The Marquess and Miss Davies (11 page)

* * * *

The front door opened at Clare Manor and Lord Leighton heard an anxious, and familiar, female voice.

“Where is she!
Where
is my sister?”

He stepped out into the front hallway to rescue Dean, the butler.

“Miss Davies.”

Isolde looked up at him and nearly ran the length of the hall. “Your lordship! I must see my sister!”

He took her by the arm. “Of course.” The marquess led her to the staircase. “Please, do not worry yourself. Doctor Perrigrew is still with her. He said that she does not seem to have injured her head—”

“But your note said that she had fainted!”

“Only for a moment. The doctor thinks it was the shock to the system from the cut on her arm.”

“A cut!”

“Yes. But a compress seems to have stopped the bleeding. She should be none the worse for wear in a day or two.”

Isolde stopped and stared at him. “You are sure?”

“The doctor is quite confident.”

The girl sighed.

Carys awoke to the smell of freshly-baked bread. She felt a cool breeze from somewhere, and looked around—her head ached at the movement—to see an open window, and the hazy light of a clouded, London mid-afternoon.

She was lying on a bed. Not her bed.

For a moment she remembered nothing, and then—

Ah, yes. She was at the home of the Marquess of Clare. He had brought her here, and a doctor had attended her arm. Carys had a vague memory being given a draught of something at the doctor’s behest, after which she had felt quite light-headed and sleepy, although she still remembered a considerable amount of pain.

When? It didn’t seem so long ago. But—Carys looked out the window again. She had gone out early that morning, and it must be nearly two or three by now.

Good grief. She must have slept half the day away. How ... embarrassing. Well, there was nothing to do about it now, she would send a note to Isa and have a carriage brought round. Carys frowned. Isolde. Her sister would have no idea what had happened to her or where she was. She must be worried sick. But surely the marquess would have sent word to her family. Where were they?

The door opened. “Ah,” came a familiar voice. “So you are finally awake. I was nearly at the point of pinching you.”

“Isa. What—”

“I’m sorry that I was not here. But you have no idea how boring it is to watch another person sleep. I should have known you’d wake up the moment I stepped out.”

 “The marquess—oh gods, Isa, I must leave at once. This is so—”

“Nonsense. Anthony’s cook has put together a lovely tea. If you feel well enough, I believe we can accept your presence downstairs in a riding habit. The dowager marchioness does not seem to stand on much ceremony in her home.”

Carys stared at her twin. “
Anthony
.”

“Well, you can’t expect us to have remained ‘Miss Isolde’ and ‘your lordship’ all day, can you? Did you know he stayed at your bedside for over an hour? ‘Twas romantic, I thought. We played
rounds
of piquet.”

“Piquet.”

“He’s very good.”

“He was here, in this room. While I slept.”

“Well, it
is
his house.”

“Lud.” Carys frowned. “
Why
was I sleeping?”

“Ah. Well, you cut your arm rather badly, and scraped it up as well, and I believe the doctor thought he could do a better job with his treatment if you weren’t screaming and crying the entire time.”

“I would
never
scream and cry.”

“Which I could have told them, but I arrived too late. They gave you laudanum, and a bit much, in my opinion. You were really half-seas under.”

“Do you know, it does rather hurt.” Carys noticed for the first time that the entire right sleeve of her jacket had been cut away. Her arm was wrapped from elbow to shoulder in white gauze.

“Madame is going to be so angry.”

“She’ll be furious,” agreed Isa cheerfully. “But I imagine an order for another ball gown or two will procure her forgiveness.”

“Yes, I suppose so ... “ Carys shook her head to push away the last cobwebs of laudanum, grateful that the sleepiness seemed to be fading rapidly. Then she swung her feet onto the floor, where her toes met soft, thick carpet. Her toes—

“Who took off my boots?” she cried. Had the Marquess of Clare seen her
feet
?

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, relax. I did.”

“In between rounds of piquet.”

Isa ignored this. “What happened, by the way? Lord Leighton thinks you lost control of Alcaeus.”

Of all the ridiculous notions. “I certainly did not.”

“Well, I did tell him that it was
most
unlikely.”

