“Being the youngest has always been difficult for him,” Mater said. “I think more so now that they are all grown and he is very nearly as well. They are successful, respected, and, in many ways, very important in their various spheres. That is, as you said, a large shadow to try to escape.” Mater lowered her hands to her lap. “I have struggled to know how I might help him. Philip has tried, but his efforts are hampered by the fact that he is unwittingly part of the problem.”
“I know Charlie needs to return to Cambridge when the new term begins,” Linus said. “I will see to it that he does. But I believe he will benefit greatly from time away from both his studies and his, for lack of a better word, insecurities.”
“You would do that for our Charlie?” Mater’s voice broke a little.
“Do not ascribe to me too many selfless motivations,” he said, his voice lightening, no doubt in response to her tone of concern. “His company will do me good as well. My estate is very empty and a little lonely. Charlie feels he has too much family nearby, while I very much wonder why I have none at all.”
Mater reached over and patted his hand. “We will miss both of you as our party winds to its conclusion, but I believe this is for the best.”
“I agree,” he said.
“Have a safe journey,” Lady Lampton said. “Don’t let Charlie drive the coach.”
Linus laughed and dipped his head, then turned slowly to face Arabella. “Might I beg a moment, Miss Hampton?”
She had not been expecting that. A little perplexed, she walked with him to the door and a single step into the corridor.
“You seem to be relinquishing your membership in our club, Captain Hampton.”
“Whatever do you mean, Lieutenant Lancaster?”
He motioned back through the open doorway. “This is not a gathering in which you appear to be an outsider. It seems to me you are finding your place amongst this family.”
“I believe I am.” The realization struck her in that moment. “I truly am.”
Unmistakable relief entered his eyes. “I am beyond pleased. You deserve all of the happiness in the world, Miss Hampton.”
“What about you? You will be alone at your estate.”
He smiled. “I will have Charlie. According to his family, that will keep me very busy.”
“He will return to school soon,” she reminded him.
“By then, I fully intend to have implemented your excellent advice and have found a means of making the life of an estate owner and man of the land suit me better.”
“You will be happy?” she pressed.
“I will be happy.”
There was some consolation in that. He was leaving, but he was leaving more hopeful than he had arrived.
He took her hand. She willed her heart to calm as he raised it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. She held her breath.
Linus stepped back, relinquishing her hand. “Goodbye, Miss Hampton,” he said and walked away.
With those three words, he broke her heart.
Chapter Twenty
Linus recalled with perfect clarity the moment he first saw the ship that would take him away from England, away from the only home he’d ever known. He’d been little more than a child, and he’d been afraid. Yet there’d been an undeniable surge of anticipation beneath his trepidation.
He felt that same contradiction all over again as the traveling coach pulled up the drive leading to the Lancaster family home. He was anxious to see the old place, to make certain that his brother’s inheritance was properly cared for, yet a growing part of him wanted to demand the carriage be turned around and pointed in any direction other than home. His memories always grew louder in Shropshire. He couldn’t outrun them here.
“Your house is Tudor.” Charlie watched their approach.
“It is also much smaller than Lampton Park’s manor house,” Linus acknowledged. “You will likely find it absurdly ‘quaint.’”
“A thing doesn’t have to be impressive to be valued.” Charlie sat with his face all but pressed to the glass of the carriage window, looking closer to nine than nineteen.
If Linus had years’ worth of only pleasant memories of home and family, would he be as eager at their arrival? Would he ever be?
Charlie looked back at him. “Your father’s scholarly income was enough to sustain a home and estate this size?”
Rather than rehash the details of Father’s decline and the necessity of scraping together money for their subsistence, Linus simply nodded. Had Father remained healthy, his income would have been sufficient, though only just.
Charlie returned to his inspection of the house they’d pulled to a stop in front of. “A family could live here.”
“A family did live here,” Linus whispered.
The footman opened the carriage door. Charlie descended without hesitation. Linus sat a moment, rallying his courage. How was it a naval man who’d fought in countless battles, who’d traveled the seas for years on end, quaked at something so harmless as stepping inside his childhood home?
He could not remain in the carriage forever. This was not the first time he’d been home since Evander’s death. He’d survived the other visits; he’d certainly survive now. Except, this wasn’t merely a stop-in before returning to duty, as it had always been in the past. This was his duty now.
Linus took a breath. Then another. He set his sights on the narrow strip of light spilling in from the open carriage door and moved toward it. Then through it. He stepped onto the pebbled path, slowly lifting his gaze to take in the house. For the briefest of moments, his mind saw it as it had once been: broken windows, the exposed wood in desperate need of tarring, the white paint cracked and peeling off the wattle and daub. The land had not fared much better. The lawns had been overgrown and untended. The ornamental gardens had been left to grow wild. They’d had means and time enough only for the gardens that produced food.
It looked so different now. First Adam and then Daphne’s husband, James, had taken on the restoration of the Lancaster family home. They’d managed it. Evander would have been elated. He’d talked often of wishing to put the house and estate to rights. Linus only hoped he didn’t undo all the good done here. He owed that much to his brother.
