22 Departures And Arrivals
If Cora had imagined that the Marquess of Beckwith would be seen no more at Lilac House, she was speedily disabused of the notion.
He must have risen directly from the Staineybank breakfast table and walked down to the village, for there he was on the front step, a little after eleven, beaming at her over the head of Timmy, who had opened the door to him.
“My lord! Is all well at Staineybank?” Cora said, for she could think of no other reason for him to call.
“Perfectly, as far as I can tell. I so enjoyed your company yesterday that I am come for a second helping. If you are at home, that is.”
“Of course, my lord. Do come in.”
“If you have no objection, perhaps we may sit in the garden? There is a bench under the apple trees which would be a pleasantly cool place to enjoy this balmy weather.”
“I shall fetch my embroidery,” Cora said helplessly, quite unable to deter a marquess from doing whatever he liked.
And thus was set the pattern of every day thereafter.
He would arrive before noon, and sit with her until it was time to return to Staineybank to dress for dinner.
He never again ate his dinner with them, which was a relief, but he nibbled all day at whatever cakes or biscuits they had on hand, while working his way steadily through the supply of wine.
In fine weather, they sat out in the garden on the bench, still unfinished, that Cal had made, and if it should happen to rain, they retreated to the parlour.
Cora was bemused by it, but Cal found it entertaining.
“He means no harm by it, I’m sure,” he said, as Cora enjoyed her final cup of tea in the parlour on the third evening of the marquess’s visits.
“But what does he want?” Cora said helplessly. “If it is company he seeks, he will get more of it at Staineybank, and more lively than he will find here.”
“It’s your company in particular he seeks,” Cal said, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “I can’t blame him for that, but if it bothers you—”
“No, no, let us not brangle with a marquess, for heaven’s sake!
He will be gone soon enough, and at least he brings a little news from Staineybank, when he is not endlessly describing his various properties…
and his horses! I cannot imagine how large his stables must be.
And do not mention his charitable endeavours, for there cannot be an orphanage or alms house or promising tinker’s son untouched by his philanthropy.
Deeply worthy, no doubt, but he is more boring than alarming. ”
“So long as he remains so.”
“He is a harmless eccentric,” Cora said with a shrug.
“Besides, Souter tries never to leave me alone with him. She has industriously been hemming and rehemming the same handkerchief for days, although my reputation is surely beyond the point of redemption by any chaperon, no matter how well-intentioned. I just cannot understand why he comes.”
“I’ve been keeping an eye on him, too, and when I can’t, I set Timmy some gardening to do. There’s no danger that he’ll ravish you, not in your own garden.”
She laughed. “I am not concerned about that! He has not said or done anything to suggest that he has designs on my virtue… or what trivial amount of my virtue still remains.”
“You may have your answer right there,” Cal said.
“If he hovers round your daughters, one or other of them is bound to get ideas about becoming a marchioness. He’s safe with you, and he can eat and drink and talk about himself all day without creating expectations.
How does he manage to eat so much, by the way, without blowing up like a balloon?
He’s as thin as a rail. And elegant, too. ”
“Oh, very elegant. One forgets sometimes just what miracles a good tailor can work. The duke does not care about fashion and Richard would never pay the sort of prices the marquess must lay out to look as magnificent as he does. And he is handsome, too, in a haughty, aristocratic way.”
“Should I be jealous?” Cal said in a low voice, leaning towards her. “Should I draw his cork and chase him away from you?”
“Silly boy,” was all she said, and not another word was spoken between them on the subject of Lord Beckwith.
Georgie Hammond called the next day, bearing the news that Mr Garth had arrived and taken Violetta away, and Lord Vincent with her.
“Yet here you still are, my lord,” Cora said to Lord Beckwith, who was there as usual. “You did not wish to accompany your son?”
The marquess waved a manicured hand languidly.
“To Gloucestershire? An entire week in the company of Garth, the world’s most boring man?
I think not. Your gentle company is infinitely preferable, my dear Cora.
I shall amble down there in a week… or maybe two to collect the boy, if he has not run off to Gretna by then. ”
Another week, or maybe two, with the unwanted marquess!
Cora had to call upon deep reserves of civility not to receive this news with obvious dismay.
One day she and Cal left very early for Brinchester in the hope of at least one day free of him, but no, for he bribed Timmy to tell him where they had gone and then borrowed a horse from the ducal stables.
