Amy Lake (21 page)

Mrs. Marwick would strongly prefer to have nothing more to do with the baronet. But several questions remained, and she found herself unwilling to let the matter completely go. She disliked being lied to. She had disliked, somehow, the talk of coal. And the mystery of the baronet and his schemings gave her something to focus on that had nothing to do with the Marquess of Carinbrooke.

Chapter 38: Difficulties in Communication

Lord Ashdown found it easier to write Madelaine than her mother. He had already penned his first missive to the girl, a short and cheerful note telling her that they had arrived safely at Elswick Manor and would be there some days. He tucked a sketch into the envelope, a small pen-and-ink of the disappointed Bunny tied to a carriage.

Bunny misses you, he added to the note.

The letter to Fiona required more thought, and many more sheets of paper, most of which ended up crumpled and thrown into the fire.

My dear Mrs. Marwick—

My dear Fiona—

My darling—

The marquess had never experienced such difficulty in communication before. Surely a renewal of his suit was best accomplished face-to-face, but Lady Beckwith’s birthday dinner—a gala celebration that was to be the culmination of the month’s long house-party—was in little more than a sennight, and he knew that Evie would be terribly hurt if at this point he did not stay. Lord Ashdown did not want to wait that long.

I know that I expressed myself in the worst possible manner, and I most earnestly beg your forgiveness. Please know that I love you with my entire being and wish only for your happiness—

’Twas annoying to feel so helpless. In the end he decided to write only that he would return to Tern’s Rest ‘for a visit’, without making an actual proposal of marriage. Mrs. Marwick must know why he was coming back. The letter sat on his writing desk for an entire afternoon before he decided to throw it, too, into the fire.

He would try again on the morrow, Colin told himself, but it was in fact two more days and a half-box of writing paper later before he had managed to commit himself adequately to paper. At that point the dam broke and he wrote several letters, each longer than the one before. They were tied into a packet with the note to Maddie and eventually, after another day of miserable hesitation and doubt, entrusted to one of Beckwith’s footmen, who was to take them forthwith to the post.

  * * * *

Eleanor and Edwina were several years apart in age, and despite being as different in temperament as it was possible for two young women to be, they had been each other’s closest friend and confidant for as long as either could remember.

Lady Edwina was tall and slender, with dark hair and a calm bearing. She often appeared severe, almost grave, but her friends knew her as an excellent wit. Lady Eleanor was the only blonde of the family, shorter and on the agreeable edge of plump, and although she seemed less serious than her older siblings, in truth Ellie’s flighty appearance was mere overlay. ’Twas true that she enjoyed her life. She enjoyed dancing, musicales, and carriage rides in Hyde Park with young men. She could laugh at the foibles of the
ton
and still smile to be part of it. Eleanor was no hypocrite, as neither were her older sisters and brother. She knew that to be wealthy and comfortable in London was a far cry better than the reverse.

The sisters had now resided at Elswick Manor for more than a week. Lady Susan had retired early, as she had done every one of the past few nights. The men of the party were engaged in a match of billiards, which made Eddie and Ellie laugh, and Evie worried. Their brother was not to be beaten at the game.

Evelyn was attempting to knit. This was an activity which neither of her younger sisters had seen before, and it stirred their curiosity. What garment was she making?—the color was a soft moss green, but the shape was unrecognizable. Since knitting put one in mind of babies, they wondered if it was possible that a Beckwith heir was to be expected at last.

“I hope they do not wager high,” said Evelyn, sending a worried glance in the general direction of the billiards room.

Edwina shrugged. “No more than a ten guineas a point, I imagine.”

Evie looked alarmed. “Oh! Never say so!”

“I do.”

“And I cannot understand why Lady Susan takes to her room so early,” said Lady Beckwith, giving up on the gentlemen. “She never had so many headaches before, and Colin has hardly a chance for conversation.”

Edwina and Eleanor were forced to agree on that point. The marquess had no desire to become affianced to the young woman, of course, and they were planning to help extricate him from precisely this expectation—but they did wonder about Lady Susan’s behavior, which was not at all what they had anticipated.

