by Darcy Burke
All this for one family, he thought, shaking his head and laughing quietly. He rattled around like a lone pea in a pod in the handsome house his grandfather had built in New York; Haverford Hall must be ten times the size, and as far as he knew it was home to only two women. And a whole passel of servants, no doubt.
Thomas sighed and pressed his weary horse to move on again; the nag nickered and flicked its ears at him. “Come on, you rotten beast,” he muttered, but didn’t have the heart to kick. The horse was probably nearly as old as he was, but it was the only one he’d been able to come by when the fine stallion he’d purchased in Bristol picked up a stone in his hoof and went lame ten miles from Haverford. Goliath had stumbled badly, startling Thomas who’d been riding along in a daze, and much to his embarrassment he fell off.
Scrambling to his feet covered in dust, he groaned to see Goliath standing with one hoof held high off the ground and his noble head hanging low. “Not your fault, my fine fellow,” he murmured to the stallion, searching his pockets for a tool to remove the stone. Goliath was too lame to ride, so Thomas led him on to the next village, where the blacksmith was happy to take care of him but could only provide this swaybacked old mare to carry Thomas on to his destination.
He debated dismounting and leading the horse; he was arriving in a poor enough state. He’d be lucky if he wasn’t turned away at the front door as an impostor. Walking his horse wasn’t likely to make much difference at this stage. He had to leave her at the bottom of the imposing steps leading up to the front door, but he was quite sure she didn’t have the energy to run away anyway as he mounted the steps to knock on the huge double doors.
The door was opened by a very austere-looking and formidable butler, who looked down a nose Thomas thought a great deal more aristocratic than his own and said;
“Good afternoon, my lord. We have been expecting you.”
Thomas opened his mouth to identify himself and shut it again with a snap, blinking. “I… beg your pardon?”
“You are Lord Havers, are you not?”
“Uhhh… yes?” He couldn’t quite understand how they should be expecting him today. He had left the ship immediately upon docking, and it wasn’t as though they could have known he would be aboard that particular ship anyway.
The butler inclined his head regally. “Welcome home, my lord. I am Allsopp.” He had his hands firmly held behind his back, and Thomas had the distinct suspicion that shaking hands with servants was not at all the done thing, so he just nodded.
“Could you have someone attend to my horse, please, Allsopp… oh,” he glanced around to see the mare already being led away by a groom. “She’s not mine, actually, I had to leave my horse at the smithy in Alvescot when he went lame.”
“I shall let Jenkins at the stables know, my lord,” Allsopp intoned, standing back away from the door in an obvious signal for Thomas to enter.
“I can see my memory will be hard pressed to recall all your names,” Thomas murmured, stepping inside the house and trying not to gawk at the huge hall, panelled in dark oak, tapestries taller than a man’s height hanging from the walls.
“The Countess and Lady Louisa are in the blue withdrawing-room, sir. May I conduct you there?”
Glancing down at his dusty clothes, Thomas said “I think it might be best if I just freshen up first, don’t you, Allsopp?”
The man didn’t crack a smile, just inclined his head slightly and said “As you wish, sir. This way, please.”
“Please tell me that you’re not taking me to the chambers the last Earl occupied,” it occurred to Thomas to say as they proceeded up the massive staircase that led up one side of the hall.
“But of course, sir,” Allsopp said placidly.
“I’d… prefer not to. Not just yet.” He already felt as though he was stepping into a dead man’s shoes, not that it seemed he had much choice in the matter. He’d grown up listening to Gramps’ tales of the earldom, indoctrinated in the beliefs that the Earl was responsible for his people just as much as he would have been if he’d attended Eton with the sons of other aristocrats.
“As you wish, my lord,” Allsopp said after a brief silence. “Several guest suites are always kept in a state of readiness, of course. Perhaps one of those will suffice?”
“Perfect,” Thomas said gratefully, and Allsopp resumed ascending the stairs.
“The Cromwell Suite, I think, my lord. We will pass through the Long Gallery on the way.”
