“This house has multiples of everything. There is a library on each floor.”
On the main floor, Ellisfield walked through the house to a cavernous room lined with bookshelves and art. The shelves weren’t all full. A man would have to collect books for more than one lifetime to fill this room. Sunlight poured in from arched windows that overlooked the back gardens. Groupings of chairs, desks, and settees created places to converse or read. Gwendolyn would be in heaven.
“We use this room for balls,” Ellisfield said, “but I can’t remember the last time we held one. Perhaps it is better to say, we could hold balls in this room.”
“The marquess does not like to entertain.”
“No.” Ellisfield did not elaborate.
Over the mantel was a portrait of the current Marquess and Marchioness of Middlebury. They sat in this very room with its patterned draperies. Their children were grouped around them. In the portrait, Ellisfield was a school lad.
“The one of my aunt and uncle is over here.” Ellisfield pointed to a portrait beside an exit door. This painting was not as light and bucolic as the one over the mantel. The colors were dark, wooded. The woman in this picture resembled the musical woman in the upstairs library; however, now she appeared matured although not much older. She wore a lace cap over raven curls. Her eyes burned with pride, and her arms were wrapped around a rosy-cheeked babe too young for hair.
But it was the man behind her who commanded Beck’s attention. His father was a tall man, like himself. He appeared very much a man of his time with his powdered hair and the lacefalls of his neckcloth. One hand rested protectively on his wife’s shoulder. His expression was also one of pride. He was older than his wife, much older, and yet the two appeared ready to face whatever the world brought them.
“The fourth and fifth marquesses,” Ellisfield murmured. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to break my fast before we ride.”
Beck turned away reluctantly. He could have spent hours studying that portrait. But to what purpose? “Did you know the last marquess?” he asked Ellisfield. “The adult one.”
“I don’t remember much,” his lordship said as he walked out of the room. “I remember the funeral. He was greatly admired.”
The two men went to the breakfast room. Ellisfield made a sandwich of two slices of bread and a beefsteak, shaking his head to ward off the footmen overly anxious to serve him.
He then flirted a bit with Miss Purley. He even complimented her singing before giving a nod to Beck, and the men left the room together.
After collecting Beck’s hat from where he’d left it in the entry hall with a footman, Ellisfield led them out the side door of the West Wing, the one with the path leading to the stables.
“You don’t have your horse brought to the house?” Beck wondered.
Ellisfield shook his head. “I enjoy visiting the stables. I find it restful compared to the activity of the house. I can be alone with my thoughts. I also like to saddle my own horse. That’s why he trusted me to jump your coach team. We are a bonded pair.”
“The jump was still foolhardy.”
His lordship took a big bite of sandwich. “But I lined my pockets with the money I won off of my friends,” he answered, munching away.
“You could have crashed.”
“Not with Ares. He hasn’t let me down once.”
Of course, it had been Beck who had walked his horse to the house. He wondered how the animal was today or if he still had the hint of a limp.
They reached the stables. Horses were being taken out for exercise or up to the house for their riders. The handsome chestnut knew Ellisfield had arrived. He nickered a greeting.
As they walked to the stall, Beck said, “With your family, one wouldn’t think you’d need to perform dangerous endeavors for your spending money.”
“My parents use money to keep us in line. My brother and sister conform. I don’t. I purchased this horse with my own money, I trained him, and he has repaid me handsomely. He is the fastest I’ve ever owned. Certainly the smartest. When he was a year or two younger, there wasn’t anyone who could beat him.”
“You raced him?”
“Aye, and I purchased an estate in Yorkshire recently with the money we made. It isn’t large. Not a Colemore. But it is mine. And Ares’s.” Ellisfield opened the stall gate and patted Ares on the neck. The horse gave him a nuzzle. He showed no sign of the previous day’s lameness.
So that explained where Ellisfield spent most of his time instead of dancing around Londondrawing rooms. Beck began to change his poor opinion of his cousin, especially since he appeared to be a more respectful man when he was sober. Yes, Ellisfield was arrogant, as all lordly sons were, and the trick jumping the coach was foolish, but at least he was doing something for himself.
“What of you, Curran? What are your interests?”
“The usual,” Beck replied, evasively. “Excuse me, my lord. I need to saddle my horse.” He walked away, not giving Ellisfield a chance for more questions.
He discovered Wagner and the bay together. He let Jem know that he was riding out with Ellisfield. He also let him know he planned on moving Gwendolyn and the ladies to safety. “Be vigilant. We’ll have to use the coach,” he warned. “And keep your eye on Miss Lanscarr.”
