The Seventh Suitor

by Laura Matthews

  Susan had a letter from Lady Stockton’s daughter, Laura, who would be having her first season as well. Laura shared the London gossip and talked of the magnificent wardrobe she was acquiring, of the fittings and outings her mama took her on. The season would not begin for some time, but Laura was being quietly introduced to the ton by way of morning calls and informal evenings.

  “But you must not think that my head is entirely filled with these entertainments, dear Susan, for I continue my studies when there is time. I have conceived a passion for reading Shakespeare’s plays, and to see them acted at the Theatre Royal is beyond my greatest dreams. You would scarcely credit it, but the majority of those who attend pay not the slightest attention to the work performed. They are all concerned with seeing and being seen,” the young lady concluded scornfully.

  Ralph received a message from Mr. Drew’s solicitor advising him of the date his and Mr. Karst’s purchase would be concluded. This sent him off to his studies once more.

  The letter from Aunt Eleanor was addressed to Kate, but of course was intended for the entire family. She and Mr. Hall, whom she referred to as Dawson, were having a splendid time, had enjoyed the Alps and the Low Countries, but were beginning to think of returning to Daventry to pick up their lives there together. They intended to visit Montgomery Hall on their return. Kate laughed over the part which read, “Dawson makes quite as agreeable a traveling companion as you, my dear, and it is so very comfortable to have a man in charge, since people listen to men. I shall never forget the experience you and I had in Paris where the concierge would not understand our French until we had inveigled that dear Mr. Thompson to vouch for us.” Dear Mr. Thompson, Kate remembered well. She had successfully foiled his attempts to assume the role of suitor and she had been much relieved when the colorful dandy had married a young woman from Nottingham and had settled there.

  When the letter was read by Ralph he made a valiant effort, in Charity’s presence, to draw Kate out on her travels. She was not loath to talk of them, for they were among her fondest memories. And although she might have been somewhat mystified by his sudden interest, his attention was everything it should have been. He even absently offered her snuff during her recital, so intent was he.

  “No, thank you, Ralph,” she demurred politely, and, seeing that he was about to do the same for Charity, continued, “I do not think Charity is in the habit of taking snuff, either.”

  “Sorry,” he murmured, recollecting himself. “Didn’t know what I was doing. Shame we don’t do the Grand Tour anymore.”

  “I imagine more people will travel now that things are settling down in France,” Charity suggested.

  “Would you like to go there?” Ralph asked in such an eager way that it made Charity flush slightly.

  “I doubt I shall ever get there, but I do enjoy hearing about it. And seeing your Aunt Eleanor’s sketches makes everything come alive. I hope she’ll have them with her when she comes to visit you.” Charity returned her gaze to the embroidery frame and simulated an intense concentration on her work there.

  Ralph looked questioningly at Kate, but she was unable to help him. Kate recognized as well as he did that this was no shy maiden demurely hesitant to accept his advances. This was not the first time Kate had seen her friend keep her brother firmly at arm’s length. Ralph soon excused himself and sought out his father over some detail involved in the purchase of the farm.

  Chapter 7

  Kate and Charity spent the next week pleasantly taking walks, drives, and rides about the area when the weather permitted and sitting over embroidery frames talking when conditions outside were foul. It took some perseverance on Ralph’s part to find Kate alone, but he did so late one afternoon. She was in the back parlor playing a dulcimer she had found years ago in the attic. As he was hesitant about the subject he wished to broach, he waited patiently for her to finish a piece before beginning.

  “I . . . I . . . It’s about Charity,” he blurted. When his sister regarded him inquiringly he continued, “Beautiful girl. Such a sweet disposition—always calm and pleasant. Quite fond of her.” His face colored slightly.

  “She in indeed the finest young woman of my acquaintance,” Kate responded carefully.

  “Yes, yes. To be sure. What I have been wondering is . . . well . . . has she spoken with you about me at all?”

  His countenance was so gravely serious and concerned that Kate could not help but feel for him. “She has spoken kindly of you, as of the rest of the family.” Kate could not find anything further to say which would comfort him and not betray her promise.

