Lord Clifford's Dilemma

by Oliver, Marina

  'Not if she is ill! She is conscientious and would make an effort if she thought it her duty. We can well manage without her, Lady Markby is proving a competent hostess. If Miss Markby is indisposed please send for her maid.'

  She returned ten minutes later and he excused himself from the knot of men discussing the latest unrest in the northern towns.

  'Well?'

  'She says she has a severe headache, and cannot return. No stamina, these young gals.'

  'Did you send for her maid?'

  'Yes, but Miss Markby was not at all grateful, said she only wished to be left alone.'

  'Thank you. At least we know where she is.'

  With a sniff Lady Palgrave moved away, and he went back to his guests. Elizabeth was not the sort of girl to give way to a headache. Something had clearly upset her, and in the morning he would discover the reason.

  *

  After a restless night Lord Clifford was down early in the breakfast room. Dawson helped him to some ham and poured a cup of coffee.

  'Is Miss Markby ill, my lord?' he asked, with the freedom of an old friend as well as a trusted servant. 'She ate almost nothing last night.'

  'She sent word she had a headache, but she showed no sign of it earlier. Has Meg said how she is this morning?'

  'I haven't seen Meg yet, she must still be with her mistress. But Miss Markby seemed to suffer some kind of attack just before I announced dinner. It was almost as though she had suffered a severe shock, she lost all her colour and I thought she might swoon.'

  Lord Clifford nodded, but had to turn his attention to Henry who walked into the room and slumped into a chair, demanding coffee. The boy looked disgruntled. For the past few days Annamarie had been treating the lad with displays of petulance which exceeded even her normal standards. If it turned him against her, what folly would she then commit?

  'Where is Annamarie?' Henry asked through a mouthful of ham.

  'I doubt she will leave her room this morning, after a party. It was late when the Snaiths left.'

  'That fellow was all over her! Typical of a Cambridge man. No sense of decency.'

  'They have invited us all to a small dance they are giving next week. It is partly to celebrate Felix's leaving Cambridge, but also because he is going to India in a short while. He wishes to say farewell to his friends.'

  Henry gloomily went on eating ham and cold slices of beef, and then, asking if he might ride out on another of his lordship's horses, abruptly departed. Lord Clifford was not sorry to see him go. He was an unmannerly cub.

  His reflections were interrupted as Elizabeth came into the room. She was pale but composed, and smiled at Dawson as he brought her coffee and asked what she cared to eat.

  'Just a roll, please, and some butter. Cook's rolls are the most delicious I have ever tasted.'

  She consented to eat a peach which Lord Clifford carefully peeled for her, but smilingly refused a boiled egg.

  'I have to visit one of the farms later,' Lord Clifford said. 'You look as though you need some fresh air. You will come with me.'

  She cast him a startled glance.

  'Is that an order, my lord?'

  'I apologize if it sounded such. No, a recommendation only, but I suspect you would be glad to have a period of quiet, and if your headache is not entirely gone the fresh air will clear it.'

  She smiled and nodded.

  'Yes, I think I would be grateful to escape.'

  'Escape?'

  'Mama will be eager to discuss and pore over every detail of last night,' she said, smiling wryly. 'She has so little to entertain her it is not surprising, but I confess I find it tedious.'

  He said no more until they were seated in his curricle, bowling down the drive at a more decorous pace than when they had gone to discover Annamarie at the church.

  This time he turned the other way when they reached the high road, and soon afterwards into a narrow lane that led up onto the downs.

  'I wasn't aware you had farms in this direction,' Elizabeth said. 'I understood they were all in the valley, or at least the farmhouses were.'

  He turned the horses off onto a patch of smooth turf, and brought them to a halt.

  'Let us walk, just a little way to the top of that rise. From it there is a good view.'

  Puzzled, Elizabeth complied, and stepped out of the curricle while he tethered the horses to a tree.

  'Yes, they are in the valley, the farms, and I do mean to visit one later, but first I wish to know what discomposed you so badly last night.'

