Humphrey had almost forgotten the incident, but he smiled and accepted her gratitude with the proper degree of demurral, and the conversation moved on to other subjects. But his heart was heavy. Could he truly respect a woman who was so timid on horseback? He was very much afraid he could not. But then he reminded himself that Miss Blythe was pretty and charming and inoffensive, and even if she might not be a bruising rider, was comfortable in society, and a woman who could with confidence be left to manage the domestic sphere. He need not have very much to do with her at all. Yes, she would do very well.
So he smiled and said all that was proper, and then talked to her about India for half an hour, which brought her to a very pleasing degree of animation. But then Julius remembered her and turned his attention back in her direction, and when he asked if he might be permitted the privilege of hearing her sing again, she grew even more animated.
“Oh, yes, if you will join me, Mr Whittleton! For you have the most splendid voice, and I should so enjoy hearing it again.”
Humphrey began to wonder for the first time if Julius might be a serious rival for her hand. Well, he might not sing as beautifully as Julius — who could, after all? Still, he could be attentive to a lady if he chose to be. The gambler in him rose to the fore. Time to raise the stakes and snatch his two hundred thousand pounds out of Julius’s avaricious grasp.
And yet his conscience whispered that he was every bit as avaricious as Julius, for what could be more mercenary than to choose a wife purely on the size of her fortune? He sat in uneasy silence.
7: Whist And Piquet
After dinner, Humphrey drifted back to the drawing room before the other gentlemen. He accepted his tea from Connie, and went to sit alone in a far corner of the room where he could ponder his sudden outbreak of conscience, and consider how he might overcome it, or whether perhaps he should abandon the charming Miss Blythe after all. Now that he was newly awakened to the awkwardness of marrying for money, he could see the disadvantages of the match that had never struck him before. She was so young, for one thing, no more than eighteen, and he was almost ten years older than her. That in itself was no great obstacle, for many men waited until they reached thirty or more before looking for a wife, and then made their choice from that season’s debutantes. There was nothing at all wrong with that, if all one wanted was a wife who would be presentable in society and run a reasonably orderly home.
Yet now that he thought about it, Humphrey realised that he had always assumed that his wife, should he be lucky enough to marry, would be more of an equal to him, as both friend and lover. A timid milk-and-water wife was not at all what he had expected or hoped for. When he had considered the matter at all, he had had an image of a wife who rode as hard as he did, and who could at least play a decent game of whist. That was something he did not know about Miss Blythe. Perhaps she was not much of a rider, but was a deep thinker at the card table. He knew how he could find out.
So when the music was finished and the card tables were forming, seeing Julius occupied in receiving the plaudits of the listeners, he stepped forward quickly to claim her.
“Shall you play whist tonight, Miss Blythe? I should be very happy to partner you, if so.”
“Why, thank you, my lord. I should be honoured, for I know you to be a formidable card player, and I enjoy whist of all things.”
Well, that was promising. Humphrey secured the Amblesides as opponents and found them a table, and so the game began. It took him but five minutes to discover that Miss Blythe’s enjoyment in the game stemmed largely in the conversation to be had while play was underway. She chatted to Mrs Ambleside very freely, until Ambleside rather tersely pointed out that the ladies had lost three tricks owing to their inattention. After that, all conversation was restricted to the gaps between games when the men totted up the scores and dealt the cards. When supper was announced, Humphrey was more than ready to abandon the game, and he saw that Ambleside was equally so.
After supper, he saw Miss Blythe claimed by the ever-opportunistic Julius Whittleton to join a large game of vingt-et-un, which was a much better match for her sociable inclinations. He was about to join the group himself, to keep a watchful eye on Julius, when his gaze fell on his pupil of the previous night. There she was, tucked self-effacingly in a corner of the grand saloon, which was difficult for a woman of her commanding height, and again her needlework sat neglected in her lap as she looked about her eagerly. So interested in the other guests and yet so reluctant to mix with them!
