Chapter Five
Hestia had never seen a house as splendid as Hawkfield Manor. True, in Truro, Lord and Lady Bedford had lived in one of the finest homes in the locality, but the seat of the Baronage paled in comparison to the Ducal seat of Hawkfield. Hestia counted fifteen bay windows as the carriage trundled up the drive, before she lost count and gave up. She could feel the disapproving eyes of the Viscountess Jarvis on her and hastily she sat back in her seat, attempting to quell the obvious look of awe on her face.
The carriage journey from London, while relatively short, had been most arduous, mostly because of the Viscount and Viscountess. Jane's brother had a nasty habit of disparaging Jane's every word, thought and movement, and his new wife was no better. Hestia had been forced to bite her tongue several times over the few hours that they were all crammed together in the carriage's compartment and to say that she was relieved that the journey was at an end was an understatement.
Two liveried footmen rushed to meet them as they drew up at the sweeping front steps of the manor. Hestia was the last to alight the vehicle and she lagged slightly behind the Deverauxs as they entered, so that she could take in the sight of the Ducal seat without the disapproving eyes of the Viscountess watching her. It took all of her will power not to cry out "Lud" as she took in the double-height ceiling of the entrance hall with its stained glass dome that shed dappled light onto the marble tiles. The hall was bigger than most houses; Hestia counted at least a dozen marble pillars, which led to the grand, sweep of the staircase.
"Welcome, welcome," Lady Caroline, who was Lord Payne's sister called to the group. Her husband, a rather quiet man, stood beside her, a warm smile on his intelligent face.
"How was the journey?" Lady Caroline enquired politely.
"Arduous," Lady Deveraux cried with a heavy sigh. To be fair to her, Hestia thought with alarm, the Viscountess was looking slightly green around the gills after the carriage ride. She watched quietly as Lady Caroline summoned a maid to take Lord and Lady Jarvis to their suite of rooms, a little relieved that she would soon not have to suffer their company. Once they had departed, Lady Caroline, who was petite and almost bird like, gave Jane a warm hug. The two women began talking about the guests who were due to arrive, allowing Hestia the opportunity to take in the beauty of the hall. Dozens of portraits of hung on the walls, all of the previous Dukes of Hawkfield and their families. Hestia was delighted by the detail of the pictures and how the fashions changed drastically in each different portrait; it was almost like seeing a timeline of the history of England. She allowed her mind to wander, thinking on the lives that the previous Dukes must have led, only coming out of her reverie when she heard Lady Caroline exclaim, "Why the Marquess of Falconbridge, of course. He and James have been friends since childhood."
Falconbridge?
Hestia felt her face flame red at the mention of the name of the man who had permeated her every thought since that morning in Green Park. Every day since she had scanned the society pages in the newspaper, hoping for a glimpse into what ball he might have attended, or if he was seen out riding on The Mile in Hyde Park, but her searches had yielded nothing. Lord Delaney was quite the mystery; all that Hestia knew of him was that he was a widower, and that fact had been gleaned from eavesdropping on one of Lady Jarvis's morning callers. The caller, a Miss Shufflebotham had been bemoaning the lack of eligible bachelors that season.
"The only good one left is Lord Delaney," she had huffed, unaware that Hestia, who was sitting in the corner, had stilled at the mention of his name. "But he is never seen out. Some say he's still mourning his late wife, though my father says he's more interested in dead languages than dead wives."
This barb had earned a cackle from Lady Jarvis, before the two women carried on their inane gossiping.
Now the Marquess was expected here and he would sleep under the same roof as her. Hestia felt clammy at the very thought of having to spend any time near him; while she found him dreadfully attractive, she also found him mildly terrifying. Not to mention haughty, rude and inappropriately overbearing for a man who could claim no connection to her.
"Oh look," Lady Caroline called, glancing out the open doorway, "Here they are now."
