Chapter Two

Chapter Two

As Ivo William Bonville strolled up the winding driveway of Plumpton Hall—a good three hours after he had departed—he noted a peculiar sight. At each one of the windows which faced out onto the rolling lawns stood a maid, ostensibly cleaning the glass.

Ivo might not have thought much of this, had it not been for the fact that every one of the young women was not actually doing much cleaning, rather the cloths in their hands were idle, whilst their noses were pressed up against the panes as they peered out at some unseen spectacle.

It was not until Ivo reached the top of the driveway—which led to a circular courtyard with a fountain at its centre—that he discovered just what it was that that had the housemaids all a flutter—or rather who.

Lord Crabb, with his betrothed Miss Prunella Hughes by his side, stood conversing with a gentleman of such masculine beauty that Michaelangelo himself might weep in his presence. Even Ivo could understand the housemaids" gawping, for in his one and thirty years he could not recall having ever seen a man so beautiful as this. Golden hair, fine, noble features, and an athletic physique which was highlighted by a pair of very snug breeches—was it any wonder the maids were so enthralled?

"Ah, Bonville," Lord Crabb called, as he caught sight of Ivo, "Come meet—what was your name again, my lad? You"ll have to forgive me, my memory is not what it once was."

"Adonis," the handsome gentleman supplied, in a voice so melodic it was like dripped honey, "Mr Theodore Adonis."

"Mr Adonis," Lord Crabb echoed, puffing out his pigeon chest importantly, "He is here to landscape the gardens. My dear Prunella—I mean, Miss Hughes—tells me he comes highly recommended. He studied at Cambridge."

"Oxford," Adonis corrected, politely.

"Then trained with Capability Brown," Lord Crabb continued, as though he had not heard Adonis" remark.

"Humphry Repton, actually," Adonis corrected again, for the world and his dog knew that Brown was long since dead.

"And he recently redesigned the Duke of Portland"s grounds," Lord Crabb finished, in triumph, oblivious to Mr Adonis" pained expression.

"It was the Earl of Kettle"s, my lord," Adonis said, but the viscount was not listening.

"He has great plans for the place, Bonville," Lord Crabb beamed, "Perhaps you will stay and see the final results."

"I am sure that Mr Bonville must soon return to town, my lord," Miss Hughes interrupted, her eyes narrowing in dislike as they fell on Ivo, "You did mention, Mr Bonville, that you were thinking of leaving tomorrow morning, did you not?"

"I do not recall having said that," Ivo answered honestly, causing Miss Hughes to flush prettily with indignation. Perhaps chivalry might have obliged another gentleman to defend her honour and continue the lie, but Ivo found his sense of chivalry shrivelled up and died in Miss Hughes" presence.

"My dear, you are becoming as absent minded as I am," Lord Crabb said affectionately, "Or perhaps, excitement for the wedding day is addling your thoughts."

Judging by Miss Hughes" brief grimace of distaste, Ivo safely assumed that "excited" was not the word that she might have picked to describe her feelings toward the impending wedding.

"What young lady would not be distracted when her life"s greatest dream is soon to be realised?" Ivo agreed, mildly, his observation causing Miss Hughes to frown once more.

She sensed his sarcasm, but dared not call him out on it, for to do so would be to reveal that she too thought her marriage to Lord Crabb the farthest thing from any young lady"s dream. It was quite amusing to watch her pout in annoyance; Ivo was not often given over to needling, but Miss Hughes and the particularly cold—one might say hostile—welcome she had offered him meant that he quite enjoyed exacting her ire. Silly chit thought he had come to steal away Lord Crabb"s fortune, when anyone who read the papers would know that he had amassed a fortune of his own, which rivalled even that of a viscount.

"Yes, yes," Lord Crabb agreed, his ego so large that he did not see anything amiss in Ivo"s statement, "One cannot blame Miss Hughes for having scattered thoughts with the wedding so close. We shall leave her with Mr Adonis, who might oblige me by distracting her with his ideas for the gardens."

"I would be only too happy to distract Miss Hughes," Mr Adonis volunteered.

And she to be distracted by you, Ivo thought, though he dared not say it for even he adhered to some social strictures at times.

