She shifted position so that she could look up at him, and to her delight he was gazing down at her with that little smile, the intimate little smile that she loved so much. He was very confusing, sometimes. “That is your right,” she said, puzzled.
“True, but that does not mean that I need not regard your wishes in the matter. Our marriage has had rather a difficult start, but I mean to do better. You did not marry me from choice, and the life I lead is not one that comes naturally to you, nevertheless it is my intent to do all in my power to make you happy. Whatever you want, you may ask of me and I will provide it if I possibly can. But you must ask… I will not give… or take… of my own volition, or ask for anything myself. Do you understand?”
“I think so. But why will you not ask for what you want?”
“Because I think your father trained you to instant obedience to male demands, and I never, ever want you to be sad and downcast, as you were with him. I could not bear to hear you say ‘Yes, Gil’ and ‘No, Gil’ the way you did with your father. One day, I hope to see again the lively and delightful Miss Hamilton who nursed a poor, sick soldier back to health, so you may ask for anything, and if it is within my power I will provide it.”
“Yes, Gil,” she said. Then, horrified, “Oh, I beg your pardon!”
But he burst out laughing, and then she laughed too. She didn’t understand him at all, but she loved him so much she ached inside.
~~~~~
Humphrey was the only one in the breakfast parlour when Gil reached it. He poured himself coffee and sat down.
With a wink, Humphrey said, “Sleep well?”
Gil laughed. “Small house.”
“And a chatterbox of a chambermaid. I do not imagine that even the scullery maid is unaware that the guest who asked for a bed in the dressing room in fact spent the night in bed with his wife. And why not? I was right, was I not? She is in love with you?”
“I cannot answer that,” Gil said, “but I am entirely besotted with her.”
Humphrey laughed. “It rather seemed to me that you might be, for you could not take your eyes off her last night. How amusing for my urbane little brother to fall for the physician’s daughter. She is not at all your usual sort.”
“No, but I have decided that my usual sort is not so enticing these days.”
“Expensive, too, I should think.”
“Not when they are married,” Gil said, grinning. “Lord, I was a dreadful rake, was I not?”
“Was?” Humphrey said, pausing from spreading preserve on his bread. “You have given all that up for good, then?”
“I should like to think so. It was so tedious, in some ways, all that sneaking around and always trying to avoid irate husbands, not always successfully. One chased me all the way to Drummoor, remember, with his sword ready sharpened. He would have had my head on a platter if Merton and Reggie had not fended him off. And the other night, at the ball — I was quite proud of myself, giving Wetherbourne the cut direct, and then not celebrating by losing a couple of thousand on the bones or bedding Bella. Who offered, I might add.”
Humphrey spluttered over his chocolate. “Did she really? She also had a try for Monty and Reggie, who were too polite to avoid her, unlike me, and I saw her consoling Wetherbourne enthusiastically in one of the card rooms later. She is quite incorrigible. And she leaves her sick husband to the Drummoor servants.”
“Well, to be fair to Bella, she is not well suited to the sick room,” Gil said with a raised eyebrow. “She is a drawing room butterfly. Ah, Lady Gil.” The two men rose politely, and Gil held the chair for her. “What will you have? Coffee or chocolate?”
“Chocolate, but— Oh, thank you!”
“There are some hot rolls here… or do you prefer the cold? Or there is cold beef.”
“A hot roll… thank you. You are very good.”
He sat down, pleased with his efforts, trying to ignore the amusement in Humphrey’s face. Mrs Andrews bustled in just then, and sat down beside Genista.
“And what would you like to do today, my dear? The weather is fine, so we could order the carriage and go out somewhere. Or we could rest comfortably beside the fire in the morning room. What do you say?”
Genista looked helplessly at Gil.
“It is for you to decide,” he said, smiling at her. “What would you like to do?”
“Oh… then if I may choose… I should rather like to go back to Sagborough.”
“More shopping?” he said teasingly.
“If you please. There are some warehouses, Holland says, and I should like to buy some new shoes.”
