Chapter Six
When Alex awoke the next morning he was filled with a sense of restless energy that he knew could only be subdued by exercise. His mind slipped back to the image of Belinda Bowstock standing in the kitchen, her eyes sparking with indignation and he revised his decision --he would have to engage in some very vigorous exercise to quell the energy that filled him.
As usual he had woken at dawn and the solitary groom in Hawkfield's stables rubbed sleep from his eyes as he saddled up the Marquess's horse. The countryside around the estate was typical of Surrey; lush, rolling green fields, dotted with the occasional yellow brick farm house. Alex pushed Pegasus harder than usual, relishing the aching in his muscles as the stallion tore across the open fields. His mind was still on Belinda and her innocent beauty but his conscience was niggling at him, urging him to think instead on his responsibilities. Namely Miss Hestia B. Stockbow who, following her father's death, seemed to have disappeared completely.
Alex's trip to Truro had yielded few clues. The villagers had pointed him in the direction of Lady Bedford, a tight-lipped old dame, who claimed to know nothing about what had become of Miss Stockbow.
"She simply disappeared," Lady Bedford had insisted, stroking the ears of the elderly Cavalier in her lap. "I wouldn't blame her for wishing to make a fresh start after all the scandal her father caused, would you, Lord Delaney?"
Alex started at the mention of his name, for the sight of the small King Charles had reminded him of Miss Bowstock which had sent him into a most un-masculine daydream.
"If Miss Stockbow wishes to disappear to preserve her reputation," Alex had eventually replied, "Then that is her prerogative. As her guardian, however, my prerogative is to ensure that wherever she is she is safe and financially secure. If you happen to come across her Lady Bedford, do send her in my direction."
He had returned to London after that, certain that Lady Bedford knew where this Hestia Stockbow was hiding and that the old woman was sensible enough to let the girl know there were funds available for her. If that failed, Captain Black, who had business to attend to in Cornwall, had promised to keep his eyes and ears peeled for any hint of the young woman.
The sun had risen fully by the time that Alex returned to Hawkfield Manor. He bathed quickly, changed into fresh clothes and made his way down to the dining room, where a buffet breakfast was being served.
The only people present when he arrived were Mr Jackson, the dull entomologist and Lady Caroline, who looked much relieved at his arrival.
"There you are Falconbridge," she exclaimed, patting the seat next to her. "I was beginning to think that all my guests would be abed until after midday."
"Frightful waste of time, sleeping," Mr Jackson muttered, wiping his mouth with a serviette. "Excuse me Lady Caroline, Lord Delaney. The Duke has kindly offered me the use of his library and I cannot waste such an opportunity."
"Oh, don't stay on our account," Caroline waved the spectacled man away, her dark eyes dancing with mischief. Alex fetched himself a plate of eggs and kippers and took a seat beside Caroline, who was sipping on milky tea.
"Tell me," she said, placing her cup down and glancing at him fondly. "How have you been Alex? I said to Giles only yesterday that it felt like I had not seen you in years, and he reminded me that was because it has been years since we've met."
Alex chewed slowly on his forkful of fish, as he attempted to formulate a reply. He knew that Caroline, like the rest of the ton, thought him mad with grief since his wife's death, but in truth he had not been. His marriage to Amelia had been hasty, inspired by grief at his brother's death and an overwhelming feeling of duty to continue the line.
Marry in haste, repent at leisure was a phrase he had not fully understood until he and Amelia had been wed. She had transformed from a sweet, agreeable woman into a spoilt, vain, temperamental shrew the moment she could claim the title Marchioness. Alex, who had never been overly fond of the society that his new bride was obsessed by, had retreated to Montagu House, uncaring of the rumours that soon began to circulate of the new Marchioness's penchant for affairs with anyone from stable hands to members of his club.
He had made a huge mistake in marrying her; he knew this. There had never been any love between them, indeed Amelia had often looked at him with eyes full of scorn, but even with that, when she had died after a freak carriage accident in which one of her paramours was driving, he had been filled with guilt. This guilt had pushed him further into his studies of the ancient languages, to the point that it had bordered on obsession. The single-minded resolve to solve the mystery of what was written on the ancient Egyptian steele that he and Dubois were studying had consumed his every waking thought for years --until he had found Miss Belinda Bowstock, tied by a bonnet string to a Greek urn. His every waking thought was now dedicated to her, not to mention his dreams, when he did sleep, which featured her regularly. It was ridiculous, he was a man of four and thirty, he should know better than to be distracted by a pair of big, blue eyes.
"Has it been years?" he finally questioned, deliberately making his tone light. "Goodness, how quickly they pass. I suppose I have hidden myself away for quite some time, though I intend to change that."
He saw Caroline's eyebrows knit together speculatively and resisted smiling at her reaction. He knew she was wondering if he was insinuating that he wished to find a bride, but he quickly changed the topic of conversation, happy to keep her speculating, for he was not too certain of the answer himself. Yes, he knew he needed to wed, but the only woman who held his interest was wholly unsuited to being a Marchioness. It would shock society if he were to announce his intentions toward Miss Bowstock but then, he thought with a smirk, when had he ever cared about what society thought?
