“Oh, you’ll learn. I did.” She tilted her head in the mirror, looking up under the brim of the hat.
The door flew open, and Rose’s mother came in.
“Rose? You’re needed in the music room. It seems Lady Georgiana plays the piano, and she wants it all set up for when she gets here.”
Rose was already scurrying away when her mother called her back. The corridor was empty, and she placed a hand under her chin and looked at her blue eyes.
“Don’t forgot to wear your hair back, Rose, so people can see your eyes,” she said in a whisper. She stroked Rose’s hair away from her face, something she hadn’t done since Rose was a little girl. “And keep your chin down, and try not to smile.”
Rose stared. “Er—yes, Mother.”
“I do love you, you know that.”
Rose knew her mother loved her, but she very rarely said it. “What’s wrong?” Rose asked in a low voice.
But her mother was back to her brisk self. “What’s wrong is that we only have one more day to really get the house in order and organize the wedding. Now go and make sure the tower bedroom is ready for Lady Ada. I quite forgot her, what with the Templetons arriving.”
Lady Ada’s room was up a twisty staircase. Rose had begun the process of readying her room for the big homecoming, but as she pushed open the door and saw the trunk lying in the middle of the floor, she thought the room looked bare and cold compared with Miss Charlotte’s accommodations. She began by making the fire, then the bed. Once the shutters were opened and the room cleaned she turned to the unpacking. She felt more confident now that she had seen how Miss Ward had arranged Miss Charlotte’s room. She unstrapped the trunk and looked in, wondering if Martha’s idea of cursed jewels was right.
Books!
She stared at them in astonishment. Greek books, Latin books, histories, and works of politics and philosophy… Where on earth was she going to put them all? In the end, she stacked them inside the wardrobe and hung the few dresses above them. It was hard not to draw a comparison between Lady Ada’s sensible cotton and muslin dresses and Miss Charlotte’s delicate embroidered gowns. She looked around. Perhaps Lady Ada cared more for books than for clothes and trinkets, but it still seemed a shame not to make the room more welcoming.
On the corridor below, a huge arrangement of roses had been placed under a window. Somerton was famed for its roses and especially this one, the Averley Pearl, first bred by Lord Westlake’s great-grandmother. It had a powerful, sweet scent and a dewy sheen to the white petals that gardeners everywhere had tried and failed to reproduce. Rose carefully plucked a single bloom and carried it upstairs. She put it in a silver bowl, fetched some water, and placed it on the dressing table.
“There,” she said aloud. “I hope she likes it.”
She stood for a moment, looking at the rose thoughtfully. She knew she ought to go downstairs and help, but she was suddenly overcome by memories of her childhood, when she and Lady Ada and Lady Georgiana had played together in the gardens. They hadn’t really been allowed to, but they hadn’t thought of being mistress and maid. They had just been three little girls, making up stories about fairies in the orchard. How strange it was that now she no longer knew what Lady Ada liked and didn’t.
Did she dare remind them of those days? Her mother would be angry if she did, and she was probably right. It was important to know your place, and none of them were children anymore. Rose sighed, and went downstairs to arrange Lady Georgiana’s room.
The train chuffed into Somerton Halt. Green boughs changed from a blur into the dappled mixture of sunlight and shadow, and Lord Westlake, leaning forward eagerly, exclaimed, “Well, we’re here!”
“Already?” Ada jerked out of her thoughts, startled.
“What are you talking about, Ada? We’ve been on the train for hours.” Georgiana was laughing at her. Ada smiled back, glad her sister was in such high spirits. She linked her arm into Georgiana’s, and they went together down the train corridor. Their father’s valet helped them down, and Lord Westlake followed.
“Isn’t it green!” Georgiana was looking around eagerly. “I mean, of course India was green too, but this is a different kind of green somehow. The light’s different—did you notice?”
Ada murmured something. Georgie was right—the light was different, it was somehow more distant, damp and cool. But then, everything was different.
She had thought she was coming home. But all she could think, as she looked around, was how foreign everything seemed.
