“I will indeed,” he said, delighted with her quick mind. “However, there is still room for chance as well as skill. Now, let us begin…”
That hour Humphrey reckoned one of the pleasantest he had ever spent in that room. His pupil was so swift to learn that he had constantly to scramble for new techniques to teach her. Within three hands she was guessing his own discards with great accuracy, and within six it became clear that her memory for cards was every bit the equal of his own. Had she not been so new to the game and therefore still prone to mistakes, he must have feared his reputation as a consummate player to be in some danger.
The time passed so quickly that he was shocked when Miss Blythe appeared beside them.
“I beg pardon for disturbing you, my lord,” she said, timidly. “I merely wished to tell… my friend that I am going upstairs now.”
“Oh, has your game finished already?” Miss Quayle said, looking up in surprise.
“Some time ago, dearest. But there is no need for you to abandon yours, if his lordship wishes to play on.”
“Indeed, the fault is entirely mine,” Humphrey said gallantly. “I was kept so well entertained by your friend, Miss Blythe, that I had no notion I was keeping her up so late. A thousand apologies, Miss Quayle. Perhaps we may continue the lessons on another occasion?”
She smiled and agreed to it, and bade him good night, and as the two women walked away, Humphrey watched them speculatively. One was sweet and pretty and rich, a perfect match for the younger son of a marquess, but he had as yet found nothing in her to capture his interest. The other was lively and as sharp as a needle, but poor — and yet she interested him greatly.
His determination to court Miss Blythe and her fortune was undimmed, but there was something mysterious and intriguing about Miss Quayle and he very much wanted to find it out.
~~~~~
Hortensia walked up the stairs a little ahead of her friend.
“Dearest,” came Rosemary’s voice from behind her, a little hesitantly. “I am not very comfortable with this.”
“Come now, are you not enjoying yourself?” Hortensia stopped and waited for her, then linked arms companionably.
“Oh yes! Very much, but… I am uncomfortable with our situation”
“You are not developing a tendre for Lord Humphrey, are you? For that would never do.”
“Oh, no, nothing of the sort. He is very attentive, as are several of the gentlemen, which is very pleasant, naturally, but none are such as to tempt me. But it does not seem quite right.”
“Perhaps not,” Hortensia said pensively. “Still, it is only for a month and then we shall be gone from here. We will settle in Bath or Harrogate or some other dull but respectable place, and live very quiet for the rest of our lives.”
“Oh.” Rosemary sounded very downcast, and Hortensia had to admit that the prospect did not appeal so much as it once had. It was all very difficult.
~~~~~
Sharp had been notified that Lord Carrbridge required his attendance to explain some irregularities in the management of the estates. On Merton’s advice, several days had elapsed to allow Sharp to dissipate his ire over the seizure of all his papers, but he presented himself at the ship room at the precise hour with his usual equanimity.
“Your lordship wished to speak with me?” he said, smiling in his oily way, with the excessively deferential bow that always irritated Humphrey. The man was, after all, the estate’s agent, so there was no need for him to be so obsequious. His clothes were another irritant, so obtrusively old-fashioned as to suggest that his master kept him in poverty.
Carrbridge had insisted that Reggie and Humphrey be there for family unity, and Merton, too. Julius Whittleton had been left in charge of the writing room, since he was now deemed competent to open and sort all the marquess’s newly arrived letters. Humphrey was amused to see that Sharp’s bows to the rest of them were very finely judged — respectfully low to Reggie, somewhat less so to his rival Merton and almost insultingly slight to Humphrey himself, who had clearly not been forgiven for reclaiming Ganymede and discovering the secrets of Silsby Vale House.
Carrbridge sat behind the desk, with Sharp standing on the other side of it. Merton was seated at the end of the desk, his pen poised to record any items of note. Reggie sat on the window seat, keeping himself out of the way, only present because the brothers wished to present a united face. Humphrey decided that he might be best employed as an oppressive presence, so he leaned casually against the mantelpiece, his height allowing him to loom over Sharp.
