Three Graces

by Victoria Connelly

  ‘My mother’s,’ Richard said. ‘Dotty about deer.’

  A large window looked out onto a private lawn where a motley collection of deck chairs stood waiting for the sun to find them.

  Carys felt she could have spent all day in the room but was aware that Richard was probably en route to something grander and far less homely.

  ‘This way,’ he said, opening a door which led into a narrow passageway.

  Carys got completely lost after that. They walked down corridors, up staircases, through endless rooms hung with silks and tapestries, down staircases, along passages lined with portraits, passages lined with cabinets of china, under ceilings decked with plaster garlands, through rooms inhabited by ginormous beds, and ante-rooms hiding tiny baths and washstands.

  Her head spun with portraits, busts, screens, tables, chairs and chandeliers. She heard terms she’d never heard before: acanthus, ormolu, japanning, bollworm. She sat on a balloon-back chair:

  ‘I feel like a queen!’

  ‘You look like one too.

  She looked at her reflection in a pier glass mirror:

  ‘It’s very flattering.’

  ‘It doesn’t need to be.’

  She stroked a piece of William Morris wallpaper.

  ‘Don’t tell mother I let you do that.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  And had even been allowed to lie down on a full tester bed.

  And neither of them had dared say a word.

  When she got up, he led her down another staircase and into a corridor.

  ‘Stay there,’ he told her.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Stay right where you are,’ Richard added, almost running ahead to open the door in front of them.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  She watched in bemusement as, after opening one door, he walked through the next room and opened another door. Then another. Then another. Before walking back with a huge grin on his face.

  ‘It’s an enfilade. A series of interior doors arranged to provide a kind of vista when the doors are open.’

  ‘Ah, yes! I remember now. I have one just like it at home.’

  Richard laughed. ‘Then you’ll know what fun they are,’ he said. ‘When we were growing up, we used to open all the doors and roller skate down it.

  Carys smiled as she tried to imagine Richard on roller skates. The funny thing was, she really could. He still had that boyishness about him: that edge of fun which followed you into adulthood and made sure you didn’t turn into a funless frump.

  ‘Sometimes, we’d even risk a scooter or one of those go-carts. And Serena would journey down the corridor on her space hopper.’

  Carys laughed, staring down the seemingly endless runway of fun. She’d never thought of ancient houses as being places of fun before but she was beginning to see them in a new light now. She could imagine rainy days being no obstacle to having the time of your life. There were miles of corridors and acre upon acre of space inside the old walls of Amberley. How different it must have been from her own childhood in her mother’s immaculate apartment where everything was white, forbidding any activities which might have been deemed fun like painting or baking or owning a pet.

  ‘Don’t leave that there!’ was a regularly shouted command from her mother if Carys dared to leave her toys out.

  Carys had always had a sneaking suspicion that she’d remained an only child because her mother couldn’t have coped with any more mess.

  ‘The mirror at the end gives the illusion of infinity. You can imagine it reaching right to the edge of the world,’ Richard said, bringing Carys back to the present.

  She looked up at him. ‘You love it here, don’t you?’

  He turned round to face her, his eyes still sparkling with reflections of his childhood antics.

  ‘There’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.’

  ‘Just as well, I suppose.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Because you’re lumbered with it, aren’t you? I mean - one day-’ she stopped. What on earth had made her say that? She could feel a blush creeping over her face like a dark cloud.

  ‘Is this the aristocracy-basher again?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I don’t know why I said that.’

  ‘Because it’s true?’ he suggested. ‘You’re right - I am lumbered with it. Although lumbered isn’t quite the word I’d have chosen. But I’m the first son. I will take on the responsibility of seeing that the old pile doesn’t crumble into the ground whilst I’m alive.’

  ‘Isn’t that an awful duty? Doesn’t it make you want to run away and-’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Carys said. ‘Join a circus? Or an insurance company or something - anything else?’

  ‘It’s strange,’ he said. ‘There must be something in the genes that makes you stay. It’s as if you’re born with the blood of the house running through your veins. It’s air is the only air you can breathe. It’s bricks, its foundations - they’re a kind of extra skin you wear. There’s no getting away from it even if you wanted to; it’s a part of you.’

  There was a moment’s silence before he continued.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m being boring, aren’t I?’

  ‘No. It’s all so fascinating - to be so attached to a place. I’ve never had that experience before. I mean, I’m Cuthland born and bred but I don’t have that connection to a place as specific as Amberley. I think you’re very lucky.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘I really do. I didn’t realise how passionate you could get about an old pile of bricks,’ she said with a little laugh.

  Richard’s eyes widened. ‘I object to the word pile!’ he said. ‘Amberley may not be in a perfect state of repair but I like to think of her as being a few stops up from a pile.’

  ‘Oh, she is. I was just teasing.’

  ‘Then you like the house?’

  Carys looked down the length of the enfilade again. Its rich chestnut floor stretched for what seemed like miles, highlighted, at intervals, by sunlight spilling in from the windows. She caught a glimpse of golden mirror from the next room and could just make out a brilliant jade urn in the room after that.

  ‘I love the house,’ she said at last. ‘I really love it.’

