Sons of the Marquess Collection

by Mary Kingswood

  For the first time, Sharp’s smile slipped a little. “It is just possible,” he said, “that the title is… elsewhere. I cannot say for sure. I know where it ought to be, you understand, but as to whether it is actually there…”

  “If it is amongst your papers, we will find it,” Humphrey said. “If it is not, we will be returning to you with more questions, you may be sure.”

  Sharp licked his lips, and for the first time seemed discomfited. Humphrey caught Merton’s eye, knowing that the secretary would be just as pleased as he was to have dented Sharp’s armour for once. At least they knew now why there was no record in the accounts of rental payments from Silsby Vale House. But it was unsatisfactory, all the same, for how many other properties might fall into the same nebulous position? What else was Sharp hiding?

  8: A Ride On The Moors

  The weather turned wet for several days, and Connie kept her guests entertained with charades, readings of poetry and Shakespeare, musical recitals, and lessons in the waltz, the scandalous new dance sweeping Europe which was not yet publicly performed but which most of the ton had already experimented with in private. Humphrey’s presence was required at all these events, and being a dutiful brother-in-law he was happy to oblige the lady of the house, especially since it threw him constantly into Miss Blythe’s company. He could not say that he was making much progress with her. She received his attentions with complaisance, but she behaved just the same towards every young man who paid court to her. It was not very encouraging.

  So much time indoors made Humphrey restless, and when the sun finally appeared and Connie bore the ladies off triumphantly in a great procession of carriages to the shops in Sagborough, he took the opportunity to hasten to the stables and relieve his pent-up energy in a fast ride.

  He found an unexpected figure there, chatting quietly to Ganymede and stroking the horse’s nose as she did so.

  “Why, Miss Quayle! Are you not enticed by the prospect of several hours looking at ribbons and gloves? There is to be a cold collation at Lady Hawthorn’s house, I understand, and a stroll along her peacock walk is not entirely out of the question. How can you possibly resist?”

  She laughed. “The peacock walk is a temptation, naturally, Lord Humphrey, and a cold collation — I can barely contain my excitement. But as a mere companion, I must make the attempt. My friend is very well chaperoned, so my attendance is not needed, and I may follow my own inclinations for once. The stables here are magnificent — this great high ceiling and the decorated columns make it seem like a cathedral to the worship of horseflesh, which is entirely appropriate with such a splendid collection of animals as you have here.”

  “Not all of them belonging to the family, of course. Our many guests’ horses have filled a great number of the stalls.”

  “Oh yes,” she said, “but the visiting horses are easy enough to determine. The stolid carriage horses, the docile grooms’ mounts, the pretty ladies’ mares, the showy gentlemen’s hacks. But everything on this side of the stables is splendid. The Marford family has impeccable taste in horseflesh.”

  “I had not realised you were so expert a judge,” Humphrey said, trying not to smile at this all too accurate assessment. “Do you ride, Miss Quayle?”

  “Oh yes!”

  “Yet you did not venture forth with Lady Carrbridge’s expedition around the boundary.”

  “No.” She looked conscious, then said primly, “As a mere companion, I do not like to put myself forward on social occasions, as you know.” Then she quite spoilt the effect by looking under her lashes at him mischievously and adding, “Besides, it sounded very tame.”

  He laughed out loud at this honesty. “So it was, so it was. If you had a completely free choice, which horse would you ride for your own pleasure?”

  To his delight, she took the question seriously, her eyes roving across the various Marford riding horses and lingering on several in silent assessment. Eventually, she patted Ganymede’s nose. “This fellow, I think. He looks fast enough to be enjoyable, but without the evil temper I see on some of these. He is yours, Tom told me — did you choose him yourself, or did Lord Augustus advise you?”

  It was interesting that she had been loitering in the stables long enough to know the names of the grooms, and to have picked up their gossip. “Gus is very much the expert where horses are concerned, so naturally I took him along to approve my choice. Do you have a riding habit with you?”

