Read Online Bething's Folly by Bárbara Metzger - Free Book Online

servant informed his son, who was relieved that his father had not over-taxed himself with the evening. The Duchess was not yet down, he was told, and would breakfast in her rooms, which also relieved Carleton. He had no wish to face her enquiries yet. In fact, he had no desire to face the remaining guests at all, certainly not the same young ladies with the same conversations and the same hopeful mamas. With this and other thoughts in mind, he asked Ferddie to accompany him on a ride. While Ferddie changed his clothes, Carleton went to the stables. He ordered up his own horse, Jupiter, and a mount for Milbrooke, then sought out his father’s head groom. Old Nate knew more about horses than anyone else in Carleton’s acquaintance and had lived his entire life in the region of Carlyle Hall. What he had to say about Bething’s Folly only raised Carleton’s interest. In Nate’s opinion, there was a good man running the place, and the Duke could very well consider some of the new-fangled ideas there since they seemed to be getting the Folly better yearlings every season. Ferddie returned to hear a discussion of the lineage of the Bethingame stable and the coming prospects. He kept his silence until he and Carleton were mounted and on their way out of the stable yard when he asked, “Any place in particular you’d have in mind to ride, Carleton?”
    The Marquis looked back over his shoulder and saw his friend’s wide smile. “Don’t you tease me with it, Ferddie; I’ll have enough of that later.” He let the eager Jupiter have his head and galloped off down the drive, Ferddie close behind him.
    The approach to Bething Manor was up a narrow dirt lane with trees arching over, dappling the sunlight. At the end of the lane stood worn stone columns and, past them on either side of the carriage drive, green lawn and a border garden filled with the gentle colours of early spring blooms. The manor itself stood in the full sun, its grey stone exterior softened by ivy creepers and forsythia bushes. It was a modest, solid house with casement windows and neat chimneys at either end, obviously built with an eye toward practicality and comfort, without the sprawling hodgepodge of ornamental architecture so common—and so hard to keep warm. Beyond the grass verge to one side of the house was what appeared to be a formal garden, and to the other, up a small rise, a long, low structure of the same grey stone, surrounded by perimeters of neat white fencing as far as the eye could see, with here and there an outbuilding or cottage. Everything was immaculate and in perfect order, not a fence post tilting, not a fallen tree branch in sight Horses—mares with foals—could be seen in the distance, on the hills behind the house and stable, and noises of some activity were coming from behind the latter, otherwise all was quiet, with no one in sight and nothing but soft chimney smoke and bird song to give the place an almost breathtakingly beautiful pastoral charm, a great sense of peace and contentment.
    He could well understand Miss Bethingame’s determination to keep the Folly, Carleton thought, for it justified her pride and reflected her devotion in every neat hedge, every foal cavorting in the sunshine on the hills. Then he laughed to himself and shook his head ruefully: Interest in the estate was the last thing he could afford to express. At least his curiosity about the Folly was satisfied; now he would see if his last night’s impressions were correct.
    No one came to take the horses, so after they had dismounted Ferddie held the reins while Carleton lifted the knocker on the wide oak door. After a few moments the door was opened by an elderly man in shirt sleeves with a polishing cloth in one hand. The staff at Bething Manor was obviously not used to receiving unexpected callers. One glance at the visitors, however, their elegant coats, their polished Hessians, to say nothing of their fine horses and stylish good looks, and the