Lord Gilbert (Sons of the Marquess Book 5)

by Mary Kingswood

  “Well, of course. Is Marford House shut up?”

  “No, but I want to surprise them at Drummoor when I turn up with my wife.”

  “Your wife? Are you serious? How did I not hear about that? Not a whisper reached my ears. When did this happen? And who is the lady?”

  “Oh, no one you know. Day before yesterday, and not a soul knows of it yet. You do not mind, do you, Bella? But it will be such a lark to see Carrbridge’s face. Do say we may stay here, for otherwise we must find an hotel.”

  For a moment she was speechless, mouth round with astonishment, but she composed herself and said, “But where is she?”

  “Outside, in the post chaise that brought us from Kent.”

  “Kent…” Bella said faintly. “Gil, you are incorrigible. Bring her inside at once.”

  ~~~~~

  Genista twisted her hands in her lap. She had no idea where she was, although the houses in the street looked very grand, several storeys high and each with an imposing portico over the front door. Within a few minutes Gil emerged, smiling, which eased her worries a little.

  “Out you come,” he said cheerfully, as a footman rushed down the steps to open the carriage door. Taking her hand, Gil helped her down to the pavement. She liked such little attentions, for Father had never helped her out of the gig. Tucking her hand into his arm, Gil led her up the steps and into a narrow entrance hall. Waiting for them there was a very tall lady in such a flimsy gown that Genista was sure she would catch a chill from wearing it.

  Gil said, “Genista, this is Lady Dryton. We will be staying with her for a few days.”

  She curtsied, and Lady Dryton laughed. “How well mannered! And so pretty! Although the Kent fashions will not do for London — or Drummoor, for Lady Carrbridge is fearsomely stylish.”

  “There has been no time to get wedding clothes,” Gil said. “Bella, you will not mind taking her about a little, to arrange for gowns and so forth?”

  “No time?” Lady Dryton looked from one to the other, then laughed merrily. “Well, so that is how it is! Of course, it will be a pleasure. Come, let me show you to your room. I shall have the house full tomorrow, so I can only spare you one room, but you will not mind that, I warrant! This way.”

  That evening was a strange one. After the simplicity of the inn at Sittingbourne, Lady Dryton’s house was utterly different, filled with soft rugs, gilt-framed paintings and a mass of decorative furniture. There were servants everywhere, books and journals and bowls of hothouse fruits on every surface and so many candles that every room was dazzlingly bright. There were six of them at dinner, Lady Dryton and the other lady wearing such thin silk gowns, and cut so low at the neck, that Genista blushed to look at them. The men were arrayed in dark coats and waistcoats, with pale, thin knee breeches. Gil had summoned his valet from somewhere, who had spent an age fussing over him, while Genista waited patiently. She felt very rustic with her dark green worsted gown, her only concession to evening to wear a lighter fichu and add her mother’s eardrops.

  She could eat little of the dinner. Most of the dishes she could not identify, so refused them in case they contained red meat. She had a little of the soup and some of the veal, and there were several vegetables on offer, although most in rich sauces, or highly spiced. It was one thing, she discovered, to want to travel about and see the world, and quite another to cope with it when it happened.

  Everyone else seemed to drink a great deal of wine. After dinner, the others played a card game for money while she read a book. Gil seemed to get on well with the others, laughing and joking with them, and talking about people she didn’t know.

  She must have nodded off, for she came to herself to find Lady Dryton bending over her. “Gil, you have worn the poor child out.” For some reason, they all thought that was very funny. “Should you like to go to bed, dear?”

  “Yes, if you please.” So Lady Dryton summoned a footman to show her up the stairs, where she scrambled into her nightgown and was asleep almost before her head touched the pillow.

  ~~~~~

  Gil disappeared directly after breakfast the next day, telling her that he had matters to attend to. She didn’t mind that, for obviously a gentleman would have business to deal with, but she wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to do. The only other person around was one of the gentlemen from the previous night, who had spent part of the evening with Lady Dryton sitting on his lap. Gil had called him Ramsey, but whether that was his Christian or surname, she didn’t know. When Gil had gone, Mr Ramsey very kindly made conversation, asking her if she had been to London before and whether she liked it or not.

