‘Now, then, Marianne, I want to talk to you about the estate. This is splendid news, is it not? Kit is going to marry Adèle. So I want to put everything in order. If we are to have tiny feet pattering up and down the corridors, I want to make sure they won’t be rained on through a leaking roof. But I didn’t want to set the repairs in motion before I had explained to you what I intend to do. I know you love the estate, and I must say how well you have looked after it during my . . . illness, perhaps we should call it . . . but now it is time for us to move on. And so I am intending to sell a hundred acres of land.’
‘No, Papa!’ Marianne sprang to her feet.
‘I know your feelings about the estate, my dear, and I respect you for them. But whilst the past is important, the future is even more so.’
‘But if we sell off the land —’
He gave her a smile; the kind of smile he used to give her when he had taught her mathematics as a child, when he had just explained some particularly difficult problem and was waiting for her to understand. ‘That s what land is for, you know, my dear. We buy it in good times so that we may sell it in bad.’
Marianne was surprised; and then frowned; and then said, ‘I’d never thought of it like that.’
‘I know. Which is why I wanted to explain it to you before I took any action. I wanted you to understand.’
‘I think I do.’
‘It has happened before, you know,’ her father reassured her. ‘My father sold off a lot of land fifty years ago to help the Stuart cause. But then, when he failed to help put a Stuart king on the throne, he gradually recouped his losses and bought the land back again. And that is what we must do now: sell some land and then hope that, in the future, we may be able to buy it back again. Not to finance some lost cause this time, but to set the estate in order, and to give Kit and Adèle a splendid wedding, a wedding worthy of the Travis heir.’
‘Yes,’ Marianne breathed. ‘That would be lovely. And so good for Adèle.’
Her father nodded. ‘It will help her take her mind off other things. She is still worried about her parents, particularly as she has not yet had a reply from Lord Dublaine, but choosing her bride clothes will give her something happy to think about. And you, Marianne, will need to choose your own gown. You are to be Adèle’s attendant, I understand.’
Marianne nodded, delighted to be attending her friend as she married her brother.
‘You will need something elegant to wear. And you must order a few new dresses whilst you’re about it, my dear. I have neglected you for long enough.’
Her father opened his arms to her and she gave him a hug.
‘Oh, Papa, it’s so good to have you back with us.’
He held her close. ‘My dear, it is good to be well again.’
She stepped back, hardly able to contain her happiness. Her papa was restored to her, Kit was to marry Adèle, and Luke – Oh, Luke! She could hardly wait for the afternoon to arrive!
‘I have sent a message to Madame LaTour, asking her to call on us this morning.’ He paused. ‘She is still the best modiste in these parts?’
‘Yes, Papa.’
‘Good. Then you and Adèle will select your style of gowns. Oh, and make sure you select yourselves something for the engagement ball as well. It is to be a proper ball, mind, not the sort of country affair we are used to. There will be no informality, everything will be done in the first style. The ladies will have cards and the dances will be elegant. We are going to celebrate Kit’s betrothal and wedding with splendour. It isn’t every day I have my son restored to me, and then discover he is to marry my god-daughter, after all! But you will not be forgotten, my dear. Once Kit and Adèle are safely married I mean to take you to London. We will catch the end of the Season and indulge ourselves with visits to the museums and the theatres. What do you say?’
Marianne could say nothing, for she believed those plans would have to be altered. But at the moment she was not at liberty to speak, and said only, ‘That would be delightful.’
‘Good. Good. Well, now, Marianne, off you go, my dear.’ As she reached the door he said, ‘You are to take tea with Lord Ravensford this afternoon, I hear?’
Marianne’s heart sang. ‘Yes, Papa.’
‘Good. Then thank him from me for restoring my son to me, will you? And tell him that I will do myself the honour of calling on him to thank him myself just as soon as things are ship-shape here.’
Marianne promised to do so.
‘And Marianne, do what you can to lift Adèle’s spirits, will you please? She seems rather low this morning. No letter came again in the post.’
Marianne nodded. ‘I will.’
‘Good. Then off you go. And mind, choose something truly elegant from Madame LaTour.’
With this happy injunction ringing in her ears, Marianne went to find Adèle.
Marianne was glad of Madame LaTour’s visit, as it helped to pass the hours until it was time for her to go to Billingsdale Manor and take tea with Luke.
Madame LaTour was a splendid Frenchwoman of middle age. She had fled the troubles in France, like so many of her countrymen and women, and set up her business in the neighbouring town, where she had relatives. She bustled into the Hall with a collection of journals and pocket books, and samples of silks and satins in the latest colours.
Settling herself down in the morning-room, she proceeded to cover the desk, and then the floor, with drawings, engravings and fabric samples, extolling Marianne and Adèle to 'see the cut of this gown, Mademoiselle,' or 'feel this piece of silk'.
Marianne and Adèle looked through the latest fashion journals, marvelling that a country in turmoil could still be producing such things.
‘What will you?’ asked Madame LaTour with an expressive shrug. ‘We French, we like our fashions, heh, Mademoiselle? Not even revolution can change this about us.’
