7,19 €
Mehr erfahren.
- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
It is a truth universally acknowledged that love is never smooth sailing.Captain William Hawksmoor of the Royal Navy never expected to inherit Kingscastle, his family's estate, and finds himself all at sea when he does so. Especially when he learns that he must marry within a year or be forever dealing with trustees.As the new Marquis of Athelney, the captain takes command of Kingscastle and discovers much to be done to set it in order. He must also contend with his aunt, Lady Willoughby Hawksmoor, who is determined that her daughter will be his wife. When she discovers he is far more interested in Eleanor Burgess, her underpaid and much put-upon companion, Lady Willoughby shows she will stop at nothing to keep them apart.
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Seitenzahl: 415
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
Ähnliche
KINGSCASTLE
SOPHIA HOLLOWAY
For K. M. L. B.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
Mr Tideswell was ill at ease. He found the bustle of a naval home port too much for one used to a quiet market town, and the sight of a small group of sailors, unsteady on their feet and lurching along Portsmouth High Street at two in the afternoon, filled him with horror as well as a degree of fear. He looked at the directions he had been given at the posting house, and made his way towards St Thomas’s church. The High Street passed by it on the south side, and a row of decently proportioned houses formed an L shape on the west and north sides. He was impressed, having been prepared for some low, ill-kept boarding house, and when he rapped the polished brass knocker of the house bearing the correct number, a respectable-looking man came to the door and enquired his business.
‘I am come to see Captain Hawksmoor. My name is Tideswell, and I am his family lawyer.’
‘If you would be pleased to come into the hall, sir, I will find out if the captain is in. I believe he returned about noon.’
The man stood back, and Mr Tideswell entered the house. The doorkeeper, who appeared to be more of a housekeeper, went up to the first floor, and Mr Tideswell heard a brief, muffled conversation. The man returned and declared that Captain Hawksmoor would be pleased to see him, and would he please follow him up.
At the top of the stairs Mr Tideswell was shown into a neatly furnished room, at the end of which a gentleman in naval uniform sat at a desk. He rose, and it could be seen that he was a few inches above average height, his face a little tanned from exposure to sun and wind, and a trifle thin.
‘Captain William Hawksmoor?’ Mr Tideswell queried the rank, for the officer had but one epaulette. Surely captains wore two?
‘Yes indeed.’ The gentleman saw where the lawyer’s gaze had fallen. ‘Ah, you wonder at my shoulder? I received my promotion to post rank in ’14 and so have not yet the three years’ seniority that gives me the second epaulette. I really am Captain Hawksmoor, I assure you. Now, I am informed you are my family lawyer, yet I have never seen or heard of you before.’
He gestured Mr Tideswell to a chair, and took his seat again.
‘I have the honour to be the family lawyer to the Marquis of Athelney,’ volunteered Mr Tideswell.
‘But I am merely a scion of the cadet branch, Mr Tidesell.’
‘Tideswell, sir,’ corrected the little lawyer, with a cough.
‘Mr Tideswell. I am the younger son of a youngest son and …’
‘You are the surviving son of Lord Edward Hawksmoor, by his wife Celia, daughter of Sir Nathaniel Barton of Oswestry in Shropshire.’ Mr Tideswell rattled off the captain’s parentage as if the Hawksmoor family tree was imprinted upon his memory.
‘I am. My elder brother Thomas fell at Vittoria.’ Captain Hawksmoor frowned. This seemed ponderously formal.
‘I have to inform you that your uncle, Alexander Hawksmoor, fourth Marquis of Athelney, died these four weeks past and—’
‘I am sorry to hear it. Do not tell me he has left me some bequest in his will. I would not have thought he even remembered my existence.’
‘Not a bequest as such. You, sir, or rather, my lord, were the heir presumptive, and now, once the documentation is provided, fifth Marquis of Athelney.’
If Mr Tideswell expected an exclamation of surprised delight, he was to be disappointed. Captain Hawksmoor did indeed raise his brows, but then shook his head, smiling a little lopsidedly.
‘You have become muddled, Mr Tideswell, and have had a wasted journey. The heir presumptive to the title is my cousin, the son of the middle brother, Lord Willoughby Hawksmoor. He is also called William, which is why, no doubt, some clerk made the mistake. Though if you are the family solicitor, I would have thought that you would know it well enough.’ He looked slightly suspicious.
‘Mr William Hawksmoor regrettably met his death one week before his lordship, in an accident.’
‘From what I ever heard of my cousin William, are you sure some cuckolded husband did not shoot him in a duel?’
‘Er, no, my lord.’ Mr Tideswell blushed. ‘He died as the result of an accident with his curricle, in the course of some wager.’
‘That was another possibility, of course. You will not expect me to rend my clothes at the news, I take it. It would be both insincere and expensive, for a junior post captain on half pay receives but ten shillings and sixpence per day, and it is a long time till Quarter Day.’
‘It would be appropriate for you to show some sign of mourning when you return to Kingscastle, my lord, but no, I do not expect grief.’
‘Return to … If it is certain … Oh Lord, yes, I suppose I must do so.’ Captain Hawksmoor, for he could not as yet imagine himself as anything else, sighed. ‘Mind you, with the peace there are so many of us on half pay and so few ships, the chances of a command again are slim. Perhaps I should adjust to commanding estates instead.’ He spoke almost to himself.
