At least, when she was here, the servants treated her differently. Once they had discovered what she did, they had begun, very quietly, to bring her herbs and healing plants from their own gardens in the village or from the woodland paths. They came, also, to seek out tisanes and medicines for their families, which she was glad to provide to them.
It gave her hope for the future, to know that the servants regarded her well, that they only refused to obey in the House because of their fear of the Dowager Countess. She simply had to be something that she had never, ever, been good at – patient.
Chapter Three
Maria had learnt to be sure to be in the parlour at the time when mail might reasonably be expected to arrive. That way, if there were letters for her, she could get them from the footman, before the Dowager Countess knew they had arrived. In this small thing, the servants helped her, also waiting for moments when the Dowager was in another part of the house before placing the mail on the tray.
Weeks and weeks had gone by, with little change, and only a few letters – her mother was still very caught up with the Season, and Nerissa’s unexpected success. Maria’s life in Myniard House was a dreary round of painful dinners, and days spent avoiding her mother-in-law. Each time that she sat in the parlour, embroidering yet another useless item, she wanted desperately to be elsewhere, but she needed to be there at times other than when the mail arrived, if her subterfuge was to continue to be successful.
This day, however, was one when there was hope of mail. So, she sat, embroidering a rose on a handkerchief.
Her experience here had made her begin to understand Nerissa’s dislike of pursuits which were ‘officially ladylike’ and to share her delight in escaping to the woods - dirt and grass stains notwithstanding.
There was a tap on the door. It opened carefully, and, when the footman was sure that she was alone, he stepped in, and, bowing, presented a letter. She took it, her heart beating a little faster at the thought of word from her family and friends. She tucked it into her embroidery basket, and calmly took herself up to her rooms, where she could lock the door, and guarantee herself some privacy to read it.
Once the door was locked, she settled into the chair beneath the window, both for better light to read, and to take advantage of the spring sunshine. Her hands shook a little as she broke the seal – it shocked her that she was reduced to this – where something as simple as her mother’s ramblings in a letter were precious enough to set her shaking.
She read it through, shaking her head in disbelief at what she read, then read it again. Once she had finished, she allowed it to drop to her lap, unregarded, as a tumultuous cascade of emotions ran through her - joy, sadness, envy, bitterness, relief, and a sense of unreality.
Her sister, Nerissa, was to marry, and soon. She was to marry their neighbour, Hunter Barrington, Duke of Melton, improbable as that might have seemed only a few short weeks ago. Maria laughed, a shrill, self-mocking sound.
“Oh, dear sister, you do not know how lucky you are! To marry the man you have loved since you were ten years old! I only hope that he comes to love you.”
Her words echoed in the empty room, and she heard the bitterness in her own voice. She sounded as harsh as the Dowager Countess. That fact horrified her, and brought her to silence.
She stared out the window, across the gardens and fields to the forested hills, acknowledging the beauty of this place that imprisoned her, and wore away at her soul. She envied her sister. And that thought made her laugh again. All her life, Maria had been the favoured child, and Nerissa the disregarded one, the hoyden who was ever in their mother’s bad books. Now, somehow, Nerissa had changed, had bloomed into a beautiful woman, who was the toast of the Season. Maria sat here, married, and miserable, more disregarded and looked down upon every day than Nerissa ever had been. The irony of it all was not lost on her.
Only one thing stood out in that moment as worthy of relief, and of joy, apart from the fact that her sister would have a chance at true happiness - Nerissa’s wedding was a chance to escape Myniard House, for a month, or maybe longer, if she was lucky. For her mother’s letter asked that she and Edmund come to London as soon as possible, and stay as long as they might, to help with the preparations, attend the wedding, and spend some time with her family.
It was a request that Edmund could not, would not, refuse, and it was also one which did not include his mother, nor could it be twisted to do so. This evening, she would be happy to go down to dinner, for the first time since she had arrived in this house. For she could tell Edmund of it, in a situation where he could not avoid dealing with it, nor would he be able to refuse her.
