“The Marquess of Lydon! How perfectly dreadful!” In fact, the tone of Selina’s voice sounded more envious than horrified.
“He is a shocking rake.” Emily explained. “Why no self-respecting mama would allow her daughters anywhere near the man.”
“But why is that?”
“Lord, Charlotte, you are such a green girl. Because he is only after one thing, and it is not marriage. The reputations he has ruined, why I—”
“That is enough, Emily,” her mother, well aware of her younger daughter’s propensity for scandalous gossip, forestalled her. “We do not know if anything that is said about him is true and Charlotte is not hoping to make a husband out of him, only a guardian.”
Charlotte had been inclined to agree with Lady Winslow that the Marquess of Lydon’s amatory adventures had very little bearing on his ability to protect her brother from Cecil, which was the only requirement she had for her guardian.
Now there was nothing to do but bide her time and see. In the meanwhile, there was the threatened return of Cecil and Almeria to steel herself for.
~~~~
And it was all too soon that Cecil and Almeria reappeared, loaded with so much baggage that there was little need for them to declare their intentions of remaining at Harcourt
until Charlotte and William’s futures are settled satisfactorily.
Knowing that Cecil and Almeria’s definition of
satisfactorily
differed widely from hers, Charlotte was forced to exercise heroic self-discipline as she schooled her features into an expression of submissive acceptance and thanked them for their concern. Underneath this meek facade she was fuming as she instructed the housekeeper, Mrs. Hodges, to show them to their chambers, but she knew that at the moment her best recourse was to give way as gracefully as she could in order to muster her strength and resources for the appearance of Lord Lydon. But it was all she could do not to slap the self-satisfied smile off Cecil’s face as, rubbing his hands together, he surveyed the magnificent marble entry hall with a proprietary air, exclaiming, “You must not worry your head about such things any more, Charlotte. Almeria can deal with Mrs. Hodges from now on and we shall soon have things in good order.”
As it had never occurred to Charlotte that things were in such a poor state of affairs in the first place, she bit her lip and, with admirable self-restraint, resolutely avoided meeting the eyes of Mrs. Hodges, who, rigid with outrage, led them up the sweeping staircase and to their respective chambers.
Sir Cecil Wadleigh was an unprepossessing little man of inferior height, narrow shoulders, unfortunate waistline, thin sandy hair, weak blue eyes set too close together, and a receding chin. However, he made up for all the authority he lacked in his person by adopting an air of pompous superiority. His mother, the former Earl of Harcourt’s elder sister and only sibling, had married Cecil’s father much against the wishes of her family, for the Wadleighs, though from a most ancient lineage, were far inferior in rank and fortune. However, Lady Anne, who had grown up virtually as an only child and had enjoyed her parents’ undivided attention except for the few years between the earl’s birth and his enrollment at Eton, had been thoroughly spoiled and therefore was not to be denied once her mind was made up.
Her husband had combined a thoroughly biddable nature with an almost unnatural reverence for his domineering wife, making him a perfect partner for the Earl of Harcourt’s imperious sister. Cecil, their only child, had inherited all the defects of his mother’s personality with none of her superior understanding or strength of character. He had grown from a self-important and opinionated lad into an equally self-important and opinionated young man who bitterly resented his mother for having married beneath her and for not making a push to secure him a place in the bosom of the family at Harcourt where he could show to his best advantage. But Lady Anne, happy in her complete dominance over her own household, was not about to jeopardize this position by returning to her ancestral home where the earl’s word was law and his every whim was catered to. Having no natural affection for a brother who had been raised entirely separate from her, she was content to remain at Wadleigh Manor ruling the lives of her family and her servants with an iron hand.
The eventual birth of an heir to the earldom, after the countess’s many miscarriages, had been a severe disappointment to Cecil, who had begun to entertain hopes of succeeding at last to a position worthy of him. His subsequent discovery of that heir’s diminished mental capacities had only served to convince him further that a title he had begun to think of as rightfully his did, in fact, belong to him.