‘That might not be as easy as you would think, my lord.’
‘I have commanded a fifth-rate, Mr Tideswell, one of His Majesty’s warships. I do not see a problem.’ The response was terse, and Captain Hawksmoor’s grey eyes narrowed.
‘There are certain provisions of his late lordship’s will, however, my lord. If I might show you?’
Mr Tideswell withdrew a sheet of vellum from the bag that he had been clutching, as if from habit, to his bosom, and laid it upon the desk. Captain Hawksmoor read the contents with a growing frown.
‘But this is ridiculous, outrageous … the estate to be held in Trust in perpetuity unless my nephew, William Hawksmoor, marries and produces a legitimate male heir within two years of my decease?’
‘His lordship was thinking, not of you, my lord, but of Mr William Hawksmoor. He believed that marriage might settle him.’
‘So if I am to have any control over the estate I have to marry. That is absurd enough, but the other part is simply madness. Even if I were to marry, there is no guarantee that my wife would bear a child within what was left of the two years, let alone that it would be of the male sex. Such things are in God’s hands, not a man’s.’
‘I admit, my lord, that the stipulation is problematic. I made the strongest of representations to his lordship that those phrases be removed, but it was shortly after Mr Hawksmoor’s affairs became rather more scandalous than normal, and his lordship was in no mood to see reason. I have consulted with other members of my profession, and it would seem likely that the clause could be contested and declared invalid, since, as you say, such things are outside human control. The requirement to wed, however, will stand.’
Captain Hawksmoor ran a hand through his dark hair, which rebelled against tidiness, however much he combed it. ‘This is an awful lot to take in.’
‘Understandably so, my lord. Perhaps it would be best if I returned tomorrow morning, when you have had some time to become adjusted, so to speak. I would hope you would see your way to accompanying me to Kingscastle, perhaps via the capital, since you will be requiring civilian attire of a quality befitting your position. We could also deal with any matters pertaining to your taking your seat in the Upper House, should you so wish.’
‘Yes, though how would I pay for all …’
‘The Trust would provide monies for such needs as you might have, my lord. And you must remember that in your case, the Trust will not be concerned that any money that is released will be misused. Mr Hawksmoor left debts, and his manner of living was … excessive. Your probity is not in doubt.’
‘Thank you. I am not sure if I should be relieved or flattered,’ murmured Captain Hawksmoor, wryly.
It was some time after Mr Tideswell’s departure that Captain Hawksmoor stood up and went to gaze into the street below. Here was Portsmouth, a place where he felt as much at home as anywhere upon land. He had gone to sea, under the patronage of his mother’s cousin, at fifteen, which meant half his lifespan had been within the Royal Navy. He had been at sea for most of that time, and had only heard of the deaths of first his father and, last year, his mother, some months after the event. He had been ashore when his elder brother had been killed at Vittoria, but there were no obsequies to attend for a man buried anonymously upon a Spanish battlefield. If he was honest, the service had become his family, and he would miss it badly, now that Hawksmoor family duties were thrust upon him.
He did not see his unexpected elevation to the peerage as different from duty. He could not avoid it, so he would simply do the best he could. He feared idleness, and with so many men ashore, what chance had he of a command? Perhaps turning from the sea, from the ships that would not be there for him, would be a good thing; yet the ‘family’ of the navy had been his for so long that being parted from it was a difficult thing to assimilate. A naval officer was what he ‘was’ to his core; he was as comfortable with it as he was in his faded sea-going uniform. He was not even sure what a landed aristocrat actually ‘did’ in life. As a child he had not questioned what those without ‘employment’ did from day to day. Was a marquis expected to sit in aloof state while minions did everything? If that was the case, well, he would simply be one marquis who did not conform to the norm.
He was lifted from this melancholic mood by the sight of a uniformed gentleman stepping out smartly along the street. The officer looked up, smiled broadly, and touched his hat. Captain Hawksmoor waved him up. A minute or so later, a cheerful voice and familiar tread were heard upon the stair.
‘Come on in, Mr Bitton.’
The door opened, and a fair-haired man, some five or six years the captain’s junior, came into the room.
‘Good afternoon, sir. I just heard Bradford got the Phoebus, lucky dog. I wonder if he might put in a word for me.’
‘He might. Take a seat, for I have news that may surprise you nearly as much as it surprised me.’
Captain Hawksmoor told Lieutenant Bitton, who had been his first lieutenant aboard his last command, of his change of circumstances. The cheerful lieutenant was suitably amazed.
‘I did not know you had such aristocratic connections, sir, my lord … er …’
‘I don’t feel like a lord.’ The captain sounded gloomy again.
‘That will come, my lord, given a few weeks.’
‘Perhaps.’ He sighed. ‘I have no desire for this elevation.’
‘Think of it as a promotion, as if …’ Lieutenant Bitton tried to think of an analogy. ‘You had been given a first-rate ship of the line.’
‘It will probably be as unwieldy.’ Captain Hawksmoor did not appear visibly cheered.
The younger man was silent for a moment, and then smiled as a new thought occurred to him.
‘I’d give a month’s pay to see Royston’s face when he hears. Always puffing himself up because his father’s a baronet. What’s a mere baronet in comparison to a marquis!’
