Chapter Eight
Durward entered into the festivities at Lady Hawthorn’s gathering with renewed enthusiasm for life.
Carina filled his mind and his heart. Her trust, her kiss, had overwhelmed him, not just with desire—which he had resisted only by bolting—but with determination to be worthy of her, to be a better man.
He could not help being the life and soul of the party. It was in his nature. But he tracked down Bethany at once and got the full truth out of her about Duncan’s trouble at school.
“Playing cards at night when the lights should be out isn’t so bad,” he said comfortably.
“For coin,” Edgar Baldeston, his brother-in-law, said wryly. “And he set up card schools in the younger boys’ dormitories, where he took a cut in coin or kind.”
“Enterprising,” Durward allowed. “Though perhaps a little...greedy. Does the school want to expel him?”
“Of course it does!” Bethany said. “Edgar wrote to the headmaster, begging the time to visit and make matters right, but the school remains adamant.”
“I’ll go,” Durward said. “It’s on my way to Gullaine Park anyway.”
“You’re going home?” Bethany said in surprise.
“I haven’t been paying enough attention, and there’s no reason I shouldn’t now, if Foster isn’t going to die on me.”
Edgar eyed him closely. “Exactly who are you again? And what have you done with my brother-in-law?”
“He’s trying to sort out his affairs,” Bethany said, grinning. “To impress this Miss Jasper. I hope she is all you say, Dukie—or at least didn’t say for it was your discretion that impressed me. I’ve raved about her to all my friends who might conceivably employ her.”
“So, who is she then, Dukie?” Edgar demanded.
“Did I never tell you about the tugboat captain’s daughter?
” Durward asked. It was his way of talking about Carina without seeming to.
He made it sound like yet another casual affair which no one would ever associate with his bride, yet it soothed his soul just to let his mind dwell on her, to describe her beauty and spirit.
Although he truly meant to leave Lady Hawthorn’s party early, he found himself caught up in the defence of the apparently vulnerable Duke of Death, as the frail young Duke of Isbourne was known.
Isbourne had chosen to make his social debut at this event, and for some reason Durward’s protective instincts were aroused, especially when his old friend Tabitha, Countess of Sark, appeared to be involved.
Durward, who had once won a wager at Oxford concerning the reclusive duke, now found himself liking the unusual young man.
For his part, Isbourne proved that he was, in fact, well able to take care of himself, Lady Sark and Lady Sark’s stepdaughter, to say nothing of his own overweening family.
Which finally left Durward free to drive to Eton.
The headmaster, Dr. Keate, was not known to Durward, who had studied under the somewhat laxer regime of his predecessor. Keate appeared to be the complete opposite of old Goodall and managed to set Durward’s back up within five minutes.
“I must insist your brother is removed from the school for at least one month. Which takes us to the end of term. And even then, he will only be re-admitted under strict conditions which both you and he must swear to before I will consider it.”
Durward’s initial reaction was to blister the jumped-up master and take Duncan away to another school. But sense prevailed. He was pretty sure he knew what Duncan was up to and why. And he knew only too well that running from problems became a bad habit.
“I am tempted to agree,” he said thoughtfully. “However, does it not seem to you that an extra month’s holiday is exactly what Duncan wants?”
Keate blinked and closed his mouth. “In disgrace?”
“Trust me, that isn’t how he sees it. Allow me a few hours with him and see us both again this evening. Or give up and admit failure against a spirited boy. Word will spread.” Durward showed his teeth. “Trust me.”
Duncan was duly summoned from whichever empty closet in which he had been kept in solitary confinement from his peers and greeted his brother with a delighted grin.
“Hurry up then,” Durward said. “We’re going into Windsor.”
Over a hearty luncheon, Durward established two truths. Firstly, that Keate was a bully and over fond of the birch. And secondly, that Duncan was indeed emulating his elder brother in bad behaviour, with the full intention of being expelled.
“You’re right,” Durward said at last. “Keate is a bully. And we don’t let bullies win. Why should you make his life easier for him? But then, forcing the younger boys to play cards against the rules and extracting money for facilitating their crime, smacks of bullying too. Don’t you think?”
Duncan’s face reddened. “No! I never bully any of them! Never have to.”
