Enchanted Summer: (Regency Romance) (3 page)

The girl told Celia that tea had been prepared for them and that she was just now going to the kitchen to fetch it but Celia thought to make certain of their tea and followed the maid down the narrow back stairs toward the kitchen, much to the girl's surprise.

The huge kitchen was very warm but dimly lit and an old woman with the appearance of a cook dozed by a window, a fat gray and white tabby asleep on her lap.

Roused by their entrance and with a startled look in her round grey eyes, the woman made an effort to rise. The cat sprung out of her lap and darted across the floor with a loud screech.

"Good evening," said Celia tersely, "I am Celia Meade, Mr. Delaney's niece. We are wearied from our journey and wanting our tea. We rang, but no one answered."

The woman rose hurriedly, startled by Celia’s appearance. She was past middle age and though she had gray braided hair she had a youngish face with smooth skin and large dark brows that almost met at the middle.

"Glad to make yer acquaintance, miss," said the woman and pointed to a tray set ready with tea, cups and a number of cakes and meat pies.

"We'll have it taken upstairs at once," she said hurriedly. "No need to concern yerself with it, Miss."

Celia went over to the table and examined the tea. It was stone cold.

"This tea will not do," she said to the woman, trying to hold her temper. “It is cold. I would like new tea made at once, if you please. My mother has had a long and trying journey and she is exhausted. Only hot tea will restore her."

"I'll get to it at once, miss, no need to trouble yerself further. I'll send up the hot tea soon as it be ready." The woman looked anxious for Celia to be out of her kitchen, and walked with Celia toward the kitchen entrance as she spoke, the large grey cat threading her legs as she ambled slowly.

Celia returned to their rooms in a better mood and it was only a few minutes later that the little scullery maid, Sophie, came with the welcoming sight of the steaming tray. Sophie and Nellie exchanged a few words before Sophie went out.

Celia helped her mother out of her damp clothes and into a warm night rail and lace cap. She urged her to the bed, fearing that the exertion and the humidity of the road might combine to make her susceptible to a cold. Mrs. Meade hardly protested, so spent she was. But once she was propped up in bed and sipping the hot tea she revived a little and she was able to express concern and surprise at the unusual situation in which they had found the house.

"Don’t think about it for now, Mama," Celia soothed, "I'm sure a proper explanation will be forthcoming.”

The chill that the spring rain had brought dissipated in their rooms once the maid had lit the fire and Celia saw to it that her mother had a little of the food, though her fatigue had robbed her of her appetite.

Bella and Fred, once having whetted their appetites and changed their clothing went out together to inspect the grounds and Celia stayed by her mother's side and was rewarded by seeing that Mrs. Meade had fallen into a deep slumber and was now resting peacefully.

No sound disturbed the rooms where only the humming wind pushing lightly against the windows and the crackling of the fire cut into Celia's thoughts.

Bella and Fred stayed away as the hours crawled by. Apparently having found courage in numbers they had extended their inspection of the estate and much preferred it to the warm, cozy suite.

Celia was content to lose herself in her own thoughts. She still could not disassociate herself from the house and friends they had recently quit and in mind she was still back in Spitalfields. She would miss Mrs. Bundy and the Epson sisters most dearly, in particular Henrietta with whom she had been close friends for years. Once she and her family were settled at their new address and a reasonable time elapsed she would have the sisters visit her.

The odd reception at Rook’s End made her yearn for the familiar faces she had left behind.

* * *

When their father had been alive, the Meades’ contact with Uncle Worth had been sketchy at best and little better than with the resentful Aunt Solace. Celia's father had wavered between genuine affection for his cousin and resentment that he had been little more than putty in Solace's hands. Had it been himself married to such a harridan, he often told the family, he would have made quick work of the unfounded hatred that Solace harbored for Margaretta and which spilled to her family. This erratic feeling toward Worth had been decisive in the Meade's destiny, for having at first assigned his cousin the role of executor of his muddled finances, Edmund, in a fit of resentment, had scratched out his name and substituted it for the name of Russell Longbank, a man of little sense in matters of economy who had been no match for Mrs. Meade's appeal for money.

CHAPTER 3

A week earlier

From the time of his cousin’s death, Worth Delaney had sent the Meades a gift of cash at Christmas time and had visited his cousin’s widow and her children now and then. His visits upset his wife, Solace, because of the feud she had held against his cousin’s wife, Margaretta Meade, for many years. So when his wife became bedridden because of a sudden illness, he stopped his visits to the Meades in order to adhere to his her wishes, although he continued to send the gift of money with regularity at the same time each year.

A few months after Solace died he visited the Meades and had been appalled at the way in which they lived. He had taken note of how run-down the neighborhood had become, of the faded furniture and threadbare drapes and rugs and had winced at the dinner to which having made a surprise appearance, he was able to witness.

He was impressed by Celia’s intelligence, poise and dignity and when he had received her plea through the mail he determined he would ask the Meades to live at Rook's End. He had no inclination to marry and thought that Margaretta could direct his household, which was haphazardly run.

