Lord Humphrey (Sons of the Marquess Book 2)

by Mary Kingswood

  “And is it not calculating in Lord and Lady Carrbridge to invite us here to stay?” she retorted. “Let us be honest, marriage at this level of society is always a matter of contracts and settlements and dowries and estates, and however much one might hope to be swept away by romantic love, one must always be practical. It is best to ensure that one is swept away by love for a gentleman of rank if one can possibly contrive it. It is a business arrangement, no more than that. We have two hundred thousand pounds on the table, so we must weigh that against the gentleman’s assets. Let me enumerate them. He has a courtesy title, probably an allowance from his brother and very little else, apart from his own charms. He is rather charming, it must be said.”

  “Do you think so?” Rosemary said doubtfully. “He frightens me a little, for he is so tall and strikingly attired and… and powerful. Such a masculine man, if you understand me.”

  “He frightens you? But he is so gentle and well-bred, and although his clothes may seem outlandish at first sight, they are all of the first stare of fashion, I do assure you.”

  “Oh yes, indeed! But so large! It is all very well for you, Hortensia, for you are a great tall creature yourself, and I daresay he seems less imposing to you. But I have one asset to add to his catalogue, for I overheard some of the ladies talking of it in the retiring room. He is a very great card player, most expert, and indeed increases his income somewhat by his skill at the tables. And he wishes to set up a gaming house, but the cost is beyond his means and that is why he is looking for a rich wife, I daresay.”

  “Well now, that is very interesting,” Hortensia said thoughtfully. “Most interesting.”

  ~~~~~

  The following day, Lady Carrbridge decided that the weather was settled enough to permit a riding of the bounds, as she liked to describe it. This procedure involved assembling as many of the company as could be persuaded to it to ride a complete circuit of the park, a distance of some twelve miles. It was an easy ride, and always drew a great crowd, all to be provided with mounts, so that the grooms were in a frenzy of anxious activity. The stables were always augmented at this time of year by a number of hired horses from Sagborough and York, but even with this assistance, there were never enough.

  Humphrey’s role in the business was to ensure that every participant was supplied with a suitable horse, and this was no easy task to accomplish. If one asked a lady what sort of horse she would find most amenable, she was apt to demur and say that she was but a timid rider, and could a very gentle mount be found? Whereas a gentleman would always require ‘something with spirit’. And yet, often it would turn out to be the case that some gentlemen were hard put to control their spirited beasts, and the ladies grew frustrated with their sluggish mounts. It was a matter of the utmost delicacy to determine which riders were truly able to cope with a lively mount, and which could not, and which would be most mortified by a wrong assignation.

  And every time, in Humphrey’s experience, a gentleman would take a liking to one of Gus’s ill-tempered beasts and want to try his hand, and how could Humphrey refuse? On this occasion, it was Julius Whittleton who fancied his skills adequate to the task.

  “I do not recommend it, Julius,” Humphrey said, with more forcefulness than usual. “Masterful is a hard animal to control, even for Gus. I would not take him out in a mixed group myself. Why not try Lucifer or Fast Demon, if you must have something challenging?”

  “Do you think I cannot manage him, Humphrey?” Julius said disdainfully. “I assure you I am more than capable, even if you have reservations yourself.”

  There was no arguing with such wilful self-delusion, so Humphrey bowed and gave the orders. For Miss Blythe he chose one of the hired hacks, which he knew to be well-behaved. If she complained of its slowness, then he could find her something more spirited for next time.

  Some twenty riders ventured forth into pleasant sunshine, with no sign of rain. They rode at an easy trot down the drive to the boundary woods, and there turned to follow the perimeter, passing first along the northern edge of the village. Some of the faster horses had already disappeared into the distance, including Harriet, but the other ladies and slower riders set a more gentle pace. Humphrey was amused to see Julius try to keep his frisky mount alongside Miss Blythe, but the horse was wild to be less restrained, and after a while the amusement palled as Humphrey saw that Masterful’s energy was afflicting Miss Blythe’s more docile horse, and she was becoming distressed.

