Amy Lake (22 page)

“It’s very pretty,” she replied.

Her voice was colorless, and soft. The marquess glanced at his companion and realized that Lady Susan was holding back tears. Her nose had turned red, and she was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

Lord Ashdown felt the mild sense of panic that all men do in this situation. But generations of breeding and years of polite conversation came to his rescue.

“My lady?” he enquired. “Do you require assistance?”

She said nothing for a moment. Then— “I’m sorry. I’m behaving like a ninny.”

“Of course not.”

“You are too kind. I am perfectly well, thank you.”

Lady Susan seemed to consider the subject closed. But the marquess had made a decision. He did not wish to add to a woman’s distress, but on the other hand, it was increasingly clear that wherever the problem lay, no solution could be attempted without a franker exchange.

“It would seem, Lady Susan,” he began, “that Elswick Manor is not to your taste.”

“Oh! Oh, no, I assure you—”

“And that you would prefer not only
my
absence, but your own.”

That was plain speaking. The girl looked at him in some confusion, and then seemed to come to a decision of her own.

“You have the right of it, I’m afraid,” replied Lady Susan. “And I apologize most sincerely for having been such a poor guest. It is true that . . . that I am not happy here.”

“Why?”

A long hesitation.“I have an acquaintance in London. Whom I miss greatly.”

An acquaintance could be anyone, but Lady Susan’s expression made her meaning clear. “Ah. My apologies,” said the marquess. “My sister was quite convinced that you were unattached.”

“As the rest of the
ton
believes as well, my lord.”

They rode on for several minutes, Colin wondering where they could go from here. Should he offer to escort her back to London himself? That would be perhaps the quickest way out of their mutual dilemma, but a chaperone would be required, and he found himself chafing at the thought of the length of such an expedition. Two coaches, at least, and ’twould be days before—

“Are you in such dire need of a wife, my lord?” asked Lady Susan suddenly.

Lord Ashdown laughed. “No. There is no immediate crisis, I assure you.”

“Then why?”

He could scarcely admit the truth, that he had once thought one young woman fairly the equivalent of any other. But Lady Susan had not waited for his answer.

“I suppose I would do, wouldn’t I, as the daughter of an earl? It is the way such things are done.”

Lord Ashdown nodded. “Yes. ’Tis the way they are done.”

“I
hate
it.”

Her voice had turned passionate. The marquess stared at Lady Susan, astonished, and began a reply, but ’twas as if a tap had been opened. The words poured out.

“The man I love is Edward Fetterwick, a cit, and my father would not approve, as if Edward is beneath him. But my
father
, the
earl
, has gambled away every last pence that my mother has not spent on hats, and I am to be auctioned off to the highest bidder, who would be
you
, I imagine.”

“Ah.”

She seemed to realize what she had just said.

“Oh! I’ve no objection personally, you understand—you’re quite handsome and much preferable to that horrid Lord Wilberfoss—”

“Obliged, I’m sure.”

“—but I don’t want to marry any of you! I want to marry Edward!”

She began sobbing, and Lord Ashdown resisted the urge to simply get back on Bunny, and ride throughout that day and into the evening, not resting until Tern’s Rest was in his sight again.

“I’m sorry,” he began.

Lady Susan stopped crying.

“Oh,” she said, hiccupping slightly, and turning a tear-stained face to him. “I do apologize.”

“Why do you not wait, and marry this Mr. Fetterwick when you are of age?”

 She sighed. “That is our wish, and I will be one-and-twenty within the year, but my father—”

“Your father cannot force you to marry anyone, no matter what he may have told you.”

She made a face. “Spoken like a man.”

He laughed. “What do you mean?”

“’Tis not so easily done as said. I have two younger sisters. If I do not marry some horrible rich, and . . . and probably
aged
gentleman, one of them must.”

Lord Ashdown nodded. “I see.”

“Katherine is sickly, and so thin that sometimes I think she must break. I cannot imagine her being married to someone who treats her as an acquisition. I cannot see that she would
survive
it, do you understand? And Annie is still in the schoolroom. My father’s debts will not wait so long, he would marry her from it, nearly as a child. It is
unthinkable
.”

“Surely the earl sees—”

“My father sees or cares for nothing other than continuing his life exactly as before.”

