The Marquess and Miss Davies (9 page)

For the true passion of the dowager Marchioness of Clare was painting.

In oils. One canvas after another was strewn about the room, where heavy cloths covered the floor, keeping it—for the most part—from spills of pigment and linseed oil. The piano itself had long since been moved, for its own protection, to the marquess’s study.

The music room was now a jumble of cerulean blues coexisting happily with coppery reds, a riot of colours that Anthony rather enjoyed seeing, although he never admitted it to his mother. For one thing, few of the canvases were finished, or likely to be so. The dowager marchioness was forever waiting for inspiration, and inspiration generally suggested that she begin anew.

“My dear,” she would tell Anthony, “
that
one will never do. I must have something with more
tone
.”

Or more spirit. Or more—yellow.

When she was not painting, Lord Leighton’s mother could often be found in the library, where she read volume after volume on the lives of famous artists.

Lady Leighton was, in a word, eccentric.

A fact which was kept from the
ton
at large, not that the marquess himself had any objection to acknowledging it, nor Harry or their sisters, but entirely due to the dowager’s own insistence. Society distrusted eccentrics, and the only interest that surpassed painting in Tabitha Leighton’s life was her concern for her children. Specifically, that each achieve marriage to some individual of good family and adequate fortune.

And Anthony was now the only sibling without wife or husband. Lord Leighton’s marriage was the most important, of course, and the dowager marchioness had no intention of scaring away suitable candidates with talk of paint pots and linseed oil. The young women of these days were sorry little things, in her mind, but one of them would do well enough for her eldest son, and for the birthing of grandchildren, which was the entire point of the exercise, was it not?

So the painting was kept strictly
en famille
.

The day of their expedition to Hyde Park arrived, with Isolde in alt that she would finally take her first ‘real ride’. Carys did not have the heart to tell her that nothing one might do in London counted as anything of the sort. Still, even a short jaunt in the park was progress, and a major step past being led by Jeffers around the stable yard at Cardingham House. She suspected that Isa—for whom a robust self-regard had never been at issue—already saw herself trotting along Rotten Row, wearing a riding habit of the latest style and surrounded by beaus, all of them amazed and chatting about the excellence of her seat.

She did not put this result past her sister’s determination. And just for a moment she wondered if the Marquess of Clare happened to frequent Hyde Park.

* * * *

The two horses were waiting for them when the carriage arrived at the northeast corner of the Serpentine, just off the turnpike and St George’s row. Jeffers and Pratt, the other groom, held Jesse and a second, a magnificent stallion who stomped and snorted his impatience.

Alcaeus, her own mount.

Alcaeus was a bit of special pleading on Carys’s part; she had purchased him at the same time as Jesse, over the strong objections of Lord Harcourt.

“Caritsa, darling, that’s a very
large
horse,” said the duke’s son.

“Isn’t he just?” Her voice was full of longing.

Benjamin frowned and tilted his head, as if trying to take in the entire scene, the horse in question stamping and blowing, as its handler—an incompetent fellow, Miss Davies saw at once—tried to keep him under control. They had seen any number of cattle at Tattersall’s that day, but nothing like this animal, an enormous chestnut-sorrel stallion, with a white blaze on his forehead and the proudest bearing one could imagine. He had stared at the crowd at Tatt’s with his head high, as if to say—do you dare?

“You cannot be thinking—”

“I am.”

“But for goodness sake, you’ve put off buying a mount for a year. Why now? And why this monstrous creature?”

“I told you. Isolde has decided to ride. I shall accompany her.”

“Your brother will take my head off when he learns I was here—and did nothing as you lost your wits!”

“My brother is in Cornwall. And I shan’t tell.”

Lord Harcourt sighed in resignation. “Talfryn will find out anyway. He always does.”

* * * *

Alcaeus had been for a short while the prize stallion of Lord Hornby, a gentleman of rather more money than sense, and possessed of a very poor seat. He had fallen off on so many occasions that Lady Hornby had finally insisted the animal be sold, forbidding her husband to go out in the future with anything less than a carriage and four.

