The change of scenery, regardless of memories, would surely do her good. The rector’s sermon had unsettled them both, and Walter could not very well propose with that muck on her mind. The hall would provide the perfect backdrop to his proposal—a preview of her future as lady of the manor and a union between her past and future.
However it came to be, this visit to Roddam Hall was his final opportunity to propose before they would have to part ways, for he would need to collect his family for the return south, and Roddam would need to return to his wife and daughter.
Ah, they had arrived. At last.
Roddam Hall rose before them as they approached the pebbled circle drive. The façade was similar to Trelowen, though different. His home was smaller, more Tudor, with mullioned windows and a pitched roof. Roddam Hall was remarkably grand, if a little worn, Jacobean, the front façade flanked by two canted bays with oriel windows. The roof was flat and hidden by a parapet.
The front door, a hefty and imposing shield of metal nestled under a bow window, opened as the carriage drew near, a handful of staff filing outside to greet them.
Walter searched Lilith’s expression for hints to her thoughts. An invisible veil fell before her face, her eyes shuttered, her lips tight, her feelings indiscernible. Roddam, on the other hand, nearly launched himself out of the carriage before it came to a stop and embraced each staff member as if to greet long-lost friends. Walter could not imagine greeting his staff so exuberantly. It was a little awkward to watch, truth be told.
When the carriage rocked to a full stop, Walter exited to set down the steps for Lilith. Jasper beat them both by bolting from her lap and across the gravel to sniff all his new friends. Fleetingly, she looked at Walter in what he was sure was panic. Just as quickly, she shrouded her emotions again and stared at the queue of servants.
Her arms hung at her sides, tucked beneath her cloak, her fingers peeking out as her fists strangled the unsuspecting garment.
Walter offered his arm and courage.
Resting a hand on his forearm, she allowed him to lead her to the awaiting group. The staff watched, each with unreadable expressions befitting their station, except for an elderly woman, stooped with age, gripping the arm of a young footman. The woman smiled unabashedly.
Ambling forward, her feet shuffling against the gravel, the woman stretched out her arms and said, “I never thought I’d see you return.”
Lilith halted.
Walter cocked an eyebrow at Roddam who ignored him.
The woman advanced until she embraced Lilith. Since Lilith’s hand still rested on Walter’s arm, he did not move except to cover her hand with his in silent strength in case she needed it while facing the ghosts of the past.
Releasing Lilith, the woman stood back and looked up. She was a good three heads shorter than Lilith, emphasized by the rounded shoulders.
“You don’t remember me. Of course, you wouldn’t. You were only a wee babe.”
Walter felt Lilith’s fingers digging into his arm. She had not moved or spoken.
The woman shook her head. “Mrs. Hunter is my name. You used to sneak into the kitchen with the little master and steal my biscuits. I’ve wished for your return home, my lady. I couldn’t bear not to be here when I heard his lordship was bringing you.”
Lilith released a long breath and said, “I’m afraid I don’t remember, Mrs. Hunter, but it’s good of you to come.”
Roddam stepped forward to help Mrs. Hunter back to the line of staff and introduced everyone to Lilith, who was relaxing more by the minute.
Though there was only a skeleton crew running the estate, a handful of those who served the previous earl—those who had not moved for new positions, retired elsewhere, or passed away—had promised to visit over the next few days to see their young mistress returned home. Roddam confessed to having notified and invited each of them.
They entered a semi-circular, galleried vestibule and rested while the butler took their hats and cloaks. It was good to be inside and out of the cold autumn air. Roddam leaned against the main staircase, an impressive wooden structure to the left of the entrance with balustrades carved into the shapes of mythical gods and goddesses.
“Shall we meet in the Great Hall in two hours for tea? I can show you both around.”
Lilith picked up Jasper who had been running from each servant back to Lilith, and then back to each servant and looping once more to Lilith. “I would dearly like to rest, yes. But first, could we find a bite to eat for Jasper?”
The butler stepped forward. “If you’ll follow me, my lady.”
And off they went down a long corridor. It did not take Walter long to find his room, courtesy of a nod in the right direction from a footman. Yes, Lilith was right. A nap was in order.
Lilith could not have napped if she tried.
When she brought Jasper to the kitchen for a snack, she met the new cook and had the opportunity to chat with Mrs. Hunter. Jasper met the cook’s companion, an ancient sheepdog, blind, scruffy, and spoiled. Jasper fell in love.
Mrs. Hunter’s appearance had been shocking. Lilith remembered her, though not at first. It was the sound of her voice she recalled—a sing-song voice, ever so beautifully aged, a Welsh soprano who had been displaced for too long from her home country.
Lilith had sat in the kitchen for far longer than she planned, listening to Mrs. Hunter’s tales of the antics Lilith and her brother would get into when his lordship was away. If Mrs. Hunter was to be believed, the old servants had missed Lilith and mourned her departure as a child, some believing she had died, others claiming they saw men take her. It was not until the longcase clock struck an hour that she excused herself.
Jasper remained in the kitchen. When Lilith called him to her side, he had looked up at her with pleading puppy eyes as though to beg to stay with his new friend. And so, he had.
