The Honourable Earl

by Mary Nichols

  ‘Miss Fostyn, your obedient,’ he said, studying her face under cover of a sweeping bow. ‘Are you well?’

  ‘Perfectly, sir. A little fatigued, that is all.’

  ‘Is it to be wondered at?’ he said. ‘So much going on, so much to think about and do. I wonder you are not prostrate with exhaustion.’

  ‘I am young and healthy Mr Dent,’ she said, glancing towards her mother, who looked slightly startled by the undercurrents beneath the seemingly banal conversation. ‘I can take a great deal more activity that I have had so far, I do assure you.’

  ‘Oh, I am sure you can, but let me caution you, my dear Miss Fostyn, against over-exertion. It could lead to all manner of ills. Night air, I believe, is particularly harmful.’

  ‘Whatever are you talking about?’ Anne put in. ‘Lydia has not been out in the night air, unless you mean when we were in the garden watching the fireworks—’

  ‘Quite, ma’am,’ he said, bowing towards her.

  ‘Mr Dent, I cannot think why you should mention it. I am perfectly able to look after the health of my daughter until she marries and then, of course, her husband will take care of her.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. I only spoke because when I saw Miss Fostyn last night, I thought she was not feeling quite the thing and it is only common civility to call and ask if she has recovered.’

  ‘I was never ill, sir,’ Lydia said. ‘But I will take note of your concern about the night air.’

  He took his leave soon after that and she wondered if he took her assurances as an indication that she would not pursue her interest in the smugglers. It was what she wanted him to think, but she had no intention of doing anything of the sort.

  ‘I do declare that man is a little touched in the head,’ her mother said, when he had gone. ‘Whatever was he talking about?’

  Lydia shrugged. ‘I have no more idea than you, Mama. Perhaps he was drunk.’

  ‘In the middle of the day?’

  Lydia picked up the claret bottle; there was hardly a thimbleful left. ‘How much was in this when he arrived?’

  Anne smiled. ‘It was more than half full. I tried to tell him you were sleeping, but he seemed determined to stay. What is going on? He knows you have accepted Sir Arthur’s offer, so it is too late to put in one of his own.’

  ‘I doubt that was his intention, Mama.’

  ‘Then what? I do hope he is not going to spread more rumours…’

  ‘What could he say?’

  ‘That you have a tendency to over-indulgence when it comes to champagne. You drank too much at your own betrothal party and had to be taken home early. And last night too, judging by his hints.’

  ‘Mama! You make me sound like a soak.’

  ‘Not at all, but you did leave the supper table very suddenly last night. What Sir Arthur thought of that, I do not know. He went looking for you, but fortunately I found you first.’

  ‘I did nothing wrong.’

  ‘No, but that is not how other people perceive it. Sir Arthur has called, you know. I had to tell him you were still abed. I said it was over-excitement, what with the ball and the wedding coming so soon on top of one another.’

  ‘And did he accept that?’

  ‘He seemed to. But, Lydia, if you do anything else to embarrass him, he will begin to think he made a mistake in offering for you.’

  Lydia would have loved to retort that nothing would please her more than for Sir Arthur to have second thoughts, but she knew that would upset her mother and that was the last thing she wanted. ‘I am sorry, Mama. It won’t happen again, I promise you.’

  ‘Good,’ her mother said, picking up the bell from the table at her side and giving it a few shakes. ‘I’ll tell Janet to serve dinner.’

  But when Janet came it was not in answer to the summons but to tell them the Earl of Blackwater was in the hall.

  ‘For goodness sake, girl, do not keep him standing outside,’ Anne told her. ‘Show him in.’

  Before Lydia could gather her scattered wits he was standing before them in a riding coat of deep forest green, nankeen breeches and highly polished boots. He wore no wig and his dark hair was drawn back and tied with black ribbon. ‘Mrs Fostyn, Miss Fostyn, your obedient,’ he said, bowing to each in turn.

  ‘My lord.’ Anne rose and curtsied. ‘You are very welcome.’

  No, you are not, Lydia said to herself, as she executed her own curtsy. Aloud she said, ‘My lord, what brings you here?’