Thus, a gentleman’s expensive mount became Miss Davies’s own. Jeffers had protested immediately.

“Take ‘im back!” said the groom.

“Why?” said Carys, who was feeding Alcaeus a large piece of carrot.

“His lordship will wring my neck, that’s why.”

“It’s only that he’s so big,” she told the groom. “He’s really quite well-behaved, as you can see.”

Which was true. A proud bearing notwithstanding, Alcaeus showed no inclination to surliness, which was the worst attitude possible for a horse.

“Don’t care,” said the groom, who was possibly imagining this to be the end of his employment at Cardingham House. “Take ‘im back!”

But she had cajoled and wheedled and finally Jeffers admitted that first, he should give Alcaeus a chance and second, that Lord Davies was a fair employer who knew the twins’ powers of persuasion all too well. So Carys and her new mount became acquainted with one another while Isa became acquainted with Jesse, and the groom had relented enough to say that Alcaeus was a ‘good ‘un’. Carys had not ridden him out, as yet, but he had been saddled and mounted—Jeffers insisted that he be the first, to which she had agreed—without protest.

Carys adored the stallion; not as much as Leopold, of course, waiting for her back at Pencarrow, but well enough, and she thought there was surely room for two such animals in her heart.

* * * *

Isa was as relaxed as Carys had ever seen her on a horse, and there was even a bit of colour in her cheeks. She was talking without pause to Jesse, to the amusement of both Jeffers and her sister.

“‘Tis a lovely day, don’t you agree?” Isa was saying. “I think we should move forward a bit. Do you think we should move forward a bit?”

Carys could swear Jesse understood every word. He nickered and tossed his head.

“I should think the grass just over there is quite pleasant.”

Carys, deciding that Isolde could manage for the moment, asked Jeffers to help her onto Alcaeus. As she settled into the saddle and adjusted her skirts the stallion took the bit and started forward. She gave him a firm twitch of the reins.

“Oh, no, my dear boy,” said Carys. “You wait for me.”

Jeffers was standing at Jesse’s shoulder, giving Isolde a few last bits of instruction. With Carys leading on her own mount and Isolde still talking, the sisters made their way slowly along the Serpentine, the forest green and plum of their riding habits making a double reflection in the still waters.

‘Twas a beautiful day, and an entirely satisfactory outing. Isa claimed that she could not wait to go again.

Carys had originally visited the Royal Society with the thought that here was a group of people who might be expected to have some interest and knowledge of the natural world. This was certainly true but she also realized, after some time, that the members had little inclination to share that knowledge with
her
. A woman was an imposition in the world of the Royal Society. Mr Torvald had been one of the few people who seemed genuinely willing to talk. It was a point in his favour, she insisted to Isolde, who remained unconvinced of any good qualities to be found in that direction.

How had they been introduced? Carys thought back. Sir Archibald had said something one evening, after one of the royal astronomers had spoken, and—

Yes, that was right. Mr Torvald had asked after Talfryn.

He had seemed briefly disappointed, in fact, to learn that her brother did not attend the meetings, and was at that moment not even in town. They had chatted at some length about his interest in the green-winged orchid, and she was able to assure him that she knew of the flower, and had seen it, albeit rarely, on the Pencarrow estate itself.

Mr Torvald was enthusiastic at this communication. He smiled and praised her for her acute observation and said that he knew not two other young ladies in London who might notice such a flower in its natural state. Which was nonsense, of course, as the species in question was rather showy, and not small.

Still, Carys remembered thinking how nice it was that they had a shared interest in the wildflowers of southern England.
Shared interests
were the sort of thing that ought to play a prominent role in her rational plan for marriage.

* * * *

The two sisters began to take regular rides in Hyde Park, going out nearly every morning that it did not rain. Carys believed she was doing this to encourage Isolde in her progress with Jesse. This progress was not to be doubted, but Isa had other motives as well; she disliked her sister’s solitary outings.

Isolde had also learned through Lord Harcourt that Lord Leighton lived only a short distance away on Sovereign Street, and was regularly seen in Hyde Park. They were bound to run into the marquess eventually.

