Lord Augustus (Sons of the Marquess Book 3)

by Mary Kingswood

  2: Castle Morton

  Gus and Edgerton, with their valets and grooms, were on the road early the next morning, long before Lady Prudence and Lady Emma had emerged from their bedchambers. Early rain gave way to clear skies and a soft breeze, with just a hint of salt in the air as they neared the coast. They made good progress, and one more night saw them within reach of their destination. They woke to steady rain, and by the middle of the afternoon, thoroughly sodden, they had reached the bustling town of High Morton, which abutted the castle grounds.

  Castle Morton had once perched awkwardly on the cliffs above the pounding seas of the German Ocean. It had been twice burnt to the ground, once by the marauding Scots, and once by a lazy kitchen maid who neglected the hog on the spit. The duke of the time decided to take advantage of this fortuitous event by leaving behind forever the damp stone walls, spiral staircases and draughty arrowslit windows, and building himself a fine modern castle.

  He could not quite bring himself to abandon the origins of the house, however. So it was that when Gus, Edgerton and their entourage came to the gates of Castle Morton, they saw at the end of the drive before them the epitome of a solid Norman stronghold, complete with four massive corner towers, turrets, battlements and oriels, and an inner keep. There was no moat or drawbridge, and the bailey housed pleasure gardens rather than the ducal army, but Gus thought it an amusing deception.

  Edgerton’s eyes were round. “All this for one man?” he said in awed tones. “It is larger than Drummoor, in my estimation.”

  “Possibly. Drummoor sprawls rather, whereas this is more compact. Shall we ride on?”

  The gates, massive wrought iron affairs more than thirty feet high, stood wide open, although no one tended them. Beside it, a neat little lodge sat in its own hedged gardens, chimneys gently smoking.

  The road from the gate ran arrow-straight to the castle, passing at first through tree-fringed parkland, and then formal gardens with neat clipped hedges and square beds. An arch three storeys high and almost as wide led through the nearest side of the castle to the interior, but the wrought-iron gates were closed. Steps to one side rose to massive double doors from which emerged a butler and six footmen. Leaving the footmen, blank-faced, in a line on the top step, the butler descended the steps without haste.

  “May I help you, sir?” the butler said, in a wispy little voice that made him sound like a girl.

  “The duke is expecting us. I am Lord Augustus Marford, and this is Captain Edgerton.”

  “I was not informed of any arrivals. Is your visit a matter of business or a social call, my lord?”

  “Business. The duke invited us to come, and since we have journeyed from London to attend him, might I suggest that you refer to him for instructions?”

  “Very well, my lord. Your lordship may wait inside while I inform his grace of your presence.”

  “And what of my friend? May he not wait inside also?”

  “No, my lord. His grace’s instructions are that those of noble blood may be admitted without question, whereas those of the commons must await an explicit invitation from his grace.”

  “My friend may be of the commons, little man, but he is still a gentleman,” Gus said with disdain. “The duke is discourteous to refuse him hospitality. I shall wait out here also. Now get off to your master, and be quick about it.”

  The butler bowed impassively, for he must be used to such responses, and in the same unhurried manner mounted the stairs and disappeared into the house, his flunkeys following behind.

  “How unspeakably rude!” Gus said.

  Edgerton laughed. “Marford, you are quite splendid when you become lordly and haughty! But I do not mind being snubbed by a duke, you know. These great men have their quirks.”

  “Quirks are one thing, but discourtesy is unacceptable no matter how high the rank. My father always said that one should make even more effort to be civil to those of lower rank, because they cannot point out that one is being a pompous ass. They are obliged to smile and bow and accept whatever we choose to do. So it is up to us to set the standard. But clearly the duke follows different precepts. I should have liked the opportunity to dry out in front of the fire, too. Still, if we stay under the arch then at least we are sheltered from the rain.”

