“Only my pride,” he said, with a laugh.
“And your coat,” she said, with another smile that made his treacherous heart spin. This would never do! She went on, “But what of Jupiter? He is not injured?”
“As to that, I cannot say. He ran off while I was extricating myself from the brambles. I shall send my grooms to look for him. Is the physician far away? You will want to be reassured that Ned has taken no injury.”
“Mr Lassiter’s house is only just outside the castle gates, no more than ten minutes’ walk away.”
The maid entered with the water and cloths, and the older woman with the brandy, and Mrs Walsh insisted on spreading a cloth on one of the chairs so that Gus might sit down and drink his brandy. He knew perfectly well that he should leave, but he was too contented watching her fuss over her son, cleaning the boy’s face and hands and gently soothing him, the very image of tender motherhood.
But eventually the doctor appeared, and Gus could no longer delay his departure. Mrs Walsh accompanied him to the door, with many expressions of gratitude for his care for the child.
“May I call tomorrow to see how he goes on?” he said hopefully.
“Of course, my lord,” she said, with a curtsy, and he thought she blushed.
But even as he walked back to the castle, longing for the hours to pass until he could call there again, he knew it could not go on. Since he could not offer her marriage, it would be cruel to continue to meet her. Tomorrow must see an end to it. But his heart ached at the thought.
~~~~~
Having dispatched as many grooms as could be spared in the hunt for Jupiter, Gus partook of a hot bath and a change of clothes, followed by a substantial breakfast. Edgerton eyed him with interest, but said nothing until Gus sighed, and pushed away his plate.
“Ah, there is nothing like breakfast for setting a man up for the day.”
“Dinner is better,” Edgerton said. Then, after a pause, “Well? Are you not going to tell me about it?”
“You have heard the story already,” Gus said, frowning. “The child appeared, Jupiter reared and threw me, the horse ran off, and I took the child back to his home. What more is there to say?”
“Oh, Gus, for shame! A great deal! What of the lady? Was she suitably effusive in her gratitude? Did she gaze into your eyes and clutch your arm, while expressing her undying admiration for your bravery?”
“You are overly fanciful, Michael,” Gus said shortly. “She was grateful to me for bringing the child home, naturally, but it was my horse which nearly killed the boy.”
“Ah, but ladies do not think in that logical way. She saw you carrying her son to safety, so naturally her emotions towards you will be the warmer for it. As are yours for her, I wager.”
Gus knew he should give Edgerton a set-down, but he had not the heart for it. His own feelings were too complicated. He decided in the end that the plain truth would serve as well as any other story. “Neither her feelings nor mine should become in the least warm,” he said. “It would be catastrophic for both of us. I cannot afford to marry a penniless widow, Michael, and it must never come to the point where I am obliged to. I am determined to stay away from her from now on.”
“Cannot afford to?” Edgerton exclaimed. “Why, your brother is one of the richest men in the kingdom, Gus.”
“He is not, for there has been some mismanagement of his estates over the years, and the vast income of earlier generations is nowhere to be found. As for me, most assuredly I cannot lay claim to any wealth at all, beyond a small allowance and anything I can earn from Tattersall’s. It is far from adequate to maintain a wife. The time may come when… but it is useless to speculate. I must be prudent, and ensure that my behaviour arouses no expectation in the lady.”
“Hmm. I had not realised your prospects were so dismal, Gus. Perhaps I should distance myself from you, for I have my reputation to consider, after all. If you cannot increase my consequence—”
Gus laughed. “You are nonsensical, Michael. I am very good ton as all the Marfords are. An impoverished son of a marquess is still several rungs higher on the social ladder than a captain of the East India Company Army, you may be sure.”
Edgerton shrugged, not in the least put out. “A lowering thought, although undoubtedly true. However, unlike you, I can afford a wife, and perhaps your little widow would be just the thing for me, eh? If you cannot make a play for her, maybe I should try my luck. What do you think?”