“Now, Sharp, this will not do,” Carrbridge said, in his most imperious manner. “I have asked Mr Merton to discover the full extent of the estate’s holdings, information which should have been at your fingertips, and you have not been at all helpful, even when you have been here. And that is another matter, all this jauntering about.”
“As agent, I must keep an eye on all your lordship’s holdings,” Sharp said, with undented calmness. “You would not wish me to neglect my duties, my lord, I’m sure.”
“No, of course not, but still—”
“As to Mr Merton, he’s your lordship’s secretary, who writes letters and so forth. I was not aware he had any responsibility towards your lordship’s estates. Or perhaps I’m mistaken on that point, and he’s your lordship’s agent now?”
“Not at all, but—”
“Perhaps you have some complaint to make of me, my lord? Some matter left unattended to? A task not performed to your satisfaction?”
“No, but—”
Humphrey shifted restlessly. “Tell us about Silsby Vale House, Sharp.”
“Of course, my lord. What is your lordship wishful to know?”
“What is your interest there?”
“The lady who lives there is a friend of mine, my lord.”
“A friend. Very well. Let us say no more on that score, for your private affairs are no concern of ours,” Humphrey said disdainfully. “But who owns it?”
“Why, his lordship, naturally.”
“Really?” Humphrey said, startled. “Then why was I told by those who live there that you owned it?”
“As to that, I couldn’t say, my lord,” Sharp said, his smile undiminished.
“May I ask how this property came to be in the marquess’s possession?” Merton said.
“The late marquess won the property at faro from Mr Cecil Andrews,” Sharp said easily. “From Christian charity he allowed the gentleman to continue to live there free of rent, and when Mr Andrews died shortly thereafter, the gentleman’s widow continued on the same terms.”
“And where is the title to the property?”
“Now that is an interesting question,” Sharp said, his smile never faltering. “Were I in my own office, with all my papers as I left them, I daresay I could have set my hand to the relevant document in no time at all. But since your lordship has seen fit to remove everything—”
“Yes, yes, you have not the least idea, I suppose,” Carrbridge said testily.
“All the papers were labelled as they were boxed up,” Merton said smoothly. “If you can tell me roughly where in the room the title was located, I should be able to find it very easily.”
For the first time, Sharp’s smile slipped a little. “It is just possible,” he said, “that the title is… elsewhere. I cannot say for sure. I know where it ought to be, you understand, but as to whether it is actually there…”
“If it is amongst your papers, we will find it,” Humphrey said. “If it is not, we will be returning to you with more questions, you may be sure.”
Sharp licked his lips, and for the first time seemed discomfited. Humphrey caught Merton’s eye, knowing that the secretary would be just as pleased as he was to have dented Sharp’s armour for once. At least they knew now why there was no record in the accounts of rental payments from Silsby Vale House. But it was unsatisfactory, all the same, for how many other properties might fall into the same nebulous position? What else
was Sharp hiding?
8: A Ride On The Moors
The weather turned wet for several days, and Connie kept her guests entertained with charades, readings of poetry and Shakespeare, musical recitals, and lessons in the waltz, the scandalous new dance sweeping Europe which was not yet publicly performed but which most of the ton had already experimented with in private. Humphrey’s presence was required at all these events, and being a dutiful brother-in-law he was happy to oblige the lady of the house, especially since it threw him constantly into Miss Blythe’s company. He could not say that he was making much progress with her. She received his attentions with complaisance, but she behaved just the same towards every young man who paid court to her. It was not very encouraging.
So much time indoors made Humphrey restless, and when the sun finally appeared and Connie bore the ladies off triumphantly in a great procession of carriages to the shops in Sagborough, he took the opportunity to hasten to the stables and relieve his pent-up energy in a fast ride.
He found an unexpected figure there, chatting quietly to Ganymede and stroking the horse’s nose as she did so.
