Lost in their own thoughts, they reached Silsby Vale House and turned in through the gates.
She stopped, looking up at the mellow walls of the house. “I shall give you this place, then,” she said. “This will be my wedding gift to you, and with all the tenant farmers who pay rent, you will have a useful income of your own. A man should be master in his own house, do you not— Wait, why is the front door open?”
Humphrey was wondering that himself. Yet no one emerged. Then shouts were heard from the stables. Kicking their horses into motion, they raced round the corner, gravel spraying, Tom just behind them.
Sharp. Even in a melee of grooms and gardeners and a couple of maids, that tricorn hat could not be mistaken. He had hold of Mrs Andrews by one arm and his whip was raised.
“Stop that at once!” Humphrey yelled, kicking aside the stirrups and leaping from Titan’s back.
Sharp stopped, lowered the whip and shifted his angry scowl to a more conciliatory expression, although he did not release Mrs Andrews’ arm. “Why, my lord, good day to you, but this does not concern you. A man may chastise his mistress if she misbehaves, the law will support me on that.”
“But—”
“Release her or I shoot,” came an implacable voice from above.
Humphrey turned to see Hortensia, still mounted on Ganymede, pointing a pistol at Sharp.
Sharp laughed. “Lady, put that thing away or you—”
She fired, the shot echoing off the walls, and Sharp’s hat spun away. Ganymede whickered and half reared, but even with one hand, she held him in check and quietened him. Then, tossing the used pistol to Humphrey, she pulled another from her saddle bag and cocked it.
“The next one is for your heart unless you leave immediately.”
Sharp looked about him, then, defeated, he started to walk past them. She turned the horse to watch him walk down the drive, step by slow step. He reached Tom, who was holding Titan and his own horse, and suddenly lunged for Titan, grabbing the reins from Tom’s hands. With an agility surprising in a man of his age, he leapt into the saddle, and kicked the horse into motion.
“Shall I kill him?” Hortensia said conversationally.
“Best not to,” Humphrey said.
She fired. Sharp yelled, Titan reared and Sharp fell neatly from the saddle, with blood pouring from one shoulder.
Humphrey began to laugh. “Lucky you had all these men here to protect you, Miss Blythe. Whatever would you have done without us?”
~~~~~
Despite Connie’s fears, most of Humphrey’s brothers were at Drummoor for the wedding, Reggie and Miss Chamberlain rather surprised to be beaten to the altar, Gus breaking his journey on his way to Northumberland, and Monty newly ordained. Only Gil was absent, busy with his Hussar regiment preparing to take ship for the Peninsula.
Gus was engaged on a mission for Tattersall’s, to value and bring to auction the stables of the recently deceased son of a duke. He was accompanied by another man, a very small man, swaddled in a greatcoat adorned with a vast number of capes, and the garish blue and yellow striped waistcoat of the Four-Horse Club.
“This is another Tattersall’s man, Captain Michael Edgerton, formerly of the East India Company Army,” said Gus to the group assembled in the entrance hall to receive them.
“The East India Company Army?” Connie said. “Do you know Miss Blythe, Humphrey’s betrothed? Her father was in the East India Company.”
“It is a very large company,” Hortensia murmured. “Delighted to meet you, Captain.”
“Miss Blythe? Miss Blythe?” he said, raising a quizzing glass to one eye. “Not… oh, surely not? Do I have the honour of addressing Tiger Blythe?”
“Good heavens, I have not been called that for years!” Hortensia said, laughing.
“My dear Miss Blythe, permit me to shake your hand!” Edgerton said, suiting the action to the words. “It is too great a privilege to meet you, after hearing so much about you.”
“May I show you to your room, Captain Edgerton?” Connie said, brightly.
“No, no, no, do not whisk him away like that,” Gus said. “We need to know all about Tiger Blythe.”
“It is quite all right, Lady Carrbridge,” Hortensia said. “It is nothing terribly disreputable.”
