18 Indecision

AUGUST

I zzy had no idea what to make of Robert. Unlike Marsden and Davenport, he did not even look the same to her eyes. She remembered a man who smiled all the time, who was constantly light-hearted and amusing. Her father had called him a fribble, and she could understand that, for Robert had never seemed to have a serious thought in his head. Whereas now, he was mired in dreary practicalities, and could think of nothing but his own difficulties.

Her mother had suggested a second visit, for she had had word from London friends that she thought might interest the Osborn ladies. Meekly, and grateful for her mama's helpfulness, Izzy went with her. This was a longer visit, with refreshments offered, but although Izzy spent some time talking to Robert, he was still far too caught up in tedious matters of estate management.

"What do you think, Izzy?" he said several times, after describing some trivial matter of a broken fence or a leaking roof.

"You should ask your steward," Izzy said. "He is the best person to advise you. He knows the tenants, after all."

"Oh, he says it can wait until the autumn, but Lizzie thinks it should be done at once, and Mama does not see that it needs doing at all. They have managed this long, after all, so why can they not manage a bit longer? Or fix it themselves, if it troubles them so much."

"Why not ask the duke?" Izzy said. "He is a fellow landowner, and he has been settled here his whole life, so he knows what the locals expect."

"What they expect!" Robert said. "I suppose I should talk to the tenants themselves about it, should I not? And their neighbours…"

"And the parson, the miller, the smith, the sexton, the farrier and the old lady who polishes the brasses in the church," Izzy said impatiently. "Perhaps there may be an urchin or two roaming the lanes whose opinions you have not yet sought. Heavens, Robert, were you always so indecisive?"

"But it is so difficult!" he wailed.

Izzy found him incomprehensible. Whatever had become of the carefree young man with the laughing eyes who had so enchanted her? Surely he was still there, buried temporarily by responsibility, but perhaps he could yet be found?

Accordingly, when it became clear that no further chaperoned visits were forthcoming, she asked for a horse and rode over to Strathinver, with a groom in attendance. Perhaps if she could get Robert alone she would be able to recover some part of the closeness they had once enjoyed? Or had she merely imagined that?

She was out of luck, for although she saw Robert, the ladies were in, too, and she could see that they were suspicious of her now. As well they might be, she supposed. Yet surely they wanted Robert to marry and produce the requisite heir? He needed a wife, and why should it not be her?

Yet here she unexpectedly quailed. For five years, she had been Ian's wife, and she had grown accustomed to that. Did she truly want to marry Robert? Not as he was now, but if she could rediscover the old, charming Robert? That was the man she had loved… and yet… there was Ian. So familiar, so comfortable, so good to her. True, he was not romantic or poetic or exciting, perhaps, but reliable. He had not changed into some person she did not recognise.

If he should come to find her… but he had not. Despite Mama's confident prediction, he had not yet come, and after almost a week, she began to doubt that he ever would.

So she must pin her hopes on Robert, despite the unpromising signs so far. There was no opportunity on this visit to talk to him as she had hoped, and certainly the ladies were not going to leave her alone with him. All she could do was smile and return to Lochmaben, hoping to try again another day.

And still she had no idea what she truly wanted. Ian or Robert? The old, familiar life or a new, different one? Safety or recklessness? A distant affection or love? She was as indecisive as Robert.

***

A s Ian left Harringdon Hall, a summer shower descended.

"Are you sure you will not stay another day?" Davenport said, peering out of the front door at the grey clouds and slanting rain. "It is not the weather for travelling."

"I have delayed longer than I intended already," Ian said. "You will keep an eye on young Bayton, now that he has his house back?"

"Of course. Two of the cousins will stay there for a while, just to ensure that the Hearles do not weasel their way back in, he has Sophie to keep house for him and Barty is there, too, and he is fiercely loyal to the Baytons. Who is he precisely, do you know?"

"Not the least idea, except that he is a gentleman, or was reared as one. Thank you for your hospitality, Davenport. I am sorry that Izzy ruined this marriage for you."

"I think she did me a good turn. I never liked the idea above half, and now I have the chance to make a better match, one more suited to my own wishes. And you have done us an even better turn, Farramont. Father has his land back and will be able to see out his final days in this world in peace."

"Then some good has come of Izzy's interference," Ian said. "I am glad of it. And now I must be away, rain or no rain."

"May I wish you success in your enterprise," Davenport said, as the two men shook hands. "Give my regards to the duke and duchess, and to Lady Rennington."

Ian grunted an acknowledgement, and strode out through the rain to enter the carriage. Izzy's carriage, which always made him smile, with its jaunty blue paint and yellow wheels. He felt rather guilty imposing his wet garments on its velvet seats, but he could not wait until the rain stopped. He must catch up with Izzy and get matters settled between them once and for all.

If there was anything left to be settled, that is. Perhaps even now she had already reached an understanding with Osborn… Kiltarlity. He had to know, once and for all, and he could not face the prospect of arriving at Lochmaben and having to be polite, and exchange civil nothings with everyone there, without knowing. His whole future hung by a thread and he could not bear the uncertainty a moment longer.

And he could not face Izzy. How could he look into her eyes, those glorious, much-loved eyes, and see… what would he see? Exultation? Or pity? Either would be beyond his ability to cope, and he could not, would not, break down in front of her.

So he would go to Strathinver and talk privately to Kiltarlity, and then he would know.

The rain-drear landscape rolled past without him seeing it. The carriage jolted from one hole to the next, or splashed through puddles, and he noticed none of it. Only the turn into the drive woke him from his stupor.

