But Will valiantly held his cards close, saying with eloquent and offended feelings, “Suit? I have no notion he is wooing her, and he has never yet applied to my father to pay his addresses. I am shocked you would suggest it. To us he is all politeness, and as to his being a villain, I don’t pay too much heed to what is said of other people. If I did, I would not be sitting here with you.”
“So he has openly disparaged me, has he?”
Will looked at him in open disgust. “I have never heard a word against you cross his lips. But I will not bear tales nor credit them, so assure yourself, I believe little of what I’m told of you. Now, let us settle the business between us, because I’ve invited the Marquis to escort my sister here for a luncheon. You will join us I hope?” He passed Mr. Neville a neat package bound in waxed paper and tied in string.
Mr. Neville existed on card sharping and money lending, but his expectations of complete recovery were rare. To be handed a neat pile with interest was so unique as to flabbergast him, and he somewhat awkwardly greeted Miss Fanley and the Marquis of Denley when they momentarily arrived.
“Oh, Oscar,” the Marquis said in his condescending way. “I’m glad to see you before you quit us.” This was followed by a look of amusement directed at Will Fanley, which Mr. Neville hated.
“Why-ever would you think that I am going? I am just being told there will be a ball, and I would never miss it. May I engage you, Miss Fanley, for a dance?”
She responded to him while looking fondly at Lord Robert. “Certainly, if I’m not partnered, I will step out with you, sir. I warn you all — I mean to dance every dance.”
After a superficially enjoyable luncheon, Mary implored Will to take her around to the cobbler’s. “I’ve trampled on Lord Robert’s good graces long enough. It is time you perform the office. I swear I will not take more than thirty minutes.”
Will complied, leaving Mr. Neville in the company of the Marquis. Denley regarded him levelly, and casually ordered two tankards to while away the time. “Do you wait, sir, or do you repair to the Himmels?”
“You seem over-anxious to see me gone, Denley,” Neville said, in a different voice altogether than the once he had used in company.
“You mistake polite conversation for interest. I care not whether you stay or go, my friend.”
“I think you want me to go to the devil, rather than put a word in Mr. Fanley’s ear.”
“I beg you to enlighten him. I have tried myself, but he will not hear of my history.”
Neville’s carefully composed expression turned into an ugly sneer. “Then you cannot have been forthright. My brother suffers from fevers yet.”
Denley yawned. “That cannot be laid at my door. That he has contracted a social disease should come as no surprise to anyone.”
Neville’s jaw only clenched. He would never be goaded to fight a man who was known to throw his sword around like a dog of hell. His father had been a mere dancing master; he had little strength other than that of a cunning mind, and he called upon his imagination to account for the enigma of the Marquis of Denley. At last he hit upon a proper reply, saying benignly, “Well, Mr. Fanley will assuredly be apprised of the facts when Bow Street makes their inquiries.”
Denley laughed very indifferently and said with aplomb. “Be easy, Oscar. He will never believe them!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Mr. Neville eventually departed, leaving Lord Robert to call the landlord to request ink and paper. He dashed off a note to his uncle.
Predictably, he threatens me with the law. Send your two men to me at once and I will keep them close. If you will but do your part I will be forever in your debt. Also, may I petition a trinket from my mother’s jewel box? I am in need of a gesture…”
He remained calm and happy throughout the unfolding of his plan. Oscar Neville played like a well-strung violin, and Mary Fanley was in raptures over her newly bought finery. He saw she had been thrust into the dullness of responsibility without so much as a by-your-leave, and he determined that, in the few weeks that remained ahead of him, he would fill her hours with every possible delight.
After dinner, while Mr. Fanley read by the fire, the young people retreated to a card table at the other side of the room, where they pretended to play.
“How do you think it goes, sir?” Will asked earnestly.
