“Papa,” Lady Castleton began, “you are acquainted with Mister Markham. Have you have met his sister, Lady Gwenifer.”
“I have not the honour,” Pennington replied.
A slight frown marred Lady Castleton’s charming face. Perhaps she also wished her father-in-law had not joined them.
The earl acknowledged Gwenifer’s curtsy with a bow. “
My lady, you are very welcome to this house, in which your brother is considered a hero because he saved my grandson’s life.”
“Yes, I heard he did, although he is too modest to mention it,” Gwenifer replied.
Lady Castleton shuddered. It seemed the mere thought of her son’s escape from death made her feel faint. “Indeed we can never find a way to adequately express our gratitude.”
“There is no need to speak of it,” Dominic murmured. “I did no more than anyone else would have done to save your son. I hope he has recovered from the experience.”
“Yes. Thank you, he is well, but too frightened of the lake to even look at it through the windows.”
Pennington frowned. He raised his hand, obviously about to run his fingers through his well-ordered white hair, but refrained. “I shall take Arthur to the shore. It will not do for my grandson to be a coward.” He lowered his hand to his side. “Whatever else one may say on the subject of his father, Edgar was not a poltroon although-”
The colour in Lady Castleton’s cheeks increased. Her eyes narrowed. “Papa, I hope you are not on the brink of saying something derogatory. Yes, my late husband was not only courageous, he was also a gentleman.”
Jarvis entered the drawing room with two footmen, who carried trays, which they placed on a mahogany pier table at the side of the room.
Uneasy, Dominic’s jaw tightened. To judge by the way Pennington, who sat next to his daughter-in-law, looked sideways at her, she might have been a rare species of some unfamiliar, unwelcome creature.
“Some wine, my child?” the earl asked. “You are over heated. It is not surprising. The weather is sultry. If I am not mistaken a thunderstorm is imminent.”
“Papa, I am not overheated,” Lady Castleton protested.
Dominic’s hands tightened. It seemed thunder and lightning, were not the only storm in the offing.”
Pennington stood and inclined his head towards Gwenifer. “I hope you will forgive me if I deprive you and my daughter of your brother’s company. I have a matter to discuss with him. “Come, Mister Markham.”
Reluctant to endure a tete-a-tete with his host, Dominic stood. The earl seized his arm. Did his lordship fear he would baulk like a horse at a fence?
Dominic struggled to conceal his instinctive dislike of the earl. “Please release me.”
After Pennington let go of him, he resisted the temptation to brush his sleeve.
Footmen opened the double doors. “Jarvis serve wine in the library,” Pennington ordered, while he led Dominic out of the drawing room.
* * *
Dominic admired the shining floorboards, ornate high-backed wooden chairs upholstered in crimson velvet, a fireplace and tall windows traced with carved stone.
“Ah, you are speechless with admiration.” Pennington indicated row upon row of glass-fronted bookshelves, shaped like arched window frames, which reached from the floor to ceiling on three sides of the library.
Regardless of how long a person lived it would be impossible for anyone to read so many books. “Yes, my lord, I can think of little to say. No remark of mine could do justice to it’s splendour.”
“Your praise gratifies me.” Pennington gestured to a pair of chairs in front of which stood a conveniently place low, oval table. “Please sit down, Mister Markham. I am fortunate to have inherited Clarencieux, which I am still refurbishing.” He chuckled with palpable satisfaction. “No need for me to have a pseudo gothic ruin built in the grounds because there is already a tumbledown church. I realised its potential to become a point of interest for my guests, when I inherited the estate. After all, such relics are much in vogue.” His eyes sly, glanced at Dominic. “I daresay you disapprove of such use of hallowed ground.”
Before he could phrase a polite reply Jarvis arrived. After he served wine, in response to a flick of the earl’s fingers, he left the library, his footsteps dignified.
“Ah,” Pennington breathed, “now that Napoleon has been defeated, it is a relief to import wine from France instead of relying on smugglers.”