  Humphrey manoeuvred Ganymede alongside Miss Blythe, and took a firm hold of the horse’s bridle. “Julius, will you not give Masterful his head? He is disturbing Rose Garden.”

  “I can control him,” Julius muttered distractedly. But as if to disprove his words, the horse kicked up his heels and set off at a gallop through the woods, Julius pulling ineffectually at the reins.

  “Thank you so much, my lord!” Miss Blythe said, turning her blue eyes on him, as her horse immediately settled down. “I was so frightened, for I had thought Rose Garden such a pleasant horse, so quiet and well-behaved, and yet for a moment I thought she was going to bolt with me. I have the greatest terror of being aboard a bolting horse, you cannot imagine.”

  “It is rather unnerving when a horse runs away with one, is it not?” Humphrey said sympathetically.

  “Oh, I have no such experience on which to found my terror, my lord,” she said. “It is more the idea of the event than anything else. I can imagine it, and that is almost as bad as experiencing it, would you not agree? I do so enjoy riding at this gentle pace, but anything faster — no, I must leave that to those braver than I.” She visibly shuddered at the thought.

  And Humphrey, who could not imagine any pleasure in never riding above a walking speed, was forced to smile and nod politely, and bite his tongue.

  That evening, Humphrey found himself seated next to Miss Blythe at dinner. It was not his intent, for he had no wish to make his attentions obvious at too early a stage, but Julius had seized the seat on one side of her, and Humphrey felt in all conscience that he ought to do what he could to relieve the lady of the burden of too heavy a dose of Mr Whittleton. At first it looked as if even this charitable plan was doomed to failure, for Julius seemed determined to monopolise her entirely, but luckily a dispute further down the table on the relative merits of pheasant and partridge distracted him and Humphrey was able to gain the lady’s attention.

  “Did you enjoy the boundary ride today, Miss Blythe?” was his conventional opening play.

  “Oh yes!” she cried, her blue eyes widening. “It was delightful, and everything planned to perfection. It did not rain at all, nor was the wind excessive, and the picnic Lady Carrbridge had arranged beside the waterfall was quite charming. There is something so pleasing about a meal taken in the open air, do you not agree? The company is in the highest of spirits, and one may move about and converse with everyone in turn, which is most agreeable.” She lowered her voice somewhat. “I must thank you again for the most welcome service you provided, my lord. The occasion was so frightening to me, but once you took charge of the situation, I had not the least cause for alarm. So reassuring.”

  Humphrey had almost forgotten the incident, but he smiled and accepted her gratitude with the proper degree of demurral, and the conversation moved on to other subjects. But his heart was heavy. Could he truly respect a woman who was so timid on horseback? He was very much afraid he could not. But then he reminded himself that Miss Blythe was pretty and charming and inoffensive, and even if she might not be a bruising rider, was comfortable in society, and a woman who could with confidence be left to manage the domestic sphere. He need not have very much to do with her at all. Yes, she would do very well.

  So he smiled and said all that was proper, and then talked to her about India for half an hour, which brought her to a very pleasing degree of animation. But then Julius remembered her and turned his attention back in her direction, and when he asked if he might be permitted the privilege of hearing her sing again, s
he grew even more animated.

  “Oh, yes, if you will join me, Mr Whittleton! For you have the most splendid voice, and I should so enjoy hearing it again.”

  Humphrey began to wonder for the first time if Julius might be a serious rival for her hand. Well, he might not sing as beautifully as Julius — who could, after all? Still, he could be attentive to a lady if he chose to be. The gambler in him rose to the fore. Time to raise the stakes and snatch his two hundred thousand pounds out of Julius’s avaricious grasp.

  And yet his conscience whispered that he was every bit as avaricious as Julius, for what could be more mercenary than to choose a wife purely on the size of her fortune? He sat in uneasy silence.

