A Poor Relation (5 page)

“Unless you are a member of Beau Douro’s staff. I believe Wellington would collect a harem in the middle of the Sahara, and without lifting a finger.”

“True.” Chris laughed, then frowned. “Do you think the girl—or should I say young lady?—was offended? Surely she must be grateful for help in carrying her basket at least.”

“Except that you did not ask her if she desired the escort of an ex-soldier unknown to her.”

“Oh, Lord, I see what you mean. Dammit, I can see civilian life is more complicated than I had supposed.”

“I should not worry if I were you. I daresay an earl is permitted to ride roughshod over his subordinates just like a major.”

“Earl! I still cannot grow used to the idea.”

“I’ve noticed that whenever you are addressed as ‘your lordship’ you look around to see who is behind you,” said Bernard with a grin.

“Do I? I shall have to break myself of the habit or Lady Farleigh will think a changeling has inherited her husband’s title. You know, it’s odd, but I’m certain I’ve seen her before.”

“Lady Farleigh?”

“No, your ‘well-bred female.’ Those translucent eyes…”

“Now don’t start waxing poetic, old chap, or I shall think you are coming down with a fever.”

* * * *

“Your master is excessively high-handed!” said the ‘well-bred female’ with considerable indignation, staring after the curricle.

“Beg pardon, miss. I’m that used to taking orders from the major, I didn’t think afore I hopped down. You won’t want a stranger walking with you.”

Rowena turned an appraising glance on the manservant. “I ought not, certainly. On the other hand, my basket is horridly heavy.”

The man drew himself up and saluted smartly. “Corporal Potter at your orders, miss.” He grinned a gap-toothed grin. “Ex-corporal Potter, I should say. So now you knows who I am, let me take that.” He reached for the basket. “Why, ‘tis no heavier nor a feather to an old campaigner like meself.”

“I did not think it so heavy until I had carried it a few miles,” she retorted, accepting his steadying hand as she climbed the stile. She liked the look of his open, weathered face. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, ex-corporal, but I must enquire as to the identity of your master.”

“Major Scott, miss, of the Second Dragoons, and that’s Captain Cartwright along of him. Leastways, major he was. Lord Farleigh’s his rightful handle now, but he ain’t no more used to it than I am, and that’s a fact.”

“The missing heir! I have heard of nothing else since I came here. He has been overseas with the army, I take it?”

“Aye, miss, acrost the Peninsula and into France. He’s a right ‘un, the major. The men’d follow him through hell and back, and did too, many a time. Got a sharp tongue on him but he looked out for us like his own family. Look at the way he’s took care of the captain. Bought his at Toulouse, the captain did, and he ain’t right yet.” Potter shook his head sadly, then brightened. “Still and all, he ain’t stuck his spoon in the wall yet. That where you live, miss?”

Topping a rise, they looked down on the house in its valley.

“Yes, that’s Grove Park. Since you were ordered to reconnoitre, I shall tell you that it is the seat of Sir Henry Grove, who has two daughters of marriageable age.”

“Ho, it weren’t marriage the major was thinking of, miss. Never was in the petticoat line much, begging your pardon.”

“Now he is an earl, he must think of the succession. And my cousin is both beautiful and well dowered. Thank you for carrying my basket, ex-corporal. Will you go round to the kitchen and take a glass of ale?”

“Thank you, miss, but us Peninsula men always looks for a billet first. This Farleigh Grange, it’ll be down thataway?”

Rowena explained how to find the earl’s mansion and watched the stocky servant march off at a soldier’s steady pace. As she turned towards the house, she wondered why she had made a point of mentioning Millicent’s suitability as a bride.

Perhaps it was because Lord Farleigh had so obviously dismissed herself as of no account. Kind to his friend he might be, but his manners were shocking. He deserved Millicent.

She had to admit that his total lack of recognition rankled.

She went into the house by a side door and slipped up to her chamber to change and wash off the dust. Anne met her on the landing, followed her into her room and flopped on her bed.

“You look as if you rolled all the way home. That cat Millie claims she waited an age for you, so I take it she deserted you?”

“Yes. Here are your books, and I hope they are good, for they weighed a ton. Help me with these buttons, there’s a dear. I’m exhausted. Oh, drat, there’s no water in the ewer.”