“Can you say the same for your friends, who might help you, or take over when you lose interest? Oh no, that has to end.” He considered.
“For a bright lad like you, Duncan, there’s only one way to defeat a man like Keate.
Keep your nose clean, study, and prove your worth.
Do well enough and I’ll consider letting you sit the entrance examination to Oxford early. ”
It was not what Duncan wanted to hear, and inevitable arguments and pleadings ensued. But somehow, with a mixture of joking, teasing, and explaining, he won Duncan’s agreement.
Returning to the school, they were again shown into Keate’s office. This time, Durward set down the rules.
“I am prepared to allow my brother to stay on here,” he said, as though doing the school a massive favour. “Duncan is prepared to work hard and follow the rules until the end of term, which is, after all, only a few weeks distant. After that, we shall decide if he returns.”
Duncan made a choking noise and Durward knew he was trying not to laugh aloud.
Having achieved his main point, Durward departed, determined to write to several other schools. He had saved Duncan from the disgrace of expulsion, but he did not care for Keate’s form of discipline. He would not have his brother abused or his spirit quelled by cruelty.
The following day, he set off for Gullaine Park, his principal seat, where he discovered old and familiar tenants being evicted for non-payment of rent—and this just before harvest time.
DESPITE HER FEARFULNESS that everyone at Grand Court would look down on her, from the lady of the house to the lowliest maid, Carina found she adapted surprisingly quickly to life in this somewhat chaotic grand country house.
Sir John and Lady Grandison’s own children were married and living elsewhere.
The children she housed and wished to be educated, were orphans, the sisters and cousin of her goddaughter, Miss Harriet Cole.
Miss Cole was a down-to-earth, slightly reserved young lady with laughing eyes, who was betrothed to the infamous Earl of Sanderly.
Even without Lady Mansel’s scandal-loving letters to inform her, Carina would have heard of Sanderly. Accused of everything from cheating at cards to dishonourable conduct during the war, for which he was cashiered, this nobleman’s awful reputation did not appear to trouble her charges.
“We like Snake,” the youngest, Orchid, who was barely six years old, told her. They were all in the schoolroom at the time, awaiting the earl’s imminent arrival for his wedding, which was to take place at Grand Court. “We’re going to go and live with him and Harriet.”
“And that pleases you?” Carina asked, hiding her concern.
Rose, all of eleven years old, laughed. “Of course. We’ve lived with Cousin Randolph, after all! And we do plague the life out of poor Lady Grandison.”
Lady Grandison never looked plagued, merely distracted as she drifted about the house organizing things is a bizarre order.
She frequently asked for Carina’s help with minor tasks such as mending bed-hangings, counting cutlery, or even giving her opinion of a particular section of garden, or the colour scheme of some minor room.
Yesterday, when Lady Grandison had joined the children and Harriet in the garden for tea, she had wandered off again in mid-sentence in search of some silver table decoration that she had decided would be perfect for the wedding breakfast. Carina had found herself doubting that anything would be ready for the grand event.
Unexpectedly, she caught Miss Cole’s glinting gaze. It was one of the things Carina liked in Harriet, that she saw the humour in every situation and quite without malice.
“It will all be perfect, you know,” Harriet said, “although I don’t quite understand how. And she does it all without getting remotely flustered.”
Carina blushed. “I have an orderly mind, and I find myself wishing to take over, which is horribly presumptuous.”
Harriet laughed. “No, quite natural. We arrived here in the middle of her house party, throwing ourselves upon her mercy without warning, and she merely absorbed us. And Sir John is something of a saint, which probably helps. Now, only a few weeks later, she is organizing a massive wedding breakfast which amounts to a second house party in one season, and it will all go swimmingly. Probably because everyone loves her.”
“We do,” Orchid pronounced. “And we don’t love many people.”
“Only because we don’t know many people,” Lily said. She was the frailest of the family, in somewhat delicate health. “Do you, Miss Jasper?”
“Not really,” Carina said, blinking in surprise.
“I lived in the same town all my life until I came here, so I recognize many there. I even know their names, but I would not say I know them.” She did not say she had thought of several of them as good friends until her father’s fall from grace. The experience had opened her eyes.
“You must know Mrs. Baldeston well,” Harriet said.