“It is the same for you, Jonathan. You have been the Earl of Beaumont for three years; surely your thoughts turn to the idea of an heir now and again. After all, you have no brother as I do not. I must admit, I think of it more and more and the idea of the Scorton estate going to one of my cousins irks me greatly.”
“Yes, of course, I have the same concerns as you, Clarence. But I would like to think that you are not marrying for that alone, because of responsibility. No, I do not believe it.” Jonathan planted both feet on the floor and sat forward in the armchair. “You have spent far too many days up in Scotland, and gladly so far as I can see, for this to be a simple case of responsibility. And yet you have told me very little about Miss Meredith Mulholland.”
“Well, a fellow gets bored of listening to his friends talk about ladies.” Clarence said with amusing diversion.
“That has not stopped you in the past, Clarence,” Jonathan said and roared with laughter. “In fact, I have heard more tales of ladies from you than I have heard from any man.”
“Yes, but they were very different sorts of ladies, were they not?” Clarence shrugged his shoulders and let his eyes dart to the side, a mannerism that had been his since childhood.
It had always given his roguish nature a sort of affability that made his behavior vastly more forgivable. Not that he had done anything that truly needed forgiveness, he was simply a young man of title and privilege enjoying as much of his life as possible before the responsibility took hold.
Still, he had never previously been shy in recounting the details, so Jonathan could only imagine that he was actually in love with Miss Meredith Mulholland.
“Yes, I suppose I ought to leave off teasing you and simply let you give me the details properly.”
“But what details?”
“For heaven’s sake, you have not even told me how the two of you met. Even now, I do not know what you were doing up in Stirling that you encountered this wonderful creature in the first place.”
“Oh, I was doing no more than accepting an invitation that was loosely made to me at a garden party last year. Sir Francis Martin of Stirling was visiting an old friend here in Oxfordshire and our paths crossed. I got along rather well with the man and so accepted his invitation when he made it. Believe it or not, I had not visited Scotland prior to the invitation and I daresay that was what inspired me to accept it.”
“I do not think I have heard of St Francis Martin.” Jonathan shrugged. “But then I have barely visited Scotland myself more than a handful of times, and never Stirling, not even to see the famed Castle.”
“I must admit, I quite liked the place.” Clarence went on. “Stirling itself is not as quiet as you might think.”
“And is that where you met Miss Mulholland?”
“Yes, I met her in a little theatre. I went out for the evening alone and Miss Mulholland and her companion took pity on me.”
“You do enjoy a good theatrical. Who could have known that it would be the very place for meeting one’s future bride?” Jonathan chuckled again.
“Meredith enjoys it too. I suppose that was the beginning of things, Jonathan. Shared interests and what have you.”
“I believe such things are conducive to a happy marriage. At least that was what my father used to tell me.” He laughed. “I suppose it was the benefit of years of experience married to a woman with whom he had not one thing in common.”
“Well, I think we should both take the dear old Earl’s advice, Jonathan. He was always a very wise man, was he not?”
“Indeed, he was.” Jonathan nodded, reminded again of how much he missed his father even after three long years had passed. “So, you must have liked her greatly from the beginning to inspire you to keep returning to Scotland to see her again. Tell me, is she very beautiful?”
“She is beautiful, it is true.” Clarence nodded. “But she is also very likable. She has a very steady character and many interests. Yes, I suppose that is the truth of it; I like her. I like her very much indeed.”
“And does she not mind leaving Scotland for a county in England she has never visited before in her life? It must be an awful wrench for a young woman to leave her friends behind.” Jonathan smiled sadly. “Although without family there, I suppose there is not such a great tie for her.”
“Yes, having no family is a very sad thing for her, but one which frees her a little. And as for friends, there are none in particular who would give her pause for thought when thinking of leaving. Of course, she is bringing her companion with her.”
“The same companion who was with her at the theatre when you first met?”
