Jo Beverley - [Malloren] (29 page)

One tree, however, looked much like another, and that was all he’d been able to see from his prison’s window. Trees, a small garden, and a trace of a passing, quiet road.

He found himself doing it now. Checking a nearby building for anything familiar. Damnation, his prison hadn’t been a four-room cottage! It was over and better so. He had a life to live.

The road split, the right arm pointing up the dale toward Aysgarth and Hawes, the left toward Arradale House. They went left, and for a while the countryside did not change. Then a hedge started, lining the winding road, and in the distance a great house could be glimpsed between trees.

Brand pulled up. “Arradale, I assume.”

Bey halted, too. “Impressive, especially for this part of England.” He pointed with his crop to the hills beyond. “I believe that is the ruin of the family’s home in generations past. Arradale Castle.”

“A striking fortress in a powerful location.”

“The family gained the land just after the Conquest due to the bloody labors of a man known as Ironhand. The earldom came for fidelity to the Stuarts.”

“And the right to pass it to the female line, I gather.”

“The gentleman in question was a great favorite of Charles the Second, and had only daughters. The castle had been destroyed in the war, so the new earl built a more modern home.”

“To the greater comfort of all, I assume.” Brand urged his horse forward at a walk. “Do you ever meet anyone without gathering information?”

Bey raised his brows. “Do you visit an estate without knowing something of the area?”

“True. I was engaged in that sort of research when I was abducted.”

“My investigations are much safer, and done by others. I recommend it. The late earl married below him to a local woman, one Sarah Ludley. It was only permitted because he was the second son. However, the older brother died in a carriage accident before marrying. It seems to have been a happy union, despite the imbalance, though blessed by only one child, a daughter. The countess is still young. She came into her inheritance three years ago at the age of twenty-two.”

“Three years older than you when you inherited,” Brand pointed out.

“I was never young.”

Brand feared that was true. Bey had been present when his mother murdered her new daughter, but being young himself, had been unable to stop it. It had shaped everything. Brand knew it was why his brother found it so hard not to pursue anyone who attacked his family. He was always defending because of the one he had failed to defend.

“She takes her duties seriously,” Bey was continuing, apparently unmoved. “She’s held in respect by the people of this part of Yorkshire, though there’s some indulgence in it. It would seem she was not an orderly young person.”

“A hoyden?”

“Anyone can be allowed a little recklessness in their youth.”

“I don’t remember you allowing us a great deal,” Brand teased.

“I knew the dangers all too well.”

Brand returned to safe subjects. “So, what sort of person is the madcap countess now?”

“Strong willed and determined, I gather. She shows no inclination to marry, though of course she is besieged by suitors. The woman does own and control a large part of the North.”

“Since you don’t plan to marry either, you can hardly carp.”

“I never carp. Lady Arradale is still young, however, and I’m sure she is pestered.”

“Whereas at your advanced age, you are left alone.”

“If only,” said Bey, “that were true. Politically, the countess is of the peace party. She’s at one with the King there. She’s High Church and fun loving, and staunchly opposed to the Cotterite movement.”

“A woman after your own heart.”

“Don’t be foolish. She has one strange quirk. She has ambitions to take her place as equal among men of similar rank, even to bring about a change in custom so that peeresses such as she can take a seat in parliament.”

“The deuce you say! She wants to join the men’s clubs and smoke a pipe?”

“I have no idea if it goes that far. However, you can be sure that during our visit I will treat her as far as possible as a man of equal rank. I recommend that you do the same.”

“Poor thing. You’re a manipulative devil at times.”

“All the time, I hope. That’s how I’ve built our power.”

Brand suddenly felt sorry for the young countess. “Don’t hurt her, Bey. You know you can be damned seductive if you’ve a mind to be.”

Bey stared. “My dear, I never seduce men of equal rank.”

Brand laughed, and by then they could see the gate house, a magnificent stone arch with cottage attached, and wrought-iron gates standing open. It seemed somewhat pointless without a wall around the property, but it was an impressive statement of power and wealth.

“Reconstructed, stone by stone, from the castle, at the lady’s orders,” Rothgar murmured, as they rode forward. The gatekeeper was running out to bow and wave them through. “Delusions of grandeur?”

