Lord Humphrey (Sons of the Marquess Book 2)

by Mary Kingswood

  “Oh, I do hope so. Not for driving off in this way, for it is exactly what Harriet used to do, and Gil certainly would if he were here. No, I expect they are horrified to see a mere companion as fashionably dressed as her mistress — and more fashionably dressed than the other ladies today. You outshine them all and that is an unforgivable sin in one so lowly.”

  “Ah, but you see today I am not lowly, nor am I hiding away in a dark corner. I am driving two beautiful steppers in a fine curricle, and it is incumbent upon me to rise to the occasion and do them justice. Today, I am not Miss Quayle, a mere companion. Today I am…” She stopped herself in time.

  “Yes?” he said politely. “And who are you?”

  “Someone else entirely,” she said quickly. She focused her attention on the horses, chiding herself for being so careless. She had almost let her secret slip! It was to be hoped that Lord Humphrey had noticed nothing odd in her manner.

  “That will not do.” To her relief, his tone was light. “You must have a name. Let me see, to drive a bang-up outfit like this, you must be very rich, I should think. Someone of importance.”

  This was getting onto dangerous ground. Did he suspect? He was quick-witted, there was no doubt about it. It was very necessary to divert him in a safer direction. “I am a lady,” she said. “I think… yes, today I am Lady Anne.”

  He chuckled. “Very well, Lady Anne it shall be. But you must have a family name, my lady.”

  “Lady Anne… Dunhiding.”

  That made him laugh so much she feared he might fall out of the curricle altogether. They came into the village, so for a while she concentrated on managing the greys, avoiding unwary walkers crossing the road as well as other vehicles.

  “And your father, my lady?” he said, as soon as they were clear of the village again.

  “He is… the Duke of West Riding,” she said. “His ancestor came over with the Conqueror—”

  “Naturally!”

  “—and slew one thousand, three hundred and forty seven Saxons with his own hand. He was rewarded with his dukedom, and since then his descendants have lived a blameless, if idle, life on the proceeds.”

  Lord Humphrey laughed again. “You have a wonderful imagination, my lady, although I am disappointed at the lack of scandals in your family. All great families have their little secrets. But now I must match you, and not be myself today. Who am I? Let me think… I know! I am Jem, your faithful and devoted retainer. I am the gamekeeper’s son—”

  “Oh no, that is not near romantic enough.” She paused to negotiate at speed past a farmer’s cart, while Lord Humphrey exchanged friendly greetings. “I should like to have brought you as a slave from the West Indies to have as my page boy, only to set you free later from compassion, but you are too pale complexioned for that. I have it — you are the chimney-sweep’s boy, who became stuck in chimneys at… um, Castle Dunhiding at the age of three. I rescued you from your cruel employer and so you became my faithful retainer.”

  “The chimneys at Castle Dunhiding must be exceptionally narrow if a three-year-old can become stuck.”

  “You were very well grown for your age,” she responded solemnly.

  That brought another chuckle. “I see. So I have been in your employ since I was three, and now I am quite indispensable to you. I accompany you everywhere you go, and have frequently been obliged to see off the most persistent and annoying of your many suitors by drawing their corks.”

  “Oh, how splendidly chivalrous!” she cried. “But now I feel it would be better for you to be a gentleman, so that you may challenge these scoundrels to duels. Perhaps you are secretly the son of an earl?”

  “Do you know, I have always thought a duel the most damnably silly business,” Lord Humphrey said. “Meeting at dawn, and trying to kill a man for the most frivolous of reasons, sometimes, and then perhaps having to flee the country afterwards. I had much sooner have a good mill with the fellow on the spot, if it is all the same to you, my lady.”

  That was so much of a piece with the straightforward nature of the man that she must approve it. “Very well, Jem, you shall not be a gentleman after all. But your accent! I must have been an indulgent employer indeed to have paid for you to attend the finest educational establishments.”

  “Nay, milady, ’twere not so. I were only taught me letters the t’village school, like.”

  “That is much better. You must know your place, Jem, and not ape your betters.”