“Why, Miss Quayle! Are you not enticed by the prospect of several hours looking at ribbons and gloves? There is to be a cold collation at Lady Hawthorn’s house, I understand, and a stroll along her peacock walk is not entirely out of the question. How can you possibly resist?”
She laughed. “The peacock walk is a temptation, naturally, Lord Humphrey, and a cold collation — I can barely contain my excitement. But as a mere companion, I must make the attempt. My friend is very well chaperoned, so my attendance is not needed, and I may follow my own inclinations for once. The stables here are magnificent — this great high ceiling and the decorated columns make it seem like a cathedral to the worship of horseflesh, which is entirely appropriate with such a splendid collection of animals as you have here.”
“Not all of them belonging to the family, of course. Our many guests’ horses have filled a great number of the stalls.”
“Oh yes,” she said, “but the visiting horses are easy enough to determine. The stolid carriage horses, the docile grooms’ mounts, the pretty ladies’ mares, the showy gentlemen’s hacks. But everything on this side of the stables is splendid. The Marford family has impeccable taste in horseflesh.”
“I had not realised you were so expert a judge,” Humphrey said, trying not to smile at this all too accurate assessment. “Do you ride, Miss Quayle?”
“Oh yes!”
“Yet you did not venture forth with Lady Carrbridge’s expedition around the boundary.”
“No.” She looked conscious, then said primly, “As a mere companion, I do not like to put myself forward on social occasions, as you know.” Then she quite spoilt the effect by looking under her lashes at him mischievously and adding, “Besides, it sounded very tame.”
He laughed out loud at this honesty. “So it was, so it was. If you had a completely free choice, which horse would you ride for your own pleasure?”
To his delight, she took the question seriously, her eyes roving across the various Marford riding horses and lingering on several in silent assessment. Eventually, she patted Ganymede’s nose. “This fellow, I think. He looks fast enough to be enjoyable, but without the evil temper I see on some of these. He is yours, Tom told me — did you choose him yourself, or did Lord Augustus advise you?”
It was interesting that she had been loitering in the stables long enough to know the names of the grooms, and to have picked up their gossip. “Gus is very much the expert where horses are concerned, so naturally I took him along to approve my choice. Do you have a riding habit with you?”
“Of course, but— oh!” She turned her expressive eyes on him, and he could read the hope, the yearning in them as clearly as if she had spoken.
“Go and get changed, then, and I will have him saddled for you. He is used to Lady Harriet, so he will carry you quite happily.”
A hesitation, and doubt clouded her face. “But will you let me ride him properly? At a gallop?”
He smiled at her. “At a gallop, and jumping every obstacle, if that is your wish.”
“Oh! Oh, yes!” And without another word, she spun on one booted heel and raced away.
Humphrey flushed Tom out from the saddle room. “A lady’s saddle on Ganymede, Tom, and I shall take Titan. Saddle something for yourself.”
Tom’s eyebrows lifted. “Ganymede? For Miss Blythe?”
“For Miss Quayle. She wishes to gallop, Tom.”
The eyebrows lifted even further, but he set to work without further comment.
She was quick, that much was certain. Not twenty minutes after rushing away, Miss Quayle arrived back at a run, her face alight with expectation, like a child in anticipation of some great treat. And maybe it was, at that. She had not been interested in shopping expeditions or decorous rides around the park, but the chance of a gallop drew her out of her self-imposed decision not to put herself forward, and into her riding habit. And what a riding habit it was! Humphrey was no judge of female finery, but the splendid green velvet with its rows of military-style frogging, full skirt and matching hat with a very jaunty feather were not, he suspected, suitable attire for a mere companion. Nor was the outfit likely to be one of Miss Blythe’s, for she was much shorter than her friend, yet the habit was a perfect fit.
With a quick skip of her long legs, she jumped onto the mounting block, and settled herself on Ganymede’s back. Humphrey swung himself onto Titan, and then led the way out into the stable court.