  “And that is all? I had thought . . . that is, she seemed to like me well enough. We’ve laughed together and talked of my plans for the farm. But sometimes she’s rather distant with me. I cannot think how I have offended her!”

  “Now, Ralph, I doubt you have done so. Why do you not speak with her?”

  ‘‘She’s at some pains never to be alone with me,” he said sadly. “I can hardly talk to her with you and Susan around. Could you arrange it so we should be alone together? Promise I would not force my attentions on her. Do you think her heart is engaged elsewhere?”

  “Really, Ralph, I could not say. I am not in her confidence in such matters. You must make your own way in this. I should not interfere where my brother and my friend are involved,” she replied with finality.

  Ralph gave an exasperated shrug and wandered unhappily from the room. Kate stared after him, absently fingering the strings of the dulcimer. It had become obvious to her as well that Charity was attempting to avoid her brother, but she was at a loss to explain it. And of course she could not press Charity further. Her friend appeared to have a calming effect on Ralph which pleased Kate. There had been many rides about the countryside when she had observed the two together and been very pleased that they got on so well. But she must have been mistaken if Charity was indeed discouraging Ralph’s attentions. It would not be the first time she had been mistaken, she thought ruefully, as she bent her attention to the dulcimer again.

  When Ralph left Kate, he wandered through the house, aware that Charity was with Susan in the garden. He had been so excited about the scheme for the farm before Charity came, and his developing fondness for her had led him to share with her some of his plans and dreams. Charity had helped him translate some of these into a more realistic form. At her suggestion, he had indeed delved into the mysteries of the countryside, and he had proceeded to learn more for his own benefit and not for the sake of outshining Lord Winterton or even pleasing Charity.

  His partner, Benjamin Karst, had at first been puzzled by Ralph’s growing interest in technical matters and had teased him unendingly. But he was loath to set his ignorance against Ralph’s growing knowledge, and he secretly began to study the subject as well. Benjamin and Ralph were to conclude the purchase of the farm on the following day, and Ralph was anxious to push for some enlightenment on Charity’s feelings. So he bribed a footman to call Susan away from the garden on an imaginary errand and, with hands clasped nervously behind his back, approached Charity, who was seated in the arbor.

  “Miss Martin-Smith, I would beg a word with you,” he began.

  Charity’s natural poise did not desert her, for she had realized that this moment must come, but inwardly she quaked at what she must do. “Mr. Montgomery, do be seated. Can I assist you is some way?” she asked, her manner not at all encouraging.

  “I have come to cherish the highest regard for you, Miss Martin-Smith . . . Charity. May I call you so?”

  “As it pleases you.”

  “I had hoped that you might return my regard,” he continued anxiously.

  “I am sure I regard you as a most congenial companion and friend,” Charity replied stiffly.

  “I don’t want to be your friend,” he sighed unhappily. “That is, I want to make you my wife.”

  Charity’s countenance remained placid, but lost some of its usual color. “Mr. Montgomery . . . Ralph . . . do not s
ay so. You can scarce know me after a few weeks in the same house. You and your family have been so kind to me. I feel sure you are mistaken in your feelings, though I am honored by your interest in me. I must tell you that I have no intention of marrying ever, Ralph, though I would beg you not to speak of that to anyone, even Kate. I shall . . . always hold you in the greatest affection.” Charity rose abruptly and turned her back to him so that he would be unable to see her swiftly brush away the tear that escaped.

  Ralph rose, too, and stood helplessly gazing at her back. “I had hoped we could have a home of our own, build a modest house on the farm, or live on the estate near Rugby,” he said despondently.

  “Say no more, I beg you,” she gasped, digging in her reticule for the wisp of lace which must serve to stem the flow of tears which she could no longer withhold.

  “I’ve distressed you!” Ralph cried, mortified, as he saw her furtively put the handkerchief to her eyes. “Wouldn’t do so for the world! Forgive me! I’m the clumsiest of fellows.” He distractedly forced his hand through his thick blond hair, making it stand on end.