Captain Hawksmoor managed a wry smile, but sighed. ‘There is another part to the surprise as well, though.’
‘There is?’
‘Yes. I have to get married.’
Lieutenant Bitton laughed, until he realised that his superior was deadly serious. Then he simply blinked, for there was nothing he could think of to say.
It could not be said that Captain Hawksmoor viewed Mr Tideswell’s return with eager anticipation upon the following morning. The little lawyer was considerably put out, having expected that, once the reality of his surprising news had sunk in, the new marquis would be in good spirits. It was, however, a stony-faced officer, with a valise already packed, whom he met in the lodging house. Captain Hawksmoor enquired what time the mail coach departed for London.
‘Mail coach, my lord?’
Captain Hawksmoor still winced at the appellation. ‘Indeed, Mr Tideswell, the mail coach.’
‘But, my lord, I have engaged a post chaise.’
‘You have done what?’ Captain Hawksmoor’s response would have given men of sterner heart than Mr Tideswell cause to tremble.
‘I … You ought not … I mean,’ gabbled the little man, clutching his hat very tightly, much to its detriment, ‘the Trustees would not expect you to arrive in London upon the common stage. It would not be fitting.’
‘You will be telling me next I must put up at the grandest hotel in London.’
‘I have made enquiries, my lord, anticipating the need to visit the metropolis, and I believe the Bath or Grillon’s would be entirely suitable.’
‘They would? I have heard of neither, but then I am unfamiliar with any hotel in London other than Fladong’s on Oxford Street, which is where I have every intention of taking a room. It is much used by officers who have cause to visit the Admiralty, and I have stayed there on three occasions before.’
‘Would it be suffici …’ Mr Tideswell was wise enough to abandon his question, seeing the set of Captain Hawksmoor’s mouth. ‘Yes, my lord, as you wish. Have you a preferred tailor?’
‘Tailor? I have had no need for any garb but that of my uniform these fifteen years past. My ignorance is a problem. I am in uncharted waters, Mr Tideswell.’
‘This I also envisaged, my lord. Lord Somborne, who is one of the Trustees, was good enough to provide me with advice upon several subjects, and has suggested that you present yourself at his London abode. He generously said that he would be happy to introduce you as required at various establishments.’
‘Somborne. You mean my Uncle Somborne, Aunt Elizabeth’s husband?’
‘Yes, my lord. You were aware that Lady Somborne died some three years ago?’
‘I was informed.’
They had now reached the posting house, where Mr Tideswell paid his shot and directed Captain Hawksmoor to a waiting vehicle.
‘Has your lordship directed your other luggage to the hotel you have chosen in London?’
‘No,’ replied Captain Hawksmoor, removing his hat and climbing into the chaise, ‘I have but a trunk of books, a few personal possessions and my sea rig, and I have arranged for them to travel by carrier to Kingscastle, via Wells.’
Mr Tideswell eyed the single valise with a mixture of respect and faint horror.
The journey was accomplished in good time, Mr Tideswell enjoying the luxury of travelling post, and Captain Hawksmoor shutting his eyes, folding his arms and feigning sleep. This proved impossible to continue once the chaise crossed the Thames. The pace was necessarily slow. Mr Tideswell had only visited London to call upon Lord Somborne, who, even out of the Season, came to attend lectures at the Royal Society. Bath and Bristol were busy enough for Mr Tideswell, and he found London rather overwhelming; so too did Captain Hawksmoor, though he disguised the fact well. The chaise deposited them at 144 Oxford Street, in front of Fladong’s Hotel. The little lawyer tried to take Captain Hawksmoor’s valise, but was politely told that would not be necessary. He accompanied his client into the vestibule of the hotel, where the captain was greeted with the deference due to his naval rank.
‘Certainly, Captain—’
‘Lord Athelney,’ interjected Mr Tideswell, rather to Captain Hawksmoor’s embarrassment. He would far rather keep his ‘true’ title as long as possible.
‘My apologies, my lord. Your valise will be taken to your rooms immediately. Would you care to—’
‘Hawksmoor, as I live and breathe!’
Captain Hawksmoor turned, and his hand was clasped warmly by a ruddy-faced gentleman, greying at the temples.
‘Curdworth! I thought you in the Mediterranean still.’
‘No, no, paid off last month at Chatham. Are you up to see their Lordships?’
‘No, I … it is a mad tale. Dine with me.’
Mr Tideswell murmured that he would attend his lordship on the morrow at ten, and withdrew to take a cab to a more modest lodging off the Strand, which had been recommended by his senior partner.
The comfort of being among his own sort did not remain for long. Captain Hawksmoor was taken by Mr Tideswell to Lord Somborne’s house, where he had the distinct impression that his naval career was something ‘the family’ would prefer to forget, quietly but swiftly. This did not put him in the most pliant frame of mind.
‘My dear boy, delighted, delighted. One ought to say in tragic circumstances, but young William was … lacking in many … qualities. It is true to say the trustees of the estate are relieved, yes, relieved; there is no other term for it. Of course you will need assistance, in your changing circumstances.’
‘Yes – writing, using the correct knife and fork …’
Lord Somborne’s eyes opened wide in horror, as did his mouth.
