9 Landerby Manor

Bertram was surprised to find himself looking forward to Bea's arrival. The presence of the Duke and Duchess of Wedhampton changed the atmosphere of the gathering, although not in themselves, for they were mild-mannered by nature and not at all high in the instep. In addition to the title, however, they had inherited all the old duke's vast retinue of very grand servants, starting with a house steward, comptroller, three secretaries, chaplain, butler and housekeeper, and not forgetting the team of six cooks and man-cooks who contrived to lade the dinner table with a cornucopia of delights. There were, it seemed, certain traditions that must be followed in order to ensure the dignity and honour of the ducal family.

All the comfort of the relaxed meeting of intellectuals, where scarcely a word of English was spoken for the entire month, was lost in the increased size of the company. Several of the participants now had wives with them, and the wives brought sisters and cousins and even their mothers, occasionally, and now the duchess had invited her cousins and several other young ladies. Having made a successful and happy match herself, she was determined to bestow the same happiness on everyone else within her orbit, whether they wished for it or not.

Into this tiresome setting, the Franklyns arrived with all the charm and familiarity of home. When Bertram and his fellows streamed out of their meeting and entered the faded grandeur of the State Saloon, almost the first sight he saw was Bea's smiling face across the room, her black curls bouncing merrily as she waved to him.

Seeing that Lady Esther and Mr Franklyn were absorbed into the crowd around the duchess, he weaved his way across the room and executed a more than usually jaunty bow.

"Miss Franklyn, what a pleasure to see you here, and precisely at the appointed hour. May I take it then that you had an untroubled journey?"

"Oh yes, not the least trouble in the world. Is this not an amazing house? We got lost just coming down from our rooms, for although the building appears to be symmetrically arranged around the courtyard, there are so many rooms and oddly shaped passageways that we could not work it out at all. First of all we came down the same stairs we had gone up to find our rooms, but then we could not recognise anything and we ended up in a long open passage with columns, but quite in a different part of the building, and Papa would not go back or ask the footman we passed at the foot of the stairs, and Mama got very cross with him. In the end, she made us walk across the courtyard to the Great Hall and there was a footman by the front door, so she asked him how to find the saloon. But it was so amusing! Fancy being in a house large enough to get lost in!"

"It is confusing, that is true," Bertram said, and he could not help smiling at her laughing face. "The fact is, the house may look symmetrical, but it is not at all. Should you like to know how it works? If you understand it, you will be able to lead your mama and papa about without anybody getting cross."

Her face lit up with excitement. "Ooh, yes please! I should like that very much."

Offering her his arm, he led her through the saloon, ignoring the speculative glances sent their way, and out into the eastern stairwell.

"Here is the first irregularity," he said. "There are staircases on both the side wings, but this one is on the inside, overlooking the courtyard, and the western stair is on the outside, overlooking the stable yard. Come into the courtyard, for the whole building is easy to understand from there. You see those two towers, one on each corner of the southern wing? Fix those in your mind and you cannot go wrong. With the towers at your back, you are facing the Great Hall. On your right is the formal wing with the state apartments, facing the gardens, such as they are, and on your left, the family wing, facing the stables. Behind you is—"

"The columns!"

"Exactly. It is called the colonnade. Let us go in, and I can show you the chapel, which is where we hold our meetings."

"In the chapel?" she cried, sounding shocked. "Is that not… disrespectful? To talk about the pagan Romans in a church?"

"Possibly, but when we first came here, it was the only room large enough that was still usable. Most of the state rooms had been filled with anything not wanted elsewhere — furniture, pictures, vases, boxes and boxes full of old clothes, no fewer than three rocking horses, statues, books—"

"Statues? My goodness!"

"Oh, you cannot imagine! But the chapel had remained empty. Here we are." He threw open the door and ushered her in, watching her face as the excitement faded. "Disappointing, do you not agree?"

She nodded. "No altar, no pews, not even a single cross, and even the candles are plain."

He watched her taking in the simple wooden lectern, the rows of seats and the worn rugs on the floor. Was she shivering? The room was never very warm, even at this time of year.

"Come and see the gallery," he said, drawing her shawl a little higher over her shoulders.

He took her up the spiral stair inside the tower, letting her go ahead of him, so that she came out into the long gallery first. With windows on both sides, it was flooded with light, bathing the paintings, massive lacquered urns and busts of bewigged ancestors in a golden glow. Bea's mouth made an ‘O' of surprise.

