“It all seems surprisingly familiar,” Maria told her. “Except that Mama is not here. Or Papa. I miss them both more now that I am here. Far more than I did when I was at Prospect Hall. I am determined to make this home again, though. There is no point in moping. I have not yet discussed with Brandon what my role here is to be. Am I just the younger sister whom he is hoping to marry off as soon as possible—at the great marriage mart of a London Season next spring, perhaps? Or am I the lady of the houseuntil I marry, or untilhedoes, the one who is to make certain decisions, like who will escort arriving guests to their rooms and what is to be served for meals? And... oh, and a hundred and one other things.”
“It is indeed something you need to discuss with your brother,” Estelle said, smiling at her. “I understand. I too live with my brother. I daresay you can come to an agreement that will suit you both once he knows your wishes and you know his thoughts.”
“I am sure you are right,” Maria said with a sigh. “There has been no chance for any such discussion so far, and there will not be for a while now. Instead of giving me time to settle here, he has decided to fill the house with guests and make my life far more difficult.”
Estelle raised her eyebrows.
“Oh,” Maria said, looking stricken. “I do not meanyou.Or Lord Watley. You are myfriends.His own relatives came yesterday—Mr.and Mrs.Sharpe, his aunt and uncle, and their two sons and two daughters, one of whom is married with two young children. They are all strangers to me and have no reason to be fond of me, though they have been polite so far. But todayMama’sfamily has arrived.AndPapa’s. Oh, and Mama’s aunt, Lady Maple. They are all strangers too, and there are so many of them, Estelle, that I feel I willneverremember who is who, except that Mama’s family all speak with broad Yorkshire accents while Papa’s family have refined accents. Brandon did not consult me before he invited them. He thought I ought to meet all the branches of my family—thoughhisrelatives are not mine at all. I am feeling quite overwhelmed. Though there is no such thing when one is a lady, is there? Nothing is impossible. Even the worst ordeals can be endured. I will endure, then.” She sighed and then, surprisingly, laughed. “At leastI will have you and Lord Watley with me now as moral support. What a huge relief it was when I saw thatthistime the approaching carriage brought familiar people. Friends.”
“You have your brother to thank for our presence here,” Estelle said. “I daresay he asked us here, and everyone else, because he cares about you, Maria.”
“I wish he would not,” Maria said, crossing the room to open the window. “Care, that is.” But when she turned from the window she was smiling again. “Oh, I am determined not to grumble. And I have already admitted to myself that he must have meant well when he sent off all his invitations, just as he did when he went to call upon you and Viscount Watley at Elm Court. I will be civil to everyone. I will emulate you. I will even inject some warmth into my smiles. And I will make an effort to sort out who is who and who belongs to whom before the day is over. Now, you must be tired and hungry and thirsty. And you are probably longing to wash your hands and face and brush your hair and change your dress. There will be warm water in the dressing room by now, and that is surely your maid I can hear moving about in there. Come.”
She led the way to a door at one side of the room and opened it to allow Estelle through.
“I will wait here for you,” she said as she closed the door.
Estelle changed into an afternoon dress her maid had pulled from the top of her trunk and had a quick wash. She sat while Olga took down her hair, brushed it smooth, and coiled it neatly high on her head.
A short while later she left her room with Maria and knocked on her brother’s door. He offered an arm to each of them as they went down to the floor below and along a wide corridor to the drawing room, a magnificent apartment directly above the great hall.
Seven
Justin stood by the fireplace in the drawing room later that evening, feeling cautiously optimistic. He had not really planned for everyone to arrive within a day of one another, but that was the way it had turned out. It had all been a bit hectic and dizzying, but here they were, and so far there had been no open disasters.
All his guests had arrived by the middle of the afternoon today, with the result that everyone had been able to meet one another at tea. Hearty Yorkshire accents had mingled with refined aristocratic voices, but it had all been perfectly amiable. He had half feared that the late countess’s relatives might huddle at one end of the room while his father’s took possession of the other end and Maria sulked between the two groups, the Lamarrs hovering on either side of her, and his aunt Betty and family tried to make themselves invisible wherever they could. It had not happened.