  7: Whist And Piquet

  After dinner, Humphrey drifted back to the drawing room before the other gentlemen. He accepted his tea from Connie, and went to sit alone in a far corner of the room where he could ponder his sudden outbreak of conscience, and consider how he might overcome it, or whether perhaps he should abandon the charming Miss Blythe after all. Now that he was newly awakened to the awkwardness of marrying for money, he could see the disadvantages of the match that had never struck him before. She was so young, for one thing, no more than eighteen, and he was almost ten years older than her. That in itself was no great obstacle, for many men waited until they reached thirty or more before looking for a wife, and then made their choice from that season’s debutantes. There was nothing at all wrong with that, if all one wanted was a wife who would be presentable in society and run a reasonably orderly home.

  Yet now that he thought about it, Humphrey realised that he had always assumed that his wife, should he be lucky enough to marry, would be more of an equal to him, as both friend and lover. A timid milk-and-water wife was not at all what he had expected or hoped for. When he had considered the matter at all, he had had an image of a wife who rode as hard as he did, and who could at least play a decent game of whist. That was something he did not know about Miss Blythe. Perhaps she was not much of a rider, but was a deep thinker at the card table. He knew how he could find out.

  So when the music was finished and the card tables were forming, seeing Julius occupied in receiving the plaudits of the listeners, he stepped forward quickly to claim her.

  “Shall you play whist tonight, Miss Blythe? I should be very happy to partner you, if so.”

  “Why, thank you, my lord. I should be honoured, for I know you to be a formidable card player, and I enjoy whist of all things.”

  Well, that was promising. Humphrey secured the Amblesides as opponents and found them a table, and so the game began. It took him but five minutes to discover that Miss Blythe’s enjoyment in the game stemmed largely in the conversation to be had while play was underway. She chatted to Mrs Ambleside very freely, until Ambleside rather tersely pointed out that the ladies had lost three tricks owing to their inattention. After that, all conversation was restricted to the gaps between games when the men totted up the scores and dealt the cards. When supper was announced, Humphrey was more than ready to abandon the game, and he saw that Ambleside was equally so.

  After supper, he saw Miss Blythe claimed by the ever-opportunistic Julius Whittleton to join a large game of vingt-et-un, which was a much better match for her sociable inclinations. He was about to join the group himself, to keep a watchful eye on Julius, when his gaze fell on his pupil of the previous night. There she was, tucked self-effacingly in a corner of the grand saloon, which was difficult for a woman of her commanding height, and again her needlework sat neglected in her lap as she looked about her eagerly. So interested in the other guests and yet so reluctant to mix with them!

  Her wandering eyes caught sight of his amused gaze, and she promptly bent her head to her work. Did she blush? He could not be sure. A stitch… another… and a third, before she peeped up at him under her lashes. This time she definitely blushed. He lost interest in the vingt-et-un game, seeing the prospect of far more entertaining play before him. Unhurriedly he crossed the room to stand before her.

  “Miss Quayle, would you be interested in continuing our piquet lessons?”

  “Thank you, my lord, but as you see I am being a conscientious needlewoman tonight.”

  He smiled, but said, “Your diligence is commendable, but I am persuaded that you would enjoy piquet rather more, and I assure you it would bring me the greatest pleasure.”

  She set down her needlework and looked at him appraisingly, head tilted at a slight angle. “It is kind of you to offer, Lord Humphrey, but I have discovered that you are a player of exceptional quickness. It would be impertinent in me to monopolise your attention with my beginner’s stumbles when you will have much more enjoyable play elsewhere.”

  “You may be assured that I receive just as much enjoyment in teaching an interested beginner as in playing any other game here tonight.”

  But she shook her head, the two curls bouncing. “You are all generosity, but I beg you will not waste your time on me. I am perfectly happy to watch the company from here.”

