Sherry Lynn Ferguson
Neither the Earl of Penham nor his son Reginald, the Viscount Langsford, had ever shown the slightest interest in the source of the family’s wealth, though they were mightily beholden to its continuance.
Richard Marksley mused on that as he drew his horse to a halt and surveyed with pride the extensive pastures behind Penham Hall. Pride was all he could claim for his hard work, since Penham was not, and never would be, his. The privilege of possession lay solely with his uncle and his reprobate of a cousin. But Richard had been Penham’s responsible keeper for many years, and the estate exhibited his care.
“You must be pleased, sir,” Appleby said. The steward had drawn his own horse even with Richard’s Apollo. “The old place looks much better than you had hoped”
“Indeed,” Richard said. On this particularly fine September morning, with the light strengthening over the dew-damp grass, Penham looked peaceful and prosperous. “‘Tis difficult to credit that Reginald as good as gambled the place away this summer.”
“I doubt the Viscount would ever do so intentionally, sir.”
Richard spared him a smile. “You are unfailingly kind, Appleby. For that, and your good sense, I am always grateful.”
“I thank you, sir.”
“We will do well enough this year,” Richard observed, looking back at the Hall, “but the future must be addressed. Penham must grow if it is to survive. The estate cannot merely be preserved” The word might as easily have comprehended his invalid of an uncle. At the impending prospect of Reginald as Earl, Richard felt a distinct chill.
He had ridden out early and hard. Now he turned Apollo toward home.
“This tour has been helpful, Appleby. We meet again at Ludlow’s, Thursday next?” When the steward nodded, Richard urged Apollo to a canter and headed back to Archers, the small but comfortable manor that had come to him ten years before-on his twentieth birthday. Again he blessed the fact that the property shared only one boundary with Penham. By road, the distance was four miles; across the fields and fences it was scarcely one. The greater the remove from his family the better, particularly at a time like this, when his patience was at ebb.
He scarcely noticed the magnificent beeches framing Archers’s warm brick. Instead he strode directly across the stable yard to his library, determined to pen a few additional instructions for Appleby. The steward, he reflected, was a competent and genial man whose only fault was a forgiving memory. He continually underestimated the Viscount Langsford’s extravagance.
Richard no longer made the same mistake. Reggie’s behavior, summer after summer, had predictably rivaled that of every preceding summer, and this season’s reckonings were another abomination.
The debts tallied to embarrassing sums. Worthier endeavors would suffer in order to keep Reggie flush with funds. Richard considered it a testament to his own ingenuity, and to Appleby’s management, that they had devised rescues time and again. But he feared for the future. There were too many pressing demands upon the estate and its resources to let Reggie’s escapades continue unchecked.
Reggie, he decided, could not have planned a more exasperating birthday gift.
Gibbs had been waiting quietly just outside the library doors. As the butler coughed gently, Richard rose to give him a few items for the morning’s post.
“You are too patient, Gibbs,” he said, handing the papers to the older man. “You should have coughed earlier.”
“Not at all, sir,” Gibbs protested, “I had no thought to interrupt you. But this has just come by messenger. And you have always said, that whenever such as these should come-”
Richard snatched the thin letter from Gibbs’s hand and quickly scanned the familiar scrawl: “I had promised you a poem, but unexpected demands have made it difficult for me to finish … little time for application … do apologize …” Richard’s lips thinned as he read. So the anticipated work from Henry Beecham would not be available for next month’s issue of The Tantalus. He should have known the elusive man would eventually disappoint him in this way as well; most of the journal’s contributors had found reason on one occasion or another to disoblige their publisher. He had assumed, unreasonably, that Beecham would be different.
“And the messenger?” he asked, at last looking at Gibbs. “Is he outside?”
“Already on his way, sir. I could not keep him. Not even with the gift of a crown. He did say he had come directly from a rider in Guildford.”
