by Rebecca King
“Estelle; such a beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” he enthused.
Estelle threw him a chiding look. “Is that the best you can do?” she mused, unable to hide her giggle.
“For now.” Isaac nodded toward the stairs. “Cranbury has banged his gong. He will demand our appearance or will be apt to fall into a snit if we don’t appear to eat his delicious repast. Care to join me?”
“I would love to,” Estelle replied with huge relief.
She took his pro-offered arm and allowed him to escort her down the stairs and into a huge, semi-circular room in the centre of which stood a massive dining table.
“Here we are, the dining room,” Isaac announced unnecessarily.
“How wonderful,” she breathed as she took in the sparkling silver service laid out precisely on the table beside pristine white linen upon a highly polished and hugely ornate dark oak table. A fire roared heartily in the stone fireplace several feet away, warming up what would otherwise be a chilly room. Opposite the fireplace sat a huge bay window overlooking perfectly landscaped gardens and woodland beyond.
“How wonderful,” she breathed as she absorbed the magnificence of the lavishly decorated room, the walls of which were draped with numerous portraits of ancestors, all peering down at her with aristocratic condescension. It all added to the character of the place, which was nothing like she had expected, and was in fact delightfully charming.
“Come and help yourself, my dear,” Isaac called. He was already nosing through the various silver dishes displayed on the sideboard on the opposite side of the room. “It doesn’t look like anyone is down yet so don’t stand on ceremony. They will join us in good time, I don’t doubt.”
Estelle walked over and picked up a gold rimmed plate. Following Isaac’s actions, she began to help herself to ham, eggs, beef, game pie, toast, and bacon. Her stomach rumbled at the delicious aroma that scented the room whenever she lifted a lid, and she piled her plate high with hungry enthusiasm. So much so that she was starving by the time she turned to face the table. Suddenly, she became aware that table etiquette might be in order, and turned to Isaac.
“Where do I sit?” she whispered.
Isaac grinned at her. “Anywhere you like,” he whispered back. “Although, not at the head of the table. That is Uncle Barnabas’ place. He will think you are trying to usurp him if you try to sit there.”
Estelle sat about half way down the table, unsurprised and a little relieved when Isaac sat in the chair immediately next to her. She jumped a little when a footman appeared silently at her elbow, a large steaming pot in his hand. He held it over her cup, silently asking if she wanted the hot beverage. She had no idea what it was but nodded anyway, and smiled her thanks at the resplendent footman, who looked a little astonished for a moment before he quietly retreated.
Oblivious, Estelle began to eat. She was half-way through her meal, chatting amiably with Isaac about the weather and the house, when the door opened again. A grey-haired gentleman wandered in with a broadsheet tucked under his arm and a discontented frown on his brow.
“I don’t know,” he sighed, his eyes pinned on the serving dishes. “This damned weather means I have to read yesterday’s news again now.”
He looked over his shoulder at them suddenly and without care. “Oh, good morning you two, I didn’t realise you were there.”
Estelle went to stand up but then hesitated. Unsure what to do, she looked nervously at Isaac, who remained in his seat.
“Good morning, uncle. Did you sleep well?” he called amiably before he shoved another helping of eggs into his mouth.
The gentleman huffed his gaze on Estelle.
“No,” he replied succinctly. He then bowed in her direction. “I am glad you decided to join us, my dear. How are you today?”
“I am very well, thank you. Much better,” she replied politely.
“My name is Barnabas. Martin-Howe,” he added succinctly, but with no pomposity.
Estelle had no doubt he had a title but he didn’t tell her what it was, and it seemed rude to ask.
“Everyone calls him Barnabas, or Uncle Barnabas, like I do,” Isaac murmured, loud enough for Barnabas to hear.
“That’ll do,” Barnabas cautioned before he pierced Estelle with a careful look. “You may call me, Barnabas, my dear. I used to be a stickler for formality but, to be honest with you, I cannot be bothered with it in my later years.”
“Thank you, Barnabas. My name is Estelle,” she replied.
“Good enough,” he mumbled with a nod. Already helping himself to a plate of breakfast, he allowed the silence to fall.
Estelle resumed her meal; a little relieved now that the first hurdle of actually meeting the house’s other occupants was under way. She had to admit that they were not as stuffy as she had thought they would be. Although the house was rather formal and austere, it was still their home. Having witnessed how at ease they were in it, it was less threatening somehow and so she began to relax in spite of herself.
That is, until Myles arrived.
CHAPTER NINE
“Morning everyone,” Myles said as he entered the breakfast room.
His gaze ran over everyone as he walked in. He slammed to a halt when it fell on Estelle, seated at the table with a rather nervous look on her face.
Good Lord, she is even more stunning, he mused as he studied her.
While her cheeks were paler than they had been last night, her eyes were sparkling and clear. Her long auburn hair was carefully piled into a cascade of riotous curls which bobbed and danced about her face gaily whenever she moved. The shadows cast her rose-tinted cheeks into hollow, which only emphasised the delicate oval of her face and the somewhat mysterious look in her eyes.
