“There might be those who will be condemnatory, but for myself any disapproval would depend on your reasons for acting thus. I do not imagine for one moment the scheme was intended for personal gain.”
“Oh no! Nothing could have been further from our minds. But a fortune of two hundred thousand pounds… it changes everything. You cannot conceive how humiliating it is.”
“Humiliating?” he said, raising his eyebrows, and laughing softly. “To inherit so much money?”
“Oh yes! For ten years after I came out, I was just Geoffrey Blythe’s daughter, with no beauty, no drawing room accomplishments, no society manners — and no suitors. We always seemed to have enough money, but no one ever imagined we were rich. And then Papa died and this enormous fortune dropped into my lap, and suddenly I was the most popular girl in the East Indies. Men I had known for years came to tell me how much they had always admired me. Men I had never met turned up on the doorstep. I had offers of marriage arriving in letters almost every day.”
“Good heavens!”
“Exactly. It was hideous, and I had not the least idea how to respond to such attentions. There was no longer anything to keep me in India, or Rosemary either, so we decided to come home to England. Well, it was my home until I was fourteen. Rosemary had never lived anywhere but India. She came to live with us she was eight, after her mother died, so she is just like a sister to me. I really did teach her, you know. That part was true,” she said sadly.
He said nothing, but he remembered her enthusiastic manner in talking of her pupil’s aptitude. Her heartfelt sincerity could never have been false.
“Rosemary’s father was dead,” she went on, “so when my father also died and we were both alone in the world, we booked passage on the next ship to England. But a strange thing happened when we went aboard. Everyone knew, of course, who Miss Hortensia Blythe was, but no one on the ship had ever met me.”
“Ah,” Humphrey said, taking the point. “Miss… Quayle was assumed to be the heiress?”
“What could be more natural a mistake? The young, beautiful ingenue must be the heiress, and the plain older woman her penniless companion. It suited us perfectly. Rosemary was very well used to deflecting ardent admirers, and the attention that so distressed me bothered her not at all. She could stand in the sunshine while I could hide in the shadows to grieve for my father, and grow accustomed by degrees to my new wealth. However, even the long sea voyage was not sufficient for that purpose. I found myself not yet ready to emerge into the full glare of society’s gaze.”
“So you continued the deception.”
She looked up at him, perhaps catching a hint of disapprobation in his tone. He had not intended it, for his affection for her had grown to the point that he would forgive a great many offences. Still, it was one thing to fall into deception accidentally, and quite another to continue deliberately.
“You blame me, and I cannot wonder at it,” she said. “But I had reasons for continuing, both for Rosemary’s sake and for my own. Rosemary has no money of her own, and she will take none of mine, yet with her loveliness and good nature, as well as her accomplishments, she deserves a husband worthy of her. It was my intent to give her time to find such a husband. Brighton, or Bath, perhaps… and some eligible young man would fall violently in love with her. You, of course, can see the flaw in my careful plan, which had not occurred to me until Lord Kilbraith arrived and did indeed fall violently in love with her. For one cannot deal so with a man of honour, to tell him once he is well on the way to matrimony that his love is not who he thought she was. It is a despicable way to treat a man, is it not?”
“It is true that one cannot build the necessary trust for marriage by beginning with a lie,” he said slowly. “Or at least, it would take an extraordinary amount of good-nature and affection to overcome such a beginning.”
“Indeed. He must be told at once! His hints are becoming extremely pointed, and Rosemary is in the greatest distress over it. My lord, would you…? May I ask…?”
“You wish me to inform Kilbraith that the heiress he has fallen in love with is no such thing? It would be much better coming from Miss Quayle herself. She will cry, he will at once wish to console her, he may even be provoked into a declaration on the spot. Whereas he will look on me as an interfering busybody.”
“She has been trying for days, but there has been no opportunity. They are never alone, and it is imperative that he knows at once. One gentleman may easily talk privately with another.”
