Grace Gibson (4 page)

By the following afternoon, Eversham had received a letter at Greenly Manor from Somersetshire. Denley’s spirits seemed to rise.

“Fanley, I will leave in two days’ time and take Denley off your hands for a period,” he announced.

Mr. Fanley looked much struck. “Take Denley? At such a time, Eversham? There is such work to be done on his estate you know, and Tinkerton’s brand new! He’ll not know how to proceed when things go awry, and they do, you know.”

“I go to Bromley in Somersetshire,” Eversham said pointedly, “for a month.”

This news astonished Mr. Fanley to such a degree he was incapable of speech for an awkward moment. Mary felt called upon to throw herself into the breach.

“Is he not your friend from Oxford, Papa? I have heard you say he lives in Somersetshire, and you have often wondered how he fares.”

“He is the same, Miss Fanley,” Lord Eversham responded. “I have a desire to make my nephew known to him, as he also has a large country estate. I am of a mind to expose Robert to various ways of managing.”

Mary looked anxiously toward her father, who sat mesmerized still. “You will excuse me, sir,” she said rising with a slight curtsey, “I believe I will see what is taking so long with our tea.”

“Excellent,” his Lordship replied briskly. “And Denley, be so good as to have a word with my man about our departure.”

Upon the door closing, Fanley exclaimed, “I see what you are about! You no longer approve of my girl. I take you for a poor friend Eversham, to see to it that her chances are ruined.”

“That is not my intention, I assure you,” Eversham said coldly. “Denley makes no inroads with Mary and in truth he does not exert himself to attach her. I take him off to see a different sort of girl altogether.”

“So that he can attach himself to
her?
”

“Come William. You’ve no real mind to marry off your daughter. You have claimed severe misgivings over all I have disclosed of Robert’s character and of his past dealings, and now you are affronted that I take him off to try his hand elsewhere? You cannot be set on his marrying her.”

“Good God, I am not fond of it in the least! But you know, Eversham, I’ve not found Denley to be anything but the best sort of boy. He is in the way of becoming a most agreeable neighbour and I’ve grown fond of thinking that perhaps, you know, my Mary would do well at Treehill.”

“So you do sanction a match?”

“No!” Mr. Fanley exclaimed, yet he could in no way formulate his feelings into one way of thinking or the other and was spared further expostulation by Lord Robert’s return.

Denley, perceiving the grim face of his host spoke kindly. “Come now sir. I will leave only with the assurance that you consult with my man at every turn, and I’ve instructed him to defer to you as he would to me.”

Mary, arriving with the tea tray at that moment, heard this speech and gave his Lordship a shy smile of thanks which he in turn, acknowledged with a slight bow.

Later in the evening, she played the pianoforte at the surprise request of Lord Eversham, and Robert found himself much pleased by her performance. He looked upon her in a kindly way, having served her by helping to amend her manners, and he honoured her for having been his hostess for such an extended period.

Indeed, he had become comfortable at Greenly and rarely missed the extravagance of his London life.

“So what sort of girl is Susan Bromley?” Denley asked of his uncle, as the coach and four lumbered south with their two riding horses strung behind.

“She is a female, Robert,” Lord Eversham said drily.

This lack of information did not dampen Denley. He had high hopes he would find Miss Bromley a marriageable person; he could then make quick work of courtship and return to Treehill in good time. He had strong misgivings about the ability of the workmen to place new windows in the hall before the winter, he felt an urgent need to be present when the beds for new gardens were cut, and he took an unnatural interest in the falling of wood, fearing that some oaf would think to cut one of his ancient walnuts instead of the fir. He engaged his uncle in a brief discussion of Mr. Tinkerton’s suitability as steward, and a heated and overlong argument over the exact number of servants he would require for his country seat.

“You are ungenerous, sir,” he growled at the end of this discussion.

Eversham appeared unmoved. “I give you only what you have left me and I can make no economy out of your father.” As always, mention of the father silenced the son and Lord Eversham enjoyed a quiet ride during which he calculated vast sums of capital, taxes, interest, and residuals.

Denley fell into musing, his mind occasionally returning to Miss Fanley’s performance on the pianoforte of the prior evening. She had a charming touch that contrasted sharply with what he knew of her, and he acknowledged that he had not entirely hated her rough treatment. He wished her well, pitied her future husband, and barring that unlikely outcome, he even briefly entertained the idea of hiring her for his housekeeper at Treehill. But to the picture she conjured in his mind, bustling into the parlour with her amused and arch looks upon the ringing of the bell, he rebelled. He found it much more comfortable to dwell on what he would find in Somersetshire instead.

His Lordship’s coach halted at a quiet, respectable inn just thirty miles from Margill, Mr. Bromley’s country seat. In the coffee room sat a group of gentlemen playing at piquet. On seeing them, Denley promptly applied to the landlord for a private parlour.