“Disreputable! Disreputable! I should think not,” said the captain. “Miss Blythe once shot a tiger at point-blank range that had got into the kitchen.”
“Oh!” said Connie faintly.
“It was going to eat the cook’s youngest boy, and I could not allow that, could I?” Hortensia said.
“What was your total tally?” the captain said.
“Seven,” she answered. “It should have been eight, but General Westfield claimed the final one, and one does not quite like to argue with a general. Not when he has an entire army at his command. But it should have been mine, all the same.”
“Seven tigers,” the captain breathed. “And the elephant, of course. A bull elephant was bearing down on her, Lady Carrbridge, but she stood her ground and took the thing down with a single shot. Magnificent. Quite magnificent.”
“Goodness,” Connie said, hand to mouth.
“It was not quite so dramatic as it sounds,” Hortensia said, laughing. “The tale has grown in the telling, as such tales always do. Another year or two, and it will be a whole herd of elephants, I daresay.”
“How does one shoot an elephant?” Humphrey said.
“With a steady hand, and right at the mid-point between the ears. So I was taught, and since I am here to tell the tale, I can vouch for its effectiveness.”
“Well,” Connie said. “Good gracious. You are full of surprises, Miss Blythe. Captain, do let me show you to your room. You will want to refresh yourself after your journey. Were the roads tolerable, would you say?”
Most of the group drifted away to their various activities, and Connie’s voice could be heard diminishing into the distance. The brothers stayed in a loose group around Hortensia.
“No wonder you were so calm in winging Sharp,” Humphrey said.
“Oh yes, that was nothing at all in comparison to tigers and elephants. Although snakes — I do not like snakes, Humphrey, so you will have to deal with any spitting cobras we encounter in Silsby Vale.”
“You winged Sharp?” Gus said in tones of wonderment.
“She did,” Humphrey said proudly. “Although the devil has run off again. Only lingered long enough for the ball to be dug out of him, then he was gone. Not sure we shall see him again, this time.”
“What a lady!” Gus said. “Tiger Blythe — you will be the toast of London, Miss Blythe, once this gets around.”
“Will I? I am a very disreputable person altogether, you know — the daughter of a nabob, and no society manners to speak of. The patronesses of Almacks will never approve me.”
“Ah, now that is where you are wrong, for although you would not be good ton in the ordinary way, you are an original. So maybe not at first, but you will get your vouchers for Almacks, Miss Blythe.”
“How much will you bet on it?” she said.
Gus laughed out loud. “Name your price, Miss Blythe.”
“Five hundred,” she said at once. “Five hundred says you are wrong, Lord Augustus.”
“Done,” he said, eyes twinkling. “By all that is wonderful, Humphrey, where did you find her? Because if ever a couple were well-matched, it is you two.”
“I know,” Humphrey said smugly. “She is magnificent, is she not?”
And they all agreed that, indeed, she was.
~~~~~
Hortensia walked to her wedding in a shower of rose petals and good wishes from the villagers of Mishcombe, to the accompaniment of several fiddle players, the beat of hand drums and the mournful whine of bagpipes, although she secretly felt the latter would be better suited to funerals. The church was packed, Lord Carrbridge gave her away and Lady Carrbridge cried copiously. Afterwards, everyone streamed out of church to eat and dri
nk, the nobility and gentry at a decorous wedding breakfast at Drummoor and the villagers to feast, drink and dance until midnight, or longer if there were still ale to be had.
Her only sadness was in parting from Rosemary. She and Lord Kilbraith had stayed on to see her wed, and although Rosemary smiled and hugged her and wished her every imaginable felicity, the tears she shed were not just the result of happiness. They had been friends for ten years, sharing all the joys and sorrows of their lives. They had wept together when Captain James Quayle had died, Rosemary’s grief at losing her father matched by Hortensia’s in losing her great love. And they had wept together again when Hortensia’s father had died. They had supported and comforted each other on the long journey from India, and giggled together at the curiosities of English society. And now each was to begin a new chapter of her life, with a man who loved her and a family ready to welcome her into its embrace. Even though they stepped willingly onto their new paths, still it was hard to part.
