Captain Ingram's Inheritance (7 page)

 “None. Do you play?” Sitting up, he twisted stiffly to look around the room. “There is no instrument in here,” he said, disappointed. “I should like to hear you play. I enjoy music though I’ve heard little enough besides military marches and soldiers’ songs--most of them unfit for a lady’s ears,” he added with a grin.

 Constantia properly ignored this last comment. “There is an old spinet in the schoolroom. I shall have it brought down later--if you truly wish it?”

 “I do.”

 “You are not just being polite?”

 “How can you think so, when I was so impolite as to bring a blush to your cheeks not a moment since?”

 “You are a great tease, sir,” she said with dignified severity. “Since your spirits are so high, I believe it is time for you to take your exercise.”

  “Your belief is my command, ma’am.” He pushed aside the rug and made an effort to rise. Constantia saw the mortification in his brown eyes as he said wryly, “I am a little stiff from sitting, I’m afraid. A footman....”

 “I am perfectly able to assist you.” She hurried to his side. “I am stronger than I appear, as well as less compliant!”

 As, with her aid, he painfully stood and straightened, she realized that he had only seemed short in contrast to her tall brother. In fact, he topped her by several inches. His hand on her arm, though thin, was square and well-kept, giving an impression of strength, and there was a faint, clean, herbal fragrance about him.

 Leaning on her arm, he took several slow steps, then Joan arrived beside them.

 “Let me help the gentleman, my lady,” she said, stiff with disapproval.

 He flashed the maid a smile that visibly thawed her. “Thank you, but I’ll try how I can do without support.”

 Once the stiffness wore off, Captain Ingram’s physical condition was much improved since the morning, Constantia was pleased to see. With occasional rests, they strolled up and down the gallery for half an hour. He commented on the portraits in their heavy gilt frames, and Constantia offered to show them to him one day when there was more light from the windows.

 “And when you are a little more recovered,” she said. “My ancestors are enough to cow the boldest.”

 “They are all ancestors?” he marvelled. “No doubt my...er, many noble families have such collections.”

 “I am sure they do.” She wondered what he had been going to say.

 Soon after, he declared that he was ready to retire to his chamber for a while, and he asked Constantia to ring for a footman.

 “This time you cannot assist me,” he said firmly.

 The walking had obviously tired him, yet there was an inexplicable air of suppressed excitement about him. Puzzled, Constantia reluctantly went off to join her mother and the guests before her absence became so prolonged as to arouse interest.

 She liked Captain Ingram, and had no desire to be banned from his company.

Chapter 5

 Frank looked around his new chamber. On the chest-of-drawers stood a bowl of roses, surely Lady Constantia’s work. She was a sweet-natured girl, and he was sorry for her. He had never expected to pity an earl’s daughter for her circumscribed life.

 He crossed to the chest and bent awkwardly to smell the pink and white blooms.

 The low truckle was well furnished with a mountainous featherbed and a gay quilted counterpane. Frank was tempted to retreat to its depths but undressing seemed too much effort, though Miriam had had his shirts remade to button right down the front instead of just at the neck. It was out of the question to request aid of a strange footman who’d then go gossiping in the servants’ hall about what he had seen. Felix’s valet, Trevor, wouldn’t condescend to gossip, but if he agreed to help it would be grudgingly, with a sour face.

 Frank missed Hoskins and wondered what had become of the stalwart, faithful corporal. He had had to return to his unit when the Ingrams left Brussels. Without Felix’s help, Frank could never have managed on that journey, too weak to dress and undress himself, too much recovered to let Fanny help.

 Sprawling fully clothed on top of the bed, he grinned. The Westwoods would be devilish out of countenance if they ever discovered that their noble son had played body-servant to a paltry artillery captain.

 One who was about to metamorphose into the wealthy grandson of a duke!

 Thomas entered and Frank sent him to fetch Taggle and to ask Fanny to join him. Fanny arrived first. Her eyes sparkled with anger, a vast improvement over her earlier apathetic misery, in her brother’s view.

 “What’s put you on your high horse?” he asked, sitting up.

 “Lord Westwood! He is the most odious, toplofty brute, looking down his nose at me as if I were a scullery maid caught pinching the silver.”

 “You didn’t tell him about our windfall, I take it?”

 “I wouldn’t lower myself to cater to his crotchets.”

 “What did he say?”

 “He tried to convince me I should find myself so uncomfortable among my betters at Westwood, that for my own sake I ought to leave. I told him I shall take his opinion into consideration.”

