Captain Ingram's Inheritance

by Carola Dunn

  “A worm!” With a repressive glance at an eavesdropping stable boy, Felix drew her through a brick archway into the English garden. “Their disapproval has nothing to do with it.”

  “They have nothing to disapprove of any more, since you have been treating Fanny like a stranger for three days. This morning, Mama went so far as to commend her neat stitches. Have you changed your mind, Felix, as you did with Lady Sophia?”

  He groaned. “I am deeper in love than ever. When I see her I want to...well, that’s not the sort of thing a fellow can discuss with his sister.”

  Her face hot, Constantia turned aside to inhale the fragrance of a pink and yellow honeysuckle. Bravely she persevered. “Is that why you are avoiding her? You are afraid of...of losing control?”

  “Good Lord, no! I hope I have more command over myself than that.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because she doesn’t need me any more, Con. I’m telling you this in confidence, mind. It turns out that she and Frank are closely related to the Duke of Oxshott and they have come into a fortune.”

  “A fortune? And a noble family?” Her mind whirled, but she refused to let herself be distracted. “Then what has she to be miserable about except your determination to avoid her?”

  “Perhaps I have been too aloof,” he conceded warily. “After all, we are good friends.”

  “Felix, you dear, blind idiot, she loves you. Did you tell her you love her?”

  He thought for a moment. “No,” he admitted. “I told her I’d adopt Anita and that I don’t care a fig for my parents’ opinion. And we were interrupted.”

  “There you are, then. It is all a stupid misunderstanding, I vow. You wait here in the honeysuckle bower and I shall send her to you.”

  By the time she found Fanny in the nursery, Constantia’s confidence was fading. She had assured Felix that Fanny loved him, but both she and the captain might be wrong. How dreadful if her interference only led to more pain for Felix and a shocking embarrassment for Fanny!

  Vickie and Anita were walking about the room with books balanced on their heads, under Miss Bannister’s strict but benevolent eye. Vickie’s usually boisterous carriage was much in need of improvement, and Anita loved to copy whatever she did. Constantia’s arrival made both girls lose their concentration and books at once. They fell into a fit of giggles.

  Fanny smiled, but with such an effort that Constantia knew she had to risk trying.

  “Fanny, may I have a word with you?”

  “Of course.” She followed Constantia out into the passage. “Connie, is Frank...?”

  “Captain Ingram is better every day. I’m sure he is too much recovered to have a sudden relapse. Fanny, I feel like a horrid busybody but I must speak. My brother...You and Felix...Oh, dear, I am making a dreadful muddle of this.”

  Fanny flushed, then turned pale. “Felix?”

  “You and he have unfinished business, do you not? He is waiting for you in the English garden. Will you go to him?” she begged, praying that she was doing the right thing.

  “The English garden? Waiting for me?”

  She seemed so dazed that Constantia gave her a little push. “Go on.”

  Fanny started towards the stairs at a sedate pace, then suddenly picked up her skirts and began to run. Reassured, Constantia followed.

  Now she could concentrate on what Felix had told her about the Ingrams. And she had talked of Felix giving in to persuasion that Fanny was unworthy to be his bride! No wonder the captain had been amused.

  Her pace, too, quickened. By the time she reached the long gallery she was positively marching along, her mood as militant as her step.

  Constantia was furious.

  Chapter 6

  Frank was half sitting, half leaning against the stone balustrade of the terrace when Lady Constantia came storming out of the house. He’d never have guessed she was capable of such wrath. She had forgotten her bonnet. Lightning flashed in her blue eyes and her face was a thundercloud.

  Grinning, he glanced up at the sky and held out his hand, palm up, as if checking for rain.

  “Don’t laugh at me, you wretch! How could you let me spout away about eligibility like the veriest ninnyhammer when all the time you and Fanny are...”

  He raised a finger to his lips. “Please! It’s a secret. I couldn’t tell you because I’d agreed with Fanny not to tell anyone. Roworth let the cat out of the bag, I take it?”

  “Yes.” She came to stand nearby, beside a great stone urn, angrily nipping sprigs off the trailing lobelia. “If she trusted Felix, you could have trusted me.”

