by Janet Woods
‘I have never heard such taradiddle in all my life!’ Edwina’s severe expression softened as a fleeting memory of herself at that age flashed into her mind. ‘The earl and countess will welcome you as a daughter. As for Gerard?’ Stopping, she gazed into Willow’s upturned face. ‘You have it in you to make him forget Daphne de Vere ever existed. Gerard is the type of man who enjoys a challenge. By nature you are not submissive, Willow. No doubt you and he will argue. If you are clever you can win him round to your point of view.’
‘And how do I go about that, Grandmother? My intellect cannot be equal to his.’ Anxiously she gazed into Lady Edwina’s eyes. ‘I can read and write, and have learned about the wonders of distant lands, but I’ve not had his education.’
‘Your woman’s instinct will show you the way.’ Edwina kissed her cheek. She didn’t have the heart to tell her intellect wouldn’t come into it, only physical attraction. Educated women were frowned upon, and Willow had more education than most, thanks to her tutor’s liberated ideas.
‘Look, our coach is freed,’ she said happily. ‘Now we can make speed whilst the soldiers dig the baggage coach from the mire. Sheronwood Estate is only a short distance. We can refresh ourselves there before continuing on to Lytton House.’
But Sheronwood was barred from them. Hugh Macbride cantered back towards the coach with a worried look on his face. ‘Some of the servants are suffering from smallpox,’ he said. ‘Lady Rosamond requests you extend hospitality to her great-grandson at Lytton House until she’s certain the infection is contained.’
Edwina’s lips pursed as she hastily withdrew her head. ‘Drive on coachman,’ she cried out. ‘We must reach Lytton House before night falls and the highwaymen seek us out.’
Hardly likely, Willow thought. Not with an officer and two soldiers in attendance. Nevertheless her heart beat a little faster, when two hours later the procession came to a halt.
It was that time of evening when the sun sent long fingers of gold searching through the trees, and dusk pressed warm and purple against their backs. The air was whirling with all manner of flying insects and the breeze was a dying breath of sound.
On either side of them branches reached out from the dense forest. There was a waiting and watching quality about the forest, as if it had taken a deep breath, then paused to survey the newcomers to its midst. Willow closed her eyes to its embrace, smiling as she breathed in its earthy aroma. It calmed her senses, cleansing from her nostrils the stale smell of the city she’d left behind. She thought she could hear the forest’s heart pulsing. In its depths, the rustles and squeaks of the creatures sheltering in its secret ways. Whatever the future held for her, this forest would nurture her soul, she thought. She would never be alone whilst she lived in its shadow. Her eyes held the knowledge when she opened them, and she felt strangely contented
‘Why have we stopped?’ Lady Edwina demanded as Hugh Macbride reined in his horse beside them and laid his pistol across the saddle.
‘A rider approaches.’
Chapter Two
The hoof-beats were coming thick and fast through the undergrowth. Willow grinned at her flight of fancy. The forest’s pulsing heart was a horseman.
‘The rider makes no effort to conceal himself,’ Willow observed, as the soldiers gathered about them with pistols drawn. ‘He intends us no harm.’
‘Hullo, the coach,’ the rider shouted, bursting from a forest track. ‘Jeffrey Lytton greets you.’ Dust swirled when he brought his horse to a showy sliding halt. Whipping his tricorn from his head he leaped to the ground and bowed before them.
The soldiers grinned and moved their startled mounts aside.
No more than a youth of about fifteen, Jeffrey’s smile was as wide as it could get without splitting his face in half. His eyes twinkled with merriment as he poked his head over the coach door. ‘Welcome Grandmother. I have come to escort you in.’
‘Then God help us,’ Edwina snorted, ‘for you make enough noise to alert every highwayman this side of London.’
Willow’s dowry had been sent ahead by messenger just before they’d left London. Convinced it was all a trick and the marquis had planted an army of felons along the highway to steal it back, Edwina had been overly concerned for their safety. She forgot her worries when she surveyed her youngest grandson. ‘How tall you’ve grown. You’re the very image of Ambrose. You may give me a kiss before I introduce you to your sister-in-law.’