“Do you consult your own feelings in this case or do you seek to gratify mine?” Eversham asked curtly.

“If you had any feelings I would be gratifying them at every turn. But since it is no such thing I am only removing myself from an evil, sir. Besides, I have seen on at least a half dozen occasions the two rough-and-readies you’ve hired to shadow and haul me to the clinker should I deviate from the family plan.”

His uncle ignored this observation and asked instead, “Are cards such a lure Denley? I had not thought games of chance ran in our bloodline.”

Lord Robert’s expression hardened. “You mistake me altogether. “I have never loved cards and leaving them is no punishment.”

“Then you will forgive me if I do not understand. I have known you to lose five thousand pounds in a night and return the following night, to the same hell, to lose another five.”

Denley turned a deaf ear on his uncle. He called to the landlord and bespoke a dinner of roasted chickens, creamed oysters, buttered cockles, baked apples and a light claret, which the two noblemen ate in companionable silence.

They arrived at Margill in good time the following afternoon. They were greeted very formally on the steps of a newly built mansion by Mr. Bromley, Mrs. Bromley, Miss Bromley, a Miss Catherine, just seventeen and soon to be out, and their three youngest daughters still in the schoolroom. The impression made on the family by the arrival of Lord Eversham and the Marquis of Denley was deep. Denley wore a coat of dark blue superfine, white lace cravat, buckskin breeches, and polished top boots, with his mane of blond curls swept majestically into a black tie; Eversham, dressed in black from top to bottom, exuded a humourless superiority that could only inspire the Bromleys with awe.

The Marquis was instantly pleased with his reception. The ladies curtsied with a pleasant rustling of satin and Mr. Bromley bowed deeply over a fashionable leg. Introductions were made, refreshments served and Miss Bromley closely inspected. She seemed well enough, tall and plump with roses in her cheeks and a fashionable Greek coiffure of her gold-coloured hair. Her eyes, of a pale brown and none too bright, left Lord Robert with a lingering and persistent impression of a yearling deer. This was a feature that would require getting used to, but he reasoned that every person had a flaw to overcome, his own being an uncommon lankiness of frame and something around his features that bespoke a degree of hardness.

Bromley and his uncle retired to the library to enjoy a glass of burgundy, while Denley sat in the parlour with Mrs. Bromley and her two eldest daughters. They implored him to recite all the details of the journey, deplored the north from whence he had come, admired the elegance of his uncle’s coach, the size of his riding chestnut, the polish on his top boots, and exclaimed in mild ecstasy over the enamelled painting of his ducal home on his silver snuff box. When Lord Robert opened that same snuff box, put a pinch on his wrist and partook of the mixture, they sat in a kind of reverent silence until he had brushed the lace of his sleeve and deigned to look at the girls again.

This was the kind of society to which the Marquis of Denley was well-used; their general deference was all of a piece with his station in life, and this was the sort of attention he expected from females in general. He was very glad his uncle thought to bring him to Margill, although of course, as with any new acquaintance, there were a few uncomfortable moments to be got over. Mrs. Bromley had the very briefest spells of shrillness, and her conversation tended to dwell overlong on furnishings, plate, silver, servants and the number of fireplaces in every estate of her acquaintance in a way that verged on the vulgar. Still, although she made plain the fact that she had five daughters, saying over dinner that “the task of finding them all husbands would see her done up” the Marquis felt her to be almost a genteel sort of person.

His hostess had not been the source of more than momentary disappointment, but Denley still looked to Mr. Bromley for superiority of mind. “I have formed a desire to see Margill proper, sir,” Lord Robert said the next morning after breakfast.

“Do you mean the house?” Mr. Bromley asked in bewilderment. “I had thought you had seen all you would need to see, my Lord.”

“Oh, indeed it is as fine as house as I have seen in Somersetshire,” Denley replied diplomatically. “But I have a mind to see the estate, the farms, the cottages and pastures and to see what crops you have got in at this season. I believe my uncle can be convinced to ride out as well for a survey.”

“By all means, sir!” cried his host. He rang the bell and had his footman tell the groom to saddle up the gentlemen’s horses in twenty minutes’ time, and proceeded to give vague directions for various vantage points. “I do not go myself,” he added with satisfaction, “for I’ve seen it, you know. Would you care to have the steward to accompany you, sir?”

Denley declined the offer and after both men had changed into riding clothes, they departed for a long morning ride. “Do you not find it strange he would not come for a review of his own estate?” the Marquis asked of Lord Eversham. “Mr. Fanley would not be much pleased at such little exertion, for he does not go two days together without himself making an inspection of at least a dozen places. Of a surety, Uncle, you will not find me sitting overlong at the breakfast table when I’m at Treehill!”

“That is admirable given that you will have nothing better to do with yourself,” Eversham replied, sharply.