She let the groom hand her into the carriage. Her fingers, imprisoned in kid gloves, were locked together in her lap. As the horses set off, harness jingling and hooves clip-clopping up the lane, she sank back into her thoughts. They were as turbulent as they had been ever since that night on the Moldavia.
How had it happened? She had always imagined that if a man tried to force himself on her, she would have screamed, fought, run away—killed herself or him, anything rather than allow her honor to be compromised. But it had not been like that. She could not bring herself to lie, not even to herself. Ravi had not forced himself on her. He had kissed her, and she had kissed him back just as passionately.
She could feel the color flushing into her face as she thought of it. If only the pink had all been from shame and regret. But the horrifying truth was that it wasn’t. She had kissed a stranger—an Indian boy—and she had enjoyed it.
“Ada, are you quite well?” Her father leaned toward her. “Your color is very high. Do you feel feverish?”
Ada managed a smile and shake of her head.
“I’m just tired,” she said. Her father was so good to her. To have let him down like this, to be deceiving him, was unforgivable. She could feel the sting in her eyes, and she clenched her fingers together tightly to try and stop the tears from falling.
She had hardly dared to leave the stateroom since that night. The thought of having to meet his eyes across the dining room had made her face burn. It was not hard to fake seasickness when her stomach was churning. What if he boasted of his conquest? What if Douglas Varley found out and told her father? What had come over her?
You will doubtless never see him again, she told herself. Oddly enough, it was not a comforting thought.
She stared out at the gentle green fields. It was not exactly raining, but the sky was gray, the boughs dripped with water, and moisture hung in the air like dust. She found herself longing for the release of a monsoon storm. Something—anything—to break the tension.
There was a sudden hooting, and a roaring like a dragon. Ada sat up, startled. The horses whinnied and she heard the driver’s warning voice. A cloud of dust surged up by the window, and looking out, she had a sudden impression of speed, a strong smell of burning oil, and the glimpse of a man, his eyes covered in insectlike goggles.
“A motorcar!” Georgiana exclaimed, leaning forward. “Papa, look!”
“Thank you, Georgiana, I could hardly miss it!” Lord Westlake said with great disapproval.
Ada exchanged an amused glance with Georgiana before turning to her father with a teasing smile. “You will have to get one of those, Papa. Everyone has them now, you know—like electric light.”
“Electric nonsense!”
Ada couldn’t help laughing at her father’s expression. She looked out of the window again, just as the high hedgerow gave way to a smooth, grassy slope running down toward the distant hills and valleys. And there, nestled in the folds of the hills, was a mansion built of honey-colored stone, with more chimneys and windows than she could count.
“Somerton!” she exclaimed. “We’re…home.”
Rose hurried into the hall, smoothing down her black dress. She thought it was clean, but she hoped she hadn’t missed a stain by mistake. It was hard to keep the uniforms spotless when you were working all day in them, often on your hands and knees. And she didn’t want to make a bad impression—that would really let her mother down.
Mr. Cooper indicated tha
t she should join the line with the other servants in the hall, waiting for the family to arrive. Rose nervously did so. The hall always made her feel tiny and overawed. The high dome with its Grecian friezes echoed to the sound of feet on the marble floor, and to the side, in a recess, stood the priceless Westlake Vase, a huge, ornate Roman urn that Lord Westlake’s father had collected in Paestum on his grand tour. Rose lived in terror of breaking it, even though there was no chance of that—only Cooper was allowed to dust it. “I hope they won’t want to eat all that foreign muck like they do in India,” Rose heard Martha’s voice say, farther down the line. “So hot it blows your head right off, that’s what I’ve heard.”
“Martha!” Mr. Cooper snapped, and Martha held her tongue, turning pink under her freckles.
The next moment, the drawing room doors swung open and Sir William and Lady Edith came in. Master Philip, Sir William’s younger brother, followed, looking sulky and miserable in his stiff collar and best suit. Their stately entrance was slightly impeded by the fact that Master Augustus was clinging to Lady Edith’s skirts, and howling at the top of his voice.
