by Decca Price
Cameron looked up from his figures. “That shouldn’t bother you then, sister, though I was unaware that you had an interest in angling. I never understood how a female who ‘couldn’t bear’ to shoot a partridge has no compunction about chasing a fox over hill and dale behind a pack of baying hounds.”
Sir Henry and all his children hunted. It was the one activity outside the drawing room in which he encouraged his daughters. Sport set the true country gentry apart from the upstart newcomers, he averred, and an active horsewoman was apt to eschew the vapors as a wife. He regretted the day his own wife had retired from the field. She became much more peevish and subject to headache, in his view, and his nocturnal visits to her bedchamber subsequently dwindled in frequency.
“It does not signify, except in terms of valuing the property. Make a note of it,” Sir Henry told his son. “We won’t be coming back for the hunting, and Mr. Hapwell more than hinted that the family can expect an invitation to Perthshire for the grouse this year.”
Claire and Miss Simms exchanged a glance.
“Now that affairs are settled between him and Frances,” Sir Henry confided, “his family will be wanting to improve our acquaintance. Catherine will stay at home with Simms, of course, and it remains to be seen whether he means to include Claire, under the circumstances, but you and Delilah can as good as count on it.”
“Delilah will be pleased, though it will mean an outlay on a new wardrobe we can ill afford at the moment,” Cameron responded.
“Oh, Cam,” Claire said, feigning lightness. “I will gladly make a present to Delilah of whatever she needs—and Francie, too, Papa—as long as I don’t have to go. Two weeks on a grouse moor with Mr. Hapwell and the Grimthorpes would be unbearable. There isn’t a book in the place.”
“It is a hunting lodge. People go there to hunt. Though that’s beside the point,” Sir Henry said. “It would be best that you refuse, Claire, even should Lord Grimthorpe be magnanimous enough to invite you. You could certainly plead duties to your aunt Manwaring without giving offense.”
“I am very sure I shall be otherwise occupied, Papa.” She rose from the table. “Isn’t it time we see Mr. Carey? He will be waiting for us in the estate office.”
Cameron waited for his father’s explosion, but Sir Henry disappointed him.
“You may accompany us, if you wish, but please let me do the talking,” Papa said. “By the by, I’d be very interested in knowing what Carey had to say to you on your ride.”
“Mr. Carey is most knowledgeable about the home farm and the tenants, Papa. The property produced 80 hogsheads of cider this last season, and most of the apples grown here go into cider-making. With the railway expected to come closer to Oak Grove, Mr. Carter was planning to expand—”
“Claire,” Sir Henry interrupted, “We can learn all that from the account books. I am more interested in what Carey may have dropped about problem tenants, poaching, whether the servants are helping themselves in the wine cellar and the like.”
“I see.” Claire quelled a surge of impatience with her parent. “I was more interested in learning from him which tenants were most in need of repairs to their cottages and who would benefit from improvements to their holdings. Mr. Carter had been discussing a drainage project that would greatly improve the land for growing hops.”
“Hops! What concern to any of us are hops?” Sir Henry growled. “But make a note of that, Cameron—good potential for the cultivation of hops. And a branch line coming out this way from the town. Your contacts in the City should be able to flesh out the details.”
To Claire’s mounting annoyance, everything about Oak Grove met with Sir Henry’s approval. From the trim clarence waiting for them at the Hereford station to the aforementioned wine cellar, his approbation grew along with his estimation of the pounds and pence to be realized from his daughter’s windfall.
As soon as the equipage had turned from the public road onto Oak Grove’s long drive the previous day, his appraising eye efficiently tallied up the verdant pastures, abundant livestock and flourishing fields whizzing by.
Even the house, which hove into view after a half-mile of traveling through neat rows of blossoming apple trees, drew praise, though if Claire were honest with herself, it was disappointingly ugly.