  “No, milady. Won’t ’appen again, milady.”

  And in this delightfully nonsensical way, they beguiled away the miles to Branksford Abbey.

  12: Branksford Abbey

  They were so far ahead of the others that they had time for a lengthy detour over the moors. Even so, when Hortensia turned the greys in through the gate of the abbey grounds and brought them slowly to a halt, they were still the first to arrive. The servants’ wagons stood nearby, with the horses tethered in the shade. Near the abbey, the pavilion was but half erected, as footmen wrestled with the canvas, and housemaids scurried about with rugs and chairs.

  Branksford Abbey was a fine ruin, the walls mostly intact and only the roof missing. It was situated beside a lake and surrounded by meadows sheltered by banks of woodland, and in every particular was ideal for a party of pleasure-bound people to spend a summer’s day. It was a lovely, tranquil spot, but all Hortensia could feel at that moment was sorrow that her drive was over, for no doubt Lord Humphrey would want to drive home. She sat, reins in hand, gazing unseeingly at the beauty before her, before turning to Lord Humphrey.

  “Thank you!” she said in heartfelt tones.

  “Thank you!” he said, at the same moment, so that they both laughed.

  “Why are you thanking me?” she said, still smiling. “It is I who must thank you for the pleasure of driving your magnificent horses. No matter what the rest of the day brings, I shall always account it one of the most memorable of my life.”

  “I thank you for the enjoyment of watching such an expert with the whip. If you were a man, I should not hesitate to put you up for the Four-Horse Club. You do drive four-in-hand, I take it? I am sure you do.”

  His confidence in her skill made her blush. “I do, yes. You pay me such splendid compliments, Lord Humphrey. Most gentlemen content themselves with a comment about a lady’s looks or gown or skill upon the pianoforte, but I greatly prefer your flattery.”

  “It is hardly flattery when it is the absolute truth.” His eyes shone so warmly as he spoke, that she blushed again. Why did this man have such an effect on her? She, who never blushed and inwardly despised any man who addressed such flummery to her — yet her heart somersaulted when he talked in that low, intimate tone. Love… love rendered the most sensible person foolish. It certainly made her foolish. But she must not be beguiled by him, for it meant nothing. Even if he loved her, he would never offer for her if he believed her penniless. But if he knew the truth, her heart whispered… what then?

  To distract herself from such nonsensical thoughts, she said, “Look, the others are arriving now. Although… why are they coming from that direction?”

  Across on the far side of the abbey meadow, a slow procession of carriages wended its way through a different gate and drove slowly to a shaded position near the trees. Once she looked closely, Hortensia could see that these were not the Marford carriages at all, for none of them bore a coat of arms on the side.

  “Another pleasure party,” Lord Humphrey said. “What fun! Let us drive round to introduce ourselves.”

  There was a rough track around the perimeter of the meadow, so Hortensia set the greys in motion again and they made their way to where the other carriages had stopped. Several of the occupants had descended and were engaged in an agitated discussion. As they drew near, a man of middle years stepped forward with a deep bow. He was respectably dressed, although not in the first style of fashion, his clothes rather plain.

  “Your pardon, sir! We had no notion to disrupt your gath
ering. We intended an informal picnic only, and would not for the world encroach. We will withdraw at once.”

  “Nonsense, my good sir!” Lord Humphrey said, leaping down from the curricle. “The abbey is for anyone to enjoy. Pray do not leave, for there is room for all of us, would you not agree?”

  “You are most obliging, sir. Most obliging.” He bowed again. “If you are quite certain that our presence will not spoil your party’s pleasure in the occasion, we will be very happy to stay. You may be sure that we will keep well away from you.”

  Lord Humphrey smiled and Hortensia was struck again by his charm. Some of the nobility were very high in the instep and would have chased away any intruders, but he was all affability. “You are most generous. My brother the Marquess of Carrbridge will be here shortly. Who may I say is enjoying the abbey with us today?”

  The man’s eyes widened at the mention of the marquess, but he answered readily enough. “I am Mr Percival Stoner, presently of York.”

