06.The Penniless Peer (The Eternal Collection) (22 page)

“I know, dear boy,” Lord Farquhar interposed, “that you will wish to be on your way to Yorkshire immediately, I have therefore taken upon myself to lend you a four-in hand. It will carry you more swiftly than your Phaeton, and you can change horses for the first time at my own stables in London.”

“it is very obliging of you, M’Lord,” Lord Corbury said. “And if you will excuse me I would of course wish to be on my way.”

He looked at the Clerk.

“Will you travel with me, Mr. Salter?”

“I should be honoured, M’Lord.”

“I shall have to stop for a few minutes at the Club and tell my friends that I cannot breakfast with them,” Lord Corbury said, “though I will undoubtedly feel justified in partaking of a glass of wine.”

His eyes met Lord Farquhar’s as he spoke and the two men smiled at each other. Then Lord Corbury held out his hand.

“Thank you,” he said, “for the kind offer you made me last night. Can I leave Fenella in your charge?”

“You can do that,” Lord Farquhar said, “and the best of luck, my boy!”

“Thank you,” Lord Corbury replied.

He turned towards Fenella. She was looking up at him beseechingly, her face very pale. He put his hand on her head and ruffled her hair.

“Take care of yourself, Imp,” he said, “and do not get into any more mischief if you can help it.”

Her hands fluttered out towards him, but already he had walked from the room swiftly and with an eagerness that he could not hide.

Fenella followed him. As she reached the hall she saw the four-in-hand was already waiting outside the front door and the servants lifting Lord Corbury’s valise into it.

He swung himself onto the box-seat, Mr. Salter scrambled up beside him and the groom seated himself behind.

The horses were fresh and fidgeting to be off. And it was with great difficulty that while keeping his leader under control, Lord Corbury managed to raise his hat as he drove away.

Fenella put up her hand and waved but he did not look back. She watched his broad shoulders and the raffish angle of his hat until the drive turned and he was out of sight. Forlornly she let her arm fall down to her side.

“Half a million pounds!” she murmured almost beneath her breath. “Oh, Uncle Roderick, I have lost him now! He will be able to — marry Hetty as he has always wanted to do.”

Lord Farquhar put an arm round her shoulders.

“You might do well to remember an adage from the racing world,” he said. “It is – ‘One has never lost a race until another horse is first past the winning post’!”

Three weeks later, helping himself to cutlets furnished by his own lambs, garnished with mushrooms picked in his own meadows, Lord Corbury looked across the large oval room in which he was sitting through the high windows onto the well-kept garden, which was bathed in sunshine.

It was a fine day and he was thinking that he would rather ride across the fields to inspect the work that was taking place in one of his villages than drive round the twisting narrow lanes.

He was waited on at breakfast by an elderly Butler, who had the appearance of a Bishop, and three footmen.

Another flunkey appeared to whisper something in the Butler’s ear, who now approached His Lordship respectfully to say in a low voice,

 “I would inform Your Lordship that Mr. Tothill the architect is here to discuss with Your Lordship the plans for the new buildings on the West side of the Estate, and Wingate and his son who are concerned with the drainage of the land down by the river have been waiting Your Lordship’s pleasure for nearly an hour.”

“I will see them all in a few minutes,” Lord Corbury replied. “Have you told my agent to be here at 9.30?”

“I sent a groom to Mr. Walker’s house last night, M’Lord, after I received your instructions.”

“Thank you, Barnstaple,” Lord Corbury said, “There is a lot to do!”

He spoke with a note of satisfaction in his voice and the Butler replied,

 “There is indeed, M’Lord. But if your Lordship will permit me to say so, as Mr. Walker was saying only yesterday, there has never been a gentleman who seemed to grasp the intricacies of the situation so quickly, who was so positive in deciding what should be done.”

Lord Corbury permitted himself a smile of satisfaction.