~~~~~
Maria settled into her place at the dinner table, bringing as much grace as possible to her movements. She had actually bothered to dress her best, and was amused to see the irritated gleam in the Dowager’s eyes, in response to Maria’s composure. Edmund looked at her appreciatively, and she smiled at him, ignoring the Dowager’s expression.
“Good evening.”
“No better than any other.”
The Dowager’s voice was harsh, as usual.
“Err, yes, it is.”
Edmund at least tried, caught between wishing to please both his mother and his wife. They dropped back into silence as the first course was served. Maria made herself eat, imagining it Nerissa’s wedding breakfast, to blot out her actual surroundings. Once that course had been removed, she waited for her chance to speak, simply listening to the Dowager holding forth about the behaviour of people in the district.
“Really, some people have no sense of what is proper! Lady Fremont still insists on climbing that rickety stair on the old Norman tower in her grounds, to sit in the cold night air, staring at stars through that contraption of hers. It’s a wonder she hasn’t caught her death of cold. What kind of example is that, I ask you, for the young women of the district?”
“I don’t know mother. She has always seemed rather harmless to me, if somewhat eccentric.”
The Dowager sniffed, glaring at him down her nose.
“Just like a man! You should pay more attention to people. Take Lady Millicent, for example. You won’t find a more delightful, biddable, and correct young lady anywhere. I still think you should have married her.”
The Dowager glowered at Maria as she said this, her resentment of Maria’s existence palpable. Edmund, miraculously, managed to raise the courage to answer her, and Maria had to force herself not to gape at him as he spoke.
“Now mother, let’s not speak of that again. I didn’t marry her. I married Maria, instead. And I am happy with that.”
“Well I’m not! Useless, self-important, interfering piece that she is.”
Maria’s patience snapped, unwise as that might be.
“Lady Wollstonefort, I am right here. I do not appreciate your words. Surely it is your son’s right to choose his own wife. And, regardless, what’s done is done. We are married, for good or ill.”
Her heart beat hard, and her palms became so damp that she laid her utensils down, for fear that she would drop them.
“For ill, if you ask me. And now I have to tolerate you, in my home. You’ll drive me to an early grave!”
Whilst Maria, even if it was most unchristian of her, had a moment of considering that Lady Wollstonefort in an early grave might be better for everyone, she pushed that thought aside, and took the chance that the rest of the sentence had provided her.
“Actually, for a few months at least, you won’t have to tolerate me in this house. I received a letter today. My sister is to marry in a short time, and my mother asks that Edmund and I come to London to assist and attend. It would be most inappropriate and ill-mannered if we did not go, wouldn’t it, Edmund?”
Edmund looked at her, startled, as if she had somehow changed before his eyes. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable under his mother’s angry glare. Maria smiled at him, her heart in her throat, yet determined to succeed. He swallowed, hard,
then nodded.
~~~~~
Edmund was almost ready to get the repairs to the Dower House under way. He had identified the best tradesman to do the work, and was now trying to decide what to have done first, having spent the day on that, he had been in a fairly good mood when he entered the dining room, and Maria’s prettiness and careful appearance had added to that good mood.
A mood which had very rapidly been shattered by his mother. Now that he had admitted, to himself, that his mother was not perfect in everything, her failings were glaringly obvious. He wondered how he had spent so many years accepting them.
She was in fine form this evening, treating Maria as if she was simply not there, and being unpardonably rude to her. He had tried to divert his mother from her path of cruel comments, but had, as usual, failed. Then Maria had shocked him, utterly.
Not only had she just spoken against his mother, but she had just left him in a position where he had no choice but to agree to a trip to London, much to his mother’s displeasure. He nodded.
“Err, it would. We must go, as your mother requests, Maria. A sister’s wedding is no small thing. I will arrange it.”
