by Jan Jones
Lord Rothwell’s declaration, delivered by the maid who had crept into his room to make up the fire, caused not a little consternation in the kitchen.
“Eat with the family?” repeated Caroline, a forkful of ham suspended half-way to her mouth.
“Yes, miss. Ooh, he did give me a fright. I had no notion he was awake.”
“He has no call to be awake this time of day,” said Caroline crossly. “Tell me again what he said.”
“To fetch his man to him, so’s he could get up and shaved and dressed and have breakfast with the family. He said as how he didn’t want to inconvenience the household any more than he need.”
“He will inconvenience us more! None of us has ‘eaten breakfast with the family’ since Lady Penfold died. What a confounded nuisance. You’d better set some water on to boil but don’t you call that fuss-pot valet of his before I’m back down. That’s all we need, him finicking about the kitchen.” Caroline pelted up to her room to scramble into a dress. It was her own fault for not changing as soon as she got in from the horses, but the porridge had been bubbling hot and she’d been hungry and... It wasn’t a mistake she’d be making again this week, that’s for sure. She wondered what was really behind Lord Rothwell’s decision. He did not strike her as a man who habitually considered his hosts’ servants. Despite her vow to be more than ever rigorously disinterested in their house guest, Caroline nevertheless found her movements slowing as she thought of him. Would he be Lord Rothwell or Alexander this morning?
When Alex was shown into the breakfast parlour, he discovered it to be empty. He sat in solitary state as the footman helped him to bacon, kidneys, potato and eggs.
“Good morning,” said Caroline, entering the room a little later. “I am glad to see the alarms of the night have not interfered with your progress.” She smiled at the footman. “Tea please, John. And toast.”
Tea and toast. Ha! As he’d thought, yesterday’s line about her eating an omelette had all been a hum to persuade him to eat. Just another instance of her high-handedness. “I wish I could say the same for you,” he commented. “I seem to recall you mentioning that in general you made a very hearty breakfast.”
Having expressed himself with what he considered to be a nice irony, he was a little put out when she pulled the marmalade towards her and chuckled. “I did. Some two hours ago. I can particularly recommend the bacon today.”
She was, without doubt, a most irritating young woman. Now he looked more closely, he noticed that she had dust and straw on her gown again and her hair was almost certainly not as it had left her maid’s hands. It exasperated him that she didn’t seem to mind. No wonder she had not had any success in attracting offers. Not that that seemed to bother her either. “I was hoping to speak with your brother,” he said abruptly.
“Oh, you should have said. Harry has gone out. I daresay he will be back before the racing starts. Or perhaps not. Maiden runs today. He will be trying to get good odds on her.”
Alex began to think he had got himself up for nothing. An enquiry about the newspapers elicited the information that they were upstairs with Mrs Penfold, but that he should have them as soon as she had finished.
“It is her one luxury, not being obliged to rise for breakfast any more. Lady Penfold used to get up fearfully early, you see, and liked the whole household to eat with her when she had finished going around the stables.”
“I can see why you got on so well with her,” said Alex, somewhat acerbically.
“Indeed, we had a lot in common. Did I mention that she was my godmother?”
“Yes. She left you the chestnut stallion. I realise now that it was not so bizarre a bequest as I first thought.”
Caroline gave a peal of laughter. “You are out of sorts. Never mind, my lord, the doctor will be here later and I daresay will pronounce you fit enough to return to your rooms, where the newspapers are all your own, the chef delivers what you want to eat when you want it and no nocturnal prowlers disturb your sleep.”
At this, Alex experienced a profound jolt. He had been sparring with Caroline as he might with Giles, or with his sister, forgetting that she was in a sense on the other side of the fence. He could not tell her that whatever the privations, he was by no means ready to leave this house.
“Not go back yet?” said Caroline, dismayed.
“A couple more days,” said Dr Peck. “He is weak still, and more worried about his nightmares than he would have you believe. I am firmly of the opinion that a quiet, orderly house will be better for his full recovery than a noisy coaching inn.”