He was going to need a full guided tour, Thomas could see, or he would be constantly lost. Allsopp led him into a room that seemed very nearly as large as the great hall below, and Thomas’ jaw dropped.
“Now I see why you were so certain of my identity.”
Portraits lined the walls, and a goodly number of the gentlemen in the paintings were very obviously related to him. Dark brown hair, a strong chin and eyes of a shade somewhere between blue and grey were apparently Havers traits that held strong through generations.
Allsopp tilted his head again. “Indeed, sir.” He seemed to hesitate before gesturing to one of the paintings. “That is your grandfather Lord Matthew, I believe. The younger child, on his mother’s lap.”
Startled, Thomas walked closer to inspect the painting. There were three children depicted with their mother; a boy of about ten who would be Michael, Matthew’s older brother, and a girl of about seven, which would make Matthew four in the painting.
“Is that Lady Eleanor?” Matthew had often talked of his sister. She had married beneath her station, to a local clergyman, but both her brothers had been too fond of her to try and deny her when she wished to follow her heart.
“The little girl? I believe so, my lord. The Countess or Lady Louisa would be able to tell you more about them.”
With that it seemed he would have to be content, at least for now. Allsopp resumed his stately pace and Thomas followed along.
The Cromwell Suite was rather more luxurious than the name implied, and Thomas looked about in approval as Allsopp showed him in. “Very suitable, thank you.”
“I will have someone bring hot water directly, sir. Your luggage…?”
“My trunks should arrive from Bristol tomorrow.” He smiled a little guiltily. “I’m afraid I was over-eager to see Haverford Hall and to meet my family. I do have a clean shirt and breeches in my saddlebags.”
“Very good, my lord,” and Allsopp withdrew, leaving him alone.
Going to the window to look out, Thomas found that he was at the rear of the house, or at least on the opposite side to where he had entered. He was looking down onto a sheltered courtyard, between the two rear wings of the house, immaculately manicured gardens separated by gravel walks. A gardener was carefully pruning roses.
Everything seemed very orderly, Thomas found himself thinking. He’d heard stories of Americans in similar situations to himself returning to England to find their ancestral estates in ruins, having to put their entrepreneurial skills to use to rescue the family fortunes, but Haverford Hall was a far cry from ruined. What would he even do, here? Presumably the estate business was all handled by a steward, and a very efficient one from what Thomas could see.
His musings were interrupted by a knock at the door. “Come in,” he called, and smiled when a young man entered and stood with his hands at his sides to offer a bow. “Hello.”
“My lord. I’m Allsopp, my lord, I was your cousin Oliver’s valet.”
“Another Allsopp? Your father…?”
“My uncle.” This Allsopp was capable of smiling, it seemed, anyway, a small grin lifting the corners of his mouth.
“It’s going to confuse the dickens out of me; what’s your first name?”
“Er, Kenneth, my lord, but really…”
“No buts. I shall call you Kenneth and you shall call me Thomas, because I’m already sick of being called my lord and I’ve only been on English soil since this morning.”
Kenneth gaped at him. “That would be more than my job is wort
h, my lord!”
“Since I’m now your employer, I beg to differ.” Thomas smiled at him. “Come now, it’s a nice easy name. Thomas.”
“… Sir?” Kenneth offered a compromise with a slightly panicked expression.
“I guess that’ll do for now.”
Another knock on the door announced the arrival of two burly footmen with cans of steaming water, and another came in behind them bearing his saddlebags. Idly wondering just how many servants Haverford Hall actually maintained, Thomas shrugged out of his dusty coat and allowed Kenneth to take it from him. There was a mirror hanging above the dresser on the wall; one glance in it had Thomas wincing and relieved he had made the decision to wash up before meeting the countess and her daughter. He looked even worse than he had thought after his tumble from his horse. It was a good thing that the Havers blood apparently ran strong in his veins, or Allsopp would undoubtedly have turned him away at the door like the vagrant he resembled.
