He needed to ponder his idea carefully before acting on it and perhaps regretting it for the rest of his life.
It was a large natural lake, fed by the waterfall, which cascaded down the steep hillside to his right. Its waters emptied into the river that flowed through the valley below the house. His grandfather had had a wooden mock-Chinese bridge constructed over the narrow part of the lake just below the falls. It had steps leading up to it and down at the other side. It had a bend in the middle, taking it across the other half at a different angle. There was a roof over the central part, pointed like a cone but with four corners that were curled upward. It was fanciful and brightlypainted and probably did not resemble any bridge that had ever been constructed in China. On the far side was a boathouse.
Justin went to stand on the bridge. He gazed at the waterfall and let the sound of rushing water fill his ears and shut out the rest of the world. Captain, minus his stick, trotted across the bridge behind him and sniffed about the boathouse.
Justin looked up at the grotto—the cave in the hillside to one side of the waterfall. Someone had once called it a grotto, because the word was more evocative thancave, he supposed, and the name had stuck. It was far larger inside than it looked to be from here and used to be a favorite boyhood haunt of his. He had been a bandit of the Robin Hood variety and a marooned sea captain and a spy hiding out from his enemies there and a thousand other heroic characters. A boy’s imagination was limitless, after all. He wondered if blankets and cushions were still stored in the boathouse and—if they were—when they had last been laundered.
They were still there. They also looked and smelled clean and free of mildew. He took a few with him and climbed to the grotto. It was not far up the hill or difficult to reach, but one definitely felt cut off from the world when one was inside it. He spread a blanket on the stone floor, sat close to the entrance, a cushion at his back, and made room for Captain, who had scrambled up after him. The dog sniffed every inch of the cave, panted in Justin’s face as if to ask if they werereallygoing to stop here for a while, turned in a few circles when he guessed the answer to be yes, and then plopped down on the blanket to gaze out at the lake.
There was surely nothing quite as blissful as solitude,Justin thought. Of course, one did tend to bring one’s teeming thoughts along with one, but a few minutes of stillness, during which one concentrated upon one’s breath and nothing else, usually helped quell them. Maria—how was he going to secure a proper come-out Season and a happy future for her? His father—had he really been trapped into marrying Lilian Dickson? Ricky—how could he atone for letting him down? Lady Estelle Lamarr—how could he have been so gauche as to rush into proposing to her? The Season in London next year—how was he going to find a countess soon enough to help with Maria? Could the Duke of Netherby help—or the duchess? Lady Estelle Lamarr—why did she have to be so dashed beautiful and so dashed... vibrant and... Argh!
Finally his thoughts stilled enough that he could close his eyes and be lulled by the sound of the waterfall.
***
After luncheon Estelle went with several of the other guests to look inside the greenhouses. Maria was with them. She had explained ahead of time that she was not at all knowledgeable about the plants within them, though she did intend to learn. Fortunately it did not matter. One of the gardeners was there, and he cheerfully agreed to walk about with them and identify all the plants and answer all their questions. They spent a very agreeable hour there.
“You will not mind, Maria, if Leonard and I go and sit in the summerhouse for a while with Patricia and Irwin?” her aunt Margaret Dickson asked when they came outside at last into the relatively cool air of an English summer afternoon. “We feel too lazy to do anything else even remotely strenuous, but it would be a pity to return to the house so soon.”
“Of course I do not mind,” Maria assured all four of them. She stood and watched them go while everyone else was dispersing, a few to the house, others to different outdoor activities.
Mr.and Mrs.Sharpe were making their way toward the fountain at the center of the formal gardens, where the Ormsbury aunts and uncles were gathered. Bertrand was going to go riding with a group of the cousins. Another group was going to walk along the path on the other side of the river. Estelle decided she would walk to the lake, since she still had not been there. She turned to see if Maria wished to go with her, but Maria spoke first. She was still watching her aunts and uncles make their way toward the summerhouse.
“Estelle,” she said, “I am going to go and speak with them. Will you come with me?”
She did not mean just social chitchat. Estelle could tell that from the pinched, determined look on her face and the tone of her voice.
“Of course,” Estelle said. That embarrassing scene in the drawing room a few days ago had not ruined the house party, as it might very well have done. Maria’s apology had gone a great way toward clearing the air, and they had all been enjoying themselves since. The three distinct family groups were mingling well despite the social differences between them, and Maria appeared to be increasingly comfortable in her role as hostess. The Earl of Brandon did his part as host.
That scene had had a lingering effect, however, and Estelle guessed that it haunted Maria. If the earl’s aim in inviting them all here had been to restore his sister to her family and make her feel comfortable even with his own, then Estelle was not sure he had succeeded. What would happen after they all returned home? Would that be the endof that? Would there be any future such visits here? Would Maria make any future visits to any of them?
And now it seemed that Maria herself was ready to confront the issue. Estelle could not help but admire her—if that, indeed, was her intention.
“Ah, there you are, Maria,” Mr.Leonard Dickson said in his usual hearty manner when they all arrived at the summerhouse at the same time. “You decided to come too, did you? And you as well, Lady Estelle? This is grand.”
Estelle was not sure Maria’s aunts and uncles were truly happy to see them. Perhaps they had been looking forward to relaxing for a while, just the four of them. But they all smiled and made a fuss. They were pleasant people. Estelle liked them.
They left the long windows wide open and sat gazing out at the view for a while, exclaiming a little self-consciously about the beauty of it all. But Estelle had been right about Maria’s intention.
“Tell me about Mama,” she said at last—and caused a sudden, uncomfortable silence.
“Well,” Mrs.Chandler said. “She was the third of the four of us—younger than both Leonard and me, older than Sarah. She was by far the loveliest. Aunt Bertha—Lady Maple—took her to London when she was seventeen, and she met and fell in love with your father and married him, all within a month. It was a happy love story, Maria.”
“It was grand,” Mr.Dickson agreed, rubbing his hands together and beaming at his niece.
“Why just Mama and no one else?” Maria asked. “Why didyounot go to London, Aunt Patricia? And why not Aunt Sarah?”
“I already had my eye on Irwin,” Mrs.Chandler said, laughing. “And Sarah was only fifteen at the time.”
“You have it the wrong way around, lass,” Mr.Chandler said to his wife.“Ihad my eye onyou.”
“I believe,” Mrs.Dickson said, “it was mutual. We were all wondering why it was taking the two of you so long to recognize the truth and announce your betrothal.”
Maria was looking at the palms of her hands. “I want to know,” she said. “Ineedto know. All I know of Mama I learned from her. She never spoke of any of you except to say that you had all quarreled with her after she married Papa because you were jealous of her. She never spoke of her childhood or girlhood. And she did not say any more about Lady Maple than that she introduced Mama to thetonand Papa saw her and fell in love with her at her first ball. And that Lady Maple quarreled with her afterward because she was jealous that Mama had done so much better than she had herself. Lady Maple married a baronet while Mama married an earl. I loved Mama. I adored her. But...”
Her voice trailed away, and Mr.Chandler shifted in his chair, causing it to creak alarmingly, and cleared his throat.
“Why was Mama the only one to go to London?” Maria asked. “And please... Please do not spare my feelings. It is only recently that it has seemed a bit odd to me that everyone was so jealous and everyone quarreled with her. I expected mean, nasty,evilpeople. But I cannot see any of those things in you. Or in any of my cousins. Or even in Lady Maple despite what she said a few days ago.Tellme about my mother.”