Though Sebastian had promised a tour, she roamed the halls with her remaining hour, exploring room after room.
The room she had lingered in the longest had been her father’s study. As children, she and Sebastian had been forbidden to enter. Now, she sat in the desk chair and closed her eyes. Lilith inhaled as though expecting the smell of pipe smoke lingering after all these years. Instead of her father’s resurrection, she sensed Sebastian’s presence in every nook and cranny. In all likelihood, he had renovated to remove any reminders of Tobias Lancaster.
Unspeakable horrors had occurred in this very space after she had been sent away. Sebastian had suffered at the hand of their father.
None of the rooms were recognizable, but there was a sort of familiarity about everything. A feeling when walking down a hallway that she had been there before. A waft of some unnamable scent that rushed a flood of memories.
Everywhere she went, the staff called her Lady Lilith. She did not correct them. There was nothing to correct. In this house, she had always been Lady Lilith. She felt like Lady Lilith, however absurd that was when she was herself and had not changed other than to step into the hall.
But there was a sense of homecoming she could not describe.
After twenty-five years, she was home. More than once she recalled ‘Bastian’s offer. This could be her permanent home, not just in memory. The idea excited but frightened her. And what of Walter?
Sebastian’s tour was a quiet one, her brother doing most of the talking, something he did not often do.
He guided them down one of the many portrait galleries.
“At one time,” Sebastian said, “I had most of the portraits removed. Namely, I had the portrait of him removed.” He nodded at the painting to his left. “Since then, I’ve had them all restored. I refuse to hide from him. Now, I stand before him, unafraid, proud. Seeing his portrait reminds me of how far I’ve come.” Under his breath, he added, “I could never have reached this point without Lizbeth.”
The paint
ing was of a fierce man. A young man. He could not be more than twenty in the painting, if that. His hair was powdered and curled. He stood propped against a statue, a hand tucked in the opening of his coat. His face startled Lilith, for it was not the face she remembered from childhood. He looked, instead, like a young Sebastian. The crinkles around the eyes were not there, and the skin was pale in comparison to Sebastian’s darkened, sun-bronzed complexion, and the build was slight. And yet, the face was remarkably that of her brother.
She felt Walter before he spoke. His presence wrapped about her as a blanket of courage.
“Oh, I say, Roddam. If you had not said it was your father, I would have thought it was you in fancy dress.”
Sebastian grunted. “Any more of that, and you’ll be sleeping in the stables, Collingwood.” He followed the threat with a chuckle. “And this is our mother,” he said, touching the frame next to Tobias’ painting.
Lilith gasped when she saw the portrait. Memories, so many memories bubbled and frothed. The painting was exactly as Lilith remembered her. The countess looked young and fragile with a diamond-shaped face, pale, nearly translucent skin, a V-shaped hairline low on her forehead, and golden-brown ringlets piled high with a bandeau and tumbling around her shoulders. A low-cut gown of gold adorned her slender frame, though it resembled a classic Greek wrap more than a dress.
The woman in the painting did not smile. She stared into the distance, as though looking into a field beyond the painter’s shoulder, her eyes sad and searching. Her cheeks were rouged and her eyebrows darkened. Her eyes were the most striking. They were painted as coal-black orbs.
“It’s her eyes,” Sebastian whispered, his voice so close to her ear she nearly jumped sideways. “She’s remarkably beautiful. This was, I believe, her wedding portrait.”
“When I see her here,” Lilith said, “I see the same woman of my memories. And yet, if I look at the painting as an unbiased observer, I’m struck not only by her youth but her delicacy.”
“You won’t know this, Lil’, but for years, and perhaps still, rumor had it that he killed her. And perhaps he did. But memory is a funny thing. I recall her fatigue. Fainting spells at dinner, entire afternoons spent in her sitting room, a perpetual tiredness. Do you think he broke her spirit, or was she…delicate?”
Lilith reached a hand to touch the picture frame. Her mother. Not her mother. Her mother in all ways that were the most important.
Walter spoke up from a few paintings away. “Look who I’ve found!” he exclaimed, waving them over.
With a lingering look at Jane, she followed her brother.
“Well done, Collingwood.” Sebastian barked a laugh. “Of all the paintings in this gallery, you’ve found the one of me in a dress.”
“That is not a dress,” Lilith scolded. “That is a christening gown. You look quite dashing for a babe.”
Walter turned to Lilith with a teasing grin. “You’re not too shabby either.”
Looking back at the painting, she laughed to see she, too, was wearing a christening gown. Although, the more she looked at the painting, the less sure she was which of the babies was Sebastian and which was her, for they were both black-haired and dark-eyed babes in white, frilly gowns.
Jane, looking none too different than the other painting, was seated, gazing down to the babe in her arms. Tobias stood to her right, staring at the painter, a babe seated at his feet. If the observer did not know the truth, this would look quite the happy family portrait, a loving couple with their two bundles of joy.