  This was not of much help, however, for the wind howled through the archway and rendered all of them thoroughly chilled. Even walking the horses back and forth brought no relief to men or animals. Gus began to fret for his horse, and was seriously considering riding away to the town and returning alone, later, when the great doors creaked open again. With careful steps, the butler descended once more, the footmen following in his wake.

  “His grace bids me welcome you to Castle Morton, my lord. If you and the captain will follow me, your servants may follow the footmen round to the stable entrance, and then—”

  “I like to see my horse attended to myself,” Gus said. “Edgerton, you go on inside, and I will join you when I am sure that Jupiter has taken no harm from being left to stand about for half an hour.”

  “As you wish, Marford, as you wish.” But he followed the butler inside with a smile on his face.

  With two footmen showing them the way, Gus, the grooms and valets led the horses round the outside of the building. The castle was arranged with perfect symmetry, with four wings in a square and a tower on each corner. Each of the wings boasted a massive archway in the centre. From the western side, they plodded dutifully round the corner to the northern side, past its archway with its closed gates, and round the next corner to the eastern side, to find another archway identical to the first. Again the gates remained closed, but an open door gave access to the stables.

  “If both they gates were open, we could’ve come straight across, instead o’ goin’ all round,” one of Gus’s grooms said.

  “Aye, and nd there’s a road, too, right across the middle,” said the other. “Fancy sending us all round the outside like that. S’pose they only opens them for weddin’s and fun’rals and such like.”

  Gus laughed, and thought he was probably right.

  It was a long time before Gus was satisfied that Jupiter had come to no harm, and allowed the last remaining footman, who was lounging against a wall exchanging ribald jokes with the groom, to lead him through the house to his accommodation. He had half expected to be sent round the outside again, but the footman took him up two flights of stairs and then through endless broad corridors and past innumerable closed doors. Here and there a door stood open, revealing furniture swathed in holland covers.

  Eventually the footman led him to one of the towers, where he found Edgerton at his ease in a cosy parlour with his boots off, his feet in a mustard bath and a glass of wine in his hand. A fire burning merrily gave the room a pleasant warmth, and the butler was pottering about with decanters and glasses.

  “There you are, Marford!” Edgerton said. “What a martyr you are to that horse! Here, get some claret down you. Or there is brandy over there, you know. Is this not snug? There are two bedrooms on this floor for us, and Willett and Gardner are two floors above us. Convenient, eh? We are to dine in here too, but you will not mind that, I imagine.”

  The butler coughed. “Not quite, sir. His lordship is to dine with his grace in the keep.”

  “Oh — the noble blood business again?” Edgerton said, and laughed. “Now, don’t be looking like a thundercloud, Marford. If his grace wishes to dine with you, then you must go and no nonsense about it. I shall do very well here, I assure you, and it’s only natural his grace wants to be with his own kind, and not mingle with ordinary folk like me.”

  “His grace dines promptly at five, my lord,” the butler said.

  “Good heavens, I had better get changed then. Is there any chance of a bath?”

  “The hot water should have arrived already, my lord, and your man awaits you in your room. I shall collect you at ten minutes to the hour precisely.”

  A hot bath and the ministrations of Wille
tt partially reconciled Gus to the prospect of dining with the duke. He had supposed he must do so at some stage, although he had rather have been treated as the paid agent that he was, as if he were a lawyer or some such, a man doing business with the duke but not a guest. Still, it would have to be got through, somehow. He wondered idly how many of the duke’s family would be there. The duchess was long dead, but was there a dowager? He could not remember. The grieving daughter-in-law would be there, no doubt, and an array of aunts and uncles and cousins and nephews and nieces. Probably the heir, too, the attorney from Cheshire, looking horribly out of place. He sighed. So many names he would have to remember! It was a pity he had not Edgerton with him, for he was much better at that sort of thing. So it was with resignation that he followed the slow-paced butler.

  The duke lived inside the castle in a separate tower, fancifully called the keep. Although it had an entrance at ground level, there was a bridge at the level of the third story connecting the keep to the northern wing of the castle, and it was by this means that Gus was led to the duke’s domain and was announced.

