Amy Lake (18 page)

Lady Susan was in love.

Not with the Marquess of Carinbrooke, of course. She’d never happened to meet Lord Ashdown, since her come-out only months before, at any of the London functions.
His
name was Edward Fetterwick and he was the most handsome, most dashing, and kindest man in all of England, with shoulders wide enough to fill a jacket to perfection and a smoldering gaze that left her weak in the knees.
He
was also, most unfortunately, a cit.

And not a wealthy one. In truth, Mr. Fetterwick was no more than comfortable. He owned a small printing shop near Finsbury Square, which was a respectable address, and a home on Chiswell Street, with even a bit of garden. Lady Susan had spent long afternoons in that garden, when she was supposed to be having tea with her best friend, Jessica Mill. She longed to be there now with her whole heart.

A rich cit might have been acceptable to her father, ultimately. Lady Susan had no doubt that the earl’s financial situation would worsen—one could count on some things as one counted on the sun to rise—and his desperation would grow.

Eventually.

Lady Susan allowed herself a small, private moue of distaste. Her father’s penchant for gambling, combined with his inability to formulate a single coherent thought after a glass of port, was leading quickly to the family’s financial ruin. Lady Susan and her younger sisters were the subjects of gossip from every corner of society; not that gambling was rare, but an earl losing his vast fortune within a few years of its inheritance was just the type of calamity that few could resist commenting upon. And her mother had not helped matters, as the countess seemed to require a new gown for each day of the week, and more than one hat.

Fools, she thought, the both of them. She wondered if her parents had given a single thought to any of their three daughters when they had gambled and spent their way into disaster.

Probably not.

In all the months since she had met Edward Fetterwick, Lady Susan had not been imprudent enough to make their association known to the earl and the countess, and they continued to pressure her to find the richest husband possible among the
ton
. And in fact, Susan knew this was the reason Lady Edwina—whom she rather liked—had suggested that she attend the house party at Elswick Manor. Compared to the parade of wealthy nincompoops that her parents had introduced to her, Edwina’s brother was probably a paragon of sense, and under differing circumstances she might have accepted an offer from Lord Ashdown with alacrity. But marquess or not, Lady Susan had no intention of marrying anyone other than Edward Fetterwick. She would die a spinster if needs be, she would pine away in her bedroom, and Edward would walk the streets, alone—

Well. At any rate, Lady Susan had tried to cry off from the trip into Northumberland. Edwina had not understood.

“’Twill be fun,” she protested, when Lady Susan had shown her reluctance. “The entire family will attend, and I believe my sister has invited half of London as well.”

Susan continued to demur, but once the countess got wind of the invitation, the matter was settled. And now she was stuck here, in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, far from the man she loved, and the Marquess of Carinbrooke had yet to make an appearance. Perhaps when he did, thought Lady Susan, she could make it clear to him that they would never suit, and go home. Eventually her father might become frantic enough to welcome one less daughter to outfit and feed, and she could escape to the small house on Chiswell Street.

But even as she imagined herself in Edward Fetterwick’s home, and in his bed, she knew it to be impossible. If she did not marry well, ’twould be Katherine and Anne, her sisters, who would be the next victims of her parents’ stupidity.

Edwina swears the marquess is intelligent and kind, thought Lady Susan. Perhaps it is the best I can do.

Chapter 31: First Meeting

Lady Susan Daubney appeared in the breakfast room dressed in a lovely day gown of embroidered muslin. The marquess admitted at once that she was pretty, if not quite as amply curved as Mrs. Marwick.

“Susan! Darling!” cried Evelyn, and hurried to make the introduction.

Lord Ashdown and Lady Susan exchanged pleasantries, with the young woman remarking upon the weather and the Colin asking about her travel from London. Evie, satisfied, sat back to engage Edwina in a discussion of her plans for the day, apparently to give the couple a bit of privacy.

“I trust the earl is well,” began Lord Ashdown, who knew almost nothing of the man.

A shadow seemed to cross Lady Susan’s face. “My parents are in tolerable health, thank you,” she replied, offering nothing further.

“And your siblings?” He hoped there was a brother or sister, or two, and that he would not be forced to admit his entire ignorance of the family.

