But still he loitered upstairs, listening to the doorbell ringing, and female voices wafting up from the hall below. Ten times the door opened to admit another young lady, with her mama or aunt or grandmother, whoever was chaperoning her. Twenty pairs of feet tripped across the tiled floor behind the butler and disappeared into the depths of the house. The hall fell silent. Now was the moment when he was supposed to present himself, as if by chance, expressing surprise to find so many charming guests in the house. He sincerely hoped they would be charming.
He could not delay the moment any longer. With a deep breath… then another… he trod slowly down the stairs, and through the house to the Chinese saloon. He opened the door to a cacophony of female chatter, like a cage full of birds, twittering away. At his entrance, the noise dropped away and twenty pairs of eyes turned towards him.
Twenty one pairs, for there was Connie, rising smoothly from her chair. Connie, he reminded himself, had not been born to the nobility. A provincial gentleman’s daughter, although a very pretty and charming one, she had caught his oldest brother’s eye, and now she was the Marchioness of Carrbridge, and as well-liked by the ton as any duke’s daughter could be. No one looking at her elegant gown and fashionably short hair would guess her origins. His spirits lifted.
“Humphrey! How delightful! You are not rushing away, I hope. Do come in and meet my guests. We have tea and cake,” she added coaxingly.
“So many ladies and not one gentleman,” he said, as Connie had coached him to say. “I should be horribly in the way, I believe.”
“Not at all,” she said. “Lord Carrbridge will be here presently. Do stay for a while.”
“If you are sure I shall not inconvenience the talk of gowns, I should be delighted.”
And so, with their little performance out of the way, and the visitors, he hoped, convinced that he arrived by mere chance, he moved into the room, and Connie began the introductions.
They were not ill-dressed, that was his first impression. The young ladies were simply attired in pale muslins and fetching bonnets, their mamas in satin of blue or purple or brown, with feathers in their hats. They sipped their tea, and nibbled their cake, and eyed him with curiosity. When he talked to them, the debutantes simpered and their mamas chided them good-humouredly and responded on their behalf. He moved smoothly round the room, talking to everyone for a few minutes, then moving on, distributing his company evenly to all.
One young lady was different. Miss Hortensia Blythe was startlingly beautiful, with fair hair that fell into natural curls, wide blue eyes, and a pleasingly fine figure. When he addressed her, she answered composedly and sensibly, without blushing or simpering. He asked where she was from. She told him that she had arrived from India but days before, so she had not yet decided where to settle. Which county did he recommend, she wanted to know. He told her of his home in the wilds of Yorkshire and how much he loved to gallop across the moors. He wondered if she liked to ride. Yes, she did, and hoped to ride in Hyde Park as soon as she had worked out how to obtain a horse. He talked at length about the best places to rent a mount, and how to set up her stable if she planned to make a prolonged stay in London. Connie had to remind him to move on.
Humphrey dutifully worked his way around the room and then made an excuse to leave. Connie found him in the book room later.
“Well? What did you think? There were some very promising ones, I thought. Did you like the look of any of them?”
“The pretty blonde in the pink gown with the dark red spencer.”
“Oh — Miss Blythe?” Her tone was surprised. “She is quite young, only eighteen or so.”
“But rich?”
“Very. Two hundred thousand, if Lady Hartshill is to be believed, and she usually is. Lady Hartshill’s sister moves in city circles, so she is very well-informed about these matters. Miss Blythe’s father was a nabob, and she is his only relative, so when he died he left her everything, without any conditions. She is only just out of mourning, which is why we have not seen her anywhere before. I believe she spent some years with her mother in England before joining her father in India a few years ago. Is she a firm favourite? You have settled on her already?”
“She was the only one capable of stringing together a coherent sentence. I could not conceivably marry a woman who does nothing but simper and blush.”
“That is what I like about you, Humphrey — you are so very decisive.”
“It is the gambler in me,” he said smiling. “Weigh up the cards at a glance, and make your play with no dithering.”
She laughed and patted his cheek. “Whatever the cause, it makes everything easy. I shall invite her to Drummoor over the summer, then, and you may get to know her better. But Humphrey… do not be swayed by blue eyes and a large fortune. Remember that if you marry her, you will spend the rest of your life together, so you must be very sure of your affection for her. If she does not suit, there are plenty more.”