Willow could hardly remember her husband’s face. Jeffrey Lytton reminded her of it when he gazed through his pewter grey eyes at her and smiled. After he pressed his lips to the hand she offered he bashfully avoided her gaze and mumbled. ‘Welcome, sister.’
‘Thank you,Jeffrey. Lady Edwina has mentioned you so often I feel I already know you.’
Jeffrey’s glance settled on Edward, who was gazing at the snorting horse through shining eyes. ‘Who are you, young sir?’
‘Edward George de Vere.’ Edward smiled enthusiastically at him. ‘May I ride on the back of your horse?’
‘I shall be glad of the company.’ Plucking Edward from the coach, Jeffrey placed him on the saddle then mounted behind him.
Noting the nurse’s agitation Edwina said haughtily. ‘The Lytton men have horsemanship bred in their bones. Edward will come to no harm.’
Aware she’d be mistress of Lytton House one day, Willow gazed at it with interest as they rolled down a carriageway bordered by various hued rhododendrons.
The great house rose from the ground as if it had grown amongst the trees that surrounded it. A flight of steps led up to a terrace, then to a set of solid doors curved into the shape of a shield. The windows and French doors were of similar shape, square paned, with patterns of colored glass set into the upper sections. Creepers rambled upon the stonework, giving the whole place a comfortable air of rapport with its environment.
Just perceived through an avenue of drooping purple wisteria blossoms a pavilion was set in a lake. Joined to the shore by an arched bridge, it seemed to float on glass like a miniature fairy castle. Fragrance drifted from the garden. Roses, lavender, summer stocks, and scents she could not identify. There was something magical about what she felt. She was being embraced, as if she’d lived in this house before and was now being welcomed back to its heart.
Tears came to her eyes and trembled on her lids as she followed Lady Edwina up the curving steps and into a vast hall, which was blazing with light from the many candles lit to welcome them.
After the maids were taken under the wing of the housekeeper, and Edward dispatched with his nanny and a plump young servant girl to the nursery wing, Willow sank into a curtsy before the imposing figure of Earl Ambrose Lytton. He was a handsome man, still muscular and upright at fifty or so, with the look of the outdoors upon him.
She’d met the earl briefly when he’d visited London shortly after her forced marriage. He’d spent a great deal of time with Lady Edwina, the murmur of their voices barely audible to her. She’ d sat on the staircase chewing her nails to the quick whilst she waited to be summoned into his presence. When the time had finally come her heart had been hammering against her ribs, her stomach queasy with apprehension. He’d merely smiled at her and asked if she was happy living with Lady Edwina. When she’d dumbly nodded he’d patted her cheek then turned to the old lady. ‘If you’re happy with the arrangement I’ll leave the child in your charge then, Edwina.’
She’d warmed to the earl, and had just plucked up the courage to ask him how her horse fared when Lady Edwina had dismissed her. In his presence for the second time she still experienced awe. Bowing her head she said simply. ‘Your daughter-in-law greets you, Lord Lytton. I ask for your blessing.’
He lifted her chin, and his smile was kindness itself. ‘My home is blessed by your presence. Let me look at you.’
Ambrose was shaken by what he saw, but his grey eyes gave nothing away of his thoughts. The girl was no longer the pinched-faced waif he remembered. She was the image of he
r mother. Time had faded the memory of Marietta Givanchy, yet part of him still mourned the loss of her innocence, so cruelly destroyed by Marquis Lynchcross. Marietta had been a flame in his heart until she’d died shortly after giving birth, then she’d become ashes. Now her daughter stood before him, as fresh and delicate as a newly opened flower. Fate might have snatched Marietta from him, but her daughter had been sent to heal his hurt. Stooping a little, he kissed her cheek. ‘Lady Caroline is indisposed at the moment and confined to her bed. She begs your indulgence and hopes to be able to greet you herself on the morrow.’ Tearing his eyes away he exchanged a glance with Edwina. ‘There’s little improvement in Caroline’s condition. Perhaps your presence will lift her spirits.’
An exasperated look came over Lady Edwina’s face. ‘Caroline was always inclined to melancholy. It’s about time she stopped indulging herself.’ Beckoning to a maid to light her way she lifted up her skirts and headed for the stairs, muttering to herself as she went. ‘She should be grateful the child did not survive its first year. Indeed, I cannot understand her at all. First she hates the poor little cripple, then when God sees fit to take her she grieves unnaturally.’
