Lord Humphrey (Sons of the Marquess Book 2)

by Mary Kingswood

  “I love it here too,” Humphrey said, watching her face enchantedly. Such an expressive face, with those lustrous eyes, and that wide mouth, ripe for kissing… And she exuded such energy and life, so unlike the mouse-like character of the companion that she assumed in company. But she was not for him. However much he admired Miss Quayle, he could not afford to marry a woman so poor.

  She laughed aloud. “Oh, but who could not love it? Such a place must speak to the heart of anyone with the least amount of sensibility. Such wildness, and yet such freedom. It is possible to see for mile upon mile, and nothing to prevent one from wandering wherever the spirit desires. Perhaps I should buy an estate nearby, for I should love to live up here, where no one could cage me and hedge me around with arbitrary strictures.”

  Humphrey made no comment on the matter of a companion buying an estate, but he noted it as another piece in the puzzle that was Miss Rosemary Quayle. Instead, he said neutrally, “Do you feel caged?”

  “Every moment! Women are caged every moment of their lives, Lord Humphrey. Society expects them to behave in certain ways, and punishes them severely for any transgression, and the options are so limited — daughter, wife, mother… Cages, every one of them. Oh, they might be very comfortable cages, but cages nevertheless.”

  “I do not think men have an easier time of it,” Humphrey said quietly. “We are every bit as constrained by the expectations of society. We cannot do just as we please.”

  “No, but you may choose what to do with your lives, whether to have a career or not, whether to marry or not. A man who remains a bachelor is still a person of standing in the community, and well respected by all, whereas a spinster is an object of ridicule. What is more pitiful than an old maid? And what employment is open to a woman? Governess or courtesan.”

  “Or companion,” Humphrey reminded her mildly. “And your employer is kind, and treats you as a friend, I think, so the work is not arduous. The same is true of many marriages, where the husband is fond of his wife. Lady Carrbridge is not caged, I think. As for careers, we have few choices, too. Carrbridge came into his honours when he was but one and twenty, and finds it a great burden, for all his apparent wealth and position in society. I know he feels it to be a cage about him, sometimes. As for the rest of us, the unwanted younger sons of a marquess, each with only a courtesy title and no fortune, what options are available to us? We cannot take up honest hard work like candle making or tailoring, and even respectable occupations such as physician or banker would be frowned upon. Only the church, the army, the law or the fringes of politics will do — and if none of those appeal, we must marry an heiress and live the idle lives of gentlemen. I should love to set up my own business, but I cannot afford it. I nurture my winnings at the card table, but at the present rate it will take me thirty years to accumulate the necessary sum.”

  She looked at him with sudden interest. “You speak as though you have a business in mind.”

  “I do. I should like to establish a gaming house, an honest and respectable one where gentlemen, and ladies too, may play for whatever stakes they can afford, and know that the house will not cheat them. But it will take close to a hundred thousand pounds to start with, if I am to attract the highest players, and where am I to find such a sum? Carrbridge cannot afford to invest in such a risky venture, and who else has such an amount?”

  “An heiress?” she said, her lips quirked into a smile, and those speaking eyes told him that she understood his position very well.

  He laughed and acknowledged the hit. “The thought has crossed my mind, certainly. Connie has been busily finding likely candidates for each of us, for she fancies herself as a matchmaker. Reggie was so obliging as to fall in love with his heiress, and she with him. But without a degree of mutual affection, I cannot imagine there would be much comfort in such a marriage, on either side.” It was the first time he had expressed this idea, or even thought it, but the truth of it struck him very hard. How could he marry Miss Blythe without love, or at least a degree of respect and esteem? It would be intolerable. Could he sit down every night to play whist with a woman who chattered constantly? Many men married wives they did not love, he knew, and some were happy anyway. Yet more were not, and took mistresses or were away from home a great deal or drank or gambled away their unhappiness.

  “You do not have to marry your investor, surely, Lord Humphrey? Might you not look for a wealthy supporter? Or perhaps ten less wealthy would serve the purpose.”

