Sons of the Marquess Collection

by Mary Kingswood

  6: Cards And Horses

  Hortensia delighted in the long journey north to Drummoor. She had equipped herself with a comfortable travelling carriage, a coachman, a groom and two footmen, together with a luggage wagon and driver. She had no lady’s maid, but as she would travel with her governess and companion, Miss Quayle, would need no further chaperonage. Lady Carrbridge had answered by return, with a long list of inns which she might safely patronise, and precise details of the route and journey times. There was nothing, therefore, to be done except to gaze at the English scenery passing the windows like an endless series of water colour paintings, each more ravishingly beautiful than the last.

  “Is it not magnificent?” she said to Rosemary. “Look at that castle — so dramatic with the lowering sky behind it.”

  “It looks like rain,” Rosemary said, pulling her tippet closer about her shoulders and burying her hands in her muff. “The road will be churned to mud, I daresay. Are we stopping soon? For I should like another hot stone for my feet.”

  “Poor dear! How you do feel the cold! And this is summer, so I dare not contemplate how chilled you will be in winter. Just think of it — ice and snow and frost and all sorts of magical things. But you will not be able to enjoy them unless you accustom yourself to the cold, dearest.”

  “It is all very well for you,” Rosemary said. “You grew up in England, but I have known nothing but India and heat and wonderful spicy food. The sauces here are so dull. Like the weather.”

  Hortensia laughed, and turned her head to gaze out of the window again. “Such charming stone cottages, and the gardens so pretty with all these pale colours. And green! I had forgotten England possessed so many shades of green! Oh look, such a delightful little church with a spire. Do look, dear.”

  But Rosemary had closed her eyes, and was leaning back against the squabs.

  Eventually they turned off the main road onto a smaller one, and then another even smaller, deeply rutted, so that the carriage swayed about a great deal, to Rosemary’s alarm. They came in time to the village of Mishcombe, the road shining with a recently-passed rainstorm, water still streaming into ditches filled with wildflowers. Many of the inhabitants of the village were out and about, the women neat in their cloaks and bonnets, the men dark-coated, striding about importantly. All turned to stare as the impressive entourage passed by, taking in the array of impassive postilions and coachmen, and then curtsying deeply at the glimpse of Hortensia’s feather-trimmed bonnet peeping from the carriage window. A small child waved cheerfully to her, and delightedly she waved back.

  Then they were through the village and back into the trees and two miles of rain-dampened gloom before they turned under the crenellated archway that marked the entrance to Drummoor. Another two miles of winding driveway gave but brief glimpses of the house, then a small hill, the house again, a lake and finally, in all its glory, Drummoor itself. If Hortensia had ever imagined the perfect English nobleman’s house, Drummoor fitted the image precisely. From the latticed windows to the battlemented roof and the gargoyles adorning every wall, it was enchanting. And beyond it, acre upon acre of smoothly turfed parkland, absolutely begging to be galloped over.

  “Oh!” she breathed. “This… this is a place I could enjoy. Oh, if only I could live here!”

  Rosemary peered over her shoulder. “I wonder if it has ghosts?”

