by Stella Riley
‘Why?’ asked Rob. ‘We do our reading in lesson times – not here.’
Arabella sat down on the lumpy sofa and looked at them.
‘Are you telling me that none of you have ever read any of those books?’
‘Why would we?’ scoffed Tom. ‘There’s better things to do.’
‘That is a matter of opinion,’ remarked Arabella. ‘But what do you do with your afternoons?’
‘We go outside, mostly.’
‘To play, you mean? Or do you sometimes help his lordship on the farm?’
Tom gave an unpleasantly sarcastic laugh.
Rob said uncertainly, ‘He’s never asked us to help.’
‘And if he did?’
‘I … wouldn’t mind.’
‘Nor me.’ Ellie sat down beside Arabella. ‘Sir Julian’s nice. He’s kind to us.’
‘For as long as it suits him,’ added Tom under his breath.
The difference in their attitudes to the earl wasn’t hard to understand, thought Arabella. Tom, as the eldest and having probably known very little kindness in his life, was naturally wary of trusting it now; Rob, she suspected, was torn between wanting adult male companionship and loyalty to his brother; and little Ellie plainly regarded ‘Sir Julian’ with a great deal of affection, if not actual love. Rob could easily be won over, she thought. But Tom was a very different matter and was going to require some deft handling – preferably by the earl himself. For now, however, she decided to release the children to their usual pursuits while she planned her strategy. Changes and the establishing of a routine could wait until tomorrow. She did, however, see the wisdom in warning them of one imminent change – which was sufficient to send Tom off muttering scornfully.
Informed by Rose that his lordship took his dinner on a tray in the parlour, Arabella said she would be quite happy to take hers in the kitchen.
‘That’s not fitting, Miss,’ said the cook flatly. ‘You shouldn’t be eating with us.’
‘Well, I’m not going to sit in the dining-room on my own – never mind putting someone to the trouble of serving and clearing,’ retorted Arabella. ‘The kitchen will do perfectly well until we can persuade Lord Chalfont to change his ways. After that … well, we’ll see. Though I shouldn’t be dining with him either, should I? And he’s so shy that I doubt he’ll want me to.’
‘Probably not used to talking with young ladies,’ suggested Mistress Phelps.
‘A fellow with looks like his?’ Violet laughed. ‘Go on with you! He probably has girls falling over each other to catch his eye.’
‘If you ask me,’ said Rose slowly, ‘I think he’s miserable. He don’t say anything about it but I reckon he never wanted to come here at all – let alone stay.’
Later, standing at one of the windows that overlooked the drive, Arabella watched Ellie waiting patiently for the earl to return to the house and then walk back holding his hand and talking non-stop while he, head bent, appeared to listen intently to every word.
While she found it curiously touching, it also reminded her of something he’d said about the fourth earl on the previous evening.
If he’d married one of the boys’ mothers, I needn’t be here.
* * *
‘Miss Lizzie says that, after lessons tomorrow, we’re going to have our dinner with her in the dining-room,’ said Ellie at length and sounding suitably impressed.
‘Does she?’ asked Julian neutrally. ‘Why?’
‘To learn table-manners.’ She looked up at him, plainly confused. ‘What are they?’
‘Using your knife and fork properly and not spilling food everywhere,’ he told her. And with an internal grimace, added, ‘And making polite conversation.’
‘Oh.’ Ellie considered this and then, deciding it didn’t sound too bad, said, ‘She seems nice. And she’s pretty.’
‘Yes.’ Too pretty, thought Julian, edgily. And when she laughs … God. ‘I’m glad you think you’ll like her – but it’s early days, yet. What do Tom and Rob think?’
‘Rob’s all right. Miss asked if’n we helped you on the farm and Rob said he’d like to.’
‘And Tom?’
She shrugged and her face clouded over.
‘Tom says eating in the dining-room and reading books except in lessons is stupid.’
‘Ah.’
Ellie stopped walking and stared into his face.
‘Why is Tom always angry with you?’
Julian drew a long breath.
‘It’s not so much that he’s angry as that he’s not ready to trust me yet.’