Captain Hawksmoor could not keep a straight face. ‘I assure you, sir, I am quite civilised. My weaknesses lie in an ignorance of where to provide myself with the attire and accessories of a gentleman both for town and country, and in the running of my estates, which is something I shall simply have to learn step by step.’
‘It should not prove too demanding. One’s stewards deal with the vast majority of the detail, and occasionally bring the accounts or a problem that requires attention. However, you ought to be free much of the time.’
‘To do what, sir?’
Lord Somborne looked startled. ‘Whatever you damned well please, my boy. Myself, I have a great interest in science, conduct experiments back home, you know, and my friend Coleorton catalogues butterflies. Hasn’t got to be science, of course. You might become a patron of the turf, but I warn you that is damnably expensive. Some choose philanthropy, but for every deserving case I fear there are a dozen simply setting out to fleece the goodhearted.’
Captain Hawksmoor kept his own counsel. If he was head of vast estates in name, he would at least wish to be as an admiral upon his flagship, in charge not of the ship in its day-to-day affairs, but dictating where it, and the rest of the fleet, should be heading.
‘Anyway,’ continued the elderly earl, ‘I can certainly take you about town, show you what is what, direct you to sniders, and so on. Have you a preference for Stulz? The military fellows tend to like his cut. Personally, I would go to Weston.’
‘I have no preference, and would be happy to be guided by you, sir.’
‘Good, good. Then I suggest we toddle down to Hoby and sort out some footwear, then on to Lock’s for your hats, of course.’
‘This hat is from Lock’s. They have my measurements.’
‘Excellent. Then we will visit Weston. The bills can be sent to me in the first instance until such time as the Trustees have advanced funds to your account. You won’t want to be forever running to us just because you want to purchase a nightcap.’
‘Indeed not,’ averred Captain Hawksmoor. ‘Which leads me to ask about the requirement, the frankly ridiculous requirement, to marry and produce an heir male in two years or I shall never have control of my own destiny.’
‘Ahem, well, yes, that was going rather far, I will admit. Has not Tideswell said that the heir part is likely to be overturned, since it is patently a matter of chance? But marriage, well, it cannot be that difficult to find a girl. Come up for the Season, watch ’em trotted out, the young ladies, and take your pick. Good title, reasonable-looking chap, the mamas will be beating a path to your door. You’ll have to push them from your doorstep just to get indoors.’
‘The prospect does not fill me with glee, sir.’
‘Well, never mind. There’s Bath if you prefer less of a squeeze, but my dear wife always said it had gone downhill from when she was young.’ Lord Somborne sighed, but then shook himself, in a gesture which reminded Captain Hawksmoor of a horse shaking off flies. ‘No point in dwelling on what is past, eh. Let us be off to St James’s, which reminds me, I shall put you up for White’s, of course.’
With which generous offer Lord Somborne rang the bell and called for his coat, hat, cane and gloves.
The transformation of William Hawksmoor, Captain in His Majesty’s Navy, into William Hawksmoor, Marquis of Athelney, was not simply a matter of his outward appearance. However, when he saw himself in the mirror, some days later, clad in buckskins and blue superfine, he sighed. The tailor smoothed an infinitesimal crease from the sleeve, and assumed the sigh was of satisfaction. He might think what he wished. Though the blue of the coat and the pallor of the buckskins were not so far removed from his uniform, he was very aware of crossing the Rubicon. From choice he would have continued in the security of his uniform, since he still held his commission, but knew that he had to become accustomed to the new ‘rig’ and accept that he had made the step from naval to civilian life. Not only was the cut and cloth alien to him, but so was the bewildering variety and number of items it was considered that he required. Shirt makers, waistcoat makers, hosiers – his person was under scrutiny and being measured by them all. Lord Somborne did not appear in the least discomposed by the cost of the new wardrobe, indeed almost complained when his protégé put down his neatly shod foot at the thought of a second pair of dancing shoes.
‘My lord, I cannot see that I will get much use from a single pair. I am not going to spend my life prancing about at balls. I cannot even dance, beyond a few clumsy steps of a gavotte.’
‘Good God, my boy. We will employ a caper merchant this very day. Being able to cut a figure upon the dance floor is terribly important with the ladies.’
William Hawksmoor thought, privately, that if ladies counted dancing ability over character and intellect, then it did not say much for the fairer sex, but submitted to ‘learning to prance’.
It was on the eve of his departure from London that a gentleman in scarlet regimentals, and with an angry countenance fast assuming a similar hue, entered Fladong’s Hotel and demanded to see the Marquis of Athelney. The receptionist eyed him with concern, but directed the military gentleman to a private parlour, and sent up the major’s card. A few minutes later, a rather perplexed Marquis of Athelney entered the room. The army officer was standing before the fireplace, looking belligerent. His eyebrows rose slightly; Athelney was not quite what he had expected, but then he was not in the sort of establishment he had expected either. He was looking at a tallish man, who held himself well, but whose face, whilst any man would say he was a ‘well-looking fellow’, was a little weathered and thin-cheeked.
‘So,’ barked the major, his eyes narrowing, ‘I do not expect you anticipated meeting me.’
‘Well, no,’ replied Lord Athelney, very reasonably, ‘I cannot say I did, since your name means absolutely nothing to me, Major …’ He looked down at the card in his hand. ‘Ratlinghope.’
