A Lord Apart

by Jane Ashford

  “But why is his lordship supplying them?” Clayton replied. “That is their question.”

  Arthur considered it a hopeful sign. He’d come to Frithgerd on a mission, and his recent experience suggested that a lively young lady could be just what was needed.

  “Everybody’s making up stories about why she’s inherited Rose Cottage,” said Tom.

  “What sort of stories?” Arthur asked.

  “The usual drivel,” answered Clayton, his round face disapproving. The valet had been with Arthur for more than twenty years, and the earl valued his canny insights as much as his personal services. “She’s somebody’s mistress, or discarded mistress, or the old lord’s love child, or a disgraced cousin waiting for a baby to show. People have such common minds.”

  “One of the grooms reckoned she was a hindoo who used her foreign magic to wreck the old lord’s ship on his journey home,” said Tom. When the other two turned to stare, he added, “The first sight of her put an end to that tale.”

  “You can’t fault his imagination,” said Arthur.

  “It’s not going to be easy for Miss Pendleton to settle into the neighborhood with gossip like that flying about,” said Clayton.

  Arthur nodded. Clayton looked unassuming, with his wide cheeks and snub nose. Many failed to notice that his brown eyes were exceedingly sharp. “That’s one reason I’d like to find out more about this legacy,” he said. “Let’s get that letter off.”

  With a bow, the valet departed. Arthur led Tom downstairs and out into the gardens. They walked a while in the mild June air, silently companionable. On the surface, they had little in common, the earl thought. And some people were bewildered by his friendship with a boy born into the slums of Bristol who didn’t even know his own last name. But when he’d encountered Tom on a visit to Somerset a few weeks ago, Arthur had been impressed by his sunny temper and active curiosity.

  The lad was so eager to learn and experience. He was inspiring, and Arthur enjoyed his candid opinions and manner. Other noblemen might have called it effrontery, but there were many dry sticks in the House of Lords. Arthur hoped to help the lad to a bright future, whenever it became clear what sort of help Tom really wanted.

  “Perhaps you can include Rose Cottage in your rambles,” he said. Tom spent a good part of each day outdoors. He was a natural rover and didn’t like to sit still.

  “Spy on them, like?” The lad sounded unhappy with the idea.

  “No. More keeping a watchful eye, and perhaps becoming a friend.” Arthur had no doubt he would; friendship was one of Tom’s gifts. “Isn’t the maid Kitty about your age?”

  Tom snorted. “Don’t go matchmaking for me, my lord.”

  Arthur raised his eyebrows.

  “It’s all very well to look sideways, but I’ve watched you at work, haven’t I? Getting your nephew leg-shackled.”

  “That was all his idea.”

  “Was it now?”

  Arthur laughed. “Mostly. But I had no such idea about you and Kitty. Why, you’re barely fifteen.”

  Tom nodded. “Long as we’re clear on that, I don’t mind. It’s odd, this legacy, ain’t it? Folks usually know why they’re left things.”

  “They do.”

  “I might go on over there now.”

  “A splendid idea.”

  Tom veered off, and Arthur continued his stroll. When he saw a curricle pull into the stable yard, he walked in that direction and observed the return of his host. Whitfield looked disgruntled.

  Daniel made no remark when his houseguest fell into step with him as he headed for the house. “So you took Miss Pendleton some dogs?” Macklin said. His tone was bland.

  “How did you know that?”

  “Someone in the household told my valet,” the earl replied.

  “Have they no better things to talk about?”

  “Our dependents are interested in everything we do. For the goats, was it? Tom thought so.”

  “The goats, yes,” Daniel said.

  “And general protection, I suppose. For an unmarried young lady, living alone.”

  He might as well have said that Daniel should take care about visiting her. Daniel fought down a spurt of anger. He’d heard bits of the gossip about Miss Pendleton. One neighbor had asked him smiling questions that had verged on the offensive. For her sake, he shouldn’t go walking alone with her. So he was to be deprived of that pleasure, as well as all else. Daniel frowned, wondering where that thought had come from.