Humphrey smiled. “Connie, you are such a romantic! I am not marrying for love, and I shall not expect it of my wife. I need a fortune, and she will gain entry to a marquess’s family and will move in the first circles. It will be a business arrangement, nothing more. The most important consideration is that she knows how to conduct herself in society, and will not bring shame on me or the family. Love has nothing to do with it.”
She tipped her head to one side and looked at him appraisingly. “Well, you know your own mind best, I daresay, but love has a way of creeping up on one whether one wishes it or not. Look at Reggie — he began in exactly that way, determined to make a pragmatic match, and ended up head over heels in love. Be careful the same does not happen with you and Miss Blythe.”
“I am quite safe,” Humphrey said with a smile. “I have mixed with the cream of the ton these ten years past, and it is not boasting to say that I have had innumerable caps thrown at me in vain. A Miss Hortensia Blythe of no family and no settled home is not likely to touch my heart, you may be sure.”
~~~~~
The said Miss Hortensia Blythe and her friend and companion Miss Rosemary Quayle, also of no family and no settled home, leaned back against the squabs of the carriage as it moved at a stately pace through the streets of London, taking them away from Marford House.
“Well, what did you think?” Hortensia said.
Rosemary turned wide eyes to her. “Such elegance! Such a magnificent domed roof! And the chimney piece is as fine as any I saw anywhere.”
“Ah, the famous Chinese saloon. Yes, it is very fine, and displays the marchioness’s eye for colour to perfection. But what did you think of the company?”
“Lady Carrbridge is delightful. No one could have been more attentive. And Lord Carrbridge is delightful too. So charming and condescending.”
“And Lord Humphrey? Is he delightful as well? And oh so very condescending, to throw a tea party at the end of the season for all the daughters of cits and nabobs, who would never be invited to a ball at Marford House, you may be sure. Honestly, Rosemary, your wits have gone a-begging if you are dazzled by these people. The only difference between them and us is that some ancestor of Lord Carrbridge’s proved of service to a long-dead king. Henry the something, most likely. There were a great many Henrys at one time.”
“And Edwards,” Rosemary said. “Plenty of Edwards in the middle ages, too. Now it is all Georges. You would think, would you not, that they would want some variety, if only for convenience. Think how tedious it must be to call out for George and have two or three of them come running.” She turned wide, innocent eyes on her friend.
“There, that is better,” Hortensia said, laughing. “I knew your quickness would reassert itself. But these aristocrats have no imagination. In Lord Carrbridge’s family, for instance, the eldest son is always Francis and the next is Reginald. I looked them up in Debretts. Long lines of men called Francis, and the occasional Reginald. But then, the present marquess’s father was a Charles. The third son, you see. No imagination. We
are better off without the society of these people. Shall we go to Brighton? It is much more suited to vulgar people like us, for the Prince of Wales goes there.”
“You are too cynical,” Rosemary said thoughtfully. “I liked Lord and Lady Carrbridge very much, and Lord Humphrey, too. Their manners were excellent, and they made me feel very welcome. And the cake was the best I have had since we left Madras, so on those grounds alone I count them among the finest of our acquaintance.”
Their laughter lasted the remainder of the journey home, and they talked no more of Lord Humphrey. But if Hortensia said nothing, her thoughts were full of a tall, golden-haired man with shoulders so broad his well-fitted coat needed no padding.
~~~~~
With the season over, Drummoor was a very dreary prospect. Of Humphrey’s five brothers, Reggie was off in the depths of the Fens paying court to his betrothed, Gus was at Tattersall’s looking for work with horses, Monty was in York being turned into a clergyman, and Gil was in uniform, having joined the King’s Own Regiment of Hussars. Even Harriet had gone off to Brighton with friends. Only Carrbridge and Lady Carrbridge would be there, and the usual array of elderly aunts and uncles and cousins, who ate the marquess’s beef and drank his wine and filled the saloons after dinner with their card games, but hardly counted as company for a restless young man of twenty seven.