Half an hour later, freshly washed, with polished boots and almost all the dust brushed from his coat, Thomas asked Kenneth to show him to the blue withdrawing-room, and received his first lesson in what jobs belonged to who in the Haverford hierarchy. Kenneth was positively shocked.
“My uncle would have my hide, sir. If you would like to go somewhere in the house, you can ask one of the footmen to conduct you until you find your way around, but to be presented to the Countess and Lady Louisa, that is my uncle’s prerogative.” He sent one of the footmen who had returned to collect the used wash water hurrying off with instructions to collect Allsopp at once.
“I’m going to make a lot of mistakes of this sort,” Thomas said dismally as he waited. “Do you think everybody will just put it down to me being an uncouth American?”
“I’m sure they won’t use the word uncouth, sir,” Kenneth said, lips twitching very slightly, and Thomas decided that his valet did have a sense of humour, however well he might try to hide it.
“Not to my face, anyway.”
“One hopes that they will not say anything so rude behind your back either, my lord,” Allsopp said behind him, and Thomas almost jumped out of his skin.
“Good Lord, make a noise, man!”
“I shall endeavour to remember to do so in future, my lord.”
“Does he ever smile?” Thomas mouthed to Kenneth as he left the room in Allsopp’s imperious wake, sighing as the valet shook his head in response.
Allsopp led him back through the Long Gallery again, but turned in the opposite direction when they reached the top of the stairs, leading him into what Thomas was fairly sure was the eastern wing of the house. They proceeded past several closed doors before Allsopp came to a halt and knocked upon a door. Thomas admired the painting of a handsome bay horse hanging on the wall opposite the door, making a mental note of it as a landmark.
He didn’t hear anything behind the door, but apparently Allsopp did, because he opened the door and stepped inside, intoning formally;
“The Earl of Havers.”
That’s me, Thomas thought with a sense of unreality coming over him. Entering the room, he stopped dead, his jaw falling open, as he came face to face with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“Lady Havers, the Countess of Havers, and Lady Louisa Havers,” Allsopp declared, startling Thomas and making him snap his jaw shut. He could barely drag his eyes from the vision of loveliness that had to be Lady Louisa long enough to give the countess a bow.
“It is lovely to meet you at last, my lord,” the countess said formally, and Lady Louisa echoed her in a soft, musical voice.
It was an effort to keep his eyes on the older woman as Thomas said “Please, my lady, though we have never met, you are the only family I have and I am proud to claim you as such. I would be honoured if you would call me Thomas.”
The countess was a handsome woman in late middle age; Thomas thought that she had once been a beauty to rival her daughter, though age had blurred the show-stopping nature of her good looks. Wearing an expensive gown in pearl-grey silk trimmed with lavender ribbons, her fair hair drawn back beneath a lace cap, she curtsied to him, the gesture somehow regal and not deferential at all.
“That is very good of you, Thomas. Perhaps you would care to call me Aunt Clarice?”
“I should be delighted.” He bowed again, beginning to feel a little foolish with all the bobbing up and down, but at least he could now turn to Louisa.
“I should like you to call me Louisa,” she said in that softly musical voice, smiling at him.
“I am so happy to meet you both at last,” he said truthfully, staring at Louisa. She blushed prettily under his scrutiny and followed her mother’s lead in seating herself; the countess gestured to a chair and Thomas sat down too, feeling gauche and awkward beside their cultured, studied grace.
He really needed to stop staring, but Louisa was beyond beautiful, she was glorious, with thick golden curls framing a pale, finely-boned face, soft red lips and deep blue eyes giving her an almost doll-like prettiness. She was no cold porcelain figurine, though, not with that lush figure that looked as though it had been poured into a lavender silk gown, a band of lace at the neckline the only thing retaining her modesty.
If dresses like that were London fashion, then Thomas was all for it. He tried to remember Louisa’s age; his uncle’s letters had been brief and sporadic at best, and had stopped entirely after Gramps died five years ago. Surely she was old enough to be out in society, though. He wondered why she wasn’t married; but perhaps she had been just due to start a London Season when her father died. Recalled to his duty, he said;
“I must offer my most sincere condolences for the loss of the Earl and Lord Oliver. I was deeply grieved to hear of their deaths; I hope you will believe that I was perfectly content in my life in America and never for a moment coveted the earldom.”
