Now Felicia had the distraction of Fin sitting beside her, almost touching her. If she looked up to watch Mr Warborough, she was aware of Fin’s folded arms and every tiny wrinkle in the cloth of his coat. If she dutifully concentrated on her Prayer Book, she could see his legs, closely wrapped in pantaloons. His nearness made her agitated and restless, yet she dared not move in case she accidentally brushed against him. She sat rigid, scarcely daring to breathe, through the interminable service. How she wished she had not come! Her efforts to avoid the earl at the brief service in the chapel now seemed to have put her in a much worse position.
She must leave Derbyshire at once! Yet all the same objections rose to her mind. The girls needed her… she must stay until they were settled with a new governess… and her painting… yes, her painting of the ballroom. She could see it so vividly in her mind’s eye, and could not leave until it had been completed to her satisfaction. The rest of the service passed her by, as she focused her mind on the details of dancers and musicians and candles. Ah, the candles! That would be an interesting challenge.
At the end of the service, the marquess and his party left first, followed by Fin, Felicia and the two girls, with Lady Drusilla scuttling along behind them.
“What are you doing?” she hissed at Fin, grabbing his arm.
“Attending Morning Service, like the good Christian I am,” he said blandly. “Would you rather I stayed at home?”
“Well… it is good to see you showing yourself a little,” Lady Drusilla admitted. “One might wonder why you chose today for your return to church.” She cast a quick glance at Felicia, but they had reached the church door by then and she was distracted by the sight of the marquess standing just a short distance away, watching them. “But that is an even more remarkable return. Miss Oakes, were you aware that he would be here?”
“Not in the least, my lady, although I hoped my letter would induce him to attend.”
“Induce him? How?”
“Lord Arnwell asked to see me, so I told him that I might be found at Morning Service. Excuse me, my lady, I believe his lordship wishes to speak to me.”
Felicia was aware of the stares as she walked towards the marquess and made her curtsy.
“Well, madam, here I am,” he said, lifting his chin defiantly. “Are you satisfied? Will you now resume your visits to the Sanctuary?”
“The Sanctuary! I never knew its name. Certainly I will come, if I can. It is not always possible for me to escape.”
His lips quirked into an approximation of a smile. “Are you caged? Or merely hedged about by the whims of others?”
“Neither, my lord, but I must not neglect my duties to my charges.”
“Who are your charges?”
“Lord Finlassan’s wards, the Miss Kearneys. I am their governess, for the moment. Not a very good one, so I am to be replaced as soon as Lady Drusilla can find a suitable person.”
“Hmm. So you truly are a governess. I thought that was no more than one of your little stories, Princess. I heard about Finlassan’s wards… the Miss Kearneys. Juliana’s children. Where is he? Finlassan! A word with you.”
Fin ambled over and made his bow. “Arnwell.”
“These wards of yours, Juliana’s girls — are you taking good care of them? My nieces, after all.”
Fin bridled. “Naturally I am, although it is hardly a concern of yours. The Dulnains wanted nothing to do with Juliana.”
“I am not a Dulnain,” the marquess said stiffly, drawing himself up a little, the better to look Fin in the eye. Fin was unusually tall, but the marquess was almost his equal in height. “Juliana was my wife’s sister, and I never bore her the least grudge. Let me know the girls’ names and I will leave them something in my will. Daresay they will not have to wait too long for it, either. Princess, who is that fine buck eyeing you up? You were talking to him before the service, too. He looks eager to speak to you. Something between you, is there? Are you planning to leave governessing behind?”
“Not at all, my lord, and that fine buck is your heir, Mr Godfrey Buckley. He is a guest of the Lady Drusilla Warborough.” Some mischief in Felicia led her to say innocently, “Should you like me to introduce him to you?”
The marquess’s intake of breath was audible and his brows lowered in anger. She thought for a moment that he might explode. Then he said, “Hmpf. I suppose you will tell me that I ought to meet the fellow.” She said nothing, smiling encouragingly. “Oh, very well, very well, but I warn you, if he is a toad-eater, he can take himself off again at once. I want no Spanish coin from him. Bring him over and let me see if he is any better than his despicable father, for he could not be worse.” Then, with a bark of laughter, he went on, “Whatever are you doing to me, Princess? If this goes on, you will turn me into a righteous and upright Christian, and then where will we be?”