They rode in silence. Denley, having been tutored in the Fanley way of estate management, made one private observation after another. At last he could bear no more and pulled up to rest Caesar. “I cannot make sense of how he could let so much ground lie fallow. Can it be that he has not yet heard of four crop rotation? And the cottages are a disgrace, think you not? The drainage must needs be looked at or he’ll lose lambs this spring for sure.” He went on in this way for several minutes, ending with an application to his uncle to at least agree with him that Margill was not the most well-managed place.

Eversham suffered through this speech with a bland face. “You’ll find it is managed much like any country place. Not everyone is a William Fanley, Robert.”

“You amaze me! Are you saying that all of England is locked up in the hands of the gentry who care more for their society than for the proceeds of their holdings?”

“With the exception of an occasional sharp steward, that is precisely true, Denley. Things are ever much as they have always been. But since when have you sprouted such a passion for the country?”

“Since I have been forced to make my living at it!”

“Then I begin to think you will live tolerably.”

“You may count on it, sir.”

As they travelled up the long gravel drive in time for tea, Eversham said, “Well, Robert, I am sorry you do not approve so much of Margill as you did of Greenly.”

“I approve heartily of Margill, sir,” Denley protested. “I find the Miss Bromleys have pretty manners and they are charming enough to make up for a few pastures underused and cottages in need of a little repair.”

“Then I make for London on business. You will write to let me know when you require my coach for your return trip north.”

“Have you spoken to Bromley?”

“I have no need to. He recognizes opportunity, as does his wife. They will do all they can to attach you to one or other of their daughters. I will tell him only that urgent business calls me away, which is not an untruth. He will insist you stay for the time I committed, and you will answer as you like.”

While the Marquis of Denley graciously accepted the proffered invitation to stay in Somersetshire in the wake of the most regrettable removal of his uncle to London, Mary Fanley found herself thrown into a period of more activity than she had known since her school days. Her brother Will had arrived in Yorkshire, on leave from Oxford.

He placed a careless, but exuberant kiss on her cheek. “Well, Mary, I have brought you someone I’ve only just met at The Green Man in Hampton on the way to you.” He presented to his sister Mr. Oscar Neville, a man of obvious taste and fashion, who stood a little behind him and looked appropriately aware of the awkwardness of the business.

Mr. Neville took her hand and bowed very nicely over it, exclaiming in a polite undertone, “Indeed Miss Fanley, I’ve not the slightest intention of trespassing upon your hospitality, but your brother would insist on making this introduction and I could not resist him.”

“Oh,” she said with an unaccountable blush, “he is the most persuasive child, I assure you!”

“Child!” her brother cried. “I’ll have you know a good deal has changed about me. But Neville, come, what’s this about crying off? Of course you will ‘trespass’ here, and with my insistence.”

Mr. Neville looked uncomfortably at Mary with great, dark eyes, and she was thereby enlisted to her brother’s support. “Most certainly sir. I will not have it any other way. You must stay, indeed, I count on it.”

There followed a civil argument in which Mr. Neville showed proper feelings against such an imposition and brother and sister united to convince him that his presence at Greenly was necessary for their happiness. At last he gave way and spent an agreeable supper in congenial and interesting conversation with the family. When Mr. Fanley, during an account of all the doings of Greenly in the absence of its heir, mentioned the connection made with the Marquis of Denley, who would be soon Master of Treehill, Mr. Neville claimed a slight acquaintance.

“Indeed, you know him?” asked Mary, in wonder.

“Oh, yes, a little,” Neville said, but on seeing Mr. Fanley give him a very odd look, he sought to clarify that having moved in society in London he would naturally be in his Lordship’s company from time to time, but “I would not claim to be one of his intimates, sir, I can assure you.”

Mr. Fanley, who had suffered a vague sensation that might be called discomfort, felt himself to be instantly relieved. Mary, however, who also felt an unnamed discomfort, was determined to inquire as deeply as she dared into the character of the man to whom she had every expectation of being hostess again in less than one month’s time.

“What do you know of his Lordship’s father, the Duke?” Mr. Neville asked Mary on a leisurely walk of the grounds.

“Why nothing at all. Is he eccentric do you think?”

Neville laughed heartily. “My dear Miss Fanley, I believe
eccentric
would not do him justice, but I overstep. Let me say, the less said on the subject of Denley’s papa, the better.”

“Oh, come, don’t be missish,” Will chided. “Mary and I love to hear tales of the rich and famous. Does His Grace eat only gruel and call for his personal physician every Monday morning?”

“Indeed, Will, you cannot make me say more. It would be the worst sort of thing, to talk of the Duke when you are in a way to be intimate with his son. I cannot be convinced to do it.” Neville looked to be the model of propriety at that moment, with a small frown of reproof on his brow and his lace cuffs gleaming in the morning light.

