“Felix bought this for me in the Brussels market,” said Fanny with a sigh, tying the ribbons of her daisy-bedecked chipstraw hat. “I’m not sure that wasn’t when I fell in love with him, but you’re right, I do need another.”
“It is pretty,” Constantia said, “but not quite appropriate to the granddaughter of a duke.”
“I still find it hard to believe I can afford to buy clothes! You will teach me to keep household accounts, won’t you? I’ve never before had more than enough money for the basic necessities.”
“I will. Your brother actually seems to enjoy Sir George’s lessons in estate bookkeeping.”
“Frank’s good with numbers. You have to be in the artillery, with angles and distances and trajectories to be calculated. You wait, one of these days he’ll bore you to tears on the subject of parabolas.”
“Then I shall take my revenge with the subject of parasols.”
“I’ve always wanted a parasol. Oh no!” Fanny stared at her glove in dismay. “The seam has split. I don’t want to waste time mending it.”
“I shall lend you a pair, and you must buy some more, as well as a parasol. Those gloves already have darn upon darn. Come on, Fanny. We are going to have a wonderful day.”
With Dutton to drive them and Thomas to watch over them and carry their parcels, they did have a wonderful day. They returned to Upfield tired but content, full of ideas for refurbishing the Grange. The phaeton drew up at the front door. Thomas handed the ladies down and Dutton drove off to the stables.
They entered the house and Fanny went upstairs to give Anita a doll she had bought. Constantia lingered in the great hall, her favourite place, to admire the rich gloss on the carvings in the evening sun, slanting in at the northwest-facing windows. Inspecting a vase of purple Michaelmas daisies she had scavenged from the garden, she dropped her gloves on the table and nipped off a few fading blooms.
“I’ll toss ‘em out for you, m’lady,” offered Hoskins, crossing the hall at that moment. A burly man in his thirties, now shaven, hair cut and combed, his blue-and-red uniform jacket cleaned and pressed, he resembled neither tramp nor gentleman’s gentleman, but a plain soldier.
“Disposing of dead flowers is not among a valet’s duties,” Constantia teased. She was on excellent terms with Frank’s old batman, much better than she had ever attained with her brother’s Trevor.
The two men’s mutual scorn, begun in Brussels, had by no means dissipated upon renewed acquaintance. “Begging your pardon, m’lady,” Hoskins snorted, “but niffy-naffy fussing ‘bout who does what is what I don’t hold with.”
Laughing, she handed over the drooping flowers. A crash behind them cut short her laughter. She and Hoskins swung round to see the heavy front door rebounding from the wall. On the threshold stood a stout gentleman in a caped overcoat, purple-faced and grey-whiskered, breathing heavily.
“I’ll soon make you laugh on the other side of your face, missie!” he roared, advancing on them.
Constantia flinched. Another ogre! And this time she surely was not mistaken: here was the Duke of Oxshott himself.
Chapter 9
As the corpulent bully stormed towards Constantia, Corporal Hoskins stepped forward to defend her. “Who you be I don’t know,” he growled, no less belligerent than his adversary, “but the king hisself don’t threaten her ladyship whiles I got two fists and a pair o’ legs to stand on.”
“Her ladyship! So the hussy’s added a title to her fraudulent claims?” The duke, if such he was, sneered contemptuously but ceased to advance. “And I suppose you call yourself ‘my lord,’ you vulgar upstart?”
“Me?”
Hoskins’ stunned face almost made Constantia smile despite her terror. Wishing she were braver, she drew herself up and nerved herself to say in her mother’s most haughty manner, “I am Lady Constantia Roworth, daughter of the Earl of Westwood, and this good fellow is Corporal Hoskins, late of the Royal Horse Artillery. I do not believe I have your acquaintance?”
“Corporal? Westwood?” He looked taken aback but quickly rallied and blustered on. “I am the Duke of Oxshott, ma’am. What Westwood is about to let his gal consort with shameless charlatans I can’t imagine. Give me leave to tell you that if you choose to lend countenance to such rabble I shall make sure you bitterly regret it.”
“Captain and Miss Ingram are not charlatans,” Constantia said, clasping her hands to stop their shaking.
“Impostors! Thieves! Brigands! But I daresay you’re no better. I’m none so sure you’re who you claim to be.” Advancing again, he peered at her beneath scowling brows and snarled, “Can you prove you’re Westwood’s daughter, eh? Eh? You’re the swindler’s doxy, I wager. I’ll have you clapped up in gaol along with anyone else who tries to cheat me.”