  And she did. It was the most beautiful place she’d ever seen and she couldn’t stop thinking about it all evening. It was as if it had woven a wonderful spell over her. It had spoken to her.

  ‘Carys.’

  She remembered hearing the voice distinctly as she’d left Amberley.

  ‘This is your home now.’

  At first, she thought she’d imagined it and then she thought it must have been a voice from deep within her, telling her of her future.

  She bit her lip as she remembered it. Yes, that must have been it: she must have had some sort of premonition. What else could it possibly have been - a ghost? Carys smiled. She didn’t believe in ghosts and, anyway, Amberley wasn’t haunted, was it?

  Chapter 5

  ‘I don’t understand what you mean,’ Louise said, her nose scrunched up in consternation.

  ‘I’m engaged!’ Carys said again, her eyes dancing with a light one rarely sees north of the Mediterranean. ‘Well, it’s not official yet. Obviously.’ She gave a half-laugh. ‘We haven’t told anyone and we haven’t got a ring yet but -’

  ‘Carys! Have you gone absolutely mad? You’ve only just met this guy. God! I was with you. You were only talking to him for a few minutes. How could you possibly know him?’

  ‘I know him better than I know anyone else. And you can trace his family back about eleven generations if you want to. There are no skeletons in his English oak cupboards.’ She giggled at her own joke.

  ‘English oak-’ Louise’s nose was in danger of disappearing altogether if she scrunched it up any more. ‘Ah!’ she said at last. ‘I’m beginning to u
nderstand now. You’ve fallen in love with this man’s house, haven’t you? Just like Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice when she sees Darcy’s estate for the first time. Remember?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh, yes you do. Look - you’re blushing.’

  ‘I am not!’

  ‘You are. You face is all red.’

  ‘That’s rubbish. Love has got nothing to do with possessions or titles or estates. You don’t marry a man because he has a title or a few acres of land.’

  ‘He’s got more than a few acres.’

  ‘You marry him because you love him. You don’t live with a title. You live with a man. Anyway, I don’t see what’s wrong with a whirlwind romance.’

  ‘Whirlwind? This is more like a tornado!’

  ‘Oh, Louise! I’m not going to talk to you any more if you’re going to be so impossible.’ Carys got up to go.

  ‘No, don’t go,’ Louise said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just trying to understand, that’s all. It’s rather a lot to take in.’

  Carys sat back down. Her friend was right, of course. She realised how surprised she’d be if the roles had been reversed.

  ‘Now,’ Louise said. ‘Start from the beginning and tell me what happened.’

  Carys sighed and began to tell Louise about her extraordinary visit to Amberley: the walled garden, Dizzy the spaniel, and the tour of the house.

  ‘You should have seen the rooms. You would have loved them.’

  ‘Yes, yes! I’m sure I would have but when did he propose? What did he say?’

  Carys smiled. She’d been doing a lot of smiling since she’d met Richard.

  ‘We were in the library. It was the last room in the house that we visited,’ Carys said, replaying the scene once more.

  ‘Do you like books?’ Richard asked.

  ‘I love them,’ Carys said, trying to remember the last time she’d sat down with a good novel. A few months ago, perhaps? On holiday? She wouldn’t let on.

  He opened a door and Carys gasped.

  ‘It’s the old Long Gallery. Once used for walking in on a winter’s day and dancing in on a summer’s evening but Amberley’s ever-expanding library had to be housed somewhere.’

  ‘It’s amazing,’ Carys said.

  Dark shelves crammed with books filled every inch of wall space. Spines of muted reds and greens greeted her eyes and she took a step closer to read the titles.

  ‘There are around fifteen thousand books in here and I’ve not read a single one,’ Richard announced.

  Carys turned to look at him, her eyes searching his for humour but he was deadly serious.

  ‘Being told to read with gloves on when you’re a kid doesn’t exactly inspire enthusiasm. Give me a modern paperback whose spine I can crack. I like a book I can drop in the bath and not worry if it’s a valuable first edition or not.’

  ‘Me too,’ Carys said. ‘My first edition Charles Dickens novels aren’t allowed to leave my library either.’

  Richard looked at her.

  Oh, dear. Had she gone too far with the jokes? Had she overstepped the boundary of humour and insulted him and his way of life - again?

  And then he smiled. ‘Will you marry me?’

  Carys’s mouth dropped open. Had he just proposed? Hadn’t they just been talking about books and baths and … how had they got onto this subject all of a sudden?

  ‘What?’

  ‘Will you marry me, Carys?’

  She frowned. What was going on here? They hadn’t even been on a date. Their drive out into the country with a pizza could hardly be called a date and, anyway, it had ended disastrously. They hadn’t even kissed. She didn’t know anything about him.

  Actually, that wasn’t true. She’d learnt more about this man in that last couple of hours than she knew about some members of her own family. She knew all about his family history: two sisters and a brother and generations of devious dukes before that. She knew that he didn’t think much of mahogany but couldn’t imagine life without walnut - particularly a simple little side table he had in his bedroom. She knew that he never watched soap operas but was a huge fan of Countryfile and watched most wildlife programmes as long as they weren’t about bats of which he had an irrational fear. He was born on the thirteenth of July which, she’d worked out made him a Cancerian. He liked marshmallows, copper beaches, mullioned windows and, she’d just discovered, cracking the spines of new paperbacks whilst in the bath.