It was a massive square block, three stories high, with a dark slate mansard and a stocky tower rising above the roof line at the far end from their approach. At first, Claire assumed it was built of golden stone, but as she stood before it craning to see the white corbel line running under the eaves, she could see it was stuccoed. Flecks of mica in the slightly gritty surface glinted where the sun hit.
As fine houses go, it was wholly unremarkable except for its bulk. Six tall windows ran the length of both the ground and first floors at equal intervals, while smaller oval windows punctuated the top floor. The cornice and the window frames were plain and white. It was devoid of ornament and proportion.
The tower, Claire knew, was Josiah’s library. The house faced west, and from the other side of the drive a smooth lawn sloped gently about 200 feet to the narrow river, which sparkled and played in the sunlight.
Three wide stone steps led from the oval graveled carriage-sweep to the porticoed entrance.
Exploring the interior would take her days. Papa intended to complete his inventory and return to Surrey by the end of the week, though Cameron might stay longer. He was welcome, of course, as long as he did not interfere with her plans.
By arrangement on this second day, Claire met with Simmie about 3 o’clock in the small sitting room off the conservatory to compare impressions. She had exchanged her riding habit for a simple plum day dress trimmed with lace. Delicate cameos adorned her ears and throat.
“Are you getting on with Mrs. White?” she asked her companion. “I am finding her rather distant.”
“Yes, though she does run on a bit about the best way to brew small beer. I gather there is quite a competition in these parts on the best recipes. Your conference with Mr. Carey went well?”
“Much better than I expected. The talk was all bushels of this and quarterns of that, though. I want to know about the people here. I had no idea Papa knew so much about farming!”
“Men like Sir Henry and your brother do work hard for what they have, try as they might to give the world a different impression.”
Simmie handed Claire an envelope. “This wire arrived a short while ago.”
Claire examined it. “You did not read it?”
“No. You left the girl Claire behind in Surrey when we boarded the train yesterday morning. I no longer have the right to pry into your affairs, even as a friend.”
Claire tapped the envelope against her palm and searched Simmie’s face. “No regrets?”
“No regrets.”
Claire tore open the envelope and read. The wire was short, but before she could say anything, Noonan rapped on the door and entered.
The unsmiling butler carried a small salver before him. “A caller, Miss Burton. Are you at home?”
Claire examined the calling card. “Of course. But who is Mr. Edward Latimer, Noonan? I don’t know the name.”
“He is the rector of this parish, Miss. A most distinguished gentleman and a friend of Mr. Carter’s, if I may add.”
“Ask Sir Henry and Mr. Burton to join us, Noonan, then show Mr. Latimer in. Oh, and tell Mrs. White we’d like tea.”
“Very good, Miss.”
Claire never imagined the word “beautiful” could describe a man. But Edward Latimer was so beautiful he took her breath away.
Latimer was taller than she, with the physique of the oarsmen Claire had discreetly admired on occasions at Henley, when the family party cheered Cameron on for Cambridge. He carried himself confidently and there was power in his stride as he crossed the room. His dark suit was understated but of good quality and he wore fine polished boots.
His face, still youthful though she judged his age at about 35, brought to mind an ancient marble stat
ue of Apollo she once glimpsed in the British Museum before a shocked Simmie had hurried her and her sisters on to the next gallery.
His fair hair was thick and wavy. Neatly trimmed side-whiskers framed high cheekbones, a perfectly formed nose and full lips. His teeth were white and even. His eyes—clear and green beneath full lashes—were mesmerizing.
“Miss Burton?” he said in a rich baritone. “I beg you to pardon the intrusion, but I heard you had come into the neighborhood and felt I must call.”
His eyes held hers a moment too long and the memory of that statue obtruded again. She broke the contact, only to find herself looking down at his trim waist and hips. She flushed, but to her relief he turned his sea-green gaze toward Sir Henry and Cameron, standing by the fireplace.
“I will not stay if I inconvenience you,” he said to them.
“Your call is much appreciated, Mr. Latimer,” Claire managed to get out. “May I introduce you to my father, Sir Henry Burton, and my brother, Mr. Cameron Burton.”