* * * *

They ran, instead, into Mr Torvald. Isolde wondered afterwards if that gentleman had been waiting for them, or looking for them, or even if he had followed them from Cardingham House. Which was an alarming notion. At any rate, he turned up at the Serpentine within a minute or two of their own arrival and hailed them as if they were the best of long-lost friends.

Isa thought—well, this should be interesting. Would he recognize the true Carys from the false on this occasion, or should they perhaps embroider their initials on the front of the shako caps?

But Mr Torvald was prepared. He waited for both Carys and herself to say a few words in greeting, and was able from that time on to fix his attention on her sister.

“Do you ride often in the park?” asked Carys.

“Of course! Of course!” said Mr Torvald. “Nothing better. A beautiful place!”

 Isa found this praise highly suspect. Her sister sat on Alcaeus like a queen among the peasants, Isolde’s own seat was by now decent, but the gentleman ... Even Isa could tell that he was uncomfortable on that horse.

As if he’s never ridden before, she thought. Mr Torvald’s mount was restless and prancing; he kept such a choked grip on the reins that he was probably driving the animal mad.

I would never do that to Jesse
, thought Isolde, in some pride.

“‘Tis a fine morning,” said Carys.

“Of course! Of course!”

“I’m sure your animal is ... umm.”

She despises gentlemen who mistreat their cattle, thought Isolde; satisfied, although sorry for the horse. Carys was biting her lip and Isa guessed that her sister was close to giving the man some unasked-for advice.

“Ah, yes,” said Mr Torvald, and then “Ah!” in alarm, as his horse shook his head, attempting to pull the bit.

“Perhaps you might—” began Carys.

The gentleman’s mount kicked out twice in quick succession, but Mr Torvald, somehow, kept his seat. He smiled at them nervously.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, directing the question to Carys, “if you have heard from your brother.”

“The viscount?” said Carys.

“Yes, of course,” said Mr Torvald, quickly correcting himself. “Lord Davies. Will he be in town soon, do you suppose?”

“I’m not certain of my brother’s plans.”

“Why do you ask?” said Isolde.

“Ah, yes, well ... “ His smile faltered for a moment. “As you know, my research into the habitation of the green-winged orchid has been quite informative—”

Isolde frowned. The green-winged orchid?

“—and I have been emboldened by Miss Davies’s interest in my work, as I feel that ‘tis time to continue it in a somewhat more, ah ... congenial manner.”

His
work
. Mr Torvald now had the full attention of both sisters. Isa felt disaster loom, and as much as she disliked the man and knew he was completely wrong for her sister, she did not want Carys to hear what Mr Torvald was going to say next.

But there was no way to avoid it.

“A congenial manner,” repeated Isa.

“Ah, yes. And as Cornwall, well as you know—the south of England—and Cornwall, of course, being in the south—”

Gods.

“I have long wished to request ... the viscount ... perhaps he would not be averse ... “

Isolde bit back a retort, but Carys stepped in before anything else could be said.

“I assume you are alluding to some type of support from my brother. Or your presence on his estate.”

“Well ... of course I would never presume—”

“Which would certainly be congenial surroundings for your ongoing research.”

Mr Torvald affected an air of injured pride. “Men of science have always suffered for their work. But I feel—”

“I will, of course, mention your interest to Lord Davies when I see him next,” said Carys.

A short pause. “Appreciated! Much appreciated!” said Mr Torvald, but even he must have realized that Miss Davies’s statement could be interpreted in more than one way, and that the time had come—the time was rather well past, in fact—for him to leave. He bid the sisters farewell and rode off. Badly.

“Don’t say anything,” said Carys to her twin.

“No,” agreed Isolde.

* * * *

But of course they did discuss it, eventually.

“How can I go back to the Royal Society now?” said Carys. “Do you suppose everyone knew he was angling for a sponsor?”

“Ignore him. I would.”

“At the very least he could have wanted a rich wife!”

“Instead of entrée onto her brother’s land? Who knows, perhaps he wanted to marry you as well.”