Indeed, as she spoke, Lord Delaney and Lord Payne were just reaching the top of the driveway, both men having opted to travel on horseback. Lord Payne's hair was tousled from the ride, and his clothes were slightly rumpled, whereas Lord Delaney was immaculate. Hestia watched surreptitiously as he dismounted his steed, handing the reins to a waiting footman. His clothes were pristine; he wore a dark riding coat over buckskin breeches that were tucked into a pair of gleaming, black Hessians. She felt Henry, who was seated at her feet, perk up at the sight of the familiar figure.
"Oh, no you don't," she whispered, scooping the mischievous dog into her arms and stealing away behind a pillar where she hoped she might not be noted by the Marquess. From her vantage point she watched as the two men strode into the hall to greet Lady Caroline and Jane. Lord Payne's face was creased in a warm smile and his every movement was ebullient, while the Marquess was much more reserved, his expression stiff and haughty. Lady Caroline fussed about the pair and called for the housekeeper, Mrs Hughes, to come take Jane and Hestia to their rooms.
"Put Miss Bowstock in the Lavender Room," she instructed the older woman, then turned to glance around the hall, her face a picture of confusion. "Where has she gone?"
"I'm here," Hestia whispered, coming out from behind the pillar, still clutching a struggling Henry in her arms. She kept her eyes focused on Jane and Lady Caroline, too afraid to glance at the towering figure of the Marquess to her right. Jane's eyes narrowed in thought as she surveyed Hestia, glancing at the Marquess then back at her companion.
"Come Belinda," she said kindly, as a footman took their bags and Mrs Hughes began to lead the way to their suite of rooms. Hestia trailed the group as they slowly made their way up the stairs, feeling very conscious that a set of blue eyes might be following her. The urge to look over her shoulder was too tempting to resist and the instant that she did, her eyes locked with those of Lord Delaney. His smouldering gaze knocked the wind out of her and she immediately turned her head away, wondering if he could hear her heartbeat, which thundered like a storm in her chest.
"I cannot go to dinner Jane, I have a terrible migraine."
It was half true; Hestia's head did ache after the journey but it was not so bad that she would not have been able to eat. In truth, she was famished, but the thought of sitting opposite Lord Delaney through five courses was too difficult to contemplate.
"Oh, Belinda. It's not because of the Marquess, is it?"
It still felt strange to Hestia to be referred to as Belinda and it took her a moment to respond to Jane, who was seated at the window of the small sitting room which joined their two bedrooms together.
"It's not, I promise," Hestia replied firmly, her eyes wide as she tried to convey her innocence. "It's just that the journey has left me a little fatigued. Even Lady Jarvis is tired after it, and you know how much she loves to socialise."
The Viscountess had cried off attending dinner, an act that had left Jane worried, for like Hestia she had noted Lady Jarvis's pallid complexion earlier.
"As long as you're not going hungry simply so you don't have to see him," Jane replied kindly, "I shan't let him chastise you ever again."
Hestia felt a little guilty at Jane's fiercely protective words. When they had reached their rooms earlier Jane had immediately begun to question Hestia on what had transpired between her and the Marquess, to make both of them look so uncomfortable in each other's presence. Hestia had fibbed and told Jane that Falconbridge had berated her for touching one of the artifacts at Montagu House, which was almost true. Jane had been incensed on her behalf, leaving Hestia feeling a little worried that her mistress might take the Marquess to task over it all.
"Honestly, Jane," Hestia protested weakly, "It's just a migraine. It has nothing to do with
Lord Delaney and I pray that you will say nothing to him. It's all forgotten about --I swear."
"If you say so," Jane sighed, placing the book she had been holding in her lap aside, "I'd best head down, lest they send out a search party for me."
In truth, it was rather early to be going down for dinner, but Jane was harbouring secrets of her own. Her old paramour, an entomologist by the name of Mr Jackson had reappeared from South America. Hestia wasn't overly fond of Mr Jackson, who was pompous and rather dry, but Jane had revealed that her engagement to Lord Payne was nothing more than a ruse to placate the Duke, who was threatening to cut Lord Payne off from his allowance. It was all very complex, Hestia thought, and she secretly believed that while Jane thought the engagement was merely an act, Lord Payne disagreed. It was clear to even the most casual observer that the Hawkfield heir was head over heels in love with Miss Deveraux.