  Before Lord Humphrey could speak, a small figure pelted towards him, pelisse and bonnet ribbons flying. “Humphrey? Humphrey! It is you, I swear!”

  “Beatrice? Good heavens, what are you doing here?”

  She chortled with laughter. “Why, the same as you, I daresay, enjoying an outing! We are all staying in York while the new house is got ready, for my father-in-law is finally building his house, and it will be quite splendid, I do assure you! Not like Drummoor, of course, but terribly modern and every possible convenience. Hot water on every floor, and lifting devices so that the housemaids will never have to carry coal upstairs. Well, how funny, to meet you here.”

  After that, half of Mr Stoner’s party came over to greet Lord Humphrey or to be introduced, and Hortensia was introduced too, and there was no more talk of encroaching or leaving or keeping away from each other. By the time they returned to the other side of the meadow, the marquess had arrived, and carriages were streaming through the gate.

  “Who is she?” Hortensia said, as she brought the curricle to a halt.

  “Beatrice Mallory is a former neighbour,” Lord Humphrey said, jumping down. “Used to live in Lake Cottage, the house Merton now has. She and her sister both married into the Stoner family. You can leave Tom to deal with the horses. Come on down.”

  He held up his arms, and with only the tiniest hesitation she allowed him to put his hands about her waist and effortlessly lift her down. He was so strong! Even through her pelisse, she could feel the solidity and warmth of his hands, and that brought blushes to her cheeks again. He did not notice her discomposure, rushing off to talk to the marquess and leaving her standing, alone and rather forlorn, beside the curricle.

  She was not alone for long. Rosemary came to her with a distraught expression on her face. “Dearest, this cannot go on! I know how reluctant you are to speak out, but I fear it must be done. Lord Kilbraith…” She paused, blushing, then gave a little laugh. “He is so attentive, and he wishes me — us — to go to Scotland when he returns there. He wants to introduce me to his father.”

  “Oh, that is serious!” Hortensia said.

  “But he must be told! And I do not know how I can contrive it. I cannot find a moment to be private with him. Might you tell him?”

  “It would be just as awkward for me to be private with him, dearest.”

  “Then what is to be done? You always know what must be done, dearest Hortensia. Help me, please!”

  “Do not be anxious, dear. I shall tell Lord Humphrey, and he shall tell Lord Kilbraith. And then… and then…”