It was true, he thought. He had never realised before what pleasure there was in planning an estate or setting in motion the architects, the builders, the stonemasons, the carpenters and all the other people who were vitally concerned with the projects he had in hand.

“I’m afraid,” the Butler was saying, “that Your Lordship has found that the late Master was only concerned with the well-being of his horses. He had little interest in his tenants or indeed in the farming of his land.”

“I must admit to being surprised at how much needs doing,” Lord Corbury agreed.

He waved away two other dishes that were proffered him by the footmen.

“I have no time for more,” he said. “Besides, I shall find myself putting on weight if the Chef continues to send up such excellent food at every meal.”

“Adolphus will be very gratified, M’Lord,” the Butler said, “to know his efforts have found favour in your eyes. He is indeed an artist at his work, but he gets very despondent if he is not appreciated.”

“Then tell him I am extremely pleased with his efforts,” Lord Corbury said.

He picked up a glass of ale by his side as he spoke. It was ale that had been brewed in his own brewery on his own estate, and which he felt, though it might have been imagination, was better than any other ale he had ever tasted in his whole life.

He was about to rise from the table, when a flunkey placed a silver salver in Barnstaple’s hand.

He brought it to Lord Corbury’s side. On the shining surface reposed two letters.

“The post has just arrived, M’Lord.”

Lord Corbury picked up the letters. There was no mistaking on the first at which he looked that the elaborate, elegant script was the effort of a female and the other with its curling capitals was also from a woman.

A footman set a gold-handled ivory letter-opener at his Lordship’s side and he slit the first letter open.

It was scented with gardenia, and as this was a perfume he had every reason to remember, he did not need to glance at the signature before he started to read.

10th July 1817.

Periquine, my Very Dear,

It is with the greatest joy I have heard of your good fortune and of the vast estates your Uncle has bequeathed to you on his death.

As the London Season is over you will have realised that we are now at Brighton where His Royal Highness the Prince Regent is in residence. It is very gay, but as you can imagine I miss you sadly.

Please hurry South to join us and Papa is greatly looking forward to welcoming you.

I remain, Dear Periquine,

Yours ever Affectionate,

 Hetty.

There was no mistaking the curl of contempt on Lord Corbury’s lips as he read Hetty’s letter. When he came to her reference to Sir Virgil he smiled, but there was no humour in it.

He threw the letter down on the table and picked up the other one. He knew the writing only too well. It was from Fenella and he read

July 11th 1817.

Dearest Periquine,

I feel very Remiss in not writing before to Condole with you on your Uncle’s Death and express my deepest sympathy for the tragic manner in which he met it. Please forgive me, but I have been so exceedingly busy these past weeks that I have hardly had time to think.

You will no doubt see that I am writing to you from Brighton where Uncle Roderick has a most charming and spacious house on the Steine next to those owned by the Duke of Marlborough and Mrs. Fitzherbert.

Such exciting things have happened to me since you left that I hardly know where to begin to tell you about them.

Uncle Roderick has appointed himself my Guardian and has decided most generously to present me to the Fashionable World. He has given me the most beautiful gowns and you will be astonished, Periquine, to hear that I am a success!

We go to Balls and Assemblies every night, and I have dined twice at the Royal Pavilion where His Royal Highness paid me the most fulsome compliments and even placed me on his left at dinner! I know you will tease me when you hear that several suitors have asked Uncle Roderick if they may pay their addresses to me! It is all very exciting and sometimes I feel I must be living in a dream.

Take care of yourself, dear Periquine. We often speak of you.

Your affectionate cousin,

Fenella.

Lord Corbury read this epistle through twice. While he was frowning the first time, he was definitely scowling ferociously on a second reading.

For a moment he sat staring at Fenella’s signature as if he had never seen it before.

Then he rose from the table so hastily that his chair tipped over backwards and fell with a crash to the ground, which made the attendant footmen step forward hastily.

Crumbling Fenella’s letter fiercely into a ball in the palm of his hand, he walked from the room.

