Lord Humphrey (Sons of the Marquess Book 2)

by Mary Kingswood

  “Lord Humphrey was brought before Lord Carrbridge, and was merely fined, and bound over to keep the peace,” Mr Merton said. “I felt sure you would wish to know at the earliest opportunity.”

  “Oh yes! Thank you! Will he be returning soon, do you suppose?”

  “As to that, I left him doing penance with the two ladies’ maids at the Carrbridge Arms. I imagine he will return with Lord Carrbridge later today, when court proceedings are suspended.”

  “Oh. Of course.” The thought of the jewellery secreted in the Chinese vase niggled at her, like a persistent gnat. It was not of the greatest importance, but it was a matter which she could not resolve herself. So she explained the problem to Mr Merton, who at once grasped the significance.

  “Indeed, these pieces must be returned to their owners as soon as possible, but the one person who knows whence they came is not here. However, if you will entrust me with the commission, Miss Quayle, I shall consult with Lord Humphrey when he returns and see if he is able to find a solution. It is not, I feel, a matter with which you should concern yourself.”

  “Oh, certainly not!” said Lady Hardy. “It is much better to leave all to Lord Humphrey. He has, after all, taken upon himself the role of thief, so it is for him to return the stolen items, in whatever manner seems good to him. Your involvement is not suspected, Miss Quayle, and so it should remain.”

  “On that point we are agreed,” Mr Merton said. “You will excuse me, Lady Hardy, Miss Quayle, I am sure, if I return to my desk before we are overwhelmed by the evening’s entertainments.” He bowed and made his departure.

  Lady Hardy shook her head and laughed. “Oh, this ball tonight! Connie does love to entertain. She was such a flighty little thing when she was younger, you know, but now look at her! A leader of society, and quite at home in the great houses of London or the shires. And such a matchmaker. She has you paired off with Lord Humphrey, as I am sure you are aware.”

  “I do not think that will work,” Hortensia said, trying not to blush, but failing.

  “There are difficulties, it is true,” said Lady Hardy. “The position is awkward, and one cannot be too provocative without doing penance. But in time, if you are both patient, all will be well, I am sure of it. Wait but a few more months.”

  A few months! Hideous thought. Hortensia’s head hung low. “Waiting is very trying.”

  Lady Hardy went on gently, “My dear, some things are well worth waiting for. Indeed, if an outcome is sufficiently desirable, one may wait for years in great contentment.”

  “May one?” Hortensia lifted her head a little, and saw that Lady Hardy was looking conscious. Was it possible that she was blushing? She was such a composed lady that it was hard to be sure, but it certainly seemed— Had she been waiting years for Mr Merton? Then they must have become attached while she was still married to Sir Osborne Hardy, and waited patiently through his long illness. Were still waiting, during her year of mourning. But then…

  Could Hortensia wait so long for Humphrey? Yes of course, if it were necessary, but it was not necessary. There was no reason for him not to court her, and no reason for them not to marry. They were both of age, there was no insuperable gulf of situation that had not been bridged a thousand times before. A man of rank and a woman of fortune — it was an old story, which the world could hardly object to. And yet… he would not bridge that gulf, nor reach across it to claim her. Foolish, foolish man! They could be so happy, if only… Yet he was determined to make her miserable. And now she had a ball to endure.

  A ball at Drummoor did not quite merit the extravagance it would require in London during the season, but it was still a spectacular event. There would be flowers, musicians and vast numbers of candles within the house and lanterns without. One hundred and twenty would sit down to dinner in the great hall, followed by a musical recital from two Italian opera singers in the long gallery, and then back to the great hall, the servants having by that time cleared the floor for dancing. And — a great excitement — there were to be German waltzes, which threw all the young ladies into a flurry of giggling anticipation.

