“I have never been in this part of the estate before,” Felicia said, wonderingly. How astonishing to own so much land that it would take an hour or more to traverse the perimeter! But Fin just smiled.
After a few minutes, they entered a more solid woodland of oak and beech and elm, their leaves a myriad of autumn colours. Before long, they reached a clearing where a wagon sat, the horses picketed nearby with two grooms in attendance. Fin pulled up the greys, and one of the grooms rushed to hold their heads. Hercules, with a bark, scrambled past Felicia and jumped down, and Fin descended a little more cautiously.
“Down you come,” he said to Felicia, holding up his arms to lift her to the ground. His hands at her waist made her blush, and almost she wished that the grooms were elsewhere so that the gesture would seem more intimate and less practical.
There was a smooth, dry path leading away from the carriage drive, and Fin pointed. “This way.”
Within moments, they had left the little clearing behind, and the trees closed in around them. Above their heads was a ceiling of reds and golds and oranges and yellows and browns — a thousand tints of autumn. Around their feet were the fallen colours like tiny flags, piled up in great, crackling heaps, still crisp and dry. Hercules snuffled happily and Felicia spun round in delight, her boots kicking up clouds of leaves.
“You always look as if you are dancing,” Fin said with a smile.
She twirled lightly through a few steps, arms out. “Autumn inspires me. So beautiful! I must bring my pastels here, although I doubt I could capture the scene. Where are we going?”
“You will see.”
Soon the path began to rise, up and up, steeper and steeper, winding back and forth across the hillside. Hercules had galloped on ahead, but Fin progressed more steadily and Felicia tucked her arm in his and walked by his side. Such a simple activity, walking through the autumn woods, but there was so much happiness to be enjoyed in it. Her heart was full of love for her betrothed, and yet she had not the words to express such feelings. And perhaps he would be embarrassed by them, who could say?
Abruptly, they emerged from the trees, although the stumps of those that had once grown there were clear to see. Work on the replanting had begun, however, for there was bare earth where scrub and brambles had been torn up. And there before them was the temple that she had seen so many times from the house. She stared about her, fascinated.
“Did you guess where I was leading you?” Fin said with a smile.
“I had begun to suspect,” she said. “How much I wanted to come here, but it was too far for Margarita’s legs, and Hercules always wanted to go to Shotterbourne. How beautiful it is!”
The temple was built in the same style as the house, with identical marble pillars, and the same elegant yet restrained decoration, all delicate curves and subtle details. It was larger than Lord Arnwell’s Sanctuary, and although not fully enclosed, had sufficient surrounding walls to provide some shelter from the elements. Inside, there were marble benches around the perimeter walls and, incongruously, a giant sculpture of Neptune rising from the waves.
“The First Earl made his fortune in sea trade,” Fin said. “He raised this monument in honour of his origins.”
“Sea trade? Slavery?”
“Probably, for a great many fortunes were made thus, although the official tale is spices and silks. Ah, I hear voices.”
They passed through the temple and down the steps on the far side, and there on the greensward beyond were Juliana and Margarita, twin easels set up side by side as they painted the temple, while their governesses sat primly on folding chairs nearby.
“Miss Farrell, Miss Durward, well met,” Fin said genially, as the four all curtsied. “Juliana, Margarita, what have you to show us?”
While Fin discussed art with the girls, Felicia walked forward to the point where the land dropped away. From here, the vista stretched out in all directions — to the wild moors, over the tree-shrouded River Shotter, and almost directly below to the eastern face of Shotterbourne. The Sanctuary was tucked away out of sight behind a lower hill, but much of the formal gardens were visible, their shape at last beginning to emerge from almost twenty years of neglect. It would take a great deal of work to restore them, but the marquess had hope for the future now, and was determined to erase the years of bitterness.
