by Anne Herries
In England he had inherited his father’s title and estates, but he knew that his younger brother—the son of his father’s second wife, although still only in his teens, would have been delighted to step into his shoes. Paul had no need of his family estates in England—and in particular he had not needed the bother of the small estate that had come to him through a distant cousin. The young girls who were made his wards by Bellingham’s will were a part of Paul’s reason for returning. Although he’d been told the older girl had married well, that still left the younger one—at eighteen, she was ready for marriage if a husband could be found for her. To that end, Paul had written to an old friend of his mother who had recently been widowed, asking her if she would be kind enough to chaperon the young girl. She had graciously given her consent, though the exchange of letters had taken months to complete. It was imperative that the girl be chaperoned, for Paul was unmarried and could therefore not fulfil his task of guardian without female assistance.
Some years had passed since Paul had met Lady Moira. He’d been seventeen then and it had been just before his mother died of grief over her husband’s infidelity, and the terrible quarrel that caused him to leave home and become an officer in the Guards. Fortunately, he’d had some small fortune left him by his maternal grandmother and when his own father cut him off without a penny was able to survive on his pay as an officer and his allowance from the inheritance. Later, he’d won prize money and honours and life had become much easier when an uncle left him a small fortune.
Paul knew that his father had bequeathed everything that was not entailed to his half-brother. He minded that not at all, and would have been glad to pass the rest of it over had he been sure he did not wish to live in England, but some small perverse part of him clung to what his father had been forced to leave him. How it must have gone against the grain with Lord Frant to know that the son of the wife he’d married for her dowry would have his title.
Paul would have freely admitted that the woman his father had taken in his mother’s place was beautiful. Goodness knew, his own mother had been far from a beauty, but she had a beautiful nature, gentle and loving—and her heart had been broken by her husband’s cold indifference.
Watching his mother fade, become frailer and sadder, had broken the young Paul’s heart and after her death he’d railed at his father for his cruelty.
‘I never loved her,’ his father had told him bluntly. ‘I needed her money to restore my estates—but it was not the fortune I’d been led to believe. A paltry twenty thousand...’
‘Twenty thousand would have been a fortune to many,’ Paul said. ‘If you’d put it to good use instead of wasting it on gambling and women...’
‘Your mother came from trade and it has not yet been bred out of you,’ his father sneered. ‘Had I known I should get no more when the old man died I’d never have taken the silly bitch.’
Paul had tried to knock him down then, but his father was a strong bull of a man and he’d sent the youth flying. Even so, Paul had tried again and again, until his face was cut and bleeding and he could not rise.
‘Well, you can take yourself off where you came from,’ his father said. ‘Go back to the mills and dens of the North and stay where you belong...’
His taunt was a cheap one, for though his maternal grandfather’s wealth had come from the mills of the North, they had been sold two generations back and the money invested in land. However, the Martins were better mill owners than farmers and much of their former wealth had been badly invested. Paul had received a bequest of ten thousand pounds on his grandfather’s death, and was the owner of several hundred acres of farmland, but had the family still owned the mills they would have been worth more.
Lord Frant had inherited the ten thousand that would have come to his wife on her father’s death, but thought nothing of the sum and promptly lost it in a week of frantic gambling at the tables.
Paul had known nothing of this or his own inheritance for some years, by which time he was well on the way to making his own fortune. Now, on the verge of entering the house that had been his father’s, he felt chilled. Standing in the dark, unwelcoming hall, he thought of turning tail and finding accommodation in a hotel, but pride would not let him.
‘Welcome home, my lord. It’s good to see you back.’
Paul looked hard at the black-clothed footman who had opened the door to them and his brow wrinkled in concentration. ‘Is it Matthews?’ he asked at last and saw the smile on the man’s face.
‘Yes, my lord,’ he said. ‘I worked as a boot boy when you were a lad, sir, then as a man of all work. I was made up to footman six years back.’
‘Were you now?’ Paul nodded, looking him over. He glanced about him. ‘I seem to remember this hall looked different when I last stayed here.’
The smile left Matthews’s face. ‘Yes, sir. I regret to say that his late lordship sold much of the furniture and the paintings last year.’
‘In debt again, I suppose,’ Paul said and sighed. ‘Has he left me anything worth having?’
‘Not much, my lord,’ the footman replied. ‘The bedrooms are mostly the same but the silver, pictures and some porcelain pieces have been sold. Your mother’s rooms were stripped bare years ago...’ Matthews looked awkward. ‘Thought you should know, sir.’
‘Well, what are a few bits and pieces?’ Paul said and laughed ruefully as he turned to his companion. ‘I’m sorry to bring you to such a place, Adam—but I dare say we’ve a bed to offer and, I hope, some food.’
‘Oh, yes, sir. Your instructions have been followed. A new housekeeper and cook were hired and the rooms opened up and cleaned. Mrs Brooks says she’s made one room look proper for you, sir; it used to be her ladyship’s sitting room...that is to say your mother’s room, my lord. I believe a fire has been lit there for you...’