‘He is angry though. Nearly all the time.’
I know, thought Julian. He’s angry about the world in general and a part of him is constantly screaming that life isn’t fair. I wonder what he’d say if I told him that I know exactly how that feels? But he squeezed the child’s hand and said, ‘He’ll get over it eventually. And in the meantime we should be patient with him because, deep down, he doesn’t want to be angry at all. He just can’t help it.’
* * *
Unable to decide, on the strength of a single meeting, what to make of Mistress Marsden, Julian took the safest option and avoided both the lady and the possible dangers of the dining parlour. Purloining bread, cold meat and a small tankard of ale from his own kitchen, he reached the library undetected and locked the door behind him. Then he sat on the floor to eat his meal and evaluate how much progress he might expect to make with the harpsichord before exhaustion overcame him.
He was surprised – even startled – when Mistress Marsden began creeping into the fringes of his mind. Normally when he was in this room he thought of nothing outside it, the harpsichord claiming his entire attention. Yet once or twice he caught himself wondering if she really was unlike the young women whose bold stares and peculiar air of expectancy left him feeling self-conscious and anxious. Last night she hadn’t seemed frightening. She’d treated him much the same as Janet Featherstone and the Caldercott ladies did … which would have been reassuring if she hadn’t been young and pretty and possessed of a warm, melodic laugh; a laugh which made his insides uncurl and yearn to hear it again in order to recapture the elusive phrase it had brought to mind. A rondo in a bright key, he decided. G major, perhaps?
He stopped eating, suddenly made acutely uneasy by ideas and feelings he didn’t understand. True, Mistress Marsden didn’t seem to be like those other girls … but different didn’t necessarily mean safe. And if she was already putting these peculiar and unwelcome notions in his head, she might be dangerous in other ways entirely. Setting aside Mistress Phelps’ over-cooked beef, Julian pushed to his feet and turned his attention to the only thing that would, when in working order, make his life more bearable.
Once upon a time, the harpsichord had been a thing of beauty, its’ case ornamented with inlaid mother-of-pearl and ormolu. Now it was covered in deep scratches, burns from carelessly placed cheroots and the other assorted evidence of years of ill-usage. Julian minded this quite a lot in the sense that he didn’t understand how anyone – even his lecherous sot of a predecessor – could subject a musical instrument to such treatment. But the external damage was as nothing when compared to what had been done to the inside.
He didn’t think he would ever forget his first sight of it. The harpsichord had been left open, the lid hanging forlornly on one hinge; mice had been in it, their droppings everywhere; strings had been snapped or perhaps chewed through. And worst of all, a bottle lay on its side, having disgorged the best part of a pint of claret over the soundboard, the jacks and the dampers. The instrument was so badly wrecked that it had looked beyond saving. And it had made him physically sick.
He had been labouring over it for months, always at night when his work outside on the estate was done. Although he had arrived at a point where there was light at the end of the tunnel, there was still much to be done before it would be playable. Tonight’s job was that of continuing to replace the rotting dampers.
Julian pulled
off his cravat, rolled up his sleeves and set to work.
~ * * ~ * * ~
CHAPTER SEVEN
The rain stopped overnight and morning dawned on weak sunshine but the landscape about the Oak remained woefully sodden. Having obtained her permission the previous evening, Lord Sherbourne instructed his valet to send one of Mistress Brandon’s outriders off to check the state of the road. The report the man brought back did nothing to improve his lordship’s mood.
‘So,’ he said grimly to Frayne. ‘We are stranded here for today at least.’
‘It would seem so, my lord.’ The valet was perfectly aware of both the need for haste and the reason for it. He was also aware that the earl’s temper was unlikely to survive the enforced delay intact. He said, ‘The best we can hope is that conditions improve by tomorrow. I’m told that if we go back towards Huntingdon and branch off south, the lane will bring us back on to the North Road just below the damaged bridge. Meanwhile, if your lordship would care for breakfast, it is being served in the coffee-room. I believe Mistress Brandon and her maid are already downstairs.’