“What an excellent idea,” Mrs Andrews said. “Let us both go. It is too tame an expedition to tempt dear Lady Humphrey, I am sure, but there is nothing I like better than to walk around the town from shop to shop, doing just as I please.”
“May I come, too?” Gil said. “I should like to take you to the jeweller’s shop.” She turned huge eyes on him. “Your wedding ring is too large for your finger. I should like to buy you one that fits better, or else arrange for that one to be adjusted, if you prefer.”
“Oh. Thank you!”
She beamed at him, and Gil smiled happily back at her.
With the addition of Holland, the Humphreys’ carriage was full for the journey to Sagborough. Gil found that his wife was a decisive shopper — “Father so hated to be kept waiting,” she explained — and in under an hour had acquired several lengths of material, and an array of threads, pins, buttons, ribbons and lace, as well as a sizable work basket, complete with scissors, thimbles and needles, her own having been left behind in Kent. Another hour saw her possessed of new boots, two pairs of shoes and some soft indoor slippers, as well as two bonnets. After the rapid purchase of a new wedding ring, so that her mother’s ring might be returned to her father, they all repaired to the inn where the carriage had been left, and enjoyed a light luncheon. On the return journey, they called on Monty and Lady Monty, admired the church and took tea and cake in the parsonage.
In the evening, Monty and Melissa came for dinner, and Mrs Andrews played dance tunes while the others danced. Gil taught Genista the steps to some reels, the cotillion and the quadrille, and was thrilled to see her smiles of delight when she got the movements right. One day, perhaps not too far off, he would be able to take her into a ballroom and dance with her in proper form.
And then, as the perfect end to a perfect day, he went into her bedroom to wish her a good night, and, blushing rather, she invited him to stay. He thought he had never been happier in his life.
The next day was wet. Genista settled down contentedly with her sewing — she truly enjoyed such tasks, to Gil’s astonishment — but Gil wondered what on earth he was to do with himself.
“Are you up to riding?” Humphrey said. “I thought I would go over to Drummoor and chase up Ben Gartmore. He might have been out with the dogs over there, or there might be something already in the game room that would not be missed. It is not so far over the moors.”
Genista’s head came up, as she listened with interest.
“Will you be all right here if I go?” Gil said to her. “For if you prefer me to stay—?”
“Oh no, do go. I am perfectly well occupied here, as you see, and I have Mrs Andrews to bear me company. But… it is not too arduous a ride? I should not wish you to inflame your wound again.”
“How long does it take, Humphrey?”
“I can do it in not much more than an hour, but even at the steadiest pace, it cannot be more than two hours.”
Gil chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I should enjoy the ride of all things, I confess. But if I find my leg pains me by the time Drummoor is reached, then I shall summon a carriage to bring me home. Will that satisfy you, Lady Gilbert?”
She smiled, and agreed to it.
Despite the rain, the sort of incessant drizzle that looked like nothing more than mist but gave anyone venturing out a thorough soaking, Gil enjoyed himself. Humphrey was normally a bru
ising rider, who thought anything less than a gallop was tediously dawdling, but in deference to Gil’s leg they jogged along at a very steady speed, and Gil dismounted in the Drummoor stable court with no more than a twinge of discomfort.
Ben Gartmore, they were told, was inside the house. “With that lawyer from London,” Lester, the head groom, told them. “Not good news, I’d say, milords.”
“What does that mean, Lester?” Humphrey said. “Come on, man, out with it.”
“It’s that Dr Hamilton, milord. He’s been spending a lot of time with Ben, and I don’t like it, not at all. He’s got some funny ideas, that man, and begging your lordship’s pardon,” he said to Gil, “for all he’s your father in law, he’s an odd fish.”
“I cannot disagree with you,” Gil said. “But there is no harm in him befriending Ben, and the lawyer has permission to talk to him, after all. There is nothing in that.”
But Lester looked disbelieving.
