Lord Gilbert (Sons of the Marquess Book 5)

by Mary Kingswood

  And they all agreed that it was.

  THE END

  The next series by Mary Kingswood is Sisters of Woodside Mysteries, and you can read a sneak preview of Book 1, The Governess, after the Acknowledgements.

  Thanks for reading!

  If you have enjoyed reading this book, please consider writing a short review on Amazon. You can find out the latest news and sign up for the mailing list at my website.

  This is the end of the Sons of the Marquess series — I hope you’ve enjoyed reading about the Marford brothers as much as I’ve enjoyed writing their stories and giving them their happy ever afters! Their lives are changing, but they will always be close, and I’m sure they’ll be in and out of each other’s houses and meeting up at Drummoor for the children to get to know their cousins. And I’ve no doubt that some of them will pop up in other stories in the future.

  While it’s sad to say goodbye to favourite characters, there’s the joy of discovering a whole new family embarking on life-changing events. My next series features five young ladies whose father leaves them destitute when he dies. The eldest, Rosamund, is already married and safe — you can read her story in the series prequel, The Betrothed, a free gift to all my mailing list subscribers. Her younger sisters are not so fortunate, so they have to slip a few rungs on society’s ladder and find employment. And each of them encounters a murder mystery in her new job (but don’t worry, the romance will still be centre stage)!

  The series is called The Sisters of Woodside Mysteries. Book 1 of the series is The Governess, and you can read a sneak preview of Chapter 1 after the acknowledgements.

  A note on historical accuracy - and an apology!: I have endeavoured to stay true to the spirit of Regency times, and have avoided taking too many liberties or imposing modern sensibilities on my characters. The book is not one of historical record, but I’ve tried to make it reasonably accurate. However, I’m not perfect! If you spot a historical error, I’d very much appreciate knowing about it so that I can correct it and learn from it. Thank you!

  One area where I have taken some liberties is geographical. In The Daughters of Allamont Hall, I squeezed the mythical county of Brinshire into a non-existent space between Staffordshire and Shropshire. In Sons of the Marquess, however, Drummoor is firmly set in the (very real) county of Yorkshire, the West Riding to be precise, and not too far away from York itself. I haven’t attempted to place it precisely, to give myself the freedom to add estates and towns and villages of my own invention. In the interests of such creation, several very real towns have been wiped off the map. To the good people of Yorkshire, I apologise.

  About Sons of the Marquess: when the ninth Marquess of Carrbridge finds himself short of funds, his five younger brothers have to make a choice: take up a career to support their lavish lifestyle or marry an heiress. But love has a strange way of appearing when it’s least expected…

  Book 0: The Earl of Deveron (a novella, free to mailing list subscribers)

  Book 1: Lord Reginald

  Book 2: Lord Humphrey

  Book 3: Lord Augustus

  Book 4: Lord Montague

  Book 5: Lord Gilbert

  Any questions about the series? Email me - I’d love to hear from you!

  About the author

  I write traditional Regency romances under the pen name Mary Kingswood, and epic fantasy as Pauline M Ross. I live in the beautiful Highlands of Scotland with my husband. I like chocolate, whisky, my Kindle, massed pipe bands, long leisurely lunches, chocolate, going places in my campervan, eating pizza in Italy, summer nights that never get dark, wood fires in winter, chocolate, the view from the study window looking out over the Moray Firth and the Black Isle to the mountains beyond. And chocolate. I dislike driving on motorways, cooking, shopping, hospitals.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks go to:

  My mother, who first introduced me to the wonderful world of Jane Austen.

  Shayne Rutherford of Darkmoon Graphics for the cover design.

  My beta reader: Mary Burnett

  Last, but definitely not least, my first reader: Amy Ross.

  Sneak preview of The Governess: Chapter 1: The Will

  ‘To Mrs Price, Miss Winterton, Miss Margaret Winterton, Miss Frances Winterton. My greetings to you, and sincere condolences on the sad demise of your esteemed father. If convenient to you, I shall do myself the honour of waiting upon you at noon tomorrow for the purpose of conveying to you the material contents of the last will and testament of your late lamented parent. Yours in deepest sorrow, Horatio Plumphett of Plumphett, Plumphett, Witherspoon and Plumphett, Brinchester, Brinshire.’