  “I do trust you. You know that. But it wasn’t quite that way.” He explained how Felix had interviewed Taggle first, before allowing him to see Fanny, lest he bore a threat rather than a promise.

  “So you are wealthy?” The storm had passed as quickly as it had arisen. She plucked a geranium head and thoughtfully denuded it of scarlet petals, one by one. “And related to a duke?”

  “So we’ve been given to understand.”

  “The Duke of Oxshott, Felix said. Now where have I heard...Oh, I know. Oh dear.”

  “Fanny said she’d heard a story about him recently, from which he emerged as an arrogant, cross-grained blusterer.”

  “I fear so, and worse, easily bested by Mr Rothschild.” She related Felix’s story. “You are closely related?”

  “Grandchildren of the late duke,” Frank confirmed. “Nephew and niece of the villain of your tale.”

  “Closely related to a duke! But why are you keeping it secret?”

  “Is not our new-found uncle’s character reason enough?” he teased.

  “No. Dukes are permitted to be...eccentric. You should disclose the connexion. Mama and Papa will change their tune altogether when they hear.”

  “Precisely,” he said dryly, and saw comprehension flicker in her eyes. He had no desire to distress her by dwelling on her parents’ shortcomings. “More to the point, we don’t want to start bragging until the lawyer has confirmed Taggle’s report.”

  Constantia laughed. “Very wise. When will you be able to brag?”

  “Mr Mackintyre should be here within the week.”

  “So you do not have to rush off to London. Good.”

  “As my nurse, would you have allowed me to go?”

  “Certainly not--as if you would take the slightest notice of my orders if they did not suit you!” Her face darkened. Dropping the remains of the geranium, she clasped her hands tightly before her. “But perhaps Fanny will wish to leave Westwood. Oh, I do hope I was right to intervene.”

  Placing his hand reassuringly over hers, he at once realized that her usual chaperon was absent. Suppose he were to kiss those sweet, tender lips, now drooping, just to comfort her?

  He had the status of a gentleman now, he hastily reminded himself, as well as the character of a gentleman. With a quick squeeze, he let his hand fall to the sun-warmed stone of the balustrade and said, “Your only concern was for their happiness and I fail to see how you could have made matters worse than they already were. What happened?”

  She described her interviews with Felix and Fanny, her lovely face brightening as she did so.

  When she told how Fanny had flown down the stairs, Frank said with a smile, “I wager they’ll be smelling of April and May next time we see them.”

  “If not,” Constantia declared, “if they somehow still misunderstand each other, I shall continue to interfere until they come to their senses!”

  Though heartened by his encouragement, she was left in a horrid uncertainty for the rest of the afternoon. Not until she was changing for dinner did the pair put in an appearance.

  When the knock came upon her dressing-room door, she was in her chemise. Joan draped her Paisley shawl about her before answering the knock.

  Fanny swept in, eyes starry, cheeks flushed, radiant. She flung her arms around Constantia and kissed her. “Bless you, Connie. I can’t thank you enough.”

  �
��It is all settled?” Constantia grabbed the shawl as it slipped, hugged it around her in an automatic defensive gesture. “I am so very glad. Now you will be my sister.” And Frank would be her brother, or near as fourpence to a groat. He was not going to vanish into the great unknown from which he had appeared. The thought was cheering.

  “Con, you saved my life.” Felix wore a complacent, self-satisfied grin. He, too, kissed his sister’s cheek, then reached for Fanny’s hand and held on to it as if he’d never let it go. “When Frank described you as a ministering angel, I thought he was exaggerating just a trifle, but I see he spoke no more than the truth.”

  Constantia blushed. “Without the captain’s support, I’d not have been so bold.”

  “So you two were plotting together against us, were you?”

  “For you. Have you told him yet?”

  “Yes; I had to ask his permission to address his sister--after the event, admittedly.”

  They all laughed. Joan smiled in sympathy, but she also glanced at the clock.

  “Come on, Felix,” said Fanny. “We must change for dinner.”