The girl’s indifference was rather annoying, really. Colin Ashdown, in the estimation of each of the sisters, was the finest catch in all Britain. What objection could she possibly have?

“I must see about a small meal for the gentlemen,” said Evelyn, setting down her knitting. “Billiards always makes Beckwith peckish.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Evie, we finished supper not an hour ago.”

Evelyn looked alarmed. “Has it been that long?” She left at once.

Eddie stared after her, shaking her head. “If Lord Beckwith becomes any larger we shall have to roll him around the manor.”

“Perhaps the gentlemen can play bowls with him on the lawn.”

Lady Edwina grinned. “Indeed.”

“What on earth is she doing with that yarn?”

“Let’s see.” Edwina crossed over to where Evie had been sitting and held up the item in question, a piece of knitting with a distressing number of oddly shaped holes scattered throughout. It was somewhat the shape of a large potholder. “Could it be a scarf, do you think?”

“Perhaps a small blanket?”

“We could always ask her.”

“Lud, that’s no fun. Why does Lady Susan avoid our brother?” said Eleanor.

Edwina hesitated. “It is surprising.”

“She was quiet, I suppose, before. I wasn’t persuaded that she
truly
enjoyed the company, but ever since Colin returned with us—”

“She has claimed the headache, or a tiring day, or—”

“Perhaps it is the food.”

“I can’t imagine that even Evie’s dinners would put a young lady off marriage.”

“So I am right,” said Eleanor, with a sudden smile. “She
is
in love with someone unsuitable.”

Eddie shrugged.

“And speaking of which—” Ellie turned a speaking look on her sister.

“Eleanor,” said Eddie, “no. We are not discussing this.”

“You may not be, but I certainly am, “ said Eleanor, adding flatly, “You are in love with Dr. Fischer.”

“It’s possible,” admitted Lady Edwina. “Perhaps. I’m not sure.”

Ellie laughed. “Don’t try to play the naïf. I’ve never met a person less suited for it.”

“I am not convinced of . . . of his feelings for me,” said Eddie.

Her sister considered this. “I’ve not known him long enough,” she decided.

“Although he has seen me with my glasses on,” added Edwina. “And it didn’t seem to bother him.”

“Lud. No-one cares about the benighted glasses.”

“What do you think Colin will say?”

“Since he’s going to marry Mrs. Fiona Marwick from Barley Mow, I’m thinking he will say very little.”

“It would be nice, don’t you think, to really choose someone you loved?” Eddie gave a small sigh.

Eleanor did not hesitate. “Absolutely. And I didn’t mean it about being unsuitable, you know that. A doctor is entirely suitable, especially—”

“For a marquess’ daughter? I doubt most of the
ton
would agree.”

“Oh posh. Who cares for them?”

“You might, if your own chances were reduced by my—”

“Edwina,” said Eleanor, in a tone her siblings heard only rarely. “I will marry who I want and when I want. And if any gentleman is too . . . stupid to reject me on that account, I want nothing to do with him.”

She meant each word. And Eddie knew it.

  * * * *

Edwina and Eleanor agreed that, one way or the other, their brother must have a chance to speak privately with Lady Susan. Ellie had discovered that the girl loved to ride and rarely had a chance in London; the next morning she suggested a short jaunt to the environs of Town Moor, an offer which the young woman gladly accepted.

At the last minute Lady Eleanor claimed a headache. What’s good for the goose, thought Ellie, feeling not a whit guilty. She had arranged, of course, for Colin to take her place, and at that point Lady Susan could hardly back out without seeming rude. So off went the happy couple, with Evie waving and ecstatic, not realizing that her sisters’ intention was for Lord Ashdown to use this opportunity to put the entire matter of an engagement to rest.

Chapter 39: Sir Irwin Becomes Angry

Sir Irwin could not believe his eyes. He took one last, outraged look at the fine handwriting of the note, then ripped the paper into shreds and threw them into the fire.

Mrs. Marwick had refused him. Refused him outright, with no reason.

How dare she?

And that arrogant, overbearing Deandros Fischer, bringing the damned thing to Marsden Hall, like the faithful lapdog that he was. The woman should have told him face to face. He would have explained a few things to her straight away.

