‘Which one are you?’ Carys whispered, moving to view the paintings. But she knew. It was the painting Louise had shown an interest in. For a moment, Carys wondered if that had meant something. Louise had denied having any feelings and yet she’d been drawn to Georgiana’s painting. Had Georgiana been trying to communicate with Louise?
Carys gazed up at the painting. There were at least three portraits of Georgiana in the room and several more throughout the house but this was the most beautiful. Not quite life-size, it was a full-length portrait of Georgiana wearing a pale blue dress which shimmered from out of the dark background. Was that why she was known as the Blue Lady? Did that mean that, when she made her rare appearances, she was still wearing this dress? After over two hundred years? It was all so confusing.
Carys noticed the delicate lace at the dress’s neckline and the exquisite slippers peeping out from under the folds of the dress. And then she noticed something she hadn’t seen before. Georgiana was also holding a single red rose - the famous scarlet Amberley Velvet - the rose with the astonishing scent. But it was the way she was holding it that was so curious. It was cradled in her arms as if it were a baby. Had her husband given her that rose and asked her to be painted holding it? Carys looked for clues in her face. She had a kind face: beautiful, vanilla-pale skin, her fair hair swept gently back. But there was something about the eyes that was bewitching: they were dark and mysteriously playful, as if she wanted to share a secret with you.
‘What’s your secret, Georgiana? Is that why you’ve come back - to tell me something?’
Carys sighed. As much as she wanted to, she just couldn’t bring herself to talk out loud to an empty space. She tried to recall what Ms Claridge had said about ghosts.
They’re just like normal people.
Right. That didn’t seem very likely to Carys but, as she’d no prior experience of these matters, who was she to argue?
Give Georgiana a chance.
She wanted to, she really did, but she couldn’t help feeling terribly sceptical about the whole thing. Somehow, her earlier buzz of enthusiasm had waned. Still, she couldn’t not give things a try after coming so far already but what, exactly, should she do? Call her name again? That’s what you’d do if you wanted to find a friend, wasn’t it? And Ms Claridge had made it perfectly clear that ghosts were just like ordinary people.
‘Georgiana?’ Carys whispered, her voice, she felt, far too hesitant to reach anything from another dimension. ‘Are you there?’ she tried again, a little louder but sounding ridiculously clichéd.
There was nothing. No. Wait. She felt sure that buzzing sensation was returning. Her skin felt quite strange - just like the time in the Music Room. It was hard to explain. A certain frisson of the flesh. Or maybe it was Ms Claridge’s strange blue liquid wearing off. Carys worried in case it might have some long-term effect which might send her into a trance at the most inappropriate moments such as estate meetings. Not that anybody would notice, she smiled.
‘Concentrate,’ she said to herself. Deep breaths, that was the way. She stood absolutely still and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to empty her mind just as Ms Claridge had instructed. A sudden calmness flooded her system and, for a moment, she thought she could smell - what? Was it the hyacinth smell of Ms Claridge’s strange potion? No. It was roses. She could smell roses. And not just any rose: what she could smell was unmistakable. It was an Amberley Velvet.
‘Georgiana?’
Carys felt her heartbeat accelerate. She didn’t know what to do. Should she open her eyes? She was too afraid at what might greet her.
‘Okay,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I can do this. I must do this.’
She opened her eyes.
‘RICHARD!’ she screamed. He was standing right in front of her. How long had he been there?
She waited for him to say something perceptive like, ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ but he didn’t. In fact, it was he who looked like he’d seen a ghost.
‘Richard? Whatever’s the matter?’ Carys leant forward and greeted him with a tender kiss. He was deathly pale. ‘Are you ill?’ Carys stroked his cheek. ‘I’ve told you to slow down, haven’t I? You’re doing far too much and now you’re paying the price.’
‘No,’ he said.
Carys sighed. ‘There’s no use arguing with me. You’ve got to take things easier.’
‘No,’ he said again. ‘It’s not me, Carys.’
She looked at him. ‘What’s wrong, then?’
He was silent for a moment, as if trying to work it out for himself. Carys could feel her heart rate speeding again and, this time, it had nothing to do with ghosts.
‘What is it, Richard?’ she asked again. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s father.’ Richard said in a voice that was barely audible. ‘He’s had a heart attack.’
Chapter 14
The eleventh Duke of Cuthland had suffered a heart attack the year before and had refused to take the doctor’s advice about taking things easy. He paid the price with his life shortly after reaching the hospital.
With the estate to run and the funeral to arrange, Richard had too much to do to find the time to grieve and Carys was deeply worried that he was heading the same way as his father.
‘It’s so awful,’ Carys told Louise on the phone. ‘I can’t seem to reach him at all. I’m so worried about him.’
‘It must be a huge responsibility. I mean, he’s the new duke now, isn’t he? And there’ll be all those appalling death duties to worry about.’
Carys hadn’t even thought of those. She’d heard the term mentioned before but wasn’t quite sure what it entailed. All she knew was that it was the price the privileged paid for continuing to live at Amberley: each new duke would have to cough up the coffers if they wished to remain lord of the manor.
