him?
But love? He did not dare to hope for that.
Tossing aside all clothes except his shirt, he climbed into the familiar bed and was asleep within moments.
18: An Evening At Silsby Vale House
The Drummoor guests and most of the family began to depart for London, but Gil, for once, was not going with them. He was to stay quietly in Yorkshire to allow his leg to heal fully. Humphrey was also staying in the north, preparing to open his gaming house in York and awaiting Lady Humphrey’s confinement. Monty had his parish to nurture, and Merton, rather harassed, was also to stay behind.
“I hope to take Mrs Merton to London for a few weeks later in the season,” he told Gil, “but there is too much to do just now, what with Lady Day falling so close to Easter this year, and there have been so many changes to the tenancies… It would be better if we had a proper land agent again. I must be the only person here who actually misses Mr Sharp.”
“We are still better off without him, I should say,” Gil said, amused. “How much did he steal from Carrbridge over the years?”
“It must be two hundred thousand pounds, and a substantial amount of it not recovered,” Merton said gloomily. “But at least he dealt with the tenants and properties, after a fashion. Now that he is gone, it all falls to me, and, frankly, it is too big a job. There is a property of his lordship’s whose tenants reported a leaky roof. I paid a man fifty pounds to fix it, and now the roof is leaking again. It needs me to go over there and look at it, and supervise the work, but I cannot spare the time.”
“You are more of a desk man anyway, I should have said.”
“True enough. Clambering about on roofs is not my strong suit. I must see about getting another agent, I suppose — when I have time.”
Gil and Genista left Drummoor in an ancient travelling coach, their boxes piles up at the back, and, rather precariously balanced, and copiously wrapped in sacking, the spinet. Gil sat decorously beside Genista in the coach, with Holland opposite, while Davy rode behind, leading Gil’s horse. He wondered how long it would be before he dared risk riding again.
“That is a new pelisse, I think,” he said to Genista.
She flushed. “It is. You told me to buy material in London, if you remember. This is one of the lengths I bought.” Her voice was anxious and she gazed at him as if expecting a chastisement.
“Did you make it yourself? You are clever with a needle,” he said. “It suits you very well.” And there was no lie to the compliment, for the ruby colour enhanced her complexion. She had trimmed a bonnet to match, he noticed. It was all rather plain by ton standards, but for Genista it was as radical as drinking red wine and eating beef.
This time she blushed with pleasure. “Holland helped me with the trimming. Frog… something.”
“Frogging, my lady,” Holland said. “Very fashionable in London.”
“And in the army,” Gil said with a smile. “Ah, we are just coming into Sagborough now. We are going to stop here for an hour or so for a spot of shopping,” he said.
“Shall we wait in the coach for you?” Genista said.
“No, for it will be you doing the shopping. And Holland, of course.” He pulled a small velvet bag from a pocket. “I had some luck at the card tables, so you may buy yourself whatever takes your fancy. There is a jeweller’s shop in Sagborough, and a milliner, and a haberdasher. Oh, and a boot-maker. The circulating library sells a great many trinkets that might catch your eye. Holland will advise you. There is one hundred and fifty pounds there.”
“Oh!” Her mouth went round in surprise. “How much may I spend?”
“Well, all of it, if you wish,” he said, smiling. “This is by way of a marriage gift. You will have your regular allowance just as soon as I can arrange it.”
“Allowance…” she said faintly.
“I am not sure quite how much I can afford, but we can start with two hundred a year and see how you manage on that.”
“Two hundred a year! Why, that’s almost half of Father’s income! I can’t possibly spend so much on clothes and… and trinkets.”
“You do not need to spend it all. You can send some of it to your father, if you wish. Or to your sister, perhaps.”
“Oh, yes! I should like to do that! Even a pound or two would make all the difference to her. Thank you, Gil!”
