by Dalia Wright
Your loving and dutiful son,
Will
Mr. Ellcroft was duty bound to follow the lead to a possible heir.
More letters were discovered and as he read them it was clear that Lady Wentworth-Rhodes was decidedly not pleased with the impending birth of a bastard grandchild.
Dearest William,
I will tolerate this disobedience no further. I have requested you return home, and you refuse. I have asked you to discontinue your relations with the woman and her bastard child, and again, you refuse. I will not approve of nor recognize a union in marriage.
This is intolerable behavior, and if you insist on behaving in this manner, I fear I have no choice but to deny you, my son. I shall remove you from the will and my life.
I am not without compassion dear William, but you must understand this is best for all.
Mother
At the bottom of the page, William wrote this reply before sending her back the letter.
“Mother,
I would much rather be a pauper in love then a wealthy man with a broken heart. It saddens me a great deal that you will not bend on this matter. I love you dearly, but I mustn’t return. I will wed Bella, and we will raise our child without your assistance.”
W –
Mr. Ellcroft carried on explaining to Imogen as carefully as he could that her Aunt Nora was not her aunt. It took more grace and patience to explain that before taking her own life, her mother placed Imogen in the care of the Canfield Abbey until a family could be found. The vicar had tried to find her a home. However, his parish was made up of rural farmers that were in no position to take in another mouth to feed.
Neither the vicar nor his wife wished to send her to an orphanage so her home became the small cottage “Aunt Nora” occupied on the grounds. “Aunt Nora” was Nanny to the vicar’s children and took to caring for Imogen when it became sure a family could not be found.
“There you have it, Miss. Rhodes.” He stood and gathered up his cornucopia of documentation. “Or moreover, Lady Rhodes.”
“My goodness,” gasped Mrs. Wharton, “A lady in my parlor.”
“I’m a lady?” she scoffed, “Does this mean I’m rich too?”
Mr. Ellcroft was reminded of the codicil that prevented her from claiming her inheritance until she came of age. “Not entirely. We can discuss that in further detail at another time, perhaps in the carriage on the way to Black Grove Manor and Mr. Braywick.”
Chapter Three
The journey to Black Grove was the furthest north Imogen had voyaged. The trip had consisted of a carriage ride to the law offices of Hill and Hollow where she was joined by her travelling companion Mr. Ellcroft. This was followed by a lengthy train ride in which Mr. Ellcroft had her sign documents as he expounded on her inheritance.
“I understand the issue Mr. Ellcroft,” Imogen started, “but who is Jonathon Braywick and why I must stay with him? It makes no sense to me. I’ve been fine on my own, I don’t need this inheritance. I really don’t want it.” Tears were building; “I want to go home Mr. Ellcroft.”
Mr. Ellcroft struggled for the words to calm her. There were no words to be had. This was a most unusual situation, and he was starting to understand the panic and trepidation Imogen was experiencing.
“Sir Jonathon and your father are cousins, well to be more precise, distant cousins. When we spoke during our investigation, he volunteered to be appointed your guardian. He said he owed that to your father, and that family must stand together. He and I spoke at length about your father and his summers at Black Grove Manor.”
“He and my father were cousins? Wouldn’t he be entitled to my father’s estate seeing as they are related?
“No, my dear. As your father’s daughter and in lieu of a direct male heir, you are entitled to inherit your grandmother’s estate. Sir Jonathon, as I mentioned, is a distant cousin and quite honestly, the only family we could locate. You are quite fortunate for his kindness.” He glanced out the window, “We will be arriving at the station shortly.”
Imogen was getting more nervous with every rock and tilt of the train track as it inched her closer to an uncertain future.
“Is there any way this is a mistake Mr. Ellcroft?”
“No Imogen, I am sure of that fact. Your circumstances have changed significantly, and Sir Jonathon will be able to guide you not only in the social graces but in the governance of property.”
The train pulled into the station as the words came to her. “So am I a prisoner until I turn twenty-one? That’s more than a year from now.”