  “I hardly know,” she said. “I haven’t seen much of it yet, but it seems a very noisy place to me, Mr Ramsey.”

  He laughed at that. “Noisy — it is indeed, but a great deal of fun. Ah, my ham! Thank you, Marks. And more coffee.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  “I beg your pardon, I didn’t know you were a lord,” Genista said when the butler had withdrawn.

  “Not surprising,” he said. “Bella is hopeless with introductions. She knows everyone herself, so she naturally assumes that everyone else does, too. I am the Marquess of Ramsey. Just a courtesy title, you know, for my father is the Duke of Camberley.”

  “Oh.” Genista was horrified that she had been talking so freely to the son of a duke. “I beg your pardon,” she said again, helplessly, not knowing what else to say.

  Lord Ramsey smiled. “So who is your father, Lady Gil? Where is his estate?”

  “He doesn’t have an estate. He’s a physician. Dr Hamilton of Elversham in Kent. Near Canterbury.”

  “Oh.” He looked surprised. “A physician’s daughter, eh? That is not Gil’s usual style. How did you happen to meet him?”

  “Gil was riding to London from Dover, and he must have become disorientated in the snow and ended up half dead on my father’s doorstep.”

  “And your father took him in and healed him, and as he recovered from his state of being half dead in the snow, there was the pretty daughter of the house, eh?”

  She blushed, but said, “No, Father was away from home. I took Gil in. And… and Father was upset when he came home, and insisted he marry me.”

  To her surprise, Lord Ramsey laughed uproariously at this news. “Well, well, well! Rolled up by a country physician, eh? I shall rib Gil about that, you may be sure!”

  “I wish you will not,” she said, but he only laughed the harder, and she was very glad when he went away. A long time later, when she had begun to wonder if she would be left alone all day, Lady Dryton emerged from her room, and took Genista off in her carriage to a warehouse to buy materials for gowns. They were met by a very grand gentleman in a beautiful embroidered brocade coat, who greeted Lady Dryton by name.

  “Now, Dodds, this is Lady Gilbert Marford, and she is just up from Kent and wants to replenish her wardrobe.”

  “Her ladyship’s entire wardrobe?” he said, eyes round.

  “Hmm, eventually, perhaps, but just for now we will only need enough for a few gowns — morning, afternoon, walking, carriage and evening. Just two or three of each.”

  “And a ball gown or two, surely, my lady,” he said.

  “No, not at the moment. Lady Carrbridge will want to advise on that. But the usual accessories, naturally. And something for travelling.”

  “Of course, of course,” he said, bowing so low he was in danger of falling over. “This way, my lady, my lady.”

  “My own woman will have something run up for you in a day or two,” Lady Dryton said to Genista, “but if you are going straight to Drummoor, then you may let Lady Carrbridge take charge of your clothes, for she has excellent taste. Now, let us start with some silks for evening.”

  Everything Lady Dryton selected, Genista rejected as too flimsy, too diaphanous, too revealing of the female form. After an hour, Lady Dryton threw up her hands and said crossly, “You had better choose for yourself, then, but Gil will not be pleased, that
much I can tell you. He gave me very clear instructions to rig you out in some town finery, but if you will not have it, there is nothing to be done about it. I can lend you something for tonight, but—”

  “You’re very kind,” Genista said, “but I wouldn’t be comfortable in the sort of clothes you wear.”

  In a very short time, she had selected several lengths of fustian, kerseymere and worsted, some of the thicker muslins and silks, and the buttons and ribbons to go with them.

  “My woman will do her best, but she is not used to this sort of thing,” Lady Dryton said, fingering the fustian.

  “Oh, you need not trouble her,” Genista said. “I always make up my own gowns.”

  “Make up your own—!” Lady Dryton seemed genuinely shocked. “Well, I trust Gil will put a stop to that sort of nonsense. Dodds, send the bill to Lord Gilbert Marford at Marford House, if you please. Parcel everything up and we will take it with us.”

