by Carola Dunn
Today he might have to make the best of the duke’s company instead, but that was no reason why Lady Victoria should suffer. “I’ll send Hoskins over to Netherfield with an invitation,” he promised her. “Thomas, tell him to report to me.”
Fanny went off to discuss picnic provisions with Henriette. Felix followed her, and the nursery party also left. Constantia, her expression troubled, lingered over a cup of tea. Frank was still hungry, but his congealed eggs looked most unappetizing so he buttered a roll.
“How quickly one grows accustomed to luxury,” he said to Constantia, laughing as he indicated his plate. “There were times in Spain when a dish of eggs, hot or cold, would have seemed a feast, yet now I scorn it because I’ve let it cool.”
She smiled. “Be as finicky as you please. When I recall the pains I was at to tempt your appetite, I can only be glad that you are hungry. Captain, I hope you will not think me interfering. I know you are much recovered, but are you sure you will not find this outing too tiring?”
“What could be more relaxing than lounging in a wagon filled with cushions and lovely ladies?” he bantered. “If I go, I shan’t attempt to see all of the house, and I may return to the wagon to join Anita for her afternoon nap, leaving your brother to deal with Sir George and the duke.”
“You don’t believe your uncle has abandoned his efforts to dispossess you? He was quite civil last night--at least, comparatively!”
“My guess is, his improved manners were due to his accepting your credentials, not mine or Fanny’s. Let’s hope Mackintyre can convince him that we’re his sister’s children.”
“It is shockingly improper in me to say so, but what an unpleasant man he is,” said Constantia with a shudder. “I daresay spending a day alone with him will tire you far more than any number of picnic parties. It seems unlikely he will wish to join us, however.”
The duke confounded her expectations. He’d take the opportunity to inspect the other half of his property, he declared aggressively. To Fanny’s disgruntlement, he displaced her from Felix’s phaeton rather than call out his own carriage. He had been cooped up in it all the previous day, he said, announcing his intention in such a way the Felix found it impossible to protest without gross impoliteness.
That left seven people to ride in the wagon, counting neither little Anita nor Sir George, who drove. It arrived at Upfield Grange drawn by two huge Suffolk Punches, the brasses on their harness gleaming scarcely brighter than their chestnut coats. A hamper was tied to the back, and Thomas set about loading Henriette’s contribution.
Lady Berman was on the box beside her son. A plump, cheerful woman with iron-grey hair and no pretensions to grandeur, she offered Constantia her seat.
“Oh no, ma’am, I wouldn’t dream of taking your place. The back looks vastly comfortable.”
“It is, Lady Constantia,” Pamela Berman assured her. “We gathered every cushion and pillow in the house.”
“And rugs, in case it’s chilly later,” Lizzie added. The sisters, about Vickie’s age, were lively, amiable girls very like their mama.
Regarding Lady Berman with a hopeful look in her eye, Vickie opened her mouth to speak. Constantia quickly took her arm, with a tiny shake of the head. An earl’s daughter outranked a baronet’s widow, but Lady Berman’s years entitled her to the best seat, even if Vickie were not still a schoolroom miss.
Vickie pouted for a moment, then her friends called to her. Megrims forgotten, she lifted the excited Anita into their arms. Sir George jumped down to help her scramble up by the step at the side, and she ensconced herself between his chattering sisters, their backs to the horses, Anita in her lap.
Sir George and Felix handed the ladies into the wagon and passed up their parasols. Frank climbed up without assistance, stiffly but without pain as far as Constantia could see. He settled in the remaining corner, facing the girls, with Fanny between him and Constantia. There was plenty of room to sit without crowding.
Leaning back against the bright-hued cushions he gazed up into the blue sky and said lazily, “What a perfect day! Don’t fret, Fanny, you have the best of a bad bargain. Poor Roworth has not only to do without your company but to put up with our dearly beloved uncle.”
“Poor Felix.” Fanny sighed. “How mortifying it is to have to acknowledge such a relative.”
