"He needs me!" Delia had found herself exclaiming.
"Ah -- " her aunt sighed. "Then you must do as you think best. But remember, think about what you need as well. And beware of the intimacy of proximity."
Delia massaged her brow, trying to erase the memory of that conversation. It echoed in her brain. Proximity...she had only to turn her head to see the earl. She had been shiveringly conscious of his nearness for three days. She could not decide whether it was more disquieting to be seated beside him or to be seated across from him. In the one instance she was unavoidably aware of the warmth and strength of his lean body. In the other she was drawn inevitably to study his fine, familiar features.
"Are you weary?" Rupert asked.
Delia realized that he had noticed her gesture. He had appeared somnolent, but Delia had learned that where he was concerned, appearances were ever deceiving. "Coach travel has lost its charm," she said striving for a light note. "After Christmas I set out with an adventurous heart. I had previously made only one long journey in my life, from Biggar to Edinburgh. Three months and three trips later, I should be happy to be sedentary."
"But you like the coach?" he queried. In Edinburgh he had made it his business to purchase a traveling chaise, with four sturdy matched greys. And he had engaged the services of a coachman. It was his second investment in a future vastly different from his past. Delia knew that he was inordinately pleased by it, and she was delighted for him.
"The coach is very fine," she reassured him. She treasured the vulnerability that he revealed by his question. "And the coachman seems skilled, for the roads are not dry, and his job must be even more difficult with a new team to assess."
"And with Bowland with whom to contend," Rupert offered. He seemed to attempt to match her levity. "However we shall reach Manningford tonight, barring accident. I wish I might have advised Inniskip of our imminent arrival so that your comfort could be assured."
Morag Lochmaddy snorted. The only time she had spoken on the journey was when she evidently deemed that the earl approached intimacy with her mistress. "Mrs. Inniskip will be prepared no matter when we arrive," she stated. "If you are weary of journeying, Miss, we had better remained in Edinburgh, at home." She emphasized the last word.
Delia was annoyed by her forthright words.
So, it seemed, was the earl. His glance was icy as it rested on Morag. "You and Mrs. Inniskip may join in maligning my character immediately on our arrival. Until then, kindly refrain from comment," he snapped.
Delia closed her eyes on their disagreement. Torgreave had become steadily more discomposed during the trip. She was powerless to ease his anxiety. She could not even be certain of its cause. For herself, she remained torn between regret of her aunt's displeasure, anxiety over her decision to return to England, and a certain guilty delight in Rupert's company.
The remainder of the journey was accomplished in silence. They reached Manningford at dusk, when only the last frosted rays of the sunset illuminated the classical frontage. The earl was sombre, his eyes on the great house, as the coach swung up the freshly graded drive. Delia, concerned for his taciturnity, laid a gloved hand on his tense arm. Staring from the coach window, she indulged her curiosity. The facade of Manningford was masterfully composed, carefully balanced, possessed of astonishing lightness and distinction.
"There is no tower," she exclaimed in astonishment.
He managed a laugh in the midst of his anxiety. "Did you not notice that when we stayed at the Rectory? I never thought to tell you. The Tower fell down a hundred or more years ago. Even the stone has been carried away...only the name remains."
Delia said nothing for several moments. She had seen Manningford only distantly before, and had formed no opinion of it. This time she was moved by its beauty.
"The earl, your father, was possessed of excellent taste," she murmured then.
"It is true," he agreed, "but I never before realized it. It was previously somewhat dilapidated. This was all done with my mother's marriage settlement. I believed that my father did not consult her in the renovation. But in studying those papers a month ago I found one that was an instruction for a change desired by her. I wronged him."
Delia tightened her hand on his strong arm as the coach halted. "As he did you," she reminded him. His guilt threatened to be as unrealistic as his hatred had been.
He covered her hand with his own, as the coach door opened and the steps were let down. "Come," he said.
The coach must have been sighted coming up the drive. They were greeted in the entry hall by as many servants as Mrs. Inniskip could muster. Within the ancestral home, Delia could not feel her family resemblance out of place, and she was able to smile unreservedly at the housekeeper.