‘Oh good,’ breathed Ralph. ‘Another hour of polite conversation. How delightful.’
While Annie devoured kippers with every sign of enthusiasm, Elizabeth pushed egg around her plate and said, ‘We’re going to be travelling at least two days longer than we expected – more, if the roads don’t dry out or we can’t find a carriage. I’ll have to write to Aunt Louisa or she’ll start to worry.’
‘Mind what you say about his lordship, then. It won’t help matters if she thinks Miss Belle’s stuck here with a rake.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ hissed Elizabeth. ‘And we don’t know he’s a rake.’
‘I’d lay money on it.’ Annie shrugged and waved a piece of kipper on the end of her fork. ‘But even if he’s not, her ladyship won’t like the sound of him – mark my words.’
‘Good morning,’ said a soft voice from behind them. ‘Or, then again, is it?’
Annie narrowly avoided choking; Elizabeth’s fingers clenched on her coffee-cup.
‘N-Not particularly,’ she said, turning and managing a smile. ‘Jessop says there is little chance of travelling so much as a mile today.’
‘So I have heard.’ Sherbourne strolled to the sideboard and helped himself from the covered dishes there. ‘Will the delay cause the duchess concern?’
‘Not immediately, since it wasn’t possible to predict the precise day I would arrive. But if the delay is protracted … yes, I imagine so.’
‘Then let us hope that it is not.’ He took a seat at another table and addressed himself to his breakfast – a clear indication that he wasn’t feeling sociable.
Elizabeth gave Annie a meaningful look and said quietly, ‘If my cloak has dried out, please see what can be done with it. And ask the innkeeper for writing materials.’
‘Very good, Miss Belle.’ Annie rose, dropped a curtsy and went out.
Elizabeth poured a second cup of coffee and tried not to look at the earl. From the corner of her eye, she could see that he had produced the book he’d been reading the previous day and was once more apparently engrossed in it. A rake who read Greek seemed an unlikely combination … unless she was wrong on one or both counts.
A maidservant came in bringing paper, pen and ink and proceeded to clear away the breakfast things. ‘Will there be anything else, ma’am?’
‘No,’ began Elizabeth. And then, ‘Yes. If I leave letters here, will they be collected and sent on?’
‘Yes’m. The coach usually comes through every Thursday and Saturday – though it mightn’t, this week.’
Nodding her thanks, Elizabeth drew the paper in front of her and began by scribbling a frantic note to Arabella. Then, silently praying that her cousin had been right about their handwriting not arousing suspicion, she embarked on the more difficult letter to her aunt.
Dear Mama, she wrote. Please do not be alarmed but heavy rain is currently making the roads impassable and thus delaying our journey …
Ralph finished his breakfast and crossed the room in search of fresh coffee. He hadn’t intended to engage Mistress Brandon in conversation, yet he heard himself saying, ‘I gather there is someone who will worry?’
‘My mother,’ replied Elizabeth, looking up, ‘and also the cousin who travelled with me as far as Newark. What of you, my lord? I had the impression that you were anxious to complete your journey.’
‘I am. But it appears Nemesis has other plans.’ He returned to his seat and picked up the book, his mouth curling slightly. ‘Perhaps I threw down an unwitting gauntlet.’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t follow.’
‘The Iliad,’ he replied, gesturing with it. ‘It is some years since I read it and I had forgotten just how much of it is about Fate. Lots of wrath and revenge as well, of course – but I hope we may escape those.’
‘Do you believe in Fate?’ asked Elizabeth, curiously.
‘I accept its existence. Don’t you?’
‘I don’t know.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I find it hard to believe that all our lives are part of some grand plan and that everything happens for a reason. In fact, I don’t believe it. You and I are here because it rained.’
‘Are you sure? How do you know that the rain was not the work of cosmic forces?’
‘Cosmic forces?’ she echoed. ‘Doing what, exactly?’
‘Throwing you and I together in this particular place and time.’ The hazel eyes regarded her with not unfriendly mockery. ‘Or is that too fanciful for you?’