  “That is true, but there would be complications — contracts and other legal matters, the sharing of profits, and how to deal with differences of opinion.”

  “Whereas with a wife, her money would be yours to do with as you please,” she said, without rancour. “She would have no say in the matter.”

  “Essentially, that is the way the law has it, Miss Quayle, although in practice it would not be so rigid, I am sure. It is difficult, and I have not yet found the ideal solution to my dilemma. Shall we ride on, now that Tom has rested his horse a little? Take great care on this rough track, for there are many hidden dips and bumps. We may gallop again when we reach the road. If we turn this way, we will go past Great Mellingham, which is to be given to Reggie and Miss Chamberlain as a wedding gift.”

  “Generous indeed,” she said, smiling again. “Most couples are happy to receive silverware, or a dinner service.”

  He smiled too, for it was impossible not to respond to her good humour. “The house has been empty for some years since the last tenant died, and Miss Chamberlain’s fortune is paying for the new furnishings and wallpapers, so the cost to Carrbridge is small, fortunately.”

  “I have heard the Marquess of Carrbridge spoken of as one of the richest men in England,” she said with a frown.

  “The seventh Marquess was certainly so, and my father seemed so, but the huge estates he held have long gone — lost in the wars, given away or gambled at the faro table, or just mismanaged. Now there is hardly any money coming in at all.”

  “So Lord Carrbridge is down to his last ten thousand a year, I suppose,” she said, teasingly.

  “Less than that,” he answered sombrely. “Much less than that. We are all having to rethink how we live.”

  The rest of the ride passed in near silence, both of them thoughtful. Humphrey had spoken openly, for it was not in his nature to employ deceit in his dealings with a lady, and Miss Quayle would relay the details faithfully to her friend. If he were to court Miss Blythe in good earnest, then he wanted her to know his circumstances, and the family’s circumstances, too. It would not matter to her, perhaps, that the Marfords were so impoverished, for she had a vast fortune of her own, but he did not want her to be under any illusions. Was he trying to put her off? He could not be sure. He was no longer entirely certain that he wished to marry her, despite the fortune. But he would have to make a decision soon, for her visit was more than half gone.

  These thoughts absorbed him all the way back to the stables, but as they clattered into the stable court, they were greeted by the sound of shouting. A noisy group of grooms and gardeners surrounded one person, angrily berating him. One rather familiar person.

  “Oh, Charlie,” Humphrey murmured. “Now what have you done?”

  9: Theft And Deception

  Humphrey slid from his horse, and strode across to the group. “Harris, Frank, Williamson, Brenson… stand aside, if you please. Now, which of you has a complaint against Charlie?”

  “Almost all of us, milord,” Harris, the head gardener, said indignantly. “We’ve all lost odd sums since he arrived, but now Brenson’s caught him with his hand in his pocket. It’s not right, milord, and so I tell you. We’re honest folk here, and none of us so rich we can afford to lose even a penny or two, and it’s not right for him to steal like that, whatever he may have done before.”

  “Indeed, it is not right,” Humphrey said. “Frank, Tom… and where is Lester? Ah, there you are. Tell me, all of you, how does Charlie do his work? Is he indus
trious, punctual, tidy?”

  “Aye, milord,” Lester, the head groom, said. “He’s a good hard worker, and sharp, you know? Only have to tell him once. If it weren’t for the thieving, I’d be right glad to have him.” The other grooms nodded their agreement, as Charlie watched warily.

  “That is a glowing testimony indeed,” Humphrey said. “I am reluctant to turn off a good worker, just because he has not yet set aside some bad habits. Everyone should be given a chance to learn to do better. You say you only have to tell him something once, so let us put that to the test. Charlie, I am going to ask you to explain yourself to me, but be warned — if you lie to me or refuse to answer, then I will be forced to take you to the constable so that the magistrate can examine your case more thoroughly. However, if you are willing to confess to everything you have done and make full recompense, and promise never to steal from anyone ever again, then you may keep your job here, and all will go on as before.”