“She has that effect on people,” Fin murmured. “But I believe we both have a long way to go yet, Arnwell, so do not give way to despair.”
The marquess’s rumble of laughter echoed around the churchyard.
Mr Buckley was brought across and introduced to the marquess, and said everything that was proper. He was respectful and deferential, and Felicia detected no Spanish coin in his well-phrased expressions of pleasure at making Lord Arnwell’s acquaintance at last, and his hopes for better relations between them in the future.
As Felicia walked home, with the girls ahead of her, the maids behind and Fin agitatingly close to her side, she wondered at all that the day had brought and hoped that the rapprochement between all parties could be maintained.
14: Dinner At Shotterbourne
Three days of relentless rain kept Felicia and the girls indoors, and the soggy task of walking the dog twice a day and bathing him after each outing was delegated to an unlucky footman. Several of the new tutors were deterred by the weather, too, leaving Felicia to fill the gaps. She was struggling with the globes one morning when Fin swept into the schoolroom.
“That dancing fellow is not coming, nor the Frenchman. Lily-livered idiots to be deterred by a drop of water. Come down to the studio and do some drawing. You, too,” he added to Mary, who was sewing in a corner.
“Me, milord?”
“That is what I said. You are to be our subject. Today’s lesson is portraiture.”
They sat in a line, all four of them, sketchbooks on their knees, while Mary placidly sewed. Felicia would have preferred charcoal, but Fin insisted on pencils. Then they drew.
After an hour or so, Felicia said, “Are you going to see how we are getting on, my lord? Or will you wait until we are finished before you examine our efforts?”
“Oh, am I supposed to instruct the girls? Is that what you do when you teach them?”
“Sometimes, if it is a new technique, or they will ask if they need advice. But this is your lesson, not mine.”
“If it were yours, what would you do?”
“I would say, ‘How are you getting on?’ to them.”
“Hmm. How are you two getting on?”
“Fine,” Margarita said at once, but Juliana sighed.
“This is hard,” she said. “I cannot get the eyes right.”
At once he was out of his chair, kneeling beside her, examining the drawing and making suggestions. Felicia was delighted to see such attention from him. What could be more proper than for a guardian to devote time to his wards, and place his knowledge and experience at their disposal? How advantageous for them to learn from him, rather than from a succession of tutors and masters, no matter how expert. And perhaps, in time, when he had grown accustomed to their presence in the house, he would become a father to them, and his wife a mother.
His wife. For he must marry, in time. That was his duty, after all, and the same imperative that had driven him towards an arranged marriage with Juliana was still there. His heir was Percival, yet there was no knowing whether he were alive or dead.
“See how Miss Oakes has managed it,” Fin said. “The eyes
, the lips, the bloom on Mary’s cheeks — yet she is most economical with the lines of her pencil.”
“I could never do that,” Juliana said sorrowfully. “It is Mary to the life! That way she is looking down so demurely, yet she looks as if she is full of merriment.”
“Perhaps you will never quite have Miss Oakes’ ability to capture the essence of a sitter,” he said gravely. “Her talent is quite special. Yet with practice you will improve, as Miss Oakes has practised and worked on her artistry.”
He gazed at Felicia over the top of Juliana’s head, and smiled so warmly that she blushed crimson.
“Now we have embarrassed her,” he said. “That will never do. Back to your sketchbooks, young ladies.”
Felicia was left mortified by her own want of self-control. If only he would not smile at her! When he talked to her, his manner was so brusque that she could answer him calmly, as if he were no more than a common acquaintance. But when he smiled, her insides melted, her brain became an incoherent muddle and her cheeks flamed with colour like a schoolroom miss. He thought she was embarrassed by the compliment, but it was his attention that betrayed her — the intensity in those blue eyes, and the approval in his expression.