  Except Hortensia. She could see no pleasure in the evening, for the dinner was to be preceded by an announcement from Lord Carrbridge, informing the world that Miss Hortensia Blythe and Miss Rosemary Quayle were not the people to whom those names had previously applied. That they were, in short, scheming deceivers. Even if he made light of it, and expressed the opinion that it was a very good joke, and how amusing that everyone had been taken in, she and Rosemary would still be sunk in the estimation of almost all the company.

  She dressed with unusual care, selecting one of her finest ball gowns for the occasion, in a green silk so pale it was almost translucent, with a darker overtunic. For the first time, she opened her jewellery box and selected a simple diamond pendant that her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday. She allowed her maid to dress her hair with greater elaboration, with ribbons and feathers and a bejewelled bandeau. And then she went downstairs to meet her fate.

  ~~~~~

  Humphrey had it all worked out in his mind. He would allow himself just one dance with Hortensia, and it must be a waltz, so that he could hold her hands and gaze into her eyes as they twirled about. That would have to be enough to sustain him through the next few months. He would need to leave Drummoor, of course, until she herself had quit it. Impossible to remain under the same roof without speaking, for he would be driven mad. So tonight he would dance with her, for his own sake, and tomorrow he would go away, for his brother’s.

  But the prospect made him desperately unhappy. How was he to go on without seeing her every day? Even when they passed whole evenings without speaking, he could still look at her, still see those beautiful eyes, and the little curls that fell against her soft cheeks, and bounced when she shook her head. And what would she do once he had left? Perhaps she would forget about him, and meet someone else she liked better and be lost to him for ever. Such was the fear that roiled constantly inside him.

  If only he could simply scoop her up and ride off with her perched on his saddle bow, as the heroes of old did, or fly with her to the stars, like mythical gods. But there were no heroes or gods any more, only mortals bound by society’s laws, and by God’s.

  The drawing room was already full before her arrival. With his greater height, Humphrey could look over the heads of the throng and so saw her slink inside surreptitiously as if to escape notice. His breath caught in his throat — this was how she should always look, with diamonds in her hair and around her neck, in a gown that made her look every inch the lady she was. The mousy companion was gone for good. But she did not see his admiration, for she kept her head down.

  Without conscious thought, he found himself drawn towards her, gradually inching through the sea of feathered turbans towards her. But then dinner was announced and there was a general movement towards the doors and he lost sight of her. He found himself alongside one of the Miss Ellesmeres, who was smiling and bobbing her head at him in the most distracting way, like a hen. Eventually, he got the point, and offered her his arm. So there was his dinner companion chosen, and no possibility of finding his way to Hortensia’s side.

  Once he was seated, he looked around for her again but could not see her anywhere. It was only when Carrbridge stood to make his announcement that he realised that his brother must have led Hortensia in, for there she was at the very head of the table beside him, and Miss Blythe — no, Miss Quayle — on his other side.

  The butler banged his staff for silence, and Carrbridge began to speak.

  “My lords, ladies and gentlemen, pray indulge me for a few moments to reveal to you a very clever joke which has been played on us all. For a month now, we have enjoyed the charming company of Miss Blythe and Miss Quayle, newly arrived on our shores from India, and we have come to know them both well. Now, it seems, we must adjust our ideas, for these two ladies have been teasing us. The lady we know as Miss Blythe…” He smiled at her and sh
e rose to her feet, blushing. “…is in fact Miss Quayle. And the lady we have been addressing as Miss Quayle…” Hortensia rose, her face blank. Was that insouciance or terror? “…is actually Miss Blythe. Tonight, however, they reveal their secret to you all and take their places amongst you under their true names once more. Is it not a good joke?”

  In what was clearly a rehearsed movement, the two swapped places, and Humphrey saw that Hortensia must have been led in by Lord Kilbraith, for he now had Miss Quayle’s blonde head beside him, while Hortensia was between Carrbridge and Sir Richard Frimble.

