Henrietta laughed and pulled down her skirts. Trem sat up, chuckling.
“Thank heaven he didn’t come into the woods,” Henrietta said. “I don’t think poor Percy would survive the shock.” And then she realized that they hadn’t eaten—or, not very much, at least. “What about our supper?”
“Come,” Trem said, scooping the remainder into the basket and then kissing her deeply. “We’ll eat in the carriage.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
After their interlude in the woods and a hasty supper eaten in the carriage, Henrietta and Trem slept through the night. In Trem’s arms, Henrietta felt safe. The tightness of the carriage made it difficult to believe that tomorrow night they would sleep in a manor that boasted thirty rooms and some of the most sought-after landmarks in Britain. She had felt so content with him at the inn and in this little box, it seemed unbelievable to her that their relationship would soon have to cast itself across a new, grander setting.
When she was finally jostled awake, the morning light was shining through the carriage window. Trem stirred under her and pulled back the blind.
“Ah,” he said. “Just in time. You’ll want to see this.”
Henrietta leaned towards the window and looked out. Her breath caught. For the magnificent structure before her could only be Tremberley Manor. She had heard much of its beauty—but she had seen many impressive country homes in her life and had thought she was prepared for what Tremberley Manor would be.
But she hadn’t been prepared. Not at all.
The home in front of her was not as large as Edington—in fact, it was not even half the size. But it was about a hundred times more inviting upon first approach. Whereas Edington was made of gray stone and appeared severe on the outside—and, if she was honest with herself, on the inside as well—Tremberley Manor had an instant warmth. From the time of Queen Elizabeth, the home was built from stone that looked nearly yellow in the light of the morning; its roofs appeared, by contrast, a warm red. The structure itself was a mélange of peaks and swells, turrets and tall chimneys, not regular but a bit whimsical—and yet still imposing. This structure rose over a green, sparkling park. Rather than a romantic, rustic style now favored by so many country houses, the grounds here still had the neatness and regularity that had been popular in their great-grandparents’ generation. It would have looked outmoded, perhaps, except the uniformity of the grounds suited the slight wildness of the house.
“It’s magnificent,” Henrietta said, turning to Trem. He had a proud smile on his face. She smirked—he knew his house was exceptional.
“Yes. No matter what, I’ve always loved the view coming home.”
The carriage was soon coming up the drive and then it stopped at the door. They hadn’t expected a reception, as they had preempted their own arrival time by only a day or two, but, nevertheless, when they alighted from the carriage, an older man, handsome but with a face that looked careworn, waited for them.
“Mr. Foxcroft,” Trem exclaimed, “you should be abed.”
“As if I could hear carriage wheels coming down this drive and not awake from a dead slumber,” Mr. Foxcroft replied. “And what poor lady is this that you have dragged with you? Not Lady Henrietta, I hope. Surely you would treat your betrothed better.”
“I’m sorry to say that it is none other than Lady Henrietta Breminster herself,” Trem said. Henrietta was amused to see his cheeks redden ever so slightly. “Henrietta, this is Mr. Foxcroft.”
“It is an honor to meet you, sir.” She gave the older man her hand. She could tell by Mr. Foxcroft’s face that he was taken back by the gesture—and she hoped she wasn’t being forward. But she saw no other way to sufficiently give notice to a man so important to Trem in all ways.
“An honor to meet you, my lady,” he said, his manner warm and his bow slight but heartfelt. “What can we do for thee? Shall I have one of the maids show you to your room? You must be tired after your journey.”
“No,” Henrietta said, yearning to see her new home and grounds. She felt like a child who knew she had a present to open. “I slept the entire way. I want to see—I want to see everything. You’ve maintained it so beautifully.”
“That is his lordship’s doing,” Mr. Foxcroft demurred.
Trem scoffed. “Lady Henrietta is too quick-witted to believe such a lie, sir. She knows that I could never maintain Tremberley Manor in this fashion alone—and I’ve already told her who she can credit for its beauty.”
Mr. Foxcroft gave another diffident bow at this praise. Henrietta was charmed. Trem’s relationship with Mr. Foxcroft seemed an odd mix of deference and gruffness from both parties. It reminded her of her relationship with Mrs. Morrison—that peculiar blend of hierarchy and frankness, past and present.
“Very well,” Mr. Foxcroft said. “I’ll show you the grounds. You can join if it pleases you, my lord, although I’m not sure you’ll be necessary.”
Trem gave a little shout of laughter and lent Henrietta his arm. “That’s perfect. God knows I have a talent for making myself wanted where I’m not needed.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Foxcroft said, raising his eyebrows and glancing at Henrietta. She laughed at these antics—clearly, Mr. Foxcroft appeared to think that she couldn’t know all about her fiancé. And, she considered, given what wildness he must have seen over the years unfolding at Tremberley Manor among the Rank Rakes, he perhaps had reason to feel protective of any young lady who was claiming to tame its master.
As they walked through the house and grounds, Mr. Foxcroft asked her questions about herself. His probing was restrained and yet, from most stewards, it would have been regarded as impertinent. While she certainly thought him entitled to his questions, she had to admire how he managed to blend the manner of a servant and a kind of parent so naturally.
When they stood in the large banquet room, where the wedding supper would take place, Mr. Foxcroft inquired after her brother.
“I have known His Grace since he was a boy,” Mr. Foxcroft said. “I hope he blesses your engagement.” With these words, he cast a suspicious look at Trem.
“He is very happy, Mr. Foxcroft,” Henrietta said, a guilty, shifting feeling in her stomach. The older man looked unconvinced.
They wended their way through the rest of the house. Mr. Foxcroft showed them the different rooms, kitted out in a modern yet practical style, masculine, yes, but also not without gentleness.