So secure was Cecil in these convictions that he had actually begun to picture himself as heir some time before the Earl of Harcourt’s demise, and it had come as something of a shock when the will maintaining the deceased earl’s son as heir had been read by the solicitor after the funeral. And this was not the worst of it; more appalling still was the fact that Cecil had not even been named guardian of the inheritance for which he was next in line. He had barely been able to contain his outrage at such a sorry state of affairs and it was only by exerting enormous self-control that he was able to maintain his composure under the coolly observant eye of the new earl’s sister. The only consolation during the entire thing was that the legal guardian demonstrated such a notable lack of interest in the entire state of affairs that he had not even bothered to appear for the funeral or for the reading of the will, and Cecil had begun to hope that the management of Harcourt might yet fall to him.
His wife, Almeria, had done nothing to dissuade him from this line of reasoning. “For you know what Lord Harcourt was, a loose screw if I ever saw one. Ten to one he appointed some card-playing crony of his who will not make the slightest push to do what is right. As head of the family, Cecil, you have a duty to return to Harcourt and see to it that the place does not come to rack and ruin.” At Almeria’s urging they had remained back at home at Wadleigh Manor just long enough to pack and to make arrangements for an extended absence before heading back to Harcourt to take up the running of an estate worthy of their abilities.
Ensconced back at Harcourt, they wasted no time. The very next morning Almeria was to be found in the housekeeper’s room instructing Mrs. Hodges in the new regime. There were to be no more fires in the servants’ bedchambers, nor wax candles in their quarters, and the keys to the storerooms were to be turned over to Lady Wadleigh immediately.
Forewarned by her mistress, Mrs. Hodges listened to these demands with dignified equanimity before refusing quietly to do any such thing.
“Why you impudent creature!” Almeria gasped, once she had recovered enough from the shock of such blatant insubordination as to be able to speak.
“Begging your pardon, my lady, but Lady Charlotte has given instructions that things are to remain as usual until such time as the Marquess of Lydon arrives, and then I am to consult his lordship’s pleasure on the running of the household.” Mrs. Hodges’s expression remained one of respectful servility, but the note of triumph in her voice was not lost on Lady Wadleigh, who immediately turned and swept from the room, her long thin nose in the air, her tiny mouth pursed tighter than ever, and two bright angry red spots burning on her sallow cheeks.
Her husband met with the same lack of success in his conversation with Harcourt’s agent. Mr. Sotherton was all deference to Sir Cecil, but not the least inclined to follow his wishes, having already received clear instructions from his mistress to wait until such time as they could benefit from the advice of Lord Lydon.
Frustrated at every turn, the Wadleighs could only fume and possess themselves of the little grace that they could muster to wait until Charlotte and William’s guardian saw fit to make an appearance.
Some days after the Wadleighs’ installation, as she sat down to yet another interminable dinner punctuated only by stony silence and Almeria’s disgusted sniffs, Charlotte thought that her guardian’s arrival could not occur too soon for any of them.
In fact, the only person reasonably content with this uneasy state of affairs was William. But even his sunny and confiding nature was considerably dampened by the disapproving stares of his cousins when they sat down to meals. At all other times he was so happily employed exploring the fields and streams around Harcourt or doing his lessons with Dr. Moreland that he had no thoughts to spare for the Wadleighs. At the table, however, contact with them was unavoidable and even William, blithely ignorant as he was, could not help asking his sister, “Charlie, why do not our cousins like me?”
Trying her best to hide her anger, Charlotte thought quickly. “It is just that they are unused to boys your age, dear. I am sure that in time they will become more accustomed to being with a young man your age.” She was grateful that her brother’s slowness with figures and his general unconsciousness kept him from realizing that it was barely six years ago that their son, Basil, had been just William’s age and that the Wadleighs had not had the slightest difficulty in lavishing their disgusting offspring with their fawning attentions.
“Are you sure, Charlie?” William was doubtful. “They both have mean eyes when they look at me.”
“What else could it be, dear? You are a most amiable, well-looking, and proper young man; I do not see what there could be to find fault with.”