“There’s plenty in mine. I’ll fetch it. Minton will be furious at the state of your dress, there’s no need to upset her by ringing for her, too.”

If Millicent’s abigail resented waiting on Anne and Rowena, Rowena equally resented the stratagems necessary to avoid arousing the woman’s ire. She reminded herself that she was a poor relation—but Anne was not.

“Nonsense,” she said sharply. “Aunt Hermione has told her to wait on both of us and it is the outside of enough that you should be obliged to carry a heavy ewer. Ring the bell, Anne. You can leave before she comes if you wish.”

“Not I.” Anne sounded pleased. “You know I am never afraid of an altercation, I merely did not want to involve you in the unpleasantness. It is past time you stood up for yourself and I shall stay to encourage you.”

The sour-faced maid appeared with remarkable promptness, explained by her first words. “What is it?” she asked testily. “I’m busy with Miss Millicent’s things.”

“Hot water, if you please, Minton,” Rowena requested.

“At this time of day? I don’t know what Cook will say, I’m sure. Lor, what have you been doing with that dress?”

“I expect you will manage to clean it, after fetching my hot water. That will be all, thank you, Minton.”

She braved the abigail’s glare with quiet dignity. The woman seemed to find her calmness intimidating, for she bobbed a curtsy, muttered, “Yes, miss,” and departed with the soiled dress. A few minutes later the chambermaid appeared with a steaming jug.

Rowena laughed. “Honours even, I think,” she said philosophically.

Rowena poured the water into the basin with its pink rosebuds, and washed her face and arms. In many ways she was lucky. Her chamber was as pleasant as Anne’s, if less magnificent than Millicent’s. Her uncle treated her with the same negligent kindness as he did his daughters, and her aunt was all complaisance as long as she did Millicent’s bidding.

As always, she came to the conclusion that the sooner her elder cousin married the better. She cared not a farthing whether Mr. Adolphus Ruddle or the new earl was the lucky man.

“What shall you wear?” Anne was studying the contents of her wardrobe. “You must be as tired of grey as I am of white. When did you say you are out of mourning?”

“Next month. It seems like years since Papa died.”

“Do you miss him terribly? Here, wear the muslin with the white ruffles. It is the best of them.”

“They are all growing shabby, I know. Yes, I miss Papa, but I am ashamed to say that I miss Chillenden more.”

“It was your whole life, wasn’t it? I imagine you must feel as I should if I were forbidden ever to read again.”

Rowena hugged her cousin. “Having you for a friend makes up for a good deal. I never had a real friend before. There, just let me do my hair and I shall be ready to go down. I have some news which will please Millie. You will never guess whom I met on my way home.”

“On the road from Broadway? I cannot imagine.”

“Lord Farleigh, the new earl. He asked me the way to the Grange. And the extraordinary thing is that I have met him before.” As she brushed the dust out of her hair and pinned it up again, she described the brief encounter at the Four Feathers and relayed what Potter had said about his master.

“He sounds interesting,” said Anne approvingly.

“As to that, I cannot say. His kindness to his friend is impossible to deny but his manner is imperious, to say the least.”

“He is used to commanding troops, after all. I hope he will be willing to tell me about Portugal and Spain.”

They went downstairs together, but Anne escaped into the library. Rowena headed for the morning parlour, a comfortable room used by the family during the day in preference to the exotic stiffness of the Chinese drawing room. She found Lady Grove languidly knotting a fringe while Millicent leafed through the latest issue of
Ackermann’s
fashion magazine.

“There you are at last, child!” Aunt Hermione exclaimed. “I was quite worried about you, I declare.”

“I waited at the White Hart for hours,” Millicent complained. “You should have told me you meant to go off on your own.”

Heartened by her encounter with Minton, Rowena objected.

“You knew I had to fetch Anne’s books, and I was not gone more than fifteen minutes. I gave the ginger to Mrs. Davis for Cook, Aunt Hermione.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

Millicent had the grace to look abashed. “Well, it seemed a long time,” she said in self-defence. “Mr. Ruddle was in a hurry.”

Her mother turned to her in surprise. “Why, I quite thought you had waited at least an hour. Poor Rowena must have been in quite a puzzle to find you gone.”

