“I’ll not have my hunters moved,” Gus said, his voice so low he was almost growling. “Under no circumstances, do you hear me, Merton? Tell him, Carrbridge.”
“Well—”
“My lady’s plans for the new orangery could be postponed,” Merton continued.
“Now that is more sensible,” Reggie said.
“Indeed, it is not as if one needs to grow one’s own oranges,” Gus said. “It is the easiest thing in the world to have them sent from… well, wherever one obtains oranges. They can be had by the sack, I daresay, at very little expense. You can manage without an orangery, I am sure, Connie.”
“I shall not give up my orangery unless you give up keeping all those teams at post houses,” the marchioness said. “No one needs to keep one’s own horses for the journey to London.”
“What, drive around behind hired hacks?” Gus said, scandalised. “As the brother of a marquess, I have a position to maintain.”
“You are the brother of an impoverished marquess,” Merton said crisply, “and if you do not retrench— Ah, Lord Gilbert.”
“Gil! At last!” Reggie said in relief, for so much talk of economy was beginning to wear at his nerves.
The youngest Marford brother tap-tapped his way across the library floor in a brisk rhythm. He was a handsome fellow — all his brothers were handsome, Reggie reflected gloomily. Carrbridge had more than once been likened to a Greek god, Humphrey was as big and golden as a bear, and the younger ones were fashionably dark and romantic, whereas Reggie had the face of a grocer. One of his Oxford friends had described him so, to his great mortification, and as he examined his uninteresting features in the glass later, he could not deny the truth of it.
“What is all this about, Merton?” Gil said. “I am missing a promising mill on your account, so I very much hope the matter is important.”
“We are to give up two of the hunting lodges,” Gus said. “Furthermore, we are not to stable our own teams at post houses.”
“Ridiculous!” Gil said. “Impossible! How are we to manage?”
“There is worse,” Reggie said. “We must give up our own lodgings and live in Marford House with the aunts.”
“Insupportable!” Gil said. “I shall not listen to such nonsense.”
He would have turned and left at once, but the marquess said, “Do not fly into the boughs, Gil. Something must be done, you know, for we have no money, it seems.”
“How can that be?” Gil said. “We are one of the richest families in England.”
“That is true, Carrbridge,” Reggie said. “Grandfather was wont to boast that he had an income of twenty-five thousand a year. Where has it gone to, that is what I should like to know. None of us is particularly extravagant. We do not gamble to excess or have—” He was about to mention mistresses before remembering the presence of two ladies. “We have no expensive interests,” he finished lamely.
“It is a good point, Merton,” the marquess said. “Where is all that money? We should be comfortably situated, heaven knows.”
“Some of it is tied up in estates settled on various female relatives,” Merton said. “The French holdings were lost a few years ago, so that accounts for a part of it, and the eighth marquess lost two of the most profitable estates at the card tables. All of that constrains your current income considerably, yet no reduction in expenses has been attempted. If you want my honest opinion, my lord, it is my belief that your income cannot sustain your present expenditure. I cannot be sure, because not all the relevant papers could be located, but I believe your current income does not exceed five thousand pounds a year.”
They were all silent, contemplating this appalling state of poverty. Reggie had never thought much about money, for there had always seemed to be more than sufficient, but he knew that such a sum was inadequate to maintain them in their present style.
“What is to be done, Mr Merton?” the marchioness said. “You have mentioned some economies, but there must be more we can do.”
“Indeed there is, my lady. On the one hand, a full inventory of all his lordship’s estates and review of rents should provide some means of increasing his income. There has been no rise in rents for years, it seems. On the other hand, some means must be found to reduce every unnecessary burden on the estate. Lord Carrbridge’s brothers—” Gil gave an exclamation of disgust at the idea that the brothers might be regarded as a burden. Merton went on relentlessly, “Lord Carrbridge’s brothers might consider the options chosen by younger brothers for centuries, and take up respectable careers. Or, if they prefer, they might wish to marry women of independent means.”
