“A little.” He stiffly flexed his shoulders. “It will be a relief not to have to face the stairs again for the present. I have you to thank for that, I believe?”
“It is common sense; anyone might have thought of it.” She pointed out the door to his new chamber, at the far end of the gallery. “You will be able to come and go as you please. The gallery is little used except just before dinner. After luncheon, we shall stroll on the terrace.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes laughed at her.
“You said you are mine to command. But I was forgetting, walking is all very well but has not Mrs Cohen prescribed more particular exercises for you?”
“She has. I do them night and morning, as I find them easier in my nightshirt.”
“Oh.” Constantia’s cheeks burned but she resolutely continued, “Then I shall have to trust you to perform them faithfully.”
He grimaced. “I shall, I promise you, for I’m all too aware of the consequences of neglecting them.”
She recalled his sister saying that he might be crippled but for Miriam’s care. Could that dreadful fate yet be his if he failed to follow her orders?
“Uncle Frank! Uncle Frank!” Anita scampered into the gallery, followed at a slightly more sober pace by Vickie and with dignity by Miss Bannister. “I came to see you, ‘cos I haven’t seen you today.” She gave him a smacking kiss, climbed up onto the sofa, and settled snugly beside him.
“Hello, sweetheart.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Their obvious affection touched Constantia’s heart.
“Are you awright today?”
“Not bad. Who are your new friends?”
“That’s Aunt Vickie and that’s Miss Ba-nis-ter. It’s a hard name, but not so hard like Lady ‘Stansha.” She regarded Constantia thoughtfully, then transferred her gaze to the table. With a sideways peep at Constantia, she whispered loudly in the captain’s ear, “May I have a bixit, please, Uncle Frank?”
Constantia passed the plate, noting that Captain Ingram had made very satisfactory inroads into the provisions. “You had best call me Aunt Connie, Anita,” she said, and performed proper introductions of the others.
“We’re going for a walk,” Vickie explained, helping herself to a tart, “down to the stream, before it starts to rain again. So we can’t stay now, but please, sir, will you tell me all about Waterloo sometime?”
“I regret to say, Lady Victoria, that I missed Waterloo.”
“Oh yes, Felix said you were wounded at Quatre Bras. That was before, wasn’t it? You can tell me about another of the Duke of Wellington’s victories that you fought in, instead.”
Her governess intervened. “Lady Victoria, I hardly think it proper....”
“Don’t worry, ma’am,” the captain said with a grin, “I’ll leave out all the unsuitable bits.”
Vickie made a moue. “The best bits, you mean. Come on, Anita, let’s go while the sun’s shining.”
“There’s fishes in the stream, Uncle Frank.” The little girl slid down from the sofa and ran to take Vickie’s hand. “I’ll come and see you again soon.”
They went out through the french door. Smiling, he watched Anita cross the terrace. At the top of the steps down to the garden she turned to wave, and he waved back, wincing as he raised his arm. She took Miss Bannister’s hand and went off happily to see the fishes.
“Merry as a grig,” said the captain. “With the unsettled life she’s led, it’s fortunate that she has a knack of making friends.”
“She is an enchanting child,” Constantia said, “but it is to your credit, and Miss Ingram’s, that she is so confident in a novel situation.”
“The credit is all Fanny’s. She took charge when Anita’s mother died and she wouldn’t give her up for the world. It’s not made a hard life any easier, but you’d never hear her complain.”
His pride in his sister was endearing, and justified, as Constantia realized when he described the difficulties of life in the army’s train. He said not a word of the hardship to a young, poorly-paid officer in supporting a sister and a child not his own. Instead, he was full of praise for the way first his mother, then Fanny, had made the most dilapidated quarters homelike for their menfolk.
Thomas came in to remove the tea-table, and later returned to announce that luncheon was served.
“Heavens, is it so late?” Constantia exclaimed. “I shall have to put in an appearance, Captain Ingram, since we have guests. You must order whatever you wish to be brought to you here. I shall come straight back to...Oh, bother, it looks like rain. You will have to exercise indoors today.”
Calling Joan to go with her, she started towards the door, then stopped as Fanny entered, pale and agitated, still in her riding habit. Constantia guessed she was in a quake at the prospect of meeting the earl and countess again at luncheon. Where was Felix when his beloved needed his support?