Her wandering eyes caught sight of his amused gaze, and she promptly bent her head to her work. Did she blush? He could not be sure. A stitch… another… and a third, before she peeped up at him under her lashes. This time she definitely blushed. He lost interest in the vingt-et-un game, seeing the prospect of far more entertaining play before him. Unhurriedly he crossed the room to stand before her.
“Miss Quayle, would you be interested in continuing our piquet lessons?”
“Thank you, my lord, but as you see I am being a conscientious needlewoman tonight.”
He smiled, but said, “Your diligence is commendable, but I am persuaded that you would enjoy piquet rather more, and I assure you it would bring me the greatest pleasure.”
She set down her needlework and looked at him appraisingly, head tilted at a slight angle. “It is kind of you to offer, Lord Humphrey, but I have discovered that you are a player of exceptional quickness. It would be impertinent in me to monopolise your attention with my beginner’s stumbles when you will have much more enjoyable play elsewhere.”
“You may be assured that I receive just as much enjoyment in teaching an interested beginner as in playing any other game here tonight.”
But she shook her head, the two curls bouncing. “You are all generosity, but I beg you will not waste your time on me. I am perfectly happy to watch the company from here.”
“Then I shall watch the company with you,” he said firmly. Pulling forward a gilt-framed chair, he placed it next to hers and sat down, legs stretched out and crossed neatly at the ankles, arms folded. “And see how I am rewarded already by following your example, Miss Quayle. I can see the top of Lady Carrbridge’s head almost entirely from this vantage point. Such a charming comb above her left ear. And look, the lower legs of Lord Carrbridge and Mr Graham are perfectly visible through that chair. And if I merely lean at an angle to the left, I may peer around that urn and immediately two — no, two and a half of the vingt-et-un players are revealed to me. Well, almost revealed, at any rate. I fear I should only be able to see them in their entirety by leaning at such a precipitous angle as to risk a humiliating tumble to the floor.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Such absurdity! Of course I can see very little, hidden away as I am, but you see I am being a good little companion and keeping out of the way while the tables are being formed. As soon as everyone is settled, I shall creep a little nearer so that I may enjoy the conversations without the necessity for joining in myself.”
“In other words, you are determined to remain invisible. Is that how paid companions are expected to behave, in your opinion, Miss Quayle? Or is this a certain timidity in your nature which suggests this degree of invisibility?”
“Timidity? Oh, quite the reverse,” she said, smiling so suddenly that he was taken quite by surprise. Why, her countenance was not at all plain when she looked so mischievous, and those eyes! So expressive and full of life. “If I join in, I should be sure to express my opinions forcefully and dominate the conversation in a manner most disagreeable, not to mention inappropriate for my station. In a setting like this, and in such elevated company, it is difficult to remember that I am—”
“—just a paid companion,” he said, making her laugh outright. “Then play piquet with me, Miss Quayle, and you may dominate the conversation as much as you choose — or rather, as much as you can, for you will have to contend with my own tendency to dominate.”
She laughed even harder at that.
“How can I resist such a challenge? Well then, let us see which of us will succeed in out-conversing the other. Shall we have a few guineas on the outcome?”
He regarded her quizzically, then said neutrally, “Companions must be paid very well to afford wagers at such a level.” She bit her lip, but before she could reply, he went on, “But you are safe from me, Miss Quayle. I am not minded for high play tonight. Let us play for fish, instead. Shall we ask Timothy to set out a table for us?”
She nodded her assent, and he signalled to the footman, offering Miss Quayle his arm as they made their way to where the table was being placed. There was an unexpected pleasure in walking with so tall a woman, for her steps matched his perfectly. For once he had no need to moderate his stride. “Will this position suit you? There is a reasonable view of the whist players from here, although, alas, we can no longer see the vingt-et-un players.”
She laughed merrily at this, but answered seriously, “Lord Humphrey, are you quite sure this will not be too dull an exercise for you?”
