Lord Harry's Daughter (22 page)

And just as he had hoped, after a few turns around the park he had come up with a possible solution not only for his nephew's difficulties, but his own.

Chapter
39

The very next afternoon, Mark unveiled his plan to Sophia and her aunt. “I know that it is difficult to credit, but I believe Richard. He is not a genius, but he is a clever lad, and if he thinks he is being cheated, then he is. The devilish part is to catch the one doing it, and that cannot be done in public. Doubting a man's honor is the worst insult one can offer a gentleman, and one must be extremely circumspect. Therefore, I think it is best to arrange for the unmasking, if there is to be one, someplace away from London and the possibility of gossip.

With that in mind, I have arranged for a small house party at Cranleigh. Buckinghamshire is close enough to town that no one will object to a few days in the country, especially with access to Cranleigh's stables and its cellar. My brother is not a connoisseur of either horses or wine, but familial pride forces him to employ those who are, so the family estate is as famous now as it was in my grandfather's day. Now, however, we come to the part where I must ask for the assistance of you two ladies."

Mark turned to Lady Lydia. “I expect that by now you realize what a talented artist your niece is, but I am not sure you know of her almost magical powers in reading character. She has saved me from the disastrous consequences of my own mistaken impressions more than once, for which I am most grateful, I assure you.

“Miss Featherstonaugh, I know that I am always asking for your help and doing very little to repay it, but if you could join us at Cranleigh and spend a few days sketching my nephew and his friends playing cards, my nieces performing on the pianoforte or reading aloud, I feel certain that you will be able to tell in no time who is the scoundrel among us.” Mark smiled at Sophia in a way that made her bones turn to water. “I cannot offer you much in return except some magnificent countryside for riding and a collection of family portraits done by the masters of the day—Holbein, Vandyke, Hilliard, Kneller. My nieces, Caroline and Maria, will hang on your every word. Caroline is sixteen, Maria fourteen. They consider themselves to be very grown up and are furious at their Papa for refusing to allow them to come to town. My brother, however, knows what a handful they are and says they will have ample opportunity to cause trouble when they have their first Seasons. Until then, they are not being given the slightest chance to risk their reputations. As for you. Lady Lydia, I offer an excellent library. Once again, my brother's pride has insured that he has built the collections of my ancestors. What do you say, ladies? Will you come to my rescue?"

Observing the delicate flush that rose to her niece's cheeks and the sudden sparkle in her eyes, Lady Lydia did not have the heart to refuse. “I have not been to the country in some time. Yorkshire is too long a trip for me, and Broughton Castle is as drafty and uncomfortable an old pile as one could ever hope to see. What do you say, Sophia, to a few days in the country?"

“I ... ah..."

Mark hurried to press his advantage. “Of course, Atalanta is also invited. I am sure she would wish to encourage you to take advantage of the opportunity to leave behind crowded city streets. I shall even give you a chance to beat me in a proper race."

Sophia chuckled. “In the face of such shameless manipulation, what can I do, but say yes?” Her own heart already beat faster at the prospect of gallops in the countryside and the easy camaraderie she had shared with the major in the Peninsula.

So, one bright spring day a little over a week later. Lady Lydia's ancient traveling coach lumbered down Brook Street toward Paddington and then to Buckinghamshire.

Mark and Richard led the way in a shiny new curricle that Mark had purchased, along with a magnificent team of grays, the week before.

The weather promised to be fair for some time and Sophia's spirits, lighter than they had been since her mother's death, rose considerably as they left the busy streets of town behind them and proceeded toward the rich, rolling green of the Chiltern Hills.

Cranleigh was a relatively modem house, constructed during Queen Anne's reign on the ruins of the original Tudor palace built for the Dukes of Cranleigh. It had been designed by Vanbrugh, though on a smaller, more commodious scale than either Blenheim or Castle Howard, and it was situated in a spacious park, surrounded by gardens and grounds laid out by William Kent.

Lady Lydia and Sophia were greeted on their arrival by Caroline and Maria, who were ecstatic at the thought of company besides their governess. “You have no notion how dull it is here,” Caroline confided to Sophia as she led them to their chambers. “Miss Priestly does her best to keep us amused, but really Maria and I are quite beyond the schoolroom now and there is not a great deal more for her to teach us. So it is excessively exciting to have visitors. Uncle Mark says that you have spent most of your life on the Continent. I am sure you have had perfectly splendid adventures and know everything that there is to know about the latest fashions. Of course we have been at war with France, but war or not, everyone always looks to Paris for a true a la modality. And Uncle Mark says that you are a most accomplished artist. Surely you can draw some of the gowns they are wearing in France this year."

Sophia thought of the condesa and smiled ironically. “I expect that I can."

“Oh, could you? Maria and I would simply adore that. We could have them made up in the village. How that would make Lady Lewis and those odious daughters of hers stare!"

Despite her own lack of interest in the fashionable world, Sophia could not help but laugh and promise to do her best. There was something so appealing and infectious about Lady Caroline's absolute conviction that Sophia, who had spent her life in army camps, could give the Duke of Cranleigh's daughters enough fashion to compete with the reigning belles of the countryside.

The days passed quickly enough. Sophia had never really been part of a group of carefree young people, and she found herself thoroughly enjoying the youthful spirits of Maria, Caroline, Richard, and his friends. Watching them all laugh at the antics of the young men as they strove to amuse the girls and Sophia with donkey races and games of battledore. Mark could not help feeling a hundred years old and somewhat out of place. He had been able to comfort Sophia, even make her smile, but he could not ever remember having made her laugh as she did at these childish games.

In the evenings they repaired to the drawing room where Richard and his friends played cards, Caroline practiced the pianoforte, Aunt Lydia read, Sophia sketched, and Mark observed.