Catching Willow’s eye, Ambrose held out his arm to her. ‘Come to my study where we can become better acquainted. The housekeeper will attend us later.’
The study’s gleaming oak panels and dark blue velvet curtains conveyed a sense of masculinity. Facing the unlit fireplace were two leather chairs, so old that the hide had worn through to the horsehair in parts, and the sheen completely gone from them.
Willow seated herself in one. Her nostrils quivered with the newness of male dominated scents of tobacco, perspiration and leather, then attempted to separate them from the more familiar ones of candles and beeswax. The room had an earthy country smell, yet its odor wasn’t unpleasant.
‘I’d forgotten you were so pretty,’ Ambrose murmured, handing her a small glass of madeira which glowed amber in the candlelight. ‘My son is a lucky man.’
‘I doubt if he remembers my appearance.’ She gazed at the books lining the walls with interest. ‘We met only fleetingly, and then I was but a child.’
And am still a child if I know Lady Edwina. Not in the least put out by her candour, Ambrose watched her glance wander across the paintings of hunting scenes. This one brought a smile, that one a frown. The painting of the fourth earl astride a charger, a fierce expression on his face as his sword sliced the air made her giggle. She turned and enchanted him with her smile. ‘I cannot imagined why I was awed by you. You are not so fearsome when compared to the gentleman on the charger.’
Ambrose chuckled. ‘He was my grandfather. I doubt the artist was kind to him. The portrait was banished to the attic whilst he lived.’ He bade enter when a knock sounded on the door. A middle-aged woman in a brown dress with starched white cuffs, apron and cap, bobbed a curtsy. ‘I’ve prepared the rooms for Lady Sommersley as the Countess instructed, My Lord.’
‘Take her to them immediately, she must be tired.’ Rising to his feet the earl took her hand and kissed her fingers. ‘I hope you will be happy here. If there’s anything you need you must tell Mrs. Breton. She’ll be happy to serve you.’
Mrs. Breton looked far from happy to serve as she led her silently up the stairs then along a gallery lined with faces of long dead ancestors. Willow shivered. Her own face would be staring from a gilt frame one day. They all looked so serious, but then marriage was a serious business. Idly, she wondered if any of the faces had ever loved each other.
The house grew musty as they turned into a corridor and traversed its length. Finally, Mrs. Breton pushed open a door and stood aside for her to enter. ‘I have lit the fire, My Lady.’ She crossed to an adjoining door and thrust it open. ‘Your bedchamber is through here. A clothes closet and your maid’s room through the other door. I’ve taken the liberty of instructing one of the footmen to serve dinner in your chamber tonight. Lord Ambrose thought you’d prefer it after your journey.’
‘Thank you, Mrs. Breton.’ She wrinkled her nose at the musty, damp smell pervading the place. ‘Where’s my maid?’
Mrs. Breton’s lips squeezed tightly together. Uneasily, she shifted from one foot to the other. ‘She’s in the scullery heating water. She seems to think My Lady would require a bath.’
‘She’s right. I’m in the habit of bathing daily, and have been two days without one.’ Removing her cloak she threw it on the bed.
The dim light couldn’t disguise a thick coating of dust. The dirty bed hangings were faded and stained. The room reeked of a neglect that not even the fire could cheer. That the countess should choose to allocate her such quarters was an insult that bode badly for their future relationship. If the rest of the house was any indication, Mrs. Breton was an excellent housekeeper who took pride in her work. Aware that no servant could serve two mistresses, and that Mrs. Breton could make her life difficult if she so chose, she’d have step carefully.
She smiled. ‘I hope my bathing at this time will not be inconvenient. As I commented to the earl, he’s lucky in that his household appears extremely well-managed.’
She wanted to laugh when her flattery brought a mollified expression to Mrs. Breton’s face. Theatrically, Willow swayed slightly before sinking into an overstuffed armchair. Closing her eyes she whispered tiredly. ‘I’ll instruct my maid to consult with you in future. I’m indeed sorry to put you to so much trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble at all, Lady Sommersley.’ The rustle of skirts put Mrs. Breton directly in front of her. ‘Is there anything I can do to be of help?’