“Ah.” Lady Susan eyes held the first hint of sparkle. “My sisters remain in London. Katherine made her come out just last year. Anne is still in the schoolroom.”

“So your parents have their hands full, I imagine.”

She did smile at that. ’Twas a pretty enough smile, although it did not quite reach her eyes.

“I believe they would say so, yes.”

They managed a few more commonplaces before Lady Susan turned to the sideboard to select her breakfast. Other young women of the
ton
would have jumped at the chance for a
tête-à-tête
with the marquess, but there was nothing remotely flirtatious in the girl’s manner. Lord Ashdown realized, after only a few minutes of conversation, that the look in Lady Susan’s eyes was not one of nervous anticipation, but of . . . annoyance.

She does not want to be here, he thought. How odd.

Lady Beckwith glanced his way, with a look that the marquess could read perfectly well.

Come now, Colin, be your ever-so charming self. ’Twill be the work of an hour to secure her.

He wasn’t so sure. How lowering, thought Lord Ashdown. Yet a second female who evinced no interest in becoming his wife.

  * * * *

Lady Beckwith’s plans for her brother and his supposed future bride came to naught that day, as the young lady in question retired to her rooms shortly after breakfast, declaring a headache.

Lord Ashdown, deprived of any immediate opportunity to speak further and in private to Lady Susan, changed into riding clothes and went down to the manor stables, a large building considerably newer than the house itself, and in the winter, often warmer. He found both of his younger sisters there, feeding carrots and sugar to Artemis.

“We are attempting to extract you from this pickle as quickly as possible,” said Eddie.

“Although Lady Susan is quite pretty,” added Eleanor.

“Ellie.”

“Yes, well I think Colin should have the chance to make up his own mind.”

That would be a first, thought Colin.

The marquess greeted Bunny, and thought he must be imagining the look of reproach in the stallion’s eyes. “They are perfectly fine stables,” he reminded Bunny.

“I believe he is missing Madelaine,” said Edwina.

The marquess refused comment. “Does Lady Susan seem unhappy to you?” he asked them.

Lady Edwina pursed her lips. “Now that you mention it—”

“I think she’s simply tired of the food,” said Ellie. “We’ve had nothing but heavy chops and cream sauces for weeks. Anyone would be dyspeptic.”

“It’s more than that,” said Colin. “I do believe she has no interest in becoming a marchioness. At least not mine.”

“Everyone,” said Eddie, “wants to be a marchioness. Unless the position of duchess is available, and Fitzroy’s eldest is already engaged to—oh, what’s her name—Mary—.”

Fitzroy’s eldest was the son of the Duke of Grafton.

“Mary Berkeley, you goose,” said Eleanor. Her face lit up. “Perhaps Lady Susan is in love with someone entirely unsuitable!”

Lady Edwina laughed. “Ellie, you always think people are in love with someone entirely unsuitable.”

“Ha! And I’m right more often than not, aren’t I? I wonder who it might be—a tradesman, perhaps, or . . . ”

“Perhaps,” said Edwina, “she simply does not want to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.”

Lord Ashdown’s eyes narrowed. What was this? Admittedly, he had paid scant attention to either sister’s earlier description of Lady Susan, but— “Gods, don’t tell me,” he said. “The family is in financial straits.”

“Oh, Cols, we did tell you that. Ages ago.”

“What is it this time? Gambling or drink?”

“Both,” said Eleanor. “The earl is said to play a decent hand when he’s sober, but you’ve only to offer him brandy. Which of course
everyone
does.”

Eddie agreed. “One drink,” she said, “and Beckwith could take him.”

  * * * *

The marquess saddled Bunny, and headed out for an extended ride. Evie would protest if she knew—you’ve only just arrived, he could hear her say—but Lord Ashdown refused to spend the morning in one of the overheated salons of the manor, listening to Lord Beckwith opine on anything and everything that chanced to cross his mind.

Evelyn was an intelligent, cultured woman, and yet she seemed quite fond of her husband, and indulged him in every whim. Colin had never understood why.