  Hortensia laughed. “Almost certainly, my dear. Well, here we are. We have arrived.”

  ~~~~~

  Humphrey was relieved to discover that Miss Blythe was every bit as pretty as memory had made her. Her creamy-white skin, wide blue eyes framed with yellow curls and enchanting dimples when she smiled made his murmured expression of pleasure as he made his bow entirely genuine.

  “How delightful to see you again, Miss Blythe. I trust your journey was not too trying.”

  “How do you do, Lord Humphrey,” she answered composedly. “It was as trying as such journeys generally are, but we had no great difficulties or set-backs to trouble us, and every inn that Lady Carrbridge so kindly recommended looked after us perfectly. Indeed, we were so well informed about every possible contingency that we never had the least thing to worry us. Nevertheless, I am very glad to have arrived.”

  And that easy composure was exactly why he had chosen her, he reminded himself, not her beauty. He had never had much time for tongue-tied debutantes, and here was one who, even at the young age of eighteen, was an easy conversationalist.

  “Do you remember my companion, Miss Quayle?” she went on.

  He had not taken much notice of the companion at the tea party, having some vague memory of a severe-faced older woman who had not spoken. Surely she must be quite old, as companions customarily were. He was surprised to find himself faced with a woman of much his own age, and almost as tall. A severe cambric cap covered an abundance of dark hair coiled neatly under her bonnet, with only a single soft curl falling over each ear. She was thin and wiry, not especially pretty but a pair of huge brown eyes gave her face a great deal of intelligence. The eyes were sparkling in amusement at that moment, their owner understanding perfectly his confusion.

  “Lord Humphrey.” She curtsied, head lowered demurely, but when she lifted her head again, her lips were curved into a little smile.

  “Miss Quayle. Welcome to Drummoor.”

  That evening was a pleasant one. Humphrey was too well-bred to devote all his attention to Miss Blythe, but there were snatches of conversation with her as he moved around the room before dinner, and he was pleased to see that she was well situated during the meal between Carrbridge and Mr Chamberlain. The house was already alive with guests who had fallen into Connie’s orbit in London, as well as numerous Marford relations and the impoverished Whittleton cousins, and it did not surprise him to see Julius Whittleton make straight for Miss Blythe after dinner, having now discovered the extent of her fortune.

  While they drank their tea, some of the young ladies performed on the pianoforte, and Humphrey had the pleasure of discovering that while Miss Blythe was no more than tolerably competent on the instrument, she had a lovely singing voice. When once this was discovered, a duet with Julius Whittleton was called for, and Humphrey had to admit that they made a striking pair, two handsome young people with the voices of angels.

  After the music, the company settled down to play cards. The older guests played whist while the younger ones set up a large, noisy game of speculation. Humphrey joined this group, largely because Miss Blythe was part of it, although the simplicity of the game soon palled, and there was no possibility of rational conversation in the shrieks of delight or groans of disappointment after each play.

  Looking about the room in boredom, he noticed Miss Quayle sitting quietly on her own. She had some sewing resting in her lap, but she was not paying it much attention, being engaged in looking about her with great interest. Her eyes met Humphrey’s and she smiled before turning back to her neglected stitchery. Excusing himself from the game, he made his way across to her.

  “May I sit with you for a while?” he said.

  “I beg your pardon, Lord Humphrey,” she said, shaking her head so that the two curls danced on either side of her face. “I did not mean to distract you from the play.”

  “Believe me when I say that I am very ready to be distracted,” he said. “But do you not wish to play yourself? Or should you like to join Mrs Chamberlain, Mrs Graham and Mrs Ambleside over by the fire?”

  “Oh no, for they are talking about weddings and babies and other matters of the utmost interest to mothers. I should have nothing at all to contribute to such a conversation. As to the games, the whist tables are all filled and I do not much enjoy speculation. There is but little skill to it. Please be assured that I am perfectly content to sit here and watch everyone else. I am nothing but a paid companion, Lord Humphrey. I do not expect to be included in every social occasion.”

  He smiled at that. “Even companions may play cards, Miss Quayle. If you wish to play w
hist, I can find two more players in a moment. Or chess may be played with two. Cribbage, perhaps? Or piquet?”

  “You are very good.” She eyed him speculatively. “I should by no means wish you to take pity on me if your charity takes you away from better play or better company.”

  At that moment the speculation table burst into great whoops of delight.

  Humphrey leaned forward to whisper, “The company is quieter and more sensible here, I warrant, and I do not enjoy speculation any more than you do, Miss Quayle. It would please me greatly to play something a little more challenging. What shall it be?”

  She smiled at him, a wide smile that lit her eyes so that they shone with brilliance. “I have never played piquet, and it would interest me to learn.”

  “Piquet it is, then.”

  He found a small table a little distance from the noisy speculation table, and prepared the cards. He had only to explain the rules once for her to grasp the essence of it, and she was soon playing with some competence.

  “There, you see?” he said with glee, as she took a game in handsome style. “I am very well rewarded for my good deed in taking pity on you, Miss Quayle. I should not have enjoyed half so entertaining an evening elsewhere. You are already an excellent player.”

  She laughed. “Why, thank you, Lord Humphrey. You play quite well yourself.”

  “I am accounted a tolerably good player,” he said, amused, as he deftly shuffled and dealt. “Is this your first visit to England?”

  “Why, no, I—” She paused and was that a blush on her cheeks? “Yes, it is, but I have heard so much of it, and read so many books telling of the most minute details of English life that I feel as if I have been here before. So much is familiar. Do you not find it so? Have you ever been abroad, Lord Humphrey?”

  He answered her easily, and forbore to press her further, but he was intrigued, all the same. Such a simple question, yet she had stumbled over it. He could not help wondering why.

