by Merry Farmer
Armand let out a grunt of frustration. He’d missed them. And now he’d have to wait a bit for his horse to recover enough to ride the final stretch to Starcross Castle.
Chapter 21
Dawn was just beginning to break over the dew-kissed meadows surrounding Broadclyft Hall when Lavinia’s carriage rolled onto the gravel drive. The crunching sound roused her from her fitful slumber, the way it had less than two weeks ago—two weeks that felt like a lifetime—when she’d arrived for the first time with Armand. Unlike that journey, this time, a sense of dread at the confrontation that was bound to happen filled her.
Would Armand feel the same way she did? Would she be able to summon the courage to confess her love for him and to apologize for leaving? Or would he be cold and unforgiving? And did she truly want to eat humble pie for him? Perhaps it would be better if she marched back into Broadclyft Hall as though she owned the place and demanded that Armand see sense at last.
The very idea of acting so boldly sent a shiver down Lavinia’s spine and started her hands shaking. But she stilled her tremors by gripping handfuls of her worn and wrinkled traveling dress. She was through with trembling in the face of adversity. She might have spent her whole life so far as a wallflower under her mother’s sway, but she was a married woman now, a viscountess. Every bit of the independence she had longed for had slipped its way into her life while she was distracted. She would make the most of it now.
The carriage pulled around to the broad steps leading up to Broadclyft Hall’s front door, but there was no footman to greet them, only the morning mist rising up from the greenery.
“Let me help you down,” Rupert said, his kind voice laced with exhaustion as he opened the door and stepped down himself.
“Thank you, Rupert.” Lavinia smiled wearily as she alighted. It dawned on her that, considering Rupert was an earl, even though he was younger than her by five years, it would only have been a matter of time before her mother would have attempted to match the two of them. Rupert was kind, gallant, and handsome, but with a flutter in her heart, Lavinia realized she would have chosen Armand, age, experience, and all, over someone as unformed as Rupert.
They’d made it halfway up the steps when the door opened and a surprised and puzzled Mr. Bondar stepped out to greet them.
“My lady,” he said with a nod, eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”
Lavinia ignored the slight breach of propriety to answer, “I’ve come home, Mr. Bondar. I made it to St. Austell before realizing I shouldn’t have left in the first place. I need to make my stand.”
“Yes, my lady,” Mr. Bondar stammered as he led her and Rupert into the main hall.
As grand as the front hall of Broadclyft Hall was, to Lavinia, it felt like home. In a short time, she had come to feel an affinity for the portraits of ancestors and others lining the walls. She caught sight of young Cherry, who carried a coal scuttle and appeared to be on her way back from lighting fires, and smiled at the girl as though she were a little sister. Cherry took one look at her and nearly tripped over herself. She burst into a grin before running on and out of sight. No doubt everyone downstairs would know within five minutes that the mistress of the house had returned.
“Is Armand still in bed?” Lavinia asked Mr. Bondar as Rupert helped her out of her traveling coat.
The anxious look Mr. Bondar gave her sent butterflies swooping in Lavinia’s stomach. “Lord Helm isn’t here, my lady,” he said.
Lavinia froze, the butterflies wilting. “He’s gone?” she asked, sounding young and pitiful. “Has he gone back to London already?” She’d told him to pursue the life he wanted, but she’d never dreamed he would abandon Broadclyft Hall so quickly.
Her thoughts came fast and hard, but they were stopped with equal speed when Mr. Bondar shook his head and said, “No, my lady. Lord Helm left to pursue you.”
A different, far more excitable set of butterflies filled not just Lavinia’s stomach, but her whole body. “He did?” she asked, hardly able to believe it.
“He left shortly before midnight, my lady,” Mr. Bondar said with a hint of a smile. “He was headed for the inn in St. Austell, where he believed you might take rest, and his plans were to continue to Starcross Castle from there if he didn’t catch you.”