After several such evenings he approached Sophia one morning as she was examining the dizzying array of titles in the library. “Do you think you have been able to capture the gamesters accurately enough for us to guess the one we should be wary of?"

“I think so."

“Good. Let me call Richard and you bring your sketchbook."

“Very well.” Sophia ran to retrieve her sketchbook and returned to the library, where Richard and his uncle awaited her.

“Here."

“Why, Miss Featherstonaugh, these are magnificent!” Richard bent over to look at the sketchbook. “You are a true artist, and far more talented than Uncle Mark led us to believe."

“Why thank you.” Sophia blushed with pleasure.

“Indeed she is, but let us have a look at what she has done.” Mark reached over to take the sketches from her and examine them. “Hmmm.” He glanced at first one and then another and then another. “What do you think, Richard?"

“Well, sir, look at the hands. They seem to be held so oddly. And the shoulders. They are tensed as though he is watching for something."

“Precisely. What do you say? I think we have our man."

“I suppose so, but Sir Fenton? It hardly seems possible. He is so plump in the pocket, one cannot imagine he would cheat."

“But look at the way he chews his lip, lad. Could anything be more indicative of an uneasy state of mind?"

“I quite agree, but it is so incredible. Why would..."

“Let us put it to the touch. Play again tonight at your usual card game and I shall watch most carefully."

“You, Uncle? But what can you see? I have been playing cards with this man for over a month now and I have not seen anything amiss."

“Tut, tut, man. I used to be an exploring officer. Give me some credit for knowing what I am about."

“Very well, sir. I hope you can see what I have failed to detect this age."

“Trust your uncle, Lord Richard, he
does
know what he is about.” Sophia could not keep herself from defending Mark.

“If
you
say so. Miss Featherstonaugh, then I shall. But I must say the we, none of us, would be any closer to the truth without your sketches. Your perspicacity is astounding."

“You are too kind."

“No. Truly, I mean that. And how you can be such a talented artist and a magnificent horsewoman besides is something quite out of the ordinary. Anyone can see that Atalanta is a handful, yet you make her perform as though she were a member of Astley's troupe."

“You give me far too much credit."

“Not at all.” Richard's blue eyes glowed with admiration and enthusiasm. “Sir Fenton, Berwick, Northcote, all of them say they have never known a woman to ride so well."

“I thank you all.” Sophia smiled indulgently. His boyish admiration was truly charming, as well as infectious.

Later that afternoon, as they galloped across the fields, she could not help reveling in the almost worshipful way all the young men praised her equestrian abilities. Indeed, the only dark spot in an otherwise perfect day was the cynical smile that twisted the major's lips as he listened to their effusive compliments. Well, he was accustomed to riding with cavalry officers, which naturally left him unimpressed. Let him smile as cynically as he wished, these men, at least, could appreciate the hours she had spent listening to her father's instructions and practicing endlessly under the watchful eye of Sergeant Mapplethorpe.

That evening after only an hour's play. Mark suggested that they break for some refreshment. While the others were listening to Caroline perform a set of lively country airs on the pianoforte, he and Richard called Sir Fenton into the library.

“Crawthorne,” Mark began sternly, “it has come to my attention that you have been enjoying almost unbelievable success at the card table."

“Why yes. I am accounted something of an expert at whist."

“So is my nephew, sir."

Closely observing his uncle, Richard could not remember when he had seen him look so forbidding.

“Ah, but I have made a science of it."

“And I a science of observing. You may have heard of my experiences in the Peninsula. There, I observed men whose lives depended on their skills of deception."

Sir Fenton licked his lips nervously. “I am sure you did. It is said that you are a great hero."

“Enough of a hero, at any rate, to be appalled by a man who would seek to take advantage of his friends."

“How dare you, sir!"

“No. How dare
you, a
gentleman born and bred, seek to defraud your friends like some common Captain Sharp?"

“You are out of order, sir."

“Am I? Then what about the card you have in your left sleeve, or do I have to pull it out for you?"

The unhappy young man collapsed in a heap on the sofa. “Please. You do not understand. I shall be utterly ruined."

“As you sought to ruin my nephew, sir. What possible explanation could you have to offer for such behavior?"

“It was Newmarket, sir. I went there with some fellows from university. We bet on several horses and I was doing well until the last when, intoxicated by my successes, I bet everything and lost. I lost more than I could possibly pay and I was in utter despair until they suggested a round of cards so I could earn some of it back. They were drunk as lords and flushed with their own success so they did not notice when I switched one card for another. I won easily then, and in no time at all I had won it all back. I deserved to win from them. Had it not been for them I should never have been encouraged to bet it all in the first place. But it was so easy and I had been so successful that I could not stop. It added to the challenge of the game to see if not only could I win, but could deceive them as well. Of course I won fabulous sums. And that was that. Soon I could not stop, but I hated myself. I am almost relieved to have been caught. But I beg you, do not expose me. It would kill my father."

“You should have thought of your father in the first place. Now you will pay my nephew and his partner back everything they have lost to you and you will not darken the doors of Watier's, or any other gaming establishment ever again. And believe me, I shall know it if you do."

“But how am I ... yes, sir. You are quite right, sir."

“Now, once you have written vowels for my nephew and his partner you will discover pressing reasons for returning to town."

“Yes, sir. I am sorry, sir, so sorry,” the young man babbled as he hurried from the room.

“There, you see.” Mark turned to his nephew. “You were absolutely right. He was not to be trusted."

Richard wrung his uncle's hand. “Yes, though I still cannot believe it. Thank you, sir."

“Do not thank me. Thank Miss Featherstonaugh."