Not having seen his father for nine months, Giles had been shocked, deeply so, at his first sight of his father seated in a chair by the window, a blanket across his knees as evidence that, despite the warmer weather, his almost skeletal frame was prone to feel the cold. The duke’s grief at the death of his two sons appeared to have aged him twenty years in just one, his hair having turned grey, his eyes having sunk into the thin pallor of his face whilst deep lines marked his unsmiling mouth.
His dull eyes had brightened slightly at the sight of his son, and his spirits had rallied for a short time too, but Giles could see his father’s strength failing him after they had spoken together for ten minutes, and so he had made his excuses and gone to refresh himself after his journey.
‘I believe so, yes,’ Giles replied to Mr Seagrove; his visit to his father’s rooms before breakfast this morning had led to the discovery that the Duke of Rothermere had completely forgotten his son’s arrival the day before, thereby making it impossible for Giles to ascertain whether his presence back at Castonbury Park was having a positive effect upon his father or not.
The guilt Giles now felt at having neglected his father by remaining from home these past nine months was not something he intended to discuss with anyone, even the kindly Reverend Reginald Seagrove. Certainly Giles did not intend to reveal his feelings of inadequacy in front of the quietly attentive Lily Seagrove. Indeed, she was a young lady who saw far too many faults in him already than was comfortable!
‘Perhaps now that you are home you will be able to see to the necessary repairs about the estate, my lord?’ It was almost as if that young lady knew of at least some of Giles’s thoughts as she smiled sweetly.
‘Perhaps,’ he dismissed stiffly.
She gave a gracious inclination of her head. ‘I am sure His Grace would be most gratified. Not to mention the tenants of the estate.’
Giles’s mouth tightened as Lily Seagrove’s comment hit home. It was a way of pointing out his own shortcomings, he was sure. Shortcomings which Giles needed no reminding of when he had only to see the frailty of his father’s health, and the neglect about the estate, to become all too aware of them himself.
‘Shall I pour, my lord?’ she prompted lightly as Lumsden returned with the tea tray and placed it on the low table in front of her before departing.
‘Please.’ Giles gave a terse inclination of his head. He suffered more than a little inner restlessness as he felt the chains of responsibility for Castonbury Park tighten even more painfully about his throat. Chains which Lily Seagrove no doubt prayed might choke him!
‘Perhaps now that you are home, I might broach the subject of this year’s well-dressing, and the possibility of the celebrations afterwards returning to Castonbury Park?’ Mr Seagrove prompted hopefully. The Duke of Rothermere, having been in a turmoil of emotions the previous year, had requested that the garden party after the well-dressing take place on the village green rather than in the grounds of the estate as was the custom.
Although, as everyone knew, ‘garden party’ did not quite describe the celebrations that took place after the villagers had attended the church service and seen the three adorned wells in the village blessed. Much food was eaten, many barrels of beer consumed, with several stalls for bartering vegetables and livestock, and there was a Gypsy fortune-teller in a garishly adorned tent, and of course there would be music and dancing as the day turned to evening.
Giles was slow to turn his attention back to the older man, so intently was he watching Lily’s slender, gloved hands as they deftly managed the tilting of the teapot. Good heavens, sitting there so primly, her movements gracefully elegant, it was almost possible to imagine that Lily might, after all, have made Edward a passably suitable wife!
Almost.
For one only had to look at that black and curling hair, the ivory-white of her complexion, those lively green eyes and her full and berry-red lips to be reminded that Lily Seagrove’s true parentage was of much more exotic stock than the homely Mr and Mrs Seagrove.
No, as Giles had said only yesterday, it simply would not have done. Lily Seagrove was the type of young lady that gentlemen like the Montagues took to mistress, not to wife. An opinion, if Giles remembered correctly—and he had no doubts that he did!—to which his brother Edward had taken great exception a year ago. And which, when Giles had made those same remarks to Lily Seagrove, had resulted in her landing a resounding slap upon his cheek!