  ‘A courtesy visit, Miss Fostyn.’ Looking at her was doing all manner of strange things to his insides, stirring him with a desire which he knew he must suppress at all costs. He deliberately turned from her to her mother. ‘Ma’am, I came to tell you how magnificently you managed everything for me last night. Everyone tells me it was a great success.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’ Anne smiled. ‘But you thanked me sufficiently when we left.’

  ‘Did I? Oh, but it does no harm to say it again.’ He paused. ‘Ma’am, if you should find living at Sir Arthur’s not to your taste, you are welcome to stay here.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Lydia demanded, unable to believe her ears.

  ‘I said I find I do not need the dower house after all, and if your mama wishes to make it her home after you have married, then she is welcome to stay.’

  ‘How could you? How could you be so cruel?’ Lydia cried, so full of anger and frustration she could not keep silent. ‘You knew perfectly well what that notice to quit would mean for us all and yet you were determined to see us go. Oh, but I do see. You baited the hook, Mama was caught like a poor fish and is reeled in by your apparent magnanimity so that she forgets how you wronged her and now you are trying to make fun of me—’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said coldly. ‘I was thinking of your mama. And there is nothing the least amusing about that outburst. I begin to think you are not well.’

  ‘I am perfectly well, my lord,’ she said.

  ‘Lydia, his lordship is right, you are beside yourself and I am ashamed of you.’

  ‘I am sorry, Mama. It is just… Oh, why does he have to come offering an olive branch now? It is all too late. Much too late.’ She was so vexed she was on the point of bursting into tears and she must not do that.

  Anne turned to Ralph, her face creased with concern. ‘My daughter has had too much excitement of late, my lord,’ she said, giving what had now become her stock answer. ‘What with her engagement and arrangements to be made for the wedding and last night’s ball… I am not complaining about that, you understand, it was a great occasion.’

  ‘Indeed, it was splendid, thanks to you. And I cannot believe Miss Fostyn was overcome by it. She looked radiant.’ That was not the right word, he decided, it was not radiance but a kind of haunting beauty which made him sad.

  He turned from Anne to Lydia as he spoke, with a gaze so deep and compelling, she fancied he could see right into her soul, to understand things about her she did not understand herself. She could hear her own heartbeat, thumping in her chest like a blacksmith’s hammer, and her hands were shaking so much she was forced to hide them in the folds of her skirt.

  ‘Thank you, my lord,’ she murmured, wishing he would take his leave.

  ‘Will you take refreshment, my lord?’ Anne asked, glancing at the empty claret bottle. ‘Coffee or tea perhaps?’

  ‘No, I thank you, I am expected back at the Hall. There is much to be done clearing up from last night and estate work to supervise…’

  Before he finished speaking Janet came into the room and said Cook wanted to speak to Mrs Fostyn in the kitchen. Anne looked surprised and unsure whether she ought to leave his lordship and Lydia alone together, but evidently decided there was no danger of them doing anything but be coldly polite to each other. She asked to be excused for a moment; he bowed in acquiescence and she followed Janet from the room.

  As soon as she had gone, Ralph, who had given Janet half a guinea to find some way of taking Mrs Fostyn from the room, took a s
tep closer to Lydia. ‘Miss Fostyn, I must take the opportunity while we are alone to ask you if you know what you are doing?’

  ‘Marrying Sir Arthur? Yes, I do, and do not tell me again that you think it is a mistake, for I will not listen.’

  ‘No, I know that would be a waste of breath. I was referring to other matters. It is a dangerous game you are playing, you know.’

  ‘Game, my lord? What can you mean?’

  ‘Don’t play the innocent, Miss Fostyn. I was referring to the smuggling.’

  ‘La, sir, a lady smuggler, how droll.’ Her laughter was meant to show how amusing she found him, to demonstrate she had nothing to hide, but it was too forced to deceive him and she knew it. She stopped laughing and effected anger. ‘My lord, I find your accusations insulting, but then I should have expected no less from you, who would blacken my name if you could, just as you blackened my brother’s.’

