She was eager, not only for the promised tour but to see her husband. It had, after all, been two hours since he’d left their bedchamber to meet with his father. She met Eugenie at the door of the small breakfast room, a lovely room she’d seen briefly, more feminine than not with its pale green walls and dainty Louis XVI furnishings. Eugenie was dressed in a lovely pale gray morning gown, a small book in her white hand.
Eugenie said, “I have never seen a lady wear her hair braided like that to go riding, to go anywhere, for that matter. It is quite charming.”
Cam smiled. “That’s what Cilly said. Do you think it might become a new fashion?”
Eugenie stared at her a moment, shrugged and waved the book at her. “This is a book of menus, and dishes are marked that I’ve found Mrs. Sample excels at. You will want to meet with her this morning.” She handed Cam the book, her smile never wavering.
Cam eyed her sister-in-law. She seemed quite content with the change. Still, Cam started to tell Eugenie she was certain Eugenie would do a better job than she with the menus when she suddenly heard Aunt Deveraux’s voice ringing in her ear:BEGIN AS YOU MEAN TO GO ON. IFORGOT THAT RULE WITH MY SECOND LOVER AND HE TOOK GROSS ADVANTAGE UNTIL I GOT HIM UNDER CONTROL.She realized in that moment whenever she’d demurred to Eliza to keep the peace it had only made Eliza more strident and dismissive, as if Cam had no importance at all in the household. She realized she’d always been a rug to be tread upon by her sister. She’d been a pathetic nod-cock. She didn’t want her relationship with Eugenie to be like Aunt Deveraux’s second lover. And so Cam said matter-of-factly as she took the dark brown leather book,“Yes, thank you, Eugenie.” She added on a clean lie, “It was my responsibility at home, every Monday morning. You needn’t worry I’ll ask for anything out of season.” She smiled.
Eugenie nodded, not really paying attention now, and walked gracefully into the breakfast room. She called out over her shoulder, “After breakfast, I’ll show you my accounting room and review all the procedures I’ve set up.”
Was Aunt Deveraux nodding and smiling? She’d made a good start. She had the menu book. She thought of Graham, but he would have to wait. She now had a responsibility and she wasn’t about to shirk it. After breakfast, she walked downstairs to Mrs. Mince’s small office next to the kitchen, where she met Mrs. Sample. She gave her a cup of her precious oolong tea and a warm raisin scone with Devon cream dripping over the edges. Together they reviewed the menus, adding chicken vol-au-vent and Charlotte Russe, two dishes Cam particularly liked. She would have to ask Graham his favorite dishes.
She saw Arthur, one of the very young footmen blessed with startling white-blond hair and eyelashes longer than a girl’s, waiting for her outside Mrs. Mince’s office to tell her Lord Whitestone was at the stables, waiting for her. She left Arthur, skipped down the deep stone stairs, picked up her riding skirts and ran to the stables. She arrived out of breath to see her lovely husband rubbing a brush over the neck of a magnificent chestnut whose head rested on his shoulder. Did she look as happy as the horse did? Cam would swear she felt her heart fall to her toes as she paused a moment simply to watch him. She wanted to jump him and take him to the ground, but there was a great deal of activity, three grooms leading out horses, cleaning saddles, so she had to show restraint.
Graham looked up to see her standing very still, looking at him. Her glasses sparkled in the sun. He saw wickedness in those eyes of hers and grinned. “What is this? What are you planning?”
CHAPTER 57
She said, all demure, “I can’t tell you, husband, there are too many people about to hear my rather indelicate ideas.”
His eyes nearly crossed, he took a step toward her, got hold of himself. He introduced her to Stanley. She’d petted him, of course, when Mr. Sherbrooke had sent him over to her father’s house. Graham gave her a carrot to feed him. Cam praised him, a beautiful boy, so full of spirit, perfect for his equally perfect master. Stanley, obligingly, whinnied.
Riker brought out a cream-colored mare with a thick line of brown down the middle of her nose and brown withers, a lovely creature with liquid brown eyes.
“Lord Vereker believed you would deal well together. Her name’s Glory and she will keep you on your toes.” Riker handed her several carrots. “If she gets twitchy, feed her the carrots.” He gave her a huge grin. “I was in church yesterday when you and Lord Graham stopped the big storm. God was smiling, he was.” And he nodded, stepped back.