He and Bunny headed south, to High Head Wood, and soon made their way so deeply into the forest that an absolute quiet reigned. The marquess allowed himself to put all thoughts of his family to one side, and to concentrate, at last, on thoughts of Fiona Marwick. Her absence was ever present as an ache, a hole that could not be filled. He wondered what she was doing at that very moment, and lost himself for several minutes in contemplation; she was walking along the cliff, she was reading to Madelaine, she was stirring another delicious soup, sipping tea . . .

He would make her see reason. She cared for him, he knew she did. And he loved her with his entire heart, with a passion that he had never expected to feel for any woman.

Fiona.

What was he to do now? How soon could he approach Lady Susan and offer some explanation for his lack of interest, how soon could he return to Tern’s Rest? Even Bunny was restive here, and the marquess felt a sudden impulse to turn the stallion’s head to the southeast, and leave for Barley Mow on the instant. But the habits of a lifetime of being responsible for a family stopped him. He could not leave. Yet.

Had Lady Susan really formed an attachment to another gentleman? That would certainly be the easiest solution. But Edwina had assured him that this was not the case, and Eddie’s information was usually impeccable. He hoped beyond reason that she was wrong this time. He hoped that Lady Susan had as little interest in him as he did in her.

  * * * *

That evening the house guests gathered for mulled wine before a late dinner. Lord Ashdown saw most of the party now for the first time. Beckwith’s two younger brothers were present, and Colin and Eddie exchanged an eye-rolling glance. Timothy and Samuel Beckwith were twins, and were currently down from Magdalen College at Oxford, where they were, by every account, the bane of their tutors and perhaps the two young men least likely to ever profit by a university education.

Timothy and Samuel fancied themselves clever and a couple of fine lads; they openly complained that the company at Elswick Manor was stultifying and their older brother dull, and they never missed a chance to have fun at his expense. Lord Ashdown found them insufferable.

’Twas almost enough to give one sympathy for Lord Beckwith.

“Colin,” said Evelyn suddenly, “Dinner will be slightly delayed, and I do not believe Lady Susan has seen the gallery. Could you perhaps give her a short excursion?”

“We’ll take her!” said Timothy.

“I believe the marquess showed some prior interest,” said Lady Beckwith, with narrowed eyes.

“Of course,” said the marquess, and held out his arm to Lady Susan.

He saw a flash of irritation cross the girl’s face. Good heavens, thought Colin. Did she really prefer the company of the Dreadful Twins? The chit could hardly have taken a
personal
dislike of him after less than a day’s acquaintance.

Edwina looked after him with sympathy in her eyes.

Lady Susan and the marquess walked in silence to the gallery, which made up the north face of the house. The long room was lit in the evening by rows of wax candles, which gave out a warm glow and illuminated the paintings of a few score of Beckwith ancestors and the environs surrounding the manor itself. Under other circumstances the tour might have been a romantic one, but the paintings were nothing remarkable and his companion seemed disinclined to exclaim over any of them.

“Thank you,” she said finally.

He sent her a questioning look.

“Timothy and Samuel are dear boys, I’m sure, but I confess I find them occasionally . . . ”

“Unbearable?” suggested Lord Ashdown.

Lady Susan gave a small sigh. “Perhaps,” she admitted.

They walked for another several minutes and the marquess finally decided that enough was enough. He stopped and faced her.

“I must apologize for the delay in my arrival—” be began, thinking that perhaps her pique had been occasioned by the long wait.

She interrupted him at once, with the first smile he had seen. “With a broken leg, my lord, it seems hardly a surprise. You are fortunate to be here now.”

’Twas a civil answer.

“I should have sent word earlier.”

“It is of no matter. Your sister is a generous hostess.”

“You’ve not been left hungry, I hope?”

She laughed at that, but Lord Ashdown could think of nothing further, as ‘I’m in love with another woman and wish to leave the manor at once’ seemed unacceptably blunt.

After a short hesitation Lady Susan did mention one of the landscapes as being particularly fine.

“Yes,” said Lord Ashdown. “It was painted from the environs of the Town Moor, north of the manor.”

“How lovely.”

The moment for confession had passed. They returned to the dinner party in silence, and the marquess said no more to Lady Susan for the rest of the night.

Chapter 32: In the Absence of Cousin Wilfred