“Oh.” Lavinia’s shoulders dropped. She’d turned around and started home just after midnight, which meant Armand had probably passed her on the road. And Lady Stanhope and Lord Malcolm had indicated they would travel on to Starcross Castle immediately. Armand would miss both of them until he reached Starcross. Cornwall had never felt so far away.
Every muscle in her body ached, and she was so worn out she could barely keep her eyes open, but she knew what she had to do.
“Mr. Bondar, can you have Mr. Dashiell change out the horses on the carriage outside? I must depart for Starcross Castle without delay,” she said.
Rupert and Mr. Bondar began to speak simultaneously, but Mr. Bondar deferred to Rupert. “My lady, you can’t possibly leave so soon after coming home,” he said. “I worry for your health, not to mention the distinct possibility that, once Lord Helm discovers you are neither at the Seven Stars Inn nor Starcross Castle, he may very well attempt to return here. You could cross on the road again.”
It was a distinct possibility, one Lavinia hadn’t thought of. She opened her mouth to agree, but before so much as a word could come out, her mother appeared at the top of the stairs and called out, “Lavinia? What are you doing here, girl?”
Lavinia turned to watch her mother rush down the stairs in a morning dress. She looked as well-rested as ever and hell-bent on throwing her weight around. Both facts raised anger in Lavinia’s gut, but her mother seemed oblivious to it.
“What is this nonsense?” her mother continued as she descended the stairs and crossed the hall to join Lavinia. “You shouldn’t be here, you should be at Starcross Castle with your husband. Though I don’t think the man deserves you after the way he’s behaved,” she added with a sniff, turning up her nose. “His character is entirely questionable.”
“Questionable?” Lavinia snapped, facing her mother as furious heat filled her. “You now believe that the man you manipulated me into marrying has a questionable character?”
“Yes,” her mother answered, blinking as if surprised by Lavinia’s frustration. “He should have rushed to put an announcement of your marriage in The Times. He should have concerned himself with purchasing a town home and scheduling social events, not—”
“Not working with his friends to develop a strategy for the new government to be a success?” Lavinia demanded, taking a step closer to her mother. Her mother backed up, but Lavinia kept at her. “Not attempting to thwart the plans of a notorious villain who was intent on blackmailing him and worse?”
“Well, possibly.” Her mother shrugged. “But the man has his priorities all wrong.”
“Because he puts the fate of our nation ahead of your vanity and social ambition?” Lavinia demanded.
Her mother stopped backing up, but she wrung her hands and flushed. Her gaze darted around, looking for a way out of the confrontation. She was lucky that Marigold and Mr. Croydon arrived on the stairs, on their way down to breakfast, at that moment.
“Mrs. Croydon.” Her mother darted away, meeting Marigold at the bottom of the stairs. “Tell my daughter how important social standing and prominence is for anyone of a political bent.”
Marigold might have answered her if she hadn’t spotted Lavinia and broken into a pleased but bewildered smile. “What are you doing here, dear?” she asked, leaving her husband to hurry across the hall to Lavinia’s side.
“I made a terrible mistake in leaving,” Lavinia confessed, surprised at how badly she needed her friend by her side in that moment, especially when Marigold hugged her, in spite of the people looking on. “I should have held my ground and demanded Armand talk to me. And now, as I understand it, he’s tried to go after me.”
“He did,” Marigol
d confirmed. “He was so distraught last night after you left.” Marigold bit her lip, grabbing Lavinia’s hands. “We’ve all made so many mistakes in this matter,” she admitted. “But perhaps the biggest mistake is that none of us have given the two of you the space you need to find your own way.”
Lavinia laughed in spite of the ache in her heart. “A month ago, I might have insisted that wasn’t true, that you all know better than I do. But not now. I want my husband, and I want him to myself.” Her burst of strength withered. “But he’s gone now, and there’s nothing I can do about it but wait.”
“He’ll be back before the end of the day,” Marigold predicted. “The moment he realizes you’re here instead of there, he’ll rush home.”
