by James, Syrie
“My sentiments exactly.” Madeleine was intrigued to hear him say this. She had never imagined a man like him could understand how she felt, not to mention share a similar conviction. “My mother thinks the idea is completely awful and the entire enterprise a waste of time. Worse yet, it embarrasses her, because society looks down on women authors.”
“Society can be brutal. Its rules are often limiting and shortsighted. And parents do not always understand the wants and needs of their children.”
Again, she suspected a deeper meaning behind his words. She was trying to phrase a proper reply, but lost her chance when he pulled out his pocket watch and gestured in the direction of the house.
“We had best get on. I was on my way to the house for tea. Mother is a stickler for teatime, and we are already ten minutes late.”
“Are we? Oh dear.” They began walking together down the path. “Where were you coming from?”
He hesitated, then said, “The stables. I was visiting a tenant.”
Something about the way he said it made her think he was being less than candid. There was something else about their circumstances—the way he’d looked when she first caught sight of him—that suddenly didn’t feel right. But she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Nodding toward the basket she carried, he went on, “I suggest you give that to Woodson when we get back.”
“Isn’t that rather out of his job description?”
“Woodson considers everything to be in his job description. If anyone can save those wet pages for you, he can.”
“But I wouldn’t want anyone to know about this. Or to read my notes.”
“Woodson is the soul of discretion.”
She nodded. “All right then.”
The path that led through the manicured flower gardens was just wide enough for two. As they walked along, Madeleine was suddenly, disconcertingly, aware of Saunders’s proximity. Aware of his pleasant, masculine scent. She had a strong urge to inhale deeply, to see if she could identify the name of the woodsy cologne he wore.
Stop it, Madeleine.
Yesterday, she had struggled at the very idea of sharing a carriage with this man. Today, she’d been staring at his hands like a schoolgirl, and wondering how his skin smelled. It was ridiculous. It wasn’t right or proper. The man was going to marry Lady Sophie.
And she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him at all. She was supposed to be thinking about Lord Oakley.
“There you are, at last,” Lady Trevelyan called out, as Madeleine and Lord Saunders crossed the saloon to where she and Lady Sophie were seated.
Woodson had been only too happy to take over the project of drying out Madeleine’s notes, promising to return them intact and freshly pressed the next morning. Madeleine and Saunders had then hurried in to tea, apologizing for their tardiness.
“I ran into Miss Atherton in the garden,” Saunders explained, “and we became so engaged in a conversation about literature, we forgot the time. You are looking well, Mother. Is Father coming down?”
“I believe so,” was Lady Trevelyan’s cheerful reply.
Madeleine greeted her hostess and Lady Sophie, then sat down. Saunders bowed and kissed Lady Sophie’s hand. “I trust you had a pleasant day, Sophie?”
“I did, thank you.” Sophie smiled, her eyes fixed on his.
“Woodson, you may pour now,” Lady Trevelyan directed.
As Lord Saunders took a seat nearby, Woodson poured tea and a footman served poppy-seed cake and scones. Madeleine couldn’t help but murmur her delight as she bit into a scone, which was light, fluffy, and delicious, complemented to perfection by its toppings of sweet butter, cream, and strawberry jam.
Saunders glanced her way in amusement. “I see you enjoy our Cornish tea, Miss Atherton?”
“Oh yes,” Madeleine admitted, “I adore it.”
A few minutes later, to Madeleine’s further delight, Lady Trevelyan’s daughters entered the room. They were accompanied by a plump, fortyish woman, whom Madeleine presumed to be their governess. The woman silently curtsied to Lady Trevelyan and Lord Saunders before leaving.
The Grayson girls were both brunettes, like their mother and brother, and wore frocks that were the height of fashion. In other respects, they were a study in contrasts. Helen stood silently to one side with clasped hands and hooded eyes, darting only the merest glimpse at the occupants of the room, as if she were determined to appear grown-up, even though she was just fifteen.