  “Have you found any earlier records about Rose Cottage?” the earl asked. “You were going to look.”

  “I tried, but Frithgerd’s records are a jumble, to put it charitably. We appear to have no filing system beyond shoving estate documents into whatever cubbyhole is nearest to hand at the time.” Daniel’s anger, finding a convenient target, expanded to fill his chest. “I can’t answer half the questions I’m asked, because I can’t find the information I need. So, no, nothing about Rose Cottage.” Not to mention the fact that his father had never told him anything or lifted a finger to keep the place in order. “There are only so many hours in the day when I can be reading and sorting.” Without going stark mad from frustration and boredom, he thought. As they entered the house, Daniel turned toward the estate office. The weight of the task descended on him. “I should get back to it.”

  “It sounds as if you need help.”

  Did Macklin intend to offer his services? Daniel couldn’t imagine the earl delving into Frithgerd’s papers. It would be like having the Chancellor of the Exchequer overseeing his efforts. “I need a new estate agent. No one informed me when the last one left.”

  “I could ask among my friends, if you like, see if anyone might be able to recommend a good agent.”

  “Yes, all right.” He needed to get hold of himself, Daniel thought. “Thank you.”

  “I’m happy to help.”

  The earl’s benign tone and expression roused echoes of the dinner he’d arranged in London in the spring and the sympathetic talk that had unexpectedly followed. The occasion stood out in Daniel’s memory as one of the exceedingly rare times when people had spoken to each other with naked sincerity. He still didn’t understand how Macklin had managed that.

  “It’s so very pleasant here,” Macklin went on. “I do wonder that your parents were forever leaving home.”

  Those last three words shook Daniel like a sudden loss of footing. He found himself asking, “Do you have any idea why they traveled all the time?”

  “Not specifically.”

  Of course he didn’t. Disappointment welled up, along with an odd kind of relief. It would be worse to discover that they’d confided in others and not him, Daniel realized.

  “But I’d wager a good deal that it was due to your mother,” Macklin added.

  “Why do you say that?” He’d just assumed his father made all their decisions.

  “A theory only,” said the older man. “But your father never showed any interest in leaving England before he married. Of course I only knew John from the age of eighteen. But we spent a good deal of time together during several seasons in London and some country visits, and we talked as young men do.” He smiled. “In our cups and out of them. Grandiose plans and impractical dreams.”

  Intrigued by this glimpse into his father’s youth, Daniel immediately wanted to hear more. What plans and dreams? He knew so little about the two people who had created him. For the first time, he was glad that Macklin had come to Frithgerd.

  “John didn’t speak of travel,” the earl went on. “Not even the grand tour of Europe, which was popular then. He was more interested in horse racing and boxing matches, if I recall correctly. Then he met your mother.”

  “At the Duchess of Rutland’s masked ball.” Daniel had heard this story, at least. “Papa was dressed as Mark Antony, and she was Cleopatra. The
y took it as an omen.”

  Macklin nodded. “They didn’t seem to mind how that story ended.”

  “What?”

  “Assassination? Flight? Eventual disaster?”

  “They’d thought of the same era,” replied Daniel, confused. “Their minds ran in a similar way.” This was one of the few family legends he possessed.

  The earl shrugged. “John was certainly smitten with Miss Walsden, as your mother was then. A beautiful girl. And John’s father’s opposition was oil on the flames, of course.”

  “He objected?” No one had told Daniel this. “Why? I thought Mama was born into some ancient line.” His mother’s parents had been dead by the time he came along. She mentioned second cousins a time or two, but Daniel had never met them.

  Macklin nodded. “Like John’s own. And like John’s a small family, with few representatives. John told me his father would have preferred a prolific clan. He was worried that the Friths were dwindling and wanted to repopulate their ranks.”

  “That sounds positively medieval.” Was this the reason he had no siblings, Daniel wondered. Was his singular status some sort of rebellion?

