A Country Gentleman (16 page)

Chapter Sixteen

T
here could have been no one more delighted than Lady Thurlby when her son disclosed to her the nature of his hopes. She had had a very testing time at her friend’s house. During the visit, her emotions had veered wildly between distress at Mrs Jacklyn’s illness – from which she had really not been expected to recover – to thankfulness as the lady’s
condition
had most unexpectedly improved, to irritation, as she had remembered what a tiresome man her friend’s son had always been. Consequently, Thurlby’s arrival to fetch her home had come as a very welcome relief.

Clarice Jacklyn had still been confined to her room, but was looking so much better that the countess had ventured to suggest that she might like to pay a visit in the not too distant future. ‘As long as she comes without tedious Thomas,’ Lady Thurlby told her son as they began their journey straight after an early
breakfast
. ‘As soon as his mother was on the mend, he began telling interminable stories of people that I had never met, and
interspersing
them all with phrases like ‘as one does’ and ‘strangely enough’ until I thought I would scream.’

Her son agreed. He had been obliged to endure more than one tiresome half-hour with Jacklyn whilst his mother had sat with her friend upstairs. The other man had pronounced upon farming methods in a very self-important manner. His opinions had been
so misguided and his ponderous advice as to what Thurlby should do with his acres so ill-judged that it had taken every ounce of the earl’s self-control not to speak in a most unbecoming way to one who had been his mother’s host.

‘I hope you will not feel obliged to invite him to the wedding,’ he said.

‘The wedding?’ said his mother, wrinkling her brow. ‘But that will be up to Miss Tasker and Mr Ames, surely.’

‘Not that wedding; mine,’ he said.

His mother’s surprise and excitement were all that he could have hoped for. ‘Yours! Victor! My dear! But who?’ A look of horror crept across her face. ‘Not Isobel Macclesfield?’ she ventured. He shook his head. Her expression turned to one of delight. ‘It’s Lavinia!’

‘You’ve guessed it,’ he answered with a smile. ‘You’re pleased, then.’

‘My dear boy, I couldn’t be happier,’ the countess answered, leaning forward to grasp his hand. ‘I always thought that you were very well suited, but …’ She paused.

‘But?’

‘Forgive me, but when I left for Clarice’s house, it seemed to me that things were decidedly chilly between you.’

‘Yes, they were,’ he replied. It was his turn to pause. ‘I did not tell you before, as I did not want to add to your anxieties, but she and Isobel Macclesfield travelled up from London on the stage,’ he said at last. ‘Stancross and his wife left London without providing Lavinia with the means to travel here. The two girls put their resources together and bought tickets. They gave themselves false names for discretion’s sake.’

‘How resourceful,’ commented his mother.

He grinned reluctantly. ‘Yes, it was, wasn’t it? Unfortunately, I assumed that they had done it for a prank, and raked them down – Lavinia in particular – without giving them a chance to explain.’

‘That was not very fair – and not like you, if you will forgive my saying so,’ said the countess. ‘How did Lavinia react to that?’

‘She smacked my face,’ he admitted. ‘But in all fairness, I must tell you that that was not all. I discovered that while in London, Lavinia had somehow got herself involved with Riseholm.’

‘Riseholm!’ The countess’s shocked tone told him that she was as familiar with the earl’s reputation as was he.

‘I blame her aunt and uncle,’ said Thurlby, flushing. ‘I know that Mrs Stancross was unwell, but they should have made better provision for Lavinia. No doubt they thrust her upon any willing woman who was prepared to chaperon her. How could she then be anything but easy prey to someone like Riseholm?’

‘She has told you this?’ His mother asked, frowning.

He shook his head. ‘Not in so many words; but she has assured me that all is at an end between her and Riseholm, and I believe her.’

‘I am sure that you are right to do so,’ she replied. ‘Indeed, I wonder …’ Her voice tailed off. ‘But enough of that for now. Tell me – for a woman likes to know these things – where did you propose, and what did she say?’