Even this mild hint of disapproval brought signs of gathering storm clouds to Millicent’s brow. Aunt Hermione looked uneasy, and Rowena hastened to intervene with a mention of her meeting on the road.

“Lord Farleigh?” cried her cousin eagerly. “Why did you not tell us at once? What is he like?”

“He was a soldier until recently; a major, I collect.”

“How do you know that? I thought you merely told him the way.”

“He kindly had his servant carry my basket home. It was heavy.”

A fleeting expression of guilt crossed Millicent’s face, though her words expressed only curiosity. “But what does he look like? Is he young? I hope he has received no disfiguring wound.”

“He is thirty perhaps, no older. His hair is dark, and I daresay you might call him handsome.”

“Thirty and handsome and an earl! Mama, it is an age since we called on Lady Farleigh. She will think us neglectful.”

“Oh, dear, such a disagreeable woman. And perhaps your papa ought to present himself to the earl first?”

“Fustian! No one will suppose that we know of his arrival already, so it will be perfectly proper to call. It is too late today since Rowena dawdled so, but we must go tomorrow morning. Ring the bell for Minton, Rowena. I shall go up and decide what to wear.”

CHAPTER FIVE

“To think I was afraid bringing a guest might inconvenience the household! I daresay I could have invited half the regiment.”

The name Grange had a homely sound, and Chris was unprepared for the mansion that awaited him when he turned in through the gates. Half hidden by a pillared portico, the massive central block was topped by a dome, while on each side lower wings sported arches, parapets and cupolas. There was an air of newness about the building, every line clean cut with no evidence of weathering. He drew up his horses and stared at his inheritance.

“I’d say your predecessor must have built it,” Bernard said. “It looks like one of Adam’s designs.”

“It’s a great deal too grand for a simple soldier. I am quaking in my shoes at the thought of meeting Lady Farleigh.”

The imposing butler—his butler, Chris reminded himself—ushered the gentlemen into a magnificent drawing room, all gold and green. The dowager countess, a tiny, white-haired lady, was ensconced in a wing chair with her feet on a footstool. Her bright eyes took in at a glance Bernard’s limp and his pale face.

“Off to bed with you this instant, young man.” She waved her ebony cane in an imperious gesture. “Diggory, a footman to help the captain up the stair and he will dine in his room this evening.” As Bernard grinned, saluted and obediently withdrew, she turned her attention to Chris.

“Come and sit down. No, not there, opposite where I can see you without twisting my neck. So you are my husband’s heir. Hmm, a well set up fellow. You can always tell an army man by his carriage. Well, have you nothing to say for yourself?”

“How do you do, ma’am?” said Chris, unable to hide an amused smile. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

“Pah, I hope you have more in your head than polite nothings, Major. Tell me precisely what is wrong with your friend, for your letter was not explicit.”

Chris found himself involved in a discussion of the daily regimen that would best suit Bernard. It was not at all what he had expected of his first encounter with Lady Farleigh. He soon discovered that beneath her tartness was a fund of kindness and common sense. He liked her.

* * * *

It was close to eleven the next morning when Lord Farleigh returned to the house after a solitary ride about his estate. He left El Cid crunching a windfall apple in the stables. Entering by a back door, he reached the entrance hall just as Diggory admitted a plump lady in a purple bonnet adorned with a bunch of grapes and no fewer than five ostrich plumes. He made a move to retreat before he was seen. Then he caught sight of the vision following the owner of the bonnet.

Golden ringlets, eyes of heavenly blue, lips made for kissing and a slender figure rounded in all the right places. Chris stepped forward and bowed.

“Allow me to present myself,” he said. “I am Farleigh.”

Diggory swung round as quickly as dignity permitted. “I beg your lordship’s pardon,” he said, frowning, “I was not aware of your lordship’s presence. Lady Grove and Miss Grove, my lord.”

Chris scarcely heard him, nor Lady Grove’s flustered explanation that they had come to call on Lady Farleigh. His attention was all for the delicately flushed cheeks of the daughter, whose modestly lowered eyes were hidden by long, dark lashes.

“Oh, my lord,” she murmured, “you will think us very ill-mannered but we had not heard of your arrival. Of course we shall leave at once and Papa will call on you in due course. Come, Mama.”

Lady Grove looked at her in astonishment, but her words had the desired effect.