"A long gallery! How wonderful!"

"I agree entirely. Look at this fine fellow — is that not a splendid coat he wears? All that gold braid!"

"Oh but his hat! So dreadful — did men truly wear such appalling creations? Oh, I like this one. He has such a mischievous smile."

They walked about for a while, admiring the paintings, but then Bertram ushered her to a window seat. "While I have you alone, we should talk about strategy."

"Strategy, Bertram?"

"For finding you a titled husband, Bea. I have made you a list… here." He pushed a paper into her hand.

"How kind you are, Bertram," she said, unfolding it. "Just the three… oh, the Marquess of Embleton? Tell me about him."

"Ah, straight for the biggest prize, I see," he said, smiling at her. "Thirty years old, heir to the Duke of Bridgeworth but he has four… or is it five… younger brothers, at least two of them married, so nobody much minds whether he marries or not. I will be honest with you, Bea, I cannot claim to know him very well. He has always been around my crowd, but he is so quiet and unassuming that one tends to forget about him. I have no idea what sort of woman would catch his eye, but no one could be displeased with you, so you may be lucky."

"Oh! What a pretty compliment, Bertram, and entirely untrue, since you yourself are displeased with me."

"Not in the least, I assure you. If I were looking to marry, I should be very tempted by you, but at present I prefer my books."

"You could have books and a wife," she said, looking up at him in wide-eyed mock innocence. "There is no law against it, I believe."

"Now, now, you promised I would be off the hook if I got you this invitation, so do not tease me, Bea. The second name on the list is Viscount Brockscombe, and that is a real title, not a courtesy one. He is seven and twenty, a jolly sort. He always has some jape or other under way, so your liveliness might be the very thing to catch his eye. His mother is pestering him to set up his nursery, too, so your timing is perfect."

"What about the last one… Lord Thomas Medhurst?"

"The same age as I am, five and twenty, brother to the Duke of Wedhampton and very keen to marry, given the excessive number of deaths in the family over the last few years. He has been my very good friend since we met on our first day at Eton, and he is the best of good fellows, but I will tell you at once that he is very swayed by a woman's face. Show him a line of potential partners at a ball and he will invariably move directly towards the most beautiful."

"Oh." Her face fell. "I shall stand no chance, then. I might pass for tolerable in a darkened room."

"Nonsense!" he said briskly. "You are very well looking, and you must not let anyone tell you otherwise. It is true that you have not that perfection of feature that some women can boast, but that merely makes you more interesting. Beautiful women are the dullest creatures on earth."

Her expression lightened, with a hint of a smile. "Are they truly dull? I had never noticed."

"It is easy to be distracted by beauty, but believe me, most of them have not a sensible thought in their pretty heads," he said.

"And I am more interesting, am I?" she said, shaking her head, so that her black curls tossed about. "You are very full of compliments today, Bertram. If I did not know you better, I might think you were flirting with me."

"I would not know how," he said with perfect truth.

"Quite so. I cannot thank you enough for your help, and if I succeed in finding a husband here, I shall name my first child after you in gratitude."

"Let us hope your first-born is a boy, then," he said, and that set her giggling so hard that any sensible conversation was at an end, and he judged it best to take her back to the saloon.

***

Bea had dressed for the evening in the gown and hair ornaments selected by her stepmother, and was reading an ancient book of philosophy she had found in a cupboard in her bedroom, when her mama entered the room.

"Good, you are ready in excellent time, Beatrice. Gentlemen so like punctuality."

"It would be discourteous to our hosts to be late," Bea said, rising to make her curtsy.

"That too," Lady Esther said calmly. "You look very presentable this evening, quite a credit to your father and me. I must say, my dear, everything is coming along very well. I noticed how Mr Bertram Atherton singled you out the moment he entered the saloon, and lost no time in taking you away. Where did you go to?"

"He wished to show me around the house, Mama, but we only went to the chapel, the colonnade and the long gallery. Was that wrong? Should I have refused? Or taken a chaperon?"

"In this case, it is perfectly acceptable… you were never anywhere other than public places, and you are as good as engaged."

"Mama, I do not think—" Bea began in some alarm.

"One should never be over confident, naturally, but the signs are unmistakable."

Bea did not wish to explain her arrangement to her stepmother, but neither did she wish Bertram to be bounced into an engagement. "You do not plan to… to trick him?" she said anxiously.

