Grace Gibson (7 page)

Mary would have felt nothing but relief at Mr. Neville’s removal, were it not for her brother. At dinner, she explained blithely to her father that Mr. Neville had been pressed too hard for comfort to visit the Himmels. He had harrumphed that, indeed, they were “as unmannered a bunch of supposedly genteel people” as he had ever come across.

But Will sat silently at dinner, and rather than dispose of his customary three helpings of everything, he absently pushed his food from one end of his plate to the other. That evening, Mr. Fanley retired to his study to read and Mary, upon seeing Will staring abstractly into the fire, went to sit beside him.

“Were you so fond of Mr. Neville, really?”

He roused himself and raked his hands through his chestnut hair before he rested his face in them.

She pressed him gently. “I know you are troubled, Will, and as we have been all our lives, I believe we are still friends.”

He sat up then, but he still would not meet her eyes. “True,” he said bitterly. “I may as well tell you, Mary, as you’ll know sooner than later. And no, I am not fond of Oscar. Indeed, I’m well in the way of hating him.”

This caused his sister to gasp.

“Well, you can think he is a fine gentleman, and I see he’s turned
your
head!”

“Oh, my head has slowly been coming round on my neck when it comes to him, Will. In fact today we quarrelled, and I’m not unconvinced I’m the cause of his leaving.”

Will shook his head slowly. “No, he’s been playing a game with me, Mary, and I’m the reason he’s gone.”

“Is he at the heart of this scrape you are in, Will?”

And so the story was told. Mr. Neville met Will at the Green Man, where Will had stopped for refreshment during his journey home from Oxford. Neville sat playing piquet with a group of older men; they had been cordial and merry, and soon Will was invited to play. He admitted he had never learned the game and they felt compelled to introduce him to what Neville claimed was a hallmark of the “gentlemanly arts.” Not wanting to be much ridiculed for adolescent skittishness or countrified stupidity, Will accepted their tutelage. And, to his utter surprise he won the vast sum of three hundred pounds.

“But how? You did not play previously, and, as I understand it, it is a difficult game.”

“It is very subtle, but they assured me I was all skill and luck that night.” They had also assured him that a winner’s duty was to give ample opportunity to the losers for the recuperation of their capital. He and Oscar had returned to the Green Man on many occasions. At first Will’s marvellous luck held, but by degrees he began to lose. He would win very occasionally then, just often enough to make him reckless and determined to regain his luck. But eventually he suffered a catastrophic loss.

Mary searched her brother’s face “How much?”

“Four hundred pounds gone on top of the three hundred I’d already won.”

She braced her shoulders. “Well that is no problem. I’ve got a thousand pounds tucked away, you know, and we can have you righted instantly.”

“I wish it were so,” he said with utter dejection.

“There is more?” she asked in awe.

He only nodded. He had gone to Oscar Neville with the news that he was squeezed dry and loathe to confess to his father the whole of his gambling debt. Oscar being sympathetic, entered into Will’s troubles very gladly. He offered the solution of taking five hundred pounds to the races at Newmarket, where he knew of a horse that would, by all accounts and against impressive odds, win. And so they had gone.

“Of course the horse did not win,” Mary observed.

“No. And I had stolen your pin money to that end.”

“Borrowed, you mean,” she said in a fortifying tone. “So Neville is gone, and we are lucky to be rid of him. I am sorry that he came across you.”

“No sorrier than am I. I was a great, stupid gudgeon! If only I had been more guarded, for I am now convinced that Oscar Neville is a man who feathers his nest with the likes of me.”

“Is that why you did not want him to go to Jack? Do you think Jack will fall prey as well?”

“Oh, most certainly. He is already in the way of it; he’s been to the Green Man twice that I know of, and came back beaming from ear to ear. But it’s worse than that, Mary, and I’ll let Jack be taught what every man should learn.”

“You cannot mean that, Will,” she admonished. “You would not want that family afflicted to any degree as we are! Think of Miss Clara, and how a large debt on Jack’s part would affect all her hopes of a come out.”

“Oh, who cares!” he sputtered. “She is completely in his toils too, and he buys her ribbons and teaches her to ride her pony.”

