Amy Lake (17 page)

How could he have been such a dunderhead? He had meant so well, and it had all turned to ashes. He should never have left, thought the marquess. He should have remained in the stable and insisted that Mrs. Marwick listen to him until she understood. But he had been angry himself, and a bit mortified that his proposal of marriage had been rejected on grounds that seemed—to Lord Ashdown—little more than trifles.

She’d refused to talk to him, later. He’d tried to catch her on her return from the stables; she sat down immediately to play the next hand of loo and had chatted with Eleanor until it was time for bed.

The marquess, lost in thought, only noticed that the carriage had stopped when he heard Eddie calling his name.

“Colin! Join us, if you’d be so kind.”

Lord Ashdown frowned. They had traveled perhaps seven miles, with another twenty to go at the least and he had no intention of spending the remainder of the day inside a carriage.

“Perhaps later,” he said.

Eleanor stuck her head out. “Cols, we must talk to you. At once.”

Only his sisters would have attempted that tone with the marquess; he sighed, and dismounted awkwardly from Bunny, taking care not to land on his right leg. The coachman gave him a commiserating look as he approached the door.

Gods, where had Ellie found the thing? The sides of the coach were painted an unappealing, dingy brown, with orange accenting the trim. Not at all like the Ashdown carriages—

“Colin, please. The horses will take a chill.”

He’d been dawdling. He threw Bunny’s reins around the footboard, trying to avoid the stallion’s gaze. Seven miles, the horse seemed to say.
Seven miles
is the best you can do?

Eleanor and Edwina squeezed together onto one of the banquette seats as he entered, leaving him the other. The carriage was not overly large, but there would have been considerably more room if not for two enormous hat-boxes occupying most of his own side.

“What is it?” asked the marquess. “And Eleanor, what on earth are you wearing on your head this season?”

“Oh! Well—”

“You brought these hats to Barley Mow? For what, the opening of Parliament?”

“One never knows,” said Eleanor, “when a fine hat may be required.”

“When you are done complaining about Eleanor’s wardrobe,” said Eddie, “we have a few questions.”

Colin narrowed his eyes. The tone of Lady Edwina’s voice was more suggestive of ‘accusations’.

“And what might those be?”

“You’re in love with Mrs. Marwick!” said Ellie.

“That,” said the marquess, “was not a question.”

“But she’s lovely, Colin, why have you waited? You’ll have darling babies.” Lady Eleanor was grinning at him. “Evie may take a bit of persuasion, but—”

“
What
did you say to her?” asked Eddie, ignoring her sister.

“Well—” He hesitated.

“You’ve made a cake of it, haven’t you?”

“You might say so, yes.”

Eleanor frowned at him. “How?”

The marquess was not going to inform his sisters that the first words out of his mouth had been ‘I must have you.’ He temporized.

“I . . . merely suggested that—as a bit of teasing, you understand—that Tern’s Rest would make a fine addition to my—um, the properties, you know—” Colin trailed off under the combined stares of Edwina and Eleanor. The younger sister looked more puzzled than anything; Edwina’s look was of horror.

“You
didn’t
,” she said.

“’Twas intended as a jest!”

“How could you, when she’s just received—oh!” Eddie stopped suddenly.

“Received what?” said Eleanor and Colin, together.

“That’s right,” said Edwina, whose expression had turned thoughtful. “You don’t know about the letters, do you?”

  * * * *

On which point the marquess was then edified. Colin and his sisters discussed Wilfred Thaxton’s letters at some length as the carriage rolled past Heworth and Carr’s Hill, and down into the broad valley of the Tyne. Lady Edwina had explained her reasons—and those of Dr. Fischer, who seemed to figure prominently in Eddie’s thoughts—about Fiona’s erstwhile cousin. Eleanor, who possessed considerable skill in ferreting out whatever gossip was to be had, could shed no additional light on this occasion.

“You say he is a wicked card sharp?” she asked. “I do not remember hearing the name.”

“I should hope not.”

“If you had only told me while I was still in London.”

“It’s that damnable house party, again,” said Eddie. “It has interfered with every plan.”

Lord Ashdown would have normally agreed. But without Evelyn’s house party, of course, he would never have ridden along the coast below the Tyne, never fallen down a cliff, never met Fiona.

