Dismounting, they approached and greeted the trio. No one pretended that there was any other subject to discuss. “We have just come from Buck Hill,” Major Fielding said after the briefest greetings. “No one is being admitted and by the desolate expression on the butler’s face, we are losing the last bit of hope that his lordship can recover.”
“This is grave news, indeed,” Cortland said. He was more determined to cut this foray into the village short and head to Buck Hill.
“How their hearts must be breaking,” Mrs. Birtwistle said, her voice a near whisper.
Cortland looked down at the pretty lady and was reminded how young Mrs. Birtwistle was, and how recent her own loss must have been.
“Yes,” Halbury said, with a surprising amount of passion in his voice, “I am eternally grateful that I was able to speak to Lord Buckleigh on a personal matter only the day or so before this horrific accident. As I look back, it almost seems clairvoyant on my part. At least there may be one silver lining to this sad end.”
It gratified Cortland to see that Major Fielding and Mrs. Birtwistle looked at their cousin with as much astonishment as he felt.
About to offer Halbury a sharp question, Cortland held up when Captain Fielding said, “George, old boy, Lord Buckleigh is one of the best men I have ever known. His kindness to me when I came back from the Peninsula got me through a bit of a rough patch. I don’t know of anyone in the district he has not helped. None of us will be able to speak of silver linings anytime soon.”
Halbury looked undaunted and only inclined his head, barely acknowledging the well-spoken reproach.
Again, Cortland regretted that he had not brought his rapier to Parsley Hay.
***
Not bothering to put on a bonnet, Marina wearily put on her heavy dark blue cloak and slowly walked down the long curving staircase. Taking a side door outdoors, she paused in surprise at the bright sun shining on bare branches. Although cold, there was a different quality to the air that told her spring lurked nearby.
Crossing the barren lawn, she opened a wrought iron gate in a high brick wall that enclosed a walled garden. Pulling the fur-lined hood away from her face, she moved to the stone bench beneath the arch of climbing roses that would soon have clusters of fragrant white blooms.
The wordless pain in her heart was as cold as the stone bench. Not since they brought Papa in on the plank had she cried in the house. Without giving it real thought, she felt it her duty to be strong for Mama and Deirdre. So when the atmosphere in the house became too much to bear, she came here to her white rose garden to give way to her heartbreak in private.
Three days. Or was it three months? Three years? Papa lay in the bed in front of the fire in his library, wasting away.
Last night, Dr. Gray, looking defeated, had begun to prepare them for the inevitable. Papa was young and healthy, but he could not go much longer without sustenance. Nature, he said grimly, was taking its course.
And Mama wasted away with him. Overnight, she went from a pretty, lively two-and-forty-year – old woman, to a decades-older shadow of herself. Nothing she or Deirdre could say or do could cajole her into eating more than a few bites of food here and there.
Unable to sleep when she was sure Mama was sleeping on the pallet next to Papa’s bed, Marina would slip in and sit quietly, staring at Papa in the firelight, willing him to open his eyes and speak. Not so much as a flicker of an eyelid gave her hope.
It was only a matter of time now. So little time. They had thought it had happened this morning, but his strong body had not yet completely given out and his chest had risen in feeble breath, slowly, one after another.
The last three mornings she woke in her curtained bed and everything looked the same, the same cream and blue décor, the same light softly shining in. And then it would hit her that Papa was downstairs, unconscious and broken. How could she bear it? How could Mama and Deirdre bear it?
“Oh, Father in heaven,” she whispered, and stopped, clenching her eyes shut. “I can’t face it.”
How long she sat in her barren rose garden, she didn’t know. Only when she heard footsteps and the gate creak did she stir.
Looking over she saw Lord Cortland approaching. He didn’t have a hat but he wore a heavy bottle-green coat, his top boots and hair nearly the same black shade. He looked so very tall and broad-shouldered—imperious, yet capable and strong. Vaguely, she wondered why she wasn’t the least surprised to see him.