She looks terrified yet curious, he mused, offering her a gentle smile. But, oh, so at home and at ease – as though she belongs here.
Quickly closing that thought off, he realised everyone was waiting for him to speak.
“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked huskily, trying to keep his face as impassive.
Estelle tried not to stare at him, but simply couldn’t tear her gaze away from the man who had haunted her dreams last night. Myles was so handsome he simply took her breath away. She watched his lips move, but at first didn’t absorb his question. Those wonderful eyes held a wealth of mysteries and secrets that were almost hypnotising. When they levelled on her, she was rooted to the spot; hanging on every word uttered from those chiselled lips which seemed to be permanently curved into a relentless smile. He was either happy with his lot, or pleased about something. Whichever it was, the flash of straight white teeth only made him even more engaging.
Ignore the fluttering in your stomach and answer the man, a small voice chided her.
Her gaze flicked nervously around the room. She mentally winced when she realised everyone was waiting for her to answer him.
“I am much better this morning, thank you,” she murmured politely.
“And your head?” Myles asked as he eyed the wild mass of her tightly curled hair that had been tightly coiffed into a fashionable style. It was a shame to see her tresses confined so; he preferred them to be wild and tangled as they had been up until now. He studied the tight curls with a frown.
Somewhere in there is a head wound, he mused. But, from the way she was staring at him, clear eyed if a little bemused, nobody would have guessed.
“It still aches a little, but not in a way that I am incapacitated by it,” she replied honestly.
“Good. Well, that’s good then,” he murmured. Feeling uncharacteristically gauche and awkward, he moved over to the sideboard and helped himself to his favourite staples. When he turned around he met his father’s curious look.
“Everything alright?” he asked. He put sufficient purpose in his question for his father to get the gist of the true meaning.
“Seems so,” his father replied gruffly. “Too early to tell yet.”
Myles nodded. Rath
er than take his habitual seat beside his father, he moved further down the table and sat opposite Estelle.
Estelle tried not to stare, but couldn’t seem to stop looking at him, and did so frequently as he took a seat and began to eat. When Isaac shifted in his seat and coughed discretely, she looked at her own plate but paid no attention to it. Only a few minutes ticked by before she was tempted to look at him again. When she did so, she jerked when their gazes met.
Something shimmered in the air between them. It wrapped them both in a world of their own where the room and everyone in it faded, if only for the briefest of moments. Everything changed in that instant. Estelle knew she would never forget the way the candlelight flickered and emphasised the curvature of his features, the sharp blade of his jaw, the way the shadows played against the slight hollow of his cheeks. Even his eyes appeared to glow a little brighter in the shade of the dancing flames. They certainly carried heat, because she began to tremble and feel flushed the longer his gaze lingered on her.
“So, what are your plans today, Myles?” Barnabas asked in a desperate attempt to bring some normality back to the breakfast table.
He had never seen that smitten look on his son’s face before and turned his attention to the young woman staring back at Myles equally as avidly. This was the first time he had ever seen his son take such an active interest in a female before in his life, and wasn’t about to take steps to quash his apparent interest by rebuking him for his behaviour at the breakfast table. As far as Barnabas was concerned, four and thirty was far beyond an age when a man should settle down and start to raise a family of his own. While he had accepted that Myles must choose his own bride, he had often been of the opinion that his son had to be either the pickiest man alive, or had a strong aversion to marriage. At this late date in the marriage game, any woman who managed to capture Myles interest was worth snaring.
Mentally plotting, he turned his attention back to his meal and left the young couple to stare at each other. It was only when several minutes had ticked by that he realised Myles had yet to answer him. Spearing his son with a stern look, he turned his attention to Estelle, determined that if there was ever a good time to find out what he needed to know about her it was now.
“Tell me, my dear, who are your relatives?”
Estelle looked down the length of the table at Barnabas. She sighed sadly when she thought of her grandma and the worry she must be feeling right now. Guilt made her look down at her plate with regret.
“My grandmother is Mrs Matthews. She lives just on the outskirts of the village.”
“I know of her,” Barnabas replied. “No parents then?”
“No, sir,” Estelle replied sadly. “They d-died in a house fire some weeks back.”
“Recently?” Barnabas speared her with a worried look.
“Yes, sir.”
“I am sorry,” Myles murmured.
“Thank you.”
“So you came to live with my grandma when your guardian passed away?” Barnabas asked. “You are relatively new to the area then.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yes, I moved in about nine weeks ago,” she replied.
Barnabas nodded. “What did your father do?”
“He was a farmer, sir. He had some land on the outskirts of Northampton,” she explained.
“What did he farm?”
“Crops mostly. He supplied the brewery in Cromberg.”
Barnabas stared at her. “Cromberg Brewery? Your father supplied them?”
He knew the Cromberg Brewery. Anybody who drank ale did. They were one of the country’s leading brewers and used only the finest of ingredients.
Now that I come to think about it, I can remember an article in the broadsheet about the farm that supplied the brewery having been destroyed in a fire, he mused.
“An associate of mine owns it,” he murmured absently. It elevated Estelle’s status a little as far as he was concerned. “I am sorry to hear of your loss, my dear.”
