Lord Augustus

by Mary Kingswood

  18: A Will

  There was a letter from Connie awaiting Gus when he returned from his visit to Mrs Walsh and Ned, his head still in the clouds. So much for his joyous reunion with his friends. For a short time, he had been able to set aside all his confused thoughts about marriage and mistresses and children born out of wedlock, and simply enjoy being with her. Walking by her side through the woods, the newly fallen leaves crisp under their feet and the air sharp with the tang of fallen berries, he had been perfectly content. Now, turning Connie’s letter over and over in his hands, her familiar hand a little more irregular than usual, all his fears and worries flooded back in like a storm.

  He broke the seal with trepidation.

  ‘My poor, dear Gus, what a coil you are in! I am so distressed by all this, you cannot imagine. Oh pray forgive the blotches on the page, for I cannot stop crying. Francis and I have gone over it and over it, but we cannot see a way round it. If this woman truly has a child outside wedlock, then we can have nothing to do with her, or with you, if you insist on allying yourself with her, not officially. Such a person has cast herself outside all good society, and those who befriend her must suffer the same penalty. Francis would not cut you off, naturally, for you are his brother and very dear to all of us, no matter what, and we would still see you privately, but we could not acknowledge you publicly. So you must choose, Gus dear, either this woman or your position in society, and whatever you decide will be irrevocable and final. Oh my dear, choose carefully! You must be absolutely sure what you are about before you take this step. Your heartbroken sister-in-law, Connie.”

  It was as he had expected, so he was not excessively disappointed. And Carrbridge would not cut him off — that was an important consideration. He would still have money to live on, and would not be destitute. He still had the choice if he wished it.

  But to see his worst fears spread out on the page in raw, unblinking honesty, the very words sprinkled with Connie’s hot tears, was almost more than he could bear. Bear it he must, however. Like Merton, he must endure, for he knew what he had to do.

  ‘My dear Connie, pray do not distress yourself. I have no intention of marrying Mrs Walsh under such circumstances. Whatever my feelings may be, you must not imagine me so selfish as to marry a woman who has thrown away her reputation, nor could I besmirch the good name of the Marford family by so doing. I am not so lost to all propriety as to be able to set it at nought for the purpose of fulfilling my own hopes and wishes. Merton is of the opinion that there may have been a secret marriage, which would render the match eligible, but whatever the truth of the matter, I intend to find it out and will take no final step until I am sure of all the circumstances. Your affectionate brother-in-law, Gus.’

  And then, with heavy heart, he summoned a footman to take the letter directly to the post office before his resolve weakened and he changed his mind. The footman was just leaving when another arrived to announce Merton.

  “Ah, I see you have received your missive from Lady Carrbridge,” Merton said, observing the opened sheet on the table. “I have had a matching one from Lord Carrbridge — very distressed, hopes you will not do it but will continue to support you regardless. I daresay her ladyship gave you the same story?”

  “Yes, with ink blots all over the page where her tears had fallen,” Gus said. “As if I would do anything to distress them so. I have just written to tell Connie so.”

  “Ah,” Merton said, sitting down in a chair and neatly crossing his ankles. “Then you will not offer for Mrs Walsh? At least until we have determined her precise circumstances?”

  “I will not,” Gus said. “It would be foolish of me to be so lost in love that I would give up everything for a woman I barely know. My feelings on the matter are still very unsettled. I enjoy her company above that of any other person, but at present I am still getting to know her.”

  “It is a relief to hear you say so,” Merton said. “I must tell you that, in my capacity as adviser to Lord Carrbridge, I shall strenuously represent to him the foolishness of providing you with enough money to live upon in such a circumstance. Rather than assuring you of his support, he should be threatening to cut you off without a penny, for it is the surest way to guarantee your compliance. You would never drag Mrs Walsh into a life of poverty, after all.”

  “That is very true,” Gus said, sitting down abruptly. “But it is a damnable business, Merton, not knowing whether she is an eligible match for me or not. I must know, one way or the other.”

