Though one individual couldn’t help smiling at Georgiana’s wit and evident spirit. Oliver nodded at her and raised his goblet to signal his admiration. Cordelia noticed the gesture and frowned. This was not how she had intended the evening to proceed. The Duke was drumming his fingers on the white damask tablecloth and looking down the table at Oliver. The young Marquess smiled and raised a silent toast to his host who nodded graciously at the other man, although not with the slightest hint or degree of warmth in his expression.
The dinner concluded with a magnificent pudding, lavishly decorated with a fabulous spun-sugar confection that carried the Duke’s coat of arms. Everyone cheered and applauded as the pudding was formally presented to the table and the Duke assumed the honour of carving out the first slice, which he offered, with a bow, to Cordelia. He was greeted with cries of encouragement for his gallant gesture and the delicious confectionary was quickly divided up amongst the guests and consumed with great relish. Georgiana watched them in horrified fascination. They reminded her of pigs at a trough.
As the dinner drew to a close and the servants hurried forward to clear away the dishes, the Duke stood up with Cordelia at his side. When everyone became quiet, he called out to the assembled guests that they were invited to join him and the future Duchess of Rotherhithe in the blue drawing room, to enjoy a hand of cards and, perhaps, a game of chess. He smiled broadly and reminded everyone that it was entirely acceptable for his guests to place wagers on the outcomes, because he had to recover the costs of the dinner in whatever way he could. The guests roared with laughter and followed the Duke and his future bride into the well-lit drawing room.
~~~~~
Philip watched his laughing guests as they made their way from the dining room, and frowned. He wished that he felt better about all of this. Georgiana had shown no preference for any of the possible candidates for husband – in fact she appeared to have somewhat of an aversion to the majority of them. Except for Dartworth – which was a great worry. He had promised the boy’s father that he would help him find a wife, and had thought, at first, that he might have a magical solution to his promises to two dead men, but then he had met Dartworth.
The Marquess was totally unsuitable for Georgiana – he would not be truly fulfilling his promise to Tillingford if he let the girl marry a man who had absolutely no money, even if he did have a title. And the boy had such outrageous opinions – opinions he was fool enough to share. It just wouldn’t do.
A pity though – for he suspected that old Tillingford wouldn’t have cast aside Oliver’s opinions entirely – he had always been very focused on looking after his tenants and encouraging them to have a say in the way the farms were run – and it had worked out well for him. Still you just couldn’t go about saying that sort of thing amongst the ton and expect to be well received!
And the money – if the boy couldn’t sort out the remaining debts fast, he likely would end up in the worst disgrace, and in debtors’ prison – not the sort of thing one could accept in the husband of a gently bred Lady.
There was nothing for it – if the boy survived dealing with the debt, he would help him find a bride – but for now, for Georgiana, he would have to choose the best of the available bunch, and convince her, force her hand if necessary, to marry the man. He wouldn’t rest easy until he had fulfilled his promise to old Tillingford and the girl was well married and settled.
~~~~~
“Still feeling out of sorts, Otford?”
Baron Setford’s voice was quiet, neutral in tone, his face calm as he sipped his brandy appreciatively, leaning back in his chair. The remnants of a surprisingly decent meal scattered the table before them, and the fire crackled in the grate. This inn had turned out to be a good choice as a stop along the way. The private parlour was clean and pleasant, the food and brandy good, and the bedchambers had looked equally well maintained.
Gerald was silent, staring into the fire, deciding if he would answer at all. Eventually, faced with Setford’s patient silence, he spoke.
“Not out-of-sorts exactly. More lost, not to put too fine a point on it.”
Setford nodded, pleased with the honesty, and waited for the younger man to continue. Gerald Otford, newly Baron Tillingford, looked up, and his deep blue eyes met Setford’s clear grey ones. Those deep blue eyes held a wealth of buried anguish.
