by Joan Smith
Monteith glared, but managed to keep his tongue between his teeth till he was beyond the door. On that unsatisfactory note Monteith left, and Samantha returned reluctantly to the saloon to hear more about hoppos and hookahs and sircars, till she began yawning into her fist.
At the Hall, Monteith was met by his mother, complaining that she couldn’t call her house her own since Howard’s arrival. “Here I have sat alone all evening. I daren’t invite Clifford for fear of what Howard will think, and he walks off to the village to make up to that wretched Armstrong hussy.”
“He didn’t stay long. He was at Brights’ when I left.”
“All the worse! It is marriage with Samantha the old fool has in mind. From that Armstrong baggage to the daughter of a deceased half-pay officer. One hardly knows which is worse.”
“You can hardly put them in the same category! Sam is at least respectable.”
“I’m surprised Nora tolerates it. You should have stayed to keep an eye on him. And what were you doing at Brights’?” she demanded suspiciously.
“I’m not accountable to anyone for the visits I choose to pay.”
“I hope you haven’t been making overtures to Samantha. That’s all I need, for that Armstrong creature to get her hands on Howard’s fortune and you to offer for a nearly dowerless nobody. The boys will end up in the poor-house.”
“It’s news to me if the Colonel Bright’s daughter is a nobody!”
Their argument was interrupted by Cook, who came with her shoulders squared and her jaw set at a mutinous angle. “That Hindu in the kitchen has just destroyed tomorrow’s bread,” she announced. “He slid it into the oven before it had risen an inch. Either he goes or I go. I’ll not have him sprinkling his foul powders in my food.”
“I’ll speak to him, Cook,” Lady Monteith said placatingly.
“Ho, speak to him. I’ve shouted at him till my face is blue, and he won’t understand a word of English.”
“I’ll speak to Lord Howard. Can’t you make more bread?”
“It’s ten o’clock, and I can’t get near the table for the bales littering the place. There’s more of them landing in every day, full of heathen clothes and I don’t know what all. Tomorrow his lordship’s slaves plan to use the washing dolly, if you please. At least they’ve moved it out from the corner and begun taking out the water kettles. Tomorrow is supposed to be our laundry day. Though how we are to accomplish it with Jennie having to be sent home to escape the lecher, I don’t know.”
Lord Monteith sighed and tried to understand how his life had come apart. There hadn’t been a moment’s peace since the nabob’s arrival. Serving maids were acting as footmen, and footmen were doing a sorry job of making beds. More parcels arrived from India each day, till you could hardly walk through the rooms.
“Lord Howard will be leaving very soon, Mrs. Jennings,” he said.
“It won’t be soon enough to suit me!” Cook snorted, and strutted off to her kitchen, muttering under her breath.
Lady Monteith emitted a yelp. “What do you mean— leaving?”
“He’s going to the inn.”
“What did you say to him? If you’ve lost his fortune, Monteith—”
“It was never ours to lose. He’s leaving as soon as he can get space at the inn, and it won’t be too soon to suit me.”
“It’s the cat. I’m having it placed in the saloon at once.”
Monteith stiffened up like a poker. “No, you are not. And if you do it behind my back, I shall bust the glass and perform a feline suttee on the wretched thing, as we should have done when he sent it to us.”
Lady Monteith wailed and ran upstairs to fling herself on her bed. Monteith drew a long sigh. Now he had alienated his mother, too. And there was still the cursed fête champêtre to be got through somehow. He felt a strong urge to flee. Brighton would be pleasant in June. Even London would be preferable to this pandemonium. But he knew he wouldn’t go. He waited downstairs till his uncle returned a little later.
Monteith’s face showed nothing but polite interest when he called for wine. Lord Howard looked at the servant and shook his head when she had left. “It must be Irene that hires your servants,” he said. “Their chests are all as flat as a pea on a platter. Not a full-bodied wench in the lot. What happened to the little redhead with the figure?”
Monteith poured two glasses of wine. “She’s visiting her family till you leave. Pray leave your lechery at the front door when you enter my home.”