 Frank laughed. “I wager he had no answer for that. Ah, here’s Taggle.”

 The lawyer’s emissary was a small, bright-eyed man in a frieze coat and catskin waistcoat. “Well, I caught up wiv yer at last,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “I am addressing Capting and Miss Ingram, I s’pose?”

 “You are,” said Fanny, her mouth twitching. “Won’t you sit down, Mr Taggle?” She took a seat on a Windsor chair.

 He pulled up another. “Capting Francis and Miss Frances Ingram?” he persisted.

 “That’s right.” Frank fixed him with a warning glare. Through a mix-up of the twin babies at their baptism, he had been christened after his mother. His middle name was not to be bandied about even before Fanny, who knew it but loyally kept the deep, dark secret.

 Taggle winked. “Places and dates of birf?” he proceeded.

 “Nilgapur, India,” said Fanny, passing two sheets of parchment to him. “I found our baptismal certificates among Mama’s papers. You must know that we are twins, surely. We were both born on the twelfth of May, 1790.”

 He perused the papers and nodded in satisfaction. “To Lieutenant Thomas Ingram, Royal Horse Artillery, and Frances Cy...” With a knowing grin at Frank, he tapped his nose. “Mum’s the word, Capting. I weren’t ‘ired for me beauty so musta bin acos I’m a discreet sort o’ cove. Lady Frances Ingram, née Kerridge, is what we’ll say. Got yer ma’s marriage lines, ‘ave yer, miss?”

 Fanny shook her head. Taggle tut-tutted. For a moment Frank feared that would be the end of the matter. Though deeply disappointed, he was glad they had told no one. He’d never really quite believed it anyway.

 But the little man just said, “Now wou’ncha think a mort’d ‘ang on to them lines like the very dickens? Specially a gentry mort. Never mind, eh. I seen the church register and all’s bowman. I’m ‘appy to announce as ‘ow you two’s the grandchildren o’ the late Duke of Oxshott and heirs to all ‘is unentailed property.”

 Frank and Fanny exchanged an awed glance, then Fanny asked, “That’s everything that didn’t legally have to go to the new duke?”

 “Right, miss. Not but what ‘e’da bin ‘appy enough to leave you the ruddy lot, I reckon. You’d never guess what ‘is grace called ‘is rightful heir in ‘is will. Right there on the legal dockiment, I seen it wi’ me own eyes: nincompoop.”

 Frank laughed, but said soberly, “I daresay there wasn’t much property unentailed.”

 “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Capting. The new Duke’s not going to be ‘appy I run you to earth, I’ll tell you that. How d’you like two estates--small uns, mind--and a plum apiece? That’s an ‘undred thousand, miss.”

 “A hundred thousand?” Frank was utterly incredulous. He’d been thinking in terms of a few hundred a year, if they were lucky. Enough, perhaps, to quit the army and rent a cottage for the three of them if Fanny didn’t marry Roworth. “A hundred thousand pounds each?”

 Taggle shrugged, obviously pleased with the effect of his announcement. “Could be guineas, give or take a few. Mr Mackintyre, the lawyer, ‘e’ll give you the numbers. I got to get back to Lunnon, give ‘im the news. ‘E’ll come down ‘ere to see you, wiv papers to sign and that. Don’t look for ‘im for a week or ten days, though. Lawyers!” he grumbled. “Always on at you to ‘urry but you don’t see them doing nuffink in an ‘urry.” He stood up.

 Fanny also rose, looking dazed. “All I can say, Mr Taggle, is thank you for persevering in your hunt.”

 “Bless your ‘eart, miss, it’s my pleasure. Get paid by the day, I do. Well, Capting, ‘ere’s ‘oping a spot o’ the ready and rhino’ll put you on yer feet.” He shook Frank’s proffered hand with painful heartiness. “And that reminds me. Be fergetting me own ‘ead next.” Delving into an inside pocket, with the air of a magician he produced a roll of flimsies. “‘Ere’s a bit to tide you over, like.”

 He tossed it on the bed. Frank counted the Bank of England notes while Fanny went out to the bureau in the gallery to write out the requested receipt. Mr Taggle departed with a cheery wave of the hand.

 “Two hundred pounds!” Fanny exclaimed, dropping into the chair again. “Frank, with so much money we need not wait here for Mr Mackintyre.”

 “You want to leave? After defying Lord Westwood?”

