‘They’re having a good time,’ Lucie said, deciding on something neutral to break the ice.
‘Yes.’ Henrietta’s stilted response forced her to turn away from the fun on the dancefloor and focus on her former friend. Silence stretched between them, and Lucie wished she’d stayed away. Nothing good could come of this, why was she even trying to bridge a gap that had been left open for too long.
‘I’m sorry, I’ll leave you in peace.’ She made to stand, was halfway up when Henrietta spoke.
‘Are you? Sorry, that is.’
Lucie sank back down. ‘I can never repay your family for what my father did, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.’
Henrietta cut her off with a sharp gesture. ‘That’s not what I’m talking about. No one holds you responsible for that—well, no one with any sense would. I’m talking about us, Lucie. I wrote to you after you had to leave school. I sent cards, I even tried to call but your mum said you weren’t up to speaking to anyone. I never heard from you again, it was like you’d dropped off the face of the earth.’ She didn’t look angry, just sad and disappointed.
‘I didn’t know what to say.’ Even to Lucie’s ears it sounded pathetic. ‘I was embarrassed and upset. My world turned upside down, and everything was awful. They…they came into my room, Hen, took all my things away. Took my father away and we were left with nothing.’
‘Oh, Luce…’
When Henrietta fumbled for her hand, Lucie gripped it hard. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she whispered. They sat in silence as music and laughter rang around the marquee, but it was like they weren’t a part of it. Like the years had rolled back, and they were two lonely girls on their first day at school clinging to each other as they turned a brave face to the rest of the world.
*
Several hours later, her feet sore from too much dancing, her ribs aching from all the laughter and her head spinning from one too many glasses of champagne, Lucie found herself plastered against Arthur’s chest as they swayed to the strains of the last song of the evening. The rich mellow tones of Nat King Cole wove a spell across the mostly empty dancefloor. Henrietta had turned in not long after they’d been sitting together, but not without pressing her phone number on Lucie before she let Joss escort her to bed. Lucie had promised to call her, and she would this time.
‘Those two are having a good time,’ Arthur whispered against her ear.
Lifting her head from his shoulder, she followed the direction of his inclined head to where her mum and Lancelot were dancing together. There was nothing suggestive about their traditional hold, but the way Lancelot was staring down at her mum sent alarm bells ringing in Lucie’s head. ‘You don’t think they’re…’
‘Why not? They’re both free agents, aren’t they?’ Arthur nudged her until she met his gaze. ‘Look, I know he comes across as a bit of a flirt, but Lancelot’s not a bad guy.’
‘I know, it’s not that. It’s just, I’ve never seen Mum with anyone else, not since Dad.’ Which, when she thought about it, was an absolute tragedy. Deciding to mind her own business, she looped her arms around Arthur’s neck. ‘Have you had a good day?’
He leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. ‘I’ve had a brilliant day. The food was brilliant, the games, the dancing, everything. And most of all, you were brilliant.’
The affection in his tone warmed Lucie from the inside out. ‘I think you’re a little bit drunk, Sir Arthur.’
‘Not that drunk.’ He raised his head to capture her gaze. ‘Why do you do that? Why do you deflect when I’m trying to tell you something important?’
Reaching up, she pressed her thumb to the frown line between his brows, stroking until the tensed muscles in his face relaxed. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Tell me what you wanted to say.’
His lips compressed, and she could tell she’d hurt his feelings. She rose on tiptoe to press her mouth to his, kissing and coaxing in little featherlight touches until he opened to her. Taking control, he kissed her until her head spun from far more than the residual effects of the champagne and she was clinging to him like her life depended upon it. ‘Don’t go,’ he gasped, when they finally surfaced for air.
Confused, she cupped his face in her palms. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Arthur, I’m right here.’
‘I don’t mean now,’ he said, then pressed a hard kiss to her lips. ‘I mean when the contract’s up. Don’t go home. Stay here with me. I don’t care if there’s a painting or not, I want you to stay here and help me build something amazing. Something as strong as the foundations of the castle, itself.’
