Lord Augustus

by Mary Kingswood

  “Why should I not?” he said gently. “Forgive me, but I know so little of you, and I must, if in the future— No, let me not say too much. But you must be aware that… I wish to know everything about you, everything of importance in your life, and your husband is such a significant part of that. I should like to know something of him.”

  She jumped to her feet, and now her fear told her what she had to do. “You are impertinent, my lord. There is no future — there cannot be! Perhaps it is best if you do not see Ned again.”

  He rose too, his jaw set. His face worked, as if he were trying to speak, but no sound emerged. Snatching up his hat and gloves, he strode away.

  She collapsed back to the seat and burst into tears.

  19: Love And Marriage

  Gus stormed back to the castle, to his place of refuge in troubled times, the stables. Jupiter whickered happily to see him, and the matched pair of bays for the curricle nosed his coat hopefully.

  “You will never tell me to go away, will you?” he said, burying his face in Jupiter’s mane. “You will still be my friend no matter what happens. You have no secrets, nothing in your nature is hidden away or mysterious, waiting to catch me out. I wish I had never come here, truly I do. I should have asked Connie to find me a pleasant little heiress, then I could have been happy and rich, like Reggie and Humphrey, and not had to worry about who Amaryllis is and whether I can possibly offer for her, and whether she would accept me anyway.” He laughed mirthlessly, causing Jupiter to lurch away from him. “But I have an answer to that, do I not? Damnation! Hellfire and damnation, I wish I had never met her!”

  But even his horses could not soothe his ruffled mind, churned as it was by too many moments of elation or despair over the last days, and eventually the castle clock struck the hour. It was time to face the duke and his bevy of fluttering attendants, and try to pretend that his life had not just been torn apart.

  He strode through the empty corridors, scattering a cluster of footmen who pressed themselves to the walls hastily when they saw his scowling face. At his parlour, his mood was not improved by finding Merton and Edgerton relaxing there, cards and brandy to hand.

  “Damnation, Edgerton, where have you been?” he growled. “I have not seen you for an age.”

  “Oh, here and there. You know me.”

  “Indeed I do. Did you inflict your presence on Mrs Walsh while I was away?”

  Edgerton raised two hands in surrender. “As if I would! The lady is all yours, Marford. She is too demure for me by half. I like my ladies a little more… um, lively, shall we say. Merton, what is your taste? How do you like your women?”

  “I like my women to be ladies,” Merton said primly.

  “Hmpf. How dull,” Edgerton said. “But I can give you ladies, if you like. Would you like to dine with me tonight? You must be heartily sick of inn food.”

  Merton eyed him consideringly. “I confess that inn dinners soon lose their appeal, and if you can offer me some interesting company…”

  Edgerton gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, very interesting company. Excellent. Marford, you had better get moving. Willett was looking for you some time ago. Must not keep your valet waiting, you know. Or the duke, come to that.”

  Gus sighed. “I could wish the duke at the devil tonight, but I must go, I suppose. I wish you could go in my place, Edgerton, and Merton too. You would enjoy it far more than I will.”

  “You look thoroughly blue-devilled,” Edgerton said. “Has she thrown you over, your pretty widow?”

  With a huff of annoyance, Gus stamped out of the room. Willett fussed over him even more than usual, so he was late reaching the keep. It hardly mattered, for the drawing room was in uproar, with even more ladies present. Gus made his greetings to the duke, then retreated to a dark corner where he could hope to escape observation and nurse his misery. He could hardly believe how his fortunes had changed. But a few hours ago, he had enjoyed that idyllic walk through the woods with Mrs Walsh — Amaryllis! Such a perfect name for her — and now it was all over. She had shut him out, and he would never see her again. How could he bear it? And how had a tiny flame of admiration turned into this great bonfire of desolate love, so intense that it was burning him up from the inside out?

