Chapter Six
Robert would be the first to admit he was not the ideal son. He had grown used to his independence, and was accustomed to living his life as though he had no family obligations. For a time, the business of chaperoning his lively younger sister through society had tied him to London, but, now that she was married, he and Hart were free to live in unattached bachelor freedom.
On the few occasions that his father encroached on that freedom, Robert made every effort to appear obliging without actually listening to the old man's advice. Oh, it was all too true, as his father liked to remind him, that one day, Robert would be the Marquess of Lilistone, with all its attendant responsibilities. But that day was not today, and, when it came, Robert meant to be his own man.
So it was with a polite smile but a rebellious heart that Robert sat down in the library to listen to his father's latest plans for the Scarcliffe estate.
Despite the use Robert made of his advice, no-one could deny that the Marquess was an impressive man. He had an imperious bearing that was known to make lesser men quail in their boots, was always impeccably dressed to the point of near-dandyism, and boasted a pair of hawklike eyes, as dark as Robert's own, that could freeze an enemy at twenty paces, so potent was their glare.
Robert was enduring the power of that gaze now, and, in his own opinion, was admirably nonchalant beneath it.
"It's good to see you making use of this old place, Robert," said his father gruffly, gesturing about at the walls with his silver-topped cane. The Marquess was suffering a little from gout in his old age, though nothing would ever induce him to admit to anything as inelegant as a limp. "Scarcliffe Hall truly is the jewel in the crown of our properties. When I was a boy, it was our family's primary residence, you know."
"I know, father," said Robert fondly. "Care for another cigar?"
Robert did not smoke himself, but he kept a supply of fine cigars on hand for the times when his father stopped by. Keeping the old man happy was absolutely imperative; his rage did not bear thinking about.
"You and Hart are enjoying yourselves, are you not?" The Marquess let out a wheezing laugh. "But of course you are! Don't think I don't remember what it's like to pass a summer hunting and riding and drinking! I was a young man once, too, and I had my own crowd of young companions."
"You must have been notorious," said Robert, indulgently.
"We were the bane of every match-making Mama in England!" The Marquess sighed and rubbed a hand over his craggy eyebrows. "Of course, times have changed. It's you and Hart who are the young bucks now."
Robert wondered where on earth Jonathan had got to. Trust him to wriggle out of an interview with their father! Younger sons really did get away with everything.
"Which brings me to the reason for my visit," the Marquess continued. "I am especially pleased to see you and Hart enjoying Scarcliffe Hall, Robert, because it fits in very well with my latest project for the family."
Robert felt a familiar sinking feeling. "Father, really. We are one of the foremost families in England. Your concern for our reputation is unwarranted, I assure you."
The Marquess answered him by bringing a heavy fist thudding to the arm of his chair. "To think a son of mine could be so complacent! How can you be so at ease when, not ten miles away, the cursed Duke of Loxwell and his kin sit spreading poison about us to anyone who cares to hear it?"
A prickle of unease traced its way up Robert's spine. To have his father complaining about the Balfours while Cecily was on the grounds was too much of a coincidence for his liking.
"I hardly think the Duke is concerned about all that old nonsense…"
"Nonsense? How dare you! The Balfours have insulted our family name in the most grievous possible way – nay, they continue to insult it! Would you call it nonsense if they spread lies about your own sister, Robert?"
Robert knew that his sister's behaviour was, in fact, the sort which might rightfully attract all manner of scurrilous gossip – but he had managed to keep that from his father, and meant to take the secret to his grave. "I would be most displeased, Father. But, fortunately, there is no recent gossip to spread."
"My aunt Letitia was the very best of women," the Marquess continued, as though Robert had not spoken. "You would have been of the same opinion, if she had not suffered so painfully from her nervous complaints. Complaints which can be traced back directly to the Balfours' mistreatment of her! They all but murdered her at the time of life when she ought to have been most happy. My father never forgot it, I have never forgotten it – and neither shall you."
"Very well, Father. No-one was suggesting we should pay the Duke a morning call," Robert sighed. "What has the old feud got to do with me, here and now?"
"Why, the fact that our family will not be truly restored to its proper position in society until we can once more call Scarcliffe Hall our home."
Robert was alarmed. The last thing he wanted was for his elderly parents to descend upon his bachelor haven. "You mean to move here?" he asked, his mind immediately lighting upon a thousand excuses which might sway his father's mind.
"Not yet," said the Marquess. If Robert had his way, it would really be not ever – but he resolved to hear his father out all the same. "The first thing to do is to restore our family's prominence in the area. It is all very well having the Duke of Beaumont as a houseguest, but you must take the opportunity to show him off! Make the most of your connections! Show those Balfours that we are not ashamed to show our face in the county! You ought to do something extravagant, that will attract all the prominent people in the area. How about a ball?"
"I invited Beaumont here for a quiet summer out of the way of society," said Robert. "He will not take kindly to the thought of any sort of party."
"You will know the proper way to sell it to him, Robert. You and he are such great friends that he would do anything to help you, I'm sure. No, a ball is quite the thing. Better yet, a masquerade!"