Except that you are the heir to all that greedy Cecil wants for himself,
Charlotte could not help thinking as she smiled encouragingly at her brother. “Just give them time and continue to behave as sweetly as you always do; I am sure they will come around.” She was not at all sure of such a thing—in fact, quite the opposite—but Charlotte knew that her brother looked to her for explanations of things.
Despite his mental limitations, William was a sensitive lad and as quick as the next person to sense the feelings of those around him, but he needed his sister’s clever mind to interpret and account for the reasons behind his perceptions.
“Do you think Cousin Cecil would like me better if I let him ride Duke?”
“That is very kind of you, William, but perhaps the best thing would be to let Cousin Cecil get to know us and feel comfortable with us first.” A lump rose in Charlotte’s throat and she blinked to keep back the tears. It was so unfair. Here was William offering his most precious possession in the hopes of befriending the man who wished to deprive him of his birthright, a man who considered him to be something less than human. It made her long even more for the arrival of Lord Lydon and hope even more fervently that he would join her in defending her brother against the grasping schemes of the Wadleighs.
Chapter Six
It was only the space of another day before Charlotte’s prayers were answered. Cursing himself for being all sorts of a fool, the Marquess of Lydon bowled down the long gravel drive to Harcourt in his magnificent yellow curricle late in the afternoon of the day after William had voiced his doubts to his sister.
In fact, it was William who brought the news of his lordship’s arrival. “Charlie, Charlie, the most bang-up rig you have ever seen,” he panted, having run at breakneck speed to find his sister, who was poring over accounts in the library. “And it is come here, Charlie, to see us! I never saw such a pair as there is harnessed to the carriage—they are gray, and such sweet goers. Who can it be? Who can it be?”
Charlie smiled at her brother’s enthusiasm. The Marquess of Lydon could have chosen no surer way into her brother’s esteem than to be the owner of a well-turned-out equipage and high-blooded horses. It was bound to aggravate Cecil, however, who, though he would agree that a man should own a carriage fine enough to proclaim his consequence to one and all, was such a nervous equestrian that he avoided horses as much as possible and was therefore inclined to be defensive with those who possessed a heart stout enough and hands skillful enough to drive a sporting vehicle. He could often be heard criticizing renowned horsemen as sporting-mad good-for-nothings. Well, there was no use worrying about Cecil’s reaction to Lord Lydon. Whatever happened, it was likely to be most interesting. Closing the account book, Charlotte followed her brother to the front portico where the marquess, handing the reins to his tiger, descended to meet the admiring William.
‘That is a prime pair, sir. They must be the sweetest goers. How fast can they go when you spring ‘em?” William burst forth with a volley of questions before Lord Lydon’s booted foot even touched the gravel.
“Why thank you. I am rather pleased with them myself, but please, take a closer look if you wish. By the way,” the marquess held out his hand, “I am Lydon.”
Already making his way to the horses’ heads, William paused, turned back, and, smiling sheepishly, took the proffered hand. “I am William. Have you come to visit us, sir?” He asked incredulously.
“I have.” Max grinned at the boy’s patent astonishment. “And here, if I am not mistaken, comes my hostess, your sister.” The marquess turned toward Charlotte, who was hurrying down the steps to greet her visitor.
But William was ahead of him. “Charlie, Charlie, this is Lydon. He says he has come to visit us.”
“And so he has, dear. I invited him.”
“You know him?” William was clearly impressed. “But how?”
“Lord Lydon is our guardian. Before Papa died he chose Lord Lydon to look after us.”
“Oh.” William digested this for a moment. “Then is he our new father?”
Charlotte smiled fondly at her brother. “Not precisely, but I hope he will be our good friend.”
The marquess, bemused by this conversation, was brought quickly to his senses by the speaking look in the green eyes now fixed so intently upon him. “I certainly hope to be. But you were on your way to speak to my horses, I believe. Do not let me keep you from that.”
“Thank you, sir.” And without a backward glance, William hurried back to the horses’ heads, where he soon became completely absorbed in petting them and talking to them.