  Charlie’s head lifted, and he said sullenly, “You’ve already made your mind up that I’m guilty, then.”

  “I have, because I have known most of these men around you for years. Harris was working here before I was even born. Lester lifted me onto my first pony when I was two or three years old. Brenson started work here the day my youngest brother was born, and if he says he caught you with your hand in his pocket, then I believe him. You will not convince me of your innocence — remember how I met you, after all. But if you admit to your crimes openly and honestly, and swear never to do such a thing again, I will allow you to keep your job here.”

  Charlie licked his lips, and looked at Humphrey and then at the hostile faces around him. Straightening his back, he said, “I did steal, it’s true. Only small amounts, honest. I never meant no harm by it, milord, truly. It’s just a habit, I suppose. I’m really sorry.”

  “It is not I to whom your apology should be addressed.”

  Charlie hung his head again. “I’m sorry, really sorry,” he muttered to the assembled grooms and gardeners. “I’m just not used to working with decent folk, and… and I wanted to buy ale for some of you at the Hare And Hounds, cos you’ve been kind to me, and I had no money.”

  There was a stunned silence, then Lester burst out laughing. “You stole our own money to buy us ale? Oh, that’s priceless, Charlie. You’re an idiot, you know that?” He clapped Charlie on the shoulder, and the others laughed and shook their heads.

  Humphrey said, “Lester, Harris, let me have a full reckoning of all that has been taken, and I shall see that it is repaid from Charlie’s salary. He will not be buying anyone ale for a while, I fear. Go on, get back to work, all of you.”

  He turned to see Miss Quayle still standing in the yard, watching events with great interest.

  “Let me escort you to your room,” he said. “I shall show you the quickest way to and from the stables. Ganymede is yours to ride whenever you wish for the duration of your stay.”

  “Lord Humphrey, you are too generous! But I am far too selfish a creature to refuse such a magnificent offer. Thank you! A thousand times thank you!”

  “I know you will take great care of him,” he said, smiling at her enthusiasm. “But promise me you will always take one of the grooms with you. They know the best routes, and also the hidden dangers that might catch you out. There are gullies and hidden streams on the moors where an unwary rider could come to grief, and I would hate you to break Ganymede’s neck. Or your neck, either.”

  She laughed out loud at his impudence. “I shall take the greatest care of Ganymede, you may be sure of that, and I will try very hard not to break any necks.” She followed him into the house and up the stable stairs. After a pause, she added, “He is very like you. Indeed, you might almost be brothers.”

  “Charlie? The likeness is remarkable, and you can guess the reason, I suppose. Our new under gamekeeper is another of Father’s little surprises.”

  “Every family has such surprises,” she said equably. “It is no great matter, after all. You met him when he picked your pocket, I gather.”

  “Something like that,” he said, with a little laugh. “He is not a very good thief, but he is clever in other ways. He can imitate my voice perfectly, even the accent. Now that he has shaved and cut his hair, if he were dressed in my clothes he could pass himself off as me in a moment.”

  “And could you pass yourself off as him?” she said, with an amused smile.

  Humphrey cleared his throat. ‘Aye, reckon I could do that right enough. T’Yorkshire speech ain’t so ’ard.’

  She laughed. “Too much! His accent is not so strong. But a good effort. You are right about Charlie, though — he is clever. After all of your dreadful warnings, he did not, in the end, make any promises for the future.”

  Humphrey stopped dead. “Good God! You are quite right. What a sneaky little fellow he is! I must remember to talk to him again, and extract his solemn promise, and perhaps I should get him to swear on the Bible.”

  “I should say his word was enough,” she said. “You do not trust him, and yet you keep him here and even excuse his bad behaviour.”

  He shrugged. “He is family. Despite his origins, he is my brother and think how embarrassing it would be if he were to be transported or hanged. Carrbridge would feel it greatly.”

  “He is a gentle soul, the marquess,” she said. “We go through this door next, I think.”

  “You know your way around already,” he said, chagrined.

  “While… my friend was engaged with her social activities, I have been exploring. I hope you do not mind.”