“Indeed,” he said coolly. “The pleasure is mine. I hope you are finding Herefordshire to your liking, sirs.”
“And this is my friend, Miss Simms.” Claire gestured to the sofa opposite. “We were just about to have tea, if you would like to stay?”
“That is most gracious of you, Miss Burton. Josiah Carter was a valued friend and a great personal loss to me as well as the neighborhood. I am glad for any opportunity to be better acquainted with one so obviously dear to him.”
Claire felt tears well suddenly and she turned to dab them away before anyone saw. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Mr. Latimer. Perhaps now is not the time”—she darted a look at Papa—“but I would so enjoy the chance to hear your reminiscences and see Oak Grove through your eyes. You must have spent many happy hours here!”
“Well, yes, Claire,” Sir Henry butted in. “Perhaps if the rector here isn’t too busy with parish affairs, he could spend an hour with you tomorrow while we inspect the tenant farms with Carey. I want to get this business wrapped up and see us all back home again.”
Latimer raised an eyebrow. “You are not staying long?”
“Certainly not,” Sir Henry replied before Claire could speak. “It’s all very fine here, not nearly as uncouth as I expected, but Claire is needed at home. Her sister has just accepted a son of Lord Grimthorpe’s daughter. There are all sorts of things with which Lady Henry requires the assistance of her eldest girl.”
“Papa.” Claire put her cup down carefully. “Mr. Latimer will only be bored by our family affairs when he scarcely knows us.”
She leaned forward eagerly.
“Mr. Latimer, it is by no means settled when I will be returning to Surrey,” she continued. “I invite you to call again tomorrow or whenever you choose. Except for early in the morning, when I intend to ride, I am most likely to be found about the house and will make time for you.”
Latimer took that as his cue to depart. “Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Burton.” He stood and clasped her right hand in both of his where she sat, and she looked up only to fall again into those green, green eyes. Her pulse quickened. “I look forward to our next meeting.”
“And I, too,” she said, startled by the firm pressure he exerted before she could withdraw her hand from his grasp. She watched him with puzzlement as he took his leave of the others and walked out of the room.
The door had no sooner closed behind him than Sir Henry rounded on his daughter. “I demand to know what you are up to, miss. You know we are going back to Surrey by the end of the week.”
“It is simple, Papa. You are going. I am not.”
“Preposterous! Your Aunt Maud expects you in London next week. You sent your boxes already.
“No, Papa. My luggage was shipped, but Simmie helped me change all the labels. It arrived here this morning while we were with Mr. Carey.”
“But, this is absurd!” her father spluttered. “Reason with her, Cameron!”
“It is her property, Father. How do you reason with a girl who has thousands a year clear?”
Nonplussed, Sir Henry changed tack. “Claire, child. Listen to what I am saying. No one knows you here. The neighborhood is bound to be tiresome, assuming anyone will even receive you. These back-country people can be very conservative. You’ll do far better under my roof and among our set. On your own, with no man about, your own servants are likely to spite you behind your back! Surely you’ve noticed how they look at you!”
“Pardon me, Papa, but wasn’t that the rector who just paid a call?”
“Don’t delude yourself, Claire. The man has a duty to inspect newcomers in his parish. If he takes against you, you won’t have a chance at holding your head up.”
Claire appealed to her brother. “Cam, you live in London. You said the world is different now. Am I wrong to think I can stay here, as he wished, without—“ her voice broke—“without shaming my family and my sisters?”
“The world is different, Claire. In London. I must agree with Father that your scheme to live here is not sensible. Sell this place and buy a villa in Hampstead or Highgate. Or if you must separate yourself from the family, don’t be morbid. Travel, take a villa in Italy for the winter. To stay here will confirm the worst of the gossip that’s circulating.”
“Gossip!”
“Yes. Delilah says your name is on everyone’s lips. It has been most awkward for her. You are nobody, of course, and wouldn’t be recognized in the street, but Josiah Carter enjoyed a kind of faddish fame and was known everywhere as a ladies’ man. What do you think your life will be like here?”
