“That would have been a powerful motivator,” he said. “I am thankful we no longer have to worry about the wild men of the north coming down upon us, be they the Scots or the Vikings. Let us be glad that we live in civilised times.”
“Are we civilised? I suspect we have some way to go yet. But do not let me detain you with my chatter, my lord. The breeze is quite cool so early in the day, and I should never forgive myself if Jupiter were to take a chill.”
He gave a small bow as he made his farewell, and she bobbed another curtsy. He wheeled the horse and trotted slowly off, his mind pondering her words. Why would she feel the world was uncivilised, and what had happened to her… before?
~~~~~
That evening, the duke was not alone. Gus almost jumped in astonishment at the sight of a lady sitting in a chair opposite the duke, the chair that Gus had almost come to regard as his own. She was in her thirties, so thin and pale of complexion that in her white muslin gown she looked like a veritable ghost.
“Ah, there you are, Marford. Come and meet my daughter-in-law. Edith, this is Carrbridge’s brother.”
She nodded politely. “Lord Augustus.”
Gus cast about in his mind. Daughter-in-law? Was this the marchioness, the widow of the duke’s eldest? Yet she wore no black. Had either of the other sons married? He had no idea, but he had to make a guess as he made his bow.
“Lady Darrowstone.”
No one corrected him, so he assumed he had guessed correctly. But if she was the Marchioness of Darrowstone, her husband had died barely three months ago, so why no widow’s black? And she was not dressed for evening, either.
“I daresay you are wondering to see me here,” she said to Gus. He was not, for why would she not visit her father-in-law sometimes? “I came to tell the duke that I have invited his heir to visit me. Someone needs to take the poor boy in hand and make sure he will not disgrace the Winfell name when he inherits.”
“Meddlesome woman!” the duke said. “You had no right to interfere, and as for inviting him to stay—”
“I may invite whomsoever I please to my own house, I believe.”
“Just so long as you do not bring him to this house, madam.”
“Never fear, he knows he is unwelcome. In point of fact, the boy is abjectly terrified of you, and it was all I could do to persuade him to come north at all. I hope I may be able to stiffen his spine somewhat. He arrives tomorrow, Lord Augustus, and you are invited to dine with us, and Captain Edgerton, also. We sit down at around seven.”
“Ha!” said the duke. “You will be lucky to get sight of the soup before nine, Marford. Never knew a more disorganised household.”
The marchioness rose. “You are a disagreeable old man, and will die alone in your bed, unmourned. I shall see you tomorrow, Lord Augustus, and I shall expect a full account of your brother’s wife.”
“Which one?” he said, amused, although he guessed the answer.
“The one who shot the tiger.”
“I believe it was seven tigers, one bull elephant and my brother’s land agent.”
She laughed in delight. “How positively delicious! I cannot wait. Until tomorrow, then.”
As she swept out, with the click of the door the butler entered and announced dinner in his oddly thin voice.
“About time,” the duke said. “It is almost ten past the hour, Bedford. Just because that woman is here is no reason to keep me from my table. What is it tonight, eh? Is there any decent fish? I hope it is turbot. And pigeon — I asked for pigeon yesterday, and did I get any? Not a sign of any pigeon.”
The butler made no answer to any of these grumblings, which Gus imagined was wise of him. They progressed slowly out of the drawing room and into the adjoining dining room, the duke muttering all the way. Only when he had been positioned at the head of the table with the first course set out in front of him did he relax, and say with the hint of a smile, “Now, Marford, tell me all about the tiger lady.”
So he did, and by the time the duke had drunk most of a bottle of claret and partaken liberally of every dish on the table, including two helpings of pigeon in redcurrant sauce, he was far more mellow.
