Sons of the Marquess Collection

by Mary Kingswood

  Without conscious thought, he found himself drawn towards her, gradually inching through the sea of feathered turbans towards her. But then dinner was announced and there was a general movement towards the doors and he lost sight of her. He found himself alongside one of the Miss Ellesmeres, who was smiling and bobbing her head at him in the most distracting way, like a hen. Eventually, he got the point, and offered her his arm. So there was his dinner companion chosen, and no possibility of finding his way to Hortensia’s side.

  Once he was seated, he looked around for her again but could not see her anywhere. It was only when Carrbridge stood to make his announcement that he realised that his brother must have led Hortensia in, for there she was at the very head of the table beside him, and Miss Blythe — no, Miss Quayle — on his other side.

  The butler banged his staff for silence, and Carrbridge began to speak.

  “My lords, ladies and gentlemen, pray indulge me for a few moments to reveal to you a very clever joke which has been played on us all. For a month now, we have enjoyed the charming company of Miss Blythe and Miss Quayle, newly arrived on our shores from India, and we have come to know them both well. Now, it seems, we must adjust our ideas, for these two ladies have been teasing us. The lady we know as Miss Blythe…” He smiled at her and she rose to her feet, blushing. “…is in fact Miss Quayle. And the lady we have been addressing as Miss Quayle…” Hortensia rose, her face blank. Was that insouciance or terror? “…is actually Miss Blythe. Tonight, however, they reveal their secret to you all and take their places amongst you under their true names once more. Is it not a good joke?”

  In what was clearly a rehearsed movement, the two swapped places, and Humphrey saw that Hortensia must have been led in by Lord Kilbraith, for he now had Miss Quayle’s blonde head beside him, while Hortensia was between Carrbridge and Sir Richard Frimble.

  There was some laughter, but most of the audience registered astonishment, rapidly succeeded by whispered disapproval, which lasted for most of the first course. Only when the wine had begun to flow freely, with the usual effect upon those imbibing, did the whispers give way to the customary levity of such occasions.

  When the ladies had withdrawn, Humphrey found himself sought out by Kilbraith.

  “I am glad it is all in the open at last,” Kilbraith said in satisfaction. “Not that it makes the slightest difference to me, but it is best to have everything above board, and now we may… move forward.”

  “What will your father say when he finds out?” Humphrey said.

  “He already knows, or at least, I had already conveyed to him my own suspicions on the matter. He assured me he would not regard it in the slightest, so long as Miss Quayle freely confesses all, as she now has done.”

  “Still, it will not go down well amongst the sticklers for propriety.”

  “I think we have fewer of that nature in Scotland than elsewhere,” Kilbraith said, eyes twinkling. “None of the family ever go to London, preferring to seek our jollity in Edinburgh, so we need not mind our manners quite so much. But it is awkward for you. There will be those who sneer at Miss Blythe, and consider her quite beyond the pale on this account.”

  Humphrey grimaced in rueful agreement. “It would have been difficult enough overcoming the stigma of money from trade, nor does she have any connections of note, but this little game is most unfortunate. I had hoped that Carrbridge’s treatment of it as a joke might have helped, but it seems that Miss Blythe is to be subjected to a great deal of disapprobation.”

  “It is a setback, certainly,” Kilbraith said. “Still, you will not let that weigh with you, surely? From what Miss Quayle tells me, her friend already has a great affection for you.”

  “I wish I could be sure of that,” Humphrey said gloomily. “Affection or no, she thinks me a very poor-spirited creature, too timid for words.”

  “Surely not! After your bet with Mr Merton, and your daring in carrying out the enterprise?”

  “I can be daring enough in such games,” Humphrey said sorrowfully. “But I cannot aspire to equal Hortensia Blythe. She expects me to be as daring as she is, regardless of the consequences, and I fall woefully short. She is the bravest woman I ever met, Kilbraith, and I admire and respect her more than I can say, yet if I approach her, I set myself against the express wishes of my brother in the matter.”