“Yes,” her mother insisted, her eyes wild with desperation. “And you’ll need to make sure that he has a grand welcome home. You must wash and dress in your finest gown. I’ll have Mrs. Ainsworth prepare all his favorite foods, whatever they are, and—”
“No,” Lavinia said, close to shouting. She broke away from Marigold and marched up to her mother. “You will do nothing, Mama. I want you gone from this house immediately.”
“What did you say?” her mother asked, pressing a hand to her heart.
“I said that I want you to leave, Mama,” Lavinia repeated, standing taller, shoulders squared. “You’ve meddled in my life quite enough, and I’m through with it. You played your hand and you lost. I want you away from Broadclyft Hall before noon. Furthermore, you will not return unless and until you are specifically invited.”
“I don’t think that’s quite fair,” her mother stammered.
“It’s more than fair,” Lavinia said. “Go home to Papa. Find someone else’s life to meddle in. You will not set foot in my household again—either here at Broadclyft Hall or in whatever town home Armand and I purchase—without a written invitation.”
“But…but you are my daughter. I’ve given everything to make sure you have a good life,” her mother argued.
“You’ve done everything to use me to advance your own social ambitions,” Lavinia corrected her. “I am through with being a tool for your vanity, Mama. I love you, I always will, but until I have recovered from the scars you have inflicted on me, I can’t see you.”
“But, Lavinia—”
“I’m sorry, Mama, but this is what I wish. Mr. Bondar,” she turned to the butler in spite of her mother’s wordless, whimpering pleas, “would you be so kind as to find one of the maids to help my mother pack. And when she is done, would you ask one of the footmen to accompany her to the train station and see that a ticket is purchased to take her wherever she wants to go?”
“Yes, my lady,” Mr. Bondar said, his face an implacable mask, but his eyes dancing with pride and relief.
“Lavinia—” her mother tried one last time.
Lavinia stepped away without acknowledging her. It was rude and it hurt her heart, but they’d long passed the point where her mother could be swayed away from her machinations with kind words and entreaties. Without a backward glance, Lavinia crossed to Marigold.
“There’s no need to say it,” Marigold said before Lavinia could open her mouth. “Alex and I will be gone before noon as well. We’ll take Bianca and Natalia with us when we go.”
“I think it’s time this house party relocate to Starcross Castle,” Mr. Croydon added as he joined Marigold. “And, Lady Helm, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for the part I played in all of this.”
“I will,” Lavinia reassured him with a smile. “And once I’m finished forgiving you, it’s entirely likely that I’ll thank you from the bottom of my heart for everything.”
“I look forward to it.” Mr. Croydon bowed to her. “As I look forward to your continued input in matters of state.” He glanced to Marigold, who rewarded him with a proud grin.
At last, Lavinia turned to Mr. Bondar. “Could you have one of the maids send breakfast up to my room?” she asked, the weariness of the last day seeping in and making her body heavy. “I think the best way to wait for my husband’s return is to go to bed at once.”
“Yes, my lady,” Mr. Bondar said with a fatherly nod.
“Thank you.” Lavinia smiled at him, gave Marigold’s hand a squeeze goodbye, then marched for the staircase, head held high, feeling every bit the mistress not only of the grand house, but of her own life.
Starcross Castle was every bit as bleak and romantic as a novel set amongst the rugged landscape of Cornwall. The sky was just beginning to turn pink with dawn as Armand rode up to the front door. He was so weary from his journey and the weights that bore down on him that he nearly fell off his horse at the front door instead of dismounting gracefully. He had to knock for a while to rouse a footman to open the door, but it was worth the effort if it would bring him to Lavinia.
“Is Lady Helm here?” he asked Peter’s butler, Mr. Snyder, as soon as the man greeted him.
“I’m afraid, my lord, that Lord Malcolm and Lady Stanhope arrived alone just a few hours ago,” Snyder answered.
“Alone?” Armand’s heart shuddered.
“Lady Stanhope informed me of the reason for their sudden, oddly-timed arrival, my lord. I must confess, I overheard her tell Lord Dunsford that Lady Helm and her son had been with them, but that they turned back from St. Austell, intent on returning to Broadclyft Hall.”