  He refused to be distracted and stood his ground. ‘Lydia, if you have got in too deep to extricate yourself, I beg you to confide in me. I can help. In spite of your enmity, I would aid you if I could.’

  It was strange, she thought, that whenever she raised her voice in anger, he lowered his and spoke gently, taking all the heat from her fury. It took a monumental effort to maintain her animosity. But she had to stay on that path, because to step off it was to drown, just as she would drown if she lost her way on the marshes. ‘My lord, I do not know what you mean. I have no need of help, none at all, and even if I had then I should apply to Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith.’

  ‘Of course. I bid you good day, Miss Fostyn.’

  A curt bow, which she answered with no more than a tiny inclination of the head, and he was gone, leaving her fuming. Every word he had uttered had been calculated to upset her, to accuse, to admonish, as if it were any of his business what she did. How much did he know? Did he know anything about that package which, even now, reposed in the bottom of her clothes chest? If he had seen her pick it up, surely he would have said so when he had accosted her on the day, not left it until now?

  She was reminded of that long window at the Hall. Had he been watching from there last night? But the beach was not visible from there and he certainly would not have been able to recognise her from that distance. And why was he offering to help her? She would never turn to him for assistance, for what price would he extract for it? It would be like turning to the devil himself and the cost would be humiliation at the very least.

  She turned as Anne came back into the room, surprised to see only her daughter there. ‘Where is his lordship?’

  ‘Gone, Mama. He had said all he came to say and there seemed no reason to detain him.’

  ‘Oh, and I did not bid him goodbye. I really do not know what Cook wanted that was so urgent. She knew she could not serve dinner until he had gone and we could not have asked him to stay, not at such short notice. It is only mutton chops.’

  ‘I am sure he understood, Mama.’

  ‘Did you give him back his umbrella?’

  ‘No, I forgot.’

  ‘Lydia, you are really become quite empty-headed, but I suppose there is some excuse for it. We shall no doubt see his lordship again, unless you would like to walk up to the Hall and return it yourself.’

  ‘No, I would not,’ she said, so quickly her mother looked at her in surprise. ‘I mean, you are right, we are bound to see him again.’

  The chops had been kept hot and gone leathery; Lydia, whose stomach was already in turmoil, could not eat. It was all Ralph Latimer’s fault, she told herself, stoking up her anger. If he had not chosen to call when anyone with a grain of sense would know it was the dinner hour, the meal would at least have been palatable. And if he had not spent three-quarters of the time finding fault and making accusations, she would not have lost her appetite.

  She was not the only one to lose her appetite. Annabelle pushed her plate away with a grimace of disgust. ‘Mama, it is time you let Cook go. She becomes worse and worse.’

  ‘I don’t like to,’ her mother said. ‘She has been with us so long and it was not her fault today. The Earl arrived just at the wrong moment.’

  ‘Well, she will have to go when Lydia marries, I cannot imagine Sir Arthur employing her. He has a French chef.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Just think, Lydia, when you are married you will never have to cook another thing yourself.’

  ‘I like cooking.’

  ‘Then it is a pity you did not cook these chops instead of playing society hostess to his lordship.’

  ‘I did not do so from choice,’ her sister said. ‘But I could not let him bully Mama, could I?’

  ‘Bully me?’ Anne queried. ‘How can you say that? He was a perfect gentleman. Do you know, Annabelle, he has said we do not need to leave here after all, if we do not wish it.’

  Annabelle looked at Lydia in alarm. ‘Does that mean you are going to break off your engagement? Oh, that would be the last straw. There will be more talk and our names will be even more decried. Peregrine will never be allowed to marry me. It was bad enough last night…’ The diatribe ended in a wail.

  ‘What do you mean last night?’ Anne demanded. ‘What happened last night?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Come along. I want to know. What happened?’

  ‘Perry kissed me.’

  Anne allowed herself the ghost of a smile. ‘Oh, Annabelle, it was very wrong of you to allow it, you should know that, but I cannot see what that has to do with Lydia.’

  ‘Lady Baverstock saw it. We were coming from the garden and it was dark and he…he kissed me, just as her ladyship came up behind us. She was very angry.’

