Bething's Folly (5 page)

The Duchess was standing near the ballroom door with some friends when they entered. She sent an I’ll-speak-to-you-later look toward her son and pointedly asked if he had found what he was looking for in the library.

“Yes, your Grace,” he answered pleasantly, “I believe I have found it now.”

The Duchess raised her eyebrows but asked no further questions. She turned to present a Miss Winston to him—and to Ferddie, whose wrist was somehow curiously caught in the Marquis’s grip. They made their bows and, the grip tightening until realisation came, Ferddie asked the young lady to dance. Miss Winston was relieved, for like most of the other debutantes, she found the Marquis’s chiseled features and cold blue eyes intimidating, while Ferddie’s ruddy good looks were much more comfortable. Miss Winston’s mother was annoyed. The Duchess was neither dismayed nor disappointed to see her son walk off, scanning the room. She was only extremely curious, as was almost every other pair of eyes in the entire ballroom.

Carleton realised that he was the object of a great deal of speculation, but there was no help for it. He also realised it would not enhance his apology to Miss Bethingame to draw so much unwelcome attention, just what she particularly wished to avoid. He was not about to let her disappear before he could make amends, however. He had had a glimpse of something precious and knew he mustn’t lose it. There she was now, he saw, a glimmer of bright yellow in a far corner, sitting behind an enormous dowager in purple satin with an ostrich headdress. Somewhere on his way across the endless-seeming room, Miss Bethingame became aware of his approach. A hanky in her hand was suffering sadly, and her colouring suddenly lost its rosy glow, betraying her; but her eyes were fixed on the floor, almost the only ones in the room not on Carleton, which brought a smile back to his lips. How fierce she looked, he thought, and how exquisite, under all the lights of the ballroom where he could really appreciate her clear skin and the gold in her brown hair. Truly she was like a wildflower, all the more lovely for bravely growing where one least expected it.

Miss Elizabeth Bethingame, meanwhile, was horrified. She was still furious over Carleton’s behaviour, of course, but she was also mortified at her own. She kept repeating to herself all the awful things she had said about him and his family—and he was actually in front of her! How dare he?

“Miss Bethingame,” Carleton started, only to be met with that same “How dare you?” so he dispensed with the courtesies, drew a chair up and seated himself. The dowager in purple sniffed and muttered something about unmannerly young people until she was quelled by a look from the Marquis and turned away.

“Miss Bethingame, please listen to me. My actions were deplorable, I know. I also know you would not have spoken to me if you knew the truth, so what was I to do?”

“You
might
have stopped me from saying those things about you!”

“Why? They were true, mostly, except that I like this ball as little as you do. Please believe me, I would not have made such a spectacle of myself!”

She looked at him closely, positive his smooth insincerity would show. Instead, all she noticed were how blue his eyes were, how strong his chin, which did nothing to ease her mind, nor did his lopsided smile. Her lips twitched to return it, but she recalled her situation and firmed her shoulders resolutely.

“And now, sir, you are making a spectacle of me by sitting here!”

“Something else I must apologise for, though also not to my liking. You must admit I could not apologise for my first fault without committing this second! Besides, the damage is done and the music is starting, so may I have the pleasure of this dance?”

Miss Bethingame had already noticed the orchestra beginning after the dinner intermission, a waltz, to her dismay. “No thank you, my Lord, I do not care to waltz,” she said coldly.

Carleton was puzzled, for he thought he was resolving the library difficulty as gracefully as possible. He was also not used to being refused and did not care for what a fool he might seem to the company, so he spoke more bitingly than he might have.

“What, Miss Bethingame, growing missish? I did not think a mere waltz would daunt you, not after your previous behaviour, which must shock everyone in this room!” He sought to defeat her feeble excuse and succeeded.

“My Lord Carleton, I would not dance with you if you were the only man here, waltz or not!” she answered just as angrily, her temper as short-fused as his, he was astonished to see. Most well-bred ladies were taught not to show their emotions and seldom did, except for weeping or swooning. He seriously doubted Miss Bethingame would do either. This reflection gave him time to gather his own self-control and realise further how unlike other women Miss Bethingame actually was.

“Well, then may I find you a partner for the dance?” he asked in an effort to regain a little favour. “At least then you might have the pleasure of the waltz, to save what must be a dismal evening for you.” He rose as if to leave, but a small hand reached for his sleeve.