The funeral was to be held at St Mary’s Church in the grounds of Amberley. It was where all the dukes were buried and, truth be told, was beginning to look a bit crowded. There was the option of cremation, of course, and a neat row of urns stood silently in a quiet corner of the Cuthland Chapel but Henry Bretton was not going to be extinguished quite so easily. He wanted a proper burial. Carys had an awful image of his likeness being chiselled onto his tomb like his ancestors, his faithful spaniels propping up his feet. But what made her sadder than anything was that she’d not really got to know the duke. Still, in a strange way, she knew that she was going to miss him. His bark, which boomed and echoed through the corridors of Amberley, was so much a part of the place that she couldn’t imagine life without it.
There were a lot of people who wouldn’t miss him, of course, like the errant walkers who dared to stray off the footpaths into the deer park and were chased away with irate shouts and menacing shakes of one of the duke’s infamous walking sticks. But nobody would be left doubting that he’d been a larger than life character.
Richard’s mother, now known as the ‘dowager duchess’, hadn’t spoken a word to Carys since the death of her husband. That wasn’t very surprising, though, seeing as they hardly spoke under normal circumstances. Carys tried, hopelessly, to think of something comforting to say. She so longed to have a good relationship with her mother-in-law and knew that she’d need her guidance more than ever now that she was about to take over the role of duchess herself.
Cecily and Evelyn spent most of their time in tears and, heartless as it may have seemed, Carys was pleased to see that Cecily was capable of some emotion after all. Of course, Carys was completely refused when it came to offering any comfort but there was one touching moment when, late at night, Carys had woken up to find Richard was not in bed. She’d slipped on slippers and a dressing gown and followed the sound of whispered voices to the girls’ room where, peeping through the door which had been left ever-so-slightly ajar, she saw Richard sitting on the edge of Cecily’s bed, a warm arm around her shoulders.
‘Grandpa knows you love him,’ he whispered into the top of her head.
&n
bsp; ‘But how?’
‘Because families just know these things.’
There was a pause.
‘Do you know I love you, Daddy?’
‘Of course I do, sweetheart.’
‘And does Grandma know I love her?’
‘I’m sure she does.’
‘But I should tell her, shouldn’t I?’
‘I think she’d like that very much.’
Cecily had nodded and Carys had watched as he’d tucked her back into bed, kissing her cheek and smoothing down her hair which was damp with tears.
With all the upset and upheaval of the duke’s death, Carys had completely forgotten about Amanda, Richard’s ex-wife and mother of Cecily and Evelyn and the role she would play. Incredibly enough, Carys had never met her. Every weekend, when she came to pick up the girls, Carys had been out walking the dogs. Richard had never offered an introduction and it didn’t quite seem the right thing to ask him to do. But she had been a member of the Bretton family for twelve years and was, of course, invited to the funeral.
Carys had seen photographs of her but none of them did her justice. A statuesque five foot seven with rich brown hair and eyes the colour of jade, she was the kind of woman to give a newly-wed second wife the heebie-jeebies. She was also immaculate with a sharp suit, discreet gold earrings and perfect nails. She also owned a Marlva Panache in misty blue - a car Carys had been dreaming of owning for years.
‘You must be Carys,’ she said as they met in the Yellow Drawing Room on the morning of the funeral.
‘Amanda?’ Carys said, shaking the outstretched manicured hand which felt so much calmer and steadier than her own.
‘My word,’ Amanda said, glancing around the room. ‘This place never changes, does it?’ Her tone told of her relief to be shot of the place, her lofty glance finding every cobweb and forgotten patch of dust.
‘That, I find, is part of its charm,’ Carys countered.
‘Yes, well, charm doesn’t keep you warm in winter or pay the bills,’ she said, making Carys feel incredibly naïve.
‘Amberley usually finds a way.’
‘It will need to with these death duties.’
Luckily for Carys, who didn’t particularly want to spend any more time alone with Amanda, Phoebe, Serena and Jamie entered the room, their pale faces all the more stark because of their black clothing. Phoebe immediately crossed the room and hugged Carys.
‘You okay?’ Carys whispered.
Phoebe nodded but Carys could see that her eyes were red-rimmed. Still, Phoebe didn’t forget her manners and greeted Amanda with a kiss on the cheek.
Richard entered the room with his mother who was wearing a pretty hat with a wisp of dark veil. She linked his arm and nodded to Amanda who came forward to kiss both her and Richard. Cecily and Evie followed, running over to greet their mother as if she might be able to make everything better.
And then, it was time to leave. It was damp and overcast which seemed to suit everybody’s mood. Stepping out from the front porch, Carys saw the sombre black hearse and the dark wood coffin of the duke, piled high with white lilies and his favourite yellow roses from the estate gardens.
Carys travelled in the first car with Richard, his mother and Jamie. Phoebe and Serena followed with Amanda, Cecily and Evelyn. It was the saddest procession Carys had ever seen for standing in line along the driveway were all the estate workers in black, heads bowing as the duke’s hearse drove by.