“Splendidly. He finds he cannot put two and two together. Tomorrow, expect him to gently pry; when he does, I give you leave to leak a little, my buck. But do so with subtlety and do not think he won’t catch the least flick of your wrist. He is in the trade of gauging people, so give him food for speculation.” Denley turned to Mary then. “And how do your preparations go, my girl?”
“I’m in a sea of trimmings.”
“Take care. I want you a pattern-card of elegance, not a vulgar display of feathers.”
“Fashion?” Mary flashed him a mutinous look. “Much you know about it. I intend to have a turban you know, and if it doesn’t have at least one ostrich plume and a jewelled brooch to hold it all together, I may as well wear a mob cap. Oh, and I will have gold netting over everything.”
The Marquis threw her a levelling look. “I see. And will you have not one but two knots of ribbons? Please, take care not to have fewer than four flounces, I beg of you.”
But in spite of all her threats to the contrary, Mary complied with surprising taste. Daily she showed herself at the breakfast parlour in some new frock with slightly more finery than was her habit. Her father, once he noted her new looks, complained a little. “I don’t see any occasion to arrive at breakfast in state, Mary.”
She looked first surprised and then mildly stung. “Well if you must know, I have looked the dowd, Papa. All this company has reminded me of the place I hold. I would rather not embarrass us.”
“Embarrass us? Good God! Of course you must not embarrass us. You are the first lady of consequence here, and though we don’t condone the putting on of airs like so many of our neighbours, what with come-out balls and routs, I won’t have you look the part of the washerwoman.”
Lord Robert raised his eyebrows and Will went off into a coughing fit, but Mary sighed with satisfaction. She had parental approval to dress like a lady; for once, she would indulge in frippery.
The transformation of the country miss enabled Oscar Neville to entice Will Fanley into conversation. He came expressly to Greenly to ask Will to advise him on the purchase of a horse, and on that pretence, they went off to the village where the creature was stabled.
Will thought the horse was raw-boned and past its prime, resolving the purported matter instantly. On the way back, Mr. Neville gratified Will very much by complimenting his advice.
“We are not entirely rustic,” Will asserted.
“No, indeed you are not. I say, that puts me in mind of your sister. She is becoming quite elegant.”
“It is all these rubbishy dress parties and your Mrs. Himmel’s ball that’s the to-do.”
“Well I own to mild surprise at it, if only because I have known her to be so practical, that is all. If I am not mistaken, I would say the piece she wore last night was…”
“What? Above her touch? She can have anything she wants.” He uttered this speech with the slightest hint of bitterness.
“You can have no complaints. You discharged your obligations with surprising alacrity, given that a week before you claimed to be all but ruined.”
Will only responded with dignity that he had friends.
This was the trail Mr. Neville hoped for. He left the subject easily and wandered back to the Himmels, where he casually inquired into the origins of Greenly. Upon hearing that Mrs. Fanley had been niece to an Earl, his smile widened imperceptibly. He had known of cases where a mother’s fortune was passed to the daughter, or held in trust to increase the chances of a brilliant match. When he further learned that Mr. Fanley was a long-time acquaintance of Denley’s uncle, he laboured under no further illusions.
Mr
. Fanley, or perhaps the late Mrs. Fanley, must have harboured the fond hope of making their daughter a duchess almost from her cradle, hoarding her dowry and very likely increasing it, as poorly as they lived. They must have been sending out lures to Eversham and burdening their friendship with the expectation. When once it became clear no one else would have such an evil-tempered person, the choice for Eversham would have been natural.
The mystery of Will Fanley’s newfound largesse was simply explained. The Marquis, taken into the family confidence and learning of his intended’s brother’s debts, would naturally make a gift of it. He could expect to be repaid many times over on the occasion of his nuptials. The proximity of Treehill, Denley’s rustication, and Miss Fanley’s initial feigned dislike of him and later repulsion of every attempt to warn her away from the Marquis all began to make perfect sense. This scheme was of a duration that preceded his arrival; she was only throwing him off the scent till the thing was all but done.