Anna, who Madeleine recalled was eleven years old, bubbled over with enthusiasm. She rushed straight up to Lord Saunders, who leapt to his feet as they embraced. “Charles! I am so glad you are home! Why were you away so long? We missed you terribly!”
“I missed you as well, Anna,” Lord Saunders said, chuckling, then added, “Hello, Helen. How are you?”
Helen remained where she stood and uttered a brief “Hello.”
“How is my favorite youngest sister?” Saunders asked, eyeing Anna warmly.
“I am fine! Have you heard? Mama is talking about holding a birthday ball!” To her mother, she went on effusively, “You are going to have the ball, aren’t you Mama? And it will be a fancy dress ball, the way you have always wanted?”
“We shall see,” Lady Trevelyan replied. “It all depends on how your father is feeling.”
“Well then he must get better very soon!” Anna noticed Madeleine now, and crossed to her with a friendly smile. “Hello. Miss Berry said we had a visitor. I think we have met before, but I have forgotten when. Who are you again?”
Madeleine laughed and reintroduced herself.
“Oh yes! I remember now. You were at the wedding at Polperran House last autumn. You are from America.”
“I am,” Madeleine concurred. “It is lovely to see you again, Lady Anna. And you, Lady Helen.”
Helen said nothing.
“I would love to go to America.” Anna sighed.
“Maybe you will one day.” Madeleine gave her a smile.
Anna skipped back to her brother and cried: “So, Charles! What have you brought us from London?”
“Ah. So you are only happy to see me if I brought you a gift?”
“No,” Anna replied sweetly, “but you did promise us a gift from town upon your return.”
“So I did. And I never break my word.” Saunders reached into his coat pocket and withdrew two small packages, each about the size of a playing card, which were wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, and inscribed with his sisters’ names. He handed one to each.
Anna caught her breath in excitement. “May we open them now?”
Even Helen had a hint of eagerness in her eyes.
“Wait a moment. I have two more to distribute.” From his other pocket, he withdrew two similar packages, and gave one to his mother.
“Charles! What is the occasion?” Lady Trevelyan asked.
“No occasion. I simply hoped to make you smile.” Giving the last package to Lady Sophie, he added, “I thought to give this to you the next time I saw you. It appears to be that time.”
“Thank you, Charles.”
To Madeleine, he added: “Forgive me for leaving you out, Miss Atherton. I had no idea you would be here.”
Madeleine waved off his apology with a laugh. “Don’t give it another thought.”
“Now?” Anna asked, nearly bursting with anticipation.
“Yes, now,” Saunders replied.
All four ladies simultaneously ripped off the paper and string from their gifts, to reveal decorative hairpins fashioned out of shiny copper wire, and embellished with tiny stones.
“Oh,” Lady Sophie murmured. “How lovely.”
“They’re all different,” Helen noted with delight.
“Mine is a bird!” Anna cried. “Charles, did you make—” She stopped herself, glancing at Lady Sophie and Madeleine before turning her gaze on her brother, as if unsure whether to finish her sentence.
“How thoughtful, Charles,” Lady Trev
elyan intervened quickly. “Where ever did you find these?” There was something odd about her expression and tone as she said it.
“From an artisan at a street market,” he replied smoothly.
Helen and Anna were staring at the floor. Something felt off—but what? Lady Sophie was the only one who was acting normal.
“Thank you, dear,” Her Ladyship announced cheerfully, studying the hairpins. “You know us so well. A robin for Anna, a flower for Helen, and a tree branch for me. What does yours have, Sophie?”
“A butterfly,” Lady Sophie answered with pleasure.
“Thank you!” his sisters said in unison, giving him a hug, which he returned with warmth. Lady Trevelyan and Lady Sophie expressed their thanks with grateful smiles and pecks on his cheek.
“You are most welcome.” Saunders’s face glowed under their praise as he reseated himself.
“Isn’t it lovely?” Anna said, bringing her hairpin over to Madeleine to admire.