The countess inclined her head. “Thank you, Thomas. That is kind of you to say. You look very much like a Havers, I must say; Allsopp said that you saw the Long Gallery?”
“Yes, Aunt Clarice, I did, and I do hope that you or my cousin will have time to tell me who all those handsome fellows and beautiful ladies were, one day soon.”
They both smiled at that. “You will have to have your own likeness taken,” Louisa said.
“I suppose so.” It hadn’t occurred to him.
“Sir Thomas Lawrence is a very fine painter; he recently competed a portrait of Louisa which hangs now in the music room,” the countess offered. “Perhaps you could commission him to take your likeness.”
“Perhaps, but after painting Louisa, surely all the rest of us mere mortals must look as ugly as mules to his eyes,” Thomas said.
Louisa blushed again and looked down at her lap. Busy staring at her, Thomas didn’t notice the countess’s satisfied smile.
Chapter 3
“I believe I have some news that may be of interest to you, my dear,” Mr Bledsloe announced at dinner, two evenings after Ellen had seen the stranger riding along the lane.
“Well, do not keep us in suspense!” Demelza cried, setting down her fork. “Tell us all, Mr Bledsloe, and quickly, if you please!” She smiled at Ellen, inviting her to rejoice in the juicy gossip which was no doubt about to be imparted. Ellen smiled weakly in reply, not wishing to offend, but Mama had abhorred gossip. As a parson’s wife, she came by a goodly amount of secrets, but she had always said that words had the power to be harmful.
“Sticks and stones may indeed break your bones, but words most certainly do have the power to hurt as well,” Mama had told Ellen. “People trust me with their secrets, and I will not betray that trust.”
Mr Bledsloe paused importantly, and then declared “The Earl of Havers has arrived at Haverford Hall.”
Ellen relaxed; that was surely not a secret that could hurt anyone. The whole village had been on tenterhooks for months, wondering when or even if the American cousin would come to claim his title. As eager as Demelza for information, she hushed her
friend, who was squealing with excitement and fanning herself.
“When did he arrive, Mr Bledsloe? Have you seen him?”
“Apparently, he came to the Hall the day before yesterday. The butcher’s apprentice is walking out with one of the downstairs maids at the Hall and he saw her on her half-day yesterday; she said that the Hall’s servants are all abuzz about it.”
“Oh,” Ellen said, surprised, “I think I saw him, perhaps, riding along the lane. He asked directions to Haverford Hall.”
“Then you spoke to him, not saw him, you silly clunch! Was he handsome?” Demelza leaned forward eagerly.
Ellen blushed, thinking that she had indeed been struck by the good looks of the man who had asked her for directions. “I am sure I could not say,” she said demurely. “I only saw him briefly, riding his horse. He spoke to me over the garden hedge. I do not even know if it was the Earl; it might have been a servant, perhaps, who came with him. He was riding an old hack of a horse, and his coat did not look as expensive as those that the old Earl or Lord Oliver used to wear.”
“I shall go up to the Hall and seek an audience with him tomorrow,” Mr Bledsloe said importantly. “I have some papers the old Earl entrusted to me. I shall mention you to him then, Ellen.”
She said nothing, just quietly carried on eating her dinner. She was nothing to the new Earl; a distant, penniless cousin. He was obliged to do nothing at all for her, and considering the attitude of every member of the aristocracy she had ever met, was likely to consider her no more importance than the dirt on his shoe… that is, of absolutely no importance and to be scraped off at the earliest opportunity.
Once Mr Bledsloe had confirmed that the Earl had no interest in her, she would begin tomorrow to look more seriously for paid work. She would ask Mr Bledsloe for his newspapers and begin writing letters applying for situations as a governess or companion. It was time to earn her keep.