‘Means nothing to you?’ spluttered the major, becoming even more apoplectic. ‘How dare you stand there, as cool as a cucumber and say … after … You do not even deserve the courtesy of being called out. I should simply thrash you within an inch of your life here, you cur.’ He advanced menacingly, his large hands forming very serviceable fists.
‘I hope you will do neither, sir,’ remarked the marquis, placatingly.
‘Ha! Lily-livered! Should have guessed as much.’
‘Well, you really ought not to trust to guesses; they are so often wrong.’ Athelney remained unruffled.
If this was meant to lighten the atmosphere, it failed miserably. Major Ratlinghope made a sound akin to a mastiff about to launch itself at an intruder, and Athelney held up a hand.
‘No, before you attempt to tear my throat out, and that is clearly what you would like to do, be so good as to explain what possible reason you might have to wish me ill. I say again, your name means nothing to me.’
‘And does my wife mean nothing to you, scoundrel?’
‘Nothing at all.’
‘You heartless, shameless, ba—’
It dawned on Lord Athelney that the irate gentleman might be under a significant, if not dangerous, misapprehension. ‘Ah, wait. I assume you are hot for the blood of William Hawksmoor.’
‘I am, sir. Do you deny the name?’
‘Not at all, for I am indeed William Hawksmoor.’
‘Then …’
‘I should rather say “a” William Hawksmoor, not the William Hawksmoor you undoubtedly seek.’
‘If you think to bamboozle me, sir, you have the wrong man. I demand satisfaction.’
‘You will not get it from me, I am afraid. Please, take a seat, and let me ring for,’ he glanced at the clock upon the mantelshelf, ‘a glass of burgundy, even though the sun is most certainly not over the yard arm.’
Major Ratlinghope wavered. His host seemed most unlike a rake and seducer, and a shadow of doubt entered his mind. He sat, and realised that he had done so as if obeying a command, however politely phrased. Lord Athelney rang the bell, and ordered the hotel’s best burgundy. He felt his guest might at least seek solace in a palatable glass of wine.
‘The William Hawksmoor whom I fear has done you wrong was my cousin. You see,’ he explained gently, ‘we were both, most unfortunately, christened William Hawksmoor. The name is, I assure you, all we have in common. He was the son of the Marquis of Athelney’s younger brother, and his heir. I am the son of the youngest brother and hold the rank of a post captain in His Majesty’s Navy.’
‘You said “was” your cousin.’
‘I did. My cousin, rather to the relief of the trustees of the estate, it seems, and probably to a number of gentlemen such as yourself, sir, met with a fatal driving accident but the week before my uncle died, thereby leaving me the heir to a title and responsibilities I never envisaged and did not seek.’ Lord Athelney paused. ‘Forgive me, but why have you sought out my ne’er-do-well namesake so late? I would have thought …’
‘I am but this week returned from the Army of Occupation in France, my lord,’ declared Major Ratlinghope, in a more civil and equable tone. ‘My wife has been residing with my sister and her husband. I received a letter … from a third party, which …’ He frowned.
‘And so you came home to find out if report was true. I see. From what I have heard, my cousin was a man without morals, but of a damnably seductive manner when he chose, and quite heartless. A “vulnerable” beauty, and I take it your lady wife is attractive, would be the sort of challenge he could not resist. I would have thought you would have kept her close by in France, now there is peace. I hear it can be quite social.’
‘Ironically, I thought her more at risk there. My wife is very beautiful, but seeks attention.’ He sighed. ‘I should indeed have kept her under my eye.’
‘I have no experience of the gentle sex, but if she seeks attention, perhaps the best thing you could do is to pay her that attention.’
There was a knock, and a servant came in with the wine. Major Ratlinghope, with all hope of revenge gone, looked quite dejected.
‘In retrospect that is what I should have done.’ He accepted the proffered glass and took a rejuvenating sip of the dark liquid. ‘Damn it, it is what I shall do. She is young, and rather spoilt, but … I am dashed fond of her, really.’
‘Then I wish you well, Major, and can only apologise as a Hawksmoor.’ Lord Athelney entertained his uninvited guest through several glasses of burgundy, and it was a considerably mellowed major who finally shook him by the hand, and departed.
The encounter gave him food for thought, and neither of the two that occurred to him were happy ones. It seemed quite possible, if not probable, that he would find himself ‘haunted’ by his cousin’s bad behaviour, and entering the married state was not a recipe for happiness.
CHAPTER TWO
It was a fortnight later when the Marquis of Athelney, still uncomfortable in his newly made civilian dress, was driven to the home of his ancestors. Kingscastle had indeed been a royal castle in the dim and distant past, but had passed to the Hawksmoor family when they were but barons. The gatehouse was thirteenth century, and the site, on higher ground in a loop of the river, marked it as a defensive position. The ‘castle’ itself had been rebuilt in Tudor times as a grand residence, and then much of it again after the destruction of the Civil War. It was a slightly rambling building, with a more homely air than in its past, and Lord Athelney remembered it dimly from visits as a child, when his grandfather had been alive. He certainly had not set foot in it for the best part of twenty years.