“It’s truly exquisite,” Madeleine observed. The copper hairpin was clearly handmade, by someone who was highly skilled at working with metal wire.
She considered the strange mood in the room, when Anna had asked her aborted question. It was almost as if Lord Saunders had made these lovely hairpins himself, and everyone but Lady Sophie knew it—but the others were determined to hide it. Why?
Before she could wonder about this further, a deep male voice called out, “Here I am! What have I missed?”
Lord Trevelyan, seated in a wheelchair with a blanket over his legs, was being pushed into the room by a nurse. He looked pale and gaunt, but nevertheless was smiling.
Lady Sophie instantly rose and glided over to him. “Hello, Uncle George. How are you feeling?”
“Been better, thank you, lambkin.” Catching sight of Madeleine, Lord Trevelyan motioned for the nurse to wheel him in that direction. “Who is this, now?”
“I told you, dear,” Lady Trevelyan replied, “it is Lord Longford’s sister-in-law, Miss Madeleine Atherton. She has come to stay for a few days.”
“Ah, yes. The American, come over for the Season.” The wheelchair stopped before her. Lord Trevelyan eyed Madeleine up and down beneath bushy gray eyebrows.
“Your Lordship. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
Lord Trevelyan returned Madeleine’s firm handshake. “What is this I hear? You have snagged the Marquess of Oakley?”
Madeleine laughed lightly. “He has made me an offer. I have not yet accepted.”
“What are you waiting for? I know his father, the Duke of Courtenay. Capital fellow. Their estate in Sussex has lovely woods.”
Why, Madeleine wondered, was everyone always talking about their woods? She was searching for a reply, when Lord Trevelyan noticed Anna struggling to hide something in the folds of her skirts.
“What have you got there, Anna?” he asked.
Anna blushed scarlet and held up the hairpin. “It is . . . a gift from Charles.”
“Really. Let me see it.” Lord Trevelyan gestured for the girl to bring it over. Anna hesitantly gave him the hairpin. As he studied it, his eyes darkened. He turned to Lord Saunders. “Where did this come from, Charles?”
Lord Saunders looked his father directly in the eye. “London.”
“Is that so? Why, then, does it have such an uncanny resemblance to the kind of thing you used to make yourself?” Lord Trevelyan’s voice dripped with disdain.
Aha, Madeleine thought.
“George,” Lady Trevelyan admonished, “you know Charles has not made anything for years.”
“I would wager he made this. How many others are there? Did he make one for all of you?”
Lady Trevelyan frowned. Helen held her hairpin behind her back. Lady Sophie looked confused and uncomfortable.
“Do not spoil a nice moment, George,” Lady Trevelyan insisted softly. “The hairpins were a lovely gesture on Charles’s part. I am certain he bought them, just as he says. Where on earth would he make such things, anyway?”
“He could find a way.” To his son, Lord Trevelyan added, his ire rising, “Do you swear you did not make these?”
“How could I?” Saunders replied calmly, but his eyes were like flint. “You destroyed my workshop years ago.”
“And I would do so again in a heartbeat! We are Graysons! We do not make things! That is an occupation for tradesmen!”
“So you have said, on occasions too numerous to count. Sir.”
Madeleine felt bad for the ladies, who now seemed to feel guilty about the treasures they held. She felt even worse for Lord Saunders, whose body looked to be coiled with tension. If he really had made the hairpins, his reason for wishing it to remain a secret was now obvious. And his earlier comment was made even more clear:
Parents do not always understand the wants and needs of their children.
“Five generations in this house!” Lord Trevelyan was shouting, his face growing redder by the second. “I will not abide useless tinkering! Far beneath your station! Never again do I wish to see—”
Suddenly, Lord Trevelyan’s facial features seemed to freeze. At the same time, the rest of his body began to twitch violently.
Madeleine gasped in shock as His Lordship fell sideways from his chair and tumbled heavily to the floor.
Chapter Seven
The clock ticked in the silent room. Every nerve in Charles’s body felt as if it were on edge.
