“How much will you bet on it?” she said.
Gus laughed out loud. “Name your price, Miss Blythe.”
“Five hundred,” she said at once. “Five hundred says you are wrong, Lord Augustus.”
“Done,” he said, eyes twinkling. “By all that is wonderful, Humphrey, where did you find her? Because if ever a couple were well-matched, it is you two.”
“I know,” Humphrey said smugly. “She is magnificent, is she not?”
And they all agreed that, indeed, she was.
~~~~~
Hortensia walked to her wedding in a shower of rose petals and good wishes from the villagers of Mishcombe, to the accompaniment of several fiddle players, the beat of hand drums and the mournful whine of bagpipes, although she secretly felt the latter would be better suited to funerals. The church was packed, Lord Carrbridge gave her away and Lady Carrbridge cried copiously. Afterwards, everyone streamed out of church to eat and drink, the nobility and gentry at a decorous wedding breakfast at Drummoor and the villagers to feast, drink and dance until midnight, or longer if there were still ale to be had.
Her only sadness was in parting from Rosemary. She and Lord Kilbraith had stayed on to see her wed, and although Rosemary smiled and hugged her and wished her every imaginable felicity, the tears she shed were not just the result of happiness. They had been friends for ten years, sharing all the joys and sorrows of their lives. They had wept together when Captain James Quayle had died, Rosemary’s grief at losing her father matched by Hortensia’s in losing her great love. And they had wept together again when Hortensia’s father had died. They had supported and comforted each other on the long journey from India, and giggled together at the curiosities of English society. And now each was to begin a new chapter of her life, with a man who loved her and a family ready to welcome her into its embrace. Even though they stepped willingly onto their new paths, still it was hard to part.
“Might you come to Scotland one day?” Rosemary said, her great blue eyes filled with tears.
“We will come,” Humphrey said gravely. “We will dance at your wedding as you have danced at ours.”
That afternoon, Lady Carrbridge’s own carriage conveyed the newly married pair to their home at Silsby Vale House, where Mrs Andrews and their entire staff, enlarged with the help of an agent in York, waited to welcome them. Then unpacking and dinner, after which Mrs Andrews announced that she was very tired and would go to bed.
The newly married couple looked at each other.
“Shall we go up too?” Hortensia said, suddenly shy.
“Not yet. Come and sit on my lap, Lady Humphrey, and let me kiss you.”
She was more than happy to oblige him, and for a while there was no sound in the room, except for the steady tick of the clock on the mantel.
When they finally broke apart, he sighed and said, “I am so glad we did not wait. Look at poor Reggie, with this delight still weeks away. I wonder if he has even kissed Miss Chamberlain, let alone had her sitting on his lap in this delicious manner.”
She snuggled closer to him. “It is delicious, is it not? But they are proceeding in the way that feels comfortable for them. Not everyone is like us, or would want to be. You are not sorry, then? That we rushed into this?”
“How could I possibly be sorry?”
“Because you are giving up a lot for me. No matter what Gus says, you will be ostracised in London. You might even receive the cut direct, and you would feel dreadful if that were to happen. You have always been good ton and now you will not be.”
“Ah, but I have such compensations as to make me not repine in the least, for I have you, my darling, and what more could any man need?”
She buried her face in his broad shoulder. “You are so good to me, Humphrey, and I love you so, so much. I am not sure what I should have done if that die had fallen wrong.”
“It could not have fallen wrong,” he said softly. “However it had fallen, it would have brought me to realise what I wanted… what I needed. You, Hortensia. Tiger Blythe. The bravest, most magnificent woman in the world.”
She sighed with contentment, and allowed her new husband to carry her up to bed.
BOOK 3:LORD AUGUSTUS
Lord Augustus Marford has only one interest in life - horses. It’s an expensive hobby. When his brother, the Marquess of Carrbridge, finds himself in financial trouble after his agent disappears with much of his fortune, Gus is happy to help the family finances by finding work with horse auctioneers Tattersalls. His first job takes him to the wild Northumberland coast to assess some stud horses for the eccentric Duke of Dunmorton.
