Chapter Eighteen
Bascombe finished reading Lord Caindale’s letter and tossed it onto the table.
He and Jack sat in his library fortified with glasses of brandy, the ever-present cheroot in the colonel’s hand.
“Viscount Holmes was seen to be conversing in the House of Lords with Butterstone before the marquess left London. I have been trying to locate him. According to his staff, he’s at his country house in Surrey.
” Bascombe gestured to the letter. “So Caindale has decided it’s got too hot for him in London. Gone north, you say?”
“Lady Caindale is very concerned about the baron,” Jack said. “With good reason. He’s got himself mixed up in this nefarious business. Just for money?”
“Like many English, he’s a dyed-in-the-wool royalist.”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t see him as the sort of man to fight for his beliefs.”
“No. What seems more likely is that he’s dangerously close to Dun territory.”
“Yes, his cotton mill in Manchester is in trouble.” Jack put down his glass and stood.
“I’ll watch out for Lord Holmes, and if Lord Caindale doesn’t appear by the time I get back from Waltham Abbey, I’ll go north to find him.
But first, I have a wedding to attend in a sennight. My good friend Harold Feather’s.”
“A pleasant task, indeed. Who’s the lady?”
“Lady Erina Rountree.”
Bascombe smiled. “A vivacious young woman. Please convey my best to them both.”
The next day, Viscount Holmes’s butler informed Jack that his master had not yet returned to London. The guard outside Lord Caindale’s house also confirmed he was still away.
Jack filled in the hours familiarizing himself with his new staff and discussing his investments with Stinson. He was already feeling confined. Time to take up Grant’s invitation to visit Stamford.
In the afternoon, Jack drove his phaeton and newly purchased pair of thoroughbreds into Hertfordshire intending to view the whippet pup his cousin had offered him. Jack was fond of the breed. They were gentle animals, as fast as greyhounds and excellent rabbiters.
At his father’s enormous sandstone pile, which was now Grant’s home, Jack greeted the staff. Half a dozen remembered him as a young lad.
After an elaborate luncheon, he and Grant made their way on foot to view the dog, as the day was fine and pleasantly warm. They crossed the manicured grounds while Jack related all that had happened since they’d last met.
Grant’s gray eyes widened. “You still suspect Caindale to be behind all this?”
“He’s in it right up to his neck,” Jack said. “He’s been playing a deep game.”
“Who would have thought it of Caindale? He’s a member of my club, played hazard with him. Terrible player. Always loses. Must owe money everywhere.”
Jack glanced at him. “That’s interesting. So, money would be his motivation?”
“Money generally is.”
The cacophony from the hound’s enclosure reached them as they approached.
“Our prize bitch recently whelped a fine litter,” Grant said. “You can have your pick, but there’s one I’m willing to bet you will choose.”
Jack grinned. “You know me that well?”
Grant laughed. “I ought to. And he is also the one I would choose. Has a good deal of spirit.”
Excited barking rent the air as Grant surveyed the boisterous litter.
“Well?” Grant asked.
One pup tried to climb up the wire.
“This one,” Jack said, poking a finger through the wire. The pup promptly licked it.
Grant smiled. “Then I’ve won the bet.”
“I believe you,” Jack said with a laugh.
Once Grant had instructed the gamekeeper, Mr. Manners went inside the enclosure and grabbed the pup.
He returned with the small animal in his arms and held the pup out.
Jack took the squirming body, feeling the delicate bones through silky fur the color of a fine French cognac and spotted with rich cream.
He held him up, the rangy legs dangling.
Showing no fear, the dog’s long snout dived at him, trying to lick his face.
“He’ll do.” Jack laughed and held him away to escape his puppy breath. “I’ll return for Brandy as soon as I can.”
“It’s to be Brandy, is it?” Grant grinned. “So, you’ve decided not to wander about the country?” Grant asked.
“My plans haven’t changed.” To his own ears, he sounded so confident, yet he’d never been so unsure his instincts were right.
“Do you want the pup to remain here until you return?”
“No. I have something in mind for him. I’ll let you know.”
Grant nodded but made no attempt to probe him further.
Jack returned Brandy to Mr. Manners, and he and Grant walked back along the road toward the house.
“So Feather is to be wed, eh? Please pass on my felicitations to the bride, and my congratulations to Harry,” Grant said. “And tell him what a poor show it is not to have invited me.”
“Sir Ambrose and Lady Erina’s father wished for a discreet affair,” Jack explained. “Don’t be offended.”
“Oh? Is there a need for haste?”
“No, nothing like that. But their unescorted journey to Ireland would raise many eyebrows if it were discovered.”
“Their secret is safe with me.” Grant laughed. “Harry must have fallen hard to act in such an uncharacteristic manner.”
“One might think so.”
“How fortunate he is to have found his love,” Grant said lyrically.
Jack grinned at his cousin. Grant was a confirmed cynic. “For love, all love of other sights controls, / And makes one little room, an everywhere.”
Grant raised an eyebrow. “Never expected to hear you quoting Donne’s love poetry. Are you suffering from the same condition as Harry? Might marriage be on the cards?”
Jack’s neck prickled, and he rubbed it, annoyed with himself for giving his cousin a reason to suspect he was in love.
It seemed like daring fate to talk of his hopes and dreams. Especially when he wasn’t sure why she’d withheld information from him.
She must have had a good reason, which he would learn in time, but even so, a future for him and Althea seemed improbable, as marrying him would isolate her from the ton and the life she’d always known.
He could never be the reason her friends turned away from her.