Claiming a slight headache, Mr. Neville excused himself from a foray to the Green Man with Jack Himmel and took himself off to his room to calculate and plan. He would undoubtedly profit and, as a happy aside, take his revenge on the Marquis of Denley.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Clara Himmel’s come-out ball had generated an astonishing degree of social engagements in the surrounding county. Everyone in the territory with any social standing felt compelled to throw some sort of party. Mary Fanley, who had by this time been added to the come-out plan, was invited everywhere. No one would think to invite Mary without inviting her houseguest, her brother and her reticent father.
Mr. Fanley, after three forays into the world, decried the whole of it and retreated. But he did not begrudge Mary, nor did he dislike seeing how she and Robert got on together. In truth, he never thought of Denley’s marrying her any more than he thought of his not marrying her: he was comfortable, his estate was prosperous, and those were his primary concerns.
The Marquis also flourished. He had never been counted on, looked to or consulted on anything but evil doings. He took to his role like one born to lead. In the early mornings he waited on Mr. Fanley over breakfast, paying his elder host meticulous attention and seeing to it that he was satisfied with regard to his interest in the doings of Greenly or Treehill. Once Mr. Fanley departed to invariably shake someone’s rattle for “addlepatedness,” as he called it, Lord Robert lingered over his plate until Mary arrived. They enjoyed their morning tête-à-tête, usually alone, since Will preferred to break his fast later in the day. Sometimes he coached her on what she had grudgingly admitted was a sad lack of ladylike manners, and sometimes he just listened to her prattle on like the little rabbit she was about every little thing that amused her.
When, on the morning of the day before the ball, he realized that he adored her, he felt a crushing qualm. He saw instantly, as she sat so prettily in a soft green morning dress with her hair entwined with little seed pearls, that every feeling he had for her was reciprocated, that he had in fact “made her love him” in the words of his uncle. In consequence, he suffered a severe blow.
“Are you well?” Mary asked him suddenly.
He strove to make his reply sound indifferent. “Perfectly. Why do you ask?”
“It is only that you fell into an odd silence.”
He straightened and laughed, though it stuck in his throat. “I could hardly get in a word, now, could I?”
She threw up her brows and puckered her mouth into a mocking pout. “Oh, I was boring you.”
“Never.”
Before any more could be said, Jim knocked on the door and announced with an expression of misgiving that there were “two gentlemen as were looking for His Lordship” but adding that they were not the rightest looking and he’d be glad to send them off.
The Marquis was, for once, in charity with an interruption at breakfast. “I’ve been expecting them, Jim. Is there a suitable place where I can receive them?”
Miss Fanley offered him the small salon, seldom used, and vastly cold in the winter. He declined a fire or refreshments and took his leave, after which she stepped to the window to see these uncommon persons for herself.
What she saw instinctively gave her a shudder, but the Marquis seemed quite comfortable addressing two very rough characters, shaking their hands, taking a small parcel from one and preceding them into the Manor House. In half an hour’s time he sought her out.
“I wonder, Mary, if you could tell me where I might house the two men I saw just now.”
She set her mind to the problem, finding Sue Wilkins with room to spare and a ready eye to the few nights’ rent. After giving him all the particulars of these arrangements, she paused.
“May I ask…” She faltered and bit her lip.
Lord Robert’s face was suddenly stern. “No, you may not. You have a part to play. I must take Will with me to get out of the way, and you will very likely have a morning caller. Be so good as to send him to the Green Man this afternoon.” He bowed, but left her without taking her hand, and she felt strangely cheated.
When Mr. Neville arrived, looking dapper and crisp, she found her heart pounding with foreboding. Nevertheless, she bravely proceeded to entertain him as she had been instructed. He expressed suitable disappointment not to find Will at home, and, when she suggested he would find him at the Green Man with Lord Robert later in the afternoon, he feigned disinterest. “I cannot see what would take them away from home.” He followed this hollow sentiment with a fulsome look at her.