“Yes, she is a pleasant enough woman but has been something of an obstruction to romance. She watches her mistress like a hawk, as if it is her sole duty in this world to keep her safe from evil Dukes with dastardly intentions.”
“Then she is a very clever companion, for she had the mark of you in that first meeting.” Jonathan laughed and Clarence joined him.
“Yes, I daresay.” Clarence was highly amused.
“So, who is this companion? A cousin? A childhood friend?”
“Her name is Mary Morehead and she is a companion of some years standing. A paid companion, I suppose. I believe that Meredith’s father first employed the woman to keep his daughter company when he realized that his own health was failing. Although he was able to provide well for his daughter, he knew that he would be leaving her all alone.”
“Terribly sad.” Jonathan said nodded.
“Yes, the sadness kept her to the house for some years, I believe. She was very young to have no living relative and Mary Morehead’s influence must have been very welcome in its own way.”
“Her influence does not sound quite as welcome to you, Clarence.”
“I am just complaining, and needlessly. No, Mary Morehead is a fixture, one I cannot be rid of, if only for Meredith’s sake. She is very attached to the woman, you see, and I do not think that she would let go of her easily.”
“So, Mary Morehead will be following her down to Oxfordshire then?”
“Yes.” Clarence said and gave such a long drawn-out and resigned sigh that Jonathan was laughing again.
Clarence had a tendency to exaggerate such things, but it was always to amuse. He had a very fine sense of humor, and Jonathan could hardly count the number of times they had been rendered almost insensible with laughter.
Jonathan made himself comfortable in his seat once more and looked across the immense drawing-room that was almost as familiar to him as his own. He had been a regular visitor to Scorton Hall for many years, as Clarence had been a regular visitor to Beaumont Hall. They had featured in the lives of each other’s families until they had become as a spare child in each home. Holidays from Eton had been spent almost entirely together, two energetic boys careening enthusiastically about the corridors of the great homes that were one day to be theirs.
“Well, I hope Miss Mulholland is as pleased with Oxfordshire as she is with you. When is she to arrive? Tonight?”
“No, tomorrow morning, hopefully. Meredith and Mary set off some days ago as they were planning to stop here and there en route to have a look at the English countryside. Neither lady has spent much time in England, barring an excursion or two over the border and into the north.”
“Will that not be tiring for her? To travel all that way and then prepare herself for a dinner with your friends? How many? Ten? Twelve?”
“Yes, thereabout.” Clarence nodded. “But she has something of a sturdy nature for all that she is quiet. She has a robust constitution too, despite being as pale and fragile-looking as a bird.” He was clearly proud of his bride-to-be.
“Then you truly are marrying well.” Jonathan drained his glass and rose to his feet to pour them both another. He reached out to take Clarence’s glass as he made his way to the drinks cabinet. “Especially since you will now have property in Scotland to add to your already great list. What will you do with it? Farm it out f
or rent or keep it as a bolt-hole for you? A home for holidays and such the like?”
“Neither, Meredith is determined to sell it all.”
“Really?” Jonathan said and was truly surprised; good property was worth holding onto, at least long enough to assess its true worth.
“Yes, she was quite determined. A new life and what have you, I suppose. The poor thing has known a lot of sadness in that house and I truly think that the sale of the estate her father left her is something of a catharsis for her.”
“And it is a fine estate?”
“Yes, very fine indeed. As I said, her father left her well provided for. As Meredith was his only living child, she inherited the lot.”
“It sounds like a brave decision on her part, I must admit.”
“Very brave, for the sale is already underway.”
“She has a buyer before she has even seen Oxfordshire with her own eyes?”
“It appears she trusts me well enough to rely upon my description of things.” Clarence shrugged self-deprecatingly. “And as fine as her father’s estate was, I am bound to say that it was nowhere near as fine as Scorton Hall. There will be much here to keep her entertained, I’m sure. And I daresay that Meredith will take to the towns of Oxfordshire very well, especially when she realizes how well-off we are for theatres and coffeehouses.”