“Of course not,” he retorted. “If anything you will be a bird in a gilded cage, wanting for nothing. I should think that would be welcome news.”
They were met at their rail car by a smartly tailored coachman who escorted them to their carriage. The interior of the coach was a deep burgundy with gold trim. The fabric was soft and lush. It was a luxury probably taken for granted by its owner.
Mr. Ellcroft stood at the door, “It won’t be long now. The manor is about an hour ride from the station. Good luck, Lady Imogen.”
“You’re not coming with me?”
“I’m afraid not. Our path ends here, for now.”
“You must come to Mr. Ellcroft.” Her eyes wide and imploring him to change his mind, “I won’t know a soul.”
“I will be coming to Black Grove often. As the executor of your grandmother’s estate, we will be seeing much of each other over the coming months.” He waved as the coach pulled on.
The ride was over far too soon. It did not seem like an hour had passed since leaving the train station. The scenery outside her window was idyllic as the train roared past rolling hills punctuated with farms and small villages. Time had flown by as her world became smaller with each mile traversed. She felt faint and distanced from the moment as if she were floating above the carriage watching this happen to someone else. A tap on the door snapped her back, it was the coachman. He opened the door and laid down a step for her to exit the carriage. This was it. Once she took that first step, there would be no turning back. A gloved hand reached up to take hers, “Welcome to Black Grove Manor my Lady.”
Imogen stepped out onto the cobbled drive taking in the beauty of the handsome Tudor-style country house before her. It was a rather large house silhouetted against a green swatch of forest. Red brick walls hidden behind patches of ivy rose up from a cropped lawn and were capped by a gabled roof dotted with chimneys. The front door was sheltered by a pillared canopy and bordered on either side by leaded stained-glass windows. It was unfathomable to her that this would be her home for the time being.
“How many people live here?” she asked innocently.
The footman was caught off guard, “Pardon me, my Lady?”
“How many people live here?
“The master, the staff and you my lady. I believe that makes ten.”
“Ten? You could house an army in there. I fear I’ll get lost.”
“Oh no my Lady, don’t let her scare you. She’s not as tough as she looks. You will be getting around the manor in no time.”
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Imogen was escorted to the library by Godfrey, the butler. He was a tall man with a stern countenance, rigid mannerisms and all together fearsome. She doubted they would ever become friends. She was seated on one of the leather sofas, her hands folded neatly in her lap taking in the wonder around her. The library air was thick with scents. She could detect a hint of pipe smoke mingled with wood burning and the dusty balm of age. Windows with heavy drapes were on one side of the room, on the other, ornately carved bookcases ran up paneled walls adorned with paintings. A large fireplace was in the center of the back wall, its thick carved mantle held up by two stone lions with gaping maws.
The solitude was broken by a parlor maid delivering sandwiches and a tea service. “Excuse me, my Lady, Sir Braywick thought you may be famished from your trip. May I pour your tea?”
“No thank you, but I a
m a little hungry. May I have this one please?” as she pointed to a crust less cucumber sandwich. The parlor maid served Imogen smiling at the lack of her etiquette. She had never heard an employer use the word ‘please’ before.
“Anything else Lady Imogen?”
“No, thank you,” taking a bite out of the sandwich. The maid nodded in return, “Very well. I will come back for the tray shortly,” and disappeared into the hallway. The newness, excitement, and trepidation of the day had taken a toll on her, and she found herself much hungrier than she thought picking up a scone drenched with butter and jam. She bit into it, savoring the sweetness. She had not had a treat like this for some time.
“How was the trip?” his voice was low and oddly comforting though he had just scared her to death. She bolted upright, the scone falling onto the plush carpet. This was not how she imagined they would meet, yet the moment was upon her.