“Heiresses, I suppose,” Reggie said in disgust. “So it is the church, the army or government service, or else get ourselves leg-shackled to some fish-faced cit’s daughter. Lord, what a choice! I had rather become a pirate. Whatever are we to do?”
2: An Invitation
Reggie toyed with his breakfast, eating three bites of beef and then crumbling bread idly, too sunk in misery to eat. Only the marquess and marchioness were at the table, the rest of the Marford family being still abed.
“Have some more chocolate, Reggie,” Connie said. “Or plum cake. You always say there is nothing half so good for raising the spirits as Mrs Galloway’s plum cake.”
He sighed heavily. “For everyday, normal downheartedness, that is indeed so; for an ordinary winter’s day, say, or a moderate degree of boredom. For my present profound level of dejection, however, even Mrs Galloway’s plum cake is inadequate to the circumstances.”
Connie laughed. “We must see if we cannot cheer you up somehow.”
“A party?” he said, brightening. “A ball? But I daresay we cannot afford it.” His shoulders slumped again.
“It is probably best not to begin our period of economy with a grand ball, it is true. But you could visit one of your friends. They may have balls with impunity.”
“They all live in the middle of bogs, or up mountains,” the marquess said. “I never knew anyone have such inaccessible friends as Reggie.”
“Bogs?” Connie said. “I am sure that cannot be true.”
“One lives in Cornwall, one somewhere in deepest Wales and one lives on top of a mountain in Scotland,” Lord Carrbridge said. “Bogs and mountains.”
“It is not entirely true,” Reggie said. “I have a great number of friends… or perhaps I should say acquaintances who live in perfectly sensible places, like Norfolk and York and Hertfordshire. But my especial friends are not so happily situated, and if I wished to visit one of them in his bog, I should have to travel for days and days through the rivers that masquerade as roads at this time of year. Everywhere is boggy in winter. No, it was a happy notion, Connie, and would have alleviated my boredom splendidly, but I fear it is not to be thought of.”
“I can see that would not do,” Connie said. “Are you sure you would not like to join the army, Reggie? At least you would not be bored then.”
“No, no, no!” the marquess said, looking up from his plate in alarm. “Not the army. He would not be bored, but he would be shot at and cut to pieces and blown up. He might even be killed, and then where would he be? No, I will not have it.”
“The church, then?”
Reggie pulled a face. “I am trying to prevent myself from being bored, Connie, and I do not think that composing a sermon every week for the rest of my life is conducive to that scheme. And I have never understood politics, so do not even suggest that! What am I to do, Connie, for I cannot expect Carrbridge to go on funding me for ever?”
“I shall not turn you out of the house, Reggie,” the marquess said mildly. “You may take your time getting settled, for we are not quite being dunned by creditors yet. No need to rush into anything. But perhaps by this time next year—?”
“But something must be done,” his wife said firmly, “and if you will not take up a career, Reggie, then you will just have to marry an heiress.”
“I have been thinking about that, and,
upon reflection, I believe I should not mind it at all,” he said at once. “Since you were not so obliging as to wish to marry me, Connie dear, and no one else is so pretty or so charming, I am quite indifferent to womankind. I shall be perfectly content to marry some fish-faced harridan of an heiress, and sit at my leisure for the rest of my days.”
She blushed delightfully. “I am very sorry, Reggie. How thoughtless of me to fall head over ears in love with your brother, but I could not help it, you know.”
“Of course you could not! He is everything that is attractive to a lady — he dances well, and rides splendidly, and shoots better than anyone, and he is the handsomest man I know.”
“And I am also a marquess,” said the marquess placidly. “In my experience, that is the most attractive quality to many ladies, sadly. It is an unexpected benefit to being married, Reggie, that unwed ladies no longer take the slightest interest in me. Such a relief!”
Since Reggie had never suffered the excessive attentions of young ladies, he could not feel much sympathy for his brother’s sentiments. “That is all very pleasant for you, Carrbridge, but females have never found me interesting. I am too ordinary, I suppose. There is nothing to make me stand out from the commonplace and draw the eye of even the most unambitious debutante. I fear it is my destiny to remain a bachelor for ever.”
