A Marriageable Miss (23 page)

E
arly the next morning, his horse blowing heavily after its challenging gallop across the South Downs, Richard swung back into the stable yard, only to find his access to the stables partially blocked by a pair of large wagons, the contents of which were in the process of being unloaded by several teams of workmen.

Quickly dismounting, a furrow of irritation gathering on his brow, he tossed his reins to the waiting stable hand and stared in growing perplexity at the busy hive of activity going on all around him, until finally, his eyes fell upon a small, scrawny-looking man, clearly the instigator of the unanticipated commotion.

‘Mr Jarvis!’ he exclaimed, in astonishment, as he strode quickly towards the man. ‘I had not thought to find you here this morning!’

‘Ah, good morning, your lordship,’ beamed the other, Ned Jarvis by name and a master slater by trade. ‘We got here as soon as we could—her ladyship was most insistent that we needed to get on with the job before the next rainfall.’

‘Her ladyship?’ Richard queried, even more confused. To the best of his knowledge, his grandmother was still in London, recuperating after the wedding reception.

‘That’s right, m’lord,’ returned Jarvis, as he signalled a further instruction to one of his minions. ‘Called in on her way to the coaching office, her ladyship did—caught me right in the middle of my breakfast—’

Richard stilled and a cold rivulet of unease ran down his spine as he realised that the ladyship the man was referring to was not the dowager countess, as he had supposed, but to the new Lady Markfield—his wife! But the coaching office? Surely to God Helena hadn’t taken it into her head to walk out on him already? Inhaling deeply, he let out a slow breath.

‘And did her ladyship manage to catch the stage, do you know?’ he asked, striving to keep his tone neutral, despite the sudden rush of apprehension that was starting to threaten his ability to think straight.

‘Oh, you’ve no need to concern yourself there, sir! Saw her climb aboard the stage with my own eyes, I did—the Blue Boar being right opposite my yard, as you know. Bang on time—eight o’clock, as usual. Her ladyship is probably disembarking at Hyde Park corner this very minute, even as we speak, sir!’

‘Yes, I dare say you’re right.’

Richard’s eyes swivelled over to where Jarvis’s workmen were busily unloading the stacks of slates into wheelbarrows prior to ferrying them across to the rear of the Hall. He was finding it difficult to draw breath, let alone make sense of what the craftsman was telling him. Unable to bring himself to question him as to the amount of luggage her ladyship might have been carrying—or indeed, whether or not she had been accompanied by her maid—he was overcome by a most urgent need to get back to Westpark and check for himself—hopefully, Mrs Wainwright would be able to throw some light on what had gone on in the house during his absence.

Turning towards the stables, he took two steps and then came to a sudden halt as, with a muted oath, he remembered that the grooms would have taken the thoroughbreds out for their morning exercise. Having set out for his own ride shortly after dawn, in a vain attempt to direct his thoughts away from the tormenting image of Helena curled up in her bed in the adjoining room, he had ridden his mount practically into the ground, rendering the poor creature out of commission for the next hour, at the very least—and far too long for him to wait to discover what new blow Fate had seen fit to hurl at him!

Striding quickly away from the stable yard, he made at once for the river path, breaking into a run as soon as he was out of sight of the workmen but, on reaching the footbridge, was faced with yet another impasse. Busily engaged in hacking out the bridge’s rotten planking was another gang of labourers, rendering any imminent crossing totally out of the question!

‘Very sorry, your lordship,’ called out one of the men as he approached. ‘Won’t be able to use the bridge for an hour or so yet—but we’ll be as quick as we can, sir.’

Muttering violent imprecations, Richard turned away and set off up the path in the direction of footbridge that crossed the river into his cousin’s property, which lay some three-quarters of a mile further upstream.

What in God’s name was going on? he asked himself, as he once more broke into a run. In the two hours since he had set out for his ride, his entire world seemed to have been tipped off its axis. Not only had his wife of one day walked out on him, but it would appear that she had added fuel to the fire by reinstating the abandoned building programme, knowing full well that he was unable to pay the contractors. So much for his arrogantly conceived plan of a slow and careful wooing! Perhaps he would have done better just to shelve his high-flown principles and demand his marital rights, as a good many other men would have done in the circumstances! A well and truly bedded wife might have had second thoughts about taking off and running back home to her father!

