Bething's Folly (8 page)

The last dance was announced shortly, a waltz. Since this was a country ball where the guests had to travel some distance to get home, it would end much earlier than the grand London fetes, which often went on till dawn. As Elizabeth sadly looked to the Duchess for her last partner, she told herself she was only regretting the last dance of her first real ball; she knew very well that she was disappointed not to have a last dance with the Marquis. She had hoped he was waiting for the waltz after making sure she would dance it this time, but he was not among those clamouring for the honour. The Duchess was talking to an older man, not aware of Elizabeth’s difficulties. Where Elizabeth had almost resented having her partners chosen for her, she now realised what a relief it had been. She did not wish to slight anyone, but she was determined not to miss her very first waltz out in company. She was just about to select the nearest gentleman when a deep, mellow voice spoke at her back: “I believe this dance is mine, Miss Bethingame?” Elizabeth looked quickly over to the Duchess for any hint of disapproval, but Lady Carlyle nodded reassuringly, perhaps recalling the last dance of the week before. With a radiant smile, Elizabeth turned and almost floated into the Marquis’s waiting arms.

If they had been a topic of interest before, they were now an established Fact, as far as anyone watching them dance was concerned. In truth, the only one not hearing wedding bells was Miss Bethingame herself, who was too happy to consider tomorrow!

TEN

Tomorrow came quickly, before the dawn. In fact, it was waiting for Elizabeth at home in the form of an unannounced, uninvited visit from the present Earl of Bething, her Uncle Aubry. That gentleman had been conducting business in London, where some interesting tidbits of gossip had reached his ears. He had immediately altered his plans in order to pay a visit to his niece and sister. His usual communication was through the mails or solicitors, but this time he felt a personal call was in order to discuss some matters with his ward and to find out from his sister if there was any truth to the gossip. Luckily he was already asleep in a guest bedroom when Miss Bethingame arrived home so was saved from a rather terse, unlady-like but unmistakable expression of his ward’s opinion of his arrival, right there in the front hallway.

“Elizabeth!” cried her aunt, hurrying her upstairs, away from the servants. “He is your uncle and your guardian!”

“Yes, and he was content to ignore my very existence here for two years until the Folly turned a profit. Never once has he offered to help us in any way, except to find fault!”

“But he did bring you the kind offer from that gentleman in Lancashire, remember?”

“Oh, yes, I remember. I remember how my value went up as soon as I reached breeding age! Do you recall how he threatened to cut off my allowance when I refused—an old man I had never seen and would have to give up my home and all I loved to marry. No, Uncle Aubry has never cared for
my
welfare, you can be sure of that. Just look around you; see all the things we need, and where is the money?
My
money. He refuses to give me any but an allowance till I am wed, he says. Well, I shall reach twenty-one before that day, and then we’ll see.”

“Oh, dear, you know it is no great sum of money. Your father simply did not have enough to leave you. He put it all into the horses, you know.”

“I also know he meant for me to feed those horses without having to beg some solicitor for Uncle Aubry’s consent. Uncle would only love me to fail so he could sell the Folly at a profit, just as he is trying to sell me!”

“Oh, Elizabeth,” her aunt fretted, “you mustn’t talk like that. You know what Aubry thinks of free-spoken females. I’m sure that if you are pleasant to him and show a little respect, he will be more understanding. Do try not to get so riled up; you know how these scenes are so disturbing to everyone.”

Elizabeth did know, indeed. Her uncle’s last visit—with his clear intention of seeing her engaged to his widower friend—had gone so badly poor Aunt Claudia had had a headache for three days. This time, Elizabeth vowed as she undressed in her own room, she would prove to her uncle that she was a mature woman, able to conduct her own affairs in a rational, unemotional manner. There would be no raised voices or accusations this time, she swore to herself, only steadfast logic—and a desire to see him gone. She unpinned the violets from her gown and set them in a glass of water next to her bed. With Uncle Aubry settled in her mind, she was able to go to sleep thinking of pleasanter thoughts, like laughing blue eyes.

When she awoke in the morning, later than usual, the violets were drooping miserably, but Elizabeth’s determination to impress Uncle Aubry with her poise still held firm.

She called for Bessie and hurriedly dressed in a demure muslin morning gown, then went to the breakfast room, instead of to the stables first, which was her usual custom. Her aunt was dressed and down, also out of the ordinary, for Lady Burke seldom left her rooms before noon, preferring not to know how her niece spent the time. Today, however, she felt her presence was necessary, little though she enjoyed being the buffer between these two rock-hard temperaments, having learnt from experience that is was the soft buffer who inevitably suffered.