“Please, my Lord, I ... I do not waltz,” she said in a barely audible voice, and, yes, Miss Bethingame was blushing.

“Do you mean you don’t know how?” asked Carleton bluntly, unbelievingly. This girl-woman could speak Greek and run an estate—yet she did not know how to waltz. Her tiny nod confirmed this and brought him an unexpected rush of relief that her refusal was for the dance, not him. This was quickly replaced by regret over his own words.

“I am sorry to have teased you, Miss Bethingame—Lord, I seem constantly to be apologising! I swear, I do not usually make such a muddle of things. Please, may I fetch you some champagne or lemonade? Perhaps something to eat, since you did not go to supper? No? Do you wish me to find your aunt so you may leave, for you have been noticed enough, I am sure, even for Ellie and Uncle Aubry.”

Her features relaxed a little as she thanked him for the thought, but said she doubted her aunt would leave the card rooms voluntarily for she got so few chances to indulge in her favourite pastime.

“Even if I were to say you had the headache?”

“Aunt Claudia would know it was a hum; I’ve never had a headache in my life.”

“But if I had a servant bring the message, she could not very well deny it in front of the whole company, could she?” Miss Bethingame smiled for the first time since
leaving the
library, a tentative, appreciative smile that aroused feelings of tenderness Carleton hadn’t known he possessed. A servant was sent to the card rooms, another to fetch the ladies’ pelisses and call for the carriage, while Lord Carleton and Miss Bethingame circled the dancers on the way out. The lady was uneasy to be under the scrutiny of everyone along the walls, though she was thankful to be leaving an entirely unfortunate affair. The gentleman, meanwhile, was delighted to help her vanish before the dance was over for more subtle reasons. Carleton knew he could not ask her to dance again without causing even more comment, and he did not trust his friends! It was as simple as that: if he could not have her company, no one would.

Aunt Claudia, Lady Burke, a short, very plump woman of middle age, was waiting in the hall. She was introduced to Lord Carleton as Miss Bethingame’s father’s sister, widow of the late Lord Humphreys Burke. Carleton immediately volunteered to express her regrets to the Duchess, so there was no question of their staying on, to Aunt Claudia’s irritation. She was not about to ask her niece for an explanation in his presence, either, so she merely noted Miss Bethingame’s continued healthful appearance before moving disgustedly through the front doors. Before Miss Bethingame could follow, Carleton pulled a flower from a vase on the hall table and handed it to her, saying, “Miss Bethingame, I am truly sorry if I have hurt you.”

She said nothing but gave him a fleeting, radiant smile before running through the door after her aunt.

The ballroom was buzzing with talk now between dances. Carleton reintroduced himself to the first girl he saw and asked her for the next country dance, just forming. He chatted pleasantly to her, and successive changes of partners, about the weather, the countryside, the war in France. What was so hard about this? he wondered. He danced continuously through the second part of the ball and was gracious to all of his partners, selecting them by nearness to hand and finding something to compliment each one about: this one’s gown, that one’s dancing or flowers or green eyes. Previously awkward, shy girls blossomed to lay their hearts at his feet. It was only as the last dance was announced, the second waltz, that Carleton stood aside. He looked around slowly and many breaths were held in anticipation to see whom he would honour. His mother looked at him quizzically as he walked toward her from nearby, but he did not select any of the debutantes at her side to partner. Instead, he made an exquisite low bow in front of the Duchess and held out his hand. “Your Grace, may I have this dance with the most beautiful woman in the ballroom?”