‘Thank goodness someone has some sense,’ Paul said as he led the way through to a room he knew well. Matthews was directing two other footmen to carry his bags upstairs, and a woman had appeared from the room at the far end of the hall. She hurried forward, seeming flustered.
‘We were not sure when to expect you, sir.’
‘I think we should like some wine and a light meal in the green room, Mrs Brooks.’
‘Yes, my lord. I understood it was the room you favoured as a lad—and the other room usable is what was known as the library, sir.’
‘Don’t tell me the books have been sold?’
‘Some of them, sir. However, it is quite comfortable—until your lordship decides what to do about refurbishing the other rooms...’
Paul gave a wry laugh. The Frant library had contained some rare books and the loss of those meant more to him than any silver or paintings, but he could not do anything about that loss. His father had sold everything he could without actually breaking the entail, and he supposed he ought to have expected it. Had he come home with only a few guineas in his pocket he would have been in trouble, but as it was he could afford to smile at the pettiness of the man he’d called Father.
At least his mother’s room was comfortable, though not as he’d remembered it. Nothing of hers remained, but everything decent in the house must have been placed here and the comfortable wing chairs by the fire were more than adequate, as was the mahogany desk and elbow chair, the large settee and the sideboard on which some fine glasses and decanters stood waiting.
‘At least it seems I have some wine to offer you,’ Paul said, casting an eye over the contents. ‘Brandy, Madeira or Burgundy?’
‘A glass of Madeira, please,’ Adam said and stretched out in one of the chairs. ‘Well, you’ll be busy now, my friend, though I do not envy you the task. Buying furnishings is not my idea of amusement.’
‘Nor mine,’ Paul said and laughed. ‘I imagine I can find someone to do it for me.’
‘Know what you need?’
‘No. What?’ Paul asked with his lazy smile.
‘What you need, my friend, is a wife,’ Adam said, a faint challenge in his eyes. ‘Just the thing for making a man’s house look comfortable. I’m thinking of getting one myself now I’ve given up adventuring—and if I were you I should do the same...’
‘It’s odd that you should say it,’ Paul said thoughtfully. ‘I have been wondering if perhaps I ought not to offer her marriage—Bellingham’s girl, you know. I’m damned if I wanted her father’s estate, but perhaps I ought to offer her a home. I could only do that if I married her...’
‘I should think about it for a while if I were you,’ Adam advised. ‘You haven’t seen her yet—and she is a little young for you, is she not?’
‘You are quite right, which is why my words were mere idle speculation. No, I shall not marry unless I find the right woman...’
‘You at least do not need to look for a fortune,’ Adam said and there was the faintest trace of envy in his voice. ‘You have more than enough for any man.’
‘Yes, I have been lucky,’ Paul agreed, ‘but it was honestly earned—and I have not yet decided where to settle...’
‘You won’t return to India?’
‘I do not know.’ Paul sighed. ‘It has been my home for several years—I am not sure there is anything to keep me here. You came home to settle your affairs, Adam—shall you return after you have done so?’
‘I am in two minds,’ Adam said and his eyes stared at a point beyond Paul’s shoulder. ‘It depends on many things. Not least whether I have sufficient funds to live decently here...’
‘Surely your father has not left anything away from you? You were his only son.’
‘No, but the question is—has he actually left me anything but debts?’ Adam asked wryly. ‘I did not earn a fortune out there as you did, Paul—and, for all I know, I may be a pauper...’
Chapter Three
‘This is so very kind of you,’ Melia cried, looking round the pretty bedroom with delight. ‘My aunt is very good to me, but, poor dear, she could hardly be expected to bring me to town. Such a delightful room...’
‘My brother was concerned that you should have the best guest room, Miss Bellingham,’ Jane said, smiling at the girl’s pleasure. ‘It is a lovely room. I have stayed here myself many times in the past.’
‘Oh, you should not have given me your room,’ Melia said. ‘I do not wish to put you out, dear Lady March.’
‘No, you have not,’ Jane said, shaking her head. ‘This was my room as a girl, but now I have a permanent suite of three rooms at the other side of the house. At least, it has been mine since...for a while now. Of course, when my brother marries I shall take a house of my own. I am thinking of making my home in Bath.’
‘You will not desert the viscount?’ Melia cried involuntarily. ‘I know he is so fond of you, relies on you for advice in almost everything.’
‘He will turn to the lady he marries once he becomes a devoted husband and I should not wish to interfere with her way of running the household.’
‘Oh, but perhaps she would rather leave it to you.’ Melia’s face was an open book. Jane held back her smile because it was obvious that the young woman had no interest in the duties of a chatelaine, but thought only of the amusement of being a bride and being spoiled by a devoted husband. ‘If his wife is young and knows little of household management. I hate dealing with servants; they are always so superior if they think you don’t know—don’t you find?’
Jane’s merriment left her and she answered seriously. ‘It is important that one does know what one wants. The first rule is to make your people respect you. It is good if they also like you—but a calm, firm manner when giving instructions is always best. You must have observed it in your aunt’s house.’