“I must admit, I do feel for her and the day she has ahead of her tomorrow. She has already left her home for the last time now, I suppose?”
“Yes, her personal belongings have been sent on ahead, but the furniture is going with the house, as are the horses and the carriage. Everything is to go.”
“How is she to get here?”
“The ladies are traveling post-chaise. Really, Meredith is quite a capable woman. I suppose it comes from losing one’s family so early in life.”
“Yes, I daresay.”
Jonathan had begun to warm to Meredith Mulholland, the woman he had previously and somewhat irrationally blamed for the end of an era. Still, it was not as if Jonathan was to lose his friend forever, that was ridiculous. It was hardly a loss at all when he thought of all that Clarence’s bride-to-be had lost in her life. Family, stability, and now friends and home. Everything that had been hers, everything she had known, was to be dissolved into the finest estate in all of Oxfordshire.
Feeling somewhat melancholy, Jonathan tried to imagine how the poor woman would feel. Her world was to be so different now, so far away from her old home. How afraid she must be, making that long journey from Scotland to begin a new life. She must be so sad, however cathartic it was to be selling the family estate, to walk away from the place which must surely hold her memories.
“Goodness, you look rather maudlin. Too much brandy?” Clarence said teasingly.
“After two glasses, I think not.” Jonathan fought back.
“Good, because I shall need you to be on good form and in good spirits to help me entertain my guests over the next few days. I do hope you are up to the task, bearing in mind that Colonel Wentworth forms part of our party?”
“I will do what I can.” Jonathan said and let out a great sigh.
Chapter Three
“Thank heavens the weather is so fine.” Lady Barton said in a curiously loud whisper. “Although warm weather brings its own agitations.”
“Agitations?” Felicia said, moving closer to her aunt so that she might encourage a quieter tone.
“Yes, flies and wasps and what have you.” Lady Barton swatted away an imaginary wasp. “And bumblebees too. They are not as charming as they first appear to be.”
“They are charming enough if left alone, Aunt.” Felicia smiled; her aunt was often unintentionally amusing.
“What do you think of Scorton, then?” Lady Barton had already moved on.
“Oh, it is beautiful. And you were right about the marble statues in the entrance hall. Breathtaking.”
“I am always right.” Lady Barton said with a glint in her dark, bead-like eyes. “Wait until you see the ballroom.” She hissed victoriously.
“Our chambers are charming, are they not? And so large!” Felicia who, as an Earl’s daughter, already knew a certain amount of fine surroundings and good privileges, had been overawed by the Duke of Scorton’s immense estate.
The Hall itself was the most impressive part, being several times the size of Davenport Hall. She could not help but compare as she went; entrance hall, drawing room, staircase. Still, she did not compare either favorably or unfavorably for she was not an envious sort of young woman. Felicia could admire all the Duke of Scorton had without coveting it for herself.
They reached Scorton Hall very early; only the Colonel had arrived before them. Having been shown to their rooms, Felicia was relieved to discover she had been placed in a chamber next to her aunt; if she could not sleep, she would be able to go into Lady Barton’s chamber and talk herself into exhaustion.
“Yes, very large. But I must say, in the years since I have been in the Dower House, I have come to value smaller spaces. I find I feel very unsettled in a large room now, for sleeping and sitting, I mean. It seems like a terrible waste.”
“Unless it is a ballroom?”
“Quite so. A ballroom has a purpose beyond sitting or sleeping. And the ballroom here is perfect for inviting as much of Oxfordshire as will fit through the door. Plenty of room for dancing too; it is the very thing, my dear.” Lady Barton smiled a little wistfully across the immaculate lawn as if she could see her youthful self, dancing with her handsome husband.
Felicia knew her aunt had adored dancing in her younger days and she often claimed that she and the late Earl of Barton had never been happier than when they were enjoying the pastime.
