Valerie King (16 page)

At this point Lady Sandifort sat up in bed and set aside her tray. How her blue eyes glittered. Her first choice was to have Valmaston settled in the bedchamber next to her own, but Lucy pointed out that there would be far too much gossip if she did so.

“Oh, what do I care for gossip!” she cried petulantly.

Lucy was not certain precisely what to say, but she finally made a strong point that, even if the servants were to gabble-monger, she did not think it would serve her to give Valmaston the impression she was so very eager for his society.

“You are quite right!” she cried, opening her eyes wide. “And how foolish of me. I have not taken a lover in so long, over a year and a half now, and that with what proved to be the most reckless priest who has his living but a few miles from . . . that I vow I have quite forgotten—oh, but I see I have made you blush! It is your own fault, you know, for you seem so wise in the ways of the world that I always forget you have never been married.”

Lucy chose not to address any of these observations but rather rose to her feet, smiling all the while. “Shall we then see that he has the room on the third floor above yours?”

“How very sly, for then I could steal up the stairs—oh, but I shall make you blush again! Pray forget that I have said anything!”

Lucy took the tray and waggled her finger at Lady Sandifort. By the time she quit her bedchamber, she found that her cheeks were absolutely burning! And Lady Sandifort had been involved with the vicar of a local parish? She was utterly shocked and found that several minutes were required for her face to feel cool again!

After meeting with Lady Sandifort, Lucy usually spent the next hour with Mr. Quarley. He would take her to some part of the gardens in either the front of the property or behind to walk around the hedges, flower beds, shrubs, and trees in order to determine what ought to be done next. She had long since told him she relied implicitly on his discretion, but he insisted on consulting with her. “You have a good eye, Miss Stiles, and I don’t see as well as I was used to.” So it was that the ongoing improvement in the gardens had become a treasure to her.

Nuncheon brought most of the family together, save for the children. Rosamunde had also been absent ever since having come home foxed from Chaleford. Lucy therefore quickly acquired the habit of taking a tray to her as well, a light meal concocted by Cook to tempt her waning appetite. Of all the inmates at Aldershaw, Lucy was worried the most about Rosamunde.

On this day, a scant few days before Valmaston was due to arrive at Aldershaw, Lucy prepared her tray with a quaking heart. She had put into motion an adventure which should have been accomplished at least a twelvemonth past. She had even had the audacity to include Robert in the ruse. He had been reluctant, even hostile at first to what she wished to do, but became quickly resigned because, as he said, he had had his own unhappy suspicions for several months now.

When Lucy took Rosamunde her tray, she found her still sleeping even though it was almost noon, not an unusual circumstance since the day before had been her weekly escapade to her “infirmed” friend’s home in Chaleford. Lucy found her difficult to awaken, as was also usual.

Finally, however, Rosamunde opened her eyes, yawned, and stretched. “What is the hour?”

“But ten minutes until twelve o’clock.”

“Good heavens. Have I slept that long? Why, that is more than eleven hours!” She seemed surprised but quite lethargic.

“Well, you cannot keep sleeping today. As it happens I am greatly in need of a companion for a trip I must take into Bickfield.”

“I do not wish to go to Bickfield.”

Lucy settled the tray on the bed beside Rosamunde. “You must eat and we must take our trip. I believe Eugenia would benefit from a short drive, for she has seemed a trifle blue-devilled of late.”

Rosamunde frowned. “Has she?” She knew Rosamunde would do anything for her daughter.

“Very much so. Besides, an outing would benefit you greatly as well. We could have tea at The George.”

“If you say it is necessary then of course I shall go with you.” With some difficulty she pushed herself to a sitting position and began nibbling on a piece of toast.

Lucy shoved the drapes back, which caused Rosamunde to groan and wince.

“Have you been at the peach ratafia again?” Lucy asked.

“No!” Rosamunde exclaimed, wincing a little more. “Well, perhaps I did have a glass or two.”

Lucy chuckled. “Drink your tea. You will feel better.”