“It is never dull to teach an apt pupil, as you must have found yourself,” he said as he shuffled. “Miss Blythe is a credit to your instruction.”
“Oh yes! She was always a most attentive pupil, and worked so hard to learn everything I taught her. My efforts were not always entirely successful, for her number work was never above the commonplace, and she had little understanding of logic or philosophy. Her performance on the pianoforte is a trifle haphazard, perhaps, but so long as she sings, no one notices that. But her embroidery, her dancing and deportment, her manners, her painting, her recitation of poetry, her conversation — no one could fault her, and it is to the credit of her own aptitude and application, and not at all to my instruction, I assure you.”
Humphrey smiled at this effusive summary of Miss Blythe’s perfections, and Miss Quayle’s manner was so perfectly sincere and artless that he was obliged to acquit her of any attempt to encourage a match between Miss Blythe and himself. He wondered what the two of them made of this invitation to Drummoor? Miss Quayle, at least, was so quick-minded that she must have deduced the intention at once. Of course, that did not preclude a successful outcome. It was for him to win Miss Blythe’s hand by securing her affections towards him.
“Now then,” he said, as he deftly dealt the cards, “you have a good grasp of the basics of piquet, Miss Quayle, so we shall come to the interesting part—”
“Strategy!” she cried, her face alight with enthusiasm.
“Exactly so. Piquet is superficially a simple game, but there are great subtleties in the manner of play, especially in the discard. Tonight I shall lay out my cards on the table after each deal, and explain to you which cards I plan to discard, and why. You need not show your cards—”
“But you will have a fair idea of them.”
“I will indeed,” he said, delighted with her quick mind. “However, there is still room for chance as well as skill. Now, let us begin…”
That hour Humphrey reckoned one of the pleasantest he had ever spent in that room. His pupil was so swift to learn that he had constantly to scramble for new techniques to teach her. Within three hands she was guessing his own discards with great accuracy, and within six it became clear that her memory for cards was every bit the equal of his own. Had she not been so new to the game and therefore still prone to mistakes, he must have feared his reputation as a consummate player to be in some danger.
The time passed so quickly that he was shocked when Miss Blythe appeared beside them.
“I beg pardon for disturbing you, my lord,” she said, timidly. “I merely wished to tell… my friend that I am going upstairs now.”
“Oh, has your game finished already?” Miss Quayle said, looking up in surprise.
“Some time ago, dearest. But there is no need for you to abandon yours, if his lordship wishes to play on.”
“Indeed, the fault is entirely mine,” Humphrey said gallantly. “I was kept so well entertained by your friend, Miss Blythe, that I had no notion I was keeping her up so late. A thousand apologies, Miss Quayle. Perhaps we may continue the lessons on another occasion?”
She smiled and agreed to it, and bade him good night, and as the two women walked away, Humphrey watched them speculatively. One was sweet and pretty and rich, a perfect match for the younger son of a marquess, but he had as yet found nothing in her to capture his interest. The other was lively and as sharp as a needle, but poor — and yet she interested him greatly.
His determination to court Miss Blythe and her fortune was undimmed, but there was something mysterious and intriguing about Miss Quayle and he very much wanted to find it out.
~~~~~
Hortensia walked up the stairs a little ahead of her friend.
“Dearest,” came Rosemary’s voice from behind her, a little hesitantly. “I am not very comfortable with this.”
“Come now, are you not enjoying yourself?” Hortensia stopped and waited for her, then linked arms companionably.
“Oh yes! Very much, but… I am uncomfortable with our situation”
“You are not developing a tendre for Lord Humphrey, are you? For that would never do.”
“Oh, no, nothing of the sort. He is very attentive, as are several of the gentlemen, which is very pleasant, naturally, but none are such as to tempt me. But it does not seem quite right.”
“Perhaps not,” Hortensia said pensively. “Still, it is only for a month and then we shall be gone from here. We will settle in Bath or Harrogate or some other dull but respectable place, and live very quiet for the rest of our lives.”
