“No,” Mrs. Mason said with a shake of her head. “I have no desire for any life outside of Shropshire, though I would not mind an extra pound or two to use toward extra comforts. That is as different as I care to be.”
Mrs. Marchett laughed and Lila smiled politely, but as the conversation moved toward comings and goings of mutual friends, Lila reviewed the time she had spent with Mr. Luthford and some things he’d said that had her wondering at his possible wanderlust. Was he sad to leave the life he’d lived for so long? If so, why had he left it? Even if he were determined to marry, why not find a wife that might go with him?
“Lila?”
Lila blinked, having been inattentive to the conversation. “I’m sorry, do repeat the question.”
“I asked how your costume was coming for the masquerade.”
“It is nearly finished,” Lila said, wondering how it was that the enthusiasm she’d felt for the ball last week was so different now. She would dance the first dance with Neville, but might she dance another dance with Mr. Luthford? With such thoughts, it did not take long for her enthusiasm for the ball to return. Thinking of both men gave her a queer feeling, as though she were being untrue to one or both of them. She reminded herself she had made no promise to anyone, and, like Eloise said, to ignore the stirrings of her heart did not seem like a very wise undertaking.
The conversation seemed to drag on for hours until finally Lila and Uncle Peter said good night to their guests—with Mrs. Mason and the Marchetts leaving via the Marchetts’ carriage, and Mr. Luthford walking down the lane to the gravel drive, despite a light rain that was beginning to fall. When the door to the house was shut behind them, Lila made the expected compliments on the night and turned toward the stairs.
“Before you go, Lila,” Uncle said. She turned in time to see him motioning to Wilhite, who was apparently prepared. “Neville wrote to me this afternoon and included a note he asked I give you.”
“Neville,” Lila said, but his name did not bring with it the warmth of sunshine or the giddiness of kittens. She took the letter—still sealed—from Wilhite, but she looked at her uncle. “He comes home soon,” she said.
“Yes. It seems he’s been writing to you more privately these last months than he did when first he left us.”
“It does seem to be that way,” Lila said noncommittally.
He looked at her another moment, the line between his brows rather pronounced, but then it softened. “Ah, well, good night, my dear.” He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and headed to his study where he would end the day with a final glass of brandy.
Lila went upstairs to her room and sat at her desk before breaking the seal on the note, eager to read what was written there. She wondered if perhaps Neville’s writing would rekindle the flame that seemed to be fading these last days.
Dearest Lila,
It is with a heavy heart that I write you with the news that I will not be returned to High Ercall in time for the Autumn Masquerade on Friday next. We have arrived in Liverpool, but there is business both here and in London that I must attend to before I return. I am very sorry for it, as I have looked forward to taking you to the floor that night, but will instead anticipate the delight in seeing you as soon as I can conclude my business.
I promise to make up for the disappointment.
With much affection,
Neville
Lila did not read the letter a second time, as she once might have. Instead, she lowered the paper into her lap and felt another level of burden removed from her shoulders. Neville would not come back next week. And he would not be at the ball. Some part of her wished he were not bowing out, but another part was not disappointed at all. She had just been given the chance to further explore these strange new feelings she had toward Mr. Luthford, and she would make the most of it.
Chapter Nine
At ten o’clock in the morning, Lila took a final look in the mirror and then turned and left her bedchamber. She wore her riding skirt—the train draped over one arm so it wouldn’t drag on the ground—and boots, a wool coat cut like a man’s with gold buttons and braid, and a jaunty, wide-brimmed hat pinned at a slight angle. She loved the look of her riding habit—adventurous and rugged compared to the typical pastel dresses of daily life. Truth be told she preferred to ride astride—the excessive skirts, shown off to advantage on a side saddle—were cumbersome until actually on the horse, and while she was quite good on a ladies saddle, she often thought she could be even better if she could distribute her weight more equally. For some time she’d been trying to convince Uncle Peter to allow her to ride with a regular saddle, but he was as yet unconvinced it was appropriate. Rather than argue she simply did her best to improve her form on the sidesaddle. One day she would be a married woman and surely, if she could prove her mastery of the ladies’ version, her future husband would allow her greater margin than her uncle. The thought brought her to a stop just inside the back door of the estate. Her husband.
For some time the title of “her future husband” and Neville’s name had been one and the same. This morning, however, Neville had not been part of the equation. Rather the expectation of her future husband was now a neutral one, based on title only but without a man attached to the position. The change was somewhat worrisome, like finding an object once loved and not feeling the same joy with it you once did. If Mr. Luthford were not waiting for her at the stable, perhaps she would have explored the change with greater attention. Or perhaps she would not have. Thinking of Mr. Luthford, talking of Mr. Luthford, and mostly, talking with Mr. Luthford had created a kind of veil between her automatic expectations of just a week ago and the now vague and smoky expectations of possibility. She did not want to ponder on the change too much—such things could be fragile—so she quieted the thoughts and focused her mind on the present.
