Bething's Folly

by Barbara Metzger

  “But I take it Uncle Aubry is your guardian,” Carleton insisted. “Surely he can force you to wed, or take over the Folly if he really feels it would be in your best interest?” Carleton was truly curious, and the girl responded, treating him like a co-conspirator.

  “He has threatened to try, but my father’s will was very explicit: The Folly is mine, to own and to manage. He trusted me. I have hired lawyers to look into that very thing, and they tell me that if I keep proper records and do not go any further into debt, then Uncle Aubry has no claims. As for marriage, I do not believe even Uncle Aubry would carry me to the altar, kicking and screaming. Could you see the stir it would make?”

  The Marquis could, and he could even sympathise as she went on to explain the difficulties she would be in if Carleton did offer for her, for her uncle would have apoplexy if she refused. He might even attempt to have her declared mentally incompetent! This only recalled to mind Carleton’s own difficulties, and especially the situation he had got himself into now, accepting the child’s confidences. He smiled at the thought. This “child” was running a successful horse farm and had more control over her life than he had of his!

  She smiled back at him, and again he marvelled that her warmth was so genuine, that there was no artistry or flirting. He was about to ease into a confession when Ferddie Milbrooke burst into the room.

  “Oh, there you are, Carleton! The Duchess is in a rare pet, you know, supper and all. Sent me to find you, in no uncertain terms.” He came farther into the room and saw Miss Bethingame, who was suddenly on her feet, her fists clenched and her eyes flashing sparks. Ferddie slowly raised his quizzing glass, not looking at Carleton at all or noting his frantic signals. “Trust you to find the needle in the haystack, Carleton,” he finally drawled. Then, as the circumstances dawned on him—the closed door, Carleton not down to supper—a frown of doubt appeared on his forehead and he forgot the affected manner of speech. “You know, it’s not at all the thing for you to be here like this, if you don’t mind me saying so. I can’t think it’s—”

  “No, it is not at all the thing for me to be here with such a deceitful, despicable, d-d-dastardly cur like you!” the girl finally sputtered at Carleton. Then, to Ferddie, “Good evening, sir.”

  Ferddie’s mouth hung open and his glass dropped to the end of its ribbon, but he had sense enough to open the door for the lady before she kicked it down, as she looked very tempted to do. He put his hand on Carleton’s shoulder as the Marquis would have gone after her.

  “No, Carleton, I don’t know what went on in here—and I don’t want to, either—but unless you mean to offer for the chit, you’d best not be seen leaving here with her.”

  “Right, Ferddie, and I congratulate you on your wisdom! What did you think of her?”

  “She seemed to have a deal of, um, spirit,” Ferddie answered uncertainly.

  “Yes, like a regular she-cat, or kitten.”

  Ferddie looked closely at his friend’s smile to find the usual sarcasm, but there was none. He decided it would be best to keep his thoughts to himself until he saw which way the wind blew; but for a change it was Milbrooke who wore the know-it-all expression and Carleton who had a friendly smile when they left the library together some few minutes later.

  The Duchess was standing near the ballroom door with some friends when they entered. She sent an I’ll-speak-to-you-later look toward her son and pointedly asked if he had found what he was looking for in the library.

  “Yes, your Grace,” he answered pleasantly, “I believe I have found it now.”

  The Duchess raised her eyebrows but asked no further questions. She turned to present a Miss Winston to him—and to Ferddie, whose wrist was somehow curiously caught in the Marquis’s grip. They made their bows and, the grip tightening until realisation came, Ferddie asked the young lady to dance. Miss Winston was relieved, for like most of the other debutantes, she found the Marquis’s chiseled features and cold blue eyes intimidating, while Ferddie’s ruddy good looks were much more comfortable. Miss Winston’s mother was annoyed. The Duchess was neither dismayed nor disappointed to see her son walk off, scanning the room. She was only extremely curious, as was almost every other pair of eyes in the entire ballroom.

