by Jo Beverley
“You must ride inside,” she said firmly despite her misgivings. “For the three of you to crush together on the box would be absurd.”
It was soon arranged. Sir Marius’s baggage was transferred from his curricle to the boot of the coach, his man was given instructions for the care of his equipage, and then the baronet climbed into the coach to take the seat opposite Beth.
It was not as bad as she had imagined, though he did dwarf the compartment.
“I don’t care much for closed carriages,” he said drily as the coach rolled out of the inn yard. “I always feel as if I’m going to put an elbow through the wall.”
She remembered Jane had found this man rather forbidding when they had first met, then had come to call him a friend. Beth could certainly understand the first part. Harsh was the word which came to mind. Like granite. The bones of his jaw and skull were solid beneath the flesh.
She realized she had been staring. “It must certainly be a problem at times, being so large,” she said hastily.
“No more of a problem than being so tiny, ma’am,” he drawled.
Beth sat up straighter. “Well, really, Sir Marius. There is no call for personal remarks.”
There was a teasing twinkle in his eyes. “It was no more personal than the remark you made about me, dear lady.”
“It was you, as I recall, who began the topic with talk of elbows ...” Beth trailed off as she realized she was arguing, in a rather childish way, with a virtual stranger. “I ... I do beg your pardon,” she stammered, knowing she was turning a fiery red. She was a redhead with very indiscreet skin.
“Now don’t spoil it,” he said with a grin. “I was looking forward to sparring all the way to Stenby.”
“Well, I could not contemplate such a thing, Sir Marius,” Beth said stiffly, regretting her charitable impulse. She didn’t even feel able to remove her bonnet and be comfortable.
He looked at her consideringly and then smiled in a more natural way. “I apologize. It is not good of me to be teasing you when we’re in such a situation.”
For some reason these words only made Beth feel more flustered. “What do you mean, ‘such a situation’?”
He leaned back at his ease. “Why, in a closed carriage, Mrs. Hawley. You can hardly escape me short of risking life and limb by leaping into the road. We’re going a fair speed too. Kinnock must be keen to be home.”
Grasping a safe topic with relief, Beth said, “You must know Stenby well, Sir Marius.”
“Very well. David and I have been friends since we were boys. I’ve spent many a happy summer at the Castle. Is this your first visit there?”
“Yes. Jane invited me during the summer but I felt she and her husband should have time together. Now she has asked me to come and help with Lady Sophie’s wedding.”
“Well, if you were giving them peace and quiet,” said Sir Marius, “you should have taken that minx Sophie out of their orbit. She has a natural antipathy to tranquillity.”
Beth was beginning to understand the large gentleman and did not miss the fondness behind the comment. “Lady Sophie is lively,” she responded, “but she has a kind heart. I’m sure she has done her best not to be a bother to her brother and Jane.”
He raised a quizzical brow. “It’s certain she hasn’t sought their company if Randal’s been available.”
Beth smiled. She remembered Lady Sophie Kyle and Lord Randal Ashby at Jane’s wedding, always together, always smiling, always in some way connected. Even though their betrothal had not been officially announced until recently, no one who saw them could be in any doubt as to the state of affairs. “It is only natural for young people in love to want to be together, Sir Marius. And Lady Sophie and Lord Randal are very much in love.”
“Sickening, ain’t it?”
Beth chuckled. “I can quite see you are not of a romantical disposition, Sir Marius, but you should not begrudge your friends their happiness.”
“Why not?” he replied, but with a twinkle in his eye. “It’s spoiled a perfectly good summer. My two closest friends have wasted it on mere women.”
Beth shook her head. “I fear you are a cynic, Sir Marius. One day you too might come to that dreadful fate.”
“Marriage—maybe. Love, never. It ain’t in my disposition.”
Beth felt the conversation was becoming a little too intimate, and in a way she found strangely disconcerting. “Could you tell me a little more about Stenby Castle?” she asked quickly. “Jane has conveyed some of its history in her letters but I have a very unclear picture. Is it truly medieval?”
