by Rhianna
When the hour struck, she exited the lavender room and headed for the dining room. To her surprise, she found Desmond Kingsley waiting for her on the balcony. A tall man of twenty-eight, Desmond’s features were distinctly his mother’s, with an aquiline nose that fit his narrow face, and skin unusually rough for his age and station. Rhianna couldn’t say she particularly disliked him, but something about him made her uncomfortable.
“I hope we did not wake you last night,” he stated blandly.
There was no mistaking his meaning. With his words, Desmond Kingsley identified himself as one of last night’s shadows and Rhianna felt her pulse quicken.
Before she could reply, he added, “My cousin, who has been staying with us as of late, is an early riser.”
She made the connection to Pierson quickly. It seemed his departure from the manor had not happened as rapidly as it appeared the previous night, and no wonder. If he had been staying at the manor, and not merely visiting, he must have had bags to pack. Secretly, she wished she had caught a glimpse of the man who escaped in the early morning hours.
Smiling nervously, Rhianna said, “I am sorry I did not chance to meet him. Will he soon return?”
“It is difficult to say. His business was urgent, hence, the early departure. He can always be counted on to leave at a moment’s notice.”
“A lofty attribute, to be sure.”
“To be sure,” echoed Desmond, “so long as it does not interfere with the comfort and rest of others.”
Anxious to end this conversation and be on her way, Rhianna authorized him not to worry. “I thank you for your concern, Lord Kingsley, but it is quite unnecessary, I assure you. My only, brief trouble last night was that of an overly warm fire — nothing an open window could not relieve. In all, my night was comfortably spent.”
This seemed to satisfy him, but Rhianna could not help but feel his intention was to intimidate. Or was he simply concerned with the comfort of a guest? This question made her wonder if she could accuse him of the preceding motive. After all, Soleil had warned her many times of her overactive imagination.
“Are you on your way to dinner?” she asked.
“I will soon join you. Do you know the way?”
“I do.”
“Very well, Miss Braden, I look forward to seeing you shortly.”
Leaving this encounter perplexed, Rhianna chose to believe in Desmond’s innocence and guided herself downstairs to the dining room. Her mind, however, filled with conjecture, was not ready to rest.
Guilford and Lydia Kingsley were already seated with Audra at the long, Chippendale table with its carved, cabriole legs. She was motioned to sit in a chair with a vase-shaped back splat and, though her tight corset made it difficult to sit and breathe at the same time, she took her place beside Audra. Her genuine compliments on the furniture unearthed the knowledge that it had belonged to Guilford’s mother, and though Lydia seemed irritated at the mention of her, he was delighted at Rhianna’s appreciation for the style. An inquiry into his mother’s situation further revealed that she had passed, but Lydia’s sour countenance deterred Rhianna from any additional pursuit of the subject.
Desmond soon after appeared and an elaborate dinner of several courses was served. The first consisted of two main dishes, venison and beef sirloin, accompanied by vegetable pudding, macaroni pie, preserve of olives and larded sweetbreads. It was a spread fit for royalty and appealing in both presentation and taste.
Still, Rhianna recoiled inwardly at dirtying so much of the Kingsley china as the entire company began the meal. This same dilemma tormented her a second time, as the next course of salmon and chicken fricassee, potatoes, almond pudding, and syllabub, bought a new set of china and crystal to sully.
With all the soups, side dishes, and pastries, Rhianna totaled twenty-five plates per course. All was perfection and, at the end of two hours, after consuming many delicacies, Rhianna was certain she could not look at another fruit tart for some time.
Conversation had been light and easy, led mostly by Guilford Kingsley, with occasional whispers from Audra, who apparently had been for some time deprived of a confidant and had many important things to communicate to Rhianna about her doll collection. Rhianna, a very willing listener, expressed her genuine interest and they quickly decided that a viewing of Audra’s display was not only necessary, but should be expeditiously planned.