“As I said. A match made in heaven.”

“Our coronets and convictions would clash.”

In moments a horn sounded, telling all that noble guests were arriving.

The formal drive of Arradale ran straight toward the house between disciplined lines of glowing lime trees. To the sides, however, some modern landscape work had been done, creating admirable vistas. Here a small lake was crossed at one end by a miniature stone-arched bridge. There a Grecian temple could be glimpsed through a careful arrangement of trees. Deer cropped the grass, also keeping the lower trunks of the limes tidily clear of growth.

The house was a solid block with two flights of steps curving up toward grand central doors. Servants spilled out from the sides to take the horses, and the doors were opened by liveried footmen.

Brand smiled. Perhaps this was the usual grandeur, or perhaps the countess was intent on impressing the Marquess of Rothgar.

They climbed the steps and entered a paneled hall hung with enough weapons to arm a significant force, and found the countess waiting for them. At least, it must be her. Straight spine, determined chin, and gracious smile. Despite a charmingly feminine yellow dress and a fashionably frivolous muslin-and-lace apron, despite glossy chestnut curls crowned by a lace-and-ribbon confection that hardly deserved the name of cap, she gave a clear impression of authority.

Brand wondered whether she habitually disguised it this way, or whether it was a performance put on especially for Bey. ’Struth, it was to be hoped the lady hadn’t abandoned her determination to remain unmarried and decided to set her pretty cap at a marquess!

“We are honored and delighted to have you visit us here at Arradale, Lord Rothgar,” she said, extending a hand for a greeting salutation. That was when Brand noticed her rings, flashing brashly in a sunbeam. Far too many rings, all large. A conundrum, the Countess of Arradale. She might amuse Bey and distract him from Brand’s affairs.

Brand kissed her hand in turn, then she gave one hand to each and led them toward a grand staircase leading up to a balcony edged with columns of rose marble, glowing warmly in shafts of afternoon sun.

“I have invited some of my neighbors to stay for a few days, my lords,” she said. “People who will be pleased to make your acquaintance, and whom you will like to meet. Tomorrow, there will be a ball.” Arriving at the balcony, where yet more servants waited, she added, “I will have you shown to your rooms to refresh yourselves, but then perhaps you would honor us with your company in the drawing room.”

“If you can excuse our riding clothes, Lady Arradale,” said Bey. “We have outpaced our baggage.”

“Of course, my lord.”

She was the epitome of the gracious hostess, and Bey was at his smoothest. Brand felt as if warning bells were sounding, but couldn’t imagine why.

Perhaps she was in marital pursuit and Bey was aware of it. For his part, Brand had no interest in such silliness.

Once in his room and alone, he sighed, thinking that coming here had been a mistake. A house party and a ball. Though he enjoyed good company, he had little patience with the more superficial society gatherings. As he washed and tidied himself, he took comfort in the fact that he would soon be able to escape for daily rides around the area. Bey could play social games with the countess without anyone holding his hand.

Drying his face, he smiled at the thought of his teasing on the road. The countess was hardly Bey’s usual type, but she might be a worthy challenge. Unfortunate, perhaps, that she and Bey were unlikely to lock horns. It could be amusing.

He reknotted his cravat, wondering why she wore so many rings. He was no expert on such things, but he didn’t even think them of significant value. Just large and faceted for greatest sparkle…. He paused. That sparked a memory.

Rings?

After a moment, he shook his head, accepting that whatever memory had flickered had died.

He joined his brother and they returned to the lower floor, where a footman guided them to a handsome drawing room, decorated in the latest Chinese style. The countess again came forward to greet them and introduce them to her guests. Brand began to relax. Though mostly of the upper class, the guests were country people rather than courtiers, and likely to be interested in matters that interested him.

He saw his brother watching the countess now and then, as if searching for something about her. He put it aside. Whatever Bey was up to had nothing to do with him.

He settled with a group of ruddy-faced men and began to learn about animal breeding in Wensleydale.

