17 Strathinver Castle

A fter dinner, Izzy wandered about the saloon as usual, a glass of something in her hand. The instrument had been opened in the room next door, and quite a few of the ladies had wandered off to listen to the performances, so the saloon was quiet, only a few guests sitting about in quiet conversation, embroidery lying unregarded on their knees.

Mama bustled over to intercept Izzy. "This is the perfect opportunity for a comfortable coze, is it not? You can tell me all about your travels — where you have been and who you have seen, for although Ian is an excellent correspondent, and wrote to me every day to tell me of his progress, I have heard nothing since coming here and he had only tracked you as far as Whitby in the last letter. Where did you go from there — to Scarborough?"

"Ian wrote to you every day?"

"And to your father, too, and probably to Henry at Stonywell. Every time he had new information about you, he wrote, for he knew we were all worried about you. So… Scarborough?"

"Yes. We stayed there for three days, but it was very dreary." Could she tell Mama that she was waiting at Scarborough to hear if Godfrey Marsden had returned to Marsden Hall? No, that sounded very particular. But she could not avoid mentioning him. "We went south again, and called in at Marsden Hall, since we were so close."

Mama accepted this without any recognition of its significance. "And how is Mr Marsden? What is Marsden Hall like? For I never heard of anyone going there before. He seldom goes there himself, I thought."

"No, we were just fortunate to catch him," Izzy said demurely. She felt comfortable giving her mother the full story of Marsden Hall, with embellishments, for it was a wonderful story. Her mother gasped and chuckled and said, "No!" at regular intervals, and then laughed uproariously when the Generals were mentioned.

"Oh, dear Lord, I can just picture his face!" she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "The poor man — so terrified of his aunts that he will do whatever his wife tells him! How I wish I had been there. But you did not stay there long, I take it?"

"Only two nights. It is not a welcoming place for visitors, frankly. So after that we came north again, to York…" She paused, but there was no need to mention her diamond pendant. "And then up here, but I stopped at Harringdon first."

"Where you managed to extract Sydney Davenport's bride from under his nose two days before the wedding. Your interference at Marsden Hall might have been well-intentioned, and perhaps Mr Marsden will come to appreciate it, but the Davenports must be very cross with you, Izzy."

"They will be when they find out about it."

"What! You mean they do not know where she has gone?"

"Not until the coachman returns in the morning."

"Izzy! You are a shocking girl! They will be worried sick about Miss Plowman and her sister."

"No, they will ask the maid, who will see that a certain quantity of clothes has been taken, and two small bags. They will also determine that the sisters must have disappeared at some point between breakfast and the time when I left. Logical conclusions will be drawn."

Mama turned her gaze to the other side of the room, where Ruth Plowman was deep in a conversation with some of the duke's daughters. Ruth had quickly recovered her poise, and was chattering away as if she had known the ducal family all her life. Lady Anne and Lady Charlotte hung on her every word, not in the least bothered by the accent or her origins in trade.

"At least you did not abduct them, or anything of that nature," Mama said. "They appear to be here of their own free will. Still, I imagine we shall have the Davenports on the doorstep by tomorrow afternoon."

"Mr Plowman, most likely, and unless he intends to search every room in the castle, an enterprise which will take him until Michaelmas at least, he will leave disappointed. Mama, he has had the banns read for one daughter, and a bishop's licence drawn up for the other, and is fully determined to marry one or other of them to Sydney on Friday. Since neither of them wishes to marry him—"

"Well, Miss Plowman agreed to it," Lady Rennington said, her lips pursing again. "When I called at Harringdon, everyone was very happy with the arrangement. In fact, the marriage plans were going along swimmingly until you arrived."

Izzy smiled and shook her head. "Acquit me of unwarranted interference, I beg you! I did nothing except to express my astonishment that a man like Sydney Davenport should marry for the sake of two fields and some trees. He is a poet , for heaven's sake! And then Ruth decided she did not want to marry him after all, and so here we are. You will help me to protect her from her father, Mama?"

"It will be up to the duke and duchess," Lady Rennington said, and then chuckled. "However, I suspect that having two of his daughters staying with the Duchess of Lochmaben will impress Mr Plowman. But let us not talk about the Plowman sisters. Let us talk about you. I do hope you will make a long stay here, if only to bear me company. I shall go to Josie in the autumn, but for now, I am fixed here. The company should amuse you, and the countryside is beautiful. We shall go about together, mother and daughter, just as we used to, and call on all the locals of interest. You will want to see the Osborns, I imagine. It is the first time the new earl has been here since inheriting, in fact the first time any of the family has been here for years, and one would not wish to be backward in any attention."

It was said so casually, but Izzy could sense something in Mama that suggested she knew what she was about. How could she not? Izzy had visited Godfrey Marsden and Sydney Davenport, so inevitably Robert Osborn would be next.