The Suffolks set the heavy wagon in motion with the greatest of ease and they started down the drive. As they crossed the bridge over the stream, Constantia glanced back. Hoskins was only just bringing Felix’s phaeton around the tower at the corner of the house. Not only was the light vehicle faster, they had decided to postpone for as long as possible Sir George’s inevitable encounter with the duke.
The short journey passed quickly, along narrow lanes between hedgerows hung with silvery old man’s beard, purple-black sloes and elderberries, and the varied reds of hips, haws, and bryony. Sir George had an alarming tendency to leave his team to its own devices while he turned to chat with his passengers. However, the great horses trotted calmly on their way with no more than a hint from the reins when the lane branched. Constantia could not imagine a more delightful way to travel on a fine day.
Approaching Heathcote, a pinewood interspersed with clearings purple with heather hid the house until they were nearly upon it. As they emerged from the dappled shade, a circular carriage sweep led them around a thicket of overgrown roses to stop before a manor in the style of Queen Anne’s reign. Mellow red brick edged with dressed stone, white-painted sash windows, carved cornices beneath the eaves--and workmen on the red-tiled roof.
“It is charming, Fanny,” said Constantia.
“Not quite as exotic as Upfield Grange,” Frank said, grinning.
“Aunt Fanny, is this where I’m going to live?” asked Anita. “Aunt Vickie says you and me and Uncle Felix is going to live at this house.”
“Yes, as soon as it’s been put in order, sweetheart.”
“I like it. What’s those men doing up on the roof? Do they live here too?” She waved back to the waving workmen as the wagon came to a halt before the small, white-pillared porch.
“They are mending it. A chimney-pot fell through in a storm last winter so they have to put on new tiles so the rain doesn’t come through the hole. The chimney fell right through the plaster between the joists of the attic floor,” Fanny told Constantia, “so there was quite a bit of damage to the top story.”
“You said the rest is in fairly good condition though?” Frank asked, descending to the weedy gravel.
“A few broken windows,” said Sir George. His patient horses stood still while he lifted his plump mother down as easily as if she were the veriest sylph. “The village lads regard the windows of an empty house as legitimate targets, I’m afraid. All right, Mother?” Helping Constantia and Fanny to step down, he turned to Vickie. “Lady Victoria, if you’ll just pass Anita down to...” He paused, mouth open, then thundered, “What the deuce is he doing here?”
The phaeton was rounding the curve of the drive. Sir George at once recognized the stout gentleman seated beside Felix, and he was not pleased.
“George, mind your language,” said Lady Berman sharply.
“Sir George,” said Fanny, fixing him with a steely eye, “you are my guest at Heathcote, as is my uncle Oxshott. Be so good as to waive your quarrel for the day.”
“I’ll not start a dust-up, Miss Ingram, but if yon blackguard tries to come the bully over me I’ll not take it sitting down. It’s more than flesh and blood can bear.”
As the girls scrambled down unaided by the irate squire, Felix drew up the phaeton behind the wagon. The duke was glaring up at the workmen on the roof.
“Wasting my money on a house I’m going to demolish!” he howled. “You there, Ingram, what the devil do you mean by it, eh? As soon as I’ve induced that pigheaded jackanapes of a farmer to sell me Netherfield, this place is coming down, along with Upfield Grange.”
“Over my dead body!” cried Sir George, striding
forward, his face suffused with rage.
Frank grabbed his arm. “That will do, Berman,” he said curtly.
The duke sneered down at the large young man. “Oh, so you’re here too, Berman. You’re trespassing on my property.”
Stepping in front of Sir George, Frank addressed Oxshott in a quiet, courteous, yet authoritative voice. “Sir, the question of trespass will be settled when Lawyer Mackintyre arrives, I believe. In the meantime, let us try to make this a pleasant outing for the ladies.”
