When Viola had married Estelle’s father at a family Christmas, the Westcotts had gathered Estelle and Bertrand into the fold too.Honorary Westcotts, Alexander Westcott, Earl of Riverdale, head of the family, had told them at the wedding breakfast, his eyes twinkling.
She could have been drawn into this family too, Estelle thought—if she had said yes instead of no at the summerhouse. She could still belong—ifhe made good upon his warning that he would offer for her again before she and Bert left here within the next few days. Andifshe said yes.
Would he?
Would she?
There was still so much darkness in him. And it would be very much worse if Ricky Mort was never found. Was she willing to take on a man’s darkness? It would be madness.
But was she willing to walk away from the only man who had ever stirred her deepest emotions?
Bertrand was holding the boat while the Earl of Brandon handed his aunts out. The two men turned the boat over on the bank, and all four of them came across the bridge to the picnic site for tea. The earl stopped on the way and offered his arm to Maria. She hesitated a moment, but then she slid her hand through it.
An hour or so later they straggled homeward in small groups after the gig had arrived to take Lady Maple. This time it was Lady Crowther who went with her. Bertrandhelped the earl put the boat away in the boathouse while Estelle and Maria gathered up the wet towels from beside the lake and the cushions from the grotto. They heaped the towels into a hamper in the boathouse to be collected later and put the cushions on their assigned shelves. Bertrand set out for the house with a few other people while Estelle and Maria followed. The earl waited on the bridge for his dog to finish sniffing around the boathouse.
“What a lovely day it has been,” Maria said. “I hate to see it come to an end.”
Estelle chuckled. “Yet just a couple of weeks ago you were dreading coming,” she said.
“I know.” Maria thought for a moment. “Estelle, Ilovedmy mother. I will never stop doing so. But I think perhaps she may have been oversensitive about some things. She easily felt threatened, probably because she was of humble origins socially—though the Dicksons have been wealthy and influential in Yorkshire for several generations, I understand. They have also always been unabashedly middle class, except for Great-aunt Bertha and Mama, who wanted something they considered better. And then there is the fact that Mama was very young when she married Papa—good heavens, she was three years younger than I am now. She saw criticism and jealousy and quarrels where none were intended, and walled herself off from further threats that simply did not exist. It is all very sad. She could have been far happier if she had had her family about her, and she could have found consolation with them after Papa died. So could I. I do not believe I am being disloyal to her in allowing myself to be restored to them now. Am I?”
“Oh, absolutely not,” Estelle said. “You need your family, Maria. You have been so very alone. Now they will always belong to you.”
“Rosie wants me to go home with her for a while,” Maria said. “And Aunt Betty and Uncle Rowan are willing to take me if it is all right with Brandon. Gillian and Megan and Wallace want to come back here later when Aunt Sarah and Uncle Thomas come. They do not believe Aunt Sarah will mind. According to Wallace she is a brick—whateverthatmeans.” She laughed. “And Aunt Augusta and Aunt Felicity have told me Brandon and I simply must come to Cornwall next summer—if I do not meet someone and marry him during the spring. Or if Brandon does not.”
“Goodness,” Estelle said. “It sounds as if you have a busy year ahead.”
Or if Brandon does not.Meet and marry someone during the next Season, that was.
Fortunately there was some sort of distraction up ahead. “But what isthis?” Estelle asked.
Thiswas a ragged beggar standing in the middle of the drive just on the house side of the Palladian bridge, looking hesitantly toward Lord Crowther and his eldest son and daughter-in-law. They had been distracted for the moment by the two children, who were gazing intently into the river and pointing and demanding to know what sort of fishthosewere.
“Oh dear God,” Estelle said, hurrying past the others until she was just a few feet from the beggar.“Ricky?”
He looked at her warily, a tall, solidly built young man with pleasant features more or less disguised by a scruffy growth of beard and a few layers of dirt, and dirty fair hair that stood in stiff, untidy spikes on his head. He had no hat. His clothes were not so much ragged as filthy and grass-stained with clumps of straw clinging to them in places. The sole of one of his boots was bound in place with whatmight once have been a handkerchief. Even from several feet away Estelle could smell him.
“I don’t know you,” he said slowly.
“I am a friend of the Earl of Brandon,” she told him. “Justin Wiley. Juss.”
“You know Juss?” he said.
“I do.” She smiled at him. “He will besohappy to see you, Ricky. Let me take you to him.”
But he was looking suddenly anxious and agitated. “Did he find his sister?” he asked.
“His sister?” Estelle said. “Maria?”
“Did he find her?” He took a step toward her. “She is lost. He is looking for her. I come to help.”
Oh. In his letter explaining why he could not go to see Ricky as planned during July, the Earl of Brandon must have explained that he was going to find his sister and bring her home.
“I’ll look too,” Ricky said. “We’ll find her, me and Juss.”
“She has been found and brought home,” Estelle said. “Here she is, Ricky. Maria is Justin’s sister, and she is back home safe and sound.”
Maria was gazing at him, both hands pressed to her mouth. The others had turned from the river and were gawking.