"Almost there, my lord," Wycliffe said, in sympathetic tones. Like any good valet, he read his master's moods like a book.

Then they were slowing, stopping. Samuel jumped down from the box to open the door. At least the rain had just about stopped. Ian swept up the steps and jangled the bell. Then, when no one came, rapped on the knocker and rang the bell again.

The door opened a crack and a face peered out suspiciously. "Yes?"

"Lord Farramont to see Lord Kiltarlity," Ian said to the butler's disapproving frown.

The man's face lifted. "Ah. Pray enter, my lord. I shall just inform his lordship of your arrival."

Ian gazed around the gloomy hall with raised eyebrows. Everything seemed designed to depress the spirits, the floor black marble, the wood panels darkest oak and the ceiling, which might once have been white, stained a dingy brown from centuries of candle smoke and badly swept chimneys. A few heraldic banners, all in need of a good scrub, hung limply from a balcony.

But the face that peered at him over the banners was smiling. "Monty? Monty! It is you, as I live and breathe! Come up, dear fellow, come up at once."

Ian took the stairs two at a time, passing the butler on his stately way down, who promptly turned and followed him up again in the same regal manner.

Kiltarlity stood beside an open door. "Come inside and tell me all your news. Winthrop, bring some food for my guest and a bottle of something… claret, the decent stuff. Good Lord, Monty, you are a long way from home. But I know what brings you here. Are you come to take that wife of yours home?"

A burst of hope roared through Ian — surely he could not smile and speak so easily if he were about to marry Izzy himself! "If I can. Is she here?"

"Not here, no, although my mother and sisters are here, so it would not be improper, but she is with the Lochmabens."

"Still? I know she went there first but…"

"Her mother is at Lochmaben. Much more the thing for her to stay there."

"Yes, of course it is, but when did Izzy ever care about the thing? Well, I am glad she has not inflicted herself on you, Kiltarlity."

The earl winced. "Oh, that name! I cannot get used to it. It should not be mine at all, if there were any justice in the world. Three older brothers, Monty — three! That should be security enough, should it not? But no, and how did it fall to me, this plum dropping into my lap? Not by any virtue, of that you may be sure. No, I inherited because I was a lazy, good-for-nothing scapegrace, too idle to work for a living. While I was racketing around town and enjoying myself, my brothers were all fighting for their King… doing their duty. And now they have paid the price for their loyalty, and I, the worthless youngest son, inherit everything. Never was a legacy less deserved."

"And yet, God willed it so," Ian said equably, happy to talk about anything but Izzy at that moment. Kiltarlity's manner gave him greater hope with every word he spoke. "I had two older brothers, too, but at least mine had the grace to die in childhood, so I had time to prepare for what was to come. Even so, it is overwhelming at first — the responsibility."

"Exactly so! I have calculated that I have almost two hundred people dependent on me — my own family, indigent cousins, elderly relicts, old retainers on pensions, servants, tenant farmers… even the fellow who oils all the hinges every week."

"He cannot be solely dependent on you, surely?"

"But he is! He is too old for regular work, and his only son was killed in that God-awful business in the American continent. His daughter is married to a blacksmith and is hard put to it to feed her own children, so I let him live in his cottage rent-free, the parson sees that he has help in the garden and a hot meal every day, and I pay him to oil hinges, when I have six footmen and a butler perfectly capable of doing that job. Or I could do it myself, as I used to do before this wretched title fell onto my head. How do you cope with it, Monty?"

"As a mere viscount, I cannot claim my situation is in any way comparable to the travails of an earldom."

Kiltarlity gave a wan smile at this sally. "You are a good fellow, my friend. Ah, here is Winthrop with our refreshments. Excellent! You will stay here, Monty? Or are you chasing down to Lochmaben?"

"I should like to stay here, if I may, Kiltarlity."

"Splendid! See to it, will you, Winthrop?" There was silence while the butler methodically handed out glasses of claret and arranged trays of edibles on tables beside the two men's chairs, but once he had withdrawn, Kiltarlity went on eagerly, "Now, tell me if you will what is really going on between you and that wife of yours, because Lady Farramont gave me some tale about your marriage being invalid and the children being illegitimate. Is there any truth in that?"

The pain was back again. He only spoke so easily because he was uncertain of how matters stood.

"It is perfectly true. Is that all you know of matters with the Athertons, Kiltarlity? Of our marriage? For it is far worse than that."

Kiltarlity's eyebrows rose. "How much worse could it be?"

"Did she tell you why our marriage is invalid? That the chaplain at Corland was never ordained?"

"She mentioned that, yes. He married you, so your marriage is invalid. So she said."

"Exactly. But he also married Izzy's father and mother."

Kiltarlity's jaw dropped. "Dear God! Then… oh, dear heavens, Monty! That is appalling! That explains why Lady R chased up here, anyway, although not a word has anyone breathed of it. So all the children are illegitimate? And Birtwell cannot inherit… so who does?"

"Lord Rennington's younger brother, George Atherton, who fortunately has several sons of his own, all of them legal."

"Did the chaplain marry anyone else?"

"No. Josie was married in town by some archdeacon or other, a relation of Woodridge's, but Izzy insisted on a special licence so we could be married at Corland in the chapel there."

"What will you do?"

"About Izzy? I hope… I want to marry her again, properly this time, if ever I can catch up with her. I have a special licence in my pocket as we speak."

And then he waited. He could not ask, not directly, but surely now, if there was anything to tell, Kiltarlity would speak?

So he waited for his future to be decided.