  Was it enough?

  ‘You don’t know anything about me,’ she said.

  ‘But I do,’ he said. ‘you’re unhappy in your job-’

  ‘I never said that!’

  ‘But you are, aren’t you?’

  Carys frowned again. How had he worked that out? What had she said? She couldn’t quite remember.

  ‘You love beautiful things but don’t think you have a right to them.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re well-versed in literature but haven’t read much modern fiction.’

  ‘I never-’

  ‘And you’re beginning to think more kindly of my way of life.’

  Carys’s hands were on her hips and her brow was furrowed with consternation.

  ‘I never said anything-’

  He kissed her and the rest of her protestation was silenced.

  ‘Marry me,’ he said once he’d let her go.

  ‘And I said yes,’ Carys told Louise. ‘That was it. He asked me and I said yes.’

  Louise’s face was a picture of puzzlement. ‘Nothing like that’s ever happened to me.’ And then something occurred to her. ‘My God! You’ll be a duchess.’

  ‘Not at first. A marchioness to begin with.’

  ‘A marchioness?’ Louise’s tongue stumbled over the foreign word. ‘But you hate the aristocracy. How can you suddenly become a recruit?’

  Carys sighed. ‘I might have hated most of them at one point but I think, now, that I’m rather in love with one specific member.’

  Louise rubbed her head in her hands. ‘My brain aches. I can’t take all this in. Are you sure you’re not winding me up?’

  Carys shook her head. ‘You’ll be my bridesmaid, won’t you?’

  Suddenly, Louise’s face lit up with joy. ‘Oh, yes! Oh wow! Where will you be getting married? Will it be in the cathedral? Just imagine! It will be in all the glossy mags, won’t it? When will the wedding be? Have you bought any bridal magazines yet? Oh, this is so exciting!’

  Carys grinned. It hadn’t taken long to win her friend over.

  Chapter 6

  It was only after Carys had accepted Richard’s proposal of marriage that he introduced her to Cecily and Evelyn - his two daughters.

  She’d driven out to Amberley to be officially introduced to Richard’s parents, the duke and duchess. As though that wasn’t enough of a nerve-wracking experience for one day, he’d taken her into the private drawing room and sat her down.

  ‘There’s something I should have told you,’ he said.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Carys said. ‘I know you’ve been married before.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘You don’t live in a complete bubble here, you know.’

  A look of enormous relief passed across his face.

  ‘Then you’ll know about Cecily and Evelyn?’ he said. ‘Girls! You can come in now.’ The drawing room door opened and two young girls, aged about eight and ten, walked in. They were a pair of perfect blonde bookends and had the kind of complexions which made them ripe for creamy soap commercials.

  ‘These are my two beautiful daughters,’ he announced proudly.

  Carys’s eyes stretched in surprise. She had known about the wife but she hadn’t known about the two children. How had he managed to keep them a secret, she wondered? And then she realised, once again, that they really hadn’t known each other very long and that such things as children could be hidden away and forgotten about.

  �
�Hello,’ Carys said, standing up as the two girls approached. ‘I’m Carys.’ She wondered whether to shake their hands but they were a bit young for that, weren’t they?

  ‘Are you going to be our new mama?’ the younger girl asked.

  Carys blushed and Richard cleared his throat in obvious embarrassment.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ the elder girl said. ‘Nobody can replace mama.’

  There was a very awkward silence as Carys began to realise the enormity of the situation. She glanced at Richard who gave her a look as if to say, I won’t blame you if you run away right this minute.

  ‘Cecily, Evelyn,’ he began, ‘Carys is going to be my wife, yes.’

  Carys swallowed hard. The term wife was alienating enough; the title marchioness would be odd in the extreme, but the position of mama was positively daunting.

  She bit her lip. ‘And I’m hoping you two will be my bridesmaids,’ she suddenly said, wondering how she’d come up with such a bribe. Well, it had worked wonders with Louise.

  ‘Can we?’ the younger girl said.

  The older girl, whose expression seemed set in stone, said nothing.

  Richard knelt down and took the little girl’s hands in his. ‘Of course you can be a bridesmaid, Evie.’ He turned to face Cecily. ‘And you can too, my love.’

  Cecily didn’t say anything but remained resolutely silent.

  ‘Now,’ Richard said, ‘hadn’t you two better get ready for lunch?’

  Cecily and Evelyn nodded in unison and left the room.

  Richard stood back up to full height and dared to turn round to Carys.

  ‘I meant to tell you earlier,’ he said, his face creasing in anxiety.

  Carys’s eyebrows rose. ‘Don’t tell me, they slipped your mind.’

  ‘Of course they didn’t. It just didn’t seem to be the right moment.’

  ‘Didn’t seem right to warn me that I’d be taking on two step-daughters?’

  ‘Well, you won’t really. They have a nanny and a tutor. You don’t have to have anything to do with them if you don’t want to.’

  ‘What do you mean?‘