“I despise that daughter-in-law of mine,” he said musingly, as he passed the port to Gus, “but Edith is right about one thing. I shall certainly die alone in my bed, and probably unmourned. My sons are dead, my daughters are too busy to spare a thought for their father, and who will care when I am gone? Not Edith, that much is certain. She hates me almost as much as she hated Henry, and has never made any bones about it. Well, it is entirely mutual. Cannot stand the woman, although I will give her credit in full measure for doing her duty by Henry. Nine babes in all, although three never breathed, three died in their cradles, and the three who survived were all girls. No, both of them tried their damnedest, and maybe the tenth would have been the one. Except that Henry had to go out in that wretched boat. Clear day, no cause for concern, yet down it went, and all my hopes with it. And now this boy is here, no doubt sizing up his inheritance. Ha! An attorney from Cheshire! It is almost enough to make my father rise up from his grave in revolt.”
“Still time for you to marry again and cut out the attorney,” Gus said.
“Ha!” The duke shook with laughter. “Oh, a fine idea, Marford! And who on earth would have me, eh? I am one and sixty years of age, and so riddled with gout that I never leave these rooms.”
“But still you have most of your hair and all of your teeth,” Gus said. “Besides, you are a duke. Any number of women would be delighted to be a duchess and provide you with an heir or two in gratitude. And why not?”
“Why not? Because… ack, would I want some woman fussing over me? I am set in my ways, Marford, and I have no intention of changing now.”
“No need to change, sir. You set the rules. Which would you rather have, a pretty young thing keeping you warm, or the attorney moving in as soon as you are in the ground?”
“Hmm.” There was a long silence. “And how would I find a wife, eh? Take myself off to London and shuffle about with the debutantes at Almacks? You want me to make a cake of myself? I should like to retain a shred or two of dignity.”
Gus had not until that moment considered how he would broach the subject of Lady Emma. Even though she had authorised him to mention her directly to the duke, he hardly liked to do so. The duke had an uncertain temper at the best of times, and telling him in unvarnished terms that the lady wished to marry him might have exactly the opposite effect to that desired. But the idea of a wife was in the duke’s head now, and something had to be done.
“I have not the least idea how it might be achieved,” he said. “However, I know a lady who might be able to help you in the matter. Do you know Lady Emma Frensham?”
“Frensham? One of Huntsmere’s girls?”
“Indeed. She is a… a skilled matchmaker, and also very well acquainted with all the best families. She would be able to advise you.” This was improvisation, and Gus was uneasily aware that this was not his strong suit. He wished he had Humphrey with him to suggest some ingenious device to bring the two together without the duke suspecting that he was being led by the nose.
“A bit of a girl?”
“Oh, no, she is quite old. Above thirty, I should say.”
“An old maid, then. What will she know about matchmaking when she could not find a husband herself?”
Gus took a sip of port to give him time to think. This was not proving to be easy, and already the duke was finding all the flaws in his scheme. At length he said, “Spinsters are the very best matchmakers. A married woman is always on the catch for her own daughters and nieces, and a young woman has not enough experience, but a spinster past the marriageable age has a clear insight into the business. Lady Emma has seen her own younger sisters married, and any number of cousins, and she is worldly enough to understand the practical aspects. Why not invite her here, and see what she suggests? At least that way you might discuss a few ideas with he
r in private, without the whole world knowing what you are about.”
“That is a good point. It is a service that Edith should provide, if she were less selfish. She is discreet, this Lady Emma?”
“Oh, very,” Gus said at once, and could only hope that was true.
“Hmm. Compose a letter, then, Marford, and if I deem it good, I shall send it to her.”
~~~~~
The dinner at Lady Darrowstone’s was late, as the duke had foreseen, but nevertheless was more enjoyable than Gus had anticipated. He was not the most sociable of people, but after his solitary dinners with the duke, there was some pleasure to be had in the company of those bent on revelry. He was aware that he and Edgerton were being brought onstage to provide a diversion for the locals, and if Gus himself was not likely to be an entertainment, Edgerton was more than capable of entertaining for two. Nothing delighted him more than a ready audience for his badinage, which he regarded as the epitome of wit. A little flirtation with the ladies, a political joke or two and some ribald remarks with the gentlemen over the port, and he thought himself a capital fellow, and the most popular man in the neighbourhood.