“Now, Miss Quayle, some things you should know. Ganymede is a sweet-tempered horse, and will allow you to set his pace most willingly, but once you give him his head you should be prepared to let him run, and also to jump, if he wishes to. If you try to halt him or turn him before he is ready, he will take it badly.”
“I understand,” she said, eyes glittering with excitement.
“Follow me, and keep to my pace.”
He trotted through the stable court and out onto the track that skirted the pleasure grounds, first at a walk, then a trot, and finally, when they escaped the bounds of the shrubbery and the way ahead was clear, at a canter. Miss Quayle rode almost alongside him, close enough that he could see that she rode easily, without any tension in her hands. When they came to the open park, he halted.
“Here is where you have a choice, Miss Quayle. If you are happy to jump, then point Ganymede directly at that gate in the wall down there. He will jump the wall just to the right. The ground drops away on the other side, but he is very familiar with it and you may trust his instincts. After that he will want to cross the fields beyond, jumping the gates until the far hill slows him. However, if you do not want to jump him—”
But the sentence remained unfinished, for she had kicked Ganymede into motion and was away already, head low to his neck, allowing him his head, aiming straight for the gate.
“There’s a lady with pluck!” Tom said. “Never seen anyone but Lady Harriet do that! Better get after her, my lord.”
Humphrey agreed, and set off in pursuit, his heart in his mouth as he watched the pair race across the park at frightening speed. Titan was fast enough but he had no hope of catching Ganymede. All Humphrey could do was watch in terror as the horse closed on the wall, quite determined to take it in his usual way. Would his rider trust him enough, or would she try to pull him up? Closer, closer, closer… and now there was no option but to jump. And Ganymede adjusted his stride a touch, she shifted her hands a touch, and they were up… up in the air… flying over the wall… the lady’s shriek audible even from some distance away. Was that piercing cry excitement or sudden terror?
He almost closed his eyes, hardly able to watch. Would they make it? For an instant they were both out of sight and he feared… Oh God, where were they? There! They were away across the field, not even looking back. He yelled in sheer delight, and then there was no time to watch them, for Titan was approaching the gate, about to jump it and i
t took all Humphrey’s concentration to get himself and the unfamiliar mount over in reasonable style.
At the far side of the fourth field, he caught up with them, Miss Quayle laughing in glee, her face aglow, her eyes great shining orbs. How had he ever thought her plain? It was inconceivable.
“You are magnificent!” he cried, then hastily added, “… a magnificent rider!”
She laughed again, as their two horses danced around each other, still energised from the fast ride. “Ganymede is the magnificent one. I just gave him his head, and hung on while he did as he pleased. That was absolutely splendid, Lord Humphrey! Thank you so much for entrusting him to me. But look, he wants to go off again! Where to next?”
“First we wait for Tom to catch up, for his horse is a slug and he must open every gate to pass through,” he said, laughing too, from the exhilaration of the ride and her own infectious enthusiasm. “Then we may pass through Wester Drum farmyard and back into the park to the boundary ride. Or else we may skirt the farm on this side, and through the woods onto the moor.”
“Oh, the moor, please! I have so longed to see it, ever since you spoke of it with such feeling at the tea party at Marford House.”
“Did I? I do not remember what I said then. But the moor it shall be then.”
When Tom reached them at his slower pace, they set off at an easy canter around the hayfields, and through the woods, cool on their heated faces, the leaves rustling overhead, sunlight shimmering far above as the breeze parted the canopy. Ganymede, knowing the way, pulled ahead and Humphrey let him go, happy to admire the elegant rear view of Miss Quayle. They made their way up and up, until the trees fell away and all around was open country, wild and windswept, an empty vista of tussocky grass, bog and heather, with here and there a rocky crag.
Miss Quayle pulled up and gazed around her. “Oh, this is wonderful! Your description did not exaggerate the beauty of this place in the slightest. The air is so fresh and pure here. I was very happy in India, but I have so missed this English air.” She took deep gulps of it, filling her lungs. “Ah, how glorious the moor is!”
Lord Humphrey (Sons of the Marquess Book 2) Page 7