The Honourable Earl

by Mary Nichols

  ‘Lydia!’ Anne was appalled.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘That is not what I had in mind. You said I could do something to put an end to the rumours if I had a mind to and you were right. I want to show everyone that the Latimers and the Fostyns bear no enmity towards each other, that they can live in peace together and then those factions who have been taking sides will also live in harmony.’

  ‘Very commendable,’ Lydia said tartly. ‘But to do that, we must both want it.’

  ‘I agree. I, for one, want nothing so much as to put the past where it belongs, in the past—’

  ‘You may do that, my lord, you are home and comfortable,’ she retorted. ‘Freddie is not home. We have no idea where he is and certainly cannot vouchsafe he is comfortable. And as for the rest of the family, under notice to quit—’

  ‘I said you may stay until you are married,’ he snapped. ‘I did not mean you should accept the first man to ask you. You could have taken all the time you wanted.’

  ‘Sir Arthur was not the first man to ask me, do not think that for a moment. You have hardly been back in Colston a month and you think you know everything about me—’

  ‘Then I beg your pardon.’ He bowed to her, determined not to allow her to disturb him, but it was an uphill struggle and, if her mother had not been present, he would have put her over his knee and spanked her. And afterwards kissed her soundly.

  ‘I have no wish to be under an obligation to you, my lord,’ she went on. ‘Nothing would please me more than to be out from under your jurisdiction.’

  ‘Then that is something we are able to agree on,’ he said, with a sardonic smile.

  ‘Lydia, there is nothing to be gained by going over old ground,’ Anne said, desperate to take the heat out of the exchange.

  ‘My point precisely,’ he said. ‘I wish to hold a ball but as I have no wife to be my hostess, I would be honoured if you, Mrs Fostyn, would take that role for the evening and also help me to plan it. I am sure if it were left to me I should forget something important.’

  ‘Oh, no, I won’t let you do it,’ Lydia said. ‘Mama, he means to humiliate you, to humiliate us.’

  ‘Nothing was further from my mind,’ he said, wondering how he was ever going to pierce that armour. Once he almost had, once he had seen her eyes soft and dreamy with desire, had tasted lips that answered passion with passion before she shut him out again. Was it difficult for her to maintain that searing hatred or did she have to cultivate it, nurture it to keep it alive? ‘I am perfectly sincere. There was a time when I hated as passionately as you appear to do, but I have learned it is as likely to destroy the hater as the hated.’

  ‘Well said, my lord,’ Anne put in. ‘I shall be delighted to do as you ask. Tell me, when do you want to hold the ball?’

  ‘May Day,’ he said promptly.

  ‘May Day,’ Lydia echoed in dismay. ‘Why, that’s only two weeks before my wedding. In a little over four weeks I am to be married.’

  ‘Four weeks?’ he echoed, making no attempt to disguise his surprise. ‘So soon?’

  ‘There is no reason to delay, my lord.’

  He could think of a dozen reasons, none of which he could utter. ‘No, but I always thought ladies took an unconscionable time preparing for their weddings.’

  ‘It depends, my lord, on what has to be done. And Sir Arthur is impatient to make me his bride.’

  He smiled suddenly, his eyes full of humour, and for a tiny moment she saw her umbrella man again. ‘I can easily understand that, Miss Fostyn. May I wish you happy?’

  ‘You may, my lord.’ But do you mean it, she wondered, or do you wish me in purgatory because that is undoubtedly where I shall be?

  ‘But I cannot see that it makes any difference. I want the ball to be as soon as possible or the reason for it will be lost.’ He smiled mischievously. ‘After all, May Day is a traditional time for celebration, is it not? A joyous time, looking forward to the summer and the bounty of summer. And it will not be the same if you have to come from Southminster instead of the dower house.’

  Walking home with her mother afterwards, Lydia was seething. ‘He’s doing it to upstage me, to ruin my wedding day,’ she said. ‘Why? What have I ever done to him? And why did you agree? It is too mortifying.’