Lady Darrowstone lived within the town of High Morton, no more than ten minutes’ walk from the castle, but Edgerton was concerned for his stockings if there should be any mud about, so Gus took them there in his curricle, which had now arrived from Drummoor. It was hardly worth putting the horses to, for the marchioness’s town house lay not twenty paces from the main square with its statue of an earlier Duke of Dunmorton, a forbidding bronze figure on his horse. The house was neither imposing nor elegant, but inside it was warm and packed with what Gus supposed were the leading figures of High Morton. Nor was the dinner anything terribly grand, for although it was the full two courses, the dishes were comparatively plain. Gus thought of the duke, dining alone on an array of rich sauces and elaborate desserts, and here was a lady who might have been a duchess, who yet preferred simple food and good company.
The heir was not especially memorable. He was young, no more than five and twenty, but already showing signs of portliness. His wife was even younger and even portlier. Neither displayed any sense of style or fashion or intelligent discourse. Gus was no great conversationalist himself, but Mr Winfell, when he could be induced to speak at all, was inclined to talk in platitudes and homilies. Every other sentence began, “As the estimable Mr Fordyce would say…”, and there was only so much of that nature that a sensible man could stomach. His wife needed no inducement to speak, rather it was the greatest struggle to prevail upon her to stop talking. The size of the rooms, the furnishings, the number of servants and their liveries, even the number of logs on the fire, all met with her approbation, in a constant stream of verbiage that no one seemed to attend to in the slightest. After a while, everyone, even Lady Darrowstone, ignored both of them.
Edgerton, however, would never be ignored in any company. The discussion of tigers and elephants lasted all the way through the first course, and into the second. Having been in the East India Company Army, he had a bottomless well of exotic tales for all occasions, and kept the company enthralled. Gus had heard most of the anecdotes before, but he was very happy to keep to the shadows and allow Edgerton his hour in the sun. It was not until the company was relaxed by too much to eat, drink and listen to, that someone finally came round to asking an obvious question.
“So, Lord Augustus, what brings you so far north?” said one of the portly burghers filling the table.
“We are here on behalf of Tattersall’s,” he said. “The duke has asked us to evaluate the late marquess’s stud with a view to selling the horses.”
The chatter around the table died away. The marchioness set down her wine glass with a crash.
“The horses? The duke asked you to come?”
“That is so. You did not know?” Gus felt a prickle of alarm.
“I did not,” she said crisply. “You should be aware, gentlemen, that my late husband’s horses are not the duke’s to sell. They belong to me, and are not likely to be for sale, now or in the future.”
5: Widows
“Now we are in the soup, and no mistake,” Edgerton said gloomily, as the curricle clattered over the cobbles of High Morton. “I wonder the duke did not mention that his daughter-in-law owns the stud.”
“He may not be aware of it,” Gus said.
“How could he not be aware of it? There must have been a will, so it would have been quite explicit.”
“Not necessarily, and there may be factors of which we are unaware,” Gus said. “The stud is on the grounds of Castle Morton, for one thing. The duke may have put money into the venture. Or even if he has not done so directly, if he paid his son an allowance, and the marquess spent that allowance on horses, the duke may feel he owns them by proxy. Or perhaps the lady funded the venture, and now feels it is rightfully hers. It will be a matter for the lawyers, I feel.”
“Well, they have one in the family now, so that will be helpful,” Edgerton said, chuckling.
Gus laughed. “I never saw so unpromising a ducal heir. Does he read nothing but sermons? For I swear he quoted nothing else, and he has not an original thought in his head.”
“And the future duchess is even worse,” Edgerton said. “An apothecary’s daughter — can you imagine? She will be torn to shreds in London.”
Gus shrugged. “They may not care. In fact, their hides are so thick, they may not even notice.” He sighed. “We shall have to write to Tattersall’s again, informing them of this difficulty. And doubtless we will be stuck here for weeks now until the matter is resolved.”
