The Honourable Earl

by Mary Nichols

  ‘Not married?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then I beg your pardon.’ There was no disguising his pleasure at this piece of news as he put his head out of the door and bade the postilion to turn the coach round again, just as he had got it facing the way they had come. Three times he had seen her and on each occasion they had been nearer Colston, and surely it was an omen that they were destined to know each other better. The prospect filled him with pleasurable anticipation. He knew nothing about her except that she was beautiful, had a captivating smile and eyes alight with mischief, or they had been on the two previous occasions he had spoken to her. Today, the shimmer was of tears she was trying to suppress.

  ‘What is wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing. Why did you think there was?’

  He reached out and ran the back of his finger along her lower eyelid, making her shiver. A tiny glistening teardrop transferred itself to his finger. ‘Tears?’ he queried.

  ‘No, sir, raindrops.’ She surprised herself with the swiftness of her response. How could she possibly tell him that he was the embodiment of all her dreams, but those dreams had all been shattered by the man who seemed to have sway over their lives whether they willed it or not. The man who lived at Colston Hall.

  He smiled. ‘As you say, raindrops. Now, tell me where you live and I promise to deliver you safely to your door. Or would your papa come after me with a blunderbuss for so presuming?’

  ‘He cannot do that. He is dead.’

  ‘Oh, I am truly sorry for it. I have recently lost both my beloved parents and know how you feel. Allow me to offer condolences.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. It happened a long time ago, but is no less difficult to accept.’

  They were nearing Colston and just beyond the village were the gates of the Hall, where he would normally turn off the road, and she had still not given him her direction. ‘We could continue this delightful ride forever,’ he said. ‘We could ride on and on, over hills and down dale, on and on into the sunset…’

  She laughed. ‘The horses would tire long before that.’

  ‘Oh, no, for they are magic horses and this is a magic coach. In it we could ride into eternity, discover the secrets of the universe, learn all there is to know about each other, our likes and dislikes. I am very partial to plum pie and gooseberry tart and I dislike hypocrisy and false pride. What about you?’

  ‘You are talking nonsense,’ she said, though she was smiling.

  ‘Yes, but it is worth it to see you smile.’ He turned towards her and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look into his dark eyes. They were deep pools, drawing her in, drowning her. ‘You have a smile to enchant, a smile to make a man forget himself…’

  She trembled, knowing he was going to kiss her and not caring, wanting him to, holding her breath. She shut her eyes, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze, and she felt his lips touch hers and it was no more than the pressure a butterfly might make. Then he released her and she came to her senses with a suddenness that left her gasping.

  ‘How could you? I thought you were a gentleman or I would never have entered your coach…’

  He laughed. ‘Would you not? I think I would have been less of a gentleman if I had refused your kind invitation to kiss you.’

  ‘Invitation? Oh, no.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Flagrant it was. And you did not find it repugnant, did you?’

  ‘N…no.’

  ‘You do not sound too sure. Do you want to sample it again?’

  ‘You are making fun of me.’

  He was suddenly serious, the smile gone from his lips. ‘No, my dear, fun with you, perhaps, not of you. But you know, we will ride straight into the sea unless you tell me where you live.’

  She could not take him home. What would her mother and sister say, when she arrived in a coach with an unknown man, especially after she had bribed Annabelle not to say a word about him to her mother? Life was difficult and complicated enough without having to explain away a strange man, especially one who had somehow captured her heart. While their meetings were by chance and ephemeral they were the stuff of dreams. She did not want reality to intrude. ‘You may stop here. I am going to visit someone close by.’

  He called out for the coach to pull up and pulled his umbrella from under the seat. ‘Here, my lady, take this, if you will not let me take you to the door.’

  ‘How will I return it?’

  ‘Oh, I have no doubt we shall meet again, it is written in the stars. You may give it to me then.’

  She took it and stood in the road, watching the coach disappear round the bend at the end of the village, going she knew not where. Who was he and where did he live? Would they meet again? Perhaps she should have told him that she was to marry Sir Arthur. He would not have been so sanguine about things being written in stars if he knew that, would he? Did she want to see him again? She did. Oh, she did.

