The Earl Next Door (15 page)

Luke glowered. ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do than stand there talking damned nonsense?’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as getting things ready for the weekend party.’

‘You’re determined, then?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then there’s no more to be said. But be careful with her, Luke. Like you said, she’s Kit’s sister –’

‘I don’t need you lecturing me on my private affairs either.’

The look that accompanied this speech was so dangerous that Figgs withdrew from the lists. ‘Have it your own way.’ He stood up and crossed to the door. ‘So it’s Friday, is it? The party?’

‘Friday to Sunday.’

Figgs gave an ironic bow, and in his best butlering voice, he said, ‘Very good, my lord.’

The first of March dawned bright and fair. It was a balmy day, unusually warm for the time of year. The ice had melted, leaving green fields and rushing streams in its wake, and a few early daffodils nestled in sheltered spots around the Travis estate.

Marianne carried a bunch of them in her arms as she rode towards the village churchyard after lunch. She was enjoying the unseasonably warm sunshine and the balmy air. Nature was bursting into life all around her and it made her cheerful, however sad her task might be.

She dismounted by the lych gate, using one of the stones as a block, and tethered her little grey mare, then went into the churchyard. The graves were all well kept, and there was an air of peace about the place. Marianne found it welcoming - since the coming of Lord Ravensford, peace in her life had seemed in short supply. She went over to the far side of the graveyard and set about arranging the daffodils in a silver vase. The vase was set in stone in between two graves. One was the grave of her mother, the other was Julian’s grave. Her beloved younger brother had enjoyed the outdoor life, and had made their mother promise not to bury him in the family crypt; and when Mrs Travis’s turn had come, she had asked to be laid by the side of her younger son.

After fetching water from the well to fill the vase, Marianne knelt for a few minutes in silence, remembering her beloved mother and brother. It was a fever that had taken her brother, and a riding accident that had taken her mother, but it was not the sadness of their deaths that she remembered, but the happiness of their lives. She felt calm and at peace when laying flowers on their graves.

She was just about to rise to her feet when she became aware of someone standing close by. She looked round to see Lord Ravensford. He had an unusual look on his face, a look she had never seen there before. It was a look which, on the face of another man, a man who was not as hard as Lord Ravensford, she would almost have called tender.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t meant to disturb you.’

His tone was so gentle that she felt strangely touched. ‘You haven’t.’ She rose to her feet. ‘I have done what I came to do.’ She looked at the gravestones and felt a desire to talk about her family. ‘I come here each week to pay my respects to my mother and my brother. Not Kit,’ she said, seeing his look of surprise. ‘My younger brother, Julian.’

She did not know why she was confiding in him, especially on such a personal matter, but she had the instinctive feeling that he would understand. It came as a relief to her to speak about her mother and brother. There were times when she longed to talk about them, but her father could not hear their names mentioned without becoming fretful, and Trudie, meaning well, would say it was better not to talk of the dead. But she had loved her mother and brother, and felt a need to talk about them now and again.

She saw him look at the gravestone and read the words chiselled there.
In loving memory of Julian
St John
Travis, born 1773, died 1784. May he rest in peace
.

‘I . . . did not know,’ he said quietly.

‘Julian was my younger brother, the baby of the family,’ she said, looking lovingly at his gravestone. ‘He was just eleven when he died. That’s why . . . ’ She paused as she felt a sudden catch in her throat, but then went on. ‘That’s why my mother decided she must learn how to deal with the illnesses and accidents that happened round the estate.’

‘And why she taught you how to deal with them as well?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘“It’s no use trusting doctors,” Mama used to tell me. “Doctors don’t always get through”. There was a storm on the night of Julian’s death, you see, and Doctor Moffat couldn’t get through. There were floods and gales and it was quite impossible. By the time he reached us the next morning it was too late. Julian was dead. My mother decided then that she would learn the rudiments of medicine, so that if something like it happened again she would know what to do.’

‘Your mother must have been a fine woman.’

‘She was.’ Marianne spoke simply. ‘She made Dr Moffat tell her what she should do in cases of fever in the future. At first, he didn’t want to help her. It wasn’t a fit subject for ladies, he said. But because of Julian’s death he relented, and in time he came to teach her much of what he knew. She decided to pass her knowledge on to me. It shocked Papa, and many of the people hereabouts, but it did not put her off. She had a strong character, and did what she believed to be right.’

‘I wondered how you had managed to make such a good job of Henri’s leg. And also how you had the courage to help him free it from the trap. It can’t have been a pretty sight. Most young ladies would have had a fit of the vapours.’

‘I have to confess, I almost felt like it,’ she said. ‘His leg was a terrible mess.’

‘He told me. He told me, also, how you bandaged it.’

‘And you were not shocked?’ she asked, looking sideways at him as they left the graves and walked down to the lych gate.

