Sons of the Marquess Collection

by Mary Kingswood

  But abruptly everything had changed. If the lady he pursued was not, in fact, Miss Blythe or an heiress, then he could not afford to marry her and his pursuit was very dangerous. What if he offered for her and found himself trapped in a loveless marriage to a penniless woman? Was he right in his supposition? If so, he stood on the brink of disaster if he continued to court the supposed Miss Blythe. If he was wrong — well, there would be other heiresses, no doubt. Or other ways to raise the ready. He was a gambler, and loved a risk, but only when he could afford to lose and here he knew he could not.

  So he answered honestly. “There is no such attachment or understanding. I have only known the lady for a little over a month, after all.”

  “Yet your uncle is in expectation of a match.”

  Humphrey shrugged. “It is an obvious supposition. A younger son with no prospects, and a wealthy heiress — what could be more natural? And my sister-in-law is a great matchmaker and has been promoting the pairing, and I have dutifully taken an interest in the lady.” Dutifully? Even as he spoke the word, he understood the significance of it. Yes, his courtship of Miss Blythe was more duty than desire. “It would be a most convenient thing, were we to make a match of it. But I tell you this — if I had seen any sign of attachment on the lady’s side, I should have been ordering my wedding coat by now. As it is, she is as pleasantly affable to me as to anyone else. So if you have an admiration for her, the way is clear.”

  Kilbraith leaned back in his chair with a smile of satisfaction on his face. Not long after that, he left the gentlemen to rejoin the ladies.

  Humphrey sat on, wondering at himself. He had personally selected Miss Blythe, and she had been invited to Drummoor precisely so that he might attempt to win her hand. Ever since her arrival, he had been showing her some not inconsiderable attention, by his own standards, for he was not accustomed to paying court to ladies. On the contrary, he had been very sure never to behave in any way which might give rise to expectations in a young lady’s breast. Many had tried to attach him over the years, but all had failed.

  Now that he had finally come round to the idea of marriage, he had expended more time and effort on Miss Blythe than in ten years of mingling with the ton. It was not his way to be ostentatious in his pursuit, or so he hoped, but to those who knew him, his intentions must have been obvious. And yet, he had as good as handed her over to Kilbraith.

  He ought, by rights, to feel — what, precisely? Jealousy? Anger? Sadness? But when he examined his own heart with a dispassionate eye, he realised that it would be a relief if Kilbraith were to whisk Miss Blythe away to Scotland. He liked the lady well enough, but for him it would be a marriage of convenience only. He had no desire to marry her solely for her fortune, to selfishly use her inheritance to fund his gaming house. His heart whispered that perhaps he had another reason to wish Kilbraith well in his endeavours, a reason with dark eyes that turned his insides to jelly. It was a conundrum, and hovered over him like a black cloud of uncertainty. What was he to do?

  When Humphrey returned to the drawing room, he found Miss Blythe singing again, and Kilbraith watching her, transfixed. She seemed to have noticed him, too, for from time to time she cast little glances his way, then blushed before turning quickly back to her music sheet.

  Before Humphrey had taken three steps into the room, Connie had grabbed his elbow and steered him straight back out again.

  “What are you about?” she hissed, all concern. “If you do not take care, Cousin Max will have her and all our efforts will have been in vain.”

  “He will inherit an earldom,” Humphrey said with a shrug. “It would be a good match for her, if she takes to him. And why should she not? He is a handsome fellow, and most amiable.”

  “And so are you, silly boy.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you dislike her? Is that it? Are you losing interest in her? You spend almost as much time with Miss Quayle as with Miss Blythe, which is very good-natured of you, for she is such a quiet little thing, never putting herself forward, but you must not lose sight of where your best interests lie.”

  “Ah, you must not quiz me, Connie,” he said. “I hardly know what I feel just now, and a month is not enough time to settle my confused mind. I fear I cannot oblige you by falling in love with a lady just because she is rich.”

  “Of course not, dear, and no one wishes you to marry without love. Reggie was delightfully compliant in that respect, but I am not so heartless as to push you if you have quite given up the idea of Miss Blythe.”