  She turned down the lane that led to the dower house, carrying the umbrella above her head, though it did little to keep her skirts dry. But she hardly noticed; she was dreaming of the young man with his deep, dark eyes and smiling mouth, a mouth that had touched hers, ever so briefly.

  Once indoors, she put the umbrella down and leaned it against the wall in the hall while she took off her cloak and hung it up. Her mother, hearing her, came out of the drawing room to meet her. ‘Lydia, where have you been? And where did you get that?’ She pointed at the umbrella. ‘You surely did not buy it?’

  ‘No, Mama, I did not buy it, I borrowed it. And I have been to the library as I said I would. And I met Sir Arthur. He invited me into his house and gave me tea. He has those new teacups with handles, much better than dishes. They save you from burning your fingers.’

  Her mother refused to be sidetracked by talk of teacups. ‘Alone, Lydia?’

  ‘Why not?’ She led the way into the parlour and threw herself on to the sofa. ‘I was on his driveway. Oh, do not look so cross, I saw the gates and curiosity overcame me. The place looked deserted and I thought he was from home…’

  ‘And he found you? Lydia, whatever did he think?’

  ‘Nothing, why should he? I said I had come with a message from you about when you would be at home to receive him.’

  Her mother sat down beside her and took her hand. ‘Oh, does that mean…?’

  Lydia sighed. ‘I have no choice, have I? Thanks to that man.’

  ‘You mean the Earl?’

  ‘Of course I mean the Earl.’

  ‘I have been to the Hall and spoken to his lordship.’

  ‘And no doubt he gave you short shrift. I could tell by the tone of that letter he would not change his mind.’

  ‘He was most condescending. He agreed to let us stay until you are married.’

  ‘And what about you and Annabelle and John?’

  ‘If all goes according to plan, we will be looked after. I told you, it will be written into the marriage contract. Sir Arthur intimated he was prepared to negotiate.’

  ‘Then I suppose the sooner it comes about the better, for I do not wish to be in that man’s debt for a single minute.’

  ‘Lydia, he was charming, just like his father when he was young, and I do believe he has suffered greatly—’

  ‘So have we.’ She was on the point of saying that it seemed she was to continue to do so, but stopped herself in time; it would only upset her mother. She must accept her fate as cheerfully as she could, but so soon after that difficult interview with Sir Arthur and her last encounter with her handsome stranger, who did not seem like a stranger at all, it was doubly difficult.

  ‘He asked me to wish you happy.’

  ‘He did that?’ She was astonished.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He did not mean it.’

  ‘Why should he not? He is an honourable man and a gentleman. He did not even know Freddie had been sent away too. I thought they might have corresponded, even met, but it seems not.’

  ‘Oh, Mama, you were surely not
hoping that he knew where Freddie is…?’

  ‘Why not?’ Anne admitted. ‘They were always the best of friends. I thought that if he knew, he might tell us. If he can return without anyone seizing him for what happened all those years ago, then I do not see why Freddie should not do so too.’

  ‘No, but then I never saw a reason for him to leave in the first place. It was all Ralph Latimer’s fault, all of it. And just because you have prostrated yourself to him for a few weeks’ grace to find a home when it was because of him we lost the first one, do not expect me to feel grateful. I hate him as much as ever and nothing in the world will make me change my mind.’

  The carriage pulled up at the front door of Colston Hall and Ralph climbed out and ran up the steps to the entrance, leaving the postilions to take the equipage round to the stables and see to the horses. His butler had the door open before he reached it and took his hat. ‘My lord, have you lost your umbrella?’

  ‘No, I lent it. I shall have it back one day.’

