106. Love's Dream in Peril (7 page)

The maid gave him a black look and said that Miss Hartley was certainly not at the school.

Perhaps she too had left for London.

The door closed in his face and he leapt swiftly down the step to make his way back into the town.

There was nothing for it but to make arrangements for his journey home, perhaps to Manningham, where there would be plenty of good horses for him to ride.

Ahead of him on the pavement, a young girl was approaching. She was slender and, though soberly dressed in grey and black, had a most elegant figure.

As she drew closer, he saw that she had dark hair and in the next moment he realised it was Miss Hartley!

What a lucky chance. Suddenly he was seized with a longing to hear her voice again and look into her fine dark eyes as he had done over the table at the teashop.

He remembered how lovely she had looked as she expressed her concern for Adella’s safety. Her cheeks had taken on the softest flush and her eyes had shone with an exquisite glow as they filled with unshed tears.

Lord Ranulph quickened his step.

“Miss Hartley! What a coincidence – ”

She did not answer, but looked at him, her eyes wide as if she was afraid.

Then he saw, behind her, a group of young girls, all dressed in grey uniforms, holding hands as they walked two-by-two along the pavement.

“What is this?” he asked, as the little girls came to a halt, staring up at him in amazement.

Jane spoke.

“I-I am in charge of them,” she stammered, looking at the pavement. “I am escorting them – on their walk.”

“Miss Hartley is our favourite teacher,” one of the girls piped up.

“You are a teacher, Miss Hartley?”

Lord Ranulph could not believe it.

She was indeed such an attractive and graceful girl showing all the qualities of a well-bred young woman.

But a
teacher
! It was not at all appropriate for him to pay any attention to such a creature.

And yet he could not help but admire the elegant line of her long neck and the way that she gathered up her skirts in her gloved hands to hurry past him.

She was pretty, it could not be denied. The gleam of her shining hair reminded him of the still smooth waters of the beautiful lake at Manningham.

She must be a gentlewoman fallen on hard times. These things happened, Lord Ranulph knew, although not to anyone of his acquaintance.

‘I should not have allowed myself to be distracted by her,’ he thought.

But the sight of Jane Hartley had created a painful, restless sensation in Lord Ranulph’s heart.

‘I shall go to London,’ he told himself. ‘Indeed Manningham will be far too dull. I don’t want to bury myself in the countryside. Who knows, perhaps I may even see Miss Adella May in London. She is so lovely, she will surely help me to forget Miss Hartley. And maybe I will be able to score a point against Digby after all!’

And then he smiled as he imagined Digby’s face, when he saw him with Adella on his arm.

That settled it. He should go to Belgravia to his London residence, Fowles Place.

He would take Major, his favourite thoroughbred with him, so that he had a fine horse to ride in Hyde Park.

“Then I’ll find Miss May,” he said out loud, as he arrived back at the College. “And Digby will be as jealous as any man could be when he finds out that she prefers my company after all! How could she not, when she has had a chance to get to know
me
?”

*

‘How can the sun still be shining?’ Digby thought, as he sat in his father’s study at Duncombe Manor the day after the funeral and looked out over the herb garden that his mother had planted and tended for so many years.

It seemed so wrong to look up and see cheerful-looking fluffy white clouds drifting though a blue sky and hear birds singing when his Papa was dead.

The countryside should be in mourning, just like his family.

There was a tap at the study door and Digby shook himself. It was not like him to be poetic, but in the last few days he had felt such incredible extremes of emotion and odd thoughts like these kept coming into his mind.

He had been so happy, everything seemed shining and wonderful when he was in the Gardens with Adella.

And then, since the news of his father’s death, he had felt such pain and sadness.

The study door opened and his mother came in. She had always been young and pretty to Digby, but the sudden loss of her husband had aged Mrs. Dryden.

Her eyes were swollen with weeping and the drab black dress she wore did not suit her fair beauty at all.

“Digby, this is Mr. Poole, our family Solicitor.”

A short grey-haired man followed Mrs. Dryden into the study carrying a heavy leather bag.