  Humphrey sighed. “That is just the trouble, I have not the least idea what I want, or what she wants either.”

  “Then, perhaps for my sake, you will be your charming self with her for a little longer so that she may compare you and Max directly? I do not want any gentlemanly nonsense about standing aside and not getting in each other’s way. I nearly married Reggie because Lord Carrbridge had agreed not to compete with him, do you remember? It was you who insisted that I should be given the choice, and how glad I was of it! Imagine if I had married the wrong brother, and all because I did not know that my dear Francis still loved me. A lady should be allowed to make up her own mind, Humphrey.”

  He laughed, remembering the occasion well. “You are quite right, and if it should happen that Miss Blythe forms an unshakable attachment to me, then you may be sure that I will marry her. But Connie, promise me you will not be disappointed if she should prefer Kilbraith?”

  “I shall do no such thing, for naturally it will be the gravest disappointment if my skills as a matchmaker are found to be so deplorably lacking. Although, since they were introduced under my roof, I may still take the credit for it, may I not? For your sake, I hope you win her, but for mine, Miss Blythe may marry whomever she wishes, with my goodwill.”

  And so, when the tables were brought out for cards, Humphrey allowed himself to be partnered at whist with Miss Blythe, against Kilbraith and Miss Quayle. In the space of two minutes, he perceived that if Miss Blythe were to form an unshakable attachment, it should not be towards himself. She talked and played very composedly, but every time Kilbraith addressed her, a blush suffused her cheeks. Once, his hand accidentally brushed against hers, and she instantly went scarlet, and it took ten minutes of the gentlemen determinedly talking about nothing in particular before she had regained her usual colour.

  Miss Quayle, meanwhile, was intent upon the game at first, and spoke of nothing outside of it, but when her friend blushed so vividly, she seemed to become aware of Lord Kilbraith for the first time. She fell silent, watching him and Miss Blythe with a serious, almost concerned, expression.

  After the supper break, Kilbraith eagerly proposed a resumption of their four, although with the small alteration that he would partner Miss Blythe. Humphrey understood why, for it enabled him to gaze at her directly across the table. She would be constantly in his view, without the least need to turn his head, and it would give him the opportunity to talk to her more frequently. The change meant that Humphrey partnered Miss Quayle, and their combined skills were so great and their opponents so distracted that they took every game and almost every trick.

  When the final points were added up, Kilbraith was astonished at the depth of their loss. “I usually acquit myself a little better than that,” he said, frowning. “But then to lose to Lord Humphrey Marford is no great blow to my pride. It would be astonishing had you not had the victory.”

  Humphrey bowed at the compliment, but added, “I believe my partner may claim just as much credit for our success.”

  “Of course. My compliments on your fine play, Miss… erm, Quayle.”

  She acknowledged the compliment, but he was already turning away to speak to Miss Blythe. With a conspiratorial grin, Miss Quayle whispered to Humphrey, “Just think how we might have thrashed them if we had not been throwing away trumps almost from the start. Why, you cast away the ace, once.”

  Humphrey laughed. “Even such outrageous moves could not bring them a respectable score when they were so
… preoccupied, shall we say. I have never seen such a violent case of love at first sight.”

  The smile on her face dropped, and she gazed after the pair with anxious eyes. “Indeed. It is not like… my friend to be so smitten on five minutes’ acquaintance.”

  “Whereas he has a history of such sudden starts,” Humphrey said. “Did you know that he was once briefly betrothed to Mary, Lady Hardy, after just such an instant attraction?”

  She turned her gaze full on him. “No! What happened? Why did they not marry?”

  “Oh… family reasons,” he said vaguely.

  “Was it to do with money?” she said, and there was an intentness in her look that he believed he understood. If Miss Blythe were not the heiress, yet Kilbraith believed that she was…

  “No, money was not the problem,” Humphrey said quickly. “Kilbraith fought in the Peninsula and has made enough there to give him an independent income, as well as being heir to a wealthy earldom. Miss Blythe’s fortune will not weigh with him. There was some family history that made the match with Lady Hardy ineligible, that was all.”