The elderly butler, Prym, moved forward to greet the earl. His bow was profound, and his voice broke, as he said, "Welcome home, my lord."
"Thank you, Prym. It is not before time, is it?"
The old man smiled tremulously in response to Rupert's easy greeting. The earl turned to his housekeeper.
"Inniskip we are tired, and hungry. I know you have been very busy, but we shall expect all the comforts, despite we were not able to advise you of our imminent arrival."
"Cook began adding dishes to the evening meal, my lord, as soon as we heard the coach. She will devise something tolerable. And the bedchambers are aired and ready for you, though we have been hard pressed for linens."
"We shall set all that to rights," he commented absently, staring about the hall as he handed his greatcoat and hat to an eager footman. He smiled suddenly at Delia who was surveying him worriedly. She had relinquished her pelisse and bonnet to Morag.
"Inniskip, take Mrs. Lochmaddy in charge. Send someone to advise my brother of our arrival. Just now I wish to walk about the house, with Miss Tyninghame. What chambers have you given us?"
"The Grand Suite could not be made habitable, my lord," Mrs. Inniskip was apologetic, "so I have placed you in the chamber of your youth, and Miss Tyninghame in the large room opposite at the end of the corridor."
The earl nodded dismissal to the servants. They dispersed quickly, though Prym cast many backward glances at his reinstated master. Mrs. Inniskip and Mrs. Lochmaddy hurried off together.
"You belong here," Rupert commented to Delia with an intimate smile, when they were at last alone.
"I do not feel it," she protested, turning away from the warmth of his glance.
"Well, you look it," he insisted with a laugh. He indicated a nearby portrait of a 17th century ancestor, whose resemblance to them both was marked.
Delia gave it a cursory glance. "This is very fine." She smoothed a marble column with her slender hand. "It is all very fine." She gestured at the gilt pier glasses and marble-topped tables, and the fine plaster work.
"The work of Wyatt, in the style of Adam," Rupert divulged. "My father wished to display his worth to the neighbourhood. It was important to him. So the public rooms are all in the first stare of elegance and the rest falling to rack. Come, you will see." He offered his arm.
When she accepted it, they mounted the handsome flight of stairs that led to the first floor.
"The drawing room, the morning room, and the music room," Torgreave gestured comprehensively at the doors opening from the finely papered and furnished corridor. "But let us go up one more flight," he suggested. At the top of those stairs the passage was not so handsome.
Rupert led Delia to a massive oak door and flung it open. "The West Wing," he announced. "Uninhabitable these many years."
Delia recoiled from the dusty and dreary length of passage that unfolded before her. Rupert drew the door shut again. They retraced their steps to the opposite wing, where a similar massive door stood open.
"The East Wing, in which a few chambers were half-heartedly, inexpensively refurbished by my father. No doubt they were recently occupied by the Slimbridges."
They strolled the length of the corridor.
"You were unkind to allow them no red
ecoration," Delia observed, as she peeped in open doors to survey faded hangings and worn carpets.
"I was," he agreed. "I can offer only a weak defense of my actions. My feelings about Manningford were so confused that I could not bear to be here, but I could not bear it to be changed."
She paused to consider him. She found his look direct, displaying that his confusion was gone.
"I have not been without care for the place, you know," he stated. "The lands were always in my hands. With Dougherty's help they have been kept in good heart with good tenants. I undertake my inheritance with no shame. I possess a strong desire to set it all to rights, to make it my home." There was a note of confidence in his voice.
"You are, in fact, happy." She smiled warmly.
"But for one thing, I am," he agreed.
She feared he would say more. To forestall him, she queried, "And where is my chamber? I wish to see more of the house -- to see it all -- but I must refresh myself before supper."
He acquiesced to her unspoken avoidance of further intimacy. He led her to the end of the passage. A door there led to a comfortably shabby chamber, where Morag Lochmaddy was already unpacking Delia's trunk.