Unthinkable.

“Inventing a cousin seems a tricky business. Why would someone—?” Eleanor began.

“Sir Irwin,” said Edwina, flatly.

“Very well, Sir Irwin. Why would he make up a person who will never appear?”

“To pressure Mrs. Marwick.”

“Pressure her into what?”

Lady Edwina shrugged. “Dee—Dr. Fischer says that he has asked her to marry him. Several times.”

“Oh, my goodness!” Ellie was horrified. “She cannot care for such an individual?”

“I believe she dislikes him quite severely.”

Sir Irwin’s proposals were not news to Colin, but the thought enraged him all the same.

“He’s a loathsome nodcock,” said the marquess, in a voice considerably louder than he intended.

Eddie raised her eyebrows. “Ah, there’s the famous Ashdown calm.”

Ellie laughed.

  * * * *

The discussion turned to Lady Susan.

“So. What are you going to tell her?” asked Edwina.

By which she meant how was Lady Susan Daubney to be given the devastating news that she could no longer aspire to the role of Marchioness of Carinbrooke.

“I’m not sure,” answered Colin, honestly.

“These things are best thought of aforehand, you know.”

He rolled his eyes.

Eleanor had spent some time with the young woman at Elswick Manor, and was convinced that Lady Susan could be reasoned with. “She seems very level-headed. Not so excitable as some of the others.”

“Gods. One hopes not. Do you remember the Somerset cousins?”

“Sadly, yes.”

The previous Christmas Lady Beckwith, in an excess of matchmaking fervor, had invited four young ladies from the extended Somerset clan to Elswick Manor. When they weren’t making catty comments about each other they were giggling, as a group, and Colin’s head still ached at the thought.

“You must have a plan,” said Eddie. “Even if Lady Susan is sensible, I’d worry about our dear sister.”

Evelyn, in other words.

“She was quite shocked to find there was a village named Barley Mow,” added Eleanor. “You should be prepared for a number of questions.”

Edwina gave a ladylike snort at the understatement. The subject of their third sister was then discussed at such length by the two women that Lord Ashdown eventually pleaded a leg cramp and went back to Bunny. None of the suggestions offered appealed to him—“we’ll find someone else she likes better” was Ellie’s contribution—“and announce the engagement immediately.”

The idea of ignoring the young woman or behaving coldly towards her was unconscionable. Not that either Edwina or Eleanor had suggested such a thing, of course; they were concerned for Lady Susan’s feelings, and Ellie in particular seemed determined to marry her off to someone else within the week.

He must simply be honest, Colin decided. He must explain at once that he had fallen in love with another woman—

Who has turned down your proposal, a little voice reminded him.

Nevertheless. ’Twas Fiona to be in his bed. Or no-one else.

  * * * *

The Ashdowns arrived at Elswick Manor quite late in the evening. The coach crunched over cold gravel as they approached the house, and a small army of servants detached themselves from the front staircase in preparation to assist its passengers. Bunny and Artemis occasioned the most attention from the grooms, but the carriage horses were unharnessed promptly and led away as well. The three road-weary siblings—under normal circumstances Lord Ashdown would hardly have noticed the distance, but his leg had begun to ache over the last hour—entered the house and found Evelyn and Lord Beckwith waiting for them in the front salon.

Lord Beckwith was pleasant enough, a rotund gentleman who in Colin’s experience had only two interests in life; hunting and eating, and the conversation to match. Evelyn had enough sense for the two of them, except, perhaps in the matter of meals, where she seemed determined to feed both her husband and her guests into perpetual stupor.

Gods, he would miss Mrs. Marwick’s cooking.

“Ashdown,” said Lord Beckwith, with a smile and a heavy slap on the back. “Good to see you old man, good to see you. Evie’s been cross as a bear, wondering when you’d show up.”

His sister gave the marquess a quick kiss on the cheek. “For heaven’s sake, Colin, you might have sent word.”

“I was indisposed.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard.”

Lady Beckwith drew breath to begin the interrogation—where was this supposed village, this
Barley Mow
, and Tern’s Rest, good heavens, what odd sort of name was that, who lived in such a place, who had he spoken to, why had he not written?—but the marquess was counting on his sisters to intervene.

They did not disappoint.