  “Ah.” She seemed relieved, and if he had not already worked out the secret, her manner now would have given all away. Naturally, she did not want her impoverished friend to fall for Lord Kilbraith if he was looking out for a rich wife. But Humphrey had misgivings, all the same. Kilbraith may not care one jot whether Miss Blythe be rich or poor, but he might care very much to find himself deceived in the matter.

  ~~~~~

  “Hortensia, this cannot go on! Ow!”

  “I beg your pardon.” Hortensia laid down the hairbrush and gazed at her friend in the mirror. “This is a tangle, is it not, dearest?”

  “My hair or… us?” Rosemary said.

  For a moment, Hortensia stared at her, then both of them burst out laughing. “Oh, what a mess!” Hortensia said, shaking her dark curls. “And I am not talking about your hair. It seemed like such a good idea to switch places. You would get your chance to shine, as you deserve, and would find yourself an adoring husband, and I… I could hide away for a time, and get used to being alone in the world without suitors flitting round me all the while like a cloud of gnats. But we never quite worked out how we would switch back again, and oh, how awkward it is, when everyone thinks you are the rich heiress and I am just your companion. How can we possibly tell people?”

  “And everyone has been so agreeable to us,” Rosemary said, heaving a sigh. “Lord and Lady Carrbridge have been everything that is kind and generous, and now I feel like a worm for deceiving them. And… and, dearest…” She blushed, looking down and pleating the skirt of her gown with her fingers. “Now there is him!” she burst out.

  “There is indeed him,” Hortensia said dryly. “If we could but have got through our month here, we might have slunk away to Bath or… or somewhere else we are not known. Then perhaps we could begin again, a little more circumspectly. But Lord Kilbraith is a problem, there is no doubt about that.”

  “We must tell him,” Rosemary said. “He cannot go on believing me to be the rich Miss Blythe.”

  Hortensia sighed, making no answer.

  “And there is Lord Humphrey, too,” Rosemary said. “You like him, I know you do, for I have seen how you look when you speak of him, and if he knew how rich you are—”

  “I do not think—”

  “It would be perfect,” Rosemary said, spinning round on the dressing stool to face Hortensia, her face alight with excitement. “If we confess, you can marry Lord Humphrey, and I can marry Lord Kilbraith, and everyone would be happy.”

  Hortensia gave a tight little smile. Yes, it would be perfect! But she had scarcely dared to think about such possibilities herself. She had seen the way Lord Humphrey looked at her sometimes, but was that just admiration for her riding skills or her ability at cards, pursuits which he enjoyed too? Surely he could have no admiration for her as a woman, for who could, plain as she was? Could he? Was it possible? Her heart whispered that it must be so, for why else spend so much time in her company, and with such apparent pleasure? Why give her his own horse to ride? That was not mere gentlemanly chivalry. And he knew nothing of her fortune, so his attention must be disinterested. Was it possible that he could love her for herself, not caring about her fortune? But she dared not hope for such joy. She had had such hopes before, and been disappointed.

  “I do not think it would work out quite as perfectly as you imagine,” Hortensia said. “Here is what we shall do. Let us wait for a few days, to see how things go on with Lord Kilbraith. If matters become serious, then we shall tell him everything, I promise you. If not… no, do not look so distraught, for who knows what may happen? We must consider all possibilities, dearest. If it comes to nothing, then we may leave here at the end of our month undiscovered, and I daresay we shall not meet the Marfords again, so it will not matter.”

  Rosemary nodded, too used to Hortensia deciding everything to argue with her.

  But when Hortensia had seen her friend settled in bed, and had returned to her own room, she sat for a very long time at the window, gazing down into the kitchen court below, a faint scent of honeysuckle and lavender wafting up to her. Her thoughts were not on plants or the beauty of the night sky or even, as might be supposed, on the problem of Rosemary and Lord Kilbraith. Instead her mind was full of a man who let her ride his finest horse, who taught her to play card games to his own level, a man who noticed her, as no one else in that crowded house had. And a man who, she had to admit, was charming and handsome and all that she could desire, with a pair of smiling eyes which set her stomach fluttering as if it were full of butterflies. If only she could have him… If only…

  ~~~~~

  Humphrey was far too unsettled to sleep. His thoughts bounced around, without an ounce of sense to any of them. First he wondered about Miss Blythe and Kilbraith — could they really fall in love so abruptly? Would they wake tomorrow to think better of it? And yet — what could be more fitting than that a pretty and accomplished young lady should marry an eligible nobleman? Her poverty — if she were indeed impoverished — only made the possibility the more romantic. Yet Humphrey could not be easy about it, all the same. Kilbraith might fall out of love as easily as he fell into it, especially if he found out that his beloved had deceived him.