“Thank you, Edmund. Will we be able to leave the day after tomorrow? It is a long journey, and I wish to reach my family as soon as possible.”
Edmund shifted in his seat, trapped. If they left that soon, the Dower House would have to wait, for he did not trust any of the servants here to carry out his requests, unless he was present to help them avoid his mother’s wrath. Yet… it did appeal – not London, as such, he rather hated London – but a month or two, away from here, with Maria, and without his mother. Perhaps there was hope for their relationship, in London?
“Of course. I am certain that can be achieved.”
Maria rewarded him with a bright smile, which reminded him of why he had been so taken with her to begin with, and his mother rewarded him with a glare which, had looks been daggers, would have seen him dead on the floor.
~~~~~
“Thank you, Edmund.”
Maria actually ate the rest of her dinner with enthusiasm, for the first time in weeks.
Even though the atmosphere in the room was icy, and everyone was uncomfortable, none of that mattered. All that mattered was that she would leave here in two days’ time, and not be back for two months, at least.
~~~~~
That evening, as the dusk turned to dark, Lady Arabella Fremont climbed the rather precarious stairs of the old Norman tower on her property, to the rooftop area where her telescope waited. She shivered a little at the odd thumping noises from far below, but refused to let anything as insubstantial as a ghost stop her from studying the stars. Well, the stars, and the neighbourhood.
She turned the telescope to the neighbouring properties first. Most were boring, nothing happened but the gardeners and grooms moving about. But on the grounds of Myniard Park, things were more interesting. The crumbling building that was once a Dower House was haunted, she was sure of it. Dark shapes moved in and out of it, this night as many others. She could not see clearly, as the dusk deepened, but odd flickers of light lit its windows, and dark shapes moved in and out, from what looked like a cart – perhaps? Or was it just a shadow from the trees?
She shivered, glad that the more active ghosts were further away. At least the ones below her seemed to reserve their activity to simple thumps and bumps. Turning her telescope to the stars, she settled to more interesting viewing.
Chapter Four
London in Spring was beautiful, even with the smoke and dust – there were flowers everywhere, in gardens and window boxes, and in all of the parks. To Maria, that spring of 1816, it would have been beautiful regardless, because it was not Myniard House.
Wollstonefort House was better – for here she had spent those first few weeks of her marriage, when all had seemed well. She knew it, knew that the staff here would obey her, and that she could relax. She hoped that would be enough to improve things between her and Edmund. The thought of watching her sister marry happily, when her own marriage was still a mess, did not appeal.
She simply collapsed into the armchair in her bedroom, watching as her maid, Annie, unpacked her things. There were beautiful dresses that she might now wear – things that had never left the closet at Myniard House. Annie seemed happy, cheerfully humming a tune as she worked.
“Are you glad to be here Annie?”
“Oh yes, my Lady. I rather prefer London. The household here is… more relaxed… if you don’t mind me saying.”
“I don’t mind at all. You’re just telling the truth. At Myniard House, everyone is on edge, all the time.”
“Yes, exactly, my Lady. Now, what would you like to wear for dinner? I’ll get it ready, then come back to getting everything else set later.”
“The rose gold gown, thank you. It makes the red in my hair stand out. Do you know, when I was a child, my hair was a strong auburn shade? But as I got older, it paled and the blonde took over – now you can barely see the red. My sister is lucky – Nerissa’s hair has always been a light red shade, overlaid on dark gold, and has never changed. It wasn’t popular years ago, but now, it seems, it’s the height of fashion.”
“Oh it is, it is my Lady. To have red gold hair that isn’t orange is most sought after.”
“It seems that my sister has had everything fall into place for her.”
“I’m sure she’ll be a beautiful bride, my Lady.”
“Yes, I’m sure she will.”
Maria closed her eyes and simply rested, while Annie went on with her work. The carriage had been with the Earls of Granville for a few generations – it was a beautiful piece of work, opulent and well fitted out, but, alas, it lacked the more modern type of springs, and was, at best, a rough ride, even on a good road. Her bones felt rattled out of place, and the comfortable chair was wonderful. She drifted into sleep.