The staff stood outside, despite the chill October wind, and were introduced by Sturry, the butler. There had been much discussion below stairs about the new marquis, some even fearing that he would be wanting to flog anyone who disobeyed him. Sturry and the upper servants wondered if he would have the bearing that befitted his lineage, but all were agreed that far better it was ‘the naval William’ than ‘Master William’, who had terrorised the maidservants and invited wild friends until his uncle had banished him from the castle in his lifetime.
His lordship was not deceived. He was under more scrutiny than his servants, but then that was always the case when taking up a command. One was watched, assessed, perhaps tested, though he could not see the equivalent of his ‘ship’s company’ at the castle causing him any problems. The butler had been in family service, man and boy, for forty years, and the housekeeper he vaguely remembered also. She turned quite pink when he mentioned it, though he omitted the ‘vaguely’ part. He knew from experience how useful recalling an old face with whom one had served before could be. He was not going to run Kingscastle like a ship, but the managing of men was the same ashore or afloat.
He was shown around, with a mixture of pride and requests for improvements and repairs. The cook was desperate to have a cooking range installed instead of the huge spit and mediaeval fireplace, which had been excellent for roasting whole wild boar but played havoc with modern recipes. Lord Athelney thought that might be paid for by the Trustees, none of whom, he was sure, had archaic cooking methods in their own residences. The Great Bedchamber, which had been prepared for a visit by Queen Elizabeth I, but thankfully never used by Her Majesty, who would almost certainly have bankrupted the family as she had others who had ‘enjoyed’ her presence, had been used by his uncle. Sturry announced, reverently, that it had been his late lordship’s desire to pass from this world in it, and he had been granted his wish. Looking at the bed, his successor thought it looked so soft it might have engulfed and suffocated him to death. Years in hammock or cot had given him a preference for something firmer.
Sturry looked almost surprised when the new marquis declared a preference for the green bedchamber, which faced eastward, where the ground dropped away to the narrow swathe of flat land before the river, where the Dower House now stood. It was a square, ashlar-faced building only about seventy years old, and gave a sense of scale to the landscape beyond. Lord Athelney was not a man to lie abed for most of the forenoon, and liked the idea of rising before the sun’s rays left his chamber. The bed was also smaller and a lot firmer, but Sturry assumed that his lordship had no desire to sleep in the bed in which his relative had so recently died.
Having viewed the bricks and mortar, Lord Athelney requested sustenance, and arranged to speak with the steward thereafter.
The steward, Mitchum, was a worried-looking individual who looked as old as the aged estate books, and peered at his employer myopically, with milky eyes.
‘It has been more difficult of late, my lord, my eyes being not what they once were.’ Mitchum wheezed as he spoke, and Lord Athelney thought he looked as if retirement could not come a moment too soon. Provision would surely be made for him.
The ledger thumped open, and Athelney stared in horror. The page before him bore no relation to any ship’s book he had ever seen. The columns wandered, and the handwriting, which had once clearly had form, was a jumble that he could not even begin to read. He turned back several pages, back towards normality, for five years ago all was well laid out and legible.
‘I think you will find all in order, my lord,’ declared the steward, more in hope than confidence.
Lord Athelney did not know what to say. The man was honest enough, and had served the family many years, but this was an unholy mess. He wondered if the state of the fabric of the estate was as dilapidated as the books. His uncle had been frail some time from what Sturry had said, and perhaps unable to keep firm control of matters. An estate run by two elderly gentlemen whose experience had been overlaid by senility did not bode well. Would the Trustees see that more might be required to get Kingscastle shipshape? Hopefully, the other estates down in Devon and Dorset were under better management.
‘Has the estate been profitable, Mitchum?’
‘Oh yes.’ Mitchum then qualified this statement: ‘But I fear, my lord, of late less so. There is a problem with drainage, and his late lordship did permit Mr William to take a hand in arranging work upon that, some years ago.’ He paused. ‘That was at the beginning of Mr William’s racketyness. The money was paid, but no work was done. His lordship was very angry but was persuaded it was the fault of whomsoever Mr William had engaged. I think, in truth, Mr William paid off his Oxford debts with it.’
Lord Athelney groaned. Mismanagement through infirmity of age was one thing, but syphoning off money with intent was another.
‘It was only later that his lordship realised the extent of Mr William’s excesses. That was after Mr William invited several other wild young gentlemen to Kingscastle, and,’ Mitchum coughed, ‘young females.’
‘Good God, my cousin did not try to hold an orgy here, did he?’
‘I am thankful to say I was not present, my lord, nor have I any experience of such lewdness, but from what Mr Sturry reported, that would seem likely. I believe Mr William thought that if it were confined to the west wing, his lordship would not become aware of it. However, it was impossible not to notice scantily clad females screeching round the courtyard in the small hours.’
‘You would have to be,’ Lord Athelney nearly said ‘as blind as a mole’ and thought better of it, ‘very fast asleep, not to notice that, indeed.’
‘And then the “gentlemen” tried to make very free with the maidservants, who are good, respectable girls.’
His lordship’s expression grew grim. ‘I see.’
‘Thereafter his lordship cut all connection with Mr William, despite her ladyship, Lady Willoughby Hawksmoor, my lord, pestering him something terrible.’
Lord Athelney rubbed his chin, and made a decision. ‘How old are you, Mitchum?’
‘By my reckoning, my lord, I shall be three and seventy come Candlemas.’ He sounded proud of having attained such age, as well he might.