Chapter Four
“Fine,” was all she could blurt out as she spun to face him. Sir Jonathon Braywick, whose name had become strangely familiar, was standing in the doorway of the library. She had imagined him to be older, grayer and portly. That was not the case; he was tall, broad shouldered and looking especially sharp in his tailored suit. He had noble Roman features and dark hair lightly peppered with gray which complimented his stormy eyes and fair skin.
A smile crossed his full lips as he pointed to the corner of his mouth. She instinctively wiped away the spot of the jam with the back of her hand. Jonathon crossed the room, retrieved a linen napkin from the trolley and gave it to her. He could see the redness in her face, “Oh please don’t be embarrassed Imogen. Godfrey is always chastising me for my stained cuffs.” He pointed to his wrist and a spot on his crisp white shirt, “Right there; this morning’s coffee.”
Imogen doubted very much that the poised gentleman before her wiped his mouth with his sleeve but she appreciated the gesture. He motioned to the sofa, “Shall we?”
“Of course, yes sir,” she slid into the corner allowing generous space between them.
“Sir? No, there will be none of that nonsense. I apologize that we were not formally introduced that’s not good manners at all,” he held out his hand, “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Jonathon Braywick, but you may call me Jon or Jonnie if we become good friends.”
“Lovely to meet you, sir,” she smiled nervously, “Forgive me…Jonathon. My name is Imogen Nelson.”
“Well, that’s not quite right. You are now a Rhodes and a Lady.”
“Yes, of course. Then, um, pleased to meet you, Jonathon, my name is Lady Imogen Nelson.”
“There now we have been properly introduced.” He released her hand, “I imagine you must be feeling very overwhelmed. “Would you like tea?” Imogen shook her head.
“Right.” There was a momentary pause, “I suppose we should get acquainted as you are my guest” …he smiled… “and my cousin.”
“You knew my father?” The words flew out of her mouth as she struggled to understand who Jonathon Braywick was to her father.
“Oh yes, your father and I were quite close. I suppose Ellcroft told you he had spent many summers here. His mother, the Baroness, was my father’s cousin. She and the Baron went abroad in the summer and left Will with us.”
“His mother was your father’s cousin? I apologize for asking questions. I’m trying to make sense of it all. It’s happening so fast.”
“No, no Imogen, don’t be sorry.” His eyes softened as he touched her hand. “I want to help in any way that I can.” He stood up and went to the mantle and returned with several framed portraits. He handed her one of two boys sitting on the beach. “That’s me on the right, and that” …he pointed to the towheaded boy with the charismatic smile… “and that’s your father.” He handed her a second photograph of her father as a teen.
“He’s really lovely although I sense a hint of trouble in his eyes.”
“Hahaha…yes…yes, that would be an accurate depiction of Will. He was always a little wild. Always on an adventure of some sort.”
“Had you met my mother?” she asked handing back the photos to Jonathon.
“Well, yes, once.” He took her chin in his hand for a moment, “You look like her. She was very beautiful; you have her eyes. I ran into Will in Scotland, he was in a tavern with Emmeline…”
Imogen broke in, “Emmeline? That was her name?
“…Yes, didn’t Ellcroft tell you about her?”
“No, nothing a ’tall. What do you remember? Were they in love?”
“I only met her that once, they invited me to join them for a drink, but I recall her face. Big green eyes, blonde hair down her back, skin like porcelain. You couldn’t forget her. That laugh, when she laughed, it was contagious.” He paused a moment letting his mind wander back to that night. “I remember how they looked at each other, she didn’t let go of his hand all evening, so yes, I would say they were in love.”
Godfrey entered the room to announce dinner. Jonathon took Imogen’s hand, “Shall we?” He noticed the look of alarm on her face, “We will dine in here Godfrey.”
“In here sir?” Godfrey asked disbelievingly.
“Yes, Godfrey. Lady Imogen has barely arrived. I think a quiet dinner in the library is less…formal. Wouldn’t you agree?
“Yes, sir. I will have dinner sent up,” as he turned on his heel and left.