Chapter Ten

Lord Corbury drove into Brighton late in the afternoon, tooling his four horses with an expertise which made a number of people turn round and stare at him in admiration.

He had been agreeably surprised to find such a perfect team of chestnuts in the stables at Corbury House in Grosvenor Square, and knew that they would undoubtedly be the envy of his friends.

He drove up with a flourish to the best hotel on the Marine Parade and demanded a suite of rooms with such an authoritative air and was obviously of such consequence that the proprietor without a qualm of conscience handed over to him the rooms he had been keeping for the Earl of Dorchester.

Having changed his clothes, Lord Corbury proceeded to Lord Farquhar’s house on the Steine and asked to see Miss Fenella Lambert.

He was however shown into a study on the ground floor, where he found himself greeted by Lord Farquhar.

“This is a surprise, Periquine, dear boy,” the latter said jovially, “we were not expecting you South for some time.”

 “I wish to see Fenella,” Lord Corbury said with the air of a man who is not to be diverted from his main objective.

“Fenella is resting at the moment,” Lord Farquhar replied. “We are dining tonight with the Prince Regent at the Royal Pavilion, and naturally she wishes to look her best.”

“When can I see her?” Lord Corbury demanded.

“Sit down, my boy, and let me offer you a glass of wine,” Lord Farquhar said. “We have heard very pleasing reports of the possessions and the fortune you have inherited from your uncle. I feel sure they are not exaggerated.”

“Not in the slightest,” Lord Corbury replied, “but there is a great deal to do. I have started on a programme of rebuilding a number of the villages on my Yorkshire estates, which at a rough estimate will keep me fully occupied for the next five years.”

“That is good news,” Lord Farquhar approved. “As I expect you know, your Uncle acquired his Yorkshire estates from his first wife who was a great heiress. His second brought him the lands in Leicestershire.”

“I had forgotten that Uncle Alexander was married twice,” Lord Corbury said. “I think his second wife died before I was very old.”

“You cannot have been more than five years of age,” Lord Farquhar agreed, “and after that the Colonel found being a bachelor suited him admirably. With his wealth I can assure you he was never lonely!”

“I can well believe that,” Lord Corbury smiled. “And now will you tell me when I can see Fenella.”

There was a moment’s pause. Then Lord Farquhar said,

 “Fenella is being a great success, Periquine. I always realised she was very attractive, but I can assure you that with her looks, her charm and that
joie de vivre
which makes her out-standing among young women, she has taken the
Beau Monde
by storm.”

Lord Corbury did not speak but his lips tightened as Lord Farquhar continued,

 “I do not mind telling you, Periquine, that I am besieged by prospective suitors, and I think we shall be very proud of our little Fenella before the end of the week.”

“What do you mean by that, My Lord?” Lord Corbury asked sharply.

“I mean,” Lord Farquhar replied slowly, “that I expect Fenella to make a brilliant match - very brilliant indeed.”

Again there was a silence, and then in a voice which sounded unnaturally loud Lord Corbury asked,

 “Is it Waringham?”

“Good Heavens, no !” Lord Farquhar replied. “Fenella had refused Sir Nicolas I understand, before you stayed with me at Ascot. But he is still exceedingly persistent. At times I cannot help feeling sorry for him.”

“Refused him!” Lord Corbury murmured almost as if he spoke to himself. “I might have suspicioned it.”

“No, it is not Waringham,” Lord Farquhar went on, “but someone of far greater consequence in the social sphere. Tonight, as I have already told you, dear boy, we dine with His Royal Highness. But tomorrow the Dowager Marchioness of Harrington is giving a Ball for her daughter at which Fenella will be an honoured guest. I should not be surprised if the announcement of Fenella’s engagement to the young Marquis was made during the Ball.”

“I insist on seeing Fenella,” Lord Corbury said firmly. “If she is lying down I can go up to her room. After all I am her cousin, or she can come down here to me.”