by Carola Dunn
“We’re going for a walk,” Vickie explained, helping herself to a tart, “down to the stream, before it starts to rain again. So we can’t stay now, but please, sir, will you tell me all about Waterloo sometime?”
“I regret to say, Lady Victoria, that I missed Waterloo.”
“Oh yes, Felix said you were wounded at Quatre Bras. That was before, wasn’t it? You can tell me about another of the Duke of Wellington’s victories that you fought in, instead.”
Her governess intervened. “Lady Victoria, I hardly think it proper....”
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” the captain said with a grin, “I’ll leave out all the unsuitable bits.”
Vickie made a moue. “The best bits, you mean. Come on, Anita, let’s go while the sun’s shining.”
“There’s fishes in the stream, Uncle Frank.” The little girl slid down from the sofa and ran to take Vickie’s hand. “I’ll come and see you again soon.”
They went out through the french door. Smiling, he watched Anita cross the terrace. At the top of the steps down to the garden she turned to wave, and he waved back, wincing as he raised his arm. She took Miss Bannister’s hand and went off happily to see the fishes.
“Merry as a grig,” said the captain. “With the unsettled life she’s led, it’s fortunate that she has a knack of making friends.”
“She is an enchanting child,” Constantia said, “but it is to your credit, and Miss Ingram’s, that she is so confident in a novel situation.”
“The credit is all Fanny’s. She took charge when Anita’s mother died and she wouldn’t give her up for the world. It’s not made a hard life any easier, but you’d never hear her complain.”
His pride in his sister was endearing, and justified, as Constantia realized when he described the difficulties of life in the army’s train. He said not a word of the hardship to a young, poorly-paid officer in supporting a sister and a child not his own. Instead, he was full of praise for the way first his mother, then Fanny, had made the most dilapidated quarters homelike for their menfolk.
Thomas came in to remove the tea-table, and later returned to announce that luncheon was served.
“Heavens, is it so late?” Constantia exclaimed. “I shall have to put in an appearance, Captain Ingram, since we have guests. You must order whatever you wish to be brought to you here. I shall come straight back to...Oh, bother, it looks like rain. You will have to exercise indoors today.”
Calling Joan to go with her, she started towards the door, then stopped as Fanny entered, pale and agitated, still in her riding habit. Constantia guessed she was in a quake at the prospect of meeting the earl and countess again at luncheon. Where was Felix when his beloved needed his support?
“Shall I wait for you while you change your dress, Miss Ingram?” she offered. “Or would you prefer to take luncheon in here with your brother?”
“Oh no!” She sounded distraught. “Thank you, I am not hungry. Pray excuse me, I must speak with Frank.”
“Of course.” Constantia laid her hand on Fanny’s arm. “If there is anything I can do....”
Fanny’s mouth quivered and she shook her head, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Had she quarrelled with Felix? Helpless, Constantia signalled to the footman to leave, and she and her maid followed him.
Frank stared at his sister in dismay. “Fanny, what is it?” he asked, holding out his hand to her.
With a visible effort, she regained her composure and gave him a smile, slightly wobbly, as she came to sit on the end of his sofa.
“You’re not going to believe this. I can scarcely believe it myself. Did I ever tell you about the man who was asking questions about us, in Brussels, months ago?”
“No.” He waited patiently for her to tell him in her own way, rather than risk throwing her into high fidgets again. He could not recall ever having seen her so overwrought.
“He wanted to know things like our dates of birth, and Mama’s maiden name. It seems F-Felix has seen him several times since, and now he has caught up with us. Frank, you didn’t know that Mama’s father was a duke, did you?”
He gaped at her. “A duke? No, she’d never talk about her family, to me any more than to you. Our grandfather a duke? The devil!”
“The late Duke of Oxshott. His lawyer sent the man, Taggle, to look for us. Are you feeling strong?” She reached out and took his hand. “It seems the duke was at outs with all his relations, especially his heir, the present duke, but having banished Mama thirty years ago, he couldn’t come to cuffs again with her. He left all his unentailed property to her, and so to us.”
