At dinner, that night, Raymond announced that Vaughn would be staying in the stablemaster’s quarters over the top of the stables, would take his meals there and generally stay out of everyone’s way.
“He needs to rest and regain strength,” Raymond said. “And he needs time to contemplate his future, too. The best we can do for him is to leave him alone to consider that. He finds our company too painful a reminder of better days, right now.”
“It is a surprise he came here, if he feels that way,” Ben said, his tone not unkind.
Iefan shook his head. “He likely could not stay away, as much as the reminders bother him. I remember what that was like, sitting in Paris and yearning to be home in London.” He grimaced. “This family has deep roots none of us know how to pull completely.”
“Long may it be so,” Raymond replied. “Here, Vaughn has a bed and food and a roof over his head. If he had not been drawn back here, he would be wandering the streets of London right now…” He glanced at the dining room windows, which were splattered with rain drops. “And it is probably raining there, too.”
Elise glanced at Danyal. He was listening with close attention, absorbing every skerrick of the family’s history and tribulations. Ah, well, that was why he was here, she reminded herself. And now he had seen the dark side of her family.
Surely he would be relieved to step upon his steamer and return to Macedonia?
Along with the dessert—a blanc mange with sherry sauce—the conversation shifted.
Eleanore wrinkled her nose and put her spoon down with only one bite taken. “Far too sweet for me,” she declared. “Thatcher, may I…ah! Thank you,” she said, as the butler put a glass of brandy in front of her. She picked up the brandy and sipped. “Will you be visiting Blackawton while you are in Cornwall, Your Highness?” she said to Danyal.
Danyal had not touched his dessert. He raised his brow. “While I am in Cornwall?” he repeated, puzzled.
Eleanore tilted her head. “Blackawton is only two hours to the east of us here. You were not aware of that?”
Everyone studied Danyal now, some looking amused.
Great Aunt Annalies was the only one not showing a degree of surprise. “I suspect Danyal knows very little about Blackawton beside the burden it places upon his family’s reputation.”
Eleanore’s smile was small. “As the Marquis of Blackawton, you may want to visit the estate to assure yourself it is not losing any value while your back is turned.”
“Is there a danger it might?” Danyal asked curiously. “I was given to understand that it was only a few acres and a house.”
“Even a few acres and a house can run up expenses—more of them as time passes,” Cian said, his tone one of experience.
“The older the house, the heavier the expenses,” Elise added, speaking from recent experience, too.
Danyal’s glance at her was sharp.
“At the very least, you should ensure the estate does not lose any further income,” Raymond added. “I understand you are in England to petition the Queen to remove the title from you and your family, but if you try to hand over an estate in disrepair and with a dwindling income, she may not feel moved to oblige you.”
Danyal stroked his jaw with a thumb, thoughtful. “I confess I had not considered this aspect of the matter at all. Blackawton has merely been a title in my mind, since I learned of its existence. Yet these matters you speak of are identical to those I deal with, managing Pandev.” He paused and looked at Eleanore. “Lady Eleanore, it appears you know more about the estate than I. Is the house occupied?”
Eleanore pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I suspect the manor is unoccupied. The usual arrangement is to settle a housekeeping family in a cottage or house nearby, to watch over the manor while the occupants are away. Were you supplied with the annual expenses for the estate?”
Danyal frowned. “I believe there was something of that nature provided to me, when my uncle’s affairs were passed along. There were a great many other documents with it.”
“The encumbrances of the title, most likely,” Cian said. “They like to slide the grubby money matters underneath the heraldry and protocol. Next time, turn the pile over and start at the bottom. Find out what they don’t want to tell you directly, first.”
Elise wanted to laugh at Danyal’s bewildered expression.
“I do not understand this English distaste for discussing financial matters,” he said. “Money is not a disease, yet the average Englishman veers from it as if it will infect him with…I do not know what.”
Heads nodded around the table.
“If you had met this family ten years ago,” Richard said, “you would have seen us recoil with just as much vigor. But…well…”
“We can’t afford to be anything but pragmatic, these days,” Great Aunt Annalies finished. “Although I suspect the necessity will help us thrive in the long term.”
Danyal nodded. “Pragmatism is admired in my part of the world. I will consider your advice concerning Blackawton.”
The evening passed quietly, with most of the family settling by the fire to listen to the rain splat against the windows and read, play cards or games. There was not a great deal of conversation—it was as if the afternoon’s drama had drained everyone of sociability.
Elise retired early. She felt just as drained as everyone else seemed to be. It had been a long day of travel and troubles.
The next morning, she rose early, for the habit was established now. She dressed without assistance—another habit she had been forced to learn—and moved downstairs, expecting to see no one, not even the butler, for the sun was not yet over the horizon. The gray pre-dawn light was thin and washed out, but the rain clouds had gone.
It astonished Elise to find Danyal in the dining room, pouring over yesterday’s newspaper, an empty plate in front of him.
He lowered the newspaper. “I suspected you would rise much earlier than anyone else,” he said. “I could not sleep, myself. Your family is extraordinarily stimulating, aren’t they?”
“Their talk about the estate bothered you,” Elise guessed.
