Bound by a Scandalous Secret (The Scandalous Summerfields)

by Diane Gaston

  Ross noticed Genna gazing at the walls and ceiling as if seeing them for the first time.

  ‘It is hard to imagine one even more elaborate,’ he said diplomatically. ‘Although it does remind me of rooms we saw in Rome and Florence and Venice.’

  ‘You’ve visited Rome and Florence and Venice?’ Genna’s eyes grew wide.

  ‘We did indeed,’ Ross replied. ‘On our Grand Tour. You would have appreciated the fine art there.’

  ‘Lord Tinmore’s grandfather and great-grandfather collected many fine pieces of Italian art. They are hung in almost every room of this house,’ Lady Tinmore said almost dutifully.

  ‘They are?’ Genna looked surprised.

  Dell drained the contents of his wineglass and placed it on the table. ‘We must take our leave.’ He spoke to Lady Tinmore, but did not quite meet her eye. ‘I do hope Lord Tinmore continues to improve.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

  Ross bowed to her. ‘It was a pleasure seeing you again, ma’am.’ He turned to Genna. ‘And you, Miss Summerfield. I hope we meet again.’

  ‘Yes.’ Genna smiled. ‘I would enjoy that.’

  Perhaps he could convince Dell to call upon Lord Tinmore again. Or he could call upon the gentleman himself, although he had less reason to do so and no interest in meeting the man. He merely wanted to see Genna again.

  And he still must devise a way to deliver her sketchbook to her as he had promised.

  Before Ross could say another word, Dell strode out of the room as if in a hurry. Ross was compelled to follow, although he did so at a more appropriate pace.

  He also turned back to the ladies when he reached the door. ‘Good day, ma’am. Miss Summerfield.’

  When he caught up to Dell in the hall, Dell had already sent the footman for their greatcoats, hats and gloves.

  ‘What the devil was the rush?’ Ross asked him.

  ‘We were intruding.’ Dell did not meet his eye. ‘Tinmore is still ill. Sick enough for him to cancel his house party. The last thing Lady Tinmore needs are callers.’

  ‘She did not seem to mind,’ Ross insisted.

  The footman brought their coats and assisted in putting them on. ‘Your horses are being brought from the stable.’

  They waited in uncomfortable silence until the horses were outside the door.

  * * *

  They were on the main road from the estate before Ross spoke. ‘What is amiss, Dell?’

  ‘Amiss?’ he shot back. ‘I told you. We were intruding. I should not have allowed you to talk me into this visit.’

  Ross spoke in a milder tone. ‘I did not see any indication that we were not welcome. Lady Tinmore seemed very gracious. I think she appreciated our concern for her husband.’

  ‘She was gracious,’ Dell admitted, sounding calmer. ‘She was—’ He cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps we might call again. In a week or so, when we are certain of Tinmore’s recovery.’

  * * *

  Genna and Lorene waited at the window until they saw Rossdale and Penford ride away.

  Lorene then turned to tidy up the wineglasses and plate of biscuits, putting them back on the tray, something for which her husband would chastise her if he knew of it.

  Acting like a servant, he would say.

  Genna liked those old habits of Lorene’s—her tendency to take care of things and save others the trouble.

  Genna put her hands on her hips and stared at the Mount Olympus mural. ‘I had not noticed before, but this really is a remarkable painting.’ Verrio had painted the perspective so skilfully the figures in the painting appeared to be stepping into the room. Remarkable.

  A footman had stepped into the room, ready to take the tea tray away.

  Genna walked out of the room with Lorene. ‘How serious is Lord Tinmore’s illness?’ she asked. ‘I confess, I was surprised he cancelled the house party.’

  ‘He is very weak, but his breathing is less laboured.’

  The footman opened the door for them and Genna wondered what he thought about her ladyship tidying the room.

  Lorene continued talking. ‘If he had not cancelled it today, there would not have been enough time for letters to reach everyone. He did not want guests arriving with him lying abed. He said I should have known to cancel the house party two days ago.’

  ‘Did he?’