“Have I given you any reason to suspect it would be?”
Grant chuckled. “Methinks you doth protest too much, Jack.”
Jack grinned despite himself as they skirted a hedgerow. “One doesn’t need to be in love to appreciate good poetry.” He sought to change the subject. “What about you? I gather a lady has yet to steal your heart?”
“Nicely deflected, Jack.” Grant settled his hat more firmly on his head. “I grow weary of debutantes. Frightened fawns, most of them. And their mothers!” He shuddered.
They strolled through the superb parkland approaching the renowned gardens designed by Capability Brown: lush lawns dotted with Cedars of Lebanon, London Plane trees and weeping willow trees along the banks of the lake.
“Not surprising, when you’re the most sought-after bachelor in London,” Jack said.
“You might want to choose a bride, just so you can find some peace.”
Grant frowned. “Marriage doesn’t necessarily bring peace.”
Jack recalled Grant’s parents’ fraught relationship. Now a widow, his mother had at last begun to enjoy life. “Is Aunt Elizabeth here?”
“No, Mother has settled in the London house with great enthusiasm. She’s always off attending an affair or other, so I seldom see her.” Grant pursed his lips. “But every so often, she holds a soiree or dinner party for the specific reason of introducing me to some debutante.”
“Ah.”
He scowled. “And she makes no secret of which of them she favors.”
Jack slapped him on the back. “Buck up. You might agree with her choice one of these days.”
*
Erina stood before the cheval mirror while her aunt fastened the pearl buckle on the white, satin girdle at her back.
It was a lovely gown. Made by a modiste in London of sheer muslin over white satin, ornamented at the border with narrow, quilted flounces.
The bust was trimmed with beautiful lace, as were the short sleeves.
Her hands trembled a little as she pulled on the long, white kid gloves and gently patted her hair, dressed in the Roman style, a short, delicate veil falling from the tiara of pearls.
“You look beautiful, Erina,” said her aunt, resplendent in lilac silk. “This gown sets off your wonderful hair perfectly. Just like your mother on her wedding day.”
Erina examined herself in the mirror. Would Harry approve? She touched the pearls as grief at her mother’s absence made her fear she might cry. She swallowed and banished them, gazing over her shoulder. “Mama wore white?”
“No, white and cream were not fashionable for brides before Princess Charlotte’s wonderful silver wedding gown set the Town ablaze. Your mother wore blue, as I recall, or was it green? She looked perfectly lovely in it.”
Erina wished she didn’t feel so alone. She hadn’t even been able to invite her friends she’d made in London last year. But they lived so far away, it was doubtful they could have made the journey at such short notice.
“I remember your mother’s first introduction to the family,” her aunt continued. “Furious with my brother’s choice, our father almost refused to acknowledge her.”
Erina touched her mother’s pearl necklace at her throat and admired the matching pearl-and-diamond earrings. If only Mama were here beside her. Aunt Abbie was obliging, but she did talk so.
“My goodness, you’re pale, Erina. A touch of rouge.
” Her aunt hurried to her room. She returned and urged Erina to sit before the dressing-table mirror.
“No need for anyone to know,” she said as she applied a little to Erina’s cheeks.
“That’s much better. Bite your lip, dear.
Like this.” Her aunt’s visage appeared over her shoulder in an odd grimace.
“You should be sparkling with excitement, not drifting about like a waif. Why, when I married Herbert, I declare I was…”
As Aunt Abbie’s voice droned on, Erina’s thoughts drifted.
What was Harry thinking? Was he eager to marry her, or deeply disappointed?
They could have prevented this marriage if only she’d stayed in London and not dragged him off to Ireland.
The only pleasing thing in the whole affair was Cathleen’s glowing letters, filled with joy now that her beau, Mr. Leahy, had returned to Naas.
In her quiet moments, Erina was forced to admit that she’d been running away, afraid life would not measure up to her dreams. Poor Harry.
Struck down by Gormley and now forced to marry her.
Tears blurred her reflection in the mirror.
She blinked them away, fearing they would run down her cheeks and ruin her aunt’s efforts.
Would Harry ever forgive her for placing him in this position?
“Now for the shawl, my dear. My wedding present to you.” Aunt Abbie slipped the gossamer shawl, light as a feather, over Erina’s shoulders.
“Remember to remove it before you walk down the aisle.” She sighed.
“Your young man will fall at your feet when he sees you. I can’t wait to meet him.
My brother has nothing but praise for him… ”
Erina walked ahead of her aunt. She paused, with a hand on the banister. “Thank you for all you’ve done, Aunt Abbie.” She swallowed, her throat tight with emotion. “I don’t know how I would have managed without you.”
“Pish. No need for that.” Aunt Abbie patted her arm. “Do smile, Erina. You’re so pretty when you do. Just like your mother. What a pity she’s…”
Erina forced a smile onto her lips and clutched the stair rail, fearing her legs wouldn’t carry her safely down.
As her father considered it best, due to the circumstances, for the wedding to be a simple affair, she didn’t need bridesmaids.
She descended the stairs with her aunt in a hat trimmed with violets behind her.
Her father in his dark suit waited for her at the bottom, his expression one of pride and perhaps a little relief.
He offered her his arm. She transferred her bouquet to her left hand and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. He patted her hand, a trace of sadness in his eyes. “You look very lovely, indeed, Erina. Be happy.”
Sensing he thought of her mother, she nodded and squeezed his hand. “I will be.” And if this was to be a marriage of convenience only, she was determined that Papa would never learn of that fact.