by Sheila Walsh
Lady Springhope said quietly, ‘I do not think I heard how your father met his death ‒ would it pain you to speak of it?’
The clasped hands tightened until the knuckles showed white. ‘He was attempting to stop a bolting horse and waggon.’ Lucia’s abrupt laugh was half a sob. ‘It was ironic, for horses were ever his passion. The animal reared and kicked him in the chest … two of his ribs punctured the lung. He died almost instantly in Mama’s arms ‒ and I think a part of her died with him.’ Lucia looked up, her eyes swimming in tears. ‘She was never quite herself afterwards. Else she would not have consented to marry Mr Franklyn.’
Lady Springhope’s eyebrows rose, reminding Lucia vividly of her nephew. ‘Mr Franklyn? Who pray is Mr Franklyn?’
‘We were in the North of England when Papa died, staying with friends. They kindly invited us to remain as long as we wished, and it was there that we met Mr Franklyn. He was very rich and had grand ideas of entering London Society. I believe …’ Lucia hesitated half-embarrassed. ‘I believe Mama encouraged him to think that she had entrée into the right houses. I can only imagine that, in her poor muddled mind, she was trying to provide a secure future for me.’
‘You neither of you thought of applying to your grandfather?’
‘No, ma-am ‒ we did not. We had our pride, though we had little else!’
‘Oh fiddle!’ The old lady shook her head irritably. ‘Pride! More sins have been committed in families in the name of pride! It is a thing I have no patience with!’ She saw the mouth set mutinously. ‘Oh very well, Miss ‒ continue.’
‘There is little more to tell. They were married and we came to London. I was never sure how Mama meant to carry off the deception, but in the event, it didn’t matter. She fell ill almost at once ‒ and in weeks she was dead. The doctor said it was a fever, but I believe she never recovered from the loss of my father.’
There was a moment of silence. Lady Springhope said quietly, ‘Well, Miss Mannering ‒ you have had a sad time of it this last twelvemonth. It cannot have been a happy position in which to be left. I gained a distinct impression that you have no opinion of this Mr Franklyn?’
Lucia said in a stifled voice, ‘That is true, my lady. I begged Mama not to marry him … and lately I have even come to fear him.’ She looked at Lady Springhope with troubled eyes. ‘He invited gentlemen to the house regularly. I supposed that they came to play cards, but gradually I was made aware that there was another purpose to their visits. My stepfather began to insist that I make myself agreeable to his guests.’ Her voice sank to a whisper. ‘I realized I was being used as a kind of bribe, and would go to whoever was prepared to offer the greatest promise of advancement.’
‘But that is monstrous! You must be mistaken!’
Lucia was crimson with shame. ‘I fear not. He wanted me off his hands ‒ and if he could at the same time turn the affair to his advantage …’
‘Could you not have sought shelter with friends?’
‘I have no friends in London ‒ and without money …’ She shrugged. ‘But I had resolved to seek employment, perhaps as a governess. I have been well educated and speak both Italian and French fluently.’ Her eyes lifted. ‘Do you think you might know of someone?’
‘Later, child. For the moment I am more interested in the events of last night. I take it my nephew was one of the guests you mentioned. What I find puzzling is how they became acquainted. This Mr Franklyn does not sound in the least the kind of person Hugo would know.’
‘They had not, I think, met until last evening. Lord Mandersely was brought to the house by another young relation of yours ‒ a Captain Blanchard.’
Lady Springhope snorted. ‘Oh ‒ young Toby’s mixed up in this affair, is he? He is Hugo’s cousin on his mother’s side. A nice boy, but a bit of a rattle-pate.’
‘I found him most kind,’ said Lucia stiffly. ‘He was considerably more concerned for my welfare than …’ She stopped, a hand flying to her mouth to check the slighting comparison she had been about to utter, but Lady Springhope only laughed.
‘Than Mandersely, you were about to say and I don’t doubt you’re right, m’dear. Think I don’t know my own nephew? I am well aware that Hugo can be quite insufferable at times, but he ain’t altogether to blame. His father, my brother, broke his neck riding to hounds some ten years since. Left Hugo with sole responsibility for his ailing mama and five younger brothers and sisters; a daunting enough prospect for a lively young man in his twenty-first year with all the world before him ‒ and as if that were not enough, he found the estates had been most shockingly neglected …’
Lucia found this picture of his lordship as a responsible family man intriguing to say the least.