Jonathon turned to Imogen, “After dinner we will have a short tour of the manor and get you settled into your room. How does that sound?”
“Perfect,” she lowered her head. Jonathan was charming, elegant and treating her with such esteem and care, she could feel herself blush in his attentions.
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After a light dinner of fillets of beef with mixed vegetables, Jonathon suggested they tour the gardens before the sun fell behind the manor. He stood and took her hand once again as he escorted her to the terrace.
“It’s magnificent.” She stood in awe of the lush garden stretching out towards the back woods.
“Yes, it is a wonder to behold. It was designed by my grandfather. He spent a summer in Italy, and when he came back, he did this. He was an admirer of the Italian masters and commissioned the statues.”
Imogen felt very small, not just by the grandeur of the fountains and cropped topiary but of her lack of knowledge. How would she fit into this world?
“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with Italian statues.”
“You will be. I have great plans for you and your education.
They walked through the lush gardens followed by a tour of the manor that ended at the door of her bedroom. Her room was three times the size of the drawing room at Mrs. Wharton’s and could probably fit the entirety of the Abbey cottage. The walls were papered in a bold pattern of exotic birds and flowers, the nature of the design emphasized the height of the room. Against a wall was an ornately carved four poster bed with bedding that harmonized with the wallpaper. Draped across the duvet were several dresses of various patterns.
“I ordered you dresses, I was only able to get limited information from Mr. Ellcroft on sizing, I hope you find ones suited to your lithe frame.” He placed his hand was on the small of her back; it comforted her. They had just met but Imogen was feeling a closeness to him that surprised her.
Chapter Five
A full month had passed since their first meeting. Imogen was settling into the house but still felt as if she were dreaming it all. She was afraid that she’d awaken and find herself curled up in Mrs. Wharton’s attic. Jonathon had been a consummate host, warm and charismatic. She found herself missing his company more and more with each trip he took to the city. He made her feel safe and protected. Although he was gone away, the absences were pulling them closer to together. When he would come home, they would talk for hours about the city and his business acumen. She enjoyed his stories and his company.
He had left two days ago, and she was feeling the emptiness of the manor without him. The after
noons dragged on as she missed their chats in the garden or the walks through the woods. He hadn’t quite abandoned her, she was left in the competent hands of Godfrey and the always amiable Mrs. Tinsley, the housekeeper.
Mrs. Tinsley had become a trusted confidante. She had been tasked with educating Imogen on the daily management of the manor and over their daily lessons had become close. It felt good to be able to unburden herself especially with the anxieties and tension of learning everything you knew was a lie. She was slowly coming to accept that this was her life now. She belonged here, not behind a counter in a butcher shop hawking poultry cuts.
This morning’s lesson was how to prepare and serve a formal tea service. The delicate intricacies of serving tea were beyond Imogen. She was usually eager to meet Mrs. Tinsley at the kitchen table and take in a new skill, however, today she was in a mood and Mrs. Tinsley could feel it.
“My lady, what’s got you all tied up in knots?
Nothing Mrs. Tinsley, I apologize.” She picked up a tea cup, “Where were we?” Mrs. Tinsely took the cup from her hand.
“M’lady, why don’t you take a walk in the gardens? We’ve had enough of this. Cook will be wanting her kitchen table.”
The cook, Mrs. Ambrose was a lady you didn’t want to cross. She was a jolly woman with considerable epicurean skills but ran her kitchen with a stern hand. Imogen nodded in agreement, having had warnings from Cook, she wasn’t eager to have another. She made her way to the back garden and gazed out at the rows of boxwood hedging the manicured lawn. A path leading into a tangle of brush and shrubbery caught her attention. “A perfect adventure,” and she was off.
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The footpath wound its way through a grove of birch and ash trees, streams of sunlight cutting through the forest canopy lighting the shadows. The path wound its way along the rock and grass covered forest floor stopping at the edge of the wood and opening into a fenced pasture. In the distance, she could see the stables and coach house and made her way to it.