Dominic thought of many more important reasons to be grateful for England’s victory. “Our triumphant island has paid a heavy price. Yesterday, I gave a poor fellow, who wore a tattered army uniform, a shilling. I wished him well in his search for work, and instructed my cook to give him a hearty meal before he went on his way. Our triumphant island paid a heavy price.”
Pennington waved a white hand at him. “Let us not speak of such matters. Although I suppose, a rector, is obliged to consider them.” He scrutinised Dominic. “I have instructed my steward to reward you for saving my grandson. I hope you will consider the sum sufficient.”
Dominic stood. “You insult me, my lord. I only acted like any other man upon seeing a child drowning.”
“It is fortunate you can swim.” Pennington twirled the barley-twist stem of his crystal wineglass. “If you will not accept a pecuniary reward I shall suggest an alternative.” He sipped his wine. “Mister Markham, please sit down again. I have heard you are like your father, an honourable man. I suspected you would refuse to accept a monetary expression of my gratitude. Instead, I offer you an alternative. The current incumbent of this parish will retire this month. Your reward, which I hope you will accept, the rich living with a large glebe.”
He might be judged uncharitable, but Dominic did not, indeed, could not like the man. Nothing would induce him to accept the generous offer. “With regret, I must decline. It would not be advisable to be in charge of two adjacent parishes.” Under no circumstances did he wish to be under an obligation to a patron of Pennington’s type.
The earl finished his wine. “I daresay you refuse because you have – shall we say – other expectations. Your oldest brother has not fathered a son, and your other brothers died in battle. Your esteemed father must be disappointed because his heir does not have a son.” Pennington scrutinised him. “What else can I offer you? Do your parents consider it is time for you to marry?” Pennington leant forward. “Your parents would be unnatural if they did not want to see you with a wife and child.”
Dominic stood, annoyed by his lordship’s impertinence.
“No, no, Mister Markham, please remain seated,” the earl requested. “My parents arranged for my marriage to a lady I met twice before we wed. My daughters’ husbands asked me for permission to propose marriage to them. Today, it is not unusual for ladies to welcome a marriage proposal without their father’s sanction, nevertheless introductions to suitable husbands or wives are acceptable, are they not?”
Dominic nodded, puzzled because he could not imagine why Pennington spoke of marriage, whether it was arranged or not.
The earl rubbed his hands together. “I am glad you agree. Perhaps, you would not take it ill, if I suggest you consider a union with a lady you have already met.”
Startled, although Dominic guessed the earl referred to Lady Castleton, he did not know what to say.
“It seems I have taken you by surprise.”
“Yes, you have, my lord, but to use your own words, I don’t ‘take it ill’. However, I do not need you or any other gentleman to play the part of a matchmaker.”
“You have met a lady to whom you will propose marriage?” the earl asked, his tone of voice tranquil.
“No,” he admitted, in spite of the temptation either to lie in order to thwart the earl’s obvious plan, or to tell his lordship he would not appreciate unwelcome interference in his affairs.
“More wine, Mister Markham?” Without waiting for a reply Pennington served Dominic and refilled his own glass. “Excellent vint
age from Bordeaux,” he remarked. A gleam in his eyes increased. “I have a suggestion.”
The earl sipped some wine, and looked speculatively at him over the rim of the glass. “Mister Markham, I imagine it is difficult for any young widow to accept her situation, so I sympathise with my daughter-in-law. Should Lady Castleton marry you, I will give her a generous dowry, including an estate in the country and a house in the best part of London.”
Dominic clenched the stem of his wine glass. “My lord, let us understand each other. I don’t need inducements. My income is more than sufficient for me to support a wife and a child.”
The earl’s hand waved him to silence. “If you and Lady Castleton embark on matrimony my grandson will reside with me. Of course, my daughter-in-law would be welcome to see her son whenever she chooses. Pennington gesticulated to indicate the luxury which surrounded him. library, “I think you will agree that my heir should grow up with every imaginable advantage here, at my principal estate. It would be selfish of his mother to deny him his birth right.”
Dominic looked around. One day, God willing, Arthur would be fortunate to inherit Clarencieux, his grandfather’s other properties and his fortune. He frowned. Could life with a man of the earl’s nature compensate the boy for separation from his mother? No! Affectionate mothers such as his own and Lady Castleton were a gift from God.
