“Take my word for it, Claudia, she will shame us all some day with her hoydenish behaviour. There’ll be a scandal sooner or later, unless there’s a firm hand to control her.”
“But perhaps some men prefer um ... interesting women, Aubry.” Lady Burke was twisting her napkin, worrying which of the servants knew of Carleton’s first, disastrous visit, or how long he was alone in the stables with Elizabeth. Lady Burke did not think either occasion would make an outright scandal, but there was no underestimating her brother’s sense of propriety, nor his pride in the Bethingame name.
“No man likes a flighty woman, Claudia.”
“But Lord Carleton seems to be paying a deal of attention to her...”
“And if the young fool can be made to offer for her soon, we’ll be well out of it.”
“But ... but, Aubry, Elizabeth does not wish to be married.”
“Rubbish, madam! What else is there for a woman to do?”
When Elizabeth returned to the library, it was to find her uncle sitting at her father’s desk—now hers—going through her account books.
“Uncle Aubry! Those are my personal business!” she exclaimed, slamming one shut in front of him, furious at his intrusion but determined to stay calm.
“Nonsense, I am your guardian.”
“And this is my house, as you very well know, to which you have not been invited.”
“I do not have to be invited to attend to my ward’s business.” Lord Bethingame saw no fault in his own actions, merely another instance of his niece’s waywardness. He chose to ignore her insulting manner and gestured her to a seat.
She threw herself into a leather chair and immediately began tapping her foot. “What, pray tell, is this business you have suddenly concerned yourself about?” she asked. “I have told you I will not marry any of your old cronies, so you may as well give up on that.”
“This has nothing to do with your wedding anyone; I doubt if any of my friends would have you! That is beside the point ... Claudia wrote me about a horse you are entering in the Ardsley Cup races this season.”
“That is correct. We have great hopes for him.”
“It won’t do.”
“What do you mean, it won’t do? He is a fine horse and stands a great chance.” She was genuinely puzzled.
“It won’t do because horse racing is not a proper vocation for respectable young women.”
“That is absurd. Lady Jeffreys runs her own stables, and Lady—”
“Lady Jeffreys has been through three husbands, which is not exactly respectable, but that is entirely irrelevant. Neither Lady Bethingame nor myself approves of horse racing, especially for women. We do not wish our name associated with such a debacle.”
“Uncle Aubry, neither Aunt Eunice nor yourself have ever approved of anything I did, or my father before me, so that is not a prime consideration. What it is is that this horse can prove our stud. He can win the Cup, the money, the honour. I have a fine trainer in Robbie Jackson, and an experienced jockey. There will be no disgrace.”
“Nevertheless, he will not run.”
“Not run? Of course he will! Haven’t you been listening? He is entered; he can win.”
“Your horse has been withdrawn. That is what I was doing in London, speaking to the stewards of the race.”
“What?” Elizabeth was on her feet in front of the desk, shouting. “You can’t do that! You have no right!”
“You are under age, Elizabeth. It is my right, no, my duty, to protect your reputation. The stewards will not accept your horse without your guardian’s consent. I will not give it. I have also made clear to the officials that if your horse runs under another’s name, they had better have ownership papers to prove it.”
Elizabeth was in a rage. If the Pride did not race, the Folly could not get by much longer on Moonlight’s reputation. If the Pride were sold, then raced, they would have the reputation, but no stallion in a few years. Either way the Folly would be finished. Tears of rage filled her eyes until, instead of seeing the thin, balding man in drab clothes in front of her, she saw all the injustices of her life; instead of his pontifical voice, she heard every condemnation of everything she loved. It was too much. Her hands, clenched into useless fists, pounded on the desk as she told her uncle exactly what she thought of him. An inkpot bounced on the desk at “despicable,” she unconsciously grabbed it at “pompous,” and when she brought her fist down, bottle and all, at “ass,” the contents spewed all over her uncle.
And that was how Miss Elizabeth Bethingame conducted herself in a mature, reasonable manner.