There was one task he had determined upon of a more sorrowful nature. He had finally agreed to let the ruins of the family wing be cleared, and already numerous bones had been uncovered and laid tenderly to rest in the family mausoleum. The original plans of the house had been brought out and an architect engaged, and the destroyed wing would be rebuilt just as it was. The past could never be left behind entirely, but it could perhaps be laid to rest honourably.
After the discussion of the girls’ artistry, the party all settled in the temple with a hamper of delights — cold meat, tiny pastries, quails’ eggs, and three kinds of cake, with flasks of lemonade for the young ladies and Madeira for the adults. Just when they had all eaten their fill, as if by magic a line of footmen arrived to remove the hamper, easels and chairs, the girls and their governesses set off down the hill to the wagon, and Fin and Felicia were left alone. Fin led her a little way around the hill, where a marble bench looked towards Hawkewood Hall, his home and soon to be hers, too.
“Where is Hercules, do you suppose?” she said.
“He has probably gone over the wall into Shotterbourne. How is everyone there?”
“Very well. Lady Lucia is quite herself again.”
“No recurrence of the violent rages?”
“None. It is astonishing that for all these years it was believed that only Miss Buckley had the power to manage her lapses, when in fact it was due to medication. Mostly laudanum, I believe. It was fortunate that her lady’s maid discovered the bottles hidden away.” She hesitated, then went on, “My own lady’s maid arrived yesterday, and it seems I am to be fashionable whether I wish it or not. Or at the very least, suitably attired. Within two hours of her arrival she had trimmed my hair, thrown out half my wardrobe as unfit to be worn and miraculously removed a stain from my velvet pelisse that had been there for four years at least. She is a treasure, I suppose,” she added glumly.
He laughed, and said, “Never mind, my dear. If you dislike her, you may send her away any time you like and we shall find you another. When we go to London, Aunts Isabella and Geraldine will take charge of your wardrobe, and you may take their advice without the least fear. Just do not take any advice from Drusilla, for she has abominable taste. She even dislikes the new epergne I gave her.”
“But it is so beautiful!” Felicia said. “She will grow to like it in time, I am sure.”
“I hope so. She may even grow to like you a little better, one day.”
“Now, let us not expect miracles.”
That made Fin laugh. “Oh, I almost forgot. There was a letter for you.”
Felicia recognised the handwriting at once. “It is from Agnes Markham, to thank me for the lease I had Mr Pierce draw up. They may stay at Boscobel Cottage all their lives now, if they wish. Although I still feel guilty about the business, for the cottage should belong to Lord Arnwell by rights… I mean, to Papa. It was his money, after all. Miss Armiger had no business to use it to buy property in her own name. Do you know, I think Hercules has abandoned us altogether. He prefers Shotterbourne to Hawkewood, I believe.”
“What about you?” Fin said. “Do you prefer Shotterbourne, too?”
There was a certain anxiety in his eyes that made her heart beat faster. He cared! “You must know that I prefer Hawkewood,” she said breathlessly.
“Because it is more elegant?” he suggested tentatively.
“Because it has you in it,” she said. “I do not dislike Shotterbourne, and I shall be very happy to stay there until I marry, but Hawkewood is where my heart is.”
He smiled then, and curled one arm around her waist. For a hopeful moment, she thought he might be abo
ut to kiss her, but instead his head drooped and he said, “I… I want you to know that… I will do everything possible to make you happy, but…”
All her pleasure in the day evaporated. “Fin, have you changed your mind?”
His head shot up. “No! Not one iota, but… Felicia, I am terrified of making a mull of this. With Juliana, it never occurred to me that we might not be happy together. We were so deep in love, how could it be otherwise? But now I know that she never loved me and it would have been impossible for me to make her happy and—”
“But I love you!” Felicia cried. “You cannot fail to make me happy because I love you with all my heart!”
“Do you? Truly?”
“You must know I do.”
“But how can anyone love an ill-tempered, selfish imbecile like me?”