  ~~~~~

  “So what do you think of him?” Hortensia said as she unwound the coils of Rosemary’s hair and began to brush them out.

  “Mr Whittleton?” Rosemary said, turning innocent eyes on her. “Why, he sings divinely.”

  “And is perfectly well aware of it,” Hortensia said impatiently. “I hope we may look a little higher than Mr Julius Whittleton, dear. Besides, he has not a feather to fly with, Lady Patience informed me, so we must not be taken in by his beautiful face. No, I meant Lord Humphrey, for that is why we have been invited here, is it not?”

  “And how many feathers has he to fly with?” Rosemary asked.

  It was an excellent question, and one with which Hortensia had been much exercised. “He has the title, but it is only a courtesy one, and his chances of inheriting are very slim.”

  “Hortensia!” Rosemary stared at her friend. “That is… very calculating.”

  “And is it not calculating in Lord and Lady Carrbridge to invite us here to stay?” she retorted. “Let us be honest, marriage at this level of society is always a matter of contracts and settlements and dowries and estates, and however much one might hope to be swept away by romantic love, one must always be practical. It is best to ensure that one is swept away by love for a gentleman of rank if one can possibly contrive it. It is a business arrangement, no more than that. We have two hundred thousand pounds on the table, so we must weigh that against the gentleman’s assets. Let me enumerate them. He has a courtesy title, probably an allowance from his brother and very little else, apart from his own charms. He is rather charming, it must be said.”

  “Do you think so?” Rosemary said doubtfully. “He frightens me a little, for he is so tall and strikingly attired and… and powerful. Such a masculine man, if you understand me.”

  “He frightens you? But he is so gentle and well-bred, and although his clothes may seem outlandish at first sight, they are all of the first stare of fashion, I do assure you.”

  “Oh yes, indeed! But so large! It is all very well for you, Hortensia, for you are a great tall creature yourself, and I daresay he seems less imposing to you. But I have one asset to add to his catalogue, for I overheard some of the ladies talking of it in the retiring room. He is a very great card player, most expert, and indeed increases his income somewhat by his skill at the tables. And he wishes to set up a gaming house, but the cost is beyond his means and that is why he is looking for a rich wife, I daresay.”