  Was it always like this? Did Carrbridge feel this way for Connie, or Reggie for Robinia? And, a lowering thought — did Amaryllis feel this way for her dead husband? Was that why she could so easily summon Gus or send him away, because she felt nothing at all for him? That should make him feel better, for at least she would feel no pain at their separation, but somehow it did not. For if she still loved her husband, then her suffering was deeper and more unending, and only death and the joyful reunion in the afterlife could relieve it.

  “Such foolishness!” said a voice at his ear, startling him back to his surroundings. “Oh dear, you look like the ashes of yesterday’s fire, Gus. Whatever is the matter?”

  “Nothing of significance, Emma,” he said, for what else could he say? ‘All joy is over, my hopes are dashed to pieces and my life is meaningless and empty.’ For him the world had ended, but to everyone else nothing of significance had occurred. A foolish man with foolish dreams had been brought back to reality, that was all. It happened every day, in a thousand towns up and down the kingdom, as a thousand young men glumly faced a future without the one woman who brightened their lives. Then, he noted what she had said. “What foolishness?”

  “Maria has been trying to convince the duke to hold a ball. He would dance with all the ladies, each would have her chance to entice him, then he would make his choice before supper. Such a nonsensical idea, as he told her at once, of course. But now he has agreed to the enticement part of it. Each one who wishes to marry him will have five minutes to draw him in — or it may be six, I do not know. However long his hourglass runs, in any event. She may sing or dance or recite, as she pleases. Five minutes! Or even six! It is the height of absurdity, and so I have told him. If he insists upon it, I shall leave tomorrow and he may bandage his own feet, for all I care!”

  But Gus could see the tears trembling on her lashes. “Oh, Emma! That is a foolish notion indeed! What a way to choose a duchess!”

  “Will you tell him so? Perhaps he may listen to you.”

  Gus laughed at that. “I have not the slightest influence over him, but I will certainly represent to him the lunacy of the idea. And how insulting to the ladies, to be reduced to the level of circus performers.”

  “That is all we have ever been to him,” she said. “And I suspect he has already made his choice, no matter what happens tomorrow night. He has been ogling Rachel Medhurst for days. It is too bad of him, when we have had such cosy little chats together over the bandages. He is such a delightful man, Gus, when you remove him from all the sycophants, and treat him as if he were nobody in particular. And I thought he enjoyed my company too. But I will not stay here to be laughed at and rejected. If he does not value me as he ought, then he does not deserve me!”

  Gus managed to sit between Emma and Willerton-Forbes, and a more silent trio would be hard to envisage. While the duke’s flock of admirers chattered and laughed and vied with each other to amuse him, the three at the other end of the table were sunk in their own thoughts. Gus had his own reasons for that, and he knew Emma’s, but he wondered quite what was eating away at the lawyer, who toyed with his food and even left his wine untouched. Only when the covers were removed, the ladies had left and the port was set on the table did Willerton-Forbes emerge from his abstraction.

  “Your grace,” he said, almost before the door was closed behind the servants, “I have resolved the issue of the ownership of the stud to my own satisfaction.”

  The duke grunted, poured some port and slid the decanter down the table, then grunted again. “I can tell by your face that it will not be to my satisfaction. But we can speak of this some other time. It is nothing to do with him.” He gestured with his wine glass at Gus.

  “With the greatest resp
ect, your grace, but this matter does indeed concern Lord Augustus.”

  “It does not, but he has you in his pocket, so if I exclude him now you will find some way to tell him all. Go on, then, have your say.”

  Willerton-Forbes coughed, then took a deep breath. “I find that the stud comprises two parts. The first part is the land upon which the stud farm itself rests, and all the buildings thereon, and this part is owned by your grace, as a portion of the Castle Morton estate. The second part is the collection of horses, being stallions, mares, foals, yearlings and older horses residing in the stables and paddocks, and this part was owned by Lord Edward Winfell, who loaned the money for the purchase of each horse to his brother. This split ownership is acknowledged in the accounts and records kept at the stud. The stud was not mentioned explicitly in Lord Edward’s will, which means that it passes in the residue of his estate to…” Here he threw a glance at Gus. “… to Lord Edward’s legitimate children, if any. And… and, your grace, there is a child, I believe. A son.”