Thus, they emerged from Miss Featherstone’s circulating library in Castle Street to be greeted with the marquess’s smiling face.
This time, Cora could not betray her annoyance. “Is there no escaping you, Lord Beckwith?”
“Not the smallest chance, my dear Mrs Merrington. I have ordered a cold collation at the White Rose, and they are keeping the best parlour for you, naturally.”
“We have left the gig at the Red Dragon.”
“I know. I asked around to find it, but the White Rose is a far superior establishment, and there is no need to economise when you are with me. So that is settled. Have you finished your shopping? I am rather peckish just now.”
“Then perhaps you would rather await us at the White Rose, my lord? I have a long list of items to purchase still.”
“Ah, you are buying a new bonnet, I dare say. Ladies are always buying new bonnets. I am the very person to advise you, for no one understands female fashions better than I do. I shall be able to describe the very latest and most flattering styles.”
“I am sure you are right, but regrettably I have no need for such a skill today,” Cora said, with some satisfaction.
“If you are an expert in the purchase of beef, however…? No? Vegetables? We need peas and beans, our own garden being not in production yet. Oh… not vegetables either. Spices, then? Nutmeg, mace, cloves, cayenne pepper…”
“Shallots,” Cal said. “Butter, some good Brinshire cheese. Lemons! We forgot to put lemons on the list.”
“So we did. I wonder what else we forgot?”
The marquess laughed good-naturedly, not at all put out. “Well, this will be an interesting day, I vow. I have never been into a shop that sells such goods before. Lead on, dear lady. Lead on.”
It may have been interesting to the marquess, who wanted to smell and touch and rub and squeeze every item he saw, and the shopkeepers were appropriately deferential and made no complaint, but Cora was driven nearly demented.
Their shopping, which would have taken no more than an hour or so, filled the whole morning, and then there was the cold collation to be endured.
After that, the drive home was enlivened by the marquess trying to ride alongside the gig in order to maintain his endless flow of inanities to Cora, and almost forcing them into the ditch as he did so.
When he finally rode away to Staineybank, Cora collapsed into a chair with a groan.
“I’ll make you a cup of tea,” Cal said, kissing her forehead. “That will make you feel better.”
“I need something stronger than tea.”
“Claret? Port?” She shook her head. “Brandy, then? You’re very out of sorts.”
“I am indeed very out of sorts. When is he ever going to go home… or anywhere but here?”
Despite her fears that the marquess would never leave, eventually he uttered the words she had been longing to hear.
“Well, my dear, I shall be departing from Staineybank tomorrow. Weather permitting, naturally.”
They were sitting in the parlour, a summer shower pouring down outside, and for once Cora was alone with him.
“Indeed? For Gloucestershire?”
“Gloucestershire?”
“To collect Lord Vincent, I assume,” Cora said.
“Oh… no, he is gone to stay with a friend… in Dorsetshire… Somersetshire… one of those places. Despite his infatuation with the daughter of the house, his patience with the master was swiftly exhausted. No, I return to Northamptonshire.”
“You will be glad to be at home again, I am sure, my lord,” Cora said carefully, securing her needle and laying aside her embroidery in honour of these glad tidings.
“Perhaps. That depends upon you, my dear Cora.”
“On me?” she said, startled. “How can it possibly depend upon me?”
“I shall be very glad to be at home again if you are there with me,” he said.
Cora was reduced to speechlessness.
“Heavens!” he said, with a wry smile. “You must have suspected my motive, I am convinced, so do not feign surprise, dear lady. Naturally you will leave with me.”
“Naturally I shall not!” Cora said, glaring at him. “My place is here, and I have no intention of leaving it.”
“Your place is at my side, as my dear companion.”
“You must be aware, my lord, of the circumstances under which I share a house with Cal. I am no fit companion for a gentleman.”
He waved a hand airily. “Oh, that. It is of no consequence. Once we are married, it will all be forgotten, you may be sure.”
Married! Cora jumped up from her seat and paced across the room to the window, too astonished to sit still. The marquess, undeterred, sat on in his chair, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.
“My lord,” she said, swirling round to face him, “I do not know what strange ideas you have in your head, but I am perfectly content here. I have not the slightest wish to change my situation, nor do I feel that I have given you any reason to suppose I might wish to do so.”