Truly, when she put one up against the other, Mr. Neville had revealed himself to be all polish and no substance, whereas Lord Robert was slowly becoming a substantial point of interest to the inhabitants of Greenly. Jim Barry served Mr. Neville punctiliously, but his enthusiasm was reserved for His Lordship’s return. Mrs. Darlington made sure the accommodations were well set up for Master Fanley’s friend, but only for the Marquis did she embroider new pillow tops and wash the bedding with lavender water. And the Greenly cook, Sue Wilkins, who took exception to special requests, would not bother to know Mr. Neville’s favourite dish, but she had assembled a detailed list of every morsel that “His Honour” had ever even vaguely complimented.
Mr. Fanley’s preference was also clear as daylight. He relished Denley’s dawning interest in the art of estate cultivation, he delighted in the restoration of Treehill and its master’s rightful return, and he was ever at his ease with Robert. Oscar Neville was a passing acquaintance, but Lord Robert spent many a comfortable hour in the saddle alongside Mr. Fanley’s country curricle as they tooled through the acres of Greenly and beyond.
These points of comparison were enough to lower Mr. Neville in Mary’s opinion, but she felt sure he was the source of mischief that had blue-devilled her younger brother. For that, he was entirely sunk beyond redemption. If he were to admire her blooming cheeks till her deathbed, she would never believe him to be worthy of her confidence; though Lord Robert admired nothing about her, she felt sure she could depend upon him if she were ever in straightened circumstances.
In the end, Mary turned back toward home. She anticipated Will’s return to Oxford, when he would leave the worldly and questionable influence of Mr. Neville behind him. As to her own course of action, Mary determined to be civil to Neville and patient with her brother’s reticence. Upon the more interesting advent of the Marquis’ return, she pledged herself to show him her most ladylike manners and treat him with a brand new deference.
Chapter Eighteen
But the day still held more upset for Mary Fanley. On her return to Greenly House, she was accosted at the door by Mrs. Darlington.
“Oh, Miss!” she cried, waving her apron in agitation, “I’m so glad you’re come home!”
“What is it Mrs. Darlington? Have the pigs got into the garden again?”
“No, it is only that the young gentleman is leaving of a sudden, and the young master is all in knots over it, insisting he cannot go, and now he’s got your father in a rare taking.”
“Good God!” Mary exclaimed, disposing of her shawl. “Are they in the library?”
“Yes ma’am, except the young gentleman is abovestairs and has called for his trunks — but Jim says he cannot see to it because he is forbidden to do so by Master Will.”
Mary did not stay to sort out the matter of trunks; instead she marched into her father’s library where she was greeted with cries of relief from her father, and assertions of mutiny from her brother.
“Tell him, Mary!” demanded Will. “Tell him that Oscar must stay and the Marquis of Denley and his uncle Who-Ever-He-Might-Be should be relegated off to Treehill or the Inn at the Village!”
“They cannot be sent to Treehill, Mary!” Mr. Fanley interjected. “It is October already and the masons have yet to proof the chimneys. And there’s not a servant to be had at this date, as all are gone off or have secured their posts for the winter. And never the inn. Never! They have the dampest sheets in the country there.”
“Of course they will not be sent off, Papa,” Mary said reasonably, causing Will to leap to his feet in outrage. But a look from her silenced him, and she continued in the most reassuring way while opening the curtains to let in the late afternoon light. “No doubt Mr. Neville is only trying to be polite. He will not want to overburden Greenly with guests, not knowing our capacity. I am sure that Will and I can speak to him and convince him that he has a claim on our hospitality that does not expire with the arrival of a mere two extra persons.”
Mr. Fanley seemed vastly relieved. “Yes, Mary, I knew you would see to it. I cannot like Mr. Neville to be leaving us so abruptly. Will, you know, is uncommonly fond of his company, and I would not like to see some sort of rupture because we have not done our part to make him stay.”