“Good morning, sir,” he began, peering up at Digby though the thick round lenses of his spectacles. “Very sad times. Sad times indeed.”

He sat down at the desk, opened his bag and pulled out some papers.

“Mr. Poole has come to read the will to us,” Mrs. Dryden said and her voice shook a little, so that Digby longed to run over and hug her.

“Should I fetch the girls?” he asked.

His sisters were younger than him, although Maud, the eldest, was sixteen and almost grown-up.

“No, my dear,” Mrs. Dryden said. “I think it would be best if it was just you and I.”

The old Solicitor took his time reading the will. Most of it meant nothing to Digby, although he understood that, just as he had expected, he was his father’s sole heir.

Duncombe Manor, the farms and lands that went with it and all of Mr. Dryden’s fortune were to go to him as the only son.

And then there was a long pause. Old Mr. Poole took off his glasses and polished them carefully, as if they had suddenly misted up.

As Digby listened to what he had to say next, he was very glad that his sisters had not come to the study.

He looked across at his mother and saw her white face and that there were tears in her eyes.

“Mr. Dryden made a number of investments during his lifetime, which were not well-advised,” Mr. Poole told them. “Over the last year these investments lost value and he was forced to take out mortgages on a number of the properties belonging to the estate.”

“What – does that mean?” Mrs. Dryden asked and Digby saw that her hands were clenched so tightly in her lap that the knuckles were white.

“It means that your son’s inheritance amounts to little more than a very large debt,” Mr. Poole said, looking down at the papers. “The Manor itself remains. But there is no money to continue to pay the mortgages and the bank will take over the farms and the land. And what you will have to live on, Mrs. Dryden, I cannot imagine.”

“Oh!” Digby’s mother held her face in her hands.

Digby had the same frozen feeling that had come over him when Mr. Evans came to break the news of his father’s death.

The Solicitor was peering at him through his thick lenses.

“I understand you have just gained your degree, from Oxford University,” he said.

“Yes,” Digby nodded.

His head and his body now felt wooden, completely without any feeling.

“Then I should advise you to take up a profession, young man, as soon as may be. You have your charming mother and four pretty sisters looking to you to provide for them. And I don’t doubt that this old Manor will cost a pretty penny to run.”

The Solicitor looked thoughtful.

“There is a Dryden in adjacent Chambers to mine at Lincoln’s Inn. A most renowned and respected Judge. I have often wondered if he might have some connection to your family – ”

Mrs. Dryden raised her head.

“Yes!” she said. “He is my dear husband’s second cousin. We have never met, but James did speak of him sometimes.”

“Then I suggest that you contact him immediately, Mr. Dryden. He may be able to help you gain a foothold in the legal profession.”

“But I never – ”

Digby could not imagine himself as a lawyer. Why he could end up like Mr. Poole, grey and bent, travelling all over the country to bring bad news to people!

“Thank you so much, Mr. Poole, for that very kind suggestion.” Mrs. Dryden smiled at the old man, although her eyes were still wet with tears.

“Not at all, not at all.” Mr. Poole stood up to take his leave.

As soon as the Solicitor had gone, Digby turned to his mother and pulled himself up to his full height.

“I will go off tomorrow and find this Judge, Papa’s cousin,” he told her.

Even though his heart sank as he heard himself say these words, he saw from a new brightness in his mother’s eyes and the quivering but happy smile on her lips that he had made the right decision.

Come what may he must go to London and learn to be a lawyer.

Lady Edith Fowles, Lord Ranulph’s mother, was sipping her cup of coffee and sorting through the morning post, which had just been brought to her on a silver tray.

“Well, my dear, it has been such a pleasure to have your company these last two weeks,” she said to her son in an affectionate tone.

Lord Ranulph had just come down to breakfast. He went over to the sideboard and helped himself to some kedgeree and scrambled eggs.

It felt odd, even after two weeks to be here in the elegant and calm ambience of Fowles Place.

He missed the bustle and excitement of being in his rooms in College, hearing his fellow students tramping up and down the stairs and talking at the tops of their voices.