Sincerity shone from his hazel eyes, and perhaps something else if she looked hard enough. ‘But you don’t really know me,’ she wanted to say. Not really. He looked and sounded like he was falling for her, the way she was beginning to fall for him and for just a brief moment she wanted to believe the fairy tale. It was too much, too soon, and almost too perfect to be true. What was it Morgana had said to her earlier? If you find love, grasp it in both hands and don’t ever let it go.
But love could only last if it was built on the truth. Once he knew who she really was, he might change his mind. She was building a life on lies and omissions. It would need to stop, or she’d be as bad as her father. Tomorrow. She would talk to Arthur tomorrow and set him straight.
For tonight, she would let herself believe in the fairy tale.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
After the excitement of the party, things settled down over the next few days. They’d seen Constance safely off on the train back to London, and Lucie had thrown herself into studying Thomas’s journals from dawn to dusk. It was like she was on a mission, and nothing and nobody—including Arthur himself—was going to come between her and the answer. By the time they tumbled into bed at the end of the day, she did little more than peck his cheek and turn over, mumbling about being tired.
Although it was tempting to hang around her, waiting for the crucial update that would give them the answer one way or the other, Arthur had decided it would be more helpful to scour the remaining unrecorded rooms and photograph every remaining painting he could find. It wasn’t the only reason he wanted to hang around her. Since that night in the marquee, when they’d danced under the stars, he couldn’t keep his mind focused for more than five minutes at a stretch. She still hadn’t given him an answer as to whether she would stay, and he was worried he’d spooked her by pushing for too much too soon. Why else would she have put this distance between them, other than as a silent warning to back off? Though it was a struggle, he was determined to give her as much space as she needed.
Both Tristan and Iggy had taken confidence from how smoothly the party had gone and were already full of great ideas as to how they could expand upon it to organising regular paying events over the summer. Iggy was gung-ho for his suggestion about holding a huge midsummer festival, her passion for restoring the formal gardens had been reignited after a long afternoon she’d spent walking the overgrown pathways with Constance. The older woman’s kind, encouraging presence seemed to have done as much to boost his sister’s attitude as it had spending time with someone else who was as obsessed with all things green.
Arthur was pleased for both of them. The guilt he felt over Tristan putting his career on hold to come home and help him out had been weighing ever more heavily on Arthur’s shoulders and it was a relief to see Tristan putting his skills to use once more. He’d be able to list any events they organised on his CV which might go some way to appeasing potential employers once Arthur was able to convince his brother to pick up the pieces of his own life once more.
Iggy had always loved being outdoors, and if he could somehow scrape together enough money to keep things going by selling the other items Lucie had identified as being valuable—because he wasn’t going to let himself bank on some painting that might not even exist—then helping his sister to restore the gardens was going straight to the top of his priority list.
And as for himself, wel
l it was past time he stopped playing at being the baronet and fully embraced his position, which was why he was standing outside his butler’s private office with his knuckles inches from the door. One deep breath and then he knocked. ‘Maxwell?’
The door swung open within seconds to reveal the butler straightening the cuffs of his hastily donned jacket. ‘Sir Arthur, is there something I can assist you with?’
‘Yes, actually, there is.’
*
The two of them stood in the centre of the drawing room which separated the baronet’s bedroom and the one opposite traditionally occupied by the baronet’s wife. Beyond each room lay a pair of en-suite bathrooms and dressing rooms, with a further small study for the baronet, and a private sitting room for his wife. What little furniture remained in the drawing room was hidden beneath dust covers. Arthur grimaced at the flocked wallpaper. ‘It’s very outdated.’
‘It wouldn’t take too much effort to bring it up to scratch, sir. We ensured a good lining paper was used when your mother chose this design, so the original walls would be protected.’ It was about as close to a criticism Arthur had ever heard from the butler’s lips.