“I will take care of it Papa,” Mary said breezily, and then she took Will by the arm and firmly led him into the hall and closed the library door. “Now, Will, before you speak another word, I warn you not to go spreading alarm with Papa. I will not allow him to be upset.”
“But Oscar says if the Marquis comes, he goes!”
“Yes, and I have reason to think I may have contributed to that, but lower your voice. There must be something I can do.”
“But I’m afraid there is not,” Mr. Neville said from behind them.
Will and Mary, much shocked at having been overheard, turned around. “Oscar!” exclaimed Will in mortified accents.
“Forgive me, but I was seeking out my hostess to take my leave.”
“But you cannot go,” Mary said lightly.
He smiled at her lack of conviction, and with a flourish, he took her hand and lightly kissed the tips of her fingers. “The matter we spoke of earlier is forgotten,” he said smoothly, “and you are not to suppose my removal has anything to do with what I said to you.”
She blushed and dipped a faint curtsey. “Then I admit we are quite in the dark as to why you feel you must remove with such suddenness, sir.”
He straightened and released her hand with flair. “I have been assailed of late with invitations from Jack Himmel, and I cannot in good faith reject him, Miss Fanley. He has got wind that you will be entertaining guests by week’s end. How servants talk! It is the greatest shame on earth that nary a secret can be kept between country houses. Be that as it may, Jack insists if I do not come now, he will no longer be in charity with me.”
“But sir, the Marquis is unknown to Will, and he cannot let you go now that my Papa will be closeted with the stewards and talking day and night of Treehill.”
Will stood at her side in great agitation. “That is it exactly, Mary. Good God, Oscar, if you leave us now, it will be all yields and drainage plans for me!”
“My dear boy, I am only at Blevington; I can be found I assure you. In fact, I expect you to be visiting the schoolroom at least every other day. Then you can come and have a game of piquet with the men, unless, as you say, you are determined to give it up.” He flashed Will an angelic smile. “Now, be so good as to allow your man to retrieve my trunks and I’ll be off. I’ve promised Mrs. Himmel I would make eight at her table.”
Chapter Nineteen
Mary would have felt nothing but relief at Mr. Neville’s removal, were it not for her brother. At dinner, she explained blithely to her father that Mr. Neville had been pressed too hard for comfort to visit the Himmels. He had harrumphed that, indeed, they were “as unmannered a bunch of supposedly genteel people” as he had ever come across.
But Will sat silently at dinner, and rather than dispose of his customary three helpings of everything, he absently pushed his food from one end of his plate to the other. That evening, Mr. Fanley retired to his study to read and Mary, upon seeing Will staring abstractly into the fire, went to sit beside him.
“Were you so fond of Mr. Neville, really?”
He roused himself and raked his hands through his chestnut hair before he rested his face in them.
She pressed him gently. “I know you are troubled, Will, and as we have been all our lives, I believe we are still friends.”
He sat up then, but he still would not meet her eyes. “True,” he said bitterly. “I may as well tell you, Mary, as you’ll know sooner than later. And no, I am not fond of Oscar. Indeed, I’m well in the way of hating him.”
This caused his sister to gasp.
“Well, you can think he is a fine gentleman, and I see he’s turned your head!”
“Oh, my head has slowly been coming round on my neck when it comes to
him, Will. In fact today we quarrelled, and I’m not unconvinced I’m the cause of his leaving.”
Will shook his head slowly. “No, he’s been playing a game with me, Mary, and I’m the reason he’s gone.”
“Is he at the heart of this scrape you are in, Will?”
And so the story was told. Mr. Neville met Will at the Green Man, where Will had stopped for refreshment during his journey home from Oxford. Neville sat playing piquet with a group of older men; they had been cordial and merry, and soon Will was invited to play. He admitted he had never learned the game and they felt compelled to introduce him to what Neville claimed was a hallmark of the “gentlemanly arts.” Not wanting to be much ridiculed for adolescent skittishness or countrified stupidity, Will accepted their tutelage. And, to his utter surprise he won the vast sum of three hundred pounds.