Mary gave her brother a tender look. “All the same, Will, she is too young for him, and she is only enjoying the attention. He will leave soon enough, especially if you speak to Mr. Himmel.”

Will’s mouth hardened. “It may be as you say, but I dare not foil Oscar’s plans.”

“How could it be that his claims on your silence are so great?”

“Oscar Neville is carrying my papers, and he’s demanding interest every week.”

“I do not understand you. Are you telling me he is a sharper
and
a money lender?”

“It would seem so. He told me when he settled for me at the Green Man that he was happy to do it without a lick of interest so long as he took advantage of my hospitality.”

“Ah. No doubt this assurance was offered as an extreme kindness?”

He stood and kicked at a log on the hearth. “Generosity itself. He could not think it proper to take interest from me, as I was his host.”

“And now he’s no longer beholden to you. I see that he has expectations of his interest now. How much are you down, Will?”

“Two thousand, with twenty pounds due every week.”

Only extreme self-governance prevented Mary from crying out in shock. Instead, she merely mouthed a little “oh.”

They sat together in a bleak huddle before the fire, staring into the flames in silent desperation. Mary could not help thinking of one thing: her dowry. This was a substantial sum that had been her mother’s portion. But her father, being proud, insisted that
his
family would not live off lard. Since Will would inherit Greenly, it was a simple matter to put the money away for Mary, who lately had begun to despair of its being used as it was intended. Still, she could not bring herself to offer it up. She knew she was being sinfully selfish in her brother’s hour of need, yet in her heart she knew she could not throw good money after bad.

At last, Mary composed herself. “Right then, we know the extent of the damage wrought on us courtesy of Mr. Neville. We have only to determine what to do about it and proceed. We can make a recover, Will, I’ve no doubt we can put our heads together and work our way out of it, even if it takes the better part of year. I’ve got mother’s pearls, you know, and her emerald set, and I can sell my lace in London at a shop. And you can give riding lessons or…”

“
We
,” he said roundly, “are not in this coil. And I will never forgive you if you pawn our mother’s jewels. Besides, I’ve already decided what must be done. I’ll take the rest of your pin money and go to Newmarket and place bets on racers until I’ve got every penny back.”

What followed was a day and a half of quarrelling. Sometimes Mary and Will fought so loudly they were forced to retreat to the clearing in the copse, where this year’s wood had been cut for the fireplaces. Sometimes, they spoke earnestly, their heads together in the breakfast parlour, imploring one another to see reason. When in the company of their father, they battled it out with damning looks and arch silences, in between the most commonplace courtesies.

But in the end, Will won the war. On Thursday evening, he knocked peremptorily on Mary’s bedchamber door. When she ushered him in, he went directly to her vanity drawer, removed her satin covered box and pocketed her carefully hoarded seven hundred pounds. When she moved to protest, he gave her a dangerous look, proclaiming, “I swear on a stack of bibles that all I have taken from you will be restored to you. Now, leave me to mind my own affairs like a man.”

At breakfast, Will glowered darkly enough at Mary to forestall any additional discussion of his plan. Mr. Fanley talked brightly of the Marquis’ and Lord Eversham’s arrival on the morrow, and Mary was kept busy murmuring all her assurances that the house stood in readiness to receive them. When Mr. Fanley rose to go out to see to the weathering of the barns, Will finally spoke.

“I leave this on the instant,” he announced.

“And Papa? What have you said to him?”

“I have said I have a great desire to see what price our northern foals are commanding on the market. He knows there is no better place for trading horseflesh than Newmarket, and he gave me leave.”

She sagged in her chair, her voice sounding unusually spiritless. “I am surprised. I had thought he was anxious for you to make Lord Robert’s acquaintance.”

“Indeed he is. I’m not so eager myself, as I’ve grown to verily hate him, what with Robert this and Robert that. As if I’ve never applied myself to Greenly or ridden the fences till I would drop!”

“But I’m afraid you will eventually be acquainted.”

“And it’s the only reason Papa agreed I could go,” he growled. “I’ll not relish my homecoming, with or without…” Here he stopped abruptly, for the thought of returning without Oscar Neville’s two thousand pounds was not one he could entertain.

“I beg you will be civil.”

“Why? I thought you hated him too.”