  “Of course, but— oh!” She turned her expressive eyes on him, and he could read the hope, the yearning in them as clearly as if she had spoken.

  “Go and get changed, then, and I will have him saddled for you. He is used to Lady Harriet, so he will carry you quite happily.”

  A hesitation, and doubt clouded her face. “But will you let me ride him properly? At a gallop?”

  He smiled at her. “At a gallop, and jumping every obstacle, if that is your wish.”

  “Oh! Oh, yes!” And without another word, she spun on one booted heel and raced away.

  Humphrey flushed Tom out from the saddle room. “A lady’s saddle on Ganymede, Tom, and I shall take Titan. Saddle something for yourself.”

  Tom’s eyebrows lifted. “Ganymede? For Miss Blythe?”

  “For Miss Quayle. She wishes to gallop, Tom.”

  The eyebrows lifted even further, but he set to work without further comment.

  She was quick, that much was certain. Not twenty minutes after rushing away, Miss Quayle arrived back at a run, her face alight with expectation, like a child in anticipation of some great treat. And maybe it was, at that. She had not been interested in shopping expeditions or decorous rides around the park, but the chance of a gallop drew her out of her self-imposed decision not to put herself forward, and into her riding habit. And what a riding habit it was! Humphrey was no judge of female finery, but the splendid green velvet with its rows of military-style frogging, full skirt and matching hat with a very jaunty feather were not, he suspected, suitable attire for a mere companion. Nor was the outfit likely to be one of Miss Blythe’s, for she was much shorter than her friend, yet the habit was a perfect fit.

  With a quick skip of her long legs, she jumped onto the mounting block, and settled herself on Ganymede’s back. Humphrey swung himself onto Titan, and then led the way out into the stable court.

  “Now, Miss Quayle, some things you should know. Ganymede is a sweet-tempered horse, and will allow you to set his pace most willingly, but once you give him his head you should be prepared to let him run, and also to jump, if he wishes to. If you try to halt him or turn him before he is ready, he will take it badly.”

  “I understand,” she said, eyes glittering with excitement.

  “Follow me, and keep to my pace.”

  He trotted through the stable court and out onto the track that skirted the pleasure grounds, first at a walk, then a trot, and finally, when they escaped the bounds of the shrubbery and the way ahead was clear, at a canter. Miss Quayle rode almost alongside him, close enough that he could see that she rode easily, without any tension in her hands. When they came to the open park, he halted.

  “Here is where you have a choice, Miss Quayle. If you are happy to jump, then point Ganymede directly at that gate in the wall down there. He will jump the wall just to the right. The ground drops away on the other side, but he is very familiar with it and you may trust his instincts. After that he will want to cross the fields beyond, jumping the gates until the far hill slows him. However, if you do not want to jump him—”

  But the sentence remained unfinished, for she had kicked Ganymede into motion and was away already, head low to his neck, allowing him his head, aiming straight for the gate.

  “There’s a lady with pluck!” Tom said. “Never seen anyone but Lady Harriet do that! Better get after her, my lord.”

  Humphrey agreed, and set off in pursuit, his heart in his mouth as he watched the pair race across the park at frightening speed. Titan was fast enough but he had no hope of
catching Ganymede. All Humphrey could do was watch in terror as the horse closed on the wall, quite determined to take it in his usual way. Would his rider trust him enough, or would she try to pull him up? Closer, closer, closer… and now there was no option but to jump. And Ganymede adjusted his stride a touch, she shifted her hands a touch, and they were up… up in the air… flying over the wall… the lady’s shriek audible even from some distance away. Was that piercing cry excitement or sudden terror?

  He almost closed his eyes, hardly able to watch. Would they make it? For an instant they were both out of sight and he feared… Oh God, where were they? There! They were away across the field, not even looking back. He yelled in sheer delight, and then there was no time to watch them, for Titan was approaching the gate, about to jump it and it took all Humphrey’s concentration to get himself and the unfamiliar mount over in reasonable style.

  At the far side of the fourth field, he caught up with them, Miss Quayle laughing in glee, her face aglow, her eyes great shining orbs. How had he ever thought her plain? It was inconceivable.