“I do so enjoy picnics, Duke, do not you?” Constantia moved towards the phaeton with swift, light steps. She had not the least desire for his grace’s company--indeed, she found him disagreeable when he was not alarming--but she was one of the few present with whom he had no quarrel. It was up to her to deflect his attention from Frank, and the other victims of his rudeness and ill temper.
The smile Frank flashed at her was reward enough. Oxshott merely grunted as he heaved himself down from the carriage.
“I’ve brought a bottle of that madeira, sir,” Felix said soothingly. “There’s a pleasant bench on the terrace where we might sit and indulge ourselves a little.”
“Trying to turn me up sweet, eh?”
“Certainly, sir. Constantia, will you take his grace around that way?” He indicated the west side of the house. “I’ll come as soon as I’ve seen to my cattle.”
“Shall I go with you?” Frank asked her in a low voice.
Reluctantly Constantia shook her head. “Let him calm down first.” She looked back in the hope of persuading Vickie to accompany her.
Vickie was saying to Sir George, with deep sympathy, “I knew you’d be mad as a wet hen. Never mind. Let’s go and explore.”
And linking her arm through his in the friendliest manner, she drew him towards the house.
Though she was sorry not to have her sister’s support, Constantia was favourably impressed by Vickie’s tact in removing the wrathful squire. She moved on to join the duke.
A crash behind her coincided with a yell from above. “Watch out below!”
She swung round. On the gravel at Vickie’s and Sir George’s feet lay a shattered tile.
“Watch out above!” shouted Sir George and charged into the house, Vickie at his heels.
Constantia pitied the unfortunate workman who had dropped the tile.
“What a shame,” said the duke with a malevolent grin. “The fellow nearly presented me with Berman’s dead body.”
Shocked by both his malice and Vickie’s narrow escape, she asked, “Surely a tile could not kill someone? It does not look very large, only about a foot by half as much.”
“But falling from a height, ma’am, falling from a height. Had the corner hit him on the head--”
“It would have knocked off his hat, I daresay, but had it hit my sister, her bonnet would have given little protection.”
“True. A lucky escape.”
After that, she found it difficult to come up with any unexceptionable topic of conversation. Fortunately, Oxshott seemed to be in a reflective mood. They sat in near silence on the terrace bench until Felix arrived to relieve her, bottle and glasses in hand.
“Ingram’s waiting for you at the front door,” he whispered to her.
She hurried back to the front of the house, where Frank was seated on a mounting block. He rose with a smile, and came to meet her.
“Thank you,” he said simply. “Our obligations to you and your brother and sister constantly increase.”
“It was nothing.” She lowered her lashes and twirled her parasol in a sudden access of shyness. “After all, Fanny and I shall soon be sisters. I only wish your uncle had not spoiled today for her and Felix.”
“They have the rest of their lives before them.” He sounded sad. Looking up, Constantia wondered if she saw a momentary hint of despair in his face, but he smiled again, offered her his arm, and said, “Shall we inspect the house?”
“You are not tired from the journey?”
“Not at all. Only three miles, after all. I’m fit as a fiddle. In fact, I’m going to venture upstairs to the first floor.”
They wandered through Fanny’s house, admiring the pretty gilt plasterwork of the high ceilings and the elegant columned chimney-pieces after the style of Inigo Jones. The light, airy, beautifully proportioned rooms were almost bare of furniture.
“I expect the best pieces were taken to Upfield Grange when the owner of Heathcote died,” said Connie. “Did not Mr Mackintyre say his daughter was already married to Mr Kerridge of Upfield?”
“Yes, that’s right. Fanny never mentioned the dearth. She must select what she wants from the Grange. It’s odd, don’t you think, that the Kerridges chose to live there when this house is so much more modern?”
“Upfield Grange has far more character,” Constantia declared.
“Mr and Mrs Kerridge were already quite elderly when her father died.” Lady Berman had entered the room where they were and overheard their words. “They decided that removing to Heathcote was more trouble than it was worth, and besides, Mr Kerridge was very much attached to his ancestral home. I remember visiting here as a young bride.” She strolled on with them, reminiscing.