Hoskins raised fists like hams.
“Touch me, you misbegotten cur, and I’ll see you hanged!” bellowed the duke.
“Enough!” Frank’s voice slashed like cold steel. Every inch a military officer, though he had exchanged his shabby uniform for buckskins and a shooting jacket, he strode into the hall, eyes hard, his resolute chin very much in evidence. He looked perfectly capable of handling a dozen irate dukes. Constantia realized he was no longer the invalid she had cosseted, no longer in need of her care. A hint of regret mingled with her admiration. Now he was the protector. His very presence made her feel safe.
She sank onto the nearest chair as Oxshott swung round. “So you’re the--”
“I am Frank Ingram,” he said curtly. “Since you, I believe, must be my uncle, I shall forbear to give you my opinion of so-called gentlemen who insult and try to browbeat blameless females. Your quarrel is with me.”
“Quarrel! I don’t quarrel with insolent whelps, I horsewhip them and...” The duke began to wilt under Frank’s sceptical, unimpressed gaze. “...And call in the law,” he finished in a weak mumble.
Frank’s mouth twisted with suppressed amusement. “To call in the law would certainly appear to be the best solution. In view of your exalted station, sir, no doubt Mr Mackintyre will be willing to post down here at short notice to reassure you as to my and my sister’s credentials. That is, I suppose you really are the Duke of Oxshott?”
Constantia bit her lip to hold back a slightly hysterical giggle. His grace’s eyes bulged and he gasped in outrage. Afraid he’d suffer an apoplexy, she rose and went to lay a hand on his arm. “Of course, we do not doubt your assertion, Duke,” she said soothingly, frowning at Frank.
“That’s Oxshott all right.” Felix was up in the gallery, grinning as he leaned over the rail. “I’d recognize him anywhere.” At a leisurely pace he followed Fanny, who pattered down the stairs.
“Thomas warned...informed us,” she explained as Constantia rose and went to meet her.
“Fanny, let me present our uncle, his grace, the Duke of Oxshott,” said Frank, his gravity belied by twitching lips.
Constantia wasn’t sure whether he had deliberately chosen to introduce the duke to his sister, rather than the other way about, or if he simply was not sure of the proper form. It was a nice point. Fanny was a lady, not a young girl, but she was Oxshott’s niece and greatly his junior. Judging by the gleam of mischief in Frank’s eyes, he was at least aware of the significance of his choice.
Fanny inclined her head graciously as the duke at last removed his beaver to reveal thinning grey hair. Constantia gave her a smile of approval, guessing she was trying to behave as Felix would expect his future countess to behave. She looked charming in her new walking dress, cinnamon-brown with buttercup ribbons, a fortunate find rejected by the lady who had ordered it from a Winchester modiste.
The duke muttered something indistinguishable. Then, turning to Felix, he said with renewed pugnacity, “You recognize me, but I’ll be damned if I know who the devil you are.”
“I’m Roworth, Duke, Westwood’s heir,” said Felix cheerfully. “We met at...in Town,” he hastily changed his words as Fanny and Constantia glared at him. No need to set up his grace’s back still further by reminding him of his set-down at the hands of Mr Rothschild. “We weren’t actually introduced, but naturally I recall so...distinguished a personage.”
Oxshott took this flattery as his due, but appeared slightly mollified. Constantia wondered for what epithet her brother had substituted “distinguished.” Ludicrous? Rumbustious? Coarse? She had never heard such dreadful language used in her presence without apology.
However, for Frank’s sake--and Fanny’s--this altogether obnoxious gentleman must be conciliated. He was odious, but he was a duke and a relative. Surely he’d be pleased to learn of his niece’s advantageous match.
“My brother is engaged to be married to Miss Ingram,” she told him.
“Your brother? That’s right, you’re claiming to be Lady Something-or-other Roworth, are you not?” He turned his glower on Fanny. “Well, missie, whether you’re my niece or not, you’ve caught yourself a fine fish. If he really is Roworth.”
Felix stepped forward angrily, his amusement quenched. Frank stopped him with a raised hand. “Roworth, perhaps you wouldn’t mind sending your groom to London to request Mr Mackintyre’s attendance at the Grange? This matter must be settled, and the sooner the better. Sir, I assume you’ll wish to stay in the neighbourhood in the meantime. The Pig and Piper at King’s Wallop is scarcely suitable. I expect we can put you up, can we not, Fanny?”