  ‘I do not doubt it. Peregrine should have known better.’

  ‘She was not angry with Perry. She was angry with me for luring him on. She said…’ The girl hesitated and then went on, talking through sobs. ‘She said she wasn’t at all surprised, it was no more than you would expect from a Fostyn.’

  ‘The devil she did!’ Lydia exclaimed. ‘Mama, we cannot let that rest. We cannot.’

  ‘I don’t know what we can do about it,’ Anne said. ‘Making a fuss would only make matters worse.’ She paused and turned back to Annabelle. ‘Dearest, I really do think it would be wiser if you did not see that young man again. He has little backbone if he is prepared to allow you to take the blame for something he did. He is older than you and should be wiser in these matters.’

  ‘He did try to defend me,’ Annabelle cried. ‘His mama struck him and grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away. If Lydia breaks off her engagement, I will never be allowed to marry him.’

  ‘Goodness, do you still want to?’ Lydia asked.

  ‘Of course, I do. You cannot blame someone for what their parents do.’

  ‘You certainly shouldn’t,’ Anne murmured. ‘But you know what they say about the sins of the fathers…’

  ‘I didn’t mean that,’ Annabelle said, aghast that she might have hurt her mother. ‘Lydia, tell Mama. You know what it is like to love someone so much that it doesn’t matter what he does.’

  ‘Do I?’ Lydia queried in surprise.

  ‘Yes.’ Annabelle looked meaningfully at her. ‘You and your umbrella man.’

  ‘Annabelle, what are you talking about?’ Anne said.

  ‘Nothing, Mama,’ Lydia put in. ‘Annabelle is weaving fantasies. I met a stranger at the lecture at the Assembly rooms and spoke a few words to him. She has made a romance out of it.’

  ‘Yes, but he turned out not to be a stranger, but the Earl of Blackwater,’ Annabelle said.

  ‘Which just proves it was a fantasy,’ Lydia said. ‘I cannot abide the man, as you very well know.’

  Anne looked from one daughter to the other and sighed. ‘Girls, will you stop arguing? Annabelle, I do believe you have some studying to do. Go and do it, please. I wish to speak to your sister.’

  Annabelle rose and flounced from the room, leaving Anne facing a very flushed Lydia. ‘Now, child, I think you should tell me exactly wh
at has been happening.’

  Lydia took a deep breath and told her mother about her meetings with the man with the umbrella, trying desperately to sound light-hearted, making a jest of it, saying what a strange coincidence it was that the young man who had sheltered her with his umbrella should turn out to be the Earl of Blackwater.

  ‘And you were determined to hate him,’ Anne said gently.

  ‘With good reason. All those years we’ve had to live like paupers without Papa and Freddie and look what has happened since he returned. Our lives have been turned upside down.’

  ‘Only if you allow it to be so, Lydia. You would still have had to find a suitable husband sooner or later—’

  ‘Yes, but would it have been Sir Arthur Thomas-Smith?’

  ‘Him or someone like him. You cannot marry an imaginary man. A husband has to be flesh and blood.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Lydia, dearest, I know how you feel, truly I do. You are upset and confused, torn between what you think you want and your duty.’

  ‘Why is duty so hard?’

  ‘It will become easier. You know, I was once in your position, when I was about your age. I thought I was in love with someone completely unsuitable.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’ Anne smiled at her daughter’s surprise. Why did children never think their parents were capable of deep emotion? ‘He was an aristocrat, heir to a title and estates, and I was simply a doctor’s daughter, not suitable material to make a countess. Neither parents would allow it. His parents contracted his marriage to a duke’s daughter and mine arranged for me to marry your papa.’

  ‘But you loved Papa!’

  ‘I certainly grew to love him, but it was not so in the beginning. The match was considered a very advantageous one for me because, as you know, your father came from a titled family and, though he was unlikely to inherit himself, it did mean I had a certain standing. My father pointed out my duty to me and no doubt the young man I loved had his duty pointed out to him and so we parted.’

  ‘Did you never see him again? The young man. Did he inherit?’