“You are very liberal with hate these days, and I do not hate the Marquis of Denley.”

“Then you despise him, Mary, and I feel sorry for the man, for no one despises better than you.”

He rose and gave her a curt bow.

Mary jumped up and ran after her brother and pulled his arm. She hugged him and said, “Do not think I despise you for what you are doing Will! I am only desperate for your happiness.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “I am filled with regret over what you have suffered.”

Will Fanley relented and gave his sister a rough hug. “I have only suffered what I earned, Mary. I wanted to be a man of fashion and find I am a country squire after all. But what a cost to know myself.”

Mary wiped her eyes. “At this moment, Will Fanley, I find you more the gentleman than ever Mr. Neville could aspire to.”

With that assurance, Will Fanley kissed his sister’s hand and fled the room.

As their coach rambled northward, Robert ended his impassioned speech about subjecting Mary Fanley to the perils of insanity with an angry observation: that perhaps, with such a future, he should turn ’round for Somersetshire and marry the shrew or the halfwit. Lord Eversham regarded him darkly for some time after that threat. After an hour’s deliberation, he knocked on the panel and the coach slowed to a stop. He gave directions to put in early at the next establishment, and turned to his nephew.

“I do not know why we do not go on to Brompton,” Denley growled. “It is devilishly early to put up.”

“I’ve a deal to say to you,” Eversham said, “and I’d as soon say it now.”

When they arrived at a simple but respectable inn not ten miles down the road, Lord Eversham bespoke the two best bedchambers, a private parlour, and a light supper. For wine he requested claret, and then he turned to Robert and bade him attend the meal when the innkeeper called its readiness.

Denley, whose black mood had not lightened to any degree, shrugged his concurrence, and repaired to wash the dirt of travel from his person and change his clothes. No doubt, his uncle would deliver a vicious sermon on duty to his family that he would rather not hear. Yet he could think of nothing to forestall it. Simply put, he was all but imprisoned, as his uncle now openly travelled with Messers Brinkley and Drake on the coach box.

If he slipped out and made a run for it, he could not get far. He had a handful of guineas and a couple of pounds to his name; he had a recognizable aristocratic profile and an extraordinary grey gelding that would be noticed by all but the stupidest person. He would be marked in some way at every town and posting gate, and he would be hunted down and returned to this very parlour by those that were friendly to him, or hunted down for a bounty and hauled to the magistrate by those who meant to profit by him.

When dinner was set he joined his uncle, and, as was their custom, they ate in silence to the finish of the meal. The platters were cleared, the claret poured and the footman dismissed. Robert waited with resignation while Eversham seemed to gather his thoughts to the point of readiness.

“Do you mean to tell me Robert, that all your life you have dreaded your father’s affliction?” he eventually asked.

“How could you ask it?” Robert replied glumly.

“Am I to surmise this anticipation fuelled your abandoned behaviour of the past ten years then?”

“Surmise as you must. I have not cared whether I won or lost, lived or died, and certainly I have raged against the life of respectability I will never have. As to the scum who lies somewhere in the River District of London, he deserved to be run through and I will not regret it. The affairs, I will tell you, were never my idea, though you are under no obligation to believe me. I find there are infinite numbers of females who believe they can be made a Marchioness simply by playing adventuress with me.”

Eversham waved his hand impatiently. “I have no interest in your petticoat scrapes except those that have cost me money. You may deny it, but I surmise this reckless career in raising and dashing the expectations of aspiring women is part and parcel to every other sin you have committed. You have been punishing your father for who he is.”

“No doubt.”

“What would your life have been had you every expectation of sanity and reason for the rest of your days? Had you been spared the speculation that your children would be touched, would you have lived differently?”

Robert looked up at him sharply. “To what end is this line of questioning?”

“Indeed, you are right. We cannot know what would have been.”

“Nor should we spend time thinking of it! I have faced my future, uncle, and now I suggest you do the same.”

“Certainly I have faced your past,” Eversham said dryly. “I suppose I can mount the courage for what is yet to come.”

“I ask again: to what end is this uncharacteristic speculation into my private motivations? As my thoughts do not constitute your business, I declare my confidences are at an end.”