‘Oh, no,’ Melia said ingenuously. ‘Aunt is so lazy. Her butler rules the household and arranges everything as she likes it. He has been with her since she was a girl and treats her as if he were a benevolent uncle. She never seems to give orders. Benson just does everything without needing to be told.’
‘How fortunate is Mrs Bellingham to have such a devoted man in her service.’
‘She is always complaining about things, but never to Benson, of course. She might have everything as she likes if she stirred herself, but she can never be bothered and just leaves it all to him—and then she grumbles if the meals are not quite what she wanted.’
‘Well, at least you know how not to conduct your household,’ Jane said, amused by this description of the indolent Mrs Bellingham. ‘Now, my dear, I want you to settle in first and come down when you are ready. I shall order some tea in half an hour in my sitting room downstairs, but you may have a tray brought up if you wish to rest.’
‘I am not in the least tired,’ Melia declared. ‘I shall come down and join you... Do you mean that very pleasant sunny room at the back of the house?’
‘Yes, it was Mama’s until she remarried,’ Jane said. ‘Now, of course, she has a dozen pretty rooms she may choose from, and if she wants anything different she has only to ask Porky.’
‘Is that what you call the duke?’ Melia’s eyes sparkled with mischief as Jane nodded and laughed. ‘Oh, it does suit him—but it is a terrible thing to call such a lovely man. He was so kind to me when I attended the wedding as one of your mama’s bridesmaids—and he gave me a beautiful gold bracelet as a gift.’
‘Roshithe is a lovely man, and so kind to us all,’ Jane said. ‘I assure you, the name was given him years ago and stuck. He does not regard it, because he knows it is used with affection. His enemies are more likely to call him Roshithe in a supercilious manner, and that he does resent—though you should probably address him as sir, unless he gives you permission to use the name.’
‘I would not dare. I shall probably address him as Your Grace...’
‘He cannot abide that sort of toad-eating, as he calls it, Miss Bellingham. Much better just to use the simple sir.’
‘I’ll try to remember,’ Melia promised and gave Jane a small shy smile. ‘Will you not call me Melia?’
‘Yes, of course, if you wish it—and you must reciprocate. I am Jane to my family and friends.’
‘Yes, I know. Viscount Salisbury always speaks of you that way. He is very fond of you, Jane.’
‘We have always been close,’ Jane said. ‘I shall leave you to change if you wish.’
She left the bedchamber, which was indeed the prettiest in the house, its curtains pink and white striped silk, which matched the décor of pinks, cream and a deep crimson. Jane had ordered some pink roses to be placed on the dressing stand to complete the welcome offered to a lady who might, if she chose, become the next mistress here.
It would mean a big change in Jane’s life, she thought as she made her way down to the sitting room she favoured. She would miss playing hostess for her brother and it would be an upheaval making the move to Bath, but she intended to make way for her brother’s wife, despite Melia’s hints that she would be welcome to stay on to run the house for her. No, that would eventually lead to resentment and perhaps unkind words between them; Melia might need help at first but once she found her own confidence she would not wish for another woman in her home.
Jane had already begun to make inquiries about a house in Bath. She was unsure whether she wished to rent a place while she looked about her or buy something immediately. If she bought she would need to furnish it, and she intended to look for suitable items while she was in town this time. Even if her brother Will was not successful in securing his bride immediately, it would happen, and Jane had no wish to live in the country house left to her by her husband.
‘It’s a bit dull and quite lonely,’ Harry had told her the day he took her to see his small country house. ‘I know we can make it nice, Jane—and with servants and
children it will soon become a home. I dare say we’ll make friends soon enough. There’s plenty of time before we have to retire to a country life, because I want to rise in the Army. We can live in London when we’re home on leave—and in time you will find a way to make this place into a home.’
Jane had assured him gaily that she would enjoy it, but that future had seemed so far away as not to be of much interest. Before they settled down to living off the land, they had so much fun to have—travelling overseas, putting up at the most frightful billets had all seemed amusing to the young couple in love. Her friends were Harry’s friends, the ladies she met officers’ wives, all living their nomad existence with a smile on their faces and secret fear in their hearts. Yet, even so, Jane had not thought it could all end so abruptly. She’d thought of her life as being married to Harry for years and years, but in fact she’d had only a year of happiness.
She would not think of that! Jane told herself severely that she must begin to look to the future. She had already written to her cousin. Sarah’s reply had not arrived before they left for London, but Will’s servants would send on any letters and, if Sarah wished, Jane would invite her to join them in town.
She would make a few inquiries about whom to consult on the matter of furnishing a house, but perhaps it might be better to hire a furnished house for a start, though Jane had some of her personal things at her brother’s country house. She had intended to set up her own home long ago but living in Will’s home had proved so pleasant for them both that she’d let her own plans drift.
‘It is lovely to have you here again, ma’am,’ Mrs Yates, Will’s London housekeeper, came up to her as she reached the hall. ‘There are quite a few letters waiting for you in the parlour, Lady March. I dare say your ladyship’s friends knew of your intention and most of them look like invitations.’