  He took her arm as they began to ascend the slight incline, and felt her shudder.

  'My dear, what is it?'

  She took a deep breath.

  'I apologize. I should not have run away last night, but I could not endure the prospect of talking to him.'

  'Him? Who do you mean?'

  'Sir Percy Royle. You see, I was once betrothed to him, and he – he broke off the engagement. It was a shock, to see him for the first time in eight years.'

  *

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. She had never before told anyone but Felicity of her feelings about the broken engagement. Her mother, while not blaming her for what she had once called a social disaster, had frequently complained that her daughter was becoming an embittered spinster.

  She knew she was not embittered. She was thankful not to have wed him. But what chances did she have, even had she desired a husband, of meeting other suitable men while tied to her mother?

  'Tell me,' he said quietly, and guided her to sit on a fallen tree trunk.

  She laughed unsteadily.

  'We seem to have all our important discussions sitting on tree trunks, my lord,' she said.

  'I must remember that. Sir Percy Royle was, so far as I know, married eight years since. You must have been very young if you were betrothed to him before that.'

  'I was seventeen. It was my first Season, and we met at the first ball I attended.'

  She paused, recalling how flattered she had felt that such a suave older man had paid her lavish attentions. But now she had started she found it less difficult to continue. Lord Clifford was sympathetic, a comfortable sort of man to be with.

  'He danced with me, and for the next few weeks we seemed to meet everywhere. He was always so attentive, and I had met few men apart from our neighbours in Kent. He seemed so sophisticated, and he didn't dress in such a foppish manner as last night,' she added scornfully. 'When he asked for my hand barely a month after we met, I was willing. I was young and heedless. I felt it was a triumph to have captured a man such as he within weeks of first coming to London.'

  'Had you no other suitors?' Lord Clifford asked quietly.

  'I gave them no chance,' she admitted. 'Yes, I think there could have been others, but he monopolized my attention, sending me flowers and notes almost every day, and always being the first to claim my hand, fill in my dance programmes. I was young and foolish.'

  'And did your parents not help you to meet more men?'

  'Mama was preening at what she thought of as my success. Papa, I know now, was becoming ill, and I think he wished to see me settled quickly. It was not their faults.'

  She paused, and was not even conscious of the fact Lord Clifford had taken her hand in his.

  'So you were betrothed. Then?'

  'Papa had a sudden seizure and we returned to Kent. He died a month later.'

  She closed her eyes, recalling the intense agony of that time, knowing her beloved father was dying, and helpless to do anything to relieve his suffering.

  'Was Sir Percy there to support you?'

  'He came, once, but then said he had many affairs to attend to, in preparation for our wedding. I think now he found our house, the lack of entertainment, the suspense, the feeling of dread, insupportable. He did come for the funeral, but went back to London the following day, saying he would return in a short while. He did, a month later.'

  'So what happened then?'

  Elizabeth shook her head.
She could still scarcely believe the shock and anguish of that time.

  'He said we must be wed at once, quietly, so that he could take care of me.'

  Lord Clifford's fingers tightened on hers, and Elizabeth looked down at their entwined hands, but she did not attempt to draw away.

  'That seems a trifle unsympathetic. I don't know the man, apart from meeting him occasionally at White's, but it is not the behaviour I would expect from a sensitive man.'

  'He was not sensitive. I refused, of course. I was somewhat shocked, and still grieving deeply for my father. I said I could not contemplate a wedding before a year, at least, after my period of mourning. That was when I discovered his true motives. He lost his temper, otherwise I doubt he would have told me the truth.'

  'Which was?'

  She turned to face him. Until now she had been looking straight ahead, seeing in her mind the scenes she described. She saw his expression, a mixture of concern for her and anger at Sir Percy, and felt comforted. This, she was sure, suddenly, though she could not explain it to herself, and despite his disapproval of her schools, was a man she could trust.