“Well, it is likely to be uninteresting at any rate,” retorted Will, piqued to have been cast into the shade by a more polished and slightly older man. “I dare say any person would sit for one night in my father’s company and claim
him
to be a great eccentric. It is the way of fathers to cause all manner of embarrassments.”

“I’m afraid in casting the one against the other, the Marquis would find your father a model of desirable society,” Neville said vaguely, thus revealing a hint of what, a moment before, his conscience would not allow him to discuss.

Sensing their new companion knew a great deal more of Denley than he had confessed, Mary pressed him a little further. “And the Marquis? What do you know of him?”

“Oh, well, nothing more than you do, I would think. His visit here was of some weeks duration, was it not? I would have thought you would tell
me
about
him.
”

“Yes, Mary,” her brother insisted, “tell us about your excellent Lord Robert. Papa seems to be quite taken with him, with ‘Denley this, and Denley that.’”

Mary considered what to say. Were it only to Will she spoke, she might have been more unguarded, but Mr. Neville inspired in her an unusual degree of caution, for she did not want to appear to him to be cattish. In her hesitation, she was spared.

“I see by your hesitation that you do not want to tell us your opinion, Miss Fanley, and so I will not press you. You cannot like him very much, and I do not blame you. As to your Papa’s fancy for him, I do not comprehend it, but I cannot judge what I do not understand.”

“So you find him arrogant and disagreeable?” she asked, impulsively.

Neville smiled. “I see we are of the same mind on this subject, at least. But to your father he must exhibit a different sort of manners, so we must credit him with some semblance of respect and amiability.”

“Poo!” cried Will. “Papa’s notions about what constitutes amiability cannot be counted on. Praise a pig’s haunch or notice a cow’s ear drooping, and he thinks you are a great gun.”

“No, Will, I assure you, he is quite good to Papa. I have even, on occasion, felt a little sorry for him.”

“Sorry for him? That is a lark. Him and all his titles and privileges and all. I’m on the verge of tears me’self!”

Mr. Neville looked on in amusement while Will cajoled Mary to enlighten them as to what would inspire such compassion for the last person in England who stood in need of it.

“Oh, well, it was only on occasion, when — being new to the country — I took a slight advantage of him.”

Will shot her a measuring look. “Meaning you teased him, knowing you.”

“Yes,” she admitted with a laugh. “The worst occasion was on his first visit to the pig yard on the home farm, when he complained of the smell. I made a little joke of it; that is all.”

Will did not appreciate the delicacy of Mary’s reluctance to gossip in front of a houseguest. “Come, out with it Mary!” he demanded.

Mary blushed. “Oh, it was silly, really. I had the pigs washed is all.”

“You did not!” Will exclaimed.

“Oh, I did,” Mary hung her head. “In the clover patch with Mrs. Buntley’s everyday soap.”

The young men expressed delight and after extracting a few more details from his sister, Will complimented her in his youthful manner. “I always knew you were positively evil!”

“What said Denley to the doings?” asked Neville, with a gleam in his eye.

“Oh, he is too stiff and formal to have said anything to me in front of common folk. We drew a little crowd, as you would expect. But by his looks, I would say the Marquis felt himself included and a little ill-used by the joke.” By this time the colour had risen in Mary’s cheeks. In the confession of an incident that had entertained her and all the tenants at the time, she saw clearly that her conduct toward her guest had been grossly, unkind.

By the end of the walk, Mary could only feel remorse, but Mr. Neville looked more amused than ever. “I hope, Miss Fanley, that if I ever express a distaste for something in the country, you will show me a little more mercy than you did poor Denley.”

Mary’s eyes clouded. “Indeed, it was badly done of me, Mr. Neville.”

“I found it delightful.” He leaned over her hand, grazing her fingertips with his lips.

Miss Fanley stood in a daze where Oscar Neville left her at the garden gate. She had no experience with dalliance, and could not resist his accomplished attentions. She found herself beguiled by the way he managed to brush her fingers with his own when she served his tea. When he greeted her in the morning with a salutation that mentioned the roses in her cheeks, her cheeks responded in kind, by blooming. He was tender in his ministration of her shawl, and engaging in his determination to distract her from her needlework and entertain her with games. His attentions, though slightly particular, did not embarrass her and she was easily enticed to walk with him in the lanes in the morning before he and Will took to their horses.

Mary began to pay attention to her closet, wearing slippers and silk to dinner instead of her habitual morning dress and walking boots. Upon being complemented by a well-mannered man, she felt a vulnerability that Denley had not elicited in even his politest moments. She was altogether kinder to Oscar Neville than she had been to a man of ten times his consequence. Mary thought she would not be displeased if Oscar Neville were to look on her seriously. This new sensation took her attention far away from the disquieting Marquis of Denley.