Robert Osborn. The new earl. A chill ran down Izzy's spine. Was that where her future lay?

"Have you seen anything of them?" She could pretend to be casual too.

"I called, yes, to pay my respects. I ought not to go again so soon, not until the ladies return the call, but the duchess will take you and the Plowman girls to make the first visit."

"How are they all?"

"The countess is still in full black, which seems a little excessive to me, since it is more than six months since the late earl died, but the girls are out of mourning. Lucy and Lizzie are with her — still not married. Lord Kiltarlity seems… a little bemused. Harassed, even. He finds the burdens of his responsibilities rather onerous, I fancy. They will all be glad to see a familiar face, I am sure."

Izzy was less sure, but still, whatever Mama thought of her dizzy journey to visit all her former suitors, she was making it easy for her to see Robert without raising any hackles. A morning call… yes, that was suitably discreet. No one could object to that, could they? And then later, another morning call, and perhaps by then there will be dinner invitations exchanged.

It was all working out rather well. And Ian was following her, she must hope. She retired to bed that evening optimistic for the first time in days.

***

I zzy took care to wear one of her best morning dresses. She was not extravagant, she hoped, but she liked to be fashionable, and added a few of the latest styles to her wardrobe every spring and autumn. She had a seamstress at Stonywell who reworked older gowns into the new styles, as well as making up undergarments for her. That way she made sure to stay within her allowance. Hats were her only major indulgence, for there was nothing like a new bonnet for lifting the spirits.

Brandon, with that skill that is only found in the very best lady's maids, had already laid out the very gown and spencer and matching hat that Izzy had chosen.

"The green to match your eyes, my lady," was all she said.

For form's sake, Izzy tried three other gowns first before settling on the chosen one, but when she joined the duchess and the Plowman sisters waiting in the echoing entrance hall to depart, she knew she looked her best. The duchess was a round dumpling of a woman, not at all regal in her manner, who beamed at them happily as if there was nothing she liked better than to chaperon two random daughters of a merchant and a distant cousin who had washed up on her doorstep. And perhaps, good-natured soul that she was, she truly enjoyed such duties.

The carriage was elderly but comfortable, or as comfortable as any vehicle could be on such appalling roads. Izzy thought wistfully of the teams of men Ian employed from time to time to ensure that the roads around Stonywell were smooth and undisturbed by streams meandering across them, as seemed to happen frequently here.

Strathinver Castle was, in Izzy's eyes, the worst sort of house in the world. It was still at heart a medieval castle, but with odd wings and towers added on as the owners saw fit and the purse allowed. The result had neither old-fashioned charm nor modern elegance. Surrounding it were haphazard and much neglected gardens. She had not seen it for years for the late earl had hated the place, preferring to live at his Leicestershire house.

On being assured that the ladies were at home, they entered the gloomy hall, and followed the butler at a stately pace upstairs and along a gallery above the hall to a small drawing room. It was gloomy, too, with panelling so dark as to be almost black, and the upper part of the walls covered in a paper that might once have been a pretty brocade, but was now dingy with age.

Izzy knew the three ladies seated within. The Countess of Kiltarlity, still in unrelieved black for her late husband, sat ramrod straight in her chair, her face unwelcoming. She had never approved of Izzy, or of Robert's desire to marry her, and was grimly pleased when Izzy had chosen Ian instead. She inclined her head regally in response to Izzy's curtsy, a little deeper than protocol dictated in deference to the older woman's age and bereavement.

It amused Izzy to think that if she had married Robert five years ago, she herself would now be the Countess of Kiltarlity, and this woman, her mother-in-law, would be merely the Dowager. With a thrill that was also part pain, she considered that there might even now be a son and heir in the nursery here. What was the title for the Earl of Kiltarlity's heir? Lord Strathinver, she thought. Now that would be something!

The other two ladies were old friends. Lady Lucilla was Izzy's age and had made her come-out at the same time, but several promising suitors had faded away, leaving her still unwed. Lady Elizabeth was two years older, but an ill-advised romantic entanglement, culminating in a botched elopement, had ruined any chance of a suitable alliance. Now the two were doomed to a life as spinsters following in their mother's wake for ever more, a fate Izzy regarded as only marginally preferable to death.

As the duchess introduced the Miss Plowmans and settled into conversation with the countess, the Osborn sisters jumped up and rushed across the room to enfold Izzy in delicately scented embraces. "Izzy! What are you doing here, so far from amusing society?"

"I am provided with ample amusement at Lochmaben, I assure you. Lucy, how are you? And Lizzie, too — how are you both going on? It is so long since I have seen you both! Such a dreadful set of tragic events as you have had lately."

Before they could answer, the countess called out, "Winthrop, inform his lordship that we have callers."

His lordship! He was at home then, and Izzy would see him. But she knew better than to display any interest in him. She must tread so carefully now.