’Twas an ugly picture. The marquess found himself despising the Earl of Winton, and questioning a society that assumed a man’s daughters could be sold off to pay for his own damnably poor judgment. He found himself wanting to help Lady Susan.

Gods. Someone else to be responsible for.

  * * * *

They returned to Elswick Manor in an atmosphere of relative amity.

“Say nothing definite to your parents,” Lord Ashdown told Lady Susan. “You may hint that my interest
may
have been piqued, but that I have a terrible dislike of marriages arranged for money.”

“How odd,” said Lady Susan, with a smile.

“Indeed. But make it clear to the earl and countess that the merest rumour of an engagement between us will lead to its immediate denial—by me.”

“Yes. That will keep them quiet for awhile.”

“And in the meantime, my sisters and I will see what we can do.”

“Oh, your lordship, thank you,” said Lady Susan, with tears in her eyes.

The marquess then assured her that he would speak to his brother-in-law that very evening. “He will send you back to London,” he said. “Tomorrow, if you wish.”

“Oh, but . . . but what will Lady Beckwith think?”

“If you are worried about what my sister or her husband
think
, I see little prospect for your success as the wife of Mr. Fetterwick,” said Lord Ashdown, with a raised eyebrow.

Lady Susan gave a sigh, but nodded. “Very well.”

“And Lady Susan—”

She looked up.

“I will not promise you smooth sailing. I rather doubt you will find it. But there may be something I can do in this instance. And if you require the support of the Marquess of Carinbrooke at any later time, you shall have it.”

She turned to him, and he saw for the first time that she was a very
young
girl, who perhaps did not realize all the ramifications of the course she was choosing.

But ’twas ever so with marriage, thought the marquess.

  * * * *

Lord Ashdown was not immune to the prejudices of his age. A few months ago he would have been disturbed by the thought of an earl’s daughter marrying someone of the cit class. ’Twas all well and good to talk of a man’s worth, and he knew that any number of the aristocracy were out-and-out bounders, but still—

Now he sympathized with Lady Susan, and truly wished her happiness with her Mr. Fetterwick. He’d fallen in love with a widow from Barley Mow. Who was he to judge?

Chapter 41: Mrs. Groundsell Lends a Hand

Agnes Groundsell was tired that afternoon, tired, cold and annoyed. Ever since Lord Ashdown’s fancy sister had removed Agnes from a comfortable room in the Marwick home, few of the villagers had been willing to stand her to a cup of tea and a biscuit, all for the chance of hearing more tales of the Marquess of Carinbrooke.

A marquess! Agnes could tell there was something special about Lord Ashdown, she’d be gulled if she hadn’t. By now she’d half convinced herself that she’d known who he was from the start.

As fine-looking a man as ever breathed. And Agnes had thoroughly enjoyed each and every day at Tern’s Rest, although Mr. Groundsell had objected, from time to time, that there was no dinner on the table. Well, he could eat at the pub, Agnes had thought. ’Twas where he was usually to be found of an evening, anyway.

But Mrs. Groundsell’s moment of glory had passed. It did no good to blame the sister, since that lady was far and gone and unlikely to ever return within a ten mile of Barley Mow. She’d been no fit chaperone, either, in Agnes’ opinion. Mrs. Groundsell had first thought she was a younger sister, and wondered if they were quizzing her, claiming that she was several years older. But the quality could do as they wished, couldn’t they? And Fiona Marwick got away with everything; you’d think butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, with that doctor over there half the live-long day.

And now here she was, sitting in the tiny shop annexed to the post office, paying for her own bit of nuncheon, with the place so cold these days ’twas enough to give a person the ague. Agnes called over to Sally Chilcott, who was both the postmistress and shopkeeper, and insisted that she be given another lump of sugar, claiming that the woman hadn’t given her any in the first place. Sally knew she was fibbing, but what could she do? Shouldn’t be charging her for tea in the first place, in Mrs. Groundsell’s way of thinking, she’d brought more business into Sally’s shop than any two people in the village.

Perhaps Cassie Duggins would come in soon, she was always good for a few minutes of gossip.