Ivo and Lord Crabb left a very pleased looking Miss Hughes in the company of the God of Gardening, and made their way inside. A footman rushed to open the front door for them, and Ivo followed Lord Crabb inside to the entrance hall.

"Sir Charles is waiting for you in the drawing room, my lord," Allen, the elderly butler intoned as the door closed behind the pair.

"What about Mr Just?" the viscount answered, "Did you inform him that I wished him to remain after he had gone through the marriage contract with Sir Charles?"

"I don"t recall you asking me to do that, my lord," Allen replied, his face impassive.

Lord Crab furrowed his brow into a frown, which he directed at poor Allen. The two men were of a similar age, both sporting thinning tufts of white hair and age-spots upon their sagging cheeks.

"I am certain that I told you, Allen," Lord Crabb huffed, "I wanted to make a change to my will—as you well know. If I didn"t know any better, I"d think that you forgot deliberately so as to slight me."

"Not at all, my lord," to Allen"s credit his expression did not change one iota in the face of his master"s dressing down, "I shall send one of the footmen with a message to say that you wish him to return in the morning."

"You do that," Lord Crabb pursed his lips, "And have a bottle of brandy sent to the drawing room; I should like to have a toast with Sir Charles."

"Yes, my lord."

Allen shuffled away at a painfully slow pace and once he had disappeared from sight, Lord Crabb frowned again.

"Insufferable fool," he muttered, more to himself than to Ivo, "He thinks that I am losing my mind, when it is he who is losing his."

Ivo offered no comment, instead he silently followed Lord Crabb to the drawing room where Sir Charles awaited them. Internally, however, he was inclined to agree with the butler that the viscount"s memory was failing somewhat. Ivo had returned to England, after a decade at sea, a few months prior. He had written to Lord Crabb to inform him that he had taken up residence in Grosvenor Square—in a townhouse he had rented for the season—but had not had a reply until last week, when the viscount had written to invite him to attend his wedding to Miss Hughes. Unfortunately, by the time Ivo had arrived at Plumpton Hall, the viscount had forgotten that he had written at all—hence Miss Hughes" fervent belief that Ivo was there merely to put a stop to the marriage so that he would inherit.

Even though Ivo had produced the letter of invitation—which Lord Crabb had confusedly agreed looked exactly like his own hand—a seed of doubt had been sewn in Miss Hughes" mind, and Ivo knew instinctively that she would never forgive him his supposed sin.

Which was a pity, for Lord Crabb was Ivo"s only living relative—albeit a very distant one—and Ivo had hoped that forging a relationship with the viscount might help to ease his entrance into society, having been absent from England for so long.

Inside the draughty drawing room, Sir Charles greeted them both with a cheery smile. He did not seem in any way inconvenienced by the chill air, protected as he was from the cold by his significant girth. Ivo shivered a little, for the room was as cold as it was outside, but his host did not notice and did not instruct the footman, who soon arrived with a bottle of brandy, to light the fire.

"A celebration," Lord Crabb said, as the footman passed around three glasses, "To a new beginning."

"And a fruitful union," Sir Charles added, no doubt thinking of the enormous payment his daughter would receive should she birth the viscount a son.

"May your union be bountiful," Ivo echoed, with as straight a face as he could muster.

The three men threw back their glasses of brandy—which warmed Ivo up nicely—and allowed the footman to pour another.

"Now," Sir Charles turned to Ivo with a smile upon his florid face, "Do tell me more about your adventures at sea, Mr Bonville. I recall reading in The Times that you sailed with the East India Company at one stage in your career?"

Unlike his daughter, Sir Charles was a prolific reader of the newspapers—especially the gossip sheets—and had been well informed about Ivo—and the wealth he had amassed—before he had even set foot in Plumpton.

Ivo sat back in the stiff settee, which smelt musty and felt damp, and happily obliged Sir Charles with a few censored tales of his time at sea. Ivo did not detail that the extent of his wealth had been earned during the naval blockade of Britain by France, when Ivo had overseen the smuggling of goods out of and into England.

"Fascinating," Sir Charles boomed, as Ivo finished sharing a much redacted account of his seafaring career, "I myself always fancied a life at sea, alas, the duties of my estate forbade it."