"'Til supper," Torgreave saluted her hand casually and departed.
In silence, Delia watched Morag bustle about the chamber. Then she crossed to the casemented window to examine the darkness without. A fat crescent moon was illuminating an old-fashioned knot garden below.
Mrs. Lochmaddy uttered an exclamation of annoyance as the door of the massive walnut press squeaked on opening.
Delia turned from the window.
"Morag, you have been irritated out of all proportion since you discovered I would make this journey. You may as well say your piece. Perhaps it will improve your disposition."
The tall Scotswoman finished laying gowns within the press. Then she folded her arms uncompromisingly, and said, "Ye helped me Miss, when I sorely needed it, after my Robert was killed on the Peninsula. I have taken some pride in your social success, and felt as protective as an elder sister in all these years. So I take leave to tell ye, you are making a great mistake with his lordship. Ye cannot reform a rake. No more can you fix this house. 'Tis all show...the drawing rooms and corridors up to scratch, and the kitchens and pantries -- the parts that are necessities -- falling to wrack."
"His lordship means to improve all that now. We shall fix it."
"My point being he should have been doing it these past ten years, rather than wasting himself and his ready in London!" the woman exclaimed. "Your coming here, our being here is the biggest mistake. Indeed it is improper no matter which end you ponder."
"How do you see that?" Delia crossed to the dressing table, and fiddled with the brushes that had just been laid out. In the light of a single branch of candles, she could see Morag reflected in the oval glass set on the oak table.
"If you are not his lordship's sister, it is improper for you to be a lone guest in his home. And if you are his sister, then the way you look at each other is improper." She primmed her mouth and stared at her mistress's back with a mixture of pity and irritation.
Delia found her hands were shaking. She was as much moved by the older woman's declaration of affection and support, as she was angered by her strictures.
"I do not suppose I have ever heard you speak so many words together before," she managed to say. "I will not justify my actions to you but hope that you will feel more the thing having expressed your opinions. If you do not, you are of course free to leave my service."
"I wouldna," the woman returned to her customary taciturnity. "Ye'll have to turn me off."
"I wouldna," Delia mocked. She dismissed the conversation saying, "I will change for dinner. Something simple, perhaps the green crape."
Despite her appearance of calm, that exchange haunted Delia throughout dinner. Every time she looked at the earl, she wondered what it was that Morag interpreted in the glance. For his part, his tension seemed to have melted. He was at home, and obviously happy to be so. His conversation held a gaiety and spontaneity which she had not experienced from him before. She found herself laughing in spite of her thoughts.
She satisfied her hunger before appraising her surroundings. Then she discovered that the dining room was as fine as the entry hall had been. The fact that the damask curtains had faded from their original beauty, and that there was carefully mended wear in the deep carpet, detracted little from its elegance.
"How do you like it?" Rupert queried.
"Manningford? Very much indeed. Or can you mean the supper? The cook has managed very well on short notice. The chicken is delightful."
"I am happy that both please you, but it was the house that concerned me." His glance appreciated her levity. "I shall call in the builders as soon as may be. There is an excellent firm in Leicester as I recall. Dougherty will know."
"You seem well pleased with your return," Delia commented.
"I experienced such trepidation as I have not for ten years, on our journey here from Edinburgh," he admitted. "I am aware I was not good company. But now suddenly I feel reconciled with the past and eager for the future." He exhibited a boyish delight that gratified Delia.
When they were finished, he did not wait upon port in the dining room, but escorted Delia to the drawing room. The beauty of its plastered ceiling and silk-hung walls drew a surprised exclamation from her. "You will be happy here."
"I had forgot how beautiful it is," he mused. She watched him run a strong hand along the mantle. A large fire blazed brightly and candles gleamed on every table. Inniskip had even conjured flowers in the face of March chills.
Delia heard sounds of an arrival in the hall.
"Ah, Charles, if I do not mistake..." Torgreave strode to the door just as it opened and embraced his younger brother. Delia was delighted by their joy.