“The butler told me you would be here.”
He came and sat next to her and said nothing. She was grateful that he did not ask any questions.
She looked around at the beds of dormant plants. “The year I turned ten, my parents brought me here. I already loved gardening and they gave me this walled garden for my very own, to do with as I pleased. This garden grew with me, and early on, I decided to have only different varieties of white roses.”
“That’s an unusual choice.”
“Yes. It’s breathtaking in bloom, and so unexpected to come in here on a warm day and see all the cool white flowers.” She looked around, thinking how fitting it was that everything looked so lifeless. “Over time, it’s proved a stunning choice. In the height of summer, you can’t imagine how many shades of white there are and I love how surprised people are when they come in.”
She paused, remembering how beautiful it had been last year, when she had arranged for her family to have tea in this enchanted spot. “Every year on my birthday,” she continued, not really knowing why, “Papa presents me with a new white rosebush, the tender roots wrapped in burlap tied with cream satin ribbons. I always marveled at how he found something so beautiful and unique. He would explain how he had heard a rumor that there was a new variety, or very old variety, in an arboretum or estate garden, or some such place and what great lengths he had gone to track it down. I have everything written down in a large ledger Papa gave me, so that I will always know where each rosebush came from.”
Lord Cortland made no comment to this story, but the way he sat next to her, his posture so strong yet relaxed, she sensed he did not intend to go anywhere.
They sat in silence for another stretch of time, ignoring the cold. It seemed the right thing to do.
“Lord Cortland, may I ask you something?”
“Of course, Miss Buckleigh.”
“Someone mentioned that you lost both your parents at a young age.”
“Yes, I was not fourteen.”
“May I ask how you coped?”
“My dear Miss Buckleigh,” he began, his voice deep and kind. “I can be of no help to you in that way. I, unfortunately, was not at all close to my parents. I had not seen them in nearly a year when we learned of their boat sinking off the coast of Corfu. My life went on very much the same as it had before.”
“I see,” she looked at him then, his rugged features giving no indication of his emotions. Despite his words, she felt a great deal of compassion for him. At least she had been so fortunate, so blessed to be close to her dear papa.
A horrible pressure filled her chest and throat. On a hard gasping sob she said, “I . . . I’m so sorry,” and could not stop the violent flood of tears that surged forth.
Without hesitation, he put his arm around her, pulling her close until her head was on his shoulder. She sobbed until her ribs hurt, uncaring that she so completely lost her composure.
Long moments passed and her sobs brought her no comfort, only a brief release from the shock and tension of the previous few days. Somehow, she understood that real grief had not yet begun. As her tears continued to come in painful starts, she felt gratitude that Lord Cortland did not try to soothe her.
Finally, only because a pang of self-consciousness surfaced, she pulled away from him. Without a word, he handed her his handkerchief, but otherwise did not move, keeping his arm around her back.
“You must be chilled through, Lord Cortland, please come in and take tea to warm you.”
Despite this atte
mpt at normalcy, she made no move to rise from the bench and neither did he.
The creak of the gate drew their attention and she looked over to see Deirdre rush in, wearing only her burnt-orange morning gown without even a shawl against the chill.
Her extreme pallor and red, puffy eyes spoke for her. “Marina!” the word was hardly a gasp.
Marina’s heart sank in deep despair. “I must go to Mama at once.” Lord Cortland took her elbow and helped her rise.
“He is awake! Papa has opened his eyes!”
Marina stared at her sister, wondering for a moment if she had lost her senses.
“Mama is giving him broth!”
The dull landscape whirled to mix with the blue sky and the sweetest feeling of gratitude washed over her right before Lord Cortland caught her as she fainted.
Chapter Sixteen
“Checkmate, my love.”
Marina laughed with deep joy at the satisfaction in her father’s voice. It was incredibly wonderful to see him doing so much better, evidenced by his pleasure in having beaten her at chess. Even a week ago it would have been another matter. The color was back in his face, the strength back in his voice, if not fully in his body—it was truly a miracle.