Such moments hardened her resolve. Fin must marry and produce an heir, and Felicia must leave the Hall for good. But not yet. Not until her painting of the ballroom was completed.
~~~~~
‘My dear Princess, This miserable weather confines me to the house and my wretched physician forbids me to venture outdoors again until all risk of dampness in the air is eradicated. Since the summer may be over before that happy event, would you do an old man the kindness of dining with him tomorrow night? My sister will be here, and I shall invite the Warborough rabble as well, so you need not suffer the confinement of my company alone. At this point, I hear your voice quite clearly, whispering in my ear. What about your heir, it says. I think you must be my conscience, Princess, sent to torment me to some semblance of charity towards my undeserving kin. So I shall invite him also, and endeavour to like him, for your sake. I dine at six. Do not fail me. Arnwell.’
~~~~~
Despite a flurry of letters between them, the stolid groom riding back and forth uncomplainingly, Felicia’s efforts to convince the marquess of her unsuitability as a dining companion were in vain. He told her in no uncertain terms that if he did her the honour of inviting her, no question regarding suitability could arise. He reserved the right, he said, to choose his own dining companions. Since it would be unspeakably uncivil to refuse, she once again donned her blue spotted muslin, fastened the small silver cross around her neck and made her way to the hall to await the carriage. She hoped she looked composed, but inside she was melting. A whole evening with Fin in all the splendour of his evening dress! She was terrified that she would disgrace herself.
She sat in agitated silence in the carriage, every nerve aflame, as Fin sat opposite her. Happily, he chose silence. They drove the short distance to Compton House, where they collected Lady Drusilla and Godfrey Buckley, but not Lady Mabel, who deemed herself too old to venture from home in the evening. Then they splashed through the puddles in the village to gather up Giles Warborough from the rectory. This was a terrifying moment for Felicia. With five in the carriage, the three gentlemen, being larger than the ladies, could not all squeeze onto the rear-facing seat. Would Felicia be forced to suffer Fin sitting so close that their legs and arms were touching? She determined that she would walk the remaining distance rather than endure such torture. To her vast relief, Mr Buckley gallantly surrendered his seat to Mr Warborough and climbed up beside the coachman. It took the full length of Shotterbourne’s drive, some two miles in all, before Felicia’s palpitations steadied and she felt capable of presenting a calm demeanour.
Shotterbourne was probably not much larger than Hawkewood Hall, but its design, of a central block with an additional wing protruding at each corner, gave it a frontage even more imposing. To one side was the blackened shell of the family wing. Only portions of the walls and the central chimney stack remained, everything else burned to nothing. Unchecked ivy grew rampant over one wall, and through the empty windows bushes and small trees could be seen growing where once there had been sitting rooms and bedrooms. Felicia averted her eyes.
Inside was the same array of marble floors, massive pillars and statuary as at the Hall, but the colours were darker and heavier, and every room was solidly square. Felicia was struck as never before by the ingenious architect of the Hall, who had introduced curves everywhere. There were circular rooms and ovals and bay windows, and even when a room was rectangular, there would be curvaceous finials and ceilings and decorative touches. At Shotterbourne there was nothing but squareness.
The marquess was in the great hall with its spectacular pillars to greet them and lead them up the magnificent staircase to the saloon. Felicia could hardly believe she was in such a place and as a guest, not a servant. She tried to keep herself at the back of the group, walking carefully, for the steps were polished marble, but she found that no matter how slowly she ascended — one step, a long pause, then another — she had Fin on one side and Mr Buckley on the other, keeping pace with her. Mr Buckley maintained a stream of comments to divert her. Fin said nothing at all.
In the saloon, Lady Lucia and Miss Buckley waited. Lady Lucia wore a dainty muslin gown that would have looked enchanting were she a girl of seventeen, rather than a woman of more than sixty years. As Mr Buckley and Felicia were introduced to her, she simpered at them and shifted her gaze coyly, for all the world as if she were flirting.
Miss Buckley wore drab brown, looking more like a governess than Felicia. She greeted Felicia cordially, asking her with apparent interest about her home in Southampton. She was not much interested in the Miss Latimers or Summer Cottage, but she was very curious about Boscobel Cottage.