  Charity turned to soothe his agitation, and a hysterical desire to laugh at the sight of his upright hair checked the flow of her tears. He looked so forlorn in his despair that her already overburdened heart could take no more, and she fled without another word. Ralph watched her retreat in numb hopelessness. He finally gathered his wits about him enough to head for the stables.

  “My curricle, Harris,” he ordered absently, “with the bays.” When this vehicle was ready, he asked, “Should be a full moon tonight, what?”

  “Yes, a fine evening,” Harris responded as he stood patiently at the horses’ heads.

  “I shall go alone. Send word to the Hall that I may spend the night at Mr. Karst’s.”

  “Very good, sir,” the groom replied. He could see that Mr. Montgomery was upset, and it would no doubt be wiser for him to stay the night with his friend if he were in his cups, as Harris felt sure he would be.

  But it was not Ralph’s plan that he should spend the evening with Benjamin before a warming fire, a glass of brandy in his hand. It had occurred to him that they had too long put off their night race to Bath and back. The weather appeared likely to hold; there was no sign of fresh snow. The dull gray sky surmounted a landscape deep frozen with no sign of thaw. Although the roads were rutted and uneven from the previous thaw and freeze, they were perfectly negotiable; there was little chance of a curricle being mired down.

  Ralph found Benjamin in the library, studying some literature on horse breeding. They spent some time discussing their plans before Ralph suggested that their race be held that very evening.

  “I thought you’d forgotten it,” Benjamin declared. “It’s been difficult to get you away from the Hall these last few weeks.”

  “I hadn’t forgotten. Tonight should be a full moon. May not have better for months. Are you game?”

  Benjamin smiled widely. “You’re on. Still fifty guineas?”

  “Yes, to the Nowland farm, turn, and back here. Start at ten?”

  “So late?”

  “Should be less traffic then, but it makes no difference to me.”

  “Ten it shall be. You stay to dine, of course.”

  Their race was conducted over a course of rutted, winding country lanes by the light of a pale full moon. The lead changed several times in spite of the narrow way, with first Benjamin’s scarlet and then Ralph’s blue curricle in the fore. Across deserted fields to avoid a flock of geese, or swinging around a bend at high speed, the two young men called to one another cheerfully or sang at the tops of their voices. For this short space of time Ralph could involve himself in the race and thrust aside his despondent thoughts.

  On the return journey Benjamin was in the lead and Ralph saw his last chance of overtaking him as they approached a bend wide enough for both curricles. His mood had become reckless, and while Benjamin took the turn cautiously, Ralph determined to make his move before his bays flagged entirely. Around the bend he heard only the slightest touching of the wheel against the bank, and he steadied his horses onto the stretch ahead. But he had not been able to see the road ahead, and he was suddenly faced with a country lad unconcernedly plodding along on his old nag. Ralph cursed wildly as he tried to bring the bays to the side of the road.

  Although he managed to avoid doing the lad and his horse a mischief, his leader stumbled and the already swaying curricle was flung against the bank of the road. Benjamin watched horrified as Ralph was flung from the curricle against the bank and onto the road. The bays stumbled to a shuddering halt while Benjamin dexterously skirted the accident and drew in his own team. He leaped to the ground even as they slowed and raced to his friend. He found Ralph in pain but conscious.

  “Are you all right?” Benjamin asked anxiously.

  “Don’t know. See to the horses, will you?”

  “When I’ve had a look at you. Can you get up?”

  “Can’t be sure. Give me a hand and I’ll try.” But Ralph gasped with agony as he tried to rise, and his arm hung limply at his side. His face was scraped and muddy, his clothes (including Benjamin’s borrowed driving coat) torn, and his hat gone. “Leave me a minute and see to the horses,” he begged.

  Benjamin returned to tell him that the wheeler was lame but that no bones appeared to be broken. “Your curricle is a mess, the wheel smashed and the axle damaged, too, I think, though it is difficult to see in this poor light.”

  “God, I’m an idiot. I should know better than to come round a blind corner like that.”

  “Bad luck. You’d have made it if it hadn’t been for that lad.” This person was still sitting astride his horse, staring at the confusion in the road. He made no remark and no attempt to help.