  There was some laughter, but most of the audience registered astonishment, rapidly succeeded by whispered disapproval, which lasted for most of the first course. Only when the wine had begun to flow freely, with the usual effect upon those imbibing, did the whispers give way to the customary levity of such occasions.

  When the ladies had withdrawn, Humphrey found himself sought out by Kilbraith.

  “I am glad it is all in the open at last,” Kilbraith said in satisfaction. “Not that it makes the slightest difference to me, but it is best to have everything above board, and now we may… move forward.”

  “What will your father say when he finds out?” Humphrey said.

  “He already knows, or at least, I had already conveyed to him my own suspicions on the matter. He assured me he would not regard it in the slightest, so long as Miss Quayle freely confesses all, as she has now done.”

  “Still, it will not go down well amongst the sticklers for propriety.”

  “I think we have fewer of that nature in Scotland than elsewhere,” Kilbraith said, eyes twinkling. “None of the family ever go to London, preferring to seek our jollity in Edinburgh, so we need not mind our manners quite so much. But it is awkward for you. There will be those who sneer at Miss Blythe, and consider her quite beyond the pale on this account.”

  Humphrey grimaced in rueful agreement. “It would have been difficult enough overcoming the stigma of money from trade, nor does she have any connections of note, but this little game is most unfortunate. I had hoped that Carrbridge’s treatment of it as a joke might have helped, but it seems that Miss Blythe is to be subjected to a great deal of disapprobation.”

  “It is a setback, certainly,” Kilbraith said. “Still, you will not let that weigh with you, surely? From what Miss Quayle tells me, her friend already has a great affection for you.”

  “I wish I could be sure of that,” Humphrey said gloomily. “Affection or no, she thinks me a very poor-spirited creature, too timid for words.”

  “Surely not! After your bet with Mr Merton, and your daring in carrying out the enterprise?”

  “I can be daring enough in such games,” Humphrey said sorrowfully. “But I cannot aspire to equal Hortensia Blythe. She expects me to be as daring as she is, regardless of the consequences, and I fall woefully short. She is the bravest woman I ever met, Kilbraith, and I admire and respect her more than I can say, yet if I approach her, I set myself against the express wishes of my brother in the matter.”

  “Ah, that is awkward indeed. We are all of us bound by family loyalty and the bonds of blood before all else. And yet, would you set your own happiness and the lady’s below your brother’s? It may be that he does not appreciate the strength of your feelings.”

  “I have told him of it, but he expects me to wait a year, until any scandal has died down,” Humphrey said.

  “Well, that is perhaps sensible,” Kilbraith said. “One does not like to take undue risks with a lady’s reputation. Ah, we are moving already. Carrbridge is keen to hear the opera singers, it appears.”

  The musical recital was every bit as tedious as Humphrey had anticipated. Although some of the gentlemen slipped away to play cards in the tapestry room, the male retreat in times of great stress, such as a ball, he did not feel Connie would be best pleased if one of her brothers-in-law did the same. So he dutifully made his way there, fixed a smile of bland interest on his face and stood discreetly at the back, just below the portrait Great-Uncle Christopher, a high court judge with a fearsome reputation for hanging any man he took in dislike, regardless of the facts of the case or the supposed crime.

  Humphrey’s virtue was rewarded, however, for from his post beneath the judge’s huge curled periwig and bushy eyebrows, he was able to watch Hortensia unobserved. She was worryingly pale, he saw, and although she had chosen an unobtrusive seat in a far corner of the gallery, she was surrounded by young men. They whispered in her ear, and smiled and preened and pointed to the printed order of songs, perhaps explaining the meaning of the Italian to her, while she shook her head repeatedly and returned them monosyllabic answers.

  He had not previously appreciated the dramatic effect that the inheritance of two hundred thousand pounds might have on a young lady. Here was one who had been virtually ignored for a whole month, because she was only a companion, and therefore nobody of consequence. Who would bother to take notice of such a lowly person? Having neither wealth nor rank, and her beauty hidden behind unadorned attire and a retiring demeanour, not one man had thought to expend any effort in her direction. Only Humphrey had seen something more to her.