  Then there was Miss Quayle, whose wealth — if she were indeed wealthy — would resolve Humphrey’s difficulties while also bringing him a wife he could truly love. Was he in love with her already? He dared not be, for he could not afford a poor wife, yet nor could he court two seemingly wealthy women in the same month. It was impossible, and the worst of it was that she would suit him admirably. If only he could have her… If only…

  11: An Outing Is Planned

  Humphrey woke to the sudden realisation that, so long as the two ladies’ deception continued, he need make no adjustments to his behaviour. Indeed, it would be thought odd if he were to do so. And if all was revealed, why, then he would make another plan and allow the dice to fall as they may. There was an excitement in it, knowing, or at least suspecting, the secret behind the two ladies and not having the least idea where it would all end up. It was like a good hunting day, following the hounds wherever they went, no matter how high the obstacles to be jumped, and having no greater ambition than not to find oneself head first in the mud. And if it went badly, as was always possible — well, no point thinking about hypothetical futures.

  So when he met Connie at the breakfast table, he was in mellow mood.

  “Humphrey!” she cried. “Just the person I need. I am planning an outing to Branksford Abbey—”

  “Oh no!” he said. “Connie, it always rains, you know that. How many times have you attempted this? And it always rains!”

  “It will not rain this year. The weather is set fair, Harris and Lester agree for once. Shall you come? The ladies are all very keen, but I need a few more gentlemen.”

  “Must I?” he said, pulling a face. “Ruined abbeys are not very a
ppealing.”

  “It would be a very pleasant outing in your curricle, you must agree.”

  That certainly made a difference. “Hmm. It is time I stretched the greys’ legs a little.”

  “Quite so,” she said, pressing home her advantage. “You might invite Miss Blythe to accompany you. If you take your groom, it would be quite unexceptional.”

  But Miss Blythe did not come down to breakfast, and by the time Humphrey met up with her again, just before dinner, his invitation was met with blushes and a stammered refusal. Lord Kilbraith, it seemed, had secured the lady’s company already, with Lady Hardy and Merton taking the remaining seats in his carriage.

  Humphrey accepted this with outward composure, but excitement rushed through him. Now he was free to solicit Miss Quayle instead, as his heart wished. Instantly he sought her out in her accustomed quiet corner of the drawing room.

  “Shall you go to Branksford Abbey?” he began, too keen to secure her company to be subtle.

  “Oh, I think not.”

  Relief. At least Julius had not got ahead of him. “It is a very fine ruin. Quite one of the best ruins in Yorkshire, I believe.”

  She shot him an amused glance. “Very tempting, but I think I must still refuse.”

  “It is a very pleasant drive in my curricle, and—”

  “You are very kind, Lord Humphrey, but—”

  “—I am sure you would enjoy driving my greys.”

  “Oh!” Her squeak of astonishment caused heads to turn. She clapped her hands to her mouth, as if to suppress any further outbreaks, but her eyes were round. “Truly?” she whispered, when she had got her voice under control.

  “Truly.”

  “You do not feel that it would wound your masculine pride to be driven by a woman?”

  He laughed at that. “I think it would increase my consequence greatly to be driven about the countryside by a stylish lady who is an excellent whip. I look forward to tooling through the village quite at my ease, bowing and waving to all my acquaintance in the most casual manner, which I cannot do half so well if I am managing reins and whip and trying to avoid the pig farmer’s cart. I assume you are an excellent whip, Miss Quayle? Having seen your competence on horseback, I am tolerably certain of it.”