David was swept forward by a newly awakened, bright-cheeked Daniel to be caught up in all the noise and bustle of the greetings—one would have thought that none of them had seen one another for a decade instead of a week or so. Anne abandoned him and hurried inside through a side entrance with the nurse.
She had no wish whatsoever to be mistaken for a guest.
She was not to remain unnoticed, though, she soon discovered. The housekeeper came looking for her after she had been in the nursery for a while, seeing David settled in the large room he was to share with Davy and Alexander and watching him glow with excitement as he met all the children and was absorbed into their midst as if he had been one of them all his life.
He was in safe hands, Anne realized as she followed the housekeeper down to the floor below and into a sizable bedchamber with comfortable furnishings and pretty floral curtains and bed hangings and a view of the sea in the distance.
It was unmistakably a guest chamber rather than a servant’s room, she saw with some dismay. She ought to have clarified her exact status here with Joshua and Lady Hallmere before their arrival. She ought to have made it clear to them that she wanted to be classed with the servants, or at least with the nurses and governesses—if there were any of the latter. But then she had assumed that it did not need to be said.
“I hope I have not put you to a great deal of trouble,” she said with an apologetic smile, “arriving unexpectedly like this.”
“I was delighted, mum, when Mr. Butler said the duke and duchess were coming with a large party,” the housekeeper told her with a pronounced Welsh accent. “We don’t see company often enough here. Mr. Butler hired extra help and I had every room in the house prepared just in case. So it’s no trouble at all. I’m Mrs. Parry, mum.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Parry,” Anne said. “What a lovely view.”
“It is that,” the housekeeper agreed, “though the view from the back rooms is just as grand. You will want to tidy up and maybe rest a while, mum. I’ll send a maid up to unpack your things for you.”
“There really is no need,” Anne assured her hastily. Heavens, she was notreallya guest. She was certainly not entitled to the services of a maid. “But the idea of a rest sounds very inviting.”
“The roads hereabouts aren’t all they ought to be, are they?” Mrs. Parry said. “Though there are enough toll gates to pay for repairs, the good Lord knows. You are probably all bounced to pieces. I’ll leave you alone, then, mum. But if you should want to go down to the drawing room later, just pull on the bell rope here and someone will come to show you the way. I’ll have a maid come up before dinner to help you dress and tell you the way to the dining room. Will there be anything else?”
“Nothing.” Anne smiled at her again. “Thank you.”
Go down to the drawing room? Take dinner in the dining room?
What had Joshuasaidabout her? He could not possibly be expecting her to mingle with the Bedwyn family—and to make her curtsy to the Duke and Duchess of Bewcastle.Could he?But one never knew with Joshua. He had some peculiar notions about her—and about David.
She unpacked her modest trunk and put everything away—she even found that there was a dressing room attached to her bedchamber. She lay down on the bed when she was finished, more because she did not know what else to do than because she was weary.
She would cheerfully cower right here in this room for the next month given half a chance, she thought. But—sadly—it was too late to wish yet again that she had remained in Bath.
She fell asleep while she was in the middle of worrying.
When she awoke an indeterminate amount of time later, she jumped hastily off the bed and washed her hands and face. If the promised maid should arrive, she would perhaps not be able to avoid going down to dinner. She could notpossiblydo that. She was ravenously hungry, she realized, not having eaten since luncheon at a wayside inn, but being hungry and alone seemed preferable to having to dine with the duke and his family.
Good heavens, did Joshua really expect that she would bewelcomedinto their midst? As a social equal?
She slipped on her outdoor shoes and wrapped a cloak about herself in case the sea air was chilly. She could not avoid mealtimes for a whole month, of course, but perhaps by tomorrow she would feel sufficiently rested and in command of herself to suggest to the housekeeper that other arrangements be made for her accommodation and meals.
She slipped out down the back stairs and through the side door by which she had entered the house earlier. She hurried down the driveway, not sure where she was going exactly, but not really caring as long as it was far enough away to be out of sight of the house. Just past the thatched cottage, before she had to make the decision whether to leave the park entirely or turn back, she noticed a well-worn path to her right that must lead to the sea, which she had been able to see from the window of her bedchamber.
She turned and walked along it and soon found that she was indeed on top of high cliffs with the sea below and coarse grass to either side of the path and some gorse bushes and other wildflowers.
She was reminded again of Cornwall. Below the cliffs there was a wide, golden beach.
She left the path and first stood and then sat in a sheltered hollow from which she could gaze down at the sea, which was calm and almost translucent in the light of early evening though there were ripples of waves close to the shore, a few of them breaking into foam before meeting the beach. The beach itself stretched in a wide golden arc. Just to her left the land curved outward toward the sea and then fell away into huge, jagged rocks to form an abrupt end to the beach. To the right the sands stretched for a few miles before being cut off by a craggy, grass-topped tongue of land that thrust out into the sea like a humpbacked dragon with lifted head roaring defiance to the deep.
She still missed Cornwall, Anne realized. She had loved it even though there had been much pain to endure during her time there.
There was something about the sea that had always called to her spirit. Somehow it reminded her of her littleness in the grand scheme of things, and yet strangely that was a soothing rather than a belittling thought. It made her feel a part of something vast, her own little worries and concerns of no great moment after all. When she was close to the sea, she could believe that all was well—and somehow always would be.
She could have lived contentedly in Cornwall for the rest of her life if only…
Well, if only.
She would not have lived there all her life anyway. She had been going to marry Henry Arnold, and he lived in Gloucestershire, where she had grown up.
She sat where she was for a long time until she realized that the evening was now well advanced. She was suddenly glad of her cloak. The day had been warm, but dusk was approaching, and the breeze blowing off the sea was fresh and slightly moist. It smelled and tasted salty.