He considered that, for it was a good point. “Very well, I shall find him directly. But he is not the only one who must be told. You have been guests of Lord and Lady Carrbridge for three weeks now, under false pretences. Indeed, everyone you have met has been duped by you, and while some will understand, you must be prepared for some censure.”
“Must they know just yet?” she said, turning pleading eyes on him. “We will be gone soon. Apart from Lord Kilbraith, need anyone else know?”
“For the sake of honesty, I believe the truth should be told,” he said quietly. “Your own conscience must tell you so. But even if you wished to keep your secret a little longer, I do not know if it will be possible. Mr Stoner is from India, and I suspect knows more about you than you would wish. This little game may not survive the end of the day, Miss Blythe.”
“Oh.” She hung her head, and he wanted so badly to wrap her in his arms and hold her tight that it was the greatest effort to sit still.
“Does it matter so much to you?” he said gently. “You are so strong in spirit, I have every confidence that you will cope admirably with the attentions of your fortune-hunting suitors.”
“You are very kind to say so,” she said wanly, and it wrung his heart to see her so subdued. “That is not what distresses me, however. You see, ever since I learnt of my inheritance and was surrounded by suitors, I have hoped that one day I would find someone who would love me for myself alone, without consideration of my money. The likelihood was never great, but once all is known, it will be non-existent. I shall never be able to tell if a man is attracted to me or to my money.”
She heaved a great sigh, and her eyes glistened with tears.
Humphrey understood. She had lost something precious today, her ability to melt into the background and be quietly ignored. She would never be a nonentity again. But he had lost something precious too, for he had lost that easy friendship they had shared when she was nobody, and there was no certainty he would ever be able to recover it.
13: Confessions
Lord Humphrey was not a man to delay a necessary task. He returned Hortensia promptly to the pavilion, and a seat beside Rosemary. Then he skilfully detached Lord Kilbraith from the group and led him away.
Hortensia watched him go listlessly.
“Well?” Rosemary said.
“I have told him all, and he will explain it to Lord Kilbraith.”
“Oh. Oh, that is… a relief.” But she did not sound in the least relieved.
“It is better this way,” Hortensia said flatly. “We could not go on as we were. Now everyone will know the truth and there will be no more secrets.”
“And no more lying awake worrying about being found out,” Rosemary said. “This is much the best way.” But her face was as white as chalk.
All around them was merriment and excited chatter, but the two were glum-faced, both facing monumental changes. Rosemary stood to lose the man she loved, and Hortensia… Hortensia had already lost hers. All this time she had thought he cared for her, loved her, for herself alone, thinking her penniless, and it was not so. He had known for some time that she was the heiress, and had transferred his attentions from Rosemary to herself. He was no better than Mr Whittleton! She had so badly wanted to believe he truly loved her for herself, and now she was filled with grief. How stupid she was! Was it all a sham, and he felt nothing for her? Was he just pretending? She could not tell, for her own hopes and wishes prevented rational thought where Humphrey was conc
erned. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
She was so lost in her own sorrowful thoughts, that it was a shock when a gentle voice at her ear said, “Miss Blythe? Miss Quayle? Why such sad faces? Is all well with you?”
The two jumped to their feet and curtsied. “Lady Carrbridge, a thousand apologies,” Hortensia said. “We are— oh! Where is everyone?”
The pavilion was almost empty, only a few of the oldest aunts and uncles still in their seats, two playing cribbage, and the rest dozing in the sun.
“I have sent them all off to inspect the ruins while the servants lay the tables for our picnic,” she said. “Will you join us? Or shall I have someone fetch you a glass of lemonade? Where are Humphrey and Lord Kilbraith?” She scanned the lakeside and spotted them in animated discussion some distance away. “Oh no! They are not…? There is no… dispute?” She glanced anxiously at Rosemary’s wan face, clearly imagining the two men coming to blows over her.
That made Hortensia smile a little. “No, no! They are not about to break into a fight, if that is what you fear. But…” She hesitated, but it was as good a time as any. “My lady, there is something that you should know.”