SEVEN

Breakfast on the morning following the ball was a haphazard affair. Many of the guests rose early, ate hurriedly and departed in order to arrive in London that evening, having made their farewells the night before. Among these were most of Carleton’s own friends, with wagers on who could arrive at White’s first. Only Ferddie Milbrooke was staying on for another week. The other house guests were planning to leave Carlyle Hall after luncheon, put up at posting house inns and conclude their journeys the following day; they were resting late this morning in preparation. The Duke had eaten much earlier and was with his estate manager, a servant informed his son, who was relieved that his father had not over-taxed himself with the evening. The Duchess was not yet down, he was told, and would breakfast in her rooms, which also relieved Carleton. He had no wish to face her enquiries yet. In fact, he had no desire to face the remaining guests at all, certainly not the same young ladies with the same conversations and the same hopeful mamas. With this and other thoughts in mind, he asked Ferddie to accompany him on a ride. While Ferddie changed his clothes, Carleton went to the stables. He ordered up his own horse, Jupiter, and a mount for Milbrooke, then sought out his father’s head groom. Old Nate knew more about horses than anyone else in Carleton’s acquaintance and had lived his entire life in the region
of Carlyle
Hall. What he had to say about Bething’s Folly only raised Carleton’s interest. In Nate’s opinion, there was a good man running the place, and the Duke could very well consider some of the new-fangled ideas there since they seemed to be getting the Folly better yearlings every season. Ferddie returned to hear a discussion of the lineage of the Bethingame stable and the coming prospects. He kept his silence until he and Carleton were mounted and on their way out of the stable yard when he asked, “Any place in particular you’d have in mind to ride, Carleton?”

The Marquis looked back over his shoulder and saw his friend’s wide smile. “Don’t you tease me with it, Ferddie; I’ll have enough of that later.” He let the eager Jupiter have his head and galloped off down the drive, Ferddie close behind him.

The approach to Bething Manor was up a narrow dirt lane with trees arching over, dappling the sunlight. At the end of the lane stood worn stone columns and, past them on either side of the carriage drive, green lawn and a border garden filled with the gentle colours of early spring blooms. The manor itself stood in the full sun, its grey stone exterior softened by ivy creepers and forsythia bushes. It was a modest, solid house with casement windows and neat chimneys at either end, obviously built with an eye toward practicality and comfort, without the sprawling hodgepodge of ornamental architecture so common—and so hard to keep warm. Beyond the grass verge to one side of the house was what appeared to be a formal garden, and to the other, up a small rise, a long, low structure of the same grey stone, surrounded by perimeters of neat white fencing as far as the eye could see, with here and there an outbuilding or cottage. Everything was immaculate and in perfect order, not a fence post tilting, not a fallen tree branch in sight Horses—mares with foals—could be seen in the distance, on the hills behind the house and stable, and noises of some activity were coming from behind the latter, otherwise all was quiet, with no one in sight and nothing but soft chimney smoke and bird song to give the place an almost breathtakingly beautiful pastoral charm, a great sense of peace and contentment.

He could well understand Miss Bethingame’s determination to keep the Folly, Carleton thought, for it justified her pride and reflected her devotion in every neat hedge, every foal cavorting in the sunshine on the hills. Then he laughed to himself and shook his head ruefully: Interest in the estate was the last thing he could afford to express. At least his curiosity about the Folly was satisfied; now he would see if his last night’s impressions were correct.

No one came to take the horses, so after they had dismounted Ferddie held the reins while Carleton lifted the knocker on the wide oak door. After a few moments the door was opened by an elderly man in shirt sleeves with a polishing cloth in one hand. The staff at Bething Manor was obviously not used to receiving unexpected callers. One glance at the visitors, however, their elegant coats, their polished Hessians, to say nothing of their fine horses and stylish good looks, and the butler accurately determined their social importance. He immediately summoned a footman to lead the horses to the stables and drew himself up to accept the gentlemen’s cards with all the dignity of his breed, despite his informal appearance. He led them to a small sitting room off the front hall while he went to announce them to Lady Burke, who he assured them was at home.

“Peculiar household, don’t you think?” Ferddie asked, wandering around the small room whose furnishings were a little worn, the draperies somewhat faded.

Carleton made no answer, trying to visualise this as a setting for the girl he had met last night. Yes, he could see her here, her honest, outspoken ways matching the sturdy, comfortable furnishings, her unaffected loveliness recalled by the wildflowers collected in simple glass vases.
He smiled
, amused by his own romanticising. He was making too much of last night’s encounter. Surely Miss Bethingame would turn out to be a pretty enough country miss with the same cloying agreeableness of all the others, or a spoiled, demanding beauty, like so many of the London Incomparables. She would be as selfishly two-faced as any other woman when it suited her. Still, he could not help his eager anticipation when the butler returned, this time with formal coat buttoned and gloves on.

“Lady Burke would be honoured to receive you,” he said. “Will you follow me?” He spoke with perfect composure, not reflecting the turmoil these two guests’ arrival had created in the drawing room.