The long journey north was tedious in the extreme, the weather too uncertain to drive his curricle or even to ride. Humphrey sat in the carriage with Carrbridge and Connie for hour after endless hour, until he thought he would go mad if he had to sit still for a single minute longer. As soon as the carriage rolled into the yard of their overnight inn, followed by the servants’ carriage and two luggage wagons, Humphrey would leap down and stride off down the street of whatever nondescript little town he found himself in, heedless of the rain. An hour or two of brisk activity was just enough to sustain him through the long, dull hours after dinner.
Reaching Drummoor was a relief, and Humphrey was aback a horse and away across the park before the last of the wagons had been unloaded. He rode at an easy canter at first, for this was Reggie’s horse, his own not being in the stables. Away to the village to be shod, he supposed, or else being exercised by one of the grooms. Once he was sure of the horse’s footing, he gave it its head and tore across the furthest quarter of the park, flying over the wall and then over three or four fields before slowing with a shout of pure delight. Ah, the freedom, the speed, the thrill of a fast ride! This one was not the equal of his own splendid Ganymede, but it was well enough. He cantered past Wester Drum farm, waving to a group hay making in the distance, then trotted through Drum Woods and on upwards to the open moors.
The ground was too uneven just there to give the horse his head, so he rode at an easy canter along the track for some miles, until he spotted another rider heading towards him rather fast. He slowed his pace to await the inevitable meeting, but long before it occurred, he had identified both rider and horse. The rider was the marquess’s agent, Mr Sharp, and the horse was his own, the very horse he had hoped to ride. Its absence had forced him to take Reggie’s. He bit back his annoyance — it was impudent, for Sharp had several perfectly good horses at his disposal, and need not have taken a creature as fine as Ganymede, but he could not blame him for wanting to. But when he saw the horse lathered and labouring, all his ire flared up in an instant.
“What are you doing to my horse, sir?” he cried, before Sharp was well within earshot.
The agent trotted nearer and pulled up, the horse breathing heavily.
“Good day, my lord, good day!” he said, doffing his old-fashioned tricorn hat, and bowing so low that his nose almost touched the horse’s mane. “And a fine one now that the rain has stopped. I was not aware you were expected today, my lord.”
“Evidently, or you would not have dared to take Ganymede, or to use him so ill.”
“I must humbly beg your pardon, my lord, the fault was entirely mine. He had not been out of the stable for some days, seeming restless to my unskilled eye, and it seemed a good plan to give the animal the exercise he craved. However, I discovered that he was a little too fresh for my meagre abilities and, to my shame, he got away from me rather before I could rein him in.”
“How far have you ridden him?” Humphrey said.
“Not far, my lord. Not far at all. I have just been over to Great Mellingham — a small problem with the chimneys, very easily rectified.”
Humphrey was too angry to care about chimneys. “I will ride back with you to Drummoor to see Ganymede attended to. We will walk or trot, nothing faster.”
“Of course, my lord,” Sharp said, doffing his hat again and bowing even lower. “I can only repeat my sincere apologies, and humbly beg your indulgence for any offence, my lord. It was by no means my intent.”
They rode back a great deal more slowly, Humphrey seething all the way, although he could see that the horse was already recovering. At the stables, Sharp would have attended to Ganymede himself, but Humphrey impatiently dismissed him. He left Reggie’s horse to the care of one of the grooms, and himself began to unsaddle and clean up Ganymede. The horse whickered happily at him.
“Ah, you remember me, you good fellow, for all I have been gone for months. But look at the state of you!”
“Want me to take over, milord?” Humphrey peered over the horse’s back to see the familiar grinning face of his groom.
“Ah, there you are, Tom. No, but you can give me a hand, if you wish.”
“Lord, where’s you been with him, milord? He’s covered in burrs.”
“So he is. And this one is no ordinary burr. This is a whole teasel. Where has Sharp taken you, old fellow?” he said thoughtfully, rubbing the horse’s flank.
“Mr Sharp took him out?” Tom said, frowning. “He didn’t ought to have done that!”
“On that point we are agreed,” Humphrey said acidly.
“But there’s no teasels round here,” Tom said.
“Indeed. I know of only one place within thirty miles where such things grow. And why did Sharp want to go there?”
END OF SAMPLE CHAPTER OF Lord Humphrey
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