  “Have you considered asking the lady, openly?” Merton said gently.

  “How can I?” Gus burst out. “What words could possibly frame such a question? Forgive me for prying, madam, but I must know whether you are respectable enough for me to consider offering for you.”

  “Indeed, it is very awkward,” Merton said. “Perhaps the duke—?”

  Gus shook his head. “He will tell me nothing about her, and has even warned me away from her.”

  “That is interesting,” Merton said, steepling his hands.

  “Is it? What do you read from that? Is it a good sign or a bad one, do you think?”

  “I would say bad. If she had been married to Lord Edward and the boy is the legitimate heir, the duke can have no conceivable reason to keep her secret or to warn you away from her.”

  “He might not want me to marry her and take the boy away from here,” Gus hazarded.

  “But why? The child will always be his heir, that cannot be changed. Of course, if he is a natural son, then the duke may see her as a scheming woman and be warning you away from kindness. Is it possible she was the duke’s mistress at one time? No, I suppose not. The whole story about the soldier husband and living in Drifford is too detailed to be invented out of whole cloth. It is too puzzling, but my instincts tell me there is something unsavoury about the whole business.”

  The door opened, and Willerton-Forbes crept in, looking so pale and dejected that Gus cried out, “My dear fellow, whatever is the matter? Are you ill? You look dreadful. Merton, some brandy, if you please. Here, my friend, sit down. Thank you, Merton. Here, drink, my good fellow.”

  “Thank you, I am quite well, but… I have been to see the duke.”

  “You were to take me with you,” Gus said. “Whatever possessed you to go alone?”

  “He sent for me!” the lawyer said, waving his hands helplessly. “What could I do? It would hardly do to keep a duke waiting, and you were nowhere to be found. But you were right, my lord. You said he would do the right thing, and so he did. He had the will out waiting for me, and allowed me to read it there and then.”

  “Excellent!” Gus said. “And what did it say?”

  “I cannot answer you!”

  Gus sat down abruptly. “Cannot?”

  “Cannot!” Willerton-Forbes said, waving his arms so wildly that Merton had to swoop in to rescue the brandy. “I am sworn to secrecy… on the Bible, my lord. So I cannot tell you anything, even though—” He stopped and put his hands over his mouth, as if willing the words not to spill out. “He made me swear not to tell you in particular,” he whispered.

  “But why—?” Gus began, but Merton waved him to silence.

  “What were his grace’s exact words?”

  “Oh!” The lawyer brightened. “You are very clever, Mr Merton. Have you ever thought of taking up a career in the law? You are quite right, I am not to tell anyone. Tell, not divulge or reveal.” He stood up with a slight smile on his face, and, to Gus’s surprise, removed his coat and hung it over the back of his chair. “I was permitted to make a few notes, for accuracy in quoting, you understand. I believe… I will go outside for a breath of air. I shall be back directly.”

  And so doing, he left the room.

  “What was all that about?” Gus said. Merton smiled and began sifting through the pockets of the lawyer’s coat. “Hoy, what are you doing?”

  Merton pulled out a sheaf of papers, and waved them triumphantly aloft. “He is not telling us, you see?
Here, there are six pages. You take those three. Oh! Drifford — this must be her! A codecil, apparently. ‘To Mr Joseph Cordwainer and Miss Amaryllis Cordwainer of Old Drifford House, Drifford, Northumberland, the sum of—’”

  Gus snatched the page from him. “Amaryllis,” he said, enchanted. “Her name is Amaryllis.”

  He swirled the name around in his mind, beaming with delight, while Merton skimmed through the rest of the pages before Willerton-Forbes returned, nervously, and took up his coat. “I shall be in my room, if anyone is looking for me,” he said, before disappearing.

  “Are you all right?” Merton said.

  “Oh, yes,” Gus said, smiling beatifically at him.

  “Sit,” Merton said, sternly. “Sit down and let me list all the reasons why you should be concerned.”