From a first floor window, she pointed out a Grecian temple gazebo on a small knoll behind the house. It was the perfect place for the picnic which, since the duke did nothing worse than sit and glower, everyone else enjoyed. Afterwards, Anita fell asleep with her head in Frank’s lap. Oxshott also nodded off, his muffled snores punctuated by now and then by a jerk into near wakefulness, a truculent glare around, and a redescent into somnolence.
Lady Berman announced that she meant to sit and admire the view while the others explored the grounds. She offered to watch Anita but Frank, too, admitted himself ready for a rest. Constantia stayed behind in the gazebo to chat with them. She told herself she wished neither to race around with Vickie, the energetic Sir George, and his lively sisters, nor to play the gooseberry to Felix and Fanny now that at last they could be together.
At last Anita began to stir, and the duke’s periods of wakefulness grew longer. “It’s time we were heading for home,” said Lady Berman in a low voice. “I am in dire need of a dish of tea. I should like to invite you all to Netherfield to take tea, since we must pass the gate anyway, but I know poor George will not have his grace in the house.”
“Who can blame him?” said Frank with a sigh.
Constantia thought tea at Netherfield would be a delightful way to prolong a delightful day. “I’ll ask Felix to take the duke straight back to the Grange,” she proposed hardheartedly. “As you said, Captain, he and Fanny have the rest of their lives before them.”
So it was arranged, after a few groans from Felix.
Netherfield was just as Constantia had expected, not quite either manor or farmhouse, untidy but sparkling clean, comfortable and welcoming. Vickie was perfectly at home there, and Constantia suspected the greater part of her objection to returning to Westwood was the prospect of parting from the Bermans. In fact, when Sir George brought the wagon round to the front door to take the visitors home, Pam and Lizzie insisted on going too for a last goodbye even though he had invited Vickie to join him on the box.
Constantia found herself seated between Fanny and Frank. As the wagon rolled down Netherfield’s well-kept drive in the golden light of late afternoon, Frank drifted into slumber. Gradually he inclined towards her until his hat fell off and his head rested on her shoulder.
“Do you mind?” Fanny whispered.
“Oh no,” said Constantia, her heart filled with a vast tenderness.
And then, as if of its own accord, her hand crept towards her chest in a harsh reminder of reality.
Chapter 11
Mr Mackintyre arrived that evening, shortly before dinner. Fanny put back dinner a quarter of an hour to give him time to change out of his travel-worn clothes.
Constantia expected the duke to take exception to dining with his lawyer but, t
hough he appeared decidedly disgruntled, he said nothing. Of course, after sitting down with a governess he would look idiotish objecting to a respectable lawyer, besides not wishing to suffer another defeat. When his grace had cavilled at Miss Bannister’s presence last night, Frank had prevailed.
The noble duke’s bluster was no match for the commanding manner of a military officer. Frank was amazingly imposing when he chose.
Naturally no business was discussed at the dinner table. Mr Mackintyre, a beam on his genial face, admired the improvements to the Grange and enquired as to those at Heathcote, while Oxshott grew more and more morose. In fact, the duke wanted to put off the business until the morning, but Mr Mackintyre insisted he absolutely had to leave early.
“I must appear in court the day after tomorrow,” he said, “and my preparations for the case are incomplete. For no one but your grace could I possibly have left London at this time at such short notice.”
This mild flattery did not perceptibly lift Oxshott’s gloom. No doubt he was all too well aware that the lawyer had bad news for him. Constantia did not quite understand what he had hoped to gain by coming to Upfield Grange, unless he had really believed he might intimidate the Ingrams into abandoning their inheritance. To a bellicose nobleman used to having his own way, a woman and a wounded soldier must have sounded like feeble opponents.
Frank looked tired. She hoped his grace would be quickly convinced of the futility of his claim.
Fanny was perfectly self-possessed at the dinner table, but when she led the ladies to the drawing-room she clung to Constantia’s arm.