“Servants expect a friendly pat here and there—it goes with the job.”
“Not in this house. How did it go with Mrs. Armstrong?”
“I’ve come a cropper there, I fear. She is hinting at marriage, but I escaped unscathed. My old papa used to say if men could keep their lips and their trousers buttoned, the world would be saved a deal of bother. Truer words were never spoken. I’m happy to tell you I’ve kept both buttoned tight.”
“It’s an unlikely time to be looking for a mistress, when you’re thinking of marriage. What are your intentions regarding Miss Bright?”
“I haven’t quite settled on her, but she’s in the lead. She is young, however. The youngsters don’t make good lovers. That takes a little skill. I figure Mrs. Armstrong knows her way around a boudoir and back again. The way I see it, a wife has nothing to do with a mistress. A man likes dessert as well as meat and potatoes, what?”
Monteith’s jaws worked in annoyance. “Which course of your feast does the wife represent, Howard?”
“Daily fare, meat and potatoes. I’d be discreet, as I promised. I was a little surprised to see you visiting the Brights again. You’re sure I’m not cutting you out in that corner?’’
“I am not paying court to Miss Bright.”
“Odd you end up in her saloon so regularly then. It might be best if you let off the visits for a while.”
“Afraid of the competition, Howard?”
“Devil a bit of it. I can hold my own.”
The two gentlemen exchanged a challenging look. Lord Howard set his glass on the table and said rather brusquely, “I’m for the goose feathers. Good night.”
“Don’t let me detain you. Older folks require plenty of rest.”
Monteith took the bottle up to his room. Why was he behaving like a fool? Why was everyone else? Samantha imagining Howard was some romantic figure-—a boiled cod had more romance in one fin than Howard had in his whole body. Meat and potatoes! Why was he himself going out of his way to antagonize the richest uncle in England? Why did he want to beat a man who should evoke nothing but laughter? The trouble was, Lord Howard had gone beyond a joke.
Chapter 11
Lord Howard drove into Lambrook immediately after breakfast the next day, explaining that he was going for another consultation with Gerard, the estate agent. “He is taking me through the house today. He was to approach a neighboring farmer about selling a few acres adjacent to the Langford property first,” he explained. “I hope I will hear what the fellow is asking for it this afternoon.”
This was an acceptable reason and gave Lady Monteith no fears of losing the fortune. Land was as safe as money in the bank. Her complaint was of a different nature when she sat with Monteith after Howard left.
“You should have offered to go with him, Monty.”
“He would have asked me to accompany him if that was what he wanted.”
“I wish he had told me last night he meant to be away this morning. I made sure he’d go into Lambrook this afternoon. I have asked Clifford to meet me at Mrs. Bright’s at two.”
“There’s no reason you must be home every minute Howard is here. As to this foolishness of meeting Clifford at the Brights’ house—”
“I don’t want to do anything to upset Howard. Especially when he will be leaving so soon. I wish you could convince him to stay on here at the Hall.”
“I wish I could convince him to leave today!”
“Think of your brothers, Monteith!” she said, with an accu
sing flash from her fine hazel eyes. “It is fine for you, with Lambrook Hall and the family fortune. What is to become of the boys?”
Monteith felt as guilty as his mother hoped. Primogeniture had favored him, but the boys were less comfortably endowed. “They’re not penniless,” he reminded her. “Teddie has Uncle Horace’s estate—”
“A little farm in the wilds of Norfolk,” she scoffed.
“Five hundred acres is only relatively small. Bert will be speaking to Lord North about a position at Whitehall when he finishes this holiday. He can live in the London house. It won’t kill him to work for a living.”
“It wouldn’t kill you to show a little consideration to Howard, either! I swear you’re going out of your way to disoblige me.”
Monteith knew his mother would steal the cat’s milk without blinking, but he did feel he should be a little more than polite to his uncle. In this indecisive mood, he shoved his cup away and left the room. He had matters to attend to around his own estate and spent the morning with his bailiff. When Lord Howard returned for luncheon, Lady Monteith was at pains to cement the bond between uncle and nephew.
