was puzzling Devenish was why Drusilla and Cordelia Faulkner—who both struck him as possessing souls of simple truth—should believe that Jeremy Faulkner engaged in whim whams like his father’s, whilst Rob, that man of sense, did not. There must be a sensible answer to that, and one which he would endeavour to discover.
The advantage being that whilst he did so he could further his acquaintance with Jeremy’s widow.
Chapter Five
‘How very kind of Mr Harrington to invite me to accompany you on this visit to Marsham Abbey. The more particularly since this is the first time that he has ever asked anyone for more than a meagre supper. A whole week! It will be quite a holiday for us both.’
Miss Faulkner looked slyly across at Drusilla, and added, apparently absent-mindedly, ‘I wonder if Lord Devenish will be one of the party.’
‘Most unlikely if he weren’t.’ Drusilla was brisk. ‘What’s more, Mr Harrington has also asked Giles. Giles is over the moon for he thinks that this proves that he is no longer regarded as a child.’
‘Oh, but will you agree to allow him to accompany us? He is given to saying the most remarkable things, you know.’
‘Well, since Lord Devenish and Mr Harrington share the same failing, he will be in good company—and, being one of several, is less likely to be remarked upon himself.’
‘Oh, my dear, you must surely agree that it is one thing for a great personage such as Lord Devenish to speak his mind, and quite another for young Giles. He wants discretion.’
‘No, I don’t agree, Cordelia. Lord Devenish should be more discreet and so should Giles. As for Mr Harrington, like Giles, he does not know the meaning of the word, but Lord Devenish most plainly does—which makes his conduct the worst of the three.’
‘I thought that you liked him,’ Miss Faulkner murmured plaintively.
‘I do, but that does not mean that I am blind to his faults.’
It had become plain to Drusilla over the last week during which they had met Lord Devenish twice more that Miss Faulkner had no more sense than to begin matchmaking.
Her reasoning was as simple as she was and she was engaged in it whilst speaking to her late nephew’s wife.
Drusilla ought to marry again. Lord Devenish needed a wife and an heir—what better than that they should marry? Their lands marched together; they were both young and handsome, which boded well for the future Viscount Innescourt when he arrived. In her daydreams Miss Faulkner was ensconced at Tresham Hall, the baby Viscount lay in his cradle and Drusilla and Devenish hovered over it, adoring him. Miss Faulkner herself was hovering somewhere in the middle distance.
She came to with a start. Drusilla was speaking. ‘I need a new gown. Mary Swain must be sent for and shown the latest pattern books from London. I have some pretty pale green satin which would look well with the Faulkner pearls.’
‘Mary Swain,’ exclaimed Miss Faulkner aghast. ‘Oh, no, you must go further afield and find someone who will make you as comme il faut as the London beauties who surround m’lord when he is in town.’
‘Cordelia, I have not the slightest intention of competing with the London beauties. I am but a simple country girl and so m’lord must take me or leave me—if he thinks of me at all, which I beg leave to doubt.’
Saying which, Drusilla was aware that she was being deceitful. She might be but a simple country girl but she knew quite well that there was something particular in m’lord’s manner when he spoke to her which told her a different tale.
He was, in fact, thinking of her that very afternoon. Leander Harrington had ridden over to present him with his invitation in person.
‘If you accept it, Devenish, I intend to use this occasion to honour your arrival in Surrey and introduce you to as many notables as possible. Your late grandfather passed the majority of his life here and we should be charmed if you would do the same.’
‘Would you, indeed?’ replied Devenish drily. ‘I’m not yet sure that I would be charmed to spend mine likewise. But I will accept your invitation in the same spirit in which it is offered.’
‘And Mr Stammers? You will allow him to accept an invitation, too?’
‘Oh, that is a matter for Mr Stammers to decide, not for me. May I say that I’m a little surprised that your Republican beliefs would allow you to approach me first.’
‘But, then, Devenish, I was not yet aware that your attitude towards those who serve you was so very different from that of the late Earl. Every man in his place, knowing his place, was his motto.’
Oh, yes, that sounded like his late grandfather. Devenish smiled his most subtle smile.
‘A useful motto for those whose place is secure, you will allow.’
‘Oh, indeed, but in the new age of reason which will shortly dawn, all men will be judged by what they are and not by the bedroom they were born in.’
Devenish’s smile grew more subtle still. ‘That age not having arrived yet, sir, we must continue to endure our present fortunate condition. And that being so, I shall enjoy your hospitality at Marsham Abbey, as will I expect, my good friend Rob Stammers. Until then, I bid you adieu.’
It was Leander Harrington’s congé and he knew it. He gave his sweet smile and left. One of the delights of the new age of reason, he thought, would be a guillotine set up in Trafalgar Square where the liberated masses would cheer as each aristocratic head rolled in the dust—most particularly when m’lord Devenish’s landed there.
Nothing of this showed, however, when Devenish arrived at Marsham Abbey in the middle of a fine early August afternoon. Both men smiled at one another as though they had been bosom companions since boyhood. There was already a goodly sprinkling of guests on the lawn before the Abbey, that noble relic of the days of Catholic glory.
A long-gone Harrington had built his house using the Abbey’s north wall as his southern one, and retaining, Rob had told Devenish, the staircase down to the huge crypt. Over the centuries Marsham’s abbots had been laid to rest there, and there was still a chapel at one end of it, with a ruined altar.
This afternoon, though, no one was eager to visit dim underground rooms, least of all Devenish, who wished to mix with his neighbours as much, and as soon, as possible. His host led him on to the lawns where trestle tables had been erected and set out with food and drink and where burly footmen stood around ready to help those too helpless to help themselves.
Many of those already present were known to him and greeted him with the deference suitable to the honour of a peer. Devenish was just growing weary of being bowed and scraped to when he saw Drusilla Faulkner standing alone before a bed of roses, a glass of lemonade in her hand.
She looked divinely cool in white muslin and a wide-brimmed straw hat worn in such a fashion that it did not hide her charming face. The old trot, as Devenish unkindly thought of Miss Faulkner, was for once not with her.
With a muttered ‘Excuse me,’ he rescued himself from a tedious discussion