  “I’ll come and help you in a minute, miss,” said the maid, and added in her prim way, “May I be the first to wish you happy?”

  “Thank you, Joan.” Endearingly impulsive, Fanny kissed the abigail. “Don’t tell anyone else, will you, either of you. We’ve decided to wait until Mr Mackintyre has come.”

  She and Felix left. Constantia heaved a satisfied sigh.

  “I do believe his lordship has chose well, my lady,” Joan said, folding the blue shawl and taking up a sea-green dinner gown. “Ever such a nice lady, Miss Ingram is, if a bit free in her ways. But there, it’s a hard life she’s led and no mistake.”

  “I suppose every detail of her life is common knowledge in the housekeeper’s room, if not the servants’ hall,” said Constantia resignedly as the gown was placed carefully over her head. “I cannot imagine how, since they brought no servants.”

  “Not every detail, by no means, my lady. Mr Trevor’s not one to spread gossip.”

  Of course, Felix’s valet was the source, having been with him in Brussels, in lodgings with the Ingrams.

  Joan fastened the darker green satin ribbon beneath Constantia’s breasts, and straightened the falls of Honiton lace that filled the low neckline right up to the throat. Hairbrush in hand, she said casually, “Mr Mackintyre, he’ll be the lawyer?”

  “Is there anything you don’t know?” Constantia had to laugh. So much for secrecy.

  “Lots, my lady. That Mr Taggle, close-mouthed as a miser’s purse he was. All he’d say was he brought good news, with a nod and a wink and broad hints as ‘twas a lawyer sent him after the captain and miss.”

  “Joan, do my parents know so much?”

  “Now, my lady, you ought to know better than that,” said the maid severely. “There’s none of us will carry tales to his lordship or her ladyship.”

  “I beg your pardon. Still, you must not mention to anyone my brother’s and Miss Ingram’s betrothal, if you please.”

  “As you wish, my lady,” Joan agreed with a tolerant glance. “Not that anyone with eyes in their head won’t guess, them smelling of April and May like they do.”

  That was the captain’s phrase. Constantia was suddenly impatient to share her delight with him. “My hair will do very well, thank you, Joan,” she said. “You may go to Miss Ingram.”

  She hurried down to the gallery, but to her disappointment Captain Ingram had already retired to his bed. For a moment she had almost forgotten that he was an invalid.

  The week that followed was difficult. Inevitably the earl and countess noticed the improved relations between Felix and Fanny, however circumspect they were. The happy couple were far too happy to pay much heed to remonstrance on the one hand or snubs on the other. Constantia suffered more.

  Lady Westwood discovered that she owed morning calls to a dozen acquaintances in the vicinity. Constantia had to accompany her. Lady Westwood had the headache. Constantia was called upon to read to her. Lady Westwood decided that the family’s improved finances justified the purchase of new summer gowns for herself and her daughters. Constantia and Vickie drove with her into Bath one hot day, to a fashionable modiste on Milsom Street, and spent hours standing in their chemises being jabbed with pins.

  Constantia wore a special chemise Joan had made for such occasions, high-necked, of a stout, opaque linen. The modiste clucked despairingly but, in the face of Constantia’s adamant refusal to try a fashionable décolleté, was forced to concede. Fortunately, Lady Westwood did not much care what her daughter wore in the seclusion of the country, as long as it was not positively dowdy. In fact, in view of Captain Ingram’s presence at Westwood, at present she was much in favour of modesty of dress.

  Still, it was an agitating and tiring occasion. Nor did a visit to her grandmother, a crotchety invalid who never wearied of describing her symptoms, sooth Constantia’s ruffled sensibilities. In fact, it added guilt. One ought to love Grandmama, but how difficult it was!

  As soon as she arrived home, she changed into a thin, cool muslin chemise and a favourite gentian-blue jaconet evening dress. She took the back stair down to the ground floor and hurried to the gallery.

  Despite her enforced absences, she had ensured that Captain Ingram was supplied with frequent refreshments as well as three square meals a day. When she managed to snatch some time with him, she urged him to eat well and exercise, and he had promised to obey. She was glad she had come to know him a little before discovering his noble antecedents. She’d never have ventured to treat an aristocratic gentleman with such an indecorous lack of reserve.