St Mary’s Church was tiny and icy cold all year round. Carys shivered as they walked in behind the coffin. Following Richard and his mother to the front pew, she couldn’t help thinking of her own future and how it was probably tied to this very church. She would more than likely end up here, wouldn’t she - in a little urn on a stone ledge in the Cuthland Chapel? But what about her own family? Would she have to forget them? That was the thing when you married into these families: you went along with their traditions and forgot about your own history and heritage. She was a Bretton now and belonged here, and it was a position she’d take with her even beyond death.
The service was beautiful in its simplicity. Immortal, invisible, God only wise, was the first hymn but voices didn’t want to be roused. Carys’s own voice quavered somewhat when she heard Francesca’s notes break off into a numbed silence, and Richard’s voice was barely above a whisper. Would he be able to muster up the courage for his reading?
The hymn ended and Carys squeezed Richard’s arm before he walked the few paces to the front of the church and faced the congregation. He read the moving words about Time from Ecclesiastes and his voice was low and calm and desperately sad and, when he finished, he lifted his eyes to the many familiar faces that had crowded into the tiny church.
‘My father could never lay claim to being the easiest of men to live with,’ he began, and his statement raised a few nervous chuckles from the pews, ‘but he was a good man and much admired and, what is more, he loved Amberley and cared for it with the very fibre of his being.’
Richard paused and gazed into the empty space in front of him almost as if he could see his father standing there, listening to his words.
‘And, I know,’ he went on at last, ‘that there will always be a part of him here with us and that it is now our responsibility to continue his extraordinary work.’
For a moment, he looked as if he were about to say something else but was waiting for the right words to form themselves. The church was silent with anticipation as everybody watched him, but his words never did materialise and he returned to his seat.
There were a few moments of silent contemplation. Carys picked Richard’s hands up in hers and held them tightly. They felt like the hands of a little boy and she couldn’t help feeling a little anxious for him, for it was into these hands that the Amberley estate had now fallen.
Chapter 15
It was one week after the duke’s funeral and Carys walked into their private apartments to find Richard bent double over a packing box.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked him.
‘Moving out,’ he said simply.
Carys’s eyes widened. ‘What?’
For one awful moment, she thought that he’d finally cracked - that his job had finally got the better of him and he’d decided to leave Amberley for good.
‘We’re moving to the west wing,’ he explained.
‘But your mother’s there.’
‘She’s moved out.’
‘What? When?’ Carys asked, not really surprised that nobody had told her what was going on - as usual.
‘She’s in Cuthland House. By the west gate.’
Carys knew of the property: a sturdy Victorian building with large windows and a pretty garden.
‘Isn’t this all rather sudden?’
‘Not at all,’ Richard said. ‘It’s perfectly normal.’
For a bleak moment, Carys saw herself in the future: an ancient lady of ninety being kicked out of her home by her own son. How heartless. How cruel! She was a lonely widow. She was-
‘And, before you accuse me of being heartless, it was her own decision to go straight away’
‘Oh,’ Carys said. ‘I guess I’ll never understand how these houses and families work.’
‘You will,’ he said. ‘You’re the duchess now, you’ll have to learn.’
Carys stood there feeling completely dumbfounded She was the duchess now - the Duchess of Cuthland. She hadn’t even had time to get used to being the Marchioness of Amberley and now she was a duchess.
‘But what’s wrong with our apartments here?’
‘Nothing,’ Richard said. ‘But it’s usual for the duke and duchess to take up residence in the west wing. I’m sure you’ll love it.’
‘Don’t you want to choose for yourself?’ she dared to ask.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Where do you want to live?’
Richard frowned. ‘The west wing.’
Carys shook her head. ‘Don’t you ever feel like rebell
ing a little bit? How about moving into a nice semi in Carminster? Or a little cottage out near the moors?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Choice,’ Carys said.
‘But we’ve got choice here - there are dozens of rooms.’
‘So why the west wing?’
‘Because it’s convenient and comfortable,’ he said. ‘Carys, if you don’t mind me saying, you’re being rather perverse.’
She sighed. ‘But I’ve only just grown to love it here.’
Richard smiled. ‘I know we seem to spend our time moving around but it’ll work out fine in no time. You’ll see. Now, pass me that picture, darling,’ he said, nodding to the old print of Amberley Court which was hanging on the wall. ‘We’ll take that one with us - make us feel more at home, eh?’
Moving rooms, in itself, didn’t bother Carys. It was not being asked her opinion that irked. Nobody ever seemed to think she might have thoughts on a particular subject and that bothered her. She didn’t want to become invisible. Her job at Gyland and Green had allowed her a certain level of responsibility that, although was not enviable in that it meant endless overtime, gave her a feeling of self-worth. That was important to her. She didn’t want to be the unseen wife who worked quietly in the shadow of her husband.
Should have thought about that before marrying a duke, her inner voice told her as she walked around her new living room. It was beautiful, of course, with dark cream flocked wallpaper, a wine red carpet and ornate plaster ceiling. The views across the gardens were stunning too. She hated to admit it, but it was far more lovely than their previous apartments.
‘All right?’ Richard had asked her over breakfast on their first morning in their new quarters.
She’d nodded.
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