Lord Humphrey (Sons of the Marquess Book 2)

by Mary Kingswood

  But when Connie had burst onto the family, she had insisted on raising the Melthwaites’ status to that of cherished family, and so she and Lord Carrbridge visited often and issued regular invitations to dine at Drummoor, although thankfully they never came. The worst of it was that she insisted on the rest of the Marfords calling too, and so once or twice each summer Humphrey found himself press-ganged into a visit.

  He made his way to the tapestry room, where he might reasonably hope for some seclusion to think about Hortensia and consider his predicament. Instead, he found his brother Reggie there, rifling through newspapers and journals.

  “You have not seen last week’s Sagborough Chronicle, have you? There was an advertisement— Good Lord, Humphrey, you look as miserable as a month of wet Sundays. Whatever is the matter?”

  Humphrey sagged into a chair, and the whole story tumbled out, the words pouring out of him like water from a tap. “Tell me there is a way out of this, Reggie, for God’s sake, for I have not the least idea what I should do.”

  “Have you not?” Reggie said gently.

  “Can it really be as bad as all that? Surely the family’s honour can survive the addition of one daughter of a nabob?”

  “Oh, if that were all! Such things happen all the time, and so long as the daughter is also a lady and knows how to behave in society, with not the least whiff of trade about her, she will be tolerated, at least. But she must be beyond reproach, Humphrey, and this business of changing places… it makes us look foolish, and you know how Carrbridge stands on his dignity. He does not like to be made a fool of, and now we have Sharp doing whatever he wants, and these by-blows of Father’s turning up… no, I can see why he would not like it.”

  “But the ton will not care about such a trivial matter, surely?”

  Reggie shook his head. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But you must see how it would look. One lady comes here as an heiress and secures Lord Kilbraith. Immediately the other lady reveals herself as the true heiress and secures you. They would look like the worst kind of society climbers, scrambling their way to the upper branches of the nobility by deception, and you would look like the world’s most gullible fool. The whole family would be tainted by association. You know how these things work, Humphrey.”

  “Then what am I to do?” Humphrey whispered.

  “You know the answer to that,” Reggie said calmly. “You are a gentleman, Humphrey, you know what you must do. Stand aside and let her go to Scotland for a while until the fuss has died down. Then in the spring—”

  Humphrey made a convulsive groan of dismay.

  “—in the spring,” Reggie went on relentlessly, “she will come to London, and the ton will see how charming and amiable she is, and not at all a grasping hussy, and you may make your approach then.”

  The prospect was unbearable. “Perhaps if I were to explain all this to her?” he said hopefully. “So that she understands that I will speak in the spring? Do you think?”

  Reggie sighed. “You cannot possibly declare yourself now, and yet not offer for her formally. That is not the behaviour of a gentleman, Humphrey. Or do you plan to enter into a secret engagement with her? More deception?” His voice softened as he went on, “Sometimes one has to wait for happiness, brother.”

  “As you did,” Humphrey said, remembering. “You left town to spare Miss Chamberlain from gossip.”

  “A lady’s reputation is so vulnerable,” Reggie said softly. “We must do everything within our power to protect the ladies we love.”

  “Truly spoken,” Humphrey said sorrowfully. “And I have given my word to Carrbridge, so I am bound by that, and cannot speak, no matter how much it pains me.”

  “But there is always satisfaction in behaving as one ought,” Reggie said. “Come, can you not take pleasure in that?”

  Humphrey managed a small smile. “No, for I am bidden by Connie to visit the Melthwaites, and therefore to Tambray Hall I must go. There is no pleasure to be had in that.”

  Reggie laughed. “If you can postpone the Melthwaites until another day, then Merton is looking for one of us to accompany him to Silsby Vale House. He wishes to visit this Mrs Cecil Andrews to find out more about the house, and requires support from one of the family. That would be a more congenial outing for you, would it not?”

  Humphrey perked up at once. The air would be so clear after the overnight rain, and a ride over the moors would be just the thing. He jumped up at once and went to find Merton. At least he could put his aching heart to one side for a while.