When she left the house a short while later in a tossed-together riding outfit, she informed Taylor that her uncle would be leaving, to see that his bags were packed and his carriage brought round. She didn’t know if she could carry it off, but Taylor, at least, saw no reason to disbelieve her and moved off to give instructions.
When Elizabeth returned home after some few hours, she was dust-covered and disheveled but not one bit more relaxed. Taylor informed her, with no hint of emotion or expression, that there must have been a misunderstanding; her uncle was departing in the morning, to avoid the discomfort of a night at an inn.
“The expense, you mean. Well, I shall have luncheon in my room and be out for tea ... Tell Cook to burn the dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am. Begging your pardon, Miss Elizabeth, but a note was delivered to you this morning. I sent it up to your bedroom, in case, ahem, you should come in the rear door.”
What he meant, Elizabeth knew, was that Uncle Aubry had been snooping around and the note was something she would rather he not see, or, at any rate, something Taylor thought was private. She smiled and ran up the stairs.
The note was on heavy bond, with a blue seal, and read: Has your success of last night gone to your head already that you can dismiss old admirers? Yrs., Carleton. She tore it into the smallest pieces the thick paper would allow.
No one saw Lord Bethingame off in the morning except Taylor. Lady Burke sent word that she was not feeling well; her headache would most likely last a week this time. Elizabeth had no intention of making even the slightest pretense at cordiality, so stayed in her rooms all morning pacing until Bessie finally brought word that he was gone. Elizabeth spent another hour in the library, composing letters to her solicitors to see what was to be done about that race. She could think of many plans—most impractical, some illegal, none satisfactory—but it was Robbie Jackson’s suggestion that she make enquiries first to see if Uncle Aubry was only trying to cow her, or possibly overstepping his authority. The letters were sent off to catch the mail coach and Elizabeth picked at her solitary luncheon. She wasn’t in the mood to ride, or watch the training exercises, or read, or anything—except maybe kick at a few doors. At last she tossed a shawl over her shoulders, called for her dog at the stables and set off on an aimless walk. She wandered down a way on the dirt lane while the spaniel chased imaginary rabbits, then around some of the paddocks, then finally back to the gardens, where she sank down on a marble bench. One hand idly stroked the dog behind his ears, but her thoughts were hundreds of miles away at a certain race track. She could see the horses running, hear the crowds shouting for the Pride, hear the officials calling her name...
“Miss Bethingame? Miss Bethingame?”
She jerked back to the here and now where, standing in the sunshine, tapping his riding crop against his boots, Alexander Carleton was concernedly looking down at her.
“Oh. Good afternoon, my Lord. I didn’t see you approach.” She gave him a vague smile.
“I know. I’ve been walking over all the place looking for you. Do you always go out without telling anyone where you are?”
“I was just thinking. Besides, I was not expecting anyone.” She looked up at him suspiciously. “I believe I did ask you not to call.”
“Yes, but I thought I might be of assistance.” He did not say that he almost rode over as soon as he received her note to find out what had hap
pened, what he could do to help. Instead he had sent a man with a nonsense reply, on a reconnaissance mission. The groom was not to return until he knew exactly what was going on at Bething’s Folly. Carleton therefore knew all about her uncle’s arrival, and more, but this was going to be one of those conversations where he had to proceed carefully, as were most with Miss Bethingame. She might speak her own mind with sometimes lamentable consequences; he dared not. For instance, while he wanted to take this forlorn little figure in his arms and comfort her, he teasingly asked if he might sit down, since she had neglected to invite him. As expected, she recovered enough spirit to advise him not to be a ninny. He was here, wasn’t he? She made room for him on the marble bench; he chuckled and sat down, then asked if he might know what had caused her such distress.
“Ah, Sir Galahad. My uncle, that’s what. An odious, obnoxious man. He arrived the night of Margaret’s ball, all puffed up with his own righteousness, poking and prying into my business. He is refusing to let the Pride race in the Ardsley Cup because it would be a poor reflection on the family name! Have you ever heard such nonsense?”