“This Miss Armiger — what sort of age would she be?”
“No one knew,” Felicia said. “She never told anyone her age. She would have been above forty when she died.”
It was a peculiar conversation, and Miss Buckley showed signs of continuing in this vein for some time, except that Mr Buckley intervened smoothly. “Lady Lucia needs you, I believe, Aunt.”
Lady Lucia was looking about her vaguely. “My fan! Where is my fan? Ah, Edith, have you seen my fan? I am certain I had it a moment ago.”
“It is on your wrist, Lucia. We tied it on so that it would not go astray, remember? Here it is.”
Mr Buckley gently steered Felicia towards the windows. “Aunt Edith is a dreadful rattle,” he said in a low voice. “Who can blame her, when she is cooped up here day after day. Naturally she delights in company, but she becomes so excited by it that she talks a great deal of nonsense. There now, is that not a fine view? The famous Shotterbourne portico. It is not as wide as the one at Hawkewood, but taller, I believe.”
“You are very knowledgeable for a man who has never been here before.”
“I may look up the family seat in the guide books, may I not? Aunt Edith talks of it, naturally, and I have a painting of it at home, too, but nothing quite prepares one for so much… so much…”
She could not resist such an opening. “Ostentatious display? Flaunting of wealth? Vainglorious flamboyance?”
For an instant, she feared she had stepped beyond the limits of propriety, but he merely smiled good-humouredly. “Grandeur. That was the word I sought. Do you despise such magnificence, Miss Oakes?”
She was not obliged to answer, for the dinner was ready and they were summoned. There was no lesser word appropriate, for the butler was every bit as haughty as the marquess, and somewhat more so than the earl, lounging at his ease with one arm on the mantel. They combined into their processional couples and again Felicia fell back in order to take her expected place at the rear, and again she was thwarted, for Mr Giles Warborough offered her his arm. They progressed at a stately pace along the gallery above the hall to reach the dining room, which
was more modest than she had expected, the table being only large enough to seat twenty or so.
They sat four each side in the middle of its length, and to Felicia’s embarrassment, she was seated between Lord Arnwell and Mr Warborough, with Fin directly opposite her. For a while there was little conversation, as the marquess carved with great skill, despite his damaged hand, and dishes were passed here and there. Once the soup had been removed and the first hunger assuaged, the company began at last to talk.
Mr Warborough set the conversation in motion with some comment about the Midsummer Fair, which threw Lady Lucia into a torrent of delighted chatter. She greatly enjoyed such festivities, it seemed, and talked happily of such occasions in the past, although the May Day celebration was her favourite. She loved to dance around the may pole, she told them, her face alight with excitement. Felicia watched her enthusiasm with a smile. She was so childlike, her mind not at all formed beyond that of a girl of perhaps ten or twelve, and yet one could not but like her. Even the marquess’s stern features softened when he looked at her.
After a while, the more general conversation splintered into smaller groups. Her companions being both engaged elsewhere, Felicia was left to her own thoughts. When that palled, she turned her gaze onto the room, which was less overpowering than the pillared entrance hall but still imposing.
“How do you like my house of ostentatious display, Princess?” the marquess murmured into her ear.
“You heard that, did you? It is very beautiful, my lord, but I should not like to live here.”
“It is fortunate, then, that you are not obliged to.”
“Indeed,” she said. “Fortunate for me that I have my own snug little cottage to live in.”
“Hmm. Shotterbourne is not snug, I grant you, but then snugness would quite defeat the purpose. Such houses are not designed for comfort, Princess, but to impress. It is not so much wealth that is flaunted here, but power. Anyone who walks through the rooms of Shotterbourne sees the authority of the nobility of this country of ours. Here in these great halls in the shires of England, this is where laws are born and the great minds of the government plan our glorious future. They are built to impress, for that is their purpose. England is strong, they proclaim. England is beautiful and rich and cultured and immovable. Here we have been for a thousand years and here we will be a thousand years from now. Do you not see all this here?”
The Painter Page 15