She was not going to get away with it, for one. He needed the land at Tern’s Rest. He needed it and no wretched village widow was going to stand in his way. The baronet could not stop the flash of memory from his most recent stay in town, when one of his creditors had made his own lack of patience clear. The scar from the knife wound was still visible, a long slash across the ribs which had bled like a pig.

The second warning would not be as gentle, said Sutton, and the baronet knew this for a fact. If he could not come up with the money, there would be no more trips to London. There would be no more stirring nights spent in the company of one or two of his actress friends, no more expeditions to Vauxhall. He would be forced to remain forever in Barley Mow, County Durham, and hope that his address at Marsden Hall—that ghastly place, with its musty, soot-covered walls—remained a secret from Sutton and the rest of his ilk.

Better to die now and get it over with, thought Ampthill.

He had been so sure that Mrs. Marwick would give in to his latest offer. Why would she not? He’d been lying, of course, when he said that he wanted to build a house on Wyril Point, but she couldn’t know that, and the rest of it was true enough. He would have left her alone, beautiful as she was; he had no use for a mouthy, opinionated woman. And the daughter was nearly worse. Children should be kept quiet, and preferably out of sight, but that horrible Marwick girl was allowed free play on land that should be
his
.

She refused him, even believing that she was to be turned out of Tern’s Rest within the sennight?

Sir Irwin bit back another spasm of anger. There was no time left for pretty words and reasonable compromise. He would show Mrs. Marwick what life would be like if she did not marry him, and he thought he knew just the person to help.

Sir Irwin made ready for a visit to the village of Barley Mow, and a stop at the local post office.

Chapter 40: Mr. Fetterwick

Lady Susan had a decent seat, thought the marquess, allowing for the fact that she rode side-saddle, which he had always considered a ridiculous invention. Edwina and Eleanor rode astride while staying at his own estate, with no-one in society the wiser. Still, Lady Susan managed tolerably well. A plume of ostrich feathers curled down from her shako and rested next to her chin, bobbing slightly. Her riding outfit was precisely in the current style: forest green, with piping in black, and a matching redingote for more warmth on the chill day.

The side saddle removed any temptation to real speed, but the temperature did not allow dawdling. The rode at a measured pace along the graveled lanes north of the manor and into the grazing areas of the moor. The Town Moor was a commons; a few cattle gazed up at them curiously as they passed. Lord Ashdown’s mind wandered to Fiona Marwick. In his mind’s eye he saw her standing in her kitchen in an ivory muslin day dress, the waist far lower than the London fashions. What would she think of the
ton
penchant for yards of satin and decorated hats? The marquess suppressed a sudden grin. What would Madelaine think? And yet—it was not a trivial issue. For a moment he thought of Maddie, confined to a life of balls and musicales, instead of free to pass her time in the rock pools, discovering more ‘dog whelps’.

She will not like it, thought Colin, sadly.

There were enormous advantages to being a wealthy member of society, and the marquess would never deny it. But—noblesse oblige. There were high expectations, as well.

Your sisters are happy enough, Lord Ashdown reminded himself. But they had been brought up within society, and knew the
ton
inside and out. They also could leave London any time they pleased, and rusticate in Lancashire, at his Wintermere estate.

Which Madelaine and Fiona could do, as well, and for the rest of their lives if they wished. I’ll give Maddie a fine horse, thought the marquess. I’ll give her ten.

And I’ll teach Mrs. Marwick to ride.

“You are woolgathering, my lord,” came a female voice, and the marquess was so caught up in his thoughts that for a half-second he had no idea who had just addressed him. Then he realized that they had come nearly to a stop, with a tall hedgerow of hawthorn and bramble blocking their way directly forward, necessitating a turn to the left or right.

Oh— “My apologies, Lady Susan.” He directed them to the right, and they proceeded for the next quarter hour in silence. Lord Ashdown’s social intelligence had for once deserted him; he had no idea of how to broach the subject of crying off from an engagement which had yet to occur.

Finally— “Are you enjoying what scenery Northumberland has to offer?” he began, thinking at least they must speak to one another.