“Shall I wait for you while you change your dress, Miss Ingram?” she offered. “Or would you prefer to take luncheon in here with your brother?”
“Oh no!” She sounded distraught. “Thank you, I am not hungry. Pray excuse me, I must speak with Frank.”
“Of course.” Constantia laid her hand on Fanny’s arm. “If there is anything I can do....”
Fanny’s mouth quivered and she shook her head, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Had she quarrelled with Felix? Helpless, Constantia signalled to the footman to leave, and she and her maid followed him.
Frank stared at his sister in dismay. “Fanny, what is it?” he asked, holding out his hand to her.
With a visible effort, she regained her composure and gave him a smile, slightly wobbly, as she came to sit on the end of his sofa.
“You’re not going to believe this. I can scarcely believe it myself. Did I ever tell you about the man who was asking questions about us, in Brussels, months ago?”
“No.” He waited patiently for her to tell him in her own way, rather than risk throwing her into high fidgets again. He could not recall ever having seen her so overwrought.
“He wanted to know things like our dates of birth, and Mama’s maiden name. It seems F-Felix has seen him several times since, and now he has caught up with us. Frank, you didn’t know that Mama’s father was a duke, did you?”
He gaped at her. “A duke? No, she’d never talk about her family, to me any more than to you. Our grandfather a duke? The devil!”
“The late Duke of Oxshott. His lawyer sent the man, Taggle, to look for us. Are you feeling strong?” She reached out and took his hand. “It seems the duke was at outs with all his relations, especially his heir, the present duke, but having banished Mama thirty years ago, he couldn’t come to cuffs again with her. He left all his unentailed property to her, and so to us.”
“And that’s what this fellow wanted to tell us?” Frank laughed. “Roworth has been protecting us against him all this time?”
“If only we had known, you could have sold out before Quatre Bras.”
Did that explain her distress? “Come now,” he said, “you know better than that. I’d never have sold out just before the battle. Do you mean we’ll inherit enough to live on?”
“We’re going to be rich.”
She spoke in such a dull tone that for a moment he didn’t take it in. “Rich?” he said blankly. “Rich? How rich?”
“I didn’t ask. F-Felix talked to him, and he said I am a very wealthy woman.” For the second time her voice trembled on that name.
Frank frowned, for the moment ignoring her extraordinary, scarcely credible announcement. Something was wrong between her and Roworth. Nothing else could have thrown her into such a megrim. But she was not angry with him, or she’d have called him Lord Roworth, not Felix. So, thank heaven, he had done nothing that demanded retribution from her brother.
Feeling abominably weak and impotent, Frank quailed at the thought of delving into a complex tangle of female emotions. They’d have to sort matters out for themselves.
He reverted to her news. “So the Duke of Oxshott is our uncle?” he asked.
“Yes, Mama’s brother. Quite by chance I heard a story about him just this morning, and I fear he is as much a curmudgeon as his father, besides being very full of his own importance.”
“It sounds as if Mama was well shut of her family. Do we have to acknowledge them to receive the inheritance?”
“I daresay he won’t acknowledge us,” Fanny said dryly. “Not that I care a groat. But let us not tell anyone of the connexion, Frank. Lord and Lady Westwood will suppose that we are hoaxing, or if they believe us, that we are vulgar braggarts. In any case, I don’t want their respect based on noble connexions or money if they will not grant it to me for myself.”
“Lord, no. We won’t mention the money, either, until we’re quite sure there’s no mistake. It all sounds like a Banbury tale. I must speak to this fellow Taggle. Ring for a servant, will you, Fanny.”
Before she reached the bell, a pair of the maroon-clad footmen came in. They seemed to come in pairs, Frank reflected, and in amazing proliferation for a recently impoverished household. One set up the pie-crust table again, and unloaded from the other’s tray a lavish selection of cold meat and fruit.
“Lady Constantia’s orders,” he announced, setting out two plates.
Frank discovered that he had an excellent appetite, despite the confections he had consumed not so long ago. Lady Constantia was certainly taking seriously her mandate to oversee his health.
“Thank you,” he said. “Do you know if the man, Taggle, who came to Westwood this morning is still about?”
