The Honourable Earl Read online

  ‘There is no pretence about it, I promise you. I loathe him.’

  ‘Then why—’

  ‘I did not know who he was then, did I?’

  ‘Then you were as surprised as me to discover his identity?’

  ‘Yes, now do be quiet, everyone is looking at us.’

  They were not, they were looking towards the Earl and raising their glasses. The toast drunk, he turned and spoke to the leader of the orchestra and they began to play another minuet. Everyone, except the old dowagers, paired off to dance: Annabelle with Peregrine, Lord Baverstock with Lady Brotherton, the Marquis of Brotherton with Lady Baverstock, Robert Dent with Caroline Brotherton, the Comte with an overdressed young lady Lydia did not know. Even Sir Arthur had taken her mother on to the floor, no doubt to appraise her of the conversation he had had with her daughter and tell her how well it had gone.

  Lydia stood uncertainly and then found a seat behind a pillar where she hoped she would not be noticed. Ralph had gone and she should have been feeling relieved that his gaze was no longer on her, but she felt nothing but a kind of numbness, as if her mind and body did not belong together; the one in conflict with the other.

  She became aware of the dowagers, nodding their feathered head-dresses as they gossiped. ‘They say he has come back very rich, which is strange seeing the old Earl hardly had a penny piece except his lands,’ one said.

  ‘If he has, then perhaps things that have been neglected too long might be done.’

  ‘Is he married?’

  ‘I haven’t heard tell of a wife.’

  ‘Do you think he knows his mother was mad? Anyone who married him would have to look out if there was madness in the family. You could say it was part of the price he had to pay for what he did.’

  ‘You mean that duel? Did that have anything to do with the Earl’s affair with Mrs Fostyn?’

  ‘Affair?’

  ‘I’ve heard it said it was not the Countess Mrs Fostyn went to visit when she went up to the Hall, but the Earl. They say his lordship kept his wife locked up because she was mad with grief and jealousy and it left him free for dalliance with the widow.’

  Lydia, unable to listen to any more, got up and hurried from the room, though where she was going she had no idea, just anywhere away from those malicious tongues.

  Ralph had been saying goodbye to the civic dignitaries, who had congregated to congratulate him and to say goodnight, and had not yet left the premises. A footman was just handing him his overcoat and hat. He ignored the man and seized her shoulders, making her stop in front of him.

  ‘Miss Fostyn, what is the matter?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She forced herself to stop and face him. ‘There is nothing wrong with me that your absence would not cure. Now, please release me.’

  He dropped his hands from her as if he had been stung, took the coat from the servant and flung it across his shoulder, and then the hat, which he clamped on his head. ‘Then I will accommodate you. Goodnight, Miss Fostyn.’

  The door was opened for him and he went out into the night, leaving her staring after him in such a rage she hardly knew how to contain herself.

  Chapter Five

  Without waiting for Partridge to open the door and let down the step, Annabelle jumped from the carriage, rushed into the house past her startled sister and up the stairs to her room where she flung herself across her bed in a flood of tears. Lydia ran to comfort her. ‘Annabelle, Annabelle, whatever is the matter?’ She took her sobbing sister into her arms. ‘Come, tell me what has happened?’

  ‘It’s Perry…’

  ‘Peregrine Baverstock? What about him? Surely he has not acted improperly?’

  ‘No, of course he has not,’ Annabelle snapped. ‘He says his parents have forbidden him to see me on account of— Oh, it’s all a lie, isn’t it? Tell me there’s no truth in it.’

  ‘How can I when I don’t know what you are talking about?’ But she did know. The gossip must have reached the ears of Lord and Lady Baverstock.

  The whole village seemed to have taken sides, just as they had ten years before, but now there was an additional element, the story that Anne and the late Earl had been lovers and Freddie Fostyn had found out about it and leapt to the defence of his mother. It was why, so they said, the Reverend was at the scene of the duel. He thought Freddie was going to fight the old Earl and, considering the quarrel was his, had been determined to take his son’s place and put an end to the man who had cuckolded him. Ralph had only stepped in to save his father. It was, Lydia realised, a very plausible tale and until now her concern had been for her mother, for how could she fail to hear of it?