“Still, I cannot like it,” Humphrey said, as they made their way through the echoing corridors of the house. Already it had the silent and closed-up air of an empty house, most of the rooms draped in holland covers, its few remaining occupants living in just a few rooms. Only the oldest and youngest Marfords remained — a handful of aunts and uncles, too frail to brave the season, and the three children in the nursery, who were to travel south later with the Mertons. And the Drytons, Gil reminded himself. And Dr Hamilton.
They found Ben and the lawyer in the writing room, once the eighth marquess’s private room, and now the office of Daniel Merton, the secretary. Ben, standing before the desk like a naughty schoolboy, hat in hand, was surprisingly attired in his Sunday best. The lawyer, a rather ostentatious little man dressed in flamboyant London style, sat behind Merton’s desk. Merton, in his usual sombre but stylish black, stood behind him. And at Ben’s shoulder, the familiar drab black of Dr Hamilton.
As Humphrey and Gil entered, Merton looked across at them, relief plainly etched on his face. “Ah, my lords! Your arrival is… timely.”
The two brothers made their bows and greetings. Then Humphrey said, “Now, Merton, what is all this about?”
Merton waved a hand helplessly towards Ben.
“Ben?” Humphrey said.
Ben turned the hat in his hands and gazed at him with terrified eyes. “I… the thing is, my lord… you see…”
“Yes, do tell us what the thing is,” Humphrey said testily. “Someone explain what is going on here.”
The lawyer said smoothly, “Mr Gartmore is reconsidering his decision not to claim the title.”
“What?” Gil said. “Why, you two-faced little—”
Humphrey laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Not helpful, Gil. So you want to be a marquess, do you, Ben?”
“No! But I’m not sure it’s right for anyone else to be one, either. I mean, it’s not right for some people to own everything, just because of some twist of history.”
“So you have been listening to Dr Hamilton,” Gil said bitterly, “and now you disapprove of the entire peerage, and probably the monarchy too. That is all well and good. I disapprove of some parts of it myself. But how does it help for you to claim the marquessate? If you succeed, you become a peer yourself.”
“Yes, but that’s just a title, and I wouldn’t have to use it,” Ben said. “But if I had all the money that goes with it, I could give it to those that need it, and everyone would be better off.”
“Except us, of course,” Humphrey said. “Except the Marford family. You would be happy to see Lord Carrbridge forced to chop wood and plough fields to prevent his wife from starving, I suppose. Or perhaps Lady Carrbridge might take in washing, eh?”
Ben flushed unhappily. “I’d see them right, of course. I wouldn’t let her ladyship suffer.”
“Oh, very generous,” Gil said. “How kind! How considerate of Lady Carrbridge’s welfare, to throw her out of her home, and take all her money and then give her a few coins here and there to buy bacon. I am sure she will be deeply grateful to you.”
This time Humphrey made no move to silence his wrath. “Can he do this, Willerton-Forbes? Can he take everything?”
The lawyer sat back in his chair, regarding his thoughtfully. “It is an interesting question. The title — that is a matter for the House of Lords, and will be determined by them and by His Majesty. But his lordship’s fortune — the estates and holdings, the tenancies and tithes, Drummoor itself and Marford House — these are inherited in the usual way, as determined by law, and therefore it would depend upon the late marquess’s will and the exact wording therein. If it was left to the present marquess by name—”
“It was not,” Merton said. “I have seen all the late marquess’s legal papers, and everything is entailed to the legitimate heir in the male line.”
“That is the common way,” the lawyer said. “But in that case, to answer your question, my lord, if Mr Gartmore can succeed in wresting the marquessate from the present holder of that honour, then he will indeed take everything.”
20: A Change Of Plan
“We cannot sit here tamely and allow that little runt to take everything we have!” Gil said. Ben and Dr Hamilton had left, and Gil, Humphrey, Merton and the lawyer remained in the writing room.
“The law must take its course,” the lawyer said. “I will write to my chambers for advice, but if he insists on pursuing this, we cannot prevent him.”
“You are our lawyers,” Humphrey said. “You will not help him, surely?”