Elizabeth greeted her uncle surprisingly cordially, and enquired of him about her aunt, a devout, disapproving lady, and her dear young cousins, a pack of runny-nosed brats. She even asked about Bething, the family seat, a ramshackle old mansion Elizabeth had had to visit with her father once a year. Uncle Aubry had always lived there, managing the property for his brother even before he came into the title. Elizabeth’s father had bought the Folly property before his marriage, knowing the dreary northern estate was no place for his lovely bride, nor the grim spinster aunts and retired soldier uncles suitable companions. Aubry and his wife had never minded the whole flock living there until, of course, they had to pay the bills themselves. By now most of the old relations were passed away and Bething was simply a moldering, drafty old building, which only Uncle Aubry could take pride in claiming. His pride was enormous, even more so now that he was its rightful, titled owner, not just its steward. He expounded all through breakfast over crops and tenants and structural improvements. Elizabeth and her aunt listened attentively until he digressed to his neighbours, one Lord Cedric Barnable in particular. Having heard enough about Lord Barnable on her brother’s last visit, Lady Burke was sure this was not a safe topic for conversation. She quickly interrupted:

“Forgive me, dear Aubry, but I have to ask how long you will be visiting with us; our pleasure, of course,
but Cook
must be told so we might be sure of having things just as you like them.”

Elizabeth was toying with the fringes of resentment. It had not escaped her notice that Uncle Aubry had not asked about
their
welfare or the improvements being made here. Though she was determined to be polite, she felt her aunt was going too far in trying to appease him, in making him feel actually welcome. She only hoped he would say whatever unpleasantness he had come for and leave this morning.

“Four or five days, I think,” was her uncle’s unfortunate reply, at which Elizabeth excused herself to some business at the stables to mask her disappointment. Before she reached the door, however, he stopped her with a summons to meet in the library in an hour’s time. Elizabeth did not like his tone of voice, nor his peremptory orders to her in her own home. She merely nodded, figuring to get this over quickly so perhaps he would leave earlier, without making an issue of it.

Her business in the stables consisted mainly of sending a groom with a hurriedly written note to Carlyle Hall, requesting that Lord Carleton not call at Bething’s Folly this week as was planned due to unfortunate circumstances. She regretted having to send the message—though a meeting between the Marquis and Uncle Aubry could only be trouble—and the regret simmered in the back of her mind as another black mark against her uncle. The looks of commiseration she received from the stable hands did not help at all, nor the “Lovely morning, Miss Bitsy” greeting from Jackson. It
was
a fine morning, clear and crisp after all the rain, but she was not to enjoy the freshness of the sunshine. No, she would be kept in like a child with lessons to hear some odious lecture.

Her uncle, meanwhile, was using the time to gather information. The talk in London was of some brown-haired Unknown capturing Carleton’s fancy at a ball in the country last week. The house guests had returned from Carlyle Hall
full
of the tale, but not the young lady’s name. She was said to be slight and quite good looking, if in an Original way, with a style all her own. Having been notified by his sister of the ladies’ invitation to attend the ball, he dared let himself consider that for once his niece might have accomplished something worthwhile. Their very presence at another Carleton do last night reinforced his hopeful interpretation of the London gossip. Claudia was only too happy to satisfy his curiosity as long as it got Lord Barnable off his mind. She couldn’t see the harm in expressing her own hopes as far as the Marquis was concerned, such a nice young man who even brought treats for her dog. She told about the dancing lessons and the violets, but she was unable to relate details of the dance last night, as she had been in the card rooms all evening. This brought censure down on her own head, for her deplorable gambling habits and her lackadaisical supervision of Elizabeth.

“Take my word for it, Claudia, she will shame us all some day with her hoydenish behaviour. There’ll be a scandal sooner or later, unless there’s a firm hand to control her.”

“But perhaps some men prefer um ... interesting women, Aubry.” Lady Burke was twisting her napkin, worrying which of the servants knew of Carleton’s first, disastrous visit, or how long he was alone in the stables with Elizabeth. Lady Burke did not think either occasion would make an outright scandal, but there was no underestimating her brother’s sense of propriety, nor his pride in the Bethingame name.

“No man likes a flighty woman, Claudia.”

“But Lord Carleton seems to be paying a deal of attention to her...”

“And if the young fool can be made to offer for her soon, we’ll be well out of it.”

“But ... but, Aubry, Elizabeth does not
wish
to be married.”

“Rubbish, madam! What else is there for a woman to do?”

When Elizabeth returned to the library, it was to find her uncle sitting at her father’s desk—now hers—going through her account books.

“Uncle Aubry! Those are my personal business!” she exclaimed, slamming one shut in front of him, furious at his intrusion but determined to stay calm.

“Nonsense, I am your guardian.”

“And this is my house, as you very well know, to which you have not been invited.”

“I do not
have
to be invited to attend to my ward’s business.” Lord Bethingame saw no fault in his own actions, merely another instance of his niece’s waywardness. He chose to ignore her insulting manner and gestured her to a seat.