“There could be worse situations,” Edgerton said with a grin. “There are many attractions to a small town like High Morton, especially when the residents are so friendly. That red-haired friend of Lady Darrowstone’s, for instance, Mrs Masterson — now that is a most agreeable lady. Her husband is going away tomorrow, so perhaps I may call on her, to enliven her long, lonely hours.” And he laughed, delighted with himself.
~~~~~
Gus kicked his heels at the keep all the next morning, waiting for the duke to be up and about. He was eventually shown into the duke’s dressing room where the duke reclined in bed in a voluminous nightcap drinking his morning chocolate.
“What is this, Marford? Could it not have waited until this evening? Noon is an uncivilised hour to be socialising.”
“This is not a social call, Duke. I am obliged to inform you that Lady Darrowstone is claiming ownership of the stud in its entirety. You may wish to consult your legal advisers.”
“Consult my—!” He went so red that Gus thought he might explode in an apoplectic fit. “I shall do no such thing! Consult my legal advisers indeed! You may tell Edith that if she suggests such a thing again I shall come round to that miserable little house of hers and flay her alive.”
“I am not acting as intermediary in any quarrel between two family members,” Gus said, without rancour. “I act only for Tattersall’s, and clearly there can be no further dealings in the matter until you can prove ownership.”
“Get out! Go on, clear out, you insufferable booby! I am surrounded by fools and incompetents and ignoramuses. Get out!”
Gus got out. He bore the duke no ill-will, and had met far more eccentric great men in London. Sometimes it seemed as though the higher a man’s rank, the more outrageous he became. Perhaps Mr and Mrs Winfell were in fact typical of the mass of the lower gentry, and their conversation, which seemed so boring to him, was taken as the height of civilised discourse in Cheshire. And perhaps when they became the Duke and Duchess of Dunmorton, their very banality would be smilingly approved and half the peerage would begin to ape their manners. With that depressing thought, he returned to his room to change into his riding clothes.
He found Edgerton bound on the same objective. “Will you show me that woodland ride of yours, Marford?” Edgerton said. “And the pretty little wife at the lodge, of course, if I promise to keep my hands off he
r?”
“Truly, Edgerton, sometimes I suspect you think of nothing but women.”
“What else is there for a man to think about?”
“Horses, of course.”
Edgerton snorted. “You are not natural, Marford, I swear.”
Gus laughed. “Perhaps not. Edgerton, I believe we know each other well enough now to be on Christian name terms. You may call me Gus.”
“Thank you! I began to think you despised me so thoroughly that we should never get to that point. And you may call me Michael.”
In a spirit of cautious amity, the two rode across the castle’s parkland to the northern gate. Having been ridden daily, Jupiter was not in a great hurry, but even so his long legs soon outpaced Edgerton’s more restrained mount. The gates were closed when Gus approached, but Mrs Walsh must have heard him coming, for she rushed to open them and he barely had to hold Jupiter in at all before the way was clear and the horse sprang forward and raced off into the cool depths of the woods.
At the fork, Gus waited for Edgerton, Jupiter dancing with impatience, and the two rode on together to the old castle.
“What a fine spot for an assignation,” Edgerton said.
That made Gus laugh. “See? Always thinking of women. But you will not get your Mrs Masterson up here, nor any housemaids. It is too far from the town to walk, and there is no way to get a carriage here.”
“No, but that would be no obstacle to a lady who rides,” he said, grinning widely, and nothing would do but for him to scramble all over the ruins while Gus held his horse. “It would need a rug or two, but it could be done. Splendid! Now do not look so thunderous, Gus. You should not be so censorious about such matters, as a Marford. Your family has some history in that line.”
“My father, you mean?”
“And your youngest brother, too, not to mention that rackety cousin of yours that you never acknowledge.”
“Every family has a few bad apples. The present generation is not half so wild as my father was. Any number of affairs within the ton, and now we are finding the little presents he left with housemaids and the like.”
Sons of the Marquess Collection Page 47