"Trick him? Goodness, Beatrice, you make me sound like such a scheming mama! Gentlemen sometimes need a delicate nudge to ensure they do the right thing, that is all — a little encouragement, a sign of ladylike affection."

"A kiss?" Bea said tentatively, her mind still on the duchess's words.

Lady Esther chuckled. "Certainly a chaste kiss can do the trick."

Bea had no idea what a chaste kiss was, but it sounded rather agreeable. "That would not be too forward?"

"Naturally, one does not distribute kisses to all and sundry, but with a gentleman, it is perfectly safe. No true gentleman would take advantage of a little enthusiasm from a lady, and it can be a most effective device for bringing him to the point. However, Mr Atherton seems to be proceeding along the correct path all by himself, so I believe we need not intervene. We have a whole month, after all, so we may sit back and allow matters to take their course. As for being alone with him now and then, in a private party of this nature and overseen by a duke and duchess, there is not the least harm in it. Walking in the long gallery, for instance, or in the gardens in daylight hours, can occasion not the smallest comment. Mr Atherton is a gentleman to the core, and would never do anything to put a lady to the blush."

"And the others here… they are gentlemen also, are they not?"

"Certainly, my dear. Even those who are not nobility are gentlemen, or the duke and duchess would not have invited them. Shall we see if Mr Franklyn is ready to go down yet?"

With her list safely tucked into her reticule, Bea meekly followed her parents down to the saloon, where the company was gathering for the evening. She did not need her stepmother's hissed warning of ‘Marshfields rules!' as they entered to remind her to be on her best behaviour. Anywhere the nobility congregated in large numbers invoked Marshfields rules in Lady Esther's eyes. This included the ballrooms and saloons of London, but principally Marshfields itself, where her very haughty relations gathered to squabble gently and reassure themselves of their unimpeachable heredity. Bea always felt very small and provincially insignificant there, where only breeding mattered and no fortune, however large, could compensate for the lack of a title.

Landerby Manor, she devoutly hoped, would be different, not least because the presiding duke and duchess were not crusty relics of a bygone age. The duchess could not be less intimidating, and her husband was cut from the same cloth, a quietly-spoken man who beamed genially at Bea, talking to her at some length about her Newcastle home and what she missed about it. It was a difficult question to answer, since the truth, that she missed almost everything, was hardly flattering to her father and stepmother. But she could not go back to those simpler times, and if she had to move in the much grander society of her stepmother, she would play the game and obey the rules until her marriage set her free.

As the saloon filled with guests, all arrayed in their most splendid evening finery in compliment to the duke and duchess, Bea soon discovered she had several rivals. She counted eight other young ladies, most of them younger than her, and two uncommonly pretty. That was disheartening. There was one advantage of so many young ladies, however, and that was that she easily discovered the most eligible gentleman in the room.

"Who is that man over there?" she whispered to the duke, when his questions about Newcastle had finally trickled to a halt. "The one almost hidden by the bevy of eager young ladies."

The duke chuckled. "That is Embleton, poor fellow. I thank God that I was already married before it seemed likely I would inherit, or I should have been besieged, too."

"The Marquess of Embleton," Bea said musingly. "Heir to a dukedom."

"Quite so, but if you fancy becoming a duchess, Miss Franklyn, I had better warn you that Embleton is not much in the petticoat line."

"He looks quite bewildered by the attention," Bea said.

"One would imagine him to be used to it by now, for he has been the heir since birth. Unlike me, he has never had a period of blessed anonymity. Yet somehow it always takes him by surprise when ladies take an interest in him. They are wasting their time, sadly, and would be better advised to turn their attention elsewhere. Now there is one who is definitely a man with an eye for the ladies — over there, talking to my wife, the very handsome fellow with the diamond pin in his cravat."

He was indeed very handsome, with a mane of golden hair, a patrician brow and a hint of permanent amusement about his lips. Bea liked him at once. Was he perhaps one of those on her list?

"I have not yet been introduced to him," she said. "Who is he?"

"That is Grayling… Lord Grayling, that is."

A lord! But not on Bertram's list, which was curious.

"Is he married?"

The duke laughed, and turned to her with eyebrows raised. "Oho, is that a certain interest I detect? No, he is not married. Should you like to meet him?"

"I shall be very happy to make the acquaintance of all your guests," Bea said demurely, but she could not help blushing a little. Lord Grayling was indeed very handsome, the sort of splendid figure of a man that any girl would dream of in a husband.