“Oh dear, Gussie!” Lady Edith sighed. “You seem dreadfully distressed today.… Would you like something nice to eat? Just please behave for your great uncle’s return. Please, dear.”
Philip rolled his eyes, and Rose stifled a smile. She felt sorry for Master Philip—everyone knew that he had a hard time from his older brother.
The clatter of the carriage’s wheels and the horses’ hooves grew closer and closer until the harness jingled to a halt outside the door. Rose heard the bright, excited voices of young women. Her heart swooped. Lady Ada and Lady Georgiana!
Mr. Cooper gave Martha a last warning glare and then moved to the door, as stately as an ocean liner. James and Roderick, the two footmen, drew themselves up to their full six feet, chests almost bursting through their striped waistcoats. Rose suddenly felt a horrible desire to giggle bubble up inside her. She bit her cheeks.
The door swung open, and Rose heard a muffled male voice outside.
“Good morning, sir,” Mr. Cooper replied. Rose, gazing decorously at the ground, saw Sir William’s shadow move forward, and heard him say, “Welcome home, uncle.”
“Thank you,” replied a deep, quiet voice. “It’s good to be back.”
Rose sensed the hall filling, the scent of perfume, the soft voices of young ladies, the rustle of skirts.
“Philip! How you’ve grown. You’re quite a young man now.” That was one of the girls—Lady Ada, Rose guessed. She had a soft and gentle voice. Philip mumbled something shyly, but he sounded delighted to be noticed. “And this must be young Augustus!” said another girl’s voice. “What a terrible noise to welcome your aunty Georgiana with!”
Augustus stopped crying with a startled hiccup. “The staff,” murmured Mr. Cooper, “may I say on their behalf how delighted we are to welcome you home.”
There were polite murmurs. Rose, still gazing demurely at the ground, was aware that Mr. Cooper was leading Lord Westlake and the others toward the drawing room. She sensed them drawing nearer. Mary beside her bobbed a curtsy, and Rose did the same. As she rose, she risked a glance up through her lashes.
She saw two young ladies, still in their hats and veils. One was dark haired and gray eyed, taller and more graceful than the other. That had to be Lady Ada. The other was Lady Georgiana, of course. She did not have such fine features, but her expression was so full of good humor that it was hardly noticeable. Rose thought she looked pale and tired, and though she rattled on to Augustus, it seemed almost feverish, as if she were forcing herself to be bright and cheerful.
Rose barely had time to be disappointed that they did not recognize her, because behind them was a tall, handsome gray-haired man with deeply tanned skin. It was Lord Westlake, and he was staring straight at her, with a strange, half-troubled expression in his eyes.
Rose’s heart thumped and she looked down, her face burning. There was no reason for him to be staring at her. Had she done something wrong? Somehow she did not think so. What shocked her was the emotion in his eyes. She could not find a name for it. Certainly not one that made sense. If she had not known it was impossible, she might have thought it was…tenderness.
She kept her head bowed until the family had disappeared into the drawing room and the doors had swung shut.
It was hours before Ada was at last alone in her room, and by that time she felt exhausted. She had never been close to her cousin William, but he seemed to have grown even more obnoxious, and Lady Edith even more irritating, in the ten years they had been apart. To make matters worse, her father was clearly angry with him, though she was not sure why. The atmosphere had seethed and bubbled over stilted conversation in the drawing room. It was a horrid situation. William was the steward and the heir, and Lord Westlake had been like a father to him and twelve-year-old Philip since their parents had died. For them to be at odds cast a shadow over her family’s return.
She sighed as she sat down in the chair before the window. It was a small room, but it had the best view, across the lawn to the ha-ha and the deer park. The fire warmed it up quickly, and Ada found herself aware of a sweet, familiar scent in the room. It brought back memories of being a child and playing in the rose garden, with Georgiana and another little girl—what had her name been?
She looked around for the source of the scent, and spotted it at once. On the dressing table, she saw, someone had placed a white rose in a silver bowl. It was simple but beautiful. All the light in the room seemed to be drawn into it, making it more luminous and larger, glowing like a pearl. Ada felt grateful to whoever had placed it there. It reminded her of the flowers placed at Hindu shrines.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in!” Ada jumped up happily. Georgiana had found her, then. But the door opened to reveal a stern-faced woman in a black dress. It took Ada a moment to remember who she was: the housekeeper.
