When they reached the end of the line, he took her arm and they walked up the stone steps that led to the forbidding entrance. As a child, these steps had always seemed mountainously high, but, in reality, the entrance was no higher than those at the country homes of many of his friends.
They walked through the entrance and a chill trickled down his spine. His father’s portrait loomed over the entranceway in pride of place, where it could not be missed, staring down at everyone beneath with a look of contempt.
‘Is that the late Duke?’ Margaret asked, placing her hand lightly on his arm.
‘It is indeed. That’s the old devil, in all his glory.’
Not wanting to linger, he led her through the entranceway towards the stairs, his father’s glowering eyes following, just as they had when he was a child.
‘I dare say you’d like to have a bath and change out of your travelling clothes,’ he said once they were out of sight of his father. ‘I’ll leave you in the hands of Mrs Larkins.’ He signalled to the housekeeper and looked towards the doors, the need to get out of this house pressing down on him like a heavy weight on his shoulders.
‘Yes, and then perhaps you could show me around your estate. It would be good to stretch our legs after that long journey.’
‘I’d be happy to escort you aroundyourestate,’ he said, making it clear that this was now her home, even if it would never feel like his.
‘And I suppose I should also bathe and change my clothes,’ he added, acknowledging that after the long journey he needed to make himself respectable, even though what he really wanted to do was escape this house before it swallowed him whole.
Something was wrong. From the moment they’d left the station, Jacob’s countenance had shifted, and that shift had increased when the carriage had turned into the grounds of his estate. He still wore that charming smile, but somehow it didn’t quite fit, as if he was forcing himself to remain light-hearted for Margaret’s benefit.
And she couldn’t fail to see his reaction when he’d looked up at his father’s portrait. A visible shudder had run through him and his features had momentarily hardened, so she barely recognised him.
It was also apparent that he was anxious to get out of this house. So, instead of luxuriating in the warm bath, she quickly washed off the effects of the long train journey, wrapped herself in a thick white towel and went through to her bedchamber, where Molly had unpacked her clothing.
Her lady’s maid helped her into a dark grey skirt and white blouse suitable for a walk in the countryside, then she sat on the bed as Molly tied up the laces of her walking boots.
‘Do you think you should take your cloak?’ Molly said, eyeing the discarded travel cloak, draped over a chair and bearing coal smuts from the train trip. ‘I hear it rains all the time this far north.’
Margaret smiled at her lady’s maid, who had never travelled this far away from London. ‘I’m sure it will be all right. And don’t worry, Molly, we’ll be back in London soon.’ How long that really would be, Margaret had no idea, her father not giving details on the exact time needed for her and Jacob toget to know each other.
‘That’s all right, miss… I mean, Your Grace. I think I’ll like it here well enough. I’ve already met His Grace’s valet. Mr Bates is a nice man and he says the servants up here are a friendly lot.’
Margaret was pleased that at least someone was happy with this arrangement. But, as Jacob had said, they had to make the best of things, so, with that in mind, she headed downstairs to join him.
She passed through the entranceway and was once again struck by how beautiful and well-designed it was. The sun’s golden light was streaming in through the expansive windows and the glass dome topping the ceiling two storeys above and reflecting off the black-and-white marble floor and crisp white walls, making it an open, light and welcoming space.
The scent of beeswax hung in the air, suggesting it had recently been thoroughly cleaned and someone had thoughtfully placed a bunch of daffodils in a blue-and- white vase atop a marble pedestal.
She looked up at the portrait of the late Duke. He really did look rather formidable and ruined what was otherwise a delightful space. Given his reaction when they’d first arrived, it was unlikely that Jacob would wish to meet her under his father’s grim stare, so she walked out to the steps in front of the house and down to the forecourt, then turned back to admire the house.
It was one of the grandest Margaret had ever been in. She hadn’t been joking when she’d said it was like something from a fairytale. From the outside it resembled a magical castle, built in warm honey-toned stone. Lichen and moss had burrowed their way into the stone over the years, giving it an ancient patina, and the ivy climbing up the north wall added to its romantic image.
While Jacob might not like this house, it was apparent that it had been designed by an architect with a masterful sense of proportion, symmetry and beauty.
She turned back towards the ornamental garden and could see that buds had started to appear on the rosebushes. To her right was a woodland, and to her left miles of rolling green countryside that seemed to stretch on forever.
There was no denying this was a magnificent estate.
The sound of boots on gravel caused her to turn towards the path that led around the side of the house and Jacob appeared, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond her and the surrounding garden, towards the distant horizon.
‘Shall we?’ he said, taking her arm as if anxious to be away from the house.
They walked in silence for a moment, his pace more rapid than one would normally take for a stroll in the gardens.
‘Was this your family’s main home when you were a child?’ she asked, gently broaching the subject.
‘Yes, I lived here until I was seven and sent away to boarding school,’ he said, his voice matter-of-fact, but his stiff posture suggesting there was much more to that statement than he was disclosing.
‘It’s so sad the way parents do that. My brother has been sent off to boarding school. Mother cried and cried for days after he left, and I’m sure Father would have done the same if men were allowed to do such things.’