He looked a little sheepish. ‘I have not proposed as yet,’ he said.

‘Not yet? Then forgive me, but how—?’

‘How do I know that there will be a wedding? I told her of my hopes before I came to fetch you, but said that I would not ask her for an answer until you had returned.’

She eyed him a little mystified. ‘Victor, are you in love with the girl, or not?’

‘Yes, I am,’ he acknowledged.

‘Then surely you could have been a little bolder.’

‘As bold as Riseholm?’ he suggested, an eyebrow raised. ‘No, Mama, I am no rake. I will treat the woman, whom I hope is to be my countess, with respect, right from the beginning.’

Isobel hurried away from the vicarage, and back towards Thurlby Hall, without even dropping in on the Horseshoe as she had intended. At first, all she could think of was how thoroughly she had been deceived. ‘How dared they?’ she muttered to herself. ‘How dared they?’ They had all conspired against her, and Lavinia was the worst of all. She knew all about this romance and she had said nothing. No doubt her so-called friend had been sniggering behind her hand when she had been talking about attracting Mr Ames. She had probably told the whole story to the vicar and Miss Tasker so that they could all have a good laugh at her expense.

She, Isobel, was always the one who was talking secrets. It was a strange sensation for her to feel left out. Worse still, the look of love that she had wanted directed towards herself was being turned upon the plain schoolmistress whilst she, the belle of every ball, had become a wallflower.

Why had Lavinia not warned her? Surely she owed her some loyalty, especially after she had provided the wherewithal for them both to travel to Stamford! No doubt Lavinia had been too wrapped up in falling in love herself to think about her friend’s needs. She was not even aware that her friend was being
blackmailed
by Mr Twizzle – Twizzle who this very afternoon was coming for more.

Her plan for getting a respectable fiancé was in ruins. What could she do now? Ames was beyond her reach, whilst Lavinia had snapped up Thurlby. Hawkfield and Laver had both gone to London. They had called upon her a few days ago to make their farewells, and Hawkfield had asked her, with a look full of mischief, if she had any messages for anybody.

She had not made the mistake of sending a message direct to Riseholm; but she had told him with a flirtatious toss of her head that those with whom she was acquainted would no doubt be invited to dance at her wedding, which might be sooner than any of them expected. Now there would be no
wedding, and she would be made to look a fool in front of everyone.

Once back at Thurlby Hall, she went to sit in the garden. She thought about the earl, remembering how angry he had been when he had seen them getting down from the stage. Why, even Benjamin Twizzle had slunk away from him! She sat up straight, a thoughtful expression on her face. If Thurlby could somehow be persuaded to help her, then Twizzle would not dare menace her any more.

Lavinia ought to be the one to persuade him; but she did not want to ask Lavinia for anything. Lavinia had conspired against her with the vicar and his fiancée. Her friendship could not be trusted. The idea of begging for her kindness made Isobel’s mouth set in a mutinous line. This would need careful thought. Perhaps she could dare to address Lord Thurlby herself? She could give him the same story that she had told Timothy Ames. His very disapproval of Lord Riseholm might work in her favour.

Lavinia left the vicarage a short time after Isobel had hurried off. She had a good deal to think about, much of it very agreeable indeed. She had no sisters or cousins, and had never supposed that she would ever be asked to be someone’s bridesmaid. That was something to look forward to. Then there was the prospect of the return of Lord Thurlby. She had been offered nuncheon at the vicarage but she had refused, not wanting to miss Lord Thurlby’s arrival.

His meaning could hardly have been plainer when he had spoken to her before his departure. He meant to propose, and she had no doubt as to what her answer would be. She had always liked and admired him; hero-worshipped him, even. Over the days since their arrival, after an unfortunate start, she had found herself thinking about him more and more. They had enjoyed outings, conversations and jokes, and she had seen how much he was liked and admired by those who depended upon him. Yes, his
temper could be quick, but he was man enough to acknowledge his mistake. The strange bolt of feeling that shot through her every time they touched hands could not be ignored. Nor could that moment when they had almost kissed, and she had felt vaguely disappointed for the rest of the day because he had not done so. At last, she had had to acknowledge that she had fallen in love with him.