So it was that in an hour, Lucy, Rosamunde, and Eugenia met Robert at the bottom of the stairs.

“Are you attending us?” Rosamunde asked, a little shocked as she glanced from Robert to Lucy and back again.

He offered his arm to her. “I hope you do not mind. But I begged Lucy to permit me to join you.”

Rosamunde took his arm. “Of course I do not mind. You are always so kind to me, Robert.”

Lucy followed behind with Eugenia and felt her heart swell. This much was true about Robert: he had always shown a great deal of kindness, even compassion, to Rosamunde.

When the coach reached the end of the avenue, instead of heading to Bickfield the conveyance continued in a southerly direction.

“Where are we going?” Rosamunde asked. “We should have turned left.”

“We are kidnapping you,” Lucy said with a smile. “We are not going to Bickfield and I fear we will be traveling well into the evening.”

“I do not understand. Where precisely are we going?”

Eugenia’s eyes brightened. “I know,” she cried. “Baddesley! Lucy and Robert are taking us to Baddesley. Mama, we are going home!”

“I have a very intelligent niece,” Robert said, smiling at Eugenia, who sat across from him.

“Baddesley?” Rosamunde queried in little more than a whisper.

“Yes,” Lucy said. “We have quite gone beyond the pale and I for one have every certainty that your husband will never forgive me for concocting this scheme in the first place, but I could think of no reason not to let you at least see your home. I am certain you do not give a fig that the house is still undergoing repairs.”

Rosamunde squeaked a reply, but she had taken to crying so suddenly and violently that she could not be understood. She held a kerchief to her face and sobbed. Robert put his arm about her shoulder, holding her tightly as she promptly buried her face in his coat.

“Mama, pray do not,” Eugenia said, reaching for her, but the tears did not abate for at least half an hour, after which time she must have thanked Lucy a hundred times.

“I am going home. I am going home. I will not return to Aldershaw, Robert, no matter what George says! I do not mind living in a mountain of dust so long as I can be in my own house!”

Robert merely smiled at her and patted her hand gently.

The moon was high by the time the coach drew before the gates of Baddesley. The land was drenched in a lovely pale light.

“It almost looks as though the shrubs and trees are covered in snow,” Eugenia said.

The gate proved to be rusted badly and the footman, to everyone’s surprise, had some difficulty opening it. At last the coach bowled through, venturing onto the rather long and circuitous drive, which in turn proved to be scandalously overgrown. Branches frequently scraped the sides of the coach.

“My poor garden,” Rosamunde whispered. “What has happened here? George promised me that the gardens would be tended while I was away.”

The experience in the dark, with only lamplight from the coach and faint moonlight from above to illuminate the thick growth, caused Lucy to shiver. “It is very bad. Worse even than Aldershaw was when I first arrived.”

“So it is,” Rosamunde said, straining against the glass in an attempt to see. “The edge of the woods and shrubs should end soon.”

The coach broke out into a more open flow of land but even the moonlight showed a wretchedly forsaken garden.

Rosamunde began to weep. “It is just as I feared. The gardeners have grown lazy.”

Lucy felt in her heart that something far worse had happened but she could not bring herself to say it. She glanced at Robert and even in the darkness of the coach she could see that his expression was exceedingly somber.

When at last the coach drew before the ancient Tudor mansion, built of stone, the whole party had fallen silent. Lucy felt quite sick at heart and could only imagine what Rosamunde’s thoughts and feelings were at present. In the dim light Lucy could hear her sniffs and the fluttering of the white kerchief as it flew to her cheeks again and again.

Robert ordered the coachman to remain on the drive instead of seeking the stables, as would have been usual. Lucy took Rosamunde’s arm and approached the door. She struck the knocker again and again quite vigorously but there was no response. She repeated the rapping. She waited. She rapped again. Finally she pressed the latch and to her surprise the door opened.

“It was not even locked,” Eugenia said, clinging to her mother.

Lucy walked in, feeling as though she had stepped into a nightmare. The air smelled of damp, dust, and rot.

“My house. My poor, poor house,” was all Rosamunde could say.