~~~~~
The next day, Maria found herself swept up into a whirlwind. What started as a morning visit to her family at Chester House, became visits to the modiste, being dragged into a mass of planning of every aspect of the wedding, and being taken aside by everyone, individually, to be told each of their versions of the rather shocking way in which her sister had come to be betrothed to the Duke of Melton.
She wasn’t sure what to think of it all – but she did find herself believing Nerissa’s version of things, far more than anyone else’s. Nerissa had never been prone to hiding things - well, apart from the books of Kevin’s that she had stolen off with, to teach herself Latin. Nerissa was nervous, unsure if Hunter truly loved her, or was simply marrying her out of obligation. Maria genuinely hoped that he at least cared for Nerissa – she would not wish a marriage like her own on anyone!
It was most odd to see her sister the centre of attention, spoken to by everyone of consequence they met whilst out, and deferred to by many. It was as if their roles in life had been swapped. Maria now had much more sympathy for what Nerissa had gone through, whilst Maria had been the golden child.
By late afternoon, Nerissa had been deposited back at Chester House, exhausted by it all, but Maria was not allowed to rest – her mother demanded that she go with her to Barrington House, to consult with the Duchess, Hunter’s mother.
Maria insisted on a short pause, and a small amount of food before they went. Her mother, it seemed, had far more stamina then she did. Whilst Maria sipped tea, there was a knock on the door – Hunter had arrived to take Nerissa for a drive in the park.
Nerissa, flushed, hurried into the room, her exhaustion forgotten. Maria watched with interest – there was no doubt that her sister loved this man now, even more than she had always loved him. And, Maria thought, Hunter loved Nerissa, even if he did not really know it yet. It was clear in the way that he looked at her, the way he took her hand to greet her.
Maria sighed, deeply envious. She was not sure that Edmund had ever looked at her quite like that. And Hunter was such a fine figure of a man! She rememb
ered, yet again, the fact that Edmund had never cared greatly for his figure, although at least he was a fairly active man. Hunter and Nerissa departed for their drive in the park, barely aware of anyone else around them, and Lady Chester swept Maria up again.
“Time we were on our way. The Duchess is expecting us.”
Soon, they were in a carriage again (blessedly, one with decent springs, given London’s cobbled streets) on their way to Barrington House.
~~~~~
Barrington House proved equally chaotic – Hunter’s mother, who was a skilled organiser, but a little prone to dramatics, and Hunter’s two sisters, greeted them with enthusiasm, and, after providing tea and biscuits, launched into the discussion of the wedding.
“Will our ballroom be big enough for the wedding breakfast? It would be terrible if we could not fit everyone in!”
“Mother, I am sure that it will all work out – if it’s very crowded, you will have simply achieved a crush that any hostess might envy.”
Hunter’s sister Sybilla’s voice held an edge of cynical amusement with the attitudes of the hostesses of the ton. The Duchess appeared to simply ignore the tone and focus on the words.
“Yes, I expect that you’re right, Sybilla. Now. Do we have enough large marble urns to display all of the flowers we’ll need, in the ballroom and elsewhere?”
“Of course we do Mother – they’re stored in the attic, and in the back of the coach house – I arranged their storage after the last Ball you held here, before…”
Maria’s mouth went dry at the sound of that voice. She knew it instantly – it had been ever present in her childhood, sometimes teasing her, but mostly talking to her brother Kevin. She turned slowly, and watched as Charles Barrington, Viscount Wareham, walked into the room.
Charles was three years younger than Hunter, and had once intended to go into the church. The death of both his father, and his eldest brother, whilst Hunter was still at war, had changed that. Now, he managed Hunter’s estates for him, and was, until such time as Hunter might have a son, Hunter’s heir to the dukedom.
Rescuing the Countess: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 13) Page 2