“And what did you do?”
“Me? I ... I lost my temper.”
“You, Miss Bethingame?” She looked over quickly and yes, there was that damnable smile. She had to smile back, her anger and despair forgotten for a moment. She even had to laugh when she described last night’s dinner, the look on her uncle’s face. She’d come down late, in a gown she had never worn because it was too low-cut, no matter how fashionable Ellie said it was. Then she had proceeded to feed her over-cooked quail to Aunt Claudia’s pug, at which Uncle Aubry naturally took exception and ordered the dog removed. Elizabeth just as naturally declared it was her home and the dog would stay. None of the servants would interfere, suddenly disappearing into the kitchen. Claudia was wailing Oh my’s into her napkin and Aubry, to prove his point and his power, made to evict the animal himself. With a stranger at his hindquarters and roast quail at his pushed-in nose, the dog’s reaction was immediate—and painful to Lord Bethingame. Not too bloody, because of the old dog’s rotten teeth, but enough.
“Uncle was almost apoplectic!” Elizabeth laughed. “You should have seen him!”
“I’m afraid I did...”
“What do you mean? He left early this morning, so you could not have passed him on the road.”
“No, he—um—he stopped to pay his respects to the Duke on his way to London.”
“But he doesn’t even know the Duke, to my knowledge, and Carlyle is not on the way to London. I don’t understand.”
“Luckily the Duke was off with his bailiff; I had the, ah, pleasure of receiving your uncle.” He went on quickly, before she could interrupt: “He mentioned you might be going to stay up north with him and his lady shortly.”
“That’s absurd! Aunt Eunice would never have me, even if I would go. No, whatever the purpose of his call, it was not that. I wonder what he really had in mind.”
“I believe,” Carleton said slowly, carefully, “that he wished to ascertain if my intentions toward you were honourable.”
“Why, of all the encroaching, insulting—I hope you threw him out!”
“I did better than that ... I offered for you.”
“You did what?”
“I asked his permission to make my addresses to you. Miss Beth—Elizabeth, please listen. I know this sounds horrible, and you have every reason to be angry. Since I hardly know you, only for a week or so, I have no right to speak of emotions; indeed, I’m sure you would only be offended. But if you consider this reasonably—don’t look at me like that—you’ll see the advantages of such a proposition. Think of it as a business transaction if you must. You will get to keep the Folly forever, with no guardians or overseers; your solicitors can draw up a contract so that neither the property nor the proceeds ever come to me or my family. You can leave it to your children, or charity! I promise never to interfere. You will, of course, have a marriage settlement to ensure your future and to refurbish the house, and you will still have your freedom to do whatever you want. We would have to take a house in London, of course, and spend some time there, but not too much. And we could live here, if you like, when we’re in the country, instead of at Carlyle.”
She was staring at him peculiarly, as if he had just sprouted another nose. “Excuse me, Lord Carleton—”
“Alexander, please.”
“Lord Carleton. Sir, I wonder about your sanity.”
He smiled but went on anyway. “I am entirely sane and serious. You already have my respect; I think we could learn to deal very well together.”
“Lord Carleton, I do not wish to seem ungrateful of the honour, but you offer me my farm, my freedom, respect—and money, too. Exactly what do you get out of this, besides a wife you don’t want?”
He knew this question would be coming, so he’d prepared an answer on his way over. He was not about to reply that he would get what he wanted most, the chance to hold her, to look after her, to teach her to love him as he loved her. No, he was sure enough of his stratagems but not confident enough to chance being repulsed by some independent young chit. He laughed at himself—his first offer of marriage, and the first woman he’d had to bargain with! Still, Elizabeth was waiting for an answer.
“I need a wife, you know that. I think you are someone whose company I could enjoy, who would understand my having interests of my own, as you have yours. You would be a wife I could be proud of, for make no mistake, there will be demands on you. You will be Duchess someday, remember. You will have to be presented and take your place in Society, run a household and entertain.”