  And if Lorene had cancelled it, he would have been angry at her for interfering with his plans. But Genna would not say so to Lorene, who was still too sensitive on the subject of her husband. Genna missed being able to speak her mind to Lorene, but even more she wished she could ease Lorene’s hurt feelings. Lorene would never complain to her, though.

  They entered the hall and started up the stairway.

  ‘How did you find Lord Penford?’ Genna asked instead. That seemed like a safe subject.

  Lorene avoided looking at her. ‘What do you mean?’ Her voice was sharp.

  That took Genna by surprise. ‘No special reason. You thought him sad before. I wondered if that was why he seemed so uncomfortable.’

  ‘I think he realised it was not a good day to call,’ Lorene said, as if defending him.

  Genna had not intended any criticism of the man. ‘Perhaps.’ Better to agree than risk an argument. ‘I suspect you are right.’

  They reached the first floor where Lorene’s set of rooms were located. And Lord Tinmore’s.

  ‘Is there anything I can do for you, Lorene?’ Genna asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ her sister said.

  ‘You will rest this afternoon, then?’ Lorene still looked very fatigued.

  ‘I will.’ Lorene smiled wanly. ‘I believe I will have dinner sent up to my room. May I tell Cook you will not expect to be served at the table?’

  ‘Of course you may!’ Genna assured her. ‘A simple plate will do very nicely for me. Whatever is on hand.’

  She was not the servants’ favourite at any time, even though she tried never to put them to too much trouble for her. Like expecting a full meal prepared and served to her alone.

  She reached over to buss Lorene’s cheek. ‘Promise you will rest.’

  Lorene nodded.

  Genna walked up another flight of stairs to her bedchamber. As she entered the room, a wave of loneliness washed over her. She had never felt lonely at Summerfield House—well, almost never. But here she felt so very alone.

  She hadn’t felt lonely with Rossdale. In fact, she’d felt happy, as if she’d found a real friend.

  Right now, he felt like her only friend.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Having dinner in the dining room was no pleasure. Lord Tinmore recovered well over the next few days, well enough to dress for dinner and to expect his wife and her sister to do the same. Genna complied, of course, and placed herself on her best behaviour. She was well capable of being agreeable at mealtime, especially when Lord Tinmore expected an audience rather than conversation.

  They dined in the formal dining room, but at one end of the table. Lord Tinmore sat at the table’s head. Lorene sat to her husband’s right and Genna to his left. He was a little deaf in his left ear so there was little need for Genna to speak. Mr Filkins, his secretary, who was nearly as old as he, also dined with them. Filkins was seated next to Lorene, the side of the table upon which Tinmore focused most of his attention.

  By the time the main course was served Tinmore had exhausted a recitation of the frequency of his cough, the colour of his phlegm and the irregularities of his bowels, to which Mr Filkins made appropriately sympathetic comments.

  He went on to lament his decision to cancel the house party.

  ‘I now see I will be quite well enough,’ he said. ‘I should have known I would recover swiftly. I have a strong constitution.’

 
‘That you do, sir,’ agreed Mr Filkins. ‘But you had to decide quickly and I believe you made the most prudent of choices.’

  ‘Yes,’ Tinmore readily agreed with him. ‘Besides, what is done cannot be undone.’ He pointed his fork at Genna. ‘Although I had high hopes for you, young lady. There was many a good catch invited to that party.’

  Yes. Eligible men of Tinmore’s age looking for a young wife to take care of them and their sons and grandsons looking for a dowry big enough to tempt them.

  ‘A lost opportunity,’ Genna said.

  ‘What?’ Tinmore cupped his ear.

  ‘A lost opportunity,’ she said louder.

  Tinmore stabbed a piece of meat with his fork and lifted it to his mouth. After he chewed and swallowed it, he glanced at Lorene. ‘You never told me about the dinner with Lord Penford.’

  How like Tinmore to accuse rather than merely ask.

  ‘You were so ill, I put it entirely out of my mind,’ Lorene said.

  ‘Put it out of your mind? Something as important as all that? Where is your head, my dear?’ He took another bite of meat and waved his fork at her. ‘Well, how was it? Were you treated well?’

  Lorene responded as if she’d been asked with some kindness. ‘We were treated very well, I assure you. Were we not, Genna?’