  When they were in the carriage again, she said to Genista coldly, “I have no idea what Gil is thinking of, marrying someone of your ilk, but if you know what you are about, you will acquire a little town bronze before you are much older. He is not likely to find these provincial attitudes of yours amusing for long. But then, perhaps that is the point, for you will not interfere with his amusements, I daresay. He can leave you at Drummoor, while he does as he pleases. Yes, I can see how that might appeal to him.”

  That evening was dreadful. It started badly, with a quarrel with Gil.

  “Why are you wearing that thing again?” he said, seeing her ready for dinner in her usual gown. “I told Bella very clearly to get you rigged out properly.

  “I prefer this.”

  “Well, I do not. You look like a dowd. Good God, Genista, you might spare a thought for my feelings. Do you want everyone to know that you are a chawbacon?”

  “I don’t know what that is, but I’m not ashamed of who I am and I don’t want to look like—”

  “Like what?” he said, with a dangerous glint in his eye. “I hope you were not about to insult my friends, Lady Gilbert.”

  She flushed and lapsed into silence, but he patted her hand with a sigh.

  “Well, never mind. It is all new and strange to you, I can see, but Connie will sort you out when we get to Drummoor. She always knows what is best to be done.”

  Lady Dryton threw some sort of party, so there were two dozen at dinner and any number of others arrived later in the evening, all dressed in shockingly revealing garments. Genista hardly knew where to look, and the men, in their tight trousers, were as outrageous as the women, with their low-cut and clinging gowns. Genista had never seen anything like it. The drawing room and music room beyond were filled with card tables, with more money than she had ever seen before staked on the turn of a single card or the throw of a dice. There was an intensity about their manner which she could not like. And the wine! So much wine was drunk, and she could quite see why Father had warned her so strenuously against the evils of drink, for there was no one there who was sober.

  Genista was the object of much attention, finding herself examined from head to foot through quizzing glasses.

  “Where did you find the chit, Gil?” one said. “Not like you to be taken in by a green girl! And really, you hardly needed to marry her. Expensive pleasure, that. You could have had the same fun for a hundred guineas.”

  “Less than that, surely,” another said. “Not much fun to be had with that one, by the look of her. I would put it at no more than twenty.” And they laughed heartily.

  Gil threw down his cards. “I would not advise you to insult my wife, Dallen,” he growled, in a tone so low and cold that Genista quaked. Even Father in his worst mood had never spoken with such suppressed anger. It was effective on Gil’s friends, though, for the room fell silent and there was a tension that terrified Genista, although she couldn’t have said why.

  After a few moments when no one moved or spoke, one of the gentlemen said gruffly, “Beg your pardon, Marford. No insult intended. Assure you.”

  Another long silence. Then Gil nodded and picked up his cards, and the game and chatter resumed as if nothing had happened.

  Genista shook from head to toe, wishing that the walls would open up and swallow her. What was the matter with Gil? This was not the same sweet man who had teased her over the backgammon board at Lavender Cottage, or the gentle husband who had kissed her and brought her such delight in the inn at Sittingbourne.

  He had the same loud manner and oddly glittering eyes as the others, and was just as swept up in the excitement of the games. So many people! So much noise, the loud voices echoing in her head, and people pressing close, laughing, shouting, great cheers or groans as the gaming went this way or that.

  She had to escape. She turned and fled, but her way out of the room was blocked by a large man with a bulbous red nose.

  “Leaving already, my pretty? Stay a while, and give me a little kiss, eh? Gil will not mind. Old friends, you know.”

  To her horror, he clasped her firmly around the waist, pulling her tightly against him, and bent his head towards her, his wine-soaked breath disgusting. With a strength born of desperation, she pushed him away and slapped his face so hard that his head snapped back and banged into the wall. Wrenching open the door, she fled upstairs and crawled into bed, too shocked even to cry.

  The noise downstairs went on for hours, but eventually she heard carriages outside and the sounds of the front door opening and closing. Then there were loud voices on the stairs, and bedroom doors slamming. She heard Gil enter the room, humming tunelessly, bumping into furniture and then giggling. She lay facing the wall, pretending to be asleep. At length the bed creaked and before long she heard the soft sounds of snoring.