It took every ounce of self-control Gus possessed to say, “Why not? If you think she would have a rattle like you.”
But Edgerton just laughed.
7: A Morning Call
There was another letter from Connie that morning, and Gus settled down to read it with pleasure. But this missive was not the usual outpouring of trivia about the children.
‘My dear Gus, Reggie is at last away to Lincolnshire to be married, with Lord Carrbridge, Humphrey and Monty to support him, for nothing of significance may be accomplished by any Marford without two or three of his brothers by his side. I am not to go, for my dear husband fears the jolting of the carriage would overset my health in my present condition. To speak truth, I am glad they are gone, and on such pleasurable business, for we are all in uproar here and Lord C in a towering rage these two days past. With Mr Sharp vanished, there is no one here who knows how Lord C may obtain any quantity of his own money. His bank account in Sagborough is empty, and he was obliged to borrow from Mr Merton to be sure of paying his shot at inns and the vails to the servants in Lincolnshire. So now Mr Merton and the lawyers are attempting to find where Mr Sharp kept the money. Mr Sharp was last heard of in Northumberland, inspecting some Marford properties there, for there are bits and pieces scattered all over the country that the eighth marquess won at cards or on some wild bet or other. Mr Merton wonders if you have the time to go to these properties and enquire if Mr Sharp has been there, or where he may be found? There is a note from him enclosed, with details of the properties. But not, of course, if the duke requires your attendance. Do write again, and in more detail, of the duke and anything that has been happening. You make it sound so dull — nothing but work and cribbage with the duke every night. I am sure you must be making some new acquaintance, so do tell me all about everyone you have met. Yours in anticipation, Connie.’
The note from Merton was briefer, and far more to the point.
‘Lord Augustus, I should be very grateful if you would enquire at the following properties for any information on Mr Sharp, in particular, whether he employs any agent or lawyer locally, or has accounts at any bank nearby, as well as his whereabouts and movements. Hexlowe Hall, near Galthwaite; Hexlowe weaving mill, ditto; Gillingham House, Church Road, Galthwaite. Much obliged, yours, D Merton.’
This was so timely that Gus could not but think it the very hand of Providence acting on his behalf. Here was the very excuse he needed to absent himself from Castle Morton for a few days, and thus wean his mind from all thoughts of Mrs Walsh. He sent a brief note to the duke, asking if he might take advantage of the delay in dealing with the stud to attend to some family business, and then went to the stables to enquire about Jupiter. The horse had been found none the worse for his misadventure, and not half a mile from the gates.
“Lucky he didn’t fall into a ditch, milord,” said one of the Carsons.
“Nonsense,” Gus said briskly. “He is an intelligent animal, so he would have got over his fright soon enough. He has no scratches on him?”
“None, milord. Looks to be in good shape.”
“Well, Jupiter, you did well, my friend,” Gus said, stroking the creature’s soft muzzle, and receiving a whicker of response. “And tomorrow, all being well, we shall go a little further afield. Fred, Nick, I shall need one of you ready for a journey tomorrow at eight. One pack horse should be sufficient. We will be away for… three nights, perhaps four.”
“Will Cap’n Edgerton be travellin’ with us, milord?”
“No, just o
urselves.”
When he returned to his rooms, he found a grudging agreement from the duke — ‘Go if you must, but do not dawdle, for I shall want you here when this Frensham woman arrives’.
Gus sat down to write a response to Connie.
‘My dear Connie, Tell Merton I shall go to Galthwaite. The duke graciously grants me permission to leave, for I have nothing else to do here at the moment, as the ownership of the entire stud is in doubt. This dramatic situation came about because Capt. E and I were invited to dine with Lady Darrowstone, who is three months widowed but wears not a scrap of black, not even gloves, but instead is fashionably pale from head to toe. She lives in the town, not at the castle, and in simple style, but entertains all the good burghers of the town with novelties newly arrived from London, like ourselves. The captain repaid her amply with tales of tiger-shooting ladies and the like. I was a sad disappointment, and disgraced myself by telling her the purpose of our visit, thereby provoking her to exclaim that the stud was hers, not the duke’s at all. So now it is with the lawyers, and I daresay will take a twelve-month to resolve and I shall never be invited to dine there again.’