The door opened to admit Daniel Merton and Reggie fell silent. Merton always had that effect on him, sucking the jollity out of any occasion.
“Two letters for you, Lady Carrbridge,” Merton said. “Five for you, Lord Carrbridge, and let me see… three for you, Lord Reginald.”
Reggie looked briefly at his letters, determined they were uninteresting missives from aunts and cousins, and cast them aside to read at some unspecified time when he should be so unfortunate as to have nothing better to do.
“Oh no! It is the wretched lawyers again!” the marquess said, in tones of the utmost despair, waving one of his letters about abstractedly.
“I daresay it is only about the lease for Great Mellingham,” Merton said, helping himself to cold beef and toast. “I asked them to notify me of the terms under which the last tenant held the property. It has been empty for far too long.”
“You make it all sound so… so unthreatening,” the marquess said.
“Leases are not very threatening things, as a rule,” Merton said with a slight smile.
“They are to me,” the marquess said.
“Should you like me to help you with your correspondence again, my lord?”
“I should be most obliged to you, Merton, for you always make everything easy. These lawyers make my brain spin.”
Connie had been reading her two letters avidly, and now she turned to Reggie with her lovely smile. “Is not this the most fortunate thing in the world? Here we have been talking of finding you an heiress, Reggie, and one immediately lands on my plate.”
“Not literally, my love, I hope,” the marquess said with a fond smile. “That would be most inconvenient.”
“How droll you are!” she said, dimpling charmingly. “It is a Miss Chamberlain, Reggie, of perfectly respectable stock. She has had one season in London two years ago, but did not take. However, now she has inherited a great fortune and Lady Cotter writes to ask me if I will take an interest in her. This is how she describes her: ‘A delightful girl, not at all missish, but sensible and practical, with excellent deportment and manners, neither too forward nor too retiring, in short, everything a well brought up young lady ought to be.’ There! Does she not sound exactly suited to you, Reggie?”
“Is she a beauty, though?” the marquess said. “Reggie must marry a beauty, you know. He is the son of a marquess, he should not settle for less.”
“The more important question, perhaps, is the size of the fortune,” Merton said with a wry smile.
“That I can tell you,” Connie said. “She has forty thousand pounds from her uncle, plus another three from her father. As for her looks… let me see… oh. She is ‘quite handsome, in her way’. That does not sound promising.”
“Fish-faced, I daresay,” Reggie said cheerfully. “Never mind, with forty-three thousand in her pocket, I daresay she will be beautiful enough. Will she be in town this year?”
“She will, and undoubtedly she will be the object for every fortune hunter within a hundred miles, but we may contrive a head start on them all if we are clever. Lady Cotter has asked me to take Miss Chamberlain in hand, and advise her upon dress and the proper way to conduct herself in the higher level of society in which she will now find herself. I suppose she wants me to try for vouchers to Almacks for the girl, but my influence is not that strong! Here is my plan, however. I shall invite her here for a visit, to talk about gowns and fans and gloves and so forth, and you will be able to woo her quite informally. If you exert all your charm, you may be able to secure her before the season even opens, and think how satisfactory that will be!”
“Ah! An excellent scheme,” Reggie said. “You are all generosity, Connie, to look after my interests in this way.”
“Nonsense! You know how I love to make matches, and I have had some success already in that direction. It is the greatest pleasure to me, and I shall enjoy making one for you. But it would be best to bring together a few other people, just so that it does not look too particular. I shall invite the Miss Salmonds, for they were to visit last summer but they had measles or… or something else with spots, I forget. And some of the Whittleton cousins, who are always glad to make up the numbers, for I am sure they do not see so much beef at home. That will fill the house very agreeably. I have had a letter also from my cousin Mary.”
Merton looked up at once.
“Ah, poor Lady Hardy!” the marquess said. “Such a tragic affair! I did not know Sir Osborne Hardy well, but he seemed a pleasant fellow, who did not deserve to fall prey to consumption.”