“Oh.” Rosemary sounded very downcast, and Hortensia had to admit that the prospect did not appeal so much as it once had. It was all very difficult.
~~~~~
Sharp had been notified that Lord Carrbridge required his attendance to explain some irregularities in the management of the estates. On Merton’s advice, several days had elapsed to allow Sharp to dissipate his ire over the seizure of all his papers, but he presented himself at the ship room at the precise hour with his usual equanimity.
“Your lordship wished to speak with me?” he said, smiling in his oily way, with the excessively deferential bow that always irritated Humphrey. The man was, after all, the estate’s agent, so there was no need for him to be so obsequious. His clothes were another irritant, so obtrusively old-fashioned as to suggest that his master kept him in poverty.
Carrbridge had insisted that Reggie and Humphrey be there for family unity, and Merton, too. Julius Whittleton had been left in charge of the writing room, since he was now deemed competent to open and sort all the marquess’s newly arrived letters. Humphrey was amused to see that Sharp’s bows to the rest of them were very finely judged — respectfully low to Reggie, somewhat less so to his rival Merton and almost insultingly slight to Humphrey himself, who had clearly not been forgiven for reclaiming Ganymede and discovering the secrets of Silsby Vale House.
Carrbridge sat behind the desk, with Sharp standing on the other side of it. Merton was seated at the end of the desk, his pen poised to record any items of note. Reggie sat on the window seat, keeping himself out of the way, only present because the brothers wished to present a united face. Humphrey decided that he might be best employed as an oppressive presence, so he leaned casually against the mantelpiece, his height allowing him to loom over Sharp.
“Now, Sharp, this will not do,” Carrbridge said, in his most imperious manner. “I have asked Mr Merton to discover the full extent of the estate’s holdings, information which should have been at your fingertips, and you have not been at all helpful, even when you have been here. And that is another matter, all this jauntering about.”
“As agent, I must keep an eye on all your lordship’s holdings,” Sharp said, with undented calmness. “You would not wish me to neglect my duties, my lord, I’m sure.”
“No, of course not, but still—”
“As to Mr Merton, he’s your lordship’s secretary, who wri
tes letters and so forth. I was not aware he had any responsibility towards your lordship’s estates. Or perhaps I’m mistaken on that point, and he’s your lordship’s agent now?”
“Not at all, but—”
“Perhaps you have some complaint to make of me, my lord? Some matter left unattended to? A task not performed to your satisfaction?”
“No, but—”
Humphrey shifted restlessly. “Tell us about Silsby Vale House, Sharp.”
“Of course, my lord. What is your lordship wishful to know?”
“What is your interest there?”
“The lady who lives there is a friend of mine, my lord.”
“A friend. Very well. Let us say no more on that score, for your private affairs are no concern of ours,” Humphrey said disdainfully. “But who owns it?”
“Why, his lordship, naturally.”
“Really?” Humphrey said, startled. “Then why was I told by those who live there that you owned it?”
“As to that, I couldn’t say, my lord,” Sharp said, his smile undiminished.
“May I ask how this property came to be in the marquess’s possession?” Merton said.
“The late marquess won the property at faro from Mr Cecil Andrews,” Sharp said easily. “From Christian charity he allowed the gentleman to continue to live there free of rent, and when Mr Andrews died shortly thereafter, the gentleman’s widow continued on the same terms.”
“And where is the title to the property?”
“Now that is an interesting question,” Sharp said, his smile never faltering. “Were I in my own office, with all my papers as I left them, I daresay I could have set my hand to the relevant document in no time at all. But since your lordship has seen fit to remove everything—”
“Yes, yes, you have not the least idea, I suppose,” Carrbridge said testily.
“All the papers were labelled as they were boxed up,” Merton said smoothly. “If you can tell me roughly where in the room the title was located, I should be able to find it very easily.”
Sons of the Marquess Collection Page 28