‘The walls I can live with for now, but I’d like to do something about the furniture at least. Here, and next door.’ The baronet’s suite was full of dark, heavy pieces that seemed to suck in all the natural light. They also reminded him too much of when his father had occupied the rooms.
Maxwell walked the short distance from the sitting room into the bedroom. ‘If we remove the curtains from the bed and swap one or two of the paintings for something a bit less formal, it would improve things no end.’ He ran a hand along the carved edge of one of the bedposts. ‘Your father never bothered much with things, so everything is long overdue a decent polish. I’m sure that between us Mrs Walters and I can have the suite spick and span within a few days.’
Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. ‘There’s no immediate rush, Maxwell, so please fit it in around your other duties as and when you can. It just feels like the time is right for me to move in here.’
‘Very good, sir.’ The butler all but vibrated with happiness. ‘And the Lady’s suite? Would you like us to make preparations for that to be put to use, also?’
Arthur nodded. ‘If you would please. There’s a set of four paintings in the west drawing room showing the stone circle. Would you arrange for those to be hung in the other bedroom?’ He knew how much Lucie liked them, and if they reached a point where she was ready to commit to something more serious between them, he wanted her to know he’d been planning this as a space for her as much as for him.
‘I’m aware of the ones you mean, sir, I’ll make sure they’re moved once the room has been thoroughly cleaned and prepared.’ He made to leave, then hesitated by the door. ‘I do not wish to speak out of turn, but is it to be hoped that Miss Lucie will be staying on with us, sir?’
The affectionate way he said Lucie’s name told Arthur he wasn’t the only one taken with Lucie. ‘All in good time, Maxwell, but it doesn’t do any harm to be prepared.’
‘Very good, sir.’ The butler left, beaming from ear to ear.
*
Arthur managed to stay away from Lucie until shortly before dinner. Having checked both the study and the library and finding them empty, he tapped on her bedroom door. ‘Luce?’
‘C…come i…in,’ she hiccupped.
Slamming open the door, he was shocked to find her curled up on the bed, a pillow clutched in her lap as tears streamed down her face. He rushed over to climb onto the bed and pull her into his arms. ‘My God, what is it? Are you hurt?’
‘No, I’m f…fine,’ she snivelled into the front of his T-shirt, clearly anything but.
Setting her away from him enough so he could see her face, he wiped at the tears wetting her cheeks. ‘You’re killing me, sweetheart, what’s wrong?’
Using the sleeve of her top, she scrubbed at her face and sniffed a couple of times before answering. ‘There was definitely a painting, but I think Thomas destroyed it.’
The soar of hope followed immediately by a blast of despair left him breathless for a moment. ‘Are you sure?’
‘No, but I’ve just read three pages of almost incoherent ravings about how his true love and his dearest friend have betrayed him and how the portrait is a terrible lie and he can never bring his eyes to fall upon it again.’ She pointed to the journal lying on the bed covers beside her.
Arthur retrieved it, then leaned back against the headboard with Lucie curled up against his side. ‘Show me where it starts.’
She flipped back a dozen or more pages. ‘This is where he talks about the painting in detail. He’s calling it King Arthur greets the Lady Guinevere.’
Casting his mind over all the paintings he’d photographed in the past couple of days, Arthur shook his head. ‘I haven’t seen anything that might come close to fitting a description like that.’
‘Me either,’ she said in a soft, forlorn voice. ‘That’s why I’m thinking he might have destroyed it.’ She flicked over a couple of pages. ‘He mentions here sitting for a couple of character studies for JJ to use, and how because he wants Eudora to be the focal point of the portrait that she is sitting for hours. He even compliments her on her patience and ability to remain so still.’ She gave a little sniff before turning more pages over. ‘It sounds like JJ took over the tower for use as his studio, using the upper chamber for his painting as it had more light, and the lower room as a bedroom.’