She arrived at the stable to find Gordon and her uncle’s horse, Braystorm, already saddled at the far side of the paddock. She had specifically told Mr. Luthford that she had a horse of her own; she had never ridden Braystorm and was unsure that a sidesaddle had ever graced the fine animal’s back. Had Mr. Luthford been confused? The stable hands would not have made the mistake. The sound of footsteps from behind caused Lila to turn, and then Mr. Luthford’s smile—first one side and then the other—filled her with sunshine.
“Good morning, Miss Grange,” he said, inclining his head as he approached. He was dressed in buff breeches and tall riding boots with a riding coat that hung nearly to his knees. “You look the very picture of a horsewoman.”
“I do like to ride,” Lila said, surprised at the sudden shyness she felt as he approached. “And I wish you would call me Lila.”
His smile grew even more. “Then you must call me Mortimer—or rather Mory, if you would.” He paused a moment. “Do you know that there are likely only three people left in all the world who call me that?”
“Really?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Other men call me Luthford, and in the military I was Lieutenant or Sir. With both my parents gone now, only my sisters call me by my Christian name. I had not thought of that until this very moment. What a strange thing to have so few people call me by the one name that is mine alone.”
The sentiment made Lila feel special, selected to have a level of intimacy and trust with this man that she would only share with a handful of other people. “It would be an honor to be part of such an exclusive group, Mory.” Had she once thought the name stuffy? Mory was better, of course, but even Mortimer no longer seemed so bad.
He smiled back in humor. “I am very glad you think so, Lila.” He held her eyes a moment longer and then turned toward the corral. “I hope you will forgive me for taking a liberty with our mounts today.”
She turned to look at the horses too and only then realized that it was Gordon with the sidesaddle, not Braystorm. Mory didn’t say anything, apparently letting her absorb the situation for herself.
Finally she turned to look at hi
m. “I am to ride Gordon?”
“If you are rabidly opposed, I can have the groom prepare your horse instead, but if you are willing to take a chance, I think you would find Gordon a very pleasing bit of horse flesh, though she does not have the bloodline that would recommend her in polite circles.”
Lila cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes in a playful way. “Have you arranged this because I insulted her?”
“I agreed that she was not much to look at,” he conceded. “But ten to one you will fall in love with her as I have once you experience her charm for yourself.”
While they’d talked, Gordon moved toward them and, as she had the first time Lila was introduced, nuzzled her master’s hand.
“It seems the two of you have made a very happy match with one another,” Lila said.
Mortimer laughed. “A man could do worse in his female company, I dare say.”
“She is trained with a sidesaddle?”
“Or no saddle, a broken saddle, a cart, wagon—she is a horse of all trades. In Spain there were times when she was needed for some commander’s wife, so she is familiar with the different weight distribution.”
“And you don’t mind my riding her?” Most men were rather protective of their mounts.
“Not at all. I asked your uncle for a recommendation I might ride in her place, and he offered up Braystorm, which was very generous.” He was still stroking Gordon’s nose and turned to look at Lila. “Are you ready?”
Lila grinned. “Indeed I am.”
They started down Shrewsbury Lane, then turned onto Cotswall, talking of the weather and some properties in and around High Ercall that Mory would be visiting in a few more days.
“What brought you to Shropshire? Uncle Peter said you grew up in Essex.”
“That was where my parents lived, yes, but I went away to school when I was very young and then joined the military at fifteen after my parents could not afford my schooling. The land was sold off bit by bit as we had several bad years, and then when my father died my mother sold the home in order to secure dowries for my sisters. One of my sisters lives in Birmingham now, and another in Wales. Shropshire seemed a good place to plant myself between them.”
“That is a good reason, then. You will be farming?”
He gave her a sidelong look. “Are you going to lecture me on the importance of retaining my level?”
“No,” she said with a laugh. “We do not stand on so much ceremony here.”
“I miss the physical toil of my military career; in fact, I avoided some promotions for fear they would put me behind a desk. To grow fat and useless is a fate I hope to avoid at all costs. An active farm seems the best way to maintain myself. I believe if my father had been willing to learn the management, he’d have done better than he did when he was determined not to work.”
“That is an unusual perspective,” Lila said. “Especially amid a society that prides itself in not having to work with one’s hands.”
He smiled, but there was a sadness in it. “I find it harder to fit in with this society than I ever did with that of India or Spain.”
“Do you really?” she asked. “You don’t seem to have any trouble making friends and conversation.”
He shrugged but said nothing. She thought of the conversation she had with Mrs. Mason the night before, regarding Mory having resigned himself to this lifestyle.
“Do you regret leaving the military?”
He seemed to ponder this and then let out a heavy breath. “More often than I thought I would,” he said. “I always knew I wanted to return to England and have a family—I have planned this course for quite some time—and yet the actual fulfillment of that goal has been a difficult adjustment.” He glanced at her and forced his smile bigger. “Purchasing my own estate will be a great help in the transition, I believe, and I hope to set up a household and nursery soon. I have great faith that not too far into the future I shall no longer miss the activity of my military career and be glad for having made the decision to begin a new life here.”