  The duke took a long draught of port. “You believe that, do you?” His voice was dangerously soft.

  “I do.” The lawyer’s voice was rising to its terrified pitch.

  “Then you would be mistaken,” the duke said coldly. “Edward left no wife and no son. God knows, I wish he had, but Mrs Walsh is no wife, and I know not and care not who got her with child, but it was not my son.”

  “But can you be sure he did not marry her?” Gus said, suddenly breathless. “Perhaps a secret marriage—”

  “A secret marriage has no legal standing,” the duke said, his colour rising. “One cannot simply say a few words before a parson and call it a marriage. There are laws, restrictions, that sort of thing. You can confirm that, Forbes, surely.”

  “It is true, but—”

  “There you are, you see,” the duke said.

  “But suppose—” Gus began, but the duke waved an imperious hand.

  “I know what you want to find out, Marford. A respectable widow, instead of a common whore. Yes, you would like that very much, I daresay. I know how you have been sniffing round her, in defiance of my express orders, and I can see what you want her to be. But I cannot oblige you. Consider my position after Edward died. Two of my sons were dead, and the third could produce nothing but useless girls. I had no heir but this miserable nobody from Cheshire — an attorney, God give me strength! And his wife the daughter of an apothecary! To live here, and wear ermine, and walk just a few steps behind the king! It was unthinkable.”

  He sipped his port, catching his breath, his expression sombre.

  “The will… I confess, I did wonder who this Amaryllis Cordwainer might be. There were any number of small bequests, for my son was a generous man who never forgot good service or those in need, but a thousand pounds is a large sum. When the lawyers were sent out to deliver the bequests, they were instructed to bring me explicit word of Miss Cordwainer and her father. They found her easily enough, living in a low way, with her father very sick and it was clear to me that the bequest was no more than charity.”

  After a moment, he went on, “And then the woman arrives here with a babe in her arms, and her babe is a boy. A boy! An heir, at last. It was a glorious moment, a moment of hope in my sorry life. Well, she told me brazenly that she had been his mistress but I never believed that for one moment. Edward was not a man to take a mistress, not ever. If he had bedded her, then he had married her first. And…” He looked down at his port. “I am tolerably sure that he meant to marry her, for he had been dropping hints about it for weeks before he left. How would I feel if he married some nobody with no family and no name? Well, I told him exactly how I would feel if he ever did such a bone-headed thing. He never spoke explicitly, and at the time I thought nothing of it. It was only later… it preyed on my mind a great deal, for we quarrelled over the matter. Just a few days before he was to leave he raised the subject once more, and we had a terrible quarrel.” He paused, and his great hands were shaking at he clutched his glass. “I never saw him again.” His voice was harsh.

  For a moment, his composure slipped altogether. He pushed his glass away and buried his face in his hands. Gus waited. When Willerton-Forbes would have said something, Gus waved him to silence. And eventually, the duke lifted his head and went on as if nothing had happened.

  “So as soon as the woman turned up, I suspected she was his wife, just as you do, Forbes, and you, Marford, even though she denied it. Do you think I did not try to find out? Do you think I would just toss her aside without even looking into it? I moved heaven and earth to prove it, as God is my witness, and not a grain of evidence could I find. Whoever she is, she is not and never was Edward’s wife, and the child is none of my blood. I look after her because Edward asked me to, in a letter she brought with her, and she has the thousand pounds he left her, and I allow her to cloak herself in the fiction of widowhood, but more than that I cannot and will not do. And now, get out, both of you. And tell those stupid women that you have given me indigestion, which is no more than the truth, and I am gone to my bed. Go on! Out! Bedford! Bedford! Get rid of them.”

  The two men walked in silence through the night-darkened castle passageways, across the bridge and back to the parlour. Willerton-Forbes poured himself a huge brandy and collapsed into a chair beside the fire, hands shaking.