  16: Mrs Cecil Andrews

  The stable court was rain-washed to sparkling cleanliness, the air was clear and Humphrey’s spirits rose immeasurably as his horse clip-clopped briskly out into the park. He had looked wistfully at Ganymede, who whickered hopefully at him, but instead took one of Gus’s long-limbed beauties. Ganymede must wait for Miss Quayle’s attention. Merton rode one of the estate’s general hacks, often ridden by the grooms, but still a decent ride, and as soon as they were clear of the pleasure grounds, they both unleashed their mounts. Humphrey reached the woods first, but Merton was not far behind, his grin matching Humphrey’s own.

  “I should do this more often,” Merton said, laughing. “Which I say every time, of course.”

  “Why do you not? You could ride whenever you want.”

  “I do not like to take advantage of Lord Carrbridge’s generosity,” Merton said, as they entered the woods, walking the horses to rest them. “When there is good cause for me to go visiting, then I jump at the chance. It will not be long before my own stable is established, and then I shall ride every day, I assure you.”

  Humphrey looked at him curiously. “There is no need to be so determinedly independent, Merton. We have any number of horses sitting in the stable eating their heads off which you might ride whenever you wish.”

  “Which is an unnecessary expense, as I point out often to his lordship. There are three times as many horses here as are needed, not to mention the grooms. I have no wish at all to add to the burden.”

  “Are we still in the suds, Merton? I had hoped our finances were on a sounder footing now.”

  “The process is very slow, my lord. It is a matter of looking at every holding or expense or investment individually, and determining how best the income may be improved or the expenditure reduced, and then there is the need to wait for leases to terminate and contracts to expire. Certainly his lordship’s financial position is healthier than it was, and by next Lady’s Day, it will be much improved, and I shall be in a position to eliminate many of the debts altogether.”

  “And will reducing the stables help a great deal? I suppose it must, for some of those horses are never put to the least use, yet they still eat just as much. Are oats expensive, Merton?”

  He smiled. “It is not just the cost of oats, my lord. There is the farrier to be paid, and stabling in town, and the duty, too. Not to mention the duty on the many carriages, and the grooms — the cost of manservants is very high. And there are so many footmen, too.”

  “You would not have us let all the footmen go, Merton? In a house the size of Drummoor—”

  “No, no! Footmen reflect the marquess’s station. But I should like to reduce the size of the stables, and perhaps dispose of some of the carriages that no longer see any use. That should save two or three hundred pounds a year.”

  “That is rather a small amount,” Humphrey said.

  “But that small amount may be combined with a number of other small amounts saved elsewhere to add up to rather large amounts. There is always waste in a large household, and for those prepared to examine every expense, no matter how small, there are great economies to be made which do not inconvenience anyone. Indeed they may not even be noticed. For instance, have you observed any diminution in the quality or quantity of wine consumed?”

  “Not at all. If anything, I would say the quality is somewhat improved.”

  “That is because the amount of wine purchased has remained unchange
d for some thirty years, a time when, I must suppose, the marquess of that time entertained rather lavishly. The wine cellars, large as they may be, are quite full. I have reduced the wine bill by three quarters, and yet the wine served is somewhat better quality because it is drawn from mature stocks.”

  “That is very ingenious,” Humphrey said. “And this is what you were accustomed to do for Sir Osborne Hardy when you worked for him?”

  “Indeed, and over many years my modest amendments had the happy effect of doubling his income, while also reducing his expenditure by half.”

  “You are a clever man, Merton. I am very sorry indeed that Sir Osborne is dead, but it has been a fortunate circumstance for us, in sending you to straighten us out. But tell me, what would your advice be in my own case? How should I proceed if I wish to obtain the one hundred thousand pounds to establish my gaming house?”

  “My advice would be look for a number of investors each willing to contribute a small amount to the venture, and then to marry Miss Blythe. The real Miss Blythe, that is.”

  “Ah… you know about that? Naturally you do. You are quick-witted and observant, so you worked it out.”

