Page 84 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

There was an element of question in the statement. The fashionable world had long ago decided that Lord Leake would never marry, and now he had burst back onto the scene with a young, handsome, foreign wife. There was some comfort in her foreignness. It would have been intolerable to have him prefer one locally grown daughter over another.

Caroline Manningtree merely smiled and sipped. She was grateful to Fergus and Giulia for driving the Sir Thomas Burton scandal, at least temporarily, from everyone’s minds.

‘Do they make much stay?’ Lady Marlow asked.

‘I believe a month or six weeks. Giulia wants to enjoy the Season before they go to Italy.’

‘One hears she is quite the intellectual. Almost a bluestocking?’ Lady Marlow was not sure whether to suggest any disapproval of this unfeminine tendency.

Lady Manningtree said, ‘She’s frighteningly clever to someone like me who has no brains at all, but not at all outrée. She loves the theatre and the opera and so on, but she loves to dance as well.’

‘I’m so glad to hear it,’ Lady Marlow said, seeming relieved.

Forbes opened the door at that moment and announced, ‘Lady Beaminster, my lady.’

Lady Beaminster rushed in. ‘My dear Lady Manningtree! I’ve just come from Lady Vane’s, and all the talk is of your dear brother and Lady Leake. She is quite the sensation! So beautiful, so vivacious, so – Italian! And her style of dressing so new and interesting! You will laugh at me, but I quite rave about Lady Leake.’

‘I had no idea you had met her,’ Lady Marlow said, with a hint of jealousy.

Lady Beaminster sat, her pouter-pigeon front even more tucked and lacy than Lady Marlow’s, her upper sleeves even fuller and more beribboned, her tilted-forward boat-shaped hat, filled to the brim with artificial flowers and berries, the very apogee of fashion.

‘Oh, I haven’t, but I hope to very soon! They have taken the Rylance house in Grosvenor Square, I understand – so charming! Edith Warminster had it for Pamela’s come-out in oh-three. They had the floor of the ballroom completely re-laid for her ball because it was shockingly warped. I remember the year before that, poor Georgie Sargent’s girl tripped and fell on it, and that was the end of their hopes of the Macclesfield boy for her, because it had to be said that she was a large girl and she did not fall gracefully. She wallowed, poor child, and it’s the sort of image that sticks in the mind. He married an American girl in the end – though I suppose he might have done that anyway, because Georgie told me, in strictest confidence, that Sir Harold had been unlucky with some Russian stocks and needed to recoup. What was I saying?’

Lady Marlow picked it up. ‘I do hope Lady Leake will give a ball. I suppose that is why they took Rylance House?’

‘Yes, you are right,’ Caroline said. ‘Giulia is set on a ball—’

‘Such a pretty name!’ Lady Beaminster interjected. ‘My dear papa favoured it for me, but there were expectations from a great-aunt, so I was named Mabel for her. And in the end nothing came of it, and she left her fortune to a hospital – such a mistake! Family must come first, don’t you think? The sick we have always with us – isn’t that in the Bible? I’ve never liked the name Mabel. But Julia – I’m surprised they have such an English name in Italy.’

‘Spelled differently, I believe,’ Lady Marlow said, catching at the narrative as it sped by. She had her own agenda, and carried on determinedly. ‘Now, Caroline dear, I hope you will put in a word for me and persuade them to come to my little soirée next week.’

‘No, no, I’ve come specifically to ask you to bring them to my card evening,’ Lady Beaminster interrupted. ‘It’s too bad of you, Marjorie!’

Lady Marlow ignored the outburst. ‘The Argylls said they might drop in, and you know how artistic they are. Princess Louise is so clever. I think it would be nice for them to meet someone of superior intellect for a change.’

Lady Beaminster felt there was an insult somewhere in there, and was silent while she ferreted it out.

Caroline Manningtree was firm. ‘I’m afraid I have no influence over their diary. Giulia is very strong-minded and Fergus, of course, wants nothing but to please her.’

‘Quite proper,’ said Lady Marlow. Lord Marlow, who would always sooner have sat in his own study with the newspaper in the evening than venture into someone else’s house, nevertheless put on full fig and meekly followed his wife wherever she decreed they should be seen.

‘But I’ll mention that the Argylls will be there,’ Caroline went on. ‘I expect Fergus would like Giulia to meet them.’

‘Thank you, dear,’ said Lady Marlow.

Lady Beaminster reached the end of her thought process. ‘I do think too much intellect is a mistake in a female. A gentleman does not like to be shown up in front of others.’

‘Indeed,’ said Lady Marlow. ‘No real lady would ever be contentious in company. But it is quite possible to have intellect and be graceful about it.’

Lady Beaminster was baffled again.

Giles had plenty of work to do: the farms to ride around; agent, bailiff, gamekeeper, woodsman and tenants to interview; neighbours and village worthies to keep in touch with. And in the evenings there were letters to answer, agricultural matters to study, books and articles to read. But the fact was that as the days accumulated he found himself noticing that he was alone in the house. When it was full, he was constantly seeking escape. But it was one thing to want solitude, another to have it thrust upon him.

His appetite, never very robust, quailed at eating alone at a large table: he felt he might drown in that lake of polished mahogany. He took to having his meals on a tray in the library; but still he had to endure being consulted about them every day. When Kitty was there, she gave orders to Mrs Webster every morning, choosing things she knew he would like. He appreciated now what a burden that took from his shoulders. Early summer’s fresh vegetables and soft fruits were coming in, the things you longed for all through winter and spring, but it took the joy away to have to make decisions. Talking about food was the worst possible prelude to eating it.

He had forgotten about the only other occupants of the house – his niece and nephew, Linda’s children – because he never saw them. Then one day when he came in from a farm visit, Afton intercepted him in the hall. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord. We seem to have a crisis.’

‘What sort of crisis?’ he asked tersely. He noticed the governess, Miss Kettel, lurking behind Afton; and behind her, Arabella.