  “Ah, that is awkward indeed. We are all of us bound by family loyalty and the bonds of blood before all else. And yet, would you set your own happiness and the lady’s below your brother’s? It may be that he does not appreciate the strength of your feelings.”

  “I have told him of it, but he expects me to wait a year, until any scandal has died down,” Humphrey said.

  “Well, that is perhaps sensible,” Kilbraith said. “One does not like to take undue risks with a lady’s reputation. Ah, we are moving already. Carrbridge is keen to hear the opera singers, it appears.”

  The musical recital was every bit as tedious as Humphrey had anticipated. Although some of the gentlemen slipped away to play cards in the tapestry room, the male retreat in times of great stress, such as a ball, he did not feel Connie would be best pleased if one of her brothers-in-law did the same. So he dutifully made his way there, fixed a smile of bland interest on his face and stood discreetly at the back, just below the portrait Great-Uncle Christopher, a high court judge with a fearsome reputation for hanging any man he took in dislike, regardless of the facts of the case or the supposed crime.

  Humphrey’s virtue was rewarded, however, for from his post beneath the judge’s huge curled periwig and bushy eyebrows, he was able to watch Hortensia unobserved. She was worryingly pale, he saw, and although she had chosen an unobtrusive seat in a far corner of the gallery, she was surrounded by young men. They whispered in her ear, and smiled and preened and pointed to the printed order of songs, perhaps explaining the meaning of the Italian to her, while she shook her head repeatedly and returned them monosyllabic answers.

  He had not previously appreciated the dramatic effect that the inheritance of two hundred thousand pounds might have on a young lady. Here was one who had been virtually ignored for a whole month, because she was only a companion, and therefore nobody of consequence. Who would bother to take notice of such a lowly person? Having neither wealth nor rank, and her beauty hidden behind unadorned attire and a retiring demeanour, not one man had thought to expend any effort in her direction. Only Humphrey had seen something more to her.

  Yet now, not two hours since her true state had been revealed to the world, she was under siege. Julius had taken his broken nose away from Drummoor in high dudgeon, but two other Whittletons were in Hortensia’s court, together with two Marford cousins, the Dunborough twins, a nephew of Sir Richard Frimble’s and even Mr Dunshaw, the apothecary, who must be fifty if he was a day. Poor Hortensia! It was absolutely necessary to rescue her, and at once. But he could not get near her, for the room was crowded with chairs and people standing about.

  As the recital ended and everyone was streaming out, he waited for her, but somewhere in the crowds, he missed her, and made his way alone down to the great hall. The tables had been cleared away to the sides of the room, and the empty floor awaited the dancers, as the musicians tuned their instruments. During dinner, a small number of them had played in the minstrels’ gallery behind the carved wooden screen, but for the dancing greater numbers were required and they had abandoned the gallery in favour of a dais at one end of the hall.

  The room was abuzz with excitement, feathers and fans waving, silk skirts shimmering and jewellery twinkling in the light of a myriad of candelabra. Humphrey walked slowly round the room, looking for a certain pale green gown and a bejewelled bandeau, but he could see no sign of her. When he eventually recognised the remnants of her court standing in a disconsolate cluster, he realised that she had slipped her leash and run away, and he could not blame her one bit. Yet that was so like her! She had not needed his help to escape her suitors after all. What a splendi
d woman she was.

  But now she was gone and he would not, after all, be able to dance with her, and that was the end of any possibility of pleasure in the evening. The hours stretched dark and drear before him. No amount of candles could light the room when she was not in it. But then his eye caught a flash of green behind the screen of the minstrels’ gallery. So that was where she was hiding herself! Well, it was a good spot, where she could watch the dancing, if she were so minded, without having to fend off her unwanted coterie of admirers. Somehow it lifted his spirits to know that she was there, close to him but safely hidden away, enjoying her solitude.

  He stood moodily in a corner, supposedly watching the dancing, but in reality trying to detect the merest hint of green silk in the gallery above. Was she still there? He thought she was, but—

  “Humphrey! Just the person I want.”

  “Connie,” he said warily.

  “If you are not dancing, then I have a commission for you.”