  Yet now, not two hours since her true state had been revealed to the world, she was under siege. Julius had taken his broken nose away from Drummoor in high dudgeon, but two other Whittletons were in Hortensia’s court, together with two Marford cousins, the Dunborough twins, a nephew of Sir Richard Frimble’s and even Mr Dunshaw, the apothecary, who must be fifty if he was a day. Poor Hortensia! It was absolutely necessary to rescue her, and at once. But he could not get near her, for the room was crowded with chairs and people standing about.

  As the recital ended and everyone was streaming out, he waited for her, but somewhere in the crowds, he missed her, and made his way alone down to the great hall. The tables had been cleared away to the sides of the room, and the empty floor awaited the dancers, as the musicians tuned their instruments. During dinner, a small number of them had played in the minstrels’ gallery behind the carved wooden screen, but for the dancing greater numbers were required and they had abandoned the gallery in favour of a dais at one end of the hall.

  The room was abuzz with excitement, feathers and fans waving, silk skirts shimmering and jewellery twinkling in the light of a myriad of candelabra. Humphrey walked slowly round the room, looking for a certain pale green gown and a bejewelled bandeau, but he could see no sign of her. When he eventually recognised the remnants of her court standing in a disconsolate cluster, he realised that she had slipped her leash and run away, and he could not blame her one bit. Yet that was so like her! She had not needed his help to escape her suitors after all. What a splendid woman she was.

  But now she was gone and he would not, after all, be able to dance with her, and that was the end of any possibility of pleasure in the evening. The hours stretched dark and drear before him. No amount of candles could light the room when she was not in it. But then his eye caught a flash of green behind the screen of the minstrels’ gallery. So that was where she was hiding herself! Well, it was a good spot, where she could watch the dancing, if she were so minded, without having to fend off her unwanted coterie of admirers. Somehow it lifted his spirits to know that she was there, close to him but safely hidden away, enjoying her solitude.

  He stood moodily in a corner, supposedly watching the dancing, but in reality trying to detect the merest hint of green silk in the gallery above. Was she still there? He thought she was, but—

  “Humphrey! Just the person I want.”

  “Connie,” he said warily.

  “If you are not dancing, then I have a commission for you.”

  “You have only to ask.” But he was still wary. Usually such a request meant dancing with some half-grown miss who had not yet learnt the steps of the dance, but was very happy to bruise Humphrey’s toes while she practised.

  “I see that Miss Blythe is not yet dancing. Would you be so good as to find her, and see if you c
annot persuade her to step onto the floor?”

  “Connie, no!” His anguish was perfectly genuine. “I am not persuaded she would welcome such interference. If she wished to dance, then she would be here now. Do not ask it of me, for you know I cannot.”

  “I know no such thing, and if you are going to talk about some mysterious male code of conduct, you know I have no time for such foolishness. At least go and talk to her like a rational being instead of lurking about like a wet day in November, and putting a damper on everything.”

  He was torn, for the necessity to keep his distance from her was beyond question in his mind. Yet the prospect of seeing her, talking to her again was almost irresistible.

  He sighed. “It will not hurt to talk to her, perhaps, but it will be entirely her choice whether she dances.”

  “Of course!” Connie said brightly. “Off you go.”

  21: The Minstrels' Gallery

  Obediently, he crept out of the great hall and trod slowly, oh so slowly, up the chapel stairs, which were the nearest to the minstrels’ gallery, then stood irresolutely just outside it. His heart hammered in his chest so hard that he felt as if he were shaking. Meeting her in public, in the crowded great hall — yes, he could have managed that with equanimity. He could even, he felt sure, have danced with her without making a complete fool of himself. But to seek her out privately, when she had deliberately secreted herself away… Connie should not have asked it of him. Such a romantic, Connie! She was certain that five minutes in each other’s company would resolve all differences and enable them to live happily ever after. Would that it were so simple.