  Carleton realised that he was the object of a great deal of speculation, but there was no help for it. He also realised it would not enhance his apology to Miss Bethingame to draw so much unwelcome attention, just what she particularly wished to avoid. He was not about to let her disappear before he could make amends, however. He had had a glimpse of something precious and knew he mustn’t lose it. There she was now, he saw, a glimmer of bright yellow in a far corner, sitting behind an enormous dowager in purple satin with an ostrich headdress. Somewhere on his way across the endless-seeming room, Miss Bethingame became aware of his approach. A hanky in her hand was suffering sadly, and her colouring suddenly lost its rosy glow, betraying her; but her eyes were fixed on the floor, almost the only ones in the room not on Carleton, which brought a smile back to his lips. How fierce she looked, he thought, and how exquisite, under all the lights of the ballroom where he could really appreciate her clear skin and the gold in her brown hair. Truly she was like a wildflower, all the more lovely for bravely growing where one least expected it.

  Miss Elizabeth Bethingame, meanwhile, was horrified. She was still furious over Carleton’s behaviour, of course, but she was also mortified at her own. She kept repeating to herself all the awful things she had said about him and his family—and he was actually in front of her! How dare he?

  “Miss Bethingame,” Carleton started, only to be met with that same “How dare you?” so he dispensed with the courtesies, drew a chair up and seated himself. The dowager in purple sniffed and muttered something about unmannerly young people until she was quelled by a look from the Marquis and turned away.

  “Miss Bethingame, please listen to me. My actions were deplorable, I know. I also know you would not have spoken to me if you knew the truth, so what was I to do?”

  “You might have stopped me from saying those things about you!”

  “Why? They were true, mostly, except that I like this ball as little as you do. Please believe me, I would not have made such a spectacle of myself!”

  She looked at him closely, positive his smooth insincerity would show. Instead, all she noticed were how blue his eyes were, how strong his chin, which did nothing to ease her mind, nor did his lopsided smile. Her lips twitched to return it, but she recalled her situation and firmed her shoulders resolutely.

  “And now, sir, you are making a spectacle of me by sitting here!”

  “Something else I must apologise for, though also not to my liking. You must admit I could not apologise for my first fault without committing this second! Besides, the damage is done and the music is starting, so may I have the pleasure of this dance?”

  Miss Bethingame had already noticed the orchestra beginning after the dinner intermission, a waltz, to her dismay. “No thank you, my Lord, I do not care to waltz,” she said coldly.

  Carleton was puzzled, for he thought he was resolving the library difficulty as gracefully as possible. He was also not used to being refused and did not care for what a fool he might seem to the company, so he spoke more bitingly than he might have.

  “What, Miss Bethingame, growing missish? I did not think a mere waltz would daunt you, not after your previous behaviour, which must shock everyone in this room!” He sought to defeat her feeble excuse and succeeded.

  “My Lord Carleton, I would not dance with you if you were the only man here, waltz or not!” she answered just as angrily, her temper as short-fused as his, he was astonished to see. Most well-bred ladies were taught not to show their emotions and seldom did, except for weeping or swooning. He seriously doubted Miss Bethingame would do either. This reflection gave him time to gather his own self-control and realise further how unlike other women Miss Bethingame actually was.

  “Well, then may I find you a part
ner for the dance?” he asked in an effort to regain a little favour. “At least then you might have the pleasure of the waltz, to save what must be a dismal evening for you.” He rose as if to leave, but a small hand reached for his sleeve.

  “Please, my Lord, I ... I do not waltz,” she said in a barely audible voice, and, yes, Miss Bethingame was blushing.

  “Do you mean you don’t know how?” asked Carleton bluntly, unbelievingly. This girl-woman could speak Greek and run an estate—yet she did not know how to waltz. Her tiny nod confirmed this and brought him an unexpected rush of relief that her refusal was for the dance, not him. This was quickly replaced by regret over his own words.

  “I am sorry to have teased you, Miss Bethingame—Lord, I seem constantly to be apologising! I swear, I do not usually make such a muddle of things. Please, may I fetch you some champagne or lemonade? Perhaps something to eat, since you did not go to supper? No? Do you wish me to find your aunt so you may leave, for you have been noticed enough, I am sure, even for Ellie and Uncle Aubry.”

  Her features relaxed a little as she thanked him for the thought, but said she doubted her aunt would leave the card rooms voluntarily for she got so few chances to indulge in her favourite pastime.

  “Even if I were to say you had the headache?”

  “Aunt Claudia would know it was a hum; I’ve never had a headache in my life.”