Giles’s mouth tightened at that memory even as he turned his attention back to Mr Seagrove. ‘What exactly would that entail?’
‘Oh, there is nothing for you to do personally except give your permission, my lord,’ that cheerful gentleman assured him eagerly. ‘Lily and Mrs Stratton usually work together on the organisation of the celebrations.’ He beamed brightly.
‘Indeed?’ Giles’s gaze was unreadable as Lily Seagrove stood up to hand him his cup of tea.
Lily kept her lashes lowered demurely as she avoided all contact with Giles’s long and elegant fingers as she handed over the cup of tea into which she had placed four helpings of sugar, despite having no idea whether or not that gentleman even liked sugar in his tea. Perhaps he would understand that she believed his demeanour could do with sweetening also.
She had felt a slight uplift in her spirits as she saw Giles Montague’s discomfort at mention of the neglect currently obvious about the estate, only to have her heart sink upon hearing her father put forward the idea of the celebrations after the well-dressing once again taking place at Castonbury Park. She knew that if Giles Montague were to agree, it would necessitate her spending far more time here than she would ever have wished, now that he was back in residence.
Lily moved across the room with her father’s tea. ‘I am sure it is not necessary to bother either His Grace or Lord Montague with something so trivial, Father,’ she dismissed evenly. ‘The venue of the village green proved perfectly adequate for our purposes last year.’
‘But, my dear, the garden party after the well-dressing ceremony has, by tradition, always been held at Castonbury Park—’
‘Mrs Stratton informed me only yesterday that His Grace is far more comfortable when he does not have too much rush and bustle about him.’ Lily could literally feel Giles Montague’s gaze upon her as she resumed her seat on the chaise before taking up her own cup of tea.
‘I had not thought of that…’ Mr Seagrove murmured regretfully.
Lily felt a pang of guilt as she saw her father’s disappointment. ‘I am sure that everyone enjoyed themselves just as much last year as they have any of the years previously,’ she encouraged gently.
‘Yes, but—’
‘Perhaps I might be allowed to offer an opinion…?’ Giles Montague interjected softly.
Lily’s gloved fingers tightened about the delicate handle on her teacup as she heard the deceptive mildness of his tone, to such a degree that she had to force herself to relax her grip for fear she might actually disengage the handle completely from the cup. She drew in two deep and calming breaths before turning to look at Giles Montague with polite but distant enquiry.
He was seated comfortably in an armchair, the pale blue of the material a perfect foil for the heavy darkness of his fashionably styled hair. He wore a black superfine over a pale blue waistcoat and snowy white linen, buff-coloured pantaloons tailored to long and powerful legs and black Hessians moulding the length of his calves. He looked, in fact, the epitome of the fashionable dandy about Town.
Not that Lily had ever been to Town, Mr and Mrs Seagrove never having found reason to travel so far as London. But she had often been privileged to see copies of the magazines Lady Phaedra, the younger of the two Montague sisters, had sent over, and the fashionable gentlemen depicted in the sketches inside those magazines had all looked much as Giles Montague did today.
She gave a dismissive shake of her head, as much for her own benefit as anyone else’s. She simply refused to see Giles Montague as anything other than th
e cold and unpleasant man he had always been to her, but especially so this past year. ‘I trust the tea is to your liking, my lord?’ she prompted as she saw the involuntary wince he gave after taking a sip of the hot and highly sweetened brew.
Narrowed grey eyes met her more innocent gaze. ‘Perfectly, thank you,’ he murmured as he rested the cup back on its saucer before carefully placing both on the table.
Lily’s cheeks warmed guiltily as she realised he was not going to expose her pettiness to her father. ‘I believe you were about to offer us your opinion concerning the well-dressing celebrations, my lord?’ she prompted huskily.