  ‘They are saying the most dreadful things about the old Earl and Mama.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘Everyone. Caroline Brotherton told me. She’s the one spreading the rumours, she thinks if she spoils it for me, then Perry will marry her instead. And her family have bags more money too… Oh, Lydia what am I to do?’ And she burst into fresh tears.

  Annabelle had met and spoken to Caroline after church on the Sunday before and had been invited to take tea with her and a few of her friends, an invitation which had Annabelle in a froth of excitement because invitations had been few and far between since the night of the ball and the promised social occasions with Peregrine Baverstock had not materialised and he had been invited too. And this was the result.

  ‘If Perry believes tittle-tattle, then he is not worthy of you, dearest,’ Lydia said firmly.

  ‘It isn’t Perry’s fault,’ Annabelle sniffed. ‘He’d marry me anyway, he told me so, but he dare not oppose his parents. They would cut him off without a shilling.’

  ‘I am dreadfully sorry, Annabelle,’ Lydia said. ‘It will blow over. I sincerely hope so, for if it reached Mama’s ears it would make her dreadfully unhappy.’

  ‘The rumours would stop if you married Sir Arthur,’ Annabelle said. ‘You must do it quickly before he hears—’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Lydia, you don’t suppose that was why he did not make the announcement at the ball?’

  ‘No, he only wished to give me more time to consider.’

  ‘Consider! What is there to consider? It was all arranged between him and Mama but you insisted on keeping him in suspense and this is the result. If he hears the gossip, it will be he who has more time, time to change his mind and withdraw his offer.’

  Lydia half wished he would. It would be a great weight off her mind, but the other half of her, the half that was sensible and practical, knew that would be a disaster.

  ‘Lydia, you do want to marry him, don’t you?’ Annabelle persisted. ‘You said you would. And when Lord and Lady Baverstock see what a good match you have made, they will allow Perry to marry me.’

  ‘You seem very sure of that.’

  ‘I am.’ She paused. ‘Perry said so.’

  ‘If Ralph Latimer had not come home, this would not have happened,’ Lydia said angrily. ‘And even now, he could scotch the rumours if he had a mind to. He could refute the lies and tell the truth. He could publicly admit it was all his fault and had nothing to do with Mama or the old Earl, but he remains silent.’

  He had not only remained silent, he had remained out of sight. She had not seen him since she ran from the ballroom a whole week before when she had shouted at him, told him all she wished for was his absence and he had taken her at her word. It had been a week of misery for her, made worse because it was so silent. She could not tell anyone of her unhappiness, mainly because she did not want to upset her mother, but also because she could not put it into words. She did not want to marry Sir Arthur, but she had known that before the ball and accepted that she must, so why had the prospect since then become not only disagreeable, but abhorrent?

  And why, whenever she thought about Sir Arthur, did she hear again Ralph Latimer’s insidious voice whispering in her ear, ‘Do not do it. He is not the man for you’? Why should those words, uttered by that abominable man, upset her so? Did he know how much they would t
orment her? Did he know that she would go over and over them in her mind, trying to find a motive for uttering them, to hear the hidden meaning, to deny their truth. Was he truly trying to persuade her against such a step? But why?

  Lydia could not bear to think about it any more and scrambled off the bed. ‘I think we had better dress or we shall be late for supper.’

  Annabelle mopped up her tears and stood up. ‘But you have not told me. Are you going to tell Sir Arthur you have made up your mind to say yes?’

  ‘When he comes calling.’

  ‘And suppose he does not? You must find some way of communicating with him.’

  ‘Mama will do that.’

  ‘And you will tell her tonight?’

  Lydia heaved a sigh. ‘Yes. But not a word to her about those rumours, do you hear? Now, go and dress.’

  Annabelle smiled and kissed her sister before leaving the room. Lydia sat in a chair before her dressing mirror and, picking up a comb, began to rake it through her bronze curls. They were to have the evening en famille, so there was no need to have her hair dressed. ‘I look too pale,’ she told herself. ‘And there are dark rings beneath my eyes.’