Rosemary gave a convulsive sob, bowing her head. Lady Carrbridge looked from one to the other, then sat down. “I am listening, my dears.”
It was easier the second time. Perhaps that was merely because Hortensia had already rehearsed the story, but more likely because her own emotions were less tangled this time. With Humphrey, she had desperately wanted him to accept the news without anger or censure. With Lady Carrbridge, she knew she ought to care just as much, for if the marchioness were inclined to take offence, they would be leaving Drummoor tomorrow and would never be able to show their faces in good society again. Yet somehow her good opinion meant less than Humphrey’s.
But after the first exclamations of astonishment, Lady Carrbridge was all sympathy. “How dreadful for you!” she said many times, and “You poor things!” and, most heartening of all, “I quite understand how it was.” At the end of the tale, she said, “Well, perhaps it was not quite right to act so, but I cannot blame you one bit. It is not at all comfortable to be ignored one moment and then fêted the next. My circumstances were not dissimilar, so I feel for you most sincerely, Miss Quayle… Blythe… oh dear!”
Then Lord Carrbridge came looking for his wife, and the tale had to be told again, with many interjections from the marchioness. The marquess’s reaction was less sympathetic than his wife’s. He said very little, but his face darkened. At the end of the recitation, Hortensia waited, her heart leaden. Lord Carrbridge’s response would sink them, she was sure.
He looked from Hortensia to Rosemary and back again. “I do not like being made a fool of.” His voice was like ice.
“I do not think they meant any harm, dear,” Lady Carrbridge said. “It is very difficult to find oneself surrounded by fortune hunters. Most disagreeable.”
“Perhaps, but that does not excuse such behaviour. Where would we be if everyone decided to pretend to be someone they were not? Society would collapse entirely. One cannot shirk the responsibilities thrust upon one, however disagreeable they may be,” he added sadly, and Hortensia had an unexpected glimpse into the marquess’s life.
“I am so very sorry,” she said to him. “We will leave tomorrow.”
“Oh, no, surely there is no need—” the marchioness said distressfully. “Do not go! Lord Carrbridge, tell them they need not go. And there is Lord Kilbraith…”
“So there is,” the marquess said. “Someone ought to tell him.”
“That is all right,” Hortensia said quickly. “Humph—Lord Humphrey is telling him now. It was not right to keep him in the dark a moment longer.”
“So Humphrey knows?” Lady Carrbridge said in surprise.
“Oh yes. I asked him to tell Lord Kilbraith.”
Lady Carrbridge’s eyes flew to Humphrey, still conferring with Lord Kilbraith, and then back to Hortensia. “Did you so? How interesting.”
Lord Carrbridge sighed. “Very well, Miss Quayle… Blythe… ladies, you may stay, since it would distress Lady Carrbridge if you were to leave abruptly, but everyone must be told the truth and I do not know how it is to be managed,” he said. “My dear, what must we do?”
“I think it would be best to announce it when everyone is gathered together, and may hear the news at the same time. Perhaps at the grand dinner three days from now? You can make a joke of it, you know… an amusing little trick, fooled everyone… that sort of thing. You are so good at these speeches, my dear.”
The marquess graciously agreed to the plan and so, to Hortensia’s amazement, she was to remain Miss Quayle a little longer.
“But I must talk to Kilbraith,” the marquess said, and strode away to where Humphrey and Lord Kilbraith were still deep in conversation.
Hortensia watched them conferring anxiously. Even from some distance away, she could see their serious expressions. Lord Kilbraith was the first to return to the pavilion, and it was clear from the smile on his face that he was not in the least displeased by the news. He sat beside Rosemary and talked animatedly to her, so that she blushed and smiled and was soon quite her usual self. Hortensia wished she could be as comfortable, for when Humphrey and Lord Carrbridge returned, there were no smiles.
