The Trials of Alaric (Twist Upon a Regency Tale #8)

Chapter Five

F rom Mr. Redhaven’s appearance in the garden the second morning after the storm, he became as much part of the house party as if he had been there from the beginning. They made the postponed excursion into the town of Bailecashtel that day, and he walked down the hill from the castle with the others, showing no sign of weakness or pain.

Bea’s friend Reina Ransome had accepted her hasty invitation to balance the numbers. She joined the visitors on their exploration of the market and the other sights offered by Bailecashtel and returned to the castle with them in the late afternoon.

Mr. Redhaven took a seat in one of the carriages for the uphill trip, Bea noticed. Sensible man. He did not feel the need to show off how fit he was, as some of the suitors were doing, turning the simple walk up the hill into a feat of courage and daring by walking the top of stone walls and ascending vertical banks rather than going around by the zig-zagging road.

For the last few days of the introductory week, the two new guests joined in all the activities as if they had been there all along. Mr. Redhaven’s presence bothered the suitors. Bea had expected it. Though his borrowed clothes were out of date, they fit his form well. He was taller and more handsome than any of them. Also, he was more clever, and more charming, and absolutely more capable of outcompeting them at billiards, charades, and the evening card games.

Mr. Howard and Sir Henry were hostile—not openly, but in their body language and in finding reasons to disagree with anything Mr. Redhaven said. Mr. Meadowsweet, by contrast, looked up to him, and was inclined to copy what he said and did. Mr. Fairweather was cautious. Only Lord Lucas treated him with neither reserve, nor excessive adulation.

Bea was also not surprised by his impact on the unmarried ladies. Bea’s cousins were making complete cakes of themselves over the man, searching him out with impudent questions and giggling when he spoke to them. Lady Sarah Howard was more subtle, but just as persistent. Mr. Redhaven managed to deflect all three without giving offense, treating them much as he did the matrons, with charming courtesy.

Even Reina Radcliffe, who was betrothed to Papa’s secretary, blushed when Mr. Redhaven paid her a compliment, as did Lady Eleanor, Mr. Fairweather’s sister. Bea was almost certain that Lady Eleanor and Lord Lucas, who had been smelling of April and May since the archery contest, would make a match of it.

Those parents who were there with their offspring fell into two camps. Aunt Lewiston continued to regard Mr. Redhaven with the utmost suspicion, and Lady Dashwood, Sir Henry’s mother, concurred entirely. The Earl of Lewiston and Mr. and Mrs. Howard declared him to be a fine young gentleman, and Bea’s mother agreed. What Bea’s father thought he kept to himself.

To Bea’s annoyance, what she was beginning to think of as “the Redhaven Effect” extended to herself. How dare Mr. Redhaven cast all her suitors into the shade, when he was not one of them?

On the day before the trials were to begin, the first ship into the harbor since the storm brought her cousin William to Claddach. William, Lord Beverley. Whom her father had clearly told Aunt Lewiston and Mama would not be permitted to marry Bea. Not that she would have him, even if he won all the trials. Not even his sisters liked Lord Beverley. Only his mother, and to a lesser extent, her mother. To them, he was perfect.

However, here he was. He presented himself at the castle and was shown to the drawing room. “My entire family is here, dear Aunt, so I thought it fitting to join them,” he drawled.

“You are very welcome, Beverley, of course,” Mama cooed, exchanging a conspiratorial glance with Aunt Lewiston.

The three of them had planned it, Bea realized. Papa looked at each of the conspirators in turn, and then at Uncle Lewiston, whose face showed no reaction. Had he, too, just realized that his son’s presence here on this day was part of an audacious scheme to put Beverley in the running for Bea’s hand. Or was he one of the conspirators?

The potential family altercation had an audience, too. Most of the house party guests were gathered for predinner drinks. Would Papa turn Beverley away? It was not beyond him. The Lord of Claddach was the law on Claddach, and he was not accustomed to being deliberately defied.

Bea found herself holding her breath.

“Ah, Beverley,” Papa said. “You are just in time. After dinner, I shall be announcing the rules for the trials of the suitors. You will not want to miss it, I am certain. Beatrice, dearest, do we have a closet or some such left in which we can stow your cousin?”

“I think we can do better than a closet,” Bea told him, both relieved and disappointed to miss a bout of paternal fireworks. “I shall make arrangements. Cousin Beverley, do you wish to freshen up after your travels? Dinner is in thirty minutes.”

