With the day’s visit to Sagborough and the addition of a charming new guest, the dinner-table conversation was as lively as Humphrey could remember. One end of the table was absorbed in the minutiae of lace and boot-buttons and Lady Hawthorn’s peacock walk, while the other exchanged family news and compared the children’s growth and wondered why they met so seldom.
Yet Humphrey was restless. He knew he ought to intensify his courtship of Miss Blythe if he was to have any hope of winning her, yet his head was full of glowing brown eyes and a lady in a green riding habit, a lady who could put Ganymede over the wall without the least hesitation. She had not a penny to her name, and he could not afford to think of her, yet he could not get her out of his mind. And his foolish hesitation meant that he lost the chance to sit beside either of them. Miss Blythe was claimed by two of the Marford cousins, squabbling for the right to lead her into the dining room, and settling the matter by each offering an arm. And Miss Quayle was led in to dinner by Julius Whittleton.
Now that was an odd thing. Everyone knew that Julius was hanging out for a rich wife, and he never, ever pursued a lady, even in the mildest of flirtations, unless there was a fortune to be gained. He had been pursuing Miss Blythe assiduously ever since he had met her. Yet tonight he was exerting all his considerable charm towards Miss Quayle.
Humphrey sat morosely halfway down the table, too far away to participate in any of the livelier groups, surrounded by uncles and aunts who had nothing original to say, and were far more interested in their food than in him. He did his polite best to engage them in conversation, but it was hard work.
In between these efforts, he watched the two friends covertly. Miss Blythe was as pretty as a summer garden in pale pinks and blues which set off her delicate complexion to perfection. Her gown was simply styled, as became her age, and was both elegant and fashionable, but she wore no jewels and nothing but a ribbon in her hair. She looked charmingly unsophisticated, as she smiled and chatted readily to her dinner companions, without seeming to be especially interested in either.
Miss Quayle’s dark hair was even more simply styled, with nothing but a silver comb adorning it, and she, too, wore no jewels, but her lilac gown and sheer over-gown bore the sort of understated embroidery that Humphrey knew was hideously expensive. He was not much of a judge of ladies’ attire, but it struck him now that if one were obliged to pick one of the two as the heiress by the quality of her gown alone, then Miss Quayle would certainly be the winner. As he considered this interesting fact, he remembered her remark about buying an estate on the moors, and her confusion over whether she had ever lived in England before. Yet only that day she had said ‘I have so missed this English air’.
Was it possible that they were all mistaken, and Miss Quayle was the heiress, and Miss Blythe the companion? Or had they even taken each other’s names? Yes! For they never called each other by name, and talked always of ‘my friend’, to avoid the possibility of a mistake. And Miss Blythe — the real Miss Blythe — was only just out of mourning for her father, and had a wardrobe full of grey and lilac gowns, easy enough to reuse as a companion’s attire. Two women, newly arrived from India, with no relatives and no acquaintance in society — how simple to switch identities.
But the real question was — why? What was to be gained by the deceit? Even as he solved one part of the puzzle, another rose to take its place.
He was very satisfied with his deduction, but if any corner of doubt had remained in his mind, one other factor would have convinced him, and that was Julius Whittleton’s change of allegiance from Miss Blythe to Miss Quayle. Somehow, he knew about the deception. And then Humphrey remembered that Julius had been helping Merton for some time, and had occasionally been left to open and sort the marquess’s mail. Carrbridge had written to someone with connections to India to enquire about Miss Blythe, and it was entirely possible that Julius had read the reply.
Now Humphrey was in a dilemma. He could no longer pursue the lady who called herself Miss Blythe, knowing she had no fortune. Yet equally, it would look very odd in him to abandon his attentions to her altogether. That was not the behaviour of a gentleman. Nor could he act as Julius had, and suddenly pay court to the lady who really had the two hundred thousand pounds. Only an unmitigated fortune hunter would act so.
