“Not at all.” Edythe looked out the breakfast room door. “I thought I’d spend the rest of the day in the library.”
Mrs. MacTavish let out a breath. “Why am I not surprised? Elspeth has cleared away the dust covers and readied the room for you. The bell system is intact. Two pulls if you need me.” Edythe left as Mrs. MacTavish removed the dishes from the table.
Edythe’s footsteps silently padded across the thick library carpet. She took a deep breath and reveled at the comforting scent of leather and paper. The dust covers were removed, revealing the rich mahogany furniture and towering bookshelves with their heavy leather-bound books. The sweet honey-like fragrance mixed with an earthy aroma indicated Elspeth had polished the wood. A grand fireplace stood at one end. The mantel displayed several fine pieces, some with the intricate Cavendish crest. A large bay window with a cushioned seat on the adjacent wall offered a view of the gardens, inviting one to sit and read in the natural light.
She read the spines in the far bookcase and found a treasure trove of the Cavendish legacy, each book a piece of history waiting to be read. Her fingers danced over the titles until they paused on a leather-bound volume, its gold lettering announcing, “The Cavendish Family: A History 1510.”
With the book in hand, Edythe settled into the window seat. The light cast a golden hue over the pages, the silence around her punctuated with the soft turning of parchment pages.
The Cavendish story started with Sir Thomas in the early 16thcentury when the estate and its land were bestowed upon him as a reward for his circumnavigation of the globe.
She turned the page, and a folded piece of parchment slipped out, landing softly on her lap. Curious, she unfolded the letter and scanned the script.
“To my Beloved Descendants,”She glanced at the bottom and found Sir Thomas’ seal and signature. “I write to you across time with a heart full of hope for unity. Though my blood is of England’s soil, my spirit has always sought harmony with our neighbors to the north. The Scots, with their fierce pride and noble hearts, are not our enemies but our brethren under God’s wide sky. Let it be known the Cavendish name stands not for conquest but for concord of two great nations. May this truth guide our house through all its days.”
Edythe’s heart swelled with pride for the ancestor, her ancestor, who had dared to dream of peace. She touched Sir Thomas’ signature as if that act would bring her closer to the man. She carefully refolded the letter and returned it to the book for safekeeping.
She moved on in her family’s story and learned about a needle art, a tapestry with threads of silver and gold, bearing the Cavendish crest alongside Scotland’s rampant lion, a symbol of the family’s once-strong ties to the Scottish crown.
“Miss Cavendish.” Edythe looked up and saw Elspeth at the library door. “Mrs. MacTavish would like to know if you would prefer to have dinner here.”
“Yes, please. And thank Mrs. MacTavish for her thoughtfulness.” Elspeth bobbed a quick curtsey and was gone.
By the time she finished her dinner, Edythe had reached the end of the 1600’s. She closed the book and felt a deep connection and pride in the lineage she represented. Setting aside her plate, she stood and stretched, her eyes wandering to the bookshelves.
It was then her gaze fell upon a newer volume, “The Cavendish Family: A History 1750.” This one promised insights into the family’s more recent history, possibly even Alistair’s story. Yet, as she reached for it, a strange reluctance seized her.She withdrew her hand, her interest waning as swiftly as it had arisen. Edythe turned to return to her chair, only to be drawn back by an inexplicable pull. As she grasped the book firmly and pulled it from the shelf, a surge of emotions swept through her, a tempest of anger and vengeance that sent her hair and skirts flying. Yet, the room remained still, untouched by any wind.
Edythe clutched the book to her chest, a shield against the brewing storm. Holding the book close, she felt its history pulse against her as if it breathed life into the silent library. “What secrets do you hold?” she whispered to the journal. There was no reply, not that she expected one, only the faintest whisper of anger that was not her own.
The history of her family that she had read filled her mind as she glanced at the heavy cover of the Cavendish family volume. The library, with its shelves of books and whispering shadows, had been her companion through dinner, a silent witness to her growing fascination as she introduced herself to her family. Her thoughts lingered on Sir Thomas, the knighted ancestor whose valor had shaped the Cavendish destiny. Yet, it was Alistair, the mysterious figure whose story she hadn’t yet read, that tugged at the edges of her curiosity. The key to Cavendish Hall’s future lay in understanding its past, and Alistair’s story was the beginning.
Had it been only two days since she left London and stepped into her new life? She let out a deep sigh. It seemed much longer, and while she wanted to learn more, at the moment, all she wanted to do was sleep. Lord Alistair would have to wait. With a candle flickering in her hand, casting dancing shadows upon the walls, Edythe left the library and climbed the stairs to her room.
In her bedroom, Edythe set the candle on the bedside table and sank into the soft bed, a welcome change from the thin rag mattress she slept on at Prudence’s house. Here, the fabric of the sheets whispered against her skin, a comforting caress encouraging her to sleep. The fragrance of lavender soothed her.As her eyes closed, the images of Sir Thomas and Lord Alistair paraded behind her lids, two specters from different eras vying for her attention.
With one last weary thought, her charming train companion, Edythe surrendered to sleep.
Chapter Three
September 15, 1850
Cavendish Hall, Sommer-by-the-Sea
Edythe sat atthe table in the Garden Room as Mrs. MacTavish set luncheon in front of her. The room, bathed in the noon light, provided a cozy setting for the informal meal. A modest spread of cold meats, cheeses, and freshly baked bread was complemented by the delicate aroma of tea.
“The repairs and preparations for winter are underway,” Mrs. MacTavish said. “And Mrs. Abigail Thorne will bring her paint and wallpaper samples tomorrow.” The housekeeper noticed the second volume of the Cavendish family history on the table. “You’re delving into the more recent past, I see.”
“Yes. It was overwhelming when I realized I was to be the mistress of this hall, but now to learn about the great people I come from, it’s a gift I never imagined.”
“Excuse me, Miss Cavendish.” Mr. Hawthorne stood respectfully at her side. “You have a caller, Lord Ellington.”
“Lord Ellington?” Edythe held her fork mid-air and glanced at the butler, a mixture of surprise and curiosity crossed her features. “James Ellington?”
“Yes, miss,” Mr. Hawthorne affirmed. “His lordship is the Marquess of Ellington, the eldest son of the Duke of Northumberland.”
Edythe’s eyes widened, the man she had so casually shared her train compartment with and who offered his assistance was not just any gentleman but a titled one.
“Would you like Mr. Hawthorne to send him away, or,” Mrs. MacTavish paused, offering Edythe a knowing smile. “Would you like to invite the marquess to join you at the table?”