Oh would it. Unable to vent her feelings on the object of her ire, Caroline expressed herself at great length in a letter to Louisa instead. However, she wrote at the end, I am determined to work with Solange as soon as he retires to rest. She is responding very well and it would be a crime to interrupt the training now. Oh, and I have just thought of a famous notion. If Lord R chances to be awake and sitting with us later (as I fear may very well be the case, for his indisposition seems to have robbed him of the ability to amuse himself) and we have an influx of callers as we did yesterday, I shall ask Hibbert to show them in without giving him the opportunity to escape. That should convince him fairly speedily of the need to return to his own well-trained servants, do you not think?
It was clear that Lord Rothwell had not considered this hazard of life in a female establishment. If she hadn’t been so determined to give him a distaste for continuing to convalesce here, Caroline might almost have felt sorry for him as the fourth set of callers in as many half-hours remembered the existence of her and Mrs Penfold and were ushered into the Yellow Saloon.
“Do you seriously enjoy the inanities and time-wasting nothings that were paraded in this room today?” he asked with some incredulity once all the visitors had finally departed.
“No, of course not,” replied Caroline. “No one could who was not entirely pea-brained.”
“Then why put up with it?”
“Because not all of us are infernally rude. One cannot be forever saying one is not at home. Besides, apart from Mrs Penfold’s particular friends, they did not come to visit us at all.”
She saw the unpalatable truth hit him. “They came because I was here?” he said indignantly.
“Well, neither Mrs Penfold nor I have a title and an estate in Surrey.” On the mantelpiece, the clock ticked on. Flood should be on the way back with Maiden by now. Caroline wanted to be in the stables to meet them and find out how the race had gone. She bestowed a kindly smile on Lord Rothwell. “I believe we might now tell Hibbert we are not at home. The doctor mentioned that you should not put in a whole day without resting if you wish to continue your encouraging progress. Will you eat dinner with us later, or would you prefer to take it in your room?”
As soon as he had opted to eat with them and asked for his valet to be called, Caroline sped out to the stable. The grin on the face of the stable-hand who most often cared for Maiden was all the answer she needed.
“She won by a length and had plenty more in reserve, Miss Caro, only the rider said there was no need to show her hand a’cos the others were tiring. She’ll take the Novice Stakes next month for sure.”
“Oh, I do hope so.” Caroline reached up and buried her face in the filly’s neck, inhaling the lovely scent of warm horse. “You clever, clever girl. Extra feed tonight for you.”
“Some weren’t so happy,” said Flood quietly as the groom led Maiden into the stable. “One or two mutterings about how lucky Mr Harry was getting, and how it weren’t natural for a new trainer to be winning so often.”
Caroline looked at him, worried. “Influential people?” she asked.
“Depends on your outlook. Did seem as though most of the muttering came from groups Jem Jessop had just left.”
“Jessop? On the Heath when his master is laid up here?”
Flood shrugged. “While the cat’s away, Miss Caro. I did notice one thing...”
“Yes?”
/> “He was hanging around the ring when Mr Harry bet on Neva to take the One Thousand Guineas. Then he slips off. Then lo-and-behold his lordship’s fine friend arrives and puts money on Neva himself.”
“Well! How two-faced can you get!” Caroline was incensed. After Mr d’Arblay had sniped away about Harry yesterday - to blatantly use him like that. Like Flood, she was in no doubt at all that the events he’d relayed were connected. “At least he should be in a better mood tonight if he calls,” she said crossly. Then looked at her head groom in sudden doubt. “Neva did win, I take it?”
Flood chuckled. “That she did, lass. You were spot on again.” He ran over the other winners but for once Caroline’s attention wasn’t fully on the recital. Was there really such bad feeling about Harry on the race-course? Surely the small wins they were enjoying ought to add to his prestige amongst the other trainers, not diminish it. Of course, it would help if their father would only be proud of his son for once and take his part. Oh, bother it, why were people so complicated? No wonder she preferred horses.