  'Two years before my godfather, a cousin of Papa's, had died, and left me all his fortune, without any conditions. I had complete control over it. He had no children, no closer relatives. I was, and am, wealthy. Sir Percy knew that. He was deep in debt, and thought to gain my fortune. But he could not wait. He needed my money soon if he was to avoid ruin. He gave me an ultimatum. I must marry him by special licence at once, or the betrothal must be broken. I was devastated, for I had thought myself fond of him.'

  'You must have been, if you cared for him.'

  'I don't think I loved him, though I hoped love would come. I'd admired him, but mostly, I know now, I'd been flattered. But mainly I was devastated when I discovered his true reason for proposing to me. He had not loved me at all. That was a severe blow to my self-esteem,' she added, laughing unsteadily. 'I was romantic, I thought he had fallen for my looks and charm,' she said deprecatingly, 'when all the time it was for my money.'

  Unable to prevent herself she gave a stifled sob, and when Lord Clifford drew her closely into his arms she made no protest, but sobbed unrestrainedly and clutched convulsively at his lapels.

  'I – I am sorry,' she muttered some time later, when her sobs had ceased, and she realized what she was doing, clasped in a man's arms and weeping all over him, dampening his cravat, which was now much dishevelled. 'I've ruined your cravat,' she said, sitting back and tentatively trying to rearrange the folds.

  He took her hands in his, and grinned down at her.

  'My dear girl, what does that matter? So Sir Percy departed from your life. You must have been relieved to see him go.'

  'Yes, even through my distress at the time, I knew that had I married him I could not have been happy. He was married before the end of the Season to another heiress. I had never again seen him until last night.'

  'I believe his wife's family own the estate where he now lives, though I have never known him well. He has not been there for long. I invited him because I was inviting all my closest neighbours. His wife gave him three daughters, but she died two years ago, and I have heard he is on the lookout for another wife. He wants a son, as most men do.'

  'I pity any woman he might ensnare! My lord, we have sat here for a long time. I am grateful, you have been kind, but is it not time we went to your farmhouse, on the business you had for this morning?'

  She saw him glance at his cravat.

  'I think it might be as well not to encounter any of my tenants this morning,' he said, and she laughed.

  'I do apologize.'

  'There is no need. I will ensure you do not again encounter Sir Percy while you are here. Now, shall we make our way home by less frequented ways? There is a path that will allow us to reach the stables without going near the house.'

  *

  Chapter 8

  Elizabeth had recovered her composure by the time they reached Crossways. She was, however, shy of meeting Lord Clifford again. He had been kind, but she was ashamed of having wept all over him. He behaved, though, when they met at dinner, as if nothing had happened, and she was grateful for his tact and sensitivity to her feelings.

  The ball was on Tuesday, and they were to return to Brighton on Thursday. Elizabeth did not know whether to be glad or sorry this visit was coming to an end. Back in Brighton, she would be much more at her mother's beck and call, and though she was used to it, after the freedom of these few weeks in a large house, with other people around, and Lady Palgrave taking over many of her own duties towards her mother, she knew she would feel confined. And she would miss being with Lord Clifford every day.

  She would forget that now, she decided, and enjoy the ball. She had brought one ballgown with her, in her favourite hyacinth blue, but the silk was shot through with a darker shade, the colour of purple plums. Otherwise it had no decoration, Elizabeth having prevailed upon her mother when it was being made that too much fussiness, too many distracting furbelows, would detract from the unusual beauty of the fabric.

  Annamarie was in virginal white, the gown trimmed with primrose rosebuds on the bodice and round the hem. She was sulking on the journey to the Snaiths' manor house because Lord Clifford had made her remove a ruby necklace of startlingly ugly design. Their clash had caused the whole party to be late setting out, and Lady Markby was fretting angrily, convinced they would be late for the dinner to which they had been invited first.

  'It belonged to my mother!' Annamarie had protested, and she permitted a few tears to fall.

