Across on the far side of the abbey meadow, a slow procession of carriages wended its way through a different gate and drove slowly to a shaded position near the trees. Once she looked closely, Hortensia could see that these were not the Marford carriages at all, for none of them bore a coat of arms on the side.
“Another pleasure party,” Lord Humphrey said. “What fun! Let us drive round to introduce ourselves.”
There was a rough track around the perimeter of the meadow, so Hortensia set the greys in motion again and they made their way to where the other carriages had stopped. Several of the occupants had descended and were engaged in an agitated discussion. As they drew near, a man of middle years stepped forward with a deep bow. He was respectably dressed, although not in the first style of fashion, his clothes rather plain.
“Your pardon, sir! We had no notion to disrupt your gathering. We intended an informal picnic only, and would not for the world encroach. We will withdraw at once.”
“Nonsense, my good sir!” Lord Humphrey said, leaping down from the curricle. “The abbey is for anyone to enjoy. Pray do not leave, for there is room for all of us, would you not agree?”
“You are most obliging, sir. Most obliging.” He bowed again. “If you are quite certain that our presence will not spoil your party’s pleasure in the occasion, we will be very happy to stay. You may be sure that we will keep well away from you.”
Lord Humphrey smiled and Hortensia was struck again by his charm. Some of the nobility were very high in the instep and would have chased away any intruders, but he was all affability. “You are most generous. My brother the Marquess of Carrbridge will be here shortly. Who may I say is enjoying the abbey with us today?”
The man’s eyes widened at the mention of the marquess, but he answered readily enough. “I am Mr Percival Stoner, presently of York.”
Before Lord Humphrey could speak, a small figure pelted towards him, pelisse and bonnet ribbons flying. “Humphrey? Humphrey! It is you, I swear!”
“Beatrice? Good heavens, what are you doing here?”
She chortled with laughter. “Why, the same as you, I daresay, enjoying an outing! We are all staying in York while the new house is got ready, for my father-in-law is finally building his house, and it will be quite splendid, I do assure you! Not like Drummoor, of course, but terribly modern and every possible convenience. Hot water on every floor, and lifting devices so that the housemaids will never have to carry coal upstairs. Well, how funny, to meet you here.”
After that, half of Mr Stoner’s party came over to greet Lord Humphrey or to be introduced, and Hortensia was introduced too, and there was no more talk of encroaching or leaving or keeping away from each other. By the time they returned to the other side of the meadow, the marquess had arrived, and carriages were streaming through the gate.
“Who is she?” Hortensia said, as she brought the curricle to a halt.
“Beatrice Mallory is a former neighbour,” Lord Humphrey said, jumping down. “Used to live in Lake Cottage, the house Merton now has. She and her sister both married into the Stoner family. You can leave Tom to deal with the horses. Come on down.”
He held up his arms, and with only the tiniest hesitation she allowed him to put his hands about her waist and effortlessly lift her down. He was so strong! Even through her pelisse, she could feel the solidity and warmth of his hands, and that brought blushes to her cheeks again. He did not notice her discomposure, rushing off to talk to the marquess and leaving her standing, alone and rather forlorn, beside the curricle.
She was not alone for long. Rosemary came to her with a distraught expression on her face. “Dearest, this cannot go on! I know how reluctant you are to speak out, but I fear it must be done. Lord Kilbraith…” She paused, blushing, then gave a little laugh. “He is so attentive, and he wishes me — us — to go to Scotland when he returns there. He wants to introduce me to his father.”
“Oh, that is serious!” Hortensia said.
“But he must be told! And I do not know how I can contrive it. I cannot find a moment to be private with him. Might you tell him?”
“It would be just as awkward for me to be private with him, dearest.”
“Then what is to be done? You always know what must be done, dearest Hortensia. Help me, please!”
“Do not be anxious, dear. I shall tell Lord Humphrey, and he shall tell Lord Kilbraith. And then… and then…”
They were both silent. What would happen then? Their futures would be in the hands of the two men they loved.