  JANUARY

  Annabelle huddled in her favourite chair in the morning room, too numb even to cry. In the matching chair on the opposite side of the fireplace, Lucy sobbed noisily. Margaret had taken her usual place at the worktable, but for once her hands were still. She stared into space, white-faced and wide-eyed with shock. Beside her, tears poured silently down Fanny’s face.

  Annabelle could hardly take it in. Whatever was to become of them? Their ignominy could not long be concealed from the world. ‘Have you heard about the Winterton sisters of Woodside?’ their acquaintance would say. ‘Dreadful, quite dreadful.’ And indeed it was dreadful. She had no idea what they were to do.

  Out in the hall, a murmur of voices as the solicitor was shown out. Poor Mr Plumphett! The reading of a will was always a doleful business, but he must seldom have had such bad news to impart. His usual urbane voice was high with distress. “I am so sorry, so very sorry,” he had said, over and over. Perhaps he was still saying it, even as he was ushered out of the house and into his gig.

  Doors opened and closed, the gig rattled away down the drive and in the hall, more murmured voices. Then Rosamund and Robin came into the room, their faces grave. At least Rosamund was safe, and that was a mercy. She had been wife these five years to Mr Robin Dalton, heir to Lord Westerlea of Westerlea Park, and could not be harmed by the scandal. One sister, at least, uninjured by the catastrophe.

  But four sisters remained at Woodside, with no brother or husband to shelter them from the disaster.

  “Lucy, do stop weeping,” Rosamund said. “Tears never helped anything.”

  “But we are destitute!” Lucy cried. “Whatever are we to do! Thrown out of our own home! It is unbearable, and I will not go to the workhouse, I will not!”

  “It will never come to that,” Robin Dalton said firmly. “No one is throwing you out of Woodside. It is yours, after all, left to you all equally by your father, so you may stay here as long as you wish, until you have decided how to proceed.”

  “What option do we have?” Annabelle said. “The house must be sold to pay the debts Papa left. Then we shall be homeless and penniless.”

  “You will have a home with us for as long as you want,” Robin said. “Penniless does not mean friendless.”

  Annabelle softened at once. She had not much liked Robin when Rosamund had first married him. He was something of a dandy, who spent more time before his pier glass than was proper for a man, and far too grand for country girl Rosamund. But Annabelle had warmed to him when she had seen how happy he made his wife, and how solicitous of her comfort. And now he would take her sisters under his wing, too.

  “You are all goodness, Robin,” Annabelle said, “but we cannot possibly impose on you. You could not squeeze us into Holly Lodge, and we cannot inflict ourselves on Lord Westerlea. Nor would your mama want us in London.”

  “Then a small cottage in the village,” he said. “With a couple of servants and your own good sense, you might live comfortably enough at very little expense.”

  “You have your own family to think of,” Annabelle said.

  “My wife’s sisters are my family, too,” he said mildly. “Besides, it is Rosamund’s dowry which contributed to your father’s ruinous financial state. We wondered greatly at the time where he had contrived to find thirty thousand pounds, but if I had know
n he had been obliged to mortgage the house to pay such a sum, I should never have agreed to it. Just because Mr Winterton promised it years ago, when he was better off, does not mean he was obliged to pay it when his circumstances had changed.”

  “And why did they change?” Lucy cried. “We were once very well off, and Papa bought Mama expensive jewellery every year for her birthday. Oh… is that ours, or part of the estate? Perhaps we will have something to live on after all.”

  The sisters brightened visibly at the thought.

  “No, all the good pieces have gone,” Annabelle said. “There are only a few trinkets left. Would those be ours, Robin?”

  “Mr Plumphett will need to advise on that point,” Robin said. “He is also to let us have a full reckoning of all your father’s assets and debts, and which of the latter may still need to be paid, somehow. The mortgage, perhaps, but not his gaming debts, I suspect. Which were considerable, from what I have heard. I do not think we need to look further for an explanation of how the estate came to be so encumbered.”