From his window, Alex watched Caroline stretch up and hug the chestnut filly. The horse must have won. He wondered if Giles had overcome his prejudice and put money on her. He was startled at how natural and spontaneous Caroline looked, compared (though he hadn’t realised it at the time) with the polite artificiality she had displayed towards the visitors in the saloon. Did all women act a part in front of others? Which her was it who coaxed him to eat? Or traded quips with him? Not that it mattered, of course.
She was talking to the head groom now, and even from this distance Alex saw her countenance change. Some sort of unwelcome news for sure. At length she made her way back, still looking thoughtful, and passed out of his field of vision. Now, how was he to find out what had taken the bounce out of her usual sprightly step?
“Does your brother not dine here tonight?”
Caroline didn’t look perturbed at the question, so whatever had bothered her earlier, it wasn’t Harry Fortune. “He rarely does during a racing week.” She finished her soup and helped herself to a large portion of the chicken in caper sauce. Alex had come to the rueful conclusion that her statement about substantial breakfasts had been no less than the truth. She was the least fussy young lady he had ever shared a dinner table with. “By the by, I am glad to hear you let Jessop go,” she commented.
He frowned. “I haven’t.”
“Have you not? We thought you must have done, because Flood saw him at the course today.”
“I daresay Giles took him.”
“Oh, of course. Though why he would be at the betting post and not in the grooms’ enclosure is a little puzzling.”
“Running an errand probably.” Alex carved his own chicken thoughtfully. “I have never asked you what specifically you have against Jessop.”
“Save that he has been turned off in short order from his last three positions, that he lies, that he keeps dubious company and that he is unnecessarily hard on the animals in his care, nothing. How did you come to employ him, my lord? I own I was surprised once I had seen you with our foals.”
A very odd warmth took Alex by surprise. That had almost sounded like a compliment. “He was sent by the livery office when one of my men left.”
“I am astonished he was on their books, considering his character must be well known in the town.”
Alex grunted cynically. “A commission on a hire is a commission on a hire. I did not specify the nature of the groom required, so they may not have sent me their best man. When I am returned to fitness I will watch him. If I am not satisfied, he will be dismissed, I promise you.”
A smile lit her face. “Thank you, my lord.”
What curious things pleased her, he thought, finding himself smiling back. He was just about to ask whether she had any other news from today’s racing when an imperative knocking sounded at the front door.
“Whoever is that at this time of day?” wondered Mrs Penfold aloud.
Caroline’s hand went to her breast. “I hope it is not about Harry.”
She was worried. So pleased was Alex at rumbling her that he completely failed to mask his horror as the dining room door was flung open to disclose...
“Alex, darling,” cried his mother, shedding furs and scarves as she burst in. “Oh, why didn’t you tell me? Thank heavens you are all right.” A slim, expensive whirlwind, she flew around the table and threw her arms about him while he was still only half-risen from the chair.
“The Duchess of Abervale,” announced Hibbert unnecessarily.
Embarrassment hit Alex like a solid wall. With an immense effort, he dredged up a measure of his usual sang-froid. Over the top of his mother’s regrettably askew bonnet, he met Caroline’s startled eyes. Good. Now she would see what became of unnecessary interference. “This has to be your doing,” he said. “I can spot your touch five furlongs off.”
His mother pulled back, her bright gaze seeming to take him in all at once. “And very grateful I am,” she said. “I cannot conceive why it is that none of my children deem it necessary to tell me of their misadventures until after the event.”
“Can you not, Mama?” said Alex drily. “Pray let me make known to you my exceedingly good-natured hostess, Mrs Penfold, and your rather too zealous correspondent, Miss Caroline Fortune.”
“Better zealous and right, than dilatory and regretful,” said Caroline, recovering. “I am delighted to meet you, your grace.”