“I was having a lovely gallop when he showed up out of the blue. And then Alcaeus decided ‘twas a race.” Carys remembered something, and bit her lip, thoughtful. “He reared up. I must talk to Jeffers about that.”

“Also, he was highly amused at your saddle.”

Carys groaned. “Oh, gods, I’d forgotten. I suppose the entire
ton
will now discover that I was riding astride.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Anthony won’t tell a soul.”

Carys frowned at her sister. “You seem to be on very good terms with his lordship.”

“You have no idea,” said Isa. “I mean for him to be my brother.”

Carys stuck her tongue out at her twin.

“Charmed, I’m sure.” Isolde looked thoughtfully at her twin, biting her lip. “You really can’t go downstairs like that. Here, you can wear my shawl.”

* * * *

Isolde, who seemed already to have an excellent idea of the layout of Clare Manor, led them downstairs for tea. Carys found herself blushing at the thought of seeing the marquess again. She remembered the conversation—the argument, rather—that had passed between them back at the park, and she also remembered his arms around her waist and that she had, at some point, rested her head against his chest. In her mind she could still hear, with disturbing clarity, the steady beat of his heart.

Isa opened the door into a large, beautifully appointed room. ‘Twas a library, clearly, with shelves to the ceiling and more books than Carys had ever seen in one place before. She had no time to spend on admiration, however, before the door opened again and an older woman entered. She was small and dressed oddly, in a man’s shirt down to her knees. Her hair had come loose on one side; the other side seemed to be knotted and secured up with a small ... paintbrush.

“Hello my dears,” said the woman, with an airy wave. “Don’t mind me, don’t mind me at all. I’m sure Anthony will be down shortly.”

She crossed over to a bookshelf and removed an old and well-used volume, setting it carefully down on the cushions of a nearby settee. She sat down and began paging slowly through the book.

“Botticelli, don’t you know,” said the woman, not bothering to look up. “He’s been quite forgotten these days, but there is some brief mention in Niemetschek’s work.”

“In English?” asked Isa.

“Heavens, no.”

Who was this odd person? wondered Carys. She and Isa exchanged a glance. Her sister only shrugged.

“Mother.”

They turned around to see Lord Leighton standing in the doorway, a look of astonishment on his face. Carys at first thought, with chagrin, and forgetting that Isa had already spent considerable time in conversation with the gentleman, that he was surprised to see the Misses Davies inhabiting his library. She realized later that his surprise was directed instead to the dowager marchioness, who did not generally appear in such dress to anyone other than family.

“Mother, why are you—”

“Hello, dear,” said the woman—the lady, as it seemed—still not looking up from her book.

“Botticelli,” said Isolde, to the marquess. “Or perhaps Niemetschek. ‘Tis difficult to say.”

“Ah. Of course,” said Lord Leighton, and then addressed himself to Carys. “Miss Davies, I hope you are feeling better.”

“I am quite fine, I’m sure. Please forgive us for all the bother—” The apology came out, automatically, before Carys even thought through the matter. Why should she apologize to the Marquess of Clare? The man had nearly killed her with his interference! And where was Alcaeus?

But with Lord Leighton’s mother sitting there, ‘twas hardly the proper setting for a complaint. Carys bit her lip.

“Mother, if you would be so kind, perhaps we could make introductions. We have visitors, as you see.”

“Of course.” Lady Leighton rose, and seemed to really focus on Carys and Isolde for the first time. “My goodness,” she said. “You look quite alike.”

* * * *

The dowager seemed to have little curiosity about the sudden appearance at Clare Manor of the twin Davies sisters, one of whom was dressed in a rather odd riding habit. She called for tea and nothing was said of the accident as they chatted about the recent weather and about the new wonder in London, the marbles brought back from Greece by Lord Elgin. These had been a sensation, but Lady Leighton was rather disgusted with the matter.

“Breaking them from the temple as if they were so many pieces of rock!” she exclaimed. “And that any Englishman would do such a thing! ‘Tis a
disgrace
.”

“I understand,” said Isolde, “that Lord Elgin claims to have received permission.”