“Might you come to Scotland one day?” Rosemary said, her great blue eyes filled with tears.
“We will come,” Humphrey said gravely. “We will dance at your wedding as you have danced at ours.”
That afternoon, Lady Carrbridge’s own carriage conveyed the newly married pair to their home at Silsby Vale House, where Mrs Andrews and their entire staff, enlarged with the help of an agent in York, waited to welcome them. Then unpacking and dinner, after which Mrs Andrews announced that she was very tired and would go to bed.
The newly married couple looked at each other.
“Shall we go up too?” Hortensia said, suddenly shy.
“Not yet. Come and sit on my lap, Lady Humphrey, and let me kiss you.”
She was more than happy to oblige him, and for a while there was no sound in the room, except for the steady tick of the clock on the mantel.
When they finally broke apart, he sighed and said, “I am so glad we did not wait. Look at poor Reggie, with this delight still weeks away. I wonder if he has even kissed Miss Chamberlain, let alone had her sitting on his lap in this delicious manner.”
She snuggled closer to him. “It is delicious, is it not? But they are proceeding in the way that feels comfortable for them. Not everyone is like us, or would want to be. You are not sorry, then? That we rushed into this?”
“How could I possibly be sorry?”
“Because you are giving up a lot for me. No matter what Gus says, you will be ostracised in London. You might even receive the cut direct, and you would feel dreadful if that were to happen. You have always been good ton and now you will not be.”
“Ah, but I have such compensations as to make me not repine in the least, for I have you, my darling, and what more could any man need?”
She buried her face in his broad shoulder. “You are so good to me, Humphrey, and I love you so, so much. I am not sure what I should have done if that die had fallen wrong.”
“It could not have fallen wrong,” he said softly. “However it had fallen, it would have brought me to realise what I wanted… what I needed. You, Hortensia. Tiger Blythe. The bravest, most magnificent woman in the world.”
She sighed with contentment, and allowed her new husband to carry her up to bed.
THE END
Book 3 of the series is Lord Augustus, and you can read a sneak preview of Chapter 1 after the acknowledgements. For more information or to buy, go to my website.
Thanks for reading!
If you have enjoyed reading this book, please consider writing a short review on Amazon. You can find out the latest news, buy the books and sign up for the mailing list at my website.
Book 3 of the series is Lord Augustus, and you can read a sneak preview of Chapter 1 after the acknowledgements.
A note on historical accuracy - and an apology!: I have endeavoured to stay true to the spirit of Regency times, and have avoided taking too many liberties or imposing modern sensibilities on my characters. The book is not one of historical record, but I’ve tried to make it reasonably accurate. However, I’m not perfect! If you spot a historical error, I’d very much appreciate knowing about it so that I can correct it and learn from it. Thank you!
One area where I have taken some liberties is geographical. In The Daughters of Allamont Hall, I squeezed the mythical county of Brinshire into a non-existent space between Staffordshire and Shropshire. In Sons of the Marquess, however, Drummoor is firmly set in the (very real) county of Yorkshire, the West Riding to be precise, and not too far away from York itself. I haven’t attempted to place it precisely, to give myself the freedom to add estates and towns and villages of my own invention. In the interests of such creation, several very real towns have been wiped off the map. To the good people of Yorkshire, I apologise.
About Sons of the Marquess: the Ninth Marquess of Carrbridge is happily married to the former Miss Constance Allamont, he has an heir and a spare in the nursery, and all seems set fair for a life of perfect bliss. His five younger brothers are a bit of a handful, but young men like to spread their wings a bit. If only they weren’t so expensive! And whatever happened to that huge income his father used to boast about? It seems to have vanished in a generation. And now there’s the unknown son of his father’s who claims to be the legitimate heir to the Marquessate. It’s a bit much for a Marquess to deal with. Fortunately, his wife has some ideas about recovering their position…
Book 0: The Earl of Deveron (a novella, free to mailing list subscribers)
Book 1: Lord Reginald
Book 2: Lord Humphrey
Book 3: Lord Augustus
Book 4: Lord Montague
Book 5: Lord Gilbert
Any questions about the series? Email me - I’d love to hear from you!