“But how? You did not play previously, and, as I understand it, it is a difficult game.”
“It is very subtle, but they assured me I was all skill and luck that night.” They had also assured him that a winner’s duty was to give ample opportunity to the losers for the recuperation of their capital. He and Oscar had returned to the Green Man on many occasions. At first Will’s marvellous luck held, but by degrees he began to lose. He would win very occasionally then, just often enough to make him reckless and determined to regain his luck. But eventually he suffered a catastrophic loss.
Mary searched her brother’s face “How much?”
“Four hundred pounds gone on top of the three hundred I’d already won.”
She braced her shoulders. “Well that is no problem. I’ve got a thousand pounds tucked away, you know, and we can have you righted instantly.”
“I wish it were so,” he said with utter dejection.
“There is more?” she asked in awe.
He only nodded. He had gone to Oscar Neville with the news that he was squeezed dry and loathe to confess to his father the whole of his gambling debt. Oscar being sympathetic, entered into Will’s troubles very gladly. He offered the solution of taking five hundred pounds to the races at Newmarket, where he knew of a horse that would, by all accounts and against impressive odds, win. And so they had gone.
“Of course the horse did not win,” Mary observed.
“No. And I had stolen your pin money to that end.”
“Borrowed, you mean,” she said in a fortifying tone. “So Neville is gone, and we are lucky to be rid of him. I am sorry that he came across you.”
“No sorrier than am I. I was a great, stupid gudgeon! If only I had been more guarded, for I am now convinced that Oscar Neville is a man who feathers his nest with the likes of me.”
“Is that why you did not want him to go to Jack? Do you think Jack will fall prey as well?”
“Oh, most certainly. He is already in the way of it; he’s been to the Green Man twice that I know of, and came back beaming from ear to ear. But it’s worse than that, Mary, and I’ll let Jack be taught what every man should learn.”
“You cannot mean that, Will,” she admonished. “You would not want that family afflicted to any degree as we are! Think of Miss Clara, and how a large debt on Jack’s part would affect all her hopes of a come out.”
“Oh, who cares!” he sputtered. “She is completely in his toils too, and he buys her ribbons and teaches her to ride her pony.”
Mary gave her brother a tender look. “All the same, Will, she is too young for him, and she is only enjoying the attention. He will leave soon enough, especially if you speak to Mr. Himmel.”
Will’s mouth hardened. “It may be as you say, but I dare not foil Oscar’s plans.”
“How could it be that his claims on your silence are so great?”
“Oscar Neville is carrying my papers, and he’s demanding interest every week.”
“I do not understand you. Are you telling me he is a sharper and a money lender?”
“It would seem so. He told me when he settled for me at the Green Man that he was happy to do it without a lick of interest so long as he took advantage of my hospitality.”
“Ah. No doubt this assurance was offered as an extreme kindness?”
He stood and kicked at a log on the hearth. “Generosity itself. He could not think it proper to take interest from me, as I was his host.”
“And now he’s no longer beholden to you. I see that he has expectations of his interest now. How much are you down, Will?”
“Two thousand, with twenty pounds due every week.”
Only extreme self-governance prevented Mary from crying out in shock. Instead, she merely mouthed a little “oh.”
They sat together in a bleak huddle before the fire, staring into the flames in silent desperation. Mary could not help thinking of one thing: her dowry. This was a substantial sum that had been her mother’s portion. But her father, being proud, insisted that his family would not live off lard. Since Will would inherit Greenly, it was a simple matter to put the money away for Mary, who lately had begun to despair of its being used as it was intended. Still, she could not bring herself to offer it up. She knew she was being sinfully selfish in her brother’s hour of need, yet in her heart she knew she could not throw good money after bad.