 “I defied him, but he was right,” she said sadly. “We don’t belong here. Perhaps we could go to one of the estates we have inherited.”

 “Hardly. We don’t know where they are, nor who’s in residence, nor even what sort of condition they’re in.” Frank looked about the cosy room. His gaze came to rest on the bowl of roses. Leave, when Lady Constantia was resolved to make him comfortable and restore him to health? “I hate to admit it, but I’m not sure I’m up to another journey so soon.”

 “We need not go far,” she pleaded. “Wells is close, and Bath not too far, I believe, and both must have respectable hostelries.”

 “Travelling in a hired chaise,” he said with exaggerated gloom. “Roworth has already sent the Cohens’ carriage back to them. And think of Anita. She hated to leave Amos, and now you would tear her from her new friend.”

 “I know she is already fond of Lady Victoria, but....”

 “And what about Mr Mackintyre? He won’t know where to find us.” He rushed on before she worked out that they could easily warn Taggle of their departure and write to the lawyer once they were settled elsewhere. “No, we had best stay until Mackintyre arrives. I’m tired, Fanny.”

 “You’re right,” she said, all contrition. “You ought not to travel again so soon, and you would not be near so comfortable in an inn. Come, let me help you out of your coat so that you can rest properly.”

 Frank’s guilt was momentary. His sister might find Westwood uncomfortable at present, but he remained convinced that she and Roworth loved each other. If she left they’d have no chance to patch up their differences.

 And then there was Lady Constantia, he thought drowsily, drifting into sleep.

 He woke to the drip-drip-drip of a steady downpour outside, and a faint sound of music. For several minutes he lay listening, until he recalled Taggle’s visit. Or had the odd little man been a dream? No, there on the bedside table lay the roll of banknotes.

 With a rush of energy, Frank sat up. He put the money in the drawer of the table, out of the way of the prying eyes of servants. Until the lawyer had confirmed Taggle’s news, he wanted no talk of sudden wealth. No making of plans, either, he decided; no castles in Spain to come tumbling down if Mr Mackintyre failed to accept them as the late duke’s grandchildren.

 Cautiously he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. The slight dizziness he had come to expect failed to materialize. Perhaps Lady Constantia’s milk-and-stout restorative was already working its wonders! Miriam was right, as usual: despite her efforts to tempt his appetite, at Nettledene he had not been eating enough for the needs of his battered body. Somehow Lady Constantia’s gentle, diffident determination that he should eat was irresistible.

 Crossing to the door, he opened it a crack to let in the sound of the spinet. She--it must be she--was playing a slow, dreamy air on the soft-toned instrument.

 He went to the looking-glass to tie his cravat and brush his hair. It was longer than he had worn it in the army, but not too long for a fashionable gentleman. For the first time since Quatre Bras, he deliberately studied his face, by the gloomy light from the window. The sun-brown of his once active outdoor life had faded to a sickly pallor, and sharp cheekbones stood out above hollow cheeks. No wonder Lady Constantia had been hard pressed to hide her dismay on first seeing him, yet there was no mark on his face to hint at...

 Forget it! he told himself sharply. This is at best a short interlude. Enjoy her company while you may.

 As he put on his coat, he noticed that even that was suffused with the herbal smell of Miriam’s unguents. At least he had persuaded her to change from the rose essence she’d originally used for the lotions and ointments he had to rub in twice daily, before his exercises. Sniffing, he hoped the odour was not offensive to a lady’s delicate nostrils. Lady Constantia had not recoiled when she rushed to support him for that all too brief moment.

 With one last glance at the mirror, he went out into the gallery. The spinet had been set up on a stand at the far end. Bowed over her music, Lady Constantia’s head gleamed pure gold by the light of a branch of candles. Her slender hands plucked a plaintive melody from the ivory keys.

 A sudden vision overwhelmed Frank: a winter’s evening; himself seated by a cheerful fire, a child on his knee; Constantia’s golden head bowed over her music....

 Savagely he cursed his imagination. Rich or poor, duke’s grandson or insignificant soldier, he was not for her. She deserved a husband whose appearance would not drive her to hysterics on her wedding night. He must think of her as the sister she would become if Fanny married Roworth. What man could complain with two such sisters?

 Looking up with a smile as the captain approached along the gallery, Constantia caught a fleeting melancholy on his face. The shadow vanished as he answered her smile. At once she was reassured that the bond of friendly sympathy between them was not a mere fancy on her part. So quickly formed, it had seemed too good to be true.