"Of course," Ivo assured him, "One must think of one"s duty before all else."

"You didn"t think of yours," Lord Crabb interrupted, with a glare, "When you sold out of the navy and hightailed it to the Orient."

Ivo bit back a sigh; his desire to sail the world had been a bone of contention between he and Lord Crabb for many years. True, when Lord Crabb had informed Ivo that he was to be his heir—some twenty years prior—he had seen to it that he had been provided with an education fitting for a future viscount. Unfortunately for Lord Crabb, the education provided to Ivo—first at Eton, then at Oxford-had provided him with a sound sense of reasoning. When Ivo had left Oxford, he had keenly understood that it would be perilous to trust his fate into the hands of a cantankerous old aristocrat, who might decide to marry at the drop of a hat, thus leaving Ivo without a penny to his name. Ivo had been determined to forge his own way in the world, to make his own fortune—and he had. And, Lord Crabb had proved him right by deciding, at the last hurdle of life, to marry Miss Hughes and beget an heir.

"I am a great believer that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," Sir Charles interrupted, cheerfully, "Where would Mr Bonville be now, Lord Crabb, if he had rested on his laurels and assumed that a fortune would be handed to him?"

Lord Crabb grunted in response, his scowl evidence that he was not at all pleased with Sir Charles jumping to Ivo"s defence.

"Let us not dwell on what might have been," Ivo soothed, as he fixed a smile to his face, "Let us focus on the present, and toast to the future."

"Capital idea," Sir Charles beamed, holding out his glass for Ivo to refill.

The three men offered a toast to Lord Crabb"s future union, then another to Ivo"s visit to Plumpton, and finally another to Sir Charles" Arab hot-blood, which was due to run at Cocklebarrow the next week. By the time they had exhausted things to which they could toast, they had also exhausted the bottle of brandy and Lord Crabb did not seem inclined to call for another.

"I suppose I had best get Prunella back home," Sir Charles said, his eyes lingering longingly on the empty bottle of brandy, "There is much to be done before the wedding."

Lord Crabb and Ivo stood as Sir Charles bid them goodbye. He was rather unsteady on his feet as he wobbled his way out of the drawing room, Ivo noted with a smile.

"I think I shall retire to bed early," Lord Crabb decided, as the door closed behind Sir Charles, "I hope you will not mind dining alone?"

"Not at all," Ivo answered, "I am sure that you wish to conserve your energy for the big day."

His remark had been meant as an idle one, but Lord Crabb frowned, perhaps thinking that Ivo was referring to the yawning chasm between his age and that of his bride, and what that might mean for the wedding night.

"There"s still a bit of life left in me yet, boy," the viscount groused, "No problems in that department, I assure you."

"Of course," Ivo replied, though he longed to clarify that he had not really been seeking any assurance at all. In fact, Lord Crabb"s words had left him feeling rather nauseous.

"If you need feeding, ask one of the footmen to fetch you something from the kitchens," Lord Crabb continued, as he rose—remarkably steady, given how much brandy he had drunk—to his feet, "Goodnight, Bonville."

The viscount shuffled out of the room, leaving Ivo alone. Had the room been warm and cosy, Ivo might have decided to linger—perhaps even take an indulgent nap in his chair—but it was too chilly for that. Ivo waited a few minutes for Lord Crabb to make his way upstairs, before he too set forth for his bedchamber.

He arrived in his room to find that no fire had been lit and that it was as cold as the dashed drawing room below. Irritated, Ivo poked his head out the door and hailed a passing chamber maid.

"I will need some kindling and a tinder box," he told her, "And a bucket of coal as well."

"Lord Crabb does not allow us to light the fires in the bedrooms before eight, Mr Bonville," the maid replied, her blue eyes wide and wary.

"Is that so?" Ivo sighed, "Well, perhaps you might have one of the footmen build one in the drawing room?"

The maid blinked, and bit her lip, as she thought up a reply to his request.

"Are fires also forbidden there before eight bells?" Ivo questioned, more amused than annoyed.

"Oh, no, Mr Bonville," the maid replied, earnestly, "They"re not permitted at any hour. Lord Crabb thinks it wasteful to heat a room that is never used."