“And that’s what this fellow wanted to tell us?” Frank laughed. “Roworth has been protecting us against him all this time?”
“If only we had known, you could have sold out before Quatre Bras.”
Did that explain her distress? “Come now,” he said, “you know better than that. I’d never have sold out just before the battle. Do you mean we’ll inherit enough to live on?”
“We’re going to be rich.”
She spoke in such a dull tone that for a moment he didn’t take it in. “Rich?” he said blankly. “Rich? How rich?”
“I didn’t ask. F-Felix talked to him, and he said I am a very wealthy woman.” For the second time her voice trembled on that name.
Frank frowned, for the moment ignoring her extraordinary, scarcely credible announcement. Something was wrong between her and Roworth. Nothing else could have thrown her into such a megrim. But she was not angry with him, or she’d have called him Lord Roworth, not Felix. So, thank heaven, he had done nothing that demanded retribution from her brother.
Feeling abominably weak and impotent, Frank quailed at the thought of delving into a complex tangle of female emotions. They’d have to sort matters out for themselves.
He reverted to her news. “So the Duke of Oxshott is our uncle?” he asked.
“Yes, Mama’s brother. Quite by chance I heard a story about him just this morning, and I fear he is as much a curmudgeon as his father, besides being very full of his own importance.”
“It sounds as if Mama was well shut of her family. Do we have to acknowledge them to receive the inheritance?”
“I daresay he won’t acknowledge us,” Fanny said dryly. “Not that I care a groat. But let us not tell anyone of the connexion, Frank. Lord and Lady Westwood will suppose that we are hoaxing, or if they believe us, that we are vulgar braggarts. In any case, I don’t want their respect based on noble connexions or money if they will not grant it to me for myself.”
“Lord, no. We won’t mention the money, either, until we’re quite sure there’s no mistake. It all sounds like a Banbury tale. I must speak to this fellow Taggle. Ring for a servant, will you, Fanny.”
Before she reached the bell, a pair of the maroon-clad footmen came in. They seemed to come in pairs, Frank reflected, and in amazing proliferation for a recently impoverished household. One set up the pie-crust table again, and unloaded from the other’s tray a lavish selection of cold meat and fruit.
“Lady Constantia’s orders,” he announced, setting out two plates.
Frank discovered that he had an excellent appetite, despite the confections he had consumed not so long ago. Lady Constantia was certainly taking seriously her mandate to oversee his health.
“Thank you,” he said. “Do you know if the man, Taggle, who came to Westwood this morning is still about?”
“He’s taking a bite in the kitchen, sir, and says he won’t stir till he’s had a word wi’ you.”
“Good.” He was going to ask for Taggle to be sent him to him in twenty minutes, when he remembered that Lady Constantia expected him to stroll with her after luncheon. Presumably, since the man had been on their trail for months, he’d not object to a further brief delay. “Tell him I’ll see him later this afternoon.”
“Very good, sir.” As rain was beginning to fall, the footmen quickly closed the open windows and departed.
“Come and eat,
Fanny,” Frank said. “I can’t eat alone in the presence of a lady.”
She sat down, buttered a roll, and nibbled on it. Then she shook her head. “I’m really not hungry. And, heavens! I quite forgot! I told Lord Westwood I’d see him as soon as I’d changed out of my riding dress, and here I am an hour later still wearing it. I only hope he has gone to luncheon and is not waiting for me.”
She hurried off, leaving Frank thoughtfully munching on a chicken leg. Perhaps Roworth had not caused her unhappiness after all. The coming interview with the earl might well be enough to overset her, since his lordship had made it plain enough that heartily despised his heir’s guests. If Lord Westwood knew or guessed Roworth’s love for Fanny, he’d do his best to nip the business in the bud.
Once again Frank bitterly regretted being unable to protect his sister.
The room was growing dark as the rain pelted down in earnest. Frank found he was not very hungry after all, but rather than risk disappointing Lady Constantia he ploughed through a solid meal.
