Sons of the Marquess Collection

by Mary Kingswood

  “Lord Humphrey, dear.”

  “Oh, yes. Lord Humphrey,” she said in a small voice. “Stand up, and I shall unfasten your gown, dearest. Let us go to our beds, and try to sleep.”

  ~~~~~

  Humphrey dismissed Billings, his nerves too jangled to listen to the valet’s grumblings about the state of his attire after a mere few hours of wear. The man would be happiest if Humphrey stood to attention in a corner all evening, as motionless as a suit of armour, for only then would he return satisfactorily unrumpled.

  Once the valet had left, radiating disapproval, Humphrey ripped off his coat and cravat, kicked off his shoes and shrugged himself into a robe. Moments later, even the robe was too much and was summarily tossed aside. He threw open the window, which Billings had closed, the night air being potentially injurious to his master’s health. Even leaning out, however, the air felt close and sultry, and a few faint rumbles of thunder could be heard in the distance.

  He wished there would be a storm, for it would suit his mood admirably. Such a tempestuous day, his emotions tossed about like a small boat bobbing on a wild ocean. And then the awkward drive home, and the even more awkward apology to Julius for breaking his nose. Not for hitting him, though. He could not apologise for hitting a man who was annoying a lady. And after that, the whole dreary evening to be got through, with Hortensia pale but composed, not meeting his eye, and the family either chiding him for getting into a mill, or teasing him unmercifully. And one or two, hearing the tale, had said, “Miss Quayle, eh?” and looked at him curiously, and then at her, as if wondering what anyone might see in the mouse of a companion.

  All of it set him on edge, and the lingering heat was oppressive. There was nothing for it but to find a cooler spot, somewhere he could rest his troubled mind and consider what might be done. He padded through the dark corridors of the house, the shadows jumping about as his candle wavered. Then up into the gallery attics and up again, onto the roof above the library wing. The library itself had a pitched roof, but most of the central part of the house had a flat roof, the crenellated battlements lending themselves to many a secret tryst by night, while by day they were the scene of childish games involving imagined siege engines, trebuchets, bows and arrows and invading hordes of armoured knights from France or terrifying clansmen from Scotland.

  At this hour, however, the stout defending warriors were tucked up in their beds in the nursery wing, and even the trysting housemaids and footmen were sleeping before rising with the dawn. Humphrey was alone.

  At first he walked aimlessly about, first looking down into the fountain court, and then out over the main entrance, but eventually his steps let him to a point above the kitchen court, and here he halted. He knew where her room was, of course. There was a board below stairs with every guest’s room, and the maid or valet assigned to them, and he had just happened to be passing one day and had just happened to see her name. The rose room. Her friend was in the larger, more luxurious jasmine room with a view over the gardens, but Hortensia’s room looked out into the more prosaic kitchen court, and if he positioned himself just so, he could see her window…

  She was there. The window was wide open, and she had her arms resting on the sill. The moon was full on her, making her upturned face a pale ghost of the orb above, whitening her bare arms and her slender throat. Her dark hair tumbled about her face, and something glittered on her cheeks — was she crying? His heart twisted in sudden pain. Was this his fault? Had he distressed her so much that she, his strong, magnificent Hortensia, was reduced to tears again? He blinked away tears of his own.

  When he could see clearly again, she was gone.

  He strode about the roof, too agitated to care if he were seen. It was intolerable! He was miserable, she was miserable too — why should they not pursue their own happiness, like rational people? Why must they be bound by the petty constraints of society’s whims? What had she said? ‘I am your equal, Humphrey, in every way that matters.’ And so she was, and not merely his equal, for she was stronger, more daring even than he was. ‘I shall live my life as seems best to me.’ Such a grand philosophy. And perhaps with her two hundred thousand pounds, she could afford to cock a snook at the ton and live an independent life — a free life. How glorious that would be!

  Was it possible…? Did he dare to follow her lead and step outside the tight clasp of society’s arms? What would it be like to be free, not to care what anyone thought? He could not imagine it. But with every circuit of the roof, he grew more certain that he had to try. If he could just secure her hand — how happy they should be! What did anything else matter? Yes! He would do it! Tomorrow, he would dare to court Hortensia.

  The rumbles of thunder were drifting nearer, and the first fat drops of summer rain began to fall around him, kicking up the dust. He laughed out loud, and broke into a trot, and then a run. Before long, the rain was falling in earnest, a steady downpour that bubbled across the roof and gurgled into the drains. He ran faster, laughing, rain dripping down his face, his clothes clinging to him, until he was soaked and exhilarated and breathless. Then, still smiling, he dripped his way back to his room.