~~~~~
Although there was some muttering from the aunts, the marquess and the marchioness were delighted to see old friends, and within half an hour, the two groups were mingling as readily as if they had set out together. They settled themselves in and around the pavilion, the older ones on chairs, the younger on rugs, while footmen walked around with trays of iced lemonade and ratafia and strawberries. The ranks of the footmen had been swelled by gardeners and grooms, and Humphrey spotted Charlie, rather splendid in his livery, walking round with a tray. The eating and drinking induced a festival atmosphere, the chatter rose to a noisy crescendo, and all was smiling felicity.
Humphrey, however, was not smiling and felt no felicity. It was the worst mischance that threw these two groups together. Of all the people in the world to encounter, why did it have to be Beatrice Mallory? Or Mrs Andrew Stoner, as she now was, and there lay the problem. For her father-in-law Mr Stoner was a nabob who had made his fortune in India, and who might just know something of an heiress by the name of Miss Hortensia Blythe. Humphrey rather thought he must do, for the marquess had applied to Mrs Mallory and Mr Stoner for information, and Julius Whittleton had transferred his attentions to Miss Quayle shortly afterwards.
The two women might now be on the very brink of disaster. If their subterfuge were to be uncovered in this way, it would be of all things the most damaging to their reputations. How much better would it be for them to confess the deceit at once than to have it discovered through another person. And yet, what could Humphrey do? He could hardly force a confession from Miss Quayle or Miss Blythe.
A small voice deep inside Humphrey pointed out that if once Miss Quayle was uncovered as a great heiress, there would be no barrier between them. He could court her openly, exactly as he wished. Not immediately, perhaps, for he would look like the worst kind of fortune hunter if he were to transfer his attentions so readily, but in the future.
As soon as everyone was settled, a process which took an unconscionable amount of time, owing to the nuances of rank that the aunts, at least, considered important, Humphrey looked about him for Miss Quayle. He saw her standing a little apart, but with Julius Whittleton by her side. She looked downcast, and Humphrey could not blame her, for Julius must be the most tedious and persistent man in Christendom. There was no getting rid of him, except by brute force. Well, that was something Humphrey excelled at.
“Miss Quayle!” he cried, striding across to her. “Is this tiresome cub becoming a nuisance? Shall I get rid of him for you?”
She looked up at once, and with such a speaking expression of relief as warmed Humphrey inside.
“I say, Humphrey, doing it rather too brown!” Julius said. “Miss Quayle and I are having a very comfortable coze, and there is no need for you to get so high and mighty.”
“Off you go and leave Miss Quayle in peace,” Humphrey said amiably. Julius was above average height but Humphrey towered over him, and with his broad shoulders and chest that owed nothing to buckram padding, he knew himself to be an intimidating presence.
Julius, however, was strutting before a lady and therefore not likely to back down. “Really, Humphrey! Do not make such a cake of yourself. If you think—”
Humphrey positioned himself an inch away from Julius, looming over him to such an extent that the poor man was forced to lean away. “Go,” Humphrey said, in his quietest tones, and even Julius recognised the finality in his voice. He turned and strode away
, red-faced.
Miss Quayle laughed. “Thank you for coming to my rescue! Mr Whittleton’s compliments become… a little wearing after a while. My lord… may I talk to you?” Was that guilt on her face? Some emotion that was not very comfortable, at any event.
Humphrey silently offered her his arm, and they walked away from the chattering groups in the pavilion and towards the lake. He said nothing, waiting for her to collect her thoughts and for the noise to recede into the distance so that they could be more private. But when they had walked half way around the lake and were beginning to draw near to the abbey itself, he said, “Miss Quayle, you may speak freely to me. Whatever is troubling you, be assured that I will treat it with the utmost confidence, as your friend. I hope I may consider myself as a friend to you, despite the shortness of our acquaintance?”