  She touched the spot where the scratches had been. They had healed over nicely and there was no scarring, but she could still imagine the feel of the twiggy branches scraping along her face. But that was not so bad as the remembrance of strong lips bruising hers, the sensations they produced in every part of her body, which she could not shake off. Day after day she relived the encounter and day after day her hatred of the man who had done this to her grew. It would not let her be still. The sooner she was married the better.

  Sir Arthur called two days later in answer to Anne’s invitation, arriving in his magnificent carriage drawn by two spanking horses which were put into Partridge’s care. This time Lydia remained with her mother to receive him. He was, as usual, immaculately dressed, today in shades of blue, dark for his coat and breeches, light aquamarine for his shirt and waistcoat. His new wig sat firmly on his sparse hair as he made his bow to them both in turn and was offered refreshment.

  They sat and asked each other how they did, remarked on the springlike weather, spoke of the success of the ball and commented on the news from London where the Earl of Bute’s ministry had fallen and Henry Fox, on his elevation to the Lords, was resolutely refusing to give up his lucrative post of Paymaster-General, and generally skirted around the subject which had brought him to the dower house.

  ‘Mrs Fostyn,’ he said at last, sipping the claret and nibbling the little cakes from the plate Janet had brought him. ‘I believe I know the reason for your invitation. Miss Fostyn has decided—’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ Lydia said, wishing he would direct his remarks to her.

  He turned to look at her in her plain pink muslin gown, chosen for its simplicity. Anne had said she wanted the demure look and Lydia had done her best to achieve it. ‘I, on the other hand, have grave misgivings.’

  ‘Sir Arthur, surely you have not changed your mind?’ Anne asked.

  ‘I have heard rumours, very unsettling rumours and, to be honest, I am undecided.’

  Lydia opened her mouth to speak, but a look from her mother made her close it again. ‘Tell us about these rumours, Sir Arthur.’

  ‘I am not sure they are repeatable, madam.’

  ‘If they are about me, as I think they are, then you must repeat them, so that I may refute them. That is only justice.’

  ‘Very well, madam. It is said that you and the Earl of Blackwater, the late Earl, I mean, were—’ He stopped, apparently too embarrassed to continue.

  Lydia looked at her mother, wondering how much of the story she had heard and how she could protect her, but her mother simply smiled. ‘Lovers, Sir Arthur? Do not be afraid to say the word.’

  ‘So be it.’ He inclined his head. ‘Lovers, and that your husband found out and set out to revenge himself, but in the fracas he was the one who died.’

  ‘Yes, he died,’ Anne said, so calmly Lydia was astonished. ‘But not for the reasons the tattlers would have you believe. I shall tell you the whole story and you may judge for yourself. I have nothing of which I need be ashamed and most certainly my daughter has not.’

  ‘Mama, you need not…’ Lydia put in. Even though it had been ten years ago, that duel was still fresh in her memory and still as painful.

  ‘I need not, but Sir Arthur has a right to know.’

  He listened attentively while she outlined the events of ten years before, ending, ‘It was a tragic accident, Sir Arthur, nothing more sinister than that.’

  ‘And since then?’

  ‘Since then?’ she repeated.

  ‘Your visits to the Earl?’

  ‘My visits to the Countess, you mean. We had both lost a son, Sir Arthur, we had a great deal in common and we gave each other comfort. She, poor lady, was more delicate than I and she sent for me whenever she was unwell. Can you not understand that? We bore no grudge towards each other.’

  ‘And the present Earl? Do you bear him a grudge?’

  ‘No,’ Anne said firmly, though Lydia sucked in her breath and bit her lip to stop herself speaking.

  He saw it and smiled. ‘I think Miss Fostyn is not so magnanimous.’

  Lydia forced herself to sound calm. ‘The past is past, Sir Arthur, we cannot change it and must go forward.’

  ‘Yes.’ His smile was oily. ‘Forward together, eh?’