But Gus’s hopes of a quiet trip are soon shattered as he is drawn into the Duke’s family problems, and finds himself in the unlikely role of matchmaker for his elderly host. And then there’s Amaryllis Walsh, the demure widow living quietly on the Duke’s estate. Gus is powerfully drawn to her, but her history is mysterious - who is she really? Are there dark secrets in her past? And even if he can answer those questions, he daren’t risk falling in love, when he can’t afford to marry.
1: The Cherry Tree Inn
Lord Augustus Marford knew all the foremost inns on every major road in England. The foremost inns, naturally, being those which would best attend to the needs of his precious horses. If they served edible food and a decent claret, and provided beds with clean linen, well, that was an added benefit, but not, in his view, essential. He was happy to eat and drink whatever was put in front of him, and could sleep on the floor if the situation demanded it, as he had proved on more than one occasion. But allow his beloved animals to be tended by half-drunk ostlers and careless grooms? No, it was inconceivable.
So it was that Gus and his travelling companion, Captain Michael Edgerton, found themselves at the Cherry Tree Inn at Kelthwaite, even though the White Hart opposite and the George and Dragon just down the road looked more salubrious and had more patrons.
“You sure about this, Marford?” Edgerton said, looking up at the peeling paint on the sign over the door.
“Have I led you astray yet?” Gus said genially. “You are free to stay elsewhere if you wish, but I shall not entrust Jupiter to anyone else.”
And as soon as their little party had clattered under the arch to the yard, ostlers scurried out from all sides to attend to them, and led the horses into well-appointed stables. Gus stayed long enough to ensure that Jupiter was receiving lavish attention from his own two grooms, and that the other horses were being cared for to his standards, then he made his way at a leisurely pace into the inn.
The pained tones of Captain Edgerton echoed about the low-beamed taproom. “No parlour? No parlour? Whatever sort of an establishment is this, to be so deficient in accommodation, and when you have the brother of a marquess condescending to stay here, too. It is excessively disappointing.”
Gus could not hear the innkeeper’s replies beyond a gentle murmur at intervals, but this was not a place where bluster and rank would have much effect. If he had wanted flunkeys bowing low enough to sweep the floor with their noses, he would have gone elsewhere.
“Edgerton, it is not the innkeeper’s fault if his rooms are all taken. There are only two parlours here, after all, and the taproom will serve us very well.”
“Your lordship is most understanding,” the innkeeper said, a little dumpling of a man, as innkeepers often were. “My humblest apologies, but one of my parlours is under new paint, and the other is already taken by a lady.”
“But only the daughter of an earl,” Edgerton protested. “I believe Lord Augustus takes priority.”
Gus laughed. “No, no, no, that will never do! Turn a lady out to sit in the taproom? Where is your chivalry, Captain? Do you have chambers enough for us to sleep in, my friend? Two would do it, if the grooms sleep in the hay store, but if you have only one, then the valets must have it, and the captain and I will take the hay, too, for I owe it to my cravat to ensure that Willett enjoys perfect repose.”
“We
have rooms, my lord, but— Ah, my lady, one moment, if you please.”
“One moment? We have waited a great many moments already, and— Gus? Gus Marford, as I live and breathe!”
“Erm…” Gus was never good with names. So many ladies drifted into his view at balls and dinners and theatres, and he was usually thinking about something else and not paying much attention. Now he gazed at the statuesque lady with pale blue eyes, a mouth overfilled with teeth and a mountain of frizzy fair hair topped with a froth of lace, and scrambled to recall who on earth she was.
She gave a throaty chuckle. “How mortifying! You do not remember me at all, do you? Emma Frensham. Heavens, Gus, we played spillikins as children often enough, and you pushed me into a pond once. You were seven and thought it vastly amusing. I was fourteen and feared never to recover my dignity.”
He laughed. “Emma! Of course. Where are you bound?”