“Oh yes!” she said, looking up at him eagerly. “You have been so kind to me, and you cannot imagine how grateful I am. But it is so difficult… I do not know quite how to begin.”
Since he had a fair idea at this point what it was that she wished to say to him, he was not discomposed by this ominous beginning. “There is a fallen tree just on the edge of the woods above us, where we may sit and be comfortable, without fear of any interruption,” he said. “Then you may take your time to tell me whatever you wish.”
She agreed to it, and he led her there directly. It was indeed a good spot, for they could look down on the whole meadow, and could also be clearly seen, so there was complete privacy without the least impropriety. And there, head lowered and after several halting starts, she finally came to the point he had been expecting.
“My lord, I am not who you think I am!”
“So you are not, in fact, Lady Anne Dunhiding?” he said gently.
She raised her head at that, but could not quite manage a smile. “If only that were all! But it is far worse than that. I am not Miss Quayle. I am Hortensia Blythe, and my friend is Rosemary Quayle. Oh!” Her eyes widened. “You are not surprised — you knew!”
“I guessed,” he admitted. “You slipped up a few times. Once, when I asked if you had been to England before, you said you had, then immediately changed your mind, yet later you said you had missed the English air. And the desire to buy an estate on the moors is not one normally found in a lowly companion.”
“Oh, I had forgotten that!” she said, with a rueful smile. “It was so hard to watch every word I said.”
“And deceit does not come easily to you,” he said, absurdly pleased to realise this about her. “You and Miss… Quayle always called each other ‘my friend’, which sounded odd until I began to suspect the truth, and realised that you were terrified of calling each other by the wrong name.”
“Yes, that is exactly it! Oh, I am so glad I have told you, and you are saying nothing of condemnation, although you must think it, for I know it is abominable of us to play such a trick on you — on everyone! The marquess and marchioness! I am so ashamed.”
“There might be those who will be condemnatory, but for myself any disapproval would depend on your reasons for acting thus. I do not imagine for one moment the scheme was intended for personal gain.”
“Oh no! Nothing could have been further from our minds. But a fortune of two hundred thousand pounds… it changes everything. You cannot conceive how humiliating it is.”
“Humiliating?” he said, raising his eyebrows, and laughing softly. “To inherit so much money?”
“Oh yes! For ten years after I came out, I was just Geoffrey Blythe’s daughter, with no beauty, no drawing room accomplishments, no society manners — and no suitors. We always seemed to have enough money, but no one ever imagined we were rich. And then Papa died and this enormous fortune dropped into my lap, and suddenly I was the most popular girl in the East Indies. Men I had known for years came to tell me how much they had always admired me. Men I had never met turned up on the doorstep. I had offers of marriage arriving in letters almost every day.”
“Good heavens!”
“Exactly. It was hideous, and I had not the least idea how to respond to such attentions. There was no longer anything to keep me in India, or Rosemary either, so we decided to come home to England. Well, it was my home until I was fourteen. Rosemary had never lived anywhere but India. She came to live with us she was eight, after her mother died, so she is just like a sister to me. I really did teach her, you know. That part was true,” she said sadly.
He said nothing, but he remembered her enthusiastic manner in talking of her pupil’s aptitude. Her heartfelt sincerity could never have been false.
“Rosemary’s father was dead,” she went on, “so when my father also died and we were both alone in the world, we booked passage on the next ship to England. But a strange thing happened when we went aboard. Everyone knew, of course, who Miss Hortensia Blythe was, but no one on the ship had ever met me.”
“Ah,” Humphrey said, taking the point. “Miss… Quayle was assumed to be the heiress?”
“What could be more natural a mistake? The young, beautiful ingenue must be the heiress, and the plain older woman her penniless companion. It suited us perfectly. Rosemary was very well used to deflecting ardent admirers, and the attention that so distressed me bothered her not at all. She could stand in the sunshine while I could hide in the shadows to grieve for my father, and grow accustomed by degrees to my new wealth. However, even the long sea voyage was not sufficient for that purpose. I found myself not yet ready to emerge into the full glare of society’s gaze.”