About the author
I write traditional Regency romances under the pen name Mary Kingswood, and epic fantasy as Pauline M Ross. I live in the beautiful Highlands of Scotland with my husband. I like chocolate, whisky, my Kindle, massed pipe bands, long leisurely lunches, chocolate, going places in my campervan, eating pizza in Italy, summer nights that never get dark, wood fires in winter, chocolate, the view from the study window looking out over the Moray Firth and the Black Isle to the mountains beyond. And chocolate. I dislike driving on motorways, cooking, shopping, hospitals.
Acknowledgements
Thanks go to:
My mother, who first introduced me to the wonderful world of Jane Austen.
Shayne Rutherford of Darkmoon Graphics for the cover design
My beta readers: Mary Burnett, Graham of Fading Street
Last, but definitely not least, my first reader: Amy Ross.
Sneak Preview of Lord Augustus: Chapter 1: The Cherry Tree Inn
Lord Augustus Marford knew all the foremost inns on every major road in England. The foremost inns, naturally, being those which would best attend to the needs of his precious horses. If they served edible food and a decent claret, and provided beds with clean linen, well, that was an added benefit, but not, in his view, essential. He was happy to eat and drink whatever was put in front of him, and could sleep on the floor if the situation demanded it, as he had proved on more than one occasion. But allow his beloved animals to be tended by half-drunk ostlers and careless grooms? No, it was inconceivable.
So it was that Gus and his travelling companion, Captain Edgerton, found themselves at the Cherry Tree Inn at Kelthwaite, even though the White Hart opposite and the George and Dragon just down the road looked more salubrious and had more patrons.
“You sure about this, Marford?” Edgerton said, looking up at the peeling paint on the sign over the door.
“Have I led you astray yet?” Gus said genially. “You are free to stay elsewhere if you wish, but I shall not entrust Jupiter to anyone else.”
And as soon as their little party had clattered under the arch to the yard, ostlers scurried out from all sides to attend to them, and led the horses into well-appointed stables. Gus stayed long enough to ensure that Jupiter was rece
iving lavish attention from his own two grooms, and that the other horses were being cared for to an acceptable standard, then he made his way at a leisurely pace into the inn.
The pained tones of Captain Edgerton echoed about the low-beamed taproom. “No parlour? No parlour? Whatever sort of an establishment is this, to be so deficient in accommodation, and when you have the brother of a marquess condescending to stay here, too. It is excessively disappointing.”
Gus could not hear the innkeeper’s replies beyond a gentle murmur at intervals, but this was not a place where bluster and rank would have much effect. If he had wanted flunkeys bowing low enough to sweep the floor with their noses, he would have gone elsewhere.
“Edgerton, it is not the innkeeper’s fault if his rooms are all taken. There are only two parlours here, after all, and the taproom will serve us very well.”
“Your lordship is most understanding,” the innkeeper said, a little dumpling of a man, as innkeepers often were. “My humblest apologies, but one of my parlours is under new paint, and the other is already taken by a lady.”
“But only the daughter of an earl,” Edgerton protested. “I believe Lord Augustus takes priority.”
Gus laughter. “No, no, no, that will never do! Turn a lady out to sit in the taproom? Where is your chivalry, Captain? Do you have chambers enough for us to sleep in, my friend? Two would do it, if the grooms sleep in the hay store, but if you have only one, then the valets must have it, and the captain and I will take the hay, too, for I owe it to my cravat to ensure that Willett enjoys perfect repose.”
“We have rooms, my lord, but— Ah, my lady, one moment, if you please.”
“One moment? We have waited a great many moments already, and— Gus? Gus Marford, as I live and breathe!”
Lord Humphrey (Sons of the Marquess Book 2) Page 22