  ‘Only if you allow it to be so,’ her mother said placidly. ‘If we enter into the spirit of it, everyone will come and I do believe it will put an end to those terrible rumours. When the time comes for your wedding, it will be the happy occasion it should be.’

  No, it wouldn’t, Lydia thought—she would be miserable. She would be miserable twice over, because the ball at the Hall would only serve to emphasise the emptiness of the wedding ceremony. And he knew it! He was doing it on purpose!

  He had anticipated Anne’s acceptance and had given her a list of all the things he wanted done and the people he thought should be invited and asked her to go over it and then they would meet again at her convenience to discuss it further. To Lydia it seemed that her mother was betraying her father’s memory and a dreadful worm of suspicion wriggled itself into her mind and would not go away.

  Were the rumours true? Did Ralph Latimer know they were true? Had her father known? Had Freddie? ‘The Earl knew how occupied you were going to be,’ she said, stubbornly. ‘It was unkind of him to add to your burdens.’

  ‘Lydia, dearest, they are not burdens. How can dressing your daughter for her wedding be a burden? And as for the ball, I am only acting as an adviser, which is no trouble at all. We have not had an occasion like it for years and years and I am quite looking forward to it.’

  Lydia wished that she was.

  The next two weeks were unbelievably busy. The organisation of the ball meant Anne having frequent meetings with the Earl and trips to Chelmsford to book musicians and arrange for food to be cooked and delivered, for flowers and decorations to arrive at the proper time. Often she took Lydia with her, not only to ask her opinion on anything she might buy on his lordship’s behalf, but because they could combine it with a visit to the mantua maker who was making Lydia’s wedding gown and those of her sisters who were to be her attendants.

  Sir Arthur had insisted that the wedding feast would be held at his house; the dower house was not large enough for the number of guests he had in mind and consequently his sister would be in charge of everything. Lydia and her mother were not consulted at all. Anne was a little put out, but Lydia said she did not mind and her mama ought to be relieved the burden of it was being taken from her shoulders, otherwise she would never have managed.

  As the day of the ball approached Lydia began to dread it more and more and could not be enthusiastic, unlike Annabelle who could think and talk of nothing else, convinced that was the night Peregrine Baverstock would make his offer. Lydia would like it to be all over, but that meant her wedding day would be only two weeks away. Two weeks! But first they had to go to that ball.

  Naturally Sir Arthur was to be their escort and he arrived in his coach at eight o’clock on the evening of the first of May dressed in a plum-coloured satin suit with pink-and yellow-striped waistcoat straining across his corseted front. He wore a cream shirt with acres of cream lace at the throat and wrists. A huge emerald pin nestled in his cravat and his fingers winked with more precious stones as he flung out his hands.

  ‘Ladies, I am honoured,’ he said in his affected voice, sweeping off his hat and executing an exaggerated leg to each in turn, which had Annabelle giggling and Lydia hard put to keep a straight face. But the smile was soon wiped from it when he took both her hands in his and held her at arm’s length before planting a damp kiss on each of her cheeks. Then he kissed her mother’s hand and said, ‘Ladies, your carriage awaits.’

  It was quite a squeeze because the three ladies in their ball gowns took up a great deal of room. In the interests of economy, Lydia had chosen to wear her white gown again, but she had changed it by adding a diaphanous overskirt, graded from deep green at the hem to almost white at t
he waist. It floated about her like moving water. The bodice under the bust she had trimmed with rows of green velvet ribbon. Matching ribbon had been used to decorate her wig and naturally she was wearing Sir Arthur’s jewels. Anne had made over a deep blue velvet which was among the clothes in the attic and Annabelle was in white silk trimmed with spring flowers.

  They settled themselves in the coach and spread their skirts as far as possible to minimise creasing, which meant Lydia’s gown was spread across Sir Arthur’s knees. It was kind of intimacy which he obviously savoured for his hand strayed to stroke the shiny material as if he could not wait until they were married and he could take such moments for granted, could undress her and…

  She refused to allow her thoughts to roam along that track and took refuge in thinking about the evening to come. There was no doubt it was going to be a very grand affair. The whole county had been invited and it seemed every single one of them had accepted. Whether they were coming out of curiosity or out of genuine friendship towards the Earl, or simply for a free meal with plenty to drink, she did not know. What she did know was that her mother had surpassed herself and in doing so she and the Earl had become very good friends.