The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, as did the night. After dinner, Rhianna was invited to cards. She played for a time, though she looked very much forward to removing her corset, as well as escaping the company of Desmond, whose eyes seemed frequently upon her. Exhaustion was settling in from the full day and, as much as she wanted to savor every moment in Kingsley Manor, she took her exit at the earliest opportunity.
• • •
Early the following day, Rhianna expressed her wish to pay her respects to the departed. The barouche was immediately offered to her, though she politely declined. The day was turning out lovely and Rhianna preferred to walk, much to the alarm of Audra, who did not believe in taking any such physical pains to arrive anywhere. She urged Rhianna vehemently to take a horse, insisting that horseback riding could be equally good exercise as walking, as well as refreshing. But this was a solemn occasion that demanded reflection, and Rhianna considered nothing so given to meditation as walking. On such grounds, Audra allowed, albeit unwillingly, that walking might be permissible.
Rhianna also had veiled plans to make another visit — a visit to a place in which no barouche could accompany her. A certain friend had frequented her thoughts over the years. She could not help but wonder if that friend was still living and she was determined to find out as soon as possible.
After breakfast, Rhianna had a letter addressed to Soleil ready for the post. After handing it to Henry and informing a servant of the broken window lock in her room, she departed for the churchyard.
It had been ten years since she had stood before a grave. The last time, it was the grave of the previous owner of her beloved brooch. Now, Rhianna stood before the shared grave of her parents. The ground was still freshly shoveled over where the coffins had been laid and the inscription on their memorial stone was simple. Sheltered by sycamores and elms, the churchyard seemed a scene of peaceful dignity as Rhianna placed the flowers she had picked along the way.
When she cried, it was from the guilt of not crying over her parents’ deaths. Looking to the heavens, she asked forgiveness for her dispassionate emotions. If only they could have but loved her, the way she wanted to love them. If only they had been but kind, she should have mourned them the way a daughter ought to mourn a father and a mother.
But they had not, and she could not. The black of her mourning clothes was all she could give them.
Soon, she found her mind dwelling on the Kingsleys, on the Vallières, on the smaller, unmarked grave beside her parents’ — everything but what lay before her. And each time she caught her thoughts drifting, she chastised herself. Feelings of regret and blame quickly became overbearing. If their treatment toward her had been due, in some way, to an offense on her part, amends could never be made, nor could a new relationship ever be attained. These thoughts were enough to bring her already heavy spirits lower as she mourned what could never be.
• • •
Guided by the stream she followed as a child, Rhianna struggled to lift the heavy folds of her skirt above the wet ground. Even still, though she was cautious with her footing, there was no preventing the bottom of her dress from getting dirty. She hoped, when she returned later to Kingsley Manor, that she would be able to slip into her room to change before anyone noticed.
Traveling along the infrequently trodden, muddy path, Rhianna questioned the reliability of her memory of that dimly lit trail. Once the ivy-covered hunting lodge came into view, though, there was no mistaking it. With mixed feelings of relief and apprehension, Rhianna hastened to the lodge’s door.
Looking around, she fe
lt as though eyes were upon her. And though it was a sensation she had often felt here, Rhianna began to wonder why she had come. After all, even as a guest at Kingsley Manor, she had no permission to be here. As a child, perhaps she could have gotten away with such an intrusion but, as a young woman, was it not outright trespassing? She paused to listen, but heard no movement, aside that of a stiff breeze and an occasional birdsong.
She knocked.
There had been no communication between the two after Rhianna left for Madame Chandelle’s School for Girls and, in those first moments after she’d rapped on the weather-worn, wooden door, Rhianna’s mind raced with unanswered questions. Would anyone be able to answer them if her confidant no longer lived? And, who was this woman, who led so sheltered a life, hidden from the world? Would the mysteries that accompanied her, mysteries that Rhianna had so often dwelt upon, forever be concealed?
Perhaps she had no right to know, but that did not mean she did not wish to. It had become so very personal to Rhianna, almost as if their lives were fully connected with one another so that Rhianna did have a right, more so than anyone. This wonderful woman had especially provided a companionship to the young Rhianna, a maternal-like intimacy, at a time when she was in desperate need of it. Standing before the cherished lodge, Rhianna hoped that she had brought as much friendship to this woman in her lonely hours as Rhianna herself had enjoyed.
