“Is that right?” The horse nudges her but is ignored, so pushes past her to get a stroke on the nose from Lady Meade.
“Lady Meade has given me a wonderful tour of Dashwell,” I say, looking back past the stables at the house. “Your wedding is going to be magical here.”
It’s a cheesy comment and the sort of thing I probably shouldn’t say in front of someone as cynical and miserable as Lady Cordelia Swann, but it’s the truth. I spent the last forty-five minutes trailing after Lady Meade in complete awe as she took me round the maze of grand rooms, each as fascinating as the last, and each with its own treasures and history.
The guest room in which I’m staying—one of many—is practically bigger than my flat, with a giant four-poster bed in the middle of the room and windows framed by red velvet curtains, tied with golden-tasseled cords. When I walked in earlier with my old wheelie case and looked out at the view over the private walled garden, the lake and hills beyond, I was lost for words.
After showering, changing into a fresh dress, and reapplying my makeup, I wandered down the corridor outside my room, lost until Lady Meade appeared, ready to give me a tour. I was shown the rooms that tourists enjoy: the state dining room; the banquet hall, its walls covered with priceless works of art; the grand ballroom with a sparkling chandelier hanging from the ceiling to light the mosaic tiled floor; and the various libraries filled with row upon row of first editions lined up on shelves protected by glass.
We then moved outside, as the marchioness was keen for us to find Cordelia sooner rather than later, but she promised I’d see the rest of the house and the private quarters before dinner. She informed me that we’d need to change our shoes before going outside, as it was a bit of a walk and, thanks to the earlier rain,a little muddy. She led me through a door markedPRIVATEand down some plain back stairs into an old boot room in the part of the house shut off from visitors.
This quickly became my favorite place in the house, because it was the first that felt like it belonged in a family home. Old wax coats hung from hooks lined up along the wall, and there were so many pairs of boots lying around, I had quite a selection to choose from. She found me a pair in my size, and as I shook off the cobwebs lining the top, she threw me a rolled-up pair of socks from a basket by the door, before donning some old boots herself.
Strolling past the walled garden, she explained that she didn’t want to disturb the visitors in there at the moment and she’d make sure I saw it later, as she was rather proud of the planting she’d done over the summer.
Her face lit up as we approached the stables, so it was no surprise when she made the comment about Cordelia getting the love of animals from her.
“Oh, and I must show you my chickens,” she said earlier, as I was introduced to the naughty donkey that had knocked down the fence that morning. “They’re delightful creatures. Wait until you meet Lord Cluck! You’ll be very taken with him.”
Whether or not this weekend would be a success, I was grateful to have seen a different side to the marchioness. If only the same would happen with Cordelia. Perhaps in this different setting, she’d reveal her softer side, too.
Although she looks physically repulsed at my use of “magical” to describe her wedding, so perhaps not.
“Are you coming back to the house now?” Lady Meade asks her daughter, letting the horse nibble the palm of her hand. “We have a lot to discuss and your father is a little anxious. Your brother also needs to have a word about dinner.”
“I’ll come up once I’ve put Tony away.”
“The horse is calledTony?” I blurt out, unable to hide my amusement.
Cordelia shoots me a cold, hard stare. “Yes. Why? Do you have a problem with that?”
“No! It’s an… unusual name for a horse, that’s all.”
“What would be a usual name for a horse? Let me guess,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You’d name your horse something like Sparkle or Rainbow orMagic.”
I know she’s mocking me but she’s probably right, so I shrug.
“Tony is named after Tony McCoy,” she says, and when I stare at her blankly, she looks at me as though I’m the stupidest person to walk the planet. “Tony McCoy? One of the greatest jockeys of all time?”
“He sounds very talented,” I say, stroking Tony on the nose as he comes to snuffle at my jacket for any hidden carrots. “He must be very happy to have such a beautiful horse named after him.”
Cordelia tugs the reins so that Tony is pulled away from me, then addresses her mother. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
She walks away with Tony in tow, leading him to the gate to the stables. Lady Meade turns to me. “You’re getting to her, you know.”
I frown, worried. “What do you mean? Am I doing something wrong?”
“You won’t let her push you away,” she says, gesturing for me to follow her back to the house. “So, as far as I’m concerned, you’re doing everything right.”
“What a shame Nicole Percy didn’t take to you!” Annabel cries, the champagne almost splashing out of her glass. “She really is the best in the business and Dashwell Hall deserves the best. This really couldn’t be worse! You’re going to be stuck finding anyoneby December, Cordy! It’ll have to be a rush job! How ghastly.What everare you going to do?”
Cordelia looks as though what she might do is punch Annabel’s face.
“What sort of flowers are you thinking for your wedding, Annabel?” I ask quickly, hoping to move the focus away from Cordelia. People like Annabel love talking about themselves, so if you continually ask questions about their life, they think you’re absolutely marvelous without knowing anything about you.
“Oh, I would tell you, but it’s very secretive,” she says, patting my hand. “Everyone wants to know. What I can tell you is it’s going to be simply spectacular. Nicole is a genius.”
Cordelia is gripping her glass so tightly, her knuckles have gone white and I’m worried it’ll shatter at any moment.