  “Not in the least,” Humphrey said. “But now I am on my mettle to show you some part of Drummoor that will provide you with a novelty.”

  “The cellars?” she hazarded. “The servants’ quarters? The roof? I have heard Mr Chamberlain describing the Drummoor roof as having something quite exceptional in the way of chimneys, so I expect Lady Carrbridge to order an expedition there forthwith, the aunts to be conveyed in sedan chairs and a picnic provided, with chilled champagne and cold leg of duck.”

  “What an enchanting idea!” he said, grinning. “I must suggest it to Connie. But for today, how about the attics? If we take this stair just through here, we can reach the play attic. Most of the attics are pretty dull, full of broken furniture and old trunks and the like, but the play attic has all the old toys, and in wet weather we were allowed to have sword fights and hobby-horse races and dress up in embroidered coats and wigs and tricorn hats, pretending to be grown up. Such fun we had up there! Come on.”

  And without thinking he grabbed her hand and towed her along at a run, up a narrow stair, along a dusty corridor and then through a low door to the attic. She laughed and allowed herself to be towed. He had no idea how long they stayed there, for she spotted an ancient puppet theatre and nothing would do but to find all the puppets and put on an impromptu performance of Punch and Judy. She took the female parts, and he the male, and he could not remember a time when he had laughed so much or enjoyed himself so unreservedly. Not since he was a boy, certainly.

  It was only when they heard, very faintly, the dressing gong, that they brushed away the accumulated dust and spiders’ webs from their clothes, and rushed away to change for dinner.

  Humphrey had thought he was going to be late, but when he reached the pink drawing room, only Connie was there.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Still waiting for the footmen to carry hot water upstairs for their baths, I daresay,” Connie said. “We were dreadfully late back from Sagborough. Lord Carrbridge was here a moment ago, but he was called away by a visitor.”

  “Ah, the privileges of rank — taking your share of the hot water before your guests,” Humphrey said, bending to kiss her hand. “Was Sagborough interesting? Did the peacock walk live up to expectations?”

  “Very much so, you teasing boy! You would have found it dreadfully dull, but the ladies enjoyed it enormously, even the peacock walk. Although I must confess
, the peacocks were as untidy as any I have ever seen. Do they moult, do you think? Or perhaps they were suffering from the mange. But one showed his tail to us, so Lady Hawthorn’s honour was satisfied. How has your day been? I expect you have been out riding, and not doing your duty visiting our neighbours.”

  He pulled a face. “Tambray Hall? The Melthwaites are too dull for words. I have been more pleasurably engaged in riding out with Miss Quayle. Tell me, Connie, what do you think of her?”

  “Miss Quayle? A little mouse of a thing. She never says a word. Humphrey, it is kind in you to take an interest in the poor creature, and it may help you to fix your interest with her mistress, but do not waste too much time on her, for she has not a penny to her name. You are supposed to be wooing Hortensia Blythe, not Rosemary Quayle.”

  “I am aware. But what do you think of her gowns?”

  “Her gowns?” She stared at him, bemused. “Well, they are very stylish, for a companion. An expensive modiste, certainly, but then I suppose Miss Blythe clothes her. She dresses a little drably, which is fitting, but—”

  “Exactly! Those greys and violets — they look to me like half-mourning colours.”

  “So they are,” she said. “Or would be, with black gloves. But quite unexceptional, for a companion. Humphrey, what are you thinking?”

  But there was no time to discuss the oddities of Miss Quayle further, for Carrbridge entered the drawing room with his visitor, who was to stay for a night or two. Lord Kilbraith was cousin to both Mary, Lady Hardy and also to Connie, and was heir to an earldom in Scotland. Having had business in York, he had impulsively extended his journey to Drummoor. Naturally, Connie was delighted to add him to her roster of house guests, and not merely on account of the family connection. Lord Kilbraith was rich, handsome and amiable, and therefore must be welcome in any company. In addition, he was only a little above thirty and as yet unmarried, which made him of the greatest interest to the ladies.