At dinner a short while ago he had deliberately not assigned places at the long table. He was not sure if anyonehad been surprised by that or offended by it—he ought, perhaps, to have directed Aunt Augusta, Lady Crowther, to the place to the right of his at the head of the table, and Lady Maple to his left. But no one had made any comment, and none of the individual families had huddled together and shied away from everyone else. When he had come here to the drawing room with the men half an hour after Maria led the ladies from the dining room, everyone had mingled yet again.
Leonard Dickson, Maria’s uncle, was standing with him now, as were Sidney Sharpe, the cousin on his mother’s side who was closest to Justin in age, and Bevin Ormsbury, Aunt Augusta’s eldest son, also close to Justin in age. Doris Haig, Sidney’s sister, had just wandered up to join them.
“The children are settled for the night?” Justin asked her. Eliza and Edward were seven and five years old respectively.
“They were excited by the presence ofyourchildren, Bevin, and inclined to be mutinous despite Martin’s dire threat ofconsequencesif they made one more excuse for rising from their beds,” Doris said, grinning. “But then Megan Chandler poked her head around the door of the room they are sharing and offered to read them a few stories if it was fine with us. It wasperfectlyfine with us. What a very sweet niece you have, Mr.Dickson.”
Megan, the youngest child of Maria’s aunt Patricia and Irwin Chandler, her husband, was fifteen. It was a frustrating age, Justin remembered. Not a child, not an adult. She had been allowed to join the family for dinner, but afterward, despite a halfhearted plea to her father, she had been sent back to the nursery floor by her mother.
“I do, indeed, Mrs.Haig,” Dickson said. “She is a lass any uncle would be proud of. Always willing to help outwherever she can. Did you put a limit on the number of stories? Any self-respecting child would insist upon at least ten before admitting to being sleepy.”
“Oh dear,” Doris said. “I did not. Poor Megan.”
She joined in Dickson’s hearty, booming laughter. He was the owner of a textile mill and undoubtedly a wealthy man. Irwin Chandler, his brother-in-law, was a prosperous banker, portly and a bit self-important, but not unlikable. Their aunt, Lady Maple, did not share their broad Yorkshire accents. She spoke, rather, with an almost exaggeratedly upper-class voice and, it seemed to Justin, looked with some condescension—often through her long-handled lorgnette—upon her provincial relatives. The late countess, Maria’s mother, had spoken similarly to her aunt. Her voice had never betrayed her origins.
His aunt Betty was sitting some distance from the fireplace, surrounded by Margaret Dickson and Patricia Chandler from the late countess’s side of the family and Justin’s aunts Augusta and Felicity on the late earl’s side. They were engrossed in what looked like a comfortable conversation.
The Lamarrs must be finding this gathering of people a bit confusing, Justin thought. Most if not all must be strangers to them. These people also belonged to three distinct family groups. The brother and sister were not showing any sign of confusion, however. They were clearly adept at mingling at their ease with all sorts of people, even strangers, even those of the middle class.
“How different Everleigh seems now, Justin, than it did when we used to come here as children,” Doris said. “I remember it as all twists and turns, a positive maze of corridors and staircases. I was constantly getting lost and panicking.”
“I remember loving it for just that reason, Dor,” Sidneysaid. “We could hide all day and then pretend we had got lost. Mama used to hug us and cluck over us instead of scolding, while Papa looked skeptical but would not accuse us of lying.”
“Youmight have loved it, Sid,” his sister retorted. “But part of your glee—yoursandErnie’s—came from deliberately losing me. Remind me never to forgive you.”
“I do recall being put in the west wing, as we have been now, when we came for Lilian’s wedding to your father, Brandon,” Dickson said, “and ending up lost somewhere in the east wing when I ran up to my room for something. I had to beg for directions from a passing servant.”
“I was very young when I came here last, Justin,” Bevin said. “I scarcely remember it at all even though Mama and Aunt Felicity like to talk about growing up here. I look forward to the grand tour you have promised.”
“I look forward to giving it,” Justin told him.
