“Erm…” Gus was never good with names. So many ladies drifted into his view at balls and dinners and theatres, and he was usually thinking about something else and not paying much attention. Now he gazed at the statuesque lady with pale blue eyes, a mouth overfilled with teeth and a mountain of frizzy fair hair topped with a froth of lace, and scrambled to recall who on earth she was.
She gave a throaty chuckle. “How mortifying! You do not remember me at all, do you? Lady Emma Frensham. Heavens, Gus, we played spillikins as children often enough, and you pushed me into a pond once.”
He laughed. “Emma! Of course. Where are you bound?”
“To Maria’s place, at Carlisle, to comfort her in her grief.” She rolled her eyes. “Prostrate, she is, as you can imagine. Hated the man when he was alive, but is inconsolable in widowhood, apparently. Oh, let us not stand about in this foolish manner. Come and share our parlour with us. There is only the one, so there is no running off and hiding, as you are wont to do, Gus. Do come in. Yes, bring your handsome friend with the Four Horse Club waistcoat. We have a splendid blaze going.”
“In August?”
“You know what Aunt Prudence is like.”
“Ah, Lady Prudence. Now her I remember,” Gus murmured. Emma only laughed.
There was indeed a splendid fire going, so splendid that the room seemed hot enough to bake bread. Gus felt his shirt collars wilting as soon as he stepped into the room. Beside the fire, an elderly lady sat ramrod straight in a wing chair. Her hair was as white as snow, although mostly covered by a voluminous black crepe cap. Her gown was black bombazine, and she wore black gloves and a great quantity of jet beading. She turned small, intent eyes on them, then raised a lorgnette to examine them more closely.
Emma waved the two men through, and whispered, “As soon as she has her claret, she will nod off and we can let the fire die down.” Then in a raised voice, she turned to the old lady. “Aunt Prudence, look who is here! It is Gus Marford, Carrbridge’s brother, do you remember him? He used to play at the hall when I was a girl.”
“Of course I remember him, you silly girl. Just because I am a little hard of hearing does not mean I am in my dotage. Well, m’boy, not seen you for an age. Daresay you turned out ramshackle. All you young men are ramshackle these days. Still, better ramshackle than silly, like this niece of mine. Who is your friend? Military man, by his bearing, although the waistcoat is a trifle overpowering.”
“Lady Prudence, Lady Emma, may I present Captain Edgerton, formerly of the East India Company Army, but presently engaged at Tattersall’s, as am I.”
“Your sense of direction is failing you, Marford,” Lady Prudence said. “Tattersall’s is in London.” She cackled, hugely amused at her own wit. Gus raised a dutiful smile, and Edgerton tittered almost convincingly.
The innkeeper entered, ushering in a servant with a tray bearing two wine bottles and four glasses. Lady Prudence brightened perceptibly.
“Over here!” she called out. “Whatever took you so long? We have been waiting forever, and what could be simpler than claret? Every half-decent inn in the country has such a thing to hand. Yes, yes, just put it down. I shall pour my own, since you would undoubtedly spill some. Cannot do the simplest thing, you people.”
The servant rushed to oblige, setting one bottle and a glass on a small table beside her. Lady Prudence poured herself a large measure of wine, and drank it without pausing. Then a second, which she consumed in two draughts. The third took a little longer. Then, with a heavy sigh, she set down the glass, leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
“She will be asleep soon,” Lady Emma whispered. “Poor dear, the carriage will bump her about so, and she does like her sleep in the afternoon.”
And before long, gentle snores emanated from the wing chair, and then, as the lady’s mouth fell open, rather louder rumbles.
“Do not mind her,” Lady Emma said in her normal voice. “We may be comfortable now and enjoy an excellent coze before dinner. Captain Edgerton, may I trouble you to pour the wine? So tell me all the news of Drummoor, Gus. Lady Carrbridge is increasing again, I hear, and what is this about Humphrey? I heard a whisper that he is to be wed soon.”
“Done already,” Gus said.
“Oh, a hasty business. You know what will be said of that, I am sure. But she is quite something, my spies tell me. Rides as hard as a man, and shoots tigers before breakfast.”
Gus laughed. “Not before breakfast, perhaps, but she certainly shot our land agent one afternoon.”
Emma sat bolt upright in her chair, mouth wide open. “No! Intentionally?”
“Oh, very. He was harassing a lady, so Miss Blythe — Lady Humphrey now, of course — shot his hat from his head, and then, when he tried to make good his escape, asked Humphrey if she might kill him. ‘No, better not,’ says he, so she hit him in the shoulder instead. As fine a shot as he had ever seen, Humphrey said. They will deal very well together, for she is every bit as insane as he is. More so, perhaps.”
“She sounds gloriously original. Oh, I do hope he will bring her to Melton this autumn. I should so like to meet her. And what of the agent? He survived, I take it?”
“Oh, certainly, which is more than he deserved. A great deal of havey-cavey goings on are suspected, and as soon as the surgeon had dealt with him, he disappeared. Even his wife has no idea where he is.”