  They were both silent. What would happen then? Their futures would be in the hands of the two men they loved.

  ~~~~~

  Although there was some muttering from the aunts, the marquess and marchioness were delighted to see old friends, and within half an hour, the two groups were mingling as readily as if they had set out together. They settled themselves in and around the pavilion, the older ones on chairs, the younger on rugs, while footmen walked around with trays of iced lemonade and ratafia and strawberries. The ranks of the footmen had been swelled by gardeners and grooms, and Humphrey spotted Charlie, rather splendid in his livery, walking round with a tray. The eating and drinking induced a festival atmosphere, the chatter rose to a noisy crescendo, and all was smiling felicity.

  Humphrey, however, was not smiling and felt no felicity. It was the worst mischance that threw these two groups together. Of all the people in the world to encounter, why did it have to be Beatrice Mallory? Or Mrs Andrew Stoner, as she now was, and there lay the problem. For her father-in-law Mr Stoner was a nabob who had made his fortune in India, and who might just know something of an heiress by the name of Miss Hortensia Blythe. Humphrey rather thought he must do, for the marquess had applied to Mrs Mallory and Mr Stoner for information, and Julius Whittleton had transferred his attentions to Miss Quayle shortly afterwards.

  The two women might now be on the very brink of disaster. If their subterfuge were to be uncovered in this way, it would be of all things the most damaging to their reputations. How much better would it be for them to confess the deceit at once than to have it discovered through another person. And yet, what could Humphrey do? He could hardly force a confession from Miss Quayle or Miss Blythe.

  A small voice deep inside Humphrey pointed out that if once Miss Quayle was uncovered as a great heiress, there would be no barrier between them. He could court her openly, exactly as he wished. Not immediately, perhaps, for he would look like the worst kind of fortune hunter if he were to transfer his attentions so readily, but in the future.

  As soon as everyone was settled, a process which took an unconscionable amount of time, owing to the nuances of rank that the aunts, at least, considered important, Humphrey looked about him for Miss Quayle. He saw her standing a little apart, but with Julius Whittleton by her side. She looked downcast, and Humphrey could not blame her, for Julius must be the most tedious and persistent man in Christendom. There was no getting rid of him, except by brute force. Well, that was something Humphrey excelled at.

  “Miss Quayle!” he cried, striding across to her. “Is this tiresome cub becoming a nuisance? Shall I get rid of him for you?”

  She looked up at once, and with such a speaking expression of relief as warmed Humphrey inside.

  “I say, Humphrey, doing it rather too brown!” Julius said. “Miss Quayle and I are having a very comfortable coze, and there is no need for you to get so high and mighty.”

  “Off you go and leave Miss Quayle in peace,” Humphrey said amiably. Julius was above average height but Humphrey towered over him, and with his broad shoulders and chest that owed nothing to buckram padding, he knew himself to be an intimidating presence.

  Julius, however, was strutting before a lady and therefore not likely to back down. “Really, Humphrey! Do not make such a cake of yourself. If you think—”

  Humphrey positioned himself an inch away from Julius, looming over him to such an extent that the poor man was forced to lean away. “Go,” Humphrey said, in his quietest tones, and even Julius recognised the finality in his voice. He turned and strode away, red-faced.

  Miss Quayle laughed. “Thank you for coming to my rescue! Mr Whittleton’s compliments become… a little wearing after a while. My lord… may I talk to you?” Was that guilt on her face? Some emotion that was not very comfortable, at any event.

  Humphrey silently offered her his arm, and they walked away from the chattering groups in the pavilion and towards the lake. He said nothing, waiting for her to collect her thoughts and for the noise to recede into the distance so that they could be more private. But when they had walked half way around the lake and were beginning to draw near to the abbey itself, he said, “Miss Quayle, you may speak freely to me. Whatever is troubling you, be assured that I will treat it with the utmost confidence, as your friend. I hope I may consider myself as a friend to you, despite the shortness of our acquaintance?”

  “Oh yes!” she said, looking up at him eagerl
y. “You have been so kind to me, and you cannot imagine how grateful I am. But it is so difficult… I do not know quite how to begin.”

  Since he had a fair idea at this point what it was that she wished to say to him, he was not discomposed by this ominous beginning. “There is a fallen tree just on the edge of the woods above us, where we may sit and be comfortable, without fear of interruption,” he said. “Then you may take your time to tell me whatever you wish.”

  She agreed to it, and he led her there directly. It was indeed a good spot, for they could look down on the whole meadow, and could also be clearly seen, so there was complete privacy without the least impropriety. And there, head lowered and after several halting starts, she finally came to the point he had been expecting.

  “My lord, I am not who you think I am!”

  “So you are not, in fact, Lady Anne Dunhiding?” he said gently.

  She raised her head at that, but could not quite manage a smile. “If only that were all! But it is far worse than that. I am not Miss Quayle. I am Hortensia Blythe, and my friend is Rosemary Quayle. Oh!” Her eyes widened. “You are not surprised — you knew!”

  “I guessed,” he admitted. “You slipped up a few times. Once, when I asked if you had been to England before, you said you had, then immediately changed your mind, yet later you said you had missed the English air. And the desire to buy an estate on the moors is not one normally found in a lowly companion.”

  “Oh, I had forgotten that!” she said, with a rueful smile. “It was so hard to watch every word I said.”

  “And deceit does not come easily to you,” he said, absurdly pleased to realise this about her. “You and Miss… Quayle always called each other ‘my friend’, which sounded odd until I began to suspect the truth, and realised that you were terrified of calling each other by the wrong name.”

  “Yes, that is exactly it! Oh, I am so glad I have told you, and you are saying nothing of condemnation, although you must think it, for I know it is abominable of us to play such a trick on you — on everyone! The marquess and marchioness! I am so ashamed.”