At last, Mary composed herself. “Right then, we know the extent of the damage wrought on us courtesy of Mr. Neville. We have only to determine what to do about it and proceed. We can make a recover, Will, I’ve no doubt we can put our heads together and work our way out of it, even if it takes the better part of year. I’ve got mother’s pearls, you know, and her emerald set, and I can sell my lace in London at a shop. And you can give riding lessons or…”
“We,” he said roundly, “are not in this coil. And I will never forgive you if you pawn our mother’s jewels. Besides, I’ve already decided what must be done. I’ll take the rest of your pin money and go to Newmarket and place bets on racers until I’ve got every penny back.”
Chapter Twenty
What followed was a day and a half of quarrelling. Sometimes Mary and Will fought so loudly they were forced to retreat to the clearing in the copse, where this year’s wood had been cut for the fireplaces. Sometimes, they spoke earnestly, their heads together in the breakfast parlour, imploring one another to see reason. When in the company of their father, they battled it out with damning looks and arch silences, in between the most commonplace courtesies.
But in the end, Will won the war. On Thursday evening, he knocked peremptorily on Mary’s bedchamber door. When she ushered him in, he went directly to her vanity drawer, removed her satin covered box and pocketed her carefully hoarded seven hundred pounds. When she moved to protest, he gave her a dangerous look, proclaiming, “I swear on a stack of bibles that all I have taken from you will be restored to you. Now, leave me to mind my own affairs like a man.”
At breakfast, Will glowered darkly enough at Mary to forestall any additional discussion of his plan. Mr. Fanley talked brightly of the Marquis’ and Lord Eversham’s arrival on the morrow, and Mary was kept busy murmuring all her assurances that the house stood in readiness to receive them. When Mr. Fanley rose to go out to see to the weathering of the barns, Will finally spoke.
“I leave this on the instant,” he announced.
“And Papa? What have you said to him?”
“I have said I have a great desire to see what price our northern foals are commanding on the market. He knows there is no better place for trading horseflesh than Newmarket, and he gave me leave.”
She sagged in her chair, her voice sounding unusually spiritless. “I am surprised. I had thought he was anxious for you to make Lord Robert’s acquaintance.”
“Indeed he is. I’m not so eager myself, as I’ve grown to verily hate him, what with Robert this and Robert that. As if I’ve never applied myself to Greenly or ridden the fences till I would drop!”
“But I’m afraid you will eventually be acquainted.”
“And it’s the only reason Papa agreed I could go,” he growled. “I’ll n
ot relish my homecoming, with or without…” Here he stopped abruptly, for the thought of returning without Oscar Neville’s two thousand pounds was not one he could entertain.
“I beg you will be civil.”
“Why? I thought you hated him too.”
“You are very liberal with hate these days, and I do not hate the Marquis of Denley.”
“Then you despise him, Mary, and I feel sorry for the man, for no one despises better than you.”
He rose and gave her a curt bow.
Mary jumped up and ran after her brother and pulled his arm. She hugged him and said, “Do not think I despise you for what you are doing Will! I am only desperate for your happiness.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “I am filled with regret over what you have suffered.”
Will Fanley relented and gave his sister a rough hug. “I have only suffered what I earned, Mary. I wanted to be a man of fashion and find I am a country squire after all. But what a cost to know myself.”
Mary wiped her eyes. “At this moment, Will Fanley, I find you more the gentleman than ever Mr. Neville could aspire to.”
With that assurance, Will Fanley kissed his sister’s hand and fled the room.
Chapter Twenty-One
As their coach rambled northward, Robert ended his impassioned speech about subjecting Mary Fanley to the perils of insanity with an angry observation: that perhaps, with such a future, he should turn ’round for Somersetshire and marry the shrew or the halfwit. Lord Eversham regarded him darkly for some time after that threat. After an hour’s deliberation, he knocked on the panel and the coach slowed to a stop. He gave directions to put in early at the next establishment, and turned to his nephew.
“I do not know why we do not go on to Brompton,” Denley growled. “It is devilishly early to put up.”
“I’ve a deal to say to you,” Eversham said, “and I’d as soon say it now.”
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