"I wish to use it."

Ivo sighed, as he noted the panicked look the girl now gave him. Ivo was merely a guest—a fleeting, unimportant one at that—and he knew that he was probably not worth risking her position over, but she was too polite to say so.

"Never mind," Ivo shrugged, "I shall take myself away to the village for the evening. Tell me—"

"—Flora," the maid supplied, as Ivo waited for her to share her name.

"Tell me, Flora," Ivo asked, "Where might a man find a decent supper in Plumpton?"

"The King"s Head Inn," the name tripped off Flora"s tongue in an instant, "They have recently hired a new chef to replace Monsieur Canet, who was murdered a few months ago, and his food is said to be beyond compare."

A murder, in a sleepy village like Plumpton? Ivo did not have a chance to ponder this revelation before Flora spoke again.

"I heard the butler say that Miss Hughes herself is dining there this evening," Flora continued, happy to share a morsel of gossip, given that she had not been able to fulfil Ivo"s other request, "She wishes to show off her engagement ring, for the village to see."

"She need not go to Plumpton for that," Ivo commented idly, as he recalled the ruby ring Miss Hughes wore upon her ring finger, "I"m sure it can easily be seen from London."

Flora shuffled from one foot to the other, unsure of how she should reply. Ivo stifled a sigh at his own stupidity; his remark had been worthy of any of the London tabbies. If Miss Hughes were to hear of it, it would only add credence to her belief that Ivo disapproved of the marriage.

"Excuse me," he apologised, "That must have sounded irritable; I am afraid I am not feeling quite myself."

"I could fetch you a tonic, Mr Bonville?" Flora answered, again eager to help where she could, "Locally brewed."

"It"s nothing a good feed wouldn"t remedy," Ivo smiled, "And perhaps a pint of ale; does the local tavern serve food as well?"

"Not quite up to the standards of The King"s Head, Mr Bonville, but warm and hearty."

And with no Miss Hughes to put him off his dinner, Ivo thought with a wry smile. He quickly thanked Flora for her help, before returning to his room to dress. His valet, Newman, insisted he shave—despite only having done so that morning—and cajoled him into donning a fresh set of clothes.

"For heaven"s sake, I only put these on this morning," Ivo grumbled.

"And look what you"ve managed to do since," Newman sniffed, with an aggrieved glance at Ivo"s breeches, "It is as though you were dragged backwards through a hedge, Mr Bonville."

"Or fell out of a tree," Ivo quipped, hiding a smile.

As he dressed, his mind wandered back to earlier that afternoon, when he had fallen at the feet of Miss Mifford. Ivo had been most taken by the cool brunette, though he feared the feeling was not mutual; she had been most eager to get away from him, and had not even offered him a backward glance as she escaped.

Still, a man might dream, and after spending a season with the simpering and dull ladies of the ton, Ivo would allow himself a few indulgent daydreams about Miss Mifford.

Once he was shaved and dressed, Ivo set forth for the stables, where the groomsman informed him that his horse"s shoe had been replaced.

"My thanks," Ivo said, as the groomsman handed him the reins.

"I wouldn"t offer them just yet," the lad replied, with a rueful smile, "Lord Crabb will be sending you a bill for services rendered."

Ivo gave a chuckle, though it did not last long, for he realised the groomsman was serious.

"My apologies, Mr Bonville," the groomsman shrugged, "It is his lordship"s way."

"I"d best not eat too much at breakfast, so," Ivo grinned, "Lest I am sent a bill for that too."

Ivo thanked the groomsman again for his assistance, before mounting his ride and taking off at a brisk trot for Plumpton. The winter"s light was fading fast as he navigated his way down the London Road toward the village. Light spilled from the windows of the cottages which dotted the road, warm and inviting, and at one particular home, Ivo longed to linger.

He could hear the sound of a piano forte being played enthusiastically—if abysmally—within, accompanied by female voices warbling a folk-song of old. It had been a long time since Ivo had known a true home, and for a moment he longed to join the family within.

Common sense persevered over irrational urges, and Ivo continued on to the village, which he found to be a hive of activity, despite the dark and inclement weather.

"Is there some kind of celebration going on?" Ivo enquired of the man behind the bar—an older fellow, with white hair and an impressive pair of bushy mutton chops.

