Jon bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from laughing aloud at Miss Mountjoy’s ridiculous attempts at deception. In his experience, this woman had a calculated motive for everything she did.
‘I’m afraid my mother is still in her bedchamber,’ George put in quickly, ‘though I imagine she will be down quite soon. Perhaps you would take some coffee while you are waiting? Or chocolate?’
Miss Mountjoy shot an assessing glance at Jon’s stony expression before she replied. ‘Thank you, sir, but I have errands that cannot wait. I shall walk back to the village.’ She stood up and reached for her gloves.
The two men rose. Jon held out his hand, palm up. ‘If you care to give me your receipt, ma’am, I will ensure it is delivered to my mother.’
‘I- No, I- Thank you, my lord, but I should prefer to deliver it myself. There is no urgency and it requires…er…a little explanation. I-’
George intervened before Miss Mountjoy could tie herself in even more knots. ‘No need for you to involve yourself, Portbury. I will mention it to Mama. I am taking her driving later this morning.’
‘I am sure that dear Lady Portbury will find that quite delightful, sir. You are such an excellent whip,’ said Miss Mountjoy.
George preened a little. ‘As it happens, ma’am, I was just about to take my pair for an airing, to take the edge off them before I drive out with my mother. She prefers placid horses, you know. Perhaps I could drive you to the village?’
‘Why, Mr Foxe-Garway, that would be such a treat!’
Jon kept his face impassive. He bowed and watched as the pair walked out into the hall, arm in arm. He could have sworn that the woman whispered something in George’s ear as soon as they were beyond the doorway. Was something going on between them? No, impossible. Mountjoy had no interest in men. Yet that encounter had been much too neat. Might they be conspiring together to drain money from the estate?
Jon would need to be even more on his guard. Against his own brother. He sighed, for such suspicions were not new. He stared into space, his coffee cup half-way to his lips. There was no point in agonising over George’s failings. He had become totally set in his selfish, spendthrift ways. He would do almost anything for money. Even the Dowager had stopped making excuses for him.
‘Good morning, Jon.’
Startled, Jon put his cup down with a clatter and sprang to his feet. ‘Good morning, Mama.’ As Jon helped her to the seat next to him, the butler disappeared to fetch her usual pot of chocolate. ‘May I ask what brings you down so early?’
‘As hostess, it is my duty to see to the welfare of our guests. Besides, George is to take me out driving this morning. Is he down yet?’
‘Ages ago, Mama. He’s just…er…driven out to take the edge off his horses. He knows you are a nervous passenger.’
‘Nothing of the sort. But I do like to drive behind well-schooled horses. George persists in buying unruly beasts. “High-couraged”, he calls them.’ She snorted in disgust. They both knew that George bought horses he could barely handle because he fancied himself as good a whip as Jon. It rankled with him that he was not.
The butler returned with the Dowager’s chocolate. She dismissed him with a nod. ‘I will ring if I need anything more.’ The man bowed and left the room, closing the door silently behind him.
Jon looked up from his plate. Her face was set. He resigned himself to what was to come.
‘Jon, I need to talk to you. About…about things.’
He reached for the coffee pot to pour himself a refill. It proved to be empty, but he did not ring for more. Instead, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. ‘I am listening,’ he said, in a flat voice.
‘Jon, I have filled the house with the most eligible young ladies of the
He stared at the ceiling for a moment. Then he picked up his cup and began to turn it in his fingers, admiring the fineness of the porcelain. ‘Mama, they are both pretty, beautifully behaved, and without a single interesting thought in their empty heads. After all those years in the schoolroom, you would think they would have learned something. But apparently not.’
‘That is because they are young, Jon. They are only just out.’ She laid a hand reassuringly on his arm. ‘A young wife can be moulded by her husband,’ she said stoutly. ‘In a few years, you can make exactly what you want of her.’
‘Can I?’ His father had been all in favour of moulding, too. Brutally, on occasions. Jon would never follow such an example. He wanted a restful woman, but a woman of principle-her own principles, too, not a straitjacket of her husband’s design. ‘Mama, these chits are young enough to be my daughters. I can’t take a child to wife.’
She was clearly shocked by his words, but she kept her tone level. ‘In that case, when we return to London, I shall arrange a few select evening parties at Portbury House. I can invite some of the…er…more mature single ladies. There are one or two widows also, of impeccable reputation, who might interest you if-’
He was shaking his head vehemently even before she had finished speaking. ‘No, Mama. I thank you, but no. When our guests leave tomorrow, I shall return to Fratcombe.’
‘Fratcombe? But why? There is precious little society there.’
‘It is not society I need, Mama, but useful occupation. George has drained that estate in my absence and it needs- Oh, pray do not look so distressed. You could not have known what he was about.’
She could not meet his gaze.
‘It will require several months of work to restore Fratcombe. I find I relish the challenge there. I cannot be doing nothing, Mama, as I do here.’
‘But you are not doing nothing! You have guests, you-’
‘I am doing nothing useful, ma’am,’ he snapped. He had never used such a tone with her before. ‘Engaging in frivolous entertainment with house guests is not what I have been used to, these last few years,’ he explained, rather more gently.
‘I knew the army would be the ruination of you,’ she muttered.
He lifted her hand to his lips in an uncharacteristically gallant gesture, in apology for his bad temper. ‘Poor Mama. I must be a sad trial to you. I know that you mean well. It is just that we do not see eye to eye on what I need out of life.’
‘You need a wife and a son,’ she retorted. ‘Surely we are agreed on that?’
He started back and began to breathe deeply, holding himself in check. With anyone else, he would have lost his temper at such gall, but a gentleman could never do such a thing with his mother, no matter what she did.
She hastened to apologise. ‘I promise I will stop meddling,’ she finished, trying to smile. ‘But if there is anything you wish me to do, you have only to ask. Will you be content with that?’
‘More than content. Thank you, Mama.’ He leaned forward to kiss her cheek.
The Dowager was surprised into a blush. And rendered speechless.
The door opened. ‘Why, Mama! Good morning. I must say you are down in excellent time, and looking quite splendid for our outing. Is that a new walking dress? Very dashing.’ George strolled forward and bent to kiss her cheek, just as he did every morning. They all knew it was an empty gesture.
Now that George had arrived to keep her company, Jon rose. ‘If you will excuse me, Mama, I must attend to some estate business this morning, but I will be free later to hear all about your expedition. Take care George does not overturn you,’ he added mischievously. ‘It would not do to get mud on that delicate fabric.’ He touched a finger to the Prussian blue silk of her sleeve. ‘You look as fine as fivepence. There is a matching hat, I presume?’ He grinned suddenly, and she made to reach out to him. Then she let her hand drop. Jon was relieved to see that she had not forgotten how much he detested public displays of affection.
Jon pulled Saracen to a halt at the top of the hill. They were both blowing hard after the climb but, from here, he could see the whole Portbury estate and miles beyond. It was a good place to be alone to think.
He dismounted, leaving the reins loose on the big bay’s neck. The horse was too well trained to wander far.
Jon strolled across to lean his back against an aged hawthorn, bent sideways by the prevailing wind that scoured this ridge in winter. Fratcombe. He knew in his bones that he had to return there, though it had come to him only as he spoke the words. He needed work to occupy him. After army life, he could not return to the wasteful
