by Louise Allen
‘Fulfil your promise at the expense of my purse, eh?’ His grandfather did not look displeased.
‘I will pay, but I need your advice on the best men to consult.’
The Marquess waved that away. ‘I almost married the silly girl’s grandmother. Fond of her—she had more brains than her granddaughter, it would seem! I’ll pay the lawyers for her sake. But do you have any money?’ he asked abruptly.
‘I have savings, my arrears of pay and whatever my father left me.’
‘That will not keep you as my heir should be kept. Here.’ The Marquess tossed a thin folder across the desk. ‘I have made these estates over to you. You’ll have the income from them—and the management, too. There’s too much for me to be worrying about these days. Your father had no head for business, not a lot in his cockloft, if we’re to be frank. Took after his mother.’ There was a faraway look in his eye for a moment. ‘Pretty thing, your grandmother, but I should have married Amelia Thistleton.’
Ivo didn’t feel there was much he could usefully add to that remark, but he had the feeling that something was still to come. He picked up the folder and leafed through, suppressing a whistle of surprise as he did so. His grandfather had handed over control of a good third of his substantial estates to him. Not the most valuable, of course—he knew enough about the family holdings to judge that, despite having spent his adult life in the army.
‘Which brings me to the crux of the matter,’ the Marquess said abruptly.
Ivo put down the folder and had no trouble looking attentive. What matter?
‘Not entangled with anyone else other than that foolish Parris chit, are you? You young officers seem to attract silly girls like a candle does moths. No harm in it, unless you don’t keep your wits about you and have to marry one of them, eh?’
‘I am not married, sir. I would, naturally, have informed you should I have taken such a step. My understanding with Daphne Parris was, I admit, not known to anyone but her brother, but I regarded it as binding.’
‘So you are not promised? No understanding with anyone?’
Ivo had experienced the sensation of being in the sights of a French sniper often enough to be familiar with the prickling sensation down his spine, the lifting of the hair on his nape. It was not amusing, being the hunted and not the hunter.
The old man appeared to think that Daphne had been a youthful fancy, that the engagement had been a mere boy-and-girl infatuation that would not have lasted. He was certainly not going to tell his grandfather about that moonlit evening when he and Daphne had kissed on the terrace and he had asked her to wait for him and she had said that she would, for ever, because she loved him.
‘What exactly is the point of these questions, sir?’
Find cover...
‘The point? Are you as dense as your father? Heirs, that’s the point. Why Matthew didn’t marry again when your mother passed away, I will never know. We would have had some spares if he had. I pushed enough chits with plenty of brothers and good wide hips in front of him, but, no. Too lazy or preferred his mistress. Found her less trouble than a wife, I imagine. But now there’s just you and the next in line is your cousin Alfred and he is... Well, let’s just say he’s not the marrying kind, damn it. And then it’s your Uncle Horace and I’ll not rest easy if I’m to be succeeded by that mealy-mouthed bishop of a son of mine.’
‘Uncle Horace does have six sons,’ Ivo pointed out. His youngest, and only surviving, uncle was, indeed, a prosy old bore. His sons, in reaction, it seemed, were a pack of hellions. ‘I am only twenty-seven, Grandfather. Plenty of time.’
‘Not when you’re throwing yourself at French siege works or getting beaten up by packs of hired bully boys, there isn’t,’ the Marquess growled. ‘Or your horse puts its foot in a rabbit hole or you have some other damn fool accident or another and then where are we?’ His son Matthew, Ivo’s father, had died in just such a random riding disaster.
From the expression on the old man’s face he was not interested in hearing expressions of sympathy—or of making any, come to that, Ivo thought. His grandfather had offered him no words of consolation on the loss of his father, but then he was probably all too aware that there had been a yawning gap of mutual indifference between the two of them.
‘I see your point. But I am not in the army now, sir.’ Ivo still thought his grandfather was being pessimistic, but the loss of his elder son, however much the pair of them fought, must have been a shock to the old man. He wondered if he should say something, however unwelcome, then told himself it would be hypocritical. His father had been a distant figure, almost a stranger, and he had no idea what words might help the Marquess.