He stopped here, chewing the end of his pen thoughtfully. Some part of him wanted to keep Mrs Walsh to himself, but at the same time he had a burning desire to talk about her to someone — someone other than Edgerton, that is, who was not a satisfactory listener in this regard since he responded by expressing his intention to pay court to the lady himself. The worst of it was, he could well afford to do so and Gus could not, and so he could not in all conscience object. But he could not quite relinquish all claim to her, not yet, for if he shut it all away in his mind and never spoke of it again, as he must do if Edgerton were to make good on his resolve, then it would be as if it had never happened, just a dream in his head that had died unborn.
Besides, Connie was such a romantic, that she could not fail to sympathise with his predicament, and she might even think up some clever ruse to enable Gus to marry Mrs Walsh. But he caught himself at this point. His feelings were yet too nebulous for there to be any question of marriage, even if he had the income to consider it. He must not jump too far or too fast. But he could at least pour out his heart to Connie, and perhaps by forming the words, he could reconcile himself to whatever destiny awaited him.
‘I have another matter to confess to you, and this a most unexpected one. I am on the verge of falling in love. There! Are you not excessively diverted, Connie dear? Would you ever have thought to hear such words from me? And the worst of it is that nothing can ever come of it, for I am an impoverished younger son and she is an impoverished widow and thus it is a hopeless case. So I am determined to avoid her company in the future, both for my own peace of mind and for hers, for I am so easy in her presence that she must notice it, and I should not wish to give rise to any hopes that I am entirely unable to fulfil. So now you may write me long, consoling missives, and tell me that I am being foolish beyond endurance even to entertain the idea of love in my position, and I shall try very hard not to die from a broken heart. Your affectionate brother-in-law, Gus.’
After this, he went into town to leave his letter at the post office and make a few purchases, returning just long enough to change into a smarter coat. Then he set off on his final visit to Mrs Walsh.
~~~~~
Amaryllis knew she should not look forward to his visit. He was nothing to her, after all, and after this one time she would discourage him from calling again, for no good could come of it. She had seen the way he looked at her, and she knew well enough what that meant. But it was useless, and he was wasting his time with her.
Still, the prospect of company was so uplifting. For so long she had been alone, just her and Ned, and the servants, who were very good and discreet, but were not company. No one else had come near her. John and Maggie went twice a week to the castle, once for the laundry and once for supplies of food, and if she wanted anything from the town, one or other of them would go for her. Naturally, she went to church. But otherwise she was entirely cut off from all society, and that was as it should be. It was both a punishment and a blessing.
But today she would have a guest in her house, and since she knew he was coming, she had the pleasure of anticipation. Also the pain, of course, for it must never be repeated, and she would have to tell him so. She could not risk it.
Ned saw him coming first, for from the nursery window there was a view above the trees to the castle and the road leading to the lodge. “Gus! Gus!” he shrieked, clattering down the stairs with Lucy in pursuit, laughing.
“He’s that excited, ma’am. Never saw him so excited before.”
Amaryllis laughed too, her own excitement every bit the equal of her son’s. “We so seldom have visitors. It is a treat for all of us.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll tell Maggie to be ready with the tea.”
She disappeared down the passageway to the kitchen, and Amaryllis led the bouncing Ned into the drawing room to await the knock on the door. She would answer it herself, as she always did, having never maintained the sort of dignity that must wait for a servant to emerge from an inner fastness to admit visitors, or perhaps turn them away with the dread words, ‘The mistress is not at home.’ Amaryllis was always at home.
Ned had no dignity at all, so he was at the door, yelling, “Open it! Open it!” long before the visitor arrived. By the time she gave in to his pleading, Lord Augustus was striding up the garden path. Ned flew out of the door, yelling, “Gus! Gus!” at the top of his voice. Lord Augustus laughed and swept the boy into his arms.