‘Much too fanciful – and for you, too, I should think. Why on earth would Fate – or anything else for that matter – want to do that?’
‘I don’t know. The Greek gods are both whimsical and inscrutable. Did Paris know why the gods chose him to award the golden apple? Of course he did not.’
Elizabeth gave him a long, level look.
‘You don’t believe any of that, do you?’
‘Not a word,’ he replied coolly. ‘Man was given free will and his course through life is not pre-ordained. He is responsible for both his triumphs and his sins.’ A sharp-edged, slightly crooked smile dawned. ‘But it would be comforting, would it not, to sometimes believe otherwise?’ And he turned calmly back to his book.
She continued to stare at him for a moment, not sure what any of that had been about but entirely positive that she shouldn’t be finding him quite so intriguing a puzzle. Then she addressed and sealed her letters and walked out.
Upstairs, Annie had managed to restore the cloak to some semblance of respectability and was giving it a final brushing. Without looking up, she said, ‘What was his high-and-mighty lordship talking to you about?’
‘Fate,’ she said. And thought, Or so it seemed on the surface. ‘And mythology.’
‘Mythology?’ scoffed Annie. ‘Heathen claptrap is all that is. Monsters and folks running about half-naked.’
Elizabeth gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘That’s one way of looking at it.’
‘It’s not decent, Miss Lizzie. I knew from the start he wasn’t to be trusted. So for the Lord’s sake, have some sense tonight and take your dinner up here with me.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ murmured Elizabeth, knowing already that she wouldn’t. She was perfectly well aware that Lord Sherbourne wasn’t a gentleman Papa would approve of – or even Mama, come to that. But since their acquaintance was destined to be short-lived, there could be little harm in taking the opportunity to play with fire.
By mid-afternoon, Ralph’s temper was balancing on a knife-edge. The letter from his youngest brother which had provoked this journey might turn out to be just another instance of Bertram’s chronic idiocy. Equally, however, it might not. And if the latter proved to be the case, every hour Ralph was delayed in this benighted place, bereft of further communications, might result in the kind of trouble he was bent on avoiding. There had been numerous times in his life when the notion of Cedric locked up out of harm’s way
had possessed a lot of appeal. But not this way. This, if Bertram had it right, couldn’t be anything but bad news.
If he had hoped that the mildly risqué style of his conversation last night and the peculiar nature of his discourse this morning might have given Mistress Brandon a distaste for his company, he was disappointed. Wearing the same gown as the previous evening, she joined him in the coffee-room and immediately said, ‘My lord, Jessop believes it may be possible to get as far as St Neots tomorrow and, all being well, hire a conveyance there. Since I understand that you must go in that direction yourself, I wondered if … if you would be kind enough to allow my maid and I to travel that far with you? I am very sorry to ask but I don’t see any alternative.’
In truth, she had no alternative. He had known that all day and been waiting for her to realise it. He also knew that he could not refuse. So he inclined his head and said smoothly, ‘Of course, ma’am. It will be my pleasure.’
‘You are very good. Thank you.’
‘Not at all.’ He waited until she was seated before resuming his own chair. Then, deciding he might as well find out more about her than her eventual destination, he said, ‘You are from Yorkshire, I believe. A large county with which I am unfamiliar, I am afraid.’
Good, thought Elizabeth. And then, realising that since, sooner or later, she would have to start being Arabella, it might as well be now, said, ‘My home is in the North Riding, near Knaresborough. There have been Brandons there for generations.’
‘And your family?’ he asked lightly.
‘Well, Mama, of course … and I have three brothers, all of them older than me.’ She paused, letting her expression darken a little. ‘Papa died ten years ago so Max – my eldest brother – inherited the barony before he was twenty.’
Ah. Not Miss Nobody from nowhere then, but the sister of a baron, thought Ralph. And with some amusement, Did she toss that information at me in a clumsy attempt to put me in my place and keep me there? But he said merely, ‘I inherited my grandfather’s title only a year ago. However … am I correct in guessing that your brother prefers to spend his time on the family estates rather than in London?’
