True Lies: Shaleslip Manor Book 2

Derbyshire, England Late April 1802

“Gregory, must your foxhounds come to breakfast with us again?” Marjorie Royse said when four balls of endless vitality bounded between her and her husband and nearly tripped her. The pack of hounds ran to the end of the corridor, made a tight turn, and raced back to their beloved master at top speed.

“If I am to bag a fox before Robert, I must have the fastest and best-trained hounds,” Gregory Royse explained to his bride of nearly five months. “They need to be comfortable with me and ready to follow my every command. Consistency is key, my dear.”

“Can you command them to stop getting underfoot?” Marjorie said with a tinge of exasperation, as one hound stopped right in front of her. She narrowly missed stepping on its paw. “Will Robert bring his own hounds? I am not sure I can manage eight dogs in the house at once.”

“No, Robert does not like to travel with his hounds. He will borrow mine.”

“Oh, I see, so two of these are for Robert’s use and two for you.”

“No, no, we will have fifteen hounds, at least on the hunt. These four are the best of the best, my alpha hounds. They will lead the pack, and the others will follow.”

“I do not care if they are your best hunters or not. I dislike them in the house, especially the breakfast room.”

“Marjorie,” Gregory paused, his mouth twitching, “my hounds must spend time with me. You know a fox hunt is a game of hide and seek for adults but with the grandest prize of all.”

“What might that be?” Marjorie was fairly certain he was fighting a smile. She would take a moment to indulge this playful side of him, which she was just getting to know, and then she would return to the dog situation.

“Why, the right to crow champion over the other riders, of course. I always best Robert, and I am not about to let him bag the first fox because I was lax with the training of my foxhounds. Until you ride out on your first fox hunt, I do not expect you to understand, so please do not criticize my methods.”

“Me! On a fox hunt? Surely not,” she laughed. Gregory thought her laughter sounded like wind chimes blowing in the Derbyshire breeze.

“It is entirely proper for women to take part in the hunt. My aunt Lady Edale hosts a hunt every September right after the close of the London season.”

“You forget, sir, that I am only a tolerable rider. My father’s horses are so docile that unfortunately, my horsemanship skills had no opportunity to improve before our marriage. I am sure it would be better for me to stay home and await your return. Besides, if every lady attended the hunt, who would you tell your stories to?”

“Are you teasing me?” The smile threatening to appear earlier now overspread his features.

“Teasing you? Why, I never—Oh!” Marjorie cried out as Gregory’s foxhounds tripped her again. Gregory reached out and caught her just in time to prevent a fall. “This is what I am talking about. Your dogs have no respect for anyone.”

“Here, I think it is safer this way,” Gregory said, sweeping a perturbed Marjorie into his arms and carrying her to the breakfast room with the four hounds gambolling at his feet.

Marjorie’s concern melted away as a giggle welled up and erupted into full laughter at her husband’s silly antics. “Gregory, dear, set me down. What will the servants say?”

“Who cares!” Gregory tightened his grip on Marjorie as she tried, unsuccessfully, to force him to set her on solid ground.

He would not relent, and it forced Marjorie to be carried the rest of the way by her husband. “Gregory, is not it very late to be having a fox hunt? Why, when I grew up at Elm Grove, there was never a fox hunt later than March.”

“Quite so, my dear, but the early overly harsh winter and unsettled spring reduced the hunts last season, and the county is experiencing a high number of losses amongst our herds; therefore, many estates in Derbyshire are hosting late-season fox hunts to mitigate the problem.”

“Oh dear, have we lost many animals?”

“We did. The fox did not kill the sheep themselves, but their attack forced us to put them down because of the physical damage caused. Four lambs had their hind legs gnawed, and eight ewes suffered damage to their eyes, ears, tongues, udders, and teats as they fought to save their young.”

“Oh, Gregory, that is terrible and so sad to hear. Do we now have motherless lambs?” Marjorie truly looked stricken from the loss.

“We do. Young Charlie, who is still recovering from his wounds and must remain on light duty for quite some time, has volunteered to watch them when he is not needed in the stables. Presently, we are forcing other ewes to milk them while restrained so they accept them. It is not the best of situations. Mr Cooper is reaching out to all neighbouring estates to inquire about any lost lambs and to explore the possibility of purchasing ewes or orphaning our lambs."

“Gregory, why did you not tell me about the attacks?”

Gregory bounced Marjorie in his arms, tightening his grip before he descended the stairs with her.

“Because I knew it would make you sad, and all I ever want to see is your smiling face.” Gregory tried to be lighthearted, but Marjorie could tell he was not telling the whole truth. She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head questioningly. “How can you know me so well already?” He did not expect a reply and, after a single deep breath, explained, “The tenants and villagers become uneasy whenever something of this nature occurs. There is a bit of an unspoken rule that we do not discuss it openly and never in front of ladies.”

Marjorie understood and tried to comfort him by snuggling tighter into his arms and offering him a quick kiss on his cheek.

“You are a wonderful man, Gregory Royse.”

Marjorie felt him slightly shudder, and his voice became quiet as he admitted, “It is entirely my fault. I take all the blame. We are updating the irrigation system in the northern fields, so I had the flocks moved to different fields. I had not known of the fox problem when I put them in the west pastures. I should have been thinking, but I was not. Brush surrounds that pasture. It conceals and creates a perfect hiding place for the wild beasts. The herd is now in the east pastures, nearer the manor, and I have increased the shepherds and livestock guardian dogs.”