He settled in his seat and stretched his legs. Beth had to move slightly to ensure her skirt was not in contact with his boots. When she thought of her previous journeys on a crowded stage, her unease with the slightest contact seemed ridiculous.
“That’s difficult to say, Mrs. Hawley,” he replied easily. She knew he had noted her move and was amused. A truly infuriating man. “Most of the external walls date back to at least the fourteenth century but the Kyles haven’t done without their comforts. Arrow slits have become windows, fireplaces have been improved. Walls have been covered with tapestries, paneling, and wallpaper. Apart from the Great Hall, which is hardly used, the house appears very like any gentleman’s seat.” He leaned forward and she hastily leaned back.
He was merely gazing out of the window.
“If you look carefully,” he said, “you can catch your first glimpse of the place through those trees.”
Forgetting her concerns Beth quickly moved forward to share the view.
“Over on that rise,” said Sir Marius close to her ear.
Then Beth saw Stenby Castle in the distance, crenelated gray stone walls softened by greenery and set with glittering windows. As the coach bowled along, she sat and watched the place gradually fall behind a screen of trees. She became aware of Sir Marius’s breath warm on her cheek.
Startled, she turned to face him and surprised a look of enigmatic amusement. She drew back into her seat feeling far more flustered than was reasonable.
“A charming prospect,” she said hurriedly.
“Decidedly,” he drawled. “But not in the common run.”
“Of course not. Most earls do not have castles for their principal seats.”
“Certainly most people prefer the younger, the more fashionable standard of beauty,” he said in a manner she could only take as teasing, though she could not see what there was to joke about.
“Do you think so?” she queried. “I thought there was a decided taste for the Gothic these days.”
“Gothic?” he echoed with a grin. “Do you really think that description fair?”
Beth could not remember ever having been so off-balance. She was used to handling events with calm competence and yet this man, in some way, was making her feel dizzy. He was also talking nonsense.
“I know some people use ‘Gothic’ in a pejorative sense, Sir Marius,” she said sharply, “but surely it can be used more exactly. A medieval castle must have elements of the Gothic.”
“Time will tell,” he drawled. “It certainly promises to be an entertaining visit—” He broke off as the horses were suddenly pulled up.
As soon as the coach stopped he swung open the door. “What’s amiss?”
“Coach off the road, Sir Marius,” said Kinnock. “Grigson’s just gone to see if they need help.”
Sir Marius turned back. “I’ll see what’s going on,” he said and jumped down onto the road.
Not at all unwilling to stretch her legs, Beth followed. He turned back and moved to help her down.
Beth felt a decided reluctance to allow him to swing her to the ground, but it would be a long jump for her and she could hardly order him to let down the steps. Two strong hands nearly spanned her waist, and she was lifted down as if she were a feather. She was used to being small, but this man made her feel positively childlike and she didn’t like it one bit. At least he didn’t linger to tease her again but we
nt straight to the other carriage.
It appeared to be a hired coach, not new or smart. It had apparently lost a wheel on the bend and toppled. The driver was struggling with the panicked horse and Grigson moved quickly to cut the tangled harness. Sir Marius went over to the coach and Beth followed.
“What passengers?” he called out to the driver.
“Just an old biddy. Taking her to Stenby. Be she all right, sir?”
Sir Marius knocked on the bottom of the coach. “Ma’am? Do you need help?”
There was no answer. He pushed at the coach a little to see how stable it was and then hoisted himself onto the side. There was an ominous crack but nothing drastic happened. He looked in through the window.
“She’s unconscious, or dead.” He eased to one side and tried to open the door but the fall, or his weight, had jammed it. In the end it looked to Beth as if he tore it off its hinges by brute force. He threw it over into the hedge then swung his legs in and the coach jolted to a different angle.
“She’s alive,” he called out. “I think it’s just a knock on the head and a few glass cuts, but she seems a frail thing. I’ll lift her. Get one of the men to take her from the top.”