Beverley followed her out into the hall. “Cousin, you are looking more delectable than ever. Are those fellows back there your suitors? Hardly the pick of the litter. What was Mother thinking?” His smile was smug.

Bea ignored him. The housekeeper must have heard about Beverley’s arrival, for she was coming up the stairs. “My lady, Lord Beverley,” she said. “My lady, I have sent maids to prepare the green room, and his lordship’s valet will be waiting there for his lordship.”

The green room was an excellent choice—one of the best rooms still available, but not in the family quarters, where Beverley would be far too close to Bea for her comfort.

“Very good,” Bea said. “Beverley, Mrs. Johnson will show you the way. I will see you at dinner.”

Who could she invite to balance the table? Mama would have to put up with an uneven table this once, but she would not take the offense quietly, so Bea had better think of a suitable female, and send the invite before Mama began to fuss.

There was really only one possibility—Dr. Bryant’s daughter Christina. She had only been on the island for eighteen months and was more of a friendly acquaintance than a friend. But all of Bea’s close friends except for Reina were married.

Would Christina be insulted at being invited to make up numbers? Bea had better visit her in the morning and explain the situation in person.

After dinner, when Mama gave the signal for the ladies to leave the table, Papa stood and asked the gentlemen to also proceed to the drawing room. They all obeyed, of course, though some gave lingering glances at the port decanters. Not Mr. Redhaven, she noted. He followed Mama with a pleasant smile that suggested he would like nothing better.

Those who feared missing their port need not have worried. The decanters and glasses were presented with the tea trays while the guests were still settling into chairs and onto sofas.

Skelly supervised the delivery of glasses of port, brandy, or other libations, while Bea poured tea, chocolate, coffee, or herbal tisane for a maid to take to those who preferred such a beverage.

Papa waited until the drinks had been served and the servants had left the room before taking up a position before the fireplace and clearing his throat.

Instantly, he had everyone’s attention.

“My ladies, my lords, gentlemen. You all, I think, know the reason for this house party. Apart from the pleasure my wife and I take in your company.”

He paused to permit the polite chuckle the assembled guests obligingly produced.

“The rumors are true. My daughter has agreed it is time for her to marry.”

“She could have been presented at Court and enjoyed a Season in London at any time for these past five years,” objected Lady Lewiston. “And so I have said before, Claddach.”

After a considering look at his sister-in-law, Papa replied, “Beatrice felt strongly, and I agreed, that she was needed here on Claddach, and that those gentlemen who were most likely to make her a good match were also busy on their estates or fighting for our safety or otherwise engaged in productive work.”

“Gentlemen,” sneered Beverley, “are not required to work.”

What a chaw-head Beverley is.

Papa lifted an eyebrow at him. “I am not referring to manual labor, Beverley, though such work is not to be scorned, but the labor of the mind and spirit. It is that which makes our class fit for government. Gentlemen with healthy estates and investments had better know that kind of work. Younger sons who take up a profession had better know that kind of work.”

He allowed his gaze to roam the room, focusing on the younger gentlemen. “Even younger sons who are independently wealthy had better take an interest in the investments on which their wealth is based, or they risk destitution. When I attend events in the London Season, I see that each family has a few idle wastrels supported by the labor of someone else in their family, either living or in previous generations. None of them will do for Claddach.”

He took a sip of his port before continuing. “I decided, and Lady Claddach and Lady Beatrice agreed, that anyone who wishes to wed Lady Beatrice must first compete in a number of trials. There will be twelve in all, and they begin tomorrow.”

He once again focused on the younger gentlemen. “You have until noon tomorrow to decide whether you are a competitor for the lady’s hand. After that, you may refuse any trial you wish, and your reasons for doing so will be considered in the final accounting. You may remove yourself from the list of contestants at any time. Are there any questions?”

*

Alaric had more questions than answers. What were the trials? Was Lord Claddach the sole judge? What attributes would he be looking for? How would the winner be decided? Was Lady Beatrice bound to marry the winner? Could any of the unmarried men at the house party enter?

More to the point, did he want to enter?

He listened as others spoke the questions he was thinking.

“You will sometimes be informed a particular activity is one of the trials,” Lord Claddach was telling someone who wanted details about what he would be expected to do. “On other occasions, it will simply be something on offer as one of the activities for house party guests. I encourage you to involve yourself in as many of the activities as possible.”

Lord Beverley was clearly taken aback. “Then how will we know whether or not we are competing, Uncle?”