Lady Springhope noted her surprise. ‘Don’t let that air of indolence fool you, Miss Mannering. There’s more to Hugo than meets the eye. Took him several years, and a considerable slice of the fortune willed to him by a doting godparent, to straighten things out, but he shouldered it all without complaint. It has left a layer of cynicism that makes him deuced unpopular in some quarters, but he goes his own way and don’t give a damn. The tabbies who tear his reputation to shreds would fall on his neck if only he would smile upon their spotty offspring.’
She laughed abruptly. ‘Unfortunately, being Hugo, he despises the lot of ’em and don’t scruple to show it! Just now he seems hell-bent on making up those lost years, but I sometimes wonder if he finds much joy in the experience ‒ which brings us back to last evening.’
Lucia was silent, her lip caught pensively between small white teeth. ‘I don’t think …’
Lady Springhope cast her an amused glance. ‘If you’re thinking to shock me, my dear, you may be easy. I was married to the late Earl at seventeen and for years I set the town by the ears.’ Her eyes sparkled and Lucia eyed her with new interest. It was easy to picture her as a young girl, tiny and vivacious with hair which must have flamed most gloriously. ‘I delighted in doing the most shocking things and though I have become a staid old dowager, there is still a little part inside me that yearns for excitement. So if you can bring yourself to tell me …’
Lucia began her halting explanation; her ladyship listened intently ‒ with occasional grunts as the story progressed.
‘I really left your nephew with little option,’ the girl confessed with disarming honesty. ‘I challenged him quite deliberately.’
‘Why?’ The question was shot out. ‘Why Hugo?’
Lucia’s brow creased earnestly. ‘I don’t know. I spent most of the night trying to justify my actions. It all happened so suddenly ‒ I was terrified and humiliated. Mr Franklyn was certainly very drunk ‒ his behaviour seemed to indicate that; he was determined to be rid of me … and if not by means of the wager …?’
She rose abruptly and paced the room. ‘Do you know a man named Sir Gideon Benedict, ma-am?’
Lady Springhope sniffed. ‘A dangerous red-haired brute. He has a coarse virility that seems to attract the sillier type of woman. It is said that he can charm the birds off the trees. Nonetheless, there are some very unsavoury rumours about him.’
‘As I thought,’ whispered Lucia. ‘He came often to the house ‒ and he looked at me in such a way …’ She shivered and coloured with embarrassment. ‘I’m sure he was on the point of reaching some kind of agreement with Mr Franklyn when he was called away.’
She looked straight at Lady Springhope. ‘I dared not wait for his return. I took a chance on Lord Mandersely … he so obviously regarded me with complete indifference. I believe he sought only to teach me a sharp lesson.’ She smiled faintly. ‘He was none too pleased, in the event, to find himself saddled with me!’
‘That I can well imagine,’ said her ladyship dryly. ‘Well Miss Mannering, you have given me a great deal to think about. We must see what can be done to mend matters.’ She tugged the bell-pull vigorously. ‘Parsons will take you to the small drawing room. I shall join you presently.’
The gaunt woman who had bee
n in the room when she first arrived, entered soundlessly and was given her instructions.
In thin-lipped silence she escorted Lucia to a door, which she flung open with no more than a slight inclination of the head. With a feeling of acute depression, Lucia walked past her into the delightful cream and gold room.
In Grosvenor Square, Lord Mandersely had taken his customary early morning ride and was enjoying a leisurely breakfast.
He looked up as the door opened to admit his secretary who bade his employer a good morning and apologized for disturbing his breakfast, ‘… but there is a ‒ er ‒ gentleman called, who insists on speaking with your lordship.’
Edward Jameson was a pleasant-faced young man of medium build, neatly if soberly clad in his habitual brown. His persistent disinterest in the vagaries of fashion was a constant source of pain to his employer, who now leaned back in his chair, put up his glass ‒ and shuddered delicately.