The earls from centuries past were on down the gallery, including their grandparents, Rothchild and Miranda Lancaster, as well as a considerably young Catherine Lancaster before she married the Duke of Annick. Their aunt appeared to be around twelve in the painting. Though Catherine looked haughty, there was a vulnerability about her eyes. Lilith wondered if the now Dowager Duchess of Annick had retained that vulnerability or if the years had steeled her. She supposed she would never find out. From the mouth of the woman’s own son and daughter-in-law, Catherine would not acknowledge her as kin.
The painting of Rothchild sent a shiver down her spine. Though he was pictured holding a bible and cross, he looked anything but godly. He looked positively satanic. There was a sinister gleam in his eyes that the painter had captured with bone-chilling skill. While she could not easily forgive her father for abandoning her or abusing Sebastian, she almost felt sorry for Tobias, as well as his sister Catherine, to be raised by such a menacing man.
“Well,” Sebastian said as they reached the end of the gallery, “I must leave the two of you until dinner. I’ve a long-overdue meeting with the steward. I trust you can entertain each other?”
With a wag of his brows, he left before either could answer.
“If I didn’t know better,” Walter said, turning to Lilith, “I would suspect you are both plotting to compromise me into offering for you. It simply won’t do. I’ll not be outmaneuvered by crafty siblings.”
Lilith smirked when he punctuated his sentence with a wolfish grin. “You’re too clever for us, Lord Collingwood. We should return to the ballroom before anyone suspects we’re up to mischief.”
“Too right, my lady.” He offered his arm and directed her down the gallery and to the door on the right. The ballroom.
She halted in the doorway and laughed, the sound echoing in the empty room.
“You can’t be serious,” she protested.
“Be careful what you wish for,” he said, leading her into the center.
With a bow, he said, “May I have this dance?”
“Walter! Don’t be silly. We’re alone, and there’s no music.”
“Neither of which is important,” he replied.
Taking her hand in his, he promenaded her the length of the room. When they reached the end, he turned to face her, placed both hands on her waist, and spun her in circles until her laughter reverberated.
“You’re an absurd man, Walter Hobbs. What am I to do without you?” She spoke in jest, but at her words, he stopped in place and frowned.
“Choose not to be without me?” he asked rhetorically.
Her smile faltered, and she stepped out of his embrace.
They had not yet been at the hall for a full day, and already, she was reminded of their time together at the castle. It had been a private world, a magical world, a world in which reality did not intrude. The trouble was, reality would always intrude.
Their time together at the village proved they were an impossible match. Her illegitimacy would be found out. Her time at the orphanage would make her a laughingstock. Her employment as a midwife would be the height of bitter gossip. Their union would be mocked and ridiculed. His family would lose respect. And with it all, she would lose herself. She could not be a baroness.
Lilith walked to the windows overlooking an open arcaded porch, her back to Walter.
“I’ve been thinking of the women at the assembly,” he said.
At such a non sequitur, Lilith glanced back at him.
“I’ve come to the conclusion,” he continued, “they envy you.”
She scoffed. “Envy me? In what way?”
“Unadorned by jewels and in dresses that have seen too many years, you still exceed their beauty. You’ve attracted the attention of a baron without trying. You’re the daughter of an earl. You have lived a life free of complications and expectations from polite society. You’ve found joy in a simple life. You’ve earned respect through hard work. I could go on, but my point is, how can they not be jealous? With all their accomplishments, jewels, and bespoke dresses, they have nothing to show for their life. They live under constant pressure from their family to find a husband so as not to be a burden. They have nothing of their own, no trade or talent. They don’t know their own minds. How can they not be jealous, Lilith?”
“Ridiculous. Those girls co
uldn’t imagine a life without a maid, a life spent in a pokey little cottage, hearing sermons from the back of the church, wearing the label of orphan, scrubbing their own floors, tending their own fires, sewing their own clothes. I work for a living, you know. None of them want my life. They find me deplorable. They may not know of my birth, but it’s enough to know how I’ve spent my life.”
“But you have to admit my version is a possibility.”
Tutting, she said, “I’ll admit no such thing. No one has or ever will envy me.”
He swept a hand through his hair then clasped his hands behind his back. “Sometimes, Lilith, we have to convince ourselves of other versions of reality or we’ll never make our dreams come true. We’ll stay rooted in the same muddy hole. I hope you’ll open yourself to dreaming while we’re here. Shall I return you to the Great Hall?”
Unsure how to respond, she nodded and followed him.
The morning room was best found by way of the kitchen. This particular route would be uncommon for masters and guests, but for a puppy parent, it was a necessity.
Before Lilith joined Sebastian and Walter for breakfast, she went down to the kitchen to see how Jasper fared since he begged to stay the night with his new friend, Milli the sheepdog. Lilith had been reluctant, worried he would change his mind in the middle of the night and not be able to find her and selfishly not wanting to spend an evening away from him. He won the argument. The cook assured her he would be fine.
He greeted her with a happy woof but was otherwise content to break his fast with Milli.
After stealing him for a snuggle, she joined her brother in the morning room. Walter had not yet arrived. Saying she was relieved would not be entirely accurate. She wanted to cherish every moment with him as though it were their last, but she did not want to entangle herself any more deeply than she already had. She could not be a baroness no matter how much she loved him. Her reception at the Graham dinner and at the assembly had proven that.
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