Lord Humphrey (Sons of the Marquess Book 2)

by Mary Kingswood

  “Oh, thank goodness!” Hortensia said, shutting the door behind her softly. “I was afraid I had got the wrong room, and just think how awkward that would be.”

  He felt he ought to be shocked, but somehow it was typical of her. “Hortensia, what on earth are you doing here?”

  “Why, I came to see you, of course. We cannot have things left in this unsatisfactory manner, so I have decided that we shall settle everything once and for all. Do you have a small table? Ah, this one will do. Help me carry it over here, will you? And now some chairs. Yes, that one, and the one from the window. Do you have some more candles? Mine is burning very low.”

  He did as he was bid, trying not to laugh at her bustling about arranging chairs in the middle of the night in a man’s bedroom, as if it were a perfectly ordinary thing to be doing.

  “There now, we may sit comfortably and have a talk.”

  “Do you want some brandy? Or I might have some port…”

  “Oh no, I am still full of champagne. I am a little hungry, since we missed supper, but I daresay you have nothing to eat, and one cannot ring for a servant under the circumstances, can one?”

  “Probably not,” he said. “Hortensia, we had much better leave any further discussion until the morning. We have both been overwrought this evening, not to mention drinking a whole bottle of champagne between us, and I do not think this is the ideal time for rational thought. Or place,” he added, eyeing his bed not five paces away.

  “No, no, this is precisely the right time. The place, I grant you, is unconventional, but I could not think where else we might go at this time of night.”

  “Each to our own beds, to sleep,” he said, but he could not help smiling. He knew her well enough to understand that she was talking so much because she was nervous.

  “Perchance to dream? No, not yet. Humphrey, we must get this settled, and it must be done now because in a few hours I shall be leaving here to go to Silsby Vale House and—”

  “So soon!” he cried, shocked.

  “I must, because Maria is terrified that Mr Sharp will turn up on the doorstep. Who is Mr Sharp, by the way?”

  “The agent here, who abused his position rather.”

  “Indeed! He sounds like a dreadful man. So, I shall be gone, and it will be much more difficult to find an opportunity to talk, and I am determined not to let everything drift on for week after week. Humphrey, I need you to be honest with me. Will you?”

  “Of course.”

  “I have to know what you want from me.”

  He sucked in his breath. What did he want. Her. Of that much he was certain, but how? How was it possible? “Hortensia, you want me to make a commitment that I am not yet ready to make.”

  “Very well, then. I will make it simple for you,” she said, her chin rising defiantly. “There are only three options. I could become your wife, or your mistress, or we could part for ever.”

  He could not speak. This was too blunt, too plain-spoken! Surely there must be other ways?

  “Choose,” she said. “Choose one of the three, and then we may move forward.”

  “This is… impossible!” he cried. “I cannot make such a decision, not without careful thought.”

  “No,” she said quietly. “No more careful thought. You have had time enough for careful thought. I want to know what is in your heart, Humphrey, not your mind. Do not weigh the options, one against another, as you might when buying a new horse. This is not a matter for rational thought, it is a matter of passion, of desire, whether it be for me, or my fortune, or for your position in society. One of them will be pre-eminent, and if you set aside logic, you will know which it is. What do you want most?”

  “Do not ask it of me,” he cried in anguish. “I cannot decide, not like this.”

  “Very well,” she said. “We will let chance decide.” From a pocket in her robe, she produced a dice cup and a single ivory die. “You may throw for your future, like the gambler you are.”

  “No, Hortensia,” he whispered. “I cannot do this.”

  “If you throw a one or a two,” she went on relentlessly, “then we part for ever. If you throw a three or a four, I shall be your mistress, and you may have whatever life you wish for otherwise. If you throw a five or a six, then you marry me and we work out our differences together. But Humphrey — you will be bound by the outcome. However the die falls, that will decide our lives, whether together or apart.”

  “No,” he whispered. “This is madness.”

  She set the dice cup on the table. “Throw.”

  “No.”

  “Throw.”

  “You cannot make me.”