Marianne was about to ask Madame LaTour how she got her copies of the journals but forebore to ask. The Revolution had created all sorts of kinds of smuggling, and there were some things, Marianne decided, that it was better not to know. She looked through the latest editions of the Journal de la Mode et du Goût, noting that striped dresses were very popular, and decided on a blue-striped silk for her ballgown, whilst Adèle chose a white silk with a jonquil-striped bodice and sleeves.
‘And so, at last we have decided, oui?’ asked Madame LaTour, making copious notes on the gowns the two young ladies had chosen. ‘Very well. Your ball gowns, I will make sure they are ready in time for the ball. The bride clothes, they will take longer, but I ’ave some very good girls who sew for me and I will take on more when I have the need.’
‘ Oh, Marianne, I am so happy!’ said Adèle, when Madame LaTour had gone. ‘And yet —’
Marianne knew she was thinking of her parents and gave her friend a hug. ‘It will come right in the end, I’m sure of it, Adèle. We must just have faith.’
Lunchtime came at last, and then the afternoon. And then, just as Marianne was about to go upstairs and put her riding habit on, there came a blow. The Reverend Mr Stock called, with his sister, Miss Stock.
‘I hope we’re not intruding,’ he said, ‘But Minerva and I just happened to be passing, on our way back from Mr and Mrs Farner and I said to Minerva, “I think I’ll just call in at the Hall and see if Mr Travis is ready to discuss any of the wedding arrangements.”’
‘An excellent idea,’ said Mr Travis approvingly. ‘And very kind.’
‘As soon as I got your letter, I was delighted,’ said the Reverend Mr Stock. ‘“You will never guess,” I said to Minerva – didn’t I, Minerva? – “but Kit Travis is to be wed.” I was delighted. We were both overjoyed.’
‘Indeed,’ beamed Miss Stock. ‘Kit, Adèle, you must let me wish you joy.’
Mr Travis, too, beamed. ‘This is a very special wedding, my only son to my god-daughter, and I can’t thank you enough for coming, Reverend. I want to make sure everything is right.’
‘It’s ver
y good of you,’ said Kit politely. He turned to his father. ‘You won’t be needing us, though, will you, sir?’
Marianne gave Kit a quick glance, part grateful for his loyalty, but part concerned that he was preparing to forego his own important arrangements to help her.
‘Not need you?’ enquired Mr Travis, surprised. ‘Of course we need you. You and Adèle are the two people we can’t do without. And as the Reverend’s very kindly called on us, I think it an excellent opportunity to make our plans.’
‘You have forgotten, perhaps, that we are engaged to take tea with Lord Ravensford,’ Kit said. ‘We ought to be leaving in the next ten minutes or so.’
‘You’re right, Kit, I had forgotten.’
‘I don’t like breaking an appointment,’ said Kit.
‘No, no, of course not.’ Mr Travis frowned. ‘And yet the Reverend is a busy man. We cannot make too many demands on his time.’
‘If it means breaking an engagement . . . ’ said the Reverend, looking worried.
‘Unless, of course, Marianne went by herself,’ suggested Kit with a happy inspiration. ‘Then the engagement would not be broken, merely amended.’
‘Of course! The very thing,’ said Mr Travis. ‘Marianne will still be able to convey my thanks to Lord Ravensford for all he has done for you, and we will be able to attend to the matter of the wedding. But you can’t go without a chaperon,’ he went on with a frown.
Marianne tried to hide her disappointment. She was delighted that Kit and Adèle were to have an opportunity to make the arrangements for their wedding, but the Reverend’s kindly visit was a sore blow to her nonetheless.
Miss Stock gave a nervous little cough. ‘If I may be of any assistance . . . ’
‘Perfect,’ declared Mr Travis, seeing immediately what was in her mind.
‘Would it not be too much trouble?’ asked Marianne. The day had suddenly resumed its bright air, but she was determined not to take advantage of the kindly spinster.
‘Not at all. I must confess I would enjoy it. Sebastien will be busy with your dear father, and of course your brother and future sister-in-law, for some time, and as I can have nothing to add to their deliberations I would like to make myself useful elsewhere.’
‘And you will, of course, take Tom with you,’ said Mr Travis. Concerned with Kit’s impending marriage as he was, he did not forget that two unmarried ladies could not ride around the country without an escort.
‘Tom has taken Hercules to the farrier’s,’ said Marianne.
‘Then you must take Henri,’ said Mr Travis, as the door opened and Henri entered the room with a tray of tea for the Reverend and his sister. ‘Henri. Will you be so good as to accompany Miss Marianne and Miss Stock to Lord Ravensford’s this afternoon?’
‘Mais oui, Monsieur Travis,’ said Henri, putting down the tray. ‘I am ’appy to oblige.’
‘Then that’s settled. You don’t mind, do you, Marianne, my dear?’
‘No, of course not.’ Marianne said, her heart singing
‘Good. And now, Reverend,’ said her father, turning his attention back to Kit’s wedding, ‘let us make our plans.’