Love -there was that word again. Her mother had been right, Hestia thought as she waved Jane away, love brought nothing but trouble.
Once Jane had left, Hestia wandered into her bedroom, the aptly titled Lavender Room. The walls were covered with wallpaper that was patterned with little sprigs of the plant, and the bedsheets were a dusty lilac colour. Hestia threw herself down on the bed with a happy sigh, glad for the opportunity to relax her aching muscles. She must have fallen asleep, for she opened her eyes --what felt like only moments later-- to find the room in darkness. A loud rumbling filled the room and it took Hestia a second to realise that it was her stomach - she was famished. For a few minutes she debated whether to get up and see if there were any staff still in the kitchen that she might beg for a slice of bread, until another loud rumble decided her.
"I'll wake the whole house if I don't," she reasoned, as she slipped out into the dark hallway. Luckily she had been too exhausted to undress, so she did not mind the chill of the night air. Hawkfield Manor was enormous - Hestia found her way back to the main entrance hall, but from there was unsure what direction to take.
"The kitchens are always at the back of the house," she thought, deciding to take corridor to her right, which looked promising enough. There was not a soul to be seen in the dark hallway, leaving Hestia to wonder what time it was. Judging by the echoing silence of the house, it was well after midnight and everyone --staff included--was in bed.
The hallway became less grand as she walked down it, and at the end she turned a corner and found the kitchens. A low fire still burned in the grate, illuminating the enormous room which was lined with shelves stuffed full of crockery and cooking utensils. A set of doors toward the back of the room led to the pantry, where Hestia gratefully stole some dry bread and a small lump of cheese. She was hungrily swallowing her makeshift sandwich, when a low, droll voice spoke, startling her.
"You wouldn't be so hungry if you hadn't skipped dinner."
Hestia turned and found the Marquess of Falconbridge standing behind her, his face a picture of amusement. He was undressed, well as undressed as Hestia had ever seen him, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his cravat removed, revealing a tantalising glimpse of tanned skin.
"I didn't skip dinner," she whispered waspishly once she had swallowed the chunk of bread in her mouth. "I had a migraine."
The Marquess did not reply, merely raised his eyebrows in a condescending manner that implied he thought her lying.
"Oh," Hestia growled, "You are insufferably conceited if you think that I avoided dinner just because of you."
"Did I say that?" Falconbridge's eyes were dancing with laughter, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I wasn't aware that I had spoken at all."
"You didn't speak," Hestia agreed, feeling flustered at his cool composure. Her own cheeks were staining red, both from his cool, arrogance and the almost insolent way his eyes watched her. "But, then you didn't need to speak, for your expression said it all."
"I do apologise," he replied, though he sounded anything but sorry, "I shall have to make sure that my facial muscles remain completely impassive in your company, lest I offend you."
"You don't offend me," Hestia, who felt completely out of her depth protested, "You--you--you--"
Lord Delaney remained silently watching her as she trailed off, unable to put into words what it was that he made her feel. The expression of amusement in his eyes was replaced by one of kindness and he reached out a hand to gently touch her arm.
"Come," he said patiently, "You shouldn't be out of bed at this hour --thank goodness it was I who found you and not a groom or some other man with unsavoury intentions."
Hestia wanted to reply, she wanted to ask him why it was that he was out wandering the halls of Hawkfield Manor in the middle of the night, but the touch of his skin against her bare arm had left her breathless and she was unable to speak. She followed the Marquess as he led her down the hallway to the entrance hall, where he left her at the bottom step of the staircase.
"I trust you will find your way from here," he said with a curt bow.
"I will. Thank you, my Lord," she responded stiffly, her mind exhausted from the late hour and the torrent of emotions that were pouring through her. She turned from him and began to slowly climb the stairs, only pausing at the sound of his voice.