Giles, the taste of that unpleasantly syrupy tea still coating the roof of his mouth, did not believe that Miss Lily Seagrove would care to hear his ‘opinion’ of her at this particular moment! Instead he gave her a smile that did little more than bare his teeth in challenge, and was rewarded by a deepening of the blush colouring those ivory cheeks. ‘I have very fond memories of the celebrations being held here when I was a boy.’
‘Of course you must.’ The vicar eagerly took up the conversation. ‘I recall Mrs Seagrove telling me of how, before you were old enough to go to Town for the Season with the rest of the family, you and your brothers would help to put out the tables and chairs and hang up the bunting.’
Giles and his brothers… Of which there was now only one. And Harry, in his role as diplomat, currently resided in Town when not out of the country on other business.
If anyone had asked Giles if he really wanted the garden party to be held at Castonbury Park this year, his honest answer would have been no. But having now seen his father, witnessed the way in which his grief had caused him to become withdrawn, not just from his family but from the estate and village as well, and the way in which that estate had been allowed to fall into a state of gentile decay, Giles was of the opinion, no matter what his personal feelings on the matter, that the return of the annual celebrations in the grounds of Castonbury Park was exactly what was needed to bring about a return of confidence in the Montague family’s interest in both the tenants and the village.
An interest which, it was becoming all too frustratingly apparent, Giles himself would have to facilitate!
As the second son, he’d had very little reason to pay heed to the running of the estate, or the other duties of the Dukes of Rothermere, and had left such matters to his father and Jamie after he had joined the army twelve years ago. Unfortunately Jamie’s death, and his father’s failing health, now necessitated—as Lily Seagrove had all too sweetly taken pleasure in pointing out—that Giles’s disinterest in such matters could not continue.
Fortunately for Giles, his years as an officer in the army had given him an insight into the nature of people—
although he thought the villagers of Castonbury would not in the least appreciate being compared to the rough and ready soldiers who had served under him for eleven years, many of them having chosen to serve only as an alternative to prison or worse!—and as such he knew that the quickest and easiest way to win a man or woman’s confidence was to show an interest in them and their comfort.
In the case of the villagers, Giles had no doubts that the return of the annual celebrations to the grounds of Castonbury Park would be the perfect way of showing that interest.
‘Indeed we did,’ Giles answered Mr Seagrove ruefully. ‘And I will be only too happy to offer assistance this year. Under Miss Seagrove’s direction, of course…?’ He raised a dark and challengingly brow as he turned to look across the room at her.
Lily, having lapsed into what she now realised had been a false sense of security, could only stare back at him in wide-eyed disbelief.
The thought of the well-dressing celebrations being held at Castonbury Park, and so necessitating Lily spend more time here than she might ever have wished or asked for, seemed dreadful enough, but having Giles Montague offer his personal help with the organisation of those celebrations was unthinkable!
Nor did she believe for one moment that the haughty and arrogant Lord Giles would ever agree to do anything ‘under her direction.’
‘I really could not ask that of you, my lord, when you obviously have so many other calls upon your time now that you are home at last.’ She gave another of those sweet smiles.
Amusement—no doubt at Lily’s expense!—gleamed briefly in those grey eyes. ‘But you did not ask it, Miss Seagrove, it was I who offered,’ Giles Montague drawled dismissively.
‘But—’
‘As far as I am concerned, the matter is settled, Miss Seagrove.’ He rose abruptly to his feet as an indication that their visit was also at an end.
A dismissal Mr Seagrove, his real purpose in calling having now been settled to his satisfaction, was only too ready to accept as he rose to his feet. ‘I am sure you have made the right decision, my lord, for both the family and village as a whole.’ He beamed his pleasure at the younger man.
For once in her young life Lily could not help but wholeheartedly disagree with her adoptive father. Oh, she had no doubts that the rest of the village would see the reestablishment of the celebrations to Castonbury Park as a positive thing, a return to normality after almost a year of uncertainty.
But as the person who would be required to consult with Giles Montague, Lily could not help but feel a sense of dread….