‘You must have served the Hawksmoors over half a century.’
‘Aye, my lord, would be a little over that. All through Enclosure and everything.’
‘I am afraid your eyesight has become a problem. These last few entries,’ he really meant the last six pages, ‘are difficult to make either head or tail of, for figures and words. Would you give your years of experience to a younger man, and take your ease, as is your due? You would be provided for, as a loyal pensioner of the family.’
Mitchum sighed. ‘I cannot but say it would be a relief, my lord, but there is none hereabouts as I would recommend. I was never blessed with sons, or I would have trained one in my stead years back.’
‘I may have the answer to that,’ replied Lord Athelney, ‘but first I must write a letter.’
Courtesy demanded that Lord Athelney pay a social call upon his aunt at the Dower House as soon as possible, and as well as writing a letter, he sent a message down the hill that he would call upon the morrow, when he would not be travel-stained. He had very dim memories of both the late Lord Willoughby Hawksmoor and his lady, though he knew that his mama disliked her. It was not a visit to be made after a long morning in a carriage, which, ironically, made the sea-going marquis feel distinctly queasy, and Lady Willoughby would undoubtedly expect him to contact her in advance.
He retired early, after a dinner, which, for all the cook bemoaned her archaic workplace, was very good, and far more than would have graced his simple table in his Portsmouth rooms. He rang, reluctantly, for his valet. It had been borne upon him that the employment of a gentleman’s gentleman was required of a man of his rank, though he knew himself perfectly capable of fending for himself, until he saw the array of different ensembles it was thought necessary that he possess. Having lived in uniform, with no more than a decent supply of shirts, clean linen and a dress uniform, from adolescence, he found himself, as he had remarked, in uncharted waters. Evening wear was not difficult, barring the distinction between a private dinner and a formal ball or party, and the severe black was not so unlike a uniform, but the variety of coats and breeches and pantaloons for different daytime situations left his head reeling.
Mr Tideswell, having arranged that Lord Somborne would direct the new marquis with regard to apparel, took it upon himself to make enquiries as to where his lordship would find a suitable valet. In the end, the erstwhile Captain Hawksmoor, feeling as ill at ease with his title as his new clothes, interviewed five candidates for the position. The first was patronising, the second too fastidious. The third seemed fearful, and the fourth kept referring to ‘we’ as in ‘we will have to make ourselves at home in civilised society, my lord’, as though his prospective employer had spent his life among Barbary apes.
Lord Athelney was getting desperate by the time he interviewed the fifth valet, and heaved a sigh of relief.
Cottam had valeted a former military gentleman for some years, and had become accustomed to the more pragmatic view of dress. His objective, and he used the word knowing that it would sit well with the gentleman sat before him, was to turn his master out neat and tidy at all times, to ensure that his garments were kept in good order and condition, and to offer sartorial advice only when it was requested. He had been taken on with immediate effect.
It took Cottam some minutes to reach his master, for which he apologised. ‘The house, or rather castle, my lord, has many passages that appear the same to one unused to them, and I confess that I got lost.’
Lord Athelney laughed. ‘I am not surprised, Cottam. I almost wished I had a map. It will take us both a few days to find our way about. Now, tomorrow I must pay a call upon my aunt, who is in deep mourning. Please lay out something suitably sober.’
‘Of course, my lord.’ He assisted his lordship from his top boots. ‘Will you be driving or riding to the Dower House?’
‘It is only down the hill, in perfect view. I shall walk.’
The valet refrained from commenting that it would mean arriving with muddied boots, and prayed that it might be so inclement as to make his master change his mind.
Cottam was a man whose prayers were answered. The following day dawned with a strong westerly gale and lashing rain. Lord Athelney had spent innumerable days out in such conditions, but recognised that arriving at the Dower House dripping wet would not create a good impression. He therefore had the horses put to, and was driven the short distance down the hill, though it went against the grain.
Lady Willoughby Hawksmoor wore black well. It gave her ramrod-straight posture added definition, and enhanced what was, for a woman of over fifty, a good figure. She managed to combine the vulnerability of the bereaved with the natural steel of her mien, and was feared by most of those with whom she came into contact, be they relatives, acquaintances, or servants. Her son had rarely visited of late years, finding his mama’s animadversions upon his way of life not dissimilar to being thrashed at school: unpleasant to contemplate, painful to endure and lingering in effect. Her married daughter visited dutifully upon occasion, knowing that she would be told how she was raising her children incorrectly, wore her hair wrong and dressed like a dowd. Her younger daughter, having been so overawed by her strictures during her first London season that she behaved like a mouse fearing to leave the security of the edge of a room, had returned home to the Dower House unattached and in deep disfavour, Lady Willoughby seeing Charlotte’s failure as intentional and designed to embarrass her.
Her son’s sudden demise had caused her genuine distress, although his exploits had become so wild that such a calamity could not be entirely unforeseen. After the initial shock, she saw that it was yet another failure on his part, for had he but lived a short time longer, she might at least have been ‘the mother of the Marquis of Athelney’, which added to her consequence. That a different William Hawksmoor should succeed to the title irked the more so because of the name, and she greeted her nephew with thinly disguised dislike.
Lord Athelney bowed over her hand, and raised eyes that were not intimidated by her frosty greeting. ‘My condolences, ma’am.’