The duke laughed again, and led her across the room. "Grayling, here is someone who wishes to meet you. Miss Franklyn, may I present to you Lord Grayling of Melton Mowbray. Grayling, Miss Franklyn is from Newcastle. Excuse me… I must… um…"

He bowed, tucked the duchess's arm in his and led her away, leaving Bea gazing in some awe at Lord Grayling. If she had been asked to describe her ideal specimen of manhood, the example before her would have come very close. He was imposingly tall, with broad shoulders that strained his coat to such an extent that she wondered how his valet had ever wrestled him into it. His legs were shapely too, and he dressed in a manner which was fashionable and at the same time not in the least ostentatious.

He executed an elegant bow. "Newcastle, eh? A fine city, I believe, although I have never been there. For what is it famous?" His tone was languid, not very interested in Newcastle or, very likely, Bea herself.

"Coal, sir. A vast deal of coal goes out from Newcastle to London and elsewhere. But I no longer live in Newcastle. My father's estate is in the North Riding, which is famous for sheep, wool and extensive moorland. But tell me of Melton Mowbray. I have never heard of it, but I am sure it is famous for something."

His eyes turned fully on her, a little surprised at so robust a response. "I imagine so, but whatever it is, I cannot tell you. My estate is five miles outside Melton, and I rarely go there."

"For shame, sir! Are the inhabitants to be deprived of the sight of one of their most distinguished residents? What dreadful crime have they committed to inflict this dire punishment on their heads?"

His lips twitched. "I am sure they are as upright as the residents of any other English town, Miss Franklyn, but, as towns go, it is rather small and not well endowed with such facilities as banks and attorneys and shops. I tend to go to Leicester instead, and since I feel sure you are about to ask, it is famous for the manufacture of stockings."

"Ah, stockings! How useful. It must be a fascinating place if it is wholly given over to the manufacture of stockings. I adore stockings and should very much like to visit a town filled with them."

He chuckled. "I do believe there are one or two other enterprises carried on there, apart from the manufacture of stockings. But if we may speak of the county as a whole, then for those of my own class, it is not stockings but hunting which is the principal attraction. Leicestershire boasts the finest hunting country in England."

"And you are so fortunate as to live there. How glad your friends must be!"

He laughed out loud at that. "Yes, indeed, I am excessively popular during the hunting season. How is it that you have never been in town, Miss Franklyn? I am certain I should have remembered you if we had ever met."

"You are mistaken, sir, in supposing me a stranger to the Metropolis, but you are quite right — we have never met. I too am confident I should have remembered such an event."

She had his full attention by this time. "I imagine that you have been constrained to attend only such wholesome places as Almack's. Very dull stuff, Almack's."

"So it is, but I was also so fortunate as to attend the occasional card party with octogenarians, to drive through Hyde Park in a barouche and to visit the theatre, although only when works were performed of a nature suitable for demure maidens. I have been gay almost to dissipation, I do assure you."

He laughed again, his eyes twinkling in an alarmingly attractive way. "What a pity I was not in charge of devising your entertainment, Miss Franklyn. I should have offered you a far more interesting time of it."

"What would you suggest for my entertainment, Lord Grayling?"

"Have you ever attended a masquerade ball? They are the most astonishing fun, and one may be quite anonymous. And then there are places where cards are played more excitingly than with your octogenarians."

"Ooh, that sounds most amusing! But are such places not… dangerous? I have heard that one may lose a fortune in the turn of a card or the throw of a die."

"But that is what makes them so exciting," he said, leaning close to whisper in her ear. "You would be quite safe with me, Miss Franklyn."

Bea could feel his breath tickling her neck. She was conscious of a warmth that had nothing to do with the lingering heat of a summer afternoon or the crowded room. His closeness made her feel almost dizzy. Only an insistent tapping on her hand drew her out of her strange absorption in him.

"Miss Franklyn!"

"Bertram?" she said, turning to him in bewilderment. "Whatever is it?"

"If Lord Grayling will excuse me for taking you away, there is someone I should like you to meet." His tone was curt, as if he had been trying to attract her attention for some time.

"Pray do not let me monopolise you, Miss Franklyn," Lord Grayling said, with another elegant bow. "We shall have plenty of other opportunities to get to know each other better."

"I look forward to it very much, Lord Grayling," she said, curtsying. Rather disgruntled, she allowed Bertram to tow her away.