 The bell on the shop door jingled just then, and Agnes looked up to see Sir Irwin enter. He looked as ridiculous as ever, she thought, with a plaid weskit and a coat that hardly matched. She’d never had much use for the man, and heaven knew he made no pains to make anyone’s acquaintance in the village. She’d tried to chat him up more than once, with no result.

In fact, what was he doing in the post office? He despised Barley Mow and everyone in it, as far as the villagers knew. But here he was, smiling like he’d found a long-lost friend. He was smiling at
her
, Agnes realized.

“Ah, my dear Mrs. Groundsell! What a pleasant surprise, you are just the person I’ve wanted to see!”

Agnes straightened fractionally. Lumpish and cold the man might be, but he was still a baronet.

“Has your tea gone cold?” asked Sir Irwin. “I’m sure you would like another. And perhaps another plate of those
excellent
biscuits.”

Chapter 42: Upping the Ante

Madelaine spent as much time in the stables as ever, and she tried talking to Susannah, but the old cow was no substitute for Bunny, who always seemed to know what she was talking about and when to offer a consoling nicker. Maddie was convinced that Lord Ashdown’s horse understood people very well.

Maddie told Susannah about the hours she’d spent reading Shakespeare with Colin, and how much she missed him playing Benedick—and Beatrice, with a funny, high voice—in
Much Ado About Nothing
.

“Did you know that there’s a girl named Hero?” she asked the cow. “Isn’t that strange?”

A true affection for Dee prompted her to add that Dr. Fischer was a good teacher as well, although his interests tended more to science. Dee had taught Madelaine her maths, which she liked as much as Shakespeare, even though they offered less room for play-acting.

Maddie had done her best with Bunny’s stall. Some of the slats were broken, but she had cleaned the water pail and replaced the bedding with fresh straw, and everything was ready for when Colin returned. She was sure this would happen soon, even though just that morning she had asked her mother whether it was time yet to make up the extra beds in the cottage, and Mrs. Marwick’s answer had been unsatisfactory.

“Maddie, the Ashdowns won’t be returning,” her mum had said, but Madelaine knew that wasn’t true. Colin loved her mother. He would be back.

  * * * *

Fiona kept reminding herself how wonderful she felt. The baronet had been refused, she was
nearly
certain Wilfred Thaxton did not exist, and they were back to just the two of them at Tern’s Rest, with Dee as a welcome visitor. She had spent the past two days cooking—

“Mum, we can’t eat any more soup,” her daughter had complained.

—and baking bread, fat loaves of which had been sent to half the families in Barley Mow. She was preparing another soup when Maddie and Dee returned from the village, carrying a large basket filled with, one hoped, onions, parsnips, and a head or two of cabbage.

“Here you are,” said the doctor, adding, “Is there a regiment stationed nearby that I know nothing of? Have you been asked to feed them?”

“I should think you would appreciate a warm soup.”

“All too well. If you do not stop, I shall find it difficult to get up on a horse and make my rounds.”

Fiona smiled and began cleaning the parsnips, and at first she didn’t notice anything unusual. Madelaine and the doctor were talking quietly; her daughter seemed a bit subdued, but she had been, lately. Maddie was expecting the marquess to return at any moment, and it was partly for this reason that Mrs. Marwick had sent her out with Dr. Fischer for provisions. Madelaine would not listen to her mother on this subject, and Fiona hoped that Dee could make the matter sufficiently clear.

He was not coming back to Tern’s Rest. The Marquess of Carinbrooke had no business that would bring him here, and ’twas foolish to think differently.

’Twas foolish to believe that he had ever cared enough to—

He asked you to marry him! came the little voice, exasperated.

He’s written
nothing
, she retorted, in equal exasperation, only then realizing that she had half-expected a letter.

Perhaps he has. Perhaps it is waiting for you even now, at the post office.

But Maddie and Dee would have known if there was a letter. The doctor received post fairly frequently, and she guessed that he had told Sally Chilcott to notify him first if anything arrived for Fiona.

No. He has not written, and so . . . well, to Hades with the Marquess of Carinbrooke! She would not think of him again.

Mrs. Marwick glanced up from the soup to find Dee and Maddie staring at her. She could not imagine why, but then realized that she was holding the large wooden spoon upright in her hand as if she was about to hit someone with it.