‘So, are you?’
‘What?’
‘Betrothed! Or promised or entangled? Because if you are not, then I’ve just the girl for you. Tredlestone’s middle girl. Fine healthy stock, good bloodlines, sisters married well and they have all got boys. She’ll have an excellent dowry. I’ve not sounded out Tredlestone—nothing said, you know, just hints and nudges, but he’ll be a happy man if you offer for her, I can tell you.’
And what will Miss Tredlestone be? Happy to be married off to a man she has never met? I have only to show the slightest interest, pay a visit and that will be that, thanks to the old devil’s hints and nudges. I’ll chose my own bride, thank you very much, sir.
He just had to put his grandfather off for a while, gain some breathing space. He must marry, he knew that, but it was too soon, he felt too raw and, even after what she had done, some foolish part of him wanted Daphne. Still loved her, however impossible that seemed. It would not be fair to another woman to begin a courtship, even if he could find the heart for it.
‘No... Not exactly betrothed, no,’ Ivo said slowly, pushing all thoughts of Daphne away as he searched for a delaying tactic. ‘There’s a young lady I met very recently for whom I have, I suppose, developed feelings.’
Very simple feelings—mainly a desire to box her ears or have her locked up for her own good. Or kiss her until her toes curl.
‘We have spent some little time getting to know each other. Nothing has been said, there is no commitment, but I find I cannot forget her. I certainly do not feel it would be honourable to pay court to Miss Tredlestone with my feelings for another lady so...unresolved.’
What was largely unresolved was whether he should go to Batheaston, locate Cousin Violet and make sure Jane had arrived safely. And then decide what to do about her hare-brained scheme to set herself up as a portrait painter in Bath. What he should do, he was well aware, was to put a stop to that. That was what her parents would want.
‘Who is this young woman? Good family?’
‘Not as good as Miss Tredlestone. Gentry. Respectable, prosperous.’ At least, he supposed so. Jane’s travelling dress had been well made and was in the current fashion, her luggage was of excellent quality and her parents could afford a post chaise. ‘But intelligent, lively, pretty enough. Firm-minded,’ he added. Stubborn as a mule. ‘Artistic.’ Eccentric.
‘Hmm. Perhaps an injection of solid gentry blood would do no harm. Look at my other grandsons: good breeding hasn’t done much for them. What’s this girl think of you, though? Interested, is she? She would be a fool not to be.’
Ivo did not take that as a personal compliment. Any young woman would be expected to look more than favourably on the heir to a marquessate who was under seventy, had his own teeth and was not noticeably debauched. Her mama, having failed to identify an available duke or ducal heir, would be in ecstasies—which was dangerous. He would have to tread very carefully so as not to raise expectations in either breast—Jane’s or Mrs Newnham’s.
‘She considers me to be too staid.’ He ignored the old man’s rasp of amusement. ‘I have reason to believe that she does not find me actively displeasing.’
She wanted me to kiss her, after all.
&nbs
p; ‘But I am not at all certain she wishes to settle down at present. As I said, I have not resolved in my mind what action I wish to take in respect of her.’
All I do know is that I would have to be all about in the head to fall for such a difficult female in reality.
‘You had better make up your mind, then, hadn’t you? Miss Tredlestone will not be sitting on a shelf waiting for you.’
‘Quite.’ Thank goodness.
‘Where does this young lady live?’
‘Not far from Bath. I may call in a day or so when I have settled in,’ Ivo said casually, waiting for an interrogation about any other plans, aspirations or interests he might have.
Instead he got a dismissive wave of the hand. ‘I have got papers to attend to. I will see you at dinner. The entire East Wing’s yours, I’ve had them move the clothes you left behind in your old rooms into the dressing room there. Do what you like with it—just don’t hold rackety parties that keep me awake half the night.’