  “You have only to ask.” But he was still wary. Usually such a request meant dancing with some half-grown miss who had not yet learnt the steps of the dance, but was very happy to bruise Humphrey’s toes while she practised.

  “I see that Miss Blythe is not yet dancing. Would you be so good as to find her, and see if you cannot persuade her to step onto the floor?”

  “Connie, no!” His anguish was perfectly genuine. “I am not persuaded that she would welcome such interference. If she wished to dance, then she would be here now. Do not ask it of me, for you know I cannot.”

  “I know no such thing, and if you are going to talk about some mysterious male code of conduct, you know I have no time for such foolishness. At least go and talk to her like a rational being instead of lurking about like a wet day in November, and putting a damper on everything.”

  He was torn, for the necessity to keep his distance from her was beyond question in his mind. Yet the prospect of seeing her, talking to her again was almost irresistible.

  He sighed. “It will not hurt to talk to her, perhaps, but it will be entirely her choice whether she dances.”

  “Of course!” Connie said brightly. “Off you go.”

  21: The Minstrels' Gallery

  Obediently, he crept out of the great hall and trod slowly, oh so slowly, up the chapel stairs, which were the nearest to the minstrels’ gallery, then stood irresolutely just outside it. His heart hammered in his chest so hard that he felt as if he were shaking. Meeting her in public, in the crowded great hall — yes, he could have managed that with equanimity. He could even, he felt sure, have danced with her without making a complete fool of himself. But to seek her out privately, when she had deliberately secreted herself away… Connie should not have asked it of him. Such a romantic, Connie! She was certain that five minutes in each other’s company would resolve all differences and enable them to live happily ever after. Would that it were so simple.

  But it had to be done, so, taking a deep breath and then another, just to be sure, he entered the minstrels’ gallery.

  It was gloomy, the many lights from the hall below barely penetrating the heavily carved wooden screen. At first he could see nothing, but as his eyes adjusted to the reduced light, he caught a hint of green from the far end of the gallery.

  “Miss Blythe?” he said, as he made his way towards her.

  She was sitting on the bare wooden floor, her back to the wall, gloves and fan discarded. Her knees were drawn up, with her face resting on them. At the sound of his voice, her head shot up, and the sight of her tear-stained face tore at him in the most painful manner. His poor Hortensia! All he wanted to do was to sweep her into his arms and hug her tightly, kissing away all her grief. But somehow seven and twenty years of gentlemanly restraint held him in check.

  “Do you wish me to go away? Should you prefer to be alone?”

  She shook her head so decisively that he was heartened. Sitting down beside her, he stretched out his long legs and took her hand in his. Without gloves, the contact was extraordinarily intimate, the warmth of her fingers under his making it hard for him to speak. Yet she made no protest.

  With an effort, he said, “I am so very sorry. This evening must be difficult for you.” She nodded, not looking at him. “The fuss will die down, in time,” he went on. “It will be a great wonder for a while, as the word spreads of your little deception, but it will be forgotten eventually when some new scandal erupts.”

  “Oh, that. I do not regard that in the least,” she said, sounding surprised. “It is a relief to set it all behind me, and it will not change anything between Rosemary and Lord Kilbraith, so I cannot but be happy about it.”

  “Oh. Then perhaps it is the unwanted attention from suitors that distresses you?”

  “That is tedious, certainly, but I do not cry because I am suddenly popular.”

  “Then… why?”

  She looked him full in the face. “You said we would drink champagne together.”

  Pain washed through him. So that was why she was so upset! He had been so lost in his own misery, he had quite forgotten his promise. Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could he have been so thoughtless? “So I did! How unforgivable of me not to honour my promise. Miss Blythe, may I fetch you a glass of champagne?”

  She nodded, and he jumped up and rushed away to find a footman in the hall below. The man went off ponderously to find champagne, while Humphrey hopped from foot to foot in impatience. What if she were gone when he returned? She could take off in any of a dozen different directions, and he would never find her again in that great maze of a house. The footman returned bearing an opened bottle of champagne and two glasses on a tray. Humphrey almost snatched it from his hands and raced off. Had he asked for two glasses? He thought not, but Gaffney would understand the implication of a gentleman in a tearing hurry for champagne so late in the evening. Well, it was not quite that kind of assignation, for Miss Blythe was a lady through and through, but still, he supposed it was an assignation of a sort.