Lady Burke was there dithering around the room, straightening pillows and searching for somewhere to stash the disreputable novel she’d been reading. She finally shoved it into a sewing basket, muttering the whole time about Aubry’s business, and there, didn’t she just know it, and where was Elizabeth? This was how Carleton and Milbrooke found her when the butler opened the door and stood aside. She was talking to herself, they realised, unless one counted the small, ancient pug at her side. This creature, as squat and plump as its mistress, instantly set to yapping when they entered the room, and trundled toward them as fast as its little bowed legs could carry it to commence snapping at their boots. Its snarling attack made greetings and introductions impossible; Lady Burke’s oh dear’s helped not at all, and the butler had disappeared. In desperation Carleton reached out to a side table near the doorway, where they still stood, and took a bon-bon from a dish. He rolled it across the floor, just past the pug’s nose. The dog waddled over to the treat, then darted between its mistress’s feet with it, as though to eat in a safe spot. At least it had finally quieted. Lady Burke gathered the dog to her cushiony bosom with a few bad doggie’s and oh my’s and at last remembered to invite her guests to be seated. She chose a sofa, with the pug up next to her. Ferddie selected a seat as far away as was polite, once he had been introduced.

“Lady Burke,” Carleton began in as reasonably steady a voice as he could muster after that interlude, “I hope we are not intruding, but we have called to enquire after your niece. We pray she has recovered from her headache of last night?”

“Headache? The girl’s never had a headache! Well, maybe with the measles, but, let me tell you, it was something else on her mind, one of her racketty notions ... Oh, dear, perhaps I should not have said that.” Here Lady Burke frowned, but then her round face brightened as she found a solution. “Well, um, perhaps one of her notions did give her the headache last night. Yes, I am sure of it! Of course, she is very well this morning. That is, I think she is...” And here dismay mingled with uncertainty in her expression.

Carleton was saved from having to reply to this bewildering speech by the return of the butler, who was bearing a tray of decanters and glasses. Behind him a footman carried tea things over to Lady Burke.

After Carleton had been served and the butler turned to Ferddie, the Marquis could not help overhearing Lady Burke’s nervous whisperings to the footman, whose sleeve she pulled at to punctuate her urgency: “John, listen to me, you must find Miss Elizabeth! She’ll be at the dratted stables, so run! Tell her it is an emergency, tell her anything but get her here!”

John looked hurriedly at the guests to see if his mistress was in any immediate danger, then quickly departed, to the butler’s surprise and displeasure as he turned around to find his assistant gone without having passed any refreshments. He did so himself with resigned dignity, then asked if there would be anything else.

“No, that will be all, Taylor, thank you. That is, I think so. Yes, well Elizabeth will be coming shortly.” Lady Burke firmly addressed this last to Carleton, although she followed it with a barely audible muttering: “Gads, I hope so! Having to fetch her out of the stables now ... if she’ll come. Aubry will just have to see...
”
She was meanwhile buttering a muffin fastidiously, which she then fed piece by piece to the fat little dog next to her.

Carleton wondered what had her so fidgety, whether it was his presence, fear of the threatening Uncle Aubry, or, worst of all, her niece’s unpredictable temperament. It must be a combination of all three, he decided, if not her own eccentric nature. Eccentric, hell, he amended. Miss Bethingame’s aunt was decidedly screw-loose! What an environment for a young girl! To make some effort at conversation, he asked Lady Burke how she had done at the card tables the night before, which turned out to be a brilliant stroke on his part. The lady brightened immediately and went into a lengthy, detailed description of her partners, her hands, the particulars of the betting. Carleton only had to nod or murmur agreement, so he was free to reflect on other things, like what in the world he was doing here, and how treacherous friends could be at times. Ferddie Milbrooke had not said ten words since their arrival, only sitting there with a saintly smile on his face, enjoying the whole preposterous scene immeasurably. Most likely memorizing it, Carleton fumed, to taunt him with it later. The Marquis glared over at his friend, who merely raised his glass in a mock salute.

Lady Burke was running down, beginning to lament her early departure from the cards, when a door to the rear of the house was slammed. “Oh, dear Lord” was the last thing she said before boots were heard running down the hall, and a fierce scrabbling, and hopefully reassuring calls of “Aunt Claudia, I’m coming!”

They could hear the butler coming down the front hall: “Miss Elizabeth, wait! Don’t!” met by shouts from the back hall: “Taylor, Aunt Claudia!”