Worth Delaney was a kindly man who had been lucky in all the affairs of his life except in his choice of wife. From the first weeks of marriage the sweet words and docile manner which had been in his chosen wife what had decided him into marriage had to his astonishment changed to a harassment to which he was no match.

Talented at finance, he, however, became upset when Solace raised her voice at him, which she often did, so that he found peace from her yelling only at his clubs in Bath and Liverpool and occasionally in London. When at home it became a habit to give in to her rather than suffer her acid tongue if he opposed her wishes.

She had separated him from his cousin Edmund and kept alive a feud which Worth never did understand the cause of.

  But now he had only one thought in mind: to end the feud now that Solace was not here to keep it alive. He was therefore surprised at the icy reception given by his children to the news that he had invited the Meades to live at Rook's End. He had not measured the extent to which Solace had influenced their offspring, but he was damned if he was going to take orders from her from the grave.

At his meeting with his children to inform them of his invitation to the Meades to make their home with them and for Margaretta to run his household, he noticed that Caroline's face had gone pale and she was speechless, while Tom stared in disbelief at his father.

"I don't see the necessity of it, sir," said Tom. “If you wanted to help them, I'm sure a quarterly stipend would have been more to the mark, rather than inconveniencing the lot of us with their presence here. To have them here is an affront to the memory of our dear mother, for you must be aware that she despised them."

"Stop being an idiot, Tom," exclaimed his father, his face reddening. "God knows you never did anything to make your mother's life easier. And if you think dissipation is your way of honoring your mother's memory, then we have arrived at a peculiar interpretation."

"I feel the same way as Tom does, Papa," said Caroline icily. "And I hope I don’t deserve to be called to account in my treatment of Mama's memory." She paused, waiting for her father's reply, but he merely ran a hand over his eyes in exasperation and avoided eye contact with her. In discussions of this sort it was well he didn't look directly at his daughter, for she had his wife's sharp eyes and a way of freezing him over when she so desired.

"None of us have any regard for the Meades, Papa, and with all due respect," she continued haughtily, "it is insensible to thrust them in our midst where they shall only cause us embarrassment, and in an intimacy that will quickly become insupportable."

Caroline was a handsome girl, but not the beauty she supposed herself to be. Her features seemed chiseled in marble and she had well-formed lips that already turned down at the corners, for she saw little in her family that pleased her and lived only for the day she would marry Lord Merrick and become mistress of Shelton Hall.

Although she was better looking than her sister Sylvia, there was very little warmth in her deep set eyes. While Sylvia was shorter and not as well formed, her face was lit with a softer light and animated with an interest in her surroundings that was genuine and in sharp contrast to her sister's coolness.

"Try to understand my point of view, Caroline," said Worth with effort. "I was never in agreement with your mother's treatment of the Meades. I had little family of my own when I married your mother. Yet she estranged me from a cousin who was like a brother to me and I have suffered over it through the years. I had hoped that the one-sided feud might end, and now I find my own children wanting to perpetuate it."

"Mama had valid reason for her actions," insisted Caroline, her arms crossed. "From the account Mama gave of that woman, Margaretta Meade, I have only disdain for her. Her offense against our mother was such as is not easily forgiven."

"And what was that offense?" asked Worth, his face reddening. "I was present in the neighborhood at the time, and I can give a better account of it than any of you can.

“Your mother was receiving the attentions of a young man with whom she fancied herself in love. Margaretta arrived at the scene and the young man much preferred her to Solace. I should think that Solace would have been grateful to be saved from marrying a young man who a few weeks later was interned as a lunatic in an asylum. But instead, she carried this like a badge of suffering, not caring a whit that it irritated me."

"That’s not the only reason we oppose the idea, Papa," interposed Tom. "Caroline is right in that this family has lived the greater part of their life in poverty. To say they will embarrass us is to understate the fact. I hope they don’t expect us to share our friends with them, since they have none here, and invite them to all our gatherings…"

"That will do, Tom," said Worth, his mouth a grim line. "I have given my word, and I will not go back on it. All of you," he added with a sweep of his arm, "will try to make the best of it if you care anything about pleasing me. I hope you will not force me to command you to do what you should do willingly.

“I will expect you to give my sister-in-law and her family the respect and consideration they are due as my wards—and that is the last I say on it!"

This speech which he had hoped he would not be forced to make had a strong effect on Worth and he found himself shaking and felt his face hot. He strode out of the room quickly and left his children to digest his last words in bitter silence.

After a while Caroline glanced at her brother and sister in fuming silence for a few seconds while the two siblings tried to avoid her eyes.

“Well,” she said to them. “What are you going to say about that?”

"They may be nice people, for all we know," Sylvia began, but stopped as her words were met by an icy glare. Then, recalling that a friend was due any moment she strode quickly out of the room.

Tom remained on the sofa with Caroline for a few moments, while she sat in stony silence. Then he stood up to go.

"Stay, Tom. I must discuss this with you, seeing how Papa is of no use in this matter and Sylvia is a ninnyhammer."

"There’s not more to say," Tom said impatiently, "and I had planned on going out."