It had been a little more than three weeks since he had awakened from his comatose state, and although he was still fragile and in a great deal of pain because of his broken arm and leg, it didn’t matter. He now seemed like Papa again and was growing stronger every day. And every day she, Mama and Deirdre rejoiced and embraced each other in gratitude and relief.
She watched him now, a gentle smile on her lips while he explained where she had let down her defenses. She barely paid attention, because she was so pleased that his memory did not seem to have as many holes as it had in the first week or two. However, he still had no memory of the actual accident.
She deemed that a blessing.
They sat in his library, with the afternoon light washing through the room, giving everything a happy, vibrant glow.
The entire atmosphere of Buck Hill, from the youngest stableboy to Holmes the butler, had grown lighter in the last few days.
That had not been the case during the previous few weeks. Despite their joy when Papa regained consciousness, Dr. Gray had cautioned them that Papa was not out of danger.
And, indeed, the danger had continued. To see her father in so much pain had been heartrending, but then he had developed a severe fever that had threatened all his progress. And because of the severe pain of his injuries, he needed laudanum, causing him to sleep a great deal and seem very confused. It was a frightening thing for his daughters to witness.
He needed constant care and Mama had done most of it. She had grown thin from worry and exhaustion. Even now, they were all still exhausted, but the relief that he had improved so much in the last few days was sweet.
Finally, after his visit that morning, Dr. Gray had been confident enough to say that Papa was out of imminent danger.
What a strange thing life was, came the unexpectedly philosophical thought. She had never imagined that a person could be so happy, grateful and relieved in one part of her life, and desolate, bereft and sad in another.
“Oh, I’m so bored!” Deirdre yawned from her place on the large leather sofa opposite them. She stretched her arms above her head. “Chess has to be the dullest thing in the world to watch.”
“Deirdre! You ungrateful wretch. You should be thrilled to watch Papa play chess.” Really, sometimes her sister was positively the most self-absorbed brat who ever lived.
Papa chuckled, smiling indulgently at his youngest daughter. “I don’t blame her. It’s a beautiful day, you should both be out. I would be, if I could. Instead, off with you both, I am going to take my afternoon nap before your mother comes in and orders me to.”
Marina smiled, rose from her chair, and pushed a thatch of dark hair off her father’s forehead. “A rest will do you good, Papa.”
Casting her sister a sharp look, she made her way to the door. Gibbons, Papa’s valet, hovered just outside the door and Marina gave him a smile as Deirdre followed her out of the room.
“You are very prompt, Gibbons,” she teased.
“Well, his lordship needs his rest if he’s going to keep getting better,” said the thin, fastidious – looking man. “Besides, her ladyship will be checking soon to make sure. Mustn’t make her worry that he’s not following doctor’s orders.”
“No, indeed. Come on, Deirdre.”
The two of them walked down the long portrait-lined hallway and met Mama coming toward them.
“There you are, my loves.”
“We have just had a game of chess, Mama. But Gibbons is now assisting Papa, who is willingly taking a nap.”
A smile came to her weary features. “Excellent. But I have something to discuss with you both. Let us go into the south drawing room.”
Curious about her mother’s tone of voice, she exchanged a look with Deirdre, and followed her mother into her favorite sitting room.
After seating themselves, Marina looked at her mother closely, taking in the faint frown on her brow.
“Is something amiss, Mama?”
“No. It is just that we have turned away Henry Willingham and George Halbury again. Holmes assures me that they, like the rest of our kind neighbors, have no real expectation of being received and are only paying their respects. However, I do believe we can now begin considering who we will receive for a brief visit in the next day or two.”
“Oh good,” Deirdre said enthusiastically, “it will be so nice to have some company.”
Marina shot her sister a look, but decided it was not worth chiding her.
“We must be careful,” Mama continued, “because I would not wish to give the impression that our household is completely back to normal.”