‘No, sir. I can undertake not to do that,’ Ivo said to the top of his grandfather’s bent head. The once thick dark hair was all white now and there were glimpses of pink scalp beneath. He swallowed his irritation. This was an ageing man who had received a hard blow with the loss of his son, however he might pretend otherwise. He would do what he could to make life easier for the Marquess—provided that did not involve having his marriage arranged for him.
* * *
‘The village is as charming as I remember it.’ In the early afternoon, two days after her arrival, Jane strolled along the High Street, arm in arm with her cousin. ‘But it seems very small.’
‘We have scarcely two hundred inhabitants,’ Violet said with a chuckle ‘So you soon learn to recognise everyone. I cannot pretend that it has the most varied and stimulating society—there is the church, of course, and the Ladies’ Gardening Gathering and there are perhaps fifteen families with whom one might dine. But there is always Bath. As you can imagine, a new face is always welcome and I am sure your arrival will stimulate a positive flood of invitations.’
They walked on a few yards and Jane admired some of the gardens—clearly the Ladies’ Gardening Gathering had enthusiastic members.
‘My goodness, speaking of new faces—’ Violet gave her arm a little tug. ‘I do not recognise that gentleman. Just ahead of us, speaking to the Vicar.’ She stopped and pretended to admire the pink blossoms of a late-blooming rose that tumbled over the wall. ‘A very well-set-up man, I must say. I wonder if he is staying locally.’
Jane pulled a flower down to her nose as though to smell it and peered through the foliage. The man talking to the Vicar was partially obscured by the leaves, but she could tell that he was tall, broad-shouldered and well dressed. He had a pair of very fine boots, she noted, following the line of his legs down. He would be a pleasure to draw, Jane thought as he raised his hat to the Vicar and the two stepped apart.
Then the Vicar must have seen them. He raised a hand in greeting to Violet and said something to the stranger who turned.
‘Oh.’ It was not a stranger and Jane had had the pleasure of drawing him already.
‘What is it, dear?’ Violet looked at her, clearly puzzled.
‘Miss Lowry?’ The stranger was upon them. He raised his hat politely. ‘I hope you will excuse me accosting you without an introduction, but the Vicar pointed you out to me.’ He turned and smiled at Jane. ‘I had the pleasure of making Miss Newnham’s acquaintance in Kensington and I was calling to enquire if you had a safe journey, ma’am.’ He turned back to Violet. ‘I am Kendall.’
Chapter Seven
Cousin Violet might not mix in aristocratic circles, but she certainly knew the names of the families from the great houses that ringed Bath and she was not intimidated by meeting a representative of one of them. ‘Lord Kendall.’ Her slight curtsy was perfectly judged, too.
She and the Earl made a striking, if improbable, couple, Jane thought, mentally composing a picture of the encounter. Violet did not have a figure perfectly suited to the styles of the day, but she had good taste and the independence of thought to adapt the mode to suit herself and she did not look out of place alongside Ivo’s unfamiliar elegance. Studying them served to calm her jittering nerves a little. What on earth was Ivo doing here in Batheaston? At least now she knew he had reached Merton Tower safely.
‘How fortunate that you encountered us, Lord Kendall,’ she said, recovering enough from the surprise to be puzzled. ‘Quite a coincidence as I do not believe you had either my cousin’s direction or her surname.’
‘I realised that your Cousin Violet would be among the gentry listed in the Bath Directory and there is only the one lady in Batheaston with such a charming forename. Then I was fortunate enough to encounter your Vicar as I was searching for the address.’
Ivo seemed to have acquired a particularly smooth manner along with his smart wardrobe, Jane thought, watching him suspiciously.
‘And we are just on our way home,’ Violet said. ‘We came out so that I could show Miss Newnham Mrs Broughton’s spectacular rose. We ladies are very enthusiastic about gardening in Batheaston.’
You cunning thing! Jane thought admiringly. They had been heading in the opposite direction to Violet’s house with no intention of turning back for at least another twenty minutes or so. Admiration gave way to mild panic as Ivo took his place between them, offered each an arm and proceeded to stroll back along the High Street.
What does he want?