  Immediately Gus deflated. “Concerned?” he said in a whisper. Then he realised. “They were not married. She was Miss Cordwainer. They could not have been married.”

  “Not at that point, no,” Merton said placidly.

  Gus flared to optimism.

  “Now, you must not get your hopes up,” Merton said severely. “But look at the dates — the will was written several years before Lord Edward’s death, and the codecil is dated… hmm, perhaps five months before his death. When did he leave for the Peninsula?”

  “Three months before he died.”

  “Ah. So he meets her — somehow — and gets to know her well enough to leave money to her father and her. A goodish sum, too — one thousand pounds. That is no trifling amount.”

  “If she was his mistress…” Gus began.

  “Then she would not have been living in her father’s house, and the bequest would not have included her father. No, this sounds to me like simple charity, a wish to make life better for two gentlefolk sliding into poverty. Her father was a retired clergyman, and probably had next to nothing to live on.”

  “He was ill for many years, too,” Gus said. “There would have been doctors’ fees, medicines…”

  “Indeed. So Lord Edward wanted to make their lives better, but I do not think there was any very strong attachment then. But perhaps before he left for the Peninsula they got to know each other better.”

  Gus frowned. “So… two months later he received his orders, their feelings overwhelmed them—”

  “But no,” Merton said. “Again I remember Sir Osborne’s opinion of Lord Edward as a most upright man. Perhaps it went like this… two months later he received his orders and secretly married her.”

  Gus was silent for a long time. Then he huffed out a long breath. “It is possible. Anything is possible. Except… surely he would have made another will? I know my brothers all did so before they married.”

  “If the marriage was secret, then perhaps the new will was kept secret, too, to avoid revealing the marriage. Who knows?”

  “Hmm. It is a stretch, Merton. But how might one uncover the truth?”

  “We have not officially seen the will, so we are not supposed to know any of this. That means that you cannot ask the duke about it, nor can you press the lady for more details without revealing the source of your information. What we can do is to go to Drifford and make enquiries. We have a name now, and an address. We know there was a baptism, and there might have been a marriage, both of which would have been written into the parish register.”

  “That is true,” Gus said. “If there was a marriage, the proof of it will be recorded.”

  “Indeed. So tomorrow let us go to Drifford and see what we may find out there. It is a small town, and there must be someone who remembers Miss Cordwainer.”

  With a long breath, Gus sat back in his chair. “Thank you, Merton. You are very good.”

  He gave one of his slight smiles. “But you must be prepared for any outcome. I have a feeling there is still too much we do not know.”