“Perhaps the people here would be more understanding. His friends would never believe him capable of the sort of infamy you suggest!”
Sir Henry threw his hands up. “Miss Simms. What have you to say?”
“I have decided to stay with Claire, Sir Henry. We intend to live quietly and do what good is possible with the money entrusted to her.”
“You are both silly, obstinate fools. You will be the prey of cads and mountebanks. Only the worst scoundrels will accept charity from the hands of one they believe to be soiled.”
“Father!” Cameron remonstrated. “You go too far!”
The blood drained from Claire’s face. “Is that what you think, Papa? That I am—lost to the society of decent men and women?” She drew the telegram from her pocket and held it out to her brother. “Perhaps this may be no inducement to Papa then, and you will refuse?”
Cameron took the piece of paper and scanned it. “It’s from Mr. Chambers. ‘All is ready. Arrive first train Friday week.’ What does this mean, Claire?”
“The papers are ready for me to sign putting the property in trust for you and your sons.”
Cameron crushed the paper in his fist. “You’ve done more than enough already, getting me out of that Melmotte scrape. I’d’ve been ruined but for you.”
Claire went up to her father, unable now to face her. “Look at me, Papa. You have nothing to fear. I will be 27 next birthday, with marriage looking more unlikely every year, even if I could consider loving another man after Josiah. I will live retired here. You will never have to see me again, or acknowledge me, if that is your wish.”
“Claire, I beg you. Don’t throw your life away. What am I to tell your mother?”
“Think of it this way, Papa. You will add a fine property to the family without the inconvenience of a disagreeable son-in-law.” A sound halfway between a laugh and a hiccup escaped her lips. “I’m not sure you can say that about Francie’s match.”
Sir Henry inspected Claire as though seeing her for the first time. Clearly, he did not like what he saw. “It shall be as you wish, then,” he snapped. “But when you’ve discovered your mistake, don’t expect to come back to Thurn Hall as if none of this had happened. A woman’s reputation, once lost, cannot be restored. You act without my blessing and the consequences will be on your head.”
“I am sorry for it, Papa, but I wouldn’t exp
ect anything less of you,” Claire said as her tears welled.
“You will have no contact with your sisters, and do not badger your mother with self-justifications or pleas to petition me for mercy.”
He turned to his son. “We leave in the morning. Say your good-byes to your sister now. From henceforth she is no daughter of mine.”
After their father stalked from the room, Cameron moved to Claire’s side and took both her hands in his. “Please reconsider, Claire. Our father is too harsh, but I cannot agree with this step you’re taking and I will have to abide by Father’s wishes. You understand?”
“Yes, dear brother. I know you are dependent on him. I will see to it that Mr. Chambers sends you copies of the final papers, and annual reports on the status of the estate. There will be provision for the boys’ education when they are older, and if ever you are in need, Mr. Chambers will have standing orders to supply any reasonable requests.”
“Claire, I—”
“Go, Cameron. Can’t you see Papa is anxious to be off? This is what I want. I loved Josiah and I told him so. My duty is to him now, regardless of what Papa thinks.”
“But he’s dead, Claire! Surely that ends any obligation. Many widows remarry, after a decent interval, and you were never even a wife. Life goes on! Mark my words, you’ll see all this differently in six months, but the damage will be done.”
“Is that what a married man likes to think about, Cameron, that if he’s run over by a hackney cab, his wife will soon find a replacement for him?”
Cameron dropped her hands impatiently. “Yes, Claire. If, God forbid, something would happen to me, I hope Delilah would remarry. I love her. I wouldn’t want her to be alone and unprotected. I would want her to be happy again, especially if she were still young.”
Claire dismissed his statement with a gesture of impatience.
“This is different. Delilah would have to think about the boys, what’s best for them, not just herself. I have been given a similar trust and will do my best to show Josiah’s faith in me was not misplaced.”