“Then I shall begin mine.” Eversham’s voice was uncharacteristically grim. This caught his nephew’s attention, and he sat up to hear the next hour’s revelations.

“Your father’s first marriage was arranged, as you know, to Miss Valeria Upsham, who was the daughter of the Earl of Upsham, descended from a long, respectable line dating back to the Conqueror. We know of no madness in her ancestry; yet in our own family there have been a number of eccentrics who were inconsequential or bundled off to live quietly, away from the scrutiny of the world.” He sipped his claret. “You have cause for concern, Robert.”

“I’m glad we agree,” Robert grumbled, poring himself some wine.

“What I’m about to tell you is shockingly vulgar and I deplore having to break my silence. I give you leave to refuse to hear what may never be unheard, and I warn you that you will never regard anyone in your family in the same light ever again.”

“I am agog!”

“I am serious. Consider it a weighty matter before we proceed. The consequences to you are irrevocable.”

Lord Robert did consider, but he had begun to view his entire life as a hopeless pit. The idea of any new information relating to his existence, albeit dreadful, came as a welcome relief. After a few moments he said, “In truth, I would consider it a very great favour if you would be forthright about any matter that pertains to the House of which I will inevitably assume leadership.”

“Well said. I salute you.” Eversham poured another glass of claret and sat in silence for an extended period.

“Your father proved incapable of consummating his marriage with Lady Valeria. This she confessed to a Catholic priest, who, under a kind of duress of moral conscience — for she suffered great shame, believing the world would say she was barren, and that she herself was at fault or, in some degree undesirable — ” He stopped abruptly and recomposed his tale. “This grows vulgar, and I beg your pardon. The priest, though under oath of secrecy, confided the facts — albeit in a veiled telling to protect the lady — to her father.

“Sir Upsham, rather than demanding an annulment, which I believe was the object of the priest, was loathe to relinquish the title of duchess for his daughter. He applied then to my mother, the Dowager Duchess, and they put their heads together.”

“We have
Catholics
in our closet?” exclaimed Denley with a rare laugh.

“The number of eligible connections for the Duke were narrowing rather quickly. They were originally French you know, and the concession was made. I believe the nuptials specified she would not be made to give up her faith, though of course she could not openly practice it.”

“Do you tell me he was already at that age relieving himself in public?”

“Not yet, but he was fast becoming questionable. The marriage was put together in haste.”

Robert stood to shake his legs free of their heaviness from sitting overlong. “Poor Lady Valeria.”

“Indeed, but sit down.”

“Well there is no need to cosset me.” Denley regarded his uncle with amusement. “You are about to tell me I am some bastard child, and faith, I’ll be glad to hear it!”

“Spare me your theories and attend to what I have yet to say.”

Robert took his seat rather merrily. He felt the weight of ducal responsibility was about to be lifted and he was impatient for the moment when he would break into a peal of laughter. But the moment would not come.

“After interrogating Valeria to the point of tears and exhaustion, my mother had the truth from the girl and the Duke and Duchess were then sent away on holiday to an estate in Cornwall with the express purpose of…er, propagating. This was fruitless.”

“Are you telling me he had no inclination for her, or was it a matter of…capacity?”

“In some activities, Robert, the distinction between inclination and ability is irrelevant. The fact is the consummation did not take place.”

Robert grew impatient. “So who was my mother?”

Lord Eversham let go a sigh of exasperation. “Valeria was your mother, Robert, if you will allow me to provide you with the circumstances.”

“Lady Valeria? You astound me! So who was my father?”

“Since you will not let me tell it in my way — I am, Robert.”

“You? How can this be?” The Marquis shot out of his chair and paced rapidly to and fro in front of the fire.

“Ah, now you want to hear it.” A hand came up to forestall a great oath of exasperation. “We were sent to Ireland, you were conceived, born, and kept in the custody of your loving mother for two years.”

The Marquis of Denley shuddered. “You are right, sir. This is a disgusting tale.”

“Distasteful. Sit down. Valeria and I were fond of one another…”

“That is a comfort!” Denley snorted. “In faith, you are recounting this alliance as if it were a notation on the cattle registry.”