Fanny cast a panicked glance at Constantia, who nodded. They were still lacking a full staff, but his grace would have to make do with the inadequate service. After all, the wretched man had arrived not only without an invitation but without notice, Constantia thought rebelliously.
“Of course we can accommodate you, sir,” Fanny said, her gracious demeanour preserved with an obvious effort. “I’ll have a room prepared at once, if you wish to stay here.”
“Stay here? Naturally I’ll stay here,” the duke snapped. “Blood and ‘ouns, where the devil else should I stay but in my own house?”
Burning with indignation, Constantia caught Frank’s eye. He shrugged his shoulders slightly, conveying to her that he considered it pointless to argue with his uncle. Delight that the gesture did not appear to hurt him superceded her anger on his behalf.
“Will you come into the drawing-room, sir?” he said with admirable calm, continuing to act as host as if Oxshott had not spoken. “I’ve not had time to lay down a cellar, of course, but Roworth found a madeira at the Pig and Piper that he assures me is quite tolerable. I’d appreciate your opinion.”
As he followed Frank from the hall, the duke caught sight of Hoskins. When his captain took charge of the intruder, the practical corporal had taken a tinder box from his pocket and set about lighting lamps and candles against the encroaching dusk.
Oxshott’s brows lowered at the sight of the menial who had defied him. Constantia quailed, expecting another outburst.
However his grace merely bellowed, “Hey, you there. Go and tell my servants we’re stopping.”
The corporal’s salute was a marvel of irony. Unfortunately--or perhaps fortunately--the duke wasn’t watching.
“Servants!” Fanny gasped. “Connie, how many do you think he’s brought with him?”
Constantia thought back to her father’s travelling days. “His valet, of course, and the coachman. At least two footmen. Possibly an outrider or two. They are liveried grooms,” she explained as Fanny looked blank, “who ride ahead of or beside the carriage, mostly to add consequence. He may have brought a secretary, too.”
“How on earth am I to feed so many?” wailed Fanny.
“Henriette will manage for tonight. She is a veritable treasure, is she not? Tomorrow we shall order fresh supplies. Surely Captain Ingram can afford to entertain Oxshott and his entourage for a few days?”
“Yes, easily. I keep forgetting we’re rich. It’s not that I’m in the least frightened of our uncle, Connie, but I do so dread letting Felix down.”
“I know, Fanny dear, but you will not. And your brother was magnificent. He knew just how to treat the horrid creature.” Constantia linked arms with her. “Come on, let us go and consult Mrs Tanner.”
Arm in arm, they started towards the housekeeper’s room, only to halt as Vickie rushed helter-skelter down the stairs. “Oh no, have we missed all the fun?” she cried.
“Mama!” called Anita, following in her nightgown as fast as her little legs would carry her.
“Now, Miss Anita,” reprimanded Miss Bannister, descending slowly in her always dignified manner.
“Aunt Fanny, I mean,” said the little girl, running to Fanny. “Miss Bannister says I mustn’t call you Mama till after the wedding.”
Fanny hugged her, smiling. “She’s right, darling. I’m still your Aunt Fanny till then. Have you come down to say goodnight? I was on my way to the nursery when I was interrupted.”
“By the ogre?” Vickie asked eagerly. “Thomas said a man came in and started shouting threats at you, Con. We came down to help.”
“Thank you, but I was in no danger.” Constantia met Miss Bannister’s gaze and the governess raised her eyes to heaven. Controlling an excited Lady Victoria was beyond her. “The ogre was Fanny’s uncle, the Duke of Oxshott.”
“A duke! I always thought a duke would be like Papa, only more so. Was he really carrying on like a Bedlamite?”
“I am sure Thomas exaggerated,” said Miss Bannister repressively.
“He was a bit excited,” Fanny said, “but Frank soon calmed him down. He’ll be staying at the Grange for a few days.”
“Then Lady Victoria and I will dine in the schoolroom,” the governess declared.
“Oh no! I want to meet the mad--his grace, I mean.”
“You shall,” said Fanny determinedly. “I’ve no intention of bowing to his consequence to the extent of banishing you from the dining-room, Vickie. Nor you, ma’am,” she added to Miss Bannister. “He must put up with our domestic arrangements or find accommodation elsewhere.”
“Indeed, Miss Ingram, you need not suppose that I shall take offence. I never aspired to dine at Lady Westwood’s table and I am most conscious of your kindness in allowing me--”
“Balderdash! Felix,” Fanny called to her betrothed as he entered the hall, “you don’t object to Miss Bannister dining with us, do you?”