And yet… the lady with the fortune was also, seemingly, the one who rode as bravely as any man, who learnt a new game in the time it took to explain the rules, who could match him in intellect, in spirit and in physical prowess. His dark-eyed lady who drew his gaze over and over again. Usually when he glanced her way, she was turned away from him, listening politely to one of Julius’s monologues. But once, she was looking straight at him, and she lifted her knife and fork and made a little gesture with them, suggestive of Mr Punch being hit over the head. Then she smiled, such an intimate, secretive little smile that his heart turned over.
What was happening to him? He knew so little about her, and yet he was more than halfway to being utterly, irrevocably in love with her.
10: Mutual Attraction
When the ladies withdrew and the gentlemen rearranged themselves at one end of the table, Humphrey found himself sitting next to Lord Kilbraith. As soon as the port had passed round, Kilbraith turned to Humphrey and said, “Who is the pretty little thing in the blue and pink? The one with all the blonde curls directly opposite you.”
“That would be Miss Hortensia Blythe,” Humphrey said, wondering even as he spoke if that was true. “Recently arrived from India.”
“Fabulously wealthy,” Uncle Joshua put in. “Two hundred thousand, by all accounts, and in her own control, with no restrictions. I imagine she will not be husbandless for long.” He laughed, a deep, fruity rumble. “Humphrey has his eye on her already. A good match for him, if he can get her, although you could cut him out, I make no doubt, Kilbraith, if you set your mind to it. The chit would like to be the Countess of Strathmorran one day, I daresay. Shall we have a small wager on which of you will win her?”
“I beg you will not,” Humphrey said sharply. “It is too bad when a lady is the object of gossip and speculation just because she has a fortune at her command.”
“Too bad it may be,” said Uncle Joshua, “but it is the way of the world, Humphrey, m’boy. Pretty girl, money by the bucketful — bound to set folk wondering. Bound to be surrounded by hopeful young men. Only natural. But you had better get a move on, or Kilbraith will snaffle her from under your nose.” He chuckled again, and it was fortunate for Humphrey’s temper that his uncle was called to intervene in a debate further down the table.
Kilbraith talked for a while on indifferent topics, but later, when the port had circulated more freely and the table was becoming noisy, he said in a low voice to Humphrey, “Tell me truly, Marford, what is your situation with Miss Blythe? For I would not for the world encroach if there is any existing attachment or understanding. But if there is not—”
Humphrey caught his breath. How easy it would be! An agreement between gentlemen. A smile, a nod, a conscious look — and Kilbraith need not trouble him. His own pursuit of Miss Blythe could continue unimpeded, for even Julius had withdrawn, seemingly.
But abruptly everything had changed. If the lady he pursued was not, in fact, Miss Blythe or an heiress, then he could not afford to marry her and his pursuit was very dangerous. What if he offered for her and found himself trapped in a loveless marriage to a penniless woman? Was he right in his supposition? If so, he stood on the brink of disaster if he continued to court the supposed Miss Blythe. If he was wrong — well, there would be other heiresses, no doubt. Or other ways to raise the ready. He was a gambler, and loved a risk, but only when he could afford to lose and here he knew he could not.
So he answered honestly. “There is no such attachment or understanding. I have only known the lady for a little over a month, after all.”
“Yet your uncle is in expectation of a match.”
Humphrey shrugged. “It is an obvious supp
osition. A younger son with no prospects, and a wealthy heiress — what could be more natural? And my sister-in-law is a great matchmaker and has been promoting the pairing, and I have dutifully taken an interest in the lady.” Dutifully? Even as he spoke the word, he understood the significance of it. Yes, his courtship of Miss Blythe was more duty than desire. “It would be a most convenient thing, were we to make a match of it. But I tell you this — if I had seen any sign of attachment on the lady’s side, I should have been ordering my wedding coat by now. As it is, she is as pleasantly affable to me as to anyone else. So if you have an admiration for her, the way is clear.”
Kilbraith leaned back in his chair with a smile of satisfaction on his face. Not long after that, he left the gentlemen to rejoin the ladies.
Humphrey sat on, wondering at himself. He had personally selected Miss Blythe, and she had been invited to Drummoor precisely so that he might attempt to win her hand. Ever since her arrival, he had been showing her some not inconsiderable attention, by his own standards, for he was not accustomed to paying court to ladies. On the contrary, he had been very sure never to behave in any way which might give rise to expectations in a young lady’s breast. Many had tried to attach him over the years, but all had failed.