  “You are magnificent!” he cried, then hastily added, “… a magnificent rider!”

  She laughed again, as their two horses danced around each other, still energised from the fast ride. “Ganymede is the magnificent one. I just gave him his head, and hung on while he did as he pleased. That was absolutely splendid, Lord Humphrey! Thank you so much for entrusting him to me. But look, he wants to go off again! Where to next?”

  “First we wait for Tom to catch up, for his horse is a slug and he must open every gate to pass through,” he said, laughing too, from the exhilaration of the ride and her own infectious enthusiasm. “Then we may pass through Wester Drum farmyard and back into the park to the boundary ride. Or else we may skirt the farm on this side, and through the woods onto the moor.”

  “Oh, the moor, please! I have so longed to see it, ever since you spoke of it with such feeling at the tea party at Marford House.”

  “Did I? I do not remember what I said then. But the moor it shall be then.”

  When Tom reached them at his slower pace, they set off at an easy canter around the hayfields, and through the woods, cool on their heated faces, the leaves rustling overhead, sunlight shimmering far above as the breeze parted the canopy. Ganymede, knowing the way, pulled ahead and Humphrey let him go, happy to admire the elegant rear view of Miss Quayle. They made their way up and up, until the trees fell away and all around was open country, wild and windswept, an empty vista of tussocky grass, bog and heather, with here and there a rocky crag.

  Miss Quayle pulled up and gazed around her. “Oh, this is wonderful! Your description did not exaggerate the beauty of this place in the slightest. The air is so fresh and pure here. I was very happy in India, but I have so missed this English air.” She took deep gulps of it, filling her lungs. “Ah, how glorious the moor is!”

  “I love it here too,” Humphrey said, watching her face enchantedly. Such an expressive face, with those lustrous eyes, and that wide mouth, ripe for kissing… And she exuded such energy and life, so unlike the mouse-like character of the companion that she assumed in company. But she was not for him. However much he admired Miss Quayle, he could not afford to marry a woman so poor.

  She laughed aloud. “Oh, but who could not love it? Such a place must speak to the heart of anyone with the least amount of sensibility. Such wildness, and yet such freedom. It is possible to see for mile upon mile, and nothing to prevent one from wandering wherever the spirit desires. Perhaps I should buy an estate nearby, for I should love to live up here, where no one could cage me and hedge me around with arbitrary strictures.”

  Humphrey made no comment on the matter of a companion buying an estate, but he noted it as another piece in the puzzle that was Miss Rosemary Quayle. Instead, he said neutrally, “Do you feel caged?”

  “Every moment! Women are caged every moment of their lives, Lord Humphrey. Society expects them to behave in certain ways, and punishes them severely for any transgression, and the options are so limited — daughter, wife, mother… Cages, every one of them. Oh, they might be very comfortable cages, but cages nevertheless.”

  “I do not think men have an easier time of it,” Humphrey said quietly. “We are every bit as constrained by the expectations of society. We cannot do just as we please.”

  “No, but you may choose what to do with your lives, whether to have a career or not, whether to marry or not. A man who remains a bachelor is still a person of standing in the community, and well respected by all, whereas a spinster is an object of ridicule. What is more pitiful than an old maid? And what employment is open to a woman? Governess or courtesan.”

  “Or companion,” Humphrey reminded her mildly. “And your employer is kind, and treats you as a friend, I think, so the work is not arduous. The same is true of many marriages, where the husband is fond of his wife. Lady Carrbridge is not caged, I think. As for careers, we have few choices, too. Carrbridge came into his honours when he was but one and twenty, and finds it a great burden, for all his apparent wealth and position in society. I know he feels it to be a cage about him, sometimes. As for the rest of us, the unwanted younger sons of a marquess, each with only a courtesy title and no fortune, what options are available to us? We cannot take up honest hard work like candle making or tailoring, and even respectable occupations such as physician or banker would be frowned upon. Only the church, the army, the law or the fringes of politics will do — and if none of these appeal, we must marry an heiress and live the idle lives of gentlemen. I should love to set up my own business, but I cannot afford it. I nurture my winnings at the card table, but at the present rate it will take me thirty years to accumulate the necessary sum.”