“And that rider no doubt from yet another obscure little village.” Richard sighed. “It seems Mr. Beecham truly has no desire to be known to us, Gibbs. And October’s Tantalus will lack a new poem.”
“I am sorry, sir. ‘Tis a fine journal.”
“Thank you, Gibbs.” Richard smiled, aware that his butler preferred the racing results from Epsom. “You do much for the cause” But Gibbs was shifting impatiently in front of him. “Is there something else?”
“Yes, sir. In the drawing room. The countess is here, sir. Lady Penham”
“At this hour? No wonder you look so pale.” Richard turned to his library and crowded desk. “You’d best show her in here, then. She will excuse herself all the more readily from any evidence of actual labor.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, very good, sir.” As Gibbs departed Richard glanced reluctantly at his work. The papers now awaiting his attention concerned his chosen avocation, his one passion-the production of a bimonthly literary and opinion journal. Over the past two years, The Tantalus had drawn public and critical acclaim, delighting both its sponsors and its contributors. Richard quite naturally believed any commendation was deserved. With organization and application, and the means he could spare, he had given talents like Henry Beecham a forum.
That particular poet, he considered grimly, had no reason to be coy.
Only a year ago he had received the first Beecham poems, a trio of such quiet strength and appeal that Richard had been captivated. He believed them to be the work of an established wordsmith of his acquaintance, someone among the literary set in London. Yet inquiries had revealed no clue to the man’s identity or whereabouts. Subsequent poems found their way to him via baffling routings of messengers and postings, much like this morning’s missive. It seemed Henry Beecham enjoyed puzzles. And now, perhaps, he no longer even cared to be read.
On The Tantalus’s accounts a tidy sum accumulated, unclaimed, in Beecham’s name.
“Cheeky scop,” Richard muttered softly, “haven’t you need of the lucre?”
“I do not care for your tone, Richard,” his aunt said sharply from behind him, compelling him to turn. “‘Tis most abusive. With whom do you imagine yourself at odds?”
“With myself, madam,” Richard acknowledged with a bow. Geneve Marksley, the Countess of Penham, was, as always, fashionably dressed, in a pink morning gown that flattered the artificial blooms in her cheeks. Her hair was still gold, her azure eyes still bright, but Richard had long ago discovered their blindness to anything beyond clothes, society, and her darling Reginald.
When she offered her hand, he took it and bowed low, but he did not kiss her. Geneve and the Earl had raised him from the age of twelve, when he had lost his parents, and in all that time he had learned to respond in kind.
“Dear Richard, I am so gratified to find you home. You spend so much time away with your … hobbies.” She glanced dismissively at his crowded desk. “We really must speak”
As the two comfortable chairs by the fire were temporarily hosting parcels of books, Richard offered her his own desk chair and chose to remain standing. Anything, he thought, to speed the visit.
“How well you look,” Geneve said as she settled her skirts. To her credit she might actually h
ave looked at him, but Richard only acknowledged the compliment with the slightest tilt of his head. Geneve rarely spoke to him without considering her direction. And he knew this was no birthday call.
“I fear our Reginald has done something rather dreadful.” Her indulgent smile robbed the words of any reprimand.
Richard stifled his instant distaste for the inclusive “our.”
“I must agree with you, madam. Unless, of course, you refer to something other than his obscene debts?”
“His debts? Really, Richard, why should I know anything of the sort? Reginald should not be living like a pauper. You and his father are supposed to arrange for him to have what he ought” Richard’s lips firmed. “No, my dear. This is truly serious. I cannot imagine…. Well, the damage has been done. And she is really quite attractive, though not at all the sort one would choose for our Reginald, of course. Which is why I thought of you at once, and not only because of the name, mind you. It is, to be quite honest, your problem now, and not dear Reginald’s-”
“If you please, ma’am,” Richard interrupted, “I fail to understand you.”
“Ah! Well-it seems we must believe Reginald has compromised a girl. A most impressionable young woman, to be sure, but a gently-bred miss, nonetheless. Her uncle is being frightfully tiresome.”