  It had not occurred to Gus until he entered the drawing room that his host might be alone. Yet so it was. The duke sat forlornly by the fire, a rug around his legs. Were it not for the rug, he would have seemed a hearty sort of man for his age, solidly built and with the ruddy complexion that came from too much outdoor living, or too much port wine, or possibly both.

  “Ah, Marford, come in. Forgive me not rising — gout’s devilish bad at the moment.”

  “Duke,” Gus said, making his bow. “Very kind of you to invite me to dinner. Had no expectation of it, since we are only here to execute some business for you.”

  “Hmm. Carrbridge’s boy — have to make an effort, don’t you know. Come and sit down. Well, you have the Marford nose, that much is certain. Are you like your father in other ways, eh?”

  “Hard to say.”

  The duke gave a bark of laughter. “Diplomatic answer. He was a wild one, your father. Would bet on anything, anything at all. You a betting man, Marford?”

  “On horses, yes, but not cards or dice. That is a fool’s game,” Gus said.

  “Ha! True enough. I won a little, lost a lot when I was younger. Have no stomach for it now. It seems exciting at the time but it leaves a man empty, and looking for something else to fill the void. And then it becomes impossible to stop. Fool’s game indeed.”

  The butler came in to announce dinner, and a burly footman took hold of the duke’s chair and began to push. It was on wheels, Gus now saw, as he followed the duke into the dining room. The table was long enough to seat fifty or sixty in comfort, but it was laid for two. The duke’s chair was wheeled to the head of the table, and Gus sat at his right hand. Like the drawing room, the dining room was darkly wood-panelled, with old-fashioned heavy furniture and a painted ceiling, this one depicting some blood-curdling battle. For a while, as the dishes were set out on the table and the duke carved, they talked of nothing very much beyond the food and a few commonplaces. But the the duke looked at Gus from under his bushy brows.

  “So how is that brother of yours doing?”

  “Which one, sir? I have five brothers.”

  “Five.” The duke stared at him, the animation wiped from his face. “Six sons should be enough. All alive still?”

  “So far,” Gus said. “Although Gil, the youngest, is like to kill himself before he is much older. He is wild, if you like. But the others are remarkably well settled.”

  “And the eldest? The marquess?”

  “Carrbridge is very contentedly married, with two sons in the nursery and the expectation of another before the spring.”

  “Two sons… a good start, but not enough, not nearly enough. Three was not enough for me, Marford. Three sturdy boys, and all of them gone now. All gone.”

  “I am very sorry for it,” Gus said. The duke fell into a reverie, and when the silence threatened to stretch indefinitely, Gus said, “I am surprised to find that your family has abandoned you at such a difficult time, Duke. I should have thought they would have rallied round you.”

  “Hmm? What is that? Oh, the family — ha! No desire to have them underfoot. What, you think those mealy-mouthed daughters of mine would be any solace to me?”

  “Your heir, perhaps?”

  The duke laughed so hard, Gus was afraid he might rupture something vital. “That useless piece of flotsam? An attorney from Cheshire, here in my house? I think not.”

  Tentatively, Gus said, “Do you not think that it would be good for him to learn from you, sir? Just so that he might have an idea what will be expected of him?”

  “Nothing will be expected of him,” the duke snapped. “Whenever he finds himself inheriting all this, I shall be long dead, so it is of no concern to me. He may do as he pleases.”

  And Gus was so flabbergasted at this disinterest in the succession that he missed the opportunity for a second portion of salmon before one of the eight footmen in attendance whisked the dish away and replaced it with spiced mushrooms.

  Later, they played cribbage for an hour, after which Gus thought it reasonable to leave.

  “Thank you for a most pleasant evening, Duke,” he said, as he made his bow.

  “Was it? Ha! Very civil of you to say so, but cribbage with an old man is not your idea of a lively evening, I wager.”

  “Not lively, sir, no, but I enjoyed it all the same,” Gus said.

  “How so, when you lost every game?”