  “Can you get me to your curricle?” Ralph asked.

  Benjamin surveyed the taller man dubiously. When he had made an unsuccessful attempt, he called to the lad to give him a hand. This seemed to inspire the fellow to dig his heels into his horse, which startled that sluggish beast so much that he took off at a trot. Benjamin returned his attention to his companion and was considerably shaken when another voice met his ears. He had not been aware that anyone else was on the scene, and had thought the hoofbeats he heard were those of the departing lad.

  “What now?” the Earl of Winterton asked wearily, surveying the disorder with a jaundiced eye.

  “Ralph has smashed his curricle, and I could use some help to get him to mine, Lord Winterton,” Benjamin explained.

  “Broken anything, Montgomery?” Winterton asked as he leisurely dismounted.

  “How should I know?” Ralph flared. “I can’t stand, and my left arm is useless.”

  “It’s better than being dead,” Winterton remarked roughly. “I gather you two fools were racing.” He unfastened the driving coat and probed Ralph’s arms and legs to the accompaniment of the younger man’s stifled grunts of pain. “Legs are probably only sprained, but the arm is broken. Give me a hand, Karst, and we’ll put him in your curricle.” When this had been accomplished, Ralph gritting his teeth the while, Winterton continued, “Take him to the Manor.”

  “That will not be necessary, Lord Winterton,” Benjamin retorted stiffly. “I shall take him home with me. Thank you for your assistance.”

  “The Manor is half a mile and your home not much less than three,” the Earl mused. “If you are lucky, he will faint shortly from the pain and the additional distance will then not matter to him, of course. The arm should be set immediately.” Winterton mounted his horse, nodded to the two young men, and rode off.

  “Haughty bastard!” Benjamin exclaimed as he gave his horses the office to start. Ralph’s gasp at the movement caused his friend to survey him critically, noting the pallor of his forehead and cheeks. “Shall it be the Manor?” he asked gruffly.

  “Yes,” Ralph sighed.

  They turned down the lane after Winterton, who had of course, assumed they would follow and proceeded to the M
anor stables. When they arrived he had completed arrangements for removing Ralph’s curricle and horses from the road to his own stables. He had already issued orders to two sleepy grooms; one to fetch the doctor and another to inform the housekeeper that a bedroom on the ground floor should be prepared immediately. Ralph was carried into the great hall, across the black and white marble floor and through a maze of corridors which ran past the breakfast room, the china room, and the map room until the West Room was finally reached, much to his relief. He was deposited on the bed, while the housekeeper watched from the doorway.

  “Has Thomas been awakened by the bustle, Mrs. Pettit?” Winterton asked her.

  “Yes, my lord. He’s in the library.”

  “Good. Send him to me, and have Crocker bring a nightshirt and some brandy for Mr. Montgomery, please.”

  Thomas Single, Lord Winterton’s secretary, arrived almost immediately and stood slightly smiling in the doorway. “Just a quiet evening in Bristol,” he murmured.

  Winterton grinned at him and said, “Mind your manners, Thomas. I think you know Mr. Montgomery and Mr. Karst. It seems they had an accident while racing. It was just our good fortune that it should occur so close,” he remarked mournfully. “Would you send a note to the Montgomerys assuring them that there is no dire threat to Ralph and that a doctor has been sent for?”

  As the young man turned to leave he added, “And, Thomas, make it plain that I do not wish to have a gaggle of females descend on me in the middle of the night. Suggest ten in the morning as an appropriate time for anyone to call.”

  “Certainly, Lord Winterton,” Thomas replied, repressing a smile.

  Ralph attempted to raise himself, gave up the effort with a wince, and said, “You need not inform them until the morning, Lord Winterton. They do not expect me back tonight.”

  “All the better. Arrange for the note to be sent off in the morning then, Thomas.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  The valet, Crocker, arrived next with brandy and a nightshirt. After Ralph had been supported for a few sips, Winterton directed his valet to undress and clean the young man of his mud. Winterton led Benjamin to the White Parlor and offered him a drink, which the young man gladly accepted. “Shall I have a room made ready for you, Karst?” he asked courteously.