Opening her eyes Willow gave a wan smile. ‘Thank you, Mrs. Breton. Kitty will be here shortly to ready me for bed. Be assured, the earl will hear of your devotion to my welfare.’
‘I beg of you do not use the bed until I’ve changed the straw palliasse for one of down. That one is sure to be damp.’ Mrs. Breton busied herself pulling the covers off the newly made bed. ‘I must have mistaken the instructions, though why the mistress insist you be put in this wing when there are better chambers available, is beyond my understanding.’
‘No doubt it can be cleaned. I shall ask the earl to recommend a maid of all work.’
The housekeeper appeared flustered when Kitty entered the room. ‘I beg your pardon, My Lady. I spoke out of turn.’
‘It’s quite all right, Mrs. Breton.’ She gave her a conspiratorial smile. ‘I didn’t hear any criticism, and neither did my maid.’
‘Indeed, I did not.’ Kitty placed her burden on the floor and groaned as she straightened her back. ‘Tis a long way from the scullery with your bath water. It will be cold before the bath is filled.’
Mrs. Breton sniffed at Kitty’s familiar tone. Kitty, an orphaned child of a disgraced Irish maid, had been taken to Coringal Estate to serve Willow by a village woman. They’d both been eleven at the time. She’d become Willow’s friend and companion, as well as her maid.
Lady Edwina constantly impressed on her the need to make Kitty aware of her station in life. From habit, she made allowances for her familiarity—something Mrs. Breton would have to learn.
‘Perhaps Mrs. Breton could suggest a strong girl from the village who will fetch and carry the bath-water, and generally do for us. Sixpence a week should be sufficient wage.’
It was more than sufficient. Mrs. Breton nodded her head and smiled in agreement. ‘I have a niece who is simple in the head, but strong. Her name is Nellie.’
And she will do the work for three pence, Willow thought. She exchanged a smile with Kitty. It seemed that a deal had been struck. She was well satisfied. Life would be more comfortable from now on.
Caroline, Countess Lytton, was in a bad humor, and didn’t bother to conceal it. ‘I have no intention of welcoming this upstart who tricked Gerard into marriage.’ Petulantly she took a bonbon from a dish and greedily crunched it between her teeth. ‘To my mind, she’s as bad as her father.’
Beckoning to her maid, she waited until her
pillows had been plumped to her satisfaction before continuing her diatribe. ‘She must indeed be sly to ingratiate herself into your good grace. Either that, or you’re losing your wits in your old age.’
Stung, Edwina gazed at her daughter through narrowed eyes. Caroline had changed much over the past few years. Her body had turned to fat, due no doubt to her habit of lying abed most of the day and consuming a selection from the dishes of sweetmeats placed about the room. Lines of discontent dragged her mouth down at the corners, giving her a shrewish look.
‘If anyone is losing their wits it’s you, Caroline.’ Edwina stood up, preparing to take her leave. ‘Your appearance disgusts me. You need to get some exercise and fresh air.’
‘I’m ill.’ Caroline lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes. ‘My stomach hurts, and my head aches unceasingly when I rise.’ Self-pitying tears flooded her eyes. ‘Ambrose rarely visits, and when Jeffrey pays his respects he cannot wait to leave. As for Gerard, he could be dead. I’ve heard the savages in the new world remove the scalps from their victims.’ She glared at her mother. It would have been more honorable for Gerard to have died challenging the marquis. And as for the sly trickery of this girl who duped him into marriage. Does she really imagine I’ll welcome her?’
‘You selfish little fool! Caroline shrank into her pillows as her mother leaned over her. ‘Your husband and sons are more than you deserve. Nobody thinks Gerard a coward. In fact, his stature grew for the way he took control of a bad situation and rescued Willow from the cruelty of her father.’
‘He should have sent her back. It’ s what she deserved.’
‘You do your son no honor by wishing death upon him, nor by insulting his wife. She is a dear and worthy child, and the daughter of your childhood friend. Bah! I have no patience with you.’ Running out of breath she strode away from the bed, her back so stiff it resembled the raised hackles of a dog.