  ~~~~~

  This happy state of affairs lasted for precisely one night. Humphrey woke the next morning to all the same doubts that had assailed him the previous evening. How could he speak? Could he even be sure that she would welcome his advances? Had she really been crying? Perhaps they were tears of rage, not sorrow, or perhaps they arose from some other cause that had nothing to do with him. It was arrogant of him to presume that a lady’s happiness might depend solely on him.

  And then there was Carrbridge. As soon as he had heard of the deception, he had sought out Kilbraith to express his outrage at the ladies’ behaviour, and to apologise, as host, for allowing a guest to draw him in. Kilbraith had just laughed at him, and said that he had guessed it all long since, and could not find it in his heart to condemn Miss Blythe or Miss Quayle. But Carrbridge could and did, and when he got Humphrey on his own, had ranted about how lucky they were that he had not yet made an offer.

  “For it would be the most shameful thing to have such a deceitful person in the family. Kilbraith may not care, but he is Scottish and I daresay they have not the sensibilities of the English. For our own family, I could not countenance such a marriage. It would bring the greatest discredit to the Marford name, Humphrey, and I will not have us dragged through the mire, and people whispering about us. We have had our share of scandals, it is true, but always the most respectable sort — gambling and duels and mistresses and so forth. Nothing alarming in any of that. But I will not have anyone saying that this family was taken in by two trumpery girls from abroad and fooled into marriage.”

  “Would it be as dreadful as all that?” Humphrey said miserably. “Might it not be that the Marford name is strong enough to wipe away any stain?”

  “Do not even think about it,” Carrbridge had said sternly. “You are to keep well away from Miss Quayle… Miss Blythe…” He huffed in annoyance. “You see how awkward it is? One does not even know what to call either of them. Promise me, Humphrey… give me your word that you will not do anything foolish.”

  “Carrbridge…” He hesitated, then decided he had nothing to lose by being honest. “Carrbridge, would you keep me from the love of my life because of family pride?”

  His brother paused, looking at him intently. “Is that how it is? But if that is so, it will still be so in six months’ time, or a year. Let all this business die down, and then we will see, for I should not like you to be unhappy, you know. Give it a year, and Connie will bring her into society and if the lady behaves in a properly demure manner, as one new to society should do, then it will all be forgot. Then you may marry her with my goodwill, if you still wish it.”

  And Humphrey had had no option but to agree, and having given his word, he could not break it without deeply disappointing his brother. And yet… what of Hortensia? He was torn in two ways, his desire to be with her
warring with his determination to follow his brother’s wishes.

  It was a most unaccustomed state for him. Humphrey Marford the gambler, the man who cast his stake instantly on the turn of a card, who set his horse at the highest wall or the widest ditch and never flinched from his course — yet now he dithered like a spinster, quite unable to see his way forward. If he followed his heart, he brought distress to his brother and shame to the family name. If he kept to his brother’s wishes, he might lose his one chance for happiness. Whatever was he to do?

  As he dressed, letting Billings’ scoldings about his sodden clothes rumble round his head without attending much, he reminded himself that he must endure only a few more days of this agony.

  When he was finally deemed sufficiently of credit to his valet to be released upon the world and allowed to go downstairs, he found Connie in a lather of excitement.