“So you continued the deception.”
She looked up at him, perhaps catching a hint of disapprobation in his tone. He had not intended it, for his affection for her had grown to the point that he would forgive a great many offences. Still, it was one thing to fall into deception accidentally, and quite another to continue deliberately.
“You blame me, and I cannot wonder at it,” she said. “But I had my reasons for continuing, both for Rosemary’s sake and for my own. Rosemary has no money of her own, and she will take none of mine, yet with her loveliness and good nature, as well as her accomplishments, she deserves a husband worthy of her. It was my intent to give her time to find such a husband. Brighton, or Bath, perhaps… and some eligible young man would fall violently in love with her. You, of course, can see the flaw in my careful plan, which had not occurred to me until Lord Kilbraith arrived and did indeed fall violently in love with her. For one cannot deal so with a man of honour, to tell him once he is well on the way to matrimony that his love is not who he thought she was. It is a despicable way to treat a man, is it not?”
“It is true that one cannot build the necessary trust for marriage by beginning with a lie,” he said slowly. “Or at least, it would take an extraordinary amount of good-nature and affection to overcome such a beginning.”
“Indeed. He must be told at once! His hints are becoming extremely pointed, and Rosemary is in the greatest distress over it. My lord, would you…? May I ask…?”
“You wish me to inform Kilbraith that the heiress he has fallen in love with is no such thing? It would be much better coming from Miss Quayle herself. She will cry, he will at once wish to console her, he may even be provoked into a declaration on the spot. Whereas he will look at me as an interfering busybody.”
“She has been trying for days, but there has been no opportunity. They are never alone, and it is imperative that he knows at once. One gentleman may easily talk privately with another.”
He considered that, for it was a good point. “Very well, I shall find him directly. But he is not the only one who must be told. You have been guests of Lord and Lady Carrbridge for three weeks now, under false pretences. Indeed, everyone you have met has been duped by you, and while some will understand, you must be prepared for some censure.”
“Must they know just yet?” she said, turning pleading eyes on him. “We will be gone soon. Apart from Lord Kilbraith, need anyone else know?”
“For the sake of honesty, I be
lieve the truth should be told,” he said quietly. “Your own conscience must tell you so. But even if you wished to keep your secret a little longer, I do not know if it will be possible. Mr Stoner is from India, and I suspect knows more about you than you would wish. This little game may not survive the end of the day, Miss Blythe.”
“Oh.” She hung her head, and he wanted so badly to wrap her in his arms and hold her tight that it was the greatest effort to sit still.
“Does it matter so much to you?” he said gently. “You are so strong in spirit, I have every confidence that you will cope admirably with the attentions of your fortune-hunting suitors.”
“You are very kind to say so,” she said wanly, and it wrung his heart to see her so subdued. “That is not what distresses me, however. You see, ever since I learnt of my inheritance and was surrounded by suitors, I have hoped that one day I would find someone who would love me for myself alone, without consideration of my money. The likelihood was never great, but once all is known, it will be non-existent. I shall never be able to tell if a man is attracted to me or to my money.”
She heaved a great sigh, and her eyes glistened with tears.
Humphrey understood. She had lost something precious today, her ability to melt into the background and be quietly ignored. She would never be a nonentity again. But he had lost something precious too, for he had lost that easy friendship they had shared when she was nobody, and there was no certainty he would ever be able to recover it.
13: Confessions
Lord Humphrey was not a man to delay a necessary task. He returned Hortensia promptly to the pavilion, and a seat beside Rosemary. Then he skilfully detached Lord Kilbraith from the group and led him away.
Hortensia watched him go listlessly.
“Well?” Rosemary said.
“I have told him all, and he will explain it to Lord Kilbraith.”
“Oh. Oh, that is… a relief.” But she did not sound in the least relieved.
Sons of the Marquess Collection Page 33