“If this be the case, I hope you not only bag a fox before Robert, but I hope you are the first to bag ten.”

“As you wish, dearest.”

Once they settled at the breakfast table and the hounds were given bones to gnaw on, Mr Jones entered with a silver tray bearing the morning post and handed it to Mrs Royse.

“I see we received a letter from Gemma. I hope she made it to London all right.”

“Another letter for you and nothing for me. I think my sister entirely forgot about me the day we married.”

“Do not take offence,” Marjorie said as she opened the letter. Once she broke the seal, she opened the pages and held them out a little in front of her with one hand while patting the top of Gregory’s hand with the other.

“Are you condescending me?” he questioned, the teasing in his voice obvious to Marjorie.

“Of course not, my dear. I think a better word would be patronising.”

Gregory’s laughter barrelled from deep in his throat and then romped around the room, inducing his foxhounds to abandon their bones and do the same until they eventually landed at their master’s feet, relentlessly barking.

Gregory wiped laughing tears from the corner of his eyes with his napkin before they could escape and finally addressed his wife with a semblance of composure. “I am not offended. I could not be happier. Long has Gemma wanted a confidant besides her companion, and I am glad she has you.” Gregory glanced at his wife’s letter, trying to make out what Gemma wrote. He had yet to admit, even to himself, that he missed receiving letters from his sister.

“Yes, I can see just how glad you are,” Marjorie said, tilting the letter and hiding it from his prying eyes. “Gemma writes she arrived safely, which was especially appreciated after the turmoil of her journey here a fortnight ago.” They looked at one another and frowned as they remembered the fear, dread, and apprehension surrounding her arrival and the necessity of her returning to London as quickly as another music master could be employed. “She had her first lesson with her new music master on Tuesday. She claims he is even better than the first and thinks her former master’s decision to stay in Italy was a blessing in disguise. She thanks you for finding her another one so quickly. To help further her music studies, Mrs Miller is taking her to several parlour performances the music master recommended would benefit her.” Marjorie paused to take a sip of her tea.

“I am not sure that is such a good idea,” Gregory interjected.

Marjorie narrowed her eyes over the top of her teacup, knowing full well what her husband would say when she asked, “Whatever do you mean?”

“She is not yet out.”

“And why should a parlour performance matter?”

“As you are well aware,” Gregory huffed, “they are a society event."

“Hardly,” Marjorie blandly intoned as she set her teacup down, “I would describe them as a preparation for a society event. A mere social event at best. It is a perfect environment to take a young lady preparing for her grand entrance into society. Come, Gregory, she must have an opportunity to practice.”

Gregory did not agree, per se, but he could also not dispute her logic, so he avoided further conversation on the topic and asked, “How is Gemma? Does she seem well?”

“I think so,” Marjorie said as she continued reading the letter. “She says here that the staff had a small memorial for Johnny. It appears as if one maid may have had a tendre for him. She was so upset Mrs Jamison had to give her a day off to recover.”

“Does she say who it was?” Gregory asked.

“No, she does not.” Marjorie set the finished letter aside and picked up her silverware. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,” she said, excitement playing across her face in stark contrast to the sadness that had been rolling around the room as memories of recent events tiptoed in before they could chase them out again. “It is the happiest of news.”

“I could use some happy news right now. What is it?” Gregory laid down his fork and gave Marjorie his full attention.

“This morning, I received a message from the midwife. She thinks the Baxter’s babe will be born soon. Can you believe it? The first child to be born on the estate since we married. I sent Louise over as soon as I received the message. She will do everything possible to lessen Mrs Baxter’s burden while we await the babe’s arrival.”

“Indeed, this is wonderful news. I know how eager you are about the child.”

“Visiting Mrs Baxter and expecting her happiness has come so naturally to me. I cannot wait for the day when we may expect the arrival of our own child.”

“I am sure the day will come soon enough. Until then, let us enjoy the quiet and solitude. For once we have children, the halls of Shaleslip Manor will ring with laughter and frivolity and we will never again have a moment’s peace and quiet.”

“I confess I am eager for that day. I think a house full of little Gregorys would suit me.”

“I think I would prefer a house full of little Marjories, all with the same chestnut curls as their mama.” Gregory caressed Marjorie’s cheek with his thumb. “Yes, I think a half dozen daughters, just like their mother, would be splendid.”

“Do not forget, you must provide dowries for those daughters and find them all honourable husbands. I promise you, sons are much easier.”

“I had not thought of that,” Gregory said, his eyes clouding as thoughts of fortune-hunting rakes preying upon his future daughters flooded his mind.

Marjorie suppressed a smile at her husband’s distress and turned her attention to her food. When he, at last, seemed a little recovered, she said, “I thought Robert was to arrive this morning in time for breakfast. Do you think all is well?”

Gregory glanced at the clock on the sideboard before saying, “You are right; he is running a little later than usual. His valet arrived with his luggage on time, so he cannot be too far behind. I am sure he will be here shortly. Mr Belfast prepared kidney beans enough for an army. They are Robert’s favourite, and he would not miss them for the world.”