  “What do you think?” she said triumphantly. “Lord Kilbraith has written to his father, and the earl wishes him to take Miss Blythe directly to Scotland. No, Miss Quayle. Ah, but no, she must be Miss Blythe a little longer. But both the ladies are to go to Scotland, in fact.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But now you must get to the point with your lady, Humphrey. You have not much time left, unless you plan to chase after her all the way across the border.”

  “Connie, I—”

  “Never mind Lord Carrbridge, you know,” she whispered conspiratorially, smoothing the skirt of her riding habit. “He thinks only of honour, but love is much more important, so you must not have qualms. Faint heart never won fair lady and so forth. Who said that, was it Shakespeare?”

  “I do not think so. Connie, you must not—”

  “But you get on so well with her, Humphrey! And she is the one with the fortune, so you must see— Yes, yes, my dear, I am coming,” she said to the marquess, who was trying to urge her towards the stables for their morning ride. “Are you busy today, Humphrey? Will you call at Tambray Hall?”

  He pulled a face. “Must I? The Melthwaites are so dull.”

  “I know, but they are my aunt and uncle, you know, and they ask after you so pointedly whenever Lord Carrbridge and I call, and you know that Lady Melthwaite cannot go out now. Everyone else has paid a call, except you. Yes, yes, my dear, I shall be there directly! Please, Humphrey. Take Harriet with you, then it will not be so bad.”

  Humphrey was cast into even deeper gloom. The Melthwaites were possibly the most boring people he had ever had the misfortune to encounter. Once upon a time, he had managed very successfully to evade them, for despite being close neighbours, the Marfords had seldom visited and never dined there, inviting them once or twice a year to one of the larger entertainments at Drummoor so that their dreariness might be diluted in merrier company. In London it was possible to escape them almost entirely, or do no more than nod when passing on the stairs at a ball.

  But when Connie had burst onto the family, she had insisted on raising the Melthwaites’ status to that of cherished family, and so she and Lord Carrbridge visited often and issued regular invitations to dine at Drummoor, although thankfully they never came. The worst of it was that she insisted on the rest of the Marfords calling too, and so once or twice each summer Humphrey found himself press-ganged into a visit.

  He made his way to the tapestry room, where he might reasonably hope for some seclusion to think about Hortensia and consider his predicament. Instead, he found his brother Reggie there, rifling through newspapers and journals.

  “You have not seen last week’s Sagborough Chronicle, have you? There was an advertisement— Good Lord, Humphrey, you look as miserable as a month of wet Sundays. Whatever is the matter?”

  Humphrey sagged into a chair, and the whole story tumbled out, the words pouring out of him like water from a tap. “Tell me there is a way out of this, Reggie, for God’s sake, for I have not the least idea what I should do.”

  “Have you not?” Reggie said gently.

  “Can it really be as bad as all that? Surely the family’s honour can survive the addition of one daughter of a nabob?”

  “Oh, if that were all! Such things happen all the time, and so long as the daughter is also a lady and knows how to behave in society, with not the least whiff of trade about her, she will be tolerated, at least. But she must be beyond reproach, Humphrey, and this business of changing places… it makes us look foolish, and you know how Carrbridge stands on his dignity. He does not like to be made a fool of, and now we have Sharp doing whatever he wants, and these by-blows of Father’s turning up… no, I can see why he would not like it.”

  “But the ton will not care about such a trivial matter, surely?”

  Reggie shook his head. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But you must see how it would look. One lady comes here as an heiress and secures Lord Kilbraith. Immediately the other lady reveals herself as the true heiress and secures you. They would look like the worst kind of society climbers, scrambling their way to the upper branches of the nobility by deception, and you would look like the world’s most gullible fool. The whole family would be tainted by association. You know how these things work, Humphrey.”

  “Then what am I to do?” Humphrey whispered.

  “You know the answer to that,” Reggie said calmly. “You are a gentleman, Humphrey, you know what you must do. Stand aside and let her go to Scotland for a while until the fuss has died down. Then in the spring—”

  Humphrey made a convulsive groan of dismay.