"Every day"s a celebration for this lot," the man was dry as he cast an eye around the packed pub, "Though they"re celebrating more than usual tonight, given the most recent news concerning Lord Crabb"s marriage."

"Are they so fond of him that they wish to celebrate his impending nuptials so earnestly?" Ivo wondered aloud, hoping his voice did not sound too surprised. Lord Crabb had not struck Ivo as the type of landlord that would inspire such fealty in his tenants.

The man behind the bar gave a bellow of laughter at this remark, confirming Ivo"s suspicions. "Ach. No. They"re celebrating the arrival of Lord Crabb"s heir; his presence has caused quite a flurry of bets as to what might happen next. There is a book open, sir, if you wish to take a punt on how the marriage will fare."

Ivo refused the offer, despite being sorely tempted to see what the locals believed the future held for Lord Crabb. Instead, he ordered a pint of ale and a bowl of stew from the landlord—who introduced himself as Angus—before heading for a quiet corner of the pub, where Angus assured him that he would not be disturbed.

"There"s just a few men in the corner, discussing the developments of the mill," Angus said, "They might get somewhat passionate, but it"s less likely to put you off your supper than the discussions about his lordship"s prowess in the bedroom."

"True," Ivo grinned; he had engaged in enough talk of Lord Crabb"s virility to last him a lifetime.

Ivo took his pint and settled himself at a table close to the fire, glad of the heat it offered. He supped upon his drink peacefully, as he allowed the shouts, laughter, and gaiety of the crowd wash over him. After a decade at sea, Ivo found the sound of men drinking and carousing as soothing as another person might find the sound of a babbling brook. He was so warm and comfortable in his seat that by the time the barmaid arrived with his dinner—a bowl of lamb stew—he was almost asleep.

"Wake up my lad, lest you fall headfirst into the bowl and drown," the woman—solid, square, and undoubtedly Angus" wife—called, as she set the stew down upon the table. "Stew"s for eating, not for swimming."

"I wouldn"t dream of wasting such fine fare," Ivo assured her, for the stew looked rich and hearty, and far superior to anything he had been served in Plumpton Hall.

Ivo devoured his supper in a matter of minutes, mopping up what remained of the juices with a chunk of thick, white bread. With his appetite sated, his attention returned to the room, and those who occupied it alongside him. At the far side of the pub sat the rowdy fellows, deep in their cups and full of mischief. The centre of the pub was occupied by solitary men, farmers, no doubt, in to enjoy a quiet pint as another day"s hard work came to an end. Ivo"s side of the pub was occupied only by he, and a table of gentlemen who sat near the wall, deep in what seemed to be serious discussion.

"If he won"t agree to it soon, he must be made to agree," one man suddenly roared, slapping the table in anger, "A second wheel would double the mill"s production capacity and help lower the prices of grain for the village. Crabb must be made to see reason."

"And what are you suggesting, Bennett?" one of his companions drawled, "That we take up arms against his lordship and force him to agree to allow his lands be used to construct the leat?"

"That sounds like a good idea," the fellow called Bennett replied, thoughtfully, "Why should we allow Lord Crabb endanger our livelihoods for his own amusement? The aristocracy have a stranglehold upon this land, and a reckoning will only come when we join together and—"

"Ach, put a stop to that now," Bennett"s friend interrupted, with an irritated sigh, "Your talk sounds awfully like sedition, and I"ve no desire to hang because you"re full of fanciful notions. Northcott will continue to press Crabb to agree for the use of his lands; we just have to sit tight and wait."

"Northcott is too busy prancing around London with his new wife to recall our plight," Bennett retorted, though as he caught Ivo looking their way, he grew suddenly quiet.

Ivo could have cursed his stupidity; he should not have been so obvious in his eavesdropping. Bennett dropped his voice and murmured something to his companions, who duly threw furtive glances Ivo"s way, before continuing on their conversation in more muted tones.

Ivo waved down Angus" wife and ordered another pint of ale, his mind mulling over what he had overheard. Lord Crabb had clearly angered the locals by forbidding the use of his land for the construction of a leat—and as to why he had forbidden it, Ivo could not guess. Every dog on the street knew that the Corn Laws were causing undue hardship to English families, and any landlord worth his salt would wish to help remedy matters for his tenants.