  'Perhaps, but that does not entitle you to wear such a vulgar piece when you are not even out yet! It's more appropriate for a dowager than a young girl.'

  'What do you know of fashion, and what's suitable for me to wear?' she demanded.

  'More than you appear to, child. Besides, how did you come to have it? I thought it was locked in my safe.'

  'It's mine! You have no right to prevent me from wearing it. Your safe was open last week, and you were called from the room. I only took what was mine.'

  He looked grim.

  'So what else of yours did you remove from my keeping? The diamond set? The pearls? The emeralds?'

  'They are mine. I have a right to wear them.'

  'Very well, keep them, and if the house is burgled and they are stolen, do not expect me to replace them.'

  For a moment it had seemed as though Annamarie would argue, but she tossed her head, handed Lord Clifford the necklace, and clambered into the carriage with Lady Palgrave and Lady Markby.

  Elizabeth was about to follow her when Lord Clifford took her arm and drew her aside.

  'Come with your brother and me, as we have two carriages. It will leave more room for the others if we split evenly.'

  Nothing loth, Elizabeth permitted him to help her into the second carriage. Her mother and Lady Palgrave would no doubt enliven the journey by reproving Annamarie and instructing her on how girls not yet out ought to behave when they were included in parties for adults. Even Henry's continuing sulks would be preferable to that.

  When they arrived at the Snaiths' house, a pretty but unostentatious manor house built, she judged, fifty or so years before, Elizabeth eyed Annamarie's heightened colour and glittering eyes apprehensively, but the girl seemed to have decided to behave. She held her head high, waited for the older ladies to preceed her into the house and drawing room, and hung back modestly until Felix came forward to greet her.

  Dinner was then announced, and Elizabeth, to her surprise, found they were the only guests apart from the family.

  'We wished to take this opportunity of seeing more of you,' Felix, again one of her table companions, explained to Elizabeth. 'It is a shame you leave for Brighton so soon, but I understand Lord Clifford has business there, and needs to return.'

  They chatted about the benefits of different watering places. Felix confided that his mother often spent weeks at Bath, or Weymouth, but had not yet
visited Brighton.

  'I believe she goes for the company, when my father is in London,' he said, 'but she disapproves of the Prince Regent's companions, and thinks the town raffish.'

  She encouraged him to talk about India, and when he had to turn to Annamarie on his other side, she was able to talk with his father.

  Mr Snaith had himself lived in India years ago, and had many fascinating tales to tell of the palaces and temples, Maharajahs and priests, the tiger hunts and the strange animals, monkeys and peacocks living free in the villages.

  'I came back a wealthy man, and I trust Felix will too. My wife and I will miss him while he is gone, we have but the two boys. Peter, who is five years older than Felix, helps me on the estate here, but presently he is away, visiting some of the people who are transforming the breeding of livestock. We are hoping to introduce many new methods of agriculture here. But tell me of your life in Brighton. Is it there you met his lordship?'

  *

  By the time dinner was over other guests began to arrive. Mr Snaith had built a small ballroom out at the back of his house, flanked by a huge conservatory. Felix told Elizabeth that he grew many tropical plants there, to remind him of India.

  Elizabeth recognized some of the guests who had been to Lord Clifford's dinner, but as she had departed from this so precipitately she had not been able to talk to many of them, and she suspected some of them did not recognize her.

  Lord Clifford claimed her hand for the first dance, a quadrille, and Felix, partnering Annamarie, joined their set. Elizabeth looked apprehensively towards Henry, but he was leading a young girl into another set and appeared to be behaving properly. She gave a sigh of relief and allowed herself to enjoy the dancing.

  'I am told we are to be permitted to waltz later,' his lordship said as the dance finished and he led Elizabeth from the floor. 'Will you dance a waltz with me?'

  'I have rarely danced the waltz,' she said, hesitating. It was not a dance she enjoyed, and it had not been permitted during the few months of her Season.

  'If you tread on my toes I think I can bear it.'