  “Thanks to Mr Julius Whittleton, and a letter I wrote on behalf of the marquess, a reply to which was, most surprisingly, not received. You understand me, I take it? My suspicions were confirmed by talking to Mr Percival Stoner at Branksford Abbey. He was very helpful, and agreed to say nothing at all about the matter.”

  “So that was your doing! It seemed likely that the whole deception would be unmasked in the most embarrassing way possible, so it was a great relief when my fears in that direction came to nothing. It will all be public soon enough and then… but you suggest an array of investors, so why then would I need to marry Miss Blythe?”

  “Why, for your own happiness, my lord. And hers, of course.”

  Humphrey pulled his horse up sharply, causing the creature to toss his elegant head in protest. “You can say that with surety? That her happiness is at stake?”

  “With surety? No man may be sure of a lady’s heart until he puts it to the test. But it is my opinion, and also that of Lady Hardy, that Miss Blythe holds you in the greatest affection.”

  “And yet how can I speak?” Humphrey cried in frustration. “To court one lady openly, and then transfer my attentions the instant it is revealed that she has no fortune — it would be despicable, and would put me on a level footing with Julius, which I do not want. It would be of all things improper, and insulting to both ladies. Do you not agree that it would be improper?”

  “My lord, I cannot advise you on such a subject. Sir Osborne was wont to say that if one doubts the propriety of an action, one had much better not do it, and especially where a lady is concerned. He was always most solicitous of Lady Hardy, and guarded her good name jealously. But he was a second generation baronet, which is not to be compared with the son of a marquess of long lineage. Much is forgiven those of high rank.”

  Much might be forgiven him, as the son of a marquess, but how much would be forgiven Hortensia, a woman of no particular family, her fortune arising from trade? She could not afford to put a foot wrong. And then, when her deception was uncovered… If he were to marry Hortensia, he wanted her to be accepted into good society, just as he was, and not snubbed or sneered at or disdained as a vulgar mushroom. He was not convinced that even the Marford name was sufficient to overcome such a history. Even Carrbridge disdained her. What was he to do? His mind was no nearer to a resolution. His heart drew him strongly in one direction, but his head disagreed.