  “Well now, that is very interesting,” Hortensia said thoughtfully. “Most interesting.”

  ~~~~~

  The following day, Lady Carrbridge decided that the weather was settled enough to permit a riding of the bounds, as she liked to describe it. This procedure involved assembling as many of the company as could be persuaded to it to ride a complete circuit of the park, a distance of some twelve miles. It was an easy ride, and always drew a great crowd, all to be provided with mounts, so that the grooms were in a frenzy of anxious activity. The stables were always augmented at this time of year by a number of hired horses from Sagborough and York, but even with this assistance, there were never enough.

  Humphrey’s role in the business was to ensure that every participant was supplied with a suitable horse, and this was no easy task to accomplish. If one asked a lady what sort of horse she would find most amenable, she was apt to demur and say that she was but a timid rider, and could a very gentle mount be found? Whereas a gentleman would always require ‘something with spirit’. And yet, often it would turn out to be the case that some gentlemen were hard put to control their spirited beasts, and the ladies grew frustrated with their sluggish mounts. It was a matter of the utmost delicacy to determine which riders were truly able to cope with a lively mount, and which could not, and which would be most mortified by a wrong assignation.

  And every time, in Humphrey’s experience, a gentleman would take a liking to one of Gus’s ill-tempered beasts and want to try his hand, and how could Humphrey refuse? On this occasion, it was Julius Whittleton who fancied his skills adequate to the task.

  “I do not recommend it, Julius,” Humphrey said, with more forcefulness than usual. “Masterful is a hard animal to control, even for Gus. I would not want to take him out in a mixed group myself. Why not try Lucifer or Fast Demon, if you must have something challenging?”

  “Do you think I cannot manage him, Humphrey?” Julius said disdainfully. “I assure you I am more than capable, even if you have reservations yourself.”

  There was no arguing with such wilful self-delusion, so Humphrey bowed and gave the orders. For Miss Blythe he chose one of the hired hacks, which he knew to be well-behaved. If she complained of its slowness, then he could find her something more spirited for next time.

  Some twenty riders ventured forth into pleasant sunshine, with no sign of rain. They rode at an easy trot down the drive to the boundary woods, and there turned to follow the perimeter, passing first along the northern edge of the village. Some of the faster horses had already disappeared into the distance, including Harriet, but the other ladies and slower riders set a more gentle pace. Humphrey was amused to see Julius try to keep his frisky mount alongside Miss Blythe, but the horse was wild to be less restrained, and after a while the amusement palled as Humphrey saw that Masterful’s energy was afflicting Miss Blythe’s more docile horse, and she was becoming distressed.

  Humphrey manoeuvred Ganymede alongside Miss Blythe, and took a firm hold of the horse’s bridle. “Julius, will you not give Masterful his head? He is disturbing Rose Garden.”

  “I can control him,” Julius muttered distractedly. But as if to disprove his words, the horse kicked up his heels and set off at a gallop through the woods, Julius pulling ineffectually at the reins.

  “Thank you so much, my lord!” Miss Blythe said, turning her blue eyes on him, as her horse immediately settled down. “I was so frightened, for I had thought Rose Garden such a pleasant horse, so quiet and well-behaved, and yet for a moment I thought she was going to bolt with
me. I have the greatest terror of being aboard a bolting horse, you cannot imagine.”

  “It is rather unnerving when a horse runs away with one, is it not?” Humphrey said sympathetically.

  “Oh, I have no such experience on which to found my terror, my lord,” she said. “It is more the idea of the event than anything else. I can imagine it, and that is almost as bad as experiencing it, would you not agree? I do so enjoy riding at this gentle pace, but anything faster — no, I must leave that to those braver than I.” She visibly shuddered at the thought.

  And Humphrey, who could not imagine any pleasure in never riding above a walking speed, was forced to smile and nod politely, and bite his tongue.

  That evening, Humphrey found himself seated next to Miss Blythe at dinner. It was not his intent, for he had no wish to make his attentions obvious at too early a stage, but Julius had seized the seat on one side of her, and Humphrey felt in all conscience that he ought to do what he could to relieve the lady of the burden of too heavy a dose of Mr Whittleton. At first it looked as if even this charitable plan was doomed to failure, for Julius seemed determined to monopolise her entirely, but luckily a dispute further down the table on the relative merits of pheasant and partridge distracted him and Humphrey was able to gain the lady’s attention.

  “Did you enjoy the boundary ride today, Miss Blythe?” was his conventional opening play.

  “Oh yes!” she cried, her blue eyes widening. “It was delightful, and everything planned to perfection. It did not rain at all, nor was the wind excessive, and the picnic Lady Carrbridge had arranged beside the waterfall was quite charming. There is something so pleasing about a meal taken in the open air, do you not agree? The company is in the highest of spirits, and one may move about and converse with everyone in turn, which is most agreeable.” She lowered her voice somewhat. “I must thank you again for the most welcome service you provided, my lord. The occasion was so frightening to me, but once you took charge of the situation, I had not the least cause for alarm. So reassuring.”