Richard looked through the tall French doors and out at the courtyard garden. This was not the first time Reggie had pursued the temptation of a pretty face. Could his cousin never exercise any judgment? Despite a ready supply of willing muslin, he persistently ignored the strictures, though to date he had not strayed into the more carefully tended folds of the eligible.
When Richard’s attention returned to his aunt, he realized why mannerly behavior was so rare in his cousin. Excuses flowed as bountifully as her devotion.
“How much does this offended personage want?” he asked wearily.
Geneve shrugged. “My dear Richard, if it were only that, I should scarcely have had to trouble you this morning. No, this particular gentleman, this Alfred Ashton, is most insistent on a wedding. He is … beside himself, and has even spoken of a special license.”
Richard barely restrained a smile. It seemed that dear Reginald had finally been snared. But Geneve was not smiling.
“You needn’t look so superior, Richard, as this concerns you as well”
“In what way, madam?”
“Apparently Reginald used your name.”
“Used it?”
“The Ashtons believe the Viscount Langsford is Richard Marksley. ‘Tis R.E. Marksley, Richard Evan Marksley, they intend to bring to heel, and not my son, Reginald Falsworth.”
Richard’s hands tightened into fists. “Where is Reggie now?”
“Reginald? Why, he left for Ireland yesterday”
“And my dear cousin told you that he used my name? Why would you not simply acquaint these people with the truth?” His anger summoned a stubborn line to Geneve’s lips.
“Reginald left me a note with an apology.”
“How considerate of him to apologize to his mother. Although-if I understand you-at least three other people are more deserving of that courtesy”
“You are too sharp, Richard. You always have been. And how was Ito tell the Ashtons the truth? Think what that would mean for Reginald!”
“Believe me, I am quite aware of what it might mean for him.”
“You have never understood the responsibility he faces as Cyril’s heir. All the demands of position, no small matters I assure you, scarcely balance the benefits you are so fond of pointing out to him. In fact, I have wondered if you might even resent him.” As she surveyed her smoothly-gloved fingers, Richard schooled his features. He had heard the charge on more than one occasion; its injustice no longer rankled. He had determined long ago that he would much rather be the gentleman he was than Reginald Falsworth Marksley.
“In any case, madam, why are you here?”
Geneve looked astonished. “I have already told you. You must marry the girl. Or at least set to rights the family’s standing. This mustn’t be bruited about. Permit Ashton to have the banns published, or some such. Perhaps you shall be clever enough to stop a marriage. I know you can be terribly clever, Richard, with your head for figures and your little journal.”
“You would endorse my substitution for Reggie?”
“Why, I believe it most necessary. You are, after all, R.E. Marksley. And you are his cousin.”
“But I am not the man, madam. Hardly a minor consideration. Ashton’s niece must have found something appealing in Reggie. Or, should I say, in his behavior.”
Geneve had not listened. She fingered her skirts and added proudly, “Reginald has more than a title to recommend him, as you well know. He is such a handsome, good-natured young man. ‘Tis no surprise to me that the ladies are quite wild for him.”
“You wisely use the plural, madam. This is not the first time Reggie has made promises to females, promises he had no intention of keeping. Unfortunately, he has only one cousin whom he can leg-shackle. What would you propose he do with the next adoring damsel?”
“You’ve no call to be impertinent, Richard. When I come to you for help, I should expect more. But you can only criticize-” She probed her reticule for a linen square. “We have asked nothing of you. Nothing-after all we have done for you. This is your cousin, your only cousin, who has been like a brother to you. How can you turn your back on him?”
She managed to squeeze a single tear from her beseeching eyes. Richard watched her with little tolerance and less feeling. Reggie had been sly, spoiled, and cruel all his life. It was true that he and Richard were of an age, but far from brothers.
