Of course, that was not the only reason.
It was apparent that Mr. Oswyn and Miss O’Brian were smitten with each other, which changed how Madeline felt about her prospects with Mr. Oswyn. She now considered him off limits. She had witnessed the breakup of relationships when a third party thrust themselves into the mix. It was cruel and selfish. She would never be that person. Mr. Oswyn and Miss O’Brian were not engaged or married, but if Madeline’s instincts were correct, their hearts were committed to each other, and that was the same thing for Madeline.
The impact of what she had done struck home. Mr. Oswyn’s mother would never approve of a match between her son and a commoner. Aside from the reality that Miss O’Brian was a governess, and thus beneath their station, she was penniless. The duchess would never approve their marriage. Madeline had made things worse.
“What have I done?”
“Miss Mercer,” Mr. Oswyn said. “You look unwell. Are you all, right?”
“I am well,” she lied. “A little tired.”
“We could postpone…”
Madeline shook her head. “The fresh air will do me good. Look, Miss O’Brian has arrived with the children.”
Mr. Oswyn brightened when Miss O’Brian emerged from the hallway that led to the servant’s quarters. “My, Miss O’Brian, I very much like your bonnet.”
Miss O’Brian ducked her head to hide a smile, but not fast enough to hide a blush as Sophia and Lydia dashed past the adults and outside.
“Shall we go then?” Mr. Oswyn said, holding out his left arm to Madeline and his right to Miss O’Brian. “What a lucky man I am. I am escorting not one but two lovely ladies. We shall oversee the building of the snow family, then tour the grounds. Out there is the best place to view the castle. Tread carefully, however. The rains created deep holes and the snow may have camouflaged the danger.”
Mr. Oswyn had not exaggerated regarding the condition of the gardens. But it was not the mud but the neglect that stood out. Weeds choked out the cultivated plants. Rose bushes and berry vines spread over hedges and across pathways. Madeline estimated years had passed since they had been tended.
“Over here,” Mr. Oswyn announced with spread arms. “The perfect location for our snow village.”
His location universally applauded as perfect, Madeline led the way, with the children and the governess in her wake. Madeline helped Sophia gather snow and form a ball on the ground as Miss O’Brian and Mr. Oswyn helped Lydia do the same. The base for two snow people completed, they bent to the task of creating more.
“When my grandmother was alive,” Mr. Oswyn said, placing the middle section on one of the snow bases, “these rose bushes were her pride and joy. Robby and I would come out here before lessons and help her tend the garden.” Mr. Oswyn pointed in the direction of the coast, where a section of towers lay in ruins, then began work on another snowman section as he explained, “Conclarton Castle began as a square keep, a military outpost protecting England from attack from Spain and France. Each generation made improvements, such as towers added, and spacious living quarters, with larger, more decorative fireplaces that had chimneys to draw the smoke out. Robert drew plans on how to repair and expand one of the wings, but Father said it was a waste of time and money. In the end, it was not attack from neighboring countries that caused the most destruction to our castle, and others across England, it was our own civil war, between the Cavaliers and the Roundheads.”
“You know your family’s history,” Madeline said, packing snow to form another base. “Now I am the one who is impressed.”
“Mr. Oswyn excels in many subjects,” Miss O’Brian said as she kept an eye on the children. “Sophia, drop that snowball. You will not throw it at your sister. We are building snow people, not planning a snowball fight.”
Sophia stuck out her tongue but complied, bending to work on a small snow person she and her sister were building.
Miss O’Brian regained her composure and continued as she rolled a snow base next to the one Mr. Oswyn was building. “Mr. Oswyn often visits the nursery and tells stories of this castle or the history of England.”
“It is a passion of mine,” Mr. Oswyn said, stepping back to examine the snowman he had created. “This snowman needs more to make him stand out,” Mr. Oswyn said, rubbing his chin as though in deep thought.
“You mentioned the Duke drawing plans on how he envisioned expanding and repairing the castle,” Madeline said, lifting a snowball-shaped head on top of one of the bases Sophia and Lydia had built. “Are any of his drawings in the castle?”
Mr. Throne shrugged. “Yes, and no. At first, he drew landscapes, but he said that was boring. He claimed they were not as good as the work of well-known artists. I disagreed, of course. I did and still do look up to him in all things. We were but two years apart, he and I. Our elder brother, Donald, was four years Robert’s senior. When we were all children, we played together, fighting imaginary dragons and rescuing fair maidens.” The reminiscences brought a faraway look of pleasure to his eyes. “As we grew older, father insisted that Donald concentrate on more serious ventures. He was, after all, destined to become the Duke of Conclarton.” Mr. Oswyn grew silent once again and tossed the snowball he had created a short distance away.
Miss O’Brian, sensitive to Mr. Oswyn’s moods, glanced toward him. She reached to touch his arm, but pulled back, aware of the inappropriateness of the gesture. “Will…Mr. Oswyn.”
Madeline looked from Mr. Oswyn to Miss O’Brian and then back again. She had rarely seen two people more hopelessly besotted. It felt like a scene out of Shakespeare’sRomeo and Juliet. No wonder she detested that play. She liked stories to end happily.
“I am well, Miss O’Brian. Momentary lapse is all. Where was I? Oh, yes, Robert. What interested him most was this castle. His drawings involved the improvements he wanted to make, but as usual Father said there was not the money to spend on such foolishness. His argument bordered on the superstitious, remarking that the castle had stood for generations and change might cause its destruction.”
“Robert’s drawings are like those of an architect I met once,” Madeline said. “How wonderful.”
“Very much so. In fact, he studied architecture at university. He had grand plans for Conclarton Castle and believed he could convince our father of the need for change. He wanted to reinstate it as a working estate, improve farming and cattle-raising methods. Along with architecture he also studied farming. In fact, his excitement was contagious, and I majored in classes on animal husbandry. We wanted to bring back the jobs to this area.”
“What happened?”
He shrugged. “Father set us all down and gave us a grand lecture. He said it was time to marry and breed heirs. That the castle and lands had supported the Conclarton family for centuries without change or improvements. It was unseemly for men of our titles and heritage to subject ourselves to labor of any sort. We were gentlemen.”
“Oh, dear.”