“You will not, Beverley,” replied Lord Claddach. “This is not a tournament, where the person with the best seat on his horse and largest sword walks off with the prize. This is a test of the attributes I believe will make the best husband for my daughter, and the best consort for her when she is Countess of Claddach. If you only put forward your best when you know you are being tested, the whole exercise is futile.”

“Then I take it, Claddach,” the Countess of Lewiston said, “you are prepared to include Beverley in this… exercise.” She wrinkled her nose as if she scented something foul.

Lord Claddach’s smile was predatory. “All the young unmarried gentlemen guests are welcome to compete. I hope they will. Redhaven, that includes you.”

Lady Lewiston opened her mouth with an expression that presaged an objection, but her husband touched her hand and shook his head, and she subsided. Their son had a thunderous frown but said nothing.

“Will you decide the winner, my lord?” asked Meadowsweet, then gulped, as if his own temerity terrified him.

“Lady Claddach, Lady Beatrice, and I shall consult on points to be awarded,” Lord Claddagh replied. “We shall also agree between us the list of those who will be permitted to pay their addresses to Lady Beatrice. The final decision shall be hers. It may be that no one proves to be suitable. It may be that Lady Beatrice cannot see living the remainder of her life with any of the successful candidates. I am not promising the winner or winners my daughter as a bride. You are merely being given the chance to show your mettle before my daughter and, in fact, the other eligible ladies.”

A few other minor questions on process were quickly dealt with by way of referral to the earlier statement. They would not always know an activity was a trial, but they would sometimes be told. The earl would say no more.

Most of the young men were looking thoughtful. Fair enough. Alaric was feeling the same way. He should be arranging his passage to Liverpool and on to Hampshire, to his father’s seat, but the more he thought about the trials, the more he understood this to be the chance of a lifetime.

His own place. Lands and their people to care for, to cherish. He had been hoping for a position on the land, working for the benefit of someone else’s family, since his father would not permit him a place on an estate belonging to the Elsmouth demesnes.

How much better to be giving his energies to the lands and people of his wife, the lands that would one day, God willing, belong to their eldest son, and his descendants down through the ages?

Wasn’t marriage a cheap price to pay for everything he had ever wanted?

None of that was confusing. What was giving him pause were his feelings about Lady Beatrice. Feelings made the whole matter more complicated. He would welcome a civil and affectionate marriage. One in which he and his wife both gave value. A marriage of friends and partners who supported one another.

As far as that went, he thought he and Lady Beatrice could rub along rather well.

Nor did he see it as a problem that he desired the lady. Far from it. He would relish the process of producing the sons Claddach required, and he’d make sure she enjoyed it, too. Even the thought had him shifting in his seat.

But Alaric knew himself to be in danger of falling in love with the lady if he hadn’t done so already. He recognized the symptoms. He had been in love before, and it had ended in disaster every time. Furthermore, he had seen marriages that began as love matches and devolved into misery. Love is a game for fools. Hadn’t he seen—hadn’t he found that it only led to heartache. When he married—if he married—love was the last thing he would look for.

Countess Lewiston’s daughters were asking their uncle what they were to do while the men were busy with the trials.

“You shall not be neglected,” Claddach assured them. “Many of the activities will be open to everyone, and if you choose not to join in, or if the activity is not suitable, Lady Claddach or my daughter will ensure you are suitably entertained.”

“We can be part of the trials, Dorrie,” Miss Lucy told Miss Hetherington, smiling broadly.

“But I am certain, dear ladies,” said Mr. Howard senior, with an avuncular smile, “that Lord Claddach will not require you to marry Lady Beatrice, even if you win.”

Everyone laughed at that, though Lady Beatrice looked pained. Poor lady. The “husband hunt,” as Alaric’s brother used to call the Season, must be bad enough for unmarried ladies, with all the pressure on them to find a suitable husband, but at least other young ladies were facing the same challenges in the same places at the same time.

At this house party, all the focus was on Lady Beatrice and who would win her. The five other young ladies might also be interested in some of the men, but at least any courtship that might develop could do so in relative private. By choosing this path to marrying off his daughter, Lord Claddach had ensured his daughter’s wooing would be the main topic of interest here in castle and undoubtedly across the entire Isle of Claddach.

Which didn’t make Alaric feel any better about being part of it.

And yet… Can I bear to miss the opportunity? He could not have said, even to himself, whether the greatest attraction was a place to call his own or the lovely Lady Beatrice.