Eugenia had moved to the drawing room to the left of the entrance hall and peered within. “Mama, all the furniture is gone.”

“What? You must be mistaken. You simply cannot see because it is too dark.” She moved to stand beside her daughter and peered within. “Oh, dear God. Even the drapes are gone.”

Robert entered the house last and immediately sent one of the footmen on an errand to see if he might find a stray candle or two. When at last he returned he bore a candelabra in hand. Making use of the carriage lamps, the candles were soon lit. What had already been perceived in the gloom and darkness was now illuminated.

The house had every appearance of having been abandoned, and that for a very long time, indeed.

Lucy watched Rosamunde closely, fearing that the state of the house would be the undoing of her mind. Robert led the way from room to room, holding the candelabra aloft and walking very slowly. Rosamunde followed behind, while Lucy and Eugenia trailed in their wake. Every chamber was in the same state as the one before.

Eugenia took Lucy’s hand.

“Very well,” Rosamunde said over and over as chamber upon chamber revealed the decay of Baddesley to her. “Very well. Very well.”

To Lucy’s surprise, Rosamunde’s shoulders straightened and her voice grew stronger than she had ever known it to be. When at last Robert returned the party to the entrance hall, Rosamunde bore an expression of acceptance, even of relief. “I had always thought he was not telling me the truth,” she said quietly. “But I had no way of proving it.”

Robert was just suggesting that they return to the nearest village and stay the night at The White Horse when the door suddenly burst open.

Lucy had never been more shocked than to see George standing on the threshhold. His complexion was pale and sweat glistened on his forehead. His clothes were dusty from head to toe.

Rosamunde moved forward. “Did you ride all this distance, my love?”

He nodded.

Silence reigned in the hall for a long moment until Rosamunde ran to him. He opened his arms wide, tears now brimming in his eyes. “I am so sorry. I put every tuppence of your dowry into our home, into the surrounding farms, but I could not increase the rent rolls. We have lost everything.”

“You should have told me.”

George held her for a long moment then drew her to the stairs, where they sat down together, his arm tightly about her shoulders. He looked exhausted, as much from riding so far as he had as from having kept the horrible secret of his loss of Baddesley. Rosamunde sat down beside him and possessed herself of his hand. Eugenia went to him as well and took the other.

George looked up at Robert. “I owe you so much that I can never repay, brother.”

“We are a family, George. You owe me nothing.”

When he started to say more, Lucy quickly took his arm. He paused and glanced down at her, a frown in his eyes. She shook her head. “Will you walk out with me?” she asked quietly.

He glanced at the family nestled tightly together on the stairs. “Yes, of course.” He settled the candelabra in the middle of the floor and escorted her out of doors, beckoning the footman to leave as well.

Once outside, Lucy drew him away from the coach. Her own heart was aching at the truth about George’s loss.

“It is not at all uncommon in these days of failed harvests,” he said somberly.

“I know,” she murmured.

“You were proven right again, Lucy. I am beginning to feel completely daunted by your perceptions. I only wonder what you must think of me, since you seem to know us all so well.”

She stopped him in their slow progress and turned toward him. “I think that you are a fine brother and one of the kindest men I have ever known. After all, how many gentlemen, known to take great pride in their coats, would have permitted a lady to come the watering pot on so expensive a superfine as yours?”

At that he chuckled. “Dear Lucy, how you make me laugh when you must know my heart is breaking for my brother.”

“Mine as well,” she said, smiling up into his face but feeling very sad.

His gaze caught and held. The moonlight was sufficiently bright for her to see the sudden glitter in his eyes. She experienced some difficulty in breathing. What was he thinking? she wondered.

Robert looked into Lucy’s eyes, as much as he was able in the darkness of the night. Still, he saw the sparkle that so completely bespoke her bright temper. He was so full of affection, of gratitude in this moment that he could not find the proper words to give expression to all he was feeling. He touched her cheek with his hand. “Lucy,” he whispered, leaning toward her. He felt a strong desire to kiss her, not in passion but in appreciation.