“I have one suggestion, my dear aunt. And that is that you and Mr. Ashton await Reggie’s return from Ireland. Let him explain himself to the girl. Perhaps she still believes he is fond of her. Once disabused of that notion, no rational being would have him.”
“But you simply do not understand. Reginald compromised Miss Ashton. They were alone together, they were seen. Her wishes are of no consequence. No consequence at all. Her uncle insists on a wedding.”
Richard stared accusingly at his aunt. “The young lady’s virtue…?”
“Is unquestioned! Really, Richard, ‘tis indelicate of you even to ask. Reginald is your cousin, and a gentleman” She avoided his gaze. “You must not draw such conclusions, merely because this has happened so precipitously. Just before Reginald left.”
“I am certain his departure was just as precipitous.”
Geneve sat very straight. “He wrote that his plans for Ireland were made months ago. ‘Tis beneath you to imply that he would so deceive us”
“As he has certainly deceived the Ashtons?” As Geneve started to pout, Richard pressed her. “When does he intend to return?”
“In two months.”
“Two months?” Abruptly, Richard paced, moving to the garden doors and moodily staring out at the small courtyard. The morning sun was beginning to warm the gravel walk. A few roses lingered in the autumn air. They seemed to mock his confinement. He knew he would have to deal with this as he had dealt with everything else. Yet still it infuriated him.
Reggie would have thought it all a grand joke-to pose as his cousin, then flee the country. He must be having a good laugh just now. And Richard hoped Reggie choked on whatever expensive Madeira he was no doubt at that moment imbibing.
“Richard … Richard.” His aunt’s voice behind him was softer than he had ever heard it. “If he were not my son I would never ask it of you. But now I must beg you. How can he-who will be an Earl, who will inherit Penham and so much more-marry a simple country girl, a vicar’s daughter? `Twould be ruin for everything we ever hoped for him. He is our only son, Richard. We must think of the family. Of the Marksley name. If you do this for us now, I shall never ask anything of you again. I do promise you”
Richard closed his eyes. Part of him wondered what Reggie-the Gorgeous Langsford, as the ton’s wags
had christened him-had ever done to deserve such love. Certainly he himself had received no portion of it, though as a boy he had tried often enough to earn some. Still, it was folly to question any mother’s affections, even as frivolously distracted and careless a mother as Geneve. What had to interest him now was her promise. To have nothing ever asked of him again. What a relief that must be!
He turned to face her. She had risen from her seat and now stood toying with her kerchief.
“Is the family that objectionable?”
“They are respectable enough, I suppose. Mr. Ashton has considerable property in Berkshire, where the family has an acceptable history. The home is included on the local tours in Tewsbury, as the cousin-a Miss Binkin-would have me believe. The girl, Miss Ashton, is his brother’s only child. I gather Ashton lost his own son on the Continent, which no doubt concerns him greatly in this.”
“Do you suspect this was arranged, to set her cap for a lord? To elevate the family’s prospects by trapping just such a one as Reggie?”
“I cannot believe it, Richard. But she’s a quiet enough young woman. Perhaps the … the passions of the moment simply overwhelmed her.”
Or more likely Reggie’s passions did, Richard added silently. Any woman so enamored of his cousin could only find true feeling foreign. Doubtless Miss Ashton was a silly chit of limited sensitivity and even less intelligence. It would take some doing to convince such a creature that any decently responsible young farmer would make her a better husband.
“I’ll go see this … charmer. And her ambitious uncle. `Twill be a day before I can leave for Berkshire and another day to reach them. With luck we will come to some understanding on Friday. I have every intention of convincing them to find a husband elsewhere. With Penham’s support, of course” He bowed, but his aunt was no longer meeting his gaze.
“Richard, they have come to us. And I … I have brought the Ashtons here. To Archers. The Ashtons and the cousin, Miss Binkin. Gibbs was to see them into the drawing room.”
The trespass heightened the offense. Richard must have looked his accusation.
The Honorable Marksley Page 1