“My lord, I appreciate both your commendable concern for Lady Castleton’s future and the honour you do me, nonetheless I could not be party to depriving a mother of her child. If you will excuse me, my sister and I must return to the rectory.”
Confound it, he had needed an opportunity to ask her ladyship to write a reference for Bessie. “However, my lord, I shall return to make sure Lord Castleton has recovered.”
In response to Pennington’s smug expression Dominic suppressed an unholy desire to use violence to remove it. His second response was to wonder if the earl was, as the saying went, queer in the attic.
* * *
Pennington gripped his hands together. How dare a mere clergyman refuse a reward for saving Arthur’s life, and reject the offer of a comfortable living. His nostrils flared. He found Mr Markham’s disinterest in the proposition for him to marry Lady Castleton almost beyond belief. Yet, he could swear that despite the jumped up clergyman’s verbal refusal to marry Harriet, at the suggestion flames flickered in his eyes.
His hands relaxed. He smiled. Perhaps Mister Markham was not indifferent to Lady Castleton. She might not be a beauty, but she was submissive, something for a gentleman, particularly a clergyman, to treasure in a prospective wife.
Why should his daughter-in-law not agree to wed the handsome clergyman? Pennington frowned, considering his title. It was granted later than Faucon’s, to which Mister Markham would be direct heir to if his older brother died childless. Pennington scowled. If he lived to see the rector inherit his father’s rank, on state occasions he would resent Dominic Markham, who had refused all of his kind offers, taking precedence over him.
What should he do? Draw Lady Castleton’s particular attention to Mister Markham? He did not think it would be difficult. She was already favourably predisposed towards the gentleman because he saved Arthur.
Perhaps a ball. Mister Markham did not seem to be the type of clergyman who would refuse an invitation to one for fear his bishop might disapprove. He rubbed his hands together. An excellent notion, many romances began in a ballroom. Even if one did not blossom between Lady Castleton and Mister Markham, one might flourish between her and another suitable gentleman. If so, it might be the means for him to have custody of Arthur. Surely she would succumb to her bridegroom’s persuasion, particularly if he did not want a stepson in his household.
He would ensure Lady Castleton always looked her best, even if it required a visit to London to replenish her wardrobe. What else? Regardless of the cost he would employ a more experienced abigail than the present one for his daughter-in-law. One skilled in dressing a lady’s hair, who also knew how to help her mistress to make the most of her appearance. He would not stint her.
Pennington looked forward to having sole charge of Arthur, during his daughter-in-law’s absence from Clarencieux. Sooner or later all of the boy’s affection would be transferred to him.
Chapter Seven
On the day after Dominic and Gwenifer visited Lady Castleton, he descended the stairs at the rectory with a spring in his step.
Gwenifer, enveloped in a pinafore and with a broad brimmed straw hat on her head, looked up, a wooden trug held in one hand.
“The roses are in full bloom, so I am going to pick some. I think they are my favourite flowers.” Her forehead wrinkled. “I like your new riding habit. Are you going to visit some of your parishioners?”
“No, I shall call on Lady Castleton to ask her to write a reference for Bessie.”
“I daresay she will, for she seems agreeable. I like her and hope to further our acquaintance.”
“Bless you.” Delighted by her words, Dominic rode to Clarencieux Abbey, where Jarvis admitted him.
A footman stepped forward. Dominic handed him his hat, leather gloves and riding crop. A quick glance in one of a pair of mirrors shaped like mediaeval windows assured his simply tied cravat was in place and his hair was tidy. Satisfied, he followed Jarvis.
Dominic wondered why he was so concerned with his appearance. Usually, he gave little thought to how he looked after he dressed in clothes appropriate for a man of God albeit made by his London tailor, whom many arbiters of fashion patronised. Today was different. Dominic wanted to make a good impression on Lady Castleton. Satisfied, he smiled. No one, could say my coats and pantaloons don’t fit me to perfection.