“I loved her. And I will not allow you to make such a reference to her again. What elapsed was the natural consequence of a mutual attachment, and though we both had strong objections, we were young and we were worn out by the brutal insistence of my mother. She had an iron will and wielded a great deal of coercion over Valeria, who eventually pleaded with me to relieve her of the burden of resisting.”

“And so you did.” Denley’s lip curled in open disgust.

“I have said already, I loved her. The affair ruined my life, if that is any satisfaction to you. We lived in secrecy. The world believed she spent her confinement in Ireland with her mother, and they were told that, after a short decline, she died of lingering complications of childbirth.”

“How did she really die then?”

“My mother arrived after your second birthday and, as agreed, took you away. This event was beyond our ability to prevent, as by then, the leverage she had on us was insurmountable. I will spare you the cruel details. Valeria was consumed with grief and she in fact did go into a decline. In five years’ time she contracted influenza and readily gave up the struggle. In truth, Robert, the life had gone out of her years since, and though I am still living I believe I suffer somewhat the same fate.”

The Marquis rose again, this time heavily. He walked the perimeter of the room in silence. The footman knocked and entered, put a log on the fire and brought a second bottle of claret. After he left, Robert said, “This is an evil story, uncle. I suppose I will still call you uncle?”

“Certainly you will. I will never claim you, though I would have wanted it otherwise.”

Robert turned and smiled sadly at Lord Eversham. “You were once or twice kind to me, I think.”

“I would have been kinder, but I dared not love you, Robert. I can perceive no kindness in anything that has passed in our family.”

“Certainly not, and I see how you suffer, also. But surely, sir, this means that I am not the heir to Devonshire, and now we must decide how to go about…”

“You are Devonshire pure and true,” Eversham said forcibly.

“How so? I do not understand you!”

“You forget. My brother was born of Lady Orrick, first wife of the Duke of Devonshire. She died in birthing him, and he then married Lady Catherine, who gave birth to me. If this were all to be applied to a court of law, I would be ruled the rightful heir as the present Duke failed to — well, his claim would be found uninteresting for lack of progeny. You would be, you
are
, legitimate by blood.”

“But not legitimate in church!”

“You are scrupulous again. Much like your mother. Lady Valeria would not proceed with the family plan without a secret annulment and a Catholic marriage to me, all conducted in a very remote part of Ireland by a somewhat mercenary priest. All hopes rested with you then. My brother became worse and I, as you know, spent many years abroad. My mother raised you to eight before she died and you were left in the care of servants.”

A silence descended on Robert.

After a moment, Eversham spoke bracingly. “I see you are much shocked. I cannot blame you. I have said all this so that you will know that you have escaped the fate of madness at least. It is ever said that by the age of thirteen the tendency is visible if it is ever to manifest. No one who is truly mad, Robert, ever believes they are, or even imagines they could be. I am afraid your afflictions are limited to those you have created for yourself, not those passed on to you by my brother.”

“I could only wish someone had explained that to me. But I digress to what might have been, and that is fruitless work. To the present I proceed: I wish to know where this leaves our business?”

“I cannot see that our business has changed to any degree. You are still to be the head of the house of Devonshire and it falls to you to perpetuate the family. Perhaps you can be persuaded to do so without any eccentrics?”

Robert laughed a little. “If you are set on Mary Fanley, then knowing her father, we will foster a veritable brood of eccentrics!”

“All the better,” Eversham said. “No one cares for unremarkable nobility, and besides, Mr. Fanley is only eccentric in that he is possessed of remarkable intelligence. So, will you yet consider Mary Fanley?”

“Are you set on her being your daughter then?” Robert asked wryly.

“All my sentiments died with your mother. Mary Fanley is a means to an end, no more.”

“I will consider all you have said, but I make no promises.”

“I ask for none.” Lord Eversham reached in his pocket, removed a purse and handed it to Robert. “In the morning, ride on to Greenly alone and make peace with this dreadful business on the road. I need not ask that it never pass your lips.”

“Indeed, you do not. It dies with me. But what of you? Will you not come to wait on Mr. Fanley?”

“I will rest here a few days.”

“I see this night’s work has been very distasteful to you and has caused you to feel old injuries most acutely. Nevertheless, I thank you sir. I will make my excuses to Mr. Fanley and pray you will be rested soon.”