Confound the girl, she was only just not laughing at his discomfiture. “You won’t be, when you see the contents of the coach,” he warned. “Did you satisfy yourself with just the one carriage, Mama, or does your retinue follow you in another half-dozen?”
His parent gave the enchanting smile that had won over disrupted households the length and breadth of England. “You see how it is, Mrs Penfold? A mother is never appreciated. And I would not dream of landing myself here without a word, you bad boy. I am staying at Cheveley, of course, and going on to see Lizzy in a day or so. She is increasing - such a blessing it did not happen any earlier, do you not think? - and although she writes that she is in the best of health, I do feel I ought to check for myself how she is keeping.”
“Naturally, you do, Mama. Very wise of you. One cannot be too careful at such a time. If I were you I would press onwards without delay.”
But the butler was already laying another place and a footman was divesting her of her hat and remaining furs. Alex had no doubt at all that a third man was stationed outside to direct further conveyances to the Duke of Rutland’s estate and that the Abervale coachman, groom and out-riders were even now being drawn tankards of ale from the barrel in the kitchen.
“Oh good,” said Caroline with satisfaction. “I was worried that Lord Rothwell’s distressing lack of manners was a result of his illness, but as your grace does not appear concerned, I must conclude that it is habitual and that he is indeed recovered.”
The duchess beamed at her. “The dear boy. His bark is far worse than his bite, you know. Is this for me? How delicious, I do adore a nice white soup. How very kind of the cook to send it back up. Pray tender my thanks. Alex, my love, is not that injury to your temple in the same place where you hit it all those years ago falling into the river? So ill you were then, I was quite prostrate with worry.”
Alex surrendered. He applied himself to his plate and signalled to the footman to refill his glass, in defiance of Caroline’s frown. He knew from experience that his mother would now talk her way through every one of his childhood ailments as if she herself, and not his old nanny, had had the nursing of him. With any luck the recital would take her until the end of the meal and slake her parental impulses once and for all. He continued to eat, trying to shut out the litany. In this he was unexpectedly aided by Mrs Penfold. His hostess, more animated than he had hitherto known her, seemed convinced she had encountered a kindred spirit and was sharing with the duchess all the misadventures that had blighted her only son Bertrand’s formati
ve years.
Alex glanced at Caroline, thinking to point out with a wry look that she thoroughly deserved what she had started. He was pulled up short at the stricken expression on her face.
“...and so there was an end to it. I don’t complain because I was blessed while I had him, but it is a hard thing, your grace, to know that you will never hear your son’s joyful laugh again, and never rock your own grandchildren to sleep. Not even a daughter-in-law for company and consolation because with Caro being so young at the time nothing had been formally agreed. But we are hoping her mama will give up on her marriage prospects soon, which I daresay she will because of not her having any money apart from the betting, though of course Adeline doesn’t know about that. Besides, Caro’s sisters are easier and prettier and have more style to them. Caro can then live here with me.”
As Mrs Penfold’s words pattered gently into the conversation, Caroline told herself she had often been this mortified before and that one day it would cease to hurt. And because it was Bertrand’s mama talking and Caroline had loved her son, she continued to eat as though the matter-of-fact truths meant nothing. She didn’t even know why she should feel she was dying inside until the Duchess of Abervale met her eyes. With that swift, compassionate look Caroline realised she had wanted this warm, lively, completely-unlike-her-son woman to esteem her despite her lack of assets or standing in the world. How ridiculous. She wouldn’t even see her grace again once she had whisked Alexander away.
She glanced at him now as his mother simultaneously ate and brought him up to date on the Abervale news without in the least excluding her other listeners. He had a half-smile on his face, but she noticed he was holding himself stiffly, as if he was tired.
“Shall we move into the drawing room?” she said once everyone had finished. “Do you accompany us, my lord, or are you going to sit here in solitude a moment and pretend that you are not forbidden port?”