Nicholas pointed to the hill a short distance from the house and the temple folly perched on top, from which there was a panoramic view over the park and river and the village and countryside beyond. He slid open one of the doors and filled his lungs with freshair. Devlin and Steph and the nurse had taken the children out there. Some of them roared around, intent upon a game difficult to identify, while others climbed the grassy slope on the south side of the hill—there were trees down the north side—and swung around the pillars of the temple. Two of them were running back down, shrieking as they tried to keep their feet beneath them. A few of the smaller children tried rolling down, screeching with fright. But Dev and Steph caught them before they came to grief, and the nurse gathered them about her to pet them and brush grass from their clothes and examine various bumps and bruises. There was no sign of blood, as far as Nicholas could see. The twins clung to the nurse’s skirts, one on each side of her, until they gathered the courage to run up the hill again, hand in hand.
Andrew gazed out at all the activity and at the rolling parkland beyond it and the lake in the distance. He waved a hand when Robbie waved to him and then beckoned him. He looked inquiringly at Nicholas.
“Go,” Nicholas said, indicating with a shooing gesture of his hands that Andrew had his permission to join his family if he wished.
The boy dashed outside and across the grass to his brother. He caught up Robbie’s dog in a tight hug, and Nelson panted and licked his face.
“I share Nelson with Andrew,” Robbie said when Nicholas strolled out after him. He looked wary and hostile, as though he thought Nicholas was planning to haul his brother back inside. “I look after him. He does not need you.”
“I am happy to hear that,” Nicholas said, ignoring the boy’s rudeness. He squeezed young Andrew’s shoulder and indicated, when the boy looked up, that he intended to go back into theballroom. “Do you prefer to stay here?” He accompanied the words with raised eyebrows and a pointed finger that indicated the ground upon which they stood.
“He wants to stay,” Robbie said. “With me. And Nelson. You can go.”
Nicholas could see that he was still a difficult boy, always on the defensive, always expecting the worst of strangers. What had happened in his long-ago past to give him that general attitude of hostility? Or perhaps nothing had happened. Perhaps the boy had been born that way, just as some people—Sarah, for example—had been born with a sunny nature.
“I’ll do that,” Nicholas said, smiling at Stephanie and raising a hand to Devlin, who had Awen perched on his shoulder and Siân beside him, talking.
The tour continued with the family portrait gallery on the floor above the ballroom. It often served during the winter or inclement weather as a playground for the children, Owen explained, and as a place for adults to stroll.
He moved slowly along the room, describing each portrait, when it had been painted, whom it depicted, any special story attached to it. He was doing it for Winifred’s sake, Nicholas saw. He had her attention riveted, and she examined each portrait closely and asked intelligent questions. She exclaimed with delight over some family resemblances she detected in long-ago ancestors.
Meanwhile, Sarah was becoming restless. Nicholas took her to look out the window at the southern end of the gallery. It was one way of amusing her and giving his brother a little more privacy. Sarah gazed out at the view.
“We have a lovely view from our home,” she said. “How fortunate we are to live in the hills with all of Bath spread below us.”
“There is a glass viewing room right above here,” he told her. “It has prospects in all directions.”
“Oh,” she said. “The onion room?”
He chuckled. “Some people call it a glass tear,” he said. “Though it is not the sort of room much associated with sadness. We used to go up there particularly often during wet or cold weather. It is always warm there. And cozy. Children love it most for the dozens of cushions they can use for napping or pillow fights. Do you want to go there?”
“I am not a child,” she said, on her dignity.
“I spoke of children of all ages,” he said. “No, you are not. You are very nearly grown up.” She was at that betwixt and between age, when a growing child was never taken seriously as the adult she felt herself to be. He could remember the frustration.
She sighed. “I do envy Winnie,” she said. “She is twenty-one. An undisputed grown-up. She even has a beau.” She flushed suddenly and bit her bottom lip, perhaps realizing to whom she spoke. “At least, I think Mr. Owen Ware may be her beau. Though she has never said that. She believes she is far too plain to attract any suitor.”
“You would like to see the onion room?” he asked.
“Oh yes, please,” she said eagerly, and he called to Owen to let him know where they would be.
Chapter Eight
Fifteen minutes passed before Owen came up to tell them it was time for coffee, which was going to be served in the courtyard. Winifred exclaimed with pleasure when they reached there and she saw the fountain surrounded by a rose arbor in the center, the covered stone cloisters all the way around the perimeter, and the immaculately manicured lawn that filled the empty spaces.
“Ah. Thesmell,” she said, inhaling deeply of the scent of the roses as Owen indicated a wrought iron seat among them. “Is it not glorious, Sarah?”
It was a fragrance soon rivaled by that of the coffee a servant carried out on a tray with buttered scones after they had seated themselves. They busied themselves spreading strawberry jam on the scones and heaping generous spoonfuls of clotted cream on top.
The sisters entertained them as they ate with a description of some of the activities that went on in their home in the hills above Bath. Sarah liked the musical events best—orchestra and choir workshops and performances as well as individual instruction forsingers and instrumentalists. Winifred preferred the literary events—writing workshops and poetry readings and drama presentations. She also loved the art classes but insisted she could not participate because the amount of talent she had would not fill even a thimble. They both looked forward to the school performances there by the children from the orphanage where they had both spent some time before being adopted, though Sarah had no conscious memory of it. They enjoyed organizing picnics and parties for the children.
“Who would like to see the stable block in the north wing?” Owen asked when they had finished their coffee.
“I would,” Sarah said, jumping to her feet. “I love horses, though there has been very little chance to ride at home. Papa keeps only carriage horses there.”
“Then we must correct that omission while you are here,” Owen said. “You can ride safely at Ravenswood without ever leaving the park.”
Nicholas got to his feet.