Constantia, again accompanied by her abigail, returned to the gallery before the dishes were removed. She cast a calculating glance at the table and nodded, pleased. The captain had eaten well. She’d soon chase the pinched look from his face.
A second glance at the luncheon remains made her frown. “Miss Ingram ate only a few crumbs? Felix did not come in to luncheon at all.” If they had had a tiff, perhaps the captain was aware of the cause and between them they could reconcile the pair.
Though he hesitated, as if tempted to respond to her implied question, a gentlemanly reticence about his sister’s feelings prevailed. Or perhaps he held her parents to blame, and was not only too gentlemanly but too kind to say so.
“I have eaten enough for three,” he said in a funning way.
She accepted his lead. “Then you had best wait a while before taking any exercise. What a pity it is raining! It is grown quite chilly. Are you warm enough?” Pulling her shawl closer about her shoulders, she handed him a carriage rug.
He draped it across his knees and leaned back against the cushions as she sat down opposite.
“I must not detain you,” he said awkwardly.
Constantia flushed, afraid she was inconsiderately imposing her unwanted presence upon him. “Do you wish to rest upon your bed?” she asked, rising. “Or if you would like to read, I shall send for....”
“No, no, I am delighted to have your company, but surely you have more important or interesting things to do than sitting with an invalid.”
“Nothing! I have just been congratulating myself because Mama is too occupied with her guests to concern herself with my whereabouts. Oh, I beg your pardon, I did not mean....”
“Come now, Lady Constantia.” He shook his head at her in mock reproach. “You did mean...but we shan’t discuss that. Tell me how you usually pass your time.”
“Not in anything interesting, or important, or even useful. I read a great deal, embroider, walk with Vickie and Miss Bannister, ride with a groom, visit the more consequential of our neighbours with Mama. She and I go over the household accounts every week with the housekeeper.”
“That’s a useful habit.”
“I suppose so. I do visit poor and sick tenants with comforts, though Mama insists that I send in a footman and not set foot in their houses. I arrange flowers for the house. I am not permitted to pick them, but the gardeners have more work than they have time for, so often I do anyway,” she said defiantly.
Captain Ingram laughed. “I am thoroughly disabused of any notion that you are a compliant female! Fanny is fond of flowers.”
“Is she? Our gardens are in poor condition, alas, but I shall be happy to show her around.”
“She’ll enjoy that. She likes to read, too, though she never had much opportunity before we went to the Cohens’.”
“Westwood has an excellent library. Unless she will prefer to borrow Vickie’s Gothic romances?”
“She may. I doubt Mrs Cohen owns any.”
“Vickie ought not. Pray don’t give her away to my parents.”
“Most unlikely. Do you not read them?”
“Sometimes,” she confessed. “I daresay Miss Ingram has had no opportunity to learn to play upon the pianoforte?”
“None. Do you play?” Sitting up, he twisted stiffly to look around the room. “There is no instrument in here,” he said, disappointed. “I should like to hear you play. I enjoy music though I’ve heard little enough besides military marches and soldiers’ songs--most of them unfit for a lady’s ears,” he added with a grin.
Constantia properly ignored this last comment. “There is an old spinet in the schoolroom. I shall have it brought down later--if you truly wish it?”
“I do.”
“You are not just being polite?”
“How can you think so, when I was so impolite as to bring a blush to your cheeks not a moment since?”
“You are a great tease, sir,” she said with dignified severity. “Since your spirits are so high, I believe it is time for you to take your exercise.”
“Your belief is my command, ma’am.” He pushed aside the rug and made an effort to rise. Constantia saw the mortification in his brown eyes as he said wryly, “I am a little stiff from sitting, I’m afraid. A footman....”
“I am perfectly able to assist you.” She hurried to his side. “I am stronger than I appear, as well as less compliant!”
As, with her aid, he painfully stood and straightened, she realized that he had only seemed short in contrast to her tall brother. In fact, he topped her by several inches. His hand on her arm, though thin, was square and well-kept, giving an impression of strength, and there was a faint, clean, herbal fragrance about him.