  In the face of that it was impossible for Lydia to keep up her enmity without quarrelling with her mother and as the loathing she felt for his lordship was on her mother’s behalf, it seemed rather inconsistent to maintain it. But it was so difficult to let go! To do so would mean being disloyal to her brother and to the memory of her father and besides, Ralph Latimer had said and done so many things to annoy and upset her since he came home that she did not feel disposed to weaken.

  The coach turned in at the gates of Colston Park and proceeded up the drive at a brisk trot. There were lanterns strung across the terrace before the front door which swayed and winked in the slight breeze coming off the sea and almost every window was ablaze with light. As Anne was to act as hostess, they were of necessity the first to arrive and servants were still scurrying to and fro with flowers and garlands and huge trays of glasses and the members of the orchestra were tuning their instruments.

  They stood in the vast hall and had their cloaks taken from them by waiting maids. Sir Arthur handed his hat to a footman and adjusted the frills at his cuffs, before putting up his quizzing glass and gazing round him. What he thought about it he did not say and it was impossible to tell from his expression. Lydia wondered if it might be envy and a determination to outdo the Earl for munificence two weeks later.

  His lordship appeared on the gallery and hurried down to greet them. Lydia caught her breath when she saw him. He was dressed in black from head to toe: a black velvet coat; long black brocade waistcoat heavily embroidered with silver thread and pearls; black breeches, stocking and shoes. His shirt was white silk, his cravat black lace in which a huge diamond pin glittered. He made Sir Arthur look very ordinary.

  ‘My dear Mrs Fostyn,’ he said, raising Anne from her curtsy before she had time to execute it fully, ‘please do not stand on ceremony. I need you to come and help sort out a little contretemps in the kitchen over how to serve the quails. I am sure Sir Arthur and your daughters will excuse us.’ He called to a footmen to conduct Sir Arthur and the Misses Fostyn to the ballroom and bore Anne away.

  Lydia began to wish she had allowed her mother to take their own coach and arrive early by herself. She and Annabelle could easily have come later. Now they were left standing in the vast ballroom, feeling conspicuous and out of place and the rest of the company would not begin arriving for another half an hour.

  ‘Ostentatious,’ Sir Arthur, said looking about him. ‘The man has more money than taste.’

  ‘Oh, do you think so?’ Lydia said. ‘Now I always thought my mama had exquisite taste.’

  ‘Oh, I did not mean the decorations,’ he blustered. ‘They are indeed very fine and to be admired. I was referring to the Earl’s dress. All that black and white makes him look like a checkerboard.’

  ‘He is still in mourning.’

  ‘Why do you defend him, ma’am, when he was responsible for the ruination of your family?’

  ‘I am not defending him, Sir Arthur, simply stating a fact.’ She paused, looking about her almost wildly for something to say to change the subject. ‘Oh, we can see right down the drive from this window and there are some more arrivals. Who do you think they are?’

  He came and stood beside her as the first of several carriages drew up below them. ‘I do believe that’s the Comte’s carriage,’ he said.

  The Comte de Carlemont, in bright yellow and cerise, was followed by Lord and Lady Brotherton with Caroline and then the Baverstocks, much to Annabelle’s delight. More arrived as they watched and soon the ballroom was no longer empty but filled with men and women sumptuously dressed, all talking at once, looking about them, commenting on the changes made to the house, reminiscing about what it had been like in the old days, remarking on the other guests, often maliciously.

  A long line of liveried footmen walked into the room carrying trays of champagne and cordial which they offered to everyone. A few minutes later Anne entered on the arm of the Earl, a master of ceremonies announced the first country dance and his lordship led his hostess into the first set. Sir Arthur seized Lydia by the hand and joined them and the evening had begun.