  Humphrey fell silent, and they rode on without further conversation.

  ~~~~~

  Silsby Vale House dozed in the noon sunshine, with no sign of gardeners or grooms. But when they rode round to the stables, the same groom appeared that Humphrey had seen before.

  “We meet again, Robert! But tell me, is it safe to leave my horse with you? For the last time I did so, the walk home was most unpleasant.”

  The man looked shamefaced. “Beg pardon, milord, but I didn’t know. I were just following orders.”

  “Very well, then. Take good care of this fellow, for he belongs to Lord Augustus Marford, and he will rip your guts out and feed them to the crows if any harm befalls a horse of his.”

  The man blanched. “I’ll look after him, milord, I swear it.”

  “Good. I am glad we understand each other. Is your mistress at home?”

  “Aye, milord. She never goes out.”

  “What, not even to church?”

  “Parson won’t have her.”

  “A fine example of Christian charity,” Humphrey muttered, as he dismounted.

  The housekeeper admitted them without demur, albeit with a sour expression on her face. They were shown into the same sitting room as before, where Mrs Andrews received them warily. Refreshments were sent for, although Humphrey had no wish for any, and while they waited for the tray to arrive, and then for the lady to pour tea and cut slices of cake, nothing was said that did not relate to the weather, the ease of their journey there and the likelihood of a good harvest. After a while, it fell upon Humphrey to maintain this conversation, for Merton was busy eating cherry cake, and the lady, having exhausted her repertoire of small talk, said little beyond “Oh indeed, my lord” and “Certainly, my lord” and “Is that so, my lord?”.

  Having finished his cake, and no more being forthcoming, Merton at last commenced to explain the reason for the visit. Mrs Andrews looked from one to the other, and then said, faintly, “I can tell you nothing.”

  “You may speak freely, Mrs Andrews,” Merton said. “I am Lord Carrbridge’s secretary and have his full confidence, and Lord Humphrey is his lordship’s brother. We stand here in place of his lordship, so we have the authority to ask these questions.”

  “Oh, I do not doubt it,” she said. “But I do not have the authority to answer them.”

  “Because of Sharp?” Humphrey said impatiently. “You need not regard him.”

  She paled, her hand fluttering tremulously at her throat. “Mr Sharp is master here, my lord. I must regard him.”

  “By what right does he rule here?” Humphrey said. “He does not own this house, nor is he your husband. Is he related to you, madam?”

  She shook her head, but answered firmly, “He is master here.”

  Humphrey set his tea cup down carefully on a side table and leaned back in his chair, scrutinising her. She lowered her head under his gaze. “You are afraid of him. He has some hold over you, perhaps?”

  “Financial?” Merton hazarded. “Do you owe him money?”

  She licked her lips, her fingers smoothing her gown over and over, although it bore no creases. “I can tell you nothing.”

  Merton frowned, and began in severe tones, “Then we must—” but Humphrey waved him to silence.

  “Mrs Andrews,” he said gently, “whatever your history with Sharp, you are dealing now with the Marquess of Carrbridge, who owns this house. Sharp is the marquess’s land agent, an employee, and acts only under his authority, so he cannot compel you to do or not do anything.”

  “That’s what you think!” she said, with a grimace.

  “No, it is what the law thinks, and it is also what the marquess thinks, and you may be very sure, madam, that the marquess and the law together are far, far more powerful than Sharp. You need not fear him.” Still she hesitated, so he went on, “But no one can help you unless you speak of your dealings with my father and with Sharp.”

  She looked down at her fingers still smoothing imaginary creases in her skirt, but when she looked up again, Humphrey saw resolve in her face. “Very well. I will trust you, my lord, and in truth, it would be a relief to tell someone all that has happened to me. Mr Merton, would you be so good as to look in that cupboard over there… no, the one to the right. Yes, that one. You will find a bottle of brandy and some glasses. Please pour me some brandy. A little more, if you please. And do take some yourselves. No? As you please.�
�� She sipped and almost purred with satisfaction.

  “Let me begin at the very beginning,” she said, settling back in her chair, the brandy glass in her hand. “We moved here, Cecil and I, not long after we were married, when his father died. At first, we lived modestly enough. Being neighbours to Drummoor, we were invited there occasionally — a dinner, or a ball, or one of the famous summer garden parties of those days. But then Cecil inherited a little money from an uncle, and nothing would do but he must go to London for the season and move in the same circles as the Marfords. And of course, he was drawn into the gambling. He loved it, and nothing I said would dissuade him. Needless to say, for the man was a fool, he was soon in too deep, losing money everywhere. But would he quit? Of course not! And eventually, as I had told him would happen, he lost everything he had — the money, the house, everything — to your father. Charles Marford.”

  She took a long draught of brandy, and sighed, although whether on account of the sadness of the tale or satisfaction at drinking brandy in the middle of the day was more than Humphrey could tell.

  “Charles was very kind,” she went on. “Such a charming man, and so handsome. You look so like him, my lord — goodness, it quite takes me back! He allowed us to stay on here without paying rent, which was generous of him. But Cecil resented it so. Almost I think he would have preferred it if we had been thrown out on our ears and left to rot in a ditch. Three months later, he took a gun out rabbiting, and never came home. He was found with half his head blown off in the western spinney. An accident, the coroner said. Self-inflicted, the parson and half the county said.” Again the brandy glass was raised and she took a long swallow.

  “It was a relief, to be truthful, for poor Cecil was not the man he had been, not a man I could respect. Charles was very understanding. I could stay on under the same terms, he said. I think he felt some guilt, for he often brought a haunch of venison or beef when he came over. He had an interest in one of the housemaids at the time, so he was here a great deal. He would have his dinner with me, and stay the night, and I suppose the housemaid crept into his room. There was a child—”