Chapter 18

I
n the end, sir $$$ because she knew he wanted to go, Rosamunde l$$$urged Digby to attend Diana’s party. She knew she s$$$ld keep him at home, but he did so love these event$$$ $$$ince their marriage, he had stayed with her at Wen$$$e so often, a sacrifice she hadn’t always appreciated $$$ much as she should.

Let him have the pleasure of time with his old friends. What harm could it do? He knew nothing of a connection between her and the Marquess of Rothgar.

She couldn’t help weakly wondering whether Brand had accompanied his brother. She felt she should know if he were so close, but that was nonsense. Better not to know. She wasn’t sure she could resist the temptation to try at least to see him.

She was particularly pleased Digby was away when her nephew, Edward, turned up again. As usual, he’d arrived as evening fell, so it was impossible to send him on his way. At least this time George Cotter wasn’t with him.

“Digby isn’t here,” she said with satisfaction as she led him to his usual room.

“No? It’s rare he leaves home.”

“He’s at Arradale. The countess is holding a house party with a ball tomorrow night in honor of the Marquess of Rothgar.” She couldn’t resist adding, “I understand the marquess is in the North looking into the activities of the New Commonwealth.”

Edward, virtuously trim in dress and build, put his bag on the bed. “If he investigates, he will only find wisdom for his damned soul.”

“Damned? Just for asking questions?”

“Damned, Aunt, for his wicked life. George Cotter knows all about the marquess and his questions, and does not fear them.”

His quiet certainty of absolute virtue always made her want to say something outrageous. She turned to leave, but he spoke again.

“Do I gather my uncle is in good health, then, if he feels able to indulge in parties and balls?”

Ah, so that had caught him on a raw spot. “I doubt Digby will dance,” she said, casually, “but he is fine fettle. I think he’s heeding your advice about a simple, healthy life.”

“God has answered my prayers, then.” If she didn’t know better, she would have believed him. “And you?” he asked. “I hear you have put aside vanity and go about more.”

True, he’d been urging her to face the world. Edward had a gift for giving good advice in a way that made it intolerable.

But then he looked closely at her for the first time. “What is this, Aunt?” he asked, stepping closer. “A miracle … ?” But then he stiffened. “Face paint?”

Hiding a spurt of wicked glee, Rosamunde touched her cheek. “This? Why yes. Wonderful, don’t you think?”

He raised a thin hand as if fending off the devil. “You should accept the way God made you!”

“God did not make me scarred.”

“God’s will speaks in all things.” He actually seized his Bible and held it in front of himself as if needing protection. “So why, being so wickedly transformed, are you not at Arradale with your husband, prancing and flirting, and showing off your body in lewd silken garments?”

“Raw cowardice. I am still not comfortable with strangers, so I made an excuse of not feeling well. I would love to be braver,” she told him. “To be prancing and dancing in silken garments.”

He sighed. “Aunt, I know you do not favor my cause, but can you not see how wicked the world has become, how much change is needed? In Lancashire, people wept to hear George Cotter speak, to hear the simple guidance from the Bible that would lead them to sober, honest lives. You are not lacking sense. Look at England! We are ruled by kings and nobles who flaunt their mistresses, drink themselves unconscious every night, and gamble away their heritage without a thought of those on the land they play with. Do you really think the wild extravagance of Arradale, the likes of the Marquess of Rothgar, the excesses of masquerades, the deep dissolution of drink, the wickedness of fornication and adultery—”

“Stop!” The word escaped Rosamunde before she could help it. Her heart scurried as if he knew, as if he were speaking of her. “My goodness,” she said shakily, “you are learning your trade well. I warrant you stir them from the pulpit.”

He preened. “I hope I am receiving the Lord’s gift of words, yes. Though not from the pulpit. Following our leader, we speak simply on level ground with those who will listen. In a barn, a hall, or even in a
field.” He stepped forward and took her hand. “Can I hope that my words touched you, Aunt? That you might one day see the light?”

She supposed he was sincere in his own way. “I do agree that excess drink and gambling is wrong, yes. And fornication. Someone who can bring people to live honest, sober lives is doing good in the world. But you know I cannot agree with everything about the New Commonwealth. Joy is not evil. Dancing is not a sin. You need to be more tolerant.”