At last, all fears were dispelled. The door was opened and the long-lost confidant appeared. Rhianna expected a good deal of excitement, but no such reaction arose. Her appearance still very much resembled the woman Rhianna recalled. In her plain clothing, her braided hair wrapped into a large bun, she looked upon the younger woman instead with distinct bewilderment.
“Young woman, are you lost?” she asked with concern. “Do you need help?”
“You do not recognize me, Mauvreen?” Rhianna said with a smile, immediately recalling that although Mauvreen might appear the same, she certainly did not.
Whether it had been Rhianna’s words, or her manner, it was all that need be said. The expected excitement then overcame Mauvreen. Rhianna could see it in her glassy eyes.
“Dear child!” she exclaimed, her hand pressed to her heart. “Ay, a child no more! Let me look at you — good heavens, I must look up!” After a moment of reflection, she implored, “Is it really you?” Rhianna could no sooner broaden her smile than Mauvreen embraced her. “Oh, but of course it is! I wonder that your red hair did not give it away instantly. Come in!”
A mysterious, middle-aged woman, Mauvreen seemed as much a figment of Rhianna’s imagination as she always had. No one seemed to know she existed, and she had yet to give a clear explanation as to why she resided alone in the hunting lodge.
The lodge, too, seemed an invention of the mind, which had its own secrets, not the least of which was the tombstone for Haldana that sat just outside the kitchen window. And yet, this cabin, overgrown with ivy and situated in the most distant corner of the Kingsley property, was where she had first met Mauvreen, and it was here she had spent her happiest of days.
The natural inquiries immediately ensued of health and so on, and the two took their places by the fire as Mauvreen set a tray of tea on the table before them. Rhianna couldn’t resist a glance toward Mauvreen’s end table where a familiar drawing of a young woman sat encased in an elegant, silver frame. No matter how many times she had looked at it as a child, she never grew tired of it. The young woman, lovely in every respect, was holding a bouquet of roses. What stood out to Rhianna most was her gown — all that lace, all those ribbons! Rhianna wore that dress in her dreams on many a night.
“You always loved that drawing,” Mauvreen said, casting a sideways glance as she poured the hot water.
Rhianna nodded. “I can’t believe I’m here, Mauvreen. I thought I would never see you again.”
“I must admit, I am more than surprised to see you so shortly after your return to England.”
Taking the cup offered to her, Rhianna asked, “Did you already know of my return?” Mauvreen offered her a coy grin. “Your knowledge astounds me, Mauvreen! You must tell me how you hear such things.”
As she spoke the words, Rhianna knew the ever-mysterious Mauvreen would offer her no such information.
“My child,” she answered, “the trees whisper in these woods. One must learn to listen.”
Aware, too, of her parents’ deaths, Mauvreen did not hesitate to comment on the unfortunate events, and on this topic she was most comforting. Rhianna opened up to her even sooner than she expected regarding her own regrets, and Mauvreen was quick to soothe her. Rhianna was soon convinced that the distant relationship was what her parents had wished, and that a young girl in a foreign country could not be expected to maintain a one-sided connection.
A summary of the last ten years of Rhianna’s life was requested and an abbreviated version of this happy tale she was glad to narrate. From the grandeur of her travels through London, to the steamship at the docks of Dover, to her first night at the gothic-styled Madame Chandelle’s, to life with the Vallières, not a crucial detail was left omitted, no major experience wanting to be told. As should be expected, such a recount brought both amusement and seriousness. Humorous stories brought many laughs, whereas significant moments, such as Philippe’s proposal, brought sobriety and thoughtfulness. Mauvreen was glad to know that the brooch she had given her had brought Rhianna happiness and comfort throughout.
“This young man named Philippe,” Mauvreen said, musing, “have you given him an answer?”