“This whole business of having been ennobled… I never expected having a title and estates to come with so much responsibility – and with so much exhausting need to subtly prove to the ton that I am worthy of the honour. Hunter’s wedding was a classic example of why I’m feeling so lost. It was wonderful to see the other Hounds, and with them, I felt almost comfortable. But… all of those other society people, that massive room full of titles and importance… I had no idea how to deal with it at all!”
“But you did deal with it. And well. You gave them nothing to disdain, you comported yourself better than half of them. And, from what I hear, you are doing a sterling job with the Tillingford estates. So… why is it bothering you today? “
Gerald sipped from his glass, and held eye contact with Setford (not something that many people were comfortable doing).
“Because you are about to drop me into another pool of society gossip and hidden agendas, where I’ve never even met most of the people who will be there! I feel as much in danger as I did in the field in Spain.”
Setford laughed – not mockery, but a sincere appreciation of the analogy.
“You’ll do well. Rotherhithe has occasional lapses into being a bit painfully traditional, but he’s a good man m’boy. Trust him. Try to enjoy yourself – use this as an opportunity to lurk quietly and observe them all. Learn some more about the upcoming generation of the ton. Can’t say that many of them impress me, but it will be a good thing to work out who you can trust, and who you’ll want to steer clear of.”
Gerald laughed in turn, with a rather more brittle edge than Setford.
“Enjoy myself! You are an optimist. But study them – yes, I’ll do that. I’d just feel better if some of the other Hounds were there – I feel remarkably exposed without them at my back. No offence to you, sir.”
“Damn it m’boy, it’s just a wedding and a house party, not a battle. Although…” Setford’s sharp grey eyes twinkled with amusement, “…a collection of hopeful young men, with an eye on a sizeable dowry, trying to convince the younger Branley girl that she should choose them, could potentially turn into something resembling a battlefield.”
That brought a smile, and a more genuine laugh from Gerald, and he relaxed a little. Whatever happened, the spymaster was a good man to have on your side. He would manage this next few weeks. Setford yawned.
“Time for us to turn in. If we get a good start in the morning, we’ll be there before dinner tomorrow.”
The following day went much as most of the recent days had, with a slow start after the evening’s drinking, and a scatter of socially acceptable activities, such as walks in the gardens, rides in the grounds, a little hunting for the gentlemen, cards, or embroidery and gossip for the ladies, throughout the day. The late afternoon found all gathered in the main salon for tea and desultory conversation.
As the afternoon sun turned the mist of soft green from the new leaves on the trees to a rich gold, making the view from the salon window quite enchanting, a carriage was heard approaching up the long drive. Cordelia, with her usual curiosity, managed to nonchalantly move to the window to peek out and watch to see who was arriving. Georgiana, thoroughly bored by then, and sick of inane conversation, joined her.
“I wonder who it is? Oh, my, doesn’t the park look beautiful in this light? I so miss Casterfield Grange! The buds will be out on all our trees too.” Georgiana sighed, still watching the carriage.
Cordelia squinted a bit into the light, trying to see if the carriage bore a crest of any kind. It didn’t.
“There is no crest. It could be anyone. We will simply have to wait until they are an
nounced.” She went back to watching the progress of the carriage, happy to ignore the ongoing gossip in the room behind her.
As usual, the ladies were talking about the latest scandals, and casting long disapproving looks at some of the gentlemen, especially at the Marquess of Dartworth. The gentlemen were talking about hunting, and, as far as she could tell, about the latest ‘men’s gossip’ around who was courting who, and who was having an affair with who, although they did try to be quiet enough for the ladies not to hear. They, also, were casting negative looks at Oliver, and excluding him from their conversation.
Georgiana wanted to scream. She would have been so much better off at home, working with the estate manager, caring for her lands and tenants, rather than here, a prize on display. They were all fools. The only interesting person here was Oliver. And she knew that both Cordelia and Philip disapproved of him.
She wondered how Philip had ever brought himself to even invite Oliver. Seeing how everyone treated Oliver made her grind her teeth, wanting to shout at them about how rude they were. Two years ago, she might have done just that. Now, she was trying very hard to be a polite young Lady. It was, perhaps, the most difficult thing she had ever done.