But then, with a quick shake of his head, he cast that notion aside. Quite apart from the fact that the taking of any woman against her will was totally foreign to his nature, it was difficult not to forget that it had been as a result of such a brutish attempt that Helena had found herself under obligation to agree to his marriage proposal in the first place.

At which consideration, a shudder of dismay ran through him, causing him to quicken his pace. If she had really gone off to London on her own and if Barrington should happen to catch sight of her, she could well be in serious danger, for the viscount was
not the sort of man to bear his grudges lightly and, after the hiding Markfield had dealt him…!

As the possible consequences of his past actions crowded into his brain, Richard’s sense of foreboding increased and, as he tore up the path towards the Southpark footbridge, he could hardly contain his growing feeling of dread.

At last, he reached the bridge which, being more than twenty feet across at this point, was of a much sturdier construction than the one on the lower stretch of the river. Urging himself forwards, his lungs almost fit to burst, he managed to stumble halfway across, before a severe lack of wind, caused by his badly neglected physical condition, forced him to a standstill. Pausing to catch his breath, he became aware of the approaching sound of horse’s hooves.

Straightening up, his eyes hit upon his cousin riding towards him on the opposite bank.

‘Quick, Charles!’ he gasped, as he launched himself across the short distance that separated them. ‘I need your horse—I have to get back to Westpark right away!’

‘Steady on, old man!’ exclaimed Standish as, hastily dismounting, he thrust his reins into the earl’s outstretched hands. ‘Is something amiss? You look totally done in!’

‘It seems that Helena’s taken herself back up to town,’ croaked the earl abruptly, as he swung himself hurriedly into the saddle and turned the mount in the direction of his home.

‘Well, yes, I know all about that!’ cried his cousin, clutching at the horse’s bridle. ‘But why all the sudden panic?’

Richard froze and, his eyes narrowing, he stared down at Standish.

‘What do you mean—you know about her leaving?’

‘Why, yes, of course—Helena and I discussed it all yesterday. She was aiming to go to that soup kitchen of hers in Chelsea and persuade a parcel of her down-and-outers to come back here and work for her—I offered to take her up myself, of course, but she insisted that I needed to stay here and set some men on to repairing that old bridge of yours before she got back. I was just going down to see how they were getting on.’

‘I see,’ said Richard who, having regained both his breath and his composure, was beginning to feel slightly foolish at having allowed himself to get into such a panic-stricken state. A feeling that quickly turned to one of irritation as he hurriedly dismounted and returned the reins to the clearly bewildered Standish.

‘Seemingly, my fears are unfounded, then,’ he growled as he turned to leave. ‘I had visions of her coming face to face with that bounder Barrington—it’s a pity that neither of you saw fit to inform me of your arrangements!’

‘But you professed to want nothing to do with any of it!’ protested his cousin. ‘And, if I may say so, the fact that you and your wife appear not to be on speaking terms is hardly an excuse to treat me as some sort of whipping boy!’

‘No, you are quite right, Charles,’ returned Markfield, with a weary sigh. ‘Please excuse that remark—I seem to have lost the ability to think straight recently.’

‘This marriage of yours is not going according to plan then, I take it?’ asked Standish, staring curiously at his cousin.

Throwing back his head, Richard let out a bark of derisive laughter.

‘Certainly not to any plan that I have ever heard of!’ he retorted grimly. ‘We manage to keep up a reasonable show in front of the servants, but that’s about it—though you can’t have failed to notice that my new wife has rather a low opinion of me.’

A puzzled frown flitted across Standish’s brow.