“Did you arrange about buying the land, Howard?” she asked.
“Gerard spoke to the fellow this morning. I went to look at another place—the Grimsby farm.”
“I hadn’t heard it was for sale!” Monteith exclaimed in surprise.
“It isn’t. I thought I might tempt him with a good offer, as the place isn’t entailed, but he is quite adamant. It seems his family has been on that corner of land forever. Why that should stop him from turning a neat profit is beyond me. Sentiment has no place in business. If the man neighboring Langford will sell off a few begahs, I shall take the Langford place. Gerard will let me know this afternoon. I’m taking another run down there to scout out a few features.”
“Why don’t you go with Howard, Monty?” Lady Monteith suggested. “You know all about land and crops and things.”
Between guilt and curiosity, Monteith expressed agreement.
“I don’t want to interrupt your usual schedule,” Lord Howard said.
“I tended to my business this morning. I’ll be happy to go with you, Uncle,” Monteith repeated.
The flash that glinted in the nabob’s eye didn’t look like gratitude, but he said, “That’s kind of you, Monteith. I plan to leave at two. And by the by, Irene, I am expecting some crates to arrive from London today. Will you be home? They are rather fragile—some antique statuary. I don’t want the servants hauling them about and breaking them.”
“I’ll be very happy to take charge of them, Howard.” She smiled wanly. There went the meeting with Clifford! And she couldn’t send him a note, as he was taking lunch out with some business associates. Nora would be unhappy with the inconvenience, but she would at least send Nora a note.
“Are you riding or driving?” Monteith asked Lord Howard.
“Driving. Perhaps we should take your carriage.”
“That’s wise of you.” Lady Monteith nodded. “The air is chilly by the seaside.”
When the gentlemen left in Monteith’s carriage, it came out that chilly breezes were not the reason for avoiding the open curricle.
“I am taking Miss Bright along to see the place,” the nabob said.
Monteith felt a powerful jolt at the news, but to oblige his mother he said calmly, “As we have the carriage, perhaps Mrs. Bright would like to go along.”
“She might as well. There will be no lovemaking with a third party present.”
The third party realized this was a hint that he might find some other occupation. Instead, he began to speak enthusiastically about the excellent location his uncle had chosen and his eagerness to see it.
Lord Howard gave his nephew a suspicious look when Lady Monteith’s footman was seen leaving the Brights’ house. “What is this?11 he demanded.
“Very likely a note from Mama,” Monteith said. “She didn’t know we were stopping, or I might have delivered it for her.”
Mrs. Bright read that Irene would not be able to keep her assignation with Clifford, but as she had already asked the Russels to drop in, she had to refuse Lord Howard’s invitation to join his party.
Samantha was happy to see Monteith had come along. Half her reason for accepting the invitation was to annoy him. His annoyance was taking on a coloring that spoke of more than mere peevishness. At times she almost suspected a tint of green. Why should he be jealous if he didn’t care for her a little himself?
She wore her most flattering straw bonnet and put her hand on Howard’s elbow as they left the house. From the corner of her eye, she noticed that Monty was frowning. No one noticed that Mrs. Armstrong was watching from behind her curtain. Her major occupation was scanning the street, especially since Lord Howard’s return. She had seen his quick dart across the road last night. She had come to believe Miss Bright had attached Monteith, since he was at the house nearly every day. Howard’s visit last night and that possessive hand on his arm aroused her anxiety. She immediately called her own carriage and threw on her bonnet to follow them.
Their route along the seacoast led her to believe it was only a pleasure jaunt. Unless they stopped somewhere for refreshment, there was no way she could join them. Her curiosity rose when the carriage turned in at the Langford estate. No one had lived there since she had come to Lambrook. In a twinkling, she figured that Lord Howard was thinking of buying the place. She didn’t direct her driver to follow the carriage into the private road, but drove along half a mile and stopped. From this vantage point, she could see them when they came out.
Mr. Gerard was waiting for them at the house with the door open, “Everything is shipshape inside,” he said. It was a happy day when Lord Howard had walked into his office and bellowed “Holloa! Is there anyone in?” Gerard’s usually saturnine face hadn’t been without a smile ever since.