Edward Jameson bore the unspoken censure with equanimity. He knew that such affectations masked a brain far keener than his own.
‘About the caller, sir?’
The Marquis sighed. ‘I leave him to you, Edward. Get rid of him. No one who is anyone would dream of calling at such an hour.’
He rose languidly and indicated his riding clothes, a faint gleam in his eye. ‘I must change ‒ I really cannot call upon my aunt improperly dressed!’
Edward held out the calling card. ‘The gentleman was most insistent that you would see him, my lord.’
The Marquis shot him a keen glance ‒ and took the card, reading it without expression. He walked across to the fireplace and stood, with one arm resting along the mantelshelf, staring down into the flames.
‘Edward?’ he probed, without looking up. ‘When I came in last evening? Was I very badly foxed?’
The young man weighed his words with care. ‘I think not,’ he said with simple truthfulness. ‘I knew you had been drinking of course, for I know the signs. But in the three years I have been with you, my lord, I have never seen you the worse for drink.’
Mandersely looked up quizzically. Seeing that his secretary was perfectly serious, he flashed him a sudden, unexpectedly boyish grin. ‘You’re a good fellow, Edward. I must strive to be more worthy of you.’
He straightened and tossed the card into the fire, watching it curl up in the flames. ‘Where have you put our Mr Franklyn?’
‘He has been shown into the crimson salon, my lord.’
The Marquis strode from the room and across the wide hall tiled in white Italian marble. A footman sprang to attention and flung open the salon door.
Mr Franklyn had been subjecting the room to a close inspection. He turned as the door opened, looking very much under the weather, and greeted Lord Mandersely with unctuous over-enthusiasm.
‘I have been admiring your furnishings, my lord ‒ the paintings ‒ the porcelain ‒ quite exquisite. In fact, the whole house would seem impressive ‒ most impressive!’
Mandersely inclined his head. ‘You are most kind. Shall I call my butler? He would be pleased to take you on a conducted tour.’ He watched the other man colour up. ‘No? You did not then call this morning to admire my house?’
Mr Franklyn stirred uncomfortably. ‘Well, no … to be frank, my lord, I have come on a matter of some delicacy. Still … as men of the world, I’m sure we can come to some amicable agreement.’
His lordship settled on the edge of a table. He sat swinging one leg gently to and fro, evinced an air of polite interest ‒ and waited.
Mr Franklyn looked even more uneasy. He coughed. ‘I am told, my lord, that my stepdaughter left my house last night in your company. Since she has not returned and is, after all, little more than a child, I naturally feel a fatherly concern for her welfare.’
The Marquis put up his glass and regarded his top-boot thoughtfully. ‘Tell me, Franklyn, would you call that a flaw in the leather ‒ just there?’ He indicated. ‘I very much fear it is.’
His companion seemed stunned by the total irrelevance of the question. ‘Good God, man! What has your boot to do with anything? We are talking of my stepdaughter.’
Mandersely sighed. ‘How much do you remember of last night, Franklyn?’
He was rewarded by the obvious discomfiture of his visitor, who began to bluster ‘… best forgotten … all acted somewhat rashly …’
‘Very wise. It is forgotten.’
‘B-but my stepdaughter, sir?’
‘Is safe, sir!’
Franklyn exploded. ‘No dammit ‒ it’s not good enough, my lord. There is her good name to be considered.’
‘Your concern is touching, if somewhat tardy!’ There was an unmistakable sneer in the gentle voice. ‘However you may set your mind at rest. Miss Mannering’s good name will not be tarnished.’
‘Ah!’ A subtle change came over Mr Franklyn. He almost purred. ‘Well, there’s no denying she has been a foolish child, but I’ll warrant you’ll not be disappointed, my lord. She has been well brought up … comes of good stock, ye know. I’m even prepared to make a handsome settlement, though she ain’t strictly my responsibility.’
A slight frown creased Lord Mandersely’s brow. ‘You’ve lost me, Franklyn.’
‘You are offering for her, my lord?’
One eyebrow rose fractionally. ‘Now whatever gave you that idea?’