She threw herself into a leather chair and immediately began tapping her foot. “What, pray tell, is this business you have suddenly concerned yourself about?” she asked. “I have told you I will not marry any of your old cronies, so you may as well give up on that.”

“This has nothing to do with your wedding anyone; I doubt if any of my friends would have you! That is beside the point ... Claudia wrote me about a horse you are entering in the Ardsley Cup races this season.”

“That is correct. We have great hopes for him.”

“It won’t do.”

“What do you mean, it won’t do? He is a fine horse and stands a great chance.” She was genuinely puzzled.

“It won’t do because horse racing is not a proper vocation for respectable young women.”

“That is absurd. Lady Jeffreys runs her own stables, and Lady—”

“Lady Jeffreys has been through three husbands, which is not exactly respectable, but that is entirely irrelevant. Neither Lady Bethingame nor myself approves of horse racing, especially for women. We do not wish our name associated with such a debacle.”

“Uncle Aubry, neither Aunt Eunice nor yourself have ever approved of anything I did, or my father before me, so that is not a prime consideration. What it is is that this horse can prove our stud. He can win the Cup, the money, the honour. I have a fine trainer in Robbie Jackson, and an experienced jockey. There will be no disgrace.”

“Nevertheless, he will not run.”

“Not run? Of course he will! Haven’t you been listening? He is entered; he can win.”

“Your horse has been withdrawn. That is what I was doing in London, speaking to the stewards of the race.”

“What?” Elizabeth was on her feet in front of the desk, shouting. “You can’t do that! You have no right!”

“You are under age, Elizabeth. It is my right, no, my duty, to protect your reputation. The stewards will not accept your horse without your guardian’s consent. I will not give it. I have also made clear to the officials that if your horse runs under another’s name, they had better have ownership papers to prove it.”

Elizabeth was in a rage. If the Pride did not race, the Folly could not get by much longer on Moonlight’s reputation. If the Pride were sold, then raced, they would have the reputation, but no stallion in a few years. Either way the Folly would be finished. Tears of rage filled her eyes until, instead of seeing the thin, balding man in drab clothes in front of her, she saw all the injustices of her life; instead of his pontifical voice, she heard every condemnation of everything she loved. It was too much. Her hands, clenched into useless fists, pounded on the desk as she told her uncle exactly what she thought of him. An inkpot bounced on the desk at “despicable,” she unconsciously grabbed it at “pompous,” and when she brought her fist down, bottle and all, at “ass,” the contents spewed all over her uncle.

And that was how Miss Elizabeth Bethingame conducted herself in a mature, reasonable manner.

When she left the house a short while later in a tossed-together riding outfit, she informed Taylor that her uncle would be leaving, to see that his bags were packed and his carriage brought round. She didn’t know if she could carry it off, but Taylor, at least, saw no reason to disbelieve her and moved off to give instructions.

When Elizabeth returned home after some few hours, she was dust-covered and disheveled but not one bit more relaxed. Taylor informed her, with no hint of emotion or expression, that there must have been a misunderstanding; her uncle was departing in the morning, to avoid the discomfort of a night at an inn.

“The expense, you mean. Well, I shall have luncheon in my room and be out for tea ... Tell Cook to burn the dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am. Begging your pardon, Miss Elizabeth, but a note was delivered to you this morning. I sent it up to your bedroom, in case, ahem, you should come in the rear door.”

What he meant, Elizabeth knew, was that Uncle Aubry had been snooping around and the note was something she would rather he not see, or, at any rate, something Taylor thought was private. She smiled and ran up the stairs.

The note was on heavy bond, with a blue seal, and read:
Has your success of last night gone to your head already that you can dismiss old admirers? Yrs., Carleton.
She tore it into the smallest pieces the thick paper would allow.

No one saw Lord Bethingame off in the morning except Taylor. Lady Burke sent word that she was not feeling well; her headache would most likely last a week this time. Elizabeth had no intention of making even the slightest pretense at cordiality, so stayed in her rooms all morning pacing until Bessie finally brought word that he was gone. Elizabeth spent another hour in the library, composing letters to her solicitors to see what was to be done about that race. She could think of many plans—most impractical, some illegal, none satisfactory—but it was Robbie Jackson’s suggestion that she make enquiries first to see if Uncle Aubry was only trying to cow her, or possibly overstepping his authority. The letters were sent off to catch the mail coach and Elizabeth picked at her solitary luncheon. She wasn’t in the mood to ride, or watch the training exercises, or read, or anything—except maybe kick at a few doors. At last she tossed a shawl over her shoulders, called for her dog at the stables and set off on an aimless walk. She wandered down a way on the dirt lane while the spaniel chased imaginary rabbits, then around some of the paddocks, then finally back to the gardens, where she sank down on a marble bench. One hand idly stroked the dog behind his ears, but her thoughts were hundreds of miles away at a certain race track. She could see the horses running, hear the crowds shouting for the Pride, hear the officials calling her name...