  Genna nodded. ‘Very well.’

  Lorene went on, ‘Although Lord Penford was disappointed you were unable to attend.’

  Tinmore looked pleased at that. ‘What did he serve?’

  Goodness. Genna hardly remembered. Lorene, though, provided a rather thorough list of the courses. Genna wondered if she made up some of them.

  ‘Was he a reasonable fellow, this Penford?’ he went on to ask. ‘I knew his father.’ He would have seen the late Lord Penford in the House of Lords last Season. ‘I have great hopes of turning the son to my views. Get them while they are new, you know.’

  Mr Filkins laughed appreciatively.

  ‘He was very amiable,’ Lorene said. ‘Although he and his friend did not talk politics with us at all, did they, Genna?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Genna agreed.

  Tinmore straightened. ‘His friend? Who was this friend?’

  ‘Lord Rossdale,’ Lorene responded.

  Tinmore half-rose from his seat. ‘Rossdale? Rossdale? The Duke of Kessington’s son?’

  ‘Yes, that is who he was,’ Lorene responded. ‘He was very nice, as well.’

  ‘The Duke’s son?’ He pounded his knife down on the table. ‘You should have told me you dined with the Duke’s son.’

  ‘Well, you were ill,’ Genna said.

  Tinmore turned to her. ‘What, girl? Speak up. Do not mumble.’

  She raised her voice. ‘You were ill!’

  He ignored her response. ‘Kessington is the last man I would wish to offend. We must do something about this immediately!’

  ‘I do not believe Lord Rossdale was offended,’ Lorene assured him. ‘He offered kind condolences over your illness when they called here the other day.’

  ‘The Duke’s son called here the other day?’ Tinmore’s face was turning red.

  Lorene reached over and patted his arm. ‘Do not make yourself ill over this. I am sure they understood completely that you were too ill to receive them. Perhaps we can invite them for dinner one night when you are a little stronger.’

  ‘Dinner. Excellent idea,’ Tinmore said.

  ‘Excellent idea,’ Mr Filkins agreed.

  Tinmore pointed the knife towards him. ‘But we must not wait. Must do something immediately.’

  ‘Might I suggest a letter?’ Mr Filkins offered. ‘I will pen something this very night and if it meets with your approval it can be delivered to Lord Rossdale in the morning.’

  ‘A letter. Yes. A letter is the thing.’ Tinmore popped a piece of potato into his mouth. ‘But address it to Penford. He was the host. Make certain you mention Rossdale in it.’

  ‘I quite comprehend, sir,’ the secretary said. ‘An excellent point.’

  Genna smiled to herself. At least she would see Rossdale again.

  ‘In fact,’ Tinmore went on, ‘invite them for Christmas Day.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Do you know if they are staying through Christmastide?’

  Lorene nodded. ‘That is what they told us. Through to Twelfth Night, at least.’

  ‘Ha!’ Tinmore laughed. ‘We shall have a house party after all. At least Christmas dinner with elevated company.’ He tossed a scathing look at Genna. ‘Rossdale is not married. But you come with too much baggage to tempt him.’

  Baggage?

  The sins of her mother and father, she supposed. As well as her sisters and brother. She’d not done anything to deserve society’s censure.

  At least not yet.

  * * *

  On Christmas Day Ross and Dell made an appearance at the parish church for morning services and later in the day rode over to Tinmore Hall in Dell’s carriage. The invitation to Christmas dinner had been somewhat of a surprise, albeit a welcome one for Ross. He was eager to call upon Genna again and curious to meet the formidable Lord Tinmore. Dell seemed less enthusiastic. Less enthusiastic than he’d been when first he’d invited Tinmore to dinner. Then he’d thought it prudent to ingratiate himself to the old lord, but now he seemed to relish meeting the man as much as one might look forward to having a tooth pulled.

  The nearer the carriage brought them to Tinmore Hall, the bigger Dell’s frown seemed to grow.

  ‘Are you certain it will not be thought presumptuous to bring presents?’ Dell asked.

  Gifts had been Ross’s idea. ‘Presumptuous? Guests always brought my father gifts for his Christmas parties.’