“Yes, Mrs. Cliffe?”
“I have a letter for you, my lady. It arrived this morning.” She offered Ada a silver tray, on which lay the envelope.
“For me!” Ada was startled. There was no one who would write to her—perhaps a few friends from India, but none who would be likely to write so soon. She took the envelope. “Thank you.” She smiled, and noticed that though Mrs. Cliffe looked stern, she had very handsome blue eyes. At some point she must have been beautiful.
As soon as Mrs. Cliffe had gone, Ada took her paper knife and opened the letter. She did not recognize the hand; it was firm and masculine. She scanned the single sheet of paper, and a line leaped out at her: I have the honor of requesting your hand in marriage.
“What!” she exclaimed aloud.
She dropped into her chair. The words blurred in front of her eyes. The first person she thought of was Ravi, and she had to read the name at the bottom three times before it sunk in. Douglas Varley.
“Douglas Varley?” She still didn’t understand, and she turned the paper over, as if there might be some explanation on the back of it. Perhaps Varley was writing on behalf of his protégé. But no: how could she have expected that? Men didn’t marry girls they kissed. The thought was like a knife in her heart. She reminded herself that it would be impossible anyway, even if he hadn’t doubtless lost all respect for her the moment she allowed herself to give in to him. They were far too different in every way. She forced herself to read the letter through properly.
My dear Lady Ada,
You may be surprised to receive such a letter from one who you no doubt consider a stranger. However, I claim a connection through my long-standing friendship with your father. I shall come straight to the point: I have the honor of requesting your hand in marriage. I shall be at your father’s wedding and shall expect to hear your answer then.
I hope that my boundless affection and respect will encourage you to accept my proposal and become my wife, so that the ties between our families may become ever closer.
; Just a few lines, businesslike and brusque. As if he was offering to buy a horse, she thought, and crumpled the paper in her fist.
She got to her feet and paced up and down, not seeing the room around her. It was inexplicable. Douglas Varley did not even know her. He had not exchanged three words with her. But—she stopped pacing—he knew her father.
She uncrumpled the paper and read it through again. This time she understood the meaning behind the letter. Yes, it was like offering to buy a horse—or a seat in Parliament. So this was what he was offering: to help restore her father’s reputation, in return for a wife.
She stood, deep in thought, the breeze through the open window caressing her hair and the sunlight setting it glowing like bronze. The whispers about her father that she had heard in India—cowardice, dishonor—came back to her, and she felt sick at heart. All her life she had looked up to her father and been proud of him. She had thought him the perfect gentleman: straight and true; and when he’d had to resign as lieutenant governor, it was as if something she had thought eternal and entirely English, like the Houses of Parliament or the Tower of London, had come crashing down. She knew the whispers were lies, but they still cut deep. She would do anything to set her father right again in the eyes of the world.
But Douglas Varley! She did not know whether to laugh or cry. He was at least forty. Could she love such a man? Could she bring herself to try? It was impossible to imagine kissing him—she realized she was thinking about Ravi again, and tears suddenly came into her eyes.
She turned from the window, wiping the tears away. That decided it. The Indian boy clearly had some terrible influence over her heart, and that frightened her. It was wrong of her to have kissed him, but now she had a chance to put things right, to do what was expected of her, to fulfill her duty toward her father and her family. All she had to do was accept Douglas Varley’s proposal and forget about her one shameful lapse.
Varley will never allow you to go to Oxford, whispered a voice inside her. But after her shocking behavior, did she truly deserve to go? And…could she trust herself there, near Ravi? Color flushed into her face as she thought of seeing him again. “I won’t think about it a moment longer!” she exclaimed aloud. She jumped to her feet and ran to the door. She needed company, she needed someone bright and happy to chatter to, to drive this chaos of thoughts and feelings out of her mind. She needed Georgiana.
Cinders & Sapphires (At Somerton) Page 3