Milbrooke and Carleton were on their feet by now, facing the door and expecting who knows what when it burst open and Miss Bethingame rushed in, followed by the butler, the footman, a small man in rough clothes and a large, muddy, spanielly-looking dog. The pug on the couch took one look at this last intruder and bounded off on a ferocious-sounding but completely ludicrous attack. The spaniel began darting around the room, barking joyfully at this new game. Lady Burke took one look at her niece—high boots, woolen shirt knotted at the waist and britches—and fainted dead away on the sofa.

Miss Bethingame glanced at Ferddie, whose mouth was hanging open in stupefaction, then turned to Carleton, knowing immediately what had happened. She directed one scathing word at him—
“You
!”—before hurrying to her aunt’s side.

The tea table went over with a crash and yelping. The pug withdrew from battle in a fit of wheezing; the spaniel kept up its excited barking; Lady Burke moaned.

Miss Bethingame reached for a pillow to put under her aunt’s head, then turned to face Carleton, her eyes sparking fire, her fists clenched. “If I were a man I would call you out, you ... you...”

“Miss Bitsy!” The third man cut her off before she could find a terrible enough word, which only redirected her anger at himself.

“If you ever call me that again, Robbie Jackson, I’ll have you turned out of here, so help me I—”

“Down, sir, down!” Ferddie was shouting at the spaniel leaving muddy footprints on his pants, and “Grab his collar, you fool,” at the footman gingerly trying to corner the delighted animal. The pug was in such a state its eyes looked about to pop out of its head, and the butler was no better off. Carleton could feel the laughter bubbling up and fought to keep the urge contained. With only the slightest bit of humour in his voice he took command of the situation, issuing orders like a general deploying his forces: “Taylor is it? Please fetch Lady Burke’s woman and someone to pick up the mess here. Milbrooke, Mr. Jackson here could relieve you of that beast if you would follow him to the stables. And you,” he said to the footman, bending down to lift up the asthmatic old pug and holding it out at arm’s length, “kindly remove this creature. I believe cold milk is what my aunt gave hers in this condition... They will know in the kitchen.”

When they were all gone, Carleton turned to Miss Bethingame, now fanning her aunt with a newspaper. He took another, better look at her appearance—the loose brown braid hanging down her back, the dirt smudges on her face, and most of all the britches—and one corner of his mouth twitched up. No wonder her aunt was so addlepated, raising such a madcap; but, yes, she was as adorable as he remembered, even mad and messy. He could not help it but a low chuckle broke the silence after the pandemonium, and, finally, uncontrollable laughter. Miss Bethingame was ready to make a furious rejoinder to this last insult when something in his laughter stopped her. He was not exactly laughing at her, her instincts told her—he was much too well-bred for that—only at the hopelessly absurd situation. Her own good-humoured sense of the ridiculous took over and she joined him in genuine amusement until her aunt groaned again on the sofa.

“It is fine to laugh, my Lord, but look at all the trouble I am in now,” she said seriously. “Would you please leave before my aunt regains her senses?”

“My leaving would only make things worse, I should think. If you will change to, ah, more suitable attire we may all reassemble and pass the incident off as nothing exceptional. As you said last night, if we do not discuss it, it never happened. At least we will delay your aunt’s scolding.”

Miss Bethingame had to acknowledge the wisdom of his advice. There was no other choice besides, for he was making no effort to depart and here was the maid with the smelling salts and vinaigrette. It would be too cruel to make Aunt Claudia face Carleton alone again, so she told the maid to stay until her return and hurried past the Marquis, who nodded reassuringly and approvingly.

There followed a frenzy of activity in her bedroom upstairs as Miss Bethingame’s own maid rushed to help her wash and change into a simple morning gown. There was also a turmoil in the young lady’s mind. Why couldn’t the Marquis of Carlyle simply be the overbearing, conceited Tulip she had imagined? Why did he have to have such a beguiling smile, such easy confidence? No, she told herself firmly, she was not going to fall for his well-practiced charm like every other girl in the neighbourhood. Let him play his games or whatever he was doing here, she had already told him that she had no wish to marry. In any event, he would soon tire of country ways and return to London, she was convinced, to seek his wife among the sophisticates there, leaving her to face her furious uncle. Well, at least he would not leave her with an aching heart!