“With Lady Humphrey taking pot-shots at me, I might be inclined to disappear myself,” she said, laughing. “But tell me, what brings you so far north? I do not often agree with Aunt Prudence but she is quite right on one point — it is novel to meet two Tattersall’s men so far from London. You are on Tattersall’s business, I take it?”
“Indeed. We are to catalogue and value the stable of the late Marquess of Darrowstone, and arrange for the transportation of anything of unusual interest.”
“Oh, poor Darrowstone, God rest his soul! And his poor father! The duchess gave him three sons who all survived to adulthood, and all of them dead now. The poor duke!”
Gus shrugged, not much interested in the Duke of Dunmorton’s sons. Edgerton was interested, however.
“That is most unfortunate. What happened to them?” he said.
“George, the youngest, smashed his head in falling from his horse. Edward, the middle one, died on the Peninsula, as so many of our brave young men have done. And now Henry, the eldest, has gone out in a boat and drowned himself. It is a dangerous business, getting into a boat. I have never dared to do it myself. And now the duke’s heir is some paltry third cousin from Cheshire, who is an attorney or some such. Dreadful business. But Gus, if you are going to Castle Morton, you must be sure to tell the duke that I am still unwed, and would be very happy to provide him with a lusty heir or two.”
“Emma! You cannot be serious! Why, Dunmorton must be sixty if he is a day.”
“And what is that to the point?” she said, looking rather pink about the cheeks. “He was one and sixty last spring, and, I make no doubt, still a fine looking man. He used to stay with us sometimes when he was younger, for he and Papa were at school together. I always liked him, and I think we should rub along very well together. Far better than that evil witch of a wife of his, may she burn in Hell for tormenting him so. And let us be honest, Gus, who else would have me but a man with failing eyesight? I am one and thirty years old, with a face more like a horse than a woman. My own mother used to weep when she looked at me, and Papa did not want to spend a penny on my come-out, for what could be a greater waste of time, he said? And he was quite right about that. All of my sisters took at once and are countesses now, but I shall end up an old maid like Aunt Prudence and be required to chaperon my nieces about. One glare from my frightful gaze and all their unsuitable suitors will shrink away in horror. But I should so like to be a duchess and outrank my sisters. So will you tell him? Please?”
She was so earnest that Gus dared not laugh at her, but he thought it a foolish notion all the same. If a man of more than
sixty years were to take a wife, and that man a duke, he would hardly look at a tired spinster like Emma Frensham. He would pick up a pretty little debutante and put a smile on his face for his declining years. But he said all that was proper, and soon after the servants arrived to prepare the table for their dinner, Lady Prudence woke with a snort, and all sensible conversation was at an end.
The dinner was indifferent, the service slow and the taproom noisy enough to penetrate even to the parlour. Lady Prudence kept up a continuous monologue of grumbles, which only Captain Edgerton attempted to respond to, by upbraiding the servants whenever they put in an appearance. However, by the time the third bottle of claret was getting low, and only the cheese and nuts remained on the table, she retreated to her chair to sleep away the hours until it was time to go to bed.
Edgerton then turned his attention on Lady Emma, engaging her in a light flirtation that had her giggling and blushing like a debutante. But when Gus went out to check on the horses, Edgerton followed him out.
“She is quite something, your Lady Emma,” he said.
“Not mine, nor ever like to be,” Gus said. “If you are going to ask about her dowry, I have not the least idea, but if she could lay claim to anything substantial, I make no doubt she would have been snapped up years ago. Huntsmere is not a man to flaunt his wealth, which usually means he has none. Mind you, Landry runs expensive, by the look of it.”
“Huntsmere? Landry?”
“Your pardon, Edgerton, I forget you have not grown up with these people. The Earl of Huntsmere, father to the Lady Emma. Viscount Landry, only son and heir to the earl, and Emma’s brother.”
“Right. So not much money, and the heir is running through what there is of it, if I understand you correctly.”
Gus laughed. “You are not serious, Edgerton? About Emma?”
“A titled wife? That would suit me very well, if she has a reasonable dowry.”
“You must have a good income, surely? You hardly need to look for a rich wife.”
“I do not need to, no. I have fifteen hundred a year, few expenses and an expectation from a great-uncle. But a little more would make me very comfortable. I should like a snug little hunting lodge and a string of hunters like yours, Marford.”
“I can see the attraction in that, to be sure, but marriage is a high price to pay for the pleasure, I should have thought. I have my hunting without the need to become leg-shackled first.”
“You are a queer fish, Marford. You think more of your horses than of any woman.”
“Of course I do! Look at Jupiter — such a splendid creature, and see the intelligence in those eyes! And no need to have any conversation, or dance with him, or bring him posies of flowers. Horses are far superior to humankind, Edgerton.”
“Hmm. I wager you will find yourself leg-shackled eventually, nevertheless. Bound to happen.”
“Not if I can help it,” Gus said firmly.
END OF SAMPLE CHAPTER OF Lord Augustus
For more information or to buy, go to my website.
Lord Humphrey (Sons of the Marquess Book 2) Page 23