Dr. Hancock had been upstairs with his father for more than half an hour. The girls had been sent back up to the nursery. His mother and Sophie were focused on their embroidery, while Miss Atherton sat quietly, appearing to be lost in thought.
Was his father alive or dead? Charles hoped and prayed that it was the former.
And not just because, if his father passed away, all the responsibility for the estate would fall on Charles’s shoulders. He could handle it if he had to—all the endless meetings, papers to sign, issues at the mine and outlying farms—even if it meant little or no time for the work he craved.
He didn’t want the bastard to die because the bastard wasn’t ready to go. I hoped for another good twenty years at least, his father had said. The man had a great zest for life. He might never understand his eldest son, but he made a damn fine marquess. The rest of the family adored him, and the tenants practically worshipped him. No man should be taken before his time.
Thank God they had a good medical man.
Although Dr. William Hancock was new to the parish, and young—he could not be a day over thirty—Charles liked and trusted him. So did his mother, which was all that mattered, really. With his dark hair and piercing eyes, Hancock exuded an air of calm capability and intelligence that Charles admired. He was a gentleman, the eldest son of a well-to-do landowner. He had trained in Edinburgh with the world’s best and liked to keep abreast of everything new in medicine. If anyone could help his father, Charles believed it was Dr. Hancock.
Footsteps resounded in the corridor and Charles leapt to his feet. The ladies all looked up anxiously as Dr. Hancock strode into the room.
“Doctor?” Charles’s mother cried. “Is he—?”
“I believe His Lordship suffered a seizure,” Dr. Hancock announced. “I examined him thoroughly, and from what I can tell, it does not seem to have done any serious damage. I gave him a sedative, and he is resting comfortably.”
Charles’s mother let out a sigh of relief and sank back down onto the sofa. “Thank God it is no worse.”
“What caused the seizure?” Charles inquired.
“It is hard to say,” Dr. Hancock replied.
“Could it have been something he ate?” Lady Trevelyan asked. “It is so often after eating that Lord Trevelyan feels particularly ill.”
“That is a concern,” Dr. Hancock agreed, “but indigestion does not cause seizures. It could be any number of other things. I understand he was quite agitated at the time?”
With a flicker of guilt, Charles nodded. “He was.”
“Well, then,” Dr. Hancock responded.
“My uncle will be all right, won’t he?” Sophie said, worried.
Hancock’s eyes met Sophie’s and he hesitated, his brow furrowing. “I do not wish to give anyone false hope, Lady Sophie. In truth, Lord Trevelyan has had a wide array of symptoms that do not fit any one known disease. However, rest assured: I am doing everything in my power to help him.”
“Is there anything we can do, Doctor, to make him more comfortable?” Miss Atherton asked.
Dr. Hancock turned to her and held out his hand. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure. I am Dr. William Hancock.”
“Forgive me,” Charles said, quickly making the requisite introductions.
As the two shook hands, the doctor remarked, “Atherton? Are you perchance related to the Countess of Longford?”
“She is my sister,” Miss Atherton answered with a smile.
“I thought I noted a resemblance. How nice to meet you. I am caring for Lady Longford during her confinement.”
“How is she?” Miss Atherton asked. “I understand she’s in Bath at the moment. It seems rather late in her pregnancy to make such a journey. I hope she’s all right?”
“She is perfectly well, in my opinion,” the physician assured her. “The earl, however, insisted on her taking the waters and seeking the advice of a colleague of mine at Bath. There is a direct train to Bath so the trip is only a matter of hours. I would not worry. In answer to your question about His Lordship, he just requires rest at present.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Miss Atherton said.
Charles accompanied the physician to the front of the house, pausing in his study to take a guinea from the box in his desk drawer. After wrapping the money in paper, Charles discreetly set it down on a table in the foyer near the physician’s hand, as per the custom.
Dr. Hancock scooped it up without comment, put it in his pocket, and replaced his hat on his head. They shook hands.
“Thank you for coming so quickly.”