  “Because nothing was said that did not relate to the game. I find that very restful, not being a great conversationalist.”

  The duke gave another sharp laugh. “I hope you are wrong about that, young man. I depend on you to cheer me up while you are here. Maybe I shall draw you out a little more tomorrow, eh?”

  Gus’s heart sank. Tomorrow? Was he expected to dine with the duke every night? That would materially diminish his enjoyment of the visit. “If you want better company, you might invite Captain Edgerton to dine. He would keep you well entertained, and is an excellent card player, too.”

  The duke’s face darkened. “Not in the keep! No one enters here unless they are of noble blood. That is my rule. In the castle — well, sometimes it is necessary, but the keep is my private domain and I choose my own guests.”

  “Of course, sir,” Gus said, with another bow, and with very few further words was able to make good his escape.

  Edgerton was still up, half-dozing over his port. He was agog to hear all about Gus’s evening, and wanted the dishes, the plate, the footmen, the furnishings all described in the minutest detail.

  “Eight footmen? For just the two of you? Great heavens! And two full courses? But where is the rest of his family? He has daughters, does he not?”

  “I… think so,” Gus said. “Not sure how many. They will be married and gone, though, if there are any.”

  “Five daughters, all married,” Edgerton said. “So different from Drummoor. That was as full as it could hold.”

  Gus smiled fondly. “Ah, Connie loves to fill Drummoor with visitors! Whereas this huge place is big enough for an army and just the one man rattling round in it. But he seems to like being alone.”

  “No one likes being alone,” Edgerton said. “Why else invite you to dine? If he truly wanted to be alone, he would not have done so.”

  “It is a courtesy to a guest,” Gus said, but even before Edgerton raised his eyebrows in disbelief, he was aware that courtesy to guests was not uppermost in the duke’s mind. “Well, if it is my witty conversation or brilliant card play he is seeking, he will be sadly disappointed. I suggested he invite you for that sort of thing, but he would not have it, I regret to say.”

  “I thank you for the compliment, Marford, but my ignoble blood is against me, I fear. It will be necessary for me to receive my intelligence second hand, for as long as you are willing to indulge my curiosity. But the picture you paint is not a happy one. Poor lonely old man. Did you mention Lady Emma at al
l?”

  “Lady Emma?”

  “As a wife, Marford. Have you forgotten already? She seemed very keen to be Duchess of Dunmorton.”

  “Oh, that. No, I did not think to mention it. He is so against his present heir that the thought of a new wife must occur to him without any help from me.”

  “But he might not think about that particular new wife,” Edgerton said. “You must raise the matter with him tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps,” Gus said with a shrug. “It is really not my place to discuss such a matter with him.”

  “But who else will? His butler? His valet? And Lady Emma is depending upon you, Marford.”

  Gus sighed. “If the opportunity arises, then perhaps, but I make no promises. I shall head for my bed, I think. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  By the time Willett had undressed him and readied him for sleep, Gus’s mind was already running ahead to the next day’s visit to the late marquess’s stables, and he had forgotten Lady Emma Frensham entirely.

  3: A Ride In The Woods

  Gus was up early the next morning, his head full of the day’s plans. Today he would get his first look at the horses owned by the late Marquess of Darrowstone. He knew Edgerton was a late riser, so as soon as he was dressed he set off to walk the short distance to the marquess’s stables, which was situated at the southern end of the castle grounds. He knew very little about the project, except that it was an attempt to breed race horses for greater speed. He wondered just how successful such an enterprise would be, here in the bleak north-east of the country, and how enthusiastic the marquess had been. He had rarely been seen at the southern race courses, and on the few occasions Gus had met him, he had found the man silent to the point of surliness.

  The castle and its outer pleasure grounds were ringed by trees, but once he had passed through those, Gus discovered that the whole southern end of the park was given over to the horses, divided into neatly fenced paddocks holding dozens of mares and foals. At the centre, a square of two storey stone buildings housed stables, breeding yards and quarters for the grooms, with everything tidy and in general good order.