“We are the lawyers of anyone prepared to pay our fees,” Willerton-Forbes said sharply. “Besides, we work for the whole Marford family, and he is indubitably a part of that, no one denies it. But no, I do not imagine we would act for him, not against Lord Carrbridge’s interests. We shall help him find a lawyer to act for him, that is all.”
“Well, I shall write to Carrbridge in London,” Humphrey said. “He may come back here, and Reggie and Gus too, to talk some sense into Ben. I have to say, Gil, you have the most unspeakable father-in-law. I thought Connie’s father was the worst, but Dr Hamilton is positively evil.”
“This is like some nightmare story from the nursery,” Gil said. “Do you remember that nursery maid who used to tell us bedtime stories about hobgoblins and wicked witches? There was one, I recall, where the evil father had done some deal with the devil, and could only be killed by being skewered to a tree in the middle of the forest. Do you want me to skewer Dr Hamilton to a tree, and leave him to die? Because I am very much inclined that way at the moment.”
“I will hold him, while you skewer him,” Humphrey said. “Lord, what a mess! Willerton-Forbes, how would you estimate his chances of success?”
“You heard Lord Hillingyre’s thoughts on the matter — he regarded it as a very difficult case to prove. Even if the marriage took place, the fact that the eighth marquess never once acknowledged the lady as his wife means that—”
Merton coughed. “Forgive me for interrupting, but in a sense he did acknowledge the marriage, although not in public. When Ben was first discovered, there were a great many letters written from the eighth marquess to Ben’s mother — to Miss Amelia Gartmore. They were brought here, and sorted into date order and filed away, in case any of the family should wish to read them.”
“You did not read them yourself?” Willerton-Forbes said.
“No, for I felt it inappropriate. But… one cannot help noticing certain distinctive words and phrases. Every letter that I saw opened with the words ‘My dearest wife’. So you see, in private, he admitted that she was his wife.”
There was a long silence.
Gil, scuffing one foot in some embarrassment, said, “It might be… and this does happen occasionally… that a fellow might address his mistress in such terms. If she liked him to do so, I mean.”
Humphrey chuckled, but Merton answered in his usual serious tones. “That is an interesting point. It might have been no more than a term of endearment. After all, he obtained
the special licence, so he intended to marry the lady. If, in the end, he felt obliged to cry off, he might have addressed her in those terms. Would such a thing be regarded as evidence of the marriage, Mr Willerton-Forbes?”
“It might be. It would depend what else the letters say. If they go on to say, ‘If only you were truly my wife’ or ‘If I only I could acknowledge you publicly as my true wife’… either would make a difference. But one would have to read them all to know for sure.”
“And that we must not do,” Humphrey said. “Lord Hillingyre’s advice was very clear — do nothing, allow as much time to pass as possible, wait until a claim is made. Ben may still decide not to do it. I suppose we cannot simply burn the letters?”
“That is for Lord Carrbridge to say,” Merton said. “However, he has a very delicate sense of honour, and would probably not permit it. I agree that the best course of action is to do nothing at all, and so I shall advise Lord Carrbridge.”
“And I,” said Willerton-Forbes.
“So we sit here tamely, and wait for the sky to fall on our heads?” Gil cried in frustration. “My advice would be quite different.”
“Let us hear it, my lord,” Willerton-Forbes said politely.
“It seems to me that we are remiss in not conducting our own investigation into this marriage. The lawyers have made written enquiries, but have not examined the church register where this supposed marriage took place, nor talked to the clergyman who supposedly solemnised the marriage. We might be able to prove at once that there was some irregularity about it.”
“Or you might prove that it was perfectly valid,” Humphrey said. “What then?”
“Why, then it would still be a matter for His Majesty to decide at his pleasure,” Gil said. “But would it not be better to know, once and for all?”
“But this clergyman, Gil!” Humphrey said. “He is the only surviving witness, and if we wait, he may die and then there is no possibility of proving the case. If we talk to him now, and he confirms the validity of the marriage—”
Lord Gilbert (Sons of the Marquess Book 5) Page 19