“He’s taking a bite in the kitchen, sir, and says he won’t stir till he’s had a word wi’ you.”
“Good.” He was going to ask for Taggle to be sent him to him in twenty minutes, when he remembered that Lady Constantia expected him to stroll with her after luncheon. Presumably, since the man had been on their trail for months, he’d not object to a further brief delay. “Tell him I’ll see him later this afternoon.”
“Very good, sir.” As rain was beginning to fall, the footmen quickly closed the open windows and departed.
“Come and eat, Fanny,” Frank said. “I can’t eat alone in the presence of a lady.”
She sat down, buttered a roll, and nibbled on it. Then she shook her head. “I’m really not hungry. And, heavens! I quite forgot! I told Lord Westwood I’d see him as soon as I’d changed out of my riding dress, and here I am an hour later still wearing it. I only hope he has gone to luncheon and is not waiting for me.”
She hurried off, leaving Frank thoughtfully munching on a chicken leg. Perhaps Roworth had not caused her unhappiness after all. The coming interview with the earl might well be enough to overset her, since his lordship had made it plain enough that heartily despised his heir’s guests. If Lord Westwood knew or guessed Roworth’s love for Fanny, he’d do his best to nip the business in the bud.
Once again Frank bitterly regretted being unable to protect his sister.
The room was growing dark as the rain pelted down in earnest. Frank found he was not very hungry after all, but rather than risk disappointing Lady Constantia he ploughed through a solid meal.
Constantia, again accompanied by her abigail, returned to the gallery before the dishes were removed. She cast a calculating glance at the table and nodded, pleased. The captain had eaten well. She’d soon chase the pinched look from his face.
A second glance at the luncheon remains made her frown. “Miss Ingram ate only a few crumbs? Felix did not come in to luncheon at all.” If they had had a tiff, perhaps the captain was aware of the cause and between them they could reconcile the pair.
Though he hesitated, as if tempted to respond to her implied question, a gentlemanly reticence about his sister’s feelings prevailed. Or perhaps he held her parents to blame, and was not only too gentlemanly but too kind to say so.
“I have eaten enough for three,” he said in a funning way.
She accepted his lead. “Then you had best wait a while before taking any exercise. What a pity it is raining! It is grown quite chilly. Are you warm enough?” Pulling her shawl closer about her shoulders, she handed him a carriage rug.
He draped it across his knees and leaned back against the cushions as she sat down opposite.
“I must not detain you,” he said awkwardly.
Constantia flushed, afraid she was inconsiderately imposing her unwanted presence upon him. “Do you wish to rest upon your bed?” she asked, rising. “Or if you would like to read, I shall send for....”
“No, no, I am delighted to have your company, but surely you have more important or interesting things to do than sitting with an invalid.”
“Nothing! I have just been congratulating myself because Mama is too occupied with her guests to concern herself with my whereabouts. Oh, I beg your pardon, I did not mean....”
“Come now, Lady Constantia.” He shook his head at her in mock reproach. “You did mean...but we shan’t discuss that. Tell me how you usually pass your time.”
“Not in anything interesting, or important, or even useful. I read a great deal, embroider, walk with Vickie and Miss Bannister, ride with a groom, visit the more consequential of our neighbours with Mama. She and I go over the household accounts every week with the housekeeper.”
“That’s a useful habit.”
“I suppose so. I do visit poor and sick tenants with comforts, though Mama insists that I send in a footman and not set foot in their houses. I arrange flowers for the house. I am not permitted to pick them, but the gardeners have more work than they have time for, so often I do anyway,” she said defiantly.
Captain Ingram laughed. “I am thoroughly disabused of any notion that you are a compliant female! Fanny is fond of flowers.”
“Is she? Our gardens are in poor condition, alas, but I shall be happy to show her around.”
“She’ll enjoy that. She likes to read, too, though she never had much opportunity before we went to the Cohens’.”
“Westwood has an excellent library. Unless she will prefer to borrow Vickie’s Gothic romances?”
“She may. I doubt Mrs Cohen owns any.”
“Vickie ought not. Pray don’t give her away to my parents.”
“Most unlikely. Do you not read them?”
“Sometimes,” she confessed. “I daresay Miss Ingram has had no opportunity to learn to play upon the pianoforte?”