  She looked at him with sudden interest. “You speak as though you have a business in mind.”

  “I do. I should like to establish a gaming house, an honest and respectable one where gentlemen, and ladies too, may play for whatever stakes they can afford, and know that the house will not cheat them. But it will take close to a hundred thousand pounds to start with, if I am to attract the highest players, and where am I to find such a sum? Carrbridge cannot afford to invest in such a risky venture, and who else has such an amount?”

  “An heiress?” she said, her lips quirked into a smile, and those speaking eyes told him that she understood his position very well.

  He laughed and acknowledged the hit. “The thought has crossed my mind, certainly. Connie has been busily finding likely candidates for each of us, for she fancies herself as a matchmaker. Reggie was so obliging as to fall in love with his heiress, and she with him. But without a degree of mutual affection, I cannot imagine there would be much comfort in such a marriage, on either side.” It was the first time he had expressed this idea, or even thought it, but the truth of it struck him very hard. How could he marry Miss Blythe without love, or at least a degree of respect and esteem? It would be intolerable. Could he sit down every night to play whist with a woman who chattered constantly? Many men married wives they did not love, he knew, and some were happy anyway. Yet more were not, and took mistresses or were away from home a great deal or drank or gambled away their unhappiness.

  “You do not have to marry your investor, surely, Lord Humphrey? Might you not look for a wealthy supporter? Or perhaps ten less wealthy would serve the purpose.”

  “That is true, but there would be complications — contracts and other legal matters, the sharing of profits, and how to deal with differences of opinion.”

  “Whereas with a wife, her money would be yours to do with as you please,” she said, without rancour. “She would have no say in the matter.”

  “Essentially, that is the way the law has it, Miss Quayle, although in practice it would not be so rigid, I am sure. It is difficult, and I have not yet found the ideal solution to my dilemma. Shall we ride on, now that Tom has rested his horse a little? Take great care on this rough track, for there are many hidden dips and bumps. We may gall
op again when we reach the road. If we turn this way, we will go past Great Mellingham, which is to be given to Reggie and Miss Chamberlain as a wedding gift.”

  “Generous indeed,” she said, smiling again. “Most couples are happy to receive silverware, or a dinner service.”

  He smiled too, for it was impossible not to respond to her good humour. “The house has been empty for some years since the last tenant died, and Miss Chamberlain’s fortune is paying for the new furnishings and wallpapers, so the cost to Carrbridge is small, fortunately.”

  “I have heard the Marquess of Carrbridge spoken of as one of the richest men in England,” she said with a frown.

  “The seventh Marquess was certainly so, and my father seemed so, but the huge estates he held have long gone — lost in the wars, given away or gambled at the faro table, or just mismanaged. Now there is hardly any money coming in at all.”

  “So Lord Carrbridge is down to his last ten thousand a year, I suppose,” she said, teasingly.

  “Less than that,” he answered sombrely. “Much less than that. We are all having to rethink how we live.”

  The rest of the ride passed in near silence, both of them thoughtful. Humphrey had spoken openly, for it was not in his nature to employ deceit in his dealings with a lady, and Miss Quayle would relay the details faithfully to her friend. If he were to court Miss Blythe in good earnest, then he wanted her to know his circumstances, and the family’s circumstances, too. It would not matter to her, perhaps, that the Marfords were so impoverished, for she had a vast fortune of her own, but he did not want her to be under any illusions. Was he trying to put her off? He could not be sure. He was no longer entirely certain that he wished to marry her, despite the fortune. But he would have to make a decision soon, for her visit was more than half gone.

  These thoughts absorbed him all the way back to the stables, but as they clattered into the stable court, they were greeted by the sound of shouting. A noisy group of grooms and gardeners surrounded one person, angrily berating him. One rather familiar person.