  Lydia had made up her mind she would not enjoy it, was determined she would not, but the music and gaiety wore her down and she began to relax. By the time Ralph claimed her for a polka, she had drunk two glasses of champagne and her feet were tapping. He bowed before her and held out his hand without speaking. She took it silently and then they were in the middle of the floor, careering up and down in breathless abandonment.

  By the time they finished she was flushed and laughing. He knew he loved her then. There would never be anyone else for him. The enormity of the discovery hit him like a physical blow and took his breath away. He had been fooling himself if he thought his motives were simply to end the long running enmity of two families and end the rumours which he knew to be untrue. He wanted more, much more. But it was too late, much, much too late. He could not have her.

  He raised her from the deep curtsy she had made at the end of the dance and forced himself to smile as he offered her his arm. She laid her fingers on it and walked sedately with him back to her mama and Sir Arthur where he bowed and raised her hand to his lips. His expression as he did so puzzled her. It was sardonically humorous, quizzical and yet slightly melancholy. ‘Miss Fostyn,’ he murmured softly, leaving her bemused.

  ‘Come, my dear,’ said Sir Arthur brusquely. ‘I believe they are serving supper in the dining room.’

  She trailed after him, her feet dragging when only minutes before they had been flying round the ballroom as if they had wings. She did not want to eat but, remembering how the champagne had affected her at Sir Arthur’s soirée and not wishing to disgrace herself a second time, she forced a little food down her throat. He tried coaxing her with more titbits which only made her angry and she excused herself and fled before she gave herself away.

  Down the passageways of that huge house she went, not knowing where she was going. She needed somewhere cool and private to think. But what was there to think about? She had burned her boats. She could not escape from the hateful engagement and nothing had really changed; they were still under notice to quit the dower house and there was still the question of John’s schooling and Annabelle’s dowry. Nothing had changed.

  ‘The Mermaid is lying out to sea.’ She stopped in her tracks, frozen by a man’s voice coming from an open door ahead of her. She stood, afraid to go on, unwilling to go back. There was a dank smell of soil and warmth emanating from the room and she remembered the Earl showing her and her mother the conservatory he had recently had erected on a south-facing wall and stocked with exotic plants. Beyond it was the garden. ‘If the moon and tides are right, I expect it to come in close soon after midnight,’ the voice went on. ‘The boat will be lowered when the signal is given. Have
the men and the cart ready. I’ll send word.’

  ‘Where will you be?’ The voice was gruff and had a local twang, though Lydia did not recognise it.

  ‘Combing the dunes.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘You know what for.’ It was said angrily. ‘Now go.’

  Lydia felt a cool draught flow around her ankles, as the outer door was opened and then shut. She guessed the roughly spoken man had gone, but at any moment the other would come through the door behind which she was hiding. Afraid of being discovered, she hurried away to the other side of the staircase where she might see anyone coming out of the conservatory from between its banisters. She had not recognised the voices and it was important to know who the men were. ‘Combing the dunes,’ one had said. That implied looking for something that was lost. But he would not find it, because it was in the chest in her bed chamber.

  She crept away, all thought of flight forgotten, and for a moment her concern for the dilemma she was in over Sir Arthur was superseded by another, more mystifying and in many ways more terrifying. Did the Earl know men were plotting under his roof? Who were they? Should she tell someone? The Earl?

  ‘There you are, my dear. I have been looking for you everywhere.’ She was startled by her mother’s voice behind her.

  ‘I was just coming, Mama. I needed some fresh air.’

  ‘We are all going into the garden for the fireworks. You will find fresh air enough there.’

  It was then that she realised everyone was crowding down the corridor to the conservatory from which they could enter the garden where the fireworks were to be let off. She and her mother went with them, but there was no sign of anyone furtively hiding among the plants; whoever had been there had blended with the guests and was gone.

  Sir Arthur joined them in the garden, arriving silently at Lydia’s side as they were ushered onto the terrace behind the ropes which had been strung across it for safety’s sake, and the men Ralph had hired from London set off a spectacular display.