  “Very well, then I shall throw in your stead.” She snatched up the dice cup and shook it.

  “No!” he cried, and lunged forward to grab it from her. She jerked it high to keep it out of his reach, but the sharp movement shook the die free, and it sailed through the air. With a cry of despair he leapt after it. It fell on the floor, bounced out of his grasp, fell, bounced again. He dropped to his knees and stretched for it, missed, cried out in terror. It settled…

  It was a six.

  “Oh, thank God!” he whispered, his head lowering until it almost touched the floor. “Thank God, thank God, thank God!”

  From the table behind him, he heard a low chuckle.

  “Now you know what you want,” she said.

  He was too shaken to see the humour in the situation. If the die had fallen some other way—! It was unthinkable. He could not let her go, nor could he take her as his mistress. There was only one future for them, and that was marriage. Yet what a way to find that out!

  “Hortensia, you will be the death of me,” he said. Scrambling to his feet, he picked up the die and tossed it onto the table. It settled with the six upwards. “Oh, wait…” He threw again. Another six. Then another. Slowly he began to laugh. “You devious little hussy! This is loaded!”

  “Well, you did not really suppose I would leave all to chance, did you? You may not have known what you wanted, but I did.”

  He sat down in a rush on his chair, rolling the die between his fingers. “You must think me such a fool.”

  “Not a fool, no. Too clever by half, in point of fact. You spend too much time trying to reason everything out, the way you do at piquet — if I have this card and this other one, then I discard that one. But love is not susceptible to reason, Humphrey dear. Love is closing your eyes and taking a deep breath and leaping into the darkness. There is no knowing how it will end, but you believe it will end well because you have this other person leaping alongside you, holding your hand and not letting go, no matter what happens. Love is about faith and trust and taking a chance without stopping to weigh the risks. Will you take a chance with me, Humphrey Marford?”

  And without hesitation he answered, “Yes. Yes, I will, Hortensia Blythe, because I love you and need you and you matter more to me than anything else in the world. And a great deal more than Almacks.” She giggled at that. “We will work something out, I daresay, about London and all that business. If we get married in the autumn—”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “We will get married straight away. I imagine you will be able to get a special licence—”

  “And in the time it would take me to get to London and back with it, we could have the banns read.”

  “A common licence?” she said wistfully. “One could be had from York, I daresay.”

  “I have a much better plan,” he said. “We will do as Marfords have done for generations, which is to have the banns read in the church at Mishcombe, and then walk in procession to our wedding so that the villagers may shower you with rose petals and have their fête afterwards. We always provide a big feast on the village green for family weddings, and there hasn’t been one here for years.”

  She tipped her head on one side, thinking. “If we see Mr Hay tomorrow, the first banns could be read on Sunday, and then we may be married two weeks on Monday.�
��

  “Why the rush?” he said gently. “Most ladies like to savour the time of courtship. What about wedding clothes and the like?”

  “Because I am terrified you will start thinking again, and find all sorts of reasons to delay. Marry me at once, Humphrey, or I shall go mad.” He hesitated, and she said. “You know, I really feel you ought to marry me as soon as may be, for the sake of my reputation. After all, here I am in your bedroom, in my nightgown.”

  “If you creep back to your room—”

  “But I have no intention of creeping back to my room, Humphrey dear. Not until the morning, anyway.”

  “Oh.”

  He could have argued with her. He could even have carried her back to her own room, although he suspected she was quite capable of screaming all the way. Instead he laughed.

  “You are an outrageous, wanton woman, Miss Blythe, and I utterly adore you.”