“There is no hurry with that,” Lord Howard told him. “Of more importance, did the neighbor agree to sell me that strip of land?”
“We were fortunate, sir.” Mr. Gerard smiled. Good fortune dogged his every step recently. “It happens old Gilmore wants to retire—quit farming—but he doesn’t want to leave the neighborhood. He will sell off his entire holdings, keeping only the house and a few acres for himself. He is willing to part with the whole thousand acres—for a price.”
“I didn’t expect him to give them away. Tell him I’m ready to close today,” the nabob bellowed, without even asking the price.
“What is he asking?” Monteith inquired.
Mr. Gerard wrung his hands and said, “Ten thousand,” in a quavering voice. Such sums were a new thing for him.
“That’s pretty steep, Uncle,” Monteith cautioned.
“Offer him seven-five,” Howard said. “But I don’t mean to lose out on the sale for a piddling twenty-five hundred pounds. See if he goes for the lower figure, and if he don’t, raise it by five hundred till he says yes.”
“I fancy eight thousand will take it,” Gerard said.
“Since you don’t plan to farm, why don’t you only buy half the acres?” Samantha suggested. “It seems a shame to put so much land out of production.”
“I don’t like to be cramped,” Howard told her. “There will be the gardens, you see. That will eat up a couple of hundred. And that entire strip,” he said, pointing down the hill to the bay, “will be taken up with my docks and boats. You are forgetting the tide, my dear. I shall have to put in a little canal and a lock to control the water level. It don’t do a ship any good to be beached. Hard on the hull. I would prefer to keep it wet at all times. And there will be the buildings for overhauling the vessels.”
“But there is all the land that goes with the Langford estate itself,” she pointed out.
“My horses must pasture somewhere. I mean to set up a stable and training track for them. We Monteiths have always been interested in racing. You don’t want the stench too close to the house proper. Then there will be my hu
nters and hounds to put somewhere. The stable hands will need somewhere to rest their heads as well. Perhaps in the little house already standing,” he said, glancing to the Langford mansion.
“Oh, Howard!” she gasped, shocked at such an extravagant way of going on.
He grabbed her fingers and squeezed them. “I forgot. That is to be your little playhouse. The stable hands must be closer to the horses in any case. Then I’ll build this squat little hill up a few hundred yards and put our house here, facing the sea. My statuary will go behind it. I am having a little Indian temple shipped home as well, in pieces, to be reassembled. Some dandy carving on it. A little naughty you will think when you see it, but we’ll keep it out of bounds of the kiddies.”
Samantha noticed the bent of his talk—as though it had been decided she was to live here with him, and he hadn’t even asked yet. Monteith noticed it, too. He gave her a look, half questioning, half quizzing. But when he spoke, it was of other things. “What size of house do you plan to build?” he asked.
“Nothing elaborate. I’m a simple man. Say—forty or fifty bedchambers, but perhaps a little larger area on the ground floor. There will be the picture gallery and the library and half a dozen or so saloons. A ballroom, of course—nothing fancy. What I won’t skimp on is my conservatory. I want to be able to walk through groves of palmyra and coconut trees as I did in India. Unfortunately, they’d perish in the cold here, so I must enclose them. Well, what do you think of my plans, missie?”
“I think it is the entire island of England you will need, Howard,” Samantha said in a weak voice.
He slapped his knee and laughed merrily. “I don’t aim so high, but if the Isle of Wight were for sale, I’d pick it up. I hear it has an excellent climate.”
“Shall we have a look at the inside of the house?” she suggested.
“That is of little interest to me,” he said with a kindly smile. “You go ahead. I want to pace out the location for the temple. I had planned to root out that little orchard,” he said, waving toward a thriving fruit orchard of two hundred trees, “but I begin to think my temple would look well with it for a backdrop. I like the effect of old stone against new greenery. It reminds me of home—Lambrook Hall, I mean. A pity there isn’t a lake on the property. In the future, I might snap up the property on the other side and have one dredged out—stock it with fish.”