  “He was a rather archaic figure. I remember one evening when he hunted John down at an evening party and lectured him—in front of a group of young friends—about the weight of history and responsibility his name carried. He felt John must see how much more important this was than the latest odds at Newmarket. Calling it a weight was a mistake, I always thought.”

  He smiled as if to share a joke, but Daniel was too absorbed by this glimpse into the past to laugh. “So my grandfather’s objections to the match made no difference?”

  “No. John wanted Serena Walsden. He offered for her, and she accepted.”

  “Good for him!”

  “Perhaps she was. She certainly broadened his interests. Most girls talk chiefly about themselves, don’t you find? But Miss Walsden was full of information she’d read. Much of it was about faraway spots and politics, if I recall correctly. I never knew her well.”

  Daniel remembered his mother enumerating the sights she’d seen in Jamaica or New York or some other far-flung destination. She always had a ready list, though he’d never gotten much sense of the feelings these places had evoked in her. She could go on and on, however, in a continuous, unvarying flow. When Daniel dropped a few details about his own life and interests into the conversation, she’d received them in the same manner, as if he was listing points in a school essay. She made him feel like some tedious acquaintance rather than family. As for his father, he’d clearly been more interested in pleasing his wife than in listening to his son. Together, they’d formed an outwardly cordial but ultimately impenetrable front.

  He’d resented it, Daniel acknowledged, even more than he resented their constant travels. And so he’d begun avoiding Frithgerd and everything to do with it. Which had hurt only himself, in the end, he thought wryly. It had left him ignorant about his responsibilities when they fell upon him.

  “I never spent much time around her,” the earl went on.

  It took Daniel a moment to remember that Macklin was speaking of his mother.

  “They were married and came down here. After you were born the following year, they started traveling. It was difficult to catch a glimpse of John after that.”

  Daniel knew that problem all too well. He’d thought of himself as a boy at the mercy of a father with wanderlust. But was he instead the product of a woman who had produced an heir as required and then set off to do as she liked for the rest of her life? Regardless of what anyone else might have wanted?

  He felt slightly dizzy, as if his brain was shifting inside his skull. In the confusion, something struggled to well up. It felt like danger.

  He grew aware of his position, standing in the corridor outside the estate office, engaged in a conversation that ought to be private. He pushed his bewilderment aside. There was no point in repining. And there was so much to do. “If you’ll pardon me, I should get back to work.”

  “Of course,” said Macklin, stepping away.

  Did he look smug? But why should he? Daniel went into the office and shut the door behind him. Immediately, he felt oppressed by the litter of documents. His grandfather had chosen precisely the right word, he thought. His heritage was undoubtedly a weight.

  Five

  Foyle managed to find a serviceable, well-used gig and a horse to pull it at a price that Penelope could afford. Driving up the lane from Rose Cottage some days later, she felt a mixture of elation and sadness. She always enjoyed handling the reins of a vehicle, even a humble one such as this. Yet she’d learned her driving skills from her brother, and now they reminded her of a bond and a life that were gone forever.

  “We turn there.” Kitty, who sat beside her, pointed left. They were headed for the village to stock up the larder.

  “I thought it was straight ahead.”

  “Both of ’em lead there. This way’s more interesting. Mr. Foyle told me.”

  Penelope shrugged and made the turn. Foyle had been tramping all around the neighborhood. He would know.

  They tooled along between fields lush with summer. The wind of their passage ruffled the strings of Penelope’s bonnet and cooled her cheeks. She realized that she hadn’t coughed even once in two days. She felt better than she had in months.

  They passed the corner of a high stone wall on the right. “It looks like there’s an estate along here,” Penelope observed.

  Kitty nodded. “It’s that Frithgerd place.”

  Penelope’s hands jerked on the reins. The horse shied, puzzled. Penelope corrected.