“Oh, Fin! What an idiotic man you are! Do you remember that time you painted all night — the stormy painting, remember? — and I crept up on you just as you were finishing the work. I had never seen anyone so absorbed in an endeavour, so intense, so focused that the world ceased to exist. You were only half-dressed, your hair was a tangled mess and there was paint on your cheek. You looked magnificent.”
“Oh,” he said in astonished tones.
“You were — you are — a painter, Fin, a creator of magic in oil and canvas and coloured powder, and I could see the energy pouring out of you to make something that had existed only in your mind before. I adored you from that moment onwards. I tried to fight it, but you are just irresistible to me. When you asked me to marry you, it was impossible to refuse, however unequal the match. I wanted to be with you so badly I could not bear to give you up. I understand that you will always be driven by the urge to paint and will forget everything for a while, even me. But when you have finished, you will remember again that you have a wife and there I shall be, waiting for you, loving you.”
“Oh,” he said again. “But I hope you will be painting alongside me, dear one. I want us to paint together, to inspire each other.”
“I hope that too,” she said, suddenly shy.
“It was not so instant with me,” he said. “I was so cross with you at first for disrupting my secluded life and forcing me out into the world again that I did not realise what was happening to me… what you were doing to me. When you were invited to dine at Compton House, I felt compelled to be there also, to protect you from Buckley, or so I told myself. And then there was the day at Ashbourne… and all the time, although I would not admit it to myself, I was drawn to you.”
She was holding her breath, she realised. Would he say the words? Would he?
“It was not until Lord Arnwell pointed it out to me that I understood my own feelings,” he went on. “Even then, I thought perhaps he was mistaken, that I was simply overjoyed to meet another painter. All the way down to Southampton, I told myself that all I needed was your friendship. But then, when we stood in the attorney’s parlour, I saw it so clearly, that you were — you are — indispensable to my happiness, and I had been in love with you for an age without realising it. At that point, I— Felicia? What is it?”
“You said it,” she whispered. “That you love me.”
“Well, of course I do. You must have known that.”
“But you never said the words.”
“Did I not?” He frowned. “But… why else would I want to marry you?”
“I need to hear you say it!”
“I…” He gulped, took a deep breath, then the words came out in a rush. “I love you. I. Love. You. I love you. Dearest Felicia, I love you with all my heart and soul. I love you with every breath I take, with every beat of my heart, with every drop of blood in my body. I love—”
With a great sob, Felicia drew his face towards her and pressed her lips against his, and for a long, long time there was no sound at all. As soon as they broke apart, he murmured, “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.” He laughed, and then, with a great howl so loud that even the trees seemed to shiver, he roared, “I LOVE YOU!”
Felicia laughed in delight.
THE END
The next book in the series is The Orphan. You can read a sneak preview of chapter 1 after the acknowledgements. For more information or to buy, go to my website.
Thanks for reading!
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Family trees: Hi-res version available here.
A note on historical accuracy: I have endeavoured to stay true to the spirit of Regency times, and have avoided taking too many liberties or imposing modern sensibilities on my characters. The book is not one of historical record, but I’ve tried to make it reasonably accurate. However, I’m not perfect! If you spot a historical error, I’d very much appreciate knowing about it so that I can correct it and learn from it. Thank you!
Pastels: painting or drawing? My heroine, Felicia, paints and draws in many media, but her favourite method is the use of pastels. These are sticks of pure colour, and can be used in outline form, like pencils, or to fill the paper, much like watercolours. Because of the versatility of pastels, there is great debate as to whether it qualifies as drawing or painting. In my research, most exponents of the art that I encountered described it as painting, so that is what I have chosen to do, too, but either is acceptable.
The great houses: Mostly the houses I give my characters to live in are generic, or an amalgam of styles from the era. However, in this book I based the houses on real buildings. Shotterbourne, home to the Marquess of Arnwell, is based on Holkham Hall in Norfolk, designed by William Kent. This is still open to the public, and you can find pictures online of the magnificent pillared entrance hall with its staircase and galleried landing. Hawkewood Hall, home to the Earl of Finlassan, is based on Suton Park House, London, designed by Robert Adam (which may not still exist).