  He smiled to himself as he made his way to the drawing room and flung himself into a chair, throwing one leg over the arm. He still did not know who the young lady was, nor anything of her background. Perhaps she was a servant after all, but he did not think so. She had too much spirit, too much hauteur, but she could have learned that from a mistress. She could even be someone’s mistress. Sir Arthur’s? If she was not his daughter and not his servant, but went to visit him at his house without escort or chaperon, then it stood to reason she was not a respectable, well-raised young lady. The thought sobered him for a moment, but not for long. Mistresses could easily be persuaded to change their loyalties.

  Did Miss Fostyn know of a rival’s existence? Oh, that would set the cat among the pigeons if she found out! Could she actually be Miss Fostyn? No, he told himself, she would not have visited Sir Arthur without her mama and he could see nothing in that beautiful countenance to remind him of the freckle-faced child he had known ten years before. Besides, he would surely not be such a fool as not to know a mortal enemy when he met one, even if she was a pretty girl who had taken his fancy. And she must know who he was, everyone did. Last night she had called him ‘my lord’, though today she had been careful not to repeat that slip of the tongue. Perhaps she was as ready for dalliance as he was. But oh, she had a marvellously original way of going about getting what she wanted.

  The idea of a mystery intrigued him. But it would not be a mystery for long; the village was small, everyone knew everyone else and he would soon learn who she was. He would tell the mayor to go ahead with the Victory Ball. If she lived nearby or had relatives in the village, she would be bound to attend.

  ‘The ball is to go ahead a week from now,’ Annabelle announced at supper two nights later. ‘Caroline Brotherton heard it from his lordship himself. She is all agog. His lordship, she said, is very handsome and has the nicest manners….’

  ‘I shall not go,’ Lydia said. ‘If that man is there, I cannot promise to be responsible for my actions.’

  ‘Lydia, he has a name and a title,’ their mother put in. ‘Do not, pray, refer to him as “that man”.’

  ‘It is how I think of him, when I think of him at all, which is as little as possible.’

  ‘But you must go. Sir Arthur will be there and you never know, he might make his offer.’

  Lydia could hardly suppress the shudder which shook her. ‘So soon?’

  ‘You said the sooner the better.’

  ‘So I did, but I did not mean with indecent haste.’

  ‘Lydia, have you changed your mind? If so, you must say so now and I will do what I can to retrieve the situation, though how, I do not know.’

  Lydia took a deep breath and pulled herself together. ‘No, I have not changed my mind. We will go.’

  ‘Good,’ her mother said, then noticing the untouched food on Lydia’s plate. ‘Finish your supper, child, Janet is waiting to clear the table.’

  Lydia pushed her plate away. ‘I am not hungry.’

  Annabelle giggled. ‘Lydia is in love, Mama.’ And as Lydia shot her a venomous look, added, ‘With Sir Arthur, I mean, of course.’

  It was so palpably untrue, that their troubled mother looked from one to the other in puzzlement. ‘One doesn’t need to be in love to make a contented marriage, Annabelle. Lydia knows that, and it is unkind of you to tease.’

  ‘Well, I shall marry for love.’

  Anne smiled indulgently. ‘Is that so, dear?’

  ‘Yes. Lydia is not the only one who might receive a proposal at the ball. You know it will be the same day as my sixteenth birthday and I am expecting Perry to speak to you.’

  ‘You mean Peregrine Baverstock?’

  ‘Yes.’ Annabelle was almost smug.

  ‘When have you met that young man and discussed such matters?’ her mother demanded, her attention now away from Lydia and firmly fixed on her younger daughter.

  ‘At Caroline’s. Twice. And at the lecture I went to with Lydia. He presented me to his parents and they were most gracious to me. Perry says they liked me.’

  ‘And when did he say that?’

  ‘He told me when I met him in the village when I took Hector for a walk. He was riding his horse and I opened a gate for him. We had some conversation—’

  ‘Unchaperoned! Annabelle, how could you!’

  ‘Hector was with me.’

  ‘Hector is a dog.’

  ‘Well, that is by the way. He told me his parents approved of me and that we need not have a long engagement.’

  ‘Annabelle!’ their mother exclaimed. ‘I cannot believe you have let things go so far without saying a word to me. I hardly know the young man, he might not be at all suitable.’