She laughed and flirted a little with a fan she was painting. When he proclaimed that her work was charming, she lifted it and coquetted her eyes playfully, until he protested that he was half in love with her and she must stop.
“But I think your head is turned and I will be sadly jilted,” he teased.
“Pho!” she said crisply, letting a shadow of disfavour pass through her eyes. “If you mean ’le grande Marquis,’ I am not at this moment in charity with him.”
He pretended to look struck by this news. “You cannot have had a lover’s quarrel?”
As a flash of colour warmed her cheeks, she hit him on the arm with her fan. “Sir! We are not lovers!”
“No of course you are not,” he soothed. “He is not capable of loving anyone.”
She fluffed her skirts and pouted her lips. “Let us not say another word about him then.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
At the Green Man, Neville found Lord Robert and Will Fanley in a languid game above stairs. He pretended great surprise at finding them, and cordially invited them to the downstairs parlour for a more lively hand of piquet. They went willingly, but upon losing one hundred pounds Will Fanley immediately threw down his cards in disgust, and swore against cards in perpetuity. The others laughed but he stood his ground and took himself off.
Gradually, the play being even, with no clear winners or losers, the other members of the table also lost interest. This left the Marquis of Denley to face down Oscar Neville.
“Now what?” he asked bluntly. “You have a purpose in bringing me into your private hell.”
Oscar smiled sweetly. “I like to play, you know that.”
“Then let’s play.”
Hand by hand, the play grew deeper, and, while the Marquis won a few hands, he eventually sustained a staggering loss. Always the professional, Neville’s demeanour remained casual. “I show you are down by six. Are you sound for it?”
Denley pushed his chair back and shot Neville a black look. “I’m sound for it, but you’ve done your last damage to me. I’m out.”
“Oh, dear me,” Neville said, placatingly. “We cannot leave things at this pass. Surely you have something of value to wager?”
Lord Robert hesitated and glared knowingly at his adversary. “What did you have in mind? You know I’m blown, and nothing of Devonshire is free for the wagering.”
“Let’s play for your devil horse, then. And your groom to go with him. He’s known to be a
hard one.”
“Oh, I’ll gladly play for him. What will you put up?”
Neville gave up a thousand and play resumed. Eventually, Lucifer went the way of the rest. “You are welcome to him!” By this juncture, Lord Robert’s tone bordered on belligerence.
They had begun to drink burgundy in the preceding hour, and Neville thought the Marquis sufficiently pliable for a well-chosen comment to strike a nerve.
“I say, Robert, I wonder what you’d give to part with your Mary Fanley.”
“Ah. You smell old money, do you?”
“Very old. I’ve a mind to settle down.”
“You Captain Sharps always do long for an heiress to make your thieving respectable.”
“Just so. Let us say you alienate your lady.”
“Let us say ‘What will that get me?’”
“Why, I will call this even and you may go away unfettered.”
“You’ve no idea, do you?” the Marquis laughed wickedly.
“You mean to say she is very rich,” Neville said with calm detachment.
“I mean to say I am very attached.”
The ensuing heated exchange, uttered in quiet voices lest they be overheard, lasted a very long time. Eventually, at an impasse, the Marquis began to look vaguely beleaguered.
“You are very sure of your chances with her,” he said, peevishly. “Suppose you do not go on? I will not guarantee your success, you know. She is wilful, I warn you.”
“Oh? You mean she will not bend exactly round your thumb? But I do not despair, you know. She is not entirely impervious to me.”
“A veritable cat in a cream pot,” growled Denley.
“Says the fox in the hen house.” Oscar Neville was beginning to feel very good-natured. He poured out the last of the burgundy and said in a reasonable tone, “I will treat her fairly, you know. Nor do I expect to fail, so I will not hold you responsible to ensure my nuptials. Let us deal together. You are not of the marrying kind, and I do not think you will regret her. She is wilful, as you say, and not one to wilt away at Treehill while you pillage abroad. Drop your claim and be gone.”
Grace Gibson Page 13