Averill: Historical Romance (The Brocade Collection, Book 3)

by Jackie Ivie

  “Oh, this is so exciting!”

  Averill looked out the window again, watching as their driver circled a fountain at the front of the house. “Instruct the driver to take us to the side door, Mother.”

  “I’ll do no such thing! I am not the painter. You are! I insist on entering Tennison Hall through the front door, as is my right as a titled gentlewoman.”

  Averill sighed. Hortense would never change. She would never acknowledge Averill voluntarily. It shouldn’t matter. And she did owe Lady Limley for making this part of her plan come true.

  She was at Tennison Hall!

  The Hall symbolized wealth and power. It was overwhelming to one who had so little. She wondered why Tenny had left this place. He was the heir to all of this? How could that be boring? It would never be boring to her.

  “We’re here! Finally!” Hortense said in a theatrical tone. “And it took forever. Come along. Don’t tarry, Averill! Come along, now!”

  She was bouncing on the seat as she spoke, each move scooting her closer to the door. Averill cocked an eyebrow at the other woman’s impatience. It was clear how Hortense managed her charade of youth so easily. She acted like a schoolgirl.

  Averill longed to hold back, but had no choice when Hortense was let from the carriage, and turned to wait for her.

  “Come along, Averill. I won’t stand out here like a tradesman, and I can’t gain entrance without you. Yes...yes, bring the babe if you must, but do hurry!”

  Bring the babe if I must? What would she have done with him otherwise? That was a solid reminder. Hortense may be entertaining to a point, but she wasn’t a likable woman. She was vacuous. Inconsiderate. Self-centered. Vain.

  Averill stopped the litany of words before following her mother. She’d already heard as much from Avery’s Islamic wife. None of them were a surprise.

  There was a retinue of servants lining the four wide steps that led to an enormous portal. They all curtsied, one after the other, like a linked chain set in motion at one end. Averill followed Lady Hortense inside. The flagstone entry floor was so highly polished it reflected light off what looked like shields mounted high on the walls. Averill held Andrew closer, as her eyes followed a wall to the ceiling, some three stories above them. There were flags between each shield, in all sorts of colors and symbols. It was awe-inspiring. Jaw-dropping. Frightening.

  “We weren’t expecting guests, Madame.”

  A thin, tall gentleman approached them. Averill wondered if this was the earl.

  “Truly? I am Lady Limley. I’ve brought my artist. Surely your secretary from London spoke about it?”

  “Lady...Linton, did you say?”

  “Limley,” Hortense said between thin lips.

  Averill was too overwhelmed to say anything. This wasn’t how she’d dreamed of arriving. Andrew was fussing, too, for the final stage of the carriage ride hadn’t been conducive to napping, and he was barely three months old. Averill cooed to him as Hortense continued.

  “Just take my card, and offer it to His Lordship. Go ahead. Give it to him, and cease this nonsense. I insist. Go on. Do what you’re paid to do, and stop harassing visiting ladies who have an invite from His Lordship’s London secretary.”

  That wasn’t the earl, but a paid servant?

  Averill’s eyes widened at the realization. She watched the man walk down to the end of the hallway and heard a door open from what sounded a long way away. How right Harvey had been. The owner of this castle would never be allowed to step outside protocol and do the unexpected, such as marry me, she told herself.

  “The uppity way with servants! I tell you, I have never put up with such rudeness before.”

  Hortense sounded upset. And if her mother felt that way, then it must mean something. Averill put her chin up. She was acceptable now. She had to be!

  The sound of the door opening and closing again came to them. Averill watched the same manservant walk toward them with a sinking feeling. She knew they were being turned away. And she didn’t know what to do then. She didn’t know how she was going to find Tenny on her own.

  “My Lady Limwood?”

  “Limley,” Hortense replied with the sharp tone she usually kept hidden.

  “His Lordship will receive you now. You may follow me, please. Leave your bags beside the door.”