  “Then I shall watch the company with you,” he said firmly. Pulling forward a gilt-framed chair, he placed it next to hers and sat down, legs stretched out and crossed neatly at the ankles, arms folded. “And see how I am rewarded already by following your example, Miss Quayle. I can see the top of Lady Carrbridge’s head almost entirely from this vantage point. Such a charming comb above her left ear. And look, the lower legs of Lord Carrbridge and Mr Graham are perfectly visible through that chair. And if I merely lean at an angle to the left, I may peer around that urn and immediately two — no, two and a half of the vingt-et-un players are revealed to me. Well, almost revealed, at any rate. I fear I should only be able to see them in their entirety by leaning at such a precipitous angle as to risk a humiliating tumble to the floor.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Such absurdity! Of course I can see very little, hidden away as I am, but you see I am being a good little companion and keeping out of the way while the tables are being formed. As soon as everyone is settled, I shall creep a little nearer so that I may enjoy the conversations without the necessity for joining in myself.”

  “In other words, you are determined to remain invisible. Is that how paid companions are expected to behave, in your opinion, Miss Quayle? Or is this a certain timidity in your nature which suggests this degree of invisibility?”

  “Timidity? Oh, quite the reverse,” she said, smiling so suddenly that he was taken quite by surprise. Why, her countenance was not at all plain when she looked so mischievous, and those eyes! So expressive and full of life. “If I join in, I should be sure to express my opinions forcefully and dominate the conversation in a manner most disagreeable, not to mention inappropriate for my station. In a setting like this, and in such elevated company, it is difficult to remember that I am—”

  “—just a paid companion,” he said, making her laugh outright. “Then play piquet with me, Miss Quayle, and you may dominate the conversation as much as you choose — or rather, as much as you can, for you will have to contend with my own tendency to dominate.”

  She laughed even harder at that. “How can I resist such a challenge? Well then, let us see which of us will succeed in out-conversing the other. Shall we have a few guineas on the outcome?”

  He regarded her quizzically, then said neutrally, “Companions must be paid very well to afford wagers at such a level.” She bit her lip, but before she could reply, he went on, “But you are safe from me, Miss Quayle. I am not minded for high play tonight. Let us play for fish, instead. Shall we ask Timothy to set out a table for us?”

  She nodded her assent, and he signalled to the footman, offering Miss Quayle his arm as they made their way to where the table was being placed. There was an unexpected pleasure in walking with so tall a woman, for her steps matched his perfectly. For once he had no need to moderate his stride. “Will this position suit you? There is a reasonable view of the whist players from here, although, alas, we can no longer see the
vingt-et-un players.”

  She laughed merrily at this, but answered seriously, “Lord Humphrey, are you quite sure this will not be too dull an exercise for you?”

  “It is never dull to teach an apt pupil, as you must have found yourself,” he said as he shuffled. “Miss Blythe is a credit to your instruction.”

  “Oh yes! She was always a most attentive pupil, and worked so hard to learn everything I taught her. My efforts were not always entirely successful, for her number work was never above the commonplace, and she had little understanding of logic or philosophy. Her performance on the pianoforte is a trifle haphazard, perhaps, but so long as she sings, no one notices that. But her embroidery, her dancing and deportment, her manners, her painting, her recitation of poetry, her conversation — no one could fault her, and it is to the credit of her own aptitude and application, and not at all to my instruction, I assure you.”

  Humphrey smiled at this effusive summary of Miss Blythe’s perfections, and Miss Quayle’s manner was so perfectly sincere and artless that he was obliged to acquit her of any attempt to encourage a match between Miss Blythe and himself. He wondered what the two of them made of this invitation to Drummoor? Miss Quayle, at least, was so quick-minded that she must have deduced the intention at once. Of course, that did not preclude a successful outcome. It was for him to win Miss Blythe’s hand by securing her affections towards him.

  “Now then,” he said, as he deftly dealt the cards, “you have a good grasp of the basics of piquet, Miss Quayle, so we shall come to the interesting part—”

  “Strategy!” she cried, her face alight with enthusiasm.

  “Exactly so. Piquet is superficially a simple game, but there are great subtleties in the manner of play, especially in the discard. Tonight I shall lay out my cards on the table after each deal, and explain to you which cards I plan to discard, and why. You need not show your cards—”

  “But you will have a fair idea of them.”