The world seemed, to Cecilia, to be mirroring her emotions. She walked a quiet country lane beneath a blue sky, beneath the watchful yellow eye of the sun. Shade came from time to time from white clouds that seemed too high and light to threaten rain. Swifts darted from the hedgerows to dance and skip through the breeze. A trill filled the air from a high tree top, a robin she thought. All in all, everything was perfect—all that was missing was her husband being by her side, as he had promised.
Instead, Peggy walked alongside her mistress, her arm threaded through the handle of a wicker basket. Cecilia also carried one, spreading the weight of their picnic evenly between the two of them. Peggy knew the roads and paths around Thornhill, to the village which bore the same name and as far as the town of Chertsey, on the Thames. So, she led their peregrination.
“Such a glorious day. Nature demands us to be out of doors on a day like this,” Cecilia began, raising her face to the sunshine and squinting. The last time she’d had a tour about these lands,it had been with Lionel, on horseback. She felt a pinch in her stomach, but snuffed out the thoughts of her husband for now.
Peggy copied her mistress’ gesture, reveling in the warmth too. “My mother says it is the Lord calling us to breathe in his good, fresh air on such summer days,” she noted. “I rarely seemed to get the chance with my duties. Even working for as lenient a master as His Grace, the Duke.”
“Fear not, Peggy. You will have plenty of such opportunities with me as your mistress. I intend to enjoy the country and the weather while it lasts. Winter will come soon enough. Every day is precious.”
“That is what my mother says too,” Peggy beamed.
“Mrs. Hardcastle is indeed a wise woman. This looks like a likely spot coming up ahead.”
A bend in the road revealed a hollow in the land. The road curved down a gentle slope. In the distance, she could see a village with a greater town visible on the horizon as a large, dark smudge, interspersed with spires of chimney smoke. A thick wood covered the slope to their right. To the left was a meadow in which a herd of sheep contentedly munched at their pasture. At the lowest point of the hollow was a silver ribbon of water, crossed by a thin, wooden bridge over which the road ran.
“That would be the Chert Brook,” Peggy pointed, “it runs through Chertsey and joins the Thames there. This is the old northern border of the Thornhill lands. Do you see the marker?”
Cecilia shaded her eyes against the sun and looked where Peggy was pointing. In a loop of the brook, there was a monument of some kind, standing proud of the landscape. It was dark with distance, too far to make out the details.
“That is a standing stone known as the Tall Knight. My grandfather told me stories of how a brave knight of Arthur’s court accepted the duty to watch over the land.”
“How romantic!” Cecilia clapped with a wide smile. “That is the perfect spot then. Can’t be more than a fifteen-minute walk from here. What lies beyond it? I can see a hill and… I think there is a building upon it.” She used a hand to shade away the sun.
Peggy frowned and suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps we should turn back and find somewhere else,” she mumbled abruptly.
Cecilia frowned too, wondering at the sudden apprehension in Peggy’s voice.
“Whatever for?” she asked.
“I had lost track of where precisely we were,” Peggy confessed. “That house you see atop the hill is Thorpe Manor. Home to Lord Thorpe.”
Now, Cecilia understood. Thorpe was the man who had killed her brother. He was, himself, half-brother to Lionel, though she would not say as much in front of Peggy. Her first instinctwas to turn and walk quickly away, out of sight of the distant house. Then she stopped herself. These lands all came under the Dukedom of Thornhill. Perhaps no longer directly owned by Lionel but historically under the protection of the Thornhill Dukes.
“I am Duchess of Thornhill. I will not run from the mere sight of Lord Thorpe’s house,” she said with determination.
“But he is the Duke’s arch-enemy!” Peggy remarked with alarm. “He has not set foot in Thornhill since that day when your brother was killed.” She lowered her voice and leaned in closer. “There is even a rumor going about in the village that it was Lord Thorpe who pulled the trigger.”
“He did,” Cecilia declared with conviction, “though Lionel could never prove it before a magistrate, and so, Lord Thorpe walks free. Be that as it may, I will not turn tail and run. We have every right to be here. More than some, for these lands are part of the Thornhill legacy. We will take our picnic and eat in the shade of the Tall Knight. Thorpe Manor is a long way off, besides.”
With that, she began to stride resolutely down the road towards the standing stone in the loop of the brook. After a moment, she heard Peggy hurrying to catch up. Keeping her chin high and her stride deliberate, Cecilia fought down the apprehension she truly felt.
Thorpe was a villain. Arthur had disliked him, as had Lionel, even before the crime he had committed. At that moment, she wanted Lionel by her side. But, he was occupiedyet againwith papers and the discoveries of Menzies Lennox—with his revenge.
It was no matter though. Cecilia had her own planning to complete, a series of luncheons that Lionel had urged her to set up, inviting various gentlemen and gentlewomen of the county set. She herself cared little for social standing but knew that as Duchess, she bore a responsibility for something greater than herself. An obligation to a name, a tradition. The name of Thornhill had existed long before she was born and would go on through her children.
That thought sent a thrill of delight through her. The very idea that she would bear Lionel’s children. Not just child, butchildren. Quite apart from the wonderful activity that would precede each conception, the idea of carrying his children made her weak at the knees. Those children would bear the name and the legacy. It fell to her as their mother to ensure there was a name to inherit. And so, she had thrown herself with gusto into the activity of writing to those she wished to invite, from a list of prominent local personages provided by the ever-resourceful Blackwood.
But on this wonderful day, she simply couldn’t bear to be confined in the house any longer.
“Enough time has been spent at bureaus, writing letters and invitations. I will enjoy our outdoor luncheon,” she said, voicing her thoughts.
“If you say so, Your Grace,” Peggy replied, forgetting her promise of using Cecilia’s name when they were alone.
That told Cecilia how uncertain Peggy was, her worry forcing her to revert to the training that had been drummed into her since she was a little girl. They reached the Tall Knight, the distant shape of Thorpe Manor now clearer where it sat atop its hill.Still a two-hour walk away, Cecilia told herself. And an hour even by horse. Far enough away to be safe.
They opened their baskets and took out the woolen blankets that had been folded on top. Spreading these at the foot of the Tall Knight, they began to lay out parcels of food, string-tied in packets of oiled paper. Cheese, ham, and chicken were unwrapped along with a fresh loaf still warm inside. A ceramic jug contained the juice pressed from apples. Another bore milk. Lastly came plates, cutlery, and cups.
Cecilia distracted Peggy with observations of the birdlife they could see darting among the reeds that grew on the banks of the brook. When she saw a kingfisher, resplendent in its blue and orange, Cecilia pointed excitedly. Peggy watched it with delight, hardly daring to move lest she disturb the fantastic creature.