  Dell shot him a glance. ‘Then if Tinmore seems offended, you must tell him that it was your father’s custom.’

  ‘I will.’ Ross grinned. ‘I dare say that will make the practice quite appreciated.’

  The roof line of Tinmore Hall came into view in all its Elizabethan glory. As they passed through the gate, a herd of deer bounded across the park, their hooves kicking up clods of snow from the patches that still dotted the grass.

  ‘At least it is merely a dinner and not a house party,’ Dell said. ‘I would detest having to spend the night.’

  That would not have brought pleasure, would it? Ross agreed silently. No secret passages to explore. No surprise meetings when others were abed. Still, a conversation with Genna would prove stimulating. The closer Christmas Day came, the more withdrawn Dell had become. Ross supposed his friend remembered what his Christmases used to be like.

  The carriage drew up to the entrance and four footmen emerged, forming a line to the carriage door. They were ushered into the hall, their cloaks taken and packages carried behind them as the butler led them to the Mount Olympus room and announced them.

  The room was fragrant with greenery and spice. Garlands of evergreen were draped around the windows, holly, red with berries, lined the mantelpiece. Bowls of apples sat on the tables. Ross glanced up. Mistletoe hung in the doorway.

  Seated in the huge room were Lord Tinmore and his wife, an incongruous pair. Tinmore, who must have been in his seventies at least, had the pallor and loose skin typical of an aged man who’d lost whatever looks he might have once possessed. He was thin, with rounded posture, but still his presence seemed to dominate the room. His wife, on the other hand, was a beauty in her prime. Flawless skin, rich dark hair, clear eyes and pink lips. A figure any man would admire, but she seemed a mere shadow in the wake of her husband’s commanding presence.

  Ross preferred her sister, who sparkled with life.

  Tinmore, using a cane, rose from his chair. ‘Good to see you. Good to see you. Happy Christmas to you.’

  Ross and Dell crossed the room to him.

  Lad
y Tinmore stood at her husband’s side and made a more personal introduction. ‘May I present my cousin, Lord Penford, and his friend, Lord Rossdale?’

  Dell bowed. ‘A pleasure, sir, to meet you.’

  ‘And you, sir,’ Tinmore said to Dell. He turned to Ross. ‘Knew your grandfather. A decent man.’

  ‘I have always heard so.’ Ross hardly remembered his grandfather. The only image he could conjure up was of a remote figure, always busy, too busy to bother with an inquisitive, energetic boy. Rather like his father became after Grandfather died.

  ‘Please, do sit,’ Lady Tinmore said. ‘We have refreshments.’ She turned towards the fireplace where a bowl sat on the grate. ‘Wassail, for you.’

  A footman in attendance ladled wassail into a glass, which Ross took gratefully. The carriage ride had given him a thirst.

  Tinmore asked about the carriage ride. The conditions of the road were discussed and the weather, of course, and the fine quality of the drink. The church services and sermons were compared, a devious way for Tinmore to discover whether they had attended the services at their parish. Tinmore had not attended church, but his wife and her sister had.

  And where was her sister?

  He took the first opportunity to ask. ‘Will we have the pleasure of Miss Summerfield’s company today?’

  Lady Tinmore frowned slightly. ‘She should be here. I dare say something has detained her.’

  ‘I am here!’ Genna burst into the room, her arms laden with packages wrapped in brown paper and string. ‘I was wrapping gifts.’

  ‘Gifts?’ Tinmore said disparagingly.

  Ross rose from his chair. ‘We also brought gifts. My father always insisted on gifts on Christmas Day.’ He looked around. ‘Although I am not quite sure what has become of them.’

  Tinmore gestured to a footman, who bowed and left the room.

  Genna placed her packages on a table and walked up to Dell and Ross. ‘How delightful you could be with us today.’ She smiled. ‘Happy Christmas!’

  Ross shook her hand. ‘Happy Christmas, Miss Summerfield.’

  Tinmore had not stood at her entrance. ‘You are late, girl.’

  Her smile stiffened. ‘I do apologise, sir. I fear the wrapping took longer than I had anticipated.’