Not to betray their unconventional journey, it seemed, not with that reference to Kensington, as though their meeting had been on some social occasion.
Ivo kept up a stream of polite talk all the way back. He encouraged Violet to hold forth on the Ladies’ Gardening Gathering, admired the architecture and enquired about the flood risk with the Avon, it being so close to the main street.
Jane, her hand tucked into his left elbow, tried a warning squeeze, hoping he would take the hint to be tactful. Under her fingers his arm felt very solid. Then she recalled that this was his injured side. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered.
Not quietly enough, it seemed. ‘I beg your pardon, Jane dear,’ Violet said, leaning forward a little to see around Ivo.
‘I was just... I was concerned that I might be hurting Lord Kendall’s arm. I heard he had sustained an injury to his shoulder.’
‘It is healing well now, thank you, Miss Newnham.’
The wretched man sounded as though he was smiling. She kept her gaze firmly forward, blinkered by the sides of her bonnet.
‘A war wound, Lord Kendall?’ Violet asked. ‘I believe I am correct in thinking you have been serving in the army?’
‘I have been, but I am in the process of selling out now in order to support my grandfather. And it was not a battle injury, merely an accident, Miss Lowry.’
Jane restrained herself from leaning heavily on his arm.
‘Even so, your grandfather must be so relieved that you are home safely from the wars. Now, here we are, my cottage.’
‘Delightful.’ Ivo stopped at the gate and admired the mellow stone and the bountiful garden. ‘I can understand why Miss Newnham was so happy to be leaving the dirt and smoke of London for this.’
Violet, leading the way down the front path, might be flattered, but she was no fool. ‘Your acquaintance with my cousin is a recent one, I gather.’
‘Fairly recent, yes. We were introduced by some acquaintances of the sister of one of my late army friends.’
They were inside the hallway now and the maid came to meet them, taking bonnets and reticules and Ivo’s hat and cane. Jane caught him glancing at her and rolled her eyes. She was not certain whether she was more relieved at his smooth answers or annoyed at how easily he could turn awkward truth into acceptable fiction. There was a twitch of his lips, but whether it was a smile or a rueful acknowledgement of her unspoken re
proof, she was not certain.
‘And how will you be entertaining yourself in this lovely part of the world, Miss Newnham?’ he asked when they were settled in the parlour and tea had been sent for. ‘You paint a little, I think I recall. There must be delightful landscapes to tempt your brush.’
‘I paint a great deal, mainly portraits. Surely you remember, Lord Kendall? We discussed the subject at some length.’
‘It had slipped my mind, I’m afraid. I am not at all artistic myself. And have you visited Bath yet?’
‘No.’
Violet raised her eyebrows, clearly confused at Jane’s abruptness. ‘We will do so presently. Bath is not what it was, of course, but I am sure my cousin will enjoy browsing among the shops. I take little interest in them myself, but most of the ladies of my acquaintance find them satisfactory. I imagine you will not be wanting to sample the waters, will you, dear?’
‘No, indeed.’ Jane repressed a shudder at the thought. ‘I confess that I would enjoy visiting the city. Perhaps you can spare a maid to accompany me, Cousin—then I will not need to trouble you, given that you do not find window shopping entertaining.’
‘Bath is certainly very respectable,’ Violet said thoughtfully. ‘I am sure you would be quite safe with Charity. She knows the city well.’
‘Perhaps I might offer my escort if Miss Lowry will entrust you to my care?’ Ivo said as he got to his feet to shift a side table for the maid carrying the tea tray. ‘It would be a pleasure to rediscover Bath.’
‘You know it well?’ Jane could not fathom Ivo’s motive for making such an offer. He was surely not intending to help her find suitable premises?
‘I did once.’ He was smiling blandly back at her, his expression quite unreadable. ‘The family home is not so very far.’
Whatever Cousin Violet saw there, she was clearly disposed to trust him. ‘So kind, Lord Kendall. I am certain dear Jane would enjoy exploring with you far more than she would with me or a maid.’
‘Cousin—’