He gave a wry smile. ‘We are neither of us conventional, Miss Travis; neither you nor I. I am anything but a gentleman, as you so rightly told me, and whilst you are most definitely a lady, you don't allow that fact to stop you being yourself as well. That, I suspect, is why we get on so well together. We both have strong characters - too strong to let society stop us being ourselves. But to answer your question: no, I was not shocked when I learned that you had bandaged Henri's leg. It seemed to me to be a very useful thing to be able to do. And why should I be shocked at someone being useful?’

‘Many people are. Being useful is not generally considered to be desirable.’

‘And being useless is?’

She laughed, picking up on the humour in his tone. But at the same time she could not help remembering the gentlemen who had courted her in
London
, and their horror when they had discovered she had tended an injured parlourmaid. ‘There are those who think so.’

‘I’m not one of them. Being useless is all very well for those who
are
useless, but is a sad waste of talents for those who are not. And now
I
have shocked
you
.’

She realised he was teasing her, and smiled. He was revealing another side of himself; one she had not previously suspected.

‘But I came to find you on purpose this morning,’ he said as they reached the lych gate. He stopped and turned towards her, the spring sunshine lightening his face. ‘I’ve put the final touches to the weekend party and I’ve come to deliver the invitation in person.’

‘I’m not sure . . . ’ began Marianne.

‘When you’ve all but promised Miss Stock?’ he asked her innocently.

She laughed. ‘I suppose, in that case, I have no choice.’

‘No indeed. I think you’ll find it entertaining. There’ll be music and dancing, and a host of other activities – including riding, if you care to bring your horse.’

He looked at her mare, who was grazing contentedly just beyond the gate.

‘I’ll do that,’ she said. She looked round for his horse but could not see it.

‘I came on foot,’ he said, in answer to her enquiring look. ‘The day was fine and I decided to walk. It was by chance I saw you in the churchyard and made a detour. But now, I hope you’ll let me see you home?’

‘You are as bad as Henri!’ laughed Marianne. ‘He is always trying to look after me, and doesn’t like me to go anywhere alone.’

‘Very wise. Coming from
France
, he must have seen a lot of terrible things, and even here, although we are far away from those disturbances, there are still footpads,’ said Lord Ravensford, looking down at her  with a smile.

Marianne sighed. ‘I suppose so. Of course, it won’t be proper for you to see me home. I am unchaperoned. As I was only going to the church, which is practically on Travis land, I didn’t bring my groom. But . . . yes, thank you, my lord. I would be honoured if you would see me home.’

He smiled at her formality. He seemed younger today, here in the graveyard, and she realised that even when a tense and dangerous energy was not crackling between them they shared a strong bond, a bond she was beginning to realise was friendship of a deep and sincere kind.

He made to help her mount, but she said, ‘No, I think I, too, will walk.’

She untethered her mare and led the animal by the reins. Together they walked along the country lanes, companionably enjoying the warm, spring-like day. They were just approaching a bend when they heard the sound of hooves coming towards them. Instinctively they moved to one side, so that the rider could safely pass them, but when he came into view they both stiffened. The rider was Mr Windham.

On seeing them, he reined in his horse. ‘Why, Miss Travis,’ he said. ‘And Lord Ravensford.’ He looked around ostentatiously for Marianne’s groom.

Marianne did not rise to the bait. If he thought she intended to make an excuse for not having Tom with her then he was mistaken.

‘I’m glad to have seen you,’ he said, when neither of them replied. ‘I have already called on you at the Hall, Miss Travis, but was sorry to find you were out. I am leaving the neighbourhood, and called to wish you farewell.’

Marianne, initially surprised he should have called on her to bid her farewell when she had only met him once, felt a surge of relief at the knowledge he was at last leaving the neighbourhood. She had never liked the man, and had been half afraid of him ever since learning that he was a Jacobin. Although she had seen him so little, she would still be happier when there was no likelihood of meeting him at social gatherings. This being the case, she was able to put on a smile and bid him a polite farewell.

‘And you, Somerville,’ he said, sweeping off his hat and making Lord Ravensford a bow. ‘I will wish you, too, goodbye.’

‘Somerv . . . ’ began Marianne, looking in sudden surprise from one man to the other.

Mr Windham gave a wide smile. ‘Why, yes. Luke Somerville, the 5
^th
Earl of Ravensford. Did you not know? But now I must bid you farewell.’

And smiling maliciously at the damage he had done, he spurred his horse and rode away. Leaving Marianne fighting a turbulent range of emotions that were seething in her breast.

‘You?’ she demanded, looking at Lord Ravensford with a mixture of horror and disbelief. ‘
You
are Luke Somerville?’

No. It couldn't be. Could it? Lord Ravensford could not be the man who had led her brother into temptation and caused him to run up huge gambling debts. Could he?