Chapter Three
‘I do believe this particular shade would complement your colouring admirably.’ Mrs Hall laid out a swatch of deep pink material upon the counter top of her establishment, where several other bolts of material already lay discarded after having been rejected by Lily as not quite what she wanted.
In truth, Lily was not absolutely sure what she did want, only that she had decided to purchase some material to make up a new day gown, and Mrs Hall’s establishment in the village was so much more convenient than having to travel all the way to the nearest town of Buxton. Luckily, that lady had several new selections of material in stock, and Lily’s needlework was also excellent due to Mrs Seagrove’s tutelage in earlier years. Besides which, with the celebrations less than two weeks away, Lily was sorely in need of a new gown—
Lily drew her thoughts up sharply as she realised she was not only prevaricating but actually practising a deception upon herself; her reason for deciding she needed a new gown for the day of the well-dressing celebrations could be summed up in just three words—Lord Giles Montague! Which was a ridiculous vanity on Lily’s part, when she had no doubts that the haughty Lord Giles would have taken absolutely no note of the gowns she had been wearing on the two occasions on which they had last met.
‘Or perhaps this one…?’ Mrs Hall held up another swatch, having obviously drawn a wrong conclusion as to the reason for Lily’s present distraction.
‘I think perhaps— Oh, how beautiful!’ Lily gasped in pleasure as she focused her attention on the material which she was sure had to be a match in colour for the green of her eyes.
If styled correctly, it could be prettied up with cream lace at the neck and short sleeves to wear in the evenings. Not that Lily had attended any of the local assemblies since Edward died, but even so…
‘It is perfect,’ she breathed in satisfaction. ‘But no doubt costly?’ she added with a self-conscious grimace; she was, after all, only a vicar’s adopted daughter, and as such it would not do for her to look anything other than what she was, and this material had a richness about it that was unmistakable to the eye.
As she had grown to adulthood Lily had often found herself wondering if, as so many in the village so obviously suspected, she really could be the daughter of one of the dramatically beautiful Romany women who stayed in the grounds of Castonbury Park during the summer months.
Several years ago Lily had even plucked up the courage to question one of them, a Mrs Lovell, the oldest and friendliest of the Romany women. The old lady had seemed taken aback by the question at first, and then she had chuckled as she assured Lily that the tribes took care of their own, and tha
t no true Romany child would ever have been left behind to live with a gorjer. It had been said in such a contemptuous way that Lily had no difficulty discerning that the old lady meant a non-Romany person.
Even so, Lily had still sometimes found herself daydreaming as to how different her life would have been if, despite Mrs Lovell’s denials, her mother really had been one of those lovely Romany women….
No doubt once she was grown she would have worn those same dresses in rich and gaudy colours that she had seen the Romany women wearing, with her long and wildly curling black hair loose about her shoulders as she danced about the campfire in the evenings, enticing and beguiling the swarthy-skinned Gypsy men who watched her with hot and desirous eyes.
Her daydreams had always come to an abrupt and disillusioned end at that point, as Lily acknowledged that might possibly be the exact way in which her mother had conceived the child she had abandoned on the Seagroves’ doorstep twenty years ago!
‘Perhaps it is not quite…suitable.’ She sighed wistfully as she touched the beautiful moss-green material longingly. ‘A serviceable grey would be more practical, do you not think?’ Her liking for the material in front of her was so immediate and so strong, it was impossible to prevent the wistfulness from entering her tone.
The other woman laughed lightly. ‘Like the gown you are wearing today, you mean?’
Lily glanced down at her gown, one of her older ones, chuckling softly as she realised the other woman was quite correct and that the gown was indeed grey, and that it was also eminently serviceable in style. ‘Do forgive me.’ She smiled at the other woman in rueful apology. ‘My head is so filled with arrangements for the well-dressing I did not even take note of which gown I had put on this morning!’
Castonbury Park 01 - The Wicked Lord Montague Page 3