Marianne left the room as Kit and Adèle began talking over the arrangements for their marriage ceremony. She changed quickly into her riding habit and then she, Miss Stock and Henri set off for Billingsdale Manor.
The day was cold but fine. The earlier, unseasonably warm weather had given way to the bright, breezy weather more typical of March. Marianne and Miss Stock rode side by side to begin with, but Marianne’s horse was fresh and frisky whilst Miss Stock’s mare was already tired from her earlier journey out to the Farners’ house.
‘Don’t dawdle on my account, Marianne,’ said Miss Stock. ‘Dapple’s itching for a run. Give her her head, my dear, and wait for me outside the Manor.’
Marianne thanked Miss Stock for her thoughtfulness and gave Dapple a free rein. Since Tom had brought her back from Jim Smith’s the mare had had little exercise, and she was champing at the bit.
Marianne enjoyed the ride. The wind whipped past her, and the exercise was exhilarating.
Henri rode behind her, keeping his position in between the two ladies, mindful of his duties as guardian to both.
They took the shortest route to the Manor, cutting across the fields instead of taking the lane. Approaching the house from the seaward side, they crossed the fields and orchards, and then drew near to the back of the imposing manor. As soon as the stately building was in sight Marianne began to rein Dapple in, slowing her gently and bringing her to a halt at the start of the formal gardens. There Marianne slipped from Dapple’s back and, waiting only for Henri to take the mare from her, she walked on towards the house.
The library window was open. Marianne saw that Lord Ravensford was sitting there, waiting for his guests. His back was towards her, his wild dark hair combed into a semblance of tameness before being confined in a bow at the nape of his neck. His shoulders were straight and he sat erect, giving no indication that he had ever been injured. He was a strong man, and although it would take some time for his injury to heal fully, she was pleased to see that already it scarcely troubled him.
She felt her heart beating more quickly as, at any minute, she expected him to turn round and see her. He would be surprised to see that she was alone, but he would no doubt take advantage of the few minutes they would have together before Miss Stock arrived to ask his important question.
She was just about to give way to an impetuous urge to call out to him, when she saw the door of the library open . . .
Luke was sitting in the library, waiting for Marianne. He was impatient to see her. Ever since he had seen the Frenchman level a pistol at her, ever since he had flung himself between her and a bullet without even having to think about it, he had known that he was in love with her. He had found something he had thought he would never find: a woman he loved with a depth and a sincerity he had never known existed. A woman he loved so much he would gladly risk his life for her. He smiled as he thought of Marianne. She was the most bewitching creature in every way. He could not wait to ask her to be his wife.
But he would have to wait, he thought ruefully as he glanced at the clock. He still had some ten minutes to wait before she was due to arrive. He could not pass the time in activity as, although almost recovered from his injury, he still needed to be careful, and so he took out a book of maps.
The door opened. But before he could turn his head he heard a familiar and much-loved voice calling his name: ‘Luke!’
He looked up in astonishment. But no, his ears had not deceived him. It was . . . yes, it really was . . . it was his beautiful young cousin who stood there, exactly as he had last seen her in revolutionary France. The same dark hair and velvety eyes; the same air and carriage, both being decidedly French; her head held high on her graceful neck, and her gown, a simple yet elegant affair, revealing the only difference he could see in her - a sadly-thinned body. But she was his Nicole for all that, his beloved cousin; the cousin he had thought he had lost to the guillotine. And she was safe.
He sprang out of his chair and strode across the room, taking her in his arms and joyfully crushing her to him, his arms wrapped tightly round her and his head buried in her hair. ‘Nicole! Oh, what a joyous day this is, indeed!’
Outside the window, Marianne could not move. She had seen the young woman enter the room, seen Luke spring out of his chair and take the young woman in his arms. She had heard Luke’s impassioned cry of ‘Nicole!’ And it had left her devastated. She could not move; could not think; could only watch, as if mesmerised. Watch as Luke pulled away from Nicole, still holding her hands, and look her up and down. Watch as an unmistakeable look of love spread over his face.
‘Ah! What a beautiful sight, n’est-ce-pas?’ came a voice at Marianne’s shoulder.
Unbeknownst to her, Henri had handed the horses over to one of Luke’s grooms and had joined her, standing just behind her.
‘Young l
ove; it is a beautiful thing,’ sighed Henri. ‘You ’ave feelings for Luke, Miss Marianne, I know, but you are too generous to grudge ’im this ’appiness. ’e thought ’e ’ad lost Nicole to the guillotine.’
Marianne could not reply. She could only stand there, frozen, watching Luke’s love pour out over Nicole.
But then the thought of Miss Stock arriving stirred her.
She could not face an afternoon’s tea with Luke. To make polite conversation, to congratulate him, perhaps . . . She shuddered. No, it was something she could not do. But she knew that if she did not act quickly she would be forced into it.
She scarcely knew how she managed to speak; nor how her voice managed to remain so calm. But somehow she managed it.
The Earl Next Door Page 18