  “But if I had a servant bring the message, she could not very well deny it in front of the whole company, could she?” Miss Bethingame smiled for the first time since leaving the library, a tentative, appreciative smile that aroused feelings of tenderness Carleton hadn’t known he possessed. A servant was sent to the card rooms, another to fetch the ladies’ pelisses and call for the carriage, while Lord Carleton and Miss Bethingame circled the dancers on the way out. The lady was uneasy to be under the scrutiny of everyone along the walls, though she was thankful to be leaving an entirely unfortunate affair. The gentleman, meanwhile, was delighted to help her vanish before the dance was over for more subtle reasons. Carleton knew he could not ask her to dance again without causing even more comment, and he did not trust his friends! It was as simple as that: if he could not have her company, no one would.

  Aunt Claudia, Lady Burke, a short, very plump woman of middle age, was waiting in the hall. She was introduced to Lord Carleton as Miss Bethingame’s father’s sister, widow of the late Lord Humphreys Burke. Carleton immediately volunteered to express her regrets to the Duchess, so there was no question of their staying on, to Aunt Claudia’s irritation. She was not about to ask her niece for an explanation in his presence, either, so she merely noted Miss Bethingame’s continued healthful appearance before moving disgustedly through the front doors. Before Miss Bethingame could follow, Carleton pulled a flower from a vase on the hall table and handed it to her, saying, “Miss Bethingame, I am truly sorry if I have hurt you.”

  She said nothing but gave him a fleeting, radiant smile before running through the door after her aunt.

  The ballroom was buzzing with talk now between dances. Carleton reintroduced himself to the first girl he saw and asked her for the next country dance, just forming. He chatted pleasantly to her, and successive changes of partners, about the weather, the countryside, the war in France. What was so hard about this? he wondered. He danced continuously through the second part of the ball and was gracious to all of his partners, selecting them by nearness to hand and finding something to compliment each one about: this one’s gown, that one’s dancing or flowers or green eyes. Previously awkward, shy girls blossomed to lay their hearts at his feet. It was only as the last dance was announced, the second waltz, that Carleton stood aside. He looked around slowly and many breaths were held in anticipation to see whom he would honour. His mother looked at him quizzically as he walked toward her from nearby, but he did not select any of the debutantes at her side to partner. Instead, he made an exquisite low bow in front of the Duchess and held out his hand. “Your Grace, may I have this dance with the most beautiful woman in the ballroom?”

  SEVEN

  Breakfast on the morning following the ball was a haphazard affair. Many of the guests rose early, ate hurriedly and departed in order to arrive in London that evening, having made their farewells the night before. Among these were most of Carleton’s own friends, with wagers on who could arrive at White’s first. Only Ferddie Milbrooke was staying on for another week. The other house guests were planning to leave Carlyle Hall after luncheon, put up at posting house inns and conclude their journeys the following day; they were resting late this morning in preparation. The Duke had eaten much earlier and was with his estate manager, a servant informed his son, who was relieved that his father had not over-taxed himself with the evening. The Duchess was not yet down, he was told, and would breakfast in her rooms, which also relieved Carleton. He had no wish to face her enquiries yet. In fact, he had no desire to face the remaining guests at all, certainly not the same young ladies with the same conversations and the same hopeful mamas. With this and other thoughts in mind, he asked Ferddie to accompany him on a ride. While Ferddie changed his clothes, Carleton went to the stables. He ordered up his own horse, Jupiter, and a mount for Milbrooke, then sought out his father’s head groom. Old Nate knew more about horses than anyone else in Carleton’s acquaintance and had lived his entire life in the region of Carlyle Hall. What he had to say about Bething’s Folly only raised Carleton’s interest. In Nate’s opinion, there was a good man running the place, and the Duke could very well consider some of the new-fangled ideas there since they seemed to be getting the Folly better yearlings every season. Ferddie returned to hear a discussion of the lineage of the Bethingame stable and the coming prospects. He kept his silence until he and Carleton were mounted and on their way out of the stable yard when he asked, “Any place in particular you’d have in mind to ride, Carleton?”

  The Marquis looked back over his shoulder and saw his friend’s wide smile. “Don’t you tease me with it, Ferddie; I’ll have enough of that later.” He let the eager Jupiter have his head and galloped off down the drive, Ferddie close behind him.