A burst of relief washed through Armand that Lavinia had a protector, but that protector should have been him. “I have to go back at once,” he said, turning to the door.
“If I might, my lord,” Snyder stopped him. “The return journey to Broadclyft Hall would be much faster if you wait for the train, which will depart Truro Station at half nine. I would be so bold as to add that this would give you the opportunity to rest and eat before leaving.”
Waiting for a train was the last thing Armand wanted to do, but he had to admit that a steam engine was far faster than a worn-out horse. “Very well, Snyder. I’ll rest.”
Resting involved an inadequate nap on the sofa in one of Peter’s sitting rooms as the servants prepared and set out breakfast. Armand didn’t realize how hungry he was until Snyder roused him to let him know the meal was ready, and when the scent of bacon, sausage, and butter lured him into piling a plate high with food. He’d barely seated himself at the table before Katya wandered into the breakfast room.
She took one, startled look at Armand, then said, “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“It seems Lavinia and I crossed on the road,” Armand replied, in no mood to rehash the entire saga. “I’m waiting for the nine-thirty train to go home.”
“What a surprise,” Katya said, her usual, clever expression forming as she walked to the sideboard to help herself to breakfast. “A modicum of sense at last.”
“Don’t start with me this morning, Katya,” Armand grumbled before taking a bite of sausage.
“I’m not starting anything,” Katya pretended innocence. “Not this time.”
The conversation lulled as she brought her breakfast to the table and poured coffee for herself. Katya never had been much for conversation before coffee. But Malcolm had a big mouth no matter what the circumstances, and the moment he bounded into the breakfast room a few minutes later, he opened that mouth.
“Well done, Armand,” he laughed, heading straight to the sideboard and piling sausages on a plate. “I can only assume you’re here for Lavinia, which shows that you’re not a complete pillock.”
“She turned back to Broadclyft Hall, I know,” Armand grumbled, resenting the bright-eyed, grinning look Malcolm sent him. “I should have stayed put and waited for her.”
“You were absolutely right to play the hero by chasing after her,” Malcolm said, making a mountain of eggs beside his sausage and filling in the gaps with beans and mushrooms before joining Armand and Katya at the table.
He sent a cheery smile to Katya, who made a disgusted sound and said, “I hate you in the mornings.”
“That’s
not what you used to say,” he replied with a wink.
Armand arched a brow. If he didn’t know better, he’d say things were thawing in the war his two friends had waged for years.
“Did you tell him about the letter?” Malcolm asked Katya.
“I didn’t have a chance yet,” Katya replied. “Some fat, old ray of sunshine burst into the room before the topic came up.”
Armand winced. In his desperation to get Lavinia back, he’d completely forgotten about the deeper hot water he and his friends had landed in. “I’ll join in whatever efforts you need me to if it counteracts Shayles’s treachery,” he said. “I can see now how important it is to fight for change, and how fortunate I am to have the privilege of a voice in Parliament.” Lavinia had helped him to see that. Governing wasn’t what he wanted to do or what he felt competent doing, but she was right about him having the chance to heal the nation. And plenty of men began all new lives as the years turned. Peter was one of them, a fact which impressed itself on Armand just as Peter and Mariah walked into the breakfast room, Peter with his young son in his arms.
“Aren’t you supposed to leave babies in the nursery with their nursemaids?” Malcolm asked, his mouth full of sausage.
“Armand, what are you doing here?” Peter asked, ignoring Malcolm.
“Give that sweet baby to me.” Katya reached for little Peter, who was handed over as his father moved to fix his breakfast.
As peaceful and domestic as the scene was, Armand felt closed in by the crush of people. He loved his friends, but he wanted to be home with Lavinia, perhaps getting started on their own brood of babies. If Peter could be a father late in life, then so could he.
“I chased after Lavinia,” he said, irritated to tell the story yet again. “Apparently, I missed her. I’m catching the nine-thirty train home. But more importantly, I want to know what you all plan to do about the letter Shayles has.”
His statement was met by a flurry of exchanged looks.