By this time the horse was disentangled and subdued. In fact, now it was out of its panic it was obviously a sorry old nag. At Beth’s call, Grigson came quickly to help. The old lady was soon hoisted out of the wreck of the coach and laid by the side of the road. She was haggard and pale and her face trickled blood from a number of cuts.
Beth ran back to the Wraybourne carriage for some rugs and the medical chest. The dratted vehicle loomed like a mountain, the bottom of the door level with her chest. She was fumbling with the steps, trying to work out the catch when those large hands grasped her again, picked her up as if she were a doll, and placed her inside. She looked down, pleased for once to be a good head taller than he.
“What is it you want?” he asked.
“There are blankets and a medicine chest,” she said. “Wait there and I’ll pass them down.” She did this and then added the bottle of water from the food hamper.
Then, of course, she had to submit to being tossed around again. Actually she was becoming strangely accustomed and there was something very safe about his strength.
Beth pulled herself together and hurried back to the woman.
“I don’t think there are any broken bones,” she said, after a discreet examination. “Just a bad head wound.” She gently wiped the blood away from the woman’s face and saw with relief that the cuts there were slight and none were near the eye.
She opened the medicine chest, grateful that she had explored it before. There were tweezers, and she used them to take out a couple of slivers of glass. She then smeared some salve over the wounds and bandaged the cuts on the woman’s temple. There really didn’t seem anything else to do for the moment.
She looked up to see the men watched her, waiting for her decision. “We had best take her to Stenby,” she said. “It was where she was going.”
Sir Marius turned to the driver. “Who is she? Did she say?”
“No, sir. Just asked to be taken to Stenby Castle and paid the price.”
“Did she have any baggage?”
The driver quickly pulled one leather bag from the boot. It was old-fashioned but of solid quality. It was securely locked.
“I presume she has the key on her,” Sir Marius said. “If we’re taking her to the Castle, there’s no point bothering about it. The sooner she’s in a bed and the doctor called for the better.”
He turned to pick up the woman but was stopped by the whining voice of the driver. “What’m I going to do with me rig in this state?”
Beth looked at the coachman closely for the first time and saw the heavy wear on his clothes, the sallow, gaunt look on his face. He was already on the edge of poverty and was probably facing ruin with his livelihood gone. Her eyes met Sir Marius’s and the baronet’s lips twitched. He took out several guineas.
“Here, man. With these you should be able to fix this or buy new. Take better care of it next time. If this lady doesn’t haul you before the magistrate for negligence, you’ll be lucky.”
He lifted the woman easily and frowned. “She weighs even less than you,” he said to Beth, “and she must be half a head taller. I wouldn’t be surprised to find she’s ill. Why on earth would she be going to Stenby?”
Between them, he and Grigson settled the woman on a seat on the coach and Beth sat beside the invalid to support her.
“Perhaps she’s a servant,” said Beth. “It’s quite likely Jane is hiring more with the wedding coming up.”
“A superior kind of servant,” he said thoughtfully as the coach set off again, holding a steady pace. “Her gown is of silk, even though it’s not new. Her wedding band is very solid and this was lying in the coach. It must have fallen from around her neck.”
He held out a locket on a broken golden chain. Its cover was beautifully engraved with the initials E.H. After a moment Beth discovered how to work the catch. Inside there was a lock of curly brown hair and a miniature of a young man, apparently the owner of the curls for they hung fetchingly on his brow. A vague swirling whiteness where his collar should have been was presumably meant to suggest classical draperies.
Sir Marius looked at the picture. “It reminds me of someone, but damned if I can think who.”
2
THE DISTANT VIEW of Stenby on that warm August afternoon had not shown Beth and Sir Marius an impromptu cricket match on the lawns which ran up to the east wall. The rolling green set with ancient, spreading trees was dusted with daisies and ornamented in a more substantial way by ladies and gentlemen in white and pastels. The thunk of the ball on the long bat was mixed with laughter and cries of triumph or disappointment.