He grimaced. “I should care less about the damned—I beg your pardon. I shouldn’t be particular about what happens to the estate, or what might have happened to it since my uncle died, but I cannot dismiss the fact that there are likely people on that estate, who look to it for income or support that is no longer there.”
Elise nodded. “At the very least, there will be tenant farmers upon the estate, who may have difficulties which remain unresolved because the lord of the manor is not there to consult,” she said. “My father seems to spend a great deal of time listening to his tenant’s woes, so I can only assume Blackawton is the same.”
“Yes, I recall that about your father’s days, when I was visiting,” Danyal replied. “In part, that is why I believe I must visit Blackawton after all. It was my intention to avoid the place. Indeed, I barely gave thought to the estate itself, before yesterday.”
“That is understandable under the circumstances,” Elise replied.
“Would you accompany me to Blackawton, Elise? Would your Great Aunt come with us, do you think? If it is only two hours away, then we could be there and back before dinner.”
“You mean to go there today?” Elise asked, startled.
“Why not?” Danyal said evenly. “The sooner I visit, the sooner I am done with the obligation. I would depart England with all matters properly settled.” He cocked one dark brow. “We agreed to show each other the most undesirable aspects of each other’s lives. This is the most unwelcome stain upon mine.”
Elise hesitated. “I am sure I can talk Great Aunt Elise into accompanying us. She likes to explore new places.”
“Or you could leave her a note and we could depart this minute,” Danyal replied.
“Right now?” Elise put her fingers to her chest. “There are no trains that run directly there. You would have to use the family coach. I’m sure not even
the stable hands are awake yet.”
Danyal sighed. “Very well, after breakfast, then.” He looked at the dining room door. “Do you believe we might be able to arrange a pot of coffee?”
Elise smiled. “I believe I could make a pot of coffee, whether the staff are awake or not.”
Danyal looked relieved. “If you do not mind, that would be marvelous.”
Elise moved to the door and paused. “What do you think you are doing?” she asked.
Danyal looked up from the newspaper. “I believe it is called reading.”
She shook her head. “You agreed to see every facet of my life. On your feet, Your Highness. You must come with me to the kitchen and watch me make coffee.”
For a moment, Danyal’s brows came together. Then they smoothed out and he got to his feet. “I don’t believe I have ever seen coffee actually being made.”
“Do you even know how to light a fire?” Elise asked him as they passed into the staff area of the house and down the stone steps to the long kitchen, which was as empty as Elise had suspected it to be.
“I do,” Danyal replied, with stiff pride. “I prefer to light my own fireplaces and stay warm, than wait for a tardy scullery maid to tend to my comfort.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Elise replied. “You can light the stove for me, while I grind the beans.”
She laughed at the expression on his face.
After a moment, Danyal laughed, too.
And he lit the stove, as well.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Two hours later, after coffee and breakfast, and still before most of the people currently in the house had risen, Danyal and Elise set out for Blackawton with Great Aunt Annalies. Annalies more than eager to see the mysterious estate which had impacted the family so greatly over the years.
“Blackawton has remained a name and an evil history in my mind, always,” Annalies explained to the two of them as the carriage rocked and splashed through muddy puddles. Both she and Elise kept lap robes over their knees, for it was a brisk morning. “I would like to have an image of an actual place to accompany that history. It will give it greater weight in my mind.”
“As it does not bear down upon this family already,” Danyal replied.
Annalies bent forward and patted his knee. “You must learn to let go of that history, Danyal. Holding onto the past will sour your innards and ruin your present and future. No one in the family holds any of Albus Thorburn’s acts against you and yours. Kosta managed to rise above the grimness. You should, too.”
“I am attempting to do so,” Danyal replied. “By giving the title back to Queen Victoria.”
“That is merely avoidance,” Great Aunt Annalies said, with the peremptory crispness in her voice which Elise only heard when Great Aunt Annalies had forgotten she was a princess and a lady, and dispensed advice she considered necessary. “You must make your peace with the skeletons in your family closet. We all have them, you know.”
Danyal considered Great Aunt Annalies for a long moment.
“It is the weight of lineage,” Annalies added. “Past misdeeds come along with ancestors.”
The corner of Danyal’s mouth lifted. His eyes twinkled. “Only, this particular past has not had the good grace to move on properly, has it? I am sure the estate will be full of cobwebs and neglect, with a sad air to add to my burdens.”
“Quite likely,” Annalies replied, sitting back. “Elise, did you bring your copy of Bleak House with you? I should like to read it.”
The journey continued silently after that.
Blackawton village was a small, charming place, with an old waterwheel mill that was still in operation, two public houses and a public stable, along with several shops and business establishments on its short high street.
Everyone they passed turned to watch the coach roll by. Danyal bent to peer through the carriage window, measuring the sleepy little village with a sharp gaze. When the driver halted the carriage to ask for directions to the manor, a pair of old men strolled past, staring openly at the grand conveyance.
“It is winter,” Elise said softly. “In summer, the village would be far busier.”
He looked at her. “You believe I see nothing pleasing?”