Isn’t that what’s-his-name? Regular readers will know that characters from previous books occasionally pop up. None actually appear in this one, but there are mentions of Sir James and Lady Godney, from The Widow, and the Narfields, from The Apothecary. There is also a mention of one who dates right back to The Daughters of Allamont Hall. The Earl of Strathmorran lives in Scotland, at Glenbrindle Castle in the mythical county of Morranshire. His heir, Lord Kilbraith, a cousin to the Allamont sisters, made a romantic appearance in Dulcie, and turned up again in Lord Humphrey. Congratulations to anyone who spotted this reference.
About the Silver Linings Mysteries series: John Milton coined the phrase 'silver lining' in Comus: A Mask Presented at Ludlow Castle, 1634
Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night?
I did not err; there does a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night,
And casts a gleam over this tufted grove.
Ever since then, the term ‘silver lining’ has become synonymous with the unexpected benefits arising from disaster. The sinking of the Brig Minerva results in many deaths, but for others, the future is suddenly brighter. But it’s not always easy to leave the past behind…
Book 0: The Clerk: the sinking of the Minerva offers a young man a new life (a novella, free to mailing list subscribers).
Book 1: The Widow: the wife of the Minerva’s captain is free from his cruelty, but can she learn to trust again?
Book 2: The Lacemaker: three sisters inherit a country cottage, but the locals are surprisingly interested in them.
Book 3: The Apothecary: a long-forgotten suitor returns, now a rich man, but is he all he seems?
Book 4: The Painter: two children are left to the care of a reclusive man.
Book 5: The Orphan: a wilful heiress is determined to choose a notorious rake as her guardian.
Book 6: The Duke: the heir to the dukedom is reluctant to step into his dead brother’s shoes and accept his arranged marriage.
Any questions about the series? Email me - I’d love to hear from you!
About the author
I write traditional Regency romances under the pen name Mary Kingswood, and epic fantasy as Pauline M Ross. I live in the beautiful Highlands of Scotland with my husband. I like chocolate, whisky, my Kindle, massed pipe bands, long leisurely lunches, chocolate, going places in my campervan, eating pizza in Italy, summer nights that never get dark, wood fires in winter, chocolate, the view from the study window looking out over the Moray Firth and the Black Isle to the mountains beyond. And chocolate. I dislike driving on motorways, cooking, shopping, hospitals.
Acknowledgements
Thanks go to:
All those fine people in Albany, Australia who restored the Brig Amity and gave me the germ of an idea.
Allison Lane, whose course on English Architecture inspired me.
Shayne Rutherford of Darkmoon Graphics for the cover design.
My beta readers: Barbara Daniels Dena, Amy DeWitt, Megan Jacobson, Melanie Savage, Quilting Danielle, Rosemary Paton, the readers of Rachel Daven Skinner at Romance Refined
Last, but definitely not least, my first reader: Amy Ross.
Sneak preview of The Orphan: Chapter 1: In Want Of A Guardian (March)
Miss Evelina Parfitt smoothed the soft kid of her gloves, and settled herself on the carved wooden bench in the hall to wait. The carriage was ordered for half an hour before noon, but it would not arrive until ten minutes after that time. Violet would arrive no earlier than ten minutes later. There would be a further delay as she changed her bonnet twice. When the horses had been walked twice down to Berkeley Square and back, and the clock had struck the hour, Violet would be ready to depart. Perhaps.
Green, the butler, and Mrs Bowdler, the housekeeper, hovered anxiously. They knew better than most the price to be paid if the young mistress should find some fault with their management of the household. Heaven forfend that she should deign to be ready and the carriage not waiting for her outside the door.
The Painter Page 31