  “If Jeremy had lived—” Annabelle began tentatively.

  “It would have made no difference,” Robin said quietly. “Your father’s affair with the dice began many years ago, long before your poor brother lost his life.”

  “But what are we to do?” Fanny cried, with a sob.

  “Nothing at all, yet,” Robin said crisply, “except to dry your tears, Fanny, and Lucy, too, and wait for Mr Plumphett to report his findings to us. Then we may begin to consider how to move forward. And you must come for dinner again today.”

  “Yes, of course,” Rosamund said.

  “You have been so kind to us, sister, brother,” Annabelle said. “However, I believe it would be best for us to return to our usual routine, at least for as long as we can. Who knows what the future may bring? So let us enjoy Woodside while we can.”

  Rosamund hugged each of her sisters in turn, and then she and Robin departed for the short walk to Holly Lodge.

  “Well, if we are to dine here, I had better go and speak to Mrs Thompson,” Annabelle said.

  She found Havelock, the housekeeper, loitering in the passageway outside the kitchen.

  “There now, Miss Annabelle, that’s the worst over,” she said.

  If only that were true! Annabelle looked about her with new eyes, seeing, as if for the first time, the worn carpet, the faded paintwork, the chip taken out of the wooden panelling when the footman had dropped a whole tray of glasses. A footman… how many years was it since they had had a footman? Ten at least. The signs of increasing poverty had been clear for a long time, for those with eyes to see. But Annabelle had been beguiled by the comforting familiarity of her home. She loved its mellow stone, its odd wings of different ages and styles, its dusty, seldom-used corners and the passageways and stairs so well-known that she could find her way about blindfold. Her home.

  She had been born at Woodside, they all had. Rosamund first, then Andrew who had died in infancy, then Annabelle, Lucy, Margaret and Fanny. Then poor Jeremy, sent away to sea at the age of twelve, to be made into a man worthy to inherit Woodside. But the sea had taken him from them on his first voyage, and there had been no more children after him, none that survived. Jeremy… the boy with the laughing eyes and the hair that always flopped across his forehead, no matter what he did to it. He would have been seventeen now, if he had lived. Almost a man. This mess would have been his responsibility, if he had lived.

  This would never do! She must not get maudlin. What had happened had happened, and they must make the best of it.

  “We shall be dining here this afternoon, Havelock,” Annabelle said.

  “Very good, Miss. Shall I give the orders to Mrs Thompson? You will not wish to be bothered with domestic matters today.”

  “Thank you, Havelock. She will know what to prepare. I cannot… cannot think about food at the moment.”

  “That’s very natural, Miss, with the master only just buried and hearing the will, and all. But forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, Miss, but… you look… I mean to say, it wasn’t bad news, was it? The master didn’t leave Woodside away from his own daughters?”

  Annabelle gave a wry laugh. “Oh no, he did not do that. He left Woodside to us, equally, and he very generously left us all his debts, too. Tell me Havelock, have the servants been paid this quarter?”

  The housekeeper shifted uncomfortably. “Well… no, Miss, not for a couple of years now, but it don’t matter. Most of us have a bit put by, and we had a roof over our heads, and food on the table. We understood how it was.”

  Which was more than Annabelle had. No, that was not true. She had known perfectly well that there was less money than there had been, but she had assumed that Papa’s income was being diverted to the gaming tables, leaving little for candles and coal. She had not suspected that the house was mortgaged. Rosamund had helped Papa with his accounts at one time, but whenever Annabelle had offered to do the same, he had bitten her head off, so she had never suspected the true state of affairs. They must have been living beyond their means for years.

  She went back into the morning room. Lucy was alone there, still curled up in a miserable ball in the same chair. Annabelle took her usual seat on the other side of the fireplace.

  “Where are Margaret and Fanny?”

  “Probably in the attic, rearranging the furniture in the baby house.”

  Annabelle wished she had a comfort of that sort to turn to. Her books were her usual refuge, but today even that enticement held no charm for her.