Deciding to give her aunt a moment of wonderful reverie, Felicia looked around the terrace. The grounds of Scorton Hall were truly enormous, but the terrace was neatly corralled by low stone walls and box hedging, not to mention beautiful camellias and rose bushes. It was almost private, despite the fact it was raised up and one could peer down upon immense stretches of beautiful, immaculate lawns.
It was such a warm day that the rose petals gave off a strong fragrance, rich and sweet. Felicia breathed it in, finding such a sense of well-being and calm that she could have remained there in silence all day.
The only problem was that silence seemed to be hard to come by, for Lady Harker and Mrs. Peregrine Woolworth were talking rather animatedly of the extraordinary success of their respective husbands, whilst poor Sir Graham Wharton stood mutely as Colonel Merritt Wentworth told him loudly and in some detail how he himself would have tackled Napoleon had he not already been retired by the time the war with France had begun.
“Yes, it took far too long, far too long.” He bellowed, shaking his aging head vigorously. “Should have been over long before 1815, long before.” He went on, and Felicia wondered if the man was hard of hearing or if shouting was simply a habit that was proving too difficult to break for a man of advancing years.
Turning to look in the other direction, Felicia could see the Duke himself in conversation with the Earl of Beaumont. She allowed herself a brief and amused smile; there was the man her aunt would have her better acquainted with, and she could see why.
Jonathan Forbes was a very handsome man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. She could not, of course, see his eyes from where she stood, but she could remember them well from her one and only meeting with the man. They had been briefly introduced some months before at a ball held by Lord Radley on the very edge of Buckinghamshire. The meeting had been so brief, in fact, that her only lasting impression of the man was the color of his eyes. That color was, however, quite mesmerizing.
Felicia did not know the Duke of Scorton at all, having met him for the first time when he greeted her and her aunt that very day. He was a pleasant looking man with a jovial and handsome face, although not nearly as handsome as his friend.
He was as fair as his friend was dark and they made quite a captivatin
g pair, both tall and upright, both smiling and clearly at ease with one another.
As she made her silent study of them, the Duke’s butler walked smartly across the terrace with a small piece of paper in his hand and a general air of having a purpose that must be fulfilled. He was an austere fellow, very different from her father’s own butler who always had a smile for her even if he retained a rather blank expression for visitors to Davenport Hall. But the Duke's butler, Chester, was so intent upon correctness that he seemed almost intimidating. Felicia could hardly imagine what the man would look like if he ever did smile.
When he reached the Duke, he paused and bowed respectfully before handing his master the piece of paper. Although she could not hear him, she could see that he was talking to the Duke and she found herself wondering what was on that piece of paper. A message, perhaps?
Goodness, if she kept that up, she would be as nosy as Aunt Agatha.
The Duke nodded and smiled at the Butler, despite looking a little disappointed, and Lord Beaumont gave his shoulder a good pat; a pat that was rather too reassuring in that it almost put the Duke off balance.
With a few words, the Duke disappeared towards the hall, following in his butler’s wake. Lord Beaumont, suddenly a solitary figure in the middle of the terrace, looked about him cautiously as if searching for new company.
Before Felicia had a moment to form another thought, she felt her upper arm suddenly seized as she was propelled smartly across the terrace in the direction of the Earl. She gasped, taken by surprise, only regaining her composure in the moment before Jonathan Forbes looked over at the approaching pair.
“I really must introduce you to Lord Beaumont, my dear.” Aunt Agatha said loudly when they were but three feet away from him. “If he is not otherwise occupied, of course?”
“I am not otherwise occupied, Lady Barton.” Lord Beaumont said with an indulgent smile.
Felicia was momentarily tongue-tied with embarrassment, for she had already told her aunt that she had been introduced to Lord Beaumont before. She knew, of course, that Lady Barton would claim elderly forgetfulness when Felicia chastised her for it later and in private.
The Secrets of Scorton Hall: An Historical Regency Romance Mystery Page 2