“No one deserves such a fate,” Merton said, with some force.
“Oh, quite. How is Lady Hardy? Is she very low in spirits?”
“Mary is not one to repine,” Connie said. “She says that she keeps very well, although the weather has been drearily wet ever since Christmas and she has not much to do now that she is no longer mistress of Brinford Manor. It must be very dull for her, shut away in that great house with the new baronet and his family, as well as Sir Osborne’s mother and sisters. I believe that a fortnight here, or perhaps a month if she wishes it, would do her a great deal of good.”
“Is it not too soon?” Reggie said. “It is only a month since Lady Hardy was made a widow. I am not sure that the entertainments we enjoy here would be of the most suitable nature for a lady so recently bereaved, Connie.”
“We shall not be holding balls or grand dinners or anything formal,” Connie said. “A few guests in the house, with cards after dinner — that is quite unexceptional. If Mary feels any particular activity to be inappropriate, she may withdraw to a quieter spot, or to her room. Besides, she will like to see Mr Merton again, for he was such a good friend to Sir Osborne. There is no solace quite so beneficial as the company of an old friend in a time of sorrow. There, that is settled. I shall write my invitations today. Mr Merton, there is a small matter upon which Mary wishes your advice.” She passed the letter across the table. “Near the bottom of the first sheet. If you would care to write a few lines on the subject, I should be happy to enclose it with my own letter.”
~~~~~
Miss Robinia Chamberlain struggled valiantly to control her impatience. “Mama, it is impossible for me to go. I am to return to Woodend with Aunt Kitty. It is quite a settled thing.”
“Oh, my dear Robinia,” exclaimed Aunt Kitty, pressing her hands together in the greatest anxiety. “You may come to me on any occasion, you know that. You must not turn down such an opportunity on my account. I should be quite shocked if you were to do so.”
“But I am engaged to the Dorringtons’ grand ball, and… and there is Lady Milligan…”
“Pish!” Aun
t Kitty said. “The Dorringtons will quite understand, and it is only poor Lucia’s come-out, after all. No one expects anything of the sixth daughter. As for Lady Milligan, she will make a great fuss, naturally, for she makes a great fuss about everything, but she cannot expect you to refuse a marchioness on her account.”
They were seated in the drawing room while Alicia, the youngest Chamberlain daughter, practised on the pianoforte under the guidance of Sophia, the middle daughter. Out in the hall, the shrieks of the two boys could be heard as they raced about on some boyish enterprise.
“Really, Robinia, I should have thought you would be quite thrilled,” her mama said. “I never expected anything to come of it when I asked Lady Cotter to stand as your god-mother, and indeed, when you were last in town she was no help at all, but this is beyond anything.” She waved the single sheet of paper filled with elegant script triumphantly. “I must say, the Marchioness of Carrbridge writes an excellent letter, very felicitously phrased and with the most perfectly formed hand.”
“She does not employ a secretary or… or a companion, perhaps, to write her letters?” Aunt Kitty said vaguely. “These great ladies do not often write for themselves.”
“No, it is all her own hand, for see, it is signed here in the same style.” Mrs Chamberlain sighed, quite overcome. “Such condescension! And to offer— Wrong note, Alicia! Oh dear! You jangle my nerves when you go wrong like that. More care, if you please. As I was saying, to offer advice on matters of dress and so forth — it is the greatest opportunity, Robinia, and you must go, of course.”
“Nonsense!” Robinia said. “It is rude to expect me to drop all my long-planned engagements and go scampering off to the wilds of Yorkshire, as if I had nothing else to do but wait on her invitation. And she was not such a great lady before she married, so I have heard. Her father was nothing very special, by all accounts.”
Her father laid down his newspaper, and removed his spectacles. “Her father was a gentleman, as is yours, so you need not disparage her origins, missy. That is of no consequence, however, for the marquess raised her to his own level of society when he married her, and we must accept her position without demur, unless you wish to overturn the peerage altogether and reduce the nobleman to the same standing as the swineherd.”
Sons of the Marquess Collection Page 2