“To Maria’s place, at Carlisle, to comfort her in her grief.” She rolled her eyes. “Prostrate, she is, as you can imagine. Hated the man when he was alive, but is inconsolable in widowhood, apparently. Oh, let us not stand about in this foolish manner. Come and share our parlour with us. There is only the one, so there is no running off and hiding, as you are wont to do, Gus. Do come in. Yes, bring your handsome friend with the Four Horse Club waistcoat. We have a splendid blaze going.”
“In August?”
“You know what Aunt Prudence is like.”
“Ah, Lady Prudence. Now her I remember,” Gus murmured. Emma only laughed.
There was indeed a splendid fire going, so splendid that the room seemed hot enough to bake bread. Gus felt his shirt collars wilting as soon as he stepped into the room. Beside the fire, an elderly lady sat ramrod straight in a wing chair. Her hair was as white as snow, although mostly covered by a voluminous black crepe cap. Her gown was black bombazine, and she wore black gloves and a great quantity of jet beading. She turned small, intent eyes on them, then raised a lorgnette to examine them more closely.
Emma waved the two men through, and whispered, “As soon as she has her claret, she will nod off and we can let the fire die down.” Then in a raised voice, she turned to the old lady. “Aunt Prudence, look who is here! It is Gus Marford, Carrbridge’s brother, do you remember him? He used to play at the hall when I was a girl.”
“Of course I remember him, you silly girl. Just because I am a little hard of hearing does not mean I am in my dotage. Well, m’boy, not seen you for an age. Daresay you turned out ramshackle. All you young men are ramshackle these days. Still, better ramshackle than silly, like this niece of mine. Who is your friend? Military man, by his bearing, although the waistcoat is a trifle overpowering.”
“Lady Prudence, Lady Emma, may I present Captain Edgerton, formerly of the East India Company Army, but presently engaged at Tattersall’s, as am I.”
“Your sense of direction is failing you, Marford,” Lady Prudence said. “Tattersall’s is in London.” She cackled, hugely amused at her own wit. Gus raised a dutiful smile, and Edgerton tittered almost convincingly.
The innkeeper entered, ushering in a servant with a tray bearing two wine bottles and four glasses. Lady Prudence brightened perceptibly.
“Over here!” she called out. “Whatever took you so long? We have been waiting forever, and what could be simpler than claret? Every half-decent inn in the country has such a thing to hand. Yes, yes, just put it down. I shall pour my own, since you would undoubtedly spill some. Cannot do the simplest thing, you people.”
The servant rushed to oblige, setting one bottle and a glass on a small table beside her. Lady Prudence poured herself a large measure of wine, and drank it without pausing. Then a second, which she consumed in two draughts. The third took a little longer. Then, with a heavy sigh, she set down the glass, leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
“She will be asleep soon,” Lady Emma whispered. “Poor dear, the carriage will bump her about so, and she does like her sleep in the afternoon.”
And before long, gentle snores emanated from the wing chair, and then, as the lady’s mouth fell open, rather louder rumbles.
“Do not mind her,” Lady Emma said in her normal voice. “We may be easy now and enjoy a comfortable coze before dinner. Captain Edgerton, may I trouble you to pour the wine? So tell me all the news of Drummoor, Gus. Lady Carrbridge is increasing again, I hear, and what is this about Humphrey? I heard a whisper that he is to be wed soon.”
“Done already,” Gus said.
“Oh, a hasty business. You know what will be said of that, I am sure. But she is quite something, my spies tell me. Rides as hard as a man, and shoots tigers before breakfast.”
Gus laughed. “Not before breakfast, perhaps, but she certainly shot our land agent one afternoon.”
Emma sat bolt upright in her chair, mouth wide open. “No! Intentionally?”
“Oh, very. He was harassing a lady, so Miss Blythe — Lady Humphrey now, of course — shot his hat from his head, and then, when he tried to make good his escape, asked Humphrey if she might kill him. ‘No, better not,’ says he, so she hit him in the shoulder instead. As fine a shot as he had ever seen, Humphrey said. They will deal very well together, for she is every bit as insane as he is. More so, perhaps.”
“She sounds gloriously original. Oh, I do hope he will bring her to Melton this autumn. I should so like to meet her. And what of the agent? He survived, I take it?”