“Are there not any number of married soldiers?” Lila said, saddened by the idea that he had to give up one dream to take hold of another.
“It is hard on them, especially the wives,” he said. “Not so much when they are unencumbered by children and can follow their husbands from post to post, but when they have a family, the wives often stay in British settlements while the men move with their assignments. They can go months, years even, without any interaction. Too often the children barely know their fathers, and the wives and husbands settle into an arrangement rather than the kind of union I hope to have.”
“Are there no happy military marriages, then?”
“There are some,” Mory said. “But the odds are against it, and I wanted to strengthen my potential. English women prefer English society, manners, climate, and ritual, and while there are British settlements formed around those ideals, it is a hard life—one that few women are truly capable of finding contentment within. I believe I will prefer a happy home over exotic locations; that is what it came down to for me.” He glanced her way again. “Do not feel sorry for me, Lila. I am content with my place and, if I dare say, intrigued by my prospects here.”
She felt the heat in her cheeks—the second time today—and looked at Gordon’s mane, which did not shine. She reached forward anyway and stroked the back of the mare’s neck. “I must confess Gordon is a very smooth ride. I am not overly pitched to either side, nor do I feel much impact from her steps.”
“I knew you would see things my way.”
Lila laughed and patted the horse’s neck again. Her mind was still very much focused on the prior topic of conversation, however. “I read an article not long ago about women taken to India each spring in search of military husbands. They were often older, or perhaps not as highly bred as a typical debutante here in England. Did you see much of that?”
“Ah yes, the fishing fleet,” he said with a grin. “A hundred or so women sent out to settlements with a thousand men. It is a reasonable idea, and for many men—and women—it has worked well, but I believe most of those women came because they had no other choice. Many never find the contentment they hoped for, and a fair amount left as soon as they were able, married or not.”
She was trying to think of something more to say when he began to talk again.
“I would not usually discuss matters of business with a woman, but from our prior conversations I deduce that you are not to be put off by it.”
“Not at all,” she said, perhaps too eagerly. She evened out her tone. “I have a wide variety of interests.”
He must have decided to take her at her word. “When I was first stationed in India, another soldier and I went in on an investment. Many military men do so in hopes of making a fortune they can then take back to England one day.”
Lila nodded. This type of thing was common knowledge, and she had supposed he made exactly this kind of investment since he was now in the market for a farm of his own. That he was taking her into his confidence, however, was far more than she’d hoped for. Many married women did not fully understand the extent of their husband’s holdings. Most did not want to know. In yet one more way Lila was reminded that she was not like most English women. What surprised her was that, in this moment, she did not want to be.
“This partner and I purchased a tea plantation and over the years improved and expanded it as we could spare the time and expense. When he retired five years ago, he took over the management of the farm, which has only increased its success, but for each year he manages the plantation, he gets two percent of my ownership.”
“So he now has ten percent of what you once held.”
“Exactly,” Mory said, pleased with her attentiveness. “We began as fifty-fifty partners, but we are now sixty-forty, with him holding the majority. In February we shall be sixty-two and thirty-eight.”
“It seems a fair arrangement,” Lila said. “Other than the fact that
in twenty years you will have no ownership at all.”
“Yes, but the profits continue to increase, and so it is not a poor arrangement for either one of us. At least not so far. There was a time I considered retiring to India as well, or perhaps my partner and I would trade off—a year in England and a year in India. I would retain my percentage, and we would both have the chance to reconnect with family and society of our homeland.”
“Why did you not pursue that course?” Lila asked when he did not offer additional information.
“We would need a joint holding here to accommodate our time in England,” Mortimer said. “And he has never expressed an interest to come to England. He married after retirement to a widow who had lived in Bombay for more than a decade. She is well suited to the lifestyle, and I did not want to seem ungrateful for all they have done for the plantation thus far. And, once again, such a thing would require a great deal of the woman I should marry. It seems a much simpler matter to set up a holding of my own in England from the profits of the plantation this last decade and offset my decrease in India with an increase here. Basic economics, really, and without the difficulty of convincing a woman to leave everything she knows.”
I would do it, Lila thought to herself, genuinely intrigued by the idea. She had Uncle Peter, of course, and would miss the comforts of English life, but adventure of exotic lands and new cultures seemed a fair trade. But then, she had Neville here too. Thinking of him caused her to swallow with discomfort. How was it she could forget about him so easily? And it was not as though Mory had made her an offer. But what if he did? And what if she told him she would go to India and live on that plantation? Would she be happy there? Could she live without familiar things and people? She couldn’t guarantee her own success at making such adaptations, of course, but she would be eager to do her best.
Timeless Regency Collection: Autumn Masquerade Page 5