Mr. and Mrs. Tuttle, butler and housekeeper, stood on either side of the door, waiting for him. Charlie hadn’t stepped inside yet. He watched Linus. The servants lined up beside Mrs. Tuttle hadn’t looked away from him either.
He was the master of the estate now. Lud, he wasn’t at all used to that. He was expected to arrive in grandeur and lead the return to the estate. They all awaited his nod of acknowledgment, his words of approval, his instructions. Why did it have to be this way? The staff knew their roles better than he ever would. He would far rather arrive, ask them how they were getting on, and allow everyone to go about his or her own business.
“Find a way to make the role your own,” Arabella had said.
Significantly altering the expected routines and tasks everyone undertook would impact the servants. After all they had done the past years to help restore his family home, he would not repay them with upheaval. He could make adjustments elsewhere, but not in this.
He stepped past Charlie and to the doorway. The Tuttles offered a bow and curtsey respectively. He acknowledged that in the expected manner.
“Welcome home, Mr. Lancaster,” Tuttle said.
The customary response would be to declare himself pleased to be home, but he’d rather not lie. “I hope you received my note warning you that we would be having a visitor.”
“We did, sir,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “But you did not specify which bedchamber you wished Mr. Jonquil to be placed in. We’ve tried sorting it on our own but would like your advice. You’d not wish him in the nursery.”
He shot a grin at Charlie, who made a dramatic sh
ow of being relieved.
“And Miss Daphne’s bedchamber’d be too feminine for a gentleman to feel comfortable staying in.” Mrs. Tuttle spoke with utmost conviction.
That was certainly true.
“The master’s chamber is yours,” Mrs. Tuttle continued. “You’d not intended to place him in the mistress’s bedchamber, I’d not think.”
“Certainly not.” He laughed at the picture that inspired.
Mrs. Tuttle nodded. “Then, your only remaining options are either Miss Persephone and Miss Athena’s bedchamber or the one you shared with—”
“The girls’ room.” He turned back to Charlie and motioned him forward. “Let us settle you in.”
“Mr. Lancaster.” Mrs. Tuttle spoke before Linus could take a single step inside. “The girls’ bedchamber is—”
“More than sufficient.” He stepped inside the house.
With the same determined stride he’d learned to strike during tense moments on ship, he crossed the entryway and around the turn that led to the main staircase. Ghosts of his past followed him all the way there, whispering in his ears and echoing in his thoughts. Daphne, tucked into corners reading a book. Artemis, running down the corridors, giggling. Persephone’s perseverance. Athena’s hopefulness. Father’s struggles. Mother’s . . . absence.
He shook his head, trying to clear it before the final member of the Lancaster family forced his way into his mind.
“Up this way,” he told Charlie, who’d kept up with his quick pace. “Your room overlooks the side meadow. You’ll like it.”
They took the stairs without pausing. He was likely being a poor host, not allowing Charlie the opportunity to look around and become acquainted with the house. But Linus hadn’t the endurance for it just then.
The corridor was quiet, as it always was during his brief sojourns in Shropshire. Having Charlie there would help. There’d be someone to talk with, someone to fill the gaps. And not just any someone but Charlie, whose company he thoroughly enjoyed. It would help ease the sting.
“This room here will be yours,” Linus said. He pushed open the door to the room his older sisters had shared. It was empty. No bed. No bureau. Only a single chair near the window.
Charlie stepped inside and took a look around. “I’ll admit, this is more rustic than I’d expected.” He eyed Linus with amusement. “Are you hoping to accustom me to the sparse existence of a poor academic?”
“Perhaps I’m trying to convince you to think highly of your family’s graciousness as hosts by demonstrating the opposite.”
With a laugh, Charlie nodded. “Consider me convinced.”
Mrs. Tuttle stood in the doorway. “I did try to remind you, Mr. Lancaster. You allowed Lord and Lady Techney to give the furniture in this room to the vicarage, as it was in terrible need of it. None of it was ever replaced.”
She had tried to warn him; he hadn’t listened.
“My apologies, Mrs. Tuttle, for not heeding you. I’m afraid I am not very well suited to this role.”
Mrs. Tuttle smiled but not in agreement. In the next moment, a passing maid pulled her attention into the corridor once more and she stepped away.
Linus turned back to his young guest. “That leaves you but one option, really. Unless you’re willing to sleep on the floor.”
“Willing, yes. But not eager.”
He slapped a hand on Charlie’s shoulder and led him from the room. The journey was a short one, a matter of mere steps, yet it felt like thousands of miles.
Linus grasped the handle of the bedchamber he’d not entered in so long. For a moment, he couldn’t turn it, couldn’t commit to opening the door. Even when Father had still been alive and Linus had come to visit, he’d not occupied this room. He’d even stayed in the nursery more than once. He couldn’t ask that of Charlie, no matter how painful the alternative.
This is my home now. I cannot live here with this room permanently closed off. He turned the handle and pushed open the door, its hinges protesting.