  He blew out the candles.

  ~~~~~

  Hortensia wore one of her new morning gowns, purchased in London but never worn while she was pretending to be a companion. Her maid, a dour Yorkshire woman whose highest praise was ‘You’ll do, ma’am’, actually smiled as she dressed her. Even so, Hortensia insisted her hair be left in a simple coil on her crown, with just the two soft curls either side of her face. But she left off the spinster’s cap. She would be wearing caps again soon enough, but they would be delicate lace confections, not the monstrous plain cambric affair she had assumed as part of her disguise.

  “There, ma’am,” said the maid. “You’ll do very well.”

  Seeing herself in the mirror, Hortensia doubted it. The gown was a glorious statement of fashion, expensive, elegant and very flattering to her figure, but there was no hiding her plain face or excessive height. She would never be a beauty, and it was a miracle that not one but two men had fallen in love with her in her life. She could hardly believe her luck. One had slipped from her grasp, but she was determined not to lose Humphrey.

  Breakfast was an awkward affair, Connie crying in delight at the news of the betrothal, and the men smiling, slapping Humphrey heartily on the shoulder or pumping his hand in congratulations.

  Only Carrbridge looked balefully at him. “You could not wait, then,” he said sorrowfully.

  “I could have done, but she could not,” he said. “And you may blame your wife for it, sending me to find Miss Blythe last night. And now we are to be married in two weeks, and it is all Connie’s fault.”

  “Two weeks!” Connie cried, aghast. “Why such haste? Three months is the usual time, if you are to have any hope of the carriage being ready, and all your wedding clothes. And Humphrey, you will want your brothers here for the occasion.”

  “I believe we must keep to our plan,” Humphrey said, paying studious attention to his plate.

  “But—” Connie began.

  “My dear,” Carrbridge said, resting one hand on hers, “it is best to leave such matters to Humphrey and Miss Blythe.”

  “But—” She looked from Hortensia, trying not to blush but failing, and Humphrey, still staring at his plate, and said, “Oh!” in surprise. “Oh, I see. Yes, of course.”

  After breakfast, Hortensia and Humphrey walked through the village to the parsonage to arrange for the banns, with Lady Hardy and Mr Merton as chaperons. There they were congratulated again, offered elderberry wine and plum cake, and thoroughly fussed over by Mr Hay and his two spinster sisters. Hortensia could not help comparing Mr Hay, so tidily and sensibly attired, with Humphrey’s ramshackle appearance in his disguise, and it was as much as she could do not to laugh. She dared not catch Humphrey’s eye in case that set her off.

  When they were sufficiently stuffed full of plum cake to satisfy the Miss Hays and were allowed to leave, Humphrey raised the matter of Mr Sharp, the agent, with Mr Merton.

  “Mrs Andrews is in fear of his return, and I should like to be able to reassure the lady, but I have not seen hide nor hair of the man for some time.”

  “No one has seen him,” Mr Merton said. “According to Mrs Sharp, he has been back twice, but only to change his clothes and take a fresh horse. Then he is away again. He has written twice to inform his lordship of his whereabouts, as he was asked to do, and he is apparently inspecting some far-flung properties in Northumberland and Cumberland, but naturally he is not specific. He never says more than he is obliged to.”

  “What is he up to, Merton? It is nothing good, I am sure.”

  “He has had the sole management of all the marquess’s estates and holdings for some years now,” Mr Merton said thoughtfully. “A certain carelessness might be understandable, and certainly his record-keeping leaves a great deal to be desired. He has behaved reprehensibly towards Mrs Andrews, too. And the money… there is something amiss with the money. Whenever his lordship has asked, Mr Sharp has produced the necessary funds, but where those funds are kept is a mystery. I have not yet found him out in any wrongdoing, but I have my suspicions. If Mr Sharp does not soon present himself at Drummoor, I believe his lordship will have no option but to begin investigating his financial affairs.”

  “At least Miss Blythe will be able to offer Mrs Andrews some support,” Lady Hardy said. “The poor lady must be very distressed.”

  “I am not sure how much support a young lady may provide against a man like Mr Sharp,” Mr Merton said.

  Hortensia smiled. “Oh, I shall keep my pistols loaded.”

  Humphrey laughed. “You have pistols? Of course you do!”