‘Well, she certainly didn’t mention anything of the sort to me,’ he countered. ‘We spent most of the afternoon discussing what needed to be done to the Hall and she seemed most enthusiastic that it should be returned to its former state without any further ado—just as you would have done yourself, I imagine, had you not been fool enough to—’

He stopped and a flush covered his cheeks. ‘Forgive me, old man,’ he stammered. ‘That was uncalled for, I know, but I cannot help thinking that you might have made a grave mistake in handing the reins over to your wife!’

‘With hindsight, you may well be proved right,’ acknowledged
the earl heavily. ‘But it’s done now and I have no intention of sticking my nose into whatever arrangements the pair of you might have cooked up together—I dare say I can rely on you to ensure that the work is up to the necessary standard?’

‘Absolutely, old man,’ exclaimed Standish, thrusting out his hand. ‘I promise that nothing will be done without my express agreement. I’m as keen to see the Hall back to its old self as you once were!’

‘Probably still am, if the truth be told,’ revealed Richard, as he clasped his cousin’s hand between both of his. ‘Just got knocked slightly off kilter, that’s all, but I’m perfectly happy to leave it to you to oversee. You’re just as familiar with the place as I am, after all. Apart from which, I shall be up to my eyes, for the next week or so, with other matters that are rather more pressing—at least, as far as I’m concerned.’

Assuring his cousin that he would be more than happy to stand proxy for him, Standish remounted, and with a cheery smile and a friendly wave, the two men parted—Standish to inspect the ongoing progress at the footbridge and Richard to make his way back to Westpark, where yet more revelations lay in wait for him.

Having confirmed that Jem the coachman, had taken both Helena and her maid off to Epsom to catch the London stage, Mrs Wainwright directed her master’s attention towards the library where, as she informed him, her ladyship had left him a note.

A single sheet of paper, folded in half and propped up against his inkwell, briefly intimating her intentions, merely confirmed what both Charles and the housekeeper had already told him. Rather more to the point, as he very soon realised, upon casting his eyes across the desk towards the large stack of bills that normally sat there, was that the formerly rather large pile had diminished quite considerably. Anger surged up within him as he thumbed through the remaining requests for payment, to discover that every bill that pertained to the refurbishment of Markfield Hall had been extracted. Clenching his fist, he brought it down on the surface of the desk with such a mighty thump that the inkwell toppled forwards and tipped its contents right across the blotter in front of him.

His shoulders slumped in despair, his eyes followed the spreading inkstain until, with a strangled oath, he leapt out of his seat and strode across to the sideboard, whereon a selection of drinks was displayed. Pouring himself a full bumper of brandy, he tossed back the fiery liquor in a couple of hefty gulps, refilled the glass and threw himself down into one of the leather chairs that straddled the fireplace, staring into the flickering flames with the grimmest of expressions on his face.

A damned gigolo! That’s what this marriage had turned him into. There was nothing for it but to wave a fond farewell to all his high-flown principles of honour above all, since it was clear that he was now little more than a kept man, totally dependent upon his wife’s charity!

How he had ever been fool enough to suppose that his wife could be sweet-talked into falling in love with him, he could no longer imagine. It was bad enough that she regarded him as an adulterer, but to find out that she had rifled through his private correspondence was, as far as he was concerned, pretty much the final straw. Never mind that she had very likely taken the bills in order to settle the accounts—the fact that she had gone through his papers at all was quite the outside of enough and, to his mind, utterly indefensible!

Not that there was much he could do about any of it, he thought moodily, as he glared into the bottom of his now empty glass. Although his head was distinctly muzzy, one thing remained abundantly clear to him. He was left with little choice but to buckle down and endeavour to give the outside world the impression that this sham marriage was working. Thank God he had more than enough to occupy him over at the stables at the moment, what with the stock auctions coming up next week. If he could just channel his concentration into preparing those three colts for sale, there was every chance that he might be able to ignore the relentlessly intrusive images of Helena’s highly provocative curves and breathtakingly kissable lips that constantly bombarded his brain, day and night alike, conjuring up wildly erotic fantasies that were more than enough to drive any sane man out of his mind. And, if all else
failed, he thought as, with a dour smile, he poured himself yet another hefty serving of brandy, he could always succumb to the family trait and drink himself into oblivion!