“Oh, certainly, which is more than he deserved. A great deal of havey-cavey goings on are suspected, and as soon as the surgeon had dealt with him, he disappeared. Even his wife has no idea where he is.”
“With Lady Humphrey taking pot-shots at me, I might be inclined to disappear myself,” she said, laughing. “But tell me, what brings you so far north? I do not often agree with Aunt Prudence but she is quite right on one point — it is novel to meet two Tattersall’s men so far from London. You are on Tattersall’s business, I take it?”
“Indeed. We are to catalogue and value the stable of the late Marquess of Darrowstone, and arrange for the transportation of anything of unusual interest.”
“Oh, poor Darrowstone, God rest his soul! And his poor father! The duchess gave him three sons who all survived to adulthood, and all of them dead now. The poor duke!”
Gus shrugged, not much excited by the Duke of Dunmorton’s sons. Edgerton was interested, however.
“That is most unfortunate. What happened to them?” he said.
“George, the youngest, smashed his head in falling from his horse. Edward, the middle one, died on the Peninsula, as so many of our brave young men have done. And now Henry, the eldest, has gone out in a boat and drowned himself. It is a dangerous business, getting into a boat. I have never dared to do it myself. And now the duke’s heir is some paltry third cousin from Cheshire, who is an attorney or some such. Dreadful business. But Gus, if you are going to Castle Morton, you must be sure to tell the duke that I am still unwed, and would be very happy to provide him with a lusty heir or two.”
“Emma! You cannot be serious! Why, Dunmorton must be sixty if he is a day.”
“And what is that to the point?” she said, looking rather pink about the cheeks. “He was one and sixty last spring, and, I make no doubt, still a fine looking man. He used to stay with us sometimes when he was younger, for he and Papa were at school together. I always liked him, and I think we should rub along very well together. Far better than that evil witch of a wife of his, may she burn in Hell for tormenting him so. And let us be honest, Gus, who else would have me but a man with failing eyesight? I am one and thirty years old, with a face more like a horse than a woman. My own mother used to weep when she looked at me, and Papa did not want to spend a penny on my come-out, for what could be a greater waste of time, he said? And he was quite right about that. All of my sisters took at once and are countesses now, but I shall end up an old maid like Aunt Prudence and be required to chaperon my nieces about. One glare from my frightful gaze and all t
heir unsuitable suitors will shrink away in horror. But I should so like to be a duchess and outrank my sisters. So will you tell him? Please?”
She was so earnest that Gus dared not laugh at her, but he thought it a foolish notion all the same. If a man of more than sixty years were to take a wife, and that man a duke, he would hardly look at a tired spinster like Emma Frensham. He would pick up a pretty little debutante and put a smile on his face for his declining years. But he said all that was proper, and soon after the servants arrived to prepare the table for their dinner, Lady Prudence woke with a snort, and all sensible conversation was at an end.
The dinner was indifferent, the service slow and the taproom noisy enough to penetrate even to the parlour. Lady Prudence kept up a continuous monologue of grumbles, which only Captain Edgerton attempted to respond to, by upbraiding the servants whenever they put in an appearance. However, by the time the third bottle of claret was getting low, and only the cheese and nuts remained on the table, she retreated to her chair to sleep away the hours until it was time to go to bed.
Edgerton then turned his attention on Lady Emma, engaging her in a light flirtation that had her giggling and blushing like a debutante. But when Gus went out to check on the horses, Edgerton followed him out.
“She is quite something, your Lady Emma,” he said.
“Not mine, nor ever like to be,” Gus said. “If you are going to ask about her dowry, I have not the least idea, but if she could lay claim to anything substantial, I make no doubt she would have been snapped up years ago. Huntsmere is not a man to flaunt his wealth, which usually means he has none. Mind you, Landry runs expensive, by the look of it.”
“Huntsmere? Landry?”
“Your pardon, Edgerton, I forget you have not grown up with these people. The Earl of Huntsmere, father to the Lady Emma. Viscount Landry, only son and heir to the earl, and Emma’s brother.”
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