  She bowed, clutching her closed fan in her lap, wishing it were all over. But it would never be all over and this was only the beginning. ‘If that is your wish, Sir Arthur.’

  ‘Is it your wish?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, sir, it is.’

  He smiled again and reached forward to take her hand. His touch was clammy and she shivered slightly. ‘Then we will overlook the past and I ask you formally if you will become my wife.’

  Now was the time to stop, now was the time to look him in the eye and say ‘No, no, no, a thousand times no!’ It was the last chance she would have. The prevaricating was done, the arguments for and against were all made and answered, the teasing and the hiding behind doubt were all in the past. And that quiet voice, telling her she was making a mistake, must be silenced.

  ‘Yes, Sir Arthur, I will become your wife.’ She looked up at him then, straight into his pale eyes, and added, ‘Subject to the arrangements my mother made with you being put in place: a home for her, schooling for my brother and a dowry for my sister.’

  He sat back, his satisfaction evident on his face. It was not a smile so much as a smirk. ‘You come very dear, Miss Fostyn, but I am persuaded you will be worth it.’

  ‘She will be a dutiful wife,’ Anne said.

  ‘Then the sooner the better,’ he said. ‘Three weeks from now, shall we say?’

  Lydia glanced at her mother, her expression giving away her dismay.

  ‘I think three months might be more easily managed, Sir Arthur,’ Anne said. ‘There is much to do, bridal clothes to buy, a feast to arrange. Word to be got to my brother-in-law, Lord Fostyn. I do not think Lydia needs his permission, but he is the head of the family and courtesy demands I ask it.’

  ‘Let us compromise,’ he said. ‘Let us say the second week in May. A pleasant time for a wedding, don’t you think?’

  ‘Very well, Sir Arthur,’ Lydia said. What was the point of putting it off? She had agreed to marry him and that was almost as binding as a marriage, so why delay the inevitable? But oh, how much she longed for someone like her umbrella man. Why did he have to turn out to be Ralph Latimer? Why did her dreams have to be shattered so cruelly? Had she done something very wicked, that she must be punished for the rest of her life?

  She looked at her mother and smiled weakly. And her mother, seeing it, found tears welling in her own eyes and had to turn away.

  ‘We will announce the coming nuptials at the soirée I am having at my home next week,’ Sir Arthur said, addressing Mrs Fostyn. ‘Is there anyone yo
u would particularly like me to invite? I will, of course, be sending invitations to all the local dignitaries and what passes for the haute monde in this part of the country.’ There was a slight tone of disparagement in his voice which was not lost on Lydia.

  ‘I cannot think of anyone at such short notice,’ Anne said. ‘There is no time for my two other daughters or Lord Fostyn and his wife to make arrangements to travel, though no doubt they will come for the wedding.’

  ‘Very well. What about the Earl of Blackwater?’

  ‘No,’ Lydia said.

  Sir Arthur turned to her with a smile of satisfaction. ‘You have no love for the Squire of Colston, my dear? I can hardly blame you for that, I am not over-fond of him myself, but I think to exclude him will only add to the gossip when it were better we buried it. After all, this is a small community and we have to put the past behind us and learn to live together in harmony.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said her mother. ‘I have no objection to his lordship and Lydia will overcome her enmity of him when she realises how lucky she is to have you to protect her from malicious tongues.’

  ‘Then I will take my leave and look forward to seeing you Friday se’ennight.’ They all rose, he bowed to Anne and kissed the back of Lydia’s hand and was escorted to the door by Janet. They heard the door close and the sound of his carriage leaving. Mother and daughter sank back on to their seats with huge sighs of relief, Anne because she had managed to overcome the gentleman’s reservations, Lydia because he had gone and she did not have to endure his presence any longer. The effort to be civil had taken all her self-control.

  But what of the future? Day after day, living with him. How would she manage it? She must try to see the good in him, she told herself, the pleasant side of his character, which had accepted her mother’s version of events without question and was prepared to help them face down their critics, to enjoy her new-found wealth, which in some ways would give her a certain freedom to do as she liked. As long as she never fell in love. She must guard against that, whatever happened.