  “Frith.” Kitty said it with a small spitting noise. “Funny old name. Betty claims the place is so grand. Better than anything in Manchester, she says. When she’s never even been there. Or seen a town bigger than Derby.” The young maid sniffed. “I’ll see that for myself before I believe it, I told her.”

  “I don’t want to go near Frithgerd.” This wasn’t strictly true. Penelope was curious about Lord Whitfield’s seat, as she was about the man. She caught herself thinking of him all too often and wondering what he was doing. Which was why she should not lurk about his house as if hoping to see him. Could she turn the gig around in this narrow lane? Not easily.

  “Not to go in, miss. Just driving by, like.”

  “We won’t be able to see—” The gatehouse came into view. She couldn’t turn now. Backing and edging would be far more obvious than moving quickly past.

  “Slow down,” Kitty urged. “We can look through the gates.”

  They were open. Curiosity warred with caution in Penelope, and as a result she neither slowed nor hastened. They rolled past the opening at a sedate pace.

  “Heigh-ho!” called a male voice. A youth rose from the sunny bench outside the gatehouse, where he’d been talking to an older woman. It was Tom, and his companion was Mrs. Darnell, who’d helped clean Penelope’s house. Gatekeeper’s wife, Penelope remembered. A compelling reason not to drive by Frithgerd like a stupid gawker.

  Mrs. Darnell put aside the peas she’d been shelling and rose.

  Penelope recognized that she had to stop. It would be the height of rudeness to drive by without a greeting. This woman had been kind to her, even if it was under orders.

  “Got a gig, eh?” said Tom as he strode out to meet them. “Nice-looking animal.” He patted the horse’s neck.

  Mrs. Darnell came out into the lane behind him. “Good day, miss.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Darnell. We’re heading for the village shop you recommended. Just passing by.”

  Kitty craned her neck, trying to see the house through the gates.

  “You’d have been better off taking Cob Lane,” said Mrs. Darnell. “It’s a mile farther this way.”

  It would be churlish to put the blame on Kitty. “I’m still learning my way abo
ut,” answered Penelope. She gathered the reins. “It was good to see you, Mrs.—”

  Her young companion jumped down and scurried over to the gates. “I’ll just go to where I can see around those bushes,” she said.

  “Kitty!”

  Tom went after her. When he reached her side, he pointed to some sight beyond Penelope’s view.

  Hoofbeats approached from behind the gig. Penelope prayed for strangers, but she wasn’t surprised to find that it was Lord Whitfield and his distinguished houseguest. Her luck was running that way. They trotted up on a pair of glossy mounts that made her horse look shabby and stopped beside her equipage.

  “You took my advice,” said Whitfield, examining the gig as if its condition had anything to do with him.

  “I followed my own plan,” Penelope replied.

  “You must come in and have some refreshment.” Whitfield moved on as if she would of course follow.

  For the first time, Penelope felt utterly humiliated by her new position in life. She’d taken much in stride, but to be discovered in front of his grand house, in her thirdhand gig, as if she’d been angling for an invitation, was mortifying. Lord Macklin’s interested glance was not helpful. He gave an impression of sharp intelligence. It was all too likely he saw her chagrin. “No time, I’m afraid.” She spoke briskly. “We’re on the way…on an errand. Kitty!” She saw that Kitty and Tom had disappeared around a turn in the drive. Of course they had.

  Whitfield looked back over his shoulder. “Surely you have a few minutes.”

  Drive on, abandoning her maid; sit here like a sulky child until Kitty returned; or give in? There was only one choice. Penelope turned her horse and maneuvered through the gates.

  The first curve in the drive revealed the house. Frithgerd was a long, low building of gray stone, its roofline somewhat jumbled by additions over centuries, its walls mellowed by ivy. Mullioned windows gleamed in one wing.

  Whitfield dismounted to hand Penelope down from the gig. The vehicle was taken to the stables, and he ushered her into a lofty hall with great, dark beams above and a flagstone floor. “This part is Tudor,” he said. “On a cold day, you can burn a sizable tree in that fireplace and still not warm the room.”