Now that he had finally come round to the idea of marriage, he had expended more time and effort on Miss Blythe than in ten years of mingling with the ton. It was not his way to be ostentatious in his pursuit, or so he hoped, but to those who knew him, his intentions must have been obvious. And yet, he had as good as handed her over to Kilbraith.
He ought, by rights, to feel — what, precisely? Jealousy? Anger? Sadness? But when he examined his own heart with a dispassionate eye, he realised that it would be a relief if Kilbraith were to whisk Miss Blythe away to Scotland. He liked the lady well enough, but for him it would be a marriage of convenience only. He had no desire to marry her solely for her fortune, to selfishly use her inheritance to fund his gaming house. His heart whispered that perhaps he had another reason to wish Kilbraith well in his endeavours, a reason with dark eyes that turned his insides to jelly. It was a conundrum, and hovered over him like a black cloud of uncertainty. What was he to do?
When Humphrey returned to the drawing room, he found Miss Blythe singing again, and Kilbraith watching her, transfixed. She seemed to have noticed him, too, for from time to time she cast little glances his way, then blushed before turning quickly back to her music sheet.
Before Humphrey had taken three steps into the room, Connie had grabbed his elbow and steered him straight back out again.
“What are you about?” she hissed, all concern. “If you do not take care, Cousin Max will have her and all our efforts will have been in vain.”
“He will inherit an earldom,” Humphrey said with a shrug. “It would be a good match for her, if she takes to him. And why should she not? He is a handsome fellow, and most amiable.”
“And so are you, silly boy.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you dislike her? Is that it? Are you losing interest in her? You spend almost as much time with Miss Quayle as with Miss Blythe, which is very good-natured of you, for she is such a quiet little thing, never putting herself forward, but you must not lose sight of where your best interests lie.”
“Ah, you must not quiz me, Connie,” he said. “I hardly know what I feel just now, and a month is not enough time to settle my confused mind. I fear I cannot oblige you by falling in love with a lady just because she is rich.”
“Of course not, dear, and no one wishes you to marry without love. Reggie was delightfully compliant in that respect, but I am not so heartless as to push you if you have quite given up the idea of Miss Blythe.”
Humphrey sighed. “That is just the trouble, I have not the least idea what I want, or what she wants either.”
“Then, perhaps for my sake, you will be your charming self with her for a little longer so that she may compare you and Max directly? I do not want any gentlemanly nonsense about standing aside and not getting in each other’s way. I nearly married Reggie because Lord Carrbridge had agreed not to compete with him, do you remember? It was you who insisted that I should be given the choice, and how glad I was of it! Imagine if I had married the wrong brother, and all because I did not know that my dear Francis still loved me. A lady should be allowed to make up her own mind, Humphrey.”
He laughed, remembering the occasion well. “You are quite right, and if it should happen that Miss Blythe forms an unshakable attachment to me, then you may be sure that I will marry her. But Connie, promise me you will not be disappointed if she should prefer Kilbraith?”
“I shall do no such thing, for naturally it will be the gravest disappointment if my skills as a matchmaker are found to be so deplorably lacking. Although, since they were introduced under my roof, I may still take the credit for it, may I not? For your sake, I hope you win her, but for mine, Miss Blythe may marry whomever she wishes, with my goodwill.”
And so, when the tables were brought out for cards, Humphrey allowed himself to be partnered at whist with Miss Blythe, against Kilbraith and Miss Quayle. In the space of two minutes, he perceived that if Miss Blythe were to form an unshakable attachment, it should not be towards himself. She talked and played very composedly, but every time Kilbraith addressed her, a blush suffused her cheeks. Once, his hand accidentally brushed against hers, and she instantly went scarlet, and it took ten minutes of the gentlemen determinedly talking about nothing in particular before she had regained her usual colour.