  “Yes. I understand. Thank you.” Merton was so serious that Gus was subdued, but inside him a tiny flame of hope had been lit and refused to be extinguished.

  ~~~~~

  Amaryllis was restless. She had enjoyed the morning, for what could be more pleasant than a walk through the woods on a crisp autumn day with a gentleman of quality, someone she could talk to as she had not talked to anyone since… well, since dear Papa had finally left her alone in the world. Gus reminded her in so many ways of Papa — his earnest manner, his delight in playing with Ned, careless of his own dignity, and his gentleness. How her heart responded to that gentleness! It was as if she had been walking in the desert these past long years, and now Gus was water to drink and cool shade to refresh her spirit.

  And yet in other ways, Gus was nothing like Papa. The way he looked at her, those dark eyes alight with— But no, she must not put a word to it. If she gave it no name, that emotion burning in his eyes, there would be no need to address the question of what it was that he felt. And yet, it reminded her so much of Edward. He, too, had looked at her in just that way, his face aglow, his affection shining. Affection. Yes, let it be affection. Why should a man like Gus not feel affection for her, just as he felt affection for Ned, and for his horse? That was better. She was content to let it be affection, the simple friendship of a man away from home, perhaps a little lonely, towards a stranger who crossed his path.

  Yet she was uneasy. He had walked out of her life once, perhaps realising the inequality between them and acknowledging that there could be no future to their friendship. She had been relieved at first, but Ned’s distress had led her to bring Gus back into their lives. Now she was beginning to regret it. For Ned, it was wonderful, and perhaps for her too, but for Gus? It was selfish of her to keep him dangling, and if he was truly— No, she must not name it. But perhaps his visits were a source of great pain to him, or would be so when the inevitable separation should occur.

  What should she do? Her restless spirits drove her out of doors, to the quiet part of the castle gardens, and somehow her steps led her to the arbour where she had sat with Gus only a few days earlier. It was cool out of doors, but there was no wind or dampness in the air, which often blew in from the sea. So she sat, removing her bonnet so that she could turn her face up to the sun, eyes closed, savouring its warm touch. So much of her life was spent indoors. Even when she went for her daily walk, it was usually into the woods, where there was little danger of meeting anyone. But today, the sun was a welcome companion.

  She heard his footsteps on the gravel path. Did she know it was him, or was that just her fanciful mind playing tricks? But when she opened her eyes, there he was. He saw her, stopped, bowed.

  “I beg your pardon, Mrs Walsh. I intrude. Let me withdraw at once.”

  “There is no need, Lord Augustus. Pray, sit down. I should be glad of some conversation with you. There is a matter we must discuss, I believe.”

  A hesitation. Then a firm nod. “Of course, if it please you, although… you do not have your maid with you?”

  That made her smile. “A chaperon? It is hardly necessary.”

  “Is it not?” he said. Oh, so serious! But he sat beside her, and removed his hat and gloves. “You are well? The long walk this morning did not fatigue you?”

  “Not at all, and I am perfectly well, I thank you. My lord, will you forgive me if I speak plainly to you?”

  “Oh, please do! I have no skill in interpreting subtlety, so if you wish to tell me something, you will have to say it in the simplest terms.”

  She smiled again, for it was very much how she would have described him herself. “I am a selfish creature, my lord, and have taken advantage of your generosity abominably. First, in your too kind gift of a pianoforte, which I should not have accepted but I delight in it every day, and cannot regret that.”

  “Then I cannot regret it either,” he said at once. “We need have no further discussion of the pianoforte.”

  She laughed. “Very well. But my second selfishness we must discuss, I believe.” Oh, how hard it was to speak so to him! She could not look him in the eye, so she gaz
ed down at her hands resting in her lap instead. “For Ned’s sake, I asked you to visit us, and you have very kindly done as I asked. But…” She bit her lip, wondering just how to express her thoughts.

  “But?” he said gently. “But that is an act which you do regret, is that what you are trying to tell me?”

  “Not for Ned’s sake, certainly. For him, your company has been everything I could have wished, and so good for him! But I am not sure that… that these meetings are good for you, my lord.”

  There! She had said it, and let him think her brazen if he would. It hardly mattered.

  “Mrs Walsh,” he said, in the gentlest tone, “Ned’s company — and yours — have given me the greatest imaginable happiness. For myself, I have no regrets on that score. But if you have concerns on that head… if your mind would be eased by my absence, then you have only to say the word and you will never see me again, I promise. Your comfort is all my concern.”

  She looked up then, but what she saw on his face set her cheeks aflame, and she lowered her gaze at once. Love… let it be given its true name. In his dark eyes, she saw his unquestioned love shining down on her.

  While she was composing herself and trying to frame a reply, he reached across and and took her hand in his, gently lifting it to his lips, so that she hardly knew where to look.

  “Mrs Walsh, may I take the liberty of speaking plainly with you also?” Her heart pitter-pattered in sudden fear. Whatever was he about to say? “Will you tell me of your husband?”

  Her head shot up. “My husband?” Panic washed over her. She tried to speak calmly, but it was so difficult. “There is nothing to tell. My husband was a soldier, he went to the Peninsula just after we married and died there. What else is there to say?”

  “His name, for one thing,” he said. “For there was no Edward Walsh at the Drifford army camp.”

  Her stomach clenched in fear. “You asked?”