Her heart went out to him, watching how he dealt with it all, with quiet dignity.
The sound of the carriage wheels on the gravel at the entry brought her out of her thoughts.
Moments later, the butler knocked, opened the salon doors and announced – “Baron Sefton, and Baron Tillingford.”
Georgiana and Cordelia both started – they still struggled to adjust to the fact that someone else now bore the title that had been their father’s. After a deep breath, they both smiled, and went forward to greet the handsome gentleman who stood in the doorway, looking a little nervous as Philip welcomed him.
They had met Gerald Otford only once before, just a few months ago. They liked him – for once, the sisters were in complete agreement. Georgiana particularly liked him, because he had listened to her, respected her ideas and knowledge of estate management, and generally treated her as an adult with thoughts worth hearing. She was glad that he had come – between him, and Setford, she at least had a chance of more decent conversation!
As they were announced, a hush had fallen in the room, as everyone assessed the newcomers. Setford was well known, even if he did not go about in society much. He had vast influence, and was treated with careful respect. The new Baron Tillingford was another matter entirely. He was recently raised to his title, and, whilst coming from a respectable landed gentry family, was seen by most of the ton as an upstart. They just hadn’t found anything yet to denigrate him for. And, well, he was wealthy, and he was a war hero, and handsome. In the eyes of the ton’s mamas, that forgave a lot.
The men eyed him, wondering if he was another competitor for Georgiana’s hand.
Georgiana was certain that he wasn’t anything like that. He was, amongst a horde of people who didn’t care, a friend.
~~~~~
As the carriage rolled up the long drive of Canterwood Park, Gerald looked out the window, and felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. The place was enormous. With the late afternoon sunlight gilding its stone façade to a rich old gold tone, and the long line of trees with new spring leaves just showing, it was more than imposing – it was the absolute symbol of old wealth and power, and all of the things about the ton that challenged him, every day.
“Tell me again why I agreed to let you drop me into this pit of society vipers?”
Setford laughed, loud and long. Then smiled at him.
“Because you need the practice. And, more importantly, they need to see you. And see that the Branley girls accept you, and welcome you as the new holder of the Tillingford title. The slightest sign of resentment on their part would give the old biddies all they need to cut you completely. Conversely, their acceptance will be the first step to everyone accepting you. Stop worrying. You are more than capable of coping. And the girls, and Rotherhithe, like you. Take a deep breath, and just do it, as if you’ve been travelling in this rank of society all your life.”
“Easy for you to say! Right now, I feel that facing a battalion of the French army would be more manageable.”
Setford laughed again, but there was nothing nasty to it. It was the laughter of companionship and understanding, and Gerald appreciated the lightening of the moment.
The carriage reached the portico and stopped. A footman rushed out to open the door and let down the steps. Gerald, surprised that his legs held him, descended after Setford and followed him up the grand stairs to the door. A butler greeted them, and ushered them to a salon, announcing them at the door.
He had not thought it possible for his stomach to sink further – but it did. The large room was filled with a positive horde of men and women of the ton, all eating, drinking, and gossiping. A man moved towards them, and he recognised their host, the Duke of Rotherhithe, with some relief. As he greeted Rotherhithe, the two Branley girls appeared beside him, their faces wreathed in genuine smiles of welcome. He began to feel just a little better about things.
Setford, greeting Rotherhithe, who was an old friend, warmly, made a small noise of satisfaction at the girls’ approach.
“Baron Tillingford, wonderful to see you again!” Georgiana, the younger girl, spoke first, pleasure and real enthusiasm in her voice.
“And you, Lady Georgiana, Lady Cordelia.” He bowed over their hands in turn, making, he thought, a creditable job of looking natural about it. He was beyond grateful for the greeting, for, as they had been announced, a hush had fallen across the room, and all eyes had turned in their direction.