Miss Quayle, meanwhile, was intent upon the game at first, and spoke of nothing outside of it, but when her friend blushed so vividly, she seemed to become aware of Lord Kilbraith for the first time. She fell silent, watching him and Miss Blythe with a serious, almost concerned, expression.
After the supper break, Kilbraith eagerly proposed a resumption of their four, although with the small alteration that he would partner Miss Blythe. Humphrey understood why, for it enabled him to gaze at her directly across the table. She would be constantly in his view, without the least need to turn his head, and it gave him the opportunity to talk to her more frequently. The change meant that Humphrey partnered Miss Quayle, and their combined skills were so great and their opponents so distracted that they took every game and almost every trick.
When the final points were added up, Kilbraith was astonished at the depth of their loss. “I usually acquit myself a little better than that,” he said, frowning. “But then to lose to Lord Humphrey Marford is no great blow to my pride. It would be astonishing had you not had the victory.”
Humphrey bowed at the compliment, but added, “I believe my partner may claim just as much credit for our success.”
“Of course. My compliments on your fine play, Miss… erm, Quayle.”
She acknowledged the compliment, but he was already turning away to speak to Miss Blythe. With a conspiratorial grin, Miss Quayle whispered to Humphrey, “Just think how we might have thrashed them if we had not been throwing away trumps almost from the start. Why, you cast away the ace, once.”
Humphrey laughed. “Even such outrageous moves could not bring them a respectable score when they were so… preoccupied, shall we say. I have never seen such a violent case of love at first sight.”
The smile on her face dropped, and she gazed after the pair with anxious eyes. “Indeed. It is not like… my friend to be so smitten on five minutes’ acquaintance.”
“Whereas he has a history of such sudden starts,” Humphrey said. “Did you know that he was once briefly betrothed to Mary, Lady Hardy, after just such an instant attraction?”
She turned her gaze full on him. “No! What happened? Why did they not marry?”
“Oh… family reasons,” he said vaguely.
“Was it to do with money?” she said, and there was an intentness in her look that he believed he understood. If Miss Blythe were not the heiress, yet Kilbraith believed that she was…
“No, money was not the problem,” Humphrey sa
id quickly. “Kilbraith fought in the Peninsula and has made enough there to give him an independent income, as well as being heir to a wealthy earldom. Miss Blythe’s fortune will not weigh with him. There was some family history that made the match with Lady Hardy ineligible, that was all.”
“Ah.” She seemed relieved, and if he had not already worked out the secret, her manner now would have given all away. Naturally, she did not want her impoverished friend to fall for Lord Kilbraith if he was looking out for a rich wife. But Humphrey had misgivings, all the same. Kilbraith may not care one jot whether Miss Blythe be rich or poor, but he might care very much to find himself deceived in the matter.
~~~~~
“Hortensia, this cannot go on! Ow!”
“I beg your pardon.” Hortensia laid down the hairbrush and gazed at her friend in the mirror. “This is a tangle, is it not, dearest?”
“My hair or… us?” Rosemary said.
For a moment, Hortensia stared at her, then both of them burst out laughing. “Oh, what a mess!” Hortensia said, shaking her dark curls. “And I am not talking about your hair. It seemed like such a good idea to switch places. You would get your chance to shine, as you deserve, and would find yourself an adoring husband, and I… I could hide away for a time, and get used to being alone in the world without suitors flitting round me all the while like a cloud of gnats. But we never quite worked out how we would switch back again, and oh, how awkward it is, when everyone thinks you are the rich heiress and I am just your companion. How can we possibly tell people?”
“And everyone has been so agreeable to us,” Rosemary said, heaving a sigh. “Lord and Lady Carrbridge have been everything that is kind and generous, and now I feel like a worm for deceiving them. And… and, dearest…” She blushed, looking down and pleating the skirt of her gown with her fingers. “Now there is him!” she burst out.
“There is indeed him,” Hortensia said dryly. “If we could but have got through our month here, we might have slunk away to Bath or… or somewhere else we are not known. Then perhaps we could begin again, a little more circumspectly. But Lord Kilbraith is a problem, there is no doubt about it.”
Lord Humphrey (Sons of the Marquess Book 2) Page 9