“From the Ottomans! Whoever is in charge in Athens these days, the Parthenon is
Greek
.”

Still, it seemed as if the lady was eager to visit the sculptures, which were intended for the British Museum, but were presently exhibited only privately. “You will take me soon, won’t you?” she asked the marquess. “If they must be here,
someone
should admire them.”

“As you wish,” said Lord Leighton.

“My dear,” said the marchioness suddenly, to Isolde, “I must show you my studio.”

“I would be delighted,” said Isa, and to Carys’s discomfort the two women left with hardly a backward glance.

A short silence ensued. Carys felt the awkwardness of being an uninvited visitor, combined with the indignation at the manner of her arrival. And—

“Where is my horse?” she asked the marquess.

“In my stables, being curried to within an inch of his life and feasting on oats,” replied Lord Leighton.

“Oh. Well I’m obliged, I’m sure, but—”

“That animal is far too big for you.”

Why did the man insist on such irritating opinions? “I do not believe that is your concern,” said Carys.

She saw something spark in his eyes.

“It certainly is my concern when a young lady is injured at my feet.”

Carys stood up and faced him. “I would not have been injured, as you say, if you had not attempted to stop my mount!”

“You were nearly to the Serpentine! I could see you trying to jump it!”

“Jump the Serpentine? I’m not mad.” She used her hands to gesture, making her point; ‘twas a weakness, not much approved of by the
ton
. And a mistake. A wave of pain overtook her.

“Your choice of mount made me uncertain on that point. Now your sister has assured me that—” Lord Leighton stopped abruptly. “Miss Davies,” he said, in concern. “Please ... perhaps you should sit down.”

“Yes,” said Carys, with her best attempt at a dignified retreat. “I think I shall.”

She sank back into the settee, very aware of the gentleman sitting next to her.

“Please continue enumerating my faults,” she told him, with chin high.

He laughed—infuriating man.

“Isa has told me that you are an excellent
equestrienne
, and that I was perhaps hasty in assuming that your mount was out of control.”

“Hasty, indeed.”

“But I had no way of knowing—”

“Had I lost the reins? Did my seat look insecure? Was I bouncing up and down like a marionette?”

“Well—”

“No to all of them. And you came racing up without a thought, on a horse bigger than Alcaeus, by the way—”

“Tantevy is reasonably sized for a gentleman of skill.”

“If such gentleman weighed twenty stone, perhaps.”

There was silence for a moment. “I do not wish to argue with you,” said Lord Leighton, and something in his tone caused Carys to turn her face to his.

Her breath caught in her throat. She saw warmth in his eyes, a warmth that he was not attempting to hide.

“I do not wish to argue with you, either,” Carys said softly.

He took her hand and kissed it. And did not let it go. Hours seemed to go by in a moment or two.

“Perhaps the next time you ride, I could accompany you.”

His voice was so soft that Miss Davies found herself leaning forward. She was nearly breathless. “Yes ... of course.”

They both heard the dowager returning with Isolde, talking loudly enough in the hall outside the salon that no-one
inside
the salon could possibly be surprised at their arrival.

“Fascinating,” Isa was saying, as the door opened. “I had no idea so many colours could be combined on one canvas ... to, umm, to such effect.”

Carys saw the marquess’s lips quirk in a half-smile.

“You have seen the music room, then?” he inquired of Isolde.

“Indeed,” answered her sister. “It is most extraordinary.”

“Extraordinary is one word for it,” said Lord Leighton.

* * * *

The Misses Davies left shortly thereafter, with Carys apologizing for the imposition on their hospitality, the marquess apologizing for having doubted her ability to ride ‘that animal’ and everyone quite satisfied, in general, with the outcome of the affair. The Marquess of Clare went to White’s later in the evening, and stayed very late, as he did not imagine that sleep would come easy that night.

After supper Miss Carys Davies received a note from Lord Leighton, requesting the opportunity to atone for ‘past mistakes’, and permission to accompany her on an outing to Hyde Park, which he suggested to occur as soon as she wished. She and Isa perused this document carefully, but could make out nothing beyond the request itself.

“Well, he wouldn’t offer marriage in a note, I suppose,” said Isolde.