  Averill held Andrew close and followed, growing more and more worried. There were several archways leading from either side of the hall. Each one seemed to lead to another hall that resembled the one they were in. Her eyes couldn’t absorb the size of it. Her heart was pounding. Her entire body was shaking. The servant turned and went beneath one of the arches. He opened the first door and announced Hortense loudly.

  “Lady Limley, my lord.”

  Hortense breezed past the man as if she deserved to be there. Averill took a bit longer. The manservant caught her hesitation and smiled slightly. She would’ve returned it if she didn’t think she might burst into tears.

  There was a huge table set with toy-sized soldiers in the middle of the room, green-hued tapestries lining the walls, and two gentlemen sitting at the far end of it. Both looked old, immaculately attired, and bored.

  Averill looked down after the first glance. She followed Hortense around the table, considering how incongruous her best pair of button-up shoes looked on the Aubusson carpet. She was careful not to touch or disturb anything. It helped that Andrew had settled into slumber.

  “Thank you for receiving me, my lord.”

  Hortense sank into a deep curtsey. Holding the baby, Averill couldn’t do the same, so she dipped at the knees in a bobbed motion.

  “So. You are Lady Linton.”

  “Limley.”

  “You know, Lady Limley, I am of the opinion that invitations to my home are written on estate stationary that carries the Tennison crest, before being sealed with wax that holds our hereditary seal.”

  “Oh! They sound divine.”

  Averill had stiffened at the rebuke and kept her eyes on the floor beneath her feet. Her mother must be immune as she’d clapped her hands after her reply.

  “That isn’t the point, my dear lady. I am not in the habit of entertaining without an invitation.”

  “And rightly so, my lord. Just look at what might happen.”

  Averill’s mouth tipped slightly. Her mother was either oblivious or a fantastic actress. No wonder Avery had been intrigued.

  “My point, exactly. If you would be so kind as to explain now?”

  “Explain what, my lord?”

  “Your arrival on my doorstep. As well as your lack of invitation.”

  Averill’s heart dropped. She actually felt it.

  “The drive down was long, my lord. I’m quite parched,” Hortense replied. “You’d think a lady would be offered a repast of some sort after such a journey.”

  A heavy sigh came next.

  “It’s perfectly obvious, my lord,” Hortense prattled on. “I am here on the invitation of your lordship’s London secretary. I have brought the painter I sponsor.”

  “Ah. The painter. I see. But whatever possessed you to come personally Lady…Linton?”

  Averill looked up. She knew which man was Tenny’s uncle immediately. He was old, but had perfect posture. His hair was white but parted exactly as his nephew wore it. He looked near the same size. He appeared to have the same nose. Upper lip. Cheekbone structure. Maybe even the same eye color. She watched him take an eyeglass from his pocket and set it in front of one eye. Tenny had told her he was staid and pompous. Those descriptors didn’t seem quite enough at the moment.

  “Limley, my lord. Limley. I believe my husband, Lord Charles, spoke to you of Averill Ben-Masiz? At your club? In London?”

  “Charles Limley? Oh. Yes. I do recollect something of the conversation. The man was insistent that I look at what this Ben-Masiz painter offers. I still fail to comprehend what that has to do with your arrival. At my step. Without notice.”

  “My artist is the best painter
in the British empire, Lord Tennison. The best. I am not about to let such talent travel unaccompanied through the countryside. Why, there could be brigands about. Highwaymen. I shudder to think of the possibilities. I accompanied her for that reason. I should think it obvious.”

  Averill’s eyebrows rose at hearing such praise, even if it was being used to manipulate a situation. Hortense even managed to sound slightly offended.

  “Yes. That does bring up another serious issue, doesn’t it, Lady Limley?”

  “Oh. Please. Call me Hortense. And just what issue would be worrying you now, my lord?”

  “Your artist. It appears it is a young woman. Moreover, a young woman with an infant in tow. I take it you are the artist, young woman?”

  He turned his head and stared at her through his quizzing glass. The glass made his eye look four times larger than it should. He looked ridiculous. Almost funny. Averill looked quickly away before she did something socially unacceptable…like snicker. She wished she had an ornate hat like Hortense to hide behind.