Arthur could already see where this was leading. ‘So JJ and Eudora were alone for hours at a time in the privacy of the tower?’
‘Uh huh. And it’s as we suspected. Thomas caught them together one day. He flew into a rage and spent the night locked in his study getting drunk. When he woke the next day, the two of them had fled the castle, leaving only the painting in JJ’s studio.’ Lucie started sniffling again. ‘I know it’s stupid when it was over a hundred and fifty years ago, but I feel so sorry for Thomas.’ Tears welled in her eyes once more and she brushed them away.
Arthur let his head thud back against the pillows propped behind him. ‘Poor bastard. If he did destroy the painting, you could hardly blame him for it.’ Taking the journal from Lucie once more, he scanned back over the last few pages, struggling to decipher the flowing script. Thomas had got himself in a right state and most of it was rambling nonsense. He looked further back, read the paragraph describing how Thomas had discovered the couple in flagrante, frowned and read it over again. ‘This doesn’t make sense.’
Lucie shifted position until she was sitting more upright beside him. ‘What doesn’t?’ She leaned across to read the bit he was pointing to.
‘See, here? Thomas talks about following the passage into the tower, but there’s no such thing. The only entrance in and out of the tower is external to the castle. Don’t you remember, I told you how Tristan and I tried to find one when we were kids?’
Lucie frowned. ‘So what does that mean? It’s very clear earlier on that JJ was staying in the tower, and that’s where Thomas caught the pair of them—in JJ’s bed.’
He was still trying to puzzle it out when his mobile started ringing. He pulled it out, and saw Tristan’s name on the screen. ‘What’s up?’
‘It’s dinner time, that’s what’s up. Can you put your delectable girlfriend down for five minutes and grace us with your presence? Betsy’s done a roast and if her gravy goes lumpy because you’ve kept everyone waiting, there’ll be hell to pay.’
‘Damn. We lost track of time. Two minutes.’ He ended the call and looked to Lucie. ‘Dinner.’
‘Oh, hell.’ She jumped off the bed and ran into the bathroom. ‘God, I look a fright,’ she wailed before he heard the sound of the taps running.
When she reappeared a minute later, her whole face was glowing from where she’d washed it. ‘Do I look like I’ve been crying?’
‘You look gorgeous.’
‘Smooth talker.’
‘Come here.’ When she stepped into his arms, some of the tightness in his chest eased. Everything between them was fine, she’d just been caught up trying to find an answer in the diaries, nothing more.
*
They were still discussing the conundrum of the mystery passage as they took their seats in the dining room. ‘Sorry we’re late.’ Arthur addressed his apology to Morgana.
‘It’s all Thomas’s fault,’ Lucie added as she laid her napkin across her lap. As Maxwell began to place their plates before them, she gave everyone a brief outline of what they’d found in the journal.
‘So there is a bloody painting, I’ll be damned!’ Tristan grinned and raised his glass towards Arthur as though making a toast.
‘There was a painting, you mean,’ Arthur corrected him. ‘I’ve never seen or heard of anything like it that might fit the description. I know there’s quite a few Arthurian-themed paintings around the place, but nothing that would fit that.’
Lancelot paused with his knife halfway through a slice of beef, his face thoughtful. ‘No, I’m afraid you’re right, my boy, I can’t recall seeing it. And as for a tunnel to the tower, your father and I never found one.’
‘You mean you looked for it as well?’ Arthur asked.
His uncle nodded. ‘That’s how the pair of you got it into your heads to look for it, after your father told you how much trouble we’d got into trying to find it.’
‘If there is such a tunnel, it would have to run from the baronet’s apartment somewhere. That’s the only part of the castle that shares a wall with the tower.’ Morgana paused to thank Maxwell when he placed a glass of sparkling water by her plate. ‘Have you heard of such a thing, Maxwell?’
Spring Skies Over Bluebell Castle Page 21