Jarvis opened a double door. Dominic blinked in a blaze of sunlight pouring into the drawing room, decorated a la pseudo gothic in white, gold, and red, before he saw Lady Castleton, who stood by one of a series of windows.
“Mister Markham,” the butler announced, in an unnecessarily loud tone.
Dominic bowed. “My lady, I have come to make sure Lord Arthur has completely recovered from his ordeal.”
She turned to face him. Once again he was struck by her fairy like quality. Such a dainty, perfectly proportioned lady, the mere sight of whom aroused his chivalric impulses, should be cherished and protected, not schemed against by an unscrupulous father-in-law.
Lady Castleton indicated a chair, while asking Jarvis to fetch wine.
Dominic waited for her to sit on a chair near the window before he sat opposite her.
Her glance strayed to the lawns. “Arthur is well, thank you, sir. In fact, my son is in the best of health. At the moment, he is riding with his grandfather. Please forgive me for staring out of the window. I looked out to see if I could catch sight of them. I don’t want Papa to force Arthur to ride towards the lake.”
After the footmen served wine and withdrew, Lady Castleton continued. “Arthur is mettlesome, although Papa believes he is a coward because he is now frightened of the lake. He thinks Arthur should overcome his fear through force.” She looked towards the pair of footmen, who stood on either side of the double doors. “You may go, and so may you, Jarvis.”
After they left, her eyes troubled, Lady Castleton regarded him. “I hope they will not repeat my words. Servants are such notorious gossips. If Papa –” she broke off.
“They are shocking tittle-tattlers.” he agreed. Dominic wanted to comfort her with a brotherly hug. He almost laughed at himself, for he did not feel in the least like Lady Castleton’s brother. “Perhaps you should take Lord Arthur to Worthing or Brighton. Sea-bathing might remove his understandable fear of water. Before I was breeched, I rode my older brother’s horse without permission. It reared. I fell off. Afterward I was too frightened to go to the stables. Papa bought the smallest pony with the sweetest temper you can imagine. Before long I was feeding him carrots or apples. Later, when Papa encouraged me not to be afraid to ride him. After a few minutes in the saddle, my nervousness d
isappeared.”
Her ladyship’s dimples appeared when she smiled at him. “It seems both of us were fortunate to have admirable fathers.” The dimples disappeared. “I doubt the earl would allow me to take Arthur to the coast and, unfortunately, I cannot have a small pond excavated for Arthur to overcome his fear.” She dabbed her eyes with a delicate handkerchief edged with lace.
All his senses alert to a lady in obvious distress, Dominic leant forward. “Lady Castleton, you are overset. I am a minister of the church, so please feel free to tell me what troubles you.” He smiled to reassure her. “You may be certain I will never betray a confidence.”
Wordless, she crushed her handkerchief in her hand. “You are kind, but I am not completely ‘overset’. Tears often fill my eyes when I remember my father.”
“Tell me about yourself,” he invited her. “I know little other about you other than that you followed the drum.”
“Yes, though I was born in Brighton, I cannot remember a time when I did not.” For a fleeting moment, her entrancing dimples appeared again. “Mamma could not bear to be parted from my father. She followed him to Portugal when I was nearly two years old. Perhaps it was an unwise decision. Her health was never equalled her determined spirit. In England, maybe she would have lived longer.”
Dominic reached out his arm to express his sympathy by clasping her hand, thought better of it and withdrew his arm. He did not want her ladyship to consider him impertinent. “I am so sorry for your losses. I can imagine your grief when your husband died. Sometimes, it is almost impossible to accept God’s will.”
She regarded him with a heart-breaking expression in her speedwell blue eyes. “Yes, it is, and when my dear papa-” She broke off and blew her nose. “Forgive me, I don’t care to recall the time in my life when Arthur and I were almost destitute, because the bank my husband invested his money in crashed before I could claim it.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, although I know my father left his money to me, but after the battle in which he lost his life, his papers were lost in the confusion. So far, I have been unable to find out where he had a bank account.”
Tuesday's Child (Heroines Born on Each Day of the Week Book 3) Page 6