  “Of course this is the artist,” Hortense answered for her.

  “I don’t believe anyone mentioned that your artist was not a…male.”

  The door opened behind them next. The sound seemed to echo through the room. Averill didn’t move. She didn’t dare. She was waiting for the order to toss them all out. And be quick about it.

  “Ah. There you are, Stanley. Excellent. Have the arrangements been seen to?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Stanley was the manservant’s name. He possessed a deferential tone in his voice that he’d failed to use earlier. It didn’t seem possible that Tenny had come from such an environment. He’d seemed so alive. So warm. So loving. So…

  She blinked rapidly. She must be more tired than she suspected.

  “Well. I’ve made arrangements for your stay. All of you. And I look forward to seeing your work, young woman.”

  It was a dismissal. Averill backed from him, his quizzing glass, and the way he managed to look down his nose at her, even from a seated position. The tone of his voice was dull. Derogatory. He didn’t have to put it in words. He was already predisposed to dismiss her work. He wouldn’t be interested in anything she painted.

  And he was terrible. He’d just put Hortense through that interview when he’d already made arrangements for a stay? The man was worse than Tenny had described. It hadn’t seemed possible, but there it was. She told herself it didn’t matter. She was here. At Tennison Hall. Somebody here would know how to contact Tenny. She’d just have to find them.

  She meekly followed Hortense back out to the hall exactly as the manservant was gesturing. He ignored her.

  “Since your visit is a bit of a surprise, Lady Limley, I’ll turn you over to the housekeeper, Missus Greene. Your luggage will be shown to your room shortly. We serve tea at...”

  Averill didn’t hear the rest of Stanley’s words. A young maid had touched her shoulder. It was an indication to follow. Averill didn’t need a second tap. She’d known not to use the front door. The maid took her to another hall, down the length of it and into another hall, and then another, each one growing a bit more dim, a bit less ornate. She sensed where she was going. To the entrance she should have used. She felt like she was growing smaller. She hugged Andrew to her tightly enough he wriggled and almost awoke.

  “We wasn’t expecting a baby, Missus.”

  They’d finally arrived at an area that felt like a lobby of some kind. Averill suspected it was where they dealt with tradesmen and servants, and the like. The entire area looked and felt different, from the dark beams bisecting the ceiling a few feet above their heads, to the lack of ornamentation on the walls.

  “I hope the room we’ve readied will be sufficient.”

  “There won’t be any problem,” Averill replied. “I tend my own child. We’ll try not to be any trouble.”

  The maid led the way up a narrow staircase next, one floor, and then another. On the third landing, she turned, walking past a row of plain wooden doors to open the one at the end. Averill got the first look at her new quarters. She appeared to be in one of the oldest sections of the castle. The walls were of stone. She had a window, but it was small and recessed so far into the wall, she didn’t think the glass was reachable. The room contained a chair. Wardrobe. Wash stand with ewer, bowl, and towel rack. A screen stood beside the wash stand. It had probably graced one of the state bedrooms at one point. It was made of ornately carved wood with a red velvet inner section that had faded to a sunset hue of oranges toward the center. The bed was box-shaped and larger than she’d expected. There looked to be storage drawers built into the base of it. Three sconces were mounted in the walls to hold torches. A woven rug was placed in the center of the floor, trying vainly to make the space look warm and welcoming.

  The maid asked Averill if it would be satisfactory. She didn’t wait for Averill’s nod before she left, closing the door sharply behind her. Averill smirked. The entire episode was to put her firmly in her place. She understood it. She didn’t belong at Tennison Hall. She didn’t even belong in a third story room. She walked over to the chair and sat, looking about, while subconsciously rocking her baby.

  Her impression of Tennison Hall had certainly changed. The castle had seemed so beautiful. So stately. So warm and wonderful. Now, it was cold. Mean-spirited. Overwhelmingly ostentatious. The Hall seemed to suck her breath away. She almost considered leaving, but she didn’t know where she was, and how to find her way back. And she was here. Tenny was closer than ever. Nothing else mattered.

