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‘Surely you don’t.’
‘It is something I have to bear in mind.’
‘I do not believe it.’
She sighed. ‘There is no point in going over the same ground again, it will not alter anything. Go home, Mark, please.’
Reluctantly he left her. Like an automaton he climbed into the curricle and picked up the reins. How, when he was married to Isabel, could he endure having Jane so close and yet so far out of his reach? Was she determined to accept Bolsover? He felt nothing but fury towards Sir Edward Cavenhurst and all his clan for bringing her to this pass. He felt fury at Drew, apparently ignoring his letter, probably because Isabel no longer stood high in his affections and he did not want to meet her again. Most of all he was furious with himself for his powerlessness.
* * *
The stage had gone from the Fox and Hounds and all was quiet as he turned the corner and set off for Greystone Manor. What he intended to say to everyone when he arrived, he had no idea, but he would burst if he did not tell them how he felt. He hoped it would make Isabel think again. He hardly heard the horse until it was almost on top of him.
‘Mark! Hold up! Stop, will you?’
He turned to see Jonathan galloping after him and pulled the horse to a halt. ‘How did you know where I was going?’
‘Jeremy told me. Come back to Broadacres, Mark. Drew is there.’
‘Drew?’
‘Yes. He was all for rushing off to Greystone Manor as soon as he arrived, but I persuaded him he ought to talk to you first. It is as well I spotted you or I would have gone on to Witherington and missed you.’
Mark turned the curricle in a farm gate and was soon bowling back to Broadacres with Jonathan riding beside him. As soon as he arrived he sped indoors, leaving his friend to see to the horses. Drew was in the drawing room, enjoying hot chocolate and cake with his mother.
‘Drew, where have you been?’ he demanded.
‘Mark, that is hardly a proper greeting,’ his mother said. ‘Sit down and have something to eat and drink. I am sure you went out without breakfast this morning.’
He sat down and watched his mother pour him a dish of chocolate. He took it from her, but declined food. He was too tense to eat. He turned to Drew. ‘Did you receive my letter?’
‘I did.’
‘And?’
‘I could hardly believe what I was reading. Of course I left immediately.’
‘But that was weeks ago.’
‘Yes, hear me out, will you?’
‘Go on.’
‘When I consulted the timetables, it seemed easier to go to London and then out again to Norfolk and that is what I did. On the way I fell to thinking about what you had said in your letter and it seemed to me there was something havey-cavey about Hector Bolsover, something he would rather we did not know. Where did all his wealth come from when his estate is a modest one? Could it all have been acquired from gambling? Did he cheat on a grand scale? Why would he want to live in a rural place like Hadlea when he so obviously enjoyed the attractions of the city? He does not strike me as a man who would be particularly sensitive to past family history. Was he just using it as an excuse?’
‘I thought of all that,’ Mark put in. ‘I went to London myself and made extensive enquiries of anyone who might have known him. All I could gather was that he had never served in the army though he had spent time in the Peninsula and that on his return his mother had given him an ultimatum to marry. It appears, whatever else he is, he is an obedient son.’
‘Yes. He was born when his mother had given up all hope of having a child. His father died when he was a boy and he has looked to his mother for everything. Her word is law.’
‘Go on.’
‘I decided to find out what I could before I came on to Hadlea and started with Toby Moore. When I spoke to him before, I felt he was hiding something.’
‘I looked for him myself but he was out of town. No one knew where.’
‘He was back. No doubt he had run out of generous hosts. I decided to put the fear of God into him.’ He smiled. ‘He is not a valiant man, Mark.’
‘No. Wellington had him drummed out for cowardice. He was lucky not to be shot.’
‘It was at that time he met Bolsover, who was living in Lisbon. They teamed up to gamble, not always honestly. Bolsover was married to a Portuguese girl, the daughter of a wealthy count. She inherited a vast fortune on her father’s demise and he was busy spending it. When it looked as though the authorities were catching up with them over their sharp practices, he and Toby fled the country and came back to England.’