She was not satisfied, he could see that, but there was no more explanation coming. She asked, testing, “Could I race my horses under my own name?”
“Your name would be Carleton, of course, something I would have to insist on, but I would be pleased to have you use it if your horses are as good as you say. No one can stop you from keeping and using your stable’s name, however, not even your uncle, though I would like to see him try.”
“And the Ardsley Cup?”
“Yes, that’s a problem, that and your uncle’s threat to carry you away. I would have waited until we knew each other better, but the race is in two months and I know how much you are counting on it. I’m sure I’ve given you better reasons for accepting me, Elizabeth, but here is the most pressing: Your uncle simply won’t let you race; I will ... Lord, I feel as though I’m proposing to a horse!” He laughed, sure she would see the ridiculousness of the situation as he did, or at least become angry, which would be equally in keeping. She remained very quiet, however, withdrawn, only saying she would need some time to consider what he had said.
Elizabeth remained in the garden for a long time after Carleton left, staring at nothing. She had just been offered two things she dearly loved—the Folly and, yes, Lord Alexander Carleton himself. Only one thing was missing, she thought bitterly. He’d spoken of respect and pride and contracts, not one word of love! He had not even kissed the woman he would marry. Tears streamed down her cheeks as Elizabeth cried for the first time since her father’s death.
ELEVEN
Things looked different to Elizabeth the next morning. Carleton mightn’t love her, but he was willing to marry her, and that was a start! She could not refuse him, not for practical considerations, not for any reasons. When he came to tea her hand only trembled slightly as she poured for him and Aunt Claudia; her voice only quavered a little when she made the announcement: “Aunt Claudia, I have some news. Lord Carleton has done me the honour of asking me to be his wife, and I have accepted.” Lady Burke’s sweet roll dropped out of her fingers—the pug lunged for it. Her eyes filled with tears, the older woman jumped up to kiss Elizabeth, blubbering how happy she was. She offered her cheek to Carleton before rushing from the room to fetch Taylor and some champagne. When she had left, the Marquis raised Elizabeth’s hand and kissed it.
“Thank you, Elizabeth. You’l
l see, it was the right choice.” It was the only choice, as they both knew, but he was bound to show her every consideration.
There were champagne toasts and congratulations from Taylor and Cook and Bessie, and Jackson brought in, and exclamations over the heirloom diamond and sapphire ring presented for inspection, which was too big.
“I knew it wouldn’t fit, but I wanted you to see it first. I could have it reset if you’d like, or buy a new one, if you would prefer,” Carleton said when they were alone again.
“No, it is exquisite ... Did you know I’d accept, that you brought it along?”
He smiled. “I was hoping. Besides, it will save time. There’s a great deal to be done. I shall be off to London tomorrow, now that that is settled. I wish to speak to your uncle before he leaves, have the house opened, make arrangements—all kinds of things. Come, walk outside with me, will you? We have a lot of details to consider.”
The first problem was when to hold the wedding and where.
“Must it be a big wedding at St. George’s in Hanover Square, with half the ton? I would much rather be married by the vicar here in the chapel, if that is agreeable to you,” she said.
“That would be fine. I deplore those London circuses, and all the relatives we would have to have. It will mean a few less tablecloths and tea sets, but I dare say we’ll manage without. Mother can be persuaded to hold a reception in Town, so no one will be too much offended. St. George’s would take a great deal of time to arrange besides, I’m sure, so this will be better. My father’s groom informs me that entries for major horse races are closed a month before the race date, which does not give us much leeway, if Elizabeth Bethingame Carleton is to appear on the papers. Do you like the sound of it?” He stopped walking to look down at her, but she chose to misinterpret his question.
“Then we must be wed shortly. Yes, that sounds fine. I can wear Mama’s wedding gown, so I’ll be ready whenever you obtain the license.” She was trying not to bounce up and down in eagerness; he was disturbed by her lack of enthusiasm. They really did not know each other well. He took her arm and started walking again.
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