  She hoped they’d take care with her painting supplies and her portrait carrier when they brought her things. She should’ve left instruction.

  No. She should have had Lady Hortense Limley do it.

  Her trunk was brought up to her, and later, some dinner. When she lifted the cover, she was surprised at such a display of food. For someone hovering in the netherworld between servant class and nobility, it was stunning. They’d sent up two of everything. Two plates held slices of beef and a visual array of carrots and greens, two small loaves of fragrant bread. Two pats of butter. A small teapot with two cups. Averill smiled and shook her head. They were feeding two. Someone had forgotten to mention one was a small babe, or no one cared enough to check.

  Eventually, she went to bed. It was a waste of oil to stay up later, and she instinctively knew she had a big day ahead of her. She snuggled into the amazingly comfortable bed, pulled the quilts to her chin, and held little Andrew close.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “You say you have no formal training,” the earl said, “yet Lady Limley gushes praise. I suppose you may show us what you’ve brought.”

  Averill turned quickly to hide any reaction. He was actually worse than any foreigner she’d observed in the marketplace. She pulled out the portraits of Charles and Lady Hampton and let the earl and the countess examine them.

  “These are very good,” the earl said. “This is that Hampton woman. Isn’t it?” He lifted his glass toward his wife, who nodded.

  Averill nearly snorted. The woman seemed half-blind.

  “Is this all, then?” he asked in a bored tone.

  I have to be good enough, she thought fiercely.

  She pulled out the portrait of her mother and set it before them. A glimmer of interest showed on the earl’s face. She’d painted Hortense against dark wood tones, bringing out the beauty of her hair, but also highlighting the scheming look in her eyes. Hortense wasn’t pleased with it.

  “Why, it’s Lady Limley! I can’t imagine a better rendition. You caught a certain look on her face, too. You’re very good, young lady. Very good.”

  He gazed at Averill through his glass, and she caught the giggle. It still made his eye seem huge and his face lopsided.

  “Have you any others, or perhaps, a recommendation? I have several artists to choose from, you know.”

  This isn’t enough?

  Averill stifled what felt like
panic settling into her lower belly, took a deep breath that lifted her shoulders, and wondered how Hortense managed to act so unaffected. And furthermore, why she didn’t appear to have inherited one bit of that talent. She cleared her throat. The first words were still shaky-sounding.

  “I’ve…p-painted several portraits of the nobility in Venice last year. I did members of the Dachon family, the Marchese Antonio Dilan-Fiorri, as well as his grandmother. I was much in demand, I assure you.”

  “Come with me, young lady.”

  He stood and gestured for her to follow him. She longed to shrink back. She kept her eyes on the flagstone floor, trying to ease her anxiety. It was so important that she stay, at least until she found out where Tenny was! She wondered what she’d done wrong.

  “This is my nephew’s study.”

  Oh, dear Lord!

  She forced her feet to continue moving. She followed him into another large room. Books lined the walls. There were crimson drapes, a circular desk in the center, and a large, overstuffed chair. Averill took one trembling breath after another, while her eyes stung with tears that she daren’t shed.

  “My nephew brought this back from Venice,” the earl was saying. “I never saw anything to compare it to. Now that I think on it, he mentioned that a girl painted it.”

  The earl moved to the side and Averill could see now what he referred to.

  It’s the knight!

  Shock hit first with the force of a blow. It was followed with such a flood of emotion, it felt like a whoosh from a fire receiving a huge influx of air. Tears overflowed, making it difficult to see. She swiped at them quickly. Surreptitiously. Hoping the earl wouldn’t notice.

  The knight picture dominated the room, taking up an entire wall panel. She’d known the canvas was enormous when she chose it. The setting couldn’t be more perfect, with the deep-red drapes and dark wood. Someone had framed it in gold leaf, and that only amplified the effect.