‘It’s the only honourable thing to do,’ stuttered Franklyn. ‘Her grandfather is an important man. True he ain’t had anything to do with her, but he’d doubtless change his tune fast enough if he was to learn that she’d been taken from her home and possibly ravished …’
He got no farther. The Marquis hardly appeared to move, yet Mr Franklyn found himself seized by the throat in a grip that lifted him off his feet. His hands clawed the air as the slim fingers tightened remorselessly in the folds of his cravat. His bloodshot eyes bulged with terror.
Through the distressing noises in his head, the Marquis’s voice came, low and menacing. ‘… Insufferable cur! Do you dare to threaten me? … I should wring your scheming neck …’ He was shaken as a dog shakes a rat. ‘Do you think for one moment that anyone would listen to a social-climbing little toady like you?’
He was released with an abruptness that sent him sprawling, bringing one of his lordship’s beautiful gilt chairs crashing to the ground.
Mr Franklyn lay for a moment, stupefied, before scrambling to his knees in a most undignified manner, pulling at his cravat and gulping in great gasps of air. His face was purple and his wig had slipped ludicrously over one ear.
The Marquis watched him with cold dispassionate eyes.
‘You’ll answer for this, my lord!’ Franklyn croaked.
He received no answer, beyond a slight curl of the lip. He clambered to his feet and set himself to rights. His voice quivered with fury. ‘I demand satisfaction.’
‘You may demand all you like, my friend,’ said his lordship icily. ‘I have no intention of gratifying you. I strongly advise you to return home at once. You don’t look at all well.’ He moved to the fireplace and pulled the bell-rope.
At once the door was opened by the impassive footman.
‘Mr Franklyn is leaving,’ said Lord Mandersely.
Franklyn glared from servant to master and knew himself beaten. ‘Very well, my lord, but you haven’t heard the last of this. I’ll warrant you don’t shift that chit of a girl as easily as you think to get rid of me!’ An unpleasant smile crossed his face. ‘I declare I could laugh when I think of her cunning ‒ playing hard to get these weeks past, and then she wraps you up as neat as ninepence!’
Mandersely’s hand stilled in the act of taking snuff. His eyes narrowed. Then he calmly inhaled and snapped the snuff-box shut. As Mr Franklyn reached the door, he was halted.
‘One small thing.’ His lordship spoke softly. ‘If one word of what passed either last night or this morning is leaked abroad, I shall make you very sorry. And, Franklyn,’ the voice hardened, ‘for your information, I a
m no “Johnny Raw”. Your stepdaughter never entered this house. I took her straight to my aunt in Portland Place.’
Franklyn threw him a look of hatred and pushed past the footman without another word.
The Marquis remained in the middle of the room, his face wiped clean of all expression. Slowly he opened his clenched hand ‒ the gold filigree snuff-box was crushed flat. With a gesture of disgust, he flung it away.
Chapter Three
The Marquis reached Portland Place just before noon. Saunders informed him that her ladyship was not yet about, but that Miss Mannering was in the small drawing room, if he should wish to go up. Hugo thanked him and made his leisurely way up the staircase.
He found Miss Mannering seated near the window, leafing aimlessly through the pages of a book. She was trying to bolster up her courage for the coming interview with Lord Mandersely and prayed that Lady Springhope would be there to lend her support.
Her head lifted and at the sight of the tall figure she almost panicked. She forced herself to put the book down without hurry ‒ and stood up. ‘Good morning, my lord,’ she said quietly.
In the cold light of day he looked even less approachable. The elegance of his dress made her very conscious of the shortcomings of the green muslin and she was unaware that, with her hair simply drawn back from her face, she presented an entirely fresh and charming picture.
Lord Mandersely subjected her to an unhurried scrutiny. ‘Good morning, Miss Mannering. I trust you slept well?’
‘Quite well, I thank you, sir.’ She turned her head away to avoid his too-observant eyes.
‘How fortunate!’ As always a thin veil of sarcasm ran beneath his words. ‘I was afraid you might have too much on your mind. I am overjoyed to find my fears unfounded.’
Insufferable man! Lucia’s lips tightened. ‘I daresay it would please you to find that I had passed a miserable night.’