Bething's Folly (6 page)

Ferddie had returned to the drawing room to find Carleton pouring a glass of Madeira for Lady Burke, blithely recounting some tale of his aunt’s pug. Milbrooke helped himself to another brandy and tried to catch his friend’s eye, but the Marquis merely went on with his story. Ferddie shrugged and sat down—it was still Carleton’s play—only to bounce up again when Miss Bethingame entered the room. This time she was charming in a plain muslin gown of light brown with orange ribbons, her hair simply caught back in a matching bow. Carleton took her hand and enquired about her headache, so Ferddie followed his lead with hopes that her good looks reflected her good health. Miss Bethingame coloured prettily, thanked her guests for their kindness and rang for tea before sitting down to discuss the gentlemen’s ride over.

Lady Burke looked from Ferddie, nodding pleasantly, to Carleton, who was solemnly criticising the state of the roadways, to her perfectly lady-like niece, and told herself they were all candidates for Bedlam. She took another sip of her Madeira.

When the possibilities for conversation about the roads and the pleasant weather had been exhausted, Carleton addressed Lady Burke again, with the same degree of polite formality, to express an invitation to her and her niece, on behalf of his aunt Sephrina, Margaret’s mother. There was to be another dance in honour of Margaret’s engagement a sennight hence, a small, neighbourly affair, and Carle Manor would be honoured to host the Bethingame ladies. “Oh, yes,” he concluded, “there will of course be card rooms for the nondancers in the party.”

Elizabeth was undoubtedly going to refuse, Lady Burke knew, so she hastily accepted for them both. “How very kind of you. Elizabeth, dear, now you can wear the lovely lilac gown Ellie sent from London, can’t you? Oh, my, how kind of your aunt, Lord Carleton.” There was nothing for Elizabeth to do but acquiesce. She could not very well argue with her aunt in front of the gentlemen—her own ploy—nor could she express her opinion that Lord Carleton’s aunt was so far unaware of the gracious invitation. She could only credit the Marquis’s tactics, for whatever purpose he had in mind, knowing she had been skilfully manoeuvred Into another function she would have declined and more of the public scrutiny she deplored. She could not help but distrust the smile Carleton was giving her, it was too calculating, too sure of success. Well, she might have to attend Margaret’s party, but she did not have to dance with Margaret’s cousin! Pointedly ignoring the Marquis, she turned to Ferddie Milbrooke, asking if he was also going to attend, which was a mistake on her part. Ferddie asked her for the first dance, as she knew he would, but Carleton had taken the opportunity for further conversation with Lady Burke. When Elizabeth could politely finish the talk with Milbrooke, it was to see Carleton as pleased as a cat full of cream and her aunt beaming.

“Elizabeth, you will never guess what a kind offer Lord Carleton has made! He has volunteered to teach you the waltz, to save us the bother and expense of hiring an instructor. Isn’t that delightful? I think so, Elizabeth, for I am assured all the young ladies waltz now, although in my day ... Well, I could not be more pleased, for to tell the truth I was meaning to talk to you about that very thing, Elizabeth. And, dear, I have invited Lord Carleton—and you, too, Lord Milbank—to tea tomorrow, for a lesson. Isn’t that fine, dear?”

“That is Lord
Milbrooke
, Aunt Claudia, and, no, we have other plans for tomorrow afternoon, so we must regretfully decline my Lord’s
kind
offer.” Miss Bethingame was gritting her teeth over the polite phrases and glaring at her aunt. This was too much! Lady Burke, however, was never one for subtleties, especially when she saw her duties clearly and an object of desire in sight.

“Oh, do we have plans for tomorrow, dear? Well, then the following day, Lord Carleton, Lord Milbrooke? And perhaps we might have time for a round or two of whist.” Carleton agreed readily, and Milbrooke went along, so once again Miss Bethingame was trapped, committed to dancing lessons with a notorious flirt who only wished to embarrass her. “Thank you, I am delighted, to be sure.” Lady Burke was so pleased with the arrangements she believed she had made, and so thrilled at the interest Carleton was taking in her niece, that she thought to put the icing on the cake, so to speak: “Elizabeth, dear, why don’t you show the gentlemen around the property? I am sure they would enjoy seeing the stables. All gentlemen do.”