Upon his return, she would tell him about who had been the real recipient of Riseholm’s advances. By that time, she hoped, they would be engaged, and he would be too happy to send Isobel away in disgrace.

She popped into the Horseshoe with a note to the landlady from Miss Tasker. Having handed it over, she was about to leave, when the landlord called out to her, asking whether she would be seeing Mrs Hedges.

Lavinia turned, completely taken by surprise by this reference to a pseudonym that he should not have known. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said.

The landlord repeated his question. ‘Only there is a letter for her here, miss. This is a busy place and I like to get these off my hands as soon as possible, so as not to lose them.’

‘Yes, I shall be seeing her,’ Lavinia answered, taking the letter and looking down at the sloping handwriting that she had seen before, generally on notes attached to bouquets of flowers. ‘Does Mrs Hedges send and receive many letters?’

‘Quite a few,’ the landlord answered.

Thanking the man, Lavinia left the inn and set off back to Thurlby Hall. ‘Isobel!’ she declared out loud in an exasperated tone. ‘I’ll wring her neck!’

As Lord Thurlby’s carriage entered the village at about midday, the earl knocked on the roof with his cane. ‘The landlord of the Horseshoe promised to set aside a barrel of beer for me, but I think he may have forgotten. I’ll just go and remind him.’

Lady Thurlby smiled as he got down from the carriage. She could not remember ever having seen him look happier.

‘John,’ the earl called. ‘Hey there, John!’

‘Coming, my lord,’ the landlord replied, entering the tap room and bowing.

‘Have you forgotten that beer of mine?’ Thurlby asked.

‘I’ll admit it slipped my mind,’ the man acknowledged. ‘But I did remember earlier. In fact, I meant to send a message back to the Hall with the young lady.’

‘Which young lady?’

‘Why, the fair-haired young lady that collected the letter for Mrs Hedges,’ the landlord answered.

Just as surprised as Lavinia had been earlier, Thurlby responded with exactly the same words. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The letter for Mrs Hedges, my lord,’ the landlord repeated. ‘She’s a powerful diligent correspondent is Mrs Hedges. The lady that made the arrangements did say that the letters weren’t to go to the Hall.’ He looked self-conscious. ‘I hope I haven’t been indiscreet, my lord.’

‘You have done quite right,’ said the earl in neutral tones. He put his hand in the pocket of his breeches and drew out some coins. ‘With whom does Mrs Hedges correspond?’

The landlord’s loyalty to the inhabitants of Thurlby Hall had developed over a lifetime, and he might well have told the earl what he wanted to know without any pecuniary incentive; but the money was nonetheless welcome.

‘The letters are for a gentleman named Lord Riseholm, and the replies are always franked by him,’ the landlord answered.

‘I see,’ said the earl, this time stony-faced.

‘May I serve you in any other way, my lord?’ the man asked, a little concerned.

‘I don’t think so. Good day to you.’

‘Victor, what upon earth has happened?’ his mother asked when he got into the carriage.

‘Nothing that cannot be mended, thank God,’ he replied.

‘But what—’

‘Not now, Mama,’ he said, in the voice of one reining in his temper with difficulty. ‘For pity’s sake, not now.’

As Lavinia walked up the drive, she caught sight of Isobel sitting in the garden, so she walked straight over to her. ‘Isobel, what is the meaning of this?’ she asked, holding the letter out in her hand.

‘It looks like my letter,’ Isobel replied, standing. ‘May I have it, if you please?’

‘But it cannot be,’ answered Lavinia. ‘This is addressed to Mrs Hedges, and we both know that there is no such person, don’t we?’

‘What was I supposed to do?’ Isobel asked, turning away
impatiently
. ‘I knew that I could not send letters and receive them here under my own name.’