“Evelyn, darling,” said Lady Edwina. “Is there nothing to eat whatsoever? I could devour a
chicken
.”

Eleanor agreed that she was hungry as well, a flurry of orders to the servants ensued, and Colin made his escape. He would no doubt find a decanter of fine brandy upstairs, which was all he wanted at the moment. Or nearly all. Lord Ashdown had decided that he must write Mrs. Marwick as soon as possible, and Madelaine as well. The details of what he might say to Fiona were still vague; he was determined, somehow, to change her mind. But the letter—and his eldest sister—could wait until the morning.

Chapter 29: Elswick Manor

Elswick Manor was of Elizabethan vintage, and showed its age, but was comfortable for all that. Lord Ashdown had no complaint of his accommodations, as they were always the best available, his sister choosing to thus define the importance of a marquisate, even among family. Nor was he surprised to find that Lady Susan had been given a fine suite of rooms rather near his own, which Evelyn told him the following morning at breakfast, with a speaking look.

“You ran away last night!” complained Evie. “I had no opportunity—”

“My leg was rather painful,” said Lord Ashdown, which was at least the truth.

“Oh, well—” Lady Beckwith paused to regroup. “She’s waited for weeks, you know. And at first we had no idea where you were.”

“I sent word through Mr. Fairclough that I would be delayed.”

 “Mr. Fairclough? Pah! Colin, really, ’twas most inconvenient.”

“I was ignorant of the fact,” said Lord Ashdown, looking over the sideboard for anything as simple as a cutlet, “that Lady Susan had been invited to the manor.”

“Well, I know, but still—your own family! Left unawares!”

The marquess was amused; his sister seemed to find a broken leg nothing in comparison to the injury of being left
unawares
.

“Evie, I assure you, if I had any idea the situation was so upsetting, I would have leapt from my sickbed to inform you.”

Lady Beckwith, although intelligent, had little nose for irony. “Well, I should think so,” she replied, earning a short laugh from Eddie, who had just entered the morning room.

“Evie, I suppose if Colin had died you would complain that he’d not informed you,” said Lady Edwina.

“Don’t be ridiculous. And we are fortunate that Colin is still with us, I might add. Edwina, who is this doctor that you keep mentioning? I cannot imagine that any doctor in Barrow Mow—”

“Barley Mow.”

Evelyn sniffed. “Oh very well, but the name hardly signifies, does it?”

“Perhaps to the inhabitants,” said Eddie. “And Dee Fischer is a fine doctor.”

“I cannot contemplate it! We could have sent Doctor Bannerby—”

“The man is a quacksalver,” said the marquess.

“Oh! I dare say not!”

Eddie was examining the sideboard with narrowed eyes. “Dear heavens Evelyn, is there not an un-sauced egg in the house?”

Chapter 30: Lady Susan

Upstairs, and ignorant of the interesting conversations taking place below, Lady Susan Daubney was pacing the floor of one of Elswick Manor’s largest and finest guestrooms. She stopped from time to time to curse softly to no-one in particular. Crying into her pillow was beneath a daughter of the Earl of Minton, but if she could have conjured up a carriage back to London with the stamp of one pretty foot she would happily have done so.

Lady Susan, who had been the topic of discussion for months among the Ashdown sisters, whose invitation to the house party at Elswick Manor was planned and executed with a strategy worthy of Wellington, and who was even more lovely than Fiona imagined her—although with chestnut brown hair that had no tendency to curl—felt both exasperated and bored. She wished herself anywhere but at this particular house party, with its over-heated rooms and mountains of food.

How many squab could Lady Beckwith’s guests possibly eat? And the sweets were beyond anything in the young woman’s imagination, ’twas no wonder that Lord Beckwith was so large in girth. He had popped a button from his weskit yesterday evening, when sitting down to dinner, and everyone seemed to find it quite amusing.

She thought suddenly of her own bedroom back in Mayfair, remembering the last time she had looked out its windows, the man she had seen waiting for her in the street below. She felt the warmth of his gaze, and the strength of his arm around her shoulders. The tears came now, rolling silently down her cheeks. She dabbed at them with a fine linen handkerchief, and then pressed the square of cloth to her lips. It still smelled faintly of its owner and she inhaled deeply, her eyes closed.