Elizabeth felt that she would gladly throttle her aunt, but to her surprise the Marquis declined, claiming they were overdue at Carlyle, and rose to leave. Ferddie naturally had to rise with him, though he was bewildered by his friend’s decision to leave without seeing even one of the supposed champion stock. Why, he’d known Carleton to drive hours out of his way just to inspect a likely comer. Lady Burke was astonished that her trump card had failed. When her brother was alive, the place had simply thronged with gentlemen eager for such an invitation; since they were out of mourning, of course, the guests were much fewer, only a few close friends and childhood beaux of Elizabeth’s, but none of them ever left without a survey of the new acquisitions. Even Miss Bethingame was thoroughly confused, especially after Carleton’s casual, “Maybe next time.” Only Carleton was satisfied as they made their farewells, though damn, he told himself, he would love a tour of the place!

EIGHT

Two days later, as arranged, Carleton and Milbrooke rode over to Bething Manor for dancing lessons, tea and whist. Ferddie had been granted a higher degree of confidence and a better understanding of the role he was to play. In return, he had passed on, in exuberant adjectives, his impressions of the stables from his visit in the company of the spaniel and Jackson, the trainer and manager.

Equipped with sheet music, a meat pastry wrapped in paper to appease the pug and his friend’s information, Lord Alexander Carleton was looking forward to the afternoon’s curious diversions. Not so Miss Bethingame, who was presently in her bedroom, ransacking her wardrobe. She did not wish to give the Marquis a wrong impression by dressing to the hilt for him, as her aunt wished; neither did she want to appear ungainly before two London gentlemen come to teach the country bumpkin how to waltz. Miss Bethingame was not used to fussing with her appearance, nor worrying over others’ opinions of her behaviour, and she was not enjoying this new experience. She almost convinced herself that she did not care what Carleton thought of her, yet the brown muslin was too plain, the pink silk too low-cut ... At last she decided on a burnt-peach gown edged at neckline and hem with ecru lace. It was not her most elegant or stylish day-dress, yet she thought it one of Ellie’s most becoming, and she felt sorely in need of the confidence the gown could give her.

Too much time had been spent in the selection to leave much opportunity for leisurely dressing. Her brown-gold hair was quickly and skilfully coerced by Bessie, her maid, into a fashion known as Grecian curls, with a wisp or two of hair escaping to frame her face. Matching ribbon was provided, and her mother’s pearls, her only jewelry. Perhaps it was the colour of the dress, or the hurry, or the nervous anticipation, but Miss Bethingame’s colouring was at its finest, not the commonplace pink and white, but a lovely rosy glow. Again, perhaps it was Bessie’s proud compliments or her own resolution to be on her guard, but the gold in Elizabeth’s wide brown eyes sparkled with animation seldom seen in blue or green ones. Bessie smiled fondly. She’d told old Lord Bethingame what a beauty his daughter would be; it was a shame he could not be here to share it. Bessie also regretted for the thousandth time that her darling would not get to shine at a London Season ... a motherless girl with a skinflint uncle and a balmy aunt. The maid shook her head. At least the fine gentlemen downstairs might appreciate her treasure. Better a Town buck than an old Lancashire widower!

The gentlemen were indeed appreciative, Ferddie with his charming compliments, Carleton with his beguiling smile. Then it was down to serious business, the Marquis taking charge. No more teasing or conniving; he was a strict taskmaster. Lady Burke fumbled at the pianoforte while Carleton turned the pages and marked the tempo. Milbrooke danced first with an ungraceful partner, twirling a gilt chair around the drawing room to give Elizabeth the idea. If anyone thought to question why Ferddie should do the dancing, Carleton the instructing, no one mentioned it. Miss Bethingame was half-relieved, half oddly disappointed, but the lesson proceeded smoothly. Her natural grace and sense of rhythm, coupled with the coordination developed through years of riding, stood her in good stead. She was never made to feel a clumsy fool, even when she miscounted her steps or Carleton criticised her inattention to the tempo. He was impersonal; Ferddie was patient. Together they commended her quick grasp of the dance, and in no time at all she was actually enjoying herself. Too soon Carleton called a halt, congratulating Lady Burke on her niece’s aptitude:

“One more session for practice and she shall be as proficient as any lady at the dance, don’t you think, Ferddie?”

“Lovelier, I’ll wager.”

