Their plump, cheerful cook put a hand to her light-brown hair, rose, and smoothed her apron. “Certainly, milady.”
Laura climbed the stairs wearily. Above her, on the landing, a whiskery face gazed down at her. “There you are, Tibby.” She scooped the soft body up in her arms and took the cat to her bedchamber. Shutting the door, she sat in a chair with Tibby purring on her lap. A small coal fire burned in the grate. The nights were still cool here, and it helped remove some of the chill and damp of the old house, but it failed to warm the icy knot deep inside. Although she’d promised Debnam she would consider marrying, right now, it seemed impossible. There would never be another to equal Debnam in her eyes. She questioned her feelings, at first wondering if sympathy drew her to him. Robert considered her soft heart a flaw in her character. But as she’d gotten to know Debnam and had been drawn to him, Laura knew it to be much more than that. She loved him.
Trying not to think of him, she drew her mind to more practical matters. Her bedchamber had not been dusted in her absence, nor the stairs or the carpet runners in the corridors. There was much to be done before she could consider leaving for London.
As the weeks passed, Wagstaff settled into the household remarkably quickly and soon became a favorite of the staff. Under his supervision, the cobwebs disappeared from the great hall, the stair banister polished, and the hall rugs were taken up and beaten. The rooms smelled of lavender and beeswax. Wagstaff restored the silver in the old butler’s pantry, and with some secret ingredient he’d fetched from the kitchen, disclosed to him by the old viscount’s valet, he’d buffed Robert’s boots to a mirror shine. No job seemed too menial for Wagstaff. He mended a strap on Laura’s dancing slipper, saving her the cost of a new pair, and made himself useful in the kitchen without getting in Cook’s way. In the evenings, he and Mrs. Amery sat together after dinner with the four cats at their feet. While she knitted, and the staff noisily played snap or gossiped in the staff hall, Wagstaff told Cook about his life at Camelia Grove.
Laura, having come down to fetch her slipper, paused outside the door to listen as Wagstaff vividly described life, not only in Camelia Grove, but Debnam’s family on the neighboring estate, making them come alive for her.
Even Robert seemed satisfied with Wagstaff, who worked diligently in the library, cataloging the books, directing the maid, dusting the shelves, and restoring order.
More at peace with himself, Robert made no trips to the gaming hells in London, nor did he drink to excess. Perhaps, as a semblance of order returned to the house, his fear of failure eased, and his confidence grew. He engaged an estate manager, and after lengthy discussions, they rode over the estate together. Heartened, Laura allowed herself to hope they might have turned a corner, and her brother could be all she’d once expected of him.
Aunt Gertrude surprised them with an invitation for Laura to stay in her London townhouse. She’d even agreed to chaperone Laura at balls and other engagements. While it pleased her that Robert would not come to London and be exposed to the temptation of the fleshpots and gaming hells, her aunt wasn’t an easy person. Her sharp eyes missed nothing, and she didn’t hesitate to express her opinions. That would not go well with theton, who considered politeness and manners to be important, and as her own return to London could raise questions, it made Laura uneasy.
The day before she departed for London, Laura busied herself packing her trunk in her bedchamber. She would spend the last six weeks of the Season there. Although disliking the very thought of it, she accepted she must do as Debnam had suggested and think of her future, as it did not lie in this house. Robert seemed to have gained some sense since his rash actions at Beechley Park and worked at improving his estate. But she felt sure he would eventually tire of the solitude of country life and may soon consider marrying. She hoped he would choose wisely. The right wife could be a beneficial influence in his life.
When Laura went down to the library to return a book, she found Robert seated at his desk, having just come back from a trip to the village.
He looked up, a speculative gleam in his eyes. “Ah, there you are, Laura. I’ve heard some interesting news.”
“Oh?” Laura waited for him to embellish on it. “Are you going to tell me?”
“Edward’s wife died in childbirth.”
With a gasp, Laura put her hands to her cheeks, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, no! Poor Edward. Did the baby live?”
Robert shook his head. “Apparently not. It was over six months ago. I don’t know why the news didn’t reach us before this.”
“They lived in York.”
“Yes. But Edward’s widowed mother still lives on the adjoining estate. Apparently, she told the postmaster she expects a visit from him soon.” He glanced at her. “It would be polite to invite him to call. You will receive him, won’t you?”
Laura wondered if Edward would call on them. “I doubt he will want to.” But for welcoming an opportunity to offer her condolences, she didn’t wish to see him again and was glad to be going to London. It wasn’t because she hated him for how he had treated her. She had long since come to terms with that. He simply represented a sad time in her life she did not wish to be reminded of.
*
A week afterLaura and her brother had left Beechley Park, Brendan rode over to visit a tenant farmer. With the help of the neighbors, Ben Shipton constructed a new barn.
When Brendan arrived, the men were hard at work, pausing briefly to hail him while their wives laid out a lavish luncheon on a long, wooden table. Their merry talk washed over him as he stripped off his coat and rolled up his sleeves to join the men. Hammers and saws filled the air with noise and the smell of cut wood as the construction of the barn framework took shape.
Brendan sawed a wooden beam as a fine baritone burst into a rendition of the haunting ballad “Early One Morning.” While he hammered in the nails, he and the others joined in. It felt good to open up his lungs and sing. He had missed singing in the church choir as a boy, and even though his friends sometimes broke into song when swigging ale in some tavern, Brendan never sang along. It was good to be among folk who, while they treated him with the respect his title afforded him, accepted him as one of them.
By mid-afternoon, they’d completed the frame. The workers put down their tools, surveyed their handiwork, and sat to eat.
“Yer father was a good man,” Shipton said, chewing on a slice of ham. “He’d be mighty pleased to see his son helpin’ folk like he did.” Consternation entered the heavy-set man’s eyes. “If you don’t mind me saying so, milord.”
“I’m pleased you told me, Shipton.” Brendan smiled, glad that although it had obviously occurred to him after he’d spoken, the farmer hadn’t referred to his parents’ deaths. It was understandable that Shipton and many others who’d liked his father found it hard to believe him capable of such a horrendous act. They had told him so when he’d first returned here to live.
Brendan remembered going with his father to visit tenants and the villagers in need, while his mother had taken nourishing food to the sick and the poor. His mother had told him they were good people, whatever had gone wrong in their lives, and deserved help. Why had he forgotten that? He would try to emulate them to honor her. Laura, who was such a caring soul, would have been the same as his mother had they… He shook his head and rose with the others to pick up their tools. There was still much to do before night fell.
At dusk, Brendan rode home welcoming the weariness and the ache of unused muscles after a satisfying day’s work. He was keen to have a bath. As he neared the woodland path which cut a few miles off his journey, Gaylord rode out of the shadows and drew in beside him.
“I told you to stay off my land.” Brendan’s fingers tightened on the reins, fury lowering his voice.
“I heard Miss Peyton and her brother have departed. I suppose wedding plans are not on the agenda?”
He ignored Gaylord’s snide reference to marriage. “Who told you they had gone?”