Though, Ivo shifted uncomfortably in his seat, from what he had seen on his walk earlier, Lord Crabb did not appear to be a very good landlord. Ivo had witnessed fields in desperate need of drainage, fences which needed mending, and cottages in sorry states of disrepair on his earlier jaunt. The transition from Upper Plumpton—Lord Crabb"s lands—to Lower Plumpton—the lands which belonged to Northcott—had been obvious, even to he, an outsider. A disinterested landlord was a danger, both to his tenants and the country as a whole; desperate, hungry men quite often committed desperate, violent acts.

Ivo supped on his pint, mulling over what he might do to try to change the fortunes of England"s masses, were he ever to find himself in a seat in Parliament. Lord Crabb"s birthright to govern the country would not pass to Ivo should his marriage to Miss Hughes bear fruit, but there were other means by which a man might procure himself a seat in government. Namely, the purchase of a seat in the House of Commons from one of the Rotten Boroughs. Usually such positions were gifted to the friends of the peers who controlled them, but they could be bought, if one found a peer in need of being bought—and there were plenty.

As Ivo finished his pint, the gentlemen at Bennett"s table began to file out slowly, their meeting evidently at an end. The chap who had reprimanded Bennett for his rebellious talk lingered a while longer than the others, and after a few minutes he made his way over to Ivo"s table.

"I hope you don"t mind me interrupting," he said, chewing a little on his lip, "Just, I know you overheard our talk and I wanted to let you know that"s all it was—talk. Tempers are high, given Lord Crabb"s refusal to allow Northcott use his land, but there"s not one of us at that table who would actually resort to violence against the viscount. His Grace will prevail, in the end. I have faith in that."

"I wasn"t going to report you to the local constable," Ivo grinned, though he was momentarily distracted as, on the far side of the pub, a man fell drunkenly from his seat with a loud clatter.

"That"s the local constable," the man snorted, as he glanced at the drunk on the floor, "Mr Marrowbone"s not one to strike fear into any man"s heart. No, it"s Lord Crabb I fear might hear of this; he has a mean streak in him, and would not be above evicting any man he thought was plotting against him—even when they are not. I know that you are staying in Plumpton Hall, I saw you there this afternoon when I was delivering meat for the kitchens. I beg you, please don"t say a word about this, or about Bennett—he is a foolish lad, full of notions, but not violent in the least."

"Lord Crabb shall hear nothing of this from me," Ivo was solemn, as he read the fear in the man"s expression. "Though, if the chance arises to plead your case for him to allow the use of his lands for the leat"s construction, I shall take it."

"Much obliged," the man nodded his head, "And, if you don"t mind me saying so, I hope that you will inherit, despite Lord Crabb"s marriage. I have threepence down on it happening, as it stands."

"I"m afraid that"s threepence you won"t get back," Ivo laughed, "Lord Crabb is determined to beget himself an heir, and I am determined to return to London as soon as the wedding is done."

"More"s the pity," the man smiled sadly, before tipping his cap and setting off home.

As the fire in the grate was still high, Ivo ordered himself one last pint, reluctant to return to his chilly bedchamber in Plumpton Hall. He happily spent another hour, bathed in warmth and listening to the highjinks of his fellow drinkers, until Angus rang the bell to announce closing time.

"Jus" one more, Angus," Mr Marrowbone slurred, raising his empty glass in hope.

"Less of that now, sir," Angus replied gamely, "Or I"ll have to call the constable to remove you."

"Not much chance of that, Angus," one of Marrowbone"s friends called with a cackle, "I"ve heard he"s bone-idle and workshy."

"I"ll have you know, I work my fingers to the bone, upholding the law in this village," Mr Marrowbone objected, "Do you recall—"

Mr Marrowbone launched into a long and winding tale about his heroics as constable, at which point Ivo decided to take his leave. He had heard too many tall tales in his life, to listen to another, no matter how amusing.

Outside was deathly dark, as the moon was obscured by cloud and most of the houses which faced onto the square had extinguished their lights. Ivo untethered his horse from the post he had tied it to, mounted it, and then made for the direction of Plumpton Hall, mindful of the darkness and his own slight inebriation.