Basking in such praise, Miss Bethingame could not be offended when arrangements were made for another lesson in two days’ time. She was serving tea and conversing easily with Lord Milbrooke about the other guests to be expected at Margaret’s affair, for he would be one of the few strangers present. Talk turned to some of the region’s more colourful citizens, with Carleton and Miss Bethingame trading stories for Ferddie’s amusement. The hour passed pleasantly enough, until a table was cleared for cards. Miss Bethingame admitted to a sad lack of skill at yet another art, but it was seen to be more from lack of interest than slowness of wit. She played a great deal better when sides were switched and Carleton was her partner, yet had to struggle to keep her concentration on the cards. Lady Burke made the gentlemen promise a return match when they declared it was time to leave, so she was well satisfied. Once again she invited her guests to visit the stables before leaving—this time with a degree of curiosity—and once again Carleton refused with some polite pretext. Miss Bethingame began to feel a prick of irritation, that his show of indifference might betoken disdain for the Folly’s puny efforts. She did manage to thank him with genuine
sincerity for
his instruction, though, and Ferddie for his patience: “I do hope I did not scuff your boots too badly, Lord Milbrooke.”

“Not at all, ma’am. It was my pleasure, I’m sure. You’ll see, next time will be real dancing.”

The next lesson began the same, Elizabeth and Ferddie waltzing while Carleton looked on, giving praise or blame to either indiscriminately. Lady Burke gamely played on.

A short interlude passed this way before the Marquis announced that now Miss Bethingame must waltz as a woman, not a schoolgirl. She must be able to relax, to carry on a conversation with her partner, not minding her feet or the count, or Ferddie may as well be dancing with the chair. Ferddie made her laugh at this, with his nonsensical description of the various styles of chairs he had partnered at debutante balls. Before she was aware of it, Miss Bethingame had overcome her first nervousness and found herself gliding without conscious effort,
feeling
the music while hearing and joining Ferddie’s gay repartee.

The fun stopped when the Marquis laid his hand on Milbrooke’s shoulder and quietly asked, “May I?” Miss Bethingame’s insides gave a lurch, and a shiver twinged at her spine as he bowed before her. She returned an uncertain curtsey, surprised to see Ferddie changing places with her aunt at the piano bench.

“Now you must learn to waltz as it was meant to be danced,” Carleton told her softly as Ferddie turned pages in the music book, “elegantly, romantically ... seductively. The waltz was wickedly improper once, and you must dance the
why
of that.” He spoke in a low voice, to her alone, as Ferddie began to play surprisingly—astonishingly—well. What embarrassment she might have felt at his words, what offense even, vanished as they began to dance. He held her closer than Ferddie had, more firmly, not letting her lower her eyes from his as the magnificence of Ferddie’s music surrounded them. Carleton danced effortlessly; she could never be awkward in his arms. They swirled around furniture she was not aware of, and a part of her mind finally understood why the waltz was banned for so long in polite society.

“When you waltz,” the Marquis was saying, “really waltz, you must look at your partner as though he were the only man whose arms you ever wished around you. He must look at you as ... as I am.”

The rest of the dance was a dream Elizabeth only awoke from at her aunt’s applause. Elizabeth blushed furiously, then covered it by turning to Ferddie.

“Why, Lord Milbrooke, how marvelously you play! I had no idea!”

“Oh, I am out of practice now,” he discredited the praise. “Don’t get much opportunity, you know.” Still, he beamed under their combined approval, especially the ladies’ exclamations when Carleton told them what a rare treat they’d had, as Ferddie generally refused to play in public.

Tea was called for, with a discussion of music happily continuing. Ferddie turned out to be the most knowledgeable, though Carleton and Miss Bethingame found their tastes more similar. Lady Burke had to be apprised of the latest composers finding patrons among the London
ton
, pleased to agree with his criticism of the dilettante set though she had not the slightest understanding of his disdain.

A card table was again prepared, but three hands found Miss Bethingame guilty of her second bidding error.

“I am sorry, my Lords, Aunt Claudia; I simply do not have a head for cards!” she apologised. She really felt she needed some fresh air. “Perhaps if we conclude the game early this afternoon you might wish to visit the stables with me, if you are interested.” She directed this last to Carleton, testing him, yet she was unsure what answer would have pleased her most.

He gave her that same beguiling, lopsided smile which she was learning was half-irony, half-true amusement. “If
you
wish us to come, I would be honoured,” he answered, reflecting her own uncertainty back at her and dismaying her by seeming to read her mind.

“I’ve seen the stables, Miss Bethingame,” said Milbrooke. “Perhaps I’ll just have a hand or two of piquet with Lady Burke, if that is all right with you, ma’am?”

Lady Burke was delighted, although she could not help feeling a trifle guilty over this lapse in chaperonage. Jackson would be there, however, and the entire stable crew, and it would only be a hand or two...