“I thought the lack of industry might bother you,” Elise confessed. “As you are a modern man who appreciates progress.”
“And hard work, yes.” He tapped the frame of the window, as the coach rolled on once more. “I was thinking how much this village resembles the little towns in Pandev. A beer hall, a center of commerce and a mill. The same craggy faces which were there twenty years ago, and a dog in a doorway, scratching his ear.”
Elise smothered her laugh. “Oh dear, that is far too accurate to be amused by it.”
“It is the backbone of the country,” Danyal admitted. “Apparently, even here.”
The village fell behind them. The fields beyond were full of stubble. Many of them were dotted with standing sheaves of hay. Others held cattle or sheep.
Then empty fields appeared, with weed-choked earth and thigh-high grasses waving in the chilly breeze, most of them a dull brown now that the summer had faded.
“No sign of industry at all…” Danyal murmured. “I suspect we’ve reached the borders of the estate.”
“We have.” Great Aunt Annalies nodded at the window on her side of the coach.
Elise leaned forward to peer past her shoulder, while Danyal slid along his seat and lowered his head to look.
The estate ran on both sides of the narrow road. On Great Aunt Elise’s side, the angled roofs and a central turret of a manor could be seen beyond the waving grasses of a fallow field.
The coach slowed, then turned in the direction of the house.
The three of them remained silent as the house grew nearer and the field fell away to reveal a yellow patch of grass that might once have been mown and rolled lawn.
The road beneath them grew bumpy.
“This gravel should have been topped up years ago,” Great Aunt Annalies murmured. She clutched at the door handle as they rattled about in the coach, as the wheels rolled into and out of ditches and potholes.
Elise sat back on her seat and looked through the window on her side of the coach. Had there been a garden here, once? There was an outline of formal beds, in the French style, but everything was overgrown. What would be verdant growth in summer was now wilting, faded green and yellow remains which softened any straight lines. There was not a hint of color.
The carriage halted. For a moment, they remained where they were, as if they were reluctant to move.
Danyal stirred. “Well, it cannot be any worse inside than it is out here,” he declared. “Let us find out, shall we?”
He pushed the door open, stepped onto the muddy driveway and looked down. The gravel was thin, exposing darker, damp soil beneath.
Then he moved out of the way and held his hand out to Great Aunt Annalies.
She smiled at him and stepped very carefully down onto the drive, then just as carefully picked up her trailing hem and kept it in her hand.
Elise caught up her train and hooked it over her left arm, took Danyal’s hand with her right and stepped out, too.
All of them looked at the façade of the manor in silence.
Elise’s first thought was that Blackawton was not an exceptionally large building. Northallerton, where she had lived all her life until coming to London, was larger—but it was a sprawling collection of interconnected buildings, including one of the largest conservatories in northern England.
Blackawton was at least symmetrical. The front door was sheltered by a small portico. A column stood on either side, with two unruly spruce trees in tubs which should have long ago been planted out in the garden.
Rising above the front door, and back in the middle of the house, was a crenellated, square turret. Windows showed there was a room up there. The roof of the turret held a flagpole without a flag.
Two wings on either side of th
e front section had tall gables and multipaned bay windows.
Elise’s gaze was drawn to the bedraggled and ailing shrubs and dead plants surrounding the bay windows. Once, these garden beds must have provided a pleasing view from the bay windows. Now they were overgrown and depressing to consider.
“Oy! Wotch you doin’, coming ‘round here without so much as a by-your-leave?” came the shouted observation, to their right.
They turned to face the newcomer, a middle-aged gentleman in a country suit that was worn at the knees. His pants were tucked into Wellingtons. He wore an old-fashioned cravat at his neck, also threadbare, and silvered sideburns. He had a deep, permanently tanned face, ruddy cheeks and jowls.
He stomped up to them, looking furious. “You can’t just drive up like you own the place,” he declared.
“Why not?” Danyal demanded. “I do own the place.”
The man shook his head. “Don’t give me that. The owner of this here manor doesn’t live in England. I should know. I’m the caretaker. Now, what’s your business here and be quick to tell me. I’ve got dogs I can call with a whistle, I warn you.”
Great Aunt Annalies caught Elise’s eye and tilted her head toward the blustering caretaker.
Elise understood what she was suggesting. She dropped her train—it was a small price to pay for the sake of looking refined. She glided forward. “Excuse me…Mr.…?”
The man looked at her twice, possibly weighing whether he should ignore her or not. “Darby’s the name, Miss,” he said shortly. “Jonas Darby.”
“And you are the Marquis’ caretaker, correct, Mr. Darby?”
“That I am. And you, Miss?”
“Oh, I am the least person here. I should introduce you, first.” She turned to face Danyal and her great aunt, who were both suppressing smiles.
“Your Highness,” Elise said to Danyal. “May I introduce to you Mr. Jonas Darby of Blackawton, caretaker of the estate. Mr. Darby, you are in the presence of Prince Selâhattin Danyal Bora of Pandev, who lays claim to a great many lesser titles, not least of which is Marquis of Blackawton.”
Her Rebellious Prince (Scandalous Family--The Victorians Book 2) Page 9