"Miss Bowstock?" he called and when she turned she saw that he was smiling. "I hope that I will see you at breakfast in the morning. You are far too thin as it is, I won't stand for you skipping meals."
"You won't stand?" Hestia could feel her ire rising again, but then she saw that he was laughing and she knew that he was deliberately trying to rise her.
"Goodnight, my Lord," she said firmly, trying to resist the smile that was threatening to crack her cool exterior. She did not wait to hear his reply, instead she turned and hurried up the staircase, feeling so light that she almost thought she had grown wings.
Chapter Six
When Alex awoke the next morning he was filled with a sense of restless energy that he knew could only be subdued by exercise. His mind slipped back to the image of Belinda Bowstock standing in the kitchen, her eyes sparking with indignation and he revised his decision --he would have to engage in some very vigorous exercise to quell the energy that filled him.
As usual he had woken at dawn and the solitary groom in Hawkfield's stables rubbed sleep from his eyes as he saddled up the Marquess's horse. The countryside around the estate was typical of Surrey; lush, rolling green fields, dotted with the occasional yellow brick farm house. Alex pushed Pegasus harder than usual, relishing the aching in his muscles as the stallion tore across the open fields. His mind was still on Belinda and her innocent beauty but his conscience was niggling at him, urging him to think instead on his responsibilities. Namely Miss Hestia B. Stockbow who, following her father's death, seemed to have disappeared completely.
Alex's trip to Truro had yielded few clues. The villagers had pointed him in the direction of Lady Bedford, a tight-lipped old dame, who claimed to know nothing about what had become of Miss Stockbow.
"She simply disappeared," Lady Bedford had insisted, stroking the ears of the elderly Cavalier in her lap. "I wouldn't blame her for wishing to make a fresh start after all the scandal her father caused, would you, Lord Delaney?"
Alex started at the mention of his name, for the sight of the small King Charles had reminded him of Miss Bowstock which had sent him into a most un-masculine daydream.
"If Miss Stockbow wishes to disappear to preserve her reputation," Alex had eventually replied, "Then that is her prerogative. As her guardian, however, my prerogative is to ensure that wherever she is she is safe and financially secure. If you happen to come across her Lady Bedford, do send her in my direction."
He had returned to London after that, certain that Lady Bedford knew where this Hestia Stockbow was hiding and that the old woman was sensible enough to let the girl know there were funds available for her. If that failed, Captain Black, who had business to attend to in Cornwall, had promised to keep his eyes and ears peeled for any hint of the young wo
man.
The sun had risen fully by the time that Alex returned to Hawkfield Manor. He bathed quickly, changed into fresh clothes and made his way down to the dining room, where a buffet breakfast was being served.
The only people present when he arrived were Mr Jackson, the dull entomologist and Lady Caroline, who looked much relieved at his arrival.
"There you are Falconbridge," she exclaimed, patting the seat next to her. "I was beginning to think that all my guests would be abed until after midday."
"Frightful waste of time, sleeping," Mr Jackson muttered, wiping his mouth with a serviette. "Excuse me Lady Caroline, Lord Delaney. The Duke has kindly offered me the use of his library and I cannot waste such an opportunity."
"Oh, don't stay on our account," Caroline waved the spectacled man away, her dark eyes dancing with mischief. Alex fetched himself a plate of eggs and kippers and took a seat beside Caroline, who was sipping on milky tea.
"Tell me," she said, placing her cup down and glancing at him fondly. "How have you been Alex? I said to Giles only yesterday that it felt like I had not seen you in years, and he reminded me that was because it has been years since we've met."
Alex chewed slowly on his forkful of fish, as he attempted to formulate a reply. He knew that Caroline, like the rest of the ton, thought him mad with grief since his wife's death, but in truth he had not been. His marriage to Amelia had been hasty, inspired by grief at his brother's death and an overwhelming feeling of duty to continue the line.
The Marquess of Temptation Page 4