Elizabeth led Lord Carleton down the rear hallway, and would have simply left the house but for the Marquis’s reminder that she would need a wrap. He glanced at her teasingly, at her flimsy gown with its short, puffed sleeves. He knew she was disconcerted enough to forget the spring chill, and she knew that he knew, and was only more uncomfortable. Happy for the excuse, no matter how temporary, she asked him to wait in the nearby library while she fetched a shawl. She spent a few minutes in her room, arranging the shawl on her shoulders and trying to settle her thoughts. Was the Marquis trying to fix her attention or not, she wondered. She had so little experience with these matters she could not tell. He knew how she felt about surrendering the Folly to a stranger or allowing herself to be married off in some land transaction, so why was he flirting with her? Most likely because it was in his nature, she decided; but why, she asked herself furiously, must something in her respond to him?

The Marquis had been surprised at the library, at first. One long side of the large room was indeed stocked floor to ceiling with all manner of books, though whole shelves were reserved for horse-oriented volumes. The shelves on an adjoining side of the room held all sorts of trophies, cups, ribbons and certificates, attesting to Lord Bethingame’s accomplishments. The other short side of the room held the large stone fireplace, with a superb jade horse on the mantle. T’ang Dynasty probably, Carleton thought approvingly. The same deep green was tastefully matched in the heavy brocade draperies, the worn leather of the chairs. The room was comfortable, masculine, familiar, except for the other long wall. This was hung with every odd size, shape and style of painting—all of horses! He was admiring some, chuckling over others, noting that each was by a different, unknown artist, when Miss Bethingame returned, much composed.

“Oh, you’ve discovered the family portrait gallery, have you?” she said with a laugh. “Papa always felt so sorry for the young artists hoping for a commission that he would let them paint his horses. Word got out, and every so often one would appear with a sad tale. Some of them had never painted a horse before, as you can see, but Papa was always willing to let them try and he, at least, was never disappointed.”

Carleton laughed. “And did he never commission any to paint his daughter?”

“Oh, no, he felt it would be a waste until I grew up! I think he was afraid, also. You see, we do have one fine miniature upstairs. It is of my mother, but she took a fever shortly after it was completed and never recovered. I was about six at the time but remember Papa feeling the portrait was bad luck, although he cherished it greatly.”

“And you have been alone since then?” he asked curiously.

“Alone? Why, no, Papa was here, and Bessie, and my old governess. And Aunt Claudia came, and of course I had all the horses. Come, I’ll show you.”

The stables were well built, airy and dry. The dirt underfoot was neatly swept, the straw in the stalls fresh and sweet-smelling. Carleton had time for a look around while Miss Bethingame greeted the rambunctious spaniel; a whole crew of young men smiled and tipped their hats to her before continuing their chores. There was no stinting
here
, Carleton noted. Horses were being led in and out for grooming and exercise. Some were mares brought in for foaling, Elizabeth explained, others boarders for breeding to the Bething stud. There was no uncertainty about Miss Bethingame now as she led Carleton to the end stall to view the stallion, Beth’s Moonlight, a direct descendant of Darley’s Arabian, through Eclipse. He was a huge animal, dark bay with black points, steady and intelligent looking. He came to the gate to have his muzzle stroked and wuffled until a piece of sugar was found.

“He is magnificent,” Carleton agreed. “But why don’t I know his name? He must have a formidable racing record, to base the stud on, but I cannot place him.”

“No, he never raced. He came up lame at the Ascot trials.” She told it simply, not revealing the death blow it had seemed to her father, who had sold off his acreage and everything he had to meet the purchase price. “But you would have won, wouldn’t you, boy?” She turned back to Carleton again: “He would have, too. Everyone said so. They would have destroyed him right there, but Robbie convinced Papa he could stand to stud, even if he never raced again. And enough people had seen him at the trials to be interested in his offspring. His breeding helped, of course.”

Carleton could not help marvelling, while she continued, at the chance Lord Bethingame must have taken, marvelling further at this beautiful girl with shining brown eyes talking of stud fees and consistently productive breedings. Most young ladies would blush just to hear the words. And knowledgeable? If he had thought her stable manager to be totally in charge here, he silently acknowledged the fault. Miss Bethingame knew more about the lineage and points of every horse in the stable—only possibly barring his and Ferddie’s—than he ever hoped to, and he was considered an extremely proficient and learned horseman, if not an absolute Corinthian. He followed meekly behind the slip of a girl and her dog as she paused at various stalls, describing the mares to him.