“No,” Rhianna said, growing solemn. “It was at that moment Lord Kingsley arrived with news of my parents’ deaths. It would seem his relationship with my father was more than cordial.”
There was no telling which subjects Mauvreen would open up to and there was a good deal Rhianna wanted to know about the Kingsley family. To her surprise, Mauvreen was not entirely silent on the subject.
“I am aware Mr. Braden was a comfort to him when Lord Kingsley was unwell.” With a pause, she added, “I understand he has been more frequently ill.”
This last was said almost as a question, but if such was the case, Rhianna had seen nothing to support her claim.
“If he has, I have not observed it,” she told Mauvreen.
Mauvreen mumbled something about a fever running through Thornton and Rhianna knew better than to try further for particulars. She would sooner receive information from Mauvreen’s whispering trees. Instead, she continued with another line of questioning, determined not to give in to Mauvreen’s efforts at changing the subject altogether.
“What can you tell me of a Mr. Pierson? Is his a familiar name to you?” Rhianna asked.
“Mr. Pierson?” Mauvreen resounded. “In what way do you know of him?”
The whole of Rhianna’s brief experience with him was relayed, from the initial upset his presence invoked in Lord Kingsley, to his mysterious departure early the next morning.
Mauvreen, for her part, listened attentively to these events — so attentively, in fact, that when the account was complete, Rhianna was not sure she could draw Mauvreen out of rumination. When at last she did, Mauvreen did not hesitate to share some passionate thoughts with her young friend.
“It has been some time since I have heard the name,” said she. “Mr. Pierson is Lydia Kingsley’s first cousin by relation. Lord Kingsley banned him from the manor some time ago, actually — not out of concern for his own good reputation only, but in fear of the poor influence Mr. Pierson might have on young Desmond. Of that, I hope I am mistaken when I say, it is likely too late.” Mauvreen continued, “In addition to his gambling problems, Pierson was also heavily in debt and now owes Lord Kingsley a significant sum of money. I declare, if he returned to the manor, I am shocked.”
This was more than Mauvreen had ever said together on such a scandalous topic and Rhianna was shocked nearly speechless by it, not to mention by the details themselves.
“Well, if such is th
e case,” Rhianna told her, “I am glad he is gone.”
“If he returns, Rhianna, I beg you will stay far away from him.”
At the end of all this, Rhianna’s visit had lasted some hours and she knew it was time to return to the Kingsleys. They parted with the promise to meet again, and often, for as long as Rhianna remained in England.
• • •
“Ah, our young guest, come! The men and Audra have gone out. Let us take this opportunity to get to know one another.”
Rhianna could not but reflect how strikingly Desmond took after his mother, not in manner only, but likewise in appearance. They shared the same sunken, piercing eyes, dark complexion, and domineering posture.
Lady Kingsley continued, “The weather is so fine today. I was just about to take a turn through the garden. Will you not join me?”
Despite the amount of walking Rhianna had done earlier, and her filthy skirt, she could hardly decline the opportunity to see more of the Kingsley grounds.
“Certainly,” was Rhianna’s reply, and the lady took her arm in hers.
Lydia Kingsley took pride in the formal gardens, which she proudly guided Rhianna along. “Our gardener, Stowe, is quite the artist. Some years back, the grounds were so overly ornate. I was quite anxious to move away from the formal, French style and what a work he has done! It is natural without being too natural. See how the trellis-covered walk offers the perfect transition to the garden …”
Rhianna was quick to compliment them, followed by the lady’s wish that the visitors who “time and again” expressed their envy over “such beauty” were not so very dissatisfied with their own gardens. As she spoke, Rhianna found humor in such statements, recognizing that Lydia Kingsley was not the sort to regret any such envy her home may have evoked.
“My husband does not view his garden as seriously as he ought,” she went on, “but that is where I take pride in our thirty-year union. I feel I quite complement him where he is lacking — and vice versa, naturally. Appearance is so very important when one is as visible in society as he is, you see. We could hardly go on with an unsuitable garden.”