"It'll only be for a few minutes. Surely your dissipation, as Papa called it, can wait a moment?"

"What did you want to talk about?" Tom asked sitting down again, a frown on his grey eyes. "It seems pretty much wrapped up to me. I did as you requested, told the
pater
what you wanted me to say and all it got me was a recounting of my sins."

"I can't see myself socializing with them," began Caroline. "Can you, Tom?"

"I don't know the first thing about them," provided Tom. "According to Papa there's a son a about my age. Other than introduce him around, I don't think he expects me to take him everywhere with me. Now, you, well that's another matter. The two girls—Celia and the younger one, Isabella, they fall right on your lap.”

“What are you going to do to get out of it?"  He asked with curiosity.

For a moment Tom felt sorry for the Meade girls although he only knew one of them, Celia, and then only briefly. He had experienced Caroline's machinations on himself often enough to be certain that nothing good would come out of this. His father might have done them a disservice to bring them into Caroline's orbit, for though Tom was three years older, he knew that even he was no match for his sister’s intrigues.

"I want your word that you'll freeze them out, Tom."

"Why don't we wait and see what happens?" asked Tom, anxious not to commit himself. "I don't exactly relish Papa hurting me where it hurts the most–the purse strings. And you heard him – he's set on this…"

"Don't be an idiot, Tom,” Caroline cut him short. “I don't expect you to go and announce to him that you'll have nothing to do with them. It'll have to be in a more subtle manner—but a manner just as effective."

"All right," laughed Tom nervously, "write it all out in paper, how you want me to act with them, and I'll sign it with my blood. And now, dear Sis, I'm off. I have pressing business. "

"Tom," said Caroline with a level look at him, "remember that you owe me two hundred pounds—my latest rescue of you from gaming debts. Try to keep that in mind, will you?"

"How can I forget, if you remind me every chance you get?"

After her talk with Tom, Caroline caught up with Sylvia in Sylvia’s bedroom. Sylvia was changing into her riding habit, assisted by her maid. With arms crossed Caroline waited until Sylvia was fully clothed and then nodded her head to Sylvia’s maid to leave the room.

Sylvia shook her head as Caroline directed her to the table and chairs by the window.

“What is it you want me for, Caroline?” Sylvia asked, an uneasy look in her face. “I’m to meet Sally and Mary for a ride.”

“This will not take long, Sylvia,” Caroline said with a shake of her head.

“Well?” Sylvia asked when Caroline just stared at her.

“That woman, Celia Meade…”

“Our cousin?” Sylvia asked.

“You know who I mean—we’ve just been discussing that obnoxious family with Papa.”

“I like Celia,” Sylvia said, although she avoided Caroline’s eyes as she said it.

“What exactly do you like about a woman who was blatantly throwing herself at Lord Merrick during Mama’s funeral?”

“I saw nothing of that, Caroline,” said Sylvia. “She spoke to Lord Merrick only when Lord Merrick asked you to introduce her to him.
Once.
”

“How do you know it was just once? Were you with her every minute of her stay here?”

“I just know, Caroline, because you didn’t leave Lord Merrick’s side the whole time he was here for the funeral. And I think it was shabby of you to have Celia sleep in an uncomfortable cot in Miss Molly’s small bedroom.”

“That’s nothing that should concern you, Sylvia.
I
run this house and if I choose to assign her to sleep in Miss Molly’s bedroom that’s perfectly adequate since she’s just a poor relation.”

Sylvia was about to remind Caroline that during the months that their mother had been confined to her bed until her death, the housekeeper had directed the haphazard way in which the huge house was run, with no help from Caroline, but thought better of it. She had never won an argument with Caroline.

“If that’s all, I really should go, I don’t want to be late.” Sylvia avoided Caroline’s eyes.

“I suppose I’ll have to remind you that I saw you kissing Freddy Centar at the assembly ball.”

“I—I need no reminding,” said Sylvia in a small voice. “You take care of that every time you need something from me. What is it you need now?”

“I need you to shun the Meades when they arrive.”

Sylvia shook her head. “Why?” She asked. “Is it because Lord Merrick asked to be introduced to Celia? He only did so because you ignored Celia as if she wasn’t in the room.”

“I will tell Papa about Freddy, Sylvia.”

Sylvia sighed heavily. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t want you to be here when they arrive.”

Sylvia shook her head. “You can’t make Lord Merrick love you if he doesn’t, Caroline.”

“Freddy?”

“All right. I’ll stay away from the house although I think it’s shabby of you to blackmail me into doing it.”

“Just do it.”

When Sylvia left, Caroline turned to the large mirror in the room and got closer to it to examine her features carefully.

“He
will
be mine!” she said to the mirror.

* * *

The morning after their arrival, with still no sign of welcome from anyone in the family, the Meades had an early breakfast brought to their rooms by Sophie, who had become friends with Nellie.

Sophie explained the breakfast tray by saying that the cook had sent it, to their summons for early tea. She said that the cook had told her to mention to them that since they were exhausted from their journey, they would appreciate breakfast in bed. Celia could tell the cook was making up for her behavior of the night before by giving them preferential treatment.