As he trotted up the hill toward home, he again passed the cottage which had earlier been filled with the sound of music and laughter. It was all in darkness now, save one window where a light still burned.

Ivo slowed further, as he caught sight of a figure moving about inside—Miss Mifford! She was pacing the room with a book in hand, her dark hair loose and wild over her shoulders. From the way her lips were moving, Ivo could tell that Miss Mifford was reading aloud to herself—poetry, perhaps?

Not wanting to be caught spying, Ivo urged his steed onward, though his mind was now filled with an image of Miss Mifford reading aloud to him before bed. It was a most tempting fantasy; remain in Plumpton, take Miss Mifford as a wife, and live a life of gentle ebbs and flows.

Plumpton was not his future, however, Ivo reminded himself sternly. There was to be no home here for him, or family; Miss Hughes" hostility toward him would only grow when Lord Crabb eventually succumbed to the ravages of age. No, Ivo vowed, he would not stay on to pursue a mere fantasy; when the wedding was done, he would leave Plumpton and never return.

Ivo repeated this vow to himself, a half-hour later, as he clambered under the bedsheets in his chilly bedchamber. The village of Plumpton meant nothing to him, and he to it, and he would leave as soon as it was acceptable.

The next morning, however, when Ivo was roused from his slumber by an agitated Newman, Ivo was to find just how much the devil enjoyed making a fool of a man with a plan.

"What is it, Newman?" Ivo groused irritably, as the footman shook his shoulder. The sun had not even begun to break outside the window, indicating that the hour was earlier than even Ivo—who did not keep town hours—preferred to rise.

"It is Lord Crabb, Mr Bonville," Newman whispered, his eyes wide and frightened.

"Has he sent you a bill for your lodgings?" Ivo grumbled, as he sat upright in the bed.

"He"s dead, Mr Bonville," Newman answered, nervously tugging at his collar, "Dr Bates, the physician, believes it was poison."

"Poison?"

"Atropa belladonna," Newman confirmed, "Or deadly nightshade, as you and I might know it. Dr Bates recognised the rash on the body at once."

"Lud," Ivo grimaced, "How awful; I wonder how the old man managed to ingest that?"

There was a silence, as Newman shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, before clearing his throat pointedly.

"Yes," he replied, not meeting Ivo"s eye, "I think you"ll find that a lot of the staff are wondering that too. Allen, the curmudgeonly old fool, is telling anyone who will listen that you were the last one to see Lord Crabb alive."

"He thinks I poisoned him?" Ivo leapt out of bed, such was the indignation he felt, "Why on earth would I do that?"

"Well," Newman flushed, "Because you, Mr Bonville, are no longer Mr Bonville. As things stand, you are now Viscount Crabb."

"I had no desire to inherit that dashed title," Ivo protested, as a weight of worry bore down heavily upon his shoulders, "Surely people will understand that I did not want—or need—to inherit this cursed estate and title? I am wealthy in my own right."

"Of course you are," Newman soothed, in a tone similar to that which one would use with a child, "I know it wasn"t you—"

"—But nobody else will believe it," Ivo finished for him, with a sigh.

"What does it matter what people believe?" Newman shrugged, "You know you"re innocent and that is enough; for as Viscount Crabb, you are now magistrate of Plumpton, and unlikely to convict yourself of a crime you did not commit."

"That"s not much comfort, Newman," Ivo sighed, "The whole village will forever think that it was I who did Lord Crabb in."

"And half again will probably buy you a pint to say thanks," Newman clucked, "Now, you"d best get dressed. You cannot face your staff dressed only in a nightshirt."

His staff? Ivo had gone to bed believing that he would leave Plumpton and never return, only to wake and find that he was now master of its lands and a house full of staff.

It was all a little much for a man to take in, though there was one thing which Ivo—as a true English man—knew might help matters.

"Newman," he called, to the valet, who was moving toward the dressing room, "Would you fetch me a cup of tea?"

A strong cup of tea would help soothe Ivo"s frazzled nerves and, once he"d drunk that he could focus on the most important matters—grappling with his new-found title, and