The afternoon activities consisted of a walk in the grounds of Hawkfield Manor, followed by a picnic by the lake. Alex had thought that perhaps, circumstances permitting, he might fall into step with Miss Bowstock and manage a few stolen words with her. Circumstances did not permit, however, because Miss Bowstock seemed determined to avoid him.
"Goodness, Belinda is full of energy," Lady Caroline noted, as Jane's companion hurtled ahead of the group. Henry, who Alex was growing rather fond of, kept pausing to look back at him, as though he wanted the Marquess to chase after him. They were nearing the lake and Alex could see that laid out under a copse of nearby trees was a large picnic for the guests. He evidently wasn't the only one to spot it, for Miss Bowstock emitted a wail of annoyance as Henry tore off in the direction of the luncheon.
"Oh, dear, she'll lose her bonnet," Jane gasped, as the group watched Belinda race after the mischievous Cavalier.
"That would hardly be a tragedy," Alex drawled, for the bonnet in question was the same hideous one from Montagu House. The group watched in awe as Jane's prediction came true and Belinda's bonnet was torn from her head by a gust of wind and carried toward the lake. She paused and turned in the direction that her hat had flown, then turned back to look at Henry who was still making his way, on his short legs, toward the picnic. Miss Bowstock obviously decided that lunch was more important than the hat for, after a pause, she continued chasing the dog. Alex heaved a sigh and made for the lake. Chivalry demanded that he rescue the hat from ruin, but he really wished Miss Bowstock had a nicer hat to rescue. The bonnet had landed in the reeds, by the lakes edge. He only had to wade in a few steps to retrieve it, but the bottom of the lake was muddy and even those few steps rendered his own boots quite ruined.
Miss Bowstock stood as he returned, her expression nervous as she took in the state of his muddied boots and breeches.
"Oh, dear," she whispered, as he neared her. "You should not have ruined your clothing for my bonnet. It is just a silly, old thing --not worth rescuing."
"Of course it was," he countered, handing her the slightly muddied hat. She took it with a curtsy and a word of thanks, then ushered him over to where the blankets were laid out, quite obviously eager to be rid of his company.
"Oh, there you are Jane," Miss Bowstock said with relief, throwing herself down on the blanket, so close to Miss Deveraux that she was almost seated in her lap. Alex glowered; he was not used to women throwing themselves away from him --quite the opposite, in fact.
He took a seat on the same blanket, beside Lord Payne, who was engaging the two women in easy, amusing conversation. Never before had Alex felt so jealous of Payne's casual charm, and when the young Lord offered to fetch a plate for Miss Bowstock, Alex nearly belted him.
"I will fetch Miss Bowstock a plate," he said stiffly, rising easily and padding across the grass to where the luncheon buffet was laid out. He took a plate, piled it high with cold meats, strawberries and radishes, and returned to where the object of his affections sat. The only problem was, that she did not wear a look of affection on her own face, in fact she looked rather like she was about to cast up her accounts.
"Eat up," he instructed, sounding much sterner than he had intended. Miss Bowstock nervously picked up a strawberry and obediently popped it into her mouth and began chewing with a pained expression. Alex had deliberately placed himself so that the bulk of his body blocked Lord Payne and Miss Deveraux from view, he was determined that he would have his few stolen moments with Miss Bowstock.
"I did not see you at breakfast," he stated simply. At his words Belinda's eyes left her plate and locked with his for the first time, leaving him almost winded with desire.
"I slept late," she offered, picking nervously at the food he had given her. "I'm usually early to rise, but last night I found it difficult to fall back asleep, after--"
Her face flamed red as she mentioned their midnight meeting. A thrill of satisfaction coursed through Alex; at least he had not been alone in finding sleep difficult after their brief encounter. Belinda's head turned as Henry padded over to them, his tail wagging as he sniffed the meat upon his mistress's plate. He rested his head on Belinda's lap, his eyes wide and innocent, as he gazed up at her, begging.
"He's not very well behaved," Alex observed, as Miss Bowstock discreetly fed the dog a small piece of ham.
"No, he's not," she agreed with a chuckle, flashing him a mischievous smile. "But I adore him, despite his obvious character flaws - he reminds me of home."
"And where is home?" Alex asked, leaning forward to hear her answer. Miss Bowstock was a complete mystery to him; he knew nothing of her lineage or her past; it was as though she had simply appeared out of thin air.
"Cornwall."
"Cornwall is rather large," Alex said, wondering if she was being deliberately vague, her answer was so curt. Did she have something to hide?
"It is," eagerly Miss Bowstock nodded her head in agreement. "Very big. Have you ever been, my Lord?"
Goodness; he would have laughed at the obviousness of her tactics had he not been so intrigued by her evasiveness.
"I have just returned from Truro," he volunteered, casually leaning over to scratch Henry's ears. The dog glanced at him dismissively, he would not pay attention to mere ear scratching, when there was food to beg for.
"What were you doing in Truro?"
Alex knew he wasn't imagining the slightly defensive note to Miss Bowstock's question and his eyes narrowed in thought. This was a woman with something to hide, and he was determined to find out what exactly it was. His inquisition was put on hold as Lord Payne let out a call for a game of cricket. Alex rose to his feet, with a short nod to Belinda, ignoring the look of relief on her face. He would have answers from her, he decided, but he would not scare her into revealing her past...he would woo her instead.