  And then one arm reached around her and pulled her towards him. “Ah, Bella, sweet Bella,” he murmured, before lapsing back into sleep.

  She tried very hard not to cry.

  8: Lady Dryton

  Gil woke late, with heavy eyes and aching head. He sent for Davy, bathed, dressed with town care and sauntered down to the breakfast parlour well after noon. Only Bella and Ramsey were there. Gil looked listlessly at the platters of ham and beef, covered them again without taking anything, and poured himself some chocolate.

  “I suppose you have not seen my lady wife, have you?” he said.

  Bella looked up from the letters she was reading in amusement. “Lost her already, have you? You should keep her in better check, Gil dear.”

  “Would hardly surprise me if she had gone scampering back to Kent,” Ramsey said, lowering his newspaper. “Fothergill had his hands all over her last night.”

  “Fothergill! Still, the man may be a fool, but there is no harm in him.”

  “If you say so, but Lady Gil was alarmed enough to slap his face.”

  “Good God! Did she really?” Gil said. “There was no need for that. I would have seen the fellow off if he was bothering her.”

  “You think so?” Ramsey said. “When you were taking not the least notice of her?”

  “She is a provincial nobody,” Bella said crisply. “Why should anybody take notice of her?”

  “Because she is my wife,” Gil said haughtily. “Whatever she may once have been, she is a Marford now, and entitled to respect. Where is the woman anyway? Ah, Marks, there you are. This chocolate is cold. Bring some fresh. And where is Lady Gilbert this morning?”

  “She went out, milord. Miss Hallows had some commissions for her ladyship, and Lady Gilbert went with her.”

  “Who is Miss Hallows?”

  “My lady’s maid,” Bella said, laughing. “I suppose she did not call for the carriage, Marks? No, I thought not. Those broad country feet were made for walking.”

  “Really, Bella!” Gil said testily. “I will not have you expending your wit on my wife.”

  Ramsey snapped his newspaper shut and stood up. “You are a queer sort, Marford. What did you bring her here for anyway? You must have known she wou
ld not fit in with Bella’s crowd. If you want my advice—”

  “Which I do not,” Gil said coldly.

  “—you will take her directly to Drummoor. The poor child is not up to snuff, and she should not be under Bella’s roof. It is hardly fitting.”

  “Ramsey, if I want your opinion—”

  “Oh, stop it, you two!” Bella said. “You need not worry, Gil, for here is a letter from Bertie. He will be home today, and dragging me off to Harrogate the day after tomorrow, so we will be all respectability for a while. If you time your journey, you will have our company all the way to Drummoor.”

  “You are going to Harrogate?” he said, with sudden interest.

  “Bertie’s sister lives there, remember? She likes us to visit for Easter, and meet all the local worthies. Lord, how dull it will be! I have to be the virtuous viscountess, and you know what a strain that is for me. But after that it will be the season and all will be gaiety and dissipation.”

  “That is perfect,” Gil said. “If you are going that way, you can take Genista with you and leave her at Drummoor. You will not mind that, will you? It will be company for you.”

  “Gil, you are not serious!” Then, when she saw his face, she said suspiciously, “Why? What will you be doing?”

  “Lawston has this mill coming up — somewhere in Essex, I am not quite sure where. It sounds like the greatest lark, and I should hate to miss it.”

  Ramsey grunted, but Bella only laughed. “Gil, you are quite shameless!”

  ~~~~~

  Genista returned from her modest expedition to purchase some necessities which she hadn’t packed, thinking she would soon be home, to find that her husband had left the house, leaving only a hastily scribbled note.

  ‘I am gone to Essex with some friends to see a mill. Bella and Bertie will take you north. Tell them at Drummoor that I will be there soon. There is money in the lowest drawer, under your handkerchiefs. Gil.’

  The money turned out to be a purse with an astonishing number of coins. Genista sat on the bed, still warm where Gil had slept, trying not to panic. It was difficult enough coping with her new life with Gil around, but when he was not even there… She tried not to consider the word ‘abandoned’, but it wasn’t easy.