  He was out on the terrace, seated on one of the marble benches, a light evening breeze ruffling his brown hair. Seeing Constantia, he stood and bowed.

  “I’m sorry I don’t have a plumed hat to flourish,” he said with a smile.

  “Who cares for plumed hats! I am just pleased that you are able to bow now without falling flat, and surprised that you recall my gooseish comment.” She sat down on the end of the bench and he joined her.

  “Not gooseish at all, since it was intended to set me at my ease. The very first thing you ever said to me. How could I forget?” He studied her face. “You look tired.”

  “I have had the horridest day, but we shall not talk of that, if you please. You do not look tired, which is more to the point. You are feeling well today? Have you been drinking your stout-and-milk?”

  “Religiously.” He grimaced. “I confess I’m growing rather sick of it. It tastes more like medicine every day.”

  “You may stop drinking it when you can walk as far as the fountain and back.” She pointed to the far end of the Italian garden.

  “I’m game.” He rose. “Can you go with me?”

  “Yes. Mama will have just gone up to change for dinner and I have already changed. I have at least half an hour before she comes down. Are you sure you wish to go so far? You usually retire at this hour.”

  “Nothing venture, nothing gain.”

  He descended the broad, shallow stone steps without difficulty and together they strolled along the straight gravel path. On either side, ill-weeded beds of heavy-scented lilies were surrounded by low, ragged box hedges, a columnar cypress at each corner. Here and there ground ivy and chickweed encroached on the path. The statue of Apollo in the centre of one square bed had greenish patches of lichen in the nooks and crannies of his person.

  The mechanism of the fountain ahead of them had failed two summers past. A pair of sadly dry dolphins cavorted above a marble basin filled with scummy rainwater.

  “The garden is not at its best,” Constantia apologized. “It has been sadly neglected this age, but Papa says he will soon be able to hire more gardeners.”

  “To tell the truth, I don’t greatly care for this style of garden,” the captain admitted. “It’s too formal for my taste, or would be if it were properly trimmed.”

  “I much prefe
r the English garden, at the other end of the house. If I had a garden it would all be like that, with winding paths and all sorts of flowers, scattered about, not in rows, and a honeysuckle arbour. Besides,” she added on a practical note, “it does not show neglect half so badly.”

  He laughed. “I hope you will have your garden one day.”

  As they reached the fountain, she examined him covertly, wondering whether to suggest that he rest awhile on its broad marble rim. His step had slowed, but his cheeks had a healthy colour. He looked well, not to say contented.

  They circled the fountain. Turning back along the way they had come, they saw Anita running towards them.

  “Uncle Frank! Aunt Connie! I’ve come to say goodnight.”

  She sped full-tilt at the captain, arms held out, as if she expected to be picked up and swung into the air. He opened his arms to catch her. Constantia saw his jaw tighten with pain as he clasped the child to him. He made no attempt to pick her up.

  His strength increased every day, yet whatever ailed his shoulders still troubled him. She recalled Fanny’s telling her that he might be crippled but for Mrs Cohen’s medical skill. Jewess or no, Miriam Cohen should henceforth be mentioned nightly in her prayers, Constantia vowed.

  In the meantime, she must check that the captain was performing his prescribed exercises regularly.

  He and Anita were contemplating the dolphins. “Why has those fishes got holes in their heads?” Anita enquired with interest.

  “Partly because they’re a fountain,” he explained. “I imagine the water spouts up from their heads?”

  “It is supposed to,” Constantia confirmed.

  “And partly because dolphins are animals, not fish, though they live in the sea. When they come up for air, they breathe through those holes. A sailor told me a story about dolphins...”

  “Tell me, tell me!” Anita begged.

  The captain smiled at Constantia and gestured at the fountain’s rim. “Will you be seated, Lady Constantia?”

  She regarded the dirt-spattered marble doubtfully, then realized that if she did not sit, he would not. He might be more tired than he appeared.