Damnation but he was so inexperienced at this sort of thing, Justin thought in some frustration, slowing his horse as he approached the stone bridge over the river and glancing along the bank to his left as though he expected to seeLady Estelle Lamarr sitting there again, her loose hair touching the grass behind her as she tipped back her head. She had looked very fetching again this morning in her old, faded dress, which would have been shapeless had it not been for the curves of the woman beneath it, and her floppy straw hat, which had seen better days but was now at perhaps its most attractive. He had been almost disappointed when she stepped into the drawing room later, bareheaded, her hair twisted into an immaculate knot high on the back of her head, and wearing a dress that was in the latest mode.
Inexperienced and alone.
Hisalonenesswould not weigh so heavily upon him, perhaps, if he had only himself to consider. His neighbors at Everleigh had not exactly welcomed him home with open arms when he had returned six months or so after his father’s death. He did not know what his father had told them, but it would hardly have been what he had perceived as the truth. He had always been an amiable but private man, keeping his business, especially as it related to his family, strictly to himself. His father’s second wife, on the other hand, would probably have had no such qualms, and goodness alone knew what stories she had told in the neighborhood and beyond. The neighbors had not openly shunned Justin, however, and he had had civil, if not warm, dealings with them in the years since.
It had been beyond his father’s power to cut him out of the inheritance, of course, as he had explained to his son in bitter tones during that final, terrible interview—the last time Justin saw him. But his father could and would—and did—forbid him to set foot upon Everleigh land or that of any of his other properties during the rest of his own natural life. He had cut Justin’s allowance as of that moment. If his son did not have a penny in his purse with which toremove himself elsewhere, then he would have to walk and beg for crusts of bread as he went.
Justin had had his horse—his own personal possession—and enough money in his purse to get him to his aunt and uncle’s house sixty miles away with as many of his other possessions as he could carry with him. Aunt Betty Sharpe, always one of his favorite people in this world, was his mother’s younger sister. Uncle Rowan, her husband, was a favorite too. Justin had poured out his woes to them and the full truth—theonlypeople to whom he had ever told it.
His uncle had wanted to intervene, but it had been out of the question. His aunt had wanted to open their home and their bounty to him and shelter him for the rest of his life. That was equally out of the question. He had stayed for a week, borrowed twenty pounds from his uncle—who had tried to insist that it be far more and that it be considered a gift—and left early one morning. He had paid back the loan within a year but had not gone back there or to London, where he might have found a few friends and some genteel employment, or to his aunts, his father’s sisters, who both lived in Cornwall. Instead he had ridden off into the unknown, a stranger in what he had soon come to see as a strange land. He had not returned home for six and a half years.
He had felt essentially alone ever since coming home, though perhaps that was his fault. He had felt—oddly—like a stranger in a strange land again.
He had friends—very close ones—but they were of a different world, and he chose to keep his two worlds separate and distinct. None of those friends ever came to Everleigh. He went to them, quite frequently and often for lengthy spells, but he had resisted the urge to stay, simply to disappear from his responsibilities as earl. During thepast three years he had taken his place in the House of Lords as a peer of the realm and had been conscientious about attending when the House was in session. It had meant spending time in residence at his London home, though he had studiously avoided mingling with thetonor attending any of the various parties with which its members entertained themselves during the months of the Season. He had refused any invitations that had ever come his way.
His friends from long ago had fallen away. Or perhaps over the intervening years they had merely got on with their lives, as he had with his, and their paths had diverged so drastically that there was no longer any point of connection. He had some friendly acquaintances with whom he occasionally dined at one of the gentlemen’s clubs. And there were a few actual friends, though he saw them only when he was in London. One of them, come to think of it, had a connection with the Westcott family and therefore, no doubt through several twists and turns of family ties and half ties, with Watley and his sister. He had learned of that connection during the past week from a few visitors to Prospect Hall. Avery Archer, Duke of Netherby, had married a Westcott, had he not? And was not Netherby’s stepmother a Westcott too?
He was a bit of an intimidating man, Netherby. He was not the sort one slapped on the back and greeted with a dubious jest and a hearty guffaw. He was a man who exuded power and commanded universal respect despite the fact that he appeared to do nothing that would explain people’s awe of him. He was slight of build, languid of manner, and soft of voice, with eyelids that drooped almost habitually over his eyes, though the eyes beneath them were keen and observant. He had made the strange comment duringhis first private conversation with Justin that if he ever had a vital secret that he absolutely must confide to someone—“though I cannot imagine I ever would find myself in such a drastic or ridiculous situation”—he would surely feel confident in entrusting it to the Earl of Brandon.
Which was indeed a strange thing to say. What he had seen in Justin to provoke it, Justin did not know. But they had been friends ever since and occasionally dined together at White’s Club and even a couple of times at Archer House, the ducal town residence, in company with the duchess and the dowager duchess. He would not feel comfortable inviting Netherby to Everleigh to meet Maria, however. For one thing, he might scare her to death. The duke’s mere presence scared a lot of people. For another thing, his duchess was increasing with their fifth child.
Before leaving home to come here Justin had considered organizing some sort of house party, but he had modified the idea in favor of a family gathering. That sounded cozy and safe, though in reality, of course, it was anything but. There were three families to consider and no guarantee that any of them would come or that they would mingle comfortably together if they did. Or thatMariawould mingle with any of them.