  The approach to Bething Manor was up a narrow dirt lane with trees arching over, dappling the sunlight. At the end of the lane stood worn stone columns and, past them on either side of the carriage drive, green lawn and a border garden filled with the gentle colours of early spring blooms. The manor itself stood in the full sun, its grey stone exterior softened by ivy creepers and forsythia bushes. It was a modest, solid house with casement windows and neat chimneys at either end, obviously built with an eye toward practicality and comfort, without the sprawling hodgepodge of ornamental architecture so common—and so hard to keep warm. Beyond the grass verge to one side of the house was what appeared to be a formal garden, and to the other, up a small rise, a long, low structure of the same grey stone, surrounded by perimeters of neat white fencing as far as the eye could see, with here and there an outbuilding or cottage. Everything was immaculate and in perfect order, not a fence post tilting, not a fallen tree branch in sight Horses—mares with foals—could be seen in the distance, on the hills behind the house and stable, and noises of some activity were coming from behind the latter, otherwise all was quiet, with no one in sight and nothing but soft chimney smoke and bird song to give the place an almost breathtakingly beautiful pastoral charm, a great sense of peace and contentment.

  He could well understand Miss Bethingame’s determination to keep the Folly, Carleton thought, for it justified her pride and reflected her devotion in every neat hedge, every foal cavorting in the sunshine on the hills. Then he laughed to himself and shook his head ruefully: Interest in the estate was the last thing he could afford to express. At least his curiosity about the Folly was satisfied; now he would see if his last night’s impressions were correct.

  No one came to take the horses, so after they had dismounted Ferddie held the reins while Carleton lifted the knocker on the wide oak door. After a few moments the door was
opened by an elderly man in shirt sleeves with a polishing cloth in one hand. The staff at Bething Manor was obviously not used to receiving unexpected callers. One glance at the visitors, however, their elegant coats, their polished Hessians, to say nothing of their fine horses and stylish good looks, and the butler accurately determined their social importance. He immediately summoned a footman to lead the horses to the stables and drew himself up to accept the gentlemen’s cards with all the dignity of his breed, despite his informal appearance. He led them to a small sitting room off the front hall while he went to announce them to Lady Burke, who he assured them was at home.

  “Peculiar household, don’t you think?” Ferddie asked, wandering around the small room whose furnishings were a little worn, the draperies somewhat faded.

  Carleton made no answer, trying to visualise this as a setting for the girl he had met last night. Yes, he could see her here, her honest, outspoken ways matching the sturdy, comfortable furnishings, her unaffected loveliness recalled by the wildflowers collected in simple glass vases. He smiled, amused by his own romanticising. He was making too much of last night’s encounter. Surely Miss Bethingame would turn out to be a pretty enough country miss with the same cloying agreeableness of all the others, or a spoiled, demanding beauty, like so many of the London Incomparables. She would be as selfishly two-faced as any other woman when it suited her. Still, he could not help his eager anticipation when the butler returned, this time with formal coat buttoned and gloves on.

  “Lady Burke would be honoured to receive you,” he said. “Will you follow me?” He spoke with perfect composure, not reflecting the turmoil these two guests’ arrival had created in the drawing room.

  Lady Burke was there dithering around the room, straightening pillows and searching for somewhere to stash the disreputable novel she’d been reading. She finally shoved it into a sewing basket, muttering the whole time about Aubry’s business, and there, didn’t she just know it, and where was Elizabeth? This was how Carleton and Milbrooke found her when the butler opened the door and stood aside. She was talking to herself, they realised, unless one counted the small, ancient pug at her side. This creature, as squat and plump as its mistress, instantly set to yapping when they entered the room, and trundled toward them as fast as its little bowed legs could carry it to commence snapping at their boots. Its snarling attack made greetings and introductions impossible; Lady Burke’s oh dear’s helped not at all, and the butler had disappeared. In desperation Carleton reached out to a side table near the doorway, where they still stood, and took a bon-bon from a dish. He rolled it across the floor, just past the pug’s nose. The dog waddled over to the treat, then darted between its mistress’s feet with it, as though to eat in a safe spot. At least it had finally quieted. Lady Burke gathered the dog to her cushiony bosom with a few bad doggie’s and oh my’s and at last remembered to invite her guests to be seated. She chose a sofa, with the pug up next to her. Ferddie selected a seat as far away as was polite, once he had been introduced.