  She was still there. Thank God! She even gave him a tremulous smile, and had stretched her legs out in a more relaxed pose instead of huddling against the wall, all curled up in her anguish.

  He sat beside her and they sipped champagne together, and there was a pleasing rightness to it. It was not quite proper for them to be alone in this way, but they could hear the music of the dance, the stamp of feet and buzz of conversation, with an occasional burst of laughter, and it was almost as if they were in the great hall. Safely hidden away behind their screen, yet they were still part of the joyful festivities going on below.

  “Can you forgive me?” he said. “In all that has happened, my words went out of my head.”

  “It is of no consequence!” she cried. “There is nothing to forgive. It is entirely my own foolishness, because I was so worried about you last night, wondering how you were going on and what would happen to you in court. I did not understand just at first that Lord Carrbridge was to be the magistrate. And then you were late back and there was no opportunity to talk to you, or even to see you, so I did not know— And I so looked forward to it, the champagne, that is! Knowing it was all over and you were safely home again, you see. But it does not matter in the least, for here you are now. Did Mr Merton inform you of the other pieces that Charlie had taken?”

  She seldom chattered in quite that rattling way, but he guessed that she was nervous and that was what made her talk more than usual.

  “He did, and I was able to retrieve them, although I had no more idea than you where they might have belonged. Such hideous things! I should certainly have remembered if I had ever seen them before. I gave them to Aunt Patience, telling her that I had no idea where they had come from, which was quite true. And she apologised for her maid sitting on my head, to which I replied that I had no memory of any such event, which is also true, although she thought it merely a polite form of words. Then she smacked my wrist with her fan and told me I was a naughty boy who ought to know better. So all ends w
ell, except that I have to think of a way to return Merton’s five hundred pounds to him.”

  “He has not paid you!”

  “Indeed he has, for it was a debt of honour, and Merton is the most honourable of men. But I shall find a way to repay him. A couple of decent horses and a groom — that should do it. More champagne?”

  She agreed to it, and they sipped and chatted and it was as if there had never been any constraint between them. Her expression relaxed — not quite smiling, but composed, her tears quite fled. When the musicians struck up for the waltz, he remembered his plan from earlier in the evening.

  Jumping to his feet, he bowed to her. “Miss Blythe, may I have the very great honour of this dance?”

  Immediately her face changed, a mask of wariness descending. “I am not going down there!”

  “No, no! There is enough room here, if we are careful.”

  “The waltz?”

  “Do you object to it on principle?”

  “Oh no, but— I am not a very good dancer, Humphrey.”

  His heart lurched to hear her speak his name. “Neither am I. Shall we try anyway?” He held out his hand for her, and she grasped it without hesitation, allowing him to pull her to her feet. “We start side by side, like this.”

  “I know how it goes. I watched you practise with Rosemary, remember?”

  He did not, in fact, remember any such thing. Had she been there during Connie’s wet-weather lessons? If so, he had not noticed her. It was not until he had seen her ride Ganymede that he had become so attuned to her presence or absence in a room. It was hard to remember a time when he had not been helplessly in love with her, yet he had only known her a few short weeks. Such a brief time, yet now his life was incomplete without her.

  Slowly they moved in time to the music lilting up from the great hall below. Humphrey had to concentrate on his steps, for although it was not a complicated dance like the quadrille, her nearness and her ungloved hands resting in his turned his brain to blancmange. With each shift in the arms or spin around he was more out of his depth, like a boat that has broken its moorings and at any moment might be swept away downstream and out to sea. Yet he could not stop. When another change in position brought his arm around her waist, he was lost, pulling her tightly to him and burying his face in her hair. Ah, her soft hair, mercifully free of the dreadful cap. He could smell her perfume, feel the warmth of her hand in his, and the cool smoothness of silk beneath his other hand. But still they were dancing, swirling around with the music. Still restraint held him.