Leaning on her arm, he took several slow steps, then Joan arrived beside them.
“Let me help the gentleman, my lady,” she said, stiff with disapproval.
He flashed the maid a smile that visibly thawed her. “Thank you, but I’ll try how I can do without support.”
Once the stiffness wore off, Captain Ingram’s physical condition was much improved since the morning, Constantia was pleased to see. With occasional rests, they strolled up and down the gallery for half an hour. He commented on the portraits in their heavy gilt frames, and Constantia offered to show them to him one day when there was more light from the windows.
“And when you are a little more recovered,” she said. “My ancestors are enough to cow the boldest.”
“They are all ancestors?” he marvelled. “No doubt my...er, many noble families have such collections.”
“I am sure they do.” She wondered what he had been going to say.
Soon after, he declared that he was ready to retire to his chamber for a while, and he asked Constantia to ring for a footman.
“This time you cannot assist me,” he said firmly.
The walking had obviously tired him, yet there was an inexplicable air of suppressed excitement about him. Puzzled, Constantia reluctantly went off to join her mother and the guests before her absence became so prolonged as to arouse interest.
She liked Captain Ingram, and had no desire to be banned from his company.
Chapter 5
Frank looked around his new chamber. On the chest-of-drawers stood a bowl of roses, surely Lady Constantia’s work. She was a sweet-natured girl, and he was sorry for her. He had never expected to pity an earl’s daughter for her circumscribed life.
He crossed to the chest and bent awkwardly to smell the pink and white blooms.
The low truckle was well furnished with a mountainous featherbed and a gay quilted counterpane. Frank was tempted to retreat to its depths but undressing seemed too much effort, though Miriam had had his shirts remade to button right down the front instead of just at the neck. It was out of the question to request aid of a strange footman who’d then go gossiping in the servants’ hall about what he had seen. Felix’s valet, Trevor, wouldn’t condescend to gossip, but if he agreed to help
it would be grudgingly, with a sour face.
Frank missed Hoskins and wondered what had become of the stalwart, faithful corporal. He had had to return to his unit when the Ingrams left Brussels. Without Felix’s help, Frank could never have managed on that journey, too weak to dress and undress himself, too much recovered to let Fanny help.
Sprawling fully clothed on top of the bed, he grinned. The Westwoods would be devilish out of countenance if they ever discovered that their noble son had played body-servant to a paltry artillery captain.
One who was about to metamorphose into the wealthy grandson of a duke!
Thomas entered and Frank sent him to fetch Taggle and to ask Fanny to join him. Fanny arrived first. Her eyes sparkled with anger, a vast improvement over her earlier apathetic misery, in her brother’s view.
“What’s put you on your high horse?” he asked, sitting up.
“Lord Westwood! He is the most odious, toplofty brute, looking down his nose at me as if I were a scullery maid caught pinching the silver.”
“You didn’t tell him about our windfall, I take it?”
“I wouldn’t lower myself to cater to his crotchets.”
“What did he say?”
“He tried to convince me I should find myself so uncomfortable among my betters at Westwood, that for my own sake I ought to leave. I told him I shall take his opinion into consideration.”
Frank laughed. “I wager he had no answer for that. Ah, here’s Taggle.”
The lawyer’s emissary was a small, bright-eyed man in a frieze coat and catskin waistcoat. “Well, I caught up wiv yer at last,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “I am addressing Capting and Miss Ingram, I s’pose?”
“You are,” said Fanny, her mouth twitching. “Won’t you sit down, Mr Taggle?” She took a seat on a Windsor chair.
He pulled up another. “Capting Francis and Miss Frances Ingram?” he persisted.
“That’s right.” Frank fixed him with a warning glare. Through a mix-up of the twin babies at their baptism, he had been christened after his mother. His middle name was not to be bandied about even before Fanny, who knew it but loyally kept the deep, dark secret.