And she smiled at him so warmly that his heart twisted painfully. If only Holland were not there, watching them with interested eyes. He remembered their first carriage ride, just after they had married, when he had swept her into his arms and kissed her for his own amusement, careless of her wishes or feelings on the matter. And now, when he desperately wanted to share a kiss, a gentle, tender kiss, he dared not touch her in case her head dropped and she curled up into a hedgehog-like ball of fear again.
So he answered her smile with one of his own, and tried to enter into her happiness. But he felt lost and rather alone. It reminded him of when his mother had died, and he had realised that something he had never greatly valued as he should had been taken from him, leaving him bereft.
Sagborough was a success. Gil lounged in a parlour in the inn, drinking coffee and writing a letter to Colonel Jefferson to tell him of his progress and his new direction. Then he ordered a cold collation to be prepared, and settled down to await his wife’s return.
It was a little more than an hour, but when she came, she had a smile of such delight on her face, and a great mountain of small packages in Holland’s arms, that he was thrilled with the effectiveness of his little scheme.
“I spent twenty pounds!” she confided, in hushed tones. “Father would think me so wicked!”
“Your father spends what is appropriate for his station in life, and you must do the same,” Gil said.
“That’s what Holland has been saying to me,” she said. “I should like to send some money to Di. How may I do that?”
So he explained about putting a coin under the seal, or, if she wished to send as much as five pounds, the note should be cut in half and sent in two separate letters. Then she wrote a letter to her sister, and he helped her to seal it with a guinea concealed, and himself took it to the post office across the road while the two ladies enjoyed the cold collation. After that, they drove on to Humphrey’s house in great contentment.
Silsby Vale House was as different from Drummoor as it was possible to be. It was modestly sized, a pretty house surrounded by neat gardens, the rooms filled with old-fashioned furniture that Lady Humphrey confessed she had not quite got round to replacing.
“We have concentrated on the nursery rather,” she said with a laugh. “And frankly, so long as there are beds and chairs and tables enough, I have no great interest in furnishings. We have added a couple of card tables, but that is about the extent of it. Now this is the morning room, where your spinet will fit very well, Genista. And this is Maria, Mrs Cecil Andrews, my companion. She is a widow of many years’ standing.”
Maria was a well-rounded lady of mi
ddle years, who appraised Gil with such a knowing eye that he guessed that she had not suffered a lonely widowhood. He thought it an odd arrangement, but then Lady Humphrey was herself an oddity, having spent much of her life in India, where her father had made his fortune. But she and Humphrey seemed well-matched.
Upstairs, they were shown to a light, pleasant bedroom overlooking a lawn surrounded by banks of towering shrubs. Leaving Holland and Genista excitedly unwrapping packages, Lady Humphrey showed Gil through another door.
“That was a happy thought, to take her shopping. Now this is the dressing room. You will not mind sharing a room, will you? I have no other room suitable just now, and we are not accustomed to visitors.”
The dressing room was all dark wood panels, with a couple of wardrobes and a dresser, a tall looking glass and not much else.
“Can you have a bed put in here?” he said.
She gave him a searching look, but answered, “Of course. I shall give the orders. Tea in the drawing room in half an hour.”
The rest of the day passed off pleasantly. Lady Humphrey was not a person to stand on ceremony, and Mrs Andrews was an amiable and maternal creature who took Genista under her wing, so the three ladies fell into instant friendship, disappearing for a long spell to some upper fastness currently under preparation for the coming baby.
Humphrey and Gil, meanwhile, settled down to play piquet for fish. Gil knew Humphrey’s skill with the cards well enough not to waste good coin on a game.
“She is a pleasant little thing, Lady Gil,” Humphrey said, as he expertly shuffled the cards. “She will suit you very well, I think. It is surprising how these matters turn out for the best. I thought I was destined for some vacuous society lady, but I ended up with Hortensia, and I could not be happier about it.”
“One assumes one will end up with a vacuous society lady because one never meets any other type, except by accident,” Gil said, taking the dealt cards.
Lord Gilbert (Sons of the Marquess Book 5) Page 17