So she laughed merrily. "His lordship! How is he taking his unexpected elevation? He had no ambition for it when I last saw him… that was four years ago now, before he buried himself in Leicestershire."

"We still had James and Peter then," Lizzie said. "Who would ever have thought that they would be taken from us within two months of each other? They should have come home after William died, but they enjoyed the army so much, and they said there was nothing much happening so where was the risk?"

"There is always risk in the army," Lucy said. "James said he would come home when he was thirty and settle down — marry, produce an heir, that sort of thing. But he died just a week before his thirtieth birthday."

The sisters drew out handkerchiefs and dabbed at their eyes.

Izzy made the usual sympathetic noises, but this was old news. It was more than three years since the last of the older brothers had died, leaving Robert as the sole heir. It was curious that he had not yet taken steps to ‘settle down, marry, produce an heir'. She wanted to hear about his reasons for that, rather than going over the multitude of tragedies that had preceded his inheritance.

And then, almost before she had prepared herself for the moment, the door opened and he walked in. Robert Osborn, the most charming of her suitors.

He was smaller than she remembered. Ian, of course, had always been the most imposing of the four, but Sydney and Godfrey were above average height, and to Izzy, so often described as ethereal or fairy-like, they had towered above her. But had Robert always been so short and undistinguished? The hair was a nondescript brown, worn unfashionably long, and his face, which had once haunted her dreams so powerfully, now seemed devoid of character, his forehead creased into a frown.

He greeted the duchess first, naturally, and made some laboured conversation with the Plowman girls, but his eyes flicked often to Izzy. She, for her part, maintained a bright tone to her conversation with his sisters, drawing them away from the depressing subject of their brothers' deaths and onto the safer topic of the house. But that, too, sent them into gloom, for there was so much to be done before it could become a suitable home for the Earl of Kiltarlity.

Izzy began to watch the clock, feeling that if she could not exchange even two words with Robert, she might as well leave and try again another day. But eventually, he came ambling over.

"Lady Farramont," he said as he made his bow.

"Lord Kiltarlity," she responded, since he was clearly determined to be formal. But she offered her gloved hand to him, and he could not avoid taking it, although he merely held it momentarily, with no attempt to raise it to his lips. Not very promising!

"How are you?" he said, the frown still lingering. "Is Farramont with you?"

"I am well, and no, he is not. How are you—?"

"Not with you? I should have liked to have seen him. Is he at Stonywell?"

That was not very polite, to show more interest in Ian than herself. Whatever had happened to Robert's social graces? But she smiled, and replied composedly, "I cannot say where he is. I have not seen him for several weeks." The frown deepened, but before he could ask any further questions about Ian, she rushed on. "May I congratulate you on your elevation, although in the most distressing of circumstances. I know how little you wished for it."

The frown lifted somewhat, as he sat beside her. "True enough! It is the last thing I wanted. I am not in the least qualified to take on such heavy burdens as have fallen upon me these last few months… longer than that, in fact, for my father spent his final years on earth trying to prepare me for my new responsibilities. It was a thankless task, I fear. Lucy, Lizzie, would you not agree that I am not in the least a fit person to inherit? So many properties, investments, leases and agreements and deeds and heaven knows what else."

"You will muddle though, Robert, as you always do," Lizzie said, although she sounded doubtful. Leaning forward, she whispered to Izzy, "He has no more idea than a baby what needs to be done. It is Mama who has pushed him along."

"Well, of course!" Izzy said, rather shocked at such defeatism. "All his more experienced relations must want to offer advice, until he knows what he is about. And there are stewards, bailiffs, agents, attorneys…"

"But they want me to make decisions," Robert said helplessly. "They are very free with advice, but I must decide and how can I possibly know what is best to be done?"

"By trying things, and seeing what the result is," Izzy said, in astonished tones. "Good heavens, Robert, your ancestors have been managing estates for generations. It must be in your blood. How difficult can it be?"

He blinked at her. "How can you possibly understand, Izzy? You have no decision more challenging to make each morning that what gown to wear, whereas I—"

"Robert Osborn, when did you become such a patronising prig?" Izzy said into a room fallen suddenly silent. "All your problems amount to is that you have suddenly become extremely wealthy. So hire people to advise you. Your situation is one that goes on up and down the land every year. A man dies, his eldest surviving son inherits. It is not the end of the world. Whereas my situation—"

She had let her temper get the better of her again. When would she ever learn? And yet, he needed to know. So when Lizzie said in puzzled tones, "Your situation, Izzy?", Izzy lifted her chin defiantly.

"My situation is not one that arises every day. Or at all, perhaps. You remember the family chaplain at Corland — the one who was murdered? He married me to Farramont five years ago. Now it transpires that he was never ordained as a clergyman, so my marriage is invalid. My daughters are illegitimate, and I — I am not married at all. So pray do not complain to me about your situation , Robert. Duchess, we have been here for half an hour. I am quite ready to depart whenever you are."