  “—in the spring,” Reggie went on relentlessly, “she will come to London, and the ton will see how charming and amiable she is, and not at all a grasping hussy, and you may make your approach then.”

  The prospect was unbearable. “Perhaps if I were to explain all this to her?” he said hopefully. “So that she understands that I will speak in the spring? Do you think?”

  Reggie sighed. “You cannot possibly declare yourself now, and yet not offer for her formally. That is not the behaviour of a gentleman, Humphrey. Or do you plan to enter into a secret engagement with her? More deception?” His voice softened as he went on, “Sometimes one has to wait for happiness, brother.”

  “As you did,” Humphrey said, remembering. “You left town to spare Miss Chamberlain from gossip.”

  “A lady’s reputation is so vulnerable,” Reggie said softly. “We must do everything within our power to protect the ladies we love.”

  “Truly spoken,” Humphrey said sorrowfully. “And I have given my word to Carrbridge, so I am bound by that, and cannot speak, no matter how much it pains me.”

  “But there is always satisfaction in behaving as one ought,” Reggie said. “Come, can you not take pleasure in that?”

  Humphrey managed a small smile. “No, for I am bidden by Connie to visit the Melthwaites, and therefore to Tambray Hall I must go. There is no pleasure to be had in that.”

  Reggie laughed. “If you can postpone the Melthwaites until another day, then Merton is looking for one of us to accompany him to Silsby Vale House. He wishes to visit this Mrs Cecil Andrews to find out more about the house, and requires support from one of the family. That would be a more congenial outing for you, would it not?”

  Humphrey perked up at once. The air would be so clear after the overnight rain, and a ride over the moors would be just the thing. He jumped up at once and went to find Merton. At least he could put his aching heart to one side for a while.

  16: Mrs Cecil Andrews

  The stable court was rain-washed to sparkling cleanliness, the air was clear and Humphrey’s spirits rose immeasurably as his horse clip-clopped briskly out into the park. He had looked wistfully at Ganymede, who whickered hopefully at him, but instead took one of Gus’s long-limbed beauties. Ganymede must wait for Miss Quayle’s attention. Merton rode one of the estate’s general hacks, often ridden by the grooms, but still a decent ride, and as soon as they were clear of the pleasure grounds, they both unleashed their mounts. Humphrey reached the woods first, but Merton was not far behind, his grin ma
tching Humphrey’s own.

  “I should do this more often,” Merton said, laughing. “Which I say every time, of course.”

  “Why do you not? You could ride whenever you want.”

  “I do not like to take advantage of Lord Carrbridge’s generosity,” Merton said, as they entered the woods, walking the horses to rest them. “When there is good cause for me to go visiting, then I jump at the chance. It will not be long before my own stable is established, and then I shall ride every day, I assure you.”

  Humphrey looked at him curiously. “There is no need to be so determinedly independent, Merton. We have any number of horses sitting in the stable eating their heads off which you might ride whenever you wish.”

  “Which is an unnecessary expense, as I point out often to his lordship. There are three times as many horses here as are needed, not to mention the grooms. I have no wish at all to add to the burden.”

  “Are we still in the suds, Merton? I had hoped our finances were on a sounder footing now.”

  “The process is very slow, my lord. It is a matter of looking at every holding or expense or investment individually, and determining how best the income may be improved or the expenditure reduced, and then there is the need to wait for leases to terminate and contracts to expire. Certainly his lordship’s financial position is healthier than it was, and by next Lady’s Day, it will be much improved, and I shall be in a position to eliminate many of the debts altogether.”

  “And will reducing the stables help a great deal? I suppose it must, for some of those horses are never put to the least use, yet they still eat just as much. Are oats expensive, Merton?”

  He smiled. “It is not just the cost of oats, my lord. There is the farrier to be paid, and stabling in town, and the duty, too. Not to mention the duty on the many carriages, and the grooms — the cost of manservants is very high. And there are so many footmen, too.”

  “You would not have us let all the footmen go, Merton? In a house the size of Drummoor—”