“Well, this is a fine welcome indeed! Good day to you, Ned, and I need not enquire as to your health, for I can see that you are fully recovered from your ordeal.” He had reached the door by this point, Ned beaming happily from his arms. “Good day to you, Mrs Walsh. Forgive my inadequate bow, but I should not like to drop Ned.”
She smiled as she made her curtsy. He was so easy about it! Some men would have set the child down at once, or would never have picked him up, being too conscious of their dignity, but he was not in the least stuffy.
“I beg your pardon, my lord. He has been talking about you ever since you left us yesterday. It has been Gus this and Gus that, and I cannot persuade him to be more formal.”
“And why should you, indeed? That is how I introduced myself to him, and I believe we are fast friends now, so why should we not be on first name terms?”
She took him to the drawing room this time, and he looked around with obvious interest. That was understandable. The rest of the house was very much as it had been arranged when she had moved in, but this room was hers and contained everything she had been able to bring with her — a few small pieces of furniture, the portraits of Papa and Mama, one of herself with her long-dead brother and sister, her music and books, the ormolu clock that was all that had been saved from Aunt Winnie’s house, the Turkish carpet that was a little too large for the room. But he asked no questions, accepted the offer of tea and sat on the sofa, Ned on his knee, allowing the boy to cling to him, to the imminent danger of his cravat. He was a little more formally dressed today, his riding clothes set aside for a well-fitted coat of superfine, clearly made by a London tailor. He looked every inch the gentleman of noble birth.
“Ned, will you not come and sit beside Mama?” she said, but Ned shook his head, and buried his face in Lord Augustus’s coat.
“Please, do not take him away, for I am not usually so popular, I assure you. It is very good for my esteem to be so well-liked, and most unexpected after I ran him down and almost killed him yesterday.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “It was Ned’s fault for running off in that foolish way. He should not have been there, and is very fortunate that he was not injured. But what of your horse? We saw him go past with your grooms, but I trust he has taken no hurt, or you either, my lord.”
“Jupiter is uninjured, as am I, although much chastened by my valet’s reproofs. I am never again to ret
urn to him in such an unspeakable state, for he has his reputation to consider, you understand, and I bring great shame to him when I roll about in mud and brambles.”
She had to laugh at the serious tone with which he spoke.
“Now Ned,” he said. “If you will sit beside me here, you may help me unpack the presents I have brought you.”
“Presents!” he yelled. “Mama, Gus has presents.”
“By way of an apology for all the upset I caused yesterday,” he said, bringing forward his bag and opening it.
She felt herself blushing, but she could not be angry with him, murmuring, “You are too kind, my lord. Ned, please speak lower, or you will deafen us.”
“What are the presents?” Ned said in a dramatic whisper which made the adults laugh.
“A bottle of brandy,” Lord Augustus said in exactly the same whisper. “To replace that which I drank. And a book of poetry for your mama. Does she like poetry, do you think?”
“She does indeed,” Amaryllis said, flushing with pleasure. A new book! What a delight. “Thank you, my lord.”
“And this parcel is for you, Ned.”
Ned grabbed the bundle and began tearing at the brown paper and string. “Scissors!”
“No, no,” she said. “You must unpick the knot. Shall I do it for you?”
But Lord Augustus took the bundle and carefully teased apart the knot and made no comment on the degree of economy where the saving of every piece of string was a necessity. Ned sat down on the floor and with one sweep shook the wrapping open. Out tumbled a number of tin soldiers. Ned shrieked with delight and began to arrange them all on the low table that sat nearby.
Lord Augustus watched him, smiling. “My brothers and I had so much fun with our toy soldiers as boys, and my nephews love them too, so I knew you would enjoy them, Ned.”
But the child was too much engrossed to answer, and Amaryllis had to make thank yous enough for both of them.
Sons of the Marquess Collection Page 49
