“Well, unless you want to go elsewhere when you’re trained.”
“If? if you don’t mind, milord, I’d rather stay with you.” The worshipin the young voice was unmistakable.
The marquess considered his devotee ruefully. His attention had onlybeen a whimsical kindness, a salve to his own wounded pride, but hecouldn’t hurt the child. “Work hard while we’re here and you can help mygroom, Dooley,” he said.
“Thanks, milord,” said the boy, bouncing up not out of manners but fromsheer excitement. “Thanks.”
“If you’re going to look after my cattle, though, you need your sleep.Go to bed.”
“Yus, sir.” The boy ran off and then turned. “G’night.”
“Good night, Robin,” said the marquess softly in the dark.
Chapter Six
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Beth was astonished how easy it was for two people to avoid meeting atBelcraven, especially when one seemed set on it. Beth only encountered themarquess at dinner and for the social interaction which followed.Moreover, after that first occasion, it was never just the family.
There was a resident chaplain at Belcraven, the Reverend AugustusSteep, who also served as the family archivist and historian. A Mrs.Sysonby turned up from time to time. She was a distant connection of theduke’s who had found herself impoverished in widowhood. She had been takenin as companion to the duchess but as the duchess felt no need of acompanion and Mrs. Sysonby was an enthusiastic entomologist, the ladylived independently in her rooms pursuing her hobby, coming and going asshe pleased.
The duchess’s émigré aunt and uncle, the Comte and Comtesse de Nouilly,inhabited one whole wing along with a crippled daughter and a handful offaithful servants. Occasionally they, too, without the daughter, appearedfor dinner.
Mr. Westall, the duke’s secretary, and Mr. Holden, his steward, wereentitled to dine with the family and did so from time to time, though thesteward had his own family in a house on the estate, and Mr. Westall atefrequently at the vicarage where the interest, Beth gathered, was thevicar’s daughter.
In fact, Beth found Mr. Westall exactly the kind of quiet, studiousyoung man with whom she felt comfortable. She enjoyed his occasionalcompany, but whenever she conversed with him she would look up to see themarquess’s eyes on them, hard and suspicious.
Beth wished she could wipe away that suspicion but, even if she foundthe words, when was there occasion to say them?
During the evenings the marquess did not again attempt to take Bethaside despite hints from the duchess. During the days, he disappeared. Theduke maintained a pack of hounds, though he rarely hunted himself, and themarquess was spending some days chasing foxes. Beth gathered most of therest was spent riding and angling. Anything that took him out of thehouse.
When they met, his manner was always impeccably courteous andformidably distant. Beth matched his courtesy as best she could and waitedfor an opportunity to undo the damage, to convince him of her purity. Twoattempts to have him segregate himself with her having failed, she wasdriven to desperate measures and wrote him a note, asking to speak withhim privately.
When they met that evening before the meal he said coolly, “I receivedyour note, my dear. Is your need so urgent?”
Understanding him, Beth felt her face go red and snapped, “No.”
Afterwards she wondered with despair if she should have invited him toher bed. It might be her only chance to speak to him in private andpresumably then he would discover she was a virgin, or had been.
As they hardly ever spoke to each other, surely no one could believethis farce of a betrothal. The duke and duchess, of course, simplysmoothed over the surface of things, though Beth was aware of theduchess’s concern. The Comte and Comtesse de Nouilly were entirelyabsorbed by their own bitterness. But the upper servants ? Mr. Holden, Mr.Westall, and the Reverend Steep ? must have surely found the situationvery strange. If so, they were careful to give no sign of it.
All the same Beth had reason to be grateful to Napoleon Bonaparte.Without the increasingly bad situation on the Continent certainly even theclever de Vaux family would sometimes have been short of something to say.Instead, each evening, they plunged with relief into the day’s news.
One evening the marquess shocked everyone. “I think it is every man’sduty to oppose the Corsican,” he said. “I wish to offer my services.”
The duke and duchess both paled. “Impossible,” snapped the duke.
“It is perfectly possible,” replied the marquess, and Beth knew thiswas his attempt to escape. Even into death? Or did he think himselfinvincible?
“You forget, Arden,” said the duke, once more calm and controlled,“your wedding is set for a few weeks hence. After that and what is nowcalled the honeymoon, we can discuss this subject again.” The words wereaccompanied by a warning look. Beth knew the duke was reminding his heirof the weapon he held over his head.
For once the marquess broke the pattern of decorum, pushed back hischair, and left the table. The comte and comtesse looked blanklyastonished.
“Is something amiss?” the comtesse asked.
“No, Tante,” said the duchess. “It is merely that Arden hasfinished.”
The comtesse sniffed. “The manners of the English youth leave much tobe desired.” With that she returned to her cake.