  “Even so,” Mr Merton said, “I shall ask his lordship if another footman may be sent there temporarily, and perhaps one of the burlier grooms. Several solid young men may be as effective a deterrent as loaded pistols, in their way.”

  “You think Miss Blythe would not dare to shoot a man,” Humphrey said. “You are quite mistaken. My betrothed is perfectly capable of shooting anyone.”

  “I do not doubt it,” Mr Merton said. “I should prefer it if Miss Blythe were not required to do so.”

  “Yes, indeed!” said Lady Hardy. “Miss Blythe and Mrs Andrews must be protected. It is as well you are to marry so soon, Lord Humphrey, for then you will be on hand to protect the ladies.”

  Hortensia smiled and said nothing. Let them protect her if they wished, she did not care, for she had Humphrey. Soon she would be Lady Humphrey Marford and the world would be a wonderful place.

  23: Tigers, Elephants And Snakes

  Humphrey was to escort Hortensia to Silsby Vale House that afternoon. Her boxes had already been packed up and sent around by road, together with the maid, a footman and a groom, who were to stay until she had her own staff in place, but Hortensia wanted to ride and Humphrey was not minded to deny her any pleasure.

  She rode Ganymede and he rode Titan, and after the initial gallop, they walked the horses companionably side by side.

  “I shall miss Ganymede,” she said with a sigh. “May I borrow him sometimes, after we are married?”

  “You may not,” he said. She looked so shocked that he smiled. “But I may ask that favour of you sometimes. He is yours, my betrothal present to you.”

  “Oh, Humphrey!” she said, her eyes sparkling with tears. “You are so good to me. But what may I give you?”

  “You have already given me everything I desired, my love, in bestowing your hand upon me. What more could I wish for?”

  “One hundred thousand pounds, perhaps, to start your gaming house?”

  “Not that, no. I shall not take your inheritance from you. Once your lawyers arrive to discuss the marriage settlements, I shall suggest that they wrap it all up in trust for our children.”

  She reined Ganymede to a halt, and waved Tom to go on ahead. “No, that is not how it is supposed to be. What is mine will be yours when we are wed, for you to do with as you please.”

  “Your lawyers will point out that I am a known gambler, and likely to lose your fortune at faro or dice. They will recommend that you give me a modest allowance, and keep the rest out of my rea
ch. And they would be right to so advise you.”

  “And I would be right to tell them that you are no reckless gamester. Besides, I want you to have your gaming house. That is how we met, after all, because you wanted a rich wife to fund it. Now you will have one, so please, let me give you a hundred thousand, at least. The rest may be tied up however you wish, but let me do this for you, Humphrey, please.”

  “I have been discussing my plans with Mr Stoner — do you remember him, from the abbey? We must have him to stay once we are settled, by the way, for he is such an interesting man and you can talk about India with him. Anyway, he has been advising me on the gaming house, and he and a few of his business associates are prepared to invest in the venture. I do not think I can raise a hundred thousand, but enough for something a little more modest, in York, perhaps, so that I should not need to go to London.”

  “Do you… not want to go to London?”

  “Not if it takes me away from you, no.”

  “Oh.” Again he saw tears in her eyes. “So you are not marrying me for my money after all.”

  “Of course not! I am glad that you have it, for otherwise I could never marry you, since I could hardly expect you to live in poverty for my sake, but for myself, I do not want it. All I want is you, Hortensia.”

  “Oh,” she said again.

  “I thought you understood,” he said gently. “I love you, my darling. I adore everything about you, my brave, beautiful Hortensia.”

  “Beautiful?” she whispered. “No one has ever called me beautiful before.”

  “But you are! Yours is not a milk-and-honey prettiness, like Miss Quayle’s, but the radiance that comes from within, from strength and a quick wit and the sureness of good sense and a delight in life. When you allow that radiance to spill forth, it lights your whole being and you are utterly magnificent.”

  They walked on in silence as she contemplated this new idea. Humphrey wondered what she saw when she looked in her mirror — the ordinary, rather severe features, no doubt, and the overlarge eyes and mouth. She never saw herself engrossed in a card game, or exhilarated from a fast ride, as he did. She never saw her own beauty. But she would, for he would make her so happy that she would walk about all day with such a smile on her face as could not be disguised, even when she looked in her mirror.