He sat down at the table opposite his mother.

“I am so very glad you have decided not to stay in the country for the summer,” she continued. “You would have missed so many opportunities.”

Lord Ranulph realised with a sinking heart that she was about to start on her favourite topic of conversation.

He looked down at his kedgeree, which he suddenly found rather unappetising.

As the only son of Lord and Lady Fowles, it was Lord Ranulph’s duty to marry as soon as possible and to have a son to ensure that the family line would continue and for the legacy of the Fowles estates to remain secure.

He did not feel at all ready to commit himself to matrimony, let alone setting up house and starting a family.

“Oh, look!”

Lady Fowles opened one of the envelopes on the tray and pulled out a gold-embossed card.

“Penelope Ireton has chosen a date for her ball at last. She has been bragging on about it for months, while keeping us all on tenterhooks. I hate to admit it, Ranulph, but it will be the event of the Season.”

Lady Ireton was a widow, just a few years younger than Lord Ranulph’s mother. She was one of London’s best hostesses, famous for sumptuous luncheon parties and scintillating
soirées
.

Lord Ranulph had rather liked her when he had met her with his parents at the opera one evening, for she was a keen horsewoman and had been happy to tell him all about her very latest purchase, Rollo, a grey thoroughbred.

“Shall you go, darling?”

His mother was looking at him across the table as he pushed his plate of kedgeree aside.

“I don’t know,” he replied after a moment.

Lady Fowles looked rather cross.

“Why don’t you know? And what’s wrong with the kedgeree? Are you off your food?”

“I am not hungry, that’s all.”

“Well, I suppose it is rather hot this morning. But, darling, there really is no point in your being in London if you are going to mope around. You must go out and enjoy yourself and make the most of life and you simply cannot miss Lady Ireton’s ball.”

“I will think about it.”

“I should hope you will, darling. You know how much your father and I are longing for you to settle down. And that will never happen if you never meet any suitable girls.”

“No, Mama. Will you excuse me?”

Lord Ranulph left the breakfast table and headed for the Mews at the end of the street, where Major had now taken up residence.

It was a lovely morning, fine and clear, and the air was still cool and fresh. Perfect for a ride in Hyde Park.

As the groom saddled Major for him, Lord Ranulph felt that perhaps Lady Ireton’s ball might be worth going to after all.

At least he might have a chance to talk to her again, which would make up for the tedium of dancing with a host of young ladies who had nothing in their heads except the latest fashions.

*

Adella was about to go for her first drive since she had come to London.

She made her way downstairs very carefully for she was wearing a new blue-and-cream striped dress that had been delivered by the dressmaker’s that very morning.

It had a little jacket to match with blue bows on the sleeves and there was a pretty straw hat with a blue silk flower on it that rested on top of her golden hair.

Uncle Edgar was in the hall looking up at her.

“Well,” he said in doubtful tone, “I know nothing of fashion, but I am assured by the dressmaker that this is the very latest thing. I trust you will not look out of place among the throng of Society in Hyde Park.”

“Thank you, uncle. This is a beautiful dress. I like it very much.”

It was strange, but wearing the fine clothes almost made her want to speak in a different voice, cool and yet formal, as befitting a young lady.

“I should hope so,” Uncle Edgar declared. “It’s costing me a pretty penny to turn you out as befits a young girl in Society. Why it should be necessary for you to have an open carriage and pair I cannot think, but I am assured by members of my Club who have daughters of your age that this is correct.”

“It will be wonderful to be able to go for a drive,” Adella said. She had hardly been out of doors since she came to London two weeks ago.

All her time had been spent in having fittings for her new clothes and taking tea with the elderly wives of Uncle Edgar’s old friends from his days in India.

He shook his head and muttered to himself as he made his way back to his study.

Adella stepped out into the street and caught her breath as she saw what waited for her under the shade of the plane trees that grew all around Dorset Square.

An open landau, just the right vehicle that any lady would wish to be seen in as she drove around Hyde Park, had pulled up in front of the house.