The Kyles were playing the Ashbys. David Kyle, Lord Wraybourne, captained a team composed of his two brothers, Mortimer and Frederick; his sister, Sophie; his wife, Jane, and an assortment of footmen and estate workers. The Ashbys were captained by Lord Randal Ashby. His team consisted of Tyne Towers’ servants and his friends Piers Verderan and Justin, Lord Stanforth.
A beech tree had a seat built around it and it was in this shady spot that the spectators had established themselves. There was the Duke of Tyne, portly and short of breath; his mother, the dowager duchess, tiny and bent but sharp as a needle; and his niece, Chloe, Lady Stanforth.
The Kyles had won the toss and elected to bat, David and his brother, Captain Frederick Kyle, going up first. Mortimer, Jane, and Sophie had taken seats in the shade with the others.
“Well,” said the Duke of Tyne heartily. “Here I am with all the beauties. Come and give me a kiss, Sophie.” When she obliged he pinched her cheek and she tried not to wince. “Can’t tell you how pleased I am one of my rascals finally found a woman willing to have him. Now we’ll see some sons. That’s what every house needs.”
Sophie had suffered this often enough in recent weeks to have become accustomed. She no longer even blushed at all this talk of procreation. It was the dowager duchess who said tartly, “Without daughters in the world you’d be hard pressed to make sons, Arthur. And I would point out you only favored the Ashbys with two sons yourself.”
“Two’s enough,” said the duke with a frown. “If they live and breed, two’s one too many.”
Sophie hastily moved off and left these combatants to their long-established battle. She rolled her eyes at Jane and saw the countess hard put not to giggle. “Why does he demand a quiverful of sons in one breath and only one in the next?” Jane asked quietly.
It was Chloe who answered. “The duke has an obsession with the continuance of the line. He wants to be sure that sons of his sons will rule here.”
“But surely, then,” said Jane, “a dozen sons for Randal and Chelmly is what he wants.” The Marquess of Chelmly was Randal’s brother and the heir to the dukedom.
“Ah, but the duke and my father never rubbed well together,” said Chl
oe. “My father wasn’t happy being the second son and has been thoroughly unpleasant to Uncle Arthur all his life. In fact, I think the duke’s obsession is actually to be sure my brother, Charteris, doesn’t become duke one day. It’s this bitter feeling between brothers that leads him to say one is enough.”
Jane shook her head at this convoluted reasoning. “At least there’s no ill feeling between Randal and Chelmly. They both seem perfectly content with their position.”
“Indeed, yes,” said Chloe. “Chelmly is delighted to spend every minute ensuring the Duchy of Tyne glides along on well-oiled wheels and increases in prosperity year by year. He even runs Randal’s estates, you know. Doubtless far more efficiently than Randal could himself. And, since the duchess’s death he’s run the household as well. He just can’t seem to get enough of such things and he certainly can’t bear to see anything mismanaged.”
“And Randal,” contributed Sophie, “is equally delighted to take the income from his properties and enjoy it. An idyllic arrangement if only Chelmly would produce sons as efficiently as he produces profits. Then Randal could achieve his ambition and join the Hussars.”
“Well,” said Chloe, “doubtless you and Randal will have a boy one day and if Chelmly continues his misogamistic way your son will continue the line.”
Sophie couldn’t think a son produced by her and Randal would be suited to filling Chelmly’s shoes. “That’s no good,” she said firmly. “Randal will probably give up all notion of the army if we set up our nursery. No, what we need is for Chelmly to marry and produce the next Ashbys. I don’t for a minute suppose he’s antimarriage. He just can’t tear himself away from business long enough to choose a bride. It’s typical that he’s dropped out of this match just because of some problem with land over Cockshutt way.”
She plucked a pink-edged daisy from among the grass and twirled it thoughtfully. “I think I will simply choose a suitable woman and put her where he’ll fall over her. That way there’ll be no chance of a son of ours inheriting.” She suddenly looked up at the others. “Have you thought? As things stand now, a simple accident or a purulent fever and Randal could be saddled with running the duchy—would be duke one day!”