“I agree, Mama.”
“We will continue receiving Vicar and Mrs. Ralston every few days. And I think Major Fielding in the next few days; sporting talk will no doubt cheer your Papa.”
Mama tapped her chin, continuing to consider for a moment. “I think Mrs. Birtwistle, too. She has arrived every other day, and written such kind notes, as well. Holmes tells me that all she has done is convey her regards and never once tried to pump him for information.”
“Definitely Mrs. Birtwistle. But what about the Willinghams, the Hollings, and the Tundales?” Marina asked.
“Well, that certainly is a delicate matter, because if we admit one, we must admit all. And frankly, we are not up to entertaining on such a broad scale.”
“I agree,” Marina said. She did not say so, but she had no desire at all to receive Henry or George anytime soon. The terror of nearly losing her Papa was still too fresh to now easily make light conversation with her suitors.
Lord Cortland came to her thoughts. She had not seen him since she had cried her heart on his shoulder and she wondered if he was even still a houseguest at Ridgeton Abbey. After all, the sporting season was all but over, and he had his own vast estate to deal with, and the coming Season.
There was no reason at all for him to still be in Parsley Hay. None at all. What did she expect? No matter how she scolded herself, she could not rid herself of this sad feeling every time she thought of the vexing Marquis.
“What about everyone at Ridgeton Abbey?” Deirdre was looking disappointed at the limited number of callers their mother intended to receive.
“As kind and attentive as everyone from the Abbey has been, our friendship is so new, I believe it best we limit our guests to the ones I mentioned. However, I think that tomorrow the two of you should attend services.”
“Oh, lovely!”
“And when did you become so fond of church?” Marina kept the tease light, because she had to own that an excursion beyond the gates of Buck Hill did hold a good deal of appeal.
***
The next morning, Marina and Deirdre, accompanied by Marina’s maid and Jimmy the groom, arrived at church only a moment or tw
o before the Vicar took the pulpit.
Quickly, she and Deirdre moved up the aisle, skirts swishing softly, to the family pew, nodding and smiling to friends and neighbors who looked surprised and happy to see them.
Settling in, Marina lifted her eyes to the beautiful arched and buttressed ceiling, and poured out her gratitude for Papa’s life. Soon, she felt the weeks of fear and anxiety lift from her shoulders and she began to relax, allowing the Vicar’s deep voice to wash over her without paying close attention to the words.
Having been stressed yet idle for so long, Marina found her thoughts wandering. Discreetly, she gazed around the crowded pews to see who was in attendance. The Willinghams and the Hollings sat in their usual pews, but she did not see Henry. Major Fielding and Mrs. Birtwistle were there as well, but not their cousin, George Halbury. Marina had so appreciated the notes Mrs. Birtwistle had sent over, they were by far the most sensitive and supportive of the missives they’d received in the wake of Papa’s horrific accident.
Her gaze shifted to the ladies of Ridgeton Abbey. Lady Darley looked regal in her green-and-slate – gray-striped ensemble. Lady Meredith, her profile a feminine version of her nephew’s, sat next to Lady Darley with Eugenia Brandon next to her.
Upon entering the nave, Miss Brandon had sent her such a warm smile, Marina could well believe that she was over her shock and depression at Sefton’s betrayal, and was glad of it.
Goodness, had it only been a month or so ago when she’d been so taken by Sefton’s questionable charms? It truly did not seem possible. Shifting slightly to get a better view of the rest of the congregation, Marina looked for Mr. Sefton’s fair head and was more than pleased that she did not find it. Nor did she see Mr. Penhurst, Mr. Fairdale, or Lord Cortland.
She almost smiled, owning how stunned she’d be to see Lord Cortland attending services in the first place.
Deirdre’s very faint gasp and stiffening posture brought Marina’s attention back to the Vicar, standing at the raised and ornately carved lectern.
Rhonda Woodward Page 17