"That is precisely what Beaumont, Hart, Northmere and I have come to the countryside to avoid!"
The Marquess narrowed his impressive gaze. "Are you yet Marquess of Lilistone, young man?"
"You cannot frighten me into doing it, Father."
"No, but I can order you. I do not think you are so enamoured of your quiet summer that you are prepared to openly defy me, Robert?"
Robert sighed. The last thing his family needed was an inner feud to match their outer ones. Besides, his mother would be distressed if he and his father fell out. He could not put his own pleasure above his mother's happiness. "All this simply to snub the Balfours, Father?"
"Exactly!" The Marquess practically rubbed his hands together in glee. "They will most certainly not be receiving an invitation!"
"You must do one thing for me in return, Father," said Robert. "I will host your masquerade – and snub the Balfours – on the condition that you do not interfere with my affairs again."
The Marquess laughed. "Have you many secrets, son?"
"None at all. I simply wish to live my life in the manner to which I have become accustomed – independently."
"It must be very hard on you, Robert, that I have not already died and left you to it!"
"Now, now. That isn't what I said. I should be very sorry to be without you – but sorrier still if I had to live my life at your beck and call."
"That's fair," the Marquess allowed. "I will take myself back to Lilistone as soon as I can see that our family has once more become the most prominent in the district."
"That is not exactly what I asked, Father. Stay until the ball – no longer."
"It is not that I don't trust you, Robert," said the Marquess, putting a fatherly hand on his shoulder. "It is simply that I can see you still do not understand the importance of a family's reputation. Only when you are head of the Hartley family will you truly understand what it means."
"May that not be for many years yet," said Robert, squeezing his father's hand. "And now, I will indulge myself in a few of those young man's pursuits we were speaking of earlier. I think I will go for a ride." He needed an excuse to get to the stables quickly, before Cecily took it into her head to go exploring. Not only was she a Balfour, but a stubborn wretch to boot. He would not be calm again until she was safely off his property.
"A ride?" To Robert's horror, the Marquess began pushing himself up to his feet. "That sounds like the perfect way to brush of the cobwebs of a long carriage journey!"
"Father, really," said Robert sternly, "consider your health." He glanced meaningfully at the cane. "You are in no state to join me on the sort of ride I intend."
The Marquess's brows lowered, and, for a moment, Robert feared he was in for one of their notorious father-son battles.
"Very well," sighed the old man, sinking back into his seat. "I suppose you're right. I will keep myself at home and rest. What is the name of the local doctor, Robert? It would not be a bad idea for me to have someone take a look at this leg."
"Doctor Hawkins, I believe. I will send for him to visit you at his earliest convenience." Robert gave his father a brisk bow and left the library before the Marquess could change his mind about following him down to the stables.
He took a minute to ask the butler, Peters, to send a footman to Loxton with a note for Dr Hawkins – he knew his father had very little patience where his health was concerned – and made his way to the stables as quickly as he could.
"Lady Cecily?" he whispered, finding himself creeping into the hay-scented space as though he himself were the interloper. "Are you ready to go?"
A horse whickered softly in answer.
"Lady Cecily?" he asked again, louder. Had she fallen asleep?
Robert went partway up the ladder and stuck his head into the hayloft. It was empty. Curse that girl!
He climbed back down and began making his way through the stable, peering into every horse's stall. She'd mentioned wanting to see the horses, after all. He could only hope that she hadn't taken it into her head to sneak back into the house.
Perhaps his father was right about the Balfours, after all. This behaviour was hardly ladylike. Robert wondered what his reaction should be if he had ever discovered his own sister had hidden in a strange man's stables. He would have been furious – and rightly so.
"Lady Cecily!" he called again, not daring to really raise his voice. No response.
There was one last stall to check, and he sincerely hoped he would not find her in it. Not that he wanted her to be missing, of course. It was that the horse at the end of the stables was a prize stallion of difficult temperament and unmatched power. Thunder, as he was called, was one of Robert's most treasured possessions. Few other men would even dare to ride him. If Cecily had chosen to hide in with Thunder, she could expect a sharp kick for her trouble.
"Here, boy," he called to the horse as he approached the stall. He kept his voice soft and low, hoping to soothe a horse already troubled by an unexpected guest. "There, there."
To Robert's surprise, Thunder's head did not appear in response to his call.
To his even greater astonishment, when he reached the stall, he found it completely empty.
"It's not possible," Robert murmured, staring at the empty space as though his own incredulity could somehow fill it once more with a strapping horse.
But clearly it was possible – even if he would never in a thousand years have believed it without the evidence of his own eyes.
Cecily was gone from the stables. She had taken his prize stallion. She was either lying in a ditch somewhere along the road to Loxwell Park, or – could it be true? – she was one of the finest horsewomen Robert had ever encountered.
He saddled up a second horse with inordinate haste. Drat that impossible girl! He could not possibly let her go to an uncertain fate without at least trying to discover what had become of her.
Not to mention the fact that he was absolutely not about to let her get away with stealing his finest horse!