“Oh dear,” Cam said to Graham as they cantered along the wide graveled driveway. “Do you think folk really believe we controlled the weather? Could this mean all believe we’re magic?”
Graham said, “Maybe so, at least until it rains after church next Sunday.”
The path into the eastern forest wasn’t particularly well marked, but Stanley knew his way. He shared the trail with Glory. The day was cool, the sun in and out of gray clouds and who knew when those clouds could turn black as sin?
Graham said, his voice thoughtful, “Blakeney told me Simon and I knew these woods better than anyone else, perhaps even better than my father when he was a boy. He talked about how we fought with wooden swords, shot bows and arrows from the branches of oak trees, raced each other from Uncle Tally’s cottage back to King’s Head. Blakeney said we were always laughing like loons no matter who won. He told me about the time Simon and I tried to herd the sheep into the Green Stream—I asked and no one knows who first named it that, not even my father—but when the sheep got to the edge, they’d drink but they wouldn’t step a hoof into the water. Froze they did, he said, wouldn’t move no matter how much Simon and I shoved their hindquarters.” Graham paused a moment. “My father added stories of our adventures at the Augustinian ruins, how we were convinced there was buried treasure, namely, church relics and naturally stacks of gold coins. As you know, the abbey was closed by Henry VIII in 1537 and the monks had to flee.” He paused, looked through Stanley’s ears. “I know my father and Blakeney are telling me stories to spur my memory.”
“It’s an excellent idea. I only wish I knew stories to tell you as well. They both love you, they want you to remember how much they’ve always loved you.”
Her words snapped him back from feeling sorry for himself. His first fourteen years were gone, but forever? He prayed not. Since he’d come home, he’d had the occasional glimpse of something or someone blurred behind a sort of white veil or curtain, nothing solid, only a tease. He was afraid to hope but maybe, just maybe, it could be abeginning. He smiled at his wife and knew to his boots if he had to choose between a childhood forever lost to him or a lifetime with her, there would be no contest.
They came out into Tally’s meadow, nearly a perfect circle, oak and Dutch elm trees surrounding it. Grass was turning a lovely spring green and was perfectly scythed. A wide stone walkway cut through the middle of the big circle and led from three tethering posts to the front door of the cottage. A stream of gray smoke spiraled out of the single stone chimney scenting the air with sweet maple.
Cam couldn’t help but stare. “Goodness, I really hadn’t expected this. It’s lovely.” She pointed. “Oh my, Graham, look at the garden. Tally’s built a white fence around it. To keep out the varmints, I suppose.”
Graham dismounted, petted Stanley’s nose and looped his reins over one of the tethering posts. He lifted Cam down off Glory’s back before she could jump down. Glory tossed her head, tried to pull free, her tail swishing. “Twitchy, are you? Let’s see if Riker’s right.” Cam gave her a carrot. She chuffed, quieted and if Cam wasn’t mistaken, she moved a bit closer to Stanley, unfortunately for her a gelding.
“The miracle of food,” Cam said, stroked her gloved hand down her glossy neck. “Look, the door is bright red. Your uncle has a touch of whimsy.” She turned in a slow circle. “I don’t know what I expected, but this? Everything looks perfect.”
Uncle Tally met them at the red front door, showed them into a small, quite charming parlor, and if Cam wasn’t mistaken, there was a Carrera marble fireplace with a lovely stone mantel. Burning embers sent up the occasional spark, keeping the room cozy. There were paintings on the cream-painted walls, most of ocean scenes with tall ships in full sail. Tally waved them to a lovely dark blue velvet sofa. After serving them tea and some scones sent that morning from Mrs. Sample and brought to him by Blakeney, he said, “There areraisins in the scones. I’ll admit I was leery at first but I’ve discovered they’re quite good.”
Graham laughed. “I hear her ladyship had only a single slice of toast. Mrs. Sample was disappointed since she’d made them for her as a welcoming surprise.”
Her ladyship. And didn’t that have a fine sound to it?
Tally said, “I knew staff would like you, Cam. You’re cleaning out the shadows, and will add much-needed laughter and, well, lightness, to the house. My poor brother has lived in these shadows for far too long.”
Cam knew it was Graham’s presence, not hers, that had lightened King’s Head.
After laughing at Riker’s comments on Cam and Graham being responsible for diverting the after-church storm, Tally, like Blakeney and Lord Vereker, began telling them stories about Graham’s youth. Cam would wager they’d all gotten together and decided this was the way to spur Graham’s memory.