‘Really? Since you profited from the disaster that has befallen us, I can hardly believe them to be sincere.’ Her ladyship used ‘profited’ in a very derogatory tone, as though he had won a wager for the title.
He wondered if the ‘us’ pertained to the other ladies present, or was like a royal ‘we’.
‘I appreciate your grief as a parent, ma’am, and I can assure you that I do not consider myself to have “profited” by my change in circumstances.’
‘Do not be ridiculous. You have inherited a marquisate, and before that you were nothing.’
‘I was Captain William Hawksmoor of His Majesty’s Navy, ma’am,’ he responded tartly, flicked on the raw.
She sniffed, unabashed, and disregarded his reply. ‘You did not come to Kingscastle with any urgency. Was that indolence or indigence? I assume officers receive some meagre form of remuneration, since they work.’ She said the word as if it were dishonourable.
‘I needed to go to London with Tideswell, the lawyer, and also provide myself with suitable attire for civilian life. Striding about the countryside in uniform would occasion remark.’ He was not going to discuss his finances with her.
‘Striding about the country at all would do so. Surely you were taught to ride a horse, before you ran away to sea, Athelney?’
‘I can ride, ma’am, of course, and I did not run away to sea, nothing so romantic.’
‘I do not approve of “romantic”. It is foolishness.’
The youngest lady present gave what might have been a sigh. Lord Athelney glanced at her. She was pretty in a delicate way, with very fair hair and blue eyes. She looked as if permanently intimidated. The older daughter, he assumed, took more after her father, whom he dimly remembered as having dark brown hair like himself. She was petite also, but not frail-looking. She had the same straight back as his aunt, and her eyes were watchful.
Lady Willoughby saw him glance at Charlotte. ‘Thankfully, you are here at long last, which will expedite matters.’
‘Matters, ma’am?’
‘Yes. The requirements of the late Lord Athelney’s will are specific. I am in many ways glad that my poor boy was spared them,’ she dabbed a handkerchief once only at the corner of her eye, ‘but see that all is not lost. Since you have been so long absent from the family, you may not recall my younger daughter, Charlotte,’ she indicated the fair-haired damsel, ‘who will be your bride.’
Miss Hawksmoor let out a shocked squeak, and her eyes opened wide. Lord Athelney stared at his aunt in blank stupefaction. There followed an uneasy silence.
‘I would be happy to see her wed in a quiet, private ceremony, but would suggest that you wait at least another month, lest it be perceived as hasty.’
‘The hastiness, ma’am, is in your assumption that I will make my cousin an offer,’ declared Lord Athelney, recovering the power of speech.
‘Of course you will. It is eminently sensible. Where else will you find a wife of breeding outside the London season? And your case is urgent.’
‘I do not know how you come to be in possession of this information, ma’am, but …’
‘I demanded to see the will, of course. One cannot trust menials. The provisions for myself and Charlotte were adequate, but no more.’
Even in his anger, Lord Athelney was confused by his aunt’s lack of acknowledgement of the elder daughter. If she was going to thrust one upon him, why had she selected the younger?
‘And your elder daughter?’ He looked at the brunette.
Lady Willoughby followed his gaze, and looked quite shocked. ‘My elder daughter is provided for, very well, by her husband. That,’ she pointed at the young woman, ‘is no daughter of mine. It is Eleanor.’ She gave no more than the name.
‘Forgive me, my lord,’ Eleanor stepped forward and made her curtsey. ‘We have not been introduced. My name is Eleanor Burgess, a connection of Lady Willoughby’s, and her companion. I am employed, my lord, and,’ she gave a tight smile, ‘thus am also a person in receipt of remuneration.’
She looked him in the eye. Her voice was controlled, cool, but he thought that however subservient her outward demeanour, she disliked being treated as an object, and had inner spirit. He bowed, far lower than was required to ‘a person in receipt of remuneration’.
‘It is you who should forgive me, Miss Burgess.’
‘I do not see that anyone need be forgiving except me. Who else has been insulted?’ Lady Willoughby disliked the fact that Eleanor Burgess had distracted his lordship from the matter in hand. ‘As I said, your case is urgent, Athelney. A wife is a wife. You will find Charlotte biddable, unobtrusive,’ she gave her daughter a glance that held disdain, ‘and perfectly suited to the role she will assume.’
Lord Athelney could think of few less appealing descriptions of a future spouse. Had he ever contemplated the married state, it would not have been with a girl like Charlotte Hawksmoor.
‘You are under a gross misapprehension, Lady Willoughby. If I make any lady an offer, it will be my choice. I will not have a wife thrust upon me.’ He looked visibly annoyed.
Lady Willoughby realised that she had been too forceful. Lord Athelney was not the sort of man with whom she had much contact.
‘I apologise if I seem too pragmatic, Athelney. I understand that you may wish to get to know Charlotte better before coming to your decision.’
Lord Athelney was unsure what to do. His experience with the female of the species was exceedingly limited, and he did not think that reiterating his position more forcefully would succeed in getting through to this extraordinary woman. He therefore did what any good sailor would do when faced with having to head directly into the wind; he tacked.
‘I do not think either Miss Hawksmoor or myself would wish to undertake any commitment without a vastly greater understanding of a potential spouse.’ He phrased it as politely and vaguely as possible.