  ‘Oh, I think he is,’ Lydia murmured. ‘He will come into a title one day; even if it is only a minor one, it is a title. And I believe there is money…’

  ‘You knew about this?’ her mother asked her.

  ‘Not until the night of the lecture.’

  ‘I should have been told. This is not the way a properly raised young lady goes about making a match, Annabelle. Goodness knows what Lord and Lady Baverstock must think of you.’

  ‘Perry will present you to them at the ball,’ Annabelle said. ‘Then you will be able to judge for yourself, arrange everything as it should be done. Now that Lydia has agreed to marry Sir Arthur, there will be no trouble over a dowry, will there?’

  Lydia, who had been dreaming of the handsome stranger with the laughing eyes, heard her sister’s voice, almost strident in its eagerness, and her heart sank. Instead of looking forward to the ball, she began to dread it.

  The day before the big occasion, Sir Arthur paid his promised visit to Mrs Fostyn, arriving in his spanking new carriage, dressed in an immaculate coat of dove grey grosgrain and matching breeches tucked into shining calf boots. A froth of lace fell over his hands and cascaded over the top of his green brocade waistcoat. He was wearing a new white wig, with rows of sausage-shaped curls on each side, which fitted more securely than the old one. His bulging stomach had been pulled in by a corset which creaked as he bent over Anne’s hand.

  ‘Your obedient, ma’am. I hope I find you well?’

  ‘Very well, Sir Arthur. May I offer you refreshment?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  She rang the bell for Janet. ‘Then please be seated.’

  They sat, Anne, Sir Arthur and Lydia, facing each other, not speaking until Lydia, unable to endure the silence, asked him if he were going to the ball the following evening.

  ‘Indeed, I am and hope for a happy outcome.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lydia paused and then added in a rush, ‘Where has that girl got to? Shall I go and find her, Mama?’

  ‘Yes, tell her to bring tea and cakes and then perhaps you should wait in your room until Sir Arthur and I have had our discussion. Or go and help Annabelle finish putting the ribbons on her gown. You know what her stitching is like.’ She smiled at their guest. ‘Lydia is a fine seamstress, Sir Arthu
r.’

  Lydia almost ran from the room in her anxiety to escape. She delivered the message to Janet whom she met hurrying along the hall, but instead of going to her room or finding her sister, she grabbed her cloak and left the house. The further away she was when they decided her future, the better. She could not trust herself not to reject the whole idea.

  She would visit Mistress Grey, her old teacher. She had been retired a long time but Lydia and her mother visited her from time to time to make sure there was nothing she needed. She was very old now and plagued by rheumatics, but her mind was still sharp and she was full of down-to-earth wisdom and might have some good advice.

  Her isolated cottage could be reached using a path through the wood and out across a meadow to a track which had once been an old road, but which the encroaching marshes had made unsafe for vehicles. Lydia set out along the path at the back of the dower house, skirted the park of the Hall, being careful not to look at its mellow stone and mullioned windows in case he was there, and plunged into the wood.

  It was gloomy among the trees, whose burgeoning leaves dripped rain on to her head and shoulders. The old leaves beneath her feet were sodden and the air smelled musty. It was depressing, which suited her mood, but even in the gloom she could hear the birds beginning to sing after the rain and a frog was croaking in a puddle nearby. Life always returned after the long sleep of winter, she mused. Why then did she feel no joy, why did her winter continue unrelenting?

  She had not been this way for some time, not since last summer, and she did not notice that the path she usually took had become overgrown and a new one had been made through the undergrowth until she found herself in a clearing, facing a tumble-down hovel. A shaft of sunlight came out from a cloud at the same moment as she emerged from the trees and shone on the tiny windows, reflecting the trees and the sky. Her face lit up with a delighted smile and she darted forward. She remembered that place! They used to play in it as children, chasing in and out of the broken door, Freddie and Ralph doing their best to throw her off and never quite succeeding.