With the conversation stilled, he could see that those present were mostly of high station, and included a collection of the lamentable ‘cream of the crop’ of the eligible young men of the ton, and their fathers. The ladies appeared to be the mothers and sisters of those young men, and their eyes upon him assessed, deciding whether he was to be disdained, or to be hunted as a possible husband. He barely prevented himself from shuddering.
One man seemed out of place – he held himself with the natural bearing of the aristocracy, yet his clothes were older, somewhat out of fashion, visibly worn, and he stood to one side, obviously excluded from the general run of conversation. Gerald felt an immediate affinity with the man – one of them, and yet not. His curiosity was aroused.
Rotherhithe swept them along, towing them around the room, performing introductions, until Gerald’s head spun trying to keep track of it all. Last to be introduced, almost as if Rotherhithe was uncomfortable with his presence, was the man who seemed out of place.
“Gerald Otford, Baron Tillingford, may I make known, Oliver Kentworthy, the Marquess of Dartworth?”
They bowed to each other, eyes meeting, both wary, yet interested. Introductions done, Rotherhithe swept Setford away to chat about old times, leaving Gerald to cope on his own. The girls had been swept up by some chattering group of females, although Lady Georgiana had not looked pleased.
Turning back to Dartworth, Gerald searched desperately for a conversational opening. The other man, a quirk of a half-smile on his lips, rescued him.
“Do I sense that you have as little liking for this sort of gathering as I do?” The forthright comment was startling, but welcome.
“Indeed, to my chagrin, I must admit that to be the case, if you are anywhere as uninspired by this chattering collection of well-bred gossips as you look to be.”
The other man’s half-smile became a genuine grin.
“And that would be almost the first honest answer I’ve had from anyone in weeks!”
Suddenly, inexplicably, comfortable, they settled to talk. A fact which drew the attention of most of the room, after a while, and not necessarily in a positive way, from the expressions on faces. Gerald wondered what Dartworth had done, to earn the obvious censure he faced.
By the time that dinner was called, he knew. They had, in each other, found
someone they could talk to, and Dartworth had shared the truth of his situation – a situation that horrified Gerald. He respected the man for his courage, and his willingness to get past his noble heritage and work to survive. No-one who had been in France and Spain, in the field, would judge a man for worn clothes or calloused hands. The way that the ton treated Dartworth made him even more uncomfortable with his own newly ennobled status.
For a while, Lady Georgiana came to join their conversation, looking back to Rotherhithe and her sister with an expression almost rebellious, and he wondered what was behind that. She was, as she had been the previous time he had met her, a delight.
Her keen intelligence positively shone in her conversation, and he could see that Dartworth was very taken with her, and that, it seemed, she was rather taken with him too. As a Marquess, he was certainly of suitable rank to be a potential husband for her, but, he suspected, that rebellious look might have something to do with his lack of funds and his other history making him ineligible in Rotherhithe’s eyes.
Gerald’s curiosity pulled at him – he wanted to know what was going on here. But he certainly couldn’t ask! Perhaps conversation over dinner would reveal more. He offered Lady Georgiana his arm, and she took it gracefully, allowing him to lead her into dinner.
~~~~~
The dinner conversation proved to be ordinary, as if everyone, after yesterday’s vigorous discussion, was on their best behaviour. Georgiana sighed – how boring. Still, it meant that she could eat, and surreptitiously watch Oliver, hoping for some moments when their eyes might meet. She was so grateful for the fact that Otford had chosen to talk with Oliver. Even more now, she considered Otford a most welcome friend.
Once dinner was done, they once again retired to the library, for games, and conversation. In the library, the servants had provided fresh carafes of sherry and madeira for the guests and, as they entered the spacious room, Rotherhithe invited Oliver to the chess board. The Duke smiled and assured the young Marquess that they were only playing for sport and not for money. It was obvious to Setford, Georgiana and Gerald that Oliver did not find any amusement in the comment.
Redeeming the Marquess: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 6) Page 6