He had sent off letters inviting them all. Aunt Betty had replied immediately. She and Uncle Rowan would come. His cousins, their children, would come too—Doris with her husband, Martin Haig, and their two young children; Sidney and Ernest, aged thirty-two and twenty-eight respectively; and Rosie, aged nineteen and known fondly to the family asthe afterthought.They were all strangers to Maria, and in no way related to her. They had not come to Everleigh at all after the wedding of Maria’s mother toJustin’s father. But they were good people, all of them, and would surely be kind to Maria. She ought to know them.
He had not heard from the others before leaving Everleigh to come here. There were his father’s two sisters, his aunts—and Maria’s. Aunt Augusta had married Peter Ormsbury, now Baron Crowther, and Aunt Felicity had married Harold, Peter’s brother. And there were Maria’s relatives—the brother and sisters of the late countess, her mother. Leonard Dickson had married Margaret—Justin did not know her maiden name. Patricia was married to Irwin Chandler. Sarah was married to Thomas Wickford. Justin knew no more about any of them except that all three men were apparently successful businessmen from Yorkshire. And there was Lady Maple, Maria’s great-aunt. Justin had invited them all to Everleigh even though Maria had never met any of them. Her mother had quarreled with them all soon after her marriage to his father. He had no idea how likely any of them were to accept his invitation, or how Maria would react if theydidcome.
Now he was feeling queasy about the whole thing. What if theydidall come, with children and possibly grandchildren? He had no idea whatsoever how it would turn out if they did.
For the past few days, however, he had focused his mind and his efforts upon making sure that Maria would have someone familiar with her for a while. He had not made sure of any such thing, of course. Lady Estelle had insisted that she would need to discuss the matter with her brother before deciding, and she had looked as though she was ready to dismiss the invitation without much discussion at all. Watley had insisted thatifthey were willing to come to Everleigh, Maria must be consulted first.
Nothingwas sure, except that next week he would be returning to Everleigh with his sister.
If the Lamarrsdidcome, of course, and even perhaps if they did not, their friendship could be very good for Maria in the future. Their connections with thetoncould be a considerable asset to her next spring, when he would move heaven and earth to see to it that she was in London and taking her place in society at last. If they were there too, that was.
She was vividly beautiful, Justin thought, still gazing at the riverbank where Lady Estelle Lamarr had been sitting the first time he saw her. That mane of dark hair. Those slim, shapely legs. But he shook his head firmly to clear it, whistled for Captain, who came dashing obligingly toward him through the long grass and clover and buttercups, and rode onward across the bridge. Yes, she was a strikingly lovely woman, but he must remember that it was not for himself that he was inviting her to Everleigh. It was for his sister. It would be as well to remember that, not least because he had seen the thinly veiled revulsion with which she had looked at him on all three occasions when they had met. And ifrevulsionwas too strong a word—though he was not sure it was—then she certainly regarded him with disfavor. Maria had probably told her a few things. Though not necessarily, for there was also the fact that he looked like a barbarian, an image he had cultivated deliberately once upon a time out of the sheer instinct for self-defense.
With some success, it would seem.
Five
Estelle went alone to call upon Maria. It would be easier that way, she had suggested, and Bertrand had agreed—quite eagerly, it had seemed to his twin—that Maria was more likely to relax and talk from the heart if he was not there too. He went off instead to do some fishing with a friend from the village after urging Estelle topleasetake the gig and one of the grooms with her. It was a good suggestion, she had agreed without actually promising to do it.
She walked to Prospect Hall, it being a perfect day for some exercise, warm but not hot, breezy but not windy. And with no sign of imminent rain, a miracle in itself. And she went unaccompanied. It was less than three miles from Elm Court, after all, and it would be tedious to have Olga or a groom trailing after her and making her feel self-conscious and guilty about making them walk too.
The summer was already well advanced, but the roses were still blooming as though it were the middle of June.Estelle could see them as she approached the house, covering trellises and trailing over bushes and filling beds, including the circular plot around the ornamental pond and in an arc behind the wrought iron seat overlooking it. Even if she had not been able to see the roses, however, their heady perfume would have given notice of their presence long before she turned through the gates and the gravel of the drive crunched beneath her feet. Maria, bent over one bush, clippers in hand, heard her and straightened up to smile a greeting.
“This is perfect timing,” she called. “I was about to stop for a rest. Come and sit with me. Melanie is inside writing to her family. She has always been very faithful to them. Her weekly letter is always at least three pages long, though I do not know what she finds to fill it. She is going to bring some lemonade when she is finished.”
She did not say where her brother was. There was no sign of him.
Maria had some color in her cheeks from her exertions. But there were dark smudges under her eyes, as Estelle remembered there had been during the final weeks of her mother’s illness and for the first month or so after her death. They suggested she was not sleeping well.
Estelle sat while her friend brushed off the clippers and put them away in a cloth bag with her gloves.
“The rose garden is like a piece of heaven, as always,” Estelle said. “You have a gift with plants that goes through to the marrow of your bones, Maria.”
Her friend pulled a face. “But when one is in heaven, one is supposed to remain there forever,” she said. “One is not supposed to be forced to leave it.”