His heart thudded against his paralyzed lungs as he braced himself against the familiarity of the space. The furniture had been replaced some years earlier. The layout was different. None of that stopped the flood of grief he felt.
This had been their room. In these walls, he and Evander had been together, happy, hopeful. They had spoken of returning here on shore leaves for years, carefree for a time, enjoying the freedom that would come from having incomes to contribute to the family estate. None of that had happened. None of it.
“I’ll leave you to settle in.” He left, moving hastily toward the master’s bedchamber, the one that now belonged to him. Even with the memories that room held of his father, it was not as painful as the one he’d just left.
He shut the door behind him, as if doing so could prevent these specters from finding him there. This was meant to have been Evander’s home; its rooms would never be free of him.
“Look after them.” Evander’s voice echoed across eleven years. The pounding of cannons and the cacophony of voices that had filled that long-ago moment returned as well. Linus knew if he closed his eyes, he’d see the deck of the Triumphant, the thick smoke all around them, and Evander’s face growing paler by the moment, grayer. Linus could taste the ash in the air. Smell the blood.
“The girls need you, Linus. And Father. He can’t tend the estate on his own. Persephone’s husband might not care what happens to it. You have to see to it, Linus. And the girls. Don’t let Daphne disappear. She’ll fade away, Linus. She’ll fade away, and we’ll lose her. We’ll lose it all.”
Linus coughed against the clog of tears in this throat. He’d tried so hard to be everything his brother had begged him with his last breaths to be. But he’d failed in so many ways. The girls had been looked after by Adam and Persephone. Daphne had struggled against the very fading Evander had feared. The estate had been tended to by other people. Linus had no experience with estates or land management.
“I don’t know what to do, Evander. This was never meant to be mine.”
Guilt ate away at him. Guilt that, for the most part, he didn’t want the inheritance entrusted to him. Guilt that, having sat on the back terrace of Lampton Park with two children cuddled beside him, the expanse of a peaceful estate spreading out in all directions, watching the approach of a kindhearted, intelligent, caring lady who’d captured a bit of his heart, he was beginning to change his mind.
Of course, those vistas belonged to the Park, the children were not his, and Arabella was not here. He rolled his shoulders against the tension in his neck. What would Arabella think of his family home?
He wandered to the window. The grounds were not as extensive as those found at Lampton Park, nor were they as well manicured. But a great many walking paths traversed the lawns and gardens and stands of trees. The neighborhood itself boasted many more. She would have appreciated that. And she would have encouraged him, as she had before, to find ways to make the undertaking his own.
But what if his way of doing things only made the situation worse? What if he ran the estate into the ground? Linus couldn’t bear the thought of breaking yet another promise to his brother. Yet doing nothing was not an option either.
One way or another, he needed to sort things out. He could not get on with his life until he did.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mater’s health recovered fully by the final evening of the house party. Her sons who lived near enough to attend the closing ball did so, even Harold, whose devotion to his clerical duties had, thus far, kept him from participating in all but one of the fortnight’s activities.
The ballroom was exquisitely decorated. The planned supper would meet the expectations of even the most finicky of guests. The sparkle of candlelight on gemstones and the swirl of colorful gowns gave the space a dream-like quality. Though more guests could have been included on the list, the
Lampton Park ballroom being quite extensive and the neighborhood boasting a significant number of fine families, Mater possessed that crucial ability in any hostess to compile a guest list based on considerations beyond mere size and space. She had honed her list to those who would, in one another’s company, be most pleased and pleasant, and to a number which was at once impressive and somewhat exclusive. She had, in short, planned the perfect final event to mark the end of her time as mistress of Lampton Park.
Arabella watched Mater move about the room. Her expression showed nothing but pleasure and enjoyment, though there had been more than a hint of sadness in her eyes as she had prepared to greet her guests. Endings were always difficult.
His Grace sat near Arabella, apparently not caring to dance. Her Grace had accompanied Miss Artemis from the ballroom some minutes earlier, and the errand had not appeared to be a fully pleasant one. Arabella was not privy to the particulars of that family relationship, but she sensed a growing strain between them all.
Lady Lampton arrived in the seconds before Philip sauntered over, chest a bit puffed out, shirt points so high he could not turn his head independent of his shoulders. “Quite the crush, isn’t it?”
“Your mother invited the perfect number of people,” Lady Lampton replied. “Not a crush but a pleasant gathering.”
“Do you not know, my dear, that if one is to have a successful party, it simply must be described as a crush.” Philip cast wide eyes on them all. “Any other word would indicate failure.”
“Your wardrobe indicates failure,” His Grace drawled.
“Nonsense, my man.” Philip motioned at his very colorful attire. He was the only one of the gentlemen not dressed in somber blacks and very dark colors. Philip wore brighter colors than many of the women. “My valet is a man of many talents. He gave his approval.”
“Your valet needs spectacles,” the duke countered.
“On the contrary.” Philip smoothed his impeccable jacket sleeves. “The man deserves a knighthood.”
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