"Rupert!" His brother seemed as eager for greeting as the earl. "It has seemed an age since we all left London. Indeed things appeared so much the same when I returned here, that I could scarcely believe all that had happened. But now to see you here, at home, at last...well, I thank God."
"Spoken like a true clergyman," Rupert observed. Delia noted a touch of his old sharpness.
Charles however had seen Delia and hurried to her. "You, ma'am! I did not expect your return with Rupert, but I am glad of it."
"We are still in search of answers." She felt a need to excuse her presence.
"I begged her to come," Rupert interpolated. "We are still seeking the reason for our resemblance, but I also have need of her here. I have not told her yet..."
Puzzled, Delia flashed her gaze to him, from Charles' open youthful face.
"I need your help to put Manningford in order," he murmured, isolating them in intimacy with his direct look. "Will you?"
"I...I..." Delia could not be unaware of Charles' questioning survey. "We will discuss it," she finished inadequately. She found her workbag to hand and busied herself with laying out her stitchery.
"And how did you find Edinburgh?" Charles asked.
Delia left Rupert to answer.
"I was most impressed. It is a handsome city. I walked about freely, satisfying my curiosity, and was able to see the Castle, Holyrood House and the Old Town without encountering anyone who might marvel at my resemblance to Delia. And I found that if I chose my time carefully, I could even explore their fine new Town wherein Delia's aunt, Lady Barbara and all the Fashionables reside, without jeopardizing Delia's reputation."
"And Lady Barbara? Found you any information?"
"We found little of worth. A hint of marital discord, which may or may not support a questioning of Delia's parentage. Lady Barbara is an intelligent, charming woman of great understanding."
Rupert would have continued to discuss Scotland, but Charles seemed to have lost interest as he surveyed the chamber about them. "I say, Mrs. Inniskip has done well. The Slimbridges had removed their furniture, and the place appeared devilish empty when I lo
oked it over with Prym. All this was stored in the West Wing. I understand Inniskip hired several young fellows from the village and moved it all to her satisfaction. She has had housemaids polishing for days."
"She is a wonder...for all she nearly ruined our lives," the earl stated with another of those intimate smiles directed at Delia.
She could only be glad Morag Lochmaddy was not present to observe it. She turned to Charles. "Have you word from Miss Slimbridge? How does she go on in London?"
He flushed. "We...we are torn with our need to communicate and the fact that it is wrong to do so without Sir Thomas' permission. But Lady Slimbridge is sympathetic and so I have had three letters. Susannah is enjoying a gentle round of activities for of course the Season has not as yet begun in earnest. She does say they have seen the Grand Duchess Catherine in the park and look forward to the arrival of Louis Phillipe."
"Well, as long as Lady Slimbridge condones your correspondence I think you need have no concerns about propriety, but may enjoy your letters."
"Susannah's last letter was brief." His uncertain concern was touching.
"She is busy, depend upon it," Delia said. " Society, London, all the sights. It is all of it new to her remember."
"London is ever a jumble," Torgreave commented, "and with the peace it will be more so, until everyone rushes over to Paris."
"Will they?" queried Delia.
"You may be sure of it," the earl stated. "Our nation's dislike of things French will be easily overcome."
"Some say you enjoyed all things French despite the war," Charles ventured. He met a steady stare from his brother.
"Well, you may say that I did not admire the Corsican! However I did not regard his depredations as a reason to cast off my French friends, and deprive myself of the delights of French culture," Rupert said.
Delia sensed a reserve about his words, despite his candid air. She wondered at it but could discern nothing from his still, aristocratic features.
He turned to Delia apparently regaining his newfound cheer. "Come, let me show you the library, my dear. Charles, join us."
The library opened from the great entry hall on the ground floor of Manningford. It was a vast, old-fashioned paneled room with bookcases filled to overflowing with volumes. There were numerous substantial tables surrounded by equally massive chairs, and broad windows that would, in daytime, flood the room with light.
The Rake's Reflection Page 13