  “Fanny, at least, will be safe from poverty,” Lucy said. “Mr Hawes will offer for her at last, and will whisk her away to Kellingborough. But as for the rest of us… you still pine for your lost love, I am a widow at two and twenty, and Margaret is too shy even to look at a man. I do not know what is to become of us,” she ended tearfully.

  “Now, do not start crying again, dearest,” Annabelle said. “Rosamund is a little… sharp, sometimes, but she is quite right — crying never made anything better. As to what is to become of us, we have only three choices… to find a husband, to live on the charity of our relations or to find employment. The first two do not appeal to me, so I shall find myself a post as a governess.”

  Lucy swung her legs round to plant them squarely on the floor. “No!” she cried, leaning forward in her anxiety. “You must not, Belle, truly you must not! The role of a governess is of all things the most disagreeable, neither family nor servant. I do not remember ours, but I know that the Claremonts’ Miss Lackey ate all her meals in her room, like a leper. Most disagreeable.”

  Annabelle laughed. “That was because she was young and pretty and made sheep’s eyes at John and Rupert… and at Mr Claremont, and so Mrs Claremont banished her, and she was too proud to eat with the servants. I should not be so proud, I assure you. No, it will suit me very well to be a governess, Lucy, so do not repine upon it.”

  ~~~~~

  For a fortnight, they continued almost as if nothing had happened. Callers came to offer their condolences, letter after letter arrived expressing sorrow to varying degrees, and the sisters sat in their morning room each day sewing handkerchiefs and trimming bonnets almost as if their lives had not come unceremoniously to an end. Only the quantity of black crepe reminded them. But several times Mr Plumphett’s gig creaked up the drive, and once the handsome tilbury of Mr Martin from Martin’s Bank in Brinchester, and each visit reduced Annabelle’s spirits a little more. There was no money in the bank, no investments secure in the three percents, there were debts everywhere, some astoundingly large, and half the tenant farms had been sold off. The remaining holdings were worth no more than two or three hundred pounds a year.

  Something needed to be done. The sisters met in their father’s book room, together with Robin and Rosamund, to discuss their plight.

  “We cannot survive on so little money,” Annabelle said, looking at the reckoning Robin had made of their financial situation. “It would be a good
income if we had no other obligations, but these debts… Yet some need not be met? That seems unlucky for the debtee.”

  “Some debts are written off when the debtor dies,” Robin said. “Some, however, are not and therein lies the problem. If you were to sell the house and remaining estate holdings, you might just clear all obligations of that nature. It would only be possible to stay on here on such a low income if one of you were to marry a man of substance.”

  Annabelle tried not to look at Fanny, but she herself spoke up. “I do not have any expectations from Mr Hawes, if that is what you were thinking,” she said, her chin rising defiantly. “He has not come near me since Papa died, and I must presume that any… any regard he might once have felt towards me has been extinguished.” Tears sparkled on her lashes, but she held her head high.

  “You are very brave, dearest,” Annabelle said, and Margaret hugged her sister fiercely.

  “I fear you may be correct,” Rosamund said gently. “Lord Westerlea met Mr Hawes a few days ago at a card party. He felt Mr Hawes was avoiding him, rather, but when he approached him directly, Mr Hawes asked very politely after Robin and Aunt Mary, but made no mention at all of you.”

  “Which gives me a very poor opinion of him,” Robin said sharply. “That is not the behaviour of a gentleman.”

  “Oh, but I cannot blame him for withdrawing,” Fanny said, two spots of colour in her cheeks. “I daresay he cannot afford to marry without a dowry, and after all, there was no engagement between us. He had never spoken. I do not blame him in the least.”

  “So, your hero is proved to be no more than a mortal man, swayed by money like every other,” Rosamund said impatiently. “Annabelle, Lucy, do you have any rich, lovelorn swains hidden away?”

  Annabelle smiled, but shook her head.

  “If I had ever been the type to attract rich, lovelorn swains,” Lucy said, “I should never have taken poor Walter. Who marries a man of almost four score years except in desperation?” But she smiled as she spoke. “Dear Walter! Such a sweet man. I shall never find another like him.”