Lord Kilbraith jumped up at once. “Shall we walk about amongst these ruins?” he said, addressing himself mostly to Rosemary. “I have heard so much about them, and I am anxious to compare them with the many picturesque ruins we have in Scotland, some of the strangest design. There are those in the wild north which are perfectly round, and barely the width of a mill chimney, and how anyone might have lived in such a place is more than I can imagine.”
They all rose, and began to drift away from the pavilion in pairs, Lord Kilbraith with Rosemary, then Lord and Lady Carrbridge, with Humphrey and Hortensia at the rear. Humphrey was silent, and when Hortensia dared to steal a glance, his expression was serious and unsmiling. She could not quite understand him. He had known about her deception, so he could not suddenly despise her for it. And whether he truly loved her, or was pretending in order to secure her fortune, the way was now clear for him to make his suit publicly. Nor could he have any concerns about Rosemary and Lord Kilbraith, for their course now seemed set fair. It was, perhaps, too soon to talk of marriage, but this must be the beginning of a very earnest courtship which could only end in the happiness of both.
There was another possibility which she could not bear to consider. Perhaps he had only been amusing himself at her expense, flirting with her while he concentrated his attention on Rosemary. Now that all was revealed, he would withdraw his attentions, for he had no real interest in her. Who could, plain and unattractive as she was? If only she were dainty and pretty and demure, like Rosemary! Then she could have any man she wanted. It was very dispiriting to be so tall.
In such silence, they walked down to the lake and around to the abbey. It was indeed a very fine ruin, and when Hortensia stopped to admire the remains of an arched window, Humphrey at last began to speak, talking of the history of the place, of its days of power and then the dissolution and devastation. He knew no more of the history or the era than she did, but he knew a little of this particular abbey, and pointed out some carvings and knew the names and parts of each of the buildings. Gradually, Hortensia’s spirits lifted, for how could she be downcast when Humphrey was with her? Their chaperons had long since disappeared, but it hardly mattered, for they were quite public.
In this way, they walked through the infirmary and dormitories, passing the refectory and kitchen, across the cloister and finally, in respectful silence, into the skeleton of the church, its walls and pillars still towering over their heads. There were few people here, most of the party having returned to the pavilion for refreshments, so their silence remained unbroken. They walked slowly up the nave, passing from sunshine to shade, from warmth to chill, as the fragments of wall and gaping windows allowed. To Hortensia, it
seemed all of a piece with her life just then, tossed from one state to another, from exhilaration to despair in a moment, and back again just as quickly. She hardly knew who she was any more, or what she truly felt, still less what Humphrey felt. She was not sure how she could get through these final days at Drummoor in such uncertainty.
In the side chapel, a fallen block of masonry provided a seat and she flopped onto it gratefully. Humphrey turned to her at once, concern on his face.
“What is it? Are you unwell?” The gentleness in his voice almost brought her to tears.
“I am quite well, but perhaps… a little tired.”
“Of course. We will sit here until you are quite rested.” He sat beside her, and even with her head lowered and the sides of her bonnet hiding him from her, she was acutely aware of his presence, his solidly reassuring masculinity and some indefinable bond between them that surely was no mere product of her imagination?
He gave a little laugh, rather self-consciously, it seemed to her. “I do not know what I am to call you now.”
‘Hortensia’, she wanted to say, ‘or darling, or my dear one, or my love.’ If only she could speak so to him! Instead, she sighed. “I am to remain Miss Quayle for a few days longer.”
“I see.” Nothing to be read in his tone, and she dared not look at his face. Instead she gazed steadily downwards at the handle of her parasol. “Connie will be disappointed,” he went on, and this time there was an edge of amusement in his voice. “She had very high hopes that Miss… Blythe and I would make a match of it.” He chuckled. “But we should never have suited. She will do much better with Kilbraith.”
Hortensia could scarcely breathe. She would not have dared to raise the subject herself, but now that he had… she had to try. It was not in her nature to baulk at the jump when it was immediately before her. So she lifted her head and tried to keep her voice steady.
Lord Humphrey (Sons of the Marquess Book 2) Page 12