“Thank you.”
“What is happening to the farm now?” he asked politely, making a mental note to speak with his friend about it the first chance he got.
“I am not sure. The house was gutted in the fire. Because there was no place for me to live, I came to stay with my grandma. I haven’t heard anything about any formalities yet, so cannot be sure who inherits the land and what’s left of the house now.” She sighed because she wished she knew.
Myles frowned as he speared a sausage. “Do you have any male relatives, cousins, or an uncle who might inherit?”
He was surprised when she shook her head.
“No, my father was an only child. We didn’t have many relatives. Those we did have were elderly, and certainly wouldn’t be in any position to restore it. We had tenants, of course, who helped because the farm was so big and the crops so important. As such, I think they are still farming the lands but I have no idea who holds their tenancies now.”
“But there is no house, and so there is no home,” Myles replied.
Estelle nodded sadly. “I think a solicitor is working to establish who inherits it, but I have yet to hear anything about a will.”
“Does the solicitor know where you are?” Barnabas asked. It was highly unusual for their not to have been a reading of a will by now.
“Yes. I wrote to him the day before I left, but I didn’t have the opportunity to wait for a reply. I moved to live with my grandma a few days after the fire. I returned for the funerals, obviously, but-”
Aware that she was struggling, Myles smiled sympathetically at her. “I am sure the solicitor will be in touch with you in good time. If I my, with your permission, of course, I should like to ask him what is happening with the property. In light of your lack of guardian, I think it would be wise for someone to assist you in getting the formalities sorted. There must be some sort of inheritance for you.”
A little thrown, Estelle looked from Myles to Barnabas. “Oh, well, if it is not putting you out too much. I would confess that I should like to know what is going to happen to the place. I have been a little concerned that I have not heard anything from Mr Cadworthy yet.”
“Has your grandmother not written on your behalf?” Barnabas asked.
Estelle nodded. “As yet, we have received no answer.”
“I think that we need to be pushing the solicitor a little. I will write a letter today. However, from the look of the weather, nobody is going to be able to go anywhere to post it.” Myles glanced over his shoulder at the storm clouds that stretched far into the horizon.
“The moat is already washed out,” Barnabas warned.
Myles shook his head and threw Estelle an apologetic look. “I am sorry. Whenever the weather turns bad like this the river breaks its banks. The moat floods the bridge and renders us unable to cross into the village.”
“But I need to get home,” she protested.
“I am afraid nobody can go anywhere until this rain stops and the waters subside. It could take several days yet. I apologise. While you are here you must consider this house your home, so feel free to avail yourself of the vast library we have just down the hallway. If you need anything just pull on the bell pull and one of the maids will serve you. I wouldn’t recommend going outside to tour the gardens, but I am sure Myles will be happy to give you a tour of the house later,” Barnabas said gently.
“Was that why you were out in the dark last night? Did you get lost?” Isaac asked. “I suppose in an area like this it is easy to become disorientated.”
Estelle nodded. “I went into the woods for a walk and pick some apples but then couldn’t find my way home again. I got hopelessly confused by the trees, and just went around in circles.”
Myles shared a look with his father. “I apologise here and now for what happened last night. I was going too fast for a foggy night.”
Sensing his discomfort and deep regret, Estelle hastened to reassure him. “Oh, it isn’t your fault. Not really. I was confused, and upse
t.”
She fell silent and frowned at the table when the horrible memories began to resurface.
“Didn’t you meet anybody else who might give you directions?” Barnabas asked as casually as he could.
Estelle nodded but then hesitated. Thankfully, she was prevented from having to reply by the arrival of someone new.
“Morning,” Isaac called.
“Is it?” the resplendent woman grunted disparagingly as she sashayed across the room.
“Now there is no cause to be surly, Beatrice,” Barnabas chided. He ignored the glare she threw at him and shook his head.
“I don’t know what it is about you country people, Barnabas, in why you feel the need to eat so early in the morning. Why can’t you eat at a civilised time like normal people?” she grumbled.
“Out here this time in the morning is normal for us ‘country people’,” Barnabas replied, well versed with Beatrice’s anti-morning persona. “Come and meet our new guest, and mind your manners. This is Estelle. Miss Matthews.”
Estelle found herself pinned beneath the rather hawkish glare of a woman in her mid-forties who looked more like Barnabas than Myles.
“This is Beatrice, Estelle, my sister. Ignore her ill manners. She hates mornings,” Barnabas explained.
Beatrice slid into a seat, her gaze locked on Estelle. She frowned at the clothes Estelle wore, clearly recognising them. Estelle braced herself for some sort of protest or snide remark. In the end, Beatrice turned her attention to her plate.
“So, who managed to grapple you through the door then?” she asked eventually.
Estelle looked at her in astonishment. In spite of herself, her lips twitched. Her gaze met Isaac’s. She could only assume that with both men looking at her, Beatrice’s question was meant for her.
“Nobody grappled her through the door, as you quaintly put it, Beatrice. Estelle met with an accident,” Myles replied carefully.
“He ran her over,” Isaac added with a grin.