  “By God, but he terrifies me,” he said, before drinking deeply. “It had to be done, but Lord, he scares me half to death. But Marford, I am so sorry. I just wanted him to acknowledge your Mrs Walsh, to own that she is Lady Edward, but I seem to have done more harm than good.”

  “It had to be said, I think,” Gus said tiredly, running one hand over his face. “I just want to know what the position is, and no one would talk to me about it. The duke would not, and she jumped down my throat just for mentioning her husband.”

  “Oh, Lord, did she?” the lawyer said sympathetically. “Are you at outs with her? Is that why you have been as gloomy as a wet day in February?”

  “Partly, but her reaction merely confirms what the duke has said. She allows people to think she is a respectable widow, yet she will not talk about her husband beyond the most commonplace of details. She has not even given him his full name, which makes me think that it cannot be Lord Edward, or at least that if he was her lover, they were not married.”

  “And yet, you know, I am not convinced of that,” the lawyer said quietly. “The duke confirms that Lord Edward was not the man to seduce an innocent or take a mistress. It is very suggestive of a secret marriage.”

  “Yet the duke looked but found no evidence,” Gus said. “Willerton-Forbes, do not get my hopes up. Let me think her a fallen woman, and perhaps I can escape here with my sanity.”

  The lawyer smiled. “Your pardon, my lord. However, I am charged with determining the ownership of the stud, and in order to do that, I have to establish the truth of the matter. I must investigate whether there was a marriage or not.”

  “But the duke made his own investigations, and found no evidence, and she herself claims to be his mistress. She has admitted to me that she has no reputation. If she were his wife, why would she hide such a thing, and claim only to be his mistress? ”

  “Impossible to say, but I cannot accept it without question. Just as in a court of law, every claim must be independently verified.”

  “How will you do that?” Gus said.

  Willerton-Forbes set his brandy glass down on the table beside his chair, and rested his hands on his knees. “There are only three ways to marry — by the calling of the banns, by common licence or by special licence. Afterwards, the marriage must be registered in the parish register. All of those are matters of record. And yet… forgive me, but there is one other source of information which must be examined.”

  “You mean Mrs Walsh herself, I presume.”

  The lawyer nodded. “I would not pain you for the world, or her either, but I must approach her. And since I do not know her, I must ask you to i
ntroduce me to her.”

  20: Old Drifford House

  They went to the north lodge directly after breakfast, before the proposed visit to Drifford. Since Gus, Merton and Willerton-Forbes had a common interest in uncovering the truth about Lord Edward Winfell’s possible marriage, all three were to go to Drifford, if it proved necessary, and Merton was invited to join the others in visiting Mrs Walsh.

  “I confess to a great desire to meet the lady,” Merton said, “but are you sure I will not be dreadfully in the way?”

  “No, no, and you have exactly the right kind of mind for such a visit,” Willerton-Forbes said. “You will be able to observe the lady’s responses and offer another opinion. Lord Augustus is of no use for such a purpose — forgive me, my lord.”

  Gus readily agreed that he would not be an impartial observer. Indeed, he was in more dread of the encounter than he could ever remember. A summons by his grandfather, perhaps, had been worse, but that was ancient history, on the very boundary between memory and dreams. But to return to Mrs Walsh only hours after she had sent him away, seemingly for ever… What would she say? Would she be angry, or merely disappointed in him? But it had to be done.

  As they approached the house, he heard threads of music drifting on the air, and a wave of grief almost overwhelmed him. The pianoforte! She was playing the instrument, as he had so longed to hear her do, and yet he could not rejoice in it as he had once hoped. It was now a symbol of all that he had lost.

  The music stopped as they crunched up the gravel drive to the front door. Gus rapped on the knocker, and after a few moments there she was, looking up at him, and then at the other two. Bewilderment, that was all her expression told him. Not anger, just bewilderment.

  “Mrs Walsh, I beg your forgiveness for disturbing you so unexpectedly, but there is a matter